Dewiniaeth - Part Four
Part One Part Two Part Three
In a show of willpower that will probably never be repeated, they keep their hands off each other for the walk to Arthur's chambers. Arthur watches Merlin out of the corner of his eye and suspects he's controlling more than just the same urges that Arthur himself is; tapestries rise in a non-existent breeze, torches flare as they hurry by, and he would swear Merlin's eyes glow gold every now and then.
Merlin pauses at the door to Arthur's room to tell a passing servant that, apparently, 'his highness won't require waking up in the morning, orders of the king.' Arthur spares a moment to admire Merlin's foresight, then wraps a hand around his wrist and yanks him into the room.
"If he saw that-"
"He'd assume what everyone else is already thinking."
Merlin lifts an eyebrow. "True. What's with you and pushing me against walls?"
"It's not a wall," Arthur points out, "it's a door. Why, are you objecting?" He pushes Merlin's legs apart slightly with his thigh, pressing in and up. Merlin's breathing quickens, eyes going wide.
"Not-not especially, but there's a perfectly good bed over there." Arthur takes a certain amount of satisfaction in making Merlin sound breathless in such a short time, but due to probably being helped along by the spell, decides he can do better.
"Are you-did you and Gar-I mean-" Where did that come from, and at such a moment?
Merlin's got some of his composure back, rolling his eyes. "We did, you prat, and it's not really polite to ask."
"I was just wondering! I don't want to hurt you, or anything. I'm not in the habit of deflowering maidens, whatever the sorceress thinks."
"I'm not a maiden in either body, thank you very much," says Merlin tartly. Arthur stares at him.
"But, the unicorn..."
"If enough people believe in a legend, it can become true. The legend of the unicorns was written by some very narrow-minded men who either didn't know or ignored the...other way of no longer being virginal."
"What-" the dawning comprehension on Arthur's makes Merlin burst into laughter, dropping his head onto Arthur's shoulder and shaking with it. "I'm not sure I like that," he hears himself say, and just like that the cloying sense of magic rises around them. It's much stronger than it was before, at the feast, and much more invasive. Arthur can feel it on his skin, sliding over him as Merlin raises his head and looks at him with eyes tinged gold.
"Is that so?" Nimueh's magic seems to have affected him more; he looks nothing like the Merlin Arthur knows and gets exasperated with. The Merlin looking back at him now, caught between the door and Arthur, is a fey thing, wild-eyed with a teasing mouth, brazen in the way he tilts forward to press himself against Arthur.
Arthur groans, and Merlin falls back onto the door with a thud. "This is what the dragon meant, isn't it, about the rest of her spell." He's battling something, obvious in the way his eyes flash gold and his hands, either holding Arthur close or keeping him a vital distance away, clench on the solid muscles of his arms.
"I imagine so. Are you alright?"
The tainted magic around them objects to this conversation, energy wasted on words when it could be used for other things. It curls over Arthur's skin with more pressure, filling his senses with a metallic smell, glimmers of something at the corner of his vision, the bits not taken up by Merlin.
Merlin who looks like everything Arthur has ever wanted, and why did it take him being turned into a girl for him to see it?
The admission gives the magic an opening, and in any other circumstances Arthur would be horrified at how easy it is for him to be caught in a spell. Not now, though, not when he's being compelled to nip and suck at the column of Merlin's neck, to make the already-fading mark he'd left there bigger and bolder, to elicit those delightful gasps from that pale throat.
Arthur frees his mouth long enough to ask: "Do you trust the dragon?" then lowers his head again, trailing his tongue over the line of faint marks he's just made. Merlin is silent, breath coming in uneven bursts. Arthur pulls back to look at him, not enough to lose any body contact, but enough to see Merlin's face.
"Do you?" Merlin's voice is shaky, his control still holding but minimal.
"Yes." Arthur sees the exact moment Merlin gives in, lets Nimueh's magic take control. His flickering eyes settle, the ring of gold the only outward sign that he's probably capable of freeing himself from Arthur's hold with a mere word. Arthur half-expects him to do this, for Nimueh to have meant for Merlin to kill him swiftly, to be stuck as a girl for ever once Arthur is dead.
Instead Merlin moves his hands to the back of Arthur's neck and pulls him in for a searing kiss, body pressed tight against his and breaking the last of Arthur's well-honed control into fragments. Crown Prince or not, there is no way he could resist the slide of Merlin's tongue against his own, or the heat of his lips.
It's every bit as intense at their kiss in the dragon's cave, except warmer and with more chance of continuing beyond.
At least, Arthur had thought there was, but Merlin is pushing him back again - with hands pressed flat against his chest this time, not magic - and moving away from the door. "What the hell?" says Arthur somewhat hoarsely, "I thought we'd got past the pushing away part."
