Chapter Text
Arthur was the first to wake, the soothing warmth of Merlin against his chest as the warlock breathed slowly. Watching him sleep was like witnessing a rare phenomenon in nature; he felt proud to be the only one chosen to see such a unique sight. That alone made him not regret the words of last night—the ones that had almost allowed them to speak their true feelings. Still, now that they both knew how they felt, what were they now? Arthur didn't want this to be a futile thing belonging to the past, an act that closed a door. For him, it was finally, truly the present. He wanted to live what they could have had all those years, to continue the story that should have been.
Part of him was unaccustomed to having ravished such a pure being, but then flashes returned: how Merlin had begged, moaned, and asked for more through his clouded tears. He scrutinized the man before him again, noticing the bruises from bites and the marks of his hands on Merlin's skin—completely changing the pattern of white, turning it to red, sometimes blue. His guilt was almost erased by the fact that he felt fulfilled, like an artist who had finally expressed himself without restraint. And how he wanted to feel that again. Before he knew it, he was stroking Merlin’s hair, as if trying to apologize, to soothe him. The sleeping man began to wake slowly, eyes fluttering. He looked up to find ice-blue eyes watching him.
“Creep.”
Arthur laughed lightly, warmed by the sight of them together in the morning. “Shut up.” He didn't wait for Merlin to obey; he met his lips in a lingering kiss. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” Merlin saw Arthur’s hesitation. “I would tell you if I wasn't. Since when do you worry so much about me?”
“Since... years.”
“What?”
“And since I saw the mess I made on your skin last night.”
Merlin’s eyes widened, looking down at the marks he could see on his body. “By the gods, Arthur...” Merlin searched Arthur’s face, hoping for remorse. Instead, he found something else. “You are... proud?!”
Arthur’s grin grew larger. “Can you erase them with magic?”
“Probably, let me—”
“No. Leave them. I just wanted to know.”
Merlin was startled. He knew he likely had marks on his neck as well, where everyone could see. “But—”
“Leave them.” His voice turned colder, more dominant. “It’s an order.”
“Of course.” Merlin looked away, shying from a gaze that gripped him so tightly. He felt a wave of shame at his own arousal—the desperate want to obey—but he was hurt by the sudden coldness.
“I’m sorry.” Arthur exhaled and tilted the warlock’s head gently. “I seem to have lost part of myself again.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed. “You’re such an ass.” He kissed Arthur’s lips once. “I’ll do anything you ask, just don’t make me feel like shit about it, please.”
“I’ll try.”
“I know it’s hard for you to trust me. But like I said before, my magic is for you. It’s yours.”
“As you are mine?” That one was more unsure, almost a question.
“I am my magic, Arthur.”
“Tell me again.”
Merlin thought for a second, then gave a mischievous expression that intrigued the King. He kissed Arthur’s shoulder, then traveled down his chest to finally disappear under the covers. The already hard erection was slowly engulfed by a warmth that drew a groan of surprise from the blonde. He hadn't expected his sorcerer to be so enterprising, and it only made him want to keep this side of Merlin entirely for himself. Nobody suspected what was hidden in their intimacy. He felt a hand on his thigh for support as his cock entered Merlin's throat even deeper, tongue moving in all the right places. Arthur let Merlin lead for a moment, wanting him to be comfortable in this discovery of his sexuality. But fuck, how he wanted to just ram deep into his throat and barely let him breathe. This form of control Merlin allowed him was exhilarating; it nourished something profound within him, finally letting everything else shut out.
“Fuck, Merlin, just like that.”
As his nose brushed Arthur’s skin, Merlin realized how much he loved being praised, and how he loved the weight of his King in his mouth. But one thing was missing. He reluctantly pulled back, out of breath, and rasped: “Arthur...”
Arthur pulled back the covers to see Merlin, to understand his need. Perhaps he shouldn't have, because the image of glossy, wet lips, messy hair, and pleading eyes almost made him cum right away.
“What do you need, Merlin?” he asked softly, his hand finding the dark hair.
“You know...” Shame colored Merlin's cheeks as he bit his lip.
And yes, Arthur did know. The second he looked into those eyes, his suspicions were confirmed. He had hoped they were, once again, perfectly made for each other. “Umm... you want me to take care of everything, don’t you?”
