[Fic] Since We've No Place To Go - for snottygrrl
Title: Since We’ve No Place To Go
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: snottygrrl
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Merlin, implied Gwen/Morgana
Warnings: Modern!AU and sexytimes
Spoilers: None
Rating: R
Word Count: 7,800 words
Summary: In which Arthur is not as macho as he likes to believe, England falls victim to the messed up ways of the eco-system and furniture really shouldn’t be used for certain things.
Author's Note: Happy Solstice snottygrrl! :D I ran with your three word-prompts and the modern!AU liking, so I hope what came out of it is to your liking hearts;
Thank you to J for betaing ♥
Title is from Chris Isaak’s ‘Let It Snow’ ;)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
It’s on days like these that Arthur wonders about the state of the environment and such.
Everything is buried underneath what he estimates is close to a foot of snow, and while it’s not exactly pure and white anymore (this is London after all), it’s still snow. And despite the country being in the Northern hemisphere, England doesn’t normally get snow, and certainly not in quantities like this.
It doesn’t seem to hinder the Christmas shoppers though, as Arthur finds himself being bumped into for the umpteenth time that day by yet another busy person obscured from proper view by masses of boxes and bags from the various shops on Oxford Street. There’s a mumble of what Arthur is guessing is an apology from somewhere underneath the piles of shiny bags proclaiming ’Merry Christmas!’, so Arthur just continues onwards, the shopper already gone from view, swallowed by the hordes of people.
Arthur is grateful for having a small family when it comes to Christmas. He only has to buy presents for Morgana and his father, and they’re both fairly easy to please. Morgana enjoys pretty things and Uther never actually pays attention to his present, and in Arthur’s opinion, you can always use another tie. He also buys a present for Lancelot, even though Arthur’s PA claims he never expects him to. Even if he doesn’t, Lance always buys a present for Arthur, and despite Uther claiming it’s out of obligation rather than want, Arthur is warmed by the thought that obviously goes into his present each year, and that to him is proof enough that Lance buys Arthur a present because he likes him, rather than because he works for him.
Arthur feels blessed with his three small bags as he tries to avoid getting knocked over by the people with so many bags that they’re taking up the entire pavement single-handedly.
He turns left down Poland Street, thinking he might be able to avoid the rather massive clutter of people by walking down Great Marlborough Street, and then turn back up Regent Street and get the tube from Oxford Circus back to his flat so he can change before the annual Christmas dinner at his father’s. He doesn’t make it any further than turning right at the end of Poland Street onto Great Marlborough Street before he comes to a halt.
There’s a tiny, grey kitten in his path, making a valiant attempt at walking on top of the dirty snow piles. Mostly it appears to be successful, but every now and then, it’ll fall through with one paw and tumble off, gradually getting more and more covered in snow. Arthur looks at the little creature and then glances around, waiting for something to claim ownership, but no one seems to have even noticed it.
The kitten tumbles off again and slides down the slope of the pile, coming to a halt at Arthur’s shoe. It looks at him with eyes that look too large for its head and gives a miserable mewl.
Arthur likes to pretend he is rough and manly and not at all affected by sappy things such as puppies and kittens, but his heart gives a painful clench at the scrawny thing before him, and without really thinking, he scoops it up and marvels a little at how it's tiny enough to fit in the inside breast-pocket of his woollen coat.
The kitten mewls again and pokes its head out of Arthur’s pocket and Arthur can’t help the half-smile on his face as he looks down at it. It rummages around for a bit as if trying to get comfortable and then starts purring. Arthur is surprised by the strength of the vibrations he can feel against his chest. For such a small creature, it produces a rather amazing volume of sound.
There is still no sign of anyone reacting to Arthur taking the kitten and he gets a little worried. He doesn’t have time to take on a pet. He’s hardly ever at home and it wouldn’t be fair to the animal, even if he’s sure Lancelot wouldn’t mind terribly looking after it. Arthur looks down at the tiny ball of fur in his pocket and sighs.
He can’t bring himself to put it back, it would probably die from hypothermia or hunger or… Arthur mentally shakes himself out of the depressive line of thought and gets his mobile out of his trouser pocket, hitting speed dial.
“Arthur, if you still haven’t bought my Christmas present, you’re a dead man.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too, Morgana. Of course I’ve got your present, what do you take me for? I’m quite fond of my being as it is, I’ll have you know.”
Morgana snorts in a very unladylike manner. “So what are you calling me for then? And don’t try to weasel your way out of dinner again this year! Last year was quite possibly the most horrid experience I’ve ever gone through and I do not particularly fancy reliving it.”
Arthur absentmindedly strokes the warm lump through his pocket and is awarded with more rumbly purring.
“I found a kitten,” he says. Morgana is quiet for a minute.
“Is this some sort of new slang you’ve picked up on the streets, Arthur?”
“No, I found a kitten. On Great Marlborough Street.”
“And?” Morgana prompts. Arthur sighs.
“And now I don’t know what to do with it.”
There is something sounding an awful lot like stifled laughter in Arthur’s ear and he grits out, “Morgana,” through clenched teeth.
She takes a couple of deep breaths before answering. “I’m sorry, just. A kitten, Arthur? An honest to God furry, baby animal? And here I thought you actually didn’t have a heart.”
Arthur closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten in his head. “Just tell me what to do with it, Morgana.”
“Gwen works at a shelter, so I suppose-”
“Who?”
“You remember my girlfriend Gwen surely?” Morgana’s voice is less than impressed and Arthur bites his lip, vaguely recalling Morgana introducing a girl with messy, black curls and a shy smile to him at their last family get-together. He had been stressed with an important business deal though, so it is all a bit foggy around the edges.
“Ehm, yes, of course I do, I just-”
“Right, well, clearly you did not pay proper attention when I told you about her,” Morgana cuts in and Arthur feels a tiny bit ashamed, “She works at a shelter, Arthur. The Mayhew Animal Home? Ringing any bells?”
“No,” Arthur admits grudgingly.
Morgana lets out a long suffering sigh. “Where are you now?”
“Walking towards Oxford Circus,” Arthur replies and gets moving, not having realised exactly how cold his feet had become from being immobile in the snow, the melted water soaking through the expensive leather.
“The shelter is just off the Kensal Green stop-”
“Kensal Green?” Arthur stops dead in his tracks.
Morgana replies in a clipped tone, “Do you want my help or not?”
Arthur huffs out an affirmative, starts walking again and Morgana goes on.
“Get the Bakerloo line towards either Stonebridge Park or Harrow & Wealdstone and then get off at Kensal Green. Then walk onto Harrow Road and turn right. Keep walking till you reach Trenmar Gardens on your left and turn down that. It should be on your right hand, at the corner of Ponsard Road.”
Arthur tries to keep track of the information and says, “Wait, so which road do I walk onto from Kensal Green?”
Morgana gives a groan and Arthur imagines he can almost hear her pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’ll send the directions to your Blackberry.”
--
True enough, the moment Arthur turns left down Trenmar Gardens, there’s a large building, a mix of white and red brick, with big blue letters saying ‘The Mayhew Animal Home and Humane Education Centre’. It appears completely dark from this side though, apart from one bright window on the second floor.
Arthur chews on his lip and pats his pocket, getting a curious mewl in return. He hopes Morgana at least bothered to check if it’d even be open today, what with it being Christmas Eve and all. Arthur checks his watch. It’s about ten to five so he should be able to still make it back in time for the Christmas dinner. Not that he’s in any particular hurry to do so, but Morgana will probably not take too kindly to being left on her own with Uther two years in a row, so he’d best make an appearance this time, Arthur thinks.
He trudges through the snow which shimmers in the reflection of the streetlights. Unlike the slushy, grey masses of Oxford Street, the untouched piles of snow here are still mostly white.
Arthur crosses the street diagonally and walks up to the glass door. The sticker on it informs him that opening hours are from 11am to 4pm, seven days a week. He bites back a groan and tries knocking on the door. Surely Morgana wouldn’t make him come here if she didn’t know someone would be here to help Arthur out.
Then again, it would be the kind of prank Morgana would pull, Arthur thinks.
There’s no answer and Arthur knocks against the glass again, a bit harder. He takes a step back and looks up. There’s light upstairs still, so unless some halfwit forgot to turn it off, someone must be in.
Just as Arthur is about the raise his fist and knock a third time, there is a light being turned on at the far end of the room by a gangly looking figure. The figure turns out to be a guy in skinny jeans and a rather ill-fitting jumper with what appears to be a Christmas tree on the front. He looks questioningly at Arthur and then points to something above Arthur’s head.
He looks up and sees a sign at the top of the door saying, ‘Closed’.
Arthur rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I realised that, thank you, but-” he starts, but the guy is shaking his head and rolling his eyes, making his way to the door.
“What’s that?” he says, raising his voice so Arthur can hear him through the glass. Arthur purses his lips.
“Can you just let me in? It’s bloody freezing out here.”
The guy raises both eyebrows. “We’re closed.” He stresses the last word, drawing it out, pronouncing it carefully as if Arthur doesn’t understand the meaning of it.
“Look, you imbecile. I’m not illiterate, I can read the sign thank you very much, but I need you to let me in so I can-”
“And I need someone to buy me a ticket to Cornwall so I can celebrate Christmas with my family rather than at work, but sadly we do not all get what we want, so bugger off,” the guy says angrily and turns around to leave.
Arthur pounds on the door again and the guy stops and turns around again, his fists clenched and jaw set.
He walks back to the door.
“What is your problem you complete prat? Go home! And stop trying to smash the door in or I’ll call the police.”
Just as Arthur is about to make an angry retort at being called prat, a woman comes into view and Arthur feels relief flood through him as he recognises her as Morgana’s girlfriend.
“Gwen!” he calls out happily. The guy looks confused and then looks over his shoulder. Gwen smiles at Arthur however and comes over to open the door, making the random, and slightly rude guy, Arthur mentally adds, step aside.
Said guy is looking decidedly unimpressed and Arthur feels very smug, only just succeeding in not sticking his tongue out at him in childish triumph.
