Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, the flight is delayed indefinitely?” Arthur asks, aware that his affronted voice carries through the hall but uncaring in his frustration to lower it.

“There’s a storm over the Atlantic,” the young man at the information counter replies, sounding polite but harassed. He’s fiddling with a pen, twirling it around his fingers, clattering it against the desk, and his fidgeting drives Arthur up the wall. “All outgoing flights to Europe are cancelled at the moment.”

“This can’t be happening,” Arthur sputters, threading a hand through his short hair in frustration. “I’m expected home for Christmas!”

He has a long and hard week of work behind him and all he wants to do is survive the flight to London, then sleep until he needs to suffer through the formal Christmas Day dinner with Morgana and his father, before he can crawl back to bed and spend the rest of his brief holidays - he’s expected back in the office on the 27th - home alone under the covers. The thought of his warm, comfortable bed in his small Islington flat has sustained him over the last couple of days, but spending time with his father isn’t very high up on his list of things to look forward to.

“We’ll keep you updated.” The man’s voice is bored, and he keeps glancing furtively at the long line of frustrated customers behind Arthur, like he’s counting down how many more of these conversations he needs to have before he gets off work. Arthur rolls his eyes and tries to calm down the rage that threatens to rise in him once more. The man is hardly more than a teenager, overweight with stringy hair and pimples on his chin, and it isn’t his fault that Arthur’s flight has been cancelled and he’s stuck in JFK airport on the 23rd of December.

He can’t quite help that his frustration bursts out of him nonetheless. “And what am I supposed to do right now? Sit and wait?”

“I suggest you lock your luggage in our storage area. Maybe visit the stores. Buy a book or a late Christmas present. And have something to eat.” The man taps the vouchers for the horrible burger place he pushed at Arthur when Arthur first stepped up to the counter and he grimaces in horror. The food at JFK food court is dismal, likely the worst Arthur has ever had at an airport and he absolutely has no intention of eating anything at one of the sub-par fast food places.

“Fuck,” Arthur groans darkly, shoots the poor man another glare and turns around, dragging his luggage trolley behind him, uncaring that the people waiting in line have to step aside to make way for him. He’s still fuming, but there’s hardly anything to be done. It’s really not anyone’s fault, but he wanted to get a day of rest before facing the Pendragon’s stilted Christmas celebrations. Instead he’s going to waste his time at JFK, on the top of his list of least favourite airports, ranked even higher than Charles de Gaulle.

A glance up at the flight departure boards only confirms that there are no outgoing flights from Terminal 7. The word CANCELLED glares back at him from every single entry.

He tries to book a place in one of the lounges, but only gets put on a waiting list, as the lounges are filled to capacity. Frustrated and tired, he makes a quick call to the New York office for one of the project managers to try their luck in arranging a place in the business lounge if possible, before he decides to do what the young man at the counter has suggested.

Terminal 7 is busy and chaotic even on a normal day, but today, it being the day before Christmas Day and with all current flights cancelled, the airport feels lawless and hectic. Aggravated travellers are running from A to B, dragging their overloaded trolleys behind them, cursing into their phones in a cacophony of languages. Families with little children have decided to camp out in the aisles, cluttering the areas around conveyor belts and vending machines with bags and toys and toddlers crawling on the gray carpet with little supervision. Add to that the overly cheerful American Christmas decoration with too much tinsel, fake mistletoe and blinking lights and the place is absolute mayhem. It makes Arthur’s already strained stress level rise to hitherto unknown heights.

After depositing his luggage, Arthur wanders the airport for a while before settling down on a pleasantly empty row of chairs in a quieter area at the very end of Terminal 7.The place is far away from everything else, tucked into a corner behind a currently empty storefront, likely the reason why there are only 3 other people currently camped out on the few benches.

He’s cranky and tired from the week of negotiations and business obligations behind him and the prospect of returning to London to spend Christmas Day with Morgana and his father, having to listen to his father’s disappointment about not procuring a serious significant other (preferably the daughter of a business associate, because Uther is nothing if not dynastic) for the third year in a row, does nothing to make him feel any kind of Christmas spirit. Just imagining enduring his father’s questioning and being reminded of the failed relationship attempts with what he, in hindsight, had to accept were vapid blondes gives Arthur ulcers.

Arthur sits down and attempts to work, his laptop balanced on his knees while he types away, undertaking the sisyphean task of diminishing the unread emails in his crazily-overfilled email folders. He can’t remember the last time his inbox had been empty or when there were less than 200 unread messages to go through at any point of the day.

He clicks through at least twenty last-minute holiday greetings from colleagues, glaring at the cheerful messages containing cheesy gif-sets or ridiculous online holiday greeting cards, sending them to his bin without replying. Apparently, people didn’t have anything better to do with their work time than search the internet for stupid christmas memes and send messages unrelated to work. Arthur isn’t generally a grinch, but he’s overworked and permanently stressed out and begrudges his coworkers their leisurely pace, when he can hardly catch a toilet break in between meetings or replying to high-priority emails.

Tiredly, Arthur tries to concentrate on a proposal someone from R&D sent in, a lengthy and explanatory concept paper that bores him after just half a page. He much prefers brief personal pitches or at least presentations he can click through, but the person who wrote the paper certainly has absolutely no imagination nor passion. Arthur’s mind keeps drifting and his eyes wandering.

He takes a look at the other people in the small seating area. There’s a teenage girl with headphones plugged in, watching tv on an ipad, an older couple who are eating sandwiches and a dark-haired man in joggers and a tank top, who has spread out a yoga mat in the corner behind a vending machine and is flowing through a seemingly well-known sequence.

Arthur watches him for a while. He is lithe but strong, his lanky arms and shoulders corded with wiry muscles. His left arm is covered in colourful tattoo designs from his shoulder down to his fingers, his right arm appears shockingly bare in contrast. The joggers hang from his narrow hips and hug his arse, which is - Arthur has to admit with a mix of jealousy and appreciation - really, really pert. (Arthur can’t help but notice, because when he moves, his glutes shift underneath the fabric of his joggers.) His feet are naked, the toes long and elegant, just like his fingers. He looks calm and serene as he breathes evenly, and there’s a small smile perpetually playing around his full lips. Arthur begrudges him his equanimity, because his own mind is a turmoil of anger and frustration.

The young man is mostly fluid in his movements, sure-footed and practiced, his body bending this and that way, but occasionally he will wobble and flail and Arthur thinks he might like that best, these tiny glimpses of humanity in an otherwise practiced sequence.

He grows sleepy and tries to return to his paper, but finds himself distracted by yoga guy, who is much nicer to look at and keeps sticking his bum in the air. It’s a cute bum, Arthur decides, feeling naughty for noticing. Despite the distraction, Arthur reads through another couple of pages before the lines blur in front of his eyes and he just barely manages to push the laptop shut.

Merlin doesn’t particularly like travelling, but flying is his least favourite form of transportation and only one of the reasons for his animosity is his flight anxiety. Airports just make him deeply uncomfortable: They are usually cold and smelly, with funky carpets, dirty benches and little privacy amidst the chaos that comes from too many people with too much luggage navigating narrow hallways. Merlin really doesn’t enjoy airports when he’s only passing through, but now he’s stuck at one for who knows how long. At Christmas.

The thought sends a stab of barely controlled panic through him. He was so looking forward to returning home after his workshop and spending Christmas at his Mum’s. It makes him almost physically sick to think he might miss Christmas Day and the wonderful craziness of being at his mother’s house during Christmas time with all their friends, having Christmas dinner, baking sugar biscuits and going for walks (mostly heavily intoxicated ones.)

So Merlin does what he always does when he feels imbalanced. He finds a comparatively calm place (which is difficult at an airport, especially one that is filled with irritated travellers) and rolls out his yoga mat. It takes him only a couple of sun salutations to feel his frustration ebb away and his body warms up, his muscles loosening. It’s his second session today, because he usually does yoga in the earlier morning, when his mind is still pleasantly empty and refreshed and nothing can come between him and his mat, but he needs the calm that comes from going through his practice. It works like a charm, like he knows it would and he feels the smile return to his face as he flows with his breath. He works up a bit of a sweat, just enough for his muscles to feel well oiled, a simple, caring practice with a couple of twists and balance poses and vinyasas, but nothing too energising or complex.

When he’s done, the area around him has filled considerably and almost all the seats on the benches are taken. He slowly rolls up his mat and stows it back in his bag, then shrugs on a long-sleeved t-shirt before looking for a vacant seat. He finds one on a bench between a sleeping businessman and an older woman and carefully settles in between them, stowing his mat by his feet. Merlin takes out his phone and looks through his instagram notifications, replying to a couple of messages from his students. He might do a workshop on shoulder mobility in the near future, because it seems to be one of the areas a lot of people have trouble with. As usual, ideas come to him almost immediately, sequences and poses and the things he wants to explain, so he pulls out his notebook and jots down a couple of notes. Maybe he’ll do a short video on instagram, he thinks, showcasing a couple of mobility exercises for the shoulder and neck area.

He’s so busy writing down ideas, that he barely notices at first that something heavy has landed on his left shoulder. When Merlin looks up from his notebook, he finds the young businessman in the dark blue suit has shifted in his sleep and has come to rest his head on his shoulder.

There’s a brief moment where Merlin wants to gently shrug him off, but then he looks at the strangers’ face and finds himself smiling instead. He’s really cute with long, fair lashes, a plush mouth and tousled, sandy-blond hair and he looks younger in his sleep than he probably is, his features slack.

Merlin licks his lips and wonders if he should say something, but he can’t bring himself to do anything. The stranger looks peaceful, breathing in and out evenly and the weight of him on Merlin’s shoulders feels weirdly comforting. He watches him for another moment, before he decides to let him sleep and instead goes back to his notebook.

Arthur wakes with a start, sucking in a surprised breath, disoriented. For a moment he has no recollection of where he is, but it comes to him with just one glimpse around: He’s still at the airport, still in Terminal 7, and the small, secluded seating area he found earlier isn’t an insider’s tip anymore, but bustling with activity. Almost all the seats have been filled: Lone travellers, families, couples, businessmen and Christmas shoppers are sprawled over the benches with luggage and bags spilling in between the aisles.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a lilting, amused voice says from next to Arthur, startling him. “That’s good, I gotta pee real bad.”

Jerking, Arthur straightens, flushing with embarrassment when he realises that his head had been resting on the shoulder of the man sitting beside him, who turns out to be the yogi from earlier and the owner of the voice with the curious melodic sing-song cadence.

“Sorry,” he says, mortified, feeling the blush rise on his face. His voice comes out gravelly and hoarse and he clears his throat and carefully straightens in his seat, wincing at the kink in his neck.

“It’s all right, you looked like you needed it,” the man says kindly, the timbre of his voice warm. It takes Arthur a moment to place his accent, but once he does, it’s undeniable. He’s as Welsh as they come and damn, if it isn’t charming.

Arthur rubs his eyes and then takes a close-up look at the stranger. He’s struck with how handsome he is with his dark, curly hair, long eyelashes and blue eyes. His smile is winsome and his eyes crinkle with merriment, like he isn’t at all angry with Arthur for impinging on his privacy by falling asleep on his shoulder.

“Will you defend my seat while I’m gone?” the man asks and slowly unfolds his legs from their cross legged position.

Arthur mentally tracks back to his earlier words. Right, apparently he didn’t get up to go to the toilet because Arthur fell asleep on his shoulder. Who even does that for strangers?

He nods mutely, not yet trusting his voice, and the man gets out of his seat gracefully, putting the notebook he had been writing in down on the seat to occupy it. He winks conspiratorially at Arthur like they already share a secret, then wanders off towards the facilities.

Exhaling a sigh, Arthur tries to bring his rumpled clothes in order, straightening his trousers and loosening his tie. The suit jacket has become uncomfortable and stuffy and he shrugs out of it, tossing it over his carry-on before reaching for his shirtsleeves, unbuttoning them and rolling them up his forearms.

He’s surprised when the stranger returns and holds out a paper cup of steaming coffee to him.

“I’m Merlin, by the way,” he says, pressing the cup into Arthur’s hands unprompted.

“Arthur.” Arthur bites his lip and takes the hot beverage from Merlin’s hands, glancing at Merlin curiously. In his experience, people aren’t kind to strangers who fall asleep on them at the airport. “Sorry for falling asleep on you.”

Merlin laughs, his blue eyes twinkling, and takes a careful sip from his coffee. “It wasn’t too bad. You didn’t drool and didn’t snore. It was actually kind of nice. People kept giving me these amused glances, like they thought we were really cute and I was a brilliant boyfriend for letting you sleep on my shoulder.”

Arthur nearly burns his tongue on the scalding hot beverage and winces, briefly closes his eyes in embarrassment. “Oh God…”

“I don’t mind,” Merlin shrugs carelessly, but then seems to re-evaluate Arthur’s reaction, his eyes widening in concern as he lowers his paper cup, a worried frown line creasing the bridge of his nose. “Oh shit, does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No… no,” Arthur mutters hastily, wiping a hand over his face, even more mortified by Merlin’s alarmed tone, feeling like he just kicked a cute puppy. Merlin is disarmingly considerate, and Arthur hates to see him think he offended Arthur. It’s probably why he adds next, “I’d be lucky for people to think I had such a relationship.”

“Oh…” Merlin says, his smile returning full force, a beaming grin that spreads his lips wide and shows a row of narrow, white teeth. “Yeah. Me too.” He is becomingly flushed and when he bites his lips and glances at Arthur from underneath ridiculously long eyelashes, something zings through Arthur like a very gentle electrocution, sending excited shivers along his nerves.

Arthur scowls, surprised by his own reaction and busies himself with sipping at his cup. He can’t remember when he last felt instantly attracted to someone, least of all a man.

“Is there any news about the flights to Europe?” he asks, desperate to divert the conversation to something that makes him not think about the picture they might have made earlier. Arthur has never been in the kind of relationship Merlin described, the kind where you are affectionate in public. He also has never openly been with a man.

Merlin takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, like he is frustrated but realises there’s no point in fretting over their predicament. “No. I fear we’re stuck here for the time being.”

Arthur watches him fiddle with his paper cup, his long, elegant fingers tapping the rim. Merlin is too old to be a student, maybe in his late 20s, early 30s, but he doesn’t look like someone who has a professional reason to travel to New York and Arthur’s curious. “Did you visit friends here in New York?”

At that, another smile blossoms on Merlin’s face, his grin boyish and huge. “No. I was working.”

“Working?” Arthur echoes, taking in Merlin’s relaxed leisure wear, the threadbare satchel and canvas yoga bag sitting by his feet. At least his feet aren’t bare anymore but stuffed into scuffed trainers.

“I’m a yoga teacher. I held a workshop,” Merlin says, shrugging lightly before taking a sip from his cup again.

Arthur wrinkles his nose in disbelief. “You travel to hold yoga workshops?”

“About five to six times a year, yes,” Merlin says, then, at Arthur’s still sceptical look, adds, “I mean, you travel for work, too, right?” He nudges his trainers into Arthur’s carry-on, making it wobble precariously.

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t know yoga teachers did business trips,” Arthur admits, still trying to wrap his head around making his living with teaching yoga at all.

At his words or maybe his wondrous tone of voice, Merlin snorts with amusement. “It’s not your run-of-the-mill business trip,” he amends. “But it pays the bills.”

They are both silent for a bit, nursing their hot coffee, and Arthur takes his time to study Merlin, trying to dissect what caused Arthur’s instant attraction. There’s certainly his looks: He’s pale with tiny freckles on his nose and long, sooty lashes. His face has a strong jaw but high, pronounced cheekbones. The shirt he is wearing is pushed up to his elbows, his left forearm decorated in ink: flowers and swirls and colourful small birds wind up from his wrist to vanish underneath the fabric.

“These are Merlins,” Merlin says, having noticed Arthur’s stare, twisting his hand palm up and pointing out one of the birds on the inside of his forearm. “There are many subspecies, so they all look a bit different. Same bird, though.”

“They are beautiful,” Arthur says, but what he means is, “You are beautiful.” He swallows, surprised by the way he’s so taken with this complete stranger already. Yes, he’s certainly attracted to Merlin because of the way he looks, but there’s more to it, things he has picked up in the mere 5 minutes of knowing him.

Arthur doesn’t generally fall quick or hard, nor is he usually interested in other people enough to make an effort, but there’s something about Merlin that makes Arthur want to know him. Merlin is nothing like the bland people Arthur meets when he goes out for a night on the town to the usual clubs he and his friends frequent. He’s not at all like the jaded businessmen he meets on business trips or at the office, all decked out in dark suits and with austere expressions on their faces. He’s a completely different sort of person, someone bright and lit from within, like sunshine, kind and warm, the sort of person Arthur would trust to take care of him and have his best interests at heart.

It’s then that Arthur realises he never said thank you for the coffee and he feels like a fool. “You are much too nice,” is what comes out of his stupid, traiterous mouth.

At his words, Merlin blinks and looks puzzled for a moment, before he snorts out another laugh. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Arthur protests. “You let me sleep on your shoulder and you brought me coffee and I didn’t even say thank you.”

Arthur enjoys the way Merlin grins at his words, a toothy, adorable expression that makes something in Arthur flutter with excitement.

“How would you know I don’t do this for all the strangers I meet at airports?” Merlin says teasingly and flirtatious, a delightful, wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Oh come on,” Arthur finds himself countering playfully, “I know I’m special.” His words come out instantaneous and easily, and he’s surprised at his own flirty answer, an instant response, like a knee jerk reaction.

“Especially conceited you mean?” Merlin quips, but he’s grinning even more now and the tips of his ears have turned slightly red.

“You are terribly cheeky for someone in joggers,” Arthur observes mock-cuttingly, delighted when Merlin splutters in indignation.

“You are a bit of a clotpole, you know?” Merlin counters, but there’s amusement swinging in his voice as well and his eyes are glinting with a challenge.

“I dunno what that even is, but I can assure you, I’m not.” Arthur replies, bewildered by his own reaction to this absolutely unexpected person, who is kind and witty and flirty. They’ve only just met and Arthur is tired and exhausted from a long week of work, but it’s almost as if Merlin is injecting him with energy.

Next to him, Merlin just scoffs fondly. “I’m good at reading people. You are a prat,” he says determinedly, “a royal one.”

“We can agree on that,” Arthur mutters dryly and drains his paper cup to Merlin’s surprised laughter, smirking around the rim of his cup.

The bookstore is packed with travellers attempting to find reading material to while away the time and it’s noisy and busy and obnoxiously over decorated with copious amounts of tinsel and glitter. In the background, Christmas rock music blares from the speakers, a cheerful playlist chock full of the most popular Christmas hits of all times. Already, Merlin wishes himself back to the quiet corner back at the very end of Terminal 7, only they gave up their seats to stretch their legs and he fears he’ll end up sitting on the floor for the rest of the wait.

“Why are novels you find in airport bookshops either generic crime novels or trashy romances?” Merlin asks and holds up two books to demonstrate his observation, a dark paperback with a slash of red blood on the cover, the other showcasing a half-clad heroine in the arms of a muscular hero.

Arthur glances up from rifling through the papers on display with a frown on his face. “Maybe nobody wants to read Judith Butler or Kant or maybe Joyce on an airplane?”

Merlin lowers the books he’s been holding, blinking at Arthur’s words, unable to hide his mild surprise at Arthur’s reply when he says, “You read Judith Butler?” He takes in Arthur’s appearance, his pressed dress trousers, the white button-down shirt, the loosened tie and tousled hair and wonders about the hidden depths of this stranger, this seemingly straight-laced businessman, who sleeps like a little boy with his mouth parted and looks like you picked him from the cover of GQ.

Arthur shrugs and flushes, maybe because of Merlin’s disbelief that he might be knowledgable about feminist gender theories, but a boyish grin steels onto his face as he counters, voice teasing, “Is that so unbelievable? Would you be even more surprised if I told you, I read a book or two by Eckhart Tolle?”

“Next you tell me you have Naomi Klein on your nightstand, that’d shock me,” Merlin suggests, only half-joking. Handsome business suit or not, there’s something about Arthur that doesn’t quite add up to his corporate front.

“What can I say? Don’t judge a book by its cover…This, for example,” Arthur says and brandishes a salacious paperback with a scantily clad male slave on the cover, “could be first class literature.”

Snorting, Merlin narrows his eyes and takes a closer look at the cover. The half-naked man on it is on his knees with his hands bound behind his back, a woman dressed in dark leather standing over him, her manicured red nails twisting in his hair. He takes a step forward, picks the paperback out of Arthur’s hands and turns it over to read the blurb on the back.

