Nights 'Round the Table (1/14)
Title: Nights 'Round the Table
Author: rhosyn_du and mellow_dk
Artist: luisadeza
Pairings/characters: Merlin/Arthur, Gwaine/Elena, Gwen/Lancelot/Morgana, Nimue/Morgause, Uther/Catrina, Leon/fabulous shoes + many, many other past and implied pairings.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 47,500
Warnings: Cults, closeted characters, bi-phobia, breaking and entering, public intoxication, casual drug use, casual sex, rough language, punk rock
Summary: San Francisco Bay Area punk foodie AU. When Uther buys a culinary-focused TV station for his new bride, Catrina, it's up to Arthur to get it cable-ready. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Arthur's idea of haute cuisine is putting your pizza on a plate instead of eating it straight out of the box. Featuring chef!Merlin, TV-exec!Arthur, patissiere-by-day-psychobilly-front-man-by-night!Gwen, and most-patient-and-understanding-PA-ever!Leon.
Author's notes: Many thanks to xsmoonshine, our lovely beta, to rosaespanola cheerleader extraordinaire, and to luisadeza for the fantastic art. Thanks also to all of our friends and loved ones who offered support and suggestions and put up with us babbling about this fic at parties for the past six months, to all of the other big bang participants for the commiseration and encouragement along the way, and to the_muppet for organizing this whole shebang.
Also sorry for the billion parts. Using the rich text editor makes your word limit tiny.
Artist's notes: See Art Master Post
Story link: Story Master Post
Art link: Art Master Post
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC and Shine. This work is intended purely for fun, and no profit is being made.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon and presumed heir to Pendragon Broadcasting, was well on his way to being quite thoroughly plastered.
He hadn’t intended to get drunk, honestly, but after sitting in Bay Bridge traffic for over an hour (an hour!) and spending nearly that long trying to find someplace near the club to park his Miata where he could be sure it would still be there when he got back, he needed a couple beers. And another after Morgana chided him for driving in the first place (“Honestly, Arthur, why not pretend to be a sane person for once and take the train like everyone else who lives in the City?” Never mind that BART was full of drunk club-goers and people in desperate need of a bath at this hour.) and another after the tenth scornful look he’d gotten from one of the club’s other patrons, as though he were the weird one when half of them had pink hair and metal spikes on their boots.
And then Morgana had told him to lighten up and handed him something a virulent shade of green, and because the whole point of this excursion was to cheer her up, he’d drunk that, too. Because that’s what big brothers did. Part of the job, cheering up sisters when they were heartbroken. Although he was starting to think this was more a case of heart-annoyed-that-the-bastard-left-after-I-already-bought-tickets-to-this-show. But still. He was a good brother for showing up, regardless.
“Hey,” he said as Morgana slid into the booth across the table, her face flushed from dancing, “I hope you realize what a good brother I am.”
“What?” Morgana called over the wild screeching of electric violin.
Arthur leaned forward, pitching his voice as loud as he could without straining. “I said I’m a good brother.”
Morgana frowned for a second, as though trying to process what he’d said, and then grinned. “I know!” she yelled back. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? I told you you’d love them!”
Arthur shook his head. “Not the band.” Really, not the band. “Me,” he yelled. “I’m good!”
Morgana’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re having fun!”
Arthur sighed heavily and turned his attention back to the antifreeze-colored concoction in front of him. It was the second one Morgana had brought him, and he still couldn’t tell if the artificial green flavor was supposed to be apple or melon.
The violin built to a crescendo, holding on a high note, then ended abruptly. The crowd burst into cheers, and Morgana put a hand to her mouth to give a piercing whistle of approval. Arthur clapped because he was glad it was over.
“Thank you.” The violin player’s voice was monotone, a sharp contrast to the wildness of his playing, but a perfect match for his flat blue eyes. It wasn’t exactly what Arthur would have called engaging stage presence, but maybe that was just down to nervousness. The kid couldn’t have been older than twelve, and Arthur had no clue how he’d ended up playing at a bar, although he suspected that had been some of what Morgana was gushing about over the horrible canned music that was playing before the band went on.
For a long moment, the boy just stared out at the audience, then nodded sharply and turned to pack up his violin. The crowd’s cheers increased, and Arthur tossed back the last of the neon green atrocity.
“Did you want another drink?” Morgana asked, her attention finally turning from the stage as the strange boy disappeared into the wings. “I was just thinking I could use another, myself.”
“I’ll get it,” Arthur said, hurriedly pushing himself to his feet. Two was definitely his limit for sickeningly sweet green things.
