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When Arthur had moved out of university accommodation into his current flat, his father’s house-warming present had been to order in an interior designer. As Arthur did not have strong beliefs either way on what colour a splashback really ought to be, it had been easiest to accept gracefully, which was how he came to have stainless steel everything in the kitchen and a pair of sleek black sofas that looked more like pieces of abstract sculpture than items of furniture designed primarily to be sat upon. The headboard on his bed was also black and architectural. When Arthur had asked why his sofas and headboard had to match, the designer had looked shocked and spent the rest of their session speaking in an extra clear voice, as if to a small and misguided child.
It was all right, Arthur could live with the silvery-grey walls (if the designer could have made everything out of steel, he would have), the dark grey carpeting and the pearly grey bathroom tiles. He had put his foot down over only two things: the antique set of dining furniture he had insisted on using despite its regrettable wooden brownness, instead of the recommended glass and steel upgrade, and the painting that hung on the wall across from it. Both were inherited from his mother, having sat in storage after her death until Arthur came of age. The sight of them never failed to make Uther’s lips pinch, but given that he sniffed in disapproval whenever he came over and found Arthur had deviated from the designer’s original scheme, Arthur chose not to notice.
The truth was, Arthur didn’t spend much time at home. It was more a base of operations and a place to keep things rather than somewhere he actively wanted to be. However, with Morgana and Vivian due back any day now from two months careening all over Europe, Arthur wanted to welcome them back and a series of texts established a day when most of their combined friendship circle would be free at some point in the evening. That was a rare confluence that had to be made the most of, so Arthur started planning a party immediately.
He brought up the subject when he met Merlin for lunch in the park on Wednesday. Merlin was working that night at the Cavern so for him it was a late breakfast – from the look of it he’d just woken up, jaw unshaven, hair sticking in all directions, his fingerless gloves not matching shades of blue. He’d brought a box of homemade cheese scones and a blanket to sit on; the sight of him there, cross-legged under a large oak tree, head bent over a thick paperback while he waited for Arthur to arrive, made Arthur reach instinctively for his phone to take a picture. Just in time too, as Merlin heard his footsteps and looked up. He had the kind of smile that made you feel like he’d pinned a blue ribbon to your chest as winner of the You Specifically Have Brightened My Day Award, and it never failed to make Arthur’s heart skip a beat.
Arthur had, up until this point, been having an exhausting day. The departmental meeting on improving building security had gone about as well as expected (everybody agreed the system needed tightening; nobody agreed on how it should be done; too much coffee was drunk and absolutely nothing was resolved), then a deal with Bayard Constructions had gone sideways and Arthur had been called in to say soothing things to lots of people at short notice. Being out in the crisp air of an early autumn day was a relief, and when Merlin stood up to kiss him hello, Arthur held on a few minutes longer than was strictly necessary.
“It’s good to see you too,” Merlin said a little breathlessly, when Arthur finally let him go. He looked thoroughly awake now. “Are you hungry? And don’t answer that with something sexy, because we are in public and you’re going back to work in half an hour, it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Ruining my fun,” Arthur grumbled. “Yes, I’m hungry, and I could use something to soak up all the caffeine.” He opened the bag of grapes he’d bought from a greengrocer on his way over. Once they had settled on the blanket and shared out the food, he told Merlin about the planned party.
“I wondered if you wanted to bring some of your friends,” he offered. It had been a month since the Not Break-up and he’d seen no sign that Merlin was unhappy with how things stood between them, but it seemed like a good gesture to make anyway and Gwen had approved the idea when Arthur ran it by her. “Morgana and I are friends with most of the same people, since we went to school at the same time and work for the same company, and obviously I want to introduce you to everyone, but I expect you’d like to have a few people you already know there.”
“Are you sure about that?” Merlin asked. “Because I’ll probably ask Will.”
Will of the bad attitude and even worse customer service manner, with whom Arthur had so far exchanged only unfriendly looks. “No problem,” he lied airily. “I’ll be glad to meet him properly.”
Merlin’s mouth went crooked, like he was trying not to laugh, but he just nodded and said, “I’ll ask Freya as well, I think she’ll be free this Saturday. Should I bring anything? Wine, cake, references?”