Merlin realized, with how Arthur phrased it, that yes—he wanted Arthur to take charge so he could finally let go. Finally let himself be in the care of someone else, no weight on his shoulders. He nodded as Arthur stroked his hair gently.
“Three taps if you can’t take it anymore. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes,” Merlin breathed, sounding delighted.
“Good boy. You can touch yourself if you want.” The gentle touch in Merlin’s hair turned into a firm grip that guided his head back toward Arthur’s dick. It invaded his mouth and throat until he almost forgot how to breathe. He struggled for seconds, but then, his body remembered how badly he wanted to lose himself into Arthur’s control. After that, the king felt he could go further; he started to buck his hips, leading Merlin’s head by his hair. When the rhythm was steady, Arthur holding his head in place, it gave Merlin the confidence to lift his ass in the air and to allow space to stroke himself. He moaned against Arthur’s shaft, and the blonde was in heaven.
Until a knock disturbed them. George. He had come to wake the King. Arthur looked at Merlin’s horrified expression, himself trying to not panic, but Merlin didn't move from his position, as if waiting for a command. That just eased something into the king’s soul, he could just be pleased from it.
“Don’t you dare take that mouth away.” Arthur said quickly as he lowered the heavy duvet back over Merlin. He bent one knee beneath the covers, breaking the line of Merlin’s hidden body as the warlock flattened himself against the mattress, trying to trust Arthur.
The door opened. “Already awake, my lord?” George made his way inside, the odor of sausage and fresh bread invading the room. “I brought your breakfast. May I help you get dressed for the day?”
Merlin tried to stay perfectly still, his mouth still fully engulfing Arthur's erection as he did his best to remember how to breathe.
“That won’t be necessary. You can put my breakfast on the table. You are free for the rest of the morning.” Arthur sounded too casual for what was happening—perhaps a royal habit, seeming perfectly composed regardless of what was really going on.
“Are you sure, my lord?”
“It’s an order.” Ah, that was more impatient.
“Of course.” George bowed and headed toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything, Your Majesty.”
Arthur groaned as Merlin's tongue moved slightly. George stopped. “Are you alright, sire?”
The King forced a smile. “Yes. In fact, from now on, I would like you to bring two breakfasts in the morning, no questions asked. Your discretion is one of the things I appreciate most.”
George bowed. “That won’t be an issue. Good day, my lord.”
As soon as the door closed, Arthur pushed the duvet aside. “Are you alright?” Merlin blinked, his mouth still hovering over the cock, breathing hard. “You just want it that much, don’t you, Merlin?”
Merlin almost withdrew to argue, but he resigned himself. What could he say? He was desperate for this; he had been for years. He resumed his position, ass up, touching himself shamelessly, showing everything to Arthur who resumed control. The waves of his hips quickened, fucking into Merlin’s mouth carelessly as he grew impatient for his release. Even with the sounds of choking and the spit drooling from his mouth, Merlin didn’t complain once. He even came hard when Arthur kept him impaled on his dick, holding him still for seconds as he released himself deep down his throat, ordering him to swallow everything. After a few moments, he gripped the warlock's hair to pull him back, freeing him from his now fulfilled erection.
“What the hell, Arthur! What if he had seen us?” Yes, Merlin was trying to care, to be the voice of reason—to not let himself freefall, even if he craved to bury himself deep into that mad desire.
“What about it?” The freefall was already happening for Arthur.
“You know why it would be wrong; you’re not that dense.”
Arthur shifted their position so he was now on top of Merlin, pinning his hands above his head. “He didn’t see us, because you were good and stayed exactly where I told you.” He nibbled Merlin’s ear and whispered, cocky, “You can be so obedient when you want to be.”
“You’re an ass.” Merlin couldn’t help but smile, hopeless.
They kissed delicately, playfully, and agonizingly lovingly for minutes until Merlin asked, trying to hide his hope, “Two breakfasts?”
“So we can eat together in the morning,” Arthur replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Merlin frowned, so the King continued. “If I can have you in my bed, I will certainly not let you go—at least not before breakfast.” He didn’t give Merlin time to answer and sealed the promise with a kiss. “Now, come and sit with me while I so generously share my meal with you, and you can tell me all about your encounter with that half-young-druid, half-grey-haired-old-fucker of a man you met last night.”
Powerless against these feelings, all Merlin could do was abandon himself to laughter, trying to silence the part of him that whispered he was undeserving.
