FIC: Same As It Ever Was (Merlin)(1/1)
Title: Same As It Ever Was
Author: Cori Lannam (corilannam)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, mentions of Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Gwaine, Merlin/Freya
Word Count: 7,259
Warnings: None
Summary: When Merlin wakes up, he’s wrapped in Arthur’s arms. It's the single worst moment of his life.
Author's Notes: This was originally written for the 2010 merlin_holidays exchange. My thanks to my betas: chelseafrew, anna_zee, and stellarmeadow for much neurotic handholding and (very literal) 11th hour beta duty.
When Merlin wakes up, he’s wrapped in Arthur’s arms. Arthur is warm and solid. His skin is soft under Merlin’s cheek, his flesh firm but giving where Merlin presses against it (which is everywhere).
Arthur’s breath heats his ear. With every slow, even gust, Merlin feels the echo of Arthur panting and grunting as their bodies ground together, hours past. I need you. Dammit, Merlin. I love you.
He snuffles a little in his sleep, and his arms tighten around Merlin's shoulders and ribcage. Merlin feels warm and safe, blissful on the return edge of sleep.
It is the single worst moment of his life.
A flash of his eyes makes the moment drift to a halt around them so he can stay in it for as long as he can.
***
Stopping time is child’s play.
Merlin proves this when he is five years old, though he doesn’t appreciate the significance (in truth, he never does). As he sits at the kitchen table, attacking the open page of his colouring book with a crayon in each small fist, his mother is cooking beef stew on the stove, stirring it round and round the pot with her big wooden spoon.
Merlin loves beef stew, almost as much as he loves his mother. They don't have beef of any kind very often. They can only afford the cheapest cuts, and only then when they're about to go off and the butcher has to put them on offer. Ever since Merlin's father left them, his mother has worked two jobs and almost never makes it to the shops in time.
Also, the blank tropical fish on the right is in desperate need of a fuchsia fin.
His mother smiles as Merlin spills the rest of the crayons across the table, hunting for the one he’d set his mind on. "Don’t forget to pick those up, love," she says as she stirs. "Dinner’s nearly ready."
Merlin looks up at her with a big grin. It’ll be another ten years before he figures out how that grin makes her melt and what that lets him get away with. "It has to be pink," he states with incontrovertible authority. "Help me find the pinkest."
His mother smiles and grips the handles of the pot with their singed and frayed potholders. She lifts the pot, turning to bring it over to the trivet on the table.
Merlin forgets his quest for a fuchsia fish in his anticipation. Bringing the pot to the table means she'll let Merlin eat as much as his tummy can hold; no need to try to stretch it into dinner for tomorrow or the next night.
Perhaps she’s distracted by the rainbow spilled across her table, or maybe one of the potholders finally lost its grip. Merlin doesn't know, but when his mother gasps and lurches as the weight of the suddenly tilting pot pulls her off balance, Merlin does know exactly three things:
1) If the beef stew spills out over the kitchen floor, there won't be any more for a long time;
2) His mother has been so tired lately, and she was so happy about the beef. She'll be upset and try not to cry in front of Merlin, the way she does when she's thinking about his father; and
3) Merlin loves beef stew, and he loves his mother, almost in equal measure.
His heart jumps into his throat, and before he knows what he's doing, he feels the surge of heat that he knows is magic. All around him, the world slows down until finally everything is frozen except Merlin. Nothing moves: not the stew, not his mother, not even the clock.
Slowly he stands up and looks around. He's never done this before. Brilliant.
The stew is right at the edge of the pot, frozen as it was just about to slosh over the side. Merlin carefully pushes at the pot until it's upright, but he can't lift it enough to get it back on the stove. He can sometimes move things without touching them, but the pot is too heavy even for his magic.
He pulls over his chair and climbs up to stand on it. From there, he tries to push at his mother's hands to get her to move the pot herself, but she doesn't budge. He's panting, frustrated, almost to the point of tears.
"Just go back!" he wails and pushes the wish out into the universe with all his power. Merlin pushes so hard that it feels like he's falling off the chair. He sees a wheel in his mind and he's falling and falling right over the top of it.
He's afraid the wheel might run him over when suddenly he's sitting on the chair again and the pot is back on the stove. His mother blinks, disoriented, looking down at the potholders in her hands.
"Merlin, my love," she says slowly. "Did something just happen? Did you just do something interesting?"
Merlin beams and can't tell her fast enough. She smiles when he's done and hugs him even though her hands are shaking, just a little.
"My little lad," she murmurs into his hair. "You're the man of the house now, aren't you?"
He puffs himself up, so proud that he has taken care of his mother like his father didn't.
***
The next day his mother keeps him out of school. She calls in sick to her first job, and then takes him down to the old town.
Old Mr. Gaius runs the shop with the pretty crystals and colourful cards that his mother won't let him play with. With a wink, Mr. Gaius slips Merlin some old photocopied outlines of strange symbols and a pair of highlighters.
Merlin makes do.
"Has he done anything of this sort before?"
"No, only the usual telekinesis," his mother replies in a tight voice that makes Merlin's highlighter pause long enough to bleed through the paper. "He stopped time itself, Gaius. Not just stopped it: reversed it, I think, if only by a few moments. That shouldn't be possible, should it?"
His mother is trying not to sound upset. He's worked so hard at not upsetting her, so when Mr. Gaius creaks himself down to give Merlin a kindly smile, Merlin is eager to be helpful.
"Now my lad," Mr. Gaius says. "Can you tell me exactly what you did last night? When you were helping your mum?"
"I can show you," Merlin says, too eager to wait for agreement before his eyes flare and time grinds to a stop.
When it starts again, he presents Mr. Gaius with the pair of spectacles he had left by the till. Mr. Gaius blinks, looks over at the chair Merlin had tugged over in order to reach the countertop, and takes a long breath.
"I see, lad," he says. He gives Merlin a shaky pat with one gnarled hand, and then exhorts Merlin for half an hour not to worry his mother with such antics again.
***
That night, Merlin sits up straight in his bed with his eyes scrunched shut. He concentrates on turning back time once again, back and back and back to the day his father left them.
But the right feeling eludes him. No matter how long he keeps the clock from moving in its natural direction, he can't persuade it to move in reverse. That moment of tipping over the wheel never comes again.
Finally he lies down, still except for the quivering he can't control. It wasn't his fault, his mother has told him so many times. He loved us so much. But it couldn't be helped.
For the first time, he accepts that it's true. His father loved them, and he left them. Merlin can't change that, not for all his gifts, but it won't happen again. His heart, what's left of it, will stay safe in his chest. And it will stay alone, because Merlin will never take another's heart into his keeping. He will never make someone cry like his mother cries when she thinks he's asleep, broken hearted and alone.
***
The novelty of stopping time wears off quickly. By the time Merlin is thirteen, he only does it in moments of true need (saving a dog from the car it was chasing; a crucial extra few moments on an essay exam).
And then two new students enter the school.
"Oh, look at her," his friend Gwen whispers beside him. "So posh, isn't she?"
He turns his head to look at the elegant, dark-haired girl who has just entered the classroom--but his eyes slip past to the boy coming in behind her. Before Merlin realizes it, he's frozen the world so he can look at the boy longer.
The boy is the most beautiful thing Merlin has ever seen. Golden hair gleams even in the dull light. His fine-boned face is set in a defensive arrogance, but when Merlin goes up to look closer, he sees the scared vulnerability in the set of his lips and his wide blue eyes.
If Merlin were willing to love, he might have fallen right here, in this moment that he cannot quite let go.
"Oh, my God," says a soft voice. "Are you doing this?"
He startles and looks at the girl, who against all Merlin’s expectations and experience is looking back at him. Her eyes glitter as she steps out of his magical hold as though she’s shaking off a rain shower. She comes up to him and puts her hands on his face.
"I’ve seen you," she says with the thickness of tears in her voice. "I didn’t know you’d be real."
Merlin is a little surprised by that himself, to the point that his magic slips, and he doesn’t notice that the world is moving again until a rough hand shoves him away from the girl.
"Get your hands off my sister," says the blond boy, all vulnerability gone, leaving only the arrogance that is suddenly much more obnoxious in real time.
"Er, sorry, mate," Merlin says with a grin that shows he’s not sorry at all. No one can just walk into a place like they own it, no matter how beautiful they are. "But I think she was the one with her hands on me."
The boy’s face contorts with rage. It’s the last thing Merlin sees clearly before he finds himself slamming into the front row of desks, scattering papers and pupils in a flurry.
They tussle and tumble down the aisles and under the desks. The other boy has weight and skill on his side (this is clearly not his first fight), but Merlin has magic.
Merlin’s bruised and scraped by the time he figures out how to get the upper hand. But soon enough he has the boy pinned beneath him, panting and looking up at Merlin with wide blue eyes.
"You’re one of them," he breathes with awe. Merlin feels the restless squirm of the boy’s body just before adult hands unceremoniously haul them apart.
