Emotional Incompetence, a merlin fanfic

Notes: So within the first two weeks of November my goal went from "I will write fifty thousand words and successfully complete NaNo" to "By the end of the month, I will finish something". And here we are. This is something of a pseudo-sequel to Girl Talk, although you aren't required to have read it for any of it to make sense. In fact, you're probably better off not having read it, because that way you might miss all the inconsistencies between this and that. But, regardless, I hope you enjoy it. Love, Peach.

Emotional Incompetence

When they're kids, Morgana tells Arthur she envies him his courage. It's when her nightmares are at their worst, when she's too scared to sleep at night, too scared to breathe during the day, and Arthur is too young and too stupid to realise some things ought to scare him, that sometimes, fear is the brain's best tool at protecting the body.

He breaks limbs falling out of trees, then climbs back up the same tree as soon as his pot is off (and he doesn't cry the first time he meets her, when he lands in her sandbox, whatever Morgana chooses to tell people sometimes). He leaps off the highest diving board while Morgana huddles at the side of the pool, ready to dive in and rescue him if he starts drowning (she's eight and dreamed it, apparently in enough detail that she's convinced it's going to happen). He runs into crowds, aged ten or eleven, and she tries to hold him back, terrified in her certainty that one of the children he's playing with will to try poison him with the food they offer to share with him or plant a knife in his back as soon as he stops paying attention to them.

As kids, Morgana is so sure he's fearless, and Arthur spends half his life trying to prove it to her.

As adults, they've learnt enough to know that Arthur might be blind to danger, brave to the point of recklessness, and (according to Merlin) stupid as hell when it comes to preserving his life, but he's a fucking coward when it comes to people. Morgana, of course, can manipulate people like a pro, read them like a novel (some are more Bleak House than Twilight, Morgana says, but a book is a book and if you can read one you can read them all), and argue them into believing black is white and day is night, but Arthur? When it comes to people, Arthur sucks, and he sucks even more when it comes to feelings.

Case in point, when Morgana turns thirteen and grows breasts, Arthur decides he's going to marry her. Rather than going about it in a mature way (gift giving, buying her drinks when they go to the coffee shop once a week after school, actually speaking to her like a human being), Arthur mocks her horribly, tells everyone how ugly he thinks she is, and, to his great and everlasting shame, quite literally pulls her pigtails whenever she decides to tie her hair back.

Needless to say, nothing ever happens between them, and within a couple of months Morgana starts dating a boy at school (Ed, maybe, or something like that) and Arthur realises he wants more from life than to be her bitch, but he remembers, and that's pretty much the start of his long history of being crap with relationships.

Gwen lasts the longest, is the only one he actually wants to last, but even then it isn't enough. There's just something missing, some spark between he and Gwen that isn't there, but he's never able to explain to her what it is. He does try to tell her, because he knows Gwen is sweet and good and, if she can, she'll do her best to make it work between them, but he can't, and pretty quickly he stops trying.

He likes her, though, he really does, likes her curves and her smiles and her unstoppable kindness, the way she takes care of him and accepts that that means taking care of Morgana, too, and the fact that Gwen manages to make him feel worthy, almost. He just doesn't like her enough, as much as Lancelot does, and it's not fair to blame Gwen for finding elsewhere the things Arthur can't give her.

He's not exactly mature enough to accept it like that at the time, seventeen and utterly convinced that Gwen has broken his heart and he'll never love again. He spends a week dressing in black, listening to loud, angry rock music, and generally glaring at anyone who speaks to him before Morgana quite literally beats some sense into him. At that point, it sinks in that Gwen feels genuinely remorseful for what she's done, as does Lancelot, and that they would both like it very much if he got over his angst and decide to be their friend. It isn't quite that simple, of course, but he gets over it because, ultimately, he likes Gwen, and, what with his complete inability to treat feelings like an adult, he really only has himself to blame.

Plus, as everyone who's met him can easily attest, Lancelot smells amazing.

Of course, at seventeen, Arthur doesn't actually realise that he'd noticed.

Then there's Sophia, a total psycho, but hot enough that it takes Arthur a few dates to work that out. She's a redhead, as vicious as she is beautiful, and Arthur is completely gone on her for a couple of months when he's nineteen, so much so that he's close to dropping out of uni and running away with her, until one day when they're out for dinner somewhere fancy and the police come in and arrest her. Multiple drownings that aren't as accidental as they seem at first glance, Morgana tells him, and how the hell she gets that information from the nice young officer on duty when Arthur begs her to go down to the station and see Sophia, Arthur really doesn't want to know. She's guilty, though, without a doubt, and Arthur is forever thankful to whoever the mysterious source that put the police on her trail is.

