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Merlin is late for registration. It isn’t even his fault, this time, it’s his mum’s car. He’d set his alarm for five in the morning knowing full well that he’d sleep through the half hour snooze, and he’d packed the night before. So all he had needed to do was shower and eat before he could leave.
And then the car wouldn’t start.
Hunith had been on the phone to the recovery service immediately, but there’d been a half an hour wait for the man in the van to get out to their little village that turned into an hour wait when he got lost on the way. And then there was the actual fixing of the car; three whole hours in total.
Merlin had winced at the amount his mother had to pay out, even though she said the insurance would pay it back eventually, and then they’d set off.
But then there had been roadworks, and a sketchy looking service station where Merlin had bought even dodgier looking sandwiches for them to eat, quickly, while Merlin reread Camelot’s welcome guide and cringed at the fact that his department’s registration slot was in exactly thirty minutes’ time and Camelot was still forty minutes’ drive away at a push.
In the end, Hunith had driven into the campus and stopped on the double yellow lines outside the Kilgarrah Literature Building. Merlin had run out, bag in hand, tripped his way up the wide marble steps and promptly got lost in the atrium.
In his defence, it’s a huge thing, all soaring columns and marble floor and space, letting his footsteps echo embarrassingly when he runs through. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of reception desk, or any signs at all; or, indeed, any people. Well, the freshers have probably all registered and left, and the rest of the students won’t actually start class until next week. Merlin’s just about to root through his bag and look for his Guide, as he calls it in his head, to try to find some sort of assistance, when a so ridiculously beautiful blonde walks down the central staircase. He’s old – well, not ridiculously, but probably mid to late thirties. He’s got a slight air of something that Merlin’s reluctant to call arrogance about him… but yes, that’s probably what it is. And he looks annoyed as fuck.
But he’s the only person around, so Merlin hurries up to him, making a mental note to invest in some slightly less squeaky shoes.
“Excuse me, um, I’m looking for the Literature with Conservation registration? I’m very late, but I was hoping someone might still be around?”
The man turns around slowly, and his eyes rake down Merlin’s very flustered self, and then slowly back up to his eyes again.
“Merlin Emrys?”
“Yes,” Merlin replies, blushing a little, about to wither up and crumble into his squeaky shoes until he’s only a pile of skinnies and t-shirt and scarf. Make that a ridiculously embarrassed pile of skinnies and t-shirt and scarf.
“You had better come with me, then,” the man tells him, and he turns around with a look of disappointment and a sigh, and leads Merlin back up the stairs.
---
“I really am very sorry,” Merlin says, while the man’s leading him downstairs after Merlin took the wrong door, trying to repair some of the damage because fuck, he’s hot.
“Just don’t be late to your first lecture,” the man sighs, barely looking at Merlin. He has a constant air of distraction about him, and annoyance, as if there’s something he could be doing right now that’s infinitely more interesting and important than Merlin. And Merlin, perhaps stupidly, perhaps not, isn’t pissed off by that like he thinks he really should be. Instead, he just wants to change the man’s opinion. Preferably to one that involves fantasies of desks and supply cupboards.
He gives the man his best slightly flirtatious smile, sure he’ll see him around on campus at some point to make good on the promise it gives, and heads off to attempt to find his Halls.
---
Well, to be fair on him, it’s not entirely his fault. But, to be fair on him, we’d probably best start a little earlier in the day and explain.
The Freshers’ Fayre was spread out between the various on-campus Halls of Residence, stalls sheltering under trees that have been around longer than any of the alumni, sprawling out in the green space between the gym and the health centre and the halls. When Merlin had woken up, and managed to get over his considerable hangover enough to actually leave his room, he’d headed straight for the LGBT society’s stall. Well, that’s not entirely true, it was never really a destination as such, but it was the first stall that drew his notice.
He’d barely slowed when a brunette second year with plaits and eager eyes had slapped a rainbow sticker on his jacket and held out a rainbow wristband.
“Membership is free, but it’s fifty p for a wristband or a badge. To cover our costs, no profit or anything! You will join, won’t you?”
Merlin’s eyes had widened, and he’d turned a little to better take her in. She was wearing straight jeans, flip flops, a neon pink t-shirt and a badge with Mithian scrawled over it. He had tipped his head back and laughed.
“But what if I’m straight?”
Mithian wagged a finger at him, smiled a little too predatorily at the shy girl coming up beside him, and continued.
“Ah, but you’re not, my gaydar is never wrong, honey.”
“You’re right,” Merlin had told her, and she’d grinned and proceeded to worm his details out of him.
When his answer to course? had been Literature with Conservation, bit of a narrow field I know, the girl next to him had spun slowly, mouth wide.
“No way.”
“Uh… way?”
“I- um, sorry, I shouldn’t have… I’m Freya.”
“Hi Freya, I’m Merlin. And it’s fine.”
She blushed a shade of pink to rival Mithian’s t-shirt when he held out a hand for her to shake, and hid under her hair.
“What I meant to say,” she had continued, in a very small voice, “Was that I’m taking that course as well.”
“Oh! Well, then, maybe you’ll know how long it is until we need to be in,” he paused to check the back of his hand where he’d scrawled the room number, “C4.”
“Oh, it’s not long, but my brother used to study Chemistry here, so I know exactly where we’re going.”
She’d smiled at that, so Merlin had smiled back.
“Really? That’s great. You can show me the way, then.”
And, because their stall had brought about this amazing coincidence, he’d bought a rainbow badge for his satchel from Mithian. And then he’d taken Freya around the stalls a little, until they’d had to rush off to their lecture. Which is where they’d hit the stumbling block.
“They’ve changed it all around, this is not what was on this floor last time I was here!” Freya moans, walking up the third floor hallway for the second time.
“Freya, we could… ask someone?”
“No!”
And alright, maybe they can’t, because that was downright frightening.
“Sorry,” she says, “I get a bit grouchy when I’m scared and I don’t like being lost, and I’ve done two whole brave things today so I can’t talk to anyone else.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I have this… thing,” Freya starts, and it sounds like it’s going to be a really important conversation that’s going to make them even more than fifteen minutes late, so Merlin heads her off.
“Why don’t you tell me about it after the lecture? We could go for coffee.”
“Oh, yes, of course!”
So they head back to the stairs, to try another floor.
Merlin finally bursts into C4 twenty minutes late, with a blurted sorry. He’s flustered from the lateness, a problem that only amplifies when he looks up and notices who the lecturer is. The man from the day before, taking him in with folded arms an expression very close to a scowl. Behind him a scrawl on the board proclaims him as Professor Pendragon.
“Ah, Merlin, I had begun to think you were never going to arrive.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, blushing to the tips of his ears.
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been running around with your girlfriend you wouldn’t be so late,” Pendragon reprimands, and Merlin just has to laugh at that, because the rainbow badge on his satchel is still pretty prominent and the professor can’t fail to have noticed it. But he just frowns harder at Merlin.
“Take a seat. Perhaps someone will be so kind as to recap the past twenty minutes.”
A blonde girl’s hand shoots up, and Professor Pendragon utterly fails to hide the eye roll that elicits.
“Yes, Sophia, go on.”
None of the other students have bothered to unpack their bags, but Sophia reads aloud from her perfectly neat shorthand.
“Professor Arthur Pendragon is a member of the Board of Directors for Camelot University, and takes time out of his very busy managerial schedule to teach this class, as his specialisation is Conservation. His PhD concentrated on methods to prevent the degradation of thirteenth century metals. He has been consulted by the Tower of London amongst other prestigious organisations, and is considered amongst the highest in his field. Though here I would argue with Professor Pendragon – I regard him as the highest in his field…”
By the time Merlin’s reached his seat, Freya slipping in next to him, he’s tired of Sophia’s whiny, ingratiating voice. About halfway through her speech, he tunes out entirely, choosing instead to contemplate the view in front of him. Namely: Arthur Pendragon.
He really is gorgeous. Even more so than the day before, in a simple black suit and ruffled hair. His eyes are blue and, Merlin finds, really quite mesmerising. Merlin watches as he starts to smile a little, a slight uplift of those stupidly kissable lips, an ironic tilt to it as he watches Sophia with disbelief. Of course the Professor would fancy the teacher’s pet and not the late, apparently uncaring, scruffy kid.
Merlin has to take a mental step back to inspect himself at that thought because really, since when had what he felt about Professor Pendragon escalated from appreciation of beauty to disappointment that someone else has his attention. He gives himself a few seconds to mentally sort his thoughts about his Professor into something more acceptable, before tuning into the lecture again.
It isn’t particularly important; all things that Merlin already knows. They’ll be put in with the ordinary Literature students for that part of the course, but with fewer assignments to make room for what Pendragon will give them. Their time will be divided equally between the English and Chemistry departments. And the next lecture would be the same time, next week, but in a different room.
Professor Pendragon ignores Merlin for the rest of the lecture, but at the end, as Merlin makes to leave and Pendragon is doing the rounds of the tables, answering questions, he turns back from talking to Freya to see a folded piece of paper on his table with his name on it. It’s a map, hand-drawn, of the different levels of the Science department building, with the classroom for the next lecture arrowed and starred and highlighted. Next to it Pendragon has written the time for the lecture, but fifteen minutes early, and underneath
(So there’ll be a chance you’ll actually arrive)
Merlin finds himself smiling at the note, and he tucks it safely into his pocket.
---
---
“I don’t know, Merlin, I don’t do that sort of thing.”
“Gwaine, it’s only a meeting, it’s not like they’re all going to jump you.”
Gwaine flicks his hair back and grins.
“Well, with my astounding good looks, I don’t know.”
Merlin sighs and smiles at him. Gwaine’s his favourite flatmate, not because he cleans up after himself in the kitchen (he doesn’t, it’s currently covered in his attempts at pasta) but because he’s always somehow there to cheer Merlin up when he needs it, or, on one memorable night of homesickness, have a heart to heart about absent fathers.
