In Spite of Everything, Part I
One thing Arthur knows well about Morgana, having grown up with her, is that she will be helpful, to a point, about anything, but will make sure he knows all of her feelings about it in the process.
So he’s not particularly surprised when she decides to spend the entire day in which they’re packing up Arthur’s flat in telling him how stupid she thinks he is for moving out of it.
“Honestly, this is the most gorgeous place on this side of London,” she scolds, even as she stacks his books, on their sides per his instruction, into a large cardboard box. “You’ll never find something this good this close to campus.”
Arthur sighs. “I’m not looking for anything better, Morgana,” he tells her for the thousandth time. “I’m looking for something I can afford.”
“But a flatmate? Honestly, if there’s one thing I never expected you to do, it would be sharing your space with someone else.”
“You were the one who told me this guy would be a good fit for me,” Arthur points out. “I’m not concerned, Morgana, really. I’m just trying to make ends meet here. Working in a bookshop, even full-time, is not going to pay for the rent here.”
Morgana sits back on her high-tops, presses her lips together. “I wish I was as brave as you,” she admits quietly. “I could never - I’d be too afraid to do what you’re doing, as much as I want to.”
Arthur stands and steps over toward her, drops a kiss on her sleek, dark hair. “Any time you decide to, I’ll be here to help,” he promises.
Morgana smiles at him. “You’re carrying your books to the car,” she declares, and ducks out of the way when he swats at her.
***
Arthur is fond of wood floors.
They’re what sold him on the flat, when he and Morgana first came to see it. He’s always enjoyed the cold-toed run from bedroom to toilet, the slide of socks, the heavy, heady click of heels that just aren’t possible on carpet.
It reminds him of Christmas mornings, the thunder of running feet across the floors of his father’s large home, scoldings from housekeepers and nannies for being too loud. What Arthur remembers best is the way Morgana always poked her tongue out at them, defiant, and was never punished, because it was Christmas.
Wood floors make Arthur think of home. He signed the lease the next day.
He’s glad he’s never been a very materialistic person, because his room here is much smaller than his former room. He sold most of his furniture, and since much of it was designer, or custom-made, received good prices for it. He put that toward his savings, knowing there will be days when he needs rainy day money.
Merlin, who is not home yet, has left a sticky note on Arthur’s door, saying that the empty bookcase in the front room is for him to use as he likes, for which Arthur is grateful. His English Literature coursework involves quite a bit of reading. He organizes from highest priority to lowest priority, top to bottom. Highest priority is his favorite books and the ones he needs this term. Lowest priority is the books his father insisted he read.
His bedroom is easier. Clothes in closet, shoes lined up beneath them. Dresser for socks, pants, pajamas, running clothes. Top of dresser for cologne and cufflinks. Nightstand for alarm clock, lamp, mobile charger, planner, photo of him with Morgana. It’s plain, but he’s satisfied.
It takes him surprisingly little time to sort himself out. A quick trip to the grocer’s, which is blessedly, since he no longer has a car, across the street, equips him with pasta, rice, vegetables, bread, and fruit juice, enough to last him until he receives his first paycheck. He considers asking Merlin if there’s anything they can share, to save them both money. He’ll have to do that when Merlin gets back from lecture.
It’s only early afternoon, and Arthur is already fully moved-in. He’s not sure what to do now. He wishes he told the bookshop that he could work this afternoon, just so he had something more to do. Since he didn’t, he settles down to read ahead in some of his course books and wait for his flatmate to get home.
***
When Arthur first met Merlin, upon Morgana’s suggestion of her friend as a potential flatmate for him, he could only describe him as a firecracker. He was quick to spark, and quicker to flare up, and Arthur liked him immediately.
They sat at the kitchen counter after a tour of the flat, drinking coffee, and Arthur found Merlin’s bright eyes and wide smiles contagious.
“I’m not very neat,” he admitted right away, when Arthur said he keeps a clean house. “There’s a little of me everywhere, though I’m sure I can contain it, if you were to move in. But I am clean. I clean my dishes after I use them, clean the toilet and bath once a week.”
