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The Cavern was not the kind of bar where you went to connect with people. You had to find out it existed, for one thing, and that took persistence, since it was located in a basement at the bottom of two flights of shaky stairs and through a wonky door that was propped open with a brick.
Also, the ‘atmospheric’ red lighting, courtesy of lamps shaped like burning torches (and that was one of the less awful design choices), meant it was unlikely you’d recognise anyone you met there by the light of day. From Merlin’s two weeks of experience tending the bar, that was generally a good thing for all concerned. He suspected the lighting was really meant to keep customers from looking at their drinks too closely, though anybody willing to order something called False Love or The Witch’s Doom was probably willing to take the murky green depths and unidentifiable fruit garnishes in stride.
Add in the brooding heavy metal soundtrack, which featured no bands Merlin had ever heard of in the outside world, and it was kind of a miracle that anyone stuck around long enough to order at all. The Cavern might not even have a valid liquor license, for all he knew – Merlin had only agreed to work there as a favour to his godfather Kilgarrah, who was sneaky, manipulative and also paying for this semester at uni. But in spite of the dreadful lighting and weird drinks and the permanent smell of cigarette smoke, a steady stream of regulars had adopted the Cavern as Cool and Alternative, and they brought their friends along proudly to ‘get the vibe’.
Or because they wanted to break up with someone, because no one could hear you screaming at each other over the mournful growling pumping out of the speakers.
So Merlin was yet to see anyone who really looked like they belonged in the Cavern, apart from Kilgarrah himself, but the crowd who had just tumbled through the door really did look like they’d taken about ten wrong turns after ‘bad idea’. The leaders of the group were two girls a little older than he was, a brunette in a slinky green sheath dress and a glittery blonde who was clinging to her arm and howling with laughter. They left their friends to get a table and waltzed up to the bar.
“Oh fuck, get me an Assassination,” the brunette said, stabbing excitedly at the drinks list. “Viv, sweetie, what do you want?”
“I have to try the Goddess’s Cauldron.” The blonde girl blinked huge blue eyes at Merlin. “Does it come in a cauldron?”
“...no,” Merlin admitted, “but you can order two.”
“Please don’t order two.” One of the two men in their party had come up to the bar, another blonde with an unnecessarily lovely mouth and broad shoulders. He looked tired and fed-up and like he wanted to leave. Merlin approved.
“I’ll have two,” Viv said brightly. “You can order for everyone else, Arthur,” and she sashayed back to the table with the brunette smirking behind her. Arthur turned his flat look on Merlin, and blinked.
“What can I get you?” Merlin asked.
“The last four hours of my life back,” Arthur said promptly.
“I can see why you’d be confused,” Merlin said, “but we don’t actually have any drinks called that. There’s the Poisoned Chalice – ”
“No, thank you.”
“Captive Soul, I Can See Ghosts – ”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t blame me, I don’t name these things.”
Arthur blinked at him again. “I think I have to try the Ghost one now.”
“And the rest of your party?”
“Two lemonades, two Assassinations, a False Love and a Brawl.” Arthur looked slightly depressed about the orders coming out of his mouth and Merlin ducked his head to hide a smile. “And water,” Arthur added, “five bottles of mineral water, you do have that here?”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. He had learned the art from his great-uncle Gaius, who had refused to be impressed by anything for at least fifty years. “We have water.”
“Good.” Instead of returning to the table, Arthur stayed at the bar and watched as Merlin mixed the drinks. The Cavern’s only other employee, Freya, winked at Merlin as she passed, mouthing he’s cute. Merlin turned back to Arthur, flustered and hoping he hadn’t seen.
“Uh. How many Assassinations was that again?”
“Two.” There was a tiny smile at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. Maybe he had seen. “If you don’t come up with these names, who does?”
“The Dragon.” Merlin shrugged at Arthur’s incredulous look. “I’m not allowed to tell people his name, he says it will wreck the ambience.”
“What ambience exactly is he going for?”
“That’s a very good question, and I don’t want to know.”
Arthur threw back his head with a surprised shout of laughter. Merlin looked at the exposed curve of his throat and thought it would be nice to lick. “So what about you, what’s been so terrible about the last four hours of your life?” he asked.
“Ugh, everything,” Arthur said, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the bar. “So, my sister is getting married. I’m her best man. This was meant to be her hen party, but Vivian’s lot crashed it and turned it into a sort of melee.”
“Your sister is the little blonde one with the Cauldron?” Merlin finished mixing the drinks and Freya swooped past again, grabbing the tray. He expected Arthur to follow her, but instead Arthur took a sip of his drink, grimaced, and answered Merlin’s question.
