Chapter Text
When Merlin woke up the next morning, he felt a weight pressing down on him, keeping his breathing shallow. He groaned into his arm, still groggy and barely conscious. What’s going on? His fingers were…
Merlin’s eyes snapped open. His fingers were currently intertwined with those of the Prince of Camelot . Arthur’s (very large) arm was draped across his waist, trapping him in warmth and holding him in place.
Shit.
He knew he should’ve tried harder to not fall asleep the night before, but the exhaustion from the past few days had begun to set in, especially in a village so like his childhood one, lying on the floor with the comforting familiar presence of Arthur almost grazing his back… Merlin had slept better than he had in years.
The warlock risked a glance over his shoulder to see that Damien and Milly weren’t up yet, and thankfully, neither was Arthur. If I could just slip away…
Apparently, it was easier said that done. Merlin’s legs were tangled up in the excessive fabric of his dress (he’d completely forgotten he was wearing that), giving him little-to-no leverage as he tried to scoot himself out of Arthur’s hold. Cursing under his breath, Merlin tried to instead lift up the prince’s arm and get out that way, but he should’ve known better than to underestimate the vice grip of the greatest warrior in the land. Fuck me.
As soon as Merlin gave a substantially harder tug, Arthur only drew him closer, mumbling something under his breath in a husky voice that did something to poor Merlin. The brunet could feel Arthur’s strong abdominal muscles pressing into his back, the twitch of his shoulder from the arm trapping him, the throbbing veins in his feet where their legs tangled--
Heat was rising to Merlin’s face as he tried to dismiss all the ideas that he knew were absolutely treasonous. How nice would it be, to wake up like this every morning? To be all wrapped up in warmth? Something about the situation, something about being the master of so much intricate, ancient power, and being rendered small and trapped by a large, muscular arm and a mass of skirts set something off deep inside Merlin.
Logically, he knew he could escape from this lovely cage if he had to. He knew he could. But he didn’t. Instead, Merlin lay there, trying to control his breathing and purge all less-than-godly thoughts from his mind. It was at that moment that Merlin felt a muscle in Arthur’s arm twitch. The warlock went deadly still, trying his best to look like he was sleeping like a rock. He heard Arthur groan behind him, warm breath drifting over the back of Merlin’s neck.
He fought the urge to shiver.
Arthur, unlike Merlin had expected, didn’t audibly freak out at the position he must’ve noticed they were in by this point. Instead, the prince’s arm went rigid as well, pulling away carefully so that we wouldn’t wake Merlin up.
Thank god, that’s the end of it, Merlin thought, breathing coming more easily now. I did not want to have that conversation. Now we can both just pretend that it never happened.
But apparently, that wasn’t the end of it. Merlin sucked in a breath when he felt Arthur’s hand touch his head. Do I move? Do I keep pretending I’m asleep? Do I act like I just woke up?? Fuck, fuck--
His hand was broad and calloused, brushing back Merlin’s bangs and up to the top of his head. Fuck, that feels good. If he didn’t try to reason out what was happening, Merlin could just lose himself in the delicate touch, pretending as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
Merlin bit his tongue, just in case he let out an embarrassing noise. Not that he was going to, of course. Just in case.
Arthur’s hand shifted, but Merlin couldn’t tell what he was doing. The feeling of Arthur’s fingers in his hair was suddenly absent, and Merlin missed it dearly. Once again, the warlock held his breath as Arthur moved, apparently getting up and leaving him there in the mess of blankets. Where is he going?
There were soft creaks in the wooden floor as Arthur got up, tying his boots. It should take him far longer than that, Merlin thought, trying his hardest to not look over to see how haphazardly they were tied. A few rough footsteps later, the door to the cottage opened, letting in a soft gust of winter morning wind along with newborn sun rays.