“I’d be happy to help with that,” Arthur offered. “And I tend to keep to myself, so I wouldn’t be in your hair too much.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Merlin waved him off. “I’m very hopeful we’ll be friends.” He paused. “As long as you’re not too much of a prat.”
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Do I seem like I’m a prat at all?”
“Only a little,” Merlin teased. “You’re posh. You’ve got the potential for it.”
“Well, I’m trying to live a slightly less posh lifestyle, if that helps.”
“It does. And I’m the utter opposite of posh, so I can help you achieve that.” He poured out another cup of coffee for Arthur. “I’m from a rather small village, in the country. I can’t say I’m particularly well-acquainted with high society.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arthur smiled into his cup. He set it down carefully in the ring he’d formed with it on his napkin. “So what happened to your last flatmate?”
“Will.” Merlin wrinkled his nose, but his relaxed, expressive face betrayed his affection. “We were mates from back home, grew up together. We decided going to university together was a great idea. I suppose university lifestyle wasn’t for him, though. He dropped out and went home.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Why?”
Arthur blinked. “Because he’s not getting a university education.”
“So?” Merlin shrugged. “Not everyone needs a degree in order to feel fulfilled, or even to find a job they enjoy. What does it matter if he’s not a university graduate?”
“I - Yes, that’s true, I suppose,” Arthur murmured, face hot. “Sorry. Part of my upper class background, I suppose?”
“Yes.” Merlin smiled. “But it’s alright. You’re only a bit of a prat.”
***
Merlin bursts through the door in a flurry of swinging backpack and jingling keys. “Hello, new flatmate!” He takes a moment to beam at him, toeing off his shoes. “I am in a rush, but I will be in less of a rush in a moment.” He runs into his room, slams the door, and leaves Arthur feeling rather like he missed something.
When he emerges again, it is with a book in hand and in his pajamas. He steps up onto the couch and folds himself up with his legs trapped beneath him, smiling at Arthur. “Mind if I join you?”
Arthur laughs lightly. “The rush was for pajamas.”
Merlin nods solemnly. “Yes. There are some days when they are an early requirement. Today is one of those days. Did you get settled in alright?”
“Yes, actually. I’ve just been doing some work for my courses.”
“Well, don’t mind me.” He settles in close to him. Arthur almost considers shifting away. “I have to read a hundred pages of this for tomorrow. Thank god it’s my night off.”
They fall silent as they turn to their work, but Arthur finds Merlin doesn’t stay still for long. He hums every once in a while, just one low tone, as if responding to something he read, or wiggles his feet so that they brush or press against Arthur’s thigh, or leans toward Arthur to read over his shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur says finally, after almost two hours of this, laughing at him when he stands up, turns in a circle like a dog getting comfortable and plops down again. “Can’t you sit still?”
Merlin makes a face at him. “No, then I’d be boring like you. Besides, I’ve read half of what I need to, and I have no further motivation. Come eat ice cream with me.”
Arthur sighs. “I’d like to, but I have lectures all day tomorrow and work in the evening, so I have to get this done tonight.”
“Even more reason you need ice cream.” Merlin takes his book, sets it, open, on the coffee table, and takes Arthur’s hand, pulling him off the couch and toward the kitchen. “We need to make you happy now so that your stressful week doesn’t burn you out.”
Arthur laughs and allows himself to be dragged along. “You don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you?”
“I know how,” Merlin says defensively, dropping Arthur’s hand so he can put his own on his hips. “I just don’t like to. Now, chocolate or strawberry?”
***
Arthur doesn’t see Merlin again for three days.
He’s sure that by the time he gets home from his work, Merlin is there, probably sleeping. Last night, he heard music from his room but didn’t want to disturb him, so he just locked the door and went to bed. Their schedules differ so much that Arthur thinks most days will be like this. Their first evening enjoying each other’s company will not be the norm for them; they will be nights few and far between.
Arthur sighs at the thought. He likes Merlin. He thinks they can be friends, and he wants to have time to foster that friendship. He never realized quite how far his privilege extended, that because of his father, he didn’t have to work, and therefore often had free time for whatever he wanted to do. Now he feels a stab of guilt whenever he thinks about all the times he mocked one of his friends for having to work when the rest of them were going to play football or have drinks at the pub.
