Work Text:
A million points of light
And a conversation I can't face
Cast me off one day
To lose my inhibitions
━✶━
Of the many ways Merlin had envisioned the night of Arthur’s coronation, he never expected it would be like this:
Arthur, slumped in a chair by the hearth, his royal robes from earlier that day discarded in favor of an old tunic and worn breeches, hair uncharacteristically unkempt and long overdue for cutting, cheeks unshaven, head in his hands. He looks more like a broken man than the newly crowned King of Camelot.
Merlin’s heart aches for him.
Uther had finally succumbed to his broken heart overnight, Arthur keeping a steadfast vigil at his bedside and holding his hand as his spirit left him. Merlin had spent the night waiting for Arthur outside the throne room, but when he had emerged, his eyes were dry and he’d looked more accepting of his father’s passing than anything. Serene in a way that Merlin hadn’t seen for months.
“His soul can rest now,” Arthur had told him, with a tone of finality that suggested his father’s passing had brought him peace as well.
His coronation had taken place just hours later.
But Arthur had already been shouldering the responsibilities of running a kingdom for the better part of a year, his uncle Agravaine by his side against Merlin’s better judgement. Agravaine had swooped in the moment Uther had fallen ill and become a valued adviser, steering Arthur through the trials of being a prince regent as Merlin looked on in distrust.
No one had expected that Arthur’s first order as king would be to relieve Agravaine of his duties.
Merlin still doesn’t understand why Arthur did it. As much as he’d suspected Agravaine of being less than genuine, Arthur had never seemed suspicious and had always welcomed his uncle’s council with open arms. Earlier, Merlin had tried broaching the subject, but Arthur had just stared at him, through him, and replied coolly, “I had no reason to trust him anymore.” And that had been the end of that.
It came moments after witnessing Gwen and Arthur exchange only a perfunctory hello after the coronation ceremony. No kiss, not even on the cheek. Evidently, Gwaine had seen it too, because he’d sauntered up to Merlin and whispered, “Word in the court is that they are no longer an item.” Merlin had told him he was full of horseshit, but Gwaine had just shrugged and departed with a suggestive smirk, leaving Merlin to his troubled thoughts.
He dare not ask Arthur about it.
Merlin clears his throat. Quietly at first, then louder, but Arthur doesn’t stir. Finally, Merlin gives up and walks over to where Arthur is seated, hands clasped behind his back.
“Will there be anything else, sire?” he asks with some apprehension.
“No, that will be all for tonight,” Arthur replies, sounding so preoccupied that Merlin wonders if Arthur had even heard him. “Good night.”
Merlin rocks back on his heels, hesitating. “Do you want to talk about it?” he blurts.
Arthur’s eyes finally lift from the fire, slicing across to glance up at Merlin sharply, the hardened expression on his face as clear an answer as any. “There is nothing to discuss,” he dismisses tightly, brushing past Merlin towards his bed. “Good night, Merlin.”
“I can tell when you’re lying.”
“How perceptive of you.”
Merlin’s anger flares. He knows he shouldn’t, but he chases after Arthur, determined not to stand down. “When will you learn to stop being a thick-headed, stubborn, arrogant ass and—”
Arthur stops so quickly that Merlin bumps into his back and stumbles. By the time he rights himself, Arthur has turned around and they are standing toe to toe, close enough that Merlin can feel the heat of his skin, can smell the faintly citrus notes from his bath water, can see the ruddied area where he’d been chewing on his bottom lip. The ice in Arthur’s narrowed eyes chills him to the bone.
“I am your king now,” Arthur reminds him slowly, deliberately. “Measure your next words very carefully, Merlin.”
Merlin stands up straighter, trying to take advantage of their usual negligible height difference, but somehow Arthur still manages to loom over him. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.
“Look, I know you’ve been through a lot these last few days,” Merlin begins, gentler this time. Arthur glances away as if he’s been caught stealing. “Something is clearly bothering you. Will you tell me what it is?”
The pregnant pause that follows is just long enough to give Merlin a glimmer of hope, but then Arthur steps back and turns his back to him, the moment broken.
“Sire— Arthur, wait—”
“Get out of here,” Arthur says, wearily now.
“You don’t have to shoulder whatever burden this is alone,” Merlin presses, following him. “Let me help you.”
“Leave me.”
“Arthur, please—”
“NOW,” Arthur shouts, the echo of it reverberating through his chambers, in Merlin’s ears.
The sensible part of his brain is screaming at him to just do as Arthur says and get out—but as much of a foul-tempered twit as Arthur is being right now, something is hurting him at his core, and Merlin can’t bring himself to turn a blind eye and leave Arthur like this.
Merlin hesitates, then reaches out and lightly puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?” he asks quietly.
Arthur jerks away from his touch as though he’s been burned, then whirls around to face him. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?” he demands, the pained look in his eyes drilling a hole through Merlin’s chest. “About...”
Arthur’s shoulders sag, defeated. The firelight throws his hollow, broken expression into stark relief.
“Your magic.”
The words seem to register quicker in Merlin’s body than his mind. His next exhale is little more than a strangled gasp, heart pounding painfully in his throat. His mouth is too dry to form words. It takes everything he has to choke out a garbled: “H-How?”
“The Cailleach,” Arthur explains, voice strained. ”Something flung me backwards, away from the Veil. I regained consciousness, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what was keeping me away from it—but then I heard your voice. You said it was your destiny to save me.”
Merlin remains silent, feeling skinned and laid bare. He looks down at his feet, away from Arthur’s intrusive gaze.
“The Cailleach called you Emrys,” Arthur says curiously. “Is that your real name?”
“That’s what the Druids call me,” Merlin explains lamely. “But before I— before Camelot, I’d always been Merlin. Just...Merlin.” When he finally darts a glance up at Arthur, he notices his eyes are red-rimmed and damp.
“You lied to me,” Arthur accuses, sounding more hurt than anything. But there’s fear there too, however fleeting. “I gave you my mother’s sigil.”
Merlin winces like he’s been struck across the face.
“I thought I knew you.”
“I’m still the same person.”
“Who taught you magic?”
“Nobody. I...was born with it.”
“Did you never once think of telling me?”
“I did,” Merlin insists. “I did want to tell you, Arthur, I swear it. There were so many times I wanted to do it, but I—”
“Were you afraid I’d turn you over to my father?” Arthur interjects. “Did you actually think I’d let him...” His voice breaks, taking Merlin’s heart along with it.
