ohmycrim:Arthur, who had been looking out to sea, crossed over and stoodbehind Merlin, so close th

ohmycrim:Arthur, who had been looking out to sea, crossed over and stood behind Merlin, so close that Merlin almost thought he was going to lean forward and hug him.“Do you feel like you’re king of the world now?” he asked, laughing against Merlin’s ear, and Merlin leaned back into the warmth of it for a moment and let himself relax.“I feel like Peter Pan,” he said instead. “Like, if I could just think of something happy enough, I could fly up into the air and go whizzing off to Neverland, to fight pirates and annoy mermaids.”“Second star to the right, and straight on till morning,” said Arthur, ruffling his hair and stepping back out of his personal space.“What’s it like?” Merlin asked, as he hunkered down and opened his rucksack,extracting his pillow with some difficulty and dragging out the bundle of blankets.“What, Neverland?” Merlin couldn’t see Arthur’s face clearly by moonlight, but his tone spoke volumes.“No, you nitwit,” said Merlin. “Flying, of course. Defying gravity.”Arthur stopped what he was doing. “Are you telling me you’ve never flown?” he asked, sounding astonished. “But that can’t be right. How can you possibly not have flown anywhere?”“Easy,” said Merlin, dryly. “I’m poor. Not holiday-in-Torremolinos poor; holiday-in-a-borrowed-caravan-in-Prestatyn poor.”“Oh!” Arthur sounded pole-axed.“Hey, don’t get me wrong – it was a lovely caravan, and we had some brilliant holidays in it. Belonged to our neighbours. But – not everyone goes jetting off to the Alps for the weekend, or spends Christmas in Bermuda.”“We don’t spend Christmas in Bermuda! The King’s speech…” began Arthur, sounding flustered and defensive.“I know! I know, I was just – it was just an example. It’s okay!”“I can’t believe you’ve never flown before!” Arthur went back to unpacking his makeshift camping gear, but he sounded really shocked.“So – what’s it like?”“Well, it’s – it’s being free,” said Arthur, after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. “And in control, and untethered. Piloting a plane, I mean. Lots to look at and think about, of course, but still – it’s like driving, but better. God, it’s so much better than driving…” His voice faded away for a moment, and then he straightened his back. “I’ll take you,” he said. “On Sunday.” As the days got shorter, Arthur had gradually shifted his weekly visits to Leuchars from Monday evening to early Sunday afternoon, when he could still enjoy decent light. “Come with me on Sunday, and I’ll take you up in Excalibur, and you can see for yourself.”Merlin’s jaw dropped. “No, I – sorry, I wasn’t angling for any favours,” he said, suddenly mortified. “I didn’t mean…”“I know you didn’t, you ass. But come with me anyway? You’ll love it. There’s plenty of space in the plane. Say yes?”“Well – I – well, okay then – yes,” Merlin said, awkward and pleased. “Um. Thank you?”He finished setting up his painfully inadequate bedding on the cold, hard stone and lay down on it, fully dressed, scarf and gloves and beanie and coat and gown at all. Arthur had set his own blankets and pillow out in the inadequate shelter of the wall, and lain down too. For a long moment they both stared up at the sky, and although it was frigid as hell, there was something truly wonderful about lying there under the stars in this secret place, listening to the roar of the sea.“Jesus, it’s fucking freezing,” said Arthur, after a few minutes, sounding chastened, and Merlin laughed out loud. “If you say ‘I told you so’, Merlin, I’m going to throw you off the top of the tower.”“Okay,” said Merlin, grinning even as he shivered. “I’ll just lie here thinking it, shall I?”They both stared up at the stars for several minutes, and it occurred to Merlin that he didn’t have to be freezing his arse off like this; he was a wizard, for crying out loud! He thought for a moment, and reached out to make the molecules vibrate a little more. Hello there, heat energy! In a very short time he was feeling pleasantly toasty in his magically heated blanket, but he could hear Arthur shifting uncomfortably a few feet away, tugging his blanket closer about him.“Bloody hell,” Arthur said at last, half-laughing at himself. “I think my arse has frozen solid. And my toes are numb. Crikey. This stone really is pretty damned chilly, isn’t it?”“Can I say ‘I told you so’ yet?” asked Merlin.“Only if you want to put your Peter Pan skills to the test when I throw you over that wall,” Arthur said. “God, I wish I’d thought to bring some whisky. Whisky would have been an excellent idea. Damn it.”Merlin smiled hugely in the dark. “Mmm,” he said. “So, just out of curiosity, what would you give for a wee dram of Glayva right now? Hypothetically speaking? I mean, I know it’s more of a liqueur than a whisky, but…?”There was a rather pregnant silence, and then Arthur was sitting up and staring over at Merlin’s shadowy form in the moonlight.