A/N: Here's another chapter for you! Just as a warning, there is explicit Merthur ahead. In case you want to skip over most of the second half of this chapter.


Merlin was up to his elbows in washing water when Arthur found him at lunchtime the next day. He didn't notice Arthur at first, focused as he was on scrubbing at the garments he had submerged. Arthur leaned against one of the pillars partially blocking the chamber from the corridor, watching the play of muscle in Merlin's forearms where he'd rolled up his sleeves and the way the light from the braziers flickered over his face. Merlin caught sight of him when he wrung out a tunic and stood to pin it on the drying line.

"Arthur," he said, and Arthur was inordinately pleased that he had greeted him by name instead of by title. "You came."

"Did you expect me not to?" Arthur asked.

Merlin's cheeks colored and turned back to his task, pinning up the tunic deftly. He looked between Arthur and the washing bin, where a number of items still soaked.

"I'm not…I still have some work to do," he said apologetically.

Arthur shrugged. "I don't mind."

He pulled up one of the other chairs so he could sit alongside Merlin. As Merlin returned to his task, Arthur took the opportunity to regale him with tales of his knightly conquests, some of the more colorful antics of the royal court, and various mishaps from the knights' training—and he refused to entertain the idea that he might be looking to impress the man. Merlin laughed occasionally, a soft throaty chuckle that only encouraged Arthur to search for ever more outlandish stories so he could hear it again. He was midway through relating the time that Sir Caradoc had managed to piss off the farmer whose land they were camping on enough to be chased off with threats of castration when Merlin interrupted him.

"Don't you have meetings to return to?" he asked, sounding somewhere between confused and reluctant.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. "Not today. My father decided we all needed a day to clear our heads so we didn't end up stabbing each other in the council room out of sheer frustration."

"What were you doing this morning then?"

Arthur smirked. "I told you I'd put Cenred on his back, didn't I?"

Merlin stiffened, the soft smile he'd worn for the last hour disappearing. "You actually did that?" he asked.

"Well, not exactly," Arthur admitted with a shrug. "My father told me I needed to let Cenred win, for the sake of the treaty, so I did. But I didn't put much of an effort into making it look convincing, which actually makes it even more insulting, if you think about it," he added with a laugh.

Merlin threw another shirt into the tub with enough force to splash water over Arthur's knee. His expression had gone tight and strangely blank, though his hands were steady as he continued working. Arthur sat up straight again and put a hand on Merlin's arm.

"Merlin?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Merlin said immediately.

"Something's wrong," Arthur countered. Admittedly, he'd only known Merlin for a few days but he could read him better than he could Morgana, and he didn't doubt his conclusion. "You're obviously thinking about something…unpleasant. What is it?"

Merlin shrugged off Arthur's hand, but he didn't seem angry or defensive like he had the day before. He wrung out a pair of breeches and hung them up to dry. He turned back to the tub to find that there was nothing left there for him to wash, nothing else to occupy his hands. They clenched at his sides, opening and closing randomly. He tugged at the clothes on the line instead, smoothing out wrinkles so they didn't dry unevenly.

"Merlin?"

"Cenred is proud," he said finally.

"Exceedingly so, yes."

Arthur stood up and crossed to Merlin, taking one of Merlin's hands in his and pulling him away from his fussing. Merlin allowed Arthur to maneuver him around until his back was against the wall, let Arthur crowd him against the stone. He wrapped arms around Arthur's waist as Arthur leaned against him, holding him close and grasping handfuls of his tunic, but he kept his head lowered, eyes on Arthur's chest.

Merlin didn't say anything for a long time, so Arthur leaned forward to press his cheek against Merlin's. He nuzzled the soft skin behind Merlin's ear and Merlin tilted his head to allow him better access. Arthur left a trail of soft kisses along Merlin's jaw, tracing his way up to Merlin's mouth to kiss him properly. Merlin kissed him back, languid and slow and easy. But when Arthur moved to pull away, Merlin chased after his lips, dragged him back in and fisted a hand in his hair instead.