When the door finally shut behind Arthur, Merlin let out a breath, slumping bonelessly onto the floor. His mind was whirring, but somehow, there wasn’t a single discernible thought in his head at the moment. Thoroughly confused and at a loss for where to go from there, Merlin sat up, fingers curling in the numerous layers of cloth crowding over his legs. Absentmindedly, he reached up to his head, fingers gingerly tracing where Arthur’s fingers had. He was fixing the scarf, he realized at once. So he wasn’t just… touching my hair. Merlin has to bite back an incredulous laugh. Why would he just touch my hair? Of course he was fixing the scarf. It’s for the facade, it’s nothing personal. Telling himself that should have made Merlin feel better, but instead, produced a weird, disappointed knot in the pit of his stomach.
What am I feeling so mopey about? Merlin sighed, finally resolving to get up, folding the blankets and stacking them aside as he did so. After all, I should be thankful for having a loyal friend.
Just a friend.
Arthur was standing on the outskirts of the village, staring into the woods where the sun was rising from, deep in thought, when he heard footsteps coming up behind him. Having been trained to fight since birth like the edgy little bitch he was, he recognized the footsteps and realized that they weren’t a threat. Especially in a dress. (Okay, he technically knew that Merlin was a sorcerer and if the way he saved Arthur’s life on a regular basis was any indication, he was probably pretty dangerous if he wanted to be— but come on. This was the idiot that fell on his face twice in the span of one hour!)
So instead of turning around and immediately dropping into a battle stance, he continued to stare out in front of him, offering a simple, “Sleeping in again, Merlin?”
Merlin rolled his eyes, stepping up to stand next to his prince. “What are you doing out here? You look like a damsel waiting for her lover to come back from war.”
Arthur wrinkles his nose. “What about this situation inspired that poetry in you?”
His servant laughed, crossing his arms over his chest to warm them up. “Oh, I don’t know. Your wistfulness, your overdramatic posturing, or perhaps maybe your… disheveled state.” He gesticulated to Arthur in general, smiling that same wide smile that he’d smiled the first day they’d met.
Arthur followed his gaze, Taking in his own shirt half tucked into his belt, his trouser legs spilling out of the tops of his hastily tied boots, and the hood of his cloak lopsided and nearly inside out. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t dress himself properly. It was just that… well, he didn’t want to, and that was that. “Now, who’s really responsible for my disheveled state?”
“ You ,” The brunet replied. “You’re responsible.”
“Hmm,” Arthur said, furrowing his brow. “Last I checked, Merlin, I paid someone to do this particular task for me. Do you remember whose pocket those wages were going into?”
Merlin huffed. “What, do you want me to sit out here and undress and redress you? Oh, even better, how about in front of Damien and Milly? I’m sure they would enjoy the show.”
Hot damn. Something about the image of Merlin undressing Arthur with the same reverence that he usually helped put clothes on nearly made Arthur’s brain switch off immediately. Trying his best to remain composed, he rolled his eyes in turn. “Fine, Merlin. Seems you’re looking for more and more creative ways to get out of your work every day.”
“It’s really my pleasure, sire.”
The prince squinted at Merlin, sizing him up for a moment. “You don’t need to undress me to fix my boots, though.”
Merlin blinked. “What?”
“Fix my boot laces, Merlin. We don’t have all day,” Arthur dragged a hand down his face.
“Is it really that important?” Merlin whined, even as he squatted down, his cloak billowing around him in the ground.
“You just want me to stumble around everywhere like you,” Arthur said, words falling from his lips without thought. He had… far more important things to focus his attention on. So much more important that when Merlin responded with a curt, “How did you know, sire?” , Arthur didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a chuckle. Important things like how shiny Merlin’s hair looked in the virgin sunlight. Or how rosy and alive Merlin looked when surrounded by snow. Or how his eyelashes were unfairly long, fanning out over his cheeks. Or how beautiful Merlin looked on his knees.
Merlin, completely unaware of the thoughts floating through Arthur’s mind, got up after finishing the job, dusting himself off. “The day is starting, we should get back.”