“No,” Merlin rushes to say, his eyes prickling hot. “There was a part of me afraid to tell you, it’s true—but I was scared because I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me forever. I didn’t want things between us to change.”
“I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”
“And I didn’t want to put you in a position that forced you to choose.”
Arthur stares, face softening a little with surprise. “That’s what worried you?”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
Arthur shakes his head as if to clear it. “All those times in battle when I thought you’d just run off somewhere to hide... I called you a coward. But you never once sought any credit.”
“That’s not why I do it.” Merlin struggles to hold his gaze even as he blinks back tears. “I do this because of who you are.”
“Your king?”
“No, you are more than that,” Merlin breathes out. “So much more.”
“I don’t understand. You could have anything,” Arthur says, looking at Merlin like he can’t fathom him out. “Anything at all...and yet you stayed here as my servant, letting me order you around and belittle you. I— God, Merlin, I used you as a punching bag during drills.” He glances away in shame, sounding disgusted with himself.
“I use my magic for you, Arthur. Only for you.”
“But why me?” Arthur asks helplessly.
“Because I care for you,” Merlin tells him honestly. “More than you know.”
He isn’t sure how Arthur will respond to such a confession, doesn’t really care, exhaustion stretching his emotions thin. But nothing prepares him for the warm hand Arthur wraps around his nape, pulling him into a strong, full-body embrace.
Merlin freezes. “Arthur—,” he falters, at a loss.
“The Mortaeus flower,” Arthur says, as though that explains it all. Merlin doesn’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about. “I should have known...”
“The— The what?”
“All those years ago, when you drank from that poisoned chalice meant for me and almost...” Arthur exhales, the sound wet and sticky. “When I went to the caves of Balor to find the antidote, I was attacked by spiders. I would’ve been killed if not for a floating orb of light that guided me to safety.”
Arthur cradles the back of his head with a sure, gentle hand. “I heard you calling out to me, but I thought I’d just imagined it. But I didn’t, did I? Merlin...that was you.”
Because of the feverish, poison-induced coma, Merlin recalls very little about the ordeal other than what Gaius had told him. But what he does remember is barely clinging to life in his delirious haze, using the last remnants of his strength to rescue Arthur.
“I had to save you,” Merlin whispers, lashes wet. “I couldn’t let you die, least of all for me.”
“I know now,” Arthur murmurs, nose pressed to his ear. “Everything you’ve done for Camelot, for me... Thank you, Merlin.”
Merlin chokes on a sob and buries his face into Arthur’s shoulder. The tears run freely now, soaking through Arthur’s tunic, but he doesn’t seem to care, just holds Merlin tightly in the warm circle of his arms. After years of guilt and worry, of skirting around the truth day in and day out, of keeping secret such an innate part of himself from the person he cares for most, the relief is almost too overwhelming to handle. Merlin clutches at Arthur like a drowning man, gulping down loud, heaving breaths, his lungs starving for the air. Even his magic sings in his blood, as if it knows it doesn’t have to hide anymore—it’s free.
Breathtakingly, gloriously free.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin manages to force out, knowing Arthur will understand.
“I’m sorry too,” Arthur tells him, “for all the horrid things I said. For how badly I treated you. I am so sorry, Merlin.”
He isn’t sure how long they stand like that, but the moment Arthur loosens his hold and pulls back, it feels like it’s ended far too soon. Merlin tries to focus on the phantom fingerprints he can still feel lingering along his back, mourning the sudden loss of Arthur’s warmth.
“Promise me one thing,” Arthur says.
“What is it?”
“From now on, I want full transparency between us,” Arthur tells him, the drying tear tracks on his cheeks indicating that he’d been crying too. “No more pretending. No more secrets.”
Merlin manages a tiny smile. With the weight of so many years lifted off his shoulders, he feels lighter than air. “No more secrets,” he vows. Then, hesitantly, “There’s still so much I have left to tell you.”
“I imagine so,” Arthur says, not unkindly. His smile is genuine and disarming. Merlin would be lying if he said he was unaffected. “But that can wait until the morning. Go get some sleep.”
When he starts to undo the laces on his tunic, Merlin reaches out and stops him, hands on his. “Let me, sire,” he insists.
Arthur shakes his head. “No, Merlin, that’s quite all right. This isn’t your job anymore.”
Merlin tightens his grip, surprised by his own boldness. “Please?” he asks, almost desperate. “I—I want to.”
Arthur stares at him as though he’s lost his mind, but acquiesces with a sigh, evidently too tired to argue any more tonight. Merlin makes quick work of the knot at his breastbone, pulling the threads loose with a practiced ease that comes with having done this over a thousand times. He can feel the blinding intensity of Arthur’s gaze on him as he moves.
“Why are you still behaving like a servant?”
Merlin keeps his eyes decidedly focused on the task at hand. “It is my destiny.”
“Merlin—”
“I was born to serve you, Arthur,” Merlin interrupts, “and I’m proud of that.” He finds Arthur’s searching gaze and holds it, hoping the pride he feels is just as visible on his face.
“I’m happy to do it. ‘Til the day I die.”
The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifts in an incredulous half-smile that is gone in the blink of an eye. As he looks back at Merlin, there is an unnamed something mixed in with the skepticism and confusion.
The word that comes closest to describing it is wonder.
Merlin takes the hem of Arthur’s tunic and lightly tugs on it, cocking his head to one side, his smile obliging. Arthur rolls his eyes, but he’s almost smiling when he raises his arms up and lets Merlin pull the shirt up and over his head.
The neckline gets caught in the process and throws his hair into disarray. It’s longer than Merlin has ever seen it, grown far past his ears and curling over his cheeks and nape. His fringe keeps falling into his eyes despite Arthur’s best attempts to shake it away. They share a quiet laugh.
“I don’t suppose you could use your magic to give me a haircut,” Arthur chuckles.
“I could.” Merlin reaches out and instinctively brushes the hair off Arthur’s forehead, tucking it to one side. It’s soft against his fingertips and his touch lingers. “But it suits you,” he says without thinking.
Arthur’s eyes widen the smallest fraction, the notch in his throat jumping as he swallows. The tunic falls to the floor, forgotten. Merlin’s neck grows warm. He can’t recapture the words—and maybe he doesn’t want to.
