Love Like Quicksilver, a merlin fanfic

Title: Love Like Quicksilver

Warning: AU (modern), language

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur

Rating: PG-13

Author: Spirit

LOVE LIKE QUICKSILVER

"I want to be the boy you fall for while everyone else is falling for you."

The truth is, Merlin doesn't actually pay that much attention while he's stuck in press conferences with Arthur. And doesn't that just take the cake, really.

If anybody is supposed to be one hundred percent invested in Arthur's success, it should be his publicist. But then, even Arthur has to admit that there is a bit of a damper on the whole respect-the-movie-star aspect of their relationship since he has known Merlin since they were children. At five years old, his form of greeting was to shove snow down Merlin's pants the first day they met. At twelve, Merlin gave him his first black eye, which turned into Merlin's first broken finger. At sixteen Arthur hung Merlin's knickers on the school's flagpole as his Fifth Form prank. And at eighteen Merlin threw almost Arthur's entire wardrobe out their flat's window in the middle of a thunderstorm only to have Arthur ring his father, Uther Pendragon, up and have everything replaced two days later. Now at twenty-three, Merlin thinks it's a little unfair of Arthur to expect him to be starstruck at the whole famous-person bit.

So it doesn't come as a complete surprise to Merlin when Arthur asks him about the charity dinner being held at the Pendragon Estate in honour of the recent BAFTA nominations, and Merlin hasn't got a bastard clue in hell what his best friend-slash-client is on about.

"Merlin," Arthur says in the same exasperated tone Merlin has heard him use his entire life. "When you're standing next to me and someone's talking to me, do you immediately start having an out of body experience?"

Merlin, to his credit, merely blinks twice as if to say 'What on earth are you asking me, you plonker?'

Arthur sighs, long and loudly, sounding very put upon.

Merlin hazards a guess. "So you got the nomination for Lead Actor then? Just like I predicted?"

"Among others," Arthur says pointedly. "And I'm not going to fill you in, because you're really a rubbish publicist aren't you? I must have been half drunk when I asked you to come work for me."

Which he was, actually, at the time. Merlin doesn't need the reminder since it's one of those moments he isn't quick to forget during his lifetime, especially because it's so Arthur-centric. And contrary to Arthur's criticism, he isn't actually that bad of a publicist all things considering. Most of what Arthur gets up to involves Merlin being smack at the centre too. Which means that by the time the papers are caught up the next morning, and Arthur is sat in bed moaning and groaning about sodding hangovers and cursing six ways to Sunday, Merlin usually has a spin on things, already sorted.

Still, Merlin makes a mental note, it wouldn't hurt to at least pay attention when Arthur is in the midst of good publicity.

And therein lies Merlin's problem. Arthur is gorgeous, and famous. Women flock him, fall for him, and fawn all over him. Men want to be him or be with him. The whole world fancies themselves in love with him.

And while the whole world is falling in love with Arthur, Merlin wants to be the boy that Arthur falls in love with.

And doesn't that just take the cake. Really.

"Don't know what you're so worked up about," he mumbles now as he walks over to Arthur, fingers already moving to straighten the tie, and fix the collar, and pick invisible lint off Arthur's shirt. "Nobody cares whether I'm there or not. Whether I'm paying attention or not. I'm background noise. Only important when you need someone to make you look good. And right now your pretty face is bringing in millions of dollars with no help. I'm unnecessary."

"You're necessary to me," Arthur responds gruffly, pulling Merlin into a quick, tight hug, and shoving him away just as quickly. "You keep me sane, and that's a good thing."

Merlin doesn't have time to react. Not to the hug, or the words, and it's not as if he hasn't heard similar before from Arthur. They're so alike and so similar - one always in the shadows and the other always in the spotlight - that Merlin isn't sure if Arthur even sees him as an individual anymore. As a person, yes. As his best friend and publicist and possibly his biggest fan, yes. But also more like an extension of himself.

This is what irritates Merlin the most. The whole world sees Arthur as Arthur Pendragon, with Merlin as a name in the bylines. But to Arthur, he's a leech. He's the Merlin-Arthur of Arthur.

And what Merlin really wants is to just be Merlin to him again.

"I thought you quit."

Arthur doesn't even acknowledge Morgana's presence, except to flick the cigarette that he has dangling between his fingers. The light at the end glows brighter for a second as a gentle breeze blows across the balcony that Arthur has retreat to. Inside the festivities are no longer quite so formal as more than one guest begins to linger at each other's table, striking up conversation filled with laughter.

"What's wrong?" Morgana tries again.

Arthur shrugs. Morgan sighs, making her way closer to him. In the starlight and the light from the open doorway behind her, the green of her gown sparkles as if encrusted with emeralds. She gathers most of it in her fingers, raising it to prevent the length from tripping her as she walks. Arthur watches her impassively.

"I thought Merlin would still be here."

Arthur shrugs again, quietly clearing his throat before he speaks. "He was. He left about an hour ago. He was falling asleep at the table and I had to keep kicking him to stop him from snoring."

"Sounds about right." She laughs. "He's not made for this life of glamour."

For a few minutes she thinks he's going to take it as criticism against his best friend, but surprisingly he doesn't. Instead, her brother nods non-committal and takes another drag from his cigarette.

"He knows you're nominated?" She asks.

"Not sure he gives a fuck," he responds. "He should. He's my publicist. But sometimes I think he wishes my career would go tits-up and I go bankrupt all in a day."

