tourdefierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tourdefierce) wrote2010-08-29 05:20 pm
tourdefierce) wrote2010-08-29 05:20 pm
Entry tags:
Missed Connections: Part Five
<3<3<3
A week later, Gwen called.
"You're feeling better."
Merlin frowned and put the kettle on. "Gwen, your conversational skills are lacking. A statement is not a proper greeting for a friend."
"Don't get cheeky with me," Gwen sassed back. "I know you're feeling better because Morgana said you and Prince Arthur went grocery shopping yesterday."
Merlin could sense the impending doom, but as per the norm, he could not tell which direction it was coming from. It was if destiny was cackling at him in all directions.
"Yes?"
Gwen growled into the phone. "Merlin, why haven't you moved out of Prince Arthur's flat?"
"You really shouldn't call him 'Prince' anymore, Gwen. It makes him uncomfortable," Merlin said offhandedly while he reached into the cupboard for tea bags. They were out of English Breakfast, because Arthur refused to buy the cheap kind when the expensive kind was out at the shop.
"Merlin. You're not listening to me," Gwen shouted into the phone, and Merlin startled, dropping the box of tea to the ground.
"Well, I certainly am now."
Gwen sighed into the phone, and Merlin closed his eyes. He knew exactly what she was going to say, and although he wanted to stop her, he couldn't because it needed to be said, if only to make it true.
"You're playing house with the Prince of Albion, Merlin. You're playing house with the very straight, very complicated Prince of Albion and you're going to get hurt."
Merlin took a deep breath. He wasn't ready to stop pretending. He wasn't ready to stop living his own little fantasy. It just wasn't fair. It had only been a couple of weeks, and fairy tale endings needed time. Kilgharrah was always saying destiny needed time to work; wasn't this exactly what he was talking about?
"Merlin, I don't know what's happened physically between the two of you--"
"Nothing! God, Gwen."
"--but he's a prince, Merlin. He's a prince and he has obligations. He is a public figure, and as progressive as this world is, I don't know, I just don't know if he can give you what you deserve," Gwen finished in a quiet voice.
"He's not a prince to me," Merlin said, his own voice sounding meager in his ears. "He's just Arthur."
"Merlin."
"I know," he said. He shook his head and stared at the kettle, its bright red coloring mocking him. "I know."
The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable. Merlin took deep breaths, his chest tight with coiled magic and a whole host of other emotions he didn't like to label. He was a writer. He was an elaborate creator of impossible scenarios and fairy tale endings--he was both the dragon and the princess and the knights and all the characters, but never the right ones. Merlin was never one of the characters who got a happy ending, even in his own stories. But he was a dreamer and he had dreamt himself a perfect dream.
"Right," Gwen said over the phone. "You should get out, see the guy at Camelot. Breathe a little air that isn't infested with royal charm."
Merlin groaned. "Gwen, I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"Listen, you need to get some perspective, and you need to write or Morgana is going to kill you."
"Which one of those is she most concerned about?" Merlin asked with trepidation, because the relationship between Morgana and Arthur was strange in the very least.
"She spends half the day on the phone with Prince Arthur, and the other half yelling at writers who don't deserve it because she wants to yell at you."
"Right."
Merlin stared at the box of tea on the ground before nodding and picking it up, setting it on the counter. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," Merlin said firmly. "I'll be fine. I'll be just fine."
Merlin spent a good half hour trying to decide if he should wait for Arthur to get home before leaving, or just leave (which was amazing considering it took him over an hour to decide if he was going at all). In the end, he went with writing a note because he was an utter girl and had so many feelings he just wanted to vomit all over himself. Well, Kilgharrah had threatened to scratch out his eyes if he didn't leave something because apparently he was interfering with his destiny. Merlin wasn't sure how someone could interfere with destiny. Didn't destiny just happen?
Merlin read over his note, embarrassed about his chicken scratch handwriting.
Arthur,
Went out tonight. Even unconventional relationships need tending to. Hope your day was good.
-M
At the last minute he wrote a post-script, Gwen's voice cheering him on in his head: p.s. we should talk about me getting back home soon. And then he left, nodding to the security detail on his way out of the building. They knew to let him come and go as he pleased, but they were still creepy as fuck, and Merlin was more than a little afraid of them.
He spent the entire first hour at the club resisting the urge to go back and tear up the note before Arthur could see it. Instead, he sat at the bar and watched the steady flow of queers under the shining lights of the club. There was solace here, in the heavy beat of the club music and the anonymity that cloaked everyone in an intimacy that Merlin had yet to completely understand or explore. The theme of intimacy in anonymity was prevalent in his writings of late, but there was something so elusive about it that made exploring those feelings extremely difficult. But the hushed thrill was thrumming through the club, glitter spinning in the air and falling on starry-eyed queers who were all looking for love, still believing in the fairy tale endings told in their childhood but now with different pronouns. They were a community of romantics, all hellbent on living life to the fullest, and loving until there was nothing left inside of them. How did a community of romantics fall in love with anonymous affection? Was it the lingering shame of oppression? Or maybe it was the sacrifice of self for the sake of community that grounded generations of queers in night clubs with disco and poppers. Was this false freedom a prison or a release from the heteronormative monotony rooted in false promise and broken hearts?
Merlin wasn't sure.
He was sure that he had more than enough to drink to be morose and needed to see the handkerchief man as soon as possible, because then his magic would twist inside of him, dispelling his foul mood in favor of the comforting intimacy the handkerchief man had to offer. Merlin slipped off the stool he was occupying, nodding to Lance, who was just coming onto shift, and moved toward the restrooms. If Gwen had been there, they would have stopped and dragged each other onto the dance floor because the opening lines of "Teeth" by Gaga were bumping throughout the club. Various degrees of queers were screaming and swinging their hips, teeth bared and 'paws' up.
