Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings) (2/2)
“He's... nice,” Merlin replies honestly, and the kitten in his chest grows to an adult cat. “He seems like a jerk, when you first see him, you think he's a pompous ass, but he's not. When you get to talk to him a little, he's actually a good guy,” he explains with a growing smile. Gwen pokes him in the cheek, but he refuses to open his eyes.
“You like him,” she teases.
“I've only just met him!” Merlin defends himself, frowning at her. He has a feeling that his frown is not very effective, not with the smile that he can't seem to wipe off his face. “God, Gwen, I have a crush, don't I?”
“It's cute,” Gwen replies, and it makes Merlin feel even more like he's in sixth grade again.
“I'm 21 years old, it's not cute, it's pathetic,” he bites back, and she just laughs at him. “I know next to nothing about him!” he goes on, because Gwen apparently still thinks it's cute and not ridiculous. “I don't even know how old he is. I don't know where he grew up, or how many siblings he has, or... Or anything!” Merlin whines, burying his head in the folded up hoodie that he uses as a pillow, his cheeks burning up, but he still can't quite get rid of the smile. Fuck, he's doomed.
“What do you know, though?” Gwen asks him, and she sounds like she knows what she's trying to tell him, so Merlin goes with it, hoping she does have a good point.
“I know he's a good person. And he's smart and funny. Surprisingly easy to talk to,” he replies and feels his smile grow wider. He blames his lack of self-control and clarity of thought on being tired and pumped full of caffeine at the same time.
“Oh, Merlin. That's more than enough,” Gwen whispers in his ear and kisses his forehead. Something about the way she says it, not mocking at all, but on the contrary, serious and encouraging and approving, wakes him up more than all the coffee he's had that day. “I'll go check how the day went for everyone else. Well, for those who are still awake anyway,” Gwen tells him and he hears her leave, but doesn't reply, too lost in his own thoughts to react.
*
Merlin doesn't sleep that night. Gwen comes back after almost an hour and a half, satisfied and proud and Merlin must admit (but only in the privacy of his own mind) that for once her idea really was good. He pretends to be asleep and she lies next to him, drifting off almost immediately. Around 4 he stops even trying to sleep, sits up and leafs through travel brochures the airport provides, because he's already read the book Gwen has in her backpack and the rest of his books are in his suitcase. Around 6, he digs through his bag to find the shirt Gwen bought for her brother when they went to Mt. Rushmore and changes into it because it's cleaner than the shirt he's been wearing for the past few days. Around 7, Gwen stirs but doesn't wake up, and Merlin suffers from his first assault of exhaustion of the day. At 8, he's bored and tired and cranky to a point where he doesn't even care if he seems desperate, so he heads for Starbucks.
He debates buying coffee from the airport's coffee stand (which is expensive, but still cheaper than Starbucks), but decides that he can just nurse an espresso for however long it takes for Arthur to show up. Only, when he gets to the café, Arthur's already sitting at their table from last night and talking on the phone. He's not wearing a suit today, but dark jeans and a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. His voice is raised and he sounds annoyed, but he's not yelling as much as the last few times Merlin was forced to listen in on his conversations, although he is certainly talking to his father because he keeps mentioning some meeting and some shares and other things Merlin doesn't know or care about. Merlin stops at the entrance to let Arthur finish his phone call, but Arthur notices him; he smiles immediately, almost as if it's a reflex to him, his expression becoming more relaxed, his eyes twinkling as he waves Merlin over, and Merlin thinks that maybe he's not the only one who's hopelessly twelve.
Arthur stands up when Merlin approaches and pulls his chair out for him and Merlin actually blushes, as if the dopey smile on his face wasn't embarrassing enough. Arthur's hand brushes over his lower back, and his skin tingles all over even after Arthur sits down in front of him.