"We have. But while I still have a say in the matter, I'd rather not do this against a wall." He pauses, eyes flicking over Arthur's body in a way he'd be willing to give pretty much anything for the proper Merlin to do. "At least, not the first time."
"Oh. Good."
Merlin grins and steps out of reach as Arthur makes a grab for him, skirts swirling but somehow not tripping over them. Arthur growls, which only makes Merlin grin even more, and applies diversionary tactics. Namely, he feints going one way, changes direction swiftly, and gets Merlin pinned against one of the posts on his bed.
Why that should be a catalyst, as compared to what else they've been doing Arthur can't and doesn't care to understand, but it is, and he finds himself divested of coat, tunic and skirt in very quick succession, Merlin's fingers like brands as they flick over fastenings and slide the clothing off.
Arthur turn Merlin round, kisses the back of his neck just to hear another delightful gasp and see the way he grasps tightly at the bedpost. The laces keeping the dress tight on Merlin's body are a nuisance, keeping Arthur from skin, and he works at getting them undone.
At least, he tries to.
Merlin gasps and laughs, twisting his arm back so he can stop Arthur. "That's the wrong way, you idiot. How have you ever bedded a woman if you can't get her dress off?"
"They usually did it themselves" Arthur says, then sucks in air as Merlin's hand returns to hold the bedpost and the laces start coming undone, revealing the line of Merlin's spine with tantalising slowness. He swallows hard at the knowledge that Merlin has been bare underneath his dress the entire night. Merlin's back is tantalisingly pale, broken only by a few long healed scars that Arthur makes sure to pay attention to as he sinks to his knees.
Merlin groans as Arthur kiss the curve at the base of his spine, hands solid and hot on his hips as he gets turned around and pressed back against the post again. Arthur looks up at him, arousal gliding through his blood, renewing his grip on those tempting hips. Merlin's smile has a twist to it that makes a curl of something darker makes itself known the pit of Arthur's stomach.
"Well well, look at this. The Prince of Camelot on his knees." It's not Merlin's voice, but it's not Nimueh's either. It's what Merlin could become, given time and the freedom to be the sorcerer Arthur knows he has the potential to be. Even with the feminine tone it's powerful and more than a little possessive.
It turns the arousal to burning lust, Merlin's eyes reflecting the animalistic need Arthur knows is showing in his own. He pulls sharply on the fabric of Merlin's dress and watches it pool to the floor, letting his gaze slide up, up, up to where Merlin is still looking down at him with that mocking expression.
Neither of them remember much after that. The night dissolves into a dizzy haze of sweat, sounds and skin, all bound together by the sweep of magic. They can feel it in the very atmosphere around them every time they pull in much needed air, but more than that Merlin can feel it tangling around the sensations Arthur wrings from him, body arching and moving almost without his consent, and Arthur can feel it sparking from Merlin's fingers where they clutch at his back.
Nimueh knows her magic; Merlin speaks nonsense words, harsh guttural syllables that Arthur cannot understand but nevertheless fears, reacts to them the same way he reacts to everything that he fears: he conquers. Catches Merlin's wrists and presses them above his head, bites his way down Merlin's neck to reach high, flushed peaks that beg for attention from his mouth.
Merlin groans, the words meant to kill spilling from his mouth and getting caught in the dragon's web of old magic. Arthur's tongue slides lower and lower to touch against what is apparently a vitally sensitive part of the female anatomy, wringing a sobbing cry from Merlin and making the words glow with the fire of a dozen torches.
Light and heat is mostly what they will remember; words that bind instead of kill, glimpses of the way Merlin's legs curled around Arthur's waist to the sound of an ornament breaking, the way Merlin's magic had slid over them like liquid metal and replaced blood with fire as they moved together.
Deep below the castle the dragon senses the swirl and roar of magic being allowed to race wild between two people who really should've got a clue before now, and rests his head on his claws contentedly.
Then lifts it again in irritation. Consummating the Bond between two Souls Intertwined by Destiny is all well and good, but this many times?
Anyone would think they actually like each other.
--
Arthur wakes to the dim dawn light, the sound of birds, and the uneasy feeling of someone who has been exposed to a lot of magic and wasn't quite ready for it. He props himself up to look at Merlin's disgrace of a bedhead, and thinks, I wasn‘t quite ready for you either.
Because it's such a nice morning, and because he's still a bit of a prat, he pokes Merlin awake.
Merlin says "nngrmph?" and turns over, rubbing his eyes in a way anyone not the dignified Crown Prince would think adorable. "You, and by that I mean we, are not meant to be awake this early," he complains, pushing himself into a sitting position. Arthur blinks.
"And you're not meant to be a girl." Then: "Is that my nightshirt?"