Any other day, it would have been a drunken delight. But tonight, Merlin felt trapped and forced into losing himself because there just wasn't room for him anymore. There wasn't enough room in the world.
The sinks and urinals, usually full of people in various states of undress, were all empty: the non-depressed queers were dancing with glitter on their eyelashes and joy in their hearts to Lady Gaga and whatever remix the DJ of the club had thrown on next. Merlin looked at himself in the mirror: tired eyes with smudged eyeliner, his v-neck too big on his pale frame, and his jeans frayed at the ends where they barely covered his ratty converse. This wasn't the look of someone who seduced royal beefcakes to the dark side of trouser love. He was just Merlin, an ordinary writer with extraordinary gifts.
He should have been a super hero. Or a dragon. Or a cat.
When Merlin finally turned away from the sinks and mirrors towards the stalls, he found that the loo was not empty. In fact, the stall where the handkerchief man was usually kneeling was occupied. Merlin didn't want to be creepy, but the trousers underneath the stall were familiar and the thought that Merlin could know someone, just by how they kneel behind a metal stall was oddly thrilling. Merlin walked, his steps measured, to the stall and locked himself in.
The handkerchief was lying on the ground, the red embroidered dragon staring up at him. Another familiar sight.
"You know," Merlin said with a quiet that he didn't feel. "I almost wished you weren't here. That I didn't make you come and do this for me."
But even as he said it, his magic was already alight and skittering along his arms, feeling electric. He already had his hand at the hole, slipping his fingers into a gloriously warm mouth. It felt safer there. It felt intimate and safe.
"Why would you come, if I didn't make you?" Merlin whispered as the mouth sucked down, the wet velvet of his mouth siphoning off any remaining doubts Merlin had about why he was here when Arthur was elsewhere.
Merlin wandered around the city for a while before he went back to Arthur's, trying to puzzle out his magic's reaction to the handkerchief man and Arthur. There was a strange intimacy in both of Merlin's relationships with them, and that seemed to be the only connection. Although, the anonymity was also something of a common link. With the handkerchief man, their sexual encounters were conducted without identity, just intimate desires and mutual need. But with Arthur, they shared anonymity in a different way: Prince Arthur was just Arthur, a gorgeous man with a taste for plain tea and footie games, and Merlin was allowed to feel special in a secret kind of way.
He was Arthur's secret friend. Merlin hadn't been able to leave the house much because of his fatigue, and Arthur was always so busy that most of the time that they spent together was in the comfort of Arthur's flat. Merlin tried not to think about being Arthur's secret queer friend and what that meant. And maybe, there was a sense of magical connection in a different way as well. Whereas Merlin seemed to be able to call the handkerchief man to the club with his gay bat-signal for blow jobs, his magic also saved Arthur in a spontaneous and mysterious way.
But whatever the similarities and differences there were, because the differences were clear when Merlin thought about what it would be like to have Arthur on his knees, his magic presented itself just the same: pushy, uncontrollable and electric.
God, his life really was a terrible sci-fi movie gone gay.
Eventually, Merlin got tired of walking in circles and made his way back up to Arthur's flat. The security detail had changed, the old men in black suits replaced with equally menacing-looking men in black suits. Merlin nodded to them and smiled when one of them brought his wrist up to his mouth and said, "Wizard is a go."
The fact that he was around the Prince of Albion enough to warrant a code name was beyond cool.
The sitting room lights were off, and the kitchen was deserted. Merlin strained his ears down the hall, attempting to hear if Arthur was in his study or his bedroom, but he heard nothing but silence. The television was off, but the light down the second hallway that led to Merlin's guest room and another spare room was on. Merlin walked quietly down the hall towards his room, only to find the light by the bedside glowing from underneath the door. Inside, Arthur was sitting on the bed.
"Arthur?"
The prince barely looked up from where he was staring at the window, his body angled in profile to the door. His face looked pensive, and he smelled clean; Merlin could smell the expensive cologne in Arthur's soap and the sweet, masculine smell of cleanliness. His hair was damp, the darker locks clinging to his forehead and curling at the nape of his neck. Obviously, there was something bothering him. Arthur had never been in Merlin's guest room. Not once in their budding friendship did Arthur spend time with Merlin in his bedroom. It was always the neutral ground of the sitting room and a few moments spent out at The Kitchen, but never had Arthur invited Merlin into his room, and Merlin had never dared let Arthur near his room for fear of Arthur finding out about Merlin's dreams. It was a silly thought, but one that kept Merlin in their neutral spaces as much as possible. And now Arthur was sitting on Merlin's bed with linens that smelled like Merlin, and he looked so good that Merlin wanted to cry at the injustice of the universe.
"Are you all right?" Merlin spoke softly, but his voice felt stilted and not his own. There seemed to be great expanses of silence between them now, whole oceans of division. "Did something happen?"
Arthur shook his head, and Merlin watched his shoulders move under his plain white t-shirt, the back bunching to reveal a small sliver of golden skin above his worn sleep pants. Merlin liked to think of a younger Arthur, still in the awkwardness of youth, getting those pajama pants for a birthday or Christmas. It was the little things that Merlin made up about Arthur's life that scared him because if he did know these things about Arthur, he might die of happiness.
When Arthur didn't say anything, Merlin approached the bed and tentatively sat down. Arthur didn't move, just stared out the window where the bright lights of the city twinkled back at them. When Merlin was little, dreaming about the city, he thought the lights of all the people spoke of dreams and promises. Now that he was older, he wasn't sure what those lights meant, but they felt more and more like loneliness and less like dreams. Merlin let the silence fill him, sitting next to Arthur in his bedroom. There was nothing going on, and it was both peaceful and terrifying. Merlin listened to the sound of Arthur breathing, deep and even breaths.
"I don't want you to see him anymore," Arthur said suddenly. And Merlin turned towards him, but Arthur was still staring out into the darkness.
