[fic] The Ivy Crown, 8e/9

[da_ya_ri]

With the aftereffects of the day's intense training weighing down his limbs, the sight of the luxurious steaming bath in his chambers of Grænn's guest wing was more than welcome to Arthur.

He felt pleasantly tired as he toed off his boots, ignoring the twinge in his calves. He'd dueled with all of his knights, with the exception of Gwaine who had gone back inside at some point, probably to nurse his sore head. As it was, Arthur welcomed the pull of aching muscles, because it was just a sign of a day well-spent—a shred of normalcy that reminded him of Camelot. He couldn't think of any reason why they'd need to fight for their lives on the way back, but it made him feel prepared to stay fit anyway, just in case they ran into any more Mercian patrols.

He was just depositing his boots by the table when he heard running footsteps out in the hallway, and turned around just in time to see the door fly open and crash into the wall, revealing his rather distraught manservant.

Merlin was so pale that Arthur wondered how he wasn't collapsing on the spot, panting for air and flickering a wild-eyed look through the room as if to make sure that there were no monsters hiding in the shadows. He didn't even look at the door, but it still slammed shut behind him, and Arthur saw the key turn untouched, the lock slipping into place with a reassuring click.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped like he'd recognized him only now, and lurched forward on unsteady feet. Before his mind could catch up with his legs, Arthur had crossed the room in an instant, gripping Merlin's shoulders in a firm hold to steady him. Merlin's chest was heaving for air, heat rolling off of him in waves as though he'd ran all the way here from some dark hallway at the other end of the mansion.

"The dogs," Merlin choked out when he'd caught his breath a little, his eyes wide with residual disbelief, like he'd just come to a realization that he didn't know how to accept. "I saw them again— and suddenly it all made sense, it was the exact same dogs, and he must have transfigured the servants, and Grænn is— he's—"

"Merlin, calm down," Arthur ordered, keeping his voice level despite the first stirrings of apprehension that gripped hold of his stomach. "You're safe here. Just tell me what happened, and we'll figure something out."

He still remembered that evening at Cogeltone, when Merlin had come running to him in much the same manner, spouting panicked babble about dogs of some sort. But whatever had wound Merlin up into such a state now, it didn't seem to frighten him as much, because he nodded jerkily, struggling to calm his breathing. A bit of color returned to his cheeks; his shoulders didn't feel as tense under Arthur's hands anymore, and Arthur hurried to let go of him and take a step back when he noticed that he'd still been holding him.

"I went to look for Gwaine," Merlin began, and Arthur was relieved to hear that most of the instinctive urgency had left his voice. "And he— well, I found him with Grænn, and I guess he's fulfilled his promise today, too, you know, the exchange of winnings thing..."

Shrugging vaguely, Merlin trailed off for a moment; it could just have been reflections of the candlelight, but Arthur thought he saw a slight flush rise to Merlin's cheeks. He frowned, ready to prod Merlin into telling him just what Gwaine and Grænn had been doing, but Merlin carried on unprompted.

"Grænn had just returned from a hunt, he still had his dogs with him," Merlin frowned, clearly caught up in the memory for a moment, "and they were the same dogs that I saw in the field at Cogeltone, huge black hounds with golden eyes, and that's when it all just— made sense, suddenly."

He took a deep breath, refocusing his gaze on Arthur; his eyes were dark and earnest, and Arthur got the distinct feeling that he wasn't going to like what Merlin would say next. "Do you remember the song?" he asked, quietly. "The song about how the Green Knight died defending this forest and the animals buried him here?"

Arthur blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of topic. He nodded mutely, and watched Merlin rake a hand through his hair, distressed anew. "I should have known all along—all the clues were there, but I didn't know how to put them together until I saw the dogs." He cleared his throat, giving Arthur an apologetic look like he regretted not having figured it out sooner. "There's really no other conclusion. I think Grænn is the Green Knight in disguise."

For a couple of seconds, Arthur couldn't do anything but gape at Merlin in silence—if it hadn't been for the unmistakable seriousness of Merlin's gaze, Arthur might have let out a disbelieving laugh. The mere idea was ludicrous, and yet Merlin seemed to trust in what he'd just said, although he'd worded it as more of a suggestion.

"It all makes sense, if you think about it," Merlin hurried to add, speaking more quickly now that he could see the incredulity writ large across Arthur's features. "He's got his animals about him, too—I saw the dogs just today, and he must have transfigured the hawks and ravens to look like human servants—"

"What?" Arthur interrupted, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times when Merlin fell expectantly silent. He couldn't quite think of any words that would convey just how insane that had sounded to his ears. "Transfigured the— the servants? They're sort of strange, I agree, but— birds?"

"Just look at their hair," Merlin insisted, not surprised in the slightest that Arthur's mind chose the servants to get stuck on, rather than Grænn's supposed true identity, "it looks like feathers, doesn't it? And haven't you noticed how they always stare at you without blinking, like birds?"

"Well—," Arthur began, but broke off when he realized that, yes, he had indeed noticed that. It had unnerved him slightly along with everything else about Grænn's servants. And if he was completely honest with himself, he couldn't deny the unease he'd always felt in their presence, like some primal instinct of his had picked up on what Merlin had deduced now.

