Happy Merlin Holidays, corilannam [3/3]

[merlin-hols.livejournal.com]

oooOooo

“I need to get laid.”

Gwaine looks up from a board filled with a seemingly chaotic assortment of white and black stones. “Well, hello to you, too, Merlin. How lovely to see you.”

He moves a stone and Merlin stares at the board. “What the hell is this?”

“Go,” Elena says.

Merlin blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Gwaine laughs. “She doesn’t mean you should go. She means this” – he points at the board – “is Go. We’re playing Strip Go.”

“Come again?” Gwaine opens his mouth, and Merlin hastily holds up a hand. “Actually, no, I don’t want to know.”

“Your loss.” Gwaine smirks.

Merlin turns to Elena. “El, I need you to help me buy a tux.”

She arches her eyebrows, still staring at the board. “Sure. But why?”

Merlin sighs. “Arthur is dragging me to that stupid charity ball at Christmas. He said they wouldn’t let me in otherwise.”

Gwaine and Elena look up simultaneously and stare at him. Merlin squirms. “What?”

“So, just to recap,” Gwaine says. “You’re going to a ball—”

“A Christmas ball,” Elena interjects helpfully.

“—with the Prince of Wales?”

“As his plus one?”

Merlin looks from one to the other warily and finally ventures, “Yes?”

“Elena,” Gwaine drawls in that dangerous tone of his that Merlin has been conditioned to fear. “Sweetheart, go get us some crazy glue while I dismantle the lamp from the sitting room. Merlin will be needing some crystal slippers.”

Elena giggles.

“Oh, very funny.” Merlin huffs. “You’re both hilarious. It’s not like that, okay? It’s all business, and it was Morgana’s idea.”

Which is the truth, as far as he knows. Arthur has been nothing but politely cool with him for the last two weeks. Clearly, refusing to accept a royal IOU was some kind of unforgivable insult.

“Morgana – as in, Her Royal Highness Morgana, Princess of York?” Gwaine asks casually. “And she’s just Morgana to you?”

Elena sighs. “It’s like we don’t even know him.”

“You’ll wave at us from the balcony, won’t you, Merlin? Hey, do you think they’d allow two guys to kiss, or will they just be holding hands?”

“Oh God, shut up!” Merlin springs to his feet, fists clenched. “Just shut up for once in your life, Gwaine!”

He storms out into the garden, catching Gwaine’s confused ‘What did I say?’ before he slams the door shut.

When Elena steps out a few moments later, Merlin has mostly calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” he says and tugs on the coat she brought him gratefully. “It’s been a long few days. You guys can go back to teasing me about my non-existent romance with Prince Arthur in a couple of weeks, yeah? Just not right now. Please.”

“Non-existent romance?” Elena repeats and then her features soften. “Oh, Merlin. What happened?”

Merlin looks at her, and, to his horror, feels his lips tremble. He bites down viciously, stifling it. Two weeks of near-silent treatment from Arthur on top of his ‘you’re my friend’ speech have been too much.

“I didn’t listen to you,” Merlin says, shivering at a gust of icy wind. “I didn’t listen to you, El, and I should have. I really, really should have.”

She walks over to him and hugs him, and Merlin can do little but wrap his arms around her and allow himself to be held.


oooOooo

Later, the two of them are curled on the couch, watching Blackadder. Gwaine barges in from the kitchen and pretends to scowl.

“All right, I did the dishes. I even cleaned the bloody oven. I want in on the cuddle fest,” he declares and sprawls on the other side of Merlin, shoving him over unceremoniously.

Merlin moves agreeably. “Sorry I yelled,” he offers.

Gwaine pokes him in the ribs. “Yeah.”

Elena shifts slightly, her head making Merlin’s arm go to sleep, but he’s too warm and relaxed to be complaining.

“So about earlier,” Gwaine says. “About you getting laid? I have this footie mate who’s really fond of dark-haired twinks.”

Merlin elbows him softly. “I’m not a twink.”

“How would you define yourself?”

“I don’t know. Just a regular… guy… person.”

Elena snorts.

“Hey,” Merlin protests.

