Merthur One-shots

Golden Hour

Smut

Summary: Arthur apologizes for believing Cedric over Merlin, and then some other important things happen.

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“You called me a clotpole.”
 
Merlin looks up from the shirt he’s folding. Arthur’s eyebrows are raised in accusation but he’s smiling. “Did I?”
 
“What on earth is a clotpole?”
 
“You couldn’t sort that out from context?” Merlin asks. The words emerge icier than he had meant to let them.
 
“I inferred the gist, yes. I’ve just never encountered that particular insult before.”
 
“It’s hardly my fault that you never read.”
 
“Merlin,” Arthur says, a little louder, a little more annoyed.
 
He’s seated, shirtless, at the edge of his bed. The bandage still wrapped around his torso, the cuts still on his face, evidence of the danger he’d been in only yesterday. Danger that Merlin could have helped lessen, if Arthur had listened to him. A lot of things, he thinks bitterly, could be different if Arthur would listen to him.
 
“You do know,” he says, “that he was sabotaging me. Cedric. Trying to make me seem incompetent so that he could take my job and steal your keys.”
 
Arthur holds out his left hand. “Come here.”
 
Merlin’s legs move before his brain seems to have instructed them, automatically responding to Arthur’s commands, but then he stops himself.
 
Arthur tilts his head to one side in confusion. “What?”
 
“You are unbearably bossy.”
 
Arthur makes a small noise of protest in his throat and then huffs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Come here, please?”
 
Merlin indulges him, closing the distance between them. Arthur’s hands curl around his hips, tugging him in closer so his legs are wedged between Arthur’s knees and Arthur has to tip his head back to look up at him.
 
“I’m not really like that with you, am I?” he questions.
 
“Like what?”
 
“Ordering you to do things you don’t actually want to do.”
 
Merlin raises an eyebrow, but Arthur shakes his head.
 
He gestures between their bodies, eyes shining in sincerity. “No, not cleaning my boots or fetching my dinner. Those things are your job. I mean here. I mean us.”
 
“Oh.”
 
“I would hate it, Merlin. To think that you didn’t want something but felt you couldn’t turn me away because of who I am. I would absolutely despise it.”
 
“No,” Merlin says honestly. “It’s never been like that.”
 
“That’s good.”
 
“Would you … with another servant? Were I to leave?”
 
“Are you leaving?”
 
“You made me want to, a little, this week,” Merlin gripes, “but no. I wasn’t planning on it.”
 
Arthur nods and then he guides Merlin in just an inch closer so he can rest his forehead against Merlin’s stomach. “No,” he answers, his voice muffled. “You’re not a concubine, idiot, you’re my … you’re mine. As long as you want to be, that is. And not for one minute longer.”
 
Merlin’s eyes close. His heart fills, as it always does when Arthur drops his smirks and his bravado and is brave enough to say something real. Merlin slides his fingers into Arthur’s hair, the other hand squeezing around the back of his neck. It is impossible, he finds, to stay angry at this man.
 
And yet … because he never got an answer, he repeats, “you do know that he was sabotaging me?”
 
“Yes I know that. I wasn’t going to be all mushy about it in front of Gaius, but of course I know that.”
 
Not convinced he’ll get much more of an apology, and not convinced he needs one, Merlin removes himself from Arthur’s grasp for long enough to sit beside him instead. The warmth from his skin radiates through Merlin’s and he gets closer, always wanting to be closer. From the moment they met Merlin wanted to be closer, even as his better judgement fought against him on it, even before he knew the man next to him. He’s a boy, really, just a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Merlin wishes Arthur knew how deeply he understands how that feels, and how much he wants to carry it all for him so Arthur never frowns again.
 
“I put you in the dungeon,” Arthur muses. His fingers intertwine with Merlin’s, thumb rubbing in an arc over the back of his palm.
 
“You certainly did.”
 
“That wasn’t very nice.”
 
