FIC: "Can't Buy Me Love" | NC-17 | Merlin/Arthur | Part 2 of 2
Title: Can't Buy Me Love
Rating: NC-17
Author's notes and warnings are here.
← Part One
November 1964
It was a crisp, sunny Friday in late November when Arthur came into Merlin's office and closed the door, wearing a distinctly uneasy expression.
"Hello," Merlin said carefully, trying not to let his mind fly in a million different directions at once.
"Hi," Arthur said, drawing back his jacket to put his hands in his trouser pockets. His red tie, Merlin's personal favourite, was tucked neatly in behind the shiny buttons of his waistcoat. "I need you to do something for me," he said, after a moment, and he looked really tired, with heavy bags under his eyes.
"It there a body you need disposing of?"
"What?"
"The look on your face right now is really quite sinister."
Arthur huffed a laugh, and a little of the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate. "No," he said, "no dead bodies. As of yet, anyway."
"Well, that's reassuring. I suppose. What's going on?"
"Le Fay Tobacco."
"What now?"
"Nothing new, really. But we've hit a wall. The entire team is-I don't know, they just can't seem to find it. Morgana's been in four times in the past month, and unceremoniously shot down every idea we've pitched."
"Were they good ideas?"
Arthur tilted his head. "They were-fine. Under normal circumstances, they'd be more than good enough. But given the current climate, and all the public awareness campaigns ramping up, they're not what Morgana wants."
"So you want me to take a stab at it."
"I know I said I wouldn't ask you to work on this account, Merlin, but-I'm afraid it's getting a bit dire. Leon and Percival have been asking for weeks why I haven't brought you in on it yet."
"Is she still asking us to lie?"
Arthur paused. "She is, but I think the right idea could make her see that we don't need to."
"Really?"
"I hope so."
"Because I won't, Arthur."
"I know," Arthur said, "I'm not asking you to. If we use your copy, you have my word that the ad will be completely honest." He was looking Merlin straight in the eye, as earnestly as he ever had, which was making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Arthur seemed to interpret his hesitation as indecision. "It's just," Arthur continued, his expression turning embarrassed and beseeching, "I didn't want to say anything, and no one else knows this, but if we lose this account-that's the game, I'm afraid."
Merlin blinked, and straightened in his seat. "What do you mean?"
"It's no secret that we've had a rough year, and a particularly rough last few months. As it is, I going to have to let two people go by the end of the year so we can afford this suite's rent come January. If we lose Morgana, I-well, we haven't worked out the exact maths yet, but I'm sure you can imagine."
Merlin stared at him, doing his best to ignore the urge to reach out and smooth over the line between his eyebrows. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "How soon do you need it?"
Arthur pressed his lips together before saying, almost unwillingly, "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's Saturday. Monday?"
Arthur shook his head. "Tomorrow morning. In the meeting today, she was ready to walk, but I talked her into one more try. She's going to Italy for the rest of the year tomorrow afternoon, and if we don't pitch something she likes, she'll give her board instruction to go with another agency."
"It won't keep until she gets back? The ban doesn't go into effect until August."
"She's digging her heels in, and these are her terms."
Merlin sighed. "Wonderful. The fate of our agency rests on the shoulders of a mad woman, and I have twenty-four hours to bring her around. No pressure, then."
"I know you'll think of something."
"Your faith in me invaluable, but I don't suppose you could do something useful, like magic us up an extra day?"
Arthur grinned. "I would if I could. Eight days in a week, just to show you how I care."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "That's not quite how it goes," he said, and then, over Arthur's smirk, "Hey, I haven't played that one for you yet, and it's only just come out. You've been listening on your own, haven't you?"
Arthur frowned. "What? No. Of course you've played it for me."
"Nope!" Merlin crowed. "That particular record is still sitting on my player at home, and has not made a single visit to the office. You have been listening on your own. Admit it! You like them!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, you impossible fool," Arthur said, waving his hand unconvincingly and turning for the door. "Now get to work before I change my mind and sack you right now."
"Prat," Merlin called after him, grinning like a loon.
#
It was a long, unfruitful day that was quickly turning into a long, unfruitful night when Arthur appeared in Merlin's doorway yet again. "How's it coming?"
Merlin just sighed, exasperated.
"Would dinner help?" Arthur held up what appeared to be two wrapped sandwiches. "Paltry offerings, I'm afraid, but I sent all the girls home, so we're fending for ourselves."
"You spoil me," Merlin said, waving Arthur into the room and trying not to look as touched as he felt.
"Come up with something brilliant to save my agency, and we'll call it even." Arthur handed Merlin his sandwich and then settled into one of the chairs opposite the desk, and Merlin tried not to remember the last time Arthur stayed with him in his office late into the night. It was a relief that Arthur didn't seem to be drinking as much tonight.
"So you've really got nothing?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound worried and failing.
Merlin sighed again, unwrapping his sandwich and smiling a little at the egg and cress inside, and the toasted bread. Arthur had remembered his favourite. "Nothing I don't hate," he said, and took a bite. "All I've got is a crush-proof box," he continued, mouth full, "and four out of five dead people smoked the other brands."
"Did Leon show you everything she's rejected so far?"
"Eight Days A Week"
Merlin nodded. "And I understand where she's coming from with a lot of it, it all feels so silly next to the giant elephant in the room. We can't expect anyone to take the slim-your-figure argument seriously anymore, or think that beautiful people on a beach enjoying a smoke with their mates will be enough to make them forget. None of that's strong enough. People aren't going to forget, so we've got to find some way to bring it back to what they love about smoking."
"But isn't that it, though? The feelings they associate it with? If Strand Cigarettes were driven out of the market because they inadvertently associated themselves with feeling lonely, surely associating this brand with camaraderie, fun, and feeling good about how you look is exactly what we want?"
"It was. But the after-effects are a mixed bag now. With one, comes all the others."
Arthur pursed his lips unhappily, and then took a bite of his own sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"What do you know about how cigarettes are made?" Merlin asked, after a while.
Arthur shrugged. "I imagine there's a factory involved."
"Before that. On the tobacco farm."
"Nothing," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Leon, though, had a couple long meetings with one of Morgana's partners and went to their headquarters at least once. He might know."
"Oh right, he gave me those notes, hang on." Merlin set down his sandwich and dug through the messy surface of his desk, until he found the single piece of lined yellow paper, with Leon's sparse notes scrawled on it. "There's not much, but here we go: 'specially-bred insect-repellent tobacco plants, grown in sunny climes, cut, cured, and'," Merlin squinted at the page, "'toasterised'? I think? His penmanship's a bit wonky there."
"Is that even a word?"
"Industry term, apparently," Merlin said, and smiled when Arthur frowned disapprovingly.
"But we already have a word for that. Why don't they just say 'toasted'? I don't like made-up words."
"I know you don't," Merlin chuckled, "you dollophead." Arthur scowled, and Merlin laughed harder.
One thing led to another, as it sometimes does after a long day, and soon Merlin was doubled over, wiping inexplicable tears of laughter from his face as Arthur glared at him. "OK, OK," Merlin managed, a few minutes later, "clearly, it's time for Step Two. I've obviously had it."
"Step Two?" Arthur asked, as Merlin stood and went to the record player. "Merlin, we don't have time for your ridiculous song and dance right now."
"Arthur, that's all we have time for. Step One: Think about it as much as you can. Step Two: Don't think about it at all, and it'll come to you. I've thought about it as much as I can stand, clearly, so now we just have to hope it comes to me before tomorrow's meeting."
Vintage cigarette ad touting weight-loss
He ignored Arthur's horrified expression over the opening chord of "A Hard Day's Night", and poured them each a drink as he started singing along. "Either relax or leave, Arthur," he said as he shoved the drink into Arthur's hand, "but you can't just sit there glaring at me or this isn't going to work."
Merlin danced around the room and back to his desk, turning at the appropriate moments to sing at Arthur accusingly, "I've been working like a dog," and "I should be sleeping like a log." Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was tapping his foot, and soon he was mouthing along to at least some of the words. Merlin chuckled quietly and took another bite of his dinner.
"When I'm hoooooome," he crooned around a mouthful of egg and toast, "everything seems to be riiii-iiiiight."
"Must you sing with your mouth full?" Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose.
Merlin grinned and took a bigger bite, and sang completely unintelligibly for several lines. Arthur stared at him, increasingly disgusted, and by the time the song reached its final chorus, Merlin was hamming it right the hell up. "But when I get home to you," he pointed at Arthur, with the sandwich still in hand, "I find the things that you do a-make me feel all right. You know, I feel all right. You know, I feeeeeeel aaaaall-" Merlin suddenly stopped, mouth open, staring at both the remains of his sandwich-no more than a single bite's worth of egg and toasted crust, still suspended in front of him-and at Arthur.
After a moment, he closed his mouth and resumed chewing slowly.
Arthur's unimpressed expression slid into something more animated. "What is it?" he asked carefully. "A Hard Day's Night"
Merlin held up his hand while the song finished. The room was silent for a few seconds, and the opening harmonica of "I Should Have Known Better" was a few bars in by the time Merlin said, "It's toasted."
Arthur looked at him blankly.
"Le Fay Tobacco is toasted," Merlin said again. "Like breakfast."
Arthur tilted his head. "Go on."
"It isn't about what's good or bad for you, or slimming your figure, or looking cool at the beach or on a street corner, it's about home. It's about all those private, wonderful little things people do for each other, like when you wake up to the smell of warm bread and fresh coffee, and stumble into the kitchen to find your mother or your spouse or your lover toasting your breakfast."
Arthur didn't say anything, for a moment, just looked back at Merlin. "That is nice," he said.
"Doesn't it just-warm you up a bit?" Merlin said. He smiled and held up the remaining bit of his sandwich. "Or when someone remembers exactly your favourite sandwich, and even has them toast the bread before he brings it to you, so you won't forget to eat dinner." Arthur blinked, and Merlin grinned at him. "It's toasted!" he proclaimed.
Arthur didn't say anything, and Merlin faltered. "Unless you like 'It's toasterised' better?" he ventured, and he would have taken the joke further except suddenly Arthur was right there, dangerously close-and then just dangerous, full stop, kissing him.
Merlin sucked in a breath, and had only just registered the warmth of Arthur's lips, the perfect scratch of his chin and the smell of his skin, when Arthur reared back. Merlin gaped at him, his eyes unnaturally wide and his breath coming in fast, shallow pants that quickly left him dizzy.
Arthur stared back at him, in exactly the same state of shock, and neither of them moved until a door down the hall slammed shut, and they jumped further apart.
"I think that's, um," Arthur finally said, his gaze darting around the floor, "that's it. 'It's toasted.' I should go-run it past the others."
Merlin tried to agree, but couldn't get the words out as his heart hammered in his chest.
"And Lancelot, so he can start the art. Unless you want to?" Arthur looked up, guiltily. "It's your idea, after all."
Merlin couldn't imagine speaking to anyone. He shook his head. "S'fine," he managed, his mouth dry. "Go ahead."
Arthur looked at him, mouth a bit open, for another moment, and then left. Merlin watched him go and tried to steady his breathing, to get a hold of himself. "Oh my god," he muttered, because this was not possible. This-this was probably going to cost him his job, at best, and-wild images of Arthur coming back to his office started flashing uncontrollably through Merlin's mind, of Arthur locking the door and throwing him down on the desk and tearing both their clothes off, and Merlin needed to get out of there immediately, before he did something irreparably stupid.
"I Should Have Known Better" was still playing in the corner, and John was in the middle of crooning about never realising what a kiss could be. "Oh my god, shut up," Merlin snapped at him, switching the machine off, and then he grabbed his coat and fled before Arthur could return.
#
He walked home quickly, clumsy with nervous energy, and was still shaking when he mounted the three flights of stairs to his flat. He'd made the short trip home in record time, so it was a shock for more than one reason to find Arthur there, leaning against the door to his flat, overcoat hanging long and unbuttoned around him. He held his hat in his hand, the edge a bit crushed, like he hadn't noticed how tightly he'd been holding it.
Merlin stared at him, speechless. It occurred to him to just turn around and flee right back down the stairs, and he probably should have, because his resolve had lasted entirely too long-he had been so strong for so long-too strong to muck it all up now.
"Oh," Arthur said. "Well, that's good."
Merlin blinked. "What?" he managed, after a minute, and then he couldn't look at Arthur anymore. His eyes darted to the door, to the wall, to the floor.
"I thought you were in there, ignoring me."
"Have you been here long?"
"A few minutes."