“Look. You’re bi. You could do with the advertisement to the blokes, you’re not exactly the campest of guys with your beer and your rugby and your rowing. Why not go? We won’t give you the support group treatment if you don’t need it.”
Gwaine sighs and flicks a tomato seed into Merlin’s hair.
“Fine, but you’re buying me a drink.”
It turns out to be a quiet affair, just in the Student Union bar with an offer on pretty cocktails. Merlin sits him and Gwaine and Freya down at the improvised square of tables, and hands Gwaine his bright pink drink.
“You never specified what sort of drink,” he teases, before Gwaine has time to open his mouth, and grins when Gwaine gapes like a goldfish. Then he steels himself, and downs it.
“Actually… that wasn’t too bad.”
“Yes! We’ll make you camp yet!”
Next to him, Freya just giggles.
At the head of the table, Mithian motions them all quiet, and gets them all going round introducing themselves. For an hour, it’s just chatting, mingling, until Mithian stands again and claps her hands together.
“Right, guys, you can stay here, or you can club!”
Freya blushes and smiles her way out of it, but Merlin and Gwaine opt for the club, trailing down into the city centre with most of the rest of the society, so Mithian can show them the best gay club. It’s playing Girls Aloud when they walk in, so ridiculously stereotypical that Merlin thinks Gwaine’s just going to walk straight back out again. So he’s surprised when firm hands grip his hips and pull him in, dancing to Love Machine with him, hips moving about as dirtily as it gets. And it’s good, it really is very good with the firmness of Gwaine’s chest against his back and the smell of his shampoo enveloping him, but they’re both too sober to think that sleeping with a flatmate is a good idea, so they break apart when the song’s finished.
When Merlin gets back, Gwaine’s already there, and the walls are thin enough for him to know exactly what’s going on next door. And though Merlin’s had offers, he hasn’t really felt like accepting any of them. None of them really felt right, like what Merlin was looking for.
He finds himself dreaming of darkened rooms and echoing music, felt but never heard, and men with blonde hair and disinterested smiles and bright blue eyes that show so much more…
---
Merlin’s hungover, and he trails into the kitchen for painkiller and water, downing a full glass in one go. He only has a matter of hours until his lecture, so he makes the best of things; manages a quick shower which makes him feel marginally better, and goes without food to try to keep his stomach settled. He arrives on time for the lecture, taking a seat next to Freya. Professor Pendragon’s lips twitch at that, and Merlin fights his nausea to smile back.
“Merlin,” he drawls, “On time, for once, but later than your girlfriend.”
Freya flinches at that, but Pendragon doesn’t seem to notice, too busy smirking. Merlin scowls a little, and the Professor turns abruptly away. Under the table he curls a protective hand over Freya’s, and resolves to call Pendragon out on it.
The lecture is… actually, quite good. Professor Pendragon is entertaining and informative, and he drags them all along for the ride with a PowerPoint presentation of pictures of the different insects that like to eat books, and the damage they cause. He introduces them briefly to the damage that handling causes, and the debate between gloves and washed hands. And he touches on the ways to solve conservation problems, a good lead-in to the next lecture. Packing up his things, Merlin lingers, thinking not just about how to inform his professor that he and Freya are, in fact, gay, but also of the way his eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and how he made Merlin want to meticulously rebind all the books in the library after just an hour.
In front of him, Pendragon taps away at his laptop, noting something or other before he leaves the room and his lecturing for the day. Merlin walks over to the front desk, clutching his satchel like a shield.
“Sir?”
Pendragon looks up, and a slow smile spreads over his face. Merlin almost forgets what he was going to say.
“Merlin. What is it?”
Merlin steels himself, ready for a full on argument if need be.
“You keep calling Freya my girlfriend. But she’s not, she’s actually a lesbian, and she’s having a hard time of it, and it’s really insensitive of you to keep-”
Realising that he’s probably gone too far, jumping in with both feet and expecting a fight before gauging the Professor’s reaction, Merlin stops. He blushes a little, and Pendragon smiles a little wider.
“If it’s making her uncomfortable I’ll stop.”
“Good.” Merlin makes to leave, but he turns in the doorway. “And don’t do it with any other girls, because I’m gay.”
There’s an unreadable expression on Pendragon’s face at that, before it resolves into cool amusement.
“Of course,” he says, and turns his back on Merlin in dismissal.
---
It’s cramped, and it’s dark, but it feels more like home. It’s got a sense of being part of something, rather than empty and lifeless. And he likes it; likes the way it fits him like a shell, likes the familiarity of it all.
He has a safe in the living area, where he keeps his most precious possessions. His father’s country pile is filled with medieval armour that has been left to rust and degrade and, piece by piece, he’s restoring it. The process is strangely relaxing, almost a form of meditation, and he uses it as such when he needs it. Like now, when his mind is filled with thoughts of cheekbones and blue eyes and long eyelashes, images chasing each other, filling his thoughts until it feels about to burst, a tension headache about to burst him apart.
He strokes over the poleyn, rubbing at a particularly stubborn piece of metal oxide, and thinks.
It was easy to push the thoughts of his really quite gorgeous student away when, in Arthur’s mind at least, he was straight and taken. But now he’s gay and, well, Arthur doesn’t know, but gay is definitely enough, Arthur can’t stop thinking about him. He’s tall; lithe, even, with long thin fingers that Arthur keeps imagining…
He rubs the cloth over the metal again, slowly, grounding himself again.
But that’s not really it. It’s the way that Merlin watches him when he’s teaching, the way his eyes light with an almost cheeky glint when they talk, or maybe it’s just the way he laughs. It’s pulled Arthur in with a surprising force, and he can’t seem to stop the thoughts.
Another deep breath, another circle of the cloth.
And it wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t Arthur’s student. Because Arthur always was, and still is, able to snare whoever he wanted. He can be charming when he chooses, and, he has to admit it, he really is attractive. He could turn his idle daydreams into reality, and get it all out of his system, and continue as usual. But there are rules against these things, against sexual liasons with hot, young students-
Thoughts push to the front of Arthur’s mind, of things he thought he could confine to when he lay out under his sheets, alone, touching himself, but obviously not. This requires greater distraction, so he takes out his tools and scrapes carefully at the surface of the armour. And he resolves to stop thinking about Merlin. Because clearly that way lies madness.
---
“Am I?” Arthur asks, barely looking up from his notes.
“You are, even more than usual.”
“Oh, very funny, Lance.”
Lance smiles a little at that, and pulls up a seat.
“So what is it? The Board? You know they’ll see things your way eventually.”
“No, Lance,” he sighs, “It’s not the Directors.”
“Well, you’re work’s going well.”
Arthur’s head shoots up at that, and he raises an eyebrow.
“You’ve been reading it again?”
“Well, just a little,” he blushes, “I like to see where all my blood, sweat and tears go.”
Arthur gathers his papers to him like it’ll keep them secret, and Lance laughs.
“So what’s wrong, then? If it isn’t the usual suspects.”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Arthur tells him, with an air of complete finality.
“Fine then. But I will get it out of you.”
And Lance gets up, and leaves for his morning lecture, and Arthur knows full well that by the end of the week Lance will probably know everything.
---
After the lecture, Freya rests a hand on his arm and frowns at him.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“I- I don’t know,” Merlin tells her, because he can never lie to Freya, she’s just too sweet for deceit. That, and the fact that she seems to see right through it.
“Let’s go out and get ridiculously drunk.”
Merlin smiles at that idea.
“Let’s take Gwaine.”
---
A little way off, Freya is almost dancing with a woman, too shy by far to press close like the rest of the dancers. But the girl’s watching Freya like she’s something precious, so Merlin supposes he can leave her to it for a while. Next to him, the perfectly capable Gwaine is exchanging corny chat-up lines with a girl he’ll probably end up taking home. On the other side of him is the barman, who by now Merlin has well trained for just one more shot, when he slides the cash over the bar towards him.
It’s late enough in the evening that the details of the club are starting to swim in the blinking lights, smoke-machine clouds of neon outlined by swirling, shifting masses of people. Something breaks off from the main silhouette, and it grows, and Merlin vaguely realises that it’s a man. He blinks until his vision focuses, and takes the mental note that it’s a really hot man, blonde, from the way the purple shows through his hair, a few inches taller than Merlin and broad with it. Merlin smiles when he asks for his name, and tells him Merlin. He doesn’t ask for a name back but the man gives it anyway, and Merlin promptly forgets it. John or James or Joe or something.
Within an hour he’s being fucked into his mattress. Within six he’s half smiling at the man, who still looks ridiculously attractive hungover, and who makes him laugh and feel wanted in all the ways you’re supposed to cling onto. But then he’s frowning, and all he can do is apologise when the guy asks if they could do that again, maybe with an actual date first. And Merlin really doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.
---
Arthur decides he really hasn’t thought this one through.
Five minutes later, he decides it’s the best idea ever. No one ever accused Arthur Pendragon of knowing his mind on the subject of boys.
The rest of the reviews go well. Arthur has bright pupils, mainly, and they only need a little light steering. Merlin’s review, however. Well. For a start everything Arthur predicted happens. He sits with a file on his lap from two minutes in, and he goes through a whole bottle of water to keep his throat working.
But other than that, the whole experience is, actually, amazing. Merlin looks gorgeous, even in faded jeans and a hoodie, and they start up a sort of banter straight away about, of all things, the relative merits of The British Library and the new Library of Alexandria. How they get from that to cooking expertise, Arthur will never know, but he does remember clearly the moment when he catches himself just before asking Merlin to dinner to try his spaghetti (and if that doesn’t sound like a euphemism on top of everything else, well).
After that they manage to actually go through the assignment together. Merlin needs very few guiding points, but makes sure to talk them through fully when Arthur would almost rather shoo him out. It’s probably good for him, Arthur thinks, an exercise in self-denial. Though it feels like the opposite, burying himself in Merlin’s eyes and his infectious smile and refusing to ever come out.