Arthur takes a step closer to him, his expression unreadable, but his gaze fixed intently on Merlin’s face. The firelight shines brightly in his eyes and in his hair, dances over his stubbled chin and his cheeks. Arthur’s aristocratic, clean-cut good looks have never been lost on Merlin, but the sheer force of his attraction at seeing Arthur disheveled like this takes his breath away.
Arthur takes Merlin’s hand and guides it down so it’s resting flat over his racing heart.
“Stay,” he whispers.
The intent behind it is abundantly clear—Merlin has no doubt of that, not when Arthur’s heavy, half-lidded gaze flits down to his lips and his heart starts pounding harder and faster beneath Merlin’s palm. He has only let himself dream of this in secret, during the deepest hours of night as he lies awake listening to the echoes of Arthur’s laughter in his ears, wondering if he’d just imagined all the lingering glances and touches between them, too long to be purely accidental.
He has gotten used to the dull but ever-persistent ache of longing in his heart.
Merlin spreads his fingers so they rest wider across Arthur’s chest. He has seen and touched Arthur’s bare skin more times than he can count while undressing or bathing him, but never like this. Not intimately. Now given the chance, Merlin looks his fill ravenously, gaze sweeping over his broad shoulders and down the hard lines of his chest, past his torso to the waistband of his breeches.
Merlin’s mouth goes dry. He wants. God, how he wants.
But...
“I can’t,” Merlin croaks.
He ignores the confused heartbreak in Arthur’s eyes as he pulls his hand away. Merlin knows he could leave now and they would never speak of this again—this tangible, unshakeable bond between them that they have foolishly fought to deny for years.
He could go back to tripping over his own feelings, pretending that it doesn’t kill him inside when he sees Arthur with another. But he is tired of it all, so very tired—of hiding the true nature of his feelings, of keeping up the false pretense that Arthur means anything less to him than the sun and sky and seven seas.
No more secrets.
“Arthur, what I feel for you is...existential. Etched into my very soul. As real as my magic,” Merlin confesses, hardly above a whisper. “You have been through so much in such a short time, and I am so sorry for that. I know you’re hurting, especially because of whatever happened with Gwen”—Merlin’s voice trembles around her name, but Arthur doesn’t bat an eye—“and I would do anything to take this pain away from you. But I won’t trade my feelings in exchange for a night of pleasure. I can’t— I won’t do that to myself.”
The quiet impasse drags along unbearably until Arthur finally breaks it. “Ending things was a mutual decision between Guinevere and me.”
Merlin stares, dumbstruck. “What? But why?”
“She came to me after Lancelot's funeral and told me she would never stop loving him, not even in death. Lancelot was the love of her life. I could never begrudge him that.” Arthur smiles, thoughtful. “She didn’t think it fair to continue our courtship when she could never love me the way she loved him. I agreed.”
“But—but you love her.”
“I will always care deeply for Guinevere, but I don’t love her the way I once thought I did. She is a good woman who helped soften my heart and teach me humility. I was more in love with the idea of her than anything,” Arthur admits, looking pensive. “She knew that, of course. Perhaps even long before I did.”
“Gwen was always much smarter than you,” Merlin jokes half-heartedly, needing to say something to lighten the air before it suffocates him.
Arthur ignores the quip. There is a determined glint in his eyes that Merlin has only ever seen before battle, when he’s about to give everything he has to win or die trying.
“She told me that I deserve happiness in this life,” he goes on, “with the person that I hold nearest and dearest to my heart.”
Merlin is painfully certain his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. He could cry again if he had any tears left to spill.
“I think, deep down, I always knew it was you,” Arthur says softly. “I was just too afraid to acknowledge it. I am not as brave as you are.”
“Arthur...”
Words escape him.
“When you threw yourself at the Dorocha in my place—that’s when I couldn’t deny it any longer,” Arthur says thickly, his look faraway and full of anguish. “You were so cold, Merlin, frozen over like a corpse.”
“I had to keep you safe.” Merlin glances away for a moment, ashamed as he confesses, “My magic was powerless against them.”
“I was so scared.” Arthur’s voice cracks. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I will always be here to protect you,” Merlin promises him. “Now and forever.”
Arthur reaches for his hand and Merlin lets him take it, their fingers twining together. It feels beautifully right.
“Stay with me tonight,” Arthur whispers, “and every night.”
Merlin smiles at him and leans in halfway, pulse fluttering. Arthur stops just short of closing the gap between them. He reaches up and traces his thumb along the rise of Merlin’s cheekbone so reverently that it makes Merlin’s breath catch.
“May I?” Arthur asks, ever the gentleman.
Merlin has seen Arthur kiss before. Just watching the way his mouth moved had left Merlin unsteady on his feet. But he remembers the searing jealousy, too, and the acrid taste it had left at the back of his throat, one that no amount of water could wash down. He and heartache had become fast friends.
“Kiss me,” Merlin pleads softly.
Merlin has spent many sleepless nights thinking about what it might feel like to kiss Arthur’s full, gorgeous mouth just once in his life, but none of those fantasies live up to the real thing. Arthur’s lips are warm and soft and a little dry, but surprisingly tender against his own. Arthur kisses him with a gentleness that Merlin wasn’t expecting, one hand moving to caress his cheek.
At length they part, breathing quietly. Arthur’s stubble rasps along the edges of his mouth, leaving his lips tingling curiously. Merlin licks at them absently, not realizing what he’s doing until he notices Arthur watching him with such burning intensity that it makes him want to look away.
They reach for each other again, but it’s different this time, with an edge of desperation that emboldens them both, makes them needier and reckless. Merlin parts his lips into the kiss this time, swiping his tongue along Arthur’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. Arthur makes a rough whining noise in the back of his throat and presses in closer.
His hands are everywhere, first moving around Merlin’s back to push his raggedy brown jacket off his shoulders, then sliding up to divest Merlin of his neckerchief. He runs his fingers down Merlin’s exposed neck, rubbing over the smooth skin like he’s wanted to do that forever.
Merlin maps his hands over the wide expanse of Arthur’s shoulders and chest, amazed by the blazing heat of his skin. He presses his fingers into the dips made by Arthur’s clavicles, then lower still, to the ones at his hips.
Arthur slips his leg between each of Merlin’s and that’s when he feels it—the unmistakable hardness of Arthur’s arousal pressed against his thigh. It sends jolts of desire down Merlin’s spine. The steady throbbing in his groin that had begun when they’d started kissing becomes too hard to ignore.
