Nights 'Round the Table (10/14)
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
Arthur waited until the camera crew had finished packing up, lingering at the soiree after even Morgana was ready to leave, and she’d seemed quite content to spend the latter half of the evening draped over the bar, trading contender recipes for the Worst Cocktail Ever with Lance whenever he wasn’t busy mixing drinks. She’d been wary about leaving him, even after he assured her he could find his own way home.
“Fine,” Morgana finally relented, “but if you do anything stupid and end up stranded, call Leon, because I’ve got plans I’m not willing to interrupt to come rescue you.”
“Believe me,” Arthur said, “you are the last person I’d call.”
Instead of the indignant scowl he’d anticipated, Morgana laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Take care of yourself, Arthur. You may be my big brother, but sometimes, I swear you haven’t got the sense of a five-year-old.”
He’d been too distracted (not nervous; Arthur didn’t do nervous) to do much more than scowl at her.
It was almost an hour later when Arthur finally made his way back into the kitchen, where Gwen, Lance, and Merlin were packing the last of their gear into bins. He stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before Gwen noticed him.
“Hello, Arthur,” Gwen said, smiling at him. “Lance mentioned you were here. Did you enjoy the party?”
Arthur shrugged. “It’s not the worst benefit I’ve been to,” he said. “And the food was definitely better than most,” he added with a sidelong glance at Merlin.
Merlin ignored him, continuing to pack flatware into the bin in front of him.
“Well...” Gwen said, trailing off as she glanced between Arthur and Merlin.
Lance appeared to be hiding a smile as he closed up a bin of carefully wrapped champagne flutes, and Arthur suddenly wondered if perhaps he and Morgana had been talking about more than awful drinks.
“We were just heading out,” Merlin said, not looking up.
“Ah,” Arthur said. It was tempting to just turn around and leave, but he couldn’t. Not after what Merlin had said earlier. It would be the cowardly thing to do, and Arthur Pendragon was not a coward, whatever Merlin might think.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Merlin,” he said. “I need a word with you.”
“Make it quick, then,” Merlin said, still packing. “Gwen and Lance have somewhere to be.”
“I need a word with you alone,” Arthur said.
“We can finish loading the van,” Lance chimed in. “And then we can run home to change and meet you back at Ambrosia to unload.”
“I have a better idea,” Arthur said. “I can help Merlin load and unload the van, and the two of you won’t have to worry about being late for whatever you’re doing tonight.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Gwen said. “You don’t mind, do you, Merlin? I really want to get a couple games in before the bowling alley closes.”
Merlin gave Arthur a long, searching look. “All right,” he agreed, finally. “But don’t think I’m going to do all the work, Pendragon. You offered to help, and that means you’re hauling boxes.”
“I know that, Merlin,” Arthur said. It wasn’t like he would have offered if he hadn’t been willing to do the work.
“Thank you so much,” Gwen said, grinning at Arthur. “Lance, can you grab the car? I’m going to call Morgana to see if she can meet us at the lanes earlier than we planned.”
Arthur stared at her. “You’re going bowling with my sister? Does Morgana even know how to bowl?”
“Gwen and I promised to teach her,” Lance said, then stole a quick kiss from Gwen before heading toward the parking lot.
Arthur turned toward Merlin. “My sister doesn’t bowl,” he repeated.
Merlin rolled his eyes and handed Arthur a bin. “The van’s around back,” he said as he picked up another bin. “By the loading dock.”
Arthur had no choice but to follow him. He was annoyed to realize that his palms were sweating, making it difficult to hold on to the bin. He had to stop several times to readjust his grip, and by the time he reached the van, Merlin was already heading back inside for another bin.
“This is the last one,” Arthur said, stepping up into the back of the van with the final bin ten minutes later.
Merlin turned from where he was stacking bins against the back of the seats. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bin from Arthur. “Give me just a minute to strap these down.”
“Yeah, sure,” Arthur said. “Um, look. About earlier...”
Merlin paused, bungee straps in hand, and looked at Arthur. “If you say I’m weird and fidgety again, I will punch you.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good,” Merlin said, turning back to the bins.
“It’s just,” Arthur said, taking the opportunity of Merlin’s back being turned to surreptitiously dry his palms on his trousers, “it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. That I’m attracted to you.”
Merlin hooked the bungee straps into place and turned to face Arthur, his expression unreadable. “Is that all?”
“No,” Arthur said. “I need to know if you meant it. When you called me hot.”
Merlin gaped at him.
“It isn’t that ridiculous a thought,” Arthur muttered, looking away.
“You--” Merlin started, then stopped, shaking his head. “I’ve been practically throwing myself at you for months.”
Arthur’s head snapped up. “You have?”
