Chapter Text
Arthur was being an arse— a truly unbearable, moody one.
So when Merlin had lost two tunics to wine, almost been hit by a dinner knife that came flying across Arthur’s chambers, and been threatened with being sacked for the third time that week, he resorted to Gaius.
“Bloody idiot,” Merlin said, barging into Gaius’s chambers.
The dim light of the candles barely illuminated the old man’s face, but Merlin could make out an arched eyebrow raised in silent judgment.
“You have to help me, Gaius. I can’t put up with him anymore. I thought his prat phase was gone, but I fear what’s gone is my patience.”
He dropped into the chair beside Gaius, who was still watching him like this was just another day of Arthur and Merlin behaving like an old married couple —
because it was.
“Where are my shoes, Merlin? Where is my food, Merlin? Do this, Merlin, do that, Merlin. Prepare my horse, Merlin, bathe me Mer—” He paused for a moment, realizing he didn’t entirely mind that last one, so perhaps it wasn’t worth complaining about.
“Anyway, why aren’t you saying something?”
“Well, I thought you were quite enjoying talking about how much you hate His Majesty.”
Gaius knew that wasn’t true. Merlin didn’t hate Arthur — far from it, actually.
“He’s tired from the never-ending council meetings and is preparing to host the tournament next fall. It’s his first time hosting one since Uther’s death… he must be exhausted." The old man said.
Gaius had a way of making Merlin feel like a fool.
It had been almost two years since they buried the last king, and although Arthur didn’t show it, Merlin knew his friend was struggling.
More than once, Merlin had caught the light still burning beneath Arthur’s door when the castle was otherwise dark and seen him awake before even the cook could light the fire to begin making breakfast.
It didn’t help that he was being pressured by the court to find a wife, to ensure the Pendragon line was preserved, or something like that..
Merlin didn’t really like to dwell on it. He knew that one day Arthur would marry, and the thought made him far angrier than he realized.
So again, he stopped thinking about it.
“I know, I’m just…" Merlin was tearing at his cuticles under the table. He had never really done that, not even as a kid — well, it seemed like it was becoming a habit.
"Just tired and a little helpless here. I don’t know how to help him. Sometimes it seems like he’s stuck in his own head and I can’t get him out.”
Gaius let out a quiet sigh, turning back to his workbench.
“If you’re quite finished complaining,” he said, “there may be something that can help.”
That got Merlin’s attention immediately.
“What, like knocking him unconscious?” Merlin muttered.
“I already thought of that, but I didn’t really want to go to the stocks this week.”
Gaius shot him a look. “Nothing quite so drastic. A calming draught. It should help him rest.”
Merlin straightened a little. “Oh, how did I forget this was an option?”
Gaius frowned, as if he knew the answer to that, but said nothing and got up, moving toward one of the overcrowded shelves. He gestured vaguely to a stack of worn books piled far too high.
“There’s a text there — third pile from the left. Look for Restorative Elixirs.”
Merlin followed his gaze, frowning. “That’s not a pile, that’s a disaster.”
“Yes, well,” Gaius muttered, “it’s an organized disaster.”
He began gathering a few things from the shelf. “The instructions are simple enough. Nothing you can’t manage, if you actually read them properly.”
Merlin scoffed. “I always read them properly.”
Gaius gave him a look that said otherwise.
“I need to fetch more valerian,” he added, heading for the door.
“Don’t start without the book, Merlin.”
The door shut behind him.
Merlin turned back, eyeing the precarious stacks.
“Third pile from the left,” he muttered, nudging one of them carefully.
A book slipped sideways, nearly taking the rest with it. He caught it just in time, scowling. “Brilliant.”
He began pulling titles at random, squinting at faded lettering.
“Restorative—restor—”
He paused, grabbing one. “Close enough.”
The cover was worn, but nonetheless detailed, quite different from the others. He traced his fingers over the carved lines, forming graceful patterns.
Merlin flipped it open, already skimming. He turned the pages one by one, the ink smudged with age.
Until he found what he was looking for — kind of.
It was in an ancient language, nothing that Gaius hadn’t taught him before, but it looked complicated. More complicated than Gaius had implied.
