~*~
~*~
Merlin pushes him into the apartment, his hands strong on Arthur's shoulders. Arthur stumbles backwards, still unfamiliar with the exact layout of Merlin's apartment. Merlin holds him up, pulling on Arthur's wrist and bringing him closer. Arthur's lips are starting to tingle from how long and how hard Merlin's been kissing him.
“What has gotten into you?” Arthur mumbles.
Merlin pulls away just enough to see Arthur's face and looks at him expectantly. “Hmmm?”
“What's up with you today?” Arthur repeats, enunciating every word carefully.
Merlin waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Are you complaining?” he asks, but then goes back to kissing Arthur without waiting for an answer. And, well, okay, Arthur is not complaining.
Merlin holds Arthur's bottom lip between his teeth a little harshly when he pulls on it as he moves from Arthur's face to his neck. He kisses, then bites high on the side of Arthur's neck, right under his ear. His hands on Arthur's hips push Arthur further back, until Arthur's ass is pressing against the back of the sofa. He keeps Arthur there, pinning his body down by pressing against him. Arthur is not used to Merlin being this controlling, so it throws him for a loop; he lets Merlin take control, lets his head fall back and his hands rest on Merlin's upper arms and offers no resistance when Merlin kicks his legs apart, then slips in between them.
They haven't been to Merlin's place in a few days and the AC has been off, so the living room is hot and humid, making Arthur sweat. He starts to unbutton his shirt but Merlin bats his hands away. He guides Arthur's hands down his own body, pushing one to his back and pressing the other to the front of his jeans. They're open, so Arthur's hand slides into them, his fingers wrapping around the familiar length of Merlin's cock. Merlin moans, his head falling to Arthur's shoulder, his hair tickling Arthur's neck. His hips push forward, pressing their bodies closer together again. There's not enough space between them for Arthur to move his hand; instead, he squeezes Merlin through the cotton of his underwear rhythmically and listens to the hitches in Merlin's breathing. Merlin's breath on his neck is warm and Merlin's fingers on his stomach, under his shirt, are curling, his nails biting into Arthur's skin.
Arthur's free hand runs down Merlin's back, his fingers dipping under the loose waistband of Merlin's jeans. Merlin arches his back a little, pushes against one of Arthur's hands, then the other, kisses Arthur's shoulder. Arthur pushes Merlin's jeans down (they're tight and they only bunch up around Merlin's thighs, but whatever, Arthur got what he wanted). His hand moulds perfectly to the curve of Merlin's ass, like it belongs there permanently; his fingers dip between Merlin's cheeks, the fabric of Merlin's briefs offering little resistance. Merlin takes a deep, loud breath, lifting his head to face Arthur.
“I have a condom somewhere in my jacket,” Arthur says.
“Mmm, good idea,” Merlin replies, licking his lips before pressing them to Arthur's, “but not today.”
Merlin's knees hit the floor before Arthur has the time or wherewithal to respond. Merlin's fingers are practiced at undoing Arthur's belt and unzipping his trousers, pulling them down to Arthur's knees. Merlin shoves his face into Arthur's crotch, his mouth already open and his hands holding Arthur's shirt up and out of the way. Arthur grips the back of the sofa he's leaning against with both hands.
Merlin's mouth is warm on the base of Arthur's cock and when he runs them up over the underside, Arthur can feel the slight press of Merlin's teeth and even through his underwear he can swear he feels Merlin actually drooling. His head falls back and his mouth opens on a groan. Merlin's mouth closes around the head of Arthur's cock and he sucks hard; Arthur's hips buck up and the sofa behind him moves the slightest bit backwards.
Merlin lets go of Arthur's shirt; it falls back over Arthur's stomach, immediately sticking to the sweaty skin. Merlin's hands tickle gently low over Arthur's stomach, the ever cold tips of his fingers teasing at the waistband of Arthur's boxers before pulling them down roughly. Arthur grunts when the elastic band scratches over his cock. He looks down to find Merlin staring up at him with a lopsided smile. Merlin's hands are still on Arthur's thighs, holding his boxers low enough that the elastic is caught right under the head of Arthur's cock. Arthur has just enough time to realize what Merlin is about to do before it happens.
When Merlin pulls Arthur's underwear all the way down, Arthur's cock springs up, hitting lightly under Merlin's chin. Merlin's expecting it, doesn't even blink when it happens, but for some reason Arthur finds it exceptionally hot; he can't help but moan. He cradles the back of Merlin's head, his thumb slotting in behind Merlin's ear and pressing down. Merlin's eyes flutter closed.
“Come on, do it,” he whispers. “Do it. I knew you'd want to.”
