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It had been the most exhausting week of Merlin’s life.
Prince Arthur could be quite a pill when stressed, and Merlin often gave him reason to stress; it couldn’t have been easy to hear that your manservant of three years was magic incarnate, but Arthur had bounced back from that conversation. He kept Merlin’s secret close to his chest, the way Merlin kept all of his. It had evened the playing field between them, and opened a new chapter in their friendship. One less burdened by secrecy.
This particular week was terrible for both servant-Merlin and warlock-Merlin. The castle had been hosting a tournament, so knights from across the land arrived and flooded the halls of the castle. Merlin found himself running in all directions to tend to every little complaint and request. On top of that, not every visiting knight was there simply for a tournament—so Merlin spent his evenings slinking through the shadows and sussing out assassins and other such ne’er-do-wells.
Arthur had also been a chore all week, competing in the tournament on behalf of Camelot and winning, like he always did, but as with every competition, he still felt the pressure and trained extra hard. He was more irritable than usual, snapping at Merlin and making snide comments about the warlock’s eyebags and increased clumsiness, even though he knew full-well what Merlin was getting up to after the sun went down.
But the tournament came and went, and Arthur was—naturally—victorious, so a banquet was thrown to cap it all off, per King Uther’s command. Merlin hurried about, refilling goblets and clearing plates. For this, at least, he had the assistance of the other servants in the castle.
Merlin hoped desperately that Arthur would drink a little too much in celebration, so Merlin could just deposit him in his bed and then finally, finally get to relax. But stubbornly, Arthur’s goblet never needed to be filled.
After a respectable amount of time, the prince took his leave, nodding first to his father, and then to his manservant. Merlin was good at maintaining a respectable distance between himself and his master whenever Camelot had so many visitors, but once they were in the hall, Arthur slowed to walk beside Merlin.
Halfway to the prince’s chambers, he cleared his throat. “I’m certainly glad that this dreadful week is finished, aren’t you Merlin?”
Merlin shrugged. “Couldn’t have been too bad a week—I’ve never seen your father look so proud, and you won that tournament rather easily,” Merlin said in reply, gently nudging Arthur’s shoulder with his. They’d hardly spoken all week, and certainly not with their usual friendliness, so it was nice that they had a moment to extend an olive branch.
Arthur cleared his throat to cover a laugh. “I’ll say that this year’s contenders left much to be desired, true. And anyway, I wasn’t talking about how this week was for me, I meant how it was for you.”
Merlin wasn’t sure how to take that. “I wouldn't say my week was ‘dreadful,’” he lied. A sideways glance from the prince told him that this lie was easily seen through. “Alright, it wasn’t the best.”
They had arrived at Arthur’s chambers, and Merlin followed him inside. Closing the door behind them, Merlin raised a brow at the warm, steaming bath already waiting. “When did you have time to order that?” he asked, amused.
Arthur grinned, looking oddly proud of himself. “I sent George to fetch it.”
Merlin hummed in acknowledgment, going to Arthur’s wardrobe to pull out his sleep-clothes. “Well, waste not want not. You should get in while it’s still hot.” When Merlin had successfully found the softest of Arthur’s sleep tunics and breeches, he turned around to frown at the prince, decidedly not in his bath. In fact, the prince was looking at the bath rather sheepishly. “What’s the matter? Modest all of a sudden?” he teased. Arthur usually divested of his clothes and jumped into the warm bath in the blink of an eye.
At last, Arthur cleared his throat, some resolve hardening into determination that made those beautiful sapphire eyes sparkle. “The bath isn’t for me tonight. I had one ordered this afternoon—I believe it was when you were getting into a knife fight with Lord Abracas in the garden?”
Merlin’s gaze snapped up, nearly dropping Arthur’s clothes. “Who told you that? Was it George? I knew I saw that little motherfu–”
“Yes, it was George, and you ought to leave him alone,” Arthur grumbled. “He’ll be my manservant soon enough, so he’s just looking out for me.”
Merlin did drop Arthur’s sleep-clothes this time, his mouth agape at the gall, the bath debacle forgotten. “You’re firing me? After everything I’ve done and put up with this week?!” He was appalled. He’d have thought if Arthur would ever fire him, it would have been when he revealed his magic last month! But to fire him after he’d busted his arse all week to make everything go smoothly for both Arthur and his wretched father—well, that was just cruel.