Mithian is after that, in Arthur's final year of university. She's smart and kind, as well as a total babe, and should by all accounts be perfect for Arthur. Morgana likes her, Uther is so enamoured that if he weren't more than old enough to be her father he'd probably propose himself, and even his friends approve. They don't fight, not even about little things like Arthur leaving wet towels on the floor or Mithian forgetting to do the dishes three nights in a row, and Mithian does a good job of making sure Arthur isn't falling behind in his university work. The sex is good, satisfying, but there's still something missing, the same fire that was missing with Gwen, and when they finish their final exams they end it, fairly amicably. Mithian is moving back home, while Arthur is heading to London to work for his father, and neither of them wants to try long-distance.

Two years into working at Pendragon and Son (it was called that long before Arthur started there – before Arthur was born, even – for no reason other than because Uther thought it sounded good), just as Arthur is starting to feel like he almost deserves the shiny Vice President plaque on his door, Elena comes stumbling onto the scene. This one is Uther's doing, although, thank God, not some twisted attempt at matchmaking; Uther has never really cared too much about whether or not his son has a decent love-life. No, Elena is the daughter of one of Uther's most formidable business associates – not ally, no one would go that far, but not quite an enemy either – and, in order to cinch a massively important business deal, Uther needs Elena to convince her father it's a good idea, and for that he needs Arthur.

Elena is sweet as anything, despite the fact that her father is almost as oppressive as Arthur's. The difference is that her father dotes on her, asks her opinion with a genuineness that surprises Arthur the first time he hear it; Bernard Godwin loves his daughter, isn't afraid who knows it, and whilst Uther scorns him for it behind his back, thinks it a weakness to be exploited, Arthur sort of envies it.

He intends to take Elena out for drinks once, so that he can tell his father he tried but it just isn't going to work. That one date turns into two, though, then three and four, because Elena is truly a joy to be around, and Arthur finds himself doing things he'd never have thought of doing before. She goes running in thunderstorms and drags him with her, dances when she's happy and sings when she's not, turns everything into a race Arthur can't quite resist competing in.

By this point, Arthur is starting to wonder if the 'something missing' he's so certain of is just the result of too many Disney films as a kid (Uther always found it easier to sit his son down in front of the TV and leave him there than it was to actually tear himself from his work and pay attention to him). Elena should be just right for him, in an entirely different but no less real way than Gwen should have been, than Mithian should have been, and maybe the idea that there ought to be something more there is just his imagination playing with him. Maybe he should suck it up and accept that this is what relationships are like, and to look for more is just dumb.

So Arthur digs around under his bed to find the metaphorical shoebox where he hides his courage, calls Elena and asks her to meet him at her favourite restaurant. "I have something I need to tell you," he says, because he does; it's only fair that Elena knows why their relationship started, and that Arthur is committed to it regardless. "I think I should do it in person, though."

And then, as their desserts arrive and Arthur opens his mouth to tell her, Elena cuts across him. "Whatever you're going to say, Arthur, please don't. I know you're trying but this isn't working."

It is, Arthur wants to argue back, or wants to want to, at least. But hearing her say it is a relief, a sign that he isn't being foolish for wanting something more. "I know," he says instead. "I'm sorry, Elena." And he is, too, but he can't say that he wishes it was because he doesn't.

"Don't be silly," Elena says, reaching across the table to hug him and promptly spilling what is left of her wine.

And, in the middle of it all, there's Merlin, and everything makes a twisted sort of sense. And there's Merlin, and nothing does.

Arthur isn't officially in the market for a new PA, but somewhere in the building they're interviewing for low level receptionists, requiring little more than basic typing skills and the ability to smile as you answer the phone. Merlin applies, along with fifty thousand other people – Pendragon's has decent benefits, and excellent opportunities for advancement, even for people starting as far down the ladder as the ones hoping to get the receptionist job – and is summarily turned down, largely because a degree, even one with a key focus on the medicinal properties of plants native to the British Isles, means that he's grossly overqualified. He does, however, have the good luck to walk past Arthur's office just as HR's latest attempt at finding him a decent personal assistant is running out the door in tears (Arthur isn't proud of himself, but the idiot has just managed to lose several hours' worth of deeply important work, and he's entitled to yell at her).