“Oh… yes.” Arthur managed, clearing his throat and hoping he wasn’t conspicuous in his desire to push Merlin back down and rake his fingers through his delightfully dark hair like a savage. “Let’s.”
The day was simultaneously busy and dull, much like many of the days that Merlin recalled from his childhood in Ealdor. There was always so much to be done— livestock to be fed and watered, firewood to be fetched, cottages and mills and fences and furniture to fix, meals to prepare, fields to tend to, hunting to be done— the list was endless.
Unfortunately, with Merlin’s new persona as a woman, a lot of the chores he was used to were now off limits to him. So, instead of making himself properly useful, he was stuck bouncing infants in his lap, boiling oats, and cleaning floors. To be completely fair, Merlin was in the business of being a professional domestic as his full time job, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t good at it.
Well, except the babies bit— Merlin never knew quite what he needed to do with them.
After a cursory meal as “lunch” that left him feeling starving, Merlin dug through the waste barrels in the back of Milly’s cottage, picking out the scraps to feed to the pair of pigs that were rolling around in the sty to the north of the house.
Armed with food, the warlock clambered over the fence of the pen, dropping it in and grabbing a rake off the side of the house to get to mucking the enclosure out. It was nasty work, and somehow, it was worse than mucking out Arthur’s horses. As much as he hated it, at least the horses were somewhat dignified and still as Merlin cleaned up after them. The pigs, on the other hand, were relentless, rolling in their own filth and undoing Merlin’s work time and time again.
It took him at least an hour, despite the fact that it was a relatively small area. “You’re fast,” Dorothy remarked, walking past with a basket on her hip. “Why don’t you water them and then take a break?” Merlin nodded wordlessly, breath coming out in puffs in the cold winter air.
The path to the well lead down to the outskirts of town near the fringes of the forest, where the cottages were spaced out and barely touching. The old well, which had been at the center of the town, had apparently dried up, adding to the recent hardships plaguing them. By a stroke of luck, they had found another underground reservoir around the outskirts. As happy as Merlin was for them, he was exhausted-- he really didn’t want to be walking such a long distance in the winter in the measly layers he managed to bundle himself up in. The snow on the paths in the center of the village had been flattened and dirty, but out here, it was still apparent in fluffy, thick layers, save for the singular line of overlapping footsteps leading to the well.
Mumbling his annoyance under his breath, Merlin placed the bucket on the ground next to the mossy bricks of the well, wrapping the well-bucket’s rope around his palm. He leaned over the wall to look down at the water, surprised to find that it was actually very close surface level, reflecting the woods and the sky.
His eyes caught his own reflection, pausing and searching. Damn, I don’t look half bad . Merlin stared at himself, realizing he looked somewhat like his mother. If it wasn’t for how insufferable Arthur and the knights are, I wouldn’t actually mind this, he decided. The dress is strangely comfortable.
“Merlin?”
The brunet sprung away from the water as if slapped, heart jumping through his throat. He whirled around to find the very insufferable prince he had just been thinking of walking up to him, with his perfectly tied up boots (thanks to Merlin) and stupid handsome face (which Merlin was thankful for). If he ever got any inkling of what just went through my mind, I’m going to literally drown myself in that well.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Merlin,” Arthur said, coming to stand in front of his servant with a teasing expression. “Do you need my protection, O Damsel in Distress?” Merlin glared at him, deciding not to dignify him with a response as he turned away, resuming his earlier task of filling his bucket with water. “What, you’re giving me the silent treatment now?” Arthur’s tone sounded nearly like a childish whine. “You’re not allowed to do that. I’m the prince, you know.”
“Why don't you shout it a little bit louder so that everyone can hear, sire?” Merlin mumbled. “There is no doubt as to whose loins conceived you.”
Arthur made an expression of disgust. “That’s probably treason.”
“What? Thinking about the king’s loins?”
“Among other things.”