She pats his knee. “It’s not you, it’s Rowan Atkinson.”

“He’s not even in this scene.”

“I’m remembering the last one.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies. Anyway” – Merlin turns to Gwaine – “raincheck on your friend, okay? I need to sort myself out first. I think.”

Gwaine grins. “Good idea.”

He turns on his side and drapes an arm around Merlin’s waist, his hand resting on Elena’s hip. She covers it with her own.

Merlin purrs with contentment. “You’re good people.”

They both go suspiciously quiet, and a moment later Merlin’s regretting his careless words, trying to escape as they launch a merciless tickle attack. They torture him until he can’t form words and is simply lying there, breathless with laughter, twitching helplessly and trying to grab their hands.


oooOooo

“Leon?” Morgana’s voice rings with glee. “Leon, Arthur? Leon Knightly? You’re jealous of your bodyguard?”

“It’s not funny, Morgana!” Arthur snaps, fighting with his bowtie in front of the mirror.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think it’s hilarious.”

Arthur looks up in time to see Morgana actually walking into his bedroom in her lingerie.

“Dammit!” He claps a hand over his eyes. “Morgana, do you mind?”

She scoffs, rummaging in his wardrobe. “Oh, come on, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Yes, and I have no desire to see it again, so could you please cover yourself?”

Morgana tuts. “Such a prude. Really, the title of Britain’s most scandalous royal is wasted on you.”

“For God’s sake, woman, you’re my sister!”

“Half-sister. It’s only half-incest.”

Arthur sputters. “You know, the sheer amount of horrible things that come out of your mouth on a regular basis is appalling, Morgana.”

She laughs. “Why, thank you, Arthur. You’re so sweet.”

Something occurs to him, and Arthur turns to give her a look, keeping his eyes pointedly on her face. “Why are you getting ready here? Don’t you have your own palace wing or a dark realm or something?”

“I do, but it’s more fun this way. Besides, I thought you could use some time with Marie.”

“Who’s Marie?”

“My hair and make-up girl. Those bags under your eyes really aren’t as attractive as you think.” She pats him on the cheek and mercifully steps out of the room, if only just.

Arthur looks at his reflection and winces. “I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Imagining Leon and Merlin in the throes of passion, no doubt,” Morgana quips from outside the room. “Really, Arthur, Leon’s too old for this.”

“He’s thirty-three! That’s hardly too old for sex.”

“I meant for this kind of stupidity. A blind man can see the way you look at Merlin, and Leon has known you since you were six. Do you really think he’d do that to you?”

“Yeah, right. And Merlin just happened to wear his clothes for the hell of it.”

“You don’t know what happened.” Morgana’s finger appears in the doorway, jabbing at Arthur imperiously. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Arthur. It never ends well.”

“But don’t you see? It makes perfect sense. Leon always liked Merlin, even back in Italy.”

“Oh my God, are you seriously this delusional? Arthur, for God’s sake – Leon has a girlfriend.”

Arthur whirls around. “He what?”

Morgana appears in the doorway, neatly encased in a flow of sleek magenta that twirls around her ankles and showcases her cleavage to the point that it makes Arthur vaguely uncomfortable. She looks at him, amused but also uncharacteristically sympathetic.

“Oh, Arthur.” She sighs. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

He gulps in a breath. “And Leon—”

“Swings both ways and has been dating Jenny Watkins for about four months now. They’re pretty serious.”

Arthur stares at her, a weird buzz in his ears. “I really should have known that, shouldn’t I?”

Morgana lifts her eyebrows. “Yes,” she says in that ‘it wouldn’t hurt you to take an interest every once in a while’ tone.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. “Leon and I had a bit of a falling out after Italy. After that, it was just – I didn’t feel like I could pry.”

Morgana smirks. “I guess he really did like Merlin, then, didn’t he?”

Arthur glares at her, and she laughs and reaches out for his arm. “Be my escort?”

Arthur snorts involuntarily. “Only to the car. I still remember the last time I escorted you all too well.”

The debutantes’ ball that season was going to remain the stuff of legends forever, mostly thanks to Morgana, who arrived in a very stunning and very black dress, effectively making everyone else’s debuts a mere background for her show. Uther very nearly disowned them both, even though Arthur swore he had no idea she was planning it.

