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casualtheatrics2part one this way
Arthur walked back to Alined’s flat from the café, swinging his hands and humming to himself.
Tonight was the last night he was spending there: tomorrow, Alined returned, and Arthur would move back into Vivian’s spare room.
Nothing about the prospect seemed appealing. Vivian could be highly shrewish when she fancied it, and these days, she seemed to fancy it more than usual. Arthur had vaguely wondered if it had anything to do with her lack of social life, and shuddered at the thoughts such wonderings produced.
Arthur managed to concentrate on tidying the flat for a staggering ten minutes, before he texted something funny to Merlin that he heard on the radio.
After that, he managed three whole minutes of tidying and cleaning at the very most, in between trading texts with Merlin and chuckling at the Andy Hamilton programme they were both listening to.
When Arthur fell into bed that night, it was with thoughts of Merlin’s dirty chuckle creasing his face into a smile.
*
Alined was his usual sleazy self when he returned. Arthur wanted to be repulsed by him, but found himself strangely grateful for the man’s dodgy career choice.
After all, without Alined’s Red Phone, Arthur would never have met Merlin.
That didn’t stop him from shuddering slightly, behind Alined’s back, when the man offered to hook him up with some clients, should Arthur ever desire this.
Managing to politely refuse, and extract his payment cheque from Alined’s fake-tanned hand (he could see the stripes), Arthur slid from the flat, flashing a two-fingered salute to Alined’s devil-cat and closing the door with satisfaction behind him.
*
The First Official Date Between Arthur and Merlin was scheduled for the following Friday, but Arthur still managed to meet Merlin for coffee twice more between leaving Alined’s and said First Official Date.
The first time was spur-of-the-moment: Arthur had been sitting in on a lecture being delivered by Balinor Emrys, and Merlin had shown up to go out for lunch with his father.
After greeting him shyly, Merlin had introduced Arthur to his father, and Arthur had just about managed not to gush at Balinor about his wonderful work on the moon goddess. Balinor had been delighted that his son had made a new friend, and offered to read over the section in Arthur’s thesis that made use of his works.
Arthur accepted with alacrity, before slinking off to his broom-cupboard/office and doing a happy little dance, involving flailing arms and broken coffee mugs. Oops.
A throat cleared behind him, and Arthur whipped round, causing the death of a fourth, innocent little coffee mug.
Morgause stood in the doorway, stern, implacable expression on her face, as per usual.
“Hello, Arthur.”
“Hi, Morgause.”
“Good day, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“Care to share?” Morgause glided into the room, and settled in Arthur’s chair.
“One of the experts in my field has agreed to look at the section I’m quoting him in for my thesis.”
“Isn’t that what a supervisor is for?”
Arthur almost, almost, managed not to roll his eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me! I’m only asking!” Morgause was terrifying when annoyed.
“It’s always good to get someone else’s perspective.”
Morgause stood up from the chair. “Right, well. I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah, you sound it.” Arthur had long since given up trying to get his family to support him in his love for literature. Apparently, in the Pendragon household, if it wasn’t Business or Law, it wasn’t worth bothering with. The fact that Arthur spent his days in musty libraries, flipping the mould-splattered pages of ancient texts made him nothing but odd in the eyes of his nevertheless loving family.
“Dinner at Uther’s on Friday night. Don’t forget.”
Arthur felt his heart sink. “I can’t make it.”
“Why not?” Morgause asked, imperiously, doing that scary quirking thing with her eyebrows that made Arthur want to cry and beg for mercy.
“I, er, have a date,” Arthur confessed, hoping she won’t insist on inspecting the goods before Arthur sampled them, or some such nonsensical, terrifying ritual the Pendragon sisters usually engaged in.
Morgause studied Arthur for a moment, before replying, “I’ll give your apologies to Uther,” and gliding from the room.
Arthur loved his sister, of course he loved his sister, but sometimes, she frightened him half to death.
