Chapter Text
It’s a shockwave, travelling through Arthur’s body, a tidal wave rolling through his limbs, a thousand fists to his stomach. It rips him apart in an instant and moulds him back together just as quickly, leaving him gobsmacked and buzzing and overwhelmed.
The attraction is so sudden, so intense, that he feels crippled in the aftermath. He’s never felt anything like that before, never experienced an emotion like this. Arthur wishes he could pretend it’s anything but what it is, but it’s undeniable. He’s swept away by lust and a staggering sense of rightness, but worst of all, by a terrible knowing. It’s love-at-first-sight and it’s just as horrible, as exciting and as overwhelming as people have claimed. Arthur attempts to deny it right away, because this isn’t supposed to happen. He’s been so good at being indifferent.
Open-mouthed, Arthur stares at the pale-skinned boy with tousled, inky curls, whose wide grin causes Arthur’s heart to stumble. He’s undeniably pretty, but that’s not what caused Arthur’s sudden revelation. It’s more how the stranger showed up out of nowhere and immediately took charge, settling a fight between a boy that could have been Arthur a couple of years ago - proud, spoiled, cock-sure - and one of the nerdy kids, with a couple of amicable but sure words and a friendly smile. He oozes quiet confidence and there’s a natural authority to him that's just really sexy, and when he looks up and finds Arthur staring, his generous mouth pulls into an impish grin. Like he knows, too.
Fuck, Arthur thinks. Fuck.
Immediately after this sudden, overwhelming feeling of love - no, scratch that - lust, slams into Arthur like a disaster-causing force of nature, panic grips him. The boy, who’s in a Joy Division t-shirt and loose jeans, and wears a red neckerchief slung around his pale neck, looks just like one of the kids. His black hair is in charming disarray, headphones pushed down around his neck. An earring dangles from his right lobe, the silver catching the dazzling light of the summer day. Oh God, Arthur thinks dizzily, oh God, what if he’s only sixteen and one of Arthur's charges at Camp Camelot? Then it wouldn’t just be that Arthur is lusting after another man, but he would also be having completely inappropriate thoughts about a kid, and that would just add to his general depravity and make it so much more difficult to look himself in the eye in the morning.
The boy makes a beeline for him, as if spurred on by Arthur’s regard, weaving through the excited kids with their rucksacks and sports equipment, and stops in front of him. “Hi,” he says sunnily, beaming from one large ear to the other, his huge smile leaving Arthur even more breathless. “I’m Merlin,” he adds, sticking out his hand in greeting. From the headphones around his neck comes the tinny sound of The Smiths, Please, please, please, let me get what I want.
The name rings a bell and the sense of relief is sweet. Arthur thanks every deity he doesn’t believe in for small mercies and unclenches his fists, which had balled at his sides. “The magic counsellor?” he clarifies hoarsely, and looks down at his clipboard, making a note next to Merlin’s name. “You’re late.” He carefully ignores Merlin’s hand, afraid of what would happen if they touched. Arthur would likely explode, or do something embarrassing and unforgivable, like coming in his pants at first contact. How to explain that?
“Not really,” Merlin says. His gorgeous smile dims significantly and is replaced by a little frown building between his brows. He doesn’t give an apology for his tardiness, in fact he isn't apologetic at all.
“Where’s your uniform shirt?” Arthur asks, because what he desperately wants is to stop thinking about how the Joy Division t-shirt clings to Merlin’s lean frame, and how the sloppily cut off arms show too much skin around his sides and armpits. For a moment, he feasts his eyes on Merlin’s long, lanky arms and strong forearms, before forcefully snapping out of it, feeling heat rise on his face. What the hell is wrong with him? Oh, he definitely knows what’s wrong with him, but it has never felt so scarily unmanageable.
“In my rucksack,” Merlin says, and jerks his thumb towards his back. Merlin’s mouth twitches a little and he narrows his eyes, looking at Arthur as if he's trying to figure him out. The dangling dragon earring on his right ear glitters in the sunlight as it's jostled by his jerky movement.
Confronted with Merlin's intense, curious gaze, Arthur loses his train of thought and the pen drops from his clumsy fingers. He hastens to pick it up, feeling himself flush further. Desperately, Arthur wonders how much of his confusion and arousal is written on his face.
“You were supposed to arrive wearing your uniform,” he snaps as he straightens up, because it’s easier to be irritable than to deal with the buzzing beneath his skin.
Merlin doesn't seem bothered by his rudeness and instead, his grin widens, seemingly amused by Arthur's tetchy social skills. “Nobody said that during induction,” he points out with a sly wink, as if he’s kind of enjoying riling Arthur up a bit in retaliation for Arthur being an arse. “But if it bothers you so much…” He shrugs off his rucksack and is about to reach for the hem of his soft shirt, in a clear dare, when Arthur stills him with a hand to his sternum. He can feel the warmth beating off Merlin’s skin and the firm muscle of his pecs. He appears astonishingly built for somebody so lean.
“Don’t,” Arthur says, hating how the words come out breathless. “Put your rucksack in the luggage compartment and help the kids with their luggage.”
“Right,” Merlin says, sounding amused as he rolls his eyes a little. “You’re bossy, huh?” he says, looking at Arthur with interest, like being bossy is a desirable trait as far as Merlin is concerned.