He manages to roll himself out of bed somehow. He has an hour before he has to be at work, which means he has time for breakfast and a quick shower. He can smell bacon frying, can hear its crackle in the pan, which means Merlin is up and about, so he decided that the shower can wait, and breakfast should come first.
Merlin smiles at him when he comes into the kitchen. “Good morning! I’ve made coffee if you’d like some.”
“I would very much,” Arthur murmurs gratefully, padding heavily over to pour himself a cup. “What are you doing up so early? You don’t have lecture till eleven, right?”
Merlin reaches over to press down a wayward lock of Arthur’s hair. “I haven’t seen you in days. I thought I’d get up a bit early so we could have breakfast together. How do you feel about sausage and pancakes?”
“Sounds great.” Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the clatter of his spoon against the inside of his mug as he stirs sugar into his drink. “What about the bacon?”
“All mine.” Merlin winks at him. He looks over toward his bedroom when the door opens, and Arthur looks up too. A handsome man with caramel skin wanders out, pulling his shirt over his head, his eyes sleepy. Merlin beams at him. “Good morning, sunshine! You’re late for work, as of five minutes from now, so you might want to hurry.”
The man rubs his hands over his face, groaning. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I tried. You threw my alarm clock at me.”
He laughs and comes into the kitchen. “Hey, mate, you must be Arthur. I’m Elyan. I live right across the hall.”
“Nice to meet you.” Arthur smiles faintly.
“I’ve got to dash, but we should all go out sometime, get to know each other, with the rest of the gang, of course.” He drops a kiss on Merlin’s cheek, heads toward the door to gather his things.
“Of course,” Merlin echoes. “Have a good day. See you later.”
Elyan waves and heads out. The closing door leaves the flat quiet.
Arthur clears his throat. “So. Boyfriend?”
“Oh! No, he’s just a friend. Really sweet though. Anyone would be lucky to have him. He shares a flat with his sister, Gwen. You’d like her, I think. Everyone does.”
Then why was he in your room all night? He doesn’t say anything, just focuses on sipping his coffee.
***
Merlin is beautiful, in a strange sort of way.
He’s all angles, and no curves. Even his smile is cutting sometimes, his cheekbones sharp. But even with all his hard edges - his hipbones, his elbows, the jutting bones in his knuckles and feet - he is somehow soft. It’s in the sweet, crinkled looks he turns on Arthur when he finds him particularly endearing, and the wrinkled-nosed laugh he blesses him with when he’s especially pleased with something.
His incredible intelligence astounds Arthur on a near-daily basis. He has opinions on everything, it seems - books and films and politics - that all seem to stem from the same good-natured, kind place as everything else Merlin does, that no one should ever want for anything and no one should ever be made to feel as though they are less. Arthur thinks his father would hate Merlin, and that just adds to the attraction.
It helps that Merlin is constantly flirting with him - or at least, doing what Arthur assumes to be flirting. He’s always touching and prodding and manhandling him, almost a mother-hen, if Arthur is honest with himself, and no one ever talks to Arthur quite like Merlin does, like he’s a very special addition to his surroundings.
“What are you thinking about?” Merlin talks with his mouth full of chocolate, because it’s just after Valentine’s Day, and Gwen distributed chocolate bars to everyone in the building. Arthur is fairly certain that Merlin got more than one, because he seems to always have chocolate at hand lately.
Arthur smiles at him when he plops down on the couch and pushes his feet into Arthur’s lap. “I’m thinking about how detrimental living with you is to getting any work done,” he says pointedly as he leans over him to set his book on the table. He rubs his hand over Merlin’s ankle, pressing his thumb into his anklebone in a way he knows makes Merlin ticklish. Having only lived with him for two months, this seems like too much to know about him.
Merlin squeaks and pulls his foot away. “You like it,” he declares, tossing his head. “If you didn’t, you would revise in your room like the rest of us do when we have annoying flatmates.”
