Work Text:
“Ouch, Merlin—hold still!”
“Don’t put your knee there, Don’t put your knee—!” Merlin chokes out with a howl as Arthur narrowly avoids kneeing him where the sun doesn’t shine, straightening with a jerk and causing the hammock they are squashed into to rock dangerously. Merlin clutches the nylon fabric of the hammock and breathes out slowly. Beside him, or rather on top of him, Arthur squirms uncomfortably.
Uncomfortably, of course, because this hammock is not meant for two people. Uncomfortably, because Arthur rich-as-balls-city-boy Pendragon has never camped outside a day in his life and had insisted that Merlin fuck off to a solitary Cornwall campground with him on their precious 4 days of spring break to make love to the trees, or whatever. And it had poured, and Arthur’s tent had flooded, leaving him to join Merlin in his hammock where they both hovered a precarious half a meter above the godforsaken lake that had taken over their campsite.
Uncomfortably, because Merlin cannot have possibly thought being squashed into a single hammock with the star of his every wet dream would be a good idea.
Discretion, Merlin thinks bitterly of his own pitiful situation, is definitely the better part of valour. I should have bailed while I had the chance.
And the really damning part of it all is that Arthur isn’t even a complete ass. Well, that’s not true. He is an ass. But he’s an ass who sold his fancy gas-guzzling car and donated all the proceeds to support their local public transit, and who helps old ladies cross the road, and spends every Saturday afternoon helping out at the animal shelter. God, he’s Merlin’s worst fucking nightmare.
Arthur grunts, shifting around in the hammock. Despite the added body heat, Merlin is a bit chilly and shivers against the cool material of the hammock. He is laying on his back, with Arthur curved around him like a comma, his collarbone to his navel pressed along Merlin’s left arm. Merlin can feel Arthur’s hot breaths on his collarbone and it mixes awfully, horrifically, with the tingly sensation in his lower stomach.
“This is so fucking unfair.” Arthur huffs out a particularly strong breath in frustration and it ghosts across Merlin’s neck, leaving goosebumps. Merlin twists his lips wryly, inclined to agree but knowing that’s not what Arthur means.
“Sorry. Tough luck, all this. Maybe we can try camping again…erm…over summer? Or fall?” Merlin adds, knowing it is unlikely. Arthur knows this too, and the deepening scowl on his face shows he is thinking it.
“No, you know—That is, I mean—Damn it all!” Arthur growls out in frustration, struggling to verbalize. His left arm, the one not trapped against Merlin’s body, comes up to rub across his face. He takes a breath. “It’s just…fuck, we’re graduating, Merlin. Scattering to the four winds, and all that. I’ve got that job offer in London. Gwaine is backpacking Southeast Asia. Elyan is moving to Berlin, and you’re going for your PhD in Edinburgh. I just really thought…” He trails off into silence, losing the fire that had fueled his earlier words.
“You thought…?” Merlin prods softly. He watches Arthur in the purple twilight, face illuminated only by the final rays of sunlight disappearing beneath the horizon and the soft amber glow of the fireflies floating past their heads. Arthur glances up through his eyelashes to meet Merlin’s gaze and his cheeks flush in the half-light. He swallows loudly.
“I thought this might be my last chance. My last chance to tell you how I feel. And beg you not to forget about me once we no longer see each other every day, or even every other month.” Merlin’s breath is robbed from his lungs, absolutely stunned. He’s not sure why, really. He’s not blind to their prolonged eye contact or special smiles, reserved just for the other. The way Arthur knows Merlin steals hoodies from his closet and doesn’t return them until they no longer smell like Arthur, it’s not news to him. It’s only that Merlin never thought they’d make it here, to this moment. Arthur shines like the brightest star in the sky, a kinder soul worth saving there is not. He could marry a princess if he so chose. And yet…?
“Arthur,” he breathes out quietly, and leans forward to press their lips together softly. When he pulls back, Arthur’s face is flushed even darker and he opens and closes his mouth several times without sound. Merlin smiles so wide his cheeks hurt, and he bows his neck to press his forehead to Arthur’s. “You’ve never so much as once proven to me you possess a single braincell, you complete numpty.”
Arthur pulls back harshly, staring at him with confused eyes, “Hey now, just a minu—”
“I could never forget you, nor leave you behind.” Merlin railroads him, not without compassion. He tilts his head to press another soft kiss to Arthur’s lips. “You’re my person.”
Arthur draws in a sharp breath, startled by the admission. Before Merlin can blink Arthur has tackled him against the hammock, which swings out in a wide arc. Merlin yelps as they roll, and then yelps again when Arthur attaches his lips to Merlin’s neck. Head thrown back over the edge of the hammock, Merlin can see the stars twinkling above them, and feel Arthur’s smile against his neck. He laughs happily, hammock swinging from momentum. The tingly feeling erupts in his stomach once more, and he shivers as a cool breeze blows through the campsite.
“Cold?” Arthur whispers into his ear. Merlin’s hands rise subconsciously to grip his broad shoulders. “I can think of a few things to warm us up.”