Still, despite the barely concealed, irresistible flirting, they do manage to get the work done. And Arthur does manage to let Merlin leave, though in retrospect his ‘see you tomorrow for the lecture’ is full of a touch more promise than he intended.
---
“Woah,” Gwaine says, as soon as he sets eyes on Merlin, hands in front of his face, “Turn that smile down a notch, you’ll blind someone.”
Merlin just laughs and, if anything, smiles a little wider.
“What’s all this for, then?”
Merlin falters on his way to the fridge, and thinks.
“I don’t know, I’m just really, really happy.”
“Did Pendragon fuck you over the desk or something?” Gwaine jokes, and Merlin stops that time.
“No… he didn’t…”
Gwaine’s finger shoots up and points straight at Merlin.
“But it is Pendragon related?”
“I… think it might be,” Merlin replies, leaning against the counter as things start to click into place. The way he looks forward to Pendragon’s lessons like nothing else, even though he can be a bit of a prat. The way he finds himself refusing perfectly good guys. The way he seems to find himself with more blonde haired, blue eyed boys than anything else. He turns away from Gwaine and groans.
“Yes, yes it’s Pendragon related. Why did you have to say that? I was perfectly happy not knowing!”
Gwaine smiles, just a little.
“You’re screwed, Merlin. But then you’ll be screwed over his desk, it’s worth the pain for the reward. This is how life goes.”
Merlin slumps, takes the biscuits out of his cupboard and starts eating.
“No, Gwaine, that’s the way films go. There’s a difference. He had every opportunity to show if he likes me, but he didn’t. And what does that tell you? He’s not interested.”
Gwaine, like the insensitive bastard that he is, just shrugs.
“We could always get drunk?”
“We could,” Merlin says, and he goes to get his coat.
---
When they’re both recovered enough to sit in the kitchen and look vaguely human, Gwaine makes them toast, and they decide to make an Action Plan. Capital letters necessary, apparently.
“Well, obviously you’ll go after him,” Gwaine says, spreading jam far too thickly on their toast.
“Um, no,” Merlin replies, refusing to acknowledge that his perfectly good toast has just been ruined as he takes a bite.
“Why not? He’s hot, you get on, rumour says he’s in the off stage of his on/off thing with Professor Leon Knight…”
“His what? Anyway, that’s not all he is, he’s my professor, and there are rules against that sort of thing. And despite what rumour says, he’s very probably straight.”
Gwaine just laughs at that.
“Oh, Merlin, you have a lot of living to do. And rumour is always right. Don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”
Merlin buries his sorrows in toast, and pretends not to listen to Gwaine.
“So, how to bag an older man. Tight clothes, of course, lots of turning and bending so he can see your arse, lots of staying after class for flirting sessions. No outright suggestions until you’re sure you have him hooked, and then you go straight for the sex. He can have time to think about the repercussions after you’ve given him the orgasm of his life. Yes?”
It probably wasn’t the intended effect, but Gwaine’s little speech does cheer Merlin up no end. He laughs, fighting to keep his mouth shut, spraying crumbs all over the table. Gwaine pouts, affronted that his words aren’t being taken seriously, but then he laughs too, and this is why he’s Merlin’s favourite flatmate. He sweeps Merlin up for a quick squeeze, and smiles.
“It’s alright, Merlin. Who could resist you?”
---
Lance walks in quietly and deposits a polystyrene cup of coffee and a bottle of water on his desk. He goes out again for Arthur’s next set of papers, and brings them inside. He waits for Arthur to finish the coffee and start on the water to speak.
“You look like shit.”
“Wow, I couldn’t have guessed.”
Lance takes the seat opposite Arthur and sighs.
“Oh, ha ha Arthur, I’m laughing while you give yourself alcohol poisoning. If it’s really that bad, you can phone me, you know. I’m not too cool to come see a Professor and play Xbox with him. Or Leon, I know he broke up with you but it’s not like he meant that to separate you for ever.”
Arthur doesn’t really answer, just keeps sipping at his water.
“It’s that bloke, isn’t it?” Lance asks, and steals Arthur’s diary from his desk. Arthur doesn’t think he could find any incriminating evidence in it.
Arthur underestimates Lance’s powers of deduction.
“So you had meetings with your students yesterday… right up until five. Arthur. It isn’t a student, is it? Oh, god. So you were bored and texting me until two, which means the guy was after that…”
Arthur tries to snatch the diary from Lance, but it’s to no avail. Besides, he’s already seen. The only male student after two o’clock is
“Merlin Emrys. Arthur, you’re not head over heels for Merlin Emrys?” His tone is hopeful, but Arthur’s shuttered expression gives him all the answer he needs. And it’s certainly not what Lance wanted.
“Oh, Arthur.”
“Shut up. It’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad, Arthur! A student! You could get fired and never teach again if you ever let anything happen, you can’t-”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lance.”
“Arthur, you know that’s not what I meant.”
Lance sighs and gets up, goes to pace a little. Arthur gets up to join him.
“Obviously you weren’t thinking of letting anything happen. But still, you have to be on your guard, Arthur. No compromising situations. And definitely no drowning your sorrows. He’s only a student. He’s, what, ten years younger than you?”
“Nine, but near enough,” Arthur sighs, “Young and beautiful, there isn’t a hope for me.”
“But that’s only external, right! You’d never last with him, he’s not got that world-wise way that you have.”
Arthur is starkly reminded that Lance admitted once that he fancied him through his first few months of the job, and feels suddenly ill again.
“I don’t know, Lance,” he says instead, “I just- there’s something about him, I really can’t explain.”
Lance stops in his tracks, leaving a distracted Arthur to walk straight into him. They look at each other, and the apology dies in Arthur’s throat, and he laughs.
“You really are fucked, aren’t you?” Lance tells him through his laughter.
Two minutes later, when Gwen walks in worried about their sanity, she finds the two of them holding each other up, dancing around the floor, laughing like they’re on something. She just walks straight back out again.
---
About half an hour in, Freya elbows him.
“Hey, Merlin, are you actually listening to a word the Professor says?”
“Um, no?”
Freya rolls her eyes at him and sighs.
“You can only borrow my notes if you tell me why.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin opens his notepad on an empty page and writes I <3 Pendragon in red gel pen. He waits just long enough for Freya’s shocked gasp, then slams the notepad shut. It’s loud enough to draw Pendragon’s gaze, and their eyes meet for a second, lingering too long to be entirely accidental. Then Merlin looks down, Arthur clears his throat, and the lecture continues.
Afterwards, Merlin burns the piece of paper while Freya sits on the end of his bed, squealing.
“You fancy Pendragon! Oh my god! I know he’s hot but Merlin!”
“I know, Freya, do you think I don’t know? Do you think I haven’t done everything I possibly can to stop wanting him?”
Freya calms a little, and settles back against his pillows.
“That involves thinking about him, doesn’t it?”
Slowly, Merlin nods.
“Well, yes Freya, I’m trying to find bad points.”
“But you can only think about how amazingly sexy he is? And how you’d like to be fucked over his desk?”
“Freya!” It’s about the last thing he’d expect to hear from Freya, but it’s entirely true. He can’t stop thinking about Arthur’s big, strong fingers, and how they’d-
Merlin blushes a bright tomato red. Freya just smirks at him.
“The point is, you need to stop thinking about him,” she checks her watch and nods, “Gay night?”
Merlin gets her meaning immediately, and goes to get his going out all-but-sprayed-on jeans.
Two hours later he’s dancing with a slightly taller, thin man with dyed blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Merlin’s fingers tangle in his hair and their hips press close together like there’s no one else around to watch the display. Freya and Gwaine sit at the bar and watch him.
“Oh god, this is really not what I intended.”
Gwaine passes her another drink companionably and takes a swig of his.
“In theory it was a great idea, Frey, don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“But he just had to find the most Pendragon-like man in the club.”
“I know, Freya, I know,” Gwaine sighs deeply and downs his drink, “But he’s an adult, he’s allowed to make these decisions.”
“Damn, I was going to ask you to drag him away.”
“Not a chance, sorry. But we don’t have to watch him make his drunken mistakes.”
Freya glances back over as Merlin guides the man’s hand under his shirt. She shudders and looks back away again.
“You have a point.”
“Home or pub?”
“Pub, I think I need to erase this version of Merlin from my memory.”
Gwaine laughs, and looks over.
“It’s not that much worse than usual… he’s just progressed to my normal standard.”
“Yes, Gwaine, but your normal standard usually disgusts me anyway. And you don’t find yourself obvious replacements for men you can’t have.”
Gwaine laughs and gives her an arm to help her upright.
“I don’t know, there was the girl who looked like Kiera Knightley in low light…”
Freya laughs and slaps his arm.
“Just take me to the pub, twat.”
Gwaine guides Freya to sit suspiciously close to a very hot, miserable looking man at the bar. He orders his drink and pays for the first round, takes a sip, and turns to talk to the guy. Freya just rolls her eyes.
“You look as bad as I feel.”
“Yeah, really? Your friend’s crushing on one of his students?”
“No, but one of my friends is crushing on his professor, so it’s probably just as bad. What’s your name? I’m Gwaine, maybe we can cheer each other up.”
Freya dissolves into giggles at the line, but then the rest of the conversation manages to catch up with her and she manages to take in enough breath to get actual words out.
“Hang on, can I ask what your friend’s name is? Just quickly, then I’ll leave you to be flirted at.”
The guy frowns, then shrugs.
“Arthur, Professor Pendragon that is, why?”
Freya claps frantically, grinning.
“Oh, this is priceless, who does he fancy?”
“Guy called Merlin, why?”
Freya almost bounces off her chair at that.
“Gwaine, are you listening? He’s our best friend, oh my god!”
The guy looks between them, and seems a good deal more sober.
