Fic: Liberties
Title: Liberties
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (some slight Gwen/Morgana at one point)
Word Count: ~4100
Rating: Probably about PG-13
Spoiler warnings: Mentions in passing events from up to and including 1 x 10
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. I mean, technically it doesn't belong to anyone, but I am nothing to do with the current BBC incarnation of the Merlin stories.
Summary: As he nears his rooms though, Arthur remembers that Merlin will probably be inside. He slows to a walk and then stops. It's late and Merlin should be waiting for him to arrive. Should be waiting to help Arthur undress for bed.
He can't go back. He can't have Merlin undress him now. After seeing Gwen and Morgana together, Merlin helping to remove his clothes feels like too much.
A/N: Please do not take my having Merlin icons and having written Merlin fic to mean that I have caved and am in yet ANOTHER fandom. It most certainly isn't the case, no matter what entropical87 might tell you.
Betaed by entropical87 and kageygirl who have my great thanks for pointing out where I can type, but my fingers can't. (Also thanks to soupytwist who also offered but was tied up in Yuletide writing). Any typos or the like that are still in this are totally my fault.
Liberties
Arthur watches open-mouthed as Gwen smooths one hand down Morgana's back, fingers slipping just under the fabric of her dress and touching the bare skin. For a moment he almost objects out loud. Morgana is a ward of the King and Gwen is her lady's maid. Such, such...intimacy. Such liberties with a person of the royal household.
Arthur is momentarily shocked by his own intense reaction and it is the shock, not the embarrassment of being caught watching, that keeps him silent. He knows now that he should have knocked.
Morgana laughs at something Gwen is saying and Arthur knows that he should leave. He should ease the door closed and walk away but his feet refuse to move. What is it that shocks him so much? After all, doesn't Merlin take huge liberties when dealing with his duties? He shakes his head slightly - no, Merlin's improprieties are verbal, not physical.
For a moment, without intent, an image rises in Arthur's head of Merlin running a hand over Arthur's skin - skimming the line of fabric and skin. He sees long fingers slipping just under the hem and feels simultaneously like he has been doused with water and yet lit on fire from within. All the breath seems to leave his lungs.
In front of his eyes, just visible through the gap in the door and the gap in the curtains, Morgana turns and for a second relief floods over Arthur. Morgana will reprimand Gwen and that is right. Right that one's servant should not touch like that. And right that one should not want it.
But Morgana's arms rise up and slide surely up Gwen's back. They pull even closer together, movements confident and clearly well practised. There is no hesitation as their heads move closer and Arthur begins to breathe more and more heavily. As their lips meet, he finally finds the ability to move again and manages to pull the door closed quietly.
He stands in the hallway for a moment, leaning against the door with his head pressed back. He knows that behind the door Gwen and Morgana are kissing. And touching. And no doubt more. The thought makes Arthur feel a bone-deep need, an urge. A want. A primal pull that is only partly a desire to continue watching what's happening behind the door.
Confused by his own feelings, Arthur slowly realises that he's standing in the hallway outside Morgana's rooms, obviously hard and leaning against her door with his eyes closed. Though not a major thoroughfare - the royal quarters are of course out of bounds - it would not be totally unthinkable for a servant to pass by. He doesn't want any rumours to be started by his inability to control himself.
Arthur stands and begins to jog towards his own rooms, desperate to get behind his door and out of sight. To think about what he has seen and try to understand why it makes him so angry. So angry, so jealous and so full of a thick, intense desire. As he nears his rooms though, Arthur remembers that Merlin will probably be within. He slows to a walk and then stops. It's late and Merlin should be waiting for him to arrive. Should be waiting to help Arthur undress for bed.
That cold burning again rushes over Arthur and he stands for a moment, consumed by it. He can't go back. He can't have Merlin undress him now but he doesn't know why. After seeing Gwen and Morgana together, Merlin helping to remove his clothes feels like too much.
Finally Arthur frowns. He is standing in the halls, afraid to return to his rooms because his own servant will be waiting there for him. He pulls his shoulders square and begins a purposeful stride towards his door. The reasons are not important and the Crown Prince should not be scared to enter his own rooms.
But as he pushes through the door to find Merlin sat reading, waiting for him, Arthur wishes he had stayed in the hall. Had found another room to sleep in, even if Merlin had to wait here all night. It would be only right that Merlin would wait. He is Arthur's servant and it is his job to do what is necessary. He should know his place and not overstep his bounds. Arthur feels his confidence grow.
“Taking your leisure, I see?” Arthur says, closing the door behind him. Merlin's head snaps round and a grin breaks out across his face.
“Hardly,” he replies, holding up a book on herbs that Gaius has no doubt forced upon him. He still sits easily at Arthur's table.
“Well, you should be spending your time arranging my rooms. Read Gaius's books in your own time,” Arthur says. He's unsure and can't seem to remember what he usually does in his rooms. Where he usually stands.
“Look around,” Merlin says, smugly. Arthur casts his eyes about and sees that Merlin has clearly been cleaning. His belongings are neatly placed and there are no dirty clothes that somehow always manage to accumulate. Arthur is unwarrantably angry that he has nothing to castigate Merlin for. The anger grows when he looks back at Merlin's self-satisfied grin.
