Fic: Merlin Emrys's Biggest Fan (Merlin/Arthur)
Title: Merlin Emrys’s Biggest Fan
Wordcount: 4,201
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt, ‘Arthur/Merlin. Merlin is a world-famous celebrity whom Arthur has been pining after for years. He finally has a chance to meet him (screening? convention? concert? up to you), and on a whim slips him a note with his hotel and room number. Merlin unexpectedly (for both of them) takes him up on his offer. Bonus points for reincarnation!fic and Merlin teasing Arthur about his crush.’ This is a little different from the prompt - but hopefully not too much!
Huge thanks to vensre as always for her beta work, the title, and all her encouragement!
Merlin Emrys's Biggest Fan
Arthur wouldn’t say he was Merlin Emrys’s biggest fan, whatever evil little cousins called Edwin might suggest. He was just into films, that was all. And ok, so he might have all said actor’s films on DVD, and a few limited edition posters he had picked up here and there (or for Christmas), but there was nothing wrong with that. There was a reason Merlin Emrys was considered one of Britain’s most popular actors after all. And he’d been that for the past five years - ever since he’d done that TV series with Steven Spielberg (that Arthur might or might not have on video and DVD). So really, Arthur just considered himself to be Following His Career, and if he had been heard to say he had nice bone structure (he did not say cheekbones) when he was drunk on his 18th birthday, well that didn’t mean he fancied the man, it was just a little hard not to notice when you’d been looking at his picture on your notice board for the past three years.
But it was one thing to reassure himself of that when he was alone in his room and facing up to the fact that someone (possibly him) had arranged his Merlin DVDs in chronological order, it was quite another to do it when Merlin himself was standing ten feet away from him on a London street. And he was. It was really him, ubiquitous scarf flapping in the breeze as he smiled and posed for pictures with a giggling group of teenage girls. Not for the first time, Arthur found himself wishing he had a normal twelve year old sister so that he had an excuse to go and join them, instead of Morgana who was currently pulling his arm out of its socket and whining, “come on, you said the Science Museum, you promised!” as she attempted to drag him away from the tube station entrance.
Arthur would probably have given in (before the inevitable Chinese burn) but the thing was, Merlin kept looking at him. Just little glances in between answering questions and smiling for the numerous cameras that kept appearing from bags and pockets, but enough that Arthur found himself checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t blocking a view of Keira Knightley (rumoured to be his on and off screen love interest on the set of Merlin’s latest film - not that Arthur ever read the tabloids). However, all Arthur could see was a group of Japanese students who had evidently just caught sight of Merlin and were looking ridiculously excited. So Arthur looked back and Merlin actually smiled at him, big and happy and not at all like his trademark smile. Arthur did his best to smile back, but unfortunately it probably came out more like a pained grimace as Morgana chose that moment to stamp on his foot and hiss, “I’ll tell dad you wouldn’t take me!”
“Alright, alright!” said Arthur, looking away and trying to get some feeling back in his foot, “We’re going, just…” he was about to say ‘hang on’, or possibly ‘I think you broke my toe,’ but as he looked up to speak he realised Merlin was suddenly standing a lot closer - talking to the Japanese students as he, well, Arthur would almost say he was edging closer. Except that would be weird and unlikely.
“What about you? Do you want an autograph as well?” The words were so low amongst the excited chatter surrounding them that it took Arthur a moment to realise Merlin had just spoken to him. He stopped wriggling his toes in his trainer and looked up to find Merlin stood only a foot away and grinning at him like they were sharing some kind of private joke.
Arthur gaped, then managed, “I, er, don’t have any paper.”
Merlin’s grin faltered and Arthur decided dying there and then would be an excellent option, a decision only helped by Morgana’s snort and mutter of “lame.”
“Oh,” said Merlin, turning away for a second to pose for another picture, then he looked back, frowning at Arthur like he was some sort of puzzle. Arthur could feel himself going red - and not in a cool movie star way, but in a blotchy, Arthur way that probably made him look like he had a skin disease. Which thought only made it worse of course.
“Alright,” said Merlin, once he’d finished his unsettling scrutiny of Arthur’s face, “I have some pictures back at my hotel, I could sign one and send it to you if you like - where are you staying?”
At that point Arthur forgot to be embarrassed and just stared at him, because strange men, even famous ones, did not go around offering to send you signed photos, and they most certainly didn’t ask you for your address.
“You’re staying in London, right?” said Merlin. Somewhere to his right, Arthur could see Merlin’s PA, or handler, or whatever she was, checking her watch and casting pointed looks at the side of Merlin’s head.
“Uh… yeah,” said Arthur, after a moment, “at the Marriott - with my dad and sister.”
At the mention of his sister Merlin’s eyes flickered down to Morgana and he treated her to his trademark smile, which earned him a narrow eyed glare in response. Oddly, Merlin didn’t seem to mind this at all and his smile turned into a full grin. “The Marriott it is then,” he looked back at Arthur, evidently waiting for something. Arthur just blinked at him. “So?” Merlin prompted, “Whereabouts in the Marriott? Or do I just ask for A…” he faltered slightly, then carried on, “…for a tall blonde man who’s Team Jacob and proud of it?”
