Merlin’s Yule Gift - Part 2 [Merlin/Arthur - NC-17 - 15000]

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Title: Merlin’s Yule Gift - Part 2
Author/Artist: rotrude
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Prompt: Canon, Arthur doesn't know what to get Merlin for Christmas, and he has to ask everyone else for help.
Word Count/Art Medium: 15,000
Rating: (G to NC-17) NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *Please warn for possible triggers and squicks.*
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to the brilliant C for betaing this piece in time for the holiday season, her comments and wise notes. You've been a dear. Happy holidays to you too.
Based on the following prompt by Narlth: Canon, Arthur doesn't know what to get Merlin for Christmas, and he has to ask everyone else for help. Thank you so much for the wonderful plot idea!
Summary It's the first Yule after Uther's death and in spite of some initial doubts as to the propriety of holding revels, Arthur decides to celebrate the festival all the same. The populace deserves a time for merry-making and so do his friends and loved ones. Now present exchanges are a Camelot Yuletide tradition, a long established convention. And that's where Arthur's plans falter just a little. While he knows what to give his friends and followers, he has no idea how to reward Merlin. Right, Merlin...


On AO3





On Yule morning Arthur woke rather early. The room was flooded with pale light and he didn't feel particularly sleepy anyway. The chamber, however, Arthur barely recognised as his. The shape and furniture were obviously the same but Merlin had gone a little overboard with his ornamenting in the days leading up to the main festival and now big wreaths of greens dotted with holly and mistletoe hung above the fireplace. Smaller twigs held together with ribbon decorated the tables, nightstand and the window alcove. Candles still burned brightly everywhere and strewn throughout the room were bowls of ground bark which made the place smell deeply of the forest.

Arthur hadn't been about long, when George came in with his breakfast. Arthur did his best to countenance him, really he did, but doing so didn't come easy. George didn't smile, didn't speak, and didn't crack jokes. His mode of address was impeccable, his answers always to the point, and his bearing so stiff Arthur wanted to poke him with a training staff.

All in all Arthur was happy when, after changing into his clothes for the day, he could dismiss the man.

“Won't you need me to dress you for tonight's banquet, sire?”

“No,” Arthur said, “I'll manage on my own.”

“But, sire.” George went ramrod straight, chin tipped up, his eyes wide. “Are you sure you can manage quite alone? Dressing properly in formal clothing requires assistance.”

“I think I may be trusted with shoving my head and arms into a tunic.”

“I'm sure that that is true, my lord, and yet a valet knows how to adorn one's master to the best advantage.”

“Merlin never does that--” Arthur didn't think he did. “And I'll be fine.”

“Permit to say, my lord,” George said, raising an eyebrow without quite meeting Arthur's eyes. “But I think Merlin's been quite remiss. Absenting himself on day such as this, when a nobleman most needs the service of his servant--”

“That's enough,” Arthur slammed his palm down the table. “I said you can go.”

George jumped, he bit his lips together, and then scurried out.

Because it was the day of the Yule Festival, all knights’ training had been suspended, as were council meetings. Lunch was informal because the cooks were too busy preparing a ten course meal for the evening. In short, all of Arthur's routines were disrupted. He tried inspecting the armoury, but Leon had taken the key with him and set off for his mother's keep. He also tried to review this year's accounts, but Geoffrey of Monmouth was apparently too deep in mead already to remember where he'd put the books.

Not one to stay idle – father had always reproved the slothful – Arthur went back to his chamber and read over the speech he was due to give tonight. He made a handful of corrections, mostly of syntax, and assured himself the style wasn't too formal for holiday well wishes. Then he re-read the new version to himself.

Most of the afternoon had passed and the sky turned to pink, when the door opened. “I'm busy,” Arthur said without lifting his gaze from his parchments.

“It's late, Arthur,” Merlin said. “You need to change for the feast.”

Arthur dropped his quill. “Weren't you supposed to take your day off?”

“I did.” Merlin shrugged. “I woke up late and then set out. I took a nice walk into the lower town. It was ever so busy, people going about, merchants calling out their wares. And the stands... They were full of food and colourful items... to make a present of, you know. I bought a trinket for my mum.” He shifted his weight. “Then I struck out towards the forest. I trekked up and down a scenic hill and had lunch by the lake. But then...”

“But then?” Arthur was sure he oughtn't probe. But he wanted to know; he wasn't partial to the mysterious façade Merlin sometimes put up. “What strange sort of thought moved you to give up the rest of your free day?”

“I don't know...” Merlin drummed his fingers on his upper thigh. He blew air through his mouth and looked away. “I was having a good time and then it occurred to me that it was all rather... pointless.”

Arthur made a point to smirk. “So you missed me.”

Merlin tipped his mouth to one side and his head down.

Arthur shifted in his chair, looked down too. Then, in a surge, he rose and stretched. “I knew you would. What would your days be like without me?”

Merlin's head snapped up. “Oh shut up. I'll have you know I was having a fine time of it too.” He mumbled something. “Till I got bored.”

Arthur felt his face was softening into a look of fondness. He shook his head, placed his hands on his hips and attempted to put on a more sober mien. “So shall you dress me?”

