Merlin/Leverage fic: The Prince's New Clothes aka The Camelot Job
Title: The Prince's New Clothes aka The Camelot Job
Fandom: Merlin/Leverage
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, guest appearances by the Leverage team
Rating: R
Word count: 6,265 words
Notes: Thanks to sparky77 for the super speedy beta. Based on a fable. The story requires a working knowledge of Merlin canon, but no knowledge of Leverage.
"Which jacket?" Merlin asks.
Arthur has a map spread out over the entire table. He's been poring over it for hours, moving little red and black markers around and huffing to himself when he has to move them back to their original position. Merlin's not sure if Arthur's strategising a potential war, or playing some complex game he's invented himself.
"The red one," Arthur says eventually, when Merlin's just about given up on him answering.
The red one. Great. So helpful. Sometimes Merlin thinks Arthur genuinely hasn't a clue. "Which red one?" Merlin prompts. Then sighs as Arthur gives a half shrug. "Honestly, Arthur, who needs this many jackets? You're worse than Morgana, and she has enough dresses to clothe an entire village. A large village."
Arthur finally looks up and gives Merlin his full attention. He has his haughty look on. "The crown prince of Camelot needs this many jackets," Arthur says, diction slow and precise as though he's speaking to an idiot. "It would hardly look good if I were to constantly appear at state functions in the same jacket. Not that I owe my manservant an explanation."
Merlin snorts. "You're saying it's a matter of state that requires you to have so many clothes. Not, say, vanity?"
Arthur narrows his eyes. "You do realise that if you make me late for my meeting with my father, I will inform him that it was entirely your fault. That you have, yet again, delayed matters of great importance because of your sheer incompetence."
He would too. And he'd grin when Uther sent him to the stocks. And make sure the children had plenty of potatoes and other hard vegetables. Even though, if Arthur's late, it's going to be because he's been so engrossed in his little game with the map. Merlin scowls. He picks up the topmost red jacket and holds it out for Arthur.
"There," he says, once Arthur's dressed. He puts on a suitably simpering and adoring expression. "This jacket makes your shoulders look particularly broad and manly. And the colour matches the sunburn on your nose perfectly."
"I wonder if Morgana will let me swap you for Gwen," Arthur says while Merlin's fetching his sword.
"Gwen thinks you look wonderful in absolutely everything," Merlin says, and smirks. He most definitely doesn't admit that he might kind of possibly agree with Gwen. Arthur's ego is more than large enough already.
*
The meeting with the king turns out to be an audience for a new tailor. Or, to be more accurate, an entire team of tailors - five of them, all dressed in fine, but to Merlin's eyes, vaguely outlandish clothes. Merlin didn't know tailors got audiences. He thought you just, well- okay, he has no idea how you find a tailor if you're a king and can't wander around the local market looking for a new tunic. Merlin racks that up as yet another way in which life as a king (or prince) is bewilderingly different.
Uther looks rather bored by the whole proceedings - Merlin's growing to tell the difference between the king's bored expression and his general disdain for the events around him expression. The latter is one Uther uses a lot on Merlin, but this is simply his bored but masking it face.
Arthur also looks world-weary and distinctly disdainful of all the fuss going on around him. But, unlike the king, Arthur's disinterest is definitely faked. He's faking it well, true, but Merlin can see the barely contained excitement under the casual questioning. And he didn't even attempt to disguise his glee on being told that they don't make women's attire - Morgana had swept out of the room with a haughty expression on her face, and Merlin suspects she's going to be sulking for the rest of the day.
As far as Merlin's concerned, he really doesn't care as long as (a) the audience doesn't go on much longer because Uther's not the only one who's bored and (b) they don't make ridiculous servant's costumes.
They certainly make ridiculous claims. The oldest man, Master Nathaniel, who does most of the talking, proclaims: "You will be the talk, not only of Camelot, but far beyond Albion, if you wear our garments."
Merlin stifles a snigger. Arthur glares at him.
"How soon can you have garments made and fitted?" Uther asks. "We have a feast tonight-"
"We require but a few minutes for measurements," Mistress Sophie assures him.
*
Arthur makes Merlin hang around while he's measured. It's pointless, as there are more than enough of them, and they're all far too well coordinated to need Merlin's help. So he leans against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, and most especially trying not to catch the eye of the blonde woman who keeps sneaking looks at him, almost as though she knows him. Or knows something about him. It's weird. Though possibly not as weird as the way the tall one, Master Hardison, keeps winking at him, as though they have a shared secret.
He also thinks it's a little odd that they don't have any fabric bolts, or any sample garments with them, but perhaps that's the way with royal tailors. Merlin wouldn't know.
*
Once the team of tailors have headed off to the room Uther has provided for them, Arthur finds Merlin a whole long list of tasks to do. Sometimes Merlin finds it hard to believe that Arthur doesn't know about his magic because how else he expects Merlin to get so much done, he has no idea. He keeps meaning to ask around and find out what happened to Arthur's previous manservant - perhaps Arthur worked him to death. Perhaps there's a graveyard outside Camelot strewn with the graves of former menservants. He wouldn't be at all surprised.
"When you've done that, send Sir Gareth to me. I want him to act as escort to Master Nathaniel, Mistress Sophie and their staff when they leave tomorrow."
"Escort?"
"Why must you question every order I give you?"
Merlin pretends to think a moment. "Because you give dumb orders?" he suggests. It earns him a clip around the ear.
*
Later, when Merlin learns how much gold Master Nathaniel and his team of tailors are being given - just for some clothes, less than a day's work - he has to admit that an escort is not at all a bad idea.
Paying that much money for half a dozen sets of clothing, however, seems rather foolish. Or vain. Or both.
Later still, he revises his opinion. Just not in a way he'd expected.
*
Arthur doesn't send for Merlin to help him dress for the feast that evening. Merlin assumes he's sulking about the dumb order quip and has sent for someone else. Merlin's certainly not complaining. Gaius has assumed he's with Arthur all day, and so he's ended up with a rare afternoon free. He occupies himself doing nothing, his favourite occupation, up on the roof, his favourite place for doing nothing.
He keeps an eye on the height of the sun, though, because he's meant to be serving at the feast, and there's no way Arthur will let him off that. Plus, he has to admit, he's rather curious about Arthur's new clothes.
*
He still manages to be, well, not exactly late, just rather last minute turning up for the feast. Even rushing, though, he can't help noticing a lot of chatter in the corridors, giggling and stifled laughter. In the great hall, however, there's near silence.
It's a little strange. Normally there's at least some rustling and subdued chatter, even when the king enters. Merlin just keeps his head down, though, and sidles along the wall. He can't quite see Arthur from here, but he'll make his way behind the head table once Uther's arrived and the feast begun. He can see one end of the head table though - Master Nathaniel and the other tailors are seated there, as guests of honour. Their work must really be outstanding.
Barely a minute after Merlin arrives, there's a fanfare to announce the king. Merlin stifles a yawn. He supposes there's going to be a speech, and then lots of eating by everyone except him. He really should have taken a hunk of bread up to the roof with him, because he's starving. Knowing his luck, his stomach will start rumbling when the meat gets brought in, and Arthur will make snide comments while happily tucking into the food.
It's the strange quality to the silence that makes Merlin look up. Uther is striding into the room, guards in armour and sweeping red cloaks behind him as usual, only- Uther is-
Uther is stark naked.
Merlin bites his tongue, hard. It hurts, but at least it stops him making any sort of gasp, because no one else is making a sound, and Merlin is not going to be the one to point out that something is seriously wrong.
Uther turns around when he reaches the table and gazes authoritatively at the court. Merlin keeps his eyes up, because really, well. He wants to cough, but he manages to swallow that back down and stands as still and silent as the rest of the room.
