Archive of Our Own ^beta

If Arthur Pendragon had one skill, and he’d be the first to point out he had many fine skills, it was his ability to talk his way into the pants of whomever he so chose of which he was most proud. That he manages to do so with great respect for, and honour of, the person he’s after is also a point of pride.

Clearly, however, this was not a skill with which the oaf hitting on Mithian was familiar.

“Bitches like you? Don’t know what they want, so fucking picky aren’t you? Change your mind so quick, ugly cunt.”

“I change my mind?” Mithian laughed, lips drawn back from her teeth in what could never be called a smile. “A minute ago, you came over and told me I was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. I turn you down, and suddenly I’m an ugly cunt.”

So fast she was nearly a blur, Mithian placed her drink on the bar behind them and grabbed the offending man by his collar, pulling him downward, grimacing at the rankness of his breath. Her other hand gripped his jaw, drawing him closer, his expression stunned.

“You’ll apologise, politely, and then you’ll leave. You’ll then rethink your ideas of equality and respectful behaviour. Are we understood?”
Arthur watched as the guy attempted to think, hindered by innate stupidity and alcohol. It was near painful.

“Am I understood?” Mithian allowed one stiletto’ed heel to slide from the stool and onto his foot, pressing the point just a fraction, the guy’s eyes widening.

Arthur smirked as the drunken moron nodded so fast it was a surprise he didn’t have whiplash.

“Well?” Mithian asked, head cocked to the side, appearing utterly at ease, as though she could do this all night.

“I’m.so-sorry.”

“Try. Harder.”

Arthur fought not to laugh; even he was smarter than to piss off Mithian. They’d grown up together, and Mithian had always excelled at whatever she put her mind to, especially anything that involved a potential weapon. Which was basically herself.

When Percy, the enormous bouncer, and one of Arthur’s friends from his gym, had escorted the pathetic heap that had hit so poorly on Mithian with a wink, as well as all his friends, Mith spun on her stool to finish the remains of Arthur’s drink, the whiskey watered down enough by the melting ice that his friend didn’t pull the face she normally did when she tried to drink Talisker. With a sigh, Arthur ordered another round, as well as another couple shots. Given the reason they were out tonight, he was going to need it.

“You’re to have a roommate.”

“What?”

“Gaius is a dear friend, Arthur, and when I heard his nephew was moving to town for work, I offered him your guest room.”

“What?! Why? You couldn’t offer him one of your guest rooms?” Arthur spluttered, swearing beneath his breath as he knocked over his coffee in his annoyance.

“You are closer to his age. You can introduce him to the right people-”

“Father!”

“He’ll arrive tomorrow. You may take the morning off to situate him. I expect to see you at the Aeridian meeting.”

Just as abruptly as the conversation had started, it ended, Uther hanging up on his son after his decree.

“Fuck!” Arthur slammed the phone down so hard the little stand propping it up snapped, flying across the room.

“Is he crazy?” Arthur asked the empty office, which wisely stayed silent. Banging his hand down on the desk, forgetting about the spilt coffee,
Arthur closed his eyes against the splatter of coffee across his pristine shirt.

Taking a deep breath, he dug in his pants pocket with his dry hand and fished out his phone, thumbing it open and scrolling to the one person who’d make this better, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he rifled through drawers for something to dry off the desk and, more importantly, his hand.

“Mith, we’re going out tonight.”

The bar was more crowded than Arthur had expected for a Thursday evening, a steady hum of voices and idle chit-chat, the clink of glasses and ice, the chatter of the smokers outside, the late August evening still warm when the door gusted open to admit new customers. However, despite the lesser standard of clientele, the martinis were, according to Mithian, second to none and she’d insisted. Arthur would have preferred the private members club several streets away; fewer people, less noise and certainly none of the sort of man that Mithian had had to deal with.
As was ever the case, he was ignored.

Drinks taken care of, Arthur let his eyes drift over the crowd, hoping to find the other half of the perfect evening. Arthur wasn’t unaware of the effect his looks have on people; his cocksure grin and toned physique were more than enough to secure him the hook-up of his choice. He knew there were men, even among his own friends, that would call him arrogant about it but he preferred to think of it as confidence.

He was a Pendragon, it was practically bred into him, and certainly expected of him by an exacting father, to always get what he wanted, further moulded by the finest boarding schools.

“So tonight’s been-”

“Shit?” Arthur asked.

“Sometimes I think it’d be so much easier if you and I could just-” Mithian gestured between the two of them.

“We tried that, remember? Awkward wasn’t the half of it. Besides I already knew what you looked like naked.” Arthur waggled his eyebrows at her, eliciting the laugh he’d aimed for.

“I assure you, Mr Pendragon, that a lot has changed under these clothes in the interceding twenty-odd years since the last time you saw me naked.”

“God, I hope things got better. They couldn’t look worse under there can you?” Arthur fell for his friends feint and weaved straight into the punch Mithian aimed at his shoulder, his wince not just for show.

“I was going to say the same to you, Weenie.”

“Hey, we were six and it was cold.”

“Yeah, yeah. Besides, you were wildly in love with Gwen, when we went on that disastrous date.”

“I was not in love.”

“You keep telling yourself that. Besides, didn’t do you any good; Elyan would have killed you if you’d so much as touched her.” Spinning on her stool again, fresh drink in hand, Mithian scanned the crowd, eyes darting from table to table, dismissing everyone she looked at in microseconds when the creak of the door drew her attention as Percy let in two new people.

“Hello,” she breathed, “Apparently we aren’t to remain out in the cold all evening.” With a subtle nod she gestured to the leading man.
Too rakish for Arthur’s taste, and appearing to be far too aware of his good looks, the man was about Arthur’s height, with long hair and several day’s worth of stubble.

No, it was the man’s companion that held Arthur’s attention, and many of the other patrons. He was tall, maybe taller than Arthur loathe as he was to admit it, and slender. He had a ridiculous blue scarf around his neck despite the balmy evening, but judging by his clothes it wasn’t the dreaded affectation of hipsters everywhere aiming to be unique and appearing to be anything but. His dark jeans were tucked into boots and his shirt hinted at surprisingly broad shoulders and well-muscled arms.

Both men strode to the other end of the bar, jostling and laughing as they ordered and from the way the shorter man kept tossing his hair and eyeing up women near them, including an unsubtle sweep of Mithian, at least one of them wasn’t completely oblivious to the attention they were attracting.

“That is more like it,” Mithian mumbled as the pair took their drinks with one last wink to the barmaid and moved over to the pool table, both men illuminated well by the overheard lighting, the better light revealing plump lips, perfectly crafted to wrap around Arthur’s cock. Arthur nearly groaned when the dark-haired man leant over to collect the triangle and rack the balls, affording Arthur a fabulous view of slim hips and pert ass. Before picking up a cue, he rolled his sleeves up to reveal corded forearms as he chalked it with long fingers that would fit perfectly around them both to jack them, laughing at his partner’s pathetic attempt at making a break.

The pair played for ten minutes or so, Arthur grudgingly admiring their prowess at the game despite the poor start, though he mostly admired the way the taller man’s clothes clung to, and accentuated, his physique. When the black was sunk into the corner pocket and the poser of the pair had accepted his fate, good –naturedly nodding along to his friend’s victory song, Arthur heard his friend start to shift on her stool, quietly checking her bag as she drew the zip closed and sliding her jacket from the hook under the bar to drape it over her arm.

Well, now would be the time to make a move as Mithian took the rake’s attention. Carefully constructing a game plan centred around kicking this guy’s ass at pool while seducing him, Arthur followed several paces behind Mithian, veering off to the pool table.

Cheekbones’ back was turned to him as he racked the balls again, seemingly unfazed at having been abandoned by his friend, and Arthur collected up the abandoned cue.

“So,” he started confidently, propping one hip against the table and running his free hand across the felt.

“Don’t bother.” Cheekbones turned towards him and up close, even under the green light from the fixture above the table he was even more spectacular than Arthur had thought; his eyes were a deep blue, narrowed in suspicion, his cheekbones were sharper and the hint of scruff that darkened his jaw would feel fantastic against Arthur’s thighs. Somewhat ridiculous ears peeked out his bed-head hair but somehow they only added to his charm. Arthur knew it’d be hard to keep his hands off them when he did get Cheekbones between his legs. And those fingers…

One of those gorgeous hands came up between them, stopping Arthur from stepping closer.

“What?” He asked stupidly; this hadn’t been part of the plan.

“You’re going to try some flirty line or tragic pick-up and I’m just trying to avoid the horror.”

“I’m just introdu-”

“Look, I’ve heard them all before in bars just like this. ‘Sorry do I know you? Yeah, here you are. You’re listed on my phone as smokin' hottie’. Or ‘there’s something wrong with my phone. You’re number isn’t in it.’ Or my personal favourite, ‘Can you walk on your knees?'

Arthur can’t remember the last time he was rejected. He knew many would sneer that his name, rather than his own charm, was what netted him many of those that warmed his bed, but he’d always dismissed those as the jealous ramblings of idiots. Now, unable to introduce himself, he was floundering.

After a moment’s existential crisis, he dismissed the very idea; he was handsome, intelligent and successful.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say. What if all I wanted was a game?” Arthur waved the pool cue as if that ended the matter.

“So you could stare at my ass some more?”

“For someone so uninterested, you sure seemed to have noticed me.” A lesser man would have given up, but Arthur had seen his opening and was determined to exploit it.

“Hard not to,” Cheekbones’ shut him down, “with how subtle you and your friend were. Your friend is after mine, and that’s fine. No need to distract the wingman or whatever. All I want to do is finish my pint, and head on back to my hotel.” Cheekbones took a long draw on his drink and Arthur’s traitorous eyes greedily took in the curve of his throat, the hint of collarbones in the open vee of his shirt, the faintest promise of dark hair on pale skin, gaze dipping to slim hips and a ridiculous witch’s hat belt buckle.

The thud of the empty pint glass onto a counter by the pool table pulled Arthur's eyes up to Cheekbones’ amused gaze.

“And I’m sure your place is much nicer than your hotel, but I’m never going to find out, mate.”

“I’m not your mate.”

“At least we agree on that.” Cheekbone’s friend rapped on the pool table with a knuckle, getting his Cheekbone’s attention momentarily, waving his goodbye, Mithian goosing him as she walked by, Cheekbones’ friend by her side.

“Night, Princess,” Mithian’s conquest called over his shoulder as he guided her towards the door, one broad palm smoothing down from the small of her back to cup her ass.

Slapping Arthur on the shoulder as he brushed past, Cheekbone’s bade his goodbye.

“Bye Prince Charming.”

Arthur stared, flabbergasted, at the door as he closed behind him, Percy’s curious smirk intolerable.

**
The banging wrenched Arthur from disturbed sleep and straight into hung-over consciousness without so much as a by-your-leave, and so startled was he that he promptly fell off whatever he was on and onto the floor, chin banging painfully off a glass bottle and jarring his teeth together.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled, confused and annoyed, lifting his head just enough to confirm that what he had a mouthful of was carpet, his own carpet by the looks of things and that a small creature had died in his mouth overnight. Arthur lay there, unmoving as he assessed each limb for damage, relieved to be presented with only an IOU for water and the receipt for a pounding headache. Though that likely had more to do with the whiskey he’d consumed rather than the whiskey bottle he’d hit.

Staring myopically at his watch, Arthur’s heart almost stopped; he hadn’t gotten to the office later than seven thirty in weeks and so his watch had to be wrong. It could not possibly be past nine. His father would have a shit fit.

The banging came again, rattling the door in its hinges, and through the haze of whiskey, tequila and lack of sleep his father’s words came back to him.

His flatmate.

Of fucking course.
It didn’t matter that he was almost thirty, or that he’d bought his flat with his own money, Uther still acted as though Arthur lived under his roof and thus must live by Uther’s rule.
Struggling to his feet, kicking the empty bottle into the kitchen, gratified to see it bounce into the recycling bin, Arthur stumbled to the door, wincing at another round of irate pounding. Fuck everything. Fuck his father and his stupid idea. Fuck his roommate. Fuck Cheekbones.
“Yeah, alright!” Arthur regretted his protestation almost immediately as his head pounded while he slid back the door-bolts and wrenched the door open.

“So help me if you’re Jehov- You!”

The man from the bar stood on his doorstep, box haphazardly packed heavy in his arms, backpack hanging off one shoulder. Like last night his hair was a mess, curling around his ears and over his forehead. Eyes that had been gorgeous in the dark bar were mesmerizing in the light, even as they narrowed as they took in Arthur’s appearance, though in ripped jeans and baggy tee, the guy was hardly in a position to judge.

“Oh no.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You’re Uther’s son? You’re little Prince Pendragon? No, no way. This has to be a mistake.”

“You’re Gaius’ nephew.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head with a grimace. “I mean, yes, I’m Gaius’ nep- why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?” Arthur asked, lost.

“Like an entitled ass. I am so not staying here.” With difficulty, the guy shrugged his pack higher onto his shoulder and adjusted the box in his
arms before turning to leave, heading for the lift at the end of the hall.

Sighing, shoulders slumped, Arthur stepped out to follow him; it wasn’t that he particularly wanted the guy around, but if his father were to hear he’d let Gaius down there’d be hell to pay.

“Come back you baby.”

“Oh right, insult me, that’s gonna make me do what you say. My name is Merlin, Merlin Emrys, not that it’s important; I won’t be staying here.”

“Where else are you going to go?” Arthur asked before he could stop himself.

“Selling yourself real well there, prat. You’ve basically admitted you’re the bottom of the barrel.”

“Oh just,” Arthur made a grab to take the box from Merlin, but he was faster than he looked, dodging around and continuing down the hallway, propping the box on the small table that was inexplicably in the hallway, vase of cheerful flowers rocking dangerously as Merlin reached out to stab at the call button.

Resting the box more securely on the table, nudging the vase of flowers closer to the edge, Merlin shook out his arms and turned back to Arthur.

“If I were to stay, there will be ground rules-”

“Wha-”

“There will be no mentioning of your wipe out last night. Two-”

“I did not wip-”

“In flames.”

“What? Don’t mix metaphors.”

“Don’t interrupt. Two,” Merlin counted off on his fingers, “my room is mine. No entering without permission, no comments, nothing. I’ll respect your space so long as you resepct mine. Three, I will not be your maid, I will not be picking up or cleaning up after you in thanks for the place to stay.”

“I have a maid serv-”

“Four-”

“Oh god, I get it. Just shut up already.”

Behind Merlin the lift doors slid open on a ding, the empty car waiting just as Arthur was for the result of Merlin’s choice.

Merlin appeared somewhat unconvinced, arms crossed and eyes narrow, his lips a thin line where last night they’d been pink and plump and-

And Arthur needed to get his brain right off that track. Stepping past Merlin he grabbed up the box and without a word, headed back to his flat, the soft padding of Merlin’s following steps only starting when he was halfway there. He waited for Merlin to join him in the guestroom, well
Merlin’s room now, before ostentatiously dropping the box onto the unmade bed, smirking at Merlin’s squawk of indignation.

“Be careful you idiot!”

“I’m not here to cart your stuff around.”

“Nobody asked you to! Why do you need to be here at all?”

“Because I’m not going to let some stranger into my home and then fuck off. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

Turned out that Merlin travelled light, his backpack and box containing almost everything he owned in the world, their scant contents barely filling a couple drawers and shelves. The books were well worn, their covers bent and scuffed, the spines cracked. Arthur couldn’t tell if that meant they were well loved and read or that they’d been bought in barely better condition. The battered laptop that Merlin pulled reverently out of his backpack was clearly old but kept in good condition, Merlin spending fifteen minutes fussing with how he wanted it, crawling under the desk to present Arthur with a perfect view of his ass as those jeans drew tight, a pale crescent of skin revealed as the band tee drew up. To distract himself from that Arthur set about looking over the books Merlin had brought, loudly critiquing each title to see Merlin’s reaction.

In less than an hour, and with minimal complaints, at least minimal after Merlin kicked Arthur out of the room and sat him down at the kitchen table with a large glass of water, the room was set up to Merlin’s requirements.

Except one thing.

There was a bundle of fabric in Merlin’s arms as he entered the kitchen, embarrassment pinking his cheeks though he refused to look anywhere but at Arthur.

“Um…do you know anywhere that sells cheap sheets?” He nodded to the material in his arms. “I only had a single bed back home so…”

“Oh. Um, yeah.”

In truth the answer was no. Arthur had never bought his own linens or furniture. His father had always had people that did that and when he’d bought the flat he’d simply taken everything from his bedroom at his father’s and used it there. When he’d needed new ones he sent a PA out to get them.

Which reminded him.

“I think I- yeah- hang on.” Downing the last of the water, Arthur stood and brushed past Merlin, heading to the airing cupboard, rummaging for a moment before presenting Merlin with a sealed bed set in beige.

“Never really liked the colour, but you might as well make your bed up with these. Better they be used. It’ll give you some time to get another set.”

“I – Oh, uh, thanks.” Merlin seemed unsure how to respond, shocked that Arthur was being so kind.

“You can shut your mouth now. I am capable of being nice you know.” Arthur slapped the set onto the heap in Merlin’s arms, the other man hurriedly trying to not drop it as the plastic slipped on the cotton, using his chin to hold it still.

“You amaze me,” he snarked back, though his tone was soft. “I just, I know this isn’t exactly your idea-”

“Who did you think just gave you those-”

“Not the bed set, this,” Seemingly forgetting his load, Merlin waved a hand at the flat, at his room, the packed sheets taking the opportunity to slide to the floor with a thump.

“Yes, well. We’ll make the best of it.” Feeling magnanimous, Arthur bent down to pick up the set, tucking it under Merlin’s arm this time.

“Thank you.”

Both men knew it was for more than a pack of sheets.

A heavy silence fell over the flat, both men staring at each other, but neither moving.

“About last nigh-”

“We weren’t going to talk about it, remember?” Arthur complained. “Your rule remember?”

“Yeah, I know but, I just wanted to apologise. I was tired and Gwaine ditched me for-”

“Mithian,” Arthur supplied, filing away the name of Merlin’s friend so he could tease Mithian later.

“Yeah, and I’m used to him ditching me but it was my first night here and-”

“It’s okay,” Arthur found himself saying, though unsure why he was, Merlin’s brilliant smile and unexpected, but appreciated reward.

“You, uh, you better go make your bed. I’ve got to get ready for work.” Sidling past, Arthur sauntered to the bathroom, shutting himself inside, leaning back against the door.

“What are you staring at?” He asked his pitiful reflection, taking in the dark circles and bloodshot eyes, the sleep crusted in his eyes and the trail of dried drool down his chin. Fabulous. Just how he wanted to look when meeting the guy who turned him down the night before. Way to make him feel he’d missed out. “You’re just as screwed as me.” Just his luck that the hottest guy he’d seen in years wasn’t interested and was now his flatmate.

In front of whom Arthur had embarrassed himself, not once but now twice.

Making a face, Arthur stripped down, grimacing at the scent of stale smoke and sweat as he peeled his shirt over his head, dropping the dirty clothes into a pile before starting the shower and stepping under the heavy spray, feeling the tension leave his shoulders as he reached for his shampoo.
*
As soon as the he heard the drone of the shower, and his unhelpfully vivid imagination tried to paint the perfect picture of what Arthur looked like naked, muscles flexing as he stepped into the shower, water streaming down all that warm, golden skin, Merlin shook his head to clear it, shoved those thoughts into a locked room and pulled out his phone and called his uncle.

“You cannot be serious Uncle Gaius. I have to stay here?” He hissed the second the phone was picked up.

“Hello to you as well. I take it you’ve met your host.”

“Last night actually. You never warned me he’s a complete prat.”

“You never know, it might be fun.”

“He’s an arrogant, entitled ass.” ‘Even if he did help you out with moving your stuff and the bed linen’, a traitorous voice reminded Merlin.

“We all have our duties Merlin, even Arthur.”

“Must be so hard to be a Pendragon,” Merlin scoffed as he opened the fridge, rummaging through the contents for something for breakfast. He could just owe Arthur a few slices of bread. He just hoped the guy would be happy with Hovis and not whatever ludicrously fancy bread it was that he no doubt ate from some expensive bakery where it was hand made from organic ingredients from all over the world, handpicked by virgins and baked by blind nuns.

“Yes, it is.” Merlin rarely heard his uncle’s voice so sharp and firm and it brought him up short as he found a pack of bagels, liberating them from the fridge along with margarine and jam.

“Arthur’s life isn’t all glory and rock ‘n roll. People expect an incredible amount from him. Many don’t just want him to fail, they’re doing their utmost to tear him down. He’s under a lot of pressure, no more so than by Uther. He’s constantly having to prove himself and I do not want you making him feel that he has to do so even in the privacy of his own home.”

“I didn’t-”

“No, Merlin, you didn’t.” Gaius sighed and Merlin winced. “I’m not saying he’s a saint. Lord knows he isn’t, but Arthur has the makings of a good man. You’ll just have to help him along.”

“Great. I already negotiated I wasn’t his servant.”

“You can be his friend.”

“He’s not my friend, on that we agree.”

“Just do your best. Please. Things could be worse; you’re in a penthouse flat, with a view many would kill for, in the best part of the town with an inbuilt ride to work. Make the best of it.”

“Unc-”

“Make the best of it,” Gaius repeated.
*
Steam curled out the door when Arthur opened it, the cool of the flat pleasant as he scrubbed his hair dry.

“Do you wanna cuppa?”

Startled, Arthur almost dropped the towel, and certainly didn’t squeak, but if he had the towel thankfully muffled it. He’d almost forgotten about his new living arrangements.

Padding down the hall, Arthur peered into the kitchen, greeted by Merlin’s smile and a teabag waved under his nose. Merlin took in his attire, eyes darting over the displayed arms and chest, the small towel wrapped low around Arthur’s hips and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve heard of not dressing for breakfast, but that’s a little, casual don’t you think?”

“My flat, my dress-code.” Arthur retorted.

“Toast, my liege?” Merlin prodded the loaf on the counter.

“Thought you weren’t my servant?”

“Special occasion, don’t get used to it.”

“Believe me, I won’t.” Arthur rested against the doorframe as Merlin laughed at him as he dropped four slices into the toaster.

“Lots of marg,” Arthur ordered, turning to his room,” and I want strawberry jam,” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.”

There might be some good points to this flatmate business. Before closing his door, Arthur called out, “I’ll be going to work after so if you’re coming, you better be ready.”

He closed the door on Merlin’s muffled reply.
*

“You’re wearing that? To work?” Whilst Arthur had changed into an immaculately tailored suit, Merlin still bore his torn jeans and band tee, hair
only faintly tamed.

“Yes, I’m wearing this to work. Unlike you lot in the airy heights of the top floors, us in the lab don’t wear, and couldn’t afford to,” Merlin couldn’t quite resist the dig despite his uncle’s words and he noted the slight narrow of Arthur’s eyes and flare of his nostrils though he kept his trap shut, “expensive clothing or anything we don’t want to risk ruining. Besides, we just throw a lab-coat or hazmat suit on over the top.”

“Well, if you’re coming, let’s go.” Arthur shook his head at the scuffed backpack Merlin slung over one shoulder but kept his comments to himself, instead picking up his briefcase and coat, ushering Merlin out the door.

“I’ll have my assistant get a copy of the keys done today and sent down to you,” Arthur offered as they rode the lift down to the garage, accepting Merlin’s thanks with a small smile.

Merlin nodded when he took in Arthur’s car, taking in every curve and glint, the blacked out windows and alloy wheels and huffed an amused breath.

“What?” Arthur challenged, opening the doors at the press of a button, automatically reaching to drop his briefcase on the passenger seat, almost resulting in getting his arm sat on by his new, oblivious roommate.

“Be careful,” he snapped as he stowed his briefcase on the backseat and shut his door.

“So,” Arthur began as he started the car, “Father didn’t tell me very much – well anything actually, about you.” Pulling out of the dark garage, Arthur joined the near-constant stream of traffic, starting the familiar journey to work.

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you do? Where are you from?” It occurred to Arthur just as the words left his lips that his questions were much like what he’d have asked the night previous had Merlin not cut him off.

“Wow, it’s like a first date.”

“We might as well get to know each other, now we’ve been thrown into this living arrangement.” ‘And get as far away from the awkward memory of our first meeting, if at all possible.’

“I finished my doctorate, and I had an interview closer to home at a lab, and then my uncle told me about the opening at PI and I applied. Not real exciting.”

“Where’s home?”

“Ealdor.” Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Merlin fussing with his bag, slim fingers sliding back and forth on the stitching of his backpack. “It’s small, barely worth being on a map so, you’ve likely never heard of it.”

“Must be strange, to be so far from home. A difficult decision to move away from your family.”

“I guess. It’s just me and mum so, I don’t know, I feel guilty leaving her on her own but-” Out of the corner of Arthur’s eye he could see Merlin shrug, slim fingers tracing the fraying stitching on his backpack. “The choice to come here was pretty simple actually; it was too great an opportunity to miss, I could send money home. But, it’s only been a day and a half, so who knows if it’ll stick. It’s different here, I can tell that
already.”

“Yeah?”

“Back home, life is simple and I just get the feeling it’s much more complicated here. In Ealdor everyone knows each other, pull together to help out, and so long as there’s food on the table and a roof over your head then you’re doing okay and life is good.”

“Sounds nice.”

“I’m sure a city boy like you’d hate it after a few days.”

“Probably,” Arthur graciously allowed.

It was like pulling teeth, their conversation mostly questions on Arthur’s end and short answers from Merlin.

“So if it was so nice, then-”

“Why’d I leave?”

“Yeah.”

“Things just weren’t the same anymore.”

Arthur banged his fist against Merlin’s knee as he changed gear.

“You trying to be all mysterious?”

“You think I’m some country bumpkin, don’t you?”

Arthur wondered aloud why Merlin would chose, after years being content so close to home, to come to Camelot, the largest city in the country.

“I didn’t really fit in, back home. Never did, even as a kid. Uncle Gaius would tell me all these stories of living in Camelot and I guess – well I wasn’t going to use my PhD in Ealdor so I moved here.”

“Struck out for the bright lights of Camelot.”

“Something like that, yeah.” Merlin rested his head on the cool window, watching the buildings flash by.

“You looking forward to working with Gaius?” Arthur asked, hoping to lighten the mood; for some inexplicable reason, he seemed to want to get to know Merlin, and not just because he was going to be living with him for the foreseeable future. There was just something about his new flatmate that commanded Arthur’s attention and curiosity.

“Mostly I’ll be working with Doctor Kilgarrah, which is kind of intimidating.”

“He was with Father when he set up PI. Scary guy, kind of insane.”

“Just what a guy wants to hear on the way to his new job, that his boss, already intimidating because of his status within his profession, is a nutter.”

With the traffic light, Arthur allowed himself to be distracted, straining his eyes to sneak glances at his passenger, noting the chiselled cheekbones and plump lips, dark lashes and pale skin and the hint of-

“Is your ear pierced?”

“Huh? What?” Merlin jerked to attention, clearly confused at the conversation jumping tracks.

“Your ear, idiot.” Taking a hand off the wheel, Arthur prodded at Merlin’s ear, the tips of the bar penetrating the top of the shell of Merlin’s ear cool and smooth, Merlin’s hair soft.

“Oh, yeah.” Merlin turned back to the window, nose practically pressed to the glass.

“That it?”

“What’s it?”

“Just, ‘yeah’? Why’d you get it done?”

“Why do you own this car?”

Arthur felt he had whiplash from the turn the conversation had and he frowned, utterly lost.

“It’s the one I wanted.” He’d never really thought about it. It was the ‘must have’ car of the year, so of course he’d gotten it.

“Well, there you go,” Merlin replied, as though that answered everything.

“That’s not an answer! Not an answer as to why you’d ram a-”

“It’s called a scaffold and I wanted one, so I got it.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Of course.” Merlin fingered the bar in the top of his ear, playing with the stylised dragon symbol that sat just below the top curl of Merlin’s ridiculous ears, stretched between the two piercings that the bar connected, only visible because of Merlin’s fiddling.

“Then why-”

“Because I wanted it more than I was afraid of the pain.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. Is that the answer you’re looking for? Because if you’re looking for some deep and meaningful reason behind some of my actions, then you’ve got the wrong person. I like them. I like how piercings look, I like tattoos. I saw a scaffold and I thought it was sexy. I wanted one. End of.”

“Alright,” Arthur put his hands up for a second in surrender. He felt there was still more there, but for once in his life, he wasn’t going to push.
Not to mention he was a little concerned about how much he was starting to find piercings sexy too. He never had before, finding anything more than earlobe piercings tacky or slutty, but as he turned into the Institute’s employee car park, Arthur found his mouth watering at the thought of tracing that dragon with his tongue, the cool metal warming at his touch, the taste of Merlin’s skin and the tang of metal.

“So, tattoos too, huh?” Because apparently today Arthur wanted to torture himself with what he couldn’t have.

“Oh no, we’re going to have to know each other a lot better before you unlock the mystery of what is inked on my skin and where.” Merlin turned to Arthur and winked and just like that Arthur felt his traitorous dick twitch.

“So you do have tattoos.” Arthur was impressed his voice was so even, though as he exited the car, he made sure to hold his briefcase in front of him. Walking up to the entrance, Arthur watched his new flatmate, eyes lingering over the lithe body, wondering just where, hidden beneath those clothes, lines of ink traced across his skin.

“I’ll throw you a bone,” Merlin called over his shoulder as he pulled open the door, “there isn’t one on my ass, so you can stop staring at it.”

Thankfully, at that hour they were the only ones crossing the lobby and from the way Merlin was looking up in awe at the grandeur, he looked more like a student visiting his parents at work than he did a gainfully employed scientist at one of the largest corporation in the country. It was likely a good thing that Uther didn’t concern himself with the employees in the lab, because if he had one good look at the ripped jeans, piercings and the attitude Merlin had, the man would find himself back in Ealdor in no time.

Pressing the lift call button, Arthur asked, “Didn’t come in this way last time?”

“Last time?”

“For your interview,” Arthur ushered his flatmate into the lift, pressing the buttons for their respective floors.

“Oh, didn’t interview here. Kilgarrah did it over the phone.”

Arthur wasn’t surprised; the man was a law unto himself, and it was no great shock that he and Uther barely spoke anymore despite founding the company together. Years ago, decades really, they’d shared so much in common, but as the Institute grew, so did their differences, their political beliefs becoming increasingly divergent until it was a surprise to many that the company hadn’t split. Instead they kept to their respective halves of the building, Kilgarrah having the lower floors and underground facilities and Uther reigning over the upper offices. Somehow it still all worked, though that was likely entirely due to the number of people that worked very hard to ensure the two men need never be in the same room at the same time.

As they reached Merlin’s floor, colloquially known as the Dragon’s Lair, the lift stopped and the doors slid apart.

“So, I’ll see you later, at home?” Merlin asked, the word strange in his mouth, too used to his mother’s house being home, a strange guilt stealing over him as though he were betraying it.

“Yeah. When George brings the keys down, I’ll let you know if I can give you a ride home.”

“Oh, great, thanks. Bye.”

“Bye,” Arthur echoed as Merlin stepped into the hallway, swallowed up into a crowd of lab-coats as the door closed.
*
“I’m telling you, Lance, he’s weird.”

“Weird how?” Bracing himself again, Lance nodded to Arthur to release the weight of the bar, slowly guiding it into his chest, focusing on the ceiling as he pressed upwards, counting the reps under his breath, just aware of Arhtur’s guiding hands at the outskirts of his periphery vision.

“He never puts the jam in the fridge, he eats stuff that smells like it’s been dead for years, he cooks his meat into a form of charcoal, the music he listens to is utter shit and his room is a tip.”

