Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was the hottest summer in decades, and the only thing burning faster than the fields was Arthur's temper.

As the weeks passed by, the wells had shrunk to mud, the streams thinned and the crops withered brittle and yellow in the fields.

And now, Merlin couldn't say for certain whether or not the drought had been caused by a pissed off sorcerer. But if that was the case, he had a strong suspicion whose royal arse was to blame.

Over the years, Merlin had lost count how many times Prince Arthur's idiotic pratness had pissed off some magical entity and caused weeks of problems for everyone in Camelot.

And every time, it was Merlin who had to get them out of that peril.

Anyway, the warm weather had apparently put Arthur in a foul mood. Which meant by royal decree, that everyone else had to be miserable too, especially Merlin.

It was the knights that approached Merlin first, Sir Leon looked panicked and Sir Gwaine looked as though he had accidentally drank a pitcher of soap instead of ale again.

"I get the King's probably putting Arthur through shit about this drought...but I don't know why he's taking it out on us," Gwaine whined, leaning against the castle wall for support. "I thought he was going to kill me with that sword...I saw God."

Always the diplomat, Leon tried a more sympathetic approach. "It seems Arthur is a little...frustrated," He said.

"Thanks for the warning...I'll try and avoid him," Merlin said patting Gwaine on the shoulder as he began to leave.

"Not so fast," Gwaine said dragging Merlin back. "Merlin, sweet, Merlin, you can't leave us like this! You've got to save us!"

"What am I supposed to do about it?" Merlin asked, bewildered.

"Merlin, we could really use your help," Leon said softly. "The Prince has my upmost trust and respect, and he has always honoured the knight's code. I have no doubt that Prince Arthur listens to us, and trusts us. But he's under a lot of stress from the King, and maybe he'll listen to you."

Merlin laughed at this, and neither of the knights looked amused. "You're joking right?"

Leon sighed, "just try, for our sake. He tried to duel a pigeon, earlier."

Merlin frowned. "Why?"

"I wish I knew," Leon muttered, causing Merlin to giggle.

Gwaine fell to his knees and Merlin stopped laughing, "Merlin, please, we'll do anything! Just sort the princess out before he sends me to an early grave! I can't die now, I have so much left to do, more lands to explore, so many more people to shag. Think of the masses, Merlin...I'm too hot to die!" Gwaine was shaking Merlin's arms at this point.

"Ok, ok," Merlin said, escaping Gwaine's grip. "I'll try, but he's only going to take his bad mood out on me instead! I don't have any power to stop him."

Both knights gave him an incredulous look.

Merlin sighed. "I hate it here."

Before confronting Arthur, Merlin slipped into the kitchen to grab some food. The conversation with Leon and Gwaine earlier had made him a little irritated, and spontaneous snacking usually helped steady his nerves. 

The moment Merlin picked up an apple from one of the fruit bowls, the head cook descended upon him like a hurricane. One moment he was standing by the table, and the next he was being physically propelled back through the kitchen doors and into the corridor.

He stumbled, nearly dropping the apple, and caught himself against the wall. The doors slammed behind him. The cook's voice bellowed from within. "How many times have I told you Merlin? If I see you in here again, I'll have you plucked and served!"

It was nice to see that the drought hadn't dwindled that woman's spirits. He still wasn't sure what he hadn't even done to piss that woman off that day.

Merlin stood up and brushed the dirt off his clothes. The sound of boots on stone made him glance up, and there was Arthur, striding down the hall like a man ready to fight the sun itself with a sword.

Who knows? Maybe it could work.

Even from a distance, Merlin could see the strain in his face. But then Arthur's eyes found him. For just a heartbeat, something softened, the tension eased and the corners of his mouth lifted. Then, as quickly as it came, the moment vanished. Arthur straightened, expression hardening into that familiar mask of princely irritation.

Merlin, of course, noticed none of this. He only saw a tired prince who was probably being worked to the bone by his father.

"Aren't you a doll to look at?" Merlin laughed cheerfully, falling into step beside him. "What happened to you? Did Gwaine steal your favourite sword again?"

Arthur gave him a sideways look. "Don't be ridiculous Merlin, he wouldn't live to tell the tale."

Merlin laughed, "what because you'd sit on him with your fat arse? Poor Gwaine wouldn't survive."

This caused the Prince to push Merlin to the side, Merlin laughed and attempted to push Arthur back. It was at this point that Arthur noticed what Merlin was holding in his hand.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Is that an apple? I've told you to stay out of the kitchen as much as you can. Cook has already tried to convince my father to execute you, twice. Next time, I won't try to stop it."

Merlin took another bite, unbothered. "Oh next time just let Uther send me to pyre, I will finally be free from you." He held out the apple towards Arthur. "Here. You look like you could use something to chew that isn't a courtier. You get grouchy when you're hungry and you're taking it out on the knights."

Arthur hesitated but took it anyway, eating the rest of the apple as they continued down the corridor together. When they reached his chambers, Arthur tossed what remained of the apple onto the table and turned to say something cutting, probably something about the mess in his chambers, only to stop mid-sentence.

"Good lord, Merlin," he said, stepping closer. "You've got leaves in your hair."

Merlin frowned. "What?"

Arthur reached out, plucked a bit of hay from his curls, and held it up accusingly. "And straw. Were you wrestling livestock again?"

"I was helping," Merlin protested. "One of your horses was having a hissy fit and wouldn't move, and Gwaine thought if we—"

"Ah. Gwaine." Arthur's tone flattened. "That explains everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Arthur brushed at his sleeve irritably, though his eyes lingered on Merlin's face. "It means you let him drag you into every ridiculous scheme he dreams up. You're supposed to be my servant, not his accomplice."

"I'm not his accomplice," Merlin said, bristling. "He pushed me, all right? Into the hay. It was an accident."

Arthur gave him a look that was halfway between disbelief and amusement. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Oh come on Arthur, Marigold was having a meltdown and booted me into the hay. How is that hard to believe? It's not like me and Gwaine decided to have a shag in the hay. Forget taking me out for dinner or even my chambers...cause nothing says romance quite like the smell of manure and a hoof to the ribs whilst you take it up the arse."

Arthur's expression snapped from amusement to scandalised outrage and his cheeks flushed deeply. "Merlin!" He yelped scandalised. "Must you be so crude? Honestly the mouth on you."

Merlin grinned, "you're such a noble. I swear it's true, and I know Marigold has sent you flying into the hay before so hush."

Arthur took a deliberate step closer, reached out, and used his sleeve to wipe a smudge of dirt from Merlin's cheek. "Yes, but not because of Gwaine," he said quietly.

Merlin rolled his eyes, completely unfazed by Arthur's closeness. Sure from an outsider's perspective the gesture would've looked odd, but it was just them. And well that's how things had always been; too close, too familiar, a space between them that never quite belonged to anyone else. "You're welcome, by the way. I saved three of your horses." Merlin said.

Arthur gave a faint scoff, "congratulations, Merlin, would you like some sort of knighthood for that? A title perhaps, Protector of Stubborn Beasts?"

But his gaze didn't quite match the sarcasm. It lingered, tracing over Merlin's face as if committing it to memory, something quieter flickering beneath the surface, almost possessive. "Anyway, I've told you before," Arthur continued, his tone carefully measured now, "don't let Gwaine distract you from your duties."

Merlin frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Look it's not like I wanted to go swimming in the hay and the worst part is, I can't even bathe properly to get the leaves out. Gaius says we have to ration water until the wells fill again. So after spending half the day rolling around in the stables, I get to stay like this."

"Oh God, you're not touching any of my stuff if you're still covered in dirt!" Arthur complained and Merlin repeated his words in a silly voice.

"I'm taking the piss, don't worry. I'll just have to share a tub with the other servants again. Or maybe the knights. Gwaine never minds sharing—"

Arthur's head snapped up. "Absolutely not."

