Work Text:
Arthur knows when they’ve arrived, but still pretends to be asleep. The material of his jacket is soft under his cheek as he leans against the window. A part of him wants to be contrary and not cooperate with Merlin, and another more insistent part thinks that if he sleeps, even if it’s only pretending, then he can also pretend not to be worried about all the phone calls he’ll need to make soon. It’s also actually pretty fucking difficult to move right now.
“Mum’s waiting for us,” Merlin says as he turns the engine off.
“I’m sleeping.”
“Clearly.”
Arthur sighs and rubs his face with his hands, then looks at Hunith’s little cottage. He hasn’t been here in months and he can already feel the chaos in his head quieten at the sight of it. He fights against the feeling. On principle.
“I can’t believe you’re bothering your mother with this,” he says, crossing his arms while Merlin unbuckles his belt.
“Don’t be a git. It was her idea.”
“Of fucking course it was.” It’s pretty infuriating how impossible it is to be angry at Hunith Emrys. Frankly, he thinks it’s too easy for the Emryses to manipulate him into doing whatever they want, and he should really put a stop to it at some point. “You kidnapped me.”
“I did no such thing,” Merlin says with exaggerated affront. “You got into the car out of your own free will.”
“Yes, after you showed up at my flat just as I was leaving for work and practically shoved me in it.”
“You were easy to convince, mate. I thought I’d have to be way more dramatic. I even had a made up story and everything. Maybe you wanted me to kidnap you.”
Arthur sniffs disdainfully. “You caught me unaware before my morning coffee. Plus I was—”
“Tired. Yes. That’s why we’re here.”
Arthur stays silent. He looks again at the cheerful house, with its stone walls covered in ivy and overflowing window boxes, and knows what he’ll find inside, what’s waiting for him there, and he aches with the longing it brings, wrapping itself around him. It’s deeply unfair.
“You could have stopped me,” Merlin says opening his door, and Arthur does the same, resigned to his fate, but not liking it. Not one bit. Even if he can smell baking from where he’s standing in the driveway. Even if everything in him just wants to sit down inside and breathe and not think.
“I doubt anything short of me throwing myself out of the moving car would have stopped you.”
“True. I can be very persistent.”
“Understatement of the fucking century,” he mumbles.
“Awwww,” Merlin says with a bright smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Arthur grabs the bag that Merlin packed for him (because he’s a manipulative, little liar who plots his demise behind his back), heads for the door without deigning to answer, and ignores Merlin’s too delighted cackle behind him.
He brushes his fingers over the brass dragon doorknocker. “Hey, Kil. Miss me?” He knocks and sweeps his hand one more time over the dragon’s polished nose. “Course you did.”
Hunith is just as she always is, all bright eyes and laughter lines. All blessed warmth and softness when she smiles at him and gathers him into her arms even though she’s half his size. He inhales her scent, falling slightly into her as she holds his head to her shoulder. She pulls back and holds his face between her hands, sweeping her thumbs under his eyes, tutting.
“Arthur Pendragon, what have you done to yourself again?”
He only shrugs, lump in his throat and no idea why he’s on the verge of tears. But then she drags him into the house, pushes him onto the sofa, and it’s better, easier to swallow past it all, when she’s not looking at him with such naked concern.
“Merlin, what’s taking you so long?”
“I have all those things you asked me to bring you. They’re not light, you know?” Arthur hears Merlin yell from outside, and he has to smile when Hunith puts her hands on her hips.
“Merlin Emrys, you have magic. Use it.”
A few moments later Merlin comes in followed by four large boxes merrily floating behind him like little puppies with their master. Merlin has them stacked neatly in a corner of the living room with a flick on his wrist, before he sits beside Arthur on the sofa.
“I never know with her,” he grumbles. “One moment it’s ‘Merlin Emrys, you can’t use your magic for every single thing that strikes your fancy. It’s wrong and beneath you.’ And then it’s, ‘For fuck’s sake child, use your brain. You have a gift, make use of it.’ It’s all very confusing and I don’t see how I’m suppose to keep track.”
Arthus raises an eyebrow at him. “I feel your pain. I truly do.”
“Oh shut it, Pendragon.”
“Make me, Emrys.”
