Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC.
Notes: Title comes from the phrase 'the Elephant in the room.' I hope you like this, I wasn't sure how to do this, whether have it straight into the date or not, I decided not to. Thought I'd stick with old Merlin baby in this one. That and I wanted to see a bit of Gaius. I like him, just pottering around with his potions and poisons. Bless him – I want to hug him.
So without further ado...
The Elephant
[5/6]
The early morning cartoons fail to hold Merlin's attention like they usually do when the haze of waking up hasn't probably faded. The tea resting on his raised knee steams quietly and warms his palm and fingers. A small smile plays on his lips. He hadn't expected Arthur to demand a date like that, he hadn't expected there to be anything more than the friendly flirting they'd been playing with – he had thought it was just that, friendly flirting. After all Arthur had been a hotshot lawyer, still is pretty damn good looking and what is Merlin in comparison? A coffee boy, barely scraping by and living with his uncle until he can save up enough money to get his own place.
He swallows that negative thought with a mouthful of more palatable tea. He isn't going to do that thing that insecure people do – he isn't going to doubt himself and at the same time put Arthur on some kind of untouchable pedestal. Merlin is not that kind of person. Arthur and he have had many conversations both in person and through text, when they did finally swap numbers only a week or so before, and they get along. If the differences of lifestyle were going to affect their relationship, it would've happened by now.
The momentary dark cloud of doubt successfully dissipated by the obvious healing powers of tea and common sense (which most, quite unfairly, believe he lacks), Merlin smiles and settles back into the seat, shifting only to dislodge a pillow bulging uncomfortably on his back. He passed the hour or so leading up to the more acceptable hour of 10 o'clock watching mindless cartoons, snorting boyishly at the childish humour.
Gaius comes shuffling out of his room at quarter to ten, dressed in what Will would label 'Old Mans' Pyjamas.' Merlin looks up and grins.
"Morning," he says, voice heavy with implications. "What time did you get home last night then?" Gaius looks at the boy, eyebrow raised.
"Far later than you, it seems."
Merlin hums his agreement. "Must've had a better night then me." A sharp sting bites his head before he can duck away. He glares up at his uncle, rubbing his head with his free hand.
"Watch your mouth, boy," Gaius reprimands, responding more to the implications of Merlin's comment (his voice had been dripping with them, really) than his actual words. "You're not old enough that I won't wash your mouth out with soap." Merlin grins, but grumbles nonetheless about rough treatment and just what would Hunith say if she knew?
"She'd agree with me, Merlin," Gaius assures. Merlin turns back to the television and nods.
"Yeah she probably would. Hey," he turns again, leaning over the arm rest of the sofa and peering into the kitchen. "Do you know anything about mums' new... man?" He pulls a face that Gaius misses – it is just weird to think of his mother being with someone. For so long it had just been them two, with visits from Gaius every now and then. To think she had a man in her life...
He better be good enough for her and her happy, that's all Merlin worries about.
Gaius snaps the kettle lid closed and places it back on its base. "I wouldn't know," he answers. "I doubt Hunith would care much to tell me anything of the sort."
Merlin nods, and then grins. "Does she know about Alice?"
Gaius raises an eyebrow and stares at his nephew. "Does she know about Arthur?"
Merlin laughs. "Touché, old man." This time Merlin ducks before the hand can connect with his head. "Hey, enough with the abuse!"
"Then stop the stupid comments," Gaius says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Honestly, I wonder how you managed to get through school sometimes."
Merlin grins into his tea. "So do I," he agrees. A comfortable silence falls over the pair, a familiar clinking of metal against china as Gaius fixes his own tea and potters around the kitchen for food. Merlin however, is quite happy curled up on the sofa in an old vest top and his comfy, ugly, cotton jogging bottoms, balancing his now empty mug on his raise knee. This weekend in a rare free few days before the week beginning, Mrs. Dempsie having taken it upon herself to hire some Saturday (and Sunday, they work both) girls, who Will had the pleasure to train a few week prior so that he and Merlin would have time to look for a flat at reasonable hours.
Not that they are home-hunting this weekend. Will had been on a date last night (begged his excuses to Gwen, who remained stony at his missing of her celebratory dinner, before he had all but fallen to his knees in front of Lance, talking about exotic beauties and 'legs up to their armpits, Lance! Think of the legs!') and is probably still entertaining the fortunate (or unfortunate) lass, and would be occupied for the rest of the day, either pampering her or avoiding her after half throwing her out.
A real charmer Will could be at times. Merlin isn't looking forward to watching the parade women entering and exiting of their hypothetical shared flat – the Chandler (or unsuspecting Rachel, considering Merlin seems to get along with Will's dates better than he does at times) to Will's Joey.