“I don’t have an annoying flatmate.” Arthur coaxes his foot back and sets to rubbing his ankles and feet in earnest, his lips twitching up at the way Merlin shudders and sinks into the couch. “I just have one that I tend to spend a lot of time with.”
“And who brings you coffee every day. Don’t forget about the coffee I bring you.”
“You get it for free at the shop! It’s not as if you buy it.”
“But I make it. Being a barista has certain benefits, and being able to easily steal coffee is one of them. And don’t I make very delicious coffee, Arthur?” He bats his eyelashes at him.
Arthur pinches his ankle. “You’re impossible. You know that, don’t you?”
Merlin grins widely enough for the chocolate to show on his teeth. “You like it.”
“Oddly enough, I do. Even when it stops me from doing what I need to.”
“Hint taken.” Merlin laughs, pushing himself up and off the couch. “I need to sleep anyway.” He dips in to press his mouth to Arthur’s in a quick, chocolate-flavored kiss. “Good night, Arthur.”
Arthur stares after him for long after he’s closed his bedroom door, and remembers too late that he forgot to tell him to sleep well.
***
Arthur should probably be surprised by the ease with which he and Merlin fall into bed together.
They’re watching Wristcutters: A Love Story, which Merlin likes because “It doesn’t end at all as you think it will, Arthur, and it’s just lovely because it’s the kind of love story that you think just can’t have a happy ending until it does.”
Merlin insists on sharing his blanket with Arthur, despite his protestations that he isn’t cold, and as soon as he’s trapped beneath it, he realizes that blanket-sharing is synonymous with cling-wrap cuddles. Merlin has his arms around him in a heartbeat, his head butted up under his chin. All Arthur can do is curl an arm around his back and draw him in closer.
He’s surprisingly easy to hold, for all those angles and bones and sharp points. Arthur only gets an uncomfortable elbow in the vulnerable part of his belly once. Merlin settles in and molds himself against him, like a second layer of clothes.
“This is the most depressing movie ever, isn’t it?”Arthur groans. “You’re going to make me watch a really depressing movie, and I’m not going to be able to handle it.”
“I told you it has a happy ending!”
“You’re probably lying so I’ll watch it. You’re one of those artsy blokes who like really sad movies and trick other people into watching them with you and talking about how much they reflect the human condition.”
“Oy! In case you’ve forgotten, of the pair of us, you’re the artsy one!”
“In what way?” Arthur practically shrieks.
“You’re studying English literature. The only way you could be artsier is if you were studying poetry! I’m reading chemistry; I am not allowed anywhere near the arts, and you know it.”
Arthur grumbles under his breath. “This is still a depressing artsy film.”
“It isn’t, and you know it. Hush up, or I’ll make you.”
“With what force?” He laughs.
And just like that, Merlin slides his hands into Arthur’s hair and pulls him in, pressing their mouths together. Arthur goes completely still for a moment, and then remembers that he decided, late at night, when no one could tell just how anxious he was over it, that if Merlin wanted to kiss him again, he would kiss back. And here Merlin is, kissing him again, so Arthur kisses him back.
Merlin is surprisingly seriousness about this undertaking. His fingertips rest lightly against Arthur’s jaw, and he tilts his head slightly, lips parted. Arthur runs his tongue along Merlin’s bottom lip, along the pointed tips of his canine teeth, pressing in against Merlin’s tongue when he slots their mouths together more firmly.
Merlin’s hands come to carefully frame Arthur’s face, like he’s holding something very fragile - a small bird or a crystal wine glass - and he shifts up onto his knees, forcing Arthur to lift his face to him. He laughs, a sweet, broken sound. “Come to bed with me,” he murmurs, brushes that soft mouth against the bridge of Arthur’s nose. “Please?”
How can Arthur possibly refuse that?
***
Arthur has never seen Merlin move quite as slowly as he is now. He parts the buttons on Arthur’s shirt, presses open-mouthed kisses to each inch of newly-exposed skin, flowing like liquid to his knees when he has to tug the ends out from his trousers and pressing kisses to the soft part of Arthur’s belly, right below his navel. He leaves the shirt hanging open, his fingers insistent as he presses Arthur’s hips so he sit down on the end of the bed.
