srin
in
mad_poetics
A Singular Kinda Guy
Title: A Singular Kinda Guy
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Teenager having sex with an adult. (For the record, said teenager is past the age of consent in the UK, where this is set.)
Length: ~3800 words.
Summary: Timing verse. Wherein Arthur Riley grows up and meets a man named Merlin. (Modern reincarnation.)
Note: This is basically Arthur's point of view on the events of All in the Timing and the first bit of Sure Thing. It's intended as a companion piece, so I don't know how much sense it will make if you haven't read those. (That next part that actually progresses the story will be along eventually, I swear!)
With much thanks to briar_pipe for her comments & suggestions & convincing me it was worth posting. :D
Part I: Arthur Riley
When Arthur Riley is eight years old, he has a vague notion that someday he and his best friend Jess will get married. He likes her more than he likes anyone apart from his parents, and she’s a girl, and that seems to be the way things work.
When Arthur is ten and Jess is twelve, they kiss a few times, awkwardly, and then stop, because it’s awkward and wet and not as much fun as playing rugby or climbing trees or any of the other things they do together.
By the time Arthur turns sixteen, he’s well aware that he and Jess aren’t going to get married, because he has a better idea of what marriage is now. He knows he doesn’t want to have sex with Jess and Jess doesn’t want to have sex with him. They’re still best mates, but they won’t ever be lovers, and that’s just fine. Still, he never really thinks about the fact that this means he might marry, or even have sex with, anyone else. Jess is off at uni on his birthday, but his other friends take him to the pub, and after they’ve all had a few this girl Sophie kisses him and he lets her and it’s nice and all, but… But, he doesn’t really care about Sophie. She’s only there because she’s Divya’s friend, and when she avoids him at school afterwards he’s more relieved than anything else.
It’s not that he isn’t interested in romance; he reads old stories, watches films, wakes up from dreams of great love with an ache in his chest because they aren’t real. He quite likes the idea of having someone and being theirs in turn, of passion and affection as it appears in fiction, of trust and partnership and all of that. It’s just that he can’t imagine feeling that way about anyone he actually knows.
So Arthur has his friends but doesn’t date, doesn’t indulge in the brief dramatic relationships that occupy so many of his peers. And then, when Arthur is seventeen, his father’s job necessitates a move, and he finds himself facing a new neighbourhood and a new school.
And a new neighbour, a tall, slender, almost ethereal-looking man named Merlin.
Merlin. Like the wizard from the stories, which gets Arthur’s attention immediately even if he doesn’t show it. Arthur and Merlin. Huh. He’s not as old as the stories usually have the wizard being, but he is definitely older than Arthur. How old exactly it’s hard to tell; there’s no grey in his dark hair, and his skin is smooth, only crinkling a little around his eyes when he smiles, but he talks about uni like it was a good while ago and mostly focuses on Arthur’s mum, so he’s probably too old to give a shit about Arthur. Arthur tries not giving a shit about him, either.
This proves to be easier said than done. Mum invites Merlin for dinner one night not long after they’ve moved in, and by the end of the meal Arthur’s thinking (against his will) that Merlin is brilliant and beautiful and the most fascinating person Arthur has ever met.
This conclusion doesn’t change when they have Merlin back the next week, or the week after when Merlin invites them over. Arthur finds himself wishing Merlin were younger, so they could be mates, although really the fact that he’s a proper adult who can talk about things other than homework, sports, and girls is part of his appeal. So maybe Arthur should wish that he were older himself…
There’s a lovely woman at Merlin’s house when they arrive for dinner. She’s gorgeous and sweet and near Merlin’s age, whatever that is, and Arthur finds himself seized by a fierce, bewildering disappointment until Merlin explains that by “my friend Gwen” he really does mean just friend, because she’s also Merlin’s sister-in-law. (Gwen, Arthur thinks, like Guinevere, that’s funny - but then he gets distracted, because she’s teasing Merlin about something and he’s teasing back and there’s something about that banter, that exchange of insults wrapped in affection, that tugs at his heart in a way he doesn’t understand at all.)
That night, Arthur can’t sleep, so he slides a hand into his boxers to touch himself, in the hopes that that will relax him a bit. He never thinks about anyone in particular while he does this, just vague images of pale skin and soft lips and strong hands, but now - now Merlin’s face swims up in his mind, and he tries to dismiss it, he does, because it feels filthy and wrong to be thinking of an actual person, an actual person who’s a friend of his mother’s, while he has his hand on his cock. But the image won’t go away, and he comes in half the time it usually takes.
