And a Bed for Three (2/2)
Part One
Arthur’s got a meeting with an old business partner of his father’s Friday morning, in an office halfway across the city. On his way back, he realizes he’s close to the neighborhood where Freya works and it’s nearly lunchtime, so he takes a chance and texts her. He promised, after all, and even if he’s going to spend time with her and Merlin on Saturday he doesn’t know when next he’ll make it over to her side of the city.
Her return text doesn’t come for fifteen minutes, when he’s already most of the way to the nearest Tube station to head back to his office or find something else to eat. sorry, was in the middle of something. Still free?
Arthur calls her, in the interests of expediency. “Are you on break? The office isn’t expecting me for a while, I can meet you somewhere.”
“There’s a sandwich shop right next door to me, so I can meet you there easily. I’d go farther afield, show you this great Ethiopian place I know, but I don’t think I have the time.”
“Sandwiches are fine,” he assures her. “What else do you think they eat in America?”
Freya laughs. “Poor thing. I’ll text you the address, okay? GPS is probably faster than me giving directions.”
“Probably.” Merlin’s always teasing her for the way she gives directions in a way nobody can understand except in retrospect, and Morgana has given independent corroboration. “I’ll see you in a few, then.”
When she texts, he starts off at a good clip towards the restaurant-starting towards the Tube was a bad idea, clearly, because it’s going to take an effort to get there and still have enough time for a proper lunch, what with the probable length of her lunch break. Still, it only takes a few bits of jaywalking and shouldering a few passerby out of the way to get to where she’s standing out in front of the shop, wrapped up in a red jacket that makes her stand out in the crowd even though she’s on the short side.
“You should have told me earlier you were going to be around,” she says while she hugs him hello. “I would have wheedled my way into more time off.”
“I honestly didn’t realize until I was on my way over, and then I was in the middle of a phone call to the office. Shall we?”
“Of course.” Freya tugs him by the arm into the restaurant like it’s the most natural thing in the world-like she does to Merlin, and a little stronger and more insistent than Arthur expects-and directs him to a table of her choosing. “I’ll go order if you hold our table. What would you like?” Arthur goes for his wallet on instinct, only to be forestalled by her hand on his shoulder. “I said when you came to me it would be my treat, didn’t I? What do you want?”
Arthur knows how to acquiesce gracefully, at least sometimes. No matter what Morgana says. “Nothing with roast beef, I’ve had it too much this past week, it was on sale the last time I shopped for groceries. I’m not terribly picky, no allergies.”
Freya laughs. “No beef, got it. I’ll be back in a tick.”
There’s an older woman a few tables back who gives Arthur an approving smile when he happens to catch her eye, and he can’t help the blush that suffuses his cheeks out of nowhere. Of course people are going to assume Freya’s his girlfriend when it’s just the two of them out, and there’s really no reason to feel awkward about it-hell, someone thought Gwen was his wife the last time he went out to the shops with her without Morgana in tow-but he squirms anyway, as if she’ll somehow know. The woman just looks indulgent and goes back to whatever she’s doing-a crossword puzzle, by the looks of it.
It only takes Freya about five minutes to come back with two sandwiches and a basket of chips, even though the shop is moderately busy. “I know the boy working,” she explains. “Well, Merlin does, he was a mentor for a while before he got so busy at the labs-like the big brother programs, you know?”
“Yes, I’m familiar with them, I’m pretty sure Morgana was involved in something like it.” God knows why anyone let Morgana anywhere near impressionable young minds. Somewhere out there is a teenager preparing to be a supervillain. “It’s possible she was doing it to impress Gwen, in all fairness.”
“I’ve heard stories. I suppose you’d have a different perspective on them, having watched the whole affair from the beginning, but they seem to be terribly perfect for each other.”
“No more than you and Merlin.”
Freya nudges his foot with her own under the table and pushes the basket of chips closer to his side of the table. “Maybe so, maybe not. That’s not a lunch discussion, though. I just want you to tell me all the sordid teenage tales about those two pining after each other.”
Arthur has no idea what she means by the first half of that, so he focuses on the second, relaxing into a mode he gets to pull out often-before he left London, it was his right and privilege to tell Gwen and Morgana’s story to anyone new entering their group of friends. “We all met when Morgana and I were ten and Gwen was eleven,” he starts, and tells an abbreviated version of the proper story in between bites of his sandwich (something with chicken and pesto that tastes like California, or at least the parts of it he misses), pleased to focus on Morgana’s phase of thick eyeliner and writing terrible poetry in Gwen’s honor, some of it in French. He plans to read some in his speech if they ever decide to have a commitment ceremony or marriage.
By the end of lunch, Freya is laughing and undoubtedly over her break, but she doesn’t seem in any hurry as she puts her coat on and rummages around in her purse for what looks like a key. “This was wonderful,” she says once they’ve walked back out into the chill and are standing where they’ll have to part ways. “I hope you find your way back to this side of town again eventually.”
“I’m certain I will,” he assures her. He oughtn’t. His conscience, which sounds annoyingly like Morgana, is telling him to cut back on the time he spends with Merlin and Freya before he does something unforgivably stupid, but he can’t quite make himself do it. Not when they both seem to truly enjoy his company.
“Good.” Freya anchors her hand on his shoulder, easy as breathing, and kisses him on the mouth. It’s not long, but it’s not just a peck either, like he gets from Mithian or Elena. It’s a proper kiss, soft and slow and faintly garlicky from one of their lunches, the same kind she gives Merlin when they happen to pass in a room. He kisses back for just a second before remembering himself and pulling back, horrified. Freya looks startled, like perhaps she just forgot she wasn’t having lunch with Merlin. “Arthur-”
“Shit.” He takes a few steps back, running into someone as he doesn’t look where he’s going. “Shit, Freya, I’m so sorry, God.”
“No, Arthur, really, it’s-”
“I’ve got to go.” He jerks around, turns away from the hurt on her face, because he can’t do this. Morgana was right, Merlin and Freya are the perfect couple and both of them are wonderful and even if Merlin forgives him for this it’s only going to be another step on the slippery slope to getting his heart broken.
Freya doesn’t follow him, but she does say his name a few times, and texts him before he gets to the Tube. please call is all it says, and he ignores it, glad when he loses the signal getting across town.
After he gets off and gets back into his office, he checks his phone again to find four more messages from Freya, a voicemail from her, and two texts from Merlin. He deletes them all without reading, but when another comes in from Merlin just before he goes back to work he can’t resist opening it. We still want you to come over tomorrow night. Please. It’s okay.
Arthur doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the day.
*
Gwen takes one look at him that night and finds an urgent need for Morgana to go out to the shops and get “those biscuits, you know the ones, Morgana, the chocolate ones that don’t get too crumby, you’re the only one who can ever find them.” Morgana, whose ability to stand up to Gwen shrinks proportionally as Gwen’s pregnancy progresses, leaves after a glare at Arthur. Gwen waits until she’s down on the street before turning a steely look on Arthur. “Out with it. Something’s the matter.”
Arthur squirms, but Gwen’s one of his best friends, and the one he’s always confided in even more than Morgana (who is terrible at sympathy) and Leon (who is terrible at expressing sympathy). Besides, if he’s ruined things with Merlin and Freya, he’ll have to own up to it sometime. “I might have fucked things up. Sort of a lot.”
“Oh? How so?” She looks briefly hopeful. “I don’t suppose you mean you fucked up by not asking Gilli out again?”
“No, I …” It might almost be easier to tell this to Morgana. For one thing, she doesn’t expect the best of him, and for another, she knows more of the background than Gwen does, since she’s been warning him off exactly this situation practically since he came back from California. “Freya kissed me.”
Gwen blinks a few times. “Freya? Our Freya? Merlin’s girlfriend Freya?”
Arthur winces. “Yes, that’s the one. We had lunch, and she kissed me.”
“Why did she do that?”
Arthur waves his hands about in a manner that is probably not at all explanatory. “I don’t know! It wasn’t the first time we’d had lunch, or she and Merlin and I had dinner at one or the other of our places, and I know they’re the perfect couple, I’m honestly not trying to break them up.”
Gwen puts a hand on his arm, eyebrows still up high like she can’t help it. “I never said you were, Arthur, for heaven’s sake. What happened after she kissed you?”
“I sort of apologized and ran off. And then she and Merlin texted me a great deal and I’m still meant to go to dinner there tomorrow night.”
She bites her lip. “That might be best. To talk things out, and all. It was probably just an honest mistake.” She pauses. “Do you like Freya?”
“Yes, because we’re thirteen again.” He tries to sound sarcastic but thinks he fails by the way Gwen starts looking a little pitying. “It’s not that simple, Gwen. It’s not … I mean, yes, I do, but it’s bigger than that.”
“You think you’re in love with her?” she hazards.
“Not … bigger in that sense. It’s her, and Merlin, and both of them together, and I have no idea if it’s just because they’re both my type and lovely, or because they’re something that hasn’t changed while I was away because I didn’t know them before, or what the hell is going on. I mean, it’s not exactly normal to be infatuated with two people who are in a relationship with each other and not want to break it up.”
Gwen wraps her arms around him. “I don’t think it’s because they haven’t changed. That doesn’t seem like you, to take the easy way about things. As for loving two people, what do you think happened with me that first year at university with Morgana and Lancelot?”
“But you chose. And they weren’t together.”
“Look, if you want my advice, then go to dinner with them tomorrow. Tell them what you’ve told me-”
“I’m vetoing this plan already.” Gwen glares at him, probably because Morgana’s spoiling her and she isn’t used to being interrupted anymore. “They’re probably having me over tomorrow to say they’ve worked out whatever relationship problem they have that made Freya kiss me and they do hope I’ll still be friends with them and it won’t be too awkward, which is exactly what they should do. I don’t want to muck that up.”
“It’s not fair to you, though. What do you want, Arthur?”
Odd, impossible things. Or at least things he hasn’t heard of lasting for more than one night at a time. “Ideally, for everyone to be happy.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything at all, and you know it.” He shrugs, helpless. Not much shocks Gwen, he knows that (he’s the one she called when she wanted to try out knots to use on Morgana, after all. They might not have the most normal of sibling-in-law relationships, now that he thinks about it), but he doesn’t really know what he wants. “Look, this isn’t meant to be the Spanish Inquisition. Just know that there’s always options, no matter what you end up deciding. And you’re all good people, so I know you won’t ruin things, or whatever other stupid thing you’re thinking.”
Arthur groans and leans into her shoulder. “Dinner tomorrow is going to be horrible.”
“Or amazing.”
Before he can ask under what circumstances precisely dinner could possibly be amazing given the massive fucking elephant in the room, Morgana bursts through the door, chocolate biscuits in hand and a wild look in her eyes. She points at Arthur. “You. If you are not going to confide in me, you are going to build me shelves. No shirking, no whining.”
“It’s not as if she won’t tell you after I leave,” says Arthur. He has no illusions of privacy, Morgana when she wants information is like a dog with a bone. “But yes, by all means, let’s stop talking about me and build shelves, I can’t have my niece live in a shoddy nursery.”
Morgana spends the whole evening staring at him suspiciously, like the way he hammers a few cheerily-painted boards together and then puts them on the wall will give her some secret insight into what’s bothering him. Gwen spends the whole evening looking at him like she’s worried he’s going to do something stupid the second he leaves, like get on a plane back to California or tell Merlin and Freya he’s removing himself from their lives for their own benefit (as if he would, Arthur’s the first to admit that he’s selfish). On the whole, it’s one of the more awkward evenings he’s spent, but he keeps his mouth shut about it and makes sure the shelves he puts up will hold no matter what Gwen and Morgana put on top of them.
For all she’s annoyed with him, Morgana knows Arthur well enough to give him a tight hug when he leaves and then go to the bedroom where she can pretend not to eavesdrop while Gwen says goodnight. Gwen, after shaking her head a few times and giving him a hug, finally seems to decide on something to say. “Trust them to want you to be happy as well.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”
“Sometimes things are simpler than they seem,” she counters, and pushes him out the door.
*
Merlin answer the door, and Arthur is half-expecting a punch to the jaw instead of the encouraging smile he gets. “Good, you came. We were really hoping. Come in, please.”
“You’re not going to punch me, are you?”
