"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," Merlin commented as Arthur slid the door to his room open, dripping with sweat, holding one arm at an awkward angle like it hurt him, and smeared in dirt, mud, and grass. "You look like you've taken on an entire army one handed."
"I /feel/ like I've taken on an entire army one handed," he grumbled back, sauntering forward and collapsing into a chair, ignoring the fact that it tracked mud across Merlin's pristine floor. The servant in question bit back a comment, seeing the exhaustion swimming in Arthur's eyes and knowing sympathy was probably better than an argument at this time. "Why didn't you at least take off your boots before you came back inside?" was the only thing he grumbled, bending down to smear away some dirt so he could get to the buckles on his boots, working them gently off the wiped out King.
"Didn't have time. Wanted upstairs. Wanted bed," he moaned, leaning backwards on the chair and propping his mud-covered foot up on Merlin's lap to his servant's annoyance. "Dunno if you've noticed," he said with a half laugh, "but I ran you a bath."
Arthur's eyes flicked over to the boiling tub behind him and made a half-simpering sound of pleasure that he would regret ever having made if ever asked. Merlin just smirked. "I'll only say this once, Merlin, but you are a /hero/."
He finished pulling off Arthur's boots without a comment, dragging off the thin socks and using them to get rid of most of the mud on Arthur's toes- just to see the smile that appeared on his sleepy face when his fingers ran a bit too fast across the bottoms of his feet. "Come on, you," he said gently, dragging Arthur up to a sitting position. "Lets get you clean so you won't muddy my clean sheets as well as my floor."
Arthur glanced down distractedly and then winced. "I- sorry."
"A compliment and an apology, I should have you beaten up more often," Merlin teased, hefting Arthur almost like a deadweight over his shoulder. "What happened, anyways?"
"Training session with the squires," he said bitterly. "Some of them are getting quite good, and my melee-style training battle apparently wasn't the best idea. Try about fifteen seventeen year olds racing at you with barely blunted swords." He shivered quickly. "Not fun."
"You can't hold off fifteen soldiers?" Merlin laughed, and then ducked out of the way of Arthur's hapless swing. "You know, I thought I had more faith in you."
"Oi!" he grumbled, shoving Merlin sideways and then swayed like a tree in a strong wind, grabbing onto him again. "This weakness is mentioned to no one," he hissed from where his face fell against Merlin's ear. "Do you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, sire," he said seriously, knowing that was what Arthur wanted to hear. With the words- he trusted Merlin full-heartedly- Arthur allowed Merlin to help him remove his mud-encrusted mail, dull armor, and mud-and-sweat-smeared shirt and trousers.
When the King collapsed backwards into the tub he let out a long, guttural sigh, wet hair from the rain turning into wet hair from the bath as he ducked backwards. Merlin stood a respectful distance away, back turned but there if Arthur needed him. The sound of the splashing was funny and he snickered slightly.
"Something amusing, /Mer/lin?" Arthur slurred, leaning up against the edge of the tub and hanging his head over, dripping onto the wood floor. His hair was still caked in mud, as well as a good portion of the rest of Arthur. Merlin was surprised it could somehow gather and smear into his skin even under armor, mail, and a shirt.
Without permission- knowing Arthur would never agree to it unless he was taken off guard- Merlin rolled up his sleeves and bent down by the side of the tub, taking great care not to let his eyes follow the line of Arthur's jaw down his smooth neck across his chisled ch- no. No, he would /not/ look. Instead, he slowly ran his hands through Arthur's golden hair, letting his knowledgeable fingers work all the mud out of his hair like he used to assist his mother with when he was a young boy. He scratched lightly against Arthur's scalp and was rewarded when Arthur's mouth fell open to retort against his hands and then no sound came out.
It was quiet for a moment, Arthur's eyes sinking closed as Merlin's hands threaded through his hair until there was nothing left other than water on flaxen gold. It soon became apparent that there was no way his hair could still be dirty but even then he grabbed a rag and continued down Arthur's neck and the tops of his shoulders that he could reach, scrubbing each nook and cranny free of mud and dirt.
"...my /god/," Arthur finally choked out. "/Mer/lin. You know this gets out to /nobody/, right?" The words were sharp and vehement, but also desperate and needy.
"Not a soul, my lord," Merlin soothed, coaxing his shoulders forward and enjoying the feeling of the vulnerable Arthur doing exactly as he said underneath his hands, the smooth skin bunching and tensing over hard muscles as he scootched backwards and leaned forward, exposing his back, head hanging. Merlin's fingers traced down the line of his spine, feeling every single vertebrae before putting the towel to his back, scrubbing down to the tips of his firm hips.