“I’m used to your mood swings,” Merlin teases.
 
Arthur laughs softly, bumping his shoulder into Merlin’s. Then he slides elegantly down to the floor, kneeling and squeezing Merlin’s thighs in his hands. “I am truly sorry, Merlin.”
 
“Arthur,” Merlin sighs. “Get off your knees, you’re a prince.”
 
“A good leader,” Arthur intones, “a good man, is never too proud to admit when he has made an error. Or to ask forgiveness from the people he’s harmed with his foolishness. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Really, I am. I won’t make that mistake again.”
 
Merlin swallows. Unspoken between them, but easily recognizable, is how starkly Arthur differs in that way from his father. A man who takes no council and hears no dissenting voices could never be a good king, and Merlin is sure Arthur will be the best there ever was. He nods, and touches Arthur’s hair, brushing wayward golden strands of it off of his forehead. “Alright. I believe you. And I forgive you.”
 
“Thank you.”
 
“Now get up, really. It’s unbecoming.”
 
With a mischievous grin, Arthur rolls back onto the balls of his feet and lunges forward, shoving Merlin to his back on the bed and hovering over him. “Just one point on an endless list of things we’ve done in this room that are unbecoming.”
 
“The rest are a lot more fun. Although if you insist on grovelling further I suppose I – ”
 
Arthur cuts him off with a kiss, and Merlin forgets whatever point he might have been making as Arthur’s tongue dips into his mouth and wipes his mind clear of anything else. Arthur has always kissed him the way he does most things – with passion, with mirth, with the sharpness of a confidence that’s only somewhat a performance and underneath it all the lingering longing to be told he’s good enough. Merlin tells him all the time, and even still Arthur doubts himself.
 
Merlin holds Arthur’s cheeks in his hands, allows his mouth to be plundered, gives back as good as he gets. It spins his head around when Arthur kisses him this way, leaves him dizzy and desiring and hopeful that he can be worthy of this golden man. Even now, after a row, Merlin aches for him. And he does believe Arthur is sorry, and it means more to him than he could put into words that Arthur said it.
 
Arthur lowers himself, aligning their bodies and rolling his hips, and Merlin only gets to delight in the thrill of it for a moment before Arthur is hissing in pain and stilling atop him.
 
“Arthur?” he asks quickly.
 
Arthur laughs shakily, his warm face burying into Merlin’s neck and lips kissing the skin he finds there. “I’m alright.”
 
“You’re wounded,” Merlin says, remembering. His hands move, palms sliding over Arthur’s ribcage, gently checking.
 
“Yes, I was very brave and noble,” Arthur says wryly. Carefully he shifts to the side and rolls onto his back next to Merlin, the heat of him leaving Merlin’s body sending a regretful shiver down his spine.
 
He doesn’t know about Merlin’s part to play in it all, the night of the battle, nor will he, so Merlin simply agrees. “You always are. No wonder all the village girls are in love with you.”
 
Arthur snorts, and then groans and holds his own ribs in his hand. “Ass,” he says, laughing through the pain.
 
“Can I get you anything?”
 
“No.” Arthur shakes his head and his breathing slows. “I’ll be alright. Just stay with me.”
 
Merlin turns onto his side and props himself up on one arm, leaning closer to Arthur. “Is that an order?”
 
Arthur blinks up at him. His other arm, trapped underneath Merlin’s body, bends at the elbow and comes up so his palm can rest against Merlin’s lower back. “No,” he says softly. “A request. I’d like to have you here, if you’d like to stay.”
 
A part of Merlin is enjoying the sincerity, the earnest and vulnerable air around Arthur tonight. Another part of him worries about it, because it’s so rarely like this. He nods, anyway. He leans down carefully, so as not to bother Arthur’s injured side, and slowly slides their lips together.
 
“You know what you mean to me, don’t you?” Arthur breathes.
 
