Awww, this is so adorable! *hitting Arthur repeatedly* you’re so stupid, so so stupid.
A drunk Merlin hitting on Arthur and Arthur getting very flustered (and surprisingly pleased) about it.
"Hello, your majesty," a voice slurs to Arthur's right. Oh no.
"Merlin, I was gone for an hour. All you had to do was wait in our room, how did you—" Arthur remembers that he left Merlin with Gwaine. Arthur would very much like to reach back in time and punch himself in the face. "Ah."
"You know," Merlin says, and leans into him heavily. He coughs once and tries to push him off, wrenching his lukewarm drink from him at the same time, "You're very pretty."
"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur responds, averting his eyes in an effort to stay stoic.
"No, really," and that one almost comes out like a purr, all low and secretive. "Especially when you're out of that stupid chainmail."
"Right, well, the chainmail is kind of necessary, Merlin," he manages. Speaking is rapidly becoming... difficult. Especially with Merlin draping his arm around his shoulder and mumbling into his ear.
"Is it?" His breath is hot and smells of alcohol, and Arthur has to shrug him off again.
"You aren't being yourself, Merlin."
The light in his eyes dims a little. But then he blinks and scoots toward him again—this time with an entirely different approach.
"I sometimes wonder," Merlin says with something devilish playing at his lips, "If you choose not to learn how to dress yourself."
Arthur's voice is rough when he speaks. "Why would I do that...?"
"Because," he replies with a grin, "Then... well, I'd have to keep changing your clothes for you."
He feels Merlin's hand dancing across his thigh and grips it, pushing it away. His face is burning, he must be bright pink, and his heart is thudding hard.
"You're going to regret this tomorrow, Merlin. I swear I'll make fun of you until you die."
"Worth it," he mutters as he takes to playing with Arthur's hair. He tries not to think about how nice it feels.
"Right, that's it. Enough. Time to go to sleep," Arthur says with a finality which Merlin can puzzle out, even with a muddy brain that's been addled by alcohol.
"Nooooooo," Merlin whines as Arthur takes his forearm and drags him from the tavern.
As he marches his best friend back to their lodgings, Arthur has to remind himself that princes don't fall for servants.