fic: home is where the prat is
title: Home Is Where The Prat Is
pairing: Arthur/Merlin
words: 3788
rating: R
note: Once upon a time overlady_hikki and I were having one of our usual epic conversations about Merlin, and I mentioned throne!sex, and Vee dared me to write some. So two months later I did, but I also wrote a load of other crap to go with it. So this fic is her fault, and she will take full responsibility if the majority of you think it sucks (HAHA). Vee, I love you like Bradley loves Colin, and this stupid fic that took bloody ages to write is dedicated to you. ♥
Home Is Where The Prat Is
An old Chinese proverb says, ‘Do not employ handsome servants.’
This is why it’s perfectly reasonable of Arthur to whine father when the King decides Merlin is his manservant without consulting him first.
Arthur would be lying if he said Merlin was typically handsome, but the boy is far from ugly. As a matter of fact, Arthur finds Merlin easy on the eyes, particularly when he has that goofy smile on his face. Arthur knows he’d probably see that smile more often if he wasn’t so constantly rude to Merlin. It’s only because he thinks the whole "treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen" scheme will get him inside Merlin’s breeches quicker.
Merlin isn’t really Arthur’s type. Not that Arthur knows what his type is, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t usually go for big-eared idiots with bowl haircuts.
He’s pretty sure he doesn’t usually go for blokes, either.
In light of Arthur’s little crush on Merlin, he has invented his own proverb. It says, ‘Do not fuck handsome manservants.’
There are two people in Arthur’s life he never listens to: Merlin, and himself.
So it’s only a matter of time Arthur fucks Merlin against his father’s throne.
***
It begins with a kiss in Ealdor.
Merlin doesn’t know whose idea it was to sleep top-and-tail, but he can’t say he’s too pleased with the sleeping arrangements when his master’s royal foot connects with his face.
"Kill the candle," Arthur says.
Merlin blows out the flame, and the room falls into darkness. Arthur shuts his eyes and sleeps, until a voice by his feet says, "Sire?"
"What is it, Merlin?" What completely useless insight would you care to bother me with this time? Arthur wonders.
"Your feet stink."
Arthur sits up in a fury. Sometimes he can’t believe the way Merlin speaks to him. He’s never had a servant so... opinionated. Servants aren’t supposed to have opinions.
"I beg your pardon?" the Prince snaps.
"Sorry. Your feet stink, my lord."
Arthur aims a swift kick at his manservant’s head.
"Ow!" yelps Merlin.
"If my feet smell bad," Arthur says, lying back down, "it’s because my incompetent manservant didn’t scrub them hard enough."
"I must have been preoccupied scrubbing behind your ears instead," Merlin replies dully.
"It would certainly take a while to scrub behind yours," Arthur says, looking perhaps a bit too smug about making yet another "you have funny ears" joke.
Arthur hears rustling; Merlin is fidgeting. A vein in Arthur’s forehead throbs.
"Merlin," Arthur says, and Merlin stills. "Don’t. Move."
"Yes, sire," Merlin drones, but this time his voice is by Arthur’s ear. Arthur turns his head and jumps; Merlin’s face is literally right under his nose.
"Merlin, you idiot! What did I just say about not moving?"
"Keep your voice down; you’ll wake the girls."
"I hardly think," Arthur splutters indignantly, "you hardly have the authority to silence me--"
Merlin leans over and silences him with a kiss anyway. Perhaps Merlin isn’t the worst manservant Arthur has ever had after all, because his methods of shutting him up are… inspiring, to say the least. When Merlin pulls away, Arthur is actually blushing.
"Merlin," Arthur starts, rubbing the bridge of his nose, looking like he's about to give him a piece of his mind. But Arthur’s eyes are heavy with sleep, and Merlin’s hand is warm on his belly. "I will deal with you in the morning."
"I look forward to it," Merlin responds with a drowsy smile. "Sleep well, my Prince."
"Not on this floor I won’t," Arthur grunts like the royal brat he is.
He doesn’t do cuddling, but he didn’t do a lot of things before he met Merlin. His gaze lingers a moment on Merlin’s arm draped across his waist, but Arthur says nothing. He does, however, shift closer to Merlin in a way that doesn’t appear too obvious.
The following morning, Arthur is jolted awake by a clanging noise. Someone lacked enough dexterity to drop a pot on the floor, and Arthur won’t let them get away unpunished.
MERLIN, Arthur thinks, because it’s probably his manservant being useless again, breaking something or other. But when Arthur looks at Merlin, he’s sound asleep. It’s Gwen who caused the disturbance; Gwen who is staring at him like he’s sprouted a second head; Gwen who looks like she wants to crawl into a hole and die.
"S-sorry," she stammers. "I didn’t mean to--it won’t happen again."
"Gwen, are you okay?" Arthur asks, because she’s never usually this clumsy. "Guinevere," he says as she dashes out of the room.
Arthur wonders what the hell that was all about, but the answer is right in front of him: Merlin’s face is in the crook of his neck, his hand resting upon Arthur’s heart, and their legs are entwined. It’s all very… intimate.
Flustered, Arthur untangles himself from Merlin and searches for something to clout him around the head with. His eyes fall upon the dropped cooking pot on the floor and a smirk slowly spreads across his face. He grabs the pot and holds it by Merlin’s ear.
