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Merlin made lounging about all day, doing nothing, look like full-time employment. He flitted from room to room, throwing himself down on various pieces of furniture with all the sighs and groans of an overworked slave.
It was, in a word, infuriating.
Merlin was learned, wealthy, and powerful, yet of the two of them, Arthur had the impression Merlin was the miserable one. It was ridiculous, and Arthur reminded Merlin of that fact often.
Years ago, when Arthur was first purchased by the Emrys household, he wouldn’t have dared to speak so out of turn to his master. His previous owner had been a well-known politician, and even if he was known for the wrong reasons, he’d seen fit to throw his weight around in public and at home. Arthur had expected similar treatment from his new master, and had been shocked to find nothing but a boy, possibly younger than him, who was brash and impatient and completely uncaring of the proper distance between master and slave.
At first, Arthur wasn’t convinced. He kept up all the proper behavior even as Merlin ignored it at every turn. Arthur kept waiting for Merlin to snap, to punish him, or even just to house him in the actual servant’s quarters, instead of one of the guest rooms in the main house. Despite choosing to sleep on the floor, Arthur knew the luxury around him was worth far more than he was.
Then, the Emrys family had been robbed. The household was asleep, but the faint sounds of night kept Arthur awake. Whispers of cool air chasing each other down corridors. Bugs singing, leaves rustling, scratching. Arthur sat up. Scratching.
Barefoot, he’d crept from his own room to the main quarters of the house, following snatches of metal against stone as he drew closer and closer to his master’s bedroom. Each step Arthur took was forbidden, could easily cost him his life, but Arthur’s intuition urged him forward. He stopped not before a bedroom, but an office belonging to Merlin’s father.
Three figures hunched in shadow over what Arthur surmised to be a hidden safe beneath the floor, scratching with chisels and muttering angrily to each other. How they knew of the secret and had managed to enter undetected mattered not. Arthur took a deep, silent breath, squared his shoulders, and charged.
He knocked into the first man and heard his head thud against the stone. Arthur didn’t feel him move again. Swiftly, he kicked up and heard a crunch as a second man fell to his knees. His hands clawed at Arthur’s throat while Arthur delivered punch after punch to his midsection, and Arthur forgot all about the third man until a dagger ripped into his shoulder and he screamed.
Arthur prepared himself to die, closed his eyes so there’d be no sign of terror on his face, when the third man– the one whose blade was still embedded in his flesh– gurgled a wet, horrible sound. Pausing their struggle, Arthur and the second man looked up to see Balinor Emrys before them, raising his bloodied knife to the throat of the last living intruder.
“Explain, or die,” Balinor had intoned, and the thief had spat at Balinor’s feet.
His blood splashed warmly over Arthur’s face and neck. Balinor gave Arthur a long, silent look before turning on his heel and marching away. The other servants worked quietly to remove the bodies and clean away blood, and Arthur walked slowly to his room, completely unseen, until he ran into his master, who looked frenzied.
“Your father is unharmed,” Arthur panted out, and was unprepared for the scowl that took over Merlin’s features.
“I know that,” Merlin hissed, “I was coming to check on– gods, is that a dagger stuck in you?”
Merlin had grabbed Arthur by his good arm and bodily dragged Arthur to his extremely fine room, setting him down on his extremely fine bed, and proceeded to patch Arthur up quite well, babbling nonsense the whole time.
When Arthur had tried leaving Merlin’s bed, or clasping his arms behind his back as was proper, or anything that wasn’t sitting still and letting his master attend to him, Merlin would gently, but firmly, settle Arthur back into place. Something had shifted between them after that.
“I want a bath,” Merlin announced, popping a grape in his mouth and swallowing. He didn’t bother with words like need or would like. Merlin Emrys had many wants, and he was blunt about all of them. Arthur pretended not to like that, in the same way he pretended not to stare at the long, pale throat of his master.
“You visited the baths three days ago,” Arthur intoned, in that flat voice of someone stating the obvious that always made Merlin laugh.
“Yes,” Merlin answered, stretching out the words as he stretched himself across the cushions, “and I would like to go again. Do you have a problem with that?” Merlin’s eyebrows, Arthur was convinced, held more emotion than some men did in their entire faces.
“Whatever my master wishes,” Arthur replied dutifully, and Merlin laughed with delight. Arthur struggled not to show his own mirth on his face. It was how he hid their friendship from the rest of the world, how it remained their own, private truth. Arthur knew it would not be accepted by others, not even the rest of Merlin’s family. He belonged to Merlin in a way no-one else did, in a way no-one else ever would. Arthur only wished he could say the same for Merlin.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Merlin’s question halted Arthur’s steps, and he turned away from the front door.