"You!" Arthur says, sticking his head out the door and hailing the first person he sees, some young guy with dark hair and ridiculous ears. He doesn't recognise him, but then there's so many interns and temps passing through the building that this is hardly surprising and since they all ultimately work for him (or his father, anyway) they're usually willing to jump when he tells them how high. "Coffee. Black, no sugar."

"Fuck off, arsehole," the guy snarls, complete with a deeply respectful hand gesture. "I don't fucking work for you, or anyone else in this stuck-up, pretentious, stuffy, snobbish, wank -faced company."

"I beg your pardon!" Arthur says, and, "Don't you know who I am?" are not at all the words that should be spilling from his mouth after that, because he might not be particularly adept at talking about (or having, for that matter) feelings, but he has worked hard to get over the ridiculous arrogance his father instilled in him from a young age. He's better than this, damn it, better than the dreadful impression of himself he gives sometimes, and yet that is what he's saying.

"No!" Ears says. "And even if you were the bloody Dalai Lama it wouldn't give you the right to order random strangers around like that. Make your own fucking coffee, wanker."

It's a little bit like being hit in the face by a hammer, Arthur tells Morgana, when he finally gets over his shock. The bitch just laughs, then breaks into the offices that night (how she does it, Arthur never manages to work out), rummages through the records of all the people interviewed that day, and calls Merlin to offer him a job.

She doesn't actually work at the company, except for the rare occasion Arthur calls her for legal advice, but somehow she convinces everyone that that doesn't actually matter.

Contrary to all expectations, it works out fairly well.

"Let's get one thing straight before I start here," Merlin says, stomping into Arthur's office precisely half-an-hour late (to the second, almost, and Arthur is quite sure it can only be deliberate) and slamming two cups of coffee onto his desk. One black, no sugar, and the best coffee Arthur has ever had at work, the other so milky it's barely coffee at all, three sugars, and why Arthur knows how Merlin takes his coffee isn't anyone's business. "I'm here for exactly two reasons. One, your girlfriend managed to convince me you had a few worthwhile qualities and, whilst I'm not convinced by that, there's still number two, which is that I need the money until I can find something better."

"Morgana is not my girlfriend," Arthur says, as much conviction in his tone as he can manage, just to be absolutely sure there's no doubt in Merlin's mind. "And her boyfriend is big enough to rip your head off," he adds, in case his denial is so emphatic it gives Merlin the wrong idea, "So don't even think about messing with her."

"Bet mine's bigger," Merlin says quietly, but with more attitude than a guy as scrawny as him should be capable of, holding Arthur's gaze like he's waiting for him to say that that's going to be a problem.

To cover his complete absence of words, Arthur slurps at his coffee. "Go down to reception, ask Gwen to fix you up with a laptop. Your desk is just outside the door."

Merlin nods, flashes him a lopsided grin, and that is pretty much it for Arthur.

Arthur meets Percival, Merlin's giant of a boyfriend, not too long after that, when Merlin brings him to a company picnic. A nice bloke, he decides, but as wrong for Merlin as...God, whichever of the girls Arthur is with at the time is for him. Percival – Percy, please, mate. Sir, even. Sorry – is enormous, considerably taller than Leon. His biceps look about the same size as Merlin's thighs, too, and Arthur has considerable difficulty working out how the two of them might do anything together without Merlin getting broken.

Not that he spends much time picturing it, obviously.

Percival doesn't last long, not compared to some of Merlin's other boyfriends. "He was just so nice," Merlin complains over a cup of coffee, and never mind that Arthur summoned him into his office for a reason that actually relates to work.

"That's not a good thing, I take it?" Arthur asks, not entirely sure how calling someone nice can be meant as anything other than a compliment, though apparently it is.

"It is not, no," Merlin says, grinning in an oddly self-deprecating way. "I thought it would be. I figured, hey, I've dated enough jerks lately. A nice guy would do me good. Long walks, romantic restaurants, breakfast in bed…they're so bloody dull. Give me a good, hard shag any day."

Arthur chokes so hard coffee comes out of his nose, which at least prevents him from asking if that's an invitation.

