[Fic] Mr Jones Falls In Love (Arthur/Merlin; NC-17)
Author: ella_bane
Title: Mr Jones Falls in Love
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The day Arthur Pendragon visits an orphanage, everything changes.
Warnings: none
Total word count: 7,875
Original prompt number: 107 - Submitted by cinnatart
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: I took a few liberties with this prompt, I hope that's okay! Although this was written to a prompt, and I was happy to try something new, I had cinnatart in mind when I picked it. Her support and enthusiasm for fandom is endless. I hope both you and the prompter enjoy this story.
Beta(s): Thank you to C for the SPaG and beta, to K for the stellar advice that turned me down the right path, to L for her superb nagging skills, and to S and L for addressing my Brit-picking concerns.
Mr Jones Falls in Love
~ ~ ~
Amelia Huddle stared at Arthur Pendragon over the leopard-print spectacles that were perched at the end of her nose. She leaned forward on her elbows and the spectacles wobbled valiantly. Arthur wondered, as he often did when talking to his agent, if they would fall this time. They hadn't yet.
"Arthur, this is perfect feel-good publicity. It won't take you but an afternoon. Why are you resisting? Goodness, one would think you have something against orphans!"
"That's ridiculous," said Arthur, waving his hand in a distracted manner. "Orphans are . . . cute. Cuddly."
"Cute? Cuddly? They're orphans, not puppies."
"I know that," snapped Arthur. "I know. I'm not comfortable around children. They're sticky and clinging and . . . rather small." And rude, spoiled, scene-stealing little bastards.
Amelia's sharp gaze softened as her lips formed an 'o' of realisation. "Oh, Arthur, I do apologise. Of course you have your father, but with your mother dead all these years . . . "
"No!" Arthur all but shouted. "This has nothing to do with my dead mother. I'd rather you not psychoanalyse me."
Amelia bristled back. "Then why can't you do this? Your last two films flopped! We need to drum up interest in a sequel for Mr Jones to keep your career alive."
Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. He hated that film, hated that it was what he was known for, and especially hated his pint-sized co-star, that walking, talking advertisement for birth-control, Mordred. The film had been a world-wide smash, quickly becoming a holiday favourite. That was four years ago. The only upside to filming a sequel to Mr Jones Arthur could see was that Mordred was now too old to play the same character.
"Arthur," began Amelia, all business and matter-of-fact as she swivelled in her office chair to face her computer screen, "shall I let that producer from Hollyoaks know you're available then?"
"Of course not."
"Then you'll do it?"
Arthur sighed, knowing he was beaten. "Yes."
"Splendid! A camera crew from London Today! will meet you at this address tomorrow at 3 o'clock sharp. The producer's name is - " Amelia ran her finger down the paperwork and tutted. "That's just unprofessional." She gave a great sigh and placed her hand on the stack of folders on her desk. "I suppose I shall have to call and be on hold for ages while some clueless intern gets the producer's name for me."
"I'll be fine, Amelia. I've done this before. A camera crew is quite hard to miss."
"Shall I go with you?"
"It's an orphanage, not a film opening. I don't need a handler."
"They don't call them orphanages anymore, dear."
"Whatever you say, Amelia."
"Well, that's all set then!" she said brightly. "I do so appreciate it when you're proactive about your career. Try to be civil to everyone involved, would you?"
Arthur stood and pulled out his mobile, more to shut her up than to check any messages. As he left her office he heard her mutter, "Prima Donna!"
~ ~ ~
The white van with the words London Today! and its familiar logo helped Arthur find the address. It was parked in front of a two-storey house with a neatly tended garden. There was a fence around the property, and Arthur could see an elaborate swing set, two covered sandboxes, and brightly colored three-wheeled trikes parked to the side of the pavement. From the porch hung wind chimes and clearly kid-made versions of the same. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd seen an actual toy, let alone crafts that children created. They were crude and marginally cute, stuff only a mum would ever care about. Poor sods.
After parking his car, Arthur checked his reflection in the car's mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it until it looked just so. He smiled once for good measure, then went to meet the van. The little cul-de-sac was quiet, devoid of foot traffic and the noise he usually expected in the city. The home was in a good spot, tucked away behind a copse of trees that served as a sound barrier and greenspace both.
A heavily muscled, very tanned man was at the back of the van, sat and fiddling with a steady cam in his lap. Behind him was another man, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his attention focused on a small monitor inside the vehichle. Arthur raised a hand as he strolled across the street, expecting they would recognize him. They did.
"Mr. Pendragon," said the man with the camera, "good to meet you. My son loves Mr Jones. Do you think you could sign --"
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Arthur interrupted with a quick grin. It never hurt to be chatty with fans, but he wasn't about to give away his autograph for free.
"Hello!" called another voice. Arthur turned and saw a tall, slender man with a clipboard making his way toward them. Ah, the producer, Arthur thought. Arthur broke away from the van to avoid the awkwardness of politely declining an autograph to meet the producer halfway. The closer he came, the more Arthur paid attention. It was clear within seconds this bloke was Arthur's type. He had broad shoulders that tapered to narrow hips, pale skin, dark hair, and lips that made Arthur's balls ache.
The producer held out his hand. "I'm Merlin Emrys. I'm so pleased you could take time out of your busy schedule."
Arthur shook his hand firmly and smiled. "It's my pleasure."
"Brilliant," said the producer -- Merlin. He glanced at his clipboard, then back at Arthur. His lips curved into a tiny smile, and Arthur tried very hard not to stare at his mouth. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow, but we can improvise."
Arthur was surreptitiously -- he hoped -- checking out the long, lean line of Merlin's torso when the words he'd spoken sunk in. Since when would the producer of the segment not know when they were to meet? Before he could question Merlin, a young woman with dark hair came out of the house and tapped Merlin on the shoulder.
They spoke quietly, the girl glancing at Arthur every few seconds with wide eyes (obviously a fan), gesturing at the house as they conversed. Arthur shifted on the balls of his feet, but didn't mind waiting. Merlin's eyes were blue, and fuck, his cheekbones were as good as those on any model. But more than that, there was something that pulled at Arthur, a heady attraction that sent his imagination soaring.
Merlin turned back to Arthur as the girl left and cocked his head. That tiny smile was back on his gorgeous lips. "You're taller in person."
As flirting went, that was one of the lamer lines Arthur had heard, but it excited him anyway. If this guy was gay and Arthur could get a date out of him, the day wouldn't be a total waste.
Merlin was watching him intently, and Arthur caught it, that gaze that lingered just a second too long as it swept over Arthur's body, from his legs to his chest, and back to his face. Arthur smirked when Merlin realised Arthur had noticed. His faint blush was adorable as fuck, and oh, Arthur was definitely getting some of that later. They could rush through this visit and be back at Arthur's flat in less than an hour.
Merlin cleared his throat and said, "I think we're just about ready for you, Mr Pendragon. I'm just waiting --"
"Call me Arthur."
"Alright," said Merlin, his voice warm. "Arthur it is."
"I hope this doesn't take too long," he ventured. "I can't say I'm all that fond of sticky children. Or children in general. I'll probably catch a nasty cold even if I keep my hands to myself."
His words had an odd effect on Merlin. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. A flash of anger sparked in his blue eyes. "Of course, Mr Pendragon. The children and I can make this visit as short as you need it to be."
The children and I? What? Merlin's lips were pursed into an unhappy line, his whole body thrumming as if he were keeping himself tightly in check.
An icy wave of realisation rolled through Arthur. "You're not the producer from London Today, are you?" Fuck.
"I'm the administrator of this home," said Merlin, voice even and gaze direct. "I'm sorry this visit is such an inconvenience for you. Your agent assured us you were, and I quote, 'delighted to meet the poor orphans.'"
"I didn't say delighted," began Arthur.
"That's fairly obvious," snapped Merlin.
Arthur's mouth fell open.
Merlin took a deep breath and smiled. It was a terrible smile. Terrible and fake. "I know not everyone likes children," he said, smile faltering. "I thought because of Mr Jones that you'd be -- "
Arthur waved a hand. "Yeah, that's what everyone thinks."
"I see," said Merlin. His eyes held a shade of regret.
Arthur cast a glance behind him to see the cameraman watching curiously. Whether he could hear them or not, Arthur couldn't tell. "Excuse me," he said to Merlin, and marched over to the van.
"Why didn't you tell me he wasn't the producer?" he hissed.
"I thought you knew the guy," he protested. "You were in a hurry to talk to him, weren't you?"
Arthur put his hands on his hips, glared at him, and the one still doing God knew what in the van. "Is that you then, you the producer? Fancy introducing yourself to me?"
The other man held up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, man. I'm just watching the equipment."
"Where the fuck is the producer? I want to get done with this. Now."
Behind him, a polite cough caught his attention. "Mr Pendragon?"
It was Merlin. Arthur gathered what was left of his poise and faced him. "We seem to be waiting on the producer."
Merlin nodded politely, that fake smile plastered on his face. "Well then, I'll just go inside and get things ready for your . . . visit." He nodded once, turned on his heel and walked away.
Arthur watched him go. "Budge over," he said to the cameraman. Acute disappointment curled in his gut. The idea of asking the man out now seemed ludicrous.
"Mr Pendragon, my kid loves Mr Jones. Do you think you could --"
"Yes, fine. Give me a pen."
*
The producer was twenty minutes late. She was blonde, gorgeous, and extremely talkative. "Hellooo, Mr Pendragon! I'm Elena Davies. I got lost on the way here. Can you believe it, and me, a native-born Londoner! I can't read a GPS to save my life but I'm here now, so let's go meet these precious children. I love children, don't you?"
"They're cute and cuddly," said Arthur, really, really wanting this over.
Her peal of laughter would have normally been charming had Arthur not felt so . . . stupid. It was a wholly unfamiliar feeling. "You do realise you're late."
"I've said as much, haven't I?" she said, without an ounce of remorse. She leaned in and whispered, "This is my first piece! And look at you, Mr Jones himself!"
Her lack of awareness left Arthur non-plussed, and he glanced warily at the cameraman, who Arthur had since learnt was named Percy. He simply shrugged and heaved the camera up on his shoulder.
