From the Other Side

Crossed Lines.

Chapter Eight ~

      Arthur had never had so many thoughts bouncing around in his head at once. 

      For one thing, the future was loud. 

      Big, angry contraptions flew past he and Merlin as they walked down the road together, honking and filling the air with a potent and sour stench. Tall, metal buildings surrounded him like square towers, and they hummed through their opened windows with the voices of people, strange music and other noises Arthur couldn't place. Commoners in odd clothes shoved into him when he lagged behind, bumping his shoulders and cursing at him in the most vile of ways. They talked with raised voices, and a kind of confidence and aggression that the king didn't find agreeable in the slightest. It made his skin prickle with irritation. 

      Arthur didn't like the cold stares they gave him either, nor did he like being walked passed without everyone nodding their heads in respect. He was a king after all, and had always been treated as such by his people. Only Merlin ever got away with approaching him directly, meeting his eyes without lowering them first. 

      The king's stomach flipped when he thought about his manservant. 

      That was another thing on his mind. 

      Guilt and confusion tugged at Arthur's consciousness every time he let his thoughts stray to the night before. The memory of his lips on Merlin's was haunting him, making his heart burn in his chest and his eyes fill suspiciously with water. He kept reasoning with himself, repeating over and over in his head that it had been all of the raw emotions that had instigated Arthur into such advances. He didn't want Merlin. Not like that. He had just been overwhelmed with everything the sorcerer had showed him. He had acted out of loneliness, and wanted to connect with the one piece of Albion that there was left.

      But a voice kept sniggering in the back of Arthur's head, reminding him that even back in Camelot he and Merlin had shared a bond unlike any other. The level of trust between them was strong and unwavering, and it filled Arthur with hope when he needed it. Their friendship, too, had been easier than breathing, and over the years the two men had grown thicker than thieves. 

      But there had also been many moments, usually before or after a battle, that Arthur would find himself staring into Merlin's eyes and counting all of the colors that he saw there. His manservant would beam at him, face glowing with the immense pride he felt for his king, and Arthur would light up inside like a thousand candles. Merlin's approval meant more to Arthur than he could understand, and it was in those tender moments alone that something would stir inside of him. His gut would twist, sending a jolt into his heart that made his tongue swell. His breath would catch in his lungs as Merlin's eyes sparkled, and then he'd find himself unable to control the smile creeping onto his lips. It would have been so easy in those moments to just reach out and touch Merlin, to cup his face and pull him in, or to press their foreheads together and bring him closer still... 

      It was silly of Arthur to deny that his feelings for Merlin were more than friendly. 

      But Arthur had gotten good at blocking out those thoughts. Merlin was his manservant, not his lover. That was why he had married Gwen. He loved her.

      "C'mon, clotpole!" Merlin cried out, glancing at Arthur over his shoulder as they weaved their way in between the people around them. The dark hair on Merlin's face seemed to make his smile seem brighter, and his eyes bluer than Arthur remembered them ever being. 

      Get off it, Arthur silently scolded himself, then pushed his thoughts elsewhere. 

      He tugged at the odd tunic that Merlin had made him wear, and fought against the urge to rip it when he found that the buttons were undone again.