Merlin snorts, and for a second it’s as if everything is normal and Arthur never kissed Merlin’s girlfriend. “Come on, do you really think I could get a punch in on you of all people? I’m stronger than I look, but I still wouldn’t dare.”
“At the very least, I owe you an apology.”
“God, it’s like you’re determined to martyr yourself. Would you at least come in and sit down and let us explain? We made risotto.” Of course they still made him dinner. Arthur obeys, dropping his jacket on the floor and leaving his shoes on in case he needs to make a quick run for it. Freya’s standing by the table, looking a little nervous and more dressed up than he’s expecting, in some sort of dress and leggings and a cardigan that looks unfairly soft. Merlin, now that he’s thinking about it, is dressed a little sharper than usual as well, for no particular reason Arthur can fathom. “Okay, sit,” Merlin says firmly when Arthur doesn’t move, shutting the door.
Arthur sits and starts talking before one of them can. “I’m terribly sorry about yesterday, to both of you. It was disrespectful of you and your relationship, which is the last thing I want, and I do hope we can move past it.”
Freya leans on the table instead of sitting and grabs Merlin’s hand. “I kissed you, remember? You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I do-we do, actually.”
“I’m a bit miffed with her, actually,” Merlin says in the tone of one endeavoring to keep his tone light. “She had to spend all last night making it up to me.”
Arthur tries valiantly not to let the images that brings up distract him. He has no idea why they’re out to torture him, but he won’t allow it to work. “You have every right to be angry with us, Merlin, as I said-”
“It’s only that we agreed we’d do it when all three of us were together.” Arthur shuts his mouth with an audible snap. “It’s really not fair that she got to go first and I didn’t get to go right after.”
Freya takes over, apparently taking his stunned silence as a good thing. “You see, yesterday wasn’t about me making some mistake because things with us aren’t good. We’ve talked about it, wanted to-want to. We want to be with you, but only if you’d like it too.”
“Be with me. For … a night? An experiment or something?” Arthur is not entirely sure he isn’t hallucinating this entire encounter.
“If that’s what you’re comfortable with,” says Merlin. “But no, not an experiment. We’ve talked about it since the first night we met you and we’ve only been liking you more, so we thought … it’s not normal, but, well. It doesn’t have to be, does it? Not if it works.”
Arthur can’t quite manage to answer that, so Freya jumps in again. “Not just a night. For as long as all three of us can stand each other, ideally. We fit.”
His response to information he can’t take as a whole has always been to break it down into pieces, one of the more useful skills he learned from his father. With both of them watching hopefully, he takes a second to think over the last few weeks, the way Merlin and Freya always seem to be flirting, often with him, and how he couldn’t quite write it off as a quirk of their personalities because they didn’t seem to do it with anyone else but each other, and the way they both seek him out whenever they’ve got the excuse and sometimes when they don’t. Even the way Merlin sounded relieved when Arthur’s date with Gilli didn’t go well. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks,” he points out.
Merlin, after exchanging a quick look with Freya, reaches out and puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. It’s warm and big, and Arthur thinks of the flour on Freya’s back the first night he had dinner at their apartment. “We’re not expecting you to commit ten years right now, Arthur. We know that you haven’t known us as long as we’ve known each other, we know it will be an adjustment for all three of us. But we’ve already had a few dates. Not official dates, I guess, but dinners and lunches and stuff. They’ve gone well. And we wanted to get to know you before we brought this up, because it isn’t exactly the most conventional of things.”
“No, do you think so?” Arthur rubs a hand over his eyes and tries to get a handle on things. “I’ve been beating myself up over wanting both of you practically since we met, and Morgana’s scolded me for possibly trying to break you up and possibly just trying to get my heart broken, you’ll have to excuse me if this is all rather a shock.”
Freya sounds like she’s trying to keep from laughing when she answers. “Morgana thinks you’d break us up, or that we’d let you? She needs more imagination.”
“I think Gwen might have guessed.” He forces himself to look at them. Much as he’d love to have this whole conversation with his face buried in his hands he thinks he would miss out on some of the nuance. “Though maybe she thought it was wishful thinking on my part.”
“Rather the opposite.” Merlin removes his hand, and Arthur does his best not to lean towards him. He’s too off-balance for anything to make sense, not when he’s being handed this on a silver platter, all in his control for as long as he wants it. “You don’t have to decide tonight. We can eat risotto and pretend none of this happened and you can call whenever or come over if you want to talk about it more. It isn’t as if we’re actively seeking someone to be with us. Just you.”
Arthur takes a deep breath. He needs to have all his wits about him to navigate this particular conversation, but his cock seems to have finally taken an interest in the proceedings and it’s rather difficult to remind himself to be rational. “Okay, I’ll …” Both of their eyes go wide, and he thinks he sees Freya’s knuckles whiten where she’s holding Merlin’s hand. “I’ll stay for dinner,” he says, and tries not to wince when they look disappointed and a little relieved at once. This must be terrifying for them, too, but he’s got little sympathy; at least they have each other’s hands to hold. “And I think, and we’ll talk, and afterwards … either I’ll leave, or I won’t.”
Freya smiles and ducks her head. “So it’s on the table?”
“Yes, it’s definitely … on the table.”
“Good, we cleaned the bedroom.” Merlin doesn’t seem as nonchalant as he’s obviously trying to be, but Arthur appreciates it nonetheless-though the thought is enough to make his trousers even more uncomfortable. “Now, anticlimax aside, would you like some dinner? It’ll give us all a little breathing space.”
“Dinner. Yes, absolutely.” Arthur clears his throat. “Though I may use your loo first, if you don’t mind.” Like clockwork, both of them look down to where the table is thankfully shielding his lap from view. He does his best not to mind how obvious he’s being. “I need a minute to collect myself.”
Freya coughs and lets go of Merlin’s hand. “Of course. We’ll finish setting the table, and such. Take all the time you need.”
Arthur escapes before they can say anything else, and doesn’t look at them because he doubts his ability to make it to the bathroom if he does. He definitely needs to think for a moment before he commits himself to anything. Once in the bathroom, he locks the door and takes his phone out before he thinks the better of it. He needs a voice of sanity, so he calls Gwen, who already knows something of what’s going on.
Unfortunately, Gwen doesn’t answer her phone. Morgana does. “You need to stop monopolizing my partner,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to be pining? And possibly kissing people’s girlfriends? I suppose that’s why you called mine.”
“You shouldn’t answer other people’s phones, and don’t be ridiculous.” Perhaps, in the end, it’s better that Morgana picked up. At least he can always count on her to set him straight. “They just … does it still count as kissing someone’s girlfriend if the boyfriend wants to kiss you too? I think at a certain point it counts as all three of you being girlfriend and boyfriends. I’m not certain how these things are meant to go, to be honest.”
There’s a pause. “Arthur, are you drunk?”
“No, though it might make this conversation somewhat easier, I suppose. They just propositioned me.” She chokes but doesn’t comment. “Or asked me to date them, or something, but the proposition seems the more urgent thing.”
“Are they drunk?”
“For God’s sake, Morgana, nobody is drunk. Apparently the kissing yesterday was simply a precursor to this.” He gestures around the bathroom even though she can’t see him. “I’m still in their flat, I just needed to check that this was reality. It seems to be, despite your casting aspersions on our sobriety.”
“I’m still a little stuck, to be honest. Merlin and Freya are seducing you? Of all people?”
He sighs. “Apparently.”
Once again, he has to wait for her to produce an answer, this time over the sound of Gwen talking quietly, worried, in the background. He wonders if he’s on speaker phone. “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Morgana decides eventually.
It’s Arthur’s turn to choke on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’d never seen them act the way they do with you with anyone before, so I suppose it makes sense, in its own sort of way. Wait, why are you calling us if you’re still there with two gorgeous willing people waiting to shag you into oblivion?”
Arthur’s erection, which had just about subsided while he dealt with his sister, makes a valiant recurrence. “Feed me risotto and then shag me into oblivion,” he corrects automatically.
“Two gorgeous people willing to fuck you at the same time who also cook for you and do God knows what else that’s disgustingly adorable? If I hadn’t known them before you I would worry you’d grown them in a lab.”
He makes a face. “Thank you for that neat summation of events. I should go, I’ve been in their bathroom quite long enough, but I just … do you think I should? You were so sure I was going to fuck everything up.”
“That was before I realized your terribly confused and repressed feelings were returned. Have at it, just don’t tell me any details. You’re all adults, and that means whatever you want it to mean-and three people in a relationship isn’t so uncommon as you might think, you prude. You just have to decide if the complications are worth it.”
Secrecy, complication, and the likelihood of being pitied as some sort of perpetual bachelor as long as this lasts against Freya’s quiet warmth, the way Merlin laughs when he thinks he’s being particularly clever, and the memory of the two of them dancing in Mithian’s kitchen. There’s no contest, really, in the end. “Okay. I’d best go. Thanks, Morgana.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says, and he hangs up on her.
Arthur washes his hands for verisimilitude, but given the size of Merlin and Freya’s flat he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone. When he comes out, prepared to face them having heard his whole excruciating side of that conversation, he instead finds them in the kitchen, Freya sitting on a counter and Merlin standing between her legs, both of them pink-cheeked and looking embarrassed. “Don’t stop on my account,” says Arthur, as dryly as he can.
Merlin takes him up on the challenge, of course, and cups Freya’s face in his hands to give her a long, slow kiss. They’re at the wrong angle for him to see much of what’s going on, but that doesn’t mean Arthur can’t hear the little noise she makes into Merlin’s mouth, the wet sounds of a proper kiss, and by the time they pull apart he’s wondering if he should ignore the risotto altogether.
Neither of them, however, seems to have forgotten the meal, no matter that they got waylaid. “We figured that would be the best way to give you some privacy,” Merlin explains with a shrug when they finally pull apart, short of breath and grinning. “We tend to get distracted.”
Freya hops off the table and smoothes her clothes down. “Dinner?”
There’s no way Arthur can refuse that, not when he knows he still ought to take some time to think, so he swallows and nods and sits back down at the table to protect himself from the way Merlin’s still grinning, even more pointedly, and looking down at the tent in his trousers. “Dinner,” he confirms. “It smells delicious.” He hasn’t paid a bit of attention to how anything smells since he walked in, but it seems the thing to say.
Freya, still pink-cheeked, serves all three of them from the pot, and when Arthur finally collects himself enough to take a whiff, it does indeed smell amazing. Nobody serves wine, and Arthur doesn’t ask for it-none of them wants the excuse, or the worry, of alcohol clouding their judgment if they’re going to do this. Instead, they pass the most awkward dinner Arthur’s had in ages, worse than any conversation they’ve had before. Usually it flows freely, one subject to the next, but this time none of them seems to have any idea what to say for most of the meal, so aside from a few comments on the food and attempts to talk about what they did with their days before dinner they’re silent.
When they’ve finally all finished and put their plates in the sink to soak, Arthur finds both of them looking at him again. “I know we said we wouldn’t put pressure on you, and we won’t,” says Freya after they exchange a look, “but-”
“Yes,” he says before she can continue, and they both stop. “I’ll … I’d like to stay. I’d like to try. For tonight, for longer, for however long we can manage it with all the problems that are bound to result and how much mockery I’m due from Morgana and-”
“No.” Merlin’s in his space all of a sudden, his hand over Arthur’s mouth. “You can be terribly practical and worried tomorrow. If you’re staying tonight you don’t get to. You can say yes and still go home, though, if you want to get that out of your system first. It’s only the first date, after all.”
He doesn’t think he can leave now, not with the promise of sex with them hanging so close in the air. He gently pushes Merlin’s hand away from his face. “Well, I’ve always … I’ve always been easy.”
“Good,” says Merlin, and then: “May I kiss you? Since Freya got to go first?”
Arthur nods, and then there’s Merlin, still standing so close there’s hardly a breath between them, and then Merlin’s hands on his shoulders, and then Merlin’s lips on his. It’s been a year or so since he took a man home, and several women in between, so it’s odd to remember the feel of stubble scraping his chin and the hardness of the body pressing against his own. His mouth is soft and insistent-he kisses, Arthur thinks a little hysterically, like a scientist, like he’s gathering empirical data about what Arthur likes best and drawing conclusions, making plans.