"Rise and shine, Merlin," Arthur murmurs, ready to give the pot a hard thwack. "Idiots can’t afford to have lie-ins…"
At that moment, Merlin sighs a name in his sleep.
"Arthur…"
The Prince’s hard expression softens. Merlin’s sleep talking is enough to make Arthur freeze and reconsider what he’s about to do, which is burst Merlin’s eardrums. What kind of a person would he be to wake his manservant in the middle of a (no doubt, sexy) dream about him? The person he was before he met Merlin, a giant prat. These days he is a medium-sized prat.
Arthur looks at the pot in his hand, lets out a sigh, and puts the potential murder weapon down.
When did you become such a girl? says a little voice in Arthur’s head, and he falls back into sleep.
Perhaps idiots can afford to have lie-ins after all.
***
Arthur can’t stop thinking about his talk with Merlin in Ealdor, about fitting in. So he asks Morgana one day, "Do you think Merlin fits in here?" It’s probably the first time Arthur has ever asked Morgana’s opinion on anything.
"I think," she pauses reflectively, "you and Merlin fit together like two pieces of a puzzle."
Arthur looks at Morgana and remembers why he never asks her to share her opinion: she is a woman, and women never give straight answers. "You didn’t answer my question."
Morgana looks like she thoroughly regrets bestowing her words of wisdom to someone so thick-headed. "You really are a prat, aren’t you?" she says, walking away.
She never used to call him a prat before Merlin came along. At least, not to his face.
"You’ve been spending too much time with my manservant," Arthur says after Morgana.
"Pot, kettle, black, Arthur," she turns a corner of the castle and goes back to brushing her hair, or whatever she does.
He really hates it when she’s right.
***
Somewhere along the line, there’s an incident in a cave.
Arthur drags an unenthusiastic Merlin hunting. Merlin could have made up some excuse about Gaius needing his help to get out of it. But he knew if he didn’t go, the Prince would have brought back another dead magical beast, unleashed another curse on Camelot, and quicker than you can say "destiny" they’re having rat stew and drinking Merlin’s bathwater again.
Strangely, Arthur asks only Merlin to accompany him hunting, not the usual troop of knights. A storm breaks loose. They manage to seek shelter in a cave, somewhere they can wait for the bad weather to blow over. Dusk approaches. Merlin sits slumped against a wall, while Arthur stands in the mouth of the cave with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out at the rain. It’s relaxing, watching the rain splatter against the muddy ground…
That is, until Merlin smacks his lips behind him.
"Merlin, stop smacking your lips. It’s annoying."
It’s annoying because whenever Merlin does it, Arthur looks over, stares at his mouth, and gets the urge to kiss him.
Arthur is certain Merlin won’t disobey his orders, which is why he’s so shocked when Merlin has the audacity to smack his lips again. Arthur steals a glance at Merlin’s mouth, and a lump forms in his throat. And in his breeches.
"Merlin," Arthur says, clenching his fists, "if you don’t stop smacking your lips, I’ll smack you." He tears his gaze from Merlin’s mouth and focuses on the rain bouncing off puddles. He’s itching to hunt something, and if Merlin isn’t careful, he’s going to get chased by a very angry Prince with a crossbow.
Meanwhile, the warlock is fed up. He’s thirsty and tired and cold and if he wants to smack his lips he’ll bloody well do it because they’re his lips and he has the right to do whatever he pleases with them, including whistle sometimes which drives Arthur mad.
So Merlin smacks his lips again, simply because he can.
Something inside Arthur snaps. He whips round, strides over to Merlin and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. Then, he lifts his servant to his feet and slams him backwards against the wall of the cave with a dull thud. Merlin is pinned by Arthur’s hand around his throat. His grip is tight enough to make Merlin uncomfortable, but not too tight he can’t breathe.
"I dare you to do it again," Arthur hisses dangerously, his weight pressed against Merlin’s. "Go on, do it. See what happens."
Arthur expects Merlin to look scared, but it isn’t fear in Merlin’s eyes, and isn’t anger in Arthur’s - it’s want. Suddenly, it clicks and everything falls into place: Arthur wants Merlin to challenge him, so he does, moistening his lips noisily, and Arthur growls and lunges forward, pressing his mouth desperately against Merlin’s, and Merlin responds urgently, puts his arms around Arthur’s back and thinks he’s going to melt into the wall behind him. Then, just like that, Arthur pulls back like a bat out of hell.
"Do you get off on disobeying me, Merlin?"
Merlin looks half surprised about what just happened, and half frustrated about the happening in question coming so quickly to an end. It takes a while for Merlin’s brain to catch up with his mouth. "No," his voice returns at last, smirking when he feels Arthur’s hardness. "But I think you do."
"You’re speaking out of turn again."
"But I think you do," Merlin repeats, but adds this time, "my lord?"
Arthur bites back a laugh. "You cannot just add 'my lord' to every rude and disrespectful comment you make to redeem yourself."
Merlin’s eyes travel over Arthur. "Then what can I do," he pauses and deliberately draws out the word, "sire?"
There’s a clap of thunder, but neither of them jump. Arthur’s face is unreadable when he says, "Make the rain stop."
