Chapter Text
Merlin came across the spare piece of parchment as he was sweeping Arthur's rooms. Arthur was in a meeting with his father, and though Merlin wasn't in the practice of reading Arthur's private correspondence, it was good to know what he'd be facing when Arthur returned. With that thought in mind, Merlin carefully unfolded the paper and held it up to the pale early spring sunlight.
fruit
boots
oil
fingers
penetrationsubmission submission
shame
At first it read like a grocery list- as if Arthur had ever gone to market to buy his own clothing, or cooking supplies. But Merlin's eyes got wider as he got to the bottom, and realized exactly what this was. It was most certainly NOT a list of things one could get at the market. In fact, these were things Arthur couldn't get anywhere. Maybe someone like Merlin could. It might get around or earn him an odd look if his partner didn't agree, but he could still go about his duties and live a happy, normal life. But Arthur could never get the things he'd written down, probably couldn't even ask without it being trumpeted around the five kingdoms. Merlin shuddered at the thought, and went to burn the paper. He knew it was the right thing to do, but with his hand halfway to the brazier, he hesitated. Shivered.
Fruit. Boots. Oil. Fingers. Penetration. Submission. Shame.
He put the paper into his pocket and went about cleaning the floors before Arthur returned.
~o~
When Merlin returned with Arthur's dinner a few hours later, the prince was frowning at his table.
"Is something wrong?" Merlin asked.
"You're still a terrible manservant, isn't that enough?"
"I brought you dinner though. Look! Still hot!"
"Merlin, you are the only person here who considers that an accomplishment."
Merlin frowned, and put the tray down across the table from Arthur. "So you'd rather I eat it then?"
"No!" Arthur said, "Give it here." After he'd eaten and Merlin had nabbed a chunk of roasted turnip, Arthur said, "You know, you might be the only manservant I know who's ever made things less neat when he cleans."
"What do you mean! This room is immaculate!"
Arthur raised a highly opinionated eyebrow. "What I mean is, whenever you clean, you lose something."
"I found that sock yesterday, it was folded inside your jacket," Merlin said.
"Sock- what- nevermind. Today I was working on some papers, documents of state, grain reports. One of the papers is now gone, and I need to know what's happened to it." Arthur said.
Merlin could feel the paper burning in his pocket as he said, "I have no idea where it's been. Maybe the wind blew it into the fireplace." Arthur stared at him, pinned him to the spot with his eyes.
"Merlin, it was a confidential document that was not meant to leave this room. I didn't see any other papers on the floor when I came back."
Merlin busied himself with Arthur's finished dinner as he said, "Well, I picked some up after you left, and they were all over. It must have burnt up between you leaving and me getting in!" He flashed his brightest smile and made his way out the door. His hands were still trembling when he put the tray down in the kitchens, and all he could see were Arthur's eyes, pinning him down. Penetration. Shame.
~o~
He dawdled as much as he could getting water up for his master's nightly bath, but the servants who weren't cleaning up after dinner helped him fill and carry the buckets, and the big tub was full of warm water all too soon, a kettle heating over the prince's fire to top it up when Arthur was ready to get in.
Merlin coughed quietly, then knocked on the door to get Arthur's attention.
"Are you being polite?" Arthur asked. "Is this- tact? Are you sick?"
"Yes, sire, I'm trying out good manners. You may want to try them out for yourself, since you haven't any now. It never hurts to make a good impression!"
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said, and went to strip behind the screen. Merlin heard moving fabric, and tried not to think. Boots. Fingers. He turned his head to fiddle with Arthur's nightclothes as he heard the other man sink into the hot water with a sigh.
"Hand me my washcloth, Merlin," Arthur said. Merlin picked a washcloth out of the linen cupboard and handed it to Arthur in the tub, and one of Arthur's hands grabbed onto the back of his knee. He jumped back, but Arthur held fast with one arm, while he used the other hand to- oh god- pull the list out of Merlin's pocket. He took his prize, unfolded it slowly, and read it, his mouth forming the shapes of each word without sound.
"You lied," he said.
Merlin gulped. "It just- it just fell, it was there on the floor, and I didn't think it was important, I just-" He shrank under Arthur's glare. It was a testament to Arthur's dignity that he could make Merlin feel so small, whilst he himself was sitting in the bath.
"You lied to me when I asked you a direct question, and you looked me straight in the eye. How am I supposed to trust you now?"
Merlin tried very hard not to think of all the many, many times he had lied to His Highness, the Prince over the years, but it seemed Arthur had moved on. "Well, you're clearly too stupid to be capable of espionage." Merlin's eyes went round.
"Spying! Your highness, I wouldn't, I never-"
"Clearly, as I said, you're too stupid. Anyone with talent or wits would have memorized it and burnt it, or passed it on, not carried it around like a bloody token." He paused, and looked not at the list, but at Merlin. "Why on earth did you keep it?
Merlin tried to think. Why did he keep it? "I'm not sure, sire. I just... wanted to, I guess."
"Just wanted to," Arthur said slowly.
"Yeah, like, didn't feel right to just let it burn away, but I knew it was yours and I couldn't let anyone else find it, so I just... kept it. With me," Merlin said, and waited for Arthur to order his beheading. Instead, he saw Arthur eyeing him contemplatively, and somehow this made him yet more nervous.
"Do you know what this list is?" Arthur asked. Merlin gulped, and nodded.
"Have you done any of them?" Arthur asked again.
"Maybe," Merlin said, then, "some. Not sure what you mean by 'fruit,' though, or 'boots.' That's a bit ambiguous." He tried and failed to look up from the floor, but on the floor were his feet, and his boots, and Arthur's boots, and if he looked at Arthur naked right now he'd probably die so... he focussed the wall.
"Right," Arthur said. "Right."
"Sire?"
"Well, now you know all my dirty secrets. Let's pretend this never happened, I'll finish my bath on my own, and you will wake me at my normal time tomorrow with breakfast. Hot," Arthur said.
"Right," Merlin said. "So I'm dismissed?"
"Goodnight Merlin," Arthur said with a wave.
"Goodnight sire," Merlin said, and went back to the physician's chambers.
He nearly walked head-first into a night guard before he got his head out of the world where Prince Arthur- his prince, who he saw every day- had sexual thoughts about footwear. Well, he thought, better that than geese. He sat his tiny cot and unlaced his boots, pictured Arthur's, trying to think of how mud-caked leather could ever be sexy, and failed. The rest wasn't too hard to picture; the crush of new peaches, the sweet juice dripping over lips and chin, the taste of another's mouth after gorging on sweet blackberries in August made Arthur's fixation on fruit positively obvious, though certainly not something Merlin himself had imagined. He knew from personal experience that oil made it much more pleasurable to bring himself off, and obviously Arthur would be expected to penetrate his future wife frequently, to create an heir for the kingdom. He worked his way down Arthur's list. Boots, fruit, oil, penetration, submission, shame, fingers.
With a blush he remembered every time Arthur had embarrassed him, and there were many, and wondered if he'd done it in a search for sexual pleasure. 'The feathered hat,' he thought, and shuddered before he got any further. There was no way even Arthur got off thinking about that stupid, fluffy hat. No matter if he was kinkier than Kilgharrah's tail.
When his rather urgent erection made itself noticed, he thought firmly of Charlotte the weaver and her soft lips and curved waist and hips, and stroked himself, leaning against his bedroom door and biting his lip to keep quiet. But the thought that chased him into orgasm was Arthur's callused fingers, caressing that damned list.