Merlin wrenched himself apart from Arthur to catch his breath. They sat there, panting, for a second, foreheads still touching. Merlin placed his hands on Arthur's cheeks and glanced down at his moist, pink lips. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, and-
"MERLIN!"
"AH!" Merlin sprang into a sitting position in his bed.
Gaius stood in his doorway, peering down at him. "Were you having a bad dream again? I thought I heard-"
"N-No, no, nothing of the sort, I'm…I'm fine…"
Gaius just let out a wheezy sigh and continued, "Anyway, I just came by to inform you that you're late, again. There's bread and butter on the table outside. I'll be out all day today, but I'll see you at supper tonight."
Cheeks pink, Merlin jumped out of bed and started picking his clothes off the ground. "Alright, you go on ahead. Don't worry about me!" he called after the physician's retreating back.
As he dressed hastily and a bit clumsily, Merlin ran his to-do list over in his mind. Muck out the stables, bring Arthur his breakfast, get him ready for training, run errands for Gaius, polish Arthur's new set of armour…
He paused. If it's new, why does it need to be polished? he grumbled to himself. Slipping his scuffed brown boots on over his woollen socks, Merlin grabbed his neckerchief and raced out the door. With all the things he had to get done in the few minutes he had, his dream was long forgotten by the time he was striding through the corridors of the castle.
"Oh, Merlin," Arthur panted, curling his fingers into his servant's dark hair. He dived back into the kiss after the brief respite, taking Merlin's lips between his, and-
Arthur's eyes flew open. He had woken up in a sweaty tangle, bedsheets pinning his limbs in place, for the second morning in a row. His blond hair was soaked with perspiration and his face flushed with heat. With a groan, Arthur tried to sit up, only to fall back onto his pillows again.
Although he had nothing much scheduled besides a training session, his day was not off to a good start. Waking up late under a glaring midmorning sun after yet another embarrassing dream about Merlin in a pool of his own sweat was not his ideal morning.
Kicking the sweaty sheets off, Arthur stumbled out of bed in time to hear a soft knock on the door and then, "Are you up yet, Arthur? You're going to be late."
"Er…come in," Arthur called out, hastily trying to flatten his bedhead and straighten his nightshirt.
The door was nudged open, and Merlin entered the chamber with a stack of bedsheets, clothes, and towels in his arms and a silver platter of bread and fruit balanced precariously on his fingertips. "Have you forgotten about training today? It starts in approximately six minutes, and you haven't had any breakfast."
Arthur rubbed his eyes. "I overslept. That's alright, I'll skip breakfast today." Avoiding his servant's eyes (That's right, he's your servant, nothing more, and don't you forget it, Arthur, he thought to himself), he snatched his favourite white shirt down from the top of his dressing screen.
Merlin peered at him suspiciously. The prince wasn't acting like his usual irritating self. "Alright then…just have an apple on the way out, or something." He held up Arthur's armour. "Now, come here."
"One! Two! Three! Four!" Arthur straightened up from his stance and lowered his sword, turning to face the knights, who similarly planted the tips of their swords in the grass. "Alright, I wanted to do some one-on-one with all of you today, but we don't have much time left. So, volunteers? Come on, you'll all have a go tomorrow anyways."
A few men stepped forward.
"Good. We'll start with you, Gwyn."
In the middle of parrying a blow, something at the edge of Arthur's vision distracted him. He looked up to see Merlin some distance away, laughing with Guinevere, Morgana's maidservant, about something-probably him. Were they laughing at him?
"Oof!" Thrown off his feet, Arthur landed on his bottom in the green grass.
Gwyn, grinning good-naturedly, offered him a hand. "Not losing your touch, are you?"
Arthur squinted up through the sunlight at the knight. "I let you win that one. It's not that easy to beat me."
"Of course," Gwyn laughed, mock-bowing. "Another round?"
"Merlin!" Gwen strode towards him, long skirt blowing about her ankles in the pleasant breeze. She had a basket of sewing supplies attached to her hip and a length of red velvet with silver embroidery on it draped over her other arm. "I haven't seen you all morning. Busy with Arthur?" she asked sympathetically, glancing knowingly at the prince, who was shielding himself dignifiedly against a bellowing, mace-wielding knight in the middle of the field they stood on the edge of.
"Not just Arthur," sighed Merlin, trying not to drop the clanking pile of rusty armour he balanced in his arms. "I have a thousand errands to run for Gaius. Get this-he wants me to fetch him honey, new towels and bandages, and some poison called foxglove, and then deliver some goods to a woman who lives near the gates. That's all four corners of the city!"
They shared a laugh.
"I wish I could help, Merlin," Gwen smiled apologetically, "but I have a lot of work to do for Lady Morgana as well."
"Of course," answered Merlin. "Well, I suppose we should get going, then. I'll see you later?"
After they parted ways, Merlin jogged up the front steps of the castle and then up the steeper stairs inside. He paused by the window to watch the knights train for a moment.
Arthur and Sir Leon were locked in combat, swords clashing, each feigning and parrying and jabbing at each other so furiously Merlin had a hard time keeping up. One second Arthur was bearing down upon Leon; the next, he was struggling to keep his shield up against the blows Leon rained down on him.
The corner of Merlin's mouth lifted in a half-smile. Although he would never admit it, it never ceased to amaze him how fierce and confident Arthur looked when he was focused in a fight, mind always a few steps ahead of his body, constantly knowing what to do next. It was quite attractive, really.
He almost slapped himself. I can't believe you just thought that! he shouted at himself mentally. Jerking himself away from the window, he raced up the stairs, the armour in his arms clattering squealing noisily, to resume his duties.