“Don’t worry, my friends are much subtler interrogators than my father.” Arthur winced slightly; he’d been trying not to bring up Uther since the argument. Merlin sighed.
“Arthur, he’s your father, it’s fine if you want to talk about him. Our dads have their issues with each other, but that doesn’t mean we have to fight over it too.” His eyes were wide and blue and a bit anxious. “I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about him. About anything.”
That was the lead-in to a much more emotionally charged conversation than Arthur was prepared to have over lunch in a public park, or possibly ever. Merlin seemed satisfied with his awkward nod and asked about his day, allowing Arthur to vent at length about the disorganisation and general dysfunctionality of his workplace. When he finally ran out of steam (and scones), Arthur flopped backwards on the blanket, not quite putting his head in Merlin’s lap but resting it close enough that he could feel the warmth of Merlin’s thigh brushing against his cheek. He closed his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze ruffling through his hair.
“This is nice,” he murmured. “We should just stay here the rest of the day.”
“Or forever,” Merlin yawned, leaning back against the tree and plucking a leaf off Arthur’s chest. “We could live in the trees and make bread out of acorns. Like squirrels.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being romantic, sarcastic or idiotic,” Arthur said doubtfully.
“I can’t tell if I like you being rude or if I’ve just got used to it.”
Arthur turned his head, resting his forehead against Merlin’s leg. “You like it.”
He was comfortable enough that he could easily have fallen asleep like that, but his lunch break was nearly over and who knew what stupid decisions would be made if he was not there to stop them. He cut the timing as fine as he could before sitting up with a reluctant sigh and brushing off his suit jacket in preparation for the walk back to work. Merlin appraised him carefully, adjusting his collar then tugging on it lightly to reel him in for one last kiss.
“I’ll see you on Saturday then,” he said. “I’ll come over early to help set up food and everything.”
Arthur’s plans were not much more complicated than raiding a deli and stocking up on crisps, but a bit of extra Merlin time never went astray so he just nodded. On the way back in to Caerleon he was struck by a potential problem and texted Merlin to ask about his friends’ dietary requirements – never would he forget the showdown at the first combined Pendragon-Lefay family event when it was discovered that Mordred’s girlfriend Kara had intolerances to pretty much everything, and Uther’s hyper-professional caterer had cried – but Merlin texted back immediately to reassure him.
The only thing Freya won’t eat is lychees, and I’ll bring Will’s favourite beer. Should I bring a present for Morgana and Vivian? I didn’t give anything at the wedding.
They have been given QUITE ENOUGH presents, Arthur replied emphatically, and if they haven’t bought enough shoes to fill a new suitcase each by now, they have been replaced by doppelgangers. Remember you don’t have to do things just because they say so. They are good at guilting people.
So – I just have to do what you say?
Arthur smirked at his phone, taking the steps into the Caerleon Industries building two at a time. You said it, Merlin, not me.
He was at his desk when Merlin answered with Yes, sire. It turned out Arthur could definitely tell when he was being sarcastic.
* * *
Merlin arrived an hour early on Saturday night with the promised beer and a tray of cupcakes that Freya had made when he invited her. “She’s invited to everything,” Arthur said, trying one and licking the thick cream cheese icing off his thumb. Merlin watched the flicker of his tongue, then looked away with flushed cheeks.
Arthur’s own preparations were already more or less complete – the set of stark white serving dishes Uther had given him two Christmases ago had been filled up with crisps, olives and dip, and the cheese platter in the middle of the coffee table held all the varieties Morgana insisted a cheese platter needed to have. The delicate leaf designs carved around the circumference of the dining table had been protected with a tablecloth, and for an extra security measure the tablecloth had been weighed down by a fruit bowl. Merlin found a plate for Freya’s cakes and left them in the kitchen to bring out with dessert. That left fifty minutes before the first guests were expected to arrive, and Merlin had several ideas on how to fill in the time, beginning by pinning Arthur to the sofa. For someone who looked so much like an oversized scruffy kitten, he was unexpectedly heavy.
Not that Arthur was trying to get away.
“What is with the scarves,” he complained, tugging the skinny strip of wool from around Merlin's neck to fasten his mouth to the skin underneath. “We’re inside. You don’t need a scarf.”