“Yes, fine, you've managed to act like a proper servant this once,” Arthur says, moving to remove his outer coat before stopping and awkwardly folding his arms. He feels a flush moving up his face.
Merlin's pleased grin takes on a confused cant but he reads Arthur's movements correctly and rises. He fetches Arthur's sleeping garments and lays them on the bed, turning expectantly. Arthur again feels his irritation rise at Merlin's impudence. It was for Merlin to wait until he was ready to change, not to stand impatiently as though Arthur is keeping him waiting.
Arthur almost orders him out of the room angrily, but he knows that his anger is a cover for how uncomfortable he feels at the thought of Merlin helping him undress. Merlin is no more or no less disrespectful than he ever is. The problem is Arthur's to feel and his to bear. It would be unfair to place the blame on Merlin. Arthur approaches the bed and stands, ready.
Merlin stands behind him and reaches across Arthur's shoulders to pull his coat off and down his arms. The room is colder than expected and Arthur feels goosebumps rise as he stands in his tunic. Merlin must notice because he moves across the room to the fire which blazes higher a few seconds later. The room seems to warm almost immediately. It's a gift with the fire that only Merlin seems to have.
Arthur fights the urge to flush again as Merlin now comes to stand in front of him. His fingers move deftly as he unlaces down Arthur's tunic. Arthur half expects that Merlin's touch will linger on him or brush against his bare skin. But Merlin's hands are too confident and quick to slip and Arthur firmly tells himself that he is glad. He is pleased that his own servant is more deferential and proper.
His tunic is removed and as Merlin places it neatly aside, Arthur tries not to cross his arms over his bare chest. Do they usually talk while Merlin undresses him? He can't remember if they talk or banter and assumes that they usually do. Will Merlin think that it is strange that Arthur is simply standing silently, flushing?
As Merlin moves back and his hands begin to unbutton Arthur's trousers, his knuckles brush softly against the skin of Arthur's stomach. Arthur feels himself begin to harden again and he pushes Merlin away quickly.
“Alright, you can go,” Arthur says, turning away from the confused frown on Merlin's face and grabbing up his night shirt.
“But...” Merlin begins and Arthur cuts him off.
“No, I can finish myself tonight. I'm...” Arthur tries to think of a reason for his decision, “...sick of waiting around while you fumble your way through things. I'm tired and I want to actually get into bed this side of midnight.”
For a brief second Merlin looks hurt and Arthur feels a little sick. Why blame Merlin for what was his own failure to control himself? Although Arthur wants Merlin to blame Arthur's anger for his strange reactions. He is just about to recant his accusation when the grin is back on Merlin's face.
“An early night for me then,” he says, shrugging with one shoulder. Arthur wants to grin back and share the moment but he can't. He nods instead.
“Maybe a better night's sleep will keep you aware of what you're doing,” Arthur tells him, but the bite of his earlier tone is gone. It's more like the banter they usually share.
Merlin laughs. “You can hope,” he tells Arthur and leaves the room. As the door closes behind him, Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. His shoulders relax and he realises that he's still holding his night shirt close against his chest, like a woman trying to hide her modesty. He flings it indignantly towards his bed and stalks over to his wine platter, pouring a large goblet.
Arthur drinks half of the wine in one swallow. He is still bare-chested and his trousers are almost unbuttoned. As he drinks down the rest of the wine, he wonders how he must look. Half undressed and trousers unbuttoned. Lips moist and red from the wine and breath stuttering. What if Merlin were still in the room and could see him like this.
Arthur almost gasps at the feeling of want and his hand moves down to cup himself where he's growing hard yet again. And suddenly knows what he wants. He wants Merlin back in the room and undressing him. He wants Merlin so sure of touching him that there is no permission. He wants to undress Merlin the same way until he's stroking skin and...
Arthur puts the goblet back down, panting. He quickly unbuttons his trousers the rest of the way and pulls them off, leaving them on the floor. He pushes his night clothes off the bed and lies down, wearing only his underwear. His hand pushes down until he's grasping himself and thrusting deep and hard into his own hand. His mind is full of Merlin's skin, only glimpsed but every glimpse now making Arthur shiver and ache until he spills shakily over himself.
He lies for a few moments, fully relaxed for the first time since he had opened Morgana's door. Eventually he gets up and blows out his candles before climbing under his blankets and falling straight to sleep.
*
Arthur wakes early the next morning and for a few moments he can't think what might have woken him. Usually he wakes to Merlin in the room, moving around and preparing his clothes. Bringing his breakfast and making sure that the fire is back to blazing so Arthur doesn't freeze when he swings his legs out from under his blankets.
The thoughts are comforting. The sense-memory of waking to Merlin there, in his rooms, is endlessly pleasant until Arthur wakes enough to remember the previous evening. He is suddenly glad to have woken before Merlin has arrived.
Arthur turns onto his back, hard as he always is first thing in the morning. It's a normal morning reaction - nothing he has ever been ashamed of before. It's usually faded by the time he rises and Merlin dresses him, but this morning just the thought of Merlin in the room while he's hard makes him want. He wants things that he doesn't know are possible.