He was pondering the miracle that was his sister’s agreement for him to miss an extremely important family dinner (they were rare, and therefore usually Extremely Important), when a knock sounded at his door. Merlin poked his head in at the invitation to enter and said, “Got five minutes for a coffee?”
For Merlin, Arthur had all the time in the world, but he didn’t voice this, and instead, agreed to a coffee.
The canteen on campus was closed, however, so he and Merlin took turns to feed the coffee machine with 5p pieces and eventually extracted a small paper cup of overly sweet, powdery liquid that pretended to be coffee.
With anyone else, Arthur would laugh, but instead, he felt the burn of shame across his cheekbones, like he had somehow let Merlin down. They sipped their dreadful coffee in near-silence, Arthur’s shame buzzing in his skull, before Merlin said goodbye and started to walk off.
Arthur dashed after him and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “See you Friday,” Arthur murmured and pressed his lips against Merlin’s.
Merlin kissed back, a casual slick of tongue across Arthur’s lips all he conceded, before he broke from the embrace and wandered off.
*
The second time they meet was deliberate: the next day, Merlin rang Arthur and said, “That coffee yesterday was God-awful. Let’s go to the Arts and have a proper one.”
Arthur was into his jacket and out of his office door before he hung up the phone.
And this time, the coffee, and the kiss, was good.
*
On Friday, Arthur left for his date with Merlin from Morgana’s house. This was, of course, because it was nearer to the restaurant Merlin chose, and had nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with the fact that Morgana and Morgause helped him pick a shirt and tie, and practically dressed him, and approved him for a date.
There was only one tiny hitching moment, when Morgause asked for the girl’s name, and Arthur had to confess it was actually a man named Merlin. Morgause’s face twitched slightly, before smoothing out, and she managed to force a smile.
“You are, then, this way inclined?” she asked regally.
“Yes,” Arthur agreed, and felt his heart sink. His book habit was weird enough, to be gay as well seemed like the nail in his coffin.
Morgana, to her eternal credit, kissed Arthur’s cheek, straightened his jacket and smiled at him. “Go on, then,” she said calmly. “Go get your man.”
*
The restaurant was below street-level, a dark little place, lit with candles, and dimmed lightbulbs, serving tapas and paella, with an unlimited bar.
Merlin greeted the hostess with a hug and a kiss, and introduced her to Arthur, “Arthur, meet Freya. Freya, this is Arthur, my date for the evening.”
Freya smiles at Arthur, and shakes his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Arthur chuckles. “All bad, I’m sure.”
“Well, at first, yes. Merlin was very angry with Will. But then he calmed down, and a few days later, came home singing your praises!” Freya assured Arthur, showing them to a booth in the back of the restaurant. “Look, I know Merlin’s eaten here before, but how used to tapas are you?”
Arthur shrugged. “Not very.”
“Right,” she said briskly. “I’m going to bring you a selection of our best food. No, Merlin, don’t argue with me. I’ll send a girl over with some beer.” And she bustled off to place their order.
Arthur looked over the table at Merlin, who was blushing hotly.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin grimaced. “Freya…she…”
“She wants to make sure you have a good time?” Arthur offered.
Merlin nodded. “Yeah. Also, she wants to inspect you, because she’s the only person who hasn’t met you properly yet.”
Arthur laughed. “I will submit to the inspection.”
The rest of the evening was pleasantly relaxing: Freya brought out a constant stream of spicy, oily dishes that Merlin and Arthur picked their way through, soaking up the juices with hunks of bread, and washing it down with glasses of cold, gassy beer.
Finally, when they were replete, and buzzed from the copious amounts of beer, Arthur plucked up the courage to take Merlin’s hand and ask, “How did you lose your leg?”
Merlin’s mouth worked for a minute, sadness crossing his face in waves. “I got hit. By a drunk driver.”
“And they had to amputate your leg?”
“It got caught in the underneath of the engine. The bone shattered and the artery was too badly damaged to be repaired.”