“My name’s Lance. I’m Arthur’s research assistant. I think we need to talk.”
Gwaine manages to sober up pretty quickly, and Freya’s always been able to snap back into a serious mindset. Freya and Lance agree that a liason between Arthur and Merlin should be actively discouraged, and Gwaine nods along grudgingly. Though Freya strongly suspects that it’s all down to the amount he wants to get into Lance’s pants; understandable with the perfect hair and the dark eyes and the arse that merits a low whistle from Gwaine when Lance nips off to the loo.
“So,” he asks, when he gets back, “Was the whistle you?”
Gwaine makes to deny it, but behind him Freya nods madly.
“Traitor,” he murmurs.
“I take it I did well in the arse test?”
“Very well.”
“Well, maybe when we don’t have fucked up friends to discuss, we could do something about that.”
“Oh, really?”
Lance leaves them both with his phone number, Gwaine clearly only for flirting purposes, Freya to complain about Merlin. As they walk home, Gwaine cuddles the phone close to his chest. Freya just laughs at him.
---
In the morning light, Merlin doesn’t fancy the man in the slightest. He’s too fake, with his straw-like hair and a nipple piercing that Merlin swears he’s only just noticed. And, thinking back, the sex wasn’t even that good.
He’s not in his room, so he gets dressed and leaves, trying to find his way back home.
“Ooooooooooooohhhhh,” Gwaine calls as Merlin walks in, nursing his hangover, “Someone had fun last night.”
Merlin just shakes his head and waves him off. Gwaine’s expression falls.
“Didn’t do any good?”
“When I woke up next to him my first thought was he’s not Pendragon.”
Gwaine pulls himself up onto the counter and sighs.
“You know what you’re going to have to do?”
“What?”
“Go after him.”
---
Dear Professor Pendragon,
I’m having some problems with the assignment you set, can we meet?
Merlin :)
Arthur cringes a little at the emoticon, but manages to type out a reply of
Merlin
I’m in my office between 9:00 and 4:30 tomorrow, come by when you can.
Professor A. Pendragon.
Part of Arthur dreads the meeting, and part of him longs for it. He spends the evening flicking between the two before finally caving in and calling Lance.
“Well you can’t let anything happen.”
“I know, Lance.”
“Then you know what to do,” he tells Arthur, “Act the distant Professor. Help, but not too closely.”
Arthur nods.
“I will.”
---
“Good luck!” Gwaine calls from the kitchen, winking heavily. Merlin just rolls his eyes.
He walks into Pendragon’s office when he’s called in wearing skinny jeans, a thin white t-shirt and a scarf. If he wasn’t so sure he’s projecting he’d say that Pendragon swallows hard when he walks in.
“Hi,” he says, and pulls out his notepad.
The problem is insignificant and very much made up, so they work through it quickly. And then Arthur makes the mistake of asking him about how he likes the course, and they fall back into their banter. By the time Merlin finally leaves, Arthur doesn’t want him to. And he’s gone. He’s far, far gone.
And then there’s another meeting.
And then another, after a lecture.
By the fourth, they stop even trying to pretend that they’re meeting about the subject.
---
“Well, it’s a long story,” Pendragon says with a sigh, “It’s a miracle I got into history at all.”
He looks away and picks up his mug to hide behind, and by now Merlin can recognise that the tell means he’s feeling a little vulnerable. So he reaches out a hand for his forearm and rests it there.
“What is it, Professor?”
And Arthur shouldn’t say it, he really shouldn’t, but he’s thinking about Uther and all the pain that has happened in his life and Merlin is touching him so softly; so he does.
“Call me Arthur.”
It’s another nail in his coffin, another step away from the student-teacher distance they should have, but it feels so right and for once in his life Arthur goes with what he feels. And he can’t bring himself to regret it.
“Arthur. What’s wrong?”
“It was my father,” he says, sighing again and looking up into Merlin’s eyes. Another mistake, “He was determined that I should take over his business or, if I really wouldn’t, study Law or something like that. But that was never what I was interested in. My passion was History. I suppose I get it from my mother, she studied Art History. But Father was adamant. It was only when my older sister ran away that he realised he couldn’t stop me and stopped threatening to cut me off if I applied for History. Luckily I’d taken it as an A level; it’s good for Law. I got into Oxford with little enough trouble; well, after dealing with my Father for my whole life the Dons seemed like pushovers.”
Merlin smiles a little at the last, then slides his palm down Arthur’s arm to squeeze his hand, the movement unconscious.
“What did your mother say?”
“She didn’t.” It comes out a little harshly, so Arthur tries again, “She died giving birth to me. I never knew her.”
“I never knew my father,” Merlin replies, with another squeeze to his hand, “He left my mother before she even knew she was pregnant, or else he might have stayed.”
“I’m sorry,” Arthur tells him, for lack of anything helpful to say. Merlin just shrugs.
“Let’s go for a drink. Have happier thoughts.”
So they do.
“No, no, no,” Arthur says, well into his third pint, “I’d rather have a Blackberry any day. They’ve had time to test things through, get it running smoothly.”
“But what about the iPhone’s ‘intuitive interface’?”
“I’ll intuitive interface you in a minute.”
“Oh, I wish you would,” Merlin teases, and immediately takes it back when Arthur’s face freezes.
But then he laughs, and it’s all alright again.
“Your puns are awful, Merlin. You shouldn’t even attempt humour.”
“What, because I’m clearly sitting next to a comic genius here.”
Arthur grins and takes a self satisfied sip of his pint.
“Why thank you, Merlin, that was quite the compliment. But yes, now that you mention it, I think the comedy’s so pure it shouldn’t be diluted by your poor attempts.”
Merlin glares over at him.
“Prat.”
“Why thank you.”
That just results in a shoving fight on their bar stools, which Arthur of course wins, ending up with Merlin in a headlock begging for mercy.
“No, Arthur, stop, please! I didn’t mean it! You’re hilarious!”
Arthur laughs and lets him go, mainly because the hold has Merlin far too close to him and his very prominent hard-on is only just out of Merlin’s eyeline. And, drunk though he’s beginning to be, he knows that’s a decidedly bad idea.
Arthur crosses his legs as he lets Merlin go, and Merlin shakes his head to clear it of the clean smell of Arthur.
“Well, I think that’s enough for one night,” Arthur tells him after downing the rest of his pint, “This was nice.”
“We should do it again sometime,” Merlin says, smiling.
“We should,” Arthur says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s just fobbing Merlin off. Merlin grins and lets Arthur leave.
---
“You’re back late.”
“You never seem to leave.”
“This is what you get for taking Geography,” he brags, leaning back on the counter, “So where were you?”
“It would appear that I’m now friends with Arthur.”
Gwaine just frowns.
“Is this some new guy I’ve missed? Or am I just being thick?”
Merlin slaps his forehead with his palm.
“No! Sorry! I mean Pendragon. He told me I could use his first name.”
Gwaine nods slowly.
“Right,” he says, drawing out the i, “And are we assuming this is a good thing?”
“Yes, but…”
“But?”
“But I think I might be his friend now. And I don’t want to be friendzoned.”
Gwaine takes a moment to think, pulling his feet up onto the counter. Merlin’s too transfixed waiting for his expert opinion to tell him off for shoes on the work surface.
“I think it’s a good thing,” he eventually says, “Because then maybe he’ll trust you enough to fuck you as well, you know? Just so long as you get on with changing his perceptions of you. You’ve got to start flirting, Merlin. Get your arse in his face, that sort of thing. Like I said, pencil dropping.”
Merlin bursts into laughter.
“Isn’t that a little inappropriate?”
Gwaine raises an eyebrow.
“Merlin, isn’t fucking your Professor a little inappropriate?”
“Touche.”
“Bums in faces. Or something similar. Just don’t be all pal-y. That way lies sexual frustration and madness.”
“Thanks Gwaine,” Merlin says, already on his way to his room, “I’ll keep that in mind when I accidentally drop my pencil.”
---
“I’ve decided something,” Merlin says, walking into the classroom fifteen minutes early.
“Go on, Merlin, grace me with your vast intellect,” Arthur drawls. Merlin just shoots him a look before continuing.
“I don’t like the way the Doctor tried to make Amy stay. He was never that selfish before.”
“Are you sure, Merlin?”
“You have examples?”
“Well, no, but-”
“He’s not that selfish. He gets love. Ten would have told her to go.”
Arthur just sighs.
“Without proof, Merlin, how can I ever contest?”
He sweeps into the supply closet to get out a cable for the projector, and Merlin knows he’s won. His face breaks into a slow smile that disappears as soon as Arthur appears, carefully hidden in his glinting eyes.
“What’re you so pleased about?” Arthur asks.
“Oh, nothing. By the way, you know the never let him see the damage line? Well, what if that was what Amy was doing in her Afterword?”
Arthur spins on his heel and gapes at Merlin.
“You bastard.”
Melrin makes no move to hide his smile.
“But I have to teach thinking about this! No! Merlin, you are cruel in the extreme!”
Merlin walks away and finds his seat, starts getting his things out.
---
He leans forward to point out parts of his essay, letting his already tight shirt ride up. And he has no idea whether or not Arthur notices, but he prolongs the accidental brushes of fingers and knees and arms for longer than necessary, anyway.
Eventually, it gets to the point where Arthur can’t pretend he hasn’t noticed.
“Merlin, are you ill?”
“No, I- No, I’m not. Why?”
“You’re acting very… strangely.”
“I am? Oh, well, I-”
Arthur frowns, arms crossing, examining Merlin from head to toe. And it’s only concern that’s showing through, but Merlin feels just a little intimidated. And he doesn’t know what to do, and all the lies die on his tongue, so he says what’s left; the truth.
“So here’s the problem. It’s stupid, and I know I should try to stop, but I think you’re really hot, and- yeah.”
