How to Snooze with your Manservant
Title: How to Snooze with your Manservant
Rating: G
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Merlin shuffled in his sleep a little, nosing at his thin pillow, wiry arms curling around his torso, in a subconscious effort to keep warm. Or become warm, seeing as Arthur doubted there was any heat in the boy’s body to start with, sleeping in here.
A/N: I didn't mean to get so carried away, writing this, but hey. I got inspired looking at the 'Cute things Merlin does' series, on tumblr, especially this one, and just asdfghjk I really wanted to write fluff, okay? :')
Also, this is completely unbeta'd, so I apologise for any glaring mistakes :s
You can also read it on A03 or FFnet
How to Snooze with your Manservant
Arthur leaned against the doorframe of Merlin’s bedroom (if you could honestly call it that... it was more like a chilly cupboard) and watched as his manservant slept. He guessed this could be seen as a tad creepy, on his part, but Merlin should have been awake and attending to him, the Prince of bloody Camelot, about twenty minutes ago, so he couldn’t bring himself to care much.
Merlin shuffled in his sleep a little, nosing at his thin pillow, wiry arms curling around his torso, in a subconscious effort to keep warm. Or become warm, seeing as Arthur doubted there was any heat in the boy’s body to start with, sleeping in here.
Arthur sighed heavily, tempted to just tear away the threadbare blanket, and watch his useless manservant shiver himself into wakefulness, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. There was something irresistibly adorable (and that was not a word Arthur could ever remember using before) in seeing the way Merlin’s fingers were curled into the bed clothes, with a little crease between his eyebrows as he dreamt about whatever peasants dream about.
Of course, Arthur reminded himself, he also continued to look like an idiot, with his mouth all slack and hanging open like that, and there was even a little bit of drool on his chin. The Prince decided that ‘stupid’ and ‘disgusting’ definitely outweighed ‘adorable’ (which, come to think of it, Merlin was not. God! Why was he even thinking about this?)
Before allowing any other ridiculous adjectives (like cute or sweet or... NO NO NO) creep into his head, Arthur strode forwards, and pulled back the covers.
The response was immediate, and hilarious and not endearing in any way.
Merlin let out a little squeak of discomfort, fists coming up to knuckle at his eyes as he shuddered with cold. Arthur watched as the boy wiped his chin, absently, and sat up a little, hair in complete disarray, with lines from his thin mattress and pillow imprinted on his cheeks. He looked around groggily, a confused little expression on his face, and had just started to yawn, when he caught sight of Arthur. The yawn turned into a gasp, and he scrambled for a moment, before toppling out of bed and onto the floor.
“Ouch,” he mumbled.
Arthur’s eyebrows had risen so high, they might have simply flown off his face, for all Merlin could see of them.
“Uhhmmm,” Merlin shuffled on his bum, before scratching the side of his face anxiously, “I’m sorry?” he hedged.
In a second, Arthur’s expression had snapped from disbelieving to disapproving. “Get up,” he said, and Merlin hastily scrambled to his feet, glancing out the window, trying to judge the time by the sky. “You’re late,” Arthur informed him, with a roll of his eyes.
“Ah. I thought I might be.” and Merlin attempted a wry grin, which was met by more glaring.
And then, Arthur suddenly realised that he wasn’t glaring because Merlin was late (truth be told, that had stopped angering him a long time ago, when it became odd for Merlin to be on time, rather than the other way round) but because Merlin’s teeth were beginning to chatter. Also, on closer inspection, Arthur could see that the boy’s lips were chapped, and he was twisting his hands together, in order to stop his fingers from going numb.
There was a moment of silence, during which Merlin started to blush, the tips of his ears going red, and then Arthur spoke. “Go back to bed,” he said, harshly, turning on his heels.
“Huh?” Merlin’s thick-headed response caused Arthur to stop.
“Merlin, I’m going to fetch you another blanket, and then you will bloody well stay here till you’re not shivering like one of the pups born last winter.”
Merlin made a spluttering noise of indignation, but then Arthur was gone. He stood there, gaping wordlessly after him for a moment, before trotting quickly in the same direction, and catching up with the Prince.
“I don’t n-need to warm up,” he insisted, even as he stammered, “I’m f-fine. I c-can still work.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur stopped a maid passing by, and plucked a thick feather duvet from her arms, before sending her skittering away again, “and I don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”
Merlin didn’t reply, except to stare at the duvet, unable to conceal the longing in his gaze. Arthur chuckled at the expression, his mind wandering again to how Merlin had looked, curled up on his little bed... he wondered how it might feel, to wake up to that each morning. To have Merlin’s hands curled in his night shirt, his head tucked beneath Arthur’s chin. And he wouldn’t be cold. Not ever.
Arthur gave a little shake of his head, and forced the image from his mind.
“Take it, then,” he said, holding out the blanket. Merlin hesitated, fingers whispering over the material, swallowing thickly. Arthur noticed how he was still shaking, ever so slightly, and frowned. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he huffed, when Merlin hadn’t moved any closer to actually closing those long, elegant fingers over the cloth, and he shook the duvet out and threw it around his manservant’s shoulders.
“Oh,” Merlin breathed, surprised, before hugging the fabric close, eyes shutting for a moment, as he squirmed beneath the smothering warmth, a little smile lighting up his face.
“Now, back to bed.” Arthur said, firmly.
Merlin’s eyes flew open, and he looked doubtful, “really?”
“Yes. Go. I expect you to be back for the afternoon, though. But there’s no point you stumbling around half frozen, for God’s sake.”
Merlin hesitated, seeming about to say something, and then thinking better of it. As he moved off down the corridor, still swamped in the duvet, all feathers and dark hair and big ears, he must have glanced back at least fifty times, obviously expecting Arthur to laugh and change his mind.
