Sure Thing

[srin]

Title: Sure Thing
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, plus Gwen/Morgana and discussion of past Gwen/Merlin.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult having sex with a teenager. (For the record, said teenager is past the age of consent in the UK, where this is set.)
Length: ~9700 words.
Summary: Sequel to All In the Timing. In which Arthur's a teenager and Merlin's not, Morgana's inappropriate, Gwen's a saint except when she's not, and Uther's shady. (Modern reincarnation.)
Note: This picks up immediately where All In the Timing left off, so it might be worth refreshing your memory of the end. This 'verse has sort of crawled into my brain and blown up massively; I really hope it satisfies. As before, concrit of any kind but especially about any fail at Britishness is greatly appreciated.


It takes a while before they actually manage to have a conversation. First Merlin finishes bringing Arthur off - because the sudden interruption of a blow job just plain sucks, brand new past life memories notwithstanding - and then, when Arthur stops panting, peels himself off the mattress, and sits up, Merlin says,

“So we should talk,” but Arthur just grins at him sort of manically and says,

“But you still have a hard-on.”

“I think that can wait-”

“Like hell, I’m not leaving you hanging,” Arthur insists, and whatever comment Merlin intended to make about priorities dies on his lips when Arthur tackles him, kisses him thoroughly, and then slides down to reciprocate.

Eventually, though, they make it back downstairs, where Merlin drops onto the couch and Arthur immediately settles into his lap, and proceeds to go through a remarkably close approximation of Merlin’s early morning ramble to Morgana seventeen years ago.

“This is so weird,” Arthur enthuses for the fifth or sixth time. Merlin’s arms are wound around his waist, and Arthur keeps intertwining their fingers whenever his hands aren’t busy with wild gesturing. There is quite a bit of gesturing, though, and Merlin can’t stop smiling through any of it. He remembers this well, the strangeness of suddenly finding an entire lifetime’s memories dropped into a brain that’s had far fewer experiences and of an entirely different sort; the strangeness and the giddy excitement of it.

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees, for the fifth or sixth time.

“I mean, it’s like - it’s like a dream, yeah, like I remember all this stuff and it’s sort of fuzzy and it wasn’t me it happened to only it was and - oh my god! Gwen! Your friend Gwen who helped you cook that time, that was Guinevere, wasn’t it?”

“The very same.”

“But wait, you said - you said she’s with your sister, yeah, and Gwen always ends up with - so unless Lancelot’s a girl now your sister must be-”

“Morgana,” they say together, Arthur stunned and Merlin trying very hard not to laugh.

“No fucking way! Now you have to let me meet her!”

Merlin gives up, laughing openly into Arthur’s shoulder, and says, “Ok, ok! I’ll ring them tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll want to see you too now you’ve remembered.”

Arthur stops flailing then, leans back against Merlin’s chest, and takes his hands again, squeezing tightly. “Merlin… why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You think you would’ve believed me?”

“I might’ve,” Arthur says, sounding almost shy. “I mean, Arthur and Merlin? I thought it was sort of epic right from the start, when I met you.”

“You barely acknowledged me the first time we met,” Merlin says, remembering how much that had hurt, irrational though it was.

“Well I wasn’t going to be a big dork about it,” Arthur says, like this is obvious, and Merlin can’t help but chuckle again. He hadn’t really had any reason to think Arthur would change when he remembered; Gwen hadn’t, nor had Morgana or Merlin himself as far as he can recall, but it’s still something of a relief to find that knowledge of his past hasn’t done anything to alter who Arthur is this time around. He’s the man Merlin fell in love with all those lifetimes ago, but he’s also still the same kid that owns Merlin’s heart now. He’s too young, a fact Merlin has been trying very hard to ignore all this weekend, but it’s a good youth and Merlin doesn’t want to see him deprived of it, not when he’s so often been forced to grow up well before his time.

“Right, right,” Merlin tells him, “You’re much too cool for that.”

“Right, exactly. Merlin… you really like me.”

“Should’ve thought that was clear by now, yeah,” Merlin says, a little surprised at the turn of the conversation and Arthur’s wondering tone.

“No, I mean - I dunno, I’ve wanted you since forever, and I was hoping you’d want me too so when you let me - but I still couldn’t help thinking, I dunno, maybe you were just humouring me ‘cause we’re mates or something, but… before, you and I … you really like me, don’t you?” Merlin finds his throat full of a great massive lump. Arthur’s so painfully sweet, so earnest and unguarded that it leaves Merlin with a powerful desire to hide him away somewhere safe, protect him, so he need never build up those brusque defenses he wore like armour under his skin when they first met long ago.

“Yes, Arthur, I really do,” Merlin says, and thinks, you are not going to cry, you big idiot, you’re a grown man and he would be fully within his rights to laugh his head off at you, but Arthur just twists around in Merlin’s arms and kisses him, and it’s full of so much love that Merlin thinks maybe he wouldn’t even laugh after all.

Some time later, when they’re still ensconced on the couch and Merlin’s idly rubbing his thumb over the jut of Arthur’s hip where his shorts (which are in fact Merlin’s shorts) have ridden down, Merlin is hit with the extremely unpleasant realization that it’s Sunday night. Which means that he’s expected at work in the morning.

“Shit, Arthur, I’m supposed to be in the office in six hours.”

“What? No, come on, my parents are gone for another week, you can’t just ditch me, not now. Can’t you call in sick?”

“For a whole week? That would be completely irresponsible.”

“So?”

“Arthur.”

“Please? You have to ring Morgana and Gwen, and we have to have more sex,” Merlin bursts out laughing, but Arthur soldiers on, “and - and you can’t just leave me alone with this whole past life thing!”

“Be grateful it’s summer! I remembered at some obscene hour of the morning and then I had to go to school.”

“You did not.”

“I did! I was in year nine, I think, and one of my teachers sent me to the nurse because she thought I’d had a head injury, I was so mad that day.”

“Yeah, see, people will think I’m a lunatic. You have to stay with me,” Arthur insists, nuzzling against Merlin’s chest. Merlin sighs and kisses his hair.

“You know I want to. Look, how about this? I’ll go in tomorrow, tell them an old friend’s visiting unexpectedly, and see if I can take the rest of the week as holiday.”