It’s the first and last time they’ll be separated for a very long while.
***
It turns out that the boy is Arthur and the girl is Morgana. The reason they act like they own everything is because they do: Uther Pendragon is a businessman of shadowy reputation who has gained a controlling interest (one way or another) in nearly every corner of the region.
Arthur’s mother died under suspicious circumstances when he was only a baby. A car accident was the official verdict, but the rumours whispered of a rival and a deal gone bad. If the intent had been to weaken Uther, it had failed; his grief had only made him cold and hard as steel, unable to bend and too stubborn to break.
Morgana (on paper, at least) is the daughter of Uther’s best friend. Gorlois had headed the Irish branch of the Pendragon family business until he went to prison for the murder of Morgana’s mother. Everyone said he killed her because the first time Gorlois had gone to prison, Uther had taken it upon himself to comfort his lonely wife--and comforted her right into childbed, nine months and several weeks after her husband’s arrest.
Whatever his misdeeds, Uther loves Arthur and Morgana as much as he can, and he welcomes Merlin and Gwen into their lives with a joviality that makes Merlin’s skin crawl. He asks Merlin endless questions about his family and particularly his father. Merlin lies.
Uther is kindly toward Gwen in the way one is kind to a favoured pet. Morgana dotes on her, and Arthur is friendly, though perpetually confused by Gwen’s worshipful gaze.
The truth is that she fell in love with Arthur at the same instant Merlin didn’t.
***
Merlin is content to live in Arthur’s orbit: always with him, never touching. As the years pass, college to university to life, Arthur touches and smiles and tries to draw Merlin closer. Merlin wants badly to get closer, to follow where Arthur wants to take him.
But too close would never be close enough. Arthur needs love like rain; he wilts when he is not adored. Casual is not in his nature, and Merlin will never, ever do anything else. Love doesn’t end well, and nothing good ever came of pretending otherwise.
He’s sitting on a bench outside their local, waiting and trying to rub his fingers through his gloves. Magical warming is dangerous, but he’s just about ready to risk it when Arthur drops down beside him like an eagle taking roost.
"Morgana thinks I should ask Gwen to the Christmas party," he says without preamble. "What do you think, Merlin?"
"I think you should ask Gwen to the Christmas party," Merlin replies. Something dark and cold twists in his chest; it’s just a confirmation that he’s right. Arthur’s craving for love needs to be redirected before Merlin does something that will ruin both their lives in the end. Gwen is as good a choice as any; she’ll take care of him, ever faithful.
Arthur stares at the side of his face, a glower that burns into Merlin’s peripheral vision. "As a date, Merlin," he clarifies as though Merlin is too stupid to make the connection.
"All right," Merlin agrees through gritted teeth. "Then I think you should ask Gwen to the Christmas party as your date."
"Thank you, Merlin," Morgana purrs, settling on Merlin’s other side. Her arm links through his, a reassuring anchor. He doesn’t know why, but she has never approved of a love match between Merlin and her brother. It would anger him, except that his resolution needs an ally.
Arthur is still glowering. "Who are you taking, then? Tell me it’s not that Gwaine."
"Maybe," Merlin says. "I haven’t really thought about it."
"He’s a drunken lout, Merlin," Arthur bursts out. "He’ll never be serious about anything, let alone you."
"Maybe that’s why I like him," Merlin responds through gritted teeth, because it’s the truth.
"Here comes Gwen now," Morgana interrupts with a cheery wave down the street to their approaching friend. "Take her inside and ask her to the party. I’ll deal with our Merlin’s relationship issues."
Arthur mutters something uncomplimentary to Morgana’s general character, but he rises and takes Gwen’s arm to escort her into the pub. She smiles at him with surprised pleasure and ill-concealed hope. Merlin doesn’t watch them go; he’s watching a snowflake, the first of the season, spiral down through the lamplight to catch in Morgana’s dark hair.
"You’re right not to give him his way," she says after a moment. "It wouldn’t end well."
Slowly he turns his head just enough to look at her face. "Did you see something?" he asks. Morgana’s magic can’t touch his own for power, but her visions of the future, while usually too disjointed to be useful (and never about anything interesting, like World Cup results), are relentless in their truth.
"I saw you together, and I saw you leave," she says simply. "And then I saw him with a broken heart, alone."
He feels the gentle words like a punch to his gut. It’s one thing to be sure he wants no part of the agony and ecstasy of love. It’s quite another to hear all his childhood fears so calmly confirmed as the truth.
"They’d be good together," he chokes out.
"Yes." Her fingers twine through his and tug him with her up off the bench. "I saw their wedding. It was quite beautiful."
When they join Arthur and Gwen, Merlin is filled with the urge to punch his sweetly glowing friend in the face. He squeezes Morgana’s hand tight, grateful that she’s there to pull him back from the yawning chasm at his feet.
***
But she isn’t there a week later when Arthur shows up at Merlin’s door. He’s agitated, distraught, clutching a thick file folder. Merlin pulls him inside without a second thought.
"What is it?" he says with a flutter of anxiety. "Arthur, what’s the matter?"
"I know why your father left," Arthur says and pushes the file into his hands before Merlin can register the words.
He reads standing up while Arthur paces. The file tells him what he already knew: his father had powerful magic, much like Merlin’s own. And it tells him what he didn’t know: that his father had once worked for Arthur’s, using his abilities to further the interests of the Pendragon empire in darker and darker ways until he could no longer bear it, and ran.
"My father never knew about you and your mum, but I think he’s suspected for a while," Arthur is saying when Merlin blinks his way out of the file. "It’s why he’s let me keep you so close. Merlin, I’m so sorry."
"It’s not your fault," Merlin says automatically, closing the file to stop it from shaking. He can’t process what he’s just heard and read, nor reconcile it with everything he thought he understood.
Arthur pulls it from his hands and tosses it onto the coffee table. Then he takes Merlin’s face between his hands and kisses him fiercely.
"I’m sorry," he says against Merlin’s lips, against his cheeks and eyes and jaw as he presses kisses everywhere. "I won’t let him do this anymore. I won’t ever let him touch you."
Something inside Merlin is breaking open. He doesn’t recognize it until his mouth finds Arthur’s, and by then it’s much too late. He’s sinking into the heat of Arthur’s consuming kiss and the grasping of his hands as he drags Merlin hard against his body.
When their arms go around each other, Merlin gives up and gives in. He can’t see the point of fighting it now. The damage is done; they can’t go back.
Arthur slams him into the wall, and groans when Merlin flips him around to return the favour. They kiss again, harder.
The sofa is right there next to them, but Merlin doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to lie down in gentle intimacy. He wants the hard wall and a hard fuck to imprint on his senses. If his life and his principles are going to crash and burn, he’s damn well going to crash hard.
Arthur gives a shivery groan as Merlin’s eyes flash and lube and a condom appear in his hand, pressed against Arthur’s chest. The items are souvenirs from when Gwaine had come around the other night to fuck Merlin out of his despondency, and they both know it.
Another flash and the sofa moves a few feet away from the wall. Merlin pulls Arthur from the wall and shoves him into the space behind the sofa. "Bend over," he says, voice so rough he barely gets the words out.
Arthur nods, kicks off his shoes, and starts unbuckling his belt. Merlin copies him, but slower because his eyes are glued to Arthur’s groin as the trousers open to reveal the hard ridge of Arthur’s cock outlined through his boxer briefs.
"Fuck," Merlin groans, almost dizzy with the blood that’s pumping into his own erection. Arthur smirks and lets his cock spring free as the briefs slide down his muscled thighs. "Bend over," Merlin says again, and Arthur obeys.
Merlin stumbles over his shoes, jeans, and pants as he kicks them off on his way to position himself behind Arthur. He’s glad he put the condom on first, because once he sinks his lubed fingers into Arthur’s achingly hot arse, he doesn’t have a mind for anything but getting deeper into him.
Time slows down as he pulls his fingers free, but it isn’t magic. It’s just the tip of his cockhead touching Arthur’s hole, light enough to tease a shiver out of Arthur’s body. Then it presses harder against the hole and into the hole, and Arthur seizes the top of the sofa cushions just in time for Merlin to thrust his full length into that tightness.
Arthur gasps with the shock of it. His arse clenches around Merlin’s cock, and Merlin pulls out slowly to enjoy the wringing pressure. The head pops out. Arthur gasps again, still clenching around the emptiness.
Merlin rubs Arthur’s arms and then pulls him up off the sofa. He needs to be pressed closer to Arthur so he can feel the shake and surge of Arthur’s body while Merlin’s fucking into him.
He pushes him back against the wall and grips Arthur’s thighs. Arthur groans as the tingle of magic washes over him, supporting him just enough as Merlin urges him to draw up his legs around Merlin’s waist.
The magic helps support him, but Arthur’s weight is still considerable, more than enough to sink him back down onto Merlin’s cock. "Oh, yeah, better," Arthur moans and braces his feet on the back of the sofa.