“You really didn’t notice?” Merlin looked like he was on the verge of either laughter or a nervous breakdown.
“Well,” Arthur said, trying to hide his sudden giddiness behind feigned nonchalance, “I’m probably just so used to people throwing themselves at me that I missed the signs.”
Merlin laughed, taking a step forward, “God, you are such an ass.”
“That’s not very--”
Merlin cut him off with a kiss, hard and demanding, and Arthur forgot what he’d been trying to say. He slid his hands down Merlin’s sides, over his hips, and around to cup his ass.
Arthur felt Merlin grin into the kiss as he pushed Arthur back into the wall of the van, and Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to care about the window latch digging into his shoulder. He’d been thinking about this -- wanting it -- for too long to care about much of anything else.
Merlin ground against him, wanton and so fucking hot, and for several seconds, Arthur forgot how to breathe. And then he was tugging at the buttons of Merlin’s coat, pulling up the soft cotton undershirt beneath to get his hands on Merlin’s skin.
Merlin pulled back, breathing hard, lips wet and swollen from kissing. “I want to blow you,” he said.
Arthur’s brain short-circuited. “...fuck,” was all he could manage.
“Can I?” Merlin asked.
Arthur nodded, his fingers curling into Merlin’s back. “Please.”
And then Merlin was pulling away, reaching back behind the bins they’d just loaded.
Arthur frowned. “What--?” he started to ask, and then Merlin turns back around, brandishing a small box.
“You keep condoms in your catering van?” Arthur asked, incredulous.
“It’s also our gig van. Gwaine likes to pick up groupies. Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?”
“Really not,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s hand and pulling him in for another kiss.
They were both panting hard when Merlin broke the kiss, sliding down Arthur’s body to kneel on the floor of the van. Arthur watched, mesmerized, as Merlin deftly unfastened his slacks, pulling his briefs down along with them to reveal his straining erection.
Merlin looked up at Arthur, grinning wickedly as he wrapped a hand around Arthur’s cock and gave it a single, smooth stroke.
Arthur inhaled sharply, one arm grabbing hold of the nearest bin to help him keep his balance. The china inside clinked.
“If you break any of that, you’re paying for it,” Merlin said in a conversational tone as he rolled a condom down Arthur’s cock.
Arthur opened his mouth to answer, something about how he wasn’t the one who suggested sex in the van, but his words were cut off by Merlin’s tongue on his cock, light and teasing. Arthur’s entire world narrowed to the feel or Merlin’s mouth on his cock, the softness of his lips and the rippling pressure of his tongue and the way he took Arthur all the way into his mouth and sucked.
Arthur knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he was dimly aware that he maybe ought to be embarrassed about that fact, but couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone who turned him on as much as Merlin did. And the way Merlin looked, with his lips wrapped around Arthur’s cock and half-hooded eyes trained on Arthur’s face...
Merlin’s hand joined his mouth on Arthur’s cock, stroking hard and firm, and that was all it took. Arthur’s head fell back, hitting the side of the van with an audible “thud” as he came.
When Arthur came back to himself, Merlin was still kneeling on the floor, fingers tracing the line between Arthur’s hip and thigh.
“C’mere,” Arthur whispered, and Merlin stood, letting his hands trail up Arthur’s hips as he did so.
Arthur pulled him into a kiss, fingers fumbling Merlin’s pants open and plunging his hand inside.
Merlin gasped into the kiss as Arthur’s hand wrapped around his cock, then moaned as he began stroking. Merlin’s underwear were already damp with precome, his cock hard as iron in Arthur’s fist. It thrilled Arthur to know Merlin had gotten that turned on just sucking him off.
It didn’t take long until Merlin was coming, thrusting into Arthur’s hand and spilling all over both their shirts. As Merlin’s mouth found his once again, Arthur couldn’t really bring himself to care that his suit was probably ruined.
Arthur tried not to feel too awkward as they got themselves cleaned up. He didn’t really know what proper protocol was for getting off with a sort-of coworker in the back of a catering van. Merlin seemed amused by the stains on his own coat, which Arthur thought was probably a good sign.
“Come on,” Merlin said, crawling into the front of the van. “You said you’d help me unload everything back at the restaurant, and don’t think one good orgasm is going to make me forget it.”
“Oh?” Arthur said, crawling after him. “How many would it take?”
Merlin grinned at him and started the van. “You’re welcome to try and find out.”
Merlin could hear his phone. He could not, however, untangle himself from his blankets in time to answer it. Cursing, he dug himself out of the nest he had made in the night to preserve warmth, trying to see his alarm clock while keeping the heat in. As soon as his brain processed that it was still well before noon, and that he did not have to return to work until five, he resolved to horribly murder whoever it was that had woken him up.