Arthur didn’t mention the way he and Merlin had danced around each other at first, unsure how to act, trying to feel each other out when Arthur at least, wanted to feel him up. Their natural inclination towards flirtation as they talked had led to a number of situations where the sexual tension could have registered on a newton meter. They both stood too close to each other, practically in each other’s space the whole time they were together. They’d quickly established a routine, Merlin stumbling from bed far too late, making breakfast while Arthur read the paper, Merlin all the while denying he was serving Arthur at all, they’d shower – separately, though Arthur did regret that many days – and then Arthur would drag Merlin’s complaining self down to the car and drive them to work. When he was feeling magnanimous, he’d ever stop to buy coffees, fast learning it was the best way to survive a day with Merlin, and to shut him up about the early hour. Given how Arthur worked far longer hours, Merlin got home under his own steam and sometimes, when Arthur got home some form of dinner was waiting for him, or he’d get a text asking if he wanted take-away.

It was working.

Rolling his eyes, Lance finished his set and handed the bar off to Arthur again, shifting around to sit up, wiping off the bench’s stand and mopping his brow and neck. “I’ve lived with you Arthur: you do some pretty weird shit of your own. And your flat is only tidy because you have a maid; you remember what it was like before you hired one?”

Grimacing, Arthur recalled the first heady days he’d been out from under his father’s thumb. Well, months. Old papers he n ever got around to reading, empty take-away boxes, and not so empty ones. Beer bottles and cans became a focal point of every table as an architectural talking point. It wasn’t his proudest memory and when Lance had needed a place to crash for a month or two, it’d really hit home that he couldn’t remember the colour of the carpet in the living room. Together the two men had tidied as best they could, throwing out countless plastic sacks of rubbish before a professional cleaning company had blitzed the flat and Arthur’s bank balance. Since then, the weekly cost of Marie, a discreet young woman who had laid down the law of exactly what her duties were and were not was more than worth it.

“Okay, but I’m better now,” Arthur protested, sliding a different configuration of weights onto the bar and chalking up his hands.

“But just as unable to bend to other people’s habits and behaviours.”

Arthur kicked out at Lance who danced away, chuckling.

“Hey, I’m very bendy.” He knew what Lance meant, knew how utterly intransigent he’d been under his father’s rule, how hard he’d tried to be his father, the perfect copy of the great Uther Pendragon. It had never fit, like a coat two sizes too small and with good friends, and breaking away from his father’s influence, he’d improved. To listen to Merlin over the last couple weeks, he hadn’t improved much but then what did he know? He’d known Arthur for sixteen days.

“You said he’d not been away from home before, right?” Lance asked, ever the fair man, earnestly giving everyone an equal shot “Well, maybe he’s just going through the same phase you did.”

“I just don’t understand how he can be so messy,” Arthur panted out. “He doesn’t even have enough stuff to get everywhere and yet, there it is.
All over the place.”

“It’s been a couple of weeks, Arthur. Give him time. He’s in a new city, in a new home, making new friends…speaking of which, when are we going to meet him?”

“Subtle.”

“I thought so. Well?”

“Relentless. I’ll invite him to Friday okay? God,”

“Is it true? What Mithian said; you hit on him and got turned down?”

“Why anyone thinks you’re this noble gentlemen I don’t know.”

“You did!” Lance’s laughter drew the attention of pretty much everyone in the weight room.

“Shut up and take the bar.” Lance was laughing too hard to hear, Arthur’s arms burning and starting to shake.

“Take the bar, take the bar!” Arthur’s strength was failing, the bar lowering and no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn’t keep lifting it, head pounding with the effort, breath coming in shallow pants.

A hand shot out from nowhere, lifting the bar as though weightless, returning it to the stand. The sound of a slap to the back of Lance’s head followed, which made Arthur feel a little better as he rolled to his side, too dizzy from oxygen deprivation to sit up.

“Lance, you gotta be careful.” Percy’s reprimand was followed by Lance’s apology and gentle hands aiding Arthur to sitting. Crouched in front of him, Lance looked contrite, handsome face creased with concern.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Shame coloured Lance’s face and Arthur couldn’t hold the grudge patting Lance on the shoulder and letting his friend brace him as he stood.

“Let’s call it a day guys, do some stretching.” Percy hustled them to the mats, bullying them through some stretches, turning to Arthur part way through.

“So, how hard did he turn you down?”
*
When Arthur got home, Merlin was there, curled up tight with some battered book, surrounded by the remains of his dinner and some notes, while his shoes were right in Arthur’s path, ensuring his arrival into the living room was face first.

“Merlin!”

The sofa having broken his fall, Arthur rubbed his elbow where it’d struck the doorframe as he did his tree impersonation. Grabbing up a cushion he lobbed it at Merlin’s head.

“What did I tell you about keeping your shit tidy?!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t look where you’re going.”

“It’s not unusual to assume the hallway to be clear.”

“Which makes an ass of you.”

“And me.”

“Took the words right out of mouth.”

“No the phrase is m-”Arthur let out a long suffering sigh and closed his eyes, reaching for another cushion, whipping it like a Frisbee at Merlin’s chair, gratified at the ‘oof ‘of contact, even with his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, Merlin , the little shit, had the audacity to be smirking, happily arranging the new cushions around himself like a little fort.

Without saying a word, Arthur turned away, striding out of the room and down the hall, a squeak of a door opening grabbing Merlin’s attention.

“Hey, that’s my room!” Struggling free of his fortifications and blanket, book going flying, Merlin scrambled to his feet and down the hall.

“Oh, Merlin, would you look at this,” Arthur called from inside his room, Merlin thudding into his bedframe unable to stop in time. “There’s this strange rectangular box and if you open it, there’s all there places to store clothes and things.”

Arthur turned to the dresser and feigned shock. “And what is this? It’s almost like you could fold things and organise things and place them in here to keep them off the floor.”

“Prat. My room, my rules.”

“Yeah, your room. Not the rest of the flat.”

“If I tidy my shoes away will you shut up?” Merlin slumped onto the bed in defeat.

“I don’t know, only one way to find out.”

“Fine.” Merlin slunk off the bed and down the hall, appearing for all the world like a petulant teenager, efficiently kicking his shoes to the side until they lined neatly with the wall before collecting up his waste notes and papers from around his bag and chair before stuffing them into the recycling bin in the kitchen with only a modicum of grumbling.

Several hours later they’d retreated to their respective corners, Merlin wrapped back up in his blanket, book in hand, almost finished and Arthur stretched out across the sofa, head propped up on the arm as he watched a DVD, barely paying attention but not needing to, the plot beyond simple, but it was entertaining enough to keep him awake while he surreptitiously eyed Merlin.

Arthur has, over the last couple of weeks come to know Merlin relatively well, in some respects; some subtle questioning of the right people and even, much to his shame, a little Googling, had afforded him what he needed to know about his new flatmate in a professional sense. He’d barely understood the Abstract of Merlin’s PhD but it had been incredibly well received apparently and in a mere two weeks Merlin had earned the respect and awe of the majority of those working in the Dragon’s Lair, not only for his easy manner but the way he was able to cope with Kilgarrah and the old man’s ever changeable moods.

But the man himself, Arthur is only learning him in drips and drabs. Merlin is messy, but never dirty. He’s quick to smile and laugh, especially at Arthur. He doesn’t go out much and so far had yet to bring anyone home, much to Arthur’s relief. That was not a conversation he wanted to have anytime soon. As Merlin had settle in, Arthur had expected the cocky insolence to abate but if anything, the man is ratcheting it up the more comfortable he gets, along with what can only be considered as flirting. He’s seen Merlin with Gwaine, the bastard nearly eating Arthur out of house and home the couple of times he’s visited and while they are obviously close, almost brotherly-close, and their friendship is filled with snark, and at least from Gwaine, innuendo, Arthur is sure they’ve never been intimate and Merlin doesn’t stand so close to Gwaine as he does with Arthur, doesn’t stare at him, unblinking and intense.

Arthur has no idea what that means.

Or what to do with it.

What could he do anyway? Ask his stupidly gorgeous, intelligent and snarky new roommate to, what? Stop being a bloody tease? To make good on what Arthur swears is flirting? To fuck Arthur into mindless gibbering, please God?

Not today.

Merlin ignored the doorbell at first, sure that Arthur who sat far closer was going to get it; Merlin knew he wasn’t expecting anyone so it had to be for his flatmate. When Arthur made no move to get up, Merlin lowered his book only to find the blond staring intently at him.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Arthur asked, just as Merlin opened his mouth to ask him the same.

“It’s not for me.”

“How do you know? You haven’t checked.”

“Gwaine is out with Mithian, I’m pretty sure Gaius doesn’t leave the house once he gets home and the few people I’ve met from the labs don’t know my address. So it’s for you.”

“It is not!”

“How do you know? You haven’t checked.” Merlin winked at him over his book, ostentatiously turning the page and pretending to be too absorbed to answer the door.

"Can you move your ass?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah; it's not as fat as yours so doesn't slow me down."

"Ass."

"Fatass."

“I am not fat!”

“And getting up to answer the door will make sure of keeping it that way.”

“Just get the door, Merlin and hang up your bloody coat while you’re at it.” Arthur flicked at the jacket that was slung across the back of the sofa.

“Not your servant,” Merlin complained, but Arthur was gratified to see him uncurl himself with a put-upon air.

As he passed Arthur he reached out to smack at Arthur’s head, but was too slow, Arthur anticipating the amateur manoeuvre and rolling away, clinging to the edge of the sofa to avoid falling off.

Over the sound of the TV Arthur heard Merlin slide open the peephole and then open the door, the sound of his footfalls falling away after a few seconds before returning and padding off the other way. Then the door closed again.

“Huh,” Merlin muttered as he returned. “Nobody there.”

“Sometimes it does that; there’s a limited range of bandwidth it can send the signal on, it’s probably picking up on another device or something.”

Arthur seemed unperturbed as Merlin padded back to his chair, frowning when Merlin deliberately stood in front of him to block his view of the TV, the younger man rocking from side to side to keep Arthur from seeing around him, laughing as Arthur kicked out to get him to move, nimbly dodging away before Arthur’s foot made contact

“That, or there are some really polite ghosts around here, that just wanted some live company of an evening.”

“Are we going to have the ‘ghosts don’t exist, moron’ conversation again, Merlin?”

“How do you know they don’t?”

“Because my IQ is higher than my shoe size.”

“Awww, a whole ten points? Bless.”

“What I mean, Merlin,” Arthur grit out, hand slapping none too gently at Merlin’s head, “is that I am not as ignorant and gullible as a-”

“Good country boy like me?” Merlin asked. “You’re aware I have a PhD, right? So, in fact, not all that ignorant.” Arthur rolled his eyes as he turned back to the TV, starting the DVD again and pointedly ignoring Merlin despite feeling his flatmate’s eyes on him, the other man just waiting for him to relax before bothering him again.

“I feel badly now; what if it was just a lonely ghost, looking for some company and his mother had raised him properly and he didn’t want to bother anyone so he rang the doorbell? What if this was his first haunting and now I’ve ruined it? I could have scarred it for life.”

“Or death,” Arthur countered, somehow sucked into the black-hole of stupidity that his life was becoming.

“Yeah.”

“Speaking of company, the lads and I were gonna go to the bar on Friday night. You should come, you could bring Gwaine.” Arthur waggled his eyebrows at Merlin, nudging him with his foot. “Assuming Mithian doesn’t.”

“They are getting close aren’t they?” Merlin noted with a smile.

“Washerwoman with gossip, aren’t you?”

“You started it!”

“So you wanna come?”

“Yeah. Be good to make some new friends. Though of course, if their friends with you then their judgement is clearly twisty.”
*
By the time Merlin got to the bar, the rest of the group had already arrived, including Gwaine who had indeed been brought by Mithian who sat by his side, dressed much like she had been the night they had almost-met – form fitting blouse and pencil skirt. Mithian was clearly good for Gwaine’s time-keeping skills; in all the years Merlin had known him, this was the first time he’d gotten to an arranged meeting before Merlin had.

He was also going to have to tease Gwaine mercilessly for how besotted his friend was, staring at Mithian like she hung the moon. Merlin hadn’t paid much attention to her the other night, far too busy monitoring how Arthur had been eyeing him up but he couldn’t fault Gwaine’s unblinking gaze; the young woman was gorgeous and likely far too good for Gwaine. Merlin made a mental note to tell her that. Clearly in the last couple of weeks Mithian hadn’t gathered the fact for herself, from the way she was holding his hand and stealing crisps from Gwaine’s packet. Which was the first time Merlin had ever known Gwaine to willingly share food.

Waving to Mithian, who’d noticed his arrival, Merlin headed to the bar and got a drink before wending his way through the throng to the table.
He hated being the last person to arrive, always feeling somewhat isolated, left out of conversations that had started before his entrance, everyone having to go through the whole introductions rigmarole again, but it couldn’t have been helped; an anomaly in the latest round of testing had thrown the whole lab for a loop and Kilgarrah had ensured nobody so much as thought of leaving the building until it’d been accounted for. When it was discovered to have been an error by the new intern, lab relations had fallen by the wayside and Kilgarrah had made it extremely clear to Merlin that he was responsible for ensuring the other techs didn’t attempt to kill the poor kid.

“Look who finally showed up!” Arthur kicked out the chair next to him. “Guys this is Merlin. Merlin , these wastrels are Leon,” tall even though seated with curly hair, a fortnight worth of stubble and a warm smile, “Lance,” a stunning man with dark eyes and a serious expression, “his brother-in-law Elyan,” an attractive dark-skinned man with a quick smile and firm handshake, “ and Percy,” a mountain of a man that Merlin recognised as having been the bouncer two weeks previous.

“The bouncer, right?” Merlin confirmed.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m a personal trainer-”

“Olympic hopeful,” Elyan piped up, pride evident in his tone at his friend’s achievement.

“I’m a personal trainer,” Percy repeated, “but my friend owns this place and on busy nights I help out sometimes. My size tends to deter even the most drunk,” he explained, looking shy as Merlin checked out his biceps.

“Not the girls though,” Elyan whooped and it was unfairly adorable, Merlin thought, just how much Percy blushed at the comment.

“Olympics?” Merlin asked, to change the subject much to Percy’s relief.

“I’m a boxer, but really, Elyan is exaggerating.”

“Did you, or did you not get selected for trials?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Did you or did you not get accepted for that training camp?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go then.”

Merlin was amazed at how easily the group had accepted him and Gwaine, Elyan and Percy grilling Merlin on what it was like to live with Arthur while Lance added his own two cents on occasion, Arthur mulishly ignoring them to talk with Leon, Mithian, and even Gwaine, though he appeared to dislike him initially. Merlin thought it was pretty cute, how Arthur was watching Gwaine with Mithian, like an over-protective brother.

Or a pitbull.

Lance turned out to be a policeman and from the way he talked to Merlin it seemed he loved his job, speaking of the city like it was the love of his life, after the woman whose ring he bore upon his finger. He’d joined the Academy at eighteen and had spent the next fourteen years climbing the ladder to his dream job, becoming a member of the Camelot CID a couple years before.

Merlin was in awe of the man; Lance had spent almost a decade and half witnessing the worst mankind had to offer. Had thrown himself in where angels would have feared to tread. But he still saw beauty in the world, still loved his city and looked for the good in everyone, still convinced that everybody had some form of redeeming feature. Then there was the way he spoke about his wife…she’d had an appointment that night or she’d have come out with them, but to hear Lance describe her, she was a saint as well as the most beautiful woman to grace the planet. Merlin hoped she knew how lucky she was.

Leon worked as a junior executive at P.I., in charge of something or other that involved personnel. It’d had mostly gone over Merlin’s head but he figured the gist of it was Human Resources and so Merlin bit his tongue on wondering aloud just where his permanent pass and computer ID were and why they were taking so long. So far Leon had appeared to be a fairly laid back man, quick to smile and tease Arthur but Merlin didn’t want to rock the boat until he had to.

Elyan worked at Nemeth with Mithian, or rather under her, which had earned him a scandalised look from Gwaine and a stage-whispered ‘I thought I was the only one working under you,’ in Mithian’s ear. It was due to an incident at Nemeth, to which the police, and thus Lance, had been called that Elyan had met the police officer and set him up on a blind date with his sister, sure that he’d finally met the man worthy of his sister. They’d married six months later, not seeing the point of putting it off when they knew just how they felt about each other.

It wasn’t until the conversation turned to Percy’s boxing career that Gwaine and Arthur seemed to find common ground that wasn’t the woman seated between them. The pair launched off into a conversation about the merits of kick-boxing. Seemingly bored of that particular argument, Leon challenged Percy to a game of darts. Lance goes with them, ostensibly to play the winner, but Merlin had the suspicion it was to make sure nobody got into trouble and keep any potential rowdiness in check. Or in the case of Percy, make sure nobody accidentally broke the dartboard. Merlin suspected that with this group, the role of parent was one that Lance found himself in pretty often. Glancing at Gwaine, Merlin figured he knew just how Lance felt.

“Well, that’s a relief anyway.” Mithian was laughing around the rim of her wine-glass as Arthur became increasingly loud arguing about how the sport should remain ‘pure’ and not a part of a mixed-martial art world, while Gwaine just smirked at him and told him it was because he was afraid of losing. Merlin quite liked the idea of breaking it to Arthur that Gwaine owned a dojo and was extremely skilled in a multitude of forms and style of fighting.

“That they aren’t killing each other?” Merlin asked.

“Pretty much. Arthur is a little bit protective of me. Of pretty much anyone in his life, to be honest, and that can make him a tad difficult for my boyfriends to handle.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Merlin smirked. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day Gwaine was anyone’s boyfriend.” It wasn’t until he realised how that sounded that Merlin winced.

“Not that he sleeps around- I mean he did- but he’s um, faithful you kno-”

“Merlin, I met him as a one-night stand. Do you really think I’m not totally aware?”

That was a fair point. “Besides,” Mithian carried on, “I don’t think either of us was expecting it to be more than that night but,” she shrugged, “the spark was there.” The way she was eyeing Merlin up had him feeling much like he expected little fluffy bunnies did before the hawk descended on them. He really felt for those bunnies. He just knew, in his bones, that Mithian was about to ask him for his side of what happened that night, for what he’d said or done and he knew he wouldn’t last long. Not against those big eyes and all-too intelligent gaze. He could practically feel his nose twitching, feel the ground spiralling away beneath him.

The peal of a ringing phone cut through the moment and the breath Merlin hadn’t even known he’d been holding Mithian instantly looking away to find her handbag, digging through it to find first one phone and then another, grimacing at the screen, her expression tightening, little wrinkles appearing around her eyes. Whoever it was calling her, it was obviously not a conversation she was relishing having to take and Merlin felt guilty over his rush of relief.

“Sorry, guys, back in a second, I’ve got to take this,” swiping her thumb across the screen, she held it to her ear as she shuffled out of the booth, patting Gwaine’s hand as she greeted the caller.

“I’m going to take that phone away,” Gwaine complained as he watched her leave, eyes intent on her swaying hips and backside right up until Arthur slapped him around the back of the head.

“Hey! Just cos you’re not getting any, Princess,” Gwaine pursed his lips at Arthur goading him. “Of course, you just say the word, and I’m sure my boy her-” Merlin was fairly sure he’d never moved so fast, slapping his hand over Gwaine’s mouth and leaning in to murmur in his ear about whether or not Gwaine wanted to keep his dick. Gwaine’s nod was vehement, though he licked Merlin’s palm in vengeance. So Merlin didn’t the only possible adult thing and dried his hand off by smearing it down Gwaine’s shirt.

Rolling his eyes at their antics, Arthur glanced around the room, feeling restless, in need of release after a fortnight of living with Merlin. Merlin who wandered around in boxers and who changed with the door open. His eyes fell on the beautiful blonde at the bar who was unsubtle in her appreciation of Arthur, and he ensured she was equally aware of his interest in her, eyes lingering over how her tight cream dress displayed her slim waist and pert breasts as well as mile-long tanned legs.

In other words, the perfect opposite to the flatmate that had been driving him crazy for two weeks. Two long, lonely weeks with only his right hand.

Turning back to the group, Arthur winked and pushed his chair back as he drained his beer.

“How I look?” He asked, ruffling his hair.

“Like the ass you are,” Elyan responded.

“Jealous.” Kicking Elyan’s chair as he left, Arthur swaggered up to the bar, sliding into the space between the blonde’s legs and the next stool, brushing a lock of hair back from her face.

“He try it on the other night?” Gwaine asked, dropping into Arthur’s chair, clearly the loser at darts.

“Gwaine!” Merlin stuttered, hiding behind his beer. He’d only had a pint but he already felt light-headed and there was no doubt a flush spreading across his cheeks, though he could explain that away as being because of the beer.

“When I looked through the windows on the way to Mith’s-”

“Mith? You’re calling her Mith?”

“Nice deflection but fail. When we were leaving, Princess over there was heading your way so…”

“So…?” Merlin tried, though he knew it as useless; his poker face was non-existent at the best of times but especially when he was at least two sheets to the wind and rapidly headed towards three. He should be grateful that at least Gwaine hadn’t opted to ask when Arthur had been seated right next to them but given some of Arthur’s closest friends still were at the table, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to be.

“I knew it! You slept with your new flatmate! And you say I’m quick.”

Lashing out, Merlin kicked Gwaine hard in the shin, and then again, Elyan sniggering at Gwaine’s squeals of pain but refusing to get involved.

“I have not slept with him,” Merlin hissed, looking at Elyan to deny it again, and whilst a number of people at neighbouring tables had glanced round, several smirking, Merlin noted to his extreme relief that his cry hadn’t been heard at the bar.

“Who turned down who?” Gwaine asked, relentless, but Elyan’s quick ‘shhh’ alerted him to Percy and Lance’s return to the table, Leon trailing behind. With a sigh of relief and a smile to Elyan in thanks, Merlin rolled his eyes as Gwaine mimed zipping his lips shut, but Merlin knew how little that really meant.

“So, you and Mith?” Merlin grinned as the other men at the table rounded on Gwaine, all curious.

“She would not stop talking about you in the meeting on Wednesday,” Leon drawled looking utterly unimpressed. “Sure the deal had been made and everything but-”

“She was talking about me?”

“You the guy that sent the flowers?” Elyan chimed in.

“You sent her flowers?” Merlin spluttered. Gwaine had never bought a woman to whom he wasn’t related flowers, or even thought about it as far as Merlin was aware.

“You have it so bad, Casanova. How does it feel to be like us mortal men?”

“Speak for yourself,” Leon retorted to near-hysterical laughter from his friends.

“Shut it,” Gwaine snatched a packet of crisps from a surprised Leon, crunching down on a handful with finality, before Leon could steal them back, a skirmish breaking out as they tussled for the packet.

Mithian came back from her phone call with a frown that eased the moment Gwaine reached out for her as she sat, his arm sliding around her shoulders and holding her close as he still tried to wrestle one-armed with Leon. As MIthian shamelessly stole the remains of Gwaine’s beer, throwing it back like a pro, Merlin could see that they weren’t anywhere near as oddly suited as he’d thought. Yes, Mithian in her pencil skirt, blouse and towering heels was the epitome of professional elegance and Gwaine in his ripped jeans and faded tee was the picture-perfect slacker – at least until you learnt about his incredibly successful Dojo - but as Mithian proudly belched, much to Gwaine’s glee, Merlin could see how they worked. He hoped it lasted.

While the rest of the table amused themselves bickering over the remaining crisps, Merlin looked over at the bar. His gaze lingered over how the breadth of Arthur’s shoulders stretched his tee shirt tight, tapering to slim hips and round ass, powerful thighs clad in dark denim. As he watched, Arthur took the girl’s hand, leading her to the door, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her when she stumbled in her low heels. As they reached the door, Merlin turned away.

Straight to Lance’s knowing gaze, the man smiling softly before turning back to where Percy had wade in between Leon and Gwaine, breaking up their pathetic excuse for a fight and taking the crumpled packet to finish off the crisps before wandering off to the bar for another round.

The skirmish had however prompted Gwaine to tell the story of how he and Merlin had met at university. Gwaine, in devil-may-care form had been hitting on a girl in the student bar, unknowing – or uncaring – that her boyfriend was standing next to her. He hadn’t taken to Gwaine’s interest anywhere near as well as his girlfriend had, and after Gwaine offered for the guy to join them in a threesome, had found himself being used to sweep the bar, only Merlin, who was working as bar staff at the time, stopping him from taking a header off the end. With a wink and a pat to Merlin rear, Gwaine had leapt back over the bar and into the fray, letting the guy get in enough hits that his pride was satisfied but letting none actually hurt him.

Once the disgruntled boyfriend had gotten it out of his system, Gwaine had bought him a drink. And then another. Both men had been plastered after they’d had the bright idea to get competitive over who could down the most shots. While one had been dragged off by a fuming girlfriend, Merlin hadn’t know what to do with Gwaine and so, unable to leave him to sleep it off in the bar, and Gwaine being borderline passed out, Merlin had hailed a cab, routing through Gwaine’s pants for the funds to pay for it because he was buggered if he was spending his tips on a taxi, and hauled Gwaine’s surprisingly heavy ass up into his tiny flat and dumped him on his bed. After an extremely uncomfortable morning in which Gwaine though he’d scored with Merlin and kept trying to score a round two that he’d remember, they’d somehow become friends, Gwaine adopting Merlin like a little puppy.

“So if Arthur had started some sort of fight over me, you’d have thrown the fight and then gotten him drunk?” Mithian asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Warning you now, Mithian, that’s a classy guy you got there,” Merlin divulged.

“Oh I know. When he admitted to having no idea what to make for a morning-after breakfast because he’d always run before the girl woke up, kind of clued me in.”

“Yeah, but I said it way better than that. It was practically an ode to your loveliness.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Leon piped up, toasting Percy with the pint he’d just had placed before him.

*

When Merlin got back to the flat, considerably more sober thanks to Lance taking the remains of his pint and replacing it with water, and near dizzy with relief that the whole ‘meet the friends’ thing had gone well, he was surprised to find Arthur on the sofa remote in hand.

“Hey.” Arthur didn’t look up as he greeted Merlin, eyes tracking the movements of the player on the television.

“Hi.” Merlin stripped off his coat, surreptitiously checking out Arthur’s bedroom through his open door; no sign of the blonde. Unable to resist poking the bear he asked where she was.

“Elena? I took her home.”

“That was fast.”

“Took her home from the bar,” Arthur said tightly. “She was pretty drunk and after five minutes broke down and told me she’d just broken up with her cheating boyfriend and was hoping revenge sex would make her feel better.”

Merlin blinked, staring at his shoes and did everything he could to fight down the warm satisfaction that filled his chest at the thought that Arthur was here, and not with the girl, not out fucking someone else. It doesn’t work very well until he remembers that he could have had Arthur. That he could have fucked Arthur weeks ago. Then he just gets angry with himself.

“Oh.”

“No matter how little you clearly think of me, when a woman can barely walk and bursts into tears when you leave the bar, even I know that it’s not really the time to fall into bed together. I got her home, explained to her house-mate, and I came here. All above board. That okay with you?”

The last was grit out from between clenched teeth.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry.” Placing some bread in the toaster, Merlin headed back into the living room. “I didn’t mean-”

“And for the record,” Arthur stood, switching off the TV, “when I do take someone home, it will be anything but fast.”

With that, Arthur pushed past Merlin and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Leaving Merlin to spend the night with the mental picture of what all night with Arthur would entail.
*
Arthur had already left the flat when Merlin stumbled from his room the next morning. Just like he wasn’t home when Merlin got back from work, late himself after Kilgarrah had insisted on running a test five times.

Three days later Merlin hadn’t even heard Arthur in the flat, let alone seen him. He was only sure that his flatmate still lived there because he found a half-drunk cup of coffee on the counter the day before. Enough was enough; how was he supposed to apologise to the infuriating clotpole if he couldn’t even talk to the guy?

All morning, as he ran tests and cleaned equipment – something well below his pay-grade but he’d clearly been pissing off his boss - Merlin contemplated how best to approach Arthur, before settling on the most direct.

When Kilgarrah headed to a meeting, Merlin checked on the tests and slipped out of the lab, heading up to the top floors and Arthur’s office.
In his lab coat, goggles around his neck and one blue bootie over his shoes – the other lost somewhere on the way - Merlin drew more than a few stares as he strode through the office but he continued on regardless, heading straight past the bank of assistants that guarded the doors to the kingdom.

“Excuse me, you can’t go in there.”

Merlin turned towards the voice, its owner seated behind one of the desks, his expression bordering on a smirk as he looked to his colleagues for approval, finding far less than he seemed to expect.

“Is he in a meeting?”

“No, but-”

“Is he on the phone?”

“No-”

“And the doors open, yes?”

“Well, yeah-”

“Then I’m pretty certain I can.” Without waiting for a reply, Merlin turned on his heel, blue bootie ripping free, and was already pushing the door open before the assistant could speak again.

“You-” Merlin stopped short, quickly shutting the door behind him, “you look like shit.”

Arthur’s eyes were bloodshot and looked bruised, his normally tanned skin ashy. His hair looked dirty, his cheeks unshaven and his suit, normally pressed into perfection when they left the flat in the morning, was rumpled and clearly not on its first day of wear.

Arthur’s desk was buried beneath towers of papers files, folders and printouts and littered with coffee cups, more spilling from the rubbish bin.

“Thank you for that assessment, Merlin. What the hell are you doing here?”

“You weren’t home and, well, after the other nig-”

“You thought it was about your,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “little judgemental moment?”

“Umm.” All the wind had been knocked from his sails as Merlin leant back against the door, taking in the poor state of Arthur, before pushing off and slumping into one of the over-stuffed leather chairs opposite Arthur.

“You’re ridiculous. And egotistical. Did you really think I’d have let someone I’ve lived with for less than three weeks drive me out of my own flat, because if so you are a complete idiot.”

“Then why?” Merlin asked, leaning forward to try and read the topmost papers, frowning at finding them in another language.

“One of the lab complexes, the Gedref office of P.I., had an explosion and Father called me in at 4am that night and I’ve been practically living here trying to ensure the facility doesn’t have to close permanently, by finding the money to cover it’s downtime. Father wants me to close the complex permanently. Thankfully nobody was badly hurt.”

“What happens if you don’t find the funds?”

“Then six hundred and seventy-three people will lose their jobs.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Noting the blankets folded up on the chaise longue against the wall, Merlin frowned.

“Have you been sleeping here?”

“What part of living here was too complicated for your pea-brain to understand? I only went home the other day to shower because Father said my stench was letting down the good Pendragon name.”

“Nice.”

“Well, that’s Uther Pendragon.”

“That him?” Merlin asked, pointing to a picture on the windowsill. Uther was still a handsome man, distinguished in a way that some men managed to be as they aged. Even in 2D form he had presence, staring unsmiling out of the photograph as though judging all those that looked upon it. Merlin could see some of Arthur features in him but mostly he recognised the stance, the strong shoulders and straight back, the same unwavering self-belief and confidence.

“He ever smile?” Merlin asked.

“Sometimes.” The ‘rarely at me’ hovered in the air between them. “If you’ve impressed him.”

“Looks intimidating.”

“That, Merlin, is the whole point. You don’t get to where he’s gotten by being nice to people and kissing babies.”

“I think I’d rather stay where I am then and just be nice to people. Not keen on the baby kissing, though.”

“Shouldn’t think they’d be terribly pleased with the idea either.”

“Hey, I’m good with kids.”

“Because you’re on their level.”

“Haha. “ Merlin pointed to another photo. “I’m going to assume you’re not paying a lot of child support with those kids.” In the photo Arthur was surrounded by children, from very young to mid-teens, Merlin guessed. Most wore a sports jersey, and were holding mini-versions of the trophy that Arthur proudly held aloft. Some were smiling, others scowling but they seemed to be enjoying themselves nevertheless.

“That’s the football team I help out with.” The pride was evident in Arthur’s voice. “I volunteer at Camelot Children’s Home.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

“I wasn’t!” Merlin denied. “I just – is that where you disappear off to on weekends sometimes?”

“I do not ‘disappear off’ but yeah. They’re always looking for volunteers, people who can help the kids with their homework and watch them and teach them and play sports. People to be real figures in their life. Some of the older kids, they’ve got a lot of anger. Some of them are scared they’ll never see their family again, others are scared they’ll have to go back to their family. Sports gives them an outlet.”

“You think there’s room for me there?”