“What? No! That’s not what I . . . I mean, yes, eventually I will fire you, but that will be once my father is no longer on the throne. George is wise to your magic too, Merlin, though he’d never admit as such aloud. He’s perfect to pick up some of your slack.”
Though relieved to not be wholeheartedly fired, Merlin was still upset at the insinuation. “I’m fine, Arthur. I can take care of myself, and I can do my damn job!”
“I know you can! I’m just trying to help!” Arthur seemed genuinely distraught, which prompted Merlin to take a deep breath and cool his righteous anger. He gave Arthur a soft look of encouragement, and the prince too took a deep breath. “I don’t want to fire you, Merlin, I just hope that one day you’ll be my advisor or my court sorcerer, not my manservant. As for right now, while my father still rules, I only want George to lighten your burden when you have to go gallivanting in the middle of the night to protect our kingdom.” Our. Merlin liked the way he said that. “I mean, tell me truthfully, Merlin. Have you slept at all this week?”
Merlin scoffed. “My magic can keep me going a while without it.”
“So that’s a no,” Arthur sighed in a very put-upon way. “I know I’ve been a pillock this week, more so than usual,” he joked dryly. Merlin was surprised to hear Arthur acknowledge it, and as though he read his mind, the prince continued, “and I know you’re surprised to hear me say so, but I am sorry, Merlin. I made a promise to myself that I’d treat you with more kindness and respect, and I haven’t quite held up that bargain this past week.” If Merlin thought this current moment couldn’t get any stranger or more dreamlike, Arthur took a few steps up to him and gently clasped his hands in his. “Ever since winning the tournament this afternoon, I’ve been waiting until we have some time alone to make it up to you. Hence the bath that has definitely gone cold now.”
Merlin blinked, overwhelmed by Arthur’s softness. There was something different about him tonight, but Merlin wasn’t going to complain. “It’s . . . for me?”
Arthur grinned at Merlin’s loss for words. Clearly, the prince could see how touched Merlin was. “Yes. Tonight, our roles are reversed. I am going to serve you for a change.”
The prince seemed proud of himself, and excited in a boyish way, shifting his weight between his feet. “That’s very generous, Arthur, but you don’t have to do that,” Merlin said, his face very pink at the idea of this role reversal.
Yet, Arthur only smiled wider, clearly enjoying the slight embarrassment Merlin felt. “I don’t have to do anything, Merlin—this is something I want to do. So get undressed and reheat the tub, would you?”
“I . . .”
Arthur sighed confoundedly, and put his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. It took the warlock an awkwardly long time to realize that the prince was sliding Merlin’s jacket off. Having never been in the position, Merlin was frozen, which only made Arthur chortle at his antics. “Loosen up, would you? There are no assassins or magical beasts—it’s just you and me.”
You and me. And didn’t that just send a kaleidoscope of butterflies through Merlin’s stomach?
So Merlin willed his body to unclench for the first time all week, even if just to mollify his prince. While this usually proved to be a herculean task, there was something in the knowledge of being alone, something in the feel of Arthur’s strong hands touching him so gently, that allowed him to relax completely. “There he is,” Arthur muttered as Merlin’s muscles finally loosened. Merlin was certain that Arthur hadn’t meant to say it out loud, so he acted like he didn’t hear it.
Arthur didn’t stop at Merlin’s jacket, as he slowly lifted the warlock’s tunic over his head. Merlin sucked in a breath but didn’t move to stop him. This would be the first time Arthur would see him shirtless, and while Merlin had shared his adventures and minor-to-major felonies with the prince, Arthur had never seen the evidence for himself. Yet, aside from a sharp gasp that was quickly choked off, Arthur gave no indication he noticed anything amiss with Merlin’s scar-scratched torso.
Merlin divested of his trousers himself, while Arthur awkwardly looked anywhere but at his nude manservant. Merlin bit back a snicker at the prince’s manners; he’d seen Arthur naked hundreds of times, but naturally Arthur would get shy the second the roles were reversed. Merlin quickly lowered himself in the tub to cover his modesty, letting out a long sigh at the feeling of the warm water rolling over his sore muscles.