There was a long moment of silence as Merlin continued about his task, unwilling to talk further about Uther or his dick. There were some things that just didn’t need to be discussed or imagined. Ever. Arthur leaned back onto the wall of the well, elbows anchored on the mossy masonry and head tilted up towards the sky. The snow around them made everything that wasn’t white seem brighter and luminescent, and Arthur’s hair was no exception, burning gold against the blank backdrop. It made it impossible for Merlin to tear his eyes away.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, staring unblinkingly and taking in the prince’s profile, breathless. In fact, he hasn’t even realized that he was doing it until Arthur looked away from the sky, turning to make direct eye contact with Merlin and startling him out of his skin. “What?”
“Nothing,” Merlin blurted our, fingers scrambling for purchase on the rope so he could tug up the bucket that he’d been letting swing from the rope idly for far too long. “Why are you here anyways? To make fun of me, perhaps?”
“Why would I walk all the way out here just to make fun of you?”
“I don’t underestimate your devotion to that particular endeavor,” the brunet quipped, pursing his lips.
“Believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around you, Merlin,” Arthur said (lying right through his teeth).
“It sure revolves around making my life a living hell,” Merlin grumbled, and Arthur had to study his servant’s face and make sure it was intended as a joke before he allowed himself to laugh. “I bet the knights have been having the time of their lives. Gwaine probably doesn’t talk about anything else, does he?”
Arthur looked away, lips pressed together in a thin line. That silence was enough of an answer in and of itself. Merlin, having filled up his bucket, sighed and shook his head, stepping away from the well. “Thought as much.”
The prince pushed himself upright, moving a step closer to Merlin. “I know I gave my word. I’ll start holding them to it.”
Hoisting the full bucket up onto his hip, Merlin laughed dryly. “It’s alright, I’m not a wimp. I’ve dealt with worse.”
A particularly dark expression crossed Arthur's face that Merlin couldn’t quite read. “I promised you,” he insisted.
“Really, Arthur, don’t worry about it.” Merlin turned away, starting the trek up the treacherous path back the center of the village, doing his best to step past the icy patches and particularly sharp rocks that poked through his boots and caught on the hem of his dress.
“Merlin, wait—" the prince reached out to grab Merlin’s free arm, trying to turn him back around to face him. Unfortunately, in doing so, he forgot that his manservant was currently carrying a very heavy pail of water, along with the fact that Merlin had proven to everyone in Camelot that he couldn’t walk a straight line absolutely sober if his life depended on it.
Merlin, clearly surprised and as clumsy as usual, tripped over the hem of his dress, stumbling backwards and slipping on the gravelly ice underfoot. The bucket he was holding against his side slipped from his grip, and Arthur pointedly pretended not to notice as Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, enabling the bucket to land squarely on its base instead of spilling all over the ground. Relieved, Arthur looked up to Merlin to find that the idiot, having been overly invested in saving a bucket of water, had forgotten to instead save himself from a nasty spill.
On some fairy-tale prince reflex, Arthur yanked the arm he’d grabbed closer to his chest, reaching out with the other to keep Merlin from falling completely backwards. It was an absolute struggle to stay upright, with a series of unstable steps between the two of them that resembled a newborn colt.
“What did you do that for, clotpole?” Merlin hissed, face flushed and sinfully close to Arthur’s. “You nearly killed me.”
“I didn’t nearly kill you, I saved you from your own idiocy,” Arthur argues back, his breath fogging up the space between them.
“That wasn’t my idiocy, it was yours !”
“You can’t call your prince an idiot!”
Merlin made a face. “Well, I can call my apparent husband an idiot—"
Arthur gawked. Yesterday, hearing Merlin call him "husband" for the first time had nearly given him an aneurysm, but after spending a whole night daydreaming about it, he was considerably more prepared for the ambush. “If you’re going to play that card, technically even my wife couldn’t call me an idiot, I'm still the prince you kn—"
“I can call anyone an idiot if I want to, not even the Triple Goddess can stop me—"
“Just shut up for once, Merlin! I—" Arthur sighed loudly. “I just wanted you to know I’ll make sure the others don’t keep ribbing you, alright? Let’s just leave it at that.”