He tries to think of something else - of Gwen and Morgana together under the sheets - but every time his mind substitutes himself and Merlin. This, he thinks, is why they made him feel uncomfortable. Because he wants Merlin in a way that he's never wanted the occasional maid or noble daughter who has come to his bed. He wants the push and the rut, but he also wants the soft touches. And he wants to wake up with Merlin there. In his rooms.
Or maybe in his bed.
Arthur breathes deeply and pushes his shoulders back into the bed. With his eyes closed, the heavy weight of the bedding across his chest could almost be an arm, flung casually across him. A light, bony arm, covered in pasty-white skin. An arm that pulls him closer to sleep just a little bit longer. And it's that thought more than any other that makes him finally shove his hand beneath the covers and thrust again into his hand, thinking of Merlin.
When he's done and lying spent, Arthur wonders what Merlin would have done if he had come into the room to find Arthur writhing and pushing into his own hand. He wonders if Merlin does it to himself in the morning, before he comes to Arthur's room, and he feels a low burn despite having spent himself only moments before.
He lies and thinks about Merlin. About how he came so suddenly into his life and became so quickly a fixture. He can't remember what court life was like before Merlin's arrival and the thought of it without him is unthinkable. So unthinkable that it had driven him to disobey his father and go through great danger to find a cure for poison. So unthinkable that he had followed Merlin back to his home village to fight a battle that wasn't his.
Things seem suddenly so much clearer. Like how he would rather spend an evening in shared glances of amusement with his servant dressed like a fool than interact with the many people at a banquet. Or how he made Merlin come with him to hunt even though he was awful at being a huntsman and Camelot had other servants trained for just such a discipline.
He had always been happy before Merlin arrived. Now an evening or a hunt seemed empty unless Merlin were there to share it.
He wonders what Merlin would say if he knew that Arthur were touching himself while thinking of him. He wonders if Merlin might refuse to be his manservant. The idea that Merlin might refuse to be around him is unpleasant. But he is the prince. If he wants Merlin as his manservant, then that is what he will be. And yet it would burn to force him if he didn't want to be near Arthur.
Arthur turns roughly onto his side, trying to dispel the thoughts. It was pointless to think about it because he would never choose to speak of any of this to anyone. He kicks out uselessly, annoyed at himself for letting his thoughts dwell on stupid ideas.
At the sound of the latch on his door lifting, Arthur freezes. Suddenly he wishes that he had risen and washed himself off. He shoves his hand up and under his pillow, wiping it off and then rubbing against his sheets. The bedding can be cleaned.
Merlin is clearly expecting Arthur to still be asleep as he's moving slowly and carefully, closing the door quietly. Arthur has plenty of time to settle into a sleeping pose. He doesn't know why he is worried about Merlin realising he's awake, but it seems easier.
It doesn't work, though.
“Oh, you're awake,” Merlin says and the quiet movements immediately turn into the normal clatters that always herald Merlin in his rooms. Arthur can't help the little smile. Maybe I haven't found the right person to love. The words he spoke to Morgana in this very room come back to him and the smile drops away. He's not in love. Not with Merlin.
“You didn't get very far by yourself, did you,” Merlin says and Arthur finally opens his eyes. Merlin is holding up his night shirt by the corner and grinning at him. He stoops down and picks up the soft trousers Arthur usually sleeps in too. Arthur almost berates him before laughing.
“I was tired,” he says, pushing himself up to sit.
“And grouchy,” Merlin tells him, draping the clothing over one arm before moving round to pick up Arthur's trousers from where he flung them off the night before. As he stands back up Arthur sees his eyes stutter across and down Arthur's body before he turns away.
Arthur looks down at himself, realising that of course his chest is bare and the sheets and blankets off his bed are pooled in his lap. And Merlin looked at him before turning away quickly. For a second Arthur allows himself to wonder if Merlin might too think what it would be like to...
He cuts off the thought. No. Merlin can't have been looking at him that way. He just wants him to.
Arthur kicks off his bedding and stands up.
*
Arthur tries not to think about Merlin as anything other than his servant. It's easier when Merlin is being, well, Merlin. Bringing dinner late or telling him how much of a prat he is or, for example, somehow rolling them both into a swamp of mud while he's out hunting.
*
Arthur pulls off his tunic, throwing the filthy garment across the back of the nearest chair. His trousers join it a moment later. He walks over to the fire, warming his mud-soaked skin. Behind him he hears Merlin, slopping into the room.
“I don't know why I even keep you around, honestly, Merlin,” he says. He turns round, exasperated. “Your only job on the hunt is to hold my weapons and keep out of the way. And you can't seem to do either with any skill.”
“Sorry,” Merlin says and he at least looks repentant. And possibly covered in more mud than Arthur himself, which is only right considering that it was his fault. Although Merlin isn't doing much more than looking repentant.
“Well?” Arthur says. “Get some hot water and towels or something. I can't stay like this.” He holds his arms out to the sides, knowing that even his underwear is soaked in muddy water.
Merlin nods and disappears out through the door again. When he eventually comes back carrying two pails of water and some towels, he picks up the conversation as though he had never left.
