Summary: Merlin is Arthur's new secretary and is oddly appealing. Also, just to complicate things, eccentric Uther has introduced a penpal scheme within the office to promote team unity, and despite initially being at blows, Arthur and his anonymous penpal are getting on extremely well. Somehow Arthur has to balance his physical attraction to Merlin, and his emotional attraction to his penpal... While baking some exceptional puddings, because lemon drizzle cake is nice.
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, background Gwen/Lance
Word Count: Just over 31k
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I am making no money on this.
A/N: Written for PaperLegends Big Bang 2012, also on my LJ with full notes
Enjoy.
Merlin awoke slowly, trying to combat the sensation of OH-GOD-OW-WHY-ME that seemed to be trying to consume his face and brain, presumably in punishment for his own consumption of far too much wine and possibly a vodka or two the previous night.
He curled underneath his duvet, quietly processing his current state. Well rested, yes, so he'd slept well for once. Hungover, pretty self explanatory. Nauseous, but not about to throw up any minute, so a fry up was out of the question but a dry breakfast should be okay. Somewhat unhappy, probably mourning his own lack of brain function. Cold, blame the lack of clothes. Lonely, that was - wait. Hang on. Lack of clothes?
He looked groggily around to confirm his assessment and found that, not only was he utterly devoid of clothes, but the only items of clothing from the previous night he could see in the room were his boxers, one sock and - peeking out from under his pillow - his tie. Damn. Time to dig down into the sodden recesses of his memories from last night and try to figure out what - or, oh god, who - he'd done.
He remembered Gwen, Lance, giggling, and shots. He remembered deciding that the bottle of Merlot was his and shouldn't be shared. He remembered laughing, and joking, and insulting, and teasing, and flirting, and blonde, and blue, and being pushed up against a wall and kissing like the world was about to end.
Arthur. Oh fuck.
Merlin groaned with disbelief, scouring his brain for any alternate scenario in which he might not have actually just fucked his boss, but was unsuccessful. He froze for a moment, listening to see if there was any evidence of anyone else still in his flat, but couldn't hear anything, so decided to be brave and have a look.
He managed to crawl out of bed and put on clean boxers and a jumper, then retreated to the bathroom to piss, splash cold water on his face, and take at least twice the recommended dose of nurofen. He then made his way slowly throughout the rest of the flat, peeking round corners before turning them as if Arthur may be hiding, ready to jump out at Merlin any moment. He wasn't.
The only pieces of evidence in the flat that the previous night had been anything out of the ordinary were the occasional item of Merlin's clothing strewn in increasingly interesting places (the floor? Fine. The toaster? Baffling. Around the light? Actually quite impressive), and a plate in the kitchen that was covered in a teatowel and letting off a thin ribbon of steam.
Merlin inspected it suspiciously for a few moments before deciding that Arthur probably wasn't a murderer and it probably wasn't a bomb, and he removed the towel with a flourish.
Pancakes.
On his old, chipped dinner plate (handpainted with pansies by his mother) sat a pile of about eight small scotch pancakes, golden brown and still warm, obviously cooked fresh that morning.
He glared at the plate for a minute, wondering if he was still dreaming, then decided that if he were dreaming he might as well enjoy it, and shoved the topmost scotch pancake unceremoniously into his mouth. He nearly moaned in pleasure as his teeth broke through the slightly crisp edge to reveal the inside - soft, light and fluffy. Perfectly flavoured, not too sweet. He grabbed the butter out of the fridge to put a quick smear on the next pancake before devouring that one too.
As he quickly made his way through the plate, he couldn't help but wonder - who the hell makes pancakes for a drunken one-night-stand?
Arthur stood in his kitchen, stirring a bowl of cake batter furiously. As much as he didn't want the cake to sink due to over-mixing (a mistake he hadn't allowed himself to make in years), he had to let his frustrations out on something, and beating cake mix tended to be less painful than beating walls.
What had he been thinking? It was like he was determined to sabotage himself - he'd only just made the decision to see how things went with this penpal guy (who, he reminded himself, was funny, witty and charming - not to mention had no clue about his standing in the company), and the next thing he knew he was drunk and fucking some other man. His assisstant, no less, because apparently even when being a complete pissing cliche he had to go the whole hog.
