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It’s been a week since Arthur first found out, and it’s been eating at him. Merlin disappears without a word so often, he can’t help but believe maybe it’s true. So when Merlin’s looking stressed and pensive one morning after having been mysteriously absent the night before, Arthur finally broaches the subject.
“There is a rumour in the castle that you have a girl.”
Merlin’s eyes go wide and cheeks go pink. “I don’t,” he says, then he walks out of the room and slams the door.
Arthur snorts. “Of course you don’t.”
---
“Why don’t you tell me about her.”
“Who?”
“The girl,” Arthur says, “I took you for the romantic type, waxing poetically...”
“No.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Drop it.”
“So she’s not, then.” Arthur gives him a pitying smile and Merlin storms out again.
---
Arthur is served cold meals for three nights straight after that.
---
“Where’d you meet her?”
They’re in Arthur’s chambers. The tankard of wine between them has emptied steadily since supper. Merlin’s let down his guard; Arthur chose the moment purposefully. Arthur watches as it takes a moment for the words to filter through the wine-fog in Merlin’s brain.
“This again?” The easy grin Merlin’s gained over the last hour disappears like a curtain’s been drawn across it. “Why do you care?”
Arthur’s been avoiding thinking about why this has been bothering him, so he latches on to the obvious. “I don’t like secrets between us.”
“I’m not keeping anything from you.” The guilty dart of Merlin’s eyes says differently.
“Merlin...”
“Ugh! Fine.” Merlin pours them each another glass. “If I tell you how we met will you be satisfied?”
“Yes.” Probably not, but he won’t even get a name if he says that.
There’s a drip along the edge of the tankard because Merlin’s sloppy even when he’s sober and careful. He’s neither right now. Arthur watches as Merlin catches the drop before it hits the table, dragging his thumb up the pottery before raising the digit to his mouth. He stares at the wetness a moment, considering, before sucking it into his mouth. Arthur’s almost forgotten their conversation when Merlin releases his thumb with a pop, and says,
“Her name is... Fran.”
For a moment Arthur thinks maybe Merlin’s lying, like he’s just come up with that now, but the glisten of wine still clinging to Merlin’s bottom lip, coupled with the alcohol they’ve consumed, makes it hard for Arthur to think straight. And Merlin has no reason to lie.
“She’s a servant in a neighbouring village -- and no, I’m not telling you which one, you prat. You’d probably ride up to her house and say hello.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at the impudence of that accusation but doesn’t deny it.
“We met one afternoon when I was gathering herbs for Gaius. I saw her in a clearing in the Darkling woods.”
“Very romantic -- you were probably covered in dirt and sweat.”
Merlin smiles for a moment, giving Arthur a soft look. “I was. And so was she. We didn’t care. We walked together, talking of herbs and rare plants -- nothing you would be interested in -- until we came upon a stream.”
“I know the one.” He and Merlin often stopped there when they travelled through that area. It is, indeed, a beautiful place for falling in love. Arthur’s heart clenches, inexplicably.
“Yes, you do.” Merlin’s eyes fall to his cup.
Arthur wonders if the story might end here. He isn’t quite ready for it to stop though, so he kicks Merlin beneath the table. “Don’t tell me that’s it? You let your love walk away?”
Merlin smirks and shakes his head. “We laughed and joked like old friends while we filled our water bags. Then, as she leaned too far forward, her shirt got wet.”
“Oh.”
“It clung to her chest. It was distracting. And I -- I fell in.”
“You what?”
“I fell in!” Merlin says, almost coy. “You know me.”
Arthur remembers Merlin in that same stream, the bright sunlight shining off his wet face. It was a little more than a year ago.
“Fran grabbed my hand, giggling to bursting. The next thing I knew we were both in the stream.”
“You’re an idiot.” Which is exactly why Arthur hadn’t offered to help Merlin that day. He’d laughed and watched while Merlin found his way back to the riverbank. Then he’d left him to fend for himself, unwilling to watch Merlin strip out of his wet clothes.
