Like Real People Do

by troubleshootsback

Summary:

Merlin and Leons newfound closeness for one another doesn't go unnoticed by their friends.

 

or 5 times they think something might be up with those two and one time the evidence is undeniable.

Notes:

look I thought having a sex drive was a joke until I was almost 20. I have never written anything even remotely scandalous before, but The Let Leon Fuck Fest has badges! and I'm no better than a 6 year old with a sticker chart.

Implied sexual content but nothing extreme, I hope that's alright for the fest, if not sing out and I am more than happy to remove it from the collection <3

Chapter 1: Their Friends

*

Gwaine had only come down to the stables for his knife.

That was it. No heroic quest, no nefarious intentions. He’d lost his knife somewhere between finishing the last patrol and getting to his chambers and the stables seemed like a good a place as any to begin his search.

His still sweat-damp boots kicked up dust and straw as he made his way to Gringolet’s stall, when he caught movement ahead. A figure half-hidden in the shadows at the back of the stables.

Gwaine slowed.

Leon stepped out.

Looking like he’d been dragged out of a tavern brawl backwards.

His hair, normally in perfect tight curls was a tousled mess, his cheeks flushed, and his shirt was unlaced and askew, like he’d put it on in the dark. Much to Gwaine’s amusement, he probably had. His mouth was slightly open, breathing a little too heavy for someone “checking on the horses”

Gwaine grinned.

 “You wouldn’t happen to be… entertaining one of the stablegirls, would you? Now Leon,” he said with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Leon’s jaw clenched but it was the pause that caught Gwaine’s attention. Then, even more telling: Leon opened his mouth to respond—and his voice cracked on the first syllable.

“Oh,” he said, tone dropping just enough to land between amused and intrigued. “Or… stableboy, then?”

Leon’s mouth pressed into a hard line. Still no reaction. Still as proper as ever but now the flush crept higher, betraying him entirely.

“Relax,” Gwaine said, raising both hands in mock surrender. “I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m impressed. You always seemed like the man to wait for the perfect lady, so to speak.”

He trailed off, eyes sweeping Leon’s form again.

Leon finally met his gaze—just for a second. Not defensive. Not angry. Resigned.

“I was checking the stalls,” he said, voice low and calm, as if repeating a practiced lie.

Gwaine hummed. “Sure. The stalls. With your shirt on sideways and your curls looking like they’ve seen combat.”

Leon looked away. Said nothing.

“Hey,” Gwaine added, softer now. “I don’t care. Your business is your business.”

Gwaine turned away, patting Leon once on the shoulder. “Just… you might wanna run a comb through that hair before tomorrow’s council meeting.”

He winked and sauntered out, whistling.

Behind him, Leon exhaled slowly.

Up in the hayloft, Merlin didn’t dare breathe.

Gwaine never did find that knife.

 

*

Lancelot wasn’t meant to be paying attention to Merlin.

He wasn’t really meant to be in this meeting at all, this was mostly a matter for Arthur and his council. The knights were there for formality, mostly. Silent, watchful, occasionally called upon when the issue turned to border patrols or bandit reports.

But Merlin was standing behind Arthur’s chair as always, making comments that would have had him executed by any other king. He looked the same as he always did, hair messy, face pale.  His neckerchief was slightly askew—just enough that something caught Lancelot’s eye.

The faintest edge of a bruise, peeking out from beneath the collar. High on Merlin’s neck, half-hidden in shadow and linen. The kind of bruise that could only be made by lips and teeth. And it was new—fresh, with the edges just darkening to purple.

Lancelot’s stilled.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Merlin had always had a way of drawing people in. But it wasn’t the mark that caught Lancelot’s attention so much as the way Merlin didn’t seem to know it was visible. Or maybe he’d just forgotten, distracted by his duties, as he leaned in slightly to murmur something else in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur didn’t notice. He never did.

But Lancelot did.