The kiss turned fierce after that, with Merlin holding Arthur as close to him as possible and arching up against his body. Merlin moaned into his mouth, dug fingers into his back and then lower down, gripping at Arthur's arse like it was his right. Merlin's wantonness was quite possibly the single most arousing thing Arthur had ever experienced, but there was an edge to it that Arthur wasn't sure he liked. It felt desperate.

It took Arthur a while to extract himself from Merlin's tight hold, several repetitions of Merlin's name and a restraining hand on his chest to keep him from surging forward again. When it became clear that Arthur wouldn't be kissing him again until he told Arthur what was wrong, Merlin slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily. Arthur gave him a moment to get his breath back, and he watched the careful blankness creep back onto his face. Arthur said his name one more time.

"Cenred is proud," Merlin said again, looking over Arthur's right shoulder. "He's proud, and he doesn't react well when his pride takes a hit."

"Oh." Arthur's heart sank into his stomach.

"Sometimes if we stay out of his way for a while, he'll calm down," Merlin said, as evenly as if they were discussing the weather and not his likelihood of being beaten. "But other times, he'll only get more aggravated the longer no one's around for him to take it out on. There's really no way of telling which way it'll go."

"So staying away is an all-or-nothing gamble?" Arthur said.

"Essentially."

And suddenly Merlin was pushing Arthur away again, moving him back with a hand to the chest and sliding out from the warm space they'd created between them. Arthur stumbled, taken aback by the abrupt rejection. He reached for Merlin's hand, but Merlin pulled away, shaking his head.

"This is a bad idea," he said, though he sounded like he was talking to himself. "A really bad idea. I should not be doing this."

"Merlin—"

"There are so many reasons not to do this," he said, to Arthur this time. "If nothing else, Cenred will be furious if he finds out."

"So will my father, honestly," Arthur said, catching Merlin's hand and holding onto it. He tried to keep his voice light, tried not to let their worries drag them down in the moment. "He warned me, ordered me, to stay away from Cenred's slaves. He knows that I have something of a hero complex—" He laughed. "—and he didn't want me jeopardizing the treaty by trying to save you all, but I—"

Merlin snatched his hand away, his expression darkening into something bitter and sharp that killed the laughter in Arthur's throat at once. "Is that what this is, Arthur?" he demanded. "You want to save me? You want to swoop in and rescue the damsel in distress?"

"No, I—" he tried, but Merlin didn't let him speak.

"You can't save me, Arthur," Merlin spat, getting in Arthur's face and shoving him back a step. "I don't need your pity, and I don't need your damn help."

"I know you don't," Arthur protested, indignant. "I never said you did."

"Then why are you still here?" Merlin cried, throwing hands in the air. "Why the hell are you still doing this?"

"Damn it, Merlin, don't you feel it?" Arthur shouted back. He tried to take Merlin's hands but Merlin slapped him aside. Frustrated, he grabbed Merlin instead and pulled him into his arms, tightening his hold when Merlin tried to push him off. "You're not some conquest or a prize to be won," Arthur insisted. "You're not a quest or a mission to me. This is more than that, Merlin. Tell me you don't feel it too."

"Feel what?" Merlin asked, his voice choked even though Arthur wasn't holding him quite that tight.

"This connection between us," Arthur said fervently, ignoring Merlin's hands shoving at his sides, the way Merlin seemed torn between getting him off and pulling him closer. "I have never felt so drawn to another person, Merlin, but I feel like I've known you forever. And maybe it sounds sentimental and ridiculous," he said with a half-hysterical laugh, "but I feel like I've suddenly found my other half when I'd never even realized I wasn't whole."

Merlin's struggles faded and stopped. He was breathing hard, his breath hot against the side of Arthur's neck. There was a muscle ticking in his jaw from the way he clenched his teeth and he looked anywhere but at Arthur no matter how much Arthur tried to catch his eye, to see if what he'd said had any effect on him at all.

