Chapter 20: Sex, Lies, and What to Do About Uther
Uther Pendragon was examining the small pile of mail, delivered earlier, that now rested in the Chinese celadon bowl on the hall table. His upright figure was clearly visible on the little screen of the Father Detector sitting on Arthur's bedside table. The gadget was still emitting a high, shrill beeping sound, and Merlin searched frantically for a way to turn it off.
"I think Mordred forgot to add an 'off' switch," he murmured to Arthur, who had flung a tee shirt over his head and was now pulling on a pair of boxer shorts.
As Merlin stumbled into his jeans and hunted in the bedclothes for his shirt, the beeping stopped. Uther had disappeared from the screen, and he prayed that the senior Pendragon had gone off to his study, or to pour a drink, or inspect his emails, or have a quick pee...anywhere but upstairs.
"This is ridiculous," Arthur was muttering. "I'm hardly a minor. I'm a functioning adult, or at least I was until I met you. What I do, and with whom, in private, is none of his bloody business. It's not as if he didn't know about us. I'm inclined to drag you downstairs and snog you right in front of-"
"No, not-" Merlin's voice unintentionally rose about an octave to a high-pitched squeak that startled both of them. "Not now. Think of your stepmother and Mordred."
Arthur shrugged histrionically. "Okay, perhaps now is not the time. But someday..." He finished dressing, and opened the second window, to air out the room. Merlin, now fully clothed except for his shoes, was standing with his ear to the door, listening for footsteps, and Arthur gave him a questioning look.
"As now is probably not the best time for him to find out we've been shagging each other blind for the past two hours or so," Merlin said, "I think I should disappear until dinner."
Arthur chewed on his lower lip. He had been hoping to spend at least another hour entangled with Merlin in the comfortable warmth of his bed, but now... He sighed, straightened his shirt, and then reached out to smooth Merlin's short and spiky fringe before brushing down the peaks of black hair that were standing up on the back of his head. "Why not go to your room; I'll tell him-"
They both stood stock still as the sound of a heavy tread on the stairs alerted them to Uther's approach and Arthur mouthed a silent but infuriated "No!"
"Surely he's not going to come barging into your bedroom," Merlin began, but as the footsteps drew nearer it appeared that this was a distinct possibility.
It took seconds for Merlin to gather up all of the cushions and bolsters littering the floor and toss them onto the bed, over which Arthur had hastily thrown the coverlet. Arthur glanced at the closet as a possible hiding place, and then the footsteps ceased just outside the door. A moment later Uther's imperious knock resounded loudly through the room. There was no time to think about what to do, and Merlin simply dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. Arthur kicked Merlin's shoes out of sight as well (he heard a stifled grunt from Merlin), and then flung himself on top of the heap of cushions, trying to look for all the world as if he had just been awakened from a nap by his father's sudden intrusion.
"It's not locked," he said in a muffled voice, making an effort to sound sleepy, and silently cursing himself and Merlin for a pair of cowards. After all, Uther was perfectly aware that the two of them were living together in the New York flat! So why the need for this skulking about? Why did they have to behave like underage teens in his father's house?
The answer, of course, was that neither of them wanted to put Uther in a foul mood, which would doubtless upset Elaine, confuse Mordred, and ruin the remainder of their stay in London. Arthur was mulling this over as Uther pushed the door open and stepped into the room, eyebrows raised at the sight of his disheveled and slightly bleary-eyed son.
"Didn't you go to the Victoria and Albert?" he asked, eyes skimming the room for signs of...well, obviously, for signs of Merlin. "Sorry to wake you, are you feeling unwell?"
"No," replied Arthur, sitting up. "I - the National Gallery was crowded. We did spend some time in the V and A." This wasn't exactly a lie; they had spent time there yesterday. "And then I felt exhausted. It might be delayed jet lag. I really needed a few minutes of sleep."
"Where's Merlin?" Uther said, his eyes still darting about as though he suspected Merlin of having powers of invisibility.
"He said something about wanting to see some of his mates from Cambridge," Arthur said evasively. This was the honest truth; Merlin had said exactly that, only he had said it that morning and had not yet bothered to ring any of them up.
