FIC: "Can't Buy Me Love" | NC-17 | Merlin/Arthur | Part 1 of 2
Title: Can't Buy Me Love
Author: shes_gone
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~20,000
Summary: In which it's 1964, Camelot is an advertising agency with a budget problem, Merlin is a copywriter who loves to twist, and Arthur is a junior partner who loves to shout. More or less.
Warnings: A Mad Men crossover (no Mad Men knowledge necessary).
Disclaimer: Everything Merlin belongs to the BBC and Shine. I've also borrowed quite a lot from Mad Men, but the only spoilers you'll find here are for a few Sterling Cooper ad campaigns, which I've shamelessly stolen. (I tried to think up new & original slogans, but believe me, it's better this way. I apparently have no future in advertising, lol.)
Author's Notes:
Written for merlin_games (♥Team Historical AU♥), originally posted here. Endless thanks to my betas, my team captains, and the beautiful mod.
There are a number of images (all work safe) and songs (via YouTube) embedded alongside the fic; they're purely supplemental, so feel free to enjoy or ignore them at your pleasure. I'm just a big nerd.
If you'd prefer to read a text-only version, head on over to AO3.
Can't Buy Me Love
March 1964
Merlin sagged back into his desk chair with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He hadn't been able to focus on anything for over an hour, and this Ford Cortina ad was being remarkably stubborn about not writing itself. "C'mon, Merlin," he muttered, stretching his neck and loosening his tie a little. His gaze fell on the row of glass decanters on the credenza, their assortment of liquors catching the afternoon sun. Merlin stood and went to them, picking up the different bottles in succession.
Despite nearly four months in this office, Merlin hadn't yet taken to day drinking in the way that seemed to be required of anyone in the ad business. With the afternoon he was having, however, Merlin was willing to give it another chance. He poured himself a small glass of whiskey and swirled it, watching the amber liquid spin.
The circular motion reminded him, suddenly, of the purchase he'd gone out at lunchtime to make. A smile burst across his face and he set the glass down before scurrying back across the room to retrieve a flat paper bag from underneath his desk.
1960s Ford Cortina
He hadn't yet made it to the record player-he was too busy admiring the curve of Paul's jaw and George's brooding expression-when Gwen buzzed him.
"Yes?" he asked, pressing the button on his intercom.
"Mr Pendragon is on the line for you," came Gwen's reply, her voice staticky in the little speaker.
"Oh thank god," Merlin muttered as he set down the record and grabbed the phone. "Arthur!" he hissed into it, "Where in the hell are you? It's well past two, and Morgana was here for you, in a right state."
There was a pause, during which someone outside Merlin's office shoved their chair back from their desk quite loudly, and then Uther Pendragon's disdainful voice came over the line, "Pardon me?"
Gwen threw open the door, as wide-eyed as Merlin had ever seen her, and began silently mouthing, Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!
"Mr Pendragon," Merlin managed, after staring at Gwen for a stunned moment. "I'm so sorry, sir. Terribly sorry. Bit of a misunderstanding, I'm afraid."
"I dare say," Uther replied coldly. "You might ask your girl to be a bit more specific in the future, if either of you wishes to remain employed here."
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Sorry, sir."
"I take it, from your outburst, that you don't know where my son is, either?"
"No, sir. I've not seen him since before lunch."
"You really ought to keep better track of him, you know."
Merlin gritted his teeth. He was employed as one of Arthur's copywriters, not as his valet or his minder, despite Uther's inability to see the difference. "I'll try, sir," he said.
"Send him up the moment he returns. I have Miss Le Fay here in my office, and, indeed, we have urgent items to discuss."
"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir," Merlin said, and Uther hung up without another word.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Gwen said the moment the phone was back in its cradle. "I should have used his first name, I don't know why-I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry-"
"Oh, it's all right," Merlin said. "The only time that man has ever spared a thought for me, it was just to think what a bumbling lower-class simpleton I must be, so there's no harm done, really." Gwen grimaced. "But," Merlin continued, "maybe do try to include his first name, in the future? If he ever deigns to call me again, that is."
Gwen nodded. "Of course. Of course. Sorry." Merlin gave her a rueful smile. Gwen's eyes fell to his desk, and her demeanour changed suddenly. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Is that the new single?"
Cover of "Can't Buy Me Love" single
Merlin glanced down at the record, and grinned. "Yes. Have you heard it?"
"How could I? It was just released today! My mate was telling me on the train that she caught it on the radio this morning over breakfast, but I missed it. Is it amazing?"
"D'you wanna have a listen?" Merlin asked, already making his way to the player, record in hand.
"Of course, oh my god!" Gwen all but shrieked, closing the door just before Paul McCartney's voice filled the room.
#
By the time Arthur was standing in the doorway, clearing his throat disapprovingly, Merlin and Gwen had the lyrics to "Can't Buy Me Love" memorised. They'd switched back to "Twist and Shout", and Merlin was struggling to keep himself from physically grabbing Leon's hips and manhandling him into doing the Twist without looking like a man made of metal. "Try to relax," Merlin was saying in response to a particularly awkward and stiff turn of Leon's torso, "it really is just meant to be fun," when Leon froze.
"Arthur," Leon croaked, abruptly straightening his posture.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the spinning record and John Lennon's enthusiasm. Arthur just looked at them, and Merlin's eye was drawn to a funny lump between the top two buttons of his black waistcoat. Merlin studied it, and then bit his lip against a smile, realising that Arthur had mis-buttoned the white shirt beneath it.
"What," Arthur said witheringly, "is this?"
"The Twist," Merlin answered brightly. "Leon's nearly got the hang of it."
Arthur looked at Leon with raised eyebrows. "Has he?" Leon opened his mouth, but didn't manage to say anything. Arthur turned to Merlin, who looked back at him with a stubborn smile.
"Can't Buy Me Love"
The song was nearing its first climax, voices layering in a building harmony, and then John whooped and Paul wailed and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are they ever going to stop playing this song? Who told this man he could sing, honestly? He sounds like he's in pain."
Merlin just grinned. "They've got a new one! Just out today. Hang on." He went to the record player, ignoring Arthur's long-suffering sigh.
"Please don't," Arthur said, but Merlin already had the "Twist and Shout" forty-five off the turn table, so it was the work of a moment to get "Can't Buy Me Love" going again, not that he had had any intention of heeding Arthur's instruction anyway.
"This is Paul," Merlin explained helpfully, a few bars in, "double-tracked."
Arthur just looked at him, profoundly unimpressed, as Merlin sang along quietly. Leon and Gwen watched uncertainly, clearly wanting to leave.
"Well," Arthur said, after the first verse, "it's certainly good to hear that you don't care for money, because I won't have to lose any sleep over sacking the lot of you. Have you honestly not got any work to do?" He looked at all three of them pointedly.
"I was just going to, um," Leon said, moving to the door, "yes." He left, Gwen scurrying after him.
Arthur turned back to Merlin. "This is work," Merlin said. "You know I get all my best ideas when I'm listening to records."
"Yes, and maybe your best ideas would actually be good if you listened to something worthwhile."
"You mean old? No thanks, this office has more than enough of that already."
"Is that why you're trying to corrupt Leon?"
"He likes it, and so do you, even if you won't admit it. You said yourself that his work has improved over the past two months, since I got him listening."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur said, moving to the credenza and pouring two drinks. "Leon's work has been better because he's started seeing that new receptionist, Lois. That's far better inspiration for any man than your ridiculous dance lessons."
Merlin rolled his eyes but didn't pursue it, because now that they were alone, he had more pressing things to tease Arthur about. "So where've you been?" he asked. "Twist and Shout"
"Long lunch meeting," Arthur replied. He replaced the top of the gin decanter and turned, handing Merlin one of the glasses. "I tried some last-ditch negotiation with the Bass people, but I don't think it worked. So much for our monthly shipments of free ale."
"Really?" Merlin asked. "They couldn't be swayed? Not even when you took your clothes off?"
Arthur looked at him sharply, eyes widening.
Merlin smirked. "You missed a button," he said, gesturing at the lump beneath Arthur's waistcoat.
Arthur looked down at himself and groaned. "Wonderful," he said flatly. He set his drink on the credenza and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before unbuttoning his waistcoat. Merlin didn't look away until he started undoing the mis-buttoned shirt beneath it.
"So what happened with the Bass account?" Merlin asked, leaning against the edge of his desk and looking down at his drink for something to focus on. "Do you really think they'll leave us?"
Arthur sighed, re-buttoning. "Unfortunately, yes. Apparently Mercia's been courting them for months, and finally came up with something good enough to pull them away. So they've dropped us."
"But what about the new art Lancelot and Elyan were working on? It was great-did it really not help at all?"
Arthur shook his head. "It was great, but they still hate the concept. They want a racier campaign than my father will ever let out the door."
Merlin nodded disappointedly and took a small sip of his drink and didn't watch Arthur's fingers slide under his belt, smoothing down his shirt. "So, was it the Bass people you were taking your clothes off for, or was that not work-related?"
Arthur didn't say anything, but when he looked up at Merlin, he was smirking.
Merlin groaned and rolled his eyes. "Look, can you please stop disappearing in the middle of the day like that? Or at least ring your secretary, so we have some idea of when to expect you. My nerves cannot handle your father calling me again."
"Especially when you mistake him for me, and make a complete idiot of yourself?"
Merlin grimaced. "Who told you about that?"
"Ran into my father on the lift."
"Oh God, of course you did. So you've seen Morgana, then?"
"No. I wanted to hear your side of it first, so I wouldn't go in unprepared. I told my father I needed a few minutes to smarten up, and he was happy to wait." He smirked again, and Merlin couldn't help pulling a face. Uther was bizarrely proud of Arthur's sexual exploits, in Merlin's humble opinion. "So, Merlin, care to explain how and why you've made an idiot of yourself this time?"
Merlin scowled. "It was just a misunderstanding. Why would I expect it to be your father calling me? He never calls me. He barely even looks at me when we're in the same room."
"That's not true."
"It is! He's never going to think of me as a proper copywriter. I'm just one of the hired help, a servant meant to be useful but never seen nor heard from."
Arthur slid his arms back into his jacket. "All right, that's probably true," he said, and picked up his drink. "So what happened with Morgana?"
Merlin sighed. "She finally got wind of the proposed ban."
"Ah," Arthur said, turning his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. "Well, we knew this day would come eventually. How's she taking it?"
"About as well as you'd expect. She's convinced that her world is ending, that without television adverts, not a single person is going to buy another packet of cigarettes ever again, and that she'll be a pauper in the street before you know it."
Arthur leaned back against the desk, right next to Merlin, close enough that Merlin could smell him. He'd had a boozy lunch, for certain, and it didn't smell like ale. Merlin wondered where he'd gone after the Bass meeting, to drink his frustration. The smell of sex on him was strong, too, which should have been repulsive, but all Merlin wanted to do was press his face into the curve of Arthur's neck and bury his nose in his hair.
"And how much worse did you make it, trying to calm her down?" Arthur asked.
"I didn't-oh, shut up," Merlin said, as he pushed up off the desk and moved around it to sit in his chair, putting a safe distance between them. "Only... marginally worse, I'd say."
Arthur looked at him and then gestured for him to continue. "I don't want any surprises when I go up there. What exactly did you say?"
"Same thing we've been saying to each other for weeks. First, it's only a proposed ban, which might not pass at all, and, second, if it does pass, the earliest it would go into effect would be August of next year, so we'll have plenty of time to sort it all out."
mid-twentieth century Bass label
"Mmmhmm," Arthur said, "and?"
"And that I'm not actually convinced it will make a difference. People love smoking. It's been two years since the Royal College of Physicians started its campaign, and a solid three months since the American Surgeon General came right out and said that smoking causes cancer, and sales haven't dropped a notch. I think it's a fairly safe bet that Le Fay Tobacco has a long and healthy financial future ahead of it, no matter what we do."