Morgana smiles at him beatifically and links her arm with his. “Let’s go be a scandal.”

Arthur can only hope she doesn’t mean it, but past experience tells him that yes, she probably does.


oooOooo

Morgana ditches him in the driveway. Morgause, the Duchess of Kent, has the audacity to arrive at the exact same time, and Morgana practically teleports to her side, posing for the photographers and providing wank material for generations of impressionable young Brits. Arthur rolls his eyes and goes inside.

The lobby is huge and filled with people. Arthur squints and even stands on his toes at one point, looking for Merlin, who’s supposed to be meeting him here. When he finally spots him standing in front of a big mirror, fiddling with his sleeve nervously, Arthur’s mouth goes dry.

Someone must have helped Merlin pick the outfit, because in all the time Arthur has known him, Merlin has never once worn anything that actually fit, but his tux seems perfect. It’s on the humble side, looking closer to a regular suit than a tailcoat. Arthur can’t pull off this design, but he has always liked the way it looks on those who can. Merlin opted for a simple black tie, skinny but not too skinny; and his hair looks moderately tamed for once. He seems composed and almost aloof.

Up close, though, it’s another story. There are two spots of colour high on Merlin’s cheekbones. His lips are gleaming red, as though Merlin has been biting them for the better part of the day. His eyes are bright with nervous anticipation, and he seems tense like a bowstring, ready to bolt.

“Looking good,” Arthur murmurs in Merlin’s ear, stepping up behind him.

Merlin jumps. “Arthur! Fuck, you scared me.”

“Language, Merlin.” Arthur smirks, resting a hand on Merlin’s waist to steady him. He can feel the nervous rhythm of his body under his palm. “Are you ready?”

Merlin half turns toward him, biting his lip again. “I can’t – this thing just – keeps unclasping.”

Arthur looks down to where Merlin is fighting a losing battle with a cufflink. Arthur makes a point to sigh in exasperation, trying to conceal a pang of sympathy at the same time. Merlin’s fingers are ringing with tension like the rest of him; it’s no wonder he can’t manage.

Arthur tuts, covering Merlin’s hand with his own gently. “Let me.”

Merlin stills, looking into space and not blinking, while Arthur deftly snaps the cufflink closed.

“Here,” he says. “All done.”

“Thanks.”

“Nice job dressing yourself, by the way.”

Merlin sighs, but there’s a smile there, too. “I had help,” he admits, staring at his feet.

Arthur chuckles. “I figured. Come on. Time to go make small talk.”

“Arthur.” Merlin stops him with a fleeting touch to his arm.

Arthur turns back to him. “What is it?”

“I, um.” Merlin shifts from foot to foot restlessly, before finally looking up at Arthur with a strange kind of determination. “Look, you know I don’t do too well with posh parties. I mean, the last one I attended definitely wasn’t a hit, despite you making people fly and everything.”

“Merlin—”

“I’m just saying. I tend to screw up with these things.”

“You won’t,” Arthur says, stepping closer to him and holding his eyes. “Merlin, it’s going to be fine. Most of the people here” – Arthur tilts his chin up to indicate the ballroom – “spend copious amounts of money on charity and support the arts. It’s going to be your crowd, I promise. And if you run into any trouble, just find Morgana or me. Actually, scratch that, go straight to Morgana – I might well be the only person in the country who isn’t scared of her.”

Merlin snorts. “Fine, then. As long as I warned you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and steers him up the stairs.


oooOooo

Merlin doesn’t screw up.

It’s not as if Arthur has actually expected him to, but Merlin did have a tendency to be awkward, and more so than usual when he was nervous. Besides, Arthur knows that Merlin, unlike him, isn’t used to being in the spotlight.

Which is why Arthur is taken completely by surprise when he sees how well Merlin does.

Arthur knew people would be clamouring for his attention, so he tries to make the most important introductions first. Except, when he steers Merlin along to meet Gaius Duke of Essex, he pretty much loses him immediately, because Gaius, as it turns out, used to dabble in architecture before he married. He takes to Merlin like a duck to water.