“I've said before that I'm no good at hunting, though,” he says, pushing the door closed to keep the heat in and then shuffling over to the fire. Arthur moves out of his way, letting him hang the pails on the hooks for the water to heat. Arthur is warmer now and some of the mud is beginning to get dry and flaky, but Merlin is still wet and shivering.
Arthur pulls a chair over in front of the fire. “Here, sit,” he says to Merlin, practically pushing him down before remembering that he doesn't want mud on his furnishings. “No, wait.” He looks around for something to put on the chair before Merlin sits but there's only the clean towels and he doesn't want to muddy them up.
“Here,” Arthur says, pulling off Merlin's muddy overcoat. He throws it on the floor off to the side and then reaches up to unknot the scarf that Merlin is wearing. He then makes Merlin lift his arms above his head and pulls off his tunic and it's only when he looks back down at Merlin's chest that he realises that he's been undressing him. Like he's the servant and Merlin the prince.
Arthur hesitates. His hands are halfway to Merlin's trousers, about to unfasten the buttons. He looks up into Merlin's face to see that Merlin too is so obviously surprised by Arthur's actions. His lips are parted and his eyes are wide.
“I...your clothes will be making you colder,” Arthur offers as explanation. Merlin just nods but makes no move to remove his own trousers. Emboldened, Arthur again reaches forward and turns his fingers to the first button. His knuckles are resting on Merlin's mud-smudged stomach as he wrestles with the fastening. The skin is cold and he knows his own hands must be, but it is so like and yet the reverse of the night when Arthur had sent Merlin out of the room that Arthur feels his heart beating too fast.
It's awkward to unfasten buttons the wrong way round but once Arthur has the trick of it he finishes quickly. Then he pushes the trousers down Merlin's legs and feels Merlin's hand for a second on his shoulder as he balances himself to lift up one foot and then the other. Arthur stands back up, throwing the trousers onto the muddy pile. He is aware of nothing else save that he and Merlin are standing opposite each other, in nothing but their underwear. Their breathing sounds loud in Arthur's ears.
“Better?” Arthur asks, trying to desperately find normality again. Merlin shuffles slightly closer to the fire and nods.
“I should...” Merlin suddenly gestures towards the door. “I should go back to my rooms to clean up. I can leave you to wash.”
Arthur knows that he should say yes. He knows it would be easier to send Merlin away and break this strange tableau, but he doesn't want to. And he doesn't know if Merlin wants him to.
“If you want to,” Arthur says. He tries to sound like he doesn't care either way and doesn't know if he is succeeding. “Or if you want to stay, you can.”
Arthur has never felt time pass so slowly as in the few seconds before Merlin says, “I'll stay.”
Arthur nods and can't help the look he casts over Merlin's body, taking in the long legs, flat stomach, bony ribs and shoulders. When he looks back up at Merlin's face he's sure he sees a flush to the white skin. He steps closer to the fire. His step also brings him closer to Merlin who looks at him with the same wide-eyed, unsure face.
Finally, Arthur can't stop himself and he leans across. His nerves almost make him pull back but he closes his eyes until his lips touch Merlin's, tentatively. He doesn't know what to expect, but it certainly isn't Merlin leaning surely into the kiss. He doesn't expect cold fingers curving round the back of his neck and his own body pulled close in and flush with Merlin's. He clings to Merlin just to keep his own balance while they kiss almost savagely.
Arthur pulls back, surprised. He opens his eyes to see Merlin watching him, belligerently. As though daring him to rebuke Merlin for being so forward. Arthur smiles instead and this time they meet in the middle, bodies pressed together and arms dragging each other closer.
So close to the fire, Merlin's skin warms quickly and Arthur knows his own must now be heated too. He slides a hand down Merlin's side and feels the heat too intense there. He pulls away.
“You're burning!” he says, pulling Merlin away from the fire. Merlin looks dazedly down at his own thigh, hand skimming over the bright-red skin.
“Oh,” he says and looks back up at Arthur. “I didn't notice.” He's smiling now and Arthur smiles back, knowing he must look like a simpleton. He's moving back in to kiss Merlin again when Merlin suddenly turns. “The water!”
Merlin bends to grab the tongs and Arthur watches as he lifts the two pails down onto the hearth, spilling some of one slightly. The mud on his skin has mostly dried into pale brown streaks. Some of the wetter mud is smeared from Arthur's hands. Merlin stands back up, turning back to Arthur. He hesitates for the briefest moment before sliding hands across Arthur's shoulders.
“Well, we can heat it up again later,” he says, laughing. Arthur shakes his head.
“And so are you going to wash my sheets to get the mud out of them?” Arthur asks, seeing Merlin's eyes widen slightly at the implication. His grin grows wider though and Arthur presses his own hands to the dip at the bottom of Merlin's back.
“Of course I am,” Merlin says. “I'm your manservant.” The word suddenly seems to have meanings that Arthur had never thought of.
“And you're the worst manservant I've ever had, Merlin,” he says because Merlin's smile is so smug and knowing.
Merlin shrugs, “I know,” he says happily. And then they're kissing again and Arthur really doesn't care how smug Merlin is.