“Oh my God,” he moans, “don’t you hate it when the blurb doesn’t give anything away? - Listen to this: Another sizzling read by the author of “Tied to you”, “Give or take” and “Never enough.” - And,” he pauses, before reading the next quote, “Steamy and scandalous, this kept me entertained for hours.” He grimaces and rolls his eyes. “C.K. Pale is one of the most promising voice of contemporary erotic literature, bla bla…Yes! - but what the fuck is the blasted book about?!”

At his outburst, Arthur cracks up with hilarity, his head tossed back as he shows a row of slightly uneven teeth. He has a great laugh, loud and joyous, and people in the store are turning their heads and looking curiously into their direction. It makes Merlin slightly giddy to be the one to elicit those kinds of lovely sounds from Arthur.

“You should get this, it sounds riveting. Probably more entertaining than Judith Butler.” He slaps the book against Arthur’s chest lightly and playfully and looks up, startled when he realises how close they are standing, chest to chest. Arthur’s eyes are so very blue and his lips are still tugged into a smirk and Merlin swallows and bites his lip and takes a much needed step back.

“So, uh… “ Merlin mutters and threads a hand into the curls at the back of his head, feeling flustered, “what else do you read?”

Arthur carelessly tosses the book back down on the pile where he picked it up from. “These days?” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “Mostly product proposals. Maybe I should try the steamy paperbacks.”

“Probably,” Merlin agrees, putting some more distance between them with a slightly stumbling step. He feels coltish and awkward all of a sudden and the subject of Arthur and sex are producing rather enticing images in his mind’s eye. “So maybe you should get the dirty book after all,” he suggests hoping that maybe Arthur won’t realise that Merlin can’t take his eyes off his naked forearms or his annoyingly handsome face.

Arthur laughs again, and it’s like the sun lights up the room and Merlin inwardly rolls his eyes at his own thoughts, but he can’t help it: Arthur is like a vision from one of his rather vivid wet dreams, golden-haired and blue-eyed and gorgeous.

“I fear the fascination of dominant women is lost on me,” Arthur grins, absentmindedly picking up another paperback to read the back.

Yes, Merlin wants to ask, but how do you feel about dominant men?

He bites down on the urge to ask this complete stranger something so weirdly specific and intimate and instead says, his voice a little hoarse as he wonders how exactly Arthur might like dominant men, “Yeah, me too.”

An awkward pause follows Merlin’s words, while Arthur gnaws at his bottom lip and stares down at the book in his hand. Neither of them seem to know how to follow up on those revelations, and frantically, Merlin wrecks his brain for something to say that isn’t about his sexual preferences.

Thus, when the latest trashy Christmas pop song from the charts is replaced with Bing Crosby’s “I’ll be home for Christmas”, Merlin blurts out inanely, “My Mum loves this song.”

Arthur’s face twists into a smile and he glances up, looking a bit relieved at the change of topic, however inelegant it might have been. “Are you spending Christmas with her?” he asks, putting the book down on another pile of discarded paperbacks.

“I’m supposed to, but…” Merlin trails off and shrugs. “I wanted to be home tomorrow at noon, but I guess that is out of the question right now.” It strikes him at this very moment that he will miss Christmas Eve and he won’t spend it with the people he loves, that he will probably be in a plane over the Atlantic, or worse, still stuck at the airport, making a bed out of his yoga mat.

His maudling thoughts must have shown on his face, because Arthur reaches for his shoulder, pressing his hand there in a comforting gesture. “Hey, you’ll make it for Christmas Day, I’m sure.”

Merlin sucks in a slow breath, unsure whether he does so because of the sombre prospect of having to spend Christmas Eve here at JFK or because of the warmth of Arthur’s hand seeping through the fabric of his shirt and into his skin.

“What’s it like? Christmas at your place?” Arthur asks and gently stirs him out of the bookstore, past the gaggle of other customers and out onto the marginally calmer shopping aisle. His hand is still comfortably laid on Merlin’s shoulder and he only drops it once they are outside. The absence of touch somehow feels wrong. Merlin wants Arthur’s hand back, on his shoulder, on his arm, anywhere, really.

Merlin evades a pair of hasty travellers running past them with their luggage haphazardly dragged behind them towards Gate 8, the only one at Terminal 7 that still has outgoing flights, because they fly West, and settles against a pillar, taking a steadying breath to fortify himself against the onslaught of pure, instant attraction. He doesn’t know Arthur, he certainly shouldn’t feel like this. For a moment he wonders how he’s supposed to explain the wonderful craziness of Christmas at his Mum’s to someone who hasn’t experienced it first hand, but he wants to make Arthur understand what Merlin is missing.

“There’s usually tons of people arriving on Christmas Eve. My uncle Gaius and his wife, my best friends Gwen and Will - he’s like a second son to my mother, really,- and like every stray my mother ever picked up at work. The house is really, really full with people, and we bake sugar biscuits together and afterwards have pickled herring and spicy sausages and too much mulled wine,” Merlin says wistfully, feeling a little heartbroken that he’s going to miss it this year. “Our neighbours come over and we play card games or go out for a late night walk. We go for church service in the morning and have Christmas Day dinner, before we get terribly sloshed again.”

Arthur has a small smile on his face as he listens, like he’s utterly charmed by Merlin’s babbling. “That sounds nice,” he says, sounding wistful himself.

“It is,” Merlin confirms, looking curiously at Arthur. “What about you? How do you spend Christmas?”

At this question, Arthur sighs and pushes his hands into the pockets of his dress trousers, looking like a schoolboy caught doing something naughty as he glances down, staring at his shiny shoes.

“Nothing special. I plan to sleep a lot, and there’s the obligatory Christmas Day dinner with my family. I’m not particularly looking forward to it.” He glances up and grimaces, as if he feels embarrassed for his brash words. “It’s just my father, my half-sister and me, sometimes one of her idiotic boyfriends. Usually, we don’t have that much to say to each other and so we get drunk and call it an early night. It’s really not very much to look forward to.”

“Ouch,” Merlin says sympathetically and winces.

Before Arthur can answer, they are interrupted by a phone ringing and Merlin watches Arthur search through his pockets, until he finds his mobile phone.

“Yes,” Arthur says when he picks up and listens, then, “Thank you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

When he hangs up, there’s a pleased smile on his face and he takes a deep, satisfied breath.

“Good news?” Merlin asks warily, wondering if Arthur’s flight is on and where he’s going. He only just met him, but he doesn’t want to part ways, not now, not when he feels that there’s
something between them, as unlikely as it seems. The urge to get to know Arthur is overwhelming and the thought of not being able to do that is more than disappointing.

“The Lounge reception called. My reservation came through.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, trying for an encouraging smile that feels a bit crooked. He’s unable to curb his disappointment. “Then it’s goodbye, I guess.”

Arthur looks at him contemplatively, eyes flitting all over Merlin’s face, his mouth twitching. Merlin feels dissected, like Arthur is cutting him open with his intense gaze, eager to see what he’s made of.

“You should join me,” Arthur says suddenly, sounding impulsive. “Least I can do is invite you for dinner.”

Merlin can’t help the smile that spreads on his face, even though he’d love to play it cool, like he’s invited to dinner by gorgeous businessmen he meets at airports all the time, but he’s unable to keep his reaction under cover.

“Okay,” he agrees softly, intensely aware of Arthur’s eyes on him.

Arthur nods shortly at his answer and picks up his suit jacket that he carelessly tossed over his carrier bag.

“Let’s go then,” he suggests, either heedless to Merlin making a fool of himself by merely existing, or much too nice to comment on Merlin’s beaming smile, “I’m starving.”

Merlin eats like he hasn’t had food in days. He rips bread into pieces and stuffs them into his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing. He guzzles down water like he’s completely parched. He practically inhales the pumpkin soup he has for a starter. And he talks.

Amused, Arthur watches him, his own salad untouched so far, listening to Merlin talk about the one Christmas where his friend Gwaine insisted they build an igloo in the backyard and they ended up working on it until nightfall, only to have it cave in when they crawled inside first.

“I was so cold when we finally managed to get out of the snow. My Mum was afraid I would lose a toe. She bundled us up in blankets and made cocoa with marshmallows, like we were little kids. She always buys these small Christmas marshmallows, the ones shaped like trees and snowflakes and little reindeer?”

Arthur nods, even though he doesn’t know. Nobody has ever made him hot chocolate, not that he can remember.

“She put rum into it, though. Rum and chocolate and marshmallows.” Merlin smacks his lips and grins, before spooning more soup into his mouth. “We got kind of drunk on it. She overdid it, I think. Gwaine is an awful drunk. Gets all handsy and stupid.”

“Who is Gwaine? Another school friend?” Arthur asks carefully, picking at his salad slowly with a fork. The thought occurs that Merlin has someone at home, someone else who waits for him other than his Mum. He hasn’t mentioned a girlfriend or boyfriend, but still… Arthur wonders.

“He’s… “ Merlin starts, then puts down his spoon and looks puzzled for a moment, “He’s an ex of a friend who just kind of stuck around? Hard to get rid of, Gwaine is. And my Mum loves him for some unfathomable reason.” He shrugs and picks up his spoon again. “I told you, she’s big on strays. And like, Gwaine is the biggest stray. Fluffy hair, soulful eyes, lolling tongue. Loyal like a puppy. Stupid like one, too.”

He sounds incredibly fond, despite his slightly condescending words, and Arthur tries to slow his suddenly wildly beating heart. Maybe, just maybe, Merlin likes men. He’s not sure, but there was the teasing and the easy flirting and the one off-comment… - Angrily, Arthur bites down sharply on that train of thought as well as the sudden dizzying wave of desire it evokes in him. Merlin is a stranger and Arthur doesn’t date men and that’s that. It shouldn’t matter that Merlin is gorgeous and funny and possibly attracted to him.

When he next looks up from his salad, Merlin is still prattling on about Gwaine and his mother’s other strays. Despite his attempt to reign in his traitorous thoughts, Arthur is only half-listening. He watches Merlin’s mouth as it moves, forming around words, his plush lips with the little dimple at the lower left corner of his mouth and thinks about how it would feel to kiss him. Soft, probably. Merlin looks like he’s a soft kisser. Eager, too. Soft and eager and good. He’d taste like pumpkin soup and maybe chocolate and probably a little salty or spicy.

“Do I have something on my chin?” Merlin asks suddenly, probably having noticed his inappropriate staring, wiping surreptitiously at his cheeks first with his fingers, then with a napkin. There’s a delightful flush on his face that stains his cheekbones and the tip of his ears.

“Uhmm… you got a little… there,” Arthur lies and reaches out, rubbing his thumb over the corner of Merlin’s mouth, just above that little dimple where there is not even a little trace of soup at all.

Merlin ducks his head and smiles and it’s so adorable that Arthur can’t find it in himself to feel bad about the lie at all. Merlin’s skin was soft and warm underneath his fingertips and he wishes he could reach out again. Arthur muses about the little flush on Merlin’s face, wonders if it extends downwards over his neck and chest and thinks he might be going to hell. Sweating a little, Arthur tugs on his tie and tries to concentrate on his salad again and not on the soft looking stretch of skin where Merlin’s t-shirt is loose at the neck and reveals a bit of fragile looking collarbone.

“I know I eat like a slob,” Merlin mutters, his mouth twitching. “My Mum always tells me so.”

“I don’t mind. You seem to enjoy your food.”

“I just love eating,” Merlin enthuses and finishes his soup, before reaching for his bread roll again. “This is really good, too. Better than the lunch I had earlier today at the food court.”

“Never eat at the foodcourt. Always splurge for the lounge if you can,” Arthur says, indicating their surroundings. “Not only is the food better, but the seats are comfy and the bar is well stocked.”

“Oh my God, yes, the seats,” Merlin moans happily and leans back, flopping his arms out wide over the edge of the armchair he’s sprawled in. “I’m going to miss this seat later,” he says mournfully. “I’m not looking forward to spending the night on my yoga mat. I did that last year in Bali when my flight was delayed, too.”

Arthur bites his lips and doesn’t say he’s going to get a room at the TWA if the flight doesn’t leave tonight, because otherwise he’s going to think of Merlin joining him and that… that isn’t something Arthur normally does. He’s not inviting random strangers to his bed for a night, no matter how charming and attractive they are. He’s had a steady stream of relationships with women for the last couple of years. It’s been ages since he has been with a man at all, since university, even. This is just some friendly flirting and Arthur tells himself firmly, that despite all his inappropriate lusting, it’s not going to go anywhere.

They have more food, asian dumplings and little pies filled with minced meat or sauteed mushrooms, fish for Arthur and a veggie lasagna for Merlin as well as a selection of outrageously sweet desserts, which they share, Merlin moaning around the chocolate mousse like a porn star.

It makes Arthur smile, this frank display of enjoyment, so unlike the usually reserved way his friends or business associates react. Merlin is like a gust of very fresh air, uninhibited and joyous.

“The only thing that mousse hasn’t got going for it is alcohol,” he quips, his eyes following Merlin’s tongue as he cleans chocolate from his spoon.

“Yes, but it’s still damn good,” Merlin says happily, grinning and showing chocolate-smeared teeth.

“There’s a bar. We could-” Arthur suggests, but Merlin grins even wider, a smile like the Cheshire cat, eyes twinkling, cutting him off before he can finish his sentence.

“Definitely. If I have to stay here at this horrible airport and miss Christmas, I want to get blindingly drunk.”

Merlin is slightly buzzed when the news make the rounds that no flights to Europe will be outgoing tonight (it’s past 8.30 p.m., so he didn’t have much hope anymore anyway), but he receives an SMS notification shortly after that he has been booked on a substitute flight to London tomorrow at 6.30 a.m. He sends the information to his Mum, so she will have it when she wakes up, then does a quick count in his head, figuring in the time difference and flight time. He’ll definitely miss most of Christmas Eve, but he’ll be there for Christmas Day, which is a relief.

“I’ve got a flight to London at 6.30 tomorrow,” Arthur says, looking up from his own phone.

“Same,” Merlin says, slightly waving his phone around. He’s somewhat pleased that they are on the same flight tomorrow, extending their impromptu airport friendship for a couple of hours.

“You’ll be home to celebrate Christmas with your family after all. I told you,” Arthur mutters distractedly, fiddling with his phone and thumbing in some information on a website.

He looks dishevelled and loose-limbed and it suits him. Somewhere during dinner he lost the tie and opened the first buttons on his shirt and if anything, it makes him look even more devastatingly handsome. Merlin wishes he could look that good in dress trousers and a white shirt, but he never manages to ever feel anything else but stiff and dressed up.

“Waiting hasn’t been all bad,” Merlin hears himself say, and okay, so he’s probably a little more tipsy than he thought.

At his words, Arthur glances up from his phone, his fingers stilling on the display.

“Oh,” he says, looking at Merlin curiously, “why is that?”

Merlin bites his lip and tries valiantly not to blush. “I had good company,” he says truthfully, before picking up his drink and taking another sip. The alcohol burns gently down his throat and heat blossoms in his cheeks, but he can’t look away from Arthur, who is staring at him, his lips slightly parted. More words are on the tip of Merlin’s tongue, but he’d feel weird laying it all out there: the pull he feels towards Arthur, not just physically but mentally, too, as if they are meant to be really good friends. As if they are meant to be in whatever capacity possible.

Arthur wets his lip, then glances down at the mobile and continues typing something in, not answering, and Merlin finally looks away, afraid he revealed too much. Okay, so maybe he did read Arthur wrong, maybe it’s just him feeling this indescribably drawn towards Arthur. Maybe he’s just a little bit too drunk and his judgement is way off. It was worth the effort, though.

“I had good company, too,” Arthur suddenly says, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Very good company. Really enjoyable. I mean, you prattle a lot, but it’s terribly endearing.”

“Right,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes for show, even though Arthur’s words make him light up from inside with joy. “You think I’m a blabbermouth.”

“Endearing blabbermouth,” Arthur corrects him and raises his glass to clink against Merlin’s.

They order another round, and then another one and tapas, because Merlin is hungry again. He watches Arthur eat Kalamata olives and suck salt from his fingers and listens to him explain about his work. The firm he works for and which belongs to his father produces smart and sustainable technology for energy saving solutions and Arthur is eager to make a difference. His book reading comments suddenly make a whole lot of more sense. He talks about how difficult it is to reconcile his father’s expectations and way of running the business with what Arthur wants to do, with the paths Arthur wants to explore. There’s an exhausted, bruised tiredness around Arthur’s eyes and in Arthur’s posture and it speaks at length of the strain he’s under. Merlin wishes he could magic the tightness around his eyes and in his posture away.

There’s a certain buzz in the air between them, something that Merlin finds only happens when people click, and it makes him smile wider and laugh a little louder and turn towards Arthur a bit more than he would normally considering that the other man is a stranger and he has only known him for 6 hours. They’ve been talking for all of those. One story, one topic leads to another. They shouldn’t have much in common, but their thought processes are so very much alike. It’s exhilarating and slightly scary and whenever Arthur says, “Me too”, Merlin wonders if there isn’t something wrong with him. Maybe he’s a homicidal maniac wrapped up in a very appealing visual package. Maybe he’s a sociopath, cleverly hiding his innermost thoughts until he can do the most damage.

When Arthur talks, he is so animated. Arthur’s eyes sparkle when he tells a story and he leans a little closer, his whole body turned towards Merlin. He expresses himself with his whole body, his hands competently filling the space between them as he gesticulates, his face full of expression. His voice has a slightly posh upper-class accent with a hint of a drawl, but his humour makes up for the lack of down-to-earthness of his tone. His jokes are whip-sharp and spot-on.

Merlin feels so zeroed in on Arthur’s smile, like Arthur is the center of everything, bright and right there. When Arthur laughs, his breath shivers over Merlin’s cheek and when their eyes lock, their gazes hold just a bit too long. Their knees are touching, thighs brushing against each other when one of them shifts on the barstool. Arthur’s body is radiating heat. He’s the most interesting person Merlin has met in a long while and that includes one of his favourite yoga teachers he was just dying to talk to in person.

Merlin is pretty sure they are flirting and it isn’t just him. Arthur’s eyes keep tracking back down to his mouth and his eyes look hazy and soft.

It’s a heady, exciting feeling, knowing his attraction is reciprocated, and maybe just a bit dangerous, considering that Merlin has absolutely no idea who Arthur is. It’s undeniable though that Merlin is entertaining thoughts of what would happen if he kissed Arthur, if he leaned forward to bridge the space between them and pressed their mouths together. If Arthur would kiss back, moan against his mouth, grip his shoulders or cup his face.

His mind supplies him with a rather dirty suggestion about one of the lounge’s bathrooms and how Arthur would look with his pants pooled around his ankles, an idea that sends tendrils of heat through his body and makes him briefly miss Arthur’s last couple of words, only realising that Arthur is waiting for an answer because Arthur is glancing at him in open amusement.

“Sorry, what?” Merlin asks, trying to shake off his rather explicit thoughts on how perfect Arthur’s backside probably would look with Merlin’s fingers splayed on his hips and his dick sliding into his arse.

Across from him, Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. ”You look all spaced out,” he grins, then suggests more somberly, “I said we should probably lay off the alcohol.”

“Oh God, you think I’m a horrible drunk,” Merlin moans, trying to prevent the flush from rising on his skin, embarrassed his filthy fantasies might have been easily deducible from his traitorous face.

“I think you’re adorably tipsy,” Arthur counters, leaning forward as if he is trying to divulge a secret, “but… “ he pauses and chews on his lip again and it’s drawing Merlin’s eyes to his tempting, red-bitten mouth, “it’s getting late and here I am, laying out my life in front of a complete stranger.”

Merlin snorts out surprised laughter at Arthur’s teasing words. “What, are you afraid you’re going to tell me all your secrets before the night is through? You don’t seem so deep to me, clotpole.”

“I’m all kinds of deep,” Arthur protests mockingly. “You might take advantage of all that super-secret deep stuff I’m revealing to you and where would we be then?”

“You realise I’m the least threatening person you’ve probably ever come across, right?” Merlin quips, popping an olive into his mouth, unable to keep himself from grinning at their playful banter. “I’m a yoga teacher from Cardiff. I wouldn’t even know what to do with your dirty little secrets.”

“Oh, now my secrets are dirty,” Arthur hums thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow comically.

