Idk if you meant it this way, but all I can think of is them fighting over chocolate like 5 year olds…so…sorry.
“No. It’s mine. I bought it. Do you realize how expensive that brand of chocolate is?” Merlin grabbed for the bar of dark chocolate while Arthur held it above his head, feet against Merlin’s chest to keep him at bay. He had found the chocolate when getting dressed, in the dresser, under a pile of socks. He gleefully called Merlin, while half naked, to boast his found treasure.
“Oh, come off it, I’ll buy you another one,” Arthur said as he started unwrapping the bar.
“YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE DARK CHOCOLATE!”
“YOU DON’T LIKE WHITE CHOCOLATE!”
“WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?” Merlin threw his hands into the air, “AND WHITE CHOCOLATE IS AN ABOMINATION!”
“DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER WITH THAT MOUTH?! TAKE IT BACK!”
“GIVE MY CHOCOLATE BACK,”
“NEVERRRRR!” Arthur rolled backwards, briefly congratulating himself on his ninja abilities, and ran for the door. Merlin chased after him, but tripped, and caused them both to take a tumble into the wall.
They groaned as their pains set in, and Merlin languidly plucked the bar from Arthur’s hand. “Mine.” he mumbled with a sigh.
Arthur dropped his head onto Merlin’s shoulder. “Wanna at least eat it off this magnificent body?”
“The magnificent body that eats too much chocolate and doesn’t get out enough?” Merlin teased, already breaking off a bit, licking the tip and tracing it along Arthur’s back.
“Shove off,” Arthur grunted, biting down on Merlin’s arm, as his forehead was resting against Merlin’s shoulder.
The powers he could do. Telling dragons—even if there were sparse any left—what to do, was amazing.
The wings he sprouted once a month—large, black, and leathery, was something he could not.
Nor was the scales, and the new found heightened senses, and the claws. He was a monster. Nothing less than the beasts he’s slayed (or rather ‘helped Arthur slay’).
Gaius, of course, had nearly had a heart attack at the sight of the small dragon that exited Merlin’s room, and had nearly used magic to rid his chambers of the creature, had Merlin not jumped from the window. And let him tell you, it was not a graceful fall. He thought he’d instantly know how to fly away, but had rather fallen into a clump, wings wrapping and draping over him.
This new power—this curse—was something he’d have to work on, he thinks, because the next thing he knows, he’s being chased out of Camelot by the knights—Arthur leading. And isn’t that ironic. He’s being chased out of Camelot, not for being a wizard, but being a being of unfortunate events.
How will he ever explain this to his mother?
See, it wasn’t that he didn’t want Arthur to know. It was just force of habit, really, and it didn’t help that the others had been there. Who knows what would they would have said—have done!
So he kept quiet, evaded the question like the plague, and when he couldn’t, he’d lie some more.
He lied like his life depended on it—and he felt that sometimes it did.
It shouldn’t have mattered all that much, except it did. He knew Arthur like the back of his hand, but the answer to the question he dodged was in tumultuous waters. The answer could cast him out to no man’s land, or bring him in to a warm embrace. He daren’t risk it. Not that he hadn’t tried finding the answer himself, but it took so much effort, and he was busy.
Arthur closed him in one day, arms and legs splayed out to keep him from ducking away, and leveled him with a straight stare.
“Mer-lin,” Arthur droned, looking a tad cross.
Merlin cringed, “Yes?”
“You ran off before answering,”
“Oh, right—I’ve got so many papers I need to write, I just remembered, you know?”
Arthur had pursed his lips, “It’s a simple yes or no question, Merlin,” he said with an eyeroll.
Merlin panicked, searching his brain for an answer. “No it isn’t. If I say no, you’ll call me names and maybe even ditch me to be with your other friends; and if I say yes, you’ll want to talk about it and I just don’t have the time, Arthur,” Merlin had kept his shoulders back, chewing his bottom lip.
“Just answer—do you like Lord of The Rings, or not?”
“Merlin! Come along—we’re going hunting!” Arthur called, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to calm the hammering of his heart, and the fluttery feeling in his stomach.
Merlin exited his room, wrapping his neckerchief around his neck. “Coming, coming,” he said with a sigh. Arthur stilled, smiling at Merlin.
They left the castle, and then Camelot, and entered the surrounding forest. Arthur remained silent throughout the ride, while Merlin ‘said’ that he didn’t see why Arthur always demanded his presence on hunts, when he was more trouble than called for.
The surrounding knights were conversing quietly, in on Arthur’s plan. It was their job to leave them alone. Nothing more, nothing less.
By early evening, they were in a secluded spot to set up camp, and it was time to spring the plan. Arthur shared a look with his knights, them mumbling about scouring the area, and leaving the two.
Arthur stood. “Come along, Merlin—we’re going to fish.” He lead the way till they reached a nearby river. Arthur stalled at a sound of faint disgust reached his ears, he turned to Merlin. “What’s the matter?”
