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Arthur’s back was killing him.
But, that really wasn’t anything new. The mattresses at the Wyllt Inn were a far cry from the plush, down mattresses of Arthur’s past. No, these mattresses were both his own personal nightmare and his chiropractor’s wet dream.
Or, at least, they would have been the latter, had he been able to afford to continue seeing said chiropractor. Then again, Arthur supposed, if he’d still been able to afford his chiropractor, he would probably have been able to afford a decent mattress in the first place, negating this whole hypothetical.
His thoughts strayed to Morgana, who had snapped up and locked down the first decent-looking single girl she’d met, ensuring that she would no longer need to share a cramped room with Arthur and sleep on what he imagined was actually a stack of cardboard wrapped in cotton. No, it was a real bed for his infuriating sister, who managed to chat up their café waitress within five minutes of meeting her. He couldn’t even be mad. Indignant, certainly, but not mad.
Speaking of sharing a room…
He cast a sidelong glance at Merlin, who was lying next to him in bed, ramrod straight on his back and staring at the room's dingy ceiling. His eyes were wide and unblinking.
“There’s a mirror on the ceiling,” he choked out in a horrified whisper. “Why is there a mirror on the ceiling? None of our other rooms have mirrors on the ceiling.”
“The disco ball and rayon-sateen sheets are a nice touch as well.”
Merlin finally broke his staring contest with his own reflection and turned to glare at Arthur. “Oh, I’m sorry. Who was it that shoved me in here rather than walk five minutes to my flat because he was so impatient to get off?”
Arthur flushed. Both he and Merlin had been a little tipsy the night before, having raided Merlin’s stash of cheap vodka, kept under the inn's reception desk—something Merlin only got away with by virtue of being the owner Gaius’ nephew—but neither of them had been drunk, not even close. He’d simply stumbled upon Merlin, grumbling as he cleaned up a room the previous guests had left a little worse for wear, and suggested that the man take a break. Merlin had immediately made for his stash and complained Arthur’s ear off about rude guests (he may have also directed several pointed comments and glares in Arthur’s direction). But if, after an hour or so, Arthur felt his own defenses slip as Merlin’s hand gestures became increasingly dramatic, and he kissed his friend into stillness, and one thing led to another, well, that was hardly his fault. Besides, Merlin certainly hadn’t complained.
“I seem to recall you being just as enthusiastic, Merlin,” he protested, maybe a little petulantly. He propped himself onto his side and said, “Actually, I believe your exact response to my question of whether or not you were sure about this was ‘shut up and fuck me—’”
“ —Alright, alright! ” Merlin sputtered, ears and face turning bright red. Arthur was delighted to see that the blush extended down his chest. “Geez, Arthur.”
Arthur laughed and settled back onto the pillow, proud smirk in place. Although it faded as a feeling of uneasiness came over him and he realized that he and Merlin would need to have a conversation.
Arthur had been living at the Wyllt Inn for close to a year now, and while he and Merlin had gotten off to a shaky start (what with him insulting the small, rundown inn before even getting the key and Merlin tearing him a new one, leaving him completely speechless for the first time in his life), they’d reached a point where they could no longer deny that they were friends. In fact, Merlin was probably his only friend. It was part of the reason why he’d been so reluctant to admit that he’d felt anything even remotely romantic for the lanky receptionist.
He thought back on all his past relationships and realized uncomfortably that they’d all ended in disaster. Sophia had tried to cajole him into marriage after only a month of dating and became enraged when he’d laughed at the idea. Vivian had thrown a tantrum so loud after he’d broken up with her and refused to leave his London flat for so long that Arthur had had no choice but to call the police. Cedric had stolen his credit cards and made several very expensive purchases before Arthur had been able to cancel them. The list went on and on.
He glanced at Merlin. Merlin was nothing like his exes, he knew. For one thing, Merlin talked back to him like no one had ever done in the past and seemed to view his wealth—well, prior wealth—and upbringing as an unfortunate bit of baggage that needed to be overcome, rather than an opportunity to get something for himself. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever have someone look down on him for being a, as Merlin put it the first time they met, “posh git,” but here they both were. For another thing, no one’s smile had ever made Arthur’s chest give way to butterflies quite the way Merlin’s did. And he knew Merlin liked men, both because of last night and the string of boyfriends and one-night stands Merlin had had since they’d met.
So maybe… Merlin was already so different from everyone he’d ever met. Maybe he could be different in this way, too.
“Merlin,” he started, but Merlin suddenly jumped up, clutching the duvet to his frame.
