Take Me Home (Merlin)
Title: Take Me Home
Author: julesoh
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 950
Summary: “But you could do it, couldn’t you?” Arthur insists. “You’ve conquered life and death - surely a little thunderstorm won’t pose much of a problem.”
Notes: I don't really know what to say about this - I just really wanted some kind of Arthur/Merlin touching in the episode, so this spluttered out of my head. Oh, also, spoilers for 1x13!



Gaius falls asleep against Merlin’s shoulder; the rain still beating down all around, the stone hard against his back.

But Gaius is warm in his arms, his forehead where it rests against Merlin’s neck is wet but not cool, and another laugh pushes its way between Merlin’s lips, barely audible against the roar of thunder.

A flash of lightning blinds him momentarily when he looks up at the sky, and when he can see again, Arthur is standing over him, rain trickling down his cheeks as he gazes down at them impassively.

“We should take him inside,” he says, nodding at Gaius, and bending to take one of his arms.

Merlin scrambles to his feet to help lift at Gaius’ other armpit, not taking his eyes off the soaking prince. “How - what - how long?” he fumbles.

Arthur’s tone is flat, giving nothing away as he leads them towards an alcove. “To come after you: maybe half an hour. Standing here, watching you: long enough.”

They pass under an arch and the crashing rain becomes muted against the old stones as they lie Gaius down.

“Long enough to see me kill Nimueh,” Merlin confirms, straightening Gaius’ arms.

Arthur unhooks a small pack, hooked on his belt, and pulls out a light blanket. Merlin lifts Gaius’ head automatically so that he can slide the blanket under the damp grey hair as a substitute for a pillow.

“He shouldn’t stay wet,” Arthur says, rising to his feet, and when he looks at Merlin there’s finally something showing on his face: expectance and anticipation and a little fear, too. “You can dry him, can’t you?”

Merlin nods. That morning, he wouldn’t have been able to, he thinks, would have had no idea what words were the right ones to say, but he doesn’t need to learn the right words anymore. All he needs to do is raise his hand and think, for a microsecond, and the magic flows through his body and he speaks without knowing it, the syllables flickering over his tongue.

Gaius shifts contentedly in his sleep, bone dry, and Merlin turns to Arthur. The prince’s skin is slick with rainwater, like his own, and he waves his hand. “I could do the same for you,” he offers with an uncertain shrug.

Arthur shakes his head and backs out of the alcove, raising his head to the dark clouds. “Why don’t you just stop the rain?” he calls, the words barely reaching Merlin’s ears and forcing him to follow Arthur back out into the wet.

“It’ll stop in its own time,” he tells Arthur. “Once it’s washed what’s left of her away from this place.”

“But you could do it, couldn’t you?” Arthur insists. “You’ve conquered life and death - surely a little thunderstorm won’t pose much of a problem.” There’s a challenge in his tone, anger too, but it isn’t very strong.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “I could do it.” He walks forward a couple of paces, and points at Arthur’s left arm, out of its sling but stiff against his side. “I could heal that fully for you, too.”

“Don’t,” Arthur says quickly, angling his injured shoulder away. Merlin shies back a little, but realises that where he expected recrimination in Arthur’s eyes, there is only regret, and it doesn’t seem to be aimed at him. “It’s enough just knowing you can.”

Merlin remains silent, lifting a hand to brush at the water sticking to his eyelashes.

“I should have known earlier,” Arthur continues. “I think, sometimes, that I did.”

“I thought perhaps you knew, after Will,” Merlin says, lifting a wet shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?” Arthur demands sharply, catching Merlin by surprise. He gapes for a moment, unsure. For Uther’s stupid laws that make Arthur the son of a paranoid tyrant, he thinks briefly.

“For keeping it a secret,” he says.

Arthur moves so quickly that Merlin doesn’t have time to react, he just feels Arthur’s good hand catch him by the neck and push him up against one of the tall stones, his feet slipping in the sticky ground. Arthur’s fingers are tight against his throat, blunt calluses rubbing at his skin.

“You lied to me,” Arthur hisses dangerously, letting Merlin see the hurt and fury flash in his eyes. He twists his hand, pulling at Merlin’s neck scarf, and Merlin feels his head bounce against the stone painfully. He blinks, and when his eyes open again Arthur’s expression has softened, regret and apologies and gratitude and tenderness replacing his anger. “You saved me,” he breathes, fingers loosening on Merlin’s neck and reaching to curl gently around his nape.

The stiff, warm fingers of Arthur’s other hand settle at Merlin’s waist, and he leans in closer, raking his eyes over Merlin’s face, his warm breath mingling with Merlin’s.

Tentatively, Merlin lifts his own arms, looping them as far around Arthur’s broad torso as they’ll go, landing but not quite meeting just below Arthur’s shoulder blades. “I’d do it again,” he murmurs, letting his forehead tilt forward so that it bumps against Arthur’s, then turning slightly to feel the faint throbbing of Arthur’s pulse in his temple.

He sinks into Arthur’s kiss when it comes, feeling hot tears sting at his eyes at the feel of their lips meeting, Arthur’s teeth sharp against his tongue and so very alive.

He’s shaking when Arthur pulls back, and he meets his eyes briefly before letting his head fall forward, chin fitting over Arthur’s shoulder neatly. Arthur’s eyelashes scrape over the hard cartilage at the tip of his ear. “My secret,” Arthur says.

Merlin coughs, sobs, laughs into Arthur’s sodden hair. “I think I already knew.”

End.