Arthur looks at him for a moment, just long enough to become more than awkward. But just when Merlin’s about to move to make his exit, Arthur springs up, across the gap between them, and presses his lips to Merlin’s.
Merlin melts at the touch, and he clings to Arthur, letting out a little soft sound. Arthur pulls back at that, just fractionally, just enough to speak.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Merlin hums his agreement, but stays close.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
Arthur must take that as good enough, because he closes the inches between them again and kisses Merlin, slow and deep and promising everything. Merlin’s the one who breaks that kiss, just long enough to pull Arthur up to standing, to step in close until their bodies are flush against each other. He kisses Arthur again, nibbling on his lips, chapped from the cold mornings. And Arthur opens up on a moan, lets Merlin lick inside. Of course then he has Merlin’s tongue at his mercy, sucking down on it. Merlin lets out a sound that Arthur swears should be made illegal if it isn’t already, and rolls his hips into Arthur’s.
After that, it becomes a competition between them. Who can make the other groan the loudest. Until the slamming of a door reaches them, and they remember where they are, and pull apart, wide-eyed.
“Do you think-?”
“No, no one would have…”
“Right, well, shall we…”
Arthur leans back in for another kiss, and Merlin has to swallow the sound that tries to escape from the shock of it.
“Shush!” Arthur tells him, laughing, so Merlin slaps his arm.
“You shush.”
“Make me,” Merlin teases, so Arthur goes in for another kiss.
Pretty soon their hands are roaming, and then Merlin has his hands on goal number two; Arthur’s chest. He’d guessed that it would be muscled and, oh, it really is. Strong, and firm; more so when it tenses as Merlin ghosts his fingers over it.
“Shit, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, throwing his shirt off.
He makes short work of Merlin’s too, painting the bare skin in lines of goosebumps with each pass of his hands. Merlin kisses him again, panting into his mouth every time Arthur’s tongue slides against his.
“There, that,” he murmurs when Arthur reciprocates the movement.
Arthur groans, just quietly, opens Merlin’s skinny jeans, shoves his pants down unceremoniously, and sits him up on the desk. Merlin’s hands wave out towards Arthur, in the air, pointing towards his trouser fastenings. Until Arthur gets the message, steps forward, and lets him open them up. The belt comes next, so Arthur’s trousers fall to pool on the floor around his ankles, closely followed by his boxers. Merlin’s legs make a cradle for him to rut into, so he does, leaning in over Merlin and kissing him. One arm wraps around the small of Merlin’s back, the other around both of them. Merlin supports them both against the desk, locking his elbows against the waves of sensation that threaten to topple them both. Arthur’s hand moves slowly at first, and then he catches Merlin’s lips in a kiss, and his hips stutter, and it builds between his hips and his hand until Merlin is breathless under him, head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and Arthur has to concentrate hard not to come.
But then, with a soft noise, Merlin’s coming, and Arthur can’t hold it any longer. He buries his head in Merlin’s neck and he kisses him there, softly, with a quick press of teeth. Merlin wraps his arms around him and holds on tight, because he’ll cave in if he doesn’t.
---
Merlin doesn’t know whether he should arrive early and talk to Arthur about it, or late and talk to Arthur afterwards, or late and leave without acknowledging that anything happened. In the end he spends so much time worrying about it that he’s only just on time for the lecture. He pays barely any attention to the first half hour because he’s too busy trying to work out what Arthur’s thinking every time his eyes flick over to Merlin.
He gets his answer when Arthur uncharacteristically walks round with handouts and actually winks at Merlin and purposely gives him a sheet from the bottom of the pile rather than the top. Pencilled over the title are the words see me after class, and Merlin nearly laughs at the lengths Arthur’s gone too. Really, it’s more fitting of a teenage schoolgirl than a fully grown man. He covers his mouth with his hand, feigning a yawn, and hides his smile away.
Arthur still sees it though and, as he walks back up the aisle, pretends to trip and sends Merlin a wink as he catches himself. It almost has Merlin giggling, though thankfully the rest of the class, except Freya who seems to see everything, put that down to the Professor’s fall.
Freya, however, pokes him hard in the arm.
“You’re not,” she hisses.
“I… might be?”
The scandalised, almost betrayed look she gives Merlin is awful.
“Look, Freya, I’ll explain later. But not now. Now’s not a good time.”
She glares at him, and attaches herself to his side when the lecture ends.
But Merlin pre-empted this, and has come up with a plan.
“Professor, do you need a hand with those papers?”
Arthur takes one look between Freya and Merlin, and nods. A sharp, decisive movement to separate them.
“Yes, but I don’t need both of you. Merlin, since you offered?” And he holds out a pile of papers for Merlin to take.
“Don’t wait for me, Freya,” Merlin says, “I know you have things to do.”
So she has no real choice but to leave, or confront them and get them both into fathoms deep trouble. And since she loves Merlin to pieces, she’d never do that.
Arthur leads Merlin up to his office and motions for him to set the papers on a chair.
“So-” he begins, only to be cut off by Merlin’s lips.
Merlin’s all but launch across the room leaves him pushing Arthur backwards, overbalancing them. Arthur manages to pivot on one foot, sending them into Arthur’s desk chair. Merlin takes advantage of this as quickly as he can, scrambling up into the chair on Arthur’s lap and meeting his lips in another kiss, rolling his hips into Arthur’s. He’s been watching Arthur for the past hour, mainly his arse as he wrote on the board, and he’s been looking forward to this moment more than a little bit. Arthur groans into his mouth and gathers him closer, and of course that’s the moment when Lance chooses to walk in.
It could have been worse, Merlin thinks as he stares back at a gaping Lance. He could have walked in when there were fewer clothes involved. And they almost deserve it, because seriously, who has an affair with their lecturer and doesn’t lock the door? It’s the basic rule, and Merlin forgot it. And this is why he should have remembered.
They look between each other for a moment, before Arthur pushes himself back, gathers himself together, and takes charge.
“Well, Lancelot, you will of course remain silent about this.”
Lance splutters, looking between them. Something seems to click, because he stills and stares into the space between them.
“Of course. As you will, of course, end it. Immediately.”
Arthur looks between Lance and Merlin, and sighs. His shoulders drop a little, and he looks at the floor.
“Give us some space, please, Lance. Half an hour should suffice.”
Lance moves to protest, but Arthur meets his gaze, blue eyes hard and unyielding. Lance just turns and leaves. He shuts the door behind him.
As soon as the mechanism clicks, Arthur’s holding Merlin, lips on his again.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, lips brushing all over the skin of Merlin’s cheek with each drawn out word, “I can’t give you up, you’re too- too hot.”
Arthur’s pause speaks of something else, something more that Arthur can’t yet admit, but Merlin doesn’t notice it, wrapped up as he is in his own panic. Convinced as he is that Arthur will drop him, because he has to, because it’s far too risky for them both.
Merlin groans and tries to shake him off.
“Stop it, Arthur, you’ll only make it harder-”
Abruptly, Arthur pushes Merlin to arm’s length away. The look he gives Merlin is almost long-suffering, until Merlin notices the sparkling mischief in his eyes.
“You think I’m going to do what he says?”
Merlin just watches him, unable to really believe what he’s hearing.
“I’ve started this, I get to decide when I finish it.”
Which isn’t entirely fair, because Merlin did a good deal of the starting, but that’s a technicality he hasn’t the heart to pick Arthur up on. Not when Arthur’s so intent, holding his forearms so tightly they almost hurt, almost as if Merlin will run away if he doesn’t. It seems as if an answer is needed, so he leans right in and kisses Arthur. Firm and solid and decisive.
Arthur presses back into the contact, wrapping his arms around his back and holding there, opening his mouth with nips of teeth until he can lick groans out of Merlin’s mouth.
He leaves sooner than he’d want, with the promise to meet again the next day and plans to be so much more discreet. Especially now that Lance will be looking out for relapses. Merlin somehow manages to hide his smile all the way home. But alone, in his room, he can’t help but grin so widely he thinks his face might break. Because Arthur chose him. Even with the risks laid bare in front of him, Arthur chose him.
---
They’re in Arthur’s University flat, at opposite ends of his once red sofa, feet up on the seat and legs tangled together. Arthur’s thumb traces the arch of Merlin’s foot as he stares across the space between them, incredulous.
“No, Arthur, because I’m not some sort of nymphomaniac.”
Arthur just raises an eyebrow at him.
“Evidence is suggesting otherwise.”
“Oh, shut up, prick,” Merlin laughs, kicking out to catch Arthur gently in the stomach. Arthur tickles him, and he loses his breath completely in the loss of control.
When Arthur finally takes heed of Merlin’s begging, he’s straddling Merlin’s waist, hands snaking up and down his sides. Merlin slowly looks out from under the arm shielding his eyes, to see Arthur staring down at him with blown pupils. He steals a quick, deep kiss, leaving Merlin with just a tease of tongue.
“I’m going to make you feel so good, you won’t know what hit you,” he promises, voice deep and almost raw.
And then he takes the hem of his shirt and pulls the whole thing off. Merlin reaches out to touch, but Arthur bats him away and shakes his head.
“Nope, no touching. Not until I say.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow at him.
“Really?”
“No talking either.”
Arthur rests his hand over Merlin’s lips to emphasise his point.
“Control freak,” Merlin tells him, muffled through his fingers. Arthur pretends not to hear.
He strips Merlin first, pulling him as he does straight through into the bedroom. It’s a little cramped in there, and crowded with books and ornaments ordered in a system that only makes sense to Arthur. But Merlin loves it on sight. It’s so very Arthur, the way each item sits perfectly in its place in the shelves, and the things themselves, their complete variety. Merlin would spend hours devouring each shelf, the history of each item, if Arthur would just let him. It will have to wait, though, because Arthur’s lips are so very distracting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. He tips his head back and lets Arthur guide him to the bed; a double that looks almost king sized crammed as it is into the tiny space.