Merlin shivers again, emotions simmering along the heated planes of his skin. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” he can’t help but ask. Perhaps he’ll kick himself later for it, if it snaps Arthur out of this soft, lovely trance, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if something was wrong and he never inquired. “Did Gaius give you something that’s gone to your head?”
 
“Nothing’s gone to my head.”
 
Merlin doesn’t entirely believe him, but he’s being pulled back into a kiss before he can press for further information. Arthur deepens it, sending sparks to Merlin’s extremities.
 
“Or maybe,” he amends, voice dropping what must be an octave, “it’s you, that’s gone to my head.”
 
Merlin looks down at him, at Arthur’s mesmerising eyes turned dark and hooded. It still thrills him, after all this time, to know Arthur desires him. The prince, the man who could have anything and anyone, wanting Merlin instead. To know in this way, at least, they are equals. Merlin can make him feel, can take him apart, and Arthur lets him. Arthur trusts him. And Arthur can break Merlin down to nothing with just his lips and his fingers and Merlin trusts him, too, to hold those pieces in his arms until Merlin remembers how to breathe once again.
 
“Can I see you?” Arthur tugs at Merlin’s tunic.
 
Merlin nods, heart already in his throat, and stands to strip out of his clothing. He’s reluctant to be so far away while he does it, but overcome with fondness when Arthur starts trying to wiggle out of his pants and whines when his injured side prevents it.
 
“Let me, sire,” Merlin says, exaggerating the honorific just to watch Arthur blush and roll his eyes.
 
“Not during this,” he complains.
 
Merlin tugs off the last of his clothes and stars in on Arthur’s, helping him lift his hips so the material can he drawn down over his pale skin.
 
“Your Grace, then?” Merlin suggests, humming as he pretends to devote to it some serious thought. “Your Excellency? Your Royal Holiness?”
 
“Merlin, I swear to God …” Arthur mutters, reaching out for him, aiming a swat at Merlin’s left shoulder but wincing in pain and missing entirely.
 
Merlin snickers. He discards Arthur’s pants and takes in the sight of him, laid out on the bed for Merlin like a painting, skin pink and flushed, cock hard and lovely against his abdomen. Merlin wishes it were possible to capture moments like this so he could gaze upon them whenever he wanted, to hang them on the walls of his bedroom like adorning a cathedral.
 
Arthur reaches for him and Merlin goes without argument, helping Arthur shift up so his head can rest against the cushions and then laying carefully atop him, sure to avoid his bandages but pressing their hips together. Arthur hums happily, and Merlin lets his eyes fall close as the sensations ricochet throughout his body.
 
“How about ‘Arthur’?” comes the small request, as Arthur’s lips trace along Merlin’s jaw. “Just Arthur.”
 
Just Arthur, as if he hardly dares to dream that could be enough. As if here, when it’s just the two of them, everything else can melt away as long as Merlin agrees to it.
 
“Arthur,” Merlin whispers back, affirming him as he finds Arthur’s mouth so he can lick into it. My Arthur, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, but Arthur smiles up at him anyway, a look that bathes him in warmth and the dizzying tingle of anticipation. “How shall we …?”
 
“Help me sit up,” Arthur says, and then as a sweeter afterthought, he adds, “please.”
 
Merlin does as he asks, pressing kisses to Arthur’s bare shoulder to soothe the sting as they prop him against the cushions. Merlin sits on his thighs, head dropped forward so he can look between them at their cocks laying side-by-side on Arthur’s quivering stomach. They look lovely together, Merlin’s always thought so. Different enough to be interesting but similar enough to be a pair. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over them both, smiling in triumph when Arthur hums again.
 
“You’ll tell me, if it hurts too much?” Merlin worries, looking back at Arthur through his lashes. He’s so self-sacrificing, the man Merlin has chosen to devote himself to, that Merlin’s not sure he would. But he doesn’t want that, here. He just wants them.
 
“Yes,” Arthur agrees readily. Merlin eyes him suspiciously, and he more emphatically swears, “yes, I promise I will.”
 
