Nightstop

[casualtheatrics2]

Title: Nightstop
Rating: 12A/PG-13
Word Count: ~2,500 words
Summary: Merlin takes in waif-and-stray Arthur, when Uther evicts him. Love and schmoop follow.
Warnings: Homelessness.
Notes: Written for this prompt on the kink meme. Un-beta'd. Ending inspired by this photo, which came to me via hermette:


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The phone rang in the wee small hours, and Merlin rolled over in bed. “’Elo?” he murmured sleepily.

“Hello, Merlin. It’s Jane here. From Nightstop.”

“Hello, Jane,” Merlin sighed, settling onto his back. “Go on.”

“A young man, about twenty. He’s very polite. Name of Arthur.”

Merlin struggled up from his bed sheets and shoved his glasses onto his nose. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good,” Jane’s voice was relieved. “We’re right outside.” She ended the call, and Merlin groaned.

*

The lad, Arthur, was tall and stocky, with blond hair that fell messily over his blue eyes. Merlin looked him up and down, before saying, “Do you want to sleep? Or something to eat?”

Arthur smiled politely. “A cup of tea would be lovely. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Merlin looked at Arthur over the top of his glasses. “Not at all,” he said heavily, and flipped the kettle on.

Arthur unbuttoned his coat, and shrugged out of it, wincing as he did so. Merlin noticed the wince, and opened a cupboard to extract the paracetamol.

“Here you go,” he said quietly, tossing the packet at Arthur.

“Thanks,” Arthur said softly. The crackle of the foil paper told Merlin that the pills were being swallowed, as he watched the kettle boil.

Eventually, the tea was ready, and Merlin handed it over to his abrupt new houseguest. Arthur thanked Merlin, politely, and sipped it slowly. “If I’m keeping you up,” Arthur said, still formally polite, “you can show me to a bed or a sofa, and you can go back to bed.”

Merlin frowned for a brief moment, before saying, “OK. This way.”

*

Merlin was about to bite into his bacon sandwich the next morning, when the phone rang. Grumbling slightly about interrupted breakfasts, he scooped up the receiver and mumbled “Hello?” into it.

“Merlin? It’s Jane. Nightstop Jane.”

Merlin swallowed his mouthful with a gulp. “Yes, Jane, I know who you are. My Caller ID tells me and everything.”

“Oh. Sorry. Just checking that Arthur is alright?”

“Fine. He’ll be up soon, I expect.”

“Well, this is just to let you know that we’re getting onto the housing agency today on his behalf.”

Merlin thanked her, somewhat sarcastically, and ended the call. Of course they were phoning the housing agency, of course they would do it today. That was procedure. Sometimes, Merlin thought that Jane made the phone calls just to hear herself talk. He pottered about the kitchen, fixing a second bacon sandwich, when he heard shuffling foot steps coming down the hall.

Arthur appeared in the doorway, slightly sleepy still, and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Hello,” he mumbled, and plonked himself down into a chair.

“Hello,” Merlin said, cheerfully. “I made you a bacon sandwich. Here you go.” He slapped the plate down in front of Arthur and scooped up the tea pot. “Cup of tea?” he offered.

Arthur nodded, biting into the sandwich. A look of bliss spread across his face, and as he swallowed, he let out a little moan. Merlin was not unaware of his new houseguest’s attractiveness, and the little moan caused his jeans to tighten around his groin. To cover his sudden arousal, Merlin poured Arthur’s tea, and leant back against the counter. “So,” he said casually, “Jane rang.”

Arthur looked up, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

Merlin smiled reassuringly. “It’s policy. They ring to let us both know what they’re doing. She said they were getting onto the housing agency today, to see what they could do about more permanent accommodation.”

Arthur smiled, relief edging into his face. “That won’t take long, will it?”

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know. It usually takes about three days to get you into some sort of hostel, depending on how bad your situation is.”

Arthur frowned. “A hostel? Not a flat?”

Merlin took in Arthur’s surprise, and, as an afterthought, the expensive cut of his jeans and the designer logo embroidered onto his polo shirt. “Yeah, a hostel. Accommodation is at a premium in this town.”

Arthur frowned, obviously put out by this news. “I thought I’d get a flat.”

Merlin chuckled. “I guess you’re new to this ‘homelessness’ thing.”

Arthur scowled, and took a gulp of tea. “Isn’t everyone?”

