Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10424.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Merlin_(BBC)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Merlin
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-11-15 Words: 4903
****** Something Beautiful ******
by cherrybina
Summary
     King Arthur meets his new manservant, a 16-year-old boy named Merlin.
     Canon era AU.
Arthur knocks on the door to Gaius' chambers.
"Gaius?" He calls loudly. "Are you there?"
It's a silly question, really. Of course Gaius is here; he's too frail to leave
the comfort of his own bed anymore.
When no reply comes, Arthur enters and crosses the small room to where Gaius is
reclined in his bed. He's asleep with a book open across his chest, a large
stack of volumes on the table beside him. Arthur smiles fondly. Even in his
current weakened condition, nothing keeps Gaius away from the books.
"Gaius," Arthur says, touching his arm gently.
Gaius opens his eyes and looks confused for a brief moment before offering a
wobbly smile. "Your highness."
"How are you?" Arthur asks. "I'm sorry it's been so long since I've come to see
you, but I'm afraid I've been quite busy."
Gaius had retained his position as court physician after Arthur had been
crowned king, and he'd stayed on until he had been unable to continue his work
any longer. Arthur had promised him that he would never have to want for
anything, and so here he remains, in the same room that used to be filled with
bubbling potions and baskets of fragrant herbs, and now is empty except for
Gaius and his books.
"Of course, I understand. The king has more important matters to attend to than
visiting an old man," Gaius chuckles.
"I should make the time."
"The reason I asked to see you is that I hoped I might ask you a favour," Gaius
says. "There's a young boy on his way here now. His mother was a close friend
of mine before she died a few years ago and he's coming to Camelot because he
has nowhere else to go. He's been wandering sort of aimlessly these past years,
and he's out of options. We've been in correspondence, and I told him I would
make try to make an arrangement for him to have some type of paying work when
he arrives."
"Any friend of yours is a friend of the court," Arthur replies, laying his hand
on Gaius' arm. "He is welcome to stay on with you and expect the same level of
care."
Gaius smiles weakly and pats Arthur on the hand. "That is very kind of you,
your highness, but I'm afraid he's quite stubborn. Says he can take care of
himself and refuses to accept charity from anyone. He was quite adamant about
it actually — reminds me of another headstrong young boy I once knew."
Arthur laughs and shakes his head. "I'm afraid the days of my rebellious youth
are over, Gaius."
"Oh, for heavens sake, you sound as if you're as old as I am. You are still a
young man."
"Ah, but a king does not have the same luxuries of behaviour as a prince."
"I suppose you're right," Gaius says. "Still, he is quite like you used to be
when you were his age, marching around the castle as if you had the whole world
figured out and didn't need to listen to anyone else."
Arthur smiles at Gaius' nostalgic expression. "Edward is moving away from the
city to go tend to his ailing mother," he says. "And that means I am in need of
a new manservant."
"Thank you, your highness. You are very kind to do this for me."
"It's no trouble at all," Arthur says, moving his hand away.
Gaius catches Arthur's sleeve and looks up at him. "Just try to be patient. The
past few years have been hard on him."
"Of course."
Gaius smiles and settles back against the pillows, his eyelids drooping.
"You're a kind man, Arthur, and a wonderful king. Your father would be so
proud."
Arthur stands quietly at Gaius' side until he is asleep.
                                      ***
A week later, Arthur gets word from his staff that the new servant has arrived
while he's in his chambers, polishing his knives. There are a whole host of
people who would be more than willing to take care of the knives for Arthur if
he asks, but he finds that he quite likes to do it himself. It's good to get
his hands dirty, touch the steel, feel the strength of the blades under his
fingers.
There's a knock at the door and he sets down the knife, wiping his hands on a
nearby rag.
"Enter," he calls.
The door opens and a teenaged boy walks in with his arms crossed sullenly
across his chest. He's tall, nearly as tall as Arthur, but much thinner. His
clothes are shabby and not particularly clean, and he stares at Arthur with a
defiant look on his face.
Arthur waits, expecting the boy to show some sign of deference as is customary
when in company with the king, but when none is forthcoming, he just sighs.
"Hello."
The boy grunts out a greeting.