Realizing there was a chance, however small, that the call was about an actual emergency, he stumbled out of bed. He wrapped a blanket around himself as a makeshift robe, since his apartment would be freezing until the sun reached his windows, and began searching for his phone. He found it in the pocket of the hoodie he had tossed into the corner of his room. The call was from Arthur. He blinked at his phone for several seconds. After finally deciding he did need to listen to his voice mail before crawling back into bed, someone started pounding on his door.
“What!” he yelled as he headed through his apartment. At least Gwen spent all her time at Lance’s and he wasn’t at risk of waking her up as well.
“Merlin, open up.” He could just make out through the door that it was Arthur out there. As hot as their escapade in the van had been, Arthur would have to learn that providing sex one time, a week ago, did not give him permission to wake Merlin before his alarm went off.
After unlocking and opening his door, he paused a moment to glare at Arthur. “Are you here because you can’t bear to be away from me for a minute longer?” he deadpanned.
“I’m here because, I mean...” Arthur seemed unable to find the words he needed, and his face rapidly went though several emotions, including embarrassment, before he regained his composure. “You’ve been scheduled for a promotional interview at one. How quickly can you be ready to go?”
“I know I’m expected to promote this show, and maybe it’s too hard for someone with a personal assistant who does their scheduling to understand, but I can’t actually drop everything on a moment’s notice.” Merlin paused, as he remembered why Arthur at his door was so unexpected. “How did you find out where I live?”
“Gaius told me, when I called to find out where you were. He also said you could take the night off.” He took a breath and continued, “I just found out this morning that my father arranged the interview as part of the launch campaign. I promise you weren’t deliberately kept out of the loop.”
“If the interview is at one, I don’t actually need the whole night off.” Merlin decided he could forgive Arthur, since it was only due to circumstance that he interrupted Merlin’s sleep.
“I don’t have a good estimate of how long the interview will actually take, but it’s very likely we won’t leave until after three, which would put us in the middle of the worst bridge traffic. I thought we could spend the day in the City together.”
“That does sound like fun.” Merlin smiled. “I need a shower and coffee, which means I can be ready in about half an hour. Can I trust you to keep yourself entertained while I’m gone?”
“I think I can manage that Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.
Merlin started a pot of coffee, then headed toward his bathroom for a fast shower. Once out, he decided to wear his nicest jeans and a button down, and was back out in the kitchen to drink his coffee in under 15 minutes.
As he pulled out the carafe to pour he turned to Arthur. “Do you want any?”
“No, I’m fine.” Arthur said shaking his head. “I’ve already had too much today.”
“I can put this in a travel mug if you don’t mind me drinking in your car.”
“You can put it in a mug, but know that I’m putting my faith in you by letting you drink in my car.”
“I promise not to let your faith be misplaced, Arthur.”
Coffee acquired, they were soon out the door and on the way toward the studio. The drive was mostly silent while Merlin willed the coffee to turn his brain on and prevent him from making a fool of himself in the interview. The good news was that Arthur promised that the questions would be gentle, since it was being handled in-house, so editing would be used judiciously to present him in a good light, and they would do multiple takes if they had to. That wasn’t to say they wouldn’t go for spontaneity, and genuine responses were preferred, but they were entirely ready to edit out pauses while Merlin considered his answers. It felt like entirely too soon that they arrived and he was getting tidied up in the makeup chair.
The interview space was just two chairs with the Pendragon Communications Station (PCS) logo on them and a back drop set up to conceal the fact they were in a large, mostly empty studio. They mic’d him up and gave him instructions similar to Arthur’s: don’t worry, we want you to look good, and it’s not live. The interviewer introduced herself as Helen, and cameras started to roll.
“With me today is Merlin Emrys, one of the hot new stars of Wizard in the Kitchen. Tell me, Merlin, when did you decide to become a chef?”
“Well, I don’t know if ‘decide’ is the best way to describe it. My mom’s family have been in the restaurant business for at least a hundred years that we know of, and my dad’s a pro chef too, so I kind of grew up in kitchens, learning about food. I did try to rebel and went to school for engineering, but I like to think I can apply the principles from my degree to cooking.”
“You do seem to construct some interesting dishes on the show, and you all seem to be on the verge of becoming huge names in food culture. What do you see everyone doing in ten years?”
“I think Gwen will have her own chocolate shops. She’s kind of a genius with chocolate. And I think Lance should have his own wine label someday. He could wander around his vineyard all tanned with the wind in his hair, and be his own spokesmodel.”
Helen laughed. “There is a certain amount of natural beauty with the Ambrosia staff. It’s really amazing that there were so many people in one place that the camera just loves.” Merlin felt his face flush. “Tell me, Merlin, how does it feel to be in front of those cameras?”