“Father, I have to go,” Arthur declares, looking into Merlin's eyes. “Father. Merry Christmas and good night,” Arthur says in a tone that really begs no argument and ends the call, turning his phone off as soon as he does so, and placing it on the table between them. Merlin doesn't say a word, but he runs his fingers over Arthur's when he puts the phone down. Arthur smiles at him. “Hi,” he breathes quietly, holding Merlin's hand when he tries to move it away.
“You're confusing,” Merlin replies, before he gets to change his mind about being an adult and actually discussing how he feels. Arthur sits a little further back in his chair and his fingers twitch where they're pressed against Merlin's, but his hand stays in place.
“How so?” he asks carefully.
“You walk around like you own the planet, and you snap at people, and you shout a lot,” Merlin says. Arthur's face is completely expressionless, and Merlin thinks that he must spend a lot of time hiding his true self from everyone, because he's really good at it. “But then you're not on the phone anymore, and you're yourself. You apologize and you help. You're a good person, Arthur. I don't know why you don't show that to everybody,” Merlin finishes, feeling more and more nervous with every word, because Arthur's mien hasn't changed and with every flex of his fingers, Merlin expects him to take his hand back.
“I'm told I have quite a temper,” Arthur replies eventually. “It seems to flare up in my father's presence, or when I talk to him,” he adds. His voice is too controlled and even for Merlin to know if he's hurt or insulted or angry. He looks to Arthur's eyes for an answer, and Arthur stares back at him blankly for a few awkward and silent seconds. An oblivious waitress approaches their table and they both look away at the same time, Arthur letting go of Merlin's hand. Merlin can swear he imagines the way Arthur squeezes his fingers gently before moving away.
*
“I'm 21,” Merlin says when he's halfway through his cappuccino and neither of them has spoken in more than ten minutes. It's awkward, and Merlin is fidgeting; he's been avoiding looking at Arthur ever since the waitress left and he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. For all his more casual clothing, Merlin finds that he looks a lot more business-like and official due to his cold and neutral face when he chances a look in front of himself. He opts to stare at his cup after that.
“I know, I saw it in your Id,” Arthur answers, and Merlin is definitely imagining Arthur's amusement now, so he doesn't look up in fear of meeting Arthur's cold and distant eyes. “I'm 26,” Arthur offers after a while.
Merlin goes through his mental list of basic information he doesn't know about Arthur and settles on, “I don't know why my mom named me Merlin.”
“The first thing my sister was gifted when she was born was a book on the Arthurian legend. My mother named her Morgana because of that. My father thought Arthur to only be appropriate after that,” Arthur replies, his voice going slightly deeper and softer at the mention of his mother. Merlin decides to test his luck.
“My father left when I was very young. I barely remember him.”
“My father is...” Arthur starts without hesitation, but lets the sentence trail off. Merlin looks at him and finds that Arthur is looking back, but he doesn't seem angry, he looks amused, and Merlin sniffs his cup for traces of alcohol, because he's never this lucky. “My father has expectations,” Arthur continues. “And I don't meet them. I try, and fail, and he gets disappointed. That's all there is in our relationship.” There's resignation and defeat in Arthur's voice that makes Merlin reach out and stroke his upper arm. Arthur doesn't flinch away, so Merlin drops his hand on the table after a few seconds and pushes his luck some more.
“My mother died of an illness almost five years ago,” he says quietly, trying to tell Arthur with his eyes that he doesn't have to answer. Merlin knows he's treading thin ice now and that this is something Arthur doesn't normally talk about, but Arthur is not giving him any signs to back down.
“My mother died while giving birth to me,” Arthur whispers back. Merlin cringes, regretting the question, but Arthur grabs his hand on the table and squeezes it, not looking away. “Come on, Merlin, ask me. Whatever it is that you think you need to know, ask me.”
“I-I barely know you,” Merlin stammers, confused and nervous.
“Seems to me like you know me pretty well,” Arthur replies, smirking. “No one's ever called me a jerk to my face. And within less than 24 hours of meeting me as well,” he says, voice still dangerously low. Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur cuts him off. “You're something different, Merlin.”
