AN: Just a little drabble. Reviews are much appreciated. Enjoy!
When Merlin came to Camelot, his wardrobe was made up of one pair of breeches, two pairs of worn out tunics, and two ratty old neckerchiefs. They weren't much, but in Ealdor, nobody had much of anything, really, so Merlin was had been happy with what he had. He knew what he had was little, but he had never given thought to the fact that someone might have need for much more.
When Merlin was made manservant of the prince, he was given the regular task of laying out Arthur's clothes each day, and thus was given access to the royal wardrobe. The first time he opened the closet Merlin's jaw dropped to his chest and he stood dumbfounded, eyes wide as saucers as he stared at the vibrant colors before him. There was more clothes in Arthur's wardrobe than Merlin had seen in his life. Neatly folded tunics of every color were stacked one on top of the other, or draped from ornate hangers in neat rows.
"You act as though you've never seen clothes before," the prince drawled from where he was lazily picking at his morning meal, raising an impatient eyebrow towards his brand-new servant. "Get to it then."
"Right, yeah," Merlin said quickly, randomly grabbing the nearest tunic. He gasped when his fingers came into contact with it- the purple material was softer than any cloth he had ever felt before, soft as a lamb. He held it for a moment, rubbing it between his fingers before clearing his throat hastily and lifting it up for the prince to inspect. "This okay?"
"That'll do," Arthur said, standing up and raising his arms over his head.
Seconds ticked past, Merlin holding out the tunic carefully, and Arthur looking at Merlin expectantly until Arthur cleared his throat in annoyance.
"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to do your job?"
"I'm giving you your clothes."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to dress me, you idiot!"
Merlin lasted all of three seconds before he burst out laughing.
"You mean to tell me that you can defeat six armed men blindfolded but you can't even dress yourself?"
He was rewarded with a cuff on the back of the head. "That's treason, Merlin, and if you ever say that again I'll have you thrown in the stocks."
Merlin shut up.
Later on, Merlin sat in the kitchens, constructing a strategy for tackling his new task of doing the royal laundry. Throwing all caution to the winds, he lunged forward and yanked a tunic straight from the top of the pile sitting in the basket. He ran the material through his fingers, marvelling at the softness of the fabric, and feeling envious when he felt the scratchy wool of his own tunic rub against his skin. He shivered; He hadn't seen such fine cloth in all his life, and part of him wanted desperately to rub it against his cheek, before he realized how ridiculous he would look. He blinked and went back to washing.
A few months passed, and one day Arthur came to Merlin's chambers in the middle of the night, claiming he needed Merlin to do some task to help a visiting noble.
"Come on then," Arthur said impatiently, as his groggy manservant rolled out of bed. "We haven't got time for you to be lazy."
"Alright, alright, I'm up!" Merlin snapped. "Just let me get dressed, yeah? Hand me that tunic, will you?" He pointed at his red one, resting where he had tossed it earlier on the floor. Arthur sighed and bent to pick it up. "Really, Merlin, there is such a thing as a cupboard."
"Some of us are too busy cleaning up after prat princes," Merlin retorted. Arthur grunted.
"Is this wool?" Arthur asked, feeling the material of Merlin's tunic.
"Yeah, what of it?"
"It's itchy! Is all your clothes like this?"
"Yup," Merlin said irritably, yanking the tunic from Arthur's hands. He tugged it over his head, then looked back at Arthur. He was wearing a surprised expression, looking strangely at Merlin's change of clothes. "What?"
"How do you stand wearing clothes like that all the time?"
"You get used to it. Peasant's life, but you wouldn't know about that." Part of Merlin felt guilty, noting the bitter tone of his voice. After all, it wasn't exactly Arthur's fault he was born rich. But the other part of him noted the hour and the fact that he had just been roused from a particularly nice dream involving sweet bread, and all his sympathy disappeared quite quickly.
As time went on, Merlin grew accustomed to handing Arthur's clothing. He stopped being in awe of the fine clothes, and soon doing the laundry was just another boring routine.
There was one tunic of Arthur's, however, that Merlin became attached to. A purple shirt, simple for a prince, yet incredibly soft and expertly woven. Only the richest could afford such an expensive purple dye. All the peasants clothes were brown, blue, or red-made with dyes commonly found in the woods, colors that faded quickly.
