BY THE RIVER
It's like watching a painting. A painting that moves.
Arthur holds his breath.
The gold of the light and the thin veil of green over the woods this spring evening makes him think of something heavy and smooth in his hand, something sweet in his mouth.
Merlin is standing waist-deep in the river. His skin is white against the dark water that laughs and dances around him, and there's a smile on his face as though he understands its language. He looks less like a boy than a tree spirit, communicating effortlessly with the river, the light, the trees. He scoops up water in his cupped hands to pour it over his upturned face, and Arthur stares at the cascades over Merlin's shoulders, at the erratic paths of silver down the pale torso. One clear drop hangs quivering from Merlin's elbow as he smooths water out of his eyes and laughs quietly to himself.
Arthur's mouth is dry, his tongue wants to catch the rivulets on Merlin's neck.
There's a triangle of sparse hair on Merlin's chest, with the base up, touching his nipples and pointing downwards. Arthur's gaze follows it down to Merlin's navel, where a fine trail of hair disappears below the waterline.
Arthur breathes like he's been running. His breeches are too tight and his fingers dig into the bark of the oak as he tries not to imagine what it would be like to slide his hands over Merlin's shoulders, down his sides, over his hips. When Merlin gets out of the water with golden patches of light dancing over his hair and face, Arthur closes his eyes and bites his lip until he tastes blood.
On the inside of his eyelids he can still see the imprint of Merlin's naked body, the white unblemished skin and the dusting of dark hair that thickens and coarsens in his crotch.
Reality frightens him sometimes. Dreams are easier to handle. In his dreams he can turn and walk away; now he's rooted to the forest floor, caught in his shame.
He opens his eyes to see Merlin in front of him, and Merlin sees everything. Arthur's blush, his too-tight breeches, his fingernails biting into the bark. He just stands there, a shadow of a smile on the full lips, and doesn't judge. The tree spirit is gone and he's human again, a boy on the verge of becoming a man.
"Arthur?"
Arthur doesn't reply, only reaches out to trace the dark hair on Merlin's chest, silky and wet under his fingertips. Merlin's eyes widen and he draws a breath. When Arthur touches a hard nipple Merlin pulls his lower lip between his teeth with a whimper, and then his mouth is on Arthur's, cold and soft. Arthur cups his hand under Merlin's jaw.
Something heavy and smooth in his hand, something sweet in his mouth. If this is an enchanted forest, Arthur doesn't want the spell to be lifted, doesn't want the sorcerer to be found.