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Merlin was dead.
Or at least that’s what that felt like, because there was no way that whatever forces controlled his life would let him feel this comfortable.
He was currently lying in what felt like a cluster of clouds touching every part of his skin, and…oh god, he was actually warm.
Currently, it was the middle of winter in Camelot, meaning Merlin spent most mornings woken up by the frigid air that his blankets failed to shield him from.
As a result, he’d completely forgotten it was possible to feel this warm; he was pretty sure it was the first time in a month he could feel his toes.
There was also a weight around his waist, keeping him grounded, which was nice because his head was feeling kinda fuzzy.
All in all, it was too good to be true, meaning Merlin was either dead or under some curse. If it were the latter, Merlin really had to give in to the evil sorcerer team this time. He was confident that he could probably break through the spell with enough time to stop the evil plot and save their “great” king Uther.
Still, Merlin really didn’t feel like doing all that. Seriously, this was the most relaxed he’d ever been since he became Arthur’s manservant. Could you really blame him for wanting to indulge himself for just a bit? He wasn’t all that attached to Uther, considering all the magical genocide you could argue the man deserved, but…
Well, he was Arthur’s dad, plus if the evil sorcerer chopped off Uther’s head, they’d likely not stop at the crown prince’s.
Merlin sighed; there really was no choice between eternal comfort and dealing with Arthur’s problems. All the things he did for that ungrateful prat.
He tried moving his arms in an attempt to get up.
Interestingly enough, the pressure around his waist increased, pulling him closer to the source of the warmth. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Alright then, magic it was. He blearily opened his eyes, a simple spell on his lips. It didn’t do much against stronger magic, but normally, it got rid of simple illusions that surrounded curse spells of this nature.
Merlin tried to look around, curious to see what illusion the sorcerer had tried with his.
He was expecting something simple, like a general dreamlike mist even beginners could summon easily.
What he was not expecting was Arthur fucking Pendragon, who was also naked, and his arms wrapped around Merlin.
Merlin practically leapt off the bed and landed on the floor, his quiet spell turned into a scream that was definitely heard across at least half the castle. His previous mild fuzziness turned into a stabbing pain in his head. Merlin blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. Arthur, on the other hand, woke up with a start. He sat up, pin straight, his bright blue eyes scanning his surroundings, his hand grasping for the nearest throwable object. Merlin quickly hid his eyes behind his hands and quietly finished his spell in a last-ditch hope that this wasn’t real.
He removed his hands, nope, of course not. Arthur had finally got his bearings and looked over at Merlin lying down on the floor.
‘Oh, it’s just you’ said. Arthur said, although his face betrayed his emotions by turning a bright shade of red.
Well, that certainly wasn’t what Merlin was expecting. It was a little embarrassing that they’d slept in the same bed, but it wasn’t as if … hold up, why was he naked? And was that his tunic next to the bed? Why was his neckerchief on the other side of the room, next to the door?
Merlin scrambled to go fetch his tunic; he was halfway through putting it on before he realised Arthur was still staring at him, dumbstruck.
Stop staring at me and help me find my breeched you clot pole, he yelled out, his voice muffled by the fabric.
He couldn’t see Arthur’s expression, but he did get a pair of pants thrown at him.
Merlin dressed himself the fastest he’d probably ever had, while Arthur awkwardly stared at the floor, no doubt trying to relive what horrible decisions he’d made up to this point.
Once Merlin was clothed, he figured it was best to get the elephant out of the room.
‘What the hell happened last night?’
Arthur snorted and looked back up at him, honestly, Merlin, I know both of us were rather drunk last night, but can you really not put the pieces together?
Merlin’s mouth went dry; he had suspected, but saying it out loud felt borderline ridiculous.
He knew they’d been drinking to celebrate something but…
He looked at Arthur’s golden hair, tousled from sleep or maybe something else. And it wasn’t, as Merlin hadn’t seen Arthur naked plenty of times before, but waking up with their bare chests together was a whole other matter.
‘I did not fuck you,’ he deadpanned, because no matter what all the signs said, people like Arthur didn’t have sex with people like Merlin; it was simply just how the world worked.
‘Pft of course not’, Arthur spluttered indignantly.
Merlin cursed himself for feeling disappointed. He already knew that his pining was one-sided, after there was no way Arthur would…
‘I’m the one who fucked you’, the blonde moron clarified.
Merlin was going to kill Arthur and then probably himself, the basement lizard be damned.
Unfortunately, he was too hungover for his usual murder spells, so he resorted to throwing a pillow at Arthur instead.
He then flopped back onto the bed face-first, drowning out the sounds of Arthur’s protests.
A rather long list of people who would lecture him for this flooded through is brain.
All he did was drink in that tavern one bloody time.
One day of peace, just one, was the last thing that went through his head before he threw up over Arthur’s sheets.
That and, screw Gwaine.