Archive of Our Own ^beta

Merlin was tired.

He had believed that after Arthur discovered his magic, and together they inaugurated the long-awaited golden age of Albion, everything would change. That the weight on his shoulders would lessen, that he would finally be seen for what he truly was: the most powerful being of his generation. But no.

Arthur was still Arthur. The same idiot.

No matter how much he knew of Merlin’s true reach, the king insisted on treating him as fragile, harmless, almost a pet. And nothing was more infuriating than the daily provocations:

"Hey, great sorcerer, would you mind lighting the fire for me? Or is that too hard for you?"

"Now that magic is allowed, I thought you’d be better at tidying my room… but I suppose even then you’re not powerful enough."

"Mordred knocked down a tree with just a flick of his hands. You can’t even lift a few twigs for our campfire. I guess you’re not that powerful after all."

Mordred.

That was the worst blow. Merlin would never admit it aloud, but for years he had hated and feared the boy in equal measure, always seeing him as a threat to Arthur’s future. And now, hearing his king use Mordred’s name just to taunt him was like throwing fuel on the fire, only stoking his rage.

And whenever Arthur threw one of those barbs, Merlin would answer with power. Not some cheap trick, but feats that would make even the mightiest of sorcerers fall to their knees in awe and wonder. And still, Arthur would only smile, look away, and stay silent.

Merlin wanted to be seen as an equal. He wanted Arthur to look at him as the powerful being he truly was, a being worthy of Arthur himself! Of course, secretly, he was glad that his king never feared him. Arthur didn’t see a monster. He only saw Merlin.

Still, there were limits.

The breaking point came at the end of a Round Table meeting. When everyone else had gone — Gwen to the gardens with Morgana and Aithusa, Leon following George, Gwaine and Percival disappearing with laughter, Elyan and Mordred heading to train — only the two of them remained in the hall. Silence weighed heavy, the torches throwing long shadows across the stone walls.

Arthur crossed his arms. That smile Merlin knew all too well curled on his lips: crafted to poke, to prod, to drag a reaction out of him.

"You’ve grown slower since you revealed your magic. You used to tidy up the whole chamber while we talked." Arthur tilted his head, feigning innocence. "But it seems the great sorcerer, savior of Camelot, still can’t manage to use magic and speak at the same time."

The last word made Merlin’s blood boil.

His magic exploded in a crackle. Before Arthur could blink, he was slammed against the stone wall. The impact forced a breath from the king, one that sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter. Merlin advanced, eyes burning like embers, his aura thrumming like caged thunder. He leaned in until their faces were only inches apart, and a low growl escaped his throat — something primal, something inherited from dragons.

"I could take control of your entire kingdom if I wished," he hissed, voice dripping with power. "Without lifting a single finger, Arthur. I could end you with a single strike."

Any man would have trembled.

But not Arthur.

Pinned to the wall, he tilted his head back, baring his throat and collarbone in the torchlight. Vulnerable. Inviting. His tongue slid slowly across his lips, insolent.

"I know."

Merlin blinked, confused. He wanted respect — he was even on the verge of frightening his king — but Arthur seemed to relish it, as if this was what he had been planning all along. Was it possible that all this time, it hadn’t been underestimation… but manipulation? A way to draw out Merlin’s true power?

His gaze dropped instinctively to Arthur’s chest. The open tunic revealed hard muscle, sculpted by years of battle, slick with sweat and rising, falling quickly with the king’s breath. Arthur noticed the look and laughed — a low, satisfied laugh that pulled another growl from Merlin, this time not of frustration, but of desire.

"You’re insufferable!" Merlin pressed closer, his body heat and power caging Arthur in. "You provoked me just for this?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Arthur mocked, grinning, clearly aroused.

"If you wanted to see my magic, you could’ve just asked, you idiot," Merlin purred into his ear, voice still rough from the growl.

Arthur sighed, trying to keep a straight face, but a smile broke through. "You’re always so eager to flaunt your power around me. Provocations seem to be the only thing that bring out this side of you. But of course, if it bothers you so much… I suppose I could stop—"

Merlin didn’t let him finish. He shoved Arthur back against the wall and attacked his neck with kisses and bites. Arthur gasped, laughing with pleasure, his fingers clutching at Merlin’s tunic.

"Shut up. I’m not done with you yet, sire." The words were a husky whisper, followed by Merlin’s tongue tracing the edge of Arthur’s ear.

Arthur shuddered. His eyes burned with excitement as he answered:

"Perfect. Then finish me."

Merlin’s laugh was low, rough, vibrating against his skin — equal parts lust and triumph. His hand slid up beneath the king’s tunic, fingers claiming every inch of hot flesh, while the wall behind them trembled under the strain of his unleashed magic.

The king felt no fear.

The sorcerer had no patience left.

The air between them burned with years of restrained passion. Words and gestures would no longer suffice. They were ready to love each other with everything — hands, mouths, bodies.

Unfortunately, by the end of their moment of passion, the Round Table did not live to see another day.

Arthur stood in disbelief, staring at the massive table wrecked in the middle of the hall. Merlin’s magic had levitated it half a foot off the ground, flipped it upside down like a toy, and when they both reached release, the sorcerer’s power relaxed, dropping it to ruin.

"What do you mean you ‘didn’t notice what you were doing’? Merlin, this table is enormous!"

Merlin only laughed, bracing himself against the broken edge. "Well, my king, weren’t you the one so eager to see my magic in action? Now deal with the consequences."