Arthur watches them for as long as he can, but he’s soon distracted with the necessity to charm and disarm. He greets everyone he’s supposed to; he smiles at young women (and quite a few men) who are clearly on a mission to win his favour, though most of them as interested in the proceedings and as bound by duty as Arthur is; he dances and pretends to drink.

In-between, he manages to insert quite a few conversations that are actually useful. Arthur is quite shameless and uses every opportunity to raise money for the Trust. He learned it from Morgana.

Every now and then, he catches glimpses of Merlin and is constantly amazed – and somewhat disgruntled – as he watches Merlin’s progress.

Gone is the awkward boy who didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Merlin smiles and laughs and talks animatedly and with casual ease. He touches people when socially acceptable, and blushes sweetly when they touch him.

Arthur had always thought that Merlin was pretty much oblivious to the effect he has on people, but here he is, playing up to the adorable-innocent-genius act expertly. Maybe because it isn’t actually an act, and Arthur knows this. He’s just never seen Merlin acting so open, so at home in his own skin around strangers before.

He’s not working the crowd, not exactly, but it looks like he does to Arthur, and he feels oddly out of sorts. He always thought Merlin would need his protection – that he would, in fact, rely on it. And it’s selfish to see how very much Merlin doesn’t need assistance, now that he’s here, but Arthur can’t help a twinge of regret laced with fear. If Merlin doesn’t need him for that, what use is Arthur to him?

People ask him about Merlin, too, and Arthur is trying to be careful. He knows that excessive praise will do him a disservice, but it’s difficult to mince words when he’s so utterly in love with Merlin’s work.

It’s difficult when Arthur dreams of actually building that little chalet he spied in Merlin’s portfolio. Trying because Merlin might yell at Bors until his throat is sore, but he’ll spend night after night redoing entire levels at the off chance that it might actually send people home earlier. It’s fucking hard to pretend because Merlin comes in on Sundays to help with the website or at the call-centre when no one even asked him to. Because he lives in a crappy flat with failing heating but tells Gwen she can cut his pay in half when it looks like some of the projects are in danger.

Arthur smiles politely and speaks neutrally of Merlin – if anything, downplaying him a little and making sure he’s obvious about it. By the end of the night, Merlin’s pockets might actually give, stretched to the limits with all the cards he’s collecting.

Arthur should be happy – this was the point of this exercise, after all. But the sinking feeling in his gut only grows with every brilliant smile Merlin shoots at someone, with every person preventing Arthur from joining him.

“Someone’s doing well,” Morgana purrs in his ear.

Arthur glances at the champagne flute in her hand and frowns. “How many did you have?”

She smirks, tipping the glass at him. “You’re not my keeper, brother dear. And I was talking about your little friend over there.”

Arthur follows her gaze and his stomach drops.

Merlin is talking to James Ector, CEO of one of the top-ten construction companies. It would be all fine and dandy, except he isn’t just talking. Ector is flirting with him; he couldn’t be more obvious if he started taking his clothes off, and Merlin – Merlin is smiling slyly, and looking from under his lashes, and nodding encouragingly at whatever it is Ector is saying.

“I thought he was this sweet, shy country boy,” Morgana drawls, clearly enjoying this. “Didn’t you tell him not to mix business and pleasure?”

“Excuse me,” Arthur growls and starts walking.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s a knee-jerk reaction and he should be better than this. He spent a lifetime learning to disregard his instincts, but deep down inside, he’s still a nine-year-old boy who doesn’t like when Morgana plays with his dog.

“Merlin, there you are at last,” Arthur says with a smile so tight it hurts his jaw. Ignoring Merlin’s surprise, Arthur swings an arm around his shoulders and offers his free hand to Ector. “It’s been a long time, Mister Ector.”

“Your Highness.” Ector seems confused for a moment, but then his eyes slide over the tight grip of Arthur’s fingers on Merlin’s shoulder and his expression closes off as comprehension dawns. “Always a pleasure.”

Merlin looks at him, eyebrows pinched. “Arthur, what—?”