Arthur leant over and kissed the corners of Merlin’s downturned mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“I still think you’re fine, though,” Arthur wiggled his eyebrows at Merlin, mock-leering at him through the alcoholic haze.
Merlin giggled. He carded his long fingers through Arthur’s hair and dropped a kiss to his lips.
As he started to pull back, Arthur growled slightly, and wrapped his arms around Merlin. His lips met Merlin’s with force, and his tongue snuck out to lick at the crease at the corner of Merlin’s mouth.
Merlin half-gasped against Arthur’s lips, opening his mouth into the kiss. Their tongues duelled for the next few minutes, until Freya cleared her throat loudly and pointedly, into Merlin’s ear.
He jumped, jerking his head back, and catching Freya on the cheek.
“Ow!” she howled, rubbing at the red bruise.
“Sorry,” Merlin looked guilty.
“It’s OK. It’s just, could you take the make-out some place else? You’re scaring my customers.”
“Sure,” Merlin hastily dropped some notes onto the table and started to make his way out of the restaurant, Arthur trailing after him, fingers intertwined, and sappy grins across both their faces.
*
The next week, Arthur took Merlin out. They went to a local football match, and although Merlin shivered all the way through, and complained about the cold, he couldn’t take his eyes off Arthur when Arthur was explaining the sheer brilliance of the play by a certain player.
Something about Arthur’s shining eyes, and wildly gesticulating hands made Merlin want to pin Arthur against his car and kiss him senseless.
So he did.
*
Two months later, Arthur looked at his life and smiled. His research was going well, he had a fantastic boyfriend, and his hero had agreed to read his thesis.
So, when he was on his way to meet Merlin at the Arts Café in the middle of an unbelievable summer heat wave and he bumped into his ex-girlfriend, he spared ten minutes to smile and say hi, catch up on her gossip.
Sophia, a glamorous redhead with legs up to her armpits, had been Arthur’s girlfriend throughout his school days and into his first year of university. The daughter of one of Uther’s business associates, she had dumped Arthur for his ill-advised switch after one semester from an BSc in Business and Management to a BA in English. Apparently, no man was ever going to be able to provide for her in a style to which she would like to become accustomed if he wasn’t working in the field of business.
Nevertheless, she was an old family friend, and Arthur thought it impolite to ignore her when she said hello.
“Hi, Sophia. How are you?”
“I’m fabulous, Arthur! How are you?” She air-kissed both his cheeks and smiled up at him.
“I’m great.”
“I hear you’re doing marvellous things with books these days?” Sophia’s tone of voice implied that ‘doing things with books’ was the academic equivalent of murdering babies.
“Yes, yes, I am. I’m getting a PhD. What are you up to?”
“Oh, I’m modelling for Carielli, here and there, and occasionally for Swenson. Mostly though, I’m planning my wedding.”
“Oh, congratulations! Who are you marrying?”
“Edwin. Edwin Muirden?”
“Do I know him?”
“His mother works for my father – we met at the company picnic.”
Arthur laughed, “Oh, the company picnic.” He leant forward and brushed a kiss against Sophia’s cheek. “I have to dash, I’m meeting someone, but it’s been great to see you.”
Sophia smiled prettily back. “Who are you meeting? Anyone I know?”
“You wouldn’t know him. Merlin. My boyfriend,” Arthur couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice as he said it.
Sophia just waved Arthur off, with a casual, “Send him my best.” And, although Sophia could be a brainless, selfish little bimbo at times, she was, to Arthur’s great relief, a person blessed with great understanding and capacity for acceptance.
Arthur blew her a kiss, and stepped into the Arts Café. Merlin had commandeered their favourite sofa spot. He sprawled across the sofa, in jeans, despite the heat of the day. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, a flush chasing across his cheekbones.
“Hi, love!” Arthur leant down to kiss Merlin’s lips and got his cheek instead.
Merlin smiled up, a tightness around his eyes that Arthur hadn’t expected. “Hello, Arthur,” the greeting was strangely formal.