“I could take you with my hands tied behind my back.”
“Go ahead. I can take it. Your mum will yell and take my side and feed me biscuits afterwards. A worthy price, I should say. Or have your forgotten the spatula incident?”
“I hate you.”
“I can live with that.”
Merlin lowers his head, leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks back at him with a grin, and Arthur smiles back, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out the way he used to do all the time behind his father’s back. “Brat,” he says.
“Posh wanker.”
Arthur pushes Merlin off the sofa.
✿ ✿ ✿
He startles a little when Hunith puts a hand on his arm. “You should get changed, love,” she says. “Merlin’s put your bag in your room.”
Arthur looks down at himself. He’s used to wearing suits. He likes wearing suits, actually. But right now, under the harsh summer sun, surrounded by bright flowers in bloom, it suddenly feels tight and stifling. He pulls on his tie as he gets up, but not before stealing Merlin’s last bite of cake.
✿ ✿ ✿
He digs in his bag, rolling his eyes when he sees that Merlin only packed soft shirts, jeans and pajamas, because no matter how Arthur loves his suits, Merlin’s always hated them. He wonders for a moment how Merlin got his hands on his stuff before his slow brain goes: Oh. Magic.
His movements are sluggish and he thinks he’ll just go back downstairs and sit with Hunith and Merlin, but next thing he knows he’s sliding over the new, cool covers of the bed and lying on his back, trying to stop his mind from thinking and worrying. Just for a little while.
✿ ✿ ✿
Arthur turns his head from where he’s still lying on the bed to see Merlin standing in the doorway. For a moment he’s backlit from the brighter light in the hallway, and his silhouette is all lanky, with wild hair and ears sticking out. It was the same as when they were both fifteen. But then Merlin steps into the bedroom and comes into focus, and Arthur sees how much wider his shoulders are, how he’s not so much lanky as wiry, and there’s stubble on his face where his cheekbones aren’t as sharp anymore, but still the most defined Arthur’s ever seen. He has the same blue eyes though, and the same look on his face—worried and exasperated at the same time.
“Hey.”
“You okay?” Merlin sits on the edge of the bed and glances back at Arthur. It makes the muscles in his back move, and Arthur has the sudden impulse to spread his hand between his shoulderblades to feel the movement under his palm.
“Yeah,” he says, instead. “Just, you know…”
“Being a lazy arse?”
Arthur lets out a breathy laugh. “Tired. Just tired.”
Merlin hums and nods. “You’re crashing, is all,” he says. “All that adrenaline and stress was keeping you going. And then you stop, and that’s when you realise how exhausted you are.”
“How very wise of you.”
“Bloody right. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been through finals week, remember? Several times.”
“So have I, Merlin.”
“Then you should know better, you stupid git.” There’s a hint of anger in Merlin’s tone, and Arthur sighs. After a moment of silence, Merlin shifts around so he can look more easily at him, and drags his hand across the bed until his fingertips touch Arthur’s side. He waits for Arthur to look at him, before saying: “Arthur, I know—I know your father expects a lot and—”
“Merlin, don’t—”
“No, I know. I just—I know you want to make him proud, and I know it’s not easy. But you can’t just continue like this. You’ll give yourself another ulcer. How well can you do your work if you have to stop for months because you burnt yourself out, huh? And—”
“Merlin.” Arthur grabs Merlin’s arm stopping him. “I know,” he says. “You gave me the speech in the car. Just let it go for now, okay?” Arthur passes a hand over his eyes. His bones are heavy and leaden, pulling him into the bed until he feels like he can barely move. “Just—Don’t mention work. I’m trying to not panic about it.”
Merlin gives him a small smile. “Okay. Sorry. I saw you left your mobile downstairs, and that’s good, that’s great even. I was expecting you to—”
“Learn to shut up, Merlin.” It’s an old phrase, one that everyone in Merlin’s life has said at one point or another, from teachers to friends, to Mrs. Fletcher at the chip shop. Arthur pokes him in the side and quirks his lips, then moves aside on the narrow bed until he’s against the wall. Merlin rolls his eyes and makes a motion of zipping his lips shut, before stretching himself out on his back beside Arthur.