Morgana chortles, "Arthur, we're made of money. Even if you weren't Mr. Famous Movie Star, we'd still have enough money to live our lives without ever having to work."

Arthur stares at the lit cylinder in his hand. Stares at it and considers her words. Truth. He never had to work, but he does. She does too. Each exorcising their personal demons. Or the demon of their father in particular.

Merlin isn't made of money. Isn't famous. Has only the job as a publicist. Seem to need only that little bit of stability to survive, and he does it better than Arthur does most days. Sometimes, Arthur doesn't understand Merlin at all. Even when it feels like they live inside each other's brain.

Her mobile rings, sparing them having to carry on their stilted conversation much longer. As she answers it, Arthur takes a deep drag on his cigarette, wanting to fill his lungs like a balloon. Wanting to remember how to breathe properly again.

"It was Merlin," Morgana says by way of explanation. "He invited Gwen and Lance, and Leon and the gang over. Well, mostly the old gang, and of course your latest entourage. Says he thinks it's time we celebrated your nominations properly."

Arthur takes one last drag then tosses the cigarette to the ground, crushing it in one swift movement. She takes this as his consent to leave, and with head held high and no looking back, she does just that.

By the time they make it back to his condo Arthur already feels like he's been awake for years instead of hours. Still he manages to keep himself together until Merlin opens the door, with a wide grin and a shouted greeting.

Gone is the man who sat beside Arthur a few hours before, looking for all the world like sleep was the next best thing to oxygen. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed, the sight of his grin makes Arthur growl.

"You wanker," he says. "I had to make excuses to Father for you and all the while you were sitting there planning a party."

Still, he has to grab Merlin into a tight hug. Somehow hugging Merlin makes his day, possibly his life, better somehow. As usual he keeps it brief and to the point. No need to infringe on Merlin's life more than he usually does. He can only expect his best friend to tolerate so much afterall.

Stepping inside, the occupants of the room come alive with shouts of congratulations. He barely makes it over to his couch before he has a stream of well-wishers lined up wanting to chat with him.

Sophia, his ex-girlfriend from university, now an Executive Assistant at a law firm, promptly arranges herself into his lap and begins to talk a mile a minute.

Despite what she says about not seeing him differently, he knows that she now drops his name into every conversation she has from job interviews to random blokes she dates. Even now while she's talking to him she's also talking at him, and about him. As if he's a commodity that she has an investment in just because she can say that she knew him from long ago. And she isn't the only one.

The alcohol flows. The conversations flow as well. Everyone seem to flow around him, wanting to be near him or to constantly keep his interest. He puts on his most diplomatic smile, when it all begins to wear on him.

It only takes a few minutes longer before Merlin to casually saunter over and take a seat beside him. And somehow his presence keeps the vultures away.

Three hours later, Arthur is sprawled on the couch with Merlin sprawled beside him. His condo is empty of everyone but Morgana, Gwen (her best friend), Leon and Lance (two close friends from university), Vivian (another mutual friend), and Merlin. This is the original gang, before Arthur became a two time Academy Award winner and now a three time BAFTA nominee.

They talk and laugh. All the while Arthur is aware of Merlin's closeness like a totem, somehow infusing him with enough energy to keep talking and to keep laughing.

"So Sophia hasn't changed much," Vivian says brightly. "She's still a gold-digging bitch. Worse now that she can't believe she let you go and you had the audacity to become famous."

Arthur laughs. He finds honesty refreshing these days, something Merlin knows.

Vivian's outspokenness is fascinating. He remembers when they dated in university how much he loved her direct manner. She was no Sophia when it came to manipulations and sex, but she held her own. Arthur needs that in a partner, he admits to himself. Across the distance between their chairs he searches her gaze and finds the blind adoration he knew he would. She is just as starstruck as the rest of them, and hiding it just as everyone else does.

Her voice seem to lull him as she speaks. Her eyes, glistening with intrigue and excitement and yes hero-worship, holds his gaze. He watches as she licks her lips, watches as the tip of a pink tongue darts out from a rosebud mouth. He studies the contour of her cheeks, her nose, her chin.

A warm glow is blossoming in his stomach induced from the alcohol, and with his intoxication he feels his inhibitions slipping. He wants to kiss her. Wants to feel that press of lips upon lips. Wants to taste. Wants to give in.

He tilts his head to the side and sees that Merlin is already watching him. Warm blue eyes keep him captive. So close, he could almost imagine them glowing a fiery topaz. So vivid.

Arthur smiles his first genuine smile for the evening. He can feel contentment seeping over him.

Merlin awakes with a groan, and a splitting headache.

Still, as hangovers went, it could have been worse and he's grateful that at least he hadn't drank quite as much as other people did. Namely Arthur, who is currently draped across his lap sleeping like a log.

For a second Merlin can't put the events of the night together properly. When he does, he smiles, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids and down one cheek. Then, across his lips. His teeth are definitely in need of a good brushing.

Morgana stirs in her chair. She sits up and looks around seemingly lost for a second as well, while she notes Gwen in the chair next to hers. No one else is around, implying that the rest of the party left.

Merlin remembers, and as Morgana meets his eyes, she seems to remember too.

"There are some things about last night that we are never mentioning again," she says in a voice croaky from alcohol use.

Merlin laughs softly. No matter how long he's known the Pendragons, they never live up to the stereotype of publicity. He likes that about them. As he tries to gently and quietly extract himself from Arthur's hold, he can't help smiling again.