There’s no way someone like Merlin would ever be interested in a kid like Arthur, even if it would be fantastically literary; Arthur’s quite certain of this. Still, Merlin doesn’t seem bored and uncomfortable around him, the way some of Dad’s friends do. Merlin’s never condescending - teasing, yes, but not condescending -and he talks and jokes and pokes fun like they’re equals, like they’re friends. It’s an immediate connection the likes of which Arthur’s never felt before, and it’s addictive. Rather quickly, Arthur forgets that Merlin’s An Adult, closer in experience to Arthur’s parents than to Arthur himself. It doesn’t seem to matter - he’s just Merlin.
Arthur starts inventing reasons to knock on Merlin’s door, and he finds that Merlin doesn’t turn him away, doesn’t object when Arthur touches him casually, doesn’t make polite excuses to get out of it when Arthur invites him to one of his rugby matches.
(Merlin comes to the matches whenever he can. He stands at the sidelines and watches Arthur intently, with a curious look in his eyes, almost nostalgic, and he cheers with more enthusiasm than even Arthur’s mum though he acts all nonchalant about it after.)
Three months after moving in, Arthur’s thinking of nothing but Merlin when he jerks off and beginning to wonder if maybe, maybe Merlin isn’t a little bit interested himself. It’s the way he catches Merlin looking at him sometimes, full of longing; the way Merlin will relax into Arthur’s touch if he’s tired or distracted or otherwise off his guard.
And he’s on Arthur’s mind, constantly. When Arthur gets bored in class, when he’s waiting for a bus, when he’s washing dishes. There’s this one girl at school, who he knows nothing about but passes in the hall on the way to lunch most days, and she’s skinny and tall with short black hair and she doesn’t actually look much like Merlin except when Arthur sees her out of the corner of his eye. (He sees her out of the corner of his eye a lot, and does an embarrassing number of double-takes given that he knows full well Merlin has no reason to be in his school at lunch hour. Or any other time.) One day, the girl trips and stumbles into him.
“Sorry,” she says, and goes on her way without making eye-contact. Arthur doesn’t care, except - except Merlin’s not been tired or distracted much this week, so Arthur’s not been able to get away with touching him much, and Arthur finds himself feeling the absence keenly. His skin seems itchy and too tight, and this girl is nothing to do with Merlin, but he still spends half of lunch tossing his apple between his hands and wondering how Merlin’s weight would feel against him if he were to trip.
“Oi, Riley, you there?” Gareth demands, snapping his fingers in front of Arthur’s face.
“What? Yeah, sure.”
“Yeah, sure, you’ve done the essay, or yeah sure you’ve no idea what I’m on about?”
“Essay? The one for Haversham?”
“Yeah. You done it yet?”
Arthur hasn’t done it yet. Arthur is planning to go to Merlin’s tonight to do it. He’ll head up to the library, ask Merlin to help him find some relevant book, and he’ll stand a little too close while Merlin scans the shelves, and then maybe Merlin will turn, startled, and lose his balance, and -
“Riley!”
Arthur jumps and drops the apple. “What!”
“Oh, forget it,” Gareth says, rolling his eyes and turning away.
(Merlin doesn’t fall against Arthur that night, but he does pat Arthur’s shoulder after handing him the book, and that’s - well, it isn’t enough, but it’s something.)
So Arthur gets to thinking: If Merlin likes blokes, well, Merlin must know what he’s doing with blokes, must have heaps of experience. (The fact that Merlin’s a man doesn’t ever bother Arthur; he’s never really understood why people make such a big deal out of men liking men or women liking women. As far as he’s concerned, people just like people, regardless of the plumbing.) Arthur has no experience, and he’s not interested in chasing after some random guy just to get it, but that’s what the internet is for. And so, one night after his parents have gone to sleep, Arthur sits in his bed with his laptop and starts doing research.
That night, and for many nights after, he scours wikipedia and follows links and devours whatever he can find. He reads about blowjobs, all kinds of tips and techniques, reads them over and over so he won’t forget if he ever gets the opportunity to try them out. (Once he attempts to practice on a banana, but he feels like such an idiot doing it and then he breaks the tip off by accident and, really, there’s only so much indignity a man can inflict on himself.) He also reads about other things men do together, reads about anal sex and imagines what it would be like to do that with Merlin, to have Merlin actually inside him - and then he has to abandon the research for the night and have a wank, because coming with his laptop balanced on his crossed legs could not possibly end well for the laptop.
Still, it’s another two weeks before Arthur gathers the courage to try pushing a finger inside himself while he’s in the shower. It’s weird, makes him think more of sitting on the toilet than getting off, all uncomfortable and strange, but he keeps trying, because he’s curious, because there has to be some reason people think this is a good idea. Eventually he uses a bit of shampoo to slick his finger and that helps, and after that he tries pressing deeper, tries two fingers, and it gets less uncomfortable but still very strange. And then, one day, he slides two fingers inside and wraps his free hand around his cock, thinking about Merlin, thinking about Merlin’s graceful hands on him, stroking inside him, and just as he’s about to come his hips jerk and his fingers accidentally press deeper than he’s dared before and brush against - oh god, right, prostate, he’s read about the prostate, oh fuck - ok, now he understands why people do this.