Merlin made a face, but then nodded. “Alright,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “I— thanks, I guess.”
“What was that?” Arthur asked cheekily. “I couldn’t hear what you just said.”
“I said let go of me, you ass,” Merlin said, pointedly avoiding eye contact as Arthur noticed for the first time that he hadn’t let Merlin go since he’d saved him from the fall. Arthur’s fingers were still wrapped around Merlin’s elbow, the other hand supporting him high up on his back. They were close, only half a foot apart. It made it difficult for Merlin to look at anything but Arthur’s stupid face, which wasn’t ideal in the least.
In that moment, Merlin could almost see it— another life, as a wily village lass, falling into the arms of a haughty, soft-hearted village boy. A love story marked by trips to the fields and harvest markets and wildflowers and freshly baked bread. Simple.
For a second, Merlin thought he saw a reflection of that fantasy in Arthur’s eyes. That’s ridiculous. Merlin stepped away and Arthur let his arms fall to his sides, not stopping him. I’m going insane. We’re just good friends. But Merlin couldn’t explain why Arthur’s lips looked so magnetic in the moment, or why his hair looked so soft, or why his eyes looked like oceans he just wanted to drown in—
“Are you alright?”
Merlin blinked rapidly. This faking being husband and wife thing is really getting into my head. “Utterly amazing.” Refusing to even give himself the temptation of making eye contact, Merlin leaned down to grab the bucket, turning away again.
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
The brunet risked a glance at Arthur’s face when there were a few moments of silence, to see that the prince was wearing a strange expression, lips pursed as if debating whether or not to say something. “Never mind,” he mumbled finally. “Let’s get back.”
“The pigs have probably died of thirst by now,” Merlin said, focusing intently on his feet. "And it'll all be your fault."
“It would be nice if you showed this regard for time when it came to my breakfast,” Arthur said, pulling them back into the familiar territory of banter.
“Good work takes time, sire .”
“I would hardly call your usual performance good work .”
“You couldn’t live a day without me.”
“Merlin—"
“Shut up?”
“Yes.”
Merlin laughed, ducking his head. A comfortable silence followed, throughout which he couldn’t bring himself to look in Arthur’s direction.
A few moments in, however, Arthur cleared his throat. “Give me the bucket.”
“What?”
“Give me the bucket, Merlin.”
“Why?”
Arthur made an exasperated expression. “I can’t be seen making a woman carry a heavy load while dilly-dallying idly with her.”
“Oh, what would I do without your chivalry?” Merlin laughed, handing over the bucket without complaint. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Arthur snorted, lifting the bucket with considerable ease as a result of his heavy physical training, making Merlin simultaneously envious and impressed. He tore his eyes away from how Arthur’s arm muscle had bulged under his tunic, instead observing the incredibly interesting patterns of straw roofs the cottages on the outskirts of the village boasted. “Why did you come out here, anyways?”
“Because you’re here,” Arthur answered, seemingly without thinking. His jaw snapped shut, looking somewhat confused and embarrassed by his own answer.
“Aw,” Merlin cooed, teasingly. “You missed me.” Something fluttered in his chest at the thought.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scoffed. “You’re always with me, why would I ever miss you?” Almost as if it was an afterthought, he added, “besides, it’s so much more peaceful when you’re not around.”
“You just missed the sound of my voice, I bet,” Merlin replied, the mere notion making him smile. “You always complain about me talking, but I know that you secretly can’t get enough of it.”
“Merlin, I’m very close to upending this bucket on your head.”
“Look at them,” Elyan said, pausing in his hammering to look up at Arthur and Merlin passing. Arthur was lugging along a sloshing bucket filled with fresh water, but didn’t even seem to acknowledge the weight in the least. He seemed entirely absorbed in whatever petty squabbles he was having with Merlin, a permanent half-smile fixed on his face.
