The bed was hot where his body writhed and a drop of sweat stung the scars on his back as it rolled slowly along his skin. The blanket had to come off, so he shook it with his foot, flinching as it caught on something unexpected at the end of the bedpost. A voice in pain told Merlin he was not alone, and he sat upright to face the intruder.
"Shhh," the voice whispered harshly, "lay back down!"
It was so familiar, and instinctively Merlin resumed his position on the bed, still as hot as he was until... a cold presence nudged his left leg and a chill ran down his arm. Suddenly the heat shifted to his head and his stomach, and stopped only after travelling a few inches further. Merlin shuffled uncomfortably, taken aback by the sudden change in his heartbeat as the voice above him whispered by his ear.
"You want me Merlin, don't you?"
Merlin wanted to face the speaker but he was paralysed by the hot breath on his cheek. The coldness now spread to his chest and a weight pressed down onto his hips. His heart accelerated on contact and a rough moan escaped his lips. This excited the person beside him, and cold, wet lips touched Merlin's shoulder.
"I want you," he couldn't see who the person was, but he knew that voice, and the burning in his groin answered its question before his lips could open.
"I want you, I want you now," he repeated, breathless and suddenly animated, arching his back and turning to the object of his desire.
"Arthur."
Merlin shot awake and out of his bed so quickly that the prince in his dream was still hazily present in front of his eyes when he hit the floor. He rose clumsily and searched the room with his eyes, though knowing that it had all been just a dream, just in case. He shrugged off the first wave of shock and sat down with weakened legs.
"What. The. Hell??" He exclaimed to himself, rubbing the memories of the dream away, and holding his shaking head. Despite his attempt to banish them, the recollections poured freely, and the feelings and the heat, and the throbbing, and the moaning. He moaned in anger at himself, and rocked his body once, tugging at his hair.
It was just a dream, he thought to himself, and forced his mind onto a different topic, and forced his questions to fall on his plans for the day.
It was then that Arthur entered Merlin's chambers, hurriedly and in a temper not yet at its peak.
To be confronted by the image of the prince so soon after waking from the dream was too much to handle at that moment, and all the memories immediately flooded back. Wide-eyed and irritated at himself, Merlin turned his head to the bed sheets, his face burning red.
"Merlin, I want you."
What...? Oh no, this would not do. His face shot up, hotter than before, as Arthur's sentence hit his stomach hard, and he glanced around for a bowl, should he need it. He chose that moment to ignore the voice inside his head which told him that he should search instead for a restraint.
"Good god Merlin, what is wrong with you? I hope you have not taken ill."
"No, Arthu... Sire," He couldn't use the prince's first name again so soon after his tongue had uttered it in a way that would send him straight to the stake.
"Good, because I need you to help me with training today, I am out of practice."
Merlin opened his mouth to utter a protest, but could not think of an excuse fast enough.
"You will meet me at the stables when you are dressed."
And as Arthur's eyes flickered over Merlin's bare chest, to Merlin they almost seemed to linger for a moment, before he turned and marched from the room. But of course this was ridiculous – mindless fancy spurred on by his dream. He twisted his features in shame.
"What. The. Hell??" He uttered again, biting his lip so hard that it bled. He remained still for a moment, contemplating escape through the forest, never to return again... but rational thought put a stop to his plans, and his body kicked into action when Arthur's voice from outside demanded that he hurried.
"It was just a dream," he repeated to himself in a whisper, over and over until his heartbeat slowed.
"Of course it doesn't mean anything... you dreamt of Gwen the night before – you're not in love with her!"
Then he shook his head in disgust at the implication of what he was justifying – "you're certainly not... in love with Arthur." And the thought seemed to stick.
"No, it was just a stupid... meaningless... disturbing dream." He pulled his shirt over his head with higher spirits than before, and stared happily into the reflecting glass.
His appearance however, for the first time since arriving into Camelot, seemed to him, inadequate. He brushed down the mess of his hair, and he straightened his posture, but it did little to better the reflection.
"Oh. Dear. God!" he reprimanded himself before Arthur's voice called again, this time travelling through the open window from the stables.
Merlin scuffed up his hair again, and with a deliberate slouch, left the room determined to focus on only the swordplay. When an ache touched his stomach at the thought of one-on-one combat with the prince, however, he cursed under his breath and splashed water from a nearby bucket onto his face.
"Snap out of it you moron! It was just a dream!"
And he reached the stables and took the armour from Arthur's warm, outstretched hands.