Merlin looks at Arthur and thinks, I would move heaven and earth to make you happy.
Sliding out from between Arthur and the wall, Merlin leaves the cave and steps out into the downpour. He feels Arthur’s eyes on him as he sticks out his hand towards the heavens, and after strange-sounding words are muttered and eyes change colour, the sky glows, and somewhere Gaius raises a disapproving eyebrow as the rain stops like someone turned off a tap. It’s a powerful spell that takes a lot out of Merlin, so much his knees give way and he can feel himself falling - but Arthur is by his side, holding him up under his armpits.
"You idiot," Arthur supports Merlin’s gangly body. "Why didn’t you do that half an hour ago?"
Merlin tells the truth, "Because I wanted to be stuck in a cave with you," and suddenly Arthur’s face isn’t so unreadable anymore. Merlin’s shocked because Arthur isn’t shocked by what he just saw, and Merlin realizes Arthur doesn’t know what he is, he already knew. He has a million questions to ask Arthur. How long have you known? Why haven’t you told Uther? Why haven’t you had me executed? But the answers to those questions can wait. He needs only one answer now, and it’s to this question: "If you knew what I am, why didn’t you order me to stop the rain half an hour ago?"
"Because," Arthur closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s, "I wanted to be stuck in a cave with you."
The heavens open up, and it buckets with rain once again. Their sodden clothes stick to their skin.
"Is this your doing?" Arthur says into Merlin’s wet hair. Merlin shakes his head against Arthur’s shoulder.
"Maybe destiny wants the same thing we do," Merlin says, shivering.
Arthur slides him a grin. "Then destiny is a filthy pervert."
Merlin laughs, "That’s just you," as Arthur drags them back inside the cave before they fall ill. Merlin looks up at Arthur through his wet, spiky eyelashes, and they should talk about Merlin’s secret, but they don’t. The rain is too loud for talk, but it’s not too loud for yelling - but Arthur doesn’t want to fight with Merlin, he wants to kiss him. So Arthur frames Merlin’s face in his hands and bends to his mouth. After a few breathy kisses, Merlin decides it’s Arthur’s turn to be trapped against the wall, moving against him as he toys with the laces of Arthur’s breeches like he hasn’t been hard for the past painstaking half hour, until Arthur can feel Merlin’s fingers wrap around him. Arthur can only describe it as sweet relief.
"Finally," Arthur mutters.
Merlin shoots him a look that says don’t be an ass, and Arthur stops talking, the only sounds he makes with his mouth after that being appreciative moans, drowned out by the rain. Eventually, an exhausted Arthur sinks to the ground, Merlin beside him. Merlin crawls between Arthur’s legs, and Arthur holds Merlin closer than he’s ever held anyone.
"I want to go home."
Arthur’s heart stops. His breathing stills and his hold on Merlin tightens.
"Y-you can’t." I need you. "You can’t go back to Ealdor now--"
"I meant Camelot."
Merlin pulls back and smiled ridiculously at Arthur, and Arthur stares dumbly at him for a moment, until cuffing Merlin lightly round the head.
They leave the cave when Arthur complains of hunger pains.
Home is where the heart is, and Merlin’s heart lies with Arthur.
***
Uther get a new throne. It looks exactly the same as the old one.
He tells Arthur to order Merlin to polish his throne because he understands Arthur trusts his manservant, so as a result he trusts Merlin with the great responsibility of making his throne shine like a mirror. It’s brand new, it doesn’t need polishing. Merlin points this out to Arthur, and gets a cloth thrown in his face, accompanied by the words, "Just do it, Merlin!"
Merlin is alone in the trophy room, rubbing pointlessly at the wooden chair. His job is done before he’s even begun, but if he goes back to Arthur now and says he’s already finished, Arthur won't believe he's done the job properly and probably give him more chores to do, and Merlin would rather pretend to polish Uther’s throne than muck out the stables.
Merlin gets bored, and boredom drives him to do dangerously stupid things, like sit on the throne and impersonate the King and his son having a private word.
"Why did you come to see me, Arthur?" Merlin says in a voice that’s supposed to be Uther’s. "Father," he mimics Arthur’s speech very well, "since I act like such a prat all the time, I insist the people of Camelot address me as Prince Prat. What do you think?" Uther speaks. "Good idea, Arthur. Did you think of it yourself?" Merlin tips his head back and laughs the way Arthur does. "Of course not, all my ideas are rash and brainless. My outstanding manservant did." Uther looks pleasantly surprised. "Is that so? Perhaps he doesn’t have a mental affliction after all." Arthur speaks. "He never did, father, but I do." Uther responds. "Don’t take this the wrong way, son, but that makes a lot of sense-"
Merlin is interrupted by slow clapping at the other end of the room, jumping up in fright as he sees Arthur is the one giving him a round of applause with a half-annoyed, half-amused stare. Merlin had been so caught up in his own little world he hadn’t heard Arthur enter.
"I could have you thrown in the cells for that little display," Arthur says, sauntering over to him.
Merlin fears for his life. He can’t believe he just did that. He really does have a mental affliction. "How long have you been standing there?" he asks nervously.
