Thinking about it afterwards, Merlin still wasn't entirely sure how it had come to this.
As far as he could tell, it had started out normally enough. Well, as normal as it can be when a king who was supposed to of have died an eternity ago suddenly wakes up and has to adapt to life with things like jeans, running water, vacuums and not being called sire and you're the only person who can help him and all you want to do is punch him half the time because he should really understand that he's being a total twat and drawing unnecessary attention to himself and if he would just calm down then everything would be explained.
Looking back, it was far too hopeful on Merlin's part to think that Arthur would merely take everything in stride. But it was worth a shot.
And in the end, it didn't really matter, because bringing Arthur to a pub on his first day back to life was a stupid idea in the first place. How often had he gotten drunk back when he was ruler of Camelot? Well, not very, but, really, could Merlin honestly of have expected him to just sit back and take all of these sudden changes very easily? Of course not. Naturally, in Arthur's mind, getting stupidly drunk seemed like an excellent idea. What better way to ignore everything going on in the pub around you - the flashing lights, the scantily-clad women, the glow of the TV, the blaring jukebox - than to get so drunk off your ass you can barely see straight?
Merlin had bit his tongue when he'd realized Arthur's plan. If that was how Arthur wanted to adjust to his new life, then fine. He'd let him.
Though one would have thought that an eternity would be more than enough time for a nearly thousand-year-old wizard to wisen up some, that did not necessarily mean a complete and total turn-around in nature. Merlin was, and always would be, one to act before thinking. Especially around Arthur, whom he merely wanted to feel comfortable in their new life.
Merlin hadn't really thought about the fact that, after Arthur had gotten himself properly pissed, someone would have to drag him back home, undress him and put him to bed.
Some things truly never changed.
Like how stubborn Arthur was.
"You have to get undressed before you can climb into bed, Arthur."
"But why?"
"Because you're not climbing into my bed with your shoes on, that's why. At least take your shirt off, you spilled half a beer down your front."
"But I'm tired, Merlin, I just want to go to sleep,"
"Too bad."
And so it continued, until finally Merlin gave an exasperated sigh, pushed Arthur onto the bed a little harder than was necessary, and turned away, ready to take a blanket with him into the living room and let the clotpole handle his sleeping arrangements he wished.
He hadn't expected the arm that wound its way around his waist and pulled him down onto the king's lap. Nor was he expecting to feel Arthur's breath so close to his ear.
"I'm sorry I'm being such an ass. I'm drunk," Arthur murmured. Merlin tried to stand up but found that even an inebriated Arthur had a fairly firm grip.
"Yes, you are. Now let me up." Merlin's attempt at a command was half-hearted; he was, in all actuality, perfectly content to continue sitting on Arthur's lap. He was simply positive that, were Arthur lucid, the act would have been a silly mistake and would have resulted in a light-hearted wrestling match rather than a tightening in the crotch region of Merlin's trousers.
Spending a millenia waiting for someone's return does strange things to your head. I'm sure you would understand, were you in Merlin's position.
Rather than listening (as Merlin had been sure he wouldn't), Arthur tightened his grip and buried his nose in Merlin's neck. "No," he said. "I think I'll keep you right here."
Merlin's heart began to beat a little faster and he squirmed a little more. He had spent more than a thousand years waiting for Arthur to come back and he wasn't about to fuck it all up with a silly, drunken encounter.
"Let me go, Arthur," Merlin growled. It sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. He felt Arthur smile against his shoulder.
"No, I don't think I will," Arthur replied and then it was quiet for a long while. Merlin attempted to control his fluttering heart and the growing bump in his nether regions. Arthur barely moved.
"I missed you."
Merlin froze. He knew how he should have taken those words, because they were true for him as well, but on a much deeper level. They meant so much more to him than Arthur would ever understand.
"I missed you, too," he said, his voice barely above a sigh. And then the room was quiet again.
At first, Merlin would have sworn he'd imagined it. If everything had stopped right then and one had asked Merlin about it later, he would have insisted he was somewhat drunk himself and that the whole episode had been a (highly sought after) figment of his imagination. However, given the events that followed, he could hardly make that claim with any amount of truth.
Merlin felt Arthur's breath ghosting up his neck and stiffened (everywhere). Then he felt Arthur's lips, trailing their way slowly up to his ear. Merlin's eyes closed on their own (he would insist that, were you to ask) and he tilted his head slightly. His chest began to rise and fall faster, his heart beat sped up once more and a blush crept up to face, making his cheeks hot.
"Arthur..." he whimpered, then caught himself. Clamping his lips together, he braced his hands on either the bed, one hand on either side of Arthur's legs, and pushed, trying to escape.
What surprised Merlin was that it worked. He flew forward (he'd been pushing on the bed a little harder than necessary) and nearly fell onto the wardrobe. Bracing himself, he placed a hand over his heart and waited as it calmed. Then, very slowly, he turned to face Arthur.
Arthur's eyes seemed to piercing right through him, clouded with alcohol though they were. Merlin stared despite himself. His own mind felt muddled, though not because of any brew he'd consumed.
Slowly, deliberately, Arthur rose from Merlin's bed and stumbled (albeit somehow gracefully) over to where Merlin stood. He stood mere inches from his manservant and looked at him as though he'd never seen him before, his head tilted to the side a little, his eyes wide with wonder.
"Can you still perform magic?" Arthur asked in a hushed voice, as though afraid he'd be chastised for speaking without permission. In a daze, Merlin felt himself nod.
Arthur moved closer.
