fic: chase me, catch me, con me
Title: Chase Me, Catch Me, Con Me
Rating: R
Genre(s): angst, romance
Word Count: ~5,380
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Arthur / Merlin (Gwen / Lance)
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
Summary: Prompt from hopenight in the Comment Fic Meme at merlinxarthur: ‘Merlin is the charmingly handsome ex-thief and conman forced to work with the government. Arthur is his government handler who caught him. They have a bit of a mutual crush on each other.’ Plot also helped and inspired by the film Catch Me If You Can.
Merlin regrets ever becoming a conman. Not because he lived his life on the run; not because he broke thousands of laws along the way; not even because he was eventually caught and imprisoned for three years.
No, none of the above. Merlin regrets ever becoming a conman because his foolish choice in occupation led him to meet the biggest prat in the history of the world: Arthur Penn.
“Don’t forget that the only reason you’re even here is because of me, Merlin,” Arthur growls for the umpteenth time in a year, all flashy blonde hair and disarming blue eyes. Merlin sits sulkily at his desk and glares up at his handler as he continues to rant. “I can’t believe you tried to con the Duke of York! The Duke of York, Merlin. What were you thinking!”
“I didn’t try, I did con him,” Merlin retorts stubbornly. “The man’s a moron.”
Arthur throws his hands up in the air, getting more agitated by the minute. “He’s still the Queen’s son, Merlin! If Charles and William and Harry dropped dead today, he would be the heir to the throne!”
Merlin shrugs haphazardly. He cares little for the Royal Family; rich, lazy, good-for-nothing bastards. “I did my job,” he states firmly. “You wanted me to get information on the Earl - the best way was through his brother. And in order to get Andrew to trust me, I had to con him. It’s what I do best. I wasn’t reverting back to my old ways and all that, you know.” Merlin scowls, pins Arthur with an accusing glare.
“Of course not,” Arthur deadpans sarcastically, returning Merlin’s glare with equal, if not more frustration. “My father’s going to kill me for this,” he mutters, turning away and running a hand through his hair.
“Considering what I unearthed for him, I hardly think that will be the case,” Merlin points out tartly, folding his arms across his chest.
“Yes, well done indeed, Merlin!” Arthur snaps, and storms out of the room, banging the door shut behind him.
The truth was, Arthur Penn was the reason Merlin loved being a conman.
Merlin started the business when he was only sixteen years old. Barely out of his teenagehood, he’d made a practice of hacking into computer systems and conning large companies out of millions of pounds. It turned out he was pretty decent when given a computer and the Internet, and even better when faced with soft, gormless people who needed a small push in the right direction, or making sure shop assistants didn’t notice the pilfered food in his school bag. Apparently, it was Merlin’s smile; Merlin didn’t quite see it himself, but he didn’t care as long as it got the job done.
Merlin wasn’t a bad person, though. At first, he’d needed the money for medical bills to keep his mum alive, what with the breast cancer and all, and private medical treatment - the very best - was difficult to pay for. Merlin had been desperate - a desperate, terrified teenager. But afterwards, once Hunith had recovered and was tidying around after Merlin again like a healthy mum should, Merlin’s motive changed: it became a full-time job, the secret life of a hero, like Robin Hood - conning rich, selfish pricks out of their cash to give to charity. That and it was hard to stop once he’d started, rather like an addiction.
Merlin met Arthur when he was twenty, just shy of reaching adulthood, having already made billions for grateful organisations across the globe. Despite the Samaritan-like work Merlin had done, though, the British Government didn’t appreciate his efforts - at all. Merlin was rather affronted by their constant badgering, forcing him to travel all around the world to escape capture.
But then, Arthur took over his case, and things got interesting.
The chase became even more addictive - a fun challenge Merlin couldn’t turn down because it - or rather, Arthur - was too alluring. They even exchanged texts and emails after initial introductions over the one, first phone call, poking fun at each other whilst on the run, darting between countries. Sometimes Merlin left a fake trail, with a condescending letter at the end of the track mocking Arthur’s slow progress. Sometimes, Arthur came dangerously close to finding him, and Merlin was forced to use his skills to barely make it out intact. It was a battle of wit and wills, and it was fun.
