The King and His Sorcerer

Part XV: A Kiss

Merlin had tried to stop thinking about the almost-kiss. It wasn’t even a kiss, he kept telling himself, all the while imagining what might have happened if Arthur hadn’t turned his head away at the last moment and ordered Merlin from his quarters. Would he have kissed me back? Merlin shook his head. He couldn’t afford to think like this; it was dangerous. His job was to serve Arthur; protect Arthur, and here he was thinking about kissing him! Just the thought of it brought a bright blush to his cheeks. He checked his surroundings to make sure no one noticed the redness of his face. When he determined that the coast was clear, he sighed and leaned against the centuries old stone wall of the hallway.

I cannot keep going on like this. I simply have to stop thinking about Arthur in this way. But, try as he might, Merlin failed. Arthur consumed him; mind and body. When Merlin awoke in the morning, his first thought was of Arthur; and when he laid his head to rest, his last thought was of Arthur. Arthur even invaded his dreams. Merlin’s cheeks heated again at the thought. Last night’s dream of Arthur was vivid, to say the least. Merlin could have sworn he felt the warmth of Arthur’s chest against his back the night before; felt Arthur’s breath tickle his neck; felt Arthur’s lips upon his own. With a shake of his head, Merlin tried to rid his mind of all thoughts of Arthur’s lips. It would not do to have him staring at the King of Camelot’s lips throughout his meeting with the knights of the round table.

With a deep breath, Merlin cleared his throat, pressed his cold hands against his cheeks in order to rid his face of any telltale blush, and pushed open the doors to the room that housed the round table. Immediately upon entering, Arthur raised his head, and Merlin could have sworn that his gaze lingered on his lips a moment before turning back to Sir Gwaine. Merlin swallowed; his Adam’s apple bobbing against the skin of his throat. Approaching Arthur’s left side, as of tradition, he placed a chalice down, filled with Arthur’s favourite wine.

“My lord,” he whispered in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur’s face turned a slight pink in colour and he nodded in thanks to Merlin.

The rest of the meeting was uneventful. With Merlin standing behind Arthur the entire time, there was no chance for any furtive glances, or meaningful stares. All Merlin could do was study the back of Arthur’s head. At least it’s a beautiful head, Merlin thought to himself before he could stop the thought. By the end of the meeting, Merlin was sure he knew the number of hairs on Arthur’s head he had stared at it for so long.

“Leave us.”

Arthur’s strong and commanding voice filled the large chamber, the timbre of it echoing off the walls and filling Merlin’s ears. Merlin waited until all the knights had left the chamber before turning to leave himself.

“Not you, Merlin.”

Even a whisper carried across the cavernous room. Taking a deep breath, Merlin turned to face his king.

“What is it that you need, my lord?” he asked, a sight tremor infiltrating the end of his sentence.

“I need you to come closer, Merlin.”

Merlin’s ears turned red with the sound of his name on Arthur’s tongue. Oh, no, he thought, do not think of Arthurs tongue. But it was too late; Merlin’s hyperactive imagination was already imagining the taste of Arthur’s tongue, and what it would feel like caressing his neck. He took a deep breath and walked over to where Arthur stood beside the round table.

“My lord,” Merlin repeated, inclining his head slightly.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, the sound barely making it to Merlin’s ears.

When Merlin looked up into the blue eyes of his king, he was startled by what he saw there. It cannot be, he thought. That desire I see cannot be for me. And yet, with a sudden movement, Arthur had Merlin’s back pinned against the side of the round table; his strong arms encasing Merlin’s slight frame ever so easily.

“My lord,” Merlin said, confused.

“Arthur. Please. Arthur.” Arthur’s blue eyes seemed to pin Merlin in place with their ferocity.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured.

It was then that Arthur leaned forward, closing the distance between them. And, before he knew what was happening, the lips Merlin had dreamed about for so long were finally upon his own. Against his own will, he sighed, and leaned into the hardness of Arthur’s chest. As if realising what he had done, Arthur pulled back hastily. His cheeks were redder than the cape we wore around his shoulders.

“This didn’t happen,” he whispered harshly.

Merlin nodded silently. And then he leaned in for another kiss, pushing Arthur into his seat at the table.

“Of course it didn’t, my lord,” he said, as he exited the room. Before he closed the doors behind him, he cast one glance back at Arthur. His hand was caressing his lips softly. A smile tugged at Merlin’s lips. Maybe his dreams weren’t as outrageous as he had once thought.