"Long enough," Arthur says, in front of Merlin now. Arthur pushes him lightly in the chest and he falls back ungainly into the throne. Then, Arthur puts his hands on either side of the chair’s arms, so Merlin is trapped. Merlin shifts uncomfortably into the back of the chair. "Remind me never to make you the court jester. You’re the worst impressionist ever."
"You’re only saying that because I made fun of you," Merlin scoffs, relaxing once he knows for certain Arthur isn't angry enough to have him beheaded. "And you have no sense of humour," he dares to add.
"Fine. Then do Morgana."
Merlin raises an eyebrow at Arthur’s challenge, and then imitates a distressed Lady Morgana after one of her prophetic dreams. "Arthur! Arthur, I had a dream! I had a dream you were a prat!" There’s a look of fake realization upon his face. "Wait a moment, that wasn’t a dream. That’s reality."
"Terrible," smiles Arthur, leaning closer to Merlin. "What do you think?"
Merlin blinks at Arthur, "Of what?"
Arthur sighs and gestures to what he’s sitting on, "The throne, Merlin."
"Oh." Merlin moves about in his seat, as though that’ll help him form a better opinion of the chair. "It’s nice," he shrugs. "Very… throney."
"Throney," Arthur repeats amusedly. Merlin blushes at his inarticulateness, and Arthur swoops forwards to kiss him. At least, Arthur would have kissed him, if Merlin hadn’t shoved him backwards.
Merlin’s voice raises several octaves. "Are you mad?"
"It’s all right," Arthur assures him. "Father’s busy executing someone, and I told the guards outside not to let anyone in here. Now, be a good servant and take off your clothes. And be quick about it."
Merlin has to admit, Arthur’s covered his tracks well. But the mention of execution hasn’t exactly put him in the mood. Arthur catches on that Merlin’s going to need a bit of an encouragement, reaching down and rubbing his hand over the bulge in Merlin’s crotch. He groans softly, and Arthur breaks into grin as Merlin springs to life like Arthur pressed an 'on' switch, yanking off his neck scarf while Arthur helps pull his tunic over his head, and then his own.
"Up," Arthur says, and Merlin loops his arms around his neck as he’s plucked out of his seat - Uther’s seat - and Arthur pulls Merlin’s hips flush against his. Their lips meet, and they kiss, slowly at first, and then with increased urgency. Deftly, Arthur unlaces Merlin’s breeches, and they pool around his ankles.
"Arthur," Merlin whines throatily as the blonde cups his arse with one hand and weaves his fingers through his hair with the other. Arthur’s breeches join Merlin’s on the floor, and Merlin is vaguely aware of Arthur turning him around and pressing into his back, tickling the nape of his neck with kisses. Then, Merlin is bent over the arm of the throne, left wondering if Arthur is doing this because he’s mad at his father about something, and what better way to seek revenge than shagging your manservant against Daddy’s special chair? But as he braces himself against the throne, feels Arthur’s fingers sink into his hips and his cock ease inside him, he realizes he doesn’t care if Arthur has ulterior motives. And honestly? Arthur doesn’t.
Air leaves Merlin’s lungs in a rush of gratifying agony, and he bites the inside of his mouth at the pain, until it passes into bliss. They sweat like pigs and settle into a rhythm, Arthur rocking his hips forward while Merlin pushes back to meet his thrusts. Their panting breaths and shuddering moans echo and fill the room. Arthur’s thighs slap against the back of Merlin’s legs as the throne jerks every time Arthur slowly pulls out of Merlin, only to slam back into him again. A smirk tugs at Arthur's lips around the same time he tugs at Merlin's hair, wrenching his head back, and a strangled cry bubbles from Merlin's throat. Merlin’s close, and after a couple of frantic strokes of his cock, he’s coming over Uther’s new throne. With one more angled thrust, Arthur comes, too.
Arthur trails his hand down Merlin’s spine as he slips out of him with care. To think, Arthur had almost missed this to watch someone be burned at the stake. "Well, that was more enjoyable than watching a man be executed," he says, perhaps a little too cheerfully considering the subject matter.
Merlin straightens and turns around; Arthur gazes upon his flushed face. There’s a hint of concern in Merlin’s voice when he asks Arthur, "For what reason is the man being executed?"
Merlin already knows the answer. It’s in Arthur’s eyes: sorcery. Merlin can bet the man isn’t a sorcerer. His wife probably discovered he had an affair and wanted revenge by falsely accusing him of being a sorcerer, setting him up for execution; it wouldn't be the first time. Merlin wonders how much time he has left with Arthur until Uther finds out what he really is and sentences him to death. It hadn’t mattered much in the beginning when he first came to Camelot, the threat that if he exposed his powers in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would be killed. But now, Merlin has something to lose: Arthur.
It’s as though Arthur reads Merlin’s mind, cupping his face between his hands. "I will die before I let any harm come to you, Merlin."
Arthur kisses him, melting his worry away.
The tender moment is cut short by Arthur hurling a cloth in his face for a second time that day. He motions to the King’s recently filthy throne, "Clean up your mess."
Merlin thinks, I always do, bending down to pick up his clothes - but Arthur stops him by catching his wrist.
"Clean up your mess first, then you can put on your clothes."