Merlin doesn't manage to take in much of Uther's speech. He catches snippets: credit to Camelot, and quality workmanship. Then he hears magic mentioned and starts to listen.
"A most unusual, and valuable, aspect of their work is that magic users are unable to see it." Uther pauses and looks around at the court, while Merlin's stomach sinks into his boots. Then he repeats, presumably for emphasis, "Anyone with even the slightest degree of magic in their blood cannot see their work."
Damn. Merlin is even more grateful he stood silent, even at the cost of a very sore tongue. Better that than being beheaded for claiming the king was naked.
Of course, if the king is naked - because Merlin does not for one second buy into the preposterous claim - that means. That means. Arthur.
Merlin nearly chokes holding back a grin. He moves forward a pace, but there's a pillar in his way, and he still can't see Arthur. He'll have to wait until Uther finishes.
Eventually, Merlin hears the words he's waiting for. "Let the feasting begin," Uther says, and takes his seat.
*
Merlin has almost completely forgotten his hunger. Arthur is seated, stiffly, two seats away from the king. Lady Morgana, sadly (as far as Merlin's concerned) is on the far side of the table. He wishes he hadn't missed her reaction when Arthur had entered the great hall.
"You're late, Merlin," is Arthur's greeting when Merlin makes his way around the room to stand behind him.
"Sorry, Sire," Merlin says. He thinks he's going to have to keep his responses as brief as possible. Blurting out what he's thinking wouldn't be a smart move this evening.
"I seem to have forgotten my knife," Arthur continues, and holds out his hand without turning around.
"Sire?" Merlin says, stupidly.
"Your knife, Merlin. Give it to me."
"Oh, yes. Of course." Merlin pulls it out of its sheath and hands it over. It isn't as clean as it could be - there are smears of cheese on the handle and what looks like a chunk of pickled onion from lunchtime - but Arthur takes it without comment.
Merlin refrains from asking where Arthur had been planning to put his knife.
"Are you going to serve me, or are you going to stand there looking gormless all evening?" Arthur asks. Merlin suspects he said more, but whatever else he said, Merlin missed it, and he doesn't think asking Arthur to repeat it would be sensible.
*
Everything goes relatively well for a while. The normal hubbub of the court never fully returns, but conversation is sufficient for everyone to pretend it's normal. Merlin serves Arthur with pheasant and boar and roasted parsnips, and carefully keeps his eyes on the serving dishes.
It's not until he tries to refill Arthur's goblet that it all goes wrong. Normally Arthur waves it around in the air and Merlin uses just a hint of magic to make sure the wine goes in. This time he happens to notice the goblet is empty even before Arthur complains about it, and he's just congratulating himself on anticipating Arthur's demand - because Arthur won't be offering any congratulations - when a servant passing behind the table jostles him.
The wine spills in Arthur's lap.
Merlin's throat goes dry. He looks down. Not at the floor, which is where he'd really like to be looking. Either there, or outside, or, well, anywhere but at Arthur's lap.
There's wine trickling down Arthur's belly, and pooling on his thighs. Arthur normally sits with his legs spread out wide, but not today. Maybe he's feeling the draught.
"These are new trousers, Merlin," Arthur says, deceptively calm.
"I'm sorry, Sire," Merlin replies, and for once he means it wholeheartedly.
"This is going to stain." Arthur sounds- less confident than usual. Merlin suspects that might be the effect of a large quantity of cold liquid on his nether regions.
"I'll get you a cloth. Or would you prefer to- to change." Merlin hopes his stutter wasn't too noticeable.
"Maybe that would be best. To save the trousers from staining." Arthur shifts in his chair, and Merlin's still trying to avoid looking.
Merlin nods, probably manically, but he doesn't care. Especially when he realises that the next issue is Arthur getting up. Arthur's going to get up, and walk across the great hall, stark, bollocks naked. And while Merlin realises he must have already done so once today to have reached the table in the first place, it doesn't make it any better. Arthur's not only going to have to walk across the hall, he is going to have to pretend he's not naked. And then he's going to have to walk through the corridors, to get gawped at by anyone, and he might be a total prat at times (a lot of time), but he doesn't deserve that. He's not even armed - if anyone chose to attack, he'd be defenceless.
"I'll come and lay out a fresh outfit," Merlin says.
Arthur looks as though he's about to refuse Merlin's suggestion, even though Merlin tried to make it sound more like a fait accompli than a vague suggestion. Arthur doesn't challenge Merlin, though, just stands up, bows to his father, and excuses himself.
Merlin keeps up an endless chatter about anything and nothing all the way out through the hall. It's a futile attempt to make up for the fact that the background noise dies out almost completely when Arthur stands up.
"I hear one of the chambermaids slipped and fell down a privy hole last week. It was that little one, with red hair, you know, the one who always giggles when you speak to her." Half the maids giggle when Arthur speaks to them, the other half look up at him through fluttered eyelashes. Arthur never seems to notice, which Merlin thinks is most peculiar.
"Annie," Arthur says. Merlin didn't think he was actually listening. He didn't expect him to know her name either, but then Merlin does have a bad habit of underestimating Arthur. Or maybe it's that Arthur makes a habit of surprising Merlin.
"Um, yes, Annie," he says, trying to remember what he was talking about. "Anyway, she got completely stuck and had to call for help. And of course it was Sir Geraint who heard her, and Annie's got this enormous crush on him. So now she turns tail and runs whenever she sees him, and she flushes like a beet if anyone so much as mentions his name."
"You listen to far too much gossip, Merlin," Arthur says reprovingly, which is utterly hypocritical because Merlin's heard him and Morgana gossiping a million times.
They're nearly at the door now. There are two guards on duty at the hall entrance. One is totally impassive, eyes straight ahead. The other, though, has a twitch in the corner of his mouth, and Merlin feels a rush of anger, because this is one of Arthur's men. Arthur trained him, and he owes Arthur respect. Merlin would really like to wipe the smirk off his face.
He pauses a second to let Arthur stride ahead of him through the door and uses the moment to mutter a quick spell. Next time the guard moves, his britches are going to fall around his ankles, and his chainmail isn't going to be enough to preserve his dignity.
Merlin tries to get back in front of Arthur once they're in the corridor, but Arthur is having none of it. He strides along at a pace that means Merlin has to walk then jog alternate steps to keep up.
He tries not to look at Arthur's bare bum and the muscles in his thighs flexing. It's hard. Not looking, that is, not anything el- Oh, who's he kidding?
*
Merlin hovers around Arthur's clothes chest. "Are you sure you want to wear another of your new outfits, Sire?" He can't remember calling Arthur 'Sire' this many times in one evening before. It just seems- safer, somehow. A feeble attempt to bring some dignity to the situation. "There's this jacket," he suggests, holding up one of Arthur's many identical red jackets.
"Of course I'm sure," Arthur snaps. "Now help me on with the jacket. It's a close fit."
Merlin walks over to the bed, bends over and mimes picking up a jacket from what's hopefully the place Arthur pretended to put it down. It's all so incredibly silly, and only the thought of having his head cut off is stopping Merlin from rolling his eyes and pointing out what a bloody idiot Arthur is.
Merlin does up the non-existent buttons - and hopes they have the same idea as to how many buttons the jacket has - then turns to leave. Arthur doesn't move. "Well?" Arthur says.
"Uh?"
"Are you planning on having me go back to the feast with my laces undone?"
"Laces?" Merlin saw Arthur lace up his fake shirt, and he's done up his jacket. He's not sure what he's missing.
Arthur huffs impatiently. "My britches won't lace themselves."
"Oh, of course." Merlin swallows.