The line at the bar was long, nearly everyone in the building wanting refills on their drinks before the next band went on, it seemed like. And, in keeping with the way his luck was running tonight, Arthur found himself at the tail end of it. By the time Arthur was close enough to actually see the bartender’s face, all of the crazy violin kid’s equipment had been cleared, and a tall man was sweeping down the stage.
“A Mai Tai and a large Fat Tire,” Arthur told the bartender. Maybe if he got a full 20 oz. beer for himself, Morgana would stop bringing him green things.
“Elyan, I need three bottles of water and a Gentleman Jack, straight up,” came a breathless voice from behind Arthur.
Arthur turned his best indignant glare on the interloper, fully prepared to deliver a lecture on politeness and not cutting in front of a man who just wanted his beer, but he was stopped by an apologetic smile. Or, more precisely, by the generous mouth doing the smiling. Or maybe it was the cheekbones, high enough to make any woman envious, but on a face that most certainly didn’t belong to any woman. Or maybe it was the eyes, a brighter blue even than the summer sky and rimmed in heavy black eyeliner.
Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was most definitely not unpleasant to look at and Arthur was not entirely sober and hadn’t gotten laid in far too long.
Whatever it was, Arthur found himself glancing back to the bartender -- Elyan? -- with a cocky grin. “Why don’t you make those drinks on me?”
“Oh,” those fantastically full lips said. “Thanks, but...”
Arthur glanced up from that perfect mouth to see the other man brandishing a handful of drink tickets.
“I’m with the band.”
“Right,” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound quite as much the fool as he felt. “The band. Well. Break a leg, then?”
“Thanks,” the man said, gathering the bottles of water Elyan handed him into the crook of one arm.
“I’m Arthur, by the way,” Arthur said.
“Merlin,” the man answered. He flashed a grin. “Enjoy the show, Arthur.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Arthur answered under his breath, eyes following Merlin’s retreating back. Or, more precisely, his retreating backside.
“Hey, mate,” the bartender said, interrupting Arthur’s prurient musings, “did you want your drinks?”
It was only then that Arthur really noticed the drinks sitting atop the bar. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled that they’d been there when Merlin was gathering up his order.
“Uh,” Arthur said, intelligently. “Yes. Um. Thank you.” He hoped the generous tip he pressed into the man’s hand was enough to keep him from noticing the flush in Arthur’s cheeks.
As he wound his way back through the crowd toward Morgana, Arthur wondered what on earth had possessed him back there. He didn’t hit on strange men in bars. Not anywhere it might get back to his father. Not where Morgana might see.
He must, he realized, be drunker than he’d thought. Who would have thought those ridiculous green things actually counted for anything?
“There you are,” Morgana said as he reached the table. “I wished you’d gotten back sooner. You just missed them.”
Arthur frowned at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you even making sense?”
“Mordred, Arthur,” Morgana explained, in a voice that told him she, at least, thought he ought to know what she was on about. “And his aunts. They came over to thank me for coming. Morgause invited me personally, you know.”
“Who?”
“Morgause,” Morgana said impatiently. “Mordred’s aunt. I just told you.”
“Right,” Arthur said, years of experience telling him that he was far better off leaving it at that than letting on that he had no fucking clue who this Mordred was, either. “Congratulations?” he tried.
Morgana sighed heavily. “Honestly, Arthur, sometimes I don’t know why I even try.”
“Mm,” Arthur half-agreed. Normally, he’d have been at least trying to pay attention, but movement on stage had caught his eye just as Morgana had begun speaking, and he found himself unable to look away.
Merlin had ditched the baggy hoodie Arthur had seen him in earlier and replaced it with a vintage black leather motorcycle jacket, a perfect match to the leather pants that stretched quite nicely across his ass as he helped a scruffy-looking man wrestle an amplifier to the front of the stage. A second amp was carried across the stage by a man who had to be at least six and half feet tall and whose arms looked like he probably could have carried both amps by himself, and maybe Merlin and his scruffy friend, too.
There was a woman, too, doing something with a microphone and too many cables. She was pretty, Arthur noted distractedly, as Merlin and Scruffy Guy shuffled past her, with tight dark curls framing a kind face. She was wearing some 50’s-style pink thing that Leon would have loved.
Another, slightly less scruffy man (why were Merlin’s friends all scruffy, anyway?) met the two at the far end of the stage, and started doing something with another mess of cables. Arthur tried not to feel too disappointed that Merlin wasn’t bending over anymore.