“Are you pulling my leg?”“I’m not pulling your anything,” said Merlin. More’s the pity. “I’m just asking, in the spirit of inquiry, what the going rate would be. A knighthood, perhaps? A Caribbean cruise? A Terry’s Chocolate Orange?”“Merlin, if you have a bottle of Glayva somewhere about your person and you’re holding out on me, I shall have you declared a traitor to your prince, and exiled from Wales.”“I’m already exiled from Wales, pretty much.”“Permanently! And from Scotland, and England, and Northern Ireland too! I’ll have you deported to Canada, to work as Celine Dion’s cabana boy.”“Oh, well now you’re definitely not getting any,” said Merlin. “God, what even is a cabana boy when it’s at home?”“I think it involves being shirtless and making cocktails,” said Arthur, vaguely. “There may also be some moose-wrangling duties, in Canada. Possibly.”“There’s a beaver joke in there somewhere, I just know it,” Merlin said.“Yes, well, luckily Kay isn’t here with us this evening, so I expect we won’t have to hear it,” snapped Arthur. “Glayva! Now! Stop being such a wretched tease!”Merlin was snorting with laughter as he produced the bottle that had been bundled up inside his pillow and several layers of blanket.“What’s the magic word?”“Cabana boy.”“Nope. Nice try, but no whisky.”“Dungeon?”“Still no.”“Merlin, if I have to wrestle it out of your cold dead hand, I will do so.”Merlin couldn’t help thinking about Raisin Monday; he realised, with a sudden flush of shame, that he’d been kind of hoping to provoke Arthur into doing exactly that – had been angling for some more mutually enjoyable grabbing and writhing and wriggling, with plausible deniability provided by the bottle of Glayva. But once he realised what he was doing, he handed the bottle over straight away.“I was just hoping for a ‘please’,” he said, awkwardly, as Arthur’s gloved hands closed over his around the bottle.“Oh,” said Arthur, sounding wrongfooted. “I – well, yes – please, then. And, er, thank you.”He scrabbled at the lid for a few moments, his cold fingers clumsy under their layer of wool, and then managed to twist it off successfully.“Er – sorry,” he said, apparently realising only then that he was basically helping himself to Merlin’s things. “Er – did you want the first taste?”“You’re fine,” said Merlin, fondly. “Although this kind of ruthless pillaging is absolutely bloody typical of you English. But go ahead. Knock yourself out.”“Cheers,” said Arthur. “Slainte Mhor.” He took a deep, appreciative swallow and made a happy humming noise. “God, that’s good. Merlin – look, I’m not being funny, but where the hell did you get a bottle of Glayva? It’s not exactly your usual tipple, is it?”“Gawain,” Merlin admitted. “He thought it might be useful against the chill.”“You told him? About this?” Arthur sounded so thoroughly crestfallen at the thought of this silly Enid Blyton expedition not being their private little secret that Merlin had to work quite hard to remind himself why it really wasn’t a good idea to seize him and snuggle him to death right there.“I didn’t need to,” he said, instead. “He was there, and he heard what Morgana said, and he saw your face. Not a lot gets past Gawain.”“Oh,” said Arthur. “Hmph. Well, still – that was pretty decent of him. Oh! Sorry – here!” he said, evidently realising that he was hogging the bottle. “It’s very good stuff. Put hairs on your chest.”“I don’t want hairs on my chest,” said Merlin, firmly. “My chest is absolutely fine the way it is, thanks.”“Um,” said Arthur, with an audible swallow. “Right. Well – okay. Um.”And if it hadn’t been so bloody cold up there at the top of St Rule’s Tower, Merlin was pretty sure he’d have been flushing to the tips of his ears just then – because he knew, absolutely knew, that Arthur was thinking about what Merlin’s chest looked like. That Arthur had taken note, over the past few months, of what Merlin looked like shirtless.God.“Here, give me the damned bottle,” he said, his voice rougher than usual at the thought that while he had been sneakily watching Arthur, Arthur had also been sneakily watching him. Arthur handed him the bottle.“Iechyd da,” he said, wrapping his mouth around the bottle where Arthur’s lips had been only a moment earlier.It was the first time he’d tasted Glayva, and he’d been braced for something like the whisky Morgana had poured from her delicate china teapot into his cup on Raisin Sunday. There were notes that reminded him of that, but it was much thicker and sweeter, like drinking spiced honey and whisky-soaked oranges, with a dash of marzipan. It warmed him through to his toes, like swallowing sunlight.“What would you want to be, if you weren’t the Prince of Wales?” he asked, randomly.“A fireman,” Arthur said, without hesitating, and Merlin choked with laughter at his promptness.