"I got cold," he replies through a yawn. "What do you mean, not a-" Merlin looks down. Arthur looks with him, and probably appreciates the sight a whole lot more. As good as Merlin had looked in the dress last night (Arthur must remember to thank Gwen for that, because there is no way Merlin had picked it for himself), and as even better he'd looked out of the dress, Merlin first thing in the morning might be Arthur's favourite.
Might have been for some time, actually, although not quite like this.
The plain cotton nightshirt clings and hints in all the right places, the curves of Merlin's still-female body highlighted in silhouette by the fire impossibly still warming his chambers. It's an entirely glorious sight, and it makes Arthur's mouth water.
This, of course, leads to Arthur silencing Merlin's rant about blasted sorceress' who can't get even one spell right, and isn't it time he was allowed the easy way out for once? by kissing him senseless and sliding down between his legs to repeat the application of his tongue to certain soft folds and that deliciously responsive nub that had made Merlin tense and scream, and possibly make the walls of the room shake.
Only after Merlin recovers from nearly blacking out, returns the favour to Arthur with similar results, and they kiss until both feel lightheaded does Arthur answer Merlin's broken-off question. "Yes, you're still a girl."
Merlin hits him.
Arthur really regrets teaching him how to do that.
"I'd- oh, gods, no." Whatever Merlin was about to say is lost as his face contorts in pain, body curling inwards. Arthur leans over him in sudden fear, remembering a time like this not so long ago.
"Merlin?"
"It's the spell, it's-oh gods, it hurts." Merlin shakes- no, shudders, his whole body wracked with spasms accompanied by pained whimpers. They aren't sounds Arthur ever wants Merlin to make while in his bed - or anywhere else, for that matter. He reaches out to touch Merlin's shoulder but jerks his hand back in shock.
Merlin's skin is... well, burning, but not the right kind of burning. It's more like an ice burn, the sort Arthur gets when he isn't careful with his armour in the winter and lets it touch bare skin for too long. It's white-hot and, honestly, terrifying. Arthur pulls the bedcovers over Merlin, watches his eyelids flicker as he fights whatever this is.
No. Not whatever. Nimueh's spell, it has to be. "I'll get Gaius," he says, and tries not to notice how shaky his voice is. A Prince does not lose his calm, especially not over a servant-
"Like that's bothered you before." Merlin sounds raspy and far too quiet, but as insubordinate as ever. Arthur smiles tightly. "Don't get Gaius; he'd only worry, and he can't-he can't do anything."
"Is this her doing?"
"Yes." Merlin twists and arches, breathing going shallow as his already pale skin slowly goes dead white. "I think the dragon's spell delayed it, or is drawing the change out."
"What can I do?" Arthur has the suspicion that short of finding Nimueh and demanding she turn Merlin back to how he's supposed to be faster (in which case she's likely to take advantage and kill him herself), he won't be able to do anything. It's not a comforting thought.
"You could get the hell out," answers Merlin, who now appears to be glowing. Honestly, glowing. And- wait, what?
Arthur stares down at him, more than a little disturbed by how much he wants to touch but setting that aside for another, more opportune time. "If you think I'm leaving then you've clearly forgotten how attached I've become to you. Which is ridiculous, because you're an idiot and a buffoon and the worst manservant I've ever had."
"Arthur." Merlin's voice is soft but steady, the latticework of magic visible under his skin only serving to make Arthur want to reach out again. He may have a little bit of a thing for magic, or for Merlin's magic, both of which are thoughts he sets aside. "This could be dangerous."
"I don‘t care," replies Arthur fiercely.
"But I do."
"Clearly you've also forgotten how stubborn I am." He risks touching Merlin's cotton clad shoulder, bites his lip at the coldness emanating from it. "I'm staying, and I'm the Prince here, so you can't argue."
"Wouldn't dream of it" is the last thing Merlin says for quite some time, coherent words abandoned in favour of pathetic cries and gasping syllables that make the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck stand on end. Merlin's hands clench in the sheets, knuckles as white as his face as he battles whatever the spell is doing to him. Arthur can see it happening, can hear it, but cannot do anything to stop it.
He hates it.
Hates that this is happening to Merlin, who's never done anything other than help and protect him, who would seemingly have rather stayed a girl for the rest of his life than risk that Arthur would do as Nimueh predicted, who has been around for so long but never received the attention he deserves from Arthur.
Arthur has to force himself not to run and get Gaius, tells himself that Merlin is right not to worry the physician with something he can't fix. He settles down next to Merlin, lying alongside but not touching, tries to squash the urge to go and hit something, anything, even the wall as Merlin starts trembling.
