Merlin dodged the flying boot and ran, laughing, for the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Arthur vaulted the bench between them and slammed into the heavy wooden panels just in time to prevent his servant from leaving, pinning Merlin to the door.

"You," he said, exasperated beyond all reason with the laughing young man, are not only the worst servant that I have ever had, but the most annoying person I have ever met. In my entire life! Ever.

Merlin's dancing eyes showed that he was totally unrepentant. Arthur wanted to strangle him. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. Unbidden, his hands moved into position around the long neck, pressing gently, and Merlin's head dropped heavily back against the panelling as he let out a long sigh, his body language signalling submission. Arthur knew him too well to let go.

"You will do as I say." He made it a statement, but it was never safe to assume that Merlin would obey without explicit agreement. Merlin looked sideways at him, still laughing breathlessly, his body coiling as if to slip sideways and out of Arthur's grasp.

Not if Arthur could help it.

Arthur shifted his weight to bear down more firmly, and suddenly the tone of the encounter changed entirely. Merlin was hard. The lean body under its coarse tunic was strong and healthy, and suddenly the fast breaths Merlin was taking signalled more than a swift chase.

Desire. Merlin desired him. Oh - nice!

Sensing victory, Arthur let a smug smile cross his face as he tilted his head and leaned in to take his spoils.

For a moment, Merlin tensed against him in surprise. Had he never done this before? Then the generous mouth opened under Arthur's probing tongue and it was Arthur who gasped.

God's Wounds! Merlin's mouth was honey, sweet and warm, welcoming him home - not just good, but instantly addictive. One large, capable hand slid over his shoulder and into his hair, as if to pull him closer, while the other settled at his hip for balance. Merlin was arching into him, devouring him hungrily; making small sounds of urgency in his throat. Arthur pulled back for a second, and the loss was shocking.

"Merlin," he murmured, half awed, half furious. His body was pierced with the exquisite satisfaction of a previously unrealised need: to touch. To touch Merlin.

Only Merlin was capable of turning a banal snatched kiss - a regular perquisite of being a handsome young prince – into an experience like that.

Merlin's eyes opened, looking into Arthur's. They were huge and - an instant later – terrified. He wrenched his body sideways, and in two seconds was the width of a room away from Arthur.

"No," he said. "This isn't happening."

Arthur moved forward slowly, confidently. "Don't tell me you didn't want that," he said.

"Yes," Merlin looked confused. "No. I mean... Stop that. Stay over there."

Arthur stopped. "Come on," he said, slightly annoyed that Merlin was being so missish. "You REALLY liked that."

The struggle on Merlin's face was obvious as he glanced anxiously around the room. His eyes eventually settled on Arthur's and his face firmed into decision. Even before he spoke, Arthur knew that the answer was 'No'.

"It doesn't matter what I want. I'm not going to do this."

Arthur leaned nonchalantly back on the door. "Why not?"

"I'm just not."

"You want it. I want it. Why not?"

Merlin's face set stubbornly as he struggled to find the words.

"Two good reasons, and the first is that I know how many people out there have said 'Yes' to you. How many times have I come in to give you breakfast and had to go back for a second tray?"

Arthur conceded the point with a sideways jerk of his head, but didn't move.

"I'm not going to be one of them," Merlin said. "I'm a person, not a convenience."

"You've never been convenient," Arthur muttered with annoyance.

"Well, exactly," Merlin said, gaining confidence. "So why change now?" He picked up a discarded bowl and goblet, and placed them on an empty platter. "I'll just take these back to the kitchens then."

Arthur moved grudgingly aside as Merlin warily approached the door.

"What's the other reason, then?" he asked, rather in the manner of his father dealing with defaulting tax-payers.

Arthur could always tell when Merlin was lying – the way his eyes dropped was as good as a confession - and he was stung to see that tell-tale sign as Merlin opened his mouth to answer. He cut off whatever misinformation was about to be presented with a brusque gesture and opened the door. Merlin slipped through, solemn and subdued, and Arthur closed the door behind him with unnecessary abruptness.

Then he punched a wall. It hurt.

* * *

Arthur dreamed of Merlin's long, lean body. He'd seen Merlin stripped before at the swimming hole, but never really looked. Now his dreams brought the scene back, vividly highlighted in a way that the reality had not been. A golden beam of light had not, in reality, gleamed on every droplet of water along the length of Merlin's tanned back and buttocks. Arthur was pretty sure. In fact his waking memory indicated a certain level of pastiness about the skin under Merlin's tunic and braes. Nevertheless he awoke panting, hand working at his cock, and finished himself off with only a couple of strokes. As he stared at the ceiling, Merlin came in with his breakfast, and he rolled over to look at the real thing.

His cock stirred. Not as pretty as his dream, but very real. Not like anyone else in Camelot. His lips quirked. Definitely not like anyone else. "Thank you," he murmured and Merlin flushed and shrugged, slipping quickly out of the room again.

