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“Ah.”
Merlin turned in place, the weight of the robes heavier than he was used to and stifling his movement. The material was soft, though, the type he’d only ever touched before when helping Arthur dress and washing his clothes. Nothing like this had ever before lined his body, and the overwhelming giddiness mixed with nervous apprehension was enough to have allowed his king to sneak up on him.
Arthur, regally dressed for ceremony in what Merlin considered his third most attractive outfit, stood leaned in the doorway. There was a glint in his eyes – satisfaction, Merlin thought – as they flicked up and down his body, and when they met his, they held for a second too long.
Lizzie, the maid helping him into the robes, scrambled straight and curtseyed to the king with a blush. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” Arthur said, voice low, “that’ll be all for now.”
She nodded, and sent a smile to Merlin. “My lords.” Lizzie hurried out the door.
Merlin groaned. “It’s started,” he whined, turning back to the mirror. In its reflection he saw Arthur smirk, knowing exactly what he was referring to.
“My lord,” he mocked, giving Merlin an over-the-top bow. Then he stepped towards him, hand coming up to brush out the creases on Merlin’s shoulder, and- and lingering. Goosebumps raised on Merlin’s arms following the trace of Arthur’s touch down to his forearms, and he held back a shudder. Arthur’s gaze was hooded, and if Merlin didn’t know better he would think there was something possessively pleased in it.
Except, Merlin didn’t know better. A month ago, even a week perhaps, he would have been able to say truthfully that he thought that whatever it was, between them, would never see the light of day. That there would always be rules, and society, and fear holding them back, and that they would have to be fine with this, just this – and what a thing this was, in itself. Devotion and mutual understanding, destined to remain unnamed. And then, as this day approached, he’d watched Arthur’s looks become more heated, more urgent, less passive. And his own wanting had become a physical ache in response, bubbling to the surface after too long of having been pushed down.
Was this really all it would take? If he’d known, Merlin would have asked to have been made Court Sorcerer a long time ago.
Arthur stood too close, now. His hand dropped away from Merlin’s arm, but the loss was overshadowed as he stood up behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Come to me, afterwards,” he said. Merlin’s breath caught, and he nodded.
Arthur flashed a smile, and left.
***
Through the ceremony, Merlin avoided looking at Arthur. He was sweating, he knew, so he focused on anything else. Gaius, in the front row, pride glowing on his face; Gwen’s sweet happiness for him as she clutched Lancelot’s hand, who was himself beaming at him; Geoffrey’s droning words, which he kept having to remind himself to listen to in order to repeat. He was where he had, in all honesty, never fully believed he would be – part of him expected Gaius to wake him from the dream at any moment to get him to clean the leech tank.
“Lord Merlin of Ealdor, Court Sorcerer of Camelot!” Geoffrey announced him, and the cheers went up.
***
He attended the feast to give his thanks, accept gifts and, for the first time in his life, read one of his speeches out instead of it being for Arthur to proclaim. “We are headed into a golden age,” he said as he came to an end, “an age where magic-users will aid Camelot’s prosperity alongside their fellow citizens, and live in peace with all. Together, with King Arthur leading us, I believe in the good we can be. To King Arthur, and to the druids, and to every other magic-user who will live free and happy.”
The toast echoed around the room, and Gwaine called, “To Merlin!” loud enough to evoke cheers from the rest of the knights, and Merlin sent him a grin. His heart was thumping fast – he’d never spoken so publicly before, and the idea of it becoming more regular made him a little queasy. For now, he was just glad he’d got through it with minimal errors, and hoped his nerves hadn’t been too noticeable. By the obvious excitement in the room, he cautiously chose to believe he’d succeeded in hiding them.
Arthur didn’t touch his drink after the toasts, he noticed, and so he refrained. The knot in his stomach tightened.
It was later, though perhaps not as late as it should have been, that Merlin saw him slip out of the door. It would usually mark an end to the night, with the king’s departure, but cups were empty, dancing had begun, and Merlin was sure Arthur had chosen his timing to draw as little attention as possible. Only his guards had followed. Merlin made for the door.
“Leaving so soon?” It was Lancelot, leant against the wall. His eyes were on Gwen as she danced with Gwaine and Elyan, laughing and shrieking when Elyan span her too fast.
“I-” Merlin started, but realised quickly that he had no way to finish it. “Yes?” Lancelot looked at him, amused.
“Congratulations, Merlin,” he murmured, “You deserve this.”
Merlin wasn’t sure if Lancelot knew what was waiting for him in Arthur’s chambers, or just meant his new position. Both, perhaps, from the look on his face. “Thanks, Lancelot. Do you, er, mind covering for me?” he asked sheepishly, and ducked out of the room.
At Arthur’s door, he hesitated. The guards were stood on watch, and he offered them a weak smile, which they didn’t return. Sighing, he knocked on the door. “It’s me,” he called.
“Come in.”
