Chapter 36: Arthur and the 'Do Not Disturb' Sign
When Arthur woke, a little after noon, the bedclothes were rumpled into a heap, and the place next to him was empty. As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, Merlin emerged from the bathroom in a fresh toweling robe, his hair wet and standing on end, looking alert and cheerful in spite of the bluish shadows of fatigue around his eyes.
"Look, they sent up some breakfast," he said, pointing to the table, where a massive silver tray bore a number of covered dishes. "All the things you like-bacon, sausages, toast, eggs, tomatoes. Loads of marmalade and butter and syrup. Juice. Coffee."
"And for you?" Arthur mumbled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back from Merlin's pale forehead. If they hadn't promised to meet with the police, he would have pulled off that robe and eased Merlin down into the softness of the duvet. Lovemaking before breakfast always got his appetite going.
Beside which Merlin looked so appetising with his skin still damp and flushed from the heat of the shower, his hair close to his head, dark and shining with water, like an otter's pelt.
Not to mention that they were now legal partners, and had been for more than twenty-four bloody hours, and—appallingly—theyhadn't had even the slightest opportunity to have sex since acquiring this status. Patience had never been Arthur's strongest point, and his mind leaped ahead to the evening, when this police business hopefully would be done with. Did the Caerleon provide the usual 'Do Not Disturb' sign for their guests' use? Perhaps it was on the desk, next to the television remote?
"Cereal and fruit," Merlin said, and it took a moment for Arthur to remember what he was replying to.
His mouth felt fuzzy with sleep and too much coffee the day before. Grumbling, he heaved himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom, hoping Merlin hadn't used all the toothpaste.
"What time are we supposed to meet with that inspector?" he asked before reaching for his toothbrush. "And why does it have to be at Father's?"
"Because of the attempted break-in, of course," Merlin said patiently. "And we're to be there at four. That's what the sergeant, or detective, or whatever he was, said. Don't you remember?"
"I was asleep on my feet at that point," Arthur muttered, frowning. "Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be ready to dress. You can pretend to be a good little wifey and pour out my coffee whilst I'm in the shower."
He dodged the wadded up towel Merlin hurled at him, and closed the bathroom door to the sound of Merlin's shout of indignation.
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"Let's get one thing straight," Merlin said under his breath. "I am not your little wifey."
Arthur guffawed so loudly that Uther turned his head and glanced at them both.
"I mean, let's make one thing clear," Merlin said, a little reproachfully, and Arthur coughed against the back of his hand.
Uther gave them a sharp look that said this is really not the time for jokes, and Arthur subsided, as Merlin assumed an expression of sublime innocence.
The police inspector also gave them a look. He had just checked over the entire residence (a fatiguing piece of work), and was trying to make Sir Uther understand why this had been necessary. He hadn't been present, the day before, when Edwin something or other was arrested, and now fervently wished he had paid closer attention to his superior's briefing on the members of the Pendragon family. The blond, athletic-looking bloke had been introduced as Uther Pendragon's son, but this thin, dark-haired, long-legged young man was his civil partner? His conservator? Whatever that was. He cleared his throat, and went on with his explanation. Yes, whoever wanted to break into the house had tried to get through the basement-kitchen window, where a latch was faulty. (Arthur winced and felt vaguely guilty for never having ordered it fixed.) He hadn't been able to fit through, had tried another window and smashed the glass in yet a third, but that was what set off the house alarm, chasing him away. Yes, he had left prints, the windowsills and glass had all been dusted for them, he had dropped a cigarette butt with his DNA on it, and it shouldn't be long before they identified him, if the proper information was available.
"Thank you, Inspector," Arthur said, when he finished speaking. "I'm confident your department will find the man, whoever he is. I've given my statement about Edwin, as have Merlin, Pelles Fisher-King, and the security person at the hotel. Please keep us informed. Now, Father, if you won't be needing us any longer…"
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Their return to the Caerleon was rapid and uneventful, but at Reception they were stopped by the solemn desk clerk, who told them that Arthur needed to sign some papers about the unfortunate events of the night before. A young woman from the Manager's office would be bringing them out to him.
"This is too much," Arthur grumbled, as the desk clerk trotted off to find her. "It's one thing after another. It's like running a bloody gauntlet."
The young woman from the Manager's office was American. She was, as it turned out, the Manager's teenaged niece, spending a year in London and just starting work as a secretary-in-training at the hotel, with occasional night duty at the Reception desk if the regular clerk was ill or on holiday. She was tall, blonde, impressively curvaceous, and her voice held an unmistakable, but strangely charming twang that hinted at one of the outer boroughs of New York City, or possibly some part of Long Island. As she spoke, she managed to chew on a mouthful of gum with remarkable vigor and without missing a beat.
