Day One:
Merlin stood on the sidewalk gazing at the house before him, his house. A slight flutter in his stomach attempted to turn into full blown panic thinking about the repayments, but he didn't allow it. Merlin received knock back after knock back from all of the major financial institutions as his self-employed work as an artist, no matter how well established, still meant no one wanted to take the risk. Then Elyan appeared like a knight in shining armour through the mist and took a gamble. Wizard Home Loans officially lent Merlin the money - something he would be forever grateful for, and paying for - literally.
So here he stood - in-front of a modest two bedroom home, his little piece of the world. The house was smallish – adjoined to the one next door, but it boasted a fully insulated retreat with power out the back which would be perfect for his artistic pursuits. It fit the lifestyle Merlin wanted to try living. He was sick and tired of living in cramped units' eighteen floors up where the only person's name he knew was the caretaker – who never seemed to fix the heater. He was also over people crashing at his place because it was convenient for heading out in the city at night. Merlin smiled at the thought that there would be no more drunk mates bringing night-time conquests back to his apartment, not in the least because he never seemed to be able to do this for himself – his couch had more action in 6 months than Merlin had in a lifetime. His bed was jealous.
The only downside was location, a fact one of his best mates Gwaine whinged about for months. True, he would spend more time on public transport travelling to and from his studio – but the idea of one day owning a dog and being able to grow his own vegetables had made the decision easy.
Glancing at the two houses either side of his - which still made him want to pinch himself - his - Merlin absently wondered who his new neighbours were. Clearly he was attached to one house and the other was a free standing cottage, which judging by the rose garden out the front belonged to an elderly person. No-one who worked full-time could cultivate a wondrous array of plants like that. He might introduce himself, once he was settled for some gardening pointers – because for all his ideas of grandeur and having zucchinis the size of baseball bats he actually had no idea how to even plant seeds, or dig a hole really. Couldn't be too hard…surely, he dug himself into them often enough.
The main issue with the actual house itself was the fact the previous owners had dearly loved primary colours – undiluted – a lot. Although Merlin knew some work had to be done to get the house to the standard to which he could invite guests over, he knew it was doable. Obviously the electric red, blue and orange walls and accompanying carpets had to go, but at least ten coats of Stowe-White paint should cover the worst of it. Honestly it wasn't like he didn't have enough art-work to make off-white walls pop. The agent had also hinted to possible floorboards under the garish carpet – so Merlin came with tools in hand, but no real idea on how to proceed. But what he lacked in actual skill he made up for with inspiration and incentive – and a handy subscription to YouTube tutorials.
The other potential problem he faced was the adjoining wall. This could end up going either way (fine or not so fine) depending how loud his neighbour was. Surely walls in the suburb were thicker than apartments in the city, though he was only sharing one wall now not two. He thought back to his last two neighbours – one loved singing opera loudly every Sunday and left gifts for Merlin on his front door (which he found creepy to begin with but ended up liking the old Russian man and his quince jam). The other neighbour was a girl who constantly broke up with her boyfriend then loudly made up - then just as loudly broke up again, and again and again…it was exhausting.
Shaking himself out of thoughts of his past dwellings he realised his house wasn't going to move his things for him. He looked both ways before grabbing his most prized possession from the back of the rented moving van. Not because he was embarrassed, he just didn't want to damage it – or have someone be scoping him out to steal it.
'Morning, Han.' Merlin nodded once sagely to the life sized model of Han Solo trapped in bronze. It may have been just geeky movie memorabilia to some, but it was always the first thing to enter a new living space – a ritual of sorts. Plus – Harrison Ford, did he even need an excuse to have it in his home? He thought not.
As he struggled up the drive, he heard the front door of his adjoining neighbours click. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to say hello, he leant the heavy cast up against his front wall and turned towards the sound of footsteps.