Arthur positions Merlin carefully on the bed, angling his limbs just right. Until Merlin moves, shifting with Arthur’s hands on him, restless. He almost wishes he had something to tie Merlin down with, because Arthur is a man of plans and he doesn’t like having to adapt. But change them he does, sighing a little and pouting, just so Merlin knows how much he hates to do it. Merlin doesn’t seem to pay any attention to this; only wriggles a little more out of impatience.
Arthur pouts a little more, but starts working on the new plan. He kisses down Merlin’s body; his arms first, nibbling at the wiry strength of his arms. He sucks Merlin’s fingers into his mouth, licking over each of them until Merlin whimpers under him and he takes pity on him, moving onto his chest. And Arthur will never admit it, but he’s quite glad that Merlin can move. Because it opens up new angles, lets new muscles strain and take the arch of his back. Arthur kisses over the pale skin, sucking it into dark mouth-shaped marks when he just can’t get enough of the taste of his skin and the sounds Merlin makes, the way he tries to buck Arthur off sometimes.
At Merlin’s hip, Arthur pulls back to watch his work.
“Please-” Merlin begins. Arthur reminds him about silence with a hand over his mouth.
“Shhh,” he tells Merlin, “I’ve got you.”
Merlin nods a little, and Arthur rewards him for the lack of verbal answer with a quick squeeze of his nipple. Merlin cries out, biting his lip to stop himself cursing. Because fuck, it’s too good and there’s too much and he feels he could break at any moment from the sensation and from the need that bursts free to ricochet within him with every brush of Arthur’s lips.
Arthur moves straight over Merlin’s cock, because he’s a fucking tease like that, and starts at his ankles, pressing kisses into the hollows of his inside leg and cradling the curve of muscle in the palm of his hand. Merlin lies back and clutches at the sheets instead of Arthur, because he knows Arthur doesn’t want him to touch, and he can follow instructions, he can, he can…
Though if Arthur doesn’t get on with things, he may be forced to disobey, just for his sanity.
Thankfully Arthur does move on to his cock next, spreading his legs a little wider and kneeling, still half dressed, between them. He lowers his head, holds Merlin’s cock still and takes it in his mouth, just the tip at first. Merlin’s hips slam upwards involuntarily, and Arthur scrabbles for his waist to hold him down.
“Sorry, sorry,” Merlin whispers, taking his arm and biting down on it to try to find some distraction. He’s convinced he’s hurt Arthur, and he’s going to stop and never see Merlin again. Which would be just about the worst thing Merlin can imagine with his reduced capacity right now. But Arthur just holds him down and bobs his head faster, faster…
Merlin makes a little choked noise in the back of his throat, and Arthur hums in return. It’s that that does Merlin in, crying out and coming, Arthur’s throat working to swallow. It’s so hot, watching, and Merlin thinks the rules must be over anyway, so he cups the back of Arthur’s head and tangles his fingers in his hair and all but drags him up to his lips to kiss. He gives Arthur’s lips all the attention that’s been denied, sucking at them until they’re red and swollen. And he takes Arthur’s trousers down, opens his legs into a cradle for him to rut into. He’ll return the favour properly, just not now.
Afterwards, Merlin pulls Arthur in close, tugs the covers up around them and settles, spread over his chest in a jumble of limbs. And all he can think of is how he doesn’t ever want it to end.
---
And to make matters worse, he’s starting to get a little too attached to Arthur. It’s not love, not yet, but it’s starting to get really quite dangerously close to it. The way he feels absorbed by the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, the way the moonlight on the objects around his room, the ones that mean something to him, almost makes Merlin hurt inside with the delicacy of it. Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s chest and feels like he wants to be sucked in. Because then he’d never have to leave, ever, and-
So maybe the exhaustion is talking, but there’s something to the feeling. To Arthur, Merlin is sure, he’s just a handy, horny student to bend over his desk. Although they haven’t tried over the desk yet, that’s an idea to try…
Basically, Merlin’s starting to fall for the prat, which could definitely be a problem if he’s been as fuck-buddy-zoned as he suspects.
For now, though, Merlin can’t sleep. He feels the puff of Arthur’s breath through his hair and lies perfectly still for him, brushing his lips over the skin of his chest, watching the way his stomach muscles pull with the rise and fall of his breath. Arthur’s arms tighten a little around him, and Merlin sighs softly, forcing his eyes shut to at least pretend to sleep.
---
“Woah, kiddo, hang on.” For once Gwaine’s actually doing some work towards his degree, and he finishes his sentence and clicks save on his laptop before turning to look at Merlin.
“Yes, what?”
Merlin takes one look at him, peering over the rim of his glasses, and bursts into laughter.
“You got a problem, Emrys?” Gwaine asks, smile belying his annoyed tone.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he says, apologetic.
“I’m full of surprises,” Gwaine grins, “And what’ve you got worked out?”
Merlin sobers immediately, reaches out for the counter to steady himself.
“Merlin?” Gwaine asks, taking the glasses off to watch him properly, “You look awful. Did Arthur-”
Gwaine just leaves the implication hanging in the air, and Merlin can’t bear it.
“No, no, of course not. But he, um,” Merlin falters, knowing he’s making too much out of it, especially compared to abuse, “He sees me in the wrong way.”
“Well that’s still crap.”
Reassured, Merlin nods, slow. He inspects his hands as he chooses his words.
“He, um, he sees me just as a fuck, you know? And I…”
“Want to be more than that.”
“Yeah.”
Merlin sighs, deep, looking down.
“Well, mate, there’s not much to be done about it,” Gwaine tells him, “You either go on like you are, or you talk to him, risk he doesn’t go along with a relationship and drops you like a stone. Which, if he does, good riddance you know?”
Merlin just sighs again, and Gwaine hates to see him like that.
“Of course,” he says, “My official stance is that you should leave him immediately, since I’ve got a date with Lance tonight.”
Merlin laughs only a little, but it’ll have to be enough; Gwaine’s well aware he won’t get any more reaction than that.
“So, date with Lance?”
“We’re going out for dinner, then to a bar or something. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted, especially if I’m not coming home.”
Merlin smiles a little more genuinely at that.
---
Arthur takes one look at him and swallows, holding the door open for him. As soon as it’s shut behind them, he pins Merlin to the wall, catching a droplet of water from the hollow of his neck. And Merlin loses hope. Because while this is great, it’s really, really fucking amazing, there’s no seduction, no care in there. Just Arthur’s lips, and his leg between Merlin’s.
Merlin loses himself in the touch and the taste and the groaning, helpless sounds, and he tries to forget.
Only it doesn’t work for long, because they make it to Arthur’s bed and Arthur has a bit of a panic attack. And Merlin hasn’t the first idea what to do, but he does know how to feel.
“You’re sure no one saw you come in?”
“Yes, Arthur, I’m certain. And you saw the rain. You could barely see three feet in front of you, let alone me going into your building.”
“Still, you should probably go. If someone saw you leaving in the morning-”
Merlin looks at Arthur, incredulous. Arthur won’t meet his gaze.
“Arthur, I stayed the other night. The damage has been done.”
“Don’t say that,” is Arthur’s only response, getting up to put some clothes on and let Merlin out.
“I don’t believe you,” he mutters and, hurt and suspecting Arthur of a complete disregard for his feelings, he leaves. Without kissing Arthur goodbye.
---
It gets to the point where Merlin’s text history from Arthur is either paranoid worrying, asking him out, or apologising for what happened the night before. It sounds strange, because he spends so much time with him, but he misses Arthur. Misses the banter, the jokes they had going. The Doctor Who reviews. And he can’t end it, because a shadow of an Arthur has to be better than nothing at all, but he sees no way forward. And it hurts.
He’s fallen for Arthur, yes, but it’s not this Arthur. Not any more.
---
If Merlin were just a little older…
But he’s not. He’s nineteen; which Arthur is more than willing to admit is old enough to know who you want to fuck, but is certainly not old enough to settle down into a relationship. Unlike Arthur, just into his thirties, who should by all rights be finding someone his own age and actually starting to use his house for living in. Maybe starting a family, though Arthur and kids rarely get on. But the real point is that Arthur’s had his time for experimenting. He’s fucked who he wanted, found what he likes. That is, after all, what Uni’s for, socially at least. Merlin, he hasn’t had that. And Arthur could never be so cruel as to pin him down, or force him to choose between Arthur and his degree. Because to make this anything more they would have to stop being student and teacher. Arthur’s not going to make Merlin give up something he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself.
Painful though it is, Arthur has the choice of keep going on as he has been, trying his best not to feel more for Merlin than is appropriate… or rather, deeply inappropriate, but in a way fair, or let Merlin go. And selfish though it is, he can’t bring himself to say goodbye to Merlin.
So he has to keep his distance. If he stops the things he’s beginning to love about Merlin and just sticks to the sex he should be fine. No dangerous feelings. No difficult decisions to be made. Things can stay like this forever, or as good as.
As long as Arthur is careful and makes sure that no one sees them. That would definitely mean difficult decisions to be made. Or unwanted situations forced on them. If that happened, Arthur would like to think he would take all the blame, being the one who’s supposed to be responsible out of the two of them. He hopes he’s strong enough to leave his position.
And that’s a frightening thought, abandoning everything for Merlin. But he would. It hits him with stunning clarity; he would abandon everything for Merlin. Though again, it wouldn’t be fair to Merlin to put him in that position, to put him under so much obligation to Arthur. Because all he is to Merlin is hot and older and more experienced. More world-wise. Fun for a fling, but Arthur is sure Merlin has nothing else on his mind. And, if he does, it’s just a romantic dream. There’s nothing real between them; there can’t be. That’s just not the way the world works.
Arthur takes a moment to look at himself, and he’s just a little bit disgusted. He always hated professors who took advantage of impressionable students, and now he’s become one. And he can’t bring himself to stop.
