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The moon shines high overhead by the time Arthur finally leaves the council chambers, its pale beams filtering through the windows of the castle and helping to light his way. It’s only during nightfall, when the activities of the day have finally come to a halt, that the castle is ever this blissfully quiet. But the day’s events have made him weary and impatient, exhaustion settling deep into his bones, so Arthur finds himself rushing to his chambers, footsteps deafeningly loud in the silence. It’s late enough that Arthur supposes the entire castle is asleep by now. Even the guards posted outside the dungeons seem half asleep, but they panic when Arthur passes by them, quickly standing upright and bowing their heads to wish their king a good night.
When Arthur reaches his chambers at last, he is mindful to be quiet as he slips the key into the door and unlocks it, not wanting to disturb Merlin. Most mornings, Merlin has to be up and ready even earlier than him, so it’s not uncommon for Arthur to return after a long day and find Merlin sound asleep already.
So, naturally, Arthur is surprised when he sees Merlin is awake instead, fingers dancing in the air, a small dragon made of fire circling above him.
Merlin turns to meet his appraising gaze, a playful smile brightening his face. “Evening, my liege,” he greets cheerfully. “Or, er, night, I suppose.” He blows on his fingers and the dragon promptly dissolves into little flames that disperse to light the candlesticks around the chamber.
Arthur snorts, shaking his head as he closes the doors behind him. “Now you’re just showing off,” he mumbles, not quite able to keep the smile off his face.
Merlin, annoyingly observant git that he is, notices of course. He sits up in bed, covers falling off his bare chest, grinning like a cat who’s just gotten the proverbial cream.
“Oh, come off it, Arthur. You love it,” he insists, leaning back on his hands. “Why else would you have made me Court Sorcerer?”
Arthur huffs out a laugh and starts stripping off his clothes, doublet first, then tunic and breeches quick to follow, Merlin's eyes shamelessly tracking his every movement.
“Because you were the world’s worst servant.”
"You could've just sacked me," Merlin points out thoughtfully.
Arthur pauses as if to consider, hands on his hips. "I could have, yes," he agrees, kicking away the last remnant of his clothing—George could deal with cleaning and the laundry tomorrow. He musters up what little energy he has left and charges for the bed, Merlin letting out an airy, surprised little laugh as he is pinned to the mattress, Arthur hovering over him with a victorious smirk.
“But, I suppose you do have your uses.”
Merlin’s palms rub up the sides of his body to his shoulders in one long, firm, fluid stroke that has Arthur’s limbs feeling like water. “I have many talents, sire,” he says meaningfully. A hand dips to Arthur’s chest, smoothing over his sternum before reaching up to clasp the circular pendant dangling from his neck.
“Isn’t this the protection amulet I gave you?” Merlin asks, dimpling. He looks ridiculously pleased.
Cheeks growing hot, Arthur decidedly ignores the question and rolls off Merlin to his side of the bed, head coming to settle heavily on a pillow. Merlin leans over him, propped up on an elbow and looking down at him expectantly.
“Merlin, what are you even doing up at this hour?” Arthur asks wearily. Then, more urgently when he remembers the injuries Merlin had sustained during an ambush on their last ill-advised hunting trip: “You need to be resting. Your wounds—“
“—are healing just fine,” Merlin finishes calmly, his smile encouraging. “Gaius and Daegal tend to them daily. I’m fine, Arthur. Trust me.”
Arthur sets his jaw, eyeing Merlin dubiously, critically. It had been his foolish idea to go hunting alone, just the two of them, and the guilt still eats him alive when he thinks about the poisoned arrow Merlin had taken for him, their assailants forcing Arthur to watch as Merlin fell to the ground, eyes rolled back and convulsing. It still haunts him, the sight of Merlin foaming at the mouth, so sickly pale and feverish that Arthur had feared he might die from his wounds. He had shouted Merlin’s name in anguish, the hoarse, broken sob ripped painfully from his throat—and then Merlin had risen up, looking somewhere between a man possessed and an avenging angel, eyes glowing molten gold as he obliterated their attackers with a single look.
Only afterwards had his eyes returned to their usual blue-gray, Merlin smiling at him tiredly before promptly collapsing in his arms. Arthur hadn’t seen such a fierce, uninhibited display of magic since Merlin had—
“Besides,” Merlin continues, his gentle fingers on Arthur’s cheek bringing him back to the present, as though he knows exactly what Arthur had been thinking, “I haven’t seen you all day. I was waiting up for you.” His thumb rubs back and forth over Arthur’s jawline. “I missed you,” he adds quietly.
It’s the raw tenderness in his expression, the longing in his eyes, that melts away any semblance of restraint Arthur had been trying to hold on to. He doesn’t understand how he’d been able to resist Merlin for all those years, before—back when they’d lied to each other for no good reason, when he’d pretended to know nothing of Merlin’s magic and had been too stubborn, too foolish, too scared to admit the unyielding truth: that Merlin had become the single most important person in his life.
But Merlin had worn down his will then, with his toothy smiles and cheeky banter, and he does it again now, bending it like hot candle wax. Arthur smiles up at him, willing Merlin to see the myriad of emotions he has no name for, and tugs him to lie down over his body, Merlin pressing against him with a long, soft sigh.
He keeps his hair longer now, unruly tufts of it curling over his ears and nape, falling across his forehead and into his eyes when he blinks. It’s what Arthur cards his fingers through as he guides Merlin down for a slow, searching kiss, the kind they haven’t been able to share for days because of busy, conflicting schedules. Merlin hums his approval, which is the only encouragement Arthur needs to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping past Merlin’s parted lips. After that, it’s easy to blot out everything that isn’t Merlin’s sighs of contentment, the soft whines as Arthur tastes his tongue, still sweet from the pears he must’ve eaten during dinner.
Merlin pulls back only far enough to pant against his lips, then smiles gently and ducks his head to mouth along Arthur’s jaw, his tongue poking out to swipe over the early prickle of stubble. Now it’s Arthur’s turn to breathe out an approving sigh, his eyes shutting closed as Merlin sucks wet kisses to his throat. Their days apart have made both their bodies oversensitive, Arthur’s cock filling rapidly under Merlin’s patient, persistent ministrations despite his deep-seated fatigue. Merlin starts to rock his hips, rubbing down against Arthur’s thigh with unmistakable intent; and though Arthur wants nothing more than to take Merlin inside his body, let Merlin fuck him long and deep and slow, the sun will be up in just a few short hours and they need their rest.
“Merlin,” Arthur tries, a husky whisper that Merlin ignores, mouth moving to kiss down his neck to his chest. He clears his throat and tries again, more sternly, “Merlin.”
“My lord,” Merlin returns, and Arthur feels the answering smirk against his skin as clearly as he hears it.
Arthur knows for a fact that if he lets this go on any longer, he will surely give in—already his resolve is crumbling with each press of Merlin’s wicked, decadent mouth. So he tries another tactic, one that has never failed him before: brute force. He grips the backs of Merlin’s thighs and rolls them over, Merlin unceremoniously tossed back against a fluffy pillow, wind knocked out of him, staring up at Arthur with round, dark eyes. And that’s when Arthur realizes that perhaps this wasn’t his wisest decision—because Merlin looks gorgeous stretched out beneath him, with his flushed cheeks and full lips smeared red from kissing, damp mouth parted, panting.
He can’t tear his eyes away, let alone get his mouth to work, so it’s Merlin who breaks the heavy silence first, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I know you’re lazy, but are you really just going to watch?” Merlin is obviously teasing, but Arthur’s mind gets stuck on that, suddenly remembering the hazy details of a conversation they’d had the night of Samhain, the consequence of too much spiced wine.
“Don’t you want to touch?” Merlin is saying, taking one of Arthur’s hands and resting it on his hip. “To feel?” He arches up against Arthur, cock slipping along his inner thigh.
“No.”
Merlin pauses, smile thinning. “No?”
“No,” Arthur repeats firmly, but he’s smiling as he leans down to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “Tomorrow night, I want to watch you.” He nips at an earlobe, unable to resist. “Watch us.”
Merlin chuckles breathily. “I don’t think I understand...”
