Shapeshifter

It’s happened before, so it shouldn’t be a great surprise when it happens again. They’re at a party, in a group of drunk people, and Merlin is telling the story about the time he kissed Random in that bar. Random has the back of his hand over his eyes and is trying to be sombre and not laugh, but with a couple of glasses of Atlantean in him it isn’t easy.

The laughter of the group around them is egging Merlin on; his gestures are growing more and more expansive. The king’s obvious embarrassment is helping too. One of the men remarks that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Random blush about anything, even the bawdiest stories.

“You didn’t see this,” Random tells him, laughing, “this was worth blushing over.”

“Oho,” says the man. “Was it? Well, what was it like, then?”

Merlin, who’s had even more Atlantean than Random has, thinks it’s a good idea to show

Go on, sit still, nephew. Only a few of the people surrounding them laugh, most are too stunned.

Random leaves to go refill his drink, and Merlin sits still for twenty four seconds, before he gives up and follows.

The journey from the party to Merlin’s room is a little fuzzy for both of them. Random will later claim that Merlin physically lifted him a good part of the way, and Merlin will deny this, but not actually doubt it.

The thing Merlin concretely remembers is the back of his legs hitting the bed, and tumbling down onto it, surprised at being quite so willing to be tossed about. Random climbs over him, and kisses him again, and Merlin suddenly realizes that in this case,

Random may have the benefit of age and experience, and he might have let himself in for something here.

All the same, he privately doubts that Random has ever been to bed with a shapeshifter.

So he rolls him over and unfurls wings, soft with feathers and long and trailing, angelic white, but creamy gold in the lamp lit room, just to startle him.

Random gives Merlin one of his rare little honest smiles, the sort that always make him want to do whatever he can, except then the king reaches up and runs his fingers just so.

Merlin realizes that he might not have been to bed with a shapeshifter, but he most certainly has been to bed with something like an angel, and that’s his last coherent thought for a long time, while Random’s clever fingers find erogenous zones that Merlin didn’t even really have until a few seconds ago.

He tries very hard to take Random by surprise, to get the better of him, but each new trick is met with insistent, practised touch. Or, if not that, with curious, determined exploration. Merlin’s tail lashes furiously, and Random only laughs.

The rest of the night passes excruciatingly pleasantly, as he later recalls. The fuzz of alcohol gradually leaves them both, their movements grow surer, steadier, and when they finally collapse, they are both laughing.

In the morning, Merlin wakes up in bed alone, and sore everywhere. He opens his eyes, and there is a glass of water and a bottle of asprin on his dresser, with a note under the cup.

---Paperwork waits for no man, Merlin, no matter what colour his wings might be.

I imagine you’ll be up by lunch time. Drink this, and you’ll feel better, and for the love of God, don’t mention this to Martin, or I’ll never be able to look my son in the eyes again.

~Random---

No, Merlin doesn’t think this is one that’s going to just come up, frank though dinnertime conversation in their family may be.

He writes back, leaves the paper out on the king’s desk while he’s off somewhere.

----Your Majesty,

The secrets of the state are safe with me.

~M.----

And thinks, rather smugly, ‘that ought to do it.’

Maybe he needs to get drunk with Random more often.