"What's your name?" Arthur asks, more amused than anything else. No one ever
talks to him like this and it's almost refreshing.
"Merlin," the boy says with an angry jut of his chin. Arthur keeps his gaze
level and unblinking until there comes a reluctant, "your highness."
There was a time when Arthur might have pushed back, might have antagonised him
or flaunted his authority, but those were the days before he had seen so much
bloodshed, and sent too many good men to their deaths in the name of war — the
days before he was the king.
So instead he just nods curtly. "Very well. I expect you know who I am."
"You're King Arthur."
"Indeed I am," Arthur replies. "And you, Merlin, are my new servant."
                                      ***
Arthur's initial amusement with Merlin's insubordination fades quickly when he
realises that in addition to being reluctant to take orders, Merlin is also not
a particularly good servant. He's late every day, he knows nothing about the
proper care of armour, and he spends more time lazing about the grass outside
the castle than he does taking care of Arthur's horses. Still, Arthur keeps him
on, if only for the fact that he promised Gaius.
One day Arthur finds Merlin in a shady patch of grass just beyond the training
field in the late afternoon. He's fast asleep, chest rising gently with each
breath. Arthur presses the toe of his boot into Merlin's side, just hard enough
to hurt a little, and Merlin awakens with a grunt. He blinks a few times and
then glares up at Arthur.
"What was that for?" he asks angrily, rubbing his side.
"You do realise that napping in the field is not actually part of your official
duties?"
"I was up early this morning polishing you armour —"
"Which you managed to make look worse than when you started," Arthur
interrupts. "Honestly, Merlin, you are the worst servant I have ever had."
Merlin looks at him, a shocked expression on his face, and then the corners of
his mouth slowly turn up into a smile. "Really? The very worst?"
"Yes," Arthur answers honestly.
"Well, that's really something."
"You know," Arthur says, purposefully ignoring Merlin's glee at his own
ineptitude, "many people in Camelot would consider it an honour to serve their
king like this."
Merlin just waves a hand dismissively. "Maybe they'd change their mind after
serving you breakfast and supper, day in and day out."
Arthur, who negotiates complicated treaties with neighbouring kingdoms, and who
addresses the people of Camelot with comfortable ease, is utterly speechless as
he gazes down at this ridiculous boy.
Merlin stretches his arms above his head. He's all pale skin and dark hair and
long, lean lines, and when he turns his face, he's smiling wide and genuine,
his eyes still heavy with sleep, and Arthur finds himself unable to look away.
"I expect to see you on time tomorrow," Arthur says, working to keep his voice
even.
"Yeah, yeah," Merlin answers rolling to his side and settling his head back
into the grass.
It's utterly absurd, Arthur thinks as he walks away. He's never looked down on
his servants or treated them badly, and ever since he was a little boy, he
remembers a long line of people working for the Pendragon family with a sense
of humility and respect. And it's not as if Merlin has been forced into some
kind of slavery. This is paying work.
Perhaps a few hours in the stocks would help, or even a short trip down to the
dungeons — nothing horrible, just enough to scare some sense into Merlin.
Arthur tries to think through the options in his head as he walks, but all he
can see in his mind is a flash of white teeth, bright blue eyes, and the line
of Merlin's body, stretched along the grass.
Arthur decides this is very bad indeed.
                                      ***
"Where did you grow up?" Arthur asks him one day after Merlin brings him his
midday meal in his chambers.
As is his customary fashion, Merlin is sitting on the table, picking at bits of
Arthur's food before he's even had a chance to eat himself.
Merlin's shoulders slump and he swallows the piece of bread he's chewing.
"Ealdor," he replies softly.
Arthur remembers Ealdor. He remembers riding into the village and finding only
a handful of survivors among the charred remains of homes and farms. A small
group of dirty-faced children had approached him, and he'd dismounted from his
horse and stood there, trying to offer comfort in the face of nothing, sick
with the thought that he couldn't fix it all.
It was five years ago, five years since Arthur had felt the helplessness and
tragedy of war as a brand new king. He wonders if Merlin had been one of those
children that had crowded around him that day, reaching out to grab at his
clothes, eyes wide with the unspeakable horror of what they had seen. He would
have been only a child at the time. He is barely more than a child now, Arthur
thinks.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says looking at Merlin, and he really, truly is.