“She didn’t think so, I guess, because she kissed me.”
Arthur swallows; he’s had too much wine, it seems. It’s turning in his stomach.
“We sat in the cold stream and kissed until we were shivering.” Merlin’s eyes never leave his, ensuring Arthur’s catching every word.
“You’re both fools then.” Arthur’s voice sounds off.
Merlin ignores him. “When we got out, we stripped down, laid our clothes out on the rocks.”
“Merlin!” Arthur gasps, pulse racing. “You barely knew her!”
“We let ourselves get caught up in the moment, I guess.” Merlin shrugs. “I held her, to keep her warm, pressed her body next to mine.”
Arthur shifts uncomfortably. His cock is pushing against his laces as his imagination soars.
“Too much?” There’s a challenge in Merlin’s voice. Amusement.
Arthur huffs. “Go on.”
“I tasted her that day.” Merlin takes a sip of wine, eyes closed. “I put my face between her legs, Arthur.” When he opens his eyes, the look he gives Arthur is piercing. “I worshipped her with my mouth until her body arched like a bow. Her cries set the sparrows fleeing from the trees.”
Beneath the table Arthur presses his palm to his cock, rubbing as discreetly as he can. Merlin knows exactly what he’s doing, he’s sure.
“Do you want to know what I did next?”
“Yes,” Arthur gasps, helpless, squeezing himself so he doesn’t spill into his breeches.
“Once she was sated and dripping between her thighs, I took my own pleasure. Oh, Arthur, she was so hot, tight and slippery. I held her hips and she met my every thrust with a wanton moan.”
Arthur forces his eyes shut, because stand the lust-dazed look in Merlin’s eyes. It only makes the image clearer: Merlin’s pale skin, shimmering with sweat, snapping his hips over and over; his cock disappearing into a glistening hole as easily as his thumb slipped between his lips a few moments before. It isn’t a faceless woman spread out beneath Merlin that Arthur sees in his mind. His eyes snap open, ashamed.
Merlin’s flushed, eyes burning with want as he watches Arthur’s reactions like he knows exactly what Arthur’s thinking. Arthur wonders if Merlin will call him out, force him to admit the deviancy of his thoughts, or if he’ll stop now and put an end to this torture. Merlin reaches across the table, grabbing Arthur’s wrist as though he doesn’t already have Arthur’s full attention.
“We rutted like animals, Arthur, there on the forest floor.” Merlin’s fingers circle his wrist like a manacle, trapping him there so he can’t walk away like he had that day by the stream. “Naked on the riverbank, sun beating down upon us, nothing around but the trickle of the stream and the sounds of our panting.”
Arthur squirms, his free hand rubbing helplessly at his cock; his chest aches for what might have been. Merlin has him trapped and vulnerable, naked beneath his gaze. He wants to ask if any of this bawdy tale is real, if he should be burning with jealousy as much as regret. But he really doesn’t need to; it’s written plainly on Merlin’s face as he stands.
“So, Arthur, I’ve told you a story,” he says, hovering over Arthur’s chair, reaching down to push away Arthur’s hand and cup his cock. “Are you satisfied with it?”
Hips jerking up, Arthur gasps. “No,” he says. He's so close.
Merlin smirks, slipping his hand behind the laces which have loosened on their own. “Me neither.”
Merlin’s hand grips him tightly, stroking him with strong, confident pulls until Arthur paints his belly with his come. Head falling back, Arthur cries out with the force of it. The world blurs around him for a moment, and he thinks that had they been in the forest, sparrows would have surely scattered.
“I’m sorry,” he says, when the fog of his orgasm has lifted and all pretense between them has crumbled, “for walking away that day.” It won’t give them back the year they’ve lost, but he fists Merlin’s tunic and drags him forward, kissing him until he thinks maybe he’s forgiven.