He picks up his phone and calls Morgana. She’s a last resort, yes, because she’ll laugh at him and she’ll make sure he feels like the idiot he is. But she’s necessary.
“You’ve got yourself into quite a mess, then, haven’t you brother dear?” she says, after he’s explained everything. The only response Arthur can make to that is to hum his terse agreement.
“And what should I do about it?”
“Arthur,” she sighs, “I’d have thought a bright man like you would have figured it out by now. You’re head over heels in love with this boy. Compared to your reaction when Leon left you, or even Gwen, this is a deluge of emotion. Pull your act together.”
The word love is hard to face up to, but as he hears it he knows it describes everything he’s been feeling. Love isn’t everything, though, and it doesn’t negate the fact that there are problems to be faced.
“I can’t let him risk everything for me, Morgana. Especially if I’m not sure he loves me back.”
Morgana laughs a little down the phone, soft.
“He’ll love you back, Arthur, if he’s got as much common sense as you seem to think and he’s allowed it to get this far. But aren’t you risking everything for him too?”
“That doesn’t matter. What can I do about him?”
“Arthur,” she tells him, speaking slowly to get her point across, “If you’re in this deep that’s a decision that only you two can make. You’ll have to talk to him.”
When Arthur puts down the phone, he shakes his head. He can’t talk to Merlin, because he’s already made up his mind. Merlin can’t love him back. He can’t. So, all there is for it is to keep them a secret.
---
He stares at the phone for five minutes straight before another text comes through.
I’m sorry Arthur, I don’t think I can do this any more. But I should tell you in person, so I will come over. Just don’t expect anything.
Arthur can’t seem to stop staring at the text. There’s something hard and cold that’s lodged in his chest, constricting his movement. But at the same time there’s a panic. A flutter in the beating of his heart, a shift in the depth of his breathing, a please no, Merlin, don’t leave me alone-
And he should probably bring himself to analyse that, but he can’t right now. He just can’t think of anything further than no, not even to formulate a plan to get him back, to change his mind, to make him stay. He can’t seem to find the words, the actions, the right combination of grovelling and sex to get Merlin back in his arms. Or any words, any ideas at all; his mind too occupied with flashes of the angles of Merlin’s limbs flashing over the emptiness Arthur had never really noticed before, the way his life was filled only with teaching and meetings and polishing his precious armour. The echoing spaces, devoid of things, devoid of people.
It’s a pattern. The way he failed to seduce Gwen, though he played his romance textbook perfect. The way he failed to engage with her. And then Leon, the fact that he could never tell him what he meant. Arthur can’t seem to keep people. Even when it matters the most. Even when he loves them. So instead of forming a plan of what to do he sits in the chair and he stares at his phone and he tries to will the whole situation away.
Merlin finds him like that, letting himself in quietly and walking in unnoticed to a silent, unmoving Arthur. He’s late, having spent his time trying to build up some determination to end everything. Because it’s getting to be too much, and Arthur won’t just talk. Merlin doesn’t want to give up on him, he so hasn’t so far, but now it seems as if the effort he’s putting in is more than it’s worth. They’re not getting anywhere other than backwards, and Merlin won’t just be a casual fuck. And he won’t keep tormenting Arthur either. He’s not too stupid to see an end when it’s laid out in front of him, and he won’t drag it out longer than it need be. He loves Arthur, he thinks, but he won’t torture it.
But faced with Arthur broken in front of him, it almost makes him rethink. Almost, but not quite; not when he thinks about how Arthur barely speaks to him any more, how paranoid Arthur has become, how he spent last night lying awake alone until Gwaine noticed the music still blaring from his room and went to keep him company. No, it’s destroying them both, and it’s not worth the risk to their lives were they found out, not any more.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks, voice small.
There’s a curved piece of metal on Arthur’s lap, a cloth draped over it. At the sound, Arthur picks it up and hurls it across the room, clanging loud and jarring against the wall. The cloth just floats down to the floor, landing a fraction after the metal.
“Arthur-” Merlin tries again, only to be cut off.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers, forcing the words out like they sear his throat to speak and looking up at Merlin, open and entirely at his mercy. He can’t let Merlin leave. Faced with it, right there in front of him, he can’t let the best thing to happen to him walk out of his life.
Merlin sucks in a breath, slow and pained, and all he can think is fuck it. Because despite his attempts to guard his heart watching Arthur like that is splitting it in two, and while he can’t bear their situation, he can’t bear Arthur hurt either. Because he’s never really just been a Professor who Merlin just happened to be fucking. There was always more to it than just lust.
And that’s really why Merlin walks across the room to Arthur and cups his cheek in the palm of his hand and strokes his thumb across the skin.
“No, Arthur, I can’t leave you,” he tells him, soft, “But we do need to talk. This isn’t exactly working.”
Arthur tenses under his touch, enough that Merlin almost draws back. But he knows Arthur now, knows how frightened Arthur can get about people’s reactions to him, and he knows that what Arthur really needs is for him to lean in and kiss him, slow and soft and barely there at all. So that’s what he does, pulling apart slowly afterwards, the quiet sucking sound echoed by Arthur’s tiny moan. His hands flutter, like he wants to pull Merlin in. Merlin just takes hold of them both in each of his, squeezing them tight and reassuring.
“I wanted to end this,” he begins, “Because it’s not working the way we’re going on now, and I think if you’re honest with yourself you agree. And I thought, well, you’re risking your job and there’s my degree… I didn’t want to keep risking if we couldn’t make it work.”
Arthur interrupts him again with a rapid shake of his head.
“We shouldn’t, Merlin, we shouldn’t. We should stop right now. I’m your Professor, I’m supposed to be responsible for you, not leading you into offices to fuck you. I can’t- if anyone found out, Merlin, I’m marking your assessments, your whole degree could be on the line and I can’t just take that from you, it’s selfish, it’s-”
Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand just for long enough to muffle him with his fingers.
“No, Arthur. If you’re at fault, so am I. You’ve built yourself up over years, spent I don’t know how many hours working to get this job, and you love it, Arthur, I could see that from the first lecture. I can’t be the cause of you losing it.”
“Then we should walk away now.”
Merlin shakes his head, moves until Arthur’s forced to look into his eyes.
“No, that’s not what I was saying at all. It’s difficult, but I’m sure there’s a way. I could transfer class-”
“But you want a degree in conservation!”
Merlin smiles a little.
“No, Arthur, I want to work in the British Library. I’m sure with the contacts I have now, a degree just in literature would get me there.”
Arthur forces himself not to smile at that. He can’t just take an unconsidered proposal from Merlin, not without considering everything else.
So he shakes his head, reaching out to take hold of Merlin’s hips, completely denying the sentiment.
“I can’t take that from you, Merlin. I can’t ruin your life.”
“And I can’t ruin yours. Or both of ours, if we stop now.”
“It won’t ruin our lives,” Arthur tells him, still gripping onto him like a lifeline, “We’ll just go back to how we were before.”
And that may seem to Arthur to, yes, be very close to ruin, but he enjoyed it before and if he can just get to forgetting that Merlin ever existed in his life he can cope with it again.
“I can’t go back,” Merlin whispers, but Arthur chooses to ignore him.
“One last time,” he says, “One last time and then we leave.”
He dives in for a kiss, and Merlin presses back against him, sighing into his mouth like he’s come home.
“In the morning we will talk,” Merlin tells him emphatically, and while Arthur knows that he’s made his decision so there’s no point in discussion, he can’t see the point in arguing when Merlin’s so close and it’s the last time and the morning is so far away. So he stays silent and kisses Merlin again, biting down hard on his lip, almost to leave an impression of him there, forever.
Merlin gasps and clutches at him, pulling him in yet closer, fitting their legs together and rolling his hips. His mouth stays open in invitation, and Arthur licks in, wet and deep and needing, hand over Merlin’s arse to guide him, to keep them in rhythm with each other, to keep him held close. Merlin’s mouth opens wider on a groan, until it’s too much and he pulls back, burying his head in Arthur’s shoulder and kissing him there, nibbling at the muscle just to feel the press of it, the strength of it. Arthur gasps and takes Merlin by the thighs, lifting him and carrying him through to the bedroom.
“Prat,” Merlin calls him. Arthur just tenses his muscles and smiles.
He lays Merlin out there, and Merlin knows from the look Arthur gives him not to move. He watches Arthur as he carefully strips Merlin, piece by piece, kissing each piece of exposed skin in turn. Arthur lingers on his stomach, and Merlin’s breath hitches, because he knows why Arthur’s doing it, knows why Arthur’s taking the time to touch him like this, to learn him. Because Arthur thinks it’s the last time, and Merlin matters enough to be remembered.
This isn’t news, not exactly, but it does drive the point home. That Merlin has to make something of what they have; has to make them work.
He leans in when Arthur lets him go, holds Arthur’s face between the palms of his hands. And he kisses him, slow and sweet, trying to reassure him, to tell him that he’ll stay, that he wants Arthur. And Arthur kisses him back, but Merlin can’t tell if it’s just with desperation or an agreement. He won’t stop to ask, though, so he opens his lips for Arthur, opens his shirt and pulls it off, and pulls his trousers down, slipping into his lap.
Arthur rocks against him, pushing up against him, and Merlin’s legs fall open, waiting for him. Arthur flips him onto his back, takes the lube and the condoms and opens him up, slow and almost hesitant. Merlin shakes under his touch, too slow, but too right at the same time. He falls apart, gasping, begging Arthur to stop, please, too much-
And Arthur does, pulling out and slipping on the condom far too slowly for Merlin’s liking. He grabs for Arthur’s arm, slipping off him, trying to pull him closer, and Arthur smiles down at him, pupils blown. He goes to Merlin easily now, kneeling between his legs and spreading them further with a stroke of his fingertips. Merlin shivers and tugs him so their chests press together. He gasps when Arthur pushes in, presses their lips together and kisses him, for no reason other than that he needs Arthur closer.