“Merlin…”
He hushes him gently; works open his belt, tugs down his zipper and draws his cock out of his boxers. Arthur hisses, leaning back on his hands to watch him. He’s beautiful, really, truly beautiful, even with his sharp mouth and bony feet and the blunt fingernails that dig into Arthur’s thighs as he slides his mouth over him.
He lets his head fall back, closing his eyes, not watching - because if he watches, it will be too much, and if it’s too much, he won’t be able to live with it. Merlin’s mouth is slow and wet and firm, and he doesn’t rush it; he doesn’t rush anything, and Arthur’s toes curl. It’s not the same kind of mind-numbing suction he’s used to. It’s a slow wash, warmth that starts in his upper thighs and works its way into his chest. It’s not the crash of an orgasm so much as the light-headed sensation of holding his breath for too long.
Merlin pulls off when he comes, lets it hit his cheek in a wet slide that makes Arthur twitch and reach for him. He allows himself to be pulled off the floor and into Arthur’s lap, pushing him down onto his back, and reaches over to the nightstand for a tissue to wipe off his face and mouth. And just like that, all the intensity, all the gravity is gone, and Merlin grins. “I probably should have used a condom, in retrospect,” he comments, wiggling down to tuck his head up under Arthur’s chin. “I’ll remember for next time.”
Next time.
Arthur closes his arms around him.
***
Merlin’s bed smells just like Merlin: crisp and clean, like bar soap and freshly-mown grass. Arthur presses his face into the pillow and stays there much longer than he should, considering he has to be at work in half an hour. Forgoing a shower seems inevitable at this point. Merlin has already left for an early lecture.
“I’ll come see you at lunch,” he suggested when he woke Arthur up to kiss him goodbye. “I’ll bring muffins.”
“You’ll steal muffins,” Arthur grumbled into the pillow.
“It’s not stealing if I work there,” Merlin pointed out. “Besides, they’re apple-cinnamon. I know you like them because you filched half of the ones Gwen made me last week. Don’t even try to deny it; you know it’s true.”
“Mmm.” Arthur closed his eyes. “Muffins it is. Sleep now?”
Merlin laughed, ran scraping fingers along Arthur’s scalp, and was gone.
Now Arthur has three hours until he sees him again, and those three hours must be spent at the bookshop. He’ll be working until two-thirty today, four and a half hours, just in time to leave for his three o’clock lecture. He can’t believe he’s not more exhausted than he is. Working his way through university is much tougher than he imagined it would be.
Merlin is a nice comfort though, someone pleasant and sweet to come home to in the evenings.
Arthur woke in the middle of the night with kisses smoothed across his throat, Merlin’s hand sliding across his belly to rest on his hip and pull him in close. The corner of his lips twitched up, and he slotted himself against Arthur, resting their mouths together. They kissed lazily, caught in the soft lamplight cast through Merlin’s window from the street, and Arthur looked up at him, touched his fingertips to the highlighted curve of his cheekbone.
“Are you alright?” he asked him quietly.
Merlin nodded, patted his chest reassuringly. “Yes. I just wanted to say hello.”
Arthur cracked a smile. “Hello.”
Satisfied, Merlin went back to sleep.
And now here Arthur is, lying in Merlin’s bed, waiting for his head to stop spinning. He feels almost hung over, really, and he wonders if his flatmate will always have this effect on him - this drunken stupor that leaves him reeling. He’s been spinning since he moved in, he decides, and he probably will be until someone puts a stop to it.
At present, he’s not sure he wants to stop anyway.
***
Arthur finds it all surprisingly easy.
They don’t talk about it. Except when they’re in bed together, or going to bed together, the subject really doesn’t come up. They haven’t discussed the terms of their relationship, or even if there is one. It’s just so simple - just sex. That’s all.
It’s not as if Arthur doesn’t want more. There’s just something intimidating about asking Merlin for it. He’s so easygoing. He’s so comfortable with himself and with the people around him. Besides the sex, nothing else about their relationship has changed. Asking him to commit to something, to maybe make a decision or set a title or term where he’s not ready to might be enough to scare him away.