“No fair,” says Freya after who-knows-how-long, and they pull apart. She’s behind Arthur, now, one hand over Merlin’s on his shoulder. “I didn’t get nearly as long yesterday.”
“You’ll have a chance to make it up,” Merlin assures her, smiling. “What do you say, Arthur? Shall we move this to the bedroom?”
“I think we’d better.” He’s surprised at how hoarse he sounds, but he doesn’t have time to think about that at all, with four hands on him, pushing him towards the bedroom he still hasn’t been inside.
*
Freya and Merlin’s bedroom is neat but cluttered-the bed is bigger than he’s expecting, large enough for all three of them if they don’t roll around too much, made up invitingly with what must be fresh sheets, and there are knickknacks and photos on the various surfaces. Arthur doesn’t take the time to look at them.
Freya plugs in a string of paper lanterns that cast an orange glow over the room and shuts the door behind them while Merlin goes to work unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt, knuckles brushing against his chest and stomach with every new one. Arthur helps him, more than willing to be undressed, and shrugs off the shirt when Merlin’s finished with it. Freya’s hands are at his hips, then, and she kisses his shoulder as she undoes the fastening on his trousers and pushes them down. “You still haven’t kissed me again,” he reminds her, more teasing than anything else.
Her face goes very grave nonetheless. “You’re right, of course. An oversight.” With that, she’s up on her toes, arms around his neck, and kissing him. Where Merlin had been almost gentle, if intense, Freya’s surprisingly rough, willing to use her teeth and press hard. She may look delicate, but she’s strong, and even though he’s gripping her waist with near-bruising force, he still feels as if she’s the one controlling the kiss.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Merlin’s hands snake around from behind, pulling at the buttons on Arthur’s shirt at what must be a terrible angle pressed between Arthur and Freya’s bodies. A second later, he seems to give that up and just props his chin on Arthur’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “She’s really good at that.” It would be conversational, if he weren’t talking about his girlfriend’s tongue in Arthur’s mouth. “Sometimes we do it for hours. Just kissing, on the couch or the bed or wherever. You ought to join us, sometime, we’ve been talking about your mouth for weeks.”
Arthur moans before he can swallow the noise down, and Freya breaks the kiss long enough to smile up at him, then to capture Merlin’s mouth over his shoulder. He slides out from between them, but both of them catch him by the shirt before he can go far, hold him still to watch them together. “You could let me go far enough to let me strip, at least,” he says, quiet, not really expecting them to hear him over the way they’re wrapped up together.
“Why would we do that?” Merlin asks, pulling away from Freya and turning to him with eyebrows raised. “Do you want us to miss out on the fun?”
“But if you’re that impatient, it shouldn’t be a problem,” says Freya, and pushes gently at his shoulders till he sits down on the bed, entirely at loose ends with two pairs of hands on him, both of their attention focused on him at once instead of each other. It’s as terrifying a feeling as it is an amazing one.
Merlin sets to work on Arthur’s shoes and socks while Freya finishes unbuttoning his shirt, and it’s all Arthur can do just to move when they push him, lifting his feet or shrugging his shoulders. Freya kisses down his arm to his hand when she finishes, smiling coyly up at him and distracting him from the way Merlin’s gone for his fly, finishing by sucking two of his fingers into her mouth in a show so blatant it makes Merlin laugh into his thigh at how hard he goes.
“What do you want to do?” Merlin asks after a few seconds, while Freya’s still fellating Arthur’s fingers with a wicked look in her eye and Merlin’s still kneeling at Arthur’s feet.
“What, neither of you has an opinion?” Freya sucks, and Arthur tries to keep his voice steady. “Well, maybe she does.”
Merlin toys with Arthur’s open fly, knuckles occasionally brushing his erection through his boxers. “We have plenty of opinions. God, we’ve been talking about this for weeks, we want to do everything to each other, to you. We just don’t know what to do first.”
Freya finally relinquishes his hand to climb onto the bed next to him, hand planted against his chest and pushing. Arthur, still speechless from Merlin’s frank little speech, goes without protest, which allows Merlin to start stripping him out of his trousers and boxers. “Do you want to fuck me? Or him?” she asks, right in his ear, and Arthur closes his eyes because he’s fairly certain he’s going to die of sex. “Or he can fuck you, if you’d rather, we’ve got no idea what you like. Or we can go simpler, if you want-it’s the first time, after all. Just your mouth, and your hands, whatever you want. Whatever’s comfortable.”
There’s only so much a man can take. Arthur slides an arm around her shoulders, and God, she’s still dressed and Merlin’s got his trousers down around his knees, and kisses her. He’s still not all the way on the bed, and she’s half on top of him, but he doesn’t care, just kisses her as hot and as frantic as he’s feeling, wondering if either of them is as overwhelmed as he is. For a second, he loses contact with Merlin, there’s rustling and he thinks all his clothes are finally off, and then there’s miles of naked skin pressed up against the side Freya isn’t on, Merlin’s erection against Arthur’s side and Merlin’s hands insistently tugging him further up on the bed. “You’re hogging him again,” he complains, and Arthur pulls out of the kiss.
“I meant to help you out of your clothes,” he manages, turning to Merlin. He’s more broad-shouldered and muscled than his clothing tends to suggest, and it takes a second to drag his eyes up to meet Merlin’s. “Sorry.”
“Not at all. Would you get on the bed properly?” Arthur takes the opportunity to scoot up until his head’s somewhere in the vicinity of their pillows, and Merlin nods his satisfaction. “Good. Now I can monopolize you for a bit while Freya gets out of her clothes.”
Much as Arthur wants that, wants to fall into Merlin’s mouth and explore all the skin that’s just been exposed, he also doesn’t want the whole night to be them with him in the middle-it’s not what he wants this to be, not all the time, anyway. They all ought to have their turn, even and especially this first time. “Or we could help her. I’d like to.”
Merlin seems perfectly willing to roll with that. He gives Arthur one of his impish grins and then leans over him to grab Freya before she can sit up and sprawl her over both of their bodies. She laughs and Merlin kisses her and goes to work on her cardigan with the ease of long practice. Arthur rolls until he’s not trapped under her and starts pulling down her leggings. Her dress is twisted up and out of the way, leaving her naked as Arthur pushes her pants down along with her leggings, and Arthur kisses her thigh as he goes, trailing up to leave a mark on her hip. She clenches a hand in his hair, and when he looks up to smile at her, she’s kissing Merlin, half in his lap.
They get her horizontal and take her dress off her with the minimum of fuss, from there, and then pause with her in the middle, all three of them miraculously with their heads on the pillows, which smell like laundry detergent and the faintest hint of Freya’s shampoo. “I don’t know what I want to do,” Arthur admits into the sudden quiet. “Tonight, I mean. I haven’t precisely had time to plan the way the two of you have.” And even the few moments he’s allowed himself of imagining have ended quickly when he felt too guilty to let himself continue.
“That’s good,” Merlin says, and leans across Freya to kiss him, easy and quick. “I think you’re probably one of those people with a plan for everything, yeah? So this will be good for you. We’ll all just do what works, and if you don’t like it, say so.”
Arthur kisses him again, because that he knows how to do. It’s hard to steady himself with Freya between them, watching them with a pleased little smile on her face, but Merlin smiles against his mouth anyway, and after a few minutes pulls away to kiss Freya. Arthur takes his turn to lay back and watch them together, how easy they are with each other and how terribly obvious it is that they’re putting on a show, and it doesn’t take very long before Freya is turning to kiss him instead, a little gentler than earlier, rolling until their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to thigh with Merlin’s arm slung over both of them.
They trade kisses for God knows how long, making up for dates and dates worth of them. Merlin and Freya both kiss him more than they do each other, as if they’re trying to make up for already knowing each other’s bodies forward and backwards. After a while, Arthur can’t even keep his mind on which one of them is kissing him at any given time, or whose hands are touching him where.
Merlin, he realizes eventually, is rocking his hips against Freya, mouth open even when someone isn’t kissing him, getting lost in the pleasure. His eyes are closed, so Arthur nudges Freya until she opens her eyes in inquiry and then attempts to communicate through gestures and looks that something ought to be done about Merlin before long. She smiles and climbs over Merlin in answer, leaving him in the middle looking confused, blinking between them as if he’s just realizing they’re going to gang up on him.
Arthur grins at him before taking a chance and fastening his lips around Merlin’s nipple and sucking with a hint of teeth. Merlin makes a fraught noise and clamps a hand in his hair, so Arthur’s hope paid off, and he uses his hand for the other because he can’t be the only one who hates feeling lopsided during sex. He assumes Freya’s kissing her boyfriend until Merlin chokes out a “Jesus, Freya” above him and he looks down to find her sliding her mouth down over Merlin’s cock. She braces a hand on Arthur’s thigh and goes to work, eyes closed and using what must be tricks she’s learned over years with Merlin to get him off. Arthur stares, probably stupidly, until Merlin tugs a little on his hair. “You don’t have to be left out of the fun, you know.”
“Are you hinting?” He flicks Merlin’s nipple. “Do you want us both to blow you at the same time? Or shall I rim you? Finger you?” Freya moans, but he keeps his eyes on Merlin, who’s biting his lip and looking a little wild now. Arthur keeps his pleased grin to himself. At least he’s not the only one feeling overwhelmed.
“There’s lube under that pillow,” says Merlin after a heartfelt moan at something Freya’s doing with her tongue, and Arthur takes the hint. It’s new, never-used, and he raises his eyebrows as he uncaps it and slicks his fingers up. Merlin shrugs even as he arches his hips. “We like to be prepared.”
It’s hard working out the positions, when he tries, but he and Freya manage it with the minimum of fuss and bother and with Arthur pinning Merlin down at the hips so he stops shifting around. When they get it, though, it’s worth it, to see the look on Merlin’s face as Arthur slides one slick finger inside his arsehole and Freya gives an especially hard suck. She keeps a hand on him at all times and he bends to kiss her on the top of her head before he starts fingering her boyfriend (their boyfriend? God, this is all going to be a tangle to work out later) in earnest.
Merlin doesn’t take long to come, from there-though in all fairness Arthur thinks he’ll be done the moment they both get their hands on him, so he isn’t exactly planning to judge him for it. He manages a few garbled words that Freya seems to understand as warning, and then he’s tightening around Arthur’s fingers and coming into her mouth. She swallows most of it, making Arthur’s face go hot as he imagines how it must feel, and then she takes Arthur’s chin in her slippery hand and kisses him. He’s in control enough to make sure that when he pulls his fingers out of Merlin he’s gentle about it, but then he loses a few minutes to dedicating himself to kissing the taste of Merlin out of Freya’s mouth.
“The first night we talked about this,” Merlin says after he’s had a bit of a chance to recover, “Freya wondered what it would be like to have both our fingers inside of her at once. Do you still want to, Frey?”
The way she gasps into Arthur’s mouth, fingers clenching on his shoulder, is answer enough, so Arthur pulls away from her, smiling at Merlin as he sits up and helps to put Freya in the middle of the bed. She looks between them, like she’s waiting to see who’s going to start, and Merlin obliges by sliding a finger inside of her, whispering something in her ear as he does. Arthur lets them have at it for a moment and takes the opportunity to wipe his hand off on a handily-placed towel until it feels somewhat clean again.
“Distracted?” Merlin asks, and Arthur turns back to them. Merlin’s got two fingers inside Freya now, and she’s arching against him and panting a little.
“Just cleaning up.” Arthur takes his place on the opposite side of Freya from Merlin and kisses him before he settles in to what they’re doing, following Merlin’s guiding hand down to where Freya’s wet and wanting. It’s tight when he slides a finger in alongside Merlin’s, and their hands get tangled up together, but it’s worth it for the way Freya writhes with it, clutching at the bedsheets until they’re more hopelessly rumpled than they already were. She’s not loud, but then again, he would have been surprised if she were. Instead, she breathes loud and fast, just letting out the occasional high grunt.
She’s already tight, but Arthur tries to slip a second finger in along with Merlin’s and it goes in. It doesn’t leave much room left inside her to move, but she seems to like it anyway, throwing out one of her hands to latch on to Arthur’s elbow and squeezing. “Okay?” Merlin asks, though he’s smiling.
“Close, please, I’m close.”
