Merlin fic: The Dark Knight (first in a series of inadvisable Batman!AU stories)
Title: The Dark Knight
Rating: On the safe side, a light R for swearing and a sexy dream.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur preslash
Wordcount: 5200
Summary: Merlin Emrys lands a job as a gardener for the enigmatic playboy Arthur Pendragon, and discovers that what he gets up to at night is not necessarily drinking with celebrities.
Warnings: Character spoilers for both Merlin and the Batman series. This is not based off the Nolanverse Batman movies, but more off the comics. However, gratuitous liberties have been taken with both canons. Also, this is really too earnest to be crack.
Thanks: To witheredsong for beta-reading and listening to the crazy spewing from my mouth, and to vanishing_cake for posting the Batman plot bunny that got me started in the first place. Direct all blame to her, please.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the many and varied commercial properties which I have abused in this fic, including but not limited to BBC's Merlin and Batman. I am making no money from this.
CAMELOT'S DARK KNIGHT: NUISANCE OR NECESSITY?
James Olsen, The Camelot Herald
Camelot Police and City Hall ostensibly take the same line regarding the city's favourite caped crusader: the Batman is a threat to our peace and stability. Vigilante justice is not to be condoned or tolerated. And yet, who arranged for the infamous Bat Signal to be mounted on the very roof of Police Headquarters? Commissioner Pendragon claimed once it was Batman's doing but surely if it were unwanted, it wouldn't shine through the skies to summon Camelot's dark protector to his duty.
Batman's duty. What does he do? He causes incredible collateral damage to our fair city in the course of his work as a crimefighter, grumble our aldermen. Estimates of the repair bills in his three years' tenure in Camelot are in excess of six figures-often generously covered by the Koenig Foundation and its wayward heir, Arthur Pendragon, when he's sober enough to attend a function without embarrassing the administrators of his trust and sending his PR factory into overdrive. But aside from the apparent wanton destruction caused by his nocturnal shenanigans, Batman has also caused a notable change in Camelot's criminal underworld.
The revolving door on Albion Asylum has overrun Camelot with more than just the usual assortment of mafia lords, drug runners and thieves; recent years have brought terror from the likes of the Penguin, Scarecrow, Sophia Fatale, the Riddler, Prince Valiant, Two-Face (former DA Edwin Muirden), and our constant plague, the Red Queen. Where this new breed of supervillains has proved to be too much for our overextended police force, Batman has stepped in to help, sending five escaped psychopaths back to Albion in the last year alone and depositing wanted criminals by the boatload onto the steps of our police stations, gift-wrapped and ready for trial. If they were paying him, Batman would be Camelot P.D.'s Employee of the Month several times over.
This is to say nothing of the community morale the Dark Knight has fostered, in a town where not so many years ago you wouldn't expect the time of day from a stranger. Batman has brought hope to Camelot: hope for a better future, free of the influence of criminals. It's time for our lawmakers and enforcers step up to meet this new standard and help transform Camelot into a city without fear.
***
PENDRAGON PLAYBOY GROUNDED?
Chris Nolan, Gawker
Hot on the heels of last week's wet t-shirt contest in the fountain at the Hilton, Camelot's most eligible bachelor, Arthur Pendragon, was seen leaving his daddy's downtown office in a hurry yesterday. While everyone is keeping their mouths shut right now, it wouldn't surprise us if Police Commissioner Pendragon gave our favourite boy with too much money and not enough brains a little time-out. Maybe he took away the keys to Arthur's new Bugatti Veyron. Look out; rumoured squeeze Lady GaGa may be clubbing stag for a while.
***
Pendragon Manor was far more impressive from close up, Merlin realized as he urged his ancient Toyota up the meandering drive. Far, far more. The house was sprawling, imposing limestone, possibly mortared with pure gold; it oozed wealth enough, at least. The guard at the gatehouse, after taking one look at his car, probably would have rather sent him chugging off again, appointment or no, but it truly did pay to have connections, because he'd been waved on. Reluctantly.
After winding through half a mile of lush, green lawns and well-tended trees, the driveway ended in a truly obnoxious circle in front of an equally opulent staircase to the main entrance. He pulled up in front of the steps, noting the lack of any other cars, and hoped he wouldn't be towed while he was inside. It would be a long walk back to Camelot.
One tug on the ridiculous bell-pull brought the vague noise of footsteps, and then the relief of Gaius' familiar face in the doorway.
“Merlin, my boy, you've made it. I hope you didn't have trouble finding the place,” Gaius said, clapping a hand on Merlin's shoulderblade as he cautiously entered the house.
The foyer, he thought with a look around, fit the ongoing theme of obnoxious wealth quite seamlessly.
“No, your, um, directions were excellent as ever, Gaius. So... where is....”
“Master Pendragon is in the front drawing room,” Gaius said with a smile. “Follow me. And straighten your tie.”
The billionaire playboy of tabloid fame was standing in front of the east window of the drawing room, his crisp shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tailored pants. He didn't turn as Gaius and Merlin entered.
“Merlin Emrys, Master Pendragon,” Gaius said, excusing himself and possibly melting out of existence; Merlin looked behind him with a start but the man was gone and the door shut. He felt unaccountably nervous.
Arthur Pendragon finally turned and frowned at Merlin, giving him a once-over that made him feel strangely naked.
“You're the man Gaius recommended for the gardener's position?” he asked suddenly. His voice was smooth, cultured and hostile. “I thought gardeners tended more toward having some muscle mass. Well, have a seat.”
Merlin balled his hands into fists to avoid the urge to play with his tie. This was likely to be the worst job interview ever.
***
Once he had, staggeringly, been hired as Arthur Pendragon's gardener (which he probably had to thank Gaius for), the job went surprisingly smoothly. His temperamental employer slept past noon, was out by dinner, kept late nights and then started the whole cycle over again, rarely going out to wander his own estate, and so most of Merlin's interactions on the job were with Gaius and he had many a peaceful afternoon to himself, to shovel shit onto the roses and ride the lawnmower up and down the rolling green spaces. His stature notwithstanding, he did have some experience with landscaping and gardening, and things went quite well for his first few months. In fact, he only had two notable interactions with Arthur in that time.
The first was on his third day of employment, when Arthur actually did attempt to have his car towed. It was admittedly rusting a bit and didn't fit in with its surroundings but it was Merlin's car and he was quite attached to it. Gaius, in his stately, immovable way, had interfered with their discussion before it became a yelling match and compromised by making Merlin park behind the south garages, where any hypothetical daytime visitors wouldn't be offended by the sight of his car.