Arthur really doesn’t want to scare him away. He wants to hold onto him, on any level. He’s so attracted to Merlin that he feels like a honey bee sometimes, buzzing around the bright blossom that’s sitting open in the sunshine waiting for him. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever is happening by forcing Merlin to put a label on it.
And he so likes what’s happening.
He likes to slide his fingers into Merlin and rub there, just to see Merlin quiver and tremble and break apart and open, an egg hatching. He’s quiet when he’s the focus of intimacy. He doesn’t say a word.
He just holds onto Arthur’s shoulder and looks up at him with an intensity that can only be considered cat-like, his hips rolling down against his hand. It’s not enough to get him off, but Merlin doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t ask for more, either, because he’s in his state of saint-like silence. He just holds onto Arthur’s shoulder with one hand, and uses the other to slide around Arthur’s cock, still focused and firm.
That’s the one thing Arthur has noticed about Merlin as a lover, more than anything else. He approaches sexual encounters like he’s on a mission, and that mission is to make Arthur come, above all other things. Arthur is embarrassed by how often, and how quickly, Merlin has managed it, just to wander away to do something else before Arthur can even think about reciprocation. Even now, when Arthur initiated contact - which rarely happens, now that he comes to think about it - when he is actively trying to narrow the gap between them, Merlin is trying to distract him.
“Merlin,” he breathes. “You don’t have to - I just - please let me.”
“There’s no reason we can’t both come.” Merlin smiles up at him, nosing at his cheek. “Let me help you.”
Arthur reaches down to move Merlin’s hand away, and draws his own away as well, settling down against him. He warms at the soft sound of surprise and pleasure that fights its way from Merlin’s throat and the way Merlin clutches at his shoulders and presses his hips up, his legs falling open.
“You’re beautiful,” Arthur blurts out, pushing Merlin’s hair off his face, rocking lightly against him. “You’re so incredibly beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Merlin bursts into giggles, his head tipping back against the pillow. “No, I don’t think anyone has.”
“Then everyone’s crazy.” Arthur nods decisively. “You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. I feel very, very lucky right now.”
Merlin’s smile fades, and he touches his fingertips to Arthur’s cheek. “You’re too much.”
“Am I?”
“Completely.” The laughter is back, making Merlin’s voice quake, his eyes crinkle up. “But it’s alright. I like it.” He rubs the sole of his foot up Arthur’s calf. “Come on now. I believe you were trying to make me come.”
It doesn’t take long for Arthur - the steady friction, the press of warm skin, the all-consuming sensation of Merlin wrapped around him. He pushes himself up off of him and off to the side, and Merlin smiles over at him. “Satisfied?”
“Mmm.” Arthur blinks sleepily, rolling over toward him and urging him onto his side so he can spoon up behind him.
Merlin looks over his shoulder at him, petting his arm where it rests around his waist. “Well, aren’t you a cuddlebug?”
“Not quite.” Arthur kisses his shoulder slides his hand down over his cock and squeezes slightly, eliciting a quiet gasp from Merlin. “Just like being close.”
Merlin melts and sinks against him, his arm curling back to slide his fingers into Arthur’s hair. “Oh.” His hips stutter forward. “I see. Well, carry on.”
Arthur laughs quietly. “Thanks for the permission.”
Merlin looks wonderful like this, with his head tipped back against Arthur’s pillow, his eyes closed and lips parted, breath sweet against Arthur’s jaw. He is still quiet, the little whines and squeaks he allows stilted, and once or twice, Arthur notices he’s holding his breath. When he comes, spilling over Arthur’s fingers, he shudders from his shoulders through his knees, then practically collapses, sagging into the bed.
Arthur presses kisses to his ear until he twists at the waist to look up at him, then kisses him full on the mouth. Merlin smiles sleepily. “Are you hungry?”
Arthur rocks his head side to side, contemplating. “A bit. Takeaway?”
