Chapter Text
Arthur was utterly content.
He was grimy and ravenous and still many miles from Camelot, forced to a slow trot because it was clear that Merlin was drained from his efforts in the caves (and lame in one ankle to boot). But it was also clear that something in the stars was, for once, aligned in their favor, as the weather remained mild, the daylight lingered, and the horses found an easy path through the forest. And the hunting, in contrast to, well, every other instance of hunting with Merlin, ever, had never been better. Plump and docile woodland creatures seemed desperate to fling themselves within range of Arthur's crossbow. Merlin winced each time, and after Arthur bagged his fifth hare and his sixth bird in quick succession, he begged him to stop.
"I think they're drawn to… oh, I can’t explain it, Arthur, but it's not fair," he muttered.
"Can't or won't?" Arthur said, stringing up his latest acquisition.
"Are you ready to hear about our grand destiny yet?"
Arthur glanced at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. "Our grand destiny involves large quantities of fresh game? Why didn't you mention this earlier?"
Merlin closed his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nose.
"What? What did I say?"
Merlin shook his head. "So very shiny, yet so very dim," he said, then mumbled something about pea-brained woodcocks having more sense of occasion.
Arthur, worried that Merlin was passing into the hallucinatory stages of exhaustion, stashed his crossbow and focused on getting them home.
After the horses were handed off to the stable boys and the other servants dispatched to fetch food and hot water, Arthur slung Merlin's arm around his neck and started towards his chambers. Merlin's mouth protested, but his body acquiesced, slumping heavily against Arthur.
Once inside, Arthur propped Merlin against a cupboard until the servants left, then ordered him, in no uncertain terms, to feed himself and wait in the bath for Arthur's return.
"Where are you going?" Merlin said, already eyeing the steaming kettle of soup, the platters piled high with roast pork and chicken, the bowls of glistening fruit and sweetmeats. The room smelled of nutmeg and herbs, and there was a fire crackling away in the hearth.
"To make my report to Father."
"Now?" Merlin whined. "Can’t it wait until – ?"
Arthur darted forward and silenced him with a kiss, brief and unremarkable save for the fact that it was the first they'd shared within the castle. He pulled away, noting with amusement the startled look on Merlin's face. Stealth kisses were clearly highly effective when it came to upsetting Merlin's equilibrium.
"No. I need to do this," Arthur said, giving Merlin's shoulder a squeeze. He needed to know that he could do this, be loyal to his father and Merlin both, respecting Camelot's present while creating a refuge in which to contemplate its future.
"But – "
"Duty before pleasure, Merlin."
Merlin's lips spread into a wide, easy grin. "Pleasure, am I now?" he murmured, reaching out and placing the tip of his forefinger on Arthur's lips. "I like that a far sight better than 'you idiot.'"
Arthur swatted Merlin's finger away with a groan. "You hussy, more like." He grasped Merlin by the shoulders and turned him around. "Go. Eat. Bathe," he commanded, gently pushing him towards the table. "I'll return as quick as I can."
The guards outside the council chamber hesitated when Arthur gave the order to open the door, and Arthur knew full well why. He was filthy, covered in rock dust and road dust and blood from gutting hares. He had all manner of scrapes and bruises from shifting rubble and he'd nearly worn out the knees on his trousers.
Normally he would have cleaned himself up before such an audience, taking the time to compose himself and his account. But on this night he did not want the armor of fresh clothing and a well-crafted tale. Tonight he would present himself as he was, covered in filth, not caring that his father could see exactly what the day had made of him. Because, Arthur realized, he was not ashamed of anything he'd done today, nor anything he intended to do.
Arthur cleared his throat impatiently and the guards, realizing their error, muttered an apology and swung the doors open.
"Here is your treasure, father," Arthur said, striding the distance between door and table with his arms spread wide. "I'm afraid it is all I have to show for today's adventure. Well, apart from a modest supply of fresh game, but I sent that on to the kitchens."
"Arthur, what is the meaning of this? What of the hoard?"
"The map might be real, but I'm afraid the hoard was a myth after all. Gaius was right to caution us against seeking it. There was nothing to be found in those caverns but stone, much of it rotten. One of the passages nearly collapsed on top of my head, and it is only thanks to Merlin that I escaped with my life."
He saw the exact moment when his words sunk in, when his father finally noticed his appearance. Much to Arthur's surprise, his father walked the length of the room, clasped him to his breast, filth and all, and said, "My son," and, "Gaius and I were starting to… but no matter. Thank God you’re safe."
Arthur tensed, waiting for the "but" that would turn relief into a challenge, another battle of wills, but it never came.
When Arthur excused himself to bathe and eat, promising a fuller account of their adventure in the morning, his father waved a hand expansively and said, "Of course. Of course. You've had quite a day. Oh, and Arthur?"
"Yes, Father?"
"Give that manservant of yours some reward, whatever you think appropriate."
Arthur grinned like a mad fool all the way back to his chambers. Giddy with expectation, he slipped inside.
Merlin was snoring away in the bath, his head tipped back against the rim of the tub, his cheeks flushed pink from the steam.
Under the circumstances, none of Arthur's usual reactions to coming across Merlin napping in his chambers – slamming the door, throwing pillows, clattering his gauntlets against the table – seemed appropriate, so he closed the door as quietly as he could and bolted it behind him.
What exactly was the protocol for the seduction of a sleeping sorcerer-cum-manservant, in particular one such as Merlin? After a brief hesitation, Arthur stripped out of his clothes and left them in a pile beside his changing screen. Ignoring the towel slung over the top of the screen, he padded over to the table. He made short work of a chicken leg, chasing it down with a goblet of wine, and popped a few grapes into his mouth. He watched Merlin the entire time.