He helped out by stripping.

Merlin didn't drop his gaze, but then he only seldom did. When Arthur walked behind a screen he looked the other way, but most of the time Arthur didn't bother with one and neither did Merlin with formalities. It didn't trouble Arthur in any way, for Merlin had a way of taking him in, never with unconcern, but rather with fondness, that put Arthur at ease in his own skin.

This time Arthur squared his shoulders, dropped his hands by his side, and waited for Merlin to take action.

“What--” Merlin cleared his throat. “What would you like to wear tonight?”

“You have the run of my wardrobe,” Arthur said, his skin prickling warm. “You choose.”

Merlin opened cupboards and trunks. He took out tunics and put them back in place, brushed the lining of cloaks and discarded a selection of belts. “As much as I'm loath to say it--” Merlin's forehead furrowed. “I think chainmail suits you best.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, smiling at the notion Merlin got him. “Yes.”

Merlin passed him a fresh pair of small clothes, which Arthur slipped on with a few quick tugs. He helped Arthur into his under-shirt and tabard, and handed him breeches which Merlin fastened after Arthur pulled them on. While he did so, his fingers quick at pulling laces, he held Arthur's gaze and Arthur felt there a was a strange quality to their interaction. It wasn't an unusual one. It just seemed to carry more meaning, a potential for this moment to stretch and stretch that he could taste on his tongue. It didn't, not truly, not when you counted in minutes, but the impression lingered. As Merlin assisted Arthur in lifting the wad of chainmail over his head and fixed his belt at his waist, the feeling waned.

Merlin put some finishing touches to his outfit, cloaked him, and just like that, they were done. Arthur wished he could stop the moment from slipping through his fingers so he could better understand it. But Arthur was ready to face the banquet crowd.

Pine garlands decorated the main hall. They spiralled around the pillars and hung in chains around the ceiling's rafters. Ribbons and dried winter flowers embellished them in bursts of crimson, russet and white. Behind the throne, red banners unfurled, a golden dragon gleaming at their centre. Branches of holly piled on top of the old stone mantel. In the fireplace beneath it a large chunk of meat turned on a spit, watched over by a kitchen boy. The honeyed smell of the glaze wafted off and mingled with the mossy scent of the freshly changed rushes.

With Merlin walking in his wake, Arthur strode to the high table. The guests milling at either side of the salon bowed and curtsied, inclined their heads or bent their backs. They made way for him by taking giant backwards steps, elbowing each other into place, the flow of their conversation cut off. When Arthur took his place at the table, he hoisted up a glass in lieu of sitting. He waited for Merlin to take his place behind his chair and then started with his speech.

The hall fell into a hush and Arthur could only hear the sound of his own voice. He didn't like it, not when it was his words and not his actions that were meant to be exemplary. Rhetoric was not his forte anyway and his tongue thickened around the guile of it. Still, he believed in the ideals that lay behind the words, so he looked to Merlin, who nodded briefly, and went on.

When he was done, all the guests raised their glasses. Guinevere, sitting to his right and berobed in white and gold damask, was the first. Elyan, occupying the place to Arthur's left, the second. And then countless cups went up in a dazzling sea of gold.

The toast over, Arthur sank back into his seat. Servants from the kitchens streamed in, carrying trays on their shoulders. When they lowered them onto the table, Arthur fell to eating. He didn't partake of all the dishes. It would have been impossible. But the meat ran with juices and the pies were fat, so he did try this and that.

“Go easy on the sauces at least,” Merlin said, leaning down to murmur the words in the ear.

“I'm not fat.”

“I never said you were fat.” Merlin's lips curled at the sides. “I'm just saying I'll have to punch another hole in your belt if you do persist.”

Arthur shook his head, chuckled, and pushed a steaming carrot into Merlin's mouth. “Try this.”

“Mmm,” Merlin sounded, clapping a hand over his mouth. He had tears in his eyes. They made them look like the surface of a lake during a storm. “Good, excellent.”

“Not too hot?”

“No.” Merlin lied, his lips pressed tight. “No, but I'll have some water, thanks.” He snatched Arthur's goblet and drank from it.

Arthur went back to eating, ignoring the glances darting his and Merlin's way, and loading heaps of sweet meats into his mouth. He realized he wasn't that hungry anymore though, and he had better things to do than sampling more of the delicacies the cooks had put forward.

“Come,” he said, rising and pulling Merlin forward by the wrist.

Guinevere and Elyan hid their laughter in their cups.

Merlin muttered under his breath, then louder said, “Aren't you meant to host your own banquet?”

“The point of a banquet,” Arthur said, “is to entertain people.” Arthur nodded at the guests. They were cutting slices of meat off the chunks on the trays and attacking the sweets as diligently as Arthur had done. They were laughing and conversing. Couples were dancing and those standing were swaying along. “And they're doing quite well without me. I am not needed here.”

“You're the King, Arthur.” Merlin breathed that out with awe in his voice. “They care about you, about your being here with them.”

Arthur hoped that that was true, that he was doing his best by them and that his subjects thought him a fit successor to his father. But that was a thought to ponder another day. “They can do without me awhile.”