Arthur took a drink, eyeing Merlin thoughtfully. When he tilted his head, Merlin noticed a small lock of sweat-damp hair curling against his face just in front of his ear. Merlin swallowed, and tried to un-notice it.
"All right," Arthur said. "I don't love how impotent you made us sound, but I suppose that isn't too bad. Was that all?"
Merlin opened his mouth, but then changed his mind and took a sip of his drink instead.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked, after a moment.
"That was... most of it," Merlin said. "Almost all."
"Almost," Arthur repeated, sounding resigned.
"There was one last part, that she didn't like very much."
Arthur looked at the ceiling again. "What's the last part, Merlin?"
"Don't sound like that, I haven't done anything wrong."
Arthur just looked at him, utterly unconvinced.
Merlin sighed. "She said she wants us to start a new ad campaign right away, so we can squeeze in as much air time as possible before they turn the lights out on us. And she wants the focus of the campaign to be a direct confrontation of the science. She wants more doctors-a whole army of them-disputing the findings."
"But we've run out of doctors willing to make those claims."
"That's what I told her; we won't be able to find one, let alone an army. She said she doesn't care. That it doesn't matter if they're not actually doctors. She wants us to hire actors to pretend to be doctors and tell everyone that all the real doctors don't know what they're talking about."
Arthur frowned. "And what did you say?"
"I said that was out of the question."
Arthur's eyebrows went up. "You what?"
"I refused. I told her we wouldn't do that."
"You refused," Arthur repeated, flatly.
"Of course! We wouldn't actually do that, would we?"
"We'll do whatever she wants, Merlin, she's our single biggest client, and what's out of the question is losing her account to another agency-especially when we have so many unhappy clients as it is. Not to mention that my father watches her account like a hawk, and he'll have my head before we displease her."
"But we can't just lie!"
"We're ad men, Merlin."
"Well, yes, but it's one thing to paint products in the best possible light. Deliberate, bare-faced lying is another thing entirely."
"But we're not the ones lying, she is. Our job is to promote her product the way she wants us to."
Merlin stared at him. "Arthur, no. We have a duty to keep our ads honest. Especially on this scale, it's completely unethical."
"No," Arthur said, not quite looking at him, "our duty is to our clients. And I don't pay you to think about ethics, I pay you to write copy."
Merlin pursed his lips. "Well, don't ever ask me to write copy like that, because I won't."
Arthur looked at Merlin sharply, and for a moment Merlin thought this was about to turn ugly, but then Arthur took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "I have other copywriters, and there are still plenty other accounts to keep you busy. Just, for God's sake, don't speak to Morgana anymore. At all. About anything."
"She came barging here, what was I supposed to do?"
"Why was she in your office in the first place?"
"I don't know, why does everyone at this agency seem to think I'm your keeper?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking out the window with a sigh. Sunlight illuminated the side of his face, and the sweat-damp piece of hair clinging to his skin was all Merlin could see. "Will you please try not to incite any more catastrophes while I'm upstairs smoothing this over?" Arthur said, turning back to look at Merlin.
He was such a bloody prat, Arthur was, but he was wearing the blue tie that made his eyes look impossibly deep and bright. "I'll try," Merlin replied, with more annoyance than he really felt.
#
At the end of the day, Merlin put his Cortina notes in his briefcase and pulled his hat and overcoat off the stand by the door.
"Pub tonight?" Gwen asked, when Merlin emerged from his office. "And it's my treat. I owe you after the Uther incident."
"You really don't," Merlin said. "But, yes, the pub is required today, absolutely."
"Is that a new hat?" Gwen asked as she gathered her own things.
Reprint of the 1962 Report of the Royal College of Physicians on Smoking and Health
-
U.S. Surgeon General addressing press conference at release of 1964 Report on Smoking and Health
"It is." He grinned and put it on. "Who do I look like?"
"Oh my God, that's exactly the hat John was wearing in all those pictures from America."
"I know! Even Arthur recognised it. He claims to hate it, but I think he's protesting entirely too much."
"Obviously," Gwen agreed easily. "I suppose you should be wearing a stodgy old bowler like he still does?"
Merlin rather liked Arthur in his bowler-he had exactly the right jaw for it-but he didn't say so.
"Oh, Merlin, you look fabulous," Gwen continued admiringly as they descended in the lift, "with that tie and everything, you look just like the fifth Beatle. They're going to come back and claim you, whisk you off to a life of rock'n'roll and fame and fortune, and I'll be stuck here, jealously reading about you in all the papers."
Merlin snorted. "Well, there is the small matter of me not actually having any musical talent."
"That doesn't matter," Gwen said, waving her hand, "I'm not convinced that Ringo actually does."
"Oi, he is a very good drummer," Merlin said loyally, and pulled his hat down tighter as they stepped out into the blustery March evening.
Their pub of choice, The Rising Sun, was just across the road from the office and very popular with Camelot staff, so the first several minutes in the pub always consisted of a great many Hello!s and How are you?s and Have a nice weekend!s before they could make their way to an open table in the back. Leon was there with Lois the receptionist, and a few minutes' conversation only strengthened Merlin's conviction that, while she was a perfectly lovely girl and undoubtedly a positive force in Leon's life, there was no way she was inspiring anything new or exciting out of him, whatever Arthur thought. Obviously it was the Beatles.
"Have you got plans for the weekend?" Gwen asked, once they were seated and she'd brought Merlin the pint she'd insisted on paying for.
The Beatles arriving in New York, February 1964
"Extremely thrilling and exciting plans, as always. Tonight I'm getting a pint or six with you, and then tomorrow my mate Will's coming over to use my telly. He's got an unhealthy affection for Cathy Gale."
"Oi, Merlin, Gwen!"
Merlin and Gwen both turned to see Gwaine, a Camelot account executive, sauntering up to their table with his arm draped over the shoulder of a tall red-headed woman Merlin didn't recognise. Merlin liked Gwaine quite a lot, but still had very little understanding of what an account executive actually did. Gwaine never seemed to be doing much of anything, save for making travel reservations for out-of-town clients when they came to the office to hear a pitch.
"Gwaine," Merlin called back to him, smiling at him and the woman on his arm in turn.
"This is Joan," Gwaine said, affecting a strange accent that was so bad Merlin couldn't place it. "Joan, this is Merlin and Gwen. I work with them."
Joan smiled at them, with an unimpressed but not unkind edge that made Merlin like her. He got the impression she was in the middle of giving Gwaine a rather hard time. "Pleasure to meet you both," she said. "Gwaine here seems to think that talking to you is going to clear up a bit of a misunderstanding we're having."
"Yes," Gwaine said, in his clumsy accent, "quite. Merlin-" and Merlin raised his eyebrows, wondering what the hell was about to come out of Gwaine's mouth. "Could you please confirm for the lovely Joan here that I am, in fact, originally from Liverpool, and that it's common knowledge around the office that I am a childhood friend of Paul McCartney's?"
Merlin didn't say anything for a moment, just taking this statement in, and then barked a deep laugh before he could help himself.
"Thank you, Merlin," Joan said, triumphant.
"Mate," Gwaine said, wounded, as Gwen snorted a laugh, "honestly. I expected more from you."
Merlin shook his head. "No use in us both looking pathetic and insane, mate," he said, chuckling. "That was a lost cause the moment you opened your mouth and started that terrible Ringo Starr impression."
"Indeed it was," Joan said, but the way her hand trailed over Gwaine's back as they walked away left Merlin with the strong suspicion that getting caught in the lie hadn't cost Gwaine a thing.
"Listen, Merlin," Gwen said, when they were alone again, "I'm really, really sorry about this afternoon."
"Gwen, enough," Merlin chided. "It's completely fine. And besides, it was way more Arthur's fault than yours, for disappearing in the middle of the day like that."
"He's been doing it more frequently, hasn't he?"
"Yes. It's very annoying. Not to mention completely crass. Did you see he hadn't even managed to button his shirt back up correctly before he returned?"
Gwen frowned at him. "I didn't."
Merlin's heart skittered a bit, and he blinked, feeling caught out. "Oh, sorry," he said, "You must not like thinking about him like that."
"Mustn't I?"
"Well, I mean. Since the Christmas party."
"Oh," she said, looking away, "right. No, it's fine. That was just a drunken mistake. I'm not pining after him or anything, believe me."
"Good," Merlin said. "You deserve better anyway."
"Go on," Gwen snorted. "All I know is, I'm never drinking champagne again."
Merlin grinned. "I still can't believe you had him on the couch in my office. That's completely disgusting. Not to mention that the couch in his office is way bigger."
"I told you, someone was in there already. Gwaine, probably, since that was the week his secretary had all his couch cushions sent out for cleaning-speaking of things that are completely disgusting. And we knew you'd just left, so your office would definitely be unoccupied."
Merlin ignored the familiar twinge of unhappiness at that thought, that he had probably still been walking home, trying to get the buzz of a drunk, revelling Arthur out of his blood, by the time the two of them had been fornicating in his office. It had only been a month and change into his time at Camelot, but he'd already been completely hopeless where Arthur was concerned.
He'd never been able to hold it against Gwen, though, much as he'd wanted to at first; she was entirely too nice to hold a grudge against, for one. For another, she'd been drunker that night than he had ever seen her since-and flirting with him, Merlin, hard. She hadn't yet realised that she and Merlin would only ever be good friends. And Arthur had stayed so close by them both all night, drunk and warm and friendly, until Merlin, in an act of self-preservation and laudable self-control, had excused himself to go home. It hadn't really been a surprise to learn that they had fallen into each other shortly after that.
"All things considered-including his mid-day exploits," Gwen was saying, when Merlin tuned back in, "Arthur really is much better than all the other men in the office. I mean, save you, of course."
"How do you mean?"
"For one, at least he's not married. The married ones are the worst, even when they're perfectly nice, like Leon, for example. And at least he-"
"Wait-Leon's married?"
"Of course he is," Gwen said. "Anita. She's lovely."
"But," Merlin sputtered, "he never said! He doesn't actually talk all that much, I'll grant you, but he's-he's so bloody nice and... noble and everything, how is it possible that Leon, of all people, is cheating on his wife?"
"Because that's what they all do," Gwen said. "All of these posh bastards, it's like it's bred into them. I'm not sure they can even help it, and they're certainly never taught that it's wrong."
"All of them? Seriously? Is anyone else secretly married? Not Gwaine, surely?" Merlin's voice went embarrassingly more shrill with each fired question.
Gwen laughed. "No, Gwaine is not married, so far as I know. Can you imagine? He'd have to tell her at least one true thing about himself, to begin with. Do you know the story of him and the switchboard girls?"
John Steed and Cathy Gale, characters from the spy-fi series The Avengers
"No," Merlin said, raising his eyebrows interestedly and taking a drink.
"Last year, a few months before you started here, he was seeing all three Camelot switchboard operators at the same time, and had told each of them a different ridiculous and vaguely tragic story about his circumstances, and why they couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. Well, of course they talked to one another, because they bloody well work in the same room for several hours a day, so it all came out, and Gwaine hasn't had a single call successfully connected to or from his office since."
Merlin snorted. "So that's why he takes all his calls in Percival's office."
Gwen nodded.
"I wondered why they wouldn't just get his telephone fixed."
"And that's what I was saying-at least Arthur has the good sense to keep it out of the office. For the most part, that is." She stopped to take an embarrassed sip of her lager. "I don't hear rumours about him with any of the other secretaries, whereas most of the rest of them seem to be making their way down a checklist with all our names on it."
"You must have been a special case, Gwen."
She snorted. "I doubt that. I was just a mistake. But at least Arthur has the decency to look you in the eye the next day. And be honest about his intentions. He's way nicer than the rest of them. Not that there've been that many," she hastily added, her eyes going wide.
Merlin just smiled, and took a drink. "Why d'you think he doesn't, though?" he asked. "I mean, shagging a secretary over lunch in his office would take a lot less time than gallivanting off to wherever it is he goes, and it's not actually that much worse, unless he thinks we're all convinced he's meeting his steady sweetheart."
