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Where twilight weaves its fleeting spell,
The world is kissed by beauty, none can quell,
With strokes of gold and crimson, all aglow,
A sunset's fleeting beauty begins to show.
Like whispers of dreams in the morning's wake,
Elusive tales that fade, no trace they make,
In slumber's realm, where fantasies take flight,
Transient visions, ethereal and light.
Evermore, a realm we yearn to explore,
A tapestry of possibilities, forevermore.
-me
The sun was hot, radiating warmth along exposed skin, as Merlin allowed himself to close his eyes, his breath in time with the earth around them. The trees whispering around them as he and the knights and Arthur made their way through familiar woods. Luar’s steady gait and reigns still held tight as she followed behind Hengroen. The knights a few paces behind them cracking jokes as they followed the well trotted path before them. The air at peace as Merlin sent silent shockwaves around, reaching far and relaxing with the knowledge there were no threats. His eyes closed, felt the heat of dropping sun against closed eyelids and allowed himself to be at peace.
They were never alone.
Never able to be truly alone.
Even in the privacy of Arthur’s chambers, their chests close and breath mingling, their moments would always be inadvertently disturbed with a knock upon the door.
But here? With the rare stolen moment deep in the forest, spells and wards in place around their own slice of tranquility, they could be alone. They were alone. Stolen time, carved from nothing and careful planning in place, with minds free and duty cast aside like bread prepared for rising. Wrapped in fabricated lies and the other’s arms, time doing upon them the precious miracle of ceasing to exist, if just for the moment.
Arthur below him, lips swollen and eyes closed. Arms wrapped around his waist as hands travelled along exposed skin. Merlin’s eyes aglow with magic, pushing into Arthur, as if they could meld and melt and intertwine into one single being. Long fingers twisting into golden locks, pulling in the slight way that he knew Arthur loved. Lips parting for only a moment before they dove together again, reaching far below the waters of gentle waves to where the only thing they existed was the other and the loud beating of their hearts.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is honey and silk, rough edges sanded down after years of gentle use. Merlin wants a lot of things at that moment, but most importantly he doesn’t want them to stop. Doesn’t want this to stop. “Merlin.” his voice sounds further away, somehow still reverberating in his mind, and he feels a hand on his shoulder, a pressure different from the one Arthur had around his waist just a kiss ago.
“Arthur…” Merlin speaks, trying to convey how desperate he is, hoping that Arthur would just stop talking and keep kissing him. They have time now, with spells in place and their company far away, they have time for this. But not if Arthur insists on continuing to talk. But when does his Royal clotpole ever listen to what he says?
“Merlin, wake up.” Arthur says and Merlin blinks awake, the familiar surroundings of the wood are gone and replaced with the courtyard of the citadel. Oh, they were home. He meets Arthur eyes, his horse stopped next to Merlin’s and Arthur has that stupid smile on his face and his eyes show a glint of mischief that tells Merlin that he knows exactly what he had been dreaming about it. His face turns red, and he's sure he could be mistaken for a ripe tomato in the gardens.
“Sorry.” Merlin says, straightening up as he hears Gwaine laughing behind him as he hurriedly dismounts. Stable hands already at his side to take their horses back to the stable for rest and a meal. It’s Arthur’s turn to laugh, the sunset dipping behind him and bathing him in orange as he follows suit. The knights disperse around them, discussions of evening plans and bids of goodnight, as Merlin falls into place at Arthur’s right.
Arthur doesn’t respond, instead they walk in amicable silence as they travel the familiar walls of the castle, the guards straightening as they pass and enter into Arthur’s chambers. The door closes behind them with a loud thud as Arthur pushes him against it, Merlin’s eyes flashing gold as the curtains fall closed, the door locking silently behind them and the candles coming to life in a soft whoosh. The heat between them, hotter than the sunlight in the woods, is almost stifling as Arthur kisses him. His fingers clenching into Merlin’s hips as he’s pulled closer, so impossibly closer.