“Yeah, ok,” Arthur says, with an air of put-upon resignation. “Well, six hours? Guess we’d best get to bed.”

Merlin half expects Arthur to deliberately keep him awake so he’s too exhausted to get up for work, and the sight of Arthur padding around Merlin’s bathroom, wearing Merlin’s clothes and using Merlin’s toothbrush like he belongs nowhere else, is nearly enough to convince him that that would be just fine. But once they get into Merlin’s bed, Arthur just tugs Merlin’s arm over his waist and mumbles,

“Wake me before you leave, yeah?”

Arthur’s still snuggled up against Merlin’s body when Merlin wakes. It’s incredibly difficult to leave him, all sleep-rumpled and painted golden by the early morning light, but somehow Merlin manages to dress and drag himself away after a quick goodbye that Arthur probably won’t remember when he’s properly awake.

After two and a half days spent focused on nothing but Arthur, Merlin finds it rather surreal to be back in the outside world. It’s like emerging from a theatre, blinking at the brightness and not quite prepared to abandon the reality of the stage or screen. He’s in a complete daze, not even aware of how stupidly he must be smiling until a woman in the break room says,

“Someone had a good weekend.”

“Yeah, yeah I did,” he agrees, once he realizes that it’s him she’s speaking to. Merlin finishes fixing his tea and then he does some work, probably, although he won’t be able to say later what any of it is.

He comes home to find Arthur stretched out on his steps in shorts and sunglasses again.

“Well this is a familiar scene,” Merlin says with a grin.

“Worked out pretty well for me the first time,” Arthur shoots back, beaming. “So?”

“I’m off until next Monday.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur exclaims, jumping up. His enthusiasm is such that Merlin has to usher him inside before the neighbors see.

When Merlin phones Morgana and Gwen, he gets their answering machine.

“Hey, it’s Merlin, um, it’s about Arthur, kind of important, ring me back when-”

“Look, do you want me to seduce him for you?” Morgana’s voice cuts in. “I’m quite sure I could, especially given that he hasn’t grown up with me this time, and then when I have to turn him down you can sweep in to comfort him with sodomy and we’ll all be a good deal happier for it.”

“That is a completely appalling suggestion and the sort of thing that makes me despair of being related to you,” Merlin says in his best deadpan.

“You love me, and I love you far too much to sit idly by whilst my baby brother dies of sexual frustration.”

“That, uh, isn’t really going to be a problem anymore.”

“Oh, Merlin, you finally did it? I’m so glad, you must tell me everything-”

“Are you busy? You and Gwen should come ‘round, Arthur’s finally remembered and he really wants to meet you.”

“He remembers?”

“Yeah, um, while we were - never mind, just come ‘round, yeah?”

“Of course. Gwen! Gwen, that can wait, we must get to Merlin’s, he’s finally shagged Arthur-” (Merlin can hear Gwen’s relieved voice in the background) “-and Arthur remembers! I imagine traffic will be appalling at this time of day but hopefully it won’t be more than an hour or so, is that alright?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Merlin tells her.

The first thing Arthur says to Gwen is this: “Guinevere, it’s an honour to see you again.” He kisses her hand and bows like a knight, and grins like a little boy when Gwen sweeps him into her arms, and doesn’t even object when she ruffles his hair.

The first thing Arthur says to Morgana is, “So Merlin tells me you used to play rugby. I bet I could take you down.”

“My god, you really are young,” she says, and then, eyes dancing, “You don’t stand a chance.”

So Arthur runs home for a ball, and then he and Morgana race around Merlin’s back garden, laughing and shouting and playing as well as they can with only two people and Morgana barefoot since she’d arrived in delicate, impractical little sandals.

Merlin and Gwen sit watching them, wearing matching enamored smiles.

“It’s lovely to see you so happy,” Gwen says. “So tell me, what finally made you give in?”

Merlin blushes and explains about Friday, glossing over the more private details.

“Granted, I’ve no bloody clue how I’m going to face Barbara when they come back. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but… He’s so young, Gwen.”

“He loves you. He loved you before he knew. You’ll manage. Have you said anything to your parents?”

“God, no. Mum thinks no one below the age of twenty-five should be allowed to vote or so much as look at a pub, and Da’s been counting on me to provide the grandchildren ever since you and Morgana made it official. But I only see them about twice a year, it really isn’t a big deal. It’s Barbara and Maurice that concern me.”

“How does Arthur feel about it? His parents, I mean, it sounds as though he couldn’t be more pleased about you.”

“I don’t know. We haven’t really - we’re going to have to talk about it, soon, it’s just - I think he sort of decided his age wasn’t a problem any more after I let him kiss me that first time, and I - I wish it were that easy.”

“Hey. Cheer up. You’ve a week before they come home, yes?”

“Yes…”

“You’ve a week, that’s plenty of time to enjoy it and sort the unpleasantries. And in the meantime I suspect we had better insist on calling a draw before one of them,” she gestures at Morgana and Arthur, currently rolling on the ground trying to pry the ball from one another’s hands, “actually wins, because it won’t matter who it is, none of us will ever hear the end of it.”

They complain at the interruption, of course, but Arthur looks a little bit awed by Morgana, and Morgana admits to being somewhat impressed by Arthur’s abilities, which makes Arthur flush with pride even as he pretends to be unaffected. They’re both completely filthy, so Merlin sends them upstairs to borrow some clothes that aren’t covered in mud and grass stains while he and Gwen raid the kitchen.

“There is nothing here,” Gwen proclaims. “What have you been eating all weekend?”

“It’s not my fault! I’d meant to do the shopping Saturday, and I hadn’t exactly anticipated the need to feed Arthur’s absurd metabolism six meals a day for three days.”

“Right. We’re ordering pizza, then.”

When Morgana and Arthur come back, Gwen and Merlin have to break off their conversation about the pair. They break off in the same way upon entering the room, and there’s a curious moment of silence, no one quite sure of what to say to anyone else in front of the others. And then Gwen looks around her and gets a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Well, seeing as everyone else is wearing Merlin’s things, I suppose I’d better keep up with the fashion-” she announces, smirking at Morgana, and then she starts unbuttoning her shirt.

