It was somewhere between two footie games and his third cup of Irish Breakfast that Merlin realized it was becoming a serious problem. While Arthur wasn't technically his boss- something he both hated and adored- it still seemed really sketchy to have been hiding in the break room- two hours ahead of when work started- on the off chance that he'd get a glimpse of the Pendragon heir. A man he hadn't met, but was convinced would be as perfect as Merlin imagined- his kind eyes, his strong jaw, and irresponsibly attractive body. If he weren't so in love with the man he'd be positively full of rage over how handsome one body could be.
Or he could be a pillock, but surely a man who seemed to have such a big heart for his staff couldn't be anything less than a prince. A role Merlin would never admit to having fantasized him play, over and over again, while embracing Merlin, his faithful manservent. Wanking off so often was only one of the many red flags that Gwen had pointed out to him, but Merlin was exceptional at tuning out the truth. He supposed, that as his roommate, Gwen would whine about his wanking no matter whom it was he pined for. She simply couldn't understand how it felt. Nursing had kept her celibate in the face of so much work, and late night shifts. For his and her sake he wished Gwen had fallen in love as deeply as Merlin had with Pendragon jr.
And it was love! Surely it can't be creepy if it's love. Of course Gwen had just sighed, and replied, "I bet you ten quid that's exactly how stalkers see it." Merlin didn't dignify that with an answer. Just because he hadn't yet gotten the man's first name, never mind his orientation, he trusted love could bloom between them at any moment. Merlin always trusted his gut, and his gut was telling him, "For god's sake, you better get your pansy arse into his office and recite some damn Shakespearean love confessions before he realizes there are countless people more attractive and smarter vying for his attention!"
So, here he was, sitting in the break room with the TV blaring re-runs of football games he didn't care about, sipping tea like a mad man, and praying to see a flash of blonde through the doorway.
But apparently you can't force serendipity.
Merlin exhaled dramatically in the quiet room. It was a quarter till he needed to start unlocking the illustration office before the rest of Round Table Publishing arrived, and he still had three mock-up covers to finish.
He stretched his anxious muscles, thin wrists peeking out from the necessary white business shirt, and grabbed his unprofessional messenger bag. He might be twenty-three, but he was convinced that purchasing a briefcase would be crossing the threshold of his comfort zone and into the terror of real life.
The hallway was quiet as he tiredly made his way to what his co-workers had taken to fondly calling "the communal cubical." Put five men and women in a room with too many Romance and Young Adult books that needed covers, and you get exactly what you expect- chaos, inevitable friendship, and small rows over who gets the best materials. Getting there first let Merlin, not only stake his claim over the better computer, but also gaze longingly as Pendragon strolled down the red carpeting like he owned the place. On second thought, Merlin agreed, that's exactly the way he should look- all things considered.
After reaching the door, his caffeine shaking hands tried their best to shove the key in the lock, but Merlin was in his beloved far away land where work meant he kneeled under a desk, wrapping his lips around his boss's thick co-
"Oi, big ears, need a hand there?"
There was no mistaking that dulcet voice, and of course fate had brought it to him the moment he was imagining a highly inappropriate office scenario. Merlin turned around and looked up to find the smirking face of his impeccably dressed heartthrob- whose first words to him were an insult he'd heard a million times before.
"Oh my god, you're a prat."
Fantastic, and now his first words back was probably going to get him fired and more importantly, crossed off Pendragon's "considering being inside of you" list.
"Pardon me?" The man sputtered, looking more affronted than Merlin had ever seen him before.
"Not gonna lie, sir. There's really no clever way to get out of admitting I just called you a prat. I have other synonyms if you'd prefer them." Merlin replied with a frightened smile.
Oh fuck, Merlin's mouth just wouldn't stop embarrassing him. His snark was too automatic, even in the face of the man he dreamt of.
"Do you, really?" the older man cooed, tilting his head to the side. "Pray tell, what are they, dear intern?"
"Firstly, I've been working in Illustration here for a year now. Secondly, clotpole works, not to mention bugger, snob, lout…it's really a good thing you're so handsome, sir, or you'd never hear the end of this." Merlin tried to chuckle, but it came out as a curt whine. He prayed the man didn't read too much into the word handsome.
"Do you know who I am?" he demanded. Which was delivered exactly the way anyone of import does, and was the dumbest question Merlin had ever heard. Know who he was? He couldn't exactly say, "Yes, in fact just a moment ago I was imagining you making me blow you secretly during a board meeting. You must be Pendragon! I'd tell you my name but the speed at which I'm already going to be fired makes that a little pointless. Excuse me while I bugger off to contemplate the excellence of your hindquarters. Ta!"
