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As much (or rather, as little) as Merlin liked serving Arthur, he knew it was for a purpose. He knew that there was an important reason behind it, that their futures were intertwined, that they needed to be close and work together. That one day, Arthur was to become king, and Merlin was to make sure that he would be there. He knew that it was for the good of the kingdom, for the good of the people.
It just didn’t mean that he had to like it.
“Did you actually get this cleaned, Merlin, or did you just waft it about in some flowers to make it smell better?”
Like right then. Right then, Arthur was getting ready for the day, and knowing that he had multiple duties (obviously set for him by his father), Merlin had basically been told (by Arthur) to make sure the Prince looked presentable and comfortable and not like he had practically just rolled out of bed and remembered he had duties for the day.
Because Arthur never did that.
Not at all.
At Arthur’s question, Merlin offered him a smile. “I made sure it got washed specially for you, Arthur.”
Arthur stared at him for one, two, three seconds, before scoffing. “It would do to get better at lying, Merlin,” he finally said, turning away before Merlin could try and come up with any sort of retort. Even when Merlin scoffed and spluttered indignantly, trying to come up with something to say, he ignored him, straightening his shirt. “Look at this. It’s still filthy. You did a terrible job with this. Find something else for me.”
As Arthur turned back to face him, Merlin looked him up and down, his brows furrowing. “I think that looks fine.”
“It’s filthy.”
“There isn’t even a speck of dirt on it.”
“You only say that because you’re not the one who has to wear it.”
Merlin let out what was coming very close to being a long-suffering sigh, and held his tongue long enough to actually think of something that wouldn’t end with Arthur kicking him out of his room for mouthing off at him. “Alright, fine.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Fine’?”
“Fine.” Merlin took a step closer, looking over the shirt that Arthur was wearing. “It’s clean. But I’ll go over it again to make sure it's to your liking,” he lifted his gaze to meet Arthur’s, “sire.”
Merlin felt the shift in the room as he stepped closer to take a better look at Arthur’s shirt, his eyes peering closely at the fabric for any and all imperfections. Any dirt, any crease, anything that could make the Crown Prince look any less than the… “perfect” young man that he was.
Not that that would be Merlin’s description of him. No, not at all.
That was just what he’d heard around the palace.
He tried very hard to ignore the way he knew Arthur was watching him, his eyes keenly making sure that Merlin checked every spot thoroughly. If he didn’t know better, he would say that Arthur’s gaze left his skin hot wherever he looked, and Merlin resisted the urge to look up and meet his eyes. Because he knew that Arthur would say something if he looked him in the eyes.
And then he spotted a speck of dust on Arthur’s shoulder — it wasn’t a large or significant bit of dust, but he also knew that if anyone else spotted it then Arthur would never shut up about it, so he reached out and pinched the piece of dust, picking it off his shirt and flicking it away, before using his free hand to gently brush down the part of the shirt he’d picked at, smoothing it down. His hand lingered, brushing over a few more times, almost as though he didn’t want to stop—
Arthur caught his wrist, stopping him. His grip was firm, but not tight, and as soon as he did hold on, Merlin’s eyes moved up to meet his.
The intensity in Arthur’s gaze made him weak at the knees.
“That’s enough,” Arthur said softly, and for a moment Merlin thought that something was going to happen. He thought that they were moving closer together, that he was being drawn in, that he could feel Arthur’s breath hitting his lips—
And then Arthur let go, and Merlin was pulling away, and they were clearing their throats and pretending that nothing had happened.
“Your shirt is clean.”
“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur straightened his shirt, brushing down the front of his shirt and then straightening it before giving a quick nod. “Right, I’ll be off.”
“Of course.” Merlin watched as Arthur finished grabbing the rest of his things before heading for the door, heading straight out for his first duty of the day and shutting the door behind him. Merlin stood there, feeling a little helpless as he tried to remember what he needed to get done, what needed tidying and sorting out before the maids came around to clean everything.
And then the door opened again, and Arthur poked his head through. He waited until Merlin’s eyes met his own, and the little smile that threatened to grow was pushed down by Arthur’s typical rolled eyes and half-amused grin. “Come on, then, Merlin.”
Merlin’s eyebrows rose. “You want me to come with you?”
“Well I can’t exactly get my own horse ready, can I?”
And yet, Merlin felt as though Arthur’s eyes were saying something else, asking for something else, wanting something else. And just the idea of that was enough to drive Merlin crazy if he focused on it.
So he didn’t. Instead, he smiled at Arthur and followed him out of the room, hesitating for a brief moment to watch Arthur walk ahead of him, giving him instructions, before following him to the rest of their day.