The second conversation he had with Arthur was at the end of his first week, while he was manoeuvring the tractor out of its enormous shed to mow the lawns for the first time. Arthur had emerged from nowhere in the doorway and waved until he killed the noisy gas engine.
“Emrys, a word.”
Merlin got off the mower, dusting his hands off, and went to stand in front of his employer. It was not quite lunchtime (so said Merlin's stomach), but he had the rumpled look of someone who'd just gotten out of bed and hadn't been pleased to do so. He still could have graced the cover of GQ even in that state, though.
“I think Gaius forgot to mention this, but it's important. The north corner of the grounds, behind the huge fucking hedge?”
Merlin nodded; he had seen it.
“Don't ever go there. Just leave it alone.”
Merlin stared. Arthur seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Okay?”
“Good.” He nodded. “Keep up... whatever it is you're doing,” he said with a wave, turning to disappear again. He seemed to favour his right leg as he walked away, but Merlin didn't think too hard about it.
Instead, he set off to mow the grass, and avoided the north corner of the property as directed.
***
“Have you seen today's Herald, Gaius?” Merlin asked the Pendragon butler as he strolled into the Manor's kitchen one morning. Since Arthur was never up so early, he could usually go inside the house and score an excellent cup of coffee off of Gaius' nurturing soul before starting work.
“No,” Gaius said, turning with a carafe already in hand. “I've no doubt, however, that you will share whatever is of such import.”
Merlin slapped the paper down on the marble-topped breakfast bar, the headline and half of the full-colour photo showing above the fold.
“Apparently Batman had a showdown with Catwoman in front of the Metropolitan Museum last night.”
Gaius raised an eyebrow.
Merlin held up the paper. The headline blared, 'BATMAN STOPS JEWEL HEIST, CAUSES THOUSANDS IN PROPERTY DAMAGE'. The photo was an early-morning shot of the cordoned-off and half-destroyed granite facing of the museum; between the security breach of their diamond exhibit and the repair estimates, the place was expected to be closed to the public for at least a month.
Gaius took a look at the page and sighed. “Merlin, you don't seriously follow that nonsense, do you?”
“What nonsense? All the front pages for the past week have been about mafia slayings and city hall scandals; this is a refreshing change of pace.” Merlin settled down at the breakfast bar with his coffee to flip to the second page. “Batman may be clumsy about it but at least he's trying to stop crime instead of perpetuating it,” he said.
“Vandalism,” Gaius said tiredly, “is, in fact, a crime.”
Merlin shrugged. “There're no diamonds missing, though, are there?”
“Merlin, why don't you get to work? Those topiaries are looking quite haggard.”
Glaring as he slurped down the rest of his coffee, Merlin slid off his stool and made for the side door that would take him to his shed. Maybe he'd clip a hedge into the shape of Batman.
***
Arthur continued to indulge in late nights-turned-early-mornings (never mind the insistence from all the gossip rags that he was keeping his head down socially), which thankfully meant that Merlin never ran into him at all. The Herald ran a week of headlines implying that the Red Queen was back in town and trying to kill Batman, which Gaius would maddeningly never let Merlin get five words out about. Fresh off another argument about vigilante justice, Merlin tramped out one morning onto the dewy east lawns, took one look at the enormous, overgrown, hideous hedge hiding away the northern corner of the grounds, and found himself faced with a singular mission.
Within ten minutes, he was armed with a ladder, a chainsaw and his favourite shears and was crossing the lawn at speed, darting occasional quick glances at the house. But anyway, Arthur had only said not to go to the area behind the hedge; he'd never vetoed pruning the visible face of the damn thing, and it was getting truly awful. There were probably wasps. Enormous ones.
After an hour of extremely satisfying hedge-trimming with the chainsaw, littering the grass with branches and never once getting stung to death by a swarm of gigantic wasps, Merlin was perched at the top of his ladder, viciously hacking off the top of the hedge into a uniform shape in a manner reminiscent of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. No sooner had he levelled a four-foot swath of greenery than he got a solid eyeful of the forbidden northern corner.
It was a lot of horribly tall grass, nearly suitable for making hay out of.
And a dirt track that trampled the grass and went off through the trees.
And a large, paved space at the end of that dirt track, which looked like some sort of landing pad for a helicopter. Arthur Pendragon could absolutely own a helicopter; the hard part of that to accept would be that it was a secret.
But helicopters couldn't land so close to trees, could they?
Merlin checked his watch. It was half past ten; Arthur had apparently dragged in about ten minutes before Merlin had shown up for work that morning, so he would be asleep. Gaius would be inside the house, possibly making breakfast for Arthur, or reading Merlin's paper, or whatever it was he did at this time of day, left to his own devices.
He climbed down from the ladder, dug his shears out from under some shredded leaves, and made his way for the spot where the hedge met the stone wall of the mansion. It was lucky that he was so scrawny, he thought as he clipped two offending branches to make a hole just large enough to squeeze through. After that, it was a matter of not stomping the waving grass (and thistles, as he shortly discovered) as he made his way over to the concrete pad.
It was, he saw upon reaching it, extremely boring and as nondescript as it had looked from his ladder. It was very clean, though; all the dirt seemed to be regularly swept off to the far side, toward the trees. He cocked his head and thought about this for a moment, and then knelt to inspect the edges of the pad. There was a definite seam, like the pad was made to lift out of the ground. And perhaps tip all the dust off of it in the process.
Brushing off his hands, he got to his feet again and looked around. And there it was, tucked into the trees: a very small shed, apparently constructed of wood, but with a keypad beside the door. He walked over to it and peered at the keypad, raising his eyebrow as he studied it-it was far newer-looking than the shed itself, and who used that sort of security on a shed that looked like it could be kicked over-but it turned out that he didn't need to do any fancy lock-picking, because the door hadn't been shut properly. He seized the doorknob and pulled it open with barely a sound.
The inside, besides revealing itself to be made of concrete that definitely could not be kicked over, had a spiralling, iron staircase instead of a floor. A faint light came from below but didn't pierce the dark, so Merlin carefully eased the door shut behind him and descended the stairs.
It was a very impressive natural cave that he found himself in, certainly, but the first thing he noticed was the Batmobile.