Uther sat down in the armchair facing the bed. "I ran into Aredian, after my board meeting," he announced, crossing his arms. "He wanted to talk about that wooden sculpture, you know, the unknown nobleman or saint, the one with the damaged surface and bubbling paint. He was complimentary about the work of your conservators, but thought he might be able to contribute to its repair."
There was a pause and then Arthur said "What?" in a tone of voice the Institute staff had come to know and dread.
"He said something about a new technique that works beautifully on bubbling and cracking pigment," Uther murmured vaguely. "Interesting, don't you think?"
"Should we discuss this downstairs, Father?" Arthur asked, thinking of Merlin under the bed. "I'll just put on my-" He looked about for his shoes, wondering where he had discarded them during the process of stripping Merlin and himself.
"No, no, I'll leave you to rest," Uther said in a jovial voice. "I just thought I'd tell you about Aredian before I forget. The senior moments are coming thick and fast now; I can never seem to remember anything unless I write it down."
Arthur didn't believe that the senior Pendragon had ever forgotten anything in his life. "Father," he snapped, a horrible thought suddenly coming to him, "you're not thinking of hiring Aredian to work for the Institute!"
"Goodness, Arthur," Uther replied, eyebrows raised. "Why the hostility? The man's a master."
"I have four conservators," said Arthur shortly. "I don't need another."
"I never said you did," countered Uther, his voice soothing. "And, really, you only have one full-time objects conservator. Gwen does textiles, does she not? Gaius is a paper specialist, like Merlin, and Merlin still has junior status. But there's no need to be concerned; I've no intention of hiring Aredian. I have known him for years, and although he's one of the best, he's a bit of a prima donna. I can just see him and Gaius going head to head over every little issue. No, I simply may ask him to do some work on that sculpture - just for a brief period, mind, and purely on a freelance basis."
"Why?" asked Arthur coldly. "Will's an excellent objects conservator. His work on Lord Mo...on that sculpture is perfectly satisfactory. He's had some help from Merlin as well, and Merlin is qualified to work on three-dimensional objects as well as paper. There is absolutely no need for a third party."
"Arthur, it would only be temporary," Uther said, looking narrowly at his son. "I don't want an additional conservator for the Institute, but I wouldn't mind letting the man apply this new technique to that problematic sculpture. All you need do, if we decide to proceed, is to tell your Conservation Department to give Aredian free rein for a bit. Unless you think such an order might meet with, shall we say, resistance from someone on your staff."
"Merlin is my conservator," Arthur said, his tone of voice very calm. "He will do as I tell him, in that regard."
Even as the words left his lips he could imagine Merlin rolling his eyes, under the bed.
"Good," Uther murmured, looking satisfied. "Now I'll just let you get another half hour or so of rest."
"Thank you." If Arthur's jaw was clenched, his father pretended not to notice.
"Elaine only just rang me," Uther added, getting to his feet. "It seems that Mordred and the son of her friend are involved in some sort of game with his Wii, and it's proving difficult to tear him away. When Merlin materializes, would you tell him that dinner will be a little late?"
The door closed behind him with a sharp click and Arthur stood up, put his head in his hands, and groaned with exasperation.
"Well," said Merlin cheerfully, his head popping out from beneath the foot of the bed. "If Uther hires that dollop-head to work for the Institute, do the rest of us conservators get extra vacation time?"
"Absolutely not," replied Arthur curtly. "In fact, I'm working on a new employment contract that says Merlin Emrys in entitled to zero vacation days. But don't worry, Aredian is not coming to work with us if I can help it."
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Dinner was late, as Mordred had proved difficult to coax into returning home with his mother. He was smiling a little evilly over the number of times he had beaten his friend at their computer game, and chatted to Merlin with enthusiasm throughout the meal. This was so uncharacteristic of him - Arthur had known a withdrawn and cool-eyed Mordred to sit through an entire dinner without saying a word - that even Uther seemed somewhat astonished. Merlin spoke gently with the boy, trying to draw him out on a variety of subjects that interested him, and Arthur was pleased to see that his stepmother was regarding him with warm approval.
"I want to go to New York with Arthur and Merlin," Mordred said in a flat little voice after his second helping of pudding.