Merlin runs his hand up Arthur’s chest, thumb brushing over a nipple, fingertips gently exploring the bandages. It’s warmer, here, as blood pools under his skin to heal the places where he’s been compromised. “You were brave,” Merlin tells him, not teasing this time.
 
Arthur looks like he wants to say something. Whatever it is, he remains silent. His hands cup Merlin’s cheeks and his lips part to allow Merlin access to the warmth and sweetness of his mouth, tongue searching and breath mingling.
 
“I wish I’d thought to get the oil before I made myself comfortable,” Merlin chuckles, realizing far too late how much he’s going to hate having to get up from Arthur’s lap.
 
Arthur grins at him, and from behind a pillow next to him, he’s producing a dark green glass vial.
 
Merlin laughs louder. “Do you have those stashed everywhere? Just in case?”
 
“Perhaps,” Arthur shrugs. “I like to be prepared.”
 
Merlin takes it from him and kisses him again, deeper this time, but less weighted. Arthur smiles into his mouth and wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, holding him closer. It makes Merlin’s heart swell, makes him want to give this man everything, every last piece of himself, even the ones he cannot.
 
“Want me to?”
 
Merlin nods, and Arthur fumbles to take the vial back from him and slick his fingers. They trail, light and slippery, along Merlin’s lower back, teasing along the top of his backside before the soft pad of one presses gently into his entrance. Merlin closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Arthur’s, breathing through his nose, skin prickling everywhere Arthur touches him. He inhales slowly as Arthur pets against him, holding him steady with his other arm.
 
“I always marvel at the way it relaxes for me,” Arthur murmurs, pushing the finger in smoothly up to the second knuckle and taking Merlin’s breath away for a moment. “Not sure if I could ever be used to it.”
 
Merlin takes a risk, uses Arthur’s placid mood as a safety net, and asserts, “perhaps I’m made to fit with you.”
 
Arthur’s finger slides in the rest of the way and bends, crooks to find the spot inside that bursts pleasure under Merlin’s skin. He’s quiet, for a moment, but then his lips move wetly along Merlin’s cheek and he whispers, “perhaps you were.”
 
When he’s relaxed enough and thrumming with need, Arthur carefully withdraws his fingers and grips Merlin’s hips to lift them, supporting him as he lowers himself down onto Arthur’s thick, straining cock. The air is punched from his lungs, never used to this feeling no matter how often he experiences it, Arthur burrowing inside him and pushing everything else away until all Merlin can think and feel is him, is them. He finds himself wanting Arthur to brand him somehow, to mark his name on Merlin’s skin, so everyone would know who Merlin belongs to. The knights who ignore him, the courtiers who brush past him like he’s always in their way, the villagers who have seen him stand by Arthur’s side a hundred times but still don’t recognize him in the streets; he wants them all to know that their golden boy, their crown prince, in private belongs entirely to Merlin.
 
While he’s lost in his thoughts, he’s being kissed so thoroughly he barely notices Arthur slowly beginning to thrust up, flesh sliding together, moving around inside him. Merlin raises up to his knees and drops back down, the pace gentle at first and then increasing as the pleasure builds quickly in his gut. The head of his cock rubs along Arthur’s stomach as they move. The spot inside him is grazed, and then more deliberately pressed against as Arthur aims for it, knowing instinctively how, in every position, to find it.
 
“So sweet for me,” Arthur is mumbling, affection spilling from his lips as he forgets himself in their intimate dance. “Loyal and kind and selfless, no matter what I say when I’m in one of my stupid rages. I should tell you more often all the wonderful things that you are.”
 
He could be describing himself, but Merlin can’t seem to speak well enough to tell him that. He grips Arthur’s arms and moves more insistently.
 
“Still with me?” Arthur asks, a joyous lilt to his voice. Merlin can’t see the smile on his face through the blur in his eyes but he can hear it in Arthur’s voice, feel it in the way Arthur playfully jostles him.
 