After Percival, there's Gwaine, who, in Arthur's personal opinion, is clear evidence that Merlin is serious about swearing off nice guys. Okay, Arthur never catches him doing something that could actually count as wrong, but Gwaine is pretty much the last bastion of sin, what with how much he drinks, smokes, flirts, and generally fails at being at all respectful.

For two months, Merlin comes to work with a hangover and love bites on his neck, swearing like a sailor whenever he hears anything louder than a pin dropping. He goes all moony whenever Gwaine is mentioned, is prone to staring into space at random intervals, and barely speaks to Arthur, whether or not work requires it of him. As for Arthur...he finds himself shouting a lot, drinking just as much, and going through girls like a hot knife through butter, but not in a serial killer way.

Then, one utterly mundane Wednesday, Merlin comes in to work looking gloomier than a British summer, muttering something about Gwaine refusing to believe he isn't a distant second.

Arthur takes him to his favourite pub that evening after work, has far too much to drink, and doesn't push Merlin away when, even more wasted, he presses his mouth to Arthur's.

The kiss can't go on more than a few seconds before Merlin collapses against him, snoring lightly, but for Arthur it changes pretty much everything.

Merlin shows no sign of remembering when he wakes up in Arthur's spare bedroom, and Arthur doesn't mention it.

Cenred is next, who goes beyond jerk and into the territory of violent, gone within two weeks; Merlin brings a black eye to work, along with a quiet assurance that the next time he sees the bastard from as much as half a mile away, he's calling the police first, Morgana second, Percival – still a friend, even if they're over – third.

Arthur still calls Morgana that evening to ask her advice on how, hypothetically, one might convincingly implicate a man in a crime serious enough to land him in prison for at least a decade.

The harpy laughs, tells Arthur to stop being such a child and ask Merlin out, and hangs up on his slightly stunned silence.

Then Mordred, a summer intern at Pendragon's, who seems utterly flawless but for the age difference. Well-mannered, kind, respectful, and the way he looks at Merlin is adoration so extreme it borders on worship, and the whole fucking thing makes Arthur feel sick.

The two of them go out for lunch every day, Merlin arriving back late every day, a sandwich for Arthur, Mordred walking him back to the door to his office. "Goodbye, Merlin," Mordred says every fucking day, leaving Merlin with a deep, almost desperate kiss.

On their two month anniversary, Arthur overhears Mordred tell Merlin he loves him, and suddenly finds it necessary to take the rest of the day off.

Morgana, largely out of pity, drags him to a club that evening, owned by one of her most frequent clients. Thus, it is completely Morgana's fault that he meets Vivian, and Arthur intends never to let her forget that.

Viv is as gorgeous as she is dumb, pouting and preening at Arthur all evening, her eyes never leaving Arthur's as she dances, lacy white dress barely long enough to cover her arse.

Arthur only intends for it to be a one-off thing, a quickie and then gone in the morning.

Vivian has other ideas.

Viv is about as far from complicated as it's possible to be, which is why Arthur decides to respond to her blatantly eying him up that night. She's hot, none too bright, and it should be easy enough for him to fuck and run, and so, when Morgana pops over to the bar to chat with her client-slash-friend, Arthur makes his move. By the time Morgana gets back to the table, he and Vivian are long gone.

Despite being slightly lacking in the brains division, Vivian is apparently conniving enough to dig his wallet out of his trousers while he's in the shower, getting both his surname and his address from his driving license. It's not that she stalks him, per se, so much as she has impeccable timing, managing to catch Arthur in every moment of weakness he has that first week after he meets her.

And, after that first week, Arthur doesn't know how to get rid of her.

He tries, he really does, but every time he gets through the words I think we should take a break, Vivian's brain seems to tune out, finding a station where take a break means I'd love a cup of tea rather than It's over. Leave and never come back.

By the third week after he meets her, Viv is bringing him lunch at work (not handmade, that would ruin her nails, but very definitely expensive), by the fourth she's started leaving little gifts with the elaborate meals, and at the end of the month, Viv is blithely confessing her love, completely oblivious to the fact that Arthur has nothing to say in return.

Two months after Arthur meets Vivian, almost to the day, Mordred's summer internship is over. The kid goes back to university, he and Merlin ending it on mostly good terms, and Arthur redoubles his attempts to end it with Vivian.

"Look," Merlin says, walking into Arthur's office to find him with his head in his hands, a pair of tiny pink knickers on his desk before him, Vivian's latest gift. "Just sit her down, a nice restaurant, and tell her it's over."