"How did you get here so fast? I practically sprinted the whole way."
"Took a cab."
"Oh." After an awkward pause, "How d'you even know where I live? I'm the one who always puts you in the cab."
"You're on my payroll, Merlin. Obviously I have your address."
"Oh."
Silence stretched between them, and Merlin thought about opening the door and going inside, but the logistics of fishing his keys out of pocket, of stepping any closer to Arthur, and then of mastering the relatively fine motor skills necessary to unlock the bolt were entirely overwhelming, so he didn't move.
"Why are you here?" he finally managed.
It took Arthur a moment to answer. "You left before I could-I didn't want-I mean, I just needed to-" He swore as he cut himself off. Merlin still couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, do you want me to leave?" Arthur asked, sounding helpless.
Merlin didn't say anything, because what he wanted and how he should answer that question were two completely different things.
The silence stretched on, reaching the point of ludicrousness before Merlin finally managed, "Would you like a drink?" and Arthur inflated a little, like he'd been unable to breathe, and could finally pull in air again. He nodded and stepped away from the door, and they didn't speak as Merlin unlocked it with trembling fingers, nor as they removed their overcoats and Arthur followed him into the kitchen. Merlin could feel Arthur determinedly not watching him as he went to the cupboard and pulled out two mismatched glasses and a three-quarters-full bottle of whiskey. He poured in silence, and turned to give Arthur his glass.
Their fingers brushed as the glass exchanged hands, and Merlin couldn't help it when his eyes darted to Arthur's face, and then refused to dart back again.
The blue of Arthur's eyes frayed every last one of Merlin's nerves, and it was only a moment before he was lunging forward, pressing his mouth to Arthur's and trapping the glass of whiskey between them, soaking both his shirt and Arthur's waistcoat with liquor. Arthur grunted in surprise, but kissed Merlin back hungrily, stepping them back to the counter after a minute, so he could reach around him and put down the empty glass. Then he brought both hands up to bracket Merlin's jaw and throat, his fingers sliding hard and perfect into Merlin's hair, and Merlin gave an embarrassingly whimper-like sigh straight into Arthur's mouth.
They stood there against the counter for a long time, consumed with kissing one another. Merlin was dizzy with the wet slide of Arthur's tongue and the dry rasp of his chin. His fingers skimmed behind Merlin's ears, causing him to shiver almost violently, and then there needed to be more.
Merlin's fingers flew to Arthur's wet waistcoat, and scrabbled at the buttons. He pushed it open only to find more buttons and the also-damp fabric of his dress shirt.
"Ugh, you posh wanker," he groaned, "why do you wear so many clothes?"
Arthur huffed a laugh, and was already pulling off his own tie. "Shut up, Merlin," he said. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and Merlin watched, breathless and amazed, torn between wanting to keep watching and wanting Arthur to come back and kiss him again. Arthur made quick work of his cuff-links, then shrugged his coat, waistcoat and shirt off in one, and Merlin's mouth was dry and his cock hard and his chest sore at the sight of Arthur before him in nothing but a thin, well-worn undershirt tucked into his trousers.
He'd never seen Arthur in anything that didn't look brand new, or a least expertly starched and pressed to appear so, and there was something absurdly endearing in knowing that beneath it all, the layer closest to his skin was as careworn and simple as Merlin's own undershirts. Merlin reached out to touch it, needing to know if it was as soft as it looked. It was. He ran the pads of his fingers over Arthur's belly, and felt Arthur's stomach shake with a confused breath.
"I like your undershirt," Merlin said stupidly.
"Does that mean I shouldn't take it off?" Arthur asked, frowning.
Merlin paused. "Only if you'd rather I rip it off."
Arthur huffed a surprised laugh, which turned into a scoff. "As if you could," he said, with more affection than Merlin was quite ready to wrap his mind around, and then Arthur pulled the old shirt up and over his head, mussing his hair.
It took Arthur's raised eyebrows to snap Merlin back into action, pulling off his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt, and he very nearly stopped again when Arthur got impatient and started kissing him, and only finally managed to get it all off with Arthur's clumsy assistance.
Arthur's hands settled against Merlin's waist, strong and firm, and he pulled them away from the kitchen counter as he kissed him hard, and they clumsily made their way into the living room, fumbling open their belts. Merlin glanced at his small sofa and wanted more than anything to push Arthur through to the bedroom, where they'd have much more room to manoeuvre, but that felt big, somehow, risky, and Arthur was undoing his trousers, so Merlin didn't say anything and let Arthur push him down onto the cushions. He slid up and parted his legs so Arthur could follow him down, slot between them.
Arthur stretched out overtop of him, acres of bare chest pressing down against Merlin's, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat and stayed there, leaving him light-headed by the time Arthur had both their trousers undone and was trying to free Merlin's cock from his underwear.
"A little help here, Merlin?" Arthur asked, voice strained.
Merlin grunted and reached down to free himself, groaning when his cock slid free and bobbed up against the starched fabric of Arthur's open trousers.
Arthur didn't move for a moment, just stared at Merlin's cock before running a tentative finger down the length of it. Merlin made his most embarrassing noise yet and threw his head back, knocking it against the solid arm of the sofa.
Arthur glanced up at him, then reached down to free his own cock when he saw Merlin hadn't injured himself. It wasn't as easy as it should have been, in the small space of the sofa, and he had to reach up and hold onto the back of it to balance himself.
"I have a-" Merlin cut himself off.
"A what?" Arthur said, glancing at him as he tried to find a good position.
"A bed," Merlin said, his voice cracking.
Arthur looked at him sharply, eyes wide.
"It's just that it's bigger," Merlin said quickly, "so it might be-but I don't-I mean if you'd rather-" He cut himself off as his face heated uncontrollably.
Arthur's cheeks flushed darker as well, and then he was pushing himself up and off the sofa, away from Merlin, and something in Merlin's chest keened at his idiocy. He sat up, mind reeling with trying to think of what to say.
"Through there?" Arthur asked, against Merlin's silence.
Merlin looked up, and he was gesturing to the bedroom door. It was a moment before Merlin could nod yes.
"Are you coming or not?" Arthur said, a little sharply, as his hands clutched at his open trousers.
Merlin looked at him, his blond hair a mess, his lips wet and red, his chin pink with the beginning of whisker burn, the shiny head of his cock poking out of his trousers, and felt a renewed bout of dizziness.
"Yeah," Merlin answered, before managing to push himself up off the sofa in a rush. "Yeah, c'mon." He couldn't help touching Arthur as he brushed past him, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pulling him along towards the bedroom, and Arthur resisted only long enough to kick off his shoes and shove his trousers down to the floor, stepping out of them and into complete nudity.
Merlin grinned at him and followed suit, and then they were in the bedroom, and Merlin was pulling Arthur down on top of him on the bed, and Arthur slotted over him perfectly, wrapping his hand around both their cocks, and it was a hot, fast, clumsy bit of desperation before Merlin was coming harder than he had in ages, spilling hot and wet over Arthur's fingers and cock.
And then he wasn't quite all there, for a moment or two, and the next thing he was fully aware of was Arthur flopping down next to him, spent and panting. Arthur's eyes were closed, facing Merlin, and Merlin stared at him, torn between disappointment at missing the look on his face as he came and the huge, confusing feeling of euphoria mixed with dread, because even in the perfection of afterglow, Merlin couldn't help but wonder what the fuck was going to happen next.
Arthur's eyes opened after a few minutes, and Merlin watched his gaze slowly focus. He offered Merlin a tired smile, and adjusted his head against the pillow. His eyes fell shut again almost immediately, and Merlin watched, disbelieving, as all the lines on his face softened, and his breathing became slow and regular.
Merlin exhaled, and it was a long, uncertain amount of time spent quietly losing his mind in the dark before he joined Arthur in sleep.
#
When Merlin woke up, soft morning light was filtering through his bedroom window, and Arthur was still there, naked and quiet, stretched out in sleep. Merlin didn't want to move for fear of waking him and losing the moment, but his full bladder insisted that he not wait very long.
Arthur was blinking against the daylight when Merlin returned from the bathroom.
"You're here," Merlin said, for lack of anything better.
"Yes," Arthur said, in his familiar You're an idiot, Merlin voice, but it had a slightly softer edge than usual when he added, "You weren't terribly drunk without me noticing last night, were you?"
Merlin huffed a laugh as Arthur sat up. "No, I mean you're still here. I would've expected you to... steal away in the night. But I guess you were too busy sleeping like a log."
"I did wake up, actually," Arthur said lightly, stretching his arms out in front of his chest, "but you were right there sleeping, and I didn't want to leave."
Arthur's eyes went a little wide at the same moment Merlin's heart did a terrific bit of acrobatics against his ribs. Arthur flushed and he opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut and looked down at the bed, attempting to keep casually stretching.
After an excruciating minute, Merlin managed, "Would you like coffee? Or breakfast? I've got-well, not much, actually, I was meant to do the shopping after work last night, but I'm sure I can manage something. Don't want you to starve."
Arthur looked at the alarm clock next to Merlin's bed and shook his head. "The meeting with Morgana is in less than an hour, I should go."
"OK," Merlin said too quickly, nodding, "sure. Do you want me to come?"
Arthur looked thoughtful before he said, "No, it's all right. You'll do the formal presentation to her partners later this week, but you don't have to come in today, unless you want to. You should stay home, enjoy your Saturday."
Merlin nodded. "All right." He sat on the bed for another awkward moment before going to his drawer for some pants, and then left Arthur to sort out his own clothes without an audience. He found the tangle of Arthur's coat, waistcoat and shirt on the kitchen floor alongside the soft pile of his undershirt, and waited to hear the bathroom door click shut before going into the lounge to drape them over the back of the sofa.
He put the kettle on and started toast for himself as he tried resolutely not to listen to the sound of Arthur's 'I didn't want to leave' replaying in his head over and over.
By the time he heard Arthur's dress shoes on the wood floor in the lounge, coming towards the kitchen, Merlin still had no idea what to think about any of this.
"Smells good," Arthur said, appearing in the kitchen door. His clothes were a bit rumpled, and the whiskey Merlin had spilled had left a stain on both his waistcoat and his shirt, but even so, he was very much daytime Arthur, and Merlin felt a small pang of regret at the loss.
"It's toasted," Merlin said, lifting his shoulders.
Arthur gave a small, surprised laugh. "So it is."
"Sure you don't want any?" Merlin asked, when Arthur just watched him for a moment. Merlin's cheeks went hot, as he remembered saying something at the office last night about finding your lover making you breakfast. "Sorry about your shirt," he said quickly, diverting. "Will you have time to go home for a new one?"
Arthur shook his head. "I keep fresh ones in my desk drawer, it's all right."
"That's clever," Merlin said, and tried not to think about why Arthur did that.
"We'll see on you Monday, then," Arthur said stiffly, after a moment. "Have a nice weekend."
Merlin nodded, refusing to feel disappointed. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, and after a moment Arthur ducked his head again and retreated towards the front door. Merlin listened to him pull his overcoat off the stand before he grabbed a piece of toast off his plate and hurried after him.
"Arthur," he said, holding out the toast and feeling ridiculous for it, when Arthur turned to him. "Eat it on the way."
Arthur looked at it a moment before taking it. "Thank you," he said, and paused just long enough before turning to leave that Merlin had time to screw up his courage and lunge forward to kiss him. Arthur drew a surprised breath, but kissed Merlin back softly without more than a moment's hesitation. Merlin held his eyes determinedly open and tried to commit everything about Arthur this close up to memory, mostly just to last him the rest of the weekend, but also-just in case.
When he pulled back, Arthur stared at him with large, bewildered eyes.
"Bye," Merlin said, after a moment.
"Good bye," Arthur replied, and fumbled with the bolt before letting himself out.
#
Merlin spent the weekend vacillating between two extremes. The first was a dopey, rose-tinted euphoria that tended to take the form of lying along the length of his too-small sofa, imagining Arthur stretched out over top of him-comfortably, this time, which he knew was impractical, but it was a daydream and in daydreams you could do whatever impractical things you liked-and just kissing him for hours, slow and sweet and exactly how Merlin knew he'd always be too embarrassed to ask for it. He lay there and imagined it, smiling and pulling at his cock with no particular desire to come.
The second extreme was dread, a dread worse than Merlin had felt in a long time, maybe worse than he'd ever felt, because he knew, with a cold certainty, that it was too good to be true. He didn't actually have experience with this sort of thing close-up-he had only ever had his heart broken from afar, slowly and excruciatingly-but he knew enough to know that men from Arthur's world didn't do this sort of thing in a way that ever ended well.