He didn't even want to think about the fact that Merlin had topped. Arthur hadn't bottomed for anyone since he lost his virginity (because, oh god, he never wanted to repeat that experience), and really didn't want to consider what it might mean that he'd not only bottomed for Merlin, he'd been so fucking enthusiastic about it.
To be honest, he really didn't want to think about it at all. It had clearly been a mistake - a very, very drunken one - and meant nothing to either of them. All he needed to do was ignore the fact that it happened, go back to things being normal with Merlin - his assisstant, no more - and focus on Dewin.
He tried to ignore the miniature Morgana in his head yelling "Pretending things don't exist doesn't make them go away, it just makes you delusional" as the full size one had repeated to him many times, divided the batter evenly between two greased springform tins, and thrust them unceremoniously into the pre-heated oven. He reached into the fridge for eggs, milk and cream, thinking about the fact that he hadn't made himself a creme caramel in ages. And not about Merlin at all.
"...And I tell you what, they were the best pancakes I've ever eaten. And the washing up had been done! I mean, who does that?"
Merlin was sat at the desk in his uncle's empty bookshop, recounting the tale of the previous night (leaving out, of course, the gory details) to his uncle, Gaius, who was shuffling round the shelves checking stock and ticking things off on an old, ratty clipboard as he listened intently.
Gaius's shop was old, a bit dusty, and sold predominantly second hand occult books, so it wasn't exactly the busiest place. It generally picked up a bit on Saturday afternoons, though, and Merlin frequently helped out by manning the counter while his uncle sorted stock, or reshelving, or accounting - things Merlin didn't particularly understand or care about.
He was happy to help though, the customers were mainly regulars who all knew him, and it gave him an excuse to spend time with Gaius, who was the closest thing to a father figure he had. Also, Gaius didn't know Arthur, so Merlin could talk to him about the man's odd actions.
"Well, had you talked about what this might mean to either of you?"
"No, we were a bit... Distracted." Merlin blushed. "I don't even know if I want it to be more, I mean I like him, and we get on, and, you know, pancakes. But he's my boss."
Gaius nodded sagely - as if the concept of screwing your male boss was one he understood all too well, an image Merlin really did not need.
"Romances in the workplace can be tricky. Though talking of which, I thought you were getting on well with that penpal chap of yours?"
Merlin winced. "Yeah, we are getting on really well... But if I had the choice between getting to know someone in person and getting to know them by email, there's no contest, you know? I mean, Mort and I get on like a house on fire now that he's stopped being an arsehole, and if I could meet him in person I'd jump at the chance, but you can't wake up in the arms of a laptop. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, I see what you mean. Well I suppose all you can do now is wait and see how Arthur feels."
"Though sometimes people find it difficult to see clearly what they want - like one side of a coin trying to see the side that makes it whole." Merlin jumped as the voice came from behind the bookshelf that Gaius was stood next to, then took a deep, calming breath as he saw a regular customer of the shop shuffling slowly towards them.
"Oh hello, Mr Gareth." Merlin said. "I didn't know you were there."
"How many times must I tell you, call me Cillian. And that is so often the case with the youth of today, not seeing what is right in front of them. Am I right, Gaius?" The man smirked in an infuriatingly knowing way at Gaius, who swiftly changed the subject, telling Merlin he'd decided he wanted to do up the shop building's wild and unruly back garden, and asking Merlin to go outside and see how much work he think it might need.
On occasion, Merlin thought Gaius might be slightly magic, in his constant knowledge of when an argument needed to be pre-emptively avoided and precisely how to do so.
When Monday morning rolled around, Merlin was almost looking forward to seeing Arthur. He'd spent most of the weekend in the back garden of Gauis's shop, attempting to 'trim' grass he was sure was taller than him, and had found that gardening (/battling his way through the jungle) lent itself to deep thinking.
Merlin had never overly wanted to get involved with anyone he'd worked with, but then he'd never worked with Arthur, and the more he thought about it the more he thought they'd compliment each other. He'd been nervous of the man at first, but once he'd managed to worm his way past the serious and workaholic exterior (admittedly with the help of a couple of beers), he'd found a fun, warm man with whom he shared a sense of humour that was equal parts darkly sarcastic and immaturely silly. A man he could talk to, laugh with, and who was - let's face it - a fucking beast in the sack.
