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He really hadn’t meant it the way it sounded.  Well.  He had meant it.  But for very noble reasons.  The man had been incredibly rude to the Lady Morgana and insisted that she was a threat to their proceedings.  To have a woman in the high court where the most important decisions were being made for their allied kingdoms?  Even if she were the king’s ward, it was unheard of.  She would have to be removed so that they may make decisions without the threat of her womanly sentimentality. 

Merlin, having grown rather fond of the lady, and rather curious exactly how sentimental this man thought her to be, found himself interjecting.  Doubtless, he had even less authority than the Lady Morgana, but it seemed to him that if they were so obviously superior in their reasoning, that the lady might not threaten their decision making at all.  After all, what could a mere woman say to sway the logic of such noble and honorable men?

He’d spent three days in a row in the stocks for it, spending his nights catching up on Arthur’s unending list of errands.  He had been exhausted by the end, but even worse was the look on Lady Morgana’s face.  She’d been ashamed.  And he had caused it.  He’d embarrassed her in front of the court.  The guilt was greater than any punishment he might have suffered for speaking out of turn. 

It was nearly a week before he managed to corner Gwen to petition her to apologize on his behalf.  He had no excuse to visit Morgana and accepted that she would immediately turn him away.  Perhaps if Gwen could pass his message along…  He was truly, deeply sorry.  He had spoken facetiously, but that hardly mattered.  The insult was clear, and for him to do so publically shamed the proud young woman greatly. 

Gwen, well accustomed to Merlin’s penchant for foot-in-mouth, hemmed and hawed all day long.  Should she?  Ought she?  Did she believe he was truly sorry?  He implored her, again and again, finally making a grab for her hand.

“Please.  Beautiful, sweet, kind Guinevere.  As you are aware, I am so very stupid sometimes.  I don’t know Morgana the way you do, but I still.  In different circumstances, I should like to be her friend.”

Gwen relented then, saying that she would speak with Lady Morgana and perhaps the lady would be willing to hear his apology.  He spent the next day practicing the exact words he would say.  He was still muttering them when he stopped at her door and with an anxious sigh, he knocked.

Things took a bit of a downward turn from there.  For one thing, Lady Morgana cut him off before he could really get going.  That was unfortunate, because he’d probably have to start over from the beginning again if he wanted to get the words right.  He waited, silent. 

She stood from where she’d been sitting and reading by the window when he’d come in.  As always, she moved with such certain grace, and he couldn’t help but admire her poise.  Was she truly the same age as him?  She always seemed such a woman whereas Merlin was still figuring out how these gangly limbs might cooperate someday.  She strode to her wardrobe and rifled through several items before, with a long sweep, she pulled a dress and laid it across the bed.

Gwen watched him with a jittery sort of excitement he didn’t much care for and he opened his mouth.

“Uh.  That’s a beautiful dress, Lady Morgana,” he complimented.  Her cool eyes met his.

“I’m glad you think so, Merlin.  If you care for my forgiveness, you will make an effort to understand the plights of a lady in court.”

Merlin looked down at the gown and balked.

“Always such a sense of humor, my lady,” he said in a nervous laugh.  “Surely that won’t be necessary.”

She looked down her nose at him.  “It will.  It truly will.  Do you not beg my forgiveness, Merlin?”

Merlin felt a cold shudder run down his spine at her tone. 

“I... Do...” He said, cautiously, looking to Gwen for help.  She smiled her bland, servile smile.  It was every bit as frigid as Morgana’s voice.  He felt he was trapped with two hungry tigresses and the room was so very small. 

Morgana gestured to Gwen.  “Dear, what are you waiting for?  You’ll have to help him dress.”

Gwen curtsied low.  “Of course my lady.”

She tugged gently on the hem of Merlin’s baggy tunic politely.  His joints moved like they were rusted, but slowly, he started to comply.  He tugged his shirt off over his head.  With it puddled on the ground, he glanced up at Gwen.  That was a mistake because she was already gesturing for his breeches.  He compounded his errors by checking on Morgana.  She was watching with an intense hunger that gave him gooseflesh.  With slightly shaking hands, he unlaced.  Gwen, bless her, turned around when he pulled them down. 

When she turned back, she had a large armful of fabrics held out and open to him.  She held it up high by his head and he saw a circle of room in the middle.  Stiffly, he raised his arms through the center and Gwen efficiently tugged it down around him.  He was shocked by how rough she was being.  He had to struggle to keep his feet planted as she tugged and pulled to rearrange the large skirts.  Once satisfied, she held a sleeve to him and Merlin threaded his arm through, delicately, as though through a bear trap.  The other followed and again Gwen was back to vigorous pushing and pulling.  He could feel it starting to come together.  He was covered now, at least, except for his back.  Gwen stepped behind him and Merlin was forced to face Morgana.  She studied him closely, watching his face and Merlin was about to say something, perhaps to apologize again, when he heard a strange sound behind him followed by a sharp yank. 

He let out a sound of protest, but before he’d formed the words in his head, another yank followed.  Laces, his mind provided.  He’d seen the laces on the ladies gowns.  Only Gwen was doing them up so quickly and so, so tight. 