And then, after a year, on Christmas Day, Merlin phoned Arthur.
Merlin hovers hesitantly in the doorway of Arthur’s office, situated next to his, but which is twice the size and richly furnished (Merlin earns a decent amount now, but he doesn’t bother with decor, especially at work, and he prefers the messy but personal vibe to his private space). It’s currently empty, Arthur having left to see his father, most likely, and Merlin tries to ignore the sting of guilt as he leans against the wooden frame and stares at Arthur’s immaculate desk.
“Why are you here, you idiot,” a voice suddenly cuts through Merlin’s thoughts, and he startles to find Arthur breezing past him towards his desk. “Here to mope and apologise, are you?”
“No,” Merlin defends instinctively, scowling.
Arthur doesn’t answer, already tapping away at his computer and staring at it in concentration. “Well?” he prompts after a long period of silence, but doesn’t look up to catch Merlin’s stare. “What do you want?”
Merlin watches Arthur some more, typing solidly (most likely a detailed report on his latest successful, but rather questionable mission), before eventually asking, “How did Uther react?”
Arthur doesn’t deign Merlin with an answer for a long, awkward minute. Finally, his typing stops, and he looks up at Merlin with a blank face.
“He was... fine. Pleased, in fact.” Arthur looks relieved for a moment. “He didn’t say good job, but he didn’t want to kick your ass out of town either. You were lucky.”
Merlin almost sags against the doorway, but Arthur’s watching him intently, so he merely fists his hand tight, and manages a small, smug smile. “Told you so.”
“Yeah.” Arthur’s expression is strange. “Well. You did a good job, nonetheless. Just don’t screw up again.”
“Yes sir,” Merlin salutes, grinning, and turns to go, but not before he adds quietly, “Thanks Arthur.”
“Whatever,” Arthur mutters, looking back at his computer. But when Merlin leaves, back turned to his office, Arthur stares up, and watches him disappear.
“Hello?” Arthur drawled into the telephone. He was bored and lonely, the only one who had yet to leave the office because he had nothing to go home to, except an empty, cold house.
“Merry Christmas, pratface,” came a cheerful voice down the line, causing Arthur to sit up immediately.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, eyes narrowing at the familiar tone. They’d only spoken once before, the very first time after Arthur had taken Merlin’s case, and never again since, but Arthur could recognise that voice anywhere.
“How’re you enjoying your Christmas?” Merlin asked, and Arthur resented him, his happy delight vibrating down the phone.
“Great. Just great.” Arthur hurried to open the software on his computer.
“So great that you’re sitting in your office at 7 o’clock in the evening on Christmas Day?” Merlin chuckled, though it was mirthless, almost tired. “Have you even eaten dinner yet? I’ll bet you’re already trying to track this phone call. Seriously, don’t bother.”
“It’s my job,” Arthur responded, factual and serious as the computer screen blinked, and the programme began tracing the line.
“Not at Christmas,” Merlin said softly. Arthur thought he could hear pity, and it made him angry.
“Fuck off, Emrys,” he hissed, willing the computer to scan faster. “You have no right to tell me how to live my life.”
Merlin laughed. Again, there was nothing funny about their conversation.
“I am your life,” he said with placid amusement. “And you’re mine, Arthur. Stop looking for me and go home. Enjoy your Christmas, you prat.”
Before Arthur could open his mouth to bark back a frustrated reply, the line cut off to the dial tone. With Merlin gone, hung up on him, the computer programme beeped its disapproval, and Arthur swore out loud.
Eventually, Arthur let the phone drop back into place again, and slumped into his chair. His stare found the whiteboard, where all their information on Merlin was stickered, connected with strands of black marker pen and scrawled comments. Arthur focused on the photo in the centre, black and white but clear - on the young boy in it, dark unruly hair and jovial eyes, smile matching his merry demeanour.
Not for the first time, Arthur wondered how Merlin Emrys was the youngest, most successful conman in British history.