“Are you even listening to me?” Morgana’s voice was all exasperated amusement. “Or are you too busy leering?”
“What?” Arthur’s head whipped around. “What, no. I wasn’t...” He searched his mind frantically for a good excuse, anything that he could have been looking at on that stage other than Merlin’s ass. “I mean,” he said, remembering the woman in the pink dress, “I was just admiring her legs. In a gentlemanly fashion.”
Morgana gave him a long, measuring look. “You were admiring her legs.”
“Yes,” Arthur said.
“In a gentlemanly fashion.” She no longer looked amused.
“Absolutely gentlemanly,” Arthur confirmed.
Morgana sighed. “If you say so, Arthur.”
“Just so you know,” he told her, “it’s hard to take criticism seriously from anyone whose drink has two umbrellas.”
Despite the apparent chaos, it didn’t take long for Merlin’s band to finish setting up their equipment. Arthur was a bit disappointed to see Merlin settle himself behind the drum set -- it was hard to properly appreciate a man’s backside when he was sitting on it, after all -- but his disappointment was short-lived.
As the piped-in music faded away and the lights came up onstage, the woman in pink stepped up to the center stage microphone. She flashed the audience a quick, shy smile, and then the entire world exploded into music.
Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this bouncy, growling sound that made him want to get up out of his chair and dance, and maybe even sing along if he’d known the lyrics. Or maybe not, since they seemed to involve mass murder of some sort, and somehow he didn’t think that would be quite so charming coming from him, even if he were in a pink, frilly dress. He settled for tapping his foot along with the beat.
There was nothing shy about the woman in pink, now, as she half-flirted first with the other members of her band, and then with a few of the audience members sitting at the tables closest to the stage. Scruffy Guy was smirking at the crowd as his fingers flew across the frets of his guitar, and Not Quite So Scruffy Guy was cradling his upright bass like a man might cradle a lover. And Merlin... Merlin’s face was rapt concentration, eyes focused on some point in front of him, his arms moving with almost boneless fluidity, drumsticks moving so fast they were a blur.
The song ended with a rhythmic cadence, and the crowd burst into cheers and applause.
“Hello, and good evening!” the woman in pink shouted to the crowd. “We’re Lapping Tears.” At least, that was what it sounded like to Arthur. What a weird name for a band.
“And we,” Scruffy Guy said, “are here to rock. Your. World.”
Morgana leaned over as the band opened up their next song, and murmured in Arthur’s ear, “You’re right. She does have nice legs.”
The next time Arthur made his way back to the bar, he ordered himself a whole pitcher of beer. He was pretty certain the bartender remembered him, and that he was still laughing.
By the end of the night, Arthur was well and truly drunk, and Morgana was far too pleased about that fact, smiling even as she complained about having to drive him and his car back into the City.
“Next time, take BART, and we can take a cab back across the Bay together,” she told him as she gathered up her things. “You’re just lucky I stopped after that Mai Tai, or you’d just have to leave your car here overnight.”
“Morgana,” he said “please stop talking.”
“And miss the chance to see you make that face? Never.”
“Fine. You keep talking. I’m going to go get some water. No--” he held up a hand to forestall her, “you stay here. I’ll be right back.” The room lurched in a somewhat nauseating fashion as he stood.
“Don’t fall over,” Morgana said cheerfully.
Arthur was very proud of himself for being able to flip her off without tripping over his own feet.
“Back again?” Elyan greeted him. “I’m afraid there’ll be no more beers for you tonight. You’ve passed the point where I could plausibly convince anyone I thought you were sober when you ordered.”
Arthur shook his head. “No beer. I’m done with beer.” He kept shaking his head, partially to emphasize his point and partially because it was sort of hard to stop once he’d gotten started. “Need water.”
“Water, I can give you,” the bartender said, producing a bottle of Crystal Geyser. “That’ll be three dollars.”
Arthur paid, taking the bottle and downing it all in one go. It did nothing at all to soothe his turning stomach, but it did wonders for the headache that had just been starting in the center of his forehead.
When he turned away from the bar, the pink-clad front-woman for Merlin’s band was behind him, along with Not So Scruffy Guy.
“Hey!” Arthur’s mouth said without his permission.
The pair turned to look at him, and he very carefully did not ask if maybe Merlin was still around somewhere. “You guys were really great,” he said instead.
“Thank you,” the woman said, returning his smile. Not So Scruffy Guy gave him a polite nod, but looked wary.
“I mean it,” Arthur insisted. “Really. Very good.”