He cuts himself off, but not soon enough. Ector’s eyes widen slightly at the casual address, and he smirks. Arthur responds with a smirk of his own, making it as nasty as he can manage. Merlin looks from one to the other and blushes furiously, but his mastery of the social norms has obviously grown at some point, because he doesn’t push Arthur away until Ector has made his excuses.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Merlin hisses the moment they’re on their own. He shakes Arthur’s arm off angrily.

“Well, someone should have stopped you from making a complete fool of yourself,” Arthur snaps quietly.

“How exactly was I making a fool of myself? By talking to people?”

“Is that what you call it?” He grabs Merlin’s elbow. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the prince and I can’t stay too long or no one will have any fun.” He begins making his way toward the exit, dragging a very reluctant Merlin with him.

“Why should I leave?” Merlin asks, annoyed. “I’m not the guest of honour.”

Arthur stops and turns around, speaking low in Merlin’s ear, tone laced with anger. “You came here with me, Merlin. And you bloody well won’t leave with anyone else.”

Ignoring Merlin’s indignant sputtering, Arthur firmly pulls him out of the ballroom and down the stairs to be met with a slightly put-upon-looking Leon.

“Get the car,” Arthur says. “We’re leaving.”

Merlin picks that moment to finally jerk his arm free and storms out of the tall doors and into the crisp December night. Arthur sends a ‘don’t ask’ look at Leon and follows.

“Merlin, come back inside,” Arthur says, not holding out much hope. He glances around. The paps aren’t allowed onto the premises, but some of the drivers and valets are around, as well as his own security detail.

It’s not the best place to have this conversation, but Merlin’s understanding of social protocol, apparently, only goes so far.

“Why the fuck did you do that, Arthur?” Merlin rounds on him, fists clenched. “Do you even realise what you’ve implied? He’s going to think – he’s going to think—”

“That we’re sleeping together. Yes.” Arthur meets his eyes head on. “I’m not seeing the problem.”

“You’re not—” Merlin chokes. “You’re not seeing the problem? Are you out of your mind?”

“Are you out of yours?” Arthur snaps. “James Ector, Merlin? What were you thinking? The man makes Caligula look like an Easter bunny.”

Merlin presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “He’s a businessman, Arthur, not a monster. I don’t think he eats babies for breakfast.”

“With the rate at which he fires people? He might as well.”

“So you decided a caveman act was in order? Jesus, Arthur. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. I can defend myself.”

“Not from these people, you can’t – you don’t even know them!”

“You wanted me to get to know them!”

“Not in the biblical sense, I didn’t!”

Merlin gapes at him. Arthur swallows, slowly drifting back to his senses. His chest is heaving, he realises; he’s breathing too fast. He becomes aware – for the first time? Again? – of the distant sounds of the traffic, of the coolness of the air around him. He shivers.

“Arthur.” Merlin speaks quietly. “Were you jealous?”

Arthur closes his eyes. “Yeah.”

He hopes Merlin will let it be. Except, Merlin hasn’t ever been one for doing what is expected of him, so of course he keeps on it, relentless like a dog with a chewtoy.

“Because I work for you and you don’t want me to jump ship?” Merlin’s tone is wary, as though he’s feeling his way across a minefield. “Or because—”

Arthur shakes his head and looks up at him, too tired to keep fighting. “Because you push the bloody cork inside the bottle when you’re trying to open it. Because you wear those damn glasses. Because you make that stupid noise when you laugh that makes me want to laugh with you.” He takes in Merlin’s expression and sighs. “Because it looks like I’m in love with a bloody idiot.”

Merlin lets out a choked laugh – half-surprised, half-incredulous, and purely instinctive. His mouth works, but no sound comes out.

“This is the part where you say something,” Arthur tells him, his voice faltering a little, to his own horror. “Like ‘Go to hell’ or ‘I quit’ or ‘I wish I never met you’ or even—”

A small, crooked smile curves Merlin’s lips. “Will ‘Shut up’ do?”

Arthur blinks, his head spinning. “Depends. If you—”

Merlin steps in closer, and kisses him.