"T-this is going to take a w-w-while," he gasps out, eyes once again gold-rimmed as he turns just enough to look at Arthur. "It's not meant" gasp "to be a pleas-" gasp "pleasant process."
"I am not-"
"Arthur." Arthur shuts up, because somewhere along the line he actually started listening to Merlin. "If you stay you'll only" gasp "get angry, and when you get an-" gasp "angry it never goes well for me."
"So, what, I'm just supposed to leave you here?" His voice doesn't break, it doesn‘t.
"For your own safety, yes."
"Merlin, I seriously doubt you could do anything to harm me." Arthur tries to sound as derisive as he usually does when saying something of that sort, and mostly succeeds. It's comforting, in a way.
"I'm holding back more magic than Uther has ever destroyed; do you really want to test me?" Merlin sounds stronger, angrier, like he had the previous night when looking at Arthur down on his knees. For a moment, a bare moment, his eyes flare fully gold and the stones of Camelot shake. Then his eyes squeeze shut, body tensing as he fights the lingering effects of Nimueh's magic.
Arthur lets out a heavy breath, wanting to argue but knowing his decision is made for him. He tucks a sweat damp strand of Merlin's girl-hair behind his ear, careful not to touch skin, and slides off the bed. The lack of comments about his laziness while he dresses makes something in his chest, already perilously tight, twist even further.
A glance at Merlin as he shrugs into his coat makes him stop. The web of magic has expanded, Merlin lying lax in the middle of it, like he can't fight any more. Arthur is by his side in an instant; he knows desperation is in his eyes, knows it because he feels as he did after Merlin drank the poison and Gaius told him in a gentle voice why Uther had looked at him that way.
Merlin opens his eyes, the gold almost painfully bright. "Go, you prat. Train, yell at your knights. Take Lord Kynan hunting and accidentally shoot him."
"That last had better only be a suggestion." Merlin smiles, barely.
"Well, he was very persistent. And he did keep touching me."
"Consider him dead." Arthur tells himself he doesn't sound jealous, and doesn't look like a lovestruck fool worrying over his beloved. Yet again he's only partially successful. Merlin's smile grows, but becomes a grimace as the glow flares. It touches Arthur's hand where he rests it slightly too close to Merlin, and he stares at the vivid mark.
"I'll make sure no one can get in, don't worry."
Arthur finds himself propelled towards the door, and cannot, no matter how hard he searches in his head for the rest of the day, find it in himself to ever want to betray Merlin's magic. The door shuts firmly behind him and he sags back against it, hands braced to keep himself upright.
This must be part of the spell, he thinks, must be part of Nimueh's spell that has also been delayed, this feeling in his chest that makes him want to tear into shreds anyone else who dares touch Merlin; Kynan and Gareth and Nimueh.
Then he remembers the poison, and Ealdor, and stops on his way to pick a weapon with which to beat his knights.
Oh.
Arthur might not like being a fool, but he's starting to understand that for Merlin he'll be just about anything.
--
Merlin wakes up with the feeling of being jolted back in time, because he feels exactly as he did all that time ago when he'd sat in front of Gaius and had to put up with an interrogation when he was feeling rather less than his best. He aches all over, skin feeling like it's stretched too tightly over his slightly different body.
Arthur's bed is a much better place to stretch out and try to get rid of some of the tension making him wince than his own would be, and Merlin takes full advantage. By the shadows on the wall the sun has just moved past midday, which means Arthur won't be back for quite a while yet; still sleepy and more than a little disorientated, Merlin follows a curious thread of his magic to Arthur and through it watches Arthur point the hunting party into the forest.
Merlin smiles as Arthur glares at the back of Lord Kynan's head, who looks none too happy about being flanked by several of Camelot's knights. Then the vision vanishes as Merlin wakes up properly and remembers he shouldn't be able to do that.
"Fantastic." He untangles the sheets from where his pained twisting had wrapped them around his body, then stands.
And immediately stumbles as he tries to walk briskly towards the door, conveniently forgetting he's dressed only in one of Arthur's nightshirts. Clearly he's going to have to relearn the equilibrium of his old body before he can go anywhere.
--
When Merlin does manage to regain his balance, and puts on actual clothes (his own; a summoning spell was necessary, and about the limit of what control he has right now, but it had worked) he makes his way down to the cave, thankful that most of the servants are either clearing up after last night's feast or preparing for the third and final one tonight.
"Hello?" he calls out into the cavernous space. "I wanted to thank you for what you did last night." The clanking of the chain and flap of leathery wings precedes the dragon as he emerges from the gloom, settling onto his customary rock and eyeing Merlin.
"Ensuring the Destiny of the young Pendragon and yourself, so that you both continue on the Path that Fate has-"
"Okay, yes, I know. Would it kill you to accept my thanks without capitalising anything?"