“Have you changed your mind?” Arthur replied, knowing this was a game Merlin loved, drawing out what he wanted from Arthur, poking and prodding at his every response.
Merlin shook his head slowly. “No,” he drawled, “but you can’t go in that.”
Arthur held back a sigh and sat back down on the cushions. His body itched to stand, or better yet, to kneel on the cold floor, but both would upset Merlin, so he stayed. Merlin smirked at him– quick, maddening– and ran off.
Moments later he returned with a bundle of cloth so soft and clean it seemed to have never been worn before. Merlin plopped it in Arthur’s lap. “For you,” he elaborated, when Arthur made no move to touch the garment.
“It’s not going to bite you,” Merlin goaded, “and besides, your old clothes are worn through. You need to look proper when you’re seen with me.”
A corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted, and Merlin turned away to begin lacing up his sandals, victory assured. Arthur took the garment– and Merlin’s words– as the kindness they were, and said nothing more. The garment was absurdly soft, and Arthur changed into it quickly, knowing Merlin wouldn’t have brought it out if he didn’t expect Arthur to dress himself in Merlin’s presence. Arthur glanced down at himself and frowned.
His new clothing was short. If Merlin, who had an inch or so on him, had worn it, his genitals would have been exposed. Arthur flushed at the thought. The idea that Merlin had this tailored for him, cut just long enough to hide his cock, made something hot and stinging coil at the base of Arthur’s spine. “Thank you,” he said, and Merlin beamed like he had said much more, and they set off.
The bathhouse Merlin favored was a decent walk from his home, but the day was nicely warm, puffy clouds overhead, so they opted to walk. Arthur’s clothes tugged and shifted more than he would’ve liked, the sun heating his bare skin, but he dared not complain.
As they walked– Merlin sticking to the shade gifted by the buildings lining the street– Merlin remarked on this or that politician, this or that new law being hotly debated in the senate. He paused after each new statement, giving time for Arthur to state his opinion. When Merlin had first done so, Arthur had assumed it was a cruelty, Merlin’s way of reminding him that he wasn’t worthy of such knowledge. But moment by moment, Arthur began to see a different attitude from his master. When Arthur would scoff at a certain opinion, or smile at the mention of a favored senator, Merlin would hone in on that subject, a dog with a bone. He made Arthur feel welcome, like he belonged, and that was dangerous. Still, Arthur kept indulging him.
Servants waiting outside the bath recognized Merlin immediately. They moved towards him, reached out to offer their services as he stepped into a large, open-air garden. Here, men would be undressed and then tour through the various rooms, typically exercising first so the series of bathing rooms felt even more indulgent. Merlin, ever contrary, swatted away the hands attempting to disrobe him and explained that he and his personal servant would be taking a stroll through the gardens before entering the baths on their own. The servants exchanged wary glances, but knew not to protest. Arthur hid his smile behind his hand, his mirthful eyes cast downward to watch as a procession of ants marched towards bushes of oleander.
Merlin snapped to get Arthur’s attention– an obnoxious gesture they agreed to use only in public– and Arthur dutifully began to follow him through the garden, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back.
“As if I would ever wish to exercise naked with a bunch of sweaty men who despise me,” Merlin grumbled, his tone so low and sour that Arthur nearly laughed out loud.
“Of course not, master,” Arthur replied demurely, and watched Merlin swiftly tuck his head down the way he always did when trying to hide his emotions.
Abruptly, Merlin came to a stop. To their left was a pond that stretched the length of the room, filled with colorful fish. But Merlin was looking to the right, where a variety of rose bushes were blooming. Their vivid colors against Merlin’s paler skin and dark hair were an arresting sight.
Merlin leaned closer to a section of blue roses, then shot a coy look Arthur’s way. “These are the color of your eyes,” he whispered, and Arthur knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to hide his blush.
What was Merlin doing? The symbolism of those flowers…no, Merlin didn’t know. Couldn’t. He was simply teasing, the way he always did, finding whatever embarrassed Arthur and pulling it till it was loose and exposed.
“Are you going to steal one as a reminder of me?” Arthur murmured.
Merlin smiled, leaned back from the roses. “Why would I need a reminder of you when you never leave my side?”
There was no chance for Arthur to respond– purposeful, of course, and he caught the gleam of triumph in Merlin’s eyes– and so they exited the garden with Arthur’s muscles a little more coiled, his face a little warmer, but no-one paid him or his features any attention.
