Four times Arthur doesn’t notice Merlin kissing him - and one time he kisses Merlin first.
Title: Four times Arthur doesn’t notice Merlin kissing him - and one time he kisses Merlin first.
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild/undetailed violence
Summary: Self-explanatory title! Four times + one time.
Because I've always wanted to do one of these. Pure self-indulgent fluffiness!
AO3
1.
The first time it happens, Merlin's helping Arthur put on his armour before a tournament, buckling the straps with careful sure fingers. The morning sun is shining in a shaft from the window, glancing across Arthur's golden hair and strong features so that he looks like a god, illuminated from within.
Earlier that morning, Arthur had smiled at Merlin, his blue eyes soft, and ruffled his hair and told him affectionately that he was the worst servant in the five kingdoms. There is a warm spot right in the middle of Merlin’s heart, warm like the shaft of sunlight, like Arthur’s wonderful laugh.
Merlin doesn’t mean to do it, but - but Arthur’s face is turned away, and there are little tendrils of golden hair brushing the back of his neck, and he’s so warm, so near and big and lovely, that Merlin loses his head, just a little bit. He bends his head over the buckles, right down low, and brushes his lips over Arthur’s back through layers of mail and cloth.
Arthur shifts, and for one terrifying moment Merlin thinks he must have seen. But then Arthur turns, and claps Merlin on the arm just in his usual way, with a smile in his eyes. And Merlin breathes again, and they go out shoulder to shoulder to the waiting tournament.
~
2.
The next time, Arthur’s lying unconscious on a stony beach, and Merlin’s heart is tearing itself in two because he thinks Arthur’s dying from a poisoned cup. And he screams and cries out against it, begging for the right to exchange his life for Arthur’s.
But the cup was never poison, after all, just a draught of sleep. And when it’s just the two of them, there with the waves crashing nearby, Merlin cradles Arthur’s limp sleeping form and traces the lines of Arthur’s face with his eyes, and twines Arthur’s fingers with his own to feel the first twitch of returning consciousness. He rocks Arthur a little, in his arms, Arthur’s head heavy and soft against Merlin’s chest, and it feels like he could burst with how much he loves him.
And then Arthur stirs and mumbles groggily, eyes still shut, and Merlin bows his head over him, his throat tight with tenderness. And Merlin’s been terrified, and kidnapped, wrung out, and thought Arthur was dying; and so he lets himself bend a little further and touch a butterfly-soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead.
And Arthur wakes, slowly, and opens surprised joyous eyes to Merlin’s face, and never knows.
~
3.
The third time, Merlin's just been held hostage by bandits.
They'd been running away, he and Arthur, and they're just getting away from their pursuers when Merlin feels a sharp red agony in his calf, and stumbles, with a little bitten-off cry. There's an arrow embedded deep into the muscle and flesh, and it hurts so much that there are waves of blackness rolling over his eyeballs.
He tries, desperately, to maintain consciousness, because he needs to be able to protect Arthur with his magic, and Arthur does stupid reckless things when Merlin's not there to watch him. But it's no use, the pain is too much, and he fades into the blackness with Arthur's frantic face in his mind, and the sound of Arthur's agonised voice calling his name.
~
When he comes back into his body, there are voices all around him - loud jeering voices, too close, too loud. And from further away, he hears Arthur's voice, humming with tightly controlled anger, negotiating.
There is cold steel at his throat, and rough arms holding him that are not Arthur's. He knows something is wrong, badly wrong, but there's so much pain, and his mind seems to be drifting in a separate space to his body, and he's so tired, so very, very tired. He tries to hang on to the most solid thing, which is that Arthur might be in danger, but he's helpless, drifting in and out of himself like some bit of jetsam on the tide.
Arthur's talking, somewhere far away, much too far away. He wants Arthur to be here, he wants to hold on to his Arthur and kiss Arthur's hands and face, and he tries calling for him, because surely Arthur will come. Now Arthur's roaring. Now he's talking again. It's so confusing. Something's jolting Merlin.
Then suddenly the rough arms are gone, and there's Arthur, and Merlin sobs with relief as he's gathered up like a child against Arthur's chest. 'Ar - Arthur,' he croaks, 'wanted you. So much.' He nearly blurts out that he loves Arthur, too, but the tiny scrap of sense that he still has left stops him. And Arthur cradles him close and presses Merlin's head against his mail shirt; and Merlin turns his face in muzzily and kisses him through the metal links, because Arthur is wonderful and magnificent and saved him, and Arthur will never notice.