"What?" Merlin heard himself say dumbly.
Arthur cleared his throat, his voice carefully measured. "The guy at Camelot," Arthur clarified. "The guy you met at the glory hole. I don't want you to see him anymore."
Merlin blinked, his eyes roving over Arthur's profile for some sort of hint at what the hell was going through the prince's head. When he found nothing but blankness, Merlin felt his own anger bubble up inside of him.
"You don't have any right to want that," Merlin said with gritted teeth. "You have no business to dictate that part of my life."
Arthur said nothing, and Merlin felt his outrage shift, feeling grittier and rawer. Whatever was happening here between the two of them was going to either get a name in the here and now, or Merlin was done. Gwen was right.
"I'm not sure who you think you are, but you can't issue a royal decree stopping me from seeing him," Merlin said bitterly. "I'm not your boyfriend, Arthur. For fuck's sake, you're straight! You can't tell me who I can and cannot see just because it makes you uncomfortable. I'm not sure how this has escaped your notice, but I'm gay. I like to fuck men and for them to fuck me. So damn what you want."
Merlin took a heaving breath, realizing that breathing wasn't really happening as he spat at Arthur. God, this felt like how they first met: ire and indignation all messed together in humiliation and shame. Merlin panted into the silence between them, still starting at Arthur's stoic profile.
"Not everything is about you," Merlin lied.
Then Arthur turned to him and everything changed. It was crazy, but it was a testament to how expressive Arthur could be when he let himself. The look in his blue eyes was troubled, but so clearly yearning--so clearly wanting that Merlin could do nothing but kiss him. Because Merlin knew, beyond a doubt, that he could never deny Arthur anything. Not when he looked at him like that, not when he asked in his own emotionally constipated way, because Arthur wasn't really allowed to want anything, not anything real. And so Merlin kissed him, their lips pressed softly together, but not without passion. Merlin tilted his head, pulling back to just breathe against Arthur's parted lips. He watched Arthur's face, still impassive, but Arthur's breath was short and his brow was furrowed, his eyes closed. Merlin felt him breathe against his lips and tried to slow time, slow his beating heart and slow the rush of magic inside of him. It was so intense, but Merlin didn't want to ruin this moment with some sort of magical feat. He just wanted this to be real--nothing supernatural, just two boys kissing.
"Please," Arthur said, and his words breathed across Merlin's lips more solidly and gut-wrenching than anything Merlin had ever felt. Merlin felt himself nodding, pressing tiny, insignificant kisses to Arthur's lips.
"Okay," Merlin kept saying, over and over again. Their kisses didn't get any more elaborate than that, just two lips meeting in rapid succession, until Merlin felt like the moment would last, felt like time would slow for them until they figured out what was happening.
"Lay back," Merlin said, and Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin tried to communicate everything in that one glance, every 'please' and every 'trust me'. He willed Arthur to listen. Moments passed before Arthur nodded and laid back, his body resting on top of the duvet. Merlin smiled, soft and unduly pleased as he crawled over Arthur's body, making sure to not to touch him too much. Merlin settled next to him, their bodies inches apart.
He toed off his shoes and shifted until he was comfortable before he reached between the gap between them and grabbed Arthur's hand. Merlin listened until Arthur's breathing slowed, until their hearts calmed, before he waved his hand and let his magic turn off the light, plunging them into comfortable darkness. Merlin promptly ignored Kilgharrah's scratching at his door. If that bloody cat wanted to rave on and on about destiny, Merlin was pretty sure that lying in bed next to Arthur was pretty close to any sort of epic destiny Merlin was supposed to achieve.
When they woke up, Merlin couldn't help but smile as Arthur's face was so peaceful and rested next to his own. They hadn't shifted in the night, still lying on opposite sides of the bed. But, the sun was shining through the window, and the light solidified everything into reality. There was no hiding. This was real.
Breakfast was tea and toast, with Merlin bitching about raspberry jam and Arthur laughing, head thrown back and completely giddy in a way that had Merlin so fucking delighted that he had to kiss him. And he did; Merlin kissed Arthur in the kitchen over tea and it was perfect. Arthur looked shocked at first, that stupidly cold expression slotting onto his face before it slid off and a shy, honest smile appeared. Merlin grinned, stupidly, before pulling Arthur over to the couch to get crumbs in the sofa cushions and watch Doctor Who reruns on the telly.
Merlin wasn't sure what kind of strings Arthur pulled for the next three days, but Arthur didn't leave the flat for anything, and they did nothing but talk, drink tea, and make food. Arthur would take telephone calls, but they were always short and most of them were from Gaius, whereupon Arthur would just shake his head and tell Gaius that he was busy. Merlin would wrap his arms around Arthur, winding around the Prince's broad back until he would hang up the phone with a small smile. They would head back to the couch and tangle up in each other for hours on end, Kilgharrah sitting at their feet looking like the cat that got the cream.
It was a like a thousand first dates in rapid succession--each little nuance Merlin learned about Arthur made his heart ache and his magic burst in tiny little bubbles of ecstatic flashes of gold that would lift furniture off the ground or cause the various plants in Arthur's flat to suddenly bloom. Each time, Arthur would laugh and kiss him until he was breathless. He learned more about himself and Arthur in those three days than he had ever learned about anyone in their entire life. He shared about growing up with just his mother, and Arthur would speak quietly about the absence of his mother and the gaping hole of happiness that she left inside his father.
Merlin felt drunk,and in some ways he was. He was intoxicated by all the knowledge he had of Arthur and all the things he was allowed to share with him because Arthur wanted to know everything about Merlin, from his favorite novel to his favorite word and what he was like as a child.