It had pride of place among all of the equipment and computers in the cave and the two or three blurry photographs of it in existence didn't do it justice: it was beyond sleek, and shiny, and so black it seemed to pull everything in toward it. Merlin was only two steps away from touching it by the time he even realized he'd left the stairs. His hand reached out and hovered, inches above the glossy finish of the hood, but he thought better and snatched it back; he couldn't fathom the kind of car alarm that must be on a vehicle like that, and he liked being alive.
Finally, Merlin tore his gaze away from the car to look over the rest of the cave. A desk had been built from metal shelving along one wall and housed a truly ridiculous-looking computer, with a tower that might have been used to calculate pi, judging from its size, and four monitors all bolted into the wall. A workbench sat several feet away, covered in tools including a bench grinder, a blowtorch and every conceivable size of pliers. Merlin wandered over and picked up a half-sharpened throwing star shaped like a bat, marvelling at its craftsmanship and slicing the pad of his finger on one of the sharp points.
“Fuck,” he hissed quietly, putting it back down. He moved to the other side of the table instead, where there lay abandoned a helmet, made to cover the face, with pointy representations of ears on the top. It seemed to be made of a very tough rubber, and gave slightly when he squeezed it.
He held it up in front of his face, imagining Arthur Pendragon wearing it. Well, that chin could belong to a million men, he thought, turning the cowl over in his hands. Except-yes, there was a blond hair stuck to the inside, where it had rubbed against Arthur's head.
It occurred to Merlin that this meant his employer was actually probably capable of murdering him with his bare hands, and so he put down the cowl again exactly where he'd found it, took one last, longing look at the Batmobile, and crept back up the stairs.
***
Merlin's apartment was a ramshackle place in a shady part of town, because it was all he could afford since finishing school, and so it was the norm for interesting things to happen beyond his blackout curtains at night.
Tonight, just as it had been three other times so far this month, a drug deal had gone bad on the street right underneath Merlin's window (which was on the fourth floor, thank God for small mercies). He turned up the volume on the Law & Order rerun he was watching and pretended that the gunfire and shouting outside added to the show's ambiance, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn't, but wound up muting it instead when the noise reached an unusual crescendo and then nearly stopped.
He crept over to the window and flipped back a corner of the curtain to peer down at the street. There were four thugs, one dead on the ground in a puddle of red, and the other three fighting against someone dressed all in black. Merlin gasped in spite of himself and moved the curtain to get a better view.
Batman-Arthur, he thought, shaking his head ruefully-had just disarmed two of the gang members and lunged at the last as he pulled a hand-cannon of a gun from a shoulder holster, throwing a fluid punch combination that dropped the criminal like a bag of rocks. Merlin watched as Batman grabbed the last gun and took it apart on the spot, throwing the pieces into nearby dumpsters so that the weapon would never be retrieved. Finally, giving one feebly twitching thug a punch in the face that knocked him back out cold, he removed a handful of something (cable ties, Merlin realized) from his belt and trussed up all three gang members, leaving them lying on the pavement as he promptly vanished into the night. Merlin heard the distant whine of police sirens on their way to the scene; probably Batman had called them, because no one from this neighbourhood would have.
He stayed at his window until the cars pulled up and their lights made his walls flash blue and red through the gap in the curtains. The closing credits of Law & Order scrolled by silently on his TV as he collapsed back onto his bed, Arthur still moving with quick and controlled violence behind his eyelids.
***
The headlines for the next few weeks were riddled with Batman's exploits, and Merlin increasingly saw Arthur just stumbling out onto his bedroom patio in the early afternoon, blinking up at the sun in apparent confusion as Gaius brought him coffee and the newspapers. Now that he knew the man's secret, his nocturnal habits seemed almost noble and Merlin once or twice had to suppress the urge to salute him while driving by on the lawnmower.
His fixation with Batman, however (which he would staunchly deny having but not to himself), had gotten more intense, if possible, and he found himself waking up from dreams where Camelot's caped crusader featured heavily, beating people up or merely looking intense and foreboding before disappearing into thin air with a swirl of his cape. One embarrassingly memorable dream had involved the Batmobile; Merlin had leaned across the front seat and given Batman a blowjob while he drove somewhere very fast. Merlin had actually been wearing a costume too, although the details were hazy. He'd woken up hard and mortified and hadn't had a sex dream about Batman since, which may have been a mixed blessing.
To Merlin's great embarrassment, he found himself running to his window at night at every sign of nearby violence, straining to see the drug deals going sour and the gang skirmishes that occurred with regularity, scanning the fracas for signs of Batman. Sometimes a police car would arrive, scattering the criminals (or once, to facilitate a deal), but usually there was no interference with the criminals of Merlin's neighbourhood, caped or otherwise. With heavy disappointment, he would go back to his dinner of Mr. Noodle or his bad late-night TV or the warmth of his bed, and he would think about going to work the next day and seeing Arthur wearing sunglasses and drinking espresso on his balcony.
Finally, one night he was leaving a bar downtown, pleasantly buzzed but alone, and thinking about finding a cab that would go near his neighbourhood, when he heard a hail of gunfire from somewhere to his right. He stopped at a corner, peering down the road toward the noise, and was not surprised to hear an alarm begin to ring.
Merlin licked his lips, thinking, and then took off at a jog down the road, heading for the sound of the alarm.
It was a high-end jewelry store five blocks away, in the process of being robbed by cronies of the Red Queen, dressed in their distinctive red-and-black uniforms. Merlin skidded to a stop across the street and dodged to hide behind a row of newspaper boxes, peeking around the side to watch the scene. He felt a little thrill in his chest and smiled giddily (maybe it was the alcohol) as a dark shape dove from the top of the building and landed in the midst of the thieves.
Merlin was so engrossed in the sight of Batman laying into the crowd now swarming him that he didn't know there was anyone behind him until she spoke.
“Well, well, well, a rubbernecker,” purred a sultry voice. He turned slowly and was faced with long, creamy legs in very impractical heels, which disappeared into a ragged-edged red dress with a tight bodice. Perhaps it was once an elegant garment but it had gone through years of hard wear. The smirking, perfect face of the Red Queen chilled him to the bone.
She extended one long-fingered hand toward him and gestured upwards, and Merlin was jerked to his feet as if his limbs were attached to strings.
“What a handsome young man you were,” she said silkily, and now he could see, close-up, the insane glint in her eyes, the pinched corners of her mouth, the bloodstains on her dress and her ragged, unkempt fingernails.
“Were?” he asked faintly, wondering where his voice had gone. He was stone-sober from fear.
