Who Can Touch a Unicorn?
Chapter 2
It had been three weeks since the 'unicorn incident' as Arthur had privately termed it, and in that time he had done his utmost not to think of Merlin's more…attractive qualities. He had chosen instead to focus on his manservant's habitual clumsiness, his inability to speak with anything even remotely resembling respect for Arthur's station and all the other, minor, irritating details that Arthur attributed solely to Merlin.
It came as no surprise to him therefore, when on a day when Gaius had not been present to rouse Merlin from his slumber, the young man had failed to show up in Arthur's chambers at the appointed time. Arthur himself, had huffed and sighed, waited patiently for all of five minutes before deciding to dress himself, then stormed through the castle towards the physician's quarters with the sole intent of giving Merlin a piece of his mind.
He maintained this resolve right up to the moment when he barged into Merlin's tiny bedroom, at which point all coherent thought promptly vanished. Because Merlin, as it transpired, slept naked.
Arthur was forced to take a deep steadying breath and restrain himself from pouncing like an animal. There lay Merlin, spread eagled upon the rough wool blanket, pale, glorious and erect, exposing himself for all the word to see. Arthur rather enjoyed the sight. He must have made some sort of noise, as at that moment Merlin snorted softly and seemed to jerk himself awake, eyes widening in horror as he registered Arthur's presence in the room.
"Arthur." He gasped in horror, scrambling to cover himself with the blanket. The blanket however, refused to be shifted, trapped as it was by the warlock's own weight, and so Merlin was left cupping his hands awkwardly over himself and looking anywhere but the prince – who happened to be staring.
Collecting himself, Arthur cleared his throat and looked away, thankful that years of court training prevented the blush from rising in his cheeks and that he had chosen to wear his looser breaches today.
"Training, Merlin." He barked, staring pointedly at a spot above Merlin's head. "Five minutes." That said, he spun on his heel and swept from the room, mustering all the princely grace he could manage, and trying not to advertise how awkward it was to walk when painfully erect.
Stumbling backwards as Arthur aimed another blow at his shield, Merlin tried desperately to focus on the instructions Arthur was yelling, and not on how his master's sweat soaked shirt clung lovingly to every muscle in his body. Mentally cursing as Arthur landed yet another blow, Merlin wondered why, today of all days, Arthur had chosen to forego armour when training. He had a hard enough time trying not to stare at Arthur anyway, but on a day when he had been so unexpectantly woken from a rather enjoyable dream – in which Arthur played a starring role – it was positively torture. He dodged, and Arthur's arm stretched passed him, forcing the lacings of his shirt to pull wide with the movement, exposing golden skin beaded with sweat. Merlin moaned. Arthur stumbled to a halt. Merlin quickly turned to moan into a groan of pain.
"Ouch." He offered feebly, fully aware that his rather poor acting skills were unlikely to be enough to fool the prince.
"I didn't even touch you." Arthur stated, letting his sword drop to his side.
"I know, I think I pulled a muscle." Merlin assured him. He launched a fervent prayer that Arthur dismissed him to Gaius's chambers before he did something foolish like accost the prince, and then wondered if it was blasphemous to do so. Arthur watched him carefully for a full minute, during which point Merlin made sure to contort his face into a grimace of pain, before nodding and sending him off to the physician.
Merlin had never moved so quickly in his life.
Watching his manservant's retreating back, Arthur scratched his head thoughtfully, then hastily stopped when he realised what he was doing. It seemed absurd, impossible even, but for a moment there, he could have sworn that Merlin moaned.
Arthur had shared his bed with enough of the serving maids to know the sound when he heard it, but to be coming from the mouth of his servant – Arthur hastily broke off the thought. Merlin's behaviour was odd – nothing more – and it certainly wasn't arousing. Not at all. well, in truth, it was more than Arthur could have hoped for. The only problem was, was that it had occurred in entirely the wrong context. In those rare and fleeting moments when Arthur had let himself think about it, Merlin had always been moaning in ecstasy beneath him, not whilst standing on the opposite side of a training ground. It was odd, though also rather arousing. As he made his way back to the armoury, Arthur wondered whether people would think it odd, if he requested a bath of cold water.
The feast that night, was sublimely awkward. Arthur seemed to have become obsessed with monitoring Merlin's every movement, and the young warlock was privately terrified that the prince would realise he wasn't injured at all and demand an explanation for the morning's events. To make matters worse, Merlin had become hyperaware of everything associated with Arthur's person. His focus seemed to have sharpened, and narrowed until all he saw was Arthur: the way the velvet of his doublet rested against his shoulders, the minute movement of tendons in his hand as he reached for his glass, the way the very air seemed to heat and crackle between them whenever Merlin refilled Arthur's goblet.
Arthur, in contrast, seemed entirely unaware of the affect he was having upon his attendant. Merlin was sure that the way his breathing quickened and his pulse sped up every time he was at Arthur's side, would have alerted Camelot's best hunter that something was wrong, but the prince appeared oblivious.
Arthur was not oblivious. He had noticed the way Merlin seemed to shiver every time Arthur's breath ghosted over his skin, and he confirmed this by deliberately breathing on the boy's neck when he leaned over to refill Arthur's wine glass. Breathing deeply, Arthur licked his lips. Merlin smelt tantalisingly of wood-smoke, herbs, and an unidentifiable zest that Arthur was pretty sure was the boy's natural scent. It was a heady combination, raising Arthur's blood and prompting him to lean closer to his manservant. He speculated idly, if Merlin's skin was as soft as it looked.
Merlin withdrew just as Arthur was preparing to flick his tongue against that smooth white throat, and the shock of suddenly being once again alone in his own space, jolted Arthur into reality. Glancing hastily around, he wondered just what in God's name he thought he was doing. He stared suspiciously at his wine, contemplating whether it had been laced with some form of aphrodisiac, but that fact that even the sight of Morgana in one of her more revealing gowns did nothing to arouse him seemed to negate that. Besides, his lust for Merlin had been present before tonight. Staring unseeingly at his half-eaten meal, he wondered if he had been enchanted. It would make sense, he thought, because there was no way he was attracted to Merlin. Was there?
A/N: So there you have it, the second installment. More coming soon - including some of Merlin's PoV. Concrit is love.