Merlin shrugs and looks away. "It was a long time ago," he says. "I hardly even
think about it anymore."
But when he turns back, his eyes are shadowed with something dark, and Arthur
can't quite believe him.
                                      ***
"How old are you?" Arthur asks one day as they walk through the woods along the
path back to the castle after checking the nearby crop fields.
Merlin squares his shoulders and puffs up his chest importantly. "I'm 16.
Nearly 17."
"How nearly?" Arthur asks, narrowing his eyes.
"Well, not until next spring. But I'm a very mature 16, what with having to
take care of myself for the past five years, you know."
"Oh yes," Arthur snorts. "Very mature."
Merlin elbows him hard in the ribs, leaving Arthur with no choice but to put
him in a headlock until they are both gasping with laughter and Merlin is
begging for release.
They collapse onto the grass beside each other, gazing up at the sky as they
catch their breath.
Eventually Merlin smirks at him. "I thought the king didn't do stuff like
that."
"Yeah, well I thought servants did as they were told."
Merlin shrugs his shoulders and grins smugly. "I guess you heard wrong. Anyway,
how old are you?"
"I'm 31," Arthur answers, not even a little bit surprised at Merlin asking such
an inappropriate question.
"So that's almost twice my age," Merlin says immediately.
"I see your incompetence doesn't extend to arithmetic. Why can't you be that
good at your duties?"
Merlin grins impishly. "I think you like me just the way I am. Admit it, you'd
be bored if I was perfect all the time."
"You're definitely not boring," Arthur says, and Merlin holds his gaze for a
long time as they lay side by side together in the grass.
                                      ***
Soon after that, they visit Mercia. It's been several years since they first
signed the treaty, and Lord Bayard invites Arthur and his court to celebrate
the peaceful times between their kingdoms.
Unsurprisingly, Merlin complains for nearly the entire trip. When they stop to
eat, Merlin pouts in a rather ridiculous fashion when Arthur threatens to make
him ride in the back with the rest of the servants rather than up front with
him.
After they arrive, Arthur and Merlin are escorted to a grand and opulent room
containing a large poster bed with richly decorated hangings, and a servant's
bed in a small alcove separated from the room by a curtain.
"So what do we do now that we're here?" Merlin asks flopping back on the big
bed.
"You do realise that one is my bed?" Arthur asks, leaning against a bedpost.
"No, I thought you were the one who had to sleep over there," Merlin says
sarcastically, gesturing to the smaller bed.
Arthur doesn't dignify that with a reply.
"So?" Merlin asks again. "What comes next?"
"Tomorrow my people and I will meet with Lord Bayard to discuss some matters
that affect our lands, and then after there will be a banquet to officially
welcome us."
"Sounds boring."
"I'll have you know that it is quite important business, and you should
consider it an honour to be here."
Merlin pushes up on his elbows and looks at Arthur. "And why exactly did I have
to come?"
Arthur doesn't answer; instead he just raises an eyebrow and stares at Merlin
until Merlin rolls his eyes and sighs. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm your servant."
"Perhaps someday you might even be able to say it without quite so much
contempt."
Merlin just smirks at him.
"Go to sleep," Arthur says, and then when Merlin starts to lie back, "in your
bed, please."
Merlin grumbles but crawls out of the large bed and crosses the room, closing
the curtain behind him with as much indignation as he can muster.
                                      ***
Arthur is not sure how much later it is when he wakes. For a few moments he's
disoriented at the unfamiliar surroundings, and then it all catches up with him
as he remembers where he is. He hears a low moaning sound coming from somewhere
in the room, and he tenses for a moment before realising it's Merlin.
The moonlight spills in through the window making it easy for Arthur to see as
he crosses the room and pulls back the curtain. Merlin is shifting restlessly
on the bed, his head jerking back from side to side as he moans softly with a
grimace of pain on his face.
Arthur stands there for a moment, unsure whether he should wake Merlin, but
just then, his eyes fly open and he gasps upon seeing Arthur. He's shaking, and
there's a sheen of sweat across his face, plastering his dark hair to his
forehead.
