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Arthur knew, even before he turned, before his lips started forming the words, that he would be too late.
He had been fighting three bandits at once, and even with his superior skill and training, the numbers were not in his favor him. Busy lunging and ducking, trying to subdue them, he had forgotten that there were four bandits that attacked them, not three. Merlin’s shout of pain alerted him of that lapse, chilling him to the bones.
He watched in horror as Merlin scrambled back on the ground, too far away from Arthur to be of any help, as the last of the bandits raised his spear and aimed it for his manservant. He ran, as fast as he could, but time seemed to slow down as the man threw his spear at Merlin, aiming straight for his heart.
“Merlin,” he screamed, useless and too late.
If Arthur hadn’t been watching him, trying to memorize the last moments of his life, the last breath he takes, he would’ve missed it: the way Merlin’s eyes glowed all of a sudden and his hand shot forward, fingers splayed. Merlin’s lips formed words that Arthur couldn’t hear but was sure were in a language that could only mean one thing, because the spear stopped in mid-air, and fell away like a lifeless object.
Sorcerer.
Merlin was a sorcerer.
Arthur paced his chambers, filled to the brim with burning hot energy that he couldn’t seem to shake. He was furious at Merlin for lying to him for years, he was hurt by the betrayal and was still reeling with the revelation of Merlin’s true nature. But the emotion that was making his heart race and his hands shake was not anger; it was fear.
For a moment, he had been sure that Merlin was going to die, and had been helpless to stop it. Merlin, had been helpless to stop it. If he didn’t have magic, nothing could’ve saved him.
Arthur took a shuddering breath and sat down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. Behind his closed eyelids, he could see how that scene would play out, the noise the spearhead would make as it tore through flesh, the way blood would spill from the fatal wound… Merlin’s scream.
Abruptly, Arthur stood up and walked out of his chambers, his feet gaining a mind of its own. He had no idea where he was going until he was already turning the corner towards Gaius’s chamber. He hesitated for a second, but the itch in his feet won’t let him stop for long, and he continued onward, not even bothering to knock as he barged in.
The sight did make him pause for a second. Merlin was slumped in a chair, shirtless, his body a mess of bruises and bandages, as Gaius cleaned his wounds. Both men froze when they saw him and Merlin hastily pulled his shirt down again before folding his arms across his chest and curling into himself defensively. Arthur swallowed heavily, for a split second seeing what it could’ve been, with Merlin’s dead lifeless body on the cot instead, and shook his head.
The wounds had not looked serious; nothing that wouldn’t heal in a few days.
“Sire, is there anything wrong?” Gaius put down the cloth he was holding and looked at him.
Arthur gave him a sharp look, realizing that Merlin’s betrayal wasn’t just his own. Gaius must’ve known too. The reminder flamed the fury inside his heart and he stomped forward and grabbed Merlin by his arm.
“Get up.”
“Arthur…” Merlin resisted, trying to meld into the chair somehow.
“I said, get up!” He pulled harshly, making Merlin stumble to his feet.
Arthur didn’t wait for him to gain his footing. Still holding his arm in a bruising grip, he started walking, making Merlin sputter and follow him.
“Arthur. Wait. Please, let me explain. I am sorry. Let me…”
“Shut up.” His voice was hard, coming through clenched teeth, and Merlin- despite all appearances on the contrary- was wise enough to know when to stop speaking.
Gaius called his name from behind him, worry evident in his voice, but Arthur resolutely ignored him, dragging Merlin outside at a brisk pace. They didn’t speak a word, but he could hear the unsteadiness in Merlin’s breathing. Arthur made his way to the armory, and let go of Merlin’s arm, turning to face him for the first time since Gaius’s chambers.
“Stay here.”
Merlin face was pale, devoid of all blood, and he was trembling. “Arthur, Sire, please…”
Arthur didn’t let him finish, turning around and entering the armory. He grabbed what he needed, and walked back out to find Merlin rooted to the same spot that Arthur had left him.
