"When I called you a girl," Arthur says, finally, into the absolute silence of the bedchamber, "this is not what I meant."

"Oh, don't be jealous, Arthur," Merlin says, and damn it if he doesn't sound almost indecently cheery about this whole thing, "it's really not becoming in a King." God, even his voice sounds different, higher and—and breathier, almost, more a soft sort of gasp than a real string of actual words.

"It's not funny, Merlin," Arthur says, sharply. "Can you put yourself back to normal, or not?

"Yes," Merlin says, except he's staring in a direction distinctly south, with something a little too much like pride for Arthur's taste, "probably."

"Well," Arthur says, "are you going to do it, then?"

"Mm," Merlin says, and doesn't even bother to look up. "In a moment." He pushes a lock of long, curly, dark hair out of his face.

"Merlin," Arthur says, "please stop staring at your breasts." He can feel himself flush a vicious, violent pink before he even gets the words all the way out. Oh, God, Merlin's gone and accidentally turned himself into a girl, and he says he can put himself back to normal, probably, in a moment, and also, he's staring at his own damn breasts like he's never seen a pair of them before in his life, which Arthur might actually believe except Merlin also happens to be blissfully married to Freya, so Arthur really doesn't think—

Oh, God, no, never mind, never mind, Merlin's never seen a pair of breasts in his life is suddenly a far, far better thought than the alternative.

"Well," Merlin says, "just to be fair, Sire, I happen to have some very nice breasts right now."

"Will you just change yourself—?"

"I think," Merlin says, very, very happily, "I think I might have them bigger than Gwen."

"Oh, God, Merlin!" Arthur shuts his eyes, and tries to pretend with everything he's got in him that he never heard those words. "Just—just change yourself back."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it," Merlin says, dismissively. Arthur suspects he's staring at his breasts again. "I do have them bigger than Gwen," he says, decisively, "don't I?"

"I am not," Arthur says, "going to debate the size of your breasts with you."

"Well, it's a bit harder to tell when they're on me! You've got no sense of perspective when it's your own—"

"I don't care about your stupid breasts!" Arthur says—he's too impatient anymore to even be embarrassed. "Now shut up and put yourself right! I've got a council meeting in less than an hour, and if you walk in looking like that—!"

"Looking like what?"

"That!"

"I happen to think I make a very lovely woman," Merlin says haughtily.

"That," Arthur says, "is entirely besides the point."

Merlin beams. "Do I make a lovely woman, then?"

"You know what? You make a fantastic idiot. That's what you make."

"Now, Arthur," Merlin puts a hand to his heart, "is that any way to talk to a lady?"

"Merlin—!"

Notes: one Merlin Emrys himself personally attacked me the previous day and physically made me write this I had no choice