“Hey, are you guys coming?” came a voice from behind Arthur. “Percy and Gwaine are bitching about having to load everything into the truck themselves.”
Arthur recognized that voice. He’d been looking for that voice! Well. For something that went with it, anyway. “Merlin!” Maybe that was a bit overly enthusiastic. “Um. Hey.”
“I think you mean Percy’s loading the van and Gwaine is bitching,” said Not So Scruffy Guy.
“Gwaine loaded his guitar, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and the twin groupies that seem to be following him home,” Merlin corrected. “Hey... Arthur, was it?”
“That’s right,” Arthur said. “I was just telling your band-mates here how much I enjoyed your show.”
“You should have told us you were a friend of Merlin’s,” Not So Scruffy Guy said, actually smiling now and offering Arthur his hand. “I’m Lance.”
“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” the woman said. “I’m Gwen.” She threw a questioning look at Merlin, and Arthur couldn’t quite decipher the quirked eyebrow he gave her in return.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen us?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, ignoring the way his stomach still roiled from a bit too much beer. “My sister dragged me, actually. I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself, but...” His eyes drifted to Merlin. “But I really did.”
“I’m glad,” Merlin said. “You know, we’re playing here again a week from Tuesday. If you want to come.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, too quickly. “I mean, I’ll have to see if I’m free.” God, he sounded like an idiot. And the edges of his vision were starting to go wonky, a sure sign that he’d had far too much to drink. He really ought to be going. But...
“Maybe,” Arthur continued with exaggeratedly careful pronunciation, “if you’re not busy after--”
“There you are.” Morgana’s voice was heavy with exasperation. “For god’s sake, Arthur, twenty minutes is not ‘right back.’”
Arthur fought down panic. How much of the conversation had Morgana heard? What had she seen? Not that he’d been hitting on Merlin, exactly, and even if he had (which he hadn’t!), surely Morgana couldn’t have noticed from a distance, could she? No. No, of course not.
“I was jusht--” Arthur paused, tried again. “Just telling these fine people how very much I enjoyed their performance.”
For good measure, Arthur threw an arm around Gwen’s shoulders and gave her a look he hoped could pass for lascivious. Given the way Morgana was staring at him, he thought maybe he hadn’t quite succeeded. To say nothing of the way Gwen herself was staring at him. And Lance.
But Merlin... Merlin was staring, of all places, at Morgana, looking a bit stunned.
“Morgana?” Merlin said. “Am I really seeing Morgana Pendragon at one of my shows?”
Morgana’s head snapped toward Merlin, her mouth curving in a tight-lipped smile. “I thought I recognized you up there, Emrys. Not a bad set. I hadn’t realized you still played.”
“On and off,” Merlin said. “When I get the time.”
“You two know each other?” Gwen asked, not-so-surreptitiously ducking out from under Arthur’s arm.
“Yeah,” Merlin said. “We’re sort of...old friends.”
“Classmates,” Morgana clarified. “We went to college together. Didn’t we, Merlin?”
Merlin nodded. “Introduction to Decision Analysis.”
“With Dr. Taylor?” Gwen asked. “Merlin was still complaining about that class two years later when I met him.”
“Hey, it was only a year and a half,” Merlin corrected.
“It was worth complaining about for at least that long,” Morgana said.
“Isn’t Taylor the one Father got suspended for constantly trying to look down your shirt?” Arthur asked.
Morgana gave him a Look. “Thank you, Arthur. I love it when you feel the need to explain deeply mortifying incidents in my past to people I’ve just met.
“I’m Morgana, by the way,” she said to Gwen and Lance. “In case you didn’t catch that. And the drunken ass is, for better or worse, my brother, Arthur.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Lance said.
“It’s a shame Merlin didn’t get the chance to introduce us sooner,” Gwen put in.
“He’s your brother.” Merlin’s voice was oddly flat.
Despite his increasing queasiness, Arthur forced a grin. “That’s right. Arthur Pendragon, in the flesh.”
His pronouncement didn’t get nearly the reception he was used to. If anything, Merlin looked annoyed.
“How nice for you,” Merlin said. “I’m going to go finish loading the van.”
Arthur frowned. “I think--” he started, but he was interrupted by a troubled-looking Lance.
“I should help, too,” he said, frowning after Merlin. “It was nice meeting you, Morgana. Arthur.”
“I think--” Arthur tried again.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Gwen told Morgana. “He gets like that sometimes after a show.
“I really think I’m going to be sick,” Arthur finally got out.
Morgana and Gwen both turned to stare at him, and the pitcher of beer Arthur had consumed earlier chose that moment to make a reappearance.