“Team…?” At the last second Arthur remembered the stupid stickers Morgana had slapped on his coat that morning when some foolish woman had spotted her outside HMV and kindly given her a Twilight goodie bag - because “all little girls love Twilight!”. Morgana, who firmly rejected the notion that she was like all little girls, had immediately covered Arthur in stickers which said bizarre things like “lion and lamb”, “EC 4 BS” and, most inexplicably, “Forks.” Arthur’d thought he’d got them all off, but apparently not. He ripped it off hastily (why the hell was it sparkly?) and wondered if his face would ever revert to a normal colour. “God, no, that was… I mean, I don’t even….” Merlin seemed to be laughing at him so Arthur stopped talking and made a mental note to kill his sister (the second such note that morning).
“Merlin?” the PA woman tapped her watch and raised an eyebrow.
Merlin smiled apologetically at Arthur, “Sorry, Gwen runs me to a tight schedule.”
“Right,” said Arthur, as if he knew all about film stars and their schedules.
Merlin looked at Gwen and then back at Arthur, “So… room number?”
“Oh, right, yes.” Arthur said, feeling flustered, “I’m in 213, and my name’s Arthur Pendragon.”
Merlin smiled at him as he was jostled towards the car, “Nice to meet you, room 213, Arthur Pendragon.”
And then he was being all but pushed into the large black car, disappearing behind tinted windows as Gwen climbed in the other side, already talking to someone on her mobile about interviews and ‘windows’, and then he was gone, the car pulling out into the busy London traffic, leaving Arthur alone and slightly stunned on the pavement.
“For that,” said Morgana, “We are going to Natural History museum too.”
….
Arthur checked at the desk as soon as they got back to the hotel. Not that he expected Merlin Emrys to have sent anything yet, a large part of him didn’t even expect him to remember, but, well, stranger things had happened. But the receptionist had shaken her head apologetically, leaving Arthur to trail off to a dinner in which his father droned on about some business meeting and Morgana stole all his chips. It was, he thought two hours later as he flopped down on the bed in his hotel room, about par for the course. If Edwin were here he’d probably be laughing his ass off and pointing out that Arthur checking at the desk three times in one night was a sign of obsession or something equally stupid. Arthur flicked disconsolately through the channels - at least he had his own room this time, after years of being left to ‘mind his sister.’ This time Morgana was in a connecting room of his father’s suite, leaving Arthur a hotel room of his own for the first time in 19 years. And he fully intended to enjoy the freedom, which, for the most part, simply meant being able to watch what he wanted, and not some depressing documentary on the fate of the lesser spotted antelope, or whatever Morgana was currently saving from extinction. Arthur flicked briefly through an episode of Doctor Who, then some reality show before finding…
Hmmm.
He didn’t know if watching a Merlin Emrys film would make me feel better or worse about his humiliating afternoon, but it was Revenge of the Dragon - one of his favourites - so he let it play anyway, and tried not to think about anyone’s bone structure. He was just beginning to doze, lazily munching his way through a tube of Pringles, when the knock came on his door and he added another ‘kill Morgana’ to the list (could you kill someone three times in one day? Four, if you counted the Incident with the Animatronic Dinosaur in the Natural History Museum that afternoon). With a series of mutters, because she would absolutely not go away if he didn’t answer, Arthur dragged himself off the bed, muting the TV and leaving crisps and the duvet strewn everywhere, and stamped across to the door, yanking it open with a scowl and a “Morgana, I told you…” only to stutter incoherently into silence when he found himself face to face with Merlin Emrys.
“Hi,” said Merlin, when it became apparent Arthur wasn’t going to be doing much but staring and gaping for quite a while. He held up an envelope, “I’ve got your picture.”
“Uh…” said Arthur, eloquently.
Merlin looked up and down the corridor, then back at Arthur, quirking an eyebrow, “Can I come in?”
“Um…” Arthur managed this time, but he stood aside letting Merlin brush past him into his hotel room. Into his hotel room? What the hell? “Wasn’t the receptionist there?” he blurted out, suddenly, as Merlin looked all around the (messy) room, eyes lingering on the open door to the bathroom - where Arthur had a horrible sinking feeling he’d left all his clothes strewn about after he’d showered and changed into his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt (which he really, really wished he wasn’t wearing, not least because the t-shirt was emblazoned with a giant Mr Tickle, courtesy of Morgana).
“What?” said Merlin, eyes finally snapping back to Arthur.
“The receptionist,” Arthur said, awkwardly because Merlin seemed to be staring at his t-shirt, “For the photo.”
“Oh,” said Merlin, with a smile, “I didn’t ask - I wanted to come and give it to you myself.”
“Ok,” said Arthur, somewhat at a loss. “Thank you?”
Merlin grinned at him, before the grin turned into something much softer and Arthur felt his face heat up - because at some point tonight, he had evidently crossed over into the Twilight Zone. “So,” said Merlin, trailing one finger over the desk by his side, “Do you often give your room number to men you don’t know?”
Arthur swallowed. “Well, you asked for it,” he said, rather feebly.
Merlin looked at him from under his eyelashes, “I did, didn’t I.”
“Um…” Arthur said, yet again (his vocabulary seemed to have deserted him entirely). Merlin smiled at him, giving him what Arthur could only think was supposed to be a meaningful look. Arthur stared back. Merlin let his eyes drift over to the bed and then back at Arthur with a raise of his eyebrows. Arthur blinked.
“Oh shit!” he said, realising, “Sorry. Did you want to sit down or something?” He swept the bits of crisp that had escaped the tub onto the floor and did his best to straighten the duvet, then stood back with an awkward gesture. Merlin just stared at him for a full minute in apparent disbelief (it was probably the crisps, Arthur thought) before he flopped down on the edge of the bed with a completely unwarranted roll of his eyes.
