Work Text:
Introduction
Merlin came running into the bar a few minutes after 3pm. The weather had been just foul - grey and chucking it down with rain for most the day - which meant that London’s roads were clogged and slow, and his bus had been delayed.
He closed the door behind him and turned around to see his boss, and close friend, Lancelot Du Lac, pinning him with a steady gaze. “You’re late. Again,” he sighed as he regarded Merlin, who was now dripping all over the rich, polished wood floor of The Excalibur. “Go and take off those wet things and get into your uniform,” he grumbled good naturedly, as he went to get a mop to sop up the excess water.
Merlin smiled his easy, dimpled smile at Lance, and ran off to the staff room. When he returned, his hair had clearly been dried under the hand dryer and looked alarmingly like he had been hoovered up into it by accident. However, the rest of him looked professional and presentable, in tight black jeans, and a deep, black t-shirt with the The Excalibur emblazoned in rich, red embroidery across his chest. As shift leader, he also had the till and storeroom fobs hanging in a chain off one of his jeans belt loops.
Lance smiled at him. “Ready for the shift?” he asked, in their usual, pregame ritual.
Merlin replied with the same practised ease, “Ready, Boss,” and got to work cleaning, restocking and setting things up in preparation for the Friday night end-of-the-work-week rush.
~~oo~~
Part the First: What Merlin Saw
Merlin hummed as he worked. He had been grateful to Lance for hiring him one year ago, and had liked the job well enough when he started. He loved experimenting with new cocktails, and seeing how happy they made people. He had quickly built himself a reputation as one of London’s premier mixologists, and business at The Excalibur was now booming most of the time, thanks to some really wonderful Tripadvisor and Yelp reviews.
But it was the Friday night rush that he looked forward to the most. Especially over the past six months, ever since a blonde bit of wonderful magnificence had started coming into the bar at the end of his work week. His name, Merlin had soon learned, was Arthur Pendragon. He had wandered in quite by chance one Friday, six months ago, and had not missed a Friday since.
Merlin had taken to creating and perfecting new cocktails during the week, so that he could tempt Arthur with a completely novel cocktail to start his evening every Friday. He didn’t know if Arthur noticed this, or noticed that Merlin didn’t offer many of these creations to any other patrons.
Merlin smiled to himself as he sliced up limes and lemons ready for the night. Despite not having slept well the night before, he felt strangely energised. His stomach was full of a strange, fluttering sensation and his senses felt heightened, as if everything had been brought into sharp relief. He had felt this way every Friday night since their first meeting, all those months ago.
His mind drifted back to that first day. He remembered how the door had burst open, the light of the setting sun angled directly through the all-glass frontage, precisely as if to blind him. He couldn’t see who was stepping through the door at first, but then as the person moved further into the bar, Merlin had seen him. And what he saw took his breath away.
Arthur, for that is how he had introduced himself later, had been bathed from behind with the rich, golden glow of the setting sun, its rays diffusing softly around his body as he moved in seeming slow-motion, with a powerful, easy grace. The sun settled behind his head and for a brief, magical moment, it had looked to Merlin as if Arthur was wreathed in a golden halo.
The spell had been broken as Arthur moved into the shade of the bar’s interior. Merlin had found himself exhaling a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. His mind had been racing. Something very subtle had changed when Arthur walked into the bar, something that felt like the stars aligning, as something momentous clicked into place.
Stop. Concentrate. I. Can’t. Breathe.
Merlin had become aware of his heart beating crazily in his chest. He’d taken a couple of deep grounding breaths as he spoke to himself sternly under his breath, “For goodness sake! Get a grip!”
He’d busied himself at the bar counter as Arthur settled on the stool in front of him. Merlin had looked up, straight into a face framed by golden, messy hair; clear, laser-sharp, blue eyes topped by a subtle frown, and a regal, almost aquiline nose. His eyes travelled down to the man’s lips. Soft, subtle blush-red. Moving. Saying something…
“Did you hear me?” Arthur had demanded.
Merlin shook his head subtly, as if to clear his mind from the rush of endorphins that had flooded it. “Uuuhh… yeah…Sorry” he’d managed to stutter out. “Welcome to The Excalibur. What can get I you?”
Me. Me! Oh please, say it’s me….
“I’d like a pint of Spitfire, like I already said,” Arthur had replied in an irritable tone.
“Ah, yes.” Merlin had nodded approvingly at the choice. “Sorry. Coming right up. Would you like any snacks with that?” he enquired with all the customer service skills Lance had drummed into him, despite the fact that all he had wanted to do was vault over the bar and give the man a giant hug.
“No - just the drink. After the week I’ve had, it will be just the drink, and more than one probably –” he’d sighed, looking up at Merlin as if seeing him for the first time. “My name’s Arthur, by the way.”
Merlin had smiled as a warm feeling washed over his body. Arthur. A lovely regal name. A perfect fit for the prince of a man sitting in front of him.
“Here you are Arthur, a pint of Spitfire’s finest. Not seen you in here before...”
“No, my firm has only just moved into new premises in this area. It’s a nice part of town but the actual move has been a shocker,” he’d sighed.