Arthur groans, half turned on and half frustrated. He holds himself lightly, guides it over Merlin's bottom lip. Merlin's mouth opens, but only slightly, like he is just innocently kissing Arthur (as innocently as one can look with a hard cock in front of their face). Merlin's tongue peeks out briefly, the tip of it just touching Arthur's heated flesh before it's gone. He's provoking Arthur on purpose, Arthur knows and god damn it, but it works like a charm.
Arthur's fingers tighten into a perfect ring; he pulls on his cock once, twice, his hand a little rough without any lubrication. His face burns as he pushes his cock to the side, then lets it fall back to its place, just catching on Merlin's cheek. Merlin hums, then moves a little forward.
“Come on,” he says, his voice a little rough this time. If it weren't so hot, and if Arthur wasn't so turned on, he'd wonder how much of Merlin's enjoyment was coming from Arthur's excitement, but as is, he could hardly care less.
He holds himself again, this time very deliberately slapping right under Merlin's cheekbone. Merlin's lips part wider and he makes a small sound. He does it again, and then again, before moving on to Merlin's other cheek, more confident with every blow and every quiet moan that escapes from Merlin's chest. With his other hand, he tilts Merlin's head up. Merlin's eyes are half open and slightly unfocused and he's breathing hard. Merlin on his knees is a thing to behold so Arthur takes a moment to just look - Merlin's hands are on his thighs, balled up in fists; he's hard, his erection straining against his briefs; his t-shirt has ridden up to reveal muscles twitching.
The way Merlin's face is tilted now allows Arthur easier access; the look Merlin gives him before his eyes close again takes away any leftover self-consciousness Arthur may have. He wraps his fist around his cock, lets the head rest on Merlin's open mouth before giving in to what he wants. His hand is fast, like he's done this a thousand times before, as he guides his cock left and right, letting it fall on Merlin's face just hard enough to colour his skin pink. He only stops, letting go of himself and leaving his cock resting just to the side of Merlin's mouth, when he sees Merlin's hand pressing between his legs.
“One day,” Merlin says and Arthur can feel Merlin's lips moving, “I want you to come on my face.” Arthur sucks in a surprised breath. “And then spread it all over me with your cock.” Arthur pulls on Merlin's hair in a warning. Merlin grins at him mischievously. He sits up on his knees, runs his hands over the outside of Arthur's thighs; one of his hands holds Arthur's hip, while the other trails in between Arthur's legs. Arthur leans back against the sofa again and parts his legs to give Merlin better access.
Merlin's fingers just graze over Arthur's balls, too teasing of a touch to feel good, before Merlin holds Arthur's cock steady and licks a stripe slowly up the underside. He swirls his tongue around the crown, then teases over the slit. Arthur is torn between letting his head fall back to just enjoy and keeping his eyes on Merlin because, god, Merlin's expression of utter bliss makes everything feel twice as good.
When Merlin takes Arthur into his mouth, Arthur curses under his breath and can't stop himself from pushing forward. Merlin's fingers dig into his hip, an unnecessary warning, because Arthur is already pulling back out, stroking his thumb over Merlin's neck in apology. Merlin doesn't rush, pulling back before swallowing more of Arthur's cock down. Arthur grips the back of the sofa and closes his eyes, his head falling forward, a moan getting stuck in his throat. Merlin focuses his mouth on the upper part of Arthur's cock, sucking and licking, his head moving slowly up and down. His hand moves faster over the base, the spit easing the way a little.
Arthur's fingers in Merlin's hair tighten and pull when Merlin pauses to tease at the head with his tongue. Arthur's whole body shivers and he feels a wave of heat wash over him. The sweat is running down his neck and back and the humidity is getting more oppressive by the second. Arthur wants to rip his shirt off, but he's having a hard time freeing either of his hand when Merlin is making his knees shake. Besides, there's something to be said about the only thing he can see not covered by his shirt is more and more of his cock disappearing into Merlin's mouth.
When Merlin's lips meet his fist, he uncurls his fingers and his hand falls out of sight. Arthur lets go of Merlin's head, putting his palm on the side of Merlin's neck, runs his thumb over Merlin's Adam's apple. He knows that if he touches further up, if he presses his hand to the side of Merlin's face, he will be able to feel himself inside. His hips buck forward again, but this time Merlin's hand on his hip stays loose and the noise Merlin makes is a positive one. Arthur pulls back, then pushes into Merlin's mouth again, slowly, giving Merlin more than enough time to stop him. Eventually, Merlin does.
Merlin's hand moves to Arthur's front, pressing on his stomach to keep him immobile, locks eyes with Arthur's. He bobs his head slowly several times until at one downward stroke, he doesn't stop, taking in as much as he can. Arthur feels it when the head of his cock hits the back of Merlin's throat and Merlin doesn't try to take him further, just sucks lightly, his tongue twitching against the underside of Arthur's cock. Arthur strokes his thumb over Merlin's neck, feeling the slight swell at the front. He touches Merlin's relaxed jaw, presses his fingers to Merlin's bottom lip, gathering some spit, then smearing it over Merlin's cheek when he puts his hand on the side of his face. Merlin is looking up at him, his face glistening with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead.
