fic: Stripping Away
Title: Stripping Away
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~7,000
Warnings: Large historical inaccuracies, see below for more details
Disclaimer: Not mine. D:
Summary/prompt: For vivitchi as part of camelots_closet and my quill_it prompt of 'smoke'. Arthur strips for an elite club, gentleman's club by day and Spearmint Rhino-esque strip club by night. Merlin, a shy Cambridge student, happens to inherit said club. Sex ensues (and a bit of love too). Think Tom Brown's Schooldays meets Dead Poets' Society on the set of a porn film.
A/N: Unfortunately, I do not or have not attended gentlemen's clubs, posh gay strip clubs, all-male public boarding schools, or Cambridge University. I don't smoke posh cigarettes or cigars, don't own a business and wasn't alive during the 1920s. Apart from that, it should be fairly accurate, haha! If anyone has any suggestions that would make it more accurate, please do let me know.
Clubs, thought Arthur Pendragon, were supposed to be dim, with pounding music, gyrating bodies and enough sweat to drown in. This place had none of those things. Adjusting his cuffs, which were a crisp white with silver-plated cufflinks through the hemmed holes, the young man pulled them straight before carefully hefting a tray with delicately crafted wine flutes on in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other. "Your 1921 Dom Pérignon," he murmured just over the smooth cello music. He watched the patrons, as they watched the roll of his bicep as he put down the ice bucket.
"It is all to your liking?" Arthur asked in that same smooth ripple of a tone that he still had to periodically practice in his bathroom. The man nodded, and huffed through his pipe at him. Arthur straightened, and weaved his way through to the back room. Once there, he had to readjust his cuffs again. That was the problem when one had cuffs not actually attached sleeves. They hung like thick bracelets around his thick wrists; they, and the equally crisp, white collar with its bow tie gave the illusion that he was wearing a shirt when he wasn't. The night was still early, but Arthur was sure that when the dull trickle of conversation bubbled to a hubbub of sound, he would have to remove his silky black trousers too.
"Have you a cutter?" A man waved a cigar at Arthur as he was on his way back, a Romeo y Julieta Churchill no less. Arthur rumbled his assent, pulling the company-assigned cutter from his sleek leather belt, snipping off the tip of the man's cigar as he assessed him with curiosity. He didn't look like he belonged in an exclusive gentleman's club. His shirt was half untucked, his tie slightly crooked and his hair dishevelled. Arthur also lit the cigar for him, letting the man inhale on his cigar as the fire crept up the long match, threatening to burn his fingers. "Mm, disgusting," the man pronounced of the poor, precious cigar before proceeding to puff on it like a common cigarette. Arthur tried to not stare, instead dipping his head before walking past.
The man had reminded him that he hadn't had a cigarette for hours now, and his fingers were just bloody itching for a Chesterfield. He'd just have to wait for his break, a period of ten minutes in which the dancers started their show and the patrons usually forgot about anything but watching them for a while, and inhaled the rich blend of cigar smoke instead. That would have to do for now.
Sometimes, Arthur wished that he hadn't royally angered his father. If he hadn't, he was sure that by now, he would be in his final year of Cambridge planning on graduating with a first hons, several job offers and an upstanding young woman waiting for him even as he discreetly debauched the first years. He would have cigars, go punting, and even still have his horse on the family estates at home. Instead, he was living in a small flat on the outskirts of the town, working for cash paid by the hour and spending the cash on cigarettes.
On his way back towards the back rooms, Arthur noticed the same young man from earlier examining the doorknobs, probably wondering if they were plated in real gold. He frowned. His incongruity with the whole theme of the club led him to wonder if the young man had been let in by accident, whether he was actually a Cambridge student who had snuck in to get his rocks off for the night. Making his way over to one of the suited men positioned by the entrance, he quickly pointed out the man.
Roger laughed, a low, quick chuckle as if he wasn't allowed to laugh on the job. "The one almost setting his shirt on fire?" Arthur glanced over. Sure enough, the young man had put his hand down to near his shirt - a large sooty burn mark now adorned it - and Arthur nodded. Roger laughed his laugh again. "Don't you know? Of course he's allowed in. Sticks out like a sore thumb though," he whispered. Arthur knew those tones. It meant that he was Important. Of course, all the regular patrons were Important really, all earls and marquesses, but they all looked the part too. Arthur settled for sending a fleeting, curious glance at the young man before attending to his duties.
-
Arthur had all but forgotten the young man during the night, which was as busy as ever. He and all the other waiters had, of course, long since removed their trousers, even though he had always felt that walking around in underwear, socks and shoes was a ridiculous sight. It seemed to please the patrons, it always brought in the tips and Arthur never complained about tips. There was a brief lull at the moment, where the dancers were resting before their final show of the night, letting their absence rack up excitement in the club.
Exhaling smoke, Arthur leaned across the metal handrail down the steps from the back entrance. Cool air wisped across his skin, cooling the sheen of sweat and raising the fluffy hairs down his stomach. "How," a voice interrupted his thoughts, "did you ever give up that life for this?" Lancelot, no first name, leaned on the rail next to him, stealing the cigarette out of Arthur's mouth and breathing in deeply. His colleague was similarly dressed in next to nothing, but, unlike Arthur, this was the best opportunity that he had had with his life up to now. This job paid well, the patrons were generally well-behaved and there was always a shift available.
"It was something about not living my life under my father's influence because that had been the only thing that got me into Cambridge," Arthur answered automatically. "I have no idea what I was thinking." He stole his cigarette back, dragging the last out of the stub. "That, and being caught with Lord Olaf's daughter," he added dryly, "even though she was the one who had been making the advances."
Lancelot laughed, shaking his head. He was one of the few who didn't snub Arthur either for being originally of the Peerage or look down on him for now not being in good society. Arthur might have told him more, but the delivery girl arrived then. Gwen always did the evening delivery of the next day's flowers, struggling up the narrow back alley with all the bouquets and brushing back her tumble of loose curls with a free hand. Arthur quite liked Gwen, actually, and he and her had had several friendly chats when he escaped out here, but more importantly, so did Lancelot.
"Ah, I will leave you to your fair maiden," he murmured with some amusement, eyeing the two of them as they started making doe eyes at each other already. He gave Lancelot the rest of his cigarette before slipping back inside. He'd never say it, but they were a cute couple. Cute was not meant to be in his vocabulary.
The drinks were flowing freely, whisky and brandy disappearing like water. Inhibitions and sensibilities had also started to disappear a while ago. While the first dancers had been greeted earlier with a polite smattering of applause and a hum of approval, these dancers received an enthusiastic round of applause and some catcalls, which was positively obscene for gentlemen. Having worked with some of these dancers for months now, Arthur had little interest in watching them, even though there had indeed been a certain thrill of titillation in the first weeks.
Serving drinks as quickly as manners could dictate, Arthur suddenly spotted the young man from before, leaning all the way over the bar and waving an entire bundle of fifty pound notes. Dear Lord, who even carried those around, not to mention more than one at any given time. "Sir," Arthur sidled over quickly, "you could set up a tab." He wasn't just helpful out of the goodness of his heart; patrons who carried a lot of cash on them tended to give more tips, or be willing to pay for services. It was a distinctly different matter of decorum when it came to putting 'private dances' on tabs.
The young man looked at him through startled eyes, thick dark eyelashes fluttering. "A tab?" He looked uncertainly at the pile of crisp notes in his hand. "Right, right. Erm, it's all right, I don't actually need one." Even better; he wasn't sinking his cash into the bar.
Clearing his throat, Arthur touched the young man's wrist lightly. "What do you need, sir? We aim to please." Arthur really needed to pay the rent this month, but as usual had maintained no self-control whatsoever and smoked most of his wages away. As far as patrons went in any case, this one seemed naïve enough to be willing to part with his money. That he was young and actually not repulsive was a slight bonus.
"Hmm?" The man's lips curled into an abstract smile, "Oh, just some whiskey. Not too much of anything tonight, just want to see how it all is." Arthur blinked in confusion, but nodded the bartender over and repeated the request anyhow. Perhaps he had been too subtle.
Handing the man his whiskey tumbler, Arthur tweaked his left cuff just a tad back into place and smiled his most charming smile. "Are you sure that there isn't anything else I can get you? The private rooms are beautiful, and generally in very high demand." He knew that he was sounding just a little too easy but frankly, he wouldn't have taken this job if he was squeamish about this sort of thing. They weren't common whores after all, because there was nothing common at all; he tended to see it more as a mutual reciprocity of favours between two willing and consenting adults.