***********
Merlin told everything to Arthur, and again, it was such a relief to simply speak without fear, choosing how to act together without the weight of lies. Still, Arthur was furious, his heart pounding in his ears as his fist clenched. “He wants you to join them?” He looked incredulous, pacing around the chamber.
“You know I won’t.” Merlin stood up, seeking proximity as he placed his hand on the King's shoulder to stop him.
Arthur turned, eyes wild, now gripping Merlin’s hip to pull him closer as he said through gritted teeth, “You sure as hell won’t. Even if you wanted to, I would make sure you couldn't.”
Merlin shook his head, then took Arthur’s face between his hands. “Hey, you royal dumbass, did you hear what I said?” He searched Arthur's eyes until they met his. “I won’t. I don’t want to, I never wanted to in all those years together, and I won’t ever want to. So don’t think about possibilities that don’t exist—it just makes you angry for nothing.”
Arthur softened. “I know. You are right to remind me. I just fear you would feel freer in another kingdom, one that has accepted magic for longer. One that could offer you the prestige your powers deserve right now.”
Merlin leaned in to kiss the King deeply before saying; “Learn to trust me. I will always choose you, and be happy about it. I don't care about anything else.”
Arthur kissed back, then nodded in agreement. “Now, what do we do?” Merlin added, letting go of Arthur.
“Would it be too obvious for you to act like you wanted to join them?” Arthur asked, still unwilling to let go of the small of Merlin’s back.
It was becoming very difficult for the warlock to concentrate. “Of course. Even Daegan expected my answer; he would see right through the game.”
“Why did he expect it?” His grip tightened, which made Merlin tilt further into Arthur’s body.
Merlin was now buried in the crook of Arthur’s neck, smelling the saltiness of their morning and the scent of fresh pine soap. He didn't move, only whispering: “Arthur… my devotion to you is a known fact. It’s even a prophecy.”
Flashes of all the times Merlin had stayed loyal and confident in him raced through Arthur’s mind. He thought back to their first meeting, all the awkwardness of them just hugging, when in fact, he just didn't want to start something he didn't want to stop. He couldn't get these memories out of his mind.* He kissed the warlock’s hair. “But when we met, you probably hated me. You always insult or question my orders.”
Merlin encircled the King’s neck now, backing up slightly to look him in the eye. “I can have an opinion of my own. A prophecy is not an order; it’s natural, based on who we are and not the other way around. I hated that prophecy in the beginning, but when I got to really know you, I understood why we were meant to be.”
“But you did change me, by challenging… everything.” Arthur’s smirk was one of disbelief, marveling at how this one man—this servant, this warlock—had made him who he was.
“I just pointed to what was already there. And you fought to reach it, to respect your heart, so bravely.”
Arthur’s hands rested around Merlin’s waist, pulling him even closer. “You saw so much, before I even could.” He now realised even more how much he needed Merlin’s love.* Love still wasn’t the word he used in his own mind, but it was close enough.
Merlin chuckled; he just loved this man so much. So much that it made him doubt himself, wondering when Arthur would say he made a huge mistake, and then all of it would end. They would go back to avoiding each other's touch, hiding behind their different ranks, only finding closeness through banter. For now, Merlin allowed himself to enjoy whatever this was, just a little bit.
**********
After kissing for too many minutes, they both remembered who they were and what they actually needed to do that day. They concluded that, in the best-case scenario, King Lot wanting Emrys as his court sorcerer did not mean war. In the worst case, it did. Lot could be searching for power everywhere, and the way Daegan had avoided answering about Jakar did not help.
At the very least, they expected King Lot to learn or understand who Emrys was very soon—either by Daegan telling him, or simply by witnessing how Arthur and Merlin acted around each other. Merlin, with no clear title, and Arthur, being so openly and overly concerned with him, had surely already given too much away.
They agreed to try and learn more: Merlin would keep an eye on Daegan, and Arthur would stay close to King Lot. But then, for the sake of Camelot and to prevent a fallout, they concluded that the knights needed to know about Merlin’s magic. If anything was going to happen, the knights needed to be prepared, not blindsided by the warlock's power. They needed to be a team, to have the advantage of knowing—contrary to what King Lot and Daegan must have thought.
“Gwaine already knows,” Merlin said, deciding it was better to be completely honest.
“What? How?”