"There were things I didn't tell you, Merlin, that I always intended to," he murmured. His eyes fell shut and his head inclined. Merlin realized he was holding his breath, but couldn't get his lungs to work properly so as to let it out.
"Like how I didn't care that you had magic," Arthur continued, unaware of Merlin's predicament. His fingers were tracing their way up Merlin's arm, onto his shoulder, up his neck, down his jaw. They were running, over so slightly, over the shape of Merlin's lips. Merlin felt he might pass out if he didn't get his lungs to work soon.
"Like how much I care about you. More than I ever told you. Or anyone, for that matter." Arthur was leaning closer. There was barely inches between them. Merlin's eyes fluttered shut and he willed Arthur to close the distance, to make the first move. He couldn't do it himself; it didn't matter how close Arthur was - if this was all alcohol induced and meant nothing in the morning, Merlin didn't want to be reminded in the morning that he was the one who initiated whatever followed.
Arthur's breathing was labored now, making the only sound in the room that of hot, heavy gasps. Merlin still hadn't figured out how to function his lungs again and he was sure that if Arthur were to open his eyes right then, he would have become very concerned over the purple shade of Merlin's face.
And then their lips connected ever-so-slightly. And Merlin found that he no longer cared what color his face was.
After realizing roughly a hundred years after Arthur's death that the feelings Merlin had felt were far more than platonic love or loyalty to his king, Merlin had immediately felt the need to guard this knowledge with his life, keeping it a secret even when Arthur rose and they were reunited.
So much for that brilliant plan.
Merlin threw himself into the kiss with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck and walking them backwards until Arthur's knees hit the bed and they tumbled down on top of it. Arthur's hands travel up Merlin's arms, his ribs, his face. He began to toy with the hem of Merlin's shirt, slipping his hands underneath the fabric, feeling the touch of Merlin's skin against his own.
Merlin couldn't get his shirt off fast enough. His whole body tingled and his jeans felt uncomfortably tight. How long has he been waiting for this, silently praying for Arthur's return while attempting to quell his own fantasies? Hoping everyday that when Arthur awoke, he would feel, or at least recognize, similar desires?
Too long. Merlin mashed their lips together again.
"I need to take my shirt off," Arthur pants and all Merlin could do is nod in response, unwilling to break apart for even a second. Arthur understood this, even in his muddled state of consciousness, gave a short, breathy laugh and deftly flips them over. Merlin wondered briefly how much experience Arthur has had with these matters.
And then Arthur whipped his shirt off, exposing his abs, and it was like Merlin has never seen the man shirtless before.
Sure, he's stood with in close proximity to a half-naked Arthur on several occasions. But not with an understanding of why his heart would pound a little faster. Never with the knowledge that he would want this man for more time than exists. And suddenly, Merlin could have him.
The make-out session began anew and this time there was a new fervor, a new heat blazing through both of them. Every place skin made contact with skin burned and raised goosebumps and they couldn't get enough of each other's mouths or the taste of each others lips and Merlin never wanted it to end, never wanted to be forced to let go of the man he's loved for so long...
So, naturally, he's forced to.
"Merlin," Arthur said, pulling away and staring into Merlin's face. His eyes are slightly bloodshot around the edges, his lips puffy and chapped from all the kissing and his cheeks are bright red. "Merlin, you have no idea how much I want this," Arthur began.
"So why have we stopped?" Merlin whined as he wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and attempted to pull him closer. Arthur didn't budge.
"Because I don't want to be drunk," he murmured before leaning down - slowly, at his own pace, despite Merlin's desperate tugging - and placing soft, sweet kisses that trail from the edges of Merlin's lips up to his earlobes. Merlin wiggled slightly, his erection grinding against the zipper of his pants and causing uncomfortable friction. He took solace in the fact that he could feel Arthur's own erection pressing down on his hips and he shifted slightly, pushing up into Arthur. He hears a hiss by his ear and smirks.
"I'm serious, Merlin," Arthur says, and Merlin could hear the strain in his voice. "I want to be lucid and you may think I am right now, but I'm really not." Merlin laughed once and Arthur pushed himself back up so that he could look directly into Merlin's eyes.
The smirk slowly disappeared from Merlin's face. Arthur was very serious.
Why was it so difficult for Merlin to take Arthur seriously?
Arthur's eyes took on a gentler tone. "You have no idea how much concentration it is currently taking me to stay like this, to keep my speech understandable and to keep myself from falling asleep right on top of you." Merlin let out a pout at that.
"Are you saying I'm not entertaining enough to keep you up?" Merlin whispered. A quiet had settled on the room and it felt unnatural to disrupt it.
Arthur smirked. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is I don't want to have to fight - no, I don't want you to have to fight for my attention. You deserve it all." Arthur leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Merlin's, who kissed him back.
"And I'll have it all?" Merlin breathed, his voice still quiet. He could feel Arthur winding down, feel the energy draining from his body and the shake of his arms as he struggled to keep himself up.
"Absolutely," Arthur said, pecking Merlin's cheeks, the ridge of his nose, once more gently on the lips. "But not right now." Arthur sighed and flopped down on the bed beside Merlin.
It felt strange, Merlin reflected, to be curled up next to the former King of Camelot, with whom he had almost just been fucked senseless. Strange... but nice. And right somehow, as though this was how it was supposed to be.
Merlin remembered what the old Dragon had said, so many, many years ago now. Two sides of the same coin...
Did that mean that all coins wanted to make love to their backsides? Merlin doubted it. But if that was what it meant, then Merlin would take it. He could only pray that Arthur still wanted him in the morning.