“Are you OK?” Arthur said, settling down onto the opposite sofa. He caught Gwen’s eye, who waved at him and gestured to a coffee mug. Arthur nodded, and she set about mixing Arthur’s drink.
“I’m fine,” Merlin said, that strange tension spilling into his voice. “Who was the girl?”
“The girl?” Arthur was momentarily confused, until he remembered speaking with Sophia shortly before. “Oh, her. Sophia. Sophia Tiermore. She’s an old family friend. I used to date her, actually.”
“So she’s your ex?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
Merlin’s hands were white around his mug. “She’s pretty.”
Arthur shrugged. “I guess. She’s kind of a bitch though.”
“She had nice legs.”
Arthur looked at Merlin in complete bewilderment. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“She looked very attractive in her mini-skirt. In the hot weather, shorts and mini-skirts are appropriate attire. Not like jeans.”
Arthur spread his hands wide. “Merlin, I don’t speak cryptic-sniping. Can you just tell me what the bloody hell your problem is, so we can sort it out?”
Merlin slammed his mug onto the table, with such force that a wave of cappuccino slithered over the rim of the mug and pooled on the varnished surface beneath. “She’s perfect,” he snarled. “Long legs, smooth skin, beautiful face. Like you. Perfect. Unlike ME. You’re going to see that soon, and leave me.”
Arthur felt like he’d received several harsh blows to his gut. “Leave you? Why would I leave you?”
“Because I’m a cripple, you moron!” Merlin shouted. “I’ve only got one leg! I’m rubbish, and broken, and imperfect. And you, you’re fantastic, and perfect, and whole. And you can’t possibly want to put up with this,” he gestured to his leg, concealed beneath his jeans, “for much longer!”
Arthur looked astounded. “What the…?” He moved round to sit next to Merlin on his sofa. “I love you,” he said, taking Merlin’s hand in his. “You are perfect to me. And wonderful. And your leg is part of you. I love every part of you. I don’t want Sophia. Someone like Sophia. She’s awful. Completely self-absorbed, and she thinks books are the anti-Christ. I want you. No-one else.”
Merlin laughed harshly. “And when your thesis has been submitted? What then? When I’m no longer useful for access to my father?”
“WHAT?” Arthur exclaimed. “What are you on about? Your father? My thesis?”
“You clearly only like me because my father is your ‘hero’.”
Arthur was incredulous. “Are you mental?”
“Don’t insult my mental health!” Merlin shrieked, leaping to his feet. He made to move around Arthur, and fell over the table.
Arthur leant forward to help him up, but Merlin scrambled back and away from him. “Don’t touch me,” Merlin spat, before regaining his feet and dashing out of the door.
Gwen appeared at Arthur’s elbow, with his coffee. Arthur handed her some money and in a daze, followed Merlin out of the coffee shop.
On the street, he stared around, desperately seeking Merlin, who, despite his vague clumsiness, had vanished into the crowd, untraceable.
*
Will was surprised when Merlin burst through the front door only half an hour after leaving.
“Hello! Want me to clear out so you and Arthur can shag like bunnies?” he called.
The resounding slam of Merlin’s bedroom door was the only response he received. Will took it as his cue to leave, and stood up from the sofa, gathering his wallet and phone from the side.
He opened the front door, to find Arthur sprinting up the pavement towards the house. “Hello,” Will said, vaguely confused.
“Is Merlin here?” Arthur gasped for breath.
“Yeah, he’s in his room…”
Arthur shoved past Will and strode to Merlin’s bedroom door. He hammered on it with a fist. “Merlin! Merlin! I know you’re in there!”
Stony silence came back.
“MERLIN!”
The door flew open. Merlin stood there, face pale and drawn. “Get out of my house,” he said dully.
“No!” Arthur said. “Not till we sort this out!”
“Get out,” Merlin repeated and slammed the door shut again.
“Merlin!” Arthur rested his forehead against the door. “Please, love. Please. I just want to talk.”
