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Some days, they leave the Rising Sun so deep into their cups that they cling and clutch and slump all over one another through the lower town and up, up into his chambers, singing filthy songs all the way. It happened one night, a while ago now by his reckoning, that he noticed how fine Merlin’s nimble fingers were as he concentrated on laces and buckles. Arthur admitted quite freely how much he liked it as they skimmed over his heated skin, raising gooseflesh along the way. He thinks he had shivered and of course Merlin noticed because, and Arthur didn’t know why he had to be drunk off his arse to see how Merlin noticed everything where he was concerned. He’d peeked up under sooty, ridiculously long lashes and asked in a slurring, thick tongue if Arthur was cold.
“No.” He’d replied and Merlin had turned and he’d reached out, snatched those devilish fingers and pulled Merlin against him and gods he’d felt so damn good. Every inch pressed tight against him except their lips, which would not do and so he captured them with his own- just to taste, just once. And it was heat and velvet and cheap mead and stars exploding in the night sky and why- why had he waited so long to do this? And yet…he knew why. It wouldn’t work, would it? His father would spit nails if he found out. And it would change so much between them, wouldn’t it? And one night...one night would never be enough. He knew if they did this, he’d want more. More than he had any right, but he’d want Merlin anyway with a greed so fierce that he no one after would ever do. With a force of will, he began to pull away.
“Nuh-uh.” Merlin had grumbled and chased his lips with his own, trailed scorching kisses along his jaw, his neck, over his collar bone and he was lost. He’d surged forward, grabbed Merlin by his arms, spun him around, backed him into and onto the bed. And then he settled himself over that beautiful body and proceeded to notice every inch of Merlin with the same intense focus that Merlin always poured into him.
He’d worried, when he’d woken up that morning and found the bed empty, if Merlin had run out in a fit of ultra sober hysterics. If the other man regretted it. There came a terrible pang in his chest at that thought. Arthur should be regretting it himself. Except, the only thing Arthur regretted was that it was over. Had he taken advantage? Did he remember it differently? Would Merlin have had the courage to tell him no?
“About time you woke up, Cabbage Head!”
He startled as Merlin came breezing through the door, a tray laden with food in his hands. Arthur was weak with relief. He’d shaken his head and grinned. Of anyone in the whole of the world, Merlin would never be intimidated by him. And of anyone in the whole of the kingdom, Merlin was the only person of lower rank who would ever dare to say no to him. Or run off after a drunken one nighter. So they didn’t talk about it, and strangely, it wasn’t awkward. They’d always done things differently and this just seemed like one more weird thing to add to the list of their odd relationship.
It also wasn’t just one night.
They might go weeks between drunken nights, either at the Rising Sun, or after a banquet- though only the ones in which the servants were free to imbibe after the main course. It would throw off this new thing of theirs if one of them was dead sober.
Some days, and more often than not, they’re not as deep into their cups as they like to pretend. They still stumble along, arm over arm, but they don’t hurry back. The filthy songs turn into ballads about brave knights and clever woodsmen. Merlin’s eyes rounded and turned glassy when Arthur had sung a mournful tune about a knight who’d died for his dearest love. When they’d reached Arthur’s chamber, Merlin had crushed him against the inside of the door and said,
“You won’t die Arthur. I won’t let you.”
Arthur had replied without care, “It’s just a song, Merlin. Or am I your dearest love?”
Time stretched taut between them and a look, a sorrow, a desperation, came over Merlin’s features. A wash of warm, crashing waves roared within him as Merlin seemed to say without saying, “Don’t you know?”
Arthur devoured his mouth, Merlin kissing back, hands everywhere, and Arthur picked him up, Merlin wrapped his legs around his waist, pressing their lengths together, and gods above it was maddening. Merlin was maddening in all the best ways. He toppled on the bed and showed Merlin in slow, aching want, how much he did indeed know. And how very much, indeed, it was returned.
Some days, when Arthur wakes in the early hour gloom as he feels Merlin quietly slip from the bed, Arthur feigns sleep. Pretends he does not feel the feather soft kiss pressed to his brow, a gesture more intimate than anything they had done the night before.
