It’s some time past midnight when Merlin asks quietly, “Do you ever think about having a family?”

Arthur turns his head towards the man lying beside him. “What do you mean? I already have a family.” 

He studies the moonlight outlining Merlin’s profile, and his eyes half-lidded, lost in the motifs of the canopy above. “I have you,” he adds, cautious. “I have my knights, and my people safe, and my sister home. I have everything I could ever hope for—and more.”

The room is silent, and Arthur waits. There’s a new restlessness in Merlin; he can see it stirring beneath his skin as he hums under his breath. It’s never easy, watching him like that, and having nothing to slay or stab or behead to make it go away. 

“Yes. Of course, I know,” Merlin’s voice is soft and earnest, but mostly unsure. “I’m glad, too, of all that. But—don’t you ever dream of something else? Something of your own?”

It would be a rare thing, for Arthur, to be allowed something as gentle as a dream. And of course, if he could grant himself that kindness, he imagines that would be the sweetest thing to dream about. But he knows dreams are fleeting creatures, glimpsed only from the corner of your eye, so long as you don’t care too much or look too closely, for they are quick to disappear when faced in full.

“I think–” he clears his throat, and closes his eyes. “Yes, I think it would be nice.”

There’s a rustle of sheets, and the bed creaking plaintively under them as Merlin rolls onto his side to face Arthur. “We should do it.”

Arthur can do little but snort and roll his eyes, and feel his cheeks flush with his pulse and the night breeze. “I hold Gaius in high regard, so I’ll just assume you slept through all your medical lessons. That’s not something we can just—do.” He gestures at the narrow space between them. “Like, us. Me and you. On account of—all obvious anatomical faults.”

Merlin looks at him, and keeps looking for a while, but there’s a hint of something dangerous creeping across his features, which makes Arthur burn fiercely with a hunger of a new kind. 

When Merlin speaks again, his words come slow and low. “There are ways, you know—things you’ve never heard of. But I have. And I can make it all happen.”

“Merlin,” Arthur begs, and stills himself as stone, so that no treacherous notion can find root inside him; but already it’s too late, and his bones fertile ground for them all.

Merlin doesn’t touch him, nor asks Arthur to turn his eyes at him. He just murmurs, “If you want, I can show you.” 

Arthur swallows, and his body gives in. “Yes,” he says. “Please. Show me.”