Fic: No Ordinary Servant (Merlin/Arthur)
Title: No Ordinary Servant
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 4000+
Summary: But this ... with this Merlin felt the need to protest. He couldn't raise his hands any higher than his shoulders from exhaustion - surely that meant something?
Disclaimer: Merlin and Arthur (in this form, because in this form they certainly aren't anything like legend) belong to BBC.
A/N: So, wtf, 'Merlin' fic?? Seriously? Someone check my sanity, please. Like I need another fandom! And you have no idea how hard it was to type 'Merlin' instead of 'Ianto.'
Written for my fabulous beta Lilithilien who was totally utterly overworked yesterday so I thought she could use some porny goodness to cheer her up. And nothing says love like boys smexxin in bathtubs.
"You ... what?"
To most anyone in all of Albion, the words were insubordinate at best, treasonous at their very worst. And most anyone in all of Albion who might happen upon a servant in such a bedraggled state would wisely look the other way and whisper their agreement when noble ears weren't listening.
Of course, most anyone in all of Albion did not include his royal Highness, who had the audacity to maintain stoicism when confronted with a spluttering servant incapable of forming coherent sentences for fear of slipping in a curse or two which may have permanent affect on the Prince's future lineage. Merlin was never sure about those, never really sure about his magic as a whole but most certainly not after he'd been awaken before dawn to engage in hunt.
Hunt. For a bloody white stag rumored to be in the area.
On foot!
Through the mud. And across a river. And over countless hills. And a briar patch.
Did he mention the mud?
It stank, like Gaius' worst potion left out on a summer's day. Foul and clingy, it hadn't been his fault that he'd fallen in, no, he blamed the Prince for that. Ordered him into the ravine spotted with stagnant water to look for tracks! Like Merlin had the vaguest idea of what a bloody track looked like, much less be able to distinguish between a boar and white stag. Or a bloody mouse.
Of course while standing in that ravine a great beast of a terrifying sort had attacked Arthur from the skies - a dangerous, venomous, magical beast like all the dangerous, evil things Arthur naturally seemed to attract. And Merlin had joined the fray as well, battling the beast when he could no longer hear Arthur. It'd been a long battle using magic Merlin could barely contain, much less control, but he'd killed the beast, sending it back to whatever hells it had stemmed from. And promptly slipped and fell in the mud as he raced up the ravine to find Arthur and find out why he'd stopped fighting and if Merlin needed to flee Camelot for using magic. He needn't have hurried - Arthur was unharmed and appeared to have no memory of the attack or how the battle ended.
Merlin had kicked a tree stump in a fit of spite, not that he wished to be executed but he had really been magnificent fighting that beast. Hurt his toe when as one could have predicted the stump didn't move, but the pain momentarily cleared the fog from his battle weary (and trek weary) body.
And then upon returning, reeking mud latched on to every stitch of clothing like terrible bog leeches, he'd been commandeered by the King to tend his horse and tack. The stable boy was apparently ill and for some reason Merlin's expression had screamed 'yes, I've not entirely exhausted myself for the day, I will tend to your needs and would you like me to march to Eildon Hills to fetch spring water for your tea?'
The ruddy horse had tried to eat him.
Gwen had found him next, in such a state of panic Merlin had no option but to fetch the aromatics Morgana required, if only to preserve Gwen's well-being. He didn't ask what the fragrant oils were for, but Gwen assured him that they would drastically alter Morgana into a much happier, and less wicked, mood.
As Merlin had seen her battle with both tongue and sword, he ran to Gaius' first, and then to his supplier when Gaius discovered he was out to preserve his good standing with Morgana as well as the mood of the court.
Then Prince Pain-in-the-Arse wanted his armor polished (to remove the bunny fluff from the killer hare attack - not that the hare had truly been a killer, but it had made more noise than a hare ought and Arthur had been certain it was a vicious attacking ... something other than a hare - Arthur had sworn Merlin on pain of death never to tell a soul), his boots shined, his fall cloak - the scarlet one with the gold crest, not the red one with the yellow crest - freshened as Arthur had detected a faint chill in the air which could mean the weather changing or that there had simply been a bloody breeze, and his sword sharpened.
That in addition to Merlin's standard nightly duties.
But this ... with this Merlin felt the need to protest. He couldn't raise his hands any higher than his shoulders from exhaustion - surely that meant something?
From the look Arthur was giving him, Merlin assumed not.
"You are familiar with the concept, or is bathing a foreign practice among those in Ealdor?"
Bathing wasn't so much the problem. Besides, most often that just involved jumping in the swollen brook after a rain rather than any involved affair. Which it was in Camelot. Very involved. Buckets and buckets of water involved. From the kitchens because it had to be hot water. And the tub! Merlin had removed it to storage in the next room over (a waste of a room, really, but after the Sidhe, Merlin was not about to permit any guest such close access to Arthur again, not that he had any involvement in the decision other than to dangle the idea to Gwen, which had followed the secret womenly-gossipy-ways to Morgana and then to the King) and it was not a light piece of property.
"You wish me to draw you a bath," Merlin enunciated every word to make sure he was not some how misinterpreting what Arthur wanted. "Sire," he added as an afterthought, making sure it sounded as impertinent as it did rolling off his tongue and as smelly as the mud still clinging to his clothes, hair, and Merlin was fairly sure places he didn't even want to look.
