Kink Me! #12
Kink Me! #12
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Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #12!
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"Setting them on fire?" he asked sympathetically as they left the campus. "I did that to one of mine last holiday, but I have to warn you, there's something toxic in the glue. It all just melted into a big pile and my flat stank for ages."
Leon laughed and kicked at him. "I'm selling them back, idiot. Need to pay my rent and I've sold as much plasma as I'm allowed to for the next month."
"You can sell them back?" Arthur hefted the box and looked down at the books, doubtful. He was currently using his books to prop up the side of his table where Gawain had broken it at Arthur's beginning-of-term party the previous month. Arthur couldn't actually remember the party, but there was a cricket bat involved, he was pretty certain.
Leon nodded his head toward Market Street, which Arthur had never bothered to investigate. He knew what was down there-- all manner of silly cafes and bookstores and places that attracted the artsy twats. Arthur knew he was not the last of the great intellectuals-- he was a lad's lad, a Future Business Leader, was Arthur Pendragon-- but there was simply no call for the kind of hostility he encountered whenever he passed a group of sullen fellow students in clothes so strange he sometimes couldn't tell who was male or female, sketching and drinking coffee and smoking. He had grown well out of taking the piss out of art types, but the way they looked at him made him wonder if there was some sort of post-secondary-school network and they all knew: Keep an eye out on Pendragon, he's a wanker.
"The uni bookstore is skint as fuck. Everybody goes to Avalon's; they give you more money," Leon told him. They turned onto the street and Arthur's bias against it was confirmed. It was dark and there was brick everywhere, and there were two consignment clothing shops on either side of the street. Not his kind of place, not his kind of people. Two girls in skinny jeans, boots, t-shirts, and scarves glared at him when they walked by the Muddy Buzz. And it wasn't as if Arthur felt self-conscious, exactly-- he knew he was fit, and he was pretty sure his flies were done-- but he hunched over a bit anyway and wished he hadn't come with Leon, even if he was bored out of his mind.
They had to duck into a cramped alley between two shops to get to the door for Avalon's. A small chalkboard beside the door said "Saturday-- 9-5. We're all broke students here, so don't steal our shit." Arthur smiled in spite of himself and shoved open the door with one hip.
It was very crowded, and smelled the way shops full of old things always smelled: damp and musty, with some mouse-crap mixed in. Arthur's stepsister loved antiques, and Arthur had spent more hours than he cared to admit sitting on ancient divans waiting for her to be done looking critically at Spode. The walls were covered in posters of movies Arthur had never heard of-- Rocketship XM and The 400 Blows and Plan 9 From Outer Space-- and a few that he had heard of but never seen, like Evil Dead. Underneath the posters, bookcases lined every inch of the room, which stretched back farther than Arthur expected. In the corner, a door with an Exit sign said "Sell-backs below-stairs."
All through the open center of the room were bins full of music. The kind of music, Arthur was certain, he didn't like and didn't want to listen to. And he didn't like to read. And he hated movies that didn't show up in proper cinemas, where he could go with his mates and have popcorn. This was definitely not His Kind of Place. He was about to tell Leon that he needed to get out, give him his box and run for it, and then he saw the boy at the desk.
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He was dark-haired, a bit skinny, wearing a red-and-gray flannel that looked old and soft, and the thick-rimmed square glasses that the art types preferred. Arthur liked them on girls, sometimes, but never thought much about them on boys. Until now. Until this boy with his hair that curled a little over his ears, and his high cheekbones and his mouth that was a little too full for a boy's but was somehow exactly right just the same. Arthur thought he might have a long, graceful neck, but he was slouched over the desk, chewing on something dreadful-looking-- carrots, probably, dipped in hummus. He was completely absorbed in his book, turning a page with long fingers.
"Sell-back hours are Monday through Friday, ten to six," the boy said without looking up.
"Fuck," Leon muttered, then said aloud, "I hauled these all the way down here. Can't you make an exception?"
The boy put a slip of paper in his book and closed it. He looked irritated, but only said, "Sorry, I'm not the boss and he's the only one who buys things back."
Leon pouted as though he might press the point, but Arthur interrupted and said, without his head quite knowing what his mouth was doing, "Don't worry, mate, we can come back Monday. I'll help; I've got some books to sell back, too."