Merlin turns to Arthur. “Watch, you’ll want to know this trick later.” Arthur nods, and Merlin bends to Freya’s breast, fingers moving all the while, licks up the underside and bites her nipple. Sure enough, that’s what it takes to send her over, tightening around them almost to the point of pain and her chest heaving. “Works every time,” says Merlin, easing his fingers out of her. Arthur follows suit, a little more reluctantly.
“Don’t be smug, you aren’t meant to be showing off,” says Freya, but she sounds too fond and breathless to be serious. Arthur kisses her shoulder to hide his smile, and she wraps a hand around the back of his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now we’ve got to figure out what to do with you.”
Merlin runs his hand down Arthur’s back. “He’s hard enough to hammer nails, that’s for sure. Okay there, Arthur?”
Arthur’s been doing a very good job of ignoring his erection, but now that he’s the only one of them left who hasn’t gotten off, it’s hard to think about anything else. “Wonderful.” Though if they don’t do something soon he’s afraid he’s going to come against the sheets, just off the friction of it.
“Good.” Freya’s still trembling a little with the aftereffects of the orgasm, or from how tight her muscles were wound with it, but she pushes at him and when he takes the hint and rolls to his back, six inches from falling off the bed, she climbs on top of him. Before he can say anything about a condom, she just shakes her head. “Not tonight, we can save you fucking me for another time. I’m a little sore. But we can …” She shifts her hips, and Arthur picks up the rhythm.
Merlin stays close while Arthur and Freya move against each other, touching Arthur’s cock and then dipping a finger inside Freya, whoever happens to be rubbing closest at any given moment. He’s mostly soft against Arthur’s side, still, but there’s the promise that he’ll be ready again soon in the way he shifts against Arthur and licks at his neck. Arthur closes his eyes and lets himself feel it, Freya’s slight form over him, all smooth skin and hair falling down to tickle him wherever it touches, and Merlin’s firm grip on his cock, and the touches he can’t figure out as well-someone’s hand brushing his hair out of his eyes, someone’s ankle hooked around his.
It would be embarrassing, how fast he comes, if it weren’t for the fact that the other two already have (Freya’s almost ready again, her hand between her own legs and her breath damp against Arthur’s neck, and Merlin’s hardening against his leg, and they’re going to kill Arthur in the best way possible). As it is, Merlin’s still grinning as he groans out a warning that turns into a choked noise when Freya’s hand, slick with her own juices, wraps around him next to Merlin’s, and he can’t bring himself to care. He’s coming, all over his own stomach and Freya’s, and Merlin trails his hand through the mess and winks before he tastes it when Arthur finishes, too spent to do more than breathe.
The bed, he realizes after a while, is a mess of come and lube, the sheets hopelessly and completely soiled. Freya has eased herself off him, probably right into another wet spot, and has the cat-that-got-the-cream expression that must mean she finished herself off sometime while he was lost. Merlin is sprawled on his back on the other side of the back, half-hard but not seeming to care a whit about it. “Stay the night,” he says, even though his eyes closed and he can’t possibly know that Arthur’s back with them.
“I think I will,” he says, eyes already slipping closed as well, and only manages to thread his fingers through Freya’s before he sleeps, forgetting about the wet spot and any freaking out he ought to be doing.
Arthur wakes once in the night to Merlin fucking Freya right next to him, her legs wrapped around his hips and both of their hands tangled with Arthur’s. Merlin turns to kiss him in the middle of it, and Arthur falls back asleep before they even change rhythm.
In the morning, he wakes up to Merlin’s mouth wrapped around his cock and Freya standing in the bedroom doorway with a smile on her face and a mug of tea cupped between her hands.
He should be worrying, wondering how long-term this can be, what they can tell their friends, if maybe Merlin and Freya will change their minds and leave him without this when he’s starting to wonder if he’ll never want anything else. It’s hard to, though, with the lazy Sunday-morning sun filtering through the curtains and Freya wearing his button-up and nothing else, smiling like she’s got a secret. “Come over here and kiss me,” he says instead of anything he’s thinking.
If something’s going to go wrong, it can go wrong later.
*
The thing is, though, that nothing does go wrong. Arthur spends the whole of his Sunday in Merlin and Freya’s bed-every time he tries to get up, except when he insists he needs the loo, one of them distracts him or brings him food. They spend most of the afternoon watching something confusing in Spanish that only Merlin pays any attention to while Arthur and Freya steal kisses during the boring parts and they eat leftover risotto for dinner before Arthur says he’s got to go home for the night and finally puts his clothes on, which are rather the worse for wear.
Gwen calls while he’s on his way home. “I’ve been calling all day,” she says when he picks up, more amusement than reproach. “Things last night either went very well or very badly.”
“They went well, I think.”
“Oh, you think?” Morgana says something in the background, sharp but laughing. “Morgana says if you tell her details she’s going to disown you. You can tell me all the details you like, though.”
Arthur laughs. “The fact that you two are bringing a child into the world is terrifying. I’m keeping the details to myself, thanks.”
Gwen pauses. “It’s not the only time, right? You wouldn’t sound so happy if it were that good and only once.”
When Arthur left, he left with a promise to have Merlin and Freya to his flat on Thursday night, and he’s giving serious consideration to calling in sick on Friday already. “We haven’t precisely defined things, but it isn’t the only time, no.”
“Good. Are you … telling people? I mean, ought Morgana and I be keeping our mouths shut?”
That’s the only serious conversation Freya and Merlin allowed on their whole Sunday together, so he is prepared for that question, even if things are still a bit up in the air. “We’re telling friends-our group, but no one outside of it. No parents or anything, at least not yet.” Though of all of them, Merlin’s the only one with a parent left, so it’s less a consideration than it might otherwise be.
“I’m happy for you.” Gwen’s voice is warm and pleased, and Arthur grins at no one in particular, probably frightening a passer-by or two. “I was worried, while you were in California and after you’ve been home-I don’t like the thought of you lonely, and it seemed to worry you that everyone else was together.”
“This isn’t precisely the most normal way of doing things, you have to admit.”
Gwen just laughs. “Who cares about normal? You’re an adult, and you’re allowed to make your own decisions. Now, this calls for a pub night.” Morgana says something else in the background. “No, I’m not going to drink, but everyone else is. Maybe Saturday night, so you’ve got a chance to have another date or two with them.”
It’s useless to argue with Gwen, even more than it is to argue with Morgana, so Arthur does his best to acquiesce gracefully. “Saturday should be fine. As long as you don’t mind me leaving early, given the opportunity.”
“Not a soul will blame you,” Gwen promises. “Now, tell me all the news that’s fit for public consumption.”
Arthur tells her the barest bones of dinner and his conversations with them, ignoring the fact that he’s almost certainly on speaker phone even if Morgana’s being quiet, and when he hangs up, he texts Merlin: Pub this Sat? Gwen wants us to spread the news of our ménage a trois far and wide.
He’s almost to his door before he gets a text back. Wear something nice, looking forward to showing you off. F agrees. ;)
Arthur laughs, feeling lighter than he has since maybe before he went to California, and sends My best heels and pearls, I promise before pushing the door to his flat open.
*
Leon’s the first one who gets it on Saturday, looking from Arthur to Merlin and Freya sitting on either side of him and then frowning thoughtfully for about three minutes before starting to laugh. “This explains a whole lot,” he says when nearly everyone gives him baffled looks, and gestures at Arthur, who’s trying to look neither overly smug or overly ravished, both of which he is.
“Care to explain to the rest of the class?” Vivian inquires, scowl firmly in place. She does hate missing out on gossip.
“Freya and Merlin seduced Arthur,” says Morgana before anyone else can, taking a long pull off her pint and looking tortured. Like she has any right to judge, Arthur knows things about her and Gwen’s sex life that grant him quite a lot of leeway in that area. Especially as he’s being as discreet as possible. “Finally.”
The table erupts with shock and then, after a few seconds, congratulations (and, Arthur thinks, money changing hands between Elyan, Gwaine, and Mithian). Gwen, bless her, hushes everyone before the noise can overflow to the other tables in the pub. Not everyone knows or should know their business. Merlin presses his ankle against Arthur’s and looks around the table. “It’s not a big deal, we just don’t want to have to hide it with you guys. There’s enough pressure in public, we don’t want it with our friends too.”
“So you’re all … boyfriends and girlfriend?” Elena asks, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “What’s the terminology?”
They finally managed that discussion at eleven at night the night previous, curled up on Arthur’s bed with him in the middle and Merlin and Freya linking hands across him. It’s early, yet, but they’re all confident enough of it working out to use those words. “That works, Ellie,” he hastens to say before anyone can suggest anything horrifying. Morgana looks like she’s been coming up with awful suggestions and is just waiting for the right moment. If the word “paramour” crosses her lips he’s going to be forced to do something drastic. “It’s early days, and all that. Like Merlin said, we don’t want it to be a big deal.”
It is, of course, but to Arthur’s relief it’s only the same sort of big deal it would be if Leon and Mithian arrived holding hands or Vivian and Gwaine finally admitted they’re nearly to the stage of living together. Everyone watches them all night, getting used to it, but they seem to take it in stride when Arthur brushes Freya’s hair out of her face and when Merlin goes off to swindle people at pool and insists on a good-luck kiss from Arthur and Freya both. Arthur insists on just kissing him on the cheek for the public’s sake, but when Merlin pulls away Gwen and Leon are still smiling indulgently at him and Freya reaches out for his hand under the table as easy as anything.
Percival excuses himself first, citing a volunteer shift in the morning, but Merlin nudges Arthur not too long after. “Can we invite ourselves to yours tonight? You’re closer to here.”
“It’s like you think I didn’t notice the change of clothes you both left this morning,” he says, and ignores the way Elyan grins. “Freya, are you ready?”
“Ready,” she says, and stands up, holding a hand out to pull him to his feet while Merlin finishes one last comment in a debate he’s been having with Gwaine all night over whether the American Office can hold a candle to the original.
Arthur says his goodbyes as normally as he can with Freya’s hand in his and Merlin leaning companionably against his shoulder. They’re easy with their touches in a way he isn’t used to, now that they’re properly together-it should look innocuous to anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on, as it’s not the first conclusion most people jump to, but it still feels steadying and natural, the way Gwen and Morgana look at each other and the way he’s never quite managed with anyone before.
Leon’s been giving them quick looks all night, expression unreadable, but when Arthur raises his eyebrows, waits for a verdict from his best mate, he grins and nods and makes a shooing motion. With that blessing, he’s more than willing to proceed, so he grabs Merlin’s arm before he can get drawn back into an argument with Gwaine and pulls him away, away from the table and then out to the street, where they all have to walk squeezed together to make room on the pavement.
Arthur’s flat is only a few streets over, and they’re quiet on the walk. Arthur drifts to the side while they made the turns, leaving Merlin and Freya to hold hands as they walk along, looking over at him every minute or so and exchanging smiles. The doorman at Arthur’s building manages to look both impassive and mildly scandalized after they pass, maybe drawing conclusions about their frequent visits, but Arthur is feeling buoyed after his friends’ easy acceptance and just gives him a grin in return. He’s not planning on living here forever; the doorman can think whatever he likes.
Freya seems to have a particular love for Arthur’s couch, so they end up there in a sprawl of limbs once they get through the door, shoes off and Merlin half out of his shirt but too lazy to do much more. Arthur absently rubs Freya’s feet, propped up on his lap, and doesn’t try to move things any further. He’s a little fuzzy with drink, and they’re both a little giggly too, with the alcohol or with relief at everything going well. He’s perfectly happy to spend an hour or two on the couch, trading between conversation and kisses, before moving to the bed for the night, with sex or without it.
Merlin’s in the middle this time, Freya’s legs stretching over both of them, and he’s leaning over his-their-girlfriend, brushing his nose against hers while she musses his hair. Arthur laughs at them and leaves them to it; if they were anyone else and they were feeling this out, he’d be jealous of their little habits, the signs they’ve been together five years without him and know and love each other better for now. With them, there’s just the knowledge that with time, he’ll have his own inside jokes with each of them, his own private signs of affection.
For now, he just keeps rubbing Freya’s feet and enjoying the warmth of Merlin against his side, and when Merlin whispers “I love you” to Freya like he’s worried Arthur will be offended, he just smiles. It doesn’t matter if they aren’t saying it yet, don’t feel it yet. There’s time for it, later, and he’s got every faith that it will work out. He’s in no hurry for now.