The groan Merlin had let out must have informed the prince it was once again safe to look, as Arthur grinned in pride at the sight. Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. “What is it? What are you so happy about?”
Arthur grew a little pink, his gaze cast to the side. “I just knew you’d like this, that’s all. I’m happy you’re happy.”
“Okay, that’s it. What is going on with you?” Merlin asked, vaguely alarmed. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to have while in the bath, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Arthur looked affronted. “What do you mean?”
“What is this?” Merlin splashed a little to emphasize that he was talking about the bath. “You’re being really . . . nice tonight. Not that you can’t occasionally be nice, but never to me!”
Arthur ducked his head, abashed. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”
That was even weirder! “Dammit, I knew I should have checked to make sure you weren’t a shapeshifter, or maybe you’ve been enchanted . . .”
“Merlin!” Arthur looked rather scandalized now, as well as triply ashamed. “There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m being nice to you because you deserve it, and I’ve been awful all week, and I want you to like me!” Then, realizing what he’d said, Arthur flushed a deep scarlet. “Not that– I don’t mean– I just–”
“Arthur, it’s alright,” Merlin cut him off gently, offering the prince a soft smile. It was, perhaps, Merlin’s fault for always assuming the worst in his friend. “I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth. I’ve been stressed, and I get a little more cynical and suspicious when I am. So thank you, Arthur, for doing something kind for me.” Satisfied with the beaming smile on his prince’s face, Merlin flicked water directly at his face. “And of course I like you, you prat. You’d have to do more than yell to get rid of me.”
This sentiment, more than anything else, seemed to break the final remaining wall between them, as Arthur finally ceased his nervous hovering and dragged a chair closer to the tub from the table, plopping into it gracelessly. “Well, good. I’d lose my mind if I only had George to keep me company.”
Merlin snorted. “Not interested in the latest trends in sword polishing?”
“Shut up,” Arthur laughed, leaning forward to shove Merlin’s shoulder as they both giggled like schoolchildren.
They fell into a peaceful silence after that—Merlin took advantage of the luxurious bath to clean extra thoroughly, occasionally reheating the water with his magic. Arthur had picked up a book, something far too long and about kingdom economics, but his lips quirked up in a smirk whenever fresh steam came from the tub.
When at last Merlin was squeaky clean and on the far side of prune-y, he turned to Arthur. “Could I have a towel?”
Arthur sprung up, clearly having waited for Merlin to finish and not at all interested in the book. He returned to the tub with a soft, fluffy towel, vaguely warm. Merlin hadn’t even seen it perched there on the windowsill, catching the rays of the setting sun. Their fingers brushed as Merlin took the towel, and Arthur's face glowed yet again. Merlin narrowed his eyes in thought.
Certainly, Arthur was a bit socially awkward when playing at equals, but Merlin began to wonder if it was for a different reason—the very thing Merlin had never hoped to receive from his golden prince.
Merlin went behind the changing screen to towel off, lost in his new exciting theory. He could be wrong, and he really didn't want to say anything if he was. But if he was right, did he really want to risk never speaking a word?
“Ah, shit,” Merlin realized out loud, the reality of where he was and what he was doing sinking in. “I don't have a change of clothes.”
“You can borrow some of mine,” Arthur eagerly offered from the other side of the partition. Hastily opened drawers and some below-breath grumbling later, a tunic and breeches were tossed over top of the changing screen.
“Thank you,” Merlin replied as he changed. Arthur’s clothes were so damn soft and Merlin had always wanted to sleep in a pair. He hadn’t even considered the added benefit of the sleep-clothes smelling like Arthur. He took an extra moment of privacy to pull up the low collar, tailored for a much broader man, and press it against his nose.
Finally stumbling out, Merlin saw that Arthur had also dressed himself—himself!—with the clothes Merlin had dropped on the floor in indignance earlier. Arthur looked up as Merlin walked out, and his face began to glow pink as it had so many times before. And it was this time, that Merlin finally understood with certainty that he was right to suspect Arthur of feeling the same way.