"What?"

"You're not sharing a bath with Gwaine."

"Why not? He's generous about water. And soap. And—"

"Wait, this has happened before?" Arthur asked, his tone waivered slightly.

"Yes? This draught has been going on for weeks," Merlin stared at the prince with confusion. "Why is this such a problem? You father passed the rations."

Arthur slammed the parchment down. "Because it's undignified, Merlin! You're a member of the royal household. You represent the court. You can't just... wallow about with my knights like some...some..."

"...servant?" Merlin offered dryly. It was that moment that Merlin felt it again, that familiar, quiet sting. Not sharp enough to wound, not anymore, but never dull enough to ignore. Because no matter how close they stood, how easily Arthur reached for him, how often they slipped into something that felt like equals, there was still this line. Invisible, unspoken, but always there.

Arthur was the prince, and he would always see Merlin as beneath him. Whether it was conscious or not.

Arthur glared. "That's not the point."

Merlin tilted his head, clearly amused. "Then what is the point?"

Arthur hesitated, then straightened in that imperious way of his, as though sheer confidence could disguise embarrassment. "The point," he said, "is that since there's a shortage of water, we'll have to be as practical as possible. And I'm sorry Merlin, but I've seen you spill pitchers of water you weren't even holding, I can't trust you to ration water."

"Meaning?" Merlin asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"The only logical suggestion is to share my bath."

There was a moment of silence, Merlin blinked. "I'm sorry, I think I may have misheard you."

"You heard me fine," Arthur said. "Don't be stubborn. It's more sensible this way, we'll only use half the water."

"Sensible?" Merlin repeated, incredulous. "You think sharing a bath with you is sensible?"

Arthur shrugged. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes!" Merlin said immediately. "Several! All of which don't involve me being drowned by a spoiled prince."

Arthur laughed, shaking his head at Merlin with a look that could be mistaken for endearment.  "Drowned?"

"Yes," Merlin said firmly. "Because I know exactly how this will go. You'll wait until I'm in there, guard down and then— SPLASH— I'm under the water while you sit there pretending it's all part of some royal bathing ritual. Oh what's the lanky sinking fish in the bottom of Arthur bathtub...it's okay...it's just Merlin!"

Arthur's mouth twitched into a smile. "You really think I'd waste perfectly good bathwater to drown you?"

"Yes," Merlin said flatly. "Absolutely and then you'll turn my death into a traditional holiday! National drown your best friend day!"

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward, muttering, "Unbelievable. For once in your life, try not to be difficult. You're sharing my bath, and that's final."

Merlin crossed his arms. "No."

Arthur took a deliberate step closer. "Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Arthur—"

"Merlin," Arthur cut in, smirking faintly, "I'm the crown prince of Camelot"

"Oh here we go!" Merlin groaned. "You're going to regret this when I drown you instead."

"You don't have the skill."

"Yeah, I do, I can kill you whenever I want!" Merlin shouted.

"Oh really?" Arthur asked, looking Merlin up and down. "You'd trip over your own feet first."

Merlin lunged at the prince. Arthur barely had time to register the flash of movement before Merlin crashed into him, knocking them both clean off balance. They went down in an undignified tangle of limbs and indignant shouting, Arthur hitting the floor with a startled laugh.

"Merlin!"

"You started it!" Merlin yelled back, trying , and failing, to pin Arthur's arms.

"The betrayal!" Arthur shouted dramatically, laughing. "ambushed by my own manservant. His paper arms have captured me."

Arthur twisted beneath him, still laughing, and easily rolled them over so Merlin ended up flat on his back instead. Merlin bucked, nearly knocking Arthur in the chin. "Get off, you prat!"

The door creaked open and slowly, they both turned their heads toward the door. Uther Pendragon stood there, taking in the sight of his son and his manservant sprawled on the floor, Arthur on top, Merlin glaring up at him, both flushed and breathless.

There was a long, heavy pause. Uther sighed, deep, tired, and profoundly resigned. Without a word, he turned around and walked back out, closing the door firmly behind him and muttering something about young people.

Arthur quickly rolled off of Merlin, and cleared his throat. "Go get the hot water."

"Get it yourself you lazy prick."

After years and years of being Arthur's servant, Merlin's fingers had mapped Arthur's whole body pretty well. Merlin's touch was firm, and methodological as he worked the laces of the king's tunic loose, the fabric parting naturally under his touch. It was a routine the two had participated in a thousand times before, but for whatever reason, Arthur appeared more tense than usual.

Merlin pulled Arthur's tunic over his head and was met with the familiar sculpture of Arthur's torso. The clean lines of muscle shaped by years of training. The faint scatter of scars, pale against sun-warmed skin, each one a story Merlin had either witnessed or heard retold a dozen times over. The light dusting of hair across his chest, catching the low light from the hearth. It all felt known to Merlin in a way that required no thought at all. He was fairly certain, if asked, he could map it all in the dark.

Merlin's knuckles brushed the dip of Arthur's waist as he worked his belt buckle loose, the contact fleeting, almost accidental, and yet Arthur's breath hitched sharply, a quiet, controlled exhale through his nose that did not sound controlled at all.

"Did someone replace you with a statue," he muttered lightly, "or are you planning to breathe again at some point?"

"Shut up Merlin...your hands are cold, that's all," Arthur muttered and Merlin rolled his eyes before purposefully placing his cold hands on the back of Arthur's neck. Arthur yelped and in his escape, nearly fell straight into the tub.

As his feet found balance again, Arthur had seemingly, for the first time in years , overcome his royal-induced laziness and removed his own breeches and entered the tub. Merlin could feel Arthur's gaze piercing through him, "are you planning to bathe in your clothes?"

"Shut up," he muttered, but his pulse was loud in his ears. Arthur laughed.

Merlin's fingers fumbled with the laces of his tunic, his skin prickling under Arthur's gaze, or was he imagining it? The prince had turned his head slightly, his golden hair catching the candlelight as it curled damply against his neck. The water rippled around Arthur's shoulders, and Merlin swore he saw the man's jaw tighten before he deliberately looked away. It could've been nothing. It probably was.

Merlin climbed into the bath, lowering himself cautiously into the steaming water. The heat curled around him at once, seeping into sore muscles and aching limbs, and he had to bite back a groan as relief spread through him in slow, heavy waves.

Due to the limited space in the tub, Arthur shuffled a little closer to Merlin. The water displaced immediately, sloshing up the sides, and Merlin instinctively tried to scoot forward to avoid being crowded. "You're going to crush me," Merlin complained, bracing his hands against the edge of the tub.

Arthur arched a brow, entirely unmoved. "Stop whining."

Merlin shot him an unimpressed look, then reached for the soap with a huff. He lathered the soap with exaggerated care, scrubbing at his arms as he tried to get as much of the dirt off his skin. He could feel Arthur watching him with growing disbelief.

"You're missing spots," Arthur said, leaning in to jab a finger at Merlin's shoulder. "Here. And here. Don't tell me you intend to walk around half filthy."

"I am not half filthy!" Merlin protested, twisting away as he tried to work the soap into his hair. "I just—ah!—you made me get soap in my eyes!"

Arthur let out a long-suffering groan. "Well, you were doing it wrong. Move." Before Merlin could protest further, Arthur reached forward and took over entirely, fingers working through Merlin's hair with firm, methodical insistence.

"Careful!" Merlin yelped, wincing. "Not so hard! Arthur! Ow—!"

"Stop being such a girl," Arthur said, but his movements grew gentler as he his fingers drew circles in Merlin's scalp.

Merlin spluttered, attempting to shove him away, but in his flailing he knocked the soap clean from his own hands, sending it skidding across Arthur's face in a slick, soapy streak.

Arthur went still. "Hey! You did that on purpose."