"Heard you helped out the old guy...I mean the elderly gentleman, last night. We're real grateful, ya know. But his room was a wreck."
An enormous pink gum bubble emerged from between her lips and Merlin stared at it, as though mesmerized.
"Yes," said Arthur with a straight face. "We were happy to be of assistance."
"I saw that dude once before, the burglar. He's been hanging out on the block, ya know, just chillin'. He was kinda weird. I knew something was funny about him."
"Very funny," replied Merlin, also straight-faced, but Arthur could see a muscle in his cheek twitching with the urge to laugh.
More vigorous chewing. "I figured something screwy was going on last night."
"Nothing screwy at all, I'm sorry to say," Arthur announced in a serious voice. Behind him, he could almost feel Merlin quaking and trembling with suppressed mirth.
"Seeing the sights tonight?" the Manager's niece continued cheerfully. Another massive bubble emerged from her pink-frosted lips, and Arthur could see the corners of Merlin's mouth wobbling dangerously. "Or if you wanna swim, or exercise, we have free passes to the health and sports club at the end of the street."
"No sights,' Arthur said. "I used to live in London. But a few hours of really strenuous exercise sounds just about right."
There was a stifled "Hpppp!" from Merlin, and Arthur turned to see his junior conservator heading for the lift, cheeks puffed out and eyes reddening with his attempt to hold back his laughter.
"Do I need to sign anything else?" Arthur continued, pushing the papers back across the desk. "I've been doing nothing but sign things for the past two days." He heard the soft hiss of the lift door closing behind Merlin, and remembered something he had meant to ask earlier. "Oh, and do you have such a thing as a 'Do Not Disturb' sign. I didn't find one in the room, and I'd probably like to have a lie-in, tomorrow."
"Yeah, sure," said the Manager's niece, locating one and pushing it across the desk. "I mean, of course, sir." She was staring at him with profound interest, eyes roving from his fair hair to his broad shoulders. Arthur had the feeling that only her hotel training (which was clearly in the very early stages) was preventing her from looking further south.
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Two minutes later, he was in the lift, flipping the key card to the room between the fingers of his left hand. This gave him the opportunity to look at the gold ring on his third finger; his married friends might joke that this was the miniature symbol of a ball and chain, or a pair of manacles, but he knew better.
And the thought of being manacled to Merlin for life actually made him smile. Although he'd be damned if he ever allowed Merlin to have an inkling of this.
As he made his way down the carpeted hallway to their room, he felt energized again, relieved that old Pelles was out of danger, that the whole matter had been more or less resolved, and that the ringleader (or ringleaders) would soon be identified and arrested. He was eager to return to the quiet and comfort of his room, and to Merlin's reassuring presence and long, supple body. Thoughts of that enormous bed, Merlin's creamy skin, and Merlin twisting and arching against him as he moaned into his mouth, assailed him as he dealt with the key.
After all, they had had to postpone their "wedding night," and Arthur was in no mood to put things off any longer.
The room was peaceful, with its air of quiet, understated luxury, and as soothing to the mind—lights a little dimmed, flowers and fresh fruit on the round table, along with the requisite silver ice bucket and bottle of champagne—as it had been the night before. The faint sounds of Merlin brushing his teeth and splashing at the sink in the bathroom reached Arthur's ears as he dropped his wallet, key card, and watch on the bedside table, and checked to see that certain necessaries were stowed in its drawer.
He also hastened to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of their door, silently vowing to murder anyone who chose to ignore it.
After taking his turn in the bathroom, brushing his teeth carefully so as not to irritate his jaw, Arthur stepped out to find Merlin standing by the window, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers and looking at him from the corner of his eye in that infuriatingly appealing way he had, the one that always got Arthur's pulse racing. Then he ducked his head, staring at the floor, so Arthur put out a hand and lifted his chin, running his thumb over the soft fullness of those lips.
"You," he said, hearing his own voice go husky. "What did you think you were doing, Merlin, playing the big, fearless hero and knocking that stupid nit, Edwin, to the floor last night. He could have hurt you."
"He hurt you," said Merlin with a touch of defiance, raising his eyes to meet Arthur's, and then backing away when Arthur released him.
"Doesn't hurt a bit," Arthur said with conviction, clenching his jaw experimentally. He was lying, but it didn't hurt as much as it had earlier; the tenderness and pain had faded away to a dull ache. "Now—where was I?"
His junior conservator had drawn away to just beyond his reach.
"Come here," Arthur said sternly, moving back from the window and taking two steps to the bed. "Don't be a tease."
"Stop telling me what to do, then," Merlin replied with a faint smile. "You come to me."
