Something Like Sweetness

Previously Posted on AO3
Enjoy this Merthur :)

There are stolen moments, when Arthur feels less like a king, when the weight of the world stops weighing down on him. When Merlin, feels more than a servant to the king, feels like he has a voice.
Both simply feel like two men enjoying the brilliance of life, taking an easy kind of joy in human companionship.
These moments when they close the door to the rest of the world, a quiet second in which they hold each other's gaze for too long. Their hands touch or clasp together in a particular need for comradary.
Merlin finds that sometimes Arthur has a heat to his gaze, but Merlin is too unsure, too wary, to act upon it.
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It's one of those moments they share, in Arthur's chamber, where Merlin sees Arthur's eyes rake over him, unashamed, and Merlin's working on removing his armour, long, pale fingers tripping over the buckle on Arthur's sword belt.
Arthur had just gotten back from the search for a new magical beast reeking havoc on some villagers just inside Camelot's borders.
When Merlin has removed all of Arthur's armour, and left him inside only his breeches and his red tunic, Merlin turns to leave, but Arthur catches his wrist, thumb pressing into the pale skin, seeking the heartbeat he knew he'd find there.
"Wha-" Merlin starts but Arthur cuts him off with a pointed look.
"Please... Merlin." He whispers, voice hoarse and Merlin turns round, meets Arthur's gaze, and isn't surprised to find the heat in his stare.
"Stay." Arthur asks, commanding or questioning, Merlin isn't sure. "Just for a little; I can't sleep."
Merlin sighs, over dramatically, and complains about his regular sleeping patterns and how soft Arthur's bed must be compared to his, and perhaps "prat" fell in as well, but he moves to perch on the edge of the bed anyway.
"So many are dead Merlin." Arthur whispers, moving to sit beside him. "And I can't do anything about it..." He trails off, and it's one of those moments that Melin can see just how much Camelot means to Arthur; how it runs through his body, deeper than any weapon can penetrate.
Merlin sees the sorrow there too, and can feel the burden that they both must bare.
"Arthur," Merlin ventures, catching the drape of his tunic between his fingers. "None of this is your fault."
Arthur simply hangs his head, and Merlin can feel the hot of his breath on his hand.
Merlin can't stand Arthur's sadness, cannot take how it creeps into his own bones, feels it weighing down on him.
"Arthur." Merlin says again, and Arthur looks at him, defeated.
Merlin moves his hand to Arthur's cheek now, relishes in the warmth that he finds there.
"Merlin?" Arthur questions, though he doesn't move away from Merlin's hand.
They are fractions of inches away now, breath mingling somewhere between them.
Unconsciously Merlin leans toward him and Arthur hesitantly goes with him and when their lips meet it isn't what Merlin had expected from Arthur. He goes willingly under Merlin's lips, gentler than he would have thought, and Arthur pulls away far sooner than Merlin would have liked.
"You're dismissed." Arthur mummers soon after, and as Merlin stood up, unsure of himself, Arthur ads, "Get some sleep." With a small sad smile
•
They are in Arthur's chambers again, back from a very important mission that Arthur thinks went perfectly well thank you very much. They had finally, with Merlin's help (though of course Arthur wouldn't know that) defeated the monster that had been killing villagers, and had suffered no more deaths, even after the small skirmish with a few Saxons afterwards.
Arthur is pleased with himself, though his one shoulder is aching from a hit with the flat of a Saxon's sword, and his ribs burn in a certain place, where he knows he had gotten too close to the pommel of Sir Leon's sword during the battle.
Again, Merlin works on removing Arthur's armour, enjoying the warmth of it, how it heated up from being pressed against Arthur's body.
"Arms.." Merlin muttered before pulling Arthur's chain-mail over his head.
There would be a feast that night, in celebration of defeating the beast, and Merlin needed to prepare Arthur in the proper attire.
Neither were too excited though, both enjoyed company of just each other rather than that of the whole of Camelot, and (though neither of them would admit it) they both cared for each other very much.
Arthur falls onto his bed when Merlin finishes with his armour, and sighs.
"No," Merlin says starting to yank him up, "you have a feast to attend to, you royal arse." And Arthur groans remembering.
"Do I have-
"To go? Yes, you are the king." Merlin says offering him a pointed look.
Arthur allows himself to be dragged up, off the bed by his arms, though he offers little help in the task.
When Merlin pulls him up, he can see his eyes hold the same energy as those longs weeks ago.
"Merlin." Arthur mutters, and Merlin is able to feel his body heat even from this far away.
Merlin feels a similar kind of heat curl inside his stomach, and he wonders if Arthur is his personal incinerator. A kind of fire that doesn't die out in rain, or wind.
"Yes?" Merlin asks because he doesn't know what to say, and all Arthur does is creep closer to him, eyes lingering on his face.
Merlin bites his lip in a wary kind of concentration, because he does not want to screw this up.
Once he releases his lower lip, and ventures a glance on Arthur's face, both of Arthur's hands come to rest on either side of Merlin's cheeks, and he presses their foreheads together, gently, closing his eyes.
Merlin goes cross eyed for a moment, trying to see Arthur's face, but quickly gives up, and instead wraps his arms around Arthur's neck.
Arthur pulls Merlin in, moving his hands from his face to rest on the small of Merlin's back, and between his shoulder blades.
He hears Arthur make a small breathy sound, and Merlin can't take it a moment longer, and kisses him square on the mouth, searching to catch that sound.
"Arthur..." Merlin whispers into his mouth, but Arthur doesn't reply, simply pushes closer, mashes their lips harder together.
This, Merlin thinks, is the kind of kiss he would expect from Arthur; demanding, controlling, consuming.
And someone makes a sound as Arthur's hands grapple with the knot on Merlin's neckerchief, because that high pitched whine really could have come from either of them, Merlin thinks.
Then Arthur's kissing his neck, mouthing at the skin as he reveals it, finally tearing off his neckerchief, and Merlin finds himself stuttering at the ceiling, before Arthur tells him to stop gaping like a fish, and help get him out of these damn clothes, because it is after all, his job.
Somehow, they fumble out of the rest of their clothes, and fall into Arthur's bed, a mess of limbs, and pale skin, and Merlin is desperate, crawling unto Arthur's lap, kissing him.
"Please..." Arthur whispers, and Merlin's opening himself up with his fingers until he can't take it a minute longer.
Merlin sinks himself onto Arthur's cock, and feels himself burning up all over, scrabbling for purchase on Arthur's skin.
Both are lost to the rest of the world, at least for a while.

And if Arthur is late to the feast, with a smirk plastered onto his face, no one would notice.
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