"No, I didn't!" Merlin said quickly. "No, it slipped, I'm completely innocent, Arthur, no, don't—"

Merlin yelped as Arthur shoved him back into the water, bubbles surging up around him in a frothy wave. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub, splattering against the floor. The surface churned as they wrestled each other, both trying to gain the upper hand in a battle neither had any intention of ending gracefully.

"Stop it!" Merlin shouted, grabbing for Arthur's arms. "I knew you were going to try and drown me!"

Arthur grinned, leaning closer, entirely unrepentant. "Finally admitting I'm stronger than you?"

Merlin groaned, splashing water straight at his face. "Stronger, yes! But not smarter...look at you, you're covered in bubbles!"

Arthur barely had time to retaliate before another wave of water sloshed over the side, the bath creaking in protest beneath them.

Merlin sat at the small wooden table in Gaius's chambers, nibbling on bread and cheese while the physician poured him a mug of water.

"Merlin," Gaius began, slicing a small piece of roasted meat, "you needn't worry. This drought is not... unnatural. It is not magic at work. It is simply the summer season. The rivers are low, the wells are slow to refill. I don't think it's anything else."

Merlin chewed thoughtfully, nodding. "So Arthur hasn't pissed off a sorcerer then?"

"Not yet, anyway," Gaius's eyes narrowed. "Merlin, you smell strongly of the royal soap. Have you been stealing from Arthur again?"

"Oh no... I've just been sharing baths with Arthur."

Gaius's fork paused mid-air. He choked on his bite, coughing violently.

"What?!" Merlin said, worry flickering across his face. "Is that bad?"

Gaius waved a hand to clear his throat, trying to regain composure. "Merlin, was... this... the prince's idea?"

Merlin nodded casually, completely oblivious to the implications. "Yes. He insisted. Something about conserving water."

Gaius froze, giving Merlin a pointed look, his brows raised in a way that suggested he knew far more than he let on. Gaius set his fork down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Merlin," he said slowly, carefully, "for a man of magic, you are... astonishingly dimwitted."

Merlin blinked. "I'm what?"

"Dimwitted," Gaius repeated, dry as Camelot's wells.

It seemed entirely distasteful for Uther to host such a large feast whilst the people of Camelot suffered from the drought. But Merlin expected nothing less from a King who beheaded sorcerers in his spare time.

In between serving the visiting nobles, Merlin managed to find Guinevere near the lower tables of the banquet.  She motioned him over with a gentle wave before greeting him with that thoughtful smile of hers. "Hello, Merlin," She grinned. "You look well for someone who was stuck talking to Lord Galan."

Merlin groaned, "don't even. He wouldn't stop going on about his grain taxes."

Gwen giggled, but then she tilted her head to the side, as she watched him. "How is your hair so shiny? Merlin you look like a royal."

It was probably a genuine puzzle for Gwen: she saw him fall in the stables earlier, and emerge covered in straw and dirt, and yet here he was, glowing.

Merlin shrugged, "Arthur made me take a bath, he didn't seem to appreciate the mud and straw attire. Jokes on him, it'll be high fashion in a few years."

Gwen giggled. "Well that's very nice of Arthur...not every Prince would share their water rations with their servant." Her tone was filled with that usual endearing softness that she had for what she thought was Arthur's "soft spot" for Merlin.

Merlin assumed that Gwen, like many of the castle staff, was incredibly bored and enjoyed imagining fictional stories of Arthur as anything other than a prat.

"Yeah it was super nice of Arthur, especially when he tried to drown me," Merlin said and Gwen hit his arm gently.

"You're being purposefully dense, you know what I mean," She scolded him lightly. "He cares for you."

Merlin couldn't think of anything witty to say in response, as in that moment his gaze wondered over to Arthur. Like it always did, his eyes were designed to rest on him. Some noble was monologuing to Arthur, and Merlin watched as the prince's eyes narrowed slightly and his eyebrows tensed. It was something Arthur always did, when his patience wore thin. Ever so often, Arthur would glance around the hall as if he was looking to escape...conveniently his escape would be Merlin.

As once their eyes met, the bored Prince would grin, and pull a silly face of exaggerated boredom as if he was trying to make his servant smile.

And every time, Merlin would.

Gwen noticed the exchange and followed Merlin's gaze. "You like him too, that why you take care of him so well."

"Arthur is perfectly capable of looking after himself," Merlin said, but he was barely paying attention to Gwen. He was as always, too occupied with watching Arthur.

"He also takes care of you," Gwen said, ignoring Merlin's denial.

Merlin turned to face her, taken a back for a moment. He was unsure how to respond because he had never framed their relationship in those terms: he served Arthur, yes, but he also argued with him, supported him, challenged him, existing in a complicated space between duty and friendship that defied simple description.

Sure Arthur had saved his life a few times, no where near the amount Merlin had saved his. If we were keeping count. But that selfless idiot would throw his body in front of a dragon to save a cat owned by Cenred, if he needed to.

Sometimes Merlin felt that Arthur got some sort of thrill of his near death experiences. If only for the stress it caused Merlin.

"Maybe," He said.

It was best not to think about it.

The feast continued to roll through the great hall in a slow, shimmering surge of candlelight and noise, platters of roasted meat and bread circulating among tables. Merlin, as usual, found himself doing the job of at least three servants. Between taking plates from the kitchen, cleaning up spillages and refilling the wine glasses of nobles.

Well particularly, the glass of Sir Edgar, whose glass seemed to empty quicker than any other nobles. Every ten minutes or so, he'd tap his empty glass and Merlin would have to drop everything to refill it.

"Ah! There you are!" Lord Edgar said. "Don't just stand there gawping, lad. My throat's drier than a nun's wit."

Merlin forced a smile that felt more like a grimace and tipped the pitcher. Merlin barely had time to step back before the noble's meaty hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising strength. "Stay close, boy," the lord murmured, his breath hot with wine and something distinctly onion-y.  "I'll need a refill in just a moment."

Merlin rolled his eyes, disgusted. The noble was practically making himself sick with wine whilst the wells in the lower towns were empty. No matter how many years Merlin worked in the castle, he would never get used to it.

Edgar's goblet seemed to have developed a bottomless void, and Merlin's forearm was beginning to ache from the constant tipping of the pitcher. Each time he refilled it, the lord's fingers brushed against his wrist with increasing deliberateness, like a spider testing the strength of its web.

Merlin looked over the table, hoping to get Arthur's attention. If that prat needed another refill of wine, it would be an easy escape.

The prince was nodding along to whatever his father was lecturing him about,  with the vacant expression of a man mentally reciting poetry to stay awake.

Merlin almost rolled his eyes, typical.  He could've been juggling hedgehogs while singing a ballad about turnips. Fuck it, he could have sprouted actual hedgehogs from his ears...and Arthur would still be staring blankly at his father like a particularly dense sunflower.

"You're a quiet thing, aren't you?" Lord Edgar murmured. Merlin instantly looked away from the prince.

Merlin resisted the urge to take a step back. "Just doing my job, my lord," he murmured, gripping the pitcher tighter. God, he hated nobles.

"Tell me, boy,"  Lord Edgar said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Do they teach you anything else in those servant's quarters? Or is it all pouring and scraping plates? I hope not all the servants of Camelot are boring." His thumb traced the rim of his goblet, his gaze flicking meaningfully toward a shadowed alcove behind the tapestries. "Surely Uther has other uses for you."

Merlin's stomach did a neat little flip that had nothing to do with the questionable eel pie he'd nibbled earlier. "I'm not sure what you mean," Merlin muttered. He hoped playing dumb would get him out of this situation.

"Come on now, don't act coy,"  he said, voice slick as oil. "A boy with a pretty face like yours must have more interesting talents." His gaze dropped pointedly to Merlin's mouth, then lower, lingering where the neckline of his tunic gaped slightly.

Merlin resisted the urge to dump the remaining wine directly into the lord's face or better yet, throw a punch.