"Shall we go in?" Arthur suggested.
"Hmm," she said, looking through her envelope-sized tablet. "Merlin Emrys. He's our contact. I spoke to him a few days ago."
"We've met."
"Splendid! Lovely man. Very dedicated to the children in his care. He said they've got all this artwork for you and a little skit planned. It should be very sweet. Our segment's only 3 minutes long, so I'll want to get lots of shots with you with the children." She patted him on the shoulder. "Ready?"
~ ~ ~
After Merlin's painfully polite introduction of his caregivers to Arthur, and while Elena framed shots with Percy the cameraman, Arthur wandered around the room. He felt a vague sense of unease about Merlin's overly courteous manner. It wasn't just a missed opportunity. It bothered Arthur to think this man just didn't like him very much.
The interior of the home was just as inviting and bright as the garden out front. The walls not covered with kid-drawn pictures had murals of rainbows, every animal on the planet, and the milky way. When Arthur leaned close he could see tiny, neon-green star stickers. He wondered if they glowed in the dark. He was about to pick one off when Merlin came near.
"They glow in the dark," said Merlin. Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised and stupidly pleased he was speaking to him.
"I want to apologise for my rudeness outside. But you should know the children are very excited about this visit, and I want them to enjoy themselves. I'd appreciate it if you could humour their attention, sticky fingers or not."
"Of course," said Arthur. He didn't care how attractive this man was. He wasn't going to let some social worker tell him how to behave. "I know how to treat fans."
"Just remember they are child fans."
Arthur couldn't believe Merlin's audacity. Fans were his bread and butter. "I'll have you know the vast majority of my fans are children. I do know what I'm doing."
"I'm sure you think you do," said Merlin, holding his hands up, palms out.
"What?" Arthur said sharply.
"Sorry about that. I meant to say I'm sure you do know what you're doing."
Mollified, Arthur gave voice to the tug of conscience that pulled at him. "I don't find all children annoying."
The smile he expected from Merlin didn't materialise. "I honestly can't fathom how you've actually worked with children."
Arthur shrugged. "It was a job."
"Right then," said Merlin, a little too brightly. "A job. Hmm. I'll just . . ." His lips were pursed into a thin line again, and Arthur tried to figure where he'd gone wrong.
"Mr Emrys?" called Elena.
Merlin gave Arthur a curt nod, and then joined Elena, who had just rounded up the children with the help of Freya, one of the caregivers.
Elena clapped her hands. "Okay, children," she said, in a clear, carrying voice. "We have a lot of fun things to do this afternoon and we have to get them all done today, OK?" Her grin was infectious. "Do you all know what you're supposed to do?"
"Yes!" the kids shouted.
"I know the camera is very exciting but you need to look at Mr Pendragon for this part, alright?" There were about twelve kids of varying ages in the group. He suspected some were as young as five, and one had to be close to sixteen.
Merlin was nodding encouragement beside her. "You're going to be on the telly, don't forget!"
"Who's Mr Pendragon?" asked a ginger boy. He was picking his nose. Arthur was proud his smile didn't crack.
"That guy," said another boy, pointing at Arthur.
"But that's Mr Jones," a little girl piped up, her long brown hair swept up in a ponytail. She was vibrating with indignation when she tugged on Merlin's arm. "Right, Merlin, isn't that Mr Jones?"
"No, Greta, that is Arthur Pendragon. He's an actor." Merlin knelt down beside her.
"Oh," she said, voice small, and . . . Arthur squinted. Oh, fuck, was she going to cry?
"I thought Mr Jones was coming to visit," she sobbed. "My card is for Mr Jones!" Merlin put his arm around her while a few kids snickered and the rest began to debate Arthur's true identity.
Merlin continued to console the crying girl, while one of the caregivers spoke to the children in measured tones. Elena gently elbowed Arthur in the ribs. "Aren't they just darling?" she whispered.
"Quite," said Arthur, watching Merlin. His focus on the little girl was total. It was weirdly fascinating, because Merlin didn't seem to be simply placating her. Arthur's exposure to children was limited to the twenty or so child actors who'd worked with him on Mr Jones. Their parents were on set constantly, and all of them made sure their darlings were given special consideration. Mordred had been the worst of the lot. His daily demand of only blue and green M&M's was just stupid. Children were not darling. They were entitled little humans who expected every adult around them to give in to their every whim.
Merlin rose and told Elena to continue, and then moved to Arthur's side, saying softly, "She gets it now. She knows who you are."
Arthur glanced around. "Who does?"
"Greta."
"Greta?"
Merlin bent his head to Arthur's, urging him close with a wiggle of fingers. Arthur obliged.
"Are you serious?" Merlin whispered, expression incredulous. "Do you honestly not know who I'm talking about?"
"The crying girl?" Arthur guessed.
"Her name," Merlin said, "is Greta."
"Arthur? Mr Emrys?"
They both straightened up to find Elena, Percy the cameraman, the children, and the caregivers staring at them.
Arthur stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling oddly admonished. Merlin shook his head, appearing resigned. He then conferred with Elena quietly, and came back to stand with Arthur. His whisper was almost too soft to catch. "I hope you'll like this."
"Wonderful!" said Elena. "Mr Emrys has told me you have a brilliant show for us. Is that true?"
The children's voices tumbled over each other as they all talked about their parts. It was kind of cute, Arthur supposed. Two boys in particular were the loudest, each of them fighting to be heard. It took Arthur no more than a moment's notice to recognize they each possessed a charismatic charm that was common in successful child actors. He wondered if they had agents. He also realised, when he actually listened to what the kids were saying, that their 'little show' was a re-enactment of the pivotal scene in Mr Jones.
The boy called Gwaine was playing Mr Jones and the taller one, called Will, was to play Mordred's part. The chatter reached a crescendo when Elena did nothing to stop them, and one kid started reciting lines in a sing-song manner that set Arthur's teeth on edge. But it wasn't horrible. It was nothing like the screaming tantrums he'd been subjected to on the set. These kids were just excited.
Curiosity now aroused, he listened carefully, wondering what these unspoiled kids would come up with.
Merlin held up a finger, stared into the sea of exuberance, held up a second finger, and before the third finger was up, all the children had become quiet and expectant.
Arthur saw Elena and Percy exchange a glance. "Oh, he's good," Percy said. "Wish my kid would listen like that."
Arthur was impressed too. Why the producer of Mr Jones hadn't thought to hire a kid wrangler escaped him.
"Let's show Mr Pendragon and Miss Davies the show. Ready?" Merlin said.
The kids scrambled into position with the help of the caregivers. Gwaine and Will needed no help, that was clear. Arthur smiled, recognizing immediately the pose Gwaine struck, an uncanny resemblance in both manner and body language to Mr Jones. Will was just as good as Mordred. The familiar dialogue flowed between the boys, each delivering a riveting, hysterical performance. The other kids acted very much like a Greek chorus, filling in the gaps, and a few times the crying girl -- Greta -- Arthur reminded himself, said the lines along with Gwaine or Will. That was the only time the boys broke character. They glared at her at intervals, but she kept forgetting, and when Merlin caught Gwaine's eye and frowned, they stopped.
It hit Arthur with some surprise that he was actually enjoying himself. When they were done, he clapped and shouted, "Bra-vo!" He smiled at Greta on his way over to Gwaine and Will, plunking down in front of them. "That was really, really good."
"It was easy," said Gwaine, shrugging. "I've watched Mr Jones forty-two times."
"I practised!" exclaimed Will. "Every day. For six months. I'm going to be an actor."
"He's lying," said Gwaine. "We only found out you were coming a couple of days ago."
Arthur looked between them, ready to hand out acting tips, when Merlin tapped the boys on their shoulders. "Miss Davies needs you by the art tables."
The boys began to move, but Merlin stopped them, with a meaningful glance at Arthur.
"Thank you, Mr Pendragon," they recited together.
"You're welcome," said Arthur, feeling a bit out of his depth.
The boys took off at a run, and Merlin watched them fight for the chair closest to the crayon bin with a sigh. "They don't mean to be rude. They're just excited."
"Merlin," said Arthur. "These kids are not rude. Whatever you're doing, you're doing it right."
"I certainly try," said Merlin.
"Arthur!" called Elena. "Sit here. I want to film you colouring."
*
The chairs were meant for children but Arthur gamely sat in his tiny blue chair, colouring a horse chocolate brown, as Will and Gwaine chattered endlessly about Lego Harry Potter and what levels were the hardest, which turned to talk of the Harry Potter films and which character they liked best.
Merlin had excused himself to take care of administrative duties, but said he'd return in a few minutes.
Arthur let the boys' talk wash over him, pondering the weirdness of himself not truly minding his time there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd coloured a horse, or anything for that matter.
"Hello, that's quite a fine specimen of horse flesh," said Merlin, sitting down next to Arthur.
"You think so? I need a new crayon. This one's broken off."
"Merlin," broke in Gwaine. "Isn't Harry Potter your favourite character?"
"No, no," said Will. "Merlin's favourite character is Mr Jones."
"Mr Jones is not even in Harry Potter!" said Gwaine.
"I'm your favourite, Merlin?" asked Arthur, feeling a huge smile stretch across his face.
Merlin smiled that tiny little smile that Arthur had first seen outside, when Arthur thought Merlin was interested. "Well, perhaps not my favourite character of all time." His voice was mild, but his eyes were bright with amusement.
Will grabbed a lurid red crayon and began colouring a rather dramatic spray of blood that spouted from the chest of an ogre in his colouring book. He said, clearly oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation, "Merlin has all your films. Even the bad ones."
"Will!" said Merlin in a choked voice.
"You said they weren't as good Mr Jones when I asked to watch them," continued Will, in a surprisingly reasonable voice, for an eight-year-old. He grabbed a black crayon and started drawing a huge sword.
Arthur heard Elena squeal, "Awww, what a dear you are! For me?" He glanced over to see Greta handing her a drawing of lopsided pink and purple bloated flowers.
Merlin said, apologetically, "Mr Jones really is your best."