But some days- every time- he admits to himself, he imagines himself opening his eyes. He imagines himself wrapping his arm around Merlin’s shoulders and pulling him in while they are both stone cold sober, with no tankards to blame for the sudden lunacy. Some days he wants this so bad he can hardly stand it and he curses himself for a coward everyday he fails to open his eyes or move his hand. Where oh where is the courage he’d had in the beginning, when he’d snatched Merlin back on an impulsive whim of desire and thought nothing of it? Because when Merlin returns with his tray, it is as though time has reset itself and the chance for new beginnings is lost in the monotony of routine. Snuffed out in the morning light.
He feels the mattress dip beside him. He curls his fists, trapped under his chest, nails digging into his palms. Just reach out. He’s right there. Now! Now before he leaves. Fear wars with desperation, roaring across the battlefield of his heart. Too many complications. Too much at stake. Can’t lose him. Not now. Not-
“You’re thinking too hard.”
The soft, teasing words jolt him the same way a blow to the gut does. His eyes snap open, gaze wide and wild; meet a smiling gaze in return. There is a softness to the teasing grin, a tenderness in the gloom meant only for him. More than that, he is in awe. Wonder that Merlin still lays beside him. And he thinks for the first time that perhaps he hasn’t been the only coward in this bed.
“You’re still here.” He blurts out before he can stop himself, and because the words were not thought out, they blunder about in harsh tones, dancing along like a sharp accusation instead of elated surprise.
Merlin’s smile slides away, his eyes cast their sight to the space between them.
“Um, yeah. Sorry,” Merlin looks back up and the smile is so damn false now. The glint in his eyes dimmed and gone. Arthur wants to beat himself. Gods he is such a stupid blundering fool. “Breakfast it is!” Merlin says cheerily and now Arthur can hear the ragged tone under the cheer and thinks how many times he’s heard that before. Every maid or princess that he’s shown in interest in. That tone is hiding wounded and pained behind every wish of good luck, every inquiry of how the romance is proceeding. It lurks in every call of goodbye when Merlin is not permitted to go with him.
Now Merlin is turning, on his side, flinging the blanket away and Arthur can’t breathe. This is the day. He can lie here and let him go. They can end whatever this has been and he knows. He fucking knows that nothing will change between them. They will go on as they always have. And some day he will marry a princess and Merlin will marry a maid from the lower town- or even worse- one of the knights and that knight won’t be Arthur and he doesn’t think his heart could survive that. They’ll spend their days talking of children and patrols and farm reports and they’ll still argue and tease and every time he looks over his shoulder, Merlin will still be there.
But not at his side.
Not where he belongs.
Arthur lunges across the bed, wraps his arms around Merlin’s middle and flops gracelessly back. Merlin’s breath whooshes out of him and he flails a bit, all knees and elbows and Arthur settles back on the bed, Merlin’s back pressed to his front. For good measure, he throws a leg over Merlin’s and traps him there.
“Soooooo, no to breakfast?” Merlin asks slowly, but sighs and leans his head back as Arthur nuzzles the short hairs there with his lips.
“Later.”
“Alright. I can do later.” He says a little breathless.
“Can you do forever?”
The body in his arms becomes rigid and still. Arthur tightens his arms even as a maw opens beneath him. From cowardice to stupidity.
“Merlin?”
Merlin lets out a long, low breath. He moves, and with a strength born of sorrow and honor, Arthur loosens his hold. Except…Merlin merely turns and settles beside him, his gaze as serious as it’s ever been.
“What does that mean, forever?”
Arthur skims his roughened palm over Merlin’s shoulder, down his arm where at last he latches onto those nimble fingers and interlaces them with his own. He swears in the silence of the room, his heart is a thunderous storm that surely Merlin can hear. He wets his lips and screws up every ounce of courage and sincerity he’s ever had, all while Merlin stares and stares and there is something behind the seriousness of his gaze but Arthur doesn’t dare to call it hope.