He bends down in front of Arthur. His mouth is dry, and it's an effort to resist the urge to lick his lips. He's uncomfortable and turned on, and it's ridiculous and annoying, and all he can do is try to ignore it. So he mimes lacing up britches, all the while making sure he keeps his hands a safe distance from Arthur's groin.
He gets up clumsily and hopes his face isn't even half as red as it feels.
He debates one last argument with Arthur, but Arthur's chin is jutting out and Merlin knows there's no chance he'll listen. He'd probably come out and accuse Merlin of being a magician if Merlin so much as opens his mouth.
*
The walk back into the great hall doesn't feel as bad as the walk out. Maybe everyone's had their eyeful of Arthur.
Merlin ignores the way that makes his gut clench.
As soon as Arthur's seated, he holds out his goblet. "This time, make sure it's in the goblet, not on me," he says mockingly, and there's a polite titter from everyone in hearing distance. Merlin almost forgets why he was trying to help Arthur.
"Certainly, Sire," Merlin replies, and hopes all the other epithets he's thinking come across in his tone.
He pours the wine. Half a goblet only, because he knows Arthur hates anything less than a full goblet, even if he doesn't mean to drink it all.
Arthur glares at him.
Merlin adds a drop more.
Arthur's glare narrows. If he were a magician, it's entirely possible that Merlin would be on fire from the deadliness of the glare. Thankfully he isn't, though parts of Merlin are definitely feeling- hot. Which is why he's distracted enough to let Arthur grab his arm.
"You don't want me to spill again," Merlin hisses.
Everyone at the table is now making great pretence of disinterest in Merlin and Arthur's conversation.
"A full goblet of wine, damn it." Arthur sounds like he's barely restraining himself from shouting, and also sounds like he's desperate to get drunk.
Merlin can sympathise with that.
He fills the goblet to the brim.
Then again. And again. And then he loses count.
*
Which is why, when all hell breaks loose, Arthur's not in the best position to do anything about it. Well, that and his being stark naked and unarmed, of course.
*
Merlin's been keeping his eye on the tailors. He's not sure if they're just after easy money, or trying to bring down Camelot, or something in between, but whatever it is, he's sure they're not up to any good. They're just too slick. They say all the right things, and the king laughs delightedly at everything Mistress Sophie says, but Merlin's not going to be taken in. Apart from Master Nate, none of them are drinking - though they're not making it obvious. Their goblets are emptying and being topped up, but they're only pretending to drink. Even Master Nate has only had an ale or two.
The same can't be said for the rest of the court. Even Sir Griflet, who everyone knows has hollow legs and can drink all night, is starting to list. Morgana's cheeks are pink, and Merlin isn't sure if it's because of the sweet nothings Sir Lucan is whispering in her ear - though they'd have to be filthy to make Morgana blush, Merlin's heard some of the jokes she's told - or if she's drunk too. Then she grins at Merlin, all loose and happy - she's definitely drunk too. Probably drowning her sorrows over not getting a new outfit today.
Merlin briefly imagines what would have happened if she'd had a new outfit, then has to take a moment to take deep breaths and calm down. Though, oddly, it doesn't make him feel as hot and bothered as Arthur's 'new outfit' does.
It's while he's distracted that it happens. Sir Segwarides makes a toast. "To the king in all his glory," he says, and half his ale runs down his beard and onto his jacket when he tries to drink.
Others are raising their tankards, and their toast is loud and clear even though some of them are so sozzled they can barely hold their arms up. "All his glory," they shout in drunken unison.
Merlin's wincing, but clearly the king is pretending it's a perfectly acceptable toast and smiles benevolently at them. Until Sir Segwarides' brother, Sir Safir, spoils it. "All his naked glory," he says, and grins widely as he drinks.
The court goes silent. Absolutely, dead silent.
Mistress Sophie is the first to speak. She stands up, looks around the court quite majestically, and points a finger. "All know the clothes are invisible only to those who practice magic," she intones.
Benjy, who's standing a few paces away from Merlin, is the next to speak, living up to his reputation as the dumbest servant in the castle. He giggles first, then points to Arthur. "He's not got no clothes on neither," he says, and sticks a finger in his mouth in childish glee.
"Oh, bugger," Arthur says, and grabs Merlin. "Your scarf," he demands, and Merlin hands it over without question. Arthur drops it on his lap.
After that, everything gets hard to follow. Chairs are scraped back; the team of tailors are clearly looking to escape, and the guards are equally determined that won't happen. Arthur jumps up, dislodges the scarf, and sits down again quickly with a heartfelt groan of frustration.
There's a flash and a bang, and a crack of broken glass, and when Merlin can see properly again there's a broken window, no tailors, and a lot of guards running around in circles.
*
When everything's calmed down a little, and Uther and Arthur have been provided with cloaks, Merlin tries to piece together what happened. He thinks Master Hardison was the one who caused the flash of light. He must be a magician, which could explain the earlier winking - maybe he recognised Merlin as a fellow magician. And Merlin is almost certain he saw all of them jump out of the window. Which is yet another madness, because a fall that great would kill a man.
Except that when he makes his way to the broken window and looks outside, there are no bodies on the ground.
Magic. It has to be, and Merlin only wishes he could have seen how they flew from the window and landed safely.
He doesn't spend any more time speculating. Uther is raging, and even wrapped in a borrowed cloak he's every inch the king. He barks out orders to the guards and anyone sober enough to listen, and orders everyone else out.
Merlin's glad to go, but he can't abandon Arthur. The stubborn prat is trying to stand up straight, but he's not fit for anything. He slings an arm around Merlin's shoulder and looks as though he's about to launch into song. Merlin doesn't want to find out what Uther would do if that happened, so he half walks, half drags Arthur back to his room.
He doesn't manage to stop Arthur singing in the corridor, or feeling him up when they get back to Arthur's chambers, or shrugging the cloak off and lurching towards his bed stark naked. Once he's landed on his bed, he starts snoring almost immediately, so Merlin tips him onto his side and pulls a blanket over him.
*
Arthur's not in a good mood the next day. Merlin can understand. He just wishes he didn't have to bear the brunt of it.
"I hate you," is Arthur's greeting. Merlin's kneeling by the fire place; his plan was to get a good fire going, have breakfast on the table, and then slip out before Arthur woke up.
"I've brought honey pastries for your breakfast," Merlin says brightly. He whispers a quick spell to get the fire to roar up cheerfully, wipes his hands on his britches, and heads over to the table. Not that there's anything to do there. He ends up standing awkwardly, trying to work out what to do with his hands. He settles for clasping them behind his back.
"You let me parade around at court, stark naked. In front of everyone. In front of Morgana. Oh, God, in front of Morgana," Arthur groans and drops his head in his hands.
"Um-" Merlin casts around for some sort of reassurance. He's got nothing. He doesn't think surely you must have noticed it was a bit drafty around your nether regions would go down too well. "Um," he repeats helplessly.
Arthur lifts his head and his eyes goes wide with realisation. "You knew I was naked. All the time."
Merlin tries to look like the sort of servant who would never say a word out of turn. He keeps silent to keep up the illusion.
"And you didn't say a word," Arthur continues. Then his shoulders slump. "Of course you didn't. No one did. No one dared." His words trail off.
There's an awkward silence for a bit, and Merlin hopes it's signalling a mutual decision to say no more about the whole affair, and most particularly not to bring up any issue of Merlin maybe possibly having good reason to be worried about being outed as a magician.
"Though-" Arthur sits up in bed and looks thoughtful, then almost pleased with himself. He jumps out of bed. He's still naked. Arthur looks down at himself, and his look goes from almost pleased to definitely smug. "At least I've nothing to be ashamed of," he says, his mood suddenly sunny.