“I do,” Merlin argued, but he let it fall to the floor without protest, concentrating on getting Arthur’s shirt unbuttoned. He shifted his weight on Arthur’s lap, his knees barely denting the upholstery on either side, and added, “Let’s take this to the bedroom, your sofa is made out of oil and cement.”
Arthur snorted and followed him, throwing his shirt over the back of a chair so that it wouldn’t crease. Merlin’s T-shirt received less thoughtful treatment. Jeans and boxers shucked onto the carpet, Arthur ended up on his back with Merlin mouthing delicately at his cock, like they had all the time in the world to get worked up. Arthur threaded his fingers into Merlin’s thick mop of hair, tugging impatiently, and Merlin made a muffled sound of amusement and exasperation.
“You are so bossy,” he sighed, lifting his head long enough to kiss Arthur firmly before planting a hand in the middle of his chest and keeping him in place while he went down on him. He did at least pick up the pace, bringing his tongue into play with messy skill. Arthur was panting hard, hands fisted in the bed covers, when Merlin finally pulled off.
“Fuck me?” Merlin said brightly. The only response Arthur could manage was a helpless nod; with a pleased hum, Merlin leaned over him to fetch lube and condoms out of the bedside drawer, slicking his fingers and reaching back to open himself up. His hand stayed splayed on Arthur’s chest for balance as his eyes fluttered shut. Time was ticking away, but Arthur could not take his eyes off him. He coated his own fingers in lube and ran one around Merlin’s rim, making him hiss.
“Yes, you can – like that,” he said, guiding Arthur’s finger in carefully, testing out the stretch. It was a little too much, so Arthur eased out, leaving just the pad of his finger moving inside Merlin’s body. Merlin threw his head back, lips parting on a breathy groan, and sank down to take it in again.
It never failed to leave Arthur awed, how easily Merlin shared himself, how quick he was to try something just because it felt good. Years of what Morgana called ‘the performative masculinity show’ and Arthur called ‘growing up as Uther Pendragon’s son’ had left him with the particular brand of self-consciousness that was pretty much unavoidable when you had a personal media consultant at age eight, and gestures of vulnerability did not come easily to him, but with Merlin he wanted it – all doors open, no strings attached. Most of all, he wanted, with an urgency that currently rated above breathing, to make Merlin lose himself in this completely.
Gently withdrawing his fingers, he took hold of Merlin’s hips and positioned himself for the first thrust. Merlin groped for the headboard as he adjusted, gasping out soft breathy curses and the occasional directive. His eyes were fixed wonderingly on Arthur, and it was only then Arthur realised he was gasping out his own hoarse giveaways of beautiful, Merlin, fuck, you are so beautiful. This was emotionally charged on a whole new level but for once Arthur wanted to push his limits – he was on the edge of an epiphany, he knew it, and one hell of an orgasm, and Merlin looked like he was about to cry at how good it felt.
The doorbell was the last sound in the world they wanted to hear.
“Shit,” Merlin snarled. “Shit. Maybe they’ll go away.”
Arthur wanted to laugh and swear at the same time. “They won’t.”
“They are fifteen minutes early. Who thinks that is reasonable?”
“I can guess.” Arthur pushed at Merlin’s hips, wriggling out from underneath him. “We’ll finish this later, I promise, the second they’re gone.” He kissed Merlin’s reddened, protesting mouth and dived for the bathroom, cleaning himself up as fast as he could with a cold washcloth and pulling on clothes in a wild tumble towards the front door.
“What happened to your hair?” Vivian asked. Her own was, as always, flawlessly coiffed.
“What happened to your shirt?” Morgana added, her eyes wickedly bright. She stood on tiptoe to look over Arthur’s shoulder. “Let me guess, is Merlin here?”
“Shut up or I lock you out,” Arthur threatened.
“Don’t talk nonsense, you know I can pick locks,” Morgana said, and breezed past him with a large carrier bag slung over her shoulder. It clinked as she moved. Vivian also had a carrier bag, plus a pair of sparkling kitten heeled boots. She followed Morgana to the coffee table and proceeded to set out a dizzying array of liquor bottles.
“What is this?” Arthur asked, picking up something murkily green.
“Wait until you try it,” Morgana said gleefully. “And we brought chocolates, so say thank you nicely and I might let you have one of the truffles.”