“Is it-- perhaps it’s too tight?”  He asked, his voice betraying him with a bit of a squeak in the middle. 

“No.”  The women chimed in unison.  This is punishment then.  Sadistic punishment.  Gwen continued for what felt like an age.  How many laces could there be back there, anyway?  At one point she told him to suck in for a moment.  Foolishly he did, thinking the moment might end.  It didn’t. 

By the time she was up to his mid-back, Merlin couldn’t move a muscle.  He was encased entirely.  Mummified.  They’d both stepped back to study him, and Merlin’s face felt hot and full.  He cleared his throat as Gwen darted in to adjust a bow on his waist.  He could feel the air on his bare shoulders, the faintest wisp of her hairs that have fallen out of their bun. 

“Excellent work as always, Guinevere,” Morgana preened.  Gwen bit her lip to fight a smile. 

“You’re too kind, my lady.”

“Perhaps something for his hair?”

“Hmm.  Perhaps a clip?  A necklace would be lovely as well.”

“Yes.  Absolutely.  The sapphires, I think.”

Gwen sorted through the drawers on Morgana’s vanity and pulled out two pieces of jewelry.  The first was threaded deftly around his neck by Guinevere’s clever hands.  Despite being so close, he could only feel the heat of her skin.  The absence of contact made the back of his neck so much more sensitive.  His heart’s pounding distracted him, and he startled when her fingers thread through his hair.  It wasn’t long by any means, but it was long enough to hide her fingers.  She toyed with a couple curls, teasing them off to one side before catching them in a sort of silver comb with a jeweled design.  He could feel it falling before she’d even pulled her hand away.  She caught it easily.

Morgana had been watching closely and motioned back to her vanity.  “The circlet then.”

“My lady?”  Gwen asked, sounding a little surprised.

“Come now, it’s all in fun.  It would complete the look, wouldn’t you say?”

“Of course, Lady Morgana.”  Gwen agreed, still looking a little shocked.  She replaced the hairpiece in the drawer and carefully lifted out a silver circlet, embedded with rubies and sapphires.  Gwen’s hands weren’t quite so deft as before as she lifted it over his head.  He was too tall.

Morgana waved her hand at Merlin lazily.  “You’ll have to bow a little.  Help her.”

Merlin ducked as best as he could, surprised by the sheer amount of noise the gown made from such a small motion.  He could feel the laces draw even tighter around his stomach as he shifted.  A few inches shorter now, Gwen lifted the circlet up and slid it over his head.  It rested high and cold near his hairline.  He had the immediate urge to itch underneath it. 

Gwen was staring and stepped back slowly.  “You were right.”

“Changes the look entirely, doesn’t it?”  Morgana strolled around him, her chin rested on her pale, elegant hand.  He lost sight of her as she stepped behind again.  She threaded her arms around his waist and Merlin’s stopped breathing.  Morgana breathed in his ear.

“You look quite lovely, Lady Merlin.” 

“I am not,“ Merlin huffed emphatically in response.

“Not for a lady, perhaps.  But you’re far fairer than any of Camelot’s men.”

“That’s not what any man should care to hear, Lady Morgana,” he protested. 

“Is there something wrong with being lovely?  I am told I am lovely quite often.”

“T-that’s different!”

“How so?”  Morgana asked, smooth and low as a snake.

“You... Are lovely.”  Merlin stumbled, and Morgana squeezed his waist with one of her hands and stepped away.

When Merlin noticed Gwen again, the interest in her eyes took him a little aback.  He shifted uncomfortably, but as Lady Morgana stepped back, so did Gwen’s attention.

“Guinevere, I believe we have enough lunch for three, don’t you?”

“Yes, I believe so.  I brought extra just in case you were still feeling upset.”

“I’m quite well now.  Would you mind serving Lady Merlin and myself?”

Gwen picked up the tray that had been sitting on Morgana’s side table.  For some reason, there were already two plates.  Gwen portioned out some meat and dried grapes with a slice of bread on each plate.  She also had two glasses prepared and poured watered wine in each.  Merlin studied the tray and then glanced at Gwen’s profile while she worked.  She had a small secret smile on her face.

Come, have a seat.  Morgana motioned with a regal sort of wave of her hand and Merlin moved gingerly toward the table.  He stood in front of one of two chairs and realized he might now have a problem.

“Is the meal not to your liking, Miss?”  Gwen asked, with a bit of a sparkle in her eye.  Evil.  She was so, so mean.  How did Merlin always manage to forget how mean Gwen was?  Merlin sunk gracelessly down.  It required more force, sitting when he was all laced up.  There would be no room for slouching either.  His back stayed ramrod straight as the dress compressed what little stomach he had into being even less.  He cleared his throat to ease some of the tension in his chest.

“I’m starting to see some difficulties,” Merlin confessed. 

“Are you then?”  Morgana asked lightly, disinterestedly, as though he had made some inane comment about the weather. 

“Ah, yes.  Frankly, I hate this very much.”

Morgana delicately plucked a grape and popped it in her mouth.  Merlin reached for a grape from his own plate, finding this too took more effort as the sleeves held his arms nearly bound to his sides.  When he managed to stretch his arm in front of him, the low shoulder was cutting into his upper arm.  He ate the grape slowly. 