Arthur pulls back to look at him, amused. “There was a spell you told me about during Samhain, Merlin,” he reminds him patiently.
Merlin blinks.
Arthur waits.
He can pinpoint the exact moment Merlin remembers. His eyes widen and his mouth forms a perfect o, a flush creeping up his neck to redden the tips of his ears. “Oh, oh gods, you can’t mean—”
Arthur just smiles down at him because, yes, he does.
Merlin looks at him wildly, swallowing hard. “Arthur, that was just...tipsy rambling. I wasn’t in my right mind, neither of us were with how much we’d been drinking. I, uh, I didn’t even think you’d remember.”
“But you can make it happen, can’t you?”
“Well—I mean, I don’t exactly have much experience with the spell, but hypothetically speaking, yes, I suppose I could, but—”
“Don’t you remember how much you wanted it?” Arthur asks, low. “Because I do. It was your idea. You were desperate for it, told me you wanted me sitting in a chair at this very bed, our bed, watching as a copy of myself fucked you raw.”
Merlin squirms, but his cock jerks against Arthur’s thigh. “Arthur—”
“I wasn’t sure if I wanted it then,” Arthur goes on, gaze locked on Merlin’s face even as he glances away with reddened cheeks, “but I want it now. I know I do. I’d like to see him take you apart, pleasure you with his mouth and fingers and cock. I want to watch you, in a way I never get to when we’re together.” Arthur strokes a thumb across the sharp cut of his cheek, unable to stop himself from imagining it already—Merlin, his pale skin glistening with sweat, slack-jawed with pleasure and writhing, breathless and radiant.
“And you?” Merlin breathes. He still looks guarded, but desire burns bright in his eyes. “How will you take your pleasure?”
Arthur smiles, warmly this time. “To see you will be enough.”
Merlin studies his face for a long moment, heartbeats passing between them, and then, finally: “Yes.”
Arthur’s face breaks into a full-on grin. “Yes,” he agrees, giddy. He presses a quick kiss to Merlin’s lips and forces himself to roll off him, settling beneath the blankets. When Merlin pointedly looks down his body, then back at Arthur with narrowed eyes, Arthur hears his unspoken question and promises, “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Merlin deadpans.
“Yes, tomorrow,” Arthur sighs, willing down his own erection. It wouldn’t be easy. He turns his back to Merlin so he won’t be tempted and closes his eyes. “Now, sleep. That’s an order from your king.”
“How am I meant to sleep tonight?”
Arthur shrugs a shoulder. “Leon’s notes from the weekly table rounds are on my desk if you’d like to—”
The hard thwap of a pillow across his head has Arthur snickering into the blankets. Merlin shifts, grumbling as he does and calling him different variations of “prat,” but dutifully keeps his hands to himself. He shuffles over to where Arthur is, just close enough to rest his forehead against the back of his neck, the small point of contact making Arthur smile.
Arthur thinks of the fiscal summary from last year that he hasn’t finished reviewing, of having to meet with his wily old advisors first thing in the morning—of anything that doesn’t have to do with Merlin and tomorrow night, and eventually, mercifully, sinks into a deep sleep.
⚏⚌⚏⚌⚏⚌⚏
The next day, Arthur can barely focus, anxious and trying his best to ignore the ever-present throbbing in his groin, the hot coil of anticipation in his stomach. He spends the entire meeting bouncing his leg, offering short responses when necessary, but mostly grunting 'Yes' or 'No,' much to the lip-curling disapproval of his advisors. When they broach the subject of marriage, Arthur grits his teeth and adjourns the meeting, stating he feels unwell—which isn’t a lie.
Now more than ever, his council has become restless and impatient with his ongoing reluctance to marry. Not a single meeting passes by without them mentioning the name of some noblewoman or princess that would be fit to rule by his side and bear him an heir. Arthur has curtly dismissed each suggestion as quickly as its come, but the bright burst of pain in Merlin’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by Arthur, even as his expression remains valiantly neutral.
It’s become a deep-set, ugly guilt that slowly eats away at him, making him wish he really could just leave all of this behind. Become a simple farmer somewhere with no responsibilities besides tending to his land, living in peace with Merlin at his side.
So Arthur is nothing short of thankful that Merlin is absent for the council session, gone away to meeting of his own with the Druids.
By the time the sun sets, Arthur is still on edge, jaw set and breathing hard through his nose, every muscle in his body tensing as though he’s about to go into battle. His heart pounds a hard, staccato beat in his chest when he pushes his chamber doors open with more force than he needs to, slamming them back against the wall with a loud bang.
He isn’t expecting to see Merlin there already.
Merlin turns to face him with a smile softer than the warm candlelight suffusing their bedroom, and just the sight of him is enough to calm Arthur, purge the tension from his body, all thoughts of marriage and alliances put to rest. There is a wash basin and sponge by Merlin’s bare feet, his clothes from the day nowhere to be seen. Instead Merlin wears the red and gold silk robe Arthur had gifted him after he’d been named Court Sorcerer—it had been a size too big then, but it fits him perfectly now.
Arthur smiles, fond.
As Merlin pads over to him, his wrist flicks towards the double doors and they shut and latch without a word. He stops in front of Arthur, searching his face carefully, intently, his eyes locking onto Arthur’s as though they are windows into his very core; and for not the first time, Arthur feels laid bare before him.
“You all right?” Merlin finally asks, a cool, gentle hand to the back of his neck.
Arthur sighs and leans into the touch, his hands settling on Merlin’s back to keep him close. The floral scent of Merlin’s bathwater still lingers on his skin, and underneath it, the faintest hint of incense. Arthur breathes him in.
“I am now,” he replies honestly.
Merlin cups his face in his hands tenderly, thumbs stroking over his cheeks. His kiss is a sweet, welcome relief, and Arthur closes his eyes, giving himself over to the soft press of lips on his own and allowing Merlin to cleanse away all traces of stress from the day. Arthur runs his palms up and down Merlin’s back appreciatively, finding the lean, firm play of muscle where once there was only skin and bones.
Merlin has always been deceptively strong, but sometimes Arthur still forgets just how powerful he truly is, because beneath that friendly face and kind smile is a veritable army of a man—The Greatest Sorcerer To Ever Live, The Last Dragonlord.
Emrys.
Their growing close together from the very beginning had been inevitable, attached just by virtue of ordeals they’d survived tougher, battles they’d ventured into side-by-side. Arthur has seen Merlin fight for him, kill for him, protect him with every last breath and crackle of magic, and it never ceases to be overwhelming. Not a day passes that Arthur doesn’t marvel at the sight of Merlin, in awe of how openly he gives without seeking anything in return. Since learning the true extent of Merlin’s sacrifices for him over the years, Arthur and humility had become old friends. He wonders what he did to deserve such complete and utter devotion.
‘I use my magic for you, Arthur,’ Merlin had told him what seems like a lifetime ago now, kneeling before him and laying Excalibur down at his feet, its blade tinged red with Morgana’s blood, tears shining in his eyes. ‘Only ever for you.’
Such selfless, unconditional love.
Arthur shudders and grips Merlin harder, a little more desperately.
They kiss until Arthur is lightheaded and dizzy, but still unwilling to part. In the end, it’s Merlin who puts a hand on his chest and gently pushes him away, stepping out of his arms, breathing hard. Arthur immediately misses the warmth of his body and reaches for him again.
Merlin smiles knowingly and laces their fingers together, leads him to a chair placed near their bed. Arthur’s stomach clenches softly in anticipation. He sits down heavily, pulling Merlin into his lap with an arm curled around his waist. The reality of what is about to happen makes Arthur feel hot all over. He’d be lying if said he wasn’t a little nervous, but he wants this, for Merlin as much as himself.
“What will he be like?” Arthur asks hastily, voice strained. He feels ridiculous for asking, but he has to know.
Merlin traces a finger down the line of Arthur’s nose. “You, and...not you.” Merlin smiles kindly at the confused look on his face. “He could never be you, Arthur. Only my interpretation of you, created from my memories, my magic...” He brushes his fingers through the hair behind Arthur’s ears, quietly adding, “My feelings for you.”
Arthur looks down at their joined hands, the firelight glinting off the ring Merlin wears on his left hand. His mother’s engagement ring. He has to close his eyes against the sudden prickling in them.