Arthur didn't disagree.
*
When Merlin insisted the children get their daily playtime outside, Elena pounced on the idea. "Oh, yes, let's get you out there with them, Arthur. We can have some sport!"
She and Percy, along with the caregivers and all the children went outside. Arthur was about to follow when he noticed Merlin tidying the room.
His movements were swift and economical, sweeping through the room efficiently with a weird sort of grace. Arthur felt awkward for a moment, as if he were intruding on a private, meditative routine, when Merlin said, "I want you to see this."
Merlin stood over the jumble of debris spread across the table: scattered crayons, a juice box unattended, slowly spilling out its contents. He righted the box, and picked up a sheet of paper. He gave it to Arthur.
"This card is for you. Devon made it. He's four. He spent all night learning how to write your name."
Arthur stared at the crude drawing of himself with bright yellow hair and the signature green uniform Mr Jones wore in every scene of the film. Arthur Pendrgn iz nise, was written at the the top. he iz my mat. "My mat?"
Merlin laughed. "Mate. Arthur Pendragon is my mate."
"Oh." And then, because it seemed an opening as good as any, "Are you my mate?" There weren't any kids around to laugh, and it fell flat the second the words were out, no matter how much Arthur wanted Merlin to answer.
Merlin snorted and began to gather the crayons and stuff the papers and colouring books on a low shelf nearby.
"Not all kids are like yours," Arthur said helplessly, moving to help Merlin clean up the mess.
"Kids are kids," Merlin said, voice quiet. "I've seen hundreds of children in my time. They're not so very different from the ones you've worked with."
Arthur shook his head. "You don't know. Their parents, they gave them everything. It didn't matter how ludicrous the request, they got it all. And Mordred, that little wanker, he was the --"
"Arthur, I don't want to hear this."
"But you--"
"No. That was your experience. I wasn't there."
Arthur didn't know what to say that, but something had changed in him. It was small, but it was something. And dammit, he wanted to touch Merlin, wanted to know him, wanted to see what he looked like in the morning when he woke up, all rumpled and sleepy.
"Arthur? We're ready for you." Elena stepped into the room, one hand on the door, holding it open. "Coming? That is, if you and Merlin, ah, that is, Mr Emrys are finished?"
Merlin laughed. "Call me Merlin."
Arthur felt a surge of recklessness. "And me? Can I call you Merlin too?"
Merlin's expression turned thoughtful. "You can call me Mr Emrys."
"And you, Mr Emrys, cannot call me Mr Jones."
It was the right thing to say. Merlin was flustered, and it caused his skin to flush, all the way down his collar. Arthur wondered how far it spread across his chest.
Elena said, "Arthur, the children are waiting. We've staged a bit of footy to film. Be out in thirty seconds, mind you." She went back outside, already shouting encouragement, "Man on, Will. MAN ON!"
"Excellent," said Arthur, stretching his arms way over his head, tugging on one elbow after the other, puffing his chest out with practised ease. He loved sport. He preferred rugby to football, but he'd take what he could get. He noticed then, how quiet the room had become, and whirled around to see if Merlin had left without a warning.
Merlin was there. He was staring at Arthur with something very close to hunger in his eyes. And oh, this was perfect. Arthur sauntered to the door, threw over his shoulder, "Coming?"
*
It was strange, Arthur reflected, that he'd never actually played with the children on the set of Mr Jones. They'd filmed sequence after sequence of Arthur playing with child actors for specific scenes, but the process was tedious, drawn-out, and exhausting. The game he'd just played with Merlin's kids was exhilarating.
There were a few scraped knees, tears, and cries of, "No fair!" but the majority of the afternoon had been nothing but fun. Arthur had laughed, carried kids on his back, swung kids around in wide circles and raced around the garden. He'd been dogpiled more than once, and seeing Merlin off to the side, smiling when Arthur rose from the mountain of children, tumbling them gently to the ground made him giddily hopeful.
Now the kids were ushered away, and having said their goodbyes -- Greta's was tearful -- it was just Elena, Percy, Merlin, and Arthur. Elena was shaking Merlin's hand. "Thank you for such a pleasant afternoon! The children here are so well behaved. I've had a lovely time. I'll email you and let you know what day the segment will air."
"Thank you, Miss Davies," said Merlin. "It's been a pleasure having you."
Percy nodded and followed her out.
Merlin turned to Arthur, who felt awkward and out of place and he really, really wanted to see Merlin again.
"Thank you for coming," said Merlin. "It meant the world to them. Truly. You gave them a special day, one they won't soon forget." He paused, then said, with a shy smile, "I won't either."
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looked Merlin in the eye. "I'd really like to take you out."
~ ~ ~
When Arthur was sat back in his car, he didn't check his mobile, or turn on the radio, or start his car. Instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the headrest. He knew if a photographer were to snap a photo of him now, they'd capture his dopiest smile -- not the best look he cared for directors or executive producers to see. But he let it come anyway, too overcome with images of Merlin's face, of Merlin's body, of Merlin saying yes. He was going on a date. A date with the administrator of an orphanage. And there would be children on the date.
At first Merlin had said no, he couldn't, his work commitments were insane, but the day after tomorrow, he was taking the younger children to Southend for the day, and Arthur was welcome to join them. Merlin had looked simultaneously hopeful and braced for rejection that Arthur felt a fucking flutter in his stomach. He was falling hard, really hard.
It was with no little astonishment that Arthur realised he didn't actually mind the idea of seeing Greta again, or Will, or Devon, or Gwaine. Of course, he hoped to see Merlin alone later and fuck his brains out, but the thought of spending time with Merlin and his charges wasn't the horrible prospect it might have been.
His mobile buzzed an incoming text, and when he started to read it, another one came in.
It was Amelia.
Looks like the orphanage stunt wasn't needed. Sally Cheatham rang today.
Arthur's eyebrows shot up. Sally Cheatham was the executive producer of Mr Jones. He quickly scrolled to the next message.
She wants to meet with you Tuesday next.
His mobile rang. "Arthur! Did you get my messages?"
"I was just reading them."
"Good. Sally's got a script for a sequel to Mr Jones. I've seen it." The glee in her voice was unmistakable. "You'll love it, especially when you hear--"
"Has Mordred been offered a part?"
"His character's not in the script but for the last scene, so I'm not certain. But Arthur dear, listen --"
"Thank fuck." After his afternoon with Merlin and the orphans, Mordred seemed especially horrid.
"Arthur! I have seen the script! Listen."
Arthur listened.
"There is no way the studio will do this film without you. Do you hear me? She let it slip how much she needs you back. You'll have carte blanche."
Arthur sucked in a breath as an idea suddenly blossomed. Could he? Would they? "Get me that producer's mobile. Elena Davies. I need it."
~ ~ ~
Merlin jogged up the street to meet Arthur standing at the ice lolly stand. "You came!"
"It's not an ideal date, but I did want to see you," said Arthur.
Merlin grinned. "I told Greta you were coming. She wants to know if you're going to start working for me. Don't worry, I told her I only hire people who are fond of children."
"Merlin, that's not --"
Arthur stopped, took in Merlin's goofy smile and shook his head. A pounding of little feet and shouts of Mr Jones surrounded him as the children ran up with Freya in tow.
The beach was blinding, all bright sand, blue sky, and white sun. The children shrieked as they ran out onto the sand with Freya, their voices caught and carried on the wind. Their happy noises whipped in a buzz around Arthur and Merlin.and were lost again in the next sweep of ocean-scented air.
"I can't recall the seaside ever being this exciting," said Arthur, marveling at their simple joy.
"Who doesn't love the beach?" said Merlin. "Come on!" He ran ahead, turning his head back once to see if Arthur was following. "Come on!"
Arthur pulled down his cap a little lower, and braved the sand, glad he wore his cheap sandals. Merlin was already sitting on the sand once Arthur reached him, his legs outstretched before him as he leaned back on his elbows. His t-shirt had risen just a bit, revealing a pale belly Arthur wanted to touch.
Greta and Devon were sat by his legs, one beside each calf, and they furiously scooped sand over his legs. "I'm faster!" yelled Devon.
"No, I am!"
Sand flew every which way, but Merlin simply closed his eyes, his head dropping back just a little, but it was enough for Arthur to take in the pale expanse of his throat. There was a hint of stubble there, and Arthur wanted very much to nibble on his jaw and grope him. He settled for plopping beside him instead. "They're going to bury you at this rate."
"That's the idea. But they'll get bored soon enough," said Merlin, cracking an eyelid to look over at Arthur. "They'll find someone else to bury. Someone more interesting."
And before Arthur knew it, Greta had crawled across Merlin's legs to land next to Arthur. "Hi, Arthur! Can I bury you? I'm really fast! You'll never, ever get out!"
"Erm" said Arthur.
Greta giggled, grabbed her shovel and stuck it in the ground, and threw sand over his feet and legs. Her aim was better than Devon's, at least.
Merlin bumped his shoulder to Arthur's. "It's on now. Watch."
Devon and Greta were shoveling as fast as their little arms would let them, each of them watching the other's progress with extreme focus.
Arthur leaned toward Merlin. "How long will they keep this up, do you think?"
"Oh, at least an hour."
"What?"
Merlin laughed, eyed the children. "I'd say another five minutes, then they'll want to swim with the rest."
Merlin shaded his brow, pointed toward the shore where Freya was splashing in the water with Will, Gwaine and the other kids.
"I hope you'll swim," Merlin said.
Arthur sat up, pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it to the side. The reaction he'd hoped for was in Merlin's stare. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Arthur.
"I love to swim," said Arthur. "I've got my Speedo's on under these shorts."
"Oh," said Merlin weakly.
Arthur felt a sleepy contentment settle over him, happy to knock shoulders with Merlin and curl his toes in the sand for hours.
*
Too soon, it was time for Merlin to take the children back to the home.
"Goodbye, Arthur!" yelled Greta from the window. "Bye! Bye!" yelled Will. Arthur waved at them, watching as Merlin talked to the kids. He was probably telling them to put their seatbelts on, to be safe, to be good.
After a minute, Merlin looked out and saw Arthur waiting. He lifted his hand in farewell, and drove away.
