aleathiel | Fic: Together

Well, it's hardly a surprise that I ended up writing this after last night's episode...

Title: Together
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Lancelot/Merlin (Lancelot/Merlin, Lancelot/Arthur and Arthur/Merlin and all three)
Rating: R
Spoilers: ep 5
A/N: Lancelot was obviously sleeping in Merlin's room. Clearly the programme makers wanted this to happen.

At first it is uncomfortable. The bed is narrow and there are too many elbows and shoulders and knees. They share by lying on their sides, backs against each other. Merlin doesn’t sleep much and he doesn’t think Lancelot does either.

As the days pass the discomfort eases – there is no more space, but they are less wary of each other. They speak in whispers as they lie in the dark, confide hopes for the future, laugh at things they have seen. They talk of Gwen with fondness and sometimes, just before they sleep, they talk of Arthur.

The night before Lancelot’s test, when he’s sore from his fight with the prince, Merlin rubs his shoulders and mumbles words of encouragement, words of faith that Lancelot is barely a step from his dream.

Later, when Merlin has turned to face the wall, he feels fingers slide under his nightshirt, graze softly across his back and come to rest on his hip. “Yes?” Lancelot asks, and there is barely a tremor in his voice.

“Yes,” Merlin breathes as he turns to meet Lancelot’s lips.

*

Arthur has drunk too much at the celebration. He has let down his guard, just a little, relaxing in the company of men he trusts. He is happy: it is not often he is bested in a fight and through his pride is slightly wounded he is delighted to have a new knight.

Especially this knight, who looks at him with such adoration and fights with a fierceness Arthur has known in few but himself. Yes, this knight is a good addition to Camelot.

He sees Merlin watching him and he raises his tankard in salute, wrapping his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders and nodding his thanks to Merlin for finding him.

He doesn’t understand the strange expression that crosses Merlin’s face.

He spends much of the evening with his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders. It makes him comfortable, and nobody, least of all Lancelot, seems to mind.

Later, when many of the men have retired, Arthur gives in to his impulse and lets his fingers dip into the back of Lancelot’s collar and run questioningly across his neck. Lancelot’s gaze, when he turns to him, is burning hot and Arthur thinks he knows the answer to his question.

*

They get separated at some point, but Arthur sees Lancelot looking at him from across the room and he isn’t worried. He will find him again before they retire for the night…

And yet, when he seeks Lancelot in the early hours of the morning, his veins thrumming with alcohol and something deeper, his newest knight is difficult to find.

Arthur stumbles down corridors, trying not to wake the castle, frustrated because he was so sure that Lancelot wanted him too.

And then he finds them.

Lancelot’s arms are around Merlin’s waist, pressing Merlin up against the wall. Merlin has one hand bunched tight in the front of Lancelot’s tunic, the other wound into his hair. They are kissing fiercely, with reckless abandon, and Arthur knows instantly that this is not the first time they have come together like this.

He is inexplicably hurt.

Then Merlin’s eyes open and he sees Arthur. He gasps, pulls away, frantically pushes Lancelot from him.

“Sire…” he says, and his voice is panicked.

Lancelot calms him with a hand to his shoulder. “I think it’s okay,” he says softly.

“I thought…” Arthur says, bemused, not really sure if he should finish the sentence. He’s staring at Lancelot and he knows now for sure that he’s let down his guard too far. Then, just as he is working to pull his mental armour back around him, Lancelot reaches out towards him, touches his cheek.

“Well!” Merlin says, and when Arthur looks at him there is a cheeky grin on his face. “This could be interesting.”

It seems only logical that Arthur invites them both to come to his chambers.

*

Arthur would almost be nervous if it weren’t for the hungry look on Lancelot’s face and the amused, challenging look on Merlin’s.

Then, when Lancelot kisses him, searing heat floods though him and pools at his groin and he stops thinking for a moment and just feels. They tumble onto the bed, wrapped so tightly together that Arthur can barely breathe and his hands are clenching frantically trying to find a purchase on the rapidly emerging skin.

Then there are other hands and Merlin is there too, insinuating his way between them with enthusiasm, trading kisses and touches and then there is a moment where his face is a breath away from Arthur’s and so Arthur kisses him too.

Then Merlin winks at him, and his raised eyebrows communicate more words than Arthur knows and he smiles back. How funny that they should know each other so well and not know this about each other.

Together, with fingers and mouths, they take Lancelot apart.

*

And then it all goes wrong.

Lancelot is imprisoned and Merlin is angry. Arthur is angry too, and hurt. He rages inside, squeezes his fists so tight his nails cut wounds in his palms. But he does as he is instructed. Mostly.

He knows it’s hopeless when he rides out against the griffin. He’s angry and hurt and he channels that into his fighting but the beast is immense and its hide is impenetrable and around him Arthur’s men are falling.

He charges…

… and when he wakes, his head aching and his vision dancing with bursts of light, he sees Lancelot.

*

This time he does stand up to his father. For all the good it does.

He doesn’t see Lancelot take his leave from Merlin, but when he comes to Arthur he bows deeply, and his fingers press against Arthur’s wrist when they clasp hands in farewell. There is fire in Lancelot’s eyes as he looks at the prince, a promise that one day he will return.

For most of the evening Merlin and Arthur do not speak, they move around Arthur’s room in silence, each deep in their own thoughts. Each mourning in their own way.

Then, when Merlin is about to return to his room to sleep, Arthur stops him.

“Stay?” he asks.

They tumble together into the big bed where they had slept together that night once before. But this time it is different. There is no urgency, no desperation and no Lancelot.

They move together calmly, exploring and learning and while Arthur feels Merlin’s body trembling, his expression is serene. Where Merlin’s fingers touch they leave trails of fire on Arthur’s skin and when their bodies finally join Arthur isn’t sure where he ends and Merlin begins.

Afterwards they curl together, sweaty and exhausted and Merlin falls asleep against Arthur’s chest.

And Arthur knows that they will be fine.