Merlin leans their foreheads together, and Arthur can’t remember loving anything more than this feeling.
“You’re certain you want this?” Merlin asks softly some time later.
“I am,” Arthur tells him, not missing a beat, hoping Merlin can hear in his voice just how certain he truly is. He kisses the smooth underside of Merlin’s jaw, where he’s shaven close. “Are you?”
Instead of answering, Merlin takes one of his hands and guides it between his legs, where he’s already hot and hard against his thigh. Arthur inhales sharply, cock twitching in his breeches.
“I’ve thought of this all day,” Merlin confesses with a longing sigh, and Arthur has to grit his teeth against the onslaught of images—Merlin, sneaking away to the darkest corners of the castle to compose himself, breathless, cock aching to be touched.
Arthur gives him a brief squeeze through the thin silk and Merlin gasps, body tensing, his nails digging into Arthur’s hand.
“Arthur—”
“Go on,” Arthur urges, voice gravelly, “and hurry, lest I change my mind and take you myself.”
Merlin hesitates just long enough for Arthur to know that he’s seriously considering it. He presses a final lingering kiss to Arthur’s lips, deft fingers quickly unlacing the top of his tunic, before slipping out of his lap and moving towards the center of the room. With his robe dragging along the floor behind him, Merlin looks regal, and Arthur watches with bated breath and darkened, hungry eyes. He draws one foot up to the edge of the seat, the stretched inner seam of his breeches a delicious pressure against his erection, and waits.
Merlin takes a deep breath and holds out his arms and hands, Arthur holding his breath, torn between wanting to close his eyes and keeping them open so he doesn’t miss a thing. But at the very last second, Merlin stops and glances over at him, a wordless question in his eyes.
‘Are you okay?,’ Merlin is asking him.
Lovely idiot. Arthur smiles reassuringly, nodding once.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever completely get used to hearing Merlin cast spells, the unfamiliar words spilling from his mouth confidently, skillfully—for Merlin, as easy and natural as breathing. Arthur has watched Merlin summon lightning from the heavens and conjure a butterfly in his cupped hands, no two spells ever recited the same way. Arthur stares at him now, entranced as Merlin’s eyes melt from blue to gold at the last whispered word, palms turning to face up. The entire room fills with soft white light, Merlin lost to him in the glow.
When it clears, Arthur sees him. Sees himself.
Arthur feels frozen in place, disconnected, as though he’s just ceased to exist and is floating outside his body. He’d thought about what it would feel like seeing his own double for the first time, but nothing could prepare him for this—an exact replica of himself, with shiny, soft-looking blond hair; a small bump on his high-bridged nose; a stubbled, square jawline; and when he smiles widely at Merlin, slightly crooked teeth framed by deep-set laughter lines. He’s dressed in the same white tunic and soft brown breeches that Arthur wears during the warm summer days.
Arthur feels out of breath, blood pounding a loud drumbeat in his ears.
Arthur watches him cross the room to where Merlin is standing, staring at him with a wide-eyed, dumbfounded expression—as if even he hadn’t known what to expect. Somehow, Arthur finds comfort in that.
“Merlin.”
Arthur can’t help the choked sound that escapes him at hearing his own voice come out of someone else’s mouth, Merlin’s name spoken as clearly as if he himself had said it. The noise doesn’t go unnoticed. Arthur watches as his copy starts turning his face towards him, but Merlin stops him with a hand to his cheek, forcing his gaze forward and away from Arthur, the sound apparently having broken him from his reverie.
“No, sweetheart,” Merlin says, voice wavering almost imperceptibly. “Don’t mind… Just keep your eyes on me.”
The warm, unguarded smile he gifts Merlin makes Arthur feel strangely bereft. He wraps an arm around Merlin’s narrow waist, abruptly pulling him closer and eliciting a surprised laugh from Merlin, whose hand slides down to press to his chest, steadying himself.
“Oh, I think I can do that,” he teases, and grins at Merlin with such unabashed joy that Arthur has to glance away.
“You are very beautiful,” he tells Merlin. It’s not one of Arthur’s red-faced, hurriedly whispered confessions. He says it surely, reverently, the pure adoration on his face the likes of which Arthur has never seen. Arthur watches as he brushes his fingers over Merlin’s brows and nose and cheeks, finishing at his soft, parted lips. The gentle affection in Merlin’s eyes makes jealousy flare within Arthur, sharp and bitter.
He feels ridiculous for comparing himself to a magically conjured copy, for letting his flaws and many insecurities get the best of him like this—especially when Merlin had agreed to do this at his insistence. But Arthur yearns to be the one looking at Merlin that way, with such open warmth and tenderness that it’d steal Merlin’s very breath. Arthur wishes it wasn’t so difficult to tell Merlin how strongly he feels for him, how deeply his feelings run, how infinite and all-consuming they are.
“So are you,” Merlin says, but he turns to face Arthur as he speaks. “All of you.” The look in his eyes is different from the one he’d given Arthur's copy. This is tempered with fondness and understanding and a little bit of wonder—and above all, love. More love than Arthur ever thought possible. The kind of love that could bring him down to his knees, that he would fight to the death to protect.
The kind of love he hopes to be worthy of someday.
“You’re beautiful as you are. I would never change a thing.”
And Arthur knows what Merlin truly means by that.
He’s not sure if he just imagines the soft brush of lips on his temple—he didn’t see Merlin’s eyes flicker to gold. But then again, does it really matter? Because as it is, all of Arthur’s doubts and worries suddenly seem to melt away, unfounded. Merlin always did have a knack for making him feel like he was something special, the best version of himself that he could be. He wants to spend the rest of his life trying to be that person.
Arthur reaches inside his tunic and grasps the pendant he wears around his neck like a safeguard, smiling at Merlin as he kisses it. He pushes away the remnants of self-doubt. He will deal with them later. Because right now, there is this.
Merlin.
‘Go on,’ Arthur mouths, and means it with every fiber of his being.
Merlin holds his gaze a moment longer, Arthur staring back intently. He isn’t sure what Merlin is looking for, but he must find it, because he flashes Arthur a small, private smile before turning back to his double. Merlin’s fingers curl just ever-so-slightly in the plunging neckline of his tunic. Arthur wonders if Merlin even realizes he’s doing it.
“Kiss me,” Merlin pleads.
Watching them kiss isn’t at all strange; if anything, it feels curiously natural, and Arthur stares, captivated at the sight of them, their mouths moving together hungrily with panted breaths and urgent little licks, bodies pressed close and desperate. Merlin’s fingers are sliding through his blond hair, angling his head to the side to better kiss him, to let Arthur get a better look, Merlin’s pink tongue just barely visible before it slips into his open, waiting mouth with a quiet sound of approval. The candlelight casts soft shadows across Merlin’s face, settling into the lines and curves of his face, the delicate cut of his cheek thrown into sharp relief. He looks fae and magical, otherworldly. Arthur wishes he could capture the sight of him forever.
Merlin tips his face away and his half-lidded eyes find Arthur’s, chin raised, silently telling him, 'I was kissing you just then.' Arthur feels a pulse of heat in his groin that turns into a steady throbbing as his copy crowds in even closer, gripping Merlin’s waist as he begins planting open-mouthed, soft-smacking kisses along his jawline, down the side of his neck and across his throat. Arthur stares longingly, can only imagine how Merlin’s clean skin tastes, how soft and warm and lovely it must feel. His teeth sink into that secret space behind Merlin’s ear, where Arthur knows from ample experience that Merlin is too sensitive, and Merlin actually keens at that, body jerking. The sound sets Arthur’s body alight with heavy pulsating desire, the back of his neck growing warm. Suddenly he’s immensely grateful Merlin had the foresight to unlace his tunic.
Merlin keeps his fingers in his double’s hair, but his unfocused gaze remains on Arthur, waiting.
Arthur deliberately shifts in the chair, drops his foot to the floor and parts his knees, raising his hips up the smallest bit so Merlin gets a clear view of the bulge tenting his breeches. Merlin’s eyes widen and he curses softly, the corner of Arthur’s mouth hitching into a smirk, daring him.