It’s Friday night and the office has descended on the local haunt, The Dragon’s Head. Arthur watches Merlin across the bar, takes in the wide, sparkling smile, his relaxed posture. He’s sipping at a cocktail, bright cheery-red, and Arthur is fascinated by the colour mixed with that of Merlin’s lips.
As if on cue, Merlin looks up, stares straight at Arthur, and Arthur holds his gaze, seemingly unafraid despite the desperate desire to turn away. Eventually, it’s Merlin who breaks the contact, motioning apologetically at the group he'd previously been charming the pants off of, and moving intently through the crowds towards Arthur’s position by a pillar.
“Hi,” Merlin says with a grin as Arthur drains his scotch and grunts his response. “Where’s that hot chick you were with before?”
Arthur grimaces. “That ‘hot chick’ was Sophia from downstairs. She buggered off when she realised I wasn’t planning on getting plastered and sleeping with her tonight.”
Merlin laughs, a tinkling, delightful noise that Arthur has grown to know well over the last six years. At the age of twenty-six, Merlin’s still as boyish as ever; just no longer as carefree and innocent. Arthur often wonders what and where Merlin would be now, had he not caught him. Who he would be.
Arthur looks at Merlin again, looks hard and long, and not for the first time ponders the oddity that is Merlin Emrys. He’s youthful and wise, dense and genius, charming and frustrating all in one. Arthur can’t put his finger on him - has tried, so many times - but Merlin continues to elude him, even now, under his thumb and repressed into this tiny, insignificant role in the Government.
“Arthur?” Merlin tries, leaning forwards, close, and breath along Arthur’s jaw. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Arthur shakes his head, trying to clear it, and avoids Merlin’s scrutiny, those piercing blue eyes. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t like associating with Merlin outside of the chase - the workplace. Or rather, he’s afraid of it.
Merlin frowns, and damn his two-inch height advantage as he closes in on Arthur against the pillar, peers down at him through choppy black bangs. “You don’t look fine. Have you had too much to drink already?” His hand comes up to rest casually on Arthur’s hip, and it takes all of Arthur’s trained willpower not to jerk violently at the sudden heat of contact.
“Are you flirting with me, Merlin?” Arthur jokes, tries not to show nervousness as he attempts to distract Merlin and keep him at bay. Except, Merlin does not respond, merely remains tensely still, staring into Arthur’s eyes and searching, wanting answers Arthur isn’t ready to give.
“So, you’ve found me at last,” Merlin said, and he was smiling. Arthur stared at him, this twenty-two-year-old who had bankrupted hundreds of companies across the globe in only six years, and wanted to be scared of this criminal, wanted to see the evil in him, but couldn’t. He was just a boy; a boy only four years his junior, who had lost his childhood to saving his mother’s life and helping to make the world a better, safer place.
And Arthur was not Merlin’s justice. Arthur was his punishment. After two long years (four, if you included Arthur’s failed predecessors), Arthur thought he would feel much more accomplishment than he did right now, staring at the boy sitting on a box in the corner of a room. All he had was a backpack, black with dirt and torn from use, clutched to his chest; it barely looked half-full.
Arthur had spent hundreds of days analysing this kid, following him like a starved, crazed animal across sixteen different countries on four continents. He had expected to crow in victory when he finally imprisoned the infamous Merlin Emrys, had looked forward to putting him away behind bars forever and gaining the prestige that would no doubt follow, the leaps he’d make in his career with this. Instead, Arthur only felt a hollow emptiness in his gut, and numb disbelief that this chase was finally, irrevocably, over.
“I’ve found you,” Arthur echoed quietly from the other side of the room. “Are you going to run?”
Merlin tilted his head, gazing at Arthur intently. He scrutinised the loaded gun in Arthur’s belt. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“No,” Arthur admitted, and began to walk towards Merlin, step by step, loud in their ears. Merlin didn’t bolt - didn’t even move an inch or twitch in fear. He merely watched Arthur descend on him, waiting. Finally, when Arthur was standing right in front of him, Merlin stood, slow and not wanting to alarm, to put himself face to face with his captor.
“Hi Arthur,” Merlin said, smiling. “I’m Merlin.”
Arthur stared at the open face, the honesty pouring from his charming grace, youthful beauty marred by his past and his choices, and as he took Merlin’s wrist in his hand, he felt his heart break.