“You're still confusing,” Merlin returns weakly, melting under Arthur's stare. “And you scared me. I thought you were mad at me.” Arthur laughs, and although he's probably laughing at him, Merlin can't really stop a few embarrassingly girly giggles that escape him; he thinks that maybe he's a little infatuated, and his mind produces an unwanted image of old Gwen telling her and Lancelot's grandchildren the story of how old Uncle Merlin fell head over heels in love with old Uncle Arthur, and that is one disturbing idea.
“You would be surprised what one learns to hide when their life is an endless series of business meetings,” Arthur replies and Merlin smiles when he notices that for once Arthur doesn't sound weary, even though he's talking about his job. “It was fun watching you squirm,” he adds with a snicker.
“Jerk,” Merlin teases affectionately, punching Arthur lightly in the arm with his free hand. Arthur smiles wider and squeezes his fingers.
“Come on, we're not spending the whole day in a café,” Arthur says, getting up and pulling Merlin to stand next to him.
“Where are we going?” Merlin asks, downing the rest his cappuccino as Arthur tugs him to the cash register and pays. “You really should let me pay for my own coffee, I'm not that broke,” he adds.
“When I take people out on dates, I like to pay,” Arthur replies as they walk out. Merlin blushes a little at people and then blushes a lot at dates but Arthur is still holding his hand tightly, and he's never felt better. “There's a platform where we can watch planes take off. We could start there,” Arthur says as he guides Merlin down the hall. “You can go on with your drilling if you want,” he adds, throwing a smile over his shoulder; Merlin trips and laughs at it with Arthur.
*
Hours later, Merlin is sitting on the floor of the glass-encased platform, wrapped in Arthur's arms (okay, so maybe he complained about being cold in the hopes of getting a hug, but he didn't really expect it to happen), asking increasingly silly and personal questions, because he's run out of the basic ones. To his credit, he always answers his own inquiry right after Arthur, so he thinks the exchange is fair. Arthur laughs at some questions, thinks a lot about others, but he answers them all and Merlin finds that he really hasn't learned anything paramount, just the little quirks and experiences that help him understand Arthur better and maybe give him ideas that are way too domestic.
“Milk chocolate or dark chocolate?” Merlin asks, leaning further into Arthur.
“Hmmm, dark I guess. Not too sweet,” Arthur replies.
“I prefer milk.”
“Any special flavour?”
“It's chocolate, for fuck's sake!”
Arthur laughs. Merlin is watching a large Lufthansa plane's wheels leave the ground, still deciding between Word or OpenOffice? and What was the longest you've ever gone without sleep? when he feels Arthur's slightly chapped lips pressed against his ear and over the roaring of four aircraft motors hears a whisper of “First kiss?”
Merlin's heart starts beating faster because he still hasn't gathered enough courage to go there, and because it's the first time Arthur's asked anything and he's asking this. “Will, my best friend. I was 15, he was 16. He was... experimenting, and I was desperate,” he answers a little breathlessly. “Shockingly, few people wanted to date a socially awkward twig with Dumbo ears,” he laughs, because that was years ago, and he's supposed to be over it now (he mostly is, really, it's just stings a little bit sometimes). He swallows down the you? that he reflexively wants to add at the end of the sentence.
Arthur kisses the shell of his ear and mutters, “I've always liked Dumbo.” It's far from a compliment, but Merlin blushes anyway and ducks his head to hide it. Arthur doesn't push him. “Morgana's then-best friend, Lizzie,” he says instead, resting his chin on Merlin's shoulder, “I was 13. I don't even remember her now.”
“First relationship?” Merlin breathes, squirming into a more comfortable position; Arthur's arms fall a few inches from his chest, and his hands covering Merlin's in his lap.
“Lizzie?” Arthur suggests. “Not sure if it counts. It only lasted a week or so, and it mainly consisted of phone calls Morgana forced me to make,” he laughs. “I'd say, my first relationship was with this guy, Charles. We were fifteen, he was in my class. Lasted a few months, too.”