In the bathroom, he glances at himself in the mirror and this time he laughs. Hair sticking up in all directions, he has the leather texture of the couch imprinted along one cheek. And his lips are red and chapped. It hurts to smile, hurts to laugh, but it's a good ache. It's an ache he can live with having for a long time. He resolves to tell Morgana that.

Twenty minutes later when he makes it back out into the living room it's on the tip of his tongue to discuss the night before with her. Her troubled expression stops him short however. In her hand she's holding the morning's paper.

Her hesitation says it all as she hands it him. Merlin takes one look and feel his good mood for the morning sucked right out.

"Merlin! Shit! Did you see the paper?"

"I'm on it!"

Arthur barges into Merlin's office like an unrepentant troll, with nothing in the way of respecting proprietary or even a semblance of good manners. Instead, he drags himself over to Merlin's desk and collapses in the chair opposite.

Merlin sneaks him a quick once-over. Arthur had to drive over to the office since Merlin hadn't waited for him to wake to get on with damage control. Which means that Arthur had to dive through a line of reporters to get to the car which took him to the corresponding line of reporters outside of Merlin's office building's door.

Suit and tie. No creases. Hair done properly. No outward evidence of debauchery or drunkenness or anything incriminating. Merlin didn't expect anything less from the Pendragon, but still he breathes a sigh of relief. It's times like these that Merlin is grateful that Arthur grew up as the junior Mr. Pendragon, before he became Mr. Famous Movie Star.

Still, Arthur drags a hand across his face, belying his outward appearance to reveal his true state to his best friend.

"I have the mother of all hangovers, my mouth still tastes like sandpaper, my lips are chapped and no amount of balm helps. I swear to fuck I've got a hickey on my chest. And I hurt in some rather interesting places, even though the one thing I'm sure about is that I wasn't so drunk that I had sex with her."

He pauses to stare pleadingly up at his best friend. "Tell me that despite how bad the pictures in the paper look, I didn't really have sex with Sophia last night. I can't remember a thing about last night but I'd like to think I'm not a complete jackass to sleep with her."

"You didn't sleep with her," Merlin says.

Arthur nods, encouraged.

Merlin waits a beat before he drags in a breath. His heart is still racing, triggered by Arthur's words. He tries to calm himself. Still his voice is a little on the breathy side when he finally opens his mouth to speak again.

"You don't remember anything about last night?"

Arthur groans, "No. Fuck. And I should, shouldn't I? I might not have had sex but I clearly had quite a good time. I just can't remember."

Merlin feels himself go eerily calm. There is disappointment. There's disgust at himself, and anger at Arthur, but mostly there is nothing. Which, Merlin reasons is better than all the other things he could be feeling.

For one thing, he realizes as his eyes catches the headline news featuring a picture of Arthur with a scantily-clad Sophia in his arms, the paper could have been right about Arthur and his clandestine affair with the blonde-haired beauty. As it is, mostly he was going to have his hands full finding the person at his party who had been brazen enough to sell photographs to the papers.

Fortunately the papers were wrong, and as Arthur's publicist, Merlin quells all other interfering emotions he is experiencing and focuses on the task at hand.

Arthur spends the day dodging reporters, dodging phone calls, and dodging nosy fans. When he's sick of doing this, he gets a message from Merlin professionally advising him not to go to any of his three homes and to find somewhere safe to camp out at least for the night. Somewhere that's not Merlin's place either, since reporters aren't stupid.

Arthur doesn't think twice about giving his driver his sister's address. But he doesn't ring her to give her prior warning that he's coming either.

When she opens her door in surprise to him, he mumbles something along the lines of her being available and him being desperate, and pushes right by her. Which leads to his own surprise when he spots Merlin in the living room talking quietly to Gwen, both of them looking respectively upset.

"Merlin?" he says by way of greeting.

For once Merlin doesn't so much as flinch in Arthur's direction. As if on cue he stands and gives Gwen a quick kiss on the cheek, then makes his way over to the door.

"I'll ring you tomorrow," he says as he brushes past Arthur, still not making eye contact. "You know the rules. Stay away from the windows. Don't answer the phone unless you know it's me. Don't answer any questions from anybody as somebody is bound to twist your words. Wait for me to have something prepared before you get in contact with Sophia again."

Arthur knows the rules of publicity, what he doesn't know is why Merlin looks like hell. He says as much too, which just warrants a quiet laugh but no other response from Merlin. Then the other man is gone and Arthur finds himself on the receiving end of two very feminine scowls.

"Vivian was there, at the party, wasn't she?" he asks.

Morgana's scowl darkens a little, though she is the one to respond, "she was."

Arthur sighs, trying to make sense of the disjointed images in his mind. He remembers fingers against his fingertips. He remembers kissing a mouth he never wanted to stop kissing. He remembers his hands touching bare skin, trying to follow endless trails on the smooth expanse, and wanting more and more and more, feeling like he would burst if he had to let go.

The images from his memory has been haunting him all day. The familiarity and rightness makes him ache inside from needing to be in the moment again. Needing to not forget this time.

"It wasn't Vivian you were interested in."

Gwen's cheeks tinge red as she quietly tells him this. Still she holds his gaze, daring him to contradict her. Her eyes are a liquid, golden brown, so very determined as they will him to remember.

Arthur wants to curse himself for his stupidity. When he was around seventeen, Gwen had been the light of his life. For a while he had seriously contemplated marrying her. But then Lance had come along, and Arthur's career really took off. And Gwen had stayed friends with him.