"Er..." It took the young fellow a moment to twig what he meant, and then there was whiskey everywhere "What? No! NO!" His shrill voice garnered the attention of a few people nearby, and Arthur kept his gaze averted, mutely flustered, instead reaching for the embossed napkins. "I mean," the young man added desperately, mopping himself up with napkins and likely staining that shirt forever along with the burn, "it's nothing to do with you, you're very good-looking and..." he gestured up and down Arthur's body, "and all that," he finished lamely.
Arthur wondered what it was about instead. He disposed of the napkins for the young man, who was now blushing like a virgin. How strange, Arthur mused briefly, for a man to come to a gentlemen's club catered to by gentlemen, and yet not want to be catered to. Perhaps, Arthur thought, given his less than smart outfit, he was just a 'tourist', as such. Perhaps he was a university student who had managed to sneak in just to see what the club was like. Perhaps - "What I mean is, I don't think it's on very good form to dally with your employees."
There was a pause. A slightly awkward pause. It took Arthur a moment to realise what that meant before clocking on. “Oh. OH, Mr Emrys, I do apologise,” he blathered, “although... although, there isn't really reason not to,” he finished quickly. That wasn't at all what he intended to say.
“Merlin, please,” said Mr Merlin Emrys, new owner and proprietor of this fine establishment as of about a month ago when the elder Mr Emrys had kicked the bucket, casual as you like. He eyed Arthur; he was probably taking in Arthur's 'good looks and all that' again. Arthur silently passed him another glass of whiskey. “Is it a common practise in the workplace to offer your services to the boss?” He sounded slightly amused, but genuinely curious.
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, refraining from saying that was generally the way waiters were promoted to dancers. He'd have dropped onto his knees for Bayard, his grumpy floor manager, without a second thought if he hadn't thought that Bayard would take his services and then conveniently forget to promote him and brag about it afterwards just to humiliate Arthur. He fell into the party that resented Arthur for his lineage. “It's been known to be done,” he answered hesitantly, not entirely knowing what to make of this young man.
Merlin shook his head, seemingly exasperated. If he had, according to club gossip, inherited the business rather suddenly and without warning, he was probably still finding his feet in how things worked around here. Arthur cleared his throat, “Sir - er, Merlin, I should really be -” he gestured around, implying that some of them did have to actually do things around here to be paid.
“I'll have to do something about that,” Merlin was muttering to himself before blinking at Arthur, long lashes sweeping his cheeks. “Oh, of course,” He waved a hand, startled. “Don't want to keep you - what's your name?”
“Arthur,” He replied with a nod towards the strange but likeable man, and started away. He had once suggested that they get name tags; waiters usually had name tags in other clubs. Leon had then asked where they'd put them, seeing as they didn't exactly wear shirts, and Owain had suggested snidely that he could pierce his nipple with it, and that had definitely been the end of that idea.
“Arthur,” He heard Merlin repeat softly behind him.
All Arthur had wanted was a job where he was highly unlikely to ever see his father, and stay inconspicuous enough for him to just keep his head down and work. He shook himself mentally as he rotated tables fourteen, nine and seven, picking up the horrendously large number of used glasses lying around before any of the bumbling gentlemen could break any. Now he had come to the attention of the owner himself, who was probably going to try and force some sort of radical change on the floor managers, who would resent their free supply of the men's services being taken away, and his name would be brought up and he'd probably be fired. Well, bugger.
The rest of the night continued normally, even though Arthur constantly kept expecting to be stopped on his way out of the back area with a message that someone wanted to see him. He wasn't even sure who he thought might want to see him. He finished his shift with relief, pulling on a thick, worn jumper and saluting a 'good night' to Lancelot as he trudged back towards his flat. He took an earlier shift tomorrow, and they were usually more work with fewer tips. There was just enough time chew down some bread and butter, good plain food, before collapsing into bed, mind too numb to contemplate the night's events.
-
When Arthur had still lived on the Pendragon estates, he had always taken certain things for granted. Now though, he wondered how that tiny little maid they'd had who served them lunch had ever managed to carry a whole roast. His arms were tired, and he'd only had to lift it from the wheely tray onto the table. As he wheeled the tray back into the kitchen, he was unexpectedly greeted. “Arthur!” He heard called from across the room and winced; firstly, no one ever greeted him like that, and secondly, now every waiter in the back room was staring at him as Merlin crossed the floor and waved at him. That man really had no idea of what was appropriate.
Arthur winced, and... waved back, staring at his hand. What was he doing?!
Unfortunately for Arthur, things just went downhill from there. When he looked back, he would smile fondly upon it, but actually experiencing it the first time hadn't been fun. He went from Arthur, mostly inconspicuous, caddishly disowned son of an Earl, to Arthur, topless waiter who had the new boss' ear. Merlin would corner him blithely as he returned with empty glasses to ask about the inner workings of the place, whether people thought they were paid enough, whether there was a hierarchy in who was allowed to take the leftover food home, whether he ought to change this, that and the other.
Arthur had wondered at the time why Merlin - as he kept insisting Arthur call him every time he tried to revert back to Mr Emrys - kept trying to change everything, since things seemed to run pretty well here. True, there was usually a bit of hazing of new waiters, and the floor managers fought for the lion's shares of the rich, expensive leftovers viciously and distributed them as they saw fit, but things worked.
What Arthur eventually realised as he very quickly backed out of the back rooms as the gaggle of dancers not yet performing glared at him and an awkward silence followed, was that Merlin was a revolutionary. He was one of those people who just didn't understand that certain other people were willing to give out blowjobs in return for a higher pay with less hours, and wanted to make things fair for everyone. That didn't mean that everyone hated him less, of course. Being a waiter was at the bottom of the pecking order, and Arthur had somehow turned it all on its head.
It was inevitable really, that Merlin would awkwardly ask Arthur if he wanted a pay rise, because he deserved one. "No thanks," Arthur gawped incredulously, wondering if Merlin just tried to heap more trouble on him consciously or if he was just that talented at it naturally happening. Merlin looked dubiously at Arthur's name in the large ledger he was hidden behind, which kept records of everyone's wages. "No, really, it's fine," Arthur hastened to add, "I have enough to cover rent and cigarettes, I really don't need very much more. And food every so often, when I remember." Oh, how different it was to just over a year ago, when he could have sworn that he couldn't survive without a hansom cab to anywhere further than two streets away.
Merlin looked worriedly at him. Far more worriedly, Arthur thought as he restocked the cigars, than one really ought to worry over an employee. He had learnt that the learning curve had been steep for Merlin, and that the other man was still struggling with such responsibility so early on. He wasn't even as old as Arthur yet. "Well," the hesitation in Merlin's soft voice was clear, "Why don't I take you out for lunch sometime then?" Arthur nearly knocked over an entire crate of Punch Punch, catching the few that rolled out deftly and tucking them back into their appropriate velvet lined boxes as he considered his answer carefully, head looking down enough that his blond fringe shielded his eyes.
Carefully finishing the restocking, Arthur looked up at Merlin, glad that no one else was back here at the moment and grinned. "I thought it wasn't very good form to dally with your employees?" A rose blush curled over Merlin's pale skin, but Arthur did notice that he relaxed a little bit. It was disconcerting to know that he knew his boss this well. Out of everyone here, he only knew a few of the others this well - Lancelot and Leon, perhaps - and he had worked with them for far longer.
"Ah," stammered Merlin, looking every part the shy Cambridge student he really was underneath the thin veneer of being a business man, "I-I'm not sure that - that dallying would... well, it's just lunch." He blinked owlishly at Arthur, who thought to put him out of his misery. Despite all the grievances half the other employees held against him now because of this man, Arthur could not but help admire him.
He was soft-spoken and hardly ever ordered the managers around, instead asking timidly and taking on board their opinions. He had just come into a large amount of money and yet was always polite to the employees and had turned down numerous offers for services. He really did try his best to keep everyone happy here, not just the patrons, and Arthur thought that there was just something about him that spoke to people.