“And you’re quite sassy, for a newbie,” Arthur grumbles. He finds that he’s still touching Merlin and drops his hand away, making a show of looking at his clipboard again. He finds that now that Merlin is here, all the names have been ticked off. They are ready to leave.
“Can you blame me?” Merlin says, grinning and spreading his arms out wide. “Look at me: I’m nothing but 10 stone of sarcasm and sassiness.”
“Don’t you have magic?” Arthur blurts out.
Merlin scrunches up his nose and laughs. “Oh, right, yeah, and magic.” He holds out his hand and without even muttering a spell, something lights up in his palm. It’s the fiery shape of a small dragon, the same shape as his earring, but animated, its tiny nostrils exuding smoke. Arthur jumps back in surprise, hitting his back on the open coach door. He’s never seen anyone but Morgana do magic up so close, and Morgana’s magic is not all that impressive. This is both terrifying and wonderful, and he marvels at how Merlin shows it off proudly, like he has nothing to hide, like his special skills don’t set him apart from everyone else or make him a target for hatred.
“Neat.” Arthur swallows, then evades a couple of kids as they suddenly swarm around them, gushing about the tiny dragon sitting in Merlin’s palm.
“How did you do that!” asks a gobsmacked ten year old with piercing blue eyes, by the name of Mordred. “Is it hot?” another kid demands to know. Morgana pushes Arthur aside rudely and immediately reaches out, her fingers sliding through the image of the little dragon. “It tickles,” she squeals, laughing with delight.
It’s great to see his half-sister so happy, Arthur thinks, watching as Merlin promises that they will work on small, visual illusions at some point. The past year hasn’t been easy for Morgana with her magical powers manifesting and Uther, a conservative brought up on anti-magic beliefs, needing to come to terms with the fact that they have someone with magic in their family. In the end, Uther’s love for Morgana, whom he adores more than anything, had won out. While many people around the country still want to see magical kids sent to, nowadays illegal, suppression therapy, Uther has accepted that his daughter needs help, not to restrain but to shape her magical skills.
Coincidentally, Kilgharrah Summer Camps, the company responsible for Camp Camelot, where Arthur has spent the past six years, first as a participant, then for three years as a staff member, has decided to offer magical activities on top of their usual arts and crafts and sport activities this year. It had caused an upheaval among the parents, but while some withdrew their kids from participating this year, other people signed up just because of this new policy.
It is the first integrated, residential summer camp in the UK, and it’s a big deal. Only nine years ago, in 1979, magic had been declared legal. It doesn’t mean that resentment against the magical community has been eradicated from the British populace though. Just the other day, there had been a massive, right-wing protest in front of parliament about a magic regulation law that was about to be passed, granting pardons to formerly convicted magic users who would have done nothing illegal under the new laws.
With the kids distracted by Merlin’s tricks, Arthur helps Lance, one of the arts and crafts counsellors, to load art supplies into the coach, feeling himself calm down a little. Shortly after they are done, the last kid has said a tearful goodbye to their parents, and has been successfully seated on the coach. When Arthur climbs onto the crowded and noisy coach and takes one of the last empty seats, Merlin is sitting in front of him, holding his headphones next to his ear to share with Gwen, the other arts and crafts counsellor. It’s no surprise that Merlin made friends with the other counsellors easily already. He’s approachable and likeable, with his toothy smile and glinting eyes.
Through the headphones come the notes of an Echo and the Bunnymen song, and Gwen and Merlin start talking about concerts they’ve been to this summer already. A little envious, Arthur listens as they bond over seeing The Cure at the Royal Albert Hall last year, staring out the window to watch as they pull from the curb at the coach station. He hadn’t even known Gwen liked that kind of music.
Percy, the other sports counsellor, who has been sorting out a fight over seats in the back of the coach finally makes his way forward and throws his bulk into the seat next to Arthur. “Oh, you’re the magical kid,” he says loudly, and leans over the seats to extend a hand to Merlin.
Grinning, Merlin shakes his meaty hand. “A bit magic, yes. Merlin. And you are?”
“Percy, sports. Only magic between the sheets, or that’s what the ladies tell me,” Percy says with a mock-smarmy expression, and winks. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. Despite his bragging words, he’s a good egg, a real gentle giant, even if he likes to appear a little tough.
“Obviously,” Merlin laughs, with a glance at Percy’s bulking biceps and muscular chest. It makes Arthur slightly jealous that Merlin notices Percy’s physique, but then Merlin turns his blue eyes on him and Arthur forgets about his irritation. “I didn’t catch your name earlier,” Merlin prompts, and tilts his head expectantly, looking at Arthur with that same amused smile from before, the one that is driving Arthur mad.
The thoughts, caused by Merlin’s smile, which are going through Arthur’s head, are decidedly one-tracked and not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen. They are also not contributing anything significant to the current conversation.
“Uh… Arthur. Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur manages to stutter out, to Percy’s great amusement. Percy slaps him on the back so hard, it hurts.
“He’s not naturally stuttering,” Percy promises, and grins when Arthur feels himself go visibly red. “No magic going on there anywhere, though, least of all between the sheets,” he adds, chuckling at his own joke. It’s not really funny, Arthur thinks grouchily, because there’s a reason that Arthur is not getting a lot of action, and it’s not because he's not attractive to other people.
