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gmtaslashAnd Part Two:
Part One
***
Arthur knows it was actually the worst idea in the world to kiss his manservant. He kicks himself metaphorically, and the bedstead literally, as he wrestles himself out of his clothes and into his nightshirt. Then he has to hop around and curse the stony hardness of the wooden bedstead, and that almost distracts him from the ghost-memory of Merlin's lips on his; soft, sweet, roughened by the wind, impossibly good.
Almost.
There's a knock at the door, and he bids whoever it is enter, mostly thinking it will be Merlin returning on some ridiculous pretext and that this is a relief because they can just get the blame and the recriminations over now, and he can order Merlin to be put in the stocks for insolence or something that will make their relationship make sense again in a sort of traditional master/servant way, and after that they'll be okay again. But it's not Merlin. It's Morgana, of all people, and Arthur is ridiculously aware of the fact that his knees are visible under the nightshirt. Knees are possibly the least attractive part of the human body, Arthur thinks mildly hysterically. This is not decent. He cannot be showing his knees to ladies.
He shoves away the memory of Morgana's shoulders and curses his brain for throwing that up in a montage of indecent body parts.
'Yes, Morgana?' he manages, a tad huffily, but then being interrupted in the act of going to bed and having to stand around and be gentlemanly in your nightshirt when you've been on your feet all day beating the laziness and the bad habits out of a bunch of green hopefuls is apt to do that to you.
'What on earth have you done to Merlin?' she asks, smiling at him. 'He ran past me like all the hounds of hell were on his trail. You haven't been threatening him with more 'combat practice', have you?'
'No,' says Arthur. He wishes she'd go away.
'Because you know the only reason you did it was to see him get sweaty in knight's gear.' Morgana's voice is suddenly a purr, and she's a lot closer than she had hitherto been. She looks up at him with a wicked, catlike smile.
'I ... resent that implication,' says Arthur stiffly.
'But you don't deny it.'
Arthur hesitates. The fact of the matter is, actually, he had genuinely tried to teach Merlin the rudiments of defending himself, but after a few goes it had become distracting. So he stopped it. Besides, Merlin had enough chores to be getting on with, and he seemed to have the most extraordinary luck when it came to not getting hurt in situations involving monsters, bandits and ravening wild creatures.
'I thought not,' says Morgana. 'He's very pretty,' she adds.
'I thought we'd sorted out this not-despoiling-servants thing,' says Arthur wearily.
'No, we established that you're not 'attempting to seduce Guinevere'.' Her voice takes on a deep, mocking tone. If this is your attempt at imitating me, Arthur thinks, you could at least try to mask the ridiculous accent.
'If you're asking permission to tumble my manservant, I'd like to point out that if you must indulge, there are plenty of noblemen who wouldn't say no.' Arthur decides to take refuge in sarcasm.
'Is that a no?'
Sarcasm has failed. 'What?' Arthur asks bewilderedly. 'You actually-'
'Don't worry, Arthur, I won't usurp your prerogative,' says Morgana, and she takes one more step into him and tilts her head up and - oh.
Oh.
Well.
Arthur always sort of knew the bickering would end somewhere similar to this.
Morgana pulls back, licks her lips enticingly. 'If there's any tumbling going on, I'll make sure you're invited,' she says, and saunters away, leaving Arthur with a rather more pressing visibility issue than his knees, for the third night in a row. The iron self-control is really gone now. But then what kind of inhuman creature could hold on to iron self control in this situation?
He debates trying to ignore the situation again, kicks the bedstead one more time for good luck and winces at the sound the ball of his foot makes as it hits. Pain does not dull the edge of arousal, annoyingly.
Also, if he dozes off like this and rolls over, he might seriously impede bloodflow, and the idea of the royal appendage dropping off from constriction isn't pleasant. For a start, despite the lack of exercise it's getting now, Arthur's pretty certain that at some point in the hopefully not-so-distant future he'll be allowed, nay, expected to be using the damned thing.
Arthur slides into the bed, settles himself just so, and takes matters in hand. It is ridiculous how good this feels, really, ridiculous how skin can make a man lose his control. The sight of it, even - Morgana's shoulders, creamy white, bird-boned, ridiculously tempting - but the touch of it, Merlin's lips, Morgana's -
Not so many years ago, the wide-eyed daughter of some nobleman made a clumsy pass at him by saying 'Surely, Sire, a prince such as yourself can have anything he wants ...'
Arthur had laughed, at the time, because it was so ridiculous. 'Of course I can,' he'd said, fitting a tight lid on his mirth. And he'd gone right on and had as much wine as his belly would take, leaving the nobleman's daughter still a maiden and the nobleman annoyed because he'd thought to have her entrap Arthur into marriage, and Uther both proud of and disgusted with his vomiting sot of a virginal son.
He can have whatever he wants, provided he doesn't want skin, hands, mouths. He can have anyone he wants, provided he just wants them to fetch and carry and fight and die.
The only hands he is allowed are his own, and he's denied himself for three nights because he cannot be having thoughts of this kind about Morgana, or Merlin, or Gwen. Sweet Gwen, the only one of the three who hasn't molested him today, dear, dear girl, he'd thank her but it'd be a tad strange, going up to a maid and saying 'By the way, much obliged for the way you haven't kissed me yet today ...'
God, his own frantic hands on his far-too-long-denied person, so very good. Don't think about how the hell you're going to face Merlin tomorrow, or Morgana, or even Gwen, because Morgana tells her far too much and Merlin does too, they're in league, those three, no, don't think about it-
Far too late but all too soon, Arthur brings himself off. Wiping his hand on the sheets, it suddenly hits him that Merlin will be taking these to the laundry, if not washing them himself. And that he will therefore be privy, somewhat second-hand, to Arthur's ... loss of self-control.
Oh God.
Burying his face in the pillow, Arthur wonders if you can die of sexual frustration and mortification simultaneously.
***
Gwen is peacefully sewing in Morgana's room the next morning when Merlin rushes in. He only remembers to check for the presence of Morgana halfway through the first sentence. Mercifully, she is out, because the first sentence is 'Gwen, help, Arthur kissed me last night, and I have no idea what to- wait, is Morgana here?'
Gwen's giggling is probably warranted, Merlin thinks, but a little hurtful all the same. She's always been so understanding when he brings life's little problems to her, like outfitting a commoner in knight's gear so that he can break the First Code of Camelot and become a knight, and finding a sword so Merlin can get it breathed on by a dragon, and helping Merlin rescue his entire village from bandits ... why should this be any different?
Once the giggles have calmed down, though, Gwen is the very soul of comforting, motherly advice. Just like Merlin knew she would be.
'Did you mind?' she asks first of all. 'I mean, did you want him to?' She must have seen his expression, because she continues 'Of course, I'll understand if you don't want to say, but it's sort of important, really, if you think about it.'
'I-' says Merlin, because he really kind of did, but it's sort of hard to admit that to someone you recently played the 'Arthur - would you if you could?' game with.
'I shouldn't have asked,' Gwen says immediately. 'Sorry. Um. Well, you could just sort of ignore it.'
'Gwen. He kissed me,' says Merlin. 'And he was all-' Merlin flails, unable to really express in words the Arthur-ness of Arthur and how ignoring being kissed by Arthur would be like ignoring the fact that the sun rises and sets every damn day.
'I kissed you too, once,' says Gwen softly. 'Was I all?' She waves her hands vaguely in imitation, and shifts closer on the seat.
This is less comforting and motherly, mainly because Merlin remembers that kiss, and it was very all.