Arthur’s always liked that, how he and Merlin can just stay quiet and silent beside each other in those rare moments when Merlin decides to shut it. It has never felt awkward or heavy or made Arthur feel like he had to come up with something to fill the silence. He pushes Merlin’s foot with his, once, twice, until Merlin kicks back with a laugh.
“I’m still hungry,” Arthur says. “Get me some food, Merlin.”
Merlin kicks him again. “Not your bloody servant, Pendragon.”
“But you brought me here so I could rest.”
“To rest, yes. Not to be pampered like a goddamn prince.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Suck it up, your highness.”
Arthur laughs and settles more comfortably until his body and Merlin’s are against each other. He waits, matches his breathing to Merlin’s, slow and steady.
“Do the thing,” Arthur says.
With a quick, sharp movement of his hand, Merlin closes the curtains and the door, leaving them in semi-darkness, soft shadows tinged red from the light filtering through the window, and only the low sound of their breathing and the faint chirping of birds outside. Arthur thinks he can hear Hunith softly humming downstairs, but he focuses on the way Merlin spreads his fingers wide over his head, shutting everything out but for the lights that start forming on the ceiling, the warmth of Merlin’s body, and the familiar smell of rain and ozone and earth that always comes with Merlin’s magic.
Merlin creates multicolored lights all over the ceiling, images that remind Arthur of night skies and those space photographs of nebulae and galaxies Merlin was obsessed with when they were ten, dragging Arthur out every night so they could look through Merlin’s telescope. He’d spent a whole summer working small jobs around the neighbourhood to buy it. The memory makes Arthur’s muscles unclench as he lets out a long breath, sinking a bit more into the bed.
The lights on the ceiling shift and move until they form armies facing each other on fields of battle, and rockets travelling through planet-filled skies. Arthur’s favourites have always been the monsters, and he gasps a little when Merlin shifts the pictures until Godzilla tramples Tokyo, or Cthulhu rises from the sea. Then a great, fiery dragon swoops over the wide space of the room, bright red and eyes dark.
“Careful not to burn the ceiling this time,” Arthur whispers, turning on his side to look at Merlin. The colours sparkle and shift across his face in a way that makes the breath in Arthur’s throat stop and stick and his chest tighten.
“That never happened,” Merlin says with a grin.
“The burnt spot in the corner over there begs to differ.”
“Slander. That was there when we bought the house.”
Arthur snorts and lets his head fall forward, leans his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin’s free hand finds his forearm on the covers and squeezes lightly.
The dragon explodes in a shower of gold and red sparks, then blue and white, and Arthur closes his eyes to see their ghosts against the back of his eyelids. It’s warm, and the air smells like rain and summer grass and Merlin’s aftershave. Arthur exhales slowly, his mouth almost brushing the soft skin of Merlin’s arm, and he bites his lip so he doesn’t kiss it.
He can feel himself fall asleep, his whole body leaning into Merlin’s, into the colours and the smells.
“I worry about you,” Merlin says, soft, like he thinks Arthur’s already sleeping. “All the time.”
✿ ✿ ✿
He groans and stretches, his muscles stiff, mouth pasty, and so fucking hungry he has to put a hand over his stomach at the painful twist it gives.
The house is silent and he assumes that both Merlin and Hunith have gone to bed. The slight disappointment at not having woken up beside Merlin is bitter under his tongue. He feels silly for thinking it. He shakes his limbs, trying to wake himself up, sick of feeling heavy and listless. Pathetic.
Merlin’s bedroom door is slightly ajar and Arthur pushes it open more.
Merlin’s sleeping face down on his bed, covers kicked off at the foot of it, messy and tangled. He’s got one arm hanging off the bed and a knee bent, all limbs that seem to be too long and too sprawled out to be contained by the small bed. His face is smooshed on his pillow, lips parted, and Arthur would bet his whole fortune—quite substantial thank you very much—that he’s drooling like the gross human being that he is.
He’s so Merlin, even in his sleep, that Arthur has to lean his back against the doorframe and slide to the floor, the wood cold against his bare, overheated, and prickly skin.
He stays there for a long time, just listening to Merlin breathe, like a huge creeper that creeps, but can’t find it in himself to move. Not just yet.