Arthur admitting that he hadn't wanted to leave only made things worse, and Merlin had horrible fantasies of an embarrassed, vulnerable Arthur lashing out and sacking Merlin before he even got to the office on Monday morning so they'd never have to see one another again, or be reminded of what happened.
"I Should Have Known Better"
Merlin groaned wretchedly and buried his face in his hands, wishing for a way to undo this, wishing that the Doctor would turn up and whisk him away in that rubbish police box of his, back to Friday night so he could stop it, or just away, anywhere, to any distant time or place where he could content himself in bed with Ian Chesterton and never see bloody Arthur again.
Merlin wallowed and thought about compiling a list of people to contact about the possibility of a new job and tried desperately not to listen to the small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind that kept pointing out that it was Arthur who had kissed him first and then followed him home, who hadn't objected to having sex on the bed, and who had stayed the night because he hadn't wanted to leave.
#
The ride up the lift on Monday morning was both too long and too short, and Merlin focussed on taking deep, steadying breaths as he prepared himself, half-certain that Arthur would be there waiting to sack him the moment the lift doors opened. He wasn't, and despite the fact that Merlin fully expected to find him around every corner, he wasn't in the corridor, or in Merlin's office, or at the tea cart, or in the bathroom. He wasn't in his own office, either, and by eleven o'clock, Merlin was beginning to suspect that Arthur wasn't actually there at all.
His imagination, agile as ever, was outdoing itself by the time he heard Arthur's distinctive march down the hall, coming from the conference room and getting closer. Merlin breathed and tried not to look too desperate or too hopeful as he looked to the door, desperately hoping that Arthur would stop in for a hello.
Arthur's steps got closer, and then he appeared through the open door-and marched right past without a word. Merlin thought he saw Arthur's eyes dart in to glance at him, but not long enough to make any kind of meaningful eye contact, and Merlin just stared out the door for a long minute after he disappeared again, the others from the conference room trailing after, feeling the wind completely knocked out of him.
#
At two-thirty, Merlin remembered that he still had no idea how the meeting on Saturday had gone. He didn't know if Morgana had liked the pitch, or if Camelot was still on the brink of financial failure.
Solid and reasonable pretext in hand, Merlin marched down the hall to Arthur's office, only to find it empty.
"Is he here?" Merlin asked Arthur's secretary, managing only a weak smile for her.
"He's in and out today, I'm afraid," she answered, checking the calendar, "but he's open from four-thirty on, so you should be able to catch him then."
#
An hour and not a single bit of productive work later, Gwen buzzed him.
"Yes?" he asked, pressing the button on his intercom, and trying not to indulge the pathetic bit of hope that sparked in his chest.
"Mr du Lac is here to see you," Gwen said through the speaker.
Merlin swallowed, feeling stupid. "Send him in," he answered.
The door opened and Lancelot appeared, a collection of papers under his arm. "Merlin," he said warmly, in greeting.
"Hi, Lancelot," Merlin replied. "Drink?"
Lancelot looked surprised, and Merlin reflected that he wasn't sure when it had become his habit to reflexively offer liquor to everyone who came into his office. "No, thank you," Lancelot said. "Do you have a moment to look at the sketches I've come up with for the Le Fay pitch on Friday?"
Merlin nodded. "Sure," he said, "Of course."
Lancelot spread four concept sketches out on Merlin's desk. "I went for mostly domestic scenes, like you said," he explained, "but I did one of a group of soldiers, as well, thinking that sort of camaraderie might also work."
Ian Chesterton, companion to the First Doctor, 1963-1965
Merlin glanced quickly at the three scenes in different kitchens, and then picked up the drawing of four men in army uniforms, smoking together over coffee. "Yes, that's wonderful," he said, smiling. "Exactly right." He set it down and took a closer look at the other three sketches: one of a pair of children eating breakfast, their parents watching and smoking happily; one of an older couple, sitting quiet and content at their kitchen table over crumb-strewn breakfast plates and half-finished cigarettes; and one of a young couple, likely newlyweds, smoking and making eyes at each other while coffee brewed and toast popped off to the side.
Merlin stared at this last one, and he knew Lancelot was still talking, but his mind flew immediately back to Saturday morning, to the memory of Arthur in his kitchen. He cringed and wondered how he was ever going to look Arthur in the eye again.
"Merlin?" Lancelot asked, for what was clearly not the first time, and Merlin snapped back into the moment. "Are you all right?"
"Sorry," he said, flushing hot. "Yes. Sorry." He put down the drawing of the young couple, and picked the soldiers back up again instead. "These are perfect," he said. "Exactly what I had in mind. Thank you."
Lancelot studied him a moment. "Are you all right? You don't look so good."
Merlin tried to smile. "Long day," he said. "That's all. Didn't sleep well last night."
Lancelot kept looking at him, frowning. "Try not to work too hard, Merlin. I know Arthur asks a lot of you, and he'd certainly be lost without you, but you're of no use to anyone if you don't take care of yourself."
"Thanks," Merlin said, after a moment.
#
Merlin returned to Arthur's office at four-twenty-five, and his secretary was already wearing an apologetic smile. "He's just phoned," she said, "and won't be back today after all. I can ring him back for you, if it's urgent?"
Merlin shook his head and thanked her, trying to ignore the iron weight settling into his stomach.
"Everything all right, Merlin?" Leon asked from the doorway to his office, next door to Arthur's.
Merlin looked at him. "Have you seen Arthur today?" he asked.
"Not since lunch, come to think of it," Leon answered. "He and I were in a client meeting until half one, and then he had to go do something."
Merlin's stomach clenched, imagining Arthur fucking several prostitutes in turn all afternoon.
Gwaine walked past, "Have you checked your own office, Merlin? That's where I usually find him."
#
Tuesday was more of the same, punctuated by all the times Merlin tried and failed to catch Arthur's eye, and by Wednesday he was ready to give up, to let himself sink into the hollow, broken feeling taking root inside him. Anger and hurt flared hotly inside him every time he heard Arthur in the corridor, or someone said his name, or Merlin's mind wandered back to the weekend. It was a more or less constant thing. He couldn't decide who he was the most angry with-Arthur for being like this, or himself for letting it happen.
On Thursday afternoon, Gwen stepped into his office and shut the door. "Are you all right?" she asked. "No, I mean, you're clearly not. What's the matter?"
Merlin looked at her, and he wanted to tell her. God, he wanted so much to tell her. "It's nothing," he said. "Sorry if I've not been very nice to work with this week."
"It's something," Gwen said determinedly. "Don't you want to talk about it?"
Merlin swallowed. "I can't."
"Let's go to the pub after work. Not The Rising Sun, somewhere further afield, where we won't see anyone from the office?"
Merlin smiled at her. "Thanks, but I really can't. And besides, I was thinking of going to see Goldfinger again tonight."
"It's Toasted" was a successful and long-running cigarette ad campaign in the early twentieth century.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "You like Pussy Galore all that much?"
Merlin chuckled. "Sure. But mostly I just feel like watching Goldfinger get sucked out of that plane again. Nothing like watching a villain die absurdly and of his own stupidity, when you're in a mood."
"Would you object to company?"
Merlin hesitated, only because he didn't love the idea of Gwen trying to get him talking all night, but when the cinema lights went down and Gwen reached into her handbag and produced a small bottle of something that burned on its way down Merlin's throat, he remembered just what a good friend she really was.
#
"It's to do with Arthur, isn't it?" Gwen asked, hours later, when she and Merlin were settled in at a pub down the road from the cinema. "Only, you two are so close, and usually so friendly with one another, and this week, it's been-" she paused, searching for a word, and then gave up, reaching for her lager, embarrassed.
Merlin didn't say anything. The bottle they had passed back and forth throughout the film was making it hard to think straight about anything at all, but he still knew better than to talk about this.
"Only," Gwen started again, after a minute, "only-are you two lovers?" she said in a whispered rush, leaning across the table.
Merlin's focus was suddenly razor-sharp, and trained on Gwen's face. "What?" he said, in a voice far too high to be his own.
Gwen just blinked back at him, like she couldn't believe what she'd said either, and Merlin tore his eyes from her face to scan the pub fearfully.
"It's all right," Gwen said, voice low. "There's no one close."
Merlin stared back at her, heart rabbitting, and couldn't find a single word of response.
"I've wondered about it for a while now," Gwen continued, unable to look Merlin quite in the eye. "That night, last Christmas, when he and I-well, he only noticed I was there after you left, and it was only after you started at Camelot in the first place that he really began his whole... Don Juan thing, you know, like they all do, and whenever he does, you-you're always so upset about it, about him, I mean, so I thought maybe it was a diversion, or a distraction, because he wanted to cover up his love affair with you."
Merlin could still only stare at her. Her expression began to turned worried.
"Merlin?"
"Gwen, swear to me you've not said anything about this to anyone."
Gwen's eyes went wide. "Of course not! I would-ugh, you prat, of course I would never!"
"Oh, Gwen," Merlin breathed, as something inside him crumbled, because he believed her, and he'd been aching to talk to her about this.
He woke up the next morning exhausted and hungover, but feeling somehow lighter. It was the morning of the formal presentation to the Le Fay Tobacco partners, so Arthur wouldn't be able to keep avoiding him completely, unless he was willing to miss so important a meeting.
His stomach lurched, and he debated calling Gwen to say he wasn't coming in. But that felt altogether too pathetic, especially now that he finally had a confidante in her, so he rallied and went to work.
#
It was lucky that the Le Fay presentation was at the relatively early hour of ten o'clock, because Merlin had a hard enough time surviving just the first hour of the day, waiting. He drank his coffee as slowly as he could and tried to focus on anything work related, instead of the knots in his stomach in anticipation of finally, finally being in the same room as Arthur for the first time since Saturday morning nearly a week ago now.
"Mate," Gwaine said, poking his head into Merlin's office at nine-forty, "quick drink and smoke before ten? We're convening in Arthur's office."
1964 James Bond film, Goldfinger
"Thanks, no," Merlin answered, and gestured to the papers in front of him. "I want to wrap this up first, so I don't lose my train of thought."
"Overachiever," Gwaine said, giving a wink and a salute before leaving.
He wasn't actually anywhere near wrapping anything up, and five minutes later, he gave up blindly staring at his notes about the many and varied advantages of the ring pull beverage can, and went down the hall to check that everything in the conference room had been set up. He walked over to where the sample ad placards were on their stands, turned backwards. He hadn't seen the art since the sketches Lancelot had shown him on Monday, and he'd been too distracted by his own insane thoughts that day to really take it in, so he flipped over one of the cards to take a look.
And his stomach dropped.
The art was lovely, exactly what Merlin had expected: this one was the family in the kitchen in their dressing gowns, smiling at one another over breakfast and a smoke, under the banner of Merlin's copy. But beneath it was a picture of a man dressed as a doctor, giving the viewer a wide smile that was all teeth and false charm. It was the same actor Merlin had met months before in the lift, who'd been back to the office several times since then, filming one ad or another. On the ad placard, he stood tall in his white coat next to a neat bit of text telling the audience not to believe everything they heard, that not all doctors agreed with the claims about tobacco, and that they shouldn't deprive themselves based on what some alarmists were claiming.
Merlin stared at it, disbelieving. Arthur had promised. He had promised, and for every uncharitable thought Merlin had had about Arthur in the past week, it had never once occurred to him that Arthur might do this, that he might go back on an express promise without so much as a word of explanation.
Merlin screwed his eyes shut and had never, ever felt so stupid.
His iron grip on the placard caused it to crumple a bit as he turned, livid and heartbroken, to stalk down the hall to Arthur's office. The door was partially open and Merlin couldn't spare more than a glance for his secretary before he burst inside to find Arthur leaning against the edge of his desk, drink and cigarette in hand, surrounded by his entourage.
"There you are, Merlin!" Gwaine chirped. "You've time for one quick smoke before ten, and trust me, the stronger you smell of cigarettes in there, the better."
Merlin didn't look at him. He could do nothing but stare at Arthur. Arthur stared back, uncertainly.
"You promised," Merlin said, voice low and hard. "You gave me your word."
"Merlin, what's the matter?" asked Leon from somewhere off to the side, after a moment of silence.
Merlin held up the partially-crumpled placard. "This is the matter," he said, eyes still trained on Arthur. Arthur didn't look away, and Merlin couldn't tell if it was because he couldn't, or if he was just being stubborn.