“I’d like to do more than just kiss you,” Arthur hears him hiss, voice muffled against Merlin’s throat. His hands slide down Merlin’s chest, parting the silken folds of his robe as he goes, and settle on the knot around his waist. Arthur’s body trembles pinprick hot in anticipation, just itching to see Merlin’s skin.
“I want to see you,” he whispers, echoing Arthur’s thoughts aloud. At that, Merlin finally turns to him, eyes glazed over and teeth digging into his reddened lower lip. “May I?”
“Yes,” Merlin breathes, and Arthur’s double doesn’t wait a second more before he starts loosening the knot on Merlin’s robe, his fingers more skillful than Arthur would’ve expected. When it’s finally undone, he pushes it off Merlin’s shoulders and it falls to the ground with a soft rustle, Merlin stepping out of it, utterly exposed.
Arthur has seen Merlin naked before more times than he can count, but it’s nearly always been during the heat of passion and for no more than a few seconds. Never like this. Arthur is ravenous as he stares his fill, taking in the long, seemingly endless lines of Merlin’s body, the sharp angles of his hip and collarbones, the clean cuts defining his muscles, skin stretched taut and smooth over them. The bandages he’d been wearing are gone, wounds nowhere to be found, as if Merlin had never been injured to begin with; in their place, only creamy, unmarred skin, and not a scar in sight.
Arthur follows the smattering of dark hair across his chest and the lighter trail that starts at his navel and runs down to his groin, ending at his deeply flushed and straining cock, now curled up towards his belly, the head already glistening. Arthur pushes himself back farther in his chair, fighting off the growing temptation to race over and suck Merlin into his mouth, swirl his tongue around the wet slit and taste the familiar, heady flavor of his arousal.
“I take back what I said before,” he blurts, sounding as awed as Arthur feels. “You’re gorgeous.” His fingers skim the side of Merlin’s neck, adding, “You shouldn’t be allowed to wear clothes.”
Merlin laughs at that, a small puff of air from his nose. “Good thing I don’t wear neckerchiefs anymore then,” he teases, and Arthur cracks a genuine smile.
Merlin’s laughter turns into a sharp gasp when a hand wraps around his leaking cock, and he stumbles forward, groaning low in his throat and fitting their mouths back together in a drawn-out, too slow kiss. Arthur shifts in his chair, his own cock throbbing almost painfully now as he watches Merlin begin to slowly cant his hips up in time with the hand stroking him off, cock sliding up and through the tight circle of his fist. The wet sounds of their mouths and desperate, breathy little moans makes Arthur’s cock jerk uncomfortably in the small space afforded by his breeches. He sucks in a shaky breath, boots making a scuffling sound as they slide helplessly across the floor. The noise doesn’t go unnoticed by Merlin, who suddenly breaks away, panting loudly.
“Take this off,” Merlin orders roughly, and tugs at the white tunic until it joins his robe on the floor. His dark eyes move to Arthur, commanding attention. “Now unlace your breeches.” It’s little more than a harsh breath.
Arthur obeys, hands fumbling clumsily with the fastenings. He hisses when he finally gets them open and his knuckles brush against his cock, squeezing his eyes shut as blinding pleasure shoots through him, momentarily robbing his breath. When he opens his eyes again, Merlin is looking at him, licking his lips, gaze unnervingly intense. Arthur stares back unflinchingly as he spreads his legs and begins palming himself through his breeches, slowly dragging his nails across the fabric like he’s done to Merlin countless times.
It’s with visible difficulty that Merlin tears his gaze away from Arthur, turning back to his double. “Take those off,” Merlin rasps, hoarse, nodding towards his open breeches. As he pushes them down off his hips and kicks them away, Arthur belatedly realizes that Merlin hadn’t conjured any small clothes for him; instead, he stands as naked as Merlin, Arthur staring at the wide and muscular planes of his own bare flesh, the thick swell of his own cock.
Merlin kisses his cheek, then moves to lie down on the bed, their bed, his smile alluring. The strategic placement of Arthur’s chair is perfect, affording him a clear view of Merlin when he stretches out, looking more sinfully delicious than he has any right to, limbs sprawled lazily and a nearby chamberstick casting a soft golden glow on his skin. He holds out a hand towards Arthur’s copy, beckoning him closer.
“Come to bed with me,” Merlin murmurs silkily.
Arthur’s pulse races as he watches him move towards Merlin like he’s being tugged by an invisible force. Merlin takes his hand and wastes no time pulling him to lie down over himself, long legs parting around his body. Merlin surges up to kiss him with renewed passion, groan soft but desperate, hands moving restlessly—first raking through his blond hair and rubbing over his shoulders, then fingers spreading wide to rest flat on his broad back. Arthur stares wantingly at those fingers, the very same ones he’s had inside his mouth and arse and wrapped around his cock, and gives himself a hard squeeze, just enough to take the edge off.
“Just look at you,” Merlin breathes out, kisses being peppered down his neck, but head tilted towards Arthur, his magnetic gaze drawing him in once more. “You’re so incredible. I want...” Merlin trails off, Arthur swallowing past the dryness in his throat as he waits for him to finish. Seconds pass before Merlin smiles at Arthur mysteriously, then nudges at his copy’s cheek, Merlin offering his open mouth for a brief kiss.
“What do you want?” he asks for Arthur. He pauses to suck wetly on Merlin’s lower lip, lick along the underside of his chin, his cock already rutting against Merlin’s hip. “Tell me, Merlin.”
“Slide your cock against mine,” Merlin whispers against his cheek, eyes quickly flitting to Arthur’s ravenous expression. “Like this...”
Their legs tangle, Merlin’s heels digging into the smooth flesh behind his knees, guiding him to move, hips rolling slowly and wrenching a groan from them both. Arthur feels his cock dribbling precome at the sight alone, knowing all too well what it feels like to have Merlin’s slick, hardened length rub tantalizingly along his own.
“Merlin,” his double grunts, ducking to mouth at his neck, hips picking up speed.
Merlin pushes his head back into the pillow as though offering up more of his flesh, back arching up to meet him. “Don’t...don’t stop,” he pants. “Gods, just—keep going. Let me feel you.”
Arthur can hear his own ragged breathing, restless in his chair, hips rocking up into thin air in a vain attempt to seek out friction. Unable to help himself, Arthur presses the heel of his palm against his groin, biting off a low groan as he bucks up into his own hand. The sounds of their harsh breaths and urgent moans prove too much for Arthur, and he reaches into his breeches with every intent of taking himself in hand when Merlin gasps, “No— No, wait. Wait.”
It’s a near thing, but Arthur forces himself to obey, heart pumping wildly.
Merlin sits up, chest heaving and pupils blown wide as he looks from Arthur to his double, throat working through a swallow. “Your mouth,” Merlin breathes, thumb smoothing over his ruddy lower lip. “I want your mouth on me.”
The slow, too wide grin he gives Merlin is downright feral, and Arthur, matching Merlin’s full-body shudder, wonders how many times he’s looked at Merlin the very same way.
He pushes Merlin back down onto the bed and scoots back, dropping kisses down Merlin’s chest to his belly; he pauses to nuzzle there, which earns him a sweet smile from Merlin, hand reaching out to card through his hair affectionately. That smile turns into a long, contented sigh as he stretches out between Merlin’s widespread legs and flicks his tongue over Merlin’s glistening slit, lapping at the wetness.
“That’s good,” Merlin encourages, feet slipping along the sheets. “That’s so—oh, oh yes.” Merlin’s breath hitches as the flushed head of his cock slips inside that open, waiting mouth, hands restless at his sides, fingernails scratching at the bed.
“Gods...” Merlin pushes himself up on his elbows and looks down his body at Arthur’s double, then at Arthur. Merlin looks wrecked already, feverish, color high on his cheeks, eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Can you...” Merlin reaches out a trembling hand and brushes it over his cheek. “Can you take more?”
