The sightseeing tour Arthur arranged for Merlin began with white flurries on the windshield of the borrowed Ford, and Merlin pouting in the passengers seat, begging Arthur to forgo the College Football Hall of Fame Museum.
The truck slid into a salted parking space, the museum's yellow goal posts looming into view through straight lines of snow. Merlin braceleted Arthur's wrist with his icy fingers, pleading that he would do anything, anything, not to go in there. Arthur replied by turning the heater back on, tucking Merlin's promise in the back of his mind and his freezing hand in his coat pocket. Warning him with a toothy grin he'd make good on that promise later.
They visited the Studebaker museum instead, where Merlin snapped an album's worth of photos of horse drawn carriages, but seemed largely unimpressed by anything made after the 1900's, including the automobiles. Next was sipping piping hot chocolate at the South Bend Chocolate Company café, and picking up an over dressed Morgan at eight.
By then the snow had returned with a vengeance, sifting through the sky like flicks of static on a television screen. They parked in a packed lot, wind whooping at an inflatable Miller Light can hung above a neon sign that clearly read "dive bar", but actually read, "Linebacker Inn".
The Bar was wallpapered in navy blue, gold and greens, the university's football team colors. Four separate sports programs blaring scores from four separate wall- TV's mounted over the bar. Arthur and Morgan made their way through the crowd, Merlin sandwiched between the siblings who clearly knew their way around the place.
"In the back," Morgan shouted, determination quickening her steps. "Looks like your friends are already here."
A giant of a man smiled ear to ear as he saw them, signaling above the droves. He stood a head taller then everyone else in the room, so it was little wonder patrons parted like the Red Sea as he plowed through them.
"Hey Morgs, and hole-e-shit, Pen-dra-gon!" the giant cried, in both surprise and joy.
The titan's hand walloped Arthur's back. The gesture would have sent a lesser man flying, but Arthur had a firm bearing and barely flinched. "Been a while, Percival," he replied, slugging Percival's meaty bicep.
"What the hell you doing here, bro?"
"I'm on winter vacation. What can I say, I missed the place—"
"Bull," Percival grinned. "But it's good to see you anyway."
With Percival's help, they cleared a path to the back of the bar, where a party was loosely gathered at a double picnic table. From what Merlin could tell, the main group consisted of the meaty guy, Percival, a gentle looking man with sandy curls and scraggly facial hair who introduced himself as Leon, and a few other jocks.
"Everyone," Arthur announced loudly, "Meet Merlin, my buddy from California," adding with a pause and a lick of his lips. "Play nice with him, okay?"
Merlin wasn't sure what to make of things. This wasn't his usual crowd—half the guys outweighed him twice over and looked like they pumped iron and swallowed raw eggs for breakfast. His concerns disintegrated when he was bombarded with any friend of Arthur's is a friend of mine, handshakes, struggling not to fall over as Percival's mallet of a hand shook his.
Morgan took her seat first, next to Leon, helping herself to his beer as if he'd been saving it for her all along.
"Hey," Leon said, with only mild perturbation. "I was going to drink that—"
Morgan smiled, a demure closed mouth smile with a touch of pout. A smile Merlin assumed she'd adopted long ago, when she found it melted the straight men around her like ice cubes.
"Was it? My mistake," she said, pinching his scruffy cheek. "Guess you'll have to buy a another."
Arthur filled the chair at Leon's other side, patting him on the back like an old buddy, and Leon returned the gesture.
"We're short one man, no Elyan tonight?" Arthur inquired.
Leon's face contorted. He shook his head, a crinkle of hair falling in his eyes. "Come on Arthur, what did you expect? Gwen's his sister—"
Arthur grimaced, then nodded back, the response telling Merlin all he needed to know. That Arthur's buddies were aware of his messy break up.
Well, at least the cover story version.
He motioned to Merlin to sit next beside him, but Merlin found himself stumbling out of the way of a new arrival before he could claim his place. A woman wedged between them. Her hair wedding band platinum, face heart shaped, revealing perfect Shirley Temple dimples as she smiled. Arthur turned around just in time to receive a sloppy, pastel tinged kiss on his cheek.