“You on a sports-field?”

“I meant helping them out with their homework or whatever. I’m good at maths and science and kids like me.”

“I can get you a meeting with the couple that run the place. But it’s a real commitment. These kids have been abandoned before; you have to really want to do it, and do it weekly. You can’t just let this kids get to know you, get used to you and attached and then just leave. They’ve already had too much of that.”

Merlin thought he could see, at that moment, the little boy Arthur must have been, whose father didn’t turn up to school events, who didn’t see him on birthdays, who probably sent a PA with a present. Just who had Arthur had to get attached to? No wonder he was so protective of these kids.

“I know, Arthur. I’ll do some reading and I’ll call the Home and make enquiries about it. I’d not just jump in with both feet without giving it thought.” He too knew what it was to have that feeling of something missing; his mother had loved him enough for two, had given Merlin everything he needed, if not always everything that he wanted, but some days, and he’d felt sick with guilty each time, some days he wished he’d had a father to talk to. Someone to roughhouse and play with. But he also knew, from watching Will, that it was better sometimes to have never known a father’s love and influence. Seeing what Will went through after his father died…he’d not want to do that ever.

Arthur said nothing, pulling open a drawer and rummaging around in it until finding what he wanted, Frisbee-ing a business card at Merlin who smirked when it mostly just went in a circle to smack down onto the desk.

“That was meant to be a lot more dramatic wasn’t it?”

“Oh shut up.” Arthur flicked the card off the desk with forefinger and thumb, this time succeeding in getting it to Merlin’s lap. “That’s the details. Ask for a guy called Anhora. He’s crotchety but fair.”

“Thanks.” Merlin shoved the card deep into his pocket before leaning forward.

“You know, I can help you out here,” Merlin offered, taping at the top most file on Arthur’s desk, grimacing when it threatened to topple the stack, sitting back in the chair when Arthur glared at him.

“And how are you going to do that? Are you an accountant? Are you a business man?” Arthur scoffed.

“No, but I understand the science way better than you. I know where you can cut corners and where you can’t. I know what projects you can safely put on hold for a short time. I can also just help you. I can type fast, faster than your hunt-and-peck I’ve seen you do anyway, you can be on the phone and I can do that. I can let you get some sleep. I can help.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your friend.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Leon, Lance, Percy, Elyan, Mithian, Me.”

“Not here at work, not when I am in this office. I cannot afford the luxury of needing or relying on other people.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“That’s not- that’s not the point.”

“Let me help, Arthur. Just show me what to do, and I’ll do it. You need some sleep. You really do look like hell.

“Thanks ever so much.”

“You know what I mean.”

Defeated, Arthur sighed. “You know, some would consider this a great honour, to be writing this stuff for me. Not everyone gets to-”

“Bathe in the brilliance that is you. Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Hey, you offered.”

“Just show me what needs doing, Your Highness.”

It was the work of a couple minutes to demonstrate to Merlin what he was trying to do, and show the progress he’d made and what still needed to be done. From Arthur’s tone, Merlin suspected his friend still didn’t think Merlin would be of much use, but he seemed to have reached that point of exhaustion where he was incredibly suggestive and once Merlin began to really push for him to get some sleep and leave it to him, Arthur caved quickly, wrapping up his explanation and stowing his pen and notes.

“Well, thanks,” Arthur looked like it physically hurt to say the words as he stood, moving around the desk towards where Merlin was rising from his own seat, moving into Arthur’s path, arms raising as if to embrace him and Arthur threw his hands up.

"Whoa. What're you doing?"

"I thought you were going for a hug."

"Noo!" Frowning, Arthur stepped away, arms still raised between them, keeping them separate.

"No." Merlin dropped his arms, shuffling past Arthur and into his chair, covering his embarrassment by staring intently at the files laid out before him, rifling through them distractedly until he felt the blush die down from his checks.

When he looked up, Arthur was already asleep, one arm hanging off the sofa, face smooshed into the cushions. In sleep he appears even more exhausted, face slack and inanimate, the dark circles around his eyes shocking, the skin clammy. This desire to do the right thing, to protect and to save is a side of Arthur Merlin hasn’t seen before, a vulnerable and caring side Arthur keeps hidden away. Perhaps Gaius was right, perhaps Arthur was far more noble a man than Merlin gave him credit.

It’s a surprise, as Merlin gets up to drape the blanket over Arthur’s recumbent form, just how fond Merlin is of this Arthur. The Arthur driving himself to illness to save the jobs of his employees, the man refusing to follow his father’s wishes and simply close the complex. Had he been asked two weeks ago Merlin knew he’d not have expected Arthur to care, viewing him as yet another spoilt rich boy, that at best threw money at causes he was told would gain good press for the company, but take no further interest.

This was an Arthur whose voice turned tender and protective over children that had none of the privileges he’d had, children whose futures he invested in and cradled in his hands gently.

This was an Arthur Merlin could fall for.

And wasn’t that just fabulous.
*
Merlin’s mouth tasted like how he imagined the liquid that collected at the bottom of the block of flats rubbish dumpster would taste. The bright light that seared through his brain was coming from the window of…gingerly he turned his head, swallowing down the urge to vomit that threatened as a result. Arthur’s room?

From the softness beneath him, Merlin figured that he was on the bed, and a furtive fumble at himself determined that he was dressed and above the covers. Stretching his arms out carefully, ignoring the resultant throb in his temples, Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, and disappointment were he feeling well enough to be honest with himself.

He was alone.

Immediate crisis averted, Merlin’s mind turned to the next concern; his mouth really was disgusting. What had he gotten up to last night? Lazily he smacked his lips. God, he was thirsty.

“Would you stop that?” It was more command than question, and emanated from the floor to the right of the bed. Merlin froze, holding his breath as his eyes shot open again, the sunlight as unforgiving as his terror.

“Arthur?”

“Who do you think it is, idiot?”

“What did we do last night?”

“I think we celebrated saving Gedref after three miserable days of files and figures and take-away from that abominable Indian place. But from the taste in my mouth, it involved eating raw road-kill.” Arthur smacked his own lips. “Skunk from the taste of it.”

“Don’t mention eating, please.” Merlin smacked a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare vomit in my bed.”

“And don’t mention vomit,” he pleaded through his fingers.

“Why are you in my bed?”

“Hell if I know.”

A hand appeared over the edge of the mattress, Arthur’s pale face appearing moments later, forehead pressing against the bedframe for a minute.

“Well,” he muttered when he felt steady enough to move again, “move over.” Arthur pushed at Merlin’s lax form.

“I’m begging you to stop that.”

With a heave, Arthur threw himself onto the bed, landing face down, one arm across Merlin’s chest, too busy trying to keep his internal organs internal to bother moving it.

“What-ymmber?”

Lolling his head, Arthur’s hair tickling his nose with the aroma of departed spirits and the shell of Arthur’s ear cool against his lips, Merlin grunted a query.

“Wha’?”

“Wha’ ya ‘-mber?”

“Umm.” What did he remember? Not a lot. More about the beginning of the night than later. So buoyed up on their success at finally allocating the funds to ensure nobody lost their job at Gedref had they been, that he and Arthur had decided to celebrate.

“Mithian had some lame excuse not to come, Gwaine was playing footy, Percy and Lance were working and Elyan didn’t answer the phone.”

“-ss more ‘n me.”

Merlin rubbed a hand over his face, nose wrinkling in disgust at the feel of dried drool and clammy skin. This was not how he’d have wanted to wake up in a bed next to Arthur. In many respects.

“Not sure how we wound up in here thought.”

“Shhh, now. Sleeping.” The hand on Merlin’s chest lifted only to pat, none-too-gently at Merlin’s cheek, nearly gouging out Merlin’s eye in the process.

The sudden, and above all loud, peal of Arthur’s phone as it nearly vibrated off the bedside table had both men wincing, Arthur flailing for the blasted thing, opening one eye and turning his head enough to squint at the display.

“Elyan,” he muttered, dropping the phone.
*
The journey from car door to front door was made longer by the brat from the third floor pressing every damned button on the lift console so Arthur spent his time mentally rearranging his presentation for the Essetir pitch; his father had made it clear, time and again, that this was the biggest potential client of Arthur’s career and that his son failing to woo the delegates successfully, after months of tireless effort, would not be tolerated. Numerous roadblocks to the meeting had fallen beneath Arthur’s determination and he would not fall at the last. His father’s rebuke not to let the previous week’s success with Gedref lure him into overconfidence was still ringing in his ears.

As the lift doors slid apart, he headed towards his flat, mumbling to himself about notes and files he needed George to pull the following morning, fingers itching to get his thoughts down on paper, a flash of inspiration on rearranging the presentation grasped gently so as not to lose it.

So lost in his contemplations was he, that Arthur missed the sounds of yelling coming from the hallway outside his flat. Almost missed the fight, until he was nearly on top of the furious man that was yelling at his flatmate.

The guy was middle-aged with a boyish face and dark hair, and unshaven but whereas Gwaine and Leon looked rugged with their stubble, it just afforded this man an air of unkemptness. He was trying to press his way into the flat and Arthur was going to make an acerbic comment about Merlin inviting strange men into his home, ignoring the flash of jealousy that he’d turn down Arthur but not this loser, until Arthur noticed the way Merlin was blocking the doorway and planting his feet to ensure the man came no further than the doorstep, despite the scene he was creating. Arthur instantly disliked the man for causing the expression on Merlin’s face, his flatmate looking angered but also scared, vulnerable in a way that he’d never seen before.

Arthur carefully placed his laptop bag and briefcase against the wall, tugging the buds of his headphones out of his ears and assessed the situation. Merlin seemed deeply uncomfortable but was holding his own, Arthur just able to make out the low rumble of his words, but the gist of them is coming through loud and clear; he wanted this guy gone.

“You should have taken the job with me.”

“It was my decision Mr Borden. I made the one that was best for me.” The name, along with the face, was familiar though Arthur couldn’t place it at first, too busy assessing the situation at hand, wondering if and how to intervene.

“You made the decision that made you the most money, and I respect that, Merlin, I do.” Merlin’s expression hardened, Arthur able to see even from several yards away the way that Merlin’s eyes narrowed, the clench in his jaw and the resolution in his voice but despite being inches away, .

“I made the decision that was best for my career. Salary was not part of my consideration.”
“Don’t be a fool. We all seek the riches we can get. I know I cannot offer you the sort of money that Pendragon can throw at you, not right now but together, you and I working on the projects I mentioned at your interview…we could be break into the market in a way they are too blinkered to. We’d be rich as kings, more powerful than you could ever dream.”

“I don’t want money!” Merlin pushed the guy back and out of their doorway, forcing him away.

“This is your chance. Your chance to escape your meaningless life, your worthless existence.”

“It's not my life that is pitiable, it's yours. You've wasted it for nothing.”

“What do you know? Hmmm? Living here with the Pendragon whelp in the ivory tower? Is that why you took the job? Or did you fuck your way into it? Did he make you think you were special, Merlin? Little Arthur Pendragon has screwed half of his daddy’s employees. Not that I blame him in your case, you are quite the looker. If only I’d known that the way to getting you to my company was through your dic-”

Whoever the guy was, he certainly expecting the right hook that Merlin slammed into his chin. Arthur certainly hadn’t been expecting that right hook.

By the looks of it, Merlin himself hadn’t been expecting it either.

“Bravo,” Arthur breathed, unsure what he was supposed to do at this point, but he figured he’d play it like he did with Mithian; let her handle it unless she asked for help or it became obvious that help was needed. For either side.

His utterance garnered him Merlin’s attention, his flatmate stepping back so fast from Borden that he tripped and almost slammed his head into the doorframe. He rallied quickly as Borden glanced to Arthur, lip curling in a sneer.

“I'm warning you... leave me alone, Julius.”

Realisation dawned for Arthur at Merlin’s command; Julius Borden had set up numerous companies over the years with the express intent of destabilising the hold that P.I. and numerous others had on the market, the man utterly convinced he was the superior business man despite bankruptcy after bankruptcy. Each time he set up a new company he’d be trying to lure the best and brightest in the chosen field to try and break into the market. But unlike those spearheaded by companies like P.I. and Nemeth Corp, all of Borden’s ventures were for pure profit, he didn’t care about how he made the money and who he had to hurt to get it. He was one slimy step above being the figurehead of a Ponzi scheme and the thought of Merlin being recruited by him, of Borden getting his grubby hands on Merlin, of him touching Merlin was enough to turn his stomach.

“Merlin?” Arthur queried, unblinking gaze not leaving Borden, his weight rolling onto the balls of his feet, fingers curling into loose fists, knees
softening as he assessed Borden for his most vulnerable point of attack.

“It’s under control, Arthur. Mr Borden was just leaving.” Arthur was impressed at how even Merlin’s voice was, one arm outstretched to potentially fend Borden off while the other straightened his clothing and tried to smooth his hair down.

“Don’t worry, little Pendragon, I won’t take your toy from you.” Borden tugged his jacket back into place as he looked back to Merlin.

“They’ll chew you up and spit you out and if you think your dalliance with this one will get you anywhere, maybe you deserve it. You could have been great Merlin. You and I could have-”

“Could have done nothing, as I am not, nor will I ever be, working for you. Or with you. I feel sorry for you, truly I do, but you are not welcome here and it is time for you to leave, or I will be forced to-”

“I am leaving,” Borden declared, “you can save your amateur dramatics for the next time Arthur here gets you on your back.”
It took all the self-control Arthur had not to launch himself at the smug fuck, wanting to slam his fists into that mocking expression over and over again, but Merlin seemed to know, blue eyes intent on Arthur’s as he shook his head gently, the pleading, resolute expression on his face more than enough to leash the beast that roared for Borden’s blood. It strained at Arthur’s hold when Borden deliberately slammed into him on his way down the hall, the impact not as painful as he suspected Borden had been hoping for but Arthur refused to rise to the bait, smiling at him instead as Borden strode to the lift, Arthur revelling in staring at him the whole time he had to wait for a car to arrive, the man’s discomfiture obvious as he tried to appear nonchalant until he gave up and stalked to the fire stairs, banging through the door, his footsteps quick on the stairs.

“What the fuck, Merlin?!” Arthur rounded on his flatmate, still in the door staring after Borden, seemingly oblivious to Arthur.

“Oi, Merlin!” Grabbing his briefcase, Arthur pushed into the flat, taking Merlin with him and closing the door behind them, not wishing to air all their dirty laundry to the whole floor.

“I don’t know where the hell to start,” he bellowed, tossing his briefcase onto the sofa, ripping off his tie.

“I do. I have no idea what the fuck just happened.” Merlin looked dazed, angry and unsure, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I didn’t take the job with him because he’s clearly insane but I never thought he’d-”

“What? Track you down? Come to my home?”

“No, of course I never thought he’d do that! Who the fuck goes to an interview and thinks ‘oh if I don’t take the job in several months he’s going to turn up on my doorstep, even after moving across half the country’? Because it wasn’t my first consideration. It was a tempting offer at first but when I thought about it, really looked into it and talked to Uncle Gaius about it, I turned him down. That was our whole interaction.”

“Giving him this address wasn’t a great interaction.”

“How the hell would I have given him this address, you clotpole, I didn’t even know you when I applied to his company.”

“Then how did he even find out where I – we live? Have you been posting your address on Facebook?”

“Do I look like an eleven year old? Of course I’ve not been posting my address. Only four people that I know of know I’m here. No wait, I forgot your father. That’s five. And whoever you’ve told. So it wasn’t my big mouth. Besides, I don’t even have a Facebook account.”

“You saying I have a big mouth.”

“Yes, it goes with your big arse.”

“You calling me fat?”

Just like that the tension eased, Merlin slumping back against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking earnestly up at Arthur. “I don’t know how he knows where we live. I’ve met him twice – once at my interview and once today. I thought it was you the doorbell went, that you’d forgotten your keys or something so I didn’t check. I’d never have answered it if I’d known.”

“It’s not your fault.” Arthur conceded, kicking off his shoes and slinging his suit jacket over the back of the sofa.

“And you do look like an eleven year old. Just so you know.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but it was impossible for him to hold back the relieved smile, try as he might.

“Still pissed you assumed it was my fault.”

“To be honest, first I assumed it was a, a, um,” Arthur screwed up his face, desperate to take back ever having opened his mouth.

“Thought what?” Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes widened as the penny dropped. “Seriously? You thought he was, what, a booty call?”

“No!”

“You did.”

“It’s your home too,” Arthur began, regretting every word, “so if you want to bring someone home, you know, get laid or something.” Arthur’s cheeks flamed and he rubbed at his eyes, sure Merlin was enjoying his comfort. “You should feel free to bring someone home.”

“Thanks.” Merlin was pretty sure he’d never been more mortified in his life; this conversations was worse than his mother attempting to give him the birds and the bees talk until just sending him to Gaius who proceeded to dig out old medical journals and explain, in excruciating detail, what he described as ‘the ins and outs of intercourse’. Complete with sketches and diagrams and one horrific incident of Gaius showing Merlin the best way to roll on a condom. Onto a dildo. That he’d already had. It’d been enough to put Merlin off sex for several years.

The problem was, he didn’t want to bring anyone home. The one person he wanted, increasingly, was already there. And the one person he couldn’t have.
*

A few hours later a loud knock to his door, followed by Arthur’s request to enter, pulled Merlin’s attention from the notes he was attempting to transcribe, his own chicken-scratch writing difficult to decipher. Marking where he was and muting the nonsense movie he had playing in the background, he spun on his chair and called Arthur in.

“Kilgarrah said you’d taken the Odin trials report home to finish it off and I need it for the Essetir proposal.”

“Please Merlin, thank you Merlin.” Rolling his eyes, Merlin shuffled over to his bag, digging through the contents with no success.

“Your room is a tip.” Arthur toed clothes and books aside to clear a path to Merlin’s bed, gingerly sitting on the edge with a look that implied he daren’t think of what he might catch from the linens. No longer the beige set, he noted idly.

“Shut up, I have a system.”

“’It’s in here somewhere’ is a system?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of it. It’s ingenious. Besides, one of the rules for living here was, my room was my business.”

“It’s not an ingenious system, its chaos. And I wasn’t telling you to tidy the shit up, just commenting.”

“Well just comment somewhere else. I’ve heard all about how much worse this flat was than this room before you hired a cleaner.”

“Lance.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Too bad his weren’t.”

Merlin’s efforts to dig down to the wood in the vague location of his desk had unearthed several framed pictures but no report. As one began to slide towards the edge of the desk, Arthur leant forward to snatch it up, taking in the tableau; Merlin in graduation cap and gown, with a petite woman and another man who had one arm slung over Merlin’s shoulders.

“This your mum?” Arthur pointed to the woman.

“Yeah, and my best mate. Taken last year when I graduated.”

“Your ears really suit that cap.”

“Jealous.”

“Not of your ears or your degree.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Oh, the bookshelf!” In a flurry, Merlin dumped everything he’d moved off the desk back onto it, knocking another couple of pictures down, which Arthur righted. The friend was in those too.

“Who’s the guy?”

Merlin didn’t even turn away from his hunt to answer, already fully aware of whom Arthur as referring.

“My best mate. His name was Will.”

‘Oh,’ Arthur thought, ignoring the feeling of relief that bloomed in his chest that it wasn’t his lover. Then what Merlin had said filtered into his brain.

“Was?”

“Yeah, was. He was, uh, he wanted to be a jockey. Got a shitty job as a stable lad at Kanen Racing. Barely enough money to feed himself, not that he ate much needing to keep his weight down. Kanen was a bastard but Will loved those horses. Treated them like they were made of gold. One day, out at the gallops, his horse just…dropped. Landed on Will and rolled right over him.” Merlin’s voice was flat, harsh to Arthur’s ear as his hands dropped to his sides, search for the elusive report forgotten.

“Turned out Kanen was worse than anyone thought; he was doping the horses and Bandit Dreams, the horse Will was on, had had a heart attack. If Kanen hadn’t drugged up his horses my best friend wouldn’t be dead. I wanted to kill him. Would have too if my mother hadn’t stopped me.”
Arthur could hear it in Merlin’s tone, could hear how serious his bumbling new friend was, and he knew that it was not hyperbole; had Merlin the opportunity, he would have killed Kanen. It would have destroyed him, of that Arthur was sure, but he had no doubt Merlin would have taken the man’s life with his bare hands had he the opportunity.

“Still, Will would have been happy to know his death meant something. Kanen, his trainers, most of the staff, they knew about the doping and the cooked books and the abuse to the horses and the revolving door system of illegal immigrants used as stable staff. The horses all got taken away and adopted out to caring homes and most of the staff got jail time. Will would have liked that, to know the horses were safe.”

“I’m sorry.” What more was there that Arthur could say? He’d not meant to ruin Merlin’s day, simply get to know him better. Which he had, he supposed.

“It’s – well, it’s not okay but it’s not your fault. I miss him though.” Arthur hated being with people that were upset, utterly incompetent with how to provide comfort, having never had people do it for him. Unsure, he stood, placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezed, stepping a little closer, unbalanced by the desire to tug Merlin against his chest and wrap him in his arms, to shield Merlin from the world like he’d done for Mithian a few times. With her it was easier, she’d step into his embrace, or ask for a hug. But with Merlin, Arthur still didn’t know where their line was. They stood closer than anyone else Arthur knew, personal space being something that happened to other people, but this, this was a different entity entirely and after the hug debacle in his office the other week, he wasn’t sure if such affection would be welcome.

So he stood there, hand tight on Merlin’s shoulder, gaze on the piercing peeking out from Merlin’s hair as his friend stared at the smiling image of Will, and blinked back unshed tears. Shame burned hot in his gut that his first thought was Uther’s voice instructing him that ‘boys don’t cry. No man is worth your tears’.

To Merlin, Will had obviously been worth everything.

When Merlin returned the picture to the desk, clearing a space and righting the other pictures, Arthur released his hold and patted Merlin on the back a couple of times, coughing as he stepped away again, his movements jerky and hesitant, feeling utterly and completely uncomfortable.

He groped around for something to talk about, something he could say to lighten the mood, and grabbed onto the first thing that came to mind.

“You coming to the pub tonight? Mithian says she’s gonna be there. Probably Gwaine too. Percy’s working but Lance should be off shift. Not sure about Gwen. But yeah, we’re going to the pub, so wanna come?”

“Really?” Merlin appreciated the diversionary tactic, but unable to tear his eyes from the photos of Will, jaw clenching against the tears that always threatened when he talked about Will and what happened.

“Yeah. Mithian seems very much in need of a night out.”

“She been okay? She’s not come out with us in a while and I know it’s not that she’s busy with Gwaine because he said he barely got to see her the last couple weeks.”

“I think it’s because she’s taking on more at Nemeth, she’s just adapting to the new load.”

“Must be a lot. She was really quiet last time.”

“Yeah, she’s just stressed out and Mith when she’s stressed gets a bit quiet. Then she goes and shoots something and she’s a lot better.”

“Shoots something? What is it with you upper class lot and killing things?”

“I meant skeet shooting.”

“What is a skeet and why do you have to shoot it?”

“Clay pigeon.”

“Then why don’t you just say clay pigeon?”

“Skeet is faster.”

“Not when you have to explain it, it isn’t.”

“Not everyone needs everything explained Merlin. But if you want the whole thing, then it’s said to derive from the Norwegian word ‘skyte’, meaning sh- ah!”

Merlin saw no recourse but to tackle Arthur to the ground, and with one of the many items at his disposal strewn across his floor, aid Arthur in putting a sock in it.

Which, co-incidentally, unearthed the Odin trials report.
*

“So, it’s the England versus New Zealand game today,” Arthur announced when Merlin staggered from his room one early October morning.

“Bunch of men slamming into each other and knocking the seven bells out of each other for fun.” Merlin frowned at discovering the coffee pot having a dribble of coffee in the bottom.

“Would it kill you to ever refill the pot?”

“How am I supposed to know when you’ll consent to grace the world with your lazy ass? And rugby is more than fun. It’s the ultimate display of-”

“Testosterone? Steroids? Sweat?”

“Skill and teamwork.”

“And what does all that have to do with me?” Merlin enquired as he spooned fresh grounds into the machine’s basket.

“What it has to do with you is you’ve got to take a shower and get dressed.”

“The players require me in formal attire?” The machine gurgled into life, a thick, aromatic stream soon filling the pot.

“I require you clean and dressed for when everyone comes over.”

Merlin’s head cracked against the underside of the cabinet. “Everyone?”

“Lance and his wife Gwen, Leon, Morgana – you’ve been lucky so far not to meet the harpy- Percy, Elyan, Mithian. I even invited Gwaine for you.”

“How thoughtful.” Merlin rubbed the back of his head as he poured his coffee, glowering at Arthur as he doctored it to his taste, spooning an obscene amount of sugar into it.

“I didn’t think you could make coffee in a passive-aggressive manner.”

“You learn something new everyday. You couldn’t have told me about this?”

Arthur looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, have you forgotten this is my home?”

“Have you forgotten I live here too?”

“I’m telling you now. Now, go shower. Get dressed. Help me out with all that.” He pointed to a number of grocery bags on the table.”

Merlin huffed, making no move to leave the kitchen.

“I’m not making your snacks. I’m not your wife.”

“Like I’d marry you.” “That’s my line. I’m way too good for you.” Arthur’s mind instantly tacked on ‘and that’s why I turned you down’ to Merlin’s words.

“Not too good to turn on the oven and help me feed our friends.”

“Knock yourself out. I’m gonna go shower. Besides, I don’t think you have enough food. Do you know how much Gwaine eats?”

By the time Merlin had showered, having deliberately taken his sweet time, and pulled on jeans and hunted down a clean shirt and attempted to do something, anything with his hair, the mouth-watering scent of pizza enticed him back to the kitchen. Arthur had apparently been busy, a stack of oven pizzas out of their boxes sat on the counter waiting to be cooked, bowls of crisps and pretzels on the table and a bunch of dips open on the counter. With the hunger of one denied breakfast by an overbearing flatmate, Merlin fell on the snacks, stuffing a handful of pretzels into his mouth.

“Oi!”

“I’ve not had breakfast. I can eat them now, or I can eat them later, but either way, I’m eating these.”

The doorbell ensured Arthur’s response was cut off and Merlin grabbed the bowl of crisps as he headed for the door.

“Gwaine and Mithian are here,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food, Gwaine’s eyes lighting up at all the food.

“Hey.” It was the first time Merlin had seen Mithian out of her work clothes and she looked so different, much more relaxed and comfortable, softer than she did in her elegant and tailored workwear, though her phone was in the hand not currently held by Gwaine.

“He got you cooking for him?” Mithian asked as her boyfriend dug into the pretzels, utterly unrepentant when Arthur tried to chase him away, snatching an apple as he danced away, crunching into it happily.

“He won’t help at all, selfish bugger,” Arthur complained.

“I do like you, Merlin,” Mithian chuckled. “You’re good for him. He has to learn he’s not the King of the castle.”

“He’s a bit of a slow learner.

“Shut up,” Arthur groused as he pulled the first pizza from the oven, clearing a space for it to cool.

“See, you see! Such disrespect, and all I’m trying to do is teach him.” Mithian laughed at Arthur’s attempts to quiet his flatmate. Apparently feeling magnanimous, Merlin peeled the cellophane from the next pizza and slid it onto a tray and into the oven.

Leon, Elyan and Percy were the next to arrive, Elyan switching the TV on, the men huddling around the TV to watch the last of the pre-game chatter.

“Pitiful, isn’t it?”

Merlin whirled towards the new voice, surprised by the woman that stood behind him.

She was beautiful, statuesque with the poise and grace of a dancer, raven hair falling to her hips in waves, pale skin flawless and green eyes warm and assessing as she smiled at Merlin.

“Morgana,” she offered her hand for Merlin to shake, “Arthur’s sister.”

“You’ve got a sister? I’ve lived here over a month and half, and I only just learn you have a sister?!”

“Step-sister,” Arthur stressed, scowling. “My father was married to her mother for a New York minute. But for some reason, I can’t seem to get rid of her.” Turning to Morgana he asked, “You let yourself in again? That key is for emergencies.”

“It was an emergency. Nobody answered the damn door, all too busy staring at washed up players yapping on about how important the game is and how hungry the players are for the win, yadda yadda. And why would you want to get rid of me?” Morgana’s smile was dazzling as she stole Arthur’s beer, finishing it off in seconds.

Leaning close to Merlin conspiratorially, “He likes to pretend I don’t exist. It’s because he’s threatened by me. I systematically kicked his ass for years and it embarrasses him, poor boy.”

“Never happened,” Arthur denied. “Never. Happened.”

“His amnesia really is upsetting for the whole family, it really is.” Morgana shook her head sadly and sighed.

“Right now I’m forgetting why I invited you today.”

“Like you could keep me away, loser. Where’s Gwen?”

“The DuLac’s have yet to arrive.”

“We’re right here.” Lance stood in the doorway, a woman at his side, that looked so familiar to Merlin but he couldn’t place her cheery smile and dishevelled hair.

“Have we met before?” Merlin asked her.

Gwen smile widened but she didn’t say a word, instead taking Merlin’s outstretched hand and tugging him gently to the kitchen, pointing out the window to the flat opposite in the next block.

“That’s Lance and I’s kitchen. I’ve seen you a few times washing up. You kinda stare out into space.” She took in Merlin’s horrified expression and rushed to continue. “Not in a bad way or you know, stalker-y but you know, we all do it and it’s fine I just figure that’s why you recognise me and I’m gonna shut up now.”

“Good choice, sweetheart.” Lance dropped a kiss onto his wife’s head, grabbed a slice of pizza, hissing as the crust burnt his hand, and joined the guys around the TV.

“So, hi!” Gwen said brightly, reaching her hand out. “Let me try doing this properly. I’m Gwen DuLac, I’m a jeweller, I’m Lance’s wife and I live just there.”

“Merlin. I’m a bio-chemist, I’m single and I live here and I stare into other people’s homes while I curse the pillock who I swore blind I would not pick up after when I moved in.”

“You taking my name in vain?” Arthur yelled over the noise of the TV.

“How strange that you hear the word pillock and instantly know I’m talking about you.”

Morgana’s laugh cut through the chatter and she smacked her brother’s head, warning him not to ‘run this one off’.

“So,” Merlin asked as he got Gwen a drink. “How’d you get into jewellery making?”

“Oh, family trade I guess. Well, sort of. My dad’s a blacksmith and farrier, so he taught me everything about metals and that when I was little and it’s so fascinating. I took metallurgy at university and just,” she shrugged, accepting the beer Merlin held out, “I just love making things with my own hands and knowing they’ll last. Making something beautiful that becomes more than what it is.”

“How so?”

“Like,” she bit her lip as she decided upon an example, “like wedding rings. They become more than just silver or gold or diamonds, they become a symbol of something, they become the symbol of the love they represent. Or a necklace can show a parent’s love or pride in their child. A family’s legacy can be wrapped up in a brooch handed from mother to daughter for generations. I get to be a part of that, create something that can become a part of someone’s family.” Blushing, Gwen looked away, embarrassed at her impassioned speech, fingers fiddling with her own wedding rings as she apologised.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s great you love what you do. You make your rings?”

“The wedding band, yeah but Lance made my engagement ring. Wanted it to be a surprise, got one of my friends to show him what to do and how to do it. Even did the engraving too.” Merlin tamped down a flare of jealousy at the obvious love the pair shared as Gwen gazed at her husband, Lance seeming to feel her stare, turning and flashing a smile at his wife, before turning his attention back to the TV.

“You guys are really lucky,” Merlin offered.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Morgana interrupted. “Those two are fated.”

“Not this again. Love takes work, Morgana.” Gwen rolled her eyes, as opened the fridge, shifting stuff around as she looked for something a little more healthy than the grease-fest that Arthur had laid out, her triumph evident as she pulled out a bag of carrots and a head of celery that Merlin was a little dubious of, age-wise. Appropriating the dip from the counter, she placed her prizes on the table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for the others to join her.

“Come on, Gwen,” Morgana argued, dropping into the chair next to Gwen. “Lance and Gwen? It’s destined!”