Merlin had made a sympathetic noise. “It can be like that sometimes. What do you do?”
“I work for the family business, Pendragon & Son. Never a good idea to mix family and money.”
Arthur had sighed again, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Merlin smiled at him and said, “Well, you’ve come to the right place to relax and find a friendly ear. Enjoy your beer and I’ll be right back.”
He’d left Arthur to it. Arthur had seemed in no hurry to drink the beer, and also in no hurry to make any connections with the people around him. Merlin had noticed this, as he’d also noticed other people noticing Arthur. For some reason, that had made a small spark of jealousy flare up in his chest.
It had got very busy in the bar quite quickly and Merlin’s attention was soon distracted by the demands of other customers clamouring for drinks, their voices competing with music, which got ever louder as the evening passed.
When he had next looked over to where Arthur was sitting, he saw him trying to take a mobile phone call, failing, and looking down at his phone with a frown. He’d put a fiver under his pint glass and left without so much as a backward glance. Merlin found himself feeling disappointed somehow, as if the potential for something good had just walked out the door. “Gods, pull yourself together!” he’d admonished himself, under his breath.
The rest of the night had passed by in a crazy whirl and before he knew it, the night was over and he and Lance were cashing up to close the bar for the night. “Lance?” Merlin ventured in his best ‘this-is-a-totally-random-thought-and-not-something-I-have-been-thinking-about-all-night’ voice.
“Mmhn,” Lance had replied, with a sly smile. He had known Merlin long enough to know all of his secrets, what with them having been friends since their teens. He knew that tone of voice well.
“Uh… well I was just wondering,” Merlin had blundered on, “what do you know about Pendragon & Son?”
Lance knew all the firms operating in the area. He made it his business to know who he was marketing his food, and more importantly, his drinks to. Different industries were marked by different tastes. Banker wankers liked to splash their cash on obscenely vulgar amounts of horrendously expensive champagne or whiskey, and had obscenely vulgar attitudes to match. The passing workmen and traders preferred pints of crisp, cold lager or ale. Marketing and advertising types liked to be adventurous with their choices, preferring to be seen drinking the latest trendy cocktails. A mix of all of these types surrounded his well located bar in central London.
So it really was Lance’s business to understand this, because it influenced what he sold, and how he kept enticing his clientele back to The Excalibur. It was also one of the main reasons he had hired Merlin who, towards the end of their time together at university, began showing himself to be an extremely talented mixologist, whose cocktails had their uni mates falling over themselves to get invites to their parties in their halls of residence.
Lance had looked at Merlin quizzically. “Why do you want to know?”
“I met someone who works there, and I just wondered what sort of place it was…”
“What did he drink?”
“He had a pint of Spitfire.”
“Well, there you are then,” Lance replied, a slow grin spreading on his face.
“No… but see…” Merlin had pressed on, with a slow realisation that he was digging a very obvious hole for himself. He kept his private life quite…erm… private and Lance knew it wasn’t usual for him to be so interested in who the bar’s patrons were. “Um, he drank the ale, but he didn’t finish it… and he didn’t look like a tradesman, or a hipster for that matter.”
“Oh?” Lance had arched an eyebrow. “So what did he look like?”
He looked like a blonde Greek God. He looked like Achilles glistening in the sun.
“Oh, you know, well dressed, clean shaven and like his hands hadn’t seen a day’s rough, manual labour in his life…” Merlin’s voice had come to a halt suddenly as he noticed Lance watching him with an amused expression on his face.
Lance had huffed with laughter. “For a man who says he never notices what’s going on around him, you noticed some interesting details there. But yes, you are right, he is no manual labourer. Pendragon & Son is a top tier comms and marketing agency, allegedly working with government contracts, so no humping tradesman’s tools around for him.” His right eyebrow had ticked up. “He clearly made an impression on you, though.”
Merlin had shrugged, shaken his head and put his black, slim-fit hoodie on, ready to face the night bus home.
~~oo~~
The next Friday, Arthur had returned. Merlin didn’t notice him come in, but had seen him after he had seated himself in the same place. His space, Merlin thought, surprised at the possessiveness of that thought.
He had finished serving a chatty executive assistant with her cocktail of choice and taken a deep, steadying breath before he strode over to Arthur.
“Hello,” he felt himself beaming at Arthur like a love-sick fool and had cursed himself inwardly at his failed attempt to keep it cool and businesslike. “Nice to see you again. What will you have tonight?”
Arthur had looked Merlin in the eyes and held his gaze for seconds longer than the amount society would deem acceptable. Merlin had noticed Arthur’s cerulean blue eyes widen almost imperceptibly, as if something confusing had just revealed itself with clarity to him, and Arthur had straightened up on the bar stool.
“Your usual?” Merlin had asked with all the confidence of a man with an eidetic memory.
“My usual?” Arthur had echoed with a mocking tone. “I’ve hardly been coming here long enough for me to have ‘a usual’...”