Arthur watched the van until it disappeared around the corner.
~ ~ ~
It was impulsive and possibly stupid, but Arthur didn't care.
He was met at the door by Freya, who was on her way out. The night shift had already come on, Arthur realised with a sick pang.
"He's in his office," she said, pointing the way.
"Thanks," said Arthur, his pulse racing.
Freya smiled and slipped past him.
Arthur could hear the telly playing in the other room, and the muted voices of the children and their laughter. He strode down the corridor, that strange mix of fear of bravado swirling in his gut.
Merlin's voice drew him to the right room.
Arthur paused in the doorway of Merlin's office. Relief swept through him as he took in the sight of Merlin on his mobile. Arthur was sticky and sunburnt, his hair felt tacky with saltwater, but all he wanted was to secure a second date, outing, field trip, whatever, as long as he could see Merlin again.
Merlin's nose was red. His hair had not dried well, sticking up at funky angles. He looked exhausted as he spoke, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. The conversation was winding down, and Arthur continued to stare, not caring if he was too obvious. He wanted Merlin to know. It didn't take long for Merlin to notice him. His eyes widened, and he ran a hand over his head, making his messy hair messier. Arthur didn't look away. Neither did Merlin. Even as he made the usual goodbyeing noises to the party on the other end, his gaze never wavered.
When he rang off, he said, "Arthur, what are you --"
"Come home with me."
Merlin's eyes darted to his desk. It was covered with files. He looked back up at Arthur.
"Merlin, you're exhausted. Come home with me."
A beat, and then two, and Arthur was ready to ask again when Merlin said, "Alright."
*
While Merlin was in the shower, Arthur quickly tidied his bedroom. He tossed his dirty laundry in the closet, and carried the three glasses, all half-full with water from his bedside table. He stood in front of his closet mirror, clad in a soft pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. Satisfied with his appearance, he settled back on his bed and flipped channels while he waited.
The bathroom door opened, and Arthur immediately turned off the telly. Merlin stood in the doorway, silent. He gave Arthur a small smile. He was bare-chested, the drawstring sweats Arthur had left for him struggling to stay up on his hips. He had a towel in his hand, and he began to dry his dripping hair with it. The hair under his arms and scattered across his chest was dark against his pale skin, that perfect contrast that turned Arthur on like nothing else.
A drop of water, then another, started the slow path from Merlin's neck down his chest, slipping lower, and lower, until it stopped, caught on the edge of the dark thatch of hair that peeked above the waistband of his pants.
"Merlin," said Arthur. He stared at Merlin's chest, arms, face, mouth. "I want --"
"So do I."
Arthur met his gaze, startled. Merlin crossed the room, sat himself in front of Arthur. Without a word, he reached for the hem of Arthur's shirt, and helped him take it off. He dropped the garment on the floor, faced Arthur steadily, eyes dark with arousal.
He curled his hand around Arthur's hip, tugging him a little and smiling a lot. When Arthur didn't resist, he tugged him closer with both hands, until Arthur's leg was draped over Merlin's lap, his chest a hot, damp line along Arthur's side. Arthur cupped his hand behind Merlin's head, and leaned forward, his eyes questioning one last, This alright? and then he pressed his mouth to Merlin's. The first touch was hesitant on both their parts, until Arthur slid his tongue between Merlin's lips. The kiss was careful, slow, and deep -- and then it was endless variations of tiny kisses and lingering tongue strokes that sealed their lips together, only parting to take quick breaths before diving back for more.
Little moans escaped Merlin's mouth between kisses, and he clutched at Arthur, his hips beginning to rock slowly. Arthur groaned and straddled Merlin, pushing him fully back against the pillow-covered headboard. He ground down to feel Merlin's erection align with his.
"Merlin," Arthur sighed, and kissed his neck just below his ear. He felt Merlin shiver, and he smiled against his skin, then mouthed at it, exhaling hotly as he tongued and rubbed his lips all along Merlin's throat. He moved his hand up Merlin's thigh, found his cock, hard and heavy. He rubbed his palm over it, pushing gently as he moved.
Merlin's hand on Arthur's shoulder tightened, and he breathed out, low and ragged. "You've got to slow down."
Arthur squeezed his cock anyway, utterly delighted. "Are you going to get off like a teenager, Merlin. Are you that hot for Mr Jones?"
Merlin laughed a little, his voice shaky. "I don't date very much."
Arthur pulled back, moved his hand away from Merlin's cock. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. "Have you? You're not?"
Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand back and pressed it hard, blue eyes filled with need. "I've had sex before, Arthur. It's just, it's been awhile, that's all. Don't stop."
"How do you want me?" Arthur asked, watching Merlin's face. "I'll do anything."
Merlin bit his lip. Arthur stroked his fingers down Merlin's chest, right down the middle, then back up again to play with his nipples.
"I want to fuck you," said Merlin, breathless.
"I'm yours," said Arthur.
Merlin's eyes lit up and the slow, careful movement of before changed to a frantic removal of clothing and hurried touches, and kisses that fell on collarbones, fingers, and thighs. They ended up side by side, fully naked, and the sight of Merlin's cock, hard and rising, already leaking, made Arthur groan. Merlin must have been feeling the same, for he reached for Arthur's cock, his long fingers curled around into a perfect fist as he moved up and down his shaft.
"Arthur," said Merlin, "look at me."
Arthur did, and Merlin kissed him as he stroked, his tongue seeking Arthur's, and they rolled together wet and sloppy, and when Arthur felt for Merlin's cock, Merlin gasped, his breath hot on Arthur's cheek, "No, don't. I'll come."
Hearing Merlin say 'come' was almost as good as Merlin's hand on him. But he wanted to touch Merlin too. He wanted to run his hands all over him, wanted to map every bit of his flesh. He used his nails to scratch lightly along Merlin's side, used his hand to pinch Merlin's nipple, used his mouth to suck along his neck, as Merlin worked over his cock, faster and faster.
Merlin's cock was as hard as a rod, striking Arthur's thigh with every down stroke. Arthur felt Merlin's hips rock helplessly, and he knew it was too late, knew it from Merlin's keening whimper, knew it from the tighter clutch of Merlin's grasp on him.
He reached for Merlin's cock and held it lightly, and Merlin gave a stuttered, "Ye -- s, fuck. Touch me." Arthur did, eagerly, and he bent his head to watch as they brought each other off.
Arthur came first, his come hot and thick, coating Merlin's fingers and his cock too. It was enough to send Merlin over, and Arthur pumped him, wanting to scoot down and taste. He felt Merlin's fingers on his jaw, and he lifted his head to kiss Merlin again. They shared breath and laughter. And then Merlin rolled to the side, collapsed on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes.
Leaning over him, Arthur tugged on Merlin's arm, gently pulling it away from his face. He kissed his lips and told him, "We have tomorrow too."
*
When Arthur woke up, he felt for Merlin, heart stuttering when Merlin murmured sleepily, voice low and hoarse. "Mornin', Arthur."
Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin's waist, his hand splayed across Merlin's belly.
~ ~ ~
Over coffee, Arthur said, "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to really think about it. Don't say no right away."
Merlin listened, incredulous, coming up with every reason why it wouldn't work. But Arthur had already come up with a feasible, reasonable solution for every point Merlin brought up.
Merlin frowned. "It's a lot of responsibility, more than you can imagine. Transport alone would be a nightmare to arrange."
"No, it won't. Not with my approval and my help."
"I have many, many children under my care. I won't cut time away from --"
"You won't have to. I'll look after them. I want to. Please say yes."
Merlin said yes.
*
Sally Cheatham was already in Amelia's office when Arthur arrived to negotiate his terms.
"Amelia."
"Arthur."
"Sally."
"Arthur."
Arthur sat, firmed his resolve, and handed Sally a thumb drive. "I'll do it, on one condition."
Amelia raised an eyebrow as Sally thoughtfully turned the thumb drive over in her hands. "I'm listening."
*
Arthur and Merlin were necking on the couch in Merlin's flat, Merlin's fingers slipping under the waistband of Arthur's jeans, when Arthur saw his own face flash on the telly. "It's on," he murmured. "Your kids."
"Mmm," said Merlin, pushing his hand fully down Arthur's pants to palm his arse. "I've set it to record. We can watch it later."
"No, no," said Arthur. "You'll want to see. They'll ask you about it tomorrow."
Merlin grumbled but acquiesced readily. Arthur turned the sound up.
"Last weekend, Arthur Pendragon, the star of Mr Jones, paid a visit to some real-life orphans. The star spent all afternoon playing footy, reading stories, and doing crafts with these precious children."
Arthur felt his face heat up, remembering how much he'd hated the idea of even going there, but Merlin laced his fingers with Arthur's, squeezing gently.
Video of Arthur playing footy, watching the little show, sitting beside Will while he coloured was shown, along with a brief clip of Gwaine's version of Mr Jones. Arthur wasn't surprised when he didn't see Greta or Devon but for the group shot. He knew the camera would love Gwaine and Will, and it was that validation, that Elena had picked up on it too, that made him smile like a loon.
A brief clip of Merlin talking about the home and others like it played. He looked good. He looked really good. Arthur stared at Merlin's profile. "Have you ever thought -- "
"No."
The host then rattled off statistics concerning the orphan population in the UK and the sad fate that awaited most of them, if children's homes didn't get the financial aid that was desperately needed.
"But for two orphans at this home --" A still photo of Gwaine and Will appeared in a screen behind her -- "there is a happy ending. Both boys have been offered roles in the sequel to Mr Jones thanks to Arthur Pendragon's discovery of fresh new talent. I'm happy to report they've accepted.
Arthur turned off the box. "It's out there now. Can't take it back."
Merlin reached for Arthur and threaded fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and sending shivers down Arthur's spine. "I'll miss you when you're filming."
"Surely you can be the on-set guardian some days?" Arthur said, leaning in for a kiss.
Merlin kissed him back. "Some days. But we'll have our nights."
"Yes," said Arthur, pushing Merlin to lie flat on his back. He hovered over him, then dropped a kiss on his lips, on his neck, and whispered, "We'll have our nights."