“Yes. I hope you've enjoyed your life,” she said, before jerking her hand back and into a fist.
Merlin began to choke. The Red Queen smiled a quiet, crazy smile and slunk forward, dragging Merlin neck-first behind her clenched fist as if she had him on a very short leash.
“Oh Batty, beating up on my poor Knaves again?” she called loudly as she dragged Merlin into the middle of the street. “Whatever have those poor boys done to you?”
Batman looked up from the man he was punching; it was impossible to actually tell but Merlin was sure he looked straight at him. The edges of his vision began to flicker.
“Let that boy go,” he growled, abandoning the fight as the Knaves fell back and prowling forward to the edge of the curb.
“I don't think I will,” she said, her tone playful. “He's very cute, don't you think? I may keep him as a pet.” She turned her attention to Merlin. “Sit, boy,” she hissed, and Merlin was forced to his knees by an invisible hand. The tension on his throat increased and he choked out a precious breath as his vision flared again. Everything was growing a peculiar halo.
“You're killing him, you insane bitch,” Batman snarled, taking a step from the curb.
“Ah-ah, no closer, or I'll decorate the street with his intestines.”
He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared at Merlin. Merlin appreciated the thought. His lungs were screaming.
He saw through a haze that the Knaves were getting away, piling into a black van with bags of loot from the store, and Batman saw this too but while Merlin's life hung in the balance, he was apparently going to let them go.
Finally the van drove off with a screech, its tires leaving most of their tread on the pavement, and with a blown kiss to Batman and a phantom caress to Merlin's cheek, she vanished into thin air. Merlin instantly collapsed onto all fours, his throat burning as he gulped down breaths of precious air.
“Are you alright?” growled a voice above him. He looked up and thought he could almost make out the striking blue of Arthur Pendragon's eyes behind his mask.
“Just let me pass out for a moment,” he said weakly.
He was hauled up by the elbow instead. “Camelot isn't safe at night these days,” Arthur growled. “Where do you live?”
“The Narrows.” Was he going to get a ride home? In the Batmobile? Maybe nearly dying from his own stupidity would be worth it.
“That's a bad area; you should look for a new place,” his employer replied. “Come sit on the curb and catch your breath. A squad car is coming to take you home.”
Not only would he miss a chance at the Batmobile, then, but he'd also get a ride home in a panda car in the middle of the night. He'd be knifed on his doorstep.
“Thanks, Batman,” he wheezed, finding that he meant it anyway, even with a stabbing death in his future.
But when he looked up, he was already alone.
***
Merlin made it to morning without being murdered, but when his alarm clock went off bright and early, he wished it otherwise.
He didn't remember his drive to work, which may have meant it was harrowing for everybody on the road who may have actually been conscious at the time, but he made it there in one piece with just enough time to knock back a cup of Gaius' coffee before going out to fertilize the front flower beds.
“Rough night?” Arthur said cheerfully from behind him as he was dragging a spade and a wheelbarrow out of his shed.
Merlin gave him a baleful look even as memories of the previous night's adventure filled his head in a rush. “Went to the bar with some friends,” he managed.
Arthur shook his head. “On a weeknight. Impressive.”
“Speak for yourself, Paris Hilton,” Merlin muttered as he hauled a bag of manure into the wheelbarrow.
“Sorry?”
Merlin cursed inwardly. “Nothing. Hey, what did you get up to last night, sir?”
Arthur shrugged, hands in his pockets. “The usual.”
“Driving around in fast cars, trying to pick up women?” Merlin leaned on his spade and smiled dully, although inside he was cackling, and paying close attention to Arthur's face.
Arthur hesitated for the shortest of moments; Merlin might have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it. “Yes, something like that.”
He smiled down at his bag of shit. “If you ever need a wingman, give me a call,” he said, picking up the handles of his barrow and pushing it past Arthur.
Arthur snorted and walked away.
***
Strangely, their exchange the morning after Merlin's run-in with the Red Queen became the first of many. To be fair, they mostly happened in the afternoon, when Arthur was finally awake, but Merlin would return to his shed from pruning hedges or go to one of the many patios around the house to sweep away the dirt and bits of grass and there would be Arthur, randomly striking up a conversation.
They got to be quite chummy over the next several weeks and once Merlin was even invited after his work was done to have a beer on the west patio, warmed by the late sun as they chatted and joked. He got a raised eyebrow from Gaius as the man brought out the drinks though, and had to resist the urge to stick out his tongue.
Merlin found he enjoyed getting to know Arthur a little more (or so it appeared, although frankly the man seemed to be layer upon layer of masks, his Batman one being only the most obvious), although his dreams of Batman persisted, even more frequent since their one encounter, and now Arthur himself would sometimes appear in them-though never actually as Batman. In fact, sometimes the two personae would show up side-by-side in Merlin's dreams. Those two sides of the same man were too different for Merlin to reconcile, although he knew the truth.
It bothered him so much that one afternoon, as they leaned against the side of the shed in the shade and Arthur teased Merlin about his poor rusty car, Merlin let his mind wander a little and suddenly found himself blurting out, “I know your secret.”
Arthur shut up abruptly and stared at him.
Sweat sprang up on the back of Merlin's neck and made his collar itch. He and Arthur stared each other down silently for a moment.
“What secret is that?” Arthur asked finally.
Merlin found he couldn't answer but betrayed his thoughts by casting a nervous glance toward the hedge on the north end of the grounds.
Arthur saw the look and pieced everything together at an alarming rate. “The hedge was trimmed,” he said. “You knew I was.... Did you show up at that crime scene on purpose?”
This man had never seemed that quick on the draw before and Merlin was ashamed to find that he found the display of intelligence hot, even as Arthur glared daggers at him, a tic in his jaw. Merlin became uncomfortably aware of how strong and muscular he was, under his loose button-down shirt.
“Um,” was all he could manage.
Arthur crossed his arms, shifting subtly and becoming an imposing threat. “What do you want from me? Money?”
Merlin gaped. He hadn't expected this. How many people had tried blackmail before, he wondered.
“No! I don't-I don't want your money.”
“Well, what is it then? There must be something.”
Merlin's mind raced. “Please don't fire me,” he blurted out.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
“Or... I'll tell... the press?”
“Fine,” he ground out. “Is that your entire list of demands? To keep your job?”
Merlin blinked, and a thought crystallized in his mind.
“Can I be your sidekick?”