Arthur puts his other hand on Merlin's shoulder. He can feel the muscles under his palm moving rhythmically, and he can imagine Merlin's hand working his cock inside his briefs; he knows what Merlin likes, the pressure, the slow, steady strokes until the very end when he seems to completely lose control. He hums, imagining the way he would touch Merlin now if he could reach him, prolonging it as much as he can, until Merlin's cock is coated in his own pre-come. Merlin sucks harder.
He can feel it, Arthur realizes, the vibrations of every sound Arthur makes, the speed of his breathing, the things he wouldn't normally know were happened. He takes Merlin's wrist and moves it up, undoes two buttons so Merlin's hand can rest on his skin. He hums again and Merlin's hand twitches.
He looks at Merlin again. Merlin's eyes are glazed over, his eyes a little moist and spit dripping out of his mouth. He moans loudly and gets a deep, guttural sound from Merlin in answer. It's almost like Merlin's forgotten that Arthur was even responding to him.
Merlin's breathing is shallow and rough and when he finally moves back, Arthur hears him take a deep breath through his nose. It doesn't slow him down though, and he's sucking Arthur down again in no time, before pulling back. Every time he takes as much as he can and pauses, until there are actual tears in his eyes, and every time his tongue teases at the crown. Arthur moans loudly, knowing Merlin can feel it; he sees it in Merlin's eyes whenever Merlin looks up at him.
He's getting close now; he squeezes Merlin's wrist twice, before he rests his hand on top of Merlin's head. Merlin's eyes are closed again, so he doesn't know if Merlin got the message, but even if he didn't, Arthur's breathing so hard, Merlin is bound to figure out. Merlin himself has stopped worrying about technique, it appears, his head moving up and down fast and without a break. There's no rhythm anymore, not much control either, as Arthur's cock hits Merlin's throat completely randomly. Arthur can see that Merlin's jerking off fast as well, and he wants to last long enough to see Merlin come first, but then he sinks into Merlin's mouth again, and again, and then he can't help pushing forward, too fast and a little too hard; Merlin groans, his eyes flying open and a tear running down his cheek.
They both freeze instantly. Arthur is the first to move, brushing the tear away with his thumb slowly, feeling as if he's in a surreal dream, held in place by Merlin's eyes. Merlin blinks, breaking the spell and then swallows around Arthur's cock. Arthur shouts wordlessly, his knees shaking and his stomach muscles squeezing hard as he comes, pleasant shockwaves going through him. Merlin pulls away, swallowing twice to take everything even as he lets Arthur slip out of his mouth before he's done (on purpose, Arthur suspects, because it leaves a string of come connecting his lips to Arthur's cock, then landing on Merlin's chin as it breaks).
Arthur turns around and leans over the back of the sofa because he's not sure he can stand for much longer. He can hear Merlin moving behind him and then Merlin's hands are on Arthur's ass, squeezing and spreading him. Arthur is buzzed from the high of his orgasm and his body feels too heavy to move, so he's happy not to take a more active part and let Merlin use him any way he wants; something Merlin seems all too happy to do. One of Merlin's hands stays on Arthur's overly warm skin, sliding easily through the sweat gathering in the small of Arthur's back to press him down hard. The wet head of Merlin's cock brushes over Arthur's crack and Arthur moans weakly into the sofa cushions. Merlin's cock is unsteady against Arthur's sensitive skin and Arthur can just about hear the sound of wet skin sliding together over the hum in his ears. He doesn't have to wait long before Merlin groans through his nose and the thick, warm come hits Arthur's ass. It's an odd feeling when it runs over his hole, dripping down to his balls. Arthur hums to himself, trying to decide if he likes it.
He expects Merlin to lie down on top of him, at least until they've both caught their breaths, but Merlin only wipes his cock on Arthur's ass, and then he's gone.
“Hey!” Arthur yells after him, a little offended that he feels kind of like he's being thrown away after having served his purpose. Merlin, naturally, doesn't respond, nor does Arthur expect him to, but it feels good to shout for shouting's sake. His legs still feel unstable so he doesn't get up, but he does turn around on his back. It's not as comfortable, but at least he has a better view.
Merlin's jeans and underwear are on the railing and Merlin himself is in the kitchen, wiping himself with his t-shirt, soaked in water. He doesn't even look in Arthur's direction. Arthur groans as he forces his muscles to work for long enough to get him off the sofa. He stumbles out of his trousers and takes his shirt off over his head, letting them all lie where they fall. Now that the scalding heat and urgency has passed, he feels rather sore and tired. He sticks his hand between the cushions of the sofa to dig out the AC remote and finally turn on the damn thing. Then he heads upstairs to take a shower, picking up Merlin's clothes on the way.