“Edwin,” Merlin returns, cringing, “and if you knew him, I'd be really embarrassed to admit this. I was 17, he was my lab partner. Let's just say it, um, didn't end well. And bugs were involved.”
“Oh, god, okay, I really don't wanna know,” Arthur says, but he's laughing and Merlin doesn't feel awkward at all, and he thinks Gwen would be proud of the progress he's made in relaxing around other people, and most importantly, he's having fun. He turns around and brushes his lips on Arthur's cheek gently, questioningly. Arthur leans into it. “So, um, I guess that's it for innocent questions in that department,” he says and laughs. The sound vibrates through Merlin's lips and jaw and it makes him smile. “Worst date?” Arthur asks.
“Oh, wow, have a lot to choose from,” Merlin admits easily, because he knows by now that Arthur won't laugh at him. Too much. He turns back to look at the planes under them, the Virgin Atlantic they were supposed to be on four days ago just visible from inside the hangar on the far end of the runways. Arthur rests his cheek on Merlin's, and starts rubbing random patterns into his hands and wrists. “I'm gonna go with... And Gwen actually set me up on this one,” Merlin starts, and Arthur is already laughing because every story that starts with Gwen talked me into it is hilarious, “last year, I had a blind date. Turned out it was some 14-year-old kid, with huge blue eyes, really creepy. Barely said a word through the whole evening. It was awkward as fuck. And you won't believe his name.”
“What, Arthur?” Arthur suggests through fits of laughter. Merlin assumes he's imagining a cartoon version of the date, because that's what he always does.
“No, Mordred!” he says. Arthur's laugh directly into his ear may be permanently damaging to his eardrums, but it's totally worth it. “I actually think that's the only reason Gwen set us up. The most awkward two hours of my life,” he adds when Arthur's stopped laughing.
“Wait, mine's worse,” Arthur says. “In college, there was this guy, Mark. He asked me out one evening, completely out of the blue, took me on a picnic and brought home-made food.” Merlin opens his mouth to protest, because that sounds like a good date to him, but Arthur taps his wrist to shut him up. “And he brought these cookies that had peanuts in them.” And now Merlin can see where this is going, because he learned a few hours ago that Arthur's allergic to peanuts; he chuckles a little, imagining Arthur's face swelling while he pretends he's fine, but waits for the rest of the story. “So I ate them, and I knew something was wrong, but you know, he put an effort into baking them and I wanted to be nice. I actually ate quite a few of them, they were good, but then my throat started closing up and I was, like, shit, must've been peanuts. I apologize to the guy, tell him that I forgot about something super important and have to leave immediately, and he stares at me like I killed his pet goldfish or something, so I give him my number, tell him to call me and run to the nearest taxi to get to the hospital. Then, next morning, a courier brings me a basket of home-made peanuts cookies from Mark, who managed to get my address from some internet database of phone numbers. And he keeps sending the cookies for the rest of the month! Fed a homeless guy with them for an entire semester after that,” he finishes while Merlin bends over laughing as he imagines Arthur chucking cookies out of a window of his peanuts-infested apartment.
“So...” Merlin starts once he's calmed down. The next logical question would be best date, but he doesn't want to put Arthur in an unpleasant position of feeling like he has to answer this one, so instead he blurts, “Longest relationship?” which is not really the best choice, but still a better alternative.
“Um... Two years, a little longer,” Arthur replies without a flinch. “Her name was Sophia, she was, well, the biggest love of my life till then. Even asked her to marry me.”
“Did she say no?” Merlin asks quietly, but Arthur shakes his head.
“Nah, a friend talked me out of marrying her. Convinced me she was in it for the money. He was right,” he says, a little bitterly, then nudges Merlin's chin with his own and asks, “You?”
“Not really a pro at relationships here,” Merlin snorts. “Maybe, 7-8 months, I think? His name was Leon, he was the protective kind. There was never really any spark between us, he just needed someone to protect, and I needed protecting. It was a convenient habit for a while.”