There wasn't much of him showing above the cloudy bathwater – his head and neck, of course, plus the bony islands of his kneecaps, bruised and abraded from crawling on the cavern floor – but it was enough to make Arthur's hands jealous of his eyes. He'd been making do with looking for long enough. He was still hungry, however, and in a fit of inspired compromise that he thought boded well for Camelot's future, he dumped a bunch of grapes and a portion of chicken onto a plate, which he carried over and set down next to the bath.
"Merlin." Arthur caught one of Merlin's earlobes between finger and thumb and gently tugged.
"Ngh… shwat?"
"Merlin, wake up."
"Arthur?"
"Were you expecting someone else?"
Merlin smiled sleepily. "Well, no, but," and then his mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. "Arthur, you're… you've got no clothes on."
"A genuine sage, that's what you are. When I'm king I'm going to make you my chief advisor. Now budge up, I'm coming in."
Merlin sat up, water streaming down his pale shoulders. "I've dirtied it though. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Meant to get you fresh."
Given what Arthur hoped to do, sharing bathwater seemed the height of hygiene, but he hadn't yet drunk enough wine to voice such thoughts aloud. So instead he said, "Duly noted. I'll know who to blame when I catch some dreadful peasant disease. Now shift. And please tell me you've some soap hidden in there somewhere. I've got blood all down my arms."
"What?" Merlin turned abruptly, causing waves of bathwater to slop over the sides of the tub. "Oh my God, Arthur, what happened?"
"Not mine, you dolt! It's from gutting the hares. No need to go drowning perfectly good chicken."
"Oh," Merlin said, scooting forward. "How did things go with your father?"
"Rather well, actually." Arthur placed his hands on the rim of the bath and carefully lowered himself in behind Merlin. "Seemed pleased to see me in one piece. He told me I should give you – "
"Hang on – did you just say something about drowning chicken?" Merlin tried to twist round again but Arthur had settled his legs along the sides of the bath and now Merlin was trapped in between them.
Arthur chuckled. He reached down and snagged a chicken leg from the plate on the floor. He leaned forward, pressing his chest against Merlin's back.
"Chicken, meet Merlin. Merlin, Chicken," he said, reaching over Merlin's shoulder and waggling the leg in front of his face. He then proceeded to devour it, munching loudly in Merlin's ear. When he was finished he licked his fingers and tossed the bones back over the side of the tub.
"Pig."
"Oh, a pig, am I? Then perhaps you'd care to stuff me?" Arthur snagged the bunch of grapes and dangled them before Merlin's eyes. He felt more than heard Merlin's gasp – a delicious shudder that passed between them – but was still surprised by the heat in Merlin's expression when he looked back over his shoulder.
"Do you even hear yourself, Arthur?"
Arthur shrugged. He'd only intended to goad Merlin into feeding him by hand – a particular fantasy of his. Then he registered all the places where his and Merlin's flesh were in contact, recalled one or two memorable lines from bawdy verse (and one or two images from his even bawdier dreams), and understood. The next few moments were lost to posterity, as far as Arthur's recollections were concerned, as they involved a rapid southerly relocation of vital fluids.
When he could scrape his thoughts together once more, Arthur realized that being hand-fed grapes by Merlin had slipped down the roster, as far as fantasies went, and that the fantasies currently topping his list were unlikely to come true if he didn't find some way of distracting himself from acting like a randy boy who'd just discovered a new use for butter.
Arthur lowered the grapes back onto the plate and cleared his throat.
"Perhaps," he said, ashamed of how uncertain he sounded, but at the same time knowing that Merlin was the one person he could stand to have hear him like this, "we should finish scrubbing up first?"
Arthur almost couldn't bear the pause the followed, but before he could start mentally flogging himself, Merlin pulled away ever-so-slightly, just enough to restore Arthur's dignity, and passed him soap and a rag.
"Thank God," Merlin said. "I didn't want to ask before, but I don't think I got all round the back of my ears."
"Who could ever hope to, really, in one lifetime?" Arthur replied. And it turned out that this new thing with Merlin was going to be as easy as that, as easy as slipping into warm bathwater and well-worn jibes.
He scrubbed behind Merlin's ears and all down his neck (which was already quite clean, but Arthur couldn’t help himself) and then ceded the cloth to Merlin. Small tidal waves ensued when they switched positions, and the simple pleasure of Merlin's touch was heightened by his whispered, "I do hope what is left of that poor chicken has learned to swim," and inane greetings to Arthur's various scars.
In Arthur's experience, men often dealt out what they expected in return. He did his best, then, to catalog where Merlin touched him and how, and how this made him feel, so that he could reciprocate later (several regions of his body he'd previously thought unremarkable – the skin behind his earlobes and between his fingers, the creases at his elbows and just below the ridges of his hip bones – had clearly been keeping secrets from him). His concentration was utterly shattered, however, when Merlin trailed his fingers in the water near Arthur's thigh, whispered a series of words – crisp like apples, then sticky like honey – and the murky, cooling bathwater was suddenly clear and welcoming warm.
He must have twitched or gasped in response, because Merlin mumbled an apology in his ear and said, "Should have warned you. Gaius says I… well, I'm not really supposed to use it for little things like this." Arthur felt Merlin's warm, wet hands settle on his shoulders.