When he reached the end of his corridor, he peered over his shoulder one more time, and Arthur sighed heavily, making a shooing motion with his hands, and hollering: “MERLIN IF YOU DON’T GET A MOVE ON, I’LL HAVE YOU BACK HERE AND POLISHING ALL MY ARMOUR IN YOUR PYJAMAS.”
Merlin gave a little start and a little, fleeting grin, before speeding up and disappearing round the corner.
His reply of, “Prat!” echoed about Arthur, and he laughed.
The next morning, he found himself on his way to wake Merlin once more, this time bringing with him a thick pillow, which he threw at the boy’s head in greeting, and insisted he use. He delighted as much in seeing Merlin rub his eyes and snuffle awake as he had the day before, and instantly resolved to come back the next morning, which he did, bearing a quilt.
The day after that, he stood by as a mattress was brought into the little room. That had been particularly enjoyable; seeing Merlin’s face take on the expression of a goldfish, as his cot was stripped of the tattered old mattress and replaced with one that, if nowhere near the standard of Arthur’s, was at least clean and fresh.
Merlin was, of course, bemused by the whole thing, and the sudden, strange interest Arthur was taking in his wellbeing. He couldn’t say he disliked it, however, so he kept his confusion to himself. And, every day, he felt the odd affection he had for the Prince, and which he had had, rooted in his stomach for a very long time, begin to grow.
Exactly a year passed. A year of fights within the castle walls, and battles outside them. A year of drinking deadly poisons, and fending off evil sorcerers. A year of a serving boy, laying his life down for his Prince, and vice versa.
A good year. A scary year.
And it was February once more; cold was seeping through the stones, and into Arthur’s bones. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, swamped in covers, and still ever so slightly chilled. He could only begin to imagine how Merlin was feeling. Arthur had long since given up his obsession of seeing Merlin wake, and providing him with another item of clothing, or cushion, or blanket. It had been forgotten about, really, with everything else going on, although it had left behind an instinct in Arthur, to protect.
It had since become second nature to him, to notice when Merlin was ill or upset. He could sense it.
And now that instinct was rearing up inside him, and he had that old, funny desire, to see Merlin stir. See him sit up, eyes heavy, hair sticking up in all directions. The desire to keep him safe.
Within moments, he had left his chambers, and was moving quickly off towards the physician’s quarters.
He entered, quietly, moving stealthily past where Gaius was snoring (there was a fire lit, and the old man seemed comfortable enough, so Arthur didn’t feel guilty about heading straight to Merlin’s door).
He peeked inside, and smiled fondly at the sight of the weak, wooden bed frame, laden down with the weight of so much material, as well as Merlin, whose profile was lit by the light of the moon, melting through the window.
He edged inside, just to check. To make sure his manservant was warm enough, and then he could quickly leave and pretend he’d never been worried to start with.
He looked down properly at Merlin, carefully assessing him. He was frowning that familiar frown- the one that meant he was dreaming- and his fingers were clenched in that familiar way- the way that meant he was cold.
“C’mon then,” Arthur muttered, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, and giving him a little shake. Merlin mumbled something, reaching out blindly, to give Arthur a feeble little push.
“No, ‘m sleeping.”
Arthur grinned, “and you’re cold,” he chastised, even though it really wasn’t Merlin’s fault, and the servant was half asleep and probably not listening, “even after all the effort I’ve put in, you still have the audacity to be the wrong temperature.”
At that, Merlin gave a little, protesting moan, which Arthur ignored.
“You obviously can’t sleep here anymore,” he said, thoughtfully.
“’thur,” Merlin forced out the last syllable of Arthur’s name, and dragged his blankets closer around him, “what you doing?” he opened his wide, blue eyes to look dazedly at the man before him.
Arthur looked back. They were very close, these two halves. Too close. Arthur could feel Merlin’s heavy, tired breath on his face, could make out every one of those dark eyelashes, even in this dimly lit room.
He could see where his lips parted, looking ever so slightly pink from soreness because of the cold winds which buffeted the wayward manservant, as he traipsed after Arthur outside.
It was Merlin, sleepy, snoozy, fumbling Merlin, who crept ever so slightly forwards, so that too close became just right, and then Arthur leant in to meet him.
It was short, and a little bit wet, when Merlin licked his lips halfway through, and Arthur’s mouth opened when he laughed in response, so that it ended up rather sweet. When they pulled apart, Merlin smiled, eyes crinkling up, and then he sneezed.
Arthur grimaced, and ruffled Merlin’s hair. It wasn’t too awkward. It was actually kind of nice.
“You said ‘come on’ before,” Merlin was blushing, playing with his sleeve, “where we going?”
At that, Arthur cast a distasteful look about the room, “back to my chambers. It’s warmer.”
Merlin nodded slowly, “yeah...but...” he chewed the inside of his cheek, uncertainly.
“I want you to,” Arthur said, carefully, watching for Merlin’s reaction, and just hoping...
“Okay,” Merlin smiled even wider than before, and pulled himself up, before swinging out of bed.
Arthur waited a moment, till he was certain Merlin was steady enough, and wasn’t about to topple back onto the mattress, before leading him from the room.
They slipped back past Gaius, and out into the corridor, and then padded to Arthur’s bed. The Prince got in one side and then, after a moment, the servant got into the other. They both ended up in the centre, one of Merlin’s thin arms draped over Arthur’s middle, and their legs all tangled together.
Arthur wondered whether this was what he had wanted, from the very start, when he had watched Merlin run off, with the ridiculously large quilt around his shoulders.
He thought, with a yawn, and a final smile, that it probably was.