キャロ-ちゃん, Merlin 好きすぎる...
(1) This is not epic fic.
(2) I am ill.
(3) The toilets of gay clubs are strange and unusual places.
Title: If Wishes Were Horses
Rating: DG for Drunken Groping!
Words: 6,700
Summary: Arthur/Merlin. Merlin has had a bad day and it's all Arthur's fault.
cienna beta'd and beat me for this to be completed. It is drunken, humour-ish fic and was written in a fit of pique at The Epic. Remaining mistakes my own, but the fact that it is so long is entirely Write or Die's fault.
.If Wishes Were Horses.
There was a place Merlin liked to go after days like this.
It was called the Tavern. Or rather, it was called the Cart And Horses but nobody called it that because everyone thought it was a very stupid name and Tavern was much clearer as to its purpose. There were some, in the interests of accuracy, who liked to call it the Ale Pit.
Merlin wasn't, as a rule, much of a drinker. It did, after all, cost money he didn't have. And there was always that danger, in the back of his mind, that he would lose control of his magic in a fit of drunken enthusiasm and turn someone into a peacock or such like.
So the day really had to be pretty especially horrifically awful for Merlin to decide it was worth the risk, and the drain on his meagre financial resources. And a day such as that he had just had.
It was a Tuesday. Although now it was nearly Wednesday, which was part of the problem. But it was Tuesday, and on Tuesdays Merlin took a bottle of pungent oil to the farrier's mother to ease her arthritis (as instructed by Gaius, who really didn't have time to run all these errands anymore and would Merlin do him a favour and run on up to the mountains to fetch some obscure and inevitably difficult to find herb or flower or strange spongy growth?). He would do this before going to Arthur's chambers, and Arthur would almost invariably be fast asleep and snoring, because Monday nights tended to be return from hunting in a triumphant and manly fashion night, which required, so Arthur told him, copious quantities of wine. Merlin would take great and unnatural pleasure in waking the sleeping prince, often with a stick so as not to suffer a black eye (as he had the first time he had tried to wake Arthur from his deep, drunken sleep).
But on this Tuesday morning, having delivered the old woman's oil and greeted the kitchen staff as he collected Arthur's breakfast, Merlin opened the door to Arthur's chambers to find him wrapped around an unfamiliar and not in any way attractive young woman.
He had thought, Oh. Then Arthur had shifted and laid his hand on the woman and sort of murmured something and Merlin had thought, Oh! and had continued to stand in the doorway, one hand gripping the door handle as he balanced the plate of food in the other, somewhat in shock (although why this should be shocking Merlin was not sure).
It had, up to that point, not been a bad morning. Gaius had managed to make a decent-tasting breakfast, the old woman hadn't attempted to engage him in a long and disturbingly in-depth conversation about her piles, and it wasn't rainy or all that cold even. But this. This was new and unexpected (though why it should be unexpected Merlin was also not that sure) and entirely unwelcome.
Who was this girl? Had she enchanted Arthur like the last one? Where had Arthur even found her, because Camelot wasn't all that big, when you got down to it, and Merlin was sure he had never seen this woman in his life.
He looked around the room, and saw a dress of fine red silks hanging, carefully laid out, over the back of a chair. Arthur had even left his own clothes piled on the seat of a chair, which made Merlin even more suspicious because Arthur never put his clothes on a chair when there was readily available floor-space. Sometimes, when Merlin was in a bad enough mood and Arthur was being particularly annoying (like now, and wasn't it amazing how the man could manage to be annoying even when he was sleeping?) Merlin thought that Arthur left his clothes lying around just to laugh at him when he went around picking them up.
He had researched this too. One rainy afternoon he had sought out the household servants and asked them what Arthur was like with them. They said, He's generally tidy, which he wasn't at all, and He never really asks for much, which was even less true because Arthur was always calling for Merlin to do something or other.
Merlin was still hanging onto the doorknob when Arthur woke up, suddenly, bolting up in bed like he'd had a fright. His eyes instantly found Merlin. The lady beside him stirred but did not wake.
"Err…" Merlin said, not quite able to look away from Arthur and apparently not at all able to let go of the door.
Arthur's eyes were a little wide when he said, quickly, "It's not what it looks like." And why he felt the need to say that Merlin could not imagine.
"Sorry," he said. "I was…" Merlin lifted the breakfast plate, decided he really needed to leave now because if nothing else he was probably causing a draft standing in the doorway as he was and he didn't want Arthur to catch a cold. That would just be even more irritating. "I'll come back later," he said, and backed out of the room pulling the door closed as he went.
It was, Merlin thought, oddly cold in the corridor. He was sure it hadn't been that cold earlier.
With a very great effort Merlin convinced his hand to release the door handle and made his way back to the kitchens, wondering if there was any spell he could use to discern the lady's surely evil and nefarious purpose.
The day had not got any better from there. This was mostly because Arthur had been in an irritatingly demanding mood which reminded Merlin of spoilt three-year olds, but Merlin wasn't thinking about that. And when his chores for the day were done and Arthur had disappeared for the night (presumably to bed), Merlin came to the conclusion that he had to get out of the castle for the sake of his sanity. He wandered the streets for a while eventually finding himself at door to the Tavern. Apparently his feet had come to the decision that ale was a necessary end to his appalling day, and who was Merlin to argue with his feet? So he pushed the door open and went in, and yes the Tavern was as dingy and grimy and dilapidated as Merlin remembered it. He passed three old men singing and swaying on their rickety stools, a young hooded man huddled over a large glass of frothy-looking ale and a pig on his way to what passed for the bar.
He asked of the tavern-keeper, "What is your strongest drink?" And the tavern-keeper said, "What that lad over there is drinking," and poured a large glass of slightly bitty ale from an old brown ceramic keg. "It's my very best yet," the tavern-keeper told him proudly, smiling widely and patting the keg. It was well known that the tavern-keeper made his ales and liquors in the back of his house where he also housed his chickens and pigs, and it was widely suspected that this was his secret to making the strongest and foulest tasting alcohol in the entire kingdom. Some who had travelled widely and been to many cities and kingdoms and even across the sea scoffed and declared it was the worst in the world.
"I'm sure it is," Merlin agreed, and placed his coins on the table and picked up the glass. He took a sip without looking at it (for this was the trick to drinking the Tavern's infamous ale) and surely it was indeed the best (worst) Merlin had ever tasted.
He considered the taste and the texture for a moment, idly watching the three old men laugh and bicker, then noticed a shuffling behind him, and Merlin would recognise that shuffling anywhere. With a sigh and a sinking feeling that he really hated destiny, Merlin turned towards the sound and lo and behold he saw the hooded man looking directly at him, and it was Arthur.
There were two options here, Merlin considered. Go and talk to Arthur or ignore him. And since this was downtown and Merlin had no idea what Arthur was doing here and then thinking, Maybe this is where he picked that girl up from, Merlin decided ignoring him was not an option. So he quickly downed his ale, grimacing at the slight lumpiness and bitter after (and during) taste, then bought another. He took the glass and marched over to the table where Arthur sat (still looking at him, completely unreadable, and maybe just a little bit drunk).
"What are you doing here?" he said by way of opening, not in anyway inclined to show any form of respect to his supposed master.
Arthur blinked at him, took a large and loud gulp from his own ale glass then said, "Drinking." He waved a hand at Merlin vaguely. "Are you going to sit down or are you going to continue swaying in front of me all night?"
Merlin frowned. "I am not swaying." But he sat down, balancing carefully on a creaky old chair that looked about ready to collapse in on itself.
"Why are you drinking?" Merlin asked, thinking, Because it's not like you had the most horrible day in a thousand years.
"Because I want to be drunk," Arthur nodded, as though that was a perfectly acceptable answer.
"Hm," Merlin said, taking a large swig of his own drink.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Arthur asked. He was, Merlin noticed, slurring his words slightly and his eyes looked a little bit unfocused. "I wouldn't have taken you for the tavern type."