Uther quickly changed the subject, launching into a monologue on the subject of art collectors and museums, specifically on how museums wooed collectors in the hope of inheriting their art, or perhaps some of their wealth, someday. None of this was news to Arthur, who had wined and dined enough collectors to know how to encourage them with hints of galleries named after them, with the suggestion that their names would be forever linked to a prestigious institution.
"These aren't lies, naturally," Uther continued. "But neither are they promises. I think they fall under the category of enticements."
"A few museum directors, or their associates, are really unscrupulous," Arthur added under his breath so that Mordred could not hear. "They'll do almost anything, short of offering sex, to get a collector to donate his or her art."
"You haven't offered sex, have you?" Merlin whispered jokingly.
"God forbid," Arthur whispered back, pretending to be shocked.
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They had coffee in the parlour, and whilst Uther and his wife discussed Morgana's visit, and what they would have for dinner when she came to the house on Saturday, Arthur wondered whether they were aware of Leon's presence in his stepsister's life. Merlin strolled the length of the room, admiring the Renoir, the Picasso, the Chinese bird-and-flower painting, and the Indian miniatures hanging on the walls, presumably brought from the family home near Belgrave Square.
"Did you ever see that movie from the nineteen eighties, 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape,'?" Arthur whispered as Merlin went past him.
"D'you mean the one about the bloke who makes videos of women talking about sex?" Merlin whispered back. "And then has a good wank when he watches them later?"
"Something like that," Arthur muttered. Then he pulled a wry face. "We could make a movie and call it 'Sex, Lies, and Museum Curators.' What do you think?"
"Nobody would go to see it," Merlin replied after a moment of thought. "Who wants to see movies about stuffy museum types? People want a screenful of nudity and violence. How many curators and directors and conservators do you know who would look good with their clothes off? Apart from ours, that is."
"As for violence, I know plenty of curators from rival museums who would love to bash their competitors' heads in," Arthur replied drily. "And our lovely and aggressive friend Nimueh, from Boston, would probably be happy to take her clothes off if you were in the movie as well."
"Don't be such an ass," Merlin muttered under his breath, blushing a little. Memories of the Boston conservator's attempts to seduce him were still a source of embarrassment.
"Do you remember what time Morgana's flight arrives tomorrow?" Uther called from the other end of the room. "She sent me the information, but I appear to have erased the email by mistake."
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Merlin went upstairs to bed several minutes earlier than Arthur, but he lingered in the hall in order to give his Assistant Director a whispered Good Night. Arthur stopped and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin put his hand on Arthur's wrist, delicately rubbing circles there with his thumb. They could hear Uther and Elaine at the foot of the stairs, so Arthur made a face, squeezed Merlin's shoulder a little and then continued down the hall to his own room.
Once ensconced in his bed, pillows propped up behind him and Elaine's hoard of cushions shoved to one side, Arthur thought about what his father had said, earlier. About the prospect of Aredian doing some sort of work for the Institute. About Morgana's pending arrival. But mostly he thought about Merlin. He thought about their afternoon tryst, only hours ago, and how bloody blissful it had been to relax with Merlin in his bed, afterward, and how the drowsy aftermath never diminished their pleasure but only seemed to perpetuate it. Even if you put aside the sex (not that Arthur was likely to put that aside), the mere sensation of lying under the duvet with Merlin pressed to his side was singularly...was unique. Then he thought about the light touch of Merlin's fingertips on his collarbone, or stroking his upper arm, or pushing the hair back from his forehead...and that faint, breathy little moan he sometimes gave when Arthur pulled him face to face, skin against skin.
He shifted a little, because these thoughts were beginning to put him into a condition that was not conducive to sleep.
It was another forty-five minutes (during which Arthur became desperate enough to try counting sheep, reciting the multiplication tables, and conjuring up images of his ugliest Maths teacher from long-ago school days) before he was able to drift off into a light and restless sleep. In his dreams, Aredian was threatening to burn the entire staff of the Pendragon Institute at the stake, and Arthur felt himself powerless to stop him.
For the record, in many cases the term "paper conservator" refers to conservation specialists able to work with not only traditional paper (of various types) but also paper-like materials, such as parchment, vellum, prepared silk, or even papyrus.