“She won’t,” Vivian assured him. “There are no truffles left. We need music!”
By the time Merlin emerged from the bedroom, Vivian’s favourite pop singer was belting a dance anthem from Arthur’s sound system. Morgana left off cooing over her pet lizards in the kitchen to give Merlin a cool look of assessment from top to toe, then said with sudden, unnerving certainty, “You’re the one who’s been looking after my dragons, aren’t you.”
“Er,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur for guidance. “Yes?”
“You’ve picked someone with good taste for once, Arthur, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Morgana said, and hauled Merlin into the kitchen to talk dragons. Arthur’s phone filled up with texts from his friends arriving downstairs, waiting to be buzzed in – how Morgana and Vivian had got inside the building without any warning, he could not guess, he only knew they did it every time – and soon a stream of people were flowing into the flat. Gwen arrived on time like the excellent human being she was, saying a polite hello to Vivian (they had never liked each other) then going to hug and exclaim over Morgana. She hugged Merlin too, bringing a surprised smile to his face. Lance was going to be late. He was driving a neighbour to a doctor’s appointment, and would come when he could.
Leon and Mithian arrived next, with a dish of lasagna squares. Mithian said a polite hello to Morgana, then went to hug and exclaim over Vivian. “Leon, this is my boyfriend Merlin,” Arthur said, remembering the two of them hadn’t met yet. “Merlin, this is Leon, he’s worked with me at Caerleon Industries since we were both interns.”
“Arthur was my best man when I married Mithian,” Leon added, shaking Merlin’s hand. “I understand Morgana’s wedding was more,” he reached for a tactful description, “eventful.”
“She parties like she means it,” Merlin agreed. “It’s good to meet you, Leon.”
A sudden crash made them all turn around. Elena had just come through the door, tripped on a rug, been caught in mid-air by her boyfriend and tumbled to the floor anyway, bringing him down with her. Arthur went over to help them disentangle themselves, and blinked in recognition. The boyfriend, wearing a loose hemp shirt and black skinny jeans, was shaking glossy brown hair out of a familiar face. “Hi, Arthur,” Elena said cheerfully. “You remember Gwaine, don’t you?”
“Oh, you were the stripper at my hen’s night!” Morgana said, coming up behind Arthur. “I’m Morgana, by the way, my wife over there is Vivian, we both loved your work. You were a good sport about the sword-fight thing.”
“Have a drink,” Arthur advised.
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Gwaine said, flashing a dazzling smile. He sauntered over to the table and immediately struck up a conversation with Merlin and Gwen, who both looked a bit blindsided by such a concentrated burst of rakish charm.
“He juggles, too,” Elena said proudly.
“How long have you been seeing him?” Arthur asked.
“Since the hen party. About as long as you’ve been seeing Merlin, I expect.” Elena lowered her voice to a totally unsubtle stage whisper. “Who looks adorable, by the way, I’ll go say hello.”
Arthur would have followed her, but the next people to show up were Freya and Will. She looked nervous and he looked sullen. A dutiful host, Arthur went over to greet them and complimented Freya’s Cat in the Hat print skirt. She smiled at him shyly, which only made Will look grumpier. “Can I get you drinks?” Arthur asked, a little desperately, like the 50s housewife he secretly suspected he was emulating. “There’s beer and red wine, and I think Morgana’s brought vodka.”
“Oh, I’ll have the vodka,” Freya said. She was promptly pounced on by a delighted Vivian, who dragged her off to introduce to people like an old friend. That left Arthur and Will alone together, and Will was obviously not in the mood to be social.
“Posh place,” he said, frowning around at Arthur’s flat like it confirmed a dire theory.
“Thank you,” Arthur said. “Merlin is over there, if you want to – ”
“Are you just stringing him along?” Will demanded. “He’s crazy about you, no idea why, so I want to know you’re not messing about with him.”
Arthur blinked at him. “Seriously?” was the first and perhaps badly chosen word out of his mouth.
Will glowered, bearing a remarkable similarity to an angry bulldog. “Yeah, I’m fucking serious.”
Merlin appeared at Arthur’s elbow, moving forward to stand in between them like he expected punches to be thrown any minute; not an unreasonable fear given the look on Will’s face. “Hi, great you could come,” he said to Will, giving him a pointed nod.