Fun times to be had indeed.
It is six minutes past seven when Arthur calls his mobile phone. Grinning. Merlin answers with an almost reprimanding: "You're late."
"I'm having a sense of déjà vu," Arthur answers, voice a little tinny through the line. "Been watching Pretty Woman recently?"
Merlin laughs. "Oh, too many times. It's Richard Gere – can't resist him."
"Are you Julia Roberts to my Richard Gere?"
"If cross-dressing is your kink," Merlin scoffs, grabbing his coat as Gaius stares at him with a knowing smile. Merlin is tempted to flip him off that will only incur more abuse. Merlin wouldn't believe the man is a doctor if he hadn't seen it himself. "Count me out. I'll have no part in it, you pervert."
"Those boots would look excellent on you, Vivian," comes the reply, the laughter dripping from every word. Merlin shakes his head as Arthur hangs up. He waves a goodbye to his uncle and is out of the door, a smile on his face.
He steps outside of his building, shifting his coat onto his shoulders more comfortably. He glances along the street, spotting a black Toyota 4x4 SUV parked, rather conspicuously in front of him. The drivers' window is down and Arthur is looking him up and down in a terribly obvious way. Merlin flushes under the scrutiny but rolls his eyes with a mumbled something that sound suspiciously like "pervert..."
"You look... presentable," Arthur says as Merlin climbs into the car, slams the door shut and stares at him. He thinks, absently, that he bloody well should look presentable. He'd had Gwen, who had darted over as soon was respectable, and dove into his closet, um-ing and ah-ing through his clothes until she had picked out his black silk shirt and dress trousers, saying the black bought out the blue of his eyes or something. It had taken many hurriedly agreed to promises about calling her with the gory details to get her out of the house and back to her soon-to-be-husband.
But the compliment, or as close as Arthur feels he can get to a compliment, is not what he is focused on. "You have an SUV."
"Yes Merlin, you're observation skills never fail to astound me. Buckle up."
Merlin does as he is told without argument. "But it's an SUV. I find it difficult to climb into these things, how do you manage?"
"Firstly I am not an idiot," Arthur replies as he pulls off the curb. "Secondly, I am not an idiot. I can climb stairs Merlin; I can climb into my own car. Besides, the roomy boot was necessary."
"But an SUV."
Arthur sighs in a very put-upon way, and shakes his head. "If this is all you are capable of saying, Merlin, I will take you back home, label you helpless and move on. Pity, I had such hopes..."
Merlin laughs. "I'm just surprised; I figured you'd be in something sleeker."
"Hey, apologise immediately! She is sleek," Arthur retorts. "Very sleek, for a 4 by 4. Play nice or I'll throw you out."
"You'll choose the car over me."
Arthur grins wickedly. "Of course, she drives me places. What will you do?"
Merlin returns the grin perfectly. "Throw me out and you'll never know."
Who knew Merlin – sweet, boyish Merlin with the childish grin – could be so solicitous? Arthur certainly didn't. He didn't expect it from him and yet the tone he had used in the car with his cheeky bloody smile and implied promises of things that are not to be thought about in public places...
He had underestimated Merlin that was for sure. And now he isn't certain he'll last the evening.
He had known, of course, that Merlin was attractive in a strange way. Anyone with eyes could see that, see the odd coltish limbs, long and slender; the trim, almost too thin waist, the lily white skin and electric blue eyes. Absent bits and pieces that are attractive and yet when put together are strange – but alluringly strange.
But dressed all in black, Merlin really comes into his own – his skin, that in any other colour or any other light might seem a tad sickly, is now ivory white and flawless. His blue eyes that glitter most days are a deep, piercing blue and shining. He almost looks like something out of a fairy story, all fey and ethereal. Untouchable and innocent, yet sinfully tempting and temptingly sinful.
Christ, and Arthur could laugh at himself – waxing poetry about Merlin the biggest idiot he knows. They walk towards the restaurant. Arthur has abandoned his wheelchair in eh boot, there is only a small way to walk and it doesn't bother him. He leans on his sticks – plain things, nothing special, can't be with the way he throws them around. Merlin doesn't bat an eyelash, just waited patiently beside the car and smiled when Arthur made his way over.
The insecurities are still there, lingering under the surface. Two years and Arthur's struggle with those niggling thought and over exaggeration of the attention he gets has only gotten a little better. Following the server now, Arthur feels the vague discomfort of being watched, even though he knows logically his own mind is amplifying the feeling.
Usually it doesn't affect him so, but the nerves he refused to admit are not helping calm things down and eventually Merlin turns around, just as the server gestures to their table and stares at him.