He briefly closes his eyes and turns a shade of red in embarrassment too.

"Shit Gwen, I'm sorry. It was you. Everything I remember, it was you. And then I went and forgot everything. I'm such an ass. I'm sorry."

She looks a little startled at his apology, almost unnerved that he's even apologizing to begin with.

"You don't remember," she says thoughtfully.

He jumps right in, wary of messing this up, knowing that he likely will since its been so long since he even considered her romantically.

"No I haven't forgotten. I just had a memory lapse." He pulls her into a hug, aware that she can't help hugging back, can't help trying to melt into his skin. He tries not to cringe. So far Merlin is the only person he knows who treats a hug as a hug and not try to make it into something else. "You've always been just a little bit in love with me ever since we broke up."

It's not a question and she doesn't treat it as one. He knows what it's like to be around all the starstruck people who knew him or thinks they know him. She might be Gwen, his sister's best friend, but she's still as big a fan as everyone else.

"Well yes, I always will love you a little more than I should," she admits, laughing a little nervously as he releases himself from her grip. "But I've never thought that has anything to do with anything."

He doesn't allow her to continue. Doesn't need her to ramble her way into an explanation or to save him with excuses. He already feels like an idiot, having a memory like a sieve.

Tilting her chin up with the tips of his fingers he smiles as she goes even more red than before.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to her.

He can see in her eyes that she'd forgive him of murder at this point. He knows Lance, he likes Lance, and maybe five years ago he would have been willing to fight Lance to be with her. But he is no longer even a little in love with her as she admits to being with him. Still he knows how to play this game well. So he kisses her gently on the cheek and gives her a winning smile, hoping she'll get the message.

Behind him though, he hears his sister call him something nasty.

"I'm pretty sure I specifically told you not to come here."

When Merlin finally left his office for the day he had wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep his life away. The message he received from Uther Pendragon earlier in the day, one of the many scathing, irritating or generally annoying phone calls he had expected, keeps replaying in his head. While Merlin has known Arthur for years now he has never gotten used to the wrath of the head of the Pendragon family. It's enough that he plays a cat and mouse game all day on Arthur's behalf. Now, walking into his house to find Arthur sitting on his couch makes him more tired than anything.

"Morgana found me to be more of an acquired taste than I anticipated." Arthur shrugs, but he makes no move to leave as Merlin is hoping.

Merlin sighs. Then curses, because really, that's all he's wanted to do all day.

"They saw you let yourself in?" They were implied to be reporters in this case. "I can expect them to be camped outside my door come morning, yeah?"

Arthur nods.

Merlin doesn't think sighing or swearing any more will cut it for the evening, and mostly he just wants the day to end. He sits down on the couch beside Arthur, rubbing his tired eyes with his fingers, and generally gives into feeling sorry for his poor, tired self. His wallow in misery doesn't last very long though before Arthur gives him a shove that almost sends him careening into his coffee table. He doesn't even have the energy to summon more than mild irritation.

"I found out it was Gwen," Arthur proclaims. "That I made out with last night. It was Gwen, not Vivian. And definitely not Sophia. Thank fuck."

Being Arthur's best friend, Merlin finds, makes him a lot more resilient than he gives himself credit for. For one thing, even though a part of him wants to turn and punch Arthur for being a thick-headed, insensitive prick, another part of him wants to go back in time and change the past. If he never met Arthur he wouldn't be in love with the idiot, he reasons. Then, he wouldn't have to watch as every other human being in the world fawns over his best friend, wouldn't have to feel his heart hurting and his muscles tensing every time he watches as Arthur gives in and stops fighting the inevitability of kissing back some of the women who kiss him, of going home with the ones who show even the tiniest hint of wanting him for more than his star quality. And even though he knows it's the life of a movie star, this particular movie star is the man he loves with his entire being. The man he aches to have love him back.

"Was she," Merlin asks now with no inflection in his voice, and no interest in the topic. "Good for you. Good for her."

"Merlin," Arthur says, and the way he says it makes Merlin feel like he's being torn into little pieces, while all he wants to do is to hide as far away as he can from this man he loves so much and can't admit anything to. "Merlin, she says she still likes me a lot. She has Lance. She loves Lance, but she still has feelings for me. What do I do with something like that? And I made out with her. She must be so confused."

"I'm confused." Merlin can't look at him. "She said that? She said it was her that you spent all night -"

"Well no, but there were only three women in the room at the time. One of whom is my sister and the other we've already established was not the person. And because I have such a rubbish memory, I have to keep playing twenty questions."

Merlin feels like he either wants to laugh or to cry. He does neither.

"I don't see why you need to keep banging on about this any way. What's done is done. It's almost a good twenty four hours ago," he says instead. "Besides, we need to talk about who you want to take to the premiere of Camelot, next week."

Arthur isn't so quick to leave the subject however. He turns to Merlin in a silent demand for Merlin to look at him, which Merlin is helpless to deny. The frustration and confusion on Arthur's face eases Merlin's inner tension and for a while he allows himself to smile, to tease.

"Mr. Famous Movie Star. Loved by many, owned by none. All these women at your disposal and you can't keep track of the one person you really liked being with. It's a fucked up version of the Cinderella story. My Prince."

"Shut up," Arthur responds, but there is no sting to the words. "I just can't let this go. You're right, all these people want me and when I finally wanted back it turns out to be with someone already taken. I mean I really don't like Gwen like that anymore. Even now that I know it was her. But Merlin, she was so perfect last night! I know I don't remember the details but what I remember is so vivid. I never wanted to let her go. Nothing has ever felt so amazing. And it's not the physical stuff because I can get that anywhere. I just felt connected, you know."