The dragon scrapes his claws over the rock with what would be irritation in a human, but looks like an imminent sign of fire breathing and roaring in a dragon. "When you're chained into a cave underneath a castle by a fool of a king, see how much you can think of to keep yourself occupied."
Merlin's never thought about it like that before. The dragon nods, following his thought with an ease born of many interactions. "Young warlock, you have much to learn."
"All I'm concerned with right now is learning this body." He props the burning torch against the wall and drops down to sit cross-legged at the edge of the ledge, trying not to think about the way he's sore where there isn't a place to be sore anymore.
"Show me your magic," the dragon rumbles, making the dragon equivalent of a chuckle when Merlin blanches and stares. "I can aid you in this, if you are willing to listen and not shout when something is not immediately clear."
And that's how Merlin spends his first day back as a guy, actually listening to the dragon and taking the time to work out what he means when he says stuff like 'let the sound of the Earth guide you' or 'Destiny is a web into which you are woven.'
Merlin's really starting to be concerned about how unflappable he is.
--
Gaius is not expecting Arthur to crash through the door to his workroom as the light fades from the sky.
He is not expecting Arthur to stride past him without so much as a nod to fling open the door to Merlin's small room.
And he most certainly isn't expecting Arthur to stride back to stand in front of him, place one hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of his sword and ask, very quietly (and therefore very dangerously): "I checked my chambers, and he was gone. Where is he?"
Gaius considers asking 'who', but decides he likes life without any injuries. "Am I to understand that he spent the night with you?" It does not, however, prevent him from being curious.
"Yes," answers Arthur tightly, "and as you can see, I'm alive. Merlin, on the other hand-"
"Is alive and well and back as he should be." Arthur turns sharply, hand not leaving his sword. Gaius peers over his shoulder and sees a Merlin he's not seen... well, ever, truly. He's pretty sure the Merlin before Nimueh's blasted spell had never leant against the doorframe with such a provocative air, nor smiled with such a predatory twist.
Gaius is reminded, somewhat perplexingly, of Arthur.
"Where did you go?" The prince's back is facing him, but his tone is enough to tell Gaius all he needs to know. Anger, annoyance and worry blend seamlessly into a hot possessiveness that should make Gaius feel uncomfortable, and should definitely make Merlin uncomfortable and bemused, like every other thing Arthur does always seems to.
It does neither.
It makes several things fall into place for Gaius, and it makes Merlin's grin just a little sharper. He knows what's going on, that much is obvious, and the tilt of his hips as he pushes away from the doorframe only encourages it. Arthur takes a step forward, making Gaius think he should vacate swiftly for the sake of his poor old eyes - and then, with one of her customary flourishes, Morgana interrupts.
"Gaius, have you- oh, Arthur, there you are." She appears oblivious to the tension between the two boys; Gaius reconsiders the strength of her gifts. "Uther wants to see you, about the business with Lord Kynan."
She's gone in a flash of silks, and Merlin lifts an eyebrow. "You didn't really kill him, did you?"
"Like I'd waste a spear on him." Gaius is glad to see Arthur keeps his hands to himself as he passes Merlin on his way out. "You're to come with me, obviously."
"Obviously, sire."
The honorific has probably never sounded so dirty.
--
"In light of your conduct this afternoon, my lord, I can say without doubt that you are much reduced in my estimation." Uther is in full regal mode, lips pressed tightly together and holding court like only he can. "I am not entirely certain that Camelot wishes to make treaties with someone who has so little honour."
Arthur leans against his favourite pillar and hopes that Merlin doesn't step near to ask what the hell is going on. That he doesn't is fairly worrying in itself; it means he's most likely guessed, and is saving his comments for when he can safely call Arthur prat and get away with it. Arthur attempts to focus on what his father is saying and ignores Merlin, just visible in his peripheral vision.
This becomes a lot more difficult when Merlin moves, now entirely visible and entirely too tempting for Arthur's self-control. He's in his old- no, his normal clothes, the customary scarf making Arthur long to find out if Merlin's neck still bears the wide bruise he'd taken such pleasure in putting there. Uther condemns (in a non 'this will lead to pain' way) Lord Kynan, and Merlin folds his hands behind his back, his fingers laced through each other.
Arthur swallows heavily at the remembrance of those fingers on his skin, and hastily looks away. Now is not the time to remember what those long, clever fingers can do, except it really is, because Merlin shifts to wrap those selfsame fingers around his wrists, holding them exactly as Arthur had last night, and it's- Uther just called his name.
Arthur wrenches his mind away from Merlin and looks up - to meet Merlin's innocent gaze. Blue eyes meet clear brown, and Uther beckons him forward. "Yes, father?"