“Do you, er, want a drink?” Arthur asked, when Merlin just carried on looking at him like he wanted to brain him with the bedside lamp.
Then Merlin sighed and shrugged his coat off. “Yes please - preferably alcoholic” and Arthur thought he must have imagined the mutter of “It’s going to be a long night.”
………
An hour and a half later Arthur thought it had turned out to be a brilliant night, as he did his best to stifle his (only slightly) drunken laughter at Merlin’s tale of Vin Diesel and the Angry Goat. Merlin had had a beer in the end, when Arthur had offered, so Arthur had thought it only polite to have one too (he always felt braver when he was tipsy). Then one beer had turned into many and before he knew it he was sprawled half across the bed, watching Merlin do impressions of his co-stars and feeling like this was all a big, slightly wobbly, dream.
“…And then Vin said,” Merlin adopted a deep, gravelly tone, “I thought this was a film about cowboys?” Arthur snorted, as Merlin went on, “And the director had to tell him that that wasn’t exactly what they’d meant by ‘Billy the Kid!’” Arthur dropped his head onto his arms and shook with laughter as Merlin flopped back down on the floor in front of the bed, chin propped on the edge and grinning at Arthur, who felt like he might be going crazy.
“Not a fan of Vin Diesel then?” said Merlin, and Arthur looked up to find his face all close and blurry. He shook his head and Merlin pushed a stray bit of hair out of his eyes - which Arthur might have thought was odd, had he been a little more sober. “Obviously not,” Merlin continued with a smile, “if you’re wanting my autograph.”
Arthur attempted to push himself up onto one elbow, but the room was distressingly swirly. “That was for my sister!” he protested.
Merlin’s smile became a smirk. “Of course it was, that’s why I spotted Revenge of the Dragon playing when I came in.”
Bugger. Apparently muting the telly did not make it invisible. Arthur noted that for future reference. “I was just flicking through the channels,” Arthur said in a tone that absolutely did not resemble Morgana in a sulk.
Merlin nodded very seriously, “That explains it then.”
“It does,” said Arthur, trying to remember what they were discussing.
“After all,” said Merlin, “who wants to watch stuff I did five years ago…”
“Three,” corrected Arthur automatically.
“Ah ha!” said Merlin. “I knew it!” He grinned, “You, Arthur Pendragon, are my biggest fan.”
“Am not!” said Arthur, belatedly, distracted by the way Merlin’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. He’d never noticed it all the times he’d seen him on the big screen (not that many) but now he couldn’t seem to notice anything else.
“Are,” said Merlin, promptly. “Come on, admit it, how many of my films have you got?”
“None,” said Arthur, wondering vaguely if this was going to like that cartoon where his nose grew every time he lied. He checked. No, still normal.
“I can just ask your sister,” said Merlin, poking him on the arm.
Arthur scowled and decided that all film stars were obviously evil and therefore naturally sympathetic to terrifying little sisters. “I have a couple.”
Merlin lunged for the desk and seized Arthur’s mobile phone (after a couple of attempts). “Morgana…” he muttered to himself, opening Arthur’s phone book before Arthur staggered drunkenly off the bed, tripped over his own feet and fell half on top of Merlin, knocking the phone from his hand more by accident than design.
“Alright,” Arthur huffed, heaving himself off and rolling on to his back next to Merlin. “I have more than that, but they’re not in chronological order.” He frowned, then played back what he’d just said. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to say that last part.
Merlin turned his head so they were looking at each other, side by side, looking like he was trying hard not to laugh, “I never imagined they were. Anything else?”
Arthur’s thought processes seemed to have slowed down to a crawl. “I have some posters, and maybe that book, with the…” he gestured vaguely, “the maps, and stuff.”
Merlin shifted up onto his elbow, looking down at Arthur. “My travels around South America?”
“Yes, that.”
Merlin frowned as if in thought, before he said, slowly and like he was relishing the words, “So really, you are kind of into me.”
Arthur did his best to glare, but it was pretty difficult when Merlin’s free hand began trailing up and down his arm. He sniffed. “Maybe a bit.”
Merlin smiled openly then. “Maybe a lot.”
Arthur managed a proper glare that time, feeling his face heat as he tried to sit up - only for Merlin to lean into and over him, effectively pinning him to the floor. “What are you…” he began, before he stopped, his brain taking a few moments to catch up with the fact that Merlin was looking as flushed as he was and, quite possibly, looking at his mouth rather a lot as well. Arthur licked his lips and Merlin’s eyes darted up to his.
All in all, this had to be quite the strangest evening of Arthur’s life.
“What…” Arthur tried again, only to trail off when Merlin leant forward, almost imperceptibly, chest warm against Arthur’s. He wished now he hadn’t had quite so much to drink, so he could actually focus on Merlin’s face and the fact that he seemed, he really seemed like he was about to… kiss him?
Then Merlin stopped.
Of course he did, thought Arthur, feeling foolish. World famous film stars did not invite themselves into your room, ply you with drinks and then kiss you. That only happened in films (and possibly Arthur’s fantasies from now on).
Except Merlin seemed to be hovering there, barely two inches from Arthur’s face and, judging from his torn expression, apparently suffering some kind of painful internal struggle. Arthur was just about to say something, anything, when Merlin seemingly made up his mind - telling Arthur firmly to “hang on,” before he clambered off him, rummaged around in the pocket of his coat and produced the kind of phone Arthur only ever saw in glass cases through shop windows.