"Vivian?" he choked, wiping the greasy lipstick off with his palm.
"Morgan didn't tell me you were coming!" The woman cried, with a voice high enough to shatter glass. "It's been sooooo long, Arthur!"
A grumble of disgust slipped from Merlin's mouth before he could check it. Arthur caught his eye as if to say, don't be ridiculous, and brushed the girl's flirting away with good hearted laugh.
Merlin had known Arthur was the textbook "popular kid" back home. He'd seen the yearbook photos of him and Gwen together, the team pictures. But seeing Arthur the social butterfly in action was something else. He was clearly in his element here, more so than he'd been back at school. A frothy beer had already been thrust into his hands. Arthur looked at it with the same longing Merlin reserved for his cigarettes, but shook his head mumbling driving tonight, and passed it off to Leon.
It seemed like Arthur's friends multiplied the longer he sat down, more and more popping out of the woodwork to say hello. Arthur glowed under the spotlight shining on him. Everyone it seemed was inexplicably drawn to his charisma—just as Merlin had been.
Still was.
But Merlin couldn't stop scowling at the overly forward Vivian. Bad enough she'd usurped his seat next to Arthur, leaving him to lean against the grimy wall, but did she have to touch him all the time? To press her chest against Arthur's back in a fake attempt to move away from the crowd.
Merlin bit the inside of his full lip. Hard.
He got up, forced his way back to the bar, wishing the phrase "if looks could kill" actually worked. When Merlin asked for a ginger ale, the bartender looked at him as if he'd spoken a foreign tongue by ordering something non-alcoholic. All the same, he wiped his sweaty palms on his apron and produced the drink. Merlin leaned against the counter, milking it. Normally he would have ordered a drink for Arthur too, but he was hardly in the mood now.
After a few minutes alone, a body slid beside him, sweet breath whispering in his ear. "Order something for me, will you Merlin?" Morgan said, implementing the same smile she'd used on Leon earlier.
Merlin fished through his wallet, handing her a twenty. "Get whatever you'd like."
Her eyes glistened; she took the bill tenderly, hopped her butt up on the counter and flirted with the same sweaty bartender. Her efforts were rewarded by a clear beverage and change she neatly placed back in her own purse. Whatever Morgan had ordered, it smelled potent. Reminding Merlin of the paint thinner in the fine art classrooms.
"Fan of blonde's?" Morgan said, glancing back at their table. "I could break the ice for you, if you want—"
"Already know him."
She laughed hoarsely. "Vivian, silly. Since you clearly can't stop staring at her—"
Merlin swallowed his ginger ale to recover, realizing what an idiot he'd been. Of course she'd been talking about the girl.
"Um… girls like that… I mean…they never talk to me—" he said, trying to sound forlorn, if not a little jealous of the attention Vivian was paying Arthur.
As if.
Morgan's eyes drifted to her fairer half brother and the woman draped over him like a fleshy coat. "Probably for the best," she said, finishing her mystery drink. "Vivian's father's a beast. Keeps her on the shortest leash I've ever seen. If Arthur were smart, he'd think with something other than his prick for a change."
"Poor girl," Merlin replied in mock sympathy. "Can't be easy for her."
"Sure you don't want me to introduce you?"
"I really don't think I'm her type—"
"Just what is your type, Merlin?"
He looked into his glass for an answer. When it revealed nothing but bubbling carbonation, he stared up at the TV, feigning interest in the latest scores. After a moment, he felt a gentle rubbing on his back that he thought was his imagination—until a thumb trailed a familiar track between his shoulder blades.
Arthur. His savior.
Merlin could have cried with joy—that was until he noticed Vivian still stapled to his arm.
Merlin hated being jealous. Hated it.
It wasn't in his blood. Wasn't how his parents had raised him.
But seeing this girl, practically attached to Arthur…It was like watching Arthur and Gwen all over again. Didn't help that Vivian had absolutely no fashion sense. Jean studded cut offs, a half top, and light pink lipstick in the dead of winter? Who was she kidding?