He collapses in a boneless heap on the floor of the shower afterward, blissed out and breathless, and doesn’t move until his mother knocks on the door to ask if he’s alright.
“’M fine, Mum, just slipped,” he says, and hopes the noise of the water and the wood of the door will be sufficient to disguise how weird he must sound.
As time goes by, it becomes obvious that even if Merlin is interested, he isn’t going to make the first move. Arthur’s not really sure why that is. Merlin doesn’t appear to be involved with anyone else, he’s certainly not shy, and Arthur’s doing everything he can think of to make his own position clear, so unless he’s been misreading Merlin’s behaviour… Still, the only way to be certain is to take matters into his own hands.
And so, after school is out, after his parents have left on a two-week trip, Arthur takes the bus into the city. He’d briefly contemplated going to the chemist’s down the road, but he knows too many of the employees and anyway he isn’t sure if they’ll have what he needs. Instead, he changes buses twice and eventually arrives within a few blocks of the sex shop he’d looked up online.
The place is half a flight of steps below street-level, located under a cheap looking Italian restaurant. The display window and glass door are both painted black, so it’s impossible to see inside. Arthur finds his heart racing; reading about all this in the privacy of his bedroom is one thing, but walking into a shop off the street, a shop that could have anyone inside, is another matter entirely. He has to walk past the place three times before finally shaking himself and going down the steps.
There’s no one inside except a bored looking girl with an eyebrow piercing behind the counter. She’s paging through a magazine and barely glances up when Arthur comes in. Which is a relief, because the sign on the door says no one under eighteen allowed, but she doesn’t seem concerned about asking for ID.
Most of the shop looks to be devoted to leather, lingerie, and DVDs, which Arthur passes without a second glance. Toward the back, there are shelves of assorted toys, which he also doesn’t look at because the pictures on the packaging make him blush, and next to the counter there’s a wall of condoms, lube, and other similar supplies.
The condoms are an easy enough decision - leaving off all the weird ones with flavours and ridges and all that, there are only a few options, so he just grabs one of the smaller boxes. The lube is a different matter. There are all kinds, though only two choices in terms of quantity - large bottles that feel a little too ambitious, and tiny single-use packets that seem hardly worth the effort. He’s still standing there, trying to make up his mind, when the door opens again.
Arthur doesn’t turn around, but from the voices he can tell that it’s a guy and a girl, both probably younger than he is. The girl at the counter ignores them too, at least until they start tittering loudly over something in the DVD section.
“Right,” she snaps, dropping her magazine. “ID or get out.”
Arthur freezes. The kids take off, still tittering, and the girl sighs.
“Not you, mate,” she tells him. “You’re alright. Help you with anything?”
“Um, just, ah, trying to decide-”
“Lube?”
“Er, yeah.”
“You’ll want something water-based if you’re using it with condoms,” she says, coming over. “Don’t get that, it dries out in like ten seconds, I keep telling Ron to stop ordering it… That one’s alright, not really worth the price though…” She goes through them all, offering her opinions with clinical detachment. Arthur’s impressed at how casual she is, that she can talk about sexual lubricants the way other people might speak of motor oil or window cleaner. It’s reassuring, somehow, and ten minutes later Arthur walks out with his condoms and one of the too-large bottles tucked into a plain black plastic bag. He feels accomplished, but also a little nervous - this whole endeavour seems so much more real now that he’s spent money (cash; no way his parents need to see this on his statement, no matter what the website said about discrete billing) and obtained supplies.
That Friday, things don’t go quite to plan, what with Merlin refusing to come in and all, but then they’re in Merlin’s house and ok, Merlin is clearly interested, Merlin’s touching him and kissing him and god, the way he looks as Arthur goes down on him... When Merlin first presses a slick finger into Arthur’s body, slow and careful and infinitely tender, Arthur’s convinced that he’s found the peak, that nothing could possibly be better than this. The thrill of his own want answered, the pleasure dancing through him, the incredible sense of safety born in the knowledge that he can trust Merlin to do this to him and not hurt him, the intimacy of it. And then it’s two fingers and then Merlin’s sucking him too and that’s - and then -
In the hazy warm afterglow, when he’s settled snug in Merlin’s embrace and halfway to sleep, Arthur realizes that this is the sort of thing he used to dream about, passion and belonging and utter contentment in the arms of another. It’s sort of sappy, he knows, and he’s not about to go saying it out loud, but it’s true. The whole day feels a bit surreal, like somewhere along the way he slipped out of an ordinary evening with Merlin and into one of his private fantasies. He has the slight ache in his arse and the unfamiliar bed beneath him and Merlin’s breath on his skin to anchor him, and still it seems almost too remarkable to be believed.