A soft sound behind him has him look over his shoulder to see Hunith standing there, leaning on her own doorframe. She smiles at him, fond, but there’s a spark in her eyes, something knowing and teasing, that has Arthur wrinkling his nose at her in mockery. Her grin shifts and blooms into something wide.
She comes and stands beside him for a moment, the both of them looking at Merlin, still completely oblivious to the world, like guardians or vigils, and Arthur knows by the look on her face that this isn’t the first time she’s looked over him like that.
Arthur wants to tell her he’s always going to take care of Merlin. He’s always going to protect him and make sure he’s happy, the same way she does. That together, they’ll always do their best to keep Merlin safe.
He wants to tell her she’s not alone in this. That it’s a promise.
The certainty of it fits inside of him like it’s always belonged there. It’s fierce and wild, huge, and it should be overwhelming, but it’s more like the culmination of hundreds of small things and moments that add themselves to each other over the years, like arriving at a destination he knew he’d been heading for anyway, just not knowing when he’d get there. And now that he has, it’s the most comforting, familiar place in the world.
Hunith pushes Arthur’s hair off his forehead with her fingers and smiles down at him.
“You need a haircut, love,” she says. He bats her hand off like he’s fourteen again and absolutely refusing to indulge her, not with the determined way she’d grabbed those scissors. She pats his cheek and once again swipes her thumb under his eye—like she could erase the dark circles there—clucking her tongue. “There’s some food on the table downstairs.”
She kisses the top of his head and goes back to her room, and Arthur stays there a moment more, letting the quietness of the house settle the rushing of his blood, the fluttering of his heart.
✿ ✿ ✿
It always smells good in Hunith’s kitchen, and Arthur lets his nose guide him to his usual seat at the table. A few seconds later he has a cup of coffee pushed between his hands and a freshly made scone with jam on a chipped plate set beside him.
“Where’s Merlin?” he says around a mouthful just to have her glare at him.
She narrows her eyes, says “You’re not eight anymore, Arthur Pendragon. Show some manners,” but has to turn around to hide her smile.
“Now, why would I do that?” Arthur says, and takes a sip of coffee. “You’d get bored.”
She snorts. “If only. Then I might have fewer grey hairs. Merlin’s in the garden. How about you go help him?”
Arthur gulps down the rest of his breakfast, burning his tongue on the coffee then wiping his hands quickly on his pajama bottoms. He kisses Hunith’s cheek on his way out with a “you don’t look a day over thirty-five” that earns him a swat on the back of his head for his trouble. She still gives him a knowing look before going back to doing the dishes.
Mothers are disturbingly insightful.
Merlin’s plucking out weeds. He’s rolled his jeans to his knees and his sleeves to his shoulders and has dirt all over his hands and forearms. The day’s bright and sunny with no wind. The air’s heavy and hot and filled with the sound of crickets, the buzzing of bees, the heady smell of Hunith’s flowers, sweet and pungent.
Arthur lets himself drop in the grass beside Merlin. His skin is already glistening with a thin layer of sweat, and Arthur reaches out with one finger to slide it along the muscle line of Merlin’s upper arm.
“I see you’ve already been punished,” he says. “And it’s not even ten, yet. Couldn’t keep your mouth shut again?”
Merlin huffs and sits back on his haunches, runs a hand over his forehead where he leaves some dirt, and Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh.
“Mum has a very wide and complicated definition of sass,” Merlin says. He looks at Arthur more carefully, almost suspiciously, and Arthur doesn’t know what he’s looking for.
He’s loose and rested. He’d even called his father when he woke up to tell him he was taking a few more days off, and barely felt any guilt over it. Then he’d call Leon to let him know he’d have to take over for a while.
It had all been surprisingly easy, considering.
He’s sure he’s going to panic again later, but for now all he wants is to be close to Merlin, to touch him, to look at him in this new, yet unsurprising way, and marvel at all the familiar things he knows about him, and all the ones he’s yet to discover.
Merlin gives him a confused look, raises an eyebrow, and Arthur realises he might have been smiling a bit too wide.
“Slept well?” Merlin aks
“I did,” Arthur says, picking at the grass. “Was disappointed not to have my breakfast in bed, though. Seriously, Merlin, you’re a rubbish host.”
