Written for Day 11—Week 2, Day 4—of the BBC Merlin Fest: Merlin and Arthur.

Disclaimer: Oh you know me: I don't own anything, least of all Merlin.

I Should Probably Be Mad At You But Your Kisses Are Ruining The Moment

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It was stupid—they argued all the time, why was it any different this time? Why was there something about the way Merlin yelled at him that sounded wrong? Why was there a look in his eyes that spelled out pain and hurt and a desperation Arthur had never seen there before?

Why was this argument any different from their usual ones?

It had been triggered by Arthur, of course, and some stupid little comment he had made, but what had it been—Oh.

Oh.

Magic.

They were out with a few of his knights on a patrol near the borders for a few days, and he had said something about magic being evil to one of his newest knights while they sat up camp for the night, and Merlin had just… snapped, had dropped the firewood in a huff and started in on Arthur. Which was nothing new, of course, but… Merlin was always different when magic was brought up. He stiffened, he grew wary, nervous, he had a look of anger or desperation or fear, he was generally not Merlin when the subject was brought up. And Arthur had never known why. Until now. Until it finally clicked.

"You have magic, don't you?" Arthur asked, his whisper cutting through Merlin's insults and silencing the entire camp, the forest itself seeming to hush with the question.

Merlin stiffened in front of Arthur, a mere arm's length in front of him, his anger instantly melting into something of sadness and regret as he answered.

"Yes."

Arthur nodded, the action deliberate as he let it sink in, taste the news on his tongue, wondering to himself if he was mad or not. He supposed he should have been, but… this was Merlin. And nothing could ever change his feelings about him.

Merlin, however, was turning around before Arthur could properly react, and Arthur didn't know what he was doing or where he was going, but a sort of panic was rising in him, warning him that if he didn't say something, he would lose Merlin forever.

"This doesn't change anything." He called after him.

Merlin stopped, stiffened, shook his head slowly in response.

"Yes it does, Arthur. The laws—"

"Sod the laws, Merlin!" He exclaimed, surprising Merlin, his knights, even himself. "I love you, and it... it doesn't matter, all right? I'll change the damned laws the minute we get back to Camelot for you."

"You don't mean... any of that." Merlin sighed, shaking his head.

Aggravated—and, admittedly, still a little panicked—Arthur quickly walked over to him, driven by the need to reassure Merlin and nothing more. He placed a hand on his shoulder and spun him around without a word, found his eyes were clouded over with tears, his face was pinched up in something like sadness and rejection. He cringed away when Arthur brought a gloved hand up to his cheek and wiped at his eyes, his own face softening slightly as realization set it.

Merlin had magic.

Magic.

And Arthur—the things he had said—Oh God, no wonder—Jesus.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." He said hurriedly, cupping his cheek gently, reassuringly.. "I didn't know... And you—"

"Did you mean it?" Merlin interrupted, his voice low and heavy with his unshed tears.

"About changing the laws? Of course. As soon as we get back home—"

"No, not that." He said sharply.

"Then what?" Arthur asked, confusion in his tone. He had a vague recollection in that moment that the camp was full of knights observing them, probably wondering, curious, but... He didn't care. Merlin meant more—more—than their opinions of him did.

"The bit about..." He ducked his head shyly, smiling softly. "You know."

Arthur gave him a look of confusion, playing the last few moments back in his head. What could he possibly have said that had Merlin—

Ooh.

"Yes." Arthur nodded, realization settling in once more. "I did—I do, I mean. Love you." He said quickly, feeling himself heat up with the words.

Merlin gave him a goofy grin and laughed, relief staining the edges of the action.

And then his lips were on Arthur's, and all that mattered, in that moment that seemed to span on towards forever, was the way Merlin brought his hands up to knot through Arthur's hair, the way something pulsed against Arthur's very being as Merlin's lips captured his own again and again and again...

"I love you, too, you idiot." Merlin mumbled when he pulled back, rested his forehead against Arthur's.

"Good." Arthur sighed, he had barely had time to doubt it, to register that Merlin might not feel the same way—he hadn't even meant to admit it, not in that moment, he had just been... worried that he was about to lose him, and it had slipped out.

He was glad it had, though.

"But, you never did tell me about your magic—I think I'm supposed to be mad at you for that." He added, teasing.

"Mm, yeah, you probably should be." Merlin agreed. He shrugged then, and leaned in to kiss him again.

But, of course, how could Arthur be mad about something so trivial when Merlin kept kissing him like that and making sure nothing else in the world—not the knights around them, who were probably confused and a tad uncomfortable in that moment, or how hard it would probably be to change the laws on magic back in Camelot, or how long it would even take to do such a thing—mattered to either of them in that moment?

In that moment... How the hell could Arthur be mad about anything at all?

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