Arthur was stood by the window, looking out on the courtyard. He’d removed his ceremonial robes – or had them removed for him, more likely – and was back in his usual tunic. This, as Merlin had come to curse over the years, was the number one most attractive outfit. The one he wore every day.
Arthur turned. “How does it feel?” he asked. Merlin moved to remove his cloak. “No,” said Arthur, “Don’t do that.”
Merlin, for once, obeyed. “How does what feel? The event, or the clothing?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of how robes feel, Merlin.”
Merlin shrugged. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “I’ve been- distracted.”
The king’s look grew amused, and the glint was back. “I can’t possibly imagine why,” he drawled, and Merlin shot him a look. “What have you been thinking about?”
Merlin was, he realised, being placed firmly on the back foot. And so- “It turns out the man I’m in love with wants me too,” he said, confidence bleeding out to breathlessness even as he spoke. “He’s an arse and a clotpole, but I really wouldn’t have him any other way.”
Arthur hadn’t been expecting it, he saw in his widened eyes and intake of breath. And then the king grinned, spanning the distance between them in few steps, taking Merlin’s face in his hands. Merlin muttered a spell under his breath and felt his eyes flash golden. “What was that?” Arthur asked, curiosity in his voice.
“Muffling,” Merlin replied. “Do you really want Richard and Edric listening in on this?”
Arthur kissed him rather than answering. The relief of tension flowed through Merlin’s body at the forceful touch of his lips on his, and was quickly replaced by the built up hunger he’d be storing up so long. He groaned into Arthur’s mouth, pushing back against him and finding Arthurs lips rough, and hard, and then surprisingly pliant as the king gave in to him. Merlin’s hands found Arthur’s waist, and he had to restrain from pulling him in closer, and closer, when all he wanted to do was hold him so near they could become one being. “Get me out of these clothes,” he gasped, breaking the kiss.
In Arthur’s eyes he could see all the want he was feeling reflected back at him, but the returned kiss now was gentle, anticipatory. Merlin let himself get caught up in it, but felt Arthur’s fingers flutter over the clasps on his cloak, bringing it down from his shoulders with a strange reverence. “You like me in this,” he accused, smiling, and Arthur snorted.
“I like you in anything that’s not that bloody neckerchief,” he said, and continued untying the garments. “And I like-” he concentrated on a particular knot, “-to see that we’re connected.”
Ah. Merlin had been right, earlier. It was possessiveness. “You like me in Camelot red.”
Arthur smiled. “I love you in my red.” Merlin’s clothing came out over his head, leaving him in breeches. “I love you like this, too.”
“You love me,” Merlin said, mouth back close to Arthur’s. Arthur pinched his backside, making him yelp.
“Of course I do, idiot.”
Merlin kissed him again, and they shut up for a while, feeling each other’s bodies, delight and want and love running through their touches. They ended up on the bed, only ever parting for breaths, and Arthur’s tunic came off. Merlin had always loved Arthur’s body – through fluctuations in weight between winter and summer, he’d always had to hold back in his explorations when helping the king dress. Now, however, he would quite happily spend an afternoon mapping out the ridges and divots of his muscles, licking across his nipples and sweat-soaked skin after training. But for now, Merlin made do with running his hands across Arthur’s chest as they kissed, and pressing more kisses to his neck and clavicle, and Arthur’s lips went to his ear.
Arthur brough his hand down Merlin’s side, taking a handful of his arse and squeezing tight. Merlin groaned, and rutted up on Arthur’s crotch in return. They gasped for breath, the aching of their cocks suddenly unignorable, and rubbed together again, and again. “Merlin,” Arthur whispered, pleasure etched on his face as they moved together. “Merlin, I really do. I love you, and I need you, and I want you with me forever.” He was babbling, his words slurring as they approached their peaks. “Merlin, Merlin.”
“Arthur,” Merlin breathed against his cheek, and they crested together, lips crashing together again, messy and open as they desperately tried to regain breath. Too hot, they fell back on the bed, the line of their sides pressed up against one another. Merlin turned his head and lay sloppy kisses on Arthur’s bare shoulder, the impossibility of separating from him dawning on him.
A few minutes later, Arthur spoke up. “Do you think anyone’s noticed we’re missing?”
It was only then that Merlin remembered the celebrations taking place in the throne room, and then the look in Lancelot’s eye when he’d congratulated him. He grinned. “To be honest, sire, I don’t think we were as subtle as we thought.”
***
In the throne room, Gwaine’s head lolled drunkenly on Elyan’s shoulder. They watched Lancelot and Gwen sneak out, hand in hand, and Gwaine whined. “I can’t believe I’m the only one in this castle not getting fucked,” he protested.
Elyan looked at him in fake outrage. “Guess I’m nobody then, right?” he asked.
Then he smiled, watching the citizens of Camelot celebrate Merlin's appointment, and the return of magic to the lands. He believed what Merlin had said earlier. Led by Arthur, and Merlin, and his fellow knights, Camelot was heading for a golden age.