Idiot.
He didn’t even know when to run.
Clenching his hands into a fist, he took a deep breath, and then grabbed Merlin again, this time a touch gentler than before, making his towards the Darkling Woods, just outside of Camelot.
Merlin didn’t resist again, following after him like a puppet, and Arthur didn’t stop until he was well into the woods, away from prying eyes.
Then he shoved Merlin in front of him, making him stumble, trying to find his balance. While he was doing that. Arthur removed the sword from its sheath, watching Merlin’s eyes widen alarmingly.
“Arthur, there really isn’t no need to- I can expla-,”
Merlin’s sentence was cut in the middle when Arthur threw the sword on the ground at Merlin’s feet.
“What?”
“Pick it up.”
“I…”
“Pick. It. Up.” He withdrew his own sword, pointing at the one on the ground and looking at Merlin with all the intensity of the rage burning in his heart.
Merlin swallowed heavily and bent down to pick up the sword. “You know, this whole, don’t kill an unarmed man is a very knightly thing. I am not a knight. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. If only you would let me…”
Merlin straightened up, holding the sword pointing towards the sky like an idiot, and Arthur lunged forward and struck. Merlin barely had a moment to straighten the sword, not even enough time to notice the attack let alone to block it, and the sword dropped to the ground uselessly.
“Pathetic.” Arthur snarled, stepping back. “Pick it up again.”
Merlin still looked confused, but mercifully didn’t speak, picking the weapon wordlessly. He was expecting Arthur’s lunge this time, holding his sword with both hands and bending towards the right. Arthur mentally shook his head- he knew Merlin was bad but this was just ridiculous- and feinted right before turning and hitting Merlin on the left.
This time Merlin crumpled and fell to the ground, his hand going to his side. He patted there, as if expecting blood and then stared at his clean hand in disbelief. Arthur let him figure it out, saw him pick his sword and run his hand on the side tentatively.
“Blunt?” Merlin looked up at Arthur, a million questions in his eyes but Arthur just straightened, took the attacking stance and repeated.
“Again.”
Merlin got to his feet, his face set in determination, and this time when Arthur lunged, his metal struck metal- an immature block, but a block nonetheless. His lips twitched momentarily, before he turned around and kicked Merlin in the knee, making him lose balance again.
He didn’t have to say anything after that. Merlin stood back up, holding the sword, waiting for Arthur to attack and subdue him, again and again, adding to the already generous collection of bruises on his torso. He grunted and groaned in pain, but didn’t try to stop Arthur, stumbling to his feet and barely holding onto his sword, until Arthur felt his own arms turn into lead.
He dodged Merlin’s clumsy attempt of an attack one last time, pushed him to the ground and held the sword to his throat, breathing heavy and sweat dripping from his hair. Merlin let go of his own sword, held Arthur’s gaze before closing his eyes and tilting his head to bare his throat even more. If it was a real fight, Arthur could’ve easily sliced his head off.
And he realized that Merlin would’ve let him.
He straightened up and threw his blunt sword away in distaste, bile roiling in his gut. He collapsed on the ground himself, lying down and staring at the quickly darkening sky.
Nobody said anything for a while, the only sound was that of crickets and the occasional birds. Then Merlin asked in a quiet voice, “Why?”
Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, not knowing what to say. It helped that he wasn’t facing Merlin, and that he was too tired to summon any rightful anger. “You almost died,” he said in the end, matter of fact.
He heard Merlin’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t speak. In the end, Arthur couldn’t help asking either, not being able to hide the hurt from his voice.
“Why?”
He heard Merlin sit up, but he didn’t have any energy or inclination to follow the motion. Merlin’s voice was soft and pleading. “I didn’t choose this. I was born with magic Arthur, and I swear I only use it to protect you!”
“That’s not what I am asking.”
Merlin quieted down at that, confused. Arthur turned on his side until he could see Merlin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Arthur trusted Merlin with his life, and he knew beyond a doubt that he was no traitor, sorcerer or not. He had always thought the trust went both ways.