As Merlin starts to fuck, he agrees, "Better, God, you feel so good, so fucking tight, I can’t believe it," until Arthur grips the back of his head and silences him with his tongue. So they kiss as they fuck, ravenous above and below. Merlin grinds into Arthur until his balls feel so tight he thinks he can push them into Arthur with the rest of his shaft, deep to the root until he comes just from the pressure.
Soon Arthur is too far gone to kiss; he keeps missing Merlin’s lips until he gives up and drops his face to Merlin’s shoulder. His lips brush Merlin’s ear as his panting and moaning fill it. "I need you," he says on a pained grunt. "So bad, Merlin, dammit, so bad."
"Need you," Merlin responds, fucking so hard now that Arthur’s back is scraping the wall, up and down. "Just a little more, just a little harder, Arthur, please."
"I love you," Arthur breathes into his ear, and Merlin’s orgasm flares into release. It pounds through him and out of him. He comes and comes into Arthur’s welcoming body, until his knees give out and it’s Arthur holding him as they slide down the wall.
***
When Merlin wakes up, he’s in his bed, wrapped in Arthur’s arms. Arthur is warm and solid, holding him tight with the promise of love.
This is the single worst moment of Merlin’s life.
He slows time for as long as he can, to memorize the strength of Arthur’s embrace, the heat of his body and the soft rush of his breath. Last night, everything changed. Now that his flesh has cooled, he has to face the damage they’ve done.
Now he knows that love is unavoidable; he never stood a chance against Arthur, and it was foolish to pretend he did. Now he knows exactly what Uther Pendragon is and what will happen if Uther ever confirms his suspicions of what Merlin is. He’ll face the same fate as every other magic user that crosses Uther’s path: he’ll disappear, to reemerge in the service of the Pendragon empire, or not at all.
For him and Arthur, there’s no going back; there’s no going forward. Merlin has been living a dangerous lie and only now does he understand his father’s choice.
He hopes his mother will be as forgiving to him. He hopes Arthur will be more forgiving than Merlin was.
He eases out of Arthur’s arms and finds a pen and paper. I’m sorry, he writes. Don’t wait for me.
Then he packs a bag, leaves his keys on the coffee table, and walks out of his flat for the last time.
***
To any observer, Merlin’s transplanted life resumes without any discernable change. He finds a new town and takes a new flat almost identical to the one where (frozen in his memory) Arthur still lies sleeping. He finds a job that keeps his workdays in the same stultifying routine.
And he dates (and fucks) the same as before, until the brief interludes of sex and companionship no longer distract him from the empty space where Arthur belongs. The closest he gets to a real friend is Freya, a one-night stand who turns out to be the first magic user he’s met since he last saw Morgana.
"I can’t believe you lived right under his nose for so long," she says with awe, and a little condescension, as though she can’t believe Merlin is actually that stupid.
He winces, but never changes the subject because she always brings him the latest rumours about the infamous Uther Pendragon. Merlin doesn’t really want to hear about the seedy world Uther rules beneath his veneer of upper-class civility, but he listens for the tiniest kernel of news about Arthur.
Over the next few years, he knows only a few things about Arthur’s life:
1) Arthur has been groomed for the family business and is now taking his place in it, as Merlin always knew he must;
2) Arthur is tasked with locating and "recruiting" magic users according to his father’s instructions. When not observed, he proves remarkably bad at finding anyone; and
3) Things will be different, everyone whispers, when Uther is finally dead or imprisoned, if Arthur is strong enough to take control.
Once a year, Morgana sends him a Christmas card. He doesn’t know how she found his address; a bit of magic should make him untraceable to those he left behind.
The first year, the inscription within says simply, Thank you. I’m sorry. He isn’t sure why she would thank him. Merlin loved Arthur and left him exactly as Morgana foresaw. He chooses to take it as confirmation that he spared Arthur greater pain by leaving.
Every year after, the card bears only her signature. Merlin craves more personal news than he can get through Freya’s grapevine, but he is reluctantly grateful for Morgana’s discretion.
In what he comes to think of as the last year, he receives a large ivory envelope, addressed in Morgana’s flowing script. It isn’t a Christmas card.
Mr. Arthur Pendragon and Miss Guinivere Smith request the honour of your presence in celebrating their union of marriage....
On the RSVP card, Morgana’s handwriting is reduced to a distressed scribble. Merlin, please come at once.
He drops the card at once in the bin and sends no reply. Neither the bride nor groom has invited him, of this he is certain, and he is done taking direction from Morgana.
Even if Morgana had not foreseen their wedding, he would have fully expected that Arthur would turn to Gwen to fulfill his need for love and partnership. Merlin even approves of the idea in theory. Gwen will take care of him. She would have no reason to leave him.
Seeing it in black and white (or ivory and gold) hits him harder than he would have thought. He never expected Uther to allow it; Gwen is not of their social class any more than Merlin is. Merlin wonders if the lack of Uther’s name on the invitation means absence or defiance.
He’s not surprised when he sees Freya on Friday night and she excitedly whispers to him that Uther has been taken into custody, betrayed from within and with enough evidence that all Uther’s wealth and power won’t help him breathe free air ever again.
Merlin takes a deep breath, then another, until he’s dizzy with the knowledge that he’s safe. Morgana is safe, Freya is safe, even his father, somewhere, is finally safe. He can go home now, if he wants.
He calls his mother, but he doesn’t go back.
Later, he does go to the wedding.
***
Merlin approaches the church with trepidation. He is very late, mostly due to the number of times he got out of his car and then jumped back in again. Whatever Morgana wanted from him (to be a groomsman, perhaps, or to enchant the flowers not to wilt), it’s too late. All he can do is bear witness to the happy future he wanted for Arthur.
He slips into the back of the church just as Arthur slips the ring onto Gwen’s finger.
The glint of the ring sealing their wedded fates is the first thing Merlin notices. The second is the pinched look on Arthur’s face. It pulls at Merlin. Uther is a tyrant, a criminal, even a murderer, but he is still Arthur’s father. Whatever Arthur’s involvement was with Uther’s downfall, Merlin can see that it has taken its toll.
His gaze lingers so long on Arthur’s face that he almost doesn’t notice Gwen’s until Arthur is bending to kiss her. Given how she has always glowed under Arthur’s attention, Merlin expects da Vinci-level radiance to suffuse her now.
She smiles up at her husband and tilts her face to receive his kiss. But her brow is creased with worry, her lips set in uncertainty. Her back stiffens when Arthur’s hands clasp her shoulders and relaxes only with visible effort.
"Merlin." Only when Morgana hisses in his ear does Merlin realize she is not standing behind Gwen in her proper place as maid of honour. "Why didn’t you come?"
"Obviously I did," he hisses back. "Against all rational judgment, by the way. Why aren’t you up there?"
Morgana grips his arm and draws him back into the vestibule. "I told them they were making a mistake and I’d have no part of it."
"What?" Merlin barks in shock before remembering to lower his voice. "What mistake? This is what you said was supposed to happen!"
"Yes, Merlin, thank you," she snaps. "I heard plenty of that from Arthur. He said I worked so hard to dictate his life, I could hardly start reordering it now."
Merlin grabs her arms and glares down at her. "You helped dictate all our lives, Morgana. You and Uther. You said it was all for Arthur; you said he’d be happy."
"He was supposed to be. He pretends to be, but he’s not." Morgana’s distress comes out in her voice, and Merlin easily tamps down any pity he might have felt for her and her failed machinations. "And it’ll only get worse. Did you see his best man?"
"No."
"Arthur won’t, either," she says as if he should know what that means.
"Cryptic as ever, Morgana, but even if I understood you, I don’t know what you want me to do about it." Merlin’s fists clench. "They’re married. It’s done."
"I know. If you’d come earlier-"
"It was done a long time ago," he says harshly. "Even if Arthur forgave me for running, I left because I can’t be what he needs. That hasn’t changed."
Her hand is unexpectedly gentle when it cups his cheek. "Oh, Merlin, I wanted you to leave because you do this to yourself. You have this idiotic idea that love can’t ever last, so you make sure it doesn’t. I didn’t want you to do that to my brother."
The truth of what he has created (and destroyed) settles into his chest until he almost can’t breathe through it. "I guess we were both right, after all."
"No, stop it. I underestimated both of you, almost as badly as you did." Her hand slides down to his shoulder and gives him a shake. "Please, just talk to Arthur."
"Talk to me about what?" says a familiar voice from behind them. "Hello, Merlin. Long time."
He spins to find Arthur and Gwen, hand in hand, standing between the doors that Merlin hadn’t heard open. Arthur’s expression is carefully neutral; Gwen looks even more pensive than she did at the altar, and not particularly welcoming. Behind them, their attendants try to peer over their shoulders into the vestibule.
