Patron of the Arts - part 2
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Patron of the Arts part 2
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Mithian
Summary: Arthur always loved to draw but when his father refused to allow it, Arthur left it all behind. Until he met Merlin.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 674
Camelot Drabble Prompt 513: gasp
Camelot Drabble Prompt 516: Almost
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Standing in front of a brilliant piece of fantasy art from a mostly underappreciated but up-and-coming artist, thinking to buy it and add it to his collection, Arthur grunted a little as someone bumped into him, making Arthur spill his very expensive champagne all over his shirt. “Look where you are going, you buffoon.”
“Sorry, didn’t see you there. I was-,” the idiot sputtered.
Glaring at the man, an instant of want flashing into fury, Arthur said, “Do you know who I am?”
His blue eyes glaring, the git said, “Yeah, a prat.”
“What did you call me?” Arthur wanted to roar his disapproval. After all, much as the miscreant was gorgeous with dark hair and a full mouth, he was shabbily dressed for the gallery opening and wildly out of place among the jewels and designer clothes of the rest of the crowd. Instead, though, Arthur stood there, mouth gaping, as the idiot’s face hardened.
“Ohhhh, my mistake. A prat, my lord.” Then he bowed, the arse, rolling his eyes as he did.
Arthur didn’t quite gasp but he glared a lot. “I’m not a lord, you git. Not royalty at all. And what makes you think that you can get away with insults after assaulting me?”
“I didn’t assault you, you wanker. Mr Know-it-all over there,” the git snapped, nodding toward the worst of the bunch, Victor Maldron, an obscenely rich patron who chose art for its price and didn’t care if it was good or not. “Shoved me. I guess he thought I didn’t belong here, in the posh section of town.” He frowned then, looking up and down at Arthur’s tailored jacket and Armani shirt, the perfectly coiffed hair and the Rolex watch on his wrist. “I guess you don’t either. I’ll… umm… just….”
He started to move away, but Arthur caught at his sleeve, pulling him back. “Who are you?” Arthur demanded.
Before the git could answer, Mithian Legrange, the gallery owner, hurried over to them. Arthur thought she might be trying to calm the situation, but instead, she smiled at Arthur. “Ah, Mr Pendragon, I see you’ve met our artist. Brilliant, isn’t he?” When Arthur let go, blinking in surprise, she turned away, then started pulling at the other man, her smile turning predatory. “Come on, Merlin. Someone wants to buy one of your paintings. And for heaven’s sake, be nice. I do have a gallery to run, you know.”
“Sorry, Mith, it’s just that…,” Merlin stumbled to a stop, looking a bit guilty as he glanced at Arthur.
Mithian turned to Arthur, tutting at his wet shirt. “Merlin, you didn’t.” Then grimacing a little, she said, “Of course, we will pay for cleaning and any inconvenience. It’s the least we can do, isn’t it, Merlin?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Merlin whined, his face reddening.
Arthur was still trying to wrap his head around the apparent fact that Merlin Emrys was a clumsy idiot, hot as hell, and the artist of two works currently in Arthur’s flat. Finally, clearing his throat, Arthur said, “It was an accident. Why don’t we just call it even and let me buy Merlin here another drink? We have much to discuss.”
Staring at him, looking a bit wary as if not sure what to think, Merlin nodded, but Mithian said, “Can we schedule it for later?”
Before Arthur could agree, she started pulling Merlin away, talking rapidly to him. “Maldron wants the one in the back, Future Rising, and he’s willing to pay full price and he wants to commission you, too. This could be-.” They turned a corner and out of sight.
To Arthur, the air seemed colder, then, a room teeming with empty designer clothes, fake smiles, and not much else. A room where the paintings had more life than the art patrons laughing and guzzling champagne.
Feeling suddenly at sea, Arthur left, thinking not of paintings or champagne or galleries, but blue eyes flashing and midnight-dark hair and a full mouth against his. He was in big trouble.