Merlin shrugged. "I'm generally not." Arthur titled his head but didn't say anything, just drank some more of his ale. Merlin watched as he knocked it back, the hood of his cloak falling down to reveal messed-up hair and very pink ears.
"Doesn't anyone recognise you?" Merlin asked, because he really didn't think the king's son should be drinking alone in the cheapest and lowliest drinking establishment in all of Camelot without an armed escort. Arthur just snorted and shook his head.
"Who exactly is going to recognise me?"
Merlin thought about that, and yes okay it was well known that the tavern-keeper was mostly blind from drinking too much of his own brew. And the three old men were clearly far too involved in their own drinking to notice much of anything. "The pig though," Arthur added, smirking over his glass. "He's been giving me funny looks all night."
It wasn't even that funny, and Merlin tried to remind himself that he was still angry at Arthur, but he laughed anyway. Somewhere in the corner the pig grunted as if in agreement, which sent them both into fits of laughter. Or rather giggles, because to Merlin Arthur sounded more like he was giggling, his hand smushed against his nose and mouth in a very un-princely fashion.
"You're giggling," Merlin said, and pointed at Arthur. He took another swig of his drink and was relieved when he found he could barely even taste the ale anymore.
"Am not," Arthur said defensively. Then he turned suddenly to the tavern-keeper across the room and shouted, "Two more!" Arthur waved some coins about and the tavern-keeper, whose name Merlin was sure he had once known but couldn't now seem to remember, nodded soberly and brought over the whole keg.
"Stop bothering me. Do it yourself," he said grumpily and took a few of Arthur's coins.
"I think you're drunk and you definitely paid too much," Merlin said once the tavern-keeper had wandered off back to his corner.
"I don't care," Arthur replied. He refilled his glass then waved it sloppily at Merlin. "You can refill your own. I'm not the servant after all." He nodded, smiling and Merlin frowned.
"No, you are really not," he said darkly. Unfortunately, that reminded him of exactly why he was there in that dim, smelly hovel in the first place.
Arthur and that girl had drifted around the castle all day and every time Merlin had seen them he had felt vaguely annoyed. And every time Arthur noticed him he had invariably called him over and given him some ridiculously annoying, difficult and strenuous job to do.
"I would have thought you'd have been in a better mood today," Merlin said, refilling his own glass. He was, to be fair, impressed that Arthur even knew how to refill glasses, considering how many people there were at the castle who usually did that kind of thing for him. Himself included.
"What are you talking about," Arthur said, though it came out more of a mumble, his words obscured by the thick ale. "I was in a perfectly good mood today."
Merlin scoffed. "Oh yes, because sending me off to clean up after you every time I see you is clearly indicative of your jovial mood. And I am never cleaning behind your cabinets ever again. Do you know what I found back there?"
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. "I was... It was..." He frowned and shook his head and took another drink of beer. "Look. It's not like I can ask you out for a drink and I was trying to explain..."
"Trying to explain what exactly? That you didn't want me around? That you think I'm only good for washing behind your ears?"
"No, no, you didn't get it at all. I wanted... I was trying to show you..." He waved his hand about vaguely in Merlin's general direction.
"Yes?" Merlin prompted when Arthur seemed like he wasn't going to say anymore, as though a waved hand was supposed to explain everything.
"If you don't get it then I'm not going to tell you," Arthur huffed, and went back to drinking his beer.
"Fine," Merlin said, and took a few overly large gulps of his own beer quickly, deciding that if Arthur was going to have the hangover from hell tomorrow then he may as well have one too.
Arthur seemed to be muttering into his ale over his side of the table and was decidedly hogging the keg. And, yes, he may have paid for it but he'd invited Merlin to join him so it was his own fault and Merlin thought Arthur was a spoilt, annoying brat who had never learnt how to share. Who didn't know how to tie his own shoe laces (and Merlin knew this because Arthur always made him do it for him). Who thought that the height of entertainment was killing defenceless animals. Who slept with random girls and then forgot about them. Because late in the afternoon, after Merlin had cleaned Arthur's room, polished his entire collection of armour, taken half his clothes down to the laundry room, cleaned out his stables, thoroughly scrubbed at Arthur's back, ears and in-between his toes, Merlin had seen Arthur saying goodbye to the (evil) lady with a short nod and a "Bye then," before stalking over to inform Merlin it was time for weapons training. For the second time that day. At least though, Merlin reflected, the second bout was conducted without the (highly suspicious) woman watching and quite clearly laughing at him.
So, Merlin decided, he wasn't going to say anything. He was going to drink the ale that Arthur had paid for and he was going to enjoy it. Well, in the proverbial sense anyway.
Arthur seemed to have decided the same, because he was drinking and studiously ignoring Merlin in a way that made Merlin feel vaguely uncomfortable. That was, Merlin supposed, the point. But he wasn't going to win, Merlin decided. Oh no. Merlin never backed down from anything (except that one time with the marrows) and he certainly wasn't going to give in to Arthur.
Except, he thought, and sighed because sometimes he really hated his life, he always gave in to Arthur. He lied to the king for Arthur. He used his magic and risked his life for Arthur. He did pretty much whatever Arthur told him to (except when he didn't). He hated it, but Arthur had taken over his life and was now pretty much all there was to it. Unless you counted Gaius and his herbs and his spices and his really very unconvincing wisdoms.
Arthur was looking at the pig now, a little bit hungrily Merlin thought, and yes, now he thought about it he was a little bit hungry too.
"I'm hungry," he said, and almost smacked himself after he said it, having completely forgotten his previous resolution to not talk to Arthur.
"Hm," Arthur agreed. "We could go back and get something to eat?" he suggested.
"You mean," Merlin said pointedly. "We could go back and I could get you something to eat."
"Well, yes, of course. " Arthur shrugged. "You can eat too." He paused, took a large gulp of wine. "In my room. You can eat there with me." He nodded and smiled as though he'd just offered Merlin the grail itself.
"Well," Merlin said, and from the look Arthur was giving him suspected he was missing something important. So, "Arthur?" he asked. "Am I missing something?"
Arthur sighed heavily, emptied his ale glass down his throat and waved it at Merlin. "Drink more beer," he said. So Merlin did, because apparently he couldn't say no to Arthur at all.
*
It was almost dawn by the time they were forced to leave the Tavern that was not often called the Cart and Horses.
"I'm out of money," Arthur announced to the room at large. "But I can come back tomorrow after I have been to the castle to get more because I am Prince Arthur so bring us another keg!"
The three old men nodded and raised their glasses to him, and the tavern-keeper grabbed them both by their collars and tossed them out of the door. "Then, my Lord," the tavern-keeper said. "I will await your return and when you have some more of that money on your royal person I shall being you more ale. With that he shooed them off and slammed the door behind him.
"You know," Merlin said, picking himself up from the ground (which was not exactly easy when the ground would not stay still). "I don't think he believed you."
Arthur sat looking angrily at the closed door. "I am the prince!" he shouted. "I will have you thrown in dungeons for this outrage!" He looked at Merlin, pointing. "You tell them who I am!"
"Don't look at me," Merlin said, putting his hands up defensively. The world tilted a little at the movement but he managed to stay on his feet. Which was more than could be said for Arthur.
For several long minutes he sat on the floor, swaying and ranting, Merlin seriously considered leaving him there. It was, after all, no less than he deserved. But when it came down to it, Merlin was sure that he would, inevitably, end up being blamed for the crown prince getting beaten up by some random gang of thieves, or being arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour, or getting a cold from sitting on the cold ground for so long, or whatever trouble Arthur managed to get himself into.
"He's not listening," Merlin said instead, and offered his hand to Arthur. "And I don't think you are helping your case by sitting on the floor having a tantrum."
"I am not having a tantrum!" Arthur huffed, but he took Merlin's hand anyway and heaved himself into something approximating a standing position.