The boy gave him a relieved smile and Arthur wondered how often he was harassed by customers like Leon and himself. There was a defensiveness in the way he sat, with his arm stiff and his hand flat on the desk, that said he probably heard this all the time. He wore a thin leather bracelet that accentuated the slim, strong bones of his wrist, and Arthur felt a little weak at the knees.
"Fine, all right, but this is bullshit, just so you know," Leon grumbled. He turned to leave and Arthur realised he didn't want to go; he wanted to stay right here and he wanted to talk to that boy and he wanted to touch that boy's wrist, right there, where the brown leather of the bracelet ruffled the dark hair on his arm.
"I-- you go on, I've got to...buy things," he said. Leon lowered his reddish eyebrows and gave Arthur a concerned look, and he looked around for something familiar that he could possibly think of buying. "For Morgana's birthday."
Leon narrowed his eyes even further, possibly remembering that Morgana's birthday was in July. "I don't think I can carry both boxes back."
"I'll take this one with me when I'm done," he said, trying to keep it low so the boy at the desk wouldn't hear him. "I just saw something I know she'd like, that's all."
And bless Leon for being a good mate, because he didn't even ask Arthur why he suddenly understood Morgana's taste after twenty years of knowing her and not caring. He just nodded, a little puzzled, and said, "All right then, drop them off at my room later, yeah?"
When the bells on the door jingled as it closed behind Leon, Arthur turned back to the store and suddenly realised he knew fuck-all about what he was doing here. He didn't listen to records, and almost all of his music came from top 50 lists on iTunes. He was happy about his cultural stupidity, cheerful about it even, and here he was standing in a used book and music store with not a clue as to what he wanted.
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"I need, um," he began, his face heating up before he hit on an idea. "My stepsister likes this kind of thing. Used crap. What do you recommend?"
"I'll need a bit more than that," the boy said. "What kind of movies does she like? What does she like to do?"
Arthur grinned. "I don't know the names of the movies she likes-- they're never in English, right? Her hobbies are looking at old things, going out to clubs, and making fun of me under the guise of giving advice."
The boy nodded, but didn't seem to be paying much attention to what Arthur said. He looked bored. Which was just-- honestly, most people wanted to talk to Arthur, not the other way round. He was fit and rich and charming when he wanted to be-- and he very much wanted to be, right now-- and even though this boy didn't know it, he was the bloody captain of the football team. That had to count for something even with skinny boys who spent their days in smelly bookstores.
"It might be best if you got her a gift card," the boy was saying, but Arthur ignored him.
"I think she'd like something more personal," he said, going over to the desk to peek at what the kid had been reading. "What kinds of things do you like?"
"I don't think--" the boy said, twisting his mouth and grabbing the book away from Arthur. "I don't think she would know it."
"She loves it when she doesn't know stuff," Arthur replied promptly. "The more obscure the better. Do you have two of it...I'm sorry, what's your name?"
"Merlin," the boy said, looking a little ruffled and still clutching his book. He sighed. "And yes, we have another copy. Do you think she'd like it translated or in Spanish?"
Arthur liked the name; it was a little old-fashioned and pretentious and a lot like the store, actually. "Translated, please."
"If she likes foreign movies and obscure things, don't you think she'd like the original Spanish?" Merlin asked. He took his glasses off to ring out the book, and Arthur saw his eyes were blue and sort of sweet, with long lashes. Like the bracelet, it made him a little breathless and fond, which was weird, he thought. Fond of a stranger.
"Um," he said, distracted. "No, she'll think I just nicked it from somebody else, or she'll know I had help."
When Merlin handed him his change, he cupped one hand under Arthur's as he laid the bills on his palm and the coins over that. It was an automatic gesture, but Arthur rubbed his knuckles against his jeans anyway, cheered. "Have a nice day," he said, really meaning it, and suddenly Merlin looked right at him and smiled. It transformed his thin, intelligent face into something a little beautiful, and Arthur smiled back as he had never smiled at someone before, feeling a sense of strange, deep kinship.
He forgot Leon's box of books, and didn't realise it until he was almost all the way back to his flat, when he also realised he didn't know what book he'd bought. Once he was in his own kitchen, he opened the flat brown bag and pulled it out. The Book of Imaginary Beings. There was a dragon on the cover, and when he opened it he saw that it was a compendium of mythical creatures. "The Bird That Makes the Rain," he read, and saw the name Confucius.