Arthur rearranges his legs so they're on either side of Merlin and then makes Merlin half-turn around and face him. “I wanna see your face for this one,” he explains with a wicked smile, and brushes Merlin's hair out of his eyes. “First sex?” he asks quietly. Merlin blushes furiously and closes his eyes, a nervous laugh escaping him.
“That's, um, kind of. Personal,” he replies in one breath.
“Ya think?” Arthur laughs, and he sounds really close; Merlin opens his eyes just in time to see Arthur lean closer and press their foreheads together. “Knew you would blush,” he teases.
“Shut up,” Merlin moans, even as he feels the flush spread literally down to his shoulders. He closes his eyes again because Arthur's smile is blinding this close, and it's making him hot all over in all the right and wrong ways.
“Here, I'll go first,” Arthur says, still speaking quietly and Merlin refuses to react to the tingling of his spine at how intimate the moment feels. “With a girl? I was 16, she was 18, we were at a party and we were drunk. And it was awful. It was just... Terrible.” Arthur shakes his head, as if to clear it of the uninvited memory of that night. Merlin sniggers a little, his heart speeding up a little in anticipation of more information. “And with a guy... Well, Charlie and I kinda fumbled a little. It was clumsy and too fast and if I did it now, I probably wouldn't enjoy it, but it was nice back then. But first time I really did something serious with a guy? This guy, Tristan, in college, he was two years older than me. He'd just broken up with his girlfriend and he needed to vent and we were kinda friends, so he stayed over in my room that night. I may have had a crush on him, so one thing led to another and, well. It just sort of happened.” Merlin feels one of Arthur's hands leave his, and then fingers run over his cheekbone. “Hey, you got enough blood left in the rest of your body to breathe?” Arthur needles.
“Sod off,” Merlin replies, but there's no real heat in the words, and Arthur must know it, because he doesn't stop touching his face, tracing his cheekbone, eyebrow and the side of his nose with minutely shaking fingers. “This year,” Merlin finally answers. “Met this guy, Gwaine, at a concert. He's a special brand of freak. Likes backpacking and hitch-hiking and staying in run down motels and drinking a lot in cheap pubs, even though he can afford the best of the best. But he made me laugh. A lot. He stayed in New York for a few months, and he slept in my and Gwen's apartment. Gwen worked nights most of the time, I was stressed over my exams and Gwaine was... Relaxing.” Merlin can't help but smile, because he liked Gwaine, he still likes Gwaine, and he has some really fond memories when he thinks about those few months.
“Was it good?” Arthur asks, even closer now, their noses pressed against each other, and Merlin doesn't dare open his eyes.
“Yes,” he breathes; it comes out shaky because he shivers when Arthur runs his palm down the side of his neck at the same time as he laces the fingers of his other hand through Merlin's. Merlin's palms are sweating, and he can't control the jumping of his right leg, and his chest feels too tight, and there are freaking butterflies in his stomach, and he's regressed to a horny teenager, but fuck it all, he lunges forward swallowing that last inch of air between their lips and kissing Arthur without opening his eyes. Arthur's hand on his neck instantly becomes more persistent, blunt fingernail digging into the sensitive skin as Arthur pulls him closer and slots their mouths together properly. Merlin opens his mouth first and uninvited, but he licks the teasing remark slut off Arthur's tongue before he gets to make it, and the only noise Arthur manages is a very quiet hum. Arthur's lips are rough and dry, so Merlin takes extra care to keep them moist by licking and sucking on them, and Arthur never fails to reward him with an appreciative noise. Merlin finds that keeping up with Arthur's kissing is not easy when his brain is focused on memorizing every detail of every second, so he ends up with Arthur's tongue fucking his mouth, which is just fine for a while, but then he needs to nip on Arthur's lip impatiently because he wants more. Arthur's hands settle on his waist to pull him closer, and he clings onto Arthur's hair with one hand while the other one finds Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's mouth tastes like really good coffee, his messed up teeth feel funny under Merlin's tongue and he seems to like it when his hair is pulled on gently, and Merlin catalogues it all into his brain. Arthur tickles the underside of his tongue with the tip of his own and squeezes his hips and Merlin can't bring forth enough dignity to be embarrassed about the moans that spill into Arthur's mouth at that.
