Arthur was a lumbering, brooding mess the whole walk back. Merlin recognized that troubled scowl and so gave Arthur space on the way, but when his mood only seemed to darken upon their return, Merlin did the only sensible thing: he punched Arthur in the arm.
"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, rubbing his bicep, "What the hell was that for?"
"It's meant to cheer you up," Merlin explained unapologetically, "That's what you do with the knights."
"What's gotten into you? You're even more of an idiot than usual!" Arthur berated, turning his back, walking away.
"I could say the same to you!" Merlin blocked Arthur's way. He knows when Arthur gets like this he pushes people away and sometimes he needs someone to push back.
Then comprehension dawns on Merlin, "Oh…that's why…"
Arthur's curiosity momentarily overrides his annoyance, "what?"
"We left the rabbits at my mother's…" Merlin smirks, "so you've not had your dinner. That's why you're being such a prat." Merlin's snarky smile goads Arthur.
"I'll have you for dinner!" Arthur lunges at Merlin, but he dodges and the chase is on!
Merlin leads Arthur on a race around the hut - dodging near misses, jumping over obstacles, using a little magic to keep just out of reach - enabling Arthur to work through his troubles with physical activity. But he knows how this needs to end, so when they reach the overgrown field Merlin slows and braces for the assault when Arthur overtakes him.
"Do you *breath* yield?" Arthur asks, twisting Merlin's arm behind his back, both men finally catching their breath.
"Ow! Ow! Yes, I yield, you clotpole! Let go!" Merlin is half smiling, half wincing. Although he lost the game, he feels victorious because Arthur is no longer glowering.
The grip on his arm is tight, pain shooting up his elbow. It reminds him of when they first met, except…Arthur's not letting go. Rather, Merlin feels Arthur's heaving chest press further against his back, hot, heavy weight leaning along him, threatening to make his legs buckle under the pressure.
"Ar-Arthur?" Merlin tilts his head to the side, trying to face his captor.
When Arthur speaks, his voice is low, gravelly, and right up to Merlin's ear, "Why are you letting me do this?"
It takes a moment for Merlin to understand the question, but when he does he gives up struggling to get away, going pliant in Arthur's hold.
"I let you do this…" he says solemnly, jostling his bent arm against Arthur's stomach to emphasize the point, "because you're my friend and you need someone who-" he thinks for the right words, "-who's willing to put up with you long enough to figure out when you need to be alone and when you need..."
"This." Arthur gives Merlin's arm a gentle squeeze and Merlin nods. Although the grip is slack enough to break out of, Merlin waits for Arthur to release him, surrendering control to his King.
Arthur keeps them like that a moment, pressed front to back, breaths returning to normal, body heat enveloping them as the night air turns chilly. Perhaps this closeness is something else he needs because Arthur feels pleasant pinpricks reverberate through his body and he can't tear himself away from the situation that's stimulating his senses, making him feel alive. Moonlight dapples through the canopy, soft lines of silver in Merlin's black hair. He smells of pine, Arthur notes, mixed with tangy sweat and - Arthur turns his nose into Merlin's hair - what is that smell? He can't quite put his finger on it.
Merlin squirms, his arm twisted back and tucked between them starting to protest, but the movement rubs Merlin's backside against Arthur's front and suddenly Arthur all but pushes Merlin away, breath fast and eyes wide.
"Arthur, wha-" Merlin regains his footing and turns to see Arthur stomping back to the hut with restrained speed.
Merlin takes a deep sigh. Whatever just happened, Arthur needs space again. He scouts for a good spot in the field to magically grow some food. Arthur still hasn't had dinner.