fic: Four Times Arthur Forced Himself to Resist Merlin (And One Time He Could Not)
title: Four Times Arthur Forced Himself to Resist Merlin (And One Time He Could Not)
rating: PG-13
warnings/spoilers: slightly bipolar scenes~
summary: In which Merlin is sexually provocative, although not on purpose, and Arthur displays more self control than he should be allowed to.
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Four Times Arthur Forced Himself to Resist Merlin
(And One Time He Could Not)
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i.
Merlin wasn't really a model servant. Camelot had lost many a fine dish as a result of his clumsiness; his feet seemed to have a miraculous ability to collide every fifteen steps or so. In addition, he was terrible at folding material of any shape or form, he would constantly forget his designated chores, and he couldn't carry more than three items at a time without dropping at least two of them.
So when winter arrived abruptly and Arthur found himself shivering too much to do anything productive, he really should have known better than to ask Merlin to light a fire.
"Merlin," Arthur sighed, after watching his servant's hearty struggle with a piece of wood for almost ten minutes, "must you be incompetent at absolutely everything?"
"Only when you bother me with your incessant complaints, sire," Merlin muttered, shooting him a glare.
Arthur grinned in reply, more amused than annoyed, and took a step toward the fireplace to peer at Merlin's complete lack of process. "Are you even doing it correctly?" he asked, just as Merlin let out a muffled yell and shook his fingers violently in the air. After a long string of angry curses, he stuck the presumably burnt finger into his mouth and sucked on it.
At least you got the fire going, Arthur wanted to say, followed by, for goodness' sake, let me take a look at it, but the words stuck in his throat when he looked at Merlin and saw what he was doing, his finger in his mouth and―
"Are you alright?" frowned Merlin, when he'd finished tending to the troublesome finger. "You look like you've forgotten how to breathe.
Arthur muttered something unintelligible and turned away, his face going faintly pink.
ii.
"Where're you taking me?" slurred Merlin, stumbling as Arthur dragged him along by the wrist.
"Some place where you won't embarrass yourself," Arthur answered briskly. He pulled Merlin into his chambers before closing the door on any curious passers-by. "Have you any idea what my father will do if he finds out you're drunk?"
Wide-eyed, Merlin shook his head.
Arthur sighed. He rummaged in his wardrobe for some spare sheets, and dumped them on the floor beside his bed. "There. You can sleep here tonight. I can't believe I'm letting you do this, but if you bother going back to your room you'll probably end up lost in a corridor, snogging some poor unsuspecting maid or something."
"Don't want a maid," Merlin protested sluggishly, and heaved himself across the carpeted floor to tug awkwardly at Arthur's arm.
"What now?" asked Arthur, although his question came out significantly less irritated than he'd meant it to. Following Merlin's vague hand gestures, he sat down on the pile of sheets, and almost jumped when Merlin's head hit his shoulder.
"Merlin," Arthur said after a while, when Merlin's head was still there. "Your head. It's on my shoulder."
"Annghf," Merlin replied, sounding content and more than half asleep.
Arthur sighed again. He glanced down at Merlin's face, noting the way Merlin's lashes cast soft shadows across his eyelids, and the way the warmth of the room had flushed his cheeks, and the way absolutely ridiculous amounts of liquor had reddened his lips.
The sight made Arthur's heart clench painfully. He forced himself to look away, silently cursing himself for being an utter girl, and waited for the feeling to subside.
And even though he tried his damndest to stay awake so that he could yell at Merlin the next morning for keeping him up all night, he was asleep within ten minutes.
iii.
"Shhh," murmured Arthur, clamping his hand across Merlin's mouth.
The footsteps outside the door stopped; the silhouette of heavy boots momentarily blocked the shaft of light coming from under the door, before whoever it was resumed his pace and walked off.
"I hope you have a good reason for shoving us into a supply cupboard," demanded Merlin, when Arthur finally let him go.
"Be grateful," Arthur retorted. "It's not a good idea to stick around when half the court witnesses water flowing backwards. I mean, they already think you're strange; do you want them to suspect you of sorcery, too? I know you're too much of an idiot to be capable of anything spectacular, Merlin, but you must remember that not everyone understands your stupidity like I do."
Merlin didn't answer. He studied Arthur's face in the dim light, the blond hair and sharp features that he knew so well. There was a hint of something, though; an abnormal prolixity and nervous inflection in Arthur's voice that belied his sarcastic words.
"Arthur," said Merlin abruptly. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "The water. It―" His fingers brushed Arthur's as he fumbled for words, and he felt Arthur twitch beneath his touch.
"I didn't mean to," he continued firmly, laying his palm flat over the back of Arthur's hand. "It was a reflex. The water was spilling, so I just willed it to go back―"
"Stop," whispered Arthur hoarsely, and Merlin did. He watched as Arthur met his eyes silently, a pained expression etched across his features. He didn't need to say anything else. Even without magic Merlin understood that Arthur knew, and that he'd known all along.
Merlin had always thought Arthur an idiot for not realising, but he was the idiot. He was the insensitive, dense idiot for not seeing that Arthur's knowing would betray his loyalty to Camelot, and most of all, for not seeing that Arthur needed not to know.