Merlin’s a little bit drunk. Arthur follows the cluster of people outside, just behind Gwen and Lance; watches him stumble down the bar steps clumsily.
Okay, so Merlin’s very drunk.
“C’mere you idiot,” Arthur chastises, can’t help himself as he dashes forward to save Merlin from propelling into a lamppost. Merlin giggles at a silent joke and slumps against Arthur, pressing into his side.
“Is he okay?” Gwen asks worriedly. “Do you want some help getting him home?”
Arthur shakes his head, drapes Merlin’s arm around his neck to provide support. “Nah, don’t worry about it, I’ve got this,” he replies with a smooth smile. “He’s my responsibility, even now. I’ll take care of him; get him home.”
Gwen nods, trusts Arthur to see his word through after working with him for years, and waves goodbye. “See you tomorrow. Goodnight Arthur, goodnight Merlin.” She pulls Lance along after her, disappears into the darkness of the night.
Arthur turns back to Merlin, whose full weight is being held up by Arthur, but Merlin weighs practically nothing so it matters little. Arthur sighs, and then drags Merlin to the car park, looking for his car.
Ten minutes later, Arthur is driving quietly through the empty streets, Merlin dozing against the window in the passenger seat. The silence doesn’t last, though, when Merlin eventually groans, comes to, and mutters, “What happened?”
“You drank too much and passed out,” Arthur replies wryly, glancing at Merlin, who’s pushing up against the leather seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I’m taking you home.”
“Shit,” Merlin curses, rubbing his face between his palms. “I can’t believe I drank that much.”
“You didn’t drink that much. It’s just ‘cause you’re a lightweight,” Arthur teases, grinning in amusement.
“Am not!” Merlin retorts indignantly, flapping about and loose from the alcohol running through his blood.
“Are too,” Arthur chuckles. “It’s why you never drank before... You knew the consequences. You couldn’t afford to.”
A dark look passes over Merlin’s face, quick and brief, but it doesn’t go unmissed by Arthur, even with one eye on the road. “I was wise. I am wise. Wiser than you, and you’re way older. It’s almost the big ‘three-o’ for you!” Merlin taunts, finding his rhythm again with the banter they’ve become used to as a pair years ago, before they were colleagues, before they worked for the same side.
“Shut up,” Arthur grumbles, turning a corner, knowing they’re minutes away from Merlin’s apartment. “Thirty isn’t that old.”
“Is too,” Merlin says gleefully. Really, he can be such a child sometimes, Arthur thinks. But he forgives him anyway, because Merlin never had much of a childhood. He’s allowed to regress every now and again.
They arrive at Merlin’s in comfortable silence, Merlin having spent the peace and quiet fidgeting with his fingers, staring into the side mirror, and Arthur occasionally looking over, making sure he’s not trying to fall out of the car. Arthur refuses to let him leave when he stops the car, forces Merlin to stay put as he rounds the front and holds the door open.
“I’m fine, I can walk on my own,” Merlin insists, wobbly but sober enough now to stand straight. “You don’t have to come up with me, Arthur.”
Arthur sends Merlin a pointed, stubborn glare, and follows him into the building.
They ride the elevator in silence, and don’t exchange words until they reach the tenth floor, standing outside the front door, Merlin fumbling awkwardly with his keys. “Shit,” he says for the third time.
“For fuck’s sake.” Arthur rolls his eyes and, ignoring Merlin’s protests, swipes the keys from him. He slides the correct one into the lock, clicking the door open. “There. See, I can hold my liquor,” Arthur grins smugly.
“Shut up,” Merlin mutters, though he’s smiling, and as Arthur hands the keys back, their fingers brush. Merlin looks flushed in the dim lighting all of a sudden, and he’s watching Arthur with strange, unfocused eyes.
“Feeling okay?” Arthur asks tentatively. He recognises that expression, is afraid of where this may lead.
Merlin shakes his head, tries to regain clarity. “Fine,” he mumbles, and back-walks into his apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow. God, I’m going to feel like shit in the morning.”
