Fic: The Man Your Man Could Smell Like

[rebbeile]

Title: The Man Your Man Could Smell Like
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Words: 9490
Genre: Modern AU
Spoilers/Warnings: General Season 1/2
Disclaimer: These boys aren’t mine.
Summary: Arthur likes the smell of Merlin’s cologne, only Merlin doesn’t wear any cologne. 
A/N: Repost from KMM - this was originally written for this KMM prompt.

“I still don’t see why I have to do this,” Arthur said, glaring at Morgana as they stood outside the front of the store. He stared in through the glass window at the variously-shaped bottles on display and made a face. “I have cologne,” he continued, wondering how on earth he’d managed to let Morgana talk him into coming out on a shopping trip with her.
“You smell like my boyfriend,” Morgana said firmly. “You need a new bottle.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You could just get a new boyfriend,” he retorted, turning away from the store. It was true, Arthur thought. Morgana would probably have moved on to a new one before Arthur even got a chance to wear any new cologne that he bought.
“You will go in there,” Morgana said, clasping a hand tightly around his arm and dragging him back towards the door of the shop. “Or I will make sure Uther knows exactly what you’ve been doing for the past week instead of going to fencing practice.” Arthur stopped trying to pull away, instead turning to face her with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s none of his business,” Arthur said. “And besides, then you’d have to explain to him exactly who was fighting in my place at all those practice sessions I missed,” he added. Morgana raised her head haughtily.
“Fine. Go and get the cologne and it’ll work out better for both of us,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the tailor’s later on.” And with that, she walked away along the footpath, leaving Arthur standing outside the perfume shop by himself. He sighed, trying to muster up the energy to walk inside.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to shop for cologne - he did, because he’d done it on several different occasions throughout his life. It wasn’t that he didn’t like shopping, because when you grew up with Uther Pendragon as a father, you learnt that keeping all of your belongings up to date and fashionable was extremely important to your image. But Arthur hadn’t bought a new type of cologne since he was a teenager. When it came to scents, he was - well, he didn’t like to say fussy, exactly, but he was certainly particular. It had taken him weeks to find the cologne he currently wore, and he’d had to get it imported from Italy. Arthur frowned. Trust Morgana to date the only other man in the entire country to import his cologne from overseas.

Arthur looked up and noticed that the shopkeeper was staring curiously at him through the glass. He shook his head, deciding that he’d prefer to endure cologne shopping rather than Morgana’s anger, and pulled open the door to the store. A young woman standing behind the counter looked up in interest as he walked in.
“Merlin,” she hissed, turning her head to peer through the doorway behind her. “Merlin, customer!”
Arthur looked quickly away, because he didn’t need to draw any more attention to himself than he already had. He walked over to the first row of shelves and gazed at it. The bottles on the lowest shelf he dismissed immediately - they were below his price range, and he could tell just by looking at the gaudy colour of the bottles that they would smell appalling. He frowned, raising his gaze to the shelf above.
“Merlin!” he heard the woman say behind him. “Merlin, I know you’re my friend, but if you don’t get out here right now I’ll make you go to Gaius’ for dinner, I swear.” There was a thud and a muffled screech from the back room, and Arthur heard a male voice call out.
“All right, all right, I’m coming, Gwen! There’s no need to threaten me!” Arthur glanced over his shoulder as a young man walked out into the shop. He was skinny, as though he was made up entirely of knees and elbows and ears, and his dust-covered hair curled wildly around his face.
“I dropped a couple of boxes,” he said, glancing apologetically at Gwen. She sighed, brushed the worst of the dust out of his hair and pointed him in the direction of Arthur before shaking her head and heading into the back room. Arthur looked quickly away as the man came walking towards him.

“Can I be of assistance?” he asked, in a tone that suggested he didn’t really think that Arthur ought to be offered assistance at all.

Arthur looked over at him, sweeping his eyes over the man’s faded converse and his crooked badge, stamped with a cheerful Hi, I’m Merlin! The man was wearing an odd red scarf around his neck, and Arthur could see the barest hint of pale skin between the top of his blue shirt and the lowest fold of the scarf’s fabric. He swallowed, realising that he really shouldn’t be noticing things like that. The man was only a shopkeeper, after all.
“No,” he said roughly, turning back to the bottles. The man - Merlin, Arthur corrected himself - made a quiet noise beside him, and Arthur glanced sharply over at him.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing,” Merlin replied, and walked back towards the counter muttering something that Arthur was almost certain included the words right royal prat. He raised an eyebrow at the bottle in his hand, wondering whether it was worth his while to retaliate. But no, he’d never get any cologne if he got into a fight with the shopkeepers, so instead he just opened the bottle in his hand and sniffed it. It smelt oddly like vanilla, and Arthur shoved it back on the shelf immediately. His ex-girlfriend, Sophia, had worn vanilla-scented perfume, and Arthur really didn’t need to be reminded of her every time he went out.

He walked slowly around the shop, spraying various perfumes onto the cards and sniffing them. Merlin had moved away, and was now seated at the checkout with his feet on the counter, watching Arthur as he moved around the shop. Arthur felt oddly self-conscious. He frowned as he put a bottle back onto the shelf. He never felt self-conscious. He was Arthur Pendragon, for goodness’ sake. What did he have to feel self-conscious about?