He was swaying violently, flushed and dazed looking and Merlin wondered if he looked any better because the world was sort of fuzzy at the edges. Arthur was looking at Merlin too, peering at him closely as though he had never seen him before. It was, Merlin had to admit, disconcerting.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," Arthur shrugged. "Are we going somewhere else then?" He waved his free hand around in the direction of the city (and decidedly away from the castle) and it was then that Merlin realised Arthur was still holding his hand. And even though it was sweaty and sticky from bad ale Merlin couldn't seem to bring himself to shake Arthur off. It was, he told himself, in the interests of keeping Arthur upright.
"You have no money left," Merlin pointed out. He shook his head, and then wished he hadn't because the world suddenly tipped sideways and then he was half in Arthur's arms, with his head against Arthur's chest, and he wasn't quite sure how he'd got there.
"I think you've drunk too much," Arthur laughed.
"Says you," Merlin groused, attempting to straighten himself up and pull away from Arthur. Except Arthur didn't seem to want to let go, his arms resting around his back and shoulders. He shifted a bit, trying to free himself from Arthur (because he smelled really bad and Merlin had no desire to be caught hugging the crown prince in a public place. He was pretty sure that would be punishable by more than rotten-vegetable throwing.), but overbalanced and his legs were wobbly and it was dark and his head was spinning and before he could stop them he had fallen back down onto the ground and Arthur had fallen with him. More precisely, on top of him.
"Ow," Merlin said, and didn't try to move because he had the distinct impression that would only make things worse. Arthur was lying sprawled over his chest and legs, one arm still wrapped around Merlin's neck.
"That was... fun," Arthur said, and Merlin wondered if he had heard Arthur giggle again or if he was just starting to hear things. The Tavern's ale had been known to do that.
"Not really," Merlin coughed, because it was hard to breathe. He thought, Arthur is close and This is probably not going to end well. Arthur seemed to have noticed too, because his hand gripped more tightly at Merlin's collar, and he was looking at him again, his eyes intense and kind of pretty and their noses were almost touching and Arthur's leg had managed to get wedged between his thighs.
"We should," Merlin breathed. His head suddenly felt worse; blood pounding through his ears, his face heating up like a furnace, dizzy with drink and danger and something else that he was never going to admit to. To anyone.
"We should," Arthur nodded, but there was that piercing look that told Merlin Arthur was Thinking Thoughts and that this was probably a very good time to run away. Except that Arthur was lying on top of him. And his free hand had somehow made it to Merlin's waist.
This, Merlin thought balefully, was not at all how he had expected this night to go.
"I thought you," he tried, "The girl."
Arthur stared at him for a moment in confusion, then burst out laughing.
"No, no!" he said. "Me and that girl?" Then he looked down at Merlin, suddenly all drunken seriousness. "I told you it wasn't what it looked like. My father sent her."
Merlin blinked in confusion. "Your father... why?"
"He thinks I should..." Arthur shrugged. Then leaned down and kissed Merlin more or less on the lips.
Merlin thought, Yes, I am going to be hanged for this, and I said this wouldn't end well. I really should learn to listen to myself, but then Arthur's tongue was licking at the inside of his mouth and his hands were pushed against him so Merlin thought it would be rude not to reciprocate the gesture.
He slid his hands across Arthur's back and shoulders and down his sides, which made Arthur squirm against him and kiss him harder, so Merlin did it again. Then Arthur's hands were grabbing at his ears then his hair and pulling his head forward so that their lips were so so close and Merlin could taste the ale (which made him feel a little bit queasy but, well, kissing.) and mint and he wasn't sure where that could have come from because Merlin was pretty sure he hadn't served anything with mint in it lately.
Still, Arthur was pushing his knees up tighter between Merlin's thighs so it was hard to concentrate and then Arthur shifted against him and it was just right and exactly wrong because, suddenly, it became very real. He was Merlin and he was drunk and his back was freezing cold and getting ripped to shreds by stones because Arthur, crown prince of Camelot, was trying to... do things to him in the middle of the night in a dingy back street in the dodgiest part of town.
"Ar..." Merlin tried, pushing at Arthur's shoulder. Except Arthur kissed his lips again, then the side of his mouth, then was kissing at his neck and his hands were trailing down Merlin's arms. "Stop..."
Arthur just growled something that sounded very much like "no" and carried on pressing his lips against Merlin's skin. The touch was like nothing else Merlin had ever felt before, and certainly nothing he had ever felt from Arthur before. His fingers stroked along his arms and his sides softly, haphazardly, without hesitation. And he kissed with his teeth and his tongue and only then with his lips which made Merlin think that maybe Arthur had as little experience at this as he did.
"Arthur, really," he said, and was fairly sure it sounded more like a sigh. He pushed harder, shifting his legs about to try and unbalance Arthur, stop his knee from grinding that way against him.
"This is no time," Arthur said, his breath warm and damp against his cheek. "To get coy, Merlin."
"I am not coy," Merlin hissed, and was annoyed enough to shove Arthur off him. "I just don't want to get hanged for kissing the crown prince in a public place."
He pushed himself upright, relieved that he was able to breathe properly again, free of Arthur's not slight weight pressing down on his chest and free of the sharp, pointy stones against his back.
"I wouldn't let anyone hang you," Arthur said, and was pouting as he picked himself off the floor to settle unsteadily on his knees.
Merlin was not convinced about that so he just hummed non-committally. And maybe it was the cold night air, or the fact that Arthur had fallen on him, or perhaps that Arthur had kissed him, but Merlin was feeling a lot more sober than he had a few minutes before.
"We should get you home," Merlin nodded, and attempted to stand up only to find his legs unresponsive. "I think my legs are dead." He frowned. "This is all your fault."
"My fault!" Arthur cried. He looked as though he was about to go into a full-blown rant, his finger already waving about threateningly in front of Merlin's face and everything, except then there was the sound of boots against stone and terse voices and Merlin was hauled unceremoniously to his feet.
"Soldiers," Arthur hissed and dragged him along by the arm as quickly as Merlin's legs, uncooperative and uncoordinated and aching from pins and needles, would carry him. Arthur sounded urgent and sober but he still wobbled on his feet and there was a manic grin on his face that made Merlin not a little bit afraid. "We'll hide in there." He pointed to a very dark, very narrow alley but between his unreliable balance and the fact that he had just been kissing the future king Merlin thought it best not to protest. So he let Arthur pull him into the alley and push him against the cold, stone wall (which made Merlin hiss because the ground had been warmer), and place his hands either side of his head and lean in and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
Merlin thought, This is dangerous, because if Arthur kept kissing him like this he didn't think he would be able to stop. He didn't think he would ever be able to look at Arthur the same way again, or at all, because he would be too embarrassed and would probably smile in a really stupid way that would let everyone looking his way know that he was kissing Arthur. Right now. With his hands laid against the small of his back and his hips pressed forward (away from the wall, because the wall was cold) and his lips warm against Arthur's and Arthur's soft hair in his eyes and his cheek against his nose.
By the time they had the sense to part the guards had passed. Breathless, Merlin felt oddly hot despite the cool night air and a lot less and a lot more drunk at the same time. Merlin wondered then if they had been soldiers at all or this had all been some convoluted ploy by Arthur to get him down a dark alley.
Then, "You're drunk," Merlin said, because he hadn't thought of it before but now he did he wondered if maybe Arthur was so inebriated he didn't know what he was doing. "You don't know what you're doing," he said, taking in Arthur's big, unfocused eyes and his really very irritating smirk.
"I know exactly what I'm doing, thank you very much," Arthur scoffed. He put his hand on Merlin's waist and pulled him closer and pressed his lips to Merlin's again as if to prove the point. But, that wasn't the point.
"No, no," Merlin protested against Arthur's mouth and then his chin because he couldn't seem to stop himself. This was all Arthur's fault. He straightened up, shook his head to clear it. "I meant, with me, why with me, like this. I'm... just me," he said, feeling very foolish and maybe a little bit sad.
It didn't help that Arthur just looked at him like he was a complete idiot.
"I'm not so drunk I don't know what I'm doing with who," he said, sounding serious even if he was still slurring his words a bit. "I wouldn't do that. I have some honour you know."