There is a towel for him in the bathroom and a clean pair of boxers. He puts them aside so they don't get wet and steps into the shower. He turns the tap to cold and lets the water run. Initially, it's a shock to his system, but when he gets used to it, it feels amazing. The cool touch makes him feel not only clean, but fresh and awake. With his head bowed forward, he counts the drops of water falling from the tip of his nose. When he gets to 100, he turns the water to a warmer temperature, washes quickly with one of Merlin's earthy-smelling shower gels.
The towel Merlin left for him is fluffy and soft and when Arthur wraps it around himself and dries his hair with the corner of it, he's hit with the citrusy smell of the fabric softener. He hangs the towel over the open door of the shower cabin and puts on Merlin's underwear. It's a little tight, but only a little, prompting Arthur to think, unhappily, that it might not actually be Merlin's at all. He shrugs off the unwelcome idea and goes to Merlin's bedroom in search of something comfortable to wear. He wonders if it's too early for him to start bringing his own stuff and leaving it there accidentally on purpose.
He expects Merlin to be downstairs (probably eating; for such a skinny bastard, Merlin has quite a passion for food, and especially enjoys a snack after sex), but the sliding glass door to the balcony is open and Arthur can just make out Merlin's leg, as the rest of him is hidden by the bedroom wall. He reaches for the closet and almost opens it, but then he decides it's still too warm for clothes.
Merlin is sitting in the corner of the balcony, where the railing is broken and the frosted glass does not obscure the view of the city. He's naked. His legs are folded tightly to his chest, his head resting on his knees. There's a cigarette in his hand.
“You don't smoke,” is, stupidly, the first thing that comes to Arthur's mind. “And you really shouldn't be sitting there,” is the second, but he says it more to himself. Merlin either hasn't noticed him or is simply not responding. For some reason that he can't even make clear to himself, Arthur feels like he's intruding on a very private moment. He stands awkwardly for a few moments, feeling like he should leave but wants to stay. Eventually, Merlin takes pity on him (Arthur belatedly realizes there are metal rims on the fence where the glass used to be and that his reflection is probably obvious in them).
“Sit,” Merlin says, light grey smoke curling out between his lips. He takes another drag from the cigarette and exhales the smoke before Arthur takes him up on the offer.
He sits down close to Merlin, fully intending for their bodies to be touching, both for comfort and for safety, but Merlin moves further to the side, maintaining the minimal distance between them. Arthur doesn't want to be offended. But somehow, he is. It feels like rejection.
“I don't smoke,” Merlin says, taking another drag before waving his hand in Arthur's general direction. Despite clear evidence to contradict Merlin's statement, Arthur nods. “I used to,” Merlin continues. His voice is very hoarse, although whether from smoking or their earlier activities, Arthur doesn't know. “I quit two or three years ago.” He shakes the ash off absently. “I have a smoke once in a while only. For old times' sake.” He smiles as he brings the cigarette back to his lips. It's an odd, empty kind of smile. Haunting. Arthur looks away, his stomach dropping. He's getting cold despite the lukewarm evening. Merlin lets one of his legs fall to dangle off the side of the balcony. Seeing it from the corner of his eye, Arthur instinctively reaches out, but takes his hand back before he touches Merlin. There's a reason Merlin's keeping the distance between them. “D'you know what today is?” Merlin asks suddenly, turning his head a little to the side.
“Um. Tuesday?” Arthur tries.
“It's my birthday.”
Arthur panics. This is a kind of thing he was supposed to know, he feels. Instead, not only is he not prepared for a birthday at all, but he also doesn't think he forgot it was coming up; he's pretty sure he never really knew.
Like he knows what Arthur is thinking, Merlin says quickly, “I don't celebrate it.” He takes one last drag from his cigarette, then puts it out on the ground and flicks the butt over the edge.
“How come?” Arthur asks when Merlin's looking at him again.
“How old do you think I am?” Merlin raises an eyebrow, looking a little amused and Arthur realizes, he doesn't actually have an answer. It never really occurred to him to ask for Merlin's age, he's always just assumed his original estimates were right.
“24-25?”
Merlin chuckles. He looks away from Arthur, so Arthur doesn't bother asking what's so funny. “Most people assume that. I look younger than I am. And, well, I'm only just finishing university now, so... Usually I just let people assume whatever they want and don't correct them,” Merlin explains. “But, I'm actually 32 as of today.”
