He was having quite enough of this frolicking in the woods and decided to quit the joke and guide them home. He promptly turned in the opposite direction they were in - stupid Arthur - and within the hour had them back at his flat in the Dragon district.
“Judgey,” He grunted, taking off his coat. “We can’t all live like Kings, sire. My studio apartment will just have to due for now, Mister High and Mighty.”
He liked his living accommodations, thank you very much.
He spun around from hanging his coat up and Arthur was giving him a weird look. Sort of like the “I want you” smirk he gave chicken at supper. He shifted, fidgeting, unsure what the look meant in relations to him. He was not chicken.
He was about to comment, probably a really funny and witty comment, when Arthur breathlessly said his name and THEN CAME IN FOR LANDING.
As soon as his lips made contact with the blond’s, his magic surged in a way that felt warm and natural. Like all this time, his magic was just settling into his blood and bones, waiting for the day it could flow over Arthur. It seemed to like him. He hoped Arthur hadn’t noticed, but the sudden heat that was coming over them in waves couldn’t be denied. In fact, Merlin can’t remember ever feeling this good before.
And then reality came crashing down.
That just happened. He just kissed Arthur Pendragon. And liked it.
Kissing Arthur was all well and good (and by “all well and good” he meant electrifyingly arousing and basically real harlequin, but you know, same thing), but now that the moment was gone, Merlin wanted to know what this all meant. He knew there was passion behind the kiss - and damn, had Merlin’s magic responded in an entirely new and enthralling way - but just because he’d felt something utterly titillating (no one should find out he used that word. Even if in thought) didn’t mean Arthur wanted to go anywhere with it. True, the blond had initiated the kiss, and seemed to have put a great deal of planning into it, but it could very well just be a means of welcoming in the New Year. And why couldn’t he just have faith that Arthur fancied him?
As soon as he was done kissing Arthur his first coherent thought past “That felt really good why did he stop?” was “I am a weird combination of frozen - look it’s cold okay? - and aroused.” Which led to a whole new slew of weird thoughts that Merlin would rather not be having; he was enough of an oddball as it was. He didn’t need to give Arthur legitimate reason to call him an idiot. (Or worse, take back all the emotion that was just poured into that kiss.)
He was still for a while after they parted. Stewing in a pool of mixed emotions (most of which centered around smitten, though) he stood idly, awkwardly, in the middle of his own home.He was shivering harshly now, but all he could think about was how sporadic and fickle Arthur’s feelings seemed to be. When they first met, it was hate at first sight - for lack of a better phrase - and continued in awkward “loathing but flirting” for months after that. He was guilty of making rash opinions of Arthur, but to be fair, Arthur had done a smashing job of proving them right. But as time went on and Merlin had to spend day after day, hour after hour with Arthur he learned that despite the truth to the rumors, the cause of Arthur’s behavior had been severely overlooked. There was such a good man in Arthur, one Merlin was so proud to see, proud to witness when that man dared to come out. When he had first tasted the man Arthur could be, he had been immediately set on bringing him out every chance he got.
But the problem still remained. Arthur would switch between Prince Charming to all around prat in a matter of seconds. One minute he was caressing Merlin’s inner thigh and the next it was just “clean this, Merlin”, “don’t be such a girl, Merlin”, “do you ever not fall down?” He seemed so set in hating him, that to any onlookers, their relationship would seem easily explainable. They hated each other. Plain and simple. But to them, to Merlin and Arthur (just Arthur, not Uther’s son), they knew the banter was said in jest. The insults and jabs meant to be taken lightly. They were more than “master and servant” or “King and warlock”, they were friends.
Or, now, after that display, maybe they were more than that.
Or, or, Arthur was already regretting his decision, considering he was averting Merlin’s gaze with disturbing ferocity.
He was breathless for awhile before looking up at Arthur, “What?”