And so, when Merlin sauntered from the lift into the office, a small smile played about his lips. He hadn't slept fantastically, but had managed to wake up in plenty of time and hadn't had to hurry to catch the train for once. He loaded his computer as the kettle boiled, firing off a quick email to Gwaine to nag him that it was his turn to host their occasional Dr Who and tequila night (the tequila helped assuage the shame of ugly crying about Ten and Rose). He didn't have any emails from Arthur even though the man was clearly in his office, so he assumed that he would want a coffee - it was first thing on a Monday, after all.
When Merlin had stirred all of the sugar in, he crossed to Arthur's door, knocking merely as a formality before he wandered in regardless. Arthur sat hunched over a pile of papers, concentrating with pen in hand. He looked tired. Merlin placed the mug next to him and stood, starting to feel a bit awkward by this point, next to the desk as he waited for Arthur to look up. The pause that followed was thick and lasted too long for comfort before Arthur finally broke it.
"Can I help you?" If that hadn't been enough to cut through Merlin's hopeful optimism, the look he proceeded to give him was - it wasn't even neutral, it was a dischordant symphony of uncaring scorn, the kind of look one would flash at a stranger in the street if they were to spit on the ground, before promptly forgetting their existance.
Merlin's heart dropped through his feet as if on a particularly unpleasant rollercoaster and he quickly shook his head in response before leaving the room, closing the door carefully behind him. He sat behind his desk, took a large gulp of his cup of tea and breathed heavily, wondering when he'd allowed Arthur the power over him to change his mood so drastically in such a short amount of time.
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Morning
Good morning. You had a good weekend?
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Morning
Hey.
Hasn't been too bad, haven't been sleeping all that well though so pretty tired this morning.
How did you do with this week's challenge?
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Re: Morning
Not so well to be honest, haven't really had an opportunity to tell a big truth! I told the truth to a friend after a few drinks on Friday night, but that doesn't count.
I guess the closest thing would have been telling my uncle that I really don't want to spend every weekend in the forseeable future trying to sort out the godforsaken hellhole that he calls the back garden to his shop. (He's got me doing it anyway, so this time the truth didn't help! Oh well.)
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Morning
What did you say to the friend then?
That sounds like a nearly useful truth, and it does seem like the truth, so I'll allow it :P
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Morning
Ah nothing important, bit of a long story anyway.
How was doing something unexpected?
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Morning
Not as unexpected as I expected! It's possible I may have overthought the whole thing and possibly also done some chickening out...
I did something kind of unexpected Friday night I guess (what is it about Friday night?), and also made creme caramels - my friend nearly had a heart attack when I told him what I'd cooked, which was good because it was obviously unexpected, but also slightly worrying that something as insignificant as my baking could provoke such a reaction... I think I should make him go to more regular check-ups at the doctors.
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Yawn
Well I'm proud of you anyway, from the sounds of it, any change (however slight) to your slightly OCD cooking habits is an achievement!
What happened Friday?
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Hope that's out of tiredness, not me being boring...
Friday was just a few drunken antics - but I don't usually drink enough to have 'antics', and was with a friend I haven't known very long, so I reckon I can count that as doubly unexpected - more points for me.
Is there an actual points system for this challenge, or do we just make it up as we go along?
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Sorry, really knackered :S
Of course we just make it up as we go along, wouldn't be fun any other way :)
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Me too.
Ha, of course not. I'm winning anyway though, right?
Sorry I'm all blargh today, feeling so out of it.
xxx
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Me too.
Of course you're winning... For now! I'm just lulling you into a false sense of security, it's all part of my master plan ;)
That's fine, I am too. We'll talk tomorrow though, yeah?
And 'blargh' isn't a word :P
xxx
Morgana sauntered easily into Arthur's office without warning - as usual - on Tuesday and stated that she'd asked Merlin to get them coffee because they were going to need it if they were going to get these forms filled in by the deadline.
"What forms?"