"That's just impossible," he said resolutely, although he knew that his own attempt at convincing himself fell flat in the face of Merlin's certainty. Merlin shook his head and took a step closer, undeterred by Arthur's skeptic look.

"It's not," he objected, and for once he sounded absolutely sure of what he was saying, instead of softly persuasive to try and sway Arthur's opinion. "Transfiguration is pretty hard, especially if you're trying to change the shape of living, sentient beings, but it can be done. And the Green Knight is an ancient forest spirit—I'm sure his magic is more than strong enough to do that."

The ensuing silence was deafening, and Arthur could see the moment Merlin realized what he'd said. A little of the color left his face again, contrition darkening his eyes as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, as if he wished he could take his words back. It took Arthur a second to realize that Merlin thought he'd overstepped some invisible, fragile border with his carelessly overt explanation.

"Let's just assume you're right for now," Arthur said abruptly, not really because he believed him yet, but because he found that he didn't want to see Merlin squirming under his stare like that anymore. "What does that— I mean, what do we do about this, then?"

Merlin blew out a long, slow breath, as much to release his pent-up apprehension as to give himself time to think. "I'm not sure," he replied, his gaze skittering down and away. Frustration bubbled up in Arthur's throat when he saw Merlin bite his lip, because really, how often did he have to beat it into Merlin's thick head that he didn't expect him to come up with instant solutions for every magical problem they ran into?

But before he could say anything, Merlin looked up again, apparently just remembering something he'd forgotten until now. "I don't think we should expose him for who he really is," he began, his tone hesitant. "I talked to Ragnelle earlier, and she's part of whatever scheme he's plotting—I don't know what it would mean for her if we just announced to everyone that Grænn is really the Green Knight."

Arthur nodded slowly, his thoughts racing and chasing each other like snowflakes in a storm. He was mildly surprised how much information Merlin had managed to gather in just a single day—when they had parted ways this morning, he had assumed Merlin would spend the day relaxing. But apparently he'd chosen to start unraveling this mystery instead of simply relishing in the fact that he was finally free of the forest's magic.

"Then we can't expose him," he decided, barely noticing that Merlin was nodding fervently, looking relieved. He didn't want to put Erik's sister into an even more uncomfortable position than the one she was already in. Although Grænn seemed to treat her with the utmost respect, she was strangely skittish around him, and Arthur had thought to himself that her plan to get married to provide for her brother must have backfired in some way.

No sound broke through the silent pause except for the occasional pop and crackle from one of the candles. A navy, velvety darkness had begun to fill the sky outside, the nocturnal chill of the air creeping into the room through a half-open window. It was getting late, and Arthur vaguely thought of calling for one of the servants to light a fire in their fireplace—it seemed he would need a good night's sleep to have his wits about him the next day in case Grænn tried anything. But then he remembered what Merlin had just told him about the servants, and the urge to summon them went away.

"I suppose we could just play along for now," Merlin said at last; he was leaning against the table, watching him, and Arthur noticed for the first time how tired he looked. He didn't seem even half as exhausted as he'd been in the forest, but the evening's revelations had clearly taken their toll on him. "We'll be out of here the day after tomorrow, and Grænn as good as promised to tell us where the Green Chapel is."

Arthur nodded, rubbing his forehead to stave off the headache he felt coming. He didn't have a better idea anyway, and he felt rather out of his depth on top of that, frustratingly clueless in the face of yet another magical mystery. It should have been unsettling that his manservant didn't seem much more sure of himself in this than he did, but to his own surprise, Arthur found it almost reassuring. At least he didn't feel like quite as much of a fool this way.

"Well," Merlin said after another pause, his gaze traveling aimlessly through the room in search of something to catch his attention. The corners of his mouth lifted in a tentative smile, and he gestured towards the far side of the room. "I see the birds have drawn you a bath."

Puzzled, Arthur turned around to the steaming tub and stared at it for a moment before he suddenly remembered why it was there. He'd been so preoccupied with coming to terms with these new revealed secrets that he'd outright forgotten the ache in his thighs and the pull of overworked muscle that shot through his back every time he moved.

"Right," he said, belatedly, and shook his head to focus his thoughts on the sight in front of him, rather than the mental image of birds—or, well, transfigured birds—rushing up and down the stairs with kettles of hot water. Or maybe they'd just had to snap their fingers to make the tub appear. "I'll just—"

He trailed off when he suddenly felt Merlin's hands on his shoulders, moving to the front of his vest to undo the clasp with deft fingers. Even dulled by layers of fabric, the touch sent a shiver down his spine, achingly familiar and shockingly new at the same time. Arthur took a deep breath, and felt Merlin's hands falter—but he didn't speak, and after a second of hesitation, Merlin kept on.

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd even allowed Merlin to be in the same room when he took off his clothes. He'd stopped requiring that kind of assistance from his manservant after Merlin had told him that he was a sorcerer, but he couldn't think of a single reason why he shouldn't let it happen again now. He focused his gaze on the bath, determined not to let on how hard his heart was suddenly beating against his ribcage, although the situation was just as strangely unsettling for Merlin, if the unsteady puffs of his breaths against Arthur's neck were anything to go by.