The nice thing about Gwen, apart from the fact that she's sweet and pretty and is possibly the nicest person in the world, is that she's straightforward. Merlin knows she likes him. And he likes her. Probably loves her, really, if he thinks about it, because how could he not love her, after everything they've been through? How could he not?
And so he pushes away the worrying thought that he really kind of loves prattish, stupid, noble Arthur as well, and kisses her. Properly, this time, a kiss they're both paying attention for and neither of them has just been dragged from the jaws of death, so there's less mysterious musty sickbed smell and he can catch a whiff of something floral, and clean linen, and really appreciate how soft and how warm her mouth is, how generous she is in this, encouraging Merlin - unlike Arthur who just grabbed what he wanted, but in such a way as to make Merlin thirst to give him more.
You're not supposed to think about other kisses when having a kiss, but somehow it doesn't seem altogether too odd, or like something Gwen would object overly to ... and Merlin loses himself in kiss after kiss, Gwen's needlework forgotten and Merlin's stress over Arthur's reactions lost in a swirl of pleasure and relief.
'Well, this is as pretty as a picture,' says Morgana, suddenly, in Merlin's ear, and he jerks backwards in surprise. Morgana has to duck speedily to avoid the back of Merlin's skull connecting with the bridge of her nose.
'Lady Morgana!' says Merlin, ashamed of how squeaky his voice is.
'Hello,' she says, raising an eyebrow. 'Comfy, are we?'
Gwen is still holding both of Merlin's hands entwined in her own, and Morgana has one hand on his shoulder and one is snaking around his waist.
'Argle,' would be a rough approximation of the only response Merlin finds himself capable of making.
Gwen and Morgana are grinning at each other.
'Okay,' Merlin begins when he has his vocal chords under control again. 'What's happening?' He tries for a friendly, non-accusing pitch. Unfortunately it still comes out as if he's got absolutely no male parts whatsoever, but at least he can form words.
Oh, wait, no, he definitely has male parts. Yes, there they are. All ... beckoning for attention.
Merlin suddenly finds himself hoping desperately that both girls are far more unobservant than he would ordinarily give them credit for. Clearly, the world has gone mad. This is some kind of bizarre enchantment, obviously, and he needs to get out of here at once and find Gaius and sort it out, and unless the magic book has a memory-wiping spell it would really be best if Morgana didn't put her hand ... right there.
Damn it.
'So, Merlin,' says Morgana, with her hand in places and her breath hot in the shell of Merlin's ear. 'Gwen and I were talking the other day-'
It is quite hard to pay attention to Morgana when Gwen is kissing him again. And, yes, alright, maybe Morgana is speaking right into his ear, but think about that another way. She is speaking right into his ear. Breathing. All warm and moist and ... argle.
'- and we thought perhaps -'
Eventually it transpires, after a long and convoluted explanation which seemed to involve an awful lot of clothing removal - Merlin still has his breeches on, but only just, and Gwen's chemise is still there but the overdress is long gone; Morgana still has on the clothing she came in wearing but given that's the gown with the curious gold neck-thing, and no shoulders, and practically nothing underneath, this doesn't count for much - that Gwen and Morgana think that everyone's best interests could be served, uh, best, if instead of being apart, as it were, they were all ... together. All four of them - Gwen, Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur. Specifically, together in bed.
Merlin has to admit, they've got quite a good list of points. And a very persuasive way of presenting them.
For one thing, Morgana had said as she'd worked his shirt off, stupidly, stupidly slowly, it's blatantly obvious that he, Merlin, wants all three of the others. He has to agree, after she's done kissing him and he's got his breath back, that he's not very subtle about the whole staring issue. Admittedly he'd probably agree to anything after a display like that, but that's beside the point. He does stare. He is a staring starer. Probably no-one has ever stared so blatantly in Camelot before.
Funnily enough, he'd thought (or rather, had worried that) the pointing and doing magic would be the thing they'd pick up on first, but then again, he was trying to hide that, whereas the staring kind of wasn't quite as important in the 'Keep It Secret' stakes. Perhaps he should be a bit more obvious about the magic, though, if the reaction to people working out his secrets is them jumping him? No, God, that's a stupid idea. So ... wait. While he's been watching all of them, they've been watching him?
He keeps wanting to call this a plot, and he's supposed to foil plots that involve Arthur, really, isn't he? Isn't that supposed to be his destiny?
'Merlin, calling it a plot makes it seem like you're not keen,' says Morgana, reaching down. 'And I think we can both agree that that's not true.'
'It's nothing he wouldn't like, after all,' says Gwen quietly, smiling to herself. 'I don't think this counts as one of those evil plots.'
Merlin thinks hazily that the Dragon was very specific about there only being two sides to this supposed coin, but then decides that he doesn't care what the scaly old pervert thinks.
'But ... with the ... the other night, when we were all in my room ... he thinks you're trying to keep Gwen away from him,' Merlin says, attempting to wriggle a hand under Morgana's neckline.
'Of course he does. The only way to get Arthur to do anything you want him to do is to forbid him from doing it,' Morgana says, grinning and reaching up to unclasp the collar of the dress. 'I learnt that years ago - Gwen? A hand?'
Of course, Gwen giving Morgana a hand with the dress doesn't end with the fastenings. Merlin, of course, is very much on-board with this.
Somehow they've made their way to Morgana's airily-curtained bed, and the two girls have settled either side of Merlin, who thinks he might just be about to faint from too much of everything, but that would mean closing his eyes, and he's really ... not quite ready to do that.
Gwen points out reasonably soon after this, as she guides Merlin's tentative hands around her body, that it's not good to be, you know, all ... frustrated. Nor is it good to be selfish, or conflicted. Divided loyalties can be really bad, she says earnestly, leaning into his embrace. It wouldn't be nice to make any of them think they had to choose. Because master/servant relationships are such a delicate balance, really, they all ought to understand that, but if it were just Arthur and Morgana, Merlin and Gwen, well, that would just breed jealousies, wouldn't it, because Gwen couldn't bear to be parted from Morgana for long - and she illustrates this now. Merlin lies back and watches, agape, as they kiss slowly, eyes open, watching him all the way through it. He has to palm himself, can't be without friction because really, he's only human.
'And we both know Arthur will never give you up, even to a lover,' says Morgana as they break apart. 'And I don't think you could let him go either. Could you?'
'There's plenty of space for him,' says Gwen, tracing a finger down Merlin's naked thigh. He can't remember when he lost his breeches. He doesn't care, because he has both hands under Gwen's chemise.
He has Morgana nestled behind him and Gwen in front, a glorious tangle of limbs and bits of clothing and soft, wonderful-smelling hair. He has the memory of Arthur's lips on his.
'All right,' he says, breathing the words slowly into Gwen's ear, feeling Morgana press up against him. 'Maybe I'm open to a little plotting.'
***
Arthur paces around his chamber. Where in hell's name is his manservant? He's got himself dressed and sent, angrily, for breakfast to be brought to his room (because while he'd like to make a point to Merlin when he finally arrives, he can't think over the sound of his growling stomach), all while pushing away the thought that he might have possibly shot himself in the foot twice - first by kissing Merlin and then by saying out loud that it was a bad idea. That cannot have exactly helped un-confuse Merlin, who, let's be honest here, is not the sharpest spear in the rack. It also probably hasn't done a great deal for the believability of the argument that the whole thing was just an unfortunate conjunction of stimuli and wine.
Pounding footsteps on the stone floor outside alert Arthur to the fact that someone is running towards his room. Hopefully not with his breakfast - carrying food at that pace never ends well - but then it's probably Merlin, he thinks. Almost certainly, Merlin suddenly remembering his duties and rushing to be at Arthur's side.