The End
Title: Mr Jones Falls in Love
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The day Arthur Pendragon visits an orphanage, everything changes.
Warnings: none
Total word count: 7,875
Original prompt number: 107 - Submitted by cinnatart
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: I took a few liberties with this prompt, I hope that's okay! Although this was written to a prompt, and I was happy to try something new, I had cinnatart in mind when I picked it. Her support and enthusiasm for fandom is endless. I hope both you and the prompter enjoy this story.
Beta(s): Thank you to C for the SPaG and beta, to K for the stellar advice that turned me down the right path, to L for her superb nagging skills, and to S and L for addressing my Brit-picking concerns.
Mr Jones Falls in Love
~ ~ ~
Amelia Huddle stared at Arthur Pendragon over the leopard-print spectacles that were perched at the end of her nose. She leaned forward on her elbows and the spectacles wobbled valiantly. Arthur wondered, as he often did when talking to his agent, if they would fall this time. They hadn't yet.
"Arthur, this is perfect feel-good publicity. It won't take you but an afternoon. Why are you resisting? Goodness, one would think you have something against orphans!"
"That's ridiculous," said Arthur, waving his hand in a distracted manner. "Orphans are . . . cute. Cuddly."
"Cute? Cuddly? They're orphans, not puppies."
"I know that," snapped Arthur. "I know. I'm not comfortable around children. They're sticky and clinging and . . . rather small." And rude, spoiled, scene-stealing little bastards.
Amelia's sharp gaze softened as her lips formed an 'o' of realisation. "Oh, Arthur, I do apologise. Of course you have your father, but with your mother dead all these years . . . "
"No!" Arthur all but shouted. "This has nothing to do with my dead mother. I'd rather you not psychoanalyse me."
Amelia bristled back. "Then why can't you do this? Your last two films flopped! We need to drum up interest in a sequel for Mr Jones to keep your career alive."
Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. He hated that film, hated that it was what he was known for, and especially hated his pint-sized co-star, that walking, talking advertisement for birth-control, Mordred. The film had been a world-wide smash, quickly becoming a holiday favourite. That was four years ago. The only upside to filming a sequel to Mr Jones Arthur could see was that Mordred was now too old to play the same character.
"Arthur," began Amelia, all business and matter-of-fact as she swivelled in her office chair to face her computer screen, "shall I let that producer from Hollyoaks know you're available then?"
"Of course not."
"Then you'll do it?"
Arthur sighed, knowing he was beaten. "Yes."
"Splendid! A camera crew from London Today! will meet you at this address tomorrow at 3 o'clock sharp. The producer's name is - " Amelia ran her finger down the paperwork and tutted. "That's just unprofessional." She gave a great sigh and placed her hand on the stack of folders on her desk. "I suppose I shall have to call and be on hold for ages while some clueless intern gets the producer's name for me."
"I'll be fine, Amelia. I've done this before. A camera crew is quite hard to miss."
"Shall I go with you?"
"It's an orphanage, not a film opening. I don't need a handler."
"They don't call them orphanages anymore, dear."
"Whatever you say, Amelia."
"Well, that's all set then!" she said brightly. "I do so appreciate it when you're proactive about your career. Try to be civil to everyone involved, would you?"
Arthur stood and pulled out his mobile, more to shut her up than to check any messages. As he left her office he heard her mutter, "Prima Donna!"
~ ~ ~
The white van with the words London Today! and its familiar logo helped Arthur find the address. It was parked in front of a two-storey house with a neatly tended garden. There was a fence around the property, and Arthur could see an elaborate swing set, two covered sandboxes, and brightly colored three-wheeled trikes parked to the side of the pavement. From the porch hung wind chimes and clearly kid-made versions of the same. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd seen an actual toy, let alone crafts that children created. They were crude and marginally cute, stuff only a mum would ever care about. Poor sods.
After parking his car, Arthur checked his reflection in the car's mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it until it looked just so. He smiled once for good measure, then went to meet the van. The little cul-de-sac was quiet, devoid of foot traffic and the noise he usually expected in the city. The home was in a good spot, tucked away behind a copse of trees that served as a sound barrier and greenspace both.
A heavily muscled, very tanned man was at the back of the van, sat and fiddling with a steady cam in his lap. Behind him was another man, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his attention focused on a small monitor inside the vehichle. Arthur raised a hand as he strolled across the street, expecting they would recognize him. They did.
"Mr. Pendragon," said the man with the camera, "good to meet you. My son loves Mr Jones. Do you think you could sign --"
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Arthur interrupted with a quick grin. It never hurt to be chatty with fans, but he wasn't about to give away his autograph for free.
"Hello!" called another voice. Arthur turned and saw a tall, slender man with a clipboard making his way toward them. Ah, the producer, Arthur thought. Arthur broke away from the van to avoid the awkwardness of politely declining an autograph to meet the producer halfway. The closer he came, the more Arthur paid attention. It was clear within seconds this bloke was Arthur's type. He had broad shoulders that tapered to narrow hips, pale skin, dark hair, and lips that made Arthur's balls ache.
The producer held out his hand. "I'm Merlin Emrys. I'm so pleased you could take time out of your busy schedule."
Arthur shook his hand firmly and smiled. "It's my pleasure."
"Brilliant," said the producer -- Merlin. He glanced at his clipboard, then back at Arthur. His lips curved into a tiny smile, and Arthur tried very hard not to stare at his mouth. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow, but we can improvise."
Arthur was surreptitiously -- he hoped -- checking out the long, lean line of Merlin's torso when the words he'd spoken sunk in. Since when would the producer of the segment not know when they were to meet? Before he could question Merlin, a young woman with dark hair came out of the house and tapped Merlin on the shoulder.
They spoke quietly, the girl glancing at Arthur every few seconds with wide eyes (obviously a fan), gesturing at the house as they conversed. Arthur shifted on the balls of his feet, but didn't mind waiting. Merlin's eyes were blue, and fuck, his cheekbones were as good as those on any model. But more than that, there was something that pulled at Arthur, a heady attraction that sent his imagination soaring.
Merlin turned back to Arthur as the girl left and cocked his head. That tiny smile was back on his gorgeous lips. "You're taller in person."
As flirting went, that was one of the lamer lines Arthur had heard, but it excited him anyway. If this guy was gay and Arthur could get a date out of him, the day wouldn't be a total waste.
Merlin was watching him intently, and Arthur caught it, that gaze that lingered just a second too long as it swept over Arthur's body, from his legs to his chest, and back to his face. Arthur smirked when Merlin realised Arthur had noticed. His faint blush was adorable as fuck, and oh, Arthur was definitely getting some of that later. They could rush through this visit and be back at Arthur's flat in less than an hour.
Merlin cleared his throat and said, "I think we're just about ready for you, Mr Pendragon. I'm just waiting --"
"Call me Arthur."
"Alright," said Merlin, his voice warm. "Arthur it is."
"I hope this doesn't take too long," he ventured. "I can't say I'm all that fond of sticky children. Or children in general. I'll probably catch a nasty cold even if I keep my hands to myself."
His words had an odd effect on Merlin. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. A flash of anger sparked in his blue eyes. "Of course, Mr Pendragon. The children and I can make this visit as short as you need it to be."
The children and I? What? Merlin's lips were pursed into an unhappy line, his whole body thrumming as if he were keeping himself tightly in check.
An icy wave of realisation rolled through Arthur. "You're not the producer from London Today, are you?" Fuck.
"I'm the administrator of this home," said Merlin, voice even and gaze direct. "I'm sorry this visit is such an inconvenience for you. Your agent assured us you were, and I quote, 'delighted to meet the poor orphans.'"
"I didn't say delighted," began Arthur.
"That's fairly obvious," snapped Merlin.
Arthur's mouth fell open.
Merlin took a deep breath and smiled. It was a terrible smile. Terrible and fake. "I know not everyone likes children," he said, smile faltering. "I thought because of Mr Jones that you'd be -- "
Arthur waved a hand. "Yeah, that's what everyone thinks."
"I see," said Merlin. His eyes held a shade of regret.
Arthur cast a glance behind him to see the cameraman watching curiously. Whether he could hear them or not, Arthur couldn't tell. "Excuse me," he said to Merlin, and marched over to the van.
"Why didn't you tell me he wasn't the producer?" he hissed.
"I thought you knew the guy," he protested. "You were in a hurry to talk to him, weren't you?"
Arthur put his hands on his hips, glared at him, and the one still doing God knew what in the van. "Is that you then, you the producer? Fancy introducing yourself to me?"
The other man held up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, man. I'm just watching the equipment."
"Where the fuck is the producer? I want to get done with this. Now."
Behind him, a polite cough caught his attention. "Mr Pendragon?"
It was Merlin. Arthur gathered what was left of his poise and faced him. "We seem to be waiting on the producer."
Merlin nodded politely, that fake smile plastered on his face. "Well then, I'll just go inside and get things ready for your . . . visit." He nodded once, turned on his heel and walked away.
Arthur watched him go. "Budge over," he said to the cameraman. Acute disappointment curled in his gut. The idea of asking the man out now seemed ludicrous.
"Mr Pendragon, my kid loves Mr Jones. Do you think you could --"
"Yes, fine. Give me a pen."
*
The producer was twenty minutes late. She was blonde, gorgeous, and extremely talkative. "Hellooo, Mr Pendragon! I'm Elena Davies. I got lost on the way here. Can you believe it, and me, a native-born Londoner! I can't read a GPS to save my life but I'm here now, so let's go meet these precious children. I love children, don't you?"
"They're cute and cuddly," said Arthur, really, really wanting this over.
Her peal of laughter would have normally been charming had Arthur not felt so . . . stupid. It was a wholly unfamiliar feeling. "You do realise you're late."
"I've said as much, haven't I?" she said, without an ounce of remorse. She leaned in and whispered, "This is my first piece! And look at you, Mr Jones himself!"
Her lack of awareness left Arthur non-plussed, and he glanced warily at the cameraman, who Arthur had since learnt was named Percy. He simply shrugged and heaved the camera up on his shoulder.
