OCTOBER 31, 2010

Three weeks. That was all it took for Merlin to fall for Arthur.

Gwen would argue it had taken less than that, reminding Merlin of the frantic phone call that first morning, when Merlin awoke to find a half-naked Arthur sprawled out on his sofa.

Lance would say that he was being hasty, reminding Merlin to take things slow, despite three weeks of Merlin waking up to find a half-naked Arthur sprawled out on his sofa.

And Merlin? Well Merlin said screw it. He would very much like to wake up to a half-naked Arthur for the rest of his life.

It was shocking how fast they had all become friends after that first day of general awkwardness. Arthur and Lance were chums again, their argument resolved with a not-so-surprising lack of apologies from both sides (Merlin had since learned they had been friends for years, having met at St. Andrews). Gwen and Arthur hit it off right away, finding a common ground in Merlin, who would gladly be the butt of jokes forever if it meant Arthur would stick around. Arthur even seemed to be getting along with Freya, letting her sleep on his chest most days. As for Arthur and Merlin, they hadn't changed very much since that first night. There was at least one argument a day, followed up by at least one apology (from Merlin), and one sarcastic comment (from Arthur), and they would be thick as thieves again. Merlin was at a loss to explain it, but they just seemed to understand each other, and in his opinion, understanding was a feat in itself. And if that could happen in three weeks, certainly love could as well?

Merlin had been learning more and more about Arthur over the past few weeks. He knew that he was from London, the son of a politician, and that he had come to America to shirk his duties (Arthur had told him none of this, but Lance had told Gwen, and she couldn't keep gossip like that to herself if her life depended on it). He knew that Arthur had chosen Richmond, of all places, because Lance lived here and was the only one of Arthur's acquaintances willing to harbor a fugitive on their futon. He also knew that eventually, probably very soon, Arthur would have to go back. And he was also constantly made aware that Arthur knew even more about him than he did about Arthur. Arthur had eventually pried out his secrets about Will, his first love, who had dumped him for a lanky musician named Cedric. Arthur found out about Merlin's mother, who was killed in a car accident two months before he was due to start graduate school. Arthur had correctly put all this together as the reasoning behind Merlin's decision to reject his scholarship offer to the Royal Academy in London to come here, to Virginia, far away from anything that might remind him of the past. Arthur understood that Merlin had been running away, just like him. Which brought them to this tenuous understanding they had reached, as kindred spirits in their need to flee, that bottomless desire to run and never look back. They both knew that it had to end, that they couldn't run forever, but for now, they took pleasure in the chase, content to stay one step ahead of their pursuers, hidden away in the bohemian haven Richmond provided.

And tonight was Halloween, something Merlin and Arthur were fairly new to, all things considered. They had been invited to a party, instructions clearly stating that costumes were required. After much deliberation, someone (Merlin wasn't going to mention names) had decided the irony was too much to pass up, and so Merlin found himself walking down Broad Street in a long velvet robe and a pointy hat, a fake white beard itching at his chin and upper lip. Next to him, Arthur loped along in plastic chain mail and a billowing red cloak, a cheap, gold painted crown resting on his head. Merlin remembered being astonished as Arthur walked out from the bathroom in his apartment, something about the outfit striking a chord in Merlin's memory, like a glimmer of something that once was. Arthur wore it all like he was meant to, making his plastic accessories seem gilded and solid, glimmering with a veracity that only true gold and steel possessed. Arthur had given him one of those looks, the ones that said "I think you are utterly ridiculous," and so Merlin had just grinned, readjusting his beard and socking Arthur in the shoulder.

Now they were headed towards a house in the Fan that belonged to a friend of Gwen's, and Merlin's only concern was not tripping on his too-long robe and falling into oncoming traffic. A glance at Arthur confirmed he was having no trouble maneuvering his over sized cloak, and Merlin glared at him, the whole thing losing some of its ferocity as Merlin's wizard hat slipped down into his eyes.

Merlin tried to hide his smile as Arthur raised his eyebrow in what was now an all too familiar gesture.

"Problem, Merlin?"

"I just don't understand," Merlin said, hiking up his cloak, "how you can walk in that thing without tripping."

"It's called grace, Merlin," Arthur said, putting on the tone he reserved for such occasions as was necessary to show off his breeding. "It's something you're born with, and something you decidedly lack."

Merlin snorted. "And you don't?"

Arthur assumed his most condescending face. "I'll have you know that I was trained in the art of grace and poise from an early age."

"So that night you rolled off the couch and thumped your head on the kitchen table was an example of grace and poise?"

"That," Arthur said, aiming a finger at Merlin, "was an accident."

"That resulted in a twelve hours of hospitalization and a concussion."