Lancelot stepped forward into Merlin's peripheral vision, careful, like he was approaching a spooked horse. "Isn't that what you wanted, Merlin? It's almost exactly what I showed you on Monday."
"Yes, that part's fine, Lancelot. The art is great," Merlin said. "It's just that this isn't my ad. My ad didn't have any lies in it."
There was a faint swell of noise in the room, as various men shifted their weight uncomfortably, set down their drinks, or stubbed out their cigarettes. "Merlin?" Lancelot asked.
"He's not a doctor," Merlin said, jabbing his finger at the man on the lower half of the placard. "He's just an actor."
"Well, yes," Lancelot said, "we rarely use pictures of the actual experts-"
"But there are no actual experts. It's all a lie. There are no more doctors willing to say these things."
Lancelot faltered. "Is that true?" he asked, turning to Arthur.
Arthur's jaw was tight for a long moment before he spoke. "We do what our clients ask," he said stubbornly. "Our duty is to them. What they deem a necessary part of their ad campaigns, we're in no position to-"
"That's bollocks," Merlin snapped, cutting him off, and every eye the room snapped to his face, shocked. "Utter bollocks, Arthur, and you know it. Our name goes on these ads, too. We can't just lie to people like this. The public trust us, and we can't purposefully, deliberately abuse that."
"C'mon, Merlin," Gwaine said, after a moment. "It's just an ad. Most people are going to keep smoking no matter what anyone says, least of all us."
"You're right, Gwaine." Merlin turned to him. "And most of the women you seduce would happily fall into bed with you even without all your stories and false promises, but that doesn't keep you from making them. It's part of the game, isn't it?" Merlin's heart pounded as he looked around the room. "All of you, how can you look at this-" he shook the ad in his hand "-and then look at yourselves in the mirror? Are you really so morally bankrupt that it doesn't bother you to lie like this? I know you've had plenty more practice than I have, courting clients, and seducing mistresses, and placating your wives, telling all of them anything they want to hear, that you'll give them anything they want, that you'll never leave, that you don't want to leave-" His voice broke a little, at that, and he saw Arthur go rigid in his peripheral vision. It was a good thing Merlin couldn't bring himself to look at Arthur, because he didn't dare, for both their sakes. "But you always do, don't you? And without a glance backwards, because your mind was already a step ahead the entire time, plotting how to seduce the next one."
Profound silence echoed around the room until Merlin tossed the cigarette placard onto Arthur's desk. "I can't do this," he said, to no one in particular. "I quit." He turned, and could feel all their eyes and the reverberations of their shock follow him all the way down the hall.
Inside his own office, he exhaled and tripped a little, catching himself on a chair. Barely able to see straight, he grabbed his coat and hat and, after a brief pause, the potted plant on the windowsill that had been a gift from his mother. He didn't have time to take anything else; he just needed to get out of there before he did something unforgivable, like start to cry.
#
Merlin was sitting on the floor in his kitchen with an untouched glass of whiskey in front of him and his hands in his hair, staring at nothing, as the grandfather clock in the adjacent flat tolled twelve o'clock. It had only been two hours, apparently, but they could have been days. Merlin had been through the cycle of panic, self-doubt, anger, self-pity and then panic again more times than he could count, and by the looks of it, he was in for a long afternoon yet. His entire body felt hollow and sore. It felt fitting, though, after everything, to be sitting alone in his flat and wallowing, thinking as many horrible thoughts about Arthur as he could manage.
The knock on his door was startling and unwelcome. He almost didn't answer it, indulging in the fanciful notion that if it were Arthur out there, he would happily ignore him. Just leave him out in the hall this time.
But of course it wouldn't be Arthur; Merlin knew that much. It was probably Gwen. There was a small possibility it was someone else from the office, Lancelot or Leon or Gwaine, if they were feeling particularly bad for him, but it was probably Gwen. And Merlin couldn't just leave her out there, so he got up to answer it.
"Hello," Arthur said, as Merlin stared at him stupidly.
It was a long, stunned moment before Merlin's anger caught up with him, and then he very nearly slammed the door shut again-it wasn't too late to make good on his fantasy. But with Arthur actually right there, real and standing at his door again, Merlin was powerless in the face of wanting to know what he'd come to say. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to stifle the renewed churn of hurt and anger and, annoyingly, longing.
"It's good you're here," Merlin finally managed to say, and Arthur's eyebrows went up. "You've saved me a trip back to the office, to ask if you'll still give me a reference."
"Ah," Arthur said.
"Is that a no?" Merlin asked, when Arthur didn't say anything else.
"Merlin, I'm sorry," Arthur said, and then shook his head when Merlin's jaw dropped incredulously, "No, no, not about that, of course I'd give you a reference, don't be ridiculous. I mean about today. About the ad. I shouldn't have-it was my father. On Saturday, he-I wasn't expecting him to be, but he was in the meeting, and had brought some extra Le Fay people with him, and when they asked about the doctor, he agreed to it before I had a chance to say anything. He told them it had just been an oversight that we hadn't included it, that of course we would never be so brazen as to purposefully leave out something they expressly asked for. And I just-I let him. I shouldn't have, or at the very least I should have warned you, tried to explain. So-I'm sorry."
"Yes, you should have," Merlin managed to snap, after a moment. "I thought you'd lied just to get the copy out of me."
"I know," Arthur said, shaking his head. "But that wasn't-I never intended that."
"Great," Merlin said shortly, and he wasn't sure why this was only making him feel worse. "Brilliant. Glad to hear it."
Arthur looked at him, jaw tight. "Would it help at all if I told you that you were right? And that we fixed it?"
"I don't know. I don't know what that even means. Or if it would be true."
Arthur took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Camelot's duty to its clients has always been paramount," he said, in a tone that made Merlin suspect he'd rehearsed this a few times on the way over. "Meeting it has always been our most basic, primary objective-without our clients, my father's always said, Camelot is nothing. But-but I think you're right that there's more to it than that. We do have a duty to the public, as well, to strive to be trustworthy. And I think perhaps our duty to a client does end where those two conflict."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said, "it does," and managed to bite his tongue against some sharp words about Uther.
Arthur shifted his weight, the floor creaking beneath him. "Merlin, we fixed the ad."
Merlin frowned.
"Before the presentation."
"You what?"
"We cut the bottom half off of all the placards, so they were how you wanted them. So they were what we agreed to. And I told the Le Fay partners that they could accept it how it was, or they could leave, and come back to see us if they ever find a real doctor willing to make those claims, based on actual science and not just what we're paying him. But we won't lie anymore."
Merlin blinked, and felt his eyebrows go up. "And your father let that pass?"
Arthur paused. "My father wasn't there, so I don't know how he's going to react yet. But he's just going to have to see reason." He took a breath, and seemed to grow a little bit taller. "It's the right thing to do, and I've got the whole of Creative willing to back me on it."
"The whole of Creative?"
Arthur nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched a bit. "I'd never seen Lancelot angry like that before," he said. "But we discussed it and everyone agreed. I explained the risk-what losing the Le Fay account would mean-but they all agreed to it."
"So what happened?" Merlin asked, something warm and small swelling in his chest.
"They weren't pleased about us changing course after agreeing to Morgana's terms on Saturday, but they loved the ad," Arthur said. "They're taking it back to her, and I honestly don't know what to expect. I've put in a call to the villa where she's staying, and I hope she'll listen to me."
Merlin took a deep breath, which came out shaky when he exhaled. "Wow," he said. "I don't-wow." It felt like a lot to take in, especially after the week he had had, and he wasn't sure what he was feeling. The thought of Arthur and Lancelot and all of them standing together like that, in defence of what was right, made Merlin warm all over, and it was tempting-so tempting-to just smile and say that of course it helped, and that he didn't want to leave them, that he wanted to face Camelot's uncertain future standing right next to them. Next to Arthur.
When Merlin didn't speak for some time, Arthur faltered. He swallowed, throat bobbing, and opened his mouth more than once without saying anything. "I know I've not given you much reason to trust me, recently," he finally managed, "but I swear to you that it's all true," and Merlin nodded, because he knew it was.
"You will-" Arthur continued uncertainly, "you will stay, Merlin, won't you? I won't let anything like that happen again."
Merlin closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He knew Arthur was only talking about the ad, about breaking his promise, but he could just as easily have been talking about what had happened between them, and the thought set Merlin's heart racing. He couldn't just ignore it. He knew he should, but he couldn't. He couldn't just say yes and take his place next to Arthur and spend the foreseeable future always wondering, always on edge, always unsure what Arthur was thinking.
He looked at Arthur, and screwed up his courage. "I can't imagine that ad was the only reason you avoided me all week," he said, quiet but determined.
Arthur's face flushed hard, and it took the whole of Merlin's resolve not to look away. "I know," Arthur said, at length. "I know. I've just-I've been a bit... tied up in my own head."
The sound of a door falling shut on the floor below startled them both into remembering that they were still standing half in the hallway, with the door to Merlin's flat wide open. The rest of this conversation really needed to happen inside, behind a closed door, but Merlin wasn't ready for that yet.
Arthur looked at him expectantly, and then with surprise when Merlin didn't move to go inside. It was a long minute before he started speaking again, and when he did, his voice was low and quiet.
"The first person I saw after leaving here that day," he said, "was my father. I thought the office would be empty-just me and Morgana-but there he was, and I just-I don't know. Panicked. I was sure that he knew, that Morgana knew, that they could all tell just by looking at me what we'd done, what I-" He looked down at his hands, and looked so tired, so vulnerable, that Merlin felt all the fight drain right out of him. "What I am," Arthur said.
Merlin could only ache, for a moment, before saying, "I'm sure they didn't, Arthur."
Arthur examined his palm, and then looked up. "No, you're right. Of course not. And I've been a complete ass, I'm afraid."
Merlin huffed a small, surprised laugh. "You have, at that." They just looked at each other for a long moment.
"It wasn't a lie," Arthur finally said, his voice rough. "I didn't want to leave. That night, or even-that morning, I-" He cut off, and something in Merlin's chest split wide open.
"Arthur-" he managed.
"Merlin, can we-is there any way we can-" and Merlin was already nodding, couldn't stop himself "-just start over? I'll do better. I'll be better, I-"
"Arthur," Merlin said again, and then he was in the hallway, his arms wrapped around Arthur's neck and kissing him, without room left inside to care who saw.
#
Low afternoon light was filtering through Merlin's dusty bedroom window as he sank into the warmth of Arthur sprawled out next to him, one leg tangled in the sheets and the other tangled with Merlin's own. He watched the hair on Arthur's chest catch the light, and then grinned as he rubbed his fingers through it, just because he could.
"At the risk of pushing my luck," Arthur said, breaking the comfortable silence, "you will stay, won't you? At Camelot?"
Merlin looked up to his face, at his stupidly blue eyes, and bit his lip for a moment. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked. "I mean, with this?" He gestured between them. "Assuming it's going to continue-"
"It is," Arthur interjected, firmly.
Merlin grinned, unable to help it, and pressed his palm flat over Arthur chest. "It might be easier to not be in the same office all day. Less risky, I mean."
"Probably," Arthur said. "But I don't care. I couldn't stand it if you worked anywhere else."
"Do you really think we still have jobs?" Merlin asked, reddening. "I mean, without the Le Fay account? You said we wouldn't be able to pay the rent."
Arthur drew a long breath. "So we'll move offices, if we have to. Somewhere less extravagant."
"And what will your father say about that?"
"A lot, I'm sure. But we'll figure it out. It's only money, after all."
"'Only money'?" Merlin repeated a beat later, bemused and incredulous.
Arthur coloured, but brought a hand up to thread into the short hairs at the nape of Merlin's neck. "Yes. And word on the street is that it can't buy me love. So. Don't know that I care too much for it, anymore."
Merlin grinned, wide and silly. "Is that so?"
"It is. Because when I get home to you, the things that you do, they-something."
Merlin snorted a laugh into Arthur's shoulder. "Admit it. You love them."
Arthur scoffed.
"They're geniuses and you love them!" Merlin declared stubbornly.
Arthur growled and suddenly pushed himself up and on top of Merlin, pinning him to the bed with the solid length of his torso. Merlin huffed in surprise and pleasure, and then took a deep breath against the warm weight of him. He looked up at Arthur, who looked back down at him in a way that set Merlin's heart wobbling.
"Admit it," Merlin said.
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur replied, and Merlin did, but only because that wasn't what he heard at all.
ring pull beverage can
The End
Except not quite, because I'm just gonna leave these here for you:
"Can't Buy Me Love"
"A Hard Day's Night"
"Twist and Shout"
Rating: NC-17
Author's notes and warnings are here.
