Please… It's all it should take to get what he wants.
It's supposed to be easy. He's supposed to go in and take what he likes but at the moment all he can do is sit on his bed and watch as Merlin runs around picking his clothes up. Dusting shelves he probably would never had touched if the Prince hadn't been staring at him. It's when the idiot boy bends over and his breath comes out in pants, it's when he flashes him one of those brilliant, toothy smiles and Arthur's heart speeds up a notch and it's when those too-blue eyes meet his and he thinks he may actually melt there and then. He knows in those times it was never meant to be easy and that this beautiful boy is not his for the taking.
Merlin's too happy these days, too relaxed and bubbling with self-confidence and Arthur wants him even more. He deserves him… He's been attacked for Christ's sake! Merlin's smiling again and Arthur wants to yell at him to leave so he can deal with the quickly arising problem but instead he thinks he's actually smiling back with no way of stopping it…
That's when he sits at the edge of the bed, yawns loudly and mouth wide and there are so many other better uses for a widened mouth that Arthur has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to stop for moaning aloud.
"Shall I get you ready for bed now?" He should say no because the second Merlin pulls the sheets down he'll realise what he's done to the Prince but blindly, stupidly, Arthur's nodding.
Maybe Merlin knows that Arthur's exaggerating when he winces and cries out every time he moves Arthur's injured arm and maybe Merlin's realised what the Prince has long since stopped trying to hide because there's a new look to that cheeky grin on his face. It says: 'I know…' And God… He knows, for sure he knows that Arthur's staring at his lips wondering what they'll be like to touch, to kiss. And he's sure he knows that when his hand reaches up to touch Merlin's arm, it's not to stop him from tugging the bandages, it's just because he can.
He licks his lips when Merlin's leg nudges his when he kneels on the bed to get a better angle at pulling the shirt over Arthur's head without causing further injury, and the servant smiles again; it's that annoyingly pretty smile that makes Guinevere giggle, Morgana sigh and every bit of Arthur's insides twist and churn because he wants; wants It so badly he'd do anything for just a taste.
And damn it! He's the Prince and he should get what he wants when he wants because he's royalty and because Merlin's already his.
"I'm glad you're ok, Arthur." He says, strokes those elegant long fingers down the muscles in his bicep, dodges the bite mark but scratches below it, at the red angry swelling that itches and tingles because apparently it's healing. Arthur doesn't want it to heal though, the longer his arm's useless means the more time he has to sit in bed, the more time he has to lounge around watching Merlin without having to use an excuse. It's also more time that Merlin cares for him, no sarcasm and no banter. Just delicate touches, sympathetic smiles, polite conversation and whispers of what Arthur wants.
"G'night." And he's gone, out the door and shutting it unusually quietly because he's being caring and gentle around the 'sick Prince'. He wants… It's not fair because it's his anyway.
Why can't he take it?
Please can I take it?
And yet… He knows he can't.