"I was asleep," Arthur said, "It doesn't count. At least I don't trip over my own feet on an hourly basis."

Merlin's affronted scoff was punctuated with some intense flailing as said feet got tangled in the bottom of the cloak and Merlin pitched forward into the sidewalk.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin commented from where his face was resting on the pavement.

"Uh-huh."

Merlin was making to lever himself off the ground when he felt warm hands under his arms and then he was being heaved upright onto his feet again. Like every other small contact Merlin shared with Arthur, the touch sent shivers through Merlin's spine, causing him to shudder a bit on his feet. Merlin let Arthur chalk it up to the slight chill in the air and carried on, bouncing sarcastic comments off Arthur until they got to the house, which was decorated to the nines in all manner of Halloween regalia. There were jack-o-lanterns on the steps and skeletons sitting in the porch swing. The door swung open to reveal Gwen, looking stunning in a medieval-esque gown in light purples and creams, Lance following close behind as the stoic knight in shining armor. Matching grins bloomed on their faces upon seeing Merlin and Arthur, and the night passed in a delightful, alcohol-induced haze. Merlin talked up everyone in the room, friendly as ever, making his way easily through the crowd. After properly introducing himself to every partygoer (and at some point losing track of hat and beard), Merlin bounced his way over to Arthur, who was standing awkwardly in a corner, clutching his beer like a lifeline, looking completely lost.

Merlin spared a moment of wonderment over how the image of confident Arthur striding across his living room in full King regalia had morphed into this shy, reclusive Arthur. It didn't seem to fit with his understanding of him, but Merlin was very near drunk and very much in love with this man, and he only spared a second to take this new observation into consideration before shouting over the music, "Doest Your Majesty care for a dance?"

And there went the eyebrow again as Arthur considered Merlin's outstretched hand.

"The correct form would be 'doth'," Arthur said, which Merlin took as a yes, taking Arthur's beer from his hand and passing it off to the cowboy standing nearby.

"Watch this for him, would you?" He called over his shoulder as he grabbed hold of Arthur and pulled him steadily from the room.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, struggling to tear his hand from Merlin's grip. "Cut it out!"

"It's a party Arthur," Merlin replied, turning around to face Arthur, but not letting go of his hand, "this is what you do at parties."

"I don't want to dance, Merlin."

"Too bad!" Merlin shouted, still grinning, too high on bass beat and adrenaline to care that Arthur was looking steadily more uncomfortable by the second. "I want to."

"So dance with someone else." Merlin watched as Arthur glanced around, before Merlin used his free hand to force Arthur's head back to face him.

"I want to dance with you."

Arthur's face contorted into something Merlin didn't recognize, before his tense frame relaxed slightly and he turned his hand in Merlin's grip so that their palms were clamped together. Merlin felt that familiar zing down his spinal chord, relishing in the sensation. He let his other hand fall from Arthur's cheek to his shoulder, gripping the firm muscle there, and Arthur's hand landed on Merlin's hip, fitting around the bone with a natural ease that Merlin had never felt with Will. He took one step towards Arthur, closing the distance between them, and they began to dance. It only took Merlin a minute to realize that while he loved feeling Arthur's hand sliding against his own, it was just not conducive to the sort of dancing he intended to do. So with much reluctance, he dropped Arthur's hand and twined both arms around his neck, and he felt Arthur's hand move to his hip, and it was all heat and motion and Arthur's face so close to his own. And Merlin was drunk and loving every minute, tangling his fingers into the sweaty hair at the nape of Arthur's neck, feeling Arthur's hands grip a little tighter at Merlin's hips, and Merlin could almost believe it was all a happy dream, that Arthur was just as enamored with Merlin as he was with Arthur. And fantasy was mixing with reality as Merlin tilted his head to slot his lips against Arthur's, feeling the wet slide of mouths, his body fitting perfectly against the warmth that was Arthur's, like magic.

And then it was gone in a flash as Merlin was shoved away violently, knocking into a coffee table and nearly tipping over backwards onto the carpet. Arthur was standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, face flushed, lips wet, looking so utterly ravishing in that moment that it took Merlin more than a minute to understand that Arthur was angry, incredibly so. Merlin saw Gwen moving out of the corner of his eye, but she didn't even make it within twenty feet of Arthur before he was turning, stomping out of the room, and Merlin winced as he heard the front door slam in his wake. Gwen shot Merlin a worried glance as Lance appeared out of nowhere to help him up. Once back on his feet, he spared no time in following Arthur out the door, Gwen shouting unintelligibly behind him.

Merlin ran at breakneck pace back to his apartment, stopping only for a second after two blocks to tear off his cloak and stuff it into the nearest trash can. The streets seemed to stretch on forever, the worry that Arthur would already be gone playing forefront in his mind as he took every shortcut he knew about, anything to bring him home quicker.