Arthur laughs, is relieved, and nods. “Yeah, get some sleep, you idiot. I’ll see you bright and early at the office. We need to pin the Le Feys down once and for all, so we’re going to need you at your very best. Haven’t had a bitch of a case like that since... well, you.”
Merlin cocks a wistful smile, and Arthur ignores the painful beat in his heart. “Yeah. Well. Goodnight then.”
Arthur raises a hand, and the door snaps shut. “Goodnight Merlin.”
Arthur should’ve known he was fucked when he spent the entirety of his date with Gwen thinking about Merlin.
“And that’s how I ended up working for the British Government,” Gwen explained over chocolate fudge cake. She smiled, genial and pretty, and Arthur thought, I could like her, she could be special, the one. But under that, he wondered more about how Merlin was - what he was doing, if he was coping in prison, how they were treating him. He was barely an adult, would probably be useless if he had to physically defend himself. If stereotypes based on appearances were indeed accurate, he was probably be one of those kids who'd been bullied endlessly in high school, and who, when brave enough to try to stand up to them, had been kicked down even more.
Arthur didn’t want that to happen to Merlin. He was just a boy - a vulnerable young boy with a pretty face and charming smile. So he’d conned billions out of people across the globe, but he didn’t deserve to have those ocean-wide eyes blackened by fists; it didn’t justify those cheekbones getting broken under tattooed, merciless arms. Arthur squirmed internally just imagining the possible scenarios.
“Arthur?” Gwen was staring at him, a little frown-line along her forehead. “Are you okay?”
Arthur cursed himself, cursed Merlin too, and put on a pleasant, apologetic smile. “Sorry, yeah. Spaced out for a second there. I’m just a bit tired; the Emrys case had me on twenty-hour days, I’m adjusting to having a normal sleeping pattern again.”
“You did a fantastic job there,” Gwen praised with a smile, touching her fingers to Arthur’s across the table. “You should be proud.”
As he smiled in return, Arthur hated that the last thing he felt when he thought about Merlin Emrys was pride; there was only guilt, shame and regret.
Later that night, Arthur found himself at the prison Merlin had been kept in for the last three months. It was just past midnight, and he’d dropped Gwen off at her house half an hour ago. They’d had a good time, but Arthur didn’t care whether or not there would be another date.
“Emrys, Merlin,” Arthur stated, staring blankly at the clock on the whitewashed wall. The prison guard nodded, took Arthur to a quiet, empty room, where he sat and waited.
Eventually, the door opened again, and in walked Merlin, dressed in garish orange overalls. His hair was cut short, skin paler than ever, and Arthur was relieved to see that his face, still youthful and pure, was untouched by bruises and cuts.
However, gone was the bright smile Arthur used to stare at in photos, the carefree air that once revolved around him during phone calls, and palpable even in a simple text message from an anonymous phone Merlin had nicked from an unknowing, unsuspecting passerby on the street. Arthur stared at the boy - man, really, but Arthur couldn’t see him that way - sitting in front of him, and couldn’t find the words to describe the emotions caught at the back of his throat.
“So,” Arthur eventually tried, voice thick with something he didn’t want to identify. “How’s it going, Merlin?”
Finally, a spark of life clicked in him, and Merlin gazed up at Arthur, blue, blue eyes shining, if only a little, once more. “Why are you here, Arthur?” he asked, ignoring the question, calm and serene and not at all what Arthur had expected.
Arthur chose not to reply to Merlin’s enquiry. He wasn’t sure he knew the answer.
It’s a Friday night, and they’re the last two left at the office again. Gwen had been here the latest save for them, but had gone home eventually to a dinner cooked by Lance. You boys should get going too, had been her final words, and then she’d gone, leaving them alone.
Arthur is sitting in his office, barely noticing the clock tick by, when Merlin enters without bothering to knock. The room is shrouded in darkness, Arthur too engrossed in his work to realise that the sun has set, and that he needs to turn on the light. Merlin takes the opportunity to flick the switch.
Arthur blinks out of his concentrated stupor, looks up to see Merlin smirking by the door. “Um,” he says. “Thanks.”
“When was the last time you checked your watch?” Merlin teases, walking further into the room.