“You know this wanker?” the guy asks, making Arthur splutter indignantly and Gwen give a disapproving frown before she waves a hand back and forth between them.
“Merlin, this is Arthur, Morgana’s step-brother, and Arthur, this is Merlin, a veterinary intern.”
Arthur shoots the Merlin person a dirty look to match the glare he’s being given and follows Gwen to the counter across the room. He only makes it halfway there though, before something pierces through the fabric of his shirt and rips at the skin of his chest, causing Arthur to yelp in pain.
Gwen turns and gives him a slightly alarmed look while Merlin snorts with laughter.
Arthur reaches in to his coat and gingerly extracts a set of five tiny claws from his pectoral muscle before reaching to grab hold of the kitten in his pocket.
Merlin has walked up to him and looks with interest at Arthur’s hand in his coat. Arthur is hit with a childish urge to only show the kitten to Gwen, but then he silently reminds himself that he is supposed to be an adult and above such immature behaviour. At times like this, Arthur finds that adulthood is slightly overrated.
The kitten mewls insistently from inside Arthur’s coat and Arthur lifts it out gently, using his other hand to support it. It’s not quite as wet and miserable looking as earlier, its grey fur looking a bit fluffier and with tiny black markings in it, reminding Arthur of a miniature tiger. It looks curiously at Arthur, eyes bright blue and still too large.
Gwen makes a cooing noise and reaches out to scratch it behind one ear. The kitten instantly closes its eyes and starts purring with all its might, making Arthur smile.
Gwen looks to Merlin, still smiling and stroking the kitten. “What do you think?” she asks.
Merlin scratches the back of his neck and reaches out towards the kitten. He looks at Arthur and asks, “Can I?” and Arthur reluctantly passes it over, earning another eye-roll from Merlin.
“Don’t worry, I won hurt…” He flips the kitten upside down and runs a finger over its belly and behind its hind legs, “Her. I won’t hurt her.”
Gwen makes a squealing noise that makes Arthur’s right eye twitch. “It’s a girl?”
Merlin nods, and runs long, slim fingers over the kitten, feeling its bones and build. “Yeah, I’d say she’s about 4 or 5 weeks, though it’s a bit hard to tell when she’s this thin and starved,” he says, shooting Arthur an accusatory look.
“I found her on the street!” Arthur splutters, feeling his face heat up from anger.
“Sure you did,” Merlin mutters, and cradles the kitten against his atrocious jumper.
Arthur purses his lips and holds out a hand. “Can I have her back now?”
Merlin looks at him with raised eyebrows, expression unimpressed. “I thought you were here to hand her over?”
Gwen is looking back and forth between them with thinly veiled interest.
Arthur is about to answer when he sneezes; loud enough for the kitten to jump in Merlin’s hand and clamper it’s way onto his back, twenty tiny, razor-sharp claws boring through his jumper, making Merlin swear.
Gwen laughs and extracts the kitten from Merlin’s back, making more cooing noises as she walks away with it, disappearing through a set of swing doors.
Arthur sniffs and it’s only then he realises how cold he really is. His feet are completely numb and the chill from the winter air seem to have woven itself into the fabric of his coat, making him shiver.
Merlin shoots him a slightly apprehensive look. “You okay?”
Arthur sniffs again and nods. “Just a bit a cold. I’ve been out all day doing last minute Christmas shopping and then I came across that thing and, well. I didn’t really plan on walking around that much in these shoes.”
He looks down at the sad state of his too expensive Italian leather shoes.
Merlin’s mouth quirks a bit.
“Yes, they don’t look to be the sturdy kind of footwear sensible people would use for this kind of weather.”
Arthur looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you insulting me again?” he asks, though not sounding quite as defensive as he wants.
Merlin, however, grins at him. “Nah, just your wit.”
Arthur splutters a little, but the lack of bite to Merlin’s retort makes it seem like friendly teasing and Arthur lets it go.
“So, you actually did find her on the street?” Merlin nods in direction of where Gwen disappeared with the kitten. Arthur nods.
“Yes, she was sitting in my path and no one appeared to want to claim ownership, and I… well, I couldn’t just leave her there,” Arthur finishes lamely, reaching up to fiddle with the collar of his coat. It’s a bit damp from the light snow-drizzle that’s been going on all day, and it’s not making him feel any warmer.
“I'm sorry then, it's just, not many people would’ve bothered, is all,” Merlin says with a shrug, though there’s something in his tone that makes it seem like a compliment and Arthur feels inexplicably warmed by it.
Well, in theory anyway. His body still feels like it’s been swapped for a giant ice lolly.
“We get a lot of kittens and puppies in during the Christmas period,” Merlin explains further, “Mostly it’s parents who didn’t realise the responsibility they were passing on to their children when giving them an animal. Most people leave them in cardboard boxes, hoping for us to find them.” His tone is hard and Arthur is baffled as to how anyone can just walk away like that, guilt-free and he says as much. Merlin's lips are pursed, belying his shrug.
"I guess some people are just pricks." He looks at Arthur. "I really am sorry about accusing you of being one of them."
"I'm not a bad person," Arthur sniffs.
"Nah, but you're still a bit of a prat," Merlin says, half-smiling and Arthur opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted by another sneeze, making his entire body jerk and Merlin looks slightly alarmed.
“Mate, your lips are turning blue. You should get out of those,” he says with a nod to Arthur’s ruined shoes.
“And what, walk home in my socks?” Arthur enquires dryly.
Merlin rolls his eyes again and Arthur wants to point out that it feels a little demeaning, but then Merlin says, “I think I’ve got a spare pair of wellies and some socks you can borrow, come on,” and walks past Arthur, clearly expecting him to follow, so Arthur does, the thought of dry, warm socks too tempting to pass off, demeaning eye-rolls or not.
Merlin walks up a flight of stairs and into a corridor, fiddling with a set of keys and finally opens the door to what Arthur guesses is a staff room of some sort. There are a couple of plush chairs, a coffee table and a kitchen counter with a sink, a kettle, a biscuit tin and a row of cupboards above. On the other side of the room, there are a few lockers, dark green and some with random stickers and pictures on. Merlin is rummaging through one of them. He re-emerges with a triumphant grin, red cheeks and a pair of swamp-green wellies in one hand and a bunched up pair of socks in the other.
Arthur likes this Merlin better than bitchy version from earlier, he decides.
He grabs both things from Merlin and sits down in one of the surprisingly comfortable, if slightly ratty looking, chairs and toes off his shoes with a disgusting squelchy sound. Merlin laughs.
“Nice,” he says and goes to put the kettle on.
There’s a beat of awkward silence and Arthur coughs before asking, “So, what it’s like working here?”
Merlin turns and gives him an amused look. “Well, the hours are complete shite and we do come across some really horrid people who think we’re here to cater to their every whim at any hour of the day,” Arthur gives him the finger and gets a grin in return before Merlin continues, “but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”
“Yeah?” Arthur prompts. Merlin nods and shrugs and turns back, rummaging through the cupboards above the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Work with animals that is, not cater to the needs of prattish people.” Arthur snorts and rolls off his soaked socks, grabbing them between his thumb and index finger with a look of distaste and dumping them on the floor next to the chair.
“I love animals, always have,” Merlin goes on, whilst pouring hot water into the two mugs on the counter. “My mum has some amazing stories about me dragging a variety of bugs and such home with me. Supposedly it was like living in a zoo of creepy-crawlies,” Merlin says with laughter in his voice.
Arthur smiles at the mental image of toddler-Merlin looking after beetles, ladybirds and spiders. It seems oddly fitting, for some reason.
“How do you take it?”
Arthur chokes a little. “What?”
Merlin turns and looks at him. “Your tea? How do you take your tea?”
Arthur can feel his cheeks flame slightly. “Oh, erh, no sugar, just a dash of milk, please.”
Merlin’s lips quirk into a half-smirk as he says, “Right,” and turns around again to fiddle some more with the mugs.
Arthur is silently appalled at the ways in which his brain works, but at least he doesn’t feel quite as hot-faced when Merlin walks over and puts the two mugs on the coffee table.
He’s pulling on Merlin’s scratchy but dry socks, trying to ignore how he can all but feel Merlin’s gaze on him when Gwen walks in through the door.
“She’s eating now and seems to be all right on her own, and she appears to be in fine health, so we should be able to put her up for adoption in a couple of weeks,” she says, sitting down in the chair next to Arthur.
Gwen gives him a look.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way to the Christmas dinner by now?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
Arthur swears. Bugger.
“What time is it?”
Gwen looks at her wristband watch, black Velcro and sturdy looking; practical. “Almost six. When are you supposed to be there?”
Arthur slumps back against the back of the chair and rubs a palm across his face.
“Now. Darn it. Morgana will kill me.” He looks over at Gwen suspiciously. “Aren’t you supposed to be there as well?”
Gwen shakes her head and looks regretful. “Can’t. Someone has to stay here looking after the animals. And Merlin,” she adds, grinning, sticking her tongue out at Merlin’s protesting “Hey!”
She laughs and says, “Seriously though, there has to be two of us here, security protocol and such. Either way, I wouldn’t leave him alone on Christmas eve, so.”
Arthur’s brain hasn’t actually caught up with his mouth as he hears himself saying, “I could stay with him?” which earns him a surprised look from Gwen and a splutter of choking on tea from Merlin.
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s your family and it’s Christmas, and I don’t mind staying here, I mean, not that I wouldn’t love to spend the night with Morgana, oh not in that way Merlin, honestly you pervert, but it’s okay Arthur, really, it's fine and-”
Arthur silences her with a lifted hand and a smile and says, “I’m sure she’d appreciate your company more than mine, and I don’t particularly enjoy our Christmas dinners anyway.”
“You’d enjoy an evening with Merlin better?” Gwen asks with amused curiosity.
“Yeah.” Arthur shrugs and then blushes furiously as Merlin sniggers and Arthur realises the implications of what he just said. “I mean, I don’t mind, anything is better than a night of my father imitating Mr. Scrooge and Morgana flicking peas at me when she thinks he isn’t looking.”