“No, my sister is Morgana, the harpy in green, Vivian is the one who is going to be my sister-in-law if she doesn’t drink herself into amnesia first. Elena is at the far end, she’s Vivian’s cousin, she’s going to knock over the first lemonade and possibly the second one too. Next to her is Mithian, who hates Morgana for reasons nobody has ever explained to me but who agreed to come along because she’s friends with Vivian, and the Medusa next to her is Morgana’s half-sister Morgause, who hates everyone except for Morgana.”
“And the bloke?”
“Is the stripper they picked up three hours ago. I think his name’s Gwaine? Morgana paid him and this other guy to put on a naked swordfight. Of course she found the pun hilarious.”
“It is a bit hilarious,” Merlin said. “I can see it might not be if you’re straight.”
“It isn’t if you’re bi and you’re there with your sister! I didn’t need to know her opinions on gay porn or Vivian’s plans for a threesome! And neither did the strippers, who had to listen to the whole thing, so Guinevere went to apologise and it turns out Gwaine found it hilarious too, so she invited him along – ”
“Wait, which one is Guinevere?”
“She went home two hours ago, after Vivian took us to the worst vaudeville show of all time. The fire-breather set his assistant’s wig on fire and they broke up on stage. I’ve never heard Morgause laugh like that, and I don’t want to hear it again. Sefa went home an hour after that, when Morgana broke a chandelier.”
Merlin gulped down a laugh. “Was she swinging on it?”
“That was the idea. She says it was faulty. The restaurant disagreed.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you gone home?” Merlin glanced up through his lashes. “It doesn’t seem like you’re having much fun.”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately. His eyes had drifted down to Merlin’s mouth.
“I’m the designated sane person,” he said, after a moment.
Merlin smiled. “How’s that going?”
“I’m thinking about delegating.”
Something crashed at the hen party table. Lemonade was dripping on the floor and Elena was now in Gwaine’s lap, but Morgana and Vivian were too focused on Freya to notice. Freya was grinning like a cat with a key to an aviary.
“I think my sister just propositioned your co-worker for that threesome,” Arthur said, resignedly. “Sorry.”
Merlin couldn’t help himself. He giggled. “She seems okay with it. Knowing Freya, she might have propositioned them first. Her roller derby name is Wildcat.”
Arthur tilted his head, mouthed Wildcat and said, decisively, “Don’t explain that.”
“Okay.” Merlin checked his watch. “Her shift ends in ten minutes, by the way, if you want to start calling cabs.” He hesitated, then added, “Mine does too. Actually.”
Arthur’s eyes were on Merlin’s mouth again. “Any plans for the night?”
“I can think of a few.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, stop staring at each other and just shag under the bar, nobody’s going to notice or care,” Morgause said, stalking up to the bar and giving each of them a chilly stare. “Don’t be late tomorrow, Arthur. If you do anything to ruin Morgana’s perfect day, I will destroy you.”
She stalked back to the table and picked up her studded leather handbag. “Wow,” Merlin said. “Maybe I should raincheck those plans, I don’t want to get you killed.”
Arthur laughed again. “The wedding isn’t until sunset. Do you seriously think anyone’s going to be over their hangovers before then anyway?” His smile turned wicked. “I’ve got plenty of time.”
* * *
He was taking too much damn time.
“Arthur,” Merlin hissed, arching as Arthur slipped a second finger between his legs, slow and wet and thorough. Their clothes had been abandoned in a trail from the front door of Arthur’s penthouse apartment to the floor beside the bed. Neither of them had stopped to turn on lights, so all they had were lines of ambient light from the street lamp outside, beaming through the shutters and across their bare skin. Arthur’s hair shone as he sat back on his heels, his lips glistening and swollen from twenty minutes of kissing in the back of a cab, then who knew how much longer tangled up on this bed, licking luxuriously between Merlin’s lips; a slow, sweet devouring.
Too slow. “Get on with it,” Merlin moaned, petulant.
Arthur grinned – playful, not predatory – and added a third finger. Merlin shifted, adjusting the angle, and tipped back his head with a shuddering sigh. Then Arthur lowered his head, rubbing his teeth lightly against Merlin’s left nipple, and the sigh turned into a breathy whine. Merlin’s helpless twitching sent one of Arthur’s hundred or so pillows off the bed.
“Who even needs this many pillows,” Merlin groaned into the sheets.
“I’ll demonstrate,” Arthur said, and slipped one under Merlin’s hips. “You ready?”