He understood this wasn't the time or the place for Arthur to come out to his friends. Particularly when he hadn't told Uther yet. And here, a den of country music and cheap booze, seemed like a dangerous place for anyone to voice an attraction for another man.
But it still stung.
"Mer, I've been looking for you," Arthur said, his voice rich as milk.
Merlin pushed back his glass, forcing a smile. "Hmm, that so?" he replied.
Arthur took the drink, putting his lips to the spot Merlin had pressed his earlier, and finished it off with a tilt. "I was thinking, how about a game of pool, you and me?"
You mean you, the succubus and me? Merlin wanted to say. Instead he shrugged, following Arthur to the "gaming area".
The bed of the solitary pool table was worn as old carpet; the green turned curdled mustard with age. A stained glass light rocked above it, the rack already set and waiting to be broken. Merlin grabbed a cue, the varnish flaking in leaves underneath his grip.
"I play winner," Leon chimed, patting Merlin on the back. "Luck buddy, our Arthur's a real shark when it comes to pool."
Arthur pried Vivian off his sleeve; giving her to Percival like a plague he'd narrowly avoided. Percival seemed all too happy to indulge in the platinum blonde's company, already offering to buy her a drink.
"Do you know how to play?" Arthur asked, catching a cue from Leon mid throw. He gripped it in his right hand, grabbed what was left of a blue chalk cube and slathered the tip with slow careful strokes.
Merlin felt his ears burn. "I've played a few—"
"I'll teach you," Arthur interrupted. He looked around slowly, then stood behind Merlin, propping the cue his hand. "Tip number one, technique. Try the open bridge. Hold your hand like this—"
Arthur's hipbone grazed Merlin's back, rubbing through his jeans. He pushed the heel of Merlin's hands and fingertips firmly on the table, pointing his thumb upwards. "Perfect," he breathed, guiding the smooth shaft back and forth over Merlin's thumb in pantomime.
Merlin shuddered, trying not to close his eyes. He was beyond thankful to be wearing his shapeless baggy sweater.
"I'm sorry about Vivian," Arthur whispered, so soft Merlin almost missed it. "She's on old friend. She doesn't mean anything."
"S'alright," Merlin said, looking to see where the rest of Arthur's "friends" were.
Percival was with Vivian at the bar. But if her slagging posture and helpless glances at Arthur were any indication, it wasn't going well for him. Morgan had joined a cluster of girls her age, Leon holding her drink and waiting patiently on the sidelines.
"I'll make you a proposition," Arthur continued, leaning in close. "If you lose the game, when we get home as a consolation—" His voice dropped low in Merlin's ears, the ripe scent of his cologne overpowering. "I'll fuck your brains out."
Merlin's heart died in his ribs. He exhaled, waiting for it to beat back to life.
If Arthur didn't stop being so damn alluring, he was going to need an EMT—
"Don't you mean, if you win this game?" he whispered back.
He released Merlin's hand, sliding his fingers across his wrist. "There's is no way you're going to win," He smiled. "And we don't want to disappoint ourselves—do we?"
Merlin leaned against the pool table, pretending to be interested in their game, not hiding a now raging hard on. He held his breath. Took the shot. Aware that Arthur's eyes were set on him. Aware that Arthur's friends were coming back to watch the starting competition. Aware that he'd done something good, because two solid colored balls clanked into the corner pocket, and Leon whooped praise in the distance.
Merlin grinned, cracking his knuckles for show.
"You didn't tell me you could play—" Arthur choked.
"You never asked," Merlin replied, using the pregnant pause to chalk his cue. "I don't drink, Arthur, I don't follow any teams. What do you think I do when my friends drag me to bars? I may suck at most sports but I'm good with my hands."
Now it was Arthur visibly tensing, Arthur pressing himself awkwardly into the pool table as he gathered his bearings.
"If I win," Merlin replied. Making sure his jeans rode low enough to reveal a peek of boxers when he took his next shot. "And trust me Arthur, I plan on it."