"Yes, you're a fine figure of a man," Merlin tells him dryly. "Now, how about you put some clothes on."
"You were staring at my arse last night," Arthur says reflectively.
"No, I wasn't," Merlin denies immediately. "How could you know, anyway? You don't have eyes in the back of your head."
Arthur smirks. "Aha, you're admitting it."
"No, I'm not!"
"So you were lying when you said I'm a fine figure of a man?" Arthur asks sneakily.
"I hate you," Merlin says, and wonders how the tables got turned so quickly.
"But you like my arse." Arthur turns around and practically waves his arse in the air. "You think it's fine." He turns around again, presumably in case Merlin hasn't had his fill of the view.
Merlin gulps. It's more the whole picture that he's thinks is fine, but wild horses won't drag that out of him.
Arthur looks at him, really looks at him, like he's reading his mind. Merlin tries not to shuffle or grimace, but it's bloody uncomfortable. "What?" he asks eventually, when he just can't stand it any longer. His nose is itching. He rubs it, and then is stuck with the problem of what to do with his hands again. Behind his back still seems like a good idea, especially when he's feeling a little bit like punching Arthur.
Arthur grins, as though he's asked a question and knows the answer. Which is damn unfair because Merlin doesn't even know what the question is. Unless it's- no, it wouldn't be. Arthur isn't. Wouldn't.
Arthur moves forward and prods him in the chest, and Merlin moves back a step. He's clasping his hands really tight behind his back now; he'll probably have nail marks later where they're digging in. Arthur prods him again, not enough to actually push him, but he's up in Merlin's space so Merlin can't help but move back.
Until the back of his knees hit the bed and there's nowhere to go.
Which doesn't stop Arthur moving forward.
Arthur's still naked.
Merlin wonders if he ought to point this out to him. Except he knows Arthur is very well aware he's naked. And is using it. Which is definitely not in any of the guides to battle that Merlin's caught Arthur secretly poring over at night.
Merlin has to wonder when he started thinking of this as a battle. A battle he's pretty sure he has no interest in winning.
Arthur prods him one more time; no force at all behind it because he's too close, and Merlin falls backwards onto the bed, hard enough that he actually bounces. Any other time he'd be exclaiming over how soft and comfortable the bed is, especially in comparison with his own cot, but right now he's pretty much transfixed by the sight of Arthur standing over him.
He swallows.
The corners of Arthur's eyes crinkle - which Merlin notices because it's the only part of Arthur he dare look at - and he lands on top of Merlin.
Which is incredibly uncomfortable, and Arthur lands hard enough to knock the breath out of Merlin (and not in a good way), and maybe Merlin's reading this all wrong because surely this can't be Arthur's attempt at a seduction or anything. He can't be that bad. Though he is a prince, and can get anyone he wants, so maybe he is that bad. Maybe he's never had to try before, and he thinks parading naked in front of Merlin, pushing him to the bed, and landing on top of him is going to work.
Well, he's going to be disappointed.
It's Merlin's turn to shove. He shoves and wriggles, and doesn't manage to budge Arthur at all. Arthur just grins down at him. "I know you want me," he says, and Merlin would so love to wipe that cocky grin off his face with a denial, but it'd be a lie, and he knows how badly he lies.
Instead, he just wriggles once more for emphasis (and has the satisfaction of seeing Arthur wince when Merlin's britches brush none too gently against the more sensitive parts of Arthur's anatomy) and says, "Your seduction technique sucks."
Arthur roars with laughter. "If I'd known you were such a bloody girl, I'd have picked you flowers."
"That would have been nice," Merlin says, managing not to smile back. Though he doubts he looks as stern as he'd like.
"Really?" Arthur raises an eyebrow. Then grinds his hips against Merlin's, just a fraction, just enough for Merlin to need more. "You want me to go now? I could get dressed, go out. Be back in a few hours with a posy."
"I really hate you," Merlin mutters, and pushes his hips up against Arthur's. Which he hopes will make the point, because he's not bloody well going to beg Arthur to do something, and he's not admitting anything. Anything at all.
Arthur leans in and whispers in Merlin's ear, warm breath and husky. "No, you don't."
Merlin doesn't.
He shudders.
"Damn it," Arthur whispers and this time the whisper sounds like Arthur's trying not to speak, or not to let Merlin hear him. It sounds as desperate as Merlin feels, so when Arthur starts kissing him, below his ear, down his neck, it's not any kind of surprise.
It's more of a surprise when Arthur keeps going, kissing his way down Merlin's chest, and belly, and wow- that, that is a surprise.
A very good one. Arthur's mouth is hot and wet around Merlin's prick, and Merlin thinks it's perfect until Arthur's hands start exploring and okay, he'd never thought being touched there would do anything for him, but it seems Arthur knows exactly what he's doing, and suddenly Merlin has a whole new concept of perfect.
He can't help moaning, and he can't help thrusting his hips up a bit, just to get more of that perfect suction, and he can't help it if he's saying stupid things. At least, he assumes the voice calling out Arthur, god, yes, more, please, yes, like that, you're amazing, Arthur is him. Though he'll deny it if he can.
He comes like a cavalry charge, and slumps back afterwards as exhausted as if he'd cast a hundred spells.
The bed is incredibly comfortable.
Merlin could just fall asleep.
"Oh, hell, no you don't," Arthur says, and punctuates his words with a kick and a punch. Not enough to actually hurt, but clearly meant to spoil his chances of falling asleep. "You are not leaving me like this," Arthur adds.
Which is slightly awkward, because Merlin's never done what Arthur's just done to him, and though he's sure it's a skill he can learn, he doesn't particularly want to do a shoddy job of it first time around. And he thinks it might be one of those things that are harder than they look, because Merlin knows roughly how much he can fit in his mouth, and a quick glance down tells him that he can't fit all that in. But then Arthur's grabbing his hand, and for a moment Merlin thinks things are going to get weird and girly and he's going to have to say romantic stuff or something, which he's unbelievably bad at, but then Arthur puts Merlin's hand where he wants it, and that's not girly at all.
And this is something Merlin has done. Only to himself, admittedly, but it's the same principle, just a different angle. It's not the same as doing it to himself, but it feels good, the weight in his hand, the heavy sound of Arthur's breath.
When Merlin looks up, Arthur's biting his lip like he's determined not to make a sound. Which is just not good enough.
Merlin concentrates, eyes down, so when he whispers a few words under his breath Arthur won't notice if Merlin's eyes flash gold. It's a simple spell, nothing untoward, just something to heighten the pleasure, make everything good feel even better.
And it works. Arthur's breath hitches, and then he's groaning, pulling Merlin to him, kissing him like he can't get enough. They're too close now for finesse, Merlin's hand pressed between their bellies, so he does what he can, stuttering out of rhythm because how can he be expected to concentrate with Arthur's tongue in his mouth and Arthur's hand on his arse?
It's enough for Arthur; his breathing's ragged now and he gives one final grunt and spills between them, warm and sticky. And falls asleep.
*
Merlin stretches out luxuriously. Even with Arthur in the bed, there's twice the room he's ever had before. He could get used to this.
He could get used to the sight of Arthur, too, naked and relaxed, sprawled out beside him. He doesn't stir under Merlin's gaze, just stares back lazily, like they've both all the time in the world to do nothing but look.
It's midday, though, light as bright as daffodils on his skin. Far too sunny for Merlin to be anything but awake and alert.
He swings his feet to the floor, only to get poked in the back by Arthur's knee. Merlin turns to him and grins. "Can't stay, I've got laundry to do. Don't know how long it'll take to get the wine stains out. But I've laid out clothes for you. They're on the back of the chair," he adds, pointing across the room at an empty chair.