(In the morning, he’ll wake up, find it all real and be seized by a wild, giddy excitement that has him touching Merlin constantly, half to remind himself that it’s true and half simply because he can.)
Part II: Arthur, once called Pendragon
Two days later, Arthur remembers who he used to be.
At first remembering his past is all one great rush, an incredible euphoria only compounded by the answering joy he finds in Merlin, and that lasts for a while. Lasts the week, really, as long as he can touch Merlin whenever he wants, make Merlin smile, make him laugh, make him writhe and come apart under Arthur’s hands and mouth. But then, later, when Arthur has to go home and act like nothing’s happened, pretend like he hasn’t had the greatest week of his life with the most incredible man in the world, then he remembers other things.
He remembers loving Merlin, sure enough, with a profound and unrepentant depth of feeling which he’s only beginning to discover in this life. He remembers their first meeting, and how annoying Merlin was, how useless he thought him, and then the growing affection, the way he started out counting the minutes until Merlin left and eventually found himself counting the minutes until he saw the idiot again. He remembers, too, how different his father was, how inadequate he felt growing up, how different his life was then, how Merlin quietly changed everything about it without even realizing the effect he had.
Arthur remembers Merlin loving him, the extent of Merlin’s loyalty, the power he turned to Arthur’s service. How Merlin looked at him with faith and trust he wasn’t certain he deserved; how Merlin gradually replaced Uther as the person Arthur most feared disappointing. He remembers sitting on his throne with a crown on his head and a grateful kingdom at his feet, and feeling proud and lucky and still, even then, not quite worthy of everything Merlin gave him.
And he can’t help thinking - if the great king Arthur didn’t feel he fully deserved Merlin, what business does Arthur Riley, ordinary teenager, have even going near him? In this life Arthur’s no more insecure than anyone else his age - supportive parents and friends throughout his youth have seen to that - but he does have his fears, and these recollections of his first life with Merlin quell some while feeding others.
Although it’s only been a week, going to bed alone feels strange. Arthur misses Merlin’s arms around him, the scent of Merlin’s body, the warmth of his touch. He feels rather like an idiot for it, though berating himself to man up doesn’t help in the slightest. Eventually he rings Merlin’s mobile, on the logic that Merlin usually charges it downstairs overnight, so it won’t disturb him if he’s asleep already. Merlin isn’t asleep. They talk for a bit, and it’s nice, reassuring, enough to let Arthur nod off not long after they hang up. Come morning, though, his misgivings are back in force.
He doesn’t go to see Merlin on Monday, much as he wants to, because he isn’t sure what to think. Merlin’s Merlin, just like he remembers, but Arthur isn’t what he once was. Maybe Merlin’s only here with the expectation that Arthur will become the man he was, but Arthur doesn’t feel like someone capable of leading armies and ruling a kingdom; he hasn’t been trained to kill since birth, not this time. How could Merlin possibly be satisfied with a kid who can only read about kings? The thought of Merlin looking at him in dismay when he realizes is unbearable.
Arthur spends the day puttering around his house, trying to distract himself with video games and the telly, and it’s an effort to act normal when his parents come home. That night, he stays up watching DVDs on his laptop, delaying sleep as long as possible so he won’t have to lie awake alone and think. Around five in the morning, he dozes off halfway through Hot Fuzz. When he wakes, it’s past noon and his neck is stiff and he vaguely remembers a dream where Merlin turned into a football and complained every time Arthur kicked him. It makes him smile.
He’s still worried he won’t be enough for Merlin, but eventually decides to stop moping and consider the matter logically. Arthur knows he’s attractive, but he also knows Merlin isn’t one to be swayed by that alone. And Merlin wants him, that’s been evident in every kiss and caress and idle touch; Merlin wanted him even before he remembered, when he knew nothing of who they once were apart from the distorted depictions in the legends.
Merlin’s always wanted him, always unflinchingly told him of his failings and pushed him to be better, always argued passionately when Arthur doubted himself, always looked at Arthur like … like it didn’t matter if he was a king or not, so long as he was a good man. Maybe…
In the evening, Arthur watches the road like a hawk until Merlin gets home from work, and then races over, full of desperation, needing to see if his fears are justified or groundless. Merlin receives him with the same mix of awe and delight as always, wearing an enormous grin and no longer making any secret of his pleasure at Arthur’s presence. Merlin lets Arthur kiss him, lets Arthur suck him off against the door, and when it’s done Merlin sinks down to the floor and says, smiling and slightly breathless,
“Missed you.”
Maybe he means since Sunday, maybe he means since he regained his memories as a kid, but Arthur finds, much to his relief, that it doesn’t really matter which one it is. Because it’s Merlin, and he’s looking Arthur - Arthur, once and future and presently Riley - right in the eye as he says you.