Merlin moved around him when he helped Arthur shrug out of the vest—he took care to slip it down his right shoulder, Arthur noticed, so that he didn't have to twist his aching sword arm out of the fabric. The thought made him pause, made his breath hitch around a blossom of warmth that unfurled in him, as if his chest hadn't been tight with apprehension just a moment ago. It disarmed Arthur in the strangest way, even more than the unsteadiness of Merlin's breathing—that Merlin had guessed correctly that his arm would be tender after a day spent training, that he knew of the soreness in his shoulder without being told.

Careful not to meet Merlin's eyes, Arthur allowed him to unlace his shirt, wincing only slightly when he pulled it over his head. Still, he couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh of relief when Merlin took the shirt and the vest and wandered over to their bags. He shed his breeches as quickly as he could, well aware that the fragility of the atmosphere wouldn't have survived the awkwardness if Merlin had helped him take off his trousers too. He felt knocked off kilter, imbalanced by the silence that stretched between them, and a part of him hoped that Merlin would say something, even if it was just idle chatter about their day.

The water was still hot when Arthur sunk down into the bath, and for a moment he just closed his eyes, blocking out Merlin's presence behind him, and let himself relish in the heat that engulfed his limbs. The tub was large and deep, submerging Arthur in water up to his shoulders. A faint scent of herbs drifted up from the bath, alleviating the fatigued ache behind his eyes.

"You can—," go, Arthur had meant to say, but the last word died in his too-tight throat when he suddenly heard the familiar thump of Merlin dropping to his knees behind him. For a wild, dizzy moment, Arthur wondered if Merlin would help him wash like he'd used to—he could almost feel his hesitance in the air, and didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Merlin's hand appeared at the edge of his vision, holding out a bar of soap.

Arthur washed quickly but thoroughly, unable to enjoy the hot water as much as he wanted to with Merlin's gaze prickling on the back of his neck. His heart was beating out a quick, shallow rhythm, like a hunted animal preparing for a last desperate sprint to escape its prey. He didn't dare turn around, because he was acutely aware of the fact that Merlin was just sitting there, watching him rinse the bubbles from his arms.

A splash sent a bit of water slopping over the edge of the tub, but Arthur couldn't contain his flinch when he suddenly felt Merlin's hand in his hair, oddly cool in contrast to the hot water that engulfed him from the chest down. "Tilt your head back," Merlin said, his voice quiet and rough, his fingers gently guiding Arthur to dip his head into the bath for a moment. Although he still felt shivery with surprise at Merlin's touch, Arthur complied, feeling a bit of the tension melt out of his shoulders when his neck was engulfed in heat.

He heard Merlin lather his hands with soap while he blinked water out of his eyes, and then Merlin's fingers were back, working soap into his hair with practiced ease. Arthur tried to sit very still rather than focus on how good the push and pull of Merlin's fingers felt on his scalp, little tingles chasing an echoing shiver down his spine. He focused his gaze on a green and silver drapery on the far wall, telling himself sternly that Merlin had helped him bathe like this hundreds of times before.

But Merlin's movements seemed slower than usual, more deliberate, like he was relearning the curve of Arthur's skull after having spent so many months shut out of his chambers. Arthur nearly yelped when soapy fingers slipped down behind his ears, and there was no way to stop the startled hitch of breath from slipping into a long sigh when Merlin experimentally dug his thumbs into his neck.

The drapery blurred in his vision, but Arthur didn't care, couldn't care when the steady rub of Merlin's fingers followed the tense muscles up to his hairline. He wanted to tell Merlin that he didn't have to do this, that he was tired and should just head to bed. He wanted to tell himself that Merlin was just glad that he was allowed back into this part of Arthur's life, just as he'd been in the forest when Arthur had let him clean his daggers. But it just felt so good, the pressure of Merlin's fingers riding the edge of pain in a way that stirred up a slow curl of heat in his veins.

He couldn't choke down the groan that escaped him when Merlin shifted his attention to his shoulders, letting his head fall forward to bare the tense muscles to the slow, rolling pressure of Merlin's fingers. Merlin didn't pause, but his breathing hitched in response, fanning out over Arthur's neck in a shivery exhale. Arthur felt more than heard him shift to get more leverage, grinding the heels of his hands into the fleshy part of his shoulders.

This time Arthur bit back the sound that tried to burst from his throat, and closed his eyes against the sensory overload. It felt like every tense muscle in his body was unraveling, the ache of exhaustion giving way to a warmth that seemed to engulf his very bones. His heartbeat was roaring in his ears, spurred on by the hot pulse of arousal that was starting to settle in to his groin, and Arthur wished he could surreptitiously hunch forward. He could feel his cock harden against his thigh no matter how much he tried to will it away.

Dimly, he heard Merlin shift behind him, but he didn't stop. It was like the hitches of Arthur's breathing were spurring him on, encouraging his fingers to seek out all the tightly-wound places to unravel. Every time Merlin kneaded his shoulders, his thumbs dug into the flesh just above the ridges of Arthur's shoulder blades, sending jolt after jolt of aching pleasure straight down to his loins.

Arthur tried to subtly squirm away, barely managing to stifle the low keen wrenched from his throat, but Merlin didn't let him. He paused for a moment, contemplating, his fingers lightly tracing the hidden tendons he'd been pressing. Then he buried his thumbs there once more, digging the ache out of that secret place he'd discovered almost by accident, patiently working through the balled-up resistance of hardened muscles until Arthur broke and shuddered all over, letting out a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob.

