Chapter Text
Arthur learned the solution by accident.
As king, one would imagine a life of power, leadership, and glory: days spent commanding armies, presiding over great halls, shaping the fate of a kingdom with a single decree.
In reality, since becoming king, much of Arthur’s day was spent buried beneath parchment—reports to read, petitions to consider, decisions to sign. Arthur had never been fond of books. He applied himself when he had to, as duty demanded, but sitting still and reading for hours on end had never come naturally to him. More often than not, he found himself longing for the training yard, for the familiar weight of a sword in his hand and problems that could be met head-on. He was a practical man, and it always felt easier to solve his problems through action than through words on a page.
Today was almost like moving through sludge. Arthur couldn’t concentrate in the slightest. He had reports to get through and a speech to write for the council that afternoon, and he couldn’t seem to get the words flowing.
To add to his distracted state? His personal manservant.
Merlin was fluttering about the room as per usual. Hovering, pacing, shifting his weight, leaning over Arthur’s shoulder to mutter unhelpful commentary while Arthur tried—tried—to review petitions. The younger man was simply rabbiting on and on, blissfully unaware that his king was having an internal crisis at his desk. His nervous energy crackled through the room like static. Arthur snapped at him twice, lost his place three times, and eventually just grabbed the back of Merlin’s tunic out of pure frustration.
“Sit,” Arthur ordered, tugging harshly.
Merlin yelped as he was pulled down—misjudged the distance—and ended up abruptly, unmistakably, on Arthur’s lap.
The room went silent.
Merlin froze, hands splayed awkwardly, face going beet-red at sudden proximity. He squirmed in panic. “I—Arthur!”
Arthur, who had not actually planned this far ahead, found himself with one arm braced automatically around Merlin’s waist to keep him from falling off.
“Shut. up.” Arthur ordered, jabbing him twice in the side to punctuate his words. Merlin made a strangled noise.
“Wh- You can’t- you can’t just order people to sit on you!”
Well.
“I can,” Technically. “I’m the king.”
“That doesn't make it normal!” Merlin sqwaked, incredulous. Arthur surprised him almost every day with an audacious request he just could not predict.
He made to get up, but was pulled right back down, landing on Arthur's lap abruptly once more with another resounding squeak. Arthur’s lips twitched in amusement, already feeling the tension in his shoulders drain from Merlin's hilariously expressive noises.
“Hm. But it’s practical.” Arthur responded mildly, his eyes already drifting back to the parchment on his desk. He really needed to get this speech done by noon; everything else could be dealt with later. His free hand found purpose at Merlin’s side, occasionally grabbing and pulling him back into place as he tried to escape.
“In what way is this practical?” Merlin was flushed to the tips of his ears now. Flustered and confused at his King’s behaviour, he scrambled and pushed against Arthur’s chest, making the complete sight of an insolent cat forced to take a bath. “Arthur, I need to get back to work.”
“Sire,” Merlin tried. How could Arthur possibly think this was a practical way to work?
“Your majesty, this is ridiculous. Just let me up now, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Arthur did not budge; instead, Merlin felt five fingers latched tightly into his side, pressing in slightly.
“You, complete and utter prat!” Merlin tried to wriggle off. Tried. Arthur’s arm tightened just enough to stop him, firm in that infuriatingly royal way that suggested Merlin wasn’t going anywhere.
“Merlin,” Arthur warned, eyes not leaving the quill and parchment on his desk.
Merlin squirmed once, twice, then went rigid against him, muttering something insulting under his breath, which Arthur did not have to hear to know was casual treason. He pulled Merlin in once more, roughly this time, jostling him so their heads almost bumped together. “Arthur!”
“It would be better if you stayed put.”
Merlin gaped, unable to comprehend his predicament. “Wh-You are the most insufferable person I've ever met!”
Arthur wouldn’t let up, already returning to his work.
Alright then. Merlin huffed, perched on Arthur’s lap like he was sitting on a live dragon.
“There,” he said, spine ramrod straight. “Happy?”
Arthur hummed, dipping his quill in more ink. “Very.”
Merlin did not move. He barely breathed. If he stayed perfectly, unnaturally still, maybe Arthur would realize how ridiculous this was.
For a moment, there was only the scratch of quill and the distant sounds of the castle. Merlin sat there, stiff as a board, heart hammering, very aware of Arthur’s chest at his back, the warmth of him, the way Arthur’s knee shifted now and then and jostled Merlin just slightly out of position, followed by his arm circling his waist, pulling him back in.
Most of all, the way his hand settled itself at Merlin's stomach, pressing him against him firmly. Occasionally, his fingers would press in and out.
Merlin's face heated as he tried to control his breathing.
-
Once Merlin had seemingly settled, Arthur realised he felt far more grounded. His thoughts no longer drifted aimlessly; they felt solid, anchored. The warmth in his lap, combined with having something to occupy his hands, helped him feel as though he was finally accomplishing something practical.
Arthur hummed softly, almost in wonder. “Hm. It’s working.”
Merlin stared at him. “What is?”
Arthur signed his name cleanly and decisively, without rereading the line three times. “That.”
Merlin glanced at the parchment, then back at Arthur’s calm, focused expression—an unusual sight, given that Arthur usually wore a faintly pinched look whenever he was forced to sit at his desk and write speeches. It always took him twice as long as it should. Merlin was intimately aware of this, having written speech after speech for him, from the moment his master was crowned prince to the present day.
He studied Arthur now, searching his king’s face for answers. “What are you trying to say, sire?”
Arthur hummed distractedly, briefly using his free arm to shift Merlin back and forth. “Shh.”
“Arthur? What-“
A polite knock sounded at the door, instantly triggering Merlin’s panic. Arthur was caught off guard by the sudden explosion of limbs before the chair tipped violently backward. There was a brief, undignified scramble, and the two of them went tumbling down to the floor.
Merlin shot upright, wide-eyed, and looked down at Arthur, who was flat on his back and glaring up at him with royal fury. Merlin swallowed and held out a hand.
“Enter,” the king called, still glaring at his servant as he righted himself.
“Your majesty, the council has gathered—“ Leon informed as he entered the room, pausing to look at the chair on the ground and then at the disheveled state of the two of them. “Uh..They are awaiting your presence to start the meeting.”
“We’ll be right there.”