“Right,” said Merlin, plopping back down again. He fiddled with a few buttons and then held the phone out. “What was it you were just saying about being my biggest fan?”
Arthur stared at him and tried not to think about the fact Merlin Emrys was now straddling him. “What?”
Merlin wiggled the phone about a bit. “Come on, Arthur. You were just telling me how you had all my films, and my posters, and even my travel book. Oh yes, and you wanted a signed picture.”
“I told you, that was for my…” Merlin shifted a little and Arthur’s voice became an embarrassing squeak. “Ok, ok, I…” Arthur gulped and wished he was still wearing his jeans. “I have some of your films.”
“And the posters,” prompted Merlin.
“And some posters,” said Arthur, trying to focus his hazy mind on calm oceans and clouds and things that weren’t Merlin straddling him.
“And you’re my biggest fan,” said Merlin, sounding far too gleeful for someone who must hear that kind of stuff everyday.
“I’m not your…”
Merlin mouthed “chronological order” at him and leaned forward and Arthur decided that maybe it wasn’t too far from the truth anyway - even if he would die before he’d let Edwin hear him say it. “Alright, I am.”
“Say it properly,” said Merlin, holding the phone close enough for Arthur to make out a hazy ‘record’ sign flashing red, “Say, Merlin, I am your biggest fan.”
“Merlin I am your biggest fan,” parroted Arthur dutifully, hoping this would be enough to get Merlin to move off him before Arthur completely embarrassed himself.
Merlin beamed at him. “Perfect,” he said, snapping the phone closed, “I think I’ve just found my new ringtone.”
“Why would…” was about all Arthur managed - before Merlin tossed the phone aside, leaned down and kissed him soundly. For a few blissful moments there was nothing but Merlin’s warm mouth against his, his clever fingers sliding up Arthur’s chest to his neck and the absolute, perfect feeling of it.
And then, then…
“You little shit,” said King Arthur Pendragon, suddenly feeling a lot more sober as he pulled away to see Merlin, breathless and laughing at him.
“Oh dear,” said Merlin, “All coming back to you, is it?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
Merlin scrambled quickly away, grabbing his phone, and getting to his feet before Arthur could make a somewhat uncoordinated grab for him. “But Arthur, you love me! You’re my biggest…”
“Give me that bloody phone!”
Merlin danced out of reach, smirking, “Careful Arthur, or I won’t take you to my premieres.”
Sadly it seemed Arthur’s ability to blush in the most unflattering way possible was still present and correct, no matter how many new memories were crowding into his head. “I don’t want to go to your premieres,” Arthur snapped, making another lunge for the phone, only for Merlin’s eyes to flash gold and the phone to vanish completely. “What did you just do?”
“It is gone!” said Merlin in an impressive tone, “I have transported it to another dimension, far beyond the realm of-”
“You’ve made it invisible, haven’t you?”
Merlin scowled, “You always spoil my fun. I don’t know why I go looking for you every time.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to!” Arthur said, definitely sounding sulky this time, as he gave up on the invisible phone and flopped down on the bed, folding his arms - sober enough to feel stupidly embarrassed by the whole evening but still drunk enough to wonder if this was all some elaborate and bizarre dream. How did he go from eating Pringles, and daydreaming about signed photographs, to this? He stared at his hands and thought, vaguely, that they looked the same as they did five minutes ago - which was an odd thing to be thinking about - and then Merlin was crawling over the bed and into his lap, feeling all too real. And that was even more odd. Because it was Merlin, and then it was Merlin. And Arthur would rather die than admit he’d read his Travels in South America book nine times.
“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin said, distracting him from his thoughts as he wound his arms around his neck, “It’s not that bad, is it?”
Arthur refused to answer.
“I really will take you to all my premieres,” Merlin wheedled, trailing kisses down the side of Arthur’s face, “and get you all the limited edition posters.”
“I’ve already got most of them,” Arthur muttered.
He felt Merlin’s smile against his neck. “I bet you haven’t got the one for Moment of Truth.”
Arthur felt himself wavering. Everyone knew the Moment of Truth poster was incredibly rare. Well, everyone who was interested in that sort of thing - which Arthur wasn’t. “I suppose that would be ok,” Arthur said, magnanimously.
Merlin kissed his jaw, then his cheek, then finally reached his mouth, pressing their lips together and pushing against him until Arthur fell backwards onto the bed, which didn’t help with the ‘room moving about’ thing, now the initial sobering shock had begun to wear off, although keeping his eyes closed and kissing Merlin back seemed to help a lot.
Finally Merlin pulled away and smoothed Arthur’s hair off his forehead, smiling softly down at him as Arthur struggled to reconcile his natural desire to call him an idiot with the large part of himself that was mortifyingly starstruck at being in the presence of the real, live Merlin Emrys (in his hotel room! his brain helpfully reminded him). He suspected this sort of thing would take some getting used to.
“And you know,” Merlin said, settling himself more comfortably against him, and continuing as if their conversation had not just been interrupted by five minutes of kissing, “if all that’s not enough, there is one other thing to look forward to.”
“What thing?” Arthur frowned, wondering what on earth could be better than this (aside from a guaranteed cure for the hangover he was sure to have in the morning. And possibly some therapy).
But Merlin’s smile turned mischievious as he looked down at him. “Just imagine Morgana’s face.”
So Arthur did.
But, as he was to find out early the next morning, his imagination had nothing on the real thing.
