Whether he was standing behind Arthur's chair or sitting at Arthur's side, Merlin did not like feasts.
Everybody got drunk. Absolutely everybody. Arthur had put a stop to the whole "sleeping with maids whether they like it or not" practice, but a lot of the maids did like it, and the more wine that flowed the freer everyone's libidos got. Merlin was surprised that Gwaine hadn't yet killed himself with alcohol poisoning.
Then there were the table manners. Who cared which fork went where? And who decided that the fruit came before the soup?
Incidentally, if Merlin ever discovered who thought up the idea that you had to make small talk with the person across from you, he was going to have them beheaded. And yes, he actually had that power now. Or, well, Arthur had that power. But hey, one well-timed blow job and Arthur would agree to anything.
And finally, there was the dancing. Merlin couldn't dance, and furthermore he didn't like it. He was glad that other people got enjoyment from kicking their feet up and trying to keep time to ridiculously fast music and try not to bump into people but that didn't meant they had to try and drag him into it, too. And of course Arthur just happened to be a marvelous dancer, the prat, which only made Merlin feel worse because here was another thing Arthur loved doing (like hunting) that Merlin didn't.
His usual habit, once it looked like dancing was about to begin, was to distract Arthur—usually by sliding his hand into Arthur's lap—and essentially convince Arthur to drag him into the nearest hallway and fuck him blind. Bonus, it helped cure any potential hangovers. But every once in a while Arthur would be talking with someone else, or would be out of Merlin's reach, so that when the dancing started Arthur would join in and Merlin would be stuck on the side. When that happened he usually watched for a few minutes, smiling at Arthur's laugh and his flopping hair and light feet, before slipping away to bed.
But this time, as he made for the door, someone snagged his wrist.
"Where do you think you're going?" Arthur asked, his voice low and teasing.
"Bed," Merlin replied. "You're more than welcome to come with."
Arthur glanced back at the center of the room, where Leon was twirling Gwen around and Gwaine nearly knocked a few people over in his attempts to out-dance Percival, who was managing to dance ridiculously quickly while maintaining an excellent poker face. Elyan, meanwhile, was navigating his way through several partners and charming the pants off all of them.
"You never dance," Arthur said quietly. "You always leave. Why is that?"
Merlin shrugged. "I can't dance. You know that."
Arthur seized Merlin's other wrist and pulled him away from the main hall, through a side door and onto the balcony that overlooked the courtyard. Once there he positioned Merlin's hands, one at his chest and one at his shoulder, and then slid one arm around Merlin's waist and placed his other hand right between Merlin's shoulder blades, pressing him in so that they were touching from hips to chest.
"What are you doing?" Merlin asked. Arthur was using his hands at Merlin's back to press strategically, leading Merlin forward, to the left, back, to the right, and so on.
"Dancing with you," Arthur replied. They were so close that his lips brushed Merlin's cheek as he spoke.
"This isn't dancing," Merlin replied. "Not any kind that I've seen, anyway."
"Maybe it's a new kind of dance," Arthur replied. "Or maybe it's a dance you can only do alone, where other people can't see."
"I think it's a dance that you made up," Merlin accused.
"Maybe it's a dance that I want to do with you," Arthur said. "Because I like dancing, and I like holding you, and I like you."
Merlin could feel himself blushing and tucked in his chin to lower his face, but Arthur just chuckled and pushed them even closer together. "Stop worrying," he whispered, "And just feel."
Merlin listened to the music filtering in from the hall, and the muffled peals of laughter. He saw the moonlight, and how it sent soft silver beams of light down to light up Arthur's face, the way Arthur's eyes were the same blue velvet as the night sky. He felt the soft, cool breeze blow gently around them, ruffling their hair. And he felt Arthur's chest rising and falling against his with every breath, the soft press of Arthur's arms around him, and the trail of sensation Arthur's mouth left as it brushed against his cheeks and lips and forehead.
Merlin didn't know when he closed his eyes, but he did know when Arthur kissed him properly, licking into his mouth, pressing and pulling and stroking his tongue in the same rhythm as their shuffling feet. And then their feet weren't moving at all, because Merlin had slid his arms entirely around Arthur's neck and Arthur had wrapped his arms around Merlin completely and they were just standing there, kissing, moonlight and music their only company.
Merlin still didn't like feasts, but maybe—just maybe—he could come to like dancing a little.
A specific type of dancing, anyway.