Arthur’s got a meeting with an old business partner of his father’s Friday morning, in an office halfway across the city. On his way back, he realizes he’s close to the neighborhood where Freya works and it’s nearly lunchtime, so he takes a chance and texts her. He promised, after all, and even if he’s going to spend time with her and Merlin on Saturday he doesn’t know when next he’ll make it over to her side of the city.
Her return text doesn’t come for fifteen minutes, when he’s already most of the way to the nearest Tube station to head back to his office or find something else to eat. sorry, was in the middle of something. Still free?
Arthur calls her, in the interests of expediency. “Are you on break? The office isn’t expecting me for a while, I can meet you somewhere.”
“There’s a sandwich shop right next door to me, so I can meet you there easily. I’d go farther afield, show you this great Ethiopian place I know, but I don’t think I have the time.”
“Sandwiches are fine,” he assures her. “What else do you think they eat in America?”
Freya laughs. “Poor thing. I’ll text you the address, okay? GPS is probably faster than me giving directions.”
“Probably.” Merlin’s always teasing her for the way she gives directions in a way nobody can understand except in retrospect, and Morgana has given independent corroboration. “I’ll see you in a few, then.”
When she texts, he starts off at a good clip towards the restaurant-starting towards the Tube was a bad idea, clearly, because it’s going to take an effort to get there and still have enough time for a proper lunch, what with the probable length of her lunch break. Still, it only takes a few bits of jaywalking and shouldering a few passerby out of the way to get to where she’s standing out in front of the shop, wrapped up in a red jacket that makes her stand out in the crowd even though she’s on the short side.
“You should have told me earlier you were going to be around,” she says while she hugs him hello. “I would have wheedled my way into more time off.”
“I honestly didn’t realize until I was on my way over, and then I was in the middle of a phone call to the office. Shall we?”
“Of course.” Freya tugs him by the arm into the restaurant like it’s the most natural thing in the world-like she does to Merlin, and a little stronger and more insistent than Arthur expects-and directs him to a table of her choosing. “I’ll go order if you hold our table. What would you like?” Arthur goes for his wallet on instinct, only to be forestalled by her hand on his shoulder. “I said when you came to me it would be my treat, didn’t I? What do you want?”
Arthur knows how to acquiesce gracefully, at least sometimes. No matter what Morgana says. “Nothing with roast beef, I’ve had it too much this past week, it was on sale the last time I shopped for groceries. I’m not terribly picky, no allergies.”
Freya laughs. “No beef, got it. I’ll be back in a tick.”
There’s an older woman a few tables back who gives Arthur an approving smile when he happens to catch her eye, and he can’t help the blush that suffuses his cheeks out of nowhere. Of course people are going to assume Freya’s his girlfriend when it’s just the two of them out, and there’s really no reason to feel awkward about it-hell, someone thought Gwen was his wife the last time he went out to the shops with her without Morgana in tow-but he squirms anyway, as if she’ll somehow know. The woman just looks indulgent and goes back to whatever she’s doing-a crossword puzzle, by the looks of it.
It only takes Freya about five minutes to come back with two sandwiches and a basket of chips, even though the shop is moderately busy. “I know the boy working,” she explains. “Well, Merlin does, he was a mentor for a while before he got so busy at the labs-like the big brother programs, you know?”
“Yes, I’m familiar with them, I’m pretty sure Morgana was involved in something like it.” God knows why anyone let Morgana anywhere near impressionable young minds. Somewhere out there is a teenager preparing to be a supervillain. “It’s possible she was doing it to impress Gwen, in all fairness.”
“I’ve heard stories. I suppose you’d have a different perspective on them, having watched the whole affair from the beginning, but they seem to be terribly perfect for each other.”
“No more than you and Merlin.”
Freya nudges his foot with her own under the table and pushes the basket of chips closer to his side of the table. “Maybe so, maybe not. That’s not a lunch discussion, though. I just want you to tell me all the sordid teenage tales about those two pining after each other.”
Arthur has no idea what she means by the first half of that, so he focuses on the second, relaxing into a mode he gets to pull out often-before he left London, it was his right and privilege to tell Gwen and Morgana’s story to anyone new entering their group of friends. “We all met when Morgana and I were ten and Gwen was eleven,” he starts, and tells an abbreviated version of the proper story in between bites of his sandwich (something with chicken and pesto that tastes like California, or at least the parts of it he misses), pleased to focus on Morgana’s phase of thick eyeliner and writing terrible poetry in Gwen’s honor, some of it in French. He plans to read some in his speech if they ever decide to have a commitment ceremony or marriage.
By the end of lunch, Freya is laughing and undoubtedly over her break, but she doesn’t seem in any hurry as she puts her coat on and rummages around in her purse for what looks like a key. “This was wonderful,” she says once they’ve walked back out into the chill and are standing where they’ll have to part ways. “I hope you find your way back to this side of town again eventually.”
“I’m certain I will,” he assures her. He oughtn’t. His conscience, which sounds annoyingly like Morgana, is telling him to cut back on the time he spends with Merlin and Freya before he does something unforgivably stupid, but he can’t quite make himself do it. Not when they both seem to truly enjoy his company.
“Good.” Freya anchors her hand on his shoulder, easy as breathing, and kisses him on the mouth. It’s not long, but it’s not just a peck either, like he gets from Mithian or Elena. It’s a proper kiss, soft and slow and faintly garlicky from one of their lunches, the same kind she gives Merlin when they happen to pass in a room. He kisses back for just a second before remembering himself and pulling back, horrified. Freya looks startled, like perhaps she just forgot she wasn’t having lunch with Merlin. “Arthur-”
“Shit.” He takes a few steps back, running into someone as he doesn’t look where he’s going. “Shit, Freya, I’m so sorry, God.”
“No, Arthur, really, it’s-”
“I’ve got to go.” He jerks around, turns away from the hurt on her face, because he can’t do this. Morgana was right, Merlin and Freya are the perfect couple and both of them are wonderful and even if Merlin forgives him for this it’s only going to be another step on the slippery slope to getting his heart broken.
Freya doesn’t follow him, but she does say his name a few times, and texts him before he gets to the Tube. please call is all it says, and he ignores it, glad when he loses the signal getting across town.
After he gets off and gets back into his office, he checks his phone again to find four more messages from Freya, a voicemail from her, and two texts from Merlin. He deletes them all without reading, but when another comes in from Merlin just before he goes back to work he can’t resist opening it. We still want you to come over tomorrow night. Please. It’s okay.
Arthur doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the day.
*
Gwen takes one look at him that night and finds an urgent need for Morgana to go out to the shops and get “those biscuits, you know the ones, Morgana, the chocolate ones that don’t get too crumby, you’re the only one who can ever find them.” Morgana, whose ability to stand up to Gwen shrinks proportionally as Gwen’s pregnancy progresses, leaves after a glare at Arthur. Gwen waits until she’s down on the street before turning a steely look on Arthur. “Out with it. Something’s the matter.”
Arthur squirms, but Gwen’s one of his best friends, and the one he’s always confided in even more than Morgana (who is terrible at sympathy) and Leon (who is terrible at expressing sympathy). Besides, if he’s ruined things with Merlin and Freya, he’ll have to own up to it sometime. “I might have fucked things up. Sort of a lot.”
“Oh? How so?” She looks briefly hopeful. “I don’t suppose you mean you fucked up by not asking Gilli out again?”
“No, I …” It might almost be easier to tell this to Morgana. For one thing, she doesn’t expect the best of him, and for another, she knows more of the background than Gwen does, since she’s been warning him off exactly this situation practically since he came back from California. “Freya kissed me.”
Gwen blinks a few times. “Freya? Our Freya? Merlin’s girlfriend Freya?”
Arthur winces. “Yes, that’s the one. We had lunch, and she kissed me.”
“Why did she do that?”
Arthur waves his hands about in a manner that is probably not at all explanatory. “I don’t know! It wasn’t the first time we’d had lunch, or she and Merlin and I had dinner at one or the other of our places, and I know they’re the perfect couple, I’m honestly not trying to break them up.”
Gwen puts a hand on his arm, eyebrows still up high like she can’t help it. “I never said you were, Arthur, for heaven’s sake. What happened after she kissed you?”
“I sort of apologized and ran off. And then she and Merlin texted me a great deal and I’m still meant to go to dinner there tomorrow night.”
She bites her lip. “That might be best. To talk things out, and all. It was probably just an honest mistake.” She pauses. “Do you like Freya?”
“Yes, because we’re thirteen again.” He tries to sound sarcastic but thinks he fails by the way Gwen starts looking a little pitying. “It’s not that simple, Gwen. It’s not … I mean, yes, I do, but it’s bigger than that.”
“You think you’re in love with her?” she hazards.
“Not … bigger in that sense. It’s her, and Merlin, and both of them together, and I have no idea if it’s just because they’re both my type and lovely, or because they’re something that hasn’t changed while I was away because I didn’t know them before, or what the hell is going on. I mean, it’s not exactly normal to be infatuated with two people who are in a relationship with each other and not want to break it up.”
Gwen wraps her arms around him. “I don’t think it’s because they haven’t changed. That doesn’t seem like you, to take the easy way about things. As for loving two people, what do you think happened with me that first year at university with Morgana and Lancelot?”
“But you chose. And they weren’t together.”
“Look, if you want my advice, then go to dinner with them tomorrow. Tell them what you’ve told me-”
“I’m vetoing this plan already.” Gwen glares at him, probably because Morgana’s spoiling her and she isn’t used to being interrupted anymore. “They’re probably having me over tomorrow to say they’ve worked out whatever relationship problem they have that made Freya kiss me and they do hope I’ll still be friends with them and it won’t be too awkward, which is exactly what they should do. I don’t want to muck that up.”
“It’s not fair to you, though. What do you want, Arthur?”
Odd, impossible things. Or at least things he hasn’t heard of lasting for more than one night at a time. “Ideally, for everyone to be happy.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything at all, and you know it.” He shrugs, helpless. Not much shocks Gwen, he knows that (he’s the one she called when she wanted to try out knots to use on Morgana, after all. They might not have the most normal of sibling-in-law relationships, now that he thinks about it), but he doesn’t really know what he wants. “Look, this isn’t meant to be the Spanish Inquisition. Just know that there’s always options, no matter what you end up deciding. And you’re all good people, so I know you won’t ruin things, or whatever other stupid thing you’re thinking.”
Arthur groans and leans into her shoulder. “Dinner tomorrow is going to be horrible.”
“Or amazing.”
Before he can ask under what circumstances precisely dinner could possibly be amazing given the massive fucking elephant in the room, Morgana bursts through the door, chocolate biscuits in hand and a wild look in her eyes. She points at Arthur. “You. If you are not going to confide in me, you are going to build me shelves. No shirking, no whining.”
“It’s not as if she won’t tell you after I leave,” says Arthur. He has no illusions of privacy, Morgana when she wants information is like a dog with a bone. “But yes, by all means, let’s stop talking about me and build shelves, I can’t have my niece live in a shoddy nursery.”
Morgana spends the whole evening staring at him suspiciously, like the way he hammers a few cheerily-painted boards together and then puts them on the wall will give her some secret insight into what’s bothering him. Gwen spends the whole evening looking at him like she’s worried he’s going to do something stupid the second he leaves, like get on a plane back to California or tell Merlin and Freya he’s removing himself from their lives for their own benefit (as if he would, Arthur’s the first to admit that he’s selfish). On the whole, it’s one of the more awkward evenings he’s spent, but he keeps his mouth shut about it and makes sure the shelves he puts up will hold no matter what Gwen and Morgana put on top of them.
For all she’s annoyed with him, Morgana knows Arthur well enough to give him a tight hug when he leaves and then go to the bedroom where she can pretend not to eavesdrop while Gwen says goodnight. Gwen, after shaking her head a few times and giving him a hug, finally seems to decide on something to say. “Trust them to want you to be happy as well.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”
“Sometimes things are simpler than they seem,” she counters, and pushes him out the door.
*
Merlin answer the door, and Arthur is half-expecting a punch to the jaw instead of the encouraging smile he gets. “Good, you came. We were really hoping. Come in, please.”
“You’re not going to punch me, are you?”