Arthur gave a loud and exaggerated sigh before walking to Merlin and putting his arms round his waist. Merlin leaned their foreheads together and put his own arms around Arthur's neck. They kissed as cautiously as they had on their very first night together, in Santa Barbara, mouths all gentle and explorative, and Arthur tightened his embrace a little, his palms slowly running the length of that angular body, as Merlin did the same to him.
"Merlin," he whispered, putting one hand into that sable hair, and then kissing him again very softly, drawing his fingertips over that high, beautifully modeled brow beneath the short, jagged fringe, those cheekbones and the hollows beneath them, the long line of Merlin's slender nose, down over the pale column of his throat to where his shirt was unbuttoned at the top. "Mine." He could feel Merlin smile at the familiar word, before kissing him back.
By the time they were in bed, skin against skin, they were both nearly delirious with anticipation and need; they wanted to take their time, go slowly, gradually, but this was beginning to seem impossible. "Oh," said Merlin, muffled, into Arthur's hair. "Oh. Oh," he repeated as Arthur slid a hand over his hip; his own conservator's fingers were doing something Arthur could only describe as magical. Arthur raised his head just a little and saw that Merlin's eyes were closed, cheeks brilliantly flushed, lips parted.
"Arthur," whispered Merlin urgently, panting, and Arthur pulled him closer, pushing towards him, against him, into him, strong hands clamped tightly on that narrow waist, partially silencing those pleading, breathy sounds with a deep, ferocious kiss. Merlin's whole body lifted against him, and Arthur couldn't really think properly, he could only feel; but with what little thought remained, it occurred to him that he had never before, in all his life, felt this blissful.
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Arthur woke quite early—for someone who had spent hours in strenuous activity—and lay still with his eyes closed, feeling sunlight warm on his face (had he really forgotten to close the drapes?) and thinking back over what Morgana would no doubt call the consummation of his and Merlin's "wedding" vow.
He closed his eyes and let his mind rove back over how, instead of frantically ripping off each other's clothes with ardent moans, like stereotypical newlyweds, they had faced each other quietly and undressed in silence. How, once in bed, they had simply pressed themselves together, from shoulder to knee, kissing like a pair of moonstruck teenagers before Arthur, driven to an almost frantic state by Merlin's clever hands, rolled uppermost and held him down—gently—breathing softly into his ear in little, warm puffs. How Merlin had quivered, and cried out like a virgin, his head thrown back, fingers digging into Arthur's shoulders, his voice cracking as he gasped out, "Arthur, Arthur." How their initial frenzy had settled into slow, gentle, rhythmic movements, rocking their hips easily with sweetly intertwined limbs, before returning to a frenzy of motion, heat, intensity, and blinding sensation, in which they strained against one another, every inch of skin sensitized, before losing themselves in the pleasure of their release.
Less than an hour later, lying in each other's arms in a kind of drowsy stupor, they had found themselves ravenous, and had gotten out of bed to check the contents of the room's mini-fridge. Merlin unearthed the slices of wedding cake, which they had stowed there when they first arrived and before the awful debacle of poor Pelles Fisher-King and the almost-stolen documents. After washing a bit and putting on the hotel toweling robes, they had set about devouring the leftover cake, using their hands, with paper napkins instead of plates. Merlin had gotten a blob of icing on his chin, Arthur had rolled his eyes with faked annoyance and licked it away, and from then on things became very messy, with fingers leaving sticky, sugary spots all over—that had to be licked off—and they had finally given up on eating anything else and simply gone back to bed.
Perhaps it was all that sugar icing that gave Merlin his second wind, because after a while he had pushed Arthur back onto the pillows and climbed on top, mastering him with slow, careful kisses, palms firm on his shoulders, to hold him flat, teeth nipping at Arthur's neck and the line of his jaw, his knees nudging Arthur's knees apart. And Arthur, lying supine beneath his warmth and his slight weight, had been quite pleased to let Merlin play with the dominant role, a thrill running the entire length of him when strong, slim-fingered hands gripped his wrists and pinned his own hands above his head. Merlin had then been surprisingly aggressive and energetic, not to mention demanding ("Yes Arthur, like that…")—quite rivaling Arthur in that respect—before they finally drifted off into sleep, sated and exhausted. The result of all this was that when Arthur woke, he felt nearly incandescent with joy and physical satisfaction; his senses were still alive with the memory of indescribable desire and a kind of pure ecstasy (if that didn't sound cliché, he didn't know what did, but it was true), his limbs felt as weak as water, but he was, um, as sore as Merlin probably was.
He poked Merlin in the ribs to wake him up, and when that didn't work, ran the flat of his hand down from the center of his breastbone to the base of his stomach.
"Hey!" Merlin muttered without opening his eyes, flailing blindly at Arthur's hand.
