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It was dark outside when Arthur returned to his chambers looking both harried and dejected. Although these days he always looked harried, and that was less to do with his demeanor and more to do with his hair. It was longer than he usually liked it and it has always had a mind of its own. These two things meant he walked around with flyaways and a cheerful cowlick right on the back of his head. No one in the castle had managed to tame it. Merlin had given it his best go, but he secretly liked it, so he gave up trying to fix it sooner than he might’ve otherwise. It was primarily because of said cowlick that Arthur wore his crown more than necessary. Unyielding metal could tame anything.
But tonight he wasn’t in his crown. And maybe that was why, when Merlin turned to greet him, the sound died before it got past his lips. It wasn’t just dejection, Merlin decided, he looked completely out of his element. Arthur came in like the room didn’t belong to him. He stood there with a frown on his face and a weight on his shoulders, one hand gripping and then smoothing the edge of his coat.
Arthur had taken on the mantle of King exactly as Merlin knew he would. A fish to water. His instincts were excellent. He fit the crown so well it was impossible to imagine anyone wearing it after him. Or to remember Uther ever wore it first.
The Arthur standing before Merlin wasn’t King. He was Arthur, nearly a prince again with the way he wore his hesitation and self-doubt—accessories that had always been part of his prince’s wardrobe. That wasn’t to say as King he never had doubts. Like his father before him, Arthur was his own worst enemy. As he grew into the man he was always meant to be, he got better at looking at them from a tactical angle: taking in the information and adjusting course. Merlin hadn’t seen Unsure Arthur in over a year.
He didn’t exactly brace when he turned from where he was fixing the bedsheets. That implied reluctance or the expectation of something bad to come. Arthur had a temper, and he didn’t always have the healthiest outlets, but it had been a long time since Merlin acted as punching bag. Physically, at least. Verbally there was some debate, but from people who didn’t understand—which, frankly, was everyone but Gwen.
Arthur threw words like knives when he was in a mood. It looked directed, but it was an array and meant for anyone who wasn’t deft enough to dodge. The thing was, Merlin never dodged. He parried. From the outside it looked like Merlin dealt with abuse. They both knew he didn’t. They also knew he had an armory of his own to hurl at Arthur if he wanted. It had happened before, one of the rare times Arthur had accidentally hurt Merlin with his words.
Merlin didn’t brace because he didn’t need to. He was ready to give Arthur whatever he needed.
“You’re here,” Arthur said blankly while Merlin beamed at him from where he stood with hands behind his back. It was a mockery of a servant’s pose even when Merlin tried to be serious about it. Arthur wasn’t actually surprised. He knew damn well Merlin got bogged down with chores. Should the bed have been made that morning? Sure. At least it was getting done before Arthur was ready to climb back in.
And okay, yes, Merlin always procrastinated when making the bed. He couldn’t get past the uselessness of it, the ever spinning wheel of making the bed just for it to get messed up again. And yes, one could argue that was the nature of all Merlin’s chores, but the bed was different. It…well it was Arthur’s bed. The stage for many of Merlin’s fantasies. Numerous times Merlin had found himself in the sheets rather than making them. Arthur didn’t know this because this time of evening was the short window where Merlin was certain no one would visit Arthur’s chambers. Least of all Arthur himself.
Alas.
“Merlin, you have magic,” Arthur said, changing the subject because Merlin was never going to respond to his first observation.
“Astute, Your Majesty.”
Arthur grimaced. “Don’t. Not here.” It was a new thing of his, to insist on the very informality he was always nagging Merlin to stop. Sometime within the past three months, he’d begun hating when Merlin acted like a proper servant. He’d started insisting against it in the heart of his chambers when it was just the two of them.
“I thought sarcasm would overrule—“
“It doesn’t.” He didn’t say anything else. He simply stood there looking serious and lost.
Merlin abandoned his post by the bed. He tried to parse Arthur’s thoughts, but failed spectacularly. “What’s wrong?”
“You have magic,” he said again. It wasn’t news. It hadn’t been news for almost three years. Merlin was fairly certain Arthur was well over the shock of it. Sometimes he insisted Merlin use magic on their trips or in his chambers. It was still outlawed. Arthur’s attempts to legalize magic kept hitting snag after snag. Merlin didn’t mind. He was a patient man even though he hadn’t started out that way. He was happy enough getting to stay by Arthur’s side after he’d told him.