Arther was in jest.
Wasn't he?
"Yes. With the sandalwood oil. And a flagon of wine." Arthur ticked items off on his fingers as he sprawled - there really was no other word to describe the un-noble-like posture - in his chair, remnants of dinner still on the table. "Oh, and hot! Steaming. I need to be in top form tomorrow for training that unruly lot who think themselves knights."
Merlin glared, he couldn't help it. His blisters had blisters and he was fairly certain his shoulders would never unkink from the knots they had tied themselves in. Where did it say in the whole 'destiny' thing that his side of the coin couldn't pick up and beat the other side with a broom? After a week's worth of sleep and a full belly, of course. Merlin did have his priorities.
And his duties.
With a put upon smile that really took more energy to perform than Merlin had expected, he nodded rather than risking his voice which very well may have uttered a curse unbefitting a manservant in the house of King Uther Pendragon.
***
Merlin reevaluated his generosity (and fear) as he struggled to maneuver the tub into Arthur's rooms. He'd been too kind.
***
Curses. Well worth being burned at the stake, Merlin thought as he trudged up the many, many steps with the first buckets of water which he may have magicked to be lighter for the journey.
***
By trip number three, Merlin had forgotten about the beheadings and wondered if perhaps he could curse Arthur and stain his favorite breeches indigo.
***
A curse on Arthur's vaunted manhood, his favorite breeches and may his hair fall out in horrible patches before leaving him bald.
And chickens! They ought to peck Arthur when he passed.
And pigeon droppings fall on his head.
***
Merlin could hardly put one foot in front of the other by the sixth and final trip, though he did have a good range of inventive curses in mind for any and all occasions.
And if he used magic to maintain the steaming heat of the bath water, well, he didn't care at all at this point, consequences be damned. Arthur was already determined to tragically shorten Merlin's life span by overworking him until weariness made him stumble down the steps while fetching bloody bath water for a bloody bath for a bloody pampered, arrogant, selfish prince.
He set the flagon of wine down with a heavy 'thud' on the wood table and thought terrible, terrible things about Arthur's person while his back was turned towards Merlin. When he spun about on his heel, Merlin had the brief, insolent thought wondering if Arthur could actually untie a lace or if he was incapable of even that. He said nothing, however, just sighed and concentrated on not tripping up as he walked towards Arthur, eyes crossing and blurring with weariness as he tried to focus on de-robing the prattiest prat of prats in all of Camelot without injuring himself with a boot.
With a start, Merlin realized he was resting his forehead on Arthur's thigh while he worked on removing the boots and wouldn't that be delightful to listen to Arthur mock him. He could end up in the stocks for that actually, maybe even arrested. Utterly embarrassed he jerked away, nearly upending himself in his haste and would have had it not been for a steadying hand on his shoulder that Merlin pretended magically appeared and wasn't in any way connected to Arthur's person.
Then again, to have magically appeared would mean the death of him, literally, and Merlin wasn't keen on departing from this mortal life to be recorded in the annals 'Merlin - sorcerer, stoned after revealing himself by being an idiot.'
Not that Merlin ever believed Arthur when he said it. But he rather believed history would be recorded that way, just to make his resting spirit peevish.
Arthur was silent, however, not even one condescending remark about Merlin's aptitude or failure in all things servant.
Merlin couldn't even remember how or when he'd accomplished it, but suddenly Arthur was undressed and all perfectly golden, muscled skin that didn't show a hint of fatigue. Or dirt. And that most of all made Merlin wish to kick things and settle in for an extended pout after retiring to his chambers. He bit his tongue - quite the painful act that had his face twisted and drawing attention before he could stop himself - and assisted the Prince into the tub still steaming and smelling rather enticingly of sandalwood.
"Wine."
Blinking, Merlin nearly said 'no thank you' as imbibing while on duty typically was frowned upon before realizing Arthur was indicating that his hand was empty of a goblet and some of the wine Merlin had fetched from the cellars.
Merlin was really running out of portions of Arthur's anatomy to curse, not that he ever voiced or meant any of them. He thought them, and while not nearly as satisfactory as some of them were quite good, it was probably best for his safety. And Arthur's, if he was to be honest with himself.
One goblet of wine for the pampered Prince, and after delivering it to the expecting hand, Merlin stepped away, leaned more like, against the stone wall. Firm wall. Held him up rather well while Merlin awaited being summoned to scrub Arthur's back with the Royal Backscratcher or remove dirt from his navel with the Royal Soap or any other crass activity Arthur could think of to try Merlin's patience.
"Well? Get in."
"What?" Merlin's head snapped up (he hadn't been dozing, he really hadn't, he'd only closed his eyes) not from Arthur's words but his commanding tone. Because he was pretty certain he hadn't heard the words that he'd thought he'd heard, and certainly they would never come from the individual Merlin thought they had.
"Come on then, while the water's hot." Arthur added a slap to the water, a sharp crack of sound that seemed to bounce off the walls until they'd been magnified tenfold.