“I came to make sure you weren’t dating a rich dick who just wants a fling,” Will said, ignoring the look completely.
If he wanted to knock Arthur off-balance, this was not the way to do it. Arthur had survived Morgana’s teen years, which meant he could survive pretty much anything. Hunith’s warm welcome had been much more unnerving, as Arthur had not known quite how to respond, but voluble rudeness was much surer ground. He rocked back on one heel, folding his arms.
“I can’t believe you,” Merlin was growling at Will, shoulders gone tense. “He’s met my mother, and she loves him actually, so just drop it.”
“She loves me?” Arthur said, pleased. “Really?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Arthur, she thinks you have lovely manners and getting her that special deal on solar panels definitely helped. She asks after you every time she calls and wants you to come over for lunch again sometime, but that’s not the point – ”
“I’d like that. What’s her email?”
Will cleared his throat noisily. Arthur had briefly forgotten he was there. “Answer the question,” he persisted, though some of the force had gone out the demand. “Are you serious about Merlin?”
Arthur looked at Merlin, who had covered his face with his hands. “Yes,” he said simply. “And really, I’d rather be spending time with him than with you.” He took Merlin by the arm and drew him away into the kitchen, where they could pretend to be getting extra plates and make out instead. Merlin started an apology and Arthur kissed it out of his mouth.
“Is everyone here yet?” Merlin asked, pulling back a fraction.
Arthur leaned sideways to get a look through the kitchen doorway. Morgause, Mordred and Kara had all arrived together like an angsty heavy metal band, all intense eye make-up and monochrome clothes that Arthur’s interior designer would have loved. Morgana had been pulled into their midst and was showing them photos of a creepy cavern system in France on her phone.
“Yep, looks like it,” Arthur said. “Except Lance, and who knows if he’ll show anyway. He might need to rescue a bus-load of pensioners or school-children or something.”
“Okay,” Merlin said decisively, and pulled Arthur through the kitchen’s second exit, through the hallway and into Arthur’s bedroom, shutting the door and locking it in one fluid motion.
“What,” Arthur began, but Merlin shut him up with a searching kiss, peeling him out his clothes for the second time that night.
“I,” Merlin said, in between kisses, “have been incredibly patient, don’t you think?”
“You are an exhibitionist,” Arthur gasped out. “They are right outside – ”
“Exactly, outside, that’s what doors are for,” Merlin said calmly. “We’ll be quick.”
He pushed the bottle of lube into Arthur’s hand and bent over the end of the bed, bracing his hands on the mattress. “Get on with it,” he suggested over his shoulder. The last of Arthur’s reservations withered and died. Merlin didn’t need much loosening up, and he gave a soft groan as Arthur sank into him. The first few thrusts were experimental, finding a rhythm that worked for both of them; Merlin lowered himself onto his elbows for a better angle, making a hoarse appreciative sound as Arthur found the right spot.
“You can go harder,” he said, flexing into it, and Arthur took him at his word. The urgent pace built to a fierce climax, Arthur biting down on Merlin’s shoulder to muffle his cry. When he moved his hand to Merlin’s cock to finish him off, Merlin grabbed Arthur’s other hand and pressed it over his own mouth. The hot breath of his moan on Arthur’s palm was a kink Arthur had not known he had. They both collapsed on the bed in the aftermath, too dazed to move.
“That was…good,” Arthur said eventually, once he had his breath back. What he wanted to do now was curl around Merlin and sleep for ten hours or so. Parties were terrible.
“Told you so,” Merlin said, sounding just as sleepy. “I have very good ideas.”
“Everyone is going to guess what we’ve been doing,” Arthur said, because the words ‘I told you so’ were a challenge he would never be able to ignore. “Morgana will guess.” Merlin started to laugh and Arthur aimed an ineffectual whack at his arm. “You’re a nightmare.”
“You love me,” Merlin said, playfully, then went very quiet as what he’d said sank in.
Arthur stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then rolled over to look at him. Merlin’s eyes had gone very wide. The easiness of the moment was gone; he looked like he wanted to flee. Arthur understood the feeling. Expressions of affection were not his strong point.