Morgana offered her glass to Gwen, who accepted it with a soft smile.  Morgana seemed reluctant to let it go, however, because their fingers brushed for a long moment.  Merlin watched curiously as Gwen drank from Morgana’s glass. 

Merlin prided himself on his adaptability.  Should he be stuck in these circumstances, the least he could get is a good meal.  Maybe after the dress was off, he could even digest it.  Merlin reached out, grabbing the entire piece of meat to avoid unnecessary work, and he had just stuffed it into his mouth when the door slammed open with a deafening crack.  He might have choked on it as he jerked his entire upper body to face the wall.

“Morgana, I swear--!”  Merlin heard Arthur bellow behind him and it was an effort to keep from flinching.  He felt Gwen step in, ostensibly to refill the glass he had not yet touched.  The one she’d been drinking from had already found its place in front of Morgana.  She made a neat little wall between Merlin and his impending demise.

“I was unaware we had company.”

“That is no accident.”

Merlin could hear the moment Arthur got it and snorted. 

“Would you not introduce me, Lady Morgana?”  Arthur bit back.

“I would not.”  Morgana snapped primly, and Merlin heard the heavy sound of chain mail as Arthur shifted irritably. 

“Then I would introduce myself.”

“Do us all the favor and don’t, Arthur Pendragon.”

He didn’t have to turn around to sense the tension had risen significantly.  He couldn’t imagine the kind of face Arthur might be making right now, but he could feel the hurt.  Merlin cleared his throat very softly. 

He spoke in a near whisper. “Perhaps, the door?”  He asked.  He could feel Arthur’s eyes on the back of his neck as the man stepped back and closed the door softly behind him.  Merlin’s eyes caught Morgana’s, and he saw in them an apology.  They were even.  If they weren’t after this... Merlin didn’t know what he’d do.  Something terrible.  There was a sort of karmic justice in fate, he supposed.

Arthur stepped forward and cleared his throat softly. 

Slowly.  Achingly slowly, Merlin turned from the wall.  His heart didn’t have room to beat dressed so tightly.  Breathing was out of the question.  He forced his eyes up from the floor to Arthur’s face. 

He was…  Arthur was frozen.  Like time had stopped.  He had a sort of stern look on his face as he stared.  Merlin’s head felt overly large on his very exposed neck.  He could still feel the tickle of a string of jewels around his throat. 

The prince frowned.

“I—I can explain?”  Merlin said in a rush, and his voice was far too loud in the quiet bed chamber.  Morgana walked over and gripped his wrist tightly.  He risked a glance up at her, but he could no more read her expression than he could Arthur’s.  Both were inscrutable.  And kind of terrifying. 

“I’ve asked a favor of Merlin.  He kindly agreed to help.”

“A favor?” Arthur repeated dubiously. His eyes never crossed over to Morgana as she spoke, and Merlin was sweating heavily in her very expensive, very awful gown. 

“I sought insight into a Lady’s condition.  There is much I take for granted.  He offers an outside opinion.”

“You wanted to know about being a girl, so you asked Merlin,” Arthur paraphrased and Merlin grit his teeth. 

“He’s quite insightful.  I consider his input invaluable.”

“He’s a moron,” Arthur growled. 

You know, if he tried, maybe he could just disappear.  Right out of this room and this stupid dress, right out of Camelot!  Just -poof-.  He thought about the words he knew in the old language.                                          

“Frankly, I’m surprised but not shocked by your lack of respect for your servant.  If you think so little of him, perhaps he would be better applied in aiding Guinevere.”

“A Lady’s maid then is it, Merlin?”  Arthur snapped.  Morgana started to interject but Arthur raised his hand.

“Enough.  I need to speak with my manservant.  ...alone.”

“You would force a lady to leave her chambers?”  She squeezed Merlin’s wrist assuringly. 

“No!  I suppose I wouldn’t!”  Arthur chirped and grabbed Merlin’s other arm.  He pulled him up easily and with a firm grip helped steady when Merlin thought he would overbalance.  Arthur yanked him roughly toward the door and out into the hall.  He could hear Morgana and Gwen protesting.  He had no choice but keep up a fast pace, half supported by Arthur as he struggled to keep his feet beneath him.  Merlin scanned the halls frantically, offering a desperate plea to whatever high powers he was meant to serve that no one -else- see him like this. 

Gods.  Of all people.  Arthur just short of shoved him into his chambers and before Merlin had finished righting himself the door slammed shut.  If not for the dress, he’d run.  That was all he could think.  Truly it was inconvenient to be a lady of the court when you could never run from your problems.  He studied Arthur’s hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  It would be foul play if Arthur hit him now.  Definitely.  Not that he could ever do much about the odd tossed boot or pauldron, but he wasn’t ready to catch himself all tied up like this.  And Lady Morgana would ask about her dress, and that wasn’t a conversation either of them wanted to have.  Sorry, my lady, I thought you might not care for it, on account of the giant bloodstain.  At least Arthur wasn’t about to send him to the stocks in this. 

Arthur reached for him and Merlin flinched, despite himself.  Arthur bit his lip in an irritated pout and reached again, more slowly this time.  His fingertips brushed the warm metal of the circlet as it disappeared into his hair.