*
Arthur wakes up slowly and immediately knows that something isn't normal. The arm clamped tight around him isn't usually there and the face pressed into the pillow next to him isn't a usual fixture. But as Merlin starts to wake up, Arthur really hopes that it will become so.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (some slight Gwen/Morgana at one point)
Word Count: ~4100
Rating: Probably about PG-13
Spoiler warnings: Mentions in passing events from up to and including 1 x 10
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. I mean, technically it doesn't belong to anyone, but I am nothing to do with the current BBC incarnation of the Merlin stories.
Summary: As he nears his rooms though, Arthur remembers that Merlin will probably be inside. He slows to a walk and then stops. It's late and Merlin should be waiting for him to arrive. Should be waiting to help Arthur undress for bed.
He can't go back. He can't have Merlin undress him now. After seeing Gwen and Morgana together, Merlin helping to remove his clothes feels like too much.
A/N: Please do not take my having Merlin icons and having written Merlin fic to mean that I have caved and am in yet ANOTHER fandom. It most certainly isn't the case, no matter what entropical87 might tell you.
Betaed by entropical87 and kageygirl who have my great thanks for pointing out where I can type, but my fingers can't. (Also thanks to soupytwist who also offered but was tied up in Yuletide writing). Any typos or the like that are still in this are totally my fault.
Liberties
Arthur watches open-mouthed as Gwen smooths one hand down Morgana's back, fingers slipping just under the fabric of her dress and touching the bare skin. For a moment he almost objects out loud. Morgana is a ward of the King and Gwen is her lady's maid. Such, such...intimacy. Such liberties with a person of the royal household.
Arthur is momentarily shocked by his own intense reaction and it is the shock, not the embarrassment of being caught watching, that keeps him silent. He knows now that he should have knocked.
Morgana laughs at something Gwen is saying and Arthur knows that he should leave. He should ease the door closed and walk away but his feet refuse to move. What is it that shocks him so much? After all, doesn't Merlin take huge liberties when dealing with his duties? He shakes his head slightly - no, Merlin's improprieties are verbal, not physical.
For a moment, without intent, an image rises in Arthur's head of Merlin running a hand over Arthur's skin - skimming the line of fabric and skin. He sees long fingers slipping just under the hem and feels simultaneously like he has been doused with water and yet lit on fire from within. All the breath seems to leave his lungs.
In front of his eyes, just visible through the gap in the door and the gap in the curtains, Morgana turns and for a second relief floods over Arthur. Morgana will reprimand Gwen and that is right. Right that one's servant should not touch like that. And right that one should not want it.
But Morgana's arms rise up and slide surely up Gwen's back. They pull even closer together, movements confident and clearly well practised. There is no hesitation as their heads move closer and Arthur begins to breathe more and more heavily. As their lips meet, he finally finds the ability to move again and manages to pull the door closed quietly.
He stands in the hallway for a moment, leaning against the door with his head pressed back. He knows that behind the door Gwen and Morgana are kissing. And touching. And no doubt more. The thought makes Arthur feel a bone-deep need, an urge. A want. A primal pull that is only partly a desire to continue watching what's happening behind the door.
Confused by his own feelings, Arthur slowly realises that he's standing in the hallway outside Morgana's rooms, obviously hard and leaning against her door with his eyes closed. Though not a major thoroughfare - the royal quarters are of course out of bounds - it would not be totally unthinkable for a servant to pass by. He doesn't want any rumours to be started by his inability to control himself.
Arthur stands and begins to jog towards his own rooms, desperate to get behind his door and out of sight. To think about what he has seen and try to understand why it makes him so angry. So angry, so jealous and so full of a thick, intense desire. As he nears his rooms though, Arthur remembers that Merlin will probably be within. He slows to a walk and then stops. It's late and Merlin should be waiting for him to arrive. Should be waiting to help Arthur undress for bed.
That cold burning again rushes over Arthur and he stands for a moment, consumed by it. He can't go back. He can't have Merlin undress him now but he doesn't know why. After seeing Gwen and Morgana together, Merlin helping to remove his clothes feels like too much.
Finally Arthur frowns. He is standing in the halls, afraid to return to his rooms because his own servant will be waiting there for him. He pulls his shoulders square and begins a purposeful stride towards his door. The reasons are not important and the Crown Prince should not be scared to enter his own rooms.
But as he pushes through the door to find Merlin sat reading, waiting for him, Arthur wishes he had stayed in the hall. Had found another room to sleep in, even if Merlin had to wait here all night. It would be only right that Merlin would wait. He is Arthur's servant and it is his job to do what is necessary. He should know his place and not overstep his bounds. Arthur feels his confidence grow.
“Taking your leisure, I see?” Arthur says, closing the door behind him. Merlin's head snaps round and a grin breaks out across his face.
“Hardly,” he replies, holding up a book on herbs that Gaius has no doubt forced upon him. He still sits easily at Arthur's table.
“Well, you should be spending your time arranging my rooms. Read Gaius's books in your own time,” Arthur says. He's unsure and can't seem to remember what he usually does in his rooms. Where he usually stands.
“Look around,” Merlin says, smugly. Arthur casts his eyes about and sees that Merlin has clearly been cleaning. His belongings are neatly placed and there are no dirty clothes that somehow always manage to accumulate. Arthur is unwarrantably angry that he has nothing to castigate Merlin for. The anger grows when he looks back at Merlin's self-satisfied grin.