Merlin had regarded him coolly. “You came in last week, distracted and preoccupied, and immediately ordered a pint of Spitfire, without so much as batting an eye. If that doesn’t make that drink your usual, then I will … eat that wizard’s hat!” Merlin pointed to the slightly naff looking, pointy hat hanging behind the bar.
Merlin had thought Arthur was about to deliver a withering retort, but competing emotions had played out across Arthur’s face, and then Arthur had thrown his head back and laughed. A deep, resonant, enticing belly-laugh that soon had Merlin giggling along with him.
“It figures,” Arthur said once he had caught his breath, “that a bar called The Excalibur has a wizard’s hat. Next thing, you’ll be telling me that you’ve got Merlin hidden away somewhere.”
Merlin had smiled a slow, sly smile. “Oh no, Arthur. He’s standing right in front of you.”
Merlin had chuckled as Arthur took a minute to compute this, and groaned. “Oh please don’t tell me you have the bloody sword buried in a stone wall somewhere too.”
“Now who’s being ever so slightly ridiculous,” Merlin had winked as he chided Arthur gently.
“Your name’s not really Merlin, is it?”
“It really is, Arthur, and I am a wizard with cocktails. So, what can I get you?”
Arthur’s whole frame had relaxed and he’d lent back and contemplated Merlin with a half-lidded gaze that had made a flash of heat pool suddenly in Merlin’s core. “You know what, I’m in the mood for something magical. What do you recommend?”
Merlin had beamed and his brain had gone into overdrive. A cocktail especially for Arthur. He thought quickly and then got to work. Merlin felt Arthur’s eyes on him, watching him closely as he assembled his cocktail. Even so, he had felt confident that Arthur wasn’t able to discern the point at which he spoke the spell that infused a little something extra into his drink, designed to enhance Arthur’s senses, heighten his pleasure and amplify his overall wellbeing. The man looked like he could use a bit of extra, magical help in that department.
Merlin’s mouth had been dry as he’d handed Arthur the cocktail, watching him carefully as he took his first sip. Relief, mixed with a frisson of desire, sparked through his body as Arthur had groaned audibly with evident pleasure.
“What is this?” he’d asked softly, with his eyes closed, as he savoured the taste.
It’s a cocktail fit for a King, and a thief. You are stealing my breath away, Arthur.
“That’s a small concoction I like to call The Excalibur’s Kick - made with whisky, vermouth and my own proprietary, little something extra,” said Merlin, a hint of pride touching his voice. “It’s my own invention and the house specialty.”
“Sorcery,” Arthur had breathed out, before taking another sip. “You are some mixologist.”
Merlin had thrilled inwardly. If only you knew, Arthur.
Arthur had paused, sniffed the drink and taken another slow sip. “It tastes different, and yet… somehow familiar. Is that Welsh whisky I can taste?”
Merlin’s eyes had widened with surprise as he’d felt himself smiling with genuine delight. “Wow, that’s very good. Yes, it’s Penderyn Whisky. You have a discerning palate, Arthur.”
Arthur had winked at him, suddenly appearing much more relaxed, and had taken the drink over to a small table, away from the bar counter, where he’d settled to enjoy it. His eyes never left Merlin as he worked. In time, he had held up the empty glass signalling he would like a refill.
Merlin walked over to the table, bringing another round. “That’s very cheeky. We don’t do table service in this establishment.”
“And yet,” Arthur had smirked, an eyebrow quirking up as he tilted his head, “here you are.”
“I figured it was better to placate you, than to have you glowering in the corner, scaring off my valuable customers.”
“Am I not a valuable customer too?”
“Time will tell, Arthur. Time will tell.” Merlin’s eyes had moved down to look at Arthur’s lips for a long second, and then he turned around and strode back to the bar, knowing full well that Arthur was still watching him.
~~oo~~
Part the Second: What Arthur saw
Arthur had found The Excalibur quite by chance that first Friday, six months ago.
But he had returned to it the next Friday, and every Friday since, as if drawn to it by some supernatural force. He wasn’t a bar-fly. Far from it. He had had his fair share of work do’s in bars, and meetups with mates in pubs to watch rugby matches. But he didn’t have a regular spot to go to.
Until now, that is.
The bar itself was welcoming, clean and smartly laid out, a perfectly balanced mix of warm, old, wooden touches and a modern, Scandinavian aesthetic. But he wasn’t coming back for the ambiance. Not at all. If he was being brutally honest with himself, he was coming back for the barman, and his skill with those damn cocktails.
This latter realisation was the one that surprised Arthur the most. He was a real ale and whisky man. Cocktails were too frou-frou for him to have ever thought about. Yet here he was, looking forward to each new cocktail that this barman with the magic hands, and the even more magic smile, mixed up each week.
Arthur sipped his whiskey cocktail and thought back to that fateful Friday when he had stepped into The Excalibur for the first time. He remembered how angry and frustrated he had felt, a usual state of mind for him after truly frightful work weeks. He also remembered how he’d felt when he first laid eyes on Merlin.
As Arthur had walked into The Excalibur for the first time, he felt like he had been kicked in the solar plexus and squeezed around the chest at the same time. He felt stunned. And breathless. With the setting sun blazing from behind him, he found himself looking at perfection.