Merlin snickers and reaches for his drink to take another sip. He feels lightheaded and it’s not just the alcohol. He and Arthur are definitely at that stage where serious talk has given way to mostly flirting, and it’s exhilarating and there’s no mistaking Arthur’s interest now. If they were anywhere else, a club perhaps, or a regular bar, Merlin might have made a move already.

“Now you’ve got me interested! Any illicit affairs, criminal activities or sordid fantasies in your past or present?”

“Define sordid,” Arthur says dryly, smirking at him over the rim of his glass.

His gaze makes Merlin’s mouth dry and he swallows. “I could tell you, but I wouldn’t want to fluster you,” Merlin shoots back, studying Arthur closely and wondering how far this will go, how far they will let this go.

Arthur hums again. “I’m not easily flustered. But maybe you are,” he taunts, his eyes twinkling mockingly at Merlin.

“Any sordid thoughts on ill-advised one night stands with strangers?” Merlin blurts out, unable to help himself faced with Arthur’s flirtatious teasing.

“That’s more stupid than sordid.” Arthur gently puts his glass down and watches him carefully, expectantly.

“I guess it depends,” Merlin says hoarsely, holding Arthur’s gaze, heat travelling through his body and making him shift in his seat. Secretly, he thinks Arthur might be right. Stupid, it’s definitely stupid.

It’s Arthur who looks away first, glancing down at the bar top with a small, slightly abashed smile playing around his lips. “I guess,” he echoes, but he doesn’t raise his head again and Merlin feels the mood slip away as Arthur discreetly and subtly puts an end to their flirting.

“One more drink, though, right?” Arthur suggests quietly and hails over the waiter, not really looking at Merlin.

“Oh, definitely,” Merlin agrees, but when the waiter comes over he orders a tall glass of water instead of more alcohol.

It’s close to 10.30 p.m. when the bartender at the Lounge bar shoos them out for closing time. Arthur is reluctant to leave, even knowing that his bed at the TWA is waiting for him and he should get some shut-eye before his early morning flight.

“So,” Merlin says, rocking a bit on his feet, his hands pushed into the pockets of his joggers, “we could go and see if we find another place that’s still open.”

He looks hopeful and awkward as he stands there, waiting for Arthur’s answer and Arthur feels bad that he’s going to shoot him down. He is torn between doing the sensible thing and retiring to his hotel room, alone, and staying with Merlin for maybe coffee and more talk - Starbucks is still open. The truth is: He doesn’t want to say goodbye just yet. It’s ridiculous, because he will need some sleep and they will see each other tomorrow when boarding the plane, but he’s had such a good time with Merlin and he doesn’t want it to end.

He’s just about to make a decision, probably the sensible one, when a passerby stumbles into him and knocks him forward, causing him to careen into Merlin. He reaches out to catch himself, his hands finding purchase on Merlin’s hoodie as they both stumble and sway unsteadily.

“Hey, sorry,” the man who bumped into him calls, quite obviously drunk and barely able to stand on his own two feet. “By the way, you guys are standing underneath a mistletoe,” he says helpfully and with a snicker, before continuing on his way.

Arthur, his hands still fisted in Merlin’s hoodie, glances up and yes, indeed, there’s a fake mistletoe dangling right above their heads, part of a christmas decoration from a duty free shop.

“Oh,” he breathes, eyeing the hideous fake greenery with distaste. “This has to be one of the most annoying Christmas traditions ever.” He slowly uncurls his fingers from Merlin’s hoodie and is about to take a step back, when Merlin suddenly surges forward, eyes half-lidded, pressing their mouths together.

His lips are soft but firm and Arthur’s eyes flutter close in surprise as he gasps. It’s a brief kiss, just a quick press of lips and Merlin pulls away seconds later, but still Arthur sways forward into him, involuntarily moving towards the lure of Merlin’s mouth. It’s a quicksilver reaction, not one he makes consciously, but in that very moment all he can think about is that he doesn’t want the kiss to end already.

A hand lands on his chest and stays there, and he opens his eyes to find Merlin flushed and wide-eyed, biting his lip and looking hesitant and apologetic. “Oh shit, I’m sorry…”

Merlin looks adorably chagrined, his blue eyes wide, his mouth hanging open a bit. His mouth, that Arthur just felt against his lips. His beautiful, lush, very kissable mouth.

“Sod it,” Arthur curses, because Merlin’s mouth makes rational thought fly out of the window and he steps forward, crowding Merlin back underneath the mistletoe in an unmistakable demand to be kissed again.

Merlin blinks and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, considering him quietly for a moment, before he seems to make up his mind and leans in again, brushing their mouths together in a teasing, open-mouthed caress that sends heat through Arthur’s body.

With a groan, Arthur allows Merlin to deepen the kiss, welcoming the lick of Merlin’s tongue into his mouth, shivering at the hint of teeth on his bottom lip. Merlin makes a soft, hot little sound, mutters something low and possibly filthy and reaches up to fist one hand into Arthur’s short hair to tug him closer.

It’s a first kiss unlike any Arthur can remember. There’s no awkward smashing of teeth nor are there any bumping noses. Merlin’s mouth slots perfectly over his and the gentle, slow swipes of his tongue make his toes curl in his dress shoes.

It’s insane, Arthur thinks hazily. He’s kissing a stranger at the airport, someone he didn’t even know existed mere hours ago. It’s good, it’s actually glorious, much better than it probably should be, both exciting and startlingly familiar. Merlin’s mouth feels right, he tastes right.

Arthur’s hands come up to fist in Merlin’s hoodie, tugging him closer, and Merlin moans against his lips, soft and open-mouthed and full of longing.

When they break apart to gasp for air, Merlin is looking at him with a soft smile playing around his lips. “Shit,” he laughs, the smile turning into a full fledged grin, slightly manic.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur mutters disdainfully, but when Merlin tugs at him again, he follows willingly and meets Merlin’s parted mouth with his own halfway. The kiss is growing heated and dirty and Arthur whimpers when Merlin bites the fleshy part of his bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth, before swiping his tongue across the sting soothingly. Their tongues tangle and dance with each other and Merlin’s lips are soft and wet, applying just the right amount of pressure for Arthur to feel the sensation of the kiss down to his toes. He can’t remember kissing anyone so desperately and needy in quite a while, certainly not someone he just met. It’s sexy and filthy and completely inappropriate considering where they are and he sinks into the haziness of arousal, feeling the world narrow down to Merlin’s mouth and hands and the press of his warm body against his.

He’s startled out the moment when someone wolf whistles from behind them loudly. “Get a room, you two!”

Merlin starts snickering against his lips until he finally breaks the kiss, and when Arthur reluctantly opens his eyes, Merlin is still grinning, his hair dishevelled and sticking up in little tufts at the back of his head where Arthur’s fingers must have curled into the soft strands. “Uhm…” he says, looking unsure for a moment, his gaze flickering between Arthur’s lips and eyes, his mouth a bit swollen and wet.

He looks so good, rumpled and flushed, and before Arthur knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning in again. They sway and stumble and Merlin slumps against the window display with a soft thud and Arthur has no idea what the hell he is doing, only that he wants to keep doing this, just this, for as long as he can, possibly forever. Merlin’s mouth drags obscene little noises from him, noises that would shock him, if he weren’t otherwise occupied.

It’s like he’s fifteen again, overwhelmed by an uncontrollable surge of lust and want without any thought given to propriety or decency. He doesn’t care where he is, he doesn’t care that he’s in public, he doesn’t care that he’s kissing a man. He just want to keep kissing Merlin, Merlin who is like a drug, who tastes like sex smells and who keeps fucking Arthur’s mouth with his tongue as if they were doing other things. Sordid things, Arthur thinks.

With a gasp, Arthur pulls back for air, his chest heaving.

“I booked a room at the TWA,” Arthur hears himself say hoarsely, and the suggestion sounds impossibly lewd and outrageous. He almost doesn’t believe he actually said that. He’s briefly considering adding, “We could just share it. No strings attached,” but he would be lying. He wants Merlin in his bed, spread out on the white hotel room sheets, naked and gorgeous and aroused.

Blinking, Merlin bites his lip, but there’s a hazy softness around his eyes and he looks breathless. “Are you sure?” His words are rough and breathy and he looks flushed and also far more wrecked than anyone should look after just a bit of kissing.

“No,” Arthur says truthfully, startling an uproarious laugh out of Merlin.

“Me neither,” Merlin admits and continues chewing on his bottom lip, contemplating Arthur with a little frown. “But I want to,” he adds, reaching out to swipe his thumb over Arthur’s bottom lip like he can’t help himself.

I want you, Arthur thinks hazily, his mind supplying him with ideas of what could come of this. He wants to thread his fingers back into Merlin’s curls and strip his stupid leisure wear off him, explore his tattoos and the contours of his lithe body. He wants Merlin’s hands on him in return. He wonders where it could lead to, if Merlin would fuck him or rather offer his body for the taking. The thought of Merlin opening him up and sliding into him makes Arthur weak-kneed and sends a sharp tendril of heat through his body, causing his cock to twitch in his dress trousers.

Instead of an answer, Arthur clears his throat and reaches for Merlin’s hand, wrapping their fingers together. The touch feels intimate and thrilling.

“We need to take the train to Terminal 5,” he says, trying to sound casual and as if he isn’t just inviting this total stranger back to his hotel room to have sex with. His heart is drumming madly behind his rib cage.

Merlin doesn’t say a thing, but follows him when he starts walking. For all that they’ve talked practically non-stop since noon, they are silent now. Arthur’s mind is screaming at him, it’s waging a war between his desires and common sense, and he chooses not to listen to boring old common sense. Not with how Merlin’s hand is so warm in his.

Between them, the air feels charged, not fit for casual conversation.

On the train, they stand close, just a few inches apart, Merlin’s eyes never leaving his face. He looks earnest and grave, like they are about to commit a crime together maybe. Merlin’s index finger is drawing small circles on Arthur’s palm and the little touch feels like so much more, making Arthur shivery with want and all kinds of breathless.

It’s just a short ride, just one stop, and then another 5 minutes to the entrance. Merlin stands nearby while Arthur checks in, looking over a display of leaflets describing the various suites and amenities the TWA has to offer. After Arthur has arranged a wake-up call for 5 a.m., he reaches for his carry-on and turns towards Merlin.

“All right?” he asks and thinks that maybe he could still sidle out of this. Go back to the reception and book another room for Merlin and do the sensible thing, the prudent thing, not the thing his dick is telling him to do.

But if Merlin has any such thoughts, Merlin isn’t thinking with his brain, either, because he just nods and puts the leaflet back where he picked it up from, before walking towards the elevator. Arthur follows and can’t help but watch the way Merlin’s slim hips shift or how his joggers accentuate his pert arse.

Thinking, he concludes, might be highly overrated.

It’s almost a relief when the door closes behind them, Merlin thinks. He’s practically vibrating with the need to put his hands on Arthur now that permission has been given no matter how foolishly advised, and it has been excruciating but also kind of delicious (like the expectant wait before a joyful event) to have to track through half an airport on their way towards the hotel room.

He drops his canvas bag, then shrugs his mat strap off his shoulder hastily, both items falling onto the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Arthur has let go of his carry-on, carelessly depositing it in much the same way near the door where they are standing, before he turns around to face him.

He’s so gorgeous with his blond dishevelled hair, his blue eyes dark with anticipation, it nearly takes Merlin’s breath away, and he reaches out immediately at the same time Arthur touches him. They come together on a groan, Merlin’s hands cupping Arthur’s face as he slots their mouths back together. It’s just as good as the first time, better now, that they are not standing in an airport corridor surrounded by other people, better now, knowing that a flat surface is near, better now, that they have both decided what direction this is going.

And oh, but Arthur’s mouth is beautifully warm and open and he tastes of desire and lust. Merlin deepens the kiss, presses his tongue past Arthur’s soft lips and licks into his mouth, his fingers sliding from Arthur’s slightly stubbled cheeks to curl behind his ear. On his biceps, Arthur’s hands grip tightly, ten finger-point pressures of contact, digging in harshly.

Merlin sucks Arthur’s bottom lip between his own lips, lapping at the swollen flesh, moaning when Arthur whimpers and crowds forward, sinking into his body, making them both stumble. Merlin counteracts, puts all his weight into it and they stagger uncoordinatedly in the other direction, further into the room. Arthur lets Merlin direct him blindly, clutching at his hoodie and moaning into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Arthur whimpers when they both draw back to gasp for air, “fuck.” He sounds amazed and overwhelmed and his erection presses insistently against Merlin’s inner thigh where their legs are tangled together.

Groaning, Merlin reaches down to press his hand against the hard heat, touching Arthur through the fabric of his trousers, fingers outlining the length and girth of him. He’s so hard already, just from a bit of kissing, but Merlin can sympathise. He too is twitching in his loose joggers, his cock jumping with every pulse of arousal, seeping precome into his briefs. It’s a heady feeling knowing this is affecting them both so much and he feels a bit better about initiating a one-night stand with a cute stranger. It doesn’t seem such a bad idea right now, not with Arthur hot and eager against him.

“Fuck,” Arthur breathes again, his eyelids fluttering close, hips twitching forward as he presses his cock into Merlin’s palm.

“Let’s get you out of these trousers,” Merlin suggests, surprised about the rawness of his own voice, and he briefly glances over Arthur’s shoulder to ascertain that the bed - king-sized and beautifully made - is just a couple of steps behind them, before he crowds Arthur backward until Arthur’s knees hit the bed frame. He starts tugging Arthur’s dress shirt out of his trousers, impatiently pulling on it until Arthur lifts his hands and allows Merlin to jerk it off him. He emerges tousled and flushed, and Merlin doesn’t know whether to look at his lovely face with its pouty lips and blown eyes or take in all the naked skin of Arthur’s chest. He’s broad and built, with a smattering of fair chest hair and small, pebbled nipples.

Merlin doesn’t have long to contemplate all the things he wants to do to Arthur, because Arthur reaches for his own clothes, pulling just as impatiently. They both struggle with Merlin’s hoodie and Arthur laughs softly, a laugh that trails off into a soft gasp when they manage to free Merlin of his shirts.

“Shit, there are so many of them,” he says in awe, palm smoothing over the tattoos on Merlin’s arm and shoulder, his fingers pressing into the little colourful birds hidden between the foliage design.

Merlin meanwhile is moving his fingers over Arthur’s chest, trailing along defined pectorals, skimming over his pert, rosy nipples and tripping against the obliques down his side. You could tell earlier from the way Arthur wore his suit that he had an athletic body, but it’s different seeing it up close.

“Damn,” Merlin breathes in appreciation, because Arthur is a whole package of gorgeous, then ultimately decides to put his mouth to better use and press his lips against Arthur’s neck, nosing down to trail his tongue over a collarbone. Against him, Arthur is shivering, his hands coming up to clutch at Merlin’s hair. Arthur’s skin tastes salty and spicy, and Merlin mouths across his nipple, briefly taking it into his mouth to tug on it with his teeth. Above him, Arthur hisses softly, but cards his hands through Merlin’s curls and lets him explore.

Reluctantly, Merlin pulls back, shaking off the brief feeling of regret. He would love to take his time with Arthur and could see himself enjoying Arthur’s body for hours on end, to make Arthur writhe and moan, only they don’t have that kind of time, they just have now. With a light push, he shoves Arthur down onto the bed before he follows him on all fours. Arthur’s hands are skimming down his sides, fingertips scratching against his skin, causing him to hiss.

He makes short work of both their trousers, before pushing himself down against Arthur’s naked body, the contact eliciting a moan from both of them. Arthur’s skin is hot and smooth against him, his muscles and bones hard.

“You feel so good,” Arthur says, his voice strange, clipped and overwhelmed, and his hands are frantic on Merlin’s lower back, savage when they cup his arse and squeezes. “And damn, you have the most amazing arse,” he adds almost like an afterthought with a delighted chuckle.

Merlin kisses him, eats the words of praise from his mouth, thrilled when Arthur pushes from below and rolls them over. He catches Arthur’s wrists in his hands and tugs him closer and Arthur moans against his mouth in surprise. Arthur likes being manhandled, Merlin figures, but he likes to be the one calling the shots, too, and that suits Merlin just fine.

He presses hard into the kiss and rolls them around again, and Arthur laughs against his mouth.

“I want to fuck you,” Merlin says bluntly, “if that’s all right with you.”

Arthur’s laughter hitches and his breath stutters. For a moment he looks wide-eyed, but then he nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, “yeah.”

“Just let me get…” Merlin mutters and points towards the door where he left his canvas bag. Arthur nods, looking relieved, and Merlin crosses the distance to his bag in a few strides, crouching down to rifle through his bag. In one of the inner pocket he finds what he’s looking for, a strip of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

When he comes back, Arthur has pushed himself up onto his elbows, watching him with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He looks a bit nervous, but also eager, his cock flushed and tightly pressed against his abs, and Merlin crawls back up over him, letting the small bottle of lube and the strip of condoms drop next to Arthur’s hip. He reaches out to wrap his hands around Arthur’s cock, giving it a couple of good, tight strokes that make Arthur drop back on the bed and close his eyes on a groan.

“Here,” Merlin mutters, reaches for Arthur’s right hand, because that was the one Arthur touched him with earlier, and wraps their combined fingers around Arthur’s cock, dictating a slow rhythm, before letting go. Arthur bites his lips and blinks, but does as he is told, stroking himself slowly, and Merlin feels his own cock jump at the image of Arthur’s fingers, long but elegant, sliding up and down the length of his cock.

He fumbles with the lube, squeezing some of it out onto his fingers, before reaching for Arthur’s legs. Arthur shivers when he pushes his left leg up and outwards to reveal his pucker, dusky and wrinkled. When Merlin touches him there, he bucks, his hand faltering on his cock, a breathless moan spilling from his lips. He’s responsive and short of breath, moaning when Merlin circles his wet finger around Arthur’s rim, teasing at the pucker, enjoying its hot, damp and excited twitch underneath his hands, before pressing a finger inside. Above him, Arthur makes a needy and relieved sound, dropping his hand from his cock and twisting his fingers into the sheets instead. He’s beautiful like that, all spread out, his muscle tense and defined, his cock leaking onto his stomach, painting clear fluid onto his abs.

Merlin gnaws on his bottom lip and twists his finger slightly, feeling around in the soft heat of Arthur’s body, before he strokes another inside. Arthur’s tight and he clenches around Merlin’s fingers and it makes Merlin’s head swim, imagining that clench around his cock.

“Good?” he asks, but it’s an unnecessary question, because Arthur’s head is dipped back and his face is full of wonder, cheeks flushed, mouth slack. Arthur groans an affirmation, not quite words, but an agreement nonetheless and Merlin shifts his hand and teases a third finger against the rim of Arthur’s pucker, pressing until he can slip the tip inside. Arthur’s muscles flutter around him and he pushes on a smooth stroke, dragging out on another one, amazed when Arthur all but howls. He fucks him slowly on his fingers, getting much too worked up by the way Arthur is twisting on the sheets, seemingly far gone in his head just from the touch of Merlin’s fingers there. Merlin has to press his free hand against the base of his own cock for just a moment, or he’ll be tempted to just reach down and strip his cock with his free hand. There’s a thought, and he whimpers at the idea of doing just that, fucking Arthur’s arse with his fingers and bringing himself off to come all over Arthur. He thinks of his come hitting Arthur’s perfect abs and beautiful cock and how it would look pearling on his flushed skin and he groans and pulls his fingers out of Arthur’s tight heat.

Arthur makes an undignified sound and his eyes fly open. His mouth is wetly parted and he looks wrecked, and Merlin licks his lips and fumbles with the condom wrapper, ripping it open and rolling the condom down on his cock, before reaching for Arthur’s legs.

He locks eyes with Arthur, before pushing his legs up and shuffling forward onto his knees. Arthur’s gaze on him is intense, his face flushed with arousal. He tenses when Merlin presses against him, a needy sound escaping him. Merlin strokes a soothing hand over Arthur’s flank.

“Relax, just look at me,” he coaxes, and Arthur does, bites his lip and stares up at him. Merlin presses forward and swivels his hips, watches Arthur’s face as he slides inside, slowly, but with intent. Arthur’s eyes flutter and his mouth falls open on a groan, and Merlin leans down and kisses him, pressing their mouths together sloppily. Heat zings up his body from where they are connected, where Arthur closes around him hot and so tight.