Next
Author: rhosyn_du and mellow_dk
Artist: luisadeza
Pairings/characters: Merlin/Arthur, Gwaine/Elena, Gwen/Lancelot/Morgana, Nimue/Morgause, Uther/Catrina, Leon/fabulous shoes + many, many other past and implied pairings.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 47,500
Warnings: Cults, closeted characters, bi-phobia, breaking and entering, public intoxication, casual drug use, casual sex, rough language, punk rock
Summary: San Francisco Bay Area punk foodie AU. When Uther buys a culinary-focused TV station for his new bride, Catrina, it's up to Arthur to get it cable-ready. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Arthur's idea of haute cuisine is putting your pizza on a plate instead of eating it straight out of the box. Featuring chef!Merlin, TV-exec!Arthur, patissiere-by-day-psychobilly-front-man-by-night!Gwen, and most-patient-and-understanding-PA-ever!Leon.
Author's notes: Many thanks to xsmoonshine, our lovely beta, to rosaespanola cheerleader extraordinaire, and to luisadeza for the fantastic art. Thanks also to all of our friends and loved ones who offered support and suggestions and put up with us babbling about this fic at parties for the past six months, to all of the other big bang participants for the commiseration and encouragement along the way, and to the_muppet for organizing this whole shebang.
Also sorry for the billion parts. Using the rich text editor makes your word limit tiny.
Artist's notes: See Art Master Post
Story link: Story Master Post
Art link: Art Master Post
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC and Shine. This work is intended purely for fun, and no profit is being made.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon and presumed heir to Pendragon Broadcasting, was well on his way to being quite thoroughly plastered.
He hadn’t intended to get drunk, honestly, but after sitting in Bay Bridge traffic for over an hour (an hour!) and spending nearly that long trying to find someplace near the club to park his Miata where he could be sure it would still be there when he got back, he needed a couple beers. And another after Morgana chided him for driving in the first place (“Honestly, Arthur, why not pretend to be a sane person for once and take the train like everyone else who lives in the City?” Never mind that BART was full of drunk club-goers and people in desperate need of a bath at this hour.) and another after the tenth scornful look he’d gotten from one of the club’s other patrons, as though he were the weird one when half of them had pink hair and metal spikes on their boots.
And then Morgana had told him to lighten up and handed him something a virulent shade of green, and because the whole point of this excursion was to cheer her up, he’d drunk that, too. Because that’s what big brothers did. Part of the job, cheering up sisters when they were heartbroken. Although he was starting to think this was more a case of heart-annoyed-that-the-bastard-left-after-I-already-bought-tickets-to-this-show. But still. He was a good brother for showing up, regardless.
“Hey,” he said as Morgana slid into the booth across the table, her face flushed from dancing, “I hope you realize what a good brother I am.”
“What?” Morgana called over the wild screeching of electric violin.
Arthur leaned forward, pitching his voice as loud as he could without straining. “I said I’m a good brother.”
Morgana frowned for a second, as though trying to process what he’d said, and then grinned. “I know!” she yelled back. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? I told you you’d love them!”
Arthur shook his head. “Not the band.” Really, not the band. “Me,” he yelled. “I’m good!”
Morgana’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re having fun!”
Arthur sighed heavily and turned his attention back to the antifreeze-colored concoction in front of him. It was the second one Morgana had brought him, and he still couldn’t tell if the artificial green flavor was supposed to be apple or melon.
The violin built to a crescendo, holding on a high note, then ended abruptly. The crowd burst into cheers, and Morgana put a hand to her mouth to give a piercing whistle of approval. Arthur clapped because he was glad it was over.
“Thank you.” The violin player’s voice was monotone, a sharp contrast to the wildness of his playing, but a perfect match for his flat blue eyes. It wasn’t exactly what Arthur would have called engaging stage presence, but maybe that was just down to nervousness. The kid couldn’t have been older than twelve, and Arthur had no clue how he’d ended up playing at a bar, although he suspected that had been some of what Morgana was gushing about over the horrible canned music that was playing before the band went on.
For a long moment, the boy just stared out at the audience, then nodded sharply and turned to pack up his violin. The crowd’s cheers increased, and Arthur tossed back the last of the neon green atrocity.
“Did you want another drink?” Morgana asked, her attention finally turning from the stage as the strange boy disappeared into the wings. “I was just thinking I could use another, myself.”
“I’ll get it,” Arthur said, hurriedly pushing himself to his feet. Two was definitely his limit for sickeningly sweet green things.