~
4.
The fourth time is stupid, utter proof that Merlin is the biggest fool in Camelot with no sense of self-preservation. It's in the morning, and Merlin's just come in to wake Arthur up. And a slim rod of sunlight is shining through a crack in the curtains, and onto Arthur's bed, and Arthur - Arthur is warm and sleeping and golden and so beautiful that it makes something swell inside Merlin's chest as though it's going to burst.
He should waken Arthur. He is supposed to wake Arthur up now, cheerful and smiling, and bring him breakfast and dress him. But - just - he'll just take one moment, one moment to watch over Arthur as he sleeps, big and still and peaceful, all the worries of the kingdom smoothed away in his dreaming. Merlin stands by the side of the bed, half-hidden in the shadow of the draperies, feeling oddly guilty, as though he is stealing a moment that is not rightfully his. But the moment is sweet nonetheless.
He moves closer, ready to take Arthur's shoulder and shake him awake. And then Arthur shifts and mumbles in his sleep, flinging his arm out so it falls, limp and heavy, on Merlin's wrist. Merlin freezes, but Arthur sleeps on, his arm warm on Merlin's skin.
And Merlin loses his head again, because who could help doing so with Arthur so deliciously warm, sleeping, shirtless? He bends down over Arthur's hand, and he's kissing it softly, pouring all his love and longing into the tender touch of his lips; and then Arthur mumbles a little, sleepy, and Merlin's heart nearly stops.
He jolts back, breathing fast, heat flushing his cheeks and face. Arthur flexes slowly like a waking cat, and stretches, and yawns, opening eyes bleary with sleep. 'Merlin,' he says in a soft morning-rough voice; and Merlin busies himself with arranging Arthur's curtains, pulling them back with frantic clumsy fingers, imagining Arthur watching him in disgusted accusation.
But there's just soft silence, and the gentle sounds of Arthur shifting, waking himself up slowly. And when Merlin dares to look back, Arthur's lying back looking at the canopy above him with a vague little just-woken-up smile on his face; and Merlin untenses slowly and waits for his heart to stop pounding out of his chest, because, again, Arthur hasn’t noticed.
~
+ 1
Merlin is in the dungeon, and he can see the executioner sharpening his axe in the square outside. He'd only been in the wrong place at the wrong time - really, only that, this time, whatever Uther believed. And Gaius was deep in a magic-cast sleep, and somewhere in Camelot was a red-eyed fae, hell-bent on casting the entire kingdom into enchanted slumber. And Arthur was no-where to be found, and Merlin is terrified.
He can feel the enchanted tendrils of tiredness trying to seep into his very bones, and he struggles against it with all he has. If he falls first under the spell, will Uther have his sleeping body beheaded? He shudders.
Merlin's just about to give up all pretence, and magic his way out of the cell, when something - someone - lurches against the bars of the cell door; and Merlin realises with a great surge of warmth and love and relief that it's Arthur.
Arthur's pale and drawn and his eyes are heavy-looking, but he's fighting the enchantment hard. 'Merlin,' he says hoarsely, 'Oh, Merlin, thank God you're all right.' He fumblingly unlocks the door, and clangs it open; and then he's lunging toward Merlin, and pulling him safe and close. And Merlin barely has time to voice a squeak of surprise before Arthur's lips are fierce and hungry and wonderful on his own.
The kiss seems to sweep everything else away. Merlin’s sipping urgently at Arthur’s mouth, making little soft sounds of love and longing, his body melting in the circle of Arthur’s arms. He’s not sleepy any more, not in the slightest.
And then the air cracks and fills with a shriek of fury, and they break the kiss and spin round, still holding each other at shoulder and waist and hip. The fae is there, behind them, red-eyed in a corpse-white face, her hair as golden as Arthur’s. Her fingers curve into claws.
‘Arthur Pendragon,’ she says softly, and then spits, face quivering with malevolence. ‘Arthur Pendragon! Oh, Arthur Pendragon, do you know who he is, your true love, then? Your kiss may have broken my hold on Camelot, but despair, royal human-child, despair.’
‘No - no!’ Merlin says desperately, and tries to pull away from Arthur, but Arthur holds him fast.
The fae is fading, translucent. But her voice is still quite clear as she says, ‘A sorcerer, your true love, Arthur Pendragon. Despair!’
And she is gone, and Merlin makes an odd choked sound in his throat and wrenches out of Arthur’s slackened grip, shrinking away.