"Bugger," he said, and began to read.
...
tbc
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Your story is so adorable! Can't wait for more.
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"Have you read The Book of Imaginary Beings?" he asked without even saying hello.
"Yeees," she replied. "Why?"
"Okay, if you liked that, what other kinds of books and movies would you be into?" He bit his fingernail, pacing around his kitchen. "Not you you, but the general you."
"I'm not-- are you drunk?"
"Come on, Morgana, I need this information, can't be bothered with your nonsense today," he said, drumming his fingers on the counter top.
"Stop being such a baby," she drawled. There was a long pause, and he considered driving round to her place and shaking her. "If a person likes Borges they might like Gabriel Garcia Marquez."
Arthur did like Borges, but he wasn't about to tell Morgana that. "Is he obscure?"
"Only to you," she laughed. "Do you need obscure Spanish authors? Are you playing Trivia?"
"No, I--" he shoved a hand into his hair and glared at his floor. The linoleum was irritating. "I need to talk to someone who's really smart."
She gave another long pause, and that was the really awful thing about Morgana, the way she dramatised everything. "I see. And do I know this someone?"
His heart began to beat frantically. "It's not like that, pervert! There was just this boy at a bookstore yesterday and he made me feel stupid. You know how competitive I am."
"I need to meet this person who can make you compete over books," Morgana sighed. Trust her to miss the point. "Well, what do you want to know?"
"Everything?" He thought for a moment. "Music. Send me all your music."
"Arthur, are you having an indie-off?" she asked, but she sent it anyway.
His iPod now had 783 new songs on it, most of which he was going to delete the second he returned home. He was going to read this Gabriel Garcia Marquez person if he had to shake down the whole store to find one of his books, and he was going to ask Merlin for more suggestions. Morgana made disapproving noises and told him it felt wrong sending him her precious music and talking about books with him, but he couldn't explain to her how he felt the need to know the same things Merlin knew. It was the next thing to knowing him, and Arthur really, really wanted to know him.
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So so so so much love for this fic so far.
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The downstairs was as crowded as the upstairs, and even more disorganised. And no wonder, Arthur thought, because it seemed there were only three employees: Gaius, Merlin, and a girl named Gwen. Arthur discovered this from Gwen herself, the girl at the desk whom Arthur had resented for not being Merlin.
For a bookstore girl, Gwen was actually quite nice. Arthur found himself enjoying their conversation, even if most of the time he was trying to wheedle information about someone else.
"No, I'm reading the Russians right now," she told him as she went through the Chinese-American literature, checking off each book she found on a little list. "I never could get into Magical Realism."
Arthur nodded. That did sound difficult. "But you do have this Garcia Marquez bloke, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, but I think Merlin could tell you better which one to get," she said.
"Is that his favourite?" Arthur asked eagerly.
She peeled a sticker off of one of the books. "This month he's recommending Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World."
Arthur perked up. "You have recommendations?"
She pointed him to Merlin's shelf on the Recommendation Wall, and Arthur felt as if he had discovered treasure. Merlin also recommended: Jarrod Gorbell, whom he said was like Our Lady Peace only better; Fanfarlo, which was like Modest Mouse only better; Babette's Feast, which made Merlin hungry every time he watched it; and Log of the SS the Mrs. Unguentine, which was one of Merlin's favourite love stories.
Arthur bought a copy of every single thing, as well as every Gabriel Garcia Marquez book Avalon had, and went off, feeling creepy and pathetic and unfulfilled. He found a slip of paper inside Hard-Boiled Wonderland. It was a shopping list in the same hand as Merlin's recommendations-- garbanzo beans, aubergine, toothpaste, AA batteries, honey. Arthur stared at it, fascinated, and knew that despite what he had told Morgana, it had nothing to do with him being competitive and everything to do with the fact that seeing the word "honey" written in Merlin's writing made him go wobbly in his belly.
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okay, really tbc this time, must sleep.
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Well, you sort of had me at "The 400 Blows", which I love.
And then you had me even more at Merlin eating carrots with hummus, which is kind of gross but as a middle-eastern you've got to love hummus!
But now! With Morgana's "Are you drunk?", and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Fanfarlo, and Modest Mouse, and the HONEY.
I'm completely inlove with your Merlin, and Arthur is adorable and a psycho, and he IS creepy, but that makes him all the more greater!
I cannot wait for more!
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