“It’s strange being on this side of the camera. Both of my parents have done things for television, and when I was younger I used to go with my mom when she’d be interviewed on, like, the History Channel. I was already in college when Dad got his show, but I did spend a summer on the road with him. I was never on camera, though.”
“I suppose that leads me to my next question. With Tony Balinor as your father, surely that’s got to open a lot of doors in the restaurant business. What made you decide to change your name?”
“I wouldn’t say I changed it, exactly. I hyphenated right up to my senior year of high school. Dad’s book had just come out, and he had been doing his column in the Times for years, but most people I met day to day hadn’t heard of him. I was planning on going to culinary school, but when I applied, everyone was so obsessed with the name that I didn’t know if I’d ever be sure that I earned my place or if they thought they could use the name for publicity. So, like any obnoxious teenager, I dropped half of my name and went to my back-up school, Stanford.”
“What did your father think of that?”
“He was pretty proud. He’s never been one to do something just because it was safe or expected, and he’s a punk at heart, so he likes that I’m also in a band, and as long as I’m happy, and do fewer drugs than he’s done, he’s happy.”
“For those who don’t know Anthony Balinor, he’s the star of Can’t Call Ahead on the Travel Channel. So, Merlin, would you rather have a show like yours, or a show like your father’s?”
“Oh, this one, definitely. I mean, Dad’s show is great, and I would love to do an episode or ten with him, but I really like showing what we do, and that even though I’m technically the star, it’s obvious that everyone is important. I feel like if I wasn’t there, the show would still be every bit as good, because of Gaius, and Gwen, and Lance, and Freya, and everyone else. But I’m not quite the personality my dad is. He could read out of a cookbook and people would watch. Granted, it might be because they want to see how long it is before he sets the cookbook on fire, but I’m not at that point in my life yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be. I like knowing that I’m a part of a team that does amazing things, and if I have to take on extra to make sure that everyone else succeeds, I’m fine with that. “
“It’s obvious that, at the very least, you’ve always wanted to be seen as your own man. How do you feel about the chatter on the food blogs painting you with the same brush as your father in regards to his stance on GMOs?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, it’s everywhere right now. I just assumed someone had told you. Apparently, your father has contributed funds to a research group attempting to make cultivated strawberries taste like their wild counterparts. But, given your own emphasis on organic and locally bought ingredients, I was wondering if you would like to clarify your own position.”
Merlin frowned slightly, not sure if this was Helen’s attempt at hard journalism or if she really didn’t understand how divisive a topic GMOs were and that they probably weren’t appropriate for a “softball” interview, but he was still willing to speak about it.
“The thing is, we should farm organically whenever possible so that we’re not eating pesticides and fungicides, to avoid getting those into the water table. But that’s why it’s way more important to buy local, as well. You don’t have to fill it full of chemicals in order to sell it three thousand miles away if you buy local as much as possible, and if you can’t, then it’s better to have frozen then have fresh and out of season. Disregarding the environmental cost of transporting it and packaging it in plastic, it’s still less than what you need to do to get off-the-vine tomatoes for your Whopper in the middle of January.
“But GMO’s should be viewed as a different issue entirely, because humans have been modifying our crops since before we had farming. It’s hard to just flat out say no, never, can’t happen. You have to ask, why are we modifying this, and how are we modifying this. There’s a big difference between trying to introduce the genes for drought resistance into a strain known for its high yields, and bypassing the decades it could take to get the results you want naturally, and modifying corn so that you have to use specific pesticides on it or it will die, or making the seeds sterile and not caring that it can contaminate the entire yield of a farmer who chose not to use your seeds but whose crop goes extinct anyway because of the contamination.” Merlin took a deep breath and blushed. “Sorry, I get a little carried away about food politics.”
“No, that’s good. It makes for good TV. The interview’s only going to run for about five minutes as part of our entertainment programming, so I think that’s probably enough. Thanks for coming in on such short notice. I see the Pendragons don’t fool around in getting things done,” she said, nodding to where Arthur was standing behind the crew, watching with a scowl.
“I enjoyed it,” Merlin as he stood and reached out to shake her hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Good luck,” She said as he waved and headed over toward Arthur.
“What did you think?”
“I think it would be best if we get in the car so I can take you back to Oakland.” Arthur’s entire demeanor had changed in the time it had taken to do the interview.
“Did something happen? Is there an emergency that we can’t have dinner?”
“No, I just think it would be best if we go now. I know Gaius will prefer having you in tonight rather than covering for you.”
Merlin followed Arthur to the parking garage, unsure why Arthur was radiating anger, but resolved to find out before he got out of the car again.