Merlin had been terribly wrong. Arthur wasn't a prat, he was bloody mad. Get in ... with the Prince? And the touching...not that immersing himself in the water wouldn't be truly delightful, but Merlin could feel the flush starting in his cheeks, spreading to his ears and he was fairly sure his entire body was red at the mere notion of his skin and Arthur's skin and feet and bodies all piled into the tub that had never looked so small as it did to Merlin now. "No, I uh-"
"Merlin, you smell. And if I have to tolerate your presence tomorrow, I will not have you defiling my air with that foul stench you carry."
His face was on fire and his tongue felt heavy as lead in his mouth, and just as unwieldy as Merlin tried to form actual words instead of incoherent syllables. Arthur seemed relatively indifferent, taking a long drink from his goblet before reaching behind him where the flagon set to refill it. And Merlin just stared and stammered incoherently, his mind too slow to come up with anything sarcastically convincing to deny Arthur his request. Order. Command. Whatever it had been, he hadn't been asking Merlin. Nor did Arthur really appear to be watching, goblet in hand with his arms resting on the edges of the tub, his head settle comfortably on the (Royal) headrest.
Maybe he could just pretend he didn't hear, and Arthur would finish-
"Merlin."
Or maybe not.
With hands that trembled far more than he would have liked, Merlin removed his coat and scarf, then quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothes as the room was simply cold and the bathwater was still steaming. He pushed aside that it was Arthur he would be joining; it was kind of Arthur, really, even if it was purely in interests of his own enjoyment of the day if Merlin smelled as foul as Arthur had said.
Merlin wasn't thinking of anything else as he awkwardly climbed into the tub between Arthur's feet, refusing even more to think on the fact he would be sitting on Arthur's feet with his bare arse but oh, the water was bone-meltingly wonderful.
"Ow, dammit Merlin, you really are the worst servant. Your boney arse is ... no, this isn't going to work."
He nearly leaped from the water as his stomach lodged somewhere between his throat and 'I knew it, I shouldn't have done it,' but before the water even had the chance to slosh in one complete wave from one end of the tub to the other, something grabbed his wrist and jerked him around. Merlin's feet slipped and he tried to remain upright while standing between Arthur's legs and thinking of everything but where his bits were in relation to Arthur but in the end, Gaius' science won over Merlin's will and he tumbled with a splash...
...into Arthur's lap.
Mortified, Merlin froze, heart hammering wildly in his ears and he if he hadn't been sacked before for his incompetence as a servant, he certainly would now. No, Merlin was pretty sure he'd be killed for touching the Prince in such a fashion, because he was naked and Merlin was naked and oh-
Merlin stared at the hand on his wrist - looking dark in contrast with Merlin's utterly pale skin - a hand that belonged to the arm which belonged to the veritable wall at his back that shook with laughter.
"Idiot. Drink." The goblet was shoved into his hands and Merlin felt something tug his hair. He drank as commanded, desperately wanting to rebel against the orders but the near-scalding, sandalwood scented water was seeping into his bones, turning weariness and aches into relaxed quiet. "You've twigs in your hair."
Merlin would have been embarrassed, especially given his current situation and the fact that he rather thought he could feel - nope, not thinking about what he thought he could feel while sitting on Arthur's lap - but the sudden immersion of his head under water canceled all thoughts of sarcastic deflection and blame in favor of not inhaling water. Didn't matter, he still surfaced coughing and spitting and ignoring the hand helping him not drop the goblet into the bath water. Audible laughter now reached his ears, the tugging and pulling at Merlin's hair resuming in what was more untangling than removing twigs, Merlin thought, though he really wasn't one to partake in having someone comb his hair on a regular basis and so it could be a dream.
Because the Crowned Prince of Camelot couldn't be combing his hair. The idea was ridiculous.
And he made to say so, was winding himself up to saying so, but a firm hand curled over his shoulder and wrapped around (but not threatening) his neck.
"Shut up."
His lips snapped shut like magic had ensured his silence, not that Merlin ever listened to Arthur but he really wasn't going to argue with fingers splayed over his throat, lightly sweeping over skin and muscle as Merlin nervously swallowed another gulp of wine to keep himself from speaking and perhaps testing the resolve of those fingers on his neck. It worked, for the most part, and slowly Merlin relaxed back against the steady wall behind him. His earlier fatigue sapped him completely amidst the heat of the bath, the warmth spreading through his belly and the repetitive motions of Arthur's hand, thumb idly circling his spine until Merlin completely forgot where he was or how he got there or why he ever considered it wrong.
Of course, that might have something to do with the press of Arthur's ... nope. Still not thinking about that.
Merlin idly wondered if he could be arrested for thinking about the Royal Bits, even in this context. Especially in this context.
The thumb continued to draw lazy circles over Merlin's shoulder, increasing in pressure until knots began to unwind, tension he didn't know existed and stiffness he had chosen to ignore melted into a groan which slipped past his lips unchecked. For a moment, the sound hung in the air, frozen in place as though Merlin actually had a chance to stop it from reaching Arthur's ears. Or maybe it was just Arthur who'd stilled, maybe it was the whole bloody kingdom for all Merlin could tell, but it didn't last. In a rush of blood in his veins, the touch resumed, picking up intensity as a second hand joined the first, two thumbs circling and twisting while strong, hilt-calloused fingers counter-dove with each swoop along his neck and shoulders.