He scrambled up the stairs, hands shaking as he fumbled with his keys. He had just managed to shove the right one into the lock when the door was yanked open from the inside and Arthur, beautiful, wonderful, still-here Arthur, appeared in the doorframe.

He stared at Merlin with a new coldness in his eyes. "Move," he said.

Merlin processed this. "No."

"Merlin," Arthur growled, "move."

Merlin tried with all the ability he possessed as a drunk man in a wizard's costume to appear foreboding and formidable. "No," he repeated.

"I'm not going to do this with you, Merlin."

"Do what?" Merlin shouted, voice rough and desperate, any semblance of control slipping away with the realization that he had probably, actually, fucked this one up beyond repair. "Dance with me? Kiss me? Fall in love with me? No I suppose you wouldn't. That was just me then. All me, always me. Stupid, stupid Merlin. Thinking I had any chance with his royal highness Sir Arthur of Prat-land. I'm just a fucking nobody to you- jeez, to fucking everybody and now I've gone and fucked this up and-"

Merlin's tirade was cut off when Arthur grabbed him by the collar and slammed their mouths together, yanking Merlin inside the apartment before shoving him back against the door, forcing it shut.

"Why don't you ever fucking shut up?" Arthur growled against him, making Merlin's skin crawl. He leaned forward, yearning for another taste, not able to get enough. He tasted like steel and rain and cheap beer and something else that was distinctly Arthur. Merlin wanted to trace it, to define it. He wanted to be able to paint it onto a canvas and label it "Arthur," so he could hold onto it forever when this inevitably ended. But Arthur held him back with a firm hand against his chest.

"I can't do this."

"You can," Merlin argued, tongue darting out to lick his lips, chasing the flavor of Arthur that lingered there.

Arthur groaned and pressed another kiss to Merlin's lips, sucking that tongue into his mouth, and Merlin was overwhelmed with heat and the sensation, before it was gone, Arthur having retreated to a safer corner of the room, leaving Merlin panting against the door like a horny teenager, lips swollen and eyes dilated.

"No." Arthur shook his head. "I can't do this. Not again."

Any thoughts Merlin had been having were stopped in their tracks. He paused, rolling that sentence over in his head. "…Again?"

Arthur just stared back silently, looking completely disheveled and also, Merlin noted with a gleeful glance downwards, painfully aroused.

Merlin licked his lips again before carding a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Care to elaborate on that?" He asked with forced ease.

He could tell that Arthur very much did not want to elaborate on that. In fact, Arthur was looking very much like he had not intended to say such a thing at all, and was at a loss as to how to continue now that he had. He looked like he wanted to run, like he just wanted to be further away, but all Merlin could think about was getting closer. He needed to be closer, to feel the heat he knew was radiating off Arthur. He waited, staring, willing Arthur to look at him, not understanding what was happening, yearning for some sort of connection.

Then, Arthur's eyes met Merlin's, and instantly, like lightning, Merlin understood.

Because he knew those eyes, had seen them staring out of the mirror at him for more than a year. This was not new; this was not uncharted. This was again, and suddenly it dawned on Merlin that Arthur had run from more than just an unwanted political career, and that he was still running.

But we can't run forever.

"That's why you left." Merlin said cautiously, an almost question.

"He did most of the leaving," Arthur muttered, and Merlin's suspicions were confirmed.

"What was his name?"

Arthur's eyes slipped closed, like he was remembering. "Solomon. Sol."

Merlin nodded, and carefully picked his way through the jungle of paintings to stand in front of Arthur, letting his hands wander up to Arthur's face, thumbs sliding over warm cheekbones, fingers tangled in tousled hair.

Arthur opened his eyes, and Merlin met his gaze again, a heady rush coming over him, like the one he got when he was painting, the feeling of pure gold coursing through his veins, like magic.

"My name is Merlin."

"My name is Merlin."

And it was like the words held some higher power, and Arthur forgot his argument, forgot the voices in his head telling him to stop, forgot everything except for Merlin's eyes, molten gold, locked onto his own in invitation.

He took a breath. "My name is Arthur."

Merlin grinned that ridiculous grin. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Arthur. Now take your pants off."

And Arthur laughed out loud, and it felt good and free and nothing at all like again. He reached out for Merlin, sliding his hands under the cotton fabric of his thermal and crushing their mouths together.

After that it was all fumbling hands and flushed skin and tangled limbs and tripping over the cat and Arthur feeling happier than he had since May. Merlin's bed was all together too small and also elevated six feet in the air, forcing Arthur to grumble and complain as he followed Merlin up the ladder and over. They landed on the mattress with a muffled oof, and Arthur wasted no time in wrapping himself around Merlin again.

It was bliss.