“I have to get to work,” he said, refusing to meet Arthur’s eyes and instead bending down to retrieve his clothes. “I should have been at reception twenty minutes ago.”
Arthur felt himself deflate. “Alright,” he said quietly. He remained in the bed as Merlin changed, seemingly as quickly as possible, and tried to think of a way to express the fact that he wasn’t sorry about what happened and maybe would Merlin like to do it again sometime except also that time they could cuddle and kiss and get married and grow old together? But Merlin was already dressed and making his way towards the door.
Pausing, Merlin shot a look back at Arthur and opened his mouth before apparently changing his mind and snapping it shut, giving Arthur a nod and walking through the door.
Arthur sighed.
Only for Merlin to come right back through the door, slamming it shut behind him, his large, blue doe eyes wide with fear. “Shit,” he said.
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”
“It’s your dad,” he whispered, horrified. “He saw me.”
And indeed, Arthur could hear his father’s muffled voice coming closer. “—towels, Merlin. We need towels.”
“Your dad can’t know about this,” Merlin hissed as he ran into the bathroom to grab a handful of scratchy, white towels. “It’s humiliating. For me.”
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, intending to insult Merlin to mask the flash of genuine hurt blooming in his chest, but the knock sounding at the door silenced him.
“Merlin,” he heard his father’s curt voice on the other side of the door. Unconsciously, Arthur drew the bed sheets up to cover his bare chest. “I saw you go in there. If you think I’m going to be hunting you down every morning just to get a clean towel—”
Merlin cracked the door and shoved a towel into Uther Pendragon’s hands. “Here you go, Mr. Pendragon,” he said, attempting to block his view into the room.
Arthur could almost hear the glare his father was sending Merlin’s way. “Merlin,” he hissed in warning.
But Merlin swatted his hand in a shushing motion. From outside, Arthur heard his father’s voice come out cold. “This is a facecloth and a bath mat.”
Merlin froze. “Oh,” he said. “Um.” Uther cut him off.
“I understand you’re Gaius’ nephew, but this laziness in your service is unacceptable.”
“Merlin!” Merlin ignored him and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Too bad you can’t afford a half-decent room.”
Uther’s voice may have been cold before, but now it came out like ice. “Excuse me?”
Merlin coughed. “I said I’d be happy to deliver the towels to your room.”
“Merlin!" Merlin flipped him off behind his back.
Uther sounded a bit wrong-footed, but pressed on, “I’d rather take them with me now.”
Arthur could see Merlin tense and try to close the door even further. He was now squeezed into probably less than a ten centimeter gap. “Oh no,” he insisted, sounding a little panicked. “I’ll deliver them. The others in this room are… dirty.”
There was a bit of a pause. “Is someone in there?” Uther demanded finally. “What’s going on? Gaius insisted that this was a reputable, if run-down, establishment, but if you’re… selling drugs or, or housing criminals, I’m not going to—”
“Oh my god,” Arthur burst out finally. “Father, please, just take the towels and go.”
With a sigh of defeat, Merlin let the door swing open, just in time for Arthur to see his father’s eyes widen in shock as he took in his son, still lying in the bed, covered only by the sheets.
“Oh,” he said, uncharacteristically inelegant. “I… erm…” He held up the towels in a jerking motion and nodded. “Arthur,” he said. “Merlin.” And turned and walked back towards his room. Merlin shut the door and turned back towards Arthur, face scrunched in a grimace.
“Well that went well.”
“You slept with Merlin.”
She wasn’t his sister. She was a witch.
Arthur threw his head back in frustration. “Did father tell the whole inn? How do you even know that?”
Morgana smirked and gave her hair a flip, green eyes glittering. He knew she hadn't just come back to the room to see her 'darling little brother.’ “I ran into him when I was at the café talking to Gwen,” she stated lightly. “He let it slip.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. Sure he did. When it came to Arthur, Uther had never been able to lock down his poker face. Morgana must have seen it and descended on him like a hawk.
“Anyway,” she continued. “Gwen and I are hosting a dinner with her brother and some of his friends tonight. I told her you would come.”
Arthur had a vague memory of meeting Gwen’s brother Elyan, who worked as the small town’s only mechanic. They’d had a conversation a few months back about football and who was favored to win the Euros, before going their separate ways, only seeing each other occasionally and never engaging in any more than a polite wave. But seeing as Arthur’s only real friendship seemed to currently be going tits up, if Merlin’s hasty retreat after the embarrassing encounter with Uther earlier was anything to go by, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to expand his circle of acquaintances.