"Please, Merlin," Arthur said, knowing that he sounded insane and desperate for Merlin to believe him anyway. "I've been in love before, I have, but this—it's is so much more than that. You feel it too, don't you? Like we're written in the stars. We're meant to be, Merlin, I know we are. Fate or destiny. Call it whatever you want, but it's real. This is real."

Merlin sagged against him, his forehead hitting Arthur's shoulder in something like defeat. Arthur cradled Merlin to him, pressing his nose to Merlin's hair.

"Tell me you don't feel the same way," he whispered, his throat clogged by what felt like the beginnings of tears. "Just tell me that and I'll leave you alone and you'll never have to see me again."

Merlin shook his head, arms coming up to wrap around Arthur's waist once more, clutching at him.

"Tell me, Merlin," Arthur said, fear that he would making his voice harsh.

"I can't," Merlin said, his voice muffled against Arthur's neck.

Arthur almost sobbed as relief deeper than anything he'd ever experienced washed over him. He knew it made little sense, but having Merlin in his arms felt so incredibly right, even more right than having a sword in his hand or a crown on his brow. Merlin fit there, fit perfectly against him, and Arthur never wanted to let him go. He wanted Merlin's smiles and his laughs, he wanted Merlin to shout at him and he wanted to shout back, and he wanted Merlin to be in his arms at the end of every day.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Merlin said, his voice small and broken-sounding. "I—I can't—"

Arthur lifted a hand to stroke Merlin's hair. "Shh, Merlin," he said. "We'll find a way. I don't care about what my father will say, or Cenred. I promise you, we'll find a way."

Merlin shook his head, clutching at him. "Don't make promises," he said. "Don't make promises when there's no way for you to keep them."

"I will keep them," Arthur insisted. He pushed Merlin back enough to look him in the face, his heart breaking to see the tear tracks on Merlin's cheeks. "I know you don't need me to save you," he said. "But I will if that's wh—"

Merlin stopped him with a kiss, wet and messy and a little bit frantic. "Stop," he said against Arthur's lips. "Just stop. Just—" He shook his head again. "Don't promise me tomorrow," he said, eyes closed and forehead pressed against Arthur's and sounding so defeated that Arthur almost wanted him to start shoving him again. "All I care about is now, alright? All I want is right now."

Arthur cupped Merlin's face in his hands, wiped the tears from his cheeks with gentle fingers. "Then come to bed with me."

Merlin took a shaky breath and nodded.


They were lucky not to encounter anyone on the way to Arthur's chambers. Arthur wasn't sure how he would have explained the way he was holding onto Merlin's hand so tightly he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to let go. But the corridors he led them through were empty, the castle residents mostly out enjoying the afternoon sunshine, and no one bore witness to their passage. Arthur bolted his chamber door behind them, just to be safe.

As soon as he had, he found himself pressed back against the door, Merlin's lips hot and insistent against his own. Arthur kissed back eagerly, drowning in the headiness of it. Now that Merlin had seemingly made the decision to be with him in the here and now, he was nothing but passion, a whirlwind of wild abandon barely tamed and focused solely on Arthur.

Merlin's took what he wanted from Arthur without hesitation. His tongue wrestled Arthur's own into submission, explored Arthur's mouth with the temerity of a conqueror in his newly won lands. His hands traced Arthur's body, pulled at his hair and skated over his chest, gripped his thighs and dug into his hips, moving Arthur where he wanted him to be. Arthur yielded, let himself be moulded, opened himself to Merlin's invasion.

Merlin tugged Arthur's tunic off over his head and tossed it aside, promptly attacking the smooth skin of newly bared shoulders. His lips sent frissons of pleasure down Arthur's spine, making him shiver and moan. Arthur pulled at Merlin's tunic as well but Merlin knocked his hands aside, focusing on his task of turning Arthur into a puddle of want. Arthur contented himself with fisting one hand in Merlin's hair instead, holding on as Merlin's tongue did something positively sinful with Arthur's earlobe.