“It means every day, Merlin. Not just some days. Not the nights where we pretend to be drunker than we are. Not the days where you leave before dawn and I pretend not to hear you go.” He pulls that cherished hand against his chest, where Merlin is sure to feel his heart thrumming for him. There is a sheen to Merlin’s eyes that Arthur can see in the low light of the fire and he feels an echoing sting in his. “It means, every day, where we fall into bed because this is where you belong. It means starting everyday together. Long evenings playing games by the fire. Lazy summer days , just the two of us on a picnic. It means all the things we already do. And one day, when I am king, it means you, sitting by my side at court, at banquet, not behind me. It means everything I have, everything I am, is yours. Forever Merlin.” He brings that precious hand to his mouth and kisses Merlin’s knuckles. Merlin’s fingers squeeze within his and tears are trailing down those pale cheeks.
Merlin wets his lips, a tremulous smile forming there. “I’d like that. Forever.”
Arthur’s heart soars, something cracked and hollow bursts in his chest and he’s convinced he’s never truly known joy until this very moment.
“Truly?” he whispers, just in case, just to make sure.
Merlin nods, “With all my heart.”
Arthur laughs and pulls Merlin tight against him, burying his nose in the crook of Merlin’s neck. He’s shaking with relief and joy and-
“But-”
Oh no. Absolutely not. He’s not about to let Merlin’s fears take this from them. He pulls back and stares into those worried blue eyes. “Merlin. It doesn’t matter. My father, we can be discreet. He already thinks our relationship is odd. He won’t notice. And if by some happenstance he does, I swear I will protect you.”
Merlin opens his mouth again, but Arthur surges ahead, joy turning it’s manic energy to desperation. “And if it’s about our stations- again, when I am king, I will change that. Besides, you’re on your way to becoming a physician in your own right. And after all the brave and incredible deeds you’ve done in my service, it won’t be anything for me to make you titled.”
“Arthur-”
“I love you, Merlin.”
“Arthur- You- you love me?” his eyes are round and huge and shining in his face and Arthur smiles, a soft, tender smile that he will only ever bestow on the man next to him. He presses his lips in a whisper of a kiss against Merlin’s and draws back just enough to see his awed, unblinking gaze.
“Merlin,” he gently caresses Merlin’s cheek with the back of his hand, still smiling, “Don’t you know?”
There is a pause-
And then Merlin is launching himself at Arthur with such force that they tumble and roll - with a cry they roll right off the bed and hit the floor with a thud. Arthur laughs into Merlin’s mouth, their arms still wrapped around each other. Merlin finally pulls back, his laughter dying and rising back up in worry. What can he possibly say to allay whatever fears Merlin harbors?
“Merlin, I know you’re worried. But I-”
“I’m not worried about us.” Merlin says hurriedly. “Well, not exactly.”
Arthur’s brow pinches in confusion. “Then what troubles you? I love you. I know you love me. What do you think can possibly stand between that?”
Merlin’s breath hitches. There is practically no space between them, trapped as they are in his blanket. Worry seeps into Arthur’s heart as well. “Merlin, please, talk to me.”
Merlin takes a deep breath, his hands spasm around Arthur’s waist and Arthur rubs his hand up Merlin’s back in soothing gestures.
“I-” his throat works and his body trembles.
“You can tell me. I swear Merlin, I swear I will love you no matter what.”
“I want to believe that. I do. I believe in you, Arthur. I believe in the kingdom you will one day build. I just…I don’t- I haven’t told anyone. People have found out, but I’ve never said it and I’m so afraid you’ll hate me. And if you don’t, if you accept me, then it will place you in a terrible position.”
Arthur shook his head as though he could rattle the answer loose from his brain.. “What kind of position?”
Merlin sighed, resigned, “One that puts you between me and your father.”
Arthur leaned back as much as he could, trapped as they still were. A niggle, a tiny little wriggle was starting in the back of his head, but he couldn’t yet name it. “I’ve stood between you and my father before. I would gladly stand there again.”
But Merlin was already shaking his head.