Merlin hesitated for half a second.
Then he shrugged. “How different can it be?"
–
Merlin hadn’t expected it to take that long.
Or require that many ingredients.
Or, frankly, for half of them to come from his hidden stash — which, in hindsight, should probably have been his first warning.
Still, the result sat warm in his hands, the liquid inside the vial catching the light in a way that felt… promising.
Ancient, yes. Complicated, certainly. But powerful. The kind of potion that didn’t just calm the mind, but eased the body too — something deeper than Gaius had originally suggested.
Merlin allowed himself a small, satisfied nod.
Arthur was going to sleep tonight, whether he liked it or not.
Arthur didn’t look up when Merlin entered his chambers. Merlin didn’t knock — they were long past that.
“You’re late.”
Merlin shut the door a little harder than necessary. “You’re insufferable.”
“Then leave.”
Merlin blinked. “Charming.”
Arthur finally glanced up, irritation plain on his face. “If you’re here to complain, do it quickly. I haven’t the patience tonight.”
Merlin’s jaw tightened, but he stepped forward anyway. “Actually, I brought you something.”
“That alone makes me concerned.” Arthur’s eyes flicked to the vial in his hand, narrowing immediately. “I’m not drinking that.”
“It’s a potion,” Merlin said, holding it out. “For sleep. For rest. Proper rest — the kind you clearly haven’t been getting.” the last part came out almost as a whisper.
“Not drinking it,” he said simply, returning his head to the paperwork on his table.
“You don’t even know if it's—”
“I know you made it,” Arthur cut in. “That’s enough.”
Merlin scoffed. “You trust me to look after you, don’t you?”
“That is a gross overstatement of your duties,” Arthur shot back. “This could kill me in my sleep and I’d never know.”
“It’s not going to kill you.”
“You don’t know that.”
Merlin sighed — he knew Arthur didn’t actually think the potion would kill him; he was just being unbearably stubborn, as he had been for weeks.
Arthur caught the pause immediately. “…Right,” he said slowly. “That’s reassuring.”
“You’re the one complaining about being tired,” Merlin said.
“I’m not complaining.”
“Sure, then. I’m complaining.”
Arthur glared at him.
Merlin held the vial out again. “Just drink it. If it works, you sleep. If it doesn’t, you can sack me in the morning. Everyone wins.”
Arthur grabbed the vial out of his hand, clearly beyond annoyed. “If I drink this, will you get out of my sight?”
“Gladly.”
He drank the potion in one go, making a face at the taste — Merlin was quite satisfied that his king suffered through the flavor… and that he’d finally drunk it, of course.
“Now, get out.” Arthur returned the empty vial to Merlin’s hand, who was already heading to the door as soon as he took it.
“Good night, sire.” He only heard a hum in response as he closed the door behind him.
Later that night, Merlin checked Arthur’s room again. The candlelight still illuminated the corridor through the crack beneath the door.
“Guess I’m losing my job tomorrow.” he shrugged.
—
Merlin woke later than usual. No Arthur shouting his name.
That, in itself, should have been his second warning.
Gaius was up, grinding herbs at the workbench when Merlin stumbled into the main room, still half-asleep.
“You’re late,” Gaius noted without looking up.
“So I’ve been told,” Merlin said, dragging a hand through his hair. He paused, then added, as an afterthought, “I gave Arthur the potion.”
“And?”
Merlin shrugged, reaching for a cup. “I don’t think it worked.”
Gaius frowned. “You followed the instructions?”
“Of course I did.”
A look. Gaius sighed.
It didn’t work. Or so Merlin thought.
He knew something was wrong the moment he entered Arthur’s chambers.
“Hello, Merlin!”
What?
Arthur’s voice carried through the open door — bright. Far too bright.
Merlin froze for half a second, frowning, before stepping inside and pushing the door closed behind him.
The curtains were open, the sunlight bathing the wood floor, and lazily catching Arthur’s hair.
He was already awake. That wasn’t unusual.
But he wasn’t just awake — he was alert. Sitting at the table, sleeves half-rolled, hair slightly disheveled, but otherwise looking… well-rested.