“Percy’s not naturally an arsehole,” Arthur manages, and Merlin’s chuckle joins Percy’s booming laughter. In the seat in front, Arthur can see Gwen roll her eyes with fond exasperation, before she nudges Merlin to turn back.
“Let’s leave those two rugby lads to their embarrassing posturing,” Gwen says, and Merlin twists back towards the front, with one last, appraising glance at Arthur.
“Trying to make friends with the new kid?” Percy says, not softly enough for Arthur’s liking. “You should try a thing called social skills. Seriously, what’s the matter with you? You are usually more suave.”
“You absolute dickface,” Arthur whispers when Gwen and Merlin pick up their conversation from before, jamming his elbow into Percy’s side, which due to his rock-hard obliques has zero effect on Percy, but hurts Arthur’s funny bone, causing him to hiss.
Percy only laughs. Arthur doesn’t like the knowing look he has one bit.
*-*
Their destination for Camp Camelot this year, a 19th century castle, is charming and a bit run-down. With only two turrets it’s not much larger than a modest manor, but you can still tell that it was built to impress, with its mix of faux-mediaeval features and 19th century comfort in mind.
It takes ages to unload the coach, and while they do so, it starts raining. Arthur and Percival, who are lugging the last of the sports equipment up the steps to the entrance hall, are soaked in minutes. While the other counsellors start sorting the kids into their rooms, Arthur tries to comfort a ten year old whose suitcase has gone missing, and is crying noisily out in the rain, refusing to let the coach leave or to go inside with the others.
After an eternity, Arthur manages to calm down the hysterical kid and sends the coach driver off. He’s completely drenched when he finally enters the hall, dripping water all over the hardwood floor. The pile of suitcases is gone, and there’s nothing left but wet footprints. From above the sound of excited exclamations and laughter can be heard as the kids noisily move into their assigned dorm rooms. Arthur forgot how loud it could get with nearly 50 kids between the ages of 10 and 16.
He takes a deep breath, before picking up his heavy rucksack and climbing up the stairs to find his own room. He’s looking forward to a short break, when he can get settled in and change out of his damp clothes, before they’ll go down for dinner. The first evening at camp is usually orientation, where the counsellors explain about the programme for the next two weeks and set up the house rules.
When he goes looking for his room, he finds that Percival and Lance have already claimed one of the bedrooms reserved for the counsellors. Percival doesn’t even seem to be really sorry, waving at him innocently from where he’s already occupying one of the twin beds, which is traitorous in the extreme. Gwen and their cook Elena have taken the bedroom next door, and Mithian and Sophia, who will help out with all kinds of things that need doing, are rooming together as well. Not that Arthur would have considered rooming with one of the girls. With a sense of doom, Arthur trudges down the hall towards the last bedroom on that floor.
He pushes the door open to find Merlin sitting with his back against the headboard of the bed, his headphones on, a book in his lap, feet crossed at the ankles. His walkman is still clipped to his jeans. He lowers the book and pushes his headphones off when Arthur enters.
“There's only one bed,” he says matter-of-factly, spreading his arms wide to indicate the small room and the bed he's currently occupying.
“You don't say,” Arthur huffs, cursing the injustice of his life, as he drips water all over the carpet. He drops his heavy rucksack, feeling tired and defeated. Now he not only has to room with someone who makes him feel awkward and slightly unhinged, but he has to share a bed with the boy he’s been having lustful thoughts about, ever since he first saw him. Life is really testing him right now. He briefly considers if it’s worth looking for an empty bunk in one of the kids’ rooms, or camping out in the common room, but that might be even worse. He’s been to Camp Camelot before and the castle is draughty, the floors hard and cold and the couches in the common room lumpy. At least the bed isn’t too small. It will be a test, but Arthur can do it.
“Hey, err,” Merlin says, looking a little hesitant as he gives him a once-over, “do you want me to dry you a bit?”
“What?” Arthur says, frowning, and tiredly wipes at his eyes, absentmindedly wondering if the boiler will produce enough warm water for a quick shower. While he’s at it, he could maybe try and drown himself in the sink, so as to flee this impossible situation.
“I could just… you know?” Merlin offers and chews his lips as he takes him in, waving his hand around in the mimicry of a hedge witch spell.
Only now, Arthur realises that Merlin isn’t damp anymore, but perfectly dry and clean, from his formerly wet t-shirt to his messy curls. When Arthur hesitates to answer, unsure if he wants someone to perform magic on him, he’s suddenly blasted with a warm gust of wind as Merlin extends his hand. It’s a bit like standing in front of a giant hairdryer and it makes him feel warm and dry in seconds. Perplexed, he looks down at his clothes, and finds them dry but wrinkled. Merlin hasn’t even used words for the spell, and Arthur feels a little gobsmacked, not sure if he should feel terrified or impressed. He’s never heard of someone performing a spell without words before. Sadly though, it doesn’t diminish his lustful feelings one bit, but just seems to make Merlin more attractive to him.
He reaches up to thread a hand through his hair, and finds it flattened to his head. When he can’t find his words, Merlin blinks and shoves his headphones back onto his head. “You’re welcome,” he mutters, clearly unimpressed with Arthur’s speechlessness, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead, the small dimple in the corner of his mouth looking decidedly unhappy - as if he expected better of Arthur and is sorely disappointed by his manners.