Merlin starts to move carefully, a slow drag back that nonetheless feels rough, a gentle push forward. Beneath him, Arthur is gasping, clutching his arm and shoulder with hard fingers, mouth parted. Arthur’s body warms up to him and he speeds up his movement, feeling victorious when Arthur starts pushing back into his touch. Soon they are moving in sync, their skin slapping together and Merlin puts more force into his thrusts. He shifts Arthur’s leg up higher and moves closer, but Arthur’s leg puts a barrier between them, keeping him from leaning down and kissing Arthur’s gasping mouth.

With a grunt, he lets Arthur’s leg slide from his shoulder before hauling him up and onto his lap. The new angle makes Arthur yelp, probably in surprise and because of the different angle, and he shifts restlessly, his eyes wide and startled.

“Hold on,” he gasps, planting a hand on Merlin’s chest, “hold on,” before he lowers himself slowly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Yeah,” Merlin breathes and leans in, eating the whimper from Arthur’s lips. He reaches down, cups Arthur’s arse cheeks and starts pressing upward, his movement bringing them even closer together until he feels like there isn’t an inch of air between them. Arthur is sweaty and warm across his thighs, all slick and heated skin. Merlin starts to roll his hips, and Arthur just takes it for a moment, head falling back on a moan, before he starts pushing himself down. For a while they rock like that, and Merlin searches out Arthur’s mouth again. It’s good like that, amazing even, a rhythm built between hips and mouths. When Arthur starts trembling with the telltale signs of approaching orgasm, he draws back from their kiss and instead snaps his hips hard, digging the fingers of his left hand into Arthur’s hips, while his right wraps around Arthur’s cock.

Arthur gets the drift, starts riding him in earnest, and it’s crazy and wild and hard for about a minute or maybe two, the bed shaking beneath them, before Arthur tenses and clenches around him, pulsing over Merlin’s fingers in jerky spurts with a cry. Merlin lets go and wraps his arms around Arthur, presses his face into his sweaty shoulder and slams up into him, one, twice, three times, before he comes, too, grinding his hips hard into Arthur’s body until he is spent.

Merlin comes down slowly. Against his face, Arthur pants out big, gulping breaths. His thighs are trembling where they rest atop Merlin’s and Merlin strokes his side, smoothing his hands over the soft warmth of Arthur’s flank.

“Okay,” Arthur says breathlessly. “Okay… that was…”

“... brilliant idea, actually,” Merlin says.

“...amazing,” Arthur finishes, sounding awed and intoxicated, his words slurred.

“...pretty wild, too,” Merlin adds, smothering a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss against Arthur’s neck.

“...just really fucking good.”

“Better than I thought it would be.”

“Oh, very definitely better,” Arthur agrees and then shifts on Merlin’s lap with a small hitch of his breath.

They fumble around for a moment and Merlin gets rid of the condom. His legs are shaky when he gets up and walks towards the bathroom to dispose of it. In the bathroom mirror he finds his reflection looking at him with soft, crazed eyes, his hair standing up every which way. His mouth is red and his cheeks have the reddish marks of stubble burn. On his chest, white streaks of come glisten and he quickly washes himself off, before wetting a towel and taking it with him to the bedroom.

On the bed, Arthur is sprawled out with one arm flung over his face, his chest still rising and falling quickly. He doesn’t say a word nor does he flinch when Merlin steps closer and cleans him up, before flinging the used towel to the floor.

When he sinks down on the bed again, Arthur removes his arms from his face and glances at him, a look that is likely to undo Merlin, because it’s soft and earnest. With a sigh, Merlin reaches for Arthur, pulling him close, until their lips find each other again. It’s unexpectedly tender now that the urgency is gone. Arthur’s mouth tastes irresistible and Merlin can’t get enough of it. He doesn’t know what to say, feeling strangely content and inexplicably drawn towards Arthur. Peculiarly, he feels like he has known Arthur forever, while at the same time, his heart beats that little bit quicker with the excitement of the unknown. The duality of his feelings unsettle him, but he decides to not dwell on it, but to rather enjoy the moment for all that it is.

Chapter Text

When Arthur wakes he’s disoriented for all of three seconds, before he realises he’s still at the hotel room at the TWA at JFK airport. The light is dim in the room, but someone - Merlin, his mind helpfully supplies - has switched on the small lamp on the writing desk. Merlin, who is doing physically impossible things on his yoga mat, at least as far as Arthur is concerned.

He sucks in a soft breath and looks at his wristwatch, grateful for its luminous dials and pointers. It’s 4.20 a.m., much too early and he maybe slept for 2, 3 hours. It’s definitely too early to move, least at all do the kind of mind-boggling things Merlin is doing.

Arthur blinks and pushes himself up on his elbow, watching Merlin twist and flow, his body pale and strong in the soft, warm light.

Merlin is moving on his mat, but it’s nothing like the practice Arthur witnessed yesterday at the airport. He’s not simply going through stretches and balance poses, but flowing through a sequence where his feet don’t even touch the floor. It’s like he’s defying gravity, his body taut and athletic. He goes up into a very controlled handstand, before bringing his knees back down to settle them on his upper arms. He pauses briefly, his back bowed, breathing evenly, in, out, in, out, in, out, before scissoring his legs and dipping to one side. Arthur can’t even begin to understand what kind of strength is necessary to do this, but Merlin makes it look calm and effortless.

He watches Merlin go up into another handstand pose with his legs dipped over his head, poised, his stomach rising and falling with his even breaths, before he moves his legs back into a straight line with a controlled and smooth movement and comes to rest in a plank pose.

Arthur must have made a sound, because Merlin looks sideway, a small smile stealing onto his face.

“Oh, you’re up,” he says and pushes himself to his feet gracefully. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He crosses the distance from his mat to the bed in three short strides and settles down on the pillow next to Arthur, clad only in his briefs.

“You don’t have to stop on my account,” Arthur suggests half-heartedly, but as nice as it was to watch Merlin doing insanely beautiful and mesmerizing things with his body, he’d rather have him here, in his bed.

Merlin shrugs. “I’m nearly done, anyway. I just wanted a quick morning practice before I step onto the plane. It grounds me.” He pauses, then adds, wrinkling his nose cutely, “If you can’t tell, I hate flying. It makes me nervous.”

“That was pretty hot,” Arthur murmurs, reaching out and trailing his fingers over Merlin’s torso, rubbing over the dark hair on his pale chest. “You are pretty hot.” He finds he likes the kind of muscle Merlin packs, lean and not very showy, but wiry. There’s nothing buff about him, not a single muscle blown up to adhere to a certain look the way most men at the gym - Arthur included - strive for, but he saw how strong Merlin is, felt it hours earlier when Merlin hauled him into his lap. The thought makes him blush as arousal spikes through him.

Merlin snorts at his words. “Thanks. I’m actually clumsy by design, so it’s a wonder I didn’t fall on my face and took half the hotel room with me.”

“Clumsy by design... “ Arthur says and rolls his eyes, but he’s distracted by the soft skin of Merlin’s belly and the trail of dark hair that vanishes in his briefs. He scratches his fingers gently against it, watching as Merlin’s abs jump at the touch, his index finger following the trail down until the tip of his digit trips over the elastic band of Merlin’s briefs. When he looks up, Merlin is watching him heatedly.

“Sex and yoga do pretty much the same to relax me before a flight,” Merlin says mischievously, like he is divulging vital, but top-secret, information.

“You should have skipped your practice then and woken me up, so we can both be relaxed,” Arthur counters playfully, enjoying the naughty grin on Merlin’s face. “That was very selfish of you.”

Merlin snorts out more laughter before he leans in and brings their mouths together. It’s a soft, gentle kiss at first, but it ignites something in Arthur, wakes him, lights him up in a way he can’t remember kissing ever doing for him. Merlin’s hands find their way easily onto his still naked, bed-warm skin and soon they are rolling around in the sheets, tussling for supremacy, even though Arthur is pretty sure where it’s going to lead to.

He wants to feel Merlin inside him again. Yes, he might be interested in having Merlin too, but given the limited time they have and taking into consideration that Arthur had a rather significant dry spell when it comes to being fucked, it’s clear to him that there’s no choice. There’s not a lot to strip - Arthur is still naked and Merlin loses his briefs quickly. Sweat is already beading on both their skins, making the slide of cock against cock smooth and slippery.

“You feel really good,” Merlin moans and rolls his hips, nipping at Arthur’s shoulder with his teeth like he can’t help himself, before he laps his tongue over the sting almost apologetically.

“You’d feel even better inside me.” Arthur’s body is still singing with the sensations from last night, slightly achy and sore and empty and all he can think about is Merlin slotting himself inside him again.

“Fuck, yes,” Merlin agrees and flips them over, until Arthur is splayed out beneath him.

Arthur grins at the way Merlin’s hands are unsteady when he reaches for the strip of condoms on the nightstand which they valiantly tried to reduce last night despite a rather limited time frame available and he turns around and pushes himself up onto his knees.

“Fuck,” Merlin mutters again roughly from behind him, but his hands are gentle on Arthur’s hips as he pulls him backwards. Arthur closes his eyes in anticipation and twists his hand in the sheets, trembling with need. It’s a little bit scary, this intensity, like Merlin is a drug and Arthur is an addict waiting for his fix. He’s still surprised how good it was last night, how perfectly they moved together, how hard he came.

Merlin is quick in his preparation, mostly toying with his pucker for a moment like he wants to ascertain that Arthur is still loose, and Arthur doesn’t need much of it anyway, his muscles relaxed, his body aroused. It’s still a bit of a shock when Merlin slides into him in one smooth movement, his fingers digging into Arthur’s hips as he settles with a groan.

Arthur’s moan is loud in the room and he bunches his shoulders, shifting to adjust to the press of Merlin’s dick in him. Merlin’s hands move up his back, applying gentle pressure before sliding into his hair where the fingers curl and twist and tug. “Please,” Arthur says, a little embarrassed by how raw he sounds.

“Please what?,” Merlin asks breathlessly and starts to move his hips in gentle, smooth thrusts.

Arthur presses his heated face against his arms and shifts again, tilting his hips until he feels Merlin’s cock rub and nudge against his prostate. He doesn’t care that he’s on his knees in front of this stranger, that he’s writhing and moaning and panting, because nothing has felt as good in a long time. “Harder,” he gasps out, beyond shame, frustrated with the controlled, slow movement. He just wants to feel, have Merlin take him back to the place where nothing matters but sensation.

“Right,” Merlin hisses, but he pulls Arthur’s hips closer and higher and thrusts harder. It’s not enough yet, but the angle is better, and Arthur mewls and pants into the pillow, spreading his legs a bit farther and concentrating on the hard slide of Merlin inside him.

“Harder,” he demands, astonished how his voice is hoarse and maybe a bit desperate, and behind him, Merlin curses and presses down on his upper back, his hips jerking.

“Shit, Arthur,” he moans, “touch yourself. I can’t do harder for long, you have to help me out here.”

Arthur does as he’s told, reaches under himself and cups his cock and Merlin gives a soft sigh and starts pounding into him in earnest. It’s good, it’s so good, just like Arthur wanted, and he gives up stroking himself after a minute, fisting the sheets, feeling like his body is going to fly apart. He’s loud, but it’s so good, and Merlin is equally vocal behind him, panting and groaning with every hard thrust, his hands holding Arthur’s hips and pressing down on the small of his back.

It’s rough, but in a good, urgent way and Arthur’s mind goes hazy and his vision white. Merlin feels amazing driving into him, body curled over Arthur’s back, his panting breath shivering over Arthur’s sweaty skin with every hoarse groan. He comes without having to touch himself, just from Merlin hitting his prostate in a precise pattern. White noise rushes in his ears and he feels like he might have passed out for a moment. When sensation returns, Merlin is clutching him desperately, having slumped over his body, his hips twitching with aftershocks, practically sobbing into his neck, his breath loud and ragged.

It takes them a moment to untangle themselves and then the embarrassment hits. He never lets go like this during sex and certainly not with a stranger. Arthur glances at the watch, figures they fucked for maybe fifteen minutes, but it feels like he’s been somewhere out of this world. He’s reluctant to look Merlin in the eye, so he staggers upward and stumbles towards the bathroom on legs that don’t quite know what they are usually used for. There’s a dull pain in his lower stomach and the sensation of his sphincter muscle tightening is weird and makes him blush.

In his head, his aroused pleas for harder, more, echo. He can’t remember when he let himself go like that, and he doesn’t have the excuse of alcohol anymore. He steps into the shower unsteadily and quickly washes himself down, cleans himself as best as he can and tries not to flinch at the sloppy soreness of his arse.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Merlin is already dressed in a comfy, loose pair of jeans and a t-shirt, sitting on the bed and looking through his smartphone. He glances up when Arthur steps into the room.

“Wake up call came. We should leave, maybe get some breakfast before check-in?” he suggests, and it’s all so very calm and normal and not as if they just fucked their brains out fifteen minutes earlier.

“You want to use the bathroom?” Arthur asks instead of answering, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to eat anything. His stomach is still churning and he feels totally out of sorts, considering he just had sex with a man, repeatedly. And it has been… oh, years. He thought he was over it after university. So what if it’s slightly awkward? Or maybe it’s just him?

Merlin looks at him contemplatively, then nods and tosses his phone back on the bed, before he strides over to where Arthur is still standing around in the middle of the room, indecisive, with a towel wrapped around his hips. He slows when he approaches Arthur, seems to hesitate for a moment, but then he leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to his mouth.

Arthur tries not to get carried away again, but it’s difficult when Merlin’s kiss is like a warm, pleasant wave and their lips part reluctantly. When Merlin finally steps back, there’s a small smile on his face. His hand, which he settled on Arthur’s hips above the towel, slides upwards and smooths over his side.

“See you in a bit,” he says and bites his lip, before trailing past Arthur towards the bathroom.

Arthur fights very hard to not turn and watch him, only getting into motion himself when he hears the bathroom door close behind Merlin. He shudders out a sigh, trying to shake off the residual desire that’s still present despite all his various aches and walks over to his suitcase to get out fresh clothes for the day.

He dresses quickly, shaking off the mild panic lingering at what has happened since last night. He takes a couple of deep breaths until he feels the tension ease from his limbs. He can’t remember feeling anything like what he’s feeling right now for Merlin for a man before. Nor for a woman, come to think about it. It’s scary and intense as well as unprecedented and he doesn’t understand how these feelings could come on so quickly. He doesn’t even know the man, but the bubbly, excited feeling in the pit of his stomach feels suspiciously like what Arthur always assumed being in love might feel like.

Arthur has always been quite okay with having had experiences with men in the past. He has always known that he was attracted to men and women both and there had never been any need for rebellion, for proving himself, not even to himself. Maybe that’s why he just let things happen and it just so happened that he’s never known a lot of gay men and the prospect of finding a male partner was slim. It was convenient, he never had to step out of his comfort zone and declare himself to the world. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, but he’s 30 now, and people have already labelled him as clearly heterosexual. The expectations are there: He’s going to find a nice girl and marry and make babies.

When Merlin returns from the bathroom, his face freshly scrubbed and looking terribly good, so good in fact that Arthur feels like tumbling him into the sheets again, the panic has left. Nobody knows him here. There’s no one to explain this to. Right now, it’s only a fling, nothing serious.

He reaches for Merlin, pulling him close and pressing their mouths together, delighted when Merlin laughs against his lips with surprise. It’s a good sound and it makes the butterflies in Arthur’s stomach flutter.

No matter what happens after they touch down in London, he wants to have this, as long as it lasts.

Arthur manages to change seats with the elderly American man occupying the seat next to Merlin, and it’s somewhat of a relief having him so close. Take-off rattles Merlin’s nerves as usual and he squeezes his eyes shut and grips the edge of his seat, fingers digging in hard, attempting a simple breathing exercise to calm him down. Surprisingly, it’s Arthur’s hand warm on his thigh, applying firm pressure, thumb stroking across the fabric of his jeans that does the trick. Arthur keeps his hand on his thigh, a comforting, startlingly familiar presence, until they are well up in the air and the fasten seatbelt sign goes off.

“Thank you,” Merlin says hoarsely as he opens his eyes, knowing his smile must be a bit weak. “It gets me every time.”

Arthur just hums and pats his leg, before changing the subject completely, a welcome distraction, but also a kind dismissal of Merlin’s nerves.

Gladly, they are served breakfast almost immediately, and while it’s not the best English breakfast Merlin ever had, it’s halfway decent and the coffee is hot. They fall back into an easy conversation and Merlin is surprised that just like yesterday, they are so tuned into each other that their talk flows easily. Their interaction swings from silly at times to deep and intriguing and there’s enough teasing and banter to have them chortling, grinning at each other. It’s easy to continue flirting with Arthur, even easier brushing his mouth against Arthur’s ear and whispering something dirty into it and Merlin is delighted at the way Arthur ducks his head and the tips of his ears grow red and hot. Merlin is surprised to realise that he feels safe with Arthur, as if he has known him for much longer than a mere 24 hours.

For a while they watch one of the inflight movies together, making fun of the stupid action storyline. When Arthur gets quiet, Merlin knows he must be tired from lack of sleep and Merlin isn’t very astonished when Arthur’s weight grows heavy at his side. He lets him sleep, carefully pulling the earphones from his ears, then settles in for a nap as well.

When he wakes up next, they are already circling over London Heathrow and Arthur is reading a newspaper next to him.

“Hey,” Arthur says softly, lowers the paper into his lap and smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You missed half the flight, lucky sod.”

Merlin stretches and rubs his eyes. “Once I get over the initial fright of take-off, I get really tired during travel.” Secretly he thinks it’s a shame he missed it, because it also means he lost precious time with Arthur. The thought occurs that once they have landed, they will go their separate ways. He wonders if he will ever hear from Arthur again. Somehow, taking into consideration Arthur’s erstwhile reaction to his flirting last night, he’s not so sure he will.The idea makes his stomach churn.

“Well, the whole ordeal is over now,” Arthur says and folds his newspaper and pushes it carelessly into the small pocket of the seat in front of him.

“I wouldn’t have minded spending some more time with you,” Merlin replies honestly. If he’s going to make an arse out of himself, he might as well start now, before Arthur is swept away by circumstance.

Arthur contemplates him for a moment, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, he’s not directly responding to Merlin’s words.

“Aren’t you looking forward to spending time with your family?” Arthur asks, sounding slightly puzzled. There’s a tiny frown on the bridge of his nose, just the smallest crease of skin, and damn, if Merlin doesn’t find it adorable.

Merlin nods, because he does, but the thought of parting ways with Arthur is appalling.

“Very,” he answers Arthur's question. At home, the first guests will be arriving soon to bake biscuits and make toffee. The thought makes him instantly homesick and every hour he misses feels precious. “Have you settled into your fate yet about spending time with your family then?”

Arthur grimaces and rolls his eyes. “I’m still trying to convince myself there’s a way out. I haven’t quite brought myself to tell them I had a flight back home.”

“You didn’t call them yet?” Merlin asks, astonished. If he’s travelling and his mother doesn’t hear from him every ten hours or so, she would send the police after him.

“We’re not that close,” Arthur shrugs, but there’s a blush on his face and when he clears his throat, he sounds slightly nervous. “But well, they expect me at dinner on the 25th.”

Merlin can hardly comprehend being so estranged from his family, but while he’s still looking for words, the plane starts to descend and he has to breathe in and out steadily to quell his rising anxiety.

“The landing, too, huh?” Arthur says compassionately and puts his hand back on Merlin’s knee, like he did during take-off.

It takes them half an hour to get through passport control, and another 15 minutes to get to baggage claim. Merlin’s legs are still a bit shaky, but he’s slowly regaining control of his muscles. As usual, he feels slightly wobbly and disconnected after a flight. Everything is too bright and too loud, probably because the pressure plays havoc with his ears. The baggage claim hall is busy, but as usual it takes a while for the luggage to arrive on the conveyor belts.

Nervous energy grips Merlin as they wait. It feels unreal to stand here with Arthur, a man he has only known for a little over 24 hours. He can’t imagine saying goodbye to him, can’t imagine walking towards the Europcar rental on his own. He’s so not ready to have Arthur walk out of his life, not like this, not when he feels like he just found him, this person who seems so very special, like he is made for him. It’s a silly thought, because Merlin doesn’t usually consider himself a romantic and he scoffs when other people talk about destiny or fate, as if these things could ever determine one’s life.

Merlin’s luggage arrives first and he makes a dive for it, dragging his threadbare duffle bag from the belt. Moments later, Arthur makes a dash for his own suitcase, a sleek and black hardshell case.