Through the fog in his mind, it took Arthur a moment to notice that Merlin's hands had stilled. He could feel each of Merlin's shallow exhales on his neck, like he was barely an inch away from leaning his forehead against the back of Arthur's head. "Too much?" he asked, the words little more than an outrush of breath.

Curling in on himself a little, Arthur wanted to groan in frustration. It was too much, but at the same time it was not nearly enough, and his cock was so hard it hurt, an insistent, heated pulse between his legs that just seemed to intensify the longer the silence stretched. He stared at the wall with unseeing eyes, at the candlelight's flickering shadows—only now did he notice that he was clutching the rims of the tub with white-knuckled fingers.

Merlin seemed to take Arthur's silence as an affirmative, because he let go of Arthur's shoulders with a mumbled apology, and Arthur let out a long, defeated sigh, shifting uncomfortably in the tub. Merlin thought he'd hurt him, and now his touches were quick and efficient as he rinsed the soap out of Arthur's hair, a hand carefully shielding his eyes from the bubbles.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Merlin's arm, and saw that Merlin had pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, his hands wet and flushed with heat from the water. Arthur didn't dare let go of the tub, for fear of losing the rest of his dignity in case he found that he wouldn't be able not to reach down between his thighs for at least a small measure of relief.

He kept his gaze fixed on the chair that someone had thoughtfully pushed up next to the bath, a pile of neatly folded white towels waiting for him. Merlin wouldn't notice a thing if he could just be quick—Arthur would have stood up and wrapped a towel around his waist before he could blink. He swallowed hard, readying himself to leap up as soon as his manservant's fingers left his hair, and barely heard Merlin take a deep, shuddering breath behind him, preparing to speak.

"In the forest," Merlin started, his voice husky and rough and uncertain, like he'd spent the past half-hour dredging up the courage to say those words. Ice trickled through Arthur's veins when Merlin broke off, a slow, creeping cold that engulfed his chest despite the heat of the bath. He didn't need Merlin to finish that sentence—he could only think of one incident that would make him sound this hesitant.

Cursing the flush that crawled up his neck, Arthur forced himself to unclench his fingers, one by one, until his hands were just resting on the edge of the tub instead of gripping it like a lifeline. There was no other explanation for it—Merlin must have seen his erection in the water, and was now trying to reconcile this situation with that moment in the forest. Arthur squared his shoulders, and told himself that he should have seen this coming all along.

"I— apologize," he said tightly, fixing his gaze on the draperies again, and couldn't help a flash of gratitude because at least Merlin wasn't looking at him. "I took advantage," like I am taking now, he didn't add, because the memory of Merlin's eyes suddenly pushed itself to the front of his mind, flickering from blue to gold and back again, filled with desperate need. "I shouldn't have—"

"What?" Merlin said blankly, incredulity coating his tone, and Arthur cringed at the thought of having to explain this to his dense manservant, spell out what he was talking about until Merlin got it. But then Merlin spoke again, his voice half disbelieving and half annoyed. "No, you prat," and Arthur nearly laughed at that, because if Merlin could still insult his intelligence, maybe things weren't about to go irrevocably awkward between them, "I just—"

Merlin paused, and Arthur flinched when he felt tentative fingers on his shoulder again, the gentle touch not at all like the firm massage from before. For a moment he wondered if Merlin's courage had deserted him, but then Merlin cleared his throat and blurted out, clumsily, "I was just wondering if you'd like to do that again."

There was a short, ringing silence. Before Arthur knew what he was doing, he had turned around to face Merlin, heedless of the wave of soapy water that splashed onto the floor. "What?"

Up close, Merlin looked just as wrecked as Arthur felt, his lower lip red and raw where he must have been biting down on it. A flush was burning high in his cheeks, his fringe curling with the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, and his eyes looked nearly black in the candlelight, his pupils blown with unmistakable longing.

He stared back at Arthur for a moment, like he couldn't believe that he was being this slow. Then he rolled his eyes with a mutter of, "Oh, for the love of—," yanked Arthur forward with wet fingers in his hair, and kissed him.

To Arthur's credit, it only took him a split-second to catch up this time. Merlin's lips on his sent a jolt of sensation straight down to his toes, and this time Arthur didn't even try to choke back a gasp when a hot, rough tongue suddenly delved into his mouth. His hands found their way into Merlin's hair on their own accord, dampening the black strands into curls, but Merlin didn't seem to mind. His mouth was hot and wet, tasting of the diluted cider he'd drunk, but of something else as well, something sharp and spicy that tasted a little like magic and a lot like Merlin, and Arthur wanted to chase that taste until he found its source, a heated coil of need igniting all along his nerves.

His heartbeat hammering in his ears, Arthur didn't quite know how it happened, but suddenly they were both standing and he nearly tripped when he stepped out of the bath. Merlin gripped his shoulders and yanked him close, heedless of the water running in rivulets down Arthur's skin, but even though the white towels had seemed like a welcome escape just a moment ago, they were the last thing on Arthur's mind now, because Merlin— Merlin ran his teeth over Arthur's lower lip and pushed his leg between his thighs, and Arthur groaned helplessly, stumbling when his legs threatened to turn to jelly with the coarse drag of Merlin's trousers against his erection.