Merlin rolls his eyes with a smile, flicks the cloth playfully at Arthur, then bends over the throne, giving his master a perfect view of his arse (as though he hasn't seen enough of it already), and begins cleaning.
pairing: Arthur/Merlin
words: 3788
rating: R
note: Once upon a time overlady_hikki and I were having one of our usual epic conversations about Merlin, and I mentioned throne!sex, and Vee dared me to write some. So two months later I did, but I also wrote a load of other crap to go with it. So this fic is her fault, and she will take full responsibility if the majority of you think it sucks (HAHA). Vee, I love you like Bradley loves Colin, and this stupid fic that took bloody ages to write is dedicated to you. ♥
Home Is Where The Prat Is
An old Chinese proverb says, ‘Do not employ handsome servants.’
This is why it’s perfectly reasonable of Arthur to whine father when the King decides Merlin is his manservant without consulting him first.
Arthur would be lying if he said Merlin was typically handsome, but the boy is far from ugly. As a matter of fact, Arthur finds Merlin easy on the eyes, particularly when he has that goofy smile on his face. Arthur knows he’d probably see that smile more often if he wasn’t so constantly rude to Merlin. It’s only because he thinks the whole "treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen" scheme will get him inside Merlin’s breeches quicker.
Merlin isn’t really Arthur’s type. Not that Arthur knows what his type is, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t usually go for big-eared idiots with bowl haircuts.
He’s pretty sure he doesn’t usually go for blokes, either.
In light of Arthur’s little crush on Merlin, he has invented his own proverb. It says, ‘Do not fuck handsome manservants.’
There are two people in Arthur’s life he never listens to: Merlin, and himself.
So it’s only a matter of time Arthur fucks Merlin against his father’s throne.
***
It begins with a kiss in Ealdor.
Merlin doesn’t know whose idea it was to sleep top-and-tail, but he can’t say he’s too pleased with the sleeping arrangements when his master’s royal foot connects with his face.
"Kill the candle," Arthur says.
Merlin blows out the flame, and the room falls into darkness. Arthur shuts his eyes and sleeps, until a voice by his feet says, "Sire?"
"What is it, Merlin?" What completely useless insight would you care to bother me with this time? Arthur wonders.
"Your feet stink."
Arthur sits up in a fury. Sometimes he can’t believe the way Merlin speaks to him. He’s never had a servant so... opinionated. Servants aren’t supposed to have opinions.
"I beg your pardon?" the Prince snaps.
"Sorry. Your feet stink, my lord."
Arthur aims a swift kick at his manservant’s head.
"Ow!" yelps Merlin.
"If my feet smell bad," Arthur says, lying back down, "it’s because my incompetent manservant didn’t scrub them hard enough."
"I must have been preoccupied scrubbing behind your ears instead," Merlin replies dully.
"It would certainly take a while to scrub behind yours," Arthur says, looking perhaps a bit too smug about making yet another "you have funny ears" joke.
Arthur hears rustling; Merlin is fidgeting. A vein in Arthur’s forehead throbs.
"Merlin," Arthur says, and Merlin stills. "Don’t. Move."
"Yes, sire," Merlin drones, but this time his voice is by Arthur’s ear. Arthur turns his head and jumps; Merlin’s face is literally right under his nose.
"Merlin, you idiot! What did I just say about not moving?"
"Keep your voice down; you’ll wake the girls."
"I hardly think," Arthur splutters indignantly, "you hardly have the authority to silence me--"
Merlin leans over and silences him with a kiss anyway. Perhaps Merlin isn’t the worst manservant Arthur has ever had after all, because his methods of shutting him up are… inspiring, to say the least. When Merlin pulls away, Arthur is actually blushing.
"Merlin," Arthur starts, rubbing the bridge of his nose, looking like he's about to give him a piece of his mind. But Arthur’s eyes are heavy with sleep, and Merlin’s hand is warm on his belly. "I will deal with you in the morning."
"I look forward to it," Merlin responds with a drowsy smile. "Sleep well, my Prince."
"Not on this floor I won’t," Arthur grunts like the royal brat he is.
He doesn’t do cuddling, but he didn’t do a lot of things before he met Merlin. His gaze lingers a moment on Merlin’s arm draped across his waist, but Arthur says nothing. He does, however, shift closer to Merlin in a way that doesn’t appear too obvious.
The following morning, Arthur is jolted awake by a clanging noise. Someone lacked enough dexterity to drop a pot on the floor, and Arthur won’t let them get away unpunished.
MERLIN, Arthur thinks, because it’s probably his manservant being useless again, breaking something or other. But when Arthur looks at Merlin, he’s sound asleep. It’s Gwen who caused the disturbance; Gwen who is staring at him like he’s sprouted a second head; Gwen who looks like she wants to crawl into a hole and die.
"S-sorry," she stammers. "I didn’t mean to--it won’t happen again."
"Gwen, are you okay?" Arthur asks, because she’s never usually this clumsy. "Guinevere," he says as she dashes out of the room.
Arthur wonders what the hell that was all about, but the answer is right in front of him: Merlin’s face is in the crook of his neck, his hand resting upon Arthur’s heart, and their legs are entwined. It’s all very… intimate.
Flustered, Arthur untangles himself from Merlin and searches for something to clout him around the head with. His eyes fall upon the dropped cooking pot on the floor and a smirk slowly spreads across his face. He grabs the pot and holds it by Merlin’s ear.