“Holy fuck,” Arthur curses. The age difference Arthur assumed was there was right, only it's in Merlin's favour. It's quite a shock. And what is worse, Arthur is not sure he would have ever thought to ask such a banal question as how old are you.
“I don't tell people how old I am because, well, they always have questions. Why don't you have a real job? Why do you let people think you're younger? Why don't you have a degree yet?” Merlin sounds nervous of all things; like he's thought about this before but is saying it out loud for the first time. “They have expectations of someone my age and I don't fulfill them. And I don't feel like explaining why.”
Arthur is mildly ashamed of the fact that he does want to ask those questions now. He doesn't, because it's a dick move to pull when he knows how much Merlin clearly dislikes answering them, but he still wants to know.
Merlin moves around gracefully, sitting Indian style with no shame and it's only when he feels the relief that Arthur realizes how anxious he was about Merlin sitting in a fairly precarious position so close to the edge of his 6th floor balcony with nothing to stop him from falling but his own sense of balance. They're still not touching, but Arthur's actually fine with that; he's not sure he particularly wants to be sitting closer right now.
Looking back now, with the new knowledge, he can see the little steps in Merlin's brilliant plan. Early on, Merlin avoids topics and conversations that would reveal his age, doesn't ask others for theirs so that he wouldn't be asked in turn, until he's known someone for so long, they feel awkward asking for his age. And when they do find out how old he is, he can always say that it's not his fault they guessed it wrong. It's quite a neat technique; Arthur has to admit, creating a loop in which Merlin can't be blamed. Arthur still feels lied to, though.
“I actually...” Merlin takes a deep breath. “Man, I wish I had another cigarette now,” he jokes. Arthur doesn't laugh. Merlin takes another moment. “Graphic design, yes?” he finally continues. “It wasn't my first choice. I was, um, I was studying music production originally.” Arthur's head snaps up. It's the first he's heard of that. “Third year, everything was... It was great. I was good, always in the top 5 percent of the class, I was working part-time on musicals in the local theatre, I had an offer from fucking Julliard. Too good to be true, huh?” Merlin sighs. Arthur thinks he has an inkling as to where the story is going. “There was a time, right? And then it all went wrong.” Arthur feels like he's missing something, but he doesn't react.
Merlin's fingers are drumming on his shin and his knee is jumping quickly up and down. Arthur doesn't know if he's ever seen Merlin like this. He wonders if Merlin's ever told anyone everything like this, because it feels more like he's only there to be a witness to Merlin's soliloquy than like Merlin's actually talking to him. He'll take it though, because these are things that he wants to know about Merlin.
“The end of the school year was coming up and I was working with our drama section and it was, it was just a very stressful week. I wasn't sleeping much, I always felt like I had so much to do and so little time, and--” Merlin waves a hand around in an unidentifiable gesture. “I didn't notice it at first? I'd get dizzy or have a moment's black out and I figured it was the exhaustion. I'd hear this, this high-pitched sort of buzz the whole time but I thought it was just stress getting to me. And then I woke up one morning and I couldn't hear a thing.”
Arthur can't imagine what that is like. Sometimes he observes Merlin in social situations and he admires how well adjusted Merlin is; he doesn't think he could do that. Except right now, Merlin doesn't look so adapted and unconcerned. He looks like someone missing an important part of their life. He looks like someone who has long given up on getting it back.
“I know, I know, deaf people have been known to work with music, I've heard of Beethoven as well,” Merlin replies to what Arthur didn't even think to say. “And I tried, trust me, I really did try to go on like everything was fine, but... It wasn't and I eventually dropped out.”
In the privacy of his own mind, Arthur admits to himself, guiltily, that he's glad he didn't know Merlin back then. Even now, years later, when Merlin has clearly more or less put it all behind him, Arthur has no clue how to react. Fortunately for him, it doesn't seem to matter much - Merlin is somewhere in his own world, lost in his own thoughts or memories; for once in his life, Arthur is glad to be an outsider.
“I was 22. I had no idea what I was doing. I was drinking, smoking. I did some things I'm not necessarily proud of,” Merlin admits. “I was a mess,” he says simply, shrugging. “I don't know why Gwaine stuck with me. I wouldn't have.” Arthur wants to argue that that's not true, Merlin is the kind of person who sticks with his friends no matter what, but he lets the matter drop, sensing it's not the right time. “If it weren't for him, I probably would have... slipped completely.”
Merlin scrubs a hand over his face, then looks sideways at Arthur for the first time in what fees like a while, like he's gauging Arthur's reaction. Arthur appreciates the explanation, but it still does make him slightly jealous. He's careful not to show it.