But despite that, he couldn’t stop himself from shifting uncomfortably as he felt Merlin’s steady blue-eyed gaze upon his back. That wasn’t right, he thought. No one made Arthur Pendragon feel uncomfortable.
“How much is this?” he asked imperiously, turning to face Merlin and holding out the bottle in his hand.
Merlin didn’t even bother to stand up, instead flicking his eyes from Arthur’s face down to the bottle in his hand. “Eighty pounds,” he said, and Arthur frowned. He put the bottle back on the shelf and picked up another one.
“And this?” he asked. Merlin told him the price, and Arthur replaced the bottle without even opening it. “Show me the most expensive one,” he said firmly, and Merlin blinked at him.
“Yes, your highness,” he said. He got slowly to his feet and walked over to the glass-fronted cabinet at the rear of the shop.
“You know, most people buy cologne based on its scent, not its price,” he said as he pulled out his keys. Arthur gave a tight smile.
“I’m not most people,” he replied, looking over at Merlin. The man still had dust in his hair, and he was dressed shabbily, but Arthur couldn’t help noticing the way the shadows pooled about his jaw and beneath his cheekbones, and how bright his blue eyes looked, circled with dark lashes.
“Evidently,” Merlin said quietly, glancing down into Arthur’s face, and Arthur looked abruptly away, snatching the bottle from Merlin’s hand. He sprayed it onto a piece of card and sniffed it. It was nicer than the other bottles he’d tried, but there was something about it that didn’t smell quite right. He shook his head and passed the bottle back to Merlin, jerking a little as Merlin’s fingers brushed against his palm.
“No,” he said loudly, trying to disguise the fact that he’d just jumped like a startled rabbit. “That isn’t right.”

Merlin stared at him. “Seriously?” he asked. “Everyone likes that one.” Arthur glared at him. This was far too difficult, and Merlin wasn’t being the least bit helpful. He ran his eyes over the shelves, wondering if he ought to just forget about it. He sighed. Perhaps he could simply stay away from Morgana until her new boyfriend - Leon, he thought the name was - had moved on, and Morgana wouldn’t even notice that he was wearing the same cologne as the man.

Merlin was still looking at him curiously, and Arthur was about to turn away and walk out of the door and leave the whole store behind him when he heard a beeping noise, and the phone in his pocket started to vibrate. He pulled it out and looked down at the screen.
1 New Message, it said. Arthur opened it.

Morgana P:
Don’t you dare leave without buying anything.

Arthur looked around him, but the store was empty. He sometimes had the oddest feeling that Morgana was psychic, or magic, or had some unearthly power that allowed her to know exactly what everyone was thinking at the exact moment they thought it. And, Morgana being Morgana, she usually found some way to turn it against them. He gave a groan, and looked up to see that Merlin was still hovering close by, peering down at the phone Arthur held in his hands.
“Girlfriend?” he asked sympathetically. Arthur pulled the phone closer to his chest, shielding the screen from Merlin’s eyes.
“Sister,” he said shortly, and Merlin nodded, an odd expression on his face. Arthur wondered whether it was worth responding to the message. But he didn’t think that sending you’re so dead for this would be the mature thing to do, so instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and looked back up at the shelves.
“Well, what type of scents do you like?” Merlin asked from beside him. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, but the man just shrugged. “It’s easier to choose if you tell me what you like,” he continued. Arthur traced the outline of the phone in his pocket and vowed that he’d get Morgana back for this, someday.
“I don’t know,” he said sharply to Merlin, and the man’s face fell a little. Arthur felt a tiny stab of guilt twist through his chest at that, though he didn’t think there was anything that he ought to be feeling guilty for. He sighed. “Fruit,” he relented. “And grass, and... uh... trees?”

Merlin smiled, a huge, eye-crinkling smile, and Arthur was amazed, because he didn’t know how anyone with ears that big and hair that wild could be so utterly beautiful. He stared at Merlin, fascinated, but the man turned away almost immediately and began darting around the shop, picking up various bottles and cards and putting them down on a table in the centre of the store.
“Come on,” he said, seizing Arthur’s wrist and dragging him over to the table. Arthur blinked at the casual contact, staring down at the place where Merlin’s slender fingers wrapped around his skin.
“You aren’t very professional,” he commented, as Merlin knocked over several bottles on the shelves that they walked past. Merlin scowled at him.
“And you’re high maintenance,” he replied, and Arthur stopped, taken aback. No one other than Morgana ever spoke to him like that. Especially not lowly shopkeepers. Merlin was supposed to fawn over him and compliment him, not insult him. He frowned back at Merlin.
“I could have you fired for your insolence,” he said haughtily, nodding towards the back room where Gwen was working. But Merlin merely laughed.
“Gwen isn’t my boss,” he said as he pulled the cap off one of the bottles on the table. Arthur frowned. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the shop, but surely Merlin’s boss would know better than to leave him unattended. Even Arthur could see that that wasn’t a good idea, and he’d only known the man for five minutes.
“I’ve never met my boss, actually,” Merlin continued, as he sprayed cologne onto a piece of card. “Here, try this.” He handed the card to Arthur. “I moved into the city a few weeks ago, to live with my mum’s friend Gaius, and two days after I arrived I got this email from this man who said that it’s my destiny to work in this shop that he owns.” Merlin shrugged. “It was all a bit odd, but I needed the work, so I went to look at the place. As soon as I walked in I met Gwen, and she said that her boss - Kilgharrah - is off on this round-the-world trip of self-discovery, or something, and she needed someone else to help out. So I said I’d work here.” He looked over at Arthur. “And you probably didn’t need to know all that,” he finished, blushing.

Arthur was about to agree with him, because other people’s life stories had never interested him as much as his own, when he realised that he didn’t actually mind Merlin talking to him. He knew that Merlin probably told this story to everyone who passed through the shop, but it still made Arthur feel a little bit special, that Merlin had decided to share some small part of his life with Arthur. He shook himself mentally, wondering just when he’d gotten so ridiculously sentimental.