“What has she done to you?” Arthur muttered quietly to himself.  Doing a great deal more touching than Gwen, Arthur gripped it between his fingertips and lifted it up.  Merlin didn’t even need to duck.  They were near the same height, but the other man still had a slight edge.  Arthur stepped back, placing it delicately on his worn wooden table.  Unlike the table in Lady Morgana’s chambers, this table had heavy gauges and stains.  Merlin often polished boots and armor on the table and he could see a large oily discoloration where he’d dropped the rag when he’d dozed off for a while.  The delicate silver circle, sparkling with deepest red and blue gems looked ill placed. 

Merlin forced a laugh. 

“Precious jewels accounted for.  Now let’s have it out.  Unless you’re willing to undress me first?”  Merlin thought longingly about his tunic and breeches, bunched up on the floor in the lady’s room.  He’d need those back.  He only had two other shirts and one other pair of breeches, and that pair had a leg burned off. 

Arthur’s face flushed with irritation. 

“What do you think you’re doing!?  Even if you--“ Arthur stumbled uncharacteristically over his words, “If you--. If that’s something you--“

“No!  I don’t!  I--“

“But you!  You can’t, Merlin!  She’s a lady.  If you...  Just with Gwen, maybe.  But you were in her chambers!  Are you even wearing anything...?”

Merlin’s face seared.  Arthur stared at him in a sort of horrified wonder.

“Seriously!?”

“She!  I just have the one layer!  She said!”

Arthur’s expression darkened.  “She tells you to drop-trow and you--you what?  You just do it?”

“She was really pissed, okay?  I said something stupid and she--“

“She used her authority to demand you strip?  I can hardly use my authority to get you to do my laundry and that’s literally your job!”

A thought seemed to come to Arthur and he gripped Merlin’s arms right enough to caught pain.  Merlin stared hopelessly into his frantic blue eyes.

“Tell me you haven’t…”

“Haven’t what!?”  Merlin demanded, feeling rubbed far too raw for any vague accusations.  It was rather clear everything that ‘he’d’.  He was studied with a near manic intensity before the grip relaxed a little. 

“How often, then?  When you’re supposed to be polishing my armor, then?  You sneak off instead and play dress up with my sister?”

“No, you git!  I told you.  It was a one-time thing.  She said I’d insulted her.  She wanted me to understand how she felt.  And I.  I kinda get it better now.  But that’s not the point.”

“You did not tell me that,” he grumbled.  Arthur was still close.  He’d yet to release Merlin’s arms and the heat from his palms was like twin brands.  He steadied himself, waiting for the next volley but Arthur was silent, just staring.  His eyes caught on the waist of the gown where it cinched tight. 

He was skinny.  He could accept that about himself.  But it was rather another thing to have Arthur... To have him.  Well.  Whatever.  He was feeling gawked at and tired.  All he wanted was help out of this stupid dress, but he doubted Arthur even knew how, let alone would help him if he asked.  It’d have to be after he’d gotten over whatever insanity had possessed him.  Then Merlin could sneak back for help and his clothes. 

“I can’t believe you let her--“ Arthur murmured.  “I can’t believe you fit it, either.  Your shoulders…”

He felt a wave of frustration.  He knew he was small.  Not everyone needed to be a muscle-brained idiot trying to fight dragons with nothing but a stupid sword.  But the mood escaped from him before he could really catch hold of it.  The atmosphere had changed somehow. 

A hand shifted from his upper arm and found his waist instead.  He couldn’t feel much beyond a little extra pressure and the heat of his hand.  He was gripping Merlin’s waist in a very similar way as Morgana had up on her room.  Merlin shifted slightly, ready to step back, but the gown was loud.  Every movement crinkled and rustled and it seemed to echo in the near perfect silence of Arthur chamber.  The only other sound was their breathing.  Arthur’s hands moved slowly, mapping out the various curves and folds in the crushed velvet.  Merlin was overheating a little bit in the dress after all the excitement and shouting.  He was sweating by the time Arthur’s hands found his shoulders, bare and slightly damp over the low hemline.  He expected him to stop, to draw back down at least, but those hands traced up his spine and he couldn’t control the nearly violent shiver.  It caught Arthur’s attention though, and pale eyes met his with a shock. 

Gods, he was close.  Still close.  This had gone on for a long time, hadn’t it?  His mouth was open slightly and Merlin could see the wet hint where he’d wet his lips. 

“Arthur?  I…” Merlin started, with no idea how that was supposed to end, but thankfully he didn’t have to continue because Arthur moved, using his grip on Merlin’s shoulders to pull him in.  His head tilted like he was going to--oh.  Well. 

Logically he could see how maybe he should have predicted this from the previous eternity of touching, but somehow the plush press of wet heat against his lips shocked him enough he let out a soft sound.  That was encouragement enough, perhaps, because Arthur was pressing even closer still until their mouths had formed against each other and he could feel the wet slide of, oh gods.  That was his tongue.  It felt.  He exhaled softly, chasing the feeling as it pulled away.  He tentatively let his own tongue trace the curve of Arthur’s plump lower lip and the other man groaned, low.  The sound was like electricity running straight between his legs and Merlin found himself desperate for it.  He let his fingers tangle into the short blonde hairs at the base of his skull.