Merlin knows, and it kills him to have to listen to this. More than anything now, he wants a reprieve.

"So about the premiere," he says pointedly.

Arthur's mouth snaps shut. Then his face collapses into an exasperated expression that's half frustration and half amusement, before he reaches across to whack Merlin on the arm.

"You never listen, do you Merlin? I speak and you hear white noises."

Merlin listens. He hears. Sometimes he thinks that all he ever does is offer support, act as a best friend, never let his own feelings interfere, try to be objective when Arthur asks his opinion of one woman or another, when all the while he wonders what Arthur would do if he knew. If he had any idea, that it kills something inside of Merlin having to watch Arthur and know that he has no chance in winning as one man against a world of women.

Mostly though, he swallows his pride, and swallows his hurt, as he does now. He smiles, almost mischievously.

"I hear you, you're speaking aren't you? And all I hear is you making excuses. You don't want Gwen, you want the way you felt when all your inhibitions left and you could finally enjoy being with someone. So it's not Gwen, but somewhere out there is someone who turns your world upside down."

Arthur nods emphatically to this. He looks so at ease sitting in Merlin's living room, seemingly to forget about BAFTA nominations and his world of fans, that it makes Merlin feel the slightest bit proud. All he ever wants is for Arthur to remember once in a while that to some people he's still just Arthur. Like now.

Professionally, Arthur subscribes to the adage of never apologising and never explaining. Personally though, this doesn't seem to be quite so easily done. Especially since he grew up in a house where his father was always the tyrant, shouting orders and insults while his mother retreated into days of impassive silence. As a child, Arthur wondered if it was possible to live a normal, happy life, away from the pressures of his family and the suffocating atmosphere of the world outside. Now he knows better. Acting might not have been the best choice of escape but it allows him to hide away from himself for months, becoming an entirely new character for each film that he makes.

His sister is the only family member he tolerates, and even she has her moments when her home-truths are too much to handle and he needs to escape.

He thinks about her now as he stands smoking yet another cigarette, this time on the balcony of his condo, not really caring about who might be taking clandestine photographs of him. The darkness of night gives him room to think, away from the hectic schedules of his day. The crisp air makes him shiver, but he welcomes the chill as a reminder that he is fallible and can hurt. He always knew he would fall off someone's pedestal. At least he fell from Morgana's, which is admittedly lower than so many others.

"You know," he had said to her earlier. "I don't ask a lot of you usually, but I at least thought you'd come through for me at the worst of times. Do you want to explain why you kicked me out yesterday when you knew I didn't really have anywhere else to go?"

Morgana, who was usually so outwardly gracious, a testament to their upbringing and their family name, had shaken her head and looked at him almost exasperated.

"I love you Arthur, you're my brother and all," she had responded, once they settled somewhere private to talk. "But sometimes, even when you don't want to be, you come off as a real prat. Or worse. I mean, I know you're famous and all and that makes you arrogant as all hell, but you don't get to treat others like they're nothing."

Which had made Arthur instantly angry. But she apparently didn't need a response from him and wasn't waiting for one as she ploughed right on.

"I forgive you for Gwen. You can't help how she feels. I forgive you for Vivian and always blowing hot and cold in her direction. Hell, I even forgive you for Sophia and all the others who fall all over you and don't realize that it all goes to your head and makes you into an even bigger prat when they treat you like the next best thing to sliced bread. But I can't believe what you're doing to Merlin! You're suppose to at least give a shit about him if nobody else."

"What have I done to Merlin!" Arthur wanted to know.

Morgana gave him another look, this one not so compassionate.

"You're not going to tell me that you really don't remember. You don't do what you did and then forget. I'd like to at least think that you're not being a prat on purpose."

She gave him her most commanding glare, "Tell me something. Don't you think you've taken the joke far enough? Don't you think it's a bit sick to still be going around after Gwen and Vivian, and Sophia! And then you sit him down and tell him how good it was making out with one of the girls, when you know it wasn't one of them!"

Arthur had gone all silent, not knowing what words she expected to hear. Maybe that had been what finally convinced her of his true lack of memory, because she had shaken her head again. Then in a much quieter voice she proceeded to send him reeling.

"It was Merlin," she said softly. "It wasn't one of the girls you made out with at your party. It was Merlin. And Arthur, you weren't faking it. You kissed him. You were the one who didn't want to stop. I think you would have made love to him right there in front of us if he didn't make you stop. You can't even blame it on the alcohol. What you were saying to him, what you were doing, was too real to be all about the moment. I can't believe you'd forget."

He thinks about her words now as night blankets him. He recognizes the truth, the same way he wonders now how he could have ever forgotten. Of course it was Merlin, he admits silently. It was Merlin's lips, Merlin's mesmerizing eyes, Merlin's body beneath his fingers.

The realization shakes him to his core. Steals away his sanity. Leaves him scrambling for an explanation. In a world of women who wants him, he wonders how he could only want Merlin.

Merlin gets the call a few days later and doesn't know how to respond to it. Maybe if he ever had a plan in place he would have a specific course of action in mind. As it is, he has to wing it, going purely off emotions and his immediate reaction. He spends the night of the worldwide premiere of Camelot sitting before his television with a bowl of popcorn and can't remember anything about earlier in the evening, except that Arthur made Vivian look even prettier as she walked by his side.