"What forms? Arthur, are you joking with me? Because that's not funny. The personnel ones from the merger, we need them in HR by midday." Arthur groaned and tried very hard to resist the urge to bash his head resoundingly and repeatedly on the surface of his desk. He hadn't forgotten something this important for years.
As if finding his pain amusing (which, in his opinion, it most definitely did), the universe chose that moment to send Merlin bumbling through the door carefully balancing two mugs of coffee and glaring resolutely at the dark liquid inside them. Arthur found that he had to quickly suppress a blush before it forced him to explore whether it was caused by anger or embarrassment.
"Merlin, where did you put those personnel forms from the merger?"
"They'll be somewhere amongst the 'In' pile on your desk, where you asked for them, sir."
Arthur fumed silently, and couldn't completely suppress the flush that coloured his cheeks this time as Merlin placed the two mugs on the desk and swiftly left. Before the whole debacle between them, there wouldn't have been anything in the 'In' pile. He always kept up to date, even if it meant staying in the office til ten in the evening, or working full days at the weekend. How had he let himself get so distracted? It wasn't like him at all.
Morgana, as ever too observant for her own good, had watched the exchange and Arthur's attempts at a neutral facial expression with a calculating look in her eye, and ended up at the only logical conclusion.
"Arthur, what did you do?" Arthur looked up at her as if he'd forgotten she was there and narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean, what did I do? You automatically assume I've done something wrong?"
"Well when was the last time Merlin brought you a cup of tea or coffee without you having to ask?"
"Probably Friday, why?"
"And the last time he insulted you? Or called you on your superiority complex bullshit? Or smiled at you? Or joked with you? Or came up with increasingly complex and convoluted dastardly schemes to force Gwen and Lance together with you?"
Arthur was completely fed up of her condescending, accusatory tone and couldn't stop himself from yelling "Last week. Why? What the fuck point are you trying to make, you utter harpy?"
Morgana just looked unhappy and sat silently for a few minutes, waiting for Arthur's anger to run out of steam. Finally she spoke softly and sadly.
"Arthur. What did you do?"
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Stop - Challenge time!
(Like, to the tune of Hammer time? It's funny, feel free to laugh...)
This is me, invoking the right of midweek challenge!
As such, I hereby challenge you, Potter, to tell me two secrets that you have never ever told anyone before - one serious and one silly.
If you're lucky I might tell you two of mine :)
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: I laughed. It's not funny.
An intriguing proposition, Bond!
Yeah, okay. I warn you though, I'm not so good with sharing.
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: I'm hilarious, don't lie to yourself
That's fine, I'm pretty over the top with sharing, so my overshare will make up for your share deficiency.
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: I would put obligatory 'your face is hilarious', but I haven't seen your face...
Okay, secrets then. Here goes:
1) Because of my upbringing, I honestly believe I'm not good enough. I'm not a good enough employee, I'm not a good enough friend, I'm not a good enough partner for anyone who may show an interest. I am a constant disappointment to myself, which leads me to kind of hate my job.
2) Despite my complete and utter baking evangelism, my favourite snack in the world is a McVitie's dark chocolate digestive biscuit with tomato puree on top. Don't judge, it's wonderful.
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: I'd like to see your face
Wow. And you say you're no good at sharing... I wish I knew how to change your mind on the first one. I think you are good enough, and should be proud of yourself for the man you are, the man whose emails are the highlight of my day. And I'm glad that you work here, because if you didn't I may never have met you. Though if you ever decided to quit your job and open a bakery, I would be in there all the time, eating your cakes and getting nice and fat.
As for the second one, well. There are no words for how disgusting you are.
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: I'd like to see yours.
That's more than enough about me, time for your secrets please?
And with the digestives - don't knock it til you've tried it. Seriously, it is the most perfect combination of sweet, savoury and tangy. It's a dream.
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Secret time
1) I wish I could meet my father, just once, and tell him that he should be proud of the man I've grown into, and that he should be so sorry that he walked out when my mother was pregnant because he's missed wonderful things. Except I'm not entirely sure I believe that myself.
2) Once, my best friend from home and I went into my next-door neighbour's garden, and stole apples from his tree. We only got two each, and he never picked them anyway, but I felt so guilty that I threw up.