“Anyway,” Merlin continues, squaring his shoulders like he's bracing himself for something. “It wasn't a good time. I felt like all I ever wanted to do, all I was ever good at... I couldn't anymore.” Arthur ventures a hand in Merlin's direction, touching his knee with the tips of his fingers first, before putting a hand on his thigh. Merlin looks at him. “Pure coincidence I even found out I could draw. We were at a bar and I was drunk. I doodled on a napkin, this cute guy who was sitting next to me. Gwaine brought the napkin with us when we were leaving and showed it to me in the morning. After I was done puking my guts out,” Merlin says sheepishly, smiling a little. He looks more like himself. Arthur leans in and brushes their noses together.
“I'm not used to seeing you like this,” Arthur admits, feeling that it's only fair he shared something as well. “You always seem so... alright.”
Merlin laughs. “Yeah. Everyone has their bad moments, right? I choose to live out a year's worth of mine in a day. It works most of the time,” Merlin says, shrugging.
Arthur wants, foolishly, to make it so that there are no bad moments in Merlin's life, but that's not how it works and he's not naïve enough to think it is. “Okay,” he just replies instead. “I can live with that.”
~*~
Arthur swirls his whiskey around in the glass, absently staring at his own expression in the large wall mirror behind the bar. “There's just... so much I still don't know about him,” he slurs. The thought of easing off the alcohol a bit flashes through his mind briefly, but then he finishes his drink off and doesn't think about it anymore.
“Well, you've only known each other for what, like, 8 months in total, right?” Leon asks, leaning casually against the bar. He doesn't look or sound nearly as drunk as Arthur, even though Arthur thinks they've had about the same number of drinks. But then, his count has been a little off recently so maybe not. “That's not that long,” Leon argues, eyeing Arthur sideways.
“Yeah, but.” Arthur had an argument, he did. He's not sure why he can't remember it anymore.
“But?” Leon prompts.
“But there are things I should know and I don't?” Arthur tries.
“Hmm, like?”
“Like, man, I just recently found out he was actually older than me!” Arthur replies bitterly, miming for the bartender to give him another drink. He's not sure why he is still so upset over it.
“Because you never date men older than you,” Leon comments sarcastically, sneaking his hand in front of Arthur and grabbing the tumbler before the bartender can even set it down.
Arthur snorts.
“Which reminds me, did you tell Merlin about Mr. Burke?”
“That's different,” Arthur argues, waving a hand around as if it will somehow disperse the memories. “My high school dating habits hardly have anything to do with our relationship.”
“And Merlin's age does?”
“Well, duh,” Arthur says making a face at Leon. Leon looks unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow, his expression one part teasing, one part disbelief and at least three parts done with Arthur's bullshit tonight. “Fine, not really,” Arthur concedes. “But what else don't I know that might matter?”
“Arthur, you are my friend and I love you,” Leon says in a tone of someone explaining apples and oranges to a child, “but I am not your therapist and you need to work on your communication.” He knocks back Arthur's drink and pushes off from the counter. “Come on, we both have work tomorrow.”
Arthur sighs grumpily but puts a bill on the counter and follows Leon.
~*~
Arthur stirs the milk into his tea. The morning newsreader keeps chirping on the radio behind him. He's tempted to punch the radio. He doesn't even know why Merlin has one at all, but he appreciates the fact that, ever since Arthur off-handedly mentioned that he listens to the weather forecast every morning on his way to work, Merlin's been turning the radio on every morning Arthur's at his place.
“Morgana asked me to come with her to Hannover,” Merlin says. He's sitting Indian style on the kitchen bar in front of Arthur eating his second grilled cheese sandwich. Arthur will never understand how some people have an appetite (and a good one at that) this early in the morning.
“That's... next week, right?” Arthur asks after a brief moment of his mind being completely blank of any future planned trips.
Merlin hums in confirmation. He reaches a hand out towards Arthur. For a second, Arthur is confused, but then he remembers he poured a glass of orange juice for Merlin and forgot to give it to him. He picks the glass up from his side and hands it to Merlin. Merlin nods at him and takes a few sips. When his eyes are on Arthur's face again, Arthur asks, “Are you gonna go?”
“I don't know yet,” Merlin replies. “I told her I'd talk to you.”
“To me? Why?”
“Because you're my boss, of course,” Merlin says, completely deadpan. Arthur frowns. Merlin rolls his eyes. “I wanted to see if you were fine with it, what's so weird about that?”
“I don't know. I'm fine with it.”
“Good, because I was gonna go anyway,” Merlin says with a laugh. He finishes his sandwich and Arthur takes that time to drink his tea. He doesn't even like tea. He's only been drinking it because it's the only hot drink he can have in Merlin's apartment.
The radio informs him it is likely to rain today. Since that's neither very precise nor new, Arthur finds himself wondering again why he even listens to the forecasts anymore. He supposes it's just a habit. He turns the radio off.
“I hate that thing,” Merlin comments.