He didn't realize that Merlin was walking them backwards until Arthur's calves hit the familiar softness of a mattress. The fall into downy, plush blankets dizzied him, but before he could regain his breath, Merlin was suddenly straddling him, rocking his hips down so Arthur felt the unmistakable hardness there. His fingers felt stiff and unused, and it took him a couple of seconds to grip the hem of Merlin's shirt, wetting the fabric—but before he could pull it up, Merlin had scooted down a little, dislodging his grip.

"Let me," Merlin said—no, commanded, although his voice was rough and husky. His eyes looked feverish and nearly black in the candlelight, his eyelids fluttering as if just the sight of Arthur lying under him, with his hair dripping water on the pillow, was enough to undo him. "God, Arthur," his name was almost a groan, "you have no idea what I— touching you, all naked and wet and vulnerable, and I didn't know if you—"

"Vulnerable?" Arthur tried to repeat, indignantly, but the word was drowned out by a breathy sigh when Merlin suddenly lurched forward and put his hot, soft lips to Arthur's neck. He was— he was— Arthur gasped when Merlin's teeth grazed his skin. Merlin was rutting against him, slow, deliberate circles of his hips in tandem with little flicks of his tongue as he licked the water off of Arthur's neck.

Then Merlin's weight shifted, and Arthur barely managed to choke down the whine that tried to escape at the loss of the wonderful, undulating pressure against his cock. He felt himself flush all over from the way Merlin just sat back and looked at him for a moment, his unmistakably hungry gaze tracking the little drops of water that ran down Arthur's chest and pooled between the quivering muscles of his stomach.

As if the sight of him had overwhelmed Merlin's senses, he suddenly crumpled on top of Arthur, a shiver going through him as he hid his face in Arthur's neck. Merlin just pressed his forehead to his collarbone for a moment, trying to rein in his frantic breathing, and when that didn't work, he started to press clumsy, wet kisses to Arthur's sternum, his lips trailing a line of heat down to the sensitive skin of his stomach. Arthur squirmed mindlessly, each touch of Merlin's mouth setting his skin on fire; he could feel his erection leaking precome where it was squeezed snugly by the fabric of Merlin's shirt, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing his head back into the pillow to regain his focus.

With his eyes closed, Arthur didn't realize what Merlin was about to do until Merlin shifted again and licked the tip of his cock, a tentative, slow flick of his tongue as if he'd been curious what it might taste like for a long time, and was now savoring the opportunity to find out. His hands had found their way to Arthur's thighs at some point, and Arthur was grateful because his hips bucked up on their own accord, spurred into motion by the jolt of sensation that went all the way down to his toes.

Merlin just looked up at him as he curled one hand around the base of his erection, his face flushed but calm, but Arthur couldn't quite savor the feeling through the instinctive stir of mortification in his gut. His groan felt like it was dragged out of him when Merlin experimentally slid his lips around the head of his cock again, a pulse of sharp, hot pleasure going through him. Frantic, half-finished thoughts were racing each other through his tangled mind, and he fought for breath, trying to silence the shuddering, pained hitch of his breathing.

He wanted to shove Merlin off and huddle in on himself, to hide the flush that had spread all the way down to his chest, to tuck away the unbalancing surge of pleasure and still his squirming hips. A part of him wanted to command Merlin to stop, and blurt out in a helpless rush of words that no one had ever done that for him before, and that he was sure he wouldn't last long like this, with Merlin's long fingers giving his cock a reassuring squeeze even as he let the head slide out of his mouth again.

"Let me," Merlin repeated, as if he'd somehow heard Arthur's thoughts. His voice was barely above a hoarse whisper, but Arthur still heard the determination in his tone, and just knew that Merlin wouldn't take no for an answer.

Merlin didn't even wait for him to reply; he just held his gaze until he was swallowing down Arthur's cock again, his eyes fluttering shut when Arthur let out a noise that he hadn't thought he could make, a throaty sound that was almost a growl. Hazily, he realized that Merlin had probably not done this before either, with the way he choked as he tried to take more and found he couldn't.

But it didn't matter, and even the distant embarrassment that lurked in the back of his mind didn't matter anymore, because the head of his cock was engulfed in glorious, wet heat, rubbing up against the roof of Merlin's mouth. Arthur's hips bucked again, he couldn't help it, but Merlin held him down securely, and the feeling of the firm hand on his hips sent another unexpected pulse of heat through him—knowing that he couldn't move, that he just had to lie there and take whatever Merlin wanted to give to him.

The sounds that escaped him would have been embarrassing in any other context, but if anything, the hitches of his breathing and the gasps that Arthur couldn't bite back just seemed to encourage Merlin. He was trying to establish some sort of rhythm, breathing noisily through his nose as he backed off a little to swirl his tongue around the tip of Arthur's erection as if to savor the salty bitterness he found. There was something primal and mindless in the way Merlin hollowed his cheeks and sucked, the sudden tight, wet squeeze dragging a high, startled keen from Arthur's throat. It was like he didn't even spare a single thought for his own inexperience, and just tried out everything he could think of, hoping that it would feel good.