Gwen laughs but when Arthur sneaks a sideways looks at Merlin, the guy is looking at him with a small private smile and Arthur feels stupidly nervous all of the sudden.
“Well, technically I shouldn’t, seeing as you don’t have any qualifications in animal care, and there are fairly strict rules about that actually, and it’s up to Merlin as well, I mean, I don’t know if he would be all right with-”
“You know, I’m right here, Gwen,” Merlin interrupts, grinning, “One, we never stick to protocol anyway and two,” he says looking straight at Arthur, “I don't mind Arthur staying.”
Arthur feels hot all over and he wants to look away, but it’s as if Merlin’s gaze has trapped him.
Arthur’s heart is beating painfully hard in his chest and his skin feels prickly and tight.
Gwen gives a little cough and says, “Right,” breaking the moment when Merlin turns to her and smiles brightly. Arthur can’t decide if he feels relieved or disappointed.
“Well, you’ve played the card so no taking it back now!” Gwen says cheerfully and gets up from the chair and opens a locker with pictures of lions, cheetahs, tigers and a variety of other big cats on it, grabbing her coat and bag from inside it.
She takes a look down herself, looking back at Arthur doubtfully. “This won’t do at all, will it?” She gestures to her dark jeans and plain, yellow turtleneck jumper.
Arthur bites his lip to keep from laughing. “To impress my father? Absolutely not. But I doubt Morgana will let him express his distaste.”
Gwen cards her fingers through her hair, making the already messy, dark curls appear even wilder, and lets out a despondent sigh. “Well, I guess her opinion is the only one I should care about anyway.”
“Absolutely,” Merlin agrees before Arthur can say anything.
Gwen sends Merlin a thankful smile and looks to Arthur who nods. “I agree.”
Gwen grabs a scarf from her locker as well, wrapping it around her neck. “Will you be all right for food?” she asks, slightly muffled by the layers of fabric.
Arthur looks to Merlin who nods. “Yeah, Dario’s is open tonight and I’ve got some wine in my cupboard, so I think we’re all set for a celebratory feast.”
Gwen buttons up her coat and grins at Merlin. “Wine, eh?”
Arthur could swear that Merlin’s ears go a little pink at that. It’s a bit endearing and Arthur instantly mentally slaps himself for thinking along those lines.
Merlin is pushing Gwen out the door though she doesn’t really seem to be in a hurry. “Okay then, bye now, enjoy dinner with Morgana and tell her I said hi!” Merlin says before giving Gwen a final push into the hallway and closing the door, cutting off her laughter.
He turns to Arthur and the air feels loaded and thick. Arthur clears his throat and Merlin collects the now empty mugs, dumping them in the kitchen sink and runs the water.
“You do like pizza, yeah?” he asks and Arthur nods before realising that Merlin can’t actually see him with his back turned.
“Yes, yeah, I like pizza, sure,” he blabbers and feels a bit like hitting himself just to stop sounding like such a nutter.
Arthur feels like a twat for just sitting there, so he gets up and grabs a dishtowel from the radiator and dries off the mugs Merlin has washed and put on the counter. Merlin looks at him with surprise.
“Oh. Thank you,” he says, a soft tinge to it and Arthur shrugs, trying to go for nonchalant though he feels like his entire body is quivering."Guess you're not a complete prat then," Merlin grins and Arthur shoves at him with his shoulder.
“Whatever,” he says, though it comes out a little hoarse so he tries to cough it off.
Merlin frowns.
“You still feeling cold?”
Arthur nods, even though he has to admit to himself that he’s fully aware of the fact that his dry throat has nothing to do with said cold. “A bit, but it’s not too bad.”
“Well then, supposedly alcohol warms you up!” Merlin says with a bright grin and opens one of the cupboards to retrieve two bottles of red wine.
It’s not a brand Arthur is familiar with, but he’s willing to drink whatever as long as it holds a percentage that can help warm him up again and moisten his throat.
Merlin retrieves glasses and pours the wine, handing one glass to Arthur with a wry smile. “Excuse the lack of proper tableware,” he says as Arthur looks at the tumbler in his hand.
“I’ll live,” Arthur shrugs and gulps the wine down in record time, putting the empty glass on the countertop and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Merlin stares at him for a minute and then Arthur hiccups and Merlin laughs.
“More?” he asks and reaches for the open bottle, not bothering to wait for Arthur’s answer.
Arthur holds the glass out, though he just takes a single sip this time before putting the glass down.
“Wanna sit down?” Merlin asks, grabbing the open wine and his glass, nodding in direction of the plush chairs. Arthur nods, grabs his glass, the unopened wine and follows Merlin.
They sit and Merlin smiles over the rim of his glass, head bent slightly and he looks at Arthur from underneath his lashes, making something in Arthur’s chest do a tiny cartwheel and his stomach flip. He takes another sip of wine, ignoring how the silence feels oddly loud.
Arthur’s glass empties remarkably fast again, but at least Merlin has drained his as well this time, and he pours them both another glass.
Arthur tries to think of something to say, anything, any topic, but he doesn’t know anything about animals and that’s the only thing he currently knows interests Merlin.
"So..." he says, staring at the way his fingers are tracing the rim of the glass with a squeaky noise.
"So," Merlin repeats but doesn't add to it and Arthur feels like a complete fool.
“I watched a great programme about animals on Discovery the other night.”
He takes another gulp of wine to stop himself from being more of an idiot and promptly chokes on it. Merlin giggles and Arthur shoots him a glare.
"You really are special, aren’t you?”
Arthur can feel his cheeks flame with embarrassment. Merlin smiles and chews on his bottom lip and Arthur finds it distracting.
There’s another moment of awkward silence before Merlin clears his throat.
“What do you do then?" Merlin asks, still smiling, eyes crinkling with amusement.
Arthur shrugs. "I work for my father's company. Nothing terribly exciting, I mostly handle the customer relations, talk to the clients and such and maintain the relationships. My father is rubbish at any sort of human interaction," he says wryly, causing a guffaw from Merlin that makes Arthur smile.
"Guess you don't get it from strangers then," Merlin smirks and Arthur lets out an indignant gasp. "Is he a bit of a drama queen as well?" Merlin asks with a grin and earns a raised eyebrow from Arthur.
"I am not a drama queen," he huffs and drinks more of his wine.
"Tiny bit," Merlin says, squinting and indicating it with his thumb and index finger before grinning again.
His smile is infectious, Arthur decides, because whenever Merlin grins Arthur can't help smiling as well.
His glass has become empty yet again and is refilled, along with Merlin’s.
This time the bottle is the one that empties and Arthur happily passes Merlin the next one. Merlin lets out a short, surprised burst of laughter. He shakes his head, smiling, but opens the bottle regardless.
“Guess I’ll have to stock up for next time then,” he says and then pauses with the opening of the bottle as Arthur’s head snaps up.
“I mean, not that I hope you’re going to find any more homeless animals, I just meant… aw hell,” Merlin mutters and takes an impressive swig of wine.
Arthur mimics the action and takes a keen interest in his feet, grimacing at the ridiculous pattern.
“Honestly,” he slurs, and wow, has he really had that much already? “Where do you get these things?” He wriggles his toes and gestures back and forth between his feet and Merlin’s sweater.
Merlin looks mock-affronted. “I’ll have you know that my mum’s knitwear is much appreciated by everyone in our family,” he sniffs and Arthur frowns.
“But… tiny hearts? Really?” He gives Merlin a dubious look, though it’s getting a tiny bit hard to actually focus on anything properly.
Merlin opens his mouth to offend the socks, but then decides against it and laughs instead, low and warm. “I don’t know either. I’ve stopped questioning it, I just grin and bear it. At least they’re warm!”
Arthur wriggles his toes again and nods.
“That they are.” He looks at Merlin’s jumper. “But that thing…”
“Hey now, this is nothing! It came with tiny ornaments and stuff originally.” Merlin looks mildly horrified at the memory and Arthur gapes.
“What?” he says, because evidently alcohol is not good for his being eloquent.
Merlin nods solemnly, though he’s swaying in his seat as he leans forward. “Yeah. Though I introduced them to my bin as soon as I got the chance,” he says with a grin and empties his wineglass before pouring himself another, only just managing not to spill it with his less-than-steady grip.
Arthur sniggers. “Good man,” he says and holds out his glass for a top-up. This time half goes in Arthur’s glass and the other on the floor, staining the socks.
“Oh noooo,” he says, though not sounding sorry at all. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t make them look worse,” Arthur says with a shrug.
Merlin kicks lightly at his leg. “Don’t knock my mum’s ablibli.. atilibi… talent.”
Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s knee and says, “I’m very sorry,” trying his hardest to keep a straight face, but it’s a bit hard when he’s going cross-eyed by trying to keep Merlin’s face in focus.
Also, the heat of Merlin’s leg under his palm is making his hand tingly. Strange.
Merlin is staring at Arthur’s hand fixatedly and strokes a long, slender finger across the top of it and Arthur jumps, removing his hand, feeling like he received an electric jolt from the touch.
Merlin chews on his lip again and looks at Arthur curiously.
Arthur’s throat feels ridiculously dry again, and he grabs for the bottle, turning away from Merlin and his weirdly intense stare. It makes Arthur feel jittery and unsettled.
The bottle is empty save a few drops though and Arthur feels oddly saddened at the prospect of being wine-less.
“Is there nothing left to drink?” he asks, waving the empty bottle at Merlin who huffs a quiet laugh, breaking the tense moment.
“Well, there is always water from the tap, but if you’re thinking of wine, then no, I’m afraid that’s it.”
“Oh,” Arthur says and then adds, “What?” at Merlin’s speculative expression.
“Well, I think Gwen hides a bottle of scotch somewhere on top of the cupboards, but I can’t reach up that high and I think the chairs might break if I try to stand on them. Also, my balance is less than, erh, good right now,” Merlin grins.