Bliss, it was. Not that Merlin could think much beyond that, not when he could feel himself liquefy in Arthur's hands until he was certain he resembled nothing more than a moaning puddle cradled against a wall that was most definitely a well-defined chest.
And an ever hardening ... damned if he couldn't not think about it when the Royal cock slid and rolled against his arse with the bobbing pressure and movement of the thing he wasn't calling a massage, because that would be absolutely ridiculous. Arthur didn't give massages; demanded them certainly but then Merlin had assumed that was one of the perks to being almost-king and it was surely was just a dream his sleep-craving brain was creating to entertain him.
Except, the hands felt so real; the jagged sounds of his breathing sounded real, and he'd be banished from the kingdom for it but his own bits were reacting in kind, swishing gently in tempo with the force and movement of the hands on his back and neck. Oh, if he didn't breathe another breath this would be a wonderful way to go, not that he'd tell Arthur who would only boast unmercifully at his prowess but Merlin thought it, and he supposed the thoughts were just as real as well.
Merlin drew up his knees in an effort to maintain what modesty he had left, no matter the erection pressing against his back. Perfectly natural, nothing to panic about, just Arthur touching him and skin and sandalwood bathwater still just this side of scorching. The movement drew Arthur's attention, however, and the massage stopped - and Merlin definitely did not utter an undignified moan of protest. It was his purely his imagination and completely foolish to think he'd do something so wanton in front of his 'master'.
Didn't exactly make it from not being true, but Merlin could pretend.
"Shh..." Arthur's voice wasn't a whisper but it was oh-so-close as it shushed Merlin to silence with a far better response than his 'shut ups' ever received. Merlin didn't quite know what to make of that, couldn't really think as he languidly sprawled all over the not-so-prattish Prince, so relaxed and worn out he couldn't move if his life depended on it but so tantilizingly aroused he couldn't sleep if he wanted to. All it took was a single finger, running up his inner thigh for him to come undone at Arthur's hands, a whimpered 'please' begging for something Merlin couldn't quite define, knees falling open to be braced by Arthur's as everything in the tub shifted. "I've got you."
Before Merlin could question what Arthur meant, his cock was enveloped in a fist which did not hesitate, air exploding from Merlin's lungs in a cry that left him panting as his hands scrambled for purchase before finally clutching Arthur's legs. It was soft, at first, a muffled splash of water as miniature eddies swirled; Merlin could feel them brush against his dick when the stroke carried Arthur's hand up and down the length. He didn't know how or when things had changed so from drawing Arthur's bath to Arthur licking the shell of Merlin's ear, lightly nipping when Merlin couldn't stop his surprised squeak and his feet slipped as he pushed into Arthur's hand, landing with a thud at the base of the tub - but oh they'd definitely changed. And Arthur, was encouraging it, Merlin could feel it when he pushed backupinto Arthur's fist, easy strength pushing right back until a solid tableau was reached and the water quit sloshing over the sides of the tub.
He'd think about having to clean it up but Arthur seemed to sense this, shushing him again while the splashes continued, picking up pace until Merlin felt himself turn desperately mindless as Arthur's hand slapped against the water, doing this thing with a little twist at the end and Merlin didn't even know he liked that but oh how he did and those words might have slipped past his lips too because there's muffled laughter breathed hot as fire across his ear. The sensation shot down his spine and ricocheted back up, waves mimicked by water as Merlin arched off Arthur's lap, prompting an arm to fall across his chest to pin him, so close, so tight; Merlin could feel every inch of Arthur's body touching him from head to toe, so close and so tight as Merlin's feet slipped and skidded against the tub floor and Arthur did that twist thing again as strong thighs pressed into Merlin's to support him as he completely lost himself in frantic pleas for Arthur to please and yes and pleaseArthuryes until the words lost meaning.
Or maybe the meaning was the words, wrapping tight around Merlin until he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't discern anything but Arthur's hand and the sandalwood water splashing. Everything Merlin was, body and magic, were winding and coiling - he could see it in the sparks behind closed eyes - until Merlin knew he couldn't contain it any longer and Arthur knew, knew and commanded Merlin to 'let go' and Merlin might be annoyed with himself later but he listened, he listened and cried out as he came, a name upon his lips that perhaps never ought to have been there but he was powerless to stop it all the same.
"Arthur."
***
Arthur looked about him as the winds died down, nothing terribly destructive but startling all the same. To think a man so weak in appearance could be so terribly strong...perhaps his father was right when it came to sorcerers, but he was so wrong about this one. Arthur knew, he knew this one was different.
He felt it, he saw it, he knew it on base levels he couldn't even explain but believed in so strongly he would give his life for him. A servant. Nearly had, in the past.
Went both ways, Arthur knew. Like today. He'd nearly lost Merlin today after the magic of that beast had left Arthur defenseless to its attack and unable to fight.
He looked down at Merlin, asleep from his trying day or perhaps fainted and Arthur couldn't keep the smirk from his face. He was the Prince of Camelot, after all, anyone so lucky, especially a servant, to experience his skills would undoubtedly faint from pleasure in his arms.
Arthur relaxed back against the headrest after ensuring Merlin wouldn't drown while using Arthur's chest for a pillow, luxuriating in the water that was still this side of scorching despite the time he knew had passed.