A server jostled past with a tray of honeyed figs, providing a blessed distraction. Merlin seized the moment to step back, only for Lord Edgar, to catch his wrist with surprising speed. "Running away so soon?" The lord's grip was firm, his thumb pressing against Merlin's pulse point like he was taking inventory. "I've barely gotten to know you."

Merlin's magic prickled under his skin, restless. He forced a breath through his nose. "My lord, the kitchens are expecting me," Merlin finished lamely, twisting his wrist just enough to make Lord Edgar's grip slip without it looking intentional.

The lord's fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, his nails leaving faint crescents in Merlin's skin. Lord Edgar leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking ominously. "Kitchens can wait," he said, swirling his wine with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Merlin's grip on the pitcher tightened until his knuckles ached. He could feel the dregs of wine sloshing against the clay, could practically taste the spell forming on his tongue, something harmless but embarrassing, maybe temporary hair loss or an unfortunate vocal pitch.

He considered throwing the wine pitcher at that idiotic nobles face, but he knew Uther would see disrespect to a noble as some form of treason. And treason meant the stocks, or the pyre.

"I notice you've got a bit of dirt there. Wouldn't want you looking unkempt." He reached out, his fingers aiming for Merlin's cheek. Merlin jerked back, avoiding the touch with instinctive revulsion, and the noble laughed as if it were a game, as if the reaction amused him. "Easy, boy."

Across the hall, Arthur's chair scraped against stone. The sound cut through the feast's din like a sword through parchment. Merlin didn't dare look. couldn't, with Lord Edgar's grip tightening on his chin.  Arthur stood, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His expression was the carefully blank one he reserved for diplomatic incidents and particularly dull council meetings.

"Lord Edgar," Arthur said, voice smooth but edged with steel. "I trust you are enjoying the feast. I would hate for our hospitality to be misunderstood," he continued, the implication clear without being spoken. "Release my servant."

The noble laughed nervously and raised his hands in a placating gesture, muttering apologies, and Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgment before turning away.

Merlin gathered the empty plate and stepped back, hands steady despite the tension still coiled inside him, and he avoided the noble's gaze as he moved toward the serving area. The man's eyes followed him, still amused, still evaluating, and it made his skin crawl, but he maintained the composure expected of service. There would be no scene. No retaliation. Not here.

Arthur followed Merlin into the corridor, the noise of the hall fading behind them until only the distant echoes of music remained. Merlin walked faster, anger simmering beneath the surface, the kind of anger that had nowhere to go, and Arthur reached for his arm.

"Merlin—"

He pulled away before the prince could touch him.

Merlin stopped walking, his shoulders tense. "You should've let me hit him!"

"I'm sorry...I couldn't, my father would've punished you." Arthur said. "I wanted to protect you, I'm sorry."

"That wasn't your fault."

"It happened in front of me, I promise I came over as soon as I saw, I'd never let him..."

Merlin laughed, but it was short and without humour. "Look, regardless of what you think of me Arthur, I'm not weak. I can look after myself."

Arthur studied him. "I know that, why on earth do you think I drag along in all those deadly quests? You have better self preservation skills than half my knights. But you shouldn't have to defend yourself from sleezy nobles, they are my guests...therefore my responsibility. I should have removed him."

Merlin shook his head. "And give Uther an excuse to blame you? Arthur, you look at me differently that everyone else and I know you see me as your friend, but no one else would. I'm a servant to them, and I always be. There's nothing you can do."

Arthur flinched slightly, acknowledging the truth of it. "Propriety be damned, that man acted dishonourably," Arthur began to storm towards the hall again. Merlin quickly chased after him as he drew his sword. "You know what, I'll hold him back and you can throw the jug at him as well if you want."

Merlin grabbed Arthur's arm and the prince instantly stopped. "Arthur don't do anything stupid, you're making it worse.  I'm fine. Let me deal with that noble, later. Don't you think I should be allowed to fight for myself?"

It was Merlin's comforting hands on Arthur's shoulders that seemed to help, Arthur bit his lip, seemingly thinking it through.

Arthur's hand lingered near Merlin's cheek, the touch careful but insistent. "Where exactly did he touch you?" he asked, the words slower this time.

Merlin exhaled, the urge to brush the matter aside rising instinctively. "It was nothing" he replied. "He brushed my cheek. That's all."

Arthur's fingers moved slightly, tracing the faint area where the dirt had been before he wiped it away. "Here?" he asked, quieter.

Merlin nodded.  Arthur's hand dropped, though he did not step back immediately. "He shouldn't have done that."

Merlin smiled faintly, though it carried no humour. "Well to him I am a servant. And he can treat me however he wants, because I'm nothing."

Arthur looked at him, the intensity of his gaze softening slightly. "You are not nothing. Nobles shouldn't be allowed to get away with things like that, their title shouldn't let them get away with anything."

Merlin gave him a sad smile, "maybe one day, when you're king, you could do something about that."

"I promise."

It was only a few days later when rumours of light rainfall began to circulate around the edges of Camelot. These rumours meant that it was Merlin, who found himself ankle-deep in a shallow trench on the outskirts of the lower town, engaged in what was optimistically being referred to as the construction of a new well.

Beside him, Gwaine leaned heavily on a shovel he had no intention of using properly. "Become a knight of Camelot they said, do it for honour they said," Gwaine muttered, gesturing broadly at the hole they had thus far failed to deepen, "you won't be slaying beasts you'll be digging holes."

Merlin wiped his brow with the back of his hand, "you've gotten too accustomed to castle luxuries. Dig faster."

Gwaine grinned, and gave Merlin a mock salute. "Yes, Sir."

Before Merlin could respond, a commotion rose from the edge of the gathered workers, a ripple of alarm that moved quickly into outright shouting. A goat, which until that moment had been tethered with a confidence entirely misplaced, had achieved a sudden and spectacular liberation, darting through the crowd with the wild-eyed determination of a creature that had glimpsed both freedom and chaos and chosen, decisively, both.

"Shit" Merlin said, already dropping his shovel.

The goat, possessed of a speed and agility that seemed disproportionate to its size, made for the castle gates with alarming efficiency, slipping between startled villagers. Merlin and Gwaine followed at once, though it quickly became clear that what they lacked in strategy they made up for in noise, their pursuit marked by shouted apologies, misplaced confidence, and several near collisions with objects that had been, until recently, stationary.

"Cut it off," Merlin called, though he had no idea how one was meant to cut off a goat.

"I am attempting to negotiate," Gwaine shouted back.

Merlin followed the goat through the winding corridors. The goat overturned a small table, startled a maid into dropping a stack of linens, and narrowly avoided colliding with a knight. Gwaine, in a moment of misplaced heroism, attempted to leap over a bench and instead caught his foot on the edge, recovering with a dignity that was admirable if entirely undeserved.

The goat darted through a narrow passage Merlin followed without hesitation. And in the animal's frantic attempt to evade capture, it had backed itself into a corner, and in that brief, improbable moment of stillness, Merlin seized his chance.

Sure Merlin managed to grab the goat but within the struggle he also became  intimately acquainted with both the floor and the contents of a poorly secured sack of soot. Still it was a victory, he grinned in triumph  despite his clothes being smeared with mud and his face covered with soot.

Gwaine opened the door, and cheered. "Aye, Merlin saves the day again." The knight grinned as he helped Merlin to his feet, who was still clutching onto the goat. Gwaine ruffled Merlin's hair.

It was in this moment that Arthur decided to walk into the utility cupboard, for whatever reason. He stood in the doorway, his unamused expression was framed by the dim light of the corridor. It was as if the chaotic scene in front of him was nothing out of the ordinary. Arthur walked towards them.

"Princess, glad you joined the party, our Merlin here saved us all from an overly excited, goat." Gwaine said wrapping his arm around Merlin, which caused Arthur to raise his eyebrow. Gwaine instantly dropped his arm.