Merlin breaks the kiss with a strangled half-moan that he’s not able to bite back. Arthur stares at him, panting, his mouth smeared red and his fringe in his eyes, and Merlin can’t believe he ever thought he could live without this.
“Arthur—please,” Merlin gasps, unsure what he’s asking for.
But Arthur seems to understand. “Come to bed with me.”
They kiss again because they can’t seem to stop. Arthur tugs him forward none too gently and walks them the few steps backwards to his bed. He falls back onto the mattress the moment they reach it and props himself up on the small mountain of pillows, dragging Merlin down and over his lap.
“All right?” Arthur murmurs into their kiss.
“Yeah,” Merlin rasps.
In fact he’s much more than all right. Sitting astride Arthur’s lap gives Merlin better access to the stubbled curve of his throat, that delicious length of his jaw. He licks along the underside of it, tasting the salt of Arthur’s skin, savoring the flavor on his tongue.
Arthur smooths his hands up Merlin’s thighs and slips them under his tunic. His sword-calloused palms are rough against Merlin’s sensitive skin, rubbing over his ribs and flank. Merlin shivers, liquid heat spreading through his belly, and pushes his hips forward without thinking, needing relief. His cock jerks against Arthur’s, and the shock of friction wrenches a harsh, surprised groan from them both.
Merlin has half a mind to be embarrassed, but he’s too far gone to care.
“Is this—?”
“Keep going,” Arthur urges, low.
Their mouths find each other again as Arthur’s hands dip below the waistband of his breeches, guiding Merlin’s hips into a slow, sinuous roll over his erection. The fabric chafes as it rubs against Merlin’s cock and thighs, but it’s good, so good, the hard muscle of Arthur’s thighs between his and the way his cock twitches on every upstroke.
He could come just like this, rutting against Arthur like an animal, but Merlin wants more, wants—
“Wait,” Merlin gasps, tearing his mouth away from Arthur’s. “Wait, Arthur—stop.”
Arthur stops, immediately. He pulls his hands out of Merlin’s trousers and sets them on his thighs. The heat of his touch burns through to Merlin’s skin.
“Is it too much?” Arthur asks. He looks even more irresistible now, debauched from Merlin’s assault. “I thought— I’m sorry. We can stop.”
“No, you were right,” Merlin rushes to say, and moves one of Arthur’s hands over his straining erection to show him just how right he was. “It’s just— I was too close, and I, um, I didn’t want to come. Yet.”
Arthur stares at him, realization dawning on his face after a moment. Merlin feels his cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Arthur gives his cock a gentle, teasing squeeze that has Merlin biting his lip.
“What do you want?” Arthur asks, and there is nothing teasing about the way he says it.
Merlin wants it all. He wants to bury his fingers in Arthur’s hair. He wants Arthur’s stubble to leave burn marks on his skin. He wants Arthur’s naked body against his own, the warm weight of it pushing him down into the mattress as Arthur presses inside, going deeper than Merlin’s fingers ever could.
Merlin boldly rocks down against his cock, relishing the hitch in Arthur’s breath.
“I want this,” he whispers. “You. Tonight.”
Amidst the blaring desire in Arthur’s eyes, Merlin sees the faintest glimmer of something akin to trepidation. That’s when it hits him.
“Arthur,” he says gently. “Have you...ever lain with a man before?”
“No,” Arthur confesses, defensive before there was even a need to be, like this is a jousting tournament and his opponent has the upper hand. “Have you?” His voice wavers with uncertainty, but his gaze is fierce, possessive as he stares up at Merlin, as though he is daring him to say yes.
But Merlin shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says quietly, and Arthur’s eyes lose some of their ire.
“But I...” Merlin remembers stumbling upon Gwaine with another man when he’d been tasked with fetching him from the tavern, face burning but unable to look away as he watched their bodies move, watched their faces contorted in pleasure.
That night, Merlin had found himself on his belly, rocking his hips into his pathetic, lumpy little mattress and reaching behind himself with curious, oiled fingers, shame flooding through him as he found an unfulfilling release with Arthur’s name on his lips.
“I know how they do it.” Merlin’s swallow is audible. “And I’ve imagined what it would be like. With you.”
Arthur rubs the pad of his thumb over Merlin’s swollen, kiss-bitten lips. “What did you imagine?” he asks. The note of huskiness in his voice makes Merlin’s cock ache even harder.
“Sometimes I imagined you making love to me slowly, tenderly... Your heartbeat against mine, my legs wrapped around your waist.” Merlin brushes a gentle kiss to Arthur’s thumb. “And other times I thought of you pressed along my back, fucking me hard and fast into this very bed, leaving me dripping your seed onto the sheets.” Merlin scrapes his teeth over the fleshy underside of Arthur’s thumb, then bites it, just this side of painful.
Arthur’s eyes darken, pupils shocked wide, and Merlin can barely discern the usual vibrant blue of his irises. The look Arthur gives him is absolutely feral.
“Take your clothes off,” Arthur orders.
Merlin nods. But when he moves to shift off Arthur’s lap, reaching for the laces on his breeches, Arthur seizes his forearm. Merlin glances at him dubiously, heart skidding to a stumbling stop, fearful he has misunderstood it all.
Arthur smiles reassuringly at the panic in his expression—the barest, fondest twinge of "idiot" from under his breath.
“Use your magic,” he clarifies, answering the question in Merlin’s eyes.
Merlin’s brain short-circuits in disbelief. “Are...are you sure?”
“Oh, now you want to ask for my permission? You really are the worst servant I’ve ever had, you know,” Arthur snorts, but he’s still smiling, earnest and true. Merlin’s heart quakes for a different reason this time. “Yes, Merlin, I’m sure. Go on.”
Merlin nods, though he’s still not quite convinced. Here goes nothing, he thinks, and lowers his gaze to their bodies, eyes flashing gold beneath his lashes. Their clothes vanish, leaving only bare skin between them.
Arthur stays silent. Merlin lifts his head up and meets Arthur’s eyes slowly, reluctantly. Of the many emotions he was bracing himself to see on Arthur’s face, awe was not one of them.
“You can use your magic without reciting a spell?”
“Sometimes. It depends, I guess,” Merlin mumbles, glancing away. He feels uncomfortably exposed and it has nothing to do with his state of undress. “You’re not—I mean, you’re truly all right with this? With me using my magic around you?”
Arthur grasps his chin, gently forcing it up.
“Merlin, I have wanted you for a very long time,” Arthur tells him. “Magic and all. Nothing you can do or say will ever change that.”