He didn’t have experience, per se, but he could do this.  He had a couple times.  Memorably, once with a very drunken Will over a bottle of wine they’d lifted off a merchant cart.  With Freya, it had felt different.  Less hungry. 

His hands were following this muscular curve of Arthur’s neck.  Fingertips teasing under the collar of his shirt.  He pulled away, flushed, his eyes focused on Merlin with single-minded attention like which he’d only ever offered his knights.  On a quick motion, he stripped his shirt over his head and Merlin could feel waves of body heat pouring off him.  Each muscle was familiar, and yet, not in this context.  He’d never before palmed the rolling curve of Arthur’s strong shoulder, swollen from constant sword drills.  He carried more weight around the middle than Merlin, for which Merlin liked to tease, but the reality was that even his center was surprisingly hard beneath a thin soft layer.  Gods, he was just so, dense.  He let his hands grip tight on his back, his sides, his hips.  Like this he felt so solid and unbreakable. 

Merlin’s hands were wrapped low around Arthur’s hips when they broke apart.  His lips left Merlin’s and he nosed his way down until his tongue was drawing slick patters into Merlin’s jaw and over the thick vein in his neck.  The intensity of it surprised him.  He’d never had anyone... And his head tilted to the side loosely, hand holding tighter to steady himself.  Teeth grazed along the hypersensitive skin where his tongue had been and a soft sound escaped from Merlin’s throat.  Gods, it was embarrassing, but he couldn’t pay it any attention when Arthur’s mouth kept challenging him.  A soft bite was immediately followed by a hard suck that made his knees want to buckle beneath him.  His arms shot up to Arthur’s shoulders. 

Wordlessly, Arthur seemed to understand and he pushed Merlin back against the edge of his bed.  He had a momentary panic when he felt the mattress beneath his hips.  Gods.  Were they going to? A hard shove made up his mind.  Fortunately, this entirely bypassed the struggle he might have anticipated in trying to lie down on his own.  His head hit hard and bounced, but he had no time to complain because Arthur was crawling over him, all rolling muscle.  There was something distinctly predatory about it, and a large hand grabbed his shin where the dress had ridden up. 

He squirmed, feeling the hand inch upward.  Arthur’s mouth was back on his neck and he could hardly move, trapped under the weight of his heavy frame, his hands scrambling for a place to hold himself from shaking apart.  The sensation of vibrations against his throat made him jump and he realized Arthur was saying something.

“Tell me this is okay.  Merlin.  This is okay, right?”

His breath sent shocks against the hot wet skin he’d had between his teeth seconds before.  Merlin couldn’t help it.  He moaned and arched upwards, overwhelmed.  He didn’t really expect him to speak, right?  He didn’t think he could wrap his tongue around a single word.  He caught the hand pressing heavy on his upper calf and pulled, letting his leg move naturally with it. 

“Arthur--,” he moaned.

“Okay.  Yes.  God--,” Arthur groaned, lips brushing featherlight against the sucked red skin on Merlin’s otherwise porcelain complexion.  He pushed Merlin’s leg the rest out the way, until he could kneel between his thighs, the thick material, bunching up higher and higher toward Merlin’s waist.  When it moved, he could feel the fabric pull away from his erection wetly. 

Fuck.  God, fuck.  She was going to kill him.  She’d murder both of them.  He’d have to burn this dress and tell her it was covered in blood after all, but fuck!  Arthur’s fingers had found the sensitive crease where his leg met his groin and he whimpered, letting his head fall back hard against the mattress.  He was going to die.  He was going to die if Arthur touched his dick and he did, a sharp bite cut into Merlin’s neck as his head was captured in that hot grip.  His hips pressed up into the tight seal of Arthur’s hand and he chuckled deeply by Merlin’s ear. 

“Shh.  God.   You’re so sensitive.  It’s like you’ve never..”  Arthur stroked him once, slowly and Merlin’s hand shot down to wrap around Arthur’s. 

“I can’t.  I’m going to--“

Arthur pulled back a little and cold air snuck between them, intense, against the overheated skin of his thighs. 

“Uh, wow.  Okay.  Okay.  Just,”  Arthur fumbled, reaching over him and Merlin stared dazed at the honey blonde curls in Arthur’s armpit.  He pulled back in a moment with a small glass jar in hand and Merlin flushed.

“You know what this is for?”  Arthur asked, and his voice was lower than Merlin had ever heard. 

“Of course I know,” Merlin tried to snap but his vocal chords didn’t manage to get the tone right. 

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he demanded, already unscrewing the metal cap.  Merlin couldn’t hear anything but his pulse like eardrums between his ears and he stared up at Arthur helplessly.  A cold slick finger found his inner thigh and he jumped.

“Come on.  You’ve got to shift up.  Get this out of the way,” he demanded, shoving the fabric up.  Merlin lifted his hips and it bunched up under his lower back.  It was cold now and he felt bare.  More naked than naked as Arthur eased his legs apart.  That slick finger found the crease of Merlin’s ass and he jumped again. 

“It’s okay.  I won’t hurt you.  You know I won’t hurt you.  This will feel good.  Just open up a little more.”