"I am right in saying that the maid in question has left Camelot?" No, Arthur wants to say, she‘s still here, just not, and is licking her lips in an attempt to destroy my sanity.
"Yes," he says instead, resolving to punish Merlin most severely for this. At that thought a memory of Merlin on the ledge in the dragon's cave returns to him, wrists held out for the shackles. It makes his blood heat and start to travel lower, and Merlin knows because his eyes darken and his smile turns just a little sharper.
Apparently that's all his father wanted; Uther's moved on to verbally tear Lord Kynan into pieces, and literally tear the treaty up. Arthur spares a brief thought for Ceridwen but carefully doesn't look her way; marriageable age or not, she's nowhere near ready to catch what he knows must be in his eyes right now.
He turns it on Merlin instead, and gets a very satisfactory widening of the warlock's (oh, how that sends a shiver up his spine) eyes.
"We shall meet again to discuss a treaty when you have learnt civility and respect for the customs of my land; treating a serving girl, especially that of Prince Arthur, as a common whore is not tolerated, and neither is starting a brawl with my son in the middle of a hunting foray. Take your knights and leave; we shall meet again in one year."
"Your majesty." Arthur takes probably too much enjoyment of knowing Lord Kynan can't bow properly because he landed a particularly vicious blow to the lord's ribcage, and that the black eye won't go down for at least two weeks - plenty of time for him to be back in his own estates, and for all to see the results of his diplomatic mission.
"The mercenaries stay." Uther's voice is like a whipcrack. Lord Kynan doesn't bother protesting, simply cuts a look of hatred in Arthur's direction as he gestures for the men to remain in the hall as he and his retinue of bound knights exit.
Uther stands, signalling an end to the meeting as he nods for his clerk to see to the mercenaries. They troop out as one body, and Arthur can't help but look at them with the eyes of a man who will have to train them into a proper fighting force.
"Merlin." Uther's voice snaps him back, makes him automatically stand straighter even though he isn't being addressed. Merlin steps closer and waits, close enough to Arthur that he can look like a deferential servant but still drive Arthur mad with the heat of his body. "I trust all is well in Ealdor?"
Merlin nearly laughs at the repetition. "Yes, your majesty."
"And your cousin? I notice you are here and she is not."
"She left early this afternoon, your majesty; I returned late this morning. No sense in wasting daylight, after all."
Arthur bites down on his laughter. For all Merlin claims he can't lie, he sure knows how to edit the truth when he wants to. Uther nods, something approaching a smile on his face. "I must say, it is good to see you back here. For one thing it's more appropriate a situation for my son" they both bite down on laughter at that, "and for another life seems to be more... interesting when you're around, Merlin."
"Of course, your majesty." Merlin grins and bows in a way he never bothers to for Arthur. He prays that's it, that he can finally drag Merlin off somewhere and make sure that this Merlin is truly as well as he claims he is.
Either his father can read his mind and wants him to never have any pleasure, or he's utterly oblivious to the tension between them.
On second thoughts, Arthur hopes it's the latter.
"Good. Now, Arthur, you should prepare for the feast."
"You're going ahead with it?"
Uther looks up from the papers that he has returned to, frowning slightly. "Of course. It's a harvest celebration, regardless of whether Lord Kynan is here or not."
"Right, of course."
--
If he'd thought the previous night's feast was bad, then this one is excruciating. They hadn't spoken at all when getting Arthur ready by unspoken assent; for his part, Arthur knows that if Merlin had said anything he would've been flat against the nearest wall (yes, okay, he has a thing about doing that), and they never would have made it to the feast.
It's almost mocking in it's repetitiveness. He sits through toast after toast from visiting nobles that haven't been disgraced, listens to interminably boring conversations with ladies he wishes would stop flirting and grow old gracefully, dances with a quietly smug Morgana - who still hasn't asked for her favour, worryingly - and sits through yet more conversations with court maidens who pale in comparison to the boy talking with Gwen at the other end of the room.
Arthur circles round as soon as is polite, stepping behind Merlin and relishing the shiver that runs through him when Arthur speaks. "Does this all seem a little..."
"Samey?"
"I was going to say repetitive, but why use a long word when you can make one up." Merlin grins, turning under the pretext of offering him a goblet of wine. His eyes offer something different, though, and Arthur fights down his rising arousal.
"Arthur." Uther can still move as quietly as a hunter when he needs to, which seems to amount to when he wants to interrupt a moment rapidly falling into the nearest gutter. "You can leave if you want to, you've done your duty."
Arthur doesn't bother with a show of deference; Uther's eyes have passed over them, his sharp mind seeing and understanding what they've only just begun to piece together. His dismissal is more than a release for the Prince; it's his approval for the boy.