When Arthur leaned forward to argue with one of the lesser lords about grain tariffs, Merlin straightened and turned slightly, enough that the bruise caught the light again.

Lancelot stood quietly, then crossed the room under the guise of refilling his cup from the wine table. Technically one of Merlin’s duties but he never made the man do it.

He brushed past Merlin casually, close enough to speak low, low enough no one else would hear.

“Merlin.”

Merlin glanced at him, a little wide-eyed, as if startled.

Lancelot didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, with an easy movement, he reached forward and adjusted the neckerchief, just a slight tug upward. Nothing suspicious, nothing anyone would comment on.

Just enough to hide the mark.

A faint blush crept up Merlin’s cheeks, but Lancelot was already stepping away, his role fulfilled.

He returned to his place beside the other knights, lifting the goblet as if nothing had happened. Arthur was still talking. It seemed no one had noticed.

Except maybe Gwaine, who shot him a look that was equal parts amused and curious—but didn’t say a word.

*

Percival was glad the fight ended quickly.

It hadn't lasted long, a band of thieves, not even organized enough to pose a real threat but it had been brutal. Messy. The kind of skirmish where luck mattered more than skill.

Arthur lowered his sword slowly, scanning the trees, breath misting in the evening air.

“Merlin?” Arthur called.

No answer.

“Merlin, fights over, stop being such a girls petticoat and get out here!”  

No answer.

They knew that Merlin worked best, away from the fray, where he could use his magic without fear of others being caught in the crossfire, but that wasn’t enough to stop Arthur’s worried teasing.

“MERLIN!” Gwaine yelled.

Percival turned, his eyes sweeping the tree line. That was when he saw it, a dark shape slumped against a tree trunk, just off the path, barely visible through the dust in the air.

Leon was already moving.

“Merlin?” Arthur reached him first.

Merlin didn’t look up.

He was braced against the tree with both forearms, head bowed, body trembling with effort. Blood stained the back of his tunic, soaking through from a long slice across his back. Deep and ugly. A lucky swing.

Arthur reached to steady him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Kinda—” Merlin rasped, breath shallow, “—busy.”

The corpse behind him still smoked, split cleanly down the middle by magic that had left the air humming. Merlin had ended the man with a single word, but not before the sword found its mark.

Leon was beside them in an instant, hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Let me see,” he said quietly.

Percival hung back, but not far. He watched as Merlin let himself be turned, just slightly, his legs giving out as Leon caught him, strong arms around his waist, pulling him in like it was second nature.

“Hold still,” Leon said, voice low, trying to see the wound. Merlin hissed but didn’t pull away. “You’re bleeding through.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to snap at Merlin—to ask why he didn’t duck, or shout, or stay out of trouble, the same worried care he’d always shown his servant. But the words didn’t come. He just hovered, lips pressed thin.

“Anyone…hurt?” Merlin mumbled, blinking slowly, his eyes glassy.

Arthur said nothing.

Leons jaw was tight, Percival watched as he pulled away the shredded fabric of Merlin’s shirt. “Just you, Merlin, just you.” Leon’s voice was firm, it always was, but there was a layer of softness Percival had never heard from the knight.

Percival stepped closer, watching the way Leon moved, slow, deliberate motions, too careful to be purely medical. His hands lingered just a moment too long at Merlin’s side, thumb pressing gently into his hip as he steadied him.

And Merlin… leaned in. Just slightly. Like it was instinct.

Lancelot came forward with bandages. Gwaine crouched nearby, tossing a dagger aside and wiping sweat from his brow.

They all watched as Leon bound the wound. Merlin winced but didn’t complain. He let Leon work in silence, even as his head dropped forward, forehead brushing Leon’s shoulder.

Arthur looked away first.

“Get him back to camp,” the king said gruffly. “Before he bleeds all over the trees.”

But the worry in his voice was obvious now.

Leon didn’t answer. He just slipped an arm beneath Merlin’s knees and lifted him as if he weighed nothing.