Merlin shrugged. “Depends how you become homeless. Some kids move around from sofa to sofa, until they’ve got nowhere else to go. They sometimes end up on the streets, if we don’t get to them in time. Some kids become homeless because they’re running away from abusive parents, because they get evicted, because they have a problem that their family can’t cope with, can’t support them in…there are a number of reasons, but those kind of cases become homeless slowly. One rough night here, one rough night there. They slip through the net slowly. Others, well, everything happens overnight for them. Like the rug’s been pulled away from under their feet. Sudden homelessness. Like you.”

Arthur swallowed. His face crinkled like he was fighting off tears. “Like me,” he agreed in a croaky voice. He parted his lips to say something more.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Merlin reassured him. “I don’t need to know.”

*

Jane rang back the next morning, sounding unusually harried considering her usual, placid, collected nature. “Merlin,” she wailed. “There’s nothing for him. He doesn’t fit a category!”

Merlin soothed her over the phone. “Calm down. What doesn’t he fit?”

Jane, in a panicky voice, outlined the problem. Arthur, newly evicted from his father’s house for…personal reasons…had no extended family for outside support, had no health problems that required stable accommodation, had no history of homelessness, had no debt, had no criminal record. Typical, Merlin thought. The prat would be living a perfect life before getting booted out.

Jane was still babbling on frustratedly at the other end of the phone, when Merlin hushed her firmly.

“Look. I’m sure we can work something out. Go and talk to Belinda, and see if you can trick the system somehow.”

“Can’t you just come into work?” Jane howled miserably.

Merlin sighed. “Not really, Jane. It’s my day off. I get one of those every so often, you know.”

“But, Merlin….!”

Merlin felt like slapping his palm to his forehead. “Jane, he’s staying with me. Until that becomes untenable, he’s fine here. Let me have today off, and I’ll sort out Arthur’s case tomorrow.”

Jane paused. “Oh, yeah,” she eventually said. “He’s with you.” There was a note of glee in her voice that worried Merlin.

“Jane? Jane! Jane!” But she had hung up.

Arthur wandered into the kitchen. “Who was that?” he asked, a slight smirk at the corners of his mouth telling Merlin that he’d heard his host shrieking into the phone.

“Our friend Jane,” Merlin groaned.

Arthur smiled. “Has she sorted something?”

Merlin shook his head. “You’re a problem, Arthur. I won’t lie. You don’t have any history of homelessness, you don’t have a drug problem, you haven’t borne a charming but illegitimate child at the age of thirteen…you just don’t fit the regular boxes.”

Arthur looked miserable. “Oh,” he said, and it meant tell me something I don’t know.

Merlin sighed. “It’s our failing, not yours. We’re being very stereotypical with our judgements. We expect the kids from the Flowers estate to need us, we don’t expect the kids from The Avenue to need us. We’ll work on that.”

Arthur looked so forlorn, and dejected, that Merlin couldn’t help crossing the kitchen to envelope him in a hug.

*

The next day, Merlin walked into the Nightstop office, only to be greeted by Rachel and Jane with beaming smiles on their faces.

“We’ve found a solution!” Rachel announced, and then glanced at Jane. “Ok, Belinda found a solution, but she’s not here, so we get to tell you!”

Merlin contemplated murdering the chirpy social worker, and decided against it. It was dreadfully hard to get blood out of the carpet. “Yes, Rachel?” he said, summoning up patience.

“We’ve upgraded you!” Jane said proudly.

“You what now?”

“Upgraded you! Instead of being emergency accommodation, you know, for a week or so, we’ve made you into placement accommodation!” Rachel looked extremely proud of herself.

Merlin glanced down at his body. He definitely looked like a human being. He definitely did not look like placement flats. “Explain, please,” he said to Jane, who had begun to realise he was less than delighted.

“Oh. Well,” Jane began nervously. “You’ve got that extra room. And you said you were getting on well. And I know you hate being woken at 2am with the really, truly emergency cases, so I thought at least this way, you wouldn’t have to be woken…up…anymore…” She trailed off. “Was that wrong?”

Merlin gaped at her. “Actually, Jane, that might be the first brilliant idea you’ve had in a long while.”

Jane beamed, her face splitting in half from the praise. Rachel seethed quietly, until Merlin told her that her delivery of the idea was excellent, and she had done a good job too.

*

It took Arthur a day or two to adjust to the idea of living with Merlin for a “placement”. The formally polite young man was swept away by the rage of an arrogant, stuck-up rich boy.

“I can’t live here!” he stormed, when Merlin broke the news. “This is the dodgy end of town!”