The End.
Comments and constructive criticism welcome!
Wordcount: 4,201
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt, ‘Arthur/Merlin. Merlin is a world-famous celebrity whom Arthur has been pining after for years. He finally has a chance to meet him (screening? convention? concert? up to you), and on a whim slips him a note with his hotel and room number. Merlin unexpectedly (for both of them) takes him up on his offer. Bonus points for reincarnation!fic and Merlin teasing Arthur about his crush.’ This is a little different from the prompt - but hopefully not too much!
Huge thanks to vensre as always for her beta work, the title, and all her encouragement!
Merlin Emrys's Biggest Fan
Arthur wouldn’t say he was Merlin Emrys’s biggest fan, whatever evil little cousins called Edwin might suggest. He was just into films, that was all. And ok, so he might have all said actor’s films on DVD, and a few limited edition posters he had picked up here and there (or for Christmas), but there was nothing wrong with that. There was a reason Merlin Emrys was considered one of Britain’s most popular actors after all. And he’d been that for the past five years - ever since he’d done that TV series with Steven Spielberg (that Arthur might or might not have on video and DVD). So really, Arthur just considered himself to be Following His Career, and if he had been heard to say he had nice bone structure (he did not say cheekbones) when he was drunk on his 18th birthday, well that didn’t mean he fancied the man, it was just a little hard not to notice when you’d been looking at his picture on your notice board for the past three years.
But it was one thing to reassure himself of that when he was alone in his room and facing up to the fact that someone (possibly him) had arranged his Merlin DVDs in chronological order, it was quite another to do it when Merlin himself was standing ten feet away from him on a London street. And he was. It was really him, ubiquitous scarf flapping in the breeze as he smiled and posed for pictures with a giggling group of teenage girls. Not for the first time, Arthur found himself wishing he had a normal twelve year old sister so that he had an excuse to go and join them, instead of Morgana who was currently pulling his arm out of its socket and whining, “come on, you said the Science Museum, you promised!” as she attempted to drag him away from the tube station entrance.
Arthur would probably have given in (before the inevitable Chinese burn) but the thing was, Merlin kept looking at him. Just little glances in between answering questions and smiling for the numerous cameras that kept appearing from bags and pockets, but enough that Arthur found himself checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t blocking a view of Keira Knightley (rumoured to be his on and off screen love interest on the set of Merlin’s latest film - not that Arthur ever read the tabloids). However, all Arthur could see was a group of Japanese students who had evidently just caught sight of Merlin and were looking ridiculously excited. So Arthur looked back and Merlin actually smiled at him, big and happy and not at all like his trademark smile. Arthur did his best to smile back, but unfortunately it probably came out more like a pained grimace as Morgana chose that moment to stamp on his foot and hiss, “I’ll tell dad you wouldn’t take me!”
“Alright, alright!” said Arthur, looking away and trying to get some feeling back in his foot, “We’re going, just…” he was about to say ‘hang on’, or possibly ‘I think you broke my toe,’ but as he looked up to speak he realised Merlin was suddenly standing a lot closer - talking to the Japanese students as he, well, Arthur would almost say he was edging closer. Except that would be weird and unlikely.
“What about you? Do you want an autograph as well?” The words were so low amongst the excited chatter surrounding them that it took Arthur a moment to realise Merlin had just spoken to him. He stopped wriggling his toes in his trainer and looked up to find Merlin stood only a foot away and grinning at him like they were sharing some kind of private joke.
Arthur gaped, then managed, “I, er, don’t have any paper.”
Merlin’s grin faltered and Arthur decided dying there and then would be an excellent option, a decision only helped by Morgana’s snort and mutter of “lame.”
“Oh,” said Merlin, turning away for a second to pose for another picture, then he looked back, frowning at Arthur like he was some sort of puzzle. Arthur could feel himself going red - and not in a cool movie star way, but in a blotchy, Arthur way that probably made him look like he had a skin disease. Which thought only made it worse of course.
“Alright,” said Merlin, once he’d finished his unsettling scrutiny of Arthur’s face, “I have some pictures back at my hotel, I could sign one and send it to you if you like - where are you staying?”
At that point Arthur forgot to be embarrassed and just stared at him, because strange men, even famous ones, did not go around offering to send you signed photos, and they most certainly didn’t ask you for your address.
“You’re staying in London, right?” said Merlin. Somewhere to his right, Arthur could see Merlin’s PA, or handler, or whatever she was, checking her watch and casting pointed looks at the side of Merlin’s head.
“Uh… yeah,” said Arthur, after a moment, “at the Marriott - with my dad and sister.”
At the mention of his sister Merlin’s eyes flickered down to Morgana and he treated her to his trademark smile, which earned him a narrow eyed glare in response. Oddly, Merlin didn’t seem to mind this at all and his smile turned into a full grin. “The Marriott it is then,” he looked back at Arthur, evidently waiting for something. Arthur just blinked at him. “So?” Merlin prompted, “Whereabouts in the Marriott? Or do I just ask for A…” he faltered slightly, then carried on, “…for a tall blonde man who’s Team Jacob and proud of it?”
