Kink Me! #24

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Kink Me! #24
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To Belong 2/4

[anonymous]

Merlin doesn't even hear the footsteps until they come to a stop right in front of him. He wipes his eyes hastily, although he cannot disguise the misery on his face with his usual cheery blank smile in time, only hoping it's a friendly maid who won't tell, or mock.

It's Arthur. Of course it's Arthur, because fate hates him.

"Merlin, what on earth's the matter?" Merlin tries to scramble to his feet, but Arthur crouches down beside him, stilling him with a hand to his shoulder. He's serious, concerned, and that alone shows how awful he must look, that Arthur doesn't even attempt his usual 'useless manservant' routine. Merlin takes breath enough to respond, throat raw, and shakes the hand off.

"It's nothing, sire, I..."

"Is it your mother? Is she ill? I can send more guards to Ealdor if there's anything..."

"It's not my mother." Merlin sniffs, trying to compose himself, "She's quite well. Thank you." He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes to prevent more tears from escaping, willing away the sting of embarrassment at being caught crying like this. "Nobody's ill, or died, or anything like that. I'm just... It's nothing, truly." He looks up at Arthur, then, and manages to fake a smile. Arthur doesn't look convinced. He moves his hand back towards Merlin once more, and Merlin draws back. "Don't punch me in the arm again." The joke falls flat as Arthur's face furrows into a scowl.

"Has somebody hurt you, Merlin? Because you know if they have, you need only tell me and they'll be dealt with swiftly, I swear it."

He sounds so sincere, so righteous, Merlin's almost ashamed of the real reasons for his sudden crying fit. He's half revelling in Arthur's goodness, Arthur's desire to protect, half despairing.

"Nobody's hurt me," he assures Arthur, gaining control over his voice. "Except you, with that boot you threw this morning." This fresh attempt to lighten the mood fares no better. Arthur grows pensive.

"Merlin. Is it, were you... is it because of me? Is that why...?"

"No," Merlin says, but not quick enough, evidently. Because it is because of Arthur, although not in the way that he thinks. Everything is because of Arthur, and he can't think how he can possibly explain that without referencing the dragon, destiny, Albion, and his own hopeless infatuation, none of which Arthur can know about, not yet.

Arthur slides down the wall next to him, not touching, but close enough that Merlin thinks he can feel the heat from him. Arthur's breath mists the air between them.

"You know, I think you've got the right idea here, Merlin," he says, "A bit of peace and quiet. It's been a bit relentless, hasn't it?"

"I thought you would have enjoyed it. I don't mean your father being ill, obviously, but you know, hanging out with your knights, bossing people about, throwing things..."

"You're not going to let that go, are you, Merlin?"

"I don't know, I've let it go all the other times."

"Fine. I give you my oath, as Prince Regent of Camelot, that I, Arthur, will not throw any more boots at you, Merlin, manservant of the prince. Happy now?"

"Or cups," Merlin says, because for all the lies he's told so far he doesn't think he can manage to agree to being happy right now, even in jest.

"Or cups. Honestly, Merlin."