"Hello, Arthur," Merlin responds, eyes locked to Arthur’s. "Gwen, congratulations."
"Thank you, Merlin." She lets go of Arthur to step forward and kiss Merlin’s cheek. "Morgana, I’m glad you’re here. You’re coming to the reception, aren’t you?"
Morgana doesn’t resist as Gwen links their arms and draws her out the door and down the church steps. Merlin steps to the side as the dam breaks and the rest of the assembled company begins pouring from the nave past him.
The attendants, particularly the dark and handsome man who must have stood up with Arthur, give Merlin curious looks as they pass him. The rest of the congregation behind them heard nothing of the reason for the delay and so ignore him as they stream past, absorbed in their own chatter.
Merlin ignores all of them, because across the vestibule, Arthur has also stepped to the side and is watching him across the river of people. Their eyes stay locked until the church door bangs shut behind the last of the crowd.
They stand in silence for a moment until Merlin awkwardly clears his throat. "Gwen looks beautiful," he says, and Arthur gives a brusque nod of acknowledgment before Merlin blurts: "So do you."
Arthur sighs and shakes his head. "Don’t. I knew Morgana would try to make you come, but I hoped you wouldn’t."
Merlin takes a sharp breath and tries not to let that hurt. "I think she was still hoping... that it wasn’t too late."
"Is that what you were hoping?"
He has never had any hope before. He isn’t sure if this is what it feels like. "Are you happy, Arthur? You and Gwen?"
"I’m well enough. Gwen will be. I just vowed to spend the rest of my life making sure of it."
And Arthur keeps his vows. Merlin swallows carefully to keep his voice steady. "So it is too late."
"Your lack of punctuality no longer surprises me, Merlin," Arthur replies evenly.
"Morgana wanted me to come earlier." Merlin’s smile hurts his face. It’s only now, with hope dashed, that he realizes he had any to begin with. "I guess that I shouldn’t have picked then to stop listening to her."
"It wouldn’t have mattered," Arthur says, almost gently before his voice hardens. "It was too late a long time ago. When you walked out and left that fucking note."
For a moment, Merlin is shocked back to the moment he laid the note on the pillow, moving the paper until it didn't flutter from Arthur's breath. He doesn't remember if it hurt then the way it suddenly hurts now; he doesn't remember if he was this much in love.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I was wrong. I thought if I--"
"I talked to Morgana a lot. And your mother." Arthur's face softens, barely enough to see. "They told me more about your father and your ridiculous abandonment issues."
Merlin ducks his head and grits his teeth, face burning with mingled embarrassment and annoyance. His issues still feel very real to him, though he can no longer hide from his growing certainty that they have led him to make a truly egregious mistake.
"It wasn't all my issues," he says. "Would you have left your whole life behind if your father had discovered me and I had to run?"
"Yes," Arthur replies simply. "I looked for you for years. If I'd found you, I'd never have left you, Merlin."
"You've found me now." He can't help saying it, though he feels the shame even before Arthur's reply.
"I'm married." It goes unspoken that if he left Gwen now, any promise to Merlin would mean nothing.
"I got here in time to see that part," Merlin says sourly and earns a reluctant crook of a smile.
"Even you can't turn back time," Arthur says and then sharpens his gaze when Merlin's whole body stiffens. "You can't, can you? Merlin? Merlin! Can you actually reverse time?"
Once, he had. Merlin's heart pounds as he remembers the pot and the stew and the visit to Mr. Gaius. But he had never been able to repeat it, and even if he could, the few moments he had needed to rescue dinner would be nowhere near enough to rescue Arthur.
"No," he answers with enormous reluctance. "No, I can't."
Arthur nods with careful neutrality. "Okay," he says. He steps forward and lifts his hand to Merlin's face, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You should come to the reception. Guinevere will want to see more of you. And you can meet Lance and the rest of my mates."
"I will," Merlin lies. He drinks in his last sight of Arthur, resplendent in his wedding finery. "I'm glad to have seen you."
Arthur nods again. "Take care, Merlin."
Then he's gone, and Merlin will never see him again.
He turns to go back into the church; he wants to wait until he's sure Arthur is long gone from the area before he leaves. It's strange, he thinks as he pushes open the inner door, that it hurts so much now when he had never intended to see Arthur again at all.
Then he trips over his own feet and falls and falls, head over heels down the aisle like a bride in a snidely ironic pantomime.
The first impact dislodges the wedge of grief in his chest. He clings to it, lets it rip him open until everything inside him is falling and falling. He can't control anything as his magic surges up around him in a whirlwind, tumbling him forward beyond the logic of physical science.
By the time he sees the wheel before him, he's already over it, laughing and laughing as he falls. He pictures himself caught in an endless loop: falling a few seconds back through time, only to emerge in the midst of falling again.
When he finally tumbles to a stop, sprawling facedown on the ground, he's almost disappointed. A blast of cold air cuts right through his cheap suit, making him shiver as he tries to orient his whirling head. Has he tumbled straight through the church and out the back door?
There's concrete beneath his hands as he pushes himself off the ground and tries to crawl forward. He's still horribly dizzy when his hands run into something soft and rough at the same time. He stares at it for a long moment before he recognizes it as his duffel bag, the only piece of luggage he's ever owned.
"I thought I left you in the car," he mumbles, and then proceeds to vom spectacularly all over it. "Oh, bugger, I must have hit my head."
Merlin hopes if he can clear his head enough to stand, the vicar might still be about and willing to help him. He gets to his knees, lifts his head, and finds himself face to face with his own front door.
No, not his own front door. Not anymore.
His heart pounds as he slowly looks around. Underneath the vomit, his duffel looks newer than it has in years. The wind tears at him again; he looks down at the long sleeved t-shirt he hadn't been wearing five minutes ago. He looks down further to see his feet in a pair of trainers he had thrown away last year.
Merlin still feels sick, but not from the fall and not from hitting his head. He stares at the door for a second before grabbing at the handle and rattling it. It doesn't budge, and he hasn't had a key for years.
If this is the day he thinks it is, the key is sitting on a creaky old coffee table just on the other side of the door. And if it's the day he thinks it is, he has to get on the other side of this door. He rattles the handle again, frantic, trying to remember the names of his neighbours and if he ever gave them a spare key.
It becomes much easier once he remembers he has magic.
He stumbles into the flat, looking around, panting and wild eyed. Everything looks exactly the same--everything is exactly the same. He propels himself forward at a flat-out run and bursts into his darkened bedroom.
Arthur is curled in Merlin's bed, face half buried in the pillow. He hasn't moved in the minutes (the years) since Merlin left. The note sits on the pillow beside him, accusatory, incriminating.
Merlin lunges for it, snatches it from the bed like an unfaithful lover, and runs into the toilet. He can't stand the thought of reading the note, so he just tears it--shreds it until it's almost unrecognizable as paper. Then he flushes it down the toilet and crouches down next to the bowl, hands shaking with magic and unbearable relief.
He tries to compose himself. When he calms his breathing, he stands up and goes to the sink. He rinses the foul taste from his mouth and splashes water on his face until the shake of the magic finally fades.
Only when he feels steady and real again does he let himself believe that Arthur will still be on the other side of the door and that he needn't ever know what Merlin has (almost) done and what it (nearly) cost them.
Merlin goes back to the bedroom and stares at his past until slowly he feels able to accept it as his present. All he has wanted for so long is to be back in that bed.
When he can move, he flings his clothes wherever they land, and crawls back into the warmth of Arthur's embrace. Arthur is solid and real. His breathing is steady and content. Merlin watches the small, sweet smile on his face, mind frizzing out with exhaustion every time he tries to contemplate his profound gratitude for this undeserved second chance.
It is the single best moment of his life.
After a little while, Arthur stirs, opens his eyes, and the smile widens into a full, crooked grin. "Good morning," he croaks and leans in to smother any return greeting (if Merlin were capable of one) with his mouth.
They kiss until Merlin feels warmed through again. The cold is fading and so are the memories of his mistaken life. He can feel everything settling into place.
Finally Arthur breaks off the kiss and stretches his long limbs. He frowns as his foot catches on Merlin's jeans, which landed unheeded at the foot of the bed. Belatedly, Merlin remembers that last night, all those years ago, both their clothes had been left abandoned in the sitting room.
"You weren't planning to do a runner on me, were you?" Arthur asks. His tone is teasing, but since the moment they met, Merlin has known how to see the vulnerability underneath the bravado.
"No," he answers and reaches for Arthur again, eager to tell him the truth that’s bubbling up so happily out of Merlin’s control. "I love you."
As he kisses Arthur's brilliant smile, he knows his problems aren't over, but he'll gladly take back the problems he had once fled in exchange for what he gets in return. He'll have to have a long talk with Morgana. He'll have to face down Gwen's disappointment. He'll have to find a way to speed up Uther's journey to prison.
It will be a long time before he stops waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But he loves Arthur Pendragon, same as he ever did, and for the first time in his life, he believes that that's enough.