Arthur considers clearing the air between them and admitting that he’s just tired and that Merlin overwhelms him, but he needs to be alone and sort out his confusing and sudden feelings, so he just drags his rucksack to the other side of the bed, and takes out his toiletries. On the bed, Merlin is still pretending to read and listen to music, but he’s giving him these small, curious sideway glances, as if he isn’t sure whether he should say something, or leave Arthur be.
In the bathroom mirror, Arthur groans at the disaster that is his hair, which is flattened unbecomingly to his skull, and sets about the rather elaborate operation to reinstate its sexy, just-climbed-out-of-bed look. Uther always claims it’s too long, but he hasn’t forced Arthur to get a dreaded buzzcut yet.
When he steps out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Merlin is gone, but the evidence of his presence is undeniable. His body has left behind an indentation on the sheets, and the book he was reading is lying on the bedside table. He unpacked his rucksack, and lined up a tower of cassette tapes, so many in fact, that Arthur wonders if there was anything else in his bag.
Arthur walks over to his bedside table and picks up the book. It’s called Naked Lunch, and he’s never heard of it. He reads the blurb on the back, and it sounds so wild that he feels his eyebrows rise and his mouth go a little dry. He drops the book, blushing, and instead reaches for the tower of cassette tapes. It’s a mix of store-bought ones and home-recorded mix tapes, just like the ones Arthur's sister Morgana records from the radio. There’s more of The Cure, a tape by The Church and a brand-new album by Depeche Mode, as well as some punk records by Siouxsie And The Banshees, The Clash and The Buzzcocks. It paints a pretty good picture of Merlin’s musical tastes.
Arthur puts everything back down where he found it, feeling a little bad for snooping, before he heads downstairs to join the other counsellors.
*-*
The evening is long and exhausting. Dinner on the first day is the traditional spag bol, a quick meal with made-ahead sauce, and Elena baked three loaves of marble cake in advance. The kids are going crazy over pudding, and even those feeling a little intimidated by their first camp experience help demolish the cake in record time. Afterwards, the counsellors lay out the schedule for the first week and answer the typical questions - What about the sports programme if it rains continuously? What type of skills are required for the craft workshops? - and some less usual ones.
The kids are universally curious about the magic programme and grill Merlin with question after question. He answers them all happily, his eyes shining with excitement as he explains that most of what they are going to do is accessible to everyone, as the programme is geared primarily towards focus, equanimity and resilience, skills that are required to master spells, but that are just as helpful for non-magic users.
He’s just as great with the kids now as he was when he arrived, and Arthur valiantly tries not to seem too interested in watching him, which is a hard feat. Merlin’s excitement is infectious and there is the indisputable fact that he’s just really, damn cute. Several of the kids wear an expression Arthur suspects would be visible on his own face if he didn’t do his best to suppress it. Their crushes seem to range from platonic admiration to more lustful emotions, at least if Arthur interprets the hair twirling and chest puffing of the two teenage girls that have barely left Merlin’s side, correctly.
Morgana seems to have made friends already and is hanging out with an older, blonde-haired girl called Morgause, and Mordred, the boy with bright blue eyes. Arthur watches as Morgana and Mordred are having the time of their lives, chattering and giggling like they are already the best of friends. Mordred is ten, only a year younger than Morgana, and they get along splendidly. He’s relieved to see her interact so well with other kids, considering how hard the past year at the private school she’s attended has been.
The rest of Arthur’s evening is spent answering individual questions about the sports programme, taking turns in drying the dishes and herding the protesting kids to bed. Arthur sorts out two cases of severe homesickness, shuts down an impromptu party in one of the girls' dorms and plays referee to a fight breaking out over the use of the showers. When he finally makes it up to his own room, it’s already close to midnight and he’s absolutely shattered. All he wants is a shower and a soft bed and the merciful oblivion of a deep sleep.
He finds Merlin exiting the shower when he comes in, his hair a little damp, his face pink, his ridiculously long lashes moist. He’s wearing an old, 70s band shirt that’s worn and soft, with the print mostly faded, and his legs look long and coltish. The T-shirt clings damply to his skin, outlining the lean form underneath. The sight of him shocks Arthur, like an electric jolt running through his body, taking his breath away. It’s undeniable - Merlin is damn attractive. Not just handsome, but all out gorgeous, with his soft curls and blue eyes and pink lips. There’s something disarming about his naked toes, and Arthur watches them curl into the carpet for a long moment, before he’s ripped from his perusal as Merlin clears his throat awkwardly.
“The shower’s all yours,” he says, and Arthur startles out of his weird reverie about Merlin’s feet. He heads for the bathroom, feeling the warmth of embarrassment on his face, careful to not brush against Merlin in the narrow space between bed and ensuite. Heat beats off Merlin’s body as he passes, like a caress, like a promise.
In the sanctuary of the bathroom, Arthur exhales a sigh and slumps against the closed door to regain his breath. It’s warm and damp in here, and it smells like Merlin’s shower gel, pleasant, but slightly overwhelming. He strips and steps into the wet cubicle, oddly conscious of how Merlin has been naked in here, just minutes ago.