And the tension breaks instantly - Morgana promptly dives at her, catching her wrists and pressing her into the wall, both of them laughing, while Merlin chuckles and Arthur stares at them slack-jawed.

“Still think you don’t like girls?” Merlin asks, poking him in the side.

“I like you,” Arthur says, not looking away, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the show. Are they always like this?”

“More or less. Benefits of a modern liberal society, eh?”

“Yeah...”

Merlin gives them a moment before clearing his throat loudly.

“Right, I did not invite you here so you could be indecent in my kitchen, so you can just stop that-”

“You know, Merlin’s right,” Morgana says, exchanging glances with Gwen as she steps back. “I think it’s about time for us to tell Arthur all the good stories of Merlin in his youth-”

“Just kidding you make out all you want we’ll be upstairs-”

“We’ll stick around,” Arthur interrupts, addressing Gwen with a smirk, “So long as I get stories about Morgana too.”

“I think that’s fair,” Gwen says, grinning at him.

“I hate you all,” Merlin says. No one believes him, as well they shouldn’t.

Later, after copious pizza and embarrassing stories, Gwen and Morgana get ready to go.

“It’s half an hour back to our flat and I’ve got to be on-site tomorrow morning,” Gwen says apologetically.

“That new library building?” Merlin asks.

“Yes, the construction foreman keeps losing drawings and I swear he’ll put the toilets in the conference room if I don’t straighten him out. It isn’t his fault really, I don’t mean to blame him, I think his assistant is rubbish and anyway - you don’t need to hear about my job now,” she finishes, while Arthur and Morgana say their goodbyes.

“You’ll have to ring me and tell me all about it later,” Merlin assures her. “Drive safe, yeah?”

“Right. You have a good week, and best of luck with the - well, you know.”

“Thanks.” He hugs her tightly, incredibly glad as always that their friendship hasn’t been lost to the quirks of this particular reincarnation.

After they’ve gone, Arthur leans against Merlin’s side and says,

“Right, so they’re fantastic and you’ll have to make them come ‘round again, but I’ve been horny as fuck ever since they were all over each other in the kitchen.” Merlin laughs, and Arthur adds, “You’re still wearing clothes, why are you still wearing clothes?”

And Merlin doesn’t really have a good answer for that, so he doesn’t resist when Arthur takes his hand and pulls him to the bedroom.

“Fuck me?” Arthur says, after the unfortunate wearing-clothes situation has been remedied.

“Actually, I was thinking this time you might like to fuck me,” Merlin says, and Arthur stares at him, astonished, like he has never even considered this possibility. (Which is ridiculous, because they’ve joked about it; because he must remember when they did it in other lives; because there are more esoteric activities he may not yet be aware of in this life but a simple role reversal is hardly exotic.)

“Yeah, ok,” Arthur says, in that detached voice he uses when he’s trying to be too cool for everything.

“If you don’t want to-”

“No, it’s cool,” Arthur says, and puts on a cocky grin and kisses Merlin’s breath away, but there’s still a curious reluctance about him as they tumble into the bed, and his hand is unsteady when he reaches for the lube on the bedside table.

“Arthur. What is it?” Merlin asks, catching his wrist.

“What’s what?”

“I don’t know, you just seem… nervous, almost. I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with-”

“I’m fine,” he says. Merlin’s on his back, Arthur on his side next to him and leaning over, but Merlin sits up when Arthur won’t meet his eyes.

“No, you’re not. Come on, talk to me, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. What’s bothering you?”

Arthur scowls and looks evasive for a moment, but then he sighs and says, “I’ve never done this before. I mean, obviously we’ve - but not like this, I’ve never - y’know, inside anyone.”

“I know…”

“I don’t want to suck at it. When it was you, you were incredible, like, shit, I had no idea it could be that good, and I just … I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He looks embarrassed and frustrated and Merlin has another one of those moments where he sort of can’t breathe and there’s maybe something in his eye and his heart kind of might burst from too much feeling, because, well, god. He draws Arthur into his arms and kisses him, slow and deep and tender, not stopping until Arthur melts against him.

“Right,” Merlin says, when Arthur’s gazing up at him with a glassy expression. “First time I had sex? I ripped two condoms while trying to get them on because I was so nervous, when she took pity and did it herself I came just from her fingers on me, and once I finally made it inside her I lasted about a minute and a half and lost all ability to locate the clitoris for the duration. I managed to get her off twice with my mouth after, but the point is, you’re meant to be rubbish at it the first time, and I’ve every confidence that you can’t possibly be as rubbish as I was. And even if you are, I won’t care.”

(This is, incidentally, a shameful story of Merlin’s youth that Gwen could have shared earlier and didn’t, because she is a very good person. It happened two months after they started dating, and it was neither Gwen’s first experience of sex, nor her first experience of sex with a virgin; her infinite patience and good grace throughout are to thank for the fact that Merlin is not to this day celibate out of sheer mortification.)

Arthur opens his mouth, closes it, and finally settles on a soppy smile before leaning in for another kiss and then reaching for the lube again with rather more confidence.

It’s not the best sex Merlin’s ever had, but it’s far from the worst, even ignoring the disastrous first attempt. Arthur’s careful and attentive in getting him ready, so it doesn’t hurt when he pushes inside, ever so slowly, and the look on his face - shocked, blown over by unanticipated pleasure - is such a delight that nothing else really matters. Merlin rests one leg on Arthur’s shoulder, keeps the other pulled up against his chest, and fists his cock idly, mesmerized by Arthur’s face as he moves.

Physically it’s good; not great, but good, the fullness and intimacy of it, the slow build of heat and tension in his groin, but it’s Arthur’s reactions that make it for Merlin. His brow furrowing in concentration, his hitching breaths, the way his nostrils flare, the little noises he probably doesn’t realize he’s making - it’s different to the unfettered abandon of him when Merlin was inside, and the restrained desperation he exhibits when Merlin sucks him off. Different, and equally hot, and Merlin feels privileged to be the one introducing Arthur to these things.

Arthur grazes Merlin’s prostate a few times, which is quite nice, but his thrusts are getting erratic already, stuttering as he loses control. He meets Merlin’s eyes, briefly, and Merlin grins at him, clenches down as best he can. That’s it, that’s all it takes, and Arthur’s groaning and coming and collapsing on his back beside Merlin, utterly spent.