Of course, this was no ordinary servant.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Arthur was one lucky prince.
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 4000+
Summary: But this ... with this Merlin felt the need to protest. He couldn't raise his hands any higher than his shoulders from exhaustion - surely that meant something?
Disclaimer: Merlin and Arthur (in this form, because in this form they certainly aren't anything like legend) belong to BBC.
A/N: So, wtf, 'Merlin' fic?? Seriously? Someone check my sanity, please. Like I need another fandom! And you have no idea how hard it was to type 'Merlin' instead of 'Ianto.'
Written for my fabulous beta Lilithilien who was totally utterly overworked yesterday so I thought she could use some porny goodness to cheer her up. And nothing says love like boys smexxin in bathtubs.
"You ... what?"
To most anyone in all of Albion, the words were insubordinate at best, treasonous at their very worst. And most anyone in all of Albion who might happen upon a servant in such a bedraggled state would wisely look the other way and whisper their agreement when noble ears weren't listening.
Of course, most anyone in all of Albion did not include his royal Highness, who had the audacity to maintain stoicism when confronted with a spluttering servant incapable of forming coherent sentences for fear of slipping in a curse or two which may have permanent affect on the Prince's future lineage. Merlin was never sure about those, never really sure about his magic as a whole but most certainly not after he'd been awaken before dawn to engage in hunt.
Hunt. For a bloody white stag rumored to be in the area.
On foot!
Through the mud. And across a river. And over countless hills. And a briar patch.
Did he mention the mud?
It stank, like Gaius' worst potion left out on a summer's day. Foul and clingy, it hadn't been his fault that he'd fallen in, no, he blamed the Prince for that. Ordered him into the ravine spotted with stagnant water to look for tracks! Like Merlin had the vaguest idea of what a bloody track looked like, much less be able to distinguish between a boar and white stag. Or a bloody mouse.
Of course while standing in that ravine a great beast of a terrifying sort had attacked Arthur from the skies - a dangerous, venomous, magical beast like all the dangerous, evil things Arthur naturally seemed to attract. And Merlin had joined the fray as well, battling the beast when he could no longer hear Arthur. It'd been a long battle using magic Merlin could barely contain, much less control, but he'd killed the beast, sending it back to whatever hells it had stemmed from. And promptly slipped and fell in the mud as he raced up the ravine to find Arthur and find out why he'd stopped fighting and if Merlin needed to flee Camelot for using magic. He needn't have hurried - Arthur was unharmed and appeared to have no memory of the attack or how the battle ended.
Merlin had kicked a tree stump in a fit of spite, not that he wished to be executed but he had really been magnificent fighting that beast. Hurt his toe when as one could have predicted the stump didn't move, but the pain momentarily cleared the fog from his battle weary (and trek weary) body.
And then upon returning, reeking mud latched on to every stitch of clothing like terrible bog leeches, he'd been commandeered by the King to tend his horse and tack. The stable boy was apparently ill and for some reason Merlin's expression had screamed 'yes, I've not entirely exhausted myself for the day, I will tend to your needs and would you like me to march to Eildon Hills to fetch spring water for your tea?'
The ruddy horse had tried to eat him.
Gwen had found him next, in such a state of panic Merlin had no option but to fetch the aromatics Morgana required, if only to preserve Gwen's well-being. He didn't ask what the fragrant oils were for, but Gwen assured him that they would drastically alter Morgana into a much happier, and less wicked, mood.
As Merlin had seen her battle with both tongue and sword, he ran to Gaius' first, and then to his supplier when Gaius discovered he was out to preserve his good standing with Morgana as well as the mood of the court.
Then Prince Pain-in-the-Arse wanted his armor polished (to remove the bunny fluff from the killer hare attack - not that the hare had truly been a killer, but it had made more noise than a hare ought and Arthur had been certain it was a vicious attacking ... something other than a hare - Arthur had sworn Merlin on pain of death never to tell a soul), his boots shined, his fall cloak - the scarlet one with the gold crest, not the red one with the yellow crest - freshened as Arthur had detected a faint chill in the air which could mean the weather changing or that there had simply been a bloody breeze, and his sword sharpened.
That in addition to Merlin's standard nightly duties.
But this ... with this Merlin felt the need to protest. He couldn't raise his hands any higher than his shoulders from exhaustion - surely that meant something?
From the look Arthur was giving him, Merlin assumed not.
"You are familiar with the concept, or is bathing a foreign practice among those in Ealdor?"
Bathing wasn't so much the problem. Besides, most often that just involved jumping in the swollen brook after a rain rather than any involved affair. Which it was in Camelot. Very involved. Buckets and buckets of water involved. From the kitchens because it had to be hot water. And the tub! Merlin had removed it to storage in the next room over (a waste of a room, really, but after the Sidhe, Merlin was not about to permit any guest such close access to Arthur again, not that he had any involvement in the decision other than to dangle the idea to Gwen, which had followed the secret womenly-gossipy-ways to Morgana and then to the King) and it was not a light piece of property.
"You wish me to draw you a bath," Merlin enunciated every word to make sure he was not some how misinterpreting what Arthur wanted. "Sire," he added as an afterthought, making sure it sounded as impertinent as it did rolling off his tongue and as smelly as the mud still clinging to his clothes, hair, and Merlin was fairly sure places he didn't even want to look.