Merlin was still looking at him, shifting the bottle of cologne awkwardly between his hands, and Arthur realised that he was still holding the card Merlin had prepared. He held it quickly to his nose, inhaling. It smelt like musk, a scent that he’d always associated with his father. Arthur often found that many of the things his father enjoyed - stone foyers, heavy, square furniture, dark suits - were not to his taste. He shook his head.
“No,” he said, handing the card back to Merlin. Merlin picked up another bottle and opened it, and Arthur watched as the man’s slim fingers wrapped around the top of the bottle and pressed down firmly. The movement was oddly graceful, and Arthur found himself wondering whether his original impression of the man - that he was hopelessly clumsy - was entirely correct.
“Try this,” Merlin ordered, pressing the second card into Arthur’s hand. Arthur inhaled, and then moved the card quickly away from his nose. He was barely able to stop himself from grimacing at the smell.
“No?” Merlin asked, and Arthur shook his head, trying to keep from coughing. He leant over to put the card on the table and as he did so, he caught the faintest edge of a scent that smelt - well, it smelt good, Arthur realised with surprise. He looked at the bottles on the table, wondering which of them was emitting the scent, and picked up a small round vial.
“I’ll try this one,” he said, and handed the bottle to Merlin. He expected the man to pull out a card, but instead, he opened the cologne and reached out a hand to take hold of Arthur’s wrist.
“What are you doing?” Arthur said, startled, pulling his arm out of Merlin’s reach.
“This one works best if you test it on your skin,” Merlin replied, reaching out for Arthur’s arm and tugging it towards him. He pulled gently at Arthur’s sleeve, sliding the jacket up to his elbow and gently unbuttoning Arthur’s cuff.

Arthur tried to focus on breathing steadily, because Merlin was just testing cologne on him, that was all, and he knew that the desire swamping his veins wasn’t really the reaction he ought to be having. All the same, he couldn’t stop himself from twitching a little when Merlin’s fingers skimmed over the soft skin of his wrist, and when the man bent his head over Arthur’s arm and tipped the bottle, his thumb rubbing gently along the base of Arthur’s hand to keep the cologne from running.

Arthur tried not to watch, because it was only a short step in Arthur’s mind between seeing Merlin’s thumb coated in a thin layer of glossy oil and wondering what else Merlin could do with those fingers. And he didn’t need that, he really didn’t, because he was Arthur Pendragon and he didn’t ever fall in love, or in lust, or even in like, or whatever it was that he was feeling, with skinny young shopkeepers he’d only just met. Especially not ones who had no social graces whatsoever and treated him as though he was simply another ordinary customer.

So instead he just pulled his wrist away from Merlin and held it up to his nose, trying to pretend that he hadn’t noticed Merlin’s hand wrapped around his arm, fingers brushing against his skin. The cologne was lighter than the others, and smelt citrusy, like oranges, but it wasn’t anything like the scent Arthur had liked. He shook his head and leaned past Merlin to examine the other bottles on the table.

Merlin shifted sideways slightly, giving him some room, and it was at that moment that Arthur caught it. It was light, and fresh, and smelt like pine trees and the clean, dark earth that Arthur used to play in when he was small and something else - something homey, like floral soap. It was, Arthur realised, the best thing that he had ever smelt - better than his Italian cologne, better than any of the pitiful scents that he had spread out in front of him. It was the kind of smell that Arthur would have been happy to wrap himself in for all of eternity, because it was so familiar and so comforting and so delicious that he didn’t think he’d ever need to smell anything else, ever again, if he could only have that scent.

He looked around, inhaling, wondering where it was coming from, and how many bottles of it the shop had in stock, and how much he’d be allowed to walk out with, when he realised that he was leaning rather close to Merlin, and that - he stopped, and inhaled again. Oh. The scent was coming from Merlin.

He supposed that it wasn’t that surprising. The man worked in a perfume shop, after all. Of course he’d know which one was the best one to wear. It was just a coincidence that he was so pretty, and could do funny things to Arthur’s stomach simply by touching his wrist, and, on top of all that, he was wearing the only cologne - apart from Arthur’s own - that Arthur had ever liked the smell of. He looked over at the man, raising an eyebrow.
“There’s something about you, Merlin,” he said slowly. “Your cologne. What is it?”

***

Merlin was thoroughly confused. Which wasn’t a rare occurrence, he knew, though it certainly happened less often than Gwen would have everyone believe. But he was usually confused about Kilgharrah’s emails, which had been growing steadily more cryptic as the weeks passed, or about how on earth Gaius could manage to perfectly brew so many different herbal remedies for his shop and yet be so entirely hopeless at cooking a decent meal. He was usually confused about why people were willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money to smell as though they’d just been rolled in cinnamon and baked, or why Gwen always hid in the back room emitting high-pitched shrieks whenever the - admittedly gorgeous - man from that fencing place down the road walked past the shop. He was usually confused about pointless, silly things that didn’t really matter.

He wasn’t often confused by men. Men weren’t that difficult to understand, really. He’d always just known what they wanted, in the way that he sometimes knew things, and he could tell which of them were friendly and which of them were ambitious and which of them really wanted to go on a lovely, old-fashioned date with the pretty girl hiding in the back room of the perfume shop.

He’d just finished telling Gwen all about the date that this Lancelot fellow wanted to take her on (he’s even planned candles, Gwen. Candles!) and had been relegated to the back room to do the heavy lifting (though why that had become his job was a mystery, because even Gwen had bigger muscles than he did), when the blonde man walked into the shop.

And Merlin had gone out to serve him with a firm picture in his mind of what this man would be like - rude, and arrogant, and insufferable, and boring -  because that was what all of the men who looked like him and dressed like him and walked like him were always like. But then the man had gone and smashed right through it, because although he seemed rude and arrogant and insufferable, he didn't seem at all boring, and the way he looked at Merlin was just a little bit wonderful.