Merlin had barely growled out a “yes, you prat,” before Arthur was pushing steadily inside him. At the first thrust, Merlin groped blindly for the headboard, closing his eyes to concentrate on the sensation. Arthur, it was immediately apparent, was good at this, and knew it. Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur’s waist and held on, relaxing into the ride, making soft, pleased sounds whenever Arthur touched somewhere good. His fingers explored an expanse of muscular back, digging in at the shoulders as the thrusts deepened, leaving twin rows of little red crescents as his head fell back on a wail. Arthur definitely didn’t seem to mind. He reached for Merlin’s cock, his hand still slippery with lube, and it took about three seconds before he was wringing Merlin through a melting orgasm.
Merlin lay back, hazy and sated, as Arthur finished above him with a long groan. He sat back long enough to tie off the condom and throw it in the direction of a wastebin, then flopped sideways onto the mattress with a satisfied sound.
“Tissues on the nightstand,” he yawned.
“Lazy,” Merlin mumbled, grabbing a fistful. He mopped at himself half-heartedly, aware of Arthur’s sleepy blue gaze following his hands. The alarm clock beside the tissue box informed him that it was nearly three a.m. and his body was moulding into the decadent mattress without his consent. The thing about one night stands was the awkward moment after sex while you figured out what was expected next: pick up your clothes and go, swap phone numbers, or –
“Stay?” Arthur asked.
“Mm,” Merlin agreed, relieved, and sank into the endless pillows.
* * *
He woke up to the smell of sex and someone else’s nicer laundry detergent. Merlin surfaced from under a doona that felt like it had been made from clouds and candyfloss and squinted dazedly around the sunlit bedroom, taking in the boxers discarded on the carpet, the beautiful dark suit hung over the wardrobe door and the sound of running water coming from the ensuite. It took him a few minutes of half-awake squinting to think about checking the time, and the blinking numbers of 11:33 made him want to burrow back into his nest.
Only it wasn’t his nest, it was Arthur’s, and Arthur had a wedding to attend or Morgause the Medusa would murder him. Merlin rolled unwillingly out of bed and searched around for his phone. It was in his pants pocket, and his pants, after some hunting, were crumpled in the hallway. Merlin tugged them on and checked his messages. There were four texts from Freya, all of them far more descriptive of her night than he needed to know. He kind of wanted to show Arthur so he could be traumatised too.
Mostly he wanted to see Arthur, and find out whether last night had been just another episode of Cavern weirdness, or something as good as it had felt.
The water shut off. Merlin heard the ensuite door click open and there was a pause, as Arthur presumably took in the empty bed and vanished boxers. Then Arthur appeared in the bedroom doorway, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, and...Merlin would have recognised him anywhere, the ruffled hair and lowered eyebrows and uncertain mouth, it was absurd to know someone’s face this well after a one night stand but what was more absurd was how Merlin was suddenly urgently interested in knowing it better.
“Hi,” he offered, tentatively.
Arthur smiled at him. It was like getting hit directly in the eyes with sunshine. “Hey,” he said, the uncertainty fading from his face. “Do you want coffee?”
“I’d like breakfast.”
“Brilliant,” Arthur said, “the kitchen’s that way, can you cook?”
They bickered easily through two plates of incompetently scrambled eggs and started kissing again over coffee, Arthur pinning Merlin lightly to the kitchen counter and brushing his lips in a teasing trail down his throat and over one bare shoulder. They were back in bed, panting and sticky, when Arthur’s phone buzzed accusingly.
“I’m on my way right now,” he lied soothingly, “be there any minute.” He turned to Merlin after he’d hung up and said, “That’s Gwen. My father’s already picked a fight with the caterers and Morgause is threatening my uncle with a champagne bottle. Do you want to come?”
Merlin broke off laughing to say, startled, “What?”
“Come to the wedding. It’s going to be a disaster, but you might enjoy that.” Arthur’s eyes moved across him and Merlin saw an echo of the same curiosity he was feeling himself, the irresistible pull of you, I have to know more about you.
“There’s something about you,” Arthur murmured, more to himself than to Merlin. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, I just...I want to. Come with me.”
“I haven’t got a tux,” Merlin pointed out.
“We’ll rent one on the way. I know people.”
“I mix drinks in a shitty nightclub, and you own a penthouse.” Merlin wasn’t even really protesting now, just pushing to see how Arthur would push back.
“We drank in that shitty nightclub, and you slept just fine in my penthouse.”
“Your sister isn’t expecting me.”
“I know.” Arthur grinned. “Let’s surprise her.”