“Yes, fine, you've managed to act like a proper servant this once,” Arthur says, moving to remove his outer coat before stopping and awkwardly folding his arms. He feels a flush moving up his face.
Merlin's pleased grin takes on a confused cant but he reads Arthur's movements correctly and rises. He fetches Arthur's sleeping garments and lays them on the bed, turning expectantly. Arthur again feels his irritation rise at Merlin's impudence. It was for Merlin to wait until he was ready to change, not to stand impatiently as though Arthur is keeping him waiting.
Arthur almost orders him out of the room angrily, but he knows that his anger is a cover for how uncomfortable he feels at the thought of Merlin helping him undress. Merlin is no more or no less disrespectful than he ever is. The problem is Arthur's to feel and his to bear. It would be unfair to place the blame on Merlin. Arthur approaches the bed and stands, ready.
Merlin stands behind him and reaches across Arthur's shoulders to pull his coat off and down his arms. The room is colder than expected and Arthur feels goosebumps rise as he stands in his tunic. Merlin must notice because he moves across the room to the fire which blazes higher a few seconds later. The room seems to warm almost immediately. It's a gift with the fire that only Merlin seems to have.
Arthur fights the urge to flush again as Merlin now comes to stand in front of him. His fingers move deftly as he unlaces down Arthur's tunic. Arthur half expects that Merlin's touch will linger on him or brush against his bare skin. But Merlin's hands are too confident and quick to slip and Arthur firmly tells himself that he is glad. He is pleased that his own servant is more deferential and proper.
His tunic is removed and as Merlin places it neatly aside, Arthur tries not to cross his arms over his bare chest. Do they usually talk while Merlin undresses him? He can't remember if they talk or banter and assumes that they usually do. Will Merlin think that it is strange that Arthur is simply standing silently, flushing?
As Merlin moves back and his hands begin to unbutton Arthur's trousers, his knuckles brush softly against the skin of Arthur's stomach. Arthur feels himself begin to harden again and he pushes Merlin away quickly.
“Alright, you can go,” Arthur says, turning away from the confused frown on Merlin's face and grabbing up his night shirt.
“But...” Merlin begins and Arthur cuts him off.
“No, I can finish myself tonight. I'm...” Arthur tries to think of a reason for his decision, “...sick of waiting around while you fumble your way through things. I'm tired and I want to actually get into bed this side of midnight.”
For a brief second Merlin looks hurt and Arthur feels a little sick. Why blame Merlin for what was his own failure to control himself? Although Arthur wants Merlin to blame Arthur's anger for his strange reactions. He is just about to recant his accusation when the grin is back on Merlin's face.
“An early night for me then,” he says, shrugging with one shoulder. Arthur wants to grin back and share the moment but he can't. He nods instead.
“Maybe a better night's sleep will keep you aware of what you're doing,” Arthur tells him, but the bite of his earlier tone is gone. It's more like the banter they usually share.
Merlin laughs. “You can hope,” he tells Arthur and leaves the room. As the door closes behind him, Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. His shoulders relax and he realises that he's still holding his night shirt close against his chest, like a woman trying to hide her modesty. He flings it indignantly towards his bed and stalks over to his wine platter, pouring a large goblet.
Arthur drinks half of the wine in one swallow. He is still bare-chested and his trousers are almost unbuttoned. As he drinks down the rest of the wine, he wonders how he must look. Half undressed and trousers unbuttoned. Lips moist and red from the wine and breath stuttering. What if Merlin were still in the room and could see him like this.
Arthur almost gasps at the feeling of want and his hand moves down to cup himself where he's growing hard yet again. And suddenly knows what he wants. He wants Merlin back in the room and undressing him. He wants Merlin so sure of touching him that there is no permission. He wants to undress Merlin the same way until he's stroking skin and...
Arthur puts the goblet back down, panting. He quickly unbuttons his trousers the rest of the way and pulls them off, leaving them on the floor. He pushes his night clothes off the bed and lies down, wearing only his underwear. His hand pushes down until he's grasping himself and thrusting deep and hard into his own hand. His mind is full of Merlin's skin, only glimpsed but every glimpse now making Arthur shiver and ache until he spills shakily over himself.
He lies for a few moments, fully relaxed for the first time since he had opened Morgana's door. Eventually he gets up and blows out his candles before climbing under his blankets and falling straight to sleep.
*
Arthur wakes early the next morning and for a few moments he can't think what might have woken him. Usually he wakes to Merlin in the room, moving around and preparing his clothes. Bringing his breakfast and making sure that the fire is back to blazing so Arthur doesn't freeze when he swings his legs out from under his blankets.
The thoughts are comforting. The sense-memory of waking to Merlin there, in his rooms, is endlessly pleasant until Arthur wakes enough to remember the previous evening. He is suddenly glad to have woken before Merlin has arrived.
Arthur turns onto his back, hard as he always is first thing in the morning. It's a normal morning reaction - nothing he has ever been ashamed of before. It's usually faded by the time he rises and Merlin dresses him, but this morning just the thought of Merlin in the room while he's hard makes him want. He wants things that he doesn't know are possible.