The line at the bar was long, nearly everyone in the building wanting refills on their drinks before the next band went on, it seemed like. And, in keeping with the way his luck was running tonight, Arthur found himself at the tail end of it. By the time Arthur was close enough to actually see the bartender’s face, all of the crazy violin kid’s equipment had been cleared, and a tall man was sweeping down the stage.
“A Mai Tai and a large Fat Tire,” Arthur told the bartender. Maybe if he got a full 20 oz. beer for himself, Morgana would stop bringing him green things.
“Elyan, I need three bottles of water and a Gentleman Jack, straight up,” came a breathless voice from behind Arthur.
Arthur turned his best indignant glare on the interloper, fully prepared to deliver a lecture on politeness and not cutting in front of a man who just wanted his beer, but he was stopped by an apologetic smile. Or, more precisely, by the generous mouth doing the smiling. Or maybe it was the cheekbones, high enough to make any woman envious, but on a face that most certainly didn’t belong to any woman. Or maybe it was the eyes, a brighter blue even than the summer sky and rimmed in heavy black eyeliner.
Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was most definitely not unpleasant to look at and Arthur was not entirely sober and hadn’t gotten laid in far too long.
Whatever it was, Arthur found himself glancing back to the bartender -- Elyan? -- with a cocky grin. “Why don’t you make those drinks on me?”
“Oh,” those fantastically full lips said. “Thanks, but...”
Arthur glanced up from that perfect mouth to see the other man brandishing a handful of drink tickets.
“I’m with the band.”
“Right,” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound quite as much the fool as he felt. “The band. Well. Break a leg, then?”
“Thanks,” the man said, gathering the bottles of water Elyan handed him into the crook of one arm.
“I’m Arthur, by the way,” Arthur said.
“Merlin,” the man answered. He flashed a grin. “Enjoy the show, Arthur.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Arthur answered under his breath, eyes following Merlin’s retreating back. Or, more precisely, his retreating backside.
“Hey, mate,” the bartender said, interrupting Arthur’s prurient musings, “did you want your drinks?”
It was only then that Arthur really noticed the drinks sitting atop the bar. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled that they’d been there when Merlin was gathering up his order.
“Uh,” Arthur said, intelligently. “Yes. Um. Thank you.” He hoped the generous tip he pressed into the man’s hand was enough to keep him from noticing the flush in Arthur’s cheeks.
As he wound his way back through the crowd toward Morgana, Arthur wondered what on earth had possessed him back there. He didn’t hit on strange men in bars. Not anywhere it might get back to his father. Not where Morgana might see.
He must, he realized, be drunker than he’d thought. Who would have thought those ridiculous green things actually counted for anything?
“There you are,” Morgana said as he reached the table. “I wished you’d gotten back sooner. You just missed them.”
Arthur frowned at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you even making sense?”
“Mordred, Arthur,” Morgana explained, in a voice that told him she, at least, thought he ought to know what she was on about. “And his aunts. They came over to thank me for coming. Morgause invited me personally, you know.”
“Who?”
“Morgause,” Morgana said impatiently. “Mordred’s aunt. I just told you.”
“Right,” Arthur said, years of experience telling him that he was far better off leaving it at that than letting on that he had no fucking clue who this Mordred was, either. “Congratulations?” he tried.
Morgana sighed heavily. “Honestly, Arthur, sometimes I don’t know why I even try.”
“Mm,” Arthur half-agreed. Normally, he’d have been at least trying to pay attention, but movement on stage had caught his eye just as Morgana had begun speaking, and he found himself unable to look away.
Merlin had ditched the baggy hoodie Arthur had seen him in earlier and replaced it with a vintage black leather motorcycle jacket, a perfect match to the leather pants that stretched quite nicely across his ass as he helped a scruffy-looking man wrestle an amplifier to the front of the stage. A second amp was carried across the stage by a man who had to be at least six and half feet tall and whose arms looked like he probably could have carried both amps by himself, and maybe Merlin and his scruffy friend, too.
There was a woman, too, doing something with a microphone and too many cables. She was pretty, Arthur noted distractedly, as Merlin and Scruffy Guy shuffled past her, with tight dark curls framing a kind face. She was wearing some 50’s-style pink thing that Leon would have loved.
Another, slightly less scruffy man (why were Merlin’s friends all scruffy, anyway?) met the two at the far end of the stage, and started doing something with another mess of cables. Arthur tried not to feel too disappointed that Merlin wasn’t bending over anymore.
“Are you even listening to me?” Morgana’s voice was all exasperated amusement. “Or are you too busy leering?”