He’s bold and nervous at the same time. If Arthur had so much as a tiny scrap of emotion to spare, he’d sympathise, but he’s all out, completely bankrupt as of a minute ago, so he just pulls Merlin flush against him by the waist and gives him whatever he wants to take.

Merlin tastes like the summer – the playful tease of sunlight on the back of his eyelids; the swift, heady intoxication of young wine; the sharp smell of ozone before a storm; the stinging taste of adrenaline, spiking as Arthur is pushed off a cliff and into the scathing embrace of emerald green sea water.

He grips Merlin tighter and lets himself fall, his fingers digging into Merlin’s back, Merlin’s hip pressed into him right where it matters, uncomfortable and solid, as their tongues slide together, too greedy for elegance or refinement of any sort, but so, so good. Arthur’s teeth flirt with Merlin’s lower lip in a manner that’s probably illegal in several countries, and Merlin makes a strangled kind of noise that shoots through Arthur like a shockwave, making him tremble with want.

How could he have forgotten what it feels like to hold Merlin like this? How could he have convinced himself that he could live without it? Clearly, Merlin was right – Arthur was out of his bloody mind when he—

“Gentlemen.”

They pull apart slowly, and Arthur blinks in a daze. It takes a moment for Leon’s voice to penetrate, and, when it does, Arthur blushes scarlet. Beside him, Merlin isn’t faring any better, his cheeks a flaming shade of red and his hands still tangled in Arthur’s jacket.

Leon doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. “I apologise for the interruption, but I thought you might like to know that the car is waiting.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Of course. Thank you, Leon.”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably, stepping away and seemingly not knowing where to look. Arthur is aware of people watching, but he doesn’t really care. He catches Merlin’s hand and squeezes it, prompting him to look up.

“Come home with me?”

Merlin glances down at their hands, then gives Arthur a long, questioning look. At long last, he smiles softly and nods. “Yeah.”

They start down the steps, and Arthur elbows Leon as he passes him. “Get that smug look off your face.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Leon’s tone is openly gloating. “Only I won a bet with the Lady Morgana—”

Merlin laughs.

Arthur is pretty certain there’s at least one camera flash as he tugs Merlin toward the car by the hand. Hell is about to break loose, and his father will probably want to kill him, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care.

Inside, Merlin grins at him and laces their fingers together, and Arthur is pretty sure that he can deal with the rest of his life in the morning.


oooOooo

When the news of Arthur Pendragon, heir to the British throne, proposing to Merlin Emrys, his boyfriend of four years, breaks, and Clarence House issues an appropriate statement, no one in Britain is shocked. While it’s true that Prince Arthur and Mister Emrys had their ups and downs – religiously followed by the press, of course – leading even to a few weeks of separation at one point, they have remained one of the most stable and devoted celebrity couples in Europe.

Buckingham Palace issues no official statement, which is scandalous in itself. (According to rumours, the relationship between the King and Emrys doesn’t go past common civility.) However, a rather adventurous source close to His Majesty has made a small fortune by selling an unauthorised recording of the King’s reaction to the news.

Uther said: ‘The Prince of Spain married some reality show TV star; the Princess of Sweden married her fitness instructor, for God’s sake. My son might be a poof, but at least he picked someone who’s not illiterate.’

While the media is having a ball with it, Uther calmly announces that he is going on a three-month vacation and leaves Arthur to deal as best he can with the deeply affronted reactions of the Spanish and Swedish courts and a fiancé who is unable to contain fits of hysterical laughter at the mentioning of Uther’s name.

According to Morgana, they do pretty well, and it’s not like Arthur enjoyed going to Sweden anyway.

Merlin will never accept any professional awards, despite being frequently nominated for them. He will remain, however, one of the most successful architects in the Commonwealth. In a few years, his earnings will allow him to open an art school for underprivileged children and he will remain its curator for many years, in addition to his volunteer work with Arthur.

Two years into their marriage, after a state visit to Italy, Arthur and Merlin will not, in fact return to London as reported, but instead will mysteriously disappear, to a surprising lack of reaction from their staff. When they do resurface two days later, mildly sunburned and unable to stop smiling, Leon will roll his eyes and grin ruefully, but will say nothing at all.


THE END