By now Arthur had pulled his hand out from underneath Merlin's. For a long time they sat wordlessly in the dark, cramped cupboard, alone and together, fingers feeling cold and strangely empty.
iv.
Merlin spent half a week in his room. He didn't leave his bed once, telling Gaius that he felt much too sick to work (which was the truth, really, because every time he thought about the supply cupboard incident he felt like he was going to throw up) and only occasionally sipping from a cup or eating a halfhearted meal when Gaius insisted.
Mostly he slept.
By the second day he was sick of it, but the words Arthur and sorcery constantly flashed through his mind when he was awake (along with an all too distinct memory of Arthur's fingers beneath his) so he squeezed his eyes shut and compelled himself to fall asleep again.
When he awoke on the third day (or was it the fourth?), it was to the sight of Arthur standing stiffly at the foot of his bed.
"Morgana," muttered Arthur, as though it was an explanation for his presence.
"…What?" asked Merlin. His mind was still hazy from sleep, and he hadn't the slightest idea what Morgana had to do with any of this.
"Morgana," repeated Arthur irritably. "She wanted me to see if you were better. Or something. I don't know."
"I'm better," answered Merlin dully.
Arthur shifted uncomfortably in the silence. "Merlin―" he hesitated. "I've had someone else serve me while you were sick. Liam, I think. Or Lian. He's very punctual and efficient, and I hardly even notice he's there because he's so quiet."
Merlin, now mostly awake, decided just to nod. If this was Arthur's way of dismissing him, he could deal with it silently.
"I hate him."
Merlin nodded again. Then he furrowed his brows as he realised that he must have misheard.
"And seeing as you're better, I suppose I'll let you serve me again."
"Serve you?" Merlin echoed incredulously, and for a moment his disbelief outweighed his despair. "Aren't you going to behead me or something? Or lock me in the dungeons, or feed me to your royal lions or whatever large terrifying animals you have, or, or―"
Arthur watched as Merlin flailed his arms about vaguely. He hardly noticed the relieved grin spreading across his own face (because finally, Merlin sounded like Merlin) until Merlin stopped his rant with an embarrassed-sounding "―er, sire".
"No," Arthur answered simply. "Because you're going to attempt to be subtle, however hard that may be, and try not to practice your magic in any public situations might kill you or embarrass me."
Merlin blinked. "Oh. Er, okay then."
"Good," Arthur answered, in what he hoped was a condescending tone, because the upturn of Merlin's lips into a stupid, dopey (absolutely wonderful) smile made him want to grin back just as idiotically.
"I brought some breakfast from Gwen - you'll want to eat it before it gets cold," he muttered, quickly turning his back to Merlin and stalking out of the room. If he got away fast enough, Arthur reasoned mentally, maybe Merlin would miss the absurdly happy expression on his face.
(He doubted it.)
v.
"Don't fall off and kill yourself."
The familiar sound of Arthur's dry tone startled Merlin from his thoughts. Turning around to face Arthur from his position on the balcony, he grinned. "I won't."
Arthur arched an eyebrow smoothly, disbelieving, before stepping forward to stand next to Merlin. He surveyed the empty castle grounds, then turned his gaze to the whole of Camelot, vast and quietly majestic in the moonlight.
"So why are you out here?" he asked Merlin, after a few moments of silence.
Merlin shrugged. "Looking at the night sky, I guess. And Camelot. Mostly just thinking."
Arthur opened his mouth to make a wry remark, but Merlin was looking straight at him, a soft smile on his face, and the words caught in his throat.
"Merlin," he murmured eventually, because there wasn't really anything else he could say. He brought his fingers to Merlin's cheek, brushing it uncertainly.
Merlin rolled his eyes in a gesture Arthur decided was halfway between impatient and affectionate, and leaned in to kiss Arthur. Merlin's lips were warm and surprisingly pliant against his own; Arthur found that if he nipped lightly on Merlin's lower lip, Merlin shuddered and pressed closer to him, tangling his fingers in Arthur's hair.
"I can't - believe - it took us - this long," Merlin mumbled between kisses across Arthur's jawline.
Arthur had to admit that Merlin was right, but Merlin's hands were sliding under his shirt and tracing heated patterns across his chest, and he really, really didn't want to talk about regrets right now.
"Shut up," he said, by way of agreement, and kissed Merlin some more.
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notes;
I've watched exactly two episodes of Merlin. I have, however, shipped these boys right from the previews, and Merlin moaning Arthur's name in a recent episode (along with "faster―!") really didn't help.
My fandom is built mainly from the huge list of amazing Merlin fanfics that I've read (seriously, this fandom has some of the sexiest writers ever), so please do point out any mistakes. Those who do comment, for criticism or otherwise, will be loved very thoroughly. Please help make a newbie to the fandom happy. (:
One more thing: when I typed this up initially, the first sentence in part iii read "…clamping his mouth across Merlin's mouth." An honest mistake, but I swear to God, the slash just writes itself. ♥
ALSO, PLEASE FRIEND ME. That would make me even moar happy. :D
x.