“What?” Arthur’s head whipped around. “What, no. I wasn’t...” He searched his mind frantically for a good excuse, anything that he could have been looking at on that stage other than Merlin’s ass. “I mean,” he said, remembering the woman in the pink dress, “I was just admiring her legs. In a gentlemanly fashion.”
Morgana gave him a long, measuring look. “You were admiring her legs.”
“Yes,” Arthur said.
“In a gentlemanly fashion.” She no longer looked amused.
“Absolutely gentlemanly,” Arthur confirmed.
Morgana sighed. “If you say so, Arthur.”
“Just so you know,” he told her, “it’s hard to take criticism seriously from anyone whose drink has two umbrellas.”
Despite the apparent chaos, it didn’t take long for Merlin’s band to finish setting up their equipment. Arthur was a bit disappointed to see Merlin settle himself behind the drum set -- it was hard to properly appreciate a man’s backside when he was sitting on it, after all -- but his disappointment was short-lived.
As the piped-in music faded away and the lights came up onstage, the woman in pink stepped up to the center stage microphone. She flashed the audience a quick, shy smile, and then the entire world exploded into music.
Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this bouncy, growling sound that made him want to get up out of his chair and dance, and maybe even sing along if he’d known the lyrics. Or maybe not, since they seemed to involve mass murder of some sort, and somehow he didn’t think that would be quite so charming coming from him, even if he were in a pink, frilly dress. He settled for tapping his foot along with the beat.
There was nothing shy about the woman in pink, now, as she half-flirted first with the other members of her band, and then with a few of the audience members sitting at the tables closest to the stage. Scruffy Guy was smirking at the crowd as his fingers flew across the frets of his guitar, and Not Quite So Scruffy Guy was cradling his upright bass like a man might cradle a lover. And Merlin... Merlin’s face was rapt concentration, eyes focused on some point in front of him, his arms moving with almost boneless fluidity, drumsticks moving so fast they were a blur.
The song ended with a rhythmic cadence, and the crowd burst into cheers and applause.
“Hello, and good evening!” the woman in pink shouted to the crowd. “We’re Lapping Tears.” At least, that was what it sounded like to Arthur. What a weird name for a band.
“And we,” Scruffy Guy said, “are here to rock. Your. World.”
Morgana leaned over as the band opened up their next song, and murmured in Arthur’s ear, “You’re right. She does have nice legs.”
The next time Arthur made his way back to the bar, he ordered himself a whole pitcher of beer. He was pretty certain the bartender remembered him, and that he was still laughing.
By the end of the night, Arthur was well and truly drunk, and Morgana was far too pleased about that fact, smiling even as she complained about having to drive him and his car back into the City.
“Next time, take BART, and we can take a cab back across the Bay together,” she told him as she gathered up her things. “You’re just lucky I stopped after that Mai Tai, or you’d just have to leave your car here overnight.”
“Morgana,” he said “please stop talking.”
“And miss the chance to see you make that face? Never.”
“Fine. You keep talking. I’m going to go get some water. No--” he held up a hand to forestall her, “you stay here. I’ll be right back.” The room lurched in a somewhat nauseating fashion as he stood.
“Don’t fall over,” Morgana said cheerfully.
Arthur was very proud of himself for being able to flip her off without tripping over his own feet.
“Back again?” Elyan greeted him. “I’m afraid there’ll be no more beers for you tonight. You’ve passed the point where I could plausibly convince anyone I thought you were sober when you ordered.”
Arthur shook his head. “No beer. I’m done with beer.” He kept shaking his head, partially to emphasize his point and partially because it was sort of hard to stop once he’d gotten started. “Need water.”
“Water, I can give you,” the bartender said, producing a bottle of Crystal Geyser. “That’ll be three dollars.”
Arthur paid, taking the bottle and downing it all in one go. It did nothing at all to soothe his turning stomach, but it did wonders for the headache that had just been starting in the center of his forehead.
When he turned away from the bar, the pink-clad front-woman for Merlin’s band was behind him, along with Not So Scruffy Guy.
“Hey!” Arthur’s mouth said without his permission.
The pair turned to look at him, and he very carefully did not ask if maybe Merlin was still around somewhere. “You guys were really great,” he said instead.
“Thank you,” the woman said, returning his smile. Not So Scruffy Guy gave him a polite nod, but looked wary.
“I mean it,” Arthur insisted. “Really. Very good.”
“Hey, are you guys coming?” came a voice from behind Arthur. “Percy and Gwaine are bitching about having to load everything into the truck themselves.”