"Not that this is little, not to me. It feels – oh, God, Arthur – it feels so good not having to hide this from you. It feels right." Merlin clutched Arthur's shoulders and pressed his face into the side of his neck, inhaling deeply. He opened his lips as he exhaled, sending a puff of hot air across Arthur's skin, and then he – well, Arthur didn’t want to call it nuzzling, but it involved Merlin's nose and lips and tongue getting awfully cozy with Arthur's neck.
Somewhere between the ardent words and the sensation of being so thoroughly savored, Arthur found himself aching hard once more.
"Don't worry though," Merlin whispered between nibbles, "I know it'll take some getting used to. I'll try not to do it in front of you, if you like. I've been told my eyes change color, which I imagine could be off-putting, but I can – "
"Merlin?" Arthur heaved himself up. He turned around, flinging water everywhere, including onto Merlin, whose upturned face was a mask of… well, Arthur wasn't certain, but it involved glassy eyes and a slack jaw with very plump lips only inches from Arthur's…
"Ulp," Merlin said.
Arthur reached down and caressed Merlin's cheek with the back of his hand. "No, Merlin, not 'ulp' – 'up.' As in shut up and get up and come bloody well here."
He opened his arms and Merlin surged up into them. Arthur pulled him close and squeezed gently. Every nerve in his body felt alive, but tranquil, as if the thrill of a joust and the wine that flowed in its wake had been combined in his veins.
"Now," he said, pitching his voice low and loving the way Merlin's cock pulsed against his stomach in response, "be a good sorcerer and conjure us a towel. And if you think flashing your magic eyes at me is going to diminish this," Arthur pressed his erection into Merlin's hip, "then you will be sorely disappointed."
He released Merlin and stepped back, taking pleasure in the way Merlin's wet skin looked in the firelight. In the way Merlin spluttered and gulped. In the way he closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and gave his testicles a tug. Arthur smirked. He knew what that meant; he'd done it himself when he'd wanted something more than a quick release.
When Merlin reopened his eyes, they were narrowed and glittering. He drew himself up to his full height (which was, to Arthur's admittedly petty dismay, greater than his own) and Arthur's smugness drained away to be replaced by awe. Merlin glanced towards the changing screen and the towel hanging there, then locked eyes with Arthur. Slowly he extended his right arm, palm out, and spread his fingers.
"Bringan clút."
Like this – intent, assured, golden-eyed – Merlin was the equal of any of Arthur's knights for grace and splendor.
Arthur was so caught up in admiring the powerful sorcerer version of Merlin that he almost missed seeing the towel sail through the air towards Merlin's outstretched hand. So when Merlin gestured with his hand and the towel abruptly changed course, Arthur had no time to react before finding himself enveloped in cloth. By the time he fought his way free, Merlin was Merlin the idiot manservant once more, snickering and attempting to look innocent. (And failing miserably at the latter, what with his rampant erection.)
"My apologies, sire. My aim is usually much better. I must have been distracted." Merlin's gaze dropped to Arthur's crotch.
"Why, you cheeky – Merlin!" Arthur lashed out with the towel. Merlin scrambled out of the tub with a laugh and backed slowly away, limping, towards the bed.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He stepped out of the tub. He took his sweet time drying himself, never letting his gaze leave Merlin, who just kept on standing there, dripping and shivering and smiling – not the "best secret ever" smile, but something pretty damn close – and so what could Arthur do but capture him with the towel and manhandle him the few remaining feet to the bed? There was a struggle with the bedclothes and a brief tussle, but at last Arthur had Merlin flat on his back, bundled up in the towel like a sausage in pastry and looking twice as edible.
Arthur took this opportunity to explore a variety of kisses, from the desperate, passionate kind they had shared at the cave entrance to the merest press and drag of his lips along Merlin's skin. He kissed Merlin's brow, his ears, his cheekbones, and all down one side of his glorious neck and up the other – twice. He kissed Merlin's pale shoulders and nosed at the tufts of dark hair peeking out from his armpits. He traced the line of his jaw with his tongue and sucked on his earlobes. He worked his fingers through Merlin's damp curls, admiring the way they looked against his skin and the snowy white of the sheets. He rubbed his nose alongside Merlin's, whispered, "You, oh… you," and told himself that none of these things were ridiculous or unmanly or wrong because Merlin was squirming and begging beneath him, trying to work his arms free of the towel and looking up at him like he was all good things under heaven.
At length he sat back and let Merlin untangle himself. Merlin flung the towel away with an exultant cry and hauled Arthur back down on top of him, spreading his legs so Arthur could lie between them and that – oh, that! – was so much better than his own fist, feeling all that hot skin that wasn't his own rising up to meet him, thighs squeezing his hips and hands clutching his shoulders and lips drinking in his tongue. Teeth grazing his ear, panted breaths and, "Arthur, please? I don’t care how. I've only… given before. Mostly with hands, but I can try… I want…"
Arthur stilled.
"You've done this before?" Jealousy flared hot and ugly in Arthur's breast. He'd only recently allowed himself to admit to his desires in waking hours, and all this time Merlin had been merrily sporting elsewhere? Giving himself – those lips, those hands, those smiles – away cheaply in the lower town?
"No! Not really. Not with… I mean, Will and I used to dare one another to touch each other's pricks, like mates do, you know?"
Arthur shook his head in wonder, his jealousy subsiding. He could not resent a man who had died saving his life and, as he now knew, protecting Merlin's. "I obviously had all the wrong mates."
Merlin gave Arthur a shy smile. "And one time after the harvest festival we ended up back at his, silly on Farmer Grummergen's potato wine, and he asked me to… to plow his rear field."
"Plow his… oh, oh I see. How very …agrarian." Arthur pushed himself up until he was kneeling between Merlin's thighs. "Pray tell me, Merlin, how did you fare with the plowing?"