There was nothing there in those three days but Arthur and Merlin. Gwen's phone calls went unanswered, Morgana's emails left unopened and anything pressing was handled by Gaius, Arthur's laughter tittered across the phone as he told Gaius to take care of it all. And even lying next to Arthur, adjusting to his soft snoring and the fact that Merlin kicked like a mule in his sleep. They adjusted to each other in those days and surprisingly, Merlin didn't want anything more. He didn't crave Arthur's body as much he was just enthralled with everything else he was able to know about Arthur.
Thankfully, Arthur was a heavy sleeper, because Merlin's dreams didn't seem as satisfied about their situation as Merlin was. He still dreamt about blurry reality, the handkerchief man's and Arthur's face blending back and forth together until Merlin woke, gasping in his come-stained pajama pants. He would sneak out of bed then, pushing Arthur's heavy limbs off of him if they were tangled together, and change in the bathroom.
If Arthur noticed, he never said anything, and Merlin chose to ignore the insistent pull of his magic. Some things were more important than destiny--at least, that was what Merlin said to himself. Kilgharrah, thankfully, didn't say a word. Merlin might have had him skinned if he had.
Just as life had surprisingly stalled for them, it sped back up again.
"I have to leave today," Arthur said against the back of Merlin's neck, and Merlin stilled. "Gaius doesn't think spending time with you is a good enough reason to blow off state business."
Merlin scoffed as Arthur tightened his arms around his middle. The spooning was new. They had slept tangled together, but they were both awake now, lying in bed and waiting for sleep to come. They had arranged each other this way, Arthur's face nuzzled against the back of Merlin's neck, and their ankles tangled together in a mess of boyish skin. It felt nice to be this comfortable with someone. It felt incredible to feel Arthur's heartbeat against his back.
"I told him that he would have to meet you to decide that," Arthur said with amusement. Merlin smiled. Of course Arthur would mouth off to Gaius about him. Of course. "He was smarmy."
"I don't think Gaius can be smarmy," Merlin said.
"Lies. Gaius is the smarmiest person I know," Arthur breathed against his neck. "Except for you."
"Oh, how you woo me!"
Arthur chuckled against him but didn't say anything. Merlin understood the moment for what it was: it was his chance to get used to the idea of Arthur leaving the comfortable bubble they had been living in for three days. He would have to talk to other people. God, he would have to deal with Morgana and Gwen now.
Merlin groaned. "Morgana is going to be unbearable."
"Do you want me to have her arrested?"
"For what? I'm not sure being mean to the Prince's boyfriend is a punishable offense," Merlin said, before he realized exactly what he had just said.
"Boyfriend?" Arthur said softly, and Merlin held his breath, wishing he could go back in time and take back what he said.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to assume--" Merlin stuttered out. But he did, didn't he? If they weren't boyfriends, then what were they?
Arthur moved his hand, and Merlin clenched his eyes shut, but Arthur's palm just relocated itself underneath Merlin's shirt. Merlin allowed himself to breathe again, concentrating on the lovely warmth of Arthur's palm and how it rose and fell with Merlin's breath.
"Boyfriend," Arthur said as he pressed kisses along the nape of Merlin's neck. "Yes, I think that's about right."
Merlin laughed, a hysterical little puff of happiness, as Arthur continued to press chaste kisses to his skin.
"But it is a punishable offense, it's called harassment," Arthur said. "And if you're going to be the Prince's boyfriend, then there will be all sorts of that."
Merlin paused. They hadn't talked about this, about what happened outside the flat and how they translated there."Am I the prince's boyfriend?" Merlin asked, instead of the million different questions he wanted to answer. "Or am I just Arthur's?"
"You can be whoever you want to be," Arthur whispered, his arms tightening around him, and Merlin understood the sentiment. "But eventually, you'll have to be both. Secrets don't keep in the royal family for too long."
Merlin nodded. He hadn't honestly thought about it. But when he thought about Sophia, her pretty face plastered over every surface of the newsstands, it made him shudder. Reality felt daunting and suddenly too big for just two people.
"Don't worry about it just yet," Arthur said, his palm rubbing circles on Merlin's belly as if to pacify him. It seemed to be working, because Merlin felt his breath return to its regular programming. "It's a ways off. It's just us for now, yeah?"
Arthur sounded so unsure that Merlin moved his hand until it was entwined with Arthur's own on his belly, and he squeezed. "Yeah, just us."
"God," Arthur said with a deep breath, as he pulled Merlin closer to him, if that was even possible. "I feel like I've known you my entire life."
"It does feel that way, doesn't it?"
"It's strange, but then again, it's not like you're a normal bloke."
Merlin laughed. "Magic complicates most things."
"Does it normally affect..." Arthur trailed off, and Merlin squeezed his hand.
"No," Merlin said. "I've never had magic affect much of my emotions or another's."
Merlin thought of the handkerchief man and the way he had always shown up whenever Merlin had wanted him to. "I mean, magic can make things happen. Magic can make sure people are in a certain place, but it leaves a trace. Kilgharrah calls it destiny."
"Destiny, huh?"
"Yeah, but I tend to ignore him."
Arthur laughed, and Merlin suddenly felt distracted by the way Arthur's hand was casually moving lower to trace the arch of Merlin's hip bones. They still hadn't done anything but kiss, and even that had been fairly chaste. Merlin felt his breath catch, and Arthur's hand stilled.
"It's probably best to ignore your talking cat," Arthur said casually, and Merlin could feel his measured breath.
"Maybe," Merlin said, but part of him wondered if Kilgharrah was right, if this was his great destiny, to fall in love with a Prince and to change the face of public royalty forever. Goodness. "But he's not always wrong."
"Hmm," Arthur murmured against his neck, nuzzling the tender space behind Merlin's ear. He moved his hand back up to Merlin's belly, and Merlin took a deep breath.
"It's okay," Merlin whispered. "It's okay to touch me, if you want."