“Here,” Merlin confirms, breathless. “You feel magnificent.”
 
“So do you. Always do.”
 
Merlin seeks Arthur’s lips for a messy kiss, tilting his hips to change the angle and pushing Arthur inside just a bit deeper, rubbing, sending resplendent waves of pleasure through him. He wants so badly – aches, really – to be everything Arthur could ever need so Arthur never has to look anywhere else. He moves, even as his shoulders sag and his head feels filled with cotton, because Arthur deserves this. In fleeting moments, Merlin can admit that maybe he deserves it himself.
 
“Merlin,” Arthur moans.
 
When Merlin can blink his eyes into focus, Arthur’s eyes are liquid and his cheeks are flushed, his lips kissed red and his hair a mess from Merlin pulling at it.
 
“Together, yeah?” Arthur asks, his smile hopeful as his hand shoves between their sweat-damp bodies and his fingers curl around Merlin’s aching cock.
 
“Oh,” Merlin breathes, sensations nearly too much. “Arthur, yes, nearly there.”
 
“Me too. Together,” Arthur repeats, stroking him firmly, tensing underneath him just a moment before Merlin crashes and shivers in Arthur’s lap as his cock spills between them.
 
He hears himself whimpering, feels himself going limp in Arthur’s arms and Arthur’s fingers coaxing every last drop out of him. Merlin twitches though a few more waves of it, and Arthur chuckles, pleased and sated. They slide, inch by inch, down until Arthur is further reclined and Merlin is draped over him, boneless and still thrumming. Arthur’s arms stay around him, Arthur stays solid underneath him. It feels like drifting through soft breezes, like flower petals on his skin, like the moment at the end of a pleasant dream.
 
Merlin is nearly asleep when Arthur shifts underneath him. “‘m I hurting you?” Merlin slurs, reluctant to move but not willing to cause Arthur any pain.
 
“I know you have magic.”
 
Merlin’s stomach rolls. His heart thuds in his chest, his insides grow stone cold. He tries to move, but Arthur’s arms tighten around him.
 
“It’s alright,” Arthur whispers harshly, keeping Merlin close to his chest, speaking into his forehead. “It’s okay, Merlin. You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.”
 
“I don’t,” Merlin says, words escaping like there is a frog in his throat, panic still flying through him. It’s entirely futile, he knows Arthur would not be saying these things if he did not know it absolutely for sure, but for just a moment Merlin dares to hope he might lie his way out of this.
 
“Yes, you do,” Arthur argues gently. “I’ve seen it.”
 
When Merlin struggles again Arthur releases him, letting Merlin sit up and climb off him. His hand trembles as he brings it to wipe over his mouth, the cold sweat that beads along his hairline. When he dares to twist around and look back, Arthur has folded his hands atop his chest and is gazing back at Merlin with his cheeks still pink and his forehead twisted adorably into a frown, but his gaze is steady. Unwavering, unafraid. Merlin always agonized over how fearful Arthur might be of him if he ever found out, but Arthur doesn’t look it.
 
“When?” Merlin breathes.
 
“I’ve known for some time. I was hoping you would tell me some day, but I’ve begun to think you never would.”
 
Merlin blinks rapidly as his eyes fill with tears. He turns back away, pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He wants to run away just as much as he wants to dive back into Arthur’s arms and beg his forgiveness. Just a moment ago he was happier than he’d been in weeks, and now he feels it all falling down around him.
 
Arthur quietly says his name, fingertips brushing briefly along his spine before they fall away.
 
“How could I have?” Merlin asks miserably. “When things are … the way they are.”
 
“I don’t know. I suppose you couldn’t.”
 
“What are you going to do?”
 
“I don’t know that either. But you will be safe,” he promises again, ever more of that wide-eyed sincerity shining through. “Whatever happens, I will not let them harm you.”
 