His face was on fire as he let his legs fall the rest of the way open.  He could feel the cold air hitting a place that cold air rarely hit and it was making him feel incredibly vulnerable.  The oil was warmer now and the digit stroked slowly against his entrance.  He felt himself tense up before it stroked again.  It was like he was being licked and the thought of that made his hips roll. Embarrassing.  So embarrassing.  He reached up to cover his face with an arm but he’d hardly even moved before Arthur was pushing his arm back down out of the way.  He glanced down to find Arthur studying him intensely. 

Fuck.  Fucking hell.  He pressed down, anxious to get Arthur moving more quickly again so he’d spend less time under that intense scrutiny.  Arthur’s finger slipped in easily, laden with the oil and Merlin let out a low groan.  Buggering fuck.  He’d found Arthur’s hips with his heels and pulled him closet until Arthur’s hand was pressed a little awkwardly between them.  He groaned, adjusting his fingers and pushing in hard.  It was sharp heat from friction and a hint of pressure.  Arthur was close again and he leaned up until he could capture his mouth.  They built a slow rhythm, but neither of them were feeling terribly patient because it was hardly a couple seconds before Arthur was twisting to fit his middle finger.  There was a little bit of a bite to that and Merlin sucked Arthur’s lip into his mouth, rolling his teeth against it.  He pressed his hips back against Arthur’s hand until Arthur was groaning and rearranging to try to fit a third. 

The third finger was uncomfortable.  It caught for a moment on him rim before Arthur reshaped his hand and pushed in with a neat little twist.  Merlin complained a little with a soft noise.  He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Arthur’s neck.  He shifted, trying to find a better position.  He found one quickly enough and the slight pressure from before skyrocketed until he could feel in through his pelvis.  He pushed back harder against that spot again and Arthur practically growled.  His hand pulled back a little too quickly and the sensation was jarring.  Merlin’s teeth found the juncture where Arthur’s shoulder met his neck.  Arthur slicked himself sloppily with the oil on his fingers and as he started to push, Merlin latched down with his teeth.

It was, a lot.  Too much.  So much bigger than his fingers.  How could it keep getting bigger?  He was being stretched and the head had barely even pressed in.  There was an uncomfortable moment where Merlin’s legs were shaking and he bit down hard on Arthur but it passed and the head slipped inside, making way for inch after inch to push forward until he was so full he couldn’t think.  He couldn’t move.  Fuck.  Arthur shifted a little to change his grip and Merlin hissed at him.  Hands found his thighs, kneading softly, pushing him to relax, pulling his legs up around Arthur’s hips.

There was a moment of clarity for Merlin as they stayed still.  Without the constant sensations, he could think and all he could think was, God.  God he’s.  Fucking hell that’s his prick inside of me.  Arthur fucking Pendragon. 

He was still cursing Arthur when the man in question rolled his hips and the moment of clarity fled as quickly as it came.  He was being rubbed inside out.  He bore down against it, using his knees alongside Arthur’s hips for leverage.  Above him, Arthur moaned and the next push turned sparks into electricity.  He wrapped his legs tight around Arthur’s backside and guided him until he was rolling smoothly each thrust deep inside exactly where Merlin needed it.   He could feel himself, cold with sweat and hear the stupid dress crinkling underneath him with every move.  Arthur’s skin was overheated wherever he touched.  He dug his fingers in hard against solid muscles.  He let his head fall forward until his face was hidden.  He could feel the tightness of it, too much blood and he let out of soft huh sound with every thrust. 

They’d found a rhythm and now Merlin was having trouble keeping his legs pressing and pulling to move him to the right spot.  It didn’t matter though because Arthur had seemingly got the memo and was grinding down against it hard enough to make Merlin’s toes curl.  Those muscular arms were starting to shake from where Arthur supported his weight on either side of Merlin’s head.  Half curious, Merlin forced his head up and met Arthur’s gaze. 

He was flushed, high on his cheeks.  His ears.  His eyes were more intensely blue than Merlin had ever seen them.  His lips were deep red, swollen from all the attention.  There had a softness to him that Merlin hadn’t seen before.  He stared down at Merlin looking half shocked and desperate.

“Fuck, I’m--“

His hips stuttered and he shoved in hard.  He fell forward, bracing himself low against Merlin’s chest as he pushed inward.  Merlin thought he was saying something more, but he didn’t catch it, caught off guard by the new feeling inside of him.  He pulled Arthur’s hips in even tighter, digging in with his heels.  Arthur stuttered and jerked once more.  He moaned, low and satisfied.  Where he rested on his elbow, his fingers toyed with the ends of Merlin’s hair. 

After several moments he pushed himself up slowly, face fully flushed, his eyes half lidded with a satisfied sort of glow.  He didn’t pull out.  Instead he pressed against Merlin again, grinding down instead of thrusting.  He reached for Merlin’s dick where it lay flat on his stomach in a small glossy puddle.  A calloused palm rolled over the leaking head as Arthur ground in deep and Merlin’s head fell back.  His entire body felt tense and hot, his muscles where shaking.  Fingertips traced the edge of his foreskin between stroked and Merlin arched his back.  His eyes caught Arthur’s and he felt split open, overexposed.  Pinned.  Another quick twist of Arthur’s hand and he was done for.  Light and energy and heat, it was like the rush of energy drawn up before he cast, only rubbing over every hypersensitive nerve.  He let out a choked sound and he was shooting into Arthur’s hand, hips jerking into the tight cavern his palm provided. 