He likes me, Merlin thought smugly—the feeling a balm to his bumps and bruises from the week he’d had. Now that Merlin knew it to be true, he realized he was at an advantage, for Arthur was just as oblivious as Merlin had been about feelings. But Merlin knew many things about Arthur to make an educated guess as to what would drive him crazy. He suspected that Arthur appreciated feeling like a big, strong man, and Merlin had no qualms about playing the diminutive damsel. He rather liked it, in fact. As the most powerful warlock alive, he liked to feel small and protected every once in a while.
So Merlin walked up to Arthur, closer than usual but nothing too suspicious, just enough to force the man to look at him. Arthur did, though he swallowed visibly in preparation and Merlin had to wonder how he hadn’t seen it before. So, partially for torture and partially because he could, Merlin made sure to hold the long tunic sleeves around his fingers to highlight how big Arthur’s clothes were on him, and he looked up at Arthur with his best wide, doe eyes.
“It really means a lot to me, you know,” he spoke softly and intentionally, holding Arthur’s skittish gaze. “I really have been so tired and worn out this week.” An acknowledgment of distress, leading up to the killing blow. “Thank you for taking such good care of me,” it was said with extra sugar, the prelude to his penultimate attempt: reaching out a hand as if he was going to touch Arthur, but hesitating and slowly pulling it away, while turning his head with practiced bashfulness.
Just like that, Merlin's plan worked. Arthur, whose resolve seemed to melt by the second while Merlin worked his charms, reached out to snatch the retreating hand. His eyes were wide, as if he couldn't quite believe he'd done that, but he didn't let go. Yet, Arthur seemed frozen, one of Merlin's hands clutched in both of his, looking for all the world like a scared boy.
Merlin took his free hand and gently stroked Arthur's. “Is everything alright, Arthur?” Merlin was sure to say Arthur in his sweetest, gentlest tone. Arthur let out a noise behind his sealed lips that proved Merlin was nearly there in breaking down that final wall. But the prince remained frozen, perhaps overwhelmed or uncertain—Merlin wasn't sure.
Then, a brilliant idea came to him. Merlin carefully extracted his hands. “Well, I suppose you'll be wanting to get to bed. I guess I should go.” It was said with a warm smile, like Merlin didn't notice anything amiss, but he knew that he was telling Arthur the last thing he wanted to hear. But Arthur remained stubbornly silent, and Merlin felt the embers of hope smother in his gut. Maybe he believed Arthur had feelings for him, but that didn't mean he was alluring enough to force it out of the poor prince tonight.
Maybe it was then, that moment of real disappointment that might have flashed across his face, that finally convinced Arthur to speak. “No! I mean . . . you haven't been sleeping,” Arthur tried to cover his desperation with a regal tone, but Merlin knew it was a farce.
“That's true.”
“And if you go to your chambers now, you'll probably attempt to sleep, give up, and go off chasing monsters in the woods.”
Merlin shrugged thoughtfully. “It's a possibility.”
Arthur nodded like Merlin had confirmed his worst fear. “Exactly.”
Merlin waited for more that didn't come. “Exactly . . . what?”
Flustered again, Arthur looked away. “You should stay. You'll get much better sleep in here than on that wooden plank you mistake for a mattress.”
Merlin was getting a certain level of entertainment out of the whole affair, and for all the grief his prince had put him through, he let it drag out. “I'll admit, that armchair must be far more comfortable than my bed,” Merlin commented, intentionally looking toward the chair as Arthur paled so he wouldn't snicker and ruin the whole thing.
“I meant the bed, Merlin,” Arthur masked his awkwardness with a stern tone. “There's room enough for the both of us.”
Now, Merlin knew this was a crucial junction. He could keep messing with Arthur—and really, it was so easy to mess with Arthur—or he could dial up the adorable act and push Arthur over the line. At some point this evening, their unspoken relationship had become a game, and since Merlin was the only one who knew they were playing, he resolved to win. And winning meant coaxing a confession from Arthur before Merlin's impatience spurred him to do it first.
But given the way Arthur couldn't stop staring at Merlin's exposed neck and the way his face changed colors sporadically, Merlin was pretty sure it wouldn't take much more.
Merlin smiled that smile he usually reserved for asking for time off, and was vindicated seeing Arthur flex his fingers into fists, jaw twitching as he tried to remain impassive. Forget the confession, Merlin was one right move away from getting tackled.