“He figured it out. He told me a few weeks ago.”
Once again, Arthur questioned himself. How could he have been so blind all those years? He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”
“If it’s any consolation… I tried so hard to hide it from you that maybe it was easier for him to see, since my only focus was on you.”
“It doesn’t help, but I understand.”
“Yes, of course.” Guilt was written all over the warlock's face and posture.
Arthur moved closer, gently taking Merlin’s wrist to rub the smooth skin with his thumb. “I do understand. At least, I’m trying to.”
Merlin nodded, swallowing his guilt. “Okay.”
**********
The King of Camelot and the King of Essetir were both wearing masks. The only difference was that Arthur was certain of the other king's dishonesty. However, their shared love of hunting forced them into a competition as they chased prey through the forest. Trusted knights of both Kingdoms followed a few feet behind—Gwaine being closest to Arthur, and an older Knight of Essetir with a prominent nose trailing King Lot.
Surprisingly, what made it entertaining was the presence of Lysandra, King Lot’s daughter. She was fast, and even tactical. Something in her reminded Arthur of Morgana, before everything—simply a woman being talented at something ladies were not normally interested in. In the end, the real competition wasn't between King Lot and King Pendragon; it was with her.
“Slacking, King Arthur?” She sat high on her horse, her tone cheeky after catching the last prey, beating Arthur to it.
“Definitely not.”
She smiled before galloping further away on her horse, leaving the two Kings alone on their steeds.
“My daughter is quite a hunter.” King Lot stated.
“She is. You must be proud.”
“Yes.” At first, his tone almost seemed warm with pride. Then he had the audacity to say: “I love watching what I created act in accordance with who I am.”
Arthur frowned for a second, then put on his mask again with a polite smile. What a narcissistic ass. And Arthur Pendragon knew all about narcissistic fathers—the feeling of never being enough, where everything but the father was the problem. He realized he might have a chance to get the upper hand just by understanding the man's character. “I get it,” he lied.
“Do you?” Anyone who had witnessed him would have thought King Lot was having fun, like a battle of words. Arthur knew better.
“As my father said, it is inspiring to see hard work paying off, even more so if it is a child you molded.” He intended to sound proud, as if he carried the weight of that saying in his heart.
King Lot stayed silent, only humming in approbation. Arthur continued, choosing his words carefully. “King Lot, as you must know, I made magic legal in Camelot not long ago.”
“Of course.”
“I would appreciate your opinion on the possibility of choosing a court sorcerer. You seem to have someone you trust. How did you find that confidence in him?”
King Lot seemed to consider the question, the two of them trotting on their horses like two acquaintances taking a calm moment during the hunt.
“It was actually quite bold, which I didn't dislike. He came to me and asked if he could be my court sorcerer. Of course, I thought it was crazy to ask such a thing when I didn't know him at all. But then, he told me to give him two weeks. If he disappointed me, I had the free will to put his head with my other ones.”
Arthur wished the rumors were false, and that he had hallucinated the words that now confirmed them. “Other heads?”
“Let’s not pretend you haven't heard about my methods, King Arthur. If you do, then I would think you take me for a fool.”
Arthur wondered how King Lot managed to keep such a kind voice while talking about hideous things. It was as if it were nothing, as if it weren’t wrong, dehumanizing every aspect of his reign.
“Of course.” The younger man had caught onto another curious element of what the other King had shared; he couldn’t help but ask. “Didn’t you fear he would betray you during those two weeks? With his magic, he could have done great damage to your reign.”
“Yes, but he handed me cold iron cuffs to put on him. Only to be used for those two weeks.”
“I apologize, my lord, but I am not familiar with that.”
“The one who puts them on a magic user controls them, King Arthur.” He was now smiling, showing his full, crooked teeth. “Wouldn’t you like to put them on your dear Merlin?”
Arthur couldn’t control the clench in his jaw or the surprise in his eyes after such raw words scorched the depths of him. He was too late to deny anything as the King of Essetir galloped faster, his knights following close behind. “I’ll try to find my daughter now. Enjoy the reflection!”
Yes, King Arthur felt overpowered in this battle of minds, and he was haunted by the image of Merlin—on his knees, cuffed, and himself totally confident that his warlock would never, ever leave his side. The thought scraped against something deep in his mind, and he tried to shake off the madness starting to evolve,* as he spurred his horse to go after them.