Next
Arthur waited until the camera crew had finished packing up, lingering at the soiree after even Morgana was ready to leave, and she’d seemed quite content to spend the latter half of the evening draped over the bar, trading contender recipes for the Worst Cocktail Ever with Lance whenever he wasn’t busy mixing drinks. She’d been wary about leaving him, even after he assured her he could find his own way home.
“Fine,” Morgana finally relented, “but if you do anything stupid and end up stranded, call Leon, because I’ve got plans I’m not willing to interrupt to come rescue you.”
“Believe me,” Arthur said, “you are the last person I’d call.”
Instead of the indignant scowl he’d anticipated, Morgana laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Take care of yourself, Arthur. You may be my big brother, but sometimes, I swear you haven’t got the sense of a five-year-old.”
He’d been too distracted (not nervous; Arthur didn’t do nervous) to do much more than scowl at her.
It was almost an hour later when Arthur finally made his way back into the kitchen, where Gwen, Lance, and Merlin were packing the last of their gear into bins. He stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before Gwen noticed him.
“Hello, Arthur,” Gwen said, smiling at him. “Lance mentioned you were here. Did you enjoy the party?”
Arthur shrugged. “It’s not the worst benefit I’ve been to,” he said. “And the food was definitely better than most,” he added with a sidelong glance at Merlin.
Merlin ignored him, continuing to pack flatware into the bin in front of him.
“Well...” Gwen said, trailing off as she glanced between Arthur and Merlin.
Lance appeared to be hiding a smile as he closed up a bin of carefully wrapped champagne flutes, and Arthur suddenly wondered if perhaps he and Morgana had been talking about more than awful drinks.
“We were just heading out,” Merlin said, not looking up.
“Ah,” Arthur said. It was tempting to just turn around and leave, but he couldn’t. Not after what Merlin had said earlier. It would be the cowardly thing to do, and Arthur Pendragon was not a coward, whatever Merlin might think.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Merlin,” he said. “I need a word with you.”
“Make it quick, then,” Merlin said, still packing. “Gwen and Lance have somewhere to be.”
“I need a word with you alone,” Arthur said.
“We can finish loading the van,” Lance chimed in. “And then we can run home to change and meet you back at Ambrosia to unload.”
“I have a better idea,” Arthur said. “I can help Merlin load and unload the van, and the two of you won’t have to worry about being late for whatever you’re doing tonight.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Gwen said. “You don’t mind, do you, Merlin? I really want to get a couple games in before the bowling alley closes.”
Merlin gave Arthur a long, searching look. “All right,” he agreed, finally. “But don’t think I’m going to do all the work, Pendragon. You offered to help, and that means you’re hauling boxes.”
“I know that, Merlin,” Arthur said. It wasn’t like he would have offered if he hadn’t been willing to do the work.
“Thank you so much,” Gwen said, grinning at Arthur. “Lance, can you grab the car? I’m going to call Morgana to see if she can meet us at the lanes earlier than we planned.”
Arthur stared at her. “You’re going bowling with my sister? Does Morgana even know how to bowl?”
“Gwen and I promised to teach her,” Lance said, then stole a quick kiss from Gwen before heading toward the parking lot.
Arthur turned toward Merlin. “My sister doesn’t bowl,” he repeated.
Merlin rolled his eyes and handed Arthur a bin. “The van’s around back,” he said as he picked up another bin. “By the loading dock.”
Arthur had no choice but to follow him. He was annoyed to realize that his palms were sweating, making it difficult to hold on to the bin. He had to stop several times to readjust his grip, and by the time he reached the van, Merlin was already heading back inside for another bin.
“This is the last one,” Arthur said, stepping up into the back of the van with the final bin ten minutes later.
Merlin turned from where he was stacking bins against the back of the seats. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bin from Arthur. “Give me just a minute to strap these down.”
“Yeah, sure,” Arthur said. “Um, look. About earlier...”
Merlin paused, bungee straps in hand, and looked at Arthur. “If you say I’m weird and fidgety again, I will punch you.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good,” Merlin said, turning back to the bins.
“It’s just,” Arthur said, taking the opportunity of Merlin’s back being turned to surreptitiously dry his palms on his trousers, “it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. That I’m attracted to you.”
Merlin hooked the bungee straps into place and turned to face Arthur, his expression unreadable. “Is that all?”
“No,” Arthur said. “I need to know if you meant it. When you called me hot.”
Merlin gaped at him.
“It isn’t that ridiculous a thought,” Arthur muttered, looking away.
“You--” Merlin started, then stopped, shaking his head. “I’ve been practically throwing myself at you for months.”
Arthur’s head snapped up. “You have?”