When the person finally gets to the door, (it's a long, echoey corridor and Arthur has good hearing despite all the being bashed in the head whilst wearing a metal helmet with stunningly good acoustics) they knock. Ergo, it's not Merlin.
Arthur sighs and tries not to swear. 'Come in,' he says.
'Prince Arthur,' pants the servant. 'Lady Morgana asks that you attend her in her chambers on a matter of utmost urgency.'
Arthur, hearing the tone of voice, instinctively grabs for his sword. Then he remembers that Morgana usually inspires that terrified pitch in male servants, puts down the sword, thinks again, checks that he's got his knife, and heads for the door, sweeping past the servant.
There's giggling coming from Morgana's room, Arthur notices as he knocks at the door.
Gwen opens it. There is a smile on her face, and though he knows, he knows he mustn't notice such things about Morgana's maid, he sees the haphazard way her hair is arranged and the tender fullness of her lips - fuller than they usually are, something he ought not to be able to tell, but he can - and with his mind currently so preoccupied with ignoring one particular inappropriate topic, naturally that's the conclusion that springs to mind. God, she looks so very ...
'Guinevere,' he says, knowing his voice catches and purrs around the last syllable. He can't help it. He likes to say her name, particularly likes her reaction to it. How is it that she's the only one of the three he hasn't kissed yet?
'Arthur,' comes a tart Irish accent from across the room, and there is Morgana, looking not one whit like there has been any kind of urgent matter, and certainly not like she needs extra attendance, what with the fact that Arthur's useless, gawky, curiously at ease manservant is standing far too close to her.
'Morgana,' says Arthur, beginning to formulate the correct form of words to protest her monopolising all the servants.
'Merlin,' says Merlin brightly. 'Now that we're all acquainted-' He wilts under the force of Arthur's death-glare.
'This,' says Arthur, fixing his eyes on Morgana, 'had better be good.'
'Oh, it was,' says Morgana, licking her lips. Arthur's gaze travels, completely by itself, he swears, from the twisted neckline of her dress to the state of Merlin's hair and shirt and back to Gwen's warm, glowing face, and his brain puts together some essential pieces, maybe leaps a few chasms of deductive logic on the way, and ends up at a conclusion.
He blushes so hard it almost hurts - the sudden rush of heat to his face is ridiculous, and he turns, meaning to leave and, preferably, never speak of this again.
'I promised I'd invite you,' Morgana calls after him, and he almost, almost turns around and points out that, actually, she promised to invite him to the initial despoiling, not the sequel. But he decides not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him react.
'Arthur,' calls Merlin, mildly despairingly, but all it does is spur Arthur on.
Gwen says nothing, or at least, says nothing loud enough for Arthur to hear over the hammering of his heart and the smacking of his boots on the stone floor. And the smacking of Merlin's boots as well, actually, because the idiot is following him.
He's not idiot enough to try and stop Arthur on the way back to Arthur's rooms, but as soon as Arthur shuts the door, Merlin opens it and steps inside.
'Knocking. One of those conversations we apparently cannot have too often,' Arthur says coldly. His breakfast has been delivered while that little errand was being run, so he sits down to it. Merlin hovers.
'Arthur, you've got to listen to me,' he says. 'We-'
'I,' Arthur begins angrily, putting down his spoon, 'am the Crown Prince of Camelot, and therefore I do not have to listen to you. You're a servant, what you do on your own time is, I suppose, no business of mine. What Gwen does at any point in time is no business of mine, and Morgana's affairs, unless they threaten the kingdom somehow, are certainly not my business. However, the mornings are not your time. They are my time, in which I require your services. I expect you to remember this before you-'
'Arthur,' says Merlin angrily. 'Just. God. Shut up.'
And then Merlin kisses him. Just once, hard, leaning over the table to reach. His stupid, ridiculous kerchief brushes Arthur's plate as he straightens up.
'You wanted this. Yesterday. Yesterday, you - you didn't even ask me, you just - And Morgana said she kissed you, and you wanted that too. And anyone can see, you and Gwen, there's something.'
'Nonsense,' says Arthur roughly. He pushes away from the table and stands. 'Whatever you think I might want, you're wrong.'
'I know you, Arthur,' says Merlin quietly, stepping right into Arthur's space, looking at him steadily, so much meaning in his blue eyes. 'I know when you're lying.' Arthur wants, badly wants, to just give in and say 'yes, yes, I do, I want all three of you. I think I can guess what you were up to while my breakfast was being neglected and I had to hop around the room getting my own trousers on because I'm not used to having to do that without leaning on someone else for balance, and I'd rather like to join in', but he can't. There's too much power, too much politics in sex. This is going to end in quite stupid amounts of wine and vomiting, but that way's safer.
But he can't find the words with Merlin looking at him like that. Merlin tilts his head, looks at Arthur from under his lashes, and kisses him again. And again. 'Please, Arthur,' he says against Arthur's lips. 'Please. This can work.'
'It can't,' says Arthur, pushing his manservant away. 'Do you want to know why? Really?'
Merlin steps back, lets Arthur sit back down. He nods.
'Fine. You should listen to this, you might learn something. For a start, Merlin, there is the ever-present spectre of pregnancy. Imagine the scandal were you or I to get Gwen, let alone Morgana, with child out of wedlock. Just for a second, imagine that.'
Merlin opens his mouth. 'Gaius has a - a potion, for that-'
'And supposing it fails?'
'There are other ways to enjoy yourself, Arthur,' says Morgana, sweeping into the room. Arthur swears, and lets his head drop into his hands.
'Morgana,' he says, muffled and sarcastic. 'How charming to have you here for this discussion. Please, pull up a seat. Yes, there may be other ways -' and here Arthur's brain, finally catching up with events, starts wondering what these other ways are. Intriguing, really, because as much as he's Not Thought about the subject, Arthur's only ever really considered one basic way to go about things, which is that a portion of one person goes into another portion of another, and therein lies the danger. What other ways? his brain asks eagerly, even as his mouth continues on with the sentence '- but, really, are any of you really naive enough to think that what goes on behind closed doors stays there? There are political aspects, power-plays-'
'You sound like Uther,' says Morgana, making his father's name out to be a dirty word, as usual. 'This is us we're talking about, Arthur. Do you really think that any of the three of us would try and influence you to some decision because we're in bed that we wouldn't try for at any other time?'
'You can trust us,' says Gwen quietly from the doorway. She edges around the threshold, pads across the floor to perch next to Merlin on the edge of Arthur's bed (and how presumptuous is that, honestly?).
'Arthur, with us you can get around all that,' says Merlin. 'We don't care that you're the prince. We don't want your power.'
'Or your influence,' says Morgana, mildly scornfully.
'We just want you,' finishes Gwen.
Arthur looks from one to the other, trying to decide. To decide if they're serious, if they've thought this through enough. And, ultimately, to decide how much he wants this, and how much he trusts them.
A lot, he thinks, cursing silently, as he looks from face to face, faces he's seen in peril and in battle, faces of people he knows like he knows his right hand. People he has always been able to depend upon, ever since Merlin came to Camelot and shook everything around Arthur up in the air. He wants them, and he trusts them, and he isn't strong enough to resist that.
Surely, sire, a Prince such as yourself can have anything he wants?
With a snarl, Arthur throws himself at Merlin. He's dimly aware of Gwen squeaking and moving away, which, fine, but he hopes she'll come back at some point. Right now though, he's frustrated and angry and something has mildly snapped in his head and he thinks it would probably be best to take this out on Merlin first because Merlin's a man, at least nominally, and so can presumably handle it, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Merlin was looking at him with an expression Arthur last caught him using when looking at a haunch of venison, and licking his lips.