“Chinese?” The excitement with which Merlin says the word destroys any remnants of his serene demeanor. He wiggles away from Arthur and out of the bed, grabbing his pants and pajama bottoms and tugging them on. “I’ll order. Do you want spring rolls?”
“Of course.”
“They’re yours!” Merlin winks at him and rushes off.
***
Merlin has a great deal of friends, which doesn’t come as much of a shock to Arthur. Just going off of their first meeting, the way Merlin immediately drew Arthur into his life, without so much as a fight between them about it, it is absolutely not surprising that he knows most of the people who live on their floor, and it’s less surprising that they all adore him.
Merlin is simultaneously the person everyone goes to with their problems and the person that everyone wants to look after because he has such a ridiculous air of absolutely inappropriate levity about everything. That results in Gwen appearing with food at various times during the week because she’s sure Merlin’s forgotten to eat, and Elyan accompanying Merlin to his lectures because he’s sure there are murderers and thieves out there waiting to prey on Merlin’s good nature.
Arthur likes them immediately, and they seem to take to Arthur fairly well. He wonders if they decided immediately that if Merlin likes him, he must be a good guy, but he really thinks there are very few people Merlin doesn’t like, just like he thinks there are fairly few people who don’t like Merlin.
Freya, who is terribly shy and, as far Arthur knows, only really talks to Merlin, is the one person Arthur avoids if he runs across her in the corridor. She has no interest in knowing him, and seems to be of the opinion that Arthur can only mean bad things for Merlin. Which might be true. Arthur has no idea how, but you never know.
The only person Arthur actively dislikes at times is Gwaine. It’s not that he’s a bad guy, or even that he’s rude or especially irritating. He just spends far too much time touching Merlin. He wants too much and too often to wrap his arms around Merlin and nuzzle against his neck or, when he’s drunk, to kiss his face until Merlin can’t breathe with his laughter and has to push him away.
He never says anything about this distaste, because he and Merlin aren’t in a relationship. They are just friends, who sometimes sleep together as well. Arthur would be nothing but a hypocrite if he complained about Merlin’s relationship with Gwaine, especially since he’s never bothered to ask Merlin what he wants or if he wants something more than they have now. It’s not his place to dictate his other relationships.
So he really shouldn’t be surprised when he comes home from an impromptu football match organized by Elyan in the park to find Gwaine on the couch with his fingers buried in Merlin’s hair, and Merlin giving him a very studious blowjob.
He stands there in the doorway for a long time, just staring, watching Merlin here in the same position with Gwaine that he was in with Arthur himself just a few nights ago. And he feels like an idiot, because on some level, of course this is his own fault. The miscommunication about what they were and what he wanted is all his own; he never bothered to tell Merlin that he wants him, and he doesn’t want anyone else to have him.
He swallows down the thick swell of anger and hurt in the back of his throat and edges around them, doing his best to leave them to it undisturbed, and closes the door to his bedroom tight, resolving to do his homework and go to bed early, since he certainly has no interest in looking Merlin in the eye right now.
He hasn’t eaten dinner, but he’s never had less of an appetite.
After three hours, during which he ran out of reading to do and has finished writing two essays that aren’t do until next month, and after the sturdy close of the front door that signifies that Gwaine probably went home, he allows himself out of the room so he can relieve himself. He immediately mentally kicks himself in the face for this decision, since Merlin is in the bathroom cleaning his teeth. He smiles around his toothbrush and Arthur grimaces in response, unable to make disappear the image of Merlin with his mouth on Gwaine’s cock.
He clears his throat. “Will you be through soon?”
Merlin nods and leans down to spit out the toothpaste. After rinsing his mouth and patting it dry with a towel, he leans his hip against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. “Haven’t seen you all day. When did you come in?”
Arthur shrugs. “Around eight. Gwaine was over so I didn’t want to disturb you. He’s left?”
“Yeah, half an hour ago. You alright?”
“I’m fine. Would you mind letting me in the bathroom?”
Merlin pushes himself upright. “Alright, Grumpy Man.” He touches his shoulder, kisses the corner of his mouth. Arthur goes very still. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he echoes faintly, before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
Part II.