"Shall we go in?" Arthur suggested.
"Hmm," she said, looking through her envelope-sized tablet. "Merlin Emrys. He's our contact. I spoke to him a few days ago."
"We've met."
"Splendid! Lovely man. Very dedicated to the children in his care. He said they've got all this artwork for you and a little skit planned. It should be very sweet. Our segment's only 3 minutes long, so I'll want to get lots of shots with you with the children." She patted him on the shoulder. "Ready?"
~ ~ ~
After Merlin's painfully polite introduction of his caregivers to Arthur, and while Elena framed shots with Percy the cameraman, Arthur wandered around the room. He felt a vague sense of unease about Merlin's overly courteous manner. It wasn't just a missed opportunity. It bothered Arthur to think this man just didn't like him very much.
The interior of the home was just as inviting and bright as the garden out front. The walls not covered with kid-drawn pictures had murals of rainbows, every animal on the planet, and the milky way. When Arthur leaned close he could see tiny, neon-green star stickers. He wondered if they glowed in the dark. He was about to pick one off when Merlin came near.
"They glow in the dark," said Merlin. Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised and stupidly pleased he was speaking to him.
"I want to apologise for my rudeness outside. But you should know the children are very excited about this visit, and I want them to enjoy themselves. I'd appreciate it if you could humour their attention, sticky fingers or not."
"Of course," said Arthur. He didn't care how attractive this man was. He wasn't going to let some social worker tell him how to behave. "I know how to treat fans."
"Just remember they are child fans."
Arthur couldn't believe Merlin's audacity. Fans were his bread and butter. "I'll have you know the vast majority of my fans are children. I do know what I'm doing."
"I'm sure you think you do," said Merlin, holding his hands up, palms out.
"What?" Arthur said sharply.
"Sorry about that. I meant to say I'm sure you do know what you're doing."
Mollified, Arthur gave voice to the tug of conscience that pulled at him. "I don't find all children annoying."
The smile he expected from Merlin didn't materialise. "I honestly can't fathom how you've actually worked with children."
Arthur shrugged. "It was a job."
"Right then," said Merlin, a little too brightly. "A job. Hmm. I'll just . . ." His lips were pursed into a thin line again, and Arthur tried to figure where he'd gone wrong.
"Mr Emrys?" called Elena.
Merlin gave Arthur a curt nod, and then joined Elena, who had just rounded up the children with the help of Freya, one of the caregivers.
Elena clapped her hands. "Okay, children," she said, in a clear, carrying voice. "We have a lot of fun things to do this afternoon and we have to get them all done today, OK?" Her grin was infectious. "Do you all know what you're supposed to do?"
"Yes!" the kids shouted.
"I know the camera is very exciting but you need to look at Mr Pendragon for this part, alright?" There were about twelve kids of varying ages in the group. He suspected some were as young as five, and one had to be close to sixteen.
Merlin was nodding encouragement beside her. "You're going to be on the telly, don't forget!"
"Who's Mr Pendragon?" asked a ginger boy. He was picking his nose. Arthur was proud his smile didn't crack.
"That guy," said another boy, pointing at Arthur.
"But that's Mr Jones," a little girl piped up, her long brown hair swept up in a ponytail. She was vibrating with indignation when she tugged on Merlin's arm. "Right, Merlin, isn't that Mr Jones?"
"No, Greta, that is Arthur Pendragon. He's an actor." Merlin knelt down beside her.
"Oh," she said, voice small, and . . . Arthur squinted. Oh, fuck, was she going to cry?
"I thought Mr Jones was coming to visit," she sobbed. "My card is for Mr Jones!" Merlin put his arm around her while a few kids snickered and the rest began to debate Arthur's true identity.
Merlin continued to console the crying girl, while one of the caregivers spoke to the children in measured tones. Elena gently elbowed Arthur in the ribs. "Aren't they just darling?" she whispered.
"Quite," said Arthur, watching Merlin. His focus on the little girl was total. It was weirdly fascinating, because Merlin didn't seem to be simply placating her. Arthur's exposure to children was limited to the twenty or so child actors who'd worked with him on Mr Jones. Their parents were on set constantly, and all of them made sure their darlings were given special consideration. Mordred had been the worst of the lot. His daily demand of only blue and green M&M's was just stupid. Children were not darling. They were entitled little humans who expected every adult around them to give in to their every whim.
Merlin rose and told Elena to continue, and then moved to Arthur's side, saying softly, "She gets it now. She knows who you are."
Arthur glanced around. "Who does?"
"Greta."
"Greta?"
Merlin bent his head to Arthur's, urging him close with a wiggle of fingers. Arthur obliged.
"Are you serious?" Merlin whispered, expression incredulous. "Do you honestly not know who I'm talking about?"
"The crying girl?" Arthur guessed.
"Her name," Merlin said, "is Greta."
"Arthur? Mr Emrys?"
They both straightened up to find Elena, Percy the cameraman, the children, and the caregivers staring at them.
Arthur stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling oddly admonished. Merlin shook his head, appearing resigned. He then conferred with Elena quietly, and came back to stand with Arthur. His whisper was almost too soft to catch. "I hope you'll like this."
"Wonderful!" said Elena. "Mr Emrys has told me you have a brilliant show for us. Is that true?"
The children's voices tumbled over each other as they all talked about their parts. It was kind of cute, Arthur supposed. Two boys in particular were the loudest, each of them fighting to be heard. It took Arthur no more than a moment's notice to recognize they each possessed a charismatic charm that was common in successful child actors. He wondered if they had agents. He also realised, when he actually listened to what the kids were saying, that their 'little show' was a re-enactment of the pivotal scene in Mr Jones.
The boy called Gwaine was playing Mr Jones and the taller one, called Will, was to play Mordred's part. The chatter reached a crescendo when Elena did nothing to stop them, and one kid started reciting lines in a sing-song manner that set Arthur's teeth on edge. But it wasn't horrible. It was nothing like the screaming tantrums he'd been subjected to on the set. These kids were just excited.
Curiosity now aroused, he listened carefully, wondering what these unspoiled kids would come up with.
Merlin held up a finger, stared into the sea of exuberance, held up a second finger, and before the third finger was up, all the children had become quiet and expectant.
Arthur saw Elena and Percy exchange a glance. "Oh, he's good," Percy said. "Wish my kid would listen like that."
Arthur was impressed too. Why the producer of Mr Jones hadn't thought to hire a kid wrangler escaped him.
"Let's show Mr Pendragon and Miss Davies the show. Ready?" Merlin said.
The kids scrambled into position with the help of the caregivers. Gwaine and Will needed no help, that was clear. Arthur smiled, recognizing immediately the pose Gwaine struck, an uncanny resemblance in both manner and body language to Mr Jones. Will was just as good as Mordred. The familiar dialogue flowed between the boys, each delivering a riveting, hysterical performance. The other kids acted very much like a Greek chorus, filling in the gaps, and a few times the crying girl -- Greta -- Arthur reminded himself, said the lines along with Gwaine or Will. That was the only time the boys broke character. They glared at her at intervals, but she kept forgetting, and when Merlin caught Gwaine's eye and frowned, they stopped.
It hit Arthur with some surprise that he was actually enjoying himself. When they were done, he clapped and shouted, "Bra-vo!" He smiled at Greta on his way over to Gwaine and Will, plunking down in front of them. "That was really, really good."
"It was easy," said Gwaine, shrugging. "I've watched Mr Jones forty-two times."
"I practised!" exclaimed Will. "Every day. For six months. I'm going to be an actor."
"He's lying," said Gwaine. "We only found out you were coming a couple of days ago."
Arthur looked between them, ready to hand out acting tips, when Merlin tapped the boys on their shoulders. "Miss Davies needs you by the art tables."
The boys began to move, but Merlin stopped them, with a meaningful glance at Arthur.
"Thank you, Mr Pendragon," they recited together.
"You're welcome," said Arthur, feeling a bit out of his depth.
The boys took off at a run, and Merlin watched them fight for the chair closest to the crayon bin with a sigh. "They don't mean to be rude. They're just excited."
"Merlin," said Arthur. "These kids are not rude. Whatever you're doing, you're doing it right."
"I certainly try," said Merlin.
"Arthur!" called Elena. "Sit here. I want to film you colouring."
*
The chairs were meant for children but Arthur gamely sat in his tiny blue chair, colouring a horse chocolate brown, as Will and Gwaine chattered endlessly about Lego Harry Potter and what levels were the hardest, which turned to talk of the Harry Potter films and which character they liked best.
Merlin had excused himself to take care of administrative duties, but said he'd return in a few minutes.
Arthur let the boys' talk wash over him, pondering the weirdness of himself not truly minding his time there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd coloured a horse, or anything for that matter.
"Hello, that's quite a fine specimen of horse flesh," said Merlin, sitting down next to Arthur.
"You think so? I need a new crayon. This one's broken off."
"Merlin," broke in Gwaine. "Isn't Harry Potter your favourite character?"
"No, no," said Will. "Merlin's favourite character is Mr Jones."
"Mr Jones is not even in Harry Potter!" said Gwaine.
"I'm your favourite, Merlin?" asked Arthur, feeling a huge smile stretch across his face.
Merlin smiled that tiny little smile that Arthur had first seen outside, when Arthur thought Merlin was interested. "Well, perhaps not my favourite character of all time." His voice was mild, but his eyes were bright with amusement.
Will grabbed a lurid red crayon and began colouring a rather dramatic spray of blood that spouted from the chest of an ogre in his colouring book. He said, clearly oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation, "Merlin has all your films. Even the bad ones."
"Will!" said Merlin in a choked voice.
"You said they weren't as good Mr Jones when I asked to watch them," continued Will, in a surprisingly reasonable voice, for an eight-year-old. He grabbed a black crayon and started drawing a huge sword.
Arthur heard Elena squeal, "Awww, what a dear you are! For me?" He glanced over to see Greta handing her a drawing of lopsided pink and purple bloated flowers.
Merlin said, apologetically, "Mr Jones really is your best."
Arthur didn't disagree.