Arthur really does need to do something about the brain-to-mouth connection, because he finds himself saying, “I could lift you?” and then instantly wants to smack his face against the coffee table at the utter stupidity of that plan.
Merlin looks surprised and then amused and says, “All right, but no groping.”
Luckily for Arthur, Merlin rises from the chair and walks towards the kitchen counter, not seeing the way Arthur goes bright red. Stupid plan. Really, really stupid plan, Arthur thinks. It doesn’t stop him from getting up to follow Merlin though, who turns his head and looks at Arthur over his shoulder.
“Go on then,” he says with a grin.
Arthur just stands there, arms feeling surprisingly numb and uncooperative.
“Uhm, how should I…” he trails off. Merlin sighs but he’s smiling as he just grabs Arthur by the wrists and wraps Arthur’s arms around his waist.
Arthur feels a little dizzy and he’s not entirely sure it’s solely due to the wine.
“Okay, lift,” Merlin instructs and Arthur does, though his hold on Merlin isn’t all the great and Merlin just slips through his arms instead. He turns his head, raising an eyebrow and says, “You Well that was disappointing,” but all Arthur can focus on is how close Merlin’s face is to his.
“Huh?” he says and Merlin lets out a quiet laugh.
“You’re not as strong as I thought, is all.”
Arthur blinks and then frowns and says indignantly, “I am too!” which results in an impish grin from Merlin.
“Didn’t feel like it.”
Arthur feels a bit like his heart has relocated to his throat, but he bends his knees slightly and places his hands on Merlin’s hips, a solid grip and then lifts, causing Merlin to all but fly off the floor, with a “Woah!”
“Okay, okay, I concur!” he laughs from somewhere above Arthur, but the only thing Arthur can focus on right now is how Merlin’s arse is right in front of his face. Worst idea ever, indeed.
Merlin is fiddling around with whatever is on top of the cupboards apart from dust-bunnies for a minute or two before crying out a triumphant, “Got it!” and Arthur tries to lower him down, but his arms are shaking from a mixture of nerves and exhaustion and his grip slips. Merlin squeaks and flails and drops the bottle of scotch which shatters across the floor, splashing liquor up Arthur’s right leg.
Arthur grabs at Merlin’s jumper and Merlin manages to put one of the flailing arms around Arthur’s neck, and while Gwen’s scotch may be irreversibly ruined beyond repair, at least neither of the two of them got hurt, Arthur thinks, as Merlin’s feet connect with the floor.
Arthur’s hand is still clinging onto Merlin’s jumper, having bunched it up around his chest. Arthur can feel his erratic heartbeat in sync with quick breathing, and Merlin’s eyes are wide as he looks at Arthur, mouth open in surprise and maybe shock.
Merlin's arm around Arthur neck feels warm and nice, even if the jumper is scratchy. His fingers toy lightly with the fabric of Arthur’s shirt as his eyes searches over Arthur’s face.
“Guess the scotch is out then,” Merlin says and flicks his gaze to the sad remains of the bottle on the floor before looking back at Arthur.
Arthur releases his death vice on Merlin’s jumper and lays his palm flat against his chest.
“I’m not really that thirsty,” he says, though it comes out more like a murmur.
Merlin shifts slightly in Arthur’s half-embrace, coming to face him and raises his other hand to Arthur’s neck, fiddling with his collar. He’s a tiny bit taller than Arthur, but not enough for it to be noticeable if they weren’t standing this close.
“Yeah?” Merlin asks, voice a little hesitant and hopeful, as if he’s asking for confirmation for a different question.
Arthur feels mesmerised by being this close to Merlin, chests almost touching, Merlin’s hands leaving hot spots on his skin, through the fabric where they’re resting. Arthur feels oddly woozy and disconnected from the real world, because all he can focus on is the face in front of him and the way Merlin is catching part of his bottom lip with his teeth, eyes holding a question that Arthur has yet to answer.
“Yeah,” he whispers and only gets out, “Can I-” before Merlin gives a desperate noise and slides his hand from Arthur’s collar up the back of his neck, into his hair and leans in to kiss him.
Merlin’s lips are soft and dry and the kiss is gentle, barely more than a touch of lips to lips but it still manages to make Arthur feel like his heart skipped a beat.
Merlin presses closer and Arthur’s hand travels from Merlin’s chest to his neck, cupping at his jaw. Arthur smoothes his thumb across the sharp line of Merlin’s cheekbone and Merlin hums against Arthur’s lips.
Arthur feels lightheaded and giddy. His other hand is resting lightly on Merlin’s hip, barely a touch at all, and he slides it upwards, just under the hem of the jumper, pausing for a second before letting it reach around, coming to rest at the small of Merlin’s back, gently urging him closer.
Merlin’s tongue licks a soft line across Arthur’s bottom lip, and Arthur takes the encouragement for what it is, deepening the kiss, swiping his tongue along the line between Merlin’s lips and lets out a groan of satisfaction as he meets Merlin’s tongue half-way.
There’s nothing rushed about it. It’s slow and leisurely and Arthur revels in every second of tasting Merlin on his lips; of feeling the warmth of his body bleed through to Arthur’s fingertips; of the beat of Merlin’s heart echoing against his own where their chests touch.
Merlin lets his hands glide down Arthur’s back, and slides them over his arse in a gentle touch, almost like a caress, before grabbing it more firmly. Merlin rolls his hips, grinding just once against Arthur, groin to groin, and Arthur swears it’s as if tiny stars explode behind his eyelids and he breaks from the kiss to gasp.
Merlin grins before kissing him again and pushes against Arthur, making him walk backwards, bumping his thighs against the chairs. He stops when the back of his legs hits the edge of the coffee table, and while there’s a small part of Arthur’s brain debating whether or not this is a suitable place for such activities, it’s not big enough to drown out the part of Arthur that’s all but screaming ‘yesyesyesyes’.
He sits on the coffee table, which creaks slightly at the added weight, and Merlin follows him down, sits in Arthur’s lap, one leg on each side and his arms wrapped lazily around Arthur’s neck.
Merlin rolls his hips again, pressing downwards and Arthur bites his lip to prevent the moan in the back of his throat to escape, but it comes out anyway, strangled and low and Merlin repeats his action, again and again until Arthur is shaking and out of breath.
He seeks Merlin’s mouth out again, kissing him messily and hungrily, catching his bottom lip between Arthur’s teeth, tugging slightly before letting go and licking across the abused spot.
Merlin keens and grabs a fistful of Arthur’s hair, tugging at it to get Arthur to bend his head back, and places open-mouthed kisses along Arthur’s jaw-line before coming to a stop at the point right below where Arthur’s jaw meets his ear. Merlin nips at the skin there before sucking once, hard and then kissing the area softly, and Arthur hisses at the sensation.
Arthur leans further back, hands on Merlin’s back, guiding him down with him as he lies down on the table, ignoring the protesting squeak it gives at the distribution of weight.
Arthur likes the feel of Merlin’s weight on top of him, likes how their thighs tangle and fit like puzzle pieces. Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist and presses him closer, but then gives an irritated noise and pulls at the scratchy jumper.
“Off,” he whispers against the shell of Merlin’s ear, and Merlin sits up. He’s being agonisingly slow as he strips the jumper off, all the time sliding against Arthur, creating friction somewhere just shy of hard enough. It’s teasing and fantastic but keeps Arthur teetering on the edge.
Merlin throws the jumper onto one of the chairs and Arthur reaches up, fingering the soft fabric of his black t-shirt, before fisting it and dragging Merlin back down on top of him, Merlin shooting him a smug grin at Arthur’s flushed cheeks and glassy stare.
“You’re over-dressed now,” Merlin laughs, low and intimate. He pushes himself up on one elbow, resting on Arthur’s chest and uses his other hand to unbutton Arthur’s shirt, sliding his hand across the skin revealed.
Arthur inhales sharply and screws his eyes shut as Merlin’s thumb graces his nipple, rubbing over it in circular movements. Merlin leans down, planting a series of soft kisses from one corner of Arthur’s mouth to the other and ruts against Arthur’s leg with long, hard trusts, all whilst making sure to use his own leg to slide against Arthur’s crotch.
Merlin moans against Arthur’s mouth, the vibrations tickling Arthur’s lips and there’s a halt to the rhythm of grinding against each other, like a stutter and Merlin’s speed is picking up slightly, becoming a bit more insistent and frantic.
Arthur’s hands find their way to Merlin’s arse, pushing him closer against Arthur, in rhythm with Merlin’s own movements. Their kissing is sloppy and wet, somewhere between actual kisses and simply panting against each other’s lips in sync with the undeniable build-up that seems to be racing through their veins.
Arthur debates whether or not to actually try and get one hand between them and prevent them from coming in their pants like horny teenagers, but Merlin’s jeans are insanely tight and the friction feels too good for Arthur to be willing to stop to get the clothing issue sorted out, so he just ups the speed, hips lifting slightly from the table to meet Merlin’s, desperate for more pressure, more anything.
The table creaks with the rhythm of their movements, complaining, loud and rattling but Arthur is so close and if the way Merlin’s breathing has gone shaky and how he’s all but whimpering is anything to go by, he can’t be far behind.
Arthur’s body is going tense, all muscles clenching and he grits out, “Come on,” in Merlin’s ear, and that’s all it takes. His vision goes bright white and then black as he feels his orgasm rip through him, Merlin’s own cry echoing somewhere far away from where Arthur is. All tension seeps from him as he returns to the physical world, slowly being replaced by a content, calm feeling of satisfaction. Merlin slumps on top of him, breathing heavily and then the table gives one last suffering creak before collapsing underneath them.
Merlin stares down at him for a second before bursting into laughter and Arthur blinks a couple of times before giving in as well.
“I know they talk about earth shattering experiences, but that’s a little too literal,” he says in between bounds of giggles.
Merlin rests his head in the crook between Arthur’s shoulder and neck, out of breath and still smiling, fiddling with the damp hair at Arthur’s temples and whispers, “Merry Christmas,” before kissing the line of his jaw softly.