Merlin, for his part, was absolutely making the dress work. He had the poise for it, somehow, and with rosy cheeks and a wide, taunting smile to match Arthur’s, the two of them made quite the duo.
At Elyan’s words, Lancelot looked up, following his gaze. “Well.”
“Ah, those two?” John laughed. “They’re so smitten with each other.”
“Aren’t they??” Gwaine said, sounding relieved, as if he honestly believed he was the only one to have had the thought thus far. “That’s what I keep saying.”
Elyan sighed, watching them until they walked out of sight. Everyone else can see it, I just wish that they could.
Night came even quicker this time around, if that was even possible. Arthur, despite his earlier expectations, had really been enjoying his time out here, where there were no princely expectations or fatherly disapproval or preconceptions and prophecies and assassination attempts. It was simple, peaceful, invigorating.
When it got too dark to keep working, the villagers all retreated into their cottages. Arthur almost felt like he’d already become one of them. Absentmindedly laying a guiding hand on Merlin’s back, Arthur made his way to Damien’s and Milly’s cottage, eyes glued to the glittering chasm of skies above.
The cottage was empty when they arrived. Even the fire in the hearth hadn’t been started yet, casting the room in the cold blue light of the moon. “I’m exhausted,” Merlin sighed, shutting the door behind them.
“I had no idea that village work was so strenuous,” Arthur added, trying to stretch a muscle in his shoulder. “Maybe I should have the knights build fences instead of doing drills.”
Merlin laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the thought of the Knights of the Round struggling to herd livestock into enclosures, glorious scarlet capes getting caught in the dirt and manure. “That would be a sight to see.”
Arthur watched Merlin from the corner of his eye as the warlock picked up a stout candle standing up on the table pushed against the wall. He lifted it up, cupping his hand around the wick as his eyes glowed, lighting it. Is he even trying to keep it a secret at this point? The prince smiled, ducking his head. Really, he’s such an idiot.
The prince turned away, unfolding the blankets and kneeling to undo the laces on his boots. He’s really got to be more careful about how open he is with it, especially since he’s around my father so much… Arthur heard a faint crackling as the wood in the fireplace finally lit, beginning to burn a yellow-orange and casting a warm light across the room. “You’re quiet,” he remarked, moving onto his second boot.
“Some of us had to do physical labor while undercover, sire ,” Merlin replied cheekily from somewhere behind Arthur.
“Because doing a woman’s labor is so difficult,” the blonde laughed in turn, shaking his head. He got up to put his boots up again the wall before returning to the cot.
Merlin scoffed. “In a goddamn dress, while terrified that someone’s gonna find out the truth, it’s a different story.”
“ Really Merlin—" Arthur had something sharp and witty to say, but whatever it had been, as soon as he turned around and saw Merlin, he was at an absolute loss for words.
Oh, dear lord. Merlin had, as a result of his complete and utter lack of manners, gotten into the cot before the Prince of Camelot. He looked thoroughly exhausted, propping himself up by an elbow with his head hanging backwards, the hollows and sharp lines in his throat and jaw exposed by the yellow candlelight casting angular shadows across him. The dress nearly drooped off of one shoulder, exposing a sleek collarbone and an expanse of milky skin that Arthur rarely got a chance to see.
Merlin looked at him, beautiful blue eyes confused. “What?” He asked slowly. “Is it the dress again?” When Arthur didn’t answer, he looked away, turning a little red. “I hate this stupid thing.”
Arthur swallowed, trying to find his voice. Damnit. He took a breath, trying to move as an excuse for not replying. Still struggling to shut him mouth, he sank down to the floor, lifting the blankets and sliding into them as Merlin spoke again.
“Hey,” the brunet looked over at him again. “I know it’s hard for you but I was under the impression that you could at least carry a simple conversation.”
Shit. “It suits you,” Arthur blurted out, lost somewhere deep inside his own mind that allowed the words to come out unobstructed.