Arthur waits for any further words, suppresses a completely undignified shout of victory (that's not stupid, no matter what Merlin thinks) when his father turns away to talk to some other noble. His pace is fast but not hurried as he makes his way to his chambers, Merlin matching him step for step.
Merlin doesn't bother complaining about being pressed against the door this time, letting Arthur pin him with hips and strong hands, lips and teeth clashing. It's not the same as before, last night and that morning, and it takes Arthur's breath away. Well, what little he has left from their kisses, that is.
"You don't have to be careful, you know," says Merlin breathlessly, "I'm fine."
Arthur pulls back from where he was pressing kisses against Merlin's (stronger) jaw and looks at him. "You were a girl this morning."
"And now I'm not. Funny how magic works, isn't it." He tilts his hips, presses forward a little, and ohhh, Arthur definitely wants to explore this Merlin as much as he had the other one. He resists pushing back like he wants to, sticks with rolling his hips a little and watching Merlin's eyes go glassy.
"You still might be-"
"Arthur. I am not a girl. Again. And I'm not fragile; I'm not going to sodding break."
"But-" Why, why, why is he arguing? Merlin may have been right about his noble moments.
"If you don't fuck me, or do something equally good, then I will find someone who will. Sir Gawain might-" Arthur knows Merlin knows what he's doing, playing on Arthur's newly discovered (or at least newly accepted) possessiveness, and shuts him up with a hard kiss before he makes it any worse. Merlin gives as good as he gets, matching Arthur's force with enough of his own that Arthur automatically shoves him just a little harder against the damn door.
Merlin makes a small sound into Arthur's mouth, hands tightening almost to the point of pain in his hair, and Arthur breaks away, panting. Merlin looks thoroughly debauched, (flat) chest heaving as he tries to move his hips. Arthur glances down, unable to help himself.
Merlin is most definitely male again, and Arthur has his hips pushed hard against the wood with an iron grip formed from being trained to kill since birth. He looks up to see Merlin watching him with an almost hungry expression.
Arthur smirks. "You're not getting me on my knees again." Total lie, and Merlin knows it.
"Is that so?" Merlin shifts, hooks his foot behind Arthur's leg, and he really should've seen that one coming as he stumbles forward to end up pressed against Merlin from chest to toe, the most wonderful friction building as Merlin gently moves his hips. "I think you could be persuaded."
He really can be.
Clothes literally remove themselves from his body, and holy gods he's going to have to get Merlin to do a lot of magic in front of him, because if they're ever in a combat situation and he sees those eyes flickering gold, well. He definitely won't be concentrating on the right things, that's for sure.
Merlin walks him backwards while he's still lost in the shimmer of magic, back until Arthur's knees hit the edge of the bed and he ends up on his back with a lapful of Merlin. "This is possibly the best feast I've ever been to."
Merlin quirks an eyebrow, utters syllables that make it impossible for Arthur to keep thinking straight as he's pulled until his head hits the pillows, body stretched out and feeling like he's on display. Which he is, in a way; Merlin crawls until he's braced over Arthur, eyes hot and dark as they take in the view.
"Why," asks Arthur lowly, pulling Merlin close by the simple method of a hand behind his neck, "are you still dressed? I'm sure it's a crime to be dressed while I'm not."
"Is that so?" Merlin leans down for the briefest of kisses, palm improbably cool against Arthur's cheek. The rustle of coarse cloth and the startling sensation of rough friction against certain... sensitive parts of Arthur makes him gasp sharply. Merlin sniggers. "What, you don't like it?"
"You, besides being a shite servant, are a bloody tease," accuses Arthur, the words lifting into breathlessness at the end as Merlin's hand wraps around his cock. Cool fingers on hot skin feels so wonderful Arthur can't see for a moment, vision going white as his eyes roll back. Merlin's hand is slow and teasing, as if Arthur expected anything else after saying that, and it makes him drag Merlin down for a kiss so he doesn't give in to the begging words gathering at the back of his throat.
Merlin grins against his mouth, takes his hand away and trails his fingers up to flick over Arthur's nipples, as talented as he'd been before but more sure of himself. Arthur forces his eyes open, and stares in unashamed possessiveness at the sight in front of him.
Pale skin covering lean muscles that he takes a private pride in, because without Arthur forcing Merlin to train he wouldn't have this whipcord strength to him that allows him to resist, even for a moment, the hands Arthur wraps around his upper arms to drag him down. They lie flush against each other, time and their kisses slowing down as they learn this with a slightly different way of fitting together.
Arthur grins at the canopy of his bed as a thought strikes him, Merlin intent on wringing shivers and moans from him by biting his way along Arthur's collarbones. He gathers enough of his mind together to ask: "So, I could order you to do your chores without magic now, right?"