“So,” Merlin says, once they both have dragged their luggage out of the fray and towards a less bustling area near the wall, hating how awkward he feels. Is he supposed to just ask for Arthur’s number? Maybe he should suggest a meet-up? Arthur will probably shoot him down, he’s sure. If the mistletoe incident hadn’t happened, they definitely wouldn’t have had sex. Panic grips him at the thought of never seeing Arthur again.

“Guess this is goodbye then?” Arthur says haltingly, his eyes flitting from Merlin’s face down to his duffle and back up again, gaze like an anxious bird, not settling anywhere for long.

Swallowing, Merlin bites his lip. He doesn’t want this to be goodbye. He wants to reach out and pull Arthur close and kiss him and not let him go. He wants it with an intensity that’s a little bit scary if he’s honest with himself.

“Come with me,” he hears himself blurt out, and he blinks once the words are out, completely shocked by his own suggestion. He didn’t know he would say it until the words spilled from his lips.

“I… what?” Arthur asks and looks at him with a flummoxed expression.

“Come with me to Wales,” Merlin repeats, his voice hoarse. The idea is outrageous, not so much because he’s taking home a stranger for Christmas, because no one will bat an eyelash back in Ealdor and one more person in the house will not make much of a difference, but because nobody wants to spend Christmas with strangers in a strange home.

He expects Arthur to laugh or back away from him like Merlin is a first class weirdo, but Arthur’s answer surprises him.

“Oh God, yes,” he says impulsively, steadfastly.

“Uhmmm… what?” Merlin stammers, not quite sure he heard Arthur’s answer right. But no, Arthur looks wide-eyed, but determined.

“Won’t your mother mind?” Arthur inquires before Merlin can ask him to confirm his affirmation.

“She won’t!” Merlin hastens to say, feeling suddenly feverish with excitement. “The house is full of people. One more person doesn’t really make a difference.” Merlin laughs, feeling his panic recede, a heavy weight dropping from his shoulders, hilarity taking its place.

“I… I’d love to come. I don’t want to impose-” Arthur mutters, his face flushed a bright red, looking more like a naughty little boy than a grown-up man of approximately 30. He seems unsure all of a sudden, as if the magnitude of what he agreed to only now comes to mind.

In lieu of an answer, Merlin bridges the gap between them and kisses him, curling his fingers around Arthur’s ears as he holds him close. It’s so easy to kiss Arthur, to slot their mouths together and steal both their breaths away.

“I really want you to spend Christmas with me,” he whispers hoarsely once they break apart. He’s still clutching Arthur’s face, and laughter bubbles up in him, giddy and excited, making him feel like a lunatic.

“Okay, okay,” Arthur says, looking bewildered, and Merlin kisses him again, giggling against Arthur’s lips.

Stupid, he thinks quietly, but he pushes the thought away happily and focuses on the smooth glide of Arthur’s mouth against his.

It’s late when they finally make it to the small town just south of the Brecon Beacon national park where Merlin hails from. Wales surprisingly already had its first snow of the season and the streets are wet and icy. Shortly before they pass Cardiff it starts to snow. Arthur is glad that Merlin is driving the rental car, because he isn’t used to driving in this kind of weather. The time difference is helpful, because Arthur isn’t too tired, but he feels disoriented because it’s so dark outside. It feels both earlier and much later at the same time and he recognises it as the first sign of oncoming jet lag.

Merlin parks the car rather haphazardly alongside an overgrown hedge in what is seemingly the middle of nowhere. It’s pitch black outside once he turns off the floodlights and they sit in the heated warmth of the car for another moment in silence, before Merlin turns to him.

“Ready to meet my Mum?”

He says it comically, like he is completely aware of how weird this all is, but in the dim light from overhead, his face is nervous and pinched, as if he is wondering whether Arthur will take the car back to London this very moment.

Arthur nods and Merlin exhales a soft sigh, before opening the seat belt and pushing the driver’s side door open. Arthur follows suit. Under his feet, snow and gravel crunch and he slips slightly on the icy ground, needing to reach out for the car door to steady himself before he falls. He rounds the car carefully and together they heave their luggage out of the trunk.

Arthur follows Merlin through a small gate in the hedge and down a badly lit path through the snow. He can’t see much, it’s very dark and the streetlamp on the street outside the garden is the only light source, but the garden seems dense or maybe overgrown, tall trees looming like large shadows and he’s careful where he’s walking. They round a corner and Arthur is relieved to see there’s actually a house hidden behind the tall trees, with a small front porch and christmas lights strung up around the entrance. Light spills warmly from several windows, giving it a cosy, welcoming feel.

Merlin has barely rung the bell, when the door opens and a small woman throws herself at him, flinging her arms around his wiry frame. She’s only reaching to the middle of his chest, but she pushes herself up on her tiptoes, gripping him with such force that he stumbles and drops his duffle bag.

“Mum,” he wheezes, but he hugs her back, stooping a bit to press his face into her hair.

“You made it,” she says cheerfully, beaming as she slowly draws back and lets him straighten again.

“I told you I would.”

“We saved you some food. And I made sure Gwaine didn’t drink all of the eggnog.”

It’s only when she lets go of Merlin, that her eyes land on Arthur and she smiles. “You must be Arthur,” she says warmly and before he knows what is happening, she has reached out and is hugging him too, albeit much more sedately.

Arthur can’t remember the last time someone just hugged him, and he tries not to show that he is embarrassed, so he hugs back awkwardly. It feels good. She smells like sugar biscuits and mulled wine and it’s rather comforting.

“I’m Hunith. Come in, please,” she says when she lets go, picking up her son’s duffle bag and ushering them inside.

The entryway of the house is narrow and the floor is a jumble of discarded boots. The wardrobe is overflowing with coats and scarfs. Carefully, Arthur navigates the mess on the floor, following Merlin’s example to simply drop his shoes right where he toes them off. He finds a spot to put his luggage and tosses his coat and scarf over it. From seemingly out of nowhere, a red tabby weaves through Merlin’s legs, waiting to be petted and he crouches, picking her up.

They follow Hunith further inside through a large oak door and are immediately assaulted with heat and noise. Blinking, Arthur takes in the scene before him, briefly overwhelmed. They have stepped into an open plan living room with a large, square table in front of a giant tiled stove and despite the fact that the room is rather generous, it’s filled with people crammed together on benches around the table.

A roar greets them as everyone seems to welcome Merlin at once and Arthur takes a look around at the smiling faces, most of them flushed with heat and alcohol. He does a quick head-count and it’s easily fifteen people or more assembled in Hunith’s living room, but they immediately make room on a bench for them, moving closer together.

“This is Arthur,” Merlin says, steering Arthur to sit down on a vacated spot of bench, before sinking down next to him, and just like before, another chorus of “Hello Arthur” is shouted back at them, making Arthur flush and laugh, giving a brief, embarrassed wave of his hand.

“Here, have a drink, mate,” a guy with long, shiny hair says amicably and presses a cup of mulled wine into his hand. It’s spicy and sweet, with the perfect seasoning of cloves and cinnamon, and Arthur sips at it carefully, before deciding it’s likely one of the best he’s had this season so far. The red tabby from before is rubbing against his legs underneath the table, pushing her head hard against his shin in a display of baffling affection.

“That’s handsy Gwaine,” Merlin whispers from next to Arthur, accepting a cup of wine himself. “If he puts his hand on your leg under the table, tell him firmly you’re mine.”

Merlin’s words make Arthur laugh and he relaxes, grinning, when underneath the table, it’s Merlin’s hand which finds his thigh instead.

Hunith meanwhile has put some plates in front of them, quickly re-heated goose cawl and soda bread, and Arthur realises that he’s terribly hungry after just two bites. Next to him, Merlin is wolfing down his food as well, and all the while people are talking, loudly and with that same melodic accent that colours Merlin’s voice.

Once Arthur is finished, a heavily pregnant girl with a lovely smile and dark curls holds out a large plate. “You have to try some biscuits,” she says, and dutifully, he reaches out to pick some from the plate.

“Take care of the ones who look like chocolate,” Merlin says close to his ear, “my uncle Gaius-” he nods at an elderly men with shoulder-length white hair and impressive eyebrows sitting across the table, “is growing psychedelic plants in his greenhouse and his wife likes to bake them into cookies. They will just make you barf.”

“Slander, Merlin Emrys,” the girl says in mock-shock, clutching a hand over her heart, laughing.

“It’s true, Gwen,” Merlin protests. “You should have warned Arthur, not tempted him with Alice’s psychedelic cookies.”

“It’s like playing Russian roulette,” a brunette with shaggy hair sitting next to Hunith chims in, “you never know if you’ll be pleasantly stoned or praying to the porcelain god.” He contemplates Arthur for a moment, then extends his hand over the table. “I’m Will,” he says, shaking Arthur’s hand, before turning to Merlin and raising an eyebrow at him, “He’s a posh sort.”

Arthur feels wrongly accused, because he hasn’t even yet had a chance to say a single word, not with how everyone around the table is being so loud and caught up in their conversation. Before he can defend himself, Merlin says, “Don’t mind Will. He’s grumpy.”

“You’re not good enough for Merlin,” Will says, looking directly at Arthur now and giving him the stink eye. “I can tell.”

“How about you let Merlin decide that?” Arthur counters, feeling rankled by Will’s determined and dismissive observation. He wants to tell Will that it’s not like that, anyway, not like that at all, but he realises that for all intents and purposes it looks just as if Merlin was bringing his boyfriend home for Christmas. It feels dirty, as if they are doing something illicit, but Arthur doesn’t want to have a discussion about what the hell they are doing, so he pushes his thoughts on the matter away.

Next to him, Merlin rolls his eyes and mutters an annoyed curse. “Jesus, Will, stop being such an arse and insulting my friend.”

“I want to be wrong about him,” Will concedes, but he’s still eying Arthur like he’s something especially distasteful. “But right now I don’t trust him. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s like you’re my chaperone, my very embarrassing, drunk and mouthy chaperone,” Merlin huffs, his hand on Arthur’s thigh squeezing absentmindedly. “It’s not like we’re about to marry and you need to judge if he’s marriage material.”

Before Will can reply something to Merlin’s annoyed words, Arthur chimes in.

“You’re a bit of a clotpole, aren’t you?” Arthur says, and Merlin snorts out laughter, while Will narrows his eyes at him and glares, before shooting Merlin a disbelieving look. They lock eyes and it seems like there’s some form of silent communication going on, because suddenly Will nods and starts grinning.

“Maybe you’re alright after all,” Will amends, his mouth twitching. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“As you should,” Arthur shoots back and this time, Will is laughing.

They get along fine after that and Arthur relaxes, letting the warmth of the room and the laughter around him lull him into comfort. The mulled wine isn’t very strong, but after a couple of glasses he feels hot and loose. Hunith keeps bringing out little treats - home-made taffy and salt crackers, candied nuts and pickles - and soon Arthur is stuffed to the brim. Time flies and he’s surprised to notice that it’s already half past 2 when the first people rise from the table. Instead of saying goodbye though, everyone starts moving around, suddenly busy with fetching blankets and jackets. In the open-plan kitchen, Hunith is making coffee and tea and pouring it into thermos flasks.

“What’s happening?” Arthur asks Gwen, who is slowly getting to her feet as well, helped by her husband, who never once left her side.

“Everyone’s getting ready for Plygain,” she says, rubbing a hand over her protruding belly. “Well, not me this year. I’m going to bed.”

“Plygain?”

“Church service. Lots of carol singing,” Gwen’s husband Lance explains at Arthur’s confused gaze.

“What? Now?” Arthur asks, taken aback. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Welcome to Wales,” Merlin, who has returned to his side from being sent to fetch candles, says cheerfully. “I brought you some woolen socks. It’s going to be freezing.”

“You should get the sleeping bag,” Gwen suggests. “That’s the only thing that keeps me warm.”

“Good idea,” Merlin agrees, then dashes off again.

Everyone seems to be moving about, fetching this or that and Arthur feels forlorn and out of place in the chaos. He’s relieved when Merlin returns, a sleeping bag under his arm. “I think we’re set,” he says. “We should be able to survive church service.”

“You are very weird,” Arthur comments, then decides to hell with it and starts pulling on the woolen socks Merlin brought him.

“Sensible. We’re sensible,” Hunith, who is just passing by, says and pats his shoulder.

“You can help me with the candles outside once you’re all dressed,” Merlin suggests, grinning at Arthur’s raised eyebrows. “I warned you - it’s kind of crazy.”

“You didn’t tell me I was going to freeze my arse off,” Arthur complains, finally managing to pull the thick woolen socks onto his feet. He has no idea how he’s going to fit into his shoes with them.

“I won’t let anything happen to your arse,” Merlin says, low and suggestive, and leans in, pressing a quick kiss to his neck, whispering against his ear when Arthur shudders, “I’ll keep you warm.”

Arthur very definitely shouldn’t blush at Merlin’s flirty suggestion, nor should he get used to being kissed like that, publicly and casually. He ducks his head and looks around, but nobody is paying them any attention, too busy with getting dressed and collecting their things.

He clears his throat, unable to say anything, words stuck in his throat, but Merlin just keeps grinning and saunters off, presumably to start on the candles. Pulling himself together as best as he can, Arthur follows him.

It’s still dark outside when they make their way from the church back to the house. It was a beautiful service as usual and the old Welsh carols never fail to make it extra special. Merlin might not understand everything they’re singing, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. Underneath the sleeping bag they spread out over their legs and laps, Arthur’s hand had been warm in his. Now, in his coat pockets, his fingertips are cold, missing the heated touch of Arthur’s skin already.

Arthur is talking animatedly, about the singing and how the church, lit with hundreds of candles had looked magical, how this might have been one of the most religious experiences of his life, and he considered himself agnostic. When he falls silent at last, Merlin turns to look at him. In the dim light of a street lamp, Arthur’s nose is shiny and red, his cheeks flushed with the cold and his excitement is infectious and touches something deep in Merlin. His presence feels like something hurtful inside of Merlin is finally soothed, as if Arthur is the manifestation of a salve applied to an old ache, making Merlin whole again.

Merlin has no idea what is happening between them, but it feels monumental and the intensity of emotion he feels for Arthur, who by all accounts is still a complete stranger, scares him. They spent the last 36 hours together, but it’s as if they’ve known each other for much longer. They haven’t talked about what it is, this pull between them, nor have they discussed what the hell they are doing. All Merlin knows is that he doesn’t want to let go of Arthur, like Arthur is the missing piece he has been looking for, the solution to the puzzle that is himself.

Like in the airport when he made the impulsive decision to invite Arthur home for Christmas, worry grips him as he wonders what will happen after this is over, when Arthur needs to go back home. He should probably say something, address this elephant between them, but he doesn’t want reality to impinge on the cosy bubble they are in, where he can pretend that Arthur is his, at least for the time being.

Back at the house, they drink some tea standing around the kitchen area, mostly to warm up a bit. All the neighbours have retreated to their own homes and it’s just Will, his girlfriend Sefa and Gwaine who are still around. Sefa keeps interrupting every sentence she starts with a yawn, and Gwaine nearly drops the turkey when he helps Hunith put it into the oven, so once everything is prepared for Christmas Day dinner, everyone heads to bed.

“Come on,” Merlin says and pulls Arthur with him, up the wooden, creaky stairs to his childhood bedroom. It’s just as crammed as he remembers. The queen sized bed they exchanged his single bed for is a bit too large for the small room and the desk is overflowing with Hunith’s sewing work. He’s a bit embarrassed that he hasn’t yet managed to remodel the room - the walls are still plastered with posters from his favourite bands and his assembled lego technic toys are collecting dust on the shelves.

“Oh,” Arthur says, looking around the room, “I assumed you still lived with your Mum or something.”

Merlin snorts and shakes his head. “I just stay here sometimes on the weekend and for the holidays. I have a small flat in Cardiff, just above my studio.”

“You are…”

“...a business owner, I guess, yes. Don’t look so surprised. Your prejudices are showing. You still think doing what I do can’t possibly make a living…”

Arthur flushes bright red, looking contrite. It makes Merlin snicker.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Arthur mutters and wipes a hand over his eyes, but he allows himself to be drawn forward, into the circle of Merlin’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Merlin breathes softly, “you wouldn’t be the first to assume and you won’t be the last.”
He wants to tell Arthur that he wants to show him his studio, explain about his current endeavour to opening another one because the first one is running well, but then they will have to talk about the future, what comes after this, and Merlin is too anxious about Arthur shooting him down right now, so instead he leans forward to nuzzle a kiss underneath Arthur’s jaw. He’s tired and a little bit horny, and he doesn’t want to think about more than Arthur’s hands on him.

Against him, Arthur shudders, but reaches out immediately, threading his fingers into Merlin’s hair with harsh desperation, before he pulls Merlin’s head up and smashes their mouths together. Merlin tightens his arms around Arthur’s middle and welcomes the demanding press of Arthur’s lips, his mouth falling open on a moan. It’s tongue and teeth, then, and it’s Arthur who crowds into him, making them both sway on the spot where they are standing, his fingers tugging on Merlin’s short curls like a cat kneading a pillow.

Merlin allows Arthur to push him backwards and down onto the bed and tries to convey with his body that he’s more than willing to let Arthur lead this time. Arthur descends on him with a moan, crawling up his body and settling between his legs. When Arthur presses against him, they are both already aroused, Arthur’s cock a hard line against Merlin’s thigh. Arthur rolls his hips against him, making them both hiss at the pressure and he kisses Merlin like he wants to crawl into him, full of heat and urgency, but something keeps him from taking the next step. It’s good, though, rolling around on the bed and kissing like teenagers, hands underneath shirts and roaming over heated skin.

They are both panting and sweaty when Arthur pulls back, resting his forehead against Merlin’s. His breath fans out warmly and unsteadily over Merlin’s face. When he still doesn’t say anything, Merlin can’t help it anymore.

“Arthur,” he says, waiting until Arthur pulls back slightly and opens his eyes. He looks flushed and bright eyed, his mouth parted and red. “Whatever you want, Arthur,” Merlin says, because he figures it’s the best way to convey that he is on board with everything Arthur wants to do.

Arthur exhales a soft breath and licks his lips, before pushing himself up, carefully reaching for the hem of Merlin’s jumper and pulling it up. Arthur divests him of his clothing quickly, then strips down himself, returning to press kisses against Merlin’s still chilled skin. Merlin closes his eyes and lets himself be swept away by Arthur’s exploration, his body loose and limp while Arthur trails his skin with fingers, lips and tongue. Even while he’s enjoying all the attention, the worry from earlier nags at him, worry that this, like everything, is temporary. It’s a good lesson in living in the now and the thought grounds him. He’s not going to ruin a good thing by thinking of an uncertain future.

Arthur’s mouth on his cock is slow at first, explorative and the way he nuzzles at Merlin’s groin makes Merlin quiver in anticipation, but at his moan, Arthur becomes bolder, tongue lapping over the head before taking him further into his mouth with a little groan. Merlin reaches out to gently cards his fingers through Arthur’s tousled hair and glances down, down where Arthur’s head is bobbing in his lap, face flushed and lashes long and fair on his cheeks as he takes him in. It’s an amazing sight and Merlin bites his lip and tries to temper his arousal, to make it last. Around his cock, Arthur hums and moans, his own hips twitching against the mattress as he presses himself down in the search for friction.

When the heat and wetness of Arthur’s mouth gets to be too much, Merlin gently pulls him off and reaches for his arms to tug him upward. He’s pretty sure once he comes, he’ll be too tired to do anything else, and he wants this to be good for the both of them, no matter that Arthur seems to be enjoying himself. Arthur’s kiss is wet and soft and he tastes like Merlin. It makes Merlin crazy with want and he licks into Arthur’s mouth, unable to get enough of their combined taste. It’s sexy and it makes some small part of Merlin feel surprisingly possessive.

They are both breathing in heavy pants when they break apart, and Merlin fumbles for his bedside drawer where he dumped condoms and lube earlier when he brought up their luggage in anticipation of this happening.

Arthur takes the condom out of his hands with fumbling fingers, his hands shaking when he rolls it on himself and Merlin shifts on the bed, splaying his legs apart as he uncaps the lube. Arthur makes no move to reach for it, so Merlin wets his fingers and reaches for Arthur’s cock, giving him a good stroke and making him arch into his touch, before trailing his fingers down to press into himself.

Arthur sucks in a harsh breath, eyes glued to where Merlin is perfunctorily preparing himself. “Shit,” he says hoarsely, “you are so gorgeous.”

