Fight For Me

Chapter 22

"So..." Merlin begins. "You're going to be king."

"Not actually king, you idiot. I'll be acting as king, until my father gets better."

There's a pause.

"Do you..." Merlin hesitates. "Will he?"

Arthur gives a deep sigh. "I don't know, Merlin. You think I haven't thought about that?"

"Even if he does, one day, you'll end up being king."

"I'm not ready, yet."

"Arthur," Merlin says, with infinite wisdom and softness in his demeanour.

Wisdom. How can an idiot like Merlin provey such wisdom? How can he look so knowledgeable, like he knows everything that was, is and will come? And how can he look so bloody handsome as he does so?

Merlin goes to place a gentle hand on Arthur's cheek, but falters, wondering if it's alright. Neither of them really know what they are. What they can be.

Arthur puts his hand to Merlin's outstretched one, and helps it reach that final goal. Merlin blushes, grinning like the idiot he is. His thumb strokes Arthur's face, gradually moving down, down, to touch his lips, which Merlin stares longingly at.

"You... Even if you don't think you're ready, even if you're really not ready," he whispers, inching ever so slightly forward, "you will be a great King. I have never doubted that of you. Well, maybe when we first met, but after that."

This warrants the chuckles he'd been hoping for. "What did you think I was, when we first met?"

"I thought you were a prat. An arrogant arse. An entitled prince. Now, I realise," Merlin grins, "you most definitely are all those things."

Arthur rolls his eyes, and goes to pull away from Merlin's hand.

"But," Merlin emphasises, taking a hold of Arthur's hands, "you're also so much more." Reaching up to cup his face again, he pulls him a little closer. "You have a kind heart." Closer still. An arm wraps around the prince's body. "You're honourable, courageous." So close, they could touch lips, finish, seal it finally, but Merlin holds back. "Very, very handsome." So close that every inch of them touches, all but their lips. Arthur, his breath hitching, looks desperately into Merlin's eyes, who just smirks mischievously. "You will make a great King, I am most certain of that. Not just because of destiny, but because I know you, Arthur."

There they are, and time stands still for what feels like eternity, until Arthur can take it no more.

"I'm getting impatient, Merlin," he breathes onto Merlin's lips.

"Arthur," Merlin utters, with a note of finality, moving in just a little closer, ever so painfully slowly, "you're my everything."

At this, Arthur smashes his lips firmly, hungrily against Merlin's, not holding back one bit. He places a hand on his servant's lower back, and one just above. Merlin runs his fingers through Arthur's hair, warranting a moan from the prince.

When they stop for breath, it's almost too much space to bear. Instead, Merlin's hands clasp around Arthur, desperately hanging onto him, and one of Arthur's hands slides up to do the very same, clinging on for dear life. Their foreheads pressed, breathing each other's air, it's almost too much. Or not enough. Can it be both?

Not too soon after, Arthur pushes Merlin against the wall, pressing into him, and kissing him more passionately (if possible) than before. Parting from Merlin's lips, who tries to go back in for more before being briefly disappointed, Arthur removes the neckerchief, and presses his mouth onto Merlin's now bare neck. How can a neck look so good? More importantly, how can it taste so good?