“What’s funny about that?” Arthur demanded, sounding rather cross. “Don’t laugh!”“Nothing! Nothing, really. It’s just – it’s such a little kid kind of answer.”“Well, it’s my answer,” Arthur said, with dignity. “A fireman, or maybe a fighter pilot, or – oh, just something clean. Something honest. Something where what you do matters, not who you are. Where you can make an immediate difference to people’s lives. Save people’s lives. ” He sighed. “Not just smiling and waving and smiling and waving and being a good will ambassador. I’m not – to be honest, diplomacy isn’t really my best thing.”“You don’t say?” said Merlin, dryly, and Arthur reached over and tweaked his ear. “Ow! Oi!”“Don’t take the piss, you piss-taker!” Arthur protested. “I’m being serious! I mean – look, it used to be that strength and courage and, and decency actually counted for something if you were going to be a king. When they were allowed to go out in front and lead the army alongside their men, with a great big banner proclaiming who they were and making them a target, and basically saying ‘Bring it on, you bastards!’ These days…well, one’s still allowed to do a stint in the forces, but one’s supposed to stay out of the line of fire. Especially if one’s heir to the throne and an only child. The politicians have all the real power now – for us all that’s left is diplomacy, and shaking hands, and saying “And what do you do?” and “Did you come far?” And it’s bollocks!”There was a shocked pause, as if Arthur couldn’t quite believe he’d just said that, and Merlin wordlessly passed him the Glayva again. “I mean – well, no, of course it’s not bollocks,” he said, gruffly a moment later, sounding embarrassed. “I know that we get things done. Sometimes. But – but my father isn’t a leader.” His voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper, as if he were afraid of being overheard even here, at the top of an ancient tower in the middle of the night. “He’s a figurehead, really. A face for coins and stamps, and a diplomatic tool – but all the really big decisions are made by the Prime Minister and the Cabinet.”“Well,” said Merlin, feeling out of his depth. “They are democratically elected by the people, you know.”“I know! I know, and that’s good – I think that’s the right thing, really. But – what’s the bloody point, then? Really? What’s the point of being raised to rule, and accepting that one has great responsibility and duty and that one has to be – constrained – all in exchange for the privilege and the power? When really – oh, I’m sorry. I’m being maudlin.” He swallowed audibly. “But – oh, look, I just feel like there are other people who could be better at smiling and waving and saying the right thing. And like there are other things I could do, and do better. Maybe.”There was a sheepish silence at the top of the Tower, while the waves continued their soft, grating roar and the wind whistled overhead.“Oh, Arthur,” said Merlin at last, sadly, not knowing what else to say. He bit his lip, and then said: “I think you’ll be a brilliant king. But I see what you mean. And I think you’d have been a brilliant fireman too, or a fighter pilot, or, well, anything where being brave and decisive and having good reflexes count for something. Not an office job, probably, but something hands-on – well, you’d be great.”“So what about you,”Arthur asked, his voice a little uneven. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”“Happy,” said Merlin, after a moment. “And useful.” Because he couldn’t really say: ‘A proper wizard, who knows what he’s doing.’“Useful?” repeated Arthur, doubtfully. “Bloody hell, that’s pushing your luck a bit.”“Oi! You can talk, Mr Figurehead-in-waiting!”“Talking is indeed just one of my many skills,” Arthur agreed, loftily. “I can also walk and chew gum. And smile and wave.”“The world is your mollusc.”“True.” Arthur shivered, and he gave a short, rueful laugh. “I tell you what, though – alcohol or not, it’s still a pretty bloody cold mollusc.”“Oh, God – come here, you ass,” he said, half-reluctant and half-delighted, giving in to the inevitable.“What?” Arthur sounded very slightly panicked.“Sharing bodyheat is a tried and tested way of not freezing one’s idiotic arse to death, when insane enough to go playing at Adventure Training in the dead of winter. Honestly, this is the same school of reckless bravado that sent Scott to the Antarctic with a few wooly jumpers, some figgy pudding and a couple of horses. You Englishmen are off your bloody heads, you know that?”“I’m fine,” said Arthur, but his teeth were chattering.“You’re a stubborn idiot is what you are,” said Merlin, scrambling to his feet and clutching at his pillow and blanket. “And you’re freezing – we both are.” Not entirely true, that, but Merlin suspected Arthur would be more likely to co-operate in being looked after himself if he thought that Merlin needed protecting from the elements too. “If I let the Prince of Wales die of cold, I’m pretty sure I’ll be looking at life as a Canadian cabana boy. Or imprisonment in the Tower of London. Either way – badness. And that’s assuming I don’t just freeze to death along side you in the middle of the stupidest adventure ever.”