Arthur bucked in an entirely unexpected way, hips moving forward and sloshing water over the edge of the tub and onto Merlin's shirt. Merlin's hands slipped down, shocked, and Arthur let out a moan that didn't make any sense and yet sounded so entirely pleasant Merlin felt a burst of longing to hear it again- to be the one to cause it. "S-sorry," he stammered.
The King opened his bleary eyes, pupils dilated. "I- I'm sorry myself," he murmured and shifted under the water, flushing. "I- I don't know what came over me."
"No big deal," Merlin yawned, returning to gently removing the last bit of mud from his broad shoulders.
"Merlin?"
"Yes, sire?" he asked softly.
"You're soaking wet."
"Yes, sire," Merlin grumbled, slightly sarcastically. "You splashed me."
"I'm sorry about that." He turned so Merlin's hand could slip down his chest and rub at the mud there, and then his hand folded over Merlin's long fingers. "I can take it from here."
"I- oh!" Merlin flushed, realizing the compromising position they were in only after Arthur mentioned it. He withdrew his hand, passing over the rag and standing up, trying to hide the war his emotions were seething in his heart. This was /Arthur/! Sleepy and touchy-feely though he might be, it was still his King and his best friend! Get a grip on yourself!
"Make up the bed?" Arthur commented from the bath, leaning back and letting his aching body soak in the warmth. "And - get some bruise balm, by any chance?"
"Got some right here," Merlin cut him off, holding up the vial. Arthur smiled at him (disarming him once again, what was /up/ with him tonight?) and ducked his head underwater.
Merlin used the opportunity to violently kick the leg of the bed, swear viciously under his breath, and try to use the pain to alleviate whatever smog of - something- that had taken over his mind. By the time the King re-emerged, Merlin was turning down the bed and yawning loudly.
"Towel?" Arthur asked from behind and Merlin jumped up to help him dry off- decidedly /not/ letting his eyes linger on anything except for Arthur's face until Arthur kicked his shin and /forced/ him to glance down at the curve of his spine down where it connected to his hips and making Merlin nearly gulp.
"If you sit down, I can apply the balm," he said in a voice a slight bit more strained than usual and prompting a confused look from Arthur that he only smiled innocently at. Thankfully the King was too exhausted and muddled to pry too deeply, flopping down on his bed wearing nothing else other than a short pair of trousers that sat low on his hips.
"Where do you hurt?" Merlin asked, swallowing and trying to separate the physician part of himself from the desire-laced creature he was steadily turning into.
"Shoulders and back," Arthur grumbled, muffled, into his pillow, "and across the ribs." Merlin took the advice and slowly started massaging the balm into his skin.
After a few moments of seriousness, Arthur started squirming under his hands and let out a small groan of pleasure. Smiling slightly wildly as he realized he could /make/ Arthur make that noise, he pressed down on tight muscles and worked his way through them, hands skittering down Arthur's back and spine and across the valley before his hips. It was the most bare skin of Arthur's he had ever touched and the King himself was more than receptive of it, writhing and whimpering everywhere he worked the soothing balm.
About fifteen minutes later Merlin's hands finally stopped, leaving a melted version of his King pressed into his bed, limp and relaxed and looking like he was about to dissolve into the pillow. Merlin had gotten into it, letting the small moans he was making and the feel of Arthur's skin satisfy his desire- for now, at least.
"Good night, Arthur," he murmured, wiping the excess balm across Arthur's back like a small caress. He was about to stand when the man in question grabbed his wrist.
"...'dun go," he slurred into the pillow, "Yur warm-ge-tle. Stay."
Merlin's eyebrows rose but he wasn't in the mood to walk back through the dark castle that could lurk with secrets and unsavoury characters, so instead he just toed off his shoes. "Are you sure?" he murmured. Inside, a light broke out of the cage around his heart, warming up his entire body.
"With me," Arthur demanded again, tugging on his shoulder. When Merlin wrestled the blankets around him, the King folded his bare arms around Merlin's torso and pressed him extremely close, curling around him and burying his face in the back of Merlin's neck, nose in his hair.
Merlin stiffened but didn't question his King. It was only when he felt the even breathing against the back of his neck did he allow himself to partially relax. Tomorrow morning would be awkward, but tonight he got to sleep in Arthur's arms.
It was a good night.