← Part One
November 1964
It was a crisp, sunny Friday in late November when Arthur came into Merlin's office and closed the door, wearing a distinctly uneasy expression.
"Hello," Merlin said carefully, trying not to let his mind fly in a million different directions at once.
"Hi," Arthur said, drawing back his jacket to put his hands in his trouser pockets. His red tie, Merlin's personal favourite, was tucked neatly in behind the shiny buttons of his waistcoat. "I need you to do something for me," he said, after a moment, and he looked really tired, with heavy bags under his eyes.
"It there a body you need disposing of?"
"What?"
"The look on your face right now is really quite sinister."
Arthur huffed a laugh, and a little of the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate. "No," he said, "no dead bodies. As of yet, anyway."
"Well, that's reassuring. I suppose. What's going on?"
"Le Fay Tobacco."
"What now?"
"Nothing new, really. But we've hit a wall. The entire team is-I don't know, they just can't seem to find it. Morgana's been in four times in the past month, and unceremoniously shot down every idea we've pitched."
"Were they good ideas?"
Arthur tilted his head. "They were-fine. Under normal circumstances, they'd be more than good enough. But given the current climate, and all the public awareness campaigns ramping up, they're not what Morgana wants."
"So you want me to take a stab at it."
"I know I said I wouldn't ask you to work on this account, Merlin, but-I'm afraid it's getting a bit dire. Leon and Percival have been asking for weeks why I haven't brought you in on it yet."
"Is she still asking us to lie?"
Arthur paused. "She is, but I think the right idea could make her see that we don't need to."
"Really?"
"I hope so."
"Because I won't, Arthur."
"I know," Arthur said, "I'm not asking you to. If we use your copy, you have my word that the ad will be completely honest." He was looking Merlin straight in the eye, as earnestly as he ever had, which was making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Arthur seemed to interpret his hesitation as indecision. "It's just," Arthur continued, his expression turning embarrassed and beseeching, "I didn't want to say anything, and no one else knows this, but if we lose this account-that's the game, I'm afraid."
Merlin blinked, and straightened in his seat. "What do you mean?"
"It's no secret that we've had a rough year, and a particularly rough last few months. As it is, I going to have to let two people go by the end of the year so we can afford this suite's rent come January. If we lose Morgana, I-well, we haven't worked out the exact maths yet, but I'm sure you can imagine."
Merlin stared at him, doing his best to ignore the urge to reach out and smooth over the line between his eyebrows. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "How soon do you need it?"
Arthur pressed his lips together before saying, almost unwillingly, "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's Saturday. Monday?"
Arthur shook his head. "Tomorrow morning. In the meeting today, she was ready to walk, but I talked her into one more try. She's going to Italy for the rest of the year tomorrow afternoon, and if we don't pitch something she likes, she'll give her board instruction to go with another agency."
"It won't keep until she gets back? The ban doesn't go into effect until August."
"She's digging her heels in, and these are her terms."
Merlin sighed. "Wonderful. The fate of our agency rests on the shoulders of a mad woman, and I have twenty-four hours to bring her around. No pressure, then."
"I know you'll think of something."
"Your faith in me invaluable, but I don't suppose you could do something useful, like magic us up an extra day?"
Arthur grinned. "I would if I could. Eight days in a week, just to show you how I care."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "That's not quite how it goes," he said, and then, over Arthur's smirk, "Hey, I haven't played that one for you yet, and it's only just come out. You've been listening on your own, haven't you?"
Arthur frowned. "What? No. Of course you've played it for me."
"Nope!" Merlin crowed. "That particular record is still sitting on my player at home, and has not made a single visit to the office. You have been listening on your own. Admit it! You like them!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, you impossible fool," Arthur said, waving his hand unconvincingly and turning for the door. "Now get to work before I change my mind and sack you right now."
"Prat," Merlin called after him, grinning like a loon.
#
It was a long, unfruitful day that was quickly turning into a long, unfruitful night when Arthur appeared in Merlin's doorway yet again. "How's it coming?"
Merlin just sighed, exasperated.
"Would dinner help?" Arthur held up what appeared to be two wrapped sandwiches. "Paltry offerings, I'm afraid, but I sent all the girls home, so we're fending for ourselves."
"You spoil me," Merlin said, waving Arthur into the room and trying not to look as touched as he felt.
"Come up with something brilliant to save my agency, and we'll call it even." Arthur handed Merlin his sandwich and then settled into one of the chairs opposite the desk, and Merlin tried not to remember the last time Arthur stayed with him in his office late into the night. It was a relief that Arthur didn't seem to be drinking as much tonight.
"So you've really got nothing?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound worried and failing.
Merlin sighed again, unwrapping his sandwich and smiling a little at the egg and cress inside, and the toasted bread. Arthur had remembered his favourite. "Nothing I don't hate," he said, and took a bite. "All I've got is a crush-proof box," he continued, mouth full, "and four out of five dead people smoked the other brands."
"Did Leon show you everything she's rejected so far?"
"Eight Days A Week"
Click to viewMerlin nodded. "And I understand where she's coming from with a lot of it, it all feels so silly next to the giant elephant in the room. We can't expect anyone to take the slim-your-figure argument seriously anymore, or think that beautiful people on a beach enjoying a smoke with their mates will be enough to make them forget. None of that's strong enough. People aren't going to forget, so we've got to find some way to bring it back to what they love about smoking."
"But isn't that it, though? The feelings they associate it with? If Strand Cigarettes were driven out of the market because they inadvertently associated themselves with feeling lonely, surely associating this brand with camaraderie, fun, and feeling good about how you look is exactly what we want?"
"It was. But the after-effects are a mixed bag now. With one, comes all the others."
Arthur pursed his lips unhappily, and then took a bite of his own sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"What do you know about how cigarettes are made?" Merlin asked, after a while.
Arthur shrugged. "I imagine there's a factory involved."
"Before that. On the tobacco farm."
"Nothing," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Leon, though, had a couple long meetings with one of Morgana's partners and went to their headquarters at least once. He might know."
"Oh right, he gave me those notes, hang on." Merlin set down his sandwich and dug through the messy surface of his desk, until he found the single piece of lined yellow paper, with Leon's sparse notes scrawled on it. "There's not much, but here we go: 'specially-bred insect-repellent tobacco plants, grown in sunny climes, cut, cured, and'," Merlin squinted at the page, "'toasterised'? I think? His penmanship's a bit wonky there."
"Is that even a word?"
"Industry term, apparently," Merlin said, and smiled when Arthur frowned disapprovingly.
"But we already have a word for that. Why don't they just say 'toasted'? I don't like made-up words."
"I know you don't," Merlin chuckled, "you dollophead." Arthur scowled, and Merlin laughed harder.
One thing led to another, as it sometimes does after a long day, and soon Merlin was doubled over, wiping inexplicable tears of laughter from his face as Arthur glared at him. "OK, OK," Merlin managed, a few minutes later, "clearly, it's time for Step Two. I've obviously had it."
"Step Two?" Arthur asked, as Merlin stood and went to the record player. "Merlin, we don't have time for your ridiculous song and dance right now."
"Arthur, that's all we have time for. Step One: Think about it as much as you can. Step Two: Don't think about it at all, and it'll come to you. I've thought about it as much as I can stand, clearly, so now we just have to hope it comes to me before tomorrow's meeting."
Vintage cigarette ad touting weight-loss
He ignored Arthur's horrified expression over the opening chord of "A Hard Day's Night", and poured them each a drink as he started singing along. "Either relax or leave, Arthur," he said as he shoved the drink into Arthur's hand, "but you can't just sit there glaring at me or this isn't going to work."
Merlin danced around the room and back to his desk, turning at the appropriate moments to sing at Arthur accusingly, "I've been working like a dog," and "I should be sleeping like a log." Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was tapping his foot, and soon he was mouthing along to at least some of the words. Merlin chuckled quietly and took another bite of his dinner.
"When I'm hoooooome," he crooned around a mouthful of egg and toast, "everything seems to be riiii-iiiiight."
"Must you sing with your mouth full?" Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose.
Merlin grinned and took a bigger bite, and sang completely unintelligibly for several lines. Arthur stared at him, increasingly disgusted, and by the time the song reached its final chorus, Merlin was hamming it right the hell up. "But when I get home to you," he pointed at Arthur, with the sandwich still in hand, "I find the things that you do a-make me feel all right. You know, I feel all right. You know, I feeeeeeel aaaaall-" Merlin suddenly stopped, mouth open, staring at both the remains of his sandwich-no more than a single bite's worth of egg and toasted crust, still suspended in front of him-and at Arthur.
After a moment, he closed his mouth and resumed chewing slowly.
Arthur's unimpressed expression slid into something more animated. "What is it?" he asked carefully. "A Hard Day's Night"
Merlin held up his hand while the song finished. The room was silent for a few seconds, and the opening harmonica of "I Should Have Known Better" was a few bars in by the time Merlin said, "It's toasted."
Arthur looked at him blankly.
"Le Fay Tobacco is toasted," Merlin said again. "Like breakfast."
Arthur tilted his head. "Go on."
"It isn't about what's good or bad for you, or slimming your figure, or looking cool at the beach or on a street corner, it's about home. It's about all those private, wonderful little things people do for each other, like when you wake up to the smell of warm bread and fresh coffee, and stumble into the kitchen to find your mother or your spouse or your lover toasting your breakfast."
Arthur didn't say anything, for a moment, just looked back at Merlin. "That is nice," he said.
"Doesn't it just-warm you up a bit?" Merlin said. He smiled and held up the remaining bit of his sandwich. "Or when someone remembers exactly your favourite sandwich, and even has them toast the bread before he brings it to you, so you won't forget to eat dinner." Arthur blinked, and Merlin grinned at him. "It's toasted!" he proclaimed.
Arthur didn't say anything, and Merlin faltered. "Unless you like 'It's toasterised' better?" he ventured, and he would have taken the joke further except suddenly Arthur was right there, dangerously close-and then just dangerous, full stop, kissing him.
Merlin sucked in a breath, and had only just registered the warmth of Arthur's lips, the perfect scratch of his chin and the smell of his skin, when Arthur reared back. Merlin gaped at him, his eyes unnaturally wide and his breath coming in fast, shallow pants that quickly left him dizzy.
Arthur stared back at him, in exactly the same state of shock, and neither of them moved until a door down the hall slammed shut, and they jumped further apart.
"I think that's, um," Arthur finally said, his gaze darting around the floor, "that's it. 'It's toasted.' I should go-run it past the others."
Merlin tried to agree, but couldn't get the words out as his heart hammered in his chest.
"And Lancelot, so he can start the art. Unless you want to?" Arthur looked up, guiltily. "It's your idea, after all."
Merlin couldn't imagine speaking to anyone. He shook his head. "S'fine," he managed, his mouth dry. "Go ahead."
Arthur looked at him, mouth a bit open, for another moment, and then left. Merlin watched him go and tried to steady his breathing, to get a hold of himself. "Oh my god," he muttered, because this was not possible. This-this was probably going to cost him his job, at best, and-wild images of Arthur coming back to his office started flashing uncontrollably through Merlin's mind, of Arthur locking the door and throwing him down on the desk and tearing both their clothes off, and Merlin needed to get out of there immediately, before he did something irreparably stupid.
"I Should Have Known Better" was still playing in the corner, and John was in the middle of crooning about never realising what a kiss could be. "Oh my god, shut up," Merlin snapped at him, switching the machine off, and then he grabbed his coat and fled before Arthur could return.
#
He walked home quickly, clumsy with nervous energy, and was still shaking when he mounted the three flights of stairs to his flat. He'd made the short trip home in record time, so it was a shock for more than one reason to find Arthur there, leaning against the door to his flat, overcoat hanging long and unbuttoned around him. He held his hat in his hand, the edge a bit crushed, like he hadn't noticed how tightly he'd been holding it.
Merlin stared at him, speechless. It occurred to him to just turn around and flee right back down the stairs, and he probably should have, because his resolve had lasted entirely too long-he had been so strong for so long-too strong to muck it all up now.
"Oh," Arthur said. "Well, that's good."
Merlin blinked. "What?" he managed, after a minute, and then he couldn't look at Arthur anymore. His eyes darted to the door, to the wall, to the floor.
"I thought you were in there, ignoring me."
"Have you been here long?"
"A few minutes."
"How did you get here so fast? I practically sprinted the whole way."