Merlin blushed. "Not well. Not at first, anyway. We were pretty drunk. I mistook the candle drippings for the goose fat and Will ended up with wax all over his… er, but eventually we got it sorted and it felt good, of course it felt good, but it was kind of weird and all. Will kept putting on silly voices, including Farmer Grummergen's. In the end we neither of us could stop laughing long enough to get off properly. So."
Arthur had been trying to keep a straight face, he really had, but the mental imagery was too much and he burst out laughing.
Merlin covered his face with his hands, then peeked up at Arthur from between his fingers. "I've just ruined the mood, haven’t I?" he said.
"Not a chance," Arthur replied, still chuckling, "So. Let me get this straight. No potato wine. No candle wax, no silly voices and absolutely no Farmer Grummergen. But otherwise you're open to the concept of – how did you put it – plowing?"
The blush on Merlin's face had spread down to his chest by now. He still had his hands over his face, but he nodded enthusiastically. "Except I think I'd like to try it the other way round. You in… in me, if you don’t mind."
"If I don’t mind, you say? How very considerate of you, Merlin. You would find your manners at a moment like this. Now, I don’t think I have any goose grease about, but – "
"Gaius' clumpwort salve," Merlin interrupted, his hands parting like shutters. "Fresh pot. In with your socks. Should do the trick."
"Do I want to know why, or rather how you – no, never mind," Arthur said, shaking his head to clear it of the image of what his socks, Merlin and Gaius' salve had to do with one another. "Can I trouble you to – ?" Arthur gestured at Merlin's eyes. He tried not to smile at how pleased Merlin looked, schooling his face into a stern mask. He leaned down and gripped Merlin's jaw. "But take care with your aim this time round, yes? Because if you hit me in the head with something I plan to put in your arse, then the mood will be off, permanently. I will never bed you so long as I live, understood?"
Merlin nodded meekly, but then his eyes flashed gold and his lips parted round that rich, strange language, his throat working like he was swallowing un-watered wine, and there was nothing meek about him at all. He handed the pot of salve to Arthur without comment, shifting himself up the bed and spreading his legs wider, and Arthur was nearly undone by this display of effortless power and absolute trust.
Arthur set the pot down and dove in for another round of kisses, but he was too preoccupied by thoughts of being inside Merlin to do much more than gasp wetly into Merlin's mouth and rut against him.
So when Merlin started in with another round of begging, this time with more specific instructions, like, "Touch me, Arthur. Down there. I want… I want your fingers inside me. And then your – oh, God – your cock. Your fat, prattish royal cock. All these months – I could feel it when you'd sit on me. You'd act like nothing was happening, you… you sanctimonious codpiece! And I wanted it. I want it. In me. Please," Arthur hadn’t the heart to deny him.
He tore the linen covering off the pot of salve, dipped two fingers inside and burrowed down between Merlin's legs, shocking Merlin (and himself) by planting a wet, messy kiss on the dusky skin around Merlin's entrance before painting it with the salve on his fingers.
At Merlin's bidding, he gradually worked one finger inside. When he felt Merlin relax and start to thrust against his finger, he withdrew it and came back with two. It was still tight going at first, but once breached, Merlin's body proved most welcoming, and Arthur was in awe over how hot it was, at the insistent velvet suck of it. It wasn't long before he was panting out something between an endearment and a warning, coating himself with the slippery salve and desperately rubbing his cockhead against all that greedy heat.
He was just starting to work it inside, past that first ring of intense pressure, gritting his teeth a little at the effort of holding back, when Merlin gave a hoarse cry and just slid, just thrust himself down and Arthur suddenly found himself fully sheathed inside Merlin, staring at their joined bodies and dazedly thinking that now he knew why people composed all those bawdy songs, because to know this – to know that such bliss could be had and not want to sing about it, not want to shout it from the castle turrets – was unthinkable.
"Arthur!"
Arthur felt a hand on his face and looked up. Merlin's eyes were glistening, and Arthur was gripped by fear that he'd hurt him, but then he saw that his eyes weren’t glistening; rather, they were shining in a pale, gold, special Merlin kind of way, and Merlin was only angling for a kiss, which Arthur was only too happy to give.
As their lips met, Arthur felt a strange sensation wash over him, like coming near a fire after being out on winter patrol, or removing his armor after a long day in the lists. He felt raw and new and free. Merlin deepened the kiss, then broke away and lay back, hooking his legs round Arthur's back and urging him to move. Arthur gathered Merlin's cock firmly in one hand, braced himself on the bed with the other, and began to move.
With every thrust, with every flex of Merlin's body around him, Arthur's feeling of well-being increased. With every gasp and moan, with every nonsensical word that dripped from Merlin's lips, the future seemed more and more secure.
A flood of daylight woke Arthur, washing over his face. Squinting, he opened his mouth to tell Merlin that he'd seen the sight of his own chamber windows before, thank you very much; there was no need to go dramatically yanking the drapes aside just because a new day had begun.
Then he realized that Merlin couldn't possibly have opened the drapes, as Merlin was sprawled on his back beside Arthur, snoring softly and making obscene smacking motions with his lips.
Arthur thought of all the things he'd said and done the night before as he watched the light spill over Merlin's pale skin. His cheeks grew warm, but he knew that he would say and do all of those things again, even in the brightest daylight, because at last he knew what he wanted. And, as his father had taught him, a Pendragon who knew what he wanted was a force to be reckoned with; he would not be dissuaded from his objective, not even by his own modesty or sense of pride.