His last word ends on a loud moan as Arthur’s double swallows him down without warning, lips stretched wide and cheeks hollowed. He sucks at Merlin noisily, wetly, head bobbing up and down, pulling off to lick along Merlin’s shaft and tongue his slit. Arthur slackens his jaw instinctively at the sight alone, knows just how good it feels to have the smooth, velvety length of Merlin in his mouth, head tapping against the back of his throat, his tongue coated with the sharp flavor of Merlin’s arousal. Merlin is lit up beneath him, head thrown back and throat a long, pale arc, hips rising up to push into his mouth until he has to wrap an arm around Merlin’s middle to hold him down.
“Look at me.”
Merlin says it so whisper quiet that Arthur thinks he’s imagining it until he notices Merlin’s head turned towards him on the pillow, open-mouthed and panting.
'Watch,' Merlin mouths, gold flaring beneath his fluttering eyelids.
The vial of oil in Merlin’s hand appears seemingly out of nowhere. Merlin keeps his eyes on Arthur as he presses the vial into his copy’s hand, parts his thighs and tells him, “Open me up with your fingers.”
Arthur’s nails dig into his thigh, stinging, wanting.
The soft clinking of the vial as its opened makes Arthur’s mouth go dry in anticipation. He keeps his eyes on Merlin, watches the way he holds his breath as his opening is smeared and rubbed with oil before being breached with one finger. Merlin’s whole face twists with a look that’s right on the edge of pain, body tensing before he goes pliant and sighs his approval as the finger begins moving in and out of him, slowly at first, then more quickly once Merlin’s body adjusts and he starts grinding down against it hungrily.
“I need more.”
Arthur closes his eyes, trying to ignore the desire to take himself in hand and strip his cock hard and fast to release. He listens to Merlin’s shuddering, gasping breaths, the slick sound of more oil and then Merlin crying out. Arthur opens his eyes in time to see two more fingers pumping in an out of Merlin’s stretched, clenching hole. It takes everything Arthur has not to get up and just shove away his double, kneel up between Merlin’s legs and push his own fingers into the slick, clinging heat of his body, fuck him like that until he’s begging for his cock.
“Harder,” Merlin chokes out, raising one leg higher, sinking deeper onto the fingers and then arching up into his mouth. Merlin’s hand fists his hair, tugging, and it’s Arthur’s eyes that water. “I want... Curl your fingers—oh, oh fuck...”
Moaning the room full of need, Merlin’s back bows off the bed, and Arthur is actually shaking as he finally gets his sweaty hand on his cock, gripping it so tightly that it hurts, the hardened flesh throbbing in his palm. Arthur smothers a groan against his shoulder, biting into the fabric of his tunic, so close to the edge already that it would take no more than a few rough strokes to find his release.
“Not yet,” Merlin rasps suddenly, chest heaving with deep, shuddering breaths. It’s meant for Arthur as much as his copy, and Merlin’s eyes lock onto his again. Arthur is transfixed by the force, the sheer power of his gaze, and they stare at each other, panted breaths passing between them until Arthur dutifully loosens his hold on his cock. Nodding. Understanding.
A tiny smile flits across Merlin’s face, softening it for the space of a blink.
Merlin redirects his attention to Arthur’s copy, who’s mouthing along his cock, buried three fingers deep inside Merlin and twisting, his legs spread wide and cock rubbing purposefully against the sheets. He crooks his fingers again and Merlin’s whole body jerks, his breaths interspersed with sharp, needy moans.
“S-Stop,” Merlin forces out, pushing at his shoulders weakly.
He immediately pulls his mouth off Merlin’s cock, his fingers slipping almost all the way out of his arse. He looks up at Merlin, confusion plain on his face.
“I’m too close,” Merlin explains, brows furrowed as though in pain.
“Then why are you stopping me?” he asks, the rough sound of his voice making Arthur’s breath catch in his throat. “Do you not want to come?”
Merlin smiles at him and cups a palm around his cheek, dragging him back up for a slow kiss, Merlin sucking on his lips and licking into his mouth to taste himself.
“Yes, I do,” Merlin pants, kissing the words against his mouth. “But I want your cock inside me first.”
He moans desperately into Merlin’s mouth, hips circling restlessly, his cock already painting wet trails on Merlin’s belly. Merlin fists his cock suddenly, thumb pressing against the slit, and Arthur echoes his double’s groan before he can stop himself, mirroring Merlin’s hand on his own cock.
“Now,” Merlin breathes, tipping what’s left of the oil onto his cock and hastily slickening him. Merlin kicks aside the blankets and spreads his legs wide, lifting his arse up to expose himself, and Arthur chokes at the sight of his wet, gaping hole, just begging to be filled. Merlin fits his cock into place against his opening, impatient and beautiful as he demands, “Fuck me. Now.”
Arthur isn’t sure what to expect, but it’s certainly not this—his double falling backwards onto the bed and pulling Merlin down with him so he sits over his cock, thighs spread wide. Merlin catches his eye, looking as wildly bewildered as Arthur does, hand falling to his copy’s chest to keep himself upright.
“What are you—?”
And Arthur knows what his double is going to say, his body knows, even his cock knows, heated and leaking steadily in the hand that he so desperately wishes was Merlin’s. He says the exact words that Arthur would were he beneath Merlin instead.
“Ride me.”
Merlin sways unsteadily and pushes back the damp fringe that falls into his eyes, breathing out a small, shaky, “Oh...”
“I know how much you enjoy it, Merlin,” he whispers, hands palming Merlin’s ribs before tightly gripping his hips. “Go on.”
Merlin swallows audibly, and when he looks at Arthur again, there’s nervous anticipation in his eyes at war with the rest of him, the eager little jerks of his hips and the fluid beading at the tip of his reddened cockhead. He’s silently asking for Arthur’s permission.
Arthur doesn’t reply, but he shifts up to push his breeches and smalls down his hips, baring his engorged cock for Merlin to see, shiny and sticky already. Arthur wraps a hand around the thickened shaft and leans back in his chair, making himself comfortable to watch. He inclines his head, half smiling, bold and daring.
Merlin appears momentarily stunned before his face breaks into a slow, mischievous smile—the kind that usually means Arthur should run or brace himself or take cover, but now, here in the privacy of their chambers, it means something else entirely.
Merlin keeps his eyes fixed on Arthur as he scoots back, arse gliding silkily over the flushed, straining cock beneath him. He holds there for a beat, panting softly, then lifts up on his knees. Arthur thinks he may die from anticipation.
“I’m going to fuck myself on your cock,” Merlin promises, eyes still on Arthur. “I’ll ride you as slowly as I want at first, then faster and harder when I feel like it. And you’re just going to lie still and watch, take everything I have to give you and more.”
Merlin reaches back, giving the cock a few lazy tugs that Arthur matches with his own hand, and even this, just the barest of touches, feels so indescribably good that Arthur’s head falls back to his chair with a thunk and a low moan.
“Look at me,” Merlin demands sharply. Arthur obeys, equal parts surprised by how quick he is to comply and how deeply it arouses him to do so.
He is king, but there is not a damn thing he wouldn’t do for Merlin in that moment.
Merlin lets the cock slip just past his cheeks, smile just a shade unsteady now, sweaty hair curling against his flushed temple. “You can kiss me, touch me, but not my cock. Not until I give you permission,” Merlin instructs, swiveling his hips, and Arthur swallows down the heat clawing at his throat. “And you’re not allowed to come until I do.”
The hushed, breathy sounds coming out of Merlin as he rocks his hips and slides down on the cock are delicious torture, Arthur wrapping a hand around the base of his own cock and squeezing so hard that the shock of pain dulls his urgency into something more tolerable. It seems slow, incremental, but then Merlin is there, sitting in his double’s lap, cock buried deep inside Merlin’s body.
Merlin pauses to catch his breath, looking as on edge as Arthur feels before starting to move, sighing softly. Merlin makes good on his promise, going so slowly that he’s barely moving, just circling his hips and grinding down on the cock inside him, mouth slack and eyes shuttering closed. To his credit, Arthur’s double seems simply content to watch, his hands roaming over Merlin’s chest, and Arthur wonders if this magical copy of himself can even feel desire the way real people do.
His thumbs rub over Merlin’s nipples, and Merlin gasps, holding his hands there, moaning low and sultry as each nipple is rolled into a hard little nub. Merlin spreads his knees wider, rocks his hips a little harder, dips down and kisses Arthur’s double, plunging his tongue inside his mouth, long and deep and filthy, for Arthur’s benefit as much as his own.