Arthur smiled, moving on to restocking the napkins, "I don't usually do lunch." He saw Merlin's face crumple out of the corner of his eye, "But it's because I'm either working or sleeping in after a late shift." He lifted one shoulder and dropped it again fluidly. "But I never turn down free food." How easily those words dropped out of his lips now. He straightened, trying not to crumple a handful of napkins and smiled slightly. Merlin was still blushing a little, and for some reason it brightened Arthur's day just that little bit as Merlin smiled too, quickly dropping his eyes back to his ledger.
Distinctly not flustered, Arthur finished restocking and then quickly wheeled the boxes out of the room. It was hardly as if Arthur didn't know exactly what these strange signals and feelings were about. After all, he hadn't exactly been discreet in his previous life, causing public scandals when he had destroyed Lady Sophia's reputation (the young lady had never been seen in good company since) and then not long after been found with the lovely Lady Vivan curled up in his bed; her father had nearly taken his head off in a friendly game of polo. And those were only the ones that he'd been caught at. Needless to say, Arthur knew exactly what these little flutterings meant.
What he didn't know was how to deal with it now. Not only was Merlin his boss, but Arthur genuinely had no idea how people outside of the upper classes dealt with these situations. He sighed, and picked up a stack of today's newspapers to scatter around the club.
-
Lunch was... interesting. Arthur wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting at all, but sprawled on the patchy grass on Midsummer Common facing the river on a blanket with a hamper was not it. Delicately seating himself, he noticed what Merlin was wearing; a soft, worn sweater with a rumpled shirt, battered boater and no tie at all suited him much better than the crisp suit and trilby he felt obliged to come to work in, in Arthur's opinion. "It's just a simple lunch, nothing fancy," Merlin started, "Just to say thank you for looking after me when I took over the Establishment."
Arthur looked at him consideringly, taking a bite of the ham sandwich he was offered. Merlin had clearly taken his often reluctant help more to heart than he had intended it to be. "No problem," he said softly as Merlin nervously worried his lip. He tended to forget that despite being his employer, the other man was actually a year younger than him, and struggling to balance his time between his father's investments and doing well in his English Literature degree. He felt somewhat protective of Merlin sometimes.
Chewing down the rest of his sandwich, which was deliciously creamy with thick butter, Arthur said lazily as he glanced over at the various boat houses, "I was supposed to be at Cambridge. Eton, Cambridge, House of Lords." It was all so terribly... traditional. As much as Arthur admired his father, he didn't really want to be his father.
Merlin started to relax a bit, "Yeah? Which college?" Arthur ruefully smiled; he should have expected Merlin to know how particular families leant towards particular colleges.
"Corpus Christi. The colours would have looked terrible on me," he grinned.
Merlin looked surprised. "Oh! I'm in Corpus."
Arthur glanced over, and just couldn't resist. "What's it like? I mean," he swallowed and waved a hand, "I've been; I know what it looks like. What's it like?" It was strange to think that Merlin knew the people he should have known. He couldn't imagine that Merlin would be particularly good friends with the sort of people he had been expected to be friends with though.
The way Merlin's face lit up, Arthur could tell that he loved it. "It's beautiful. I mean, of course it's beautiful, but that reflects on you, you know, it inspires you to do well and everything's so serene and peaceful and just, just a great place to work," he gushed. Arthur didn't often regret going to Cambridge, but sometimes... the regret crept in.
"You mean, of course," Arthur rummaged for those tea cakes he had spied just a little earlier, "that everything seems serene and peaceful." He knew too well how Society tended to have fronts for everything. "Probably a great deal of tension in the changing rooms, I imagine," drawled Arthur, "All the boys from those public schools who've never learnt how to deal with the sweet females." Merlin tittered nervously; there was a bit more truth behind that than he was willing to admit out loud, and Arthur knew it. After all, he had attended one of Those Public Schools.
Merlin glanced down at the blanket they were on, plucking at the threadbare thing and yanking up even more loose threads. "Why don't we go across?" He asked finally. "Just a walk through college or something." Arthur finished fitting an entire sandwich triangle into his mouth and crunched through the cucumber, all the while staring at Merlin, perhaps a little sentimentally. He would deny it later, and say that he was just struggling to swallow the whole sandwich at once.
"Sounds like a good idea," he said casually, flicking a smile at Merlin.
-
They ended up meandering through Cambridge, Merlin leading the way and pointing out landmarks. He wasn't pointing out famous and notable landmarks though, but more often places he remembered for his own reasons, such as that bench where he'd fallen asleep reading and someone had thought he was homeless, or that tree where he'd walked into (Arthur had stifled a laugh) on his way back from a seminar and dented his hat and his pride.
Merlin towed Arthur along with him excitedly, evidently completely out of businessman mode and in young student mode. "Down there is Will's room, he's the first friend I made here and this..." Merlin paused awkwardly, hand hovering above his handle for the moment. "Well, it's my room." He bit his lip for a moment before determinedly opening it. "Come on in."
Arthur raised one sandy eyebrow, but shuffled into the modest room, belongings covering every available surface, the floor included. "I take it you don't bring many people to visit," he suggested with a wry smile, perching on the very edge of Merlin's bed, which was covered in a mess of books. Merlin balanced the hamper on top of a laundry basket, kicking at a pile of clothes on the floor, looking as if this was a perfectly normal state of affairs for one's rooms to be in.
Bouncing onto the bed himself and scattering the books everywhere, Merlin blushed nicely as he pulled a copy of Dickens from where it wedged under his bum. "Well, other college people, sure, when we're exchanging notes and comparing essays, but not really anyone else."
Arthur turned to face Merlin, and found that they were quite close together. He licked his lips, just the tiniest dab of wetness. "I hope you don't mean the public boarding school boys," he murmured. He was aware of how very inappropriate this was with regards to his job. However, he reasoned, everyone could see that he hadn't used his... friendliness with Merlin to get himself a pay rise or promotion. Which made it all right, didn't it?
It just seemed that Merlin couldn't stop blushing today. The pink tinge spread pleasantly across his cheeks and over the tips of his ears. "No, they don't like me very much."
Leaning over, Arthur pressed his hand against Merlin's cheek, the heel of his hand cupped across his jaw and his fingers splaying out to sweep across those beautiful high cheekbones. "This one does," he smiled, pressing his lips to Merlin's. Merlin's lips were full and soft and chapped. He slid his tongue over the bottom lip and snuck it into Merlin's mouth, so warm. The brush of Merlin's sooty eyelashes against his made him look into the eyes opposite. They were beautifully clear, a stunning blue, wide and startled and pleased. He liked it.
Merlin raised his hands to his lips as Arthur pulled back, before scooting closer on the bed, curling his hands into the sides of Arthur's waistcoat and tipped his head down for another kiss. Feeling Merlin leaning into him, Arthur sank into the kiss, sweet, hesitant and exploring but also excited and exciting. He hooked a hand around Merlin's neck, tugging him closer, and felt the clack of their teeth as Merlin gasped and opened his mouth wider, his tongue slipping up to slide across Arthur's.
They parted, darting back in for last quick pecks, flushed. Arthur left his hands where they were. "This... this is good, right?" He asked, meaning the entire situation. It had been obvious of Merlin's intent and feelings all along, but to take that step and do something about it was quite different altogether.
Merlin's forehead bumped lightly against his and the younger man smiled, "Really good," he assured before shuffling even closer, so that one of his legs lined up against Arthur's back, and the other lay across Arthur's lap, so innocuous, so daring. They kissed again, Arthur nibbling on Merlin's lip as he pressed his side flush against Merlin's chest, bearing him down backwards in his eagerness. A soft "Oh!" managed to escape Merlin's mouth before Arthur preoccupied it again.
Caught up in the delicious taste of Merlin's mouth, still a little sticky sweet from that apple he'd had earlier, Arthur's hands began to roam, stroking down from Merlin's neck to feel the firm, lean body beneath that badly fitted shirt. His thumb rubbed a tiny circle on the pale skin just above Merlin's hip, where his shirt had pulled out of place and Merlin jolted. Arthur quickly drew away, seeing the anxiety flash across Merlin's face. "Too fast, too fast, I'm sorry," Arthur murmured soothingly into that perfectly curved pink shell of Merlin's ear.
"S'okay," Arthur heard mumbled into his ear as they finally relaxed. Hair mussed, lips red, shirt crumpled and the most idiotic expression on his face, Merlin looked adorable, Arthur thought. "Do you want to come to the Beltane festivities with me?" He asked suddenly, a lilting tone that still suggested that he thought Arthur might think him completely stupid and flounce off at any moment.