Arther was in jest.
Wasn't he?
"Yes. With the sandalwood oil. And a flagon of wine." Arthur ticked items off on his fingers as he sprawled - there really was no other word to describe the un-noble-like posture - in his chair, remnants of dinner still on the table. "Oh, and hot! Steaming. I need to be in top form tomorrow for training that unruly lot who think themselves knights."
Merlin glared, he couldn't help it. His blisters had blisters and he was fairly certain his shoulders would never unkink from the knots they had tied themselves in. Where did it say in the whole 'destiny' thing that his side of the coin couldn't pick up and beat the other side with a broom? After a week's worth of sleep and a full belly, of course. Merlin did have his priorities.
And his duties.
With a put upon smile that really took more energy to perform than Merlin had expected, he nodded rather than risking his voice which very well may have uttered a curse unbefitting a manservant in the house of King Uther Pendragon.
***
Merlin reevaluated his generosity (and fear) as he struggled to maneuver the tub into Arthur's rooms. He'd been too kind.
***
Curses. Well worth being burned at the stake, Merlin thought as he trudged up the many, many steps with the first buckets of water which he may have magicked to be lighter for the journey.
***
By trip number three, Merlin had forgotten about the beheadings and wondered if perhaps he could curse Arthur and stain his favorite breeches indigo.
***
A curse on Arthur's vaunted manhood, his favorite breeches and may his hair fall out in horrible patches before leaving him bald.
And chickens! They ought to peck Arthur when he passed.
And pigeon droppings fall on his head.
***
Merlin could hardly put one foot in front of the other by the sixth and final trip, though he did have a good range of inventive curses in mind for any and all occasions.
And if he used magic to maintain the steaming heat of the bath water, well, he didn't care at all at this point, consequences be damned. Arthur was already determined to tragically shorten Merlin's life span by overworking him until weariness made him stumble down the steps while fetching bloody bath water for a bloody bath for a bloody pampered, arrogant, selfish prince.
He set the flagon of wine down with a heavy 'thud' on the wood table and thought terrible, terrible things about Arthur's person while his back was turned towards Merlin. When he spun about on his heel, Merlin had the brief, insolent thought wondering if Arthur could actually untie a lace or if he was incapable of even that. He said nothing, however, just sighed and concentrated on not tripping up as he walked towards Arthur, eyes crossing and blurring with weariness as he tried to focus on de-robing the prattiest prat of prats in all of Camelot without injuring himself with a boot.
With a start, Merlin realized he was resting his forehead on Arthur's thigh while he worked on removing the boots and wouldn't that be delightful to listen to Arthur mock him. He could end up in the stocks for that actually, maybe even arrested. Utterly embarrassed he jerked away, nearly upending himself in his haste and would have had it not been for a steadying hand on his shoulder that Merlin pretended magically appeared and wasn't in any way connected to Arthur's person.
Then again, to have magically appeared would mean the death of him, literally, and Merlin wasn't keen on departing from this mortal life to be recorded in the annals 'Merlin - sorcerer, stoned after revealing himself by being an idiot.'
Not that Merlin ever believed Arthur when he said it. But he rather believed history would be recorded that way, just to make his resting spirit peevish.
Arthur was silent, however, not even one condescending remark about Merlin's aptitude or failure in all things servant.
Merlin couldn't even remember how or when he'd accomplished it, but suddenly Arthur was undressed and all perfectly golden, muscled skin that didn't show a hint of fatigue. Or dirt. And that most of all made Merlin wish to kick things and settle in for an extended pout after retiring to his chambers. He bit his tongue - quite the painful act that had his face twisted and drawing attention before he could stop himself - and assisted the Prince into the tub still steaming and smelling rather enticingly of sandalwood.
"Wine."
Blinking, Merlin nearly said 'no thank you' as imbibing while on duty typically was frowned upon before realizing Arthur was indicating that his hand was empty of a goblet and some of the wine Merlin had fetched from the cellars.
Merlin was really running out of portions of Arthur's anatomy to curse, not that he ever voiced or meant any of them. He thought them, and while not nearly as satisfactory as some of them were quite good, it was probably best for his safety. And Arthur's, if he was to be honest with himself.
One goblet of wine for the pampered Prince, and after delivering it to the expecting hand, Merlin stepped away, leaned more like, against the stone wall. Firm wall. Held him up rather well while Merlin awaited being summoned to scrub Arthur's back with the Royal Backscratcher or remove dirt from his navel with the Royal Soap or any other crass activity Arthur could think of to try Merlin's patience.
"Well? Get in."
"What?" Merlin's head snapped up (he hadn't been dozing, he really hadn't, he'd only closed his eyes) not from Arthur's words but his commanding tone. Because he was pretty certain he hadn't heard the words that he'd thought he'd heard, and certainly they would never come from the individual Merlin thought they had.
"Come on then, while the water's hot." Arthur added a slap to the water, a sharp crack of sound that seemed to bounce off the walls until they'd been magnified tenfold.