"You told him it was me."

"Yeah. It was just that I couldn't stand for his rubbish any longer. I mean I know now that he blocked it out but I didn't know then and so I really didn't spare him. I feel a bit bad now actually. He looked poleaxed."

"I didn't particularly need him to know. Didn't really even need him to remember."

"That's what made me angry. And I'm afraid that once he was sitting there before me I just let fly."

The truth is, the evening would have been a blur to Merlin anyway as he hardly ever pays attention at these events. Outside of making sure that Arthur is at his best and making sure that the media behaves themselves and follow the guidelines, he has learned long ago not to let the limelight take its toll on his psyche. If he pays close attention at press conferences and film festivals and movie premieres he would long ago have been lost to the despair of watching Arthur play the public figure and the movie star.

It's not the fame that bothers him, despite what Arthur may believe. It's not even the outpouring of adoration, the screams of the fans, or the way everyone wants to touch Arthur and be around him all the time. It's the solidarity in believing that he is the only person who truly understands his best friend. That even Morgana gets it wrong sometimes.

So when he hears a knock and he opens his door to see Arthur standing outside, he doesn't think twice about letting him in. Because it's in Merlin's best interest to talk things through, as Arthur's publicist and as his best friend.

"You got a light?" Arthur asks, pushing his way in.

Merlin does actually, but he doesn't hand it over right away. "You said you'd quit. It's bad for your image. It's bad for your health. And you promised me."

Arthur laughs but somehow the sound is nothing like Merlin has heard before.

"Yeah I did quit. Just like I said I would. And I was going to again. Just like I promised. But then I found out that I was well on my way to having sex with you in front of an audience of good friends the other night, and what do you know that put a damper on the whole quitting thing."

"Oh god," Merlin breathes and hands over the lighter that Morgana had pointedly handed over to him the night of the party. "Tell me you're not drunk again. I don't think I can play out that scene again. Even if our audience is conspicuously missing this time."

Arthur snatches the lighter from his hand, plucks out a cigarette and lights it before haphazardly tossing the lighter back to Merlin. Merlin spares a second of fear for his smoke alarm but decides that this conversation is better had inside than outside where reporters may be lurking. He watches as Arthur takes a long, deep, drag, then blows the smoke in the vicinity of his ceiling.

"Right. Let me try this then," Arthur says.

That's all the warning he gets before Arthur reaches across to tug him none too gently by his waist, pulling him into a hard kiss tinged with cigarette smoke and not much else. At first, Merlin is too surprised to react to the hard press of lips against his lips. It almost feels like a punishment, the painful way Arthur crushes their mouths together. Whatever he seeks in the kiss, Merlin withholds from him by not participating.

When it ends, Merlin pushes him away, but very calmly tells him, "If that's all you came for, you can leave now."

Arthur's response is to shove him against the nearest wall. Merlin feels his head connect with concrete, but then, Arthur is right there with him, so close that he seems to steal Merlin's air. Arthur tilts his forehead onto Merlin's, gentler this time as if he really has learned the previous lesson. It's in the way he slides the tip of his nose across the tip of Merlin's as well. One hand, carefully holds the cigarette out of harms way while the other holds Merlin's face steady. His breath is warm as it tickles across Merlin's lips. Then they're kissing again. And this time, Merlin doesn't hold back. He slides his fingers into Arthur's hair, closes his eyes and gives in. Gently sucking on Arthur's lips, his tongue plays a childish game of foray and retreat. He savours the moment. Tries to burn Arthur's scent and taste into his memory. But it's not nearly enough and the moment ends with a whimper from one of them.

"You should have said," Arthur tells him quietly. "Once I got used to the idea, I clearly wouldn't have said no."

Merlin wants to laugh. Wants to shout. Wants to hit him. But then he does none of those things. Instead he plucks the cigarette from Arthur's fingers, sucking on it the way he's seen Arthur suck on it countless times before. The smoke curls at the back of his throat threatening to choke him for a second, but he doesn't allow it the opportunity.

A look of worry crosses Arthur's face.

"Merlin you don't smoke," he points out. "Give it back."

Instead Merlin leans across the distance that separates them and exhales through his mouth. Arthur, always a quick study, catches on to the idea immediately. He leans in a little closer and steals the smoke, sucking it back in with his lips. They're so close they're almost kissing again. So close they're staring directly into each other's eyes. Merlin brings the cigarette back up in preparation for another drag, but Arthur's hand stops him.

"Alright, you win. I'll quit."

Merlin nods his approval at this and relinquishes the cigarette to Arthur's waiting fingers. With his other hand he presses the tips of two fingers to Arthur's lips. They're still standing close enough to breathe each other's breaths.

"I'm not one of them," he says. "I'm Merlin. I have a name. I have a face. I come with a personality. Don't you ever reduce me to one of them again. I can live with a lot of things, Arthur. I don't need your pity."

Merlin hardly ever gets angry, hardly ever raises his voice. Instead his words become cold and quiet. It serves as ample warning. Arthur recognizes the signs of the brewing storm, and he retreats in self-preservation.

When he leaves, Merlin sinks to the floor by the door. Pulling his knees up, he wraps his arms around his legs and tilts his head back to rest on the door, staring up at his ceiling as he tries to catch his breath.

He feels like he's shattering into tiny pieces over and over again.