There was no reply. Will rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I think you’d better go.”
Dragging his feet, moving as slow as possible, Arthur allowed Will to guide him out of the house.
“Bye, Arthur,” was all Will said, before slamming the door behind Arthur.
*
Will expected Merlin to sink into a black depression after breaking up with Arthur.
He also expected Arthur to hang around, all hours of the night and day and plead with Merlin to take him back.
Merlin disappointed him. Arthur didn’t.
After explaining to Arthur for the forty-third time in as many days that Merlin had decided they weren’t suited, and that Arthur should give up and go home, Will turned around from his cooking one day to find Merlin in a suit.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a job interview.”
Will nearly sliced his thumb off. “What?!”
“If I was getting so boring that you decided a prostitute was a good idea, I clearly needed to get out more. And Dad knew this man at the library who was looking for an assistant.”
“The library? Assistant? What? Arthur wasn’t a…”
“Yep. Off to try and get a job.”
And with that, Merlin scooped up his bag, straightened his tie and left the house, the front door snicking closed quietly behind him.
*
When Merlin got the job, Will and Gwen took him out for dinner to celebrate. Because they were wicked, mean and cruel, they took Merlin to Freya’s restaurant, where she sat them in the same booth Merlin had sat with Arthur on their very first Official Date.
“Alright, Merlin?” Will asked cheekily.
“Yes,” Merlin ground out. “Fine.” He caught a passing waitress. “I’m going to need a Corona, now, please. Also, tequila.”
“A shot of tequila, sir?”
“No, the whole bottle should be fine.” Should help me forget that I sat in this very booth with Arthur. Forget the way he kissed me and stroked his finger over my skin. Forget the way his hair felt beneath my fingers… "Hurry up!" he snapped.
The waitress gaped for a minute or two, and ran off to find Freya.
Gwen sighed at Merlin. “Really? You really, really have to upset everyone you come across these days?” (Two days prior to this, Merlin had made all of Gwen’s baristas cry by throwing his coffee cup at them and telling them that ‘burnt black water is not fucking coffee!’)
Merlin frowned. “I’m not upsetting anybody!”
Will looked Merlin in the eye. “Yes, you are. You’re grumpy, angry and miserable.”
“I’m not!” Merlin protested, but Gwen interrupted him.
“Ever since you broke up with Arthur, you’ve been in a foul mood.”
Merlin sat up straighter. “I have not!”
“Yes, you have,” Gwen insisted. “Why did you even break up with him?”
Merlin frowned and mumbled something about different life goals, and Gwen, mild-mannered, peaceful, pacifist Gwen, lost her temper.
“You and your FUCKING issues!” she bellowed. “Arthur liked you. YOU. God knows why, you’re a grumpy, bloody bugger, but he liked you! Loved you, even! He didn’t care about your leg: he told me he’d take all your issues! With pleasure! As long as he got to be with you!”
Gwen broke off, panting for breath, chest heaving. “You’re an idiot,” she assured Merlin. “Because Arthur loved you. And you’ve let it go.”
Merlin sat back against the padded seat of the booth. His mind raced. Eventually, he said, “I need to go to Vivian’s.”
*
Will’s driving left something to be desired.
No, scratch that. It left much to be desired.
The tiny red car screeched around another corner on no more than two wheels, and Merlin clutched the dashboard and prayed for dear life.
Will eventually screeched to a halt in front of Vivian’s house, and Merlin scrambled out.
The door eventually swung open to reveal Vivian. “Yes?” she said, arching an eyebrow at Merlin. “Can I help you?”
“Is Arthur here, please?”
Vivian laughed. “He’s gone.”
Merlin gaped. “Gone where?”
“He had an offer to finish his PhD at another university, with a better teaching job and accommodation included. He left yesterday afternoon.”
“Which university?”
“I don’t know. He just said he was going.”
“Who would know?”
“I have no idea. I presume he told his father, or his sisters, but I don’t speak to any of them.”