What was the second reason? And why would he lie about it? Arthur suddenly wished that he had let Merlin say whatever it was he had been going to say. Even a lie might have told him something.

* * *

Every night that week he dreamed of Merlin naked and in his arms. He dreamed of Merlin's impudent mouth stretched around his cock; of his hands – his warm, angular hands – exploring Arthur's body. In his dreams Merlin was eager and responsive – and just right in some fundamental way. Waking to his absence felt almost painful. Arthur took a woman to his bed on the seventh night and had Merlin serve her breakfast, but he wished he hadn't done it. Merlin's face, normally so expressive, had closed like the door of a crypt from that morning on and Arthur hadn't seen him smile since.

His service had become impeccable – gear perfectly maintained, food served promptly without reminder and Merlin even used the exact same politely deferential tone that his father required of his own bodyservant when addressing him. A year ago Arthur would have thought him the ideal servant but now the walking, talking shell that looked like Merlin was profoundly disturbing and Arthur found himself deliberately provoking him, just to see his eyes flash, just to prove that it really was Merlin under the mask.

He was actually very surprised that Merlin was capable of being so restrained for so long.

On the eighteenth day Merlin resigned, saying that he was needed at home by his mother. He didn't even do it in private, just showed up at dinner with some yokel redheaded boy as his replacement in tow and asked the King for leave to depart. Arthur sat through dinner growing more and more worried. When the guard came to report to him at shift change he seized the opportunity to excuse himself and rushed down to Gaius' chambers.

Gaius was at dinner, of course. Arthur hesitated, wondering whether to knock or not, and then decided just to push the door aside and go in. The door to Merlin's room was ajar, and Merlin was lying curled sideways on his bed. In some way it looked subtly wrong to Arthur. Didn't Merlin usually lie stretched out?

"Merlin," he said, impatience and disapproval uppermost in his voice.

The huddled figure uncurled and sat up, facing the wall, but didn't say anything. Arthur moved closer until Merlin at last turned and looked up at him. His face was not the blank that it had been for the past few days, but vulnerable and defiant. "I have to go," he said bleakly.

Arthur slid onto the floor opposite him, back to the wall. "Don't be foolish, Merlin. Of course you don't!" He swallowed, carefully not looking at the bundle waiting at the end of the bed. "I'll get one of the maids to get me breakfast."

Merlin frowned thoughtfully. "I do, though. It shouldn't inconvenience you – I'm sure Ron will make a far better servant than I ever did. I just ... well, I have to go."

Arthur was beginning to get angry. "It was just a kiss, Merlin. You're being an idiot! We'll forget it. Just go on as usual."

Merlin looked at him with those large, clear eyes. "See. That's it. I can't."

Arthur gritted his teeth. If he can wake up every day hard for Merlin and vow to forget it, why can't Merlin? His mind latched unexpectedly onto a tangent. "So what was the second reason?"

This time Merlin's shoulders stiffened and his eyes - yes, damnit - dipped before returning to Arthur's face. "Second reason? Do I need more than one then?"

Arthur's instinct was telling him that this was the crux of the matter. Focusing steely eyes on Merlin he willed him to tell the truth. "Tell me. Tell me the second reason."

But Merlin just stood up, lifting his bundle. Arthur stood too, and something about the way he stood made it clear that he was a fighter as he stood there, weight balanced evenly over his feet, his attention narrowed to the face before him.

A brief light flashed in Merlin's eyes, and Arthur knew he was close. "Tell me."

For a long moment Merlin stared at him and then he said lightly, "Come visit me over the border sometime and I'll tell you." He picked up his bundle and was gone.

* * *

That night, wrapped in his cloak by a fire at the border crossing out of Camelot, Arthur didn't sleep. Perhaps he slipped into dreams briefly – close to dawn he could have sworn that he felt a lean body pressed against his back, warming and guarding it against all harm. But the ground behind him, when he checked, was cold. A dream, no more.

* * *

Merlin reached the border mid-morning. By the time he was close enough for Arthur to see his expression he had already assimilated the surprise of Arthur's presence.

"Toast?" Arthur gestured to the loaf beside him, grateful to see that Merlin just nodded and wearily shed his bundle before accepting the slice of slightly burnt bread from the end of the branch Arthur was using as a toasting fork. He didn't bother to look for preserves, but simply bit straight into it. Arthur watched him, considering his options.

"I came," he said.

Merlin swallowed the last of his toast and licked his fingers. "If I tell you," he said abruptly, "Will you promise to let me go free to my home and not pursue me?"

Arthur's mouth set. "You really are annoying, Merlin, but I'm not going to hit you over the head and drag you back to Camelot if you're too idiotic to come of your own accord."