Arthur knows what those lips taste like, but not what they feel like when everyone involved is enthusiastic, and after the initial flailing and falling backwards into the quilt, Merlin is responding very enthusiastically.
'I knew he'd give in,' says Morgana smugly somewhere close, and then the bed dips. Merlin, by inexorable application of pressure to Arthur's collarbones, manages to get them both up and sitting and Arthur detached from Merlin's mouth.
Arthur wipes his lips on the back of his hand and looks around. He's surrounded by Morgana, looking triumphant, Gwen, looking inordinately happy, and Merlin, looking halfway-debauched already, leaning back against the pillows.
'I think he's got the general idea,' says Merlin, licking his lips.
'How does this-' begins Arthur, unsure of what, exactly, happens now. Morgana cuts him short by leaning over, brushing around Arthur to get to Merlin. She kisses the manservant teasingly, looking at Arthur the whole time. Merlin has, while Arthur's been distracted, somehow divested Gwen of her overgown. It must be some manservantly skill, because Arthur could swear that he hadn't looked away for more than the space of a second, but now he's distracted again because Gwen's form is blatantly clear through the thin linen, and Morgana's removing her own gown, more helped than hindered by Merlin's eager hands but only just, and Arthur wants so badly to join in but isn't sure of the correct ... form. Protocol. Something.
The other three seem to notice this, and before he can even draw another breath Arthur has Gwen behind him, soothing hands down his ribs, tickling and teasing, encouraging him to lean back, while Morgana kisses him, works on his shirt, and Merlin, who is after all male, and must know how constricted Arthur is feeling, goes straight for the breeches. Somehow Merlin's own are gone already.
"How did you-?' Arthur manages to get out, looking at Merlin, but it seems that the girls are determined to not let him speak, not let him think, and he doesn't manage to finish the sentence.
Merlin knows what he means, though, somehow, and he wiggles his fingers conspiratorially and whispers, 'Magic,' darkly and secretly before laughing and ducking his head between Arthur's legs.
Arthur gasps in shock.
'All a bit new, is it?' asks Morgana wickedly, extricating Gwen from behind Arthur and yanking off her chemise. Everyone, it appears, is naked now and the girls encircle Arthur, pressing up against him and reaching over him to get to each other. Merlin's still doing things that make Arthur pant and groan - how does he breathe like that? - but he's shifted round a bit and has one hand being guided by Gwen towards Morgana.
Merlin pulls himself back up and gasps at Arthur that he's got two hands, for God's sake, use them, and the sight of that mouth all red and wet and grinning so obscenely at him galvanises Arthur into action - he grabs Merlin and crushes him close, kissing frantically while worming a hand between their bodies.
Merlin jerks back with a moan and another grin. 'Calm down, Arthur,' he says wickedly, edging away, going to kiss Morgana instead and leaving Arthur to the tender mercies of Gwen.
Kissing Gwen is everything he thought it would be. Arthur cannot keep his hands off her, and for a while he loses himself in this one kiss, feeling her squirm against him and knowing exactly what he wants to do but can't because of the whole aforementioned children issue, until with a little hazy sound Gwen takes his hand from where it is and puts it where she wants it.
'Stop monopolising my maidservant,' Morgana says suddenly, and Arthur finds other fingers sliding past his own, and Morgana kisses them both, imperiously and demandingly, and just when Arthur's got used to that, Merlin slides up behind him. He's hard, God, so hard, pressing against Arthur's hip. Arthur has to see what he looks like, after all the trouser idiocy earlier or the other day or whenever it was, so he rolls over, leaving Morgana and Gwen to giggle and sigh at each other again. He looks down, swallows hard, pretends he's not nervous - which is a lie, he's nervous, he's been nervous since they got his shirt off, but at least Gwen and Morgana are girls and he's got a vague idea of how to proceed with their anatomy, whereas Merlin's male and no-one's ever sat him down and given him the burningly embarrassing talk about When You Consummate Your Continental Free-Love Partnership With Your Male Manservant - and takes Merlin in hand.
It's bizarre how familiar and yet how alien this feels, is Arthur's first thought, but his second thought goes out the window when two soft, slender, feminine hands wrap around his own anatomy, and although he can't see them because they're both entangled behind him, Arthur has this sense that Gwen and Morgana are grinning at each other again.
'So ... this was all your idea, Morgana,' Arthur pants. 'I ought to have known.'
'Not all,' says Morgana, curiously muffled. 'Gwen had some ... inspirational parts to add.'
'And what was your part in all this, Merlin?' asks Arthur, trying to come across as stern, but Merlin's strained face and open mouth are undoing him as surely as the giggling behind him and the hands on his skin.
'I - I thought they were trying to - drive me mad,' gasps Merlin. 'First I thought it was a hallucination, then I thought it was a coincidence-'
'Then he thought it was a plot,' splutters Gwen, laughing.
'He said he had to foil all plots involving you,' says Morgana. 'He's so loyal.'
'I have to admit I'm not sad he failed in this one,' Arthur murmurs, wriggling back towards the tangled mass of girl behind him and trying to drag Merlin in with him.
'I tried!' Merlin says indignantly and breathlessly. 'But they were too ... strong for me?'
Arthur laughs. He doesn't even know what he's doing anymore - his hands are busily engaged, he knows that, and one is somewhere warm and wet and someone, he thinks maybe Gwen, is mewling inarticulately at him, and the other one definitely has someone's breast in it, but whose he cannot for the life of him tell, and there are at least two hands and a mouth on various portions of his anatomy at any given point in time, but he's lost track of whose and where, and somewhere off to his left a sudden gasp seems to indicate that Merlin's either just experienced something incredibly wonderful or has in fact been assassinated, but Arthur doesn't actually have the attention span to concentrate on everything that's happening in the bed and an assassin so he makes a vague mental note to put up a plaque or something to his heroic manservant, died while on the job - and he sniggers awfully, childishly, at that - when a mouth with stubble makes its way up his abdomen and he thinks 'ah, not assassinated after all, excellent, good show - oh, God, do that again' ...
'Overpowered by women, eh Merlin?' Arthur eventually manages to say.
'Naked women,' Merlin retorts. 'You would have been too.'
'He would have been anyway,' manages Morgana from the other side of the bed. 'Hasn't he told you about when I used to beat him at sword practice?'
'That never happened!'
***
When Merlin finally, finally, manages to get out of the bed, pleading Gaius' wrath should he get no work done today, Arthur issues a royal proclamation that Merlin is never allowed to leave the bed again, and come to think of it, neither are Gwen and Morgana either. He then drags Merlin back in, despite the latter's desperate attempts to get his trousers back on. Morgana responds to the proclamation by hitting Arthur viciously with a pillow, and Gwen joins in, gesturing furiously at Merlin to run while Arthur is thus engaged.
Walking is interesting, Merlin thinks, and he might have possibly strained his shoulder while trying to reach around someone for someone else, but then again he's pretty certain Arthur's going to have some curious muscle-strains to hide during thumping-each-other practice with the knights tomorrow, and Gwen and Morgana may have got away with no marks visible in places people can see, but there are going to be an awful lot of questions about how Gwen dislocated her right index finger, and about the lump on the back of Morgana's head where she and the headboard got a bit frisky when Arthur and Merlin both decided to have a noise-inducing competition and Gwen decided that she didn't want to be left out either.
He practically waltzes past Gaius's bemused eyebrow-raising. It has no power over him right now. This walk is anything but the Walk of Shame. Anything but.