*
When Merlin insisted the children get their daily playtime outside, Elena pounced on the idea. "Oh, yes, let's get you out there with them, Arthur. We can have some sport!"
She and Percy, along with the caregivers and all the children went outside. Arthur was about to follow when he noticed Merlin tidying the room.
His movements were swift and economical, sweeping through the room efficiently with a weird sort of grace. Arthur felt awkward for a moment, as if he were intruding on a private, meditative routine, when Merlin said, "I want you to see this."
Merlin stood over the jumble of debris spread across the table: scattered crayons, a juice box unattended, slowly spilling out its contents. He righted the box, and picked up a sheet of paper. He gave it to Arthur.
"This card is for you. Devon made it. He's four. He spent all night learning how to write your name."
Arthur stared at the crude drawing of himself with bright yellow hair and the signature green uniform Mr Jones wore in every scene of the film. Arthur Pendrgn iz nise, was written at the the top. he iz my mat. "My mat?"
Merlin laughed. "Mate. Arthur Pendragon is my mate."
"Oh." And then, because it seemed an opening as good as any, "Are you my mate?" There weren't any kids around to laugh, and it fell flat the second the words were out, no matter how much Arthur wanted Merlin to answer.
Merlin snorted and began to gather the crayons and stuff the papers and colouring books on a low shelf nearby.
"Not all kids are like yours," Arthur said helplessly, moving to help Merlin clean up the mess.
"Kids are kids," Merlin said, voice quiet. "I've seen hundreds of children in my time. They're not so very different from the ones you've worked with."
Arthur shook his head. "You don't know. Their parents, they gave them everything. It didn't matter how ludicrous the request, they got it all. And Mordred, that little wanker, he was the --"
"Arthur, I don't want to hear this."
"But you--"
"No. That was your experience. I wasn't there."
Arthur didn't know what to say that, but something had changed in him. It was small, but it was something. And dammit, he wanted to touch Merlin, wanted to know him, wanted to see what he looked like in the morning when he woke up, all rumpled and sleepy.
"Arthur? We're ready for you." Elena stepped into the room, one hand on the door, holding it open. "Coming? That is, if you and Merlin, ah, that is, Mr Emrys are finished?"
Merlin laughed. "Call me Merlin."
Arthur felt a surge of recklessness. "And me? Can I call you Merlin too?"
Merlin's expression turned thoughtful. "You can call me Mr Emrys."
"And you, Mr Emrys, cannot call me Mr Jones."
It was the right thing to say. Merlin was flustered, and it caused his skin to flush, all the way down his collar. Arthur wondered how far it spread across his chest.
Elena said, "Arthur, the children are waiting. We've staged a bit of footy to film. Be out in thirty seconds, mind you." She went back outside, already shouting encouragement, "Man on, Will. MAN ON!"
"Excellent," said Arthur, stretching his arms way over his head, tugging on one elbow after the other, puffing his chest out with practised ease. He loved sport. He preferred rugby to football, but he'd take what he could get. He noticed then, how quiet the room had become, and whirled around to see if Merlin had left without a warning.
Merlin was there. He was staring at Arthur with something very close to hunger in his eyes. And oh, this was perfect. Arthur sauntered to the door, threw over his shoulder, "Coming?"
*
It was strange, Arthur reflected, that he'd never actually played with the children on the set of Mr Jones. They'd filmed sequence after sequence of Arthur playing with child actors for specific scenes, but the process was tedious, drawn-out, and exhausting. The game he'd just played with Merlin's kids was exhilarating.
There were a few scraped knees, tears, and cries of, "No fair!" but the majority of the afternoon had been nothing but fun. Arthur had laughed, carried kids on his back, swung kids around in wide circles and raced around the garden. He'd been dogpiled more than once, and seeing Merlin off to the side, smiling when Arthur rose from the mountain of children, tumbling them gently to the ground made him giddily hopeful.
Now the kids were ushered away, and having said their goodbyes -- Greta's was tearful -- it was just Elena, Percy, Merlin, and Arthur. Elena was shaking Merlin's hand. "Thank you for such a pleasant afternoon! The children here are so well behaved. I've had a lovely time. I'll email you and let you know what day the segment will air."
"Thank you, Miss Davies," said Merlin. "It's been a pleasure having you."
Percy nodded and followed her out.
Merlin turned to Arthur, who felt awkward and out of place and he really, really wanted to see Merlin again.
"Thank you for coming," said Merlin. "It meant the world to them. Truly. You gave them a special day, one they won't soon forget." He paused, then said, with a shy smile, "I won't either."
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looked Merlin in the eye. "I'd really like to take you out."
~ ~ ~
When Arthur was sat back in his car, he didn't check his mobile, or turn on the radio, or start his car. Instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the headrest. He knew if a photographer were to snap a photo of him now, they'd capture his dopiest smile -- not the best look he cared for directors or executive producers to see. But he let it come anyway, too overcome with images of Merlin's face, of Merlin's body, of Merlin saying yes. He was going on a date. A date with the administrator of an orphanage. And there would be children on the date.
At first Merlin had said no, he couldn't, his work commitments were insane, but the day after tomorrow, he was taking the younger children to Southend for the day, and Arthur was welcome to join them. Merlin had looked simultaneously hopeful and braced for rejection that Arthur felt a fucking flutter in his stomach. He was falling hard, really hard.
It was with no little astonishment that Arthur realised he didn't actually mind the idea of seeing Greta again, or Will, or Devon, or Gwaine. Of course, he hoped to see Merlin alone later and fuck his brains out, but the thought of spending time with Merlin and his charges wasn't the horrible prospect it might have been.
His mobile buzzed an incoming text, and when he started to read it, another one came in.
It was Amelia.
Looks like the orphanage stunt wasn't needed. Sally Cheatham rang today.
Arthur's eyebrows shot up. Sally Cheatham was the executive producer of Mr Jones. He quickly scrolled to the next message.
She wants to meet with you Tuesday next.
His mobile rang. "Arthur! Did you get my messages?"
"I was just reading them."
"Good. Sally's got a script for a sequel to Mr Jones. I've seen it." The glee in her voice was unmistakable. "You'll love it, especially when you hear--"
"Has Mordred been offered a part?"
"His character's not in the script but for the last scene, so I'm not certain. But Arthur dear, listen --"
"Thank fuck." After his afternoon with Merlin and the orphans, Mordred seemed especially horrid.
"Arthur! I have seen the script! Listen."
Arthur listened.
"There is no way the studio will do this film without you. Do you hear me? She let it slip how much she needs you back. You'll have carte blanche."
Arthur sucked in a breath as an idea suddenly blossomed. Could he? Would they? "Get me that producer's mobile. Elena Davies. I need it."
~ ~ ~
Merlin jogged up the street to meet Arthur standing at the ice lolly stand. "You came!"
"It's not an ideal date, but I did want to see you," said Arthur.
Merlin grinned. "I told Greta you were coming. She wants to know if you're going to start working for me. Don't worry, I told her I only hire people who are fond of children."
"Merlin, that's not --"
Arthur stopped, took in Merlin's goofy smile and shook his head. A pounding of little feet and shouts of Mr Jones surrounded him as the children ran up with Freya in tow.
The beach was blinding, all bright sand, blue sky, and white sun. The children shrieked as they ran out onto the sand with Freya, their voices caught and carried on the wind. Their happy noises whipped in a buzz around Arthur and Merlin.and were lost again in the next sweep of ocean-scented air.
"I can't recall the seaside ever being this exciting," said Arthur, marveling at their simple joy.
"Who doesn't love the beach?" said Merlin. "Come on!" He ran ahead, turning his head back once to see if Arthur was following. "Come on!"
Arthur pulled down his cap a little lower, and braved the sand, glad he wore his cheap sandals. Merlin was already sitting on the sand once Arthur reached him, his legs outstretched before him as he leaned back on his elbows. His t-shirt had risen just a bit, revealing a pale belly Arthur wanted to touch.
Greta and Devon were sat by his legs, one beside each calf, and they furiously scooped sand over his legs. "I'm faster!" yelled Devon.
"No, I am!"
Sand flew every which way, but Merlin simply closed his eyes, his head dropping back just a little, but it was enough for Arthur to take in the pale expanse of his throat. There was a hint of stubble there, and Arthur wanted very much to nibble on his jaw and grope him. He settled for plopping beside him instead. "They're going to bury you at this rate."
"That's the idea. But they'll get bored soon enough," said Merlin, cracking an eyelid to look over at Arthur. "They'll find someone else to bury. Someone more interesting."
And before Arthur knew it, Greta had crawled across Merlin's legs to land next to Arthur. "Hi, Arthur! Can I bury you? I'm really fast! You'll never, ever get out!"
"Erm" said Arthur.
Greta giggled, grabbed her shovel and stuck it in the ground, and threw sand over his feet and legs. Her aim was better than Devon's, at least.
Merlin bumped his shoulder to Arthur's. "It's on now. Watch."
Devon and Greta were shoveling as fast as their little arms would let them, each of them watching the other's progress with extreme focus.
Arthur leaned toward Merlin. "How long will they keep this up, do you think?"
"Oh, at least an hour."
"What?"
Merlin laughed, eyed the children. "I'd say another five minutes, then they'll want to swim with the rest."
Merlin shaded his brow, pointed toward the shore where Freya was splashing in the water with Will, Gwaine and the other kids.
"I hope you'll swim," Merlin said.
Arthur sat up, pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it to the side. The reaction he'd hoped for was in Merlin's stare. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Arthur.
"I love to swim," said Arthur. "I've got my Speedo's on under these shorts."
"Oh," said Merlin weakly.
Arthur felt a sleepy contentment settle over him, happy to knock shoulders with Merlin and curl his toes in the sand for hours.
*
Too soon, it was time for Merlin to take the children back to the home.
"Goodbye, Arthur!" yelled Greta from the window. "Bye! Bye!" yelled Will. Arthur waved at them, watching as Merlin talked to the kids. He was probably telling them to put their seatbelts on, to be safe, to be good.
After a minute, Merlin looked out and saw Arthur waiting. He lifted his hand in farewell, and drove away.