“You’re not wrong,” he blurted.
Merlin opened his mouth, eyes somehow going even wider, then frowned and said, “What does that mean?”
“I mean,” Arthur said, hoping he was not fucking everything up, “you’re right. I do.”
“You love me?” Merlin whispered. At Arthur’s jerky nod, he leaned in and they were kissing again, frantic, like the only oxygen left in the world could be found in each other’s lungs. Even when they finally parted, Arthur couldn’t pull all the way away, resting his forehead against Merlin’s.
“I love you too,” Merlin breathed. “God, Arthur. You have no idea. I love you so much.”
“So show me,” Arthur said, kissing him, as there seemed no good reason to stop. Merlin moaned into his mouth.
“I want to,” he said, “I really want to, but – ”
“Party,” Arthur finished for him. “Guests. Fuck. Why did I invite these people?”
“You like them, supposedly. Where’s my shirt?”
Arthur was immensely grateful for his ensuite and private supply of towels, particularly when he and Merlin walked straight into Leon outside the bathroom. “What are you – ” Leon began confusedly, before taking in their flushed faces and rumpled hair and quickly dropping the question.
“Poetry!” Merlin said.
“Poetry?” Leon echoed, looking mildly traumatised.
“I’m an English literature student,” Merlin continued, with irrepressible happiness, “I have really intense feelings about poetry that Arthur needed to hear. Crisis averted. It’s all okay now.”
“…good,” Leon said, backing off and making an escape through the kitchen.
Morgana certainly did guess what they had been doing, based on the unholy smirk she wore throughout the rest of the evening, but she contented herself with a few ribald jokes and making Arthur drink a shot of the green liquor. Gwaine and Elena needed much less encouragement to try Morgana and Vivian’s stash of bottles, leading to Elena slipping on thin air and nearly smashing head-first into a painting. Arthur made her drink some water and sit down after that, and within minutes she was sprawled asleep on one of the hideously uncomfortable sofas, Gwaine snoring beside her. Arthur went to check on the painting, to be sure no damage had been done.
“I’m surprised you still have that hanging up,” Morgana remarked, wandering over. “Hasn’t Uther tried to make you put it back in storage yet?”
“Why would he want that?” Merlin asked, looking at the painting. It was done in oils, a flurry of blue butterflies flocking out of a skull. Given the subject matter it should have looked quite morbid, but there was an exuberant life to it, a brilliancy of colour and movement, like the butterflies were going to burst through into the air at any moment.
“It was my mother’s,” Arthur said, running his thumb across the plain wooden frame. “She was an art restorer, she was quite famous for her work actually, but she painted for herself too when she had the time. She did this one while she was pregnant with me. On the back – she wrote on her canvases, when it was her own art. She said it was based on a dream she had.”
“It’s beautiful,” Merlin said, his hand gentle on Arthur’s back.
“Uther’s got the rest of her paintings hidden away,” Morgana said grimly. “Probably in an apocalypse-proof bunker where nobody will ever get to see them.”
“She left this one to me by name,” Arthur said. “She updated her will to make sure it would come to me. I think it was her favourite.”
He didn’t know how to explain the mix of emotions that talking about his mother always brought up, the pride in her, the confusing grief for a woman he’d never known. But Merlin’s hand was warm and steady between his shoulder blades, and he didn’t think he needed to explain at all.
* * *
The party went on until the early hours of the morning. Morgana roped them all into a game of charades around midnight, at which Mordred beat everyone hollow, and Gwaine sang along with every Taylor Swift song on Vivian’s playlist. Gwen was the first one to leave, helping Arthur pile up empty dishes in the kitchen and making plans with Merlin to meet up for lunch next week. She gave Elena and Gwaine a lift home, which started a general exodus. Arthur carried the lizard tank down to Morgana and Vivian’s waiting taxi, letting Merlin say a quick goodbye to the dragons first, and gratefully shut the door on Mordred and Kara, the last two to go.
He loaded up the dishwasher and set it going while Merlin swept broken crisps and bottle lids off the coffee table. Proper cleaning could wait until tomorrow, or rather, much later today. Arthur took off his clothes one more time, climbing under the doona and burying his face in Merlin’s shoulder, like it belonged there. After all, he was quite sure that it did.