“It’s not a stupid adventure,” said Arthur, defensively.“Oh, you know it is. But I’m here, aren’t I? Keeping you company and freezing my nuts off just so that you can tell Morgana that anything she can do, you can do better. I brought the whisky and I carried the damned baggage – I think that the very least you can do is help save me from freezing to death. And keep yourself alive and warm in the process. So come over here right the hell now, and we can get one blanket underneath us and one on top – I mean, do you have any idea how much body heat we’re losing into all this stone? Lots. Believe me. I’m a physicist. The technical term is lots.”“My God, are you always this bossy when you’re cold?” asked Arthur, sounding slightly dazed.“No, sometimes I’m this bossy in less bollock-freezing situations,” said Merlin, standing up. “Now get your royal arse over here right now, and let me share your damned blanket. I promise not to take advantage of you.”It gave him a prickly little rush of excitement to say that, and he heard Arthur draw a sharp breath at the words, but there was no denying that this was the only sensible, practical course of action. And Merlin could keep their blankets warm enough by magic that they would both be fine, in spite of the spectacular folly of the whole sleeping-in-the-open-in-the-dead-of-winter notion – although admittedly he wasn’t about to tell Arthur that.“God, all right, all right,” said Arthur. “Keep your hair on.” He got stiffly to his feet and let Merlin spread out the magically heated blanket on the cold stone in the most sheltered corner, and set their pillows together. Merlin pushed out with the molten warmth of his magic and filled the tower with the stone-stored heat of the summer sun. He felt the Murdered Monk flicker into startled wakefulness down in the coiling spiral staircase, like a snail poking cautious horns out of its protective shell, and he soothed the old ghost with a gentle touch, like stroking a drowsy cat, and felt him retreat again.“Come on, then,” said Merlin, indicating the spot closest to the wall, where it would be warmest. “What are you waiting for? A gilt-edged invitation?”“I’m not really sure that I approve of you bossing me around, Merlin,” said Arthur, stepping gingerly over to the spot where Merlin was pointing and clutching his blanket awkwardly. He lay down, and made an astonished little sound at the discovery that the stones were warm. “Bloody hell!” he said. “The weirdest thing! It’s actually hot here!”“Why do you think I chose that spot?” asked Merlin, cheerfully dishonest. “All to do with molecular energy, heat conduction, surface temperatures – Physics stuff, not your cup of Darjeeling.”“That’s – that’s extraordinary,” said Arthur, sounding quite flabbergasted.“You see, you need to listen to me more often,” said Merlin, snuggling in next to him and pushing a little pulse of magic out to tickle the molecules that formed the pillows and Arthur’s blanket, feeling them warming stealthily as they settled into place. After a bit of awkwardness they found a fairly comfortable position with Merlin’s spine pressed to Arthur’s chest and Arthur’s arm around Merlin’s waist. This was, in Merlin’s opinion, pushing plausible deniability to its uttermost limits – but so long as they both went on acting like this was all good, normal, platonic behaviour they could probably keep it from getting any more incriminating. And he couldn’t help wondering whether it was what Arthur had had in mind all along. Perhaps not – but Merlin remembered Arthur darting over to sit by his side in the Matchmakers game, and he had come to the conclusion that Arthur Pendragon was a pretty sneaky strategist, when he needed to be.“It is a bit of a stupid adventure,” Arthur admitted, his breath brushing warm against the nape of Merlin’s neck. “But it’s nice getting away for once. From everyone.”“You didn’t get away from everyone,” Merlin said, shaking with laughter. “You brought me along! I’m part of ‘everyone’, you great numpty!”“No,” said Arthur, quietly, and his arm tightened around Merlin’s waist. “No, you’re not.”Merlin swallowed. “Oh,” he said, staring unseeing over at the moonlit stones across from them. “Oh.”And it was really quite difficult, just then, to resist the impulse to turn around in Arthur’s arms and find out if his lips tasted of Glayva. But Merlin managed. Just. BELLA THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.i would come up with fics to go with my edits but i can never keep them short :c -- source link

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