"I hate you," Arthur says.
//
Fandom: Merlin/Leverage
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, guest appearances by the Leverage team
Rating: R
Word count: 6,265 words
Notes: Thanks to sparky77 for the super speedy beta. Based on a fable. The story requires a working knowledge of Merlin canon, but no knowledge of Leverage.
"Which jacket?" Merlin asks.
Arthur has a map spread out over the entire table. He's been poring over it for hours, moving little red and black markers around and huffing to himself when he has to move them back to their original position. Merlin's not sure if Arthur's strategising a potential war, or playing some complex game he's invented himself.
"The red one," Arthur says eventually, when Merlin's just about given up on him answering.
The red one. Great. So helpful. Sometimes Merlin thinks Arthur genuinely hasn't a clue. "Which red one?" Merlin prompts. Then sighs as Arthur gives a half shrug. "Honestly, Arthur, who needs this many jackets? You're worse than Morgana, and she has enough dresses to clothe an entire village. A large village."
Arthur finally looks up and gives Merlin his full attention. He has his haughty look on. "The crown prince of Camelot needs this many jackets," Arthur says, diction slow and precise as though he's speaking to an idiot. "It would hardly look good if I were to constantly appear at state functions in the same jacket. Not that I owe my manservant an explanation."
Merlin snorts. "You're saying it's a matter of state that requires you to have so many clothes. Not, say, vanity?"
Arthur narrows his eyes. "You do realise that if you make me late for my meeting with my father, I will inform him that it was entirely your fault. That you have, yet again, delayed matters of great importance because of your sheer incompetence."
He would too. And he'd grin when Uther sent him to the stocks. And make sure the children had plenty of potatoes and other hard vegetables. Even though, if Arthur's late, it's going to be because he's been so engrossed in his little game with the map. Merlin scowls. He picks up the topmost red jacket and holds it out for Arthur.
"There," he says, once Arthur's dressed. He puts on a suitably simpering and adoring expression. "This jacket makes your shoulders look particularly broad and manly. And the colour matches the sunburn on your nose perfectly."
"I wonder if Morgana will let me swap you for Gwen," Arthur says while Merlin's fetching his sword.
"Gwen thinks you look wonderful in absolutely everything," Merlin says, and smirks. He most definitely doesn't admit that he might kind of possibly agree with Gwen. Arthur's ego is more than large enough already.
*
The meeting with the king turns out to be an audience for a new tailor. Or, to be more accurate, an entire team of tailors - five of them, all dressed in fine, but to Merlin's eyes, vaguely outlandish clothes. Merlin didn't know tailors got audiences. He thought you just, well- okay, he has no idea how you find a tailor if you're a king and can't wander around the local market looking for a new tunic. Merlin racks that up as yet another way in which life as a king (or prince) is bewilderingly different.
Uther looks rather bored by the whole proceedings - Merlin's growing to tell the difference between the king's bored expression and his general disdain for the events around him expression. The latter is one Uther uses a lot on Merlin, but this is simply his bored but masking it face.
Arthur also looks world-weary and distinctly disdainful of all the fuss going on around him. But, unlike the king, Arthur's disinterest is definitely faked. He's faking it well, true, but Merlin can see the barely contained excitement under the casual questioning. And he didn't even attempt to disguise his glee on being told that they don't make women's attire - Morgana had swept out of the room with a haughty expression on her face, and Merlin suspects she's going to be sulking for the rest of the day.
As far as Merlin's concerned, he really doesn't care as long as (a) the audience doesn't go on much longer because Uther's not the only one who's bored and (b) they don't make ridiculous servant's costumes.
They certainly make ridiculous claims. The oldest man, Master Nathaniel, who does most of the talking, proclaims: "You will be the talk, not only of Camelot, but far beyond Albion, if you wear our garments."
Merlin stifles a snigger. Arthur glares at him.
"How soon can you have garments made and fitted?" Uther asks. "We have a feast tonight-"
"We require but a few minutes for measurements," Mistress Sophie assures him.
*
Arthur makes Merlin hang around while he's measured. It's pointless, as there are more than enough of them, and they're all far too well coordinated to need Merlin's help. So he leans against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, and most especially trying not to catch the eye of the blonde woman who keeps sneaking looks at him, almost as though she knows him. Or knows something about him. It's weird. Though possibly not as weird as the way the tall one, Master Hardison, keeps winking at him, as though they have a shared secret.
He also thinks it's a little odd that they don't have any fabric bolts, or any sample garments with them, but perhaps that's the way with royal tailors. Merlin wouldn't know.
*
Once the team of tailors have headed off to the room Uther has provided for them, Arthur finds Merlin a whole long list of tasks to do. Sometimes Merlin finds it hard to believe that Arthur doesn't know about his magic because how else he expects Merlin to get so much done, he has no idea. He keeps meaning to ask around and find out what happened to Arthur's previous manservant - perhaps Arthur worked him to death. Perhaps there's a graveyard outside Camelot strewn with the graves of former menservants. He wouldn't be at all surprised.
"When you've done that, send Sir Gareth to me. I want him to act as escort to Master Nathaniel, Mistress Sophie and their staff when they leave tomorrow."
"Escort?"
"Why must you question every order I give you?"
Merlin pretends to think a moment. "Because you give dumb orders?" he suggests. It earns him a clip around the ear.
*
Later, when Merlin learns how much gold Master Nathaniel and his team of tailors are being given - just for some clothes, less than a day's work - he has to admit that an escort is not at all a bad idea.
Paying that much money for half a dozen sets of clothing, however, seems rather foolish. Or vain. Or both.
Later still, he revises his opinion. Just not in a way he'd expected.
*
Arthur doesn't send for Merlin to help him dress for the feast that evening. Merlin assumes he's sulking about the dumb order quip and has sent for someone else. Merlin's certainly not complaining. Gaius has assumed he's with Arthur all day, and so he's ended up with a rare afternoon free. He occupies himself doing nothing, his favourite occupation, up on the roof, his favourite place for doing nothing.
He keeps an eye on the height of the sun, though, because he's meant to be serving at the feast, and there's no way Arthur will let him off that. Plus, he has to admit, he's rather curious about Arthur's new clothes.
*
He still manages to be, well, not exactly late, just rather last minute turning up for the feast. Even rushing, though, he can't help noticing a lot of chatter in the corridors, giggling and stifled laughter. In the great hall, however, there's near silence.
It's a little strange. Normally there's at least some rustling and subdued chatter, even when the king enters. Merlin just keeps his head down, though, and sidles along the wall. He can't quite see Arthur from here, but he'll make his way behind the head table once Uther's arrived and the feast begun. He can see one end of the head table though - Master Nathaniel and the other tailors are seated there, as guests of honour. Their work must really be outstanding.
Barely a minute after Merlin arrives, there's a fanfare to announce the king. Merlin stifles a yawn. He supposes there's going to be a speech, and then lots of eating by everyone except him. He really should have taken a hunk of bread up to the roof with him, because he's starving. Knowing his luck, his stomach will start rumbling when the meat gets brought in, and Arthur will make snide comments while happily tucking into the food.
It's the strange quality to the silence that makes Merlin look up. Uther is striding into the room, guards in armour and sweeping red cloaks behind him as usual, only- Uther is-
Uther is stark naked.
Merlin bites his tongue, hard. It hurts, but at least it stops him making any sort of gasp, because no one else is making a sound, and Merlin is not going to be the one to point out that something is seriously wrong.
Uther turns around when he reaches the table and gazes authoritatively at the court. Merlin keeps his eyes up, because really, well. He wants to cough, but he manages to swallow that back down and stands as still and silent as the rest of the room.
