Work Text
i know nothing else, i know only this
Merlin tumbles through the window just after one am. All his usual grace and stealth have faded into obscurity, now that exhaustion and the last vestiges of adrenaline control his movements. The mesh screen was removed months ago-- for this very reason-- but Merlin still catches his knee on the windowsill, knocks his elbow in the wall, and nearly faceplants into the inconspicuous nightstand.
Something prevents gravity from acquainting Merlin’s weary body with the floor, a warm and firm and familiar surface, the soft shirt not even disguising its strength, and equally supportive arms wrapped around his back, steadying them both. Merlin instinctively buries his face into that broad chest and feels it rumble with a laugh, but he doesn’t have the energy for his usual indignance. Nuzzling into the bare skin exposed by the open shirt collar feels far more rewarding than complaining and losing the support.
Arthur thankfully doesn’t comment again as he maneuvers them toward the bed, Merlin perched at the edge and Arthur kneeling between his knees. Merlin slumps onto the sheets when he feels them hit the back of his knees, and his mind is inevitably drawn to the much more fun activities that land them in this position. However, seeing as he can not even keep his torso upright without Arthur’s hands around his back, those other activities might have to wait.
Merlin blinks several times and realizes that Arthur was saying something. “What?”
He snorts. “I said , it’s a wonder you’ve survived as a superhero this long if you can’t even climb through a window.”
“Hey! I can climb through windows fine!”
Arthur lifts a single eyebrow in a way too reminiscent of Gaius.
“I’m just…” he waves his hand sluggishly, “tired.”
Arthur’s features soften into a fond smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can go to sleep, ok?”
This strange routine of theirs has been consistent for the past nine months, ever since Arthur was elected to replace his father, and his enemies took more fervently to the streets. The adjustment period was difficult, Merlin coming home later than before and with more bruises and scratches to show for it. There had been fights-- about Merlin’s safety, Arthur’s involvement, and both of their stubbornness-- but in the end, they figured it out, like they always do.
Now, Arthur keeps a first aid kit under the bed, knows how to dress the wounds and knows when to call for more help. His eyes do not leave Merlin’s body, his hands now steady where they were anxious at the start of their relationship. Arthur does not hesitate to peel away Merlin’s leather suit-- his superhero costume , Arthur had once laughed, eyes crinkling-- or rub Gaius’s magical salve over the burns; he moves his hands in soothing circles over his thighs when Merlin winces, reassuring, and wraps bandages with infinite care. His large, calloused hands are deceptive, do not seem capable of the gentleness with which he takes care of him, but Merlin knows better.
The moment is soft, unbroken, as pale moonlight drifts in on a breeze through the open window, and golden lamplight falls over their bodies, illuminating the lines of Arthur’s face, catching on the glint from his fourth finger. A book lies upside down and open on Arthur’s side of the bed, abandoned when he rushed to catch Merlin at the window. Merlin can’t make out the title but recognizes the cover, some classic novel. Arthur’s reading glasses-- the ones he’s scared make him look old, though Merlin completely disagrees-- are perched in his ruffled, golden hair, hastily pushed out of the way, and leave the charcoal smudged beneath his eyes exposed.
Merlin cups his hand over Arthur’s cheek, rubs his thumb under those half-moons, and whispers, “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”
Arthur meets his gaze and shakes his head, his smile teasing, as if Merlin is a fool for suggesting so, but says nothing, placing a free hand over Merlin’s to keep it there. Merlin catches the hand with both of his and brings it to his lips, pressing one kiss to the golden wedding band and another in Arthur’s palm; it is an unspoken thank you , an I love you and you mean the world to me . They do not need words.
When Arthur finishes up and Merlin exchanges his tight suit for a pair of his husband’s boxers, they crawl beneath the covers together, and Arthur switches off the lamp, throwing the room into peaceful darkness. Their bodies are curled like parentheses, faces toward each other and inches apart, legs tangled tightly together, and hands clasped in the middle, where he can feel their rings cool against warm skin. In the faint light of the moon, Merlin traces his eyes over the slopes of Arthur’s face, the splay of his hair on the pillow, so familiar and loved, and the moment is both isolated in this point in time, and like hundreds of others they have and will share. He feels safe and cared for, and Merlin knows he could live for hundreds of years like this and never grow tired of this, of feeling like the world is his. There's comfort in knowing that, no matter the trials and troubles of the day, no matter how many policies and politicians Arthur must navigate or how many hostile sorcerers and adversaries Merlin must subdue, they will always find their way back here, to this moment, wrapped in each other’s arms like the safest place in the world. That they will grow old and grey and still tease each other to no end, still make love like teenagers feeling something so deep for the first time, still hold each other in one piece when they cannot do it themselves. They will always have this.
Merlin falls asleep with the certainty of happiness tangible in his arms and the promise of greatness deep in his bones.