There is nothing but affection in his smile. Merlin could say many things, some too serious and others not serious enough, but none of them would do justice to the swell of gratitude in his heart. Instead, Merlin wraps his hand around Arthur’s wrist and squeezes it, knowing he will understand.
Arthur’s hand leaves Merlin’s chin to stroke down the base of his throat, then lower still. He stops when his fingers trip over the large scar in the center of Merlin’s chest that had never quite healed.
“Where did you get this?” Arthur asks, concerned.
Merlin closes his eyes for a moment, assaulted by memories of fireballs, lightning, and a torrential downpour. When he opens them again, he finds Arthur looking back at him uneasily.
“Her name was Nimueh,” Merlin says hollowly. He shakes the thought of her from his mind, offering Arthur a small smile. “But it was a small price to pay to protect the ones I love.”
Arthur surges up and kisses him hard, fingers splayed protectively over the scar. He licks Merlin’s mouth open and slips his tongue inside, drags it along the inside of his lips. Arthur pulls Merlin against him like he can’t possibly get close enough, would crawl inside his skin if given the chance.
His hands move to grip Merlin’s hips, urging him to grind down against him. Merlin gasps and spreads his legs wider over Arthur’s lap. The rough slide of Arthur’s bare cock against his own feels amazing, has him panting opened-mouthed against Arthur’s lips.
“I—I told you,” Merlin manages to say between biting kisses, “I won’t last—if you keep this up.”
Arthur leaves his mouth in favor of sucking wet kisses down his neck, along his throat. “Would that be so terrible?” he asks, his smirk audible.
“I want you inside me first.”
The words hang in the air between them, completely raw.
Arthur rests forehead against Merlin’s chest and groans as if he is wounded. He brushes a kiss to Merlin’s scar and then pulls back, looking up at him with unfocused but wanting eyes.
“Show me,” Arthur demands.
Merlin smiles at him. “Yes, sire.”
He leans over and opens the top drawer of Arthur’s nightstand, pulling out the vial of oil he uses to massage Arthur’s sore muscles after a long day of training. Merlin uncorks it and pours a liberal amount over his fingers, Arthur looking on in fascination as Merlin lowers them back between his legs.
The thick, sultry silence hangs around them while Merlin rubs his fingers over his entrance, then just barely dips them inside. He keeps his eyes on Arthur as he teases his own opening, working himself into a sweat. It feels like hours have passed before he finally rocks back on his fingers and presses one inside. Arthur notices him wince, his brows furrowing.
“Been a while,” Merlin explains, breathless.
Arthur wets his lips, watching Merlin slip in another finger hungrily. “Been busy, have you?”
“Yeah, busy saving your life.”
Merlin regrets it the instant he says it, even before he sees the look of guilt in Arthur’s eyes. He pulls his fingers out.
“Arthur, I didn’t mean—”
“Let me.”
“What?”
“I want— Let me,” Arthur rasps. He reaches out and slicks his fingers with the oil leaking down Merlin’s thigh. “Let me do this.”
Heart thumping a frantic beat, Merlin guides Arthur’s fingers behind himself, between his cheeks until they are pressed right up against the soft, slippery furl of his hole. He can feel himself spasming in anticipation, knows Arthur can feel it too.
Merlin exhales a shaky breath. “Put your fingers inside,” he instructs. “Just—go slowly.”
Arthur obeys, gaze fixed on Merlin as he pushes inside his body for the very first time. Arthur’s fingers are thicker than his own, and Merlin squirms, being stretched wider than he’s used to. Arthur presses steadily up and in until he’s buried in to his middle knuckles. He’s breathing even harder than Merlin is, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Am I doing this right?” he asks hoarsely.
“Don’t stop,” Merlin pleads, not caring how desperate he sounds.
“But what if I— Won’t it hurt you?”
“Yes, but it’ll feel even better,” Merlin insists. He is restless now, shifting his hips to get Arthur deeper inside. “Keep moving, Arthur, just—”
Arthur pushes in the rest of the way, stopping only when he can go no deeper, Merlin clenched around the base of his fingers like a tight, hot glove.
Merlin aches with how good it feels, craving more, needing more. He fists his hands in Arthur’s hair and forces his face up to kiss him, long and rough and filthy. His stubble stings Merlin’s lips and tongue.
“Move your fingers,” he bites out. “Fuck me with them. Hard, Arthur.”
Arthur pulls him down for another scorching kiss as he draws his fingers out and pushes them back inside again, slowly at first, then faster once Merlin starts to roll his hips, matching the deep, measured thrusts of Arthur’s fingers. He twists them inside and Merlin hisses his approval against Arthur’s mouth. It’s good but not nearly enough, not what he needs.
“More,” he chokes out.
“Merlin—”
“Please.”
Arthur presses his mouth to Merlin’s pounding pulse point, murmurs “You are incredible,” and adds in his ring finger.
The stretch of it burns. Merlin tightens his fingers in Arthur’s hair, hates the whimper he’s not able to tamp down. Arthur’s lips move gently over his jaw, his hand reaching down between their bodies to fist Merlin’s neglected cock. Merlin’s hips stutter forward up through his fist, then back, pushing Arthur’s tight bundle of fingers inside him until they are at their deepest.
Merlin rocks back against them experimentally with careful, shallow thrusts, eyes squeezed shut and brow wrinkled in concentration.
“Is it too much?” Arthur sounds worried.
“No, it’s— There’s something...” Merlin swivels his hips, trying to find that place he’d heard the knights whispering about once when he’d pretended to be sleeping. Try as he might, he’d never been able to find it himself, wasn’t even entirely convinced it existed.
“C-Can you bend your fingers?”
Arthur crooks them, slowly. It seems like almost nothing at first, but then—
Merlin seizes his wrist and holds it still as Arthur’s fingers brush over a spot that makes him tremble and his vision go white, heat shooting down his nerves to the base of his spine. Merlin throws his head back, eyes fluttering shut and body arching, moaning his pleasure.
Arthur curses under his breath. Merlin can feel Arthur’s cock leaking against his thigh where he is working him open. Arthur twists his fingers again and rubs over that mound inside even harder. Merlin cries out at the heightened sensation, clawing at Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur pulls his fingers out almost all the way before shoving them back inside, spreads them wider and stretches Merlin even farther. His other hand is still stroking Merlin’s cock, long and slow.