So Merlin had gotten very confused, and a little bit nervous, because despite the boring suit and the imperious expression, he was still the most gorgeous man Merlin had ever met. And then Merlin had ended up tripping over things, which was usual, and telling the man all about his life, which wasn’t, and he’d gotten far too touchy with the man’s beautiful, golden-skinned wrist, which probably violated several of his staff-customer interaction guidelines and was simply downright unprofessional.

So when the man had suddenly leaned in close, his body warm beside Merlin’s, and had looked at him as though he was carrying the most delicious meal in the world, and had asked your cologne, what is it? Merlin might have panicked a little. And he might have torn his gaze away from the man’s beautiful jaw line, and blurted out a hasty Idon’trememberI’llaskgwen and fled into the back room. But if he had, it was only because he’d never been this confused about a man in his life.

“Gwen,” he hissed, slamming the door shut behind him. “Gwen, I have a problem!”
Gwen straightened up from where she’d been sorting through one of the boxes. “If you’ve broken a bottle again, Merlin, you know where the broom is,” she said, putting an armful of perfume boxes onto the shelf, several brown curls of hair springing free of their clips as she did so.
“He - the blonde man - wants to know what cologne I wear!” Merlin blurted, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “And he’s gorgeous, and not as pratty as he was supposed to be!”

Gwen turned and stared at him. He knew that she was gauging his expression, working out how many cups of tea it would take him to calm down. “I don’t really see the problem, Merlin,” she said carefully.
“The problem is that I’m not wearing any cologne!” Merlin wailed. No one had ever worn the stuff back in Ealdor, and he’d always thought it was sort of like hiding, to cover up your own smell with a new, artificial one.

Gwen just looked at him, and Merlin could tell that she was torn between comforting him and simply laughing. He pouted at her, all lips and eyes, because this was serious, and she sighed.
“Just... just tell him you’re wearing one of the colognes we don’t sell,” she said. Merlin stopped pouting and nodded slowly, running a thumb across his lip as he thought it over. The man would just have to deal with the fact that he’d never be able to find that particular scent anywhere. It wasn’t as though he could wear Merlin around as cologne or anything (though a tiny part of his mind he thought it best to ignore suggested that this was an idea worth considering). He would just tell the man they didn’t stock it, and the man would have to buy something else.

He took a deep breath, glanced over at Gwen, who was still staring at him as though she thought he was either the most adorable or the most pitiful thing she’d ever seen, then pulled the door to the shop open and walked through it. The man was still standing over by the display, staring at the shelves with bored disgust, as though he would like nothing better than to smash all of the bottles that were arranged on top of them. He looked over at Merlin as Merlin walked into the shop.
“Did you find it?” the man asked, and Merlin hesitated, because he hated lying.

But then he imagined telling the man that he wasn’t wearing cologne. He imagined seeing the man’s face twist with disbelief and indignation, imagined watching as the man stormed angrily out of the shop, and that image really shouldn’t have made him feel as disappointed as it did. Merlin shook his head, his resolve stiffening.
“We don’t sell it,” he said firmly. Worryingly, the man didn’t seem as put out by that as Merlin had expected him to be.
“Do you know which stores do stock it, then?” he asked calmly, in a tone that suggested he was used to getting information when he wanted it. Merlin shook his head.
“It was... uh, someone gave it to me as a present,” he replied quickly, and the man sighed.

“Very well,” he said, and Merlin felt a flash of hope, because maybe that meant that the man wouldn’t ask anything else about it and Merlin would be able to show him out of the shop with the knowledge that he hadn’t completely mortified himself in front of the most gorgeous man he’d ever met. He shrugged at the man, as if to say bad luck, perhaps you’ll find it somewhere else, now please leave me alone because I’m busy doing important shopkeeping things and I don’t have time to talk.

But the man didn’t seem to interpret the shrug in the way Merlin had intended him to, because he simply stepped closer, his gaze fixed firmly on Merlin’s face.
“What is it called then, Merlin?” he asked, his voice low, and Merlin swallowed.
“I don’t remember?” he said, the answer slipping out like a question rather than in the assured, firm tone he’d been aiming for. He bit his lip, and the man’s eyes flicked down to his mouth for the briefest instant before he looked away.
“You would only have put it on this morning,” he said, sounding suddenly exasperated. “You must remember, you idiot.” Merlin tried to think, because he was sure that there was something in that statement that hadn’t been all that complimentary, but it was hard when the man’s beautiful blue eyes were staring deeply into his own, and his golden face was so close to Merlin’s. He blinked, then stepped backwards slightly as he registered what the man had been saying. Idiot?
“Even if I did remember, which I don’t, I wouldn’t tell you, you prat,” he said fiercely, because he might have been poor and a terrible shopkeeper and absolutely horrid at talking himself out of awkward situations such as these, but he wasn’t an idiot.
“And besides, it’s really rare,” he continued, even though he knew that this was a bad idea, and that when he got angry he didn’t think about what he was saying until it was too late; until he’d pushed the words too far out into the world to ever take them back. But he couldn’t stop himself. “So who do you think you are, marching in here with your suits and your money and your face and thinking that just because you’re rude and rich and gorgeous that you’ll be able to get it?” Merlin had a feeling that his argument had derailed wildly somewhere in the middle of that sentence, but he didn’t have time to think about it because the man had already started to reply, his cheeks pink with anger.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he said fiercely. “But I expected to get what I wanted because it’s your job to give me it. I suppose expecting you to be able to do your job was very optimistic of me, though,” he finished, and Merlin just stared, because the man was Arthur bloody Pendragon, the son of one of the wealthiest men alive, and also because - although Merlin hated to admit it - he was actually sort of right.