“Team…?” At the last second Arthur remembered the stupid stickers Morgana had slapped on his coat that morning when some foolish woman had spotted her outside HMV and kindly given her a Twilight goodie bag - because “all little girls love Twilight!”. Morgana, who firmly rejected the notion that she was like all little girls, had immediately covered Arthur in stickers which said bizarre things like “lion and lamb”, “EC 4 BS” and, most inexplicably, “Forks.” Arthur’d thought he’d got them all off, but apparently not. He ripped it off hastily (why the hell was it sparkly?) and wondered if his face would ever revert to a normal colour. “God, no, that was… I mean, I don’t even….” Merlin seemed to be laughing at him so Arthur stopped talking and made a mental note to kill his sister (the second such note that morning).
“Merlin?” the PA woman tapped her watch and raised an eyebrow.
Merlin smiled apologetically at Arthur, “Sorry, Gwen runs me to a tight schedule.”
“Right,” said Arthur, as if he knew all about film stars and their schedules.
Merlin looked at Gwen and then back at Arthur, “So… room number?”
“Oh, right, yes.” Arthur said, feeling flustered, “I’m in 213, and my name’s Arthur Pendragon.”
Merlin smiled at him as he was jostled towards the car, “Nice to meet you, room 213, Arthur Pendragon.”
And then he was being all but pushed into the large black car, disappearing behind tinted windows as Gwen climbed in the other side, already talking to someone on her mobile about interviews and ‘windows’, and then he was gone, the car pulling out into the busy London traffic, leaving Arthur alone and slightly stunned on the pavement.
“For that,” said Morgana, “We are going to Natural History museum too.”
….
Arthur checked at the desk as soon as they got back to the hotel. Not that he expected Merlin Emrys to have sent anything yet, a large part of him didn’t even expect him to remember, but, well, stranger things had happened. But the receptionist had shaken her head apologetically, leaving Arthur to trail off to a dinner in which his father droned on about some business meeting and Morgana stole all his chips. It was, he thought two hours later as he flopped down on the bed in his hotel room, about par for the course. If Edwin were here he’d probably be laughing his ass off and pointing out that Arthur checking at the desk three times in one night was a sign of obsession or something equally stupid. Arthur flicked disconsolately through the channels - at least he had his own room this time, after years of being left to ‘mind his sister.’ This time Morgana was in a connecting room of his father’s suite, leaving Arthur a hotel room of his own for the first time in 19 years. And he fully intended to enjoy the freedom, which, for the most part, simply meant being able to watch what he wanted, and not some depressing documentary on the fate of the lesser spotted antelope, or whatever Morgana was currently saving from extinction. Arthur flicked briefly through an episode of Doctor Who, then some reality show before finding…
Hmmm.
He didn’t know if watching a Merlin Emrys film would make me feel better or worse about his humiliating afternoon, but it was Revenge of the Dragon - one of his favourites - so he let it play anyway, and tried not to think about anyone’s bone structure. He was just beginning to doze, lazily munching his way through a tube of Pringles, when the knock came on his door and he added another ‘kill Morgana’ to the list (could you kill someone three times in one day? Four, if you counted the Incident with the Animatronic Dinosaur in the Natural History Museum that afternoon). With a series of mutters, because she would absolutely not go away if he didn’t answer, Arthur dragged himself off the bed, muting the TV and leaving crisps and the duvet strewn everywhere, and stamped across to the door, yanking it open with a scowl and a “Morgana, I told you…” only to stutter incoherently into silence when he found himself face to face with Merlin Emrys.
“Hi,” said Merlin, when it became apparent Arthur wasn’t going to be doing much but staring and gaping for quite a while. He held up an envelope, “I’ve got your picture.”
“Uh…” said Arthur, eloquently.
Merlin looked up and down the corridor, then back at Arthur, quirking an eyebrow, “Can I come in?”
“Um…” Arthur managed this time, but he stood aside letting Merlin brush past him into his hotel room. Into his hotel room? What the hell? “Wasn’t the receptionist there?” he blurted out, suddenly, as Merlin looked all around the (messy) room, eyes lingering on the open door to the bathroom - where Arthur had a horrible sinking feeling he’d left all his clothes strewn about after he’d showered and changed into his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt (which he really, really wished he wasn’t wearing, not least because the t-shirt was emblazoned with a giant Mr Tickle, courtesy of Morgana).
“What?” said Merlin, eyes finally snapping back to Arthur.
“The receptionist,” Arthur said, awkwardly because Merlin seemed to be staring at his t-shirt, “For the photo.”
“Oh,” said Merlin, with a smile, “I didn’t ask - I wanted to come and give it to you myself.”
“Ok,” said Arthur, somewhat at a loss. “Thank you?”
Merlin grinned at him, before the grin turned into something much softer and Arthur felt his face heat up - because at some point tonight, he had evidently crossed over into the Twilight Zone. “So,” said Merlin, trailing one finger over the desk by his side, “Do you often give your room number to men you don’t know?”
Arthur swallowed. “Well, you asked for it,” he said, rather feebly.
Merlin looked at him from under his eyelashes, “I did, didn’t I.”
“Um…” Arthur said, yet again (his vocabulary seemed to have deserted him entirely). Merlin smiled at him, giving him what Arthur could only think was supposed to be a meaningful look. Arthur stared back. Merlin let his eyes drift over to the bed and then back at Arthur with a raise of his eyebrows. Arthur blinked.
“Oh shit!” he said, realising, “Sorry. Did you want to sit down or something?” He swept the bits of crisp that had escaped the tub onto the floor and did his best to straighten the duvet, then stood back with an awkward gesture. Merlin just stared at him for a full minute in apparent disbelief (it was probably the crisps, Arthur thought) before he flopped down on the edge of the bed with a completely unwarranted roll of his eyes.