Arthur clamped a hand around Merlin's forearm and led him out the hall, into a long corridor, down a dark flight of steps barely lit by guttering flambeaux and into the courtyard. Snow covered it in thick blankets. It cloaked the arch of doorways and lay in dustings over lintels. It clothed statues and gables, roof and chimneys. The flagstones could not be seen at all if not in proximity of stairs and passageways from which it had been swept.

The air was so cold it seemed to Arthur as though it might split skin and shatter bone. It sucked in sounds and made everything so very still. Arthur tipped his head back and watched the broad expanse of the sky that unfurled before his eyes. “It's such a clear night.”

“It's a beautiful night.” Merlin smiled at the heavens. “So many stars.”

“It's a cold night too.” Arthur couldn't help but say it, poke a hole in Merlin's romantic notions. Nature could be a harsh mistress. “It sucks the life out of things. Everything's freezing.”

“Yes but it's going to get better,” Merlin said, stealing a sideways glance at him. “The thaw will settle in and usher in spring and rebirth.” He sucked in a breath as if he was tasting the air. “And in the meanwhile, it's so beautiful.” He bit thoughtfully on his lower lip. “You know, people in Ealdor used to say that animals lived in the sky. Because of the shape of the stars, the constellations.” He flailed his hand about. “The boar, the stag. When I was little I loved nights like this one. I'd look up at the sky and wish those animals would move, take life.”

Arthur huffed, smiles at the night sky. “Only you Merlin.”

“What--” Merlin narrowed his eyes at him, his mouth quirked. “You've never wished for a little bit of magic in your life?”

Arthur closed his eyes. No, he ought to be able to say, never. But that wasn't the exact truth. “Mmm.”

They looked at the sky a while longer until Merlin tucked his hands under his arms and started stomping this way and that.

“You're cold,” Arthur said.

Merlin released a puff of crystallised breath. “No,” he said. “'m fine.”

“Liar,” said Arthur, grabbing Merlin by the hands and wrapping his gloved ones around them. “Here,” he said, trying to chafe some warmth into Merlin. “Idiot.”

“I don't know why you always target my intelligence.” Merlin drew himself up, pulled a serious face, then his mouth twitched and he cracked a smile. “We all know that between us I'm the smarter one.”

“Declining presents when you could have got a nice pair of gloves doesn't seem very clever to me.” Merlin's hands were still cold as ice, and if that was not proof of utter thoughtlessness, then Arthur didn't know what was. He placed Merlin's hands on his own sides, inside the folds of his cloak. It was woollen and good quality. It ought to help Merlin transition from icicle back to human. “Does it?”

Merlin dipped his head. “I told you I didn't want anything. Just some time to myself.”

“And then you gave that up too.”

“Told you, I wasn't doing much anyway.” His shoulders went up. “I suppose I'm too used to catering to you to appreciate the beauties of freedom.”

“Merlin, I--” Arthur said, wishing Merlin didn't feel like that, that he could enjoy life the way he wanted to.

Merlin seemed to have guessed Arthur's train of thought for he looked up and shook his head. “Never tell anyone I said this, but it wasn't actually your fault.” Merlin reddened and it was either the cold working on him or a blush. “I just... I'm just so used being around you, I... I like it better than not... being around you.”

“Merlin.” Arthur breathed the word out, his heart pounding in his chest. It wasn't because of what Merlin had said, for Merlin had a way of wearing his feelings on his sleeve that seemed to heighten them, make more of them, making them appear larger than life. Where other men hid behind the cloak of gruffness, Merlin bared himself. Declarations of devotion from him were not unusual, rather the contrary. The difference was in the way he'd said it, how colour had spread across his cheeks, how his gaze had risen to Arthur's, pools of warmth in it. All of that made Arthur think there was more to Merlin's conduct than he'd allowed himself to see. There was more to his vows than he'd appreciated. Gods, what had he ignored?

With a start, he became conscious of their relative positions, of the bulk of Merlin so close to him, of the placement of Merlin's hands on his body, the nearness of his face. It was a lovely face. With the sight of it usually came comfort and an easing of Arthur's heart. And though now that organ wasn't at ease, – it stampeded wildly in his chest – it also brought with it a measure of light-heartedness, a freeing from worldly cares, that Arthur could do nothing but call joy. “Merlin, I--”

“There, I ruined it,” Merlin said, flinching. “Spoke too much, should've kept it to myself so--”

Arthur moved forwards and touched his lips to Merlin's.

They were soft, yielding, and oddly warm considering how cold Merlin's hands were. The contact made Arthur light-headed, almost dizzy. It made his heart contract in a spasm he felt up in his throat. He touched his tongue along the edge of Merlin's upper lip and Merlin's eyes widened till Arthur was lost in the counting of the blue flecks in them.
A gasp whistled between Merlin's teeth and he made fists of his hands where they lay on Arthur's hips. Arthur hoped that he hadn't misunderstood, hadn't overstepped the boundaries of trust that came with their relationship. Fearing he had, he gave himself a moment to taste the last of the kiss, the dregs of the warmth that came with it, and drew back. “I'm sorry if I--

“Don't be sorry,” Merlin said in a breath. In the cold, sharp air of this Yule night it came out as a soft cloud of vapour. “I'll never be sorry for it.”