"Took a cab."
"Oh." After an awkward pause, "How d'you even know where I live? I'm the one who always puts you in the cab."
"You're on my payroll, Merlin. Obviously I have your address."
"Oh."
Silence stretched between them, and Merlin thought about opening the door and going inside, but the logistics of fishing his keys out of pocket, of stepping any closer to Arthur, and then of mastering the relatively fine motor skills necessary to unlock the bolt were entirely overwhelming, so he didn't move.
"Why are you here?" he finally managed.
It took Arthur a moment to answer. "You left before I could-I didn't want-I mean, I just needed to-" He swore as he cut himself off. Merlin still couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, do you want me to leave?" Arthur asked, sounding helpless.
Merlin didn't say anything, because what he wanted and how he should answer that question were two completely different things.
The silence stretched on, reaching the point of ludicrousness before Merlin finally managed, "Would you like a drink?" and Arthur inflated a little, like he'd been unable to breathe, and could finally pull in air again. He nodded and stepped away from the door, and they didn't speak as Merlin unlocked it with trembling fingers, nor as they removed their overcoats and Arthur followed him into the kitchen. Merlin could feel Arthur determinedly not watching him as he went to the cupboard and pulled out two mismatched glasses and a three-quarters-full bottle of whiskey. He poured in silence, and turned to give Arthur his glass.
Their fingers brushed as the glass exchanged hands, and Merlin couldn't help it when his eyes darted to Arthur's face, and then refused to dart back again.
The blue of Arthur's eyes frayed every last one of Merlin's nerves, and it was only a moment before he was lunging forward, pressing his mouth to Arthur's and trapping the glass of whiskey between them, soaking both his shirt and Arthur's waistcoat with liquor. Arthur grunted in surprise, but kissed Merlin back hungrily, stepping them back to the counter after a minute, so he could reach around him and put down the empty glass. Then he brought both hands up to bracket Merlin's jaw and throat, his fingers sliding hard and perfect into Merlin's hair, and Merlin gave an embarrassingly whimper-like sigh straight into Arthur's mouth.
They stood there against the counter for a long time, consumed with kissing one another. Merlin was dizzy with the wet slide of Arthur's tongue and the dry rasp of his chin. His fingers skimmed behind Merlin's ears, causing him to shiver almost violently, and then there needed to be more.
Merlin's fingers flew to Arthur's wet waistcoat, and scrabbled at the buttons. He pushed it open only to find more buttons and the also-damp fabric of his dress shirt.
"Ugh, you posh wanker," he groaned, "why do you wear so many clothes?"
Arthur huffed a laugh, and was already pulling off his own tie. "Shut up, Merlin," he said. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and Merlin watched, breathless and amazed, torn between wanting to keep watching and wanting Arthur to come back and kiss him again. Arthur made quick work of his cuff-links, then shrugged his coat, waistcoat and shirt off in one, and Merlin's mouth was dry and his cock hard and his chest sore at the sight of Arthur before him in nothing but a thin, well-worn undershirt tucked into his trousers.
He'd never seen Arthur in anything that didn't look brand new, or a least expertly starched and pressed to appear so, and there was something absurdly endearing in knowing that beneath it all, the layer closest to his skin was as careworn and simple as Merlin's own undershirts. Merlin reached out to touch it, needing to know if it was as soft as it looked. It was. He ran the pads of his fingers over Arthur's belly, and felt Arthur's stomach shake with a confused breath.
"I like your undershirt," Merlin said stupidly.
"Does that mean I shouldn't take it off?" Arthur asked, frowning.
Merlin paused. "Only if you'd rather I rip it off."
Arthur huffed a surprised laugh, which turned into a scoff. "As if you could," he said, with more affection than Merlin was quite ready to wrap his mind around, and then Arthur pulled the old shirt up and over his head, mussing his hair.
It took Arthur's raised eyebrows to snap Merlin back into action, pulling off his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt, and he very nearly stopped again when Arthur got impatient and started kissing him, and only finally managed to get it all off with Arthur's clumsy assistance.
Arthur's hands settled against Merlin's waist, strong and firm, and he pulled them away from the kitchen counter as he kissed him hard, and they clumsily made their way into the living room, fumbling open their belts. Merlin glanced at his small sofa and wanted more than anything to push Arthur through to the bedroom, where they'd have much more room to manoeuvre, but that felt big, somehow, risky, and Arthur was undoing his trousers, so Merlin didn't say anything and let Arthur push him down onto the cushions. He slid up and parted his legs so Arthur could follow him down, slot between them.
Arthur stretched out overtop of him, acres of bare chest pressing down against Merlin's, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat and stayed there, leaving him light-headed by the time Arthur had both their trousers undone and was trying to free Merlin's cock from his underwear.
"A little help here, Merlin?" Arthur asked, voice strained.
Merlin grunted and reached down to free himself, groaning when his cock slid free and bobbed up against the starched fabric of Arthur's open trousers.
Arthur didn't move for a moment, just stared at Merlin's cock before running a tentative finger down the length of it. Merlin made his most embarrassing noise yet and threw his head back, knocking it against the solid arm of the sofa.
Arthur glanced up at him, then reached down to free his own cock when he saw Merlin hadn't injured himself. It wasn't as easy as it should have been, in the small space of the sofa, and he had to reach up and hold onto the back of it to balance himself.
"I have a-" Merlin cut himself off.
"A what?" Arthur said, glancing at him as he tried to find a good position.
"A bed," Merlin said, his voice cracking.
Arthur looked at him sharply, eyes wide.
"It's just that it's bigger," Merlin said quickly, "so it might be-but I don't-I mean if you'd rather-" He cut himself off as his face heated uncontrollably.
Arthur's cheeks flushed darker as well, and then he was pushing himself up and off the sofa, away from Merlin, and something in Merlin's chest keened at his idiocy. He sat up, mind reeling with trying to think of what to say.
"Through there?" Arthur asked, against Merlin's silence.
Merlin looked up, and he was gesturing to the bedroom door. It was a moment before Merlin could nod yes.
"Are you coming or not?" Arthur said, a little sharply, as his hands clutched at his open trousers.
Merlin looked at him, his blond hair a mess, his lips wet and red, his chin pink with the beginning of whisker burn, the shiny head of his cock poking out of his trousers, and felt a renewed bout of dizziness.
"Yeah," Merlin answered, before managing to push himself up off the sofa in a rush. "Yeah, c'mon." He couldn't help touching Arthur as he brushed past him, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pulling him along towards the bedroom, and Arthur resisted only long enough to kick off his shoes and shove his trousers down to the floor, stepping out of them and into complete nudity.
Merlin grinned at him and followed suit, and then they were in the bedroom, and Merlin was pulling Arthur down on top of him on the bed, and Arthur slotted over him perfectly, wrapping his hand around both their cocks, and it was a hot, fast, clumsy bit of desperation before Merlin was coming harder than he had in ages, spilling hot and wet over Arthur's fingers and cock.
And then he wasn't quite all there, for a moment or two, and the next thing he was fully aware of was Arthur flopping down next to him, spent and panting. Arthur's eyes were closed, facing Merlin, and Merlin stared at him, torn between disappointment at missing the look on his face as he came and the huge, confusing feeling of euphoria mixed with dread, because even in the perfection of afterglow, Merlin couldn't help but wonder what the fuck was going to happen next.
Arthur's eyes opened after a few minutes, and Merlin watched his gaze slowly focus. He offered Merlin a tired smile, and adjusted his head against the pillow. His eyes fell shut again almost immediately, and Merlin watched, disbelieving, as all the lines on his face softened, and his breathing became slow and regular.
Merlin exhaled, and it was a long, uncertain amount of time spent quietly losing his mind in the dark before he joined Arthur in sleep.
#
When Merlin woke up, soft morning light was filtering through his bedroom window, and Arthur was still there, naked and quiet, stretched out in sleep. Merlin didn't want to move for fear of waking him and losing the moment, but his full bladder insisted that he not wait very long.
Arthur was blinking against the daylight when Merlin returned from the bathroom.
"You're here," Merlin said, for lack of anything better.
"Yes," Arthur said, in his familiar You're an idiot, Merlin voice, but it had a slightly softer edge than usual when he added, "You weren't terribly drunk without me noticing last night, were you?"
Merlin huffed a laugh as Arthur sat up. "No, I mean you're still here. I would've expected you to... steal away in the night. But I guess you were too busy sleeping like a log."
"I did wake up, actually," Arthur said lightly, stretching his arms out in front of his chest, "but you were right there sleeping, and I didn't want to leave."
Arthur's eyes went a little wide at the same moment Merlin's heart did a terrific bit of acrobatics against his ribs. Arthur flushed and he opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut and looked down at the bed, attempting to keep casually stretching.
After an excruciating minute, Merlin managed, "Would you like coffee? Or breakfast? I've got-well, not much, actually, I was meant to do the shopping after work last night, but I'm sure I can manage something. Don't want you to starve."
Arthur looked at the alarm clock next to Merlin's bed and shook his head. "The meeting with Morgana is in less than an hour, I should go."
"OK," Merlin said too quickly, nodding, "sure. Do you want me to come?"
Arthur looked thoughtful before he said, "No, it's all right. You'll do the formal presentation to her partners later this week, but you don't have to come in today, unless you want to. You should stay home, enjoy your Saturday."
Merlin nodded. "All right." He sat on the bed for another awkward moment before going to his drawer for some pants, and then left Arthur to sort out his own clothes without an audience. He found the tangle of Arthur's coat, waistcoat and shirt on the kitchen floor alongside the soft pile of his undershirt, and waited to hear the bathroom door click shut before going into the lounge to drape them over the back of the sofa.
He put the kettle on and started toast for himself as he tried resolutely not to listen to the sound of Arthur's 'I didn't want to leave' replaying in his head over and over.
By the time he heard Arthur's dress shoes on the wood floor in the lounge, coming towards the kitchen, Merlin still had no idea what to think about any of this.
"Smells good," Arthur said, appearing in the kitchen door. His clothes were a bit rumpled, and the whiskey Merlin had spilled had left a stain on both his waistcoat and his shirt, but even so, he was very much daytime Arthur, and Merlin felt a small pang of regret at the loss.
"It's toasted," Merlin said, lifting his shoulders.
Arthur gave a small, surprised laugh. "So it is."
"Sure you don't want any?" Merlin asked, when Arthur just watched him for a moment. Merlin's cheeks went hot, as he remembered saying something at the office last night about finding your lover making you breakfast. "Sorry about your shirt," he said quickly, diverting. "Will you have time to go home for a new one?"
Arthur shook his head. "I keep fresh ones in my desk drawer, it's all right."
"That's clever," Merlin said, and tried not to think about why Arthur did that.
"We'll see on you Monday, then," Arthur said stiffly, after a moment. "Have a nice weekend."
Merlin nodded, refusing to feel disappointed. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, and after a moment Arthur ducked his head again and retreated towards the front door. Merlin listened to him pull his overcoat off the stand before he grabbed a piece of toast off his plate and hurried after him.
"Arthur," he said, holding out the toast and feeling ridiculous for it, when Arthur turned to him. "Eat it on the way."
Arthur looked at it a moment before taking it. "Thank you," he said, and paused just long enough before turning to leave that Merlin had time to screw up his courage and lunge forward to kiss him. Arthur drew a surprised breath, but kissed Merlin back softly without more than a moment's hesitation. Merlin held his eyes determinedly open and tried to commit everything about Arthur this close up to memory, mostly just to last him the rest of the weekend, but also-just in case.
When he pulled back, Arthur stared at him with large, bewildered eyes.
"Bye," Merlin said, after a moment.
"Good bye," Arthur replied, and fumbled with the bolt before letting himself out.
#
Merlin spent the weekend vacillating between two extremes. The first was a dopey, rose-tinted euphoria that tended to take the form of lying along the length of his too-small sofa, imagining Arthur stretched out over top of him-comfortably, this time, which he knew was impractical, but it was a daydream and in daydreams you could do whatever impractical things you liked-and just kissing him for hours, slow and sweet and exactly how Merlin knew he'd always be too embarrassed to ask for it. He lay there and imagined it, smiling and pulling at his cock with no particular desire to come.
The second extreme was dread, a dread worse than Merlin had felt in a long time, maybe worse than he'd ever felt, because he knew, with a cold certainty, that it was too good to be true. He didn't actually have experience with this sort of thing close-up-he had only ever had his heart broken from afar, slowly and excruciatingly-but he knew enough to know that men from Arthur's world didn't do this sort of thing in a way that ever ended well.