Arthur stares, uncomprehending, had never thought Merlin capable of being so ostensibly showy, but then Merlin breaks the kiss with a sweet little laugh as though he’s just heard Arthur’s every thought. His back curves in a slow, graceful arc as he straightens back up, looking at Arthur from beneath his dark lashes.
‘Tease,’ Arthur mouths, accusing.
Merlin grins at him, all pretense gone. It’s a wide, ridiculous thing full of too many teeth that stretches from ear to ear and makes his eyes disappear. The rush of tenderness Arthur feels in that moment is both unexpected and overwhelming. He ignores the ache that twists through his chest, tamps down the sudden and confusing urge to rush over and fold Merlin into his arms, kiss him until Merlin falls asleep and Arthur can count the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
He wonders if any of that shows on his face because the mood shifts like the changing of a tide, from lazy and teasing to white-hot and urgent. Merlin is staring back at him with an expression that is too serious now, stubborn and determined as he rises up on his knees, letting the cock almost completely slip out of his body before slamming back down on it hard, groan right on the edge of pain.
“Merlin.” Arthur hears it moaned in his own voice. “Merlin.”
Merlin shakes his head, palms flat on the chest beneath him, fingers clawing. “No,” he bites out, stretching out the o so it trembles. “Let me.”
He sets a brutal, relentless pace, fucks himself wildly and without abandon, like he’s got something to prove—or maybe, Arthur realizes with a heavy-thudding heart as Merlin’s gaze pierces him through like a knife, like there’s something he’s trying to forget.
Panting loudly, Merlin slows down just enough to catch his breath, now grinding down on the cock inside his body, thighs tensing as he circles his hips, searching, Arthur knows, for that swell deep inside him. It’s almost nothing, but then Merlin’s breath hitches and he tosses his head back, lets out a long, ragged moan.
“Move,” Merlin demands roughly. He takes the hand on his chest and pushes it down, urging it to wrap around his cock. Merlin hisses as the thumb rubs over his slit perhaps too harshly. “Move. I want you to— I need you to— Just fuck me.”
Merlin gasps out the last word as he’s speared through so forcefully that Arthur’s own breath catches, hips jerking up as though he’s the one buried inside Merlin. He watches Merlin drag his shaking body up and back down over his double’s cock, surprising Arthur with the sheer untamed force of his movements, not just fucking but claiming, body furling and coiling like a snake ready to strike.
“Just like that, yeah,” he urges Merlin, hand stroking him faster. “Keep going. Just— Gods, Merlin. You’re so beautiful.”
Merlin leans down and takes his mouth, kisses him messy and frantic. “Stop,” he breathes, sounding almost broken, and Arthur’s stomach twists with something that’s not desire anymore. “Don’t... Please.”
“But it’s true. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” Merlin gasps like he’s in pain, glancing at Arthur and looking, oh gods, looking wounded, and Arthur recognizes that look in his eyes because it’s the same one Merlin tries to hide when—
Arthur watches, unblinking, unmoving, as his double sits up and plants a reverent kiss to the center of Merlin’s flushed, heaving chest.
“I—”
Merlin doesn’t let him finish, cuts him off with a hoarse and strangled cry as he finds release, falling headlong over the edge and spilling slick heat between them.
No, he never finishes, but the words ring in Arthur’s ears like he’d heard them anyway.
Arthur pulls his hand off his cock and sits up in his chair, swallowing down the itchy dryness in his throat, heart pumping a large, painful beat that leaves him breathless. He can’t do this anymore, can’t even consider... Not after what he’s just witnessed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He didn’t think it was going to—
Suddenly, Merlin’s reluctance made a great deal of sense.
Arthur looks at them, just in time to see Merlin tilt his chin up and gently kiss his double, whisper a word against his mouth. Arthur blinks and he’s gone. Vanished. As though he’d never been there to start with. Leaving Merlin alone on the bed, shaking and swaying dangerously.
Arthur kicks off his boots and breeches, rushing over to Merlin in just the unlaced, now wrinkled tunic that sticks to his sweaty back like a second skin. Merlin tips over, nearly toppling off the side of the bed, but Arthur catches him and holds him close, rests his cheek on his head and takes a moment to just breathe him in. Merlin lists against him, boneless, and it only now occurs to Arthur how exhausted Merlin must be, the amount of magic needed to cast and maintain such a powerful spell leaving him drained. Merlin is the strongest man he knows, but even his body isn’t without its limits.
“Merlin?” he asks quietly after he’s found his voice again. “Merlin, are you all right?”
When Merlin doesn’t answer, Arthur peers down at him. His eyes are closed, lashes fanned across his cheeks, face smooth and youthful and—Arthur’s heart stutters—beautiful. So very beautiful. His breathing is deep and even, lips slightly parted. The picture of peace in his sleep. No trace of the old haunts that plague him in his waking hours.
Arthur averts his gaze, guilt a deleterious wave that crashes on the shoreline of his heart.
He carefully settles Merlin down onto the bed, rearranging his loose limbs so he is comfortable. Arthur peels off his tunic and uses it to wipe Merlin’s belly clean, not lingering longer than he needs to, feeling unworthy of touching his skin. Arthur moves to lie down next to him afterwards, aching fingers a hair’s breadth away from Merlin’s own, enough to feel the heat of his skin. Moonlight slices through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the band on Merlin’s left hand.
Arthur thinks could spend a lifetime just like this, watching Merlin sleep.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispers.
I wish I was better, he means.
⚏⚌⚏⚌⚏⚌⚏
Arthur wakes to Merlin’s mouth on his in the dark.
He thinks he’s dreaming at first, but—no, those are definitely Merlin’s lips against his, kissing at him gently, sleepily. His body realizes it before his sluggish mind does, setting his whole stomach aflutter. When Merlin starts to pull away, Arthur reaches out without thinking twice and cups his cheek, holding him there for a moment longer, kissing that full, lovely mouth like he’d wanted to all night.
Arthur breaks the kiss so slowly that the press of his lips lingers, Merlin exhaling soft and sweet.
“Arthur,” he sighs, like he’s missed the sound of his name, the taste of it on his tongue.
Arthur blinks open his eyes to look at him. Merlin’s eyes shine with gold pinpricks, reflecting the dim candlelight in their chambers.
“You didn’t call him that,” Arthur says. Even he’s unsure what he’s fishing for.
Merlin’s mouth hitches up the slightest bit, but his gaze remains on Arthur, solemn. “Why would I?” he asks honestly. “He was never you.”
Arthur sucks in a deep breath. “No,” he agrees heavily. “I suppose he wasn’t.” He tries not to think about what that means, instead asks, “So what was it like, kissing him?”
Merlin leans back in and kisses him soundly.
“Nothing like that,” Merlin murmurs, noses brushing as they part.
The thing in Arthur’s stomach unclenches at last.
“What happened back there?” he asks.
Merlin doesn’t even blink, but his tone is measured, guarded, when he replies, “I could ask you the same question.”
“He looked at you like you were everything to him,” Arthur says hastily, forcing out the words before he has a chance to overthink. “I... I’ve never been able to be so free with you. He was better than I was. A better version of myself. I’m sorry that I can’t be him, Merlin... You deserve someone like that.”
“I don’t want him. I’ve only ever wanted you.”
The half-formed response Arthur tries to argue with is lost in the gentle lines of Merlin’s smile.
“I told you before, Arthur, he was made from my memories of you. Whatever way he might’ve looked at me—that wasn’t just incidental. I couldn’t make that up.” Merlin lightly outlines the shape of Arthur’s eye with his finger. “I’ve seen that same look in your eyes before. More times than I can possibly count... Why’d’you think I fell for you in the first place?” Merlin grins at him. “It wasn’t just your royal good looks, prat.”
The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitches, but he can’t force it into a smile like he wants. It would be so easy, he thinks, to let this go, to pull Merlin close and kiss and touch him until they make a mess and fall back asleep. But he has spent years avoiding this very thing, this inevitable conversation that will change their lives forever, and he is so tired it. He refuses to run any longer.
“All those things he said to you, at the end... Where did those come from?”