“You really didn’t notice?” Merlin looked like he was on the verge of either laughter or a nervous breakdown.
“Well,” Arthur said, trying to hide his sudden giddiness behind feigned nonchalance, “I’m probably just so used to people throwing themselves at me that I missed the signs.”
Merlin laughed, taking a step forward, “God, you are such an ass.”
“That’s not very--”
Merlin cut him off with a kiss, hard and demanding, and Arthur forgot what he’d been trying to say. He slid his hands down Merlin’s sides, over his hips, and around to cup his ass.
Arthur felt Merlin grin into the kiss as he pushed Arthur back into the wall of the van, and Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to care about the window latch digging into his shoulder. He’d been thinking about this -- wanting it -- for too long to care about much of anything else.
Merlin ground against him, wanton and so fucking hot, and for several seconds, Arthur forgot how to breathe. And then he was tugging at the buttons of Merlin’s coat, pulling up the soft cotton undershirt beneath to get his hands on Merlin’s skin.
Merlin pulled back, breathing hard, lips wet and swollen from kissing. “I want to blow you,” he said.
Arthur’s brain short-circuited. “...fuck,” was all he could manage.
“Can I?” Merlin asked.
Arthur nodded, his fingers curling into Merlin’s back. “Please.”
And then Merlin was pulling away, reaching back behind the bins they’d just loaded.
Arthur frowned. “What--?” he started to ask, and then Merlin turns back around, brandishing a small box.
“You keep condoms in your catering van?” Arthur asked, incredulous.
“It’s also our gig van. Gwaine likes to pick up groupies. Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?”
“Really not,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s hand and pulling him in for another kiss.
They were both panting hard when Merlin broke the kiss, sliding down Arthur’s body to kneel on the floor of the van. Arthur watched, mesmerized, as Merlin deftly unfastened his slacks, pulling his briefs down along with them to reveal his straining erection.
Merlin looked up at Arthur, grinning wickedly as he wrapped a hand around Arthur’s cock and gave it a single, smooth stroke.
Arthur inhaled sharply, one arm grabbing hold of the nearest bin to help him keep his balance. The china inside clinked.
“If you break any of that, you’re paying for it,” Merlin said in a conversational tone as he rolled a condom down Arthur’s cock.
Arthur opened his mouth to answer, something about how he wasn’t the one who suggested sex in the van, but his words were cut off by Merlin’s tongue on his cock, light and teasing. Arthur’s entire world narrowed to the feel or Merlin’s mouth on his cock, the softness of his lips and the rippling pressure of his tongue and the way he took Arthur all the way into his mouth and sucked.
Arthur knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he was dimly aware that he maybe ought to be embarrassed about that fact, but couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone who turned him on as much as Merlin did. And the way Merlin looked, with his lips wrapped around Arthur’s cock and half-hooded eyes trained on Arthur’s face...
Merlin’s hand joined his mouth on Arthur’s cock, stroking hard and firm, and that was all it took. Arthur’s head fell back, hitting the side of the van with an audible “thud” as he came.
When Arthur came back to himself, Merlin was still kneeling on the floor, fingers tracing the line between Arthur’s hip and thigh.
“C’mere,” Arthur whispered, and Merlin stood, letting his hands trail up Arthur’s hips as he did so.
Arthur pulled him into a kiss, fingers fumbling Merlin’s pants open and plunging his hand inside.
Merlin gasped into the kiss as Arthur’s hand wrapped around his cock, then moaned as he began stroking. Merlin’s underwear were already damp with precome, his cock hard as iron in Arthur’s fist. It thrilled Arthur to know Merlin had gotten that turned on just sucking him off.
It didn’t take long until Merlin was coming, thrusting into Arthur’s hand and spilling all over both their shirts. As Merlin’s mouth found his once again, Arthur couldn’t really bring himself to care that his suit was probably ruined.
Arthur tried not to feel too awkward as they got themselves cleaned up. He didn’t really know what proper protocol was for getting off with a sort-of coworker in the back of a catering van. Merlin seemed amused by the stains on his own coat, which Arthur thought was probably a good sign.
“Come on,” Merlin said, crawling into the front of the van. “You said you’d help me unload everything back at the restaurant, and don’t think one good orgasm is going to make me forget it.”
“Oh?” Arthur said, crawling after him. “How many would it take?”
Merlin grinned at him and started the van. “You’re welcome to try and find out.”
Merlin could hear his phone. He could not, however, untangle himself from his blankets in time to answer it. Cursing, he dug himself out of the nest he had made in the night to preserve warmth, trying to see his alarm clock while keeping the heat in. As soon as his brain processed that it was still well before noon, and that he did not have to return to work until five, he resolved to horribly murder whoever it was that had woken him up.