Merlin stared at Arthur for a long moment before looking down, ashamed. “I was scared,” he admitted.
Arthur laid back down and stared at the last rays of setting sun filtering through the leaves, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “Okay.”
People often thought life of a prince was a life of luxury and fun, and that he spent his day lazing around in bed, eating soft tender meat and drinking warm ale. In reality, Arthur’s day was full of training with the knights, diplomatic meetings with the council, patrols to the borders of the kingdom, and courts held for people to present their problems. He didn’t begrudge the work, but he did wish he had a little more time to spare.
Now more than ever before.
Despite his routine, he still managed to take out a few hours once or twice a week to drag Merlin away from his chores and into the Darkling woods. In the beginning, Merlin was always quiet, his eyes downcast and acting like a training dummy for Arthur, barely defending himself. After two days of hitting Merlin on every undefended part of his body- which, with his abysmal fighting technique, was pretty much the whole of it- Arthur was sick of it. That wasn’t the point of this exercise, and he was tired of watching Merlin flinch every time Arthur raised his sword.
The third time they went out- telling Uther he heard rumors of Cenred’s spies lurking in the villages in the outskirts- Arthur snapped.
“I can’t decide if you’re that incompetent at wielding a sword, or if you just enjoy getting beaten into the ground.”
Merlin glared at him from where he was leaning on his sword, still gasping from the last round. “Unlike some people, I wasn’t trained how to fight since birth.”
Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but then realized Merlin had a point. That’s when he realized that Merlin had no idea how to even hold a sword. Refusing to acknowledge he was wrong, he stepped closer to Merlin. Merlin flinched again, stepping back.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Merlin.” Arthur threw his hands up in the air, frustrated that he had to explain himself.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Shut up.” Arthur stepped forward again, and this time Merlin held his ground. “Here, let me show you.” He gripped Merlin’s arm, raising it to his waist, curling his own hand around Merlin’s around the hilt, fixing his hold. “Grip it like this. It’s not a thing, it’s an extension of your arm. You’re spending far too much energy on holding it too tightly, and it reduces your ability to swing it.” He stepped back to observe Merlin’s posture, and gave a nod. “Bend your knees, it brings stability to your posture, and you won’t topple over like a maiden every time I so much as blow air towards you.”
Merlin gave him an offended look, and Arthur laughed, before straightening his own sword. “Ready?”
Merlin nodded, looking resolute. Arthur smirked, before lunging forward and was pleased when Merlin’s sword came to meet his, blocking it. Better. He stepped back, swung again while Merlin was distracted with blocking the sword he grabbed him by the shirt, picked him off the ground and threw him over his head.
Merlin landed with a satisfying grunt.
“I guess you can’t make up for the lack of talent.” Arthur tried not to laugh at the look on Merlin’s face. He did laugh when Merlin stood back up, held up his sword and bent his knees, ready for another attack.
After that, Arthur liked to think Merlin stopped thinking Arthur was just doing it out of some sadistic wish to hurt Merlin, and actually paid attention to his suggestions. Painfully slowly, he started learning too. It started with him being able to successfully anticipate the first attack and block it, and then after couple of weeks he could block the second attack too, and then third. After that Arthur started teaching him how to attack as well, and he wasn’t any better at it than he had been at defense in the start, but the only way to go was up.
Season started changing, the sun setting quicker than before, the chill in the air increasing. It was in direct contrast to the feelings in Arthur’s heart. What started with cold anger and fear, began to change into something warm inside his chest, fluttering in his stomach every time Merlin smiled after successfully learning a new move.
They started speaking again as well. For a while, Arthur had felt that whatever easy comradery they had developed over the years was forever lost, and he silently mourned it. But with every new bruise Merlin accumulated, every new move he learned, some of his previous insolence came back as well. When Merlin called him ‘Sire,’ and meant it with utter disrespect, Arthur had to use all of his self-control to scowl rather than whoop with joy. He had missed this.