Merlin's hands, long fingered and graceful but rough with the evidence of hard work, traced patterns into Arthur's chest. They found his nipples, tweaking them, pinching, pulling. Arthur arched into the touch, panting at the ceiling as Merlin sucked bruises into his neck.

Arthur's head hit the door hard when Merlin's talented hands migrated to his crotch. The first brush against his arousal punched a gasp out of his throat and he bucked. Merlin caught him by the hips and held him still, insinuating a thigh between Arthur's legs and pulling their erections flush against each other. He kissed Arthur again, though Arthur's lips were slack and clumsy with the distraction of Merlin's body pressed so intimately to his.

Arthur barely noticed that Merlin was tugging at the laces of his trousers until the last of his clothing was being pushed down over his hips to pool around the tops of his boots. Arthur toed the boots off with some difficulty, but he managed to kick them aside and the trousers with them soon enough. Merlin wasted no time in wrapping a hand around his straining cock. Arthur buried his face in Merlin's neck to keep from crying out, fingers clutching at Merlin's shoulders to stay upright.

He made another attempt at ridding Merlin of the damnable fabric that prevented Arthur from marking Merlin as Merlin had marked him. Finally Merlin pushed Arthur back with an impatient huff and shrugged out of the offending garment, tossing it away. Then he was on Arthur again, almost overwhelming in his onslaught of touches.

Arthur's thighs hit the side of his mattress and he wondered vaguely when he stopped being supported by the door and when Merlin had managed to steer them to the bed. A shove to the chest sent him sprawling back and he was treated to a truly delectable sight: Merlin flushed and debauched, his eyes fever-bright and pupils blown, lips swollen and kiss-bruised, lightly muscled chest heaving.

Merlin nodded to the bed and Arthur obediently moved to situate himself properly, crawling backwards without ever taking his eyes off his lover. He watched eagerly as Merlin rid himself of his loose trousers. Merlin's cock sprang free, as dark as the rest of Merlin was pale, and Arthur's blood thrilled at the sight.

Even as Merlin moved forward to kneel on the bed at Arthur's side, he reached up to tug fruitlessly at the collar around his neck. It stayed firmly locked in place, the dark leather harsh against the otherwise unbroken paleness of Merlin's body. Arthur had a moment—a completely irrational, terrible possessive moment—where he relished the sight of the collar, red being as much his own color as it was Cenred's, marking Merlin as his. Merlin ceased his struggle with something akin to a growl and instead lunged forward to kiss Arthur hard enough to bruise his lips.

Merlin stretched out to cover Arthur's body with his own, their skin heated and sweat-slicked. Arthur couldn't stop himself from bucking upward, his cock skittering across the firmness of Merlin's stomach in a way that made his breath catch—rather an impressive feat when he felt positively breathless from Merlin's kisses, like Merlin was stealing the very air from his lungs with every intimate swipe of his tongue.

Arthur was drowning in Merlin, surrounded and subsumed by him, anchored by his weight and the pressure of his fingertips. He grasped at Merlin's arms, feeling wiry muscle shift against his palms, and held on with bruising strength. Merlin shifted against him, grinding his hips down, and Arthur drew away from his mouth with a gasp of pleasure. Merlin immediately switched his attentions to the bared span of Arthur's shoulder once more, laving it with his tongue and sucking marks into the skin.

Arthur gave a growl of his own, trying to press their arousals together properly and lacking the proper leverage in his position. With a burst of speed, he rolled them over so that he had Merlin on his back instead. From his new vantage point it was much easier for him to roll his hips just right, his cock and Merlin's side by side, smooth skin gliding along smooth skin.