"I've tried that," Arthur as good as wails, but right now he's utterly beyond hope. "She's like a boomerang. Or glue, or Teflon, or…the armour from films that people can't get off once they put it on. I'm stuck with her."

"A restraining order, then," Merlin says, and who he thinks he's fooling with that attempt at a straight face, Arthur has no idea.

"I thought of that, too," he says, as Merlin's lips start to twitch. "She's so tiny, though; no one would ever believe there was any reason for it."

At that, Merlin's battle for seriousness is lost, and his gales of laughter go on long enough that Arthur gives up waiting for him to stop. Instead, he gathers up the papers he'll need for his next meeting, and if he happens to accidentally swipe Merlin on the back of the head with them, no one will ever know.

"I'm sorry," Merlin says eventually, almost calm as he wipes a tear from his eyes. "It's just...yeah, whatever. Seriously, if you want to get rid of her, and you don't care too much about the consequences, it's obvious what you need to do."

"I'm not going to kill her, Merlin," Arthur says; desperate as he is to be free of her, it's not got quite that bad yet. "I'm too good-looking to survive prison, and there's no way I wouldn't get caught."

Merlin grins, although Arthur isn't sure what he thinks is funny this time. "That's a tad drastic, don't you think? I was just going to suggest you introduce her to Morgana."

Now that, Arthur thinks, is pretty much genius.

Morgana does her job most admirably, without even knowing what it is she's supposed to do, and exacts her payment in the form of a pair of murderously high heels. She also invites herself along on the massively expensive dinner he offers Merlin in thanks for suggesting it, effectively ruining any possibility of it counting as a date, the bitch.

Still, when Arthur drops her off at home with a kiss on the cheek and she says, "You should tell him," for the first time he actually considers it.

"I'm not as brave as you think I am," he tells her; considering it and actually having the balls to say it are far from being the same thing, and it's a long time since the days when she called him fearless and he believed her.

"I realised that years ago, Arthur," she says. "But you're still braver than you think you are. Just tell him."

And he intends to, he really does, but even without Vivian or Mordred or whoever the hell else getting in the way, it's still bloody difficult.

It would be easier, he thinks, if he could be sure of his reception, if he actually knew whether Merlin might be interested in him. Sure, there are looks, sometimes, and touches that linger a tad too long, but all he really has to go on is Merlin's saying Gwaine left him because he was tired of coming second and one kiss. There's no real reason for Arthur to believe that he's the first to Gwaine's second, and the kiss…Merlin was drunk, so drunk he passed out, and it might not be nothing to go on, but it's certainly not very much more than that.

Without any real assurance of his welcome, Arthur is far too chicken-shit to make a move.

It's May, a good half year since he broke up with Viv, when Merlin comes clattering into his office, face practically split in two by the grin he's wearing.

"You'll never guess who called me last night," he says, placing a coffee and a stack of papers on Arthur's desk before flumping down into the more comfortable of the visitors' chairs.

"You know, Merlin, I do believe you're actually right about something for once," Arthur says, and for all Morgana has told him that being nice to Merlin might work better than practically bullying him (Morgana's wording; Arthur is fairly sure Merlin knows it's not meant to be that), some stupid part of his brain insists. "I will never guess."

"Prat," Merlin says, his grin never wavering, and then follows it up with, "Mordred."

Arthur spends a singularly unintelligent moment wondering if that's Merlin's latest attempt at an insult. It's not, of course, but he'd probably prefer that to what it actually is: Merlin telling him who called him. "Oh," Arthur says, trying to sound disinterested rather than borderline jealous. "What did he want?"

"He asked me out for a drink," Merlin says, his head tilted to one side, the grin finally mellowing, replaced by a frown as he studies Arthur. "He's back in town next week. An interview, he said."

"Oh," Arthur says again. "Good luck to him, I guess." Then, because he can't quite manage not to ask, just like he can't quite keep his insincerity under wraps in his previous sentence, "Are you going out with him?"

"Hmm," Merlin says. "I said I'd have to check the inter-company dating policy. I also said I'd put in a good word for him."

"Oh," Arthur says a third time, which is really pushing the boundaries of eloquence. Still, it's better than No, not a chance in hell, I would rather be locked in a very small cupboard with a hamster, a wire brush, and every single one of my ex-girlfriends than have Mordred working here again, which is what he wants to say.