"Rise and shine, Merlin," Arthur murmurs, ready to give the pot a hard thwack. "Idiots can’t afford to have lie-ins…"
At that moment, Merlin sighs a name in his sleep.
"Arthur…"
The Prince’s hard expression softens. Merlin’s sleep talking is enough to make Arthur freeze and reconsider what he’s about to do, which is burst Merlin’s eardrums. What kind of a person would he be to wake his manservant in the middle of a (no doubt, sexy) dream about him? The person he was before he met Merlin, a giant prat. These days he is a medium-sized prat.
Arthur looks at the pot in his hand, lets out a sigh, and puts the potential murder weapon down.
When did you become such a girl? says a little voice in Arthur’s head, and he falls back into sleep.
Perhaps idiots can afford to have lie-ins after all.
***
Arthur can’t stop thinking about his talk with Merlin in Ealdor, about fitting in. So he asks Morgana one day, "Do you think Merlin fits in here?" It’s probably the first time Arthur has ever asked Morgana’s opinion on anything.
"I think," she pauses reflectively, "you and Merlin fit together like two pieces of a puzzle."
Arthur looks at Morgana and remembers why he never asks her to share her opinion: she is a woman, and women never give straight answers. "You didn’t answer my question."
Morgana looks like she thoroughly regrets bestowing her words of wisdom to someone so thick-headed. "You really are a prat, aren’t you?" she says, walking away.
She never used to call him a prat before Merlin came along. At least, not to his face.
"You’ve been spending too much time with my manservant," Arthur says after Morgana.
"Pot, kettle, black, Arthur," she turns a corner of the castle and goes back to brushing her hair, or whatever she does.
He really hates it when she’s right.
***
Somewhere along the line, there’s an incident in a cave.
Arthur drags an unenthusiastic Merlin hunting. Merlin could have made up some excuse about Gaius needing his help to get out of it. But he knew if he didn’t go, the Prince would have brought back another dead magical beast, unleashed another curse on Camelot, and quicker than you can say "destiny" they’re having rat stew and drinking Merlin’s bathwater again.
Strangely, Arthur asks only Merlin to accompany him hunting, not the usual troop of knights. A storm breaks loose. They manage to seek shelter in a cave, somewhere they can wait for the bad weather to blow over. Dusk approaches. Merlin sits slumped against a wall, while Arthur stands in the mouth of the cave with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out at the rain. It’s relaxing, watching the rain splatter against the muddy ground…
That is, until Merlin smacks his lips behind him.
"Merlin, stop smacking your lips. It’s annoying."
It’s annoying because whenever Merlin does it, Arthur looks over, stares at his mouth, and gets the urge to kiss him.
Arthur is certain Merlin won’t disobey his orders, which is why he’s so shocked when Merlin has the audacity to smack his lips again. Arthur steals a glance at Merlin’s mouth, and a lump forms in his throat. And in his breeches.
"Merlin," Arthur says, clenching his fists, "if you don’t stop smacking your lips, I’ll smack you." He tears his gaze from Merlin’s mouth and focuses on the rain bouncing off puddles. He’s itching to hunt something, and if Merlin isn’t careful, he’s going to get chased by a very angry Prince with a crossbow.
Meanwhile, the warlock is fed up. He’s thirsty and tired and cold and if he wants to smack his lips he’ll bloody well do it because they’re his lips and he has the right to do whatever he pleases with them, including whistle sometimes which drives Arthur mad.
So Merlin smacks his lips again, simply because he can.
Something inside Arthur snaps. He whips round, strides over to Merlin and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. Then, he lifts his servant to his feet and slams him backwards against the wall of the cave with a dull thud. Merlin is pinned by Arthur’s hand around his throat. His grip is tight enough to make Merlin uncomfortable, but not too tight he can’t breathe.
"I dare you to do it again," Arthur hisses dangerously, his weight pressed against Merlin’s. "Go on, do it. See what happens."
Arthur expects Merlin to look scared, but it isn’t fear in Merlin’s eyes, and isn’t anger in Arthur’s - it’s want. Suddenly, it clicks and everything falls into place: Arthur wants Merlin to challenge him, so he does, moistening his lips noisily, and Arthur growls and lunges forward, pressing his mouth desperately against Merlin’s, and Merlin responds urgently, puts his arms around Arthur’s back and thinks he’s going to melt into the wall behind him. Then, just like that, Arthur pulls back like a bat out of hell.
"Do you get off on disobeying me, Merlin?"
Merlin looks half surprised about what just happened, and half frustrated about the happening in question coming so quickly to an end. It takes a while for Merlin’s brain to catch up with his mouth. "No," his voice returns at last, smirking when he feels Arthur’s hardness. "But I think you do."
"You’re speaking out of turn again."
"But I think you do," Merlin repeats, but adds this time, "my lord?"
Arthur bites back a laugh. "You cannot just add 'my lord' to every rude and disrespectful comment you make to redeem yourself."
Merlin’s eyes travel over Arthur. "Then what can I do," he pauses and deliberately draws out the word, "sire?"
There’s a clap of thunder, but neither of them jump. Arthur’s face is unreadable when he says, "Make the rain stop."
Merlin looks at Arthur and thinks, I would move heaven and earth to make you happy.