"No!" Merlin's voice was urgent. "I need you to vow it. I need a formal vow."

Arthur shrugged impatiently. "If you don't bloody trust me by now..."

Merlin was in his face, closer than he had been to Arthur in weeks. His eyes were wild as he sought for more convincing words. Arthur snapped.

"Oh in Heaven's name! I vow before God and all men that if you choose to continue home I will not pursue you further. Will that do?"

"Promise that you will not harm me unless I harm you."

"You wouldn't harm me."

"Promise!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I vow not to harm you unless you harm me."

Merlin took his arm and pulled him over the border and out of Camelot. "The second reason," he said, "was that I couldn't share your bed and lie to you."

Arthur shook his head, grinning. "You're a terrible liar, Merlin. You couldn't lie to me anyway!"

Merlin gave him a look of pure despair. He took a step back, unconsciously Arthur thought, and blurted out, "I can do magic."

Arthur shook his head. That couldn't be true. "No," he said, but he remembered the last time he had come along this path to Ealdor, and the unnatural wind. "That was your friend Will."

"It was me. Will lied to protect me."

"No."

Arthur stared at the nearest birch sapling, then with a cry of rage, whipped his sword from its sheath and charged it. His sword swung in a precise arc as it lopped the sapling off in the middle. He spun around, gasping and red-faced, and pointed the sword at Merlin.

"You!"

Merlin stood absolutely still.

"Did you bewitch my dreams?"

Very slowly, Merlin shook his head.

"Because I've been dreaming of you every BLOODY night," Arthur shouted. "And I want you to stop it!"

Merlin shook his head again. "I didn't do it, I swear!"

"I did wonder," he added conscientiously, as if explaining a stain on Arthur's best jerkin, "After I kissed you back. Kissing you wasn't at all like kissing... anyone else. But I've checked as best I can and if it is magic I didn't do it."

Arthur wanted to disbelieve him. He really should disbelieve him. If Merlin could lie about being a sorcerer, surely he didn't know him at all. He stared at his... friend?... (A sorcerer, by definition could not be a friend. A servant was not a friend.) None of it made any sense: up was down and down was down too.

Merlin's shoulders had lost their tension. Arthur was confused and angry and pointing a sword at him, but he looked more at peace than Arthur had ever seen him. "It's not magic," he repeated, spreading his arms wide. "It's just...you and me."

Arthur sheathed his sword, one imperative rising up through his jumbled mind. (Merlin's eyes were as blue as the sky, and as free of guile. A whisper echoed in Arthur's ears: Sorcerer!).

"Kiss me then!" he demanded. If Merlin kissed him again, he might... he might be able to tell...

Merlin frowned, taking a hesitant step towards him. "Um... are you sure? I mean, it's not harm if you ask me is it?"

Promise or no promise, Arthur's father would expect him to run the sorcerer through with his sword without further delay. But Arthur kept his promises, even when he'd been tricked into them by a lying sorcerer.

And he wanted to kiss Merlin rather badly.

He shook his head, shaking off his confusion.

"Just... come here and kiss me, Merlin," he said tiredly. And wonder of wonders, Merlin for once did as he was told. Tentatively, awkward as a colt, he put one hand on Arthur's shoulder and pressed his chapped lips to Arthur's lips.

Arthur opened his mouth to let him in.

It was just as good as he had remembered. His body had craved this for weeks. Standing in a clearing beside a beheaded birch tree kissing a sorcerer he knew that there were two choices: Maybe Merlin was lying and this was magic. Or maybe Merlin was loyal and quick and insubordinate and trustworthy and infuriating and his.

"Are you mine?" he asked, breathing the words into Merlin's mouth. "How can I know?"

Merlin never could do anything right. He pulled away, suffering Arthur's hands on his shoulders, but no longer leaning against him. "I don't belong to you," he said, "Or at least if I do, you're mine too. And there's no way I can prove my loyalty more than I already have. You must know that I will never betray you."

"I'm the Prince," Arthur argued childishly. "You should be mine."

The mulish expression that settles on Merlin's face is so damn familiar! "I'm loyal to you and Camelot," he said, "But I... I'm not a thing! I have a soul."

"My father says sorcerers don't have souls. They've sold them to the devil."

"Well I didn't!" Merlin's face was passionate, riveting Arthur's attention to his mobile, just-kissed lips. "I was just born like this, Arthur. I'm just like anyone else except I can do magic. No-one says you've sold yourself to the devil because you're such a good warrior."

Now he did try to leave Arthur's arms, but Arthur pulled him back, resting his head against Merlin's, and with a sigh, Merlin let him. When a travelling party of merchants came over the rise from the west Arthur took Merlin's hand and led him back across the border to the fire. Side by side they watched the group pass.