Merlin's heart leapt into his mouth as a vision of blonde masculine perfection strode towards him; clad in a deep blue navy suit clearly tailor made and probably more expensive than Merlins education. Not that Merlin was terribly educated about suits, but what he had picked up from Gwaine's part time job at a suit store while studying inadvertently tipped to this being a ridiculously indulgent outfit. Shaking off thoughts of suits, Merlin decided in an instant that his neighbour was a rent boy's wet dream – hell, anyone's really. He was built like a football player, muscular but not bulky; with a handsome face intensified by smouldering Calvin Klein-esque lips. Merlin gulped, images of that mouth performing unspeakable acts on him racing through his mind at hyper speed. Back it up Merlin, you haven't even said hello yet. Unfortunately his five second naughty fantasy was shattered the moment the blonde man's deep rumbling voice broke his concentration.
'You need to move your van – it's blocking my drive,' the man barked. 'Now.'
Merlin felt like a fish; mouth gaping a little. 'Oh – okay.' Except he was left talking to an empty spot – the Adonis with the personality of a wet sock had already opened his garage and was sliding into his car. 'Prat…'
Arthur started his BMW and revved it a few times – willing the stupid removalist to hurry up. He was late – and he hated being late. He started to back down the drive and beeped his horn at the dark haired man who was only just now getting in the drivers' seat. If his damn alarm had actually gone off at the correct time and he wasn't panicking slightly at being so late he might have felt bad for the way he spoke to the man. But it didn't, so in turn - he didn't.
He'd ended up in a club the night before, Lance had dragged him out saying his bad moods were rubbing everyone in the office the wrong way and if he could just "fuck the living shit out of some guy", he'd be much more manageable on a day to day basis. Arthur of course almost took Lance's head off for being so presumptuous, then realised the smirk Lance was giving him made his retort invalid. He needed to get laid – and quick.
Trouble was - Arthur usually went for men more like himself; accomplished, driven, a muscular physique always helped and also someone not looking for anything more than a quick fuck. He found nothing to his liking the night before. It wasn't that he was fussy – not at all, but he couldn't risk the distraction with the project he was working on for Uther, no matter how much Lance pushed him to let loose. He could only imagine the disdain on his fathers' face if he knew that Arthur wasn't giving the project his full concentration and was instead fantasising about fucking the mouth of a good-looking dark haired man he'd never see again. Dark haired – where did that come from? Arthur was also not terribly bothered by things as mundane as hair colour.
Beeping the horn again, Arthur shook off the thoughts about not getting laid the night before. Glancing back up the drive while he waited, he saw the iconic relief of Han Solo leaning on the neighbour's wall. For the first time that morning Arthur grinned. Well, it seemed his new neighbours might not be terrible – better than the hippy couple who lived there previously. He'd had eye spasms from the blues, greens and reds on the walls and floor when they'd invited him in for jasmine tea – suffice to say, he only went inside once.
Finally the truck moved and Arthur barrelled out the driveway, narrowly missing the man jumping out of the van; scowl evident on his face. It wasn't Arthur's fault the man couldn't park properly – you'd think doing it for a living would make him an expert. Obviously not.
Glancing in the review mirror as he put the car into gear – he saw the man struggling to untangle himself as his t-shirt got caught in the now shut driver's door. Clumsy oaf. He almost laughed at how preposterous the dark haired man was when Arthur halted all movement and thought. Bloody hell, a slip of pale skin caught his gaze - hidden beneath the baggy shirt lay definite muscle definition. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, the smooth and flawless skin of this ignoramus had him unwilling to drive off. He sat completely flummoxed for a moment, looking his fill in the rear view mirror – the increasing need to actually back up the car and have a closer look made his heart thump heavily against his ribs.
Arthur was being absolutely ridiculous; clearly this was his way to try and distract himself from going to work – shit – he was making himself later. Shaking himself from thoughts of the removalist (who had finally managed to pull his shirt free) he slammed his foot on the accelerator and began to drive like a mad man towards the city – praying there were no pile ups. A piercing ring interrupted his mental plans and he winced as he saw Uther's name pop up on the car's hands free display – may as well get this over and done with.
All thoughts of taut stomach muscles and blue eyes fled as he clicked the answer button on his steering wheel.
'Father…' he didn't get much further before he was cut off by an abrupt 'where the hell are you?' Fuck, he really wished he could just hang up and keep driving.