Sliding out from between Arthur and the wall, Merlin leaves the cave and steps out into the downpour. He feels Arthur’s eyes on him as he sticks out his hand towards the heavens, and after strange-sounding words are muttered and eyes change colour, the sky glows, and somewhere Gaius raises a disapproving eyebrow as the rain stops like someone turned off a tap. It’s a powerful spell that takes a lot out of Merlin, so much his knees give way and he can feel himself falling - but Arthur is by his side, holding him up under his armpits.
"You idiot," Arthur supports Merlin’s gangly body. "Why didn’t you do that half an hour ago?"
Merlin tells the truth, "Because I wanted to be stuck in a cave with you," and suddenly Arthur’s face isn’t so unreadable anymore. Merlin’s shocked because Arthur isn’t shocked by what he just saw, and Merlin realizes Arthur doesn’t know what he is, he already knew. He has a million questions to ask Arthur. How long have you known? Why haven’t you told Uther? Why haven’t you had me executed? But the answers to those questions can wait. He needs only one answer now, and it’s to this question: "If you knew what I am, why didn’t you order me to stop the rain half an hour ago?"
"Because," Arthur closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s, "I wanted to be stuck in a cave with you."
The heavens open up, and it buckets with rain once again. Their sodden clothes stick to their skin.
"Is this your doing?" Arthur says into Merlin’s wet hair. Merlin shakes his head against Arthur’s shoulder.
"Maybe destiny wants the same thing we do," Merlin says, shivering.
Arthur slides him a grin. "Then destiny is a filthy pervert."
Merlin laughs, "That’s just you," as Arthur drags them back inside the cave before they fall ill. Merlin looks up at Arthur through his wet, spiky eyelashes, and they should talk about Merlin’s secret, but they don’t. The rain is too loud for talk, but it’s not too loud for yelling - but Arthur doesn’t want to fight with Merlin, he wants to kiss him. So Arthur frames Merlin’s face in his hands and bends to his mouth. After a few breathy kisses, Merlin decides it’s Arthur’s turn to be trapped against the wall, moving against him as he toys with the laces of Arthur’s breeches like he hasn’t been hard for the past painstaking half hour, until Arthur can feel Merlin’s fingers wrap around him. Arthur can only describe it as sweet relief.
"Finally," Arthur mutters.
Merlin shoots him a look that says don’t be an ass, and Arthur stops talking, the only sounds he makes with his mouth after that being appreciative moans, drowned out by the rain. Eventually, an exhausted Arthur sinks to the ground, Merlin beside him. Merlin crawls between Arthur’s legs, and Arthur holds Merlin closer than he’s ever held anyone.
"I want to go home."
Arthur’s heart stops. His breathing stills and his hold on Merlin tightens.
"Y-you can’t." I need you. "You can’t go back to Ealdor now--"
"I meant Camelot."
Merlin pulls back and smiled ridiculously at Arthur, and Arthur stares dumbly at him for a moment, until cuffing Merlin lightly round the head.
They leave the cave when Arthur complains of hunger pains.
Home is where the heart is, and Merlin’s heart lies with Arthur.
***
Uther get a new throne. It looks exactly the same as the old one.
He tells Arthur to order Merlin to polish his throne because he understands Arthur trusts his manservant, so as a result he trusts Merlin with the great responsibility of making his throne shine like a mirror. It’s brand new, it doesn’t need polishing. Merlin points this out to Arthur, and gets a cloth thrown in his face, accompanied by the words, "Just do it, Merlin!"
Merlin is alone in the trophy room, rubbing pointlessly at the wooden chair. His job is done before he’s even begun, but if he goes back to Arthur now and says he’s already finished, Arthur won't believe he's done the job properly and probably give him more chores to do, and Merlin would rather pretend to polish Uther’s throne than muck out the stables.
Merlin gets bored, and boredom drives him to do dangerously stupid things, like sit on the throne and impersonate the King and his son having a private word.
"Why did you come to see me, Arthur?" Merlin says in a voice that’s supposed to be Uther’s. "Father," he mimics Arthur’s speech very well, "since I act like such a prat all the time, I insist the people of Camelot address me as Prince Prat. What do you think?" Uther speaks. "Good idea, Arthur. Did you think of it yourself?" Merlin tips his head back and laughs the way Arthur does. "Of course not, all my ideas are rash and brainless. My outstanding manservant did." Uther looks pleasantly surprised. "Is that so? Perhaps he doesn’t have a mental affliction after all." Arthur speaks. "He never did, father, but I do." Uther responds. "Don’t take this the wrong way, son, but that makes a lot of sense-"
Merlin is interrupted by slow clapping at the other end of the room, jumping up in fright as he sees Arthur is the one giving him a round of applause with a half-annoyed, half-amused stare. Merlin had been so caught up in his own little world he hadn’t heard Arthur enter.
"I could have you thrown in the cells for that little display," Arthur says, sauntering over to him.
Merlin fears for his life. He can’t believe he just did that. He really does have a mental affliction. "How long have you been standing there?" he asks nervously.
"Long enough," Arthur says, in front of Merlin now. Arthur pushes him lightly in the chest and he falls back ungainly into the throne. Then, Arthur puts his hands on either side of the chair’s arms, so Merlin is trapped. Merlin shifts uncomfortably into the back of the chair. "Remind me never to make you the court jester. You’re the worst impressionist ever."