“Do you know why he left?” Merlin was getting desperate.
“Just that he’d decided to rearrange his PhD supervision, because he thought the person he’d got wasn’t suitable anymore.”
“Who was supervising him?”
“Um, he talked about Leon quite a lot. Except recently, he said that he’d been switched to a Barry? No, Balliol? That can’t be right…”
“Balinor?”
“Yes, that’s it!”
“Right. Thanks for your time.” Merlin turned and dashed down her garden path, leaving a confused Vivian at her door. “We’ve got to go to my dad’s,” he told Will.
Merlin strapped himself in, and took a deep breath as Will released the handbrake.
*
“Dad! Dad!”
“Merlin? What are you doing here?”
“Are you supervising Arthur’s PhD?”
Balinor frowned. “I was. I asked Leon if I could supervise Arthur instead of him, because it was more my area of specialty than Leon’s. But Arthur transferred last week.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know, Merlin. He didn’t say. I can’t tell you anyway, because it’s confidential. What’s wrong?”
Merlin buried his face in his hands. “I love him,” he choked out. “I love him and I’ve lost him.”
Balinor hugged his son to his chest. “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you…”
Merlin cut him off. “I don’t care.” He dragged himself out of Balinor’s embrace. “I really don’t care, Dad. That’s not going to help this time.”
He walked blindly out of his father’s house, down the darkened streets, with no particular destination in mind.
*
Arthur looked around his new flat with pleasure. It had taken him six months to save enough to move out of the staff accommodation, but he’d finally done it.
A knock at the door broke into his reverie. He flung the door open, and was greeted with the sight of Morgana, Morgause, Mordred and his father on his stoop.
“Hi, guys,” he said, slightly perplexed. “What are you doing here?” His eyes fell to the covered dishes in Morgana and Morgause’s hands.
Morgana pressed a kiss to his cheek. “House-warming lunch, obviously,” she smiled, sweeping past Arthur and into the flat. “Where’s your kitchen?”
“On the right,” Arthur said, receiving kisses from Morgause and Mordred too, who trailed after Morgana to the kitchen.
Uther stood awkwardly on the step. “It was your sisters’ idea,” he explained, after a second’s pause.
“It’s great to see you all,” Arthur grinned, and ushered his father inside.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Uther remarked, looking around the spacious flat.
“I hope so,” Arthur agreed. “It’s nice not being in London anymore.”
“Cambridge seems like a nice place.”
“It’s great. Nice people. Do you want a drink?” Arthur felt self-conscious in his own flat, and covered his sudden unease by gesturing to the lounge and a chair for Uther to sit in. “Take a seat.”
He dashed to the kitchen, where Morgana had taken command of his utensils and was marshalling potatoes into a pan, and the chicken pie into the oven. “Be about half an hour,” she told Arthur, who nodded, grabbed a beer from the fridge for his father (and a second one for himself), and marched back across the hall to his father’s scrutiny.
*
Merlin loved his job. He really did. Most days, he got to talk about books with interested people, dig out old manuscripts for academics to examine, and spend his afternoons in amongst the dusty stacks, shelving books and reading the titles of random works.
Today was not one of those days.
Firstly, the receptionist had called in sick, so Merlin had been on front desk duty until a replacement could be found.
Secondly, the wrong books had been sent up from the basement stacks for Dr Tauren, a notoriously angry library user, who was convinced that no-one was of as much import as he was.
Thirdly, in a fit of temper, Dr Tauren threw a first edition of the works of Byron at Merlin’s head, where is promptly exploded into a shower of loose parchment pages. Merlin had looked at the ruined, irreplaceable book and seen red. Dr Tauren had found himself on his arse, on the pavement outside the library, sans Reader’s Card.
Fourthly, he was in deep trouble for forcibly removing Tauren from the premises.