“It’s Gwendolyn, which you well know, not Guinevere.”

“Only because dad couldn’t spell it.” Elyan nudged his sister’s chair aside to reach the pizza, lifting it, tray and all and carting the whole thing away, joining his friends in yelling in joy as England scored, Merlin rolling his eyes at the noise.

“See, your soul know-”

“So, Merlin,” Gwen kicked out the chair opposite with a smile, Mithian pushing Merlin into it before seating herself on his other side, her jumper riding up as she sat, revealing a flash of a large purpling bruise on her hip before she yanked her top down, Merlin about to ask about it when Gwen continued “bio-chem; you must work under Gaius.”

“You know Pendragon Industries?”

“I used to temp there sometimes when I was setting up my jewellery line. Worked with Gaius a good few times.”

“Gaius is my uncle but I don’t really work with him all that much. Doctor Kilgarrah is my direct-”

"You work for Kilgarrah?" Morgana looked impressed as she stabbed a carrot into the chive dip.

"Ye-yeah?"

"Well, if you've gone this long and not been fired or killed the old dragon, then guess you can handle those idiots."

Merlin rose an eyebrow at her, nodding in agreement. "How long has he worked down there?"

"Forever, I think," Morgana answered. "You seen the photos in his office? He looks exactly the same in them all. I think his NI number is like AA 000001A."

“My dad can’t remember the guy ever not being ancient, even long before PI got started,” Mithian chimed in, removing the next pizza from the oven, hissing as she slid it over onto a cool tray and put another one onto the hot tray and into the oven, setting the timer, shaking one hand before inspecting her singed fingertips. Grabbing a plate she stole a few slices, putting them on the table, Merlin falling on them with obvious delight.

“And have you heard the way he talks about the war?” Gwen asked. “He used to go on and on about it when I’d temp for him in labs. Utterly incomprehensible handwriting,” she complained.” “He does that all the time. The war thing, not the handwriting, which I can’t make heads or tails of. He’s gotta be easily 90 years old.” Merlin reached out to snag a beer from the counter. “No, I don’t mean World War Two, I mean the Great War. He talks about it like he was there, like he, I don’t know, fought in it.”

“But…that’s not possible,” Merlin countered. “He’d have to be, what? Over a hundred?” Taking a swig of his drink, he mulled over the thought. “Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Morgana shrugged, the move destabilizing the dip on the carrot she was eating, splatting onto the table, a little splattering onto her shirt.

“Damn.” Morgana stood up, and stripped her sweater up over her head revealing her lace bra, Gwaine’s whistle of appreciation loud.

“You ever want to see my breasts again, Gwaine, you turn your eyes right back to that TV screen and you focus on those sweaty men.” At Mithian’s rebuke, Gwaine smiled and turned back to the TV, Arthur slapping him across the back of the head.

“What is wrong with you? That’s my sister and my best friend.”

“Brace yourself Gwaine,” Morgana called out, “you’re about to get the ‘if you hurt either of those women’ speech.”

Scowling, Arthur raised his middle finger at the group in the kitchen, much to Mithian’s laughter.

“I’m going to grab a shirt,” Morgana strode into Arthur’s room, the sound of his drawers opening before she found something that met her standards.

“Here, lemme help,” Gwen took Morgana’s top from her as she pulled one of Arthur’s sweaters over her head, positively swimming in it. A quick rummage under the sink found some clean sponges and hand-wash fabric soap, Gwen setting to her task with gusto.

“Gwen, I can do it,” Morgana laughed, Gwen batting her away with ease.

“Knowing you, you’d manage to make this top purple, despite it starting out white. Just sit down and shush.”

“You’re such a mum,” Morgana dropped into her seat, grinning at her friend’s exasperation.

“Yeah, that’s what I want, for the conversation to turn to babies again.” Turning to Merlin, she filled him in on what was obviously a long-standing conversational point.

“Lance and I got married almost five years ago and since then it’s been nothing but ‘when’s the baby due?’ or ‘feeling broody yet?’ or my aunt’s current favourite, ‘you’re not getting any younger, you know’.” Rolling her eyes, Gwen rinsed the fabric in her hands, holding it up to determine her progress before scrubbing at it again.

“We want kids, of course we do, but just not now. We’ll get there when we’re ready. Nothing worse than wishing a child onto parents that aren’t ready for it yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great when you make that decision,” Merlin said diplomatically, receiving a grateful look over Gwen’s shoulder.

The moment was broken by Gwaine yelling if the pizza was ready, the guys in the living room getting restless as half-time approached. Looking right at the half pizza cooling on the stovetop, Morgana lied through her teeth.

“Another ten minutes, you pigs.” As they chorused their disappointment, she was unsympathetic. “You’ll live, you got crisps for crying out loud.”

“But Percy ate them all,” Leon complained, the punch that Percy thumped him with audible even over the TV.

“I did not! Gwaine helped.”

“Cheers mate.”

“And you want to set me up with a man of my own,” Merlin shook his finger at Mithian, “when this is a cross-section of the ones at your disposal.”

“She threatening you with that too, huh?” Morgana enquired. “Don’t trust her. Or Gwen. The last guy she set me up with was a complete snake-in-the-grass. What was his name again?”

“Agravaine,” Mithian supplied.

“Oh god, that was it. Creepy, oily, slithering-”

“I get it!” Gwen flicked soapy water at Morgana. “I didn’t know. He seemed so nice.”

“Right up until he broke into my home.”

“He broke into your home?” Merlin was horrified.

“I wasn’t in it at the time. Arthur was though. So,” Morgana smirked, “he learnt a valuable lesson. I’m happy being single. Honestly. Besides, most of the men I’ve met lately have been complete children.”

“Hey!” Merlin objected.

“It’s true,” Morgana protested. “No matter how noble,” she gestured to Lance, “strong,” this time to Percy, “or smart and lovely,” Merlin huffed and rolled his eyes, “there is no such thing as a man anymore, just tall boys.” This time she pointed directly at Arthur and Gwaine, the two locked in a ridiculous embrace as they leapt up and down cheering for the small figure clutching the ball and running valiantly towards the try line, the screen all but obscured behind the group.

“They’re ludicrous, aren’t they,” Gwen agreed, draping Morgana’s damp sweater over the back of Merlin’s chair as she watched her husband lose himself in the game. “Makes them happy I suppose.”

“But aren’t you having dinner with Cenred King next week? I’m sure father mentioned something about it,” Mithian asked, as the oven’s timer clicked on just as half-time began, the lads piling into the kitchen, Arthur pulling the pizza out and putting the last one in, Percy getting fresh beers for everyone. Under his wife’s keen observation, Lance eschewed another slice of pizza, instead taking the carrot his wife offered and tucked into the dip.

“It’s not a healthier option if you load that much dip on it, Lancelot,” she grumbled but it wasn’t enough to stop him, though Lance looked faintly contrite.

“That has nothing to do with romance, that is a business deal. One that should be quite profitable.”

“You’re not actually going to go are you?” Arthur sounded horrified at the thought. Cenred had been a few years above him at Eton but he’d heard the stories, all the boys had; Cenred was a slimy parasite, using his good looks and dubious charms to win over any in his path and now he’d taken over his father’s company, he’d traded his gang of schoolyard thugs for an army of lawyers that protected him from all and sundry. And not necessarily via legal means.

"Of course I'm going to go; he could be a good contact. A useful one at the very least. I'm going into it with open-"

"Legs?" Arthur asked, getting smacked for his trouble.

"Mind. You disgusting Neanderthal."

Merlin liked Arthur's sister; she was direct and to the point, her intelligence clear and, if he were honest, he loved watching how she put Arthur in his place, taking zero crap from him. He’d have to take pointers. As though she could feel his gaze, Morgana's eyes met Merlin's with a wink.

The blush that reddened Merlin's cheeks was mortifying, worse still the soft chortle that followed, gentle enough to go unnoticed by the loud group elbowing each other out of the way of pizza and ice and Gwaine hunting through the fridge for ‘something sweet’.

"You always blush this much?"

“What? No?”

“That an answer or a question?”

“Answer, definitely.”

“Good. Otherwise this lot,” she winced as an errant elbow caught her between the shoulder-blades, a muffled sorry called out from the scrum, “will eat you alive.”

“Nah, not without condiments,” disagreed Merlin.

“Definitely keeping you then,” Gwen decided, surrendering her seat to her husband before plopping back onto his lap.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” echoed the rest of the kitchen.

Merlin smiled down at the table, pleased.

*
By late-October the weather finally turned to the crisp air of autumn, filling Arthur's lungs as he ran his final lap of the park, thighs burning as he kicked up his pace, the slap slap slap of his steps the only sound breaking the hushed birdsong as the sun rose.

Arthur revelled in being outside. As much as he enjoyed his job, most of the time, he hated the artificial air and lights, loathed the restricting ties and sensible shoes, removing both whenever he could get away with it. Left to his own devices, had his last name not been Pendragon, he often thought he'd have worked outside; a forest ranger or a farmer. Not that he'd admit that out loud, for fear his friends would laugh themselves sick. Now he’d met Merlin though, he thought he could do it, so long as he got to take Merlin with him. Have him do all the work.

But in the mornings, alone with his thoughts and the joy of movement, the office was a world away. Instead Arthur once more found his mind drifting to his roommate. Arthur felt he’d adapted well enough, growing used to the sounds of Merlin stumbling around the kitchen in the morning, the dreadful TV shows he’d watch in the evenings, wrestling Arthur for the remote and bragging rights. Used to the weird food that had appeared in the fridge and on plates placed in front of him. He was still sure the meat in the stew last week hadn’t been pork regardless of what Merlin said.

Heading out the gate of the park and toward home, Arthur slowed his pace, still contemplating his new friend. Over the past few weeks he’d grudgingly have to admit that the idiot wasn’t quite so stupid as he looked, and he sort of respected the way he’d stand up to Arthur, to anyone, to fight his corner. Though bravery and stupidity did look pretty damn similar in certain lights. Still, an undeniable fact was that it’d been almost two months and Merlin had survived toiling under the wrath of Kilgarrah, something Arthur thought he’d never live to see. All in all, given how dire he thought the situation was going to be when his father had foisted Merlin on him, it had worked out pretty well, Merlin slotting into his life perfectly.

“Do you think tin-hats are the new hair?”

Arthur stood in the doorway able only to blink in the face of the bizarre greeting, staring at where Merlin had his head buried in a small book.

Forget everything he’d thought, he was very much not, in fact, used to Merlin.

“What?” Closing the front door, Arthur tossed his keys in the bowl and made his way to the kitchen, stripping his sweat-heavy shirt over his head, grimacing at the feel of cool sweat smearing over his face. When he’d dumped the offending garment into the washing machine he walked back into the living room to be enlightened.

“Tonsure,” Arthur corrected.

“Yeah, that. One theory is that it allowed God to see inside their minds. They believed that God was this all powerful being, created everything, but thought hair was gonna block him reading their thoughts?”

Arthur snorted, leaning over the couch and wresting the slim volume from Merlin’s surprised grip with ease, flipping back to the foreword.

“Museum of Modern Art. What are you reading? And why?”

“The Institute’s gala is gonna be there, so Mithian gave it to me,” Merlin mumbled, kneeling up on the sofa to snatch the booklet back, expression guarded, splotches of pink signalling his embarrassment; he was anxious, worried of being the country bumpkin in the big city surrounded by alien culture. Arthur felt his chest tighten with love for Mithian and her desire to ensure Merlin could get himself onto an equal footing with those around him at the company fundraiser. He should have thought of it himself, Merlin was his flatmate and friend.

“So, you’re theory is that hair is to God as tin-hats are to aliens, and/or satellites and/or mind-readers,” Arthur asked to lighten the mood, and detract from Merlin’s obvious discomfort.

“You sound unconvinced, what can I do to win you to my side of the argument?” Merlin asked, stretching that little bit further with that long body to liberate the booklet from Arthur’s hold, crowing with delight at his success, unwitting to Arthur having been distracted by the curve of his spine, the way he’d bitten his bottom lip as he stretched just that little bit further to grab the book back.

‘That’s the problem,’ thought Arthur, ‘I don’t have to think about it at all. You could win me to your side with a kiss.’

“Hmmm, I’ll have to think,” rthur dropped himself over the back of the sofa, wedging Merlin into a tiny space between Arthur’s feet and the sofa-arm.

“You do that. I’ll just be here, getting cultured. While you lie there, marinating in your own sweat, like the disgusting thing you are.”

*
Merlin heard back from Camelot Children’s Home and, after several conversations with the supervising staff, completed all his paperwork, along with heading to the local police station for his full CRB check to be carried out. Until it came back clear, which he knew it would, he wasn’t able to participate with the kids, but over the next two weeks while they all waited, he attended a few daytime prep meetings to familiarise himself with the layout of the buildings and grounds, meet some other volunteers and learn the ropes while the kids were at school, or out of grounds, and each time he got the bus back to work after a lunch break spent at CCH, Merlin couldn’t fight the smile that stretched his lips wide.

He was finding his place here in the city. It’d taken him a few weeks, and, strangely, the intervention of the most unlikely of people but he was settling in. He’d made friends with a wonderful group of people, warm and supportive individuals that had welcomed him with open arms.

Now, with at least one evening or weekend day scheduled to be spent at CCH, he felt that he was really starting to feel that Camelot was home.

That he fit there in a way he never had in his home town.

Even Kilgarrah roaring at him for being five minutes late due to a street diversion wasn’t enough to dampen Merlin’s spirits that afternoon, the smile remaining on his face the rest of the day and even Arthur asking him if he’d accidentally been inhaling chemical fumes and tuned himself into a complete dunce wasn’t enough to quell it.
*
The morning started like any other had over the previous weeks, Merlin half-stuck under his bed as he hunted down his other shoe, Arthur grumbling complaints from the kitchen, rolling his eyes when Merlin came out triumphant, mismatched socks and all.

“Some of us have a reputation to uphold.”

“Womanising booze-hound?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ohhhh, you mean a working reputation.”

“Whilst the company might run perfectly well without you, Merlin – in fact probably a darn sight more smoothly – things tend to go pear-shaped if I’m not there.”

“And your point is?” Merlin asked as he pulled on his trainers.

“That we need to leave. I am ready. Thus, I am going downstairs. If you are not down at the car in five minutes, you can walk to work.”

“Hey! It’s raining and it’s November!” Merlin protested.

The snick of the door closing behind Arthur was the only answer Merlin got and, suspecting Arthur was utterly serious, he grabbed his bag, stuffed his coat into it, grabbed a couple apples off the side and ran out the door, in time to hear the lift doors closing.

“Shit!” Merlin eyed the doors to the stairs, and then the laces of his shoes that were undone. He’d never survive running down the stairs without having to tie his shoes. He decided on viciously stabbing the lift call button and then kneeling to tie the laces – whichever came first, lift or laces, he’d take.

He was only halfway through lacing the second shoe when the lift returned for him and he kicked his bag into the carriage, shuffling awkwardly in after it and pressing the button for the garage, focusing on finishing knotting his shoe. He looked up in concern when the lift slowed. The last thing he needed was the bloody thing to breakdown and Arthur leave without him, but it seemed the lift had been called for the floor three below Arthur’s, and opened to reveal very familiar shoes.

"Uncle Gaius?"

Startled, the older man twirled round, eyes wide as he caught sight of Merlin in the lift, looking for all the world like he’d been caught in the middle of a bank robbery.

"What are you doing here so early?" Merlin asked, frowning as he took in Gaius' clothing; the rumpled brown suit the same as his uncle had worn the day previous. While Gaius wasn't a man that cared about sartorial elegance, Merlin had never seen him wear the same suit two days running. Nor to wear one so poorly pressed.

"I...I was passing by, I know you-"

"Sweetheart." A woman's voice called down the hall, and Gaius' face fell.

"Sweetheart, you left your- Oh, hello." A small hand was thrust out to Merlin. "You must be Merlin, the nephew. I recognise you from the pictures he shows me; he speaks so highly of you. I'm Alice. "

She was a small woman, one that Merlin’s mother would have politely described as ‘of a certain age’ though her long, plaited hair held little grey. She had kind blue eyes and a warm expression, seemingly amused at Gaius’ discomfort.

“Er, hello,” Merlin shook her hand out of reflex, eyes darting to his uncle but finding no help there; Gaius had gone an interesting shade of puce and appeared to have frozen in place with an expression as though he’d rather be battling a manticore than standing in the lift.

“He’s not told you a thing about me, has he?” She chuckled when she caught sight of Gaius’ pained expression as he watched two halves of his world collide. “Oh calm down, my sweet, I’m only teasing.”

“Yes,” Gaius drawled, “you always were second to none at that.”

“I only worked with what you gave me.” Her smile was so open, so fond that Merlin couldn’t help echoing it, glad to see his uncle so cared for.

“You ought to come down sometime Merlin, I could tell you stories about this one that would curl your hair and turn it grey. Always so serious, so studious. Now, at least. But I have stories.”

“I look forward to hearing them,” Merlin waggled his eyebrows at Alice, causing her to smile again.

“Carry on, boys, I mustn’t hold you up.” So saying, she leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Gaius’ cheek, taking time to neaten his collar and straighten his tie.

“Can’t have the underlings talking, can we?” She winked at Merlin, and with a wave, disappeared back down the hall, the lift door closing at the sound of her key in the lock.

Both men stood in silence as the lift restarted its descent.

“So, Alice.” Merlin began.

“Yes, Alice. She's an old friend. Well, more than a friend, if truth be told.”

“I’d picked up on that for myself.”

“We were once engaged to be married.”

“When was this?! Mum never mentioned it!”

“More years ago than I care to remember. I had just gotten my first PhD when we met. It was like finding a kindred spirit, we had so much in common. Our love of science and of healing. Our views of the world.”

“She’s a doctor?”

“She was.” Gaius’ gaze was unfocused as he recalled a time long ago.

“I was just a novice, but Alice's mind, her natural ability, her way with people... It was wonderful to behold, Merlin. She saved a great many lives.”

Merlin didn’t really like his uncle’s tone, or the tightness around his eyes, the way his hand tightened on the box Alice had given him. “So what happened?” He asked, dreading the answer.

“There was an accident in one of her labs. An assistant was killed. Overnight her world was turned upside-down. It was later found to have been deliberate sabotage but the world didn’t care. They had their scapegoat.”

Gaius fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve as he studied the numbers counting down the floors.

“She left. Left the profession. Left Camelot. Left England. Left me. But time passes and wounds heal. When I heard she’d returned, well, I couldn’t not see her. I loved her. I still do.”

“Should I be planning a wedding?” Merlin asked to lighten the mood, unsurprised by the smack to his head, glad to see his uncle’s lips twitch as he suppressed a smile.

The doors sliding open robbed Gaius of his witness-free position and so he merely turned silently to his nephew, his disapproval writ large across his face, one eyebrow raised to the heavens.

"Hey, Arthur,” Merlin waved a hand to get Arthur’s attention where he was leaning against his car. So, Gaius was just driving by -" Gaius' hand was a mere blur as he smacked Merlin across the back of his head.

“Does she know how you treat me? There’s her thinking you’re the loving uncle, and here you are slap- ow!”

“And don’t think I don’t see you smirking Arthur.”

At Gaius’ words Arthur snapped to attention, smile fading until he caught Merlin’s eye and had to turn away. He had gathered the gist of what was happening and whilst he never wanted to think of ‘Gaius’ and ‘girlfriend’ in the same sentence, it was amusing to see the normally unflappable man reduced to a boy with a crush. He was half convinced he could see the beginnings of a blush.

Love made fools of them all, he thought as he turned to open the car, Merlin tripping over his feet to get away from his uncle’s ire.

*
Merlin was pretty certain that watching Leon, Gwaine and Arthur debate over what movie they were going to watch that night was far more entertaining than whatever film they chose and he, Mithian and Morgana were all lounging on the sofa, sharing a big bag of crisps and placing bets on who was going to win. Morgana had suggested that they just pick a movie themselves and start it, see how long it took the others to realise that they’d lost, but so far her fellow audience members were having too much fun watching their friends.

The only thing funnier than watching Leon’s impressions of nearly every character in The Princess Bride in his attempt to have it played, was Arthur’s impassioned argument for back-to-back Star Trek reboot films. So far Gwaine had yet to decide on a film himself, but threw out a new one every time, all revolving around football. So far he’d suggested ‘Erik’, ‘Fever Pitch’ and ‘Victory’, none of which Arthur had but that didn’t seem to be deterring Gwaine, though he seemed to spend most of the time winking at Mithian and tossing his hair like he was in a L’Oreal commercial.

Merlin turned to Morgana who was, by the looks of things, planning on throwing crisps at the entertainment which was, to Merlin, an utter waste of Doritos.

“I think I’m coming around to your plan,” he confessed when Arthur repeated himself for the hundredth time about how Kirk was utterly superior to Wesley, which was utter bollocks. Next to him, Mithian nodded, snagging the Doritos from Morgana, the bag tipping as it passed over Merlin’s lap, dumping crumbs and powder on his lap.

“That’s it, Mithian doesn’t get a vote on what he watch,” he declared, Mithian only shrugging and crunching down on a crisp, turning her attention back to Gwaine who waggled his eyebrows at her in ridiculous fashion.

It was adorable really, how smitten the two were with each other – over the weeks Merlin had learnt more and more about Mithian and he’d found her to be far more than just beautiful and poised, but also possessed a razor-sharp wit, incredible intelligence and an absolute devotion to her friends and family that only complimented Gwaine’s own fierce protectiveness of those he loved, even if his way of showing it was to start a bar brawl when a friend was insulted. Somehow they just worked together, Mithian softening Gwaine’s edges in a way Merlin has never seen anyone else accomplish, and Gwaine brought absurdity and laughter into Mithian’s life, reawakening, according to Arthur, the sillier side of her that burped and told terrible fart jokes and went to pubs instead of bars, played darts instead of chess with her father. Merlin knew she was starting to take over her father’s company, an eye-wateringly difficult task given Nemeth Corp’s size and influence, and he could only hope that having Gwaine, having that outlet to be just any other 30 year old having a good time would be beneficial to her. She’d been late to arrive that night and Arthur had expressed shock for about twenty minutes, not shutting up about how Mithian was never late, not ever. That you could set a watch by her. After a few minutes, during which she took the teasing well, Mithian started to get flustered and Merlin quickly turned the conversation to other topics, not missing Mithian’s grateful nod.

She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself tonight. For the first time in a while, her mobile was silent, though it still sat in her lap. Merlin couldn’t remember the last time they’d all gone out or she’d come round and her phone hadn’t been ringing or buzzing with new messages or emails. She seemed to have noted the difference too, her face seemed more relaxed, the frown that had seemed near permanent missing from her forehead, and though she checked her phone often, she seemed more and more content as the evening had gone on, the group getting through dinner without her having to step away.

Tuning back into what Morgana was saying, Merlin caught the tail end of her questions, “So drama, horror, action or comedy?”

“I vote drama or action,” he replied, holding his hand out to Mithian to request some crisps be deposited into his hand, and not his lap; this decision making business was tough, he needed sustenance.

“What about Marvel Marathon?” Morgana asked, pointing to the shelf above the TV where Merlin’s meagre collection of DVDs sat, their cases tatty and dog-eared.

“You want a little Avengers action, huh?” Merlin asked, fully understanding.

“If Chris Evans wanted a little action, I’d be okay with that,” Morgana revealed.

Merlin couldn’t help but wholeheartedly agree. “Me too.”

“Me three,” Mithian pretended to fan herself with her hand while continuing to stuff crisps into her mouth in an incredibly unladylike fashion.

“And Sebastian Stan?”

“We starting at Iron Man and working our way through or picking and choosing?” Morgana asked.

“And do we have enough snacks to last,” Merlin asked as Mithian crinkled up the empty Doritos bag in one hand.

“I brought about five boxes of microwave popcorn and a whole bunch of other snacks because Gwaine eats like a horse and I wasn’t sure if Percy would be coming or not.” Morgana slid off the sofa and past the oblivious men still debating what to watch, reaching on her tiptoes to bring down the collection, quickly selecting a DVD and popping it into the player, while Merlin headed to the kitchen to start off a couple bag of popcorn and rustle up some more crisps. THnkfuly, Gwaine, Arthur and Leon were standing off-centre of the room, and so the trio on the sofa were able to watch their movie undisturbed, save for their companion’s increasingly rambling arguments as to whose movie was better.

It wasn’t until on-screen Steve was facing down the moron from the movie theatre that Arthur noticed that the little group were no longer the focus of those on the sofa, and his eyes quickly darted to the screen, taking in Bucky’s appearance and scowling.

“This, again?” He whined, dragging his feet over to his chair, looking for all the world like a chastised boy as he slumped down into it.

“Yes, this again. We decided.” Morgana finally got her chance to through something at Arthur, peppering him with popcorn.

“It’s boring. I don’t know why it’s so important to you.”

“Just because your father never allowed comics in the house,” shushed Morgana.

“The love story between Bucky and Steve is timeless. Literally.” Gwaine slumped onto the sofa arm, draping himself over Mithian who was glued to the screen but still managed to slap his hand away from her popcorn. Defeated, Leon dropped to the floor in front of Morgana, leaning back against her legs, much to her annoyance, until she shifted to sit cross-legged and he could lean against the sofa.

“I just don’t see the point,” Arthur complained over Bucky and Steve’s goodbye at the Fair.

“Friendship, love, honour,” Merlin ticked off, Leon taking over with, “Hope, pride, the power of symbols.”

“The destructive quality of the lust for power,” Morgana finished, passing her popcorn to Leon in reward for his understanding.

“It acts like America won the war alo-”

“Oh shut up and just eat this,” Merlin plucked a bag of popped but unopened popcorn off the coffee table and chucked it at Arthur, several kernels falling from the slight opening, Gwaine happily intercepting the bag, ripping it open with undisguised glee.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

“Snooze you lose.”

“This is my house.”

“And this is my popcorn.”

“Shut up!” Morgana, Mithian, Merlin and Leon all snapped at them, Gwaine looking faintly contrite between mouthfuls of popcorn, whispering “sorry” around masticated kernels. Arthur just huffed and slid down in his seat, avidly watching the film as Steve’s transformation began, Merlin smirking at how absorbed he was as post-serum Steve emerged from the chamber. Arthur had never watched it long enough to get to this point in the film before, always complaining and leaving the room, so it was all new to him. Merlin was torn between teasing him and not drawing attention to it, letting him have his peace. Turning back to the screen, Merlin lost himself in the film, leaving Arthur to discover it for himself.

As always Merlin was devastated by Bucky’s death, watching Steve sit in the last place he’d been happy with his best friend, the bar destroyed by bombing, hoping to die because maybe a bomb was the only thing that would do it, unable to even get drunk in his grief and forget for just a second, forget that his best friend, the other half of his soul was dead and he hadn’t even a body to honour with a funeral. His best friend had followed him into battle, not because he was Captain America but because he was Steve.

It always made him think of Will. How Will had always protected him on the school yard. Had always stood up to bullies even when they were bigger than him. How he’d protected Merlin and followed Merlin, brothers in all but blood. He’d been able to get drunk when Will had died. Had tried to stay drunk for about a week but his mother had intervened. He’d wanted to die. He’d wanted to kill. He’d wanted to be with Will, whether that meant drawing breath or not.

This was why he loved this film. Because it made him feel like the tumult of emotions he’d felt when Will had died wasn’t over-the-top, wasn’t him being overwrought. That it was normal to have been utterly and completely destroyed by the loss of one of the most important people in his world. Merlin hadn’t had a lot of friends in Ealdor, not really, and after Will’s death it had seemed so cold and remote a place. Merlin loved Steve Rogers not because Chris Evans was incredibly attractive, but because he felt connected to him. That was why the film was so important to him.

When the film ended, Merlin snuck a look at Arthur, his friend riveted to the screen as the end-credits scene played.

“You’ve got the Avengers, right?” He asked as the menu popped up.

“Yup,” Merlin answered, “and Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Depending on how well you lot can stay awake, we got time for both.”

“So, Princess, you converted?” Gwaine asked, on his way to the kitchen to put more popcorn on before they started watching the next film.

“It’s not as stupid as I expected.”

“Hmmhmmm.”

“What hmmhmm?” The frown reappeared on Arthur’s face much to Merlin’s dismay as Morgana teased him. “You can admit you liked it, Arthur. Your father isn’t going to barge in and-”

“Fine. I liked it. Are you happy now, you harpy?”

“I’m ecstatic.” Morgana’s grin was huge, but she did chuck Arthur the bag of pretzels that Leon dumped on her lap to appease him.

Hours later, when Avengers Assemble had finished, and they were part way through the Captain America sequel, and Leon, Morgana and Gwaine had fallen asleep, Arthur valiantly fighting against it, head nodding and jerking back up, determined to stay awake as The Winter Soldier fought Steve on the highway, Mithian reached past Merlin for the bowl of popcorn, and her sleeve rode up her arm, revealing a nasty burn, livid and angry against her pale skin.

“God, Mithian, that looks painful.”

His friend seemed taken aback, unsure until she followed his eye-line and noticed the burn.

“Oh that. I was stupid and forgot to use a tea towel to lift a saucepan with a metal handle, burnt my hand, dropped the pan and stupidly reached to stop it falling.” She smiled, warm and almost convincing. “I failed, clearly.”

“Sounds like something I would do,” Merlin joked, curious and somehow not at all convinced that Mithian was telling him the truth; he may not have known her long but she was the personification of grace and poise. He’d never so much known her to drop so much as a ‘t’ let alone a pan.

“I’m not that bad, thank you so very much.” Mithian laughed, but Merlin didn’t miss how quickly she pulled her sleeve over the mark. “Now hand over that popcorn or I’ll drop a pan of hot soup on you!”
*
“I think there is more to it than that, something we don’t know.” Merlin argued the next morning as Arthur queued up the DVD to where he’d fallen asleep, ignoring Merlin’s concern.

“What you don’t know about Mithian, and life in general, would take entire warehouses to hold.”

“I’m being serious Arthur, I think something’s wrong. She seemed so distracted recently and I can’t quite-”

“She’s got a lot going on Merlin; her father Rodor is easing into retirement, she’s taking on more responsibility, the Board is pissed that a woman is becoming CEO, constant whispers of nepotism. I understand what she’s going though, Merlin, and its a lot.”

“I still-”

“You think we should poke about in my closest friend’s life because you have a funny feeling.”

Merlin wasn’t able to answer, grimacing at the idea; when Arthur put it like that, it did sound over the top.

“Sometimes, Merlin, a hot pan is just a hot pan.”
*
"They'll love me," Merlin insisted as they got out the car in the near vacant lot.

"Dial back the expectations there, mate."

"What? What's not to love?" Merlin gestured at himself.

"These are kids who've had nothing but disappointment from pretty much every adult they've met. Now I'll admit you're barely adult," he dodged Merlin’s retaliatory punch.

"At best, they'll just ignore your idiot self." Arthur smirked.

"At worst?" Merlin asked, concern lacing his tone.

"You'll get open hostility. Pranks. Threats."

Their conversation, and progress across the lot, was cut short by the minibus that pulled up by the stairs, followed by the loud voices of children delighted to be free of school for the weekend and their thundering feet as they streamed from the bus and up the stairs. Slowly, Merlin and Arthur followed behind, hearing the cries of other volunteers for the kids to stow their stuff properly, bags in lockers and coats on hooks.

There were about a dozen boys and half a dozen girls swarming down the hall, shoving and shouting as they shed the trappings of school, many trading school bag for gym kit in their lockers before hurrying down the hall to the dining room, all bar a couple ignoring the men that’d entered, even Arthur.

While the kids got their snacks, the noise level decreased enough that Arthur and another volunteer, Mordred, could introduce Merlin to the group, and Arthur watched his friend’s shoulders sag as he received the expected response; the odd side-eye from some of the boys, a couple lookovers by the girls.

Merlin was tasked with handing out the fruit and cheese-strings and as Arthur had warned him, he wasn’t spoken to by a single kid, though he was openly glared at, the food in his hands snatched away with a grunt if he was lucky.