“Last I checked.” He held out his palm to let a light shine above it, illuminating his cheeky grin. Arthur’s face didn’t soften. Merlin’s expression faded like the light, and with the shadows returned, Arthur’s face looked stony. “Did something happen? Are you possessed?”
“Why?”
Merlin scoffed and gestured to his face, the obvious problem here. “Because you’re acting like a loon—“
“No,” Arthur shook his head. “Why do you do it?”
Merlin was entirely lost. “Magic? I was born with it, I told you…” he trailed off when Arthur again shook his head. Merlin let out a huff, frustrated. Merlin wanted to give him what he wanted or what he needed or something. He didn’t know what was going on and Arthur was determined to be unhelpful. “Okay, what? I have no idea where your head’s at.”
“You told me you are the most powerful sorcerer that will ever walk this land.”
Warlock, actually, but now was not the time for semantics. “I did.” He still wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not. It had sort of tumbled out of him along with the rest of the truth—magic, prophecy, fate, destiny, sides of coins. He strung it all together because that was how it was in his head. He couldn’t just tell Arthur he had magic because omitting everything else would make him a liar. He had been sick of the lies. Arthur had been sick of the lies. And at the time it had all felt so big. With distance, Merlin was falling on the side of regret. Most days their destiny and everything with it felt too large for him. Arthur didn’t need it added to his overburdened shoulders.
“Why do you continue to be my servant? To follow me? To…yield to me?”
Merlin tilted his head. “Because you’re my king?” He said it slowly, a question more than anything.
Arthur shook his head and Merlin was getting really tired of that. He wanted to shake Arthur and insist he pull out his royal education and use his words.
Merlin tried again. “Because you’re meant to be Albion’s greatest king?”
Still wrong.
“Because we have a destiny?” But Merlin winced even as he said it, not needing Arthur’s grimace to confirm that was definitely wrong. Now Arthur wasn’t just tired, he was hurt by Merlin’s answer. And that was a clue, wasn’t it? If not the clue. It was scary, all of a sudden, realizing what his next answer was, because this was probably the most important question Arthur had ever asked. Ridiculous. There was a time when Merlin’s answer to one of Arthur’s questions would have determined the fate of magic people in the kingdom. But it was still not as important as this. Because it was for them, not for Camelot. Merlin had lied then. He couldn’t lie now.
“Because I want to,” he admitted on a breath smaller than anything.
Arthur nodded. He’d known all along but he needed it confirmed. That was all well and good, but Merlin felt like he had one foot off a cliff and was waiting for a good shove. What was the purpose of this? Why now? “Arthur?”
Arthur stepped forward to place a palm on Merlin’s cheek. It was warm. Firm. Calloused. Merlin froze, unable to move because he didn’t want to, because he couldn’t. “You really would do anything I asked of you.” It was a question, but it wasn’t, and he spoke on the same breath Merlin had just let go. His words were less than a murmur. Inaudible, unintelligible to anyone else but Merlin because he knew his King better than anyone.
“Yes, and give you anything," Merlin added because fuck it, he’d committed to honesty. Probably to his own detriment, but that was proving his point. He gave what Arthur wanted because the more he did, the more Arthur softened. And that, right there, Arthur as no one but himself with his soft center, was all Merlin wanted.
Arthur stepped closer and Merlin gave way. Arthur followed and they continued this weird not-dance until the backs of Merlin’s calves hit the bed.
“Do you yield?” Arthur asked.
Merlin blinked at him, head cocked. “Yes?” Was that not obvious?
Arthur tilted his mouth close, so close, and Merlin leaned back just a little even as his mouth parted, a visible display of the daily battle between his logic and desire. Arthur wasn’t deterred. He followed to keep that hairsbreadth between them. “Do you yield?”
Merlin didn’t have to think, but he did need a second to breathe. Two seconds. “Yes.”