Gwen shrugged. "Maybe he is. It never used to happen this much, so maybe there is some special girl he's running off to."
Merlin mostly managed not to frown at that.
"I'm glad you're not like them, Merlin."
"Are you?"
"Yes. I like that I can actually talk to you."
"They do have a... way with women I don't think I'll ever understand." Merlin took another, deeper sip, and desperately hoped that she wouldn't ask him about his own love life, which in practice had only ever involved a string of impossible, unrequited crushes and a shockingly intimate relationship with his own right hand, but in the telling always involved a pink-cheeked claim about not yet having met the right girl, which Merlin felt sure no one ever actually believed.
He was deeply grateful for the distraction, a minute later, when a familiar voice came over the radio in the pub, followed by a few enthusiastic screams from pub patrons. Merlin and Gwen grinned at each other, wide and shameless, and then jumped up to dance and sing along to "Can't Buy Me Love" for what would not be the last time that day.
#
switchboard operators
July 1964
It was three and a half months before the rest of the A Hard Day's Night LP was finally released. The weekend afterwards was unusually hot, and Merlin spent it sweating even more than he probably would have, since he couldn't seem to stop dancing. By the time he was walking to work on Monday morning, he knew all the songs well enough that the record in his briefcase seemed to actually still be playing in his head, and he couldn't keep the spring out of his step.
He fanned himself as he stepped into the lift at work, and blew a bit of breath up his face to ruffle his fringe, but it didn't do much to cool him off.
"Hot, innit?" said a man Merlin had never seen before. He flashed Merlin a wide smile that was almost entirely teeth, and dripping with false charm.
"Is a bit," Merlin agreed.
"You work for Camelot?" the man asked, after Merlin selected floor seven. Merlin nodded. "Television, by any chance?"
"Creative. I'm a copywriter."
"Oh, bet that's interesting," the man said, with too much enthusiasm.
Merlin glanced at him. "You interviewing for a job?"
"Auditioning. For a commercial. Couple of them, actually." He grinned. "I'm an actor."
"That's lucky, then," Merlin said. They exited the lift together, and Merlin pointed down the hall. "All the way to the end, and turn left. The television office is hard to miss. Good luck!"
"Cheers!" The man grinned at him again and headed off down the hall.
Arthur was waiting in Merlin's office, and Merlin scowled at him. "Well, good morning to you, too, Merlin," Arthur scoffed.
"I have never found you lying in wait in my office for a reason I actually liked," Merlin said, and Arthur huffed. "Especially first thing in the morning. What's the problem?"
Arthur pursed his lips unhappily for a moment, but relented. "It's the Belle Jolie account."
"Leon's on that one, right?" Merlin asked, setting his briefcase on his desk and opening it, taking out his papers. "He's been complaining about it."
Arthur nodded. "He and a few others, handpicked by my father."
Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Your father's actually involved in the Belle Jolie account? I'd've thought women's cosmetics were beneath his notice."
"Yes, well, he and Richard Godwyn were old school friends. Godwyn inherited his late wife's father's company near the end of the war, in complete financial tatters. My father helped him pull it together, turn it into something profitable, so he's always been proud of it and maintained an active interest. Since Godwyn's death last year, his daughter Elena has taken the helm, and my father has felt even more duty-bound to keep a close watch on it.
"The problem," Arthur continued, "is that Elena has a very different vision for the direction of her company, and the type of advertising that my father continues to insist on is driving her away."
Merlin frowned. "What kind of changes is she making?"
"Anything she can to attract a younger clientele. She's got new products with bolder, brighter colours, and she wants adverts that match-fun, sensual, even a bit sexy, if we can get away with it."
"Oh, wow."
"Quite. My father, as you might imagine, won't even listen to her. She's getting ready to drop us, our fathers' long partnership be damned."
"You father's willing to risk that?"
"He's not taking it seriously. He's convinced she'll come around."
"So what do you want to do? Is there anything we can do?"
"We have one last chance to try, I think. Our final presentation to her is tomorrow, and all we've got is a list of pitches pre-approved by my father. None of them is going to work, so I want to prepare one more to slip in at the end, that my father won't know about. He'll shut the meeting down before he lets us get any further than that, but once we've said it, if it's out there and she likes it, and if it's enough to keep her in the room, he won't be able to argue with it."
"Do you really think he won't? I mean, no disrespect, but your father with his mind made up about something is a force of nature."
"Yes, but I don't think he'll openly argue with a client, even his friend's daughter, once he sees it's the only idea she likes. So it's got to be good. Something fresh and new and fun. Leon's been trying, but we need more men on this. Fresh eyes, new ideas. I really don't want to lose this account, Merlin."
"So, you're hoping that I'll save your arse."
"I'm hoping you'll do your job," Arthur said, arching an eyebrow.
"Which, in this case, is saving your arse." Before Arthur could retort, Merlin grinned and continued, "I'll do it. I promised Elyan and Lancelot I'd have the new Bassett's allsorts copy ready by ten so they can prepare for that pitch tomorrow, but then I'm all yours."
Cover of A Hard Day's Night LP
"A Hard Day's Night"
The day started off well enough, with Merlin settling on his allsorts copy quickly and relatively easily, but then there was a hiccough with the brassiere advert he and Elyan had put together the week before, when it came to light that Gwaine had promised the company president's wife that her own enviable chest would feature in all the pictures-a promise he had forgotten almost as soon as he got out of bed with her. Somehow it was nearly three in the afternoon before Merlin had time to start thinking about Belle Jolie lipsticks, so he knew it was going to be a late night, unless he managed some lucky stroke of early brilliance.
Arthur poked his head in at six o'clock. "I've got to get to a dinner," he said, "but how is it going?"
"Um," Merlin said, not looking up from what he was writing, a bit of brainstorming and notes from his meeting with the other copywriters already on the account. "I'm sure I'll get there."
When Merlin looked up, Arthur was still hovering in the door. He went a bit pink when Merlin looked at him, gave an embarrassed nod, and turned to leave.
"Actually," Merlin called after him, "do you have a few minutes? You know Elena, right? What she likes? What sort of things she and her friends, and her clientele, might appreciate? I need to talk this out a little, and I just... need more."
Arthur glanced at his wristwatch. "Sure," he said. "I can spare a few minutes."
Two hours later, Arthur was still there. ("It's just my father and a collection of his favourites from the club," he had said, when Merlin had looked at the clock and realised he'd kept Arthur for over an hour. "I don't mind giving it a pass, truth be told.") Merlin had come up with about a million more ideas about lipstick than he ever thought he could, and Arthur had stopped being legitimately helpful ages ago, but Merlin was glad for the company and the sounding board nonetheless.
"What about," Merlin looked off into the middle distance, "'Colour Your Kisses'?"
Arthur grimaced.
"Yeah," Merlin agreed.
1964 ad for Bassett's liquorice allsorts, featuring Bertie Bassett at home
A few minutes passed without them speaking, Merlin scribbling and Arthur drinking and A Hard Day's Night spinning in the corner. "If I Fell" finished, and Merlin started humming the opening bars of "I'm Happy Just to Dance With You" in the few seconds of silence before it actually began.
"Exactly how many times have you listened to this record?" Arthur asked.
Merlin grinned at him. "Dunno. About a million. Isn't it brilliant?"
Arthur just cocked an eyebrow, and a few minutes later added, "These lyrics leave something to be desired."
"Sorry?"
"This song is ridiculous. 'If somebody tries to take my place, let's pretend we just can't see his face'? Who are these children?"
"That's actually really good advice, Arthur. I'm sure you'd rather have a big manly fight or something, but not everyone's so relentlessly macho."
Arthur rolled his eyes and finished his drink. "Another?" he asked, gesturing to Merlin's empty glass and standing.
Merlin knew he should say no, but he was reaching the end of his rope tonight anyway, so he nodded. "Thanks," he said, handing Arthur his glass and standing to stretch his tired body. Arthur refilled both glasses, and instead of just handing Merlin his drink back across the desk, stepped around it and came to stand right next to him, surveying the notes spread out over the entire surface of his desk.
They stood there, silently sifting through papers for a good few minutes, and then Arthur's shoulder knocked into Merlin's gently. Merlin turned his head, thinking it meant Arthur wanted to say something, but Arthur didn't seem to have noticed. He just leaned closer, reaching across the desk for a pad of paper in front of Merlin. Merlin tried not to notice the way their bodies came into closer contact, forming an unbroken line from shoulder to waist.
Arthur didn't pull away, inexplicably, and then there was warm breath against Merlin's neck. Merlin didn't dare say anything, or move to look at him. Arthur smelled strongly of booze, faintly of cologne and deliciously of himself at the end of a July day, and Merlin could barely breathe against the feel of him, loose and warm and so close.
He knew he should pull away, and he meant to, but he hadn't managed it by the time Arthur suddenly snapped to attention, pulling away and standing up straight. Merlin just stared at his desk and tried to look like he hadn't noticed a thing.
"I should go," Arthur said gruffly. "You're nearly there, right? You'll have something by morning?"
Merlin just nodded, eyes trained on his desk, and waited until Arthur was gone to collapse into his chair and down both of their drinks.
He had a liquor headache and a vivid awareness of all the places Arthur had touched him, an invisible but indelible mark all along his side, when the Belle Jolie copy came to him the next morning.
#
Merlin looked up from his desk at the distinctive sound of Arthur's marching gait down the hall at five-thirty, and when Arthur appeared in the open doorway wearing his hat, he was still beaming. "You'll come out for a drink, won't you, Merlin? To celebrate?" Merlin grinned in answer and stuffed his papers in his briefcase.
As they waited to cross the road, Merlin cocked his head at the sound of someone in the crowd around them humming "A Hard Day's Night". It was a moment before he identified the source, and then he just grinned at Arthur for a long minute. Arthur stared back, confused, and then flushed as he rolled his eyes.
"It's your fault," he said, as they stepped into the zebra crossing. "It's only because you've got it playing constantly."
Merlin just laughed, and hadn't quite managed to stop by the time they were sitting at the bar.
"If you're quite finished," Arthur said, once the barman had served them, and raised his glass. "You really came through for me-for Camelot-today. Cheers, Merlin."
"I'm Happy Just to Dance With You"
Merlin grinned, and drank. "Elyan's sketch didn't hurt, either. I can't wait to see the final colour version." The ad was a drawing of a man happily-perhaps a bit dazedly-sporting a lipstick mark on his cheek, which would, in the final version, be the exact same shade as the lipstick on the woman staring sultrily out at the viewer over the copy "Mark Your Man".
"It's true," Arthur agreed. "Elyan and Lancelot both seem to do their best work when it's for your copy. I wish they found all my men so inspiring."
"So Elena's definitely staying?" Merlin said, flushing at the compliment.
Arthur nodded as he brought his glass to his lips. "Yes, we've won ourselves at least one more campaign with her."
"I'll drink to that," Merlin said, and did.
"As it happens," Arthur said, "that wasn't the only bit of good news today. We signed a new two-year contract with HP Sauce, who've been shopping around and threatening to leave us for months. Percival, of all people, came up with the winner: 'Good with Bacon.'"
"Good on him," Merlin said, snorting a laugh. Percival wasn't the best with ideas, but once he'd got one-of his own or from someone else-he had quite the knack for whittling it down into something simple and easy, and often monosyllabic. "A good day, then."
"Quite. It eases some of the other blows we've been dealt of late, that's for certain. And I'll be honest, I'm more optimistic now than I have been in ages. Keeping Belle Jolie, given what Elena wants to do with it over the next year or so, is a real feather in our cap. We have to keep evolving, so that's exactly the sort of thing Camelot needs."
"How's your father taking it, by the way?"
"I'm not really sure," Arthur said, shrugging. "He went fire engine red during the meeting, but didn't say anything once Elena reacted positively. I haven't seen him since."
"What do you think he's going to do?"
"Unless he plans to break the contract I signed this afternoon, nothing. I know he's angry, but I also know we have a happy client. I may be the junior partner at this agency, but it is a full partnership, by his own terms."
