Chapter 2: What Uther Wants
"Do you have any idea what Father has in mind to talk about?" Arthur asked Morgana quietly. He was sitting in her office, looking halfheartedly through the Museum Directory, as she hastily tidied her desk. It was nearly five o'clock, and from the look of things the senior curator had a dinner date.
Morgana shrugged as she reached for her powder compact. "Gaius is betting it's about some object coming up at auction," she murmured, dabbing powder on her nose.
"Really," drawled Arthur, watching as his beautiful stepsister swept her dark hair on top of her head and fastened it with a diamond-studded pin. "My guess is that he's heard about you and, uh, the head of our Security Department."
"Oh please, Arthur," Morgana scoffed acidly. "Why would he need to speak to Gaius and Merlin – or you, for that matter – if all he had on his mind was my transgression with someone he considers a social inferior."
"All right, all right," sighed Arthur, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I was simply joking."
"I should hope so," Morgana said, somewhat mollified. "But if Uther ever should hear of, well, you know, I'll expect you to take my side in the ensuing battle. After all, I've championed your, uh, alliance with our junior conservator. And I think it's rather charming that Mordred has, as well. I've never seen that child take to anyone quite so quickly before."
Arthur gave a half-hearted laugh. His intellectually precocious little half-brother emailed Merlin on a regular basis, and had indeed expressed his approval of him to their father. Not that this would be likely to change Uther's views on the subject of any connection between his son and his son's conservator other than a professional one.
"Both Mordred and I think it's one of the nicest things that's ever happened to you," Morgana continued relentlessly. "Though how Merlin can put up with you is absolutely amazing to me."
"Morgs, please," Arthur said in a long-suffering voice. "My private life is-"
"I know, it's private and off-limits, and you don't want anybody to talk about it, as usual," came the response. "But the fact is that everybody does, and you know it."
Arthur bit his tongue and refrained from telling Morgana precisely what he was thinking of her at the moment.
"Uther's ringing us at ten inthe morning," Morgana said almost plaintively as she reached for her handbag. "Skyping us, I mean. So dress nicely, Arthur, and paste a smile on your face, and after he's finished his lecture on what we should be doing to run this museum more efficiently, he'll get round to telling us what he wants."
"I always dress well," Arthur replied, getting to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow then, in your office at ten. Tell lover boy Leon not to keep you out too late," he added with a touch of friendly maliciousness, for the sole purpose of watching her flush with something actually close to embarrassment.
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Merlin was waiting for him on the front steps at ten minutes past five. The fading rays of spring sunlight had turned the stone balustrade against which he was leaning to gold, and Merlin's head was tipped back, his eyes closed, to capture the last of the warmth. There was a little color in his thin cheeks, and Arthur resisted the urge to touch that narrow, angular, oddly beautiful face.
Instead, he said "Ahem," and tapped him lightly on the upper arm.
Merlin's eyes popped open and he grinned sheepishly.
"I was daydreaming," he murmured, straightening up and rubbing his temples with both fists. "Are you starving? Or just normally hungry?"
"Starving," replied Arthur, shifting his briefcase from one hand to the other. "Famished. And what were you daydreaming about?"
"Actually, I was thinking about that wretched sculpture," Merlin said, frowning. "I'm trying to figure out how to reinforce its neck."
Arthur bit back a smile, because it was difficult to think about the John the Baptist sculpture without remembering the first time he had touched Merlin intimately. That had been after the opening night party of an exhibition to which the statue had been loaned. He and Merlin had gone back to their Santa Barbara hotel and, after a minimum amount of negotiation disguised as verbal fencing, had quite simply fallen into bed together.
Well, they had fallen into bed together many times since, and it didn't seem likely that they would ever get tired of doing so. This habit had been made much easier by the fact that, at one point during the winter, Merlin had finally moved into Arthur's flat. He had been spending a fair amount of time there anyway, but had not expected Arthur to suggest that they live together so soon. The Assistant Director had been surprisingly adamant, and their conversation on the subject had occasioned some of Arthur's most prattish behavior, and one of their most memorable arguments.
"You're always saying that you like your privacy," Merlin had said emphatically. "You'd hate me for being in your way."
"You're talking rubbish, as usual."
"People would talk, of course."
"They're talking anyway, you id-"
"Don't you need your personal space and a break from Institute personnel?" Merlin had said hastily.
"Personal space be damned!" Arthur had retorted. "You know what I need."
"Erm," said Merlin, doubtfully. "So you're only thinking about sex?"
"No, you bloody idiot!" Arthur growled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him in.
"So you are just thinking about sex, then," Merlin had stammered half-jokingly after several minutes.
"No I'm not, you blinkered imbecile!" snapped Arthur, forgetting to even try to sound lover-like. "I want you, the sex and everything else that comes with you, including your clumsiness, and your annoying retorts, and your insubordinate manner, and your incomprehensible accent, and your…your…bloody vegetarianism! Everything, do you understand?"