(Later, while Merlin’s in the bathroom, Arthur nicks the t-shirt he finds under Merlin’s pillow, and wears it to bed that night. It helps.)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Teenager having sex with an adult. (For the record, said teenager is past the age of consent in the UK, where this is set.)
Length: ~3800 words.
Summary: Timing verse. Wherein Arthur Riley grows up and meets a man named Merlin. (Modern reincarnation.)
Note: This is basically Arthur's point of view on the events of All in the Timing and the first bit of Sure Thing. It's intended as a companion piece, so I don't know how much sense it will make if you haven't read those. (That next part that actually progresses the story will be along eventually, I swear!)
With much thanks to briar_pipe for her comments & suggestions & convincing me it was worth posting. :D
Part I: Arthur Riley
When Arthur Riley is eight years old, he has a vague notion that someday he and his best friend Jess will get married. He likes her more than he likes anyone apart from his parents, and she’s a girl, and that seems to be the way things work.
When Arthur is ten and Jess is twelve, they kiss a few times, awkwardly, and then stop, because it’s awkward and wet and not as much fun as playing rugby or climbing trees or any of the other things they do together.
By the time Arthur turns sixteen, he’s well aware that he and Jess aren’t going to get married, because he has a better idea of what marriage is now. He knows he doesn’t want to have sex with Jess and Jess doesn’t want to have sex with him. They’re still best mates, but they won’t ever be lovers, and that’s just fine. Still, he never really thinks about the fact that this means he might marry, or even have sex with, anyone else. Jess is off at uni on his birthday, but his other friends take him to the pub, and after they’ve all had a few this girl Sophie kisses him and he lets her and it’s nice and all, but… But, he doesn’t really care about Sophie. She’s only there because she’s Divya’s friend, and when she avoids him at school afterwards he’s more relieved than anything else.
It’s not that he isn’t interested in romance; he reads old stories, watches films, wakes up from dreams of great love with an ache in his chest because they aren’t real. He quite likes the idea of having someone and being theirs in turn, of passion and affection as it appears in fiction, of trust and partnership and all of that. It’s just that he can’t imagine feeling that way about anyone he actually knows.
So Arthur has his friends but doesn’t date, doesn’t indulge in the brief dramatic relationships that occupy so many of his peers. And then, when Arthur is seventeen, his father’s job necessitates a move, and he finds himself facing a new neighbourhood and a new school.
And a new neighbour, a tall, slender, almost ethereal-looking man named Merlin.
Merlin. Like the wizard from the stories, which gets Arthur’s attention immediately even if he doesn’t show it. Arthur and Merlin. Huh. He’s not as old as the stories usually have the wizard being, but he is definitely older than Arthur. How old exactly it’s hard to tell; there’s no grey in his dark hair, and his skin is smooth, only crinkling a little around his eyes when he smiles, but he talks about uni like it was a good while ago and mostly focuses on Arthur’s mum, so he’s probably too old to give a shit about Arthur. Arthur tries not giving a shit about him, either.
This proves to be easier said than done. Mum invites Merlin for dinner one night not long after they’ve moved in, and by the end of the meal Arthur’s thinking (against his will) that Merlin is brilliant and beautiful and the most fascinating person Arthur has ever met.
This conclusion doesn’t change when they have Merlin back the next week, or the week after when Merlin invites them over. Arthur finds himself wishing Merlin were younger, so they could be mates, although really the fact that he’s a proper adult who can talk about things other than homework, sports, and girls is part of his appeal. So maybe Arthur should wish that he were older himself…
There’s a lovely woman at Merlin’s house when they arrive for dinner. She’s gorgeous and sweet and near Merlin’s age, whatever that is, and Arthur finds himself seized by a fierce, bewildering disappointment until Merlin explains that by “my friend Gwen” he really does mean just friend, because she’s also Merlin’s sister-in-law. (Gwen, Arthur thinks, like Guinevere, that’s funny - but then he gets distracted, because she’s teasing Merlin about something and he’s teasing back and there’s something about that banter, that exchange of insults wrapped in affection, that tugs at his heart in a way he doesn’t understand at all.)
That night, Arthur can’t sleep, so he slides a hand into his boxers to touch himself, in the hopes that that will relax him a bit. He never thinks about anyone in particular while he does this, just vague images of pale skin and soft lips and strong hands, but now - now Merlin’s face swims up in his mind, and he tries to dismiss it, he does, because it feels filthy and wrong to be thinking of an actual person, an actual person who’s a friend of his mother’s, while he has his hand on his cock. But the image won’t go away, and he comes in half the time it usually takes.
There’s no way someone like Merlin would ever be interested in a kid like Arthur, even if it would be fantastically literary; Arthur’s quite certain of this. Still, Merlin doesn’t seem bored and uncomfortable around him, the way some of Dad’s friends do. Merlin’s never condescending - teasing, yes, but not condescending -and he talks and jokes and pokes fun like they’re equals, like they’re friends. It’s an immediate connection the likes of which Arthur’s never felt before, and it’s addictive. Rather quickly, Arthur forgets that Merlin’s An Adult, closer in experience to Arthur’s parents than to Arthur himself. It doesn’t seem to matter - he’s just Merlin.