Arthur frowns, glances at his wrist. “Two hours ago. When Gwen left.”
“You should go home,” Merlin tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“As if you can talk,” Arthur shoots back snappily, but he’s still in good humour, not about to bite Merlin’s head off since he hasn’t done anything catastrophic in the last week that would cause Arthur to sit through another dreadful meeting with his father, who is sadly the big boss of this division of the Government.
Merlin doesn’t have the shame to look contrite, just quirks his lips into a smile and leans over Arthur’s desk, peering down at the paperwork. “C’mon, let’s go home,” he says gently. “You look tired, and you won’t get any more dirt on Muirden now; he’s probably asleep, like you should be.”
“But Kanan-” Arthur begins to argue, but is swiftly cut off by Merlin’s firm, “He was a fool, Arthur. Fools are easy, it’s almost impossible not to get them within twenty-four hours, they’re so stupid. But Muirden’s much tougher. Bit like me and the Le Feys, actually... but not quite so bad. We’ll get him in no time.”
Arthur sags against his chair, finally tearing his eyes from the computer screen to stare at Merlin. “Right. Yeah.” He touches the bridge of his nose, and sighs. “Sleep doesn’t sound so bad right now.”
Merlin chuckles, then walks around Arthur’s desk to stand behind him. “What’re you doing, Merlin?” Arthur begins to ask, but then Merlin’s hands are touching him, and Arthur freezes. “What the-”
“Relax,” Merlin murmurs into his ear, and Arthur does his hardest to ignore the jolt of electricity down his spine; the slow circles Merlin’s fingers begin to rub along Arthur’s shoulder blades don’t help. However, within a minute, Arthur is succumbing under their magic touch, and all he can focus on is refraining from sighing out loud; that and the gentle, soothing motions of Merlin’s hands on his back, his quiet breathing the only sound filling the room.
“And then he tried to punch me,” Merlin described, rather cheerful for someone telling the story of how he’d narrowly escaped a broken nose and jaw. “But I ducked, and ran for the hills whilst the guards wrestled him down. It was quite the scene, you should’ve seen it.”
Arthur couldn’t match Merlin’s enthusiasm - could only frown in concern, and asked, “Do you want me to put in a word, get your room changed?”
Merlin waved Arthur’s offer away, smiling. “Already done. The people who run this place, they like me. I’ve been here three years, I’m like their friend really. I don’t need your help, I can handle myself, you know.”
“Of course, Merlin,” Arthur said dryly, switching back to their banter as quick as a click of a finger. “I have some news, by the way,” he then added, his face serious but a smile beginning to filter through despite his efforts to suppress it. “Really good news. An offer, actually.”
“Uhuh?” Merlin tilted his head to one side, waited for Arthur to enlighten him.
“The Government... They want you to work for them,” Arthur explained slowly, looking Merlin in the eye. “They need your help. Your expertise. There are numerous conmen and women on the loose around the country, and you were the best. You’ll get to leave this shithole, come work for us, get paid to do it. Have a life again in the real world.”
Merlin stared, wide and disbelieving, before asking in a heavy voice, “What’s the catch? They’re not going to let me out of prison just like that. They can’t not be suspicious about me suddenly tricking them and running away.”
“You’ll be electronically tagged,” Arthur replied sombrely. “Your movements will be monitored at all times. And you will have a handler, who will be in charge of you. He’ll make sure you’re behaving, and that you’ll have everything you need.”
Merlin shifted in his seat, clutched his elbow with his other hand, and swallowed. “Who’ll that person be, do you know?”
Arthur paused, glanced at his hands under the table, clenched tight together, then looked up into Merlin’s avid stare again.
“Me.”
They’re practically friends. They’ve been friends ever since they’d met over the phone, really. Even though Arthur had technically been the enemy, Merlin had never seen him like one. He'd been like a fun play partner in Hide and Seek, or something.