***
Author: Cori Lannam (corilannam)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, mentions of Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Gwaine, Merlin/Freya
Word Count: 7,259
Warnings: None
Summary: When Merlin wakes up, he’s wrapped in Arthur’s arms. It's the single worst moment of his life.
Author's Notes: This was originally written for the 2010 merlin_holidays exchange. My thanks to my betas: chelseafrew, anna_zee, and stellarmeadow for much neurotic handholding and (very literal) 11th hour beta duty.
When Merlin wakes up, he’s wrapped in Arthur’s arms. Arthur is warm and solid. His skin is soft under Merlin’s cheek, his flesh firm but giving where Merlin presses against it (which is everywhere).
Arthur’s breath heats his ear. With every slow, even gust, Merlin feels the echo of Arthur panting and grunting as their bodies ground together, hours past. I need you. Dammit, Merlin. I love you.
He snuffles a little in his sleep, and his arms tighten around Merlin's shoulders and ribcage. Merlin feels warm and safe, blissful on the return edge of sleep.
It is the single worst moment of his life.
A flash of his eyes makes the moment drift to a halt around them so he can stay in it for as long as he can.
***
Stopping time is child’s play.
Merlin proves this when he is five years old, though he doesn’t appreciate the significance (in truth, he never does). As he sits at the kitchen table, attacking the open page of his colouring book with a crayon in each small fist, his mother is cooking beef stew on the stove, stirring it round and round the pot with her big wooden spoon.
Merlin loves beef stew, almost as much as he loves his mother. They don't have beef of any kind very often. They can only afford the cheapest cuts, and only then when they're about to go off and the butcher has to put them on offer. Ever since Merlin's father left them, his mother has worked two jobs and almost never makes it to the shops in time.
Also, the blank tropical fish on the right is in desperate need of a fuchsia fin.
His mother smiles as Merlin spills the rest of the crayons across the table, hunting for the one he’d set his mind on. "Don’t forget to pick those up, love," she says as she stirs. "Dinner’s nearly ready."
Merlin looks up at her with a big grin. It’ll be another ten years before he figures out how that grin makes her melt and what that lets him get away with. "It has to be pink," he states with incontrovertible authority. "Help me find the pinkest."
His mother smiles and grips the handles of the pot with their singed and frayed potholders. She lifts the pot, turning to bring it over to the trivet on the table.
Merlin forgets his quest for a fuchsia fish in his anticipation. Bringing the pot to the table means she'll let Merlin eat as much as his tummy can hold; no need to try to stretch it into dinner for tomorrow or the next night.
Perhaps she’s distracted by the rainbow spilled across her table, or maybe one of the potholders finally lost its grip. Merlin doesn't know, but when his mother gasps and lurches as the weight of the suddenly tilting pot pulls her off balance, Merlin does know exactly three things:
1) If the beef stew spills out over the kitchen floor, there won't be any more for a long time;
2) His mother has been so tired lately, and she was so happy about the beef. She'll be upset and try not to cry in front of Merlin, the way she does when she's thinking about his father; and
3) Merlin loves beef stew, and he loves his mother, almost in equal measure.
His heart jumps into his throat, and before he knows what he's doing, he feels the surge of heat that he knows is magic. All around him, the world slows down until finally everything is frozen except Merlin. Nothing moves: not the stew, not his mother, not even the clock.
Slowly he stands up and looks around. He's never done this before. Brilliant.
The stew is right at the edge of the pot, frozen as it was just about to slosh over the side. Merlin carefully pushes at the pot until it's upright, but he can't lift it enough to get it back on the stove. He can sometimes move things without touching them, but the pot is too heavy even for his magic.
He pulls over his chair and climbs up to stand on it. From there, he tries to push at his mother's hands to get her to move the pot herself, but she doesn't budge. He's panting, frustrated, almost to the point of tears.
"Just go back!" he wails and pushes the wish out into the universe with all his power. Merlin pushes so hard that it feels like he's falling off the chair. He sees a wheel in his mind and he's falling and falling right over the top of it.
He's afraid the wheel might run him over when suddenly he's sitting on the chair again and the pot is back on the stove. His mother blinks, disoriented, looking down at the potholders in her hands.
"Merlin, my love," she says slowly. "Did something just happen? Did you just do something interesting?"
Merlin beams and can't tell her fast enough. She smiles when he's done and hugs him even though her hands are shaking, just a little.
"My little lad," she murmurs into his hair. "You're the man of the house now, aren't you?"
He puffs himself up, so proud that he has taken care of his mother like his father didn't.
***
The next day his mother keeps him out of school. She calls in sick to her first job, and then takes him down to the old town.
Old Mr. Gaius runs the shop with the pretty crystals and colourful cards that his mother won't let him play with. With a wink, Mr. Gaius slips Merlin some old photocopied outlines of strange symbols and a pair of highlighters.
Merlin makes do.
"Has he done anything of this sort before?"
"No, only the usual telekinesis," his mother replies in a tight voice that makes Merlin's highlighter pause long enough to bleed through the paper. "He stopped time itself, Gaius. Not just stopped it: reversed it, I think, if only by a few moments. That shouldn't be possible, should it?"
His mother is trying not to sound upset. He's worked so hard at not upsetting her, so when Mr. Gaius creaks himself down to give Merlin a kindly smile, Merlin is eager to be helpful.
"Now my lad," Mr. Gaius says. "Can you tell me exactly what you did last night? When you were helping your mum?"
"I can show you," Merlin says, too eager to wait for agreement before his eyes flare and time grinds to a stop.
When it starts again, he presents Mr. Gaius with the pair of spectacles he had left by the till. Mr. Gaius blinks, looks over at the chair Merlin had tugged over in order to reach the countertop, and takes a long breath.
"I see, lad," he says. He gives Merlin a shaky pat with one gnarled hand, and then exhorts Merlin for half an hour not to worry his mother with such antics again.
***
That night, Merlin sits up straight in his bed with his eyes scrunched shut. He concentrates on turning back time once again, back and back and back to the day his father left them.
But the right feeling eludes him. No matter how long he keeps the clock from moving in its natural direction, he can't persuade it to move in reverse. That moment of tipping over the wheel never comes again.
Finally he lies down, still except for the quivering he can't control. It wasn't his fault, his mother has told him so many times. He loved us so much. But it couldn't be helped.
For the first time, he accepts that it's true. His father loved them, and he left them. Merlin can't change that, not for all his gifts, but it won't happen again. His heart, what's left of it, will stay safe in his chest. And it will stay alone, because Merlin will never take another's heart into his keeping. He will never make someone cry like his mother cries when she thinks he's asleep, broken hearted and alone.
***
The novelty of stopping time wears off quickly. By the time Merlin is thirteen, he only does it in moments of true need (saving a dog from the car it was chasing; a crucial extra few moments on an essay exam).
And then two new students enter the school.
"Oh, look at her," his friend Gwen whispers beside him. "So posh, isn't she?"
He turns his head to look at the elegant, dark-haired girl who has just entered the classroom--but his eyes slip past to the boy coming in behind her. Before Merlin realizes it, he's frozen the world so he can look at the boy longer.
The boy is the most beautiful thing Merlin has ever seen. Golden hair gleams even in the dull light. His fine-boned face is set in a defensive arrogance, but when Merlin goes up to look closer, he sees the scared vulnerability in the set of his lips and his wide blue eyes.
If Merlin were willing to love, he might have fallen right here, in this moment that he cannot quite let go.
"Oh, my God," says a soft voice. "Are you doing this?"
He startles and looks at the girl, who against all Merlin’s expectations and experience is looking back at him. Her eyes glitter as she steps out of his magical hold as though she’s shaking off a rain shower. She comes up to him and puts her hands on his face.
"I’ve seen you," she says with the thickness of tears in her voice. "I didn’t know you’d be real."
Merlin is a little surprised by that himself, to the point that his magic slips, and he doesn’t notice that the world is moving again until a rough hand shoves him away from the girl.
"Get your hands off my sister," says the blond boy, all vulnerability gone, leaving only the arrogance that is suddenly much more obnoxious in real time.
"Er, sorry, mate," Merlin says with a grin that shows he’s not sorry at all. No one can just walk into a place like they own it, no matter how beautiful they are. "But I think she was the one with her hands on me."
The boy’s face contorts with rage. It’s the last thing Merlin sees clearly before he finds himself slamming into the front row of desks, scattering papers and pupils in a flurry.
They tussle and tumble down the aisles and under the desks. The other boy has weight and skill on his side (this is clearly not his first fight), but Merlin has magic.
Merlin’s bruised and scraped by the time he figures out how to get the upper hand. But soon enough he has the boy pinned beneath him, panting and looking up at Merlin with wide blue eyes.
"You’re one of them," he breathes with awe. Merlin feels the restless squirm of the boy’s body just before adult hands unceremoniously haul them apart.
