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"Merlin, Merlin, come on now, leave that," Arthur said and snatched the bundle of herbs right out of his hand and tossed them down onto the nearest flat surface. "You're going to lend me some clothes."
"Ah," said Gaius. "Is it that time of the year already?"
"Uh, what?" Merlin said, still stuck on the image of Prince Arthur wearing his clothes. The blue shirt would look best, but why he'd want them, unless he was planning some sort of sojourn without his father's permission, and was this going to end up– "Am I going to end up in the stocks again?"
"Don't be a fool, Merlin. It's for the Servant's Feast. I'm not wearing any of my good gear to wander up and down the great hall serving you and your sloppy mates."
"A feast for servants, right," Merlin said sarcastically; he knew when Arthur was trying to play him.
"The Servant's Feast takes place every December and marks the night of an old Roman holy day," Gaius said, using his imparting-knowledge voice. "All the servants will sit in the great hall and the nobles with serve the feast." Gaius eyed the Prince for a moment and then added, "Who cooks the feast and who cleans up the mess after, is a question best left unasked."
"So you'll have to wait on me, then?" Merlin said to Arthur, not trying to hide the big grin.
"Yes, yes, it's all very amusing, Merlin, now focus—clothes." Arthur tapped his foot impatiently.
Merlin loped up the steps to his room, and yes, perfect, the blue shirt was, he took a sniff, mostly clean, and the breaches, his loosest ones, there they were. It wouldn't do to have the Prince of Camelot baring his arse in front of everyone, and was Arthur really a neck scarf kind of fellow? Likely not. Merlin ran back down with his bundle of clothes and handed them over. "You'll have to wear your own boots," he said, and tipped a look at Arthur's feet, "because mine are just not that big." He laughed happily when Arthur left scowling.
"Interesting," Gaius said.
"What's that then?" Merlin asked, swinging around to gather his herbs back up off the floor.
"Arthur has never served at the Servant's Feast before. No matter, I'm sure he has a good reason." Gaius dropped back into his teaching tone and Merlin mostly stopped listening. "It's an interesting night, Merlin, and is really one of the only remaining holdovers of the old Roman influence in–"
"Gaius," Merlin said, "When is it."
"It's tomorrow night, boy."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, and no doubt you'll be called into the kitchens to help all day, so get those herbs over here so we can actually finish this poultice today. We also have two tinctures to make before you can run along and attend to Arthur as well."
The feast was fabulous. Well, Merlin knew it would be. Gaius was right, he had been marched into the kitchen at first light, and put to work. He'd managed to sample most of the dishes without getting worse than a clap round the ear or the back of a wooden spoon to his hand, and it had been really lovely to see all those vegetables falling under the knife. He got to sit with Gwen too, and that was nice; Gwen was fun and friendly and quick enough with a jibe, and it wasn't just Arthur serving either, the Lady Morgana was there, hair tied back and dressed in one of Gwen's serving costumes. It was a little short for her, but no one objected to the more than usual glimpse of slipper and slender ankle.
Arthur did look really good in the blue shirt, Merlin had been right about that. He was having fun too, Arthur was, laughing and serving the prettiest of the girls, like Gwen of course, with deep bows and flourishes, and the girls couldn't take their eyes off him. He bent low to fill Gwen's wine cup again, making the move look like part of a dance or something, and he turned to Merlin and winked. "Obviously, it isn't your wardrobe that's keeping them away in droves," he said.
"That wasn't very nice," Gwen said when he'd moved off, bypassing the gaggle of stable boys and heading straight for the serving girls.
"Oh, what, oh—no, that's just Arthur's way. He's just having a joke," Merlin said, and he watched Arthur bend low to whisper in the ear of a laughing girl while he topped up her wine.
Eventually, even Merlin had to lean back from the table and declare, "I'm stuffed." He ran his hands contentedly over his bursting belly and smiled fondly at the memory of the vegetable tart.