"That it is," Merlin said, smiling. "So he'll just have to get over it."
Arthur snorted, and they both finished their drinks.
After another, Merlin asked, "Have you talked to Morgana since they passed the Act?" The Television Act had passed a month ago, complete with its ban on televised cigarette ads.
Arthur sighed. "I've tried. When she's done being melodramatic, she'll come to see that we have an entire year of broadcasting left, so there's plenty we can do yet, before we're limited to print."
"Just aim for something memorable," Merlin said wisely.
"Yes, memorable, that's brilliant advice, Merlin, thank you," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "I've actually been thinking that maybe this is a blessing, after what happened with the Strand campaign. Everyone's been dancing around that for years. Maybe it's best we all just back away."
"The Strand campaign?" Merlin asked.
Arthur looked at him and shook his head. "I forget sometimes how new to this you still are. Strand Cigarettes were a short-lived Imperial Tobacco brand a few years ago. Short-lived because of one very specific ad campaign, that so destroyed their sales they had to pull them from the market altogether."
Merlin shuddered. "God keep me from ever making an ad that bad."
"That's just it, though-it wasn't objectively bad. It was an extremely popular and well-received ad: A man standing on a rainy London street corner, looking like Frank Sinatra, smoking his cigarette and brooding, under the copy, 'You're never alone with a Strand. The cigarette of the moment.'"
Merlin frowned.
"The actor became an overnight success, the music in the ad was on the UK Singles Chart for weeks after it aired-but they couldn't seem to sell a single cigarette."
"Because it made people feel lonely," Merlin said.
Arthur blinked at him. "Yes, Merlin. Exactly." He shook his head. "What seemingly no other ad man could predict, you see right away. How do you do it? Sometimes I think you-" He stopped.
"You think I what?" Merlin prompted, wondering if he should be afraid of the answer to that question.
"Boys!" interrupted a genial voice from behind them. They turned from the bar, and there was Gwaine, sauntering up from the back of the pub, followed by a man Merlin thought he recognised as a client and an impressively buxom woman. "All right?"
Merlin grinned at him, mostly relieved for the interruption.
"You remember George Cartwright, of Cartwright Aluminium," Gwaine said, gesturing to the man behind him. "And this is Carolyn, my sister. George, Carolyn, this is Arthur, a Camelot partner, and Merlin, one of the few of my co-workers who ever actually seems to get anything done."
Merlin's eyebrows went up. "I didn't know you had a sister," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Carolyn smiled at him, warm and seductive, and let her eyes trail down his body, before looking back to his face. Merlin felt his cheeks get hot. "I like you, Merlin," she said.
"All right, all right," Gwaine said, putting a hand on her back. "We really need to be going. Tickets, and such!" He guided her out of the pub, the hapless Mr Cartwright trailing behind them.
Merlin chuckled as he turned back to his drink. "Wow. Gwaine and his sister are two peas in a pod, eh?"
"She's not his sister," Arthur said, not terribly kindly.
Merlin blinked. "She's not?"
"She's a prostitute that he's paying to pretend to be legitimately interested in Mr Cartwright."
Merlin stared at him. "She's-He's-What?"
"That's what account execs do, Merlin."
"Hire prostitutes?"
"When they have to. They do what it takes to make your job and mine easier. Tickets to the best shows, entrance to the most exclusive gentleman's clubs, women to take back to their room-whatever the client wants."
Merlin could only stare at him for a long minute. He'd known some of this, of course, but even eight months in, an alarming amount of what went on behind closed doors at Camelot-either for business or for pleasure-was completely foreign to him. "Bloody hell," he said, mystified that everyone around him apparently accepted this as business as usual. "I'm never really going to fit in here, am I?"
Arthur looked at him, almost startled, for a long moment. "You'll figure it out," he said. "Another drink?"
Merlin looked down to find his glass empty, and nodded.
"Are you seeing Gwen?" Arthur asked, somewhere in the middle of their next drink. Merlin looked at him, with something of an expression, apparently, because Arthur laughed. "What? It's a fair question, with the way you two get on."
"We do get on. We're quite good mates, but that's all."
"I thought you were going to go home with her the night of the Christmas party," Arthur said evenly, looking at his drink.
"Oh, you remember that, do you?"
Arthur smiled. "Parts of it. I thought you'd be angry with me the next day."
Merlin shook his head. "No, no, it was fine." Something a bit ugly swelled inside him as he thought to ask, "You're not in love with her, are you? I mean, it's fine if you are-I'm not-don't hold back on my account."
Arthur's eyebrows went up. "No," he said. And after a moment, "No, I'm not. I shouldn't have slept with her that night, and, truth be told, I still feel rather bad about it, all this time later."
"For what it's worth, she wasn't heartbroken or anything, and she's told me that she appreciated how nice you were to her afterwards."
"I don't usually sleep with women from the office," Arthur said, his ears going pink. "The rest of you can get away with it, breaking hearts left and right, but I'm the junior partner. It's really not befitting."
"That's very noble of you," Merlin said, mostly stifling a smile.
Time had passed much more quickly than Merlin had noticed, and he was quite drunk by the time he slid off his bar stool and stumbled back to the loo. He frowned, because he'd really only meant to stay for one drink, or two at the most, and so he decided while he was peeing that he was going to say goodnight to Arthur as soon as he got back to the bar.
But when he got back to the bar, Arthur was smiling at him, big and toothy and blue-eyed, and Merlin forgot what it was he was supposed to say. "Another?" Arthur asked. "Or have you got someone waiting for you that I should stop keeping you from?"
Merlin opened his mouth to say, Thanks, I really should be getting on, but what came out was, "Just one more," and then he was climbing back into his seat next to Arthur.
"I'm sorry you feel like you don't fit in," Arthur said, some blurry amount of time later. They were sort of slumped together, now, with Arthur listing to the side so that his shoulder rested firmly against Merlin's. "I didn't, either, for a long time."
Merlin snorted. "You, not fit in at your own agency? How is that even possible?"
Arthur shrugged, which was a bit dangerous given how much of his weight he was balancing on Merlin. "It's like you were saying, with the women and everything, I wasn't like the rest of them."
Merlin looked at him.
"It just took me a while to catch up. Was a bit of a late bloomer, I s'ppose."
"How d'you mean?" Merlin asked.
Arthur went a little stiff against him. "Dunno," he said, shrugging again, this time hard enough to dislodge himself. He half-slid, half-fell off his bar stool, and then seemed a bit confused to find himself standing. "Need the loo," he said, and Merlin watched him go, noticing how empty the pub was as he did. It must have been nearly closing time.
Merlin rummaged around his pockets for several minutes, looking for his wallet so he could pay the barman and go home, until there was a warm hand on his shoulder, and Arthur was sliding back onto his seat.
"We need to pay the barman," Merlin said, finally finding the right pocket.
"S'fine, he knows me. I pay him once a week."
Merlin snorted. "Of course you do, you bloody posh wanker."
"Merlin," Arthur said earnestly, ignoring this last comment, and Merlin swivelled on his stool to look at him. "I really am sorry that you feel like you don't fit in."
"You already said that," Merlin said, "and s'all right. I fit in fine, really, there's just some things you all do that I don't quite understand, sometimes."
"No, it's not all right," Arthur continued, "because I think you fit in, even though I thought you never world."
Merlin smiled, and then frowned. "You thought I never would?"
"Of course not," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I was so mad at my father for giving you the job without asking me."
"Hey! You'd've turned up dead in an alleyway or floating in the river if it weren't for me. You owed me."
"I owed you the cab fare, nothing more. I would've been fine. It was only a pick-pocket, don't be so dramatic."
"You could barely walk, you were so pissed. And believe me, a pretty thing like you stumbling around that part of the city, that late at night? A pick-pocket was just the start. You'd never have seen the sunrise."
"Shut up, Merlin, I'm trying to say something nice."
Merlin snorted. "You're not doing a very good job of it."
"Because you won't let me!"
"No, because you don't get enough practice."
Arthur squeezed Merlin's shoulder, "Will you just listen. All I'm trying to say is that you surprised me. My father said I only had to keep you for two weeks, if you even lasted that long, but by the end of it, I didn't want to let you go. I don't know why you're so good at this, Merlin, but I'm glad. I'm glad you're here. Camelot's glad you're here."
Merlin couldn't speak for a long moment. He opened his mouth, but still hadn't thought of anything to say by the time he noticed that Arthur's hand had moved up his shoulder to his neck, and now there was a thumb stroking at the soft skin behind his ear. A flush of adrenaline coursed through him, leaving Merlin feeling suddenly far too sober.
"Arthur?" he said, carefully.
"Hmm?" Arthur replied.
Merlin swallowed and was grateful that Arthur was as drunk as he was, because he probably wouldn't remember whatever was about to happen, but of course this wouldn't have been happening in the first place if Arthur weren't this drunk, so it was a bit of a mixed bag. In any event, Merlin needed to stop this before it got bad, before something happened that would ruin everything. He knew how this worked with men like Arthur. They acted on their desires in the heat of the moment, but if Arthur remembered any of this in the morning, Merlin would be out on his arse immediately.
He closed his eyes against the lovely feel of Arthur's thumb, and he wondered what the chances were that Arthur would remember. Maybe he wouldn't, if Merlin didn't let it go too far. Or maybe he would turn out to be unexpectedly nice about it, like he'd been with Gwen. And, God, Merlin was clearly much drunker than he realised, if he was even contemplating this, but he couldn't help imagining it for a moment, tearing open Arthur's perfect fucking tie and making a mess of everything underneath.
Merlin swallowed and somehow managed to pull back. "Let's get you a cab, yeah?"
Arthur pouted. "Already? It's not that late, is it?"
"It is for me," Merlin said, turning away. "Maybe you could ring someone, if you're not ready for home. One of your lady friends, perhaps?"
"Is that where you're going? To a lady friend?"
Merlin shook his head, retrieved Arthur's hat from where it had fallen on the floor and shoved it at him. "I don't have any."
"Besides Gwen," Arthur said, trailing after him as Merlin started for the door.
"It's not like that with Gwen, I told you."
"Do you want a lady friend? I could introduce you to one. Or two."
Merlin clenched his jaw. "No thanks. I'm fairly certain no lady friend of yours would be interested in me."
"'Course they would, you're lovely."
Merlin stumbled, but managed to recover before he landed flat on his face.
"And besides, you don't have to be interesting, Merlin, you just have to pay them. I could lend you the money, if you like."
Merlin stopped dead, a few feet shy of the front door, and turned to stare at Arthur. The barman was in the back of the deserted pub, putting chairs up on tables, too far away to hear. "Did you just offer to buy me a prostitute?"
Arthur nodded, swaying from Merlin's sudden stop. "It's much simpler, believe me. Everything you need, with none of the hassle. I haven't had hassle in ages."
Merlin gaped. "Arthur," he said slowly, "are all your lady friends prostitutes?"
Arthur nodded again.
"Even the ones you run off to be with in the middle of the day in a fit of passion?"
Arthur shrugged and looked off to the side. "It stops my father asking questions, and me mucking things up all the time."
"Mucking things up?"
Arthur swayed another moment, staring at nothing. "A prostitute knows what she wants from me, Merlin. I know what she wants, and it's something I can actually give her. No one's heart gets broken, that way."
Merlin stared at him, something in his chest aching. After a moment, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I must be really drunk," he said, or hopelessly besotted, he didn't add, "because I think you just made sleeping with prostitutes sound a bit... noble and... almost lovely, even."
The night was blessedly cooler than the day had been, when they stepped outside, and the first cab Merlin hailed stopped for them. He poured Arthur into it, and gave the cabbie the name of Arthur's street.
"Aren't you coming?" Arthur asked. "We can drop you off first."
"No thanks," Merlin said, because being in a dark enclosed space with Arthur right now was exactly what he did not need. "I'm not far, and I'd rather walk."
Arthur frowned, but Merlin closed the door before he could say anything, and smacked the top of the car like it was a horse, sending it down the road.