"You are freaking out, aren't you?" They had only spoken about this in brief small snatches, Arthur, reluctant to talk of something that he thinks is hideous and weak, always directs the conversation elsewhere. But Merlin still knew, had, Arthur imagines, gathered together from what Arthur hasn't said, that he still hasn't truly come to terms with his disability and the physical changes to his body. Still self-conscious.
When he and Merlin were just friends, he had been fine – but with the possibility of more, he finds his insecurities dragging back up. Since his accident, he had only stayed with Kay for a few months or so until Kay had split, saying Arthur was a changed man and unable to beware with the consequences of Arthur's accident.
"Really," Merlin is saying, hand on Arthur's even though it is curled around the handle of his walking stick, and guiding him to the table. "If anyone should be freaking out, it should be me. This is in French, Arthur, French! I can barely remember how to say 'hello' in French let alone translate a menu."
There is a pause. "I bet you chose this place on purpose because of that, you arse."
Arthur just laughs, "I live to make your life more difficult." Still the discomfort hasn't faded although Merlin is making a valiant effort to distract him from it. Kay wouldn't have tried – didn't try – just told him he was being stupid.
"Besides, I really do not belong in a fancy-pants place like this..."
"Not with that language," Arthur agrees and flashing a smile that doesn't fool Merlin. The dark haired man puts down the menu and stands, moving around the table before leaning forward.
"As you're so worried, let's give them something to really stare at, eh?" Merlin grins and before Arthur can make any noise to indicate an answer, soft lips are pressed to his own and a hand curling at the back of his neck in his hair. Merlin lingers there, quite content it seems, stroking soothing patterns on the back of Arthur's neck and licks absently at the seam of Arthur lips before pulling away and grinning impishly.
"Now," he declares in a voice a tad louder than it should be, in case the patrons are in fact watching. "Help me translate this and, I swear, if you order me snails, I will hurt you."
Arthur licks his lips, catching the taste of Merlin before laughing and shaking his head. "What about frogs' legs?
Merlin throws the napkin at him, calling him a bastard even as Arthur leans forward a bit to point out various dishes he thinks Merlin would like.
In the back of his mind the insecurities settle and fade.
Arthur's main of 'boef bourguignon*' has just arrived when Merlin asks, in a curious voice and a slightly hesitant tone that tells Arthur that should he wish it, Merlin will drop the subject: "S, how did you get into the accident. I mean, I now it was on a motorbike but... what happened?"
Arthur takes a sip of the red wine and nods his thanks to the waiter, contemplating the answer. "It was in November a couple of years ago and I was coming back from a friends' – Gwaine, who lives an hour or so away, you'll meet him at Lance's wedding, no doubt – and it was raining. I had recently bought the motorbike, wanted to show it off a little, I guess. I got a little too cocky in the country lanes, and went faster than required around a fairly sharp corner. The tyres slipped and I was thrown off."
Arthur chews on a bit of beef, before continuing. "I would have been fine, but the jacket I was wearing didn't have a back plate – I was actually waiting for that new jacket to come through. If I had it, I would have gotten off with maybe a few skin grafts, possibly not even that."
Arthur looks at Merlin, who is simply absorbing the story. Again, there is no pity, but Arthur no longer looks for won't be there. Merlin instead looks contemplative. He nods, curiosity satisfied.
"Thank you for telling me. But, one more question."
"You are insatiable, Merlin," Arthur grins.
"Like you wouldn't believe." Arthur nearly chokes, much to Merlin's amusement. He seems to find great pleasure now, in slipping in a random comment that could be misconstrued and delighting in Arthur's reactions. A part of Arthur wants him to stop, but the larger part allows him to carry on. After all, it nurtures a very pleasant image in his mind – although probably not appropriate for such a setting.
"But the insecurities, I can understand where they come from but you were fine before. Why...now?"
Arthur is ready to refuse but then reconsiders. This is Merlin, Merlin who doesn't seem bothered by the wheelchair, by the near less legs and the damnable squeak of his callipers.
"An ex," Arthur says eventually with difficulty that Merlin notices. He briefly touches Arthur's hand and retracts it, just a touch of comfort nothing more. "We were together, I had the accident, he couldn't handle it."
Merlin makes a disgusted noise. "Bastard, that ex of yours," he comments, drinking his own wine, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. "I wouldn't do that to you." He whispers this and Arthur is unsure whether or not he was meant to hear it. But he is glad that he did, and a smile plays on his lips.
"You're such a girl Merlin," Arthur teases. "Going to start quoting Pretty Woman at me now?"
Merlin laughs. "Only if you wear the heels."