“We don’t stock it,” he said again, quieter this time, because Arthur was a customer, and Merlin knew that he shouldn’t be getting into arguments with the customers, even if they were rude to him. And he didn’t argue with his customers, usually, and that was making him even more confused. He didn't know why he'd let Arthur get to him. “And I don’t know where does,” he added.

Arthur just stared at him for a moment, and Merlin felt as though Arthur was reading straight through his expression; that he could see that Merlin was uncomfortable and nervous and lying through his teeth. But Arthur simply pushed a hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a dark leather wallet.
“I’ll buy your bottle, then,” he said, and Merlin felt his heart leap with panic again, because he didn’t see any way that either of them would be walking away from this conversation happily.

But then he thought of all the times that he’d fallen over things and broken things and stumbled over his words, and how Will and Gwen always laughed at him because of it but they loved him anyway, and he decided that he might as well tell the truth. Because, hell, even if Arthur had found cologne he liked straight away, at the end of the day he’d still be walking out of the shop without looking back, and he’d still be leaving Merlin a little disappointed. It didn’t matter if Merlin was subservient or horrid or rude or friendly. It didn’t really matter to Arthur how Merlin behaved.

He was merely a shopkeeper, and didn’t - wouldn’t ever - hold any true place in Arthur’s life. So why bother pretending? he wondered. Because when it came down to it, Merlin knew that he was awkward and silly and clumsy and these situations were going to keep blindsiding him no matter how much he pretended otherwise. He might as well face them.
So he looked from the slim wallet Arthur held in his hand to Arthur’s face and sighed, resigning himself to the fact that the next time he’d see that face would probably be through a television screen, when Arthur inherited his father’s business.
“You can’t,” he said. “It’s not cologne.”

***

“It’s not cologne,” Merlin said, and Arthur just stared at him in confusion. He didn’t know why Merlin was still resisting, because Arthur had pulled out his wallet, and all Merlin had to do was name a price and Arthur would pay it. It wasn’t as though Merlin didn’t need the money, Arthur thought, as he looked at the man’s faded shirt and battered converse. Merlin really ought to buy a new pair of shoes, at least, and possibly some slippers, the big fluffy kind that Morgana always wore, because Arthur suspected that the man probably didn’t own any and he was far too skinny and frail to be walking about the house barefoot. He’d catch a cold, especially in this weather, and Arthur would have to nurse him back to-

Arthur shook his head, frowning, and cut off that thought. The usual urges he had regarding perfect strangers were generally less affectionate. The fact that he apparently wanted to take care of Merlin rather than simply pushing him up against the wall and having his way with him was disturbing. The fact that he apparently wanted to buy Merlin fluffy slippers (and perhaps take him up against the wall in those same slippers, but Arthur certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge that particular thought) was even more disturbing. He stared down at the wallet in his hand, and decided that the sooner he got out of the shop the better.
“What do you mean, it’s not cologne?” he asked firmly. He leaned closer to Merlin and inhaled. The scent was too strong to be body wash, or soap - the image of Merlin showering, all long, wet limbs and angles, darted briefly through the back of his mind - and Arthur didn’t know what else it could be. Unless...
“Is it perfume?” he asked incredulously. There was certainly something faintly feminine about the scent. “Merlin, are you wearing perfume?” Merlin looked indignant, his cheeks blotching red.
“What? No!” he said. “I’m not a girl, Arthur!” Arthur looked from the full curve of Merlin’s lips to his high, delicate cheekbones and raised an eyebrow, because with a face like that, Merlin could certainly pass for one.

Merlin scowled at him. “I’m not,” he repeated, his hand waving vaguely at the waistband of his trousers as if to say look, this isn’t feminine at all. Arthur swallowed, because how could he not notice the close fit of Merlin’s trousers and the way they highlighted Merlin’s masculinity when Merlin was waving so obviously at them?

Merlin followed Arthur’s gaze and flushed a deep pink as he realised where he’d been gesturing. Arthur tore his eyes away and tried desperately to salvage the conversation, because he knew that it was heading places that he really didn’t want it to go.

“Well what is it, then?” he said quickly, seizing hold of Merlin’s wrist and tugging it up to his face. He knew that he seemed too eager, and that he should just drop it and go and find a different shop to buy cologne from, but Merlin smelt so good, and he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from a scent like that. Merlin made a surprised noise, but Arthur ignored it, lifting the man’s wrist closer to his nose. Merlin was here to help him pick a cologne, after all. And okay, maybe Arthur was technically supposed to be smelling the samples, not the shopkeepers, but he figured that Merlin deserved it anyway. Nobody called Arthur Pendragon a prat and got away with it.

He inhaled again, running the tip of his finger lightly over the base of Merlin’s palm. The scent was lighter than he had expected around Merlin’s wrist, as though it had sunk into his pale skin rather than simply coating its surface; as though it was a part of him. Arthur wondered whether Merlin had thought carefully about that scent - whether he’d tried all of the colognes and decided that it was this one, and this one alone, that appealed to him. That it was this one that suited him the best. He wondered whether it smelt the same to Merlin as it did to himself, and he wondered where Merlin sprayed the scent - whether he dabbed it on the soft, pale underside of his wrists, or perhaps upon the smooth, delicate skin behind the curve of his ears, or the shadowed hollow at the base of his neck. He bent closer, running his fingers carefully along Merlin’s wrist, as though he could find the name of the scent written upon it, if only he looked for long enough.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, and Arthur looked up to see that he’d tugged Merlin far too close, and that Merlin was now staring down at Arthur with huge eyes, his gaze flicking from Arthur’s face to his own hand and back again. Arthur loosened his grip slightly, but didn’t step away.
“Arthur, it’s...” Merlin said, and Arthur watched, fascinated, as a pink blush spread down from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. “It’s not cologne,” he continued quietly. “I don’t wear cologne.”
Arthur opened his mouth to say yes, he’d gathered that already, but Merlin wasn’t finished. “I don’t wear anything,” he said, his voice so low that Arthur almost didn’t hear it. Arthur stared silently at Merlin for a second, wondering what the man meant, and - oh. Oh.