Merlin had been terribly wrong. Arthur wasn't a prat, he was bloody mad. Get in ... with the Prince? And the touching...not that immersing himself in the water wouldn't be truly delightful, but Merlin could feel the flush starting in his cheeks, spreading to his ears and he was fairly sure his entire body was red at the mere notion of his skin and Arthur's skin and feet and bodies all piled into the tub that had never looked so small as it did to Merlin now. "No, I uh-"
"Merlin, you smell. And if I have to tolerate your presence tomorrow, I will not have you defiling my air with that foul stench you carry."
His face was on fire and his tongue felt heavy as lead in his mouth, and just as unwieldy as Merlin tried to form actual words instead of incoherent syllables. Arthur seemed relatively indifferent, taking a long drink from his goblet before reaching behind him where the flagon set to refill it. And Merlin just stared and stammered incoherently, his mind too slow to come up with anything sarcastically convincing to deny Arthur his request. Order. Command. Whatever it had been, he hadn't been asking Merlin. Nor did Arthur really appear to be watching, goblet in hand with his arms resting on the edges of the tub, his head settle comfortably on the (Royal) headrest.
Maybe he could just pretend he didn't hear, and Arthur would finish-
"Merlin."
Or maybe not.
With hands that trembled far more than he would have liked, Merlin removed his coat and scarf, then quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothes as the room was simply cold and the bathwater was still steaming. He pushed aside that it was Arthur he would be joining; it was kind of Arthur, really, even if it was purely in interests of his own enjoyment of the day if Merlin smelled as foul as Arthur had said.
Merlin wasn't thinking of anything else as he awkwardly climbed into the tub between Arthur's feet, refusing even more to think on the fact he would be sitting on Arthur's feet with his bare arse but oh, the water was bone-meltingly wonderful.
"Ow, dammit Merlin, you really are the worst servant. Your boney arse is ... no, this isn't going to work."
He nearly leaped from the water as his stomach lodged somewhere between his throat and 'I knew it, I shouldn't have done it,' but before the water even had the chance to slosh in one complete wave from one end of the tub to the other, something grabbed his wrist and jerked him around. Merlin's feet slipped and he tried to remain upright while standing between Arthur's legs and thinking of everything but where his bits were in relation to Arthur but in the end, Gaius' science won over Merlin's will and he tumbled with a splash...
...into Arthur's lap.
Mortified, Merlin froze, heart hammering wildly in his ears and he if he hadn't been sacked before for his incompetence as a servant, he certainly would now. No, Merlin was pretty sure he'd be killed for touching the Prince in such a fashion, because he was naked and Merlin was naked and oh-
Merlin stared at the hand on his wrist - looking dark in contrast with Merlin's utterly pale skin - a hand that belonged to the arm which belonged to the veritable wall at his back that shook with laughter.
"Idiot. Drink." The goblet was shoved into his hands and Merlin felt something tug his hair. He drank as commanded, desperately wanting to rebel against the orders but the near-scalding, sandalwood scented water was seeping into his bones, turning weariness and aches into relaxed quiet. "You've twigs in your hair."
Merlin would have been embarrassed, especially given his current situation and the fact that he rather thought he could feel - nope, not thinking about what he thought he could feel while sitting on Arthur's lap - but the sudden immersion of his head under water canceled all thoughts of sarcastic deflection and blame in favor of not inhaling water. Didn't matter, he still surfaced coughing and spitting and ignoring the hand helping him not drop the goblet into the bath water. Audible laughter now reached his ears, the tugging and pulling at Merlin's hair resuming in what was more untangling than removing twigs, Merlin thought, though he really wasn't one to partake in having someone comb his hair on a regular basis and so it could be a dream.
Because the Crowned Prince of Camelot couldn't be combing his hair. The idea was ridiculous.
And he made to say so, was winding himself up to saying so, but a firm hand curled over his shoulder and wrapped around (but not threatening) his neck.
"Shut up."
His lips snapped shut like magic had ensured his silence, not that Merlin ever listened to Arthur but he really wasn't going to argue with fingers splayed over his throat, lightly sweeping over skin and muscle as Merlin nervously swallowed another gulp of wine to keep himself from speaking and perhaps testing the resolve of those fingers on his neck. It worked, for the most part, and slowly Merlin relaxed back against the steady wall behind him. His earlier fatigue sapped him completely amidst the heat of the bath, the warmth spreading through his belly and the repetitive motions of Arthur's hand, thumb idly circling his spine until Merlin completely forgot where he was or how he got there or why he ever considered it wrong.
Of course, that might have something to do with the press of Arthur's ... nope. Still not thinking about that.
Merlin idly wondered if he could be arrested for thinking about the Royal Bits, even in this context. Especially in this context.
The thumb continued to draw lazy circles over Merlin's shoulder, increasing in pressure until knots began to unwind, tension he didn't know existed and stiffness he had chosen to ignore melted into a groan which slipped past his lips unchecked. For a moment, the sound hung in the air, frozen in place as though Merlin actually had a chance to stop it from reaching Arthur's ears. Or maybe it was just Arthur who'd stilled, maybe it was the whole bloody kingdom for all Merlin could tell, but it didn't last. In a rush of blood in his veins, the touch resumed, picking up intensity as a second hand joined the first, two thumbs circling and twisting while strong, hilt-calloused fingers counter-dove with each swoop along his neck and shoulders.