"Well you had better find your feet, boy." Arthur said from right behind him. "You still have to come and attend to me."
Merlin may have made a little startled noise at the sudden appearance of his lord and master, but he groaned loudly at the idea of moving ever again.
"Cheer up, Merlin," Gwen said as she stood, slowly, "I told cook I'd help clear up this lot." Gwen nodded at the mess and, putting words to deed, began loading her arms with plates and goblets.
"Come on, Merlin. Night's a wasting." Arthur had clapped his hand down, hard, on Merlin's shoulder, so he allowed himself one more groan before he got up to follow Arthur to his bedchamber.
Arthur opened his door, bowed low and ushered Merlin inside with another flourish that made Merlin's blue homespun look like lace-crusted silk, not that Arthur ever went in for that sort of look, but he could; he was definitely the sort of man who could carry it off—big sleeves and tight breeches and maybe gloves. No, Uther's always-gloved hands were a bit creepy, actually.
"Merlin, how much wine did you drink?"
"Oh—what—not much. Why?"
"You've been standing there staring at the wall. It's a bit weird, actually."
"Sorry, sorry," Merlin said and headed for Arthur to ready him for bed.
"You know," Arthur said, stepping away from Merlin, and leaving him standing a bit uselessly at the side of the bed. "My tutor said that the Servant's Feast used to be a bigger deal. They didn't just stop at the feast, they kept up the whole switch round thing going all night."
"Really?" Merlin said, "Wait, you have a tutor?"
"Of course I have a tutor."
"And he teaches you things other than sword fighting and such?"
"Of course he does."
"Huh," Merlin said and grinned, "I would never have known."
"Oh, very funny. Now listen, I have a plan," Arthur said, and he turned and paced back over to the fire and paced back again, and if Merlin hadn't known better, he would have said Arthur was nervous. "I think keeping up the old traditions is a fine idea, so I'm going to stay your servant for a while longer."
"Right," Merlin said and smiled knowingly. He knew where this was going. He was going to stay here, a convenient lump in Arthur's bed, while Arthur ran off, still dressed in Merlin's clothes, and got up to who knows what. Merlin nodded his head. "Wonderful plan, My Prince. So, go on then, get with the serving."
Arthur flicked his gaze away and then back, and he really did look nervous. Oh, perhaps it was one of the noble women he was trysting with. Merlin had seen some woman, visiting from a neighbouring kingdom, Merlin kept loosing track of them all—the women and the kingdoms—and she had been giving Arthur a long and very calculated look. Of course, Arthur had been wearing the red surcoat at the time, and he really did look good in that, not as good as he did in Merlin's blue shirt, but– "Arthur, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Arthur looked up, and now he was a little annoyed, judging by the tightness of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes.
"It looks," Merlin said, and cleared his throat and tried again, "It looks like you're kneeling at my feet and unlacing my boots. Sire."
"Yes well, isn't that how you usually start the preparing me for bed part of the evening?"
"Um." Merlin couldn't think of a thing to say, so he lifted his leg and let Arthur slowly draw the boot down his leg and off his foot. A none too gentle rap on his other toe got Merlin's attention, and he set the first foot down and picked up the other.
Arthur tossed the boots carelessly aside, and Merlin was going to have to polish out those scuffs in the morning, and then Arthur knelt up and started unlacing Merlin's breeches. Merlin was opening his mouth and no sound was coming out, and perhaps some sort of sorcerer had put a spell on him? No, okay maybe not, because he made a sound just there when Arthur lifted the edge of his shirt and started pulling it up.
"You have to lift you arms, Merlin," Arthur said, and he sounded a bit funny like maybe the blood had all rushed to his head when he'd stood up. Arthur dropped the shirt onto the floor and stood back and stared, and considering that you never really knew what was on Arthur's floor—he tracked in all sorts of things what with his fondness for stables and horses and mud—so Merlin was going to have to wash the– "You can put them back down now."