It’s the first and last time they’ll be separated for a very long while.
***
It turns out that the boy is Arthur and the girl is Morgana. The reason they act like they own everything is because they do: Uther Pendragon is a businessman of shadowy reputation who has gained a controlling interest (one way or another) in nearly every corner of the region.
Arthur’s mother died under suspicious circumstances when he was only a baby. A car accident was the official verdict, but the rumours whispered of a rival and a deal gone bad. If the intent had been to weaken Uther, it had failed; his grief had only made him cold and hard as steel, unable to bend and too stubborn to break.
Morgana (on paper, at least) is the daughter of Uther’s best friend. Gorlois had headed the Irish branch of the Pendragon family business until he went to prison for the murder of Morgana’s mother. Everyone said he killed her because the first time Gorlois had gone to prison, Uther had taken it upon himself to comfort his lonely wife--and comforted her right into childbed, nine months and several weeks after her husband’s arrest.
Whatever his misdeeds, Uther loves Arthur and Morgana as much as he can, and he welcomes Merlin and Gwen into their lives with a joviality that makes Merlin’s skin crawl. He asks Merlin endless questions about his family and particularly his father. Merlin lies.
Uther is kindly toward Gwen in the way one is kind to a favoured pet. Morgana dotes on her, and Arthur is friendly, though perpetually confused by Gwen’s worshipful gaze.
The truth is that she fell in love with Arthur at the same instant Merlin didn’t.
***
Merlin is content to live in Arthur’s orbit: always with him, never touching. As the years pass, college to university to life, Arthur touches and smiles and tries to draw Merlin closer. Merlin wants badly to get closer, to follow where Arthur wants to take him.
But too close would never be close enough. Arthur needs love like rain; he wilts when he is not adored. Casual is not in his nature, and Merlin will never, ever do anything else. Love doesn’t end well, and nothing good ever came of pretending otherwise.
He’s sitting on a bench outside their local, waiting and trying to rub his fingers through his gloves. Magical warming is dangerous, but he’s just about ready to risk it when Arthur drops down beside him like an eagle taking roost.
"Morgana thinks I should ask Gwen to the Christmas party," he says without preamble. "What do you think, Merlin?"
"I think you should ask Gwen to the Christmas party," Merlin replies. Something dark and cold twists in his chest; it’s just a confirmation that he’s right. Arthur’s craving for love needs to be redirected before Merlin does something that will ruin both their lives in the end. Gwen is as good a choice as any; she’ll take care of him, ever faithful.
Arthur stares at the side of his face, a glower that burns into Merlin’s peripheral vision. "As a date, Merlin," he clarifies as though Merlin is too stupid to make the connection.
"All right," Merlin agrees through gritted teeth. "Then I think you should ask Gwen to the Christmas party as your date."
"Thank you, Merlin," Morgana purrs, settling on Merlin’s other side. Her arm links through his, a reassuring anchor. He doesn’t know why, but she has never approved of a love match between Merlin and her brother. It would anger him, except that his resolution needs an ally.
Arthur is still glowering. "Who are you taking, then? Tell me it’s not that Gwaine."
"Maybe," Merlin says. "I haven’t really thought about it."
"He’s a drunken lout, Merlin," Arthur bursts out. "He’ll never be serious about anything, let alone you."
"Maybe that’s why I like him," Merlin responds through gritted teeth, because it’s the truth.
"Here comes Gwen now," Morgana interrupts with a cheery wave down the street to their approaching friend. "Take her inside and ask her to the party. I’ll deal with our Merlin’s relationship issues."
Arthur mutters something uncomplimentary to Morgana’s general character, but he rises and takes Gwen’s arm to escort her into the pub. She smiles at him with surprised pleasure and ill-concealed hope. Merlin doesn’t watch them go; he’s watching a snowflake, the first of the season, spiral down through the lamplight to catch in Morgana’s dark hair.
"You’re right not to give him his way," she says after a moment. "It wouldn’t end well."
Slowly he turns his head just enough to look at her face. "Did you see something?" he asks. Morgana’s magic can’t touch his own for power, but her visions of the future, while usually too disjointed to be useful (and never about anything interesting, like World Cup results), are relentless in their truth.
"I saw you together, and I saw you leave," she says simply. "And then I saw him with a broken heart, alone."
He feels the gentle words like a punch to his gut. It’s one thing to be sure he wants no part of the agony and ecstasy of love. It’s quite another to hear all his childhood fears so calmly confirmed as the truth.
"They’d be good together," he chokes out.
"Yes." Her fingers twine through his and tug him with her up off the bench. "I saw their wedding. It was quite beautiful."
When they join Arthur and Gwen, Merlin is filled with the urge to punch his sweetly glowing friend in the face. He squeezes Morgana’s hand tight, grateful that she’s there to pull him back from the yawning chasm at his feet.
***
But she isn’t there a week later when Arthur shows up at Merlin’s door. He’s agitated, distraught, clutching a thick file folder. Merlin pulls him inside without a second thought.
"What is it?" he says with a flutter of anxiety. "Arthur, what’s the matter?"
"I know why your father left," Arthur says and pushes the file into his hands before Merlin can register the words.
He reads standing up while Arthur paces. The file tells him what he already knew: his father had powerful magic, much like Merlin’s own. And it tells him what he didn’t know: that his father had once worked for Arthur’s, using his abilities to further the interests of the Pendragon empire in darker and darker ways until he could no longer bear it, and ran.
"My father never knew about you and your mum, but I think he’s suspected for a while," Arthur is saying when Merlin blinks his way out of the file. "It’s why he’s let me keep you so close. Merlin, I’m so sorry."
"It’s not your fault," Merlin says automatically, closing the file to stop it from shaking. He can’t process what he’s just heard and read, nor reconcile it with everything he thought he understood.
Arthur pulls it from his hands and tosses it onto the coffee table. Then he takes Merlin’s face between his hands and kisses him fiercely.
"I’m sorry," he says against Merlin’s lips, against his cheeks and eyes and jaw as he presses kisses everywhere. "I won’t let him do this anymore. I won’t ever let him touch you."
Something inside Merlin is breaking open. He doesn’t recognize it until his mouth finds Arthur’s, and by then it’s much too late. He’s sinking into the heat of Arthur’s consuming kiss and the grasping of his hands as he drags Merlin hard against his body.
When their arms go around each other, Merlin gives up and gives in. He can’t see the point of fighting it now. The damage is done; they can’t go back.
Arthur slams him into the wall, and groans when Merlin flips him around to return the favour. They kiss again, harder.
The sofa is right there next to them, but Merlin doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to lie down in gentle intimacy. He wants the hard wall and a hard fuck to imprint on his senses. If his life and his principles are going to crash and burn, he’s damn well going to crash hard.
Arthur gives a shivery groan as Merlin’s eyes flash and lube and a condom appear in his hand, pressed against Arthur’s chest. The items are souvenirs from when Gwaine had come around the other night to fuck Merlin out of his despondency, and they both know it.
Another flash and the sofa moves a few feet away from the wall. Merlin pulls Arthur from the wall and shoves him into the space behind the sofa. "Bend over," he says, voice so rough he barely gets the words out.
Arthur nods, kicks off his shoes, and starts unbuckling his belt. Merlin copies him, but slower because his eyes are glued to Arthur’s groin as the trousers open to reveal the hard ridge of Arthur’s cock outlined through his boxer briefs.
"Fuck," Merlin groans, almost dizzy with the blood that’s pumping into his own erection. Arthur smirks and lets his cock spring free as the briefs slide down his muscled thighs. "Bend over," Merlin says again, and Arthur obeys.
Merlin stumbles over his shoes, jeans, and pants as he kicks them off on his way to position himself behind Arthur. He’s glad he put the condom on first, because once he sinks his lubed fingers into Arthur’s achingly hot arse, he doesn’t have a mind for anything but getting deeper into him.
Time slows down as he pulls his fingers free, but it isn’t magic. It’s just the tip of his cockhead touching Arthur’s hole, light enough to tease a shiver out of Arthur’s body. Then it presses harder against the hole and into the hole, and Arthur seizes the top of the sofa cushions just in time for Merlin to thrust his full length into that tightness.
Arthur gasps with the shock of it. His arse clenches around Merlin’s cock, and Merlin pulls out slowly to enjoy the wringing pressure. The head pops out. Arthur gasps again, still clenching around the emptiness.
Merlin rubs Arthur’s arms and then pulls him up off the sofa. He needs to be pressed closer to Arthur so he can feel the shake and surge of Arthur’s body while Merlin’s fucking into him.
He pushes him back against the wall and grips Arthur’s thighs. Arthur groans as the tingle of magic washes over him, supporting him just enough as Merlin urges him to draw up his legs around Merlin’s waist.
The magic helps support him, but Arthur’s weight is still considerable, more than enough to sink him back down onto Merlin’s cock. "Oh, yeah, better," Arthur moans and braces his feet on the back of the sofa.