Arthur dropped Merlin’s arm like it was on fire as the man’s words sank in. He didn’t wear anything. Not cologne, or perfume, or any sort of scent that Arthur could buy in a shop. Which meant that the scent Arthur had been trying so eagerly to buy for the last ten minutes, the scent that Arthur had been willing to pay obscene amounts of money to own, the scent that he’d been inhaling on Merlin’s skin - it was simply Merlin. There was no cologne that he could buy, no company he could call up and order a bottle from. The scent didn’t exist anywhere in the world but on Merlin’s skin. It wasn’t artificial, or carefully manufactured to smell appealing, but was instead simply the smell of Merlin’s body, pure and sweet and real and utterly delicious. There was still only one cologne that Arthur had ever liked, because this scent wasn’t cologne. It was Merlin, and Arthur had never smelt anyone so irresistible in his life.

Shit, he thought. Merlin was still pink-faced, staring at him with a mortified expression, twisting his hands nervously in front of him. Shitshitshit. He tried to think clearly, because he was a Pendragon, and he ought to deal with this mess in a dignified manner, the way the Pendragons always did. But he doubted that any member of his family had ever gotten themselves into a situation like the one he was currently facing.

“Oh,” he said. It wasn’t the most eloquent response he’d ever given, but he was still distracted by the way Merlin’s blush highlighted his cheekbones, and the scent, which was still hanging clearly in the air around Merlin’s body, and the fact that he’d basically just admitted to Merlin that he was obsessed with the man's smell. “You might have mentioned that earlier,” he added.

Merlin made a face. “How was I supposed to know that you’d get all-” he paused, and Arthur could tell that he was trying to find a way to describe Arthur’s behaviour. “Well, that you’d like it so much?” he finished, looking up at Arthur.

Arthur felt heat rush through his cheeks as Merlin spoke, and he almost lifted a hand up to feel them, because the sensation was so unfamiliar. He hadn’t blushed in years. He hadn’t felt embarrassed in years, and he almost laughed at that, because Merlin was so untidy and angular and silly and ordinary, and yet he managed to pull all of Arthur’s carefully-buried emotions right up to the surface for all the world to see.

Merlin ran a hand nervously through his hair, leaving it sticking out at angles as though it was trying to escape his head. He was biting his lip again, and Arthur looked at the man’s skinny limbs and his sticky-out ears and his pretty blue eyes and realised that he was wrong. Merlin was anything but ordinary. He might be silly, and absolutely rubbish at shopkeeping, but he had a way of opening up parts of Arthur’s chest that hadn’t been touched in a long time, and he had the only scent in the world that Arthur wanted to wear. And, Arthur realised, he wasn’t going to be walking out of the shop with that scent unless he walked out with Merlin. That thought gave him a strange sense of courage, and he suddenly found that he knew what he wanted to say.

“I bought my last cologne from Italy,” he said. “It was imported especially.” Merlin stared at him warily, as though he was afraid Arthur might tackle him and start trying to squeeze the smell out of him with his bare hands. Arthur frowned. He wasn’t that desperate.
“It was the only cologne I ever liked,” he continued. “But, as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m in need of a new one.” Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur didn’t slow down.
“It seems to me that I have several choices,” he said firmly, his voice slipping into its business tone. He’d always found that it was easier to deal with things that way. “I could walk out of this shop without any cologne, in which case my sister would tell my father what I’ve been doing instead of fencing - an activity of which he would not, I think, approve.” Arthur stepped closer. “I would rather that didn’t occur,” he said softly. Merlin looked down at him, his eyes wide, and Arthur swallowed. He could just stop now and walk out; he could leave Merlin behind him and go home and forget that today had ever happened. But Arthur knew that he wasn’t going to. It was risky and stupid to stay here and try and wade through this mess of a situation looking for a happy ending, but Arthur had never been one to back down from a challenge, and he’d never been afraid to take risks. So he simply took a deep breath of Merlin-scented air and continued onwards.
“Or,” he said quietly, leaning even closer to Merlin, “I could buy your scent.” He rubbed his thumb over the wallet he still held in his hand. Merlin was still staring at him. His mouth was slightly open, and his face was scrunched up with confusion.
“You want to kill me?” he whispered in horror. Arthur blinked, taken aback.
“What? No, you idiot!” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not one of those conspiracy people, are you? The ones who think all wealthy businessmen are secret serial killers?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “You said you wanted to buy my scent, you prat. I’ve seen Perfume. What else was I supposed to think?”
Arthur stared at him, wondering how on earth the man could be so oblivious. “Perhaps, Merlin,” he offered, exasperated, “I was trying to suggest that you could accompany me on occasions when I needed a scent that differed from my current one.” He set his jaw and looked casually at Merlin, trying to pretend that it was an offhand suggestion, one that didn’t really matter. But they both knew that it did.

Merlin tilted his head and looked at Arthur in silence, his blue eyes fixed on Arthur’s face.
“You wouldn’t need to pay me,” he said after a moment, and then blushed. “I mean, you could if you wanted, and if that’s how you want to spend your money then go ahead, but you don’t-" he paused, biting his lip. “I wouldn’t be there for the money,” he finished quietly, and Arthur felt something leap within his chest at those words.