Merlin rolled his eyes, and went off to put the washing on the line. When he returned, Arthur was grey-faced and stony in his silence, unmoving on the sofa. It took two cups of tea, until Arthur finally confessed, “I rang my father. He put the phone down on me. Told me he didn’t have a son.”

Merlin knew that he wasn’t supposed to get emotionally involved. He hugged Arthur anyway. “Don’t fret,” he said quietly. “Your dad will come round.”

“He won’t,” Arthur said bleakly. “You don’t know my dad.”

*

The first month of Arthur’s placement passed quickly, in a blur of paperwork and arguments, followed by slamming doors and conciliatory pancakes (Arthur was quite the chef). After the first two horrendous weeks, when Merlin had to explain to Arthur about getting a job and paying his way, that Nightstop was a charity, not a free ride, that everybody worked for a living, and no, stealing was not a viable career option, and that yes, if Arthur wanted clean pants, he’d have to use the washing machine. (Actually, Merlin conceded the last point to Arthur, as he discovered that Arthur would wear Merlin’s clean pants rather than wash his own. And Merlin drew the line at sharing boxer shorts with the stuck-up prig.)

So the first month gave way to the second, and Arthur got a job stacking shelves at the local supermarket. He grumbled every day until the first pay check, when he proudly handed over a wad of notes for his rent to Merlin and produced a bottle of wine to celebrate his first month of ‘real’ work. That evening, they sat on the sofa together, and swigged the wine from the bottle (it was Arthur’s turn to wash up, and glasses were, of course, overrated) whilst watching some horrendous action movie with guns and explosions.

The second and third months passed in much the same way, the fourth developed the wine-swigging evenings into weekly affairs, and the fifth made them thrice-weekly sessions of curling up on the sofa and watching whatever was on the telly (Arthur developed a strong liking for reality TV in that month. Merlin despaired, but enjoyed the warmth of Arthur pressed up against his side too much to complain.)

The sixth month was the one that really shot the arrangement to hell.

Arthur came home from work one evening, brimming with pride. “I got promoted!” he crowed gleefully, and Merlin was so proud for him he completely forgot himself and kissed Arthur on the cheek.

Arthur froze. Merlin backed away. “God, sorry!” he exclaimed. “Forgot myself….”

Arthur launched himself against Merlin and pressed their mouths together urgently. He slid his arms around Merlin’s waist and pressed their chests together.

Unable to breathe, to think, through the fog of yespleasemorepleaseyummyArthur, Merlin swirled his tongue against the other man’s and pressed it over the sharp edges of Arthur’s teeth.

“Oh, God, Merlin, Merlin,” Arthur groaned, trailing his lips against the taller man’s jawbone. “Merlin, please, please.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” Merlin wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, but he found himself being manhandled along the corridor to Arthur’s bedroom. Arthur fumbled with the doorknob and finally, the door gave way, and Merlin found himself on the bed, being stripped most efficiently by his lodger.

“Wait, Arthur, wait,” he panted.

Arthur stopped tugging Merlin’s hoodie over his head, and stared at him in dismay. “What? Don’t you want to?”

Merlin gaped. “Of course I want to! It’s just…”

“Less thinking,” Arthur said firmly, and with a wicked grin, added, “More nakedness.”

And those are the last words they exchange for some time.

*

Merlin awoke the next morning to find his arm stretched at an awkward angle. He tried to pull it back, but a moan of disapproval stopped him. Forcing his eyes open, he glanced up at Arthur, who, propped up on his elbows, was watching Merlin sleep.

“Why are you watching me?” Merlin mumbled.

“Because I want to,” Arthur replied, and leant forward to kiss the corner of Merlin’s mouth. “Jane rang,” he added.

Merlin frowned. “I didn’t hear the phone.”

“She’s found me a flat.”

Merlin tried not to let his breath hitch. “Oh,” he said lamely. “That’s good news.”

Arthur looked deeply upset. “Is it? Do you want me to go?”

“No!” Merlin could not hold back his instinctive response. “I want you to stay.”

“Good,” Arthur’s face relaxed. “Can I stay here with you, then?”

Merlin nodded. “I suppose so. You’ve got a job, you can pay rent, the room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

“You dumbass!” Arthur replied, fondly. “I meant here,” he gestured to the half of the bed he was lying on.

Merlin coloured hotly. The thought of sharing his bed with a lover, a long-term lover, a long-term, Arthur-shaped lover….it took him all of five seconds to decide.

“Yes. You can stay here,” Merlin smiled, gesturing to the bed, and tackled Arthur underneath him for more morning kisses.

-le fin-