Arthur settled on his side, facing Merlin. He reached out and placed his hand on Merlin's chest, palm pressed against the faint puckered scar just below Merlin's breastbone (another question for later).
"Merlin?" he said, shaking him gently.
The snoring abated, but Merlin's eyes remained closed. He smacked his lips a few more times, then, with a huge yawn, rolled away from Arthur, pulling Arthur's arm – and Arthur – along with him. He burrowed his head down between two of the pillows and hugged a third to his chest, pinning Arthur's arm in place.
Arthur, now forcibly spooned along Merlin's back, noted that most of the pillows had ended up on Merlin's side of the bed. He decided that he didn’t much care; Merlin was more than adequate recompense for loss of pillows. Arthur rubbed his face against Merlin's shoulder, breathing in his scent.
"Merlin?" he repeated.
"No," came the muffled reply.
"No?"
"No, I'm not leaving. I claim this divine fortress of pillowy goodness as my rightful territory, and I'm not coming out until my beard has gone grey. Once I've grown a beard, that is."
"Ha! Knew you were awake." Arthur wrenched his arm from Merlin's grasp and lifted one of the pillows covering Merlin's face. "It is my bed, Merlin. By what right do you claim it?"
Merlin opened his lids halfway and peered up at Arthur. "To the thoroughly despoiled go the spoils? Or… er… the site of said despoiling?"
"That doesn’t make any sense," Arthur said, grinning. He flung the first pillow over his shoulder and grasped the second. Merlin caught on too late and was left exposed, blinking in the bright morning light. He tried to cover his face with the pillow he'd been snuggling, but Arthur yanked that one away as well and tossed it out of reach.
Merlin gave up and raised himself onto his elbows, glaring.
"Oh come on, Arthur. You've got a whole ruddy kingdom to lord it over. Why can’t I have one eensy-weensy bed?"
"You have an eensy-weensy bed. In Gaius' tower. I've seen it."
Merlin sat up abruptly, flinging the bedclothes aside. "That is no bed, Arthur," he said earnestly. "It is a devilish torture device gussied up in a pillow and stripy blanket – and not even a proper pillow, more like a lumpy, musty sack of old grain – and it should be ashamed of itself for ever calling itself… um… masquerading as… erm."
Merlin's gaze traveled along Arthur's newly-exposed lower half, settling on his cock, which was still exhibiting effects of its recent encounter with Merlin's backside.
He shook his head, looked back at Arthur's face.
"Sorry, what was I saying again?"
Arthur laughed. He tugged Merlin down and rolled partway on top of him, sliding one leg between Merlin's and trapping his own cock against Merlin's thigh.
"You were disparaging your usual sleeping accommodation." Arthur thrust forward slightly, increasing the pressure on his cock and nudging behind Merlin's balls with his knee. "And attempting to usurp my bed using suspect legal reasoning."
"Ah, yes." Merlin took a shaky breath and pushed back against Arthur's leg. He groaned softly on his exhale, lips parted. His eyelids fluttered closed. "Well, I only meant that – "
"All right," Arthur said. "It's yours."
"Hmm?" Merlin was slowly rocking himself against Arthur's leg.
"This bed. I cede it to you. When we are both in it, that is."
Merlin stilled and opened his eyes. He looked rather dazed.
"What, seriously?"
"Yes." Arthur skimmed two fingers up Merlin's chest, then tapped him on each shoulder in turn. "I proclaim thee Lord and Master of Prince Arthur's Bed."
Merlin grinned. "You can’t cede it to me and then call it your bed, you prat. It'll have to be just Lord and Master of Bed."
Arthur shrugged. "Suit yourself. But mine sounded better."
Merlin cupped one hand around Arthur's jaw. "Did anyone ever tell you that you are amazingly bad at relinquishing territory?"
Arthur turned his head, kissed Merlin's palm. "Not a skill I want to excel at, as I hope not to do it much."
"And so you shan't," Merlin said enigmatically, stroking the side of Arthur's face.
Arthur let this pass. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to just enjoy the feeling of Merlin's kind fingers mapping the lines of his face and carding through his hair.
At length he opened his eyes and captured Merlin's hand in his own. He gave it a warning squeeze.
"I'm serious, Merlin. The bed is as far as I'll go. I won't have you going power mad and trying to annex my wardrobe in a year's time."
Merlin laughed and squeezed Arthur's hand in return.
"I was thinking I'd try for your chair first, the one with the furs, for winter."
"Already plotting? I see I shall have to show you your place."
"Oh, I know my place, sire. I am Lord and Master of Bed, and as such I command you to… to touch my cock."
Arthur could only stare as Merlin, blushing, brought Arthur's hand to his mouth, closed his eyes, and began to bathe it with his tongue like a cat. When Arthur's palm was damp, Merlin opened his eyes. He released Arthur's hand, settled his own arms behind his head and raised an eyebrow.
Arthur did not need to be told twice. He surged up and over Merlin, leaning down for a kiss. He took Merlin's tongue in his mouth at the same moment he took Merlin's cock in his fist, and the next several minutes were lost to the intense pleasures of various types of skin-on-skin friction.
Merlin came first, panting out appreciative nonsense and clutching Arthur's hair. Arthur buried his face in the crook of Merlin's neck and rutted vigorously against his thigh, the pressure almost too much until suddenly it was perfect – sharp and sweet – and Arthur was shuddering his own release over Merlin's hip and belly.
Arthur lay slumped over Merlin until he'd recovered his breath, then untangled himself and rolled onto his back. He drowsed for a time until Merlin's quiet laughter woke him.
"What?" he said, turning his head towards Merlin, who was gazing up at the bed's canopy.