Arthur's brow crinkled. “I thought perhaps I was mistaken.”

“You weren't.” Merlin's lips edged into a smile. It was tentative but even so it had power to take the breath from Arthu.r “I-- I was not against it in the least.”

“Not against it?” Arthur couldn't feign outrage. His tone and his features wouldn't play into the game. They both softened too much, irredeemably so. “Is that a roundabout way of saying you're for it?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, touching a hand to his face. It was the ghost of a touch, really, hesitant, tentative. It had none of Merlin's usual forwardness. “You must know I'm wholly devoted to you.”

Arthur sucked in a breath. “Devotion isn't this, Merlin. It's loyalty. It's--”

Merlin brought his other hand to Arthur's face so he was cupping it in both his palms. “There's no one else in the whole world for me.”

From anyone else that would have sounded like hyperbole. It would have been too much and rang completely false. But from Merlin it sounded like nothing but the truth, one geared to move Arthur beyond reason, beyond a capacity to put a stop to this for the wanting of it. He couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. He most certainly couldn't say the most appropriate thing – not that he knew what that was or what he'd done to deserve Merlin's love.

Merlin slid his fingers in Arthur's hair and kissed him. It wasn't open-mouthed, just a soft slide of lips on lips. But Arthur's heart hammered and tugged in his chest as if it was the cusp of love making, as if there was nothing better than this. He didn't know how Merlin could make him ache so, but he did. He responded by opening up, dipping his tongue into Merlin's mouth and dragging it alongside Merlin's. The mutual touch of tongues whipped shivers up Arthur's back, gathered his body taut with wanting. He pulled Merlin to him and let out a groan.

Sounds from the nearby hall wafted outwards, laughter, the strains of a rebec. It made for melodious music but reminded Arthur of where he was. He wished he could be as reckless as any of his guests, that he could kiss Merlin under the moonlight and not be weighted down by political considerations. But he was King and had to take the burden of responsibility, show impeccable behaviour. “I can't--”

Merlin's face fell, crumpled. He kept on smiling, but his nostrils flared, and his ribcage filled with a shaky breath. “Of course, I-- Let's forget about this, okay?”

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the neck, palm flat, and reeled him in. “That's not what I meant. We just need to be private. Unless...” Arthur felt cold inside. “Unless it's a condition you're not willing to meet. I know it's thankless but--”

“Secrecy?” Merlin asked, a twist of the lips never quite firming into a smile. “As long as Gwen's fine with it, then I am too. I can be...” He released a breath. “I can be secretive. I promise.”

“Gwen's fine with it,” Arthur said. “She urged this. I'm sorry I can't offer more, a crown, a sceptre, a--”

“That's fine.” Merlin toed at the snow, but looked up at him, gaze never cracking. “I don't like grand statements anyway.”

Except when you're the one making them, Arthur thought, considering the vows of loyalty Merlin spoke with such ease, as if he wasn't putting himself on the line every time. It was a kind of courage that Arthur didn't possess. Sometimes he willed it in himself, but it didn't come natural to him. “Let's go to my rooms then.”

Away from the grand hall, from which Yule music still issued, the castle was silent. Candles guttered in the sconces, their light flickering along the passageways, over suits of armour and statues, over tapestries and the lone sentinels dotted along the route.

They didn't walk hand in hand but abreast as they often did, their ribs touching. The warmth of Merlin seeped from his side and leaked into Arthur. When they came to Arthur's chamber, it was Merlin who opened the door and Arthur who followed. He crossed the room to the table and dropped his cloak, gloves and ceremonial weapons on the nearest chair. Merlin had no such items to dispose of. Not quite sure he wouldn't burst at the seams before the night was over, Arthur drank a bracing pull of wine.

The room was as they had left it, but the candles had been put out and the fire banked. Merlin lit a few tall tapers and stoked flames into crackling red in the fireplace. Arthur watched him go about the room, steps sure and purposeful.

Naturally, Merlin knew his way about the place. But that wasn't what made Arthur look. It was rather the fact that Merlin fit. He was part of this, part of the puzzle that made Camelot what it was. Arthur's home. More than anyone else.

When Merlin was done with the fire, he pulled himself to his feet, turned around, threw his arms out and his shoulders up, and said, “So what do you want to do?”

Arthur could have misdirected, found a way to circle around the subject, but this was Merlin he was dealing with, and he didn't want to be anything but candid. It wasn't easy, not with his upbringing. At first the words stuck in his throat and his face heated, but then he said, “Lie with you. I want to lie with you.” And he'd wanted that for a long time, hadn't he? He'd never allowed himself to put the thought into words or to really poke at the idea of it, but he'd been getting to this point for a long time now. “Will you?”

Merlin raised his head and he held Arthur in his gaze. “Yes,” he said, walking towards him. “Yes.”

Merlin slid his hand around Arthur's neck, his fingertips burning points at Arthur's nape. "Arthur, you don't know how much I--" Merlin took a ragged breath and they were so close now Arthur could practically taste it. “Whatever happens, I'm your man through and through.”

