#"lmfaoooo

WHOLE DIFFERENT ANIMAL

i gotchu anon

When he opens the door to find Lancelot kneeling amongst Gwen’s bunched-up skirts, one of her bare thighs draped over his shoulder and her face in the clear throes of ecstasy, he rapidly and sickeningly realises he had been, in fact, completely wrong.

“Oh God!” Arthur blurts loudly, as Gwen screams, eyes flying open, and Lancelot jerks awkwardly in surprise—making Gwen lose her balance, and sending the two of them toppling to the floor in a pile of limbs, half-undone clothing, and a hideously obvious tenting in Lancelot’s trousers.

Arthur slams the door and power walks in a blind haze all the way back to his chambers.

“Oh, hey,” Merlin says, not even bothering to pretend he’s not lazing on Arthur’s bed, ankles crossed and eyes closed as he uses his magic to do all his chores. Arthur’s clothing is folding itself in midair, alongside his floating armour, and a floating rag.

For once, he doesn’t flinch at the fresh reminder of the years of lies, which he only very recently became party to. In fact, it’s Merlin’s magic he desperately needs right now.

“Can you erase memories?” he demands, storming over to the bed as his skin itches with wave after wave of embarrassment. “And get your boots off my bed, for God’s sake Merlin.”

Never mind that exactly no part of Merlin should be on his bed. Arthur doesn’t have the mental space right now to pretend to himself he doesn’t like seeing him there; would like him there in…other capacities. In fact, thinking about that is good. It’s a distraction. If he thinks about getting his mouth on Merlin’s cock (which normally, naturally, he never does) then he can’t think about Lancelot’s mouth on—

Merlin cracks an eye open, face going pinched as he glares up at him. “Arthur, I’m not going to make you forget about my magic, even if it does make you, y’know, weird—”

“No, not that,” Arthur says impatiently, and Merlin relaxes back into Arthur’s pillows. “It’s—something else.” Then he adds belatedly: “And I’m not weird about it.”

“…Right.” Now Merlin seems to be paying better attention, and his mouth pulls into a slow—and not at all attractive—grin. “What’s happened? Why are you as red as a robin?”

“Nothing,” Arthur snaps, face growing hotter. “I just need you to make me forget the last hour.”

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t do it.”

Arthur scowls at him. Merlin stares back, mouth lifted in an unsubtle challenge.

“Fine,” Arthur snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose as Merlin smirks. “I—I walked in on—”

His throat works uselessly. He can’t do it, he can’t say it. His skin tries to lift from his body.

Merlin’s brows are lifting now, his face bright with glee as he sits up. “What did you see? Who did you see??”

Arthur, groaning, gives up and face-plants into the bedcovers. He feels Merlin flop onto his back beside him and his stomach flips, not unpleasantly.

“Shall I guess?” Merlin muses, voice too close for Arthur’s sanity. He can hear Merlin’s grin without looking. “You walked in on… Gwaine?”

“No.” Arthur’s groan is muffled in the bedding.

“Morgana?”

“No. Thank God.”

“Well,” Merlin says, and there’s a note in his voice Arthur recognises, the one he uses when he’s about to be a completely insufferable—“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind seeing—”

“If you finish that sentence,” Arthur says, rolling onto his side to glare at Merlin, “I will throw you off the top of the north tower.”

Merlin dimples at him, and Arthur tries not to stare at his lips. “Was it Gwen?”

Arthur looks away. Doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, no,” Merlin breathes, beginning to laugh. “Gwen and Lancelot?”

Arthur rolls over again, and tries to suffocate himself in the bed linens. “Kill me. Morgana can take my place on the throne.”

“What were they doing?” Merlin keeps laughing, and pushes Arthur over onto his back. “Were they fucking like rabbits?”

“Merlin.”

“Did you see all their bits?”

“Stop laughing! I can never unsee it!” Arthur moans, covering his flaming face with his hands. “Make yourself useful and make me forget.”

Merlin, dimpling again, pulls his hands away. Arthur forgets how to breathe, concentrating too keenly on the warm press of Merlin’s fingers around his wrist.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Messing around in your brain sounds like a bad idea, even to me, and I know just how much your brain could probably do with some help.”

Arthur makes a face at him. “So you’re just going to leave me to suffer? Typical. You are, as usual, utterly useless.”

“Well…” Merlin says slowly, and Arthur tries not to let his breath catch at the low murmur of it, tickling his ear, making the hair stand up on his arms. “I could help.”

“How?” Arthur asks, not at all breathlessly.

Merlin leans in, eyes fixed on his. “That depends. How would you like to be distracted?”

The moment draws out between them, tense as a bow, until finally—

Arthur surges up, and Merlin meets him halfway, and suddenly, blissfully, Arthur forgets everything.