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Secret Time
He has indeed missed out - if I knew him, I would shake him and ask what the hell he was thinking. He gave up the chance to see ridiculous, wonderful you at your best and your worst, and I don't get to see you at all.
Not sure the extent to which throwing up is a silly secret, but it is sufficiently gross to probably qualify so I'll let you off.
You talk a lot about this friend from back home - should I be worried? :P
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Re: Secret time
Haha oh God no, nothing to worry about at all!
We tried to practise kissing on each other once when we were about twelve but ick and no, it just felt so wrong.
He lived a few doors down from me so we knew each other from the age of, like, 2. Both of our mothers were single parents, so they kind of teamed up - we were more like brothers than anything I guess.
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Secret Time
Were? Have you grown apart a bit since you moved away?
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Secret time
Um, not quite. I guess you could say we've grown apart a bit since he died.
x
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Secret Time
Oh fuck me, I'm so sorry, I had no idea!
What happened? If you don't mind me asking...
x
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Will.
No need for you to apologise, there was no way you could have known.
His name was Will and he was the best friend I ever had. He was my brother and my best friend and my ally, he could read me like a book and we would defend each other to the death - though that got him into more scrapes than it did me, to be completely honest.
He was one of those guys where he could walk into a room of complete strangers, and when he left ten minutes later, not only would he have made friends with (and probably subsequently taken the piss out of) everyone, but he would have made sure they all made friends with each other. It sounds like an exaggeration, but I swear to you I've seen exactly that happen on more than one occasion. I don't know how he did it.
He was one of those unlucky but stupidly optimistic people. One time, he'd just lost his job, his arsehole girlfriend had just split up with him, he couldn't afford rent so he was sleeping on my sofa, and he just grinned at me and asked why I looked so glum. I asked how he could stay so cheery in the face of all that, and he just said "Well, you big tart, it's gotta mean it's nearly time for things to start going right!"
Three years ago, things were finally going right - he had a job at a bar he really enjoyed, finally got it together with 'the one' (god, they'd been dithering around each other since year 11, it was getting pretty boring for the rest of us!), he was happy. He'd just finished work one night and was walking home alone when a drunk driver hit him and drove off. He died almost instantly, they said, and they caught the driver - but that won't bring him back.
The police told me first - woke me at three in the morning. You know what they say, a knock on the door at three in the morning is never gonna be good news - I still now can't get to sleep without some kind of noise in the background (I like audiobooks) because I have nightmares about those sirens waking me again.
I still have his answer in my head to pretty much any situation, I know most jokes and cutting remarks he'd say at any given time. Sometimes I even say them, just to feel like he's there. But just because I know what he'd say doesn't replace him being there to say it. God I miss him.
Wow, have just realised how much I wrote... Really sorry, I get this kind of evangelical zeal when it comes to Will - I know how amazing he was and I kind of want everyone else to know too. Sorry.
xx
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Will.
Wow. I'm impressed with the sheer level of, as you say, evangelical zeal - ever thought of becoming a Jehovah's Witness? (In case you haven't noticed already, I make jokes when I don't know what to say, and I'm shit with emotions...)
Seriously though, I'm so sorry that he's dead, and that you had to go through that - I wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all you, and I wish I knew what to do to make it better. He sounds like a good guy.
Not gonna lie though, I'd probably be jealous of him if he were still around, he gets far too much of your attention :P
xx
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Re: Will.
Let's be honest, he'd probably hate you! He could be a complete twat sometimes (and no, I'm not going to suddenly say that he was perfect just because he's dead like some pricks from school did), especially to guys I dated!
He was just over protective though :)
Also I reckon he'd be worried that you're more daring in fulfilling challenges :P
xx
From: Mort .
To: Dewin .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Will.
What can I say, I'm pretty damn amazing at challenges ;)
Thank you for telling me about Will, you didn't have to and I appreciate it.
Didn't even notice 5pm flying by! Better go.
Talk tomorrow, sweet dreams :)
xxx
From: Dewin .
To: Mort .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Will.
You're pretty damn amazing full stop.
Good night.
xxx