The grin slips off Merlin’s face, slow enough that Arthur counts the seconds as he watches it disappear.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin evades, badly.
“He was going to say he loved you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We both know, Merlin. You knew and that’s why you—”
“Don’t!” Merlin snaps suddenly. The harshness in his voice is startling, burns Arthur like a flame.
“Don’t, Arthur,” Merlin pleads, softly now. “Please. Don’t. It’ll only make things harder for me when you...”
Arthur searches his face. “When I what?”
Merlin stares, damp-eyed and vulnerable. “When you marry.”
His heart contracts, leaving him starving for air with an ache in his throat.
“Who said I was getting married?” Arthur asks between clenched teeth. “Was it one of my advisors? Which one? I’ll have him sacked. I’ll have them all—”
“Shh, Arthur, stop,” Merlin hushes him. “They said nothing. I know you aren’t getting married now, but...you will.” Merlin rubs over his jawline until Arthur finally unclenches, smiling sadly. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m not going to marry,” Arthur says, so stubbornly that he feels like the petulant young prince from lifetimes ago, foolishly believing he would conquer the world in a blaze of glory.
And then he had been put in his place, by a country boy with gangly limbs and too large ears and lips that arched like a perfect bow, who tripped over his own feet and smiled too freely, who called him ridiculous names the way couples called each other “my love,” who was ready to die for him in a heartbeat if he couldn’t kill to protect him first—kill using the very thing that would get him executed if he was caught.
Merlin shakes his head, breathes out a weak, watery little laugh. “You’ve a duty, Arthur, to the crown, your kingdom... There are already whispers about it in the markets and taverns—the people of Camelot, they are eager to know which princess their king will take as his bride. They want a queen, they want...” His eyes, downcast and brimming, remind Arthur of a storm about to break.
Arthur grasps his hand tightly. “Merlin,” he tries, voice strained. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Years ago, I made you a promise,” Merlin goes on, as if he didn’t hear Arthur at all. “I promised to stay by your side forever. I meant what I said. I will always be here, Arthur. Even when you’re—you’re married and raising a princess or prince of your own, I’ll still be here. To the ends of the earth, whatever may happen...” Merlin lifts his gaze to meet Arthur’s, unblinking as the tears drop in rapid succession, one after another.
“I have etched your name onto my soul, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin confesses, eyes fixed on Arthur’s face like he is trying to commit every precious and minute detail to memory. “I was made for you.”
Then, softly, his voice cracking: “I love you.”
Arthur tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, breath catching on it instead. “Is— Is that truly what you believe?” he asks hoarsely. “That I’ll get married one day and forget you? Forget about everything that you mean to me?”
Forget that you are everything to me?
“I won’t have a place in your life anymore—in your council, yes, as an advisor and your protector—but not like this...I couldn’t do that to her. I can’t be what I am now. I can’t be your—your lover,” Merlin whispers, like he can barely bring himself to say it, like speaking it aloud physically pains him. “I understand that. I haven’t a stitch of ill will towards you, Arthur. These years with you have been the happiest of my life. I will always cherish what we’ve shared.”
‘...what we’ve shared.’
The words cut Arthur deeper than any battle wound he’s ever sustained.
“Stop.”
“What?”
And even this, the faint telltale quiver in Merlin’s voice, destroys him.
“Stop it, Merlin,” he grits out. “Stop lying to me.”
It’s not anger but anguish that Arthur feels as he pins Merlin beneath his body, hand still clutching at Merlin’s own. Arthur stares down at him, wide-eyed and perhaps too ferocious, ignoring the teardrop on his cheek.
“Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” Arthur asks, low. “Your eyes betray you, Merlin. They always have.”
There’s a flicker of something in Merlin’s eyes, gone too quickly for him to discern. “Arthur...”
“I want you to tell me the truth. I need to hear it as much as you need to say it.” Arthur takes a steadying breath. “You have spent your whole life being selfless. Just this once, Merlin—be selfish.”
Arthur waits, praying he hasn’t pushed him too far. Time stretches between them until Merlin half-blinks and glances away from Arthur’s face, lips pressed together, tight and trembling. The tear on Merlin’s cheek falls to join the others on his pillow, eyes glittering.
It’s as clear an indication as any.
Arthur ducks his head to hide his own tears as he eases off Merlin, releasing his hand. He has lost a mother, a father, and a sister; but this—this is what shatters him.
Merlin seizes his wrist.
“I’ve imagined this a thousand times over. I thought it would get easier. It never did.” Merlin hesitates. “I...I can’t say goodbye to you, Arthur.”
“Then don’t,” Arthur chokes out.
Merlin smiles a little. He tugs Arthur back over himself so he remains hovering. His hand slides down, fingers slipping into the spaces left by Arthur’s, squeezing gently.
“I think about it all the time, how life will be like when you’re married.” His fingers squeeze harder, enough to hurt, but the only pain Arthur feels is the one inside his chest. “I refuse to attend her coronation. I won’t do that to myself.” And then, whispered like a secret, “I hope your children look nothing like her. I want them to have your warm smile, your ocean eyes, your sunlit hair.”
Arthur remains silent. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t think anything would suffice.
“I hate her,” Merlin quietly admits. “I don’t know her, but I don’t care. I hate her. I can’t stand the thought of you smiling at her, laughing with her. Kissing her. Taking walks with her. Dining with her. Spending all your free time with her because she’s not just a queen, she’s your wife.” The word is spit out like a bitter fruit. “Sleeping next to her in our—this bed, with your nose pressed into her hair, the sheets smelling like her and—you. Both of you.” His expression hardens, the meaning behind his words painfully obvious.
Arthur turns away, feeling the hot prickle of guilt and shame though he’s done nothing.
Merlin tips his face back, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the dark storm brewing in his eyes, even as tears leak out of the corners. “You wanted the truth, Arthur. So have it,” Merlin says unwaveringly. “Every night I’ll go to bed wondering if it’s me you’re thinking about when you’re inside her. Will you make love to her tenderly, like a good husband should? Kiss her mouth and breasts and cunt until she comes on your tongue? Yes, but you’ll fuck her too, won’t you? When the mood strikes white hot and you can’t be patient anymore. When you need to pretend that it’s—it’s me.”
Arthur watches as gold flares in Merlin’s eyes, lining the rounds of his irises.
“Mer—”
“Who will you wish was me, Arthur?” Merlin demands, his anger a violent and paralyzing tidal wave that pulls Arthur down under. “Because I won’t be a secret. I want her to look at me and know that I’ve had my fingers and cock and tongue inside your arse, that I know the taste of your cock and what your face looks like when your pleasure crests. I want her to know that you lick the seed from my hole after we’ve fucked for hours and kiss the taste of it into my mouth, that you clench around my cock like a slick and greedy glove until I spend inside your body. I want her to know it all, but especially this:
I loved you first. You were mine before you were ever hers.”
Merlin breaks.
Not quietly, but like a dam overflowing and bursting through, with an ugly cry that jerks Arthur out of his stupor by the sheer enormity of its heartbreak. He lifts a hand to his cheek, surprised to find it wet. He feels like a damn fool. How long has Merlin lived with this grief? How many times has Merlin smiled or laughed while crumbling inside, unbeknownst to Arthur?
Gods, he’d known that all the talk of marriage was hurting Merlin, but he’d no idea that—
“Now you know the truth,” Merlin whispers, smiling tearfully.
Arthur catches the barest glimpse of burnished gold before Merlin’s eyelids fall shut and he pulls away. Suddenly, the room is plunged into darkness, all but one candle snuffed, leaving behind the faint smell of smoke and burnt wax. Arthur stops him before he can roll onto his side, hands desperate and shaky as they wipe the tears from Merlin’s face, quieting him with a garbled litany of ‘shh’ and ‘I—I didn’t know’ and ‘I’m so sorry.’ His lungs feel so shrunken he fears they will shatter. He can’t even fathom what Merlin has been through, at the mercy of the ruthless images in his head.
For a moment, Arthur tries to put himself in Merlin’s place, imagining Merlin with—
He feels sick.
“You think I’d let you go so easily?” Arthur asks when most of Merlin’s tears have dried and he’s stopped fighting to push him away.