“Oh, poor little prince Arthur. Did you cry? How was it to go down and feed yourself like the rest of us commoners?”
“Terrible. I didn’t like it one bit. It was totally beneath me.”
Merlin pats Arthur’s knee. “There, there. You’ll live.”
With a fake grumble, Arthur throws grass at Merlin, and his heart skips a beat when Merlin laughs, his face changing with it until it’s as blinding as the light, and shadows from the leaves dance over his cheekbones.
Arthur reaches out and curls his fingers into the wet hair on the back of Merlin’s neck, all warm from the sun, cutting Merlin’s laughter short. With his other hand Arthur carefully brushes off the dirt from Merlin’s face, aware that Merlin’s staring at him with wide eyes, almost holding his breath, and Arthur enjoys taking his time, waits until he hears Merlin swallow dryly before looking at him.
“Would it ruin everything if I kissed you?” he says, meeting Merlin’s gaze in time to see him blink, one time, two times, then closing his eyes like it’s too difficult to look at Arthur. Arthur wonders if he looks too open, too raw, right now, if everything he feels is written all over him. But he doesn’t care, and he wouldn’t know how to hide it right now, wouldn’t have the strength, even if he wanted to. Besides, Merlin has always been able to read him perfectly.
Merlin knows him better than he knows himself.
Merlin curls his dirty fingers in Arthur’s shirt then pushes, pushes until his whole hand is spread wide across Arthur’s stomach, and the heat of it makes it hard to breathe.
Arthur pulls him forward until Merlin’s forehead is leaning against his own and his lips are right there, close enough for Arthur to lick if he wanted to.
“No,” Merlin says, swallows, opens his eyes to look at Arthur. “No. It wouldn’t ruin anything at all.”
“Done with your little panic?” Arthur smiles against the skin of Merlin’s cheek, brushing his nose with his.
“Yes.”
“Will you freak out later?” Arthur grazes his teeth along Merlin’s jaw, Merlin gasping and leaning forward into him as he sucks a little at a spot below his ear.
“No.”
“Are you su—”
“Oh my god, just kiss me, arsehole.”
Arthur laughs and his teeth clack against Merlin’s. Then Merlin pushes forward only to tip Arthur onto his back in the process, bumping his nose on his chin, and Arthur drags him over, still unable to stop laughing long enough to kiss Merlin properly. It’s messy, full of teeth and tongue, with no finesse whatsoever, but it’s the best thing ever, and Arthur just wraps his arms around Merlin to keep him close when Merlin tries to pull off him, nuzzling his neck instead.
“You’re the worst,” he says in the warm skin there. It’s sweaty and salty, but it’s Merlin and Arthur just pushes harder until that’s all he can smell.
“Me? You’re the one who propositions me and can’t even fucking take a minute to do it properly.”
“Bite your tongue,” Arthur says pulling back to mock glare at Merlin. “It’s the best kiss that’s ever kissed in all the history of kissing, and worthy of a prince. You should consider yourself lucky, peasant.”
Merlin huffs and rolls his eyes. “What will I do with you, Arthur Pendragon? You’re absolutely, irrevocably, permanently hopeless.” Merlin kisses Arthur’s face and Arthur has never felt so giddy, so happy his skin buzzes with it.
“Boys!” Hunith yells from the opened backdoor. “Get a room would you? You’re crushing my begonias.”
“Oh my god.” Merlin burrows his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, his whole body shaking with laughter under Arthur’s hands.
“Hey.” He nudges Merlin. “Wanna go swim in the river?”
Merlin pulls back so quickly, Arthur sees him wince, like he gave himself whiplash. “Naked?”
Arthur’s not sure if it’s the slight childish hope in his voice, or the way that he rolls his hips against Arthur that does it (the hips, definitely the hips), but he has to take a huge breath against the impossibly big and joyous thing in his chest that just wants to crawl out and explode into the world.
And then they’re running, Merlin’s hand in his, and the river sparkles under the sun in the distance. It smells and feels like summer, and rain and ozone and the rich overturned earth of the garden. Like Merlin’s magic. Like Merlin. Like years and years and years stretching every which way and without end.