Arthur fucks him slowly, almost painfully so for both of them. But it’s good, it’s right, it keeps them together for as long as possible. Before Merlin groans Arthur’s name and tugs at his hair and tells him to get on with it tosser, kill a guy would you? And he does, holding onto Merlin and only coming after he does. They both collapse into the bed after that, wrapped around each other, and Arthur wants Merlin’s gangly, clumsy, graceful limbs around him to last forever.
Merlin wakes up in the night to Arthur’s hands over him, and he turns into the touch. Because, after all, it’s not yet morning. And they don’t have to face anything yet.
---
Merlin drags his boxers back on and goes to see Arthur.
Standing over the stove, bathed in the light of the tiny east facing window over the sink, Arthur looks golden and beautiful. Merlin wants to kiss every inch of his skin, where the hairs on his chest catch the light and make him glow. He wants to hold him forever and refuse to ever let him go. But, if Arthur has his way, it can never be.
Merlin watches him, silent, for a little while longer. Arthur flips the bacon while Merlin studies the play of muscles up his arm. Then he drags his eyes away and clears his throat. Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin, but instead of the smile this would usually elicit Merlin just sighs.
“We need to talk.”
Arthur turns to face him slowly, setting the bacon to a lower heat.
“That sounds ominous.”
Merlin shakes his head, and he does smile that time.
“Says the one whose opinion is that we should break up.”
Arthur smiles a little, sad.
“But we do have to, Merlin. You know we do. We can’t risk both our positions, and I can’t tie you down to something committed and grown up when you should be going out and having fun.”
Merlin gapes for a moment before finding his voice.
“Screw our positions. And screw what you expect me to be doing with my life. Arthur, I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I don’t want nameless fuck after nameless fuck and I don’t want to be your moral torment either. I want you, just you and me like we were to begin with, before we realised what was happening. I want to be able to tell you I love you because I do, Arthur, I really do. I want to be able to say that, to tell anyone that, and for it to be a good thing, and not something frightening to be hidden. I want to be able to hold you, Arthur. To walk down the street and to hold you. Is that too much to ask?”
Arthur takes the bacon out of the frying pan and puts it into the bread he’s already sliced. He covers Merlin’s in ketchup and cuts them both in half, and when he hands Merlin’s plate over his face is closed to him.
“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse.
“Why?” Merlin asks, voice only a whisper.
“Because it won’t last. These things never do. And then we’ll have thrown so much away for nothing.”
“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, walking towards him and taking the plate to put it down, “Tell me you don’t feel the same as I do and I’ll leave. Tell me, without lying, and I won’t bother you again.”
Arthur takes a deep breath, tensing up, then shakes his head.
“I can’t.”
“Then it has to be worth the risk? Arthur? Surely?”
Arthur almost shakes his head, but Merlin reaches out to stop him.
“That’s going on instinct. You’ve got to actually think about it.”
And, much to both their surprise, Arthur does think. He sees Merlin in front of him and knows that he’d do anything for him. Anything at all to keep him safe and happy and away from those experiments he knows Merlin should have but can only now feel jealous of. No other hands should be touching what’s his, no other eyes should be seeing Merlin’s bare skin. It feels ridiculous of him, but he wants Merlin as his own. Despite everything he knows, all the other pressures that should be pushing him the other way, the clarity of Merlin’s eyes and the way he insinuated himself into Arthur whole life seems to outweigh what Arthur would have thought of as more important before. Before he met Merlin, and became a little bit enchanted, and fell a little bit in love.
So yes, Arthur thinks. And, though he really believes he shouldn’t, he can’t deny that he wants Merlin more than anything. More than his career, more even than the suits of armour he conserves. Less, though, than he wants Merlin’s happiness. But if Merlin is certain about it all, and Arthur has to respect him enough to believe him when he says he is, then there’s nothing stopping them. An idea both frightening and, in a way, liberating.
“It’s worth it,” he whispers. And Merlin throws himself at Arthur, attaching his lips to Arthur’s. Arthur catches him, holding him close and kissing with enthusiasm matching Merlin’s; all tongues and teeth and wet lips. And breakfast is just there, but they ignore it, Merlin instead pushing Arthur back into the bedroom, not stopping until he hits the bed and is forced to sit. Merlin climbs into his lap, pressing their lips together into another messy, desperate kiss.
“I love you,” he tells Arthur, pushing him down to lie down on the bed.
“Love you too,” Arthur admits, and Merlin grins.
“Good,” he tells Arthur, rolling his hips and going in for another kiss.
Arthur bites down on his lip and scrabbles at his boxers, tugging them down until his cock is free and Arthur can hold it, stroking, fist loose. Merlin wriggles and gasps, getting his hands into Arthur’s pants using any tactics he can, even pinching at Arthur until he bloody gets out of the way, and Merlin can mirror Arthur’s movements, set them in counterpoint and then fail to keep up the rhythm, losing it and changing it until it morphs into something better, something that follows their breathing and their hushed groans and builds, until Merlin collapses over Arthur in a sticky mess and just holds him there.
“I’m not moving,” he says, even when Arthur shifts to try to get the circulation back to his leg.
“What, ever?”
“Ever,” Merlin tells him, and it’s with such an air of satisfaction that Arthur can’t bring himself to push him off. At least for another ten minutes, anyway.
---
So while they can continue to see each other, so long as they seem like friends, they can’t actually announce to the world that they’re in love.
Merlin keeps his visits to Arthur’s down. He makes sure to leave late enough the next day that it seems as if he’s just popped round again, if anyone sees him leave. And he doesn’t mention to anyone other than Gwaine and Freya that Arthur’s his.
It’s frustrating for Arthur. That he can’t cover Merlin in him and show the world what they mean to each other. And not only that, convenience too. It would just be easier to be able to go wherever together, to act how they wish, to not have to hide.
And then Arthur remembers about his house.
He takes Merlin there one cold spring morning. The few plants in the sparsely planted front garden are crisp with the frost, and the door takes a while to open. They have to wear their coats and scarves inside, until the house finally heats up. And it’ll take a lot of work. There’s peeling paint and a few problems with the plumbing, but Merlin’s mum knows a good plumber in the area and there’s a Homebase just around the corner, so they stock up on magnolia and Pendragon red and dusky blue and a pale olive green… and while Arthur isn’t looking Merlin returns the magnolia to the shelf. And wallpaper, and paste, and plastic dustsheets.
They spend the weekend stripping down then repainting the walls, covering up cracks with mastic and wallpaper. By the time they’re done it still isn’t even remotely habitable, but they’ve had sex a few times, they’re covered in paint, and it’s a start at least.
They order in Indian takeaway, and they’re far enough away from campus not to have to worry that the delivery man will recognise either of them, and they eat with plastic forks out of the foil containers. And Merlin thinks it’s pretty much perfect, even when they wake up sore from sleeping curled up awkwardly on the worn out sofa the previous tenants left. Because Arthur’s warm, and he smells just right under the paint, and he’s there to ease the pain away.
The shower runs surprisingly warm when they turn it on. And of course, the level of nakedness needed to clean is a little too tempting; at least until the hot water runs out far too early and they have to turn it off quickly, falling out of the cubicle covered in goosebumps.
Arthur towels Merlin off, and though he bats him away because he’s not a girl, Arthur, it is nice really. That Arthur folds him up in his arms and holds him there, like neither of them could move again and they’d still be happy. Arthur smiles down at Merlin, warmer and softer than Merlin’s seen him before, and though Merlin really just wants to kiss him all he can do is watch. Commit this first time to memory.
Merlin does most of his work in Arthur’s tip of a house. Arthur abandons his conservation, at least for a while, for furniture shopping and tiling. They have Gwaine and Lance around and tactfully retreat into the kitchen while they argue like they’re about to launch at each other and have sex all over the dinner table. They have Freya and Mithian around and Merlin tries not to blush too hard while Mithian tells him and Arthur how cute they look together.
All in all it’s pretty much everything Merlin wants. Apart from the secrecy, which they clear up as Merlin starts his second year. Well, not really like a big announcement. Arthur just starts taking Merlin out on dates. And vice versa, though Arthur won’t really admit it, just claims he’s taking Merlin out on a date that Merlin suggested. Merlin doesn’t mind, only undermines him with a shake of his head when he’s not watching. And slowly people put two and two together, and they might talk behind Merlin and Arthur’s backs, but they don’t mind about that because it’s nothing malicious, and it’s nothing that’s getting them reported and thrown out of the University.
They finish the house after Merlin’s second Christmas holidays. And they don’t move in together, not yet. But Merlin does spend enough time there for his housemates to complain that they never see him, and he does curl up in bed with Arthur, watching him stare lovingly at his greaves, and reading to him, slow and steady and quiet.
Sometimes Arthur even braves Merlin’s house. But it’s usually in such a mess, or the sheer amount of students makes him act so much like the stuffy old professor everyone expects him to be that Merlin rarely invites him over, and Arthur mentions it even less often.
They cook godawful meals together but eat them anyway, or order in takeaway when Arthur’s feeling particularly well off and un-health-conscious. They lie in when Merlin really needs to be on campus for a lecture, until Arthur panics about his grades and gives him a lift in. They stay up late in the study together, Arthur marking, Merlin working on essays. And they curl up together, in front of the tv or just in bed, comfortable with each other’s hold.
And of course, there are the nights where the air sparks between them, burns in their gazes, until they stop resisting and just fall into each other.
And the mornings after, in soft dawn light and comfortable pillows and Arthur’s nose in Merlin’s hair, when Arthur slips a hand under his pillow and comes out with something cold and hard and jagged and presses it between his hand and Merlin’s. When he whispers move in with me into Merlin’s ear and Merlin, desperate for this to carry on forever; this warmth, this bubbling, dancing feeling inside his heart whenever he looks over at Arthur; Merlin takes the key and he squeezes it tight and precious in his hand. And he knows that Arthur will understand what that means.