He showers quickly and brushes his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. His face is bright pink from the hot water, summer freckles littering his nose and the skin beneath his eyes. He spits out the foam and rinses, then sets the toothbrush in the little plastic cup that is provided, where Merlin’s toothbrush has already taken up residence.
He lingers in the bathroom longer than necessary, reluctant to enter the bedroom, where he’s supposed to share a bed with a stranger he’s also worryingly attracted to. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that he isn’t quite like his friends, no matter how hard he tries to be, but it’s another thing to be comfortable with that fact.
Even at college, where there’s a queer club that meets once a week, people are hesitant to come out as gay. Those who do, immediately get shunned. In that regard, the gay students aren’t very dissimilar to those who openly confess to having magic. All throughout last year, Arthur had secretly watched the club members from afar, but hadn’t dared to approach, knowing that once he took that step, his comfortable life would become so very different.
Instead, he’s been mostly concentrating on his studies and on sports. His dedication shows in good grades and his reputation as one of his college’s best, junior rugby players. He had very carefully manoeuvred every instance where he had been attracted to another boy. It had been difficult to push these feelings aside, but he had managed. Until now. There never has been this awful, crippling feeling of cataclysmic, undeniable desire, which rushed through him when he laid eyes on Merlin for the first time, earlier today.
When, at last, Arthur leaves the bathroom, Merlin is already lying in bed with the lights out, curled up on one side. It’s a small mercy, and Arthur pads through the dark room, knocking his knees on the bedframe, before climbing into bed on his side. He lifts the covers and scoots under them, aware that he shouldn’t pull too hard, so as not to jostle Merlin. Merlin lies with his back turned to him, breathing softly, clearly still awake. The warmth of his body has heated the space underneath the blankets.
Arthur turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling, acutely aware of Merlin next to him. To his shame, he’s hard, but then again, maybe that’s not so much of a surprise. He carefully breathes in and out and tries to think about other things, concentrating on the programme they’ve lined up for tomorrow, instead of the boy breathing quietly next to him. There’s a small, crystal-clear lake about twenty minutes away, and Percival and he want to take the kids cliff jumping tomorrow. Arthur pictures the lake, deep blue (like Merlin’s eyes, dammit!) and serene (unlike Arthur’s current emotions), and hopes to drift off to its calming image at some point.
“Good night,” Merlin says, suddenly, the words muffled into his pillow.
“Good night,” Arthur whispers hoarsely, listening to Merlin settling in more comfortably.
Arthur lies awake for almost another hour, listening to Merlin’s soft, even breathing, before he turns onto his right side, with his back to Merlin, and falls asleep.
*-*
When he wakes in the morning, he finds they have gravitated towards each other through the night. Arthur is lying turned towards the middle of the bed, and when he opens his eyes, Merlin’s head is resting closely on the pillow next to him, his face smooth and unblemished in the morning light, his lips plush and slightly parted. His eyelids flutter, the eyeballs beneath moving as he dreams. He’s just as beautiful in the soft light of morning as he was yesterday when Arthur first saw him, maybe even more so.
Shit, Arthur thinks, because he had hoped his attraction would go away overnight. It hasn’t. He’s itching all over to reach out and stroke away a wayward curl that’s tumbling onto Merlin’s cheek. His lips look soft and tempting, his eyelashes fan darkly across his pale cheeks, and the longing to kiss him is sudden and overwhelming.
His heart hammering hard in his chest, Arthur scoots out of the bed, careful not to wake Merlin, and flees to the bathroom. After about two minutes, where he tries to will away several rather explicit fantasies of what he desperately wants to do to Merlin, he gives up trying to calm himself and beats off into the toilet, breathing shallowly so as to not make a sound. Catching his breath, he flushes away the evidence of his arousal, then splashes cold water onto his face until he feels halfway normal again. It’s a tried and true method to dispel his unwanted desires. Arthur is very familiar with his right hand.
When he steps out of the ensuite, Merlin is awake, blanket pushed down to his waist, stretching languidly, his arms overhead. “Morning,” he yawns, then once more stretches his limbs with another happy sound that makes Arthur grit his teeth. Yeah, he’s going to avoid Merlin as much as possible, something that’s rather difficult when you’re sharing a bed.
“Get going. We need to help with breakfast,” he all but snaps, then moves towards his rucksack, which he didn’t unpack last night, and looks for a fresh shirt and shorts.
“Already?” Merlin moans, but he climbs out of bed, stretching his spine some more, this time to the left and right. His shirt rides up, showing the taut skin of his belly, and wincing, Arthur turns away. He’s too aware of Merlin padding into the bathroom behind him, and breathes a sigh of relief when he’s alone.
It’s going to be a trying camp experience, he can tell.
*-*
The first day at camp is always extremely tiring. There’s no routine yet, and the kids need constant supervision and intervention. Excitement hangs in the air, but it’s overshadowed by nerves. Arthur remembers the feeling from his first year at camp, when he didn’t know anyone and didn’t know what to expect. Some of the kids are away from home for the first time in their lives, others are not used to sharing their space with so many other kids 24/7. Then there are those kids who have been coming to camp for years, happy to be away from home and somewhere else, who are much too giddy, and act up in their exuberance. And then there’s the addition of magical kids this year, something that hasn’t been tried before. It could all go horribly wrong. They seem particularly nervous, unsure of what to expect. Putting all this together, it makes for an interesting mix of characters at camp, but Arthur hopes that in a couple of days, everything will have fallen into place.