Merlin snorts, and for a second it’s as if everything is normal and Arthur never kissed Merlin’s girlfriend. “Come on, do you really think I could get a punch in on you of all people? I’m stronger than I look, but I still wouldn’t dare.”
“At the very least, I owe you an apology.”
“God, it’s like you’re determined to martyr yourself. Would you at least come in and sit down and let us explain? We made risotto.” Of course they still made him dinner. Arthur obeys, dropping his jacket on the floor and leaving his shoes on in case he needs to make a quick run for it. Freya’s standing by the table, looking a little nervous and more dressed up than he’s expecting, in some sort of dress and leggings and a cardigan that looks unfairly soft. Merlin, now that he’s thinking about it, is dressed a little sharper than usual as well, for no particular reason Arthur can fathom. “Okay, sit,” Merlin says firmly when Arthur doesn’t move, shutting the door.
Arthur sits and starts talking before one of them can. “I’m terribly sorry about yesterday, to both of you. It was disrespectful of you and your relationship, which is the last thing I want, and I do hope we can move past it.”
Freya leans on the table instead of sitting and grabs Merlin’s hand. “I kissed you, remember? You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I do-we do, actually.”
“I’m a bit miffed with her, actually,” Merlin says in the tone of one endeavoring to keep his tone light. “She had to spend all last night making it up to me.”
Arthur tries valiantly not to let the images that brings up distract him. He has no idea why they’re out to torture him, but he won’t allow it to work. “You have every right to be angry with us, Merlin, as I said-”
“It’s only that we agreed we’d do it when all three of us were together.” Arthur shuts his mouth with an audible snap. “It’s really not fair that she got to go first and I didn’t get to go right after.”
Freya takes over, apparently taking his stunned silence as a good thing. “You see, yesterday wasn’t about me making some mistake because things with us aren’t good. We’ve talked about it, wanted to-want to. We want to be with you, but only if you’d like it too.”
“Be with me. For … a night? An experiment or something?” Arthur is not entirely sure he isn’t hallucinating this entire encounter.
“If that’s what you’re comfortable with,” says Merlin. “But no, not an experiment. We’ve talked about it since the first night we met you and we’ve only been liking you more, so we thought … it’s not normal, but, well. It doesn’t have to be, does it? Not if it works.”
Arthur can’t quite manage to answer that, so Freya jumps in again. “Not just a night. For as long as all three of us can stand each other, ideally. We fit.”
His response to information he can’t take as a whole has always been to break it down into pieces, one of the more useful skills he learned from his father. With both of them watching hopefully, he takes a second to think over the last few weeks, the way Merlin and Freya always seem to be flirting, often with him, and how he couldn’t quite write it off as a quirk of their personalities because they didn’t seem to do it with anyone else but each other, and the way they both seek him out whenever they’ve got the excuse and sometimes when they don’t. Even the way Merlin sounded relieved when Arthur’s date with Gilli didn’t go well. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks,” he points out.
Merlin, after exchanging a quick look with Freya, reaches out and puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. It’s warm and big, and Arthur thinks of the flour on Freya’s back the first night he had dinner at their apartment. “We’re not expecting you to commit ten years right now, Arthur. We know that you haven’t known us as long as we’ve known each other, we know it will be an adjustment for all three of us. But we’ve already had a few dates. Not official dates, I guess, but dinners and lunches and stuff. They’ve gone well. And we wanted to get to know you before we brought this up, because it isn’t exactly the most conventional of things.”
“No, do you think so?” Arthur rubs a hand over his eyes and tries to get a handle on things. “I’ve been beating myself up over wanting both of you practically since we met, and Morgana’s scolded me for possibly trying to break you up and possibly just trying to get my heart broken, you’ll have to excuse me if this is all rather a shock.”
Freya sounds like she’s trying to keep from laughing when she answers. “Morgana thinks you’d break us up, or that we’d let you? She needs more imagination.”
“I think Gwen might have guessed.” He forces himself to look at them. Much as he’d love to have this whole conversation with his face buried in his hands he thinks he would miss out on some of the nuance. “Though maybe she thought it was wishful thinking on my part.”
“Rather the opposite.” Merlin removes his hand, and Arthur does his best not to lean towards him. He’s too off-balance for anything to make sense, not when he’s being handed this on a silver platter, all in his control for as long as he wants it. “You don’t have to decide tonight. We can eat risotto and pretend none of this happened and you can call whenever or come over if you want to talk about it more. It isn’t as if we’re actively seeking someone to be with us. Just you.”
Arthur takes a deep breath. He needs to have all his wits about him to navigate this particular conversation, but his cock seems to have finally taken an interest in the proceedings and it’s rather difficult to remind himself to be rational. “Okay, I’ll …” Both of their eyes go wide, and he thinks he sees Freya’s knuckles whiten where she’s holding Merlin’s hand. “I’ll stay for dinner,” he says, and tries not to wince when they look disappointed and a little relieved at once. This must be terrifying for them, too, but he’s got little sympathy; at least they have each other’s hands to hold. “And I think, and we’ll talk, and afterwards … either I’ll leave, or I won’t.”
Freya smiles and ducks her head. “So it’s on the table?”
“Yes, it’s definitely … on the table.”
“Good, we cleaned the bedroom.” Merlin doesn’t seem as nonchalant as he’s obviously trying to be, but Arthur appreciates it nonetheless-though the thought is enough to make his trousers even more uncomfortable. “Now, anticlimax aside, would you like some dinner? It’ll give us all a little breathing space.”
“Dinner. Yes, absolutely.” Arthur clears his throat. “Though I may use your loo first, if you don’t mind.” Like clockwork, both of them look down to where the table is thankfully shielding his lap from view. He does his best not to mind how obvious he’s being. “I need a minute to collect myself.”
Freya coughs and lets go of Merlin’s hand. “Of course. We’ll finish setting the table, and such. Take all the time you need.”
Arthur escapes before they can say anything else, and doesn’t look at them because he doubts his ability to make it to the bathroom if he does. He definitely needs to think for a moment before he commits himself to anything. Once in the bathroom, he locks the door and takes his phone out before he thinks the better of it. He needs a voice of sanity, so he calls Gwen, who already knows something of what’s going on.
Unfortunately, Gwen doesn’t answer her phone. Morgana does. “You need to stop monopolizing my partner,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to be pining? And possibly kissing people’s girlfriends? I suppose that’s why you called mine.”
“You shouldn’t answer other people’s phones, and don’t be ridiculous.” Perhaps, in the end, it’s better that Morgana picked up. At least he can always count on her to set him straight. “They just … does it still count as kissing someone’s girlfriend if the boyfriend wants to kiss you too? I think at a certain point it counts as all three of you being girlfriend and boyfriends. I’m not certain how these things are meant to go, to be honest.”
There’s a pause. “Arthur, are you drunk?”
“No, though it might make this conversation somewhat easier, I suppose. They just propositioned me.” She chokes but doesn’t comment. “Or asked me to date them, or something, but the proposition seems the more urgent thing.”
“Are they drunk?”
“For God’s sake, Morgana, nobody is drunk. Apparently the kissing yesterday was simply a precursor to this.” He gestures around the bathroom even though she can’t see him. “I’m still in their flat, I just needed to check that this was reality. It seems to be, despite your casting aspersions on our sobriety.”
“I’m still a little stuck, to be honest. Merlin and Freya are seducing you? Of all people?”
He sighs. “Apparently.”
Once again, he has to wait for her to produce an answer, this time over the sound of Gwen talking quietly, worried, in the background. He wonders if he’s on speaker phone. “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Morgana decides eventually.
It’s Arthur’s turn to choke on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’d never seen them act the way they do with you with anyone before, so I suppose it makes sense, in its own sort of way. Wait, why are you calling us if you’re still there with two gorgeous willing people waiting to shag you into oblivion?”
Arthur’s erection, which had just about subsided while he dealt with his sister, makes a valiant recurrence. “Feed me risotto and then shag me into oblivion,” he corrects automatically.
“Two gorgeous people willing to fuck you at the same time who also cook for you and do God knows what else that’s disgustingly adorable? If I hadn’t known them before you I would worry you’d grown them in a lab.”
He makes a face. “Thank you for that neat summation of events. I should go, I’ve been in their bathroom quite long enough, but I just … do you think I should? You were so sure I was going to fuck everything up.”
“That was before I realized your terribly confused and repressed feelings were returned. Have at it, just don’t tell me any details. You’re all adults, and that means whatever you want it to mean-and three people in a relationship isn’t so uncommon as you might think, you prude. You just have to decide if the complications are worth it.”
Secrecy, complication, and the likelihood of being pitied as some sort of perpetual bachelor as long as this lasts against Freya’s quiet warmth, the way Merlin laughs when he thinks he’s being particularly clever, and the memory of the two of them dancing in Mithian’s kitchen. There’s no contest, really, in the end. “Okay. I’d best go. Thanks, Morgana.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says, and he hangs up on her.
Arthur washes his hands for verisimilitude, but given the size of Merlin and Freya’s flat he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone. When he comes out, prepared to face them having heard his whole excruciating side of that conversation, he instead finds them in the kitchen, Freya sitting on a counter and Merlin standing between her legs, both of them pink-cheeked and looking embarrassed. “Don’t stop on my account,” says Arthur, as dryly as he can.
Merlin takes him up on the challenge, of course, and cups Freya’s face in his hands to give her a long, slow kiss. They’re at the wrong angle for him to see much of what’s going on, but that doesn’t mean Arthur can’t hear the little noise she makes into Merlin’s mouth, the wet sounds of a proper kiss, and by the time they pull apart he’s wondering if he should ignore the risotto altogether.
Neither of them, however, seems to have forgotten the meal, no matter that they got waylaid. “We figured that would be the best way to give you some privacy,” Merlin explains with a shrug when they finally pull apart, short of breath and grinning. “We tend to get distracted.”
Freya hops off the table and smoothes her clothes down. “Dinner?”
There’s no way Arthur can refuse that, not when he knows he still ought to take some time to think, so he swallows and nods and sits back down at the table to protect himself from the way Merlin’s still grinning, even more pointedly, and looking down at the tent in his trousers. “Dinner,” he confirms. “It smells delicious.” He hasn’t paid a bit of attention to how anything smells since he walked in, but it seems the thing to say.
Freya, still pink-cheeked, serves all three of them from the pot, and when Arthur finally collects himself enough to take a whiff, it does indeed smell amazing. Nobody serves wine, and Arthur doesn’t ask for it-none of them wants the excuse, or the worry, of alcohol clouding their judgment if they’re going to do this. Instead, they pass the most awkward dinner Arthur’s had in ages, worse than any conversation they’ve had before. Usually it flows freely, one subject to the next, but this time none of them seems to have any idea what to say for most of the meal, so aside from a few comments on the food and attempts to talk about what they did with their days before dinner they’re silent.
When they’ve finally all finished and put their plates in the sink to soak, Arthur finds both of them looking at him again. “I know we said we wouldn’t put pressure on you, and we won’t,” says Freya after they exchange a look, “but-”
“Yes,” he says before she can continue, and they both stop. “I’ll … I’d like to stay. I’d like to try. For tonight, for longer, for however long we can manage it with all the problems that are bound to result and how much mockery I’m due from Morgana and-”
“No.” Merlin’s in his space all of a sudden, his hand over Arthur’s mouth. “You can be terribly practical and worried tomorrow. If you’re staying tonight you don’t get to. You can say yes and still go home, though, if you want to get that out of your system first. It’s only the first date, after all.”
He doesn’t think he can leave now, not with the promise of sex with them hanging so close in the air. He gently pushes Merlin’s hand away from his face. “Well, I’ve always … I’ve always been easy.”
“Good,” says Merlin, and then: “May I kiss you? Since Freya got to go first?”
Arthur nods, and then there’s Merlin, still standing so close there’s hardly a breath between them, and then Merlin’s hands on his shoulders, and then Merlin’s lips on his. It’s been a year or so since he took a man home, and several women in between, so it’s odd to remember the feel of stubble scraping his chin and the hardness of the body pressing against his own. His mouth is soft and insistent-he kisses, Arthur thinks a little hysterically, like a scientist, like he’s gathering empirical data about what Arthur likes best and drawing conclusions, making plans.
“No fair,” says Freya after who-knows-how-long, and they pull apart. She’s behind Arthur, now, one hand over Merlin’s on his shoulder. “I didn’t get nearly as long yesterday.”