"I'm famished," Arthur said in an aggrieved voice. "I need food."
When Merlin made no reply, simply burrowing into his pillow, Arthur tugged at his hair and then swatted him on the backside, hoping that he would have no grave objection to getting out of bed and retrieving breakfast when it arrived with the room service person. He would do it himself, except that he really was rather sore…
"I hope you're not expecting me to get up and walk," Merlin said, as if he could read Arthur's mind. "I ache all over."
"You most certainly are getting up, you idiot," Arthur replied with as much briskness as he could muster, and then pulling himself gingerly into a sitting position. "Don't you want breakfast?"
"Breakfast?" said Merlin groggily. "After all that cake?"
"I forgot," Arthur muttered, playing absently with Merlin's hair. "You ate most of it. Ugh, I'm sticky with icing and…well. Hand over that phone, will you?"
Merlin handed it over obediently, and then sighed, leaning back against his Assistant Director, sighing again as Arthur wrapped one arm round his waist, using his free hand to manipulate the telephone receiver.
By the time breakfast arrived—Merlin went to the door to fetch it, as Arthur seemed unwilling to move (or perhaps incapable of moving)—it was past ten o'clock. The heavily loaded trays were deposited on the bed, and Merlin watched with well-concealed amusement as his Assistant Director proceeded to wolf down vast quantities of eggs and toast, bacon, braised tomatoes, sliced fruit, and juice. After drinking what looked to Merlin like three quarters of a pot of coffee, he leaned back against the pillows and croaked, "Now I feel halfway human again."
"A human Hoover," Merlin said. "What did you feel like before, if not human? A Klingon? A Wookie? An orc…?" but Arthur wasn't having any of that.
"You're the one who looks like a bloody Vulcan," he replied, reaching for a napkin. "Although the ears aren't quite right. And now I think I'll have a bath. A really long one."
"Don't you want to go out?" Merlin asked, cereal spoon halfway to his mouth, but Arthur eased himself out of bed and stood up.
"I'm not going anywhere in this sticky, grubby condition," he announced, marching into the bathroom. The shower—which they had used the previous morning—featured marble walls, gleaming fixtures, and sliding glass doors, but Arthur focused on the bathtub for the first time, and noticed that it was…certainly wide and deep and, hmmm, large enough for two.
"Merlin!" he called, turning on the taps; he had to shout above the splashing of the water. "When you're finished with that rabbit's nosh you call food, you can come in here and help me wash my back."
"Helpless prat," Merlin shouted back, dropping his fruit knife with a clatter.
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The tub was just deep enough, and the water was very hot, and immensely relaxing. The Pendragon Institute's Assistant Director and junior conservator sat with their backs propped against opposite ends of the bath, their legs mixed up somewhere in the middle, breathing in the soothing steam.
"I suppose Gaius will want to have a look at Pell's documents as soon as possible," Merlin sighed, fumbling around for the soap, which was somewhere beneath their legs.
"Gaius?" replied Arthur, frowning. "I need to look at them as soon as possible, and Morgana does as well, if she's really going to write an article about the fifteenth-century manuscript. Hand over the soap, please. Gods, this is a splendid tub."
"This is a splendid bath," replied Merlin. "Except when you try to scrub my face with your foot."
"My foot slipped," said Arthur with dignity. "I was trying to prop it on the edge of the bath." Merlin raised his eyebrows in disbelief and said nothing, but he shifted a little so that the edge of his own foot brushed against the inside of Arthur's thigh.
Arthur dropped the soap.
Merlin closed his eyes and smiled, thinking about Arthur's skin; how it was like warmed bronze in the light of the bedside lamp, but, in certain places, so soft beneath his hands and lips. He heard the catch in his own breath, and when he opened his eyes, saw that Arthur had sat up and slid towards him.
"Uth—your father said we should see the new exhibit at the National Gallery," Merlin said almost breathlessly, gripping the rim of the tub with both hands. He himself had no desire to go anywhere beyond the walls of their room, but duty was duty. "I don't know if you—"
"No, I do not want to go to the National Gallery!" snapped Arthur, and pulled him chest to chest.
"Ow!" said Merlin as their hips, legs, and other parts collided smartly underwater. "Look out!" Bathwater and bubbles slopped out of the tub, spreading over the tiled floor, and Arthur laughed quietly into Merlin's ear. "The hotel maids are going to love you," Merlin said, but there was a sudden urgency in his look and his voice that made Arthur dizzy with the desire to kiss him. Some more. "Are you certain we shouldn't—"
"Shut up, will you, Merlin," Arthur muttered as he hauled his junior conservator into his lap, more water sloshing noisily onto the tiles. "As soon as we finish…this, and get out of this tub, we're going back to bed."