Warm Arthur, Sleepy Arthur

*.*.*.*.*

It's warm and Arthur doesn't know if he can even remember his own damn name anymore, doesn't know if he even needs to, not in this half-asleep state where the world is warm and nothing outside of his bed exists. Because that is the truth of it: he is warm and nothing else matters or even exists in this peaceful state where his dreams are still lingering and bleeding into reality,and he can almost taste them, sweet on his tongue like the first sip of wine.

He really could stay caught in this moment forever, he thinks.

Snuggling down into his bed and blankets further, he sighs to himself in a content manner, feeling himself slip back into the realm of dreams, deciding that it is perfectly okay to lose this moment in favor of more sleep.

His blanket, however, is suddenly being tugged off of him, ripped away from him and finding a home elsewhere, and he can feel himself frown at the loss of his warmth, the cool morning air biting at his exposed top half in a way that sends a shiver through him, a sudden bright light making him squint against his own eyelids, though they are shut tight at the moment.

He is convinced that depriving a king of his warmth is a crime punishable by flogging, at the very least, and he wants to say as much, but he is half awake now and sure that the only one who would ever dare pull such a stunt is the one person who would laugh such a threat off.

So instead, he lets a slow breath out through his nose, decides he needs to count to five now. As long as Merlin doesn't say anything before Arthur gets to five, he has discovered, the day will go fine. If not…

One.

Two.

Three.

Fou—

"Raise and shine slee—"

"Shut. Up." Arthur growls, cracking his eyes, unable to help the pout on his face when they catch on Merlin's smile.

He wonders, for a moment, if he can pass a law forbidding people from smiling before noon.

"What's wrong," Merlin sighs, face anything but serious as he shakes his head in an amused manner. "Wake up on the wrong—"

"What's wrong is that I woke up at all," Arthur interrupts, sitting up enough only to grab his blanket from where it is bunched up at the foot of his bed, to pull it back over himself as he lays back down against his pillows, before giving Merlin his attention once again. "I was warm; I was about to go back to sleep, and then you come in here and draw the curtains and steal my warmth and talk before I can get to five and now I'm cold and you're smiling so I'm going back to sleep until I'm warm again or you stop smiling." He babbles, well aware of how little sense he is making right now even before Merlin frowns and scratches his head, the perfect picture of an adorably confused manservant as he does so.

Arthur, however, does not dwell on the image or the way it would usually make him grin in endearment; instead, he turns over, takes his blanket with him, back to Merlin, fully intending to not get out of bed for quite a while now, thank you very much.

He hears Merlin sigh and can only guess at the way his hands are on his hips—because aren't his hands always on his damned hips? Arthur muses to himself, hips that Arthur would like very much to grip himself one of these days—those, however, are different thoughts for a more awake Arthur to entertain, he decides.

"Arthur, you can't just stay in bed all day, you—"

"I'm the king, Merlin, I'll do whatever I damn well want to," Arthur mutters into the side of his pillow.

"And as the king, you've a full day of responsibilities to attend to, like—"

"I've told you, I am not getting up until I'm warm again."

"Or I stop smiling." Merlin adds, and from his tone, Arthur can tell that he very much is smiling again. Bastard. "And I'm obviously not going to stop smiling any time soon—not with you behaving like a spoilt child like this," he snorts, and Arthur frowns to himself, burrowing deeper under his blankets, deciding that if he perhaps just ignores Merlin long enough, he will leave to fetch breakfast or do some sort of chore or another and leave Arthur in peace to get a bit more sleep in…

Except his bed is shifting now, blanket being tugged off him once more, exposing his back to the brisk morning air, a frown painting his features for a moment.

Until there is pressure against his back, an arm wrapping around him, and he is unsure for a moment if he has fallen back asleep just yet or if this isactually happening.

"What are—"

"Warming you up, you clotpole," Merlin interrupts, pressing himself against Arthur's back fully, the king letting out an involuntary sort of pleasant sigh in response as he leans back into Merlin's embrace, small smile gracing his features as Merlin adds, with a small chuckle, "Can't have you laying up in bed all day just because you're cold, now can we?"

Arthur is much too preoccupied melting against Merlin to think of some sort of retort, his tongue floppy in his mouth anyway, slack-jawed with sleep and comfort and warmth, and perhaps allowing Merlin to have the final word on something this one time won't be the end of the world. He snuggles further into it Merlin's embrace, all inhibitions and pretenses gone for the moment—this moment that Arthur prays he will remember in full clarity later on, that the fog of half-slumber does not mask the wonderfulness of what is happening right now—as one of his hands comes to rest on the one Merlin is resting on his bare chest just over his heart; Arthur doesn't know if that is intentional or if Merlin's hand just happened to come to rest there, but, either way, it is nice and Arthur decides that it doesn't quite matter so long as it is there.

And when Merlin's head comes to rest just in the crook of Arthur's neck, burying his face just there, a sigh escaping his lips in a way that sends a quick, pleasant sort of feeling down Arthur's spine and nestles within his stomach, Arthur decides that he will need to point out just how cold he is much more often.

*.*.*.*.*