A sheen of sweat dusted the strong bodies of the knights as they sparred relentlessly. They kept perfect rhythm, almost dancing, entrenched in the give and take of the fight. Raw energy rippled beneath their skin, which flexed and stretched as they swung, struck, parried and sparred. Matching skill with experience.
Arthur strode among their darting forms, upright and resolute. Tall, like a rock jutting from a turgid river. There was command in the way he walked, pride and ego, and something else… Something awkward and uncomfortable, something not very princely at all; something that reminded Merlin of the night before. it reminded him of the way sweaty arms felt bracketing his body, the sounds of their gasps, moans and muffled cries as they slipped past their swollen lips to disappear into the quietness of the castle. It reminded him of the words Arthur whispered in the night, the tiny admissions and confessions.
It reminded him of their secrets.
And it made his heart constrict, his blood pressure rise and his skin tingle. He could only hope Arthur felt the same overwhelming mixture of hope and terror. Because every time they brushed shoulders in quiet corridors or caught that look in each others eyes, or when they made out in abandoned rooms, expressing a neediness that took his breath away, Merlin felt as though he could fly.
He hardly dared believe that Arthur meant the words he whispered, the words he bestowed on Merlin like royal gifts in a litany of praise and adoration so wonderful; Merlin wanted to proclaim them to the world. He felt every one of them just as strongly in return and the very thought of their potential flippancy made him ache.
Of course Merlin was quite aware that he would never have the chance to do any such proclaiming. He was aware that even if he did the people of Camelot wouldn't marvel at the love in Arthur's eyes. He knew the once and future King's relationship with his lackey wouldn't be accepted, even less with his lackey turned 'evil' warlock. So he tried not to think about it too much. Busying himself with the helpless exhilaration of being so in love. Relegating the 'future' to some other time, some other merlin. He could live in the now... because now he had Arthur.