Arthur blinked, thrown a bit off track. "Beltane festivities?" He asked, peppering kisses on Merlin's jawbone.
With a contented sigh, Merlin arched into Arthur's touches, and expanded, "I'm sure you'd be part of the rowing team if you were here, but the only society I'm are the Fletcher Players. One of our socials is that pagan festival, Beltane. We'll be on the common with wine and dancing and reading of pagan scripts and plays and poetry and that sort of thing. You could come to see a bit of college life, or something."
It was strange, Arthur realised, to think that Merlin would do such things to make him happy, just because he'd never had the opportunity to partake in that sort of college spirit. No one else had ever done things like that before. "If I'm not working, I suppose," he grinned into Merlin's neck.
-
Wrapping his scarf around his neck an extra loop, Arthur clinked his cheap glass of elderberry wine with Merlin's as they sat on the common once again. Unlike last time though, the atmosphere was lively, with people singing and dancing in groups. There was a group to their left screaming the lines of King Lear and someone was reciting the Jabberwocky complete with actions and getting all ideas of what paganism was rather hashed up and mixed together. Merlin had been amused at that, as a purist English Literature boy. It was dark, and their only source of light was this small bonfire that Arthur strongly suspected was highly illegal to be burning in the middle of the common.
Merlin had simply introduced Arthur as his friend, and several people sat with them now, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and talking about paganism, so different and exotic compared to their lives now. "It's a festival of fertility and cleansing. Like how spring is a fresh start over for life," Will was saying. He was one of those rare creatures who was reading an Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic degree. "People would be having outdoor sex all over the place." The group giggled among itself at the very idea. "And couple would jump over bonfires for good luck in conceiving for that year." He eyed the current group of dare-devil boys competitively showing off by leaping over the flames trying not to get burnt; the odd trouser leg flared up every so often. The group laughed as they followed his eyes. "Guess someone should tell them."
Arthur found that he slotted in quite well, being charming and funny when he needed to. He'd never have joined the drama society if he'd actually attended, and Merlin's particular friends within it tended to be scholarship students, rejected by the rich and elite but not bothered by that at all. He supposed it made sense, seeing how he very much liked Merlin, and his heritage had always been a bit of a sore point. "More wine?" He asked Merlin, filling up his own glass.
As the night grew more chill, people started to disperse. Groups headed back to each other's rooms, couples more discreetly so. Some people had lectures the following morning. The group they were in started to head back when they'd run out of wine, each of them hauling an empty bottle or several; they figured that the Dean would be distinctly unimpressed if the society had littered the common so very much.
Merlin was tipsy, knowing that he didn't have much head for drink and having this sense that he had to be lucid enough to look after Arthur. Arthur, on the other hand, had drunk a great deal, but thankfully could hold his drink relatively well, and so they just about managed to make it back to Merlin's room, giggling a great deal and clutching each other. Once out of sight of Will, who had been absolutely roaring drunk and had slumped against his door for a minute trying to push it in before realising it opened outwards, Merlin turned his head towards Arthur's, messily kissing him.
Tumbling into the room and provoking another spat of laughter as they stumbled over Merlin's things, they managed to shed their shoes (Merlin managed one and had to hop around a bit, crumpling a marked essay in the process for the other) and collapsed onto the bed, giggling, kissing, touching.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Arthur mimicked his seductive working voice, over-exaggerating it a bit on the sultriness and drawl.
Merlin groaned a little bit. "Oh, Arthur," he managed around Arthur's tongue, "don't you dare say that to anyone else." The idea of Arthur offering his services to other people was rather upsetting, really.
"Mnrgh," Arthur grunted as he tried to figure out how buttons work. He couldn't, and pulled Merlin's shirt and vest off in one go instead. "Don't talk about other people right now, please." He kissed down Merlin's chest.
As Merlin pulled him back up for more kisses, he managed a weak, "Mmm'all right." He fumbled at his trousers, and Arthur growled, yanking them down sharply. Merlin gasped, but stopped as he saw the predatory, admiring look in Arthur's eyes.
Sitting back, Arthur kept Merlin back, pushing him to recline across the bed instead. He breathed heavily, and fingered his collar. "Shall I do you a show, Mr Emrys?" He asked, a purr practically rolling out of his throat. "I'll make it good."
Merlin started for a moment. "Heavens, Arthur!" He leaned forward, tugging Arthur down with a slight frown, "Don't ever do that!" He smoothed a hand across Arthur's face, "I don't think of you like that." He closed his eyes as Arthur realised; Merlin didn't want that polished professional he had first met in the club. "I want it to be real," Merlin echoed Arthur's thoughts just as he worked it out.
With a smile, Arthur pressed a heartfelt kiss to Merlin's lips. "Real and good," he promised, voice husky, shucking his clothes off with no show at all. That seemed the right thing to do, because then Merlin had his hands all over him, long fingers exploring the smooth muscles of Arthur's shoulders, back, everywhere. Merlin had seen his chest plenty of times at work, but this was so very different.
"Have you ever - " Merlin shook his head shyly. "I'll show you," promised Arthur, rolling off Merlin to scrabble around his room. Fumbling in the dark as Merlin whined for him to come back, he finally re-emerged with a tub of lotion. The wine made Merlin a little more relaxed, but Arthur was still careful, his mind pressing past the light haze of alcohol to remind him that he didn't want to hurt Merlin. He went slowly, letting the foreign feeling become less of an intrusion.
Merlin watched him with wide eyes and half parted lips, emitting hitched breaths as Arthur worked him open. He squirmed a bit as he was stretched, and Arthur soothed him with a flurry of kisses, his other hand spread across Merlin's chest. He could feel Merlin's heart beat erratically under his palm. He pressed the hard length of his cock against Merlin's thigh, both patient and so very impatient. "Go on," whispered Merlin.
Arthur went on. Lining himself up, he gasped with the sheer arousal at the thought of actually doing this, and pressed himself inside of Merlin. "Nnnnngh," Merlin groaned, even though Arthur had gone slowly. His back arched upwards as Arthur began to move, pumping in and out smoothly, feeling the temperature of the cool room wash over him each time he pulled out and the hot slickness of Merlin surround him each time he thrust back in.
Merlin babbled little tidbits of encouragement, looking messy and flushed, sprawled beneath Arthur, and clutched the sheets beside him as his hands worried for something to hold on to. "Merlin," Arthur breathed, drinking in the sight before him, one hand now clutched around the plumpness of Merlin's arse and the other sliding across Merlin's cock to the same frantic rhythm. "Merlin, Merlin, yes."
The pace must have burned for Merlin, but he didn't let it show that he cared at all, bucking impatiently at the hips and gasping for more, like that, just like that. Arthur felt the ache in his thighs start to build up from the position but didn't care, he could see the little tremors spasming occasionally through Merlin's body that signalled he was about to come soon. Sure enough, a low cry alerted Arthur just before Merlin shoved his hips up into Arthur's hand and he clenched around the thick cock in his hand and Merlin came, spilling hot liquid all over Arthur's hand and his chest.
Arthur panted, thrusting in and out of Merlin's hole, now starting to relax. Merlin whimpered at the over stimulation, body jerking out of his control. His eyes rolled back as he lay boneless beneath Arthur until Arthur gasped, "Merlin!" and came as he pushed himself as deep as he could, feeling his come fill Merlin.
A little gurgle tricked out of Merlin's mouth as Arthur finally lowered himself down to rest on Merlin's chest, his cock starting to go flaccid still inside Merlin. He blinked leisurely, feeling his eyelashes flutter against Merlin's chest, and considered the man before him. Merlin treated him well, despite the different positions when they had first met, and Merlin didn't even care about positions at all. He was funny and smart, bookish and shy. He wanted Arthur for who he was, not as Arthur the topless waiter or Arthur of Pendragon, but Arthur the slightly boring at times who told him without fear if he was doing something stupid.
"When you're done just lying all over me, you should go and get something to clean us up. And then we should do it again. And tomorrow." Merlin said, his breathy voice satisfied and amused next to Arthur's ear, his arms cuddled firmly around Arthur.
"Anything else, oh commanding one?" Arthur managed to tease between pants of breath.