Merlin didn’t resist. His eyes drifted shut, hand curled lightly in the fabric at Leon’s collar.

Leon didn’t stray far from Merlin’s side once he was laid down on his bedroll.

He stayed there, sitting beside him, one hand in his lap, the other… slowly carding through Merlin’s curls. The motion was automatic, unconscious. Gentle and intimate.

Too intimate.

Percival’s brow furrowed.

It wasn’t just worry. Leon looked like he’d shatter if Merlin slipped away.

Gwaine came to crouch beside Percival, voice low, careful not to wake Merlin. “He’ll be alright, yeah?”

“Stubborn as anything,” Percival replied, though he didn’t look away.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Gwaine said, softer now. “Didn’t know Leon had that kind of bedside manner.”

Neither of them joked.

Leon exhaled slowly. His hand lingered in Merlin’s hair.

And Percival, always quiet, always watching, understood something unspoken in that moment.

This wasn’t just worry. Wasn’t just a sense of duty or responsibility

Percival didn’t think it had been for a long time.

*

Gwen spotted Merlin the moment he crossed the courtyard.

Something was off. His step was uneven, a faint hitch in his gait like he was favouring one leg. Add to that the dark smudges beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as if he were carrying something heavier than a basket of laundry and it was enough to make her stop what she was doing.

“Merlin!” she called, walking toward him quickly. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked, startled, and tried to straighten. It didn’t help much—the limp was still there, undeniable.

“Nothing,” he said, giving her that boyish grin he always pulled out when he thought it would distract her.

“Merlin,” Gwen said, sharper now. “You’re limping. And you look like you haven’t slept. What happened?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away, evasive as always. “It was just a… a long night, that’s all.”

Her brows drew together. “A long night? What were you doing?”

“Gwen, it’s—” he cut himself off with a laugh. “It’s alright. I’m alright. I promise. Nothing to worry about”

“Nothing to worry about,” she repeated, unconvinced. She stepped closer, trying to catch his eye. “You don’t need to hide things anymore, Merlin if you’re hurt—”

“I’m not hurt,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just need a bit of rest.”

She hesitated, studying him. He looked sincere, but Merlin always looked sincere. That was half the problem. Finally, she sighed. “Then promise me you’ll take that rest. No errands, no running around, no skipping meals.”

“Just for you, Gwen,” he said, with a lopsided grin.

But as he walked away—limp still evident despite his best effort—Gwen’s worry only deepened. She knew Merlin. She knew when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

She just didn’t know what he was hiding this time.

*

Elyan had always felt relaxed in the woods.

The fire had burned low, bellies were full, and for once there wasn’t the threat of bandits or beasts lurking beyond the tree line. Merlin and Leon had gone off to the stream with the pots, leaving the rest of them sprawled around the fire, comfortable and half-dozing.

Elyan stretched, glanced toward the trees where their two companions had vanished, and said idly, “Merlin and Leon have gotten close lately, haven’t they?”

He didn’t mean anything by it. Just an observation, the sort one makes when silence lingers too long.

But Gwaine immediately barked a laugh. “Close, you say?”

Arthur raised a brow. “What’s funny about that? Leon’s always looked out for Merlin. Nothing new there.”

Percival shifted, thoughtful. “Closer than usual, though. Leon’s… gentler with him. Different.”

That earned a chorus of snickers.

Arthur frowned. “What? Leon’s a good man. A little stiff, maybe, but—”

“Stiff,” Gwaine echoed, grinning into his cup. “Funny word choice, sire.”

Elyan laughed, shaking his head. “No, really, haven’t you noticed? Leon’s always hovering. Making sure Merlin eats. Bandaging him first. It’s like he’s—” He stopped, realizing what it sounded like too late.

Lancelot’s expression was too neutral to be anything but suspicious.

Arthur scoffed, trying to wave it off. “That doesn’t mean anything. Leon’s… well, Leon. He doesn’t even think about those sorts of things.”