“Fine,” he ground out. “What time do I need to be there?”
Morgana looked delighted at the lack of protest. “Anywhere between half six and seven,” she said, gathering her bag and starting towards the door. “And don’t worry,” she added. “I already invited Merlin.”
Arthur whipped his head around. “What?” he croaked, but Morgana only laughed and sashayed out the door.
“See you tonight,” she called over her shoulder. “Make sure to bring a bottle of wine.”
Arthur let his face drop into his palms.
Witch, he thought.
A half hour later, Arthur found himself standing outside the office of the inn, fighting with himself. This is so stupid, he thought to himself. All he had to do was go in and have an honest conversation with his friend. Whom he had slept with. And whom he was maybe a little in love with. If only he could bring himself to open the door. Instead he was pacing back and forth like a coward, and—
“Are you going to come in then? Or just wear a trench into the ground out there?”
Arthur looked up to see Merlin leaning out the office window, trying, and failing, to hide his smirk.
“I was just,” he started, but couldn’t figure out how to finish.
Merlin sighed. “You may as well come in,” he said and pushed himself out of the window frame and back into the office. When Arthur poked his head through the door, Merlin was standing self-consciously to the side, continuously shifting his weight between his legs and holding his arms close across his chest. “So,” he said.
Arthur smiled. “So.”
A beat passed and suddenly, they were both laughing at the sheer awkwardness of their situation. When they had calmed down enough, Arthur brought up the dinner.
“My witch of a sister tells me she invited you along to dinner at Gwen’s.”
Merlin wiped his eye, still smiling. “Yeah she did. I mean, if by ‘invited,’ you mean ‘threatened.’”
Arthur rolled his eyes, fond, despite himself. “Sounds like her.”
Merlin hummed and silence fell between the two of them.
“Listen, Merlin,” Arthur began. “About last night.”
Merlin waved a hand. “It’s fine,” he said, once again not meeting Arthur’s eye. “We were both drinking, it’s already forgotten.”
Arthur blinked. “It’s… wait, what?”
Merlin’s smile looked forced, even to Arthur. “Don’t worry about it. I know it was a one-off. I know you’re not… well, that I’m not, you know, exactly your type. It’s fine. Wrong bits and all.”
Arthur knew that he could be oblivious, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but Merlin’s words seemed to come out a bit bitter and Arthur, in perhaps an uncharacteristic moment of clarity, realized there had been a big misunderstanding. “Merlin,” he tried, but Merlin cut him off, his forced smile still in place.
“It’s fine,” he said a third time, ushering Arthur to the door. “Look, I’ll come by your room after I’m done here and we can head over together. It’s what we would have done anyway.”
“But—”
“—But I kind of have a lot to do right now, seeing as how I never finished cleaning that room yesterday, so I should really get that started.” He pushed a dumbfounded Arthur gently over the threshold. “See you tonight, yeah?”
“Merlin, I think—” But Merlin had already closed the door, leaving Arthur staring. “—there’s been a misunderstanding,” he finished quietly. After a moment, Arthur snuck over to the window and peaked inside, only to see Merlin sitting at the front desk, his head in his arms, decidedly not getting ready to clean the aforementioned room. It wasn’t until Merlin’s shoulders looked like they had started to shake that Arthur snapped out of his trance and quickly made his way back to his room. Crying was… not something he was equipped to handle. From past experience, he only ever tended to make things worse, rather than actually help. He needed to think. And Merlin. He couldn’t afford to bungle it up with Merlin.
As promised, Merlin had knocked on Arthur’s door just before six, forced smile thankfully absent as he snorted at Arthur’s jumper.
“You do realize summer just ended, right?”
Arthur bristled as the pair set off down the road. “It’s colder here than it is in London.”
“It is not,” he laughed. “I think you’re just delicate.”
Wrapping his arm around Merlin’s neck and forcing him to hunch over, Arthur growled, “I’ll show you delicate!”
“Alright, alright!” Merlin exclaimed after a moment of wrestling. “You win, now get off, you oaf!” Arthur smiled as Merlin tried to flatten his hair back down—a losing battle on Merlin’s best day. Merlin caught his expression. “You’re such a prat,” he laughed.
“Morgana wants us to bring a bottle of wine,” Arthur said, in lieu of a response. “We’ll have to stop quick.”