“Merry Christmas,” Arthur smiles.
FIN
Author: Anonymous
Recipient: snottygrrl
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Merlin, implied Gwen/Morgana
Warnings: Modern!AU and sexytimes
Spoilers: None
Rating: R
Word Count: 7,800 words
Summary: In which Arthur is not as macho as he likes to believe, England falls victim to the messed up ways of the eco-system and furniture really shouldn’t be used for certain things.
Author's Note: Happy Solstice snottygrrl! :D I ran with your three word-prompts and the modern!AU liking, so I hope what came out of it is to your liking hearts;
Thank you to J for betaing ♥
Title is from Chris Isaak’s ‘Let It Snow’ ;)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
It’s on days like these that Arthur wonders about the state of the environment and such.
Everything is buried underneath what he estimates is close to a foot of snow, and while it’s not exactly pure and white anymore (this is London after all), it’s still snow. And despite the country being in the Northern hemisphere, England doesn’t normally get snow, and certainly not in quantities like this.
It doesn’t seem to hinder the Christmas shoppers though, as Arthur finds himself being bumped into for the umpteenth time that day by yet another busy person obscured from proper view by masses of boxes and bags from the various shops on Oxford Street. There’s a mumble of what Arthur is guessing is an apology from somewhere underneath the piles of shiny bags proclaiming ’Merry Christmas!’, so Arthur just continues onwards, the shopper already gone from view, swallowed by the hordes of people.
Arthur is grateful for having a small family when it comes to Christmas. He only has to buy presents for Morgana and his father, and they’re both fairly easy to please. Morgana enjoys pretty things and Uther never actually pays attention to his present, and in Arthur’s opinion, you can always use another tie. He also buys a present for Lancelot, even though Arthur’s PA claims he never expects him to. Even if he doesn’t, Lance always buys a present for Arthur, and despite Uther claiming it’s out of obligation rather than want, Arthur is warmed by the thought that obviously goes into his present each year, and that to him is proof enough that Lance buys Arthur a present because he likes him, rather than because he works for him.
Arthur feels blessed with his three small bags as he tries to avoid getting knocked over by the people with so many bags that they’re taking up the entire pavement single-handedly.
He turns left down Poland Street, thinking he might be able to avoid the rather massive clutter of people by walking down Great Marlborough Street, and then turn back up Regent Street and get the tube from Oxford Circus back to his flat so he can change before the annual Christmas dinner at his father’s. He doesn’t make it any further than turning right at the end of Poland Street onto Great Marlborough Street before he comes to a halt.
There’s a tiny, grey kitten in his path, making a valiant attempt at walking on top of the dirty snow piles. Mostly it appears to be successful, but every now and then, it’ll fall through with one paw and tumble off, gradually getting more and more covered in snow. Arthur looks at the little creature and then glances around, waiting for something to claim ownership, but no one seems to have even noticed it.
The kitten tumbles off again and slides down the slope of the pile, coming to a halt at Arthur’s shoe. It looks at him with eyes that look too large for its head and gives a miserable mewl.
Arthur likes to pretend he is rough and manly and not at all affected by sappy things such as puppies and kittens, but his heart gives a painful clench at the scrawny thing before him, and without really thinking, he scoops it up and marvels a little at how it's tiny enough to fit in the inside breast-pocket of his woollen coat.
The kitten mewls again and pokes its head out of Arthur’s pocket and Arthur can’t help the half-smile on his face as he looks down at it. It rummages around for a bit as if trying to get comfortable and then starts purring. Arthur is surprised by the strength of the vibrations he can feel against his chest. For such a small creature, it produces a rather amazing volume of sound.
There is still no sign of anyone reacting to Arthur taking the kitten and he gets a little worried. He doesn’t have time to take on a pet. He’s hardly ever at home and it wouldn’t be fair to the animal, even if he’s sure Lancelot wouldn’t mind terribly looking after it. Arthur looks down at the tiny ball of fur in his pocket and sighs.
He can’t bring himself to put it back, it would probably die from hypothermia or hunger or… Arthur mentally shakes himself out of the depressive line of thought and gets his mobile out of his trouser pocket, hitting speed dial.
“Arthur, if you still haven’t bought my Christmas present, you’re a dead man.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too, Morgana. Of course I’ve got your present, what do you take me for? I’m quite fond of my being as it is, I’ll have you know.”
Morgana snorts in a very unladylike manner. “So what are you calling me for then? And don’t try to weasel your way out of dinner again this year! Last year was quite possibly the most horrid experience I’ve ever gone through and I do not particularly fancy reliving it.”
Arthur absentmindedly strokes the warm lump through his pocket and is awarded with more rumbly purring.
“I found a kitten,” he says. Morgana is quiet for a minute.
“Is this some sort of new slang you’ve picked up on the streets, Arthur?”
“No, I found a kitten. On Great Marlborough Street.”
“And?” Morgana prompts. Arthur sighs.
“And now I don’t know what to do with it.”
There is something sounding an awful lot like stifled laughter in Arthur’s ear and he grits out, “Morgana,” through clenched teeth.
She takes a couple of deep breaths before answering. “I’m sorry, just. A kitten, Arthur? An honest to God furry, baby animal? And here I thought you actually didn’t have a heart.”
Arthur closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten in his head. “Just tell me what to do with it, Morgana.”
“Gwen works at a shelter, so I suppose-”
“Who?”
“You remember my girlfriend Gwen surely?” Morgana’s voice is less than impressed and Arthur bites his lip, vaguely recalling Morgana introducing a girl with messy, black curls and a shy smile to him at their last family get-together. He had been stressed with an important business deal though, so it is all a bit foggy around the edges.
“Ehm, yes, of course I do, I just-”
“Right, well, clearly you did not pay proper attention when I told you about her,” Morgana cuts in and Arthur feels a tiny bit ashamed, “She works at a shelter, Arthur. The Mayhew Animal Home? Ringing any bells?”
“No,” Arthur admits grudgingly.
Morgana lets out a long suffering sigh. “Where are you now?”
“Walking towards Oxford Circus,” Arthur replies and gets moving, not having realised exactly how cold his feet had become from being immobile in the snow, the melted water soaking through the expensive leather.
“The shelter is just off the Kensal Green stop-”
“Kensal Green?” Arthur stops dead in his tracks.
Morgana replies in a clipped tone, “Do you want my help or not?”
Arthur huffs out an affirmative, starts walking again and Morgana goes on.
“Get the Bakerloo line towards either Stonebridge Park or Harrow & Wealdstone and then get off at Kensal Green. Then walk onto Harrow Road and turn right. Keep walking till you reach Trenmar Gardens on your left and turn down that. It should be on your right hand, at the corner of Ponsard Road.”
Arthur tries to keep track of the information and says, “Wait, so which road do I walk onto from Kensal Green?”
Morgana gives a groan and Arthur imagines he can almost hear her pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’ll send the directions to your Blackberry.”
--
True enough, the moment Arthur turns left down Trenmar Gardens, there’s a large building, a mix of white and red brick, with big blue letters saying ‘The Mayhew Animal Home and Humane Education Centre’. It appears completely dark from this side though, apart from one bright window on the second floor.
Arthur chews on his lip and pats his pocket, getting a curious mewl in return. He hopes Morgana at least bothered to check if it’d even be open today, what with it being Christmas Eve and all. Arthur checks his watch. It’s about ten to five so he should be able to still make it back in time for the Christmas dinner. Not that he’s in any particular hurry to do so, but Morgana will probably not take too kindly to being left on her own with Uther two years in a row, so he’d best make an appearance this time, Arthur thinks.
He trudges through the snow which shimmers in the reflection of the streetlights. Unlike the slushy, grey masses of Oxford Street, the untouched piles of snow here are still mostly white.
Arthur crosses the street diagonally and walks up to the glass door. The sticker on it informs him that opening hours are from 11am to 4pm, seven days a week. He bites back a groan and tries knocking on the door. Surely Morgana wouldn’t make him come here if she didn’t know someone would be here to help Arthur out.
Then again, it would be the kind of prank Morgana would pull, Arthur thinks.
There’s no answer and Arthur knocks against the glass again, a bit harder. He takes a step back and looks up. There’s light upstairs still, so unless some halfwit forgot to turn it off, someone must be in.
Just as Arthur is about the raise his fist and knock a third time, there is a light being turned on at the far end of the room by a gangly looking figure. The figure turns out to be a guy in skinny jeans and a rather ill-fitting jumper with what appears to be a Christmas tree on the front. He looks questioningly at Arthur and then points to something above Arthur’s head.
He looks up and sees a sign at the top of the door saying, ‘Closed’.
Arthur rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I realised that, thank you, but-” he starts, but the guy is shaking his head and rolling his eyes, making his way to the door.
“What’s that?” he says, raising his voice so Arthur can hear him through the glass. Arthur purses his lips.
“Can you just let me in? It’s bloody freezing out here.”
The guy raises both eyebrows. “We’re closed.” He stresses the last word, drawing it out, pronouncing it carefully as if Arthur doesn’t understand the meaning of it.
“Look, you imbecile. I’m not illiterate, I can read the sign thank you very much, but I need you to let me in so I can-”
“And I need someone to buy me a ticket to Cornwall so I can celebrate Christmas with my family rather than at work, but sadly we do not all get what we want, so bugger off,” the guy says angrily and turns around to leave.
Arthur pounds on the door again and the guy stops and turns around again, his fists clenched and jaw set.
He walks back to the door.
“What is your problem you complete prat? Go home! And stop trying to smash the door in or I’ll call the police.”
Just as Arthur is about to make an angry retort at being called prat, a woman comes into view and Arthur feels relief flood through him as he recognises her as Morgana’s girlfriend.
“Gwen!” he calls out happily. The guy looks confused and then looks over his shoulder. Gwen smiles at Arthur however and comes over to open the door, making the random, and slightly rude guy, Arthur mentally adds, step aside.
Said guy is looking decidedly unimpressed and Arthur feels very smug, only just succeeding in not sticking his tongue out at him in childish triumph.