Arthur finds that the best idea he's consciously had in weeks is to lie in bed with his eyes closed replaying the events of those two special Merlin-centric evenings in his head. The first one he does with lapses still in his memory, but having finally remembered the important bits he goes over and over the details that he does remember, replaying each touch, each kiss, each second like a movie in his head, studying it like he would study an archived film. The second one he remembers when he wants to punish himself, when he wants to beret himself for being such an idiot as to forget even for a second that it was Merlin all along. When he misses Merlin. When he aches for Merlin's easy grin, and quick responses. When his mind goes on emotional overload and none of his silent apologies or explanations sound good enough. Mostly though, he spends his days of solitude doing what Merlin asked and remembering Merlin as Merlin and not as the man who is his best friend and his publicist and is always at his side. Just-as-Merlin. Just Merlin. Just. Merlin.

When he's had enough, he rings Morgana, and sits in the dark without a cigarette, and without a best friend, and without the world being privy to this moment of Arthur breaking, and being human, and at his worst.

"I'm in love with Merlin."

He says it and it hurts coming up. Hurts him to hear it released into the ether. Hurts him so much he almost wants to snatch it back and bury it where he's buried it for years.

"I know. We heard you when you told him at the party," Morgana responds calmly, and sympathetically, and it does fuckall to help him.

Merlin does everything so ass-over-backwards that of course he wasn't even on Arthur's radar and coming in the way he did throws Arthur into a tailspin. Merlin with his beautiful eyes and his big ears, who he never had to look at twice because Merlin was always right there as a constant presence by his side. Arthur knows he will never be able to pinpoint the exact second and the exact day when he can say 'There! That's when I fell for him. That's when he ruined me for every other eligible female on this planet.' There isn't such a moment. Merlin is like air to him. He needs him to breathe. Has always needed him to exist. And now - now - he can see that he begins where Merlin ends and vice-versa.

"I'm an idiot Morgana," he groans out. "There's an eighty percent chance I've already fucked things up with him."

"Go see him. Talk to him. Be honest and it'll work out."

He clutches the phone tightly in his hand, not knowing how to admit this to her, but knowing he has to admit it to somebody before the words choke him.

Then he says it softly, softly and with a slight tremor in his voice, "Morgana, I'm afraid."

"I know," she murmurs back. "I know, but he's been afraid for a long time too. Now you're even."

Merlin works on automation. Eat. Sleep. Breathe.

And, when he's working with Arthur, he remains professionally detached, because it's easier than constantly being near Arthur. He can almost hear Arthur's brain working, working, working overtime. He wants to give him space. He knows that while it's simply admitting to himself and Arthur that his feelings are more than platonic, for Arthur it's more than this. For Arthur it's a career choice. It's facing Uther Pendragon and admitting that his eldest and only son may never produce an heir for the Pendragon empire. It's telling the admirers of his world that their admiration may be misplaced.

So when Merlin wakes one day, shuffles still half-asleep to his kitchen and finds Arthur sitting on his counter-top with his back against the wall, feet up, and watching Merlin's every move, Merlin doesn't do more than raise an eyebrow and carry on with fishing out a box of orange juice and some eggs from the fridge.

"When we were five, my father said that I was never to speak to you again because I'm a Pendragon and you're nobody," Arthur says thoughtfully. "And I told him that you're my special person and I wanted you around or I was going to lie in my room all week, and not move, and not eat."

Merlin grabs a bowl and a whisk, and doesn't look at Arthur when he responds, "You lost about ten pounds and your mum had to sneak you out of your house and take you over to mine. I'd never seen a woman cry so much in my life, and I thought you were dead, but you're just stubborn like that."

"You told me not to go out with Sophia in university. You said one day I'd be famous and she'd sell my story to the tabloids," Arthur continues. "Then she did. Then she did again. Then she had someone take photographs."

"But you didn't listen, because you never listen to me." Merlin sighs. "It's why you keep me around. I'm your quick-fix button."

Arthur doesn't comment on this, instead he points to the ingredients that Merlin is gathering, even though Merlin's back is still to him and Merlin is studiously chopping an onion, and sweet peppers, and pieces of bacon and putting them into small piles, side by side.

"I taught you how to do that," Arthur points out. "When I was about eight and I wanted omelettes and you didn't know what an omelette was. I taught you how to make it for me."

"Then made it a point of showing up to eat whenever you know I have eggs," Merlin mutters peevishly.

Arthur chuckles at this but even Merlin can hear the sadness in its depths.

"I know you liked Gwen before I did. And I know Morgana loves you ten times more than she loves me even though I'm related to her by blood. I know you use to cover for me when I snuck out to see Sophia even though I was going out with Vivian at the time and you hate them both." Arthur's voice gets quiet again. "And I know my father respects you because you never stopped impressing him until he did."

Eggs and all ingredients whisked satisfactorily, Merlin grabs a frying pan and starts heating a tablespoon of butter. The sizzle isn't enough to drown out Arthur's words, even after the omelettes have been made. Tossing the empty frying pan into the sink, Merlin moves on to making toasts, but to do that he has to reach across Arthur's hip to stick the bread into the toaster. As he does, Arthur gently runs fingers through his hair, lightly caressing Merlin's forehead with his thumb. Then, with that same thumb, traces a line from the centre of Merlin's forehead, down the bridge of his nose, pausing at the tip, then onto his mouth with the nail of his finger briefly catching on Merlin's lips. All the while Arthur keeps talking.

"I wished you into my life," he says. "When I'm at my worst I think I can wish you out of it, but you never leave. Merlin, that terrifies me."