Arthur didn't answer, pretending to sleep, but Merlin just squeezed his hand and let himself settle back into Arthur's embrace. They were taking it slow. And if Arthur had never done anything with men before, not that he had told Merlin that, but Merlin didn't know, and if he hadn't yet, then Merlin could understand how daunting that could be. He could understand Arthur's resistance.
He could wait forever for Arthur if he needed to. And as scary as that thought was, Merlin recognized it as true. Instead of fretting over it, he let Arthur's breath against his neck, Merlin’s hand on Arthur’s bare skin and Arthur’s steady beating heart against Merlin's back lull him to sleep.
Merlin watched Arthur get ready, trailing him into his bedroom and lying on his bed. Immediately upon wrapping himself in Arthur's duvet, Merlin decided that he was never leaving.
"We're sleeping in your bed tonight," Merlin said aloud, pressing his face into Arthur's pillow. They smelled of Arthur's shampoo and his cologne. "It's comfier."
"You're just tired of the sun hitting your face in the morning," Arthur said from inside his closet, which for the record, was larger than Merlin's entire bedroom at his and Will's flat. "You lazy arse."
"Bollocks," Merlin said as he rolled over and faced Arthur, who was holding up two shirts in the air and standing in front of the mirror, face scrunched up as if choosing clothing for the day was a very hard and important decision. "Dress yourself often?"
Arthur threw him a glare and stripped off his shirt. Merlin enjoyed the view of Arthur's chest, his muscles flexing as Arthur slipped on an undershirt and a soft blue button-up. It complimented his eyes, even if it was a dreadfully boring color. Merlin licked his lips when Arthur's sleep pants slipped down his hips, revealing the tight cut of his hips and the delicious trail of hair that led to dirtier thoughts.
Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin looked up, blushing. He'd been caught.
"See something you like?" Arthur teased, but his voice was rough. Merlin nodded dumbly, completely captivated by the desire clearly visible on Arthur's face.
"Well," Arthur said, looking away and leaving Merlin practically gasping for breath. "I'm not sure how I feel about being objectified."
Merlin laughed. "Says the man who did a nearly pornographic shoot for Vanity Fair."
Arthur popped his head around the corner of the closet, trousers unbuttoned, but not enough to reveal if he was wearing boxers or briefs. Merlin pouted.
"It was not pornographic," Arthur said as he did up his trousers and picked out a tie. Merlin scoffed and rolled his eyes, trying to ignore his persistent erection. "It was artistic."
"You keep telling yourself that, but I know plenty of sexually repressed boys who wanked to that spread."
"Speaking for yourself again," Arthur grumbled as he fought with his tie in the mirror. Merlin giggled as Arthur tied a truly dreadful tie and pulled the knot out with enough zeal to make Merlin get up from the comfort of the bed and pad over to Arthur.
"Let me help."
"What? Do you have much experience tying ties?"
Merlin slapped at Arthur's hands. "Yes," Merlin said with a roll of his eyes. "I worked in a men's clothing department during Uni."
"There are so many jokes that I am refraining from making right now," Arthur said with a smile, and Merlin grinned as he knotted the paisley tie with ease. "Many of them referring to how gay you are."
"Oh shut it," Merlin replied as he tightened the tie and buttoned the holes on Arthur's shirt. "You may not be gayer than me, but you certainly are gay for me. And that is almost as bad."
Arthur laughed, pulling Merlin closer until they were kissing. Maybe it was the domestic nature of their morning, or how bloody gorgeous Arthur looked, or the fact that Merlin was extremely sexually frustrated and he hadn't had a wank in forever, but their normally chaste kisses turned dirty. Merlin's tongue traced the seal of Arthur's mouth before plunging in, curling around the back of Arthur's teeth and pulling a moan from the Prince's mouth that had Merlin's hands scrambling for purchase against the smooth pressed surface of Arthur's chest. It didn't take long for Arthur to give as good as he was getting, their tongues sliding wetly against each other in a truly filthy way. Merlin moaned, his hands curling in the wet curls of Arthur's hair and pulling them until they were flush, hips slotting together as Merlin sucked on Arthur's tongue until Arthur grabbed Merlin's arse, dragging their hips against each other in a more deliberate manner. They made out, sloppy kisses that left Merlin gasping for more until Arthur pulled away, their hips still moving in tight circles that were just not enough. Merlin groaned at the loss.
"I have to go to work," Arthur gasped against his lips, their foreheads pressed together.
Merlin nodded, leaning in to nip at Arthur's swollen lips. Arthur moaned and kissed him again, taking his mouth with enough force that Merlin couldn't do anything but scrape his fingernails down Arthur's neck, the pleasure from Arthur's kiss pooling hot and heavy in his groin. His magic sparked against them, and it was Arthur's turn to moan, his hands squeezing at the globes of Merlin's arse.
"Work," Merlin said when they broke apart again.
Arthur nodded and took several heaving breaths before Merlin pushed him away. "Go," Merlin said. "Go before I call Gaius myself and tell him you're too busy shagging your boyfriend to run a country today."
Arthur laughed, nervous but full of joy. He nodded and pulled Merlin back to him, wrapping his arms around him and holding them together. Merlin breathed him in, reveling in the fact that he could do this and it was all right. He could touch Arthur, this prince of a man, and it was perfectly acceptable.
"Later," Arthur promised with a low voice. "Promise me."
Merlin laughed, their lips meeting for brief, teasing kisses.
"You're the busy man," Merlin said. "You promise me."
"God, I'll be home early."
Merlin laughed and pushed Arthur away. Arthur grabbed a suit jacket and fled the room. Merlin heard the door slam shut, and he breathed, looking at the bed and then back at the door to the bedroom, before he crawled up onto the bed and had the best wank of his ever-loving life. Arthur's promise echoed in his head as Merlin jacked off, hand flying over his cock in desperation to just come.