“You know this wanker?” the guy asks, making Arthur splutter indignantly and Gwen give a disapproving frown before she waves a hand back and forth between them.
“Merlin, this is Arthur, Morgana’s step-brother, and Arthur, this is Merlin, a veterinary intern.”
Arthur shoots the Merlin person a dirty look to match the glare he’s being given and follows Gwen to the counter across the room. He only makes it halfway there though, before something pierces through the fabric of his shirt and rips at the skin of his chest, causing Arthur to yelp in pain.
Gwen turns and gives him a slightly alarmed look while Merlin snorts with laughter.
Arthur reaches in to his coat and gingerly extracts a set of five tiny claws from his pectoral muscle before reaching to grab hold of the kitten in his pocket.
Merlin has walked up to him and looks with interest at Arthur’s hand in his coat. Arthur is hit with a childish urge to only show the kitten to Gwen, but then he silently reminds himself that he is supposed to be an adult and above such immature behaviour. At times like this, Arthur finds that adulthood is slightly overrated.
The kitten mewls insistently from inside Arthur’s coat and Arthur lifts it out gently, using his other hand to support it. It’s not quite as wet and miserable looking as earlier, its grey fur looking a bit fluffier and with tiny black markings in it, reminding Arthur of a miniature tiger. It looks curiously at Arthur, eyes bright blue and still too large.
Gwen makes a cooing noise and reaches out to scratch it behind one ear. The kitten instantly closes its eyes and starts purring with all its might, making Arthur smile.
Gwen looks to Merlin, still smiling and stroking the kitten. “What do you think?” she asks.
Merlin scratches the back of his neck and reaches out towards the kitten. He looks at Arthur and asks, “Can I?” and Arthur reluctantly passes it over, earning another eye-roll from Merlin.
“Don’t worry, I won hurt…” He flips the kitten upside down and runs a finger over its belly and behind its hind legs, “Her. I won’t hurt her.”
Gwen makes a squealing noise that makes Arthur’s right eye twitch. “It’s a girl?”
Merlin nods, and runs long, slim fingers over the kitten, feeling its bones and build. “Yeah, I’d say she’s about 4 or 5 weeks, though it’s a bit hard to tell when she’s this thin and starved,” he says, shooting Arthur an accusatory look.
“I found her on the street!” Arthur splutters, feeling his face heat up from anger.
“Sure you did,” Merlin mutters, and cradles the kitten against his atrocious jumper.
Arthur purses his lips and holds out a hand. “Can I have her back now?”
Merlin looks at him with raised eyebrows, expression unimpressed. “I thought you were here to hand her over?”
Gwen is looking back and forth between them with thinly veiled interest.
Arthur is about to answer when he sneezes; loud enough for the kitten to jump in Merlin’s hand and clamper it’s way onto his back, twenty tiny, razor-sharp claws boring through his jumper, making Merlin swear.
Gwen laughs and extracts the kitten from Merlin’s back, making more cooing noises as she walks away with it, disappearing through a set of swing doors.
Arthur sniffs and it’s only then he realises how cold he really is. His feet are completely numb and the chill from the winter air seem to have woven itself into the fabric of his coat, making him shiver.
Merlin shoots him a slightly apprehensive look. “You okay?”
Arthur sniffs again and nods. “Just a bit a cold. I’ve been out all day doing last minute Christmas shopping and then I came across that thing and, well. I didn’t really plan on walking around that much in these shoes.”
He looks down at the sad state of his too expensive Italian leather shoes.
Merlin’s mouth quirks a bit.
“Yes, they don’t look to be the sturdy kind of footwear sensible people would use for this kind of weather.”
Arthur looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you insulting me again?” he asks, though not sounding quite as defensive as he wants.
Merlin, however, grins at him. “Nah, just your wit.”
Arthur splutters a little, but the lack of bite to Merlin’s retort makes it seem like friendly teasing and Arthur lets it go.
“So, you actually did find her on the street?” Merlin nods in direction of where Gwen disappeared with the kitten. Arthur nods.
“Yes, she was sitting in my path and no one appeared to want to claim ownership, and I… well, I couldn’t just leave her there,” Arthur finishes lamely, reaching up to fiddle with the collar of his coat. It’s a bit damp from the light snow-drizzle that’s been going on all day, and it’s not making him feel any warmer.
“I'm sorry then, it's just, not many people would’ve bothered, is all,” Merlin says with a shrug, though there’s something in his tone that makes it seem like a compliment and Arthur feels inexplicably warmed by it.
Well, in theory anyway. His body still feels like it’s been swapped for a giant ice lolly.
“We get a lot of kittens and puppies in during the Christmas period,” Merlin explains further, “Mostly it’s parents who didn’t realise the responsibility they were passing on to their children when giving them an animal. Most people leave them in cardboard boxes, hoping for us to find them.” His tone is hard and Arthur is baffled as to how anyone can just walk away like that, guilt-free and he says as much. Merlin's lips are pursed, belying his shrug.
"I guess some people are just pricks." He looks at Arthur. "I really am sorry about accusing you of being one of them."
"I'm not a bad person," Arthur sniffs.
"Nah, but you're still a bit of a prat," Merlin says, half-smiling and Arthur opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted by another sneeze, making his entire body jerk and Merlin looks slightly alarmed.
“Mate, your lips are turning blue. You should get out of those,” he says with a nod to Arthur’s ruined shoes.
“And what, walk home in my socks?” Arthur enquires dryly.
Merlin rolls his eyes again and Arthur wants to point out that it feels a little demeaning, but then Merlin says, “I think I’ve got a spare pair of wellies and some socks you can borrow, come on,” and walks past Arthur, clearly expecting him to follow, so Arthur does, the thought of dry, warm socks too tempting to pass off, demeaning eye-rolls or not.
Merlin walks up a flight of stairs and into a corridor, fiddling with a set of keys and finally opens the door to what Arthur guesses is a staff room of some sort. There are a couple of plush chairs, a coffee table and a kitchen counter with a sink, a kettle, a biscuit tin and a row of cupboards above. On the other side of the room, there are a few lockers, dark green and some with random stickers and pictures on. Merlin is rummaging through one of them. He re-emerges with a triumphant grin, red cheeks and a pair of swamp-green wellies in one hand and a bunched up pair of socks in the other.
Arthur likes this Merlin better than bitchy version from earlier, he decides.
He grabs both things from Merlin and sits down in one of the surprisingly comfortable, if slightly ratty looking, chairs and toes off his shoes with a disgusting squelchy sound. Merlin laughs.
“Nice,” he says and goes to put the kettle on.
There’s a beat of awkward silence and Arthur coughs before asking, “So, what it’s like working here?”
Merlin turns and gives him an amused look. “Well, the hours are complete shite and we do come across some really horrid people who think we’re here to cater to their every whim at any hour of the day,” Arthur gives him the finger and gets a grin in return before Merlin continues, “but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”
“Yeah?” Arthur prompts. Merlin nods and shrugs and turns back, rummaging through the cupboards above the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Work with animals that is, not cater to the needs of prattish people.” Arthur snorts and rolls off his soaked socks, grabbing them between his thumb and index finger with a look of distaste and dumping them on the floor next to the chair.
“I love animals, always have,” Merlin goes on, whilst pouring hot water into the two mugs on the counter. “My mum has some amazing stories about me dragging a variety of bugs and such home with me. Supposedly it was like living in a zoo of creepy-crawlies,” Merlin says with laughter in his voice.
Arthur smiles at the mental image of toddler-Merlin looking after beetles, ladybirds and spiders. It seems oddly fitting, for some reason.
“How do you take it?”
Arthur chokes a little. “What?”
Merlin turns and looks at him. “Your tea? How do you take your tea?”
Arthur can feel his cheeks flame slightly. “Oh, erh, no sugar, just a dash of milk, please.”
Merlin’s lips quirk into a half-smirk as he says, “Right,” and turns around again to fiddle some more with the mugs.
Arthur is silently appalled at the ways in which his brain works, but at least he doesn’t feel quite as hot-faced when Merlin walks over and puts the two mugs on the coffee table.
He’s pulling on Merlin’s scratchy but dry socks, trying to ignore how he can all but feel Merlin’s gaze on him when Gwen walks in through the door.
“She’s eating now and seems to be all right on her own, and she appears to be in fine health, so we should be able to put her up for adoption in a couple of weeks,” she says, sitting down in the chair next to Arthur.
Gwen gives him a look.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way to the Christmas dinner by now?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
Arthur swears. Bugger.
“What time is it?”
Gwen looks at her wristband watch, black Velcro and sturdy looking; practical. “Almost six. When are you supposed to be there?”
Arthur slumps back against the back of the chair and rubs a palm across his face.
“Now. Darn it. Morgana will kill me.” He looks over at Gwen suspiciously. “Aren’t you supposed to be there as well?”
Gwen shakes her head and looks regretful. “Can’t. Someone has to stay here looking after the animals. And Merlin,” she adds, grinning, sticking her tongue out at Merlin’s protesting “Hey!”
She laughs and says, “Seriously though, there has to be two of us here, security protocol and such. Either way, I wouldn’t leave him alone on Christmas eve, so.”
Arthur’s brain hasn’t actually caught up with his mouth as he hears himself saying, “I could stay with him?” which earns him a surprised look from Gwen and a splutter of choking on tea from Merlin.
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s your family and it’s Christmas, and I don’t mind staying here, I mean, not that I wouldn’t love to spend the night with Morgana, oh not in that way Merlin, honestly you pervert, but it’s okay Arthur, really, it's fine and-”
Arthur silences her with a lifted hand and a smile and says, “I’m sure she’d appreciate your company more than mine, and I don’t particularly enjoy our Christmas dinners anyway.”
“You’d enjoy an evening with Merlin better?” Gwen asks with amused curiosity.
“Yeah.” Arthur shrugs and then blushes furiously as Merlin sniggers and Arthur realises the implications of what he just said. “I mean, I don’t mind, anything is better than a night of my father imitating Mr. Scrooge and Morgana flicking peas at me when she thinks he isn’t looking.”