Arthur laughs. “Why do you have it? Youdon't use it.”
“You do,” Merlin counters. “Personally, I prefer knowing what I'm supposed to be hearing,” he adds, jumping off the bar gracefully. He stretches, making a quiet sound. The faded green t-shirt he's wearing rides up, revealing a sliver of pale skin between it and Arthur's briefs that Merlin got to first that morning.
Arthur puts down his mug so he can grab Merlin's hips and pull him closer. Merlin goes easily, drapes his arms around Arthur's neck. He's smiling. There's a long, dark eyelash on his cheek. Arthur brushes it off with his thumb. Merlin turns his head to the side and kisses the inside of Arthur's wrist.
“Take a day off,” he says.
“Can't.”
“Why, your boss won't let you?” Merlin asks sweetly. Arthur laughs and shakes his head. Merlin brings their foreheads together and slides a hand under Arthur's shirt, pressing it gently to Arthur's lower back and pushing their bodies closer. Arthur knows that in the position they're in, Merlin won't know what he's saying. It's a very smooth way to avoid an argument.
Arthur hates doing it, but he runs his thumb down the line of Merlin's jaw until he reaches his chin, pushes it up to make Merlin face him. “I have to work,” he says.
Merlin sighs. “No, you choose to have to work,” he replies. “But I understand. It's your father's legacy and you're still trying to impress him and it's the only thing other than your house that makes you feel connected to him and blah blah blah. You'll be late if you don't hurry up,” he finishes, waving his hands in the air as he walks away.
Arthur frowns at Merlin's back. It almost sounded like Merlin intended for that to sound as hurtful as it did.
~*~
Arthur closes the door to the office silently. He waits a few seconds, then clears his throat. Morgana raises a finger. She's writing something, filling out a stack of papers in front of her and signing off on things if the speed at which her well-manicured hand moves over the paper is any indication. Arthur pulls a chair out and sits down. It's a lot less comfortable than the chairs in his office.
While he waits for Morgana to finish up on her work, he looks around her office. It's been a while since he's been here. Nowadays, when he needs anything from the PR department he tends to send for Merlin, not visit Morgana. Her office doesn't look very different from what he remembers, the walls are the same light blue and the furniture the same shiny black. The framed, somewhat creepy line drawing of a woman's face, half-robot, half-human stares at him from the wall behind Morgana.
But there's another piece of framed art underneath it now, smaller in size but standing out because of the colour. From where Arthur is sitting it looks like a whimsical bird, flying up with wings spread, long emerald green and navy blue feathers curling out of its tail. The signature in the lower right corner looks suspiciously like Merlin's. Arthur feels a surge of irrational jealousy go through him at the thought that Morgana has Merlin's art hanging framed in her office when Arthur's work space bears no trace of his relationship with Merlin.
“What do you want?” Morgana asks sharply, her head still down, but her eyes no longer as focused.
Arthur clears his throat again before he opens her mouth to start speaking. But then he shuts up. He suddenly feels very embarrassed and wonders why he ever thought this was a good idea.
Morgana looks at him. “Arthur?” she asks, both of her eyebrows up. She looks tired and somehow older. Arthur is not sure why that takes him by surprise or how he didn't notice it earlier, but it's a shock when it hits him that they are both grown, independent and professional adults, even if they sometimes don't really act like it.
“Um, do you think I have a, um, problem with communication?”
He expects her to laugh, but she only smiles fondly at him. “It took you approximately 7 minutes to ask me that. What do you think?” she says. Arthur is not sure if he wants to laugh or be mad. In the end, he just stands to leave, already so far into his own head with all the thoughts of what he should and should have said, that he almost misses Morgana's he'll draw one for you too if you ask him. Almost. He wonders if he's really that obvious to everyone but himself, or if Morgana just knows him that well.
~*~
Arthur rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. He hates it when he falls asleep in the afternoon, it always fucks with his sleeping pattern. Today will be no different, since it's almost 9 in the evening and he's just woken up. He pads into the bathroom and splashes cold water in his face, mentally preparing himself for going to bed at 3 in the morning and waking up a few hours after that.
He stares at his own face in the mirror. He looks tired, more tired than he did before he took a 4-hour nap if possible. He scrubs a hand over his face again. He wishes he could just go back to sleep, but he knows that's not happening. He opts for food instead and heads for the kitchen.
The house is quiet, which is hardly a surprise. Morgana is organizing an all girls' night at Gwen's place (Don't call me, not that you would, but don't anyway, we're gonna be doing our nails and I won't be answering my phone!) so the lights are all out and neither of the TVs is on. Arthur is suddenly reminded that this house was meant and built for a family and neither him nor Morgana have any. He runs a hand through his hair and thinks about calling Merlin.