Arthur wasn't sure he could breathe properly anymore. The air got stuck in his lungs and he felt light-headed. “I wish I could hand you honours befitting...” Arthur's eyebrows knit together. “a... a.... your…” He would never marry Merlin; both the law and custom forbade it. But he didn't want to make of him anything less than a true partner. That was the right thing to do and yet he could offer so little. He was about to take so much, and give so little back. That was neither honourable nor an action fit for a king. “I can't make you a king and I can't--”

“Not the point,” Merlin said, stepping in so close their chests brushed. “Never was the point. I want nothing. Nothing but...” His lips went up on one side. They were still shaped like that when he brushed them against Arthur. “I suppose this time I explained myself quite well. I'm singularly proud.”

Arthur's pulse thundered in his throat. All Merlin wanted was him. Just Arthur. And wasn't that different? What no one else aimed for. He wanted to laugh, banter with Merlin, but he couldn't. He was having too hard a time holding himself together. He wanted to give Merlin what he desired, to do this uprightly, make Merlin as happy as he could.

Merlin seemed oblivious to this, or not to care at all for Arthur's second guessings. His smile settled itself in his gaze, with that edge of devotion Arthur knew so well. It did things to Arthur. It sank him into an intimately known embrace, into a well of warmth. It buoyed him and made him feel loved. It made Arthur think he could be anything, the man he'd always wanted to be, a good one, a person of valour and morals and goodness. It caused Arthur to want to dare everything. But it also scared him, made him fear failing Merlin because if he disappointed him, then what was the point? His face scalded and his heart clenched in an agonising cramp. But he made himself go on because he wanted this to turn out well. His hand dropped to Merlin's hip – he focused hard so it wouldn't shake – and drew Merlin to him, forehead to forehead.

Merlin nuzzled his lips with his, rubbed a kiss onto his mouth and smiled against it. Arthur's heart cracked. His mind voided of thought and he returned Merlin's kiss, bumping noses with him, dipping his tongue in and sucking on Merlin's until it all got way too wet and hot for any peace of mind.

Arthur's lips blistered, caught on fire, or perhaps the rest of him did. He only knew that his chest had become too small and that his skin was too tight to contain the whole of his longing.

He exhaled hard, as if that rattled breath could possibly let out all that was in his heart.

And then something in him gave and he surged. He made of their kiss a wild thing, slipped his hands under Merlin's shirt and palmed hot skin, feeling the notches of Merlin's spine, counting each one, sharp and stuck out as they were.

Merlin sucked in a breath that Arthur felt in the hollowing of his belly, in the tightening of him. He broke the kiss to suck on Merlin's jaw, on his neck. He pulled the skin between his lips and half kissed it, half teased it with his teeth.

Merlin shivered and Arthur put a kiss to his Adam's apple. It was open-mouthed and a little wet perhaps, but softer than the ones that had gone before. He bumped his lips along the length of Merlin's throat, licking and sucking on select spots. He brushed fingers against his pulse-point, felt the racing of his heart with his hand, and then with his lips. When he stepped back, he looked into Merlin's eyes. They were wide and blown but there was something a little broken and very fragile in them. Arthur reeled from it, the way Merlin looked at him, as if Arthur was worthy, as if he knew every nook and cranny of his soul and saw no darkness there. “Merlin,” he said, though he knew he could never put that into words and his voice was too hoarse for speech anyway.

Merlin smiled and touched his fingers to Arthur's face. He did it with such reverence, Arthur was dizzy with it, unbalanced, fumbling for some kind of decent response. But there was none he could give.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, and kissed him again. Right on the lips, licking into his mouth as he cradled his face in his hands. Arthur wrapped his arms around him and buried his hands in his hair and gave into it. He pulled Merlin against him and levered him up and nearly off his toes. They walked to the bed still locked in an embrace, a tight knot of limbs that Arthur didn't want to sort apart.

He lay Merlin down on the bed, climbed into his lap, and yanked his own tunic off. Then he leant over him, smiled into his face, slipped his hand under Merlin's shirt and his palms up his flanks. The shirt rode up with the motion and Arthur pulled it entirely off him. Merlin sucked in a breath, the space under his ribcage hollowing.

Arthur skimmed Merlin's chest with kisses, lowered his head to nose at the ridges of his collarbones, to mouth at the space between them, to chase the tracery of his abs with his lips. Merlin pushed his hips up into the touch and gave a low groan. As Arthur moved downwards, Merlin tossed his head back and wrapped his palm around Arthur's nape. The imprint of it was so hot Arthur thought of it as a brand that would show, one that would write itself on his skin and in his sinew.

With hands that were less than battle steady, Arthur undid the laces of Merlin's trousers and, together with a handful of small clothes, pulled them down Merlin's hips. Both items were frayed, the linens having seen many washes, being kept together by dint of regular darning. There was something about that that put a hole in Arthur's heart but in deference to Merlin's pride he brushed it aside. He lingered on the moment instead.

Arthur looked at Merlin, at his body flushed with warmth and at his cock. It had sprung free already reddened and mostly hard. Arthur nuzzled it with his lips, licked at it, savouring the tangy taste of Merlin, and when Merlin started moaning, he put it in his mouth. The blunt press of it on his tongue broke Arthur open in ways he hadn't ever experienced before.