Arthur kissed him at the same time Merlin lifted his hands to grab at his shoulders. To pull him close or brace against him, Merlin can’t decide. He didn’t need to, though. Arthur moved his hands to wrap them around his waist, acting as both anchor and pulley. It was the tenderness with which Merlin used his thumbs to smooth the dark circles under Arthur’s eyes that gave away how much he loved him. There was a tremor in Arthur’s hands, slight, but enough to crinkle the fabric of Merlin’s shirt, enough to allow the very tips of Arthur’s fingers to touch Merlin’s skin.
This is enough, Merlin thought as he softened his jaw at the insistent parting of his mouth by Arthur’s own. It was hard to tell if it was enough to be content with, to have this and nothing else. Or if this moment had gone on too long, proven too dangerous—for either of them, for both of them—when he still didn’t know exactly what prompted Arthur in the first place.
“Do you yield?”
“Yes.”
Arthur used his body to push Merlin onto the bed. His arms were strong around him. A gentle decent. There was nothing about the way Arthur kissed down his neck that suggested he might stop, or worse, become urgent before reality got the better of him. Instead, he asked again if Merlin yielded and Merlin said yes, and it was hard to make sense of the tone Arthur used when he asked. It was relaxed, curious, questing, and…and…
“Merlin?”
“Hm?” In the silence of waiting for Arthur to speak, Merlin realized he was without a shirt, halfway out of his trousers, and he’d been babbling nonsense for gods knew how long.
“Shut up.”
Merlin smiled up at the canopy, radiating joy at the fondness in Arthur's tone. “Right. Okay.”
He finished removing Merlin’s trousers and it was when his mouth was on his thigh that he mumbled, “I’m not going to leave you.”
What a pratish thing to do, to address the whole of Merlin’s fears while he was kissing his way up to his cock. Right, okay, let’s talk about the thing—this thing, the thing they were doing and what it could possibly mean—they never talk about when he’d already asked Merlin to shut up and if he would yield and why he did it and—
Arthur groaned and moved up Merlin’s body to crash their lips back together, silencing his babble once more. Merlin had his shoulders in a vice grip, kissing him with the same intensity even when Arthur responded gently. “I’m not,” he promised against Merlin’s mouth. He pulled back just a bit. “I’m not,” he said again. He kissed Merlin, pulled back, said, “We’ll talk,” kissed him again, then, “Trust me?”
Merlin blinked up at him, out of breath and everything jumbled. “The fuck am I supposed to do with that?”
Arthur didn’t seem to know either. “Yield?”
Fuck you, he thought as he began pulling off Arthur’s clothes. Fuck me, he added when he revealed enough of Arthur’s chest to kiss. Somehow Arthur’s fumbling attempts to assuage his fears was enough (or maybe it was because he needed to focus on the stupidly complex buttons and knots that kept Arthur in his clothes) because Merlin stopped thinking. He didn’t stop talking. He never stopped talking. But Arthur liked it. Especially when it was another yes to Arthur’s request to yield. Or when it was, Arthur, please, when his fingers were inside him. Or, more, when that stopped being enough.
Merlin’s legs hiked onto Arthur’s shoulders and Merlin felt the tip of his cock, so deliciously close to where he needed it. “Do you—“
“Yes, fuck, yes,” Merlin snapped.
Arthur pushed into him and Merlin had nothing to grab onto but the sheets he never got around to changing. Turned out that was a good thing. Merlin moved his hips before Arthur could, not needing time to adjust because he liked that bite of pain. It would help him remember this later, in the event Arthur changed his mind. Arthur curled his body over Merlin’s, forcing his hips higher, and Arthur’s cock deeper as he kissed him. Merlin had never felt so vulnerable. He liked it, and it was scary how much he liked it. That was probably why he babbled more and Arthur kissed him and shushed him and encouraged him in equal measure.
Arthur mouthed at his chin, his neck, wherever he could reach while he thrust into him, telling him to yield, yield, yield. And Merlin didn’t understand because he had, hadn’t he? Arthur had unfettered access to him. Had every key to every lock. What more could Merlin give? What else did he want?
“Yield.” Arthur grabbed his cock and pumped him in time with his thrusts, and, finally, Merlin understood. With his body taught with cresting pleasure, inside his soul, Merlin relaxed. He trusted Arthur. He really did. His magic raced to the surface of his skin and rushed over their bodies and Merlin could feel Arthur in every part of him—body, soul, mind. He arched back against the pillows, heard Arthur say, “yield,” and came. He clamped down around Arthur’s cock, dragging him over the edge, too, and it was so, so good, the way Arthur’s seed filled him.