Merlin looked at him, tried to decide if he could ignore the niggling suspicion that this was all an incredibly poor idea, but then Arthur went back to kissing him and running his hands over him and Merlin decided that maybe he didn't care.
"We should," Merlin said between lips and breath, "Go back," Arthur nibbled his ear and, "Though!" Merlin finished in a disturbingly high-pitched squeal that made Arthur chuckle against his neck.
"To my bed?" Arthur asked, and pushed his body closer.
"I didn't mean," Merlin said. He ran his hands over Arthur's scalp then grasped at his hair and kissed the side of his mouth. "It like that."
Arthur hummed and Merlin felt it all the way to his toes. "I like it here," he said. And now and now Arthur's very cold hands were finding their way under Merlin's shirt and into the waist of his trousers.
"I don't!" Merlin said, and tried very hard not to gasp at the feel of Arthur's fingers trailing across his bare skin. "It's too cold, and it's." Then Arthur shut him up with another kiss which was entirely unfair and happening far too often lately. So, "Exhibitionist," he murmured against Arthur's lips and shouldered Arthur out of the way, stumbling back into the street. "Castle. Now." He pointed up the street and tried very very hard not to think To bed, and possibly more importantly, To your really very comfortable bed.
"I'm supposed to do the ordering about," Arthur said, sounding annoyed and appearing from the shadows with his arms crossed.
Merlin just scoffed, took Arthur's arm and began pulling him up the hill, pointedly ignoring the way Arthur was dragging his feet.
"What are we doing anyway?" Merlin grumbled, also ignoring the way he couldn't seem to walk in a straight line. "I should know better than to go drinking. Gaius always warned me about meeting strange people in the Tavern."
"I'm not strange," Arthur put in. Merlin just frowned at him. "And to drink with you. I must have been mad. But it really is your fault. You drove me crazy today."
"I just wanted you to know I liked having you around," Arthur tried to explain. He uncrossed his arms (finally) and leaned heavily against Merlin's side.
"Yes," Merlin said. "Great way to show you care. Is that how you treat all your lovers and oh God I can't believe I just called you that."
Merlin would have put his head in his hands and curled up and died right then and there except Arthur suddenly slung an arm around his shoulders, pulled him close and kissed him soundly (noisily) and roughly (misdirectionally). Which, in Merlin's opinion, was a very bad plan because neither of them was exactly stable, so was not at all surprised when Arthur leaned in too far, pressing himself against Merlin (and, to be fair, Merlin would admit that he was possibly maybe trying to get at the skin under Arthur's tunic) and then Arthur was falling against him, sending them both sprawling.
"And why am I always on the bottom anyway?" Merlin asked when he had managed to get his breath and some semblance of sense back. Arthur just grinned at him lecherously, and if Merlin was ever going to actually punch Arthur, he thought, now would definitely be the time. "Oh, shut up," he said.
But this time Arthur just rolled off of him of his own accord and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
"You called us lovers," he smiled, and offered a hand to Merlin.
"No I didn't," Merlin said. He took the hand anyway though, because he really was getting very sick of getting up off the floor.
"It's okay," Arthur said. "I like you too." He gripped Merlin's hand tightly for a moment before letting go and hanging his arm back around Merlin's shoulders.
"Now I know you're drunk," Merlin said, but slid his arm around Arthur's waist anyway.
Merlin thought, I'm doomed and I'm never drinking again.
"A bit," Arthur admitted, nodding solemnly.
*
They walked slowly up the dimly lit street that led to the castle and didn't see anyone. The air was cold and damp with the dawn but Merlin felt warm against Arthur, felt the soft material of Arthur's shirt under his hands and thought that maybe he should say something because, apparently, they liked each other. Then Arthur shifted beside him and asked, "To my rooms then?"
Arthur sounded confident and when Merlin turned his head to look at him he was smirking, but it was still a question and Merlin could still refuse and he didn't think Arthur would hold it against him. They could, after all, just pretend it was all the drink (which it still might be because Merlin liked Arthur after all. That might, of course, just be a sign of impending insanity). He didn't know how this would go, tomorrow, when they were sober, when Arthur was ordering him to wash his muddy, holey, stinking socks again. And it was definitely the drink that he didn't much care. But this was now, just the two of them together without destiny or magic or swords or enemies or even friends, and maybe that was enough. So Merlin nodded, then frowned.
"Do we have to get there without anyone seeing us?" he asked, having no idea what would happen if anyone found out but thinking, as with all things, it would likely not end well for him.
"If you like," Arthur shrugged, then grinned at Merlin. "That could be fun." And yes, Merlin supposed it might be, but he was not taking this seriously enough.
"You are not taking this seriously!" Merlin said. Then Arthur's eyes narrowed and he looked at Merlin and said gravely, "This could be fun." He nodded so slowly and so sincerely that Merlin couldn't help but laugh.
"You are such a complete arse," he said, and Arthur flashed him a smile before dropping his arm from Merlin's shoulders and drawing away, taking his wrist in his hand.
"And you're an idiot. Now, I know a secret way in," he said.
Arthur pulled Merlin into a run, which made Merlin feel slightly queasy.
"We're not going through the sewers are we?" Merlin asked worriedly, because he knew what Arthur was like. "Or attempting to climb through your window?"
"I'm not a complete dunce, Merlin, regardless of what you might think," Arthur scoffed and led him up and down narrow streets that Merlin didn't recognise and then over a fence into someone's vegetable garden, skipped over a stream, past a pig pen and a row of houses, through an orchard (where Arthur decided he wanted to kiss Merlin again), and finally over three progressively higher walls to find themselves at the kitchen door. "I used to come this way as a child," Arthur said. And Merlin nodded because he neither had any idea what to say to that nor the breath to say it.
They went through the kitchens, sneaking with over-careful steps past the bakers. They crept up the stairs and managed to get almost all the way to Arthur's floor without knocking anything over. It would have been a great feat, but was ruined when Arthur chose to try sliding his hands up Merlin's shirt halfway up the final staircase. In surprise (at the touch, at the absolutely freezing cold fingers) Merlin jumped, upsetting a table laden with very noisy metal plates and jugs. Merlin thought, as he watched the silverware bounce and roll sown the steps and across the floor, I should clean that up, but then Arthur had grabbed hold of his wrist again and was hauling him up the last flight of stairs to his room.
Arthur pushed Merlin through the door and shut it quickly behind him. "What were you just standing there for?"
"We made a mess," Merlin said defensively. Arthur's face went from incredulous to amused and Merlin thought he might like to leave now. "You're not the one who has to clean things up," Merlin started to argue, but then Arthur said, "Shut up, Merlin," and walked over to him and took his face in his hands and kissed him, lips cold and hot and pressed hard together. Merlin thought, I really hate this, which was a complete lie but made him feel better when he ran his hands over Arthur's back and clung to his shoulders and kissed Arthur back and licked Arthur's neck until he was growling. Which was odd, even for Arthur. He was going to tell Arthur to stop making that creepy sound, but then Arthur's hands slid down to Merlin's waist, and to his backside, and whilst Merlin was thoroughly distracted running his lips across the underside of Arthur's chin, Arthur somehow managed to get his belt undone.
"I think," Arthur breathed against Merlin's ear, "I like you when you're quiet like this." He drove Merlin back towards the bed with his hips and his chest, pushing at the material of Merlin's shirt until he had somehow managed to get it off, dropping it on the floor.
"I don't," Merlin said. He easily pulled off Arthur's shirt, because he had done it a thousand times before. "I'll be the one picking all this up in the morning," he lamented as he let the shirt fall from his hands.
Arthur huffed a laugh then pressed his hips against Merlin's, jammed up uncomfortably against one great post of Arthur's enormous bed.
"In the morning," Arthur said, his head bowed and his fingers running down Merlin's sides and his mouth against Merlin's collarbone.
"In the morning," Merlin agreed. He looked down at Arthur, all blond messed-up hair and lean body and gentle kisses. "We'll regret this in the morning."
Arthur looked up at Merlin and grinned. "I certainly hope so."
(They didn't.)
.End.