It sounds awed and real and Merlin had wanted to be quick about the preparation, because he’s so aroused that he knows he’s not going to need much, would actually be fine if Arthur just pressed into him now, but Arthur’s reaction makes him want to put on a show, solely for Arthur’s benefit.

So he takes his time and trails his finger around the rim, watching Arthur bite his lip and his eyes grow heated. He starts out slow, dipping first one finger inside, dragging it out slowly, then another. Heat sparks in him at the look on Arthur’s face. Arthur’s breath is noisy and Merlin can’t remember the last time someone watched him with such concentration. It’s affecting him, too, mostly the way Arthur stares at him, and when Merlin presses a third finger inside, twisting his hand for a better angle, his moan is echoed by Arthur.

Arthur’s hand shoots out and he reaches for Merlin’s wrist, stilling his movement for a moment, but instead of pulling his fingers away, he presses forward. Merlin hisses and allows Arthur to direct his movements and press his own fingers back inside himself. With a moan, Merlin lets his legs fall farther apart and dips his head back, closing his eyes.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Arthur whispers above him, and his hand is pressing Merlin’s fingers deeper, before pulling them back, then pressing in again in a steady rythmn. It might be the most thorough preparation Merlin’s had in a while, but then Arthur pulls out Merlin’s fingers and replaces them with his own, one, two, three in quick, rough succession. His fingers feel different, cooler and broader, and Merlin groans and bears down on them. He could come like this, if Arthur hits the right spot enough. It’s not something he often does with partners, but it’s a pretty good staple of his masturbation habit, only it feels so much better with Arthur doing it to him.

When it gets to be too much, he reaches down and stills Arthur’s hand by circling his wrist. “I want you inside me when I come,” he breathes and his words make Arthur groan in affirmation.

“Fuck, yes,” Arthur whispers, sounding almost reverent as he pulls out his fingers a bit too quickly, making Merlin wince. There’s no hesitation on Arthur’s part after that, just eagerness as he reaches for Merlin’s legs and pushes them up before lining himself up. The angle isn’t working for a moment, but Merlin shifts and hitches one leg higher and on a groan, Arthur sinks forward and into him. “Fuck,” he moans, his body trembling.

Arthur feels amazing sliding into him, just a bit on the girthier side. If Arthur was reluctant earlier, he’s moving surely now, and Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulder and breathes into his neck as his body adjusts to the intrusion. It’s been a while and he’s suddenly glad for all the time they took to loosen him up. Soon, Arthur is pounding into him like he can’t quite take it slow, his hips hitching desperately, his breath heated where it shivers over Merlin’s neck. It’s turning quick and dirty and Arthur reaches down to pull his hips up, bending him nearly in half, an angle that makes him hit Merlin’s prostate more often than not.

“Fuck Merlin,” Arthur groans again, “I can’t… I…”

Merlin hums an affirmation, eats the moans from Arthur’s lips and shoves down with his hips hard, smothering his grunts into Arthur’s shoulder. He clutches harder at Arthur with his left, while moving the right down to his groin, taking himself in hand. He doesn’t need to do much, Arthur’s rocking thrusts hit just where they should. It’s just like the night before, only now, their roles are reversed, but the energy is the same, urgent and wild. It’s perfect, Merlin thinks, perfect, because Arthur gives just as good as he takes, and while Merlin more often than not will naturally take on the more dominant role in bed, he loves being fucked, too.

And Arthur is good at this, or maybe they are good at this together, their rhythm as easily flowing as their conversation, in sync and still surprising. Merlin comes so hard, it tears a hoarse shout out of him and he feels sorry for all of two seconds for the other people in the house, but then Arthur’s there, too, sobbing his release into his shoulder with shuddering moans, his body trembling.

Merlin holds on to him, fingers carding through Arthur’s damp hair and stroking down his sweat-soaked spine. Arthur’s breath is wet against his neck, shivering against his damp skin. They lie like this for some time and Merlin feels himself start to drift off, even though they should get up and clean themselves. Against him, Arthur is like a furnace.

“I haven’t slept with a man in eight years.” Arthur suddenly says, voice low but his words whispered so close to his ear, that Merlin understands them just fine.

“Not since uni,” Arthur continues when Merlin doesn’t react, wondering desperately what he could offer in return. Arthur’s next words suck the breath out of him. “I’m not out,” he says, and they feel suspiciously like a knife to Merlin’s back.

Merlin exhales softly, his high fading so quickly it’s like he’s crashing.

Arthur’s confession is an icy cold shower, awakening him from his ignorant slumber, bringing with it memories of Lewis. Lewis, who Merlin dated for two years in secret, because Lewis was too afraid to come out to his ultra-conservative family. Two years of sneaking around, sleeping on the couch, not touching in public and pretending they were just mates. Those two years feel like pure torture in hindsight and Merlin had let it go on too long, had accepted Lewis’s excuses and promises to take a stand again and again. In the end, he had pulled the plug because he hadn’t been able to look himself in the face anymore, and they had both cried, Lewis begging him to stay, once more promising to make a change like he promised so many times before. It had taken a lot for Merlin to walk out. He never, ever could have a relationship like that again.

And here, Arthur is, perfect, beautiful, wonderful Arthur, with his great sense of humour, his cheeky teasing and his engaging personality, and Merlin can already feel himself fall for him.

Merlin swallows and exhales softly. “I…oh,” he says hoarsely. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know Arthur at all. He wonders what else Arthur omitted. Arthur could be anyone. He could be married and a father. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut so his emotions won’t get to him and does the instinctive thing, the thing he should clearly do, because he’s not the only one hurting: He pets Arthur’s trembling shoulders and presses a kiss against Arthur’s sweaty skin.

Arthur shudders, then shifts, slipping from his body. Cool air hits Merlin’s skin as Arthur gets up to get rid of the condom, and he reaches for his discarded t-shirt and cleans the come from his chest and belly. Arthur flops back down at his side, staring up at the ceiling with a void expression.

“I like women,” Arthur says. “I want to have kids someday.”

He doesn’t say, “I like women, too”, and Merlin bites down on the first, hurtful thing he wants to say, breathes deeply, and substitutes it for not saying anything at all. He thinks of Lewis, of the first couple of months where Lewis was in denial, kept repeating those same words, over and over, like a mantra, like he could make it true. The words had hurt then and they hurt now, an old ache, but it still smarts and it informs Merlin’s next words.

“We should sleep” he says tiredly, pulling the covers up to settle over the both of them. “I don’t think that’s a topic for discussion right now.”

Next to him, Arthur exhales shudderingly. Arthur might not be straight, but even if there is something between them that Arthur feels too, he’s going to take the easier, less resistant path. He’s going to settle down along the way with a girl, do the thing society expects of him. And Merlin has no intention of getting in the way and setting himself up for hurt. He can’t. He doesn’t have the strength to go through this again, only to allow himself to be broken.

“I really like you, though,” Arthur murmurs, and he sounds a little forlorn, a little desperate.

Merlin bites down on the hurt sound that constricts his heart and pulls the covers higher up, underneath his chin. He wants to say, Well, maybe that’s not good enough?, but he’s tired, exhausted, really.

“I really like you, too, Arthur,” Merlin says eventually, hating how his voice is thick. His heart is beating a mile a minute, hard and painful in his chest against a constricting block of what feels like cement. He feels foolish, oh so foolish. He should have seen it coming from a mile away, but he was so caught up in Arthur, so dazzled by their chemistry and the mutual attraction that he refused to listen to his inner voice of reason. It’s his own fault for barging ahead, impulsive and reckless.

Arthur doesn’t say anything for a long while and Merlin thinks that maybe he fell asleep. He’s surprised when Arthur turns and shifts, reaching for him, pressing his face against his shoulder, Arthur’s arm slung around his waist. Arthur settles in, a warm, comfortable presence at his side and Merlin exhales a sigh and allows it to happen, resisting his first reflex to push Arthur away.

It takes some time for him to fall asleep, but eventually, the long day and long flight catches up with him.

When Arthur wakes the bed next to him is empty. It takes him a while to figure out where he is, but memory comes back at the sight of Merlin’s lego technic robots standing on a shelf. Yawning, he pushes himself up, shuddering at the coldness of the room when the blanket slips from his shoulders. The light spilling in from the window and painting stripes on the sheets is cool and grey.

Arthur slings his feet sideways, hissing when his naked feet hit the floor. It’s freezing and he shivers while he rummages in his luggage for something fresh to wear, ending up with the same pair of jeans he put on yesterday, but at least a fresh button down. He walks down the stairs on socked feet, sighing at the warmth that hits him like a wall halfway downstairs towards the open plan kitchen area. The smell of roasted turkey lies heavenly in the air and it makes Arthur’s stomach rumble.

When he enters the kitchen, Hunith is chopping root vegetables. She smiles when she looks up from her work and sees him.

“Merry Christmas, Arthur,” she says warmly. “Coffee is on the stove, if you want some.”

“Oh, right… Merry Christmas,” he replies, feeling a little sheepish. For a moment he forgot that this wasn’t some normal day of the year, but a rather special one. “I’d love some coffee, thanks,” Arthur adds, sniffing the air. “Maybe it will help me wake up.”

“Mugs are in the cupboard over there. Help yourself.” Hunith points towards a cupboard door with the tip of her knife, before returning to her chopping work.

Arthur does as he’s been told, then gets some milk from the refrigerator and fixes himself a cup. The large oak table which was cluttered with mugs, plates and decoration last night is looking pristine and festive, sporting a wreath and candles. Near the large oven, the Christmas tree is imposing, perfectly made up with red and green ribbons and beautifully painted handmade glass baubles. It’s very homely, like something out of a magazine and so much nicer than the sad, lametta decorated tree Uther has put up every year.

Arthur takes a step towards the living room, stops when he spots Merlin on his mat, flowing through a practice in pyjama bottoms and not much else. A discarded t-shirt is lying on the floor next to his mat. Sweat is beading on his skin, making him glisten. He’s so caught up in his practice that he seemingly doesn’t react to Arthur’s presence and Arthur isn’t sure if he’s even aware of it.

Leaning against one of the pillars that separates the kitchen area from the living room, Arthur sips his coffee and watches. There’s a very controlled breathing pattern which informs Merlin’s sure movements, calm inhales and exhales, despite the physical exertion. Occasionally, Sally, the orange cat from last night, winds around Merlin’s legs, making him carefully step and jump around her.

Arthur watches the muscles play underneath Merlin’s skin, remembering this morning and how Merlin had felt underneath him. Heat rushes through him at the memory of Merlin’s hoarse shout, at the way they moved together. The intensity of it scares him. He can’t remember feeling like this in a long time. For a while he thought his attraction to men was a thing of the past, something he tried during university, when everything seemed easier and less serious, when relationships could only last a night of fun with full consent of both parties. He thought he left that part of himself behind when he grew up and turned towards more serious, more endurable relationships, when the goal wasn’t just to get off, but to get to know someone to really spend some time with, maybe built towards something more lasting, a family perhaps. He didn’t consciously choose women, but the people he met and tried a relationship with have all been female. It was easy, it didn’t mean he needed to explain himself.

But here it is, the promise of something really beautiful staring him right in the face and it challenges everything he is, everything he pretended to be, everything he thought he wanted.

Sipping on his coffee slowly, Arthur keeps watching as Merlin practices. He thinks about waking up to this every morning, of stepping out of the bedroom and finding Merlin there, on his mat, awake and calm. He thinks of making them breakfast, having coffee and eggs ready when Merlin joins him in the kitchen, flushed and glowing, a smile on his face, his stomach rumbling. They would have breakfast together and Arthur would sneak a couple of kisses before he would have to go to work. Maybe, sometimes, he would decide to work from home, so he could skip the commute and they could have sex instead.

It’s a pretty idea, an idea where nothing else and nobody else factors into the equation.

When Merlin slows and lies down on his back, the cat carefully settling against his side, Arthur rips his gaze away and steps back into the kitchen. He helps Hunith put out glasses and plates for a quick Christmas breakfast slash lunch - it’s 1 p.m. already - and helps himself to a couple of cookies, until Merlin emerges from the living room, looking very much like the vision of an impossible future. Unlike in Arthur’s vision, Merlin isn’t sliding his arms around his waist and kissing his neck, but greets him with a reserved nod.

The three of them settle down for breakfast at the small kitchen island and it would be nice, if it wasn’t for Merlin’s distanced smile or the way he can barely look at Arthur while they make meaningless conversation. They talk about the church service, about how Will was so wasted last night that he nearly burned the toffee, about how good the turkey smells. When Hunith asks Arthur whether he prefers root vegetable mash or glazed root vegetables with his turkey, Arthur takes a deep breath and says with a brief side glance at Merlin, “You don’t have to take my preferences into account. I can’t stay for dinner.”

“Oh,” Hunith says, and Arthur catches the little confused glance she throws Merlin’s way, but Merlin doesn’t even blink at Arthur’s words, stoically looking into his porridge bowl.

“Arthur has a family obligation,” Merlin mutters, not glancing up as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

Arthur tries to curb his surprise at Merlin’s word and casual, nonplussed tone, a tone that suggests there never was a question about Arthur leaving on the 25th. What happened to Merlin’s enthusiastic “Spend Christmas with me?” Arthur thinks somewhat sourly, putting down his spoon in favour of gulping down more coffee, hoping to mask his irritation behind his mug.

“Of course,” Hunith says, like it’s silly of herself to assume anything else, but she keeps stealing little glances at her son throughout the rest of the breakfast and it makes Arthur uncomfortable. They don’t elaborate on the topic of Arthur leaving, instead Merlin starts talking about his class schedule for the holidays, which commences on Boxing Day like it isn’t at all something they haven’t yet discussed.

“You need to take a break once in a while, Merlin,” Hunith complains, reaching for her son’s hand, and Merlin lowers his eyes, looking a bit annoyed as he shakes his head and tells her, everything is fine. Arthur listens to their discussion and figures it’s one they have had a couple of times already, both of them relentlessly defending their point of view. Merlin seems relieved when Hunith changes the topic again and asks Arthur about his family and how they spend Christmas.

Arthur manages a couple of insincere sentences about how it’s just the closest family members coming together for dinner and how he plans to spend the rest of the holidays catching up on some sleep.

“If you leave after breakfast, you can be home by five,” Merlin suggests calmly when he looks up to casually pick up his coffee, his eyes not betraying any kind of emotion.

Arthur nods, because it’s a sensible suggestion, even though Merlin’s nonchalance is hurtful. It seems Merlin can’t wait to get rid off him now. Gone is the intense, all-consuming attraction, replaced by Merlin carefully establishing his distance. It probably shouldn’t be that surprising, considering the words of truth spilling from Arthur’s lips this morning, but it still cuts like a knife. He regrets being so open about it, but his orgasm and Merlin’s gentle touches afterwards had made him feel unhinged and panicked.

Loud noises from above make him look up from where he has been staring at his plate of eggs to see Gwaine and Sefa come thundering down the wooden stairs, exuberant and laughing.

“Presents, where are the presents!” Sefa crows, clapping her hands together like an overeager child.

Hunith laughs and gets up, telling them to sit down and have a cup of coffee as well. “We only open one now, Sefa, you know that,” she chides. “We open the others when the guests arrive.”

Sefa honest to god pouts, but gets distracted by the plate of cookies that is still out on the counter and which Arthur hadn’t been able to diminish by much.

Arthur clears his plate, then gets up and puts it in the dishwasher, before muttering, “I’m going to get my suitcase.” It’s probably for the best if he doesn’t extend his stay more than absolutely necessary, considering Merlin’s sudden awkward coldness. He climbs the stairs quickly, trying not to listen in on the whispering that is starting as he leaves the kitchen.

In the bedroom, he collects the clothes that are still strewn all over the floor, grimacing when he picks up the t-shirt he wiped himself down with before falling asleep. The sheets are rumpled and he thinks of Merlin, this morning, spread out on the bed with his legs falling open and his head dipped back. Heat rises to his face and he hurries up, stuffing his belongings back into his suitcase. He makes a short trip to the bathroom next to Merlin’s bedroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair, watching his pale, jet-lagged face in the mirror, before he makes his way back downstairs.

He feels weird standing in the kitchen with his suitcase by his side while everyone - including a very hungover looking Will - is gathered around the kitchen island. It’s Hunith who gets up first, crossing the room to pull him into a hug.

“It was nice meeting you, Arthur,” she says sincerely when she draws back. Arthur wonders if Merlin filled her in on their early morning conversation, but if he did, she doesn’t betray him by saying anything about it. Gwaine, Sefa and Will wave their goodbyes, pretending they are unsurprised to see him leave before dinner.

“I’ll.. I’ll help you with the luggage,” Merlin says awkwardly, stumbling over his words all of a sudden as he steps forward. He looks nervous, filled with fidgety energy.

In the entryway, they both pull on their shoes and coats silently, before making their way down the garden path towards the hedge. Merlin isn’t saying anything as they load Arthur’s suitcase and carry-on into the boot of the rental car, but when Arthur closes the boot and turns to him, Merlin is biting his lip, like he’s only so keeping himself from talking.

“I … I want you to know, that was a very… uhm… special Christmas,” he finally says haltingly, his eyes never once resting anywhere, but flitting here and there.

“Yeah, for me, too,” Arthur agrees, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, not because he’s cold, but because he doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t want to appear fidgety or nervous, either.

They are both silent again. Arthur has no idea what else to say. Finally, a thought occurs, and he fumbles with his wallet, taking out one of his business cards. “If you’re ever in London, give me a call?”

Merlin takes the card and pockets it, without even looking at it. “Sure,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. It pains Arthur to think that Merlin has already written this off as a lost cause, as something he shouldn’t invest more time in.

He doesn’t want to go, but he sees no way he could prolong his stay, either, not now, not after Merlin told him quite firmly that he should go home. Arthur gets it. He gets that Merlin doesn’t want to keep playing pretend that this is something more than it is. He gets it. It doesn’t mean it hurts any less. He wants for Merlin to put up a fight, to ignore Arthur’s words from this morning, to neglect Arthur’s insecurities so Arthur can make another decision, so Arthur can do the unthinkable.

But Arthur isn’t brave like that, and Arthur isn’t quite sure if he’s ready to upend his life on a whim, on a stranger and a two-night-fling.

He turns to go, surprised when Merlin steps forward and pulls him into a hug, a tight, almost painful thing. “Be safe,” Merlin says softly before pulling away, and it’s as much a goodbye as anything.

Arthur swallows and walks around the car on jittery legs. Merlin watches him, his arms wrapped around himself like he’s freezing. He doesn’t wave when Arthur turns the car around and when Arthur looks into the rearview mirror before he rounds the corner, Merlin is still standing there, looking cold and a bit frail, monochromatic with his dark, unruly hair and gray coat against the snowy hedge.

The days leading up to New Year always feel slow. A lot of Merlin’s usual students are home for the holidays and his classes aren’t filled to capacity like they usually are. It’s why this year he has decided on a holidays schedule instead of trying to fill out all the usual spots. He knows it will be different once New Year rolls around with an onslaught of new students with their New Year’s resolutions in tow. Already, he has an inkling of what is going to go down after New Year - the Christmas gift sales for monthly or yearly subscriptions were insane this year and he also sold double the class vouchers he sold the year before. The class schedule has been adjusted to ensure that new students will have spots to study, but it means extra work for Merlin and the teachers working for him.

On top of that he’s been finalising the contract for his second studio for which he’ll get the keys in mid-February. The place needs a bit of renovation before it’s going to be fit to house classes and Merlin has decided it needs to be up and running in mid-March. The weeks ahead definitely look like a lot of work.

Despite all that is coming, he’s looking forward to the distraction. More than anything, he needs it now. It’s been three days since Arthur Pendragon drove the rental car back to London and Merlin has been thinking about him every waking minute of every day. He doesn’t understand how Arthur got under his skin so quickly and so thoroughly, but there it is: A fresh and devastating wound in his chest, a slash over his heart, quick, but painful.

He’s half-tempted to pull out the business card Arthur gave him and call the mobile phone number printed on there. Dignity and common sense are the two factors that hold him back, but instead of it getting easier with time passing, it’s becoming more difficult to refrain from calling Arthur’s number.

The idea is percolating in his brain like only really bad ideas are able to stay in one’s mind this sustainably, a constant drum of “Call him”, “Call him”, but so far Merlin’s reason has kept the upper hand. The facts remain: Arthur isn’t out and Merlin shouldn’t fall in love with someone who’s not ready to be with him.