Merlin found himself favoring the tunic immensely, and happily began to abuse his power in choosing the prince's clothes. If someone was paying close attention, they would have noticed that the prince of Camelot wore the purple tunic twice, sometimes even three times a week. Nobody said anything, and so the purple tunic remained in rotation.
It was getting just a bit small, Merlin noticed, not that he minded. Sometimes the unfortunate size would cause it to ride up slightly, exposing a hint of golden skin, a tease of what else was hidden. Then Arthur would turn around and almost, almost catch Merlin in the act of staring.
Merlin spent so much time admiring this certain piece of clothing that he noticed immediately when it began to fray. The bright purple color began to fade, and the hems developed many loose threads that kept Merlin busy mending for hours. He didn't want to admit it, but after a year of life-threatening situations, this secretly beloved tunic was wearing down and soon Arthur would tell him to throw it away.
One morning, after Merlin had been in Arthur's service for quite some time, he entered Arthur's chambers and began his usual routine of bribing the grumpy prince with breakfast to wake. Merlin filled the room with chatter as he cheerfully yanked back the curtains, ignoring the fact that such banter and jokes were improper between master and servant.
"Is that the only tunic you own?" Arthur yawned, gesturing at Merlin's clothes. Merlin looked down at himself.
"No," he answered. "I also have a blue one."
"And that's it?"
"I have one to sleep in."
Arthur seemed to contemplate this. "You really don't have any other clothes? You'll freeze to death!"
"Some of us aren't princes, though, and we can't afford the luxury of a big wardrobe," Merlin retorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Arthur's dumbfounded expression.
"You are actually paid, you know that, right?" Arthur said. Merlin shrugged.
"I don't get paid that much, although by all means if you're offering me a raise..."
Arthur snorted. "You'd have to be a bloody fantastic servant to get a raise."
"But I am bloody fantastic!" Merlin grinned, executing a well-practiced duck when the pillow came flying at his head.
"Lying to a prince is treason, Merlin," Arthur said mock-seriously. Merlin laughed.
Arthur flipped the blankets back and swung his legs off the bed. Merlin did not stare as Arthur stretched his sleep-taught muscles langourously.
"Right then," Arthur said, getting up and meandering over to his closet. "What have I got to do today?"
"First you have meetings with council, then you must attend court with your father, then training..." Merlin listed off. He wasn't actually sure those were in the right order, but how was he expected to remember the prince's daily schedule?
Arthur muttered something unintelligible as he rummaged through his clothes. He emerged with a lump of fabric in each hand, and he inspected each one closely before closing the doors, tossing one of them over to Merlin.
"What's this?" Merlin asked, holding it up to inspect Arthur's purple tunic.
"It's for you," Arthur said lightly, pulling the other tunic over his head.
"For me?" Merlin repeated.
"Don't be such a girl about it, just take it."
"But this is yours!"
"And you only have two horrid smelly shirts. Believe me, I'm doing everyone a favor by giving you this."
"But, but this is royal clothes! I can't accept this!" Merlin protested.
"Do you want it or not?" Arthur snapped. "Look, it's worn out and all the hems are torn, either you get it or I'm throwing it out."
That shut Merlin up. He looked down at the tunic in his hands, a warm smile creeping across his face. He looked back up at Arthur.
"Thank you."
"It's just a tunic," Arthur said. "Now come on, I have a list of chores for you."
Thus Arthur's purple shirt became Merlin's purple shirt. The first time he wore it Arthur gave him an indecipherable stare, causing Merlin to grow hot under his master's gaze before Arthur seemed to gather himself, saying "Color suits you," rather faintly. Merlin spent the day marvelling at how the fabric felt like clouds against his skin, and he was so distracted that Arthur threatened to throw the tunic away after all.
The tunic became Merlin's favorite piece of clothing. He loved the way the bright color caught the light, and the way the fabric whispered against his skin. He mended and patched it whenever it got a hole or a tear, trying to make it last as long as possible. It smelled quite a bit like Arthur, which Merlin would never admit distracted him as much as the softness of the fabric.
"Merlin," Morgana said one day, passing Merlin in the halls. "I couldn't help but notice that tunic you're wearing."
"Oh yeah," Merlin replied, glancing down at where the tunic was on his chest underneath is own ratty jacket.