He was still trying to catch his breath when Arthur pulled out and adjusted them so Merlin’s back was against his chest. He allowed himself to be arranged to Arthur’s liking even when that meant Arthur pulled the comforter around his overheated skin. Merlin blinked and his magic responded to his will by wiping them clean. He heard Arthur’s appreciation in his mind.
Arthur lazily kissed his bare shoulder. “You know,” he said and Merlin loved how scratchy his voice was, “when I said yield, I wasn’t asking for a soul bond.”
Merlin snorted and turned so he could kiss just beneath his jaw. He loved the smell of him, the feel of end-day beard growth scratching against his nose. “Weren’t you?”
“I didn’t think I was.” Not one part of him sounded regretful.
Merlin hummed. “Shoulda been more specific, then.” At the knock on the door, Merlin shot his magic out to lock it before either of them froze.
“Sire?” Leon called from the other side. “Did you forget about your final meeting with Lady Mithian?”
Merlin furrowed his brow at the way Arthur guilty bit at his lower lip. “Of course,” Arthur said, unable to hide the strain in it despite trying to sound like he wasn’t naked and sharing a bed. “I will be there in a moment. Give her my apologies for my tardiness.”
“Of course, sire.”
Merlin turned in Arthur’s arms. “You had wedding negotiations today.” It was a realization as much as an accusation.
“When I legalize magic, much of the ways of the Old Religion have to be honored.”
Merlin provided a non-sequitur of his own. “Gaius has a birthmark on his ankle that looks like a puppy.”
Arthur stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”
“Exactly.”
He shook his head. “No—I—Merlin. I’m making a point. Listen. When I legalize magic, it will be expected of me be respectful of the traditions of the Old Religion. Especially when one of it’s gods is living under my roof.”
“I told you I’m not a god,” Merlin grumbled.
“Tell the Druids that. Anyway, my point is, the people of magic would be deeply offended if I married someone else when I have a soul bond with their—“ at Merlin’s glare Arthur jumped tracks, “Emrys.”
“With their Emrys.”
“Shut up. You wouldn’t let me say it.”
Merlin pushed onto his elbow. “Did you seriously use a soul bond with me to get out of marriage?”
“No, you clot-pole—“
“My word.”
“—I was going to ask you if, well,” Arthur was suddenly an admirable shade of red, “I wasn’t going to ask for a soul bond. I was going to ask, I don’t know, I don’t know what I was going to ask. But I knew I didn’t want to marry Mithian. And you and I never talk about,” he gestured between them, “which I understand because of our stations, and I was going to ask about that, too, and—“
Arthur never babbled. Merlin watched him carry on, his words washing over him in a tide of clarity. Arthur was an emotionally stunted fool, but in his own clumsy way he’d found the answer he needed. He knew he didn’t want to marry Mithian, so he found his way to Merlin. And maybe he truly hadn’t come to ask for a soul bond (Merlin was coming to an embarrassing realization of his own) but he wanted Merlin in some fashion and was prepared to accept whatever Merlin gave.
(Oh gods.)
“Let me get this straight,” Merlin interrupted before Arthur used every word in their language and still manage to not make sense. “Essentially your plan to woo me was to ask me to yield?”
Arthur spluttered for a second. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re the one who jumped to a soul bond.”
He had no defense for that. So he shoved Arthur out of bed. “Go talk to Mithian. You two have an interesting conversation waiting.”
They sniped at each other while Arthur dressed. It was how they’d always handled feelings that were too big and hit too close. With the soul bond in place, they might as well have been battling each other with blunt blades and armor full of holes. Merlin felt the utter giddiness inside Arthur, and he didn’t want to think about what Arthur could feel from him.
Arthur was at the door when he turned to look at Merlin. “Do you—“
“Yield? Yes. Always.”
“I was going to ask if you regret it. Before, and…the soul bond.”
Merlin shook his head. “No. Never.”
Arthur nodded. And smiled soft and barely there and oh so lovely. “Same.” It was an agreement, an acknowledgment, a mutual understanding. The same promise to the same half of the same coin.