When he did come, leaving streaks of white on Arthur's dark duvet, he pictured Arthur's lips stretched wide around his cock, eyes blown black with arousal, and didn't even feel ashamed when he realized it was an image from his dreams.
After cleaning up his wank session as much as possible, before finally resorting to magicking the stain away, Merlin showered and packed up to the coffee shop around the corner. Maybe he needed a change of venue to write. Merlin wasn't sure that Kilgharrah's smug, furry face was a writing incentive because it only made him think of Arthur and his destiny. It was so difficult with Arthur's promise hanging over his head and thoroughly distracting Merlin from writing because he kept getting hard. The nearest coffee shop was a couple of blocks away, but the day was nice enough that Merlin decided to walk, pulling on a long-sleeved v-neck and comfortable jeans with his trainers. At the last minute, he pulled out the handkerchief man's gift, fingering the smooth cotton before using his magic to make the handkerchief longer so that it wrapped around his neck like a neckerchief, the tail end hung over his shirt and the blue embroidered dragon contrasting brightly with the red color of the cloth. Surprisingly, instead of making Merlin feel dirty, it made him feel motivated to write.
He spent the rest of the day writing, bent over his laptop and going through enough cups of tea to be shameful. Thankfully the barista was kind and brought him tea without Merlin having to ask for it. Before he knew it, there were almost ten thousand words added to his word count, and the clock was quickly approaching seven. Merlin figured it was late enough for Arthur to think about coming home, depending on what 'early' meant when Arthur rarely came home before nine and usually closer to midnight. Merlin packed up anyway, stuffing his laptop away and tipping the barista heavily before making his way back home.
Merlin took the stairs two at a time when he got to Arthur's flat. He resisted the urge to ask the bodyguards if Arthur was home because that was just cheating. He made his way into the apartment, noting the briefcase on the breakfast bar.
"Arthur?"
There was no answer, but the light in the living room spoke for itself. Merlin looked around before heading down the hallway that led to Arthur's bedroom and study. The bedroom door was open, but the study was closed, and the light was leaking through the space between the door and the floor. Merlin went to open it when he heard voices, raised and obviously in a heated argument. Merlin pressed his ear to the door, ignoring the fact that he was blatantly eavesdropping. Whatever the problem was, it was preventing Merlin from having sex with Arthur, and that was enough of his business for Merlin not to feel too bad about it.
"Arthur, you're being unreasonable," a voice that sounded like Leon's shouted. Merlin frowned. Merlin hadn't heard Leon call Arthur anything but 'Highness' and 'Prince'. Merlin pressed closer to the door, using his magic to amplify the sound, but Arthur didn't speak. Instead, he heard Leon again.
"This is not some twink you sucked off in a loo stall, Arthur!" Leon hissed. Merlin felt his breath catch at Leon's harsh tone and Merlin pressed closer to the door. "This isn't a one off you can ignore and laugh off when someone asks. He fucking lives here. He lives here and he's going to want something before long--something you cannot give him. You can't just keep a plaything at your flat and not expect the press to get a hold of the story soon enough. And if not the press, your father. I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that you have a live-in boyfriend who writes porn for a living."
"Stop," Arthur said, but his voice was faint through the door of his study.
"He's a writer, for fuck's sake! He's a poor commoner, and as much as you adore his companionship or the sex or whatever, he has a price. They all have a price. You should know that by now," Leon said, his voice softer and regretful. "You can't do this, Arthur."
"Enough."
"Arthur--"
"I said enough!" Arthur practically shouted, and Merlin cringed, backing away from the door and down the hallway as fast as he could. It was apparent that Merlin wasn't the first bloke to catch Arthur's fancy, and they hadn't even done more than kiss. Who knew what else had happened with the others. Or how many there had been. Or what he paid them to keep quiet and out of the tabloids. Leon was right, Merlin wasn't just a fucking twink for Arthur to play around with. He wasn't to be bought like a cheap whore.
A surge of nausea surfaced, and Merlin gasped for air as he stumbled back to the spare bedroom. All he could imagine were lines of men just like him, naive and awestruck by Prince Arthur's looks and charm before being blindsided with his kind eyes and his capable hands. Merlin cursed, his hands shaking as he went to pack up his shit. He couldn't be here anymore. He couldn't be another notch on Arthur's bedpost, another lie for the royal family to keep buried in the back of the closet. He wasn't ashamed of himself or anything he had ever done, but now, being Prince Arthur's twink of the month was sickening and ugly. Merlin closed his eyes, letting his magic expel angry energy into ripping his clothes out of the closet and the drawers, folding them and piling them into the suitcases. He threw the rest of his things in his messenger bag, stuffing his laptop and his notebooks into the many pockets of the leather satchel. When he was done, he surveyed his belongings laid out on the bed and ignored the various articles of clothing that littered the floor that were obviously Arthur's.
There were only two suitcases on the bed. It amazed him that he could have spent weeks here and not be able to leave a trace behind, everything packed up in suitcases to be carted away and forgotten about.
Disposable and completely concealable.
He was out the door before Leon and Arthur were done arguing in the study, and as he walked down the crowded street, his bags trailing behind him, it began to rain.
Hours later, Merlin wandered to Camelot because he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't write. He didn't want to stay home in his flat and mope either, because it had been hours, not days, and it shouldn't feel like this. He felt listless and alone and so humiliated. And to make him feel worse, the handkerchief man was already there, as if he knew what Merlin was feeling and felt obligated to help.
It was sick and twisted, but Merlin let his magic surge red as he entered the stall and looked at the man on the other side, handkerchief already beneath his knees. The cloth was lying on the ground, the red embroidered dragon staring up at him. Another familiar sight.
It was silly, but then in that moment, everything seemed to click. Dragons. Pendragon. Right.