"Arthur," Merlin croaks.
"I'm here," Arthur says, sinking down on the edge of the bed.
Merlin rubs his hand across his eyes, his face still contorted, but he takes a
deep, shaky breath.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asks after a moment.
Merlin pushes himself up until he's sitting beside Arthur. "Sometimes I dream
about what happened in Ealdor," he says softly. "When those men came — my
mother…" his voice cracks and Arthur wraps an arm around Merlin's shoulder and
pulls him close.
Arthur knows how to hold court and negotiate treaties and fight wars. But when
Merlin falls apart in front of his eyes, Arthur doesn't know how to do anything
except hold him tight to his chest as he sobs.
"Will you stay?" Merlin whispers eventually, wiping the last of the tears from
his eyes.
"There's not much room," Arthur says, glancing back at the bed before sighing
deeply. "Come on."
He doesn't protest as Arthur tugs him by the wrist and leads him to the large
bed. Merlin climbs in, burying himself under the fluffy blankets, and Arthur
hesitates only a brief moment before climbing in beside him.
"Is this all just some elaborate act so you get to sleep in the fancy bed?"
Merlin laughs, some of the tension draining from his face and Arthur is pleased
beyond reason to see him light up like that.
There are a million different reasons why it's wrong for Arthur, the king, to
share a bed with his 16-year-old servant, but when Merlin curls around his
side, warm and sleepy, something unexpected slots into place deep within
Arthur, fitting as neatly as Merlin's head beneath his chin.
It's a long time before Arthur falls asleep.
                                      ***
After they return to Camelot, everything changes.
One night, Arthur looks up from the stack of parchment he's huddled over and
sees Merlin fiddling aimlessly with the contents of his wardrobe.
"Merlin? What is it that you're doing in there?"
"I'm just checking to see that all of your clothing is in order for the next
few days."
"And is there any reason why you've been doing that for an hour? Especially
considering you haven't spent this much time on all your duties combined in the
past week?"
Merlin sighs heavily and turns to face Arthur. His face is clouded, his eyes
downcast. "The nightmares have been getting worse, ever since we got back. I
just thought maybe — well, maybe I could stay here. With you." Merlin, with all
of his cocky, blustering words, sounds uncertain and a little scared.
Arthur pushes back from the table and stands up. "Merlin," he says softly, "I
am so very sorry for what happened, and I wish with all my heart that I could
change it, but I can't. It's not — you can't stay here."
"Why not?" Merlin asks, undeterred, as he moves closer to where Arthur stands.
"You're the king. You can do whatever you want."
Arthur laughs humourlessly. "That's not quite how it works."
"Please, Arthur?" Merlin steps closer still and Arthur takes an involuntary
step backward, but Merlin follows, reaching one hand out and twisting his
fingers in Arthur's shirt. His eyes are pleading and heavy with something
Arthur tries to ignore, but once again he can't seem to look away.
There's something about Merlin. Arthur doesn't know what it is, but he feels it
deep inside of him, like a magnet tugging at his heart, running under his skin,
drawing him closer. It's easy to say it's wrong — easy to look at this boy and
say he doesn't belong here with a man twice his age — the king, but his doubt
disappears when Merlin's fingers slide under the hem of Arthur's shirt. This
close Arthur feels the pull again, as if there is something beyond his control
drawing him to Merlin.
Merlin feels it too; Arthur can tell by the way his eyes go wide and his breath
stutters when he touches Arthur, just like that night in Mercia. And Arthur
lets him — lets Merlin run his hands all over his chest, lets him crawl into
his bed and tangle their legs together, bodies pressed so close in the
darkness.
Arthur feels Merlin's breath hot against his neck, and he closes his eyes and
holds on.
                                      ***
The next time, rather than waiting for Arthur to notice him, Merlin just climbs
into Arthur's lap while he's still writing. Arthur drops his quill on the table
and leans back in his chair, looking up at Merlin.
"I know what your problem is." Merlin says with a grin, sitting sideways across
Arthur's thighs, his legs kicking over the arm of the chair.
"My problem?" Arthur notices that Merlin's slight frame fits easily in his lap,
and without thinking, he hooks one hand over his hip, holding him in place.