“Pretty Boy your boyfriend, Arthur?” One of the kids sneered. Gilli had hated Arthur from the moment he’d arrived, hostile at best and violent at worst. Arthur had been told the situation of Gilli’s removal from his home, and whilst he couldn’t fault the boy for his anger and desperation, he also refused to be pushed around and disrespected by a kid barely in his teens.

“Why, you jealous?”

“Nah, just asking if I needed to let him know he was too good for you.”

“He’s too good for me? How you figure that?”

“He’s got a pulse.”

“Funny guy. Eat your damn apple. Didn’t anyone tell you not to backchat to your coach? Huh? Think I’m gonna tell the team preceisely why they’ve got five extra laps of the park?”

“Fucker!”

“I’m sorry, what was that? You wanna do ten extra laps? Well, okay, if you want.”

Wisely, Gilli shut up. His friend Morgause, however, piped up.

“You do like him though, don’t ya? Cos you’re staring at him like you want his babies.”

“You know nothing about biology. You should really do your homework.”

“That’s not a no.”

*
After an hour spent letting their snacks go down and busying themselves with starting their homework, punctuated by much complaining from the kids, Arthur collected the ragtag footie team and herded them outside, leading them through some warm-ups and stretching yelling over their complaints to just ‘get on with it’.

As had been the case for the last couple weeks, a young girl stood at the side-lines, a thick purple cardigan wrapped snug around her. She was new to CCH, and from what Arthur could tell, she was adapting well to the hustle and bustle of the group home, but she was still very nervous and shy.

As always, Arthur had been given a quick rundown of the situation from which Freya had been removed; her mother had taken off, leaving her in care of her stepfather who'd taken a liking to the petite brunette. Arthur wasn't sure on all the details, didn’t want to be, but he saw how skittish the girl was, hadn't missed how she hunched in on herself, how she flinched and cowered when the other kids made too much noise. How she looked terrified when a large man got too close. For that reason Arthur had always made sure to keep a few paces away from her, always standing away from possible escape routes when talking to Freya so she could run away if necessary. But she always came to watch the others play football, sometimes even running up and down the field on the side-lines. Arthur didn't know if she liked football or just loved to be outside but he hoped to convince her to join in one day; she was fast, graceful like a dancer and nimble. Until she was ready though, Arthur just let her do her thing, content to see her enjoy herself. Normally she was absorbed in the happenings on the field, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the action but today she seemed distracted, splitting her attention between Arthur and Merlin who, along with two other volunteers, Mordred and Aglain, was taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather and had brought a troop of children outside to do their homework in the sunshine, taking up the picnic benches that littered the edges of the field.

Merlin’s smile was still bright as he walked among the tables, though most of the kids still ignored him. While the kids ran drills on the pitch, Arthur watched as Mordred called Merlin over, Merlin launching into what looked like a heated discussion of whatever the problem was, gesticulating wildly as he tried to explain how to work through the question. He seemed so alive, so happy to be imparting knowledge. Arthur’d never seen him in his element, never heard him waxing on about whatever it is down in the labs that he actually does and that Arthur refuses to acknowledge he doesn’t understand, but it’s beautiful to watch; Merlin looks luminous when the kid actually thanks him when Merlin had finished.

Arthur also notices that he’s not the only one staring at Merlin in awe. Mordred seems pretty enchanted too, but Merlin appeared oblivious, moving on to the next table, asking the kids if they needed help, getting ignored once again.

“You totally want him. In such a gay way.” Gilli’s voice was grating as he assumed a falsetto, mincing across the pitch towards Arthur.

“One, shut your mouth with that ignorance, and two, thank you for reminding me that you’d earned the team a good few laps of this field. You can lead them on ten laps.” The whole team groaned in unison, a couple of the closest shoving Gilli, a couple more threatening to get even.

“Move!”

When Arthur looked back, Merlin was deep in conversation with Aglain, Mordred leaning over a different table as Freya streaked past, keeping pace with the team as they made their way around the pitch, though she kept her distance, her cardigan flying out behind her. There was the hint of a smile on her pale face as she ran, the first Arthur had seen and he promised himself he’d do what he could to see it again.

*
“Uncle Gaius, can I ask you about something?”

Merlin heard his uncle’s sharp intake of breath, the creak of his armchair as the old man got himself situated. “Go ahead, my boy.”

Stomach twisting, feeling like he was betraying Mithian, betraying Arthur, Merlin bit his lip.

“There’s someone. A friend. And,” he sighed. Somehow talking about it, talking it out loud made it seem real, made it seem like it could really be true that someone was hurting Mithian, or even that she was hurting herself and Merlin’s vision blurred as tears threatened.

“They, uh, they’ve been really different the last few weeks, and uh, the other day they had a really bad burn and when I mentioned it they…”

“You think something, someone, is hurting them?”

“I’m concerned.”

“For this friend? The one you won’t tell me the name of?”

“Arthur is convinced I’m reading too far into it, but seeing those kids today, how some of them behave like my friend has done recently.”

“You’re sure there is more to the story, something they’re not admitting?”

“They aren’t the first injuries I’ve seen.”

“You think there’s abuse?”

“I know their boyfriend, I couldn’t imagine that he would do such a thing, and she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, I just…I didn’t believe the story behind the previous wound and I don’t believe them now and it feels like something isn’t right.”

“Can you think of why they’d lie?”

“Because for some reason they don’t want me to know the real story.”

“Be careful Merlin. You’ve a large heart and gentle soul but this is a difficult path to pick your way down. You don’t want to make accusations or upset the people involved if it turns out you are wrong.”

“Care for them. Give them a safe place to be when they are with you. Show them they’re cared for and they’ll come to you when they are ready.”

“You’re sure?”

“You’re a good friend, Merlin. Just let them know you are there.”
*
“We’re not seriously leaving now?” Merlin scratched at his head, yawning widely as he leant against the counter, trying in vain to wake up enough to operate the coffee machine, Arthur having failed to refill the damn jug. As per bloody usual.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“It’s seven in the morning. And we both have a day off.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It’s too early for this.”

“I’m taking that as a de facto win because it’s a pointless excuse. You wanted to Get dressed and get downstairs.”

“Why are we doing this?”

“Change of pace, and Mithian needs it.” Arthur pushed Merlin away from the countertop and toward his room, his sleepy flatmate barely putting up a fight as he was shoved onto his bed, thick corduroys and several jumpers dumped on his head.

“You better wake up by the time we get there; I’m not having your useless dead weight pulling my down.”

“Then play on someone else’s team.” Merlin’s voice was muffled until he spat out the cuff of his trousers.

“Can’t. Gwaine and Mithian are playing together, same with Gwen and Lance. Morgana bagged Elyan, leaving Percy and Leon to play on the last team.”

“So what you’re saying is that I am your only hope. I am, in fact, your Obi Wan Kenobi.”

“If anyone is Obi Wan, it’s me.”

“No, you’re more of a Jabba-”

“I am not fat!”

“I’ll fully understand if you don’t want me on your team anymore. I’ll just stay here.”

“Nice try. Get dressed.”

Leaving Merlin to dress, and closing the door behind himself to ensure he couldn’t be tempted to peek, Arthur busied himself with making toast and filling several thermoses with very strong coffee. If he so much as yawned once, Merlin would crow about it for days.

When his friend emerged from his room, boots trailing their laces, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, it stole Arthur’s breath. On a normal day Merlin was attractive, but somehow, wrapped in layers of clothing, still sleep-rumpled, there was a softness to him. A vulnerability that made Arthur’s chest clench and made him want to protect him from everything. Even flatmates that dragged him out for his own good. Watching Merlin’s hands wrap around the mug of disgustingly sweet coffee that Arthur had prepared, eyes closed, dark eyelashes unnaturally long against pillow-creased cheeks…for weeks, months even, Arthur had sublimated his desire for his flatmate, lust giving way to friendship, turning to fondness and now, dare he say it, towards something that felt a hell of a lot like love.

He ought to tell Mithian he was right; if this was love, then the feelings he’d had for Gwen were nothing in comparison.

“You can sleep once you’re in the car Merlin, but you aren’t falling asleep there. I am not carrying you down there.”

“Why not?” Merlin mumbled around a mouthful of toast, barely chewing before shovelling more inside and it had to be love, Arthur reasoned, because Merlin’s truly disgusting eating habits weren’t putting him off in the least.

“Because I say so. Come on.”

Merlin silently held out his now empty mug, waggling it hopefully.

“You can have more coffee on the way. If you have more you’ll be dying for a piss halfway there.”

“I will not, I’ve got a massive bladder. I can hold it.”

“I am not discussing your waterworks. Come on, grab your toast.” Dozily, Merlin wrapped the remaining pieces of toast in a sheet of paper towel and shuffled to the door, Arthur grabbing their coats.

“You’re gonna step on those laces, trip and die and I’m going to tell everyone at the funeral how it happened.”

“That’s nice, though. That you’d attend. Mum’d like that.”

“Hmm?” Locking the door, Arthur chivvied Merlin down the hall to the lift, images of Merlin’s laces getting caught in the door and him dying flashing before his eyes.

“That’d you’d go. She still worries I’ve got no friends.”

“She’s talked to me several times, she likes me.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I can tell she thinks you’re just trying to make her feel better. Or that I’m paying you or something.”

“Paying me to what? Be your friend?”

“Nah, just to pretend, like, on the phone.”

“Merlin, don’t take this the wrong way, but your mother is daft.”

“Yeah. But mothers worry, don’t they?”

“I suppose they do.”

Gwen and Lance were waiting next to Arthur’s car, the foursome piling in while Lance and Arthur conducted a spirited debate of GPS vs map, Merlin and Gwen sharing a piece of toast as they rolled their eyes.

“You know Arthur is going to be impossible if you guys lose, right?” Gwen asked, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face as Lance unfurled the massive map he’d acquired.

“Thanks for that.”

“I’m just saying, you better wake up in the next couple hours and get really good with a gun. Have you ever held a gun?”

“Well, I wasn’t raised with a rifle in my hands, like some,” it was a sign as to how deep in argument Arthur was that he didn’t even respond to the
needling, “but I did alright when Will and I would shoot cans behind his dad’s old barn.

“Yeah? That’s good. I’m pants, so Lance is mostly going to be being all noble and self-sacrificing and throwing himself in front of pellets to save me. Those things hurt!”

“You guys done this before then?”

“Batchelorette weekend. Bloody miserable. Bunch of girls I knew from school and getting to shoot them was the highlight of my time with them, I can tell you.”

“That Vivian?” Lance removed himself from where Arthur was smugly plugging in the GPS, only momentarily wrestling with the leads and the automated voice announcing there was no such post code listed.

“Yeah,” Gwen sighed, shoving the last bite of toast in her husband’s mouth. “Absolute cow! Slapped me once, just for not noticing she was in the room the second I walked in.”

“Why did you go to the wedding?”

“I was in the bridal party. I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to say no without hurting her feelings. Don’t know why I didn’t. ”

“You have a nice ‘do for your wedding?”

“Oh yeah,” Gwen enthused as Arthur got them on the road, “super laidback. Had a spa treatment day with the girls, I’ve no idea what the lads got up to on his stag ‘do, but cage fighting has been rumoured.”

“That had nothing to do with me by the way.”

“Of course not, honey,” Gwen patted her husband’s knee.

“Vivian never struck me as the sort to run around in the woods,” Lance mused.

“Yeah, but Trickler is.”

“So the marriage lasted then,” Merlin joked.

“She didn’t even get halfway down the aisle before apparently coming to her senses and running. She decided she was too good for him or something.”

“Why she say yes to his proposal?”

“I think she was mostly saying yes to the three carat diamond he put on her finger.”

Merlin whistled as his eyebrows climbed to his hairline.

“That must have hurt to give back.”

“Ha!” Gwen exclaimed. “Rules of etiquette never did apply to Vivian. She ran and she took that rock with her.”

The rest of the journey was filled with happy chatter, Merlin mocking Arthur’s GPS on Lance’s behalf when he wouldn’t, Gwen laughing while Arthur glowered at her in the rear-view mirror and making threats of just how much he was going to enjoy their abject defeat on the battlefield, his smile wide. Merlin had enjoyed observing the direct correlation between Arthur’s level of relaxation, the way his shoulders released and how he slouched back in the seat, how his smile grew and his laughed quickly and the distance they travelled from Camelot.

Merlin felt it too; the way being out in the country, seeing the sky meet the ground, feeling the weight of pressure and expectation and smog and just…all the burden and hustle and go-go-go of city life fell away and out here, nobody wanted anything from him, nothing important anyway. It was heady, and Merlin found himself more awake than he’d ever been at that time in the morning, the fresh air crisp, his blood pumping with anticipation and excitement.

By the time they arrived and piled out of the car, all bar Leon and Percy had arrived, their friends already kitted out in full body jumpsuit, protective goggles hanging around their necks and helmets dangling from wrists. Merlin wondered, while stepping into his own suit, and found a helmet that fit, how they were going to fit Percy into one of the suits but when Arthur stepped out of the changing room, all other thoughts were pushed from his mind.

Somehow, he made it look good, the baggy coverall accentuating his wide shoulders, broad chest and strong arms. He looked like a King or a General, ready to lead his troops in a rousing speech before running headlong into the enemy, ready to slay all that stood in his way. Arthur’s tanned skin and golden hair stood out against the black fabric and Merlin was horrified to find that Arthur handling a gun was sexy as fuck. He could have done without learning about that little kink. The way Arthur’s finger curled around the trigger, his thick fingers wrapped securely around the grip, the way he reached out to-

-shake Merlin’s shoulder.

“Are you even paying attention? I’m not losing because you’re a complete dolt.”

“What? Yes, I’m listening.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“Ummm, this is my rifle, this is my gun?”

“One is for shooting, one is for fun!” Gwaine leapt onto Arthur’s back with his cry, almost garrotting him in the process.

“Princess here teaching you to shoot? I thought you knew.”

“He’s never seen me hold a gun so he thinks I’m lying.”

Gwaine resisted Arthur’s attempts to dislodge him, their group noticing and laughing, Mithian’s face relaxing into a laugh when she saw what her boyfriend was up to, her shoulders not quite so tightly hunched, though she still remained somewhat removed from the group, checking the mobile in her hand every thirty seconds or so.

“Well, let me tell you, Arthur,” Gwaine mock-whispered into Arthur’s ear, “that triggering was never Merlin’s problem. He always knows when to release.” With a salute to their cheering friends and a sloppy kiss to Arthur’s cheek, Gwaine released his grip, bowing to Merlin before Arthur slammed into him, taking him to the ground.

“Fiver on Gwaine,” Percy offered, Leon just behind.

“I’ll take that bet,” Morgana hollered, Elyan opening his mouth before getting elbowed in the gut by his sister and wisely choosing to keep quiet. Sensing his opportunity while his wife’s attention was elsewhere, Lance piped up.

“I don’t know lads, Arthur looks pretty motivated.”

“Lance! Don’t encourage them.” Gwen was trying her utmost to appear unimpressed but Merlin could tell she was biting down on the inside of her cheek as she did it.

“I’m not encouraging, I’m-”

“Profiting?”

“Thanks Morgana, thanks a lot.” Under his wife’s disapproving gaze, Lance smiled at her, eyes wide and Merlin knew, just knew that he’d forgive Lance anything if he turned that gorgeous smile and wide puppy eyes in his direction. Gwen was clearly made of stern stuff or Lance would just get away with murder.

Turning his attention back to the squabbling pair on the ground, Merlin couldn’t really tell who was winning. Gwaine was the more flamboyant fighter, showy in his moves, while Arthur was more brute force and tactics. Their fighting styles seemed to weirdly compliment each other, resulting in something of a stalemate.

“We’re all going to go play now, and when we’re back, you tell us who the winner was, okay?” Merlin asked, squatting down on his heels a sensible distance from the scuffle.

“They’re both losers!”

“You hear that? The women have spoken.”

“Merlin, how about we team up?” Mithian called, pulling her hair back into a low ponytail before ramming her helmet on her head, brandishing her paintball rifle, a dangerous air about her.

“Yeah, let’s go. Leave these losers.”

With a grunt, Arthur rolled them, using his superior weight to pin Gwaine, shuffling his knees onto Gwaine’s arms to keep him down, sitting heavily on his stomach, arms outstretched over his head in victory.

“I am the ultimate fighting machine! Argh-”

Using one foot flat against the dirt, twisting his hips sharply and shrimping out on his side, Gwaine unseated Arthur, toppling him into the dirt and the pair rolled across the mulch and rotting foliage, until they hit a fallen tree, Arthur crying out in shock as a dead branch jabbed him in the ribs, the surprise enough to make him let go, Gwaine easily taking advantage and flipping their positions, grabbing Arthur in a headlock.

“Very manly,” Morgana drawled, flicking the safety off her rifle and aiming at the pair, firing one shot just shy of Arthur’s head. “But save if for the battle, hmmm?”

“I hope you know just how badly you’re going down,” Arthur announced as he dusted himself off, leaf mould sticking to his jumpsuit, dirt blooming from his hair as he ran his fingers through it, a challenging smirk on his face that Merlin just wanted to kiss off.

“What was that?” Mithian called out as Gwaine reached her side, sheepishly accepting her swat to his arm as he relieved her of his helmet and rifle. “I can’t quite hear you over my internal laughter.”

“Oh my God, would you shut up and let us get on with it?” Morgana asked. “Elyan and I would like to proceed with our winning now.” Elyan nodded with a mocking smile, and Merlin knew he’d have to watch out for him; Elyan was quiet but incredibly smart and his training as an army cadet when he was younger would likely serve him well in terms of tactics and evasion.

The terms assembled at the starting point, pushing and shoving at each other playfully, and Merlin was relieved to see Mithian’s phone nowhere in sight, though her laughter was quiet, but he dismissed it when he saw her wide smile; Arthur must be right, he was reading too much into things.

Their entrance into the combat zone was staggered, each team getting two minutes to disappear before the next team entered. When all teams were in position and the last team had been given five minutes to situate themselves, an alarm would sound and combat would begin.

As the small light above the start turned from red to green, Merlin watched as Leon and Percy jogged into the woods, their quiet talking fading as they were swallowed up by the evergreens and disappeared from view. Morgana and Elyan were next, taking a different path, their footfalls precise as they ran. Morgana was one he’d have to watch as well – she was lithe, nimble and seemed to make no noise as she ran. She’d have made an excellent sniper. Which was pretty bad for him right now.

The talk at the start had become quieter, each remaining team whispering to each other, tactics being shared, suspicious glances being thrown at other pairs, narrow eyes assessing each player. Attention returning to the light, counting down to it turning green, Merlin ignored the looks and whispers, only half-listening to Arthur’s orders and when the light turned, he took off, Arthur a pace behind.

Veering off at an angle to the direction Leon and Percy had taken, Merlin slowed to a jog, battling through the undergrowth as best he could by using his rifle like a machete.

“Could you make more noise?” Arthur hissed, grabbing him around the wrist and pulling him to a halt to push past him to lead them through the trees, finger to his lips as he stopped behind a large tree, pulling Merlin close to him before peeking around and surveying the grounds. Still looking out, Arthur waved a hand to get Merlin’s attention, slapping one hand over Merlin’s mouth before he could speak and making a series of signs with the other, disappearing around the tree-trunk before Merlin could ask what he meant.

Silently, Merlin tried to follow before tripping and stumbling into Arthur’s back, almost toppling them both to the ground, Arthur’s surprised expression morphing into exasperated.

“I told you to go the other way,” he whispered, pushing against Merlin’s side.

“You didn’t say anything,” protested his teammate, rubbing his nose from where he’d impacted with Arthur’s shoulder.

“Hand signals you idiot.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I didn’t play at being junior G.I. Joe as a child.”

“Just,” Arthur heaved a sigh, eyes wide, “go that way and circle around to meet me at that boulder.” Arthur held Merlin’s chin between forefinger and thumb and directed his eyes to the large rock in the distance, splattered with a rainbow of paint. Obviously it had seen some major battles in its time.

Ducking under low branches and treading carefully over dry twigs, Merlin kept an eye out for the enemy, freezing at a crack of steps, dropping into a crouch, blood pounding in his ears, rifle brandished in front of him.

In time to see a rabbit hop across his path, ears twitching as it lolloped away.

As he reached the boulder and slipped into place beside Arthur, their backs to the rock, shielded from view by a thick copse of gorse, they both slipped their goggles into place, and raised their rifles just in time for the alarm to blare.

The game was on.
*
Arthur stepped closer, body swaying towards Merlin as his hand came up, stroking into Merlin’s hair, the strands silky against his fingers as he-

Removed a leaf that had tangled into Merlin’s hair.

“You had a-” Arthur held up the leaf in his grasp as though offering proof.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” They stared at each other for a minute until Percy knocked into Merlin trying to ease his large bulk past them both and leave the changing room.

“Sorry lads,” he said, nearly knocking Merlin over again by slapping him on the shoulder.

“Drinks on the winners, yeah?” He winked at Arthur’s spluttered complaint that as winners, he and Merlin shouldn’t have to stand a round all evening, and the trio trooped out of the changing room into the chill of the early evening, the dark beginning to settle around the huts as they made their way towards their cars.

“Maybe you could try talking to Mithian when we get back to town,” Merlin suggested, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the woman in question who was walking a little behind the group, taking in the slouch of her shoulders and the downcast expression that had returned near instantly when she’d emerged, covered in paint, from the woods. Her phone was back in her hand, scrolling quickly through emails or messages, Gwaine hold on her other hand tight, and though he was remaining silent at her side Merlin could see his concerned expression.

“Why would I do that?” Arthur asked, glancing quizzically at Merlin before rummaging in his pockets for his car keys, Gwen and Lance a few steps behind as they chatted with Morgana, comparing the bloom of bruises on their skin from more than a few close impacts of the pellets, Elyan, Percy and Leon re-living their favoured moments, crowing with laughter as .

“Just, she seems a bit, I don’t know, ‘off’ today.”

“What do you mean? She was never a good loser, Merlin. She’s just bitter,” Arthur laughed, turning to his friend as he pulled his sweater over his head, his mirth cut off at his friends expression, a frown forming as he wrenched the fabric down, stepping closer to his friend.

“Is this your funny feeling again?”

“You’re going to stand there and tell me that you don’t think Mithian has been acting strangely recently, and today she was totally detached.

Yeah, we won and she lost, but Arthur, and you and I both know how much she enjoys hunting and running around the woods, plus she got to shoot Gwaine in the ass. Even if it was accidental. But post-rifle Mithian doesn’t seem any more relaxed than pre-rifle. Looking at her, I’d not think she had any fun at all.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder at his friend, her face grim in the light of her phone, Gwaine’s expression little better as he walked beside her, watching her.

“I keep telling you; it’s just a phase. It’s the consequences of taking on such responsibility at Nemeth. Do you think those of us in the nosebleed offices do nothing but have martini lunches and rounds of golf?”

“But-”

Arthur’s frown deepened, a crease developing between his brows as his jaw tightened, muscle ticking as he shook his head at Merlin.

“But what, Merlin? But what? You’ve asked me about this so many times. Just what are you trying to suggest?”

That was just the problem; he didn’t know. Merlin placed his hands on the roof of the car, letting his head hang low. He didn’t know what he was suggesting, but he knew something wasn’t right, something was wrong with Mithian and he couldn’t shake that feeling, no matter how he tried.

When he looked up again, across the top of Arthur’s car, Mithian was smiling again, her phone stowed away, her hand instead holding Gwaine’s, the concern on Gwaine’s face melting into a relieved grin as they chatted with Percy and Leon by their cars.

“Nothing, I guess. Nothing.” It felt like a lie.

“That’s right. Nothing. I don’t want to hear about this again.”

Merlin slumped against the car, grateful when Gwen bounded up, chattering excitedly about their ‘battle’, Lance’s smile wide as he took in his wife’s joy.

“She’s got a taste for blood now,” he teased, opening the rear door and ushering Gwen inside, shooting a concerned look over the roof at Merlin, who shook his head softly and smiled.

“She’ll rule us all, when she learns to shoot straight.” Merlin opened his own door, winking at Lance.

“Hey!” Gwen’s rebuttal was muffled but indignant
*

“Are you going to sulk all day?” Gaius asked, startling his nephew into almost dropping the delicate vials in his hands.

“Fuck!” Resting the tubes in their racks, Merlin swiftly mopped up the little spills, dropping the wipes into the hazards bin.

“I am not sulking,” he stated, turning to his uncle as he stripped off his gloves and set the timer.

“You’ve not said a word the last few days that wasn’t some curse or other that you’re mother better not learn you know. And even then you’ve practically growled.”

“I did not,” Merlin lobbed the gloves into the bin. “I’ve just…been thinking.”

“Well we all know how bad that is for you,” Gaius teased, worried when the expected huff of annoyance was vollied back.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“If I were you I’d start by turning down that Bunsen.”

Stepping closer to his nephew and taking a furtive glance around the lab to ensure they were not overheard, Gaius asked, “Is this about your friend? The one you think is being hurt.”

“I tried to raise it with Arthur. Subtly,” he added hastily at Gaius’ raised eyebrow. “I just said maybe he could talk to them, see if they’re okay, see if he notices any changes.”

“And Arthur took it less than well.”

“Much less. It was a two hour drive back from that paintball complex, and bless Gwen’s heart but even her efforts to maintain a conversation were lost on him.”
*
The rest of the week was miserable, Arthur barking at Merlin in a way he hadn’t since their first day, irritable and easily angered, so that Merlin felt he was walking on eggshells the whole time, catching the bus to work instead of driving in silence with Arthur, the resultant lack of sleep making him tetchy and unpredictable. He wasn’t going out of his way to avoid his other friends, but he wasn’t in the mood to socialise, didn’t want to be around anyone. Didn’t want to stay in the flat, but when he tried going out in the evening, it was worse.

Lance had even taken him aside to ask if he was okay, if he needed anything, if everything was okay with his mum, his brown eyes so desperately earnest and well-meaning that Merlin had been able to hold back the diatribe about Arthur, instead muttering about how shit of a week he’d been having, how much of a slave-driver he worked for. There was enough of a truth in his deception that Lance accepted it, though he remained contemplative for the rest of their drink, Merlin catching Lance looking at him with a concerned expression several times.

Merlin spent most of his time in his bedroom, only staying in the kitchen as long as it took him to make a quick meal or cup of coffee, ensuring he wiped the counters down and did all his washing up and that the margarine was back in the fridge. He wanted to give Arthur zero openings to start an argument. He’d taken to showering at work so as to avoid meeting Arthur in the hallway. Between his laptop and bookshelf he had more than enough to amuse himself in his room, but, if he were truly honest, lonely as hell. Over the past couple of months, Arthur had become, well, Merlin’s best friend, which was a testament to how poor his social life in Ealdor had been since Will’s death. He missed laughing with him as he cooked, wrestling him for the remote, missed pissing Arthur off by experimenting with all the dials on the dashboard of his stupidly expensive car.

He missed his friend.

But he still stood by his concern for Mithian, and he refused to apologise for it.

Which was why, spread out before him on his bed, were the property pages of several newspapers.

For the third night, Merlin poured over the available flats, circling any that appeared even faintly viable. He’d inconvenienced Arthur for long enough, it was clearly the time to give Arthur back his flat, and his freedom.

Merlin had wanted to cry on Monday night when he’d first eased the ‘To Rent’ pages from the paper, heart pounding like he’d run a marathon, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he’d scurried off to the safety of his room with it, shoving the sheets of paper under his pillow when he’d heard Arthur’s return. It felt wrong. Like an abandonment, like leaving Arthur’s side would kill him. He couldn’t imagine himself without Arthur beside him. Over the weeks they’d become a joint entity, ‘Arthur and Merlin’, never one without the other.

Yet here he was, feeling like a thief in the night as he read listing after listing, half-listening to Arthur move around the flat, hoarding the sounds close to him, wanting to savour them before he was inevitably made to leave. What would it be like to not have Arthur by his side?

He’s distracted from his task. So distracted. He stands by his concerns for Mithian, but he can’t lose Arthur and it feels like he already has. Arthur who’s a bit of a prat to be sure but also beautiful and caring, intelligent and kind.

Merlin sprawled out on the bed, uncaring of the crinkle of newspaper beneath him. It’s hell. He can’t leave. Merlin feels sick to his stomach at the thought. But he was surely can’t stay. Arthur may not have spoken to him since the paintball battle but his feelings are loud and clear; his anger, his dismissal of Merlin’s thoughts and feelings, his dismissal of Merlin, is obvious.

The shrill ring of his phone startled him so much he threw his pen across the room, heart racing as he patted around himself, fumbling with the duvet until he found the phone, silencing it as he answered without checking the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hello Merlin,” Mithian greeted him.

“Hi. How are you?” Merlin slid off his bed and hunted down the missing marker, wincing at the black streak the tip had left down one white wall. Capping the pen, he flopped backwards onto the bed, phone close to his ear, papers crinkling beneath him.

“I’m fine, thank you. But you are not. Nor is Arthur.” MIthian sounded serious, determined.

Merlin stared up at the ceiling, intently studying the swirling pattern on the light shade, but said nothing.

“Merlin?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“I don’t know what happened with you guys, but Arthur’s been like a bear with a sore head.”

“He’s pissed with me.”

“He’s scared.”

Merlin blinked, frowning.

“Scared?”

Mithian sighed. “Arthur can’t really do emotions well. Been taught his whole life that Pendragon men are logic and reason without any of the mess of caring, like an upper class Vulcan. Whilst that might work for Uther, Arthur cares. He cares deeply. For those that work for him, for his friends, for the people P.I. can help with the trials…he cares, and he has no idea how to do that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither does he, to be honest with you.”

Merlin scooted up the bed, punching his pillow beneath his head to get more comfortable.

“I know something happened, I know - I’m sure you’ve got your own reasons for it. He won’t tell me anything about it, just glowers at me and walks off. Or hangs up. But, look, Arthur values your opinion. In a couple months, what you think has come to mean more to him than he’d be willing to admit. More than just about anyone else.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Don’t argue with me, Merlin. I’ve known Arthur since we were in diapers. He’s never had a friend like you. Half of his sentences start with ‘Merlin and I’ and the other half, start with ‘Merlin says...’”

Merlin scoffed.

“It’s true Merlin. Look, I know you think,” Merlin heard her sigh down the phone, “I know you think there’s something up with me. No, don’t try to deny it,” Mithian ordered as she heard Merlin’s intake of breath, “I’d be a fool not to notice how you’ve been looking at me lately. But this isn’t about my troubles with taking over dad’s company.”

“Then what is it about?”

“The Essetir proposal.”

“I can’t help with that.”

“Arthur is freaking out. Or the closest a Pendragon male gets to freaking. He’s so close to it, so focused on it, that he can’t see it anymore. And I don’t have the time to help run through it with him. But he trusts you, he trusts your opinion.”

“Even if that were true, he’s not even talking to me right now. How am I supposed to help him?”

“You make him.”

Merlin sat up, staring at his closed door, the TV show Arthur was watching just audible.

“And how do I do that?”

“Get his attention.”

“I’m not apologising.”

“You don’t have to. Just keep on at him until he listens.” Mithian sighed as something hit the ground on her end of the phone. “He has no idea how to talk stuff through, no idea that disagreements can be solved in a way that doesn’t involve over-priced lawyers and hostile takeovers.
Just…just remind him that you’re his friend, that whatever it is that happened with you boys, doesn’t end all that. Don’t let your bloody foolish pride get in the way.” Merlin opened his mouth to object again, but she was too quick for him.

“And don’t you dare try to tell me you aren’t just as prideful and stubborn as he is. Left to your own devices the cold war between you two will last decades and the rest of us, we’re not gonna play. So, get out of your room, get in his face and make him listen. I have faith in you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Merlin dropped back onto the bed, head banging painfully on the edge of his headboard.

“Off you go.” Mithian sounded suspiciously like she was enjoying herself.

“Yeah, yeah.”

*
As was the way with their relationship, Merlin didn’t beat around the bush when he opened the door.