‘I wanted - I wanted to tell you,’ he says, desperate, pleading, because it had all been so perfect, a moment ago, and now everything is falling to dust. ‘Arthur - Arthur, please.’ And he presses his knuckles against his mouth to stop himself from sobbing aloud.
Arthur’s looking at him, straight at him, his face unreadable. ‘It’s - it’s true then? Merlin -’ he says, and bites himself off at the end of the sentence as though he had been going to say more. Merlin nods shakily, and waits.
Arthur moves forward, slowly, as though he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal, holding out the palm of his hand in an odd pacifying gesture. Merlin trembles.
And then Arthur’s reaching and wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin, holding him, and after a moment Merlin gulps and sniffles and grabs back, clinging on to Arthur as though he’s a rock in a storm. ‘I can’t help it,’ he whispers, ‘I use - I use it for you, Arthur, I was born with it, I can’t help it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘Shh,’ says Arthur quietly. ‘Shh.’ A pause, and then, ‘Merlin - why didn’t you tell me?’ He sounds sad, and hurt, and Merlin sniffles again, into Arthur’s shoulder.
‘I wanted to,’ he says again, softly, begging for Arthur to understand, to forgive him. ‘I wanted to, every day, but I thought you’d - you’d -’ He breaks off.
Then Arthur is pulling him around and clasping the back of his head, tenderly, as though Merlin’s the most precious thing in the world. ‘Don’t you dare ever lie to me again,’ he says, and then kisses him.
~
‘True love,’ Merlin says breathlessly, when they break for air.
Arthur laughs and nuzzles at Merlin’s cheekbone. ‘It broke the spell. Woke them all up. That kiss!’
‘But - Arthur! Oh, I can’t - can’t think - when you do that! True love - doesn’t that surprise you even a little?’
‘Not at all, why should it?’
‘A-Arthur!’
‘Come on, Merlin, you’ve been kissing me for months now. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.’
‘What?’
‘Merlin, there was a mirror, that time before the tournament. After that, I kept noticing. And honestly, did you really think I was fully asleep?’
~
End
Yes, I know, silly and soft and fluffy. But I am silly and soft and fluffy. :)
Sorry for forgetting the cut the first time, mods, it was me being a ditz. :P
greymantledlady's fic masterlist
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild/undetailed violence
Summary: Self-explanatory title! Four times + one time.
Because I've always wanted to do one of these. Pure self-indulgent fluffiness!
AO3
1.
The first time it happens, Merlin's helping Arthur put on his armour before a tournament, buckling the straps with careful sure fingers. The morning sun is shining in a shaft from the window, glancing across Arthur's golden hair and strong features so that he looks like a god, illuminated from within.
Earlier that morning, Arthur had smiled at Merlin, his blue eyes soft, and ruffled his hair and told him affectionately that he was the worst servant in the five kingdoms. There is a warm spot right in the middle of Merlin’s heart, warm like the shaft of sunlight, like Arthur’s wonderful laugh.
Merlin doesn’t mean to do it, but - but Arthur’s face is turned away, and there are little tendrils of golden hair brushing the back of his neck, and he’s so warm, so near and big and lovely, that Merlin loses his head, just a little bit. He bends his head over the buckles, right down low, and brushes his lips over Arthur’s back through layers of mail and cloth.
Arthur shifts, and for one terrifying moment Merlin thinks he must have seen. But then Arthur turns, and claps Merlin on the arm just in his usual way, with a smile in his eyes. And Merlin breathes again, and they go out shoulder to shoulder to the waiting tournament.
~
2.
The next time, Arthur’s lying unconscious on a stony beach, and Merlin’s heart is tearing itself in two because he thinks Arthur’s dying from a poisoned cup. And he screams and cries out against it, begging for the right to exchange his life for Arthur’s.
But the cup was never poison, after all, just a draught of sleep. And when it’s just the two of them, there with the waves crashing nearby, Merlin cradles Arthur’s limp sleeping form and traces the lines of Arthur’s face with his eyes, and twines Arthur’s fingers with his own to feel the first twitch of returning consciousness. He rocks Arthur a little, in his arms, Arthur’s head heavy and soft against Merlin’s chest, and it feels like he could burst with how much he loves him.
And then Arthur stirs and mumbles groggily, eyes still shut, and Merlin bows his head over him, his throat tight with tenderness. And Merlin’s been terrified, and kidnapped, wrung out, and thought Arthur was dying; and so he lets himself bend a little further and touch a butterfly-soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead.