Suspiciously so.
“You’re early,” Arthur said easily.
Merlin blinked, he was late. “You’re… fine.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Merlin. I’m fine.”
Merlin stepped further into the room, eyes narrowing.
“You slept?” he asked.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, stretching in a way that looked almost indulgent. “Exceptionally well, actually.”
That was enough to make Merlin uneasy.
Arthur never said things like that.
“…Right,” Merlin said slowly. “And you feel… normal?”
Arthur tilted his head, considering.
Then he smiled. It was wrong.
Not unsettling, exactly — just too easy, too unguarded.
“I feel excellent.”
Merlin’s stomach dropped. “Oh no.”
Arthur stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing them. “In fact, I don’t remember the last time I felt this good.”
“That’s—” Merlin swallowed. “That’s good. That’s exactly what we wanted.”
Arthur’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp now — but still bright, almost amused. “We?”
Merlin faltered. “Yes, we— I mean, I wanted. The potion.” He hadn’t meant to sound that nervous.
Arthur crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping far too close.
“Oh yes,” he said, absently. “I’d nearly forgotten about the potion.”
Merlin instinctively took half a step back.
“Yes. For sleep. Which—clearly—worked.”
Arthur hummed, looking at him in a way that made Merlin suddenly, acutely aware of the distance between them.
Or lack of it.
He could smell Arthur's scent — he tried not to think about it.
Then, just as suddenly, Arthur stepped back.
Merlin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Maybe that was it.
Maybe it wouldn’t get any worse.
But soon enough, Merlin would learn that it would, in fact, get worse — much, much worse. The day followed with a series of little “incidents,” as Merlin called them.
Incident number one:
“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said after Merlin served his breakfast.
Merlin stopped mid-step.
“…What?”
Arthur looked up, faintly amused. “You heard me.”
Merlin stared at him for a second too long.
“…Right,” he muttered, turning away quickly.
Arthur never, ever, said thank you — much less in that pleasant tone.
What was happening?
Incident number two:
Merlin was finishing clearing away the remains of Arthur’s breakfast when Arthur suddenly stopped him on his way out.
“Wait.”
Merlin turned — and Arthur reached out, catching his wrist.
Not unusual. The way he kept holding it was.
Arthur’s thumb shifted slightly, pressing against his pulse as if he were feeling it.
Merlin’s breath stuttered.
“…Sire?”
Arthur’s gaze flicked down briefly. Then back up.
“You’re in a hurry,” he said.
Merlin blinked. “I— what?”
Arthur let go.
“Nothing.”
Merlin left faster than he meant to.
Incident number three:
Arthur watched him during lunch.
Not casually. Not distracted. Just… watching.
Merlin tried to ignore it.
He failed. “What?” he snapped eventually.
Arthur didn’t look away, his hair falling messily onto his forehead after his morning training.
“You’re doing that again,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“That.” Arthur gestured vaguely. “With your mouth.”
Merlin froze. He hadn’t noticed he was nibbling at his lower lip — something he tended to do when he was thinking.
“…I—”
Arthur smiled, small and knowing. “You do this ever since I’ve known you.”
Merlin looked down immediately, suddenly very aware of his own face.
He didn’t ask what that meant.
He didn’t want to know.
Incident number four:
Merlin was helping Arthur out of his training gear when Arthur reached out again, this time to fix Merlin’s collar.
It was unnecessary.
Merlin knew it. Arthur knew it.
Still, Arthur’s fingers lingered a second too long at his throat.
“Stand still,” Arthur murmured.
Merlin did. That was the problem.
His pulse jumped under Arthur’s touch.
Arthur’s gaze dropped to his neck, as if he noticed, then lifted to his face again. There was something in his eyes — Merlin wasn’t quite sure what.
Merlin exhaled slowly. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Arthur’s lips twitched.
“Doing what?”
Merlin didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
So he pulled away before he lost it. Lost what? He didn't know.
“I’m going to—hm—help Gwen collect some things for Gaius.” He wasn’t.
He just needed to get away from… whatever this was. His heart wasn’t going to survive if it went any further.
He left before Arthur could argue.