Merlin blinked dumbly at him, jaw working in midair and mouthing “What?”
“The dress,” Arthur stressed. The words felt like heaving breaths taken after early drowning— they felt so good to say, but there was resistance crushing his chest, filling up his head, a distant fear—
“You gave your word nobody would make fun of me, Arthur,” Merlin was looking away, fingers curling defensively into the blanket and the dress pooled around his legs.
“I’m not making fun of you,” the prince insisted. Apparently, he no longer had a filter of any kind— everything he was thinking was just spilling out. “I’m really not.”
Merlin simply looked at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, a spitting image of Gaius’s disapproval. On the younger man, however, the expression looked more saddened and disappointed instead of intimidating, but somehow that made it worse. Arthur wished Merlin would say something, lashing out like he usually did, but right now, Arthur felt like he was fighting a one sided battle and losing. He missed his sparring partner, his equal.
“Merlin—"
The warlock turned, obviously intent on giving him the cold shoulder for the rest of the night, but Arthur wasn’t having it.
“Merlin, listen—" he reached out to grab his manservant’s shoulder.
“Let me go,” Merlin was twisting, trying to free himself from the prince’s powerful grip. “When things don’t go your way you just go for brute force, don’t you??”
Arthur groaned. “For the Gods’ sakes, can you just shut up and listen for once?”
“Listen to what?!” Merlin wrinkled his nose, clearly annoyed. “The broken promises of the great future King of Camelot and—"
Something— something had come over Arthur. He wasn’t sure what. The pressing need for Merlin to just stop talking had been all-engulfing, and he had reacted entirely without thinking. So… at least he had shut Merlin up?
Goddamn, his lips are so soft, has he really been a woman this whole time? Arthur pondered the question as he pushed into the kiss, now balancing himself on his forearm as he held Merlin’s shoulder with the other hand. Why didn’t I do this earlier? It was perfect— he was perfect. The soft wetness of Merlin’s lips, the way his long eyelashes just barely fluttered against Arthur’s cheek, the way he smelled like the pine of the forest around them, the feeling of his blood flowing through his veins underneath Arthur’s very fingers— Merlin was beautiful.
But it couldn’t last forever.
Arthur ran out of breath, breaking the kiss and pushing himself just far enough away that he could see Merlin’s face without going cross-eyed. The candlelight was made for this man— it made him look like an ethereal god of legend. It reflected off of the blood gathering in his cheeks and the flecks in his sky-colored eyes and the sheen of his lips. He looked like art, like a statue. In fact, Merlin looked absolutely shocked, barely breathing. If not for the tell-tale twitch he got in his left cheek when he was stressed, Arthur would’ve thought him dead.
Against all his instincts, the prince did his best not to look away from Merlin’s face— for he knew if he did, he would most definitely end up looking at the rest of his body, which wouldn’t be the best situation for the… tight fit of his pants at the moment.
Much too late, Arthur realized a smile had crept onto his face, and as much as he tried and his cheeks ached, he couldn’t make it go away. A few more long seconds passed and Arthur hovered above his servant, barely blinking. Dread and reality slowly began to converge in his stomach as he searched the warlock’s face, panic rising. “Merlin?”
The door of the cottage eased open, sending Arthur into his automatic reflexes of hide! Cover! Survive! Damien and Milly walked in, blissfully unaware of what had been happening in their house right before they had unintentionally interrupted. Arthur, for his part, was doing his best to control his breathing as he lay on his side facing the fireplace and away from Merlin, who remained a conspicuous heat against his back.
Arthur wasn’t sure how long he laid there, unmoving and rigid, but by the time he wasn’t struggling to keep his breathing even, the candle had gone out and the fire was already dwindling. Damien’s soft snores were echoing through the room, but they didn’t give Arthur the same sense of domestic comfort from the day before.
Nails digging into his palms, with a smile and a sexual urge that had faded hours ago, Arthur stared unblinkingly into the darkness, realizing that Merlin had never kissed back.