He tries to think of something else - of Gwen and Morgana together under the sheets - but every time his mind substitutes himself and Merlin. This, he thinks, is why they made him feel uncomfortable. Because he wants Merlin in a way that he's never wanted the occasional maid or noble daughter who has come to his bed. He wants the push and the rut, but he also wants the soft touches. And he wants to wake up with Merlin there. In his rooms.
Or maybe in his bed.
Arthur breathes deeply and pushes his shoulders back into the bed. With his eyes closed, the heavy weight of the bedding across his chest could almost be an arm, flung casually across him. A light, bony arm, covered in pasty-white skin. An arm that pulls him closer to sleep just a little bit longer. And it's that thought more than any other that makes him finally shove his hand beneath the covers and thrust again into his hand, thinking of Merlin.
When he's done and lying spent, Arthur wonders what Merlin would have done if he had come into the room to find Arthur writhing and pushing into his own hand. He wonders if Merlin does it to himself in the morning, before he comes to Arthur's room, and he feels a low burn despite having spent himself only moments before.
He lies and thinks about Merlin. About how he came so suddenly into his life and became so quickly a fixture. He can't remember what court life was like before Merlin's arrival and the thought of it without him is unthinkable. So unthinkable that it had driven him to disobey his father and go through great danger to find a cure for poison. So unthinkable that he had followed Merlin back to his home village to fight a battle that wasn't his.
Things seem suddenly so much clearer. Like how he would rather spend an evening in shared glances of amusement with his servant dressed like a fool than interact with the many people at a banquet. Or how he made Merlin come with him to hunt even though he was awful at being a huntsman and Camelot had other servants trained for just such a discipline.
He had always been happy before Merlin arrived. Now an evening or a hunt seemed empty unless Merlin were there to share it.
He wonders what Merlin would say if he knew that Arthur were touching himself while thinking of him. He wonders if Merlin might refuse to be his manservant. The idea that Merlin might refuse to be around him is unpleasant. But he is the prince. If he wants Merlin as his manservant, then that is what he will be. And yet it would burn to force him if he didn't want to be near Arthur.
Arthur turns roughly onto his side, trying to dispel the thoughts. It was pointless to think about it because he would never choose to speak of any of this to anyone. He kicks out uselessly, annoyed at himself for letting his thoughts dwell on stupid ideas.
At the sound of the latch on his door lifting, Arthur freezes. Suddenly he wishes that he had risen and washed himself off. He shoves his hand up and under his pillow, wiping it off and then rubbing against his sheets. The bedding can be cleaned.
Merlin is clearly expecting Arthur to still be asleep as he's moving slowly and carefully, closing the door quietly. Arthur has plenty of time to settle into a sleeping pose. He doesn't know why he is worried about Merlin realising he's awake, but it seems easier.
It doesn't work, though.
“Oh, you're awake,” Merlin says and the quiet movements immediately turn into the normal clatters that always herald Merlin in his rooms. Arthur can't help the little smile. Maybe I haven't found the right person to love. The words he spoke to Morgana in this very room come back to him and the smile drops away. He's not in love. Not with Merlin.
“You didn't get very far by yourself, did you,” Merlin says and Arthur finally opens his eyes. Merlin is holding up his night shirt by the corner and grinning at him. He stoops down and picks up the soft trousers Arthur usually sleeps in too. Arthur almost berates him before laughing.
“I was tired,” he says, pushing himself up to sit.
“And grouchy,” Merlin tells him, draping the clothing over one arm before moving round to pick up Arthur's trousers from where he flung them off the night before. As he stands back up Arthur sees his eyes stutter across and down Arthur's body before he turns away.
Arthur looks down at himself, realising that of course his chest is bare and the sheets and blankets off his bed are pooled in his lap. And Merlin looked at him before turning away quickly. For a second Arthur allows himself to wonder if Merlin might too think what it would be like to...
He cuts off the thought. No. Merlin can't have been looking at him that way. He just wants him to.
Arthur kicks off his bedding and stands up.
*
Arthur tries not to think about Merlin as anything other than his servant. It's easier when Merlin is being, well, Merlin. Bringing dinner late or telling him how much of a prat he is or, for example, somehow rolling them both into a swamp of mud while he's out hunting.
*
Arthur pulls off his tunic, throwing the filthy garment across the back of the nearest chair. His trousers join it a moment later. He walks over to the fire, warming his mud-soaked skin. Behind him he hears Merlin, slopping into the room.
“I don't know why I even keep you around, honestly, Merlin,” he says. He turns round, exasperated. “Your only job on the hunt is to hold my weapons and keep out of the way. And you can't seem to do either with any skill.”
“Sorry,” Merlin says and he at least looks repentant. And possibly covered in more mud than Arthur himself, which is only right considering that it was his fault. Although Merlin isn't doing much more than looking repentant.
“Well?” Arthur says. “Get some hot water and towels or something. I can't stay like this.” He holds his arms out to the sides, knowing that even his underwear is soaked in muddy water.
Merlin nods and disappears out through the door again. When he eventually comes back carrying two pails of water and some towels, he picks up the conversation as though he had never left.
“I've said before that I'm no good at hunting, though,” he says, pushing the door closed to keep the heat in and then shuffling over to the fire. Arthur moves out of his way, letting him hang the pails on the hooks for the water to heat. Arthur is warmer now and some of the mud is beginning to get dry and flaky, but Merlin is still wet and shivering.