“Oh, come on,” Gwaine said, sitting up straighter, clearly leading to something. “You’ve seen him. Straight-backed, proper, never a hair out of place.”

Arthur nodded firmly. “Exactly.”

Gwaine smirked. “You’ve clearly never run into him in the stables, then.”

The group went still.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elyan asked, biting back a grin.

Gwaine raised his hands, all mock innocence. “Nothing, nothing. Just that Sir Leon doesn’t always look so… proper. Sweaty curls, shirt half-off, breathing like he’s run for days.”

“Gwaine,” Elyan said, delighted now, “are you saying—”

“I’m not saying anything,” Gwaine cut in quickly, though his grin said otherwise. “Just reporting what I’ve seen.”

Arthur choked. Lancelot lowered his goblet very slowly. Percival blinked.

But Elyan was grinning now too, pointing across the fire, ever the instigator, leaned back and said, “Alright, but if Leon’s acting strange… what about Merlin? He turned up to council last week with his scarf crooked, and Lancelot—”

Lancelot went very still.

“—you fixed it for him,” Elyan finished triumphantly. “Didn’t want anyone seeing what was underneath, did you?”

A beat of silence.

Arthur stared at him. “What was underneath?”

“Bruise,” Lancelot admitted, quiet. “High on his neck.”

Gwaine piped up “Love bite more like it.”

Arthur groaned. “Oh, for the love of—I’ve never seen Merlin even talk to someone like that. Merlin’s useless. He’s probably still a—”

“Not useless,” Lancelot said too sharply.

“Definitely not,” Gwaine added, grin widening.

Every head turned.

Lancelot cleared his throat, a little too loudly. Gwaine leaned back on his elbows, looking like the cat that had got the cream.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘not useless’?”

“Just… not,” Lancelot said, far too carefully. He sipped his wine to avoid further elaboration.

“Not in the slightest,” Gwaine added, his grin downright wicked now.

Elyan sat forward, interest piqued. “You two sound awfully certain.”

“No, we don’t,” Lancelot protested, a touch too quickly.

“Oh, you do,” Percival rumbled, low and amused.

Arthur shook his head, exasperated. “This is ridiculous. It’s Merlin. He can’t even polish armour without tripping over himself.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Elyan said, enjoying himself far too much now. “Plenty of clumsy men manage perfectly fine in other areas.”

Arthur spluttered.

“And besides,” Percival added, thoughtful as ever, “Leon treats him differently, then he treats us. After that fight in the forest—Merlin was bleeding, barely standing. Leon wouldn’t let anyone else near him. Carried him back to camp himself.”

Arthur frowned. “Merlins not a knight. Leon would do that for any of us.”

“Not with his hands in your hair, he wouldn’t,” Percival said dryly.

That sent Gwaine into hysterics, choking on his drink. Elyan joined in, shoulders shaking with laughter. Even Lancelot smiled, though faintly, his gaze cast down at the fire.

Arthur looked around at them all, scandalized. “You’re all mad. Completely mad.”

But Elyan wasn’t finished. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Alright. Leon shows up looking like he’s wrestled a stablehand. Merlin turns up the next day with a bruise on his neck. Leon hovers. Merlin limps. Leon disappears when Merlin disappears.” He ticked them off on his fingers, one by one. “Add it all together and—”

“And they’re definitely shagging,” Gwaine crowed, raising his cup in triumph.

 

Chapter 2: And Arthur

The tapestry shifted against the wall with every rough shove of movement, muffling the sound of Merlin’s gasp as Leon pressed him back hard. Leon’s body was a wall of heat and strength, crowding Merlin until there was nowhere to go but into him.

Merlin’s hands clawed uselessly at his shoulders, caught between the urge to push him away and the need to drag him nearer. “Leon,” he breathed, half-protest, half-prayer.

Leon didn’t answer. His mouth was already at Merlin’s throat, biting down just hard enough to make Merlin shiver, then soothing the mark with his tongue. Merlin tipped his head back against the wall, throat bared, breath coming in ragged bursts.