Arthur admitting that he hadn't wanted to leave only made things worse, and Merlin had horrible fantasies of an embarrassed, vulnerable Arthur lashing out and sacking Merlin before he even got to the office on Monday morning so they'd never have to see one another again, or be reminded of what happened.
"I Should Have Known Better"
Merlin groaned wretchedly and buried his face in his hands, wishing for a way to undo this, wishing that the Doctor would turn up and whisk him away in that rubbish police box of his, back to Friday night so he could stop it, or just away, anywhere, to any distant time or place where he could content himself in bed with Ian Chesterton and never see bloody Arthur again.
Merlin wallowed and thought about compiling a list of people to contact about the possibility of a new job and tried desperately not to listen to the small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind that kept pointing out that it was Arthur who had kissed him first and then followed him home, who hadn't objected to having sex on the bed, and who had stayed the night because he hadn't wanted to leave.
#
The ride up the lift on Monday morning was both too long and too short, and Merlin focussed on taking deep, steadying breaths as he prepared himself, half-certain that Arthur would be there waiting to sack him the moment the lift doors opened. He wasn't, and despite the fact that Merlin fully expected to find him around every corner, he wasn't in the corridor, or in Merlin's office, or at the tea cart, or in the bathroom. He wasn't in his own office, either, and by eleven o'clock, Merlin was beginning to suspect that Arthur wasn't actually there at all.
His imagination, agile as ever, was outdoing itself by the time he heard Arthur's distinctive march down the hall, coming from the conference room and getting closer. Merlin breathed and tried not to look too desperate or too hopeful as he looked to the door, desperately hoping that Arthur would stop in for a hello.
Arthur's steps got closer, and then he appeared through the open door-and marched right past without a word. Merlin thought he saw Arthur's eyes dart in to glance at him, but not long enough to make any kind of meaningful eye contact, and Merlin just stared out the door for a long minute after he disappeared again, the others from the conference room trailing after, feeling the wind completely knocked out of him.
#
At two-thirty, Merlin remembered that he still had no idea how the meeting on Saturday had gone. He didn't know if Morgana had liked the pitch, or if Camelot was still on the brink of financial failure.
Solid and reasonable pretext in hand, Merlin marched down the hall to Arthur's office, only to find it empty.
"Is he here?" Merlin asked Arthur's secretary, managing only a weak smile for her.
"He's in and out today, I'm afraid," she answered, checking the calendar, "but he's open from four-thirty on, so you should be able to catch him then."
#
An hour and not a single bit of productive work later, Gwen buzzed him.
"Yes?" he asked, pressing the button on his intercom, and trying not to indulge the pathetic bit of hope that sparked in his chest.
"Mr du Lac is here to see you," Gwen said through the speaker.
Merlin swallowed, feeling stupid. "Send him in," he answered.
The door opened and Lancelot appeared, a collection of papers under his arm. "Merlin," he said warmly, in greeting.
"Hi, Lancelot," Merlin replied. "Drink?"
Lancelot looked surprised, and Merlin reflected that he wasn't sure when it had become his habit to reflexively offer liquor to everyone who came into his office. "No, thank you," Lancelot said. "Do you have a moment to look at the sketches I've come up with for the Le Fay pitch on Friday?"
Merlin nodded. "Sure," he said, "Of course."
Lancelot spread four concept sketches out on Merlin's desk. "I went for mostly domestic scenes, like you said," he explained, "but I did one of a group of soldiers, as well, thinking that sort of camaraderie might also work."
Ian Chesterton, companion to the First Doctor, 1963-1965
Merlin glanced quickly at the three scenes in different kitchens, and then picked up the drawing of four men in army uniforms, smoking together over coffee. "Yes, that's wonderful," he said, smiling. "Exactly right." He set it down and took a closer look at the other three sketches: one of a pair of children eating breakfast, their parents watching and smoking happily; one of an older couple, sitting quiet and content at their kitchen table over crumb-strewn breakfast plates and half-finished cigarettes; and one of a young couple, likely newlyweds, smoking and making eyes at each other while coffee brewed and toast popped off to the side.
Merlin stared at this last one, and he knew Lancelot was still talking, but his mind flew immediately back to Saturday morning, to the memory of Arthur in his kitchen. He cringed and wondered how he was ever going to look Arthur in the eye again.
"Merlin?" Lancelot asked, for what was clearly not the first time, and Merlin snapped back into the moment. "Are you all right?"
"Sorry," he said, flushing hot. "Yes. Sorry." He put down the drawing of the young couple, and picked the soldiers back up again instead. "These are perfect," he said. "Exactly what I had in mind. Thank you."
Lancelot studied him a moment. "Are you all right? You don't look so good."
Merlin tried to smile. "Long day," he said. "That's all. Didn't sleep well last night."
Lancelot kept looking at him, frowning. "Try not to work too hard, Merlin. I know Arthur asks a lot of you, and he'd certainly be lost without you, but you're of no use to anyone if you don't take care of yourself."
"Thanks," Merlin said, after a moment.
#
Merlin returned to Arthur's office at four-twenty-five, and his secretary was already wearing an apologetic smile. "He's just phoned," she said, "and won't be back today after all. I can ring him back for you, if it's urgent?"
Merlin shook his head and thanked her, trying to ignore the iron weight settling into his stomach.
"Everything all right, Merlin?" Leon asked from the doorway to his office, next door to Arthur's.
Merlin looked at him. "Have you seen Arthur today?" he asked.
"Not since lunch, come to think of it," Leon answered. "He and I were in a client meeting until half one, and then he had to go do something."
Merlin's stomach clenched, imagining Arthur fucking several prostitutes in turn all afternoon.
Gwaine walked past, "Have you checked your own office, Merlin? That's where I usually find him."
#
Tuesday was more of the same, punctuated by all the times Merlin tried and failed to catch Arthur's eye, and by Wednesday he was ready to give up, to let himself sink into the hollow, broken feeling taking root inside him. Anger and hurt flared hotly inside him every time he heard Arthur in the corridor, or someone said his name, or Merlin's mind wandered back to the weekend. It was a more or less constant thing. He couldn't decide who he was the most angry with-Arthur for being like this, or himself for letting it happen.
On Thursday afternoon, Gwen stepped into his office and shut the door. "Are you all right?" she asked. "No, I mean, you're clearly not. What's the matter?"
Merlin looked at her, and he wanted to tell her. God, he wanted so much to tell her. "It's nothing," he said. "Sorry if I've not been very nice to work with this week."
"It's something," Gwen said determinedly. "Don't you want to talk about it?"
Merlin swallowed. "I can't."
"Let's go to the pub after work. Not The Rising Sun, somewhere further afield, where we won't see anyone from the office?"
Merlin smiled at her. "Thanks, but I really can't. And besides, I was thinking of going to see Goldfinger again tonight."
"It's Toasted" was a successful and long-running cigarette ad campaign in the early twentieth century.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "You like Pussy Galore all that much?"
Merlin chuckled. "Sure. But mostly I just feel like watching Goldfinger get sucked out of that plane again. Nothing like watching a villain die absurdly and of his own stupidity, when you're in a mood."
"Would you object to company?"
Merlin hesitated, only because he didn't love the idea of Gwen trying to get him talking all night, but when the cinema lights went down and Gwen reached into her handbag and produced a small bottle of something that burned on its way down Merlin's throat, he remembered just what a good friend she really was.
#
"It's to do with Arthur, isn't it?" Gwen asked, hours later, when she and Merlin were settled in at a pub down the road from the cinema. "Only, you two are so close, and usually so friendly with one another, and this week, it's been-" she paused, searching for a word, and then gave up, reaching for her lager, embarrassed.
Merlin didn't say anything. The bottle they had passed back and forth throughout the film was making it hard to think straight about anything at all, but he still knew better than to talk about this.
"Only," Gwen started again, after a minute, "only-are you two lovers?" she said in a whispered rush, leaning across the table.
Merlin's focus was suddenly razor-sharp, and trained on Gwen's face. "What?" he said, in a voice far too high to be his own.
Gwen just blinked back at him, like she couldn't believe what she'd said either, and Merlin tore his eyes from her face to scan the pub fearfully.
"It's all right," Gwen said, voice low. "There's no one close."
Merlin stared back at her, heart rabbitting, and couldn't find a single word of response.
"I've wondered about it for a while now," Gwen continued, unable to look Merlin quite in the eye. "That night, last Christmas, when he and I-well, he only noticed I was there after you left, and it was only after you started at Camelot in the first place that he really began his whole... Don Juan thing, you know, like they all do, and whenever he does, you-you're always so upset about it, about him, I mean, so I thought maybe it was a diversion, or a distraction, because he wanted to cover up his love affair with you."
Merlin could still only stare at her. Her expression began to turned worried.
"Merlin?"
"Gwen, swear to me you've not said anything about this to anyone."
Gwen's eyes went wide. "Of course not! I would-ugh, you prat, of course I would never!"
"Oh, Gwen," Merlin breathed, as something inside him crumbled, because he believed her, and he'd been aching to talk to her about this.
He woke up the next morning exhausted and hungover, but feeling somehow lighter. It was the morning of the formal presentation to the Le Fay Tobacco partners, so Arthur wouldn't be able to keep avoiding him completely, unless he was willing to miss so important a meeting.
His stomach lurched, and he debated calling Gwen to say he wasn't coming in. But that felt altogether too pathetic, especially now that he finally had a confidante in her, so he rallied and went to work.
#
It was lucky that the Le Fay presentation was at the relatively early hour of ten o'clock, because Merlin had a hard enough time surviving just the first hour of the day, waiting. He drank his coffee as slowly as he could and tried to focus on anything work related, instead of the knots in his stomach in anticipation of finally, finally being in the same room as Arthur for the first time since Saturday morning nearly a week ago now.
"Mate," Gwaine said, poking his head into Merlin's office at nine-forty, "quick drink and smoke before ten? We're convening in Arthur's office."
1964 James Bond film, Goldfinger
"Thanks, no," Merlin answered, and gestured to the papers in front of him. "I want to wrap this up first, so I don't lose my train of thought."
"Overachiever," Gwaine said, giving a wink and a salute before leaving.
He wasn't actually anywhere near wrapping anything up, and five minutes later, he gave up blindly staring at his notes about the many and varied advantages of the ring pull beverage can, and went down the hall to check that everything in the conference room had been set up. He walked over to where the sample ad placards were on their stands, turned backwards. He hadn't seen the art since the sketches Lancelot had shown him on Monday, and he'd been too distracted by his own insane thoughts that day to really take it in, so he flipped over one of the cards to take a look.
And his stomach dropped.
The art was lovely, exactly what Merlin had expected: this one was the family in the kitchen in their dressing gowns, smiling at one another over breakfast and a smoke, under the banner of Merlin's copy. But beneath it was a picture of a man dressed as a doctor, giving the viewer a wide smile that was all teeth and false charm. It was the same actor Merlin had met months before in the lift, who'd been back to the office several times since then, filming one ad or another. On the ad placard, he stood tall in his white coat next to a neat bit of text telling the audience not to believe everything they heard, that not all doctors agreed with the claims about tobacco, and that they shouldn't deprive themselves based on what some alarmists were claiming.
Merlin stared at it, disbelieving. Arthur had promised. He had promised, and for every uncharitable thought Merlin had had about Arthur in the past week, it had never once occurred to him that Arthur might do this, that he might go back on an express promise without so much as a word of explanation.
Merlin screwed his eyes shut and had never, ever felt so stupid.
His iron grip on the placard caused it to crumple a bit as he turned, livid and heartbroken, to stalk down the hall to Arthur's office. The door was partially open and Merlin couldn't spare more than a glance for his secretary before he burst inside to find Arthur leaning against the edge of his desk, drink and cigarette in hand, surrounded by his entourage.
"There you are, Merlin!" Gwaine chirped. "You've time for one quick smoke before ten, and trust me, the stronger you smell of cigarettes in there, the better."
Merlin didn't look at him. He could do nothing but stare at Arthur. Arthur stared back, uncertainly.
"You promised," Merlin said, voice low and hard. "You gave me your word."
"Merlin, what's the matter?" asked Leon from somewhere off to the side, after a moment of silence.
Merlin held up the partially-crumpled placard. "This is the matter," he said, eyes still trained on Arthur. Arthur didn't look away, and Merlin couldn't tell if it was because he couldn't, or if he was just being stubborn.
Lancelot stepped forward into Merlin's peripheral vision, careful, like he was approaching a spooked horse. "Isn't that what you wanted, Merlin? It's almost exactly what I showed you on Monday."