***********
Stay tuned for more adventures of Merlin and Arthur!
Rating: On the safe side, a light R for swearing and a sexy dream.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur preslash
Wordcount: 5200
Summary: Merlin Emrys lands a job as a gardener for the enigmatic playboy Arthur Pendragon, and discovers that what he gets up to at night is not necessarily drinking with celebrities.
Warnings: Character spoilers for both Merlin and the Batman series. This is not based off the Nolanverse Batman movies, but more off the comics. However, gratuitous liberties have been taken with both canons. Also, this is really too earnest to be crack.
Thanks: To witheredsong for beta-reading and listening to the crazy spewing from my mouth, and to vanishing_cake for posting the Batman plot bunny that got me started in the first place. Direct all blame to her, please.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the many and varied commercial properties which I have abused in this fic, including but not limited to BBC's Merlin and Batman. I am making no money from this.
CAMELOT'S DARK KNIGHT: NUISANCE OR NECESSITY?
James Olsen, The Camelot Herald
Camelot Police and City Hall ostensibly take the same line regarding the city's favourite caped crusader: the Batman is a threat to our peace and stability. Vigilante justice is not to be condoned or tolerated. And yet, who arranged for the infamous Bat Signal to be mounted on the very roof of Police Headquarters? Commissioner Pendragon claimed once it was Batman's doing but surely if it were unwanted, it wouldn't shine through the skies to summon Camelot's dark protector to his duty.
Batman's duty. What does he do? He causes incredible collateral damage to our fair city in the course of his work as a crimefighter, grumble our aldermen. Estimates of the repair bills in his three years' tenure in Camelot are in excess of six figures-often generously covered by the Koenig Foundation and its wayward heir, Arthur Pendragon, when he's sober enough to attend a function without embarrassing the administrators of his trust and sending his PR factory into overdrive. But aside from the apparent wanton destruction caused by his nocturnal shenanigans, Batman has also caused a notable change in Camelot's criminal underworld.
The revolving door on Albion Asylum has overrun Camelot with more than just the usual assortment of mafia lords, drug runners and thieves; recent years have brought terror from the likes of the Penguin, Scarecrow, Sophia Fatale, the Riddler, Prince Valiant, Two-Face (former DA Edwin Muirden), and our constant plague, the Red Queen. Where this new breed of supervillains has proved to be too much for our overextended police force, Batman has stepped in to help, sending five escaped psychopaths back to Albion in the last year alone and depositing wanted criminals by the boatload onto the steps of our police stations, gift-wrapped and ready for trial. If they were paying him, Batman would be Camelot P.D.'s Employee of the Month several times over.
This is to say nothing of the community morale the Dark Knight has fostered, in a town where not so many years ago you wouldn't expect the time of day from a stranger. Batman has brought hope to Camelot: hope for a better future, free of the influence of criminals. It's time for our lawmakers and enforcers step up to meet this new standard and help transform Camelot into a city without fear.
***
PENDRAGON PLAYBOY GROUNDED?
Chris Nolan, Gawker
Hot on the heels of last week's wet t-shirt contest in the fountain at the Hilton, Camelot's most eligible bachelor, Arthur Pendragon, was seen leaving his daddy's downtown office in a hurry yesterday. While everyone is keeping their mouths shut right now, it wouldn't surprise us if Police Commissioner Pendragon gave our favourite boy with too much money and not enough brains a little time-out. Maybe he took away the keys to Arthur's new Bugatti Veyron. Look out; rumoured squeeze Lady GaGa may be clubbing stag for a while.
***
Pendragon Manor was far more impressive from close up, Merlin realized as he urged his ancient Toyota up the meandering drive. Far, far more. The house was sprawling, imposing limestone, possibly mortared with pure gold; it oozed wealth enough, at least. The guard at the gatehouse, after taking one look at his car, probably would have rather sent him chugging off again, appointment or no, but it truly did pay to have connections, because he'd been waved on. Reluctantly.
After winding through half a mile of lush, green lawns and well-tended trees, the driveway ended in a truly obnoxious circle in front of an equally opulent staircase to the main entrance. He pulled up in front of the steps, noting the lack of any other cars, and hoped he wouldn't be towed while he was inside. It would be a long walk back to Camelot.
One tug on the ridiculous bell-pull brought the vague noise of footsteps, and then the relief of Gaius' familiar face in the doorway.
“Merlin, my boy, you've made it. I hope you didn't have trouble finding the place,” Gaius said, clapping a hand on Merlin's shoulderblade as he cautiously entered the house.
The foyer, he thought with a look around, fit the ongoing theme of obnoxious wealth quite seamlessly.
“No, your, um, directions were excellent as ever, Gaius. So... where is....”
“Master Pendragon is in the front drawing room,” Gaius said with a smile. “Follow me. And straighten your tie.”
The billionaire playboy of tabloid fame was standing in front of the east window of the drawing room, his crisp shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tailored pants. He didn't turn as Gaius and Merlin entered.
“Merlin Emrys, Master Pendragon,” Gaius said, excusing himself and possibly melting out of existence; Merlin looked behind him with a start but the man was gone and the door shut. He felt unaccountably nervous.
Arthur Pendragon finally turned and frowned at Merlin, giving him a once-over that made him feel strangely naked.
“You're the man Gaius recommended for the gardener's position?” he asked suddenly. His voice was smooth, cultured and hostile. “I thought gardeners tended more toward having some muscle mass. Well, have a seat.”
Merlin balled his hands into fists to avoid the urge to play with his tie. This was likely to be the worst job interview ever.
***
Once he had, staggeringly, been hired as Arthur Pendragon's gardener (which he probably had to thank Gaius for), the job went surprisingly smoothly. His temperamental employer slept past noon, was out by dinner, kept late nights and then started the whole cycle over again, rarely going out to wander his own estate, and so most of Merlin's interactions on the job were with Gaius and he had many a peaceful afternoon to himself, to shovel shit onto the roses and ride the lawnmower up and down the rolling green spaces. His stature notwithstanding, he did have some experience with landscaping and gardening, and things went quite well for his first few months. In fact, he only had two notable interactions with Arthur in that time.
The first was on his third day of employment, when Arthur actually did attempt to have his car towed. It was admittedly rusting a bit and didn't fit in with its surroundings but it was Merlin's car and he was quite attached to it. Gaius, in his stately, immovable way, had interfered with their discussion before it became a yelling match and compromised by making Merlin park behind the south garages, where any hypothetical daytime visitors wouldn't be offended by the sight of his car.