Merlin looks down at Arthur, taking in his glistening skin and sweat-darkened hair, tufts of it matted to his temples and curling around the back of his neck. His eyes are glazed over as if drugged, his lips bitten and wet. To see Arthur looking just as affected as he is though his cock remains untouched, to see the pure, uninhibited desire on his face—it’s enough to snap any semblance of restraint left inside him.
“I want you,” Merlin gasps. “Now.”
Merlin scoots back, Arthur’s fingers slipping free from his body. He grabs the discarded vial of oil and slicks up Arthur’s flushed cock with impatient, shaky fingers. Arthur grits his teeth and leans his head back on the pillows, baring the stubbled line of his throat. Arthur’s cock throbs in his hands as he works. It looks so much wider than Arthur’s fingers that Merlin can’t deny he’s a little nervous.
The unease must show on his face because Arthur reaches out and puts a gentle hand on his arm, stilling his movements.
“It’s all right,” Arthur soothes. “We can do this another time.”
Merlin shakes his head. He can’t stand to be patient anymore. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he whispers.
Arthur doesn’t argue with him. Merlin rises up on his knees over Arthur’s cock, reaching back to position its flushed, leaking head against his entrance, stopping just short of pressing it inside. Arthur is watching him with wide eyes and bated breath, mouth slack. Merlin flashes him a weak but determined smile before slowly sinking down onto his cock.
It feels odd, at first, intrusive—Arthur feels even bigger than he had looked. That gives way to a low, stinging burn, and then a bright burst of pain as Arthur’s cock breaches that final ring of resistance and pushes in. Merlin stops to catch his breath, trembling all over. He feels like he’s being split in half.
Arthur rubs his hands over Merlin’s quivering thighs reassuringly.
“Merlin,” he tries, but Merlin just shakes his head again, already knowing what Arthur means to say.
Merlin bites his lip as he rocks his hips down, Arthur’s cock sliding in further. He feels so full already and Arthur isn’t even entirely seated in him yet. It seems slow, incremental, until at last Merlin is back in his lap, Arthur’s sac pressing up against his backside.
Arthur buried to the hilt inside his body.
They stare at each other, breathing quietly. Merlin’s heart simultaneously feels too large for his rib cage and too small for the whirlwind of emotions raging within.
The profound, life-changing implications are not lost on him; things between them will never be the same again.
Arthur’s throat works around a swallow. “You’re hurting,” he says, and reaches out to wipe away the traitorous wetness from the corners of Merlin’s eyes. His hand lingers, unsteady as it strokes over Merlin’s cheek.
“I never thought we would have this,” Merlin confesses.
Arthur brings him in for a soft kiss that belies the urgency of his need. Merlin can feel the desperate, impatient twinges of Arthur’s cock inside him, the hard length of it pulsing as he holds still to give Merlin the time he needs.
As they part, Merlin traces his finger over the muscle ticking in Arthur’s jaw, then gives him a hard shove down onto the pillows. Arthur stares up at him wildly and Merlin smiles, impish.
“Just watch, sire.”
He braces both palms on Arthur’s chest and lifts up off his cock just a fraction before sliding back down. Arthur moans, low and harsh, and his hands grab Merlin’s hips tightly.
Chest heaving, Merlin does it again, harder this time. The pain is almost bearable now, something sweet about how it bleeds into pleasure and back. Merlin chases it, eyes fluttering closed, each slick, rocking thrust pulling Arthur deeper inside him.
“Fuck,” Arthur groans. He must be far gone because he never swears like this. “Merlin, how did you learn to—?”
“So much better than my fingers,” Merlin breathes, grinning down at him.
Arthur makes a choking sound and drags him down for a bruising kiss, urging Merlin to lay down over him. His hands smooth down Merlin’s back to pull his cheeks apart as he starts fucking up into the heat of Merlin’s body in earnest, his tongue thrusting into Merlin’s mouth with the cadence of their hips.
Merlin moans into the kiss as his aching cock rubs between their bodies with each thrust. He works himself harder and faster on Arthur’s cock, twisting his hips as he pulls off almost entirely before grinding back down until he can feel it everywhere but the place he needs it most.
Inexperience fragments the rhythm of his hips, makes his legs start to burn and shake uncontrollably, but he keeps going. Merlin wants release just as badly as he never wants this to end.
Suddenly, Arthur rolls him onto his back. He plants his arms on either side of Merlin’s head and hovers over him with a wide smile that’s all teeth, hair hanging over his face.
“Let me take over.”
Merlin manages to jerk his chin down in a half-nod before Arthur is upon him, mouthing along his jaw up to his ear as his hips find a slow rhythm to keep them both on edge.
Merlin arches up to meet him. He can’t believe this is happening. The reality of what they are doing is intoxicating. Even his wildest fantasies didn’t have this, the smell of their sweat and the slick sound of their skin. Arthur’s hands cage him in and his body envelops Merlin like a heavy blanket.
The weight of Arthur on top of him feels so safe that it’s terrifying.
Arthur pants in his ear, licking the shell and biting at it gently, making Merlin shiver. He has just enough foresight left to grab a pillow and shove it under his hips as Arthur picks up the pace, his patience finally giving out.
“Merlin,” he forces out, a warning between clenched teeth.
Merlin nudges Arthur’s cheek with his nose, kissing him with a soft open mouth until his jaw relaxes.
“Please,” Merlin whispers.
Arthur straightens and lifts Merlin’s legs high over his hips. His heated gaze pins him in place, and Merlin is powerless to look away. Arthur draws out the moment, makes Merlin want it that much more before he starts thrusting inside, longer and deeper than before.
The new angle has Arthur brushing over that mound inside him with every upstroke. Merlin writhes beneath him, moaning and gasping and raking his nails down Arthur’s sweaty chest. The delicious ache in his cock becomes torturous and he leaks steadily over his own belly, ready to spill.
Arthur leans back over him, and Merlin digs his heels into the small of his back, holding him there. Arthur’s pace is ruthless now and he drives into Merlin without abandon. Merlin feels wild and untamed, his magic raging inside him like a violent fire. He wants to scream, wants to beg Arthur to give him everything and more, to keep going and never, ever stop.
Frantic with need, Merlin reaches down to take himself in hand, but Arthur pins his wrist above his head.
“Arthur—”
“How long?”
“What? Arthur, please, I...”
“How long?” Arthur demands fiercely.
Merlin doesn’t understand—
Now, softly, with glistening eyes, “How... how long, Merlin?”
