Archive of Our Own

Arthur doesn’t bother knocking; Gwaine knew they were to be on their way before the sun rose, and Arthur’s too annoyed at the delay to worry about proper etiquette.

The pre-dawn light mutes the colours of the room, and the tangle of blankets on the bed are hardly more than a play of shadow until Arthur steps closer -- and the naked skin of two men comes clearly into view. Arthur freezes, a cold sweat breaking out at his nape at the familiar mess of black hair, the sharp angle of a bony elbow that can only belong to his manservant.

Gwaine nuzzles against Merlin’s shoulder as they sleep. Arthur’s no fool. The room smells of sex and sweat and men, and the curl of Gwaine’s fingers on Merlin’s waist is nothing short of possessive. His father often spoke of the key turning points of the battle, the critical moments of decision in which wars are won or lost – how often the fallen only recognize the moment for what it was in retrospect. Arthur feels like he is looking at his life from the mud-caked ground and seeing the opportunity of yesterday, of a year ago, flash before him with the perfect clarity of the fallen.

The window’s open; a breeze blows through, raising the curtains so they dance up and brush the bed, tickle Gwaine’s chest until he stirs.

Arthur remains still, gut churning with acidic regret.

Gwaine’s hand trails down Merlin’s back, a slow movement of a man half asleep, still warm and content in his lover’s arms. Merlin hums in pleasure as Gwaine’s fingers slip along the base of his spine and lower, taking the sheets with him and leaving Merlin bare.

Arthur needs to leave, to escape the intimacy he’s witnessing, but his feet won’t move. His breath hitches as Gwaine’s thumb dips into the cleft of Merlin’s arse.

A throaty, rumbling sound breaks the silence of the room. Squirming, Merlin wakes more fully. His hips rut against the mattress in lazy rolls as Gwaine circles his rim.

“You’re still wet,” Gwaine says, voice low and gritty from sleep.

Merlin moans and shifts, and Gwaine’s thumb sinks in, slotting into place like it belongs – like it has a right to be touching Merlin in such a way. It was only when the hearth glowed of nothing but embers and the castle slept that Arthur ever dared to slip his hand beneath the covers and let his mind drift to such things.

His pulse thunders in his ears, fists clenching as he listens to the sloppy, filthy noise of Gwaine’s thumb thrusting in and out of Merlin’s hole.

“Well then, Princess?” Gwaine says, flashing a look over his shoulder. “Are you going to join us?”

The muscles in Merlin’s back go rigid and Arthur feels Merlin’s mortification in the heavy silence as fully as his own. He curses Gwaine for giving him away and not leaving either of them any dignity in this.

“I’m –” I’m not welcome here, catches in Arthur’s throat, as does, Where did I miss my chance? “It’s not what I came here for.”

Gwaine straightens and sits up, letting the sheet pool in his lap but doesn’t move to cover himself or Merlin. His eyes are searching, calculating over Arthur’s face. “But it’s why you’re still standing there.”

It isn’t mocking, though it could have been. Arthur might have been in Gwaine’s place. Instead the tone is softened, like he understands all too well.

Merlin lifts his head from where he buried it in the pillow. His cheeks are flushed, ruddy and wild, like after a good run through the woods. Arthur’s always wanted to pin him to a tree and kiss his panting mouth, tell Merlin how brilliant he looks, feels, always at Arthur’s side. But there was never time, always something chasing them. He’d never taken the chance.

Merlin’s gaze pierces him. Arthur sees the question behind Merlin’s eyes and stares back, unsure where this is heading. Then Merlin lifts his chin and nods almost imperceptibly to the bed. “Well, come on then.”

In a moment of clarity, Arthur sees this for what it is, a decision that may change the course of his life, and a second chance even if he’s missed a dozen or more already. Without hesitation, Arthur seizes the moment and walks the distance to the bed.