Comments and concrit, as always, welcomed and appreciated.
(2) I am ill.
(3) The toilets of gay clubs are strange and unusual places.
Title: If Wishes Were Horses
Rating: DG for Drunken Groping!
Words: 6,700
Summary: Arthur/Merlin. Merlin has had a bad day and it's all Arthur's fault.
cienna beta'd and beat me for this to be completed. It is drunken, humour-ish fic and was written in a fit of pique at The Epic. Remaining mistakes my own, but the fact that it is so long is entirely Write or Die's fault.
.If Wishes Were Horses.
There was a place Merlin liked to go after days like this.
It was called the Tavern. Or rather, it was called the Cart And Horses but nobody called it that because everyone thought it was a very stupid name and Tavern was much clearer as to its purpose. There were some, in the interests of accuracy, who liked to call it the Ale Pit.
Merlin wasn't, as a rule, much of a drinker. It did, after all, cost money he didn't have. And there was always that danger, in the back of his mind, that he would lose control of his magic in a fit of drunken enthusiasm and turn someone into a peacock or such like.
So the day really had to be pretty especially horrifically awful for Merlin to decide it was worth the risk, and the drain on his meagre financial resources. And a day such as that he had just had.
It was a Tuesday. Although now it was nearly Wednesday, which was part of the problem. But it was Tuesday, and on Tuesdays Merlin took a bottle of pungent oil to the farrier's mother to ease her arthritis (as instructed by Gaius, who really didn't have time to run all these errands anymore and would Merlin do him a favour and run on up to the mountains to fetch some obscure and inevitably difficult to find herb or flower or strange spongy growth?). He would do this before going to Arthur's chambers, and Arthur would almost invariably be fast asleep and snoring, because Monday nights tended to be return from hunting in a triumphant and manly fashion night, which required, so Arthur told him, copious quantities of wine. Merlin would take great and unnatural pleasure in waking the sleeping prince, often with a stick so as not to suffer a black eye (as he had the first time he had tried to wake Arthur from his deep, drunken sleep).
But on this Tuesday morning, having delivered the old woman's oil and greeted the kitchen staff as he collected Arthur's breakfast, Merlin opened the door to Arthur's chambers to find him wrapped around an unfamiliar and not in any way attractive young woman.
He had thought, Oh. Then Arthur had shifted and laid his hand on the woman and sort of murmured something and Merlin had thought, Oh! and had continued to stand in the doorway, one hand gripping the door handle as he balanced the plate of food in the other, somewhat in shock (although why this should be shocking Merlin was not sure).
It had, up to that point, not been a bad morning. Gaius had managed to make a decent-tasting breakfast, the old woman hadn't attempted to engage him in a long and disturbingly in-depth conversation about her piles, and it wasn't rainy or all that cold even. But this. This was new and unexpected (though why it should be unexpected Merlin was also not that sure) and entirely unwelcome.
Who was this girl? Had she enchanted Arthur like the last one? Where had Arthur even found her, because Camelot wasn't all that big, when you got down to it, and Merlin was sure he had never seen this woman in his life.
He looked around the room, and saw a dress of fine red silks hanging, carefully laid out, over the back of a chair. Arthur had even left his own clothes piled on the seat of a chair, which made Merlin even more suspicious because Arthur never put his clothes on a chair when there was readily available floor-space. Sometimes, when Merlin was in a bad enough mood and Arthur was being particularly annoying (like now, and wasn't it amazing how the man could manage to be annoying even when he was sleeping?) Merlin thought that Arthur left his clothes lying around just to laugh at him when he went around picking them up.
He had researched this too. One rainy afternoon he had sought out the household servants and asked them what Arthur was like with them. They said, He's generally tidy, which he wasn't at all, and He never really asks for much, which was even less true because Arthur was always calling for Merlin to do something or other.
Merlin was still hanging onto the doorknob when Arthur woke up, suddenly, bolting up in bed like he'd had a fright. His eyes instantly found Merlin. The lady beside him stirred but did not wake.
"Err…" Merlin said, not quite able to look away from Arthur and apparently not at all able to let go of the door.
Arthur's eyes were a little wide when he said, quickly, "It's not what it looks like." And why he felt the need to say that Merlin could not imagine.
"Sorry," he said. "I was…" Merlin lifted the breakfast plate, decided he really needed to leave now because if nothing else he was probably causing a draft standing in the doorway as he was and he didn't want Arthur to catch a cold. That would just be even more irritating. "I'll come back later," he said, and backed out of the room pulling the door closed as he went.
It was, Merlin thought, oddly cold in the corridor. He was sure it hadn't been that cold earlier.
With a very great effort Merlin convinced his hand to release the door handle and made his way back to the kitchens, wondering if there was any spell he could use to discern the lady's surely evil and nefarious purpose.
The day had not got any better from there. This was mostly because Arthur had been in an irritatingly demanding mood which reminded Merlin of spoilt three-year olds, but Merlin wasn't thinking about that. And when his chores for the day were done and Arthur had disappeared for the night (presumably to bed), Merlin came to the conclusion that he had to get out of the castle for the sake of his sanity. He wandered the streets for a while eventually finding himself at door to the Tavern. Apparently his feet had come to the decision that ale was a necessary end to his appalling day, and who was Merlin to argue with his feet? So he pushed the door open and went in, and yes the Tavern was as dingy and grimy and dilapidated as Merlin remembered it. He passed three old men singing and swaying on their rickety stools, a young hooded man huddled over a large glass of frothy-looking ale and a pig on his way to what passed for the bar.
He asked of the tavern-keeper, "What is your strongest drink?" And the tavern-keeper said, "What that lad over there is drinking," and poured a large glass of slightly bitty ale from an old brown ceramic keg. "It's my very best yet," the tavern-keeper told him proudly, smiling widely and patting the keg. It was well known that the tavern-keeper made his ales and liquors in the back of his house where he also housed his chickens and pigs, and it was widely suspected that this was his secret to making the strongest and foulest tasting alcohol in the entire kingdom. Some who had travelled widely and been to many cities and kingdoms and even across the sea scoffed and declared it was the worst in the world.
"I'm sure it is," Merlin agreed, and placed his coins on the table and picked up the glass. He took a sip without looking at it (for this was the trick to drinking the Tavern's infamous ale) and surely it was indeed the best (worst) Merlin had ever tasted.
He considered the taste and the texture for a moment, idly watching the three old men laugh and bicker, then noticed a shuffling behind him, and Merlin would recognise that shuffling anywhere. With a sigh and a sinking feeling that he really hated destiny, Merlin turned towards the sound and lo and behold he saw the hooded man looking directly at him, and it was Arthur.
There were two options here, Merlin considered. Go and talk to Arthur or ignore him. And since this was downtown and Merlin had no idea what Arthur was doing here and then thinking, Maybe this is where he picked that girl up from, Merlin decided ignoring him was not an option. So he quickly downed his ale, grimacing at the slight lumpiness and bitter after (and during) taste, then bought another. He took the glass and marched over to the table where Arthur sat (still looking at him, completely unreadable, and maybe just a little bit drunk).
"What are you doing here?" he said by way of opening, not in anyway inclined to show any form of respect to his supposed master.
Arthur blinked at him, took a large and loud gulp from his own ale glass then said, "Drinking." He waved a hand at Merlin vaguely. "Are you going to sit down or are you going to continue swaying in front of me all night?"
Merlin frowned. "I am not swaying." But he sat down, balancing carefully on a creaky old chair that looked about ready to collapse in on itself.
"Why are you drinking?" Merlin asked, thinking, Because it's not like you had the most horrible day in a thousand years.
"Because I want to be drunk," Arthur nodded, as though that was a perfectly acceptable answer.
"Hm," Merlin said, taking a large swig of his own drink.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Arthur asked. He was, Merlin noticed, slurring his words slightly and his eyes looked a little bit unfocused. "I wouldn't have taken you for the tavern type."
Merlin shrugged. "I'm generally not." Arthur titled his head but didn't say anything, just drank some more of his ale. Merlin watched as he knocked it back, the hood of his cloak falling down to reveal messed-up hair and very pink ears.
