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It was a sign of respect, actually, that Arthur’s father sent him along to treat with Lady Kassery—to spend a fortnight wheedling out of her an additional ten percent share of her mining ventures for the crown. Of course the prospect was nearly impossible, but that was just a sign of the king’s trust in him, not an indication he’d been thrown away on an inevitable failure.
If nothing else, Lady Kassery was decently hospitable. Though her welcome had been only a vaguely pitying look, her steward had set his crown prince up in a fine suite of rooms, with a plush mattress thick with down and luxurious velvet hangings. Arthur lay atop the velvet with all his limbs stretched out, staring at the canopy, tired in body but mind buzzing with all sorts of strange and useless thoughts. For some reason, he kept thinking of Merlin and what he might be doing right now instead of attending his prince, which was his actual job, which some other princes might reasonably expect a servant to make his reason for living. Not Arthur though. He was too generous and good of heart for that, and also he didn’t care at all what Merlin was up to.
It was just that Merlin normally insisted on sticking by his side even when he was ordered on pain of...something painful not to, even on missions that were expressly for Arthur alone. It was just that this was the first time they stood to be parted since Arthur had learned the truth of Merlin’s magic, and of all the ways such revelations had changed the way of things between them, Arthur hadn’t expected this very literal distance. He thought they’d gotten past all the awkwardness and resentment of the early days. He thought he’d handled things quite well all things considered—with only a little shouting, and without fumbling things too horribly when Merlin started crying, and with the snogging that had sort of happened by accident for reasons that were probably, but maybe not, unrelated. Arthur had kept Merlin’s secrets, every one of them, from his father and all his men and even from himself by pretending he didn’t want to scream and hit things when Merlin put himself in danger without a thought. In turn, Merlin had put his trust in Arthur in so many ways Arthur hadn’t even noticed he was missing—he blossomed—it was beautiful and humbling to witness, in a way that made someone raised since birth to make dramatic speeches and noble declarations really have to hold his tongue in order to avoid embarrassing himself.
Only one thing kept Arthur from working himself up to conclusions that he’d actually mortally offended Merlin somehow, and Merlin was using his absence from Camelot to make his escape into the countryside, away from terrible Arthur and his wandering hands and the bottomless pit of his heart. Before he’d left—alone—and though he hadn’t been speaking to Merlin at the time, Merlin had come to see him off. He’d looked up at Arthur atop his horse with a face like he was squinting into the sun, with a smile on his lips that squinted his eyes even more. He’d taken Arthur’s hand, brushed a brief kiss across his knuckles like Arthur was some sort of courting maiden, and then when he drew away, he’d left a small token in Arthur’s palm.
In his too-soft bed in Lady Kassery’s keep, Arthur held the charm up to the light. It was a pretty bauble and nothing more: a cut quartz point roughly the size of the first joint of his smallest finger. It hung on a short silver chain along with a small bead of some blue-green stone Arthur didn’t know, that seemed to ripple like the sea. Arthur didn’t know where Merlin had bought it, or if he fancied himself a jeweler now; either way, it had a distinctly magical look to it. Arthur’s chest grew tight with worry every time he looked at it. How many other magical trinkets was he carrying around with him—giving out to others? How long until he was caught, and—and—
He was going to drive Arthur mad one day.
For maybe the hundredth time in the day they’d been apart, Arthur wondered what the bauble was even meant to be. It was pretty enough, but there was no loop to hang it on a necklace, and it was far too short to be a pendulum. Perhaps it would suit as an earring, but Arthur’s ears weren’t pierced.
Feeling a little foolish, he held it up to his ear anyway, trying to imagine what Merlin might have been thinking.
--And the moment he touched his ear, he felt a sharp pinch as the bauble latched onto him. A single sting, and the pain immediately faded. Arthur sat bolt upright, hand cupped around his ear. Merlin! What had that idiot done to him?