Merlin's eyes snap to his, but he doesn't say anything, only turns to walk away. But Arthur grabs his shoulders and jerkingly pulls him backwards. Then in a movement so fluid that Merlin only hears a soft rustle and barely feels the shifting, Arthur wraps both arms around him, tilting his head to rest his cheek against Merlin's cheek, and enclosing him in a hug so tight that Merlin has to close his eyes to stop the sudden stinging of tears or the tightness at the back of his throat.

"I love you not only because of who you are," Arthur enunciates slowly as if he's trying to brand the well known words into Merlin's skin with lips lightly gliding along Merlin's cheek. "I love you because of who I am when I'm with you. And while everyone else wants to be with me, I never want to be away from you."

Merlin stands very still, willing himself not to react, but the strain is too much and he can feel himself beginning to tremble. Arthur's hold shifts and Merlin finds himself still being clung to from behind in a one armed hug, while Arthur's other hand is extended to dangle something within Merlin's view.

"I bought you flowers, but even I'm not that sickeningly sappy so I tossed them into the garbage the second they were delivered to me. I wanted to get you something special so you'd know I mean what I'm saying and I'm not trying to be sneaky just to keep you by my side. So then, I decided to tell the world in a press conference that I'm gay and in love with you. But you're my publicist, and you'll need to set it up for me."

Merlin tugs on Arthur's arm, but Arthur seems to ignore the nonverbal gesture to release his hold. Instead he keeps rambling away. Merlin's decision is to give up and reach for the silver lighter that Arthur begins to jiggle in front of his face.

"Then I thought of how you want me to quit smoking and how I usually hate smoking around you because you know how fucked up fate is and I don't want you to end up with the lung cancer that I deserve. But quitting to you wouldn't be a gift, it would just be common sense. I remembered that last time I came here you had the lighter I lost at the party. It's my favourite one Merlin, and of course you'd have it when I need it. But now I don't plan on needing it anymore. So I got this one made for you, and I got it engraved."

Merlin can see that it's engraved. Silver flames if he's not mistaken. Possibly platinum because he knows Arthur and Arthur wouldn't consider the fact that Merlin wouldn't have a clue what to do with an engraved platinum lighter that may or may not even work.

Arthur laces his fingers along Merlin's finger around the lighter and gently twists his hand so that the lighter is turned to show the other side. Then Merlin can really see the engraving. He stares at it for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond.

For my Merlin, from your prince.

"I know I'm your best friend," Arthur whispers, still with his arm around Merlin. "I know I'm suppose to know all this shit about you, and know what you like, and have all these funny, mates stories about the two of us. None of this is impressive because you're already important to me, and it's not as if one more present or a bunch of words are going to make much difference. I have to say it now though, because I don't ever say it."

Merlin laughs. He can't help it. Not when Arthur is being like this.

"You'd make a horrible girl, Arthur," he says, but the laugh catches in his throat and sounds almost like a sob making him the emotional one, which is embarrassing. "I don't need any of this. I'll still be your best friend. And I'll still be your publicist. And we can forget about that stupid drunken mess of a party and carry on the way we've done all our lives."

Finally, finally, Arthur stops making like a vine, and unwraps himself from Merlin. Lightly jumping off the counter to his feet, he stalks towards Merlin, closing the small distance with two steps and a poke to Merlin's chest.

"Do you know what," he half growls in a tone that Merlin can only describe later as 'sexy as fuck'. "I've been doing most of the talking since I got here. You haven't said anything sensible so far. And no Merlin, pretending nothing happened is not sensible, it's a shitty idea."

"I don't need declarations of love in public and gifts like this." Merlin holds up the possibly-platinum lighter, though he can't convince himself to totally release it, he's already grown so damn attached to its weight against his fingers.

"Too fucking bad." Arthur pokes him again. Then he leans across Merlin, who is of course still backed against the counter, toasts now well forgotten. He leans across and very gently, very nonchalantly, kisses the hurt at Merlin's chest away. Which makes Merlin's knees go weak.

But Arthur is there, invading his space, holding on to him, hugging him. Arthur kisses the side of Merlin's face. Kisses one high cheekbone. Brushes his lips across the tip of Merlin's nose and across Merlin's lips. Tilts his head lower and licks the base of Merlin's throat. Trails tiny kisses up the side of Merlin's neck until he gets to Merlin's ear, where he takes a few quick nips at the lobe. In his defence, Merlin very nearly moans out loud.

"Do you love me?" Arthur asks in a no-nonsense voice, sending a curl of warm air caressing Merlin's ear. "Be very honest now Merlin."

Merlin nods, has to clear his throat, but then just as seriously responds. "I love you, you arrogant prat."

"Good." Arthur chuckles softly. "Because I lied. In my distress this morning, I phoned up a few contacts I know you have at the various papers. I told them I'm in love with you and was coming over here to do my very best to get you to admit you love me too. Wouldn't that have just been awkward if I hadn't sussed you out right and had to call them all up and take it back?"

Merlin makes a sound caught halfway between a gasp and laugh. Pushing Arthur firmly away, he tries to desperately grab for his blackberry sitting on the breakfast table nearby. He can only imagine how many messages he has waiting, and all the questions he's going to have to field, and the speeches he'll have to write to deal with this. But Arthur, who has known him his whole life, who loves him even when Merlin was sure all the odds were stacked against him, reacts just as quickly to Merlin's distress.

With a happy laugh and a tug of his arms Arthur pulls Merlin into their first proper kiss of the morning.

- FIN -