"It looks very expensive," Morgana commented lightly. "I didn't think this was the type of thing you would splurge on."
"No, well-"
"Arthur had a tunic just like this," Morgana went on. "Although I haven't seen him wearing it lately.
"No, he gave it to me."
"Did he?" Morgana said, a mischievous glint in her eye that Merlin didn't like at all. "Why was that?"
"It was getting old..." Merlin said slowly. "He didn't want to waste it."
"Yes, I'm sure that was the reason," Morgana said with a smirk.
"Well why else would he?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe he gave it to you as a...souvenir?"
Merlin paused for a moment, puzzled at her words, then:
"No! No, we're not-we're not like that!" He spluttered, scandalized. Morgana simply laughed and threw up her hands.
"Fine, fine, whatever you say. Just remember that lying to the King's ward is treason." She gave him one last chuckle and walked off, leaving Merlin blushing furiously behind her.
After that encounter Merlin stopped wearing the tunic. He missed it dearly, the softness of the material rubbing lightly against his skin, not to mention the smell that came with it that reminded him of a certain idiot.
That idiot noticed this, and one day in his chambers he said, "Why haven't you been wearing my tunic?"
"Which one?" Merlin replied absently, as though he didn't know exactly which one Arthur was talking about.
"You know which one," Arthur said. "When I gave it to you you wore it all the time. Why don't you wear it anymore?"
"Uh," Merlin said. "It...it was getting really old, I had to throw it out."
Arthur snorted. "I don't believe that for a second. What's the real reason?"
Merlin cursed silently. "No reason."
"Just tell me, come on."
"Fine!" Merlin gave in. "I stopped wearing it because Morgana thought you gave it to me as a "souvenier."" His fingers marked air quotes around the word, rolling his eyes.
Arthur was silent for a moment, staring at Merlin. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, and he couldn't help but notice the way Arthur's eyes seemed to fall down to the part of his neck that was not covered by his neckerchief. He felt a blush spread across his cheeks.
"Does the idea embarrass you that much?" Arthur finally asked quietly.
"What?"
"Do you really hate the idea that people might think we're...close?"
Merlin was quiet for a moment. "Everyone knows we're close, Arthur. But I wouldn't want people to start rumors."
"What would be the harm in that?" Arthur asked.
Merlin swallowed. "It might...it wouldn't be honorable," He said. "Your father wouldn't hear of it."
"What if I don't care?" Arthur said, taking a few steps towards Merlin, gazing at him intently.
"You're the prince," Merlin said hoarsely. Arthur continued walking towards Merlin, crowding him against the wall. Honestly, Merlin was beginning to wonder why he was struggling. He let his eyes fall to Arthur's lips and felt his heart beat rapidly.
"That means I can do whatever I bloody well please, doesn't it?" Arthur murmured.
"It does," Merlin said carefully, lifting his gaze back up to meet Arthur's. Arthur nodded.
"But you didn't answer my question," Arthur said. "Do you really hate the idea that people might think we're close?"
Months of pining rose up in Merlin, and Arthur was so close that he could feel his breath ghosting upon his lips, and he was looking at Merlin with deep, warm blue eyes, and finally Merlin decided, oh, to hell with it, and leaned forward, capturing Arthur's lips with his own.
Arthur responded immediately, slamming Merlin against the stone wall, hands gripping Merlin's hips, Merlin twisting his hands in Arthur's golden hair.
Their mouths fit together perfectly, lips opening as their tongues sought each other. The kiss deepened, turning hungrier as their hands roamed from hips to shoulders to hair back to hips.
Later, the two of them lay in bed together, clothes littering the floor, royal and peasant's alike. The blankets covered both of them as they lay spent, Merlin's head lying on Arthur's chest as the other carded his fingers through his hair.
"So," Arthur said, pressing a kiss to the top of Merlin's head. "Now will you continue to wear my tunic?"
Merlin grinned. "That depends. What happens if I keep wearing it?"
"I'll take it off of you, naturally," Arthur responded. Merlin laughed and lifted his head to press his lips to Arthur's.
"I'll consider it, then."
"Idiot," Arthur said into the kiss, and Merlin smiled.
He was definitely going to start wearing more of Arthur's clothes.