Merlin does something with his hips that makes Arthur's vision go blurry at the edges, and sits back. "You could. But why," he asks, eyes flashing gold, "would you want to when magic has so many uses?"
Arthur is not surprised when he tries to sit up and can't. "You consider me a chore?" he asks instead of struggling. Merlin doesn't reply, simply tilts his head and bites his lip. "Merlin, come on, let me up."
"But this is so much more fun."
"I am ordering you to let me go, and as I'm the prince and not you, you have to obey." It's never worked before, never has done, and doesn't work now. Merlin slides down the bed, propping himself between Arthur's legs, arms resting along his thighs and hands tight on Arthur's hips. Arthur does not whimper, because that would be undignified.
"And you're in a position to be giving orders, are you?" Arthur never gets a chance to answer, because Merlin's mouth is on his cock, hot and wet and Arthur is going to kill whoever taught Merlin how to do this because it's not fair that someone got to feel it first, got Merlin first.
Merlin slides his mouth off with an obscene noise. "Stop working out how to kill whoever taught me this." There's an edge to his voice that Arthur simultaneously wants to hear over and over, and never wants to hear again, because it tells him that the person is already dead. Merlin's luscious mouth closes over him again, and the feeling of his throat as he takes Arthur's cock all the way in is almost enough to make the prince damn near sob.
It's wonderful and perfect and everything Arthur needs after being wound so tightly by Merlin through the feast, but then Merlin stops. A modicum of coherency returns to Arthur as Merlin crawls back up to kneel over him, so close but not quite touching.
"You've stopped," says Arthur accusingly. Merlin's grin is wicked as he tilts his head questioningly.
"I'm sorry, sire," he draws the word out. Arthur shivers. "I thought, maybe, you'd like to try the request I made earlier."
Arthur struggles to remember, but it's in vain. He glares wordlessly at Merlin, still a teasing distance away. At least, he is until he moves a leg between Arthur's and presses up. Arthur's groan is choked off as Merlin leans down to whisper in his ear: "I told you to fuck me."
Whether by design or by virtue of feeling as overwhelmed as Arthur does, as he speaks the words Merlin releases the hold his magic has on Arthur - who blesses his reflexes as they allow him to have Merlin on his back within seconds of being able to move again.
"This feels familiar." Arthur grins down at Merlin, twisting his hips to watch Merlin flush and feel him shudder.
There's something to be said for a straightforward approach; Merlin's eyes spark gold and a pot of oil Arthur forgets the original use of lifts itself from its place and hovers insistently by Merlin's shoulder. Arthur raises an eyebrow as he pushes Merlin's legs apart, reaching for the pot which has helpfully removed its lid.
"I'm probably," gasps Merlin as Arthur's finger press against and into him, "the only person who can compare-more, please, more," his mouth opens wide in a silent cry as Arthur pushes another finger in, staring down at Merlin with a hot possessiveness in his eyes that's only been fueled by the display of magic, "what you're like when bedding a man and a woman" Arthur tries for three fingers and growls at the implications when Merlin takes them easily, biting sharply at his collarbone, "from firsthand experience, Arthur please."
It goes like so many other situations of this sort have gone before; Merlin takes Arthur's hard thrusts with a sharp gasp and long fingers pressing against Arthur's back, keeping him close for burning kisses. He encourages Arthur with rough words, only some of which are understandable and some of which add to the thickening atmosphere of magic around them.
Arthur lifts his head from nipping at Merlin's neck long enough to ask "you're not going to set the bed on fire, are you?" in a strained voice. Merlin doesn't answer him directly, whispers a spell that takes what he's feeling and loops it to Arthur, a useful spell on its own but right now...it's priceless.
The magic, and accompanying flash in Merlin's eyes, makes Arthur groan and pull Merlin's legs higher around his hips, one hand left to support him as the other slide between them to firmly slide his hand along Merlin's dick and send him shuddering over the edge that Arthur can see looming.
Merlin's hands stay tight on his back as his hips stutter and he loses the rhythm, heedless of causing pain as he bites down on Merlin's shoulder to muffle the hoarse scream lodged in his throat. Merlin speaks, another spell or nonsense words, Arthur doesn‘t care, but it tips him over and sends him into blinding ecstasy.
He feels far too many hands tilt him to one side as he shakily lowers himself down, and Arthur dredges up a shiver at yet another flash of gold in the corner of his rapidly blurring vision. Merlin makes a small sound of satiation and contentment when Arthur drapes himself over him, wrapping himself around Merlin.
Merlin relishes the blissful feeling of being absolutely fucked out and follows Arthur into sleep; there'll be time for talk in the morning.
Later in the morning, if the last time they did this was any indication.
--
Part Five