Merlin had looked up, squinting and scrunching his eyes up a little as the sunlight blinded him, but as Arthur stepped closer, he’d seen Merlin’s expression change. His eyes had widened as he’d taken the sight of Arthur in, properly. As Arthur stepped closer, he’d seen Merlin’s eyelids flicker, and the pupils in his electrifying, blue eyes widen.
Arthur’s eyes had travelled down the angular planes of Merlin’s cheekbones. I wonder what it would feel like to lick them, he had thought, and his gaze had settled on Merlin’s lips. Plush, pink lips, with a perfect cupid’s bow, moistened now by the tip of a tongue that swept a quick stripe over them.
I want that tongue on me, in me. Godsdammit, Arthur. Get a grip.
Then Merlin had smiled a wide and very interested smile of welcome, as Arthur sat down. Arthur chuckled at the recollection, and he thought he must remember to tell Merlin that he had the most useless poker-face. And despite the size of his ears, not very great hearing either. Arthur had been forced to ask him twice for his drink.
But then… oh, then… Merlin had opened his mouth, and out poured that mellifluous voice, tinged with a hint of an Irish accent. And when he asked Arthur what he could get him, it had been all Arthur could do to stop himself from saying, You. You can get me you - underneath me, around me, all night.
Arthur remembered feeling very unsettled - he hadn’t had such a palpably visceral reaction to another man in, well, never actually. Oh sure, he had messed around in senior school, and had a few drunken flings with both men and women at university. But this, how he had felt that first time he saw Merlin, was different. And powerfully unsettling. He was a little ashamed to remember now, all these months later, that his surprise had translated into an initial gruffness and rudeness to Merlin that he hadn’t really meant.
And yet, Merlin had stayed the course with him, smiling, and kind. Arthur loved how he had charmed him. How his lilting tone, his sexy half-smile, his sheer cheek and his smarts had broken through the tough carapace that Arthur had worked so hard at perfecting.
Well, it might have been Merlin’s manner that softened him up, or it might be whatever he was putting in these sinfully delicious cocktails, thought Arthur now, taking another sip of tonight’s choice. He had gone for The Excalibur’s Kick again.
Over the previous weeks Merlin had treated him to an array of increasingly stronger, and more delicious cocktails. Arthur had enjoyed the Merlini- “My version of the Bellini, with a little extra, secret ingredient,” Merlin had winked at Arthur as he handed him the champagne cocktail. That was followed a week later (he groaned even thinking about this) by a Dark ‘n’ Swordy, a vicious, dark ginger beer and rum number.
The weeks that followed saw him trying out such delights as the Dragon's Breath, Morgana's Revenge, The King's Choice and The Chivalry Ain’t Dead. He groaned again, as he tried to stifle an inelegant giggle. Who on earth came up with these ridiculous names?
The past six months had passed quickly and slowly, at the same time, in that unique paradox that Arthur recognised as the privilege of the love-sick and the pining. He kept The Excalibur, Merlin and his newfound love of cocktails a secret from his workmates and his family, and especially from his disapproving father. His weeks dragged on, as the work remained stressful, and he lived for Fridays, knowing that just seeing Merlin would make him feel that all was right with his world again.
And so, Arthur found himself, on another Friday night, nursing another cocktail, as he watched and fantasised about Merlin, here in his happy place. But his favourite cocktail remained his first, The Excalibur's Kick - as much for the taste as for the heady sense memories associated with their first meeting.
He finished his cocktail off and signalled Merlin for another, a pleasant sensation of calm, mixed with the electricity of anticipation, weaving through his body. He took his first sip of the second drink, as he watched the curve of Merlin’s arse beckon invitingly as he walked away. Another of his secret Friday night pleasures. He couldn’t help staring, devouring him with his eyes.
And then, he couldn’t help thinking he had lost his damn mind. What were these things floating in his vision? They were an incandescent blue and fluttering just on the edge of his line of sight, tantalisingly flitting away as he tried to focus on them. They couldn’t be… could they? They were. Butterflies. They were damn butterflies.
Arthur shook his head and blinked owlishly. What the hell was Merlin putting in his drinks, he thought, even as he took another deep sip. They were addictive, and he liked the way they made him feel. He liked the way Merlin made him feel. He liked how Merlin always knew what to say to draw him out, to soothe his worries. He liked how, when Merlin smiled, it felt like he was smiling just for Arthur. Like he was Arthur’s alone.
It was in this haze that Arthur looked over to the bar to see Merlin talking to one of the other patrons, a tall, dark haired man, all flashing, black eyes and arrogance, who was clearly trying it on with Merlin. Arthur’s eyes narrowed as the man leaned in close to Merlin’s face, his lips almost touching Merlin’s ear, as he was trying to tell him something.
Arthur’s blood ran hot as his breath sped up. He found himself snarling audibly when the man laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. On Merlin.
My Merlin. MINE.
Arthur shook his head as if to dislodge that thought. Where the hell had that come from, he wondered as he strode over to the bar.