"I was just thinking how nice it is to be a man of property."
Arthur snorted.
"So, to clarify, the moment I set foot outside this bed, I go back to being just your manservant?"
"Not just my manservant, dimwit. But, essentially, yes."
Merlin looked at Arthur, clearly amused. "You do realize I now have absolutely no incentive to leave this bed ever again?"
Arthur reached over, prodded Merlin's lean stomach. "You'll need to eat, Merlin, and I certainly won't be waiting on you."
"Oho, but you forget." Merlin waved his fingers in the air, then pointed to his own head. "Special, as you said. I could hold out here for days, weeks even, nicking things from your ridiculously hearty breakfasts."
"And if I have a sudden urge to see how the other half sleep and avail myself of Gaius' spare room?"
Merlin frowned. "That would be no fun. No fun at all." He snagged Arthur's hand and drew it up to his lips, inhaling deeply. He pressed a firm kiss to the tender skin at Arthur's wrist. Then he yawned, blinked, and settled their joined hands on his chest. "Well done, sire," he said sleepily, "You've outwitted me, for now."
Seeing Merlin like this, naked and completely at ease, Arthur fretted that he would never be able hide their true relationship from everyone in the castle. But by the time they emerged from Arthur's chamber, Merlin limping along behind Arthur with an armload of dirty washing and muttering as Arthur recited all the chores that needed doing, he realized that everything would be just fine. They already knew how to do this; they'd been doing it for months now. Not the bed sport, obviously – and wasn't that a waste – but this unspoken mutual shift in their demeanor from private to public.
As the days passed, Arthur's confidence grew. Merlin seemed to sense when he might be an unwelcome distraction, during training or audiences with the king, and obligingly kept out of the way. Arthur was careful to give Merlin plenty of privacy in which to accomplish his chores. The sparring continued, both verbal and physical, but now that it was for its own merits and not a substitute for something Arthur thought he could not have, Arthur found himself listening more and not minding so much when Merlin occasionally landed a good blow.
They spent as much of the evenings together as they could, meeting in Arthur's chambers. There they would talk and eat, or just go about their separate tasks in front of a shared fire. When Merlin caught Arthur gazing at him in a certain way, or Arthur caught Merlin looking sidelong at the bed with a yearning expression, one or the other of them would check that the door was bolted; then there would be a mad rush to remove clothing – or a slow, teasing quest to expose skin – and Arthur would happily submit to Merlin's most excellent rule.
Arthur felt something dark and brittle in himself give way under this arrangement, and in its place was wrought something new. When he woke, he felt truly rested – no more clawing his way up from deep wells of anxiety or separating himself from tangled fantasies. He felt both sharper and more supple, as if he'd been imbued with the best of steel and leather. During council meetings he asked questions and spoke his mind; during royal audiences he looked his people in the eyes and listened, really listened, and began to hear the unspoken grievances behind the official complaints.
He received many approving glances from the court, but when even Morgana began beaming at him openly, he wondered just how much of a disinterested, spoilt brat he had seemed before. He'd tried asking Merlin one evening, in a roundabout sort of way, but Merlin had only gawped at him. Then he'd stuffed an entire baked apple into his mouth, which hadn't quite quelled his burgeoning laughter.
The most gratifying response had been that of the king. Arthur still found himself on the receiving end of stern, probing looks, but his father increasingly spoke to him as an equal. He solicited Arthur's opinion more frequently, in public as well as in private, and delegated more of the kingdom's financial responsibilities. He had even played down Arthur's failure to retrieve the Marchlyn Hoard to the council, turning their attentions instead to the catacombs beneath Camelot and the rumors of the amazing riches that could be found there, walled up in the tombs of forgotten ancestors.
When these rumors proved true, Arthur was overjoyed, not just because it meant an end to the ceaseless racket coming from the bowels of the castle at all hours, but also because it meant that Camelot would have a fine purse to offer at the upcoming joust. With Merlin's aid, Arthur was able to steer his men clear of the poisoned bolts and other traps some seriously misanthropic courtier had ordered set in place and recover the bulk of the treasure.
They had to forgo one massive sapphire set into the sarcophagus itself – one look at Merlin's frantically waving hands and panicked "very very bad idea" face and Arthur announced sternly to all present that it would be disrespectful to remove it – but there were plenty of other jewels to add color to Camelot's coffers.
Uther looked rather wistfully at the sapphire when he came to view the spoils, but after some hard glaring and belabored pantomime from Merlin, Arthur once more explained his newly-found reluctance to vandalize coffins. He used lots of words he knew his father favored, like "duty" and "dignity."
"We have more than enough for a splendid tourney purse," he added. "With much left over for the castle coffers and Morgana's jewelry box."
The king smiled. "Still, to be able to show off such a jewel to our guests. You are right, of course, that we must leave dear… well, whatever his name is, to rest in dignity and splendor. But perhaps we might borrow the jewel and replace it after the tourney?"
Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was standing several paces behind the king. Merlin bared his teeth and made claws with his hands, then crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue and pretended to choke himself.
"I… ah… that is, Merlin and I have another idea, Father. There are rumors of a great beast seen… in the woods round Camelot." Arthur saw Merlin frown. He removed his hands from his throat and made slashing, stabbing motions instead. Then he slumped back against a nearby pillar, tongue once more protruding from his mouth.
"Yes, in the woods," Arthur continued, nodding slightly to show Merlin that he understood. "We are planning a hunt. For tomorrow. I will kill this… this legendary beast. Our guests shall then feast on its flesh and its head shall hang on your wall, a symbol of Camelot's power over its lands."
