Umm... Yeah See That Puddle? - Tumblr Posts

Ever since Merlin was a small child, Hunith had always bombarded him with loving touches. She carried him whenever she could, and when he grew too big to be carried, she left him with warm hugs and soft touches on his cheeks. She wiped his tears when he cried, and intertwined their fingers on cold nights as they slept.

Arthur, on the other hand, could not remember the last time he was touched by his father in any way other than a firm clasp on the shoulder. All his life, he's known nothing but side glances and firm remarks. No one was there to wipe his tears away when he cried, and certainly no one was there to hold him on cold nights as he slept.

He was the prince of Camelot, after all, and everyone knew that princes cannot be soft.

Which was why, the first time that Merlin went in for a hug, Arthur immediately flinched back.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Arthur left, unable to stand the tension in the air. Not thinking much about it, he had rendered it just another one of those awkward little moments with Merlin that would soon dissipate from his memory.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Arthur found himself unable to move on from it. He spent that night turning in his bed, wondering what it would've been like if he accepted Merlin's hug - The warmth and comfort that he had only ever seen given to others. He fell asleep wondering what it would feel like to be embraced by another.

Merlin doesn't do it again, at least not for a while. It was understandable, especially after Arthur reacted so drastically at his first attempt at closeness, but Arthur still couldn't help but spend another few sleepless nights regretting his reaction.

Because he was the prince of Camelot, and if Merlin - irresponsible, reckless, sarcastic Merlin - wasn't willing to touch him, then no one was.

So when the second time came - when Merlin, most likely without thinking ("when does he ever think?"), went in for a hug, Arthur hugged back.

He wrapped Merlin in his arms, and oh, it was bliss. The warmth and the comfort and the closeness that he had heard so much about were all real. He couldn't help but tighten his arms around the other boy's thin body and lean in, rendered helpless by a sense of aching intimacy.

Questions immediately appeared in Arthur's mind: How had he survived up until then without touches like these? If Merlin had never been assigned as his manservant, would he have gone his whole life without experiencing this? And now that he's finally experienced this, how could he go without it for the rest of his life?

The thought pained Arthur, so he squeezed even harder.

They didn't talk about it afterwards, but Arthur knew that Merlin knew. Arthur had exposed the softness underneath his hard exterior, and now Merlin knew.

And lord, was it great.

Their previously rare touches turned more and more common. Soon, putting on Armour turned into lingering touches on Arthur's body, and training sessions turned into Merlin haphazardly wiping the sweat from Arthur's forehead as he leaned into the cooling touch on his skin.

Sometimes, if Arthur was feeling brave, he’d even initiate some of these touches.

He’d hook his finger with Merlin’s as they walked to the stables, running his thumb against whatever skin he could reach. He’d warm Merlin’s seemingly forever cold hands by gently pulling them into his own bigger ones. He’d walk up silently behind Merlin as he’s softly humming a song while polishing Arthur’s armour, and wrap his arms around his waist, burying his head into the crook of Merlin’s shoulder.

It was like Arthur's mind was trying to reclaim all touches lost to the years. He craved skin - Merlin's skin - on his. He craved the way Merlin's fingers ran over his muscles. He craved these moments of intimacy where he wasn't Arthur Pendragon, the prince of Camelot, and he was just Arthur.

And somehow Merlin knew of this insatiable craving of his, because he was always giving and giving and giving. Arthur never openly asked for the tender touches and the soft trails of fingertips against his stomach, but Merlin - lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Merlin - was always there to give.

The love in Merlin was overflowing, and Arthur was there to catch every last drop of it.

And as Arthur was still human (despite how hard he tried), there were times when he wept.

Arthur cried the same way he cried when he was a child - with his shoulder shaking, his eyes shut, and his hands trembling. He also used to sob with his mouth open and with his grief audible like any other child, but that had long been scolded and beaten out of him.

However, despite the habits that he brought into adulthood, the nights when he cried were no longer like the lonely nights that he suffered through as a child - There was no ache in his chest as tears ran down his cheeks. No biting the collar of his shirt as he attempted to stay quiet. No harsh words to keep him silent.

There were, in their place, gentle caresses to his forehead as Merlin smoothed back his hair, murmuring words of comfort under his breath. A warm shoulder to lean on as he cried quietly. Thumbs that wiped under his lashes and nimble fingers that caressed his cheeks.

A voice that cooed and replied, “I'm here, darling” when Arthur whispered, “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin” through his tears. Lips that pressed against his as another sob seeped out. Arms that wrapped around Arthur, and gentle hands that ran themselves comfortingly over the expanse of his back until they both fell asleep.

And what a joy it was, to have someone who wiped his tears away when he cried, and someone to hold him on cold nights as he slept. To be touched and held and loved.

What a joy Merlin was.