Merlin huffed a little laugh, and let Arthur sprawl sideways all over him. The weight was comforting, anyway. "I expect you to be at work for your lunchtime shift tomorrow," he smiled fondly.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~7,000
Warnings: Large historical inaccuracies, see below for more details
Disclaimer: Not mine. D:
Summary/prompt: For vivitchi as part of camelots_closet and my quill_it prompt of 'smoke'. Arthur strips for an elite club, gentleman's club by day and Spearmint Rhino-esque strip club by night. Merlin, a shy Cambridge student, happens to inherit said club. Sex ensues (and a bit of love too). Think Tom Brown's Schooldays meets Dead Poets' Society on the set of a porn film.
A/N: Unfortunately, I do not or have not attended gentlemen's clubs, posh gay strip clubs, all-male public boarding schools, or Cambridge University. I don't smoke posh cigarettes or cigars, don't own a business and wasn't alive during the 1920s. Apart from that, it should be fairly accurate, haha! If anyone has any suggestions that would make it more accurate, please do let me know.
Clubs, thought Arthur Pendragon, were supposed to be dim, with pounding music, gyrating bodies and enough sweat to drown in. This place had none of those things. Adjusting his cuffs, which were a crisp white with silver-plated cufflinks through the hemmed holes, the young man pulled them straight before carefully hefting a tray with delicately crafted wine flutes on in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other. "Your 1921 Dom Pérignon," he murmured just over the smooth cello music. He watched the patrons, as they watched the roll of his bicep as he put down the ice bucket.
"It is all to your liking?" Arthur asked in that same smooth ripple of a tone that he still had to periodically practice in his bathroom. The man nodded, and huffed through his pipe at him. Arthur straightened, and weaved his way through to the back room. Once there, he had to readjust his cuffs again. That was the problem when one had cuffs not actually attached sleeves. They hung like thick bracelets around his thick wrists; they, and the equally crisp, white collar with its bow tie gave the illusion that he was wearing a shirt when he wasn't. The night was still early, but Arthur was sure that when the dull trickle of conversation bubbled to a hubbub of sound, he would have to remove his silky black trousers too.
"Have you a cutter?" A man waved a cigar at Arthur as he was on his way back, a Romeo y Julieta Churchill no less. Arthur rumbled his assent, pulling the company-assigned cutter from his sleek leather belt, snipping off the tip of the man's cigar as he assessed him with curiosity. He didn't look like he belonged in an exclusive gentleman's club. His shirt was half untucked, his tie slightly crooked and his hair dishevelled. Arthur also lit the cigar for him, letting the man inhale on his cigar as the fire crept up the long match, threatening to burn his fingers. "Mm, disgusting," the man pronounced of the poor, precious cigar before proceeding to puff on it like a common cigarette. Arthur tried to not stare, instead dipping his head before walking past.
The man had reminded him that he hadn't had a cigarette for hours now, and his fingers were just bloody itching for a Chesterfield. He'd just have to wait for his break, a period of ten minutes in which the dancers started their show and the patrons usually forgot about anything but watching them for a while, and inhaled the rich blend of cigar smoke instead. That would have to do for now.
Sometimes, Arthur wished that he hadn't royally angered his father. If he hadn't, he was sure that by now, he would be in his final year of Cambridge planning on graduating with a first hons, several job offers and an upstanding young woman waiting for him even as he discreetly debauched the first years. He would have cigars, go punting, and even still have his horse on the family estates at home. Instead, he was living in a small flat on the outskirts of the town, working for cash paid by the hour and spending the cash on cigarettes.
On his way back towards the back rooms, Arthur noticed the same young man from earlier examining the doorknobs, probably wondering if they were plated in real gold. He frowned. His incongruity with the whole theme of the club led him to wonder if the young man had been let in by accident, whether he was actually a Cambridge student who had snuck in to get his rocks off for the night. Making his way over to one of the suited men positioned by the entrance, he quickly pointed out the man.
Roger laughed, a low, quick chuckle as if he wasn't allowed to laugh on the job. "The one almost setting his shirt on fire?" Arthur glanced over. Sure enough, the young man had put his hand down to near his shirt - a large sooty burn mark now adorned it - and Arthur nodded. Roger laughed his laugh again. "Don't you know? Of course he's allowed in. Sticks out like a sore thumb though," he whispered. Arthur knew those tones. It meant that he was Important. Of course, all the regular patrons were Important really, all earls and marquesses, but they all looked the part too. Arthur settled for sending a fleeting, curious glance at the young man before attending to his duties.
-
Arthur had all but forgotten the young man during the night, which was as busy as ever. He and all the other waiters had, of course, long since removed their trousers, even though he had always felt that walking around in underwear, socks and shoes was a ridiculous sight. It seemed to please the patrons, it always brought in the tips and Arthur never complained about tips. There was a brief lull at the moment, where the dancers were resting before their final show of the night, letting their absence rack up excitement in the club.
Exhaling smoke, Arthur leaned across the metal handrail down the steps from the back entrance. Cool air wisped across his skin, cooling the sheen of sweat and raising the fluffy hairs down his stomach. "How," a voice interrupted his thoughts, "did you ever give up that life for this?" Lancelot, no first name, leaned on the rail next to him, stealing the cigarette out of Arthur's mouth and breathing in deeply. His colleague was similarly dressed in next to nothing, but, unlike Arthur, this was the best opportunity that he had had with his life up to now. This job paid well, the patrons were generally well-behaved and there was always a shift available.
"It was something about not living my life under my father's influence because that had been the only thing that got me into Cambridge," Arthur answered automatically. "I have no idea what I was thinking." He stole his cigarette back, dragging the last out of the stub. "That, and being caught with Lord Olaf's daughter," he added dryly, "even though she was the one who had been making the advances."
Lancelot laughed, shaking his head. He was one of the few who didn't snub Arthur either for being originally of the Peerage or look down on him for now not being in good society. Arthur might have told him more, but the delivery girl arrived then. Gwen always did the evening delivery of the next day's flowers, struggling up the narrow back alley with all the bouquets and brushing back her tumble of loose curls with a free hand. Arthur quite liked Gwen, actually, and he and her had had several friendly chats when he escaped out here, but more importantly, so did Lancelot.
"Ah, I will leave you to your fair maiden," he murmured with some amusement, eyeing the two of them as they started making doe eyes at each other already. He gave Lancelot the rest of his cigarette before slipping back inside. He'd never say it, but they were a cute couple. Cute was not meant to be in his vocabulary.
The drinks were flowing freely, whisky and brandy disappearing like water. Inhibitions and sensibilities had also started to disappear a while ago. While the first dancers had been greeted earlier with a polite smattering of applause and a hum of approval, these dancers received an enthusiastic round of applause and some catcalls, which was positively obscene for gentlemen. Having worked with some of these dancers for months now, Arthur had little interest in watching them, even though there had indeed been a certain thrill of titillation in the first weeks.
Serving drinks as quickly as manners could dictate, Arthur suddenly spotted the young man from before, leaning all the way over the bar and waving an entire bundle of fifty pound notes. Dear Lord, who even carried those around, not to mention more than one at any given time. "Sir," Arthur sidled over quickly, "you could set up a tab." He wasn't just helpful out of the goodness of his heart; patrons who carried a lot of cash on them tended to give more tips, or be willing to pay for services. It was a distinctly different matter of decorum when it came to putting 'private dances' on tabs.
The young man looked at him through startled eyes, thick dark eyelashes fluttering. "A tab?" He looked uncertainly at the pile of crisp notes in his hand. "Right, right. Erm, it's all right, I don't actually need one." Even better; he wasn't sinking his cash into the bar.
Clearing his throat, Arthur touched the young man's wrist lightly. "What do you need, sir? We aim to please." Arthur really needed to pay the rent this month, but as usual had maintained no self-control whatsoever and smoked most of his wages away. As far as patrons went in any case, this one seemed naïve enough to be willing to part with his money. That he was young and actually not repulsive was a slight bonus.
"Hmm?" The man's lips curled into an abstract smile, "Oh, just some whiskey. Not too much of anything tonight, just want to see how it all is." Arthur blinked in confusion, but nodded the bartender over and repeated the request anyhow. Perhaps he had been too subtle.
Handing the man his whiskey tumbler, Arthur tweaked his left cuff just a tad back into place and smiled his most charming smile. "Are you sure that there isn't anything else I can get you? The private rooms are beautiful, and generally in very high demand." He knew that he was sounding just a little too easy but frankly, he wouldn't have taken this job if he was squeamish about this sort of thing. They weren't common whores after all, because there was nothing common at all; he tended to see it more as a mutual reciprocity of favours between two willing and consenting adults.