Arthur starts inventing reasons to knock on Merlin’s door, and he finds that Merlin doesn’t turn him away, doesn’t object when Arthur touches him casually, doesn’t make polite excuses to get out of it when Arthur invites him to one of his rugby matches.
(Merlin comes to the matches whenever he can. He stands at the sidelines and watches Arthur intently, with a curious look in his eyes, almost nostalgic, and he cheers with more enthusiasm than even Arthur’s mum though he acts all nonchalant about it after.)
Three months after moving in, Arthur’s thinking of nothing but Merlin when he jerks off and beginning to wonder if maybe, maybe Merlin isn’t a little bit interested himself. It’s the way he catches Merlin looking at him sometimes, full of longing; the way Merlin will relax into Arthur’s touch if he’s tired or distracted or otherwise off his guard.
And he’s on Arthur’s mind, constantly. When Arthur gets bored in class, when he’s waiting for a bus, when he’s washing dishes. There’s this one girl at school, who he knows nothing about but passes in the hall on the way to lunch most days, and she’s skinny and tall with short black hair and she doesn’t actually look much like Merlin except when Arthur sees her out of the corner of his eye. (He sees her out of the corner of his eye a lot, and does an embarrassing number of double-takes given that he knows full well Merlin has no reason to be in his school at lunch hour. Or any other time.) One day, the girl trips and stumbles into him.
“Sorry,” she says, and goes on her way without making eye-contact. Arthur doesn’t care, except - except Merlin’s not been tired or distracted much this week, so Arthur’s not been able to get away with touching him much, and Arthur finds himself feeling the absence keenly. His skin seems itchy and too tight, and this girl is nothing to do with Merlin, but he still spends half of lunch tossing his apple between his hands and wondering how Merlin’s weight would feel against him if he were to trip.
“Oi, Riley, you there?” Gareth demands, snapping his fingers in front of Arthur’s face.
“What? Yeah, sure.”
“Yeah, sure, you’ve done the essay, or yeah sure you’ve no idea what I’m on about?”
“Essay? The one for Haversham?”
“Yeah. You done it yet?”
Arthur hasn’t done it yet. Arthur is planning to go to Merlin’s tonight to do it. He’ll head up to the library, ask Merlin to help him find some relevant book, and he’ll stand a little too close while Merlin scans the shelves, and then maybe Merlin will turn, startled, and lose his balance, and -
“Riley!”
Arthur jumps and drops the apple. “What!”
“Oh, forget it,” Gareth says, rolling his eyes and turning away.
(Merlin doesn’t fall against Arthur that night, but he does pat Arthur’s shoulder after handing him the book, and that’s - well, it isn’t enough, but it’s something.)
So Arthur gets to thinking: If Merlin likes blokes, well, Merlin must know what he’s doing with blokes, must have heaps of experience. (The fact that Merlin’s a man doesn’t ever bother Arthur; he’s never really understood why people make such a big deal out of men liking men or women liking women. As far as he’s concerned, people just like people, regardless of the plumbing.) Arthur has no experience, and he’s not interested in chasing after some random guy just to get it, but that’s what the internet is for. And so, one night after his parents have gone to sleep, Arthur sits in his bed with his laptop and starts doing research.
That night, and for many nights after, he scours wikipedia and follows links and devours whatever he can find. He reads about blowjobs, all kinds of tips and techniques, reads them over and over so he won’t forget if he ever gets the opportunity to try them out. (Once he attempts to practice on a banana, but he feels like such an idiot doing it and then he breaks the tip off by accident and, really, there’s only so much indignity a man can inflict on himself.) He also reads about other things men do together, reads about anal sex and imagines what it would be like to do that with Merlin, to have Merlin actually inside him - and then he has to abandon the research for the night and have a wank, because coming with his laptop balanced on his crossed legs could not possibly end well for the laptop.
Still, it’s another two weeks before Arthur gathers the courage to try pushing a finger inside himself while he’s in the shower. It’s weird, makes him think more of sitting on the toilet than getting off, all uncomfortable and strange, but he keeps trying, because he’s curious, because there has to be some reason people think this is a good idea. Eventually he uses a bit of shampoo to slick his finger and that helps, and after that he tries pressing deeper, tries two fingers, and it gets less uncomfortable but still very strange. And then, one day, he slides two fingers inside and wraps his free hand around his cock, thinking about Merlin, thinking about Merlin’s graceful hands on him, stroking inside him, and just as he’s about to come his hips jerk and his fingers accidentally press deeper than he’s dared before and brush against - oh god, right, prostate, he’s read about the prostate, oh fuck - ok, now he understands why people do this.