“I'd like that,” Merlin replied quietly, eyes looking at him through the lashes, standing close enough to kiss or whatever else crown princes got up to with their servants these days.
Arthur's expression cracked at last, with a glimmer of hope. It seemed Merlin was finally laying it on thick enough for him. “You . . . would?” Arthur asked, a little breathless but far more confident than he'd been most of the night. The question asked two unspoken things, things Merlin could read in Arthur's eyes. You would really stay tonight? and, You would really stay forever?
Now for the cherry on top, Merlin's final move. Slowly, he lifted a hand, and pressed it gently against Arthur's chest. Three years with the prince had taught Merlin well. Arthur had a particular pride for his chest, the way it looked from a lifetime of strict training and exercise. Merlin had watched twice as a love-spelled Arthur morphed into a dog at these women's feet after a brush or a touch of their hand to his chest. Arthur may not remember those moments under a spell, but Merlin did.
Arthur was still and silent, and Merlin began to have the first creeping in of doubt all night. There was no way he was wrong about Arthur’s feelings, but maybe he had been wrong to think the prince was ready to act on them, or–
Merlin’s thoughts were cut off as Arthur lunged forward, capturing Merlin’s mouth in a passionate kiss. Surprised for half a second, Merlin made sure to reciprocate eagerly, lips moving, tongues tangling, and teeth gnashing as they kissed like they were fighting. Arthur held Merlin up by the small of his back, though he kissed him with such intensity that Merlin was bent backward, the prince towering over him and crowding all his senses.
When at last they parted for breath, Arthur nearly dropped Merlin, seemingly unaware of how low he’d been dipping him. Flustered, Arthur pulled them both upright, arms wrapped around Merlin. “I . . .” Arthur was speechless, clearly caught off guard by his own actions. “I hope that was . . . alright.”
Merlin snorted, reaching a hand up to Arthur’s forehead to gently push his blonde hair from where it hung over his eyes. “I’ve been trying to get you to do that half the night,” Merlin admitted. He paused then, unsure if he should press his luck. “I love you, you prat.” Arthur went pale, and Merlin only laughed lightly. “Relax, I don’t expect you to say it too, I just thought you should know that I don’t go around tempting and kissing every prince I see.”
“Good,” Arthur said, something serious settling behind his eyes. “Because I love you too, and I also don’t go around ravishing every manservant I see.”
Delighted to hear it, Merlin grabbed Arthur by the collar and drew him in for another kiss. This one was softer, but no less passionate than before.
“Spend the night with me,” Arthur whispered as they parted, a besotted look on his face as his fingers curled into Merlin’s tunic, another hand creeping into his hair.
“That’s presumptuous of you sire,” Merlin teased, even as he leaned forward and began to kiss along the prince’s neck.
“I don’t m-mean– oh gods– to sleep, Merlin!”
Merlin nipped behind Arthur’s ear as his wandering mouth traveled upward. “Sure about that?” he muttered huskily into the prince’s ear. “Wouldn’t you rather I took care of you?” A pointed hand snuck under Arthur’s tunic and traveled down the planes of his abs, continuing until his fingers dipped beneath the prince’s waistband.
“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur huffed against Merlin’s temple, voice wrecked but trying to remain stern. “You haven’t slept all week, I just want you to get some rest!”
“Hmm, and I will, after you tire me out,” Merlin spoke the words directly into the dip between Arthur’s jaw and neck. He knew that he won when Arthur lost all composure and moaned deliciously.
“And how might I do that?” Arthur asked, giving in at last, a growl in his voice and a tightening hand against Merlin’s scalp.
“Mmm . . .” Merlin pretended to think as he licked a stripe up from the hollow of Arthur’s throat, earning another moan. He lowered his voice to a whisper again, relishing the shiver that went through Arthur’s body. “You could throw me on the mattress and fuck me stupid,” he murmured like it was a casual thing to say, instantly flattered by the strangled, primal noise that ripped from the prince’s throat.
“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, desperate and hungry. Few words followed for the rest of the night, only moans and shouts and sweet nothings.
It was the most exhausting week of Merlin's life, but he was eternally grateful for it.