—and then, he does.
“Forever,” Merlin breathes. “I loved you before I knew you.”
Arthur releases his wrist. He takes Merlin’s mouth again, the slow, searching kiss a stark counterpoint to the inexorable rhythm of their hips. Merlin closes his eyes and breathes him in, teetering on the edge of release. He presses his fingers to Arthur’s neck, using the rapid beating of his pulse to anchor himself. Arthur rests his hand over Merlin’s forehead, the other moving down to wrap around his cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts.
Merlin’s eyes fly open and he shatters, back bowed and lips parted, each pulsating beat stronger than the one before it. He is distantly aware of Arthur’s soft hair tickling his cheek, of Arthur’s thumb brushing over the skin beneath his eyes while he murmurs something that Merlin can’t discern.
Arthur finds his own release not long after, face tucked into the side of Merlin’s neck as he spills wet heat deep inside Merlin’s willing body, his thrusts hard and sharp and unforgiving. The feeling of Arthur taking him so completely makes Merlin’s cock throb with pleasure long after his orgasm has faded.
It seems to go on forever, until at last Arthur stops thrusting and crashes down over Merlin, panting.
The air around them seems almost hazy, but Merlin knows it has little to do with the flickering fire from the hearth or smoke from waning candle wicks. He feels boneless and tingly, like he is full of tiny hot air bubbles that will dissipate any second. On top of him, Arthur is heavy and pliant, his unshaven cheek prickling the sensitive skin of his neck. Merlin drags his fingertips over Arthur’s stubbled cheek, memorizing the scrape of it against the pads of his fingers as he moves up to card through the long, smooth strands of Arthur’s hair.
They’re still connected, Arthur’s limp cock twitching inside him from time to time. He knows Arthur can feel it, too.
Merlin closes his eyes and tries to commit each precious detail to memory, half-convinced that when he opens them again, he will be back in his own cot, utterly alone.
After some time, Arthur stirs. Blind panic overtakes Merlin and he keeps his eyes shut tightly, afraid of what he might see on Arthur’s face. He feels Arthur push off his body and slowly pull out of him. The sudden shock of being so empty makes Merlin wince, his swollen, aching hole clenching spastically at nothing. But Arthur remains close, his breaths warm puffs of air on Merlin’s chin.
Arthur touches his cheek. “Merlin,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
When he finally gathers the courage to open his eyes, Merlin is greeted by the sight of Arthur’s smile, tired but overwhelmingly content.
“Hi,” Merlin says, stupidly.
Arthur shakes his head like he can’t believe Merlin exists. His smile widens and it’s the realest smile Merlin has seen from him in days, the kind that makes laugh lines appear around his mouth and his eyes crinkle at the edges.
Arthur dips down and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. Merlin is weak with it.
“Your eyes turned gold,” Arthur tells him, sounding awed again.
“They did?” Merlin blinks. “When?”
Arthur throws a long, meaningful look his way, hand settling on Merlin’s inner thigh, sticky with his—
“Oh. Oh.” Merlin blushes up to the tips of his ears. “I, uh, I didn’t know that would happen,” he mumbles, chagrined. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Arthur smooths his thumb over Merlin’s brow. “It was beautiful.”
Merlin lifts his head up and closes the infinitesimal gap between them, kissing Arthur soundly on the mouth. Arthur responds in kind, his lips moving languidly, unhurriedly against Merlin’s, as if time has stopped just to give them this respite.
When Merlin shifts to sit up, he feels Arthur’s come trickle out of him and drip onto the pillow and sheets. The forbidden sensation makes him heady and Merlin moans quietly into the kiss, almost hoping Arthur will flip him onto his belly and take him again.
Arthur breaks this kiss with a soft, longing sigh that makes Merlin wonder if he wants the same thing.
Arthur’s smile is rueful when he says, “Let’s get you washed.”
He moves to get up, but Merlin grabs his bicep to stop him. Keeping his eyes locked with Arthur’s this time, Merlin whispers a word and a warm summer breeze passes over their bodies, ruffling their hair and leaving clean, dry skin in its wake.
As dirty as he’d been, as they’d both been, Merlin misses it in some strange, primal way—but it’s worth it to see the amazement on Arthur’s face.
Arthur swipes his hands over his arms and down his chest. “You mean you could’ve skipped bathing me and just used a spell this whole time?” he asks incredulously.
“I could have,” Merlin replies, cheeky. But bathing Arthur was one chore he didn’t mind doing.
Arthur laughs, a quiet snort. He belly-flops onto the bed, tucking both arms beneath a pillow and stretching out like a cat, his joints popping. He looks so comfortable and relaxed that Merlin can’t help but smile.
“You all right?” Arthur asks, looking up at Merlin through his fringe.
Merlin brushes the hair out of Arthur’s eyes. “More than.”
Arthur smiles, catches Merlin’s hand, and holds onto it.
But as thankful as Merlin is for the quiet interlude, for all that they just shared and this new normal between them that he still has to remind himself is real, there is so much uncertainty shrouding their future and the kingdom. The threat of an attack on Camelot looms like a storm cloud, perhaps more imminent now than ever before in the wake of Arthur’s new reign.
It’s enough to bring Merlin back from the lassitude threatening to pull him under.
“Stop thinking about it,” Arthur tells him.
“How did you know what I was thinking about?”
“Because I know you,” Arthur sighs, “and you worry. Incessantly.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No, I suppose I can’t,” Arthur agrees, sounding a little wistful. He rolls onto his back and tugs on Merlin’s hand.
“Come, lie down with me.”
Arthur’s eyes are round and imploring and so very blue. Unable to summon the strength to resist, Merlin lets himself be pulled down onto the soft duvet. He settles on his side, facing Arthur, cheek coming to rest on a pillow that smells like Arthur’s hair.
Arthur is still holding his hand, idly stroking the back of it as he stares at the fire, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Merlin watches the play of firelight in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “About your father.”
“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur sounds so sincere that it breaks his heart. “But my father died the moment Morgana betrayed him. All that was left of him was...a shell.”
“You will make him proud.”
“Perhaps.”
There is something guarded in his tone that tells Merlin to leave it at that, for now.
“Will you tell me something?” he eventually asks.
“What is it?”
“Why did you...dismiss Agravaine?”