“Do you, er, want a drink?” Arthur asked, when Merlin just carried on looking at him like he wanted to brain him with the bedside lamp.
Then Merlin sighed and shrugged his coat off. “Yes please - preferably alcoholic” and Arthur thought he must have imagined the mutter of “It’s going to be a long night.”
………
An hour and a half later Arthur thought it had turned out to be a brilliant night, as he did his best to stifle his (only slightly) drunken laughter at Merlin’s tale of Vin Diesel and the Angry Goat. Merlin had had a beer in the end, when Arthur had offered, so Arthur had thought it only polite to have one too (he always felt braver when he was tipsy). Then one beer had turned into many and before he knew it he was sprawled half across the bed, watching Merlin do impressions of his co-stars and feeling like this was all a big, slightly wobbly, dream.
“…And then Vin said,” Merlin adopted a deep, gravelly tone, “I thought this was a film about cowboys?” Arthur snorted, as Merlin went on, “And the director had to tell him that that wasn’t exactly what they’d meant by ‘Billy the Kid!’” Arthur dropped his head onto his arms and shook with laughter as Merlin flopped back down on the floor in front of the bed, chin propped on the edge and grinning at Arthur, who felt like he might be going crazy.
“Not a fan of Vin Diesel then?” said Merlin, and Arthur looked up to find his face all close and blurry. He shook his head and Merlin pushed a stray bit of hair out of his eyes - which Arthur might have thought was odd, had he been a little more sober. “Obviously not,” Merlin continued with a smile, “if you’re wanting my autograph.”
Arthur attempted to push himself up onto one elbow, but the room was distressingly swirly. “That was for my sister!” he protested.
Merlin’s smile became a smirk. “Of course it was, that’s why I spotted Revenge of the Dragon playing when I came in.”
Bugger. Apparently muting the telly did not make it invisible. Arthur noted that for future reference. “I was just flicking through the channels,” Arthur said in a tone that absolutely did not resemble Morgana in a sulk.
Merlin nodded very seriously, “That explains it then.”
“It does,” said Arthur, trying to remember what they were discussing.
“After all,” said Merlin, “who wants to watch stuff I did five years ago…”
“Three,” corrected Arthur automatically.
“Ah ha!” said Merlin. “I knew it!” He grinned, “You, Arthur Pendragon, are my biggest fan.”
“Am not!” said Arthur, belatedly, distracted by the way Merlin’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. He’d never noticed it all the times he’d seen him on the big screen (not that many) but now he couldn’t seem to notice anything else.
“Are,” said Merlin, promptly. “Come on, admit it, how many of my films have you got?”
“None,” said Arthur, wondering vaguely if this was going to like that cartoon where his nose grew every time he lied. He checked. No, still normal.
“I can just ask your sister,” said Merlin, poking him on the arm.
Arthur scowled and decided that all film stars were obviously evil and therefore naturally sympathetic to terrifying little sisters. “I have a couple.”
Merlin lunged for the desk and seized Arthur’s mobile phone (after a couple of attempts). “Morgana…” he muttered to himself, opening Arthur’s phone book before Arthur staggered drunkenly off the bed, tripped over his own feet and fell half on top of Merlin, knocking the phone from his hand more by accident than design.
“Alright,” Arthur huffed, heaving himself off and rolling on to his back next to Merlin. “I have more than that, but they’re not in chronological order.” He frowned, then played back what he’d just said. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to say that last part.
Merlin turned his head so they were looking at each other, side by side, looking like he was trying hard not to laugh, “I never imagined they were. Anything else?”
Arthur’s thought processes seemed to have slowed down to a crawl. “I have some posters, and maybe that book, with the…” he gestured vaguely, “the maps, and stuff.”
Merlin shifted up onto his elbow, looking down at Arthur. “My travels around South America?”
“Yes, that.”
Merlin frowned as if in thought, before he said, slowly and like he was relishing the words, “So really, you are kind of into me.”
Arthur did his best to glare, but it was pretty difficult when Merlin’s free hand began trailing up and down his arm. He sniffed. “Maybe a bit.”
Merlin smiled openly then. “Maybe a lot.”
Arthur managed a proper glare that time, feeling his face heat as he tried to sit up - only for Merlin to lean into and over him, effectively pinning him to the floor. “What are you…” he began, before he stopped, his brain taking a few moments to catch up with the fact that Merlin was looking as flushed as he was and, quite possibly, looking at his mouth rather a lot as well. Arthur licked his lips and Merlin’s eyes darted up to his.
All in all, this had to be quite the strangest evening of Arthur’s life.
“What…” Arthur tried again, only to trail off when Merlin leant forward, almost imperceptibly, chest warm against Arthur’s. He wished now he hadn’t had quite so much to drink, so he could actually focus on Merlin’s face and the fact that he seemed, he really seemed like he was about to… kiss him?
Then Merlin stopped.
Of course he did, thought Arthur, feeling foolish. World famous film stars did not invite themselves into your room, ply you with drinks and then kiss you. That only happened in films (and possibly Arthur’s fantasies from now on).
Except Merlin seemed to be hovering there, barely two inches from Arthur’s face and, judging from his torn expression, apparently suffering some kind of painful internal struggle. Arthur was just about to say something, anything, when Merlin seemingly made up his mind - telling Arthur firmly to “hang on,” before he clambered off him, rummaged around in the pocket of his coat and produced the kind of phone Arthur only ever saw in glass cases through shop windows.
