The_Superstitious_elf

“Will that be all sire?” he asks, a hand on the door.

“One more thing Merlin, before you go,” Arthur says, his distracted attention focusing suddenly. “Dance with me?”

“What?” Merlin sputters, thrown.

Arthur puts out his hand in invitation. He looks serious.

“Dance with me.”

“You sire, are drunk,” Merlin retorts, mind scrambling to cope with the situation.

Arthur huffs, smiling.

“I’m not. You know I’m not.”

He’s not. Merlin was the one pouring his wine after all, and he knows when Arthur’s past his limit. He didn’t even hit it tonight.

Arthur reaches out a little further, expression soft, not quite beseeching.

“One dance.”

“Why?” Merlin asks, utterly baffled, but he takes a step away from the door.

Arthur takes his hand, presses a tender kiss to the inside of his palm. Merlin wills himself to keep breathing.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it all evening—about having you in my arms.”

“What am I, some damsel in distress?” Merlin mutters, but allows himself to be led. Because it’s not like he hasn’t wanted this himself. He just didn’t know Arthur knew—that he felt the same.

Arthur laughs, putting one of Merlin’s hands on his shoulder and taking the other one up as he lays his own on Merlin’s hip. He starts to step them across the stone floor of his chambers to silent music. Merlin worries about tripping and ruining this, but Arthur’s too sure-footed, and guides them with ease.

“You would be the grumpiest, most insolent damsel in distress there has ever been. You would complain, and snark, and decide halfway through being rescued that you could do it better yourself and run off into more trouble.”

Merlin scrunches up his nose and Arthur laughs again, pulling him closer.

“And I would run after you,” he says into Merlin’s temple. Merlin unwillingly shivers at his soft tone. “Because I couldn’t be without you, and your witty retorts, and your eye rolls, and your questioning of everything I do.”

They’ve stop moving, so Arthur’s just holding him now. Arthur tips his chin up with a knuckle, looks at him eye to eye.

“I can’t, Merlin. I can’t be without you. So please don’t go.”

Merlin frowns at him, at the worried expression Arthur’s giving him, so genuinely concerned that Merlin’s going to run from this, from him.

“Was I going somewhere?” he asks, smile teasing. He threads his fingers through Arthur’s own, weaving their hands together, enjoying the surprise and relief on Arthur face. “Because I was planning on staying right here.”

“Damn right you are,” Arthur says, and kisses him.

It was difficult to define what was going on between the two of them. But it all started they began to linger.

It was Merlin who did it first.

In the evenings, he would linger after he had completed the day's duties. At first, only for a short exchange of well-aimed jabs. He would stand in the doorway. Half-turned away. Ready to leave. Waiting for permission to stay. Just another word. Another taunt. Another tease.

Over time, these conversations moved to take place at the dinner table with Merlin picking at the left-over grapes on Arthur's plate. At some point, Arthur began to order bigger portions from the kitchens, but if someone were to suggest it was his attempt of sharing dinner with his servant, he would vehemently deny it. One of these evenings, Merlin taught Arthur how to catch grapes with his mouth. Merlin was surprisingly good at that, Arthur noted. How was this the same clumsy servant who would lose his head if it weren't attached to his body? His belly hurt with childlike laughter at his own poor attempts. When he finally managed to catch one, Merlin cheered for him, his eyes glinting with the reflection of the dying fire and Arthur wished there was a way to suspend time and stay in this moment forever.

In a perfect world, Arthur would tell Merlin that he had grown quite fond of him. But in all his years, he had never learned how to be vulnerable like that. But feelings have their way of outing themselves, unable to be contained by a human vessel.

And so, Arthur, too, began to linger. A shove. A push. A steadying hand on Merlin's arm. A finger hooked underneath his chin - to get a better look at the black eye a bandit had given him, of course. And so what if his thumb lingered, caressing his chin, timidly exploring the softness of his lower lip. Just once or twice. Plausible deniability.

Merlin's hands began to linger when he adjusted Arthur's collar.

Arthur's hands began to linger when he ruffled Merlin's hair.

Their eyes, too, began to linger. On a pair of lips. A strip of exposed skin. A dimple. It was only a matter of time now before one of them would give in.

I'm currently watching season four of Merlin and I'm really enjoying it!✨

Some Merthur for the soul 🙂‍↕️

Hunith entering Merlin's chamber: Arthur wanted me to tell you that he loves you and if you stumble on your way to the altar he will never let you forget it.

Merlin: Tell him he is the light of my life but if his vows contain the word idiot I will turn him into a frog

Arthur after listening to Hunith delivering the message: Gods I can't wait to call him my husband. But tell him-

Hunith 15 minutes later and out of breath: He says he cannot wait to spend his life with you but you are and I quote 'an utter dollophead'