The caldarium was next, and Arthur’s new clothes felt even more restrictive, the air thick with humidity and the tiles slick with water.
Here, there was no escaping nudity, and Arthur kept his gaze low and respectful. The other patrons did not. Arthur could tell, even without looking, what a pair they made. Still dressed, the both of them, and Arthur an outside servant. The men lounging around them were senators and other influential figures, no doubt familiar with Merlin's family name.
Merlin paid them no mind. He undressed with careless ease, bundling his tunic for Arthur to hold. Arthur held back his urge to scoff– a reaction meant only for the two of them.
“Finish undressing me.” Merlin's tone was complete, cold order, but when Arthur dared a look at his face, he saw mirth in the corners of his eyes.
Another game, then. Another challenge, in public no less, tugging at their roles. Arthur stared at his own hands, and knelt.
Merlin's legs were long and lean, coltish. The dark, wiry hair on them reminded Arthur that his master was no boy. He was a man, with a man's body.
He unwound the lacing around Merlin's calves as quickly as he could without making a mistake, certain all eyes were on him as he worked. Arthur kept his own gaze on his fingers, knowing what he would see if he looked up.
Merlin was not vain about his nudity, but he was not shy, either. Some of the men here– like Cenred– had their legs spread as wide as they would go, lounging like proud cats. Merlin's stance was more subdued, yet more confident as well. He didn't need to make someone look at him, because the want was already there.
As he worked, Arthur felt beads of Merlin's sweat drip across his knuckles, and his gut clenched in response.
“Wait for me by the doors,” Merlin instructed softly, and Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
It was another kind of challenge to watch Merlin from a distance, to see the messy outline of his bare flesh descend into the water, drift between groups of men who all wanted him for something. Merlin gestured frequently and spoke loudly, which meant Arthur could never ignore him.
When Merlin suddenly returned to his side, glistening, Arthur didn't know where to look.
Merlin only made it harder by stretching, sighing, wringing out his wet, dark hair and licking the moisture off his lips.
They passed into the next room, the tepidarium, without comment. This room was wide and open, in contrast to the dark, packed steam of the caldarium. Here, the ceiling was left open in several places, allowing natural light to flood the space. Despite the heated floors, Arthur felt his sweat cool on his skin, and Merlin groaned next to him.
“Much better. That last room nearly stifled me.”
“Of course, master,” Arthur murmured.
Normally, this was Merlin's favorite room, his chance to breathe after the caldarium turned all air to steam.
It was surprising, then, when Merlin spent only a few minutes wandering the width of the room before rejoining Arthur. Merlin's nakedness was even more stark here, without the water to hide it, so Arthur could not say he wasn't grateful when Merlin seemed eager to leave.
Their walk to the frigidarium saw no other visitors, so Arthur braved a few words.
“Eager to freeze today, master?” he whispered, knowing Merlin would hear the humor he couldn't show on his face.
“You'll be joining me, of course,” Merlin replied nonchalantly.
Arthur barely had time to take in the frigidarium– empty, with deep, saturated blue tiling that made the cold water appear infinite– before Merlin's brazen words were replaced by even more brazen actions.
Merlin's fine-boned hand grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him towards the pool, too fast for Arthur to stop him.
The first splashes of water were like needles of ice, and it was impossible that Arthur's blood should heat from where his skin touched Merlin's. Impossible, but true, as Arthur's desires were undaunted by the shock of cold.
Merlin released him when Arthur was knee-deep in the pool, and he hastily climbed out while his master dove fully underwater, coming up laughing with a great, obnoxious splash.
He looked free, then, Arthur thought, of all obligations. It was how Merlin should always look, wringing water from his hair while his eyes gleamed. If Arthur were a free man, a man of Merlin’s standing, he would wade back in, take Merlin's hand in his, take--well. Arthur could take nothing freely.
“I want a massage,” Merlin demanded, shouting across the length of the room. He pulled himself up from the pool and out of the room without waiting for his servant to follow.
Arthur knew, without having to be told, that he would be the one delivering the massage. Another rule broken. Another challenge.
He stepped into a small antechamber to find his master already prone on a low marble slab, hands folded beneath his head.
Arthur hastily forced his gaze elsewhere, landing on the low shelf filled with bottles of various oils. He selected an unscented bottle, selfishly unwilling to obscure Merlin's own scent, and waited for instructions.
“Start with my legs,” Merlin stated, not bothering to look up.