"It's a good thing you brought bread. I forgot to go to the kitchens before I left," Merlin said. His thigh touched Arthur's and Arthur could feel it warm and solid against his own. Arthur passed him the bread and the toasting stick but Merlin just held them awkwardly, then placed them on the ground at his feet.

"Will you come back to Camelot?" Arthur asked quietly.

"You must know I can't! Your father would kill me, and you would be torn in two trying to be loyal to him and me both."

Arthur tried to imagine it. Merlin had had a lot longer to think about this than he had. "But you were just getting to be useful."

Merlin ignored the plaintive attempt at humour. "The minute the crops failed or someone fell sick you would start to wonder: Is Merlin really telling the truth? Did Merlin do this? And your father would start telling you again about evil sorcerers..."

It sounded depressingly likely. Arthur realised that without making a conscious decision he was trusting Merlin. He found it impossible not to. He felt dizzy with the dislocation. Evil sorcerer. Merlin.

He desperately wanted to take Merlin into the woods and fuck him blind.

"Have you ever lain with a man?" he asked, following the only train of thought in his mind that was absolutely clear.

Merlin shook his head and was silent for a moment. "Do you... want to?" he said, eventually.

Arthur couldn't speak, but he nodded, staring at the fire.

"Alright then." Merlin glanced at him and put out his hand in an unfamiliar gesture. Arthur's nape pricked with atavistic fear as his companion mumbled something in a low voice and the fire went out. With another gesture their packs lifted through the air and disappeared into the woods.

Merlin gave him a solemn look, gold seeming to fade from his eyes, then crossed to where Arthur had tethered his horse and patted the roan stallion's nose, talking softly as he untied him and led him after the packs into the shadow of the trees. The bread lay forgotten by Arthur's feet.

Arthur looked at the dead fire, and the empty place on the log where Merlin had been sitting, then followed them in. A warrior, a future king, was not afraid.

* * *

Merlin had laid his own bedroll on the ground, and was placing Arthur's warm cloak at the foot. "I'm not sure what to do next, actually, " he said ruefully, running a hand through his hair. The familiar gesture was reassuring.

"Take off your clothes," Arthur directed, and watched as Merlin did. His shoulders were wide, his skin as pale as any maiden. He blushed as his braes came off, and Arthur could see that he was keeping himself from concealing his groin by an act of will.

Naked at last, he knelt on the bedroll. "You can trust me," he said, looking up. He looked very vulnerable kneeling there but Arthur knew – had seen just moments ago – that he was not.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur unbuckled his sword belt. Without his sword he was helpless, alone in the woods with a sorcerer. No-one even knew where he was, although he had told Morgana he was going after Merlin. A voice that sounded like his father's was shrieking at him that he was going to his death: a shameful death, enspelled to the carnal desires of a sorcerer.

He pushed it aside. Merlin. This was Merlin.

Once the belt was gone, he removed the rest of his clothes without shame, watching Merlin watching him. Sir Olaf had once asked him how he could bear to be woken up every morning by a face like that, and Arthur had realised that Olaf thought Merlin ugly. It had been a long time since Arthur had seen anything but beauty in that expressive face, though. He'd never seen a cruel or callous expression cross it. Right now he could see hope and fear and desire and... something inexpressibly fierce and tender. There was no sign of triumph or evil, and Arthur did not think that there ever would be.

Merlin brought out the best in him simply because of the beauty in his soul. Uther was wrong. If Merlin was a sorcerer then sorcerers could have souls.

"Merlin." The word was sweet in his mouth. Arthur shivered a little, crossing one more barrier, and leaned forward, so that they met mouth to mouth, chest to chest and finally, hip to hip.

Merlin really hadn't a clue. But he was very apt to learn.

Arthur couldn't help the feeling that swelled in his chest when he realised that Merlin had never taken other lover, male or female, never allowed another to touch, to feast on the body before him. It was all his and his alone. He looked down at Merlin gasping under him and a fierce possessiveness filled his chest. Mine! Merlin could deny it all he liked – Arthur knew better.

Arthur remembered so many bodies touching his own – many of them awed by his position and his beauty. In his bed some had surrendered, and some had bargained with their bodies. Some had been there for the physical release, and some for political advantage; a few for bragging rights or adventure. One or two silly girls had even been there in the name of romance.

But now he was touching Merlin. And Merlin was touching him. Arthur laughed for pure joy.

* * *

The bedroll was sticky and Merlin was lying face-down, Arthur languid and drowsy at his back, when Merlin muttered, "Aha! Now I have you right where I want you, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur ran a possessive hand over conquered territory and laughed out loud. "I thought I had you right where I wanted you, sorcerer."

Merlin peeped around his shoulder, his face alight with mischief. "Hmm. Maybe I'll go back to Ealdor after all. Unless I get a turn. I want to do that to you."

"Next time," Arthur promised recklessly. "Just come home."

Merlin smiled at him, open as sunlight. "Yes sire."