The night air was welcome against his overheated face, and the walk home wasn't nearly long enough.
Part Two →
Author: shes_gone
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~20,000
Summary: In which it's 1964, Camelot is an advertising agency with a budget problem, Merlin is a copywriter who loves to twist, and Arthur is a junior partner who loves to shout. More or less.
Warnings: A Mad Men crossover (no Mad Men knowledge necessary).
Disclaimer: Everything Merlin belongs to the BBC and Shine. I've also borrowed quite a lot from Mad Men, but the only spoilers you'll find here are for a few Sterling Cooper ad campaigns, which I've shamelessly stolen. (I tried to think up new & original slogans, but believe me, it's better this way. I apparently have no future in advertising, lol.)
Author's Notes:
Written for merlin_games (♥Team Historical AU♥), originally posted here. Endless thanks to my betas, my team captains, and the beautiful mod.
There are a number of images (all work safe) and songs (via YouTube) embedded alongside the fic; they're purely supplemental, so feel free to enjoy or ignore them at your pleasure. I'm just a big nerd.
If you'd prefer to read a text-only version, head on over to AO3.
Can't Buy Me Love
March 1964
Merlin sagged back into his desk chair with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He hadn't been able to focus on anything for over an hour, and this Ford Cortina ad was being remarkably stubborn about not writing itself. "C'mon, Merlin," he muttered, stretching his neck and loosening his tie a little. His gaze fell on the row of glass decanters on the credenza, their assortment of liquors catching the afternoon sun. Merlin stood and went to them, picking up the different bottles in succession.
Despite nearly four months in this office, Merlin hadn't yet taken to day drinking in the way that seemed to be required of anyone in the ad business. With the afternoon he was having, however, Merlin was willing to give it another chance. He poured himself a small glass of whiskey and swirled it, watching the amber liquid spin.
The circular motion reminded him, suddenly, of the purchase he'd gone out at lunchtime to make. A smile burst across his face and he set the glass down before scurrying back across the room to retrieve a flat paper bag from underneath his desk.
1960s Ford Cortina
He hadn't yet made it to the record player-he was too busy admiring the curve of Paul's jaw and George's brooding expression-when Gwen buzzed him.
"Yes?" he asked, pressing the button on his intercom.
"Mr Pendragon is on the line for you," came Gwen's reply, her voice staticky in the little speaker.
"Oh thank god," Merlin muttered as he set down the record and grabbed the phone. "Arthur!" he hissed into it, "Where in the hell are you? It's well past two, and Morgana was here for you, in a right state."
There was a pause, during which someone outside Merlin's office shoved their chair back from their desk quite loudly, and then Uther Pendragon's disdainful voice came over the line, "Pardon me?"
Gwen threw open the door, as wide-eyed as Merlin had ever seen her, and began silently mouthing, Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!
"Mr Pendragon," Merlin managed, after staring at Gwen for a stunned moment. "I'm so sorry, sir. Terribly sorry. Bit of a misunderstanding, I'm afraid."
"I dare say," Uther replied coldly. "You might ask your girl to be a bit more specific in the future, if either of you wishes to remain employed here."
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Sorry, sir."
"I take it, from your outburst, that you don't know where my son is, either?"
"No, sir. I've not seen him since before lunch."
"You really ought to keep better track of him, you know."
Merlin gritted his teeth. He was employed as one of Arthur's copywriters, not as his valet or his minder, despite Uther's inability to see the difference. "I'll try, sir," he said.
"Send him up the moment he returns. I have Miss Le Fay here in my office, and, indeed, we have urgent items to discuss."
"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir," Merlin said, and Uther hung up without another word.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Gwen said the moment the phone was back in its cradle. "I should have used his first name, I don't know why-I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry-"
"Oh, it's all right," Merlin said. "The only time that man has ever spared a thought for me, it was just to think what a bumbling lower-class simpleton I must be, so there's no harm done, really." Gwen grimaced. "But," Merlin continued, "maybe do try to include his first name, in the future? If he ever deigns to call me again, that is."
Gwen nodded. "Of course. Of course. Sorry." Merlin gave her a rueful smile. Gwen's eyes fell to his desk, and her demeanour changed suddenly. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Is that the new single?"
Cover of "Can't Buy Me Love" single
Merlin glanced down at the record, and grinned. "Yes. Have you heard it?"
"How could I? It was just released today! My mate was telling me on the train that she caught it on the radio this morning over breakfast, but I missed it. Is it amazing?"
"D'you wanna have a listen?" Merlin asked, already making his way to the player, record in hand.
"Of course, oh my god!" Gwen all but shrieked, closing the door just before Paul McCartney's voice filled the room.
#
By the time Arthur was standing in the doorway, clearing his throat disapprovingly, Merlin and Gwen had the lyrics to "Can't Buy Me Love" memorised. They'd switched back to "Twist and Shout", and Merlin was struggling to keep himself from physically grabbing Leon's hips and manhandling him into doing the Twist without looking like a man made of metal. "Try to relax," Merlin was saying in response to a particularly awkward and stiff turn of Leon's torso, "it really is just meant to be fun," when Leon froze.
"Arthur," Leon croaked, abruptly straightening his posture.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the spinning record and John Lennon's enthusiasm. Arthur just looked at them, and Merlin's eye was drawn to a funny lump between the top two buttons of his black waistcoat. Merlin studied it, and then bit his lip against a smile, realising that Arthur had mis-buttoned the white shirt beneath it.
"What," Arthur said witheringly, "is this?"
"The Twist," Merlin answered brightly. "Leon's nearly got the hang of it."
Arthur looked at Leon with raised eyebrows. "Has he?" Leon opened his mouth, but didn't manage to say anything. Arthur turned to Merlin, who looked back at him with a stubborn smile.
"Can't Buy Me Love"
Click to viewThe song was nearing its first climax, voices layering in a building harmony, and then John whooped and Paul wailed and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are they ever going to stop playing this song? Who told this man he could sing, honestly? He sounds like he's in pain."
Merlin just grinned. "They've got a new one! Just out today. Hang on." He went to the record player, ignoring Arthur's long-suffering sigh.
"Please don't," Arthur said, but Merlin already had the "Twist and Shout" forty-five off the turn table, so it was the work of a moment to get "Can't Buy Me Love" going again, not that he had had any intention of heeding Arthur's instruction anyway.
"This is Paul," Merlin explained helpfully, a few bars in, "double-tracked."
Arthur just looked at him, profoundly unimpressed, as Merlin sang along quietly. Leon and Gwen watched uncertainly, clearly wanting to leave.
"Well," Arthur said, after the first verse, "it's certainly good to hear that you don't care for money, because I won't have to lose any sleep over sacking the lot of you. Have you honestly not got any work to do?" He looked at all three of them pointedly.
"I was just going to, um," Leon said, moving to the door, "yes." He left, Gwen scurrying after him.
Arthur turned back to Merlin. "This is work," Merlin said. "You know I get all my best ideas when I'm listening to records."
"Yes, and maybe your best ideas would actually be good if you listened to something worthwhile."
"You mean old? No thanks, this office has more than enough of that already."
"Is that why you're trying to corrupt Leon?"
"He likes it, and so do you, even if you won't admit it. You said yourself that his work has improved over the past two months, since I got him listening."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur said, moving to the credenza and pouring two drinks. "Leon's work has been better because he's started seeing that new receptionist, Lois. That's far better inspiration for any man than your ridiculous dance lessons."
Merlin rolled his eyes but didn't pursue it, because now that they were alone, he had more pressing things to tease Arthur about. "So where've you been?" he asked. "Twist and Shout"
"Long lunch meeting," Arthur replied. He replaced the top of the gin decanter and turned, handing Merlin one of the glasses. "I tried some last-ditch negotiation with the Bass people, but I don't think it worked. So much for our monthly shipments of free ale."
"Really?" Merlin asked. "They couldn't be swayed? Not even when you took your clothes off?"
Arthur looked at him sharply, eyes widening.
Merlin smirked. "You missed a button," he said, gesturing at the lump beneath Arthur's waistcoat.
Arthur looked down at himself and groaned. "Wonderful," he said flatly. He set his drink on the credenza and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before unbuttoning his waistcoat. Merlin didn't look away until he started undoing the mis-buttoned shirt beneath it.
"So what happened with the Bass account?" Merlin asked, leaning against the edge of his desk and looking down at his drink for something to focus on. "Do you really think they'll leave us?"
Arthur sighed, re-buttoning. "Unfortunately, yes. Apparently Mercia's been courting them for months, and finally came up with something good enough to pull them away. So they've dropped us."
"But what about the new art Lancelot and Elyan were working on? It was great-did it really not help at all?"
Arthur shook his head. "It was great, but they still hate the concept. They want a racier campaign than my father will ever let out the door."
Merlin nodded disappointedly and took a small sip of his drink and didn't watch Arthur's fingers slide under his belt, smoothing down his shirt. "So, was it the Bass people you were taking your clothes off for, or was that not work-related?"
Arthur didn't say anything, but when he looked up at Merlin, he was smirking.
Merlin groaned and rolled his eyes. "Look, can you please stop disappearing in the middle of the day like that? Or at least ring your secretary, so we have some idea of when to expect you. My nerves cannot handle your father calling me again."
"Especially when you mistake him for me, and make a complete idiot of yourself?"
Merlin grimaced. "Who told you about that?"
"Ran into my father on the lift."
"Oh God, of course you did. So you've seen Morgana, then?"
"No. I wanted to hear your side of it first, so I wouldn't go in unprepared. I told my father I needed a few minutes to smarten up, and he was happy to wait." He smirked again, and Merlin couldn't help pulling a face. Uther was bizarrely proud of Arthur's sexual exploits, in Merlin's humble opinion. "So, Merlin, care to explain how and why you've made an idiot of yourself this time?"
Merlin scowled. "It was just a misunderstanding. Why would I expect it to be your father calling me? He never calls me. He barely even looks at me when we're in the same room."
"That's not true."
"It is! He's never going to think of me as a proper copywriter. I'm just one of the hired help, a servant meant to be useful but never seen nor heard from."
Arthur slid his arms back into his jacket. "All right, that's probably true," he said, and picked up his drink. "So what happened with Morgana?"
Merlin sighed. "She finally got wind of the proposed ban."
"Ah," Arthur said, turning his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. "Well, we knew this day would come eventually. How's she taking it?"
"About as well as you'd expect. She's convinced that her world is ending, that without television adverts, not a single person is going to buy another packet of cigarettes ever again, and that she'll be a pauper in the street before you know it."
Arthur leaned back against the desk, right next to Merlin, close enough that Merlin could smell him. He'd had a boozy lunch, for certain, and it didn't smell like ale. Merlin wondered where he'd gone after the Bass meeting, to drink his frustration. The smell of sex on him was strong, too, which should have been repulsive, but all Merlin wanted to do was press his face into the curve of Arthur's neck and bury his nose in his hair.
"And how much worse did you make it, trying to calm her down?" Arthur asked.
"I didn't-oh, shut up," Merlin said, as he pushed up off the desk and moved around it to sit in his chair, putting a safe distance between them. "Only... marginally worse, I'd say."
Arthur looked at him and then gestured for him to continue. "I don't want any surprises when I go up there. What exactly did you say?"
"Same thing we've been saying to each other for weeks. First, it's only a proposed ban, which might not pass at all, and, second, if it does pass, the earliest it would go into effect would be August of next year, so we'll have plenty of time to sort it all out."
mid-twentieth century Bass label
"Mmmhmm," Arthur said, "and?"
"And that I'm not actually convinced it will make a difference. People love smoking. It's been two years since the Royal College of Physicians started its campaign, and a solid three months since the American Surgeon General came right out and said that smoking causes cancer, and sales haven't dropped a notch. I think it's a fairly safe bet that Le Fay Tobacco has a long and healthy financial future ahead of it, no matter what we do."
Arthur took a drink, eyeing Merlin thoughtfully. When he tilted his head, Merlin noticed a small lock of sweat-damp hair curling against his face just in front of his ear. Merlin swallowed, and tried to un-notice it.