"Er..." It took the young fellow a moment to twig what he meant, and then there was whiskey everywhere "What? No! NO!" His shrill voice garnered the attention of a few people nearby, and Arthur kept his gaze averted, mutely flustered, instead reaching for the embossed napkins. "I mean," the young man added desperately, mopping himself up with napkins and likely staining that shirt forever along with the burn, "it's nothing to do with you, you're very good-looking and..." he gestured up and down Arthur's body, "and all that," he finished lamely.
Arthur wondered what it was about instead. He disposed of the napkins for the young man, who was now blushing like a virgin. How strange, Arthur mused briefly, for a man to come to a gentlemen's club catered to by gentlemen, and yet not want to be catered to. Perhaps, Arthur thought, given his less than smart outfit, he was just a 'tourist', as such. Perhaps he was a university student who had managed to sneak in just to see what the club was like. Perhaps - "What I mean is, I don't think it's on very good form to dally with your employees."
There was a pause. A slightly awkward pause. It took Arthur a moment to realise what that meant before clocking on. “Oh. OH, Mr Emrys, I do apologise,” he blathered, “although... although, there isn't really reason not to,” he finished quickly. That wasn't at all what he intended to say.
“Merlin, please,” said Mr Merlin Emrys, new owner and proprietor of this fine establishment as of about a month ago when the elder Mr Emrys had kicked the bucket, casual as you like. He eyed Arthur; he was probably taking in Arthur's 'good looks and all that' again. Arthur silently passed him another glass of whiskey. “Is it a common practise in the workplace to offer your services to the boss?” He sounded slightly amused, but genuinely curious.
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, refraining from saying that was generally the way waiters were promoted to dancers. He'd have dropped onto his knees for Bayard, his grumpy floor manager, without a second thought if he hadn't thought that Bayard would take his services and then conveniently forget to promote him and brag about it afterwards just to humiliate Arthur. He fell into the party that resented Arthur for his lineage. “It's been known to be done,” he answered hesitantly, not entirely knowing what to make of this young man.
Merlin shook his head, seemingly exasperated. If he had, according to club gossip, inherited the business rather suddenly and without warning, he was probably still finding his feet in how things worked around here. Arthur cleared his throat, “Sir - er, Merlin, I should really be -” he gestured around, implying that some of them did have to actually do things around here to be paid.
“I'll have to do something about that,” Merlin was muttering to himself before blinking at Arthur, long lashes sweeping his cheeks. “Oh, of course,” He waved a hand, startled. “Don't want to keep you - what's your name?”
“Arthur,” He replied with a nod towards the strange but likeable man, and started away. He had once suggested that they get name tags; waiters usually had name tags in other clubs. Leon had then asked where they'd put them, seeing as they didn't exactly wear shirts, and Owain had suggested snidely that he could pierce his nipple with it, and that had definitely been the end of that idea.
“Arthur,” He heard Merlin repeat softly behind him.
All Arthur had wanted was a job where he was highly unlikely to ever see his father, and stay inconspicuous enough for him to just keep his head down and work. He shook himself mentally as he rotated tables fourteen, nine and seven, picking up the horrendously large number of used glasses lying around before any of the bumbling gentlemen could break any. Now he had come to the attention of the owner himself, who was probably going to try and force some sort of radical change on the floor managers, who would resent their free supply of the men's services being taken away, and his name would be brought up and he'd probably be fired. Well, bugger.
The rest of the night continued normally, even though Arthur constantly kept expecting to be stopped on his way out of the back area with a message that someone wanted to see him. He wasn't even sure who he thought might want to see him. He finished his shift with relief, pulling on a thick, worn jumper and saluting a 'good night' to Lancelot as he trudged back towards his flat. He took an earlier shift tomorrow, and they were usually more work with fewer tips. There was just enough time chew down some bread and butter, good plain food, before collapsing into bed, mind too numb to contemplate the night's events.
-
When Arthur had still lived on the Pendragon estates, he had always taken certain things for granted. Now though, he wondered how that tiny little maid they'd had who served them lunch had ever managed to carry a whole roast. His arms were tired, and he'd only had to lift it from the wheely tray onto the table. As he wheeled the tray back into the kitchen, he was unexpectedly greeted. “Arthur!” He heard called from across the room and winced; firstly, no one ever greeted him like that, and secondly, now every waiter in the back room was staring at him as Merlin crossed the floor and waved at him. That man really had no idea of what was appropriate.
Arthur winced, and... waved back, staring at his hand. What was he doing?!
Unfortunately for Arthur, things just went downhill from there. When he looked back, he would smile fondly upon it, but actually experiencing it the first time hadn't been fun. He went from Arthur, mostly inconspicuous, caddishly disowned son of an Earl, to Arthur, topless waiter who had the new boss' ear. Merlin would corner him blithely as he returned with empty glasses to ask about the inner workings of the place, whether people thought they were paid enough, whether there was a hierarchy in who was allowed to take the leftover food home, whether he ought to change this, that and the other.
Arthur had wondered at the time why Merlin - as he kept insisting Arthur call him every time he tried to revert back to Mr Emrys - kept trying to change everything, since things seemed to run pretty well here. True, there was usually a bit of hazing of new waiters, and the floor managers fought for the lion's shares of the rich, expensive leftovers viciously and distributed them as they saw fit, but things worked.
What Arthur eventually realised as he very quickly backed out of the back rooms as the gaggle of dancers not yet performing glared at him and an awkward silence followed, was that Merlin was a revolutionary. He was one of those people who just didn't understand that certain other people were willing to give out blowjobs in return for a higher pay with less hours, and wanted to make things fair for everyone. That didn't mean that everyone hated him less, of course. Being a waiter was at the bottom of the pecking order, and Arthur had somehow turned it all on its head.
It was inevitable really, that Merlin would awkwardly ask Arthur if he wanted a pay rise, because he deserved one. "No thanks," Arthur gawped incredulously, wondering if Merlin just tried to heap more trouble on him consciously or if he was just that talented at it naturally happening. Merlin looked dubiously at Arthur's name in the large ledger he was hidden behind, which kept records of everyone's wages. "No, really, it's fine," Arthur hastened to add, "I have enough to cover rent and cigarettes, I really don't need very much more. And food every so often, when I remember." Oh, how different it was to just over a year ago, when he could have sworn that he couldn't survive without a hansom cab to anywhere further than two streets away.
Merlin looked worriedly at him. Far more worriedly, Arthur thought as he restocked the cigars, than one really ought to worry over an employee. He had learnt that the learning curve had been steep for Merlin, and that the other man was still struggling with such responsibility so early on. He wasn't even as old as Arthur yet. "Well," the hesitation in Merlin's soft voice was clear, "Why don't I take you out for lunch sometime then?" Arthur nearly knocked over an entire crate of Punch Punch, catching the few that rolled out deftly and tucking them back into their appropriate velvet lined boxes as he considered his answer carefully, head looking down enough that his blond fringe shielded his eyes.
Carefully finishing the restocking, Arthur looked up at Merlin, glad that no one else was back here at the moment and grinned. "I thought it wasn't very good form to dally with your employees?" A rose blush curled over Merlin's pale skin, but Arthur did notice that he relaxed a little bit. It was disconcerting to know that he knew his boss this well. Out of everyone here, he only knew a few of the others this well - Lancelot and Leon, perhaps - and he had worked with them for far longer.
"Ah," stammered Merlin, looking every part the shy Cambridge student he really was underneath the thin veneer of being a business man, "I-I'm not sure that - that dallying would... well, it's just lunch." He blinked owlishly at Arthur, who thought to put him out of his misery. Despite all the grievances half the other employees held against him now because of this man, Arthur could not but help admire him.
He was soft-spoken and hardly ever ordered the managers around, instead asking timidly and taking on board their opinions. He had just come into a large amount of money and yet was always polite to the employees and had turned down numerous offers for services. He really did try his best to keep everyone happy here, not just the patrons, and Arthur thought that there was just something about him that spoke to people.