Merlin doesn't manage to take in much of Uther's speech. He catches snippets: credit to Camelot, and quality workmanship. Then he hears magic mentioned and starts to listen.
"A most unusual, and valuable, aspect of their work is that magic users are unable to see it." Uther pauses and looks around at the court, while Merlin's stomach sinks into his boots. Then he repeats, presumably for emphasis, "Anyone with even the slightest degree of magic in their blood cannot see their work."
Damn. Merlin is even more grateful he stood silent, even at the cost of a very sore tongue. Better that than being beheaded for claiming the king was naked.
Of course, if the king is naked - because Merlin does not for one second buy into the preposterous claim - that means. That means. Arthur.
Merlin nearly chokes holding back a grin. He moves forward a pace, but there's a pillar in his way, and he still can't see Arthur. He'll have to wait until Uther finishes.
Eventually, Merlin hears the words he's waiting for. "Let the feasting begin," Uther says, and takes his seat.
*
Merlin has almost completely forgotten his hunger. Arthur is seated, stiffly, two seats away from the king. Lady Morgana, sadly (as far as Merlin's concerned) is on the far side of the table. He wishes he hadn't missed her reaction when Arthur had entered the great hall.
"You're late, Merlin," is Arthur's greeting when Merlin makes his way around the room to stand behind him.
"Sorry, Sire," Merlin says. He thinks he's going to have to keep his responses as brief as possible. Blurting out what he's thinking wouldn't be a smart move this evening.
"I seem to have forgotten my knife," Arthur continues, and holds out his hand without turning around.
"Sire?" Merlin says, stupidly.
"Your knife, Merlin. Give it to me."
"Oh, yes. Of course." Merlin pulls it out of its sheath and hands it over. It isn't as clean as it could be - there are smears of cheese on the handle and what looks like a chunk of pickled onion from lunchtime - but Arthur takes it without comment.
Merlin refrains from asking where Arthur had been planning to put his knife.
"Are you going to serve me, or are you going to stand there looking gormless all evening?" Arthur asks. Merlin suspects he said more, but whatever else he said, Merlin missed it, and he doesn't think asking Arthur to repeat it would be sensible.
*
Everything goes relatively well for a while. The normal hubbub of the court never fully returns, but conversation is sufficient for everyone to pretend it's normal. Merlin serves Arthur with pheasant and boar and roasted parsnips, and carefully keeps his eyes on the serving dishes.
It's not until he tries to refill Arthur's goblet that it all goes wrong. Normally Arthur waves it around in the air and Merlin uses just a hint of magic to make sure the wine goes in. This time he happens to notice the goblet is empty even before Arthur complains about it, and he's just congratulating himself on anticipating Arthur's demand - because Arthur won't be offering any congratulations - when a servant passing behind the table jostles him.
The wine spills in Arthur's lap.
Merlin's throat goes dry. He looks down. Not at the floor, which is where he'd really like to be looking. Either there, or outside, or, well, anywhere but at Arthur's lap.
There's wine trickling down Arthur's belly, and pooling on his thighs. Arthur normally sits with his legs spread out wide, but not today. Maybe he's feeling the draught.
"These are new trousers, Merlin," Arthur says, deceptively calm.
"I'm sorry, Sire," Merlin replies, and for once he means it wholeheartedly.
"This is going to stain." Arthur sounds- less confident than usual. Merlin suspects that might be the effect of a large quantity of cold liquid on his nether regions.
"I'll get you a cloth. Or would you prefer to- to change." Merlin hopes his stutter wasn't too noticeable.
"Maybe that would be best. To save the trousers from staining." Arthur shifts in his chair, and Merlin's still trying to avoid looking.
Merlin nods, probably manically, but he doesn't care. Especially when he realises that the next issue is Arthur getting up. Arthur's going to get up, and walk across the great hall, stark, bollocks naked. And while Merlin realises he must have already done so once today to have reached the table in the first place, it doesn't make it any better. Arthur's not only going to have to walk across the hall, he is going to have to pretend he's not naked. And then he's going to have to walk through the corridors, to get gawped at by anyone, and he might be a total prat at times (a lot of time), but he doesn't deserve that. He's not even armed - if anyone chose to attack, he'd be defenceless.
"I'll come and lay out a fresh outfit," Merlin says.
Arthur looks as though he's about to refuse Merlin's suggestion, even though Merlin tried to make it sound more like a fait accompli than a vague suggestion. Arthur doesn't challenge Merlin, though, just stands up, bows to his father, and excuses himself.
Merlin keeps up an endless chatter about anything and nothing all the way out through the hall. It's a futile attempt to make up for the fact that the background noise dies out almost completely when Arthur stands up.
"I hear one of the chambermaids slipped and fell down a privy hole last week. It was that little one, with red hair, you know, the one who always giggles when you speak to her." Half the maids giggle when Arthur speaks to them, the other half look up at him through fluttered eyelashes. Arthur never seems to notice, which Merlin thinks is most peculiar.
"Annie," Arthur says. Merlin didn't think he was actually listening. He didn't expect him to know her name either, but then Merlin does have a bad habit of underestimating Arthur. Or maybe it's that Arthur makes a habit of surprising Merlin.
"Um, yes, Annie," he says, trying to remember what he was talking about. "Anyway, she got completely stuck and had to call for help. And of course it was Sir Geraint who heard her, and Annie's got this enormous crush on him. So now she turns tail and runs whenever she sees him, and she flushes like a beet if anyone so much as mentions his name."
"You listen to far too much gossip, Merlin," Arthur says reprovingly, which is utterly hypocritical because Merlin's heard him and Morgana gossiping a million times.
They're nearly at the door now. There are two guards on duty at the hall entrance. One is totally impassive, eyes straight ahead. The other, though, has a twitch in the corner of his mouth, and Merlin feels a rush of anger, because this is one of Arthur's men. Arthur trained him, and he owes Arthur respect. Merlin would really like to wipe the smirk off his face.
He pauses a second to let Arthur stride ahead of him through the door and uses the moment to mutter a quick spell. Next time the guard moves, his britches are going to fall around his ankles, and his chainmail isn't going to be enough to preserve his dignity.
Merlin tries to get back in front of Arthur once they're in the corridor, but Arthur is having none of it. He strides along at a pace that means Merlin has to walk then jog alternate steps to keep up.
He tries not to look at Arthur's bare bum and the muscles in his thighs flexing. It's hard. Not looking, that is, not anything el- Oh, who's he kidding?
*
Merlin hovers around Arthur's clothes chest. "Are you sure you want to wear another of your new outfits, Sire?" He can't remember calling Arthur 'Sire' this many times in one evening before. It just seems- safer, somehow. A feeble attempt to bring some dignity to the situation. "There's this jacket," he suggests, holding up one of Arthur's many identical red jackets.
"Of course I'm sure," Arthur snaps. "Now help me on with the jacket. It's a close fit."
Merlin walks over to the bed, bends over and mimes picking up a jacket from what's hopefully the place Arthur pretended to put it down. It's all so incredibly silly, and only the thought of having his head cut off is stopping Merlin from rolling his eyes and pointing out what a bloody idiot Arthur is.
Merlin does up the non-existent buttons - and hopes they have the same idea as to how many buttons the jacket has - then turns to leave. Arthur doesn't move. "Well?" Arthur says.
"Uh?"
"Are you planning on having me go back to the feast with my laces undone?"
"Laces?" Merlin saw Arthur lace up his fake shirt, and he's done up his jacket. He's not sure what he's missing.
Arthur huffs impatiently. "My britches won't lace themselves."
"Oh, of course." Merlin swallows.