They part after what felt like hours, breaths mingling as they struggle the urge to melt into each other once more. Arthur will be needed soon, will always be needed soon, and Merlin has to prepare for attending the supper with Arthur’s father and Morgana. Neither wish to voice the needs of the evening, but both feeling its weight in the shadows as they take just one moment.
Arthur is the one that pulls away first, forcing himself to step back, to look upon Merlin with want and need, his gaze as soft as freshly fallen snow. For a moment, he was afraid to trample upon it, to speak and break the serenity that covered them. His breath was ragged and pupils wide as his eyes roamed over Merlin’s form, his heart racing in his chest, pounding so loud that Merlin could feel it. Feel the way his magic reaches towards him, feels their souls intertwined, so intricately, like a finely woven tapestry, he’s not sure where his threads end and Arthur’s begin. He feels Arthur around him, like the sun at high noon, washing the ground in warmth and leaving the world bathed in light. Can feel the way his fingers twitch, holding himself back from pushing forth, encompassing Merlin in his arms once more. It’s a luxury that not even the once and future king could afford, nor the great and powerful Emrys.
Merlin goes to speak, to try and bring sound to the deafening silence around them, but before he could attempt a syllable, there is a knock at the door. Always a knock on the door.
“Sire.” A voice says from behind the old oak, Merlin’s almost ashamed at how he hadn’t sensed the approach of the guard. Too distracted by Arthur to notice the familiar tingle that alerts him when someone is outside the threshold. He reaches out, just to make sure, and is met with the knowledge that the person on the other side of the door is Jamison, one of the older guards who attends more to the areas around the great hall and the throne room.
Arthur lets out a hum, eyes still steadfast on Merlin, as he gives permission for Jamison to continue his message but to not enter the chambers. “The King requests your presence at your earliest convenience before supper.” He finishes, and Merlin notes the way Arthur’s shoulders sag, and he exhales his breath rather forcibly.
His eyes close for a moment longer before he opens them and responds. “Thank you.” He says, “Please relay to him that I will be there momentarily.” Jamison responds but Merlin ignores him, feeling the presence fade as he watches Arthur close the distance between them once more.
“So much for another snog.” Arthur says disappointed, a hand coming up to softly caress Merlin’s cheek, thumb brushing absently over his lips, sending a shiver down his spine. “We’ll have to pick this up tonight after supper.” Arthur continues as he leans forward, a soft kiss pressed to red lips. A promise. And before Merlin can let his desire control him, Arthur pulls away. A grin on his face that should be outlawed for simply existing. The way it makes Merlin blush so deep with crimson that his ears flush and his magic sings. He knows Arthur knows how it affects him, the way that even when not alone, he’ll look at him with that gaze that has Merlin slipping up, dropping items and running into walls and columns.
Those, he thinks, watching Arthur divest himself of his hunting jacket in favor of a fresh one, are his favorite times when they retire for the evening. Forever stretching just a little further for them. Fate, just a little kinder to them. Eternity, just a little more reachable for them. Destiny, just a little more compassionate for them. They never ask for much, never can afford to, but they take the chances offered to them like a candle in the wind. Hold it close to their chests and protect it with every ounce of strength and magic between them. Until they have no choice but to part, both feeling colder afterward.
There’s the silent promise of after. After supper has ended, and they make their way back to the chambers. Where Merlin draws up the bath and they both slip into forever warm water, the fireplace crackling as Merlin does a thorough job of cleaning his prince. The bed, where they take their time, fingers and mouths exploring flesh with the knowledge that no one dares disturb the prince while he supposedly sleeps, less the castle is under siege. Nights where parting is sweet sorrow and reunite hours later at an appropriate time.
And then there are the mornings when they awake in each other's arms, and they know that one day, it’ll be for evermore. For Merlin to be more than a stowaway in his bed, to truly belong curled into Arthur’s chest. To awake to slow kisses and soft touches. But evermore is far away, tranquility so evanescent like the vibrant colors and fleeting beauty of a sunset, like whispers of fleeting dreams.
Those days will come, for Merlin wills them to, and when it does, it’ll be for evermore.