Until You Are Home Again

Feeling the pull of the king's fingers in the back of his head was the worst sort of torment he had ever felt. It wasn't forceful – Arthur no longer had the strength for it – but it was there, pulling him close, and making him resist. He could see the way Arthur licked his lips, the way the whole of him seemed to plead for Merlin just to allow it.

There was nothing that Merlin had ever wanted more than that – he had never known that he could want something that much until now – but it couldn't be. Not now, not when it was over, not when he had failed. He didn't deserve it; he couldn't have it, a kiss was always a blessing, and the only bless that Arthur wanted was death – which Merlin would never give him.

It would taste too much like farewell, and Merlin wasn't ready to say it. He didn't want to leave Arthur – not now, not ever. When the king's hand fell away, it was like falling through an abyss, never reaching the bottom.

It took all the strength he had to move himself from under Arthur's limp body. He couldn't let go of him, not really, so he kept his arms around Arthur, holding his beloved face against his – forehead against forehead, nose against nose, their lips so close…

But he couldn't, not even now, to allow himself to caress Arthur – a kiss would be admitting defeat, and he wasn't ready for it. With all his lungs, he cried out for the only help he could hope to get.

As he set the king on the barge, Merlin still didn't kiss him.

Arthur would be back. This was not goodbye.