Merlin looked startled, then a little sheepish, to see him suddenly appear. Arthur drew himself up to his full height, and spoke firmly. “Everything OK here, Merlin?”
Merlin smiled nervously at him. “Yes Arthur. Nothing to worry about. Cenred here was just letting me know what his next drinks order is.”
Arthur snorted. Cenred looked at Arthur and with a subtle sneer said, “I was actually asking him out. What’s it to you?”
Arthur saw Merlin put his right hand on his forehead as he was turning to face Cenred full on, his head suddenly cleared by anger, and another, less easily recognisable, emotion. At first, Arthur thought it might have been gratitude that those damn butterflies had disappeared, but he knew he was only kidding himself. It was hot, roiling rage. And jealousy?!? Arthur had never felt such an intense connection with anyone else before, so he had no idea that jealousy would feel like this.
In what felt like slow motion, Arthur wound his right arm back and landed a sucker punch on Cenred, flooring him.
The bar erupted into action. Lance suddenly appeared and vaulted over the bar counter, yelling over his shoulder to Merlin as he did so, “Get him out of here. NOW.”
Merlin didn’t need to be told twice. He ran around the counter and grabbed Arthur, who let himself be manhandled out of the bar into the cool night air.
“Godsdammit, Arthur!” Merlin was panting with the effort of having dragged Arthur out. “What were you thinking?!?”
Arthur’s emotions had cooled and were now tinged with embarrassment and regret. “I don’t know,” he said wretchedly. “ I couldn’t bear the thought of him being so close to you.”
When I couldn’t be, when I haven’t had the courage to be.
“Arthur - that’s just Cenred. He tries it on with me regularly, as he does with almost every barman in here. He’s a chancer when he’s drunk, but he’s harmless, really.”
“Oh.” Arthur found himself momentarily lost for words.
Merlin was standing in front of him now, stroking Arthur’s upper arms. Arthur looked at those long, elegant fingers, watching them trace a hypnotic pattern on his biceps. He felt slightly sick now, and he couldn’t bear to look into Merlin’s eyes, too scared of what he knew he would see displayed there.
What are you thinking? Have I blown it? Oh god. What a damn fool I’ve made of myself.
“Oh,” is what he found himself saying again, a paragon of eloquence. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I embarrassed myself and I embarrassed you. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
“It’s OK Arthur. It was just Cenred being Cenred,” Merlin reiterated, as if that would make it alright.
Arthur took a deep breath, braving a look into the depths of Merlin’s striking, blue eyes, and pressed on. “Honestly, the more I think about it, it doesn’t matter whether it was just Cenred or someone else. The thought of anyone else being that close to you, touching you… when I… I can’t —”
Arthur was waiting for Merlin to tell him to stop being ridiculous. Instead, he saw Merlin’s eyelids flicker, his long lashes sweeping down as he dipped his head.
Well, that’s buggered that up then, thought Arthur in dismay, his throat tightening with distress, even as some emotionally dispassionate part of his brain registered that the long, elegant fingers of Merlin’s hands had now gently laced into his own.
Merlin’s expression, as he raised his head to look into Arthur’s eyes, was subtly changed - wonder, Arthur thought, mixed with exasperation. Arthur’s heartbeat stuttered as Merlin stepped right up to him, their bodies touching, and smiled a slow, sinful smile.
“Oh Arthur, but you can. You always could. There’s never been anyone else but you.”
And with that, Merlin tilted his head, leaned in and pressed his lips to Arthur’s.
Arthur’s world exploded. The butterflies returned. He would never know, looking back on this moment years later, whether Merlin had meant to just go for a relatively chaste, but romantic, first kiss. All Arthur remembered was feeling like some primal, elemental energy in him had been unleashed and was setting his nerves on fire. He kissed Merlin like he was a long cold drink of water - an open mouthed kiss that got sloppier, wetter and deeper, as Merlin kissed him back.
Oh. Gods. Merlin was kissing him back. He felt Merlin’s lips move under his, his tongue searching Arthur’s mouth, licking his teeth, making small noises of pleasure. Arthur pressed the length of their lower bodies tightly together, even as he held Merlin’s head between his hands and moved to drop gentle kisses on his closed eyes, and his cheekbones.
He carded his fingers through Merlin’s thick, lustrous hair, gripping tightly and gently as he pulled Merlin’s head back to expose his neck, and started mouthing and nipping at his jaw. He moved down to kiss and suck and bite gently on Merlin’s neck, as his hands dropped to cup Merlin’s arse, at which point Merlin seemed to lose all sense of restraint. He started moaning loudly, and moved his leg between Arthur’s thighs.
Arthur’s blood sang as Merlin came in for a deep kiss, broken by his ragged panting, while he ground his hardening cock ever more insistently against Arthur’s thigh. Arthur felt Merlin’s hand come down between them to palm his dick over his trousers. Arthur lost all sense of decorum for a second time that night, as he made a guttural moan into Merlin’s mouth, and his hips arched up to meet that pressure.
A loud wolf-whistle broke their spell. “Get a room, you two,” yelled a passerby, as he shot past on an electric scooter.
