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There’s a soft, warm feeling that builds in Lancelot’s chest as he holds Merlin close, letting Merlin’s unruly hair tickle his nose. It’s about time for a haircut, but Merlin has been putting off, saying it’s more comfortable with the ends curling up from how long it is on their neck compared to when their neck is exposed. Lancelot always finds Merlin beautiful, even when their hair is choppily short or when it’s slowly framing their face in a more feminine way, but never entirely so. Merlin’s features are still strong and defined, but their eyes are soft and careful.
There’s a small groan from Merlin, who tries to stretch out of Lancelot’s embrace, but Lancelot has them confined to him. He doesn’t want them to leave yet, because that means the day has started, and there won’t be much time for them to spend it together. He wishes there were more hours in the day just so he can see his lover more than he does now.
“Morning,” Merlin mumbles sleepily, their breath fanning across Lancelot’s unclothed chest, before snuggling into him slightly. Their lips brush against Lancelot’s skin, and Lancelot flinches slightly at it. Merlin tries to pull away, mumbling a small, “Sorry,” but Lancelot pulls them back in.
He presses a kiss to the crown of their head and closes his eyes, letting himself really appreciate the moment. He appreciates every moment he has with Merlin, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn’t do it enough. Every day there is a possibility that they may lose each other, and he doesn’t want that day to come and he realizes he never truly appreciated their time together to begin with.
“Morning, my lady,” Lancelot says, and he feels them smile against his skin. He knows they’re blushing, especially with how they try to hide themself enough further into him. There’s a moment of silence that follows, though, and he wonders if they’ve fallen back to sleep.
“Don’t wanna go to work today,” Merlin says, and their voice is slightly muffled. One of Lancelot’s hands finds its way to Merlin’s hair, gently combing his fingers through it.
“We could play sick,” Lancelot says, even though they both know that’s not an option. Arthur will come investigate it for himself and then find his servant asleep in bed without fever or any sickness in them. Lancelot wishes Arthur would give Merlin just one day to sleep away the tension in their shoulders and worries in their mind.
“We could,” they say, playing along. The warmth in Lancelot’s chest spreads throughout him from it. There’s something so lovely when they do this—play along with their shared desires in the comfort of Lancelot’s chambers that he calls theirs since Merlin spends more nights there than in his own. “Or we could just run away, always play sick wherever we go.”
“Where would we go?” he asks, because they’ve only had this conversation briefly before when Merlin was drunk off wine.
Their voice is soft. “I dunno.” Merlin moves their head slightly, their hair tickling Lancelot’s cheek. “Anywhere as long as I’m with you.”
“Ealdor?” Lancelot asks, knowing how much they miss their mother. “Then I will show you the places I traveled.”
Merlin lifts their head up to look at him, and they’re so close—Lancelot could barely move forward and would be kissing them—and they look at him with such care that he’s going to explode. His love for them will be the thing that kills him, he’s certain of that, especially with how hard it is to breathe in moments like these.
“It wouldn’t bother you?” they ask, their voice so careful and concerned, as if worried Lancelot would be giving up his own comfort for them. He would, though, and they both know that.
“No,” Lancelot says so softly it’s nearly a whisper. “Not if I have you to face it with me.”
Merlin stares at him for a moment longer before leaning forward and kissing him. He wants to tell them that they don’t have much time left to lie around, needing to get ready soon, but he can’t pull away. Kissing Merlin is one of his favorite things to do. It always leaves him breathless and dizzy and never wanting it to end. However, he takes what they give him, letting them always be the one in control.
They kiss him softly, trying to convey the love they have for him within it, and he kisses back in a way he believes they’ll know he hears them—he knows. Their hands rest on his chest while one of his hands cups the back of their neck, pulling them in closer and closer. Then they’re pulling away, pressing gentle kisses on his throat, and Lancelot wants to pull them back in. He never wants it to end, but they have a time limit. Soon, they’ll be separated for the day until night rolls around, and Merlin can give him their undivided attention again.
The morning light is starting to bleed through his small window, and he wishes he could freeze time so this moment doesn’t have to end. He wouldn’t have to get up and watch Merlin from a distance for the rest of the day. Sometimes, he wishes that Merlin was royalty and he was their dedicated knight, because then they’d never have to part. It’d be Lancelot’s job to be by their side, missing training if he so pleases.
“I need to get to Gaius’ chambers,” Merlin says. They eat with Gaius every morning while Lancelot meets up with the knights, and the kitchen staff provides them breakfast. He wishes they ate together instead, but their relationship isn’t known beyond Gaius and Gwaine. “I’ll see you later, though. During training?”
Lancelot gently nods. “Yes. We’ll see each other then.”
Merlin smiles before leaning forward again, pressing one last kiss to Lancelot’s lips, before slipping out of his embrace and grabbing their clothes. Lancelot watches them stumble to get ready, always in such a hurry, and he chuckles a little when they nearly tumble over. They look at him with a frown, but they’re not actually mad at him. They only want him to think that.
It’s when they’ve finished getting ready and Lancelot knows he needs to get up, that he realizes their day is starting and they’re parting from each other. Merlin is nearly at the door when he speaks, “Merlin.” They turn, looking at him with a tilt of their head. “I love you.”
A smile blossoms from them, and their cheeks turn a faint pink color. Their hair is messy, clear that someone else messed it up, but Lancelot doesn’t tell them. He likes the fact that people will be able to tell they have a lover, even if no one knows he’s the lover.
“I love you too,” they say, and then they’re gone, leaving Lancelot alone in his chambers to get ready for the day.