“You’ll have a chance to make it up,” Merlin assures her, smiling. “What do you say, Arthur? Shall we move this to the bedroom?”
“I think we’d better.” He’s surprised at how hoarse he sounds, but he doesn’t have time to think about that at all, with four hands on him, pushing him towards the bedroom he still hasn’t been inside.
*
Freya and Merlin’s bedroom is neat but cluttered-the bed is bigger than he’s expecting, large enough for all three of them if they don’t roll around too much, made up invitingly with what must be fresh sheets, and there are knickknacks and photos on the various surfaces. Arthur doesn’t take the time to look at them.
Freya plugs in a string of paper lanterns that cast an orange glow over the room and shuts the door behind them while Merlin goes to work unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt, knuckles brushing against his chest and stomach with every new one. Arthur helps him, more than willing to be undressed, and shrugs off the shirt when Merlin’s finished with it. Freya’s hands are at his hips, then, and she kisses his shoulder as she undoes the fastening on his trousers and pushes them down. “You still haven’t kissed me again,” he reminds her, more teasing than anything else.
Her face goes very grave nonetheless. “You’re right, of course. An oversight.” With that, she’s up on her toes, arms around his neck, and kissing him. Where Merlin had been almost gentle, if intense, Freya’s surprisingly rough, willing to use her teeth and press hard. She may look delicate, but she’s strong, and even though he’s gripping her waist with near-bruising force, he still feels as if she’s the one controlling the kiss.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Merlin’s hands snake around from behind, pulling at the buttons on Arthur’s shirt at what must be a terrible angle pressed between Arthur and Freya’s bodies. A second later, he seems to give that up and just props his chin on Arthur’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “She’s really good at that.” It would be conversational, if he weren’t talking about his girlfriend’s tongue in Arthur’s mouth. “Sometimes we do it for hours. Just kissing, on the couch or the bed or wherever. You ought to join us, sometime, we’ve been talking about your mouth for weeks.”
Arthur moans before he can swallow the noise down, and Freya breaks the kiss long enough to smile up at him, then to capture Merlin’s mouth over his shoulder. He slides out from between them, but both of them catch him by the shirt before he can go far, hold him still to watch them together. “You could let me go far enough to let me strip, at least,” he says, quiet, not really expecting them to hear him over the way they’re wrapped up together.
“Why would we do that?” Merlin asks, pulling away from Freya and turning to him with eyebrows raised. “Do you want us to miss out on the fun?”
“But if you’re that impatient, it shouldn’t be a problem,” says Freya, and pushes gently at his shoulders till he sits down on the bed, entirely at loose ends with two pairs of hands on him, both of their attention focused on him at once instead of each other. It’s as terrifying a feeling as it is an amazing one.
Merlin sets to work on Arthur’s shoes and socks while Freya finishes unbuttoning his shirt, and it’s all Arthur can do just to move when they push him, lifting his feet or shrugging his shoulders. Freya kisses down his arm to his hand when she finishes, smiling coyly up at him and distracting him from the way Merlin’s gone for his fly, finishing by sucking two of his fingers into her mouth in a show so blatant it makes Merlin laugh into his thigh at how hard he goes.
“What do you want to do?” Merlin asks after a few seconds, while Freya’s still fellating Arthur’s fingers with a wicked look in her eye and Merlin’s still kneeling at Arthur’s feet.
“What, neither of you has an opinion?” Freya sucks, and Arthur tries to keep his voice steady. “Well, maybe she does.”
Merlin toys with Arthur’s open fly, knuckles occasionally brushing his erection through his boxers. “We have plenty of opinions. God, we’ve been talking about this for weeks, we want to do everything to each other, to you. We just don’t know what to do first.”
Freya finally relinquishes his hand to climb onto the bed next to him, hand planted against his chest and pushing. Arthur, still speechless from Merlin’s frank little speech, goes without protest, which allows Merlin to start stripping him out of his trousers and boxers. “Do you want to fuck me? Or him?” she asks, right in his ear, and Arthur closes his eyes because he’s fairly certain he’s going to die of sex. “Or he can fuck you, if you’d rather, we’ve got no idea what you like. Or we can go simpler, if you want-it’s the first time, after all. Just your mouth, and your hands, whatever you want. Whatever’s comfortable.”
There’s only so much a man can take. Arthur slides an arm around her shoulders, and God, she’s still dressed and Merlin’s got his trousers down around his knees, and kisses her. He’s still not all the way on the bed, and she’s half on top of him, but he doesn’t care, just kisses her as hot and as frantic as he’s feeling, wondering if either of them is as overwhelmed as he is. For a second, he loses contact with Merlin, there’s rustling and he thinks all his clothes are finally off, and then there’s miles of naked skin pressed up against the side Freya isn’t on, Merlin’s erection against Arthur’s side and Merlin’s hands insistently tugging him further up on the bed. “You’re hogging him again,” he complains, and Arthur pulls out of the kiss.
“I meant to help you out of your clothes,” he manages, turning to Merlin. He’s more broad-shouldered and muscled than his clothing tends to suggest, and it takes a second to drag his eyes up to meet Merlin’s. “Sorry.”
“Not at all. Would you get on the bed properly?” Arthur takes the opportunity to scoot up until his head’s somewhere in the vicinity of their pillows, and Merlin nods his satisfaction. “Good. Now I can monopolize you for a bit while Freya gets out of her clothes.”
Much as Arthur wants that, wants to fall into Merlin’s mouth and explore all the skin that’s just been exposed, he also doesn’t want the whole night to be them with him in the middle-it’s not what he wants this to be, not all the time, anyway. They all ought to have their turn, even and especially this first time. “Or we could help her. I’d like to.”
Merlin seems perfectly willing to roll with that. He gives Arthur one of his impish grins and then leans over him to grab Freya before she can sit up and sprawl her over both of their bodies. She laughs and Merlin kisses her and goes to work on her cardigan with the ease of long practice. Arthur rolls until he’s not trapped under her and starts pulling down her leggings. Her dress is twisted up and out of the way, leaving her naked as Arthur pushes her pants down along with her leggings, and Arthur kisses her thigh as he goes, trailing up to leave a mark on her hip. She clenches a hand in his hair, and when he looks up to smile at her, she’s kissing Merlin, half in his lap.
They get her horizontal and take her dress off her with the minimum of fuss, from there, and then pause with her in the middle, all three of them miraculously with their heads on the pillows, which smell like laundry detergent and the faintest hint of Freya’s shampoo. “I don’t know what I want to do,” Arthur admits into the sudden quiet. “Tonight, I mean. I haven’t precisely had time to plan the way the two of you have.” And even the few moments he’s allowed himself of imagining have ended quickly when he felt too guilty to let himself continue.
“That’s good,” Merlin says, and leans across Freya to kiss him, easy and quick. “I think you’re probably one of those people with a plan for everything, yeah? So this will be good for you. We’ll all just do what works, and if you don’t like it, say so.”
Arthur kisses him again, because that he knows how to do. It’s hard to steady himself with Freya between them, watching them with a pleased little smile on her face, but Merlin smiles against his mouth anyway, and after a few minutes pulls away to kiss Freya. Arthur takes his turn to lay back and watch them together, how easy they are with each other and how terribly obvious it is that they’re putting on a show, and it doesn’t take very long before Freya is turning to kiss him instead, a little gentler than earlier, rolling until their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to thigh with Merlin’s arm slung over both of them.
They trade kisses for God knows how long, making up for dates and dates worth of them. Merlin and Freya both kiss him more than they do each other, as if they’re trying to make up for already knowing each other’s bodies forward and backwards. After a while, Arthur can’t even keep his mind on which one of them is kissing him at any given time, or whose hands are touching him where.
Merlin, he realizes eventually, is rocking his hips against Freya, mouth open even when someone isn’t kissing him, getting lost in the pleasure. His eyes are closed, so Arthur nudges Freya until she opens her eyes in inquiry and then attempts to communicate through gestures and looks that something ought to be done about Merlin before long. She smiles and climbs over Merlin in answer, leaving him in the middle looking confused, blinking between them as if he’s just realizing they’re going to gang up on him.
Arthur grins at him before taking a chance and fastening his lips around Merlin’s nipple and sucking with a hint of teeth. Merlin makes a fraught noise and clamps a hand in his hair, so Arthur’s hope paid off, and he uses his hand for the other because he can’t be the only one who hates feeling lopsided during sex. He assumes Freya’s kissing her boyfriend until Merlin chokes out a “Jesus, Freya” above him and he looks down to find her sliding her mouth down over Merlin’s cock. She braces a hand on Arthur’s thigh and goes to work, eyes closed and using what must be tricks she’s learned over years with Merlin to get him off. Arthur stares, probably stupidly, until Merlin tugs a little on his hair. “You don’t have to be left out of the fun, you know.”
“Are you hinting?” He flicks Merlin’s nipple. “Do you want us both to blow you at the same time? Or shall I rim you? Finger you?” Freya moans, but he keeps his eyes on Merlin, who’s biting his lip and looking a little wild now. Arthur keeps his pleased grin to himself. At least he’s not the only one feeling overwhelmed.
“There’s lube under that pillow,” says Merlin after a heartfelt moan at something Freya’s doing with her tongue, and Arthur takes the hint. It’s new, never-used, and he raises his eyebrows as he uncaps it and slicks his fingers up. Merlin shrugs even as he arches his hips. “We like to be prepared.”
It’s hard working out the positions, when he tries, but he and Freya manage it with the minimum of fuss and bother and with Arthur pinning Merlin down at the hips so he stops shifting around. When they get it, though, it’s worth it, to see the look on Merlin’s face as Arthur slides one slick finger inside his arsehole and Freya gives an especially hard suck. She keeps a hand on him at all times and he bends to kiss her on the top of her head before he starts fingering her boyfriend (their boyfriend? God, this is all going to be a tangle to work out later) in earnest.
Merlin doesn’t take long to come, from there-though in all fairness Arthur thinks he’ll be done the moment they both get their hands on him, so he isn’t exactly planning to judge him for it. He manages a few garbled words that Freya seems to understand as warning, and then he’s tightening around Arthur’s fingers and coming into her mouth. She swallows most of it, making Arthur’s face go hot as he imagines how it must feel, and then she takes Arthur’s chin in her slippery hand and kisses him. He’s in control enough to make sure that when he pulls his fingers out of Merlin he’s gentle about it, but then he loses a few minutes to dedicating himself to kissing the taste of Merlin out of Freya’s mouth.
“The first night we talked about this,” Merlin says after he’s had a bit of a chance to recover, “Freya wondered what it would be like to have both our fingers inside of her at once. Do you still want to, Frey?”
The way she gasps into Arthur’s mouth, fingers clenching on his shoulder, is answer enough, so Arthur pulls away from her, smiling at Merlin as he sits up and helps to put Freya in the middle of the bed. She looks between them, like she’s waiting to see who’s going to start, and Merlin obliges by sliding a finger inside of her, whispering something in her ear as he does. Arthur lets them have at it for a moment and takes the opportunity to wipe his hand off on a handily-placed towel until it feels somewhat clean again.
“Distracted?” Merlin asks, and Arthur turns back to them. Merlin’s got two fingers inside Freya now, and she’s arching against him and panting a little.
“Just cleaning up.” Arthur takes his place on the opposite side of Freya from Merlin and kisses him before he settles in to what they’re doing, following Merlin’s guiding hand down to where Freya’s wet and wanting. It’s tight when he slides a finger in alongside Merlin’s, and their hands get tangled up together, but it’s worth it for the way Freya writhes with it, clutching at the bedsheets until they’re more hopelessly rumpled than they already were. She’s not loud, but then again, he would have been surprised if she were. Instead, she breathes loud and fast, just letting out the occasional high grunt.
She’s already tight, but Arthur tries to slip a second finger in along with Merlin’s and it goes in. It doesn’t leave much room left inside her to move, but she seems to like it anyway, throwing out one of her hands to latch on to Arthur’s elbow and squeezing. “Okay?” Merlin asks, though he’s smiling.
“Close, please, I’m close.”