As Merlin starts to fuck, he agrees, "Better, God, you feel so good, so fucking tight, I can’t believe it," until Arthur grips the back of his head and silences him with his tongue. So they kiss as they fuck, ravenous above and below. Merlin grinds into Arthur until his balls feel so tight he thinks he can push them into Arthur with the rest of his shaft, deep to the root until he comes just from the pressure.
Soon Arthur is too far gone to kiss; he keeps missing Merlin’s lips until he gives up and drops his face to Merlin’s shoulder. His lips brush Merlin’s ear as his panting and moaning fill it. "I need you," he says on a pained grunt. "So bad, Merlin, dammit, so bad."
"Need you," Merlin responds, fucking so hard now that Arthur’s back is scraping the wall, up and down. "Just a little more, just a little harder, Arthur, please."
"I love you," Arthur breathes into his ear, and Merlin’s orgasm flares into release. It pounds through him and out of him. He comes and comes into Arthur’s welcoming body, until his knees give out and it’s Arthur holding him as they slide down the wall.
***
When Merlin wakes up, he’s in his bed, wrapped in Arthur’s arms. Arthur is warm and solid, holding him tight with the promise of love.
This is the single worst moment of Merlin’s life.
He slows time for as long as he can, to memorize the strength of Arthur’s embrace, the heat of his body and the soft rush of his breath. Last night, everything changed. Now that his flesh has cooled, he has to face the damage they’ve done.
Now he knows that love is unavoidable; he never stood a chance against Arthur, and it was foolish to pretend he did. Now he knows exactly what Uther Pendragon is and what will happen if Uther ever confirms his suspicions of what Merlin is. He’ll face the same fate as every other magic user that crosses Uther’s path: he’ll disappear, to reemerge in the service of the Pendragon empire, or not at all.
For him and Arthur, there’s no going back; there’s no going forward. Merlin has been living a dangerous lie and only now does he understand his father’s choice.
He hopes his mother will be as forgiving to him. He hopes Arthur will be more forgiving than Merlin was.
He eases out of Arthur’s arms and finds a pen and paper. I’m sorry, he writes. Don’t wait for me.
Then he packs a bag, leaves his keys on the coffee table, and walks out of his flat for the last time.
***
To any observer, Merlin’s transplanted life resumes without any discernable change. He finds a new town and takes a new flat almost identical to the one where (frozen in his memory) Arthur still lies sleeping. He finds a job that keeps his workdays in the same stultifying routine.
And he dates (and fucks) the same as before, until the brief interludes of sex and companionship no longer distract him from the empty space where Arthur belongs. The closest he gets to a real friend is Freya, a one-night stand who turns out to be the first magic user he’s met since he last saw Morgana.
"I can’t believe you lived right under his nose for so long," she says with awe, and a little condescension, as though she can’t believe Merlin is actually that stupid.
He winces, but never changes the subject because she always brings him the latest rumours about the infamous Uther Pendragon. Merlin doesn’t really want to hear about the seedy world Uther rules beneath his veneer of upper-class civility, but he listens for the tiniest kernel of news about Arthur.
Over the next few years, he knows only a few things about Arthur’s life:
1) Arthur has been groomed for the family business and is now taking his place in it, as Merlin always knew he must;
2) Arthur is tasked with locating and "recruiting" magic users according to his father’s instructions. When not observed, he proves remarkably bad at finding anyone; and
3) Things will be different, everyone whispers, when Uther is finally dead or imprisoned, if Arthur is strong enough to take control.
Once a year, Morgana sends him a Christmas card. He doesn’t know how she found his address; a bit of magic should make him untraceable to those he left behind.
The first year, the inscription within says simply, Thank you. I’m sorry. He isn’t sure why she would thank him. Merlin loved Arthur and left him exactly as Morgana foresaw. He chooses to take it as confirmation that he spared Arthur greater pain by leaving.
Every year after, the card bears only her signature. Merlin craves more personal news than he can get through Freya’s grapevine, but he is reluctantly grateful for Morgana’s discretion.
In what he comes to think of as the last year, he receives a large ivory envelope, addressed in Morgana’s flowing script. It isn’t a Christmas card.
Mr. Arthur Pendragon and Miss Guinivere Smith request the honour of your presence in celebrating their union of marriage....
On the RSVP card, Morgana’s handwriting is reduced to a distressed scribble. Merlin, please come at once.
He drops the card at once in the bin and sends no reply. Neither the bride nor groom has invited him, of this he is certain, and he is done taking direction from Morgana.
Even if Morgana had not foreseen their wedding, he would have fully expected that Arthur would turn to Gwen to fulfill his need for love and partnership. Merlin even approves of the idea in theory. Gwen will take care of him. She would have no reason to leave him.
Seeing it in black and white (or ivory and gold) hits him harder than he would have thought. He never expected Uther to allow it; Gwen is not of their social class any more than Merlin is. Merlin wonders if the lack of Uther’s name on the invitation means absence or defiance.
He’s not surprised when he sees Freya on Friday night and she excitedly whispers to him that Uther has been taken into custody, betrayed from within and with enough evidence that all Uther’s wealth and power won’t help him breathe free air ever again.
Merlin takes a deep breath, then another, until he’s dizzy with the knowledge that he’s safe. Morgana is safe, Freya is safe, even his father, somewhere, is finally safe. He can go home now, if he wants.
He calls his mother, but he doesn’t go back.
Later, he does go to the wedding.
***
Merlin approaches the church with trepidation. He is very late, mostly due to the number of times he got out of his car and then jumped back in again. Whatever Morgana wanted from him (to be a groomsman, perhaps, or to enchant the flowers not to wilt), it’s too late. All he can do is bear witness to the happy future he wanted for Arthur.
He slips into the back of the church just as Arthur slips the ring onto Gwen’s finger.
The glint of the ring sealing their wedded fates is the first thing Merlin notices. The second is the pinched look on Arthur’s face. It pulls at Merlin. Uther is a tyrant, a criminal, even a murderer, but he is still Arthur’s father. Whatever Arthur’s involvement was with Uther’s downfall, Merlin can see that it has taken its toll.
His gaze lingers so long on Arthur’s face that he almost doesn’t notice Gwen’s until Arthur is bending to kiss her. Given how she has always glowed under Arthur’s attention, Merlin expects da Vinci-level radiance to suffuse her now.
She smiles up at her husband and tilts her face to receive his kiss. But her brow is creased with worry, her lips set in uncertainty. Her back stiffens when Arthur’s hands clasp her shoulders and relaxes only with visible effort.
"Merlin." Only when Morgana hisses in his ear does Merlin realize she is not standing behind Gwen in her proper place as maid of honour. "Why didn’t you come?"
"Obviously I did," he hisses back. "Against all rational judgment, by the way. Why aren’t you up there?"
Morgana grips his arm and draws him back into the vestibule. "I told them they were making a mistake and I’d have no part of it."
"What?" Merlin barks in shock before remembering to lower his voice. "What mistake? This is what you said was supposed to happen!"
"Yes, Merlin, thank you," she snaps. "I heard plenty of that from Arthur. He said I worked so hard to dictate his life, I could hardly start reordering it now."
Merlin grabs her arms and glares down at her. "You helped dictate all our lives, Morgana. You and Uther. You said it was all for Arthur; you said he’d be happy."
"He was supposed to be. He pretends to be, but he’s not." Morgana’s distress comes out in her voice, and Merlin easily tamps down any pity he might have felt for her and her failed machinations. "And it’ll only get worse. Did you see his best man?"
"No."
"Arthur won’t, either," she says as if he should know what that means.
"Cryptic as ever, Morgana, but even if I understood you, I don’t know what you want me to do about it." Merlin’s fists clench. "They’re married. It’s done."
"I know. If you’d come earlier-"
"It was done a long time ago," he says harshly. "Even if Arthur forgave me for running, I left because I can’t be what he needs. That hasn’t changed."
Her hand is unexpectedly gentle when it cups his cheek. "Oh, Merlin, I wanted you to leave because you do this to yourself. You have this idiotic idea that love can’t ever last, so you make sure it doesn’t. I didn’t want you to do that to my brother."
The truth of what he has created (and destroyed) settles into his chest until he almost can’t breathe through it. "I guess we were both right, after all."
"No, stop it. I underestimated both of you, almost as badly as you did." Her hand slides down to his shoulder and gives him a shake. "Please, just talk to Arthur."
"Talk to me about what?" says a familiar voice from behind them. "Hello, Merlin. Long time."
He spins to find Arthur and Gwen, hand in hand, standing between the doors that Merlin hadn’t heard open. Arthur’s expression is carefully neutral; Gwen looks even more pensive than she did at the altar, and not particularly welcoming. Behind them, their attendants try to peer over their shoulders into the vestibule.
"Hello, Arthur," Merlin responds, eyes locked to Arthur’s. "Gwen, congratulations."