Merlin was now looking at Arthur like he'd lost his mind.
"Really?" Uther said, glancing back at Merlin (who quickly schooled his face into a blank mask) before looking at Arthur curiously. "What is the nature of this beast, Arthur? I've heard no rumors."
"Freshly arrived. Just this morning. Reports of," Arthur looked pointedly at Merlin, but Merlin only shrugged, so Arthur reached back to the tales from his boyhood and blurted out, "a white hart."
"A white hart?"
Arthur took a deep breath and tried to recall his nurse's words. "Indeed. A true hart of ten, with perfect points and a flawless hide. Easily twelve or thirteen hands high. They say his bellow echoes throughout the forest and the ground trembles beneath his hooves."
Merlin's mouth fell open and he stared at Arthur. Arthur, seeing his father pass a hand over his eyes, risked a wink. He thought he'd done rather well. He had no idea why Merlin looked so out of sorts.
Uther seemed lost in his thoughts, murmuring, "I have heard of such prizes, but not in recent times. It was seen nearby, you say?"
"Yes, Father."
"Very well. You'd best get on with your preparations then. Sapphires of such a size are rare, but a white hart is even more so. And the jewel isn’t going anywhere." Uther spared one last, longing glance at the sarcophagus, then nodded to Arthur. "I wish you success in your stalking, Arthur, and I look forward to the hart's points on my wall."
"Thank you, Father."
Arthur jerked his head towards the tomb entrance. As he and Merlin retreated, his father added, "Gorlois claimed he saw one once. On his wedding day. Always thought it was the wine talking, but I wonder."
As soon as they were well out of earshot of the king, Merlin crowded up behind Arthur and whispered viciously, "Are you insane? Where are we going to find such a creature?"
"Relax, Merlin. We'll bring home plenty of other game and tell him the beast led us a merry chase before disappearing into an enchanted lake or something. Then I'll win the joust, Camelot will keep her purse, and my father will be far too jolly on mead to care."
"Oh, well as long as you are absolutely certain of winning."
"Why wouldn't I be? I am the reigning champion. And you shouldn't be giving me grief over the hart, as it is your fault that I had to invent him."
"How do you figure that?"
Arthur turned and mimicked Merlin's recent performance, beginning with the clawed hands and ending with the choking and stabbing. "Tell me that doesn’t mean, 'I know, Arthur, we'll find a notorious beast and kill it.'"
Merlin looked affronted. "Well, no. It clearly means, 'If you let your father steal that jewel we'll all end up being attacked by hideous monsters and dying hideous deaths.'"
"What? Merlin, that's completely – " Arthur shook his head, leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Merlin's stubborn pout. "Sometimes I worry about what goes on in that head of yours."
"The feeling is mutual, sire," Merlin replied, but his expression softened.
They walked the rest of the way back up from the catacombs in silence. Once they were in the castle proper, Merlin excused himself to go run errands for Gaius.
Before he left, however, he frowned and said, "I suppose this means we actually do have to go hunting tomorrow?"
Arthur nodded happily. "Just the two of us, I think. Not usually done with large game, but we don’t need any witnesses to our awesome destiny, eh?"
"But, Arthur, that was – "
"Utterly brilliant, and I've been dying to try it again. Please tell me it works on animals bigger than hares?"
Merlin sighed and stomped off up the stairs.
They set out early the next morning. The day was fair, the air in the woods cool and fresh. Arthur slowed his horse to a walk and took up his crossbow, listening eagerly for the first hint of an approaching animal.
After an hour, Arthur was prepared to admit that, while the hunting wasn't exactly poor, it wasn't anything to boast about either. He began pestering Merlin with questions, but Merlin remained stubbornly silent. When they stopped to eat, Arthur added physical harassment, kicking at Merlin's boots and poking him with a stick.
"Merlin. Where are all the hares, Merlin? All the juicy hares and the nice plump woodcocks – are you keeping them from me?"
Merlin glowered and the tip of his ears went very red. He tore into his bread with angry bites, but he ignored Arthur.
At last, after Arthur had dealt him a solid prod in the back, Merlin flung down his bread and looked at Arthur. His eyes went golden and the stick was yanked out of Arthur's hand. It flew across the clearing and broke against a tree trunk with a loud thwack.
Merlin jumped up and faced Arthur.
"Our destiny has nothing to do with killing woodland creatures, you insensitive clod! You, Arthur, you're going to be the greatest king Camelot has ever seen." Merlin gestured at Arthur's head. "Then you will rise beyond even that, uniting the lords of many lands under your banner, but to do so, you're going to need me, because I seem to have a knack for saving your arrogant hide and I – don’t you dare laugh – will apparently become the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known."
Arthur stared. Merlin was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared, his fists clenched at his sides as if he were expecting a challenge. Arthur stood and closed the distance between them, holding his hands up in surrender. Merlin relaxed slightly and Arthur put his arms around him, pulling him into a hug.
"So, you weren't kidding about the awesome part then," Arthur said, and he felt Merlin tremble – with relief or amusement, he didn’t know.
Merlin swallowed audibly and pulled back a little. "Nope," he said.
"But you’re telling me that, despite our combined future greatness, we don’t actually rate a massive amount of fresh easy meat?" This earned Arthur a small smile.
"Yep."
"What was happening then, on the way back from the caves? I know I didn’t imagine it."
"No, you didn't. I think that was the Old Religion, working through all the living things in the forest. It sounds weird, I know, and even I am not entirely sure how it works, but it is all connected somehow. When you found out about my magic and accepted it, accepted me, as a sort of equal, well, everything was sort of… um… rejoicing."