A few months into their new routine, they had stopped for a break during the practice session. Arthur found a small stick on the ground, and looked at it, and then Merlin, thoughtfully. And then without warning, he picked it up and threw it at Merlin. “Defend yourself.”
Suddenly, Merlin’s arm shot up, his eyes sparking gold, and the stick fell to the ground. They both stared at the fallen stick with wide eyes, Arthur in fascination, and Merlin in horror.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to—“
“That was—“
“It was just instinct Arthur. You caught me off guard.”
“Merlin.” He said, waiting until Merlin stopped freaking out and looked at him, his eyes filled with the same fear they used to contain when they first started practicing.
“I am not angry.”
“You’re not?” The disbelief in Merlin’s voice was insulting.
“No. I am glad there’s at least something to make up for your utter incompetence with sword. In fact, I have an idea.”
After that, a new thing added to their routine. They trained with swords for a while, and then Arthur worked on helping Merlin improve his reaction time with the magical defense as well. When he first suggested it, Merlin got awfully quiet, and Arthur couldn’t help his own reactions whenever Merlin spoke in the ancient language for the first few training sessions. A lifetime of fear instilled in you takes a while to fade, but with repetition came familiarity, and Arthur found himself less and less intimidated, and more and more fascinated by the peculiar shade of gold Merlin’s eyes turned. Sometimes, he wanted to ask Merlin to do magic just so he could stare at the eyes, but he always stopped that thought before it could grow, appalled at himself.
“You once told me you could take me apart with less than one blow.” Arthur mused as they trudged back to the castle after one of their practice sessions.
Merlin ducked his head, sheepish. “In my defense, I was new to Camelot, and you were unbearably pompous.”
Arthur chuckled, well remembering how he was back then, young and careless, with something to prove. He didn’t know if it was age or Merlin’s company that slowly changed him. Maybe both. But he had to say it was for the better.
That wasn’t why he had started that topic though. “Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Take me apart in less than a blow?”
Merlin got quiet, obviously considering how to reply. Arthur knew he was weighing the consequences of his confession and his heart ached with the thought that Merlin still didn’t trust Arthur. Maybe he did trust him enough to know Arthur won’t kill him, but not enough to know his opinion won’t change just by something like this. After a few minutes of silence, Merlin replied in a quiet but firm voice. “Yes.”
Arthur nodded. He had expected as much, and was relieved Merlin didn’t choose to lie. He stopped, turning to look at Merlin. “Will you teach me how to fight it?”
“Arthur, I would never—“
“Of course you won’t,” Arthur cut him off, “But someone else might. Other people have. And I am guessing it wasn’t my expertise with a weapon that have saved me all those time.” Arthur looked at Merlin meaningfully, daring him to deny it. He was pleased when Merlin didn’t. “I knew it. I need to know how to fight it the next time it happens.”
“You don’t need to. I will be there as I always am. It is my destiny to defend you!” He spoke with passion, and Arthur knew this was a cause he believed in.
“And what about when you can’t be there?” Merlin opened his mouth, but Arthur didn’t let him speak. “I am the crown prince of Camelot. I need to know how to defend myself against a threat. So will you teach me, or won’t you?”
Merlin closed his mouth, nodding. His eyes got soft, and a smile appeared on his face. “Anything, Sire.”
Defending himself against magical attacks wasn’t anything like defense against physical attacks, and for a change Merlin rejoiced in flattening Arthur on the ground, laughing merrily every time. Arthur tried to begrudge that, try to summon his princely indignation, but failed abysmally at it. It was hard to think, let alone resent anything, when faced when the brilliance of Merlin’s eyes. Anyway, he supposed turnabout was fair, and in retaliation he attacked Merlin even more fiercely when they returned to the non-magical training.