"Did this rescue involve free diving into a bog?" Arthur asked, looking Merlin up and down.

Gwaine turned towards Merlin, and studied him over. "Ah that's just a hero's attire," The knight laughed, brushes off the dirt from Merlin's jacket. Gwaine cupped both of Merlin's cheeks. "Don't you worry, that handsome face is still hidden beneath it all."

"Oh, fuck off," Merlin laughed, brushing some of the soot from his hand onto Gwaine's face. Gwaine yelped and let go of Merlin.

"Right, that's enough of that," Arthur said firmly. The prince reached down to seize Merlin by the arm. "You're coming with me, you're filthy."

Merlin sighed with resignation, the goat blinked up at him, in confusion and bleated softly. Merlin passed the goat to Gwaine and yelped as Arthur hauled Merlin towards the door.

"This is a complete waste of water," Arthur complained as he shoved the door to his chambers open, the wooden frame creaking in protest. He all but tossed Merlin inside, though not roughly, and followed, closing the door behind them with a decisive click.

Merlin wiped at his face with the back of his hand, smearing soot across his cheek instead of removing it. "It wasn't exactly my idea," he muttered. "Blame the goat."

Arthur groaned, the sound long and suffering. "I don't know why I put up with this,"  he said, reaching for the basin. He dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out, the motion sharp and impatient.

"You'd be bored without me," Merlin said with a grin and Arthur rolled his eyes, but never once denied it.

Arthur stepped closer, pressing the damp cloth against Merlin's face. Arthur's hands were surprisingly careful despite his grumbling, wiping away the soot from Merlin's cheek, then his jaw, then the bridge of his nose.

The prince's expression remained stern, but there was something in the set of his mouth, in the way his gaze lingered, that felt different.

Merlin huffed, leaning back slightly. "I can do it myself," he said, though he didn't actually move away. The cloth traced along his forehead, collecting sticky residue, and Arthur's fingers brushed against his hair as he worked to untangle the worst of it.

The sensation made Merlin squirm, not because it hurt, but because it was close, too close, and the awareness of it settled in his chest in a way he didn't quite understand.

"Clearly," Arthur replied dryly, rinsing the cloth in the basin before returning to Merlin's hair. He worked through the damp strands with practiced motions. "You're hopeless."

Merlin scowled, though it lacked heat. "I'm not hopeless, you're just a prat."

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched, and a small smile escaped. The prince resumed his task, washing the last of the soot from Merlin's hair and face. His movements were less sharp now, more methodical. Merlin could feel it, the proximity of Arthur's hands, the way his gaze lingered a second too long before returning to the task at hand. "Take off your clothes."

Merlin must've hit his head when he caught the goat. "What?"

"You can't bathe in your tunic," Arthur said calmly.

"You can't be serious," Merlin said at last, though there was already a note of weary resignation beneath the protest, the kind that came from long familiarity with Arthur's particular brand of logic. "I can wash myself."

Arthur eyes flicked briefly over Merlin's still-streaked face, his damp and unruly hair, the stubborn smudges that had resisted even Arthur's earlier attempts at correction. "You have done an exceptional job so far. Besides, you'll waste too much water."

Merlin hesitated, not out of modesty so much as a lingering disbelief that this, of all things, was the hill Arthur had chosen to stand on. "You are impossible," Merlin muttered, though there was no real heat behind it, and with a small, resigned movement he pulled the garment over his head, leaving it in a damp, ungraceful heap at his feet.

Arthur raised his eyebrow, and Merlin sighed in defeat before removing his soot covered trousers as well and tossing it into a random corner of Arthur's chambers. A small act of revenge.

Merlin sat in the tub in defeat, some of the soot came off in lazy grey swirls, pooling around him like storm clouds.

Merlin didn't even flinch when the prince lifted his arm and began scrubbing off the soot on his skin, "honestly Merlin, how do you even end up in all these predicaments. I fear you may be assigned the wrong role, my father should've made you the court fool."

"Oh ha, ha," Merlin pouted, but still lifted his other arm as Arthur gestured him too with no complaint. "It's not even my fault, honestly. Gwaine and I were just trying to dig a well, it's like trouble just finds me."

Arthur's hands stilled, "or it's just what happens when you spend too much time with Gwaine."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Arthur resumed washing, though his touch was a fraction firmer. "Nothing."

"No," Merlin said slowly, frowning. "That wasn't nothing."

Arthur sighed, the sound edged with frustration. "Merlin—"

"Wait...you're jealous," Merlin interrupted, the realisation striking him with all the subtlety of a falling bucket.

Arthur froze again. "What?"

"You're jealous of Gwaine."

The word hung in the air. Arthur stared at him, expression unreadable. "That is absurd."

Merlin tilted his head. "Is it?"

"Yes." Arthur said, but his voice broke slightly.

"You are unbelievable, I can't believe you're jealous of Gwaine!" Merlin said, gesturing his arms with exasperation, splashing water everywhere. So much for conserving water.

"Look, Merlin I can't help it, I don't mean to scare you but-"

"I can't believe it, you're jealous that he's my friend as well!"

"What?"

"Oh my god, you don't need to be. I can have more than one friend. You'll still be my best friend, as much as I hate to admit," Merlin said and Arthur's panicked expression immediately dropped. Then he looked at Merlin like he had just said something incomprehensibly stupid.

"You are unbelievably dense," he said.

Merlin frowned. "What?"

Arthur exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he began cleaning the soot from Merlin's collar. His hands moved with more purpose now, less careful. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Just forget it, it doesn't matter."

Merlin opened his mouth, but no words followed. It was all too familiar to what Gaius had insinuated the other day, as if Merlin was somehow missing something painstakingly obvious. Merlin didn't want to toot his own horn, but he was supposedly a very powerful Warlock who had saved Arthur many times, he was anything but oblivious. Besides, Arthur was one to talk. The prince had suffered from so many head injured over the years he had become painfully oblivious to Merlin's magic.

The water sloshed over the edge of the tub as Merlin shifted, scowling when Arthur's fingers scraped a little too roughly over his collarbone. "Ow! You're scrubbing me like I'm a rusted sword," he grumbled, flicking droplets at Arthur's already-damp tunic.

Arthur snorted, but his hands gentled, fingers smoothing over Merlin's skin in slow, deliberate strokes. "Complaining even when I'm being nice. Typical." His thumb pressed into the knot between Merlin's shoulder blades, and Merlin tensed, then exhaled sharply as the pressure eased into something warm and insistent. "Is that okay?" Arthur murmured, voice lower than before.

Merlin swallowed. "Yeah." The word came out too breathless, and he felt Arthur pause for half a second before continuing. The heat of the water was nothing compared to the slow burn of Arthur's touch, and Merlin bit his lip when those hands worked deeper into the tension along his spine. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this.

"You're never this quiet," Arthur said, voice rough at the edges. Merlin could hear the smirk without seeing it.

Merlin flicked water at him without turning. "Shut up."

Arthur laughed, but the sound died when Merlin arched back instinctively under another firm press of his palms. A noise escaped Merlin's throat, something embarrassingly close to a moan and he felt Arthur freeze behind him. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Arthur's hands resumed, slower this time, fingers tracing the ridges of Merlin's ribs like he was mapping them.

Merlin's breath hitched. The water sloshed as he shifted, suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact, Arthur's thumbs digging into the base of his spine, the way Arthur's breath warmed the nape of his neck.

As Arthur's touch deepened between his shoulder blades Merlin gasped, his arm jolting and splashing water all over the floor.

"Clumsy," Arthur muttered, but his voice had gone strange...lower.

Merlin swallowed. "It's your fault," he said lamely, because his brain had apparently decided now was the time to abandon coherent thought.

Arthur's hands were still moving, sliding down Merlin's arms now, and it should've been clinical, just cleaning off soot, except it wasn't. Not with the way Arthur's touch lingered, not with the way Merlin's pulse stuttered when those fingers skimmed his inner wrist.