"Doesn't anyone recognise you?" Merlin asked, because he really didn't think the king's son should be drinking alone in the cheapest and lowliest drinking establishment in all of Camelot without an armed escort. Arthur just snorted and shook his head.
"Who exactly is going to recognise me?"
Merlin thought about that, and yes okay it was well known that the tavern-keeper was mostly blind from drinking too much of his own brew. And the three old men were clearly far too involved in their own drinking to notice much of anything. "The pig though," Arthur added, smirking over his glass. "He's been giving me funny looks all night."
It wasn't even that funny, and Merlin tried to remind himself that he was still angry at Arthur, but he laughed anyway. Somewhere in the corner the pig grunted as if in agreement, which sent them both into fits of laughter. Or rather giggles, because to Merlin Arthur sounded more like he was giggling, his hand smushed against his nose and mouth in a very un-princely fashion.
"You're giggling," Merlin said, and pointed at Arthur. He took another swig of his drink and was relieved when he found he could barely even taste the ale anymore.
"Am not," Arthur said defensively. Then he turned suddenly to the tavern-keeper across the room and shouted, "Two more!" Arthur waved some coins about and the tavern-keeper, whose name Merlin was sure he had once known but couldn't now seem to remember, nodded soberly and brought over the whole keg.
"Stop bothering me. Do it yourself," he said grumpily and took a few of Arthur's coins.
"I think you're drunk and you definitely paid too much," Merlin said once the tavern-keeper had wandered off back to his corner.
"I don't care," Arthur replied. He refilled his glass then waved it sloppily at Merlin. "You can refill your own. I'm not the servant after all." He nodded, smiling and Merlin frowned.
"No, you are really not," he said darkly. Unfortunately, that reminded him of exactly why he was there in that dim, smelly hovel in the first place.
Arthur and that girl had drifted around the castle all day and every time Merlin had seen them he had felt vaguely annoyed. And every time Arthur noticed him he had invariably called him over and given him some ridiculously annoying, difficult and strenuous job to do.
"I would have thought you'd have been in a better mood today," Merlin said, refilling his own glass. He was, to be fair, impressed that Arthur even knew how to refill glasses, considering how many people there were at the castle who usually did that kind of thing for him. Himself included.
"What are you talking about," Arthur said, though it came out more of a mumble, his words obscured by the thick ale. "I was in a perfectly good mood today."
Merlin scoffed. "Oh yes, because sending me off to clean up after you every time I see you is clearly indicative of your jovial mood. And I am never cleaning behind your cabinets ever again. Do you know what I found back there?"
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. "I was... It was..." He frowned and shook his head and took another drink of beer. "Look. It's not like I can ask you out for a drink and I was trying to explain..."
"Trying to explain what exactly? That you didn't want me around? That you think I'm only good for washing behind your ears?"
"No, no, you didn't get it at all. I wanted... I was trying to show you..." He waved his hand about vaguely in Merlin's general direction.
"Yes?" Merlin prompted when Arthur seemed like he wasn't going to say anymore, as though a waved hand was supposed to explain everything.
"If you don't get it then I'm not going to tell you," Arthur huffed, and went back to drinking his beer.
"Fine," Merlin said, and took a few overly large gulps of his own beer quickly, deciding that if Arthur was going to have the hangover from hell tomorrow then he may as well have one too.
Arthur seemed to be muttering into his ale over his side of the table and was decidedly hogging the keg. And, yes, he may have paid for it but he'd invited Merlin to join him so it was his own fault and Merlin thought Arthur was a spoilt, annoying brat who had never learnt how to share. Who didn't know how to tie his own shoe laces (and Merlin knew this because Arthur always made him do it for him). Who thought that the height of entertainment was killing defenceless animals. Who slept with random girls and then forgot about them. Because late in the afternoon, after Merlin had cleaned Arthur's room, polished his entire collection of armour, taken half his clothes down to the laundry room, cleaned out his stables, thoroughly scrubbed at Arthur's back, ears and in-between his toes, Merlin had seen Arthur saying goodbye to the (evil) lady with a short nod and a "Bye then," before stalking over to inform Merlin it was time for weapons training. For the second time that day. At least though, Merlin reflected, the second bout was conducted without the (highly suspicious) woman watching and quite clearly laughing at him.
So, Merlin decided, he wasn't going to say anything. He was going to drink the ale that Arthur had paid for and he was going to enjoy it. Well, in the proverbial sense anyway.
Arthur seemed to have decided the same, because he was drinking and studiously ignoring Merlin in a way that made Merlin feel vaguely uncomfortable. That was, Merlin supposed, the point. But he wasn't going to win, Merlin decided. Oh no. Merlin never backed down from anything (except that one time with the marrows) and he certainly wasn't going to give in to Arthur.
Except, he thought, and sighed because sometimes he really hated his life, he always gave in to Arthur. He lied to the king for Arthur. He used his magic and risked his life for Arthur. He did pretty much whatever Arthur told him to (except when he didn't). He hated it, but Arthur had taken over his life and was now pretty much all there was to it. Unless you counted Gaius and his herbs and his spices and his really very unconvincing wisdoms.
Arthur was looking at the pig now, a little bit hungrily Merlin thought, and yes, now he thought about it he was a little bit hungry too.
"I'm hungry," he said, and almost smacked himself after he said it, having completely forgotten his previous resolution to not talk to Arthur.
"Hm," Arthur agreed. "We could go back and get something to eat?" he suggested.
"You mean," Merlin said pointedly. "We could go back and I could get you something to eat."
"Well, yes, of course. " Arthur shrugged. "You can eat too." He paused, took a large gulp of wine. "In my room. You can eat there with me." He nodded and smiled as though he'd just offered Merlin the grail itself.
"Well," Merlin said, and from the look Arthur was giving him suspected he was missing something important. So, "Arthur?" he asked. "Am I missing something?"
Arthur sighed heavily, emptied his ale glass down his throat and waved it at Merlin. "Drink more beer," he said. So Merlin did, because apparently he couldn't say no to Arthur at all.
*
It was almost dawn by the time they were forced to leave the Tavern that was not often called the Cart and Horses.
"I'm out of money," Arthur announced to the room at large. "But I can come back tomorrow after I have been to the castle to get more because I am Prince Arthur so bring us another keg!"
The three old men nodded and raised their glasses to him, and the tavern-keeper grabbed them both by their collars and tossed them out of the door. "Then, my Lord," the tavern-keeper said. "I will await your return and when you have some more of that money on your royal person I shall being you more ale. With that he shooed them off and slammed the door behind him.
"You know," Merlin said, picking himself up from the ground (which was not exactly easy when the ground would not stay still). "I don't think he believed you."
Arthur sat looking angrily at the closed door. "I am the prince!" he shouted. "I will have you thrown in dungeons for this outrage!" He looked at Merlin, pointing. "You tell them who I am!"
"Don't look at me," Merlin said, putting his hands up defensively. The world tilted a little at the movement but he managed to stay on his feet. Which was more than could be said for Arthur.
For several long minutes he sat on the floor, swaying and ranting, Merlin seriously considered leaving him there. It was, after all, no less than he deserved. But when it came down to it, Merlin was sure that he would, inevitably, end up being blamed for the crown prince getting beaten up by some random gang of thieves, or being arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour, or getting a cold from sitting on the cold ground for so long, or whatever trouble Arthur managed to get himself into.
"He's not listening," Merlin said instead, and offered his hand to Arthur. "And I don't think you are helping your case by sitting on the floor having a tantrum."
"I am not having a tantrum!" Arthur huffed, but he took Merlin's hand anyway and heaved himself into something approximating a standing position.