Part One
***
Arthur knows it was actually the worst idea in the world to kiss his manservant. He kicks himself metaphorically, and the bedstead literally, as he wrestles himself out of his clothes and into his nightshirt. Then he has to hop around and curse the stony hardness of the wooden bedstead, and that almost distracts him from the ghost-memory of Merlin's lips on his; soft, sweet, roughened by the wind, impossibly good.
Almost.
There's a knock at the door, and he bids whoever it is enter, mostly thinking it will be Merlin returning on some ridiculous pretext and that this is a relief because they can just get the blame and the recriminations over now, and he can order Merlin to be put in the stocks for insolence or something that will make their relationship make sense again in a sort of traditional master/servant way, and after that they'll be okay again. But it's not Merlin. It's Morgana, of all people, and Arthur is ridiculously aware of the fact that his knees are visible under the nightshirt. Knees are possibly the least attractive part of the human body, Arthur thinks mildly hysterically. This is not decent. He cannot be showing his knees to ladies.
He shoves away the memory of Morgana's shoulders and curses his brain for throwing that up in a montage of indecent body parts.
'Yes, Morgana?' he manages, a tad huffily, but then being interrupted in the act of going to bed and having to stand around and be gentlemanly in your nightshirt when you've been on your feet all day beating the laziness and the bad habits out of a bunch of green hopefuls is apt to do that to you.
'What on earth have you done to Merlin?' she asks, smiling at him. 'He ran past me like all the hounds of hell were on his trail. You haven't been threatening him with more 'combat practice', have you?'
'No,' says Arthur. He wishes she'd go away.
'Because you know the only reason you did it was to see him get sweaty in knight's gear.' Morgana's voice is suddenly a purr, and she's a lot closer than she had hitherto been. She looks up at him with a wicked, catlike smile.
'I ... resent that implication,' says Arthur stiffly.
'But you don't deny it.'
Arthur hesitates. The fact of the matter is, actually, he had genuinely tried to teach Merlin the rudiments of defending himself, but after a few goes it had become distracting. So he stopped it. Besides, Merlin had enough chores to be getting on with, and he seemed to have the most extraordinary luck when it came to not getting hurt in situations involving monsters, bandits and ravening wild creatures.
'I thought not,' says Morgana. 'He's very pretty,' she adds.
'I thought we'd sorted out this not-despoiling-servants thing,' says Arthur wearily.
'No, we established that you're not 'attempting to seduce Guinevere'.' Her voice takes on a deep, mocking tone. If this is your attempt at imitating me, Arthur thinks, you could at least try to mask the ridiculous accent.
'If you're asking permission to tumble my manservant, I'd like to point out that if you must indulge, there are plenty of noblemen who wouldn't say no.' Arthur decides to take refuge in sarcasm.
'Is that a no?'
Sarcasm has failed. 'What?' Arthur asks bewilderedly. 'You actually-'
'Don't worry, Arthur, I won't usurp your prerogative,' says Morgana, and she takes one more step into him and tilts her head up and - oh.
Oh.
Well.
Arthur always sort of knew the bickering would end somewhere similar to this.
Morgana pulls back, licks her lips enticingly. 'If there's any tumbling going on, I'll make sure you're invited,' she says, and saunters away, leaving Arthur with a rather more pressing visibility issue than his knees, for the third night in a row. The iron self-control is really gone now. But then what kind of inhuman creature could hold on to iron self control in this situation?
He debates trying to ignore the situation again, kicks the bedstead one more time for good luck and winces at the sound the ball of his foot makes as it hits. Pain does not dull the edge of arousal, annoyingly.
Also, if he dozes off like this and rolls over, he might seriously impede bloodflow, and the idea of the royal appendage dropping off from constriction isn't pleasant. For a start, despite the lack of exercise it's getting now, Arthur's pretty certain that at some point in the hopefully not-so-distant future he'll be allowed, nay, expected to be using the damned thing.
Arthur slides into the bed, settles himself just so, and takes matters in hand. It is ridiculous how good this feels, really, ridiculous how skin can make a man lose his control. The sight of it, even - Morgana's shoulders, creamy white, bird-boned, ridiculously tempting - but the touch of it, Merlin's lips, Morgana's -
Not so many years ago, the wide-eyed daughter of some nobleman made a clumsy pass at him by saying 'Surely, Sire, a prince such as yourself can have anything he wants ...'
Arthur had laughed, at the time, because it was so ridiculous. 'Of course I can,' he'd said, fitting a tight lid on his mirth. And he'd gone right on and had as much wine as his belly would take, leaving the nobleman's daughter still a maiden and the nobleman annoyed because he'd thought to have her entrap Arthur into marriage, and Uther both proud of and disgusted with his vomiting sot of a virginal son.
He can have whatever he wants, provided he doesn't want skin, hands, mouths. He can have anyone he wants, provided he just wants them to fetch and carry and fight and die.
The only hands he is allowed are his own, and he's denied himself for three nights because he cannot be having thoughts of this kind about Morgana, or Merlin, or Gwen. Sweet Gwen, the only one of the three who hasn't molested him today, dear, dear girl, he'd thank her but it'd be a tad strange, going up to a maid and saying 'By the way, much obliged for the way you haven't kissed me yet today ...'
God, his own frantic hands on his far-too-long-denied person, so very good. Don't think about how the hell you're going to face Merlin tomorrow, or Morgana, or even Gwen, because Morgana tells her far too much and Merlin does too, they're in league, those three, no, don't think about it-
Far too late but all too soon, Arthur brings himself off. Wiping his hand on the sheets, it suddenly hits him that Merlin will be taking these to the laundry, if not washing them himself. And that he will therefore be privy, somewhat second-hand, to Arthur's ... loss of self-control.
Oh God.
Burying his face in the pillow, Arthur wonders if you can die of sexual frustration and mortification simultaneously.
***
Gwen is peacefully sewing in Morgana's room the next morning when Merlin rushes in. He only remembers to check for the presence of Morgana halfway through the first sentence. Mercifully, she is out, because the first sentence is 'Gwen, help, Arthur kissed me last night, and I have no idea what to- wait, is Morgana here?'
Gwen's giggling is probably warranted, Merlin thinks, but a little hurtful all the same. She's always been so understanding when he brings life's little problems to her, like outfitting a commoner in knight's gear so that he can break the First Code of Camelot and become a knight, and finding a sword so Merlin can get it breathed on by a dragon, and helping Merlin rescue his entire village from bandits ... why should this be any different?
Once the giggles have calmed down, though, Gwen is the very soul of comforting, motherly advice. Just like Merlin knew she would be.
'Did you mind?' she asks first of all. 'I mean, did you want him to?' She must have seen his expression, because she continues 'Of course, I'll understand if you don't want to say, but it's sort of important, really, if you think about it.'
'I-' says Merlin, because he really kind of did, but it's sort of hard to admit that to someone you recently played the 'Arthur - would you if you could?' game with.
'I shouldn't have asked,' Gwen says immediately. 'Sorry. Um. Well, you could just sort of ignore it.'
'Gwen. He kissed me,' says Merlin. 'And he was all-' Merlin flails, unable to really express in words the Arthur-ness of Arthur and how ignoring being kissed by Arthur would be like ignoring the fact that the sun rises and sets every damn day.
'I kissed you too, once,' says Gwen softly. 'Was I all?' She waves her hands vaguely in imitation, and shifts closer on the seat.
This is less comforting and motherly, mainly because Merlin remembers that kiss, and it was very all.