"Still okay?" Arthur asked gently as his touch grew more firm, rougher on his skin. For a moment, Merlin's tongue was paralysed and he could do nothing but nod.

Arthur's fingers trailed lower, skating over the dip of Merlin's stomach, and Merlin bit down hard on his lip to stifle the sound threatening to escape. "Still some soot here," Arthur murmured, voice oddly strained, as if he were the one holding his breath.

Merlin nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak, not when Arthur's thumb was circling just below his navel in slow, deliberate strokes. He was unsure why it was even a battle in the first place, God, it was only Arthur. It's just that idiotic prat why on earth was he so...electric?

You know why.

Merlin bit his tongue, hoping to burn that thought away. "It really got everywhere, huh?" he managed to mutter but it was quiet, and his voice cracked slightly.

"I don't know how you managed to get so filthy," Arthur muttered. His voice didn't have its usual playfulness, instead it was low and strained against Merlin's ear as his fingers traced the smudges of soot still clinging to Merlin's ribs.

Merlin watched as the soot dissolved and swirled into the water. Arthur's thumb pressed into the hollow beneath Merlin's collarbone, slow and deliberate, scraping away ash in a way that made Merlin's breath hitch.

"Blame the goat," Merlin muttered and he heard Arthur laugh softly.

"Only you Merlin," The light charm returned to Arthur's voice, and Merlin wasn't sure if the rush that pooled through him was relief. "You really managed to get soot everywhere," his fingers traced higher, skimming the jut of Merlin's hipbone, and Merlin bit back a whimper.

Arthur's thumb pressed into the hollow beneath Merlin's ribs, a slow, deliberate pressure that made Merlin's toes curl.

"Well I guess you'll need to be thorough," Merlin said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He barely recognised his own voice, edged with something he'd never dared to let surface before.

Arthur's hands froze against his ribs, fingers twitching like he'd been burned. The silence between them was thick, charged, the only sound the faint ripple of water as Merlin's pulse hammered loud enough to drown out thought.

"I guess, you're right," Arthur said quietly. The hand on Merlin's stomach dipped lower, fingers splaying over his hipbone, and Merlin shuddered.

Arthur's callous hands tightened on Merlin's hips possessively, fingers digging in with a bruising pressure that sent liquid fire licking up Merlin's spine.

A faint moan slipped through him before he could stop himself. Merlin bit his tongue in embarrassment, hoping by some miracle Arthur didn't hear.

Maybe it was the blood rushing to Merlin's head. But for a moment, he thought he felt Arthur's breath hitch slightly.

Arthur stilled, tension radiating through every line of his body, and for a terrifying second, Merlin thought he'd pull away entirely. Then Arthur's nose brushed the shell of Merlin's ear, his voice dropping to something barely audible, "tell me to stop."

Merlin's pulse roared in his ears louder than any battlefield, louder than the crackle of his own magic. He completely dazed, swept away in whatever whirlwind Arthur was. And the thought of ever escaping, Arthur's hands ever withdrawing, of this feverish tension ever snapping...sent something panicked clawing up his throat.

"I can't," He whispered, barely louder than the water lapping against the tub's edge. "I'll die if you stop."

Merlin wasn't sure if he'd meant to say them, if he'd meant for them to sound so raw, so desperate, but now the words lingered in the steam-thick air, heavier than the heat clinging to his skin. 

Arthur breath became heavy again. His fingers flexed against Merlin's hips, blunt nails biting into skin. "I guess, I shouldn't let you die," he muttered, but his voice was wrecked, the usual arrogance frayed at the edges.

Then, slowly, Arthur's hands slid from Merlin's hips, fingertips dragging up his sides and ladder of his ribs with deliberate, almost reverent precision.

The water rippled as Merlin leaned back further, letting his head rest against Arthur's chest over the edge of the tub.  He could feel Arthur's heartbeat where their skin touched, erratic and too fast.

Arthur's body drew back a little, and Merlin almost whimpered at the loss. Arthur stood a little, shifting his weight against the tub's edge as his hands slid up Merlin's back, fingers skimming the knobs of his spine before settling on his shoulders.

The motion sent water cascading over the rim, but neither of them noticed, Arthur's thumbs pressed into the tense curve where Merlin's neck met his shoulders, kneading with a roughness that bordered on possessive.

And as Arthur's touch slowly drifted beneath his neck, something within Merlin broke. His body arched before his mind could catch up, boneless and trembling as a gasp tore from his throat. "Arthur," Merlin breathed, the name coming out half a plea, half a warning, although he wasn't sure what he was warning against. Arthur swore under his breath.

In response, Arthur brushed against the same spot and Merlin's body crumbled. His hips jerked forward, water sloshing over the rim in a reckless arc. His body collapsed backwards, causing the back of head collided with Arthur's thigh.

Merlin's breath caught mid-gasp as the movement pressed the curve of his neck and cheek, flush against something unmistakably firm and hot through the damp fabric of Arthur's trousers. For one dizzying second, Merlin's breath stopped entirely. The rigid warmth of Arthur's groin pulsed against Merlin's skin sent his thoughts scattering, and made his own body flare in response.

That prat was hard. Harder than the wooden tub digging into Merlin's back.  Hard because of him. But there was no room for Merlin to process the realisation as Arthur began to rapidly panic.

Arthur's hands jolted away as if scalded, his entire body recoiling backward so violently the tub rocked on its feet. "I—I didn't—" His voice cracked, raw and unfamiliar, hands shaking where they hovered uselessly in the air between them. His cheeks were flushed dark, eyes wide with  panic. "I'm so sorry, i-it's not what you think. I didn't do all of this just to—"

"It's fine," Merlin said quickly, twisting around to face him, his own pulse hammering wildly. He reached for Arthur's wrist, but Arthur jerked back like he'd been burned. "Arthur, honestly, it's—"

"I shouldn't have—" Arthur's voice cracked, his words dissolving into static. "I wasn't trying to trick you or use you..."

Desperate to calm the prince down, Merlin lunged forward, capturing Arthur's forearm before he could retreat further. "Arthur, wait—" His fingers slipped against wet skin, and Arthur jerked backward causing his heel to get caught on the uneven edge of the tub. The world tipped sideways as they crashed backward into the tub, water erupting over the rim in a furious wave.

So much for conserving water.

Merlin's back hit the bottom, driving the air from his lungs in a choked gasp. For a heartbeat, there was only the shock of cold water against Merlin's spine and the scalding press of Arthur's body atop him. Then Arthur reared up, bracing his hands on either side of Merlin's head, water dripping from his hair onto Merlin's cheeks.

Arthur jolted away from Merlin, and sat on the opposite side of the bathtub. His white tunic clung to him, translucent and indecent, outlining the flex of his shoulders as he braced himself against the tub's edge.

A giggle bubbled up in Merlin's chest before he could stop it, half-hysterical, half-delirious with the absurdity of it all. Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot, looked like a drowned cat. A very panicked, very flustered drowned cat.

Arthur pouted, water droplets clinging to his lashes. "This isn't funny," he gritted out, but the effect was ruined by the way his tunic sagged, the neckline gaping to reveal the sharp jut of his collarbone. Merlin's gaze snagged there, lingering on the water tracing the dip of his throat.

"You look like a drowned kitten," Merlin managed between breathless laughs. His words dissolved into another laugh as Arthur shook his head violently, sending water spraying everywhere like an offended cat.

Arthur's flush deepened, creeping down his neck in splotchy patches. "It's really not funny," His pout grew deeper. The despair in the prince's voice made Merlin's laughter die in his throat.

Merlin drifted closer to the prince, and his hand hovering uncertainly near Arthur's shoulder. "Arthur—".

Arthur flinched, and moved away from Merlin's touch. "It's okay, don't be silly." His fingers brushed Arthur's shoulder, and this time, Arthur didn't pull away.