Incident number five:
By late afternoon, it wasn’t subtle anymore.
Arthur called him over — not loudly, not impatiently.
Just: “Merlin.”
Merlin went. Of course he did.
Arthur didn’t speak right away when he got there. He just looked at him. Too long. Too openly.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Arthur said.
Merlin huffed. “I’ve been working.” — He had been avoiding him.
Arthur stepped closer. “You’re lying.”
Merlin’s breath caught. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Closer again.
Merlin didn’t move. He should have.
“That’s not fair,” Merlin said, quieter now.
Arthur’s expression softened — and he smiled, warm and fond.
“Isn’t it?”
Beautiful. So, so beautiful.
Merlin felt his heart melt.
He looked away first. He always did.
Always when Arthur’s eyes lingered too long on his own, or when Arthur was smiling brightly at him.
“I’m going to make sure they’re preparing supper. You know, they’ve been kind of late these past few days — wouldn’t want to let the king starve,” he said, trying a grin, and tripping as he rushed through the doorway.
He was going mad...
–
And, after all this innocent incidents, Merlin should have stayed in his room.
He knew that.
He knew it the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, knew it when the castle grew quiet, knew it when his thoughts refused to settle.
He had already sent someone to tend to Arthur’s supper and his bath, claiming he needed to help Gaius.
And yet—
His feet carried him to Arthur’s chambers anyway. “Just to check on him.” Merlin muttered under his breath, like that made any difference.
He didn’t knock.
He never did.
The door creaked open under his hand.
Arthur was awake — of course.
Leaning back in his chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent, as if he had been waiting.
His head tilted slightly when he saw Merlin.
“There you are.”
Merlin stopped just inside the doorway. Something in his chest tightened.
“You’re not asleep,” he said, stating the obvious.
Arthur huffed softly. “Astute as ever.”
Merlin didn’t move further in. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I did,” Arthur said easily. “More than enough.”
Merlin shifted his weight. “Right. Well. If you don't need anything, then I’ll just—”
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice wasn’t sharp, it was too calm.
He froze.
Merlin turned back slowly.
Arthur was watching him again, that same look from earlier — open, intent, too much.
“…Yes, sire?”
Arthur stood. Slowly this time.
“Come here.”
Merlin didn’t.
“…Why?”
Arthur’s mouth twitched, like he found that amusing. “Why do you always question direct orders?”
“It’s one of my best qualities.” Merlin said immediately.
Arthur took a step forward.
Then another.
Merlin held his ground—
—until Arthur was close enough that stepping back would be obvious.
So he didn’t.
“…You’ve been avoiding me all day,” Arthur said.
Merlin swallowed. “I’ve been working.”
“That again.”
Arthur was close now. Closer than before.
Merlin could feel it — the heat, the presence, the way it filled the space.
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Merlin tried again.
Arthur didn’t look convinced.
“You left,” he said. “Every time.”
“That’s because you were being—”
Merlin stopped himself.
“Being what?” Arthur prompted, softer now, looking at him with eyes full of… Merlin couldn’t name it.
Merlin exhaled sharply. “Strange.” Arthur was being nearly sweet — like he sometimes was in Merlin’s dreams. Merlin didn’t say that.
Arthur tilted his head.
“And that bothers you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Merlin opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Arthur stepped closer.
That did not help.
“…Because it’s not you,” Merlin said finally, quieter.
Arthur’s expression shifted — not offended, not angry. Something else.
“And what do you think it is?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Probably the potion,” Merlin admitted.
That was the worst part, he knew it was the potion, and that — if he was being honest with himself — hurt more than he was letting it show.
Arthur studied him for a moment longer. Like he saw the hurt in there.
Then—
He reached out.
Merlin didn’t move.
Arthur’s hand came up, fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve first, then higher — slow enough that Merlin could have pulled away.
He didn’t.
Arthur’s hand settled at his shoulder.
Firm.
Warm.
Real.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s voice felt stuck somewhere in his throat. “Which one?”
“Why it bothers you.”
Merlin laughed weakly. “I did answer.”
“No,” Arthur said quietly. “You didn’t.”