Arthur watched the van until it disappeared around the corner.
~ ~ ~
It was impulsive and possibly stupid, but Arthur didn't care.
He was met at the door by Freya, who was on her way out. The night shift had already come on, Arthur realised with a sick pang.
"He's in his office," she said, pointing the way.
"Thanks," said Arthur, his pulse racing.
Freya smiled and slipped past him.
Arthur could hear the telly playing in the other room, and the muted voices of the children and their laughter. He strode down the corridor, that strange mix of fear of bravado swirling in his gut.
Merlin's voice drew him to the right room.
Arthur paused in the doorway of Merlin's office. Relief swept through him as he took in the sight of Merlin on his mobile. Arthur was sticky and sunburnt, his hair felt tacky with saltwater, but all he wanted was to secure a second date, outing, field trip, whatever, as long as he could see Merlin again.
Merlin's nose was red. His hair had not dried well, sticking up at funky angles. He looked exhausted as he spoke, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. The conversation was winding down, and Arthur continued to stare, not caring if he was too obvious. He wanted Merlin to know. It didn't take long for Merlin to notice him. His eyes widened, and he ran a hand over his head, making his messy hair messier. Arthur didn't look away. Neither did Merlin. Even as he made the usual goodbyeing noises to the party on the other end, his gaze never wavered.
When he rang off, he said, "Arthur, what are you --"
"Come home with me."
Merlin's eyes darted to his desk. It was covered with files. He looked back up at Arthur.
"Merlin, you're exhausted. Come home with me."
A beat, and then two, and Arthur was ready to ask again when Merlin said, "Alright."
*
While Merlin was in the shower, Arthur quickly tidied his bedroom. He tossed his dirty laundry in the closet, and carried the three glasses, all half-full with water from his bedside table. He stood in front of his closet mirror, clad in a soft pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. Satisfied with his appearance, he settled back on his bed and flipped channels while he waited.
The bathroom door opened, and Arthur immediately turned off the telly. Merlin stood in the doorway, silent. He gave Arthur a small smile. He was bare-chested, the drawstring sweats Arthur had left for him struggling to stay up on his hips. He had a towel in his hand, and he began to dry his dripping hair with it. The hair under his arms and scattered across his chest was dark against his pale skin, that perfect contrast that turned Arthur on like nothing else.
A drop of water, then another, started the slow path from Merlin's neck down his chest, slipping lower, and lower, until it stopped, caught on the edge of the dark thatch of hair that peeked above the waistband of his pants.
"Merlin," said Arthur. He stared at Merlin's chest, arms, face, mouth. "I want --"
"So do I."
Arthur met his gaze, startled. Merlin crossed the room, sat himself in front of Arthur. Without a word, he reached for the hem of Arthur's shirt, and helped him take it off. He dropped the garment on the floor, faced Arthur steadily, eyes dark with arousal.
He curled his hand around Arthur's hip, tugging him a little and smiling a lot. When Arthur didn't resist, he tugged him closer with both hands, until Arthur's leg was draped over Merlin's lap, his chest a hot, damp line along Arthur's side. Arthur cupped his hand behind Merlin's head, and leaned forward, his eyes questioning one last, This alright? and then he pressed his mouth to Merlin's. The first touch was hesitant on both their parts, until Arthur slid his tongue between Merlin's lips. The kiss was careful, slow, and deep -- and then it was endless variations of tiny kisses and lingering tongue strokes that sealed their lips together, only parting to take quick breaths before diving back for more.
Little moans escaped Merlin's mouth between kisses, and he clutched at Arthur, his hips beginning to rock slowly. Arthur groaned and straddled Merlin, pushing him fully back against the pillow-covered headboard. He ground down to feel Merlin's erection align with his.
"Merlin," Arthur sighed, and kissed his neck just below his ear. He felt Merlin shiver, and he smiled against his skin, then mouthed at it, exhaling hotly as he tongued and rubbed his lips all along Merlin's throat. He moved his hand up Merlin's thigh, found his cock, hard and heavy. He rubbed his palm over it, pushing gently as he moved.
Merlin's hand on Arthur's shoulder tightened, and he breathed out, low and ragged. "You've got to slow down."
Arthur squeezed his cock anyway, utterly delighted. "Are you going to get off like a teenager, Merlin. Are you that hot for Mr Jones?"
Merlin laughed a little, his voice shaky. "I don't date very much."
Arthur pulled back, moved his hand away from Merlin's cock. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. "Have you? You're not?"
Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand back and pressed it hard, blue eyes filled with need. "I've had sex before, Arthur. It's just, it's been awhile, that's all. Don't stop."
"How do you want me?" Arthur asked, watching Merlin's face. "I'll do anything."
Merlin bit his lip. Arthur stroked his fingers down Merlin's chest, right down the middle, then back up again to play with his nipples.
"I want to fuck you," said Merlin, breathless.
"I'm yours," said Arthur.
Merlin's eyes lit up and the slow, careful movement of before changed to a frantic removal of clothing and hurried touches, and kisses that fell on collarbones, fingers, and thighs. They ended up side by side, fully naked, and the sight of Merlin's cock, hard and rising, already leaking, made Arthur groan. Merlin must have been feeling the same, for he reached for Arthur's cock, his long fingers curled around into a perfect fist as he moved up and down his shaft.
"Arthur," said Merlin, "look at me."
Arthur did, and Merlin kissed him as he stroked, his tongue seeking Arthur's, and they rolled together wet and sloppy, and when Arthur felt for Merlin's cock, Merlin gasped, his breath hot on Arthur's cheek, "No, don't. I'll come."
Hearing Merlin say 'come' was almost as good as Merlin's hand on him. But he wanted to touch Merlin too. He wanted to run his hands all over him, wanted to map every bit of his flesh. He used his nails to scratch lightly along Merlin's side, used his hand to pinch Merlin's nipple, used his mouth to suck along his neck, as Merlin worked over his cock, faster and faster.
Merlin's cock was as hard as a rod, striking Arthur's thigh with every down stroke. Arthur felt Merlin's hips rock helplessly, and he knew it was too late, knew it from Merlin's keening whimper, knew it from the tighter clutch of Merlin's grasp on him.
He reached for Merlin's cock and held it lightly, and Merlin gave a stuttered, "Ye -- s, fuck. Touch me." Arthur did, eagerly, and he bent his head to watch as they brought each other off.
Arthur came first, his come hot and thick, coating Merlin's fingers and his cock too. It was enough to send Merlin over, and Arthur pumped him, wanting to scoot down and taste. He felt Merlin's fingers on his jaw, and he lifted his head to kiss Merlin again. They shared breath and laughter. And then Merlin rolled to the side, collapsed on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes.
Leaning over him, Arthur tugged on Merlin's arm, gently pulling it away from his face. He kissed his lips and told him, "We have tomorrow too."
*
When Arthur woke up, he felt for Merlin, heart stuttering when Merlin murmured sleepily, voice low and hoarse. "Mornin', Arthur."
Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin's waist, his hand splayed across Merlin's belly.
~ ~ ~
Over coffee, Arthur said, "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to really think about it. Don't say no right away."
Merlin listened, incredulous, coming up with every reason why it wouldn't work. But Arthur had already come up with a feasible, reasonable solution for every point Merlin brought up.
Merlin frowned. "It's a lot of responsibility, more than you can imagine. Transport alone would be a nightmare to arrange."
"No, it won't. Not with my approval and my help."
"I have many, many children under my care. I won't cut time away from --"
"You won't have to. I'll look after them. I want to. Please say yes."
Merlin said yes.
*
Sally Cheatham was already in Amelia's office when Arthur arrived to negotiate his terms.
"Amelia."
"Arthur."
"Sally."
"Arthur."
Arthur sat, firmed his resolve, and handed Sally a thumb drive. "I'll do it, on one condition."
Amelia raised an eyebrow as Sally thoughtfully turned the thumb drive over in her hands. "I'm listening."
*
Arthur and Merlin were necking on the couch in Merlin's flat, Merlin's fingers slipping under the waistband of Arthur's jeans, when Arthur saw his own face flash on the telly. "It's on," he murmured. "Your kids."
"Mmm," said Merlin, pushing his hand fully down Arthur's pants to palm his arse. "I've set it to record. We can watch it later."
"No, no," said Arthur. "You'll want to see. They'll ask you about it tomorrow."
Merlin grumbled but acquiesced readily. Arthur turned the sound up.
"Last weekend, Arthur Pendragon, the star of Mr Jones, paid a visit to some real-life orphans. The star spent all afternoon playing footy, reading stories, and doing crafts with these precious children."
Arthur felt his face heat up, remembering how much he'd hated the idea of even going there, but Merlin laced his fingers with Arthur's, squeezing gently.
Video of Arthur playing footy, watching the little show, sitting beside Will while he coloured was shown, along with a brief clip of Gwaine's version of Mr Jones. Arthur wasn't surprised when he didn't see Greta or Devon but for the group shot. He knew the camera would love Gwaine and Will, and it was that validation, that Elena had picked up on it too, that made him smile like a loon.
A brief clip of Merlin talking about the home and others like it played. He looked good. He looked really good. Arthur stared at Merlin's profile. "Have you ever thought -- "
"No."
The host then rattled off statistics concerning the orphan population in the UK and the sad fate that awaited most of them, if children's homes didn't get the financial aid that was desperately needed.
"But for two orphans at this home --" A still photo of Gwaine and Will appeared in a screen behind her -- "there is a happy ending. Both boys have been offered roles in the sequel to Mr Jones thanks to Arthur Pendragon's discovery of fresh new talent. I'm happy to report they've accepted.
Arthur turned off the box. "It's out there now. Can't take it back."
Merlin reached for Arthur and threaded fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and sending shivers down Arthur's spine. "I'll miss you when you're filming."
"Surely you can be the on-set guardian some days?" Arthur said, leaning in for a kiss.
Merlin kissed him back. "Some days. But we'll have our nights."
"Yes," said Arthur, pushing Merlin to lie flat on his back. He hovered over him, then dropped a kiss on his lips, on his neck, and whispered, "We'll have our nights."
The End