He was swaying violently, flushed and dazed looking and Merlin wondered if he looked any better because the world was sort of fuzzy at the edges. Arthur was looking at Merlin too, peering at him closely as though he had never seen him before. It was, Merlin had to admit, disconcerting.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," Arthur shrugged. "Are we going somewhere else then?" He waved his free hand around in the direction of the city (and decidedly away from the castle) and it was then that Merlin realised Arthur was still holding his hand. And even though it was sweaty and sticky from bad ale Merlin couldn't seem to bring himself to shake Arthur off. It was, he told himself, in the interests of keeping Arthur upright.
"You have no money left," Merlin pointed out. He shook his head, and then wished he hadn't because the world suddenly tipped sideways and then he was half in Arthur's arms, with his head against Arthur's chest, and he wasn't quite sure how he'd got there.
"I think you've drunk too much," Arthur laughed.
"Says you," Merlin groused, attempting to straighten himself up and pull away from Arthur. Except Arthur didn't seem to want to let go, his arms resting around his back and shoulders. He shifted a bit, trying to free himself from Arthur (because he smelled really bad and Merlin had no desire to be caught hugging the crown prince in a public place. He was pretty sure that would be punishable by more than rotten-vegetable throwing.), but overbalanced and his legs were wobbly and it was dark and his head was spinning and before he could stop them he had fallen back down onto the ground and Arthur had fallen with him. More precisely, on top of him.
"Ow," Merlin said, and didn't try to move because he had the distinct impression that would only make things worse. Arthur was lying sprawled over his chest and legs, one arm still wrapped around Merlin's neck.
"That was... fun," Arthur said, and Merlin wondered if he had heard Arthur giggle again or if he was just starting to hear things. The Tavern's ale had been known to do that.
"Not really," Merlin coughed, because it was hard to breathe. He thought, Arthur is close and This is probably not going to end well. Arthur seemed to have noticed too, because his hand gripped more tightly at Merlin's collar, and he was looking at him again, his eyes intense and kind of pretty and their noses were almost touching and Arthur's leg had managed to get wedged between his thighs.
"We should," Merlin breathed. His head suddenly felt worse; blood pounding through his ears, his face heating up like a furnace, dizzy with drink and danger and something else that he was never going to admit to. To anyone.
"We should," Arthur nodded, but there was that piercing look that told Merlin Arthur was Thinking Thoughts and that this was probably a very good time to run away. Except that Arthur was lying on top of him. And his free hand had somehow made it to Merlin's waist.
This, Merlin thought balefully, was not at all how he had expected this night to go.
"I thought you," he tried, "The girl."
Arthur stared at him for a moment in confusion, then burst out laughing.
"No, no!" he said. "Me and that girl?" Then he looked down at Merlin, suddenly all drunken seriousness. "I told you it wasn't what it looked like. My father sent her."
Merlin blinked in confusion. "Your father... why?"
"He thinks I should..." Arthur shrugged. Then leaned down and kissed Merlin more or less on the lips.
Merlin thought, Yes, I am going to be hanged for this, and I said this wouldn't end well. I really should learn to listen to myself, but then Arthur's tongue was licking at the inside of his mouth and his hands were pushed against him so Merlin thought it would be rude not to reciprocate the gesture.
He slid his hands across Arthur's back and shoulders and down his sides, which made Arthur squirm against him and kiss him harder, so Merlin did it again. Then Arthur's hands were grabbing at his ears then his hair and pulling his head forward so that their lips were so so close and Merlin could taste the ale (which made him feel a little bit queasy but, well, kissing.) and mint and he wasn't sure where that could have come from because Merlin was pretty sure he hadn't served anything with mint in it lately.
Still, Arthur was pushing his knees up tighter between Merlin's thighs so it was hard to concentrate and then Arthur shifted against him and it was just right and exactly wrong because, suddenly, it became very real. He was Merlin and he was drunk and his back was freezing cold and getting ripped to shreds by stones because Arthur, crown prince of Camelot, was trying to... do things to him in the middle of the night in a dingy back street in the dodgiest part of town.
"Ar..." Merlin tried, pushing at Arthur's shoulder. Except Arthur kissed his lips again, then the side of his mouth, then was kissing at his neck and his hands were trailing down Merlin's arms. "Stop..."
Arthur just growled something that sounded very much like "no" and carried on pressing his lips against Merlin's skin. The touch was like nothing else Merlin had ever felt before, and certainly nothing he had ever felt from Arthur before. His fingers stroked along his arms and his sides softly, haphazardly, without hesitation. And he kissed with his teeth and his tongue and only then with his lips which made Merlin think that maybe Arthur had as little experience at this as he did.
"Arthur, really," he said, and was fairly sure it sounded more like a sigh. He pushed harder, shifting his legs about to try and unbalance Arthur, stop his knee from grinding that way against him.
"This is no time," Arthur said, his breath warm and damp against his cheek. "To get coy, Merlin."
"I am not coy," Merlin hissed, and was annoyed enough to shove Arthur off him. "I just don't want to get hanged for kissing the crown prince in a public place."
He pushed himself upright, relieved that he was able to breathe properly again, free of Arthur's not slight weight pressing down on his chest and free of the sharp, pointy stones against his back.
"I wouldn't let anyone hang you," Arthur said, and was pouting as he picked himself off the floor to settle unsteadily on his knees.
Merlin was not convinced about that so he just hummed non-committally. And maybe it was the cold night air, or the fact that Arthur had fallen on him, or perhaps that Arthur had kissed him, but Merlin was feeling a lot more sober than he had a few minutes before.
"We should get you home," Merlin nodded, and attempted to stand up only to find his legs unresponsive. "I think my legs are dead." He frowned. "This is all your fault."
"My fault!" Arthur cried. He looked as though he was about to go into a full-blown rant, his finger already waving about threateningly in front of Merlin's face and everything, except then there was the sound of boots against stone and terse voices and Merlin was hauled unceremoniously to his feet.
"Soldiers," Arthur hissed and dragged him along by the arm as quickly as Merlin's legs, uncooperative and uncoordinated and aching from pins and needles, would carry him. Arthur sounded urgent and sober but he still wobbled on his feet and there was a manic grin on his face that made Merlin not a little bit afraid. "We'll hide in there." He pointed to a very dark, very narrow alley but between his unreliable balance and the fact that he had just been kissing the future king Merlin thought it best not to protest. So he let Arthur pull him into the alley and push him against the cold, stone wall (which made Merlin hiss because the ground had been warmer), and place his hands either side of his head and lean in and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
Merlin thought, This is dangerous, because if Arthur kept kissing him like this he didn't think he would be able to stop. He didn't think he would ever be able to look at Arthur the same way again, or at all, because he would be too embarrassed and would probably smile in a really stupid way that would let everyone looking his way know that he was kissing Arthur. Right now. With his hands laid against the small of his back and his hips pressed forward (away from the wall, because the wall was cold) and his lips warm against Arthur's and Arthur's soft hair in his eyes and his cheek against his nose.
By the time they had the sense to part the guards had passed. Breathless, Merlin felt oddly hot despite the cool night air and a lot less and a lot more drunk at the same time. Merlin wondered then if they had been soldiers at all or this had all been some convoluted ploy by Arthur to get him down a dark alley.
Then, "You're drunk," Merlin said, because he hadn't thought of it before but now he did he wondered if maybe Arthur was so inebriated he didn't know what he was doing. "You don't know what you're doing," he said, taking in Arthur's big, unfocused eyes and his really very irritating smirk.
"I know exactly what I'm doing, thank you very much," Arthur scoffed. He put his hand on Merlin's waist and pulled him closer and pressed his lips to Merlin's again as if to prove the point. But, that wasn't the point.
"No, no," Merlin protested against Arthur's mouth and then his chin because he couldn't seem to stop himself. This was all Arthur's fault. He straightened up, shook his head to clear it. "I meant, with me, why with me, like this. I'm... just me," he said, feeling very foolish and maybe a little bit sad.
It didn't help that Arthur just looked at him like he was a complete idiot.
"I'm not so drunk I don't know what I'm doing with who," he said, sounding serious even if he was still slurring his words a bit. "I wouldn't do that. I have some honour you know."
Merlin looked at him, tried to decide if he could ignore the niggling suspicion that this was all an incredibly poor idea, but then Arthur went back to kissing him and running his hands over him and Merlin decided that maybe he didn't care.