The second conversation he had with Arthur was at the end of his first week, while he was manoeuvring the tractor out of its enormous shed to mow the lawns for the first time. Arthur had emerged from nowhere in the doorway and waved until he killed the noisy gas engine.
“Emrys, a word.”
Merlin got off the mower, dusting his hands off, and went to stand in front of his employer. It was not quite lunchtime (so said Merlin's stomach), but he had the rumpled look of someone who'd just gotten out of bed and hadn't been pleased to do so. He still could have graced the cover of GQ even in that state, though.
“I think Gaius forgot to mention this, but it's important. The north corner of the grounds, behind the huge fucking hedge?”
Merlin nodded; he had seen it.
“Don't ever go there. Just leave it alone.”
Merlin stared. Arthur seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Okay?”
“Good.” He nodded. “Keep up... whatever it is you're doing,” he said with a wave, turning to disappear again. He seemed to favour his right leg as he walked away, but Merlin didn't think too hard about it.
Instead, he set off to mow the grass, and avoided the north corner of the property as directed.
***
“Have you seen today's Herald, Gaius?” Merlin asked the Pendragon butler as he strolled into the Manor's kitchen one morning. Since Arthur was never up so early, he could usually go inside the house and score an excellent cup of coffee off of Gaius' nurturing soul before starting work.
“No,” Gaius said, turning with a carafe already in hand. “I've no doubt, however, that you will share whatever is of such import.”
Merlin slapped the paper down on the marble-topped breakfast bar, the headline and half of the full-colour photo showing above the fold.
“Apparently Batman had a showdown with Catwoman in front of the Metropolitan Museum last night.”
Gaius raised an eyebrow.
Merlin held up the paper. The headline blared, 'BATMAN STOPS JEWEL HEIST, CAUSES THOUSANDS IN PROPERTY DAMAGE'. The photo was an early-morning shot of the cordoned-off and half-destroyed granite facing of the museum; between the security breach of their diamond exhibit and the repair estimates, the place was expected to be closed to the public for at least a month.
Gaius took a look at the page and sighed. “Merlin, you don't seriously follow that nonsense, do you?”
“What nonsense? All the front pages for the past week have been about mafia slayings and city hall scandals; this is a refreshing change of pace.” Merlin settled down at the breakfast bar with his coffee to flip to the second page. “Batman may be clumsy about it but at least he's trying to stop crime instead of perpetuating it,” he said.
“Vandalism,” Gaius said tiredly, “is, in fact, a crime.”
Merlin shrugged. “There're no diamonds missing, though, are there?”
“Merlin, why don't you get to work? Those topiaries are looking quite haggard.”
Glaring as he slurped down the rest of his coffee, Merlin slid off his stool and made for the side door that would take him to his shed. Maybe he'd clip a hedge into the shape of Batman.
***
Arthur continued to indulge in late nights-turned-early-mornings (never mind the insistence from all the gossip rags that he was keeping his head down socially), which thankfully meant that Merlin never ran into him at all. The Herald ran a week of headlines implying that the Red Queen was back in town and trying to kill Batman, which Gaius would maddeningly never let Merlin get five words out about. Fresh off another argument about vigilante justice, Merlin tramped out one morning onto the dewy east lawns, took one look at the enormous, overgrown, hideous hedge hiding away the northern corner of the grounds, and found himself faced with a singular mission.
Within ten minutes, he was armed with a ladder, a chainsaw and his favourite shears and was crossing the lawn at speed, darting occasional quick glances at the house. But anyway, Arthur had only said not to go to the area behind the hedge; he'd never vetoed pruning the visible face of the damn thing, and it was getting truly awful. There were probably wasps. Enormous ones.
After an hour of extremely satisfying hedge-trimming with the chainsaw, littering the grass with branches and never once getting stung to death by a swarm of gigantic wasps, Merlin was perched at the top of his ladder, viciously hacking off the top of the hedge into a uniform shape in a manner reminiscent of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. No sooner had he levelled a four-foot swath of greenery than he got a solid eyeful of the forbidden northern corner.
It was a lot of horribly tall grass, nearly suitable for making hay out of.
And a dirt track that trampled the grass and went off through the trees.
And a large, paved space at the end of that dirt track, which looked like some sort of landing pad for a helicopter. Arthur Pendragon could absolutely own a helicopter; the hard part of that to accept would be that it was a secret.
But helicopters couldn't land so close to trees, could they?
Merlin checked his watch. It was half past ten; Arthur had apparently dragged in about ten minutes before Merlin had shown up for work that morning, so he would be asleep. Gaius would be inside the house, possibly making breakfast for Arthur, or reading Merlin's paper, or whatever it was he did at this time of day, left to his own devices.
He climbed down from the ladder, dug his shears out from under some shredded leaves, and made his way for the spot where the hedge met the stone wall of the mansion. It was lucky that he was so scrawny, he thought as he clipped two offending branches to make a hole just large enough to squeeze through. After that, it was a matter of not stomping the waving grass (and thistles, as he shortly discovered) as he made his way over to the concrete pad.
It was, he saw upon reaching it, extremely boring and as nondescript as it had looked from his ladder. It was very clean, though; all the dirt seemed to be regularly swept off to the far side, toward the trees. He cocked his head and thought about this for a moment, and then knelt to inspect the edges of the pad. There was a definite seam, like the pad was made to lift out of the ground. And perhaps tip all the dust off of it in the process.
Brushing off his hands, he got to his feet again and looked around. And there it was, tucked into the trees: a very small shed, apparently constructed of wood, but with a keypad beside the door. He walked over to it and peered at the keypad, raising his eyebrow as he studied it-it was far newer-looking than the shed itself, and who used that sort of security on a shed that looked like it could be kicked over-but it turned out that he didn't need to do any fancy lock-picking, because the door hadn't been shut properly. He seized the doorknob and pulled it open with barely a sound.
The inside, besides revealing itself to be made of concrete that definitely could not be kicked over, had a spiralling, iron staircase instead of a floor. A faint light came from below but didn't pierce the dark, so Merlin carefully eased the door shut behind him and descended the stairs.
It was a very impressive natural cave that he found himself in, certainly, but the first thing he noticed was the Batmobile.