Merlin sank to his knees and pulled his own handkerchief out. The large blue dragon was embroidered neatly, and it amazed Merlin how he didn't realize it before. The dragon, this dragon, was the Pendragon symbol. Of course it was. It had been for thousands of years and it was plastered all over the UK. The royal family of all of Albion, ancient as dragons.
"Christ," Merlin whispered. "You're everywhere."
The sheer coincidence astounded him. The thought that Arthur might be behind the stall was absurd. Prince Arthur in Camelot? The thought was beyond laughable even if Will swore he saw a Prince Arthur look-a-like before. Will saw famous people everywhere and every single time Merlin was sure that Will was hallucinating just to make his life more exciting. No, the only plausible explanation was that handkerchief man was one of Arthur's former lovers or maybe just an obsessed fan. Half of the UK was in love with Prince Arthur and his perfect smile. Every gay man was still holding out hope that Arthur would wake up on the gay side of the bed one morning, especially with his lack of public affection and heaps of queer rumors.
Not that they weren't true because obviously Prince Arthur was a big 'mo.
Never-the-less, the coincidence was ridiculous. But, stranger things had happened to Merlin. Hell, Merlin's entire life was stranger than anyone’s coincidences.
And now, he and the handkerchief man had so much in common: they were both obsessed with the same bloke. Merlin wondered if the man on the other side of the stall was one of Arthur's conquests, if Arthur had given him a Pendragon handkerchief as a token of affection, to placate him. Merlin felt ill. Even if the handkerchief man was just a fan, just an insane man who carried around handkerchiefs of the Pendragon line, they still were victims of the same smile--the same Pendragon charm.
"I hate you," he said desperately. "I hate you so fucking much."
He fucked the mouth hard that night. He got off on the way he choked the man on the other side of the stall with his cock until the man couldn't breathe. He got off on the image of Arthur doing the same thing to the same anonymous bloke, as if that brought him closer to Arthur, as if it brought Merlin closer to having something more than just a passing fancy with a prince.
Merlin fucked the mouth until they both came with wild, broken sounds. He fucked until they were both spent--wasted.
And then he sat down and cried, letting the the handkerchief man suck on his fingers and hold his hand, as if that would make him feel better. As if any of what they did together could make up for the shame Merlin felt and the anger and the hurt. It was beyond him.
Everything in the last three weeks seemed beyond time, a long time ago from where Merlin was, and the future was unrecognizable.
"What happened?"
Merlin stared at his laptop and refused to meet Will's insistent stare. He didn't want to talk about it. Hell, if he wanted to, then he would have called Gwen or Morgana or Arthur because they all had left lengthy messages on his voicemail. But Merlin stopped checking his messages days ago, when Arthur had left a message pleading, fucking pleading Merlin to call him back after he had obviously puzzled out Merlin's reaction and connected the dots. He wasn't just a pretty face apparently.
"Merlin," Will said again from Merlin's doorway. He was beginning to sound more and more like his mother. "You've been writing for days, which is okay, but Morgana says that you've stopped talking to her other than sending her documents. Gwen says you've been avoiding her too."
Merlin closed his eyes. "Will, I don't want to talk about it."
"Mate, I get that. But something is most fucking certainly fucked if Prince Prat called my cell phone and left four messages," Will said with a tone that allowed no room for excuses.
"Arthur called?"
"Yes," Will said carefully, and Merlin wanted to rip out his vocal cords. "Do you want to hear what he had to say?"
A new, sharp burst of pain swelled in Merlin's chest. This fairy tale was clearly out of his control, and it was becoming apparent that he wasn't the princess or the prince but the dragon or maybe the villain. Merlin opened a new window on his computer, a new story already developing in his mind. The pain was really good for his writing, although Morgana was already commenting on his darker tone. Merlin was learning to ignore her in a completely new way.
"No," Merlin said. "No. Tell him to stop bothering you."
"I don't need help telling him off, but I'd like to know what number he did on you."
"He didn't do anything," Merlin gritted out.
There was a pause, and then, "Was that the problem?"
Merlin saw red. "Fucking let it go! What part of not wanting to talk about it do you have a problem understanding? For fuck's sake, Will!"
Will held up his hands, and Merlin shook his head, trying to clear it into a productive space, but all he could see was Arthur. Always Arthur.
"Want some tea?"
Merlin put his head on his laptop, the keys pressing against his forehead, and breathed deeply. Every breath felt forced and painful.
"Yeah," he said. "Tea would be great."
Two days later, Merlin was pretty sure his short story collection was finished. He sent his final edits to Morgana, ignoring the body of her last email, which ranted and raved about how if Arthur called her one more time she was going to chop something important off. Apparently Arthur was in Sweden doing something important or he would 'knock some sense into Merlin himself', but Merlin tried to tune out the news as much as possible. If Arthur wanted to find him, he would. He was the fucking Prince of Albion, for Christ's sake. Merlin was sure Arthur had access to any information he wanted.
Plus, it wasn't like Merlin didn't know he was in Sweden. It was hard to ignore the press, who couldn't get enough of a ragged looking Prince Arthur in any circumstance. Merlin saw the same pictures the rest of the world saw, snapshots of Arthur stepping off the plane in Sweden looking rough around the edges, as if a large bottle of booze had done him wrong, or he hadn't slept in days. A large and petty part of Merlin hoped that Arthur was feeling the way he was feeling, rug ripped out from underneath him and positively aching inside.
He showered for the first time in five days and ate food that wasn't made, and by made he meant burnt, by Will. It didn't make him feel better. He still felt restless and uncontrollable. No matter how many words he wrote, or how many characters he utterly destroyed, he still felt used and cheap. For everything he tried to get out of his head, he couldn't push away the feel of Arthur's body wrapped around him or the soft corners of his lips. Part him thought he would be doomed for life, forever haunted by images of his brief delusional romance with the Prince. The other parts of him told him to get a grip because it wasn't the end of the world.