Merlin does not believe for one moment that Arthur would be able to keep that promise if Uther intended to have him executed. He does, however, believe Arthur means it, even if it would be out of his control. He is aware, suddenly, of how bare he is. How naked, how vulnerable, how sitting here on Arthur’s bed in the aftermath of their extasy felt only moments ago like the nicest place on earth and now feels like a platform in the town square.
 
“It was you, wasn’t it? Who defeated those creatures. They were just gone. They wouldn’t have left for no reason, it was you.”
 
“I had to.” Merlin draws in a ragged breath, stomach swooping over itself. Arthur makes no move to cover himself, he simply lies there, as bare as Merlin, but glowing and golden and unembarrassed because he has no reason to be. He is a prince, he’s perfect, and Merlin feels like he’s drowning. “Uther is wrong. Everything he thinks he knows about magic is wrong. It can be used for evil, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be a force for good. It’s for you, Arthur. My magic. I use it for you.”
 
“My father believes it to be dangerous. I don’t know that he is entirely unfounded, in that belief.”
 
“The potential for danger is everywhere. A man with a sword could cut down anyone in his path if he wanted, but we don’t have him hanged before he has done so, simply because he could. Why should those with magic be treated any different?”
 
Slowly, Arthur expels a large, deep breath that moves his chest. Thoughtfully, he nods. “I’ve never thought about it like that. I suppose you’re right.”
 
Merlin swallows and doesn’t dare continue.
 
“How many times have you saved my life with it?”
 
“I couldn’t count.”
 
“You use yours to protect me, to protect Camelot.”
 
“Yes. Always.” Merlin nods emphatically. He belatedly thinks to grab for the bedsheet so he can drag it over his lap, cover some of himself. “Always.”
 
“Thank you, then. For saving us.”
 
It takes Merlin’s racing mind a moment to comprehend the words he thinks he’s just heard. “Do you mean that?”
 
Arthur’s blue eyes swim and his forehead remains twisted but he nods. “If you hadn’t, I’d likely be dead. As would my father, and Gaius, and Guinevere, and everyone we care for.”
 
Merlin clenches his jaw and averts his gaze. Arthur is too beautiful, even in sadness. Looking at him just now feels like looking too long at the sun. The problem is Merlin has always flown too close to the sun where Arthur is concerned.
 
He notices wetness on his cheeks and isn’t sure how long he’s been crying. “Were you angry?” he asks tearfully. “When you found out?”
 
“At first,” Arthur admits.
 
“And then?”
 
“And then I watched you. I followed you into the forest and watched you practicing.” Arthur’s words hang suspended in the air between them, like there is something more he wishes to say, but instead asks, “who else knows?”
 
“Gaius.” After a beat, Merlin adds, “Lancelot.”
 
Arthur wets his lower lip and considers. “He always did seem highly protective of you.”
 
“Which?”
 
“Just now I meant Lancelot. But I suppose Gaius is as well. No one else? Gwen, Sir Leon?”
 
Merlin shakes his head. He sniffs and rubs the back of his wrist underneath his nose. “He is far too loyal to you, he would have turned me in.”
 
“No,” Arthur counters, “he would have told me. That is not the same as turning you in.”
 
“Isn’t it?”
 
“Sir Leon is a good man. He’s been with me since we were children. He would not have lied to me, you’re correct in that assumption, but he would not have wanted you harmed.”
 
“You think so?”
 
“I know so. I don’t allow many to be close to me, Merlin, but I trust entirely those who are. You included.”
 
“Not anymore, I suppose.”
 
For a moment, Arthur is silent. The seconds tick by, weighted like the scales of justice, and Merlin curls his shaking hands into fists. If this is it, if this is the moment Arthur asks him to leave and never come back, at least Merlin can keep the memory of tonight. At least he’ll carry Arthur’s smile and his laugh and the taste of his kiss with him, wherever he goes from here.
 