It had pride of place among all of the equipment and computers in the cave and the two or three blurry photographs of it in existence didn't do it justice: it was beyond sleek, and shiny, and so black it seemed to pull everything in toward it. Merlin was only two steps away from touching it by the time he even realized he'd left the stairs. His hand reached out and hovered, inches above the glossy finish of the hood, but he thought better and snatched it back; he couldn't fathom the kind of car alarm that must be on a vehicle like that, and he liked being alive.
Finally, Merlin tore his gaze away from the car to look over the rest of the cave. A desk had been built from metal shelving along one wall and housed a truly ridiculous-looking computer, with a tower that might have been used to calculate pi, judging from its size, and four monitors all bolted into the wall. A workbench sat several feet away, covered in tools including a bench grinder, a blowtorch and every conceivable size of pliers. Merlin wandered over and picked up a half-sharpened throwing star shaped like a bat, marvelling at its craftsmanship and slicing the pad of his finger on one of the sharp points.
“Fuck,” he hissed quietly, putting it back down. He moved to the other side of the table instead, where there lay abandoned a helmet, made to cover the face, with pointy representations of ears on the top. It seemed to be made of a very tough rubber, and gave slightly when he squeezed it.
He held it up in front of his face, imagining Arthur Pendragon wearing it. Well, that chin could belong to a million men, he thought, turning the cowl over in his hands. Except-yes, there was a blond hair stuck to the inside, where it had rubbed against Arthur's head.
It occurred to Merlin that this meant his employer was actually probably capable of murdering him with his bare hands, and so he put down the cowl again exactly where he'd found it, took one last, longing look at the Batmobile, and crept back up the stairs.
***
Merlin's apartment was a ramshackle place in a shady part of town, because it was all he could afford since finishing school, and so it was the norm for interesting things to happen beyond his blackout curtains at night.
Tonight, just as it had been three other times so far this month, a drug deal had gone bad on the street right underneath Merlin's window (which was on the fourth floor, thank God for small mercies). He turned up the volume on the Law & Order rerun he was watching and pretended that the gunfire and shouting outside added to the show's ambiance, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn't, but wound up muting it instead when the noise reached an unusual crescendo and then nearly stopped.
He crept over to the window and flipped back a corner of the curtain to peer down at the street. There were four thugs, one dead on the ground in a puddle of red, and the other three fighting against someone dressed all in black. Merlin gasped in spite of himself and moved the curtain to get a better view.
Batman-Arthur, he thought, shaking his head ruefully-had just disarmed two of the gang members and lunged at the last as he pulled a hand-cannon of a gun from a shoulder holster, throwing a fluid punch combination that dropped the criminal like a bag of rocks. Merlin watched as Batman grabbed the last gun and took it apart on the spot, throwing the pieces into nearby dumpsters so that the weapon would never be retrieved. Finally, giving one feebly twitching thug a punch in the face that knocked him back out cold, he removed a handful of something (cable ties, Merlin realized) from his belt and trussed up all three gang members, leaving them lying on the pavement as he promptly vanished into the night. Merlin heard the distant whine of police sirens on their way to the scene; probably Batman had called them, because no one from this neighbourhood would have.
He stayed at his window until the cars pulled up and their lights made his walls flash blue and red through the gap in the curtains. The closing credits of Law & Order scrolled by silently on his TV as he collapsed back onto his bed, Arthur still moving with quick and controlled violence behind his eyelids.
***
The headlines for the next few weeks were riddled with Batman's exploits, and Merlin increasingly saw Arthur just stumbling out onto his bedroom patio in the early afternoon, blinking up at the sun in apparent confusion as Gaius brought him coffee and the newspapers. Now that he knew the man's secret, his nocturnal habits seemed almost noble and Merlin once or twice had to suppress the urge to salute him while driving by on the lawnmower.
His fixation with Batman, however (which he would staunchly deny having but not to himself), had gotten more intense, if possible, and he found himself waking up from dreams where Camelot's caped crusader featured heavily, beating people up or merely looking intense and foreboding before disappearing into thin air with a swirl of his cape. One embarrassingly memorable dream had involved the Batmobile; Merlin had leaned across the front seat and given Batman a blowjob while he drove somewhere very fast. Merlin had actually been wearing a costume too, although the details were hazy. He'd woken up hard and mortified and hadn't had a sex dream about Batman since, which may have been a mixed blessing.
To Merlin's great embarrassment, he found himself running to his window at night at every sign of nearby violence, straining to see the drug deals going sour and the gang skirmishes that occurred with regularity, scanning the fracas for signs of Batman. Sometimes a police car would arrive, scattering the criminals (or once, to facilitate a deal), but usually there was no interference with the criminals of Merlin's neighbourhood, caped or otherwise. With heavy disappointment, he would go back to his dinner of Mr. Noodle or his bad late-night TV or the warmth of his bed, and he would think about going to work the next day and seeing Arthur wearing sunglasses and drinking espresso on his balcony.
Finally, one night he was leaving a bar downtown, pleasantly buzzed but alone, and thinking about finding a cab that would go near his neighbourhood, when he heard a hail of gunfire from somewhere to his right. He stopped at a corner, peering down the road toward the noise, and was not surprised to hear an alarm begin to ring.
Merlin licked his lips, thinking, and then took off at a jog down the road, heading for the sound of the alarm.
It was a high-end jewelry store five blocks away, in the process of being robbed by cronies of the Red Queen, dressed in their distinctive red-and-black uniforms. Merlin skidded to a stop across the street and dodged to hide behind a row of newspaper boxes, peeking around the side to watch the scene. He felt a little thrill in his chest and smiled giddily (maybe it was the alcohol) as a dark shape dove from the top of the building and landed in the midst of the thieves.
Merlin was so engrossed in the sight of Batman laying into the crowd now swarming him that he didn't know there was anyone behind him until she spoke.
“Well, well, well, a rubbernecker,” purred a sultry voice. He turned slowly and was faced with long, creamy legs in very impractical heels, which disappeared into a ragged-edged red dress with a tight bodice. Perhaps it was once an elegant garment but it had gone through years of hard wear. The smirking, perfect face of the Red Queen chilled him to the bone.
She extended one long-fingered hand toward him and gestured upwards, and Merlin was jerked to his feet as if his limbs were attached to strings.
“What a handsome young man you were,” she said silkily, and now he could see, close-up, the insane glint in her eyes, the pinched corners of her mouth, the bloodstains on her dress and her ragged, unkempt fingernails.
“Were?” he asked faintly, wondering where his voice had gone. He was stone-sober from fear.