“Finally figured it out, did you?” he heard Merlin say from nowhere. His voice was so warm and liquid and sounded like he spoke right against the shell of Arthur’s ear, and with every word Arthur felt magic slip down his spine hot and golden inside him. Arthur shuddered, his head tipping back and a little moan escaping his lips.
“Oh, am I interrupting? Or are you just that happy to hear my voice?” Merlin sounded delighted now. Again, his words produced the same sensation: hot drips of magic like candle-wax lighting up his body and heating up his blood. His cock twitched, starting to harden, and Arthur curled his hands into fists on top of his thighs.
“Hmm...I didn’t know it would have that effect,” Merlin hummed. “We should explore this fascinating new magical discovery. Or, if you’d prefer, I could cancel the spell…”
“No!” Arthur blurted. “Don’t go.”
“There you are,” Merlin said tenderly. It really was just like he was here, speaking right in Arthur’s ear, working his magic on him. Arthur wondered if it felt the same for Merlin—if he could hear him so clearly—if it took the edge off the loneliness or if it made it worse.
Soft, unbearably so, so soft Arthur muffled a whimper into the heel of his palm, Merlin said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you. I can’t leave the castle at Samhain—the wards are too fragile, and there are several loci of malicious—but I don’t want you to worry about that. All you have to do is come home to me in one piece.”
“You should have told me,” Arthur replied as another pulse of magic made him roll onto his side and rub his thighs together. Without really thinking, his hand went under his shirt—his skin felt so sensitive with the magic underneath it—but he didn’t really touch himself, just rested it against his bare skin.
Merlin repeated, “I don’t want you to worry.”
“I worry anyway.”
Slowly, Arthur trailed his hand up to rest in a loose fist over his heart. He wished—Merlin should be here, beside him, where Arthur could keep an eye on him. Where Arthur could see his face and his posture and know if he was thinking something especially stupid, even for him, like that he wasn’t worth Arthur’s worry. Merlin should be here, or Arthur should be with him. Wishing didn’t even factor in.
“Let me fix it,” Merlin said suddenly.
“What?”
“As long as you’re wearing the gem, we’re connected. I can feel you...you can feel me.” Another wave of heat washed over Arthur’s body, curling his toes.
“You can feel…”
Arthur’s cock was fully hard now, sensitive where the head rubbed against his braies with every little shift, starting to slick at the tip.
“Oh yes. Just like you can feel my magic. Doesn’t it feel good?”
“Yes,” Arthur croaked, licking his lips.
“If I wasn’t talking to you now—say you dreamed of me and woke up hard in the middle of the night. How would you touch yourself?”
“Wouldn’t,” Arthur confessed, because that very scenario had happened the night before in a rickety little bed at an inn.
“You—really?” Merlin’s surprise sounded genuine; then he moaned, loud enough Arthur could almost feel the vibration from it. “You little—gods, that’s hot. Why not? Is it just not the same with your own hand? Is it just not good enough?”
Yes. Merlin always rewarded his patience with orgasms so hard he saw stars. “Some of us just have more self-control than others, I suppose,” he tried for defense. “You needn’t give into every hedonistic urge, you—”
“I’m here now, though. So what’s that control for? I think it’s time to let it go.”
Just like that: Arthur’s defenses ripped away. His heart pounded hard enough to hear. Could Merlin hear it too?
“What—do you mean?”
“Touch yourself. I am. I’m touching my cock, and—” here he gasped— “thinking about you just lying there, hard and, ah, just waiting for it to go down. How long did it take? Did it—” another gasp— “did it hurt?”
“Yes. It ached,” Arthur whispered. Merlin’s answering groan was loud, though, and hitched halfway through when Arthur finally put his hand down his braies and touched his own cock.
“Poor thing,” Merlin cooed, with a fake sympathy that made Arthur squirm, thighs clenching involuntarily. “Where are you right now? In bed? Are you still dressed? Ugh, gods, I should be there. Looking at—uh—the way your eyes get all glossy when you’re embarrassed, and the way you blush down to your nipples when I talk like this—“
“You should be here,” Arthur whined, completely innocent of any aforementioned blushing in any aforementioned areas. “I want to touch you. See you, taste you. It’s been too long.”