"Rejoicing? Because we snogged in the woods?"
Merlin's small smile grew into a larger, more exasperated one.
"Well, the snogging was legendary, I'm sure, but no. I think it was more to do with our bond having been strengthened. And because there is now hope that things will be different in the future. Magic has been denied in these lands for too long, Arthur. But if you can accept me, trust me…"
Merlin bit his lip and searched Arthur's face. It took Arthur a moment to comprehend where Merlin was headed with this statement, but he got there eventually. He slipped a hand into the folds of Merlin's neckerchief, stroking the supple flesh found therein.
"And if I have dozens of very selfish reasons why I want to keep your by no means gorgeous neck attached to your shoulders?"
"Er," Merlin said, blushing. "Yes, I suppose that helps."
"I see. Point being that, if I accept you, I'm much less likely to begin my reign with mass witch burnings and executions."
"Mmm." Merlin nodded. He sucked in a great breath, as if girding himself for a verbal battle. "But it also means that ordinary, hardworking people might once again be able to seek the advice of the druids regarding their crops, or simple remedies for their loved ones, without fear of losing their heads. That those whose only crimes are being good-hearted and aiding strangers don’t find themselves accused of treason."
Arthur sighed, leaned his forehead against Merlin's. "That people like Gwen's father needn't die for nothing," he whispered. "I see, Merlin. I see."
Merlin exhaled shakily, all his tension draining away, and Arthur pulled him into a tight embrace. He closed his eyes and just listened to Merlin's breathing and the thud of his heartbeat, to the songbirds, to the gurgle of a nearby stream, to the rustle of branches and the snap of twigs…
Arthur opened his eyes.
"Merlin," he whispered frantically, relinquishing his embrace and grasping Merlin by the shoulders. "Merlin, are you quite certain our destiny has nothing to do with hunting?"
Merlin frowned. "Yes, Arthur. I thought I – "
"Merlin, look behind you!"
The hart was white as milk, each of his ten perfect points shining in the rays of sunlight that penetrated the forest canopy. He stood no more than twelve feet away, watching them with dark, intelligent eyes.
Merlin gasped. "Oh my God. Oh, Arthur. No."
But Arthur was already edging towards the horses, who stood silent and oddly still with their heads bowed. He kept one arm around Merlin, pulling him along. The hart watched them, shifting a bit, but didn’t bolt. Arthur slowly eased alongside the horses and reached for his crossbow.
"Arthur, no!" Merlin whispered. "Remember the unicorn?"
Arthur paused and looked at Merlin's stricken face.
"Drought, Arthur. Drought and famine and me having to watch you keel over dead on what would have otherwise been a lovely afternoon at the seaside!"
Arthur lowered his hand. He looked from Merlin to the hart and back again. Then he shrugged. Perhaps Merlin had a point.
"All right. I'll content myself with having seen him. A good story to tell Father."
The hart snorted. He inclined his head in their direction, let out a mighty bellow and pranced a few feet farther away.
"It wouldn't hurt to give chase, would it?" Arthur said hopefully. "Just to lend more weight to the story. I promise I won’t shoot him." He looked at Merlin expectantly. If only his father could see him now, asking a sorcerer's permission to stalk royal game in his own damn forest!
"Oh all right," Merlin said. "The poor beast obviously has more looks than sense – like some others I know – given that it is hanging around people," he raised his voice and made shooing motions with his hands, "with pointy weapons and a penchant for decorating with antlers."
The hart only tossed its head and came a few paces nearer.
Arthur laughed. "See, I bet he likes a good chase. Probably hasn’t had one for ages."
As soon as they'd mounted their horses the hart was off, his pale haunches flashing in and out amongst the trees, his bright points dancing in the sun. At times he would pull away, and Arthur would race in pursuit, calling out instructions to Merlin. But he always reappeared, and as the chase wore on Arthur started to reconsider what Merlin had said. The unicorn had been an innocent and a creature of magic, taken unawares. This hart had found Arthur; it seemed meant for him.
"I think he wants me to kill him, Merlin," he shouted.
"Or it's leading you to your doom," came the reply.
Arthur grinned, the thrill of the chase hot in his veins. "He is leading us somewhere. Look!"
The hart had slowed, and was picking its way through a thicket up ahead. Arthur and Merlin followed at a distance. It took them a little while to find a way through. They emerged into a small glade with an enormous gnarled oak at its center. The hart stood beneath the ancient tree. He watched them as they approached, eyes alert and flanks heaving.
Then he went down on his forelegs, bowing his great head, and Arthur looked at Merlin triumphantly.
Merlin sighed and gave Arthur a pained smile. "Well go on then. You're right. He's clearly determined."
Arthur slipped off his horse and unfastened his crossbow.
"Wait." Merlin dismounted and reached out a shaking hand towards the hart. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then the words of the Old Religion were dripping from his tongue like the last of the mead, sweet and sticky and forlorn.
Arthur may not have understood the words, but he understood that he – or rather, they – were being given a great gift. He waited until Merlin opened his eyes before loading a bolt. At Merlin's nod, he moved round so he was broadside of the hart, drew back the bolt and took careful aim.
The bolt zipped through the air and buried itself just behind the hart's shoulder. Arthur heard the hart's bubbling breath, saw him sink the rest of the way to the ground, and knew he'd hit true. He approached and knelt down, stroking the hart's sleek neck as his breath shuddered and finally ceased. At last, when all of the life was gone from the hart's eyes, he bowed his head and said his own words of thanks.
Arthur looked up to find Merlin watching him, his face lit with fierce pride.