He knew that Merlin was just a shopkeeper, and that things like this - suddenly finding someone who understood every part of you, even when they barely knew you at all - they just didn’t happen, not in real life. He knew that Morgana was going to laugh her head off when she found out what had happened, and that Uther certainly wouldn’t approve, but at this moment, with Merlin staring down at him, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care.

All he really knew was that Merlin was right there in front of him, still blushing, looking more beautiful than any man he’d ever seen, and that Arthur would quite happily give away his inheritance for the chance to wrap himself in Merlin’s smell. So he dropped his wallet onto the table and stepped closer to the man, crowding him up against the shelves and bracing his arms against the wall so that Merlin couldn’t move away.

“And what would you be there for, then?” he asked softly, staring up into Merlin’s eyes. Merlin shifted slightly against the shelves, his chest brushing against Arthur’s.
“You,” he said, and then Arthur kissed him.

***

It was, Arthur thought later, one of the most unusual ways he’d ever started a relationship. But at the time, with Merlin’s fingers twisted into his hair and his mouth hot against Arthur’s, Arthur hadn’t really thought of it as the start. It didn’t feel like the start, even though he’d only known Merlin for a few hours. It felt more like he’d had a Merlin-shaped hole in his life that he’d been trying to fill with other people, and when he’d slotted Merlin into it - well, it wasn’t really the beginning, because some part of Arthur must have been waiting for it to happen all along. Merlin said later that it was destiny, him and Arthur being together. Destiny is for hippies, Merlin, he’d replied, but he secretly thought that Merlin was right, because that moment, when he’d walked into that shop and found Merlin, wasn’t - couldn’t be - simple coincidence.

So he hadn’t kissed Merlin in the way that he usually kissed strangers, rough and fast, with his hands tugging hard at zippers and hair and clothes. He was softer, more hesitant, and it had been Merlin, not Arthur, who tugged them closer together, until Arthur’s chest was flat against Merlin’s. It had been Merlin who parted his lips and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against Arthur’s until Arthur could taste Merlin; until he was enveloped in Merlin’s scent. It had been Merlin who slid his hands down Arthur’s chest, and made Arthur think that he’d like to taste all of Merlin, and wrap Merlin around him until there was nothing but the scent and the feel of Merlin’s skin against his. And when Arthur pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Merlin’s, it had been Merlin who spoke first.

“I’ve thought of an alternative to paying me,” he said after they'd caught their breath, his pink lips curling into a tiny smile. “You can have my scent whenever you want if you tell me what you've been doing that you don’t want your father knowing about.”

Arthur frowned, considering. “You can’t just take the money?” he asked, but Merlin shook his head stubbornly.
“I want to know,” he said, and Arthur sighed. He hadn’t told anyone about it before, mostly because he’d never had anyone to tell. Morgana had found out about it somehow, but they’d never discussed it - she simply held the knowledge over his head as blackmail. Sophia hadn’t asked him about it, because she hadn’t ever asked him about his life. Arthur realised that he hadn’t really met anyone who was interested - actually interested, instead of merely pretending to be - in his life. He’d put up barriers around himself; he’d drawn a line between the way that people saw him and the way he actually was, and now Merlin was trying to cross it and he wasn’t quite sure how to let him.

But the man was still pressed against him, his blue eyes fixed on Arthur’s face as though Arthur’s next words would be the most important ones in the world, and it made Arthur feel as though maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to share this.
“Very well,” he agreed slowly. “Instead of fencing practice, I’ve... I’ve been going horse riding,” he finished quietly. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the wall above Merlin’s head, sure that the man would laugh, because that had been the reaction Morgana had had when she’d found out. He knew it wasn’t what people expected - Arthur Pendragon, businessman and horse rider - but it was important to him, and he found himself wanting Merlin to know that.
Merlin stared at him incredulously. “That’s it?” he asked after a moment. “No black market trade meetings? No illegal strip clubs? No drugs?”
Arthur almost laughed, because he didn’t know how he’d expected Merlin to react, but it hadn’t been like that.
“It’s disturbing how convinced you are that I’m a criminal,” he replied. “And no, though I think that Uther would almost prefer those. He thinks horse riding isn’t - well, he doesn’t think it’s very manly,” he finished. Merlin’s eyes flicked down to where Arthur’s fingers were wrapped around his waist and he raised an eyebrow, as if to say this isn’t very manly either.

Arthur made a face, because he hadn’t exactly told his father about that yet. He sometimes suspected that Uther knew, but the man had never said anything. He’d just pressed Arthur to take up fencing and rugby, and he’d introduced Arthur to a whole parade of thin blonde women who were pretty and wealthy and almost exactly what Arthur had never looked for in a partner.

He had mentioned horse riding to Uther once, though, in the week after he’d broken it off with Sophia. He’d brought it up casually one morning as Uther flicked through his newspaper over breakfast. His father had dismissed the idea with a few words - he hadn’t even thought it was important enough to discuss - and Arthur had known then that this was something Uther wouldn’t understand, in the same way that he didn’t understand Morgana’s desire to learn fencing.

So Arthur hadn’t told him about it, but every Tuesday he drove to one of the forest trails outside the city and spent an hour or two riding through the woods. It seemed manly to him - it wasn’t as though he was doing dressage or anything, it was simpler than that. It was just him and his horse and the forest. He didn’t even know why he liked it, really, he only knew that when he was riding hard through the trees he felt as though he was a warrior, or a king - fierce and unstoppable and mighty.

And sometimes he’d convince his fencing partner, Lance, to come too, and they’d take out their foils and practice in the middle of the forest with their horses grazing nearby and the branches hanging low overhead. They’d fight until they were sweat-drenched and panting; until they’d forgotten about technique and stance and instead just fought wildly, instinctually, as though they were facing real enemies; as though they had something to fight for. In moments like that it seemed as though they were as powerful as the knights of old, the ones Arthur had read about in stories when he was small. It made him feel oddly free, like this was a side of himself that he’d buried beneath business suits and cologne, and it wasn’t until he was in the saddle that he could let that part of him come loose.