Something about their friendship was changing… evolving. Arthur knew he always had a soft spot for Merlin, but he also knew that Merlin was his servant, and he had power over him. The discovery of Merlin’s magic changed that, put them both on more equal footing. And while before this, Arthur could berate himself when his eyes- and thoughts- wandered, he found it increasingly difficult to keep doing so now.
It didn’t help that self-defense training was very hands-on activity. He found himself lying on top of Merlin more often than he cared to admit, and couldn’t help his mind wandering to being in this same situation under different circumstances. Whenever Merlin was plastered against his chest as he held him in a chokehold, Arthur could feel the inviting warmth of Merlin’s body, even more appreciable considering the growing chill around them, and wanted to bury his nose in Merlin’s nape, inhaling his scent. Once, Merlin managed to block his attack and counter it, making Arthur stumble and fall to the ground. He had whooped, and then had proceeded to climb over Arthur, sitting on top of him to declare his victory. Arthur had never wanted anything more than he wanted to pull Merlin down into a kiss at that moment, staring up at that laughing face.
He would feel guiltier about it, if he didn’t suspect Merlin felt the same way. He wasn’t vain enough to expect everyone to want him, but he also wasn’t oblivious enough to not know the signs. If his breath hitched whenever he found himself on top of Merlin, he could also see how Merlin’s pupils were blown wide. He could feel the way Merlin’s heart raced against his chest, in a way that could rarely be explained by the physical exertion. Arthur could feel Merlin’s lingering gaze like a searing burn, following him, making him ache and want.
Their continued proximity was a delicious torture, at once the most wonderful thing Arthur could ask for, and at the same time, not even close to enough. Arthur felt like if one of them didn’t do anything soon, he would get consumed by the growing fire inside of him, and then Camelot would be without a Prince. Something needed to give, and soon.
It was one of those days.
The days when the very air he breathed felt like it had a grudge against him, biting against his skin, dry and harsh. Arthur had spent the entire day feeling more than useless. The weather was too harsh to train the knights, and most of them were out on a border patrol anyway. His father had dismissed his every suggestion in the council, making him clench his teeth in frustration. To make matters worse he had even forbidden him from joining the knights for the patrol, insisting he had to be there for the winter solstice festival that was happening in two days.
Instead of being an adviser to the crown, or a champion and protector of the kingdom, he had been reduced to an entertainment for guests. He made up for the trying day only way he could: by dragging Merlin away from the kitchens- where he was helping the servants in preparing for the feast- and towards their usual spot for the bi-weekly practices.
Merlin had gotten quite good at defending himself, but today Arthur was filled to the brim with frustrated energy, and his attacks were brutal, no longer just to teach, but to subdue. To win. He knew he would regret it later, but for the moment he didn’t seem to care, the focus of the battle calming some of the anger inside of him.
Merlin bore the treatment for all of ten minutes, and the third time he fell on the ground, he threw away his sword and stood up, hands on his hips and a glare on his face.
“Alright. I have had enough. What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? No. What is wrong with you? After months of doing this even an idiot would’ve gotten better at this than you have!” Arthur snarled. “Now pick your sword back up and show me that I haven’t been wasting my time.”
A lesser man would’ve cowered in front of his rage, but Merlin had never been scared of insulting him. He stood his ground and shook his head. “No. I refuse to be the dummy you hack and slash at just to get rid of your frustration. Now, whatever is bothering you, we can either talk about it, or we can go home and you can sleep on it.”
“Shut up and do as I ordered.” Merlin’s calm tone inflamed him even more, and he took a threatening step towards Merlin.
“Make me.” Merlin puffed out his chest, holding his head eye, the very picture of defiance.
Arthur stepped closer until he could almost feel the warmth of Merlin’s breath, his own frame vibrating with tension. His gaze locked with Merlin’s, and then moved down the angry set of his jaw, to Merlin’s lips pulled down in bemusement.
Before he knew what he was doing, he himself throwing down his sword and fisting his hand in Merlin’s hair, jerking him forward as he moved forward and clashed their mouths together.