"Yes, that part's fine, Lancelot. The art is great," Merlin said. "It's just that this isn't my ad. My ad didn't have any lies in it."
There was a faint swell of noise in the room, as various men shifted their weight uncomfortably, set down their drinks, or stubbed out their cigarettes. "Merlin?" Lancelot asked.
"He's not a doctor," Merlin said, jabbing his finger at the man on the lower half of the placard. "He's just an actor."
"Well, yes," Lancelot said, "we rarely use pictures of the actual experts-"
"But there are no actual experts. It's all a lie. There are no more doctors willing to say these things."
Lancelot faltered. "Is that true?" he asked, turning to Arthur.
Arthur's jaw was tight for a long moment before he spoke. "We do what our clients ask," he said stubbornly. "Our duty is to them. What they deem a necessary part of their ad campaigns, we're in no position to-"
"That's bollocks," Merlin snapped, cutting him off, and every eye the room snapped to his face, shocked. "Utter bollocks, Arthur, and you know it. Our name goes on these ads, too. We can't just lie to people like this. The public trust us, and we can't purposefully, deliberately abuse that."
"C'mon, Merlin," Gwaine said, after a moment. "It's just an ad. Most people are going to keep smoking no matter what anyone says, least of all us."
"You're right, Gwaine." Merlin turned to him. "And most of the women you seduce would happily fall into bed with you even without all your stories and false promises, but that doesn't keep you from making them. It's part of the game, isn't it?" Merlin's heart pounded as he looked around the room. "All of you, how can you look at this-" he shook the ad in his hand "-and then look at yourselves in the mirror? Are you really so morally bankrupt that it doesn't bother you to lie like this? I know you've had plenty more practice than I have, courting clients, and seducing mistresses, and placating your wives, telling all of them anything they want to hear, that you'll give them anything they want, that you'll never leave, that you don't want to leave-" His voice broke a little, at that, and he saw Arthur go rigid in his peripheral vision. It was a good thing Merlin couldn't bring himself to look at Arthur, because he didn't dare, for both their sakes. "But you always do, don't you? And without a glance backwards, because your mind was already a step ahead the entire time, plotting how to seduce the next one."
Profound silence echoed around the room until Merlin tossed the cigarette placard onto Arthur's desk. "I can't do this," he said, to no one in particular. "I quit." He turned, and could feel all their eyes and the reverberations of their shock follow him all the way down the hall.
Inside his own office, he exhaled and tripped a little, catching himself on a chair. Barely able to see straight, he grabbed his coat and hat and, after a brief pause, the potted plant on the windowsill that had been a gift from his mother. He didn't have time to take anything else; he just needed to get out of there before he did something unforgivable, like start to cry.
#
Merlin was sitting on the floor in his kitchen with an untouched glass of whiskey in front of him and his hands in his hair, staring at nothing, as the grandfather clock in the adjacent flat tolled twelve o'clock. It had only been two hours, apparently, but they could have been days. Merlin had been through the cycle of panic, self-doubt, anger, self-pity and then panic again more times than he could count, and by the looks of it, he was in for a long afternoon yet. His entire body felt hollow and sore. It felt fitting, though, after everything, to be sitting alone in his flat and wallowing, thinking as many horrible thoughts about Arthur as he could manage.
The knock on his door was startling and unwelcome. He almost didn't answer it, indulging in the fanciful notion that if it were Arthur out there, he would happily ignore him. Just leave him out in the hall this time.
But of course it wouldn't be Arthur; Merlin knew that much. It was probably Gwen. There was a small possibility it was someone else from the office, Lancelot or Leon or Gwaine, if they were feeling particularly bad for him, but it was probably Gwen. And Merlin couldn't just leave her out there, so he got up to answer it.
"Hello," Arthur said, as Merlin stared at him stupidly.
It was a long, stunned moment before Merlin's anger caught up with him, and then he very nearly slammed the door shut again-it wasn't too late to make good on his fantasy. But with Arthur actually right there, real and standing at his door again, Merlin was powerless in the face of wanting to know what he'd come to say. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to stifle the renewed churn of hurt and anger and, annoyingly, longing.
"It's good you're here," Merlin finally managed to say, and Arthur's eyebrows went up. "You've saved me a trip back to the office, to ask if you'll still give me a reference."
"Ah," Arthur said.
"Is that a no?" Merlin asked, when Arthur didn't say anything else.
"Merlin, I'm sorry," Arthur said, and then shook his head when Merlin's jaw dropped incredulously, "No, no, not about that, of course I'd give you a reference, don't be ridiculous. I mean about today. About the ad. I shouldn't have-it was my father. On Saturday, he-I wasn't expecting him to be, but he was in the meeting, and had brought some extra Le Fay people with him, and when they asked about the doctor, he agreed to it before I had a chance to say anything. He told them it had just been an oversight that we hadn't included it, that of course we would never be so brazen as to purposefully leave out something they expressly asked for. And I just-I let him. I shouldn't have, or at the very least I should have warned you, tried to explain. So-I'm sorry."
"Yes, you should have," Merlin managed to snap, after a moment. "I thought you'd lied just to get the copy out of me."
"I know," Arthur said, shaking his head. "But that wasn't-I never intended that."
"Great," Merlin said shortly, and he wasn't sure why this was only making him feel worse. "Brilliant. Glad to hear it."
Arthur looked at him, jaw tight. "Would it help at all if I told you that you were right? And that we fixed it?"
"I don't know. I don't know what that even means. Or if it would be true."
Arthur took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Camelot's duty to its clients has always been paramount," he said, in a tone that made Merlin suspect he'd rehearsed this a few times on the way over. "Meeting it has always been our most basic, primary objective-without our clients, my father's always said, Camelot is nothing. But-but I think you're right that there's more to it than that. We do have a duty to the public, as well, to strive to be trustworthy. And I think perhaps our duty to a client does end where those two conflict."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said, "it does," and managed to bite his tongue against some sharp words about Uther.
Arthur shifted his weight, the floor creaking beneath him. "Merlin, we fixed the ad."
Merlin frowned.
"Before the presentation."
"You what?"
"We cut the bottom half off of all the placards, so they were how you wanted them. So they were what we agreed to. And I told the Le Fay partners that they could accept it how it was, or they could leave, and come back to see us if they ever find a real doctor willing to make those claims, based on actual science and not just what we're paying him. But we won't lie anymore."
Merlin blinked, and felt his eyebrows go up. "And your father let that pass?"
Arthur paused. "My father wasn't there, so I don't know how he's going to react yet. But he's just going to have to see reason." He took a breath, and seemed to grow a little bit taller. "It's the right thing to do, and I've got the whole of Creative willing to back me on it."
"The whole of Creative?"
Arthur nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched a bit. "I'd never seen Lancelot angry like that before," he said. "But we discussed it and everyone agreed. I explained the risk-what losing the Le Fay account would mean-but they all agreed to it."
"So what happened?" Merlin asked, something warm and small swelling in his chest.
"They weren't pleased about us changing course after agreeing to Morgana's terms on Saturday, but they loved the ad," Arthur said. "They're taking it back to her, and I honestly don't know what to expect. I've put in a call to the villa where she's staying, and I hope she'll listen to me."
Merlin took a deep breath, which came out shaky when he exhaled. "Wow," he said. "I don't-wow." It felt like a lot to take in, especially after the week he had had, and he wasn't sure what he was feeling. The thought of Arthur and Lancelot and all of them standing together like that, in defence of what was right, made Merlin warm all over, and it was tempting-so tempting-to just smile and say that of course it helped, and that he didn't want to leave them, that he wanted to face Camelot's uncertain future standing right next to them. Next to Arthur.
When Merlin didn't speak for some time, Arthur faltered. He swallowed, throat bobbing, and opened his mouth more than once without saying anything. "I know I've not given you much reason to trust me, recently," he finally managed, "but I swear to you that it's all true," and Merlin nodded, because he knew it was.
"You will-" Arthur continued uncertainly, "you will stay, Merlin, won't you? I won't let anything like that happen again."
Merlin closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He knew Arthur was only talking about the ad, about breaking his promise, but he could just as easily have been talking about what had happened between them, and the thought set Merlin's heart racing. He couldn't just ignore it. He knew he should, but he couldn't. He couldn't just say yes and take his place next to Arthur and spend the foreseeable future always wondering, always on edge, always unsure what Arthur was thinking.
He looked at Arthur, and screwed up his courage. "I can't imagine that ad was the only reason you avoided me all week," he said, quiet but determined.
Arthur's face flushed hard, and it took the whole of Merlin's resolve not to look away. "I know," Arthur said, at length. "I know. I've just-I've been a bit... tied up in my own head."
The sound of a door falling shut on the floor below startled them both into remembering that they were still standing half in the hallway, with the door to Merlin's flat wide open. The rest of this conversation really needed to happen inside, behind a closed door, but Merlin wasn't ready for that yet.
Arthur looked at him expectantly, and then with surprise when Merlin didn't move to go inside. It was a long minute before he started speaking again, and when he did, his voice was low and quiet.
"The first person I saw after leaving here that day," he said, "was my father. I thought the office would be empty-just me and Morgana-but there he was, and I just-I don't know. Panicked. I was sure that he knew, that Morgana knew, that they could all tell just by looking at me what we'd done, what I-" He looked down at his hands, and looked so tired, so vulnerable, that Merlin felt all the fight drain right out of him. "What I am," Arthur said.
Merlin could only ache, for a moment, before saying, "I'm sure they didn't, Arthur."
Arthur examined his palm, and then looked up. "No, you're right. Of course not. And I've been a complete ass, I'm afraid."
Merlin huffed a small, surprised laugh. "You have, at that." They just looked at each other for a long moment.
"It wasn't a lie," Arthur finally said, his voice rough. "I didn't want to leave. That night, or even-that morning, I-" He cut off, and something in Merlin's chest split wide open.
"Arthur-" he managed.
"Merlin, can we-is there any way we can-" and Merlin was already nodding, couldn't stop himself "-just start over? I'll do better. I'll be better, I-"
"Arthur," Merlin said again, and then he was in the hallway, his arms wrapped around Arthur's neck and kissing him, without room left inside to care who saw.
#
Low afternoon light was filtering through Merlin's dusty bedroom window as he sank into the warmth of Arthur sprawled out next to him, one leg tangled in the sheets and the other tangled with Merlin's own. He watched the hair on Arthur's chest catch the light, and then grinned as he rubbed his fingers through it, just because he could.
"At the risk of pushing my luck," Arthur said, breaking the comfortable silence, "you will stay, won't you? At Camelot?"
Merlin looked up to his face, at his stupidly blue eyes, and bit his lip for a moment. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked. "I mean, with this?" He gestured between them. "Assuming it's going to continue-"
"It is," Arthur interjected, firmly.
Merlin grinned, unable to help it, and pressed his palm flat over Arthur chest. "It might be easier to not be in the same office all day. Less risky, I mean."
"Probably," Arthur said. "But I don't care. I couldn't stand it if you worked anywhere else."
"Do you really think we still have jobs?" Merlin asked, reddening. "I mean, without the Le Fay account? You said we wouldn't be able to pay the rent."
Arthur drew a long breath. "So we'll move offices, if we have to. Somewhere less extravagant."
"And what will your father say about that?"
"A lot, I'm sure. But we'll figure it out. It's only money, after all."
"'Only money'?" Merlin repeated a beat later, bemused and incredulous.
Arthur coloured, but brought a hand up to thread into the short hairs at the nape of Merlin's neck. "Yes. And word on the street is that it can't buy me love. So. Don't know that I care too much for it, anymore."
Merlin grinned, wide and silly. "Is that so?"
"It is. Because when I get home to you, the things that you do, they-something."
Merlin snorted a laugh into Arthur's shoulder. "Admit it. You love them."
Arthur scoffed.
"They're geniuses and you love them!" Merlin declared stubbornly.
Arthur growled and suddenly pushed himself up and on top of Merlin, pinning him to the bed with the solid length of his torso. Merlin huffed in surprise and pleasure, and then took a deep breath against the warm weight of him. He looked up at Arthur, who looked back down at him in a way that set Merlin's heart wobbling.
"Admit it," Merlin said.
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur replied, and Merlin did, but only because that wasn't what he heard at all.
ring pull beverage can
The End
Except not quite, because I'm just gonna leave these here for you:
"Can't Buy Me Love"
"A Hard Day's Night"
"Twist and Shout"