Arthur recognized that voice. He’d been looking for that voice! Well. For something that went with it, anyway. “Merlin!” Maybe that was a bit overly enthusiastic. “Um. Hey.”
“I think you mean Percy’s loading the van and Gwaine is bitching,” said Not So Scruffy Guy.
“Gwaine loaded his guitar, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and the twin groupies that seem to be following him home,” Merlin corrected. “Hey... Arthur, was it?”
“That’s right,” Arthur said. “I was just telling your band-mates here how much I enjoyed your show.”
“You should have told us you were a friend of Merlin’s,” Not So Scruffy Guy said, actually smiling now and offering Arthur his hand. “I’m Lance.”
“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” the woman said. “I’m Gwen.” She threw a questioning look at Merlin, and Arthur couldn’t quite decipher the quirked eyebrow he gave her in return.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen us?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, ignoring the way his stomach still roiled from a bit too much beer. “My sister dragged me, actually. I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself, but...” His eyes drifted to Merlin. “But I really did.”
“I’m glad,” Merlin said. “You know, we’re playing here again a week from Tuesday. If you want to come.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, too quickly. “I mean, I’ll have to see if I’m free.” God, he sounded like an idiot. And the edges of his vision were starting to go wonky, a sure sign that he’d had far too much to drink. He really ought to be going. But...
“Maybe,” Arthur continued with exaggeratedly careful pronunciation, “if you’re not busy after--”
“There you are.” Morgana’s voice was heavy with exasperation. “For god’s sake, Arthur, twenty minutes is not ‘right back.’”
Arthur fought down panic. How much of the conversation had Morgana heard? What had she seen? Not that he’d been hitting on Merlin, exactly, and even if he had (which he hadn’t!), surely Morgana couldn’t have noticed from a distance, could she? No. No, of course not.
“I was jusht--” Arthur paused, tried again. “Just telling these fine people how very much I enjoyed their performance.”
For good measure, Arthur threw an arm around Gwen’s shoulders and gave her a look he hoped could pass for lascivious. Given the way Morgana was staring at him, he thought maybe he hadn’t quite succeeded. To say nothing of the way Gwen herself was staring at him. And Lance.
But Merlin... Merlin was staring, of all places, at Morgana, looking a bit stunned.
“Morgana?” Merlin said. “Am I really seeing Morgana Pendragon at one of my shows?”
Morgana’s head snapped toward Merlin, her mouth curving in a tight-lipped smile. “I thought I recognized you up there, Emrys. Not a bad set. I hadn’t realized you still played.”
“On and off,” Merlin said. “When I get the time.”
“You two know each other?” Gwen asked, not-so-surreptitiously ducking out from under Arthur’s arm.
“Yeah,” Merlin said. “We’re sort of...old friends.”
“Classmates,” Morgana clarified. “We went to college together. Didn’t we, Merlin?”
Merlin nodded. “Introduction to Decision Analysis.”
“With Dr. Taylor?” Gwen asked. “Merlin was still complaining about that class two years later when I met him.”
“Hey, it was only a year and a half,” Merlin corrected.
“It was worth complaining about for at least that long,” Morgana said.
“Isn’t Taylor the one Father got suspended for constantly trying to look down your shirt?” Arthur asked.
Morgana gave him a Look. “Thank you, Arthur. I love it when you feel the need to explain deeply mortifying incidents in my past to people I’ve just met.
“I’m Morgana, by the way,” she said to Gwen and Lance. “In case you didn’t catch that. And the drunken ass is, for better or worse, my brother, Arthur.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Lance said.
“It’s a shame Merlin didn’t get the chance to introduce us sooner,” Gwen put in.
“He’s your brother.” Merlin’s voice was oddly flat.
Despite his increasing queasiness, Arthur forced a grin. “That’s right. Arthur Pendragon, in the flesh.”
His pronouncement didn’t get nearly the reception he was used to. If anything, Merlin looked annoyed.
“How nice for you,” Merlin said. “I’m going to go finish loading the van.”
Arthur frowned. “I think--” he started, but he was interrupted by a troubled-looking Lance.
“I should help, too,” he said, frowning after Merlin. “It was nice meeting you, Morgana. Arthur.”
“I think--” Arthur tried again.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Gwen told Morgana. “He gets like that sometimes after a show.
“I really think I’m going to be sick,” Arthur finally got out.
Morgana and Gwen both turned to stare at him, and the pitcher of beer Arthur had consumed earlier chose that moment to make a reappearance.
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