Merlin squawked and his hands flailed, but Arthur paid them no need, pressing and moving his lips against Merlin, his teeth biting on the soft plumpness of the flesh, his fingers pulling on Merlin’s hair roughly. It took him a few moments to notice that Merlin wasn’t kissing him back; neither was he fighting him. He was just standing still, letting Arthur treat the kiss- their first kiss- like a battlefield, like something to be claimed and won. All at once, the energy left him, his hands falling limp to the side. He had miscalculated this after all. Merlin didn’t want this… and even if he ever had, why would he ever be interested now?
No sooner than he had relaxed, trying to withdraw, that Merlin’s hand came up to rest against the back of his head, softly stopping him from moving away. He stood like that, eyes closed, his lips resting against Merlin’s, his galloping heart slowly calming down. Neither of them moved, breathing quietly, and then Merlin’s fingers crept into Arthur’s hair, and with exquisite softness, his lips moved.
Arthur sighed, relief weakening his knees, as he let himself melt into the kiss. Merlin set an achingly tender pace, his lips moving light and slow, and Arthur reciprocated, his one hand going up to rake his nail against the short hair at Merlin’s nape, and the other gripping the back of his tunic, scared that Merlin would vanish if he let go.
Afterwards, he wouldn’t be able to say how long he kept kissing Merlin, only that it felt like forever, and wasn’t even close to enough. He had kissed a lot of people in his life, some of those kisses a mere courtesy, some heated with passion, but kissing Merlin was nothing like that. It was sweet and gentle, like a calm sea, and yet deep and dangerous, promising to evolve into a storm that would drown them both.
When they separated, Arthur kept his forehead pressed against Merlin, breathing heavily. When he moved back, he noticed Merlin still had his eyes closed, a smile lingering on his lips that encouraged Arthur’s lips to smile as well. There was a flush rising high on his cheeks, contrasting with the dusting of white snowflakes in his hair and eyelashes.
Snow.
Arthur looked up and around and found a veil of white around them, the snowflakes slowly falling and covering all surfaces. He looked back at Merlin, wondering if it was a beautiful coincidence, moving his fingers to brush the snow off of Merlin’s cheek.
Merlin opened his eyes, twin suns shining through the cover of eyelids, and Arthur gasped.
“Merlin,” he whispered, awed.
“Arthur.” Merlin sounded shy and bashful, and the smile on his face brightened by the look on Arthur’s face, until it grew confused. “What…” He turned around, looking at the white slowly covering the green of the forest and back at Arthur, realization slowly dawning on his faced. “Oh.”
Arthur laughed in disbelief. “Did you just make it snow?”
Merlin ducked his head, muttering, “No.” When Arthur just looked at him skeptically, he sighed. “Well, not deliberately.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I kiss good enough to make your magic lose control.” Arthur used cockiness as shield to hide how shaky he felt.
“You wish!” Merlin glared, although the blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes sparked again, bringing forth a gust of wind to swirl around them, the snowflakes dancing in it, ruined the effect of the glare.
“So… you don’t want me to kiss you again?” Arthur raised his eyebrow meaningfully.
Merlin bit his lower lip, drawing Arthur’s gaze to the red and swollen lip, before surging forward and kissing Arthur again, heated and rough, in sharp contrast to their slow kisses earlier and the cold weather around them. Arthur wasn’t going to complain.
It soon became obvious that despite their ardor, this wasn’t the right place to indulge in it, as the snow quickly grew in thickness around them. When Merlin violently shivered in Arthur’s arms- and not in a good way- they decided to head back to the castle, and hopefully continue what they had started.
They couldn’t keep their hands off of each other though, Arthur pushing Merlin against a tree to kiss him desperately, Merlin crowding him in an empty street to press his hot lips against Arthur’s throat, his cold fingers creeping under Arthur’s tunic and caressing him, making him tremble.
“Can’t you make it stop?” Arthur whined when Merlin pulled away.