Merlin is pressed against his door distracting him with his kisses, which, while being very nice and everything, is rather detrimental to the whole 'unlocking and opening the door' idea. But then again, when you have a Merlin kissing you as thoroughly as Arthur did, all practised, eager lips with touches of tongue and electric bites and wandering hands that believe they have permission to be everywhere and anywhere they please (they do, Christ they do!), opening the door seems rather unimportant. One of Arthur's hands is pressed to the wall beside the door to support himself and other slips under Merlin's shirt to press into the base of his back, dragging Merlin's lower body into him.
"Merlin," Arthur pulls away just enough to speak. "Merlin, we really should get inside." Merlin sighs, nods, and crushes his lips to Arthur once more, hard, before slipping from Arthur's hold. Arthur isn't sure whether he is thankful or annoyed that Merlin acquiesced. But he isn't really left to ponder much because Merlin brushes past him in a way that is very much not innocent into his flat.
Thinking of Merlin as a child before now seems so very wrong.
Arthur follows after, closing the door behind him and leaning against the wall even as Merlin steps up to him. He meets the dark haired man half way, his hand cupping the smooth jaw and smiling into the kiss. Merlin's hands have latched into his hips, his face titled upwards because, when standing, Arthur is just an inch or so bigger.
Which Arthur rather likes, until, you know, Merlin presses the length of his body against Arthurs' and all though flies from his mind. There is instead only heat and too many clothes and lips that are far too distracting. Warmth curls in his stomach, a pleasant thrill of pleasure shooting up his spine like electricity when Merlin drags his nails across the sensitive flesh of his sides that way, or nips at his neck that.
Then Merlin's hands are drifting again and Arthur curses even as Merlin chuckles thickly into his neck. "Just checking it was all fully functional," his words are brilliantly breathless and lips plump and red from the assault.
"Bastard," Arthur snarls, but he can't bring himself to be mad or offended at the comment because Merlin flexes his fingers – and Christ, does that feel good – and Merlin is breathing on his neck and all he can touch and taste and smell is MerlinMerlinMerlin. He is everywhere, and it's fucking amazing –
Until he prances away like a devil, a wicked, wicked glint in his eyes and a slow, naughty smile on his face.
"Merlin," it's a low warning, a guttural growl, and Merlin closes his eyes for an instant before they open and he is turning and fucking sauntering past the kitchen and into the living room. He stops at Arthur's bedroom door (only so well versed in Arthur's flat after Arthur had forgotten his phone once and Merlin had accompanied him back during his break), looks at Arthur, who is wondering just how difficult he might find walking now that his trousers are tighter than a second skin, and smiles.
"Well, whenever you're ready, Arthur..." And those blue eyes are practically smouldering, Arthur can feel the fire from them from here and he curses and Merlin disappears into the confines of his bedroom. "Lord, have mercy," Arthur mutters before following the tenacious Merlin and vowing to punish him for his antics.
Very thoroughly.
The room smells of sex and sweat and Arthur is feeling very self-satisfied after making good on his vow – twice. Merlin is laying on his front beside him, hugging the pillow his head is resting on with a glaze to his eyes that Arthur is very proud of. They aren't hugging – they are too hot and sticky with all kinds of things for that and instead, lie close enough to touch but with enough room for at least a little air flow to attempt to cool them.
"Don't usually do that, you know." Arthur looks away from the ceiling to Merlin's face. His eyes are closed now, his hand on Arthur's chest and Arthur's hand over it – a weirdly romantic gesture for the pair who have only just had one date. As if sensing the questioning brow, Merlin smiles and continues.
"I mean have sex with someone on the first date – it... I don't usually do that."
"I know."
"I just... you..."
Arthur laughs. "I know, Merlin. I'm irresistible." Merlin slaps him in retribution before making a satisfied noise, content now that he has thwarted any thought of perceived sluttiness, not that Arthur had any. A comfortable silence falls over them and Arthur continues to looks at the dozing Merlin.
"You're coming to my fathers' birthday party next Saturday."
Merlin smiles. "Very demanding, you Pendragons."
"It's something you get used to."
Merlin pats his chest twice. "'Spose I'll have to, yeah. Better make it worth my while, though."
Arthur just laughs, happier then he has been in a long time.
*Honestly the French eat nothing but stew I swear. I tried looking up French food but all it gave me was stew 0_0 Maybe I was searching it wrong.
Anyway. Um... I hope you guys liked this and it lived up to expectations and what not. Please be brutally honest if you think it wasn't – tell me and I'll improve it, after all I write for myself but I write for you guys more.
Thanks. On to the next part; it should be out in a few days, along with the two one shots. :]
I'll be sad to see this end...