Gwen laughs but when Arthur sneaks a sideways looks at Merlin, the guy is looking at him with a small private smile and Arthur feels stupidly nervous all of the sudden.
“Well, technically I shouldn’t, seeing as you don’t have any qualifications in animal care, and there are fairly strict rules about that actually, and it’s up to Merlin as well, I mean, I don’t know if he would be all right with-”
“You know, I’m right here, Gwen,” Merlin interrupts, grinning, “One, we never stick to protocol anyway and two,” he says looking straight at Arthur, “I don't mind Arthur staying.”
Arthur feels hot all over and he wants to look away, but it’s as if Merlin’s gaze has trapped him.
Arthur’s heart is beating painfully hard in his chest and his skin feels prickly and tight.
Gwen gives a little cough and says, “Right,” breaking the moment when Merlin turns to her and smiles brightly. Arthur can’t decide if he feels relieved or disappointed.
“Well, you’ve played the card so no taking it back now!” Gwen says cheerfully and gets up from the chair and opens a locker with pictures of lions, cheetahs, tigers and a variety of other big cats on it, grabbing her coat and bag from inside it.
She takes a look down herself, looking back at Arthur doubtfully. “This won’t do at all, will it?” She gestures to her dark jeans and plain, yellow turtleneck jumper.
Arthur bites his lip to keep from laughing. “To impress my father? Absolutely not. But I doubt Morgana will let him express his distaste.”
Gwen cards her fingers through her hair, making the already messy, dark curls appear even wilder, and lets out a despondent sigh. “Well, I guess her opinion is the only one I should care about anyway.”
“Absolutely,” Merlin agrees before Arthur can say anything.
Gwen sends Merlin a thankful smile and looks to Arthur who nods. “I agree.”
Gwen grabs a scarf from her locker as well, wrapping it around her neck. “Will you be all right for food?” she asks, slightly muffled by the layers of fabric.
Arthur looks to Merlin who nods. “Yeah, Dario’s is open tonight and I’ve got some wine in my cupboard, so I think we’re all set for a celebratory feast.”
Gwen buttons up her coat and grins at Merlin. “Wine, eh?”
Arthur could swear that Merlin’s ears go a little pink at that. It’s a bit endearing and Arthur instantly mentally slaps himself for thinking along those lines.
Merlin is pushing Gwen out the door though she doesn’t really seem to be in a hurry. “Okay then, bye now, enjoy dinner with Morgana and tell her I said hi!” Merlin says before giving Gwen a final push into the hallway and closing the door, cutting off her laughter.
He turns to Arthur and the air feels loaded and thick. Arthur clears his throat and Merlin collects the now empty mugs, dumping them in the kitchen sink and runs the water.
“You do like pizza, yeah?” he asks and Arthur nods before realising that Merlin can’t actually see him with his back turned.
“Yes, yeah, I like pizza, sure,” he blabbers and feels a bit like hitting himself just to stop sounding like such a nutter.
Arthur feels like a twat for just sitting there, so he gets up and grabs a dishtowel from the radiator and dries off the mugs Merlin has washed and put on the counter. Merlin looks at him with surprise.
“Oh. Thank you,” he says, a soft tinge to it and Arthur shrugs, trying to go for nonchalant though he feels like his entire body is quivering."Guess you're not a complete prat then," Merlin grins and Arthur shoves at him with his shoulder.
“Whatever,” he says, though it comes out a little hoarse so he tries to cough it off.
Merlin frowns.
“You still feeling cold?”
Arthur nods, even though he has to admit to himself that he’s fully aware of the fact that his dry throat has nothing to do with said cold. “A bit, but it’s not too bad.”
“Well then, supposedly alcohol warms you up!” Merlin says with a bright grin and opens one of the cupboards to retrieve two bottles of red wine.
It’s not a brand Arthur is familiar with, but he’s willing to drink whatever as long as it holds a percentage that can help warm him up again and moisten his throat.
Merlin retrieves glasses and pours the wine, handing one glass to Arthur with a wry smile. “Excuse the lack of proper tableware,” he says as Arthur looks at the tumbler in his hand.
“I’ll live,” Arthur shrugs and gulps the wine down in record time, putting the empty glass on the countertop and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Merlin stares at him for a minute and then Arthur hiccups and Merlin laughs.
“More?” he asks and reaches for the open bottle, not bothering to wait for Arthur’s answer.
Arthur holds the glass out, though he just takes a single sip this time before putting the glass down.
“Wanna sit down?” Merlin asks, grabbing the open wine and his glass, nodding in direction of the plush chairs. Arthur nods, grabs his glass, the unopened wine and follows Merlin.
They sit and Merlin smiles over the rim of his glass, head bent slightly and he looks at Arthur from underneath his lashes, making something in Arthur’s chest do a tiny cartwheel and his stomach flip. He takes another sip of wine, ignoring how the silence feels oddly loud.
Arthur’s glass empties remarkably fast again, but at least Merlin has drained his as well this time, and he pours them both another glass.
Arthur tries to think of something to say, anything, any topic, but he doesn’t know anything about animals and that’s the only thing he currently knows interests Merlin.
"So..." he says, staring at the way his fingers are tracing the rim of the glass with a squeaky noise.
"So," Merlin repeats but doesn't add to it and Arthur feels like a complete fool.
“I watched a great programme about animals on Discovery the other night.”
He takes another gulp of wine to stop himself from being more of an idiot and promptly chokes on it. Merlin giggles and Arthur shoots him a glare.
"You really are special, aren’t you?”
Arthur can feel his cheeks flame with embarrassment. Merlin smiles and chews on his bottom lip and Arthur finds it distracting.
There’s another moment of awkward silence before Merlin clears his throat.
“What do you do then?" Merlin asks, still smiling, eyes crinkling with amusement.
Arthur shrugs. "I work for my father's company. Nothing terribly exciting, I mostly handle the customer relations, talk to the clients and such and maintain the relationships. My father is rubbish at any sort of human interaction," he says wryly, causing a guffaw from Merlin that makes Arthur smile.
"Guess you don't get it from strangers then," Merlin smirks and Arthur lets out an indignant gasp. "Is he a bit of a drama queen as well?" Merlin asks with a grin and earns a raised eyebrow from Arthur.
"I am not a drama queen," he huffs and drinks more of his wine.
"Tiny bit," Merlin says, squinting and indicating it with his thumb and index finger before grinning again.
His smile is infectious, Arthur decides, because whenever Merlin grins Arthur can't help smiling as well.
His glass has become empty yet again and is refilled, along with Merlin’s.
This time the bottle is the one that empties and Arthur happily passes Merlin the next one. Merlin lets out a short, surprised burst of laughter. He shakes his head, smiling, but opens the bottle regardless.
“Guess I’ll have to stock up for next time then,” he says and then pauses with the opening of the bottle as Arthur’s head snaps up.
“I mean, not that I hope you’re going to find any more homeless animals, I just meant… aw hell,” Merlin mutters and takes an impressive swig of wine.
Arthur mimics the action and takes a keen interest in his feet, grimacing at the ridiculous pattern.
“Honestly,” he slurs, and wow, has he really had that much already? “Where do you get these things?” He wriggles his toes and gestures back and forth between his feet and Merlin’s sweater.
Merlin looks mock-affronted. “I’ll have you know that my mum’s knitwear is much appreciated by everyone in our family,” he sniffs and Arthur frowns.
“But… tiny hearts? Really?” He gives Merlin a dubious look, though it’s getting a tiny bit hard to actually focus on anything properly.
Merlin opens his mouth to offend the socks, but then decides against it and laughs instead, low and warm. “I don’t know either. I’ve stopped questioning it, I just grin and bear it. At least they’re warm!”
Arthur wriggles his toes again and nods.
“That they are.” He looks at Merlin’s jumper. “But that thing…”
“Hey now, this is nothing! It came with tiny ornaments and stuff originally.” Merlin looks mildly horrified at the memory and Arthur gapes.
“What?” he says, because evidently alcohol is not good for his being eloquent.
Merlin nods solemnly, though he’s swaying in his seat as he leans forward. “Yeah. Though I introduced them to my bin as soon as I got the chance,” he says with a grin and empties his wineglass before pouring himself another, only just managing not to spill it with his less-than-steady grip.
Arthur sniggers. “Good man,” he says and holds out his glass for a top-up. This time half goes in Arthur’s glass and the other on the floor, staining the socks.
“Oh noooo,” he says, though not sounding sorry at all. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t make them look worse,” Arthur says with a shrug.
Merlin kicks lightly at his leg. “Don’t knock my mum’s ablibli.. atilibi… talent.”
Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s knee and says, “I’m very sorry,” trying his hardest to keep a straight face, but it’s a bit hard when he’s going cross-eyed by trying to keep Merlin’s face in focus.
Also, the heat of Merlin’s leg under his palm is making his hand tingly. Strange.
Merlin is staring at Arthur’s hand fixatedly and strokes a long, slender finger across the top of it and Arthur jumps, removing his hand, feeling like he received an electric jolt from the touch.
Merlin chews on his lip again and looks at Arthur curiously.
Arthur’s throat feels ridiculously dry again, and he grabs for the bottle, turning away from Merlin and his weirdly intense stare. It makes Arthur feel jittery and unsettled.
The bottle is empty save a few drops though and Arthur feels oddly saddened at the prospect of being wine-less.
“Is there nothing left to drink?” he asks, waving the empty bottle at Merlin who huffs a quiet laugh, breaking the tense moment.
“Well, there is always water from the tap, but if you’re thinking of wine, then no, I’m afraid that’s it.”
“Oh,” Arthur says and then adds, “What?” at Merlin’s speculative expression.
“Well, I think Gwen hides a bottle of scotch somewhere on top of the cupboards, but I can’t reach up that high and I think the chairs might break if I try to stand on them. Also, my balance is less than, erh, good right now,” Merlin grins.
