Merlin - Legacy Assets {Arthur/Merlin}
Title: Legacy Assets
Fandom: (BBC) MERLIN
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 1,250 words
Rating: Um, yup, should be work safe. Some language. Some suggestion.
Disclaimer: This intelligent property is owned by distinguished individuals that are not and do not even begin to resemble me or anyone else in my income bracket. No monetary profit was obtained here; only moral bankruptcy. (Oh god, that has to be the name of the next part now.)
Genre: AU. In the same verse as Fiscally Speaking and Labor Relations. It should stand alone, but follows up a touch on the previous part. Somehow, this diverted from crack and started to attempt to be a real fic. I humbly apologize.
A/N: So, I was in the bath, writing smut, LIKE YA DO, and THIS suddenly demanded I write it. I don't know what it says about my muse for this fandom that it prefers executive memos to frotting, but I'm not sure I approve. :/
As expected, Merlin found Arthur in the presence of his favorite industrial shredder, Excalibur, communing with a pile of incriminated documents turned confetti, in an absolute sulk.
That this was the closet thing to a Happy Place that Arthur had outside of the right end of a corporate takeover was pretty telling. Although, Merlin’s knowledge of such was probably equally as telling, and just as pathetic.
“Alright, what is it then?” Merlin demanded, closing the door on the trail of terrified interns Merlin had tripped over on his way there.
Arthur actually seemed like he would look Merlin in the eye, but changed his mind at the last moment, choosing instead to scowl ominously and jam buttons viciously on Excalibur’s unbreakable and endless menu screen. “I’m mingling with the commoners, learning the business from the bottom up. It’s called ‘Managing by Walking Around.’ Do try to keep up, Merlin.”
“Oh, sure,” Merlin allowed, inserting as much judgment into one raised eyebrow as he was able, even if Arthur wouldn’t look at him. And because Arthur wouldn’t look at him. “And throwing thumb tacks at the mail room boy was really good for company morale. Well done.”
Arthur attacked a new clump of papers that, Merlin allowed himself a moment of distracted panic, looked shockingly like Merlin’s contract. Merlin could almost feel the sharp buzz and crunch in the nerves of his teeth and would have despaired of his 401k if it were still worth anything. That didn’t appear to do Arthur’s mood much good either though, since he actually slumped forward into a slouch that Merlin had thought Pendragons were trained out of in the womb.
“Oh my god,” Merlin declared. He’d been a bit busy of late, oh, running the damn business, preparing less than devastating financial statements for the fiscal year end, and shepparding Gwen through planning the annual stockholding meeting with stellar lies about how she had nothing to fear from populace mobs, but he hadn’t thought he was so remiss in his Arthur sitting duties so as to have missed the signs of an impending breakdown. And certainly not one at work and away from the unfailing stash of double stuffed Oreos and worn VHS of ‘Secret of My Success.’
Merlin had never felt the absence of Michael J. Fox more.
“Is it the new unemployment numbers?” Merlin guessed wildly. The news had been on when he’d first tried for Arthur in his office earlier, the miniscule heads on CNN all looking as though they were mere talking points away from an aneurism and the host eager for the spike in ad revenue while viewers witnessed the privilege. The television remote had lain prone and mangled across the room, but that was common enough an occurrence. Especially since the Dow made like a lemming.
Except now Arthur was sitting on the floor, curled around a giant shredder as though it were a treasured pet.
“Or, God, the Health Care bill?” Merlin tried. Because, really, if anything could make Arthur cry, which, thank God, he hadn’t come anywhere near yet, it was definitely the death of the free market system. “I can run those projections again if you like, but even if they can herd enough cats to get the thing passed, I really don’t think it’ll end up costing us much.”
Arthur leveled a look at him, just pratish enough that it gave Merlin some hope that he might muck his way through this crisis, even without Michael J. Fox. “Socialized medicine can suck my cock.”
“Come now,” Merlin tried to work him over with a private smile, the one Arthur liked to keep, away from the morning shows and the department meetings, just for him. “If it sucked your cock, it would have to suck everyone’s cock. Talk about excessive spending on overhead.”
“I won’t even dignify that horrific pun with a comment, as negative feedback only succeeds in encouraging you.” The intensity of whatever emotion that had Arthur so wound up and so deflated at once, had eaten his core away to this disconcerting vulnerability, had eased slightly, but he’s still gruff where he was irate and frustrated where he was dejected. The overall effect made Arthur entirely too close to pouting for Merlin to just leave off.
Merlin got down on the floor too, folding his limbs behind Arthur and breathing in Arthur’s scent by way of the bulk of his shoulder blade and the curved bow of his back. He closed his eyes, curled his fingers into the belt loops of Arthur’s trousers. “What.”
“The legislators,” Arthur released in a rush, tugging one of Merlin’s knees forward, so they were pressed more tightly together, snug. It’s embarrassing how little it takes before Merlin is half hard against his hip, but Arthur always had an uncanny ability to produce astonishing turnover ratios. “I hate them.”
“Well.” Merlin was at a bit of a loss. Sure, it was embarrassing as hell that the New York State Congress had revealed a level of dysfunction usually reserved for kindergarteners that weren’t allowed to move on to first grade because they ate paste one too many times during arts and crafts, but Merlin found it more hysterical then heart wrenching. “You could always have them killed,” Merlin suggested, half joking because Arthur most certainly could if he really wanted.
“Yeah, well, wouldn’t exactly get things done with an improved expediency,” Arthur grouched.
Nonplus, Merlin tried to recall what relevant legislation was caught up in the eternal constipation that was Albany this session, because Arthur certainly wasn’t this hung up on school funding. He settled for, “huh?”
Arthur looked over his shoulder at him briefly and then tried again with a more incredulous expression. “The bill, Merlin. The fucking, fucking bill.”
“Are you going to reeducate me with School House Rock or are you going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”
Arthur’s cheeks flared a rather impressive red that streaked across his cheekbones and pool at the tips of his ears. Merlin, distracted, wants to chase the progression with his mouth, pull down the high collar of Arthur’s suit and see how far he can follow.
“The marriage,” Arthur fumbled, cotton mouth like few things can make him, “equality. Thing.”
Merlin blinked.
And blinked again, forcing himself to focus. Recognize.
“Oh,” Merlin flushed himself, though he couldn’t say why. “God, Arthur. We don’t need them.”
“I,” Arthur frowned, trying to shift a bit, but the positioning was awkward, and Merlin thought it might be just as well he doesn’t have to have this conversation with Arthur’s giant blue eyes fixed on him all the while. “I want to do it here. I don’t want to be one of those stupid people that get married on vacation and come home, and they’re nothing.”
“We’d never be nothing,” Merlin told him firmly and then immediately regretted. This was far too close to talking about feelings for even Merlin’s limited sense of machismo to handle.
Luckily, Arthur doesn’t declare that his undying love could endure any hardship and overcome any barrier or anything like that, but he does manhandle Merlin around until he’s caught between Arthur and shredder, hands greedy for the buckle of Merlin’s belt, and his head sinking down, down.
Merlin gasped, helpless not to. “I guess cock sucking isn’t so socialist now, huh?”
Arthur smirked up at him, fingers drawing out best practices on Merlin’s thigh. “Think of it as a capital gain.”
END