“You have to,” Merlin says, sounding weary and wilted. “Stop this, Arthur.”
“You said I have a duty to Camelot, but what about my duty to you?”
Merlin shakes his head. “What is a man compared to a kingdom?”
“Everything.” He whispers it so fiercely that Merlin’s breath stutters on his next exhale.
“You can’t mean that,” Merlin insists, voice small.
“I want no one else. All I’ve ever wanted is in front of my eyes.”
“Arthur...”
“I would forfeit this throne for you.”
Merlin’s smile reaches his eyes this time, as sweet as it is unbearably sad. Unbidden, thoughts of a warm countryside and Merlin laughing at him with a smudge of dirt on his cheek flit through his mind, making him ache. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible to long for something that’s never happened.
“It is your destiny to be the greatest king Albion has ever known,” Merlin tells him. “I won’t let you jeopardize that, not even for me.”
“Then marry me.”
It comes from seemingly nowhere, as if some unknown force had taken possession of him to string the words together like a beaded necklace and pull them out of his mouth. The sentence hangs in the silence between them, Arthur’s own voice echoing in his ears. The truth should scare him, but instead it sets him free.
Merlin blinks and a single remaining tear slides down to collect against Arthur’s thumb before he brushes it away. Something that looks like hope glimmers in his eyes, but then it disappears, replaced by round-eyed, gasping disbelief as he stares up at Arthur.
“You— What?”
“I want you to marry me.”
“Marry you? Arthur, I’m—I’m not even— I’m only—”
“I cherish you more than anything.” He has spent years blindly searching for the right words, unaware that they were in his heart all along. “Merlin, you are more than just my Court Sorcerer. You are my equal. My most trusted confidant. My very best friend.” Arthur takes a deep breath, the profound awe in Merlin’s eyes giving him the strength to take Merlin’s hand in his and lift it to his lips, kissing its back. “My greatest love.”
Merlin turns his hand, resting his fingers against Arthur’s mouth, like he wants to feel the words as much as hear them.
“Your council will be livid, you know. What will the people of Camelot say?”
“I don’t care.”
“I have nothing to give you in return,” Merlin goes on. “No land. No alliances. I—I can’t even give you an heir.”
“I don’t care.” He kisses each word onto Merlin’s fingers. “I only want you.”
Merlin huffs out a weak laugh, tentative as he asks, “You really want to marry me?”
“How many times am I going to have to repeat myself, you precious idiot?” Arthur asks, heart swollen to the point of bursting. “I want to spend my life with you. I want you to rule by my side. I want you to be my consort.”
Merlin slowly strokes his knuckles down Arthur’s cheek, stopping at the edge of his mouth. Arthur feels the cool metal of his mother’s ring against his lips.
“You gave me this ring over a decade ago,” Merlin says wonderingly. “I never thought...”
Truthfully, neither had Arthur; because although he had given the ring to Merlin on the eve of his Court Sorcerer ceremony, the intimate implications of such a gift dawn on him only now.
“Neither did I,” Arthur confesses. His voice sounds too stiff, too tight, too far away. “You always did say I was a bit slow.”
Merlin laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, but at least you admit it now. We’re making good progress.”
Arthur is sure that Merlin can feel the short, quick puffs of breath on his fingers. He leans into Merlin’s hand, whispers his name in a voice he scarcely recognizes as his own, small and uncertain.
Merlin sobers immediately. “Ask me again.”
Arthur licks his dry lips. His heart stumbles like it’s going downhill. “Merlin, will you marry me?”
Merlin holds his gaze as his hand slides to the back of Arthur’s neck, curling against it. He looks as though he may cry again, but the smile that blossoms across his face is the happiest, most genuine Arthur has ever laid eyes on.
“Yes.”
Arthur chokes on a watery laugh, distantly aware of how sticky his cheeks feel with the drying tears. He feels weightless, like tiny bubbles floating in the air, but reckless too, as though he could take on a thousand men and defeat them all with his bare hands.
‘Love makes you do strange things,’ Merlin had told him once.
This time it’s Arthur that says, “Tell me again.”
Merlin’s hand on his nape draws him in closer. “Yes,” he repeats, a soft breath against Arthur’s mouth before he kisses its corner. “Yes,” he says again, in the small space between them, close enough that Arthur feels the shape of it on Merlin’s lips. “Yes, yes, yes,” he breathes into each burning kiss that follows, and Arthur licks the word off his tongue, savoring its flavor.
“Are you even real?” Arthur blurts. He feels like he should be embarrassed, but here, in the close-doored safety of their chambers, lost in the slow, sweet current of Merlin’s kisses, he is safe. “Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder.”
Merlin’s lashes lightly brush his cheek as his eyes close. “Very real, very happy, and very in love with you,” he whispers, and Arthur smiles as wide as he can manage with Merlin nipping at his lips.
Later, he tucks his face into the side of Merlin’s neck, the rapid beat of Merlin’s pulse fluttering against his cheek as they both pant quietly. Merlin’s hands are buried in his hair now, gentle fingers carding through the strands, occasionally stopping to rub his scalp. How could he ever live without this? Arthur feels a tug at the back of his throat.
“Tell me something,” Merlin eventually says.
“Anything.”
“Will I have to wear a huge stupid crown like yours?”
Arthur smothers a laugh into his neck. “And risk hiding these fantastic ears? Not a chance.” He senses Merlin’s eyeroll before he sees it, shifting up on one elbow to trace from Merlin’s temple to the side of his head. “I have something else in mind,” he adds softly.
“Like what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Merlin frowns. “But—”
“It’s a surprise, Merlin.”
Merlin opens his mouth, then must think better of whatever he was going to say because he closes it, smiling instead.
“All right.”
Arthur shifts to move off him, but Merlin loops his arms around his neck, keeping Arthur there above him. His smile only grows more mischievous at the puzzled look Arthur sends his way, teeth peeking out past his lips as he hooks his legs over Arthur’s thighs.
Arthur ignores the burning flash of want that jolts through him. “Merlin—,” he tries, but Merlin stops him with a finger to his lips.
“You’ve not yet tasted relief, have you?” he asks knowingly.
Arthur’s pulse quickens, blood running hot. “Another time,” he promises, but can’t help the smile that surfaces at the thought of never having to live without this. “Don’t worry about me. Rest.”
“I want you.” Merlin presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, soft and promising. “The real you.”
His words and the husky note in his voice dissipate any semblance of restraint Arthur had been trying to hold on to, his cock giving a traitorous twitch against Merlin’s thigh. Merlin crooks his leg and Arthur’s cock slips down into the warm, slightly damp crease of his thigh. Arthur can’t help but rub against him there, just a little bit, and Merlin sighs his name like he can’t possibly get enough.
“That’s not fair,” Arthur chides, but he’s already reaching for the small pot of oil kept in their bedside drawer. “How am I meant to say no to you when you do that?”
Merlin grins at him, eyes twinkling. “Just another part of my charm,” he breathes out.
Arthur snorts softly, fingers dipping into the oil. But when he moves to reach behind himself, Merlin tightens his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, crossing his ankles behind his back.
“Wait, no—like this.”
Arthur stops. He thinks he’s misunderstood, but Merlin’s intent gaze tells him otherwise. Arthur glances down between them, thinking of Merlin’s tender, swollen entrance.
“You’re sore,” Arthur reminds him.
“I am not made of glass, Arthur.” Merlin smiles at him reassuringly. “Just go slowly.”
Arthur shakes his head. “No, Merlin. I’ll hurt you.”
“Arthur.” His voice is quiet but commanding, as sure as Arthur has ever heard it. “After everything we’ve admitted to each other tonight, will you deny me this? Just—just listen to me. Please.”
Words would never be enough.
Arthur bends to kiss his forehead, Merlin’s hands sliding up to frame his face. He noses Merlin’s hair before pulling back to regard him carefully.
“On one condition,” he says.
“Arthur—”
“Just lie there,” Arthur interrupts, smiling warmly. He turns his face into Merlin’s palm, brushing his lips over the band that had found its home on Merlin’s finger long before either of them had realized it. “Let me take care of you for a change.”
Merlin laughs, warm and breathy against his throat.
“I’m all yours, sire.”