"Yeah. You know, with us."
"What us do you mean?"
Merlin sighs. "You think I'm too young for you."
"You are too young for me."
"In Ealdor, girls my age were getting married."
"This isn't Ealdor, you're not a girl, and we are not getting married."
"Well obviously, Arthur," Merlin says, squirming impatiently.
Arthur hisses as Merlin's backside rubs across his groin. "Merlin, you are my
servant, that is all," he says after a deep breath. "And you are old enough for
that. There's really nothing else you need to worry about."
Merlin smirks and shifts his hips, his eyes lighting up when Arthur gasps in
response. Somehow he thinks Merlin doesn't believe him.
                                      ***
There's an easy solution to all of this: Arthur can simply arrange for another
job for Merlin. Finding a new servant won't be a problem, and after all, he
didn't promise Gaius that Merlin would be his personal manservant, only that
he'd secure a position for him. There are plenty of things Merlin could do that
would keep him far away from Arthur and his bed.
Only it doesn't go as planned since every time Merlin gets close, all of
Arthur's reason goes out the window. So instead of finding him a new job,
Arthur lets Merlin share his bed, clinging on to him, while Arthur lies awake
and tries to make sense of his life.
In the mornings he sends Merlin off to fetch breakfast and Arthur leans against
the door, his breeches around his knees. There's no need to rush; Merlin always
manages to get distracted on his way to the kitchens, but Arthur hurries
anyway, stroking himself quickly with the smell of Merlin's skin and the heat
of his body still fresh in his mind.
After five days in a row of the same, it occurs to Arthur that he hasn't done
it this often since he was Merlin's age.
                                      ***
Despite everything that has changed between them, Merlin remains terrible at
his job. One night Arthur surveys his room from the bed.
"Merlin, can we talk about the state of this room?"
"What about it?" Merlin asks.
Arthur gestures vaguely to the messy pile of boots in the corner, the clothes
scattered on the floor, and the dirty dishes, still left from breakfast.
Merlin is silent for a moment, then he turns so he's on his side, facing
Arthur. His gaze is thoughtful, and he reaches up and wraps his hand around
Arthur's neck. Before Arthur knows what's happening, Merlin pulls him down for
a kiss.
They've been sharing a bed for weeks now, and yet Arthur is shocked at the
gesture — shocked at the wet heat of Merlin's mouth, and the slick slide of his
tongue against his own. Arthur kisses him back softly, fighting the urge to let
it intensify into something more.
"If I promise to wake up early and clean the room will you kiss me again?"
Merlin asks when they finally break away.
"No, no, absolutely not," Arthur answers adamantly. "You're supposed to clean
the room because I pay you to, not because you want… something else from me."
Merlin grins and shrugs his shoulders. "Fine, then kiss me again because you
want to."
Arthur shakes his head in bewilderment, but then pulls Merlin close and presses
their lips together, kissing him until he's limp and pliant against the sheets.
                                      ***
"I know," Merlin whispers to him one night in the darkness.
"You know what," Arthur murmurs into his hair.
"I know how two men can be together. Really together."
"And where did you learn such a thing?" he asks, determined to keep his tone
light despite the stirring between his legs.
Merlin rolls over and looks up at Arthur. "I know things. I'm not a child, you
know."
Arthur just looks down at him and doesn't say anything.
"I want you to do that," Merlin says, his hand tracing a path down Arthur's
chest, skimming over his belly. "I want you to—" his voice drops to a whisper
so low Arthur has to strain to hear, "—fuck me."
Arthur groans and brushes Merlin's hand away, rolling away from him onto his
back.
"I know you want me," Merlin continues, leaning up onto an elbow to look down
at Arthur. "I know you're hard for me. I feel it, every night."
Arthur is frozen on his back, unable even to take a breath. Merlin grabs
Arthur's hand and presses it between his legs. "I'm hard for you, too."
Merlin leans over him, rutting into Arthur's palm, his eyes wide and pleading,
and right then is when Arthur stops fighting. He finally stops trying to resist
this boy, this unrelenting force of nature.
Maybe this has been inevitable since that first moment he met Merlin. Maybe
there really is more to the connection than just a sad story and pretty blue
eyes. Maybe that's why, when he kneels between Merlin's legs and slides one
slick finger inside of him, it feels exactly right.