Merlin turns to Arthur. “Watch, you’ll want to know this trick later.” Arthur nods, and Merlin bends to Freya’s breast, fingers moving all the while, licks up the underside and bites her nipple. Sure enough, that’s what it takes to send her over, tightening around them almost to the point of pain and her chest heaving. “Works every time,” says Merlin, easing his fingers out of her. Arthur follows suit, a little more reluctantly.
“Don’t be smug, you aren’t meant to be showing off,” says Freya, but she sounds too fond and breathless to be serious. Arthur kisses her shoulder to hide his smile, and she wraps a hand around the back of his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now we’ve got to figure out what to do with you.”
Merlin runs his hand down Arthur’s back. “He’s hard enough to hammer nails, that’s for sure. Okay there, Arthur?”
Arthur’s been doing a very good job of ignoring his erection, but now that he’s the only one of them left who hasn’t gotten off, it’s hard to think about anything else. “Wonderful.” Though if they don’t do something soon he’s afraid he’s going to come against the sheets, just off the friction of it.
“Good.” Freya’s still trembling a little with the aftereffects of the orgasm, or from how tight her muscles were wound with it, but she pushes at him and when he takes the hint and rolls to his back, six inches from falling off the bed, she climbs on top of him. Before he can say anything about a condom, she just shakes her head. “Not tonight, we can save you fucking me for another time. I’m a little sore. But we can …” She shifts her hips, and Arthur picks up the rhythm.
Merlin stays close while Arthur and Freya move against each other, touching Arthur’s cock and then dipping a finger inside Freya, whoever happens to be rubbing closest at any given moment. He’s mostly soft against Arthur’s side, still, but there’s the promise that he’ll be ready again soon in the way he shifts against Arthur and licks at his neck. Arthur closes his eyes and lets himself feel it, Freya’s slight form over him, all smooth skin and hair falling down to tickle him wherever it touches, and Merlin’s firm grip on his cock, and the touches he can’t figure out as well-someone’s hand brushing his hair out of his eyes, someone’s ankle hooked around his.
It would be embarrassing, how fast he comes, if it weren’t for the fact that the other two already have (Freya’s almost ready again, her hand between her own legs and her breath damp against Arthur’s neck, and Merlin’s hardening against his leg, and they’re going to kill Arthur in the best way possible). As it is, Merlin’s still grinning as he groans out a warning that turns into a choked noise when Freya’s hand, slick with her own juices, wraps around him next to Merlin’s, and he can’t bring himself to care. He’s coming, all over his own stomach and Freya’s, and Merlin trails his hand through the mess and winks before he tastes it when Arthur finishes, too spent to do more than breathe.
The bed, he realizes after a while, is a mess of come and lube, the sheets hopelessly and completely soiled. Freya has eased herself off him, probably right into another wet spot, and has the cat-that-got-the-cream expression that must mean she finished herself off sometime while he was lost. Merlin is sprawled on his back on the other side of the back, half-hard but not seeming to care a whit about it. “Stay the night,” he says, even though his eyes closed and he can’t possibly know that Arthur’s back with them.
“I think I will,” he says, eyes already slipping closed as well, and only manages to thread his fingers through Freya’s before he sleeps, forgetting about the wet spot and any freaking out he ought to be doing.
Arthur wakes once in the night to Merlin fucking Freya right next to him, her legs wrapped around his hips and both of their hands tangled with Arthur’s. Merlin turns to kiss him in the middle of it, and Arthur falls back asleep before they even change rhythm.
In the morning, he wakes up to Merlin’s mouth wrapped around his cock and Freya standing in the bedroom doorway with a smile on her face and a mug of tea cupped between her hands.
He should be worrying, wondering how long-term this can be, what they can tell their friends, if maybe Merlin and Freya will change their minds and leave him without this when he’s starting to wonder if he’ll never want anything else. It’s hard to, though, with the lazy Sunday-morning sun filtering through the curtains and Freya wearing his button-up and nothing else, smiling like she’s got a secret. “Come over here and kiss me,” he says instead of anything he’s thinking.
If something’s going to go wrong, it can go wrong later.
*
The thing is, though, that nothing does go wrong. Arthur spends the whole of his Sunday in Merlin and Freya’s bed-every time he tries to get up, except when he insists he needs the loo, one of them distracts him or brings him food. They spend most of the afternoon watching something confusing in Spanish that only Merlin pays any attention to while Arthur and Freya steal kisses during the boring parts and they eat leftover risotto for dinner before Arthur says he’s got to go home for the night and finally puts his clothes on, which are rather the worse for wear.
Gwen calls while he’s on his way home. “I’ve been calling all day,” she says when he picks up, more amusement than reproach. “Things last night either went very well or very badly.”
“They went well, I think.”
“Oh, you think?” Morgana says something in the background, sharp but laughing. “Morgana says if you tell her details she’s going to disown you. You can tell me all the details you like, though.”
Arthur laughs. “The fact that you two are bringing a child into the world is terrifying. I’m keeping the details to myself, thanks.”
Gwen pauses. “It’s not the only time, right? You wouldn’t sound so happy if it were that good and only once.”
When Arthur left, he left with a promise to have Merlin and Freya to his flat on Thursday night, and he’s giving serious consideration to calling in sick on Friday already. “We haven’t precisely defined things, but it isn’t the only time, no.”
“Good. Are you … telling people? I mean, ought Morgana and I be keeping our mouths shut?”
That’s the only serious conversation Freya and Merlin allowed on their whole Sunday together, so he is prepared for that question, even if things are still a bit up in the air. “We’re telling friends-our group, but no one outside of it. No parents or anything, at least not yet.” Though of all of them, Merlin’s the only one with a parent left, so it’s less a consideration than it might otherwise be.
“I’m happy for you.” Gwen’s voice is warm and pleased, and Arthur grins at no one in particular, probably frightening a passer-by or two. “I was worried, while you were in California and after you’ve been home-I don’t like the thought of you lonely, and it seemed to worry you that everyone else was together.”
“This isn’t precisely the most normal way of doing things, you have to admit.”
Gwen just laughs. “Who cares about normal? You’re an adult, and you’re allowed to make your own decisions. Now, this calls for a pub night.” Morgana says something else in the background. “No, I’m not going to drink, but everyone else is. Maybe Saturday night, so you’ve got a chance to have another date or two with them.”
It’s useless to argue with Gwen, even more than it is to argue with Morgana, so Arthur does his best to acquiesce gracefully. “Saturday should be fine. As long as you don’t mind me leaving early, given the opportunity.”
“Not a soul will blame you,” Gwen promises. “Now, tell me all the news that’s fit for public consumption.”
Arthur tells her the barest bones of dinner and his conversations with them, ignoring the fact that he’s almost certainly on speaker phone even if Morgana’s being quiet, and when he hangs up, he texts Merlin: Pub this Sat? Gwen wants us to spread the news of our ménage a trois far and wide.
He’s almost to his door before he gets a text back. Wear something nice, looking forward to showing you off. F agrees. ;)
Arthur laughs, feeling lighter than he has since maybe before he went to California, and sends My best heels and pearls, I promise before pushing the door to his flat open.
*
Leon’s the first one who gets it on Saturday, looking from Arthur to Merlin and Freya sitting on either side of him and then frowning thoughtfully for about three minutes before starting to laugh. “This explains a whole lot,” he says when nearly everyone gives him baffled looks, and gestures at Arthur, who’s trying to look neither overly smug or overly ravished, both of which he is.
“Care to explain to the rest of the class?” Vivian inquires, scowl firmly in place. She does hate missing out on gossip.
“Freya and Merlin seduced Arthur,” says Morgana before anyone else can, taking a long pull off her pint and looking tortured. Like she has any right to judge, Arthur knows things about her and Gwen’s sex life that grant him quite a lot of leeway in that area. Especially as he’s being as discreet as possible. “Finally.”
The table erupts with shock and then, after a few seconds, congratulations (and, Arthur thinks, money changing hands between Elyan, Gwaine, and Mithian). Gwen, bless her, hushes everyone before the noise can overflow to the other tables in the pub. Not everyone knows or should know their business. Merlin presses his ankle against Arthur’s and looks around the table. “It’s not a big deal, we just don’t want to have to hide it with you guys. There’s enough pressure in public, we don’t want it with our friends too.”
“So you’re all … boyfriends and girlfriend?” Elena asks, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “What’s the terminology?”
They finally managed that discussion at eleven at night the night previous, curled up on Arthur’s bed with him in the middle and Merlin and Freya linking hands across him. It’s early, yet, but they’re all confident enough of it working out to use those words. “That works, Ellie,” he hastens to say before anyone can suggest anything horrifying. Morgana looks like she’s been coming up with awful suggestions and is just waiting for the right moment. If the word “paramour” crosses her lips he’s going to be forced to do something drastic. “It’s early days, and all that. Like Merlin said, we don’t want it to be a big deal.”
It is, of course, but to Arthur’s relief it’s only the same sort of big deal it would be if Leon and Mithian arrived holding hands or Vivian and Gwaine finally admitted they’re nearly to the stage of living together. Everyone watches them all night, getting used to it, but they seem to take it in stride when Arthur brushes Freya’s hair out of her face and when Merlin goes off to swindle people at pool and insists on a good-luck kiss from Arthur and Freya both. Arthur insists on just kissing him on the cheek for the public’s sake, but when Merlin pulls away Gwen and Leon are still smiling indulgently at him and Freya reaches out for his hand under the table as easy as anything.
Percival excuses himself first, citing a volunteer shift in the morning, but Merlin nudges Arthur not too long after. “Can we invite ourselves to yours tonight? You’re closer to here.”
“It’s like you think I didn’t notice the change of clothes you both left this morning,” he says, and ignores the way Elyan grins. “Freya, are you ready?”
“Ready,” she says, and stands up, holding a hand out to pull him to his feet while Merlin finishes one last comment in a debate he’s been having with Gwaine all night over whether the American Office can hold a candle to the original.
Arthur says his goodbyes as normally as he can with Freya’s hand in his and Merlin leaning companionably against his shoulder. They’re easy with their touches in a way he isn’t used to, now that they’re properly together-it should look innocuous to anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on, as it’s not the first conclusion most people jump to, but it still feels steadying and natural, the way Gwen and Morgana look at each other and the way he’s never quite managed with anyone before.
Leon’s been giving them quick looks all night, expression unreadable, but when Arthur raises his eyebrows, waits for a verdict from his best mate, he grins and nods and makes a shooing motion. With that blessing, he’s more than willing to proceed, so he grabs Merlin’s arm before he can get drawn back into an argument with Gwaine and pulls him away, away from the table and then out to the street, where they all have to walk squeezed together to make room on the pavement.
Arthur’s flat is only a few streets over, and they’re quiet on the walk. Arthur drifts to the side while they made the turns, leaving Merlin and Freya to hold hands as they walk along, looking over at him every minute or so and exchanging smiles. The doorman at Arthur’s building manages to look both impassive and mildly scandalized after they pass, maybe drawing conclusions about their frequent visits, but Arthur is feeling buoyed after his friends’ easy acceptance and just gives him a grin in return. He’s not planning on living here forever; the doorman can think whatever he likes.
Freya seems to have a particular love for Arthur’s couch, so they end up there in a sprawl of limbs once they get through the door, shoes off and Merlin half out of his shirt but too lazy to do much more. Arthur absently rubs Freya’s feet, propped up on his lap, and doesn’t try to move things any further. He’s a little fuzzy with drink, and they’re both a little giggly too, with the alcohol or with relief at everything going well. He’s perfectly happy to spend an hour or two on the couch, trading between conversation and kisses, before moving to the bed for the night, with sex or without it.
Merlin’s in the middle this time, Freya’s legs stretching over both of them, and he’s leaning over his-their-girlfriend, brushing his nose against hers while she musses his hair. Arthur laughs at them and leaves them to it; if they were anyone else and they were feeling this out, he’d be jealous of their little habits, the signs they’ve been together five years without him and know and love each other better for now. With them, there’s just the knowledge that with time, he’ll have his own inside jokes with each of them, his own private signs of affection.
For now, he just keeps rubbing Freya’s feet and enjoying the warmth of Merlin against his side, and when Merlin whispers “I love you” to Freya like he’s worried Arthur will be offended, he just smiles. It doesn’t matter if they aren’t saying it yet, don’t feel it yet. There’s time for it, later, and he’s got every faith that it will work out. He’s in no hurry for now.