It wasn't surprising to feel the coarse prickle of pleasure sharpen suddenly, curling into a tight ball of heat that flared when Merlin rubbed his tongue over a spot just under the head of his cock that made stars burst behind Arthur's squeezed-shut eyelids. He tried to disentangle his hands from the sheets, only now realizing that he'd been clutching them in white-knuckled fists all along, to warn Merlin, to push him off. But he couldn't move, his bones were melting with the overwhelming, almost painful pleasure that built up in him like a wave waiting to break.

Merlin's mouth pulled at him mercilessly, like he knew Arthur was close and was doing everything he could think of to drive him over the edge. He took him deeper than he'd done before, velvety softness engulfing Arthur's erection when Merlin sucked once more, but this time he didn't choke and didn't stop, the rough wetness of his tongue tracing the sensitive ridge beneath the head, and Arthur came in a helpless rush, his back bowing off the bed as his hips stuttered forward with the force of his orgasm.

This time Merlin did choke, and Arthur heard him cough, felt Merlin's hand on his stomach as he tried to hold him down, but he couldn't stop, his spine a tight arch of pleasure as he rode the wave and tumbled back down. It felt like he kept coming forever, pulse after pulse of his semen coaxed from him by the convulsive clench of Merlin's throat around him as he tried his best to swallow. Then the heat in his veins subsided slowly, leaving behind a shivery, glowing warmth, and he was reaching for Merlin with shaking hands before his mind could catch up, pulling uselessly at the fabric of his shirt.

Merlin was climbing up to eye level again just when Arthur propped himself up into a sitting position with shaking arms, and for a moment he thought their foreheads would collide. Then Merlin's fingers were in his hair, still damp from the bath, and he was kissing Arthur, making a needy noise in the back of his throat when Arthur responded instinctively, licking the ripe bow of Merlin's bottom lip. He could taste himself in Merlin's mouth, and the salty tang should have been disgusting, or at least strange, but instead it just made him pull Merlin even closer.

His hands were lifting Merlin's tunic on their own accord, and this time Merlin let him, only reluctantly backing off to lift his arms. His face disappeared for a moment while Arthur pulled the shirt over his head, revealing flushed, creamy skin, and then something dark disentangled itself from the inside of Merlin's tunic, tumbling down into the rumpled sheets.

It was surprisingly hard to yank his gaze away from the smattering of coarse hair on Merlin's chest, but Arthur did it anyway, carefully picking up whatever had sunk between the creases of the blanket. It was a single leaf of ivy, silky and warm in Arthur's palm, heated up by Merlin's skin where it had been tucked into the folds of his shirt.

Arthur stared at the leaf for a moment, recognizing the plump freshness of life in the way it shimmered gently in the light. It should have been wrinkled and torn from days spent beneath Merlin's tunic, but it looked like it had just been plucked. He felt more than saw Merlin's puzzled gaze follow his, and Merlin made a choked, involuntary sound when he saw the leaf, his hand jerking like he wanted to reach out and take it back.

He looked almost scared, shaken out of the fog of heat and longing that had kept the two of them engulfed until a second ago. Merlin's gaze darted from the leaf up to Arthur's face and back again, and Arthur could all but see the gears turning in his head as he tried to come up with some sort of explanation. His eyes were wide and dark, disarmed even, and Arthur came to a decision.

Careful not to dislodge Merlin from where he was practically sitting in his lap, Arthur leaned over and put the leaf on the small table by their bed. Then he took Merlin's face between his now free hands, and pressed his forehead to Merlin's, not breaking his gaze although his vision went blurry with the close proximity.

The urge to capture Merlin's slack mouth with his own or press his lips to the worried creases between his eyebrows was almost overwhelming, but Arthur reined it in with a firm hand. If he kissed Merlin now, Merlin would close his eyes, and although Arthur had no idea where Merlin had gotten the leaf or what it meant, he knew that Merlin needed to see him now. He needed to hold Arthur's gaze and see that there was no reason to feel disarmed, that there was nothing to be on his guard against, and that Arthur would sit here and cradle his face between his hands until the skittish, guilty wariness left Merlin's eyes again.

Merlin let out a long, slow breath when he relaxed gradually, a soft exhale brushing Arthur's cheeks as Merlin's hands came up to clutch at his forearms and his eyes finally slipped shut. Now Arthur pressed a kiss to Merlin's unresisting lips, and another, just a close-mouthed peck until a sudden shudder went through Merlin as if he'd woken from a trance. Arthur rewarded him with another lingering kiss before he trailed his mouth down Merlin's neck, much like Merlin had done before, in the hopes that it would feel just as good for him.

Merlin's breathing was still unsteady, but it hitched audibly when Arthur brushed his lips over the spot where his pulse was fluttering wildly in his throat, and Arthur congratulated himself on a job well done. His fingers tangled in the laces of Merlin's breeches, and it took him a frustratingly long moment to pick them apart—he was acutely aware of the quiet gasps that Merlin let out every time his knuckles brushed his erection, hard and damp even through the fabric of his trousers.

Then Merlin's cock was a slick, silky weight in his hand, strange but not altogether unfamiliar, and Arthur wasted no time in wrapping his fingers around it and pulling. Merlin groaned low in his throat when his hips rocked forward, trying to get more of the aching relief of pressure after such a long time spent hard in the trappings of his breeches. He looked positively debauched, black hair damp and mussed from Arthur's hands, his face as flushed as if he'd been the one to soak in a hot bath before.