There was an intimacy to this, an unthinking vulnerability to the moment, to both the nakedness and the meaning of it, that stunned Arthur right to the core. It left him tender in places, raw in response. But there was a thrill to it to that gave a jump to his pulse, that knit his skin and made him want to act, take, give. He braced his hand on Merlin's hip, the bony jut of it, and let him rest on his tongue, heavy and hot, and sucked in the uneven rhythms that were those of his heartbeat.

It was wet and sloppy but Merlin rocked forward and clutched at his hair and moaned as if he was about to die. So Arthur thought he couldn't be doing too badly at it. Merlin grew in his mouth and got harder and that made Arthur almost giddy with a thrill of self-conscious power, a gushing of love that grew from his gut and enveloped him whole.

Merlin's muscles went on lock-down under Arthur's palms, his belly flattening, thighs cording. He spoke nonsense words that Arthur didn't bother to try and understand. They were repetitions of his name and half jagged endearments that made no sense at all. Arthur was too lost in the thickness of Merlin and in the smell of him to pay any real heed to them. Rather he traced his tongue around the head and sucked on the pre-come beading the folds of skin.

A frame-shaking tremor on Merlin's part told him it was the right moment to finish him off. Arthur swallowed him down as far as he could manage. Merlin arched off the bed and locked his knees around Arthur's head. Needing to give himself a moment, to scale it back a notch, Arthur drew back. He crawled forward and cupped Merlin's face with his hand. The sight of him, fiercely flushing, lying in Arthur’s bed, was a blow to Arthur and a killing one at that. No enemy sword could have felled him just as surely as the love and vulnerability that leaked out Merlin in that moment. The dishevelled confusion of him, the sweaty trembling mess that he was, with sprawling limbs and hair in tufts.

“What you do to me.” Arthur dove in for a kiss and licked against the seam of Merlin's lips. Merlin opened up in a shiver of breath and cupped his fingers around Arthur's nape. Their tongues moved together in a soft slide that had Arthur's stomach curling with the low blooming of uncontained affection. When they came apart they were both breathing hard, too fast for comfort, clutching at each other's shoulders and forearms. “I want you,” Arthur said and he'd never been more honest. “God help me but I do.”

“You need no supernatural help,” Merlin said and pressed his lips to him again, chin up and face angled just so. The kiss had little grace to it; it was messy and haphazard but it dazed Arthur through and through and it was hard to move on from it, to pull back and ready himself for what would happen next.

He reached for his nightstand and searched it, moving objects aside until his hands closed around the right phial. He unstoppered it with his teeth, spat out the cork and poured the contents in his palms. The smell was balmy and fresh, the solution somewhat oily. With slick hands he wetted Merlin’s cock from base to tip, the lotion combining with the fluid leaking from Merlin to make of him a wet mess.

He opened himself up next. He did so with blunt fingers and sharp scissoring motions, with Merlin’s eyes on his every move, watching silently. It hurt some. He didn't do this often, not without a partner, and no one had been quite right, no one had been special enough for him to lower his guard with. As King it was something you didn't do, not casually, most certainly not without trust. He worked on himself now. He wasn't pleasuring himself; he was being rather practical with it. He wanted the touch of another, not his own. He wanted for it to be Merlin. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant and anyway, however functional this was, he appreciated the burn of it. It had, Arthur liked to think, something martial about it, something requiring strength.

When he was ready, he climbed into Merlin's lap.

They held gazes. Merlin's eyes were bright and caught on his with an intensity that bore right through Arthur, made him blush past the bounds of a sex flush, broke his heart and remade it in quite new shapes.

Arthur settled on his haunches in Merlin's lap, his legs spread a little, his thighs trembling, his body strained. But he lowered himself all the same. There was nothing like facing the first hurdle, throwing yourself into the melee, especially when the objective was something you wanted this much.

Merlin's cock was blunt and after they both worked their hips it entered him with excruciating slowness, Merlin held himself taut; Arthur could see him, grabbing him by the hip, muscles clenching as much as Arthur's were.

The burn of contact sent shivers up Arthur's spine, made his cock throb with the reflex after-burn of it. For a moment it was too much, not in terms of pain, because there was none, but because all that this was, the togetherness, the absence of barriers.

He closed his eyes and let the sweat of his brow pool on his closed eyelids, weighing them down. He focused on himself and his heartbeat. It was capering in his chest, going at a mad beat he could feel in his throat and on his tongue. It was spurring his blood to a rush that burned his skin. And then there was Merlin's cock, nestled inside him, the thickness of it a reminder of the man. Arthur opened his eyes and watched Merlin. He was lying back on the bed, belly caving on a held breath, muscle straining to remain still, lips bitten to redness.