Merlin drops his legs and thrusts into his fist, perfectly content to finish on his own, so it’s a pleasant surprise when Arthur’s hand joins his a moment later, and after that, when Arthur, still breathing heavily, leans over to lick at the sensitive stretch of skin along Merlin’s neck and send him reeling towards his release.

They stay there for a few minutes after, Arthur with his mouth still against Merlin’s neck, hand on his thigh, Merlin humming quietly through the aftershocks.

“Good?” Merlin asks.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “Thank you. Was it - are you-”

“More than satisfied,” Merlin assures him, tilting his head to kiss his forehead.

When they finally move, Arthur to deal with the condom and Merlin to wipe his stomach clean, Arthur asks,

“That girl, your first time… Was that Guinevere?”

“Um,” says Merlin, “A gentleman never reveals his-”

“-Which means yes,” Arthur interrupts, smirking. Merlin snorts.

“Chivalry really is dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to open doors for you? Lay my coat across puddles? Cut your meat for-” he breaks off, laughing, when Merlin smacks his shoulder.

“How did you guess that, anyway?”

“You told me before that you’d dated at uni, and some of the things Morgana said… Just seemed logical. Was that when she remembered? While you were…”

“Oh, god, no. She was helping me revise for this Arthurian lit exam my final year, and we were going over - something, Malory maybe - and she just looked up at one point and said, ‘That is not what actually happened, Morgana would never-‘ and, well, that was pretty much the end of talking about Malory’s version.”

“I see,” Arthur says, a wicked look on his face. “Because I was thinking maybe your oral sex skills-”

“I’m pretty sure my oral sex skills are not a trigger for anything other than orgasms,” Merlin says, snorting as he sinks back on the bed. Arthur comes over and settles against his chest, Merlin’s arm looping around his shoulders automatically. (Merlin loves this, how eager Arthur always is to touch, even when it isn’t about sex. It’s not unique to this incarnation, but he’s so easy about it now, not needing the pretext of irritation to casually put his hands on Merlin, not pretending it’s an accident, not hesitating to tuck himself into Merlin’s embrace.)

“I don’t know what it is that sets off the memories,” Merlin muses, “Morgana told me she was by herself when it kicked in, and I just woke up in bed one night and knew.”

“Hang on, you said you were in year nine? So you would’ve been-”

“Thirteen, I was thirteen.”

“And you’re how old now, exactly?”

“Thirty-one next month,” Merlin says, cringing.

“Merlin… when was it you remembered? Specifically?”

“Um, sometime in the autumn, I think, September or October?”

“Not twenty-second September, by any chance?”

“It may have - oh. Oh.. You think…?”

“I was born really early in the morning, I mean, it could just be coincidence but…”

“I doubt it,” Merlin says, groaning. “I remembered when you were born. That’s just so… The dragon would’ve loved this.”

“You know, that agent who found us the house, he had some funny name, Drugo or Draco or something-”

“Oh for -” Merlin groans again, and Arthur snickers. “You know, some day, we will manage to have lives that aren’t a complete bloody cliché, and it will be incredibly refreshing.”

“I don’t know, Merlin, I think we might be stuck with all this destiny nonsense as much as we’re stuck with each other.”

“Well. Fair trade off then, I guess.”

Merlin is alone when he wakes up the next morning, which is startling. There’s no sound coming from the bathroom, and the last time Arthur woke first, he hadn’t moved until Merlin did. Merlin tries not to worry - Merlin was tired, it’s after eleven, and Arthur probably just got bored. He hadn’t shown any signs of unhappiness when they’d fallen asleep, but all the same… The last few days have been such a perfect little bubble of joy, and Merlin can’t help fearing that maybe it’s burst, maybe Arthur’s freaked out about Merlin’s age or his memories or something, maybe -

But Merlin tugs on a pair of shorts, goes downstairs, and finds Arthur in the kitchen. There’s fruit on the table, strawberries and blueberries, along with a plate of scones, and Arthur’s busy squeezing an orange half on a juicer Merlin’s pretty sure he doesn’t own.

“Um,” Merlin says, articulately. Arthur turns around with a big grin.

“You’re up! Good, I didn’t want to start the eggs while you were sleeping, they’re awful when they’re cold.” He abandons the juicer and goes to the fridge, taking out a carton. “How many do you want?”

“Um,” Merlin offers, again. “Since when do I have a juicer?”

“You don’t,” Arthur tells him. “I couldn’t sleep any more and I didn’t want to wake you with my fidgeting, so I popped home and fetched some things for breakfast. Since your kitchen is kind of pathetic.”

“That would be because some blond prat invaded my home, ate all my food, and forced me to shag him instead of doing my shopping,” Merlin says.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Arthur retorts, still grinning. “Now, how many eggs?”

And that’s that. Arthur cooks, Merlin eats, later they go out for groceries to replenish Merlin’s supply - and that’s odd, being in public with Arthur, but Arthur acts as he always has when they’re in front of other people, friendly but no more, so it’s fine - and they spend the next several days in much the same manner, being domestic and staying in unless necessity dictates otherwise. (Like when they run out of condoms.)

At one point Arthur brings over his laptop and a bundle of cables to connect it to Merlin’s, so he can make Merlin play some computer game with him. It involves knights defending a castle, and Arthur gets so distracted by all the inaccuracies he was never previously aware of that Merlin wins despite not really knowing what he’s doing. Arthur sulks a bit but then Merlin sticks a hand down his pants, which is a remarkably effective way to make Arthur stop complaining about pretty much anything.

The week is spent talking, having sex, watching telly, not paying a great deal of attention to the telly due to the sex, and so on, and then all of a sudden it’s Saturday night. Arthur’s parents are due back Sunday afternoon, and Arthur is combing Merlin’s house for the assorted possessions he has scattered around the place since he effectively moved in.

“Did I ever bring my football home after Morgana and Gwen were here?” Arthur asks. He doesn’t have much clothing to find, because he’s been wearing Merlin’s, but there are DVDs and half the contents of his kitchen and various other sundries to contend with.

“I have no idea. Arthur, we have to talk.”

“About what?”