For a moment, Merlin simply threw his head back, noises of pleasure seeming to stick in his throat and emerge strangled but nevertheless lighting a fire low in Arthur's stomach. Then, quite suddenly and with more strength than Arthur would have thought the thinner man possessed, Merlin threw Arthur off and pinned him down once more. Merlin gripped him by the shoulders and pushed him harder into the mattress, putting his entire weight behind the gesture.

Arthur looked up at him, shocked by the vehemence of it, but there was something wild in Merlin's eyes as he held Arthur down, something dark and desperate. Seeing it, Arthur felt that, maybe, he understood. Merlin wanted to be in control. With that damned collar still around his slim neck, signifying his complete and utter subjugation in every other aspect of his life, in this Merlin needed to be the one in control, the one with the power.

When Merlin pushed at Arthur's legs, Arthur didn't resist. He let them fall open, let Merlin settle himself between them and relished the way they felt like two pieces of a puzzle coming together at long last. He let Merlin's fingers touch him, explore him, coax moans from his throat until he thought he might go hoarse from it. And when he found the bottle of oil tucked away beneath his pillows, the one he sometimes used when he pleasured himself, he didn't hesitate to press the bottle into Merlin's hand.

Merlin prepared him quickly but thoroughly, long fingers probing into the core of Arthur's body, twisting and seeking. Arthur hissed at the unusual stretch; it had been a very long time since anyone had had Arthur like this. Once he'd graduated from squire to knight, he'd thought it beneath his dignity. Or, at least, the men he'd lain with had thought that, and Arthur had been too proud to ask for it. Now Arthur's pride was the furthest thing from his mind. He writhed under Merlin's touch with unabashed desire, near to begging with his need to have him.

"Merlin," he panted, his fists twisted into the sheets by his head until his knuckles went white. "Gods, Merlin, please. I want you now. Just—"

Merlin cut him off with another kiss, deep and open-mouthed. Then he was pushing at Arthur, rolling him over. Arthur allowed himself to be manhandled onto his stomach, burying his face in a pillow to muffle the sounds of his desperation as Merlin touched him again. He heard the slick sound of Merlin preparing himself and had to restrain the urge to simply rut against the sheets until he found his release.

The initial sting of being breached didn't last long. Merlin sank into Arthur's body with a slow but relentless pressure, not stopping until he was fully sheathed. Arthur trembled at the feeling of being so completely filled, at the tickle of Merlin's harsh breaths against the back of his neck, at the barest brush of Merlin's lips along his spine. The moment between union and motion felt suspended, encased in amber, like the calm before the storm.

The first snap of Merlin's hips drove the air from Arthur's lungs. The second wrung a cry from his lips. Each thrust seemed to drive Merlin deeper into the heart of him, even if his rhythm was broken and unsteady. Merlin's breath was loud in Arthur's ear, as strained and uneven as Arthur's own. Arthur reached back, grasping for Merlin, trying to pull him in closer, deeper. Merlin took Arthur's hand and pushed it back up the bed, holding it there as he found his pace and picked up speed.

Arthur didn't bother trying to rein in his noises, not when every nerve in his body was singing with pleasure. He gasped and shouted freely, trusting to the thickness of his walls to insulate them from passersby, even daring to call out Merlin's name. Merlin gave a particularly punishing thrust when he did, the sound of Merlin's balls smacking against Arthur's thighs loud and obscene, but the edge of almost-pain only brought Arthur's release that much closer.

Merlin pressed his forehead between Arthur's shoulder blades as his rhythm began to falter. For all Arthur's wantonness, Merlin remained largely quiet. His pleasure came not in words but in gasps and grunts, low groans against the damp skin of Arthur's back. His left hand was tight enough on Arthur's hip to leave marks, but his right remained firmly on top of Arthur's where he'd pinned it at the start.