He bends down in front of Arthur. His mouth is dry, and it's an effort to resist the urge to lick his lips. He's uncomfortable and turned on, and it's ridiculous and annoying, and all he can do is try to ignore it. So he mimes lacing up britches, all the while making sure he keeps his hands a safe distance from Arthur's groin.
He gets up clumsily and hopes his face isn't even half as red as it feels.
He debates one last argument with Arthur, but Arthur's chin is jutting out and Merlin knows there's no chance he'll listen. He'd probably come out and accuse Merlin of being a magician if Merlin so much as opens his mouth.
*
The walk back into the great hall doesn't feel as bad as the walk out. Maybe everyone's had their eyeful of Arthur.
Merlin ignores the way that makes his gut clench.
As soon as Arthur's seated, he holds out his goblet. "This time, make sure it's in the goblet, not on me," he says mockingly, and there's a polite titter from everyone in hearing distance. Merlin almost forgets why he was trying to help Arthur.
"Certainly, Sire," Merlin replies, and hopes all the other epithets he's thinking come across in his tone.
He pours the wine. Half a goblet only, because he knows Arthur hates anything less than a full goblet, even if he doesn't mean to drink it all.
Arthur glares at him.
Merlin adds a drop more.
Arthur's glare narrows. If he were a magician, it's entirely possible that Merlin would be on fire from the deadliness of the glare. Thankfully he isn't, though parts of Merlin are definitely feeling- hot. Which is why he's distracted enough to let Arthur grab his arm.
"You don't want me to spill again," Merlin hisses.
Everyone at the table is now making great pretence of disinterest in Merlin and Arthur's conversation.
"A full goblet of wine, damn it." Arthur sounds like he's barely restraining himself from shouting, and also sounds like he's desperate to get drunk.
Merlin can sympathise with that.
He fills the goblet to the brim.
Then again. And again. And then he loses count.
*
Which is why, when all hell breaks loose, Arthur's not in the best position to do anything about it. Well, that and his being stark naked and unarmed, of course.
*
Merlin's been keeping his eye on the tailors. He's not sure if they're just after easy money, or trying to bring down Camelot, or something in between, but whatever it is, he's sure they're not up to any good. They're just too slick. They say all the right things, and the king laughs delightedly at everything Mistress Sophie says, but Merlin's not going to be taken in. Apart from Master Nate, none of them are drinking - though they're not making it obvious. Their goblets are emptying and being topped up, but they're only pretending to drink. Even Master Nate has only had an ale or two.
The same can't be said for the rest of the court. Even Sir Griflet, who everyone knows has hollow legs and can drink all night, is starting to list. Morgana's cheeks are pink, and Merlin isn't sure if it's because of the sweet nothings Sir Lucan is whispering in her ear - though they'd have to be filthy to make Morgana blush, Merlin's heard some of the jokes she's told - or if she's drunk too. Then she grins at Merlin, all loose and happy - she's definitely drunk too. Probably drowning her sorrows over not getting a new outfit today.
Merlin briefly imagines what would have happened if she'd had a new outfit, then has to take a moment to take deep breaths and calm down. Though, oddly, it doesn't make him feel as hot and bothered as Arthur's 'new outfit' does.
It's while he's distracted that it happens. Sir Segwarides makes a toast. "To the king in all his glory," he says, and half his ale runs down his beard and onto his jacket when he tries to drink.
Others are raising their tankards, and their toast is loud and clear even though some of them are so sozzled they can barely hold their arms up. "All his glory," they shout in drunken unison.
Merlin's wincing, but clearly the king is pretending it's a perfectly acceptable toast and smiles benevolently at them. Until Sir Segwarides' brother, Sir Safir, spoils it. "All his naked glory," he says, and grins widely as he drinks.
The court goes silent. Absolutely, dead silent.
Mistress Sophie is the first to speak. She stands up, looks around the court quite majestically, and points a finger. "All know the clothes are invisible only to those who practice magic," she intones.
Benjy, who's standing a few paces away from Merlin, is the next to speak, living up to his reputation as the dumbest servant in the castle. He giggles first, then points to Arthur. "He's not got no clothes on neither," he says, and sticks a finger in his mouth in childish glee.
"Oh, bugger," Arthur says, and grabs Merlin. "Your scarf," he demands, and Merlin hands it over without question. Arthur drops it on his lap.
After that, everything gets hard to follow. Chairs are scraped back; the team of tailors are clearly looking to escape, and the guards are equally determined that won't happen. Arthur jumps up, dislodges the scarf, and sits down again quickly with a heartfelt groan of frustration.
There's a flash and a bang, and a crack of broken glass, and when Merlin can see properly again there's a broken window, no tailors, and a lot of guards running around in circles.
*
When everything's calmed down a little, and Uther and Arthur have been provided with cloaks, Merlin tries to piece together what happened. He thinks Master Hardison was the one who caused the flash of light. He must be a magician, which could explain the earlier winking - maybe he recognised Merlin as a fellow magician. And Merlin is almost certain he saw all of them jump out of the window. Which is yet another madness, because a fall that great would kill a man.
Except that when he makes his way to the broken window and looks outside, there are no bodies on the ground.
Magic. It has to be, and Merlin only wishes he could have seen how they flew from the window and landed safely.
He doesn't spend any more time speculating. Uther is raging, and even wrapped in a borrowed cloak he's every inch the king. He barks out orders to the guards and anyone sober enough to listen, and orders everyone else out.
Merlin's glad to go, but he can't abandon Arthur. The stubborn prat is trying to stand up straight, but he's not fit for anything. He slings an arm around Merlin's shoulder and looks as though he's about to launch into song. Merlin doesn't want to find out what Uther would do if that happened, so he half walks, half drags Arthur back to his room.
He doesn't manage to stop Arthur singing in the corridor, or feeling him up when they get back to Arthur's chambers, or shrugging the cloak off and lurching towards his bed stark naked. Once he's landed on his bed, he starts snoring almost immediately, so Merlin tips him onto his side and pulls a blanket over him.
*
Arthur's not in a good mood the next day. Merlin can understand. He just wishes he didn't have to bear the brunt of it.
"I hate you," is Arthur's greeting. Merlin's kneeling by the fire place; his plan was to get a good fire going, have breakfast on the table, and then slip out before Arthur woke up.
"I've brought honey pastries for your breakfast," Merlin says brightly. He whispers a quick spell to get the fire to roar up cheerfully, wipes his hands on his britches, and heads over to the table. Not that there's anything to do there. He ends up standing awkwardly, trying to work out what to do with his hands. He settles for clasping them behind his back.
"You let me parade around at court, stark naked. In front of everyone. In front of Morgana. Oh, God, in front of Morgana," Arthur groans and drops his head in his hands.
"Um-" Merlin casts around for some sort of reassurance. He's got nothing. He doesn't think surely you must have noticed it was a bit drafty around your nether regions would go down too well. "Um," he repeats helplessly.
Arthur lifts his head and his eyes goes wide with realisation. "You knew I was naked. All the time."
Merlin tries to look like the sort of servant who would never say a word out of turn. He keeps silent to keep up the illusion.
"And you didn't say a word," Arthur continues. Then his shoulders slump. "Of course you didn't. No one did. No one dared." His words trail off.
There's an awkward silence for a bit, and Merlin hopes it's signalling a mutual decision to say no more about the whole affair, and most particularly not to bring up any issue of Merlin maybe possibly having good reason to be worried about being outed as a magician.
"Though-" Arthur sits up in bed and looks thoughtful, then almost pleased with himself. He jumps out of bed. He's still naked. Arthur looks down at himself, and his look goes from almost pleased to definitely smug. "At least I've nothing to be ashamed of," he says, his mood suddenly sunny.