“You know, sometimes I don’t think you understand how hard it can be to live with you.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur’s face went slack with shock, anger soon taking over as he stabbed viciously at the remote, shutting off the TV, staring at Merlin in disbelief over the back of the sofa.

“You can be rude, insensitive, thoughtless, and that’s when you’re in a good mood.”

“Sorry to have been a disappointment, Merlin. I'll try harder in future.”

“Oh, I look forward to that. On the other hand, why wait?”

“Do I have any redeeming qualities, oh great one?”

“Luckily for you, yeah. You can be kind, you can be generous and compassionate and loyal and that’s what makes it so fucking frustrating when you do this,” Merlin gestured at Arthur’s rigid form as though that explained everything.

“Me?! I’m the frustrating one?” Arthur bellowed, jumping to his feet. “Are you kidding? You were accusing my friend of, of….of I don’t even know what and I’m the one with all the flaws?”

“I was concerned Arthur. I was concerned and I refuse to apologise for it.”

“You were just talking gibberish.”

“Then if it’s gibberish why are you so fucking angry at me, so angry that I’m gonna have to move out? I don’t want to lose your friendship Arthur and I don’t want you to lose the Essetir bid. So you’re going to accept my help.”

“Oh I am, am I?” Arthur rolled his eyes as he scoffed, expansive sweep of his arm taking in the mounds of papers piled from table to sofa, the charts and diagrams, fact and figures. “Must you be such a drama queen? Lose my friendship - I’m angry but that doesn’t mean our friendship is over. What are you, twelve?”

“You’ve not said a word to me in days!”

“Because you never spoke to me! You were out or in your room, always shut away behind a door. Didn’t scream ‘let’s chat’.”

“When has a closed door ever been a hindrance to you before?”

“If I’m such a horrible person, why do you even care?”

“Because for your many faults, you are honest and brave and truehearted, and you care so much for people. You care so much it terrifies you. You don’t want to win the Essetir project because it’ll earn P.I. millions of pounds. You want to win it because you want P.I. to be a part of something that can save millions of lives. You want to win because you want to help people. That’s the person you are, Arthur. That’s the person I’m proud to call my friend. That’s the person I want to help.”

Arthur looked dazed, the fight draining from his body, fists unclenching, shoulders relaxing as the breath left his body in a great whoosh. He looked a little like a statue, confused, shaken and unsure.

“If, I were to accept your help,” Arthur’s sounded tentative, “Am I going to be paying for it in a million subtle ways?”

“Not going to be at all subtle,” Merlin joked back, the tension easing when Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Well, have at it then,” Arthur gestured to the laptop.

“While I read through, don’t suppose you want to make me a coffee,” Merlin tried, sliding onto the sofa and plunking the laptop onto his knees.

“Is this way one of a million?”

“Oh yes. Then you can run through the pitch. I’ll be your audience.” With a sweeping, over-the-top bow, Arthur went to fulfil the request, missing Merlin’s spirited middle finger salute in response.

It wasn’t until Merlin could hear the rumble of the kettle beginning to boil and the clink of a teaspoon that Arthur suddenly stormed back into the living room.

“Did you say moving out?”
*
Hearing the news that his bid, that PI’s bid was successful in securing the Essetir contract was oddly anti-climactic. As Arthur and Uther exchanged smiles and handshakes, pleasantries and signatures on dotted lines with the CEO Cenred Fitzroy and his CFO, and wife, Morgause, Arthur felt curiously detached instead of the elation and excitement he had expected. He chalked it up to exhaustion; he’d worked on this project day in, day out for nearly seven months, felt he knew the other company better than his own at that point and that it was all over, that he had been successful didn’t seem real, that tomorrow his desk would not be littered with files and folders and memos. He could sleep in past five am and leave the office before midnight.

Hell, he could take a holiday. He certainly deserved one.

Even as he considered it, Arhtur rejected the notion, resigned to the knowedge that whilst Essetir paperwork would be not preventing him from finding his phone or keyboard on his overloaded desk, tomorrow it would just be more of the same; the wheel never stopped turning and Uther would never agree to Arthur letting it spin on it’s own for a week. Exhaustion, burn-out, disillusionment, they were all things that happened to other people, weak people. Pendragon’s never faltered.

When he gets back to his office, the accolades of his colleagues ringing in his ears and their pats on his shoulder as he passed still tingling, Arthur shut the door behind him and rested back against it, one hand loosening his tie and popping the top button.

“Mr Pendragon!” The doorknob became a lot more intimate with Arthur’s back than he’d ever have wanted as he jumped at Merlin’s sudden, teasing tone.

Merlin was seated at Arthur’s desk feet up on the desk, ratty book in hand. His smile was wide, deep dimples lending him a cheeky air. Unable to stop himself, Arthur found himself smiling in response, warmth flooding his chest at Merlin’s pride and excitement, evident in the twinkle in his eyes, in the lines etched beside his eyes and the bright pink spots blushing his cheeks. Since he’d torn up the rental advertisements he’d pilfered from Merlin’s room, since Merlin had helped him with the proposal they’d been back on far more solid ground, their friendship recovering quickly after the yelling had stopped.

“Aren’t you meant to be cleaning test tubes or blowing something up or something?”

“Your faith in my skills is heart-warming.” Dropping his feet from Arthur’s desk, he grabbed a bag off the floor from the behind the desk.

“Lunch?”

“What?”
“Celebrate your bid. I know how hard you worked and I’m guessing your dad is taking you out tonight,” he wasn’t but Merlin wasn’t to know that, “so I thought picnic in the park.”

“It’s November.”

“So? I’ve got a blanket.” Proudly Merlin produced a fleece blanket from the bag, the tag still hanging from the cord fastening it shut. “It’s backed so we won’t get damp.”

“And where are we going to go?”

“Ummm, down the road.”

“It’s cold.”

“And you’ll live. It’s not snowing. Or raining, which is a surprise which we should take advantage of. Come on.” Like magic, Merlin was up and out of the chair, blanket back in the bag and was throwing Arthur’s own heavy coat at him. “There’s nothing that won’t keep for a bit. Let’s go.”

“Did you just give me an order?”

“I think I did, yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Merlin smiled, contemplative.

“It’s certainly not unpleasant.”
*
Finding a spot that apparently he liked, unlike the countless others he’d rejected for one reason or another, Merlin snapped out the blanket with a wink to Arthur, spreading it out and plunking himself down, reaching into the plastic bag over and over, producing packaged sandwiches and sausage rolls, cheese sticks and crackers as well as some fruit. Last, and with a smile, Merlin pulled two plastic wine glasses from the bag filled with white wine, clear seals over the top.

“It’s not even three in the afternoon,” Arthur half-heartedly protested.

“It’s past five somewhere. I got white because we’re having chicken sandwiches.”

“Oh, naturally.”

“Also because I couldn’t keep red wine at warm room temperature so…”

“Definitely the right choice.” Arthur set to carefully peeling the seal off his wine, resigned to the madness that was now his life. Seeing Merlin struggle and sure he’d end up wearing the wine, Arthur pressed the open glass into Merlin’s hands and took his, opening that one too and taking a small sip.

It was passable.

“Shouldn’t it be champagne?”

“Pay me better and you can get champagne. Till then, Marks and Sparks finest in plastic glasses will just have to do. So, congrats.”

The plastic gave a rather pathetic ‘click’ as they tapped them together rather than a clink which they both found funnier than necessary.

“So how does it feel to have landed the most sought after contract of the year?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, staring down into his wine. “Strange, more than anything. Relieved, I guess.”

“That it’s over?” Merlin asked.

“Yeah. But also that I did it on my own and I managed it. Nobody can say Father earned me this. He had no hand in the preparation or the presentation. I did this. Not quite alone,” he nodded to Merlin, “but maybe it’ll quiet the whispers.”

Though he was studying the plaid pattern on the blanket Arthur could feel Merlin’s gaze on him, a comforting weight.

“What?”

“You’re a good man, Arthur. Whether you had won this bid or not, that doesn’t change. I’m proud to call you my friend.”

From anyone else, it could easily have been mocking, the comment condescending, but from Merlin, with the earnest tone as he tried to have Arthur see himself the way Merlin did, it was worth more than anything. When Merlin looked at him like that, as though Arthur had hung the moon and saved babies on a daily basis, Arthur felt he could live up to his expectations, he could be the man Merlin thought he could be.

Because to not do so would be to disappoint Merlin, and he could never do that.

The smile that graced Arthur’s face is unlike any Merlin’s seen before. Arthur’s expression is full of joy and gratitude, a faint vulnerability in his eyes that caused Merlin’s heart to stutter, and he couldn’t have not matched that smile with his own, feeling exposed and pinned by Arthur’s intense gaze.

Easy.

It would be so easy for Merlin to lean forward, raise one gloved hand to cup that strong jaw, count those blond eyelashes and taste plump lips as fingers skimmed elegant cheekbones.

It would be the easiest thing in the world. Just close that gap and finish the journey they started so long ago in a smoky bar.

“I’ve never been on a picnic, you know.” Arthur confessed, breaking the moment, chewing on a sausage roll and eyeing up the remains of Merlin’s sandwich which was snatched away before he could make any serious designs on it.

“Never?” Merlin was surprised; who didn’t have picnics growing up?

“Mum used to take me and Will out every other Sunday if the weather was nice. Head to the park and run around and she’d have made a lunch and if we were good we’d get ice cream on the way back.”

“I’m going to guess you didn’t get a lot of ice cream then?”

“We were paragons of virtue.”

“You were hellions, I can tell.”

“I was adorable. You’d have loved me. Or at least you’d have loved pushing me over in the sandbox.”

“I never pushed anyone over in the sandbox. Never been in a sandbox.”

“Didn’t you ever go out with your parents, just to the park?”

“Father was always entirely too busy. I’m sure the driver and my nanny would have taken me had I asked but it wasn’t the same.”

“Didn’t your mother go?”

“I never knew her. She died before I opened my eyes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Merlin fiddled with his sandwich, unsure what to say, rueing having spoilt the mood.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. I barely know anything about her, so I can’t really talk about her much. Only have one photo of her, but apparently I look a lot like her. I wouldn’t know.”

“Can't you ask your father?

“He refuses to talk of her. It must be too painful for him. Sometimes it's as if she never even existed. I still have... a sense of her, almost as though she is part of me.”

“It's the same… with my father,” Merlin confessed, not willing to leave Arthur alone in his regret and grief. “I never knew him. And my mother has barely spoken of him. I've got this... vague memory. It's probably just my imagination. I would swear I remember him, relatively tall, broad shoulders, long hair and thick beard. I would swear I remember him sitting with me once, beside a river, telling me about what he loved about the country.” Merlin remembered his mother’s face the one time he’d mentioned that memory, the way her mouth had gone slack, her eyes blank as she tried to think of a way to tell her son that his most treasured memory was little more than the figment of his imagination.

“I'd do anything for even the vaguest memory.”

“She’d be proud of you, Arthur. She would.”

“You think?” Arthur’s voice was tremulous, fingers of his left hand twisting and twisting the ring that he bore on his right index finger.

“Yeah. I do. She’d have been proud if you’d succeeded in this bid or not.”

“Yeah,” Arthur didn’t sound convinced, but he stopped worrying at his ring, instead, stealing the last sausage roll from Merlin’s grip. Though he put up a fight, Merlin let him have it, happy to see a smile on Arthur’s face when he triumphantly stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, cheeks puffing out like a hamster. He wasn’t fast enough to stop Merlin snapping a photo on his phone, though he did wrestle him into a headlock, roughing his hair up and laughing at Merlin’s complaint.

As late in the year as it was, even at the relatively early hour, the oncoming night was rolling in, the low sun already well into it’s descent. The clouds were dark, somewhat threatening as Merlin packed up their rubbish, sorting what could be recycled from what couldn’t while Arthur sighed. It warmed him though, to remember that those empty dishes would be placed in their recycle bin on top of those wretched ‘To Rent’ pages that Merlin had been pouring over.

“Shut it,” Merlin warned, not looking up from his search for a recycle symbol on the sausage roll container.

“Didn’t say a thing.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” Last item checked, Merlin shoved Arthur off the blanket, smirking at his squawk of surprise and undignified sprawl across the leaf litter, gracelessly rolling to his own feet to fold the blanket and wrestle it back inside its holder.

“Here, make yourself useful.” Just as Arthur had stood, he found the blanket pushed into his arms, almost pushing him back to the floor.

“Thought this was my celebration.”

“This was your celebration, Cinders. Now, it’s you carrying a blanket. Think all those hours in the gym will pay off?”

“I’ll manage,” came Arthur’s droll reply.

Pushing and shoving, the two men made their way from the park, chasing each other and goading each other, Arthur laughing riotously, Merlin’s smile goofy and fond.
*
“Has your father congratulated you yet?”

“Mithian, you know as well as I do that he’ll never show an ounce of pride in me.” Arthur’s free hand skimmed down the long shelf of DVDs, unsure what he wanted to watch, feeling restless, wanting something just out of reach, and not sure what it was, his gaze flicking to Merlin’s door time and again. He wanted Merlin here, not downstairs with Alice planning Gaius’ birthday dinner and he wasn’t quite ready to explore that feeling too much. So he needed a distraction.

“So if you weren’t with your dad this afternoon, where did you zip off to? I called the office a couple of times.”

“Oh, uh, Merlin took me out.”

“Really?” Mithian’s smile was obvious, even over the phone, and he heard the pop of a wine cork pulling free from a bottle.

“Yeah, Marks and Sparks finest on a blanket under a very grey sky.”

“Sounds pretty nice actually.”

“Yeah, it was.” Nicer than any five star restaurant that his father would have taken him to for an uncomfortable evening of miniature portions and stilted conversation. Ending, no doubt, in his father’s patented mood-breaking reminders that there was always another bid and always another chance of failure.

Anxious to move away from the topic of his afternoon with Merlin, Arthur changed the subject.

“How’s it going with your own father and his slow side into retirement?”

The silence that followed his question was so long that Arthur thought their call had been disconnected.

“My father is a stubborn old man. He cannot understand the concept of delegation and removing himself from projects.”

“You know,” Arthur said, “instead of talking about old farts, we should be out, celebrating that we’ve yet to turn into our fathers.”

“I’d love to go out Arthur, but I can’t tonight. I’m sorry. Simply too much to do. I’m raising a glass to you, though, before getting back to it all.”

Hearing the tension in his friend’s voice, the clipped words, Arthur felt the first flutters of concern.

“Hey, you’re doing okay, aren’t you Mith?” He asked, voice soft.

“Arthur Pendragon, are you worried about me?” Mithian asked, and if Arthur hadn’t been really paying attention he might have let it drop, might have not noticed the too-bright quality to Mithian’s tease.

“That’s not a yes.”

Mithian’s sigh was heavy down the phone. “I’m just tired, Arthur. You’re one to talk; have you had more than a few hours sleep in the last few weeks? I suppose I never appreciated how much father took on and now it’s on me. The company’s future will be my responsibility. It’s tiring.”

“You know that if you need anything, I’m right here.”

“I do, and it’s very sweet of you.”

“Gwaine’s not causing you any trouble is he, because I could take care of that.”

“With a baseball bat by the sounds of it. Gwaine is just fine, Arthur, treating me like a princess.”

“You’re sure?”

“You needn’t worry over me, Arthur.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve just, you’ve seemed a bit down lately.”

“I’m trying to find my sea legs. I promise, hand on heart, when I get this all under control I’ll have a spa day. I’ll even take you with me. You’d look quite fetching in a mud wrap.”

“I would wouldn’t I?”
*
The boom that woke Arthur threw him, none too gently, into consciousness in less than a heartbeat. It’d felt like the entire building had shook with the force of whatever it was. For a befuddled moment, he thought it must have been an earthquake until logic piped up at the back of his brain that Camelot was nowhere near a fault-line. What the hell had Merlin done now? Pushing back the covers, hissing at the cold air, Arthur pulled on a tee-shirt and threw open his bedroom door, surprised to see Merlin rushing over to the living room window.

"You fall out of bed, idiot?"

Rolling his eyes, Merlin threw open a window.

"I think something hit the building."

"Like what?" Arthur muscled his way next to Merlin. "We're off the main road. Did aliens land-"

"Help! Somebody help me please," a thin, reedy voice broke the early morning quiet.

"Alice," Merlin pushed away, running to the front door, Arthur on his heels.

"Who is Alice?" he asked as Merlin wrenched the door open, running barefoot and topless down the hall.

Grabbing Merlin's shoes and stuffing his own on, Arthur chased after him, catching up on the stairs down.

"She lives downstairs, remember? Friend of Gaius’."

At the fire door Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand, tugging him to a stop and thrusting his trainers at him.

"Put these on. If she crashed there could be glass and met-" The trainers were wrenched from his grip, Merlin taking the time only to shove his feet into them, treading the backs down as he tugged open the exterior door and led them out into the drizzle.

On one side of the corner of the building was everyday life, evergreens dripping rain onto the drive, dead leaves sluggishly dancing across the small lawn, birds fliting through the ivy covering the fencing, but the other…

Merlin had stopped without conscious thought; it was surreal. Alice’s small Nissan was wedged between her garage and the building wall, smoke pouring from the bonnet. Merlin had seen Alice coming and going countless time in her little red car, but now it was a twisted tangle of metal and settling brick dust, the ‘tink’ of cooling metal and still-moving parts. The bright red paint, ‘re-sprayed just yesterday’ Merlin’s mind supplied from Alice’s tale the night before as they’d planned an extravaganza for Gaius, looked like a gashed wound against the dreary November morning.

Then Arthur grasped him by the wrist and time snapped back, the sound of his flatmate calling out to Alice, the roar of approaching thunder and the screech of metal as the bonnet scrapped further down the fall, the car giving way to gravity to slip further into the shallow trench between driveway and wall.

"What's happening?"

Looking up, Merlin caught a number of people at their windows. Bleary-eyed, scared and concerned.

"Call 999. Ask for an ambulance and the fire department.” When they remained staring, useless and stupid, Arthur barked at them.

"Now!

"Alice?" Merlin called out, barely able to see in the windscreen through the smoke and dust, realising he hadn’t heard her call out since he’d gotten outside.

"Alice, are you awake?"

"Can you hear that?" Merlin as he and Arthur picked through the debris for something to act as a lever, a subtle 'blip blip blip' just on the edge of Merlin's hearing.

"The sound of your knees knocking together?"

"No, Arthur I'm serious." Cocking his head to the side Merlin held his breath as he tried to listen over his own heart beat and the tick and whir of strained metal. Zeroing in on the sound he carefully picked his way to the side of the car and hunkered down underneath only to reel back choking on the smell.

"The lip on the trench has ripped the fuel line right open, it’s leaking under the car. We've got to get her out."

"We will. With this." Triumphantly held, as though a sword, was what had been a part of mangled frame but was now a poor man’s jaws of life.

*

“Sir? Sir, are you okay?” It was an effort to focus on the woman in front of him, shorter than him but bulky in her heavy paramedic jacket.

“Sir, why don’t you come sit down with me, I can take a look, see if you’re hurt.”

“Merlin,” he mumbled. “My name is Merlin.”

“Well, I’m Isolde. I’m one of the paramedics. You gonna let me look you over, see if you’re hurt?”

Was he? Was he hurt? Merlin didn’t think so but he couldn’t really feel anything so he raised his hands to check and found them to be shaking, blood oozing between his fingers to drip away with the rain.

“I guess I hurt my hands.” It came out like a question. Isolde’s hands were so warm when she took his, guiding him gently towards the rear of the ambulance, nimbly stepping up into the back and helping him in, sitting him on the gurney. Draping a heavy blanket over Merlin’s shoulders, the paramedic sat on the seat opposite and took his hands again.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. You and your boyfriend did a great job; Alice is gonna be fine, discharged in next few hours I think.”

“That’s good. I should call my uncle, he’ll pick her up – he’s probably there already, but in just in – boyfriend?”

Isolde’s head snapped up from where she was focusing on dabbing disinfectant over several deeps wounds on Merlin’s hands from where he and Arthur had wrenched the door open, her eyes wide and alarmed.

“Oh God! I’m so sorry. I thought – from the way you guys stare at each other…I’m so sorry.”

Turning his head, Merlin stared out the back of the open ambulance, instantly finding Arthur, similarly decked out in bright blanket huddled under an umbrella where he was giving his statement to a policeman while what appeared to be an entire squad of firemen were busy assessing the damage to the building and roof, racing the storm. As though feeling Merlin’s eyes upon him, Arthur looked up, breaking off his conversation to stare back at Merlin.

“Yeah, you guys stare at each other like that.”

When Merlin’s desperate gaze turned to hers, a soft smile teased at her mouth

“He okay?” Merlin went to point, hand jerking in Isolde’s hold before he remembered and nodded towards his flatmate and the pure white bandages around Arthur’s hand.

“Yeah, Tristan, my partner, he bandaged up some similar cuts to yours from when you two were being all heroic and pulling frail ladies to safety.”

“Yeah,” Merlin nodded towards his hands where Isolde was carefully applying steri-strips over the deepest cuts. “Real heroic.”

“You may very well have saved her life, Merlin. She’s not the youngest of ladies, from what I heard, and with the airbag not deploying and the impact…I don’t have to tell you that she could have died. You guys did a great job.”

“We did what anyone would do.”

“I was told you were the only ones to come outside, though plenty were hanging out the windows.” At Merlin’s questioning look, she winked. “I see a lot of the same guys, firemen, policemen – we talk, you know? Passes the time.”

“Plenty could have helped. Only you two did.”

*
“Evacuate?”

The poor fireman hadn’t had training to deal with this, hadn’t found the chapter in the manual to deal with extremely furious men that are made homeless by an elderly woman driving a car into a wall. It was a very delicate situation and his boots weren’t made for eggshells.

Looking over the man’s shoulder to the tall dark-haired man behind him, who so far had remained quiet, the fireman turned his plea to him, certain he was the saner and more likely to listen, inhabitant of the flat.

“Sir, we’ve made an assessment of the damage done, and due to the cornerstone damage and the potential weakening in the wall, that we really must insist that you vacate the building until we are able to assess the situation further in the light tomorrow. I’m incredibly sorry for the inconvenience but I must insist; it’s potentially dangerous for you to stay.”

“And where are we supposed to go?” Arthur demanded, bracing his weight on his hand and wincing at the pain. “We’ve been in here all day and we’re fine.”

“Arthur,” Merlin placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s not his fault. It’s not Alice’s fault. I’m sure we can crash,” Merlin winced at his word choice, “at someone’s or get a hotel. It’s just a night or a few.”

“A few?!”

“Better safe than sorry. Let the poor guy do his job.” Merlin didn’t miss the grateful smile the fireman gave him as Arthur’s shoulders dropped.

“Thank you. We’ll just pack some stuff. Do you need us to tell you when we leave?” Merlin asked the fireman, who nodded.

“If you could, yeah that’d be great.”

*

“Obviously you’ll take the floor.”

Merlin’s facial expression made it clear that it wasn’t obvious to him as he sat on Gaius’ guest bed. The queen sized guest bed.

“I’m the guest,” Arthur explained, testing the pillows on the bed, and dropping the softer one onto the floor.

“So am I!”

“No you’re not, you’re family.”

Merlin snatched the pillow from the floor and tossed it back onto the bed.

“But it’s not my house. So guest.”

“Family.” Arthur dropped the pillow again.

“Guest.”

“If you don’t shut up you’ll both sleep on the floor. Outside.” Gaius bellowed from his own room, Alice just audible as she rebuked him and once more apologised through the wall.

“We’ll share,” Merlin said decisively, stooping to collect the pillow once more and plunking it on the bed, drawing the covers back and slipping beneath them before Arthur could stop him. Merlin clung to the duvet as hard as he could, grimacing at the pain from his cut hands as he hung on, well aware of what was coming next.

“Noo,” Arthur cried as he slid off the mattress, ripping the covers from Merlin’s grasp but forgetting the narrowness of the bed, his momentum tipping him over the edge and onto the floor, wedged between bedframe and wall.

Unable to help himself, Merlin burst into hysterics, not resisting the urge to point his phone at Arthur and taking a multiude of pictures, quickly emailing them to himself, knowing that Arthur would erase them given half a chance. Just as a wooshing sound confirmed the message was sent, Arthur untangled himself from the sheets, and with a bellow, launched himself across the bed, head smacking into the lamp, knocking it from the bedside table to the floor as Arthur’s body crushed Merlin’s into the bed. Outweighed and outmatched, Merlin did his best, squirming and thrashing beneath Arthur as he tried to throw Arthur off, Arthur’s grip weakened by the bulk of the gauze around his palms. Merlin did his best to keep his

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Gaius had forgone communicating via wall and had stepped into the small room.

“Ummm,” Merlin looked at the mess of guest room, and glanced up at his uncle, “horseplay?”

“Clean it up. Got to sleep. And so help me if I hear one more peep-”

“You won’t,” Arthur cut in, taking in Gaius’ furious expression before adding a more respectful, “sir,” to the end of his promise.

“No, I won’t. Will I Merlin?”

Pushing himself to his feet, Merlin gently righted the lamp, impressed that it was still on and undamaged before turning back. “No Uncle Gaius.”

“Good. Goodnight boys.” After they chorused back their goodnights, Gaius left the room, shutting the door with a very final thump, a squeak of another hinge sounding seconds later followed by low mumbles of conversation between Alice and Gaius.

As the pair had packed overnight bags, they’d made the calls to friends only to find it was the worst possible time; Gwen and Lance had her family visiting so had no room, Leon and Percy both lived in tiny studio apartments with nowhere for either of the men to sleep, Gwaine hadn’t answered the phone and Mithian…Merlin had overheard a little of Arthur’s conversation with her, his flatmate placing the call on loudspeaker as he gathered his truly ludicrous amount of hair products from the shower. Her explanation for not having the space to house them for a couple nights have seemed, well, weak to Merlin, as though it were being hurriedly constructed.

It sounded like a lie.

But Arthur had accepted it with light-hearted teasing about women and the desire for interior decorating that he was sure was kicked in right before their biological clock kicked in. To Merlin’s ears, Mithian’s laughter had sounded relieved and a little forced.

“I can see why you didn’t want to live here.”

Pulled from his musings about Mithian, Merlin rolled over onto his other side with difficulty and a frown, almost breaking his nose on Arhtur’s shoulder in the process.

“And what is wrong with here?”

Arthur’s chest heaved as he sighed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Christ. Just, Gaius is a bit...” Arthur shifted carefully so as not to roll off the bed until he was facing Merlin, eyes wide at how close they were, the thin light from beneath the door just allowing Arthur to pick up the other man’s features.

“It’d be hard to live with him, I guess.”

“Yeah. I’d have chores coming out my ears.”

“Not to mention that eyebrow glower you’d get.”

“Mum used to threaten me with that back home. She’d always say she’d call my uncle, tell him about whatever it was I’d done and she’d tell me I’d get the look of disappointment and disapproval. It wasn’t fool-proof, Will and I did still get up to mischief – a lot if I’m honest – but it could be effective.”

“Is he why you left Ealdor?” asked Arthur.

“Gaius?”

“No. Will.”

Merlin was silent so long Arthur began to wonder if he’d heard, if maybe Merlin had somehow fallen asleep, until he heard the smack of his lips as he prepared to speak.

“He was part of it, I guess. With him I had everything I needed; he was my friend, my confidant…my brother I guess, really. When he was gone, when everywhere reminded me of him and that I didn’t have him anymore, I realised how much I just didn’t fit in there. That I’d never fit in there, really.” Merlin’s breath hitched, and Arthur ached to roll closer and give what comfort he could, wrap his arms around his friend and fight off what hurt him. But he couldn’t, so instead he made a joke.

“I’m surprised your ears fit in anywhere.” Arthur forced himself to sound light-hearted, while his own fears of Merlin one day deciding he didn’t fit in Camelot either made themselves known.

“My ears are just fine however. You on the other hand-”

“Don’t you dare call me fat. Again.”

“All I’m saying is, a little more fruit, fewer sausages and-”

An elbow to the ribs cut him off, their scuffle brief, mostly involving Arthur trying to smother Merlin with his pillow.

“What’s Ealdor like?” Arthur asked as the settled back down again, Merlin claiming Arthur’s pillow as a prisoner of war, refusing to give it up until Arthur threatened to go wake Gaius.

“Oh, you know. Picture-postcard; mountains and fields, a small river, fresh air. You’d hate it.”

“Fresh air?”

“Yeah, it can be really dangerous if you’re not used to it, goes straight to your head.”

“I’ve been to the country before you know, Merlin.”

“Ooh, lemme guess…Boy Scout camping?”

“Ha ha, very droll.”

“You know, you could try being nicer to me.”

“Why, would I get a pony?”

“See? That right there. Its stuff like that that makes people think you’re mean.”

“People think I’m mean?”

“Some of the lab staff are terrified of you.”

“Good.” There was a distinct hint of pride in Arthur’s voice.

“Good?” Merlin kicked out backwards, his heel connecting with the knob of Arthur’s ankle.

“Yes. Keeps them in line. Clearly you need a refresher.” Merlin anticipated the elbow that came his way, rolling away, clinging to the edge of the bed with all his might, one leg hovering over empty space as he fought to stay on the bed.

“You know what they say about flies and honey and vinegar.”

“Well, thank you Merlin. I’ll try to incorporate your constructive criticism.”

“Smart,” Merlin replied, “wisdom like this doesn’t grow on trees you know.”

“Are you truly wise, Merlin, or just a prattling fool? Sometimes the two can be hard to tell apart.”

“Which would explain how far you’ve gotten in life.”

“And how far you’ve not gotten.”

“Who in this bed has a PhD?”

“That’s not the point!”

“I think it is. Wisdom. I’m just chock full of it.”

“Full of it, is right.”

“Isn’t that my line?”

“Go to sleep!” Came Gaius bellow.
*
When Merlin woke, hours later, instead of being on their respective sides of the mattress, he and Arthur were instead wrapped up in each other. Arthur was draped across Merlin’s chest, head pillowed on his shoulder while one heavy arm was slung across Merlin’s waist and one thigh resting between Merlin’s own.

And pressed against his hip was the unmistakeable ridge of Arthur’s cock, half-hard and Merlin’s breath was stolen by a sudden protective desire to hold Arthur close, to watch over him in his vulnerable state as he slept.

But down that road lay madness and heartache. And likely the loss of his job, not to mention his home. He knew Arthur considered him an attractive enough prospect for a one night stand but he wanted more than that, and Arthur would never want that from him, of that Merlin was sure. Surely, if he had Arthur would have made a move by now. Isolde must have misread Arthur’s attention; Arthur was probably more concerned about his idiot flatmate being out in the rain half naked, worried he’d be the one having to look after a sick Merlin.

Even though the initial impression of Arthur being an asshole had faded long ago, the initial attraction Merlin had felt for him had not. It’d only increased as he witnessed the noble side to the man that Gaius had informed him lay beneath the surface, seen the gentle way he treated the kids at CCH, the teasing protectiveness he had towards his friends and the gentleman he was with Alice. He’d been privileged enough to meet the real Arthur and he couldn’t mess that up.

Besides, how would he even start that particular conversation? ‘Hey, remember months ago when we met, that you wanted to fuck me and I turned you down before you could finish the sentence? Well, how do you feel about giving it another shot?’
He couldn’t lose his friendship with Arthur, not now.

So with extreme difficulty given his bandaged and painful hands, Merlin began to disentangle them, surprised at how deep a sleeper Arthur was as he slid from beneath his friend’s arm and from the bed, quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor and slipping to the door.

But when he gets there, hand on the doorknob, dressed and desperate, he can’t help but look back to the bed and to Arthur. Merlin can’t help but taking in the glorious seep of golden lashes, the beauty of Arthur’s face with all the cares and strains of waking smoothed away. Arthur had rolled into the space Merlin had vacated, one hand clutching Merlin’s pillow, a small sile playing at his lips. It makes leaving near impossible.

It’s one thing, one thing to want to screw Arthur senseless, to lust after his incredible body and heroic actions. But this, this whatever it is…but Merlin cannot lie to himself. To be in love, that…that can only lead him to a dangerous path.