Maybe, Merlin thinks as he leads his Ashtanga beginners class through the opening chant, it’s too late. Maybe he already fell in love with Arthur and there’s nothing to be done.

He’s surprised when he finds a DM on Instagram from an APDragon after his class. He has half a mind of not approving it, but he’s too curious and also apparently weak when it comes to blond, English businessmen with great smiles and an arse to die for.

“Hey,” it says, “your instagram account looks great. I’m seriously impressed by the number of your followers. Maybe you’re right and your kind of work is able to sustain a living... “ It ends with a winky smile, the one Will calls “flirty emoji” and Merlin sinks down on his chair behind the reception desk, where he’s checking in students for the next class, frowning down at his phone.

He looks through his notifications, his heart beating a bit faster when he sees that Arthur has liked several of his recent posts. The thought of Arthur going through his account is thrilling and Merlin wonders where Arthur is right now, if he’s at home in his flat, relaxing like he said he would, or taking a break from work.

He’s half-tempted to answer Arthur's winky face message, but he knows he shouldn’t. Arthur will lose interest soon, and it’s for the best. So he doesn’t reply and instead chats with the students that are arriving and then holds another class, trying to forget about Arthur’s message and the likes on his posts.

After he has finished up for the night and is settled on his couch in his flat upstairs, there’s another message from Arthur. “I’m sorry I teased you. Your website looks fantastic, too. Everything’s very professional. And pretty stylish.”

Merlin refuses to be swayed by Arthur’s new message and doesn’t reply, but the omission sits guiltily in the bit of his stomach and he checks his messages at least 3 more times before bed, dreading and wishing that Arthur will message him again.

The next morning, he has another message in his DMs, sent to him in the middle of the night.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” it says, and it sends a shiver down his spine, but instead of replying, he gets up and fixes himself a cup of coffee, before stepping onto his mat. When he returns to the kitchen to make some breakfast, there’s another message from Arthur in his DMs.

“Are you ghosting me on purpose?”

Sighing, Merlin hovers his fingers over the text box, before he gives up and gets Arthur’s business card from where he pinned it onto his fridge with a magnet.

Arthur picks up after two rings, his short “Hello?” sounding breathless.

“I think you should stop sending me messages,” Merlin says, attempting to sound reasonable and calm.

On the other end, Arthur is silent for a moment, before he breathes, “Merlin?”

“Arthur, I…” he hesitates, unsure of how to express himself. “I don’t know how to say this, but… I don’t want to be hung up on a bloke who isn’t sure what he wants or who he is.”

On the other end of the line, Arthur is silent for a long time, before he says, rather petulantly. “I enjoyed our time together. I want to see you again.”

Sighing, Merlin wipes a hand over his eyes and exhales a shuddering sigh. “Arthur, you told me you haven’t been with a man in years. That you like women. Are you willing to tell everybody you’re seeing a bloke?”

“It’s complicated. My father-”

“It’s always complicated, Arthur,” Merlin interrupts him, feeling tired all of a sudden. He’s not ready for lengthy explanations. His mind keeps replaying that last, hurtful and lengthy fight with Lewis, both of them sobbing and yelling out their frustration. “But if you’re not willing to be prepared to make such a commitment, we shouldn’t see each other again.”

“You’re asking a lot,” Arthur says hesitantly.

“Yes,” Merlin agrees with clenched teeth, because there’s no way around it. Arthur’s hesitation only confirms his stance on this, hardening his resolve.

“I… I can’t.” Arthur’s voice is pained. “I… I just know right now that I want to see you again. Can’t that be enough?”

Merlin closes his eyes. Part of him wants to be unreasonable and just go for it, invite Arthur to stay with him for the New Year, fuck him silly and forget that Arthur might be lying to everyone about where he is or what’s he doing, but he knows that the only thing that waits for him in the end is heartbreak and being too invested in someone who’s not ready to be the person Merlin needs them to be.

“It’s not going to happen. Please, stop texting me,” he grounds out.

There’s silence on the other end and Merlin listens anxiously, anticipating Arthur to protest, but he doesn’t. He waits for another couple of seconds, then lowers the phone and hangs up.

It’s better this way. Nothing good can come from it.

Chapter Text

Arthur’s holiday in Portugal hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, even though he’d had it all planned out: Two weeks off at the end of June when business was slow so he could truly relax, a pricey resort in Lamego that was luxurious and promised an unforgettable vacation and some company to spend the time with. It was probably for the best that three days into their holiday, Emily packed her things and took the next flight home. In hindsight, maybe it had been foolish to invite a woman he had only dated for four weeks on an impromptu trip abroad.

In the end, despite, or maybe because of, Emily returning to greener pastures, Arthur had had a wonderful time. He had decided to ditch the nice hotel resort and rent a car instead to travel around the country. He had never before been on holiday by himself, but it turned out it was exactly what he needed: Peace and quiet and just his own mind for a companion. He had finally been able to unwind.

Sadly enough, the ten days of freedom are over too quickly and he finds himself sitting at the airport in a small coffee lounge, sipping a latte and waiting for his flight to board. He hasn’t been abroad in over half a year, not even for work, and being back at the airport brings memories he hasn’t quite been able to suppress. He thinks of an easy smile and blue, affectionate eyes, of sharp cheekbones and unruly dark hair. It’s been six months and still he can’t recall a day where he hasn’t thought about Merlin.

Automatically, and because he’s a masochist, he opens his phone and finds Merlin’s instagram, scrolling through his feed. Merlin posts regularly every couple of days. Mostly it’s about yoga poses or mobility exercises, seldomly something more private like a photo from a hike or something he ate. Arthur has been following Merlin’s social media accounts for months now, but he’s neither commenting nor liking his posts, preferring to lurk anonymously. Merlin had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to stay in touch and thus keeping up with Merlin on instagram is Arthur’s secret form of self-flagellation.

Arthur thumbs through the well-known posts. Here’s a video of Merlin explaining how to stretch tight hamstrings. Another where he explains how to prepare for an arm balance. There’s the one video Arthur secretly feels embarrassed about, because he has watched it about twenty times since it has been posted: in it Merlin demonstrates how to set up for a headstand and his shirt slips down to his neck, revealing his chest and trim stomach. It has the added bonus of Merlin snorting out laughter when he tips over and into the wall when he demonstrates what one shouldn’t do when practicing a headstand. How he doesn’t get hurt is anyone’s guess, but his laughter and abashed smile are so endearing that Arthur can’t get enough of it. He feels a bit weird for stalking Merlin without ever leaving so much as a note, but he’s too scared of Merlin’s reaction, or rather: his non-reaction. Being ignored would be even worse.

When he refreshes his feed with a swipe of his thumb, there’s a new insta story by Merlin and Arthur clicks on it, laughing in surprise when he sees Merlin, looking dishevelled and harrassed, filming from an airport in San Francisco.

“I hate airports,” Merlin says into the camera, then does a quick sweep of his surroundings, full of gray carpets and plastic seats. “And flying, and not just because of the co2 footprint. So I usually find a secluded spot and do a quick practice. Here’s my go-to 20 minute airport routine…”

Arthur bites his lip and watches Merlin’s story, remembering when he first saw Merlin, at the airport, on his mat. He remembers thinking how calm he appeared and how great his arse was. He fires off a quick text before he can even really think about it.

I’m at the airport too right now. Pretty bored. It would be much more fun if you were here with me

For a moment he’s quite shocked at his own daring and he forces himself to put his phone aside, not trying to think of the fool he just made of himself. He doesn’t have any hope of Merlin answering his text, so he should just forget about it.

He’s surprised when minutes later, his phone pings with an incoming message.

I’m sure of that, Merlin’s message says.

Arthur doesn’t quite know how to interpret Merlin’s text or how to answer. There’s no indication how Merlin meant it.

I should try some of those exercises you suggested, he types, congratulating himself for calmly keeping up a conversation without innuendo, even while his heart is beating a mile a minute.

Merlin sends him a thumbs-up emoji, but doesn’t elaborate.

With bated breath, Arthur waits for Merlin to add something, but he doesn’t, so he sends another text, his fingers only trembling slightly.

Don’t forget to splurge on a lounge!.

Merlin doesn’t reply to his message right away and something churns in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. When he boards the plane, there still isn’t a reply. Three hours later, landing in London Gatwick, still nothing, not even an emoji to indicate that Merlin has read his latest message.

Merlin never replies, but the next day he does a little video about dealing with jet-lag.

“Someone I met at an airport once told me to always splurge on the lounges when travelling, and he was right. But not even comfy chairs and large amounts of alcohol can prevent the inevitable airport hangover,” Merlin says easily, sitting cross-legged on his yoga mat in his sunlit living room, a backdrop Arthur is very familiar with already. His words are as much a shout out as Arthur might get, and he grins and follows Merlin’s instructions to eliminate kinks in necks and tense shoulders. Afterwards, he likes the post, before commenting as well.

Your airport friend must have been very wise, he types, then adds a winky face for good measure.

Three minutes later, Merlin has marked his comment with a like and replied.

Actually, he's a rather conceited clotpole

Receiving likes and comments from Arthur on his instagram posts have become somewhat of a regularity. Arthur will usually say something witty and sometimes Merlin replies, his heart always beating a bit harder in his chest when he does, fretting over each and every word. At the same time, he’s very well aware that by replying he’s encouraging Arthur to stay in contact, something that Merlin vehemently squashed when they last talked on the phone in December. Answering Arthur's texts is a guilty pleasure, but Merlin can’t help it and he tells himself as long as it’s just a couple of insta-messages, it’s not too bad.

Merlin is surprised though when Arthur sends him a short video in his insta DMs. “I bought a mat,” the accompanying text says, and when Merlin opens it, Arthur is attempting a headstand by violently kicking up against a wall.

Are you mad, Merlin texts back, don’t hurt yourself!

Arthur’s reply is a lopsided smiley and Merlin rolls his eyes.

He thinks of typing out another reply, but instead decides to record a brief insta story.

“For those just starting out with yoga, I have this advice: Begin with basic poses and movements and don’t attempt anything advanced unless you feel good about the basics.” He pauses and sends a stern look into his phone camera. When he decides he has made his point, he slowly goes through a Surya Namaskar A, offering modifications and ample explanations about the importance of breath.

“And that’s about it. That’s where you might begin. Do as many as you like until the movement feels natural and you build up a sweat.” He pauses again, biting his lip, only hesitating briefly, before adding with another stern look at his phone camera, “And Arthur - stop sending me videos of you injuring yourself on purpose. It’s not cute.”

He gives the video a brief edit before posting it to his instagram account, feeling impish and lightheaded, wondering what Arthur will text back now. He’s surprised when his phone starts ringing only ten minutes later. His heart skips when he sees a number from an unknown caller and he fumbles to accept the call.

“Have you just been calling me out on social media?!” a voice asks the moment he picks up, sounding flustered and mock-indignant.

“Arthur?”

“The very same,” Arthur huffs.

“That headstand was very foolish,” Merlin says, grateful that his voice isn’t showing the turmoil he’s feeling at hearing Arthur’s voice. His heart is suddenly beating a mile a minute and his stomach cramps with nerves.

“I just copied you.” Arthur’s voice is petulant and posh, just like Merlin remembers and he involuntarily smiles.

“You copied the don’ts, idiot,” Merlin counters, unable to keep the fondness from his voice.

On the other end of the line, Arthur laughs out loud in surprise. “I should probably try those salutations,” he says agreeably.

They are both silent for a bit and Merlin sinks down onto his couch, attempting to breathe quietly and steadily. So many thoughts rush through his brain, so many questions. It’s been eight months, but he hasn’t forgotten anything about Arthur, not his great laugh nor the way his voice shivers up Merlin’s spine.

“Any more airport adventures?” Merlin finally asks, because it’s the easiest question.

Arthur laughs again and Merlin feels like his grin is going to split his face in two, he’s smiling so hard. He can barely contain his delight, briefly embarrassed for himself, even though nobody is around to see him look like a complete loon.

“Nothing as exciting as Christmas,” Arthur says softly, breathily.

Merlin is glad that Arthur can’t see the way he’s flushing at the words. “Yeah, that was definitely a bit out of the ordinary,” he replies hoarsely.

Arthur is silent again, just quietly breathing, and it should be awkward, but it’s strangely comfortable.

“How have you been?” Merlin asks, his mouth suddenly dry. He’s reminded again that he doesn’t know much about Arthur, just that he lives in London and works for his father’s company.

“Good. I’ve been trying to slow down on working, it’s been a struggle. But I’m getting there. I took a holiday - the first in years.”

“Oh, that’s good. Where’ve you been?”

“Portugal. Made a road trip. Have you ever been there?”

“For a retreat, yes,” Merlin confirms. “But I didn’t see much of the country. Just a lot of beach and yoga mats. And the airport, of course.”

In his ear, Arthur chuckles warmly. “You should go there, it’s beautiful.”

“I bet,” Merlin mutters, pulling up his legs to sit more comfortably on the couch. His heart is still beating irregularly and hard and it makes him short of breath. He doesn’t quite know what to say, everything seems laden with meaning, but in the end he decides to not censor himself. “Did you go with friends?”

Arthur seems to hesitate for a moment, but then says, “Well, I flew there with someone, but we ended up taking our separate paths after a couple of days. It did me good being on my own for a bit.”

Merlin hums. “I like travelling alone. It’s very peaceful. I sometimes go hiking, just for myself. My mother doesn’t like it - it makes her nervous - , but I really enjoy being in nature all by myself, without having to entertain or talk to someone. Just being with my own thoughts is really good.”

“Exactly. That’s what it was. It was very freeing,” Arthur agrees.

“It can get lonely after some time, though,” Merlin adds. “I once spent a month in an ashram,” he says, trying to inflict his words with the doubt that came with this decision in hindsight. “When I was young and impressionable, you know.” It had been right after the break-up with Lewis and back then, Merlin had thought that it was what he needed.

Arthur laughs his great, booming laugh. “Very yogic, of you.”

“Just tell me I’m a cliche. It’s all right. I’m never doing that again. We had to take a vow of silence and we couldn’t connect verbally or physically with anyone there. I figured after that month that it wasn’t for me. I compensated it with a rather unhealthy amount of meaningless human encounters afterwards, if you know what I mean,” Merlin says, wrinkling his nose when he thinks of the two or three weeks he basically spent clubbing afterwards. The only good thing out of that is that he’s still committed to a regular STD check-up twice a year.

“Sounds like you’ve learned your lesson,” Arthur mutters.

“I definitely try to balance out time alone with meeting friends, yes.” Merlin figures his words sound not right, so he hastens to add, “And I mean, just meeting, not, you know… ” He closes his eyes and winces, glad that Arthur isn’t able to see his horrible flustered face.

To his relief, Arthur just laughs again. “I know what you mean.”

They are silent for a bit again, but it’s a comfortable silence. Merlin feels a grin steal on his face and slowly take over his excitement. He still remembers how being in Arthur’s presence and connecting with him just felt right, from the top of his skull to the bottom of his feet, and that feeling suffuses him like warm sunshine on his face.

“It’s good hearing from you,” he says honestly, surprised at the warmth of his own voice. There’s no denying, not even to himself, that he didn’t miss Arthur somewhat terribly. If ever someone made an impression on Merlin in just a couple of days, Arthur was it.

“I’ve been kind of stalking you on social media.” Arthur sounds unapologetic. “Your new studio looks great, by the way. How’s it going?”

“I really can’t complain. It’s a lot of work, though. I’ve decided to do fewer classes in the second half of the year, give them over to other teachers, so I can concentrate on the managerial aspects. And I have three workshops coming up, so I’ll be flying around a lot this autumn.”

“You have 250.000 followers on instagram. You’re kind of famous.”

“Nonsense,” Merlin says, but he’s pleased with his social media presence. “It’s really strange, you know. I’m not a very public person, but my job is just as much about self marketing now as it is about teaching.”

“I’m glad. This way I knew what you were up to. At least professionally.”

“You didn’t really miss much else,” Merlin confesses. “I’ve mostly been working.”

“Please don’t turn into me.” Arthur’s smile is audible in his words and it makes Merlin grin. It’s insanely good to bask in the warmth of Arthur’s voice and even over the phone he can feel his undeniable pull. “But anyway, I’m going to heed your advice and not attempt headstands or anything too complicated for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t want a lawsuit just because you can’t follow my instructions,” Merlin teases. “Really, if you want to do yoga, I can recommend some classes in London for you.”

“I’d rather take it slow.”

“Then do so!” Merlin huffs out with laughter.

Arthur snorts, then says, “I have to head out now for dinner with my sister. It was great talking to you again. I’m glad you’re well.”

“You too,” Merlin confirms.

They say their goodbyes and Merlin puts the phone down, sitting there grinning for probably a whole minute until he’s ready to commence with his day.

He realises he’s still smiling when he leaves his flat and hops down the flight of stairs to his studio.

Work is exhausting as usual, a maelstrom of meetings and telephone conferences and phone calls. Arthur barely has time to read his emails or work during the day because his calendar is booked with obligations and meetings. He ends up doing his own work in the evening at home, his laptop propped up on his knees in bed, trying to reply to the emails amassed during the day. He sleeps badly and sometimes he can barely breathe because the pressure feels like too much. On the weekend, he ends up sleeping and catching up on the workload he hasn’t managed throughout the week. His social life is nonexistent, apart from the functions and business dinners his father makes sure he attends.

“I’m well aware what it takes to be successful,” his father says without much empathy when Arthur tries to get out of a charity event. “I’m sure you can make time if you really wanted to. Reschedule your private obligations if you must.”

Arthur doesn’t dare tell Uther that he hasn’t been on a date in months and that he spends most of his evenings working, so there practically are no private obligations to reschedule.

Conversations with Merlin are really the only thing that sustains him throughout the work week.
Ever since he sent Merlin that video, they’ve been communicating regularly via texts. Arthur is used to finding a text early in the morning, sometimes just a Good Morning sent off while Merlin drinks his first cup of coffee, sometimes a funny little meme. On some days, they exchange messages throughout the day, a whole conversation that Arthur returns to after every minute and during every coffee break. He’s becoming obsessed with checking his phone, to a point where his father already chastises him to keep it off the table during meetings.

For a while, Arthur attempted to do anything Merlin showed in his short videos, but it was too hard and he gave up quickly. His impulsively bought yoga mat has been collecting dust in the corner after he took an ill-advised tumble and hit his head when he thought he could copy an arm balance. Merlin makes it look so easy.

The mat would have stayed there in the corner if he hadn’t pulled a muscle in his back when lifting a box of books. The injury isn’t too severe, but painful, and the painkillers the doctor prescribed him make him woozy and unable to work. Complaining to Merlin results in very detailed instructions, and when he doesn’t follow them immediately Merlin makes a video call and urges him to get on his mat to follow a couple of simple stretches. Arthur isn’t able to resist, not when Merlin has been determined to make him feel better, all his attention focused on him. So, groaning, he rolls out his mat and goes through the exercises as instructed, feeling like a very old person, Merlin’s voice soothing in his ears as he talks him through it.

Merlin sends him to take a hot bath afterwards and surprisingly enough, he feels better the next morning. He continues with the exercises until his back feels better, rolling out his mat every morning. Soon, he finds himself adding the sun salutations Merlin demonstrated for him a few weeks ago, just a couple of them at first, enjoying the way it almost feels meditative as he breathes through the motion. 5 salutations become ten, become fifteen, become twenty. It’s addictive, a steady, soothing motion that makes him sweat and calms him down. He thinks of Merlin doing the exact same thing every morning, remembers him flowing through the practice with ease and elegance, and feels connected to him in a way not even their constant messaging or the increasingly more regular phone calls can provide.

After a month, he feels ready for more. He’s up to half an hour every day and he thinks he might start to get the hang of how to lower himself down to the mat and push up again and he has to admit that he feels great. His body feels like something well oiled, loose and limber, and he is able to touch his fingertips to the floor with straight legs, something he can’t remember being able to do since he was a child.

When he tells Merlin, his laughter is delighted and spontaneous. “You should go to a class, Arthur!” he crows, clearly excited on Arthur’s behalf.

So Arthur takes Merlin’s advice and signs up for a weekly class on Merlin’s suggestion. It’s hard. It’s harder than he thought it would be and he sweats more in a one hour class than working out the equivalent time at the gym. Watching the other students, he feels intimidated and inflexible. Sometimes, during class, he wonders what the hell he is even doing here, but in the end, it always pays off. In the end he lies on his mat, his breath calming down, and he feels light and loose, endorphins surging through his body, satisfaction suffusing his bones.