“Right,” said Merlin, plopping back down again. He fiddled with a few buttons and then held the phone out. “What was it you were just saying about being my biggest fan?”
Arthur stared at him and tried not to think about the fact Merlin Emrys was now straddling him. “What?”
Merlin wiggled the phone about a bit. “Come on, Arthur. You were just telling me how you had all my films, and my posters, and even my travel book. Oh yes, and you wanted a signed picture.”
“I told you, that was for my…” Merlin shifted a little and Arthur’s voice became an embarrassing squeak. “Ok, ok, I…” Arthur gulped and wished he was still wearing his jeans. “I have some of your films.”
“And the posters,” prompted Merlin.
“And some posters,” said Arthur, trying to focus his hazy mind on calm oceans and clouds and things that weren’t Merlin straddling him.
“And you’re my biggest fan,” said Merlin, sounding far too gleeful for someone who must hear that kind of stuff everyday.
“I’m not your…”
Merlin mouthed “chronological order” at him and leaned forward and Arthur decided that maybe it wasn’t too far from the truth anyway - even if he would die before he’d let Edwin hear him say it. “Alright, I am.”
“Say it properly,” said Merlin, holding the phone close enough for Arthur to make out a hazy ‘record’ sign flashing red, “Say, Merlin, I am your biggest fan.”
“Merlin I am your biggest fan,” parroted Arthur dutifully, hoping this would be enough to get Merlin to move off him before Arthur completely embarrassed himself.
Merlin beamed at him. “Perfect,” he said, snapping the phone closed, “I think I’ve just found my new ringtone.”
“Why would…” was about all Arthur managed - before Merlin tossed the phone aside, leaned down and kissed him soundly. For a few blissful moments there was nothing but Merlin’s warm mouth against his, his clever fingers sliding up Arthur’s chest to his neck and the absolute, perfect feeling of it.
And then, then…
“You little shit,” said King Arthur Pendragon, suddenly feeling a lot more sober as he pulled away to see Merlin, breathless and laughing at him.
“Oh dear,” said Merlin, “All coming back to you, is it?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
Merlin scrambled quickly away, grabbing his phone, and getting to his feet before Arthur could make a somewhat uncoordinated grab for him. “But Arthur, you love me! You’re my biggest…”
“Give me that bloody phone!”
Merlin danced out of reach, smirking, “Careful Arthur, or I won’t take you to my premieres.”
Sadly it seemed Arthur’s ability to blush in the most unflattering way possible was still present and correct, no matter how many new memories were crowding into his head. “I don’t want to go to your premieres,” Arthur snapped, making another lunge for the phone, only for Merlin’s eyes to flash gold and the phone to vanish completely. “What did you just do?”
“It is gone!” said Merlin in an impressive tone, “I have transported it to another dimension, far beyond the realm of-”
“You’ve made it invisible, haven’t you?”
Merlin scowled, “You always spoil my fun. I don’t know why I go looking for you every time.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to!” Arthur said, definitely sounding sulky this time, as he gave up on the invisible phone and flopped down on the bed, folding his arms - sober enough to feel stupidly embarrassed by the whole evening but still drunk enough to wonder if this was all some elaborate and bizarre dream. How did he go from eating Pringles, and daydreaming about signed photographs, to this? He stared at his hands and thought, vaguely, that they looked the same as they did five minutes ago - which was an odd thing to be thinking about - and then Merlin was crawling over the bed and into his lap, feeling all too real. And that was even more odd. Because it was Merlin, and then it was Merlin. And Arthur would rather die than admit he’d read his Travels in South America book nine times.
“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin said, distracting him from his thoughts as he wound his arms around his neck, “It’s not that bad, is it?”
Arthur refused to answer.
“I really will take you to all my premieres,” Merlin wheedled, trailing kisses down the side of Arthur’s face, “and get you all the limited edition posters.”
“I’ve already got most of them,” Arthur muttered.
He felt Merlin’s smile against his neck. “I bet you haven’t got the one for Moment of Truth.”
Arthur felt himself wavering. Everyone knew the Moment of Truth poster was incredibly rare. Well, everyone who was interested in that sort of thing - which Arthur wasn’t. “I suppose that would be ok,” Arthur said, magnanimously.
Merlin kissed his jaw, then his cheek, then finally reached his mouth, pressing their lips together and pushing against him until Arthur fell backwards onto the bed, which didn’t help with the ‘room moving about’ thing, now the initial sobering shock had begun to wear off, although keeping his eyes closed and kissing Merlin back seemed to help a lot.
Finally Merlin pulled away and smoothed Arthur’s hair off his forehead, smiling softly down at him as Arthur struggled to reconcile his natural desire to call him an idiot with the large part of himself that was mortifyingly starstruck at being in the presence of the real, live Merlin Emrys (in his hotel room! his brain helpfully reminded him). He suspected this sort of thing would take some getting used to.
“And you know,” Merlin said, settling himself more comfortably against him, and continuing as if their conversation had not just been interrupted by five minutes of kissing, “if all that’s not enough, there is one other thing to look forward to.”
“What thing?” Arthur frowned, wondering what on earth could be better than this (aside from a guaranteed cure for the hangover he was sure to have in the morning. And possibly some therapy).
But Merlin’s smile turned mischievious as he looked down at him. “Just imagine Morgana’s face.”
So Arthur did.
But, as he was to find out early the next morning, his imagination had nothing on the real thing.
The End.
Comments and constructive criticism welcome!