He collapses in a boneless heap on the floor of the shower afterward, blissed out and breathless, and doesn’t move until his mother knocks on the door to ask if he’s alright.
“’M fine, Mum, just slipped,” he says, and hopes the noise of the water and the wood of the door will be sufficient to disguise how weird he must sound.
As time goes by, it becomes obvious that even if Merlin is interested, he isn’t going to make the first move. Arthur’s not really sure why that is. Merlin doesn’t appear to be involved with anyone else, he’s certainly not shy, and Arthur’s doing everything he can think of to make his own position clear, so unless he’s been misreading Merlin’s behaviour… Still, the only way to be certain is to take matters into his own hands.
And so, after school is out, after his parents have left on a two-week trip, Arthur takes the bus into the city. He’d briefly contemplated going to the chemist’s down the road, but he knows too many of the employees and anyway he isn’t sure if they’ll have what he needs. Instead, he changes buses twice and eventually arrives within a few blocks of the sex shop he’d looked up online.
The place is half a flight of steps below street-level, located under a cheap looking Italian restaurant. The display window and glass door are both painted black, so it’s impossible to see inside. Arthur finds his heart racing; reading about all this in the privacy of his bedroom is one thing, but walking into a shop off the street, a shop that could have anyone inside, is another matter entirely. He has to walk past the place three times before finally shaking himself and going down the steps.
There’s no one inside except a bored looking girl with an eyebrow piercing behind the counter. She’s paging through a magazine and barely glances up when Arthur comes in. Which is a relief, because the sign on the door says no one under eighteen allowed, but she doesn’t seem concerned about asking for ID.
Most of the shop looks to be devoted to leather, lingerie, and DVDs, which Arthur passes without a second glance. Toward the back, there are shelves of assorted toys, which he also doesn’t look at because the pictures on the packaging make him blush, and next to the counter there’s a wall of condoms, lube, and other similar supplies.
The condoms are an easy enough decision - leaving off all the weird ones with flavours and ridges and all that, there are only a few options, so he just grabs one of the smaller boxes. The lube is a different matter. There are all kinds, though only two choices in terms of quantity - large bottles that feel a little too ambitious, and tiny single-use packets that seem hardly worth the effort. He’s still standing there, trying to make up his mind, when the door opens again.
Arthur doesn’t turn around, but from the voices he can tell that it’s a guy and a girl, both probably younger than he is. The girl at the counter ignores them too, at least until they start tittering loudly over something in the DVD section.
“Right,” she snaps, dropping her magazine. “ID or get out.”
Arthur freezes. The kids take off, still tittering, and the girl sighs.
“Not you, mate,” she tells him. “You’re alright. Help you with anything?”
“Um, just, ah, trying to decide-”
“Lube?”
“Er, yeah.”
“You’ll want something water-based if you’re using it with condoms,” she says, coming over. “Don’t get that, it dries out in like ten seconds, I keep telling Ron to stop ordering it… That one’s alright, not really worth the price though…” She goes through them all, offering her opinions with clinical detachment. Arthur’s impressed at how casual she is, that she can talk about sexual lubricants the way other people might speak of motor oil or window cleaner. It’s reassuring, somehow, and ten minutes later Arthur walks out with his condoms and one of the too-large bottles tucked into a plain black plastic bag. He feels accomplished, but also a little nervous - this whole endeavour seems so much more real now that he’s spent money (cash; no way his parents need to see this on his statement, no matter what the website said about discrete billing) and obtained supplies.
That Friday, things don’t go quite to plan, what with Merlin refusing to come in and all, but then they’re in Merlin’s house and ok, Merlin is clearly interested, Merlin’s touching him and kissing him and god, the way he looks as Arthur goes down on him... When Merlin first presses a slick finger into Arthur’s body, slow and careful and infinitely tender, Arthur’s convinced that he’s found the peak, that nothing could possibly be better than this. The thrill of his own want answered, the pleasure dancing through him, the incredible sense of safety born in the knowledge that he can trust Merlin to do this to him and not hurt him, the intimacy of it. And then it’s two fingers and then Merlin’s sucking him too and that’s - and then -
In the hazy warm afterglow, when he’s settled snug in Merlin’s embrace and halfway to sleep, Arthur realizes that this is the sort of thing he used to dream about, passion and belonging and utter contentment in the arms of another. It’s sort of sappy, he knows, and he’s not about to go saying it out loud, but it’s true. The whole day feels a bit surreal, like somewhere along the way he slipped out of an ordinary evening with Merlin and into one of his private fantasies. He has the slight ache in his arse and the unfamiliar bed beneath him and Merlin’s breath on his skin to anchor him, and still it seems almost too remarkable to be believed.
(In the morning, he’ll wake up, find it all real and be seized by a wild, giddy excitement that has him touching Merlin constantly, half to remind himself that it’s true and half simply because he can.)