Finally he lie flat.  Exhausted and soaked with sweat.  He stared up, even as Arthur pulled out with an uncomfortable wetness, Merlin stared at the ceiling in the spot Arthur vacated. 

All he could do was breathe.  Breathe and sweat.  He was nearly cold with it now, legs shaking like a newborn foal. 

He could feel the passage of time and struggled upward. 

“Fuck!” he declared, emphatically.  He heard Arthur snort from somewhere a little ways a way.  He hadn’t need bother where as a wet cloth slapped across his belly.  He yelled. 

“Don’t do that!  You’re terrible!”

“Mm, am I,” Arthur hummed, flatly.  He was rubbing water through his hair.  He poured a little in his hand from the pitcher on his side table. 

“Yes!  Terrible.  I mean, what the hell!”

Arthur looked over at him seriously.

“Do you need me to explain it to you?”

“Prat!  Unbelievable prat!  Genuinely I cannot believe--!”  Merlin forced himself upright, studiously ignoring a certain wetness below.  “Arthur, what did we just do?”

“So it was you first time,” Arthur gloated and Merlin slung the wet rag back at him.

“Be serious!” 

“Okay, what do you want me to say?”

Merlin felt exposed because of well, being horribly, terribly exposed.  And wet.  In exposing places.  He dragged Arthur’s sheet over himself and when Arthur opened his mouth to complain Merlin cut him off. 

“Arthur!”  He meant to shout, but even to his own ears he was sounding a little panicky.  Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, not facing Merlin. 

“I just!  And we.  You--!” 

“If I knew this was all it took to shut you up,” Arthur started but he trailed off a little uncertain.  He scribed his face with his hands and Merlin stared at the shifting planes of his back.  Arthur took a slow deep breath and turned.  He studied Merlin seriously.

“Do you regret it?  Did I misjudge your willingness?”

“No...  It’s not.  I, uh.  I did want.”

“But you regret it.  Usually it takes a little longer than that.” Arthur huffed, getting ready to stand and Merlin grabbed for him. 

“I didn’t say that, you did.  Do you?”

They sat in silence for a while, Merlin toying with the blankets.  He felt trapped.  He didn’t think he was getting out of bed without help, but he kept his mouth sealed shut, waiting.

“I should.  I really should.” 

“Then, uh.  What now?”

“Now, you use the damned cloth instead of flinging it at me.”  Arthur threw it back and Merlin scrambled to catch it.  Even in his hands it made a wet slapping sound. 

“Why’d you get it so damn wet?  It’s getting everywhere.”

“I thought you might need it.  Extra wet.  Y’know?”

Merlin went beet red. 

“Yeah well, whose fault is that?”  He snapped and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“God, you’re such a girl.”

Arthur stood suddenly, staring down at him with a wild-eyed look.  Merlin froze. 

“You’re telling her.  I think she can have me executed.”

“Me?  You think she can’t have me executed??”

“I think your odds are better, yes.”

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and started to pace. 

 “Well firstly, you’re my servant--“

“I gotta say, I don’t like where this is going.”

“And secondly, I’m pretty sure she likes you better.  She never offered to dress me up like her little girlfriend.”

“You--!  Oh, I swear, Arthur Pendragon, your poor hearing will be the death of you.  I’ll ensure it.”

“That’s treason.  That’s objectively treason.”

“Given the circumstances, I’d say I’m entitled to a little treason!”

Arthur grabbed the pitcher of water from his table and was heading toward Merlin when there was a gentle knock on the door.  Merlin swallowed his tongue.

Arthur recovered first, grabbing Merlin roughly be the shoulders

“Come on!  Move, move, move!” he hissed.  “Behind the screen!” 

“Arthur, the sheets!  There’s no way they won’t notice.  Just--!  Pretend you’re not here.  Or, or better yet.  You’ve fallen ill!”

“Shut up.  Go.”   Merlin couldn’t stand on his own so Arthur nudged a chair toward him and walked backwards toward the door.

“One moment!”  He called, a shade short of cool.  Merlin’s heart beat so fast it ached. He heard the door open a crack and Arthur called, “Oh, Guinevere.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”  And gods, Merlin could feel the dubious look.  A throat cleared delicately. 

“I was... Uhm.  I just wanted to make sure everything was okay... After..”

Arthur was silent for a moment.  “Oh!  Right.  Yeah.  Everything’s good.  There’s nothing you need to worry about.  We’re both fine.”

Merlin threw his hands up.  The dress made more noise than he was expecting though.  He froze.

“Right.  Well.  I’m glad everything worked out okay,” Gwen said softly. 

“Yes.  Thank.. You..”  Arthur bit out slowly.  Gods, how was he set to be king?  How did Merlin forget?  Arthur was a terrible liar.  Truly.  Gwen was suspicious.  So suspicious.  Hopefully something drastic would happen and she’d forget everything about the last thirty seconds.  He’d have to get out of the dress first, but he could do it.  He could make something extremely distracting if he had to. 