“Not like this, Arthur. Trust me, he wouldn’t see reason. You wouldn’t spend a few days in the dungeon for defying him and I definitely would not be seeing the stocks.” Merlin worked a hand free and carefully brushed Arthur’s hair away from his brow. “You love your father, Arthur. I don’t want to ruin that, or come between you.”
Arthur stared at him, the weight of Merlin’s words descending with an aching slowness over Arthur’s brain. There was only one thing in the entire world where his father and reason would not stand in the same room. Only one thing that his father could never forgive or reconcile. He wasn’t sure where he stood on the matter either. Except-
“Did you cast the blue light?”
Merlin’s eyes blew wide, his breathing hitched. Tears stood and rolled now. Arthur, with slow grace, reached out and cupped Merlin’s cheek with one hand. Speaking slow and sure he said, “When I defied my father for you. After you’d stood toe to toe with two kings and drank poison for me. In the caves, when I was hanging in the dark, monsterous spiders closing in, did you send the light to save me?”
Merlin’s breathing hitched again and he nodded his head, “Ye-yes. I did it in my sleep. M-” he inhaled deeply, resolute, bravely staring Arthur in the eyes even as tears continued to roll, “My magic. It’s for you, Arthur. I only use it for you.” He turned his head and kissed Arthur’s palm and speared him with an such an intense gaze, “I was born for you, Arthur. I feel it. I don’t know how, but I was.”
Arthur’s heart swelled to bursting. He’d warred with himself over the evils of magic. He’d sparred with his father and outwardly accepted his word. But in his heart, he’d always harbored doubt. And now his doubts sang loud and true. How could magic be evil when the proof of its goodness was nestled in his arms? How could magic be wrathful when it shook in fear of his judgment?
Merlin was still looking at him, his gaze full of false bravado even as the fear crept in from the sides. That would not do.
Arthur pressed their foreheads together. “Please don’t.” He pulled Merlin against him and felt the others arms move tight about him. “Please don’t be afraid of me, Merlin. It would break me, to know that you were ever afraid of me.”
Merlin’s lips moved against his chest, and in a small tones he voiced his true fear, “I don’t want you to hate me.”
Arthur kissed that mop of raven hair he cherished so much, his heart breaking just a little. “I could never. I could never hate you, Merlin. I will never forsake you. And I will gladly keep your secret, even- especially from my father.” He pushed away just a bit, just enough to see into that fathomless blue gaze, “I love you, for now and always. Magic and all.”
Merlin’s fallen features came alive then, a laugh burbled out of chest even as he sobbed. He threw himself at Arthur and they lay on the floor, trapped in a ridiculously huge blanket, peppering each other with kisses through the tears. It was Merlin who finally pulled away and snatched his person from grabby hands that would have pulled him back within the covers.
“If you want to keep this discreet, then I suggest, My Lord, that we don’t start with you missing council meetings. Or breakfast. You know how grouchy you get.”
Arthur conceded with a laugh, his spirits still riding high. He sat up, watching as Merlin dressed, a goofy grin still stretched across those oh so kissable lips.
“Wipe that ridiculous smile off your face while you’re at it or people will know something’s up for sure.” He teased, though he didn’t even attempt to wipe the smile from his.
Merlin pulled a face, crossing his eyes, and bowed low. “Actually, everyone knows you’re the grumpy one. I, on the other hand, have a sunny disposition."
“Oh, is that so? I’ll show you grumpy!” Arthur shot out of the blanket like a hare from his warren. Merlin’s eyes widened and he sprinted for the door. Arthur stopped by the table, very aware of his nude state. Merlin was opening the door- “And Merlin?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you get enough for two.”
Arthur felt ten feet tall at the look he received. But just so it didn’t go to his head, Merlin blew him a cheeky kiss and laughing, bolted out the door. Arthur walked back to the bed and flopped down on his back, staring well beyond the canopy. His life stretched out before him and he was flying. He couldn’t ever imagine coming down. And some day, he would build Camelot into the golden kingdom he knew she could be. Some day, Merlin would sit by his side as King Consort. And some day, on that day, Arthur would give him more than his heart. He would set magic free.
He stared wistfully at a future he was already beginning to form in meticulous detail.
“Some day…”
End