And it wasn't. It wasn't like Merlin had been in love with him. They had only known each other for a couple of weeks, and their meeting before had inspired only loathing. It was just a fling, a short lived affair that had never really got off the ground. Just because Arthur was a prince didn't mean it had to change the nature of their relationship.
"It was nothing," Merlin said aloud.
But even when he said it out loud, it felt like a paper-thin lie on his tongue.
“You're talking to yourself again,” Kilgharrah said from behind him. “I knew love was supposed to make you crazy but aren't you're taking the colloquialism a bit seriously?”
Merlin took a deep breath and leaned against the door jamb.
“You can't ignore me,” Kilgharrah continued.
Merlin shrugged. He actually had been. It was easy to dodge the furry animal when he had that look about him. Merlin was getting used to accidentally locking him in the bathroom or Will's room.
“You can't ignore your destiny.”
Merlin whipped around. “I'm so damn tired of you ranting and raving about my destiny. What the fuck do you know about destiny? You're a cat. I know you think you're some sort of prodigal being but you're a cat.”
“Destiny doesn't-”
“Fuck destiny,” Merlin said, shaking his head and grabbing a jacket. He pocketed his cellphone and turned away from where Kilgharrah was sitting. He fled the flat, slamming as many doors as possible because he didn't want Kilgharrah following him. He needed some air and to finally give Gwen a call because she probably had attacked the entirety of the royal family to get information about what had happened between Merlin and Arthur. She hated to be left out of the loop, and Morgana probably wasn't forthcoming with details, if Arthur had even given her any. Merlin didn't want to know what Arthur had told Morgana because his nightmares were enough to keep him busy. The truth was probably worse, and the thought of a cruel Arthur was enough to make him want to never speak to Morgana or Arthur again. Merlin wanted to remember Arthur as kind, not the man who hid behind the shadow of the crown and used young men for their hearts and their bodies before throwing money at them to make them disappear.
Gwen picked up on the second ring.
"Where have you been?"
"Around," Merlin said sheepishly. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I was trying to get my shit together."
"Merlin," Gwen said blandly, and Merlin's insides practically curdled. It amazed him how Gwen could sound both disappointed and thoughtful. The real reason he didn't call her was because he knew he would cry. She was like that person who, no matter how much you'd healed and got past whatever was hurting you, brought the pain to the surface because you wanted her to cure it. And he did. Merlin wanted nothing more than for Gwen to fix it all. He just wasn't sure she could.
"You were right," was all he said. Gwen gasped over the phone, and Merlin gulped back tears. The wind was sharp around him, and Merlin took a deep breath and turned the corner, walking towards the small park.
"Oh baby," she said in a whisper. "What happened?"
"God, I was so stupid. I thought I was special, and he made me feel like I was, Gwen. He really did," Merlin cringed as the tears fell down his face. He really was pathetic. "But I was just another twink to go down in history as falling for Arthur, Prince of Prats."
Merlin laughed, but it was hollow, and he heard Gwen coo over the phone. "Merlin, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that."
"Oh he didn't mean a damn thing, Gwen. He didn't mean anything he said, and that's the worst part of it all, the way he just lied through his perfect teeth."
There was a pause and then Gwen, perfect Gwen, bit the bullet and said, "Did you sleep with him?"
"No," Merlin said as he angrily wiped at his face. "I didn't. Because I thought this was new to him. I thought we were taking it slow because he was scared. Obviously, it was just because he didn't want me and felt guilty for keeping me around so long, or because he was afraid he'd have to pay me off to keep quiet. Wouldn't want the press to get a hold of one of Prince Arthur's conquests, would we? Wouldn't want the world to know that one of the members of the royal family was a fucking faggot. God, I wish I would have let that fucking tiger eat him. None of this would have ever happened if my magic hadn't fucked everything up."
"We don't get to choose who we love," Gwen said softly.
"I don't love him."
"Merlin--"
"No, Gwen," Merlin said forcefully as he sat down on the park bench, watching the children on the other side of the park. "It was just a boyish crush that went too far. I mean, he's a prince after all."
"I guess it could have been worse," Gwen said, after a few moments of silence.
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah, you could have been his baby mama."
Merlin laughed, his voice brittle, but his smile real. "Thank fuck that's not my destiny."
"Oh baby," she said. "Everything will be okay."
Merlin shook his head and took a deep breath. The air was getting colder and it felt fresher than before.
"How's Morgana?"
Gwen laughed and sighed. "Well, she spends all her time on the phone yelling at Prince Arthur's personal attendant, Gary something."
"Gaius," Merlin said automatically.
"Right," Gwen said in a resigned sort of voice that cut Merlin a little deeper than it should have. "Anyway, when she's not trying to meddle in your business by trying to figure out what happened with you and Arthur, she's reading your new sections and crying, or calling up the marketing department and bitching to them about the LGBTQ market and asking if anyone thinks queers will kill themselves if they read your book."
"Great," Merlin grumbled. "She's going to try and blame the rate of queer suicide on me, is she?"
"It appears so. It seems that your book is so raw and truthful that queers will literally leap from buildings after reading it."
"It is pretty depressing."
Gwen hummed. "I don't think so."
"You've read it?" Merlin was surprised; Gwen never had time to read Merlin's work. When she did have time to read, she spent her time reading manuscripts that Morgana hadn't looked at, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything good. Gwen was like that, always looking to give new talents a chance.
"I was curious," Gwen said shyly. "I hope you don't mind. But Morgana spent the first twenty minutes after the first chapter bawling her eyes out."
Merlin paused before asking, "Did you like it?"
"God, Merlin. How could you ask that? You know how good it is. It tore me apart."
"Yeah," Merlin said, looking out at the couples who were walking around the park, hands tightly clasped. "Yeah. Me too."