"It's really alright," Merlin murmured, thumb tracing the taut line of Arthur's collarbone through the soaked fabric.

Arthur shook his head slowly, water droplets flicking from his hair. "I don't want you to think I'm perverted-" His breath hitched.

Merlin shifted closer, water sloshing between them. He pressed his forehead against Arthur's shoulder blade, feeling the rapid-fire flutter of Arthur's pulse. Merlin pulled away, and tilted the prince's face so he'd finally hold his gaze again.

"Arthur..." Merlin said quietly. He smiled, fingers brushing the damp hair from the prince's forehead. "I'm not offended." His smile only grew wider as he watched the way Arthur's breath stuttered at the words.

Arthur blinked in bewilderment, "You're not?"

"Not even a little." His thumb traced the sharp line of Arthur's jaw, feeling the tension there, until it dissolved beneath his touch. "I mean, how could I be?"

How could Merlin possibly be mad? How could be consumed with anything other than this euphoric bewilderment that spiralled through him. Not when Merlin knew that Arthur's heart burned with the same feelings Merlin held for him.

Merlin wasn't sure where the sudden confidence came from. Maybe somewhere deep in his devotion for Arthur, he'd take the lead, just to take care for him. With a slow exhale, he reached for Arthur's wrist and guided it downward, past the water's surface, until Arthur's palm brushed against the half-hard heat between Merlin's thighs for just a moment. He was only half hard, his earlier arousal drained from him almost instantly once Arthur began to freak out.

Arthur's fingers twitched instinctively, curling slightly before freezing entirely, his entire body going rigid. Merlin watched the realization crash over him, the way Arthur's lips parted soundlessly, the way his pupils dilated until his irises were barely visible.

Then Merlin let go, lifting his hand to cradle Arthur's cheek instead. His thumb brushed the damp hollow beneath Arthur's eye, smearing a droplet that might've been bathwater or something else entirely.

Arthur's eyes glistened as he laughed softly, the panic is his gaze finally leaving. "Wow...you really are filthy."

Merlin rolled his eyes but laughed anyway. His fingers tightened around Arthur's cheeks, squishing them together until the prince's lips puckered ridiculously. "You," Merlin said, laughing, "are such an arse."

"Now you're offended," Arthur grinned, but he was still blushing, probably due to the proximity of Merlin's body on his.

Merlin's fingers dipped down to hold Arthur's chin, "no, I'm not offended," he said. "Unless, you're planning to stop."

A choked sound escaped Arthur's throat and Merlin felt the exact moment the prince's resolve shattered.

Arthur's forehead dropped against Merlin's. "You're impossible," Arthur muttered, but his hands were already moving, sliding from the tub's edge to cradle Merlin's face with a tenderness that made Merlin's chest ache.

"So I've been told," Merlin whispered.

Arthur's breath hitched, a fractured sound drawn from the prince like a surrender as Merlin's fingers trailed down the soaked linen of his tunic, mapping the frantic flutter of his heartbeat.

The light from the moon had slipped through the window, skimming the surface of Arthur's skin. There were no clouds that night, stars had flooded the sky.

But Merlin wasn't looking at them, he was looking at him. The darkness of the room softened Arthur's hair, turning it to shadow and silk, and it seemed, somehow, that the stars had descended from the sky to rest beneath his skin. They looked like embers of a dying fire, glowing softly, waiting to be mapped.

Merlin's fingers lifted before he could stop them, drawn as if by gravity, brushing lightly over Arthur's skin, tracing those scattered points into something meaningful, something only he could see. He stargazed not above, but here, in the quiet space between them.

Desire coiled through him like a gathering storm, low and electric, impossible to ignore. So, Merlin surrended to it. He dipped his head, closing the distance with the slow, inevitable certainty of dawn breaking.

His lips brushed Arthur's first, soft and fleeting, a whisper of a kiss. Arthur gripped onto Merlin's waist, the pressure dripping pools of electricity beneath his skin. Merlin pulled away slightly, just enough to see him, and Arthur looked up at him completely dazed. His breath uneven, his lips parted, his eyes unfocused for a moment before they found Merlin again.

Arthur's hand tightened at Merlin's side, grounding himself, as if he was dizzy. Arthur surged forward, and kissed him back with a boiling desperation that bled from Arthur's lips into Merlin's body. Arthur's hands abandoned the tub and tangled into Merlin's hair, dragging him closer until their chests pressed together.

And suddenly, it felt like everything around them collapsed. Time became nothing. Seconds became days, became years, became the breaths that caught between their lips and the scrape of teeth against Merlin's lower lip and the warm slide of Arthur's tongue against his. Arthur kissed him like this was the last time they ever would, like his world stopped and started with Merlin's lips.

A quiet moan escaped Merlin's mouth as the prince bit down on his lower lip, the sting blooming into sweetness as Arthur laved over it with his tongue.

Merlin's breath came in ragged bursts, his fingers tightening in Arthur's hair, tugging just to feel the shudder it sent through him.

Desire burned through Merlin's body with an aching urgency, and every coherent thought evaporated as Arthur's teeth captured his lower lip again.

He arched into the touch, fingers scrabbling at Arthur's soaked tunic, the fabric tearing slightly under his nails. Every inch of him beneath Arthur's touch  burned; Arthur's thigh pressing between his legs, Arthur's palm splayed over his ribs, Arthur's breath hot against his collarbone. Merlin could feel his magic coiling tighter, wilder, like a storm trapped beneath his skin.

Arthur let out a soft whimper as Merlin rocked against him, the friction sending sparks through both of them. Merlin pressed his hands against the sides of Arthur's neck, kissing the sound from him, first deeply, then tenderly.

Arthur broke the kiss only to drag his mouth down Merlin's jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. "You have no idea," Arthur was panting, "how long I've wanted this. Ever since you first called me a royal prat, I needed you too ruin me."

Arthur's lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide with something akin to infatuation. Merlin traced the curve of Arthur's bottom lip with his thumb, watching the way it trembled beneath his touch.

Merlin laughed, "You're ridiculous," he murmured, "but maybe I would've been meaner, if I'd known you'd be this grateful for it."

Arthur pouted, although the effect was ruined by how wrecked he looked, hair plastered to his forehead, lips kiss-swollen and glistening. Merlin burst out laughing, completely endeared by Arthur's scowl. "Hey you can't deny it, I know you too well pra—mmph!"

The sound of Merlin's laughter was swallowed beneath Arthur's lips, his grip bruising as he pulled Merlin tight against him. Merlin arched into him, his back pressing against the tub's edge as Arthur's hands roamed his body with a fierce urgency. Fingers skimmed ribs, mapped hipbones, traced the dip of Merlin's navel with a obsession that bordered on worship.

Merlin's body was practically falling apart in response, melting into Arthur. He was dizzy, he was trembling. Desperate, Merlin was just utterly desperate for him. Merlin shuddered as his magic hummed beneath his skin, wild and untamed.

Merlin's fingers slipped from Arthur's back to his hips, gripping hard as he spun him around with a force that sent water sloshing over the tub's edge.

"Easy," Arthur gasped as Merlin pressed his body into his, pining Arthur's arms against the bathtub. "Or was this your plan, all along Merlin? Your way of overthrowing your Prince?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, "oh behave," he muttered.

"Yes, sire," Arthur muttered sarcastically. But his impudence quickly dissolved as Merlin dragged his mouth along the curve of Arthur's shoulder, biting down just hard enough to draw a choked gasp from Arthur's throat. "Oh, fuck."

The taste of Arthur's skin was intoxicating. He trailed his lips down the column of Arthur's throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his jaw, and his magic  twisted possessively around the heat of Arthur's body.