There was no place on Merlin’s body that Arthur didn't love, didn't yearn to place his hands on. Still, when his slick palms cupped Merlin's calves, he felt the danger of his needs like a kiss to the back of his neck.
Arthur allowed himself to fall into a lull of sorts, repetitive motions dulling the pleasure of his skin meeting Merlin's over and over again. He focused on tensed muscles, the map of bones surrounding them.
“Can you go a little higher?” Merlin asked, not even bothering to turn around. His words bounced around the empty room.
Arthur swallowed, his hands stilling where they rested on Merlin’s thighs. It was torture enough to have to see Merlin like this, the long lines of him. To have before him the evidence of where he was lean, and where he was plump, and where the relentless sun had never once touched. It was torture enough to slick his legs with expensive oils and hear his obnoxious, sultry moans as Arthur dug his palms into his skin. Arthur was hard, and had been hard for quite a while. If he refused his master’s request, Arthur would not only endure his arousal waving in Merlin’s face, but the small, sad sigh of disappointment Merlin would make at not being granted every possible thing in the world that he wanted. Arthur wasn’t sure what was worse, only that he had one choice to make.
“Very well,” he replied, and poured more oil into his hands. It would be too much to dribble the liquid directly over Merlin’s arse, to watch it drip and spread where it wished. Arthur would do that himself. Briefly, he prayed to the gods to hold back his orgasm until he was alone.
Merlin groaned happily at the first touch of Arthur’s palms to his cool skin. When Arthur didn’t immediately move, Merlin wriggled his hips, impatient, drops of oil shimmering in the light.
Arthur spread his fingers as wide as he dared, thumbs perilously close to where Merlin’s hair became thicker, darker, where light became soft dusk. He began with smoothing, rounded sweeps of his palms, moving up Merlin’s thighs to the swell of his cheeks, peaking at his tailbone before moving down once more.
The sounds Merlin made were too lewd to name, so they roamed through Arthur’s body at will, wreaking havoc on his nerves, his senses.
For a moment, Arthur was certain he'd come from Merlin's sounds alone, from the way his mind raced to imagine how Merlin might sound in bed, under him – anyone – pleading and whining and…
Arthur stopped. Took several deep breaths, his hands twitching on the swell of Merlin's backside.
“Are you hard yet?” Merlin asked.
Yes. “Ha ha,” Arthur deadpanned, barely choking out the words, wanting to be angry at Merlin’s joke but feeling only a cold resignation, as if he were sitting underwater in the frigidarium.
“Are you genuinely that thick?” Merlin sounded annoyed, upset, and when he shifted to glare at Arthur, Arthur’s hand fell to the dark, warm place he had promised himself not to touch. Both men inhaled sharply.
“I brought you to a private room, with oils, where no-one will disturb us, and you think I want to, what, talk? Get over your incredible, frustrating nobleness and fuck me.”
Arthur was struck with the bizarre urge to feel his own pulse, to ascertain that he was not dead at Merlin’s feet, dreaming. “You– you truly–”
“I touch myself at night, thinking of you,” Merlin continued, clenching once around Arthur's hand, making their skin stick together with sweat and oil.
Arthur bit his lip hard enough to bleed.
“I got up to four fingers, once,” Merlin panted, arching back against the pad of Arthur’s thumb, begging. He looked over his shoulder back at Arthur, his gaze heavy with lust, his full lips indecently wet as though someone had been tonguing them for hours. His eyes fell to Arthur’s groin, his swollen cock, and he moaned shakily. “I assumed you’d be big,” he continued.
“Merlin,” Arthur pleaded, “you can’t speak of such things.” Contrary to his words, Arthur’s hands remained in place, one gripping Merlin’s hip. The thumb of his right hand began rubbing tight, slick circles around Merlin’s opening, an opening that seemed impossible to stretch, yet had apparently taken nearly the whole of Merlin’s hand. Arthur barely refrained from coming at the mental image.
“Don’t restrain yourself,” Merlin whined, his toes curling against the stone, his hair sticking to his forehead, and everywhere Arthur looked was wrong, indecent and overwhelming. His gaze fell, helpless, back to where he was almost inside Merlin, and he groaned.
“I want you,” Merlin stated, “and if you want me too, then just, oh, please,” he trailed off in a breathy moan.
Arthur’s clothing was more uncomfortable than it had any right to be, the fabric around his cock damp and sticky with precome. “It’s not so easy,” he breathed, though his thumb didn’t retreat and his arousal didn’t wane.