An announcement of Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow, scheduled for December 21st at 7.30 in the evening has been scheduled for tomorrow, 3 o'clock in the afternoon; the international airport John F. Kennedy apologizes for the delay and wishes you a safe journey, manages to penetrate their bubble of reality, startles them apart and makes them open their eyes.
“We're in an airport,” Merlin states.
“Yeah,” Arthur replies, sounding out of breath and hoarse, and kisses his chin.
“Our flight has been rescheduled,” Merlin adds in a surprised tone, still lost somewhere on his way back to reality.
“Yeah,” Arthur repeats, pressing kisses to Merlin's neck.
“We're going home,” Merlin finally says as he detaches Arthur's head from his neck, cradles it in his hands and stares into his eyes. “We're going home tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Arthur tells him and presses their mouth together again. “Lunch?” he offers against Merlin's lips when his stomach makes a displeased sound.
It's Merlin's turn to breathe out a “Yeah,” but they don't move from the floor for another fifteen minutes at least.
*
That evening, after they share a huge sandwich for lunch, and walk around the airport hand in hand, and say hello to Gwen and Lancelot, and sneak off to empty corridors for some more snogging and making out, Arthur walks Merlin back to his chairs. Gwen's already there, sitting with Lancelot, holding his hands and telling him something in a hushed voice. Arthur and Merlin stay far enough away not to hear them.
“You should come sleep in the hotel,” Arthur says, playing with Merlin's hair. “I'll pay. For Gwen and Lancelot, too.”
“I'll be fine for one more night,” Merlin replies; he's grown inexplicably fond of curling up with Gwen and falling asleep while talking to her. “Besides, I don't put out on the first date,” he teases.
“Good thing it's not our first date, then isn't it?” Arthur retorts, running a hand down Merlin's side and settling it on his lower back, but he doesn't go any further, which makes Merlin grateful, but slightly frustrated because he's not sure he wouldn't put out if Arthur requested it. “So,” Arthur says, checking the wall clock behind them, “good, it's still Christmas. Here, I got you a gift.” He untangles himself from Merlin and digs through his pockets before producing Merlin's battered blue iPod wrapped in brand new earphones from one of them. “It's charged,” he explains, placing it in Merlin's hand. Merlin has to remind himself that jumping at Arthur and smothering him in hugs would be way too much. “Gwen said you wouldn't want anything flashy and that this would be just fine,” Arthur adds, sounding defensive and concerned, and Merlin remembers that he hasn't said thank you yet and that his mother is probably turning over in her grave right now.
“It's perfect,” he says, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck and kissing the frown off his face. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” Arthur replies, smiling.
“I um. I didn't get you anything,” Merlin mumbles, looking away and flushing a little. He curses his own forgetfulness, but Arthur's warm arms snake around his waist and pull him closer.
“It's fine. Thank you for the most wonderful Christmas I've ever had,” Arthur whispers, kissing his ear and nuzzling his neck. Merlin doesn't really know how to reply to that, so he just strokes Arthur's hair and clutches his iPod with a huge grin on his face. “Tomorrow?” Arthur asks after a while, when Lancelot has already walked past them with a silent nod and Gwen has probably already settled in for the night.
“Starbucks?” Merlin checks, fingers still tangled in Arthur's hair. Arthur kisses his neck in response.