His thumb shifted slightly, just enough to draw Merlin’s attention to the contact.
Merlin’s heart was racing again. Too fast.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Merlin said, trying for annoyed, hitting weak instead.
Arthur’s lips curved faintly. “What thing?”
Merlin gestured vaguely between them. “This.”
Arthur didn’t move his hand.
“If it bothers you,” he said, “you could step away.”
Merlin didn’t.
Arthur noticed. "Right,” he murmured.
Merlin’s breath caught. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
Merlin didn’t have an answer.
Arthur stepped closer. There was barely any space left now.
This was a mistake. A terrible, irreversible mistake.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, and it came out more like a warning than a name.
Arthur’s gaze flicked to his mouth.
Merlin felt it.
God, he felt it.
“You should go to sleep,” Merlin said quickly.
Arthur didn’t move.
“You should stop telling your King what to do,” he replied just as softly.
Merlin swallowed. “I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Merlin could leave, the door was still open behind him. He knew he could, and should leave.
Instead—
“…This is a bad idea,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Arthur’s expression didn’t change.
“Then why aren’t you stopping it?”
Merlin had no answer for that either.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Arthur did.
It wasn’t sudden. Nor was it rushed.
If anything, it was — deliberate.
His hand shifted from Merlin’s shoulder, sliding up just enough to catch at the fabric near his collar, steadying him there. Not pulling, not forcing.
Just… keeping him in place.
Merlin’s breath hitched.
“Arthur—”
Arthur closed the distance.
The first touch was brief.
Almost nothing.
A brush of lips, testing — like he expected Merlin to pull away.
Merlin didn’t.
That was all it took.
Arthur’s hand tightened slightly, and the next kiss wasn’t hesitant.
Still not rough — but sure, intentional.
Merlin felt it all at once — the warmth, the pressure, the way Arthur leaned in just enough to make it impossible to pretend this was accidental.
For a split second, his mind went completely blank.
Then everything came rushing back at once.
This is wrong.
This is Arthur.
This is — Perfect
Merlin made a small, involuntary sound against his lips.
Arthur paused.
No..
But stayed close enough that Merlin could still feel his breath.
That should have been the moment to stop. Merlin exhaled shakily — and didn’t move away.
Something shifted in Arthur’s expression — something quieter, but no less intense.
“Still a bad idea?” he murmured.
Merlin swallowed.
“…Yes.”
Arthur didn’t step back.
“Then why—”
Merlin didn’t let him finish.
This time, it was him who closed the gap.
It wasn’t careful.
It wasn’t measured.
It was everything he had been holding back all day — all these years — breaking at once.
Arthur made a low, surprised sound, but it didn’t last long before he responded in kind, his hand dropping from Merlin’s blouse, grip firming on the back of his neck, pulling him just slightly closer.
To hell with it.
Merlin’s hand came up without thinking, catching at Arthur’s arms, grounding himself in something solid because otherwise—
Otherwise he might actually lose his balance, his ground, his mind.
He felt almost drunk from it, with the feeling of Arthur's mouth against his, with the wet and hot touch of Arthur’s tongue against his own.
He let out a little, almost nonexistent moan.
Arthur felt it, his other hand found Merlin’s waist, steady and warm, like he had every right to be there.
Like this was normal.
Like this wasn’t completely, utterly impossible.
Merlin’s thoughts blurred at the edges.
Something was wrong. This feeling was too… inebriating.
He always knew he would feel like that if Arthur so much as touched him, but this was something else—this was, almost as if…
The Potio–
Arthur nibbled at Merlin’s lower lip. Pulling him closer with his hand.
Too close
Too much.
Not enough.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t clean, it lingered — breath shared, foreheads nearly touching.
Merlin didn’t open his eyes immediately.
He didn’t want to see it.
Didn’t want to see whatever this was. Reflected back at him.
“…That,” Arthur said quietly, a little breathless, “Didn’t feel like something you wanted to stop.”
Merlin let out a shaky breath.
“No,” he admitted.
And that—
That was worse than anything else that had happened that day.
Because now he couldn’t pretend it was just the potion.
Arthur closed the door behind them.