The strange angle made Arthur clumsy, but Merlin didn't seem to mind—he was already so far gone that he couldn't stop the way his hips were rocking steadily into Arthur's grip. Arthur tried to twist his wrist and thumb the leaking head of Merlin's cock on each upstroke, tried to go for what he knew felt good, although the mere sight of how Merlin bit his lip in a vain attempt to stifle his gasps was enough to make his heartbeat roar in his ears like a thunderstorm. There was something desperate in the way Merlin's hands came up to scrabble at Arthur's arms in search of something to hold on to, and he pitched forward to hide his hot, flushed face in Arthur's shoulder again.

Merlin's whole body shuddered every time Arthur squeezed the base of his erection, and Arthur coaxed him into lifting his head, pressing a sloppy, languid kiss to his slack lips. He wanted to see Merlin unravel under his touch, wanted to see the flush that had spread all the way down to his chest, the way he was hunching in on himself as if to curl protectively around the pleasure stirred to life in his groin. Merlin's eyes were closed, although his lids kept fluttering, and Arthur gave his bottom lip a last lick before he let it go.

"Look at me," Arthur murmured against his mouth, and casually rubbed his thumb down the vein, taking care to drag his callused palm over the head of Merlin's cock with the next stroke. Merlin's eyes flew open in shock at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, looking almost black in the dim light; his pupils were blown wide and glassy with pleasure, but it wasn't dark enough for Arthur to miss the briefest flash of gold in his irises.

He felt the moment Merlin let go, convulsively digging his fingernails into Arthur's forearms even as Arthur tried to keep up, brush the sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside of Merlin's erection—he was rewarded with a high, helpless moan, Merlin's hips jerking as his cock pulsed and spilled sticky, hot wetness into Arthur's palm. Arthur carried him through it, gently pulling until the tremors subsided and he felt Merlin soften in his hand.

Merlin exhaled a long, sleepy sigh, eyelids almost drooping now that his pleasure was spent. He tucked his face back into the curve of Arthur's neck, and Arthur quickly hid a smile in the messy tufts of black hair right in front of his face. He wiped his hand on a faraway corner of the sheets with a faint stir of smugness—the servants would have to clean that up, after all.

Lowering both of them back into the nest of pillows wasn't easy with Merlin a dead weight on top of him, but Arthur managed to settle them in bed without dislodging his sleepy manservant. Merlin made a protesting noise when Arthur yanked on the blanket to untangle it from his legs, but subsided when Arthur pulled it over both of them. He was lying half on top of Arthur in a messy sprawl, still wearing his untied breeches, but he wasn't complaining, and so Arthur didn't try to rouse him.

Gradually, Merlin's breathing slowed into a more normal pattern, and he shifted a little, his hair tickling Arthur's ear. Merlin's weight should have been annoying or at least uncomfortable, but instead it just felt inexplicably good to be anchored like this, Merlin's chest pressed up against Arthur's side and the steady, comforting heaviness of his arm slung across his ribcage.

Even without looking, Arthur knew that Merlin's eyes were opened to half-lidded slits, glittering in the candlelight as he let his body settle into the kind of drowsiness that heralded sleep. He would have thought that Merlin was watching him carefully for any sign of regret or shame for what they'd just done, but he could feel how relaxed Merlin was against him, his stomach rising and falling with each deep breath against Arthur's ribcage. His arm was slowly falling asleep under Merlin's weight, half propped up against the headboard though they were, but to his own surprise, he found he didn't mind. He felt loose-limbed and sated as if after a long journey, the day's workout still present in the heavy soreness of his muscles.

A gust of wind rattled the half-open window, sending a cold breeze through the room. The weather had cooled down considerably since the afternoon, and even inside, the air tasted of rain and an impending thunderstorm. Arthur found himself grateful for the fact that none of them would have to sleep outside tonight.

"Light the fire, Merlin," he murmured lazily, his voice coming out low and rough. Merlin muttered something unintelligible but doubtlessly insulting under his breath, and Arthur poked at the goosebumps that had risen on his ribs until he found a ticklish spot.

Merlin squirmed away with a noise of complaint, unfurling his limbs and slowly moving to sit up. His hair had dried into messy tufts, sticking up at the back of his head, and Arthur couldn't help but grin when Merlin looked around blearily in search of his shirt. He looked thoroughly put out, but he untangled his legs from the blanket, shadows playing over the long line of his back as he moved to swing his feet over the edge of the mattress.

The thought struck Arthur before his relaxed mind had the time to brace itself. His hand shot out as if on its own accord, closing around Merlin's elbow to hold him back, and he wasn't surprised to find goosebumps there as well—the room had grown quite chilly. Merlin twisted around to give him an annoyed look that slid into uncertainty when he caught sight of Arthur's expression, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

"No," Arthur heard himself say, in a low voice that didn't sound like his own. He felt giddy, a shivery, weightless sensation gripping his stomach, and he tried to smile at Merlin to show him it was alright, although even Arthur himself had no idea if it really was. "From here."

Merlin stared at him, his mouth falling open at the implication. For a long moment they just looked at each other, disbelief warring with helpless hope in Merlin's eyes, a hope that Arthur had seen and dismissed countless times during the past few months, but just now he found himself welcoming it. He saw Merlin's throat work as he swallowed, and for a second he seemed about to ask Arthur where he thought this was heading, if he knew what he was asking, whether he'd lost his mind.