"So?" Merlin asks. "What do you think? I read the reports from his supervisor when they came across your desk. Seems like he was a pretty good worker."

"Those reports are for me to read, not you," Arthur points out, though Merlin knows better than to nose at anything actually confidential. "I can't promise anything, Merlin. It's up to the interviewers, not me."

Merlin smiles like he doesn't believe it for a second. And maybe he's right not to; if, as VP, Arthur has the power to veto any employment decisions (not that he's ever made use of that right, but he has it), then presumably any bias he expresses in favour a particular applicant will also be taken into consideration. Just because he has that power, though, it doesn't mean he's going to use it, not for Mordred, not even because Merlin asks him to.

"Thanks, Arthur," Merlin says. "Shout me if you need anything."

The applications end up on his desk anyway, as most applications of those that make it to interview do, and it's not hard to spot Mordred's in the pile. It's easily the best, full of excellent qualifications and glowing references (one of which has Arthur's signature at the bottom, actually, because even if he doesn't like the man, he won't disagree that for an intern, he was incredible), to the degree where the others are clearly only making it to interview just in case Mordred turns it down, and it would be so easy for Arthur to remove it from the pile, get someone to remove Mordred's name from the list of interviewees.

He could, quite easily. It's within his power, and chances are no one would actually find out. Merlin might suspect, if all info the company has on Mordred vanishes shortly after he mentions Mordred's ambitions to Arthur, but he won't know, and he won't say it, and Arthur won't have to see the pair of them making eyes at each other every single day at work.

It's only as he's holding the manila folder containing Mordred's application over the shredder that Arthur realises just how insane he's being.

It's time to fucking grow a pair, dig out the dusty old shoebox again. It's time to tell Merlin how he feels, and get this shit over and done with as Morgana keeps telling him to.

However it turns out, it can't be worse than seeing Merlin with Mordred again.

"Look," Arthur says, meeting Merlin's eyes; it's never been in his nature not to, when avoiding his gaze would suggest the weakness he tries so hard to pretend he doesn't have. "This is weird, I know, and you work for me, and I like to think we're friends, and I would understand completely if you didn't want to change that. If you're not interested, or you don't want to risk anything, then we can just pretend I never said anything and that's fine.

"But I don't want to not say anything," Arthur continues as Merlin blinks at him in surprise, carefully placing the papers in his hands on the edge of Arthur's desk. "I've not said anything about loads of stuff, when I know I should've done, and I'm truly crap at relationships, and...I can't stay quiet any longer.

"Morgana's right," he says, and doesn't that thought make him shudder, because if there are two words that should never be said in conjunction with one another it's those two. But, sadly, it's the truth, and compared to telling Merlin just how much he hates the possibility of Mordred returning, it's definitely the less objectionable explanation. "She says I need to talk about my feelings more, and she says that this is too important to me for me to keep it to myself, and...yeah, she's right.

"I love you."

In the time Arthur waits for Merlin to answer, whole generations pass. Children are born and raised, bring boys and girls home to meet their parents, grow old and have their own kids, and still Arthur waits for a response. Seasons change, decades fly by, and Arthur waits, cursing himself for ever thinking Morgana managed to say something of worth, for thinking this was something he needed to do. He could walk in on Merlin and Mordred shagging in Arthur's oh-so-comfortable office chair every day for a year, and it still wouldn't be as awful as waiting.

"Ah," Arthur manages, when Merlin finally moves, taking a step back and towards the door, as clear a response as Arthur could have asked for. He temporarily puts aside his plans of dying of embarrassment, at least until Merlin isn't in his office any longer, and makes what he hopes is a valiant effort at pretending none of this ever happened. "In that case, that will be all. Thank you for your time-"

"Arthur-"

"And I hope that you will not allow this to-"

"Arthur-"

"Affect our working relationship in any way."

"Arthur!" Merlin snaps, enough volume and velocity to cut Arthur off before he can actually apologise for his feelings. He steps away from the door again, smiling like Arthur has never seen directed at him before. "God, just shut up, Arthur. I love you too, you enormous prat. I was just locking the door."

"Oh," Arthur says, his knees feeling a little shaky at the look Merlin's giving him, the borderline predatory way Merlin's making his way back over to him. "That's good, then."

"Yes," Merlin agrees, this time absolutely sober as he leans in to kiss Arthur. "It is, and it's about to get so much better."