He finds some leftovers from a chicken lunch he made yesterday in the fridge and decides that they'll do just as well as anything else. Too impatient to wait for them to heat up, he leans against the sink and starts eating.
The light in the kitchen is bright enough that at first he doesn't even notice that the light in the smaller living room is also on. He frowns. Both him and Morgana prefer the left wing of the house and rarely venture into the part of the house their father used to occupy - it's highly unlikely she left the light on. Suddenly alert, Arthur hastily drops the half-empty plastic container into the sink and grabs a large knife from the drawer. He tiptoes towards the room. He can't hear anything happening in there.
He makes sure to stay hidden as he approaches the door from the side. He peeks into the room, not sure what to expect. Whatever it was though, that's not what he finds. Instead, he finds Merlin, lying on his stomach in the centre of the carpeted floor, propped up on his elbows and murmuring something under his breath.
“Fucking hell,” Arthur sighs in relief, putting the knife down on the chessboard by the door. He flicks the lights off and then on again, making Merlin turn around.
“Hey,” Merlin greets him cheerfully.
“You scared the fuck out of me!”
Merlin laughs. “Sorry. Morgana let me in before she left.” He pauses, cocks his head to the side. “You were sleeping and you looked so tired... I didn't want to wake you up.”
Arthur shrugs one shoulder and goes to join Merlin on the floor by what looks like a half-finished puzzle. He feels weird being in this room again, he doesn't think he's entered it in a few years. Of course, there is no way for Merlin to know that this was the place where Uther used to spend most time, so Arthur doesn't bring it up.
“What are you even doing here?” he can't resist asking.
“There was nothing on TV and I was looking for something to do. I ended up here.”
“Doing...” Arthur gestures at the scattered puzzle pieces around them. “Puzzles of all things?”
“I happen to like puzzles,” Merlin replies, putting another piece in its place.
“You're good at them too.”
Merlin chuckles. “No, I've just been here for hours.”
“It's 3,600 pieces and you've done more than half of it,” Arthur counters.
“Seriously, Arthur, hours.”
“Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Merlin says with a smile.
Arthur runs a hand down Merlin's spine and lets it settle just above Merlin's ass. “I'll make it up to you,” he says.
“Mmm, I'm sure we can work something out, yes,” Merlin agrees, leaning in for a kiss. It starts out chaste, Merlin's smile brushing against Arthur's lips, then grows into something more as Arthur licks his way into Merlin's mouth, a hand on Merlin's neck guiding him to lie down. Merlin tastes like that awful tea Arthur hates but buys every time he goes grocery shopping because Merlin drinks it religiously every morning and every evening. He climbs on top of Merlin and kisses him until they're both breathless and every trace of that taste is gone from Merlin's mouth.
“I hate that tea,” Arthur comments, running his thumb over Merlin's bottom lip.
“I know,” Merlin replies sweetly, poking Arthur in the ribs. Arthur lets out a very high-pitched scream that he will deny with his dying breath ever left his lips. “Oooh, ticklish,” Merlin sing-songs with a grin.
“No! No, no, no!”
It's too late though, Merlin is already tickling him with both hands and Arthur laughs a little hysterically, dragging Merlin's hands away from himself and holding them over Merlin's head, pressing them down against the unfinished puzzle. He's a little winded by the time Merlin stops squirming under him and the last of his giggles die down.
“No,” Arthur repeats for good measure.
Merlin pouts at him. His hands stay still where Arthur hold them, though. “You know, I think you may have ruined my work,” he says. “And I think I might have puzzle pieces in my hair,” he adds with a small giggle.
Arthur combs his fingers through Merlin's hair, dislocating two light green pieces. He laughs. “Yeah, yeah you do.” He lets go of Merlin's wrists and sits back, leaning against Merlin's knees. Merlin sits up with him, as if drawn to him. A few more puzzle pieces fall off from his arms. He reaches out and runs his fingers over Arthur's lips gently.
“You're so easy to read,” he says quietly, almost like he's still thinking about it. Arthur kisses the fingers still resting on his lips. Merlin smiles at him. “You enunciate so clearly. I... I bet you have a posh accent.”
“I've heard that, yes,” Arthur replies. He traces the shell of Merlin's ear with a finger.
“I wish I could hear it,” Merlin says wistfully. Arthur wonders if he should say something, his first instinct being to comfort, but if he's being honest, Merlin really doesn't look like he needs comforting. He looks like he's making conversation. Arthur's not sure he will ever get over the fact that lack of sound is just another normal part of life for Merlin. He can't imagine himself in Merlin's situation. “I'd tease you senseless about it,” Merlin adds, pulling Arthur back to the present.
“Like you don't already have enough ammo for that.”
“Hmmm, true,” Merlin agrees, poking at Arthur's ribs again.
“Hey!”
~*~