"Yes, you're a fine figure of a man," Merlin tells him dryly. "Now, how about you put some clothes on."
"You were staring at my arse last night," Arthur says reflectively.
"No, I wasn't," Merlin denies immediately. "How could you know, anyway? You don't have eyes in the back of your head."
Arthur smirks. "Aha, you're admitting it."
"No, I'm not!"
"So you were lying when you said I'm a fine figure of a man?" Arthur asks sneakily.
"I hate you," Merlin says, and wonders how the tables got turned so quickly.
"But you like my arse." Arthur turns around and practically waves his arse in the air. "You think it's fine." He turns around again, presumably in case Merlin hasn't had his fill of the view.
Merlin gulps. It's more the whole picture that he's thinks is fine, but wild horses won't drag that out of him.
Arthur looks at him, really looks at him, like he's reading his mind. Merlin tries not to shuffle or grimace, but it's bloody uncomfortable. "What?" he asks eventually, when he just can't stand it any longer. His nose is itching. He rubs it, and then is stuck with the problem of what to do with his hands again. Behind his back still seems like a good idea, especially when he's feeling a little bit like punching Arthur.
Arthur grins, as though he's asked a question and knows the answer. Which is damn unfair because Merlin doesn't even know what the question is. Unless it's- no, it wouldn't be. Arthur isn't. Wouldn't.
Arthur moves forward and prods him in the chest, and Merlin moves back a step. He's clasping his hands really tight behind his back now; he'll probably have nail marks later where they're digging in. Arthur prods him again, not enough to actually push him, but he's up in Merlin's space so Merlin can't help but move back.
Until the back of his knees hit the bed and there's nowhere to go.
Which doesn't stop Arthur moving forward.
Arthur's still naked.
Merlin wonders if he ought to point this out to him. Except he knows Arthur is very well aware he's naked. And is using it. Which is definitely not in any of the guides to battle that Merlin's caught Arthur secretly poring over at night.
Merlin has to wonder when he started thinking of this as a battle. A battle he's pretty sure he has no interest in winning.
Arthur prods him one more time; no force at all behind it because he's too close, and Merlin falls backwards onto the bed, hard enough that he actually bounces. Any other time he'd be exclaiming over how soft and comfortable the bed is, especially in comparison with his own cot, but right now he's pretty much transfixed by the sight of Arthur standing over him.
He swallows.
The corners of Arthur's eyes crinkle - which Merlin notices because it's the only part of Arthur he dare look at - and he lands on top of Merlin.
Which is incredibly uncomfortable, and Arthur lands hard enough to knock the breath out of Merlin (and not in a good way), and maybe Merlin's reading this all wrong because surely this can't be Arthur's attempt at a seduction or anything. He can't be that bad. Though he is a prince, and can get anyone he wants, so maybe he is that bad. Maybe he's never had to try before, and he thinks parading naked in front of Merlin, pushing him to the bed, and landing on top of him is going to work.
Well, he's going to be disappointed.
It's Merlin's turn to shove. He shoves and wriggles, and doesn't manage to budge Arthur at all. Arthur just grins down at him. "I know you want me," he says, and Merlin would so love to wipe that cocky grin off his face with a denial, but it'd be a lie, and he knows how badly he lies.
Instead, he just wriggles once more for emphasis (and has the satisfaction of seeing Arthur wince when Merlin's britches brush none too gently against the more sensitive parts of Arthur's anatomy) and says, "Your seduction technique sucks."
Arthur roars with laughter. "If I'd known you were such a bloody girl, I'd have picked you flowers."
"That would have been nice," Merlin says, managing not to smile back. Though he doubts he looks as stern as he'd like.
"Really?" Arthur raises an eyebrow. Then grinds his hips against Merlin's, just a fraction, just enough for Merlin to need more. "You want me to go now? I could get dressed, go out. Be back in a few hours with a posy."
"I really hate you," Merlin mutters, and pushes his hips up against Arthur's. Which he hopes will make the point, because he's not bloody well going to beg Arthur to do something, and he's not admitting anything. Anything at all.
Arthur leans in and whispers in Merlin's ear, warm breath and husky. "No, you don't."
Merlin doesn't.
He shudders.
"Damn it," Arthur whispers and this time the whisper sounds like Arthur's trying not to speak, or not to let Merlin hear him. It sounds as desperate as Merlin feels, so when Arthur starts kissing him, below his ear, down his neck, it's not any kind of surprise.
It's more of a surprise when Arthur keeps going, kissing his way down Merlin's chest, and belly, and wow- that, that is a surprise.
A very good one. Arthur's mouth is hot and wet around Merlin's prick, and Merlin thinks it's perfect until Arthur's hands start exploring and okay, he'd never thought being touched there would do anything for him, but it seems Arthur knows exactly what he's doing, and suddenly Merlin has a whole new concept of perfect.
He can't help moaning, and he can't help thrusting his hips up a bit, just to get more of that perfect suction, and he can't help it if he's saying stupid things. At least, he assumes the voice calling out Arthur, god, yes, more, please, yes, like that, you're amazing, Arthur is him. Though he'll deny it if he can.
He comes like a cavalry charge, and slumps back afterwards as exhausted as if he'd cast a hundred spells.
The bed is incredibly comfortable.
Merlin could just fall asleep.
"Oh, hell, no you don't," Arthur says, and punctuates his words with a kick and a punch. Not enough to actually hurt, but clearly meant to spoil his chances of falling asleep. "You are not leaving me like this," Arthur adds.
Which is slightly awkward, because Merlin's never done what Arthur's just done to him, and though he's sure it's a skill he can learn, he doesn't particularly want to do a shoddy job of it first time around. And he thinks it might be one of those things that are harder than they look, because Merlin knows roughly how much he can fit in his mouth, and a quick glance down tells him that he can't fit all that in. But then Arthur's grabbing his hand, and for a moment Merlin thinks things are going to get weird and girly and he's going to have to say romantic stuff or something, which he's unbelievably bad at, but then Arthur puts Merlin's hand where he wants it, and that's not girly at all.
And this is something Merlin has done. Only to himself, admittedly, but it's the same principle, just a different angle. It's not the same as doing it to himself, but it feels good, the weight in his hand, the heavy sound of Arthur's breath.
When Merlin looks up, Arthur's biting his lip like he's determined not to make a sound. Which is just not good enough.
Merlin concentrates, eyes down, so when he whispers a few words under his breath Arthur won't notice if Merlin's eyes flash gold. It's a simple spell, nothing untoward, just something to heighten the pleasure, make everything good feel even better.
And it works. Arthur's breath hitches, and then he's groaning, pulling Merlin to him, kissing him like he can't get enough. They're too close now for finesse, Merlin's hand pressed between their bellies, so he does what he can, stuttering out of rhythm because how can he be expected to concentrate with Arthur's tongue in his mouth and Arthur's hand on his arse?
It's enough for Arthur; his breathing's ragged now and he gives one final grunt and spills between them, warm and sticky. And falls asleep.
*
Merlin stretches out luxuriously. Even with Arthur in the bed, there's twice the room he's ever had before. He could get used to this.
He could get used to the sight of Arthur, too, naked and relaxed, sprawled out beside him. He doesn't stir under Merlin's gaze, just stares back lazily, like they've both all the time in the world to do nothing but look.
It's midday, though, light as bright as daffodils on his skin. Far too sunny for Merlin to be anything but awake and alert.
He swings his feet to the floor, only to get poked in the back by Arthur's knee. Merlin turns to him and grins. "Can't stay, I've got laundry to do. Don't know how long it'll take to get the wine stains out. But I've laid out clothes for you. They're on the back of the chair," he adds, pointing across the room at an empty chair.
"I hate you," Arthur says.
//