Resolute, Merlin tore his eyes away from what he cannot have and eased the door open, slipping away back into the real world.
*

It snowed heavily through the night that they were finally able to leave Gaius’, blanketing the town in awed hush, banks of it lining the streets as every bush and tree wore coats of snow and ice. Merlin smiled to himself as he sipped his coffee, hands tight around the curve of the mug, swaying close enough to the large bay window to feel the chill that lingered on the other side of the glass.

He loved the snow, loved the smell in the air, the crisp scent and crunch beneath his feet. Loved looking back to see his footprints alone, as though an isolated explorer crossing the land for the first time. He especially loved it when he was working from home and so could to enjoy it and wasn’t having to fight his way to or from work through slush and cancelled trains or listen to another rant from Arthur about all-weather tires versus snow tires.

After three torturous days sharing a bed with Arthur in Gaius’ guest room, waking each morning with Arthur curled along his side, head heavy on his chest and the sweet sleep-smell of his hair in Merlin’s nose, they’d both been allowed to move back in, Alice still peppering them with heartfelt apologies. A building crew had already set up scaffolding and a large sheet of corrugated steel had been fixed over the damaged wall. God alone knew what had happened, and how long it would be before it was determined; Alice had had the car returned to her the day before after being re-sprayed following a side-swipe while it’d been parked. The mechanic who had returned the car had placed it in the garage for her. She said that when she turned the key, that the engine had roared like crazy and that the second she’d released the handbrake and opened the clutch, even before she’d had time to so much as touch the gas pedal, the car had just taken off like a rocket, ripping across the driveway and straight into the wall of the flat. The damage done to the car was enough for it to be a write-off, and the hole in the wall was racking up to forty thousand pounds by the time someone had come in to investigate. It’d knocked straight through into the bedroom of the owners of the ground floor flat, sending the cupboard flying across the wall, missing where they lay asleep in the bed by mere inches and taken about fifteen years off their lives from the fright. As far as Merlin understood, that couple was being put up in a hotel, courtesy of Alice.

Arthur had been usually crabby the last few days, complaining about everything from the water pressure at Gaius’ to the taste of the coffee at café they frequented on the way into work from their temporary home, to the colour of Merlin’s socks. Merlin had attributed it to being out of his element, to feeling beholden to someone and not being in control of every little thing, along with the pouring rain that hadn’t allowed Arthur to run outside, and Arthur was not one to get stuck inside for too long, needing the fresh air and space. It had been exhausting, putting up with Arthur’s mood-swings, unsure what would set him off, every topic a potential mine-field. All while Merlin tried to fight down how right it felt to wake with Arthur in his arms, how natural it was to have Arthur’s thigh slot between his own, the scent of Arthur’s ridiculously expensive shampoo mixing with the faint hint of sweat and sleep teasing him through his morning. The dichotomy between the sweetness of how he woke up, and the bitter aftertaste of Arthur’s snapped commands and harsh dismissal had been tearing Merlin apart at the seams. He’d not missed the concerned looks from Gaius, and the gentle hand of Alice that patted his shoulder whenever Arthur kicked off.

When they’d been given the all-clear the night before to move back in, Merlin had heaved a sigh of relief while packing their bag- a special concession to get Arthur ready faster so he didn’t have to listen to Arthur bitch, and not at all to get them home as soon as possible, and more importantly into their own, separate beds- but it hadn’t seemed to make much of an impact on Arthur’s mood. When they’d arrived home, he’d started complaining about the pile of post behind the door, the fact the place was freezing, the milk in the fridge that’d turned while they were away. When he’d stormed to bed early, Merlin had been thrilled, enjoying the space they were now afforded, not to mention not having to relinquish the TV remote when Alice wanted to watch Grey’s.

Merlin didn’t get long to enjoy the quiet, a thud and curse from Arthur’s room ripping through the air, the snow all but forgotten.

“Buggering fuck!” Arthur barrelled out of his room, shirt buttons mismatched, tie slung around a twisted collar as he fought to tuck his shirt into his trousers, hobbling as he stuffed his feet into his shoes.

“Fucking snow, fucking weather, fucking power-cut killed my alarm.” Quick as a whirlwind, he was pushing past Merlin, hand snatching out to nick Merlin’s coffee, slurping from it as he headed to his briefcase, making a face at the sugar content.

“Arthur,” Merlin began.

“No time, no time,” Arthur drained and dumped the empty mug on the side, flinging files and paper haphazardly into his case and slamming the lid closed and locked.

“Arth-”

“I’ll buy you another coffee for fuck-” Slinging his overcoat over his arm, Arthur reached for the door.

“Arthur!” Merlin called out again as he filled the kettle and set it to boil.

“For fuck’s sake what?” Arthur bellowed from the doorway.

“Look at your shoes, you prat. Have you still not learnt to dress yourself?”

“I don’t have time for childish…oh.” Without another word, Arthur toed off the brown shoe he had on his right foot and with all the dignity he could muster, walked back to his room, returning a moment later carrying the black shoe that matched the one of Arthur’s left foot, refusing to look at Merlin as his flatmate snorted his amusement while Arthur stooped to shove his foot into the shoe and lace it up.

For good measure, Arthur slammed the door behind him.

1“You’re welcome!” Merlin yelled, sighing in relief as he sank down into the sofa, tranquillity forgotten as he stared blindly at the blank TV screen.
*
“Do you think Mithian has gone off me?”

“What? Gwaine, seriously?” Merlin couldn’t hide the amused disbelief in his voice. Gwaine had never been this way over a woman before, generally leaving the moment the sun was up and calling them all ‘sweetheart’ because he couldn’t remember their names. But with MIthian, Gwaine seemed committed, content and comfortable in his own skin in a way Merlin had never seen before. She was good for him. Unfortunately with feelings and attachment, there was always the down side.

“No! What makes you think that?”

“She’s bailed on three of our last five dates, we never hang out at hers anymore, and even when we are together, she’s surgically attached to her phone. She just seems…I don’t know,” Gwaine heaved a sigh, and over the phone Merlin heard a fridge door open and close. “Has Arthur said anything to you?”

“Nope. I think if Mithian had said anything to Arthur that was bad, he’d pretty much have knocked your head off by now, so, I’m thinking you’re fine.”

“Maybe.” In all their years of friendship, Merlin had never heard Gwaine so small, so unsure and vulnerable.

“She’s taking on so much at Nemeth, and I get the feeling her dad isn’t making the transition easy, and the CFO is having real trouble taking orders from a woman. Just, you know, it’s a tough time. I guess just, try and look after her, try not to add to her stress.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth as he parroted Arthur’s words, stomach twisting as his mind raced about possibilities. Was the stress too much for Mithian and she was self-harming? He refused to believe it was Gwaine – the man was physical but he was never violent unless breaking up a fight, gentle and caring, especially towards women and he adored Mithian.

“You guys are both still coming to the Christmas meal right?”

Before everyone scattered to their respective homes, returning to family long since missed, or in the case of Arthur, enduring near-silent meal cooked by the finest of chef’s while Uther listed his successes and, far more importantly in Uther’s eyes, Arthur’s failures of the year, ‘bucking him up’, for what he can and will improve upon in the coming year, it had been decided that the group would have a fun Christmas meal with each other, fuelled by too much food, too much wine and likely too many drunken stories.

“Is Arthur cooking, cos I’ve heard stories,” Gwaine’s tone suggested those stories ended with ‘and after I stopped vomiting up my spleen I felt fine’, and not ‘it was incredible’.

“No. He’s only telling people he’s cooking, which seems to be counter-intuitive to getting people to come, but maybe that’s his plan. It’s his bloody party and I’m expected to cook.”

After Gwaine and he had bickered, swapping stories about Arthur – Gwaine having heard a million and one great tales from Mithian and the lads, who he managed to see more than Merlin which was a crying shame– and Gwaine had repeated his request that there be apple pie and a cheese plate several times, Merlin thought Gwaine sounded far less concerned and back to his normal, cocky self.

Merlin however was even more convinced that there was something with Mithian that he was missing. A piece to the puzzle that was mislaid, the picture on the box a blur until it slotted into place.
*

“Smells good,” Mithian announced when Arthur opened the door, thrusting a bottle of wine at him as she moved past him to enter the flat. “So, Merlin did the cooking then?”

“I can cook!” Arthur barked; Merlin had spent the morning chasing him from the kitchen before banning him from entering, after one too many questions about where to shove the stuffing and accidentally dropping bacon on the floor, inadvertently stepping on it and considering the three-second rule to still apply.

“You can look good in an apron,” Mithian conceded, “but cooking is a whole other thing. Remember when you poisoned me on our first, atrocious, attempt at a date?”

“You guys dated?” Merlin stepped out from the kitchen, apron wrapped around his middle, a scent of citrus clinging to him.

“I wouldn’t call it dating, as such,” Mithian answered, brushing some flour from Merlin’s hair, Arthur’s fingers itching to do the same.

“More like excessively polite eating, followed by vomiting, followed by hospitalisation for dehydration and the promise to never do it again.”

Merlin’s laughter was riotous, doubling him over, only cackling louder when Arthur ordered him to shut up. Looking to Mithian for support, Arthur found none, his friend’s eyes sparkling with humour, her beautiful face transformed by her smile, one he hadn’t seen in a while. He figured she must have started to get her feet under her at Nemeth.

“You got another apron Arthur? Or a tea towel?”

“Why –why are-” Merlin gurgled with glee as he tried to get himself together. “Why are you asking him?”

“Good point,” Mithian slipped off her heels and padded into the kitchen. “Come on Merlin, I’ll help you. Can’t have you doing all the work, even if Arthur is more hindrance than help.”

“I am not a hindrance!” Saved from Mithian’s response by a loud knock on the door, Arthur leapt to attention and went to admit more of their friends, Gwen and Lance presenting their own additions to the dinner, Gwen quickly distributing the crackers between the settings on the table and Lance plunking a large tin of chocolates on the side, instantly rummaging for a toffee, slipping it into his mouth before Gwen noticed.

“Smells amazing Merlin,” Lance called, slightly muffled around the sweet.

“Thanks.”

Gwen glanced up from where she was straightening the glasses. “You didn’t help did you Arthur?”

Mithian’s chuckle was quickly stifled.

“He poison you too?”

“Hey!” Arthur strode into the kitchen, smacking Merlin’s ass. “I don’t go around poisoning my friends.”

“Just enemies then?”

Another knock had Mithian pushing Arthur out of the kitchen. “Go be useful.”

Leon plopped a bottle of Bailey’s onto the side and made a beeline for the chocolate, rustling through, asking Lance which ones were orange crème, Percy arriving before Arthur had closed the door, immense Christmas pudding in his hands that he delivered to the kitchen.

“We’ll never eat all that,” Gwen exclaimed, Percy smirking at her as he came back out, catching the rejected coconut chocolate that Lance launched at him.

“I will.”

“Lance, stop it!” Gwen slapped her husband’s hands from the tin and tightly resealed it.

“You’re eating soon, for crying out loud.” Watching Gwen get annoyed was so much more fun when she was rebuking others, so Arthur settled in for some quality entertainment.

“How long until we eat?” Leon asked, hiding a grin at Merlin’s annoyed shout.

“You’ll eat when you eat and you’ll like it!”

“I hope it’s sooner rather than later,” came Gwaine’s muffled voice through the door, grinning brightly at Arthur when he answered.

“Princess, tell me you’ve got booze.”

“Hello Gwaine.” Rolling his eyes, Arthur stepped back and waved towards the heavily stocked sideboard. “Mithian, your rogue is here.”

On his way to the kitchen, Gwaine swiped a bottle of wine, the sound of someone, likely Merlin from the sounds of kissing just audible, rummaging for the bottle opener.

“Where is your brother?” Arthur asked Gwen, distracting her as Leon silently worked to prise the lid off the chocolate tin, grabbing a random handful and quickly resealing it, the chocolates stuffed into his pockets with a wink to Arthur over Gwen’s shoulder.

“He took his own car back from dad’s house. He really shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I hope he’s not because we’re about twenty minutes from serving,” Mithian called out, Gwaine stepping from the kitchen seconds later with the open bottle of wine and Mithian’s lipstick around his mouth.

*

“Would you sit down for three seconds?” Gwen asked, reaching for Merlin’s hand to pull him back to his seat when Merlin popped up for the fifth time, his meal cooling on the plate.

“I just need to get another bottle of wine.”

“Just sit down, Merlin. I’ll get it.”

“I’m already up, don’t worry, back in a second.” Gwen stared after Merlin, lips pursed.

“That’s it. The next time Percy needs seconds of something, or someone needs more water, or the redcurrant jelly, or bread sauce or more meat, they are getting it themselves, you understand?” Gwen glowered at the rest of the table. “He made this whole meal and he’s barely eaten anything.”

A chorus of ‘yes, Gwen,’ was met with her approval and she smiled brightly as Merlin came back in, fresh bottle of white wine in his hand.

“Top-up?”

“I co-” Gwaine cut himself off with a wince, Gwen’s kick beneath the table swift and sure. “Never mind.”

“Oh, Arthur, you’re nearly out. Here you are, Your Highness.” Leaning over Arthur’s shoulder, Merlin filled Arthur’s glass. “Everything to your liking, Sir?” He breathed into Arthur’s ear, turning his head to smirk at him.

“Bit less cheek from the staff would be good,” Arthur muttered, unable to hide his wide smile.

The quiet chatting and clinking of cutlery fell away and Merlin stared unblinking as Arthur’s smile widened. Merlin faintly felt a tugging at his hand but it was soon gone and he ignored it, lost as he was in the closeness of Arthur, the subtle scent of his aftershave, the tiny patch of stubble he’d missed while shaving, the crooked smile he always wanted to taste.

The warmth in his belly had nothing to do with the wine he’d drunk while cooking but it was helping give him the courage to lean forward, to feel that plush mouth against his own, to feel Arthur sigh and part his lips, to slip past and tease his tongue.

The tinkle of glass shattering and Gwaine’s explosive curse wrenched Merlin away, blinking rapidly as reality resettled itself, blush creeping up his neck. Had anyone noticed? Had anyone seen how he’d been a heartbeat away from closing the distance between them and finally, finally tasting Arthur’s mouth. A furtive glance around the table assured him that their friends were ignorant of what had almost happened, their attention elsewhere. Namely at the floor where Gwaine had knocked his, thankfully water, glass.

“I’ll get it,” Merlin said, moving to place the wine bottle on the table only to find that he no longer held it, the bottle on the table before Leon.

“I’ll help,” Arthur volunteered, to everyone’s amazement, disappearing after Merlin.

“Seriously?” Mithian asked, turning to her boyfriend.

“I’m sorry!” Gwaine mumbled. “It was mesmerizing and I missed the table with the glass.”
“The other day, coming out of work, they were just standing on the pavement, staring at each other and man,” Leon shook his head, “you could have cut the tension with a knife and I had to get past them to my car and when they saw me they jumped apart and do you know what they had the audacity to pretend they were doing?”

“What?” Lance asked, skewering another slice of chicken and sliding it onto his plate, ignoring Gwen’s gentle riposte not to over-indulge given the large brunch they’d had at her father’s.

“Poetry.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Seriously,” Leon placed his arm across his chest, palm resting above his heart. “I swear, they leapt apart like scalded cats and then Merlin came out with some cockamamie tale about teaching Arthur poetry.”

“Is that what the young kids are calling it these days?” Mithian drawled.

“Think locking them in a room would help?” Percy asked, hunting through the various dishes on the table for anything someone had missed, eyes lighting up at the stuffing balls he found, as well as some roast potatoes, drowning it all in gravy.

“They’ve lived together for months, that hasn’t worked.”

“Stop it. You're all so nosey," Gwen admonished, slapping Gwaine's hand away from the roll on her plate. "Just let them sort themselves out, and don't force it. Shhh, they’re coming back.” Gwen smiled brightly at the pair coming back with broom and dustpan.

“Need any help?” She offered, moving to stand but Merlin waved her to her seat.

“We got it. I’m used to clearing up Gwaine’s messes,” Merlin punched Gwaine in the shoulder. “Good luck with that, Mithian.”
*
It’d been a wonderful meal, and so far, nobody had mentioned feeling ill, except for Percy but nobody had any sympathy given just how much the man had eaten; Merlin had been of the opinion that the amount that Arthur had set him to cook was going to require him to send their friends home groaning under the weight of Tupperware and still Merlin and Arthur eating left-overs for a week but Percy had just happily eaten so much that only one box had been needed to be put in the fridge. It wasn’t that he ate fast, he just never seemed to stop. Even Gwaine was faintly horrified and had given up his quest to match Percy plate for plate, looking only faintly queasy after his fifth mince pie.

Feeling proud of a job well done, Merlin had endeavoured to put his slip of nearly kissing Arthur behind him and had instead focused on just how happy his friends were; Gwen was chatting with her brother while stroking Lance’s hair, her husband offering to go back to their flat to get Percy some Tums. Leon and Gwaine were laughing about something, probably Percy, and Mithian looked radiant as she laughed with Arthur as they told each other terrible Christmas Cracker jokes.

As he watched them, Merlin took in how she looked like she’d finally gotten some sleep, the ridge between her eyes no longer apparent. She seemed lighter, brighter somehow, quick to laugh and tease in a way he’d not seen since their first proper meeting. Her phone hadn’t been out of her bag all evening and everything that Merlin was worried about was melting away. He supposed Arthur had been right; Mithian had, for all her outward appearance of being unflappable and confident, been struggling to find her feet as CEO of Nemeth, and all the indescribable responsibility and pressure that came along with it. Not that Merlin would ever tell Arthur he’d been right. The prat would be insufferable.

Lance’s torso suddenly blocked Merlin’s view and he mumbled inquisitively at his friend, Lance’s face unreadable as he stood in front of the main light, Merlin blinking against the brightness and the halo it created over Lance’s hair. Glancing over his shoulder to where Arthur, Mitian and Gwaine were now arguing over whether apple pie truly constituted as a Christmas meal dish, both men equally as passionate about it as the other and Mithian appearing to referee, Lance sat on the coffee table in front of where Merlin slumped back on the sofa, one hand curled over his over-stuffed belly and leant forward, beckoning Merlin closer.

“Are you ever gonna tell him?” He whispered conspiratorially.

“This…I don’t know.” Merlin’s heart sank and his stomach roiled, threatening to bring up every bite of his lunch; it had been noticed, his slip had been seen.

Shit.

There was no point in pretending, no point prevaricating; Lance was quiet but he saw far more than he ever let on, and he was entirely too smart to fall for any shit Merlin might try and throw at him.

“Do I think I’d want him to know? Maybe, yeah. Get if off my chest and just fucking say it out loud, just once to him. But would it do any good? Unlikely.”

“What do you think he’d do that’s so bad you can’t tell him?”

“There’s no point thinking about it, Lance. It’s never going to happen.”

“Merlin, what you two have could be magic-”
“Just,” Merlin sighed, eyes sad as he met Lance’s gaze, “just leave it, yeah? I know you mean the best, I know that, but-” Merlin just shook his head, leaning back to rest against the sofa, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he stared at the ceiling, Lance patting his knee.
**
A week later found Merlin alone in the lab, snowed under, both literally and figuratively, a huge swath of assistants not coming in due to the storms, but the lab had to be manned and if Arthur was coming in, so was Merlin. He was so rushed off his feet, running from machine to dish to machine to beakers, that he hadn’t a break to sit down until well after lunch.

With the poor fare of a limp chicken salad sandwich from the canteen, the bread of which managed to be both dry and stale and soggy, which Merlin was fairly sure defied the laws of physics or chemistry and possibly both, Merlin settled gratefully into Kilgarrah’s empty chair, propping his feet up on the desk in a fashion he knew he’d never dare if the dragon was in the building. But, according to the label, it was food and he resolutely chewed away, the interesting taste washed away fast by a can of soda, the sugar and caffeine rushing into his system like long lost friends, Merlin sighing as he felt his headache recede.

The buzz of his phone, buried deep in his lab pocket had Merlin discarding the crusts and fishing the phone out, the screen display instantly turning his blood to ice, arms freezing as fear gripped his heart.

Five missed calls from Mithian.

Seven texts, all variations of ‘Please, help me. You were right. I’m sorry.”

Merlin didn’t care that when he stood, the crust went flying, spraying across the desk. Didn’t care that Kilgarrah would have his hide.

He had to go.
*
“Arthur, I need to talk to you.” Merlin frowned as Arthur didn’t even look up, barely indicating he’d heard as Merlin had burst into his office.

“I haven’t the time, Merlin.”

“This is important.”
“Everything is important if you hadn’t guessed. Go back to the lab.”

“No. You have to listen to me.”

“You forget I’m your boss? You’re going to defy me?”

“You’re damn right.”

“I’m in the middle of work, Merlin.” Arthur didn’t look up this time, busying himself in the ledger laid out on the desk until Merlin’s hands slammed down on it.

“We have to go now.”

Arthur looked up into Merlin’s earnest expression, taking in the fear in his eyes and the desperation that laced his tone.

“Trust me, Arthur. Just this once, please.”

Arthur’s hands stilled, the expensive fountain pen falling from suddenly lax fingers as Arthur stared at Merlin, confusion and anger warring in his eyes.

“If you think you can use our friendship-”

“It’s Mithian.”

Merlin’s tone brought Arthur up short, the breath punched from his lungs.

“It’s Mithian, and we have to go. Now.”
*
“Mer-”
“Give me the keys.”

“Merlin-”

“Keys.” Merlin held out a hand, palm up, crooking his fingers.

“We haven’t the time-”

“No, we haven’t, but you are not driving in this state. Keys.”

With ill-grace, and overmuch force, Arthur shoved the keys into Merlin’s chest, cataloguing the wince as the sharp edge cut in, Merlin fumbling to catch them before they hit the ground.
*
The ride in the lift to Mithian’s penthouse flat was as silent and uncomfortable as the drive over, Merlin staring at Arthur’s reflection in the mirrored walls of the carriage until Arthur snapped at him to stop.

Knocking on the door, Arthur called out. “Mith? It’s Arthur and Merlin.”

When the door opened, Arthur’s breath tore from him; Mithian looked horrific. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her face pale, hair lank and un-brushed and instead of her usual tailored, beautiful clothes, she was in old sweatpants and a loose sweater. Arthur’s heart broke to see his friend so beaten, pulse leaping, the fear and horror of finding Mithian like this leaving Arthur cold, feeling like his blood had been replaced with ice, heart pounding painful in his chest.

“What happened?” Arthur asked as she stepped back to let them in, his eyes darting around the flat for a source of what was hurting his friend, something he could hurt or kill or destroy. He needed to destroy whatever was making his beloved friend look so broken, the adrenaline coursing through his system was demanding that he rip apart whatever it was, limb from limb.
“I-” A tear escaped, rolling down Mithian’s face as she swiped at her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“What-”

“You were at work and-”

“Mithian, do you need to sit down?” Merlin asked, pulling out a chair from the dining area, Mithian collapsing into it, Arthur crouching at her feet, his knees weak and hands shaking.

“It’s father. He’s going – or gone-”

“Mithian, I don’t understand. Where is your father?”

“He’s not here.”

“Then where is he?”

“I – I don’t-” Tears streamed down Mithian’s pale face, hands flying up to shield herself from view. “He’s not – I don’t know.”

“Come here,” Arthur leant toward Mithian, unprepared for her fighting him off, refusing to be comforted.

“He’s…my father is in the next room, Arthur.” Before Arthur could voice his confusion, she shook her head. “His body is in the living room but his mind…it’s not even on the planet.”

“I don’t-”

“Sometimes, he’s lucid, reasonable, the same man he has ever been but, now, increasingly, it’s like he’s someone else. He doesn’t remember who he is, where he is. He doesn’t remember to turn the stove off or turn off the water. Last week he started to strip off in the back of a cab. His balance is shot half the time. He was better, he was so much better this last week and I thought…I don’t know what I thought.
“My father is an old man, Arthur. He can barely care for himself let alone the company and I can no longer allow him to continue down this road the way he wants.”

“The way he wants?”

“He refused to seek treatment, get an official diagnosis and I’ve tried, Lord knows I’ve tried to abide by his wishes and care for him the best I can because when I tried to suggest a nurse or carer he went ballistic but, it’s gotten so much worse, he’s been forgetting who I am, he keeps thinking I’m a stranger or an intruder. He’s um,” Mithian looked away, biting her lower lip as she rolled up her right sleeve, revealing a large, deep purple bruise, stark and ugly,.

“He’s attacked you?” Merlin asked.

“He thinks I’m a burglar sometimes, or that I’ve kidnapped his family. He doesn’t,” Mithian gulped for breath around her tears, slim shoulders heaving as she fought to calm herself, “he doesn’t always recognise me and then he screams for me and I’m right there and he fights me when I try to help him. He doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean to hurt-”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Speak with him? Often even when he’s,” she blinked and looked away, shuffling her feet and struggled to find the right word, “away? Even when he’s away, he sometimes talks of you. He trusts you, he respects you.”

“He trusts you.”

“But not of late, Arthur. You’re my only hope. He thinks the Board and I are against him. I didn’t want to take control from him but this company is his legacy, Arthur, I want it to live on in his name and it won’t if he remains CEO. If I can just convince him to listen, to retire, he’ll have no excuse not to seek treatment. I just want him to get the right care. He’s my father, Arthur. He’s my father and I’m losing him.”
“I know. I know.” Arthur tugged Mithian into his arms, gentle lest there be further bruises he hadn’t seen, tucking his friend under his chin, surprised as he ever was at just how delicate his friend was, her personality so strong and so large that he was always amazed her small frame contained it all.

“He’s so angry Arthur, he was screaming and screaming earlier and I just couldn’t….I couldn’t do it anymore. He needs help. I need help.”
Arthur’s gaze found Merlin’s over Mithian’s shoulder, his friend offering a weak smile, and for a heartbeat it was enough. It was enough for Arthur to stand taller and let his friend break against him. Mithian could break now because they were there. And later, Merlin would protect Arthur, would care for Arthur as he raged and screamed against an unjust world that would deal those he loved such pain. And not once would Merlin gloat ’I told you so.’

“I’ll do everything in my power to help.” Arthur rocked back to his feet, hand reaching out to help Mithian up, squeezing her hand tightly in his grip as she set her jaw and swiped away her tears, a resolute and impossibly strong expression creeping over her face as she took a deep breath. Turning to the door, Mithian led Arthur towards her father.

Unseen in the doorway, Merlin tip-toed away, slipping out the front door silently.
*
Rodor had settled, sitting calmly in the living room watching a recorded rugby match as Mithian made them all something for lunch, by the time Arthur finished making some calls.

“The doctor will be coming by tomorrow at nine, then he’s going to assess Rodor and talk with you both about how to proceed, and he’s going to set up an appointment for you to see the appropriate specialists as well as start the ball rolling on what you need to do to the flat, stuff to help with the balance issue, how to proceed etcetera.”

“Thank you.”

“I just made a couple calls, Mith.”

“More than I did. I wanted to respect his wishes, I wanted to believe he’d get better, that it wasn’t what it is. I didn’t mean to keep it from you Arthur, I just…I couldn’t cope and he-”
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. He’s your father. You wanted to take care of him yourself, to deny that he was ill. I’d have done the same.”
*
“How is life treating you, Arthur?” Rodor asked, his earlier poor mood seemingly forgotten, eyes bright and smile infectious as the game ended, the man buoyed by Wales’ truly well-earned victory. Arthur had sat through many a tirade on how the sport was disintegrating, how it was becoming more like football, the standards in refereeing dreadful and how the game was becoming increasingly boring and poorly played as result.

As soon as he’d seen Arthur, Rodor had quietened, though he kept asking who the girl in the flat was, if she was Arthur’s date. Arthur could see how her father’s forgetfulness was hurting Mithian, the hope in her eyes every time she entered the room dying a quick death, the smile dropping from her lips each time Rodor didn’t address her by name.

“Life is treating me very well, sir.”

“There was that terrible business last week, with that Gedref lab explosion, your father told me about. Did you manage to get that fixed?”
Arthur refrained from telling him the Gedref problem had been months ago, not mere days; it would do nothing to help his already fragile balance of lucidity.

“Yes sir.”

“Good, good. Always knew you’d be a good man, Arthur. Always knew you were on the right path.”

“I’ve always looked to you for guidance, as a role model. You always helped me find what was wrong, and fix it.”

“I think those days are behind me, Arthur,” Rodor said with regret. “But I can tell you, don’t become your father.”

“Sir?”

“When your mother died, God rest her soul, your father shut down. He stopped seeing the beauty in the world, stopped seeing what was right in the world, seeing only the bad. But Arthur, you have the potential to be so much more. I want you to be happy, and sometimes, what’s needed is to change the questions in your life. Don’t ask what’s wrong, ask yourself what’s right. Ask yourself what your favourite part of the day is, and you cling to that, young Pendragon. Don’t let this world makes you cold.”

At Arthur’s expression Rodor chuckled, slapping Arthur on the shoulder.

“Don’t look so shocked. I’ve led quite a life.”

“And you will continue to do so.”

“I don’t know why Mithian hasn’t sent me to the nuthouse.”

“Never going to happen,” Arthur assured him firmly, “she just wants to ensure you’re getting as much out of life as you can.”

“I don’t mean to be such a bother, you know. It’s just something, sometimes it all just goes…hazy.” Rodor gesticulated by his temple, waggling his hand.

“You’re never a bother.” Rodor didn’t reply, just stared out the window, resting his forehead against the glass and tracing the paths of the raindrops down the pane, racing them to the sill.

“Pop, you want a drink?” Mithian’s apron was covered in flour and was towelling her hands dry as she entered the room. Arthur’s heart clenched when he saw how Rodor lit up upon seeing his daughter, his pride and love evident in his eyes. He’d never once seen his father look at him the way Rodor looked at his daughter.

“There you are. This is my Mithian,” he said to Arthur, gesturing Mithian closer. “Didn’t I tell you she was beautiful? Spitting image of her mother. Mith come here and meet, uh, meet-” Rodor frowned as he looked at Arthur, no recognition in his eyes, no hint of tease.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Arthur, sir.”

“That’s right, I remember, you told me. Arthur here is single, Mithian, just like you.”
“Father!”
“I find that hard to believe, that a woman as lovely as MIthian is single.” Mithian had always had a wonderful relationship with her father, so there was no way she hadn’t mentioned Gwaine to him, but it seemed to be something else that had slipped his mind just then.
Mithian smiled indulgently at her father, and smacked Arthur around the head.

“What?!”

“Sadly, father, I have no interest in Arthur. And if I know anything about love, I know that Arthur isn’t single. Or at least wouldn’t be if he got his finger out and actually did something about Mer-”

“Mithian!” Rodor laughed. “I never taught you language like that.”

“No. Picked that up on the street.”

As the pair bickered, neither noticed how Arthur had remained silent, eyes round as saucers, mug of tea shaking in his hands.
*
It was hours later that Arthur made his way home. He’d found the keys to his car on the sideboard at Mithian’s, Merlin nowhere to be seen and not answering his phone. As Arthur closed his front door behind him, he knew Merlin was home, his shoes strewn across the hall, Arthur kicking them aside with his own. Merlin’s coat and, oddly, his socks, were across the back of the sofa as Arthur made his way down the hallway, heading straight to Merlin’s room. It was strange that what months ago would have driven him crazy, now represented home, and warmth and joy.

Merlin represented home and warmth and joy.

It wasn’t until he got to stand in front of Merlin’s door that he hesitated; what if Mithian was wrong, what if he was wrong? He’d seen the way Merlin sometimes looked at him, not for his body, but at him, as though he was something important, someone worth far more than his last name.

Screwing his courage to the sticking place, Arthur rapped on Merlin’s doorframe.

“Yeah,” Merlin called out, “come in.”
Merlin was sitting cross-legged on his bed, but scooted to the edge when he saw Arthur’s expression.

“Everything okay?”

“I made a terrible mistake.”

Merlin didn’t bother to prevaricate.

“You believed your friend.”
“And I disbelieved you.”
Merlin shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead.
“You’ve known Mithian for decades. You’ve known me a few months.”