Arthur tightened around him and Merlin scrabbled his hands along the line of Arthur's flanks. They were sweaty and lost purchase. They curled around the jut of bone at Arthur's hip, tugging Arthur forwards, in a scramble that was disorderly and effected nothing. Even that didn't stop Merlin from thrusting. The motion was dead on; it caused heat to pool low in Arthur's belly, to feed bright in his cock. He slammed back down, against Merlin's slow rocking motion, his upwards swing. He released a sharp grunt and found himself wanting to force the pace, but Merlin said, “Arthur,” and Arthur realised he wanted this to last. It was a bond of sorts. A different one from the link already extant between them and Arthur longed to have this too, to come to know everything of Merlin, everything.

Arthur surged into Merlin's thrusts with broad rolls of his own hips and shoulders. Merlin pressed his lips together and let out only stifled noises. He trembled under him and Arthur wasn't sure whether it was because he couldn't take all of Arthur's weight or because he felt the pleasure of what they were doing. In case the first option was right, Arthur tried lifting off, but Merlin went with the motion and closed the gap between them again. Arthur sank back into him, Merlin much deeper inside him this time. And if it shortened the range of their rocking, that was all right too, because by now Arthur was filled to the brim with warmth. It was leaking everywhere, unspooling in his guts and in his chest.

Merlin must have sensed it or have been very close too because he sat up, his legs around Arthur, Arthur's weight in his lap, and nuzzled at the line of his jaw and at his neck. He kept snapping his hips in short thrusts and roving his lips along the curves of Arthur's face. They edged into an off centre kiss, one that was all stabbing of tongues and clacking of teeth. It had no rhyme or reason but it had a beauty of its own.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice low and wrecked and honey warm at the same time. The words had the resonance of a mantra, of a spell. “I--”

Arthur groaned, threaded his fingers in a fistful of Merlin's hair, sank his teeth on his lower lip and bore down on him. Merlin tensed, sinking his fingers in the meat of Arthur's shoulder, high up and bruise deep, a breath leaving him on a huff. His jaw released and his face crumpled. Arthur felt the warmth of him inside but he could have read the surprise of it on his face even without that.

When Merlin's breath slowed, Arthur lay him down on the bed and crawled forwards until his knees were either side of Merlin's shoulders. When Arthur fed him his cock, Merlin's hands grabbed him by the haunches. His mouth was moist and his tongue was hot and the moment Arthur's cock met that heat, he started spilling.

He let out a huffed laugh, curled forwards, and let himself gush. Though there was little else to be done, Merlin suckled him dry, his tongue probing both the crown of Arthur's cock and the slit, and Arthur hissed at the shocks that rushed through him. He drew back and cupped himself.

Merlin soothed him with a hand on his neck and gentle kisses, whisper soft touches of his lips on Arthur's that segued one into the other, until Arthur rested his head on the pillow. The kisses deepened then, tongues touching and probing, sliding one under the other. It lasted until they both became heavy with a bone-deep drowsiness that closed their eyes. Even as sleep tried to come at him, Arthur kept kissing Merlin, did so until his thoughts got fuzzy on the darkness and the warmth of the bed.



****


Arthur woke with the light. It played on his face and warmed his body and brought him to awareness by slow degrees. When he was conscious enough to string whole chains of thoughts together, he turned on his side and peeked an eye open. He saw Merlin, nose in the pillow. He was breathing heavily in the way of those still deeply asleep.

Normally, it was Merlin who prodded Arthur awake in the mornings, coming in with a tray full of breakfast and some silly invective. Merlin's stock never seemed to run dry and though Arthur grumbled about them - mornings had never held much of an appeal for him – he did have an appreciation for Merlin's ingenuity in word formation. Often he found himself looking forward to his next exhortation, his next crazy diatribe. Not this morning though.

This morning Arthur basked in the quiet presence of Merlin, in the silent companionship of the body lying so close to his. The physicality of this sharing had some punch to it, some heft, like a well-placed blow, and Arthur found himself hankering after the staggering, warming after effects of it, the enchantment of togetherness, and the more he did, the more he came to the realisation that if he died tomorrow on a battlefield it was this moment he wanted to remember.

Indulging in such thoughts, however, was wrong of him. Life was all about action, wasn't it, not helpless contemplation. He kicked his blankets off him, grabbed a robe, and walked to the window. Snow still blanketed the courtyard. Frost clung to glass and to masonry. It crystallised tree branches and those tufts of grass that grew between the stones. It made Camelot look dormant, although not in the way the spell Morgause had put on it. This was a different brand of slumber, the after effects of revels, rather than of a curse.

He hoped no more curses would hit Camelot in the future, that this peace they were enjoying would last. Well, if Arthur had anything to do with it, it would. He'd fight tooth and nail for it, for his people. He sighed and turned round to look at Merlin. He tugged his lips into a smile when he realised he was still deeply in the cups of sleep. Well, there was nothing for it, was there. He pulled on breeches and a belt and put on a sturdy tunic and boots.

The castle wasn't busy at this hour. No knights stalked its halls. No council men wandered along the corridors discussing this or that article of rulemaking. No ladies glided along it. Only a few maids and pages were about, their eyes rimmed with red from lack of sleep, their faces pasty from the cold. Evidence of the night of revelry all around.

When Arthur entered the kitchens, all the typical bustle ceased. The head cook curtsied deep and so did her underlings.

“Sire,” the cook said, without emerging from her curtsey, “what an honour. Did you – er – mean to inspect the kitchens?”