*
Gwen tells Merlin how she's already exchanged phone numbers with Lancelot and that they're going out again in London next year. She shows him the scarf she got from Lancelot for Christmas and tells him with shiny eyes (Merlin's not sure if it's just the lighting or if those are tears) how her whole day was filled with people approaching her to thank her for organizing this and tell her how happy they are to have met new people. Merlin tells her about planes taking off and about the warmth of Arthur's hugs and about his honesty. Gwen listens with thinly veiled exuberance and doesn't gloat when Merlin, too, thanks her for the opportunity to spend his holidays with Arthur (Merlin's not sure why he expected her to gloat, she's far too nice of a person for that). She falls asleep quickly, her head on Merlin's shoulder, arm draped over his stomach.
Merlin does sleep that night, although he feels it's from sheer physical exhaustion, because under any other circumstances, the exhilaration and apprehension about tomorrow warring inside him would be enough to keep him awake. He dozes off while listening to music on his newly-charged iPod. He swears it's never sounded better.
*
Merlin's not sure how the hours between arse o'clock in the morning (when he woke up even before the sun shyly peeked through the clouds) and almost-time-to-board-the-flight (when he was biting the back of his hand to muffle the moans, pressed up against a random wall of the airport with Arthur's sinful mouth working his neck expertly) managed to pass in a blink of an eye, but it makes him panicky and fearful, makes him think about what ifs and I hopes, and he doesn't like that, so he throws caution to the winds, drags Arthur through the first Staff only door he sees, pushes him against it and presses their bodies flush together. Arthur moans, grabbing Merlin's hips and rolling them until he aligns their erections and Merlin draws in a sharp breath. He wants to drag it out as long as he can, because he has no idea when, and even if, he'll have the chance to do this again, but his hips just won't stay still. Arthur's not complaining though, so Merlin figures he's fine.
When Arthur throws his head back with an exasperated sigh and starts thrusting back in earnest, Merlin props himself up against the door with one arm, and slides his free hand under Arthur's shirt to feel the rhythmical flexing of his muscles as he moves his hips. Arthur kisses the arm that's holding him up, and Merlin collapses on top of him, so Arthur flips them over, pressing Merlin against the door and rutting against him at a brutal pace. Merlin can do little but take it, gasping for breath every time Arthur's hard cock drags over his and kissing Arthur sloppily everywhere he can reach. They're still completely dressed, but Arthur's breath is warm on Merlin's lips, his hair is damp under Merlin's fingers, he's making the most erotic noises Merlin's ever heard (including porn), so Merlin lets go, biting on Arthur's lower lip to muffle the groans as he comes. Arthur shifts and rubs against Merlin's hip after that, and Merlin, not having the breath needed to form words, expresses his gratitude by tugging on Arthur's hair and kissing his neck. Arthur doesn't last long.
“I feel like I'm 15,” Arthur pants against the side of Merlin's neck as he tries to catch his breath. Merlin's relief (and maybe some hormonal high) makes him laugh. He gently runs his fingers through Arthur's hair and kisses the top of his head. “Oh, gross, now we'll have to travel like this,” Arthur mumbles grudgingly. Merlin's giggles make his legs finally give out, and they both stumble onto the floor, still tangled up and impossibly close.
*
Merlin falls asleep as soon as the plane's in the air, blissfully content and decidedly ignorant of Lancelot's flustered stuttering and Gwen's amused pride. When he stirs awake, he has no idea how long it's been and, more pressingly, the shoulder he's sleeping on is a lot bigger and more muscled than Gwen's. He recognizes a pleasant minty fragrance under the salty sweat so he has a pretty good idea who it is, but cracks an eye open all the same. Arthur is sleeping with his head resting on the seat, his mouth parted slightly, and he's drooling a little. Merlin titters and it makes Arthur mumble something incoherent. Merlin runs a calming hand over his thigh, kisses the corner of his mouth and whispers, “Sleep.” He leans against Arthur again and closes his eyes. He doesn't fall asleep until he slips his hand into Arthur's and feels Arthur squeeze it gently.