Bliss, it was. Not that Merlin could think much beyond that, not when he could feel himself liquefy in Arthur's hands until he was certain he resembled nothing more than a moaning puddle cradled against a wall that was most definitely a well-defined chest.
And an ever hardening ... damned if he couldn't not think about it when the Royal cock slid and rolled against his arse with the bobbing pressure and movement of the thing he wasn't calling a massage, because that would be absolutely ridiculous. Arthur didn't give massages; demanded them certainly but then Merlin had assumed that was one of the perks to being almost-king and it was surely was just a dream his sleep-craving brain was creating to entertain him.
Except, the hands felt so real; the jagged sounds of his breathing sounded real, and he'd be banished from the kingdom for it but his own bits were reacting in kind, swishing gently in tempo with the force and movement of the hands on his back and neck. Oh, if he didn't breathe another breath this would be a wonderful way to go, not that he'd tell Arthur who would only boast unmercifully at his prowess but Merlin thought it, and he supposed the thoughts were just as real as well.
Merlin drew up his knees in an effort to maintain what modesty he had left, no matter the erection pressing against his back. Perfectly natural, nothing to panic about, just Arthur touching him and skin and sandalwood bathwater still just this side of scorching. The movement drew Arthur's attention, however, and the massage stopped - and Merlin definitely did not utter an undignified moan of protest. It was his purely his imagination and completely foolish to think he'd do something so wanton in front of his 'master'.
Didn't exactly make it from not being true, but Merlin could pretend.
"Shh..." Arthur's voice wasn't a whisper but it was oh-so-close as it shushed Merlin to silence with a far better response than his 'shut ups' ever received. Merlin didn't quite know what to make of that, couldn't really think as he languidly sprawled all over the not-so-prattish Prince, so relaxed and worn out he couldn't move if his life depended on it but so tantilizingly aroused he couldn't sleep if he wanted to. All it took was a single finger, running up his inner thigh for him to come undone at Arthur's hands, a whimpered 'please' begging for something Merlin couldn't quite define, knees falling open to be braced by Arthur's as everything in the tub shifted. "I've got you."
Before Merlin could question what Arthur meant, his cock was enveloped in a fist which did not hesitate, air exploding from Merlin's lungs in a cry that left him panting as his hands scrambled for purchase before finally clutching Arthur's legs. It was soft, at first, a muffled splash of water as miniature eddies swirled; Merlin could feel them brush against his dick when the stroke carried Arthur's hand up and down the length. He didn't know how or when things had changed so from drawing Arthur's bath to Arthur licking the shell of Merlin's ear, lightly nipping when Merlin couldn't stop his surprised squeak and his feet slipped as he pushed into Arthur's hand, landing with a thud at the base of the tub - but oh they'd definitely changed. And Arthur, was encouraging it, Merlin could feel it when he pushed backupinto Arthur's fist, easy strength pushing right back until a solid tableau was reached and the water quit sloshing over the sides of the tub.
He'd think about having to clean it up but Arthur seemed to sense this, shushing him again while the splashes continued, picking up pace until Merlin felt himself turn desperately mindless as Arthur's hand slapped against the water, doing this thing with a little twist at the end and Merlin didn't even know he liked that but oh how he did and those words might have slipped past his lips too because there's muffled laughter breathed hot as fire across his ear. The sensation shot down his spine and ricocheted back up, waves mimicked by water as Merlin arched off Arthur's lap, prompting an arm to fall across his chest to pin him, so close, so tight; Merlin could feel every inch of Arthur's body touching him from head to toe, so close and so tight as Merlin's feet slipped and skidded against the tub floor and Arthur did that twist thing again as strong thighs pressed into Merlin's to support him as he completely lost himself in frantic pleas for Arthur to please and yes and pleaseArthuryes until the words lost meaning.
Or maybe the meaning was the words, wrapping tight around Merlin until he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't discern anything but Arthur's hand and the sandalwood water splashing. Everything Merlin was, body and magic, were winding and coiling - he could see it in the sparks behind closed eyes - until Merlin knew he couldn't contain it any longer and Arthur knew, knew and commanded Merlin to 'let go' and Merlin might be annoyed with himself later but he listened, he listened and cried out as he came, a name upon his lips that perhaps never ought to have been there but he was powerless to stop it all the same.
"Arthur."
***
Arthur looked about him as the winds died down, nothing terribly destructive but startling all the same. To think a man so weak in appearance could be so terribly strong...perhaps his father was right when it came to sorcerers, but he was so wrong about this one. Arthur knew, he knew this one was different.
He felt it, he saw it, he knew it on base levels he couldn't even explain but believed in so strongly he would give his life for him. A servant. Nearly had, in the past.
Went both ways, Arthur knew. Like today. He'd nearly lost Merlin today after the magic of that beast had left Arthur defenseless to its attack and unable to fight.
He looked down at Merlin, asleep from his trying day or perhaps fainted and Arthur couldn't keep the smirk from his face. He was the Prince of Camelot, after all, anyone so lucky, especially a servant, to experience his skills would undoubtedly faint from pleasure in his arms.
Arthur relaxed back against the headrest after ensuring Merlin wouldn't drown while using Arthur's chest for a pillow, luxuriating in the water that was still this side of scorching despite the time he knew had passed.
Of course, this was no ordinary servant.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Arthur was one lucky prince.