Merlin's eyes go wide and he lets out a soft sound that goes straight to
Arthur's cock. He stays like that for a moment, buried to the knuckle, Merlin's
thighs tense on either side of him until Merlin nods almost imperceptibly.
Arthur slides his finger out and then presses back in, watching Merlin's face
closely. When he's sure he doesn't see any sign of discomfort, he adds a second
finger alongside the first. Merlin gasps in surprise and locks his eyes on
Arthur's, mouth open in a silent, "oh." It's almost too much, and Arthur has to
look away, anywhere but that face, desperate and open and needy all at once.
He's so tight, but as Arthur fucks Merlin with his fingers, his other hand
resting low on Merlin's belly, Arthur feels him relax and open around him. He
adds a third finger, and this time Merlin groans and rocks down onto Arthur's
hand, urging him on. Arthur moves his hand, pushing one of Merlin's thighs
toward his chest so he can watch his fingers disappear. He's transfixed at the
sight — thinks he could stay just like this until he comes, but Merlin curls
his neck up and stares at him with a pleading expression.
"Arthur," he whispers, and that's more than enough.
Arthur pulls his fingers free and slicks his cock, settling between Merlin's
thighs. He pushes just the head in and Merlin grunts and grips Arthur's
shoulders so hard he feels his fingernails digging into his skin, and Arthur
thinks it's too much — it's too fast and too soon, and maybe he should never
have done this in the first place, Merlin is just a boy, what was he thinking
and —
Merlin's head falls back on the pillow and as he tilts his hips up, Arthur's
cock slides in a little more. They continue like that, until Arthur is shaking
with the effort of holding back and they are both panting against each other's
mouths. When Arthur's cock is all the way in, he drops his head to Merlin's
shoulder and stops, still except for the way he's trembling all over.
"It's okay. Arthur, I'm okay," Merlin says on a shaky breath, and Arthur is
glad to hear it, so very glad, but he's not sure that he's okay, buried deep
inside Merlin, slick and hot and so fucking tight.
When Merlin rolls his hips up, Arthur can't help but rock with him, drawing a
gasp out of them both. Arthur runs his hand up the side of Merlin's face,
pushing his sweaty hair away, focusing on his eyes in an attempt to stay
grounded as he thrusts gently. Merlin groans and clutches Arthur's back as they
move, slowly at first, then picking up speed.
Arthur isn't going to last, not with the way Merlin is holding him so close and
moaning wordlessly in his ear, so he drops his head and snaps his hips faster,
hands fisting in the sheets. When Merlin arches up and comes with a cry,
clenching impossibly tighter on Arthur's cock, there is nothing he can do but
bury his face in Merlin's neck and shudder as he follows him over.
It takes them a long time to untangle because Merlin is unwilling to let go of
Arthur.
"Hey," Arthur whispers in his ear, with Merlin's arms clamped around his neck.
"It's okay, I'm right here."
Merlin finally releases him and they sort out their limbs, arranging themselves
more comfortably on the bed. As they lay together, Arthur drapes one arm over
Merlin's hip, drawing him close, the other hand coming up to brush his hair out
of his eyes. When Merlin meets his gaze, all his arrogant bravado is stripped
away and he looks vulnerable and so very young, so Arthur tries to reassure
him. "You can stay with me, I promise."
Arthur really means it — means it more than he thinks Merlin understands.
                                      ***
Arthur gets a new servant. A man about 10 years older than Arthur, who doesn't
talk back and knows the proper care of armour and always delivers breakfast for
two on time. Merlin spends the days napping in the sun or getting into trouble
or doing whatever it is that 16-year-old boys do while Arthur rules the
kingdom.
At night, Merlin is there, arching beneath him, pulling him closer, pulling him
in, whispering in his ear words like forever and destiny. Arthur is too old and
too cynical for such platitudes, so he tells Merlin how he feels with every
touch of his fingers and thrust of his hips, hoping that it's enough. And
perhaps it is, because Merlin smiles and kisses him and holds him like he's
more than just a king.
It doesn't make any sense. But maybe it doesn't have to.
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