"You’re only saying that because I made fun of you," Merlin scoffs, relaxing once he knows for certain Arthur isn't angry enough to have him beheaded. "And you have no sense of humour," he dares to add.
"Fine. Then do Morgana."
Merlin raises an eyebrow at Arthur’s challenge, and then imitates a distressed Lady Morgana after one of her prophetic dreams. "Arthur! Arthur, I had a dream! I had a dream you were a prat!" There’s a look of fake realization upon his face. "Wait a moment, that wasn’t a dream. That’s reality."
"Terrible," smiles Arthur, leaning closer to Merlin. "What do you think?"
Merlin blinks at Arthur, "Of what?"
Arthur sighs and gestures to what he’s sitting on, "The throne, Merlin."
"Oh." Merlin moves about in his seat, as though that’ll help him form a better opinion of the chair. "It’s nice," he shrugs. "Very… throney."
"Throney," Arthur repeats amusedly. Merlin blushes at his inarticulateness, and Arthur swoops forwards to kiss him. At least, Arthur would have kissed him, if Merlin hadn’t shoved him backwards.
Merlin’s voice raises several octaves. "Are you mad?"
"It’s all right," Arthur assures him. "Father’s busy executing someone, and I told the guards outside not to let anyone in here. Now, be a good servant and take off your clothes. And be quick about it."
Merlin has to admit, Arthur’s covered his tracks well. But the mention of execution hasn’t exactly put him in the mood. Arthur catches on that Merlin’s going to need a bit of an encouragement, reaching down and rubbing his hand over the bulge in Merlin’s crotch. He groans softly, and Arthur breaks into grin as Merlin springs to life like Arthur pressed an 'on' switch, yanking off his neck scarf while Arthur helps pull his tunic over his head, and then his own.
"Up," Arthur says, and Merlin loops his arms around his neck as he’s plucked out of his seat - Uther’s seat - and Arthur pulls Merlin’s hips flush against his. Their lips meet, and they kiss, slowly at first, and then with increased urgency. Deftly, Arthur unlaces Merlin’s breeches, and they pool around his ankles.
"Arthur," Merlin whines throatily as the blonde cups his arse with one hand and weaves his fingers through his hair with the other. Arthur’s breeches join Merlin’s on the floor, and Merlin is vaguely aware of Arthur turning him around and pressing into his back, tickling the nape of his neck with kisses. Then, Merlin is bent over the arm of the throne, left wondering if Arthur is doing this because he’s mad at his father about something, and what better way to seek revenge than shagging your manservant against Daddy’s special chair? But as he braces himself against the throne, feels Arthur’s fingers sink into his hips and his cock ease inside him, he realizes he doesn’t care if Arthur has ulterior motives. And honestly? Arthur doesn’t.
Air leaves Merlin’s lungs in a rush of gratifying agony, and he bites the inside of his mouth at the pain, until it passes into bliss. They sweat like pigs and settle into a rhythm, Arthur rocking his hips forward while Merlin pushes back to meet his thrusts. Their panting breaths and shuddering moans echo and fill the room. Arthur’s thighs slap against the back of Merlin’s legs as the throne jerks every time Arthur slowly pulls out of Merlin, only to slam back into him again. A smirk tugs at Arthur's lips around the same time he tugs at Merlin's hair, wrenching his head back, and a strangled cry bubbles from Merlin's throat. Merlin’s close, and after a couple of frantic strokes of his cock, he’s coming over Uther’s new throne. With one more angled thrust, Arthur comes, too.
Arthur trails his hand down Merlin’s spine as he slips out of him with care. To think, Arthur had almost missed this to watch someone be burned at the stake. "Well, that was more enjoyable than watching a man be executed," he says, perhaps a little too cheerfully considering the subject matter.
Merlin straightens and turns around; Arthur gazes upon his flushed face. There’s a hint of concern in Merlin’s voice when he asks Arthur, "For what reason is the man being executed?"
Merlin already knows the answer. It’s in Arthur’s eyes: sorcery. Merlin can bet the man isn’t a sorcerer. His wife probably discovered he had an affair and wanted revenge by falsely accusing him of being a sorcerer, setting him up for execution; it wouldn't be the first time. Merlin wonders how much time he has left with Arthur until Uther finds out what he really is and sentences him to death. It hadn’t mattered much in the beginning when he first came to Camelot, the threat that if he exposed his powers in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would be killed. But now, Merlin has something to lose: Arthur.
It’s as though Arthur reads Merlin’s mind, cupping his face between his hands. "I will die before I let any harm come to you, Merlin."
Arthur kisses him, melting his worry away.
The tender moment is cut short by Arthur hurling a cloth in his face for a second time that day. He motions to the King’s recently filthy throne, "Clean up your mess."
Merlin thinks, I always do, bending down to pick up his clothes - but Arthur stops him by catching his wrist.
"Clean up your mess first, then you can put on your clothes."
Merlin rolls his eyes with a smile, flicks the cloth playfully at Arthur, then bends over the throne, giving his master a perfect view of his arse (as though he hasn't seen enough of it already), and begins cleaning.