Arthur laughed as he pulled back and looked at Merlin, feeling wild-eyed and giddy. He knew his world would never be the same again.
“Come home with me tonight, Merlin,” he said simply.
And so, Merlin went.
~~oo~~
Part the Third: What they did next
After that night, Arthur was at The Excalibur almost every single evening after work, and stayed until closing, when he would accompany Merlin home. They kissed. A lot. They stroked each other’s cocks. A lot. But nothing more. Arthur didn’t know where or how the block to moving things on to the next stage had happened. Yet, it had happened. And it left him squirming with frustration.
He tried to gauge how Merlin was feeling about this, trying everything he knew short of actually asking him. Quite why he couldn’t do that was anyone’s guess, but somehow, without meaning to, they had landed up in this strange, limited sexual zone. And Arthur wanted more. So much more. It physically hurt him to think about life without Merlin, and his brain no longer recognised the life he had lived before he had known Merlin.
One evening, Lance finally asks the question neither of them have been brave enough to ask each other. “What’s happening here? Either you’ve turned him into an alcoholic,” he looks at Merlin, “or you’ve turned him into your boyfriend,” he tilts his head knowingly towards Arthur.
Merlin shoots Arthur a wistful smile. “I am not sure,” he murmurs, somewhat sadly.
“You’re not sure?” Arthur is horrified. “Why not?”
Lance choses this moment to slink off quietly, delicately allowing them their privacy, and also not wanting to be around if Merlin’s anger explodes, fully utilising the wisdom of his years of experience of being Merlin’s friend.
Merlin replies after a thoughtful pause, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know. We fool around a lot, but you never want to fuck me, and you never seem to want to DTR. You really are quite excellent at deflecting anything that remotely smacks of going in that direction, you know. So…. truth be told, I am not sure.”
Merlin’s voice cracks, echoing the shattering of Arthur’s heart. Arthur is dumbstruck. Years of emotional restraint and stoicism, thanks to his upbringing, have brought him to this invidious place. The most perfect being in the world, the centre of his world, has absolutely no idea about how Arthur really feels. This is a matter of grave importance that must immediately be rectified.
“Tonight, Merlin.” He speaks in a low growl. “You will know tonight.”
Merlin looks back at him, his large blue eyes widening slightly as his mouth drops open.
~~~~
Merlin feels progressively more nervous as he helps Lance close up the bar. It is a warm midsummer’s evening and he looks over to where Arthur is sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Arthur’s head is dipped, looking at his phone. His blonde hair is just that little bit too long, curling around his ear and over the edges of the button down shirt he is wearing. His face is lit up from below by the phone screen, and Merlin is struck by how this unearthly light highlights Arthur’s strong bone structure. He looks both solid and ethereal at the same time.
Merlin only becomes aware that he has been holding his breath when it comes bursting out of him in a soft huff. His skin is prickling, and feels tight, as if it’s stretched too tight to contain all the big emotions threatening to slip out of him. What on earth had he been thinking, challenging Arthur to define their relationship?
Idiot Idiot Idiot, he curses himself silently. He thinks he’s been so happy just spending time with Arthur. Yeah, Merlin, you’ve been sooo happy, especially since Arthur hasn’t made any move to fuck you since that first night.
Merlin had enjoyed the sex that night. He thought Arthur had enjoyed it too, but since then….tumbleweed in the sex department. And it didn't matter how many added magical ingredients he'd put into Arthur's drinks since then. Let’s face it, Merlin laughs wryly to himself now, he’s been using sappy love potions on Arthur, who has probably wised up and is now, somehow, immune to them!
But earlier, when Arthur had looked at him with ‘Tonight’ on his lips and danger glittering in his eyes, Merlin’s blood had run cold, his fingertips tingling uncomfortably as he struggled for breath.
Even now, his nerves are still jangling. They walk out to the bus stop together, as they usually would, leaving Lance to lock up the bar. But the world outside feels flat and lifeless to Merlin and he hardly registers that they have stopped walking, and are now standing and waiting for the next bus. Despite the warmth of the summer’s evening, he shivers.
Merlin has the horrible feeling they are going to have a talk - but it’s going to be that talk. The one where Arthur tells him “Merlin, I really like you, as a friend, That first night was a mistake. A brief moment of madness. But I am not looking for anything serious right now and I want us to just be friends, with occasional benefits.”
Merlin’s imagination plays this scene out so vividly in his mind that he finds his chest tightening with sadness, his breath coming in short gasps and tears welling up in his eyes. Arthur’s voice calling his name breaks him out of this horrible reverie, and he realises he is soaking wet, as summer rain has started to fall heavily.
“Merlin… MERlin,” Arthur repeats, looking at him with what Merlin dares to hope is concern. “Where did you go? Everything OK?”
Merlin swallows, watching as Arthur’s eyes are drawn to his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Yes, I’m fine. Just, you know, wondering…”
Arthur smiles. “Let’s get you home and out of those wet clothes.”