"Oh, okay," Merlin said, and he let his arms drop, and none too soon, because the blood was pouring back in and making his skin tingle all over.
"Merlin," Arthur said, and he did sound very odd now, and was the fire built up a bit too high, because it was hot in here. "I'm going to take your breeches off now, Merlin."
"Oh–"
Arthur dropped to his knees again, and Merlin had been right, he could clearly see that even his loosest breeches were too tight for Arthur. Breeches, they were everywhere all of a sudden, everywhere Merlin turned, and Arthur slid the ones Merlin was wearing down to his thighs, and the calloused thumb of one hand traced the same path against the tingling skin of his arse. Merlin lifted his feet when he was told, and for a servant, Arthur gave a lot of orders, and then his breeches were lying on the suspect floor too, and Arthur was speaking again, speaking and not rising to his feet. "A good servant makes sure his master is comfortable before bed. Are you comfortable, Merlin?"
Merlin looked down. He'd been trying not to, but he had to, and Arthur was looking at Merlin's prick, couldn't really help but, with it right in front of Arthur's face, and Merlin was definitely something other than comfortable. His prick was jutting out in a very obvious way and almost aching, and Arthur was reaching for it with his hand and with his mouth, and his hot, wet mouth closed over Merlin's prick and, "Yes, comfortable, yes," Merlin said and then he made some other noises, and he lost track of time again.
Merlin slid down to his knees in front of his future king. His bones were liquid and his vision was blurry, but he could see Arthur wiping the back of his hand across his mouth in the same gesture he used when he sat up on the tables in the hall and traded lies and tall tales with his loyal knights and downed tankard after tankard of ale. Merlin reached out with shaking hands and took hold of the rough blue cloth of his own shirt. "Sire," he said, and his voice sounded shaky and harsh, foreign to his own ears. "My Prince. Arthur."
"That would be me," Arthur said and tried to grin, but it faltered away.
"It grows dark, late. It must be—must be past midnight. The night of the feast is over, and now—now it is my place to serve you, Sire." Merlin stared at Arthur, willing him to see, to understand.
"All right," Arthur said and he stood suddenly, too quickly, drawing Merlin with him, and Merlin still had hold of his shirt, and only Arthur's hands on his bare hips kept him from toppling back down to the floor. Arthur waited for him to settle on his feet before he stepped away. "I think I'll remove my own clothing tonight, manservant Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "I seem to have gotten good at it." He yanked off the blue shirt and tossed it to land near its partner on the floor. Merlin stared at Arthur's muscled shoulders as he bent to unlace his boots, and he kicked them aside to lie scuffed beside Merlin's own. The breeches were next, and a lesser man would have sighed at the unlacing and the releasing of all that constrained flesh, but Arthur just watched Merlin watching him, as he left the cloth pooled on the floor and strode forward again, hard and proud, a hectic flush on his face and his chest. He seized Merlin roughly and pulled him close and kissed him hard and fast, showing not a care for anything but his own pleasure. "Are you mine to command, Merlin?" Arthur asked.
Merlin nodded and said, "Yes, Sire," in the firmest tone his rattled senses would allow.
"Merlin," Arthur said softly into his mouth before he kissed him again, no less passionately, but differently this time—easier—leaving room for Merlin to answer back with his own passion. "I command you to get into my bed, Merlin." Arthur's lips twitched up and his eyes sparkled, the darkness of a moment before fading.
"Yes, my Prince," Merlin answered and tried his usual grin and was surprised when it felt—comfortable—again. He scrambled up into the bed, too soft by half to be a bed, surely, and Arthur followed him and pinned him into the feathers and fine linen and grinned down into his face.
"I want to kiss you all night, Merlin. Kiss you and feel your hands on me, touch you."
"That sounds—very comfortable," Merlin said and grinned back.
"I don't know Merlin," Arthur said, "I plan on getting you very sticky. I don't know how comfortable that will be." They kissed again, slow and easy, and then Arthur, putting words to deed, proceeded to get them both very sticky indeed.