Realizing there was a chance, however small, that the call was about an actual emergency, he stumbled out of bed. He wrapped a blanket around himself as a makeshift robe, since his apartment would be freezing until the sun reached his windows, and began searching for his phone. He found it in the pocket of the hoodie he had tossed into the corner of his room. The call was from Arthur. He blinked at his phone for several seconds. After finally deciding he did need to listen to his voice mail before crawling back into bed, someone started pounding on his door.
“What!” he yelled as he headed through his apartment. At least Gwen spent all her time at Lance’s and he wasn’t at risk of waking her up as well.
“Merlin, open up.” He could just make out through the door that it was Arthur out there. As hot as their escapade in the van had been, Arthur would have to learn that providing sex one time, a week ago, did not give him permission to wake Merlin before his alarm went off.
After unlocking and opening his door, he paused a moment to glare at Arthur. “Are you here because you can’t bear to be away from me for a minute longer?” he deadpanned.
“I’m here because, I mean...” Arthur seemed unable to find the words he needed, and his face rapidly went though several emotions, including embarrassment, before he regained his composure. “You’ve been scheduled for a promotional interview at one. How quickly can you be ready to go?”
“I know I’m expected to promote this show, and maybe it’s too hard for someone with a personal assistant who does their scheduling to understand, but I can’t actually drop everything on a moment’s notice.” Merlin paused, as he remembered why Arthur at his door was so unexpected. “How did you find out where I live?”
“Gaius told me, when I called to find out where you were. He also said you could take the night off.” He took a breath and continued, “I just found out this morning that my father arranged the interview as part of the launch campaign. I promise you weren’t deliberately kept out of the loop.”
“If the interview is at one, I don’t actually need the whole night off.” Merlin decided he could forgive Arthur, since it was only due to circumstance that he interrupted Merlin’s sleep.
“I don’t have a good estimate of how long the interview will actually take, but it’s very likely we won’t leave until after three, which would put us in the middle of the worst bridge traffic. I thought we could spend the day in the City together.”
“That does sound like fun.” Merlin smiled. “I need a shower and coffee, which means I can be ready in about half an hour. Can I trust you to keep yourself entertained while I’m gone?”
“I think I can manage that Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.
Merlin started a pot of coffee, then headed toward his bathroom for a fast shower. Once out, he decided to wear his nicest jeans and a button down, and was back out in the kitchen to drink his coffee in under 15 minutes.
As he pulled out the carafe to pour he turned to Arthur. “Do you want any?”
“No, I’m fine.” Arthur said shaking his head. “I’ve already had too much today.”
“I can put this in a travel mug if you don’t mind me drinking in your car.”
“You can put it in a mug, but know that I’m putting my faith in you by letting you drink in my car.”
“I promise not to let your faith be misplaced, Arthur.”
Coffee acquired, they were soon out the door and on the way toward the studio. The drive was mostly silent while Merlin willed the coffee to turn his brain on and prevent him from making a fool of himself in the interview. The good news was that Arthur promised that the questions would be gentle, since it was being handled in-house, so editing would be used judiciously to present him in a good light, and they would do multiple takes if they had to. That wasn’t to say they wouldn’t go for spontaneity, and genuine responses were preferred, but they were entirely ready to edit out pauses while Merlin considered his answers. It felt like entirely too soon that they arrived and he was getting tidied up in the makeup chair.
The interview space was just two chairs with the Pendragon Communications Station (PCS) logo on them and a back drop set up to conceal the fact they were in a large, mostly empty studio. They mic’d him up and gave him instructions similar to Arthur’s: don’t worry, we want you to look good, and it’s not live. The interviewer introduced herself as Helen, and cameras started to roll.
“With me today is Merlin Emrys, one of the hot new stars of Wizard in the Kitchen. Tell me, Merlin, when did you decide to become a chef?”
“Well, I don’t know if ‘decide’ is the best way to describe it. My mom’s family have been in the restaurant business for at least a hundred years that we know of, and my dad’s a pro chef too, so I kind of grew up in kitchens, learning about food. I did try to rebel and went to school for engineering, but I like to think I can apply the principles from my degree to cooking.”
“You do seem to construct some interesting dishes on the show, and you all seem to be on the verge of becoming huge names in food culture. What do you see everyone doing in ten years?”
“I think Gwen will have her own chocolate shops. She’s kind of a genius with chocolate. And I think Lance should have his own wine label someday. He could wander around his vineyard all tanned with the wind in his hair, and be his own spokesmodel.”
Helen laughed. “There is a certain amount of natural beauty with the Ambrosia staff. It’s really amazing that there were so many people in one place that the camera just loves.” Merlin felt his face flush. “Tell me, Merlin, how does it feel to be in front of those cameras?”