After breakfast, Percival and Arthur gather their sports kids and head out on a small hike. It’s a pleasantly warm day and they hike in the surrounding hills, before heading for the lake at noon, to eat their lunch and go for a swim. There are some spots where you can do cliff jumping, and it’s usually a hit with the kids.
When they return in the late afternoon, half their kids are sunburnt, but happy, their ruddy faces glowing both with heat and contentment. While Percival goes inside to do kitchen duty, Arthur gets the kids that still have some energy left to play footie on the large meadow out the back. Some of the kids from the other programmes join them, while others sit down on the steps in the sun and watch the proceedings.
Merlin is there, too, sitting with his pale face turned into the sun, leaning back on his elbows, his eyes following the game. He looks relaxed and comfortable in his skin, radiating contentment. His shirt has ridden up a little, revealing a stretch of sharp hipbone and flat belly. He’s wearing another earring today, a silver ankh dangling from his lobe. The way he holds himself makes Arthur think of stupid, reckless things; of mouthing at the pale expanse of skin, of finding something he can push Merlin up against or climbing over him. His brain is running away with endless, lustful possibilities, and Arthur has a hard time concentrating on footie, although he attempts to show off a bit. He feels embarrassed about the fact, but he wants Merlin to see him at his best - and if there’s one thing that Arthur is undeniably good at, then it’s playing soccer.
It seems to work, because after the game, he feels Merlin’s eyes on him all the way from the meadow and up the steps to Castle Camelot, and it gives him a dangerously forbidden thrill. When he turns halfway up the steps and wipes his sleeve over his sweaty face, he finds Merlin has turned as well and is still looking up at him, unabashed. Swallowing, Arthur looks away and hastens inside, suddenly spooked by his own daring and Merlin’s open regard and what the hell it might mean. Probably nothing, he tells himself, and doesn’t know if he feels relieved or disappointed.
He showers quickly, before coming down for dinner. The evening is spent playing darts and board games, and some kids have curled up on the couches with handheld video games they’ve brought with them. Merlin is remarkably good at darts, beating even Lance, who has prided himself in being the undefeatable champion at camp for the past couple of years. He’s a joy to watch, his face fierce with concentration, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he takes his time aiming, untroubled by any taunting remarks. Lance takes the loss of his title in his stride, but demands a rematch the following evening, and soon afterwards it’s time for lights out.
Arthur makes sure everything is locked up downstairs, and then heads up after the others. Like yesterday, Merlin is already in bed, only this time he’s sitting up against the pillows with his outrageous book. Arthur grunts a brief greeting and vanishes into the bathroom, going about his evening routine as slowly as possible, before facing the music. The thought of confronting Merlin in their shared bed has him almost panicking. He just knows it will be awkward as all hell, and a test of control, too. Another night next to Merlin, another night being too close to him, battling his demons. The thought he might get hard again and being unable to stop it or deal with it is terrible.
When he finally steps into the bedroom, the lights are out, and he breathes a sigh of relief. It would be too awkward climbing into bed with Merlin if the other boy watches him with his unsettling, amused, deep-blue eyes. He lies down stiffly, much like yesterday, and even though the lights are out, he can tell Merlin is awake, lying on his back next to him.
It becomes so physically awkward, that Arthur can’t take it any longer.
“You play a mean game of darts,” he says finally, both relieved that the silence is broken and anxious about having to hold a conversation with Merlin, here, in the still of the night, in the darkness of their shared bed.
Merlin releases a chuckle together with a small breath. “You play a mean game of footie,” he counters. To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin’s low, teasing words put Arthur at ease, his limbs relaxing, an unexpected smile tugging at his mouth. He’s been holding so much tension in his body all day long, and the way it drains away at Merlin’s amused reply causes him to melt into the mattress. Okay, he thinks, okay, he can do this. He can hold a conversation. It’s not too bad.
“Did you do magic tricks during the game?” Arthur asks, but keeps his voice teasing, so Merlin will hear the smile that’s on his face and understand that he’s not really accusing him of cheating.
“I could ask you the same about your footwork,” Merlin says lightly, having adopted that same light tone. “Are you sure you’re not a little bit magic?” It might be an echo back to their conversation on the coach, to Percy’s insistence that, while he was magic in the sack, Arthur was lacking in that department. Or maybe not. Maybe, Arthur is reading too much into Merlin’s words.
There’s the rustle of fabric and when Arthur looks sideways, Merlin has turned his head on his pillow, a smirk quirking his lips, looking at Arthur with eyes that glint in the darkness like a cat’s. It’s just the moonlight reflected in his pupils, but he looks otherworldly and breathtakingly beautiful. There’s a hint of challenge in his tone and eyes that Arthur doesn’t know how to interpret exactly. His beauty is deceptive, because Arthur knows that Merlin is also dangerous, a threat to Arthur’s well-honed discipline, who could unravel Arthur’s life in an instant. It’s difficult to be cautious, though, when Merlin is looking at him like that.