Arthur really does need to do something about the brain-to-mouth connection, because he finds himself saying, “I could lift you?” and then instantly wants to smack his face against the coffee table at the utter stupidity of that plan.
Merlin looks surprised and then amused and says, “All right, but no groping.”
Luckily for Arthur, Merlin rises from the chair and walks towards the kitchen counter, not seeing the way Arthur goes bright red. Stupid plan. Really, really stupid plan, Arthur thinks. It doesn’t stop him from getting up to follow Merlin though, who turns his head and looks at Arthur over his shoulder.
“Go on then,” he says with a grin.
Arthur just stands there, arms feeling surprisingly numb and uncooperative.
“Uhm, how should I…” he trails off. Merlin sighs but he’s smiling as he just grabs Arthur by the wrists and wraps Arthur’s arms around his waist.
Arthur feels a little dizzy and he’s not entirely sure it’s solely due to the wine.
“Okay, lift,” Merlin instructs and Arthur does, though his hold on Merlin isn’t all the great and Merlin just slips through his arms instead. He turns his head, raising an eyebrow and says, “You Well that was disappointing,” but all Arthur can focus on is how close Merlin’s face is to his.
“Huh?” he says and Merlin lets out a quiet laugh.
“You’re not as strong as I thought, is all.”
Arthur blinks and then frowns and says indignantly, “I am too!” which results in an impish grin from Merlin.
“Didn’t feel like it.”
Arthur feels a bit like his heart has relocated to his throat, but he bends his knees slightly and places his hands on Merlin’s hips, a solid grip and then lifts, causing Merlin to all but fly off the floor, with a “Woah!”
“Okay, okay, I concur!” he laughs from somewhere above Arthur, but the only thing Arthur can focus on right now is how Merlin’s arse is right in front of his face. Worst idea ever, indeed.
Merlin is fiddling around with whatever is on top of the cupboards apart from dust-bunnies for a minute or two before crying out a triumphant, “Got it!” and Arthur tries to lower him down, but his arms are shaking from a mixture of nerves and exhaustion and his grip slips. Merlin squeaks and flails and drops the bottle of scotch which shatters across the floor, splashing liquor up Arthur’s right leg.
Arthur grabs at Merlin’s jumper and Merlin manages to put one of the flailing arms around Arthur’s neck, and while Gwen’s scotch may be irreversibly ruined beyond repair, at least neither of the two of them got hurt, Arthur thinks, as Merlin’s feet connect with the floor.
Arthur’s hand is still clinging onto Merlin’s jumper, having bunched it up around his chest. Arthur can feel his erratic heartbeat in sync with quick breathing, and Merlin’s eyes are wide as he looks at Arthur, mouth open in surprise and maybe shock.
Merlin's arm around Arthur neck feels warm and nice, even if the jumper is scratchy. His fingers toy lightly with the fabric of Arthur’s shirt as his eyes searches over Arthur’s face.
“Guess the scotch is out then,” Merlin says and flicks his gaze to the sad remains of the bottle on the floor before looking back at Arthur.
Arthur releases his death vice on Merlin’s jumper and lays his palm flat against his chest.
“I’m not really that thirsty,” he says, though it comes out more like a murmur.
Merlin shifts slightly in Arthur’s half-embrace, coming to face him and raises his other hand to Arthur’s neck, fiddling with his collar. He’s a tiny bit taller than Arthur, but not enough for it to be noticeable if they weren’t standing this close.
“Yeah?” Merlin asks, voice a little hesitant and hopeful, as if he’s asking for confirmation for a different question.
Arthur feels mesmerised by being this close to Merlin, chests almost touching, Merlin’s hands leaving hot spots on his skin, through the fabric where they’re resting. Arthur feels oddly woozy and disconnected from the real world, because all he can focus on is the face in front of him and the way Merlin is catching part of his bottom lip with his teeth, eyes holding a question that Arthur has yet to answer.
“Yeah,” he whispers and only gets out, “Can I-” before Merlin gives a desperate noise and slides his hand from Arthur’s collar up the back of his neck, into his hair and leans in to kiss him.
Merlin’s lips are soft and dry and the kiss is gentle, barely more than a touch of lips to lips but it still manages to make Arthur feel like his heart skipped a beat.
Merlin presses closer and Arthur’s hand travels from Merlin’s chest to his neck, cupping at his jaw. Arthur smoothes his thumb across the sharp line of Merlin’s cheekbone and Merlin hums against Arthur’s lips.
Arthur feels lightheaded and giddy. His other hand is resting lightly on Merlin’s hip, barely a touch at all, and he slides it upwards, just under the hem of the jumper, pausing for a second before letting it reach around, coming to rest at the small of Merlin’s back, gently urging him closer.
Merlin’s tongue licks a soft line across Arthur’s bottom lip, and Arthur takes the encouragement for what it is, deepening the kiss, swiping his tongue along the line between Merlin’s lips and lets out a groan of satisfaction as he meets Merlin’s tongue half-way.
There’s nothing rushed about it. It’s slow and leisurely and Arthur revels in every second of tasting Merlin on his lips; of feeling the warmth of his body bleed through to Arthur’s fingertips; of the beat of Merlin’s heart echoing against his own where their chests touch.
Merlin lets his hands glide down Arthur’s back, and slides them over his arse in a gentle touch, almost like a caress, before grabbing it more firmly. Merlin rolls his hips, grinding just once against Arthur, groin to groin, and Arthur swears it’s as if tiny stars explode behind his eyelids and he breaks from the kiss to gasp.
Merlin grins before kissing him again and pushes against Arthur, making him walk backwards, bumping his thighs against the chairs. He stops when the back of his legs hits the edge of the coffee table, and while there’s a small part of Arthur’s brain debating whether or not this is a suitable place for such activities, it’s not big enough to drown out the part of Arthur that’s all but screaming ‘yesyesyesyes’.
He sits on the coffee table, which creaks slightly at the added weight, and Merlin follows him down, sits in Arthur’s lap, one leg on each side and his arms wrapped lazily around Arthur’s neck.
Merlin rolls his hips again, pressing downwards and Arthur bites his lip to prevent the moan in the back of his throat to escape, but it comes out anyway, strangled and low and Merlin repeats his action, again and again until Arthur is shaking and out of breath.
He seeks Merlin’s mouth out again, kissing him messily and hungrily, catching his bottom lip between Arthur’s teeth, tugging slightly before letting go and licking across the abused spot.
Merlin keens and grabs a fistful of Arthur’s hair, tugging at it to get Arthur to bend his head back, and places open-mouthed kisses along Arthur’s jaw-line before coming to a stop at the point right below where Arthur’s jaw meets his ear. Merlin nips at the skin there before sucking once, hard and then kissing the area softly, and Arthur hisses at the sensation.
Arthur leans further back, hands on Merlin’s back, guiding him down with him as he lies down on the table, ignoring the protesting squeak it gives at the distribution of weight.
Arthur likes the feel of Merlin’s weight on top of him, likes how their thighs tangle and fit like puzzle pieces. Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist and presses him closer, but then gives an irritated noise and pulls at the scratchy jumper.
“Off,” he whispers against the shell of Merlin’s ear, and Merlin sits up. He’s being agonisingly slow as he strips the jumper off, all the time sliding against Arthur, creating friction somewhere just shy of hard enough. It’s teasing and fantastic but keeps Arthur teetering on the edge.
Merlin throws the jumper onto one of the chairs and Arthur reaches up, fingering the soft fabric of his black t-shirt, before fisting it and dragging Merlin back down on top of him, Merlin shooting him a smug grin at Arthur’s flushed cheeks and glassy stare.
“You’re over-dressed now,” Merlin laughs, low and intimate. He pushes himself up on one elbow, resting on Arthur’s chest and uses his other hand to unbutton Arthur’s shirt, sliding his hand across the skin revealed.
Arthur inhales sharply and screws his eyes shut as Merlin’s thumb graces his nipple, rubbing over it in circular movements. Merlin leans down, planting a series of soft kisses from one corner of Arthur’s mouth to the other and ruts against Arthur’s leg with long, hard trusts, all whilst making sure to use his own leg to slide against Arthur’s crotch.
Merlin moans against Arthur’s mouth, the vibrations tickling Arthur’s lips and there’s a halt to the rhythm of grinding against each other, like a stutter and Merlin’s speed is picking up slightly, becoming a bit more insistent and frantic.
Arthur’s hands find their way to Merlin’s arse, pushing him closer against Arthur, in rhythm with Merlin’s own movements. Their kissing is sloppy and wet, somewhere between actual kisses and simply panting against each other’s lips in sync with the undeniable build-up that seems to be racing through their veins.
Arthur debates whether or not to actually try and get one hand between them and prevent them from coming in their pants like horny teenagers, but Merlin’s jeans are insanely tight and the friction feels too good for Arthur to be willing to stop to get the clothing issue sorted out, so he just ups the speed, hips lifting slightly from the table to meet Merlin’s, desperate for more pressure, more anything.
The table creaks with the rhythm of their movements, complaining, loud and rattling but Arthur is so close and if the way Merlin’s breathing has gone shaky and how he’s all but whimpering is anything to go by, he can’t be far behind.
Arthur’s body is going tense, all muscles clenching and he grits out, “Come on,” in Merlin’s ear, and that’s all it takes. His vision goes bright white and then black as he feels his orgasm rip through him, Merlin’s own cry echoing somewhere far away from where Arthur is. All tension seeps from him as he returns to the physical world, slowly being replaced by a content, calm feeling of satisfaction. Merlin slumps on top of him, breathing heavily and then the table gives one last suffering creak before collapsing underneath them.
Merlin stares down at him for a second before bursting into laughter and Arthur blinks a couple of times before giving in as well.
“I know they talk about earth shattering experiences, but that’s a little too literal,” he says in between bounds of giggles.
Merlin rests his head in the crook between Arthur’s shoulder and neck, out of breath and still smiling, fiddling with the damp hair at Arthur’s temples and whispers, “Merry Christmas,” before kissing the line of his jaw softly.
“Merry Christmas,” Arthur smiles.
FIN