Part II: Arthur, once called Pendragon
Two days later, Arthur remembers who he used to be.
At first remembering his past is all one great rush, an incredible euphoria only compounded by the answering joy he finds in Merlin, and that lasts for a while. Lasts the week, really, as long as he can touch Merlin whenever he wants, make Merlin smile, make him laugh, make him writhe and come apart under Arthur’s hands and mouth. But then, later, when Arthur has to go home and act like nothing’s happened, pretend like he hasn’t had the greatest week of his life with the most incredible man in the world, then he remembers other things.
He remembers loving Merlin, sure enough, with a profound and unrepentant depth of feeling which he’s only beginning to discover in this life. He remembers their first meeting, and how annoying Merlin was, how useless he thought him, and then the growing affection, the way he started out counting the minutes until Merlin left and eventually found himself counting the minutes until he saw the idiot again. He remembers, too, how different his father was, how inadequate he felt growing up, how different his life was then, how Merlin quietly changed everything about it without even realizing the effect he had.
Arthur remembers Merlin loving him, the extent of Merlin’s loyalty, the power he turned to Arthur’s service. How Merlin looked at him with faith and trust he wasn’t certain he deserved; how Merlin gradually replaced Uther as the person Arthur most feared disappointing. He remembers sitting on his throne with a crown on his head and a grateful kingdom at his feet, and feeling proud and lucky and still, even then, not quite worthy of everything Merlin gave him.
And he can’t help thinking - if the great king Arthur didn’t feel he fully deserved Merlin, what business does Arthur Riley, ordinary teenager, have even going near him? In this life Arthur’s no more insecure than anyone else his age - supportive parents and friends throughout his youth have seen to that - but he does have his fears, and these recollections of his first life with Merlin quell some while feeding others.
Although it’s only been a week, going to bed alone feels strange. Arthur misses Merlin’s arms around him, the scent of Merlin’s body, the warmth of his touch. He feels rather like an idiot for it, though berating himself to man up doesn’t help in the slightest. Eventually he rings Merlin’s mobile, on the logic that Merlin usually charges it downstairs overnight, so it won’t disturb him if he’s asleep already. Merlin isn’t asleep. They talk for a bit, and it’s nice, reassuring, enough to let Arthur nod off not long after they hang up. Come morning, though, his misgivings are back in force.
He doesn’t go to see Merlin on Monday, much as he wants to, because he isn’t sure what to think. Merlin’s Merlin, just like he remembers, but Arthur isn’t what he once was. Maybe Merlin’s only here with the expectation that Arthur will become the man he was, but Arthur doesn’t feel like someone capable of leading armies and ruling a kingdom; he hasn’t been trained to kill since birth, not this time. How could Merlin possibly be satisfied with a kid who can only read about kings? The thought of Merlin looking at him in dismay when he realizes is unbearable.
Arthur spends the day puttering around his house, trying to distract himself with video games and the telly, and it’s an effort to act normal when his parents come home. That night, he stays up watching DVDs on his laptop, delaying sleep as long as possible so he won’t have to lie awake alone and think. Around five in the morning, he dozes off halfway through Hot Fuzz. When he wakes, it’s past noon and his neck is stiff and he vaguely remembers a dream where Merlin turned into a football and complained every time Arthur kicked him. It makes him smile.
He’s still worried he won’t be enough for Merlin, but eventually decides to stop moping and consider the matter logically. Arthur knows he’s attractive, but he also knows Merlin isn’t one to be swayed by that alone. And Merlin wants him, that’s been evident in every kiss and caress and idle touch; Merlin wanted him even before he remembered, when he knew nothing of who they once were apart from the distorted depictions in the legends.
Merlin’s always wanted him, always unflinchingly told him of his failings and pushed him to be better, always argued passionately when Arthur doubted himself, always looked at Arthur like … like it didn’t matter if he was a king or not, so long as he was a good man. Maybe…
In the evening, Arthur watches the road like a hawk until Merlin gets home from work, and then races over, full of desperation, needing to see if his fears are justified or groundless. Merlin receives him with the same mix of awe and delight as always, wearing an enormous grin and no longer making any secret of his pleasure at Arthur’s presence. Merlin lets Arthur kiss him, lets Arthur suck him off against the door, and when it’s done Merlin sinks down to the floor and says, smiling and slightly breathless,
“Missed you.”
Maybe he means since Sunday, maybe he means since he regained his memories as a kid, but Arthur finds, much to his relief, that it doesn’t really matter which one it is. Because it’s Merlin, and he’s looking Arthur - Arthur, once and future and presently Riley - right in the eye as he says you.
(Later, while Merlin’s in the bathroom, Arthur nicks the t-shirt he finds under Merlin’s pillow, and wears it to bed that night. It helps.)