“Do you believe me that I do not want to hurt you? That, as you said, just because I could retrieve the dagger from the drawer and plunge it into your heart, that I won’t do so, because I have no desire to?”
 
Merlin looks at him. Sunshine and rainclouds all mixed together into one, into his Arthur, the prince he’s bound to serve and the man to whom he’s given his heart, reckless and foolish as both may have been. “Yes,” Merlin answers. “I believe you.”
 
“Will you come back here, then?” Arthur requests with a half-smile, lifting his hand for Merlin to take as he had hours ago when the evening began. “I can’t stand anymore seeing you upset and not holding you. I’ve had too much of that in the last few days.”
 
Tentatively Merlin takes his hand, and when Arthur’s smile brightens as their fingers brush, Merlin moves back towards him, settling back into Arthur’s side. With his head on Arthur’s shoulder and their hands intertwined, Merlin can exhale. This, he knows. Everything else might have been swept up into a dust-storm of unknowable things but he knows how he fits, here. He knows how they fit together.
 
Quietly, Arthur murmurs, “I think … to trust means that you know who a person is, even if you don’t know everything about them. I would not have allowed you into my bed in the first place if I did not trust you completely. That has not changed.”
 
“I would never hurt you, Arthur,” Merlin swears. “Never.”
 
“I know. I will fall asleep tonight knowing that just as clearly as I knew it before. I was angry at first, I won’t pretend otherwise. But I understand why you kept it from me. I’m sorry for that, too. For the things I have said and done that made you feel it wasn’t safe to confide in me.”
 
“It’s not that.”
 
“No?”
 
“I was not afraid you would have me killed. I didn’t think it fair to put in you the position of having to choose between me and your duties. To put you in opposition with your father. This is my burden, it wouldn’t have been right to make you carry it.”
 
“And yet you’ve carried mine.” Arthur’s fingers card idly through Merlin’s hair, still damp from the exertion of their passion. “And have saved me, and protected me, over and over.”
 
“It was never a burden. It is my destiny, to be at your side.”
 
“Would you show me?” Arthur inquires as if it is a secret, although not a shameful one. An exciting one, that only they share. “Something magical?”
 
A smile curves Merlin’s lips. He lifts his hand, separating his fingers from Arthur’s. Under his breath, he says an incantation, and from a swirl of gold in the air above them, blue butterflies appear. They twirl around each other, sparkling in the light from the candles, and Merlin lifts his head to watch their glittering reflection in Arthur’s wide, clear eyes. He appears enchanted, lips parted and breath catching, before Merlin lowers his hand and the spell breaks.
 
Arthur turns to him, marvel splashed on his handsome face, and he takes Merlin’s cheek in his hand and wipes away at tears still lingering on his flushed skin. “Beautiful,” Arthur whispers. “Do your eyes always glow like that?”
 
“I … didn’t know they did,” Merlin admits. “I suppose they must.”
 
“They turned golden, like sunlight.”
 
No one has ever used that word to describe Merlin. He uses it in his own head to describe Arthur every day, but Merlin has always thought he was the darkness in their partnership. “What did you see, when you followed me to the forest?”
 
“You were moving rocks. Massive ones, boulders half as tall as you, stacking them neatly on top of each other as if they were pebbles. And then you spun them around you, and turned them into animals, and made them the most brilliant colors. Only, it seemed, for the sake of crafting something lovely.”
 
“And what did you think?”
 
“That I had never seen magic like that. I’ve only seen it destroy. Never create.”
 
“It’s part of me,” Merlin says as his chest fills with warmth at the wonder in Arthur’s eyes. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to share it with you.”
 
“So share it with me. The rest we can work out,” Arthur replies, as if it’s all that simple. Merlin dares to hope that it could be.
 
“Yeah?”
 
Arthur nods briskly, and then his lips are back on Merlin’s, his hand in Merlin’s hair, and maybe their hearts intertwined somewhere neither of them can see but Merlin can feel, as sure and as easy as he’s ever felt anything.

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