The problem is, Merlin doesn’t know how Arthur sees them - their relationship. Arthur had chased him day and night for two years, then visited him once a week for three years in prison, and finally, became his boss a year ago. Merlin wants to think they’re friends. Arthur’s basically his only friend, besides being allowed contact with his mum, who hardly counts. He'd lost Will years ago, in a car crash accident aged thirteen, and then Freya, his only ever girlfriend, when he was fifteen, because she'd overdosed on pills. Merlin's never had a friend since. Not until Arthur.
But Merlin doesn’t just want Arthur to be his friend. He stares at him across the office when he’s photocopying, stands by the machine and looks into the transparent glass windows of Arthur’s room and watches him work, arguing into the phone or typing furiously at his computer. He’s always bantering with Arthur during their lunch break, makes sure that Arthur isn’t ever alone with his sandwich and that he at least has some company during that half an hour. And he’s forever thinking about Arthur - the things he would do to him, with him, if he could.
Merlin knows he has a crush on Arthur; always has, ever since the chase began.
Merlin gave up conning for several reasons - morality, had had enough of the game, had been ready to stop avoiding capture. And then there'd been Arthur, who'd never given up on finding Merlin. No one had ever cared about Merlin so much for a long, long time, and Merlin had missed it. So he'd stopped running, and let himself be caught.
Now, it feels like Merlin is chasing instead, and Arthur is sprinting away as fast as possible. Merlin can feel it between them - something bigger, something terrifying and electric, maybe forbidden but irresistible nonetheless. He wants it, whatever it is, has fantasies of Arthur, and of course he feels ashamed. But he’s seen the way Arthur looks at him, from the moment he came to visit him the first time three months into the worst stage of Merlin’s life, and Merlin knows this could be something. It could happen.
It could happen.
It’s late, and Arthur’s in his office again, still, rifling through history documents, searching for something that’s been eluding him for days. The frustration is written clear on his face, scrunched up in aggravation and disappointment in himself.
Merlin slides into the room, goes unnoticed until he clears his throat, and Arthur looks up to find him smiling down.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” Merlin replies, and without invitation, walks around Arthur’s desk and boldly puts his hands on Arthur’s. “Stop.” He pulls Arthur away from the paperwork, spins him to look at him, and him only. “You need to stop.”
“Merlin,” Arthur sighs indulgently, lets Merlin have his way even though his fingers tingle at the tight touch of Merlin’s hands in his.
“You’re a workaholic, Arthur,” Merlin presses forward firmly, ignoring Arthur’s protests, and his grip is even tighter. “You need to learn to let go sometimes.”
“Merlin,” Arthur repeats, this time with less patience, and he tries to draw his arms away, but his attempts are weak at best. “It’s my job.”
“I was your job,” Merlin suddenly exclaims loudly, anger and frustration tinting his voice. “And now I’m standing right in front of you! I work next door. Damn it, Arthur, I care! I care about you!” He doesn’t wait for an answer, chooses to ignore the wide-eyed reaction, and leans forward, down, to press a hard kiss to Arthur’s parted lips.
When Merlin finally pulls away, slightly out of breath, Arthur is staring at him, dazed and disbelieving, motionless and without a word to say.
“Arthur,” Merlin pleads, desperate.
Something clicks into place in Arthur’s expression, and his eyes find Merlin’s properly, hold them in place like their hands are, entwined and clinging on. Wordlessly, Arthur shifts forward, nose brushing Merlin’s, and kisses him, chaste at first, with Merlin gasping his surprise, and then becoming more insistent, deeper and with more feeling and need. Merlin presses down, until he’s straddling Arthur, bending the chair and pushing him into the leather, and they’re kissing with tongue and uninhibited passion, licking into each other’s mouths and forgetting to breathe.
In the flickering light of Arthur’s desk lamp, their shadows fall into one another, and melt into one.
“Do you like your job?” Merlin asked, watching Arthur intently, and it made Arthur’s skin crawl and his heart race faster, beyond his control.
“Yes,” was Arthur’s answer, his grip on Merlin’s arm tight as he led him down the corridor, towards his cell.
“Okay,” was all Merlin had to say, and then Arthur was shutting the door, bolting it into place with a resounding slam. The only thing he could see, then, through the small window in the metal was a pair of dancing blue eyes, beautiful and sad, and they would haunt him every night in his dreams for years to come.