“Your parents. What you’re going to tell them about this week, about us.”

“God, they’d flip out if they knew,” Arthur says, abandoning his search for the ball and sinking down on the couch. Merlin sits next to him.

“That’s more or less what I was thinking.”

“I mean, I don’t know, Mum might be alright about it, but…”

“Do you want to find out?” Merlin asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I don’t - look, they can’t stop me seeing you, I’m not a little kid,” Arthur says. His tone is unyielding, but his face betrays conflict, and Merlin hates the fact that they have to have this discussion at all, that it can’t be a simple case of consenting adults saying sod off to anyone who disapproves. It’s been years since Merlin’s had to deal with a lover’s parents as anything more than a courtesy, and he’s certainly never had to face the prospect of disapproving parents who are also his friends. The first time around there was never any question of telling Uther, but this is a different world and Arthur is, much as they’d both like to deny it, a kid subject to the whims of his guardians.

“No, but they’re still your parents, and I don’t want to ruin your relationship with them,” Merlin says.

Arthur sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I won’t tell them anything’s changed. Can you at least tell Mum you took a holiday this week, though?” he asks. “Because I’m crap at lying to her, and it’ll be easier if I don’t completely have to make shit up when she asks what I’ve been doing. She won’t mind us hanging out, and I can tell her about Morgana - about the rugby, that is, not the past life business obviously…”

“Yeah. I’ll say… I don’t know, I was going to take off in July but someone else needed that week so we swapped at the last minute.”

“Good, that’s good, that’ll be… just fine.”

Arthur sighs and Merlin sighs, and they spend several minutes just sitting there, staring at their hands, before Arthur rises to continue packing.

Sunday morning, Arthur takes it upon himself to wash Merlin’s clothes and bedding and towels, and the dishes, and to water the back garden, and clean the bathroom, and put away everything they left sitting out in the library. Merlin trails after him, bewildered, and keeps saying things like you don’t have to and this really isn’t necessary until Arthur finally grins at him and says,

“Look, the frantic tidying up before the parents return is a time-honoured tradition. I don’t need to do my house, I’ve barely been there, so I’m doing yours.”

“You were alone in your house for almost a week before you came over here,” Merlin protests. Arthur blushes.

“Yeah, but I cleaned when I was hoping to take you home with me that night,” he admits. Merlin leans back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest.

“He cleans, he cooks, he enjoys activities that don’t involve abusing me… Are you sure you’re Arthur Pendragon? Maybe there was a mix up, you got his memories while some insufferable git is running around thinking he used to be-”

He breaks off, laughing, when Arthur smacks him with a damp dish towel.

“I’m not a prince now, am I, unless you want to be my manservant again? You could do my homework for me, lug my bag when I go to matches, it’d be brilliant-”

“No, no, you just carry on, I could get used to this.”

Of course, Arthur’s cleaning binge means Merlin doesn’t have anything productive left to occupy him after Arthur finally does go home. The house feels huge and empty without him; it was always too big for one person, but Merlin was never so aware of that as he is now. He wanders around for a while, at a loss, then phones Gwen. She asks about Arthur and he answers her questions, briefly, then diverts the discussion to her architecture and the latest chaos at Morgana’s job (she works at a non-profit foundation helping kids in third-world countries, and the management seems to change every second week) and the antics of their cats. It’s good catching up with her; Merlin’s shamefully aware of the fact that his complaints about the Arthur situation have played a rather prominent role in too many of their recent conversations, and while Gwen has always patiently indulged him, he still feels bad about it.

After that, Merlin spends a few hours on the internet, cleaning out his email and watching stupid videos and scrolling through pages upon pages of mostly unfunny cat macros, anything to distract him from the silence, and then finally he goes to bed. Where he is entirely unable to sleep.

The sheets don’t smell like Arthur because they’re freshly washed, but they ought to, and the half-empty box of condoms is still on the bedside table along with the mostly-empty bottle of lube, and even though he’s had this bed for four years, Merlin finds himself tossing and turning like he always does on the awful mattresses in hotels. After about an hour of feeling really quite pathetic, Merlin gives up and goes downstairs to warm some milk.

While he’s sipping at it and dreading the prospect of returning to work in the morning, his mobile - plugged into the charger in the living room - goes off. It’s Arthur.

“I can’t sleep,” Arthur announces, and Merlin decides that if they’re going to be sentimental clichés, at least they can be sentimental clichés together.

Arthur stays away on Monday, but on Tuesday he appears after dinner. As soon as the door’s closed behind him, Arthur presses Merlin up against it, kisses him like the world’s ending, and then he’s on his knees, sliding his lips over Merlin’s cock before Merlin even gets a full sentence out.

Arthur reluctantly heads home around ten. When Merlin goes to bed, he discovers that the t-shirt he’s been sleeping in since Sunday is gone.

A few days later, after another visit from Arthur, Merlin finds his latest sleep shirt missing and the first one back in its drawer. It’s been washed, and it’s folded the way Arthur folded everything when he did Merlin’s laundry. Merlin smiles to himself and doesn’t say anything about it.

Barbara, via Arthur, invites Merlin for dinner the following Wednesday. Apart from a brief exchange of greetings with Maurice when they happened to leave for work at the same time one morning, Merlin hasn’t seen Arthur’s parents since they got back. According to Arthur they don’t suspect a thing, but Merlin’s still vaguely terrified of sharing a meal with them and inadvertently giving something away, so it’s with more than a little trepidation that he heads over, bearing his contribution of potato salad.

It turns out he needn’t have worried; as soon as they sit down to eat, Arthur strikes up a conversation with his father about a recent football match they apparently watched together, while Merlin and Barbara end up bitching about their respective co-workers. It’s all quite normal, and if Arthur happens to grope Merlin’s arse when he’s hugging him goodnight, well, his parents aren’t in the room any more to see it.

And so things continue for several weeks. Near the end of June, Arthur leaves for a week to visit his friends from his old school, and Merlin misses him more than he’d care to admit, but he also genuinely shares Barbara’s pleasure in the fact that Arthur’s spending some time with kids his own age. It’s a little odd, having dinner with just Barbara and Maurice, but then Maurice gets to talking about how proud he is of Arthur and Barbara tuts and makes him promise to tell Arthur that, and Merlin finds himself overcome with a deep and profound gratitude for Barbara’s existence. He hugs her tightly before he goes home and she seems a little confused by it but not bothered.