“I guess I could be,” Arthur says before he can hold himself back, feeling daring as blood rushes to his groin and his heartbeat gets elevated. “If the right person was to challenge me, perhaps.” Once the words are out, he desperately wants to take them back. It’s like he can’t help himself, throwing caution to the wind at the sight of Merlin’s smile. With bated breath, he waits for Merlin’s reaction, for his rebuttal, for him to stop the teasing before it can go too far, before the meaning behind his words can be conceived of as anything other than friendly banter.
“Perhaps,” Merlin agrees instead, and keeps watching him, his skin bathed in blue, his grin thoughtful and maybe, devastatingly so, a little flirtatious.
They are both silent for a bit, and Arthur finds it hard to breathe with the way Merlin is looking at him, like he’s waiting for Arthur to say or do something outrageous. Arthur’s mind is pure chaos. Is he misinterpreting the mood between them? And if he isn’t, shouldn’t he resist?
“What… what does it feel like to do magic?” he croaks out, and is immediately disappointed in himself for chickening out of what might have been a dare. Only it couldn't be, could it? There was no reason to believe that Merlin wanted him to do anything like the things Arthur has been fantasising about, ever since he first saw him. It couldn’t be.
Merlin smiles softly at the question and turns onto his side fully, so he’s facing Arthur. It feels only right to turn towards Merlin, too, and Arthur shifts, acutely aware of his own body in relation to Merlin and the throb of excitement in his limbs, the heat in his groin.
“Warm,” Merlin says softly, and holds Arthur’s gaze. “Like comfort. Like coming home. Like hot chocolate on a cold night. Satisfying.” He pauses, his eyes searching Arthur’s face, and Arthur forgets to breathe for a moment. “Electrifying. Alive.”
Arthur remembers something, something that’s been bothering him since yesterday.
“When you conjured the small, flame dragon in the palm of your hand, you didn’t use a spell,” he whispers.
Merlin is silent for a long moment, searching Arthur’s face, for what, Arthur doesn’t know. “Sometimes,” he finally says, “my magic comes to me without much prompting. Like it’s eager to please. Sometimes I need to coax it out a bit. Sometimes it bursts out of me even if I don’t call on it.”
“That must be difficult.”
“Not so much anymore. When I was younger.”
The urge to see Merlin lit up with magic like a beacon, powerful and confident, overcomes Arthur. The thought is turning him on, badly. "Show me something else you can do,” he finds himself asking, his voice a bit raspy.
Merlin’s mouth pulls into a smile, and he places his hand, palm up, between them. He whispers a word Arthur doesn’t understand, in a language that sounds archaic and foreign to him. It begins as a glimmer of light in his open palm, and Arthur watches as Merlin’s eyes turn golden, a fire lit from within. Merlin flexes his hand, as if he’s juggling, and a glimmering ball shoots upwards and spreads, expanding underneath the dark ceiling.
Arthur gasps out a surprised laugh as he looks up, finding familiar constellations, spread beneath the ceiling. It’s not unlike being in a planetarium. They both turn onto their backs, but have shifted closer together, Merlin’s curls brushing against his shoulder, tickling his neck like they have a mind of their own.
“Look, there’s the North Star,” Merlin points out, and Arthur follows the length of Merlin’s arm to find the bright star, using it to guide him to well-known constellations.
“This is amazing,” he breathes, and turns his head sideways to find Merlin’s eyes on him, his smile soft and happy and absolutely dazzling.
“Yeah,” Merlin whispers. His eyes have lost their golden shimmer, but they’re still bright, and Arthur has to look away.
Swallowing, Arthur looks for the Plough, pointing it out when he finds it. They look for more constellations but Arthur’s knowledge of astronomy is easily trumped by Merlin, who seems to know them all.
“What’s your favourite constellation?” Arthur asks, after Merlin has retold the myth of Orion and the Scorpion, and how the scorpion is chasing Orion for all eternity.
“Antonious,” Merlin says without hesitation, and makes a small, coaxing motion with his fingers. Above, the stars move and they zoom into a constellation that Arthur doesn’t recognise.
“Antonious?” Arthur says, puzzled. He hasn’t heard of the constellation before.
“A lost constellation,” Merlin says softly, and his eyes glimmer gold as several stars light up and connect with golden lines to depict a figure. “Did you know that while some constellations are very old, others have come and gone? Antonious was made into a constellation by Hadrian after Antonious’s death in 130 and he’s only vanished from our star charts in this century.”
“Oh,” Arthur says, still a little confused. “Why did Hadrian invent a constellation?”
“To commemorate Antonious, whom he loved above all else,” Merlin says, not taking his eyes off the constellation. “He made him into a deity and there was a cult following him for hundreds of years. To immortalise him, he put him into the stars. Here he is, lifted away by an eagle,” another constellation lights up above Antonious, “just like Ganymede when Zeus took him.”
This myth, Arthur knows, and he feels himself blushing. “Oh, right,” he says, his heart pounding madly in his chest. Right now, he’s sure that Merlin’s choice of constellation was deliberate, but the implications are insane. Did Merlin really just come out and tell him his favourite constellation is the immortalisation of a Roman emperor’s male lover?
Merlin releases his hold on the constellation and the stars spread out again, shimmering beneath the ceiling. Arthur releases a soft breath, acutely aware of Merlin’s body in relation to his own, so close, he can feel the warmth of him. Merlin’s breath puffs gently against the side of his neck as he turns his face towards him again.