Fifthly, some stupid academic in the stupid Byron Reading Room (third floor, totally isolated, fantastic view) wanted the first three volumes of ‘Clelia’ by Madame de Scudery: each volume was so heavy, Merlin needed a sack truck to move all three.
Groaning and heaving, hauling the sack truck out of the lift, Merlin stomped down the corridor to the private reading room, trolley rattling behind him.
He knocked sharply on the door,
“Come in!” called a voice.
Merlin pushed the door open, thrust the trolley into the gap and walked inside.
The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely noticed. He only had eyes for the blonde man sat at the table in the centre of the room.
“Arthur?” he croaked, throat dry with anticipation.
The blonde man turned. It was, indeed, Arthur.
“Merlin. How nice to see you. How are you?” Arthur’s voice was carefully, quietly composed.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m very well, thank you. Are those my books?” Arthur gestured to the sack truck.
“Yes. Clelia. Three volumes?”
“Lovely. Shall I…?” Arthur made a hand movement that indicated ‘pick them up off the trolley myself’.
Merlin started to nod, and then interrupted himself. “I looked for you.”
Arthur looked confused. “Sorry?”
“I looked for you. After you left Vivian’s. I looked for you.”
Arthur’s face cleared. “Oh, I see. Well, I had an offer from Cambridge to finish up my PhD there, with a job and a flat, so I decided to take it.”
“My father was supervising you though. He was your hero. I don’t understand why you would leave that behind.”
Arthur looked at Merlin in complete disbelief. “I’m not a total moron, Merlin,” he replied, hurt and amusement lacing his voice. “You made it very clear that we had no future, and I had no intention of continuing with an arrangement that was going to make you so unhappy.”
The thoughtfulness of this gesture did not pass Merlin by. Swallowing around the lump in this throat, he offered, “My counsellor says I have self-esteem issues.”
Arthur smiled, a sad little twist of his lips that broke Merlin’s heart. “I know. I’ve been on the receiving end.”
Merlin couldn’t take his eyes from Arthur’s face. “I’m sorry,” he eventually managed. “I just couldn’t believe that someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”
Arthur looked incredulous. “Why? Have you met yourself?”
Merlin chuckled. “When you met me, I was an unemployed cripple. I hadn’t left my house unless necessary for more than two years. I didn’t date. I saw Gwen, Freya and Will. And my parents. That was it. You completely undid me. Shattered my defences. I just begun to decide that maybe it would work, and I saw how fondly you looked at that girl. Sophia.”
“I’ve known Soph for years, Merlin. Of course I’m fond of her. But you may or may not have noticed…I’m gay. Soph is a girl. That doesn’t work, no matter which way you slice it.”
“I know. But I was jealous.”
“Why on God’s green earth would you be jealous of Sophia? She’s a bimbo! Kind of a bitch as well!”
“She’s whole, and perfect.”
“You keep talking about this ‘whole’ business. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I’m not whole. I’m missing half my leg.”
Arthur looked exasperated. “I wasn’t dating your bloody leg! I was dating you!” And in two quick strides, he was standing close to Merlin. “You,” Arthur said again, softer than before, and brushed his fingers over Merlin’s cheekbones.
Merlin’s breath hitched in his throat, and his eyelids fluttered closed, before opening, to see Arthur’s pupils blown wide, lust darkening them to near black.
“You like me, huh?” Merlin said softly, a whisper all his dry throat could manage.
“I love you,” Arthur corrected, and leant slowly in to kiss Merlin’s lips.
Merlin pulled his head back after a second or two, and said, “What about…you know?”
“Your leg?” Arthur queried.
Merlin nodded.
Arthur took a deep breath, and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist, drawing him close. “Your leg, losing your leg, that’s part of you. I accept that. I’m sorry you had to lose your leg, I’m sorry because it must have been painful and frightening. But it doesn’t put me off, it doesn’t gross me out, and I don’t pity you. It doesn’t make you any less the person I love. I don’t love you because of it, or despite it. I just love you. And I’m miserable without you.”