When it comes to sex, Arthur’s damn near insatiable and Merlin’s not exactly averse, so they do it pretty much whenever they have an opportunity. How frequently that is varies; sometimes daily for three days running, sometimes only once or twice a week, if Merlin has plans with other friends or Arthur’s busy with rugby or they’re out together in public a lot. Merlin’s ridiculously happy, grateful for everything he can have.

Arthur doesn’t complain, but it’s clear that he wants more. It’s evident in his frowns when they run into someone Merlin knows and Merlin introduces him as my neighbours’ son, in the slump of his shoulders when he has to climb out of Merlin’s bed and dress to go home. Merlin’s heart clenches every time, but it’s not as thought they have a choice; it would be so much worse if they couldn’t have anything at all.

Arthur seems to have this thing for blowing Merlin up against his front door; it’s often his greeting if they haven’t been able to touch each other for a few days. Merlin loves it, though one day he comes home with a headache and an awful mood, and actually says no when Arthur arrives and starts fumbling with his trousers. Arthur looks wounded for a split second, and Merlin expects grumbling acquiescence when he explains about the headache; he doesn’t expect Arthur to insist on fixing him some tea, or to spend the rest of the evening on the couch with Merlin’s head on a pillow in his lap, gently stroking Merlin’s hair. Merlin knows he’s absolutely in love with Arthur, but he still can’t help being astonished every time Arthur unknowingly reminds him why that is.

Early in July, Merlin’s job sends him to Edinburgh for five days. Before he leaves, Merlin gives Arthur a spare key to the house, asking him to take in the mail and water the plants and so on. He does it in front of Barbara, because it seems less shady that way even though it’s not the first time they’ve had this arrangement. Arthur pulls his cool blasé teenager routine, saying whatever and shrugging a lot, but his smile lights up his whole face when Merlin returns and tells him (privately) to keep the key.

It’s a Thursday, in the evening, and his boss has given Merlin Friday free, so Arthur asks to stay the night after tucking the key back into his pocket.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to, but your parents-”

“Whatever, they’re usually in bed before I’m expected home, I’ll just tell them we fell asleep watching a film or something. Please, they won’t care, and… I want to wake up with you.” He’s doing that thing, that tilting his head down and gazing at Merlin through his lashes thing, that thing that shouldn’t make Merlin’s resolve crumble because it’s blatant, shameless manipulation and Merlin knows it, but it works anyway, just like it always does.

(After Arthur’s asleep, Merlin phones Barbara to leave a message on her mobile - Cheers Barbara, it’s Merlin. Arthur’s nodded off at mine and I haven’t the heart to wake him, didn’t want you to worry - and feels rather guilty. It doesn’t help when he realizes that none of that is even a lie.)

And it’s not as if Merlin minds keeping Arthur in his bed for the first time since their initial week together, it’s not as if he would ever object to waking with Arthur curled around his body, all warm and dishevelled and irresistible. Even if Arthur does look alarmingly young in his sleep, even if he does drool on Merlin’s shoulder, even if his breath is less than pleasant when he mumbles a bleary good morning and drops a kiss against Merlin’s mouth, Merlin would gladly do this every day for the rest of his life.

Now that Arthur has a key to Merlin’s house, he’s not shy about using it. Sometimes this is a good thing, sometimes not so much. Like when Arthur creeps into Merlin’s bedroom on a Monday morning, wakes him with kisses, and then puts a bloody hickey on Merlin’s neck before Merlin’s quite awake enough to realize what he’s up to. It’s not that big, but it is unmistakable.

The first thing Merlin wants to say upon catching on is How old are you? but then he remembers that, no, right, Arthur is exactly at the age when love bites in obvious places seem cool and provocative instead of embarrassing and vaguely uncomfortable.

It’s not like Merlin keeps make-up around, nor does he have time to get to a shop and navigate the incredibly bewildering cosmetics aisle in search of something that will do. So his annoyance ends up drowning out the fuzzy pleasure of waking up to Arthur’s touch.

“Arthur, seriously, I have work, and there is no way anyone will believe this is just a normal bruise,” Merlin says, peering at himself in the mirror and wishing for probably the first time ever that his office had a dress code of ‘suit and tie’ rather than ‘try not to wear jeans when meeting important clients’. He keeps a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt in his bottom drawer, in case something unexpected comes up, and otherwise tends to wear t-shirts and jumpers. Nothing that conceals the neck.

“So tell them you had a hot date last night,” Arthur says, looking a bit like a scolded puppy. “Look, I’m sorry, I thought it would be hot.”

Merlin just sighs at him, and goes to find the silk scarf Morgana brought him from Paris once. He feels like an idiot with it looped around his neck, but telling his co-workers that he’s playing at bohemian for the day is still better than telling them his secret teenage boyfriend is kind of an idiot sometimes.

“Oh god, seriously?” Arthur asks when he sees the scarf. “Now you just need that rubbish jacket and-”

“-and then we can never have sex again.” Which is a completely empty threat, but it shuts Arthur up anyway.

On the flip side, there are occasions like Merlin’s birthday the following week. It’s a Thursday, and he has plans to go out for drinks with friends at the weekend, but nothing on the actual day. He hasn’t mentioned the date to Arthur, because it makes him feel old and awkward, but he comes home to find Arthur in his kitchen, cooking him dinner.

Wearing a red-and-white checked apron.

And nothing else.

“Please tell me that doesn’t belong to your mother,” Merlin says, staring brazenly at Arthur’s arse.

“Quid fifty at the Oxfam, and I’ll have to leave it here so she won’t ask questions,” Arthur says, turning around. “Happy birthday.”

“How did you-”

“I knew it was July and you hadn’t said, so I rang Morgana. She reckoned you didn’t want to make a thing of it, which is why I got a cake with loads of candles, and you will only be allowed to open your present after Gwen and Morgana ring on speakerphone so we can all sing to you.”

“It doesn’t look like it will require much unwrapping,” Merlin deadpans.

“Mate, there’s like three layers of paper and four ribbons,” Arthur says, and then, “Oh, you - no, idiot, you have me all the time, I got you something proper, this is just icing.”