"Thank you, Merlin." She lets go of Arthur to step forward and kiss Merlin’s cheek. "Morgana, I’m glad you’re here. You’re coming to the reception, aren’t you?"
Morgana doesn’t resist as Gwen links their arms and draws her out the door and down the church steps. Merlin steps to the side as the dam breaks and the rest of the assembled company begins pouring from the nave past him.
The attendants, particularly the dark and handsome man who must have stood up with Arthur, give Merlin curious looks as they pass him. The rest of the congregation behind them heard nothing of the reason for the delay and so ignore him as they stream past, absorbed in their own chatter.
Merlin ignores all of them, because across the vestibule, Arthur has also stepped to the side and is watching him across the river of people. Their eyes stay locked until the church door bangs shut behind the last of the crowd.
They stand in silence for a moment until Merlin awkwardly clears his throat. "Gwen looks beautiful," he says, and Arthur gives a brusque nod of acknowledgment before Merlin blurts: "So do you."
Arthur sighs and shakes his head. "Don’t. I knew Morgana would try to make you come, but I hoped you wouldn’t."
Merlin takes a sharp breath and tries not to let that hurt. "I think she was still hoping... that it wasn’t too late."
"Is that what you were hoping?"
He has never had any hope before. He isn’t sure if this is what it feels like. "Are you happy, Arthur? You and Gwen?"
"I’m well enough. Gwen will be. I just vowed to spend the rest of my life making sure of it."
And Arthur keeps his vows. Merlin swallows carefully to keep his voice steady. "So it is too late."
"Your lack of punctuality no longer surprises me, Merlin," Arthur replies evenly.
"Morgana wanted me to come earlier." Merlin’s smile hurts his face. It’s only now, with hope dashed, that he realizes he had any to begin with. "I guess that I shouldn’t have picked then to stop listening to her."
"It wouldn’t have mattered," Arthur says, almost gently before his voice hardens. "It was too late a long time ago. When you walked out and left that fucking note."
For a moment, Merlin is shocked back to the moment he laid the note on the pillow, moving the paper until it didn't flutter from Arthur's breath. He doesn't remember if it hurt then the way it suddenly hurts now; he doesn't remember if he was this much in love.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I was wrong. I thought if I--"
"I talked to Morgana a lot. And your mother." Arthur's face softens, barely enough to see. "They told me more about your father and your ridiculous abandonment issues."
Merlin ducks his head and grits his teeth, face burning with mingled embarrassment and annoyance. His issues still feel very real to him, though he can no longer hide from his growing certainty that they have led him to make a truly egregious mistake.
"It wasn't all my issues," he says. "Would you have left your whole life behind if your father had discovered me and I had to run?"
"Yes," Arthur replies simply. "I looked for you for years. If I'd found you, I'd never have left you, Merlin."
"You've found me now." He can't help saying it, though he feels the shame even before Arthur's reply.
"I'm married." It goes unspoken that if he left Gwen now, any promise to Merlin would mean nothing.
"I got here in time to see that part," Merlin says sourly and earns a reluctant crook of a smile.
"Even you can't turn back time," Arthur says and then sharpens his gaze when Merlin's whole body stiffens. "You can't, can you? Merlin? Merlin! Can you actually reverse time?"
Once, he had. Merlin's heart pounds as he remembers the pot and the stew and the visit to Mr. Gaius. But he had never been able to repeat it, and even if he could, the few moments he had needed to rescue dinner would be nowhere near enough to rescue Arthur.
"No," he answers with enormous reluctance. "No, I can't."
Arthur nods with careful neutrality. "Okay," he says. He steps forward and lifts his hand to Merlin's face, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You should come to the reception. Guinevere will want to see more of you. And you can meet Lance and the rest of my mates."
"I will," Merlin lies. He drinks in his last sight of Arthur, resplendent in his wedding finery. "I'm glad to have seen you."
Arthur nods again. "Take care, Merlin."
Then he's gone, and Merlin will never see him again.
He turns to go back into the church; he wants to wait until he's sure Arthur is long gone from the area before he leaves. It's strange, he thinks as he pushes open the inner door, that it hurts so much now when he had never intended to see Arthur again at all.
Then he trips over his own feet and falls and falls, head over heels down the aisle like a bride in a snidely ironic pantomime.
The first impact dislodges the wedge of grief in his chest. He clings to it, lets it rip him open until everything inside him is falling and falling. He can't control anything as his magic surges up around him in a whirlwind, tumbling him forward beyond the logic of physical science.
By the time he sees the wheel before him, he's already over it, laughing and laughing as he falls. He pictures himself caught in an endless loop: falling a few seconds back through time, only to emerge in the midst of falling again.
When he finally tumbles to a stop, sprawling facedown on the ground, he's almost disappointed. A blast of cold air cuts right through his cheap suit, making him shiver as he tries to orient his whirling head. Has he tumbled straight through the church and out the back door?
There's concrete beneath his hands as he pushes himself off the ground and tries to crawl forward. He's still horribly dizzy when his hands run into something soft and rough at the same time. He stares at it for a long moment before he recognizes it as his duffel bag, the only piece of luggage he's ever owned.
"I thought I left you in the car," he mumbles, and then proceeds to vom spectacularly all over it. "Oh, bugger, I must have hit my head."
Merlin hopes if he can clear his head enough to stand, the vicar might still be about and willing to help him. He gets to his knees, lifts his head, and finds himself face to face with his own front door.
No, not his own front door. Not anymore.
His heart pounds as he slowly looks around. Underneath the vomit, his duffel looks newer than it has in years. The wind tears at him again; he looks down at the long sleeved t-shirt he hadn't been wearing five minutes ago. He looks down further to see his feet in a pair of trainers he had thrown away last year.
Merlin still feels sick, but not from the fall and not from hitting his head. He stares at the door for a second before grabbing at the handle and rattling it. It doesn't budge, and he hasn't had a key for years.
If this is the day he thinks it is, the key is sitting on a creaky old coffee table just on the other side of the door. And if it's the day he thinks it is, he has to get on the other side of this door. He rattles the handle again, frantic, trying to remember the names of his neighbours and if he ever gave them a spare key.
It becomes much easier once he remembers he has magic.
He stumbles into the flat, looking around, panting and wild eyed. Everything looks exactly the same--everything is exactly the same. He propels himself forward at a flat-out run and bursts into his darkened bedroom.
Arthur is curled in Merlin's bed, face half buried in the pillow. He hasn't moved in the minutes (the years) since Merlin left. The note sits on the pillow beside him, accusatory, incriminating.
Merlin lunges for it, snatches it from the bed like an unfaithful lover, and runs into the toilet. He can't stand the thought of reading the note, so he just tears it--shreds it until it's almost unrecognizable as paper. Then he flushes it down the toilet and crouches down next to the bowl, hands shaking with magic and unbearable relief.
He tries to compose himself. When he calms his breathing, he stands up and goes to the sink. He rinses the foul taste from his mouth and splashes water on his face until the shake of the magic finally fades.
Only when he feels steady and real again does he let himself believe that Arthur will still be on the other side of the door and that he needn't ever know what Merlin has (almost) done and what it (nearly) cost them.
Merlin goes back to the bedroom and stares at his past until slowly he feels able to accept it as his present. All he has wanted for so long is to be back in that bed.
When he can move, he flings his clothes wherever they land, and crawls back into the warmth of Arthur's embrace. Arthur is solid and real. His breathing is steady and content. Merlin watches the small, sweet smile on his face, mind frizzing out with exhaustion every time he tries to contemplate his profound gratitude for this undeserved second chance.
It is the single best moment of his life.
After a little while, Arthur stirs, opens his eyes, and the smile widens into a full, crooked grin. "Good morning," he croaks and leans in to smother any return greeting (if Merlin were capable of one) with his mouth.
They kiss until Merlin feels warmed through again. The cold is fading and so are the memories of his mistaken life. He can feel everything settling into place.
Finally Arthur breaks off the kiss and stretches his long limbs. He frowns as his foot catches on Merlin's jeans, which landed unheeded at the foot of the bed. Belatedly, Merlin remembers that last night, all those years ago, both their clothes had been left abandoned in the sitting room.
"You weren't planning to do a runner on me, were you?" Arthur asks. His tone is teasing, but since the moment they met, Merlin has known how to see the vulnerability underneath the bravado.
"No," he answers and reaches for Arthur again, eager to tell him the truth that’s bubbling up so happily out of Merlin’s control. "I love you."
As he kisses Arthur's brilliant smile, he knows his problems aren't over, but he'll gladly take back the problems he had once fled in exchange for what he gets in return. He'll have to have a long talk with Morgana. He'll have to face down Gwen's disappointment. He'll have to find a way to speed up Uther's journey to prison.
It will be a long time before he stops waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But he loves Arthur Pendragon, same as he ever did, and for the first time in his life, he believes that that's enough.
***