Arthur smiled, moving on to restocking the napkins, "I don't usually do lunch." He saw Merlin's face crumple out of the corner of his eye, "But it's because I'm either working or sleeping in after a late shift." He lifted one shoulder and dropped it again fluidly. "But I never turn down free food." How easily those words dropped out of his lips now. He straightened, trying not to crumple a handful of napkins and smiled slightly. Merlin was still blushing a little, and for some reason it brightened Arthur's day just that little bit as Merlin smiled too, quickly dropping his eyes back to his ledger.
Distinctly not flustered, Arthur finished restocking and then quickly wheeled the boxes out of the room. It was hardly as if Arthur didn't know exactly what these strange signals and feelings were about. After all, he hadn't exactly been discreet in his previous life, causing public scandals when he had destroyed Lady Sophia's reputation (the young lady had never been seen in good company since) and then not long after been found with the lovely Lady Vivan curled up in his bed; her father had nearly taken his head off in a friendly game of polo. And those were only the ones that he'd been caught at. Needless to say, Arthur knew exactly what these little flutterings meant.
What he didn't know was how to deal with it now. Not only was Merlin his boss, but Arthur genuinely had no idea how people outside of the upper classes dealt with these situations. He sighed, and picked up a stack of today's newspapers to scatter around the club.
-
Lunch was... interesting. Arthur wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting at all, but sprawled on the patchy grass on Midsummer Common facing the river on a blanket with a hamper was not it. Delicately seating himself, he noticed what Merlin was wearing; a soft, worn sweater with a rumpled shirt, battered boater and no tie at all suited him much better than the crisp suit and trilby he felt obliged to come to work in, in Arthur's opinion. "It's just a simple lunch, nothing fancy," Merlin started, "Just to say thank you for looking after me when I took over the Establishment."
Arthur looked at him consideringly, taking a bite of the ham sandwich he was offered. Merlin had clearly taken his often reluctant help more to heart than he had intended it to be. "No problem," he said softly as Merlin nervously worried his lip. He tended to forget that despite being his employer, the other man was actually a year younger than him, and struggling to balance his time between his father's investments and doing well in his English Literature degree. He felt somewhat protective of Merlin sometimes.
Chewing down the rest of his sandwich, which was deliciously creamy with thick butter, Arthur said lazily as he glanced over at the various boat houses, "I was supposed to be at Cambridge. Eton, Cambridge, House of Lords." It was all so terribly... traditional. As much as Arthur admired his father, he didn't really want to be his father.
Merlin started to relax a bit, "Yeah? Which college?" Arthur ruefully smiled; he should have expected Merlin to know how particular families leant towards particular colleges.
"Corpus Christi. The colours would have looked terrible on me," he grinned.
Merlin looked surprised. "Oh! I'm in Corpus."
Arthur glanced over, and just couldn't resist. "What's it like? I mean," he swallowed and waved a hand, "I've been; I know what it looks like. What's it like?" It was strange to think that Merlin knew the people he should have known. He couldn't imagine that Merlin would be particularly good friends with the sort of people he had been expected to be friends with though.
The way Merlin's face lit up, Arthur could tell that he loved it. "It's beautiful. I mean, of course it's beautiful, but that reflects on you, you know, it inspires you to do well and everything's so serene and peaceful and just, just a great place to work," he gushed. Arthur didn't often regret going to Cambridge, but sometimes... the regret crept in.
"You mean, of course," Arthur rummaged for those tea cakes he had spied just a little earlier, "that everything seems serene and peaceful." He knew too well how Society tended to have fronts for everything. "Probably a great deal of tension in the changing rooms, I imagine," drawled Arthur, "All the boys from those public schools who've never learnt how to deal with the sweet females." Merlin tittered nervously; there was a bit more truth behind that than he was willing to admit out loud, and Arthur knew it. After all, he had attended one of Those Public Schools.
Merlin glanced down at the blanket they were on, plucking at the threadbare thing and yanking up even more loose threads. "Why don't we go across?" He asked finally. "Just a walk through college or something." Arthur finished fitting an entire sandwich triangle into his mouth and crunched through the cucumber, all the while staring at Merlin, perhaps a little sentimentally. He would deny it later, and say that he was just struggling to swallow the whole sandwich at once.
"Sounds like a good idea," he said casually, flicking a smile at Merlin.
-
They ended up meandering through Cambridge, Merlin leading the way and pointing out landmarks. He wasn't pointing out famous and notable landmarks though, but more often places he remembered for his own reasons, such as that bench where he'd fallen asleep reading and someone had thought he was homeless, or that tree where he'd walked into (Arthur had stifled a laugh) on his way back from a seminar and dented his hat and his pride.
Merlin towed Arthur along with him excitedly, evidently completely out of businessman mode and in young student mode. "Down there is Will's room, he's the first friend I made here and this..." Merlin paused awkwardly, hand hovering above his handle for the moment. "Well, it's my room." He bit his lip for a moment before determinedly opening it. "Come on in."
Arthur raised one sandy eyebrow, but shuffled into the modest room, belongings covering every available surface, the floor included. "I take it you don't bring many people to visit," he suggested with a wry smile, perching on the very edge of Merlin's bed, which was covered in a mess of books. Merlin balanced the hamper on top of a laundry basket, kicking at a pile of clothes on the floor, looking as if this was a perfectly normal state of affairs for one's rooms to be in.
Bouncing onto the bed himself and scattering the books everywhere, Merlin blushed nicely as he pulled a copy of Dickens from where it wedged under his bum. "Well, other college people, sure, when we're exchanging notes and comparing essays, but not really anyone else."
Arthur turned to face Merlin, and found that they were quite close together. He licked his lips, just the tiniest dab of wetness. "I hope you don't mean the public boarding school boys," he murmured. He was aware of how very inappropriate this was with regards to his job. However, he reasoned, everyone could see that he hadn't used his... friendliness with Merlin to get himself a pay rise or promotion. Which made it all right, didn't it?
It just seemed that Merlin couldn't stop blushing today. The pink tinge spread pleasantly across his cheeks and over the tips of his ears. "No, they don't like me very much."
Leaning over, Arthur pressed his hand against Merlin's cheek, the heel of his hand cupped across his jaw and his fingers splaying out to sweep across those beautiful high cheekbones. "This one does," he smiled, pressing his lips to Merlin's. Merlin's lips were full and soft and chapped. He slid his tongue over the bottom lip and snuck it into Merlin's mouth, so warm. The brush of Merlin's sooty eyelashes against his made him look into the eyes opposite. They were beautifully clear, a stunning blue, wide and startled and pleased. He liked it.
Merlin raised his hands to his lips as Arthur pulled back, before scooting closer on the bed, curling his hands into the sides of Arthur's waistcoat and tipped his head down for another kiss. Feeling Merlin leaning into him, Arthur sank into the kiss, sweet, hesitant and exploring but also excited and exciting. He hooked a hand around Merlin's neck, tugging him closer, and felt the clack of their teeth as Merlin gasped and opened his mouth wider, his tongue slipping up to slide across Arthur's.
They parted, darting back in for last quick pecks, flushed. Arthur left his hands where they were. "This... this is good, right?" He asked, meaning the entire situation. It had been obvious of Merlin's intent and feelings all along, but to take that step and do something about it was quite different altogether.
Merlin's forehead bumped lightly against his and the younger man smiled, "Really good," he assured before shuffling even closer, so that one of his legs lined up against Arthur's back, and the other lay across Arthur's lap, so innocuous, so daring. They kissed again, Arthur nibbling on Merlin's lip as he pressed his side flush against Merlin's chest, bearing him down backwards in his eagerness. A soft "Oh!" managed to escape Merlin's mouth before Arthur preoccupied it again.
Caught up in the delicious taste of Merlin's mouth, still a little sticky sweet from that apple he'd had earlier, Arthur's hands began to roam, stroking down from Merlin's neck to feel the firm, lean body beneath that badly fitted shirt. His thumb rubbed a tiny circle on the pale skin just above Merlin's hip, where his shirt had pulled out of place and Merlin jolted. Arthur quickly drew away, seeing the anxiety flash across Merlin's face. "Too fast, too fast, I'm sorry," Arthur murmured soothingly into that perfectly curved pink shell of Merlin's ear.
"S'okay," Arthur heard mumbled into his ear as they finally relaxed. Hair mussed, lips red, shirt crumpled and the most idiotic expression on his face, Merlin looked adorable, Arthur thought. "Do you want to come to the Beltane festivities with me?" He asked suddenly, a lilting tone that still suggested that he thought Arthur might think him completely stupid and flounce off at any moment.