Instead, he rudely shrugged, and pretended to think hard on it. "I have a pretty good idea. You work on this floor, yeah?"
Merlin had resigned himself to the fact that, if he was going to lose his job and the star of his rather kinky fantasies, he might as well be remembered. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.
Eyebrows still raised in an expression of offended shock, as he spoke to Merlin the way one might speak to a child about astrophysics. "I'm Arthur Pendragon, heir to this entire company. Just because you draw some clique covers on a couple of novels does not actually grant you the right to be an astounding idiot. Evidently, you seem to be mistaken on this subject."
Arthur. He has a name to the face, and it's almost worth knowing whose name to call out tonight after losing this job. It almost slipped by him the immediate irony of their names.
"Wait, of course it's Arthur. That's actually a little sick, really. You're currently arguing with a Merlin."
"A…Merlin? Is this some kind failed attempt at analogy?"
"No, it's just a failed attempt at a name. I'm Merlin. Merlin Emrys. And before you say anything, my mother does love me, she's just poor with naming. Luckily I have no siblings."
Merlin knew his incessant prattling was back, but in the face of just calling Arthur a clotpole, he's sure this is the least embarrassing thing he can do."
"Merlin…Charming. Now I know what name to put on the formal complaint I will most definitely be writing. Have a good day at work for Round Table Publishing, Emrys. Never know when it could be your last."
"Wait, Arthur!" Merlin called, and reached out to grab his shoulder. An astoundingly silk suit- he should have guessed.
"Mr. Pendragon, to you." He snapped, plucking his hand from his shoulder the way one would a used tissue.
"Alright, Mr. Pendragon. I understand we got off on the wrong foot here-"
Arthur barked out an astonished laugh, "The wrong foot! Not only are you a fantastic judge of character, but a master of understatement! Maybe I'll keep you around, Emrys, those are such valuable office skills."
"Okay. You're still a prat, but I love this company, and my boss would be the first to tell you I work the hardest in the whole illustration department! My social skills might be a bit "rusty," but you're no prince charming either." Merlin snapped. He was close to tears watching the day he'd waited a year for fall apart around him, but he wouldn't give Arthur the satisfaction of seeing it.
"Your boss is my boss," Arthur drawled, "but in the face of your supposed skill, I'll let this go on one condition…"
Merlin's infamous ears actually perked in surprise. He anxiously asked, "What's the condition?"
Arthur's smile could only be called feral, and Merlin would be lying if he said it wasn't a turn on. He hoped his blush hadn't gotten any worse. Nothing could make this day more awkward than visibly checking out his boss while having his job threatened.
"You see, one of our bestselling Romance novelists is insufferably picky about her book covers. If you agree to handle this, you'll be off the hook." Arthur said it calmly, but there was something beneath the casual request that Merlin couldn't put his finger on.
That's it? Scrunching his eyebrows together, Merlin wondered just how picky this author must be to make them even. He dealt with these types all the time, and one more can't be so bad he'd willingly loose his job over it.
"Then it's a deal. Easy stuff. I'm good at handling the nit-pickers, been doing it a year now. Is that honestly all? Not that I want any more-" Merlin babbled a little snobbishly.
"Oh, it's quite enough," Arthur smiled, taking a pen out of his polished leather briefcase. He gracefully pulled Merlin's hand into his own, and started to write in elegant lettering an address on his wrist. Merlin let out a small gasp at the first skin-on-skin contact. Electric. Hot. It felt as though it was only them in the entire world. He closed his eyes.
"Come to this apartment at 7:00 PM tomorrow, and wear nice clothes. Try not to let your personality show or the author will refuse and the bets off. Can you do that, Merlin?"
"Yeah," Merlin mumbled, still not quite over the shock. He looked down at his hand, still being held while Arthur spoke to him, and read the address. He recognized it from somewhere… "Wait a minute…isn't this the photography studio we use?"
"How observant you are," Arthur chuckled, "Yes it is. Like I said, this writer is very picky about their book covers. They especially like photo manipulations."
"But I never do the photography, that's always Gwaine's job." Merlin was sure Arthur had them confused- though how anyone could confuse someone like him with someone like Gwaine was unfathomable.
"That's true, but Gwaine doesn't have the kind of feel that we need for this one. It takes a particular kind of body. It's gay romance, and for this one we need a twink." Arthur spoke, his voice getting more sadistically pleased with every word.
"A t-twink?!" It was Merlin's turn to sputter; Arthur couldn't possibly be implying what he thought he was. "What does my body have to do with taking photographs?"
"Don't be so thick, Emrys. You aren't taking the photo. You're in it." Arthur's smile couldn't get any bigger.
Merlin had so much to say to Gwen tonight, it was frightening.