"We should," Merlin said between lips and breath, "Go back," Arthur nibbled his ear and, "Though!" Merlin finished in a disturbingly high-pitched squeal that made Arthur chuckle against his neck.
"To my bed?" Arthur asked, and pushed his body closer.
"I didn't mean," Merlin said. He ran his hands over Arthur's scalp then grasped at his hair and kissed the side of his mouth. "It like that."
Arthur hummed and Merlin felt it all the way to his toes. "I like it here," he said. And now and now Arthur's very cold hands were finding their way under Merlin's shirt and into the waist of his trousers.
"I don't!" Merlin said, and tried very hard not to gasp at the feel of Arthur's fingers trailing across his bare skin. "It's too cold, and it's." Then Arthur shut him up with another kiss which was entirely unfair and happening far too often lately. So, "Exhibitionist," he murmured against Arthur's lips and shouldered Arthur out of the way, stumbling back into the street. "Castle. Now." He pointed up the street and tried very very hard not to think To bed, and possibly more importantly, To your really very comfortable bed.
"I'm supposed to do the ordering about," Arthur said, sounding annoyed and appearing from the shadows with his arms crossed.
Merlin just scoffed, took Arthur's arm and began pulling him up the hill, pointedly ignoring the way Arthur was dragging his feet.
"What are we doing anyway?" Merlin grumbled, also ignoring the way he couldn't seem to walk in a straight line. "I should know better than to go drinking. Gaius always warned me about meeting strange people in the Tavern."
"I'm not strange," Arthur put in. Merlin just frowned at him. "And to drink with you. I must have been mad. But it really is your fault. You drove me crazy today."
"I just wanted you to know I liked having you around," Arthur tried to explain. He uncrossed his arms (finally) and leaned heavily against Merlin's side.
"Yes," Merlin said. "Great way to show you care. Is that how you treat all your lovers and oh God I can't believe I just called you that."
Merlin would have put his head in his hands and curled up and died right then and there except Arthur suddenly slung an arm around his shoulders, pulled him close and kissed him soundly (noisily) and roughly (misdirectionally). Which, in Merlin's opinion, was a very bad plan because neither of them was exactly stable, so was not at all surprised when Arthur leaned in too far, pressing himself against Merlin (and, to be fair, Merlin would admit that he was possibly maybe trying to get at the skin under Arthur's tunic) and then Arthur was falling against him, sending them both sprawling.
"And why am I always on the bottom anyway?" Merlin asked when he had managed to get his breath and some semblance of sense back. Arthur just grinned at him lecherously, and if Merlin was ever going to actually punch Arthur, he thought, now would definitely be the time. "Oh, shut up," he said.
But this time Arthur just rolled off of him of his own accord and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
"You called us lovers," he smiled, and offered a hand to Merlin.
"No I didn't," Merlin said. He took the hand anyway though, because he really was getting very sick of getting up off the floor.
"It's okay," Arthur said. "I like you too." He gripped Merlin's hand tightly for a moment before letting go and hanging his arm back around Merlin's shoulders.
"Now I know you're drunk," Merlin said, but slid his arm around Arthur's waist anyway.
Merlin thought, I'm doomed and I'm never drinking again.
"A bit," Arthur admitted, nodding solemnly.
*
They walked slowly up the dimly lit street that led to the castle and didn't see anyone. The air was cold and damp with the dawn but Merlin felt warm against Arthur, felt the soft material of Arthur's shirt under his hands and thought that maybe he should say something because, apparently, they liked each other. Then Arthur shifted beside him and asked, "To my rooms then?"
Arthur sounded confident and when Merlin turned his head to look at him he was smirking, but it was still a question and Merlin could still refuse and he didn't think Arthur would hold it against him. They could, after all, just pretend it was all the drink (which it still might be because Merlin liked Arthur after all. That might, of course, just be a sign of impending insanity). He didn't know how this would go, tomorrow, when they were sober, when Arthur was ordering him to wash his muddy, holey, stinking socks again. And it was definitely the drink that he didn't much care. But this was now, just the two of them together without destiny or magic or swords or enemies or even friends, and maybe that was enough. So Merlin nodded, then frowned.
"Do we have to get there without anyone seeing us?" he asked, having no idea what would happen if anyone found out but thinking, as with all things, it would likely not end well for him.
"If you like," Arthur shrugged, then grinned at Merlin. "That could be fun." And yes, Merlin supposed it might be, but he was not taking this seriously enough.
"You are not taking this seriously!" Merlin said. Then Arthur's eyes narrowed and he looked at Merlin and said gravely, "This could be fun." He nodded so slowly and so sincerely that Merlin couldn't help but laugh.
"You are such a complete arse," he said, and Arthur flashed him a smile before dropping his arm from Merlin's shoulders and drawing away, taking his wrist in his hand.
"And you're an idiot. Now, I know a secret way in," he said.
Arthur pulled Merlin into a run, which made Merlin feel slightly queasy.
"We're not going through the sewers are we?" Merlin asked worriedly, because he knew what Arthur was like. "Or attempting to climb through your window?"
"I'm not a complete dunce, Merlin, regardless of what you might think," Arthur scoffed and led him up and down narrow streets that Merlin didn't recognise and then over a fence into someone's vegetable garden, skipped over a stream, past a pig pen and a row of houses, through an orchard (where Arthur decided he wanted to kiss Merlin again), and finally over three progressively higher walls to find themselves at the kitchen door. "I used to come this way as a child," Arthur said. And Merlin nodded because he neither had any idea what to say to that nor the breath to say it.
They went through the kitchens, sneaking with over-careful steps past the bakers. They crept up the stairs and managed to get almost all the way to Arthur's floor without knocking anything over. It would have been a great feat, but was ruined when Arthur chose to try sliding his hands up Merlin's shirt halfway up the final staircase. In surprise (at the touch, at the absolutely freezing cold fingers) Merlin jumped, upsetting a table laden with very noisy metal plates and jugs. Merlin thought, as he watched the silverware bounce and roll sown the steps and across the floor, I should clean that up, but then Arthur had grabbed hold of his wrist again and was hauling him up the last flight of stairs to his room.
Arthur pushed Merlin through the door and shut it quickly behind him. "What were you just standing there for?"
"We made a mess," Merlin said defensively. Arthur's face went from incredulous to amused and Merlin thought he might like to leave now. "You're not the one who has to clean things up," Merlin started to argue, but then Arthur said, "Shut up, Merlin," and walked over to him and took his face in his hands and kissed him, lips cold and hot and pressed hard together. Merlin thought, I really hate this, which was a complete lie but made him feel better when he ran his hands over Arthur's back and clung to his shoulders and kissed Arthur back and licked Arthur's neck until he was growling. Which was odd, even for Arthur. He was going to tell Arthur to stop making that creepy sound, but then Arthur's hands slid down to Merlin's waist, and to his backside, and whilst Merlin was thoroughly distracted running his lips across the underside of Arthur's chin, Arthur somehow managed to get his belt undone.
"I think," Arthur breathed against Merlin's ear, "I like you when you're quiet like this." He drove Merlin back towards the bed with his hips and his chest, pushing at the material of Merlin's shirt until he had somehow managed to get it off, dropping it on the floor.
"I don't," Merlin said. He easily pulled off Arthur's shirt, because he had done it a thousand times before. "I'll be the one picking all this up in the morning," he lamented as he let the shirt fall from his hands.
Arthur huffed a laugh then pressed his hips against Merlin's, jammed up uncomfortably against one great post of Arthur's enormous bed.
"In the morning," Arthur said, his head bowed and his fingers running down Merlin's sides and his mouth against Merlin's collarbone.
"In the morning," Merlin agreed. He looked down at Arthur, all blond messed-up hair and lean body and gentle kisses. "We'll regret this in the morning."
Arthur looked up at Merlin and grinned. "I certainly hope so."
(They didn't.)
.End.
Comments and concrit, as always, welcomed and appreciated.