“You can rest easy.” Arthur placated her by holding his open palm up. “I've just come looking for breakfast.”

The cook straightened and looked past Arthur's shoulder. “But where's Merlin?”

Arthur improvised. “He's taken a day off.”

“Didn't he take a day off yesterday?” someone murmured in the background. “I heard him say he was taking off right after breakfast.”

Someone else said, “Those are the perks of being the King's servant rather than an ordinary one. Plenty of holidays.”

Arthur glared in the general direction the comment had come from. “I decided to be generous and give him two days instead of one.” He didn't meant to encourage further commentary. “Merlin is, after all, a hard worker.” One who deserved a life time of free days to be quite honest. “Now, breakfast.”

Opening doors with a tray full of food wasn't an easy feat. It seemed to require a lot of dexterity and vast amounts of forethought. It was only because he was a trained knight that he succeeded in getting the platter into his room without dropping any of the items he was carrying. The fork only clattered to the floor because Arthur had made the mistake of placing it on the tray's outer rim so that, when he lowered it, the momentum tipped it off.

Merlin sat up in bed in a flail of limbs. “Yes, Gaius, I'm up. I'm up.” He looked around and seemed to become aware of his surroundings. “Oh,” he said, surprise giving way to mirth. “I'm here.”

“Yes, you're here.” Arthur smiled. “Good morning, lazy daisy.”

“Hey.” Merlin's return grin was like the sun chasing away the clouds. “That's my line.”

“Not this morning,” Arthur said, his chest filling with air – and perhaps a notch of pride. “This morning I woke first and provided for you.”

“Provided for me?” Merlin blinked.

“I brought you breakfast,” Arthur said, waving his hand at the tray on the table.

Ignoring his nakedness, Merlin hopped off the bed. When Arthur made a show of arching his eyebrows, he looked around for his breeches and pulled them on without bothering to find his smalls. Partially clothed, he came over to the table. “You have!” He tugged his lips into a smile. “You really went downstairs and asked Cook for breakfast. Bet you got an earful.”

“Ha, ha.” Arthur stole a raisin from a bowl and put it in his mouth. “Where’s my gratitude? I'll have you know it's a long way to the kitchens.”

“Welcome to my world,” Merlin snorted. He grinned cheekily at Arthur before continuing more seriously. “I would have gone myself if you'd just given me a nudge. Gaius always has to shout a couple of times to get me up and--”

Arthur pulled Merlin's mouth to his and gave him a soft kiss. “I wanted to do it.” He felt his skin warm and he searched the floor with his gaze. “It may not be much. I understand it's nothing really, not compared to everything that you do – for me and for Camelot – but I thought I'd try nonetheless and--”

“Arthur.” Merlin touched his hand to Arthur's forearm. “That's really quite nice actually. Especially all that ham.”

“Really?” Arthur's chest expanded and he unfurled a smile.

“Yes.” Merlin buried a finger in the jam and licked the confection off. “Nobody's ever brought me breakfast. It's quite sweet.”

Arthur made himself frown though all he wanted to do was grin. “I'm not sweet.”

“No, of course not,” Merlin said, though with a twinkle in his eyes. “You're an awe inspiring king. Not sweet at all.”

Arthur sobered. “And it's enough? This--” He gestured at the plate, the room, the bed. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “It's all about the small things.”

Something snapped at Arthur's heart strings. A pain came to his chest and Arthur fought it by squaring himself up. “You're really happy with this?”

Merlin closed his hand around Arthur's wrist. “Yes, Arthur. I'm happy to be by your side no matter what. I need no trinkets or titles or presents to confirm my decision. ” He made a considering face. “Though I wouldn't mind getting more breakfasts in bed. It's quite decadent and I'm starting to understand the appeal of it.”

Arthur chuckled. “So we continue as we are?”

“Yeah.” Merlin cradled Arthur’s face between his palms and studied him. He didn't say anything and barely moved at all. But there was something in his gaze, something intense and powerful, a quality that never dimmed, not even when he stepped back. “I quite like the way we are.”

“So what now?” Arthur asked, missing the warmth of Merlin's touch, not sure how to ask for it back. “How do we proceed?”

“How about we improvise?”

Arthur liked battle plans better. “Improvise?”

“See how it goes, day by day?” Merlin eased his body in a shrug.

“So you're thinking of this as a temporary solution?” Arthur oughtn't have probed; it was too early for that, but sometimes his mouth ran away from him and he had to know.

“No,” Merlin said. “I'll never not be by your side.”

Relief flooded Arthur. “And what about now?”

Merlin lit one of the candles. “Well, now, we have breakfast.”

Arthur watched Merlin take a seat at the table. He seemed at ease there, a part of the tableaux. The sheer rightness of it all settled in his heart, eased the petty worries which had begun to fill him. Hope bloomed brightly instead.

Arthur took the chair across from Merlin. He placed a napkin on his legs, picked up his cutlery, and made his peace with improvisation.

“Happy Yule, Merlin.”

Once Merlin had swallowed the morsel he'd put in his mouth, he pressed his lips together and smiled. “Happy Yule, Arthur.”

Outside it started snowing.


The End