The bus ride feels interminable. Merlin is keenly aware of Arthur’s body next to his, the length of Arthur’s thigh pressing against his own, Arthur’s hands resting calmly in his lap. Arthur betrays no emotions, which only serves to rattle Merlin further. He has to stop himself reaching out for Arthur, or resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder.
Oh Arthur. Please. Be gentle with my heart. I could not bear to lose you.
They walk to Arthur’s house side by side, not talking, not even holding hands. Merlin’s mind is now a torrential whirl of confusion, and anger. He has parsed everything Arthur has said to him tonight, every look that has passed between them, and the man cannot give him a straight answer. The more Merlin thinks about this, the angrier he gets, and by the time they reach Arthur’s home, Merlin is incandescent with rage.
Arthur unlocks the front door of his house and opens it, gesturing for Merlin to enter. Merlin walks slowly and comes to stand in the large hallway. It is tastefully understated yet impressive, much like Arthur. Merlin turns around slowly, appreciating the muted tones, elegant occasional table and artwork on the wall. He bends over to take his shoes and socks off, and puts them out of the way under the table. His feet sink into the plush carpets. He catches sight of himself in the large floor-to-ceiling mirror. He looks fervid, the soothing atmosphere of Arthur’s home clearly having no effect on his current emotions.
From behind him, he hears Arthur lock the front door and he whirls around to look at him, taking a deep breath as he does so. “Arthur—”
Before he can get any farther with what he was going to say, Arthur has closed the distance between them in a few large strides. He grabs Merlin roughly around the waist with both arms, pulling him in tightly.
Merlin is nonplussed for a moment and then, as he attempts to speak again, Arthur shuts him up with a growl that is part anger and part frank, carnal desire.
“Read.My.Lips,” he mutters as he captures Merlin’s lips in a fervent kiss.
Merlin wants to protest, to say that this doesn’t answer any of his questions, but the more Arthur kisses him, the harder it is to remember what he was angry about in the first place.
He feels Arthur’s hand go under his shirt, warm against the skin of his back, and the touch of it makes him melt against Arthur, who takes the opportunity to pull Merlin’s shirt and hoodie off, before stripping his own shirt.
Merlin’s heart stutters as he looks at Arthur’s naked torso, his muscles cleanly defined, and poetry in motion, as Arthur’s chest heaves with emotion. He notices that Arthur’s trousers are tenting, and he can’t look away, mesmerised by the promise of what will happen next. He bites at Arthur’s lower lip, making Arthur groan and arch his hips into Merlin’s, putting a delicious pressure on Merlin’s own exquisitely sensitive and hardening cock.
His hands travel down Arthur’s chest, fluttering over his nipples, tweaking them and making Arthur moan, “Gods, Merlin. Please…. Touch me, suck me… I want those lips on me…”
Merlin moves as if he has been electrified. His hands are trembling, but despite that, he manages the dexterity needed to unbuckle Arthur’s belt and help him out of his trousers and underpants. He is slightly less elegant in getting rid of his own clothes, and nearly falls over in his haste.
He kneels in front of Arthur, the desire that was smouldering before now flaring up in his body, and takes his thick and slightly curving cock in hand, lapping at the drops of fluid that have already appeared at the tip. He looks up to gauge Arthur’s reaction.
Arthur’s eyes are closed, his head is thrown back and his fists are clenched, as if he is trying hard to stop himself from coming. Merlin takes the entire length of his cock into his mouth, the tip touching the back of his throat, and Arthur’s eyes shoot open. He gazes down at Merlin adoringly, his lips curving into a filthy smile.
“Aaah, stop... stop, Merlin,” he says breathlessly, “I’m not going to last long if we carry on like this.”
Oh. Gods. Merlin feels drunk with the power that great sex, combined with love, can bring and pulls back off Arthur’s cock, licking his lips slowly. He reaches up to hold Arthur’s hands, bringing the man down to kneel in front of him, their knees cushioned by the thick carpet.
“Arthur, I want you inside me. Now. I don’t want to wait anymore. I... I can’t.”
Arthur’s response is to pounce on Merlin, pinning him down and kissing him. They both giggle a little as they sort out the warm tangle of their limbs. Their laughter turns to moans as Arthur takes both of their cocks in hand and strokes them both. He goes slowly at first, but soon he has built up to an increasingly ragged rhythm.
That delicious friction is making Merlin’s blood overheat. “Arthur…” he whines breathlessly as his brain starts shorting out. He feels bereft as Arthur stops what he is doing to reach over and rootle about in his trouser pockets. He reaches down to stroke himself, undulating and gasping, “Arthur… what–”
Arthur exclaims triumphantly when he finds his wallet, from which he extracts a couple of sachets of lube. Merlin’s surprise makes him stop the pleasurable rubbing long enough to say to Arthur, “Well aren’t you just very cocksure.”
Arthur smiles as he tears the packets open with his teeth and coats his fingers with lube. “I have always known, or hoped, this day would come. I just didn’t know when. And I didn’t realise that my own stupidity was stopping it.”