And Arthur wakes, slowly, and opens surprised joyous eyes to Merlin’s face, and never knows.
~
3.
The third time, Merlin's just been held hostage by bandits.
They'd been running away, he and Arthur, and they're just getting away from their pursuers when Merlin feels a sharp red agony in his calf, and stumbles, with a little bitten-off cry. There's an arrow embedded deep into the muscle and flesh, and it hurts so much that there are waves of blackness rolling over his eyeballs.
He tries, desperately, to maintain consciousness, because he needs to be able to protect Arthur with his magic, and Arthur does stupid reckless things when Merlin's not there to watch him. But it's no use, the pain is too much, and he fades into the blackness with Arthur's frantic face in his mind, and the sound of Arthur's agonised voice calling his name.
~
When he comes back into his body, there are voices all around him - loud jeering voices, too close, too loud. And from further away, he hears Arthur's voice, humming with tightly controlled anger, negotiating.
There is cold steel at his throat, and rough arms holding him that are not Arthur's. He knows something is wrong, badly wrong, but there's so much pain, and his mind seems to be drifting in a separate space to his body, and he's so tired, so very, very tired. He tries to hang on to the most solid thing, which is that Arthur might be in danger, but he's helpless, drifting in and out of himself like some bit of jetsam on the tide.
Arthur's talking, somewhere far away, much too far away. He wants Arthur to be here, he wants to hold on to his Arthur and kiss Arthur's hands and face, and he tries calling for him, because surely Arthur will come. Now Arthur's roaring. Now he's talking again. It's so confusing. Something's jolting Merlin.
Then suddenly the rough arms are gone, and there's Arthur, and Merlin sobs with relief as he's gathered up like a child against Arthur's chest. 'Ar - Arthur,' he croaks, 'wanted you. So much.' He nearly blurts out that he loves Arthur, too, but the tiny scrap of sense that he still has left stops him. And Arthur cradles him close and presses Merlin's head against his mail shirt; and Merlin turns his face in muzzily and kisses him through the metal links, because Arthur is wonderful and magnificent and saved him, and Arthur will never notice.
~
4.
The fourth time is stupid, utter proof that Merlin is the biggest fool in Camelot with no sense of self-preservation. It's in the morning, and Merlin's just come in to wake Arthur up. And a slim rod of sunlight is shining through a crack in the curtains, and onto Arthur's bed, and Arthur - Arthur is warm and sleeping and golden and so beautiful that it makes something swell inside Merlin's chest as though it's going to burst.
He should waken Arthur. He is supposed to wake Arthur up now, cheerful and smiling, and bring him breakfast and dress him. But - just - he'll just take one moment, one moment to watch over Arthur as he sleeps, big and still and peaceful, all the worries of the kingdom smoothed away in his dreaming. Merlin stands by the side of the bed, half-hidden in the shadow of the draperies, feeling oddly guilty, as though he is stealing a moment that is not rightfully his. But the moment is sweet nonetheless.
He moves closer, ready to take Arthur's shoulder and shake him awake. And then Arthur shifts and mumbles in his sleep, flinging his arm out so it falls, limp and heavy, on Merlin's wrist. Merlin freezes, but Arthur sleeps on, his arm warm on Merlin's skin.
And Merlin loses his head again, because who could help doing so with Arthur so deliciously warm, sleeping, shirtless? He bends down over Arthur's hand, and he's kissing it softly, pouring all his love and longing into the tender touch of his lips; and then Arthur mumbles a little, sleepy, and Merlin's heart nearly stops.
He jolts back, breathing fast, heat flushing his cheeks and face. Arthur flexes slowly like a waking cat, and stretches, and yawns, opening eyes bleary with sleep. 'Merlin,' he says in a soft morning-rough voice; and Merlin busies himself with arranging Arthur's curtains, pulling them back with frantic clumsy fingers, imagining Arthur watching him in disgusted accusation.
But there's just soft silence, and the gentle sounds of Arthur shifting, waking himself up slowly. And when Merlin dares to look back, Arthur's lying back looking at the canopy above him with a vague little just-woken-up smile on his face; and Merlin untenses slowly and waits for his heart to stop pounding out of his chest, because, again, Arthur hasn’t noticed.