“You drive me mad,” Leon muttered between kisses, his voice rough, unsteady. His hand slid down, gripping Merlin’s hip with bruising force, dragging him forward so their bodies locked tight.

Merlin laughed, breathless. “You’re the one pinning me to a wall—” His words cut off with a sharp gasp as Leon’s teeth grazed the edge of his collarbone. His knees wobbled, threatening to give out beneath him.

The tapestry swayed with their movement, the air between them fever-hot. Merlin’s fingers tangled in Leon’s curls, pulling, desperate. “You can’t—someone might—”

Leon hushed him with another kiss, deep and consuming, swallowing his protest whole. His other hand tight in the fabric of Merlin’s trousers, gripping hard enough that Merlin broke away with a strangled sound, eyes wide, lips parted.

“Leon—”

Leon sank lower, lips trailing down, over throat and chest, until he was kneeling, breath hot against the fabric of Merlin’s trousers. Merlin’s back hit the wall harder, his head tipping back as his hand flew to the tapestry for balance.

The warmth of Leon’s mouth pressed firm even through the cloth, biting lightly, enough to make Merlin jolt. His laugh came out fractured, undone. “You’re—insufferable,” he gasped, though his fingers threaded through Leon’s hair, tugging him closer, betraying him.

Leon looked up, eyes bright, curls falling loose around his face. His lips curved into the faintest, wickedest smile before he bent again, mouthing at him through the fabric with unhurried, deliberate pressure.

Merlin’s head thudded back against stone. His voice broke on Leon’s name, half-choked. The tapestry muffled things, but not enough.

They were fire and tinder pressed too close, one spark away from burning the entire room down.

And Merlin didn’t care. Not anymore.

Leon’s teeth hooked the fastening of Merlin’s trousers, tugging at it with a careful bite. The tiny, teasing pull made Merlin’s breath hitch, every nerve sparking alive. The hand in Leon’s curls tightened, the other shoved lovingly down the back of Leon’s shirt.

“Leon—” It was barely a word, more a broken sound, caught between laughter and something far far needier.

The fastening held for one beat, two, before Leon gave another tug, his mouth lingering far too close, his breath hot against fabric and skin. The tension stretched unbearably thin—Merlin’s heart hammering, Leon’s fingers curling firm against his hips—until the only sound in the room was their uneven breathing and the faint rustle of the tapestry behind them.

Merlin bit back a moan. He wanted more, he wanted to beg him to keep going, he wanted—

The door slammed open.

“Merli have you se—” Arthur’s voice rang through the chamber, clipped and commanding, before cutting off with a strangled sound.

Time stopped.

Leon froze mid-kiss, lips still pressed against Merlins crotch. Merlin’s eyes flew wide, heart hammering against his ribs. They turned, slowly, toward the doorway.

Arthur stood there, stock-still, eyes flicking from Leon’s grip on Merlin’s waist, to the tapestry swaying behind them, to the unmistakable bruises already forming along Merlin’s throat.

“Oh,” Arthur said flatly, as if, in that moment, the entire English language had just abandoned him. He blinked once. Twice. “Oh, for—” He slapped a hand over his face, spinning on his heel. “No. Absolutely not. I didn’t see that. I refuse to have seen that.”

The door slammed shut again.

Merlin dropped his head against Leon’s shoulder, groaning. “We’re dead.”

Leon huffed a laugh, still holding him close. Merlin could feel Leons curls move against his stomach with the motion. “We’ve survived worse.”

Merlin tilted his head up, eyes wide and horrified. “Leon. Arthur is going to kill me.”

Leon pressed his weight into Merlin, looking entirely unrepentant.

 “Not before Gwaine does.”

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, please let me know your thoughts <3

Have a lovely day guys :D

Notes:

I hope this was something you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think, this is so outside my usual wheelhouse and I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

Thank you so much for reading, have a great day