“It’s not even been two days yet.”
Embarrassed, Arthur just whined again, tightening his grip on his dick as he started to move it up and down.
“I know. I know. I miss you too.” More hitching breaths and staccato moans, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t hear the slick rhythm of Merlin stroking himself, couldn’t hear the thud of his heart or the creak of the bed beneath him. “Answer my questions, so I can picture you. I’m in your bed, you know. Naked. Still smells like you.”
Hot, prickling jealousy zipped through Arthur so fast it brought tears to his eyes. Not fair. He didn’t have anything of Merlin’s with him except the stupid earring. Abruptly, he remembered the first time he’d touched himself and thought of Merlin. Merlin had left one of his scarves by the hearth on a summer evening. He’d taken it off due to the heat; it had smelled of his sweat and his body, and Arthur’d pressed it to his nose until he couldn’t breathe anything else, until he came longer and harder than he ever had before, into the sheets Merlin cleaned the next day…
“I’m just in a—guest bed,” he got out. “It’s soft, but it’s not home. Still dressed. You only packed blues,” he complained, against the mood; he usually liked to wear red on official crown business.
“And I know you were so pretty in them. Fuck, I’m close. Keep—keep going, fuck, you feel so good.”
“You—too,” was, pathetically, all Arthur could manage.
Turning his face into the pillow like it would muffle the sound of his heavy breathing, Arthur stroked himself roughly. He wished that this magic wasn’t just an accident of Merlin running the spell through a charm attached to his body. What if Merlin filled him up with magic and used it to control him—the spread of his legs, the arch of his back, the speed and grip of his fist—or even more—the breath in his lungs, the input of all his senses, and whether not he could come—
Merlin would have him, would possess him entirely. There wouldn’t be any room for doubts; there wouldn’t be any separation.
“Merlin,” he whined, humping into his own fist like a dog, like someone who needed to be controlled.
So, so close, Arthur almost believed he could feel him, breath on his ear, hot slick touch of his tongue, smell of his body.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Merlin was letting out these short moans almost with the rhythm of Arthur’s thrusts, doing his best to keep up as he touched himself. “That’s it—that’s it, Arthur, you’re so good, so perfect—come for me, c’mon, my good boy—”
Arthur cried out as those words and the pulse of magic—was he imagining it sharper and sweeter than any before?--that came with it tipped him over the edge. Lying on his side, he curled up with the strength of his orgasm, biting down on his sleeve to muffle the helpless whining noises. But Merlin could hear them. Connected as they were, there was nothing Arthur could do to prevent Merlin from hearing, feeling everything. That thought sent another weak jerk through Arthur’s oversensitive groin.
He lay there, stunned and blinking his wet eyes, as he listened to Merlin panting and huffing through his own orgasm, more cries of Arthur’s name; and when he too fell quiet in the afterglow, Arthur couldn’t help the pining keen that came up in his heart and mind again, wishing Merlin was here.
“It’s a clever trick, this charm. Good, uh. Good work,” Arthur said into the silence. He plucked at his sleeve, now wet from his mouth; he pressed down where his teeth had and felt the faint bruise beneath the cotton.
With a throaty chuckle, Merlin replied, “Thanks. You did a good job, too.”
Even though Arthur hadn’t done anything except. Well. A traitorous heat rose to his face even though his blood should be well calmed by now.
He shifted, took off his shirt and used it to mop up the worst of the stickiness across his belly. Then he lay back down on his side again and wondered how Merlin was laying—the same way, as if they were face to face?
“Sleep, Arthur,” Merlin crooned. “No matter what happens with Lady Kassery, you’ll be coming home to me soon. That’s the only thing that matters.”
Lulled by the magic so deep inside him and by the love in Merlin’s voice, Arthur’s travel-weary body finally relaxed. He fell asleep with Merlin humming in his ear.