Arthur is silent long enough that Merlin thinks he didn’t hear him. “Something in my gut told me he couldn’t be trusted,” he says at last. “He had every reason to hate my father—and by extension, me. I knew that once I became king, it would no longer be safe to keep him involved so closely in matters of the court.”
Merlin chews his lip, wondering if he should even voice such a bold accusation based on nothing more than a hunch. He is reluctant to do so—Agravaine is still Arthur’s uncle, after all.
“Out with it, then.”
Merlin swallows hard. “I think— I worry that Agravaine has made an alliance with Morgana.”
“I fear that as well,” Arthur admits with a pained grimace, and Merlin feels equal parts relief and dread. “There would be no greater revenge.”
Merlin lowers his gaze, thinking back to the last time he had seen Morgana—her face distorted in agony, the shrill, blood-curdling scream that had shattered windows and crumbled walls. There was a part of Merlin that would always blame himself for what she had become, but not this.
Never this.
“She’s still out there,” he murmurs. “She won’t rest until she sits on the throne.”
“She wants me dead.”
“She’ll have to kill me first.”
Arthur turns his head to look at him, soft surprise coloring his features at Merlin’s vehemence. He seems humbled, as though he’s not convinced he’s worthy of receiving such fierce, unwavering loyalty.
“We will defeat her,” Arthur vows, and kisses the back of Merlin’s hand. “Together.”
Merlin smiles sadly.
"Merlin?" Arthur touches his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
It’s one of the most difficult decisions Merlin has ever had to make. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Until this is over and Camelot is safe once again, we should continue keeping my magic a secret.” Arthur opens his mouth, looking ready to argue, but Merlin goes on. “If Morgana ever found out my true identity and knew what you mean to me”—his heart flutters at the adoration in Arthur’s eyes—“we would be in even greater danger. I can’t risk that.”
Arthur purses his lips in consideration. “I understand,” he says grimly, “but I will agree only on one condition.”
“Arthur—”
“You must let me teach you how to fight.”
“You want to—what?”
“You told me earlier you couldn’t use your magic against the Dorocha. Who’s to say Morgana won’t invoke something that will cause that to happen again?”
Merlin looks away guiltily, but Arthur tilts his face back. “I know you are capable of protecting yourself with magic. You’ve more than proved that by saving my life all these years.” Arthur smiles wryly. “But if something incapacitates your magic and we lose sight of each other on the battlefield, I need to know that you’re able to take care of yourself. That you’re safe, even if I’m not there to protect you.”
Arthur’s hand trembles against his cheek. “Please,” he begs. “I couldn’t bear it if anything ever happened to you, Merlin. You are most precious to me.”
Arthur’s expression is so full of raw emotion that it’s painful to look at. Merlin turns his face into Arthur’s hand and kisses his palm.
“All right,” he agrees quietly. “But, er, you’re not going to make me join sparring sessions with the knights, are you?”
Arthur shakes his head, looking amused now. “My goal is to teach you basic footwork and swordsmanship, not turn you into an expert assassin,” he says, grinning. “Meet me at the battlements three hours after sundown, when the castle is at its quietest. We’ll go from there.”
“Understood.”
“Make sure you’re not seen. No one must know about this, Merlin. Not even Gaius.”
“Why? Afraid someone will see you get bested by your servant?” Merlin teases.
He finds himself flat on his back not a second later, Arthur’s weight strategically dispersed over his body to pin him to the mattress. Arthur looks down at him with a victorious smirk.
“Not at all,” he murmurs.
Merlin’s arousal flares through the haze of drowsy exhaustion. “You’d do well to learn some new tricks.”
“Very well,” Arthur says solemnly, and then proceeds to tickle him.
Merlin tries to curl in on himself, but Arthur is ruthless and goes straight for Merlin’s belly, which he somehow already knows is especially ticklish. Merlin swats at his hands, red-faced and breathless from laughing.
“Enough, enough! I yield, you stupid prat!”
Arthur backs down on his attack and sits back on his heels. Merlin regains his composure slowly, stomach hurting from how hard he’d been laughing. He wipes his eyes and looks up at Arthur, surprised to find him looking so serious all of a sudden.
“Sire?” The wide grin fades from Merlin’s face, replaced by concern. “Arthur?”
“After this ends, I want to repeal the magic ban.”
For a long time, Merlin can do nothing but listen to the heavy thudding of his own heart.
“And you’re absolutely certain that this is what you want?” he asks, tongue like wax paper. “Arthur, nothing would make me happier, but I—I don’t want you to do this for my sake. I want you to be sure.”
“I am,” Arthur says firmly.
The intensity of his gaze makes Merlin look away for a second. “It will be difficult. Once it’s overturned, you know you can never go back.”
“There will be no reason to. I am not my father.”
“Arthur, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Arthur says gently. “Merlin, you’ve taught me that magic itself is not inherently evil. It is only as good or as evil as the person who wields it, and in its purest form, it can even be wondrous. Radiant...” His eyes never once stray from Merlin’s own. “I don’t want others like you to have to spend their whole lives hiding in fear. I want to be a just king.”
Merlin cups his cheek. “You will be.”
“Yes, with your help.” Arthur smiles at the confusion on his face. “I cannot do this without you. I want you to be my court sorcerer, Merlin.”
His eyes widen in disbelief. “Arthur, I...” Merlin trails off, stunned speechless.
“Stand by my side. Help me unite our two worlds. Build this kingdom with me.”
Unbidden, Merlin remembers what Kilgharrah had told him when he’d first arrived at Camelot, as clearly as if the words had just been spoken.
Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion.
Arthur is still looking at him expectantly.
Merlin smiles.
“I would be honored, sire.”
They kiss. It is brief but gentle and exactly perfect.
Arthur pulls the blanket up over their bodies afterwards and moves to lie back down next to him, close enough that Merlin can feel his breaths on his shoulder. The smile Arthur gives him is breathtaking and Merlin can’t tear his eyes away.
Arthur throws an arm over Merlin’s middle and pulls him in closer. “Sleep.”
“Sleep?” Merlin repeats, laughing. “Arthur, it’s nearly daybreak. They will be expecting you.”
“They can wait for us,” Arthur tells him simply.
Outside, the night sky gives way to burnished gold with the first tendrils of the sunrise. The last thing Merlin sees before he drifts off is the soft glow of sunlight over Arthur’s messy, beautiful hair, his heart impossibly full.
It’s the dawn of a new day.
Of a new age.
━✶━
Your touch is so tender
Your skin is like water on a burning beach
And it brings me relief