Arthur blinked, thrown a bit off track. "Beltane festivities?" He asked, peppering kisses on Merlin's jawbone.
With a contented sigh, Merlin arched into Arthur's touches, and expanded, "I'm sure you'd be part of the rowing team if you were here, but the only society I'm are the Fletcher Players. One of our socials is that pagan festival, Beltane. We'll be on the common with wine and dancing and reading of pagan scripts and plays and poetry and that sort of thing. You could come to see a bit of college life, or something."
It was strange, Arthur realised, to think that Merlin would do such things to make him happy, just because he'd never had the opportunity to partake in that sort of college spirit. No one else had ever done things like that before. "If I'm not working, I suppose," he grinned into Merlin's neck.
-
Wrapping his scarf around his neck an extra loop, Arthur clinked his cheap glass of elderberry wine with Merlin's as they sat on the common once again. Unlike last time though, the atmosphere was lively, with people singing and dancing in groups. There was a group to their left screaming the lines of King Lear and someone was reciting the Jabberwocky complete with actions and getting all ideas of what paganism was rather hashed up and mixed together. Merlin had been amused at that, as a purist English Literature boy. It was dark, and their only source of light was this small bonfire that Arthur strongly suspected was highly illegal to be burning in the middle of the common.
Merlin had simply introduced Arthur as his friend, and several people sat with them now, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and talking about paganism, so different and exotic compared to their lives now. "It's a festival of fertility and cleansing. Like how spring is a fresh start over for life," Will was saying. He was one of those rare creatures who was reading an Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic degree. "People would be having outdoor sex all over the place." The group giggled among itself at the very idea. "And couple would jump over bonfires for good luck in conceiving for that year." He eyed the current group of dare-devil boys competitively showing off by leaping over the flames trying not to get burnt; the odd trouser leg flared up every so often. The group laughed as they followed his eyes. "Guess someone should tell them."
Arthur found that he slotted in quite well, being charming and funny when he needed to. He'd never have joined the drama society if he'd actually attended, and Merlin's particular friends within it tended to be scholarship students, rejected by the rich and elite but not bothered by that at all. He supposed it made sense, seeing how he very much liked Merlin, and his heritage had always been a bit of a sore point. "More wine?" He asked Merlin, filling up his own glass.
As the night grew more chill, people started to disperse. Groups headed back to each other's rooms, couples more discreetly so. Some people had lectures the following morning. The group they were in started to head back when they'd run out of wine, each of them hauling an empty bottle or several; they figured that the Dean would be distinctly unimpressed if the society had littered the common so very much.
Merlin was tipsy, knowing that he didn't have much head for drink and having this sense that he had to be lucid enough to look after Arthur. Arthur, on the other hand, had drunk a great deal, but thankfully could hold his drink relatively well, and so they just about managed to make it back to Merlin's room, giggling a great deal and clutching each other. Once out of sight of Will, who had been absolutely roaring drunk and had slumped against his door for a minute trying to push it in before realising it opened outwards, Merlin turned his head towards Arthur's, messily kissing him.
Tumbling into the room and provoking another spat of laughter as they stumbled over Merlin's things, they managed to shed their shoes (Merlin managed one and had to hop around a bit, crumpling a marked essay in the process for the other) and collapsed onto the bed, giggling, kissing, touching.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Arthur mimicked his seductive working voice, over-exaggerating it a bit on the sultriness and drawl.
Merlin groaned a little bit. "Oh, Arthur," he managed around Arthur's tongue, "don't you dare say that to anyone else." The idea of Arthur offering his services to other people was rather upsetting, really.
"Mnrgh," Arthur grunted as he tried to figure out how buttons work. He couldn't, and pulled Merlin's shirt and vest off in one go instead. "Don't talk about other people right now, please." He kissed down Merlin's chest.
As Merlin pulled him back up for more kisses, he managed a weak, "Mmm'all right." He fumbled at his trousers, and Arthur growled, yanking them down sharply. Merlin gasped, but stopped as he saw the predatory, admiring look in Arthur's eyes.
Sitting back, Arthur kept Merlin back, pushing him to recline across the bed instead. He breathed heavily, and fingered his collar. "Shall I do you a show, Mr Emrys?" He asked, a purr practically rolling out of his throat. "I'll make it good."
Merlin started for a moment. "Heavens, Arthur!" He leaned forward, tugging Arthur down with a slight frown, "Don't ever do that!" He smoothed a hand across Arthur's face, "I don't think of you like that." He closed his eyes as Arthur realised; Merlin didn't want that polished professional he had first met in the club. "I want it to be real," Merlin echoed Arthur's thoughts just as he worked it out.
With a smile, Arthur pressed a heartfelt kiss to Merlin's lips. "Real and good," he promised, voice husky, shucking his clothes off with no show at all. That seemed the right thing to do, because then Merlin had his hands all over him, long fingers exploring the smooth muscles of Arthur's shoulders, back, everywhere. Merlin had seen his chest plenty of times at work, but this was so very different.
"Have you ever - " Merlin shook his head shyly. "I'll show you," promised Arthur, rolling off Merlin to scrabble around his room. Fumbling in the dark as Merlin whined for him to come back, he finally re-emerged with a tub of lotion. The wine made Merlin a little more relaxed, but Arthur was still careful, his mind pressing past the light haze of alcohol to remind him that he didn't want to hurt Merlin. He went slowly, letting the foreign feeling become less of an intrusion.
Merlin watched him with wide eyes and half parted lips, emitting hitched breaths as Arthur worked him open. He squirmed a bit as he was stretched, and Arthur soothed him with a flurry of kisses, his other hand spread across Merlin's chest. He could feel Merlin's heart beat erratically under his palm. He pressed the hard length of his cock against Merlin's thigh, both patient and so very impatient. "Go on," whispered Merlin.
Arthur went on. Lining himself up, he gasped with the sheer arousal at the thought of actually doing this, and pressed himself inside of Merlin. "Nnnnngh," Merlin groaned, even though Arthur had gone slowly. His back arched upwards as Arthur began to move, pumping in and out smoothly, feeling the temperature of the cool room wash over him each time he pulled out and the hot slickness of Merlin surround him each time he thrust back in.
Merlin babbled little tidbits of encouragement, looking messy and flushed, sprawled beneath Arthur, and clutched the sheets beside him as his hands worried for something to hold on to. "Merlin," Arthur breathed, drinking in the sight before him, one hand now clutched around the plumpness of Merlin's arse and the other sliding across Merlin's cock to the same frantic rhythm. "Merlin, Merlin, yes."
The pace must have burned for Merlin, but he didn't let it show that he cared at all, bucking impatiently at the hips and gasping for more, like that, just like that. Arthur felt the ache in his thighs start to build up from the position but didn't care, he could see the little tremors spasming occasionally through Merlin's body that signalled he was about to come soon. Sure enough, a low cry alerted Arthur just before Merlin shoved his hips up into Arthur's hand and he clenched around the thick cock in his hand and Merlin came, spilling hot liquid all over Arthur's hand and his chest.
Arthur panted, thrusting in and out of Merlin's hole, now starting to relax. Merlin whimpered at the over stimulation, body jerking out of his control. His eyes rolled back as he lay boneless beneath Arthur until Arthur gasped, "Merlin!" and came as he pushed himself as deep as he could, feeling his come fill Merlin.
A little gurgle tricked out of Merlin's mouth as Arthur finally lowered himself down to rest on Merlin's chest, his cock starting to go flaccid still inside Merlin. He blinked leisurely, feeling his eyelashes flutter against Merlin's chest, and considered the man before him. Merlin treated him well, despite the different positions when they had first met, and Merlin didn't even care about positions at all. He was funny and smart, bookish and shy. He wanted Arthur for who he was, not as Arthur the topless waiter or Arthur of Pendragon, but Arthur the slightly boring at times who told him without fear if he was doing something stupid.
"When you're done just lying all over me, you should go and get something to clean us up. And then we should do it again. And tomorrow." Merlin said, his breathy voice satisfied and amused next to Arthur's ear, his arms cuddled firmly around Arthur.
"Anything else, oh commanding one?" Arthur managed to tease between pants of breath.
Merlin huffed a little laugh, and let Arthur sprawl sideways all over him. The weight was comforting, anyway. "I expect you to be at work for your lunchtime shift tomorrow," he smiled fondly.