Merlin knew he was crying, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He pressed his lips against Arthurs, and tasted salty wetness there too. “I love you too,” he choked out.
Arthur’s tongue licked at the corner of his mouth, seeking entrance. Merlin parted his lips and invited the warm, wet softness of Arthur’s talented tongue to stroke against his own.
Arthur pulled off his mouth off Merlin’s, and mouthed down his neck. Scraping his teeth over Merlin’s collarbone, Arthur asked, “Does the door lock?”
Merlin nodded, “Hold on.” He extracted himself from Arthur’s arms and walked to the door. Clicking the lock into place, he turned to find Arthur shoving the paper and books off the table.
“Come here,” Arthur said, hopping up to sit on the table.
Merlin moved between Arthur’s legs, and pressed forward. The hard bulge in Arthur’s trousers met his stomach, and he shuddered. “God, Arthur,” he moaned, as Arthur tipped his head down to suck a bruise onto Merlin’s neck.
“Merlin,” Arthur mocked him, but the teasing was lost as Arthur’s own voice had a breathless, desperate quality to it.
Merlin lifted his knee up onto the table and clambered up, straddling Arthur. “Shush now,” he murmured into Arthur’s mouth, and swiped his tongue across the roof of Arthur’s mouth. He was rewarded with a full body shudder.
Arthur’s nimble fingers made quick work of Merlin’s shirt buttons, unfolding them, and dragging the soft fabric down and off his arms. “God, look at you,” Arthur whispered, and twisted so that Merlin’s back was pressed against the table, Arthur hovering over him.
“Gonna kiss you now,” Arthur told Merlin, and did so.
Merlin’s hands fisted in the hem of Arthur’s t-shirt and dragged it up his torso, revealing sculpted muscle. “Mmm,” Merlin groaned into Arthur’s mouth, running fingers over Arthur’s abs. “Like this.”
Arthur chuckled, and shed his t-shirt. His jeans and shoes quickly followed, and he made similar short work of Merlin’s trousers.
Merlin held his breath, as his prosthesis was revealed. Arthur noted the tension in his prone body, and bent his head to kiss the point where Merlin’s flesh and the plastic met. “I love you,” he murmured, and his breath ghosted across Merlin’s sensitive skin, drawing up goose bumps in its wake.
Merlin melted back against the table and the tension melted from his muscles. As a reward, Arthur eased Merlin’s boxers over his straining erection, and licked one broad stripe up his cock.
“Arthur!” Merlin gasped in surprise, and Arthur merely smirked before taking the head of Merlin’s erection into his mouth. He suckled gently, before flicking his tongue over the slit, licking away the precome that was beading there.
The muscles of Merlin’s thighs trembled as Arthur went to work, sliding his hot, wet mouth up and down Merlin’s straining flesh. After only a couple of minutes, Merlin gasped, “Gonna…gonna…Arthur…”, to which Arthur merely nodded, hummed around the head of Merlin’s erection and with a moan, Merlin came in Arthur’s mouth.
Pulling off with a pop, Arthur wiped his chin on the back of his hand and swallowed. Merlin’s eyes, dark with lust, followed the movement of Arthur’s hand, as it slid down Arthur’s chest and into his briefs.
Merlin struggled to sit up, and pulled Arthur’s hand away from where it loosely fisted his own prick. “Let me,” Merlin commanded in a low voice, and worked his fingers below the waist of Arthur’s pants.
Clasping his fingers into a firm fist, he slid his hand smoothly, evenly, up and down Arthur’s erection, until precome dripped down onto his hand. Gripping tighter, Merlin worked his hand faster and faster, until Arthur gripped his wrist tightly and came in jerking spurts inside his briefs.
Gasping for breath, Merlin pulled Arthur down to rest his head on Merlin’s chest. “I’m such an idiot,” Merlin finally murmured when their breathing had calmed down.
“Yep,” Arthur agreed, “but you’re my idiot,” and kissed Merlin’s jaw.
-le fin-