Arthur was glad when Merlin didn't speak, though, because he had no idea what he was doing either. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint sound of the wind outside and the occasional pop from a candle. His hand was still on Merlin's elbow, but Merlin looked as far away as Arthur had ever seen him, and Arthur felt his heart sink with the thought that he'd spoken too soon, that he should have given Merlin some kind of warning, that he had ruined this before it had even begun—

But then Merlin took a deep, hitching breath, and turned to the dark fireplace. Wood had been arranged into a careless pile amidst the last night's ashes. Arthur saw his shoulders hunch a little as if to brace himself for the inevitable, but Merlin extended a careful hand towards the fireplace, the candlelight gilding his skin. "Bærne," he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of the single word.

Flames burst to life in the fireplace, licking up into the chimney with a triumphant roar before they set to consuming the logs, popping sparks into the air. Rationally, Arthur had known that would happen, but he still stared at the merrily crackling fire for a couple of seconds even as the glow of gold faded from Merlin's eyes. The flames were bright and strong, looking like they had been burning for quite some time, although Merlin had just summoned them a second ago.

Merlin had hunched in on himself even more, his arms tense and quivering as he fought not to fidget with a corner of the blanket. A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he didn't turn around, just kept his gaze on the flickering flames he had conjured. He was staring at the fire to avoid looking at him, Arthur realized, and he sat up as well, curling his hand more securely around Merlin's elbow.

Right now, he could not think, I am sitting next to a sorcerer, or even, This is what he lied to me about for three years. For some reason Arthur found himself remembering the evening at the hunting lodge instead, where Merlin's magic had woven the flames to resemble a dragon, spitting sparks into the dancing fire like something alive. He was thoroughly unprepared for the fierce surge of awe that went through him at the memory, and he wanted to wrap his arm around Merlin's tense back, gather him close and press his mouth to his hair until he uncurled again.

There was a lump in Arthur's throat, jagged and unyielding, but he didn't move for fear of startling Merlin into flight. He swallowed down the hot, achy sensation in his chest, and said, "Do something else."

That shocked Merlin into looking at him again, and Arthur noticed with a certain amount of alarm that his eyes glittered suspiciously in the firelight, although they were still blue. "What?" Merlin asked, his voice very, very small, like that had been just about the last thing he'd ever expected Arthur to say. Which couldn't be completely true, Arthur realized, because the hope was still there, hidden behind a shroud of guilty fear in Merlin's eyes, tucked clumsily out of sight like a crippling wound.

Arthur cleared his throat, looking away for a moment to give Merlin a much-needed moment to cling to the last of his composure. "Oh, I don't know," he said airily, careful to keep his tone light although steel bands seemed to have closed around his chest, making it rather hard to breathe. "I'm sure you can find something. This room is a mess."

It wasn't, not really, but Arthur heaved a mental sigh of relief when the words startled Merlin into a somewhat watery laugh. Even that sound was full of disbelief, and Arthur swallowed hard to keep himself from saying anything else. He raised an eyebrow at his manservant, dimly surprised how easy it was to keep his posture loose and relaxed even with Merlin's whole form brimming with tension just next to him.

Merlin blinked rapidly before he looked over to the window; his ears had gone red, a strange contrast to the unhealthy pallor of his face. A muscle twitched in Merlin's neck, the tendons pulling whipcord tight for a moment, and Arthur realized that he fought not to hide, not to lower his head as gold swirled through his irises again. This time Merlin didn't need to speak—the window closed as if on its own accord, shutting out the draft that had been cooling the air.

"Good," Arthur said, decisively, and settled back down into their nest of pillows, making a show of tucking his feet neatly beneath the blanket and closing his eyes. "Now we can finally get some rest."

There was a short pause, with the crackle of the fire and Merlin's choked, unsteady breathing the only sounds breaking the silence. Arthur's heartbeat was fluttering in his chest like a nervous bird, and he knew how stupid he looked, with one arm outstretched in an unmistakable invitation. The hollow at his side was still warm with Merlin's residual body heat, making the loss of Merlin's weight against his ribcage all the more acute.

"Wouldn't want you to miss out on your beauty sleep," Merlin said at last, his voice wobbling and husky, but Arthur heard him shift around before he slowly, awkwardly lowered himself back to his side.

It was hard to hold still until Merlin had settled, his body tense as a bowstring ready to fire, but he managed not to move until he felt Merlin's cheek touch his collarbone. It might have been a little damp, but Arthur didn't mention it, just curled his arm around Merlin's shoulders again.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Merlin put a trembling, tentative hand on his chest, letting out a long, unsteady breath that sounded like he'd been holding it in his lungs for far too long. And just like that, the lump was back in his throat as if Arthur had never swallowed it down, a sudden assault of cutting, aching tenderness that he wanted to bury in the soft hollow of Merlin's collarbone where no one would ever find it.

Arthur flicked his ear instead, and Merlin huffed but didn't retaliate. Even his breathing sounded exhausted, his eyelashes tickling Arthur's neck when he closed his eyes. Gradually, he relaxed against Arthur's side, the tension melting out of his limbs, and Arthur finally let himself exhale, too, his eyes drifting shut to the sound of the first drops of rain hitting the window.






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