‘Something proper’ turns out to be a juicer - Arthur looks extremely pleased with himself for that one - plus a tin of Merlin’s favourite tea, and a new book by an author he likes.

“Arthur… thank you,” Merlin says, touched. “You really didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to,” Arthur tells him.

Arthur has never been a man to muck about with half-measures, and this life is no exception. He loves like he does everything else - completely, with enthusiasm and diligence and unwavering devotion. It’s wonderful, it makes Merlin’s heart beat a little too fast, it makes his skin tingle, it makes him all the more determined to ensure that Arthur never gets hurt. But it also means that it’s no surprise when Arthur chafes under the restrictions necessary to maintain their secrecy.

“I hate this,” he tells Merlin one night as he’s pulling on his t-shirt. “I hate that I can’t stay with you, I hate that I can’t touch you in public, I hate that we have to sneak around like this is something to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Merlin tells him forcefully.

“I know, but I want everyone else to know it too.”

Merlin thinks of the ring he bought for Arthur in Edinburgh. It wasn’t a big deal, just a simple bit of silver knot work that reminded Merlin of the one Arthur wore as a prince, something Merlin thought he would like. He had bought that and a t-shirt, and given Arthur the t-shirt, but ended up hiding the ring. (In the pocket of his winter coat, in the closet, because his drawers are hardly safe with Arthur sneaking clean sleep shirts in there every few days.) Because Arthur would insist on wearing it, and they can’t afford Arthur being seen wearing a ring Merlin bought him on a whim. Because friendly neighbours don’t buy rings for seventeen-year-old boys. Maybe for his birthday, maybe he can give Arthur a ring for his birthday and pretend it’s innocent, but even that will be a risk. And Merlin hates that he even has to think about these sorts of things, that he can’t just make Arthur happy instead of worrying how it will look.

“When you’re older…” Merlin says.

“Yeah. Right,” Arthur says, and leaves.

It’s not a fight, they don’t fight, not really, because there’s no anger behind their bickering and this… It’s sadness, it’s frustration, but it’s not a fight, because Merlin’s too mature to let it turn into one and Arthur, for all his self-important snark, is not quite confident enough to keep pushing. It’s not a fight, but it might as well be one for as wretched as Merlin feels watching Arthur cross the street.

“Maybe we should tell them,” Merlin says to Morgana. She’s come to meet him for lunch, so it’s just the two of them, sitting in a corner of the pub with sandwiches and chips. “I mean, if the whole destiny lark was enough to move him here, maybe, I don’t know-”

“He’s eighteen next month, isn’t he? Perhaps if you wait until then…”

“I don’t think the fact that he’ll be able to vote is really going to make much of a difference to his parents.”

“Perhaps you should elope. You could have a lovely ceremony on a tropical island somewhere, nice linen suits, honeymoon right there, sex on the beach -both literally and in cocktail form-”

“That is not helpful,” Merlin protests, though he’s snickering into his sandwich.

“Yes, well, I haven’t any genuine suggestions, but at least I can make you laugh,” Morgana says kindly.

Ultimately, the issue of telling Arthur’s parents is taken out of their hands. It’s the end of August, about four am on a Saturday. Arthur and Merlin are standing on Merlin’s front steps, kissing goodnight - they wouldn’t normally risk it outside, but it’s so late - when headlights suddenly appear at the end of the street. They jump apart, guilty, and watch as a dark van pulls up right in front of Arthur’s house. A man gets out, dressed in all in black, carrying a black bag, and the van speeds away. When the man heads directly for Arthur’s front door, Merlin says, uncertainly,

“We should phone the police…”

“We can’t wait for the police, my mum’s alone in there,” Arthur hisses, and then he’s off, bounding across the street, shouting, “Oi, what the hell d’you think you’re doing, get away from my bloody house-”

Merlin takes off after him, just as the man turns around and Arthur stops short.

“Dad?”

“Arthur? What in god’s name are you doing out at this hour?” Maurice demands, although he sounds rather panicked.

“I could ask you the same thing, you’re meant to be away on business until Monday!”

“There were, ah, unforeseen complications, we had to cut the, er, negotiations short…”

“Like hell, that’s why you’re sneaking around like a - like a thief?”

“Look, Arthur, it isn’t what you think-”

“Oh god, you’re cheating on mum, aren’t you? How could you-”

“No,” Maurice says fiercely. “I love your mother more than anyone else in this world apart from you. I would never betray her.” He seems to notice Merlin, finally, and sighs. “Why don’t we go inside before we wake half the neighborhood?”

Merlin opens his mouth to make his excuses and run home for a nice little anxiety attack when Maurice adds,

“You too, Merlin. I’m very interested to learn what business you have with my son at four in the morning.”

“Don’t you dare shout at him, he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Arthur tells his father as soon as the door is shut behind them.

“Then what were you doing with him at this time of night? Tell me it’s not drugs, Arthur, you know how I feel about drugs-”

“It’s not drugs! I was with Merlin because I’m with Merlin, and that’s beside the point-”

“What the hell do you mean you’re with him, he’s twice your age-”

At this point it becomes clear that Merlin won’t be required to actually participate in the discussion, so he sinks down on the couch and tries not to be sick with worry while they yell at each other. It eventually comes out that Maurice’s acquisitions business does involve acquisitions, but they’re of the sort that are achieved via lock-picking and alarm-disabling, rather than contracts and handshakes. Arthur is less than pleased by this revelation, while Merlin has hilarious mental images of Uther creeping around in a catsuit and decides that he may be very slightly hysterical.

“I cannot believe you have been lying to me my entire life!”

“Well you haven’t exactly been honest with me either, have you-”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think secret boyfriend is quite in the same league as secret life of crime-”

And then Barbara comes in, wearing a bathrobe and an extremely weary expression.

“Good god, Maurice, what have you done now?” she asks.

“He’s a thief!”

“Oh, well, yes,” Barbara says, and now she looks guilty.

“You knew?”

“Of course she knew, I wouldn’t lie to your mother-”

“But lying to me is just fine, is it?”

Barbara rubs a hand over her face while they carry on screaming at one another, and then she notices Merlin.

