Gwen called it The Event. Uther called it The Day Arthur Was Unusually Ill. Arthur called it Torture. Gaius didn't call it anything, because he didn't know and let's keep it that way, thanks. Morgana actually nearly guessed the truth, because she called it The Day Arthur Tossed Off At Dinner.

Merlin just called it Fun.

Arthur was having a state dinner. Some lords of Camelot were visiting to discuss grain production and taxes and such, which although not every week was a usual enough visit that it didn't warrant a feast. Uther sat at the head, with Morgana on his left and Arthur on his right. Merlin was supposed to be serving Arthur, but had again decided that being a manservant just didn't tickle his fancy that day and had vanished shortly after the first course. Without Merlin there to murmur inappropriate jokes in his ear and poke quiet fun at the visiting lords, Arthur was bored beyond all reason. He was seriously considering going after Merlin as an excuse to leave the room when he felt something press against his crotch.

He flinched, inching away instinctively, and glanced around. No one was so much as looking at him. The only person who's foot could possibly reach all the way over to his lap were his father and Morgana, and neither of them would do anything like that. Besides, it didn't feel like a foot, it felt like a—

Long, elegant fingers began unlacing him and Arthur realized what was going on. He'd felt those same fingers do this dozens of times before, but always in his (their) bedroom or an empty corridor if they really couldn't wait that long.

"Merlin," Arthur hissed.

"Yes, my lord?" The words were barely distinguishable, hummed quietly against his thigh. Arthur remained still, not trusting himself to move.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought that'd be obvious." Merlin finished undoing his trousers and Arthur gripped his knife as he felt Merlin slip in between the fabric and pull him out. "You did seem rather bored."

"Arthur, what did that poor knife ever do to you?" Morgana asked, the corner of her mouth sliding upward.

He glared at her and stabbed a piece of his pork with a little more violence than necessary. Underneath the table, Merlin leisurely stroked him, working him to full hardness.

"More wine?" Gwen asked, glancing around the room as she offered him her jug. "I can't think where Merlin could be," she whispered, pouring the wine. "Did he say anything to you?"

Merlin squeezed the base of his cock and Arthur had to hold back a moan. "Uh, no, he didn't tell me what idiotic idea he got into his head." He took a sip of wine—and promptly choked as he felt Merlin lap at him with his tongue. Arthur spluttered, coughing.

"Are you all right my—" Gwen froze and her eyes widened. Arthur felt himself flush as he realized that from her position hovering over him, Gwen could see everything.

He was never, ever living this down.

"I'll just, ah, get the others some more wine then," Gwen said, her words stumbling over each other.

"Yes, fine, thank you Gwen," Arthur replied, his teeth clenched. Morgana was eyeing him, one eyebrow raised skeptically. He glared at her, which took an awful lot of concentration seeing as Merlin was mouthing at him properly now, running his lips up and down the sides and sucking the tip of him into his mouth.

Really, Arthur would have liked nothing more than to slump back in his chair, close his eyes and enjoy the ride. He wouldn't have to worry about who heard him, and he could slide a hand through Merlin's hair to keep his head in place. They'd done this plenty of times back at his massive desk chair in his chambers as well as in the bed, but this was a state dinner. In public. With his father right there.

Speaking of Uther...

"Are you all right, Arthur?" Uther asked, leaning on his elbow to look at his son. "You seem a bit feverish."

Morgana's eyes widened and she turned to look at Uther, then Arthur, her gaze roaming over his face. Arthur felt panic seep in. If Morgana found out about his relationship with Merlin he would never hear the end of it.

"Yes," Morgana drawled. "Perhaps you'd be better of in a bed, Arthur?"

Arthur had a snappy retort all ready to go, but Merlin took all of him in his mouth just then, making a contented little humming noise and instead of putting Morgana in her place Arthur ended up dropping his knife instead.

"I'm fine, Father, really," he said, managing a smile at Uther.

"Arthur, if you are ill—"

"No, no I'm—I'm perfectly fine, I promise."

"I'm sure you are," Morgana added.

Arthur gave partway to temptation, slipping one of his hands under the table to run his fingers through Merlin's hair, cradling his head. Merlin made an approving noise and slid his hands up Arthur's thighs, parting them a little more.

Gwen passed along the opposite side of the table and gave him a warning glare above Morgana's head, mouthing are men really that horny or are you two just unusually stupid. Arthur gave her a combination of an angry glare and a what am I supposed to do look. Gwen swept away, unimpressed.

Merlin wasn't moving fast enough—the pressure was building deliciously but it wasn't reaching that critical point, it wouldn't be enough to finish him and end this torture. He tugged gently at Merlin's hair, causing him to pull off (which led to a suppressed whimper) and look up, blinking innocently. Arthur glanced around, made sure no one was looking, and then glanced back down at Merlin, making a may I gesture.

Merlin grinned like the cheeky bastard he was and whispered, "Wondered when you'd ask."

This time as Merlin's lips slid up his shaft, Arthur thrust his hips slightly, adding to the rhythm. He couldn't move too much or someone would notice, but it was enough to bring him to the point of no return. Then Merlin swallowed and he stiffened, clenching his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth would crack and still not managing to completely muffle his groan, his eyelids fluttering, the hand not tangled in Merlin's hair spasming so that it sent his wine glass clanging to the floor.

"Oh dear, what a mess," Morgana said, her tone implying that she wasn't talking about the wine.

"I'll get it!" Merlin said. Arthur blinked. The ass had maneuvered himself around the opposite side of Arthur's chair and gotten a rag from somewhere, and was now innocently kneeling by pooled wine, wiping it up.

"Arthur, really, if you're sick you have every right to retire early," Uther said.

Merlin inched his way far enough that he could slip under the table again, tucking Arthur's cock back in and quickly lacing up his trousers. Arthur tried not to squirm too much. "Thank you, Father, I think I will do that. Merlin?"

"Yes?" Merlin did that thing with his mouth where he was trying desperately not to laugh, and Arthur glared at him.

"I'll need you to stoke the fire and turn down the bed."

"Of course."

"Sweet dreams, Arthur," Morgana said sweetly.

Gwen stared fixedly at the jug in her hand, her face managing, despite her darker skin tone, to be redder than the wine she was serving.

Arthur walked so quickly that Merlin had to jog to keep up with him, only stopping once they were inside his chambers. Merlin only got so far as "Ar—" before Arthur was slamming him against the door, kissing him, tasting himself on Merlin's tongue.

"You're going to pay for that," he informed him.

Merlin brushed their lips together and grinned. "I was planning on it."