The nice thing about Gwen, apart from the fact that she's sweet and pretty and is possibly the nicest person in the world, is that she's straightforward. Merlin knows she likes him. And he likes her. Probably loves her, really, if he thinks about it, because how could he not love her, after everything they've been through? How could he not?
And so he pushes away the worrying thought that he really kind of loves prattish, stupid, noble Arthur as well, and kisses her. Properly, this time, a kiss they're both paying attention for and neither of them has just been dragged from the jaws of death, so there's less mysterious musty sickbed smell and he can catch a whiff of something floral, and clean linen, and really appreciate how soft and how warm her mouth is, how generous she is in this, encouraging Merlin - unlike Arthur who just grabbed what he wanted, but in such a way as to make Merlin thirst to give him more.
You're not supposed to think about other kisses when having a kiss, but somehow it doesn't seem altogether too odd, or like something Gwen would object overly to ... and Merlin loses himself in kiss after kiss, Gwen's needlework forgotten and Merlin's stress over Arthur's reactions lost in a swirl of pleasure and relief.
'Well, this is as pretty as a picture,' says Morgana, suddenly, in Merlin's ear, and he jerks backwards in surprise. Morgana has to duck speedily to avoid the back of Merlin's skull connecting with the bridge of her nose.
'Lady Morgana!' says Merlin, ashamed of how squeaky his voice is.
'Hello,' she says, raising an eyebrow. 'Comfy, are we?'
Gwen is still holding both of Merlin's hands entwined in her own, and Morgana has one hand on his shoulder and one is snaking around his waist.
'Argle,' would be a rough approximation of the only response Merlin finds himself capable of making.
Gwen and Morgana are grinning at each other.
'Okay,' Merlin begins when he has his vocal chords under control again. 'What's happening?' He tries for a friendly, non-accusing pitch. Unfortunately it still comes out as if he's got absolutely no male parts whatsoever, but at least he can form words.
Oh, wait, no, he definitely has male parts. Yes, there they are. All ... beckoning for attention.
Merlin suddenly finds himself hoping desperately that both girls are far more unobservant than he would ordinarily give them credit for. Clearly, the world has gone mad. This is some kind of bizarre enchantment, obviously, and he needs to get out of here at once and find Gaius and sort it out, and unless the magic book has a memory-wiping spell it would really be best if Morgana didn't put her hand ... right there.
Damn it.
'So, Merlin,' says Morgana, with her hand in places and her breath hot in the shell of Merlin's ear. 'Gwen and I were talking the other day-'
It is quite hard to pay attention to Morgana when Gwen is kissing him again. And, yes, alright, maybe Morgana is speaking right into his ear, but think about that another way. She is speaking right into his ear. Breathing. All warm and moist and ... argle.
'- and we thought perhaps -'
Eventually it transpires, after a long and convoluted explanation which seemed to involve an awful lot of clothing removal - Merlin still has his breeches on, but only just, and Gwen's chemise is still there but the overdress is long gone; Morgana still has on the clothing she came in wearing but given that's the gown with the curious gold neck-thing, and no shoulders, and practically nothing underneath, this doesn't count for much - that Gwen and Morgana think that everyone's best interests could be served, uh, best, if instead of being apart, as it were, they were all ... together. All four of them - Gwen, Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur. Specifically, together in bed.
Merlin has to admit, they've got quite a good list of points. And a very persuasive way of presenting them.
For one thing, Morgana had said as she'd worked his shirt off, stupidly, stupidly slowly, it's blatantly obvious that he, Merlin, wants all three of the others. He has to agree, after she's done kissing him and he's got his breath back, that he's not very subtle about the whole staring issue. Admittedly he'd probably agree to anything after a display like that, but that's beside the point. He does stare. He is a staring starer. Probably no-one has ever stared so blatantly in Camelot before.
Funnily enough, he'd thought (or rather, had worried that) the pointing and doing magic would be the thing they'd pick up on first, but then again, he was trying to hide that, whereas the staring kind of wasn't quite as important in the 'Keep It Secret' stakes. Perhaps he should be a bit more obvious about the magic, though, if the reaction to people working out his secrets is them jumping him? No, God, that's a stupid idea. So ... wait. While he's been watching all of them, they've been watching him?
He keeps wanting to call this a plot, and he's supposed to foil plots that involve Arthur, really, isn't he? Isn't that supposed to be his destiny?
'Merlin, calling it a plot makes it seem like you're not keen,' says Morgana, reaching down. 'And I think we can both agree that that's not true.'
'It's nothing he wouldn't like, after all,' says Gwen quietly, smiling to herself. 'I don't think this counts as one of those evil plots.'
Merlin thinks hazily that the Dragon was very specific about there only being two sides to this supposed coin, but then decides that he doesn't care what the scaly old pervert thinks.
'But ... with the ... the other night, when we were all in my room ... he thinks you're trying to keep Gwen away from him,' Merlin says, attempting to wriggle a hand under Morgana's neckline.
'Of course he does. The only way to get Arthur to do anything you want him to do is to forbid him from doing it,' Morgana says, grinning and reaching up to unclasp the collar of the dress. 'I learnt that years ago - Gwen? A hand?'
Of course, Gwen giving Morgana a hand with the dress doesn't end with the fastenings. Merlin, of course, is very much on-board with this.
Somehow they've made their way to Morgana's airily-curtained bed, and the two girls have settled either side of Merlin, who thinks he might just be about to faint from too much of everything, but that would mean closing his eyes, and he's really ... not quite ready to do that.
Gwen points out reasonably soon after this, as she guides Merlin's tentative hands around her body, that it's not good to be, you know, all ... frustrated. Nor is it good to be selfish, or conflicted. Divided loyalties can be really bad, she says earnestly, leaning into his embrace. It wouldn't be nice to make any of them think they had to choose. Because master/servant relationships are such a delicate balance, really, they all ought to understand that, but if it were just Arthur and Morgana, Merlin and Gwen, well, that would just breed jealousies, wouldn't it, because Gwen couldn't bear to be parted from Morgana for long - and she illustrates this now. Merlin lies back and watches, agape, as they kiss slowly, eyes open, watching him all the way through it. He has to palm himself, can't be without friction because really, he's only human.
'And we both know Arthur will never give you up, even to a lover,' says Morgana as they break apart. 'And I don't think you could let him go either. Could you?'
'There's plenty of space for him,' says Gwen, tracing a finger down Merlin's naked thigh. He can't remember when he lost his breeches. He doesn't care, because he has both hands under Gwen's chemise.
He has Morgana nestled behind him and Gwen in front, a glorious tangle of limbs and bits of clothing and soft, wonderful-smelling hair. He has the memory of Arthur's lips on his.
'All right,' he says, breathing the words slowly into Gwen's ear, feeling Morgana press up against him. 'Maybe I'm open to a little plotting.'
***
Arthur paces around his chamber. Where in hell's name is his manservant? He's got himself dressed and sent, angrily, for breakfast to be brought to his room (because while he'd like to make a point to Merlin when he finally arrives, he can't think over the sound of his growling stomach), all while pushing away the thought that he might have possibly shot himself in the foot twice - first by kissing Merlin and then by saying out loud that it was a bad idea. That cannot have exactly helped un-confuse Merlin, who, let's be honest here, is not the sharpest spear in the rack. It also probably hasn't done a great deal for the believability of the argument that the whole thing was just an unfortunate conjunction of stimuli and wine.
Pounding footsteps on the stone floor outside alert Arthur to the fact that someone is running towards his room. Hopefully not with his breakfast - carrying food at that pace never ends well - but then it's probably Merlin, he thinks. Almost certainly, Merlin suddenly remembering his duties and rushing to be at Arthur's side.