“Bees, I hate them,” Merlin nodded his head towards an innocent beehive some twenty feet away, across the slow moving river.
Arthur grinned. He could take care of a tiny beehive—it would show he was willing to take care of Merlin, after all. “Let me take care of that,” Arthur said, picking up a rock loftily and taking aim. Throwing the rock, it hit it’s target, but caused a swarm of bees to exit. “Um…Merlin?” he’d deny later that his voice cracked.
“Run.” They ran away from the river, bees swarming around them, and stinging, until Arthur remembered that they could have jumped into the river, at the very least. He grabbed Merlin’s arm and dragged him back, pulling him into the river and under the water.
Few seconds later, they resurfaced some twenty feet downstream. Merlin spit a mouthful of water at him. “You prat,” he said, sucking in a breath greedily. Red welts were already spreading across his face.
Arthur frowned. “Sorry,”
They swam back to the shore and made their way back to the campsite. Merlin complaining loudly all the way.
Shirt off, back facing the fire, Arthur listened to Merlin tell him how much of a prat he is, and that heroics should be saved for better times.
They sat in silence, Arthur fighting internally to just say it.
“Lastly, you’re lucky,” Merlin stated.
“I am, am I?” Arthur asked in a droll tone. “And why is that?”
“Yes,” Merlin confirmed. “You’re lucky because if I weren’t your manservant, I’d have left you to fend for yourself with these welts,” he stopped spreading the salve on Arthur’s back. “And you’re lucky I love you too much to laugh at you for getting us into this predicament,” he said softly.
Arthur turned, regretting the swiftness as the throbbing intensified. “You love me?” he shook his head. “No—not fair! I was going to tell you I loved you.” He was not classifying his expression as pouting. “You can’t have just-just…known,”
Merlin grinned as he resumed his work, on Arthur’s arm and chest. “Gwaine can’t really hide anything from me,” he conceded.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Look at it this way, if he didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t have had time to digest it and might have run, or thought a spell was on you,”
Arthur screwed up his face. “Fine, I won’t kill Gwaine.” He thought. “Stocks for the day,”
Any type of prompt—I’ll try to do it!
He really needs to sort out his priorities. He could be sent to the stocks, or worse—banished. Or even worse yet, executed. Fidgeting, his fingers fumbling with the buckles, Merlin soon had Arthur’s battle gear coming off. He took in a puff of breath as his underclothes were soon peeled away, revealing battle earned bruises. If he was allowed at this particular battle, he was sure Arthur wouldn’t have had to received the bruise.
He kept his head bowed as the thought Taste of a sweetened bruise, if not the risk of my neck, raced through his mind and prompted an image he would rather not have had. He finished undressing Arthur, heading to the bath and magically reheating the tub before Arthur entered behind him. He stood off to the side eyes closed as Arthur sat into the bath, groaning appreciatively at the heat easing away the pain in his body. He looked over at his manservant curiously.
“Merlin? What are you doing over there? Go lay out my clothes.” He rolled his eyes and let his head lie back, closing his eyes. He glanced a chance out of the corner of his eye, watching Merlin’s back. He was no fool, he had noticed the lack of snark, and the subdued manner.
Merlin swallowed thickly, nodding, leaving the room with, “Right away, sire,” Developing feelings were making his job as Arthur’s servant much more difficult than it should be. Destiny be damned.
He lay out the clothing for dinner with the King and Morgana. When called upon again, he was to dress Arthur again. He couldn’t help the brushing of fingers over bruises, no matter how repeatedly, and how Arthur would grunt with obvious discomfort.
“Merlin.” Arthur had turned to give his manservant a confused look, eyebrows pulling together and a frown on his face.
“Right, sorry,” Merlin said dully as he pulled his fingers away from a particularly painful looking bruise. “I’m sure Gaius would be happy to make a bruise salve for these,” he said as he finished. He let out a breath as Arthur nodded curtly.
“Brilliant. Make sure to get that for me, will you?” Arthur said.
He nodded, following Arthur down to the dining hall. He kept a good yard behind Arthur, head bowed as he chastised himself over his lack of control.
“Drink, be merry!”
“I can’t. I’m your servant, sire”
“Don’t be a spoil sport! This is time of celebration! I was just crowned King! If I want you to drink, you drink.”
Merlin bit back any retort as another serving girl brought him a drink and scurried away. He tried smiling at her. It didn’t work. Merlin stood by Arthur’s side, aware of the stares he was receiving as he sipped the mead. Completely uncomfortable, he waited until Arthur was drunk enough to be taken back to his chambers. He smiled at Gwen, who he was sure was soon to be queen. She returned the smile. He noticed the almost forced nature of the smile and briefly wondered what it could mean. Until Arthur dragged him down a bit, whispering drunkenly to him, that “You’re my best friend, Merlin. I love you!”
Merlin laughed. “Yes, sire…I love you, too,” he replied, an uncomfortable flush burning his neck and ears. “As my King, I mean,” he added quickly, but noticed Arthur wasn’t listening anyways.