“I should have listened. I should have seen.”

“Oh, it must be so crowded in that head with that ego of yours!” Merlin stood, stepping closer to Arthur.

“Excuse me?!”

“You can’t be everything to everyone at every single second of every day.” Raising his voice, Merlin stepped closer. “You listened to your friend,
Arthur. You believed her. That is never a bad thing.”

“I should have done more. I see those kids at CCH every week, I see how they act. I should have seen it.”

“Bollocks! Until she could say it out loud, she’d never have told you. She wasn’t ready. She’s an adult, and as such able to hide such things. But now she’s ready to accept help, and now you can be there.”
Merlin didn’t recall moving, but somehow they were inches apart. He was so hyper-aware of the warmth of Arthur’s body, the flecks in his eyes, the pink of his lips, the warm wash of breath across Merlin’s cheeks, the faintest blush of shame on Arthur’s cheeks. Merlin couldn’t help how his gaze flicked back and forth from Arthur’s eyes to his lips, gaze following how Arthur’s tongue slicked his lower lip.

“Arthur?”

Instead of speaking, Arthur closed the distance between them, his lips soft against Merlin’s and for only a moment, Merlin stood transfixed at the feel, so utterly overwhelmed by having what he wanted, that he almost didn’t respond.

It was tentative. In this Arthur was hesitant, unsure that what he wanted was something that he could have. Merlin’s stubble was rough, tickling Arthur’s palm as his eyes flicked between Merlin’s soft gaze and his mouth, closing the gap slowly and Merlin’s had enough of the slowly-slowly approach; he doesn’t want Arthur to hesitate, he doesn’t want him to stop. Quite the opposite in fact.
Merlin’s tongue flicked out, teasing the bow of Arthur’s upper lip, tracing the plush lower lip to slick along the seam. Unhurried as Arthur sighed into his mouth, surrendering the kiss to Merlin without a fight, shuddering at the touch of tongue to tongue, pressing closer to the man in his arms.

Merlin’s hands slid up Arthur’s arms, one sliding around Arthur’s back to press between Arthur’s shoulder-blades to bring his upper body to press against Merlin’s, other hand curving around Arthur’s neck to play with the hair that curled over Arthur’s collar, sinking his fingers into the golden strands to tug gently.

Arthur’s moan was heartfelt as he sucked on Merlin’s tongue, one hand cupping Merlin’s face while the other dropped to Merlin’s chest, rubbing softly against one peaked nipple before flattening against Merlin’s ribs and sliding around to rest against the tantalising curve of Merlin’s lower back to push Merlin’s hips to meet the rock of Arthur’s own, all the while Merlin’s tongue insistently mapping Arthur’s mouth, memorising the ridges of his palate, smoothness of cheek and slick of teeth.

Merlin tastes of sweet coffee, and Arthur is desperate to catalogue every flavour, whining when Merlin’s hands shifted to his chest, flattening over firm pectorals to push him gently away, ripping his mouth from Arthur’s with a gasp, breath fast and shallow. Merlin’s eyes are glazed, poorly focused on Arthur’s mouth, his cheeks a beguiling red that Arthur can’t resist pressing kiss after kiss to, his hands slipping into Merlin’s hair to keep him still.

Drawing back, Arthur’s gratified to see that Merlin is as affected as Arthur feels; slick red lips ringed in pink from Arthur’s stubble, the flash of pink tongue when Merlin tasted Arthur on his lips, the dazed eyes and warm breath fanning over Arthur’s face. Arthur tried to take those lips again, but was denied as Merlin turned his face aside to draw breath, instead returning his hands to Arthur’s hair, guiding him to the column of Merlin’s neck before he can jump to any conclusions of Merlin not wanting this, groaning as Arthur sucked kisses across his pulse-point and up to his ear, tracing the shell, tracing the length of the piercing Merlin had in place, closing his lips around the barbell.

“You and me, we shouldn’t make sense.” Merlin huffed a laugh of agreement, glancing away as he nodded, recalling how many months ago he would have agreed.

“And yet we do,” Arthur continued, “you and me, we balance each other.”

“I’ve certainly been good for your ego,” Merlin interjected, unable to stop himself and unwilling to try.
Arthur’s lips quirked in amusement, though Merlin could see he was trying to fight it.

“While I, in turn, battle tirelessly to teach you your place. Clearly my efforts have been in vain.”

“I know my place,” Merlin countered as he rested his forehead against Arthur’s.

“My place is right here.”

“Finally something we agree on.”

“I’ll inform the press.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Alright,” Merlin mumbled against Arthur’s lips, breathless already as he followed Arthur’s order, fists clenching tight in the folds of Arthur’s coat. Arthur’s lips met his with a sweetness that soon melted away into ferocity.

When he was finally forced to pull away, or pass out, Merlin was only able to move inches, Arthur’s breath warm against his lips, as Arthur’s fingers groped at the buttons on his shirt.

“Off,” Arthur growled.

“Shouldn’t you be working, Mister Pendragon?!” Merlin did his best to look scandalised, but it wasn’t to be, his smirk kissed off by Arthur.

“And clearly I’m still teaching you, Merlin. Live a little. This is the sort of executive decision that those on the upper floors have to make daily.”

“Really?” Merlin drawled, appalled at just how hot he found Arthur’s demands at that moment, the roughness in his voice, the tight clutch of Arthur’s hold and the faint rock of hips against his.

“Lesson one-”

“I’m really hoping there’s extra credit.” Really Merlin should have expected the sharp spank.

“Hey, I’m not into punishment.”

“Lesson one, getting you out of this, asap.” Overwhelmed by the look in Arthur’s eyes, at the desperate edge to his voice, Merlin could only nod his assent, the time for playing over, own fingers tackling the buttons, their hands meeting in the middle to strip the shirt from Merlin’s shoulder.

“Executive decision number two.” Palms stroking over Merlin’s skin, Arthur gazed at the pale expanse of Merlin’s chest, tracing the dark hair that swirled between his nipples, fingertips rubbing against flat nipples until they hardened,
"Wish you'd said yes. You know, before. Wish you'd said yes, we could have had a terrific night."

"I don’t.” The light in Arthur’s eyes dimmed, his back straightened and he moved to step back from Merlin’s hold.”

“No, no, don’t do that. We only just got here, don’t pull away now. I meant,” Merlin licked his lips, smiling as Arthur’s gaze dipped to his mouth. Feeling cheeky, Merlin sucked his plump lower lip between his teeth, biting down into the soft flesh as he tugged it free, triumph coursing through him as Arthur visibly gulped.

“I meant that, I’m glad I turned you down that night, because we’d never have had this. Never had something real.” Merlin rocked his pelvis into Arthur’s, drawn back to his mouth, pressing kiss after kiss to those lips.

“I’d trade that one night, for all of this. In a heartbeat.”

“I see your point,” Arthur conceded as he backed Merlin into the wall, pressing him there, angling Merlin’s head, sinking his hands into thick hair, tugging gently.

It’s not the first time Arthur has had someone pressed up against a wall, trapping their sweet body against his own as cocks hardened and moans filled the air, but it was the first time it's really been important, the first time the person had been important.

The shirt drops from Merlin’s shoulders onto the floor and he looked away, shy and demure and Arthur knew it wasn’t an act, wasn’t a contrived coyness as he’d often felt with others he’d been with. It made him want to be so gentle, to be so tender with the other man, at war with wanting to press against him, press him into the wall, to fuck and bite and suck.

Grasping the hem of Arthur’s shirt, he pushed it up, dragging his palms up the rippled musculature of Arthur’s stomach, curving over the pink disks of his nipples to feel them swell and harden beneath his touch, hooking his fingers into Arthur’s collar, pulling upwards, leaning forward to press kisses to the golden trail of hair beneath the navel in front of him in reward as Arthur pulled the shirt over his head, mussing his hair, making Merlin’s hands itch to sink into it.

There’s no grace to their dance. Merlin is too fevered at finally having the press of Arthur’s body pinning him to care for technique, too desperate to rut against any part of Arthur he can. The sparks of heat that spiral up Arthur’s spine has his kisses sloppy and wet, too lost in the feel of their erections brushing and sliding together.

“Just like that,” Arthur breathed, his plea swallowed immediately by Merlin, desperate hands reaching for Merlin’s belt, Arthur popping the button in his haste to rip the jeans down, to get his hands down Merlin’s boxers, to fill his palm with the firm heat of his erection, two strokes enough to bring Merlin to full hardness, the tip already slick.

“You like that?” Arthur asked, free hand shoving the boxers from slip hips, easing the waistband over his prize, pushing the irritating fabric down Merlin’s legs, stepping onto it and encouraging Merlin to step free, his whole body revealed to Arthur at last.

Over the weeks he’d caught sight of parts of Merlin, the man had little shame about parading about in towels the size of a postage stamp, but this…Like this, with his skin flushed with desire, with his cock in Arthur’s hand, with nipples that begged for Arthur’s mouth. The small tattoo on the flesh of his flat stomach, dark in the hollow of his hipbone.

Like this he’s perfect.

He’ll be lucky if Arthur ever lets him out of the bed.

Arthur nosed against Merlin’s face, and they’re kissing again; sweet and slow, gentle while his touch is not, one of Merlin’s hands tightening around his fist, making him jack Merlin’s tighter, even as Merlin hissed into their kiss at the friction.

Arthur tugged them back from the wall and bore Merlin down to the bed, forcing between Merlin’s thighs, kissing a trail down Merlin’s neck and chest, a surprised ‘oof’ escaping him when Merlin bucked up, clumsily rolling them, shock sending Arthur limp as Merlin’s display of strength only hardened his cock. Lax fingers traced over and over the dark green tattoo. The design was faintly familiar, reminiscent of a Celtic knot and Arthur wanted to lave his tongue over the inked skin again and again, blindfold himself, and learn that skin with touch and tongue, learn if he could detect the slight raise of the skin that bore the tattoo.

The hands on Arthur’s belt were anything but clumsy, drawing Arthur’s attention away, Merlin winking up at him as he slid the leather free, a practised snap of his wrist sliding button free and zipper down, patting against Arthur’s hips in silent command to lift, pulling jeans down pushing them down to his knees, leaving Arthur to kick them free of his legs, and with a quick glance upwards, he closed his mouth over the swollen head dampening the cotton boxer, rewarded with a choked grunt, Arthur’s fist punching into the mattress as his head hit the pillow.

“Up,” Merlin ordered, hooking his fingers into the waistband, stripping Arthur of the last layer between them, bearing him to Merlin’s hungry eyes. Seeing Merlin’s jaw working, the muscle twitching, Arthur knew what he planned, knew he was working up a lot of saliva to make his mouth wet and his eyes fluttered shut as Merlin opened to him again.

“Fuuuuck…”

Moaning around his mouthful, Merlin thrilled at the taste, uncensored by fabric, the snug fit of cock-head on the roof of his mouth, the crisp crush of hairs against his nose, the scent of Arthur’s arousal. Drawing back, Merlin teased his tongue under Arthur’s foreskin, swirling around the crown to hear him sob, swallowing him down again, only to retreat once more, tongue sliding the length of Arthur’s sternum, tasting the burst of sweat, the cling of hair, nosing up the length of his neck to slide his tongue into Arthur’s mouth, their kiss hard and fast, Arthur’s sucking on the offered flesh, whining when once more Merlin pulled away, biting at the stubbled jaw.

Merlin slid down Arthur’s body, hands dragging along damp skin, dancing along every ridge and valley of Arthur’s ribs and stomach, nuzzling his face against the firm mound of hip to press kisses down, down until crisp hair tickled his skin, kissing along Arthur’s groin, hands wrapping around a thigh to bend the leg up and away, to greater his access, pressing kisses along the sensitive back of Arthur’s thigh, nosing into the crook of his knee to hear him gasp a laugh.

He ignored the sharp thrust of Arthur’s hips and the demands for him to ‘get the fuck on with it,’ glancing up at Arthur as he removed the insistent hands from his hair guiding them instead to his shoulders. He tenderly nuzzled against the soft weight of Arthur’s balls, rubbing his cheek along the length of Arthur’s cock, soothing the burn of his stubble with the warmth of his mouth, dragging his lips against over-heated skin to suck a kiss just below the crown, Arthur’s response somewhere between a moan and a cry.

Arthur heaved and bucked, desperate to feel Merlin’s mouth again, to feel him really take him deep inside, to ‘fucking suck me already,’ Merlin’s smile evil as he slid his hand’s up Arthur’s thighs to mould one over Arthur’s hip, thumbs brushing over and over the hollow beside, teasing the skin beyond endurance, the other hand finally, finally taking Arthur’s cock into a loose grip at the base, ring finger and pinky teasing over Arthur’s balls again and again as he slid his mouth down, down, down.

“Fuck, fuck!” Arthur’s hands flew once more to Merlin’s head, and this time he allowed it, moaning at the gentle tugging, smiling around Arthur’s cock as curious fingers teased over the piercings in his ear, tracing the barbell again and again, Arthur’s hands tender but insistent as he tried to guide Merlin’s head down again, whimpering when he felt Merlin flatten his tongue against Arthur’s flesh and sucked him down, squeezing the base.

“Merlin!”

Merlin sucked cock the way he seemed to do everything else; messy, determined and enthusiastic, saliva dripping from his mouth to coat Arthur’s balls, fingers rolling them as his mouth worked the plump head, tonguing the slit to chase Arthur’s taste.

Merlin’s hole ached, feeling so empty, desperate to be filled like his mouth, but he wanted this more. His smart mouth had started them down this path, and Arthur’s was going to spill within it, Merlin stealing his taste now, after so long.
But he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help reaching back, bracing his weight on Arthur’s hip with his other hand, rubbing dry fingers over his hole, teasing the rim, pressing but not penetrating, arching his back when Arthur swore above him, hands flying from sheet to shoulders, fingers digging desperately, pain blooming from blunt fingernails, fire streaking down Merlin’s spine in response, pooling in his gut as Arthur’s stomach heaved as he tried to sit up, tried to get his hands on that ass, tried to shove himself deeper into Merlin’s mouth, whining as Merlin sat back, hands pressing firmly into Arthur’s chest, shoving him back down.

“Just watch.”

“Please, Merlin, please,” Arthur babbled, hands threading into Merlin’s hair, not to hold or press but to guide, to ground as Merlin undid him.
Arthur was incoherent, words babbling from his mouth as though all the words he’d not said for months were bursting forth at once, begging, commanding, pleading, and threaded through each phrase, tying it all together was ‘Merlin’.

Merlin loved the way his name sounded from Arthur’s lips, as though it were safe with him, the way his lips and tongue shaped the name before delivering it to the world. He wanted to kiss the sound from Arthur’s lips and taste it from his tongue. He wanted it to drip from Arthur’s mouth again and again, wanted it to be the one constant in Arthur’s mind, even when he’d forgotten his own name, Merlin’s would spill forth.

With vicious delight, Merlin looked forward to a time they’d be under the covers, Merlin between Arthur’s thighs, dark and hot and humid, his scent and arousal so concentrated Merlin felt he’d be soaking in it as he swallowed Arthur down. He looked forward to all the next times they’d have.

Arthur was un-coordinated and clumsy as he pulled on Merlin’s shoulders, desperate to get his fingers and his mouth into or onto every part of Merlin he could reach as he tugged Merlin up to him, sighing at the weight that pressed him into the mattress as Merlin’s lips finally came back to his own and Merlin’s hips settled between his thighs.

“Hmmm,” Arthur hummed into Merlin’s mouth, chasing his taste over tongue and teeth, tumbling Merlin to the side, flipping him onto his stomach, Arthur’s hands firm in his manhandling but gentle in his touch, Merlin sighing at the reverence Arthur bestowed, at his adoring touch, a quelling hand quieting the reflexive press of Merlin’s hips into the mattress, the ache in his cock near unbearable.

Turning his head, Merlin’s breath caught at Arthur’s expression, the predatory gleam to his eyes as he drank Merlin in, hands smoothing along Merlin’s arms, positioning him just so; it was heady to be the sole purpose of Arthur’s attention and, for a heartbeat, Merlin was transported to a night, months ago, that he had spent hard and awake, imagining a night with Arthur, and all it would entail.
Those fantasies, then and since, held not a candle to this moment.

He knelt by Merlin’s side, resting a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades, skimming his fingertips along the dips and valleys of Merlin’s spine, smoothing the baby soft, fine hairs that were near invisible, palming the dimples at the base of Merlin’s spine, just above the sparse curve of his ass.

“Wish I could fuck you,” Arthur whined, pressing kisses along the path his hand had taken, one hand pressing between Merlin’s thighs to spread his legs, the other bracing his weight.

“Why can’t you?” Merlin’s muffled from where he has his head buried in the duvet, fingers twitching in the sheets as Arthur runs his hands up the sensitive inside of his thighs to brush against his balls.

“Not gonna get hard enough and I want you now.” Shifting on his knees, Arthur got between Merlin’s thighs, hands massaging the firm ass, giving in to the urge to bite and suck, overwhelmed with need to take Merlin in, to fill his mouth with Merlin’s flesh, to please him and hear him moan.
“So fucking gorgeous, Merlin.”

Stretching himself out, uncaring that his lower legs hung off the bed, Arthur pulled Merlin’s buttocks apart, blowing a stream of cool air from tailbone to balls, smiling as Merlin’s hips jerked forward, humping into the mattress, pink hole twitching as muscles strained.

“Can I?” Arthur asked, letting the words buzz across the exposed skin as he leant closer, smudging just the tip of his tongue to Merlin’s hole, a brush of hot-damp before it was gone again, lips peppering kisses across every inch of Merlin’s ass that he could reach as he waited for Merlin’s answer.

Merlin nodded furiously, trying to arch his hips up and back, to get his knees beneath himself, to get Arthur closer, to get Arthur’s tongue where he wanted it, needed it. But Arthur was nothing if not a tease. Lowering his mouth, he kissed the divots above Merlin’s ass, tongue snaking out to taste the smooth skin, letting his thumbs slide into Merlin’s crack to rest by his hole, rubbing, rubbing at the furl, pressing but never penetrating, feeling how Merlin’s back bowed, the tension in his body increasing as his hole began to relax.

Widening Merlin’s legs further, Arthur nuzzled the taut skin behind Merlin’s balls, awkwardly sucking one into his mouth, weighing it on his tongue, moaning at the taste of Merlin and sweat and want, releasing it to drag his tongue, flat and wet, up and over Merlin’s hole, delighting in how it twitched, curling his tongue in little circles at the base of Merlin’s spine before returning to his hole, slicking over the rim again and again.
As he relaxed under Arthur’s onslaught, Merlin’s language deteriorated, cursing and grunting into a pillow, hands clawing at the sheet as he tried to contain himself, hips rocking back, back, back onto Arthur’s tongue, fighting against Arthur’s restraining hands, desperation exuding from every pore.
Thumbs slipping in the slick, Arthur took pity, pushing his face closer, pressing his lips over Merlin’s hole and sucking, his smirk of triumph breaking the suction at Merlin’s unbridled shout, hips grinding in small circles as he sought friction on his cock, Arthur not letting up for a second, stiffening his tongue to finally penetrate the slackening entrance, wriggling as far into Merlin as he could, hands shifting to his hips to bodily pull Merlin up and back onto his tongue, knees splayed, ass high.

Sobs ripped from Merlin’s mouth, head hanging low between his shoulders, back bowed under Arthur’s avid gaze, hiccupping at the feel of Arthur’s thick thumb worming its way in alongside Arthur’s tongue, hooking into the wrinkled rim to stretch it further, rubbing back and forth, wrist rotating to press his fingers behind taut balls, Arthur’s cock trying valiantly to twitch at the obscene moan that spilled from Merlin’s lips.

“Right there, hmmm?” He asked, relinquishing his prize to breathe, rubbing his cheeks across pale skin that was mottled pink just to watch Merlin shudder, second thumb taking his tongue’s place, the heat as mesmerizing as the play of Merlin’s muscles as he thrust back, ass high as tried to chase Arthur’s tongue, rhythm stuttering and erratic as he thrust back, grinding his hips, searching, searching for friction, for more arms stretched taut in front of him, head low. He looked like some pagan sacrifice, one Arthur would happily submit to time and again.

Merlin was all angles and edges when they warred outside this room but here, fluttering around his fingers, mewling like a kitten he was soft, all demand and command, but soft and giving, moulding to Arthur just as he needed to.

“You close?” Arthur asked, unable to take his eyes from where Merlin was fucking himself back onto Arthur, the way his hole sucked in his fingers, unwilling to give them up. Arthur’s half hard, feeling like a teenager again, and he knows how he wants to finish Merlin off. He’s unlikely to come again, but he doesn’t care.

Rearing up, hauling his own knees beneath him, Arthur snugged himself up tight to his lover, hands sliding up Merlin’s heaving sides, slipping on sweaty skin, rounding over shoulders and down his arms, linking their fingers, locking Merlin into his embrace as he pressed his hips against Merlin’s ass, hardening cock slipping between Merlin’s legs. He could barely hear Merlin’s sobs and laboured breath over the roar of his own heart, the throb of his cock, the air in his lungs that reeked of sex and Merlin, breathing them in as he nosed into Merlin’s hair, the damp strands tickling his face as his mouth sought out the softness of his nape, bruising the skin there with his kisses, mouth empting and wanting.

Trapped between Merlin’s sweaty, spit-slick ass, Arthur began to thrust, cock riding Merlin’s cleft and nudging into his balls, pleasure racing up his spine. Arthur used his knees to push Merlin’s legs closer together, urging him to clench down on him.

“Need more,” Merlin gasped, head turning, face red and lips abused and Arthur certainly can’t resist that invitation, sucking that plump lower lip between his teeth and tugging, tongue sweeping along the indents left by Merlin’s own teeth before letting it go, sucking at it once more.

“I need your hand Arthur.”

Unable to resist dragging it out, despite the worrisome purr of his heart and the pump of his chest, Arthur denied him, lost in the catch of his cock-head on Merlin’s loose rim as he thrust forward, grinding his hips close, small circles as he urged Merlin to rock back into him, massaging his balls with the head of his cock, pre-come smudging against tight skin, Merlin’s balls drawn up tight to his body.

Releasing one hand, Merlin’s fingers instantly grasping the sheet with white knuckles, Arthur pushed his chin around to kiss him, sloppy, desperate, tongues learning the smooth of tooth and slick of tongue as they shared breath, Arthur’s thrusts harder, faster, shallow as Merlin sucked on his tongue, wanton and unashamed as he whined his pleasure when Arthur’s cock hit him just right, Arthur’s kiss muffling Merlin’s shout as he came, back arching up into the weight of Arthur’s chest, their skin kissing and sliding as finally, finally Merlin’s world shook apart, shooting untouched onto the covers

Merlin’s body shuddered, knees likely jelly and arms quivering as his cock kicked and twitched as his balls emptied, hole clenching, empty but for the tease of Arthur’s cockhead dragging across the rim again and again as he jerked and shook, Arthur spilling between his thighs, painting his balls before they both collapsed to the bed, filthy, exhausted, sated.

Next time, Merlin promised himself with the one remaining brain cell that he could trust, next time that cock was getting inside him, stretching him wide, leaving his aching and he couldn’t contain the hoarse shout as his balls clenched once more, one last spurt of come spilling beneath him.
“You feel so good, Merls,” Arthur whispered into his sweaty hair, lips seeking the warm metal and mouthing the bar of his piercing
Arthur came to realise he was crushing Merlin into the bed, his greater weight no doubt impinging upon taking much needed breath and he did his best to roll off him, unwilling to disentangle himself entirely. They’d taken too long to get here, too long to be in each other’s arms and bed. Too long to learn this dance. He suspected Merlin was lying in one mother of a wet spot, in fact Merlin was the wet spot but it didn’t seem to be bothering him, similarly exhausted but uncaring, eyes opened to mere slits, blinking lazily as he smiled at Arthur, fingers slowly, painfully, releasing the bed covers to slide over Arthur sweaty skin to pick up his hand, Merlin bringing it to his lips to chastely kiss the back.

After all they’d done, that was what made Arthur shy, that look of pure affection and fondness, desire and lust banked. It was a look he’d run from time and again, a look spelled out commitment and love and he rolled towards it, tucking Merlin under his chin and urging him across Arthur’s chest, ignoring all complaints about smearing come all over him.

Arthur gripped Merlin by the back of his neck, bringing him up and into Arthur’s kiss, lips sore as they crushed together, Arthur kissing as though fighting a war, as though they hadn’t just fucked senseless, as though he wanted to climb into Merlin as deep as he could and never come out again, to be one half of a whole, greater than the sum of its parts. He kissed as though starved, a desperate man, convincing a lover with the gift of tongue and teeth to stay, to want, to love.

Merlin matched him stroke for stroke, bite for bite, mind foggy but body roaring to be closer, shuddering as Arthur palmed his nape to keep his close, lightly scratching the sensitive skin, swirling time and again in the little curl that formed, sweet and beguiling.

Overwhelmed, exhausted, Merlin gentled the kiss, soothing his hands across Arthur’s chest, letting his lips move to kiss over Arthur’s face, soft press to temple and nose, cheek and jaw as his hands smoothed over Arthur’s skin, smearing their sweat and come and selves into him, whispering nothing and everything, quiet murmurs of love and devotion, promises of what he planned for them next, slumping against Arthur’s side to press his face into his neck, fingers tangling together as they lay panting, curled together.

Eventually they’d have to move. Eventually the stench of come and sweat would grow stale and eventually their skin would itch and crawl but for now, just for now, they curled together. Content.
“How could you see it when I couldn’t?”

Merlin’s heart broke at the sorrow in Arthur’s voice, the lost look in his eyes when Merlin lifted his head, the tears that clung, unshed, to his lashes.

“Because I wasn’t going through the same thing she is.” At Arthur’s confusion, Merlin continued. “You know just how hard it is to start taking on the responsibility of a company like Nemeth. You’ve lived the exhaustion and the weight of it. You knew so well what she was going through, and so she…” Merlin winced as he cut himself off, but Arthur finished what he was going to say.

“She used it. She used it against me. Why, Merlin? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin offered honestly, “because she was scared I guess.”

“Of me?”

“Of facing the truth of her father’s condition. Admitting it, telling you, that would make it real.”

Arthur blinked rapidly, a tear rolling down the side of his face and Merlin ducked his head, pressing his lips on its path.

“It’s not a judgement of you. Or of your friendship.” He kissed to Arthur’s eye, the flutter of lashes against his lips. “And you can help her now. We’ll help her.”

“’We’ huh?” Arthur asked, nosing against Merlin’s cheek, drinking it the rasp of Merlin’s stubble against his skin.

“We always were a ‘we’.”

“That’s positively zen. Or something.”
“See? Wisdom.”
Merlin pushed himself up onto his elbows, hovering over his lover and Arthur can’t help but let his eyes be drawn down, admiring the flush to Merlin’s chest, the line of lean muscles in his arms, down, down to where the tattoo is hidden in shadow but he knows it’s there.
His fingers trace the same path, curving over a prominent hip, thumb stroking over and over the soft skin beside it, closing his eyes to determine if he can indeed feel the ridge of ink. He can’t but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn. Now that he’s allowed to touch, actively encouraged to touch, he’s having a hard time not doing so, and figures he doesn’t have to try now. Merlin wants Arthur’s hands on him, just as he wants Merlin’s hands on him.

Thumb rubbing again and again, Arthur says “Tell me about it?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Bet it’s not. What is it, how long have you had it, why-”

“You sound like-”

“If you mention your mother when your cock is sticky against my hip so help me,” Arthur threatens, removing his hands from Merlin’s addictive skin.

Scowling, Merlin leant his weight over to one arm, free hand grabbing Arthur’s around the wrist and pressing it back onto his chest, smiling when Arthur immediately flattened his palm to the skin, sliding down once more to where the tattoo lay, dipping a little to scratch through the thatch of hair below before returning to Merlin’s hip.

“I was going to say Gaius.”

“That is not better, Merlin.”

“It’s a triskellion,” Merlin answered his earlier question.
“Like in Marvel?” Arthur’s brow creased as he tried to remember the symbol anywhere in the films he now sometimes stole into his room with, watching the whole catalogue time and again.
“No, not like the SHIELD headquarters. Like in Celtic mythology, dimwit.”
Arthur retaliated by gentling his touch, just tracing where he guessed the tattoo to be with the very tip of his finger, barely there brushes of sensitive skin, delighting in the shiver that travelled up Merlin’s body, using his free hand to wrap around Merlin’s nape to bring those plump lips back to his, sucking the lower one between his teeth to gently nibble against it.

When Arthur let him go, Merlin stayed close, Arthur’s hand crushed between them.

“Got it, umm, maybe thirteen, fourteen years ago. Can’t remember if we were sixteen or seventeen. Me and Will. Kind of got it for our mums, you know? Each symbol has the three ‘legs’ and for me those were my mum, Will and me. His was for his mum, me and himself. His mum saw it a couple months later – he got his on his ribs and she chased him down the street. Thought she was going to kill him. Of course she then called my mum to tell her we’d done something stupid, and that if Will had a tattoo then I did too. That was one of those times I got a threat of Gaius. After the tattoo, she took the piercings pretty well.”

“It hurt?”

“Yeah, of course it hurt, it’s a fucking tattoo. But that’s life; if you’re more afraid of the possible pain, than the reward of getting what you wanted, then you don’t want it all that much.” Merlin frowned as Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he drew his head back from Merlin’s own.

“So, you saying you didn’t want me enough to-”

Merlin reared up again, face set, eyes little more than slits.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare, Arthur Pendragon. It wouldn’t just have been pain if you’d rejected me – I’d have lost everything. My home, my friends, CCH, you. I’d have lost everything. Don’t you fucking dare. I had your friendship and it was enough. Enough to be your friend and by your side.”

Arthur was sure he shouldn’t be as turned on as he was by Merlin’s anger, the darkness in his eyes as he spat the words at Arthur, pushing himself away, fighting Arthur’s hold, twisting away from Arthur’s kisses to his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Arthur murmured as Merlin stopped fighting but didn’t return his hold, going limp in Arthur’s arms. “I was kidding.”

“Didn’t sound like it,” Merlin mumbled mulishly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur mumbled into Merlin’s ear. He figured the admission would be enough a shock to Merlin that it’d get him to look back to him, and he was right, Merlin turning round, wide eyes vulnerable and unsure when seconds previous they’d been angry and accusing.

“You could have said something too.”

“I know.”

“I could ask you if you really want-”

“I did. I do.” There was no hesitation to Arthur words as he cuddled Merlin closer, pulling him down with him again into their nest of sheets.
Really, Merlin’s bed was pretty comfortable but Arthur had plans to make his own bed theirs. For one thing it was bigger, so the next time Arthur fucked up, it’d take Merlin longer to get to the edge and away. For another, it was bigger so the next time they fucked they wouldn’t have to worry about rolling off the edge. Though, Arthur had secretly rather enjoyed how close they’d had to sleep when sharing a small bed. But now they no longer needed the pretence of having no choice but to sleep close. Arthur had no intention of ever sleeping apart from Merlin again, their bodies pressed tightly together, wearing only sweat and come. Speaking of which, they really needed to shower; Arthur’s belly was starting to itch.

“I’m going to say stupid things.” Merlin rolled his eyes and pressed a forgiving kiss to Arthur’s mouth.

“What else is new?”

“I can kiss you whenever I want,” Arthur demonstrated just how pleasant an addition to their lives that was. “I can do this,” Arthur ran his hands down Merlin’s back to cup his ass and brought their hips together. It was still too soon for them to get hard, though Merlin’s cock seemed to be determined to try.

“Hmmmm.”

“I can-”

“Shut up and get to it.”

The shower took a little longer to get to, but it was more than worth the wait for Arthur to get his hands on Merlin soaking wet and soapy, Merlin’s laughter ringing loud off the marble walls when Arthur called him his Christmas present.

He wouldn’t mention it again because he knew just how hard Merlin would laugh, but Arthur was looking forward to being able to unwrap Merlin far more than just for Christmas.