Title: Patron of the Arts part 2
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Mithian
Summary: Arthur always loved to draw but when his father refused to allow it, Arthur left it all behind. Until he met Merlin.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 674
Camelot Drabble Prompt 513: gasp
Camelot Drabble Prompt 516: Almost
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
------------------
Standing in front of a brilliant piece of fantasy art from a mostly underappreciated but up-and-coming artist, thinking to buy it and add it to his collection, Arthur grunted a little as someone bumped into him, making Arthur spill his very expensive champagne all over his shirt. “Look where you are going, you buffoon.”
“Sorry, didn’t see you there. I was-,” the idiot sputtered.
Glaring at the man, an instant of want flashing into fury, Arthur said, “Do you know who I am?”
His blue eyes glaring, the git said, “Yeah, a prat.”
“What did you call me?” Arthur wanted to roar his disapproval. After all, much as the miscreant was gorgeous with dark hair and a full mouth, he was shabbily dressed for the gallery opening and wildly out of place among the jewels and designer clothes of the rest of the crowd. Instead, though, Arthur stood there, mouth gaping, as the idiot’s face hardened.
“Ohhhh, my mistake. A prat, my lord.” Then he bowed, the arse, rolling his eyes as he did.
Arthur didn’t quite gasp but he glared a lot. “I’m not a lord, you git. Not royalty at all. And what makes you think that you can get away with insults after assaulting me?”
“I didn’t assault you, you wanker. Mr Know-it-all over there,” the git snapped, nodding toward the worst of the bunch, Victor Maldron, an obscenely rich patron who chose art for its price and didn’t care if it was good or not. “Shoved me. I guess he thought I didn’t belong here, in the posh section of town.” He frowned then, looking up and down at Arthur’s tailored jacket and Armani shirt, the perfectly coiffed hair and the Rolex watch on his wrist. “I guess you don’t either. I’ll… umm… just….”
He started to move away, but Arthur caught at his sleeve, pulling him back. “Who are you?” Arthur demanded.
Before the git could answer, Mithian Legrange, the gallery owner, hurried over to them. Arthur thought she might be trying to calm the situation, but instead, she smiled at Arthur. “Ah, Mr Pendragon, I see you’ve met our artist. Brilliant, isn’t he?” When Arthur let go, blinking in surprise, she turned away, then started pulling at the other man, her smile turning predatory. “Come on, Merlin. Someone wants to buy one of your paintings. And for heaven’s sake, be nice. I do have a gallery to run, you know.”
“Sorry, Mith, it’s just that…,” Merlin stumbled to a stop, looking a bit guilty as he glanced at Arthur.
Mithian turned to Arthur, tutting at his wet shirt. “Merlin, you didn’t.” Then grimacing a little, she said, “Of course, we will pay for cleaning and any inconvenience. It’s the least we can do, isn’t it, Merlin?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Merlin whined, his face reddening.
Arthur was still trying to wrap his head around the apparent fact that Merlin Emrys was a clumsy idiot, hot as hell, and the artist of two works currently in Arthur’s flat. Finally, clearing his throat, Arthur said, “It was an accident. Why don’t we just call it even and let me buy Merlin here another drink? We have much to discuss.”
Staring at him, looking a bit wary as if not sure what to think, Merlin nodded, but Mithian said, “Can we schedule it for later?”
Before Arthur could agree, she started pulling Merlin away, talking rapidly to him. “Maldron wants the one in the back, Future Rising, and he’s willing to pay full price and he wants to commission you, too. This could be-.” They turned a corner and out of sight.
To Arthur, the air seemed colder, then, a room teeming with empty designer clothes, fake smiles, and not much else. A room where the paintings had more life than the art patrons laughing and guzzling champagne.
Feeling suddenly at sea, Arthur left, thinking not of paintings or champagne or galleries, but blue eyes flashing and midnight-dark hair and a full mouth against his. He was in big trouble.