When his breath hitched, he threaded his fingers through Arthur's, holding tight as he buried himself as deeply inside Arthur as he could and spent. The throbbing of Merlin's cock inside him, and the almost inaudible sound of his name on Merlin's lips, left Arthur reeling as his climax overtook him, an ecstasy that felt more like a melding of souls.

It was a long time before either of them moved, the silence broken only by their laboured breathing. Arthur pressed his overheated cheek to the cool pillow, waited for his heart to stop beating out of his chest, and took the time to relish the weight of Merlin collapsed on top of him. Finally Merlin lifted himself up and moved away, Arthur ignoring the twinge as he disengaged and left him painfully open.

Merlin rolled to lay beside him, his thin chest rising and falling steadily. Arthur reached out and placed his hand over Merlin's ribs, feeling the expansion with every breath. Wanting to feel it closer, Arthur tugged at Merlin, reeling him in and wrapping an arm around his waist. Merlin didn't resist, letting himself be pulled across Arthur's chest and compliantly tucking his head up under Arthur's chin. Arthur leaned his cheek against Merlin's hair and let out a sigh of pure contentment.

Cenred wouldn't want to let Merlin go, he knew that. If Cenred was anything at all, he was jealous and possessive. He would love nothing more than to deny Arthur the one thing he wanted most, and he would take enormous pleasure in having every legal right to do so. According to the laws of Escetia, Merlin was an object and he belonged to King Cenred. He was Cenred's property, to be kept, bartered, and sold per his will. There was precious little Arthur could do to change that.

His father wouldn't help, he knew that too. His father had told him explicitly to stay away, had warned him off from the very start. Not that Arthur thought his father had expected something like this. He hadn't expected it himself, would never have expected it. But perhaps, if he could convince his father of just how right it was, then he could be persuaded. His father had truly loved his mother, and he would have done anything for her, crossed any ocean and scaled any height. Arthur would do the same for Merlin. He loved him, more than he had any reason to. He loved Merlin.

Arthur didn't realize he'd said that last bit out loud until he felt the man in question go tense all over. It wasn't as if Arthur hadn't said as much before, in the laundry when they'd argued, but maybe he'd said everything except those words exactly. Arthur ran a soothing hand over Merlin's back, hoping he would settle, but Merlin threw off his arm and sat up. He ran his hands over his face, scrubbed them through his hair. Then he stood up and began dressing, following the trail of clothing back to the door.

Arthur sat up, alarmed by the fact that Merlin had yet to look at him. "Merlin?" he said, more tentatively than he would have liked.

Merlin didn't answer. He pulled on his trousers and his tunic in silence, then stood in the middle of Arthur's bedroom looking as if he desperately wished he had more articles of clothing to occupy him. He pulled at his collar again, just a quick, harsh yank that did no more good than any of his previous attempts.

Arthur watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as his lover prepared to leave him. He tried to tell himself that Merlin was just worried, knowing that now he had to return to Cenred, knowing that Cenred was possibly still enraged by the insult he had been given–by the insult Arthur had given him–and that he was likely to be hurt because of it. But it was painfully clear to Arthur that it wasn't that. He knew already that Merlin wasn't just leaving him, not in the literal sense.

"Merlin," he tried again. He had to swallow hard to make sure his voice came out steady. "Merlin, come back to bed for a few minutes. You don't have to go just yet."

"Yes, I do." The words were cool, almost detached. Merlin still wouldn't look at him. He didn't bow his head, though. Small consolation.

"Why?" Arthur asked, needing to know.

Merlin shook his head. "This was a mistake."

Arthur felt it like a physical blow. "No," he said. "No, you don't mean that." He would have gotten up, crossed to Merlin, pulled him into his arms like before, but something in the way Merlin stood kept him where he was; it wouldn't do him any good. But he had to try, he couldn't just let it end like this, not when it had just started. "Merlin, you said you felt it too."

"This was a mistake," Merlin repeated firmly. "I can't do this. Not with you."

Merlin was out the door before Arthur could think of a single thing to say that might change his mind.