*
Gwen's brother and father meet them at the airport and their hugging and kissing and crying gives Merlin just enough time to kiss Arthur properly and say goodbye. Arthur promises to stay in touch and, although there's something nagging at him in the back of his mind, Merlin can't not trust him, not with the way Arthur looks at him, blue eyes shining and swollen lips curled upwards.
It's during the cab drive to his apartment (Gwen suggested he should come with them, but he refused, not wanting to impose on their long overdue reunion, and promised Elyan to wash his shirt and give it to him before he leaves for the States again) that he remembers - Arthur never asked for his number.
*
He wakes up unusually late, still sore from not having seen a bed in almost a week. He checks his phone out of habit, refuses to be disappointed when he sees no texts or calls from Arthur, and replies to Gwen's question if he's settled well. His apartment bears signs of abandonment, the wallpaper is peeling off, all the doors and windows creak horribly, boxes covered with dust and furniture covered with sheets adorn the floor, but it still feels like home to Merlin, who still sees his mother making pancakes in the kitchen and putting up framed pictures in the hallway. He walks to the door barefoot and in his pyjamas, opens it and goes to pick up the papers he signed up for when he decided to visit London for the holidays. On top of his Guardian is a paper airplane made of clear white paper with something scribbled on it. He picks it up and reads Starbucks? on one of its wings. His heart skips a beat and he almost forgets to bring the newspapers in as he scrambles to put on something warm and decent, when he freezes, legs caught up in his skinny jeans and buttons on his shirt done the wrong way, realizing how creepy it is that he found a paper airplane at his door. He checks it again, flips it over and sees Id, dimwit on the underside of the wings. He laughs all the way to Starbucks, two streets away from his block of flats.
*
He doesn't remember much of that day later - it all turns into one long make out session to him, starting out slow and exploratory, clothes still on, but as the day progresses, there's less and less fabric and more and more passion, until all Merlin knows is the whining of his own bed, the fire on his own skin and Arthur.
*
He doesn't talk to Gwen much in the next few days, so he has no idea how she knows anything (he decides they're just creepily connected and she really does read his mind), but when he visits her at home the next time, her father avoids making eye contact, Elyan sports a disturbingly knowing smirk and there's an extra seat cushion on his chair. He doesn't think he's ever been quite so embarrassed in his life.
*
The next time he flies, Arthur pays for his ticket in the first class, and Merlin swears he'll pay it back, although he knows he can't possibly gather enough money without giving up food, water and electricity all. Morgana comes with them and Merlin finds that she is highly intelligent and educated and that he likes talking to her (much to Arthur's horror). Arthur spends most of the 7-hour flight pouting.
*
The next time he's at the JFK, he waves at the familiar seats, and their current occupants look at him like he's grown an extra set of equally ridiculous ears, but he just grins at them, because Arthur is standing next to him with two large cups of flavoured Macchiato and that's all he needs to know.
*
On his first day back at college, it's freezing cold outside, he misses his train, manages to be late to the most interesting class he has (coincidentally also taught by the strictest teacher) and his phone dies halfway through the day. He heads home, annoyed and cold and pissed off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. In them, he finds the folded up paper airplane which makes his heart grow to five times the normal size and spill warmth all over his chest. He smiles brightly and goes back to class.
*
When Gwen comes back from England, Lancelot in tow, she suggests they move out of the apartment they've been renting for almost 5 years now. They spend their last week in their tiny shared home moping and saying goodbye to the most ridiculous things like mould in the bathroom and cracks in the living room and scratches on the floors of their respective rooms. Arthur picks Merlin up and waves at the messy flat with him. In front of the building they say goodbye to Gwen (securely tucked under Lancelot's arm) and Lancelot (who looks absolutely hilarious, being a pile of muscles with a besotted smile plastered on his face) and make plans for getting together next week.
On their way to Starbucks, Merlin turns around to look at his old bedroom window for the last time. His hand is in Arthur's coat pocket, where Arthur holds it, fingers laced, and gently runs his thumb over Merlin's wrist, and Merlin decides that this is another one of Gwen's good ideas.