“Liar,” Merlin retorted, then groaned when Arthur’s thumb pressed hard against him. “Perhaps this is your way of torturing me. Or,” he continued, voice suddenly unsure, “perhaps you do not want me in the same way.”
That was impossible. Arthur knew it so deeply that he assumed Merlin knew as well, for how could one who wanted so plainly miss the want on his own servant's face? Yet apparently Merlin had. And if by denying himself, Arthur was denying Merlin, then there was no other choice remaining.
“You are all that I want,” Arthur confessed.
Merlin made a desperate sound, reaching for him, and Arthur obeyed freely, gladly, splaying himself over Merlin's back and taking from his master's mouth the wet, passionate kisses he had wanted for so long.
They devoured each other for minutes at a time, only stopping when Arthur was distracted into sucking Merlin’s fingers or biting his nipples, leaving traces of himself over every part of his master’s body.
Eventually, Arthur returned to the secret entrance of Merlin's body. He slid two oiled fingers in with ease, feeling the muscle give way with a wet squelch.
“Gods above,” Arthur panted, holding his hand still, nosing along Merlin's cheekbones, breathless with relief and desire.
“Move, Arthur,” Merlin begged, “go faster.”
Never before had obedience brought such pleasure. The ache in Arthur's hand was washed away by Merlin's aroused groans, his clever hands mapping Arthur's skin beneath his clothes.
“Take this off,” he insisted, and Arthur pulled away for just long enough to throw the offending garment aside.
Arthur had three fingers in Merlin’s opening now, and though he couldn't see it, he smelled the tangy salt of his master’s lust.
“So full,” Merlin groaned, twisting sensuously to gaze at Arthur, confident and beautiful. A challenge Arthur could spend a lifetime on.
“If you'd spread yourself for me earlier,” Arthur teased, “I'd have kept you full all the time. You'd have never wanted for anything.”
“Well right now I want your cock,” Merlin retorted, raising an eyebrow, “so why don't I– oh, fuck, do that again.”
Arthur had been searching for the pleasurable bump he'd heard dirty stories about from other servants. Once he found it, he rubbed over it firmly with the calloused pad of his fingertip, smirking as Merlin's features grew slack with desire.
Merlin pulled Arthur down for another kiss, taking everything Arthur could give. When they parted, Merlin laid flat on his stomach and arched his hips up, as obvious a demand as Arthur had ever seen.
With careful touches, knowing how close he was to spilling, Arthur doused his cock in oil until it ran over his sac and dripped onto Merlin’s pale skin. His soft head nudged against Merlin’s opening, teasing, and Arthur had to close his eyes as the enormity of their connection settled over him.
“Now, Arthur,” Merlin pleaded.
Merlin's body gave way so easily as Arthur speared him, their bodies rejoicing in unity, Arthur's arms shaking as he held himself up and slowly sank inside.
He leaned forward to nip at Merlin’s ear, soothing the sting with his tongue, and whispered, “of course, master.”
There was no holding back after that. Merlin's cries and moans furthered Arthur’s rhythm until he was snapping his hips at a brutal pace, surely bruising Merlin's knees and straining his own muscles.
“More, harder,” Merlin urged. “I want to feel you all day.”
Arthur keened and gave them both what they wanted, till the sound of their sex could surely be heard in the frigidarium next door. The thought only aroused Arthur more– let them hear, let them know that Merlin was his.
His orgasm crested too quickly, as if after so many years of longing it couldn't last another minute. He felt himself spill inside Merlin, his own warm release coating his cock and making his last thrusts even smoother.
“Mine,” he groaned, before his arms gave out, and he heard Merlin let out a shocked, choked moan before shuddering underneath him.
As they lay together, messy and bound, Arthur found his thoughts already looking to the future.
“Gods, I can't wait to do that on a real bed,” Merlin panted.
Arthur made a soft sound of surprise, and gently maneuvered them till they were face-to-face. Merlin smiled at him, warm and soft.
“I am, you know,” he added.
Arthur furrowed his brow, questioning.
“Yours,” Merlin explained. “I know I can't show it yet, but someday, when you have your freedom, everyone will know.”
Arthur placed a tender kiss to Merlin's lips. “If you are as loud at home as you are here, the whole household will know soon enough.”
Merlin laughed, loud and carefree. “Fool,” he teased. “Then let them hear. Let them know. Nothing will ever come between us.”
They lay together for minutes or hours more, and returned home to a bed soft and sturdy. Merlin's vow was unbroken all their days.