When the person finally gets to the door, (it's a long, echoey corridor and Arthur has good hearing despite all the being bashed in the head whilst wearing a metal helmet with stunningly good acoustics) they knock. Ergo, it's not Merlin.
Arthur sighs and tries not to swear. 'Come in,' he says.
'Prince Arthur,' pants the servant. 'Lady Morgana asks that you attend her in her chambers on a matter of utmost urgency.'
Arthur, hearing the tone of voice, instinctively grabs for his sword. Then he remembers that Morgana usually inspires that terrified pitch in male servants, puts down the sword, thinks again, checks that he's got his knife, and heads for the door, sweeping past the servant.
There's giggling coming from Morgana's room, Arthur notices as he knocks at the door.
Gwen opens it. There is a smile on her face, and though he knows, he knows he mustn't notice such things about Morgana's maid, he sees the haphazard way her hair is arranged and the tender fullness of her lips - fuller than they usually are, something he ought not to be able to tell, but he can - and with his mind currently so preoccupied with ignoring one particular inappropriate topic, naturally that's the conclusion that springs to mind. God, she looks so very ...
'Guinevere,' he says, knowing his voice catches and purrs around the last syllable. He can't help it. He likes to say her name, particularly likes her reaction to it. How is it that she's the only one of the three he hasn't kissed yet?
'Arthur,' comes a tart Irish accent from across the room, and there is Morgana, looking not one whit like there has been any kind of urgent matter, and certainly not like she needs extra attendance, what with the fact that Arthur's useless, gawky, curiously at ease manservant is standing far too close to her.
'Morgana,' says Arthur, beginning to formulate the correct form of words to protest her monopolising all the servants.
'Merlin,' says Merlin brightly. 'Now that we're all acquainted-' He wilts under the force of Arthur's death-glare.
'This,' says Arthur, fixing his eyes on Morgana, 'had better be good.'
'Oh, it was,' says Morgana, licking her lips. Arthur's gaze travels, completely by itself, he swears, from the twisted neckline of her dress to the state of Merlin's hair and shirt and back to Gwen's warm, glowing face, and his brain puts together some essential pieces, maybe leaps a few chasms of deductive logic on the way, and ends up at a conclusion.
He blushes so hard it almost hurts - the sudden rush of heat to his face is ridiculous, and he turns, meaning to leave and, preferably, never speak of this again.
'I promised I'd invite you,' Morgana calls after him, and he almost, almost turns around and points out that, actually, she promised to invite him to the initial despoiling, not the sequel. But he decides not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him react.
'Arthur,' calls Merlin, mildly despairingly, but all it does is spur Arthur on.
Gwen says nothing, or at least, says nothing loud enough for Arthur to hear over the hammering of his heart and the smacking of his boots on the stone floor. And the smacking of Merlin's boots as well, actually, because the idiot is following him.
He's not idiot enough to try and stop Arthur on the way back to Arthur's rooms, but as soon as Arthur shuts the door, Merlin opens it and steps inside.
'Knocking. One of those conversations we apparently cannot have too often,' Arthur says coldly. His breakfast has been delivered while that little errand was being run, so he sits down to it. Merlin hovers.
'Arthur, you've got to listen to me,' he says. 'We-'
'I,' Arthur begins angrily, putting down his spoon, 'am the Crown Prince of Camelot, and therefore I do not have to listen to you. You're a servant, what you do on your own time is, I suppose, no business of mine. What Gwen does at any point in time is no business of mine, and Morgana's affairs, unless they threaten the kingdom somehow, are certainly not my business. However, the mornings are not your time. They are my time, in which I require your services. I expect you to remember this before you-'
'Arthur,' says Merlin angrily. 'Just. God. Shut up.'
And then Merlin kisses him. Just once, hard, leaning over the table to reach. His stupid, ridiculous kerchief brushes Arthur's plate as he straightens up.
'You wanted this. Yesterday. Yesterday, you - you didn't even ask me, you just - And Morgana said she kissed you, and you wanted that too. And anyone can see, you and Gwen, there's something.'
'Nonsense,' says Arthur roughly. He pushes away from the table and stands. 'Whatever you think I might want, you're wrong.'
'I know you, Arthur,' says Merlin quietly, stepping right into Arthur's space, looking at him steadily, so much meaning in his blue eyes. 'I know when you're lying.' Arthur wants, badly wants, to just give in and say 'yes, yes, I do, I want all three of you. I think I can guess what you were up to while my breakfast was being neglected and I had to hop around the room getting my own trousers on because I'm not used to having to do that without leaning on someone else for balance, and I'd rather like to join in', but he can't. There's too much power, too much politics in sex. This is going to end in quite stupid amounts of wine and vomiting, but that way's safer.
But he can't find the words with Merlin looking at him like that. Merlin tilts his head, looks at Arthur from under his lashes, and kisses him again. And again. 'Please, Arthur,' he says against Arthur's lips. 'Please. This can work.'
'It can't,' says Arthur, pushing his manservant away. 'Do you want to know why? Really?'
Merlin steps back, lets Arthur sit back down. He nods.
'Fine. You should listen to this, you might learn something. For a start, Merlin, there is the ever-present spectre of pregnancy. Imagine the scandal were you or I to get Gwen, let alone Morgana, with child out of wedlock. Just for a second, imagine that.'
Merlin opens his mouth. 'Gaius has a - a potion, for that-'
'And supposing it fails?'
'There are other ways to enjoy yourself, Arthur,' says Morgana, sweeping into the room. Arthur swears, and lets his head drop into his hands.
'Morgana,' he says, muffled and sarcastic. 'How charming to have you here for this discussion. Please, pull up a seat. Yes, there may be other ways -' and here Arthur's brain, finally catching up with events, starts wondering what these other ways are. Intriguing, really, because as much as he's Not Thought about the subject, Arthur's only ever really considered one basic way to go about things, which is that a portion of one person goes into another portion of another, and therein lies the danger. What other ways? his brain asks eagerly, even as his mouth continues on with the sentence '- but, really, are any of you really naive enough to think that what goes on behind closed doors stays there? There are political aspects, power-plays-'
'You sound like Uther,' says Morgana, making his father's name out to be a dirty word, as usual. 'This is us we're talking about, Arthur. Do you really think that any of the three of us would try and influence you to some decision because we're in bed that we wouldn't try for at any other time?'
'You can trust us,' says Gwen quietly from the doorway. She edges around the threshold, pads across the floor to perch next to Merlin on the edge of Arthur's bed (and how presumptuous is that, honestly?).
'Arthur, with us you can get around all that,' says Merlin. 'We don't care that you're the prince. We don't want your power.'
'Or your influence,' says Morgana, mildly scornfully.
'We just want you,' finishes Gwen.
Arthur looks from one to the other, trying to decide. To decide if they're serious, if they've thought this through enough. And, ultimately, to decide how much he wants this, and how much he trusts them.
A lot, he thinks, cursing silently, as he looks from face to face, faces he's seen in peril and in battle, faces of people he knows like he knows his right hand. People he has always been able to depend upon, ever since Merlin came to Camelot and shook everything around Arthur up in the air. He wants them, and he trusts them, and he isn't strong enough to resist that.
Surely, sire, a Prince such as yourself can have anything he wants?
With a snarl, Arthur throws himself at Merlin. He's dimly aware of Gwen squeaking and moving away, which, fine, but he hopes she'll come back at some point. Right now though, he's frustrated and angry and something has mildly snapped in his head and he thinks it would probably be best to take this out on Merlin first because Merlin's a man, at least nominally, and so can presumably handle it, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Merlin was looking at him with an expression Arthur last caught him using when looking at a haunch of venison, and licking his lips.