"All right," Arthur said. "I don't love how impotent you made us sound, but I suppose that isn't too bad. Was that all?"
Merlin opened his mouth, but then changed his mind and took a sip of his drink instead.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked, after a moment.
"That was... most of it," Merlin said. "Almost all."
"Almost," Arthur repeated, sounding resigned.
"There was one last part, that she didn't like very much."
Arthur looked at the ceiling again. "What's the last part, Merlin?"
"Don't sound like that, I haven't done anything wrong."
Arthur just looked at him, utterly unconvinced.
Merlin sighed. "She said she wants us to start a new ad campaign right away, so we can squeeze in as much air time as possible before they turn the lights out on us. And she wants the focus of the campaign to be a direct confrontation of the science. She wants more doctors-a whole army of them-disputing the findings."
"But we've run out of doctors willing to make those claims."
"That's what I told her; we won't be able to find one, let alone an army. She said she doesn't care. That it doesn't matter if they're not actually doctors. She wants us to hire actors to pretend to be doctors and tell everyone that all the real doctors don't know what they're talking about."
Arthur frowned. "And what did you say?"
"I said that was out of the question."
Arthur's eyebrows went up. "You what?"
"I refused. I told her we wouldn't do that."
"You refused," Arthur repeated, flatly.
"Of course! We wouldn't actually do that, would we?"
"We'll do whatever she wants, Merlin, she's our single biggest client, and what's out of the question is losing her account to another agency-especially when we have so many unhappy clients as it is. Not to mention that my father watches her account like a hawk, and he'll have my head before we displease her."
"But we can't just lie!"
"We're ad men, Merlin."
"Well, yes, but it's one thing to paint products in the best possible light. Deliberate, bare-faced lying is another thing entirely."
"But we're not the ones lying, she is. Our job is to promote her product the way she wants us to."
Merlin stared at him. "Arthur, no. We have a duty to keep our ads honest. Especially on this scale, it's completely unethical."
"No," Arthur said, not quite looking at him, "our duty is to our clients. And I don't pay you to think about ethics, I pay you to write copy."
Merlin pursed his lips. "Well, don't ever ask me to write copy like that, because I won't."
Arthur looked at Merlin sharply, and for a moment Merlin thought this was about to turn ugly, but then Arthur took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "I have other copywriters, and there are still plenty other accounts to keep you busy. Just, for God's sake, don't speak to Morgana anymore. At all. About anything."
"She came barging here, what was I supposed to do?"
"Why was she in your office in the first place?"
"I don't know, why does everyone at this agency seem to think I'm your keeper?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking out the window with a sigh. Sunlight illuminated the side of his face, and the sweat-damp piece of hair clinging to his skin was all Merlin could see. "Will you please try not to incite any more catastrophes while I'm upstairs smoothing this over?" Arthur said, turning back to look at Merlin.
He was such a bloody prat, Arthur was, but he was wearing the blue tie that made his eyes look impossibly deep and bright. "I'll try," Merlin replied, with more annoyance than he really felt.
#
At the end of the day, Merlin put his Cortina notes in his briefcase and pulled his hat and overcoat off the stand by the door.
"Pub tonight?" Gwen asked, when Merlin emerged from his office. "And it's my treat. I owe you after the Uther incident."
"You really don't," Merlin said. "But, yes, the pub is required today, absolutely."
"Is that a new hat?" Gwen asked as she gathered her own things.
Reprint of the 1962 Report of the Royal College of Physicians on Smoking and Health
-
U.S. Surgeon General addressing press conference at release of 1964 Report on Smoking and Health
"It is." He grinned and put it on. "Who do I look like?"
"Oh my God, that's exactly the hat John was wearing in all those pictures from America."
"I know! Even Arthur recognised it. He claims to hate it, but I think he's protesting entirely too much."
"Obviously," Gwen agreed easily. "I suppose you should be wearing a stodgy old bowler like he still does?"
Merlin rather liked Arthur in his bowler-he had exactly the right jaw for it-but he didn't say so.
"Oh, Merlin, you look fabulous," Gwen continued admiringly as they descended in the lift, "with that tie and everything, you look just like the fifth Beatle. They're going to come back and claim you, whisk you off to a life of rock'n'roll and fame and fortune, and I'll be stuck here, jealously reading about you in all the papers."
Merlin snorted. "Well, there is the small matter of me not actually having any musical talent."
"That doesn't matter," Gwen said, waving her hand, "I'm not convinced that Ringo actually does."
"Oi, he is a very good drummer," Merlin said loyally, and pulled his hat down tighter as they stepped out into the blustery March evening.
Their pub of choice, The Rising Sun, was just across the road from the office and very popular with Camelot staff, so the first several minutes in the pub always consisted of a great many Hello!s and How are you?s and Have a nice weekend!s before they could make their way to an open table in the back. Leon was there with Lois the receptionist, and a few minutes' conversation only strengthened Merlin's conviction that, while she was a perfectly lovely girl and undoubtedly a positive force in Leon's life, there was no way she was inspiring anything new or exciting out of him, whatever Arthur thought. Obviously it was the Beatles.
"Have you got plans for the weekend?" Gwen asked, once they were seated and she'd brought Merlin the pint she'd insisted on paying for.
The Beatles arriving in New York, February 1964
"Extremely thrilling and exciting plans, as always. Tonight I'm getting a pint or six with you, and then tomorrow my mate Will's coming over to use my telly. He's got an unhealthy affection for Cathy Gale."
"Oi, Merlin, Gwen!"
Merlin and Gwen both turned to see Gwaine, a Camelot account executive, sauntering up to their table with his arm draped over the shoulder of a tall red-headed woman Merlin didn't recognise. Merlin liked Gwaine quite a lot, but still had very little understanding of what an account executive actually did. Gwaine never seemed to be doing much of anything, save for making travel reservations for out-of-town clients when they came to the office to hear a pitch.
"Gwaine," Merlin called back to him, smiling at him and the woman on his arm in turn.
"This is Joan," Gwaine said, affecting a strange accent that was so bad Merlin couldn't place it. "Joan, this is Merlin and Gwen. I work with them."
Joan smiled at them, with an unimpressed but not unkind edge that made Merlin like her. He got the impression she was in the middle of giving Gwaine a rather hard time. "Pleasure to meet you both," she said. "Gwaine here seems to think that talking to you is going to clear up a bit of a misunderstanding we're having."
"Yes," Gwaine said, in his clumsy accent, "quite. Merlin-" and Merlin raised his eyebrows, wondering what the hell was about to come out of Gwaine's mouth. "Could you please confirm for the lovely Joan here that I am, in fact, originally from Liverpool, and that it's common knowledge around the office that I am a childhood friend of Paul McCartney's?"
Merlin didn't say anything for a moment, just taking this statement in, and then barked a deep laugh before he could help himself.
"Thank you, Merlin," Joan said, triumphant.
"Mate," Gwaine said, wounded, as Gwen snorted a laugh, "honestly. I expected more from you."
Merlin shook his head. "No use in us both looking pathetic and insane, mate," he said, chuckling. "That was a lost cause the moment you opened your mouth and started that terrible Ringo Starr impression."
"Indeed it was," Joan said, but the way her hand trailed over Gwaine's back as they walked away left Merlin with the strong suspicion that getting caught in the lie hadn't cost Gwaine a thing.
"Listen, Merlin," Gwen said, when they were alone again, "I'm really, really sorry about this afternoon."
"Gwen, enough," Merlin chided. "It's completely fine. And besides, it was way more Arthur's fault than yours, for disappearing in the middle of the day like that."
"He's been doing it more frequently, hasn't he?"
"Yes. It's very annoying. Not to mention completely crass. Did you see he hadn't even managed to button his shirt back up correctly before he returned?"
Gwen frowned at him. "I didn't."
Merlin's heart skittered a bit, and he blinked, feeling caught out. "Oh, sorry," he said, "You must not like thinking about him like that."
"Mustn't I?"
"Well, I mean. Since the Christmas party."
"Oh," she said, looking away, "right. No, it's fine. That was just a drunken mistake. I'm not pining after him or anything, believe me."
"Good," Merlin said. "You deserve better anyway."
"Go on," Gwen snorted. "All I know is, I'm never drinking champagne again."
Merlin grinned. "I still can't believe you had him on the couch in my office. That's completely disgusting. Not to mention that the couch in his office is way bigger."
"I told you, someone was in there already. Gwaine, probably, since that was the week his secretary had all his couch cushions sent out for cleaning-speaking of things that are completely disgusting. And we knew you'd just left, so your office would definitely be unoccupied."
Merlin ignored the familiar twinge of unhappiness at that thought, that he had probably still been walking home, trying to get the buzz of a drunk, revelling Arthur out of his blood, by the time the two of them had been fornicating in his office. It had only been a month and change into his time at Camelot, but he'd already been completely hopeless where Arthur was concerned.
He'd never been able to hold it against Gwen, though, much as he'd wanted to at first; she was entirely too nice to hold a grudge against, for one. For another, she'd been drunker that night than he had ever seen her since-and flirting with him, Merlin, hard. She hadn't yet realised that she and Merlin would only ever be good friends. And Arthur had stayed so close by them both all night, drunk and warm and friendly, until Merlin, in an act of self-preservation and laudable self-control, had excused himself to go home. It hadn't really been a surprise to learn that they had fallen into each other shortly after that.
"All things considered-including his mid-day exploits," Gwen was saying, when Merlin tuned back in, "Arthur really is much better than all the other men in the office. I mean, save you, of course."
"How do you mean?"
"For one, at least he's not married. The married ones are the worst, even when they're perfectly nice, like Leon, for example. And at least he-"
"Wait-Leon's married?"
"Of course he is," Gwen said. "Anita. She's lovely."
"But," Merlin sputtered, "he never said! He doesn't actually talk all that much, I'll grant you, but he's-he's so bloody nice and... noble and everything, how is it possible that Leon, of all people, is cheating on his wife?"
"Because that's what they all do," Gwen said. "All of these posh bastards, it's like it's bred into them. I'm not sure they can even help it, and they're certainly never taught that it's wrong."
"All of them? Seriously? Is anyone else secretly married? Not Gwaine, surely?" Merlin's voice went embarrassingly more shrill with each fired question.
Gwen laughed. "No, Gwaine is not married, so far as I know. Can you imagine? He'd have to tell her at least one true thing about himself, to begin with. Do you know the story of him and the switchboard girls?"
John Steed and Cathy Gale, characters from the spy-fi series The Avengers
"No," Merlin said, raising his eyebrows interestedly and taking a drink.
"Last year, a few months before you started here, he was seeing all three Camelot switchboard operators at the same time, and had told each of them a different ridiculous and vaguely tragic story about his circumstances, and why they couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. Well, of course they talked to one another, because they bloody well work in the same room for several hours a day, so it all came out, and Gwaine hasn't had a single call successfully connected to or from his office since."
Merlin snorted. "So that's why he takes all his calls in Percival's office."
Gwen nodded.
"I wondered why they wouldn't just get his telephone fixed."
"And that's what I was saying-at least Arthur has the good sense to keep it out of the office. For the most part, that is." She stopped to take an embarrassed sip of her lager. "I don't hear rumours about him with any of the other secretaries, whereas most of the rest of them seem to be making their way down a checklist with all our names on it."
"You must have been a special case, Gwen."
She snorted. "I doubt that. I was just a mistake. But at least Arthur has the decency to look you in the eye the next day. And be honest about his intentions. He's way nicer than the rest of them. Not that there've been that many," she hastily added, her eyes going wide.
Merlin just smiled, and took a drink. "Why d'you think he doesn't, though?" he asked. "I mean, shagging a secretary over lunch in his office would take a lot less time than gallivanting off to wherever it is he goes, and it's not actually that much worse, unless he thinks we're all convinced he's meeting his steady sweetheart."
Gwen shrugged. "Maybe he is. It never used to happen this much, so maybe there is some special girl he's running off to."
