It had been a good day. Mordred had healed marvelously, although his reflexes are a little slower than usual, and that put everyone in fantastic spirits. Training went well, dinner was delicious, and Gwaine told a joke that made Guinevere laugh so hard she snorted wine up her nose, which just made everyone laugh harder. Arthur's sides ached, but in the best way: from hard work and good food and laughter and friends.

But the moment he entered the bedroom, there was a shift. It was as if the air has become heavier, taking on a solemn atmosphere. Merlin was curled up by the fire, staring into it with an empty expression.

"Merlin?"

Arthur approached cautiously, kneeling down next to him. "Merlin?"

Merlin turned and looked up at him, and Arthur could see the faded tear tracks. He stared at Arthur as though he was looking at a ghost, or a dying man. "Kiss me."

"What?"

Merlin stood, his legs shaking. "Kiss me."

Arthur did so, soft and sweet, but when he'd finished Merlin shook his head. "No."

Arthur had bypassed confused and gone straight into worried. "What does that mean?"

Merlin inhaled shakily, his chest stuttering. "Kiss me like it's the last time you'll ever get to do it."

Questions piled up and crammed in his throat as panic rose in his chest. Was Merlin leaving him? Was someone—was Merlin dying? Why did Merlin look so empty, so hopeless?

"All right," he said, and he did as Merlin asked.

He gripped Merlin by the upper arms, squeezing as he held him in place to kiss him, desperation tinging his movements and making him a little rough, a little sloppy. Merlin clawed at his chest, seizing handfuls of Arthur's shirt and twisting them between his fingers, nearly tearing the fabric. Arthur released Merlin's arms and slid his hands around, gathering Merlin to him and kissing him deeply, consumingly, trying to crawl inside of Merlin and absorb him at the same time. He pressed a hand to the back of Merlin's head, holding him in place so he could taste him, feed off of him, pour everything he ever wanted to say, all the things he couldn't find ways to say, into Merlin.

Arthur finally pulled away, dizzy from lack of oxygen, their lips making a soft popping sound as they parted. Merlin stared up at him dazedly as if he'd been struck by lightning, tears standing in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but Arthur was already moving in. If this was the last time he got to do this, then he wanted to linger, to savor every sensation and make it last.

He led Merlin back toward the bed, kissing him slowly, deliberately. Merlin kept clutching at him, grabbing at him as if unsure how he wanted to hold onto Arthur, only that he wanted to keep him close and make him stay. Arthur crawled on top of him on the bed, Merlin's legs parting automatically to make way to cradle his hips.

"Merlin—"

"Shh, no, no, just—" Merlin's kisses became frantic, pressed repeatedly over Arthur's mouth and cheeks and nose and forehead and neck. "Keep—don't stop, please, just don't stop."

Merlin was already fumbling with their clothes, not even taking time to prep himself. Arthur caught his wrists, holding them still. "We have time," he whispered. He bumped their noses together. "It's all right, we have time."

Merlin laughed, hollow and bitter. "Do we?" He asked. "Do we?"

"Yes," Arthur promised. He forced himself to keep moving slowly, kneading every piece of Merlin's skin that he could reach. "This isn't the last time, Merlin. There will never be a last time."

Merlin grabbed him and yanked him close, forcing Arthur to only make shallow, short thrusts because Merlin wouldn't let him pull back and get leverage with his hips. Arthur kissed him over and over again, running his hands up and down his body, trying to soothe him.

When Merlin came it was with a sob, and the tears finally spilled over.

Arthur kissed them away, shushing Merlin and smoothing his hands over his skin. "There will never be a last time," he promised.

"Yes," Merlin whispered, voice broken. "Yes, there will be."