Arthur strode over and glared at him.

“What was that?  Can’t you even stay quiet for a minute?  Now Gwen’s suspicious.  You heard her.”

“Me!  Arthur, you.  Thank the gods your life doesn’t depend on lying because you would be dead.  Dead!”  Merlin emphasized, jabbing a surprised Arthur in the chest with a bony finger.  Arthur batted it away.

Merlin looked up at his face and caught a livid purple shape impressed on his shoulder, just peeking past the color of his shirt. 

“Oh hell.”  He said flatly. 

“What.”

“Oh hell,” Merlin repeated, jabbing the bite mark with the same bony finger. 

Arthur pulled his shirt a little as he looked down.  He could only catch the furthest edge but it was an... Aggressive bruise.  “Oh hell,” he breathed.

“Gwen knows.  She has to know.”

“Morgana’s gonna know.” 

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s true!”

“I know but, god, don’t say it!”

“What are we going to do?”

“I need you to get me out of this.  And then.  I need to borrow some pants.”  A hand slipped up to his neck.  “And a shirt.  Maybe a scarf?”

“I only have the one scarf.”

“Well, me too, but it’s on her floor right now, so..”  Merlin glared at Arthur bitterly.

“It’s made for hunting.”

“So?  Does it go around a neck?  What’s the problem here?”

Arthur pulled out a thick woolen scarf and Merlin stopped.  “Well that won’t look suspicious,” he drawled.

“What if.  What if you just didn’t go back for your clothes.  You just, don’t bring it up, ever again.”

“She knows, Arthur.  She’s going to bring it up.  She’s going to bring it up -maliciously-.  She and Gwen both.  They’re both the worst.”

“Gwen isn’t--“

“You blind fool, she absolutely is.  She’s got you fooled but she’ll have constant access.  She’ll never let this go.   And the worst part is, she’ll be -nice- about it.”

“Uh, heaven forbid”

“Ugh, you useless, naive... caveman!”  Merlin barked, flouncing angrily in his rumpled dress.  It had held up surprisingly well considering...  Merlin snapped impatiently.

“Get me out of this!  I need to be able to run.”

Arthur didn’t question the veracity of that statement, nodding solemnly and pushing Merlin to turn around.  Arthur’s hands fell to his waist.

“…I still can’t believe.  Do you see how small your waist is?”

“Ar-thurr!”  Merlin barked, impatiently and the tone was oddly familiar to Arthur.  He must have picked it up from Morgana.

Arthur found the bow and started working slowly.  “Are they always this tight?”

“I’m told yes.” 

“That’s terrible.  Why?”

“So slack-jawed idiots can’t keep their hands off your waist.”

Arthur pinched Merlin’s arm hard.  It was pretty generous of him, so Merlin just rubbed the spot bitterly.

As Arthur continued, he revealed more and more of Merlin’s shoulders.  He found himself rubbing the reddened skin where the fabric had dug in.  It took several times longer to undo than Gwen had needed, but Merlin felt the last loop go and he deflated.  He could slouch!  Thank Avalon, he could slouch. 

Arthur dug his fingers under the waist of the skirt and started pushing it slowly downward.  Immediately heat rushed back into Merlin’s face

“W-What are you doing?”

“You told me to help you get it off.  That’s what you wanted, right?  So shut up and let me finish,” Arthur growled, deep in Merlin’s ear. 

“I was quite certain you had!  How are you still?”  Merlin asked, feeling raw and exposed every hair’s width the skirt creeped down.  It had to be pushed forward to make room for his penis, half-hard despite his brain’s fair superior good sense.  He looked down at it a little confused.

“How are you still?”  Arthur mimicked and Merlin tried to bat him away.  Instead Arthur licked his ear in revenge and Merlin went limp. 

“Seriously?”  He whispered. 

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”  Arthur scowled and Merlin groaned.

“No. You’re not.  But I really wish you were.  One of us needs to have some sense here and usually that’s me.”

Arthur grunted, irritated and brought his hands up to you with Merlin’s nipples.  He let out a shocked sound and Arthur’s grin grew shark-like.  He opened his mouth when another knock came at the door.  The jumped apart, Merlin falling backwards over the hem of the dress with Arthur scrambling to catch him.  He was still gripping Merlin’s for arm, half hidden behind the screen. 

“Just a moment!”  He shouted, louder than necessary and he heard a soft sound behind the door. 

“A message for you from Lady Morgana.  I’ll just-- slide it under the door.”  A folded piece of parchment slid under with an ominous scraping sound.  Arthur glanced at Merlin.

“Don’t look at me.  That’s for you.  I don’t get mail,” he said proudly.  Arthur gave him a half-hearted shove, gentle enough that he wouldn’t stagger over the dress again.  As Merlin extricated himself, Arthur opened the envelope. 

He was silent for long enough that Merlin crept back behind him, wrapped in a bedsheet.  He tried to look over Arthur’s shoulder but the angle was wrong.  Arthur cleared his throat.  He read,

“I don’t want it back.  --Morgana”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“I think she means you,” Arthur declared stoically.