He didn’t tell that to Merlin, of course, because he didn’t think he could explain it, and he wasn’t quite ready to try. But Merlin was gazing at him thoughtfully, as though he could tell exactly what Arthur was thinking.
“If you like it, then it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” he said simply, and Arthur nodded, because Merlin was right, even if the man didn’t know anything about Uther. Arthur knew that he had many things in his life that Uther had forced on him, and he’d decided that he was going to take a few - horse riding, and Merlin - for himself.
“I know,” he said softly, because he did know, he’d made that decision long ago, but it still made him feel better to know that someone supported it. Even if that someone was a silly, clumsy shopkeeper. He leaned closer to Merlin, hands sliding around the man’s waist, and was about to brush his lips against Merlin’s again when he heard a voice behind him.
“Merlin?” it said.
They both turned to see Gwen staring at them in surprise, her gaze flicking from Merlin’s hands on Arthur’s hips to their position against the shelves. Arthur started guiltily and tried to move away, but Merlin moved with him, keeping his arms firmly around Arthur’s waist.
“Yes?” he asked casually, peering over Arthur’s shoulder. Gwen looked between the two of them and gave a sigh.
“Never mind.” She shook her head. “Just - try not to seduce any more of the customers,” she said, and Merlin grinned. Gwen turned away towards the back room, but paused as she reached the door.
“Oh, and Merlin?” she added, and Merlin looked back over at her. “If you’re not back to work in five minutes, I really will send you to Gaius’ for dinner.”
Merlin groaned in protest, but Gwen merely smiled at him and shut the door firmly behind her. Arthur looked at Merlin questioningly.
“Gaius can’t cook to save his life,” Merlin explained, running his fingers down Arthur’s arm. “I’ve been having dinner at Gwen’s place.”

Arthur thought for a moment, then reached over to the shelf and picked up a piece of card.
“Here,” he said, writing his number on the card and passing it to Merlin. “If you do find yourself facing Gaius’ cooking tonight, call me. I’m sure I can find somewhere else for us to eat.” A grin split Merlin’s face as he curled his fingers around the card, and Arthur felt himself smile too, because really, he didn’t think that there was anyone in the world who could resist smiling when they saw Merlin’s eyes crinkle up like that.

The phone in his pocket suddenly emitted a beeping noise, and Arthur remembered that he was supposed to be meeting Morgana, and that Merlin still had a job to do, even if he wasn’t any good at doing it. He pulled reluctantly away from the man and picked up his wallet and the citrus-scented cologne from the table.
“I’ll take this one,” he said, and Merlin looked at him curiously. “Morgana expects me to buy something,” he explained.

Merlin nodded, then took the bottle and ran it through the register with surprising speed. After he’d paid, Arthur leant across the counter and stretched his arms around the back of Merlin’s neck, fingers brushing against Merlin’s skin as he gently unknotted the man’s scarf.
“So I smell like something other than my sister’s boyfriend,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the curve of Merlin’s ear. Merlin shivered as Arthur lifted the scarf away from his neck.
“You thief,” he replied. Arthur tucked the scarf into the top pocket of his jacket and took the cologne out of Merlin’s hand, his fingers tangling in Merlin’s for a second before he pulled them reluctantly free.
“I’m a businessman,” he replied haughtily. “Crime comes naturally to me.” He backed away as Merlin walked slowly around the edge of the counter, eyes narrowed.
“Prat,” he said with a grin, and launched himself at Arthur. Arthur stumbled backwards, his arms full of Merlin’s limbs and hands and elbows, and he was laughing too hard to realise that someone else had walked into the shop until he collided with them.

“Oh,” he said, and turned to see Lance staring at down at him in bemusement. “Lance, hi.” Merlin untangled himself from Arthur and looked between the two of them.
“This is my fencing partner,” Arthur explained to Merlin. “I’d better go,” he continued, because he needed to leave while he still had at least some of his dignity intact. Lance looked knowingly from Merlin to Arthur and back again, and then walked casually over to wait by the counter.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Arthur whispered. Merlin smiled at him, all pink lips and crinkled eyes, and nodded, wrapping his arms briefly around Arthur’s waist before turning towards the counter. Arthur waved goodbye to Lance, who was peering intently towards the back room of the shop where Gwen was working, and walked towards the door. He knew that Lance would ride out with him again that afternoon, and Arthur would forget that he had a job and a suit and a car and he’d just be Arthur, flying through the forest with the wind in his hair, the whole world spread out before him and the memory of Merlin like a line within his chest, tugging him back towards home.

He left the shop and stood on the footpath outside for a moment, staring in through the window. He could see Merlin at the counter, smiling widely, his eyes still fixed on Arthur. He was alone, because Lance had disappeared into the back room of the shop, and Arthur had to resist the urge to run back inside and hold Merlin and run his fingers over the man’s silly, gorgeous face, just to make sure that he hadn’t imagined any of it. But he didn’t. He knew that it was real, because he had a bottle of hideous cologne in his hand, the taste of Merlin on his lips, and the best scent in the world tucked away in his pocket.

He waved goodbye to Merlin through the window and turned away from the shop, his heart full with the knowledge that something he hadn’t even known he’d been missing had suddenly appeared in his life, and everything seemed just a little bit brighter because of it. And as he walked away down the footpath, his hand in his pocket, Merlin’s scarf wrapped tightly around his fingers, he could almost have sworn that he heard Gwen squealing.

The End.