Merlin mostly managed not to frown at that.
"I'm glad you're not like them, Merlin."
"Are you?"
"Yes. I like that I can actually talk to you."
"They do have a... way with women I don't think I'll ever understand." Merlin took another, deeper sip, and desperately hoped that she wouldn't ask him about his own love life, which in practice had only ever involved a string of impossible, unrequited crushes and a shockingly intimate relationship with his own right hand, but in the telling always involved a pink-cheeked claim about not yet having met the right girl, which Merlin felt sure no one ever actually believed.
He was deeply grateful for the distraction, a minute later, when a familiar voice came over the radio in the pub, followed by a few enthusiastic screams from pub patrons. Merlin and Gwen grinned at each other, wide and shameless, and then jumped up to dance and sing along to "Can't Buy Me Love" for what would not be the last time that day.
#
switchboard operators
July 1964
It was three and a half months before the rest of the A Hard Day's Night LP was finally released. The weekend afterwards was unusually hot, and Merlin spent it sweating even more than he probably would have, since he couldn't seem to stop dancing. By the time he was walking to work on Monday morning, he knew all the songs well enough that the record in his briefcase seemed to actually still be playing in his head, and he couldn't keep the spring out of his step.
He fanned himself as he stepped into the lift at work, and blew a bit of breath up his face to ruffle his fringe, but it didn't do much to cool him off.
"Hot, innit?" said a man Merlin had never seen before. He flashed Merlin a wide smile that was almost entirely teeth, and dripping with false charm.
"Is a bit," Merlin agreed.
"You work for Camelot?" the man asked, after Merlin selected floor seven. Merlin nodded. "Television, by any chance?"
"Creative. I'm a copywriter."
"Oh, bet that's interesting," the man said, with too much enthusiasm.
Merlin glanced at him. "You interviewing for a job?"
"Auditioning. For a commercial. Couple of them, actually." He grinned. "I'm an actor."
"That's lucky, then," Merlin said. They exited the lift together, and Merlin pointed down the hall. "All the way to the end, and turn left. The television office is hard to miss. Good luck!"
"Cheers!" The man grinned at him again and headed off down the hall.
Arthur was waiting in Merlin's office, and Merlin scowled at him. "Well, good morning to you, too, Merlin," Arthur scoffed.
"I have never found you lying in wait in my office for a reason I actually liked," Merlin said, and Arthur huffed. "Especially first thing in the morning. What's the problem?"
Arthur pursed his lips unhappily for a moment, but relented. "It's the Belle Jolie account."
"Leon's on that one, right?" Merlin asked, setting his briefcase on his desk and opening it, taking out his papers. "He's been complaining about it."
Arthur nodded. "He and a few others, handpicked by my father."
Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Your father's actually involved in the Belle Jolie account? I'd've thought women's cosmetics were beneath his notice."
"Yes, well, he and Richard Godwyn were old school friends. Godwyn inherited his late wife's father's company near the end of the war, in complete financial tatters. My father helped him pull it together, turn it into something profitable, so he's always been proud of it and maintained an active interest. Since Godwyn's death last year, his daughter Elena has taken the helm, and my father has felt even more duty-bound to keep a close watch on it.
"The problem," Arthur continued, "is that Elena has a very different vision for the direction of her company, and the type of advertising that my father continues to insist on is driving her away."
Merlin frowned. "What kind of changes is she making?"
"Anything she can to attract a younger clientele. She's got new products with bolder, brighter colours, and she wants adverts that match-fun, sensual, even a bit sexy, if we can get away with it."
"Oh, wow."
"Quite. My father, as you might imagine, won't even listen to her. She's getting ready to drop us, our fathers' long partnership be damned."
"You father's willing to risk that?"
"He's not taking it seriously. He's convinced she'll come around."
"So what do you want to do? Is there anything we can do?"
"We have one last chance to try, I think. Our final presentation to her is tomorrow, and all we've got is a list of pitches pre-approved by my father. None of them is going to work, so I want to prepare one more to slip in at the end, that my father won't know about. He'll shut the meeting down before he lets us get any further than that, but once we've said it, if it's out there and she likes it, and if it's enough to keep her in the room, he won't be able to argue with it."
"Do you really think he won't? I mean, no disrespect, but your father with his mind made up about something is a force of nature."
"Yes, but I don't think he'll openly argue with a client, even his friend's daughter, once he sees it's the only idea she likes. So it's got to be good. Something fresh and new and fun. Leon's been trying, but we need more men on this. Fresh eyes, new ideas. I really don't want to lose this account, Merlin."
"So, you're hoping that I'll save your arse."
"I'm hoping you'll do your job," Arthur said, arching an eyebrow.
"Which, in this case, is saving your arse." Before Arthur could retort, Merlin grinned and continued, "I'll do it. I promised Elyan and Lancelot I'd have the new Bassett's allsorts copy ready by ten so they can prepare for that pitch tomorrow, but then I'm all yours."
Cover of A Hard Day's Night LP
"A Hard Day's Night"
The day started off well enough, with Merlin settling on his allsorts copy quickly and relatively easily, but then there was a hiccough with the brassiere advert he and Elyan had put together the week before, when it came to light that Gwaine had promised the company president's wife that her own enviable chest would feature in all the pictures-a promise he had forgotten almost as soon as he got out of bed with her. Somehow it was nearly three in the afternoon before Merlin had time to start thinking about Belle Jolie lipsticks, so he knew it was going to be a late night, unless he managed some lucky stroke of early brilliance.
Arthur poked his head in at six o'clock. "I've got to get to a dinner," he said, "but how is it going?"
"Um," Merlin said, not looking up from what he was writing, a bit of brainstorming and notes from his meeting with the other copywriters already on the account. "I'm sure I'll get there."
When Merlin looked up, Arthur was still hovering in the door. He went a bit pink when Merlin looked at him, gave an embarrassed nod, and turned to leave.
"Actually," Merlin called after him, "do you have a few minutes? You know Elena, right? What she likes? What sort of things she and her friends, and her clientele, might appreciate? I need to talk this out a little, and I just... need more."
Arthur glanced at his wristwatch. "Sure," he said. "I can spare a few minutes."
Two hours later, Arthur was still there. ("It's just my father and a collection of his favourites from the club," he had said, when Merlin had looked at the clock and realised he'd kept Arthur for over an hour. "I don't mind giving it a pass, truth be told.") Merlin had come up with about a million more ideas about lipstick than he ever thought he could, and Arthur had stopped being legitimately helpful ages ago, but Merlin was glad for the company and the sounding board nonetheless.
"What about," Merlin looked off into the middle distance, "'Colour Your Kisses'?"
Arthur grimaced.
"Yeah," Merlin agreed.
1964 ad for Bassett's liquorice allsorts, featuring Bertie Bassett at home
A few minutes passed without them speaking, Merlin scribbling and Arthur drinking and A Hard Day's Night spinning in the corner. "If I Fell" finished, and Merlin started humming the opening bars of "I'm Happy Just to Dance With You" in the few seconds of silence before it actually began.
"Exactly how many times have you listened to this record?" Arthur asked.
Merlin grinned at him. "Dunno. About a million. Isn't it brilliant?"
Arthur just cocked an eyebrow, and a few minutes later added, "These lyrics leave something to be desired."
"Sorry?"
"This song is ridiculous. 'If somebody tries to take my place, let's pretend we just can't see his face'? Who are these children?"
"That's actually really good advice, Arthur. I'm sure you'd rather have a big manly fight or something, but not everyone's so relentlessly macho."
Arthur rolled his eyes and finished his drink. "Another?" he asked, gesturing to Merlin's empty glass and standing.
Merlin knew he should say no, but he was reaching the end of his rope tonight anyway, so he nodded. "Thanks," he said, handing Arthur his glass and standing to stretch his tired body. Arthur refilled both glasses, and instead of just handing Merlin his drink back across the desk, stepped around it and came to stand right next to him, surveying the notes spread out over the entire surface of his desk.
They stood there, silently sifting through papers for a good few minutes, and then Arthur's shoulder knocked into Merlin's gently. Merlin turned his head, thinking it meant Arthur wanted to say something, but Arthur didn't seem to have noticed. He just leaned closer, reaching across the desk for a pad of paper in front of Merlin. Merlin tried not to notice the way their bodies came into closer contact, forming an unbroken line from shoulder to waist.
Arthur didn't pull away, inexplicably, and then there was warm breath against Merlin's neck. Merlin didn't dare say anything, or move to look at him. Arthur smelled strongly of booze, faintly of cologne and deliciously of himself at the end of a July day, and Merlin could barely breathe against the feel of him, loose and warm and so close.
He knew he should pull away, and he meant to, but he hadn't managed it by the time Arthur suddenly snapped to attention, pulling away and standing up straight. Merlin just stared at his desk and tried to look like he hadn't noticed a thing.
"I should go," Arthur said gruffly. "You're nearly there, right? You'll have something by morning?"
Merlin just nodded, eyes trained on his desk, and waited until Arthur was gone to collapse into his chair and down both of their drinks.
He had a liquor headache and a vivid awareness of all the places Arthur had touched him, an invisible but indelible mark all along his side, when the Belle Jolie copy came to him the next morning.
#
Merlin looked up from his desk at the distinctive sound of Arthur's marching gait down the hall at five-thirty, and when Arthur appeared in the open doorway wearing his hat, he was still beaming. "You'll come out for a drink, won't you, Merlin? To celebrate?" Merlin grinned in answer and stuffed his papers in his briefcase.
As they waited to cross the road, Merlin cocked his head at the sound of someone in the crowd around them humming "A Hard Day's Night". It was a moment before he identified the source, and then he just grinned at Arthur for a long minute. Arthur stared back, confused, and then flushed as he rolled his eyes.
"It's your fault," he said, as they stepped into the zebra crossing. "It's only because you've got it playing constantly."
Merlin just laughed, and hadn't quite managed to stop by the time they were sitting at the bar.
"If you're quite finished," Arthur said, once the barman had served them, and raised his glass. "You really came through for me-for Camelot-today. Cheers, Merlin."
"I'm Happy Just to Dance With You"
Merlin grinned, and drank. "Elyan's sketch didn't hurt, either. I can't wait to see the final colour version." The ad was a drawing of a man happily-perhaps a bit dazedly-sporting a lipstick mark on his cheek, which would, in the final version, be the exact same shade as the lipstick on the woman staring sultrily out at the viewer over the copy "Mark Your Man".
"It's true," Arthur agreed. "Elyan and Lancelot both seem to do their best work when it's for your copy. I wish they found all my men so inspiring."
"So Elena's definitely staying?" Merlin said, flushing at the compliment.
Arthur nodded as he brought his glass to his lips. "Yes, we've won ourselves at least one more campaign with her."
"I'll drink to that," Merlin said, and did.
"As it happens," Arthur said, "that wasn't the only bit of good news today. We signed a new two-year contract with HP Sauce, who've been shopping around and threatening to leave us for months. Percival, of all people, came up with the winner: 'Good with Bacon.'"
"Good on him," Merlin said, snorting a laugh. Percival wasn't the best with ideas, but once he'd got one-of his own or from someone else-he had quite the knack for whittling it down into something simple and easy, and often monosyllabic. "A good day, then."
"Quite. It eases some of the other blows we've been dealt of late, that's for certain. And I'll be honest, I'm more optimistic now than I have been in ages. Keeping Belle Jolie, given what Elena wants to do with it over the next year or so, is a real feather in our cap. We have to keep evolving, so that's exactly the sort of thing Camelot needs."
"How's your father taking it, by the way?"
"I'm not really sure," Arthur said, shrugging. "He went fire engine red during the meeting, but didn't say anything once Elena reacted positively. I haven't seen him since."
"What do you think he's going to do?"
"Unless he plans to break the contract I signed this afternoon, nothing. I know he's angry, but I also know we have a happy client. I may be the junior partner at this agency, but it is a full partnership, by his own terms."
"That it is," Merlin said, smiling. "So he'll just have to get over it."