(He realized later that this must have been the most arrogant and obnoxious declaration of love anyone had ever made.)
"For pity's sake, Arthur," Merlin had said mildly. "You're shouting."
"Merlin," Arthur muttered sharply, but the expression on his face had been that of a child about to be bereft of his favorite something-or-other. "Does that mean yes?"
"Yes," was Merlin's barely audible reply. "God, you're a possessive prat," he had added in a normal tone of voice, flattening his palms against Arthur's chest.
Remembering this exchange of less than two months ago, Arthur smiled rather broadly but when Merlin asked him what was so amusing, he said that he had been thinking of cutting back the spending limit on Morgana's business charge accounts.
They walked to Arthur's flat along streets lined with trees that were beginning to blossom, and Arthur sneezed several times. Merlin offered him a packet of tissues.
"I thig I deed to see an allergist," the Assistant Director complained, as they crossed the lobby. "I cad breathe."
"It'll be better upstairs," Merlin said sympathetically. "The new air purifier's been running all day."
It was indeed better in the flat, and after Arthur dropped his briefcase in the hall they made their way to the kitchen, where they poured huge tumblers of ice water and sat down to unwind. Merlin pulled a vegetable casserole out of the fridge and Arthur (who avoided having anything to do with cooking if he could help it) deigned to cover it and shove it into the oven, because Merlin wasn't certain it would do well in the microwave.
As Merlin unearthed the makings of a salad, Arthur (who was supposed to be concocting the dressing) wandered into the study, where he checked his computer for emails. His stomach somersaulted unpleasantly when he noticed an email from Uther at the very top of the list. Sighing with trepidation, he opened it, gesturing for Merlin to read it over his shoulder.
Dear Arthur, I will be speaking with you and some of your staff tomorrow, but I wanted to inform you that I've been making arrangements for your visit in June. As you know, I'm having some renovation work done on the Belgravia house, so we will be living elsewhere, temporarily. I shall let you know when everything has been finalized. As you are bringing Merlin Emrys with you, I may arrange to introduce him to some London conservators. There will be excellent collections on display at the museums here this summer, and I recommend that you see them during your stay. Incidentally, do you remember the London collector with the tapestries, Cornelius Sigan? He is one of the matters I wish to discuss with you and your colleagues tomorrow. Affectionately, U.
"Oh hell," muttered Arthur, the corners of his mouth turning down. "What is he on about? He knows perfectly well I have no idea of what he's been doing with the house. Cornelius Sigan? I remember him, although quite frankly I'd prefer not to. Well, at least he's quite come to terms with my bringing you."
"At least on the surface," Merlin muttered, raising his eyes to the ceiling. He had to tread carefully when it came to the dictatorial Senior Director, because although Arthur found his father frustrating, and although Merlin knew how much Uther set both Arthur and Morgana's teeth on edge, he was also aware that Arthur had spent most of his life (consciously or subconsciously) trying to win his father's approval.
"Cornelius Sigan? Why talk to us about him. He's an odd bloke...definitely something dodgy about him. And…Merlin? What is it?"
"Nothing," said Merlin. But he was clearly thinking about something because his face wore that serious, withdrawn expression that Arthur found so fu…so intensely irresistible.
He reached out and caught Merlin lightly about the waist, his hands sliding up under the disreputable tee shirt to touch the smooth skin of Merlin's back. Merlin gave a little gulp and leaned in to him, raising his face so that their mouths could connect in one of their gut-wrenchingly satisfying kisses.
Neither had been able to figure out whether the mind blowing quality of their kisses was due to the unique chemistry between them, or to some sort of innate kissing ability (Arthur occasionally bragged about his), but it never seemed to go stale or become any less exciting than it had been from the first. As well, Arthur never ceased to marvel at how perfectly they fit together. They were more or less the same height; Merlin was a scant half-inch taller, a difference that was not really noticeable when they stood side by side. And he was so much slighter than the athletic, blond Assistant Director that he gave the impression of being smaller.
"Mine," Arthur whispered urgently against Merlin's charmingly prominent right ear, pulling him closer.
"Yours," replied Merlin in a muffled voice. "After dinner, anyway. I thought you said you were starving."
"Right," said Arthur, releasing his conservator and trying to ignore his racing pulse as he walked back to the kitchen and hunted in a drawer for forks and spoons. "Switch off the computer, would you, Merlin," he called over the sound of rattling cuttlery. "Dinner first. Then we…oh, bugger!"
"There's no need to get graphic," Merlin said reproachfully.
"No, you idiot," came Arthur's voice at its most irritated. "it's the casserole…I forgot to turn off the oven. It's burnt to a bloody crisp!"