“Thanks for showing me,” Arthur finally manages, his head swimming. “This is beautiful.”
“You’re welcome.” Merlin says softly, and when Arthur dares to turn his head, Merlin is still looking at him, his mouth a little parted, his skin lit up by the lights from the stars above. Arthur’s body sings with excitement and he feels his breath quickening. Any moment now, one of them will bridge the space between them. He can feel it in his blood, it’s inevitable. It’s only a matter of who takes the first step. Merlin licks his lips and moves in.
The bang of their door opening jolts them apart. Arthur hits his elbow on the nightstand, cursing as his lamp wobbles and falls to the carpet. Disappointment and relief war in him, an overwhelming mix of emotions.
In the dark doorframe, lit by the star constellations still hanging overhead, there’s Mordred, tear-streaked and pale, and Morgana behind him, her hands on his shoulders. “He fell out of his bunk,” she says.
*-*
After checking over Mordred, making sure that he’s not concussed and cleaning up his teary face, and then herding the kids that have gathered because of the commotion back to bed, they return to the bedroom tiredly. Arthur is exhausted as he crawls back into bed, and Merlin seems reluctant to acknowledge what nearly happened. They lie on their backs, side by side, breathing quietly into the dark space around them. The wild mix of emotions that have settled on Arthur’s chest like a huge weight are overwhelming and he has no idea what to feel, say or do.
They nearly kissed. Arthur nearly kissed another boy.
After years of suppressing his attraction to other boys, it only took Merlin a little over 24 hours to cause Arthur to slip up.
The strange thing is, alongside the thickness of despair at the back of Arthur’s throat, the looming spectre of what his life will look like if he moves on down that dangerous path, there’s elation. His body is singing. Here’s a beautiful boy, the most gorgeous one Arthur has ever seen, in fact, and he wants to kiss Arthur. In the darkness, in the quiet, shared space of the bed, the path Arthur has successfully avoided thus far, doesn’t look so scary any more.
He twists his head on the pillow and finds Merlin already looking at him.
“Hey,” Merlin whispers.
“Hey,” Arthur echoes back, his voice hoarse.
Across the empty space between them, Merlin’s hand moves, sliding forward, his fingers searching, until they bump into Arthur’s hand. At the touch, Arthur’s fingers curl reflexively, and he hisses out a short breath. It feels like Merlin electrocuted him.
Merlin licks his full lips, but he doesn’t move any closer, his eyes on his fingers, where they have now started to stroke Arthur’s. Arthur closes his eyes, and allows the touch to happen. Warmth rushes through him, as if Merlin is infusing him with it, sending it from his body to Arthur’s. It’s gentle and soothing, even while it’s the most arousing thing Arthur has ever felt.
“I-” Arthur breathes out. “I don’t-” He has no idea what he wants to say, but Merlin understands, stilling the touch of his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and is about to pull his fingers back when Arthur grips them, clutching his hand in his.
“This is fine,” Arthur whispers, and after a moment, he feels Merlin’s hand relax in his.
“Okay,” Merlin whispers back on an exhale. He keeps his fingers where they are, loosely held in Arthur’s hand.
Arthur falls asleep with Merlin’s hand still resting in his.
In the morning, he wakes to an empty bed.
*-*
The next days pass in that eventful, almost breathless haze that's an inherent part of summer camp, There's always something to do, always somewhere to be, a game to join, a chore to complete, a kid that needs something.
Arthur barely has any time to think, which is a small mercy, or he would go crazy with the suspended tension of what nearly happened that second night sharing a bed with Merlin.
Merlin hasn't approached him either, hasn't so much as commented on their night beneath the magical canopy of stars he had conjured, but whenever they are in the same room, Arthur finds his eyes unerringly drawn towards him. Everything about him is pleasing to Arthur: his slightly crooked grin, the little dimple at the corner of his mouth, his protruding ears, even the small blemish of a healing pimple between his eyebrows. It’s difficult to not observe Merlin any chance he gets, and it’s a mercy that they barely see each other during the day or Arthur would be permanently distracted by the way Merlin moves, or smiles, or chews his food. While Merlin usually stays near the castle grounds with his group of magical students, Arthur and Percy head into the woods and surrounding hills almost daily.
At night, in their bed, he can’t escape him, but they’ve found a kind of unspoken truce. They are not talking about what happened, not about the almost-kiss nor the hand-holding. Merlin seemingly has accepted Arthur’s limits and isn’t pushing. Once more, disappointment and relief fight for dominion.
Instead, they hold long, quiet conversations, about everything and nothing at all. Merlin tells him about his magic and how he grew up needing to suppress it to not put himself or his mother in danger. About his first year of studying medicine at Queen Mary University and how it feels being one of the first openly magical students to take lectures there. About the music Merlin loves and the books he’s been reading recently.
In return, Arthur talks about his father, and how he’s demanding, but ultimately well-meaning, of how they discovered Morgana’s magic and what that meant, about his decision to study sports management, going against his father’s hopes of Arthur becoming a lawyer.
The conversation between them flows easily, addictive and energising.
Talking to Merlin is easy, even with the truce between them. In fact, it’s the easiest thing Arthur has ever done. Even though they’ve been brought up so differently, they see eye to eye on many topics. Every time they discover a common belief, warmth spreads through Arthur. He’s never felt so understood in his life before.