“Ah, Merlin. Why don’t you join me in the kitchen, they will probably be at this for a while.”

Merlin would frankly prefer to sink into the floor and only come out once he and Arthur have both been reborn, but instead he follows Barbara meekly.

“So I suppose you know about Maurice,” she says, taking a bottle of scotch and two glasses from a cabinet. “Drink?”

“Er, yes, and please.” She pours two measures in each glass and passes one to him.

“Now what did I hear about a secret boyfriend? That would be you, I take it?” she asks, after they’ve both emptied their glasses and she’s poured a second round.

“God, Barbara, I don’t-”

“Relax, Merlin, I’m not angry with you.”

“You’re not?”

“The news is not exactly unexpected. I’ve seen how Arthur looks at you. I knew he had a crush, and that you were fond of him, and I was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t more than that. He simply glows when you’ve spent time together.”

“And you’re … alright about it?” Merlin asks, not quite believing what he’s hearing. And mentally berating himself and Arthur both for failing to notice Barbara catching on.

“You’re a good man, and you’re making him happy. I can’t say I wouldn’t prefer Arthur were with someone his own age, but he’s always got on better with people older than himself. So long as he’s happy, I see no need to interfere.”

“That’s, um, quite a relief,” Merlin says, feeling a bit lightheaded.

“I imagine so. If I may ask, how long has this been…?”

“Er, since June. When you went away with Maurice-”

“Ah. I should have guessed. I thought he was a touch evasive, but then we weren’t being entirely forthcoming about our activities either so I didn’t feel justified in pressing the matter.”

“About that-”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m terribly sorry you had to be dragged into this, Merlin. Maurice, well… He’s very good at what he does, even if that isn’t quite on the level. I hate to ask this but - can we trust your discretion?”

“What? Oh, right, of course. I mean, it isn’t as though he robs orphanages or anything, is it?”

“No, no, nothing like that. He really does have a very strict moral code in his own way, I only hope Arthur will understand that...”

The shouting in the other room continues unabated; Merlin cringes.

“Um. Yeah. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually-”

And then the front door slams while Maurice is still yelling, “Arthur! Arthur, come back here!”

“I should-” Merlin begins.

“Go,” Barbara tells him. “We honestly did think it for the best, keeping him out of all this. Will you tell him that?”

“Of course,” Merlin promises.

“Where do you think you’re-” Maurice starts to say, but Barbara comes up behind him and slides her arms around his waist. “Let him go, Maurice. Continuing this row for the next two hours isn’t going to accomplish anything, Arthur needs time to calm down, and he’s more likely to listen to Merlin than either of us right now-”

Merlin goes. He doesn’t see Arthur on the street, or in front of Merlin’s house, so maybe… Merlin goes inside, calling Arthur’s name, but checking every room yields nothing. Finally, he tries the back door, and finds Arthur sitting on the steps. His arms are braced on his knees, his face buried.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks.

“Go away,” Arthur mutters. Merlin sits down beside him instead.

“If you didn’t want to see me, why did you come to my house?”

“Couldn’t very well stay in mine, could I?” Arthur sighs. “What did Mum say?”

“She was remarkably accepting, actually. And she wanted me to tell you-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“-she wanted me to tell you that they were trying to protect you. They love you, Arthur-”

“Then why couldn’t they trust me?” he demands. And oh, isn’t that always the question.

“Sometimes it isn’t a matter of trust,” Merlin says carefully, thinking back to another conversation about another secret, centuries ago. “Sometimes people lie because they think it’s for the best, even if they’d much rather be honest-”

Arthur snorts, and doesn’t say anything. But eventually he leans against Merlin’s side, and he doesn’t object when Merlin slides an arm around his shoulders. They stay like that, quiet, until the sky starts turning grey with the dawn.

“I hate secrets,” Arthur says, then.

“I know. But he does love you, really. They both do.”

“I know.” And then, after a while. “At least we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.”

“There is that, yes,” Merlin agrees. Arthur sits up, finally, and frowns at the sunrise.

“Can we go to bed now?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

Around noon, Arthur wakes up and reluctantly goes to speak with his parents. A few hours later, he returns to Merlin’s house, looking rather better.

“How’d it go?”

“We’re ok,” Arthur says. “I’ll be threatening to call the cops any time he’s an ass from now on, and he wants to threaten you with bodily harm at least once just for the look of the thing, but we’re fine.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah. Can we go out somewhere?”

“Sure. I have something for you first, though,” Merlin says.

He gives Arthur the ring from Edinburgh, and Arthur puts it on immediately, speechless, staring at Merlin like he can’t quite believe he’s real. Merlin protests that it’s just a gift, nothing to get so worked up about, but Arthur kisses him like he doesn’t believe that at all, and maybe he shouldn’t.

They go out to the pub for cider, and Arthur takes Merlin’s hand every time it’s feasible with a fierce, defensive sort of pride in the gesture. Merlin feels the ring against his skin, and smiles.

They run into someone from Merlin’s office on the way out. The guy isn’t really a friend, just a co-worker; he doesn’t know Merlin well enough to be surprised at the sight of him clearly out on a date.

“Your boyfriend?” the guy asks, casual, unconcerned. Arthur tries to look like he doesn’t care how Merlin answers, but he squeezes Merlin’s hand a little harder subconsciously.

“Yes,” Merlin says, without hesitating. “Joe, this is my boyfriend Arthur. Arthur, Joe, a colleague from the office.”

“Nice to meet you,” Arthur says, politely, and drops Merlin’s hand to shake Joe’s.

“You too,” Joe says. They make awkward small talk for another minute or so and then Joe excuses himself to meet his friends, and Arthur turns to Merlin, clearly trying to keep his grin under control.

“You didn’t have to tell him,” Arthur says.

“Yeah, but I could,” Merlin says, and then, even though it’s embarrassing, even though such showing off really isn’t his style at all, Merlin grabs Arthur and dips him, low, like a girl in a film, and kisses him, in full view of everyone on the street. And even though Arthur laughs and sputters and paws at Merlin’s arms, all let me up and what the hell, I’m not a girl and worst modern manservant ever, Merlin really doesn’t notice anything but his wide, wide smile.

Sequel: Ancient History
Companionish piece: A Singular Kinda Guy