Merlin starts to laugh, exhilaration bubbling up inside him and bursting out through every pore of his skin. His laughter soon turns to moaning as Arthur gently positions his legs apart with his knees bent. He inserts one, then two fingers into Merlin’s puckered hole, scissoring gently and opening him up. And then Arthur hooks his fingers and presses up.
Oh. Glory. Merlin loses the ability to speak at that point and just thrashes his head from side to side, moaning and thrusting his hips, fucking onto Arthur’s fingers.
Merlin feels the slow rise of his orgasm coiling and building in his core. The sensation is so intense that it acutely sharpens all his physical senses while, paradoxically, slowing time down. He is aware of every movement Arthur’s body makes- how his hair moves; how the sweat gathering at his temples slowly starts to track the planes of his handsome face; how the muscles in his forearm ripple as his fingers work inside Merlin and slowly take him apart. It’s enough to make Merlin forget own name as his orgasm begins to crest.
“Arthur–” he gasps, “I want you inside me. Now.”
Arthur starts to lift Merlin’s legs up over his shoulders but Merlin surprises him by suddenly rolling him over onto his back, and straddling him.
He gazes down at Arthur, whose pupils are blown wide by this new turn of events. “I want to–” he doesn’t get the chance to finish.
“Ride me, Merlin,” Arthur groans, looking wanton and desperate beneath Merlin, as he grips Merlin’s hips and grinds himself against him.
Merlin kneels and positions himself directly over Arthur’s cock, spreading his ass cheeks with one hand and guiding Arthur’s cock into him with the other. He goes slowly, allowing himself time to adjust to the pleasure of the burn, and the feeling of being stretched by Arthur’s thick cock, as he seats himself fully.
Electricity skitters over his skin and he looks down to see Arthur’s face and chest are flushed, as he tries to pump into Merlin. Merlin stills him, not wanting this feeling to end. But Arthur is panting now. “Merlin…I …unh.” He reaches out and strokes Merlin’s cock, which had been twitching invitingly.
At the feel of Arthur’s hand, Merlin loses all sense of himself. He leans back on his arms, bringing his knees up and starts to ride Arthur, his hips pumping slow at first, but then snapping with an increasing sense of urgency. He can hear Arthur moaning, incoherent with lust, and he throws his own head back, eyes closed, and starts to lose himself in the feeling overwhelming him.
Just then, he opens his eyes, and catches sight of their reflection in the mirror. Arthur is watching him, watching them. Merlin recognises the exact moment that Arthur understands he is being watched. He grips Merlin’s hips with both of his hands. His fingers press down as he closes his eyes, and starts to fuck Merlin hard and fast, The sound of skin on skin and breathless panting fills the hallway. Arthur’s body stills, tenses and then jerks, as strangled noises escape his mouth. The sight of Arthur coming undone sends Merlin over the edge. Incandescent blue butterflies appear around them both as his body shivers, his gut clenches and he paints Arthur’s chest with his own come.
Later, when their pulses have stopped racing and the afterglow has dimmed, they get themselves cleaned up, and into some comfortable fluffy robes. Arthur goes outside to the patio where he lights the fire that has been laid in the large, decorative firepit, while Merlin busies himself making some snacks and drinks, which he takes outside on a tray.
Arthur grins the cheeky smile that always melts Merlin’s heart, and winks at him. “So this establishment does have table service.”
“Yes. I get bigger tips here.” Merlin waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Merlin puts the tray down, arranging the contents on the low table by the firepit. He looks up and sees Arthur watching him pensively and with an intensity in his gaze that makes Merlin feel more naked now than he was when they were on the hallway carpet. His heart stutters as he watches Arthur’s face, lit from below by golden firelight, the strength in his strong features emphasised by light and shadow. And when Arthur smiles at him - a soft shy smile - Merlin’s heart damn near stops.
They settle themselves down on the comfortable patio chaise, sitting close to each other in companionable silence. After some minutes, Arthur clears his throat. “We have been lovers for a while, Merlin. But I think it’s safe to say we are more than that now?”
He squirms as if having this conversation is uncomfortable for him, but pushes on. Merlin can see how important it is for Arthur to finish this, now that he has started, so he waits patiently, confident and happy that he knows now - finally - where this is going. He nods encouragingly at Arthur.
Arthur presses on. “I want more, Merlin. I want you. Every day. In every way. To complete me. I…love you.”
Despite his earlier confidence, Merlin was not expecting that. He is overcome with joy and he scooches over to sit on Arthur’s lap, kissing and cuddling him.
“Oh Arthur,” he murmurs, “I love you too, and yes, yes, a thousand times yes, to all of it.”
They watch the flames burn bright and then start to dim, sparks shooting skyward. They are both stretched out comfortably alongside each other now, legs intertwined. Merlin watches as Arthur’s eyes flutter closed, and a gentle peaceful smile plays about his lips. This is the most peaceful and relaxed Arthur has ever looked, in all the time that Merlin has known him.
Merlin’s heart feels like it will explode with happiness in this moment, knowing that he has had a small part to play in that. He whispers gently into the night breeze, and the sparks coalesce to form a glowing, golden dragon in the night sky, which shimmers with the promise of their future.