Arthur knows what those lips taste like, but not what they feel like when everyone involved is enthusiastic, and after the initial flailing and falling backwards into the quilt, Merlin is responding very enthusiastically.
'I knew he'd give in,' says Morgana smugly somewhere close, and then the bed dips. Merlin, by inexorable application of pressure to Arthur's collarbones, manages to get them both up and sitting and Arthur detached from Merlin's mouth.
Arthur wipes his lips on the back of his hand and looks around. He's surrounded by Morgana, looking triumphant, Gwen, looking inordinately happy, and Merlin, looking halfway-debauched already, leaning back against the pillows.
'I think he's got the general idea,' says Merlin, licking his lips.
'How does this-' begins Arthur, unsure of what, exactly, happens now. Morgana cuts him short by leaning over, brushing around Arthur to get to Merlin. She kisses the manservant teasingly, looking at Arthur the whole time. Merlin has, while Arthur's been distracted, somehow divested Gwen of her overgown. It must be some manservantly skill, because Arthur could swear that he hadn't looked away for more than the space of a second, but now he's distracted again because Gwen's form is blatantly clear through the thin linen, and Morgana's removing her own gown, more helped than hindered by Merlin's eager hands but only just, and Arthur wants so badly to join in but isn't sure of the correct ... form. Protocol. Something.
The other three seem to notice this, and before he can even draw another breath Arthur has Gwen behind him, soothing hands down his ribs, tickling and teasing, encouraging him to lean back, while Morgana kisses him, works on his shirt, and Merlin, who is after all male, and must know how constricted Arthur is feeling, goes straight for the breeches. Somehow Merlin's own are gone already.
"How did you-?' Arthur manages to get out, looking at Merlin, but it seems that the girls are determined to not let him speak, not let him think, and he doesn't manage to finish the sentence.
Merlin knows what he means, though, somehow, and he wiggles his fingers conspiratorially and whispers, 'Magic,' darkly and secretly before laughing and ducking his head between Arthur's legs.
Arthur gasps in shock.
'All a bit new, is it?' asks Morgana wickedly, extricating Gwen from behind Arthur and yanking off her chemise. Everyone, it appears, is naked now and the girls encircle Arthur, pressing up against him and reaching over him to get to each other. Merlin's still doing things that make Arthur pant and groan - how does he breathe like that? - but he's shifted round a bit and has one hand being guided by Gwen towards Morgana.
Merlin pulls himself back up and gasps at Arthur that he's got two hands, for God's sake, use them, and the sight of that mouth all red and wet and grinning so obscenely at him galvanises Arthur into action - he grabs Merlin and crushes him close, kissing frantically while worming a hand between their bodies.
Merlin jerks back with a moan and another grin. 'Calm down, Arthur,' he says wickedly, edging away, going to kiss Morgana instead and leaving Arthur to the tender mercies of Gwen.
Kissing Gwen is everything he thought it would be. Arthur cannot keep his hands off her, and for a while he loses himself in this one kiss, feeling her squirm against him and knowing exactly what he wants to do but can't because of the whole aforementioned children issue, until with a little hazy sound Gwen takes his hand from where it is and puts it where she wants it.
'Stop monopolising my maidservant,' Morgana says suddenly, and Arthur finds other fingers sliding past his own, and Morgana kisses them both, imperiously and demandingly, and just when Arthur's got used to that, Merlin slides up behind him. He's hard, God, so hard, pressing against Arthur's hip. Arthur has to see what he looks like, after all the trouser idiocy earlier or the other day or whenever it was, so he rolls over, leaving Morgana and Gwen to giggle and sigh at each other again. He looks down, swallows hard, pretends he's not nervous - which is a lie, he's nervous, he's been nervous since they got his shirt off, but at least Gwen and Morgana are girls and he's got a vague idea of how to proceed with their anatomy, whereas Merlin's male and no-one's ever sat him down and given him the burningly embarrassing talk about When You Consummate Your Continental Free-Love Partnership With Your Male Manservant - and takes Merlin in hand.
It's bizarre how familiar and yet how alien this feels, is Arthur's first thought, but his second thought goes out the window when two soft, slender, feminine hands wrap around his own anatomy, and although he can't see them because they're both entangled behind him, Arthur has this sense that Gwen and Morgana are grinning at each other again.
'So ... this was all your idea, Morgana,' Arthur pants. 'I ought to have known.'
'Not all,' says Morgana, curiously muffled. 'Gwen had some ... inspirational parts to add.'
'And what was your part in all this, Merlin?' asks Arthur, trying to come across as stern, but Merlin's strained face and open mouth are undoing him as surely as the giggling behind him and the hands on his skin.
'I - I thought they were trying to - drive me mad,' gasps Merlin. 'First I thought it was a hallucination, then I thought it was a coincidence-'
'Then he thought it was a plot,' splutters Gwen, laughing.
'He said he had to foil all plots involving you,' says Morgana. 'He's so loyal.'
'I have to admit I'm not sad he failed in this one,' Arthur murmurs, wriggling back towards the tangled mass of girl behind him and trying to drag Merlin in with him.
'I tried!' Merlin says indignantly and breathlessly. 'But they were too ... strong for me?'
Arthur laughs. He doesn't even know what he's doing anymore - his hands are busily engaged, he knows that, and one is somewhere warm and wet and someone, he thinks maybe Gwen, is mewling inarticulately at him, and the other one definitely has someone's breast in it, but whose he cannot for the life of him tell, and there are at least two hands and a mouth on various portions of his anatomy at any given point in time, but he's lost track of whose and where, and somewhere off to his left a sudden gasp seems to indicate that Merlin's either just experienced something incredibly wonderful or has in fact been assassinated, but Arthur doesn't actually have the attention span to concentrate on everything that's happening in the bed and an assassin so he makes a vague mental note to put up a plaque or something to his heroic manservant, died while on the job - and he sniggers awfully, childishly, at that - when a mouth with stubble makes its way up his abdomen and he thinks 'ah, not assassinated after all, excellent, good show - oh, God, do that again' ...
'Overpowered by women, eh Merlin?' Arthur eventually manages to say.
'Naked women,' Merlin retorts. 'You would have been too.'
'He would have been anyway,' manages Morgana from the other side of the bed. 'Hasn't he told you about when I used to beat him at sword practice?'
'That never happened!'
***
When Merlin finally, finally, manages to get out of the bed, pleading Gaius' wrath should he get no work done today, Arthur issues a royal proclamation that Merlin is never allowed to leave the bed again, and come to think of it, neither are Gwen and Morgana either. He then drags Merlin back in, despite the latter's desperate attempts to get his trousers back on. Morgana responds to the proclamation by hitting Arthur viciously with a pillow, and Gwen joins in, gesturing furiously at Merlin to run while Arthur is thus engaged.
Walking is interesting, Merlin thinks, and he might have possibly strained his shoulder while trying to reach around someone for someone else, but then again he's pretty certain Arthur's going to have some curious muscle-strains to hide during thumping-each-other practice with the knights tomorrow, and Gwen and Morgana may have got away with no marks visible in places people can see, but there are going to be an awful lot of questions about how Gwen dislocated her right index finger, and about the lump on the back of Morgana's head where she and the headboard got a bit frisky when Arthur and Merlin both decided to have a noise-inducing competition and Gwen decided that she didn't want to be left out either.
He practically waltzes past Gaius's bemused eyebrow-raising. It has no power over him right now. This walk is anything but the Walk of Shame. Anything but.