Arthur arched into him, pressing back against Merlin's hips, and the friction was electric, sending sparks skittering down Merlin's spine. His magic coiled tighter, restless and ravenous, pulsing in time with the frantic rhythm of Arthur's breathing. He dragged his teeth over the nape of Arthur's neck, relishing the way Arthur shuddered under his touch. His magic surged forward as if it was trying to fuse them together through sheer force of want.

Merlin wasn't surprised. His magic had always been fused to Arthur, it practically belonged to Arthur. That was the terrible, glorious truth of it. His magic had known long before Merlin did, thrumming in recognition whenever Arthur entered a room, flickering toward him like a compass needle finding north. Now, with Arthur's mouth hot on his and his hands mapping Merlin's body with frantic urgency, that connection roared to life.

He could feel his magic pressing against the fragile dam of his control, yearning to spill free, to wrap Arthur in its glow until they burned together. His fingers dug into Arthur's shoulders, nails biting through wet linen, as he fought to contain it.

Merlin's lips never left Arthur's skin as he pressed closer, hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate grind that sent sparks skittering up his spine. The friction was electric, Arthur's erection hot and insistent against him, and Merlin groaned against the damp curve of Arthur's shoulder, fingers tightening around his waist to keep him pinned.

"Oh, God! Merlin—" Arthur's gasps hitched into a moan as Merlin rocked his hips forward, the delicious friction of their bodies pressing together sending a jolt of heat straight to Merlin's core.

The damp fabric of Arthur's trousers was rough against Merlin's bare skin, the friction maddening in the best way as he rocked his hips forward, dragging his cock along the length of Arthur's trapped erection. A choked groan tore from Arthur's throat, his head falling back against Merlin's shoulder as Merlin ground against him, slow and deliberate, relishing the way Arthur's body shuddered under the contact.

Merlin's fingers dug into Arthur's hips, holding him steady as he increased the pace, his own breath ragged against the curve of Arthur's neck. "Fuck, Arthur," Merlin gasped, lips brushing the shell of Arthur's ear, "you're so perfect."

Arthur's hips jerked back instinctively, seeking more of the intoxicating friction that fused between them, and Merlin rewarded him with a sharper thrust.

Arthur's groans turned into sobs,  as Merlin's thrusts grew sharper, more desperate. Merlin's magic writhed beneath his skin like a storm desperate to break free.

And as Arthur's broken gasps became louder, and more helpless, Merlin's thrusts became more and more erratic. His hands gripped Arthur's hips hard enough to leave bruises as he fucked against him with a desperation that bordered on madness. Merlin's teeth scraped higher up Arthur's throat, his lips sealing over the fluttering pulse just beneath his jaw as his hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm.

A whimper escaped Arthur's lips, almost pleading, and Merlin could feel the way Arthur's cock twitched against his own. His body tensed as if he was on the edge of a climax. Merlin hadn't expected Arthur to fall apart so easily, not for such an uptight prince.

And just as Merlin's mouth grazed lower onto Arthur's collarbone, the prince suddenly whimpered, and squirmed away.

His palms flattened against Merlin's hips to still him. "Wait—" Arthur panted, his voice strained, his fingers digging into Merlin's hips. "Merlin I...fuck...I won't last much longer..." His words dissolved into a groan as Merlin rocked against him again, slower this time, teasing.

Merlin pulled back just enough to search Arthur's face. The prince's cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and his lips swollen. God, Merlin wanted to just devour him.

A slow grin spread across Merlin's face. He ducked his head, pressing a teasing kiss to the nape of Arthur's neck. "I guess I should be flattered," he murmured, lips brushing damp skin. "The great Prince Arthur, veteran of a god knows how many beds, somehow undone by me in a freezing bathtub? I might just frame this memory and hang it above my bed."

Arthur splashed water directly into Merlin's smirking face. "Oh, shut up," he muttered, though the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. "Hundreds!" he scoffed in disbelief.

Merlin rolled his eyes, "ah blame the kitchen gossip, the maidens have nothing better to do than fabricate stories of your royal charm and...impressive stamina. I don't know how you managed to trick all your previous affairs into forgetting about how much of a prat you are."

Arthur huffed, shaking his head. "You really know how to kill a mood. And you should know better than to listen to gossiping maidens."

"Aw, and how many hearts have you broken with that demeaning attitude of yours, then?"

Arthur's ears flushed pink. "I've never..."

"What, never counted?" Merlin asked and Arthur dipped his head, avoiding Merlin's gaze.  "Wait, as in...never, never"

"I just..." Arthur murmured. "I've never done any of this before."

Merlin blinked in confusion, "but you're a prince, you could have anyone." Not only that but Arthur was in his early twenties,  handsome as sin, golden and infuriatingly charming...it made no sense to Merlin.

Arthur groaned, sinking lower into the water until it lapped at his chin. "You try surviving a lecture from my father about bastards before you're even of age. Do you have any idea what Uther's 'virtuous conduct' lectures sound like? Three hours on the sacred duty of purity. Three hours! With diagrams! And It's not like I never wanted to. But how could I ever give into the temptation, how could I ever know that someone actually wanted me? That they didn't just agree because they felt they had no other choice? I've seen the way those sleazy nobles act, men like Prince Edgar. It was never worth it."

Merlin's thumb traced lightly over his cheek, slowly. He leaned in, brushing his lips against Arthur's temple, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Then let me take care of you." He felt Arthur shiver beneath him.

Arthur stiffened suddenly, pulling back with a sharp inhale. His eyes narrowed, flickering with something Merlin couldn't quite place. "You've done this before?" Arthur accused, and Merlin shrugged. "Of course you have. You filthy village boys...do you always live up to your reputation?"

"Jealous, sire?" Merlin teased, fingers trailing down Arthur's chest. Arthur's scowl deepened, but his body betrayed him, arching into Merlin's touch despite himself.

"Shut up," Arthur muttered, but the words lacked any real bite. His hands slid up Merlin's spine, possessive and demanding, as if he could erase every touch that had come before his own. "As long as no one else can have you again."

"Tsk, still so bossy," Merlin scolded, as he cupped Arthur's jaw gently. He kissed Arthur again, slow and deep, his lips moving with a confidence that made Arthur groan.

"And yet," Merlin mused, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to Arthur's shoulder. He dragged his teeth lightly over the damp skin, relishing the way Arthur shuddered beneath him. "Here you are,  so well behaved. It's almost like you enjoy being told what to do for once."

Arthur's flush deepened, his fingers digging into Merlin's hips hard enough to bruise. "I could have you thrown in the stocks for that," he muttered but Merlin only grinned, coyly.

"And leave you here, all alone...like this?" Merlin teased. His fingers traced his damp breeches, brushing over the outline Arthur's weeping cock before withdrawing.

Arthur barely had time to react before Merlin's mouth crashed into his. Merlin nipped at Arthur's lower lip, swallowing his gasp, then licked into his mouth with a slow, deliberate drag that had Arthur shuddering. It was intoxicating, the way Arthur, usually so composed, collapsed beneath his touch.

Arthur groaned into the kiss, hands tangling in Merlin's hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Arthur's lips trailed down Merlin's jaw, then his throat, nipping, and devouring him...as if he could stake some claim Merlin had never allowed anyone else.

Possessive prat.

Merlin let out a breathless laugh, tilting his head back, but his fingers tightened in Arthur's hair. "Easy," he murmured. "We're going to freeze to death if we stay in this water."

Arthur pulled back with a frustrated whine, his breath hot against Merlin's damp skin. "Fine," he muttered. He looked ridiculous, pouting like a spoiled child and his hair tousled from Merlin's fingers.

His ridiculous prat. Infatuating, desperate and utterly his in a way Merlin had never dared to imagine before.

Merlin pulled away, and as he stepped out of the tub his feet landed in the puddle covering the floor. He huffed a quiet laugh as he registered the sheer amount of water that spilled from the tub onto the stone floor. "Remind me what Uther said about wasting water again?"

Arthur leaned over the bath. "Oh, he's going to send us to the pyre."