Merlin looked sheepish. “I can’t. Weather is temperamental. It can’t be controlled by magic. I don’t know how I managed to trigger the snowfall, but I know it will have to run its course.”
Arthur slumped against the wall, getting himself back under control, and then nodded tightly. “Alright.”
Eventually, they reached the castle, Arthur walking regally through the front gate, and Merlin hurrying behind him. Most of the people had gone to their homes, taking cover from the sudden snow, and nobody stopped them on their way. For that he was thankful. Merlin, to his credit, didn’t even try to go towards his own chambers, following Arthur dutifully. The snow had melted in the warmth of castle, making Arthur’s clothes soggy and wet. He knew Merlin wasn’t in any better shape.
Once he reached his quarters, he let Merlin and closed the door to his chambers, locking it, before turning around to face Merlin. Merlin was standing there, looking lost and wringing his hands, the previous sureness gone from his face. He looked up at Arthur, his eyes vulnerable, and yet Arthur didn’t miss the desire written in them.
He swallowed heavily, aware of the implications of what they were about to do. “Come here.”
Merlin didn’t need any more invitation, and rushed forward, continuing what they had started, his lips seeking Arthur’s, his touch desperate. They separated only to take off their soggy shirts, and for Merlin to mutter a quick spell and making the fireplace blaze with fire, before getting back to exploring the newly exposed skin, hungry for more, slowly making their way towards the bed.
When Arthur couldn’t wait any longer, when he was quivering with need, he dragged his lips away from Merlin’s skin and looked at him. “Merlin, please tell me you’re sure?”
Merlin’s hazy eyes cleared for a moment, looking back at Arthur. Then he smirked, shaking his head. “Arthur,” he said, “Shut up.”
And then in a move Arthur had taught him, he swiped his feet under Arthur’s, unbalancing him, and toppling him into the bed.
The sound of their laughter was bright in the falling darkness outside, and Arthur let go of his responsibilities, of his status, of his duty, and for once, he let himself have what he wanted. And he had never wanted anything as desperately and wholeheartedly as he wanted Merlin.
Arthur stared outside the window, at the heavy snow layering on every surface around them, and then back at the figure sleeping on the bed. Merlin was squirming, slowly coming awake, and Arthur smiled gently, knowing Merlin couldn’t see it yet. When Merlin blinked his eyes open, Arthur’s smile became more mischievous than tender.
“There’s snow up to people’s knees outside, Merlin,” he teased, enjoying the confused look on Merlin’s face before the embarrassment caught up to him. Arthur discovered Merlin blushed all the way down to his chest, and he felt warm at the knowledge. “You know what that means, right?”
He moved towards the bed, as Merlin pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. “Snowball fights?” he asked hopefully.
“No training with the knights! And there will be no court held either, so there will be nothing for me to do. And you know how I get when I get bored.”
Merlin’s eyes glinted. “We can’t have that, can we?”
Arthur stepped closer until he was within Merlin’s reach. “Any suggestions on how you can make it up to me.”
Merlin leaned up to grab Arthur by his shoulder, slowly pulling him down onto himself. “I can think of a few things.”
“Good.” Arthur mumbled, before his mouth became too occupied to speak anymore.
It was a vastly preferable alternate to training Merlin in the awful weather. Maybe later, after they were sated, he would consider it. As if reading his thoughts, Merlin flipped him over, climbing on top of him, his dexterous fingers and addicting mouth wreaking havoc on Arthur’s control until he lost the ability to form coherent thought, giving in to his sorcerer to do what he pleased.
It was exactly what Merlin wanted.
Fortunately, it was also what Arthur wanted, so he would call it a victory anyway.
Arthur still made sure to find out time, at least twice a week, to drag his manservant (who was also secretly the most powerful sorcerer ever born) away from his chores and deep into the Darkling Woods. If the clash of swords devolved into hot presses of lips and skin more often than not, well, nobody needed to know about it.