Arthur pulls a chair over in front of the fire. “Here, sit,” he says to Merlin, practically pushing him down before remembering that he doesn't want mud on his furnishings. “No, wait.” He looks around for something to put on the chair before Merlin sits but there's only the clean towels and he doesn't want to muddy them up.
“Here,” Arthur says, pulling off Merlin's muddy overcoat. He throws it on the floor off to the side and then reaches up to unknot the scarf that Merlin is wearing. He then makes Merlin lift his arms above his head and pulls off his tunic and it's only when he looks back down at Merlin's chest that he realises that he's been undressing him. Like he's the servant and Merlin the prince.
Arthur hesitates. His hands are halfway to Merlin's trousers, about to unfasten the buttons. He looks up into Merlin's face to see that Merlin too is so obviously surprised by Arthur's actions. His lips are parted and his eyes are wide.
“I...your clothes will be making you colder,” Arthur offers as explanation. Merlin just nods but makes no move to remove his own trousers. Emboldened, Arthur again reaches forward and turns his fingers to the first button. His knuckles are resting on Merlin's mud-smudged stomach as he wrestles with the fastening. The skin is cold and he knows his own hands must be, but it is so like and yet the reverse of the night when Arthur had sent Merlin out of the room that Arthur feels his heart beating too fast.
It's awkward to unfasten buttons the wrong way round but once Arthur has the trick of it he finishes quickly. Then he pushes the trousers down Merlin's legs and feels Merlin's hand for a second on his shoulder as he balances himself to lift up one foot and then the other. Arthur stands back up, throwing the trousers onto the muddy pile. He is aware of nothing else save that he and Merlin are standing opposite each other, in nothing but their underwear. Their breathing sounds loud in Arthur's ears.
“Better?” Arthur asks, trying to desperately find normality again. Merlin shuffles slightly closer to the fire and nods.
“I should...” Merlin suddenly gestures towards the door. “I should go back to my rooms to clean up. I can leave you to wash.”
Arthur knows that he should say yes. He knows it would be easier to send Merlin away and break this strange tableau, but he doesn't want to. And he doesn't know if Merlin wants him to.
“If you want to,” Arthur says. He tries to sound like he doesn't care either way and doesn't know if he is succeeding. “Or if you want to stay, you can.”
Arthur has never felt time pass so slowly as in the few seconds before Merlin says, “I'll stay.”
Arthur nods and can't help the look he casts over Merlin's body, taking in the long legs, flat stomach, bony ribs and shoulders. When he looks back up at Merlin's face he's sure he sees a flush to the white skin. He steps closer to the fire. His step also brings him closer to Merlin who looks at him with the same wide-eyed, unsure face.
Finally, Arthur can't stop himself and he leans across. His nerves almost make him pull back but he closes his eyes until his lips touch Merlin's, tentatively. He doesn't know what to expect, but it certainly isn't Merlin leaning surely into the kiss. He doesn't expect cold fingers curving round the back of his neck and his own body pulled close in and flush with Merlin's. He clings to Merlin just to keep his own balance while they kiss almost savagely.
Arthur pulls back, surprised. He opens his eyes to see Merlin watching him, belligerently. As though daring him to rebuke Merlin for being so forward. Arthur smiles instead and this time they meet in the middle, bodies pressed together and arms dragging each other closer.
So close to the fire, Merlin's skin warms quickly and Arthur knows his own must now be heated too. He slides a hand down Merlin's side and feels the heat too intense there. He pulls away.
“You're burning!” he says, pulling Merlin away from the fire. Merlin looks dazedly down at his own thigh, hand skimming over the bright-red skin.
“Oh,” he says and looks back up at Arthur. “I didn't notice.” He's smiling now and Arthur smiles back, knowing he must look like a simpleton. He's moving back in to kiss Merlin again when Merlin suddenly turns. “The water!”
Merlin bends to grab the tongs and Arthur watches as he lifts the two pails down onto the hearth, spilling some of one slightly. The mud on his skin has mostly dried into pale brown streaks. Some of the wetter mud is smeared from Arthur's hands. Merlin stands back up, turning back to Arthur. He hesitates for the briefest moment before sliding hands across Arthur's shoulders.
“Well, we can heat it up again later,” he says, laughing. Arthur shakes his head.
“And so are you going to wash my sheets to get the mud out of them?” Arthur asks, seeing Merlin's eyes widen slightly at the implication. His grin grows wider though and Arthur presses his own hands to the dip at the bottom of Merlin's back.
“Of course I am,” Merlin says. “I'm your manservant.” The word suddenly seems to have meanings that Arthur had never thought of.
“And you're the worst manservant I've ever had, Merlin,” he says because Merlin's smile is so smug and knowing.
Merlin shrugs, “I know,” he says happily. And then they're kissing again and Arthur really doesn't care how smug Merlin is.
*
Arthur wakes up slowly and immediately knows that something isn't normal. The arm clamped tight around him isn't usually there and the face pressed into the pillow next to him isn't a usual fixture. But as Merlin starts to wake up, Arthur really hopes that it will become so.