“Yes. I hope you've enjoyed your life,” she said, before jerking her hand back and into a fist.
Merlin began to choke. The Red Queen smiled a quiet, crazy smile and slunk forward, dragging Merlin neck-first behind her clenched fist as if she had him on a very short leash.
“Oh Batty, beating up on my poor Knaves again?” she called loudly as she dragged Merlin into the middle of the street. “Whatever have those poor boys done to you?”
Batman looked up from the man he was punching; it was impossible to actually tell but Merlin was sure he looked straight at him. The edges of his vision began to flicker.
“Let that boy go,” he growled, abandoning the fight as the Knaves fell back and prowling forward to the edge of the curb.
“I don't think I will,” she said, her tone playful. “He's very cute, don't you think? I may keep him as a pet.” She turned her attention to Merlin. “Sit, boy,” she hissed, and Merlin was forced to his knees by an invisible hand. The tension on his throat increased and he choked out a precious breath as his vision flared again. Everything was growing a peculiar halo.
“You're killing him, you insane bitch,” Batman snarled, taking a step from the curb.
“Ah-ah, no closer, or I'll decorate the street with his intestines.”
He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared at Merlin. Merlin appreciated the thought. His lungs were screaming.
He saw through a haze that the Knaves were getting away, piling into a black van with bags of loot from the store, and Batman saw this too but while Merlin's life hung in the balance, he was apparently going to let them go.
Finally the van drove off with a screech, its tires leaving most of their tread on the pavement, and with a blown kiss to Batman and a phantom caress to Merlin's cheek, she vanished into thin air. Merlin instantly collapsed onto all fours, his throat burning as he gulped down breaths of precious air.
“Are you alright?” growled a voice above him. He looked up and thought he could almost make out the striking blue of Arthur Pendragon's eyes behind his mask.
“Just let me pass out for a moment,” he said weakly.
He was hauled up by the elbow instead. “Camelot isn't safe at night these days,” Arthur growled. “Where do you live?”
“The Narrows.” Was he going to get a ride home? In the Batmobile? Maybe nearly dying from his own stupidity would be worth it.
“That's a bad area; you should look for a new place,” his employer replied. “Come sit on the curb and catch your breath. A squad car is coming to take you home.”
Not only would he miss a chance at the Batmobile, then, but he'd also get a ride home in a panda car in the middle of the night. He'd be knifed on his doorstep.
“Thanks, Batman,” he wheezed, finding that he meant it anyway, even with a stabbing death in his future.
But when he looked up, he was already alone.
***
Merlin made it to morning without being murdered, but when his alarm clock went off bright and early, he wished it otherwise.
He didn't remember his drive to work, which may have meant it was harrowing for everybody on the road who may have actually been conscious at the time, but he made it there in one piece with just enough time to knock back a cup of Gaius' coffee before going out to fertilize the front flower beds.
“Rough night?” Arthur said cheerfully from behind him as he was dragging a spade and a wheelbarrow out of his shed.
Merlin gave him a baleful look even as memories of the previous night's adventure filled his head in a rush. “Went to the bar with some friends,” he managed.
Arthur shook his head. “On a weeknight. Impressive.”
“Speak for yourself, Paris Hilton,” Merlin muttered as he hauled a bag of manure into the wheelbarrow.
“Sorry?”
Merlin cursed inwardly. “Nothing. Hey, what did you get up to last night, sir?”
Arthur shrugged, hands in his pockets. “The usual.”
“Driving around in fast cars, trying to pick up women?” Merlin leaned on his spade and smiled dully, although inside he was cackling, and paying close attention to Arthur's face.
Arthur hesitated for the shortest of moments; Merlin might have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it. “Yes, something like that.”
He smiled down at his bag of shit. “If you ever need a wingman, give me a call,” he said, picking up the handles of his barrow and pushing it past Arthur.
Arthur snorted and walked away.
***
Strangely, their exchange the morning after Merlin's run-in with the Red Queen became the first of many. To be fair, they mostly happened in the afternoon, when Arthur was finally awake, but Merlin would return to his shed from pruning hedges or go to one of the many patios around the house to sweep away the dirt and bits of grass and there would be Arthur, randomly striking up a conversation.
They got to be quite chummy over the next several weeks and once Merlin was even invited after his work was done to have a beer on the west patio, warmed by the late sun as they chatted and joked. He got a raised eyebrow from Gaius as the man brought out the drinks though, and had to resist the urge to stick out his tongue.
Merlin found he enjoyed getting to know Arthur a little more (or so it appeared, although frankly the man seemed to be layer upon layer of masks, his Batman one being only the most obvious), although his dreams of Batman persisted, even more frequent since their one encounter, and now Arthur himself would sometimes appear in them-though never actually as Batman. In fact, sometimes the two personae would show up side-by-side in Merlin's dreams. Those two sides of the same man were too different for Merlin to reconcile, although he knew the truth.
It bothered him so much that one afternoon, as they leaned against the side of the shed in the shade and Arthur teased Merlin about his poor rusty car, Merlin let his mind wander a little and suddenly found himself blurting out, “I know your secret.”
Arthur shut up abruptly and stared at him.
Sweat sprang up on the back of Merlin's neck and made his collar itch. He and Arthur stared each other down silently for a moment.
“What secret is that?” Arthur asked finally.
Merlin found he couldn't answer but betrayed his thoughts by casting a nervous glance toward the hedge on the north end of the grounds.
Arthur saw the look and pieced everything together at an alarming rate. “The hedge was trimmed,” he said. “You knew I was.... Did you show up at that crime scene on purpose?”
This man had never seemed that quick on the draw before and Merlin was ashamed to find that he found the display of intelligence hot, even as Arthur glared daggers at him, a tic in his jaw. Merlin became uncomfortably aware of how strong and muscular he was, under his loose button-down shirt.
“Um,” was all he could manage.
Arthur crossed his arms, shifting subtly and becoming an imposing threat. “What do you want from me? Money?”
Merlin gaped. He hadn't expected this. How many people had tried blackmail before, he wondered.
“No! I don't-I don't want your money.”
“Well, what is it then? There must be something.”
Merlin's mind raced. “Please don't fire me,” he blurted out.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
“Or... I'll tell... the press?”
“Fine,” he ground out. “Is that your entire list of demands? To keep your job?”
Merlin blinked, and a thought crystallized in his mind.
“Can I be your sidekick?”
***********
Stay tuned for more adventures of Merlin and Arthur!