“It’s strange being on this side of the camera. Both of my parents have done things for television, and when I was younger I used to go with my mom when she’d be interviewed on, like, the History Channel. I was already in college when Dad got his show, but I did spend a summer on the road with him. I was never on camera, though.”
“I suppose that leads me to my next question. With Tony Balinor as your father, surely that’s got to open a lot of doors in the restaurant business. What made you decide to change your name?”
“I wouldn’t say I changed it, exactly. I hyphenated right up to my senior year of high school. Dad’s book had just come out, and he had been doing his column in the Times for years, but most people I met day to day hadn’t heard of him. I was planning on going to culinary school, but when I applied, everyone was so obsessed with the name that I didn’t know if I’d ever be sure that I earned my place or if they thought they could use the name for publicity. So, like any obnoxious teenager, I dropped half of my name and went to my back-up school, Stanford.”
“What did your father think of that?”
“He was pretty proud. He’s never been one to do something just because it was safe or expected, and he’s a punk at heart, so he likes that I’m also in a band, and as long as I’m happy, and do fewer drugs than he’s done, he’s happy.”
“For those who don’t know Anthony Balinor, he’s the star of Can’t Call Ahead on the Travel Channel. So, Merlin, would you rather have a show like yours, or a show like your father’s?”
“Oh, this one, definitely. I mean, Dad’s show is great, and I would love to do an episode or ten with him, but I really like showing what we do, and that even though I’m technically the star, it’s obvious that everyone is important. I feel like if I wasn’t there, the show would still be every bit as good, because of Gaius, and Gwen, and Lance, and Freya, and everyone else. But I’m not quite the personality my dad is. He could read out of a cookbook and people would watch. Granted, it might be because they want to see how long it is before he sets the cookbook on fire, but I’m not at that point in my life yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be. I like knowing that I’m a part of a team that does amazing things, and if I have to take on extra to make sure that everyone else succeeds, I’m fine with that. “
“It’s obvious that, at the very least, you’ve always wanted to be seen as your own man. How do you feel about the chatter on the food blogs painting you with the same brush as your father in regards to his stance on GMOs?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, it’s everywhere right now. I just assumed someone had told you. Apparently, your father has contributed funds to a research group attempting to make cultivated strawberries taste like their wild counterparts. But, given your own emphasis on organic and locally bought ingredients, I was wondering if you would like to clarify your own position.”
Merlin frowned slightly, not sure if this was Helen’s attempt at hard journalism or if she really didn’t understand how divisive a topic GMOs were and that they probably weren’t appropriate for a “softball” interview, but he was still willing to speak about it.
“The thing is, we should farm organically whenever possible so that we’re not eating pesticides and fungicides, to avoid getting those into the water table. But that’s why it’s way more important to buy local, as well. You don’t have to fill it full of chemicals in order to sell it three thousand miles away if you buy local as much as possible, and if you can’t, then it’s better to have frozen then have fresh and out of season. Disregarding the environmental cost of transporting it and packaging it in plastic, it’s still less than what you need to do to get off-the-vine tomatoes for your Whopper in the middle of January.
“But GMO’s should be viewed as a different issue entirely, because humans have been modifying our crops since before we had farming. It’s hard to just flat out say no, never, can’t happen. You have to ask, why are we modifying this, and how are we modifying this. There’s a big difference between trying to introduce the genes for drought resistance into a strain known for its high yields, and bypassing the decades it could take to get the results you want naturally, and modifying corn so that you have to use specific pesticides on it or it will die, or making the seeds sterile and not caring that it can contaminate the entire yield of a farmer who chose not to use your seeds but whose crop goes extinct anyway because of the contamination.” Merlin took a deep breath and blushed. “Sorry, I get a little carried away about food politics.”
“No, that’s good. It makes for good TV. The interview’s only going to run for about five minutes as part of our entertainment programming, so I think that’s probably enough. Thanks for coming in on such short notice. I see the Pendragons don’t fool around in getting things done,” she said, nodding to where Arthur was standing behind the crew, watching with a scowl.
“I enjoyed it,” Merlin as he stood and reached out to shake her hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Good luck,” She said as he waved and headed over toward Arthur.
“What did you think?”
“I think it would be best if we get in the car so I can take you back to Oakland.” Arthur’s entire demeanor had changed in the time it had taken to do the interview.
“Did something happen? Is there an emergency that we can’t have dinner?”
“No, I just think it would be best if we go now. I know Gaius will prefer having you in tonight rather than covering for you.”
Merlin followed Arthur to the parking garage, unsure why Arthur was radiating anger, but resolved to find out before he got out of the car again.
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