~
+ 1
Merlin is in the dungeon, and he can see the executioner sharpening his axe in the square outside. He'd only been in the wrong place at the wrong time - really, only that, this time, whatever Uther believed. And Gaius was deep in a magic-cast sleep, and somewhere in Camelot was a red-eyed fae, hell-bent on casting the entire kingdom into enchanted slumber. And Arthur was no-where to be found, and Merlin is terrified.
He can feel the enchanted tendrils of tiredness trying to seep into his very bones, and he struggles against it with all he has. If he falls first under the spell, will Uther have his sleeping body beheaded? He shudders.
Merlin's just about to give up all pretence, and magic his way out of the cell, when something - someone - lurches against the bars of the cell door; and Merlin realises with a great surge of warmth and love and relief that it's Arthur.
Arthur's pale and drawn and his eyes are heavy-looking, but he's fighting the enchantment hard. 'Merlin,' he says hoarsely, 'Oh, Merlin, thank God you're all right.' He fumblingly unlocks the door, and clangs it open; and then he's lunging toward Merlin, and pulling him safe and close. And Merlin barely has time to voice a squeak of surprise before Arthur's lips are fierce and hungry and wonderful on his own.
The kiss seems to sweep everything else away. Merlin’s sipping urgently at Arthur’s mouth, making little soft sounds of love and longing, his body melting in the circle of Arthur’s arms. He’s not sleepy any more, not in the slightest.
And then the air cracks and fills with a shriek of fury, and they break the kiss and spin round, still holding each other at shoulder and waist and hip. The fae is there, behind them, red-eyed in a corpse-white face, her hair as golden as Arthur’s. Her fingers curve into claws.
‘Arthur Pendragon,’ she says softly, and then spits, face quivering with malevolence. ‘Arthur Pendragon! Oh, Arthur Pendragon, do you know who he is, your true love, then? Your kiss may have broken my hold on Camelot, but despair, royal human-child, despair.’
‘No - no!’ Merlin says desperately, and tries to pull away from Arthur, but Arthur holds him fast.
The fae is fading, translucent. But her voice is still quite clear as she says, ‘A sorcerer, your true love, Arthur Pendragon. Despair!’
And she is gone, and Merlin makes an odd choked sound in his throat and wrenches out of Arthur’s slackened grip, shrinking away.
‘I wanted - I wanted to tell you,’ he says, desperate, pleading, because it had all been so perfect, a moment ago, and now everything is falling to dust. ‘Arthur - Arthur, please.’ And he presses his knuckles against his mouth to stop himself from sobbing aloud.
Arthur’s looking at him, straight at him, his face unreadable. ‘It’s - it’s true then? Merlin -’ he says, and bites himself off at the end of the sentence as though he had been going to say more. Merlin nods shakily, and waits.
Arthur moves forward, slowly, as though he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal, holding out the palm of his hand in an odd pacifying gesture. Merlin trembles.
And then Arthur’s reaching and wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin, holding him, and after a moment Merlin gulps and sniffles and grabs back, clinging on to Arthur as though he’s a rock in a storm. ‘I can’t help it,’ he whispers, ‘I use - I use it for you, Arthur, I was born with it, I can’t help it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘Shh,’ says Arthur quietly. ‘Shh.’ A pause, and then, ‘Merlin - why didn’t you tell me?’ He sounds sad, and hurt, and Merlin sniffles again, into Arthur’s shoulder.
‘I wanted to,’ he says again, softly, begging for Arthur to understand, to forgive him. ‘I wanted to, every day, but I thought you’d - you’d -’ He breaks off.
Then Arthur is pulling him around and clasping the back of his head, tenderly, as though Merlin’s the most precious thing in the world. ‘Don’t you dare ever lie to me again,’ he says, and then kisses him.
~
‘True love,’ Merlin says breathlessly, when they break for air.
Arthur laughs and nuzzles at Merlin’s cheekbone. ‘It broke the spell. Woke them all up. That kiss!’
‘But - Arthur! Oh, I can’t - can’t think - when you do that! True love - doesn’t that surprise you even a little?’
‘Not at all, why should it?’
‘A-Arthur!’
‘Come on, Merlin, you’ve been kissing me for months now. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.’
‘What?’
‘Merlin, there was a mirror, that time before the tournament. After that, I kept noticing. And honestly, did you really think I was fully asleep?’
~
End
Yes, I know, silly and soft and fluffy. But I am silly and soft and fluffy. :)
Sorry for forgetting the cut the first time, mods, it was me being a ditz. :P
greymantledlady's fic masterlist