“Right,” Merlin said, before stiffening up and going quiet. Arthur sighed. All the time he’d had earlier, and he still didn’t know what to say. In his own defense, Arthur had spent most of that time wondering why Merlin appeared to think Arthur was straight. He almost felt like he should be offended. Sure, most of his past relationships had been with women, and Arthur had certainly talked about them often enough, but there had been men, too. He knew for a fact that he told Merlin about the credit card incident with Cedric shortly after moving into the inn, because he remembered clear as day how, after telling him about how Cedric had gone on a hundred thousand quid spending spree with Arthur’s money, Merlin had leveled him with an even look and said simply, ‘Mood,’ before walking off.
Arthur shook the memory from his head as they approached the shop and began browsing the shelves.
“What are we looking for?” Merlin asked, breaking Arthur out of his distraction.
Arthur racked his brain, trying to remember his sister and Gwen’s wine preferences. “I know Morgana likes white wine. I suppose Guinevere does as well.”
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Arthur was so busy trying to come up with a way to tell Merlin that he desperately did not want last night to be a one-off, that he almost missed Merlin's fortifying intake of breath.
“So here’s the thing,” Merlin started matter-of-factly, though the slight quiver to his bottom lip betrayed his nervousness. “I drink red wine.”
Arthur blinked. “O… kay,” he said, confused. “Well, I’m sure they won’t mind if we bring two different bottles—” but Merlin cut him off.
“Like, when I was younger, I thought I might like white wine and even bought a bottle or two, but as I got older, I realized that I only liked red wine.” Arthur had never been so confused in his life. “And up until last night, I thought that you, you know, only drank white wine,” he paused, then added meaningfully, “like Gwen and Morgana.”
A light flickered on in Arthur’s brain and his eyes widened in understanding. “Ah,” he said, and stared at the bottle in his hands, considering his next words more carefully than he’d ever considered anything else in his life.
"But I guess I was wrong?"
“No," Arthur responded slowly. "I… I do drink white wine. But… I also drink red wine. I was even really into this one rosé for a while.”
Merlin let out a relieved laugh. “So you’re just really open to all kinds of… wines.”
Arthur held out the bottle he was examining and turned his gaze to Merlin, who flushed under the scrutiny. “I like the wine, not the label. If that makes sense?”
Carefully, Merlin accepted the bottle and gave a tentative smile. “Yes. Yes it does.”
Arthur beamed.
Hours later, when the pair was making their way from a surprising lovely evening (ignoring that Morgana had demanded money from everyone present when Merlin and Arthur had shown up holding hands, which resulted in several groans, Arthur sputtering indignantly, and Merlin turning red as a tomato) and coming back up to the inn, Arthur paused, causing Merlin to stumble.
After righting the other man, Arthur said, surprisingly serious, “I don’t know that I really said everything I needed to, earlier.” Merlin’s eyebrows furrowed, but before he could ask for clarification, Arthur continued. “And I know I have a bit of a reputation as someone who… goes to a lot of wine tastings.”
Merlin flushed.
“But I want you to know that the… wine tasting last night wasn't—”
“Oh my god, Arthur, I’m literally begging you to drop the wine metaphor.”
Arthur laughed. “Alright, alright,” he agreed, and pressed his forehead to Merlin’s. “I fancy you. Kind of a lot, against my better judgment. And I don’t want last night to be just a one-off. I think we might have something here and, well. I’m willing to try if you are.”
Merlin was silent for a moment. Thankfully, before Arthur could work up a proper panic, he spoke. “You know, when you and your family first moved in here, you were a real prat.” Arthur jerked his head up and let out a cry of outrage, but Merlin simply laughed and pressed his finger to Arthur’s lips, effectively shushing him. “But after getting to know you, ‘against my better judgment,’” he mocked. “I rather think I fancy you kind of a lot, too.”
Arthur grinned. “I can’t believe you thought I was straight. Did the story about me breaking up with Cedric and him maxing out my cards really make so little of an impact?”
Merlin squawked. “I thought you just had shitty taste in friends! Didn’t realized it extended to boyfriends, too.”
“Ooh, self-burn.”
Merlin groaned. “You’re the worst. I already want to break up.”
They reached the inn and Arthur gave Merlin a loaded look before jerking his head towards the room.
Merlin glared.
"If you think I’m having a repeat of this morning’s incident with your father, you’re even more of a dollophead than I thought.” Arthur’s disappointment must have shown on his face because Merlin began to laugh and immediately followed up with, “No need to look like a kicked puppy. We can go to mine.”
Arthur thought his smile might crack his face.