Arthur snorted, and they both finished their drinks.
After another, Merlin asked, "Have you talked to Morgana since they passed the Act?" The Television Act had passed a month ago, complete with its ban on televised cigarette ads.
Arthur sighed. "I've tried. When she's done being melodramatic, she'll come to see that we have an entire year of broadcasting left, so there's plenty we can do yet, before we're limited to print."
"Just aim for something memorable," Merlin said wisely.
"Yes, memorable, that's brilliant advice, Merlin, thank you," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "I've actually been thinking that maybe this is a blessing, after what happened with the Strand campaign. Everyone's been dancing around that for years. Maybe it's best we all just back away."
"The Strand campaign?" Merlin asked.
Arthur looked at him and shook his head. "I forget sometimes how new to this you still are. Strand Cigarettes were a short-lived Imperial Tobacco brand a few years ago. Short-lived because of one very specific ad campaign, that so destroyed their sales they had to pull them from the market altogether."
Merlin shuddered. "God keep me from ever making an ad that bad."
"That's just it, though-it wasn't objectively bad. It was an extremely popular and well-received ad: A man standing on a rainy London street corner, looking like Frank Sinatra, smoking his cigarette and brooding, under the copy, 'You're never alone with a Strand. The cigarette of the moment.'"
Merlin frowned.
"The actor became an overnight success, the music in the ad was on the UK Singles Chart for weeks after it aired-but they couldn't seem to sell a single cigarette."
"Because it made people feel lonely," Merlin said.
Arthur blinked at him. "Yes, Merlin. Exactly." He shook his head. "What seemingly no other ad man could predict, you see right away. How do you do it? Sometimes I think you-" He stopped.
"You think I what?" Merlin prompted, wondering if he should be afraid of the answer to that question.
"Boys!" interrupted a genial voice from behind them. They turned from the bar, and there was Gwaine, sauntering up from the back of the pub, followed by a man Merlin thought he recognised as a client and an impressively buxom woman. "All right?"
Merlin grinned at him, mostly relieved for the interruption.
"You remember George Cartwright, of Cartwright Aluminium," Gwaine said, gesturing to the man behind him. "And this is Carolyn, my sister. George, Carolyn, this is Arthur, a Camelot partner, and Merlin, one of the few of my co-workers who ever actually seems to get anything done."
Merlin's eyebrows went up. "I didn't know you had a sister," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Carolyn smiled at him, warm and seductive, and let her eyes trail down his body, before looking back to his face. Merlin felt his cheeks get hot. "I like you, Merlin," she said.
"All right, all right," Gwaine said, putting a hand on her back. "We really need to be going. Tickets, and such!" He guided her out of the pub, the hapless Mr Cartwright trailing behind them.
Merlin chuckled as he turned back to his drink. "Wow. Gwaine and his sister are two peas in a pod, eh?"
"She's not his sister," Arthur said, not terribly kindly.
Merlin blinked. "She's not?"
"She's a prostitute that he's paying to pretend to be legitimately interested in Mr Cartwright."
Merlin stared at him. "She's-He's-What?"
"That's what account execs do, Merlin."
"Hire prostitutes?"
"When they have to. They do what it takes to make your job and mine easier. Tickets to the best shows, entrance to the most exclusive gentleman's clubs, women to take back to their room-whatever the client wants."
Merlin could only stare at him for a long minute. He'd known some of this, of course, but even eight months in, an alarming amount of what went on behind closed doors at Camelot-either for business or for pleasure-was completely foreign to him. "Bloody hell," he said, mystified that everyone around him apparently accepted this as business as usual. "I'm never really going to fit in here, am I?"
Arthur looked at him, almost startled, for a long moment. "You'll figure it out," he said. "Another drink?"
Merlin looked down to find his glass empty, and nodded.
"Are you seeing Gwen?" Arthur asked, somewhere in the middle of their next drink. Merlin looked at him, with something of an expression, apparently, because Arthur laughed. "What? It's a fair question, with the way you two get on."
"We do get on. We're quite good mates, but that's all."
"I thought you were going to go home with her the night of the Christmas party," Arthur said evenly, looking at his drink.
"Oh, you remember that, do you?"
Arthur smiled. "Parts of it. I thought you'd be angry with me the next day."
Merlin shook his head. "No, no, it was fine." Something a bit ugly swelled inside him as he thought to ask, "You're not in love with her, are you? I mean, it's fine if you are-I'm not-don't hold back on my account."
Arthur's eyebrows went up. "No," he said. And after a moment, "No, I'm not. I shouldn't have slept with her that night, and, truth be told, I still feel rather bad about it, all this time later."
"For what it's worth, she wasn't heartbroken or anything, and she's told me that she appreciated how nice you were to her afterwards."
"I don't usually sleep with women from the office," Arthur said, his ears going pink. "The rest of you can get away with it, breaking hearts left and right, but I'm the junior partner. It's really not befitting."
"That's very noble of you," Merlin said, mostly stifling a smile.
Time had passed much more quickly than Merlin had noticed, and he was quite drunk by the time he slid off his bar stool and stumbled back to the loo. He frowned, because he'd really only meant to stay for one drink, or two at the most, and so he decided while he was peeing that he was going to say goodnight to Arthur as soon as he got back to the bar.
But when he got back to the bar, Arthur was smiling at him, big and toothy and blue-eyed, and Merlin forgot what it was he was supposed to say. "Another?" Arthur asked. "Or have you got someone waiting for you that I should stop keeping you from?"
Merlin opened his mouth to say, Thanks, I really should be getting on, but what came out was, "Just one more," and then he was climbing back into his seat next to Arthur.
"I'm sorry you feel like you don't fit in," Arthur said, some blurry amount of time later. They were sort of slumped together, now, with Arthur listing to the side so that his shoulder rested firmly against Merlin's. "I didn't, either, for a long time."
Merlin snorted. "You, not fit in at your own agency? How is that even possible?"
Arthur shrugged, which was a bit dangerous given how much of his weight he was balancing on Merlin. "It's like you were saying, with the women and everything, I wasn't like the rest of them."
Merlin looked at him.
"It just took me a while to catch up. Was a bit of a late bloomer, I s'ppose."
"How d'you mean?" Merlin asked.
Arthur went a little stiff against him. "Dunno," he said, shrugging again, this time hard enough to dislodge himself. He half-slid, half-fell off his bar stool, and then seemed a bit confused to find himself standing. "Need the loo," he said, and Merlin watched him go, noticing how empty the pub was as he did. It must have been nearly closing time.
Merlin rummaged around his pockets for several minutes, looking for his wallet so he could pay the barman and go home, until there was a warm hand on his shoulder, and Arthur was sliding back onto his seat.
"We need to pay the barman," Merlin said, finally finding the right pocket.
"S'fine, he knows me. I pay him once a week."
Merlin snorted. "Of course you do, you bloody posh wanker."
"Merlin," Arthur said earnestly, ignoring this last comment, and Merlin swivelled on his stool to look at him. "I really am sorry that you feel like you don't fit in."
"You already said that," Merlin said, "and s'all right. I fit in fine, really, there's just some things you all do that I don't quite understand, sometimes."
"No, it's not all right," Arthur continued, "because I think you fit in, even though I thought you never world."
Merlin smiled, and then frowned. "You thought I never would?"
"Of course not," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I was so mad at my father for giving you the job without asking me."
"Hey! You'd've turned up dead in an alleyway or floating in the river if it weren't for me. You owed me."
"I owed you the cab fare, nothing more. I would've been fine. It was only a pick-pocket, don't be so dramatic."
"You could barely walk, you were so pissed. And believe me, a pretty thing like you stumbling around that part of the city, that late at night? A pick-pocket was just the start. You'd never have seen the sunrise."
"Shut up, Merlin, I'm trying to say something nice."
Merlin snorted. "You're not doing a very good job of it."
"Because you won't let me!"
"No, because you don't get enough practice."
Arthur squeezed Merlin's shoulder, "Will you just listen. All I'm trying to say is that you surprised me. My father said I only had to keep you for two weeks, if you even lasted that long, but by the end of it, I didn't want to let you go. I don't know why you're so good at this, Merlin, but I'm glad. I'm glad you're here. Camelot's glad you're here."
Merlin couldn't speak for a long moment. He opened his mouth, but still hadn't thought of anything to say by the time he noticed that Arthur's hand had moved up his shoulder to his neck, and now there was a thumb stroking at the soft skin behind his ear. A flush of adrenaline coursed through him, leaving Merlin feeling suddenly far too sober.
"Arthur?" he said, carefully.
"Hmm?" Arthur replied.
Merlin swallowed and was grateful that Arthur was as drunk as he was, because he probably wouldn't remember whatever was about to happen, but of course this wouldn't have been happening in the first place if Arthur weren't this drunk, so it was a bit of a mixed bag. In any event, Merlin needed to stop this before it got bad, before something happened that would ruin everything. He knew how this worked with men like Arthur. They acted on their desires in the heat of the moment, but if Arthur remembered any of this in the morning, Merlin would be out on his arse immediately.
He closed his eyes against the lovely feel of Arthur's thumb, and he wondered what the chances were that Arthur would remember. Maybe he wouldn't, if Merlin didn't let it go too far. Or maybe he would turn out to be unexpectedly nice about it, like he'd been with Gwen. And, God, Merlin was clearly much drunker than he realised, if he was even contemplating this, but he couldn't help imagining it for a moment, tearing open Arthur's perfect fucking tie and making a mess of everything underneath.
Merlin swallowed and somehow managed to pull back. "Let's get you a cab, yeah?"
Arthur pouted. "Already? It's not that late, is it?"
"It is for me," Merlin said, turning away. "Maybe you could ring someone, if you're not ready for home. One of your lady friends, perhaps?"
"Is that where you're going? To a lady friend?"
Merlin shook his head, retrieved Arthur's hat from where it had fallen on the floor and shoved it at him. "I don't have any."
"Besides Gwen," Arthur said, trailing after him as Merlin started for the door.
"It's not like that with Gwen, I told you."
"Do you want a lady friend? I could introduce you to one. Or two."
Merlin clenched his jaw. "No thanks. I'm fairly certain no lady friend of yours would be interested in me."
"'Course they would, you're lovely."
Merlin stumbled, but managed to recover before he landed flat on his face.
"And besides, you don't have to be interesting, Merlin, you just have to pay them. I could lend you the money, if you like."
Merlin stopped dead, a few feet shy of the front door, and turned to stare at Arthur. The barman was in the back of the deserted pub, putting chairs up on tables, too far away to hear. "Did you just offer to buy me a prostitute?"
Arthur nodded, swaying from Merlin's sudden stop. "It's much simpler, believe me. Everything you need, with none of the hassle. I haven't had hassle in ages."
Merlin gaped. "Arthur," he said slowly, "are all your lady friends prostitutes?"
Arthur nodded again.
"Even the ones you run off to be with in the middle of the day in a fit of passion?"
Arthur shrugged and looked off to the side. "It stops my father asking questions, and me mucking things up all the time."
"Mucking things up?"
Arthur swayed another moment, staring at nothing. "A prostitute knows what she wants from me, Merlin. I know what she wants, and it's something I can actually give her. No one's heart gets broken, that way."
Merlin stared at him, something in his chest aching. After a moment, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I must be really drunk," he said, or hopelessly besotted, he didn't add, "because I think you just made sleeping with prostitutes sound a bit... noble and... almost lovely, even."
The night was blessedly cooler than the day had been, when they stepped outside, and the first cab Merlin hailed stopped for them. He poured Arthur into it, and gave the cabbie the name of Arthur's street.
"Aren't you coming?" Arthur asked. "We can drop you off first."
"No thanks," Merlin said, because being in a dark enclosed space with Arthur right now was exactly what he did not need. "I'm not far, and I'd rather walk."
Arthur frowned, but Merlin closed the door before he could say anything, and smacked the top of the car like it was a horse, sending it down the road.
The night air was welcome against his overheated face, and the walk home wasn't nearly long enough.
Part Two →