It does something to him, slowly, but irrevocably. He finds himself doing things differently. He becomes somewhat more aware of his needs and the necessity of fulfilling them. When he comes home at night, instead of having a quick reheated take-away dinner and settling on his couch with his work laptop, he takes his time eating, then calls Merlin instead of opening his laptop. He knows Merlin’s schedule by now, knows when he teaches a class and can’t come to the phone. He keeps his phone on speaker and moves around the flat, doing the dishes or folding his laundry as he listens to Merlin tell him about his day.

Sometimes they talk for hours, all throughout the evening. It’s still as easy as ever to talk to Merlin about anything and nothing at all. They talk about their jobs, about books Merlin has read and movies Arthur has watched on TV. Merlin tells him about his weekend hikes and nearly intoxicating himself with paint fumes from repainting his bathroom, of how someone stole his bike and that one yoga student that is so determined to get a pose right, she broke her ankle. In turn, Arthur vents his frustration about his current project, his inability to seemingly catch a break and his increasingly agitated confrontations with his father. If Merlin had any trepidations of staying in touch with Arthur, they certainly don’t apply to their progressively regular phone calls.

It’s the end of October when Arthur realises he’s spending most of his free time connecting with Merlin one way or the other. It’s late, and he’s already in bed when Merlin calls him, returning from his evening practice with his advanced students. Arthur is sleepy, but he had kept his phone on his bedside table, counting on Merlin to give him a call after his class is over.

“Seriously,” Merlin huffs instead of a greeting, and something thumps to the floor in the background, “some people are just too fucking stubborn for their own good.”

Arthur can already guess what it is about and he puts the phone on speakers and places the phone next to him on the pillow. “Another overachiever?” he asks, and Merlin huffs again.

“I’m considering telling them to go find another teacher!” Merlin growls forcefully, frustration lacing his tone. “That guy just can’t accept that practice needs time and he can’t force more challenging poses by being irresponsible!”

“What did he do?”

“He thought he was ready to do a scorpion pose without a spotter! - That’s the thing with the legs over the head?” Merlin asks, and Arthur hums in confirmation. He knows the one, he saw Merlin do it.

“I told him to start learning to fall out of a handstand first and that he should be able to transition into a wheel safely but he didn’t listen and just scoffed when I showed him how. Like safety is beneath him! He nearly took a girl down when he fell over.”

“Did he hurt himself?” Arthur asks, interested and feeling maybe just a little vindictive.

“Nothing major. Christ, he makes me so angry!” Merlin all but snarls, “And I really don’t want to be! I’m not an angry person!” There’s a beat, then Merlin amends, more level-headed, “Usually.”

“Breathe, Merlin,” Arthur grins, imaging Merlin stomping around his flat, his face flushed with indignation and eyes blazing. He thinks Merlin is probably looking adorable and maybe, just maybe, a bit scary.

“Argh,” Merlin growls, and Arthur hears him flop down somewhere, before his voice comes over the speakers, muffled and more sedated. “I’m sorry. I had the sudden urge to vent at someone. I’m sorry it hit you. I could hardly yell at my student.”

“Sometimes it’s better to let it all out,” Arthur says, “and I’m okay, I can take it.”

“I’m going to tell him I’m revoking his membership if he doesn’t start listening,” Merlin mumbles, and Arthur smiles, imagining Merlin flopped down on his bed with his face pressed into a pillow.

“Good plan of action.”

“Ugh,” Merlin says. “I can’t teach people like him. I hate it so much. All that self-centered, competitive shit. Like, people seem to think you have to look a certain way and eat a certain way and do advanced poses and that’s the only thing that makes you a yogi. And I hate that I’m involuntarily catering to those images.”

“You should start eating more and get fat,” Arthur suggests lightly, snorting at the image of Merlin with a buddha belly and maybe a bald head.

“I have trouble putting on weight,” Merlin moans, as if the suggestion has merit to be considered.

“You are doing well, Merlin.” Arthur thinks of the way Merlin is always teaching about doing what feels good, not what looks good. “You’re perfectly imperfect. You’re not editing out your less than perfect attempts and you’re always having a good laugh about yourself.”

“Of course I’m editing stuff!”

“It’s really cute when you wobble and squeak before you tumble over.”

“Shut up,” Merlin mutters, sounding a little embarrassed.

“No, really,” Arthur replies, “it’s terribly endearing. I thought so watching you that very first time at the airport. You were in public and you looked so graceful, and it could have been obnoxious, but then you wobbled and flailed and made this funny, alarmed face and I thought you were adorable.”

Merlin makes another soft sound, half-laugh, half-huff. “I’m not trying to be cute. I’m just naturally clumsy.”

“Maybe you’re naturally cute,” Arthur suggests, and he’s surprised how easily he falls into flirting. He assumes it’s because he’s tired and soft and he wishes Merlin were here with him, instead of half a country away. He has the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, take him into his arms. He wants Merlin with him, in his bed, curled up beside him as they have this conversation. Arthur sucks in a breath at the fantasy of Merlin coming home to him after his day at work.

Merlin has been silent for a bit on the other end of the line, but his breathing is loud in Arthur’s ears. Arthur closes his eyes and listens to his breaths, excited and suddenly, blindingly aroused.

“Thank you,” Merlin finally says, and his voice is hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” Arthur mumbles inanely. He feels hot all over, his duvet suffocating him.

“I should let you get some sleep,” Merlin murmurs quietly. “Thanks for listening to me whine.”

“Anytime,” Arthur croaks out, wetting his lips, his throat impossible dry while his body starts feeling like heated liquid.

They say their goodbyes and Arthur hangs up, listening to the silence of the room around him. In his ear he can still hear Merlin’s quick, wet breathing. He closes his eyes and tries to fight the urge to touch himself, but it’s a losing battle and he tosses the blanket away and caresses his palm down his chest and belly.

He thinks of Merlin’s kisses trailing down his neck, of his mouth on him, warm and wet, fingers stroking into his arse. It doesn’t take much, just a couple of measured strokes on his heated cock, distributing precome and teasing underneath his foreskin, before he comes lightning quick, his body bowing as he shoots over his belly and chest.

Arthur struggles out of his shirt and wipes himself off, tossing it aside blindly. He’s asleep almost before his breathing can even out.

November brings with it lots of rain and winds and before Merlin knows what is happening, he’s already driving to Ealdor to help his mother prepare her garden for winter. It’s a cool but sunny day and he’s raking leaves to be composted, cutting down hedges and shortening bushes.

They’ve been busy at work since this morning, yet still his mother’s extensive garden needs more work. It’s nice work, though, out in the open air, and he enjoys spending time with his mother. He cleared his schedule for the weekend, relieved that after a couple of months his second studio is up and running well without too much intervention. He was able to hire two of his regular teachers to do administrative work and it helps in reducing his work week.

Other stuff is happening, too. He’s finalising a contract for a regular online series with a big online studio and he has three workshops scheduled for the start of the next year already. Two of the new places he did workshops with this year already asked him to come back next year, and he’s planning his first retreat for next summer together with a friend who does a cooking workshop. Things are exciting and busy, but in a good way.

He might have complained because of the lack of personal life, but he loves what he does and he’s also not quite comfortable with going out and meeting people. He tried, agreeing to go to clubs and parties with his friends, but while Gwaine seems intent on finding him someone for a night, Merlin isn’t interested in the options on offer at all. Every guy he meets just makes him realise that they would be second best and his interest cools after just a couple of words exchanged. The attraction is rather superficial anyway, purely reduced to his more baser instincts. So instead of going out or dating, he prefers to spend his nights talking to Arthur, unobtainable, ill-advised Arthur, who lives in London and goes out with girls and whose laugh makes Merlin ache with want and heartbreak.

Merlin has been raking leaves for the better part of the afternoon, considering vindictive thoughts about how he might cut down the stupid birch that sheds so many leaves, when his phone pings with a notification, vibrating against his thigh.

He pulls it out, smiling when he sees Arthur has sent him a photo of himself in a business suit in tree pose, impossibly good-looking, his tie askew, expression mock-serene, his eyes twinkling. “Embracing equanimity,” the accompanying message reads.

“Looking good,” Merlin texts back.

“Good news?” Hunith asks, leaning on her rake and wiping a sweaty hand over her forehead.

Biting his lip, Merlin lets his phone slide back into his pockets. “Just a message.”

Hunith gives him a look, her eyebrows raised slightly, like she doesn’t quite believe him. “What a message to make you smile like that,” she observes teasingly, winking at him when he looks her way.

Merlin exhales softly and rolls his eyes, knowing he’s unable to keep anything from his mother.

“It’s from Arthur,” he amends, trying and failing to suppress the smile he can still feel tugging at the corners of his mouth as he starts to move the rake through grass again.

“Arthur as in Arthur-from-Christmas-Arthur?” Hunith asks gently.

“Yes.” Merlin busies himself with the leaves, but he can feel his mother’s eyes on him.

“Oh, he was very nice. And drop dead gorgeous,” she says and it’s clear she wants to hear his opinion about that.

“You don’t say,” Merlin mutters, and when he dares to glance up, she’s still leaning on her rake, watching him.

“I thought I’d see more of him,” she prompts and Merlin sighs and stops his raking, straightening slowly.

“He’s… “ Merlin starts, then stops, exhales. “...complicated,” he finishes lamely, for lack of a better explanation.

“You like him.” It’s not a question, rather a statement.

Merlin bites his lip and thinks of how he feels about Arthur. His emotions are a complex jumble, he’s torn between an indescribable feeling of warmth when he thinks about Arthur, but there’s also pain there and so much insecurity. “More than,” he finally admits, pained.

His mother nods and obviously is done prying, because she fetches the wheelbarrow to start loading the raked leaves. They finish their work half an hour later and Hunith makes them tea and they polish off the cakes she made this morning. Outside, it’s getting dark, and Hunith occupies the downstairs bathroom, taking a bath before dinner to get rid of the dirt.

Merlin considers working on his retreat schedule - he has some very specific ideas for the kind of classes he wants to do - but ends up aimlessly replying to his social media messages instead and reposting a picture a photographer took of him last week for the announcement of a workshop. He might complain to Arthur about how people are so easily distracted by superficial images and achievements, but he would be lying if he claimed that he wasn’t satisfied with a great photo of himself once in a while. The fact is that it’s still business and yoga is mostly just a lifestyle to a lot of people. He likes the picture, because he looks like he’s having fun most of all, but it’s a nice benefit that he looks good doing something he loves.

When he returns to his laptop after dinner and a movie with his mother, there is a flood of new messages from his social media accounts, but he’s pushing them aside in favour of the one missed call.

“You’re hot,” Arthur says in lieu of a greeting when he picks up, and Merlin blinks and laughs.

“What?”

“That picture… very hot,” Arthur says, and his voice is strange, thick and slightly slurred.

“Are you drunk?” Merlin asks, perplexed.

“No,” Arthur mutters drolly, then amends, “maybe.”

Merlin snorts and sits down on his bed, but before he can reply with anything, Arthur adds, “I don’t know. I was at this boring function and my father tried to push a woman on me, so I might have had a bit too much wine. But … that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still hot.”

“Maybe the alcohol made me appear hotter to you?” Merlin teases, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s well aware he’s skating on thin ice, once again encouraging the flirty banter between them, but he’s unable to stop. It’s a bit of a trainwreck, really, thrilling and harebrained.

“Not possible,” Arthur protests earnestly and Merlin feels himself react to Arthur’s unashamed praise, flushing at his words. He’s not quite sure what to reply, but Arthur beats him to it again.

“If you were any hotter, it’d be a crime against humanity,” Arthur mutters.

“You are definitely drunk.”

“Maybe biased,” Arthur deflects. “I can’t believe I had you in my bed. I feel smug about that.”

“Arthur….” Merlin gnaws on his bottom lip, embarrassed for the heat that travels through him at Arthur’s words.

“I get why you didn’t want to see me again, I do,” Arthur continues. “I must have come across as so insecure and troubled, telling you I liked women approximately three minutes after you gave me a spectacular orgasm.”

Merlin winces, because Arthur is right about his motivation, but things have changed over the last couple of months. Before, he hadn’t known Arthur, not really. It’s more difficult now, now that he knows Arthur as a person, not just a one-night stand. He’s been entertaining stupid ideas of what would happen if he encouraged Arthur some more, but he’s always been too scared to take the next step.

“Arthur…” he starts again, and to his shame he sounds close to begging, but he’s not sure what it is he’s begging for. For Arthur to stop? For Arthur to go on?

“God, I wish I could be with you right now. I’ve been thinking about you. - All the time,” Arthur rambles on in a half-whisper, ignoring Merlin’s soft protestations. “I remember everything so clearly… How you touched me… the way you felt inside me…”

“Fuck,” Merlin whimpers and drops back onto the bedspread, wiping a hand over his eyes. He feels faint, dizzy with arousal. Behind his closed eyelids, he remembers too: their heated kisses, Arthur in his lap, the intensity with which he came, smothering his shout into Arthur’s neck.

“It was so good… I kept thinking I can’t believe how good it is. I hardly remember sleeping with guys before that. I had only a hazy recollection. I mean, I guess it was awkward and slightly painful and a bit dirty.” Arthur snorts. “But with you… I thought, now that’s what all the fuss is about.”

Merlin exhales shakily. “Are you trying to butter me up?” he asks, his voice wobbly and hoarse, “Because I’ll have you know, it’s working.”

Into his ear, Arthur breathes a low moan and Merlin shudders, the phone nearly dropping from his hand. “I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. Touch you.”

“Are you… “ Merlin swallows the spit that has collected in his mouth, then clears his throat, “are you… touching yourself?”

“Do you want me to?” Arthur whispers and Merlin moans, thinks of Arthur with his hand down his dress trousers, stroking himself slowly. He manages to put Arthur on speaker, before he lets the phone drop onto his chest and reaches down to grip himself through his baggy jeans, to relieve some of the pressure on his cock.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Arthur sounds breathy, the quality of his voice a big turn on.

“Yes,” Merlin whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as he palms himself. He briefly wonders what the hell he’s doing, but he’s done with being considerate, done with being clever and doing the sensible thing. Against his ear, Arthur’s breath is loud, laboured and desperate and Merlin thinks of Arthur beneath him as they move together, his warm breath washing over Merlin’s sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” Arthur says, then, “fuck.”

Merlin thumbs open the button on his jeans and frees himself from his underwear, groaning at the touch of his hand, trying to remember the way Arthur looked that night, beautiful and wrecked.

“Oh shit, Arthur, why are you so fucking gorgeous? You have such a pretty cock, like, seriously, it’s amazing,” Merlin babbles, forgetting why they shouldn’t do this, why this brash turn of events isn’t really the best course of action to take. “If I were there,” he groans, picturing it in his head, “I would suck your cock, make you tremble and moan. I’d take you to the edge and then back off, as often as I could. Shit, I really, really want you in my mouth.”

Arthur’s answer is a shocked, surprised whine, hoarse and desperate.

“I’ll bet you’d make the most amazing noises,” Merlin barges on relentlessly, moaning at the thought of having Arthur in his mouth, “I’d want you out of your mind, begging me to finish you off.”

“Shit, shit,” Arthur hisses, and there’s the slick sound of flesh on flesh coming over the speakers, lewd and wonderful.

Merlin matches the movement of his own hands on him to the sounds, imagines he’s stroking them both together, Arthur pulsing hotly against him. “You’d like that?” he asks, unnecessarily.

“Yes, fuck, anything, Merlin…” Arthur sounds breathless and shaky.

“I can imagine a couple of other things I could do with my mouth and tongue…”

Arthur moans a rather non-sensical reply that probably means agreement, but that’s the last semi-coherent thing spilling from his lips. Merlin gives up talking, too, listens to the noises Arthur makes, stroking himself hard and fast as he lets his fantasy play out in his head. The thought of Arthur sharing his fantasy for once fuels his arousal.

He’s close and it doesn’t take more than Arthur crying out on the other end of the line, before he follows suit, shooting over his hand and t-shirt.

It takes a while for Arthur’s hiccuping breaths to slow down, and Merlin keeps his eyes closed, listening to Arthur’s breath evening out, half-way able to pretend Arthur is here with him, lying next to him. He should feel awkward or maybe annoyed by giving into his urges, but all he can feel right now is bone-deep satisfaction.

“... yeah, so…” Arthur mumbles, clearing his throat, sounding nervous, “that was unexpected.”

At his words, Merlin snorts out laughter. “Seriously?” he asks, “You dirty talk to me and then say it’s unexpected when I reciprocate?”

Arthur huffs, clearly annoyed. “So, what is this now? Are we phone buddies with benefits?”

Merlin can’t help but roll his eyes. “You’re going to overthink it, aren’t you?” he mutters, reaching for his nightstand and the kleenex box he put there because of his recent cold.

“I’m not overthinking anything. My brain’s not working properly.” Arthur sounds indignant.

“It doesn’t change anything, Arthur,” Merlin sighs, wiping himself down quickly. “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret that we’re …” he pauses, searches for the right words, ends up with, “sexually compatible.”

“Ugh,” Arthur groans, “you’re totally ruining the afterglow.”

Wincing, Merlin sits himself up and pulls his clothes back together. “You should get some ibuprofen and a glass of water before bed.”

“Still ruining the afterglow,” Arthur complains. “Also, are you insinuating that I’m still drunk?”

“I’m insinuating that you’re definitely a bit sloshed and that you should get some sleep and leave the overthinking for another day.”

There’s a long pause and then Arthur says, “Fine,” sounding anything but and ends the call.

“Shit,” Merlin curses, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the sudden tension between his brows. He takes a couple of calming breaths, then decides he’s not going to fret about what just happened. So they got each other off over the phone. It’s not like they are going to do that regularly.

Obviously, the lesson learned here is that Merlin should heed Gwaine’s advice and go out on dates and have sex, so he won’t be horny and stupid when talking to Arthur on the phone.

Sighing, he gets up and sits down back at his computer to go through his social media messages. It’s not a good distraction, and he’s only half-heartedly scrolling through his messages, forcing himself to make a couple of comments, before going back downstairs to spend the evening with his mother curled up on the couch and watching TV.

When he finally goes to bed hours later, he has trouble falling asleep, checking and rechecking his phone for a message from Arthur. There’s none.

It’s enough, he decides. He told himself he wouldn’t be hung up on someone who isn’t out, and here he is, mooning about Arthur still. Determined, he fires off a quick text to Gwaine, proposing an outing to the club next weekend.

Once a week, Arthur and his father have lunch to discuss business. It’s usually a rather civil affair, because they rarely talk about anything private, mostly concentrating on updating each other about sales efforts and strategy in the roughly 1.5 hours they have. Usually, they eat lunch at one of three places close by the London headquarters. It’s an alternating schedule between Indian, Chinese and British fusion.

It’s over dessert, rice pudding and black bean dumplings, that Uther suddenly steers of course.

“Morgana is bringing her boyfriend to the Christmas office party,” he says out of nowhere, and when Arthur looks up, his father is watching him expectantly, his gaze speaking volumes.

“Oh,” Arthur murmurs, trying to sound disinterested, when in fact he knows from indisputable precedent that there is more to Uther’s comment and he should be wary. “The blue-eyed kid? Mordred?” he asks, because it maybe helps to lead the conversation actively instead of just waiting for his father to say what he wants to say.

“Yes. I must say I’m surprised that we’ll be seeing him once more. Then again, maybe she’s finally ready to settle down. God knows that girl couldn’t seem to stay in a relationship. It was getting embarrassing,” Uther says, reaching for his green tea. If Arthur didn’t know that Uther was building up towards the point of this conversation, he would suspect his father of gossiping.

“He seems like a good sort,” Arthur offers, thinking back to Thanksgiving dinner, when Morgana had brought Mordred as a surprise guest. While Mordred was much younger than Arthur expected and didn’t at all fit the kind of bloke Morgana usually went for - mainly posh, slick and frustratingly boring - he had stuck out from her usual suitors maybe because he wasn’t any of that. He was sweet, but slightly enigmatic and terribly earnest as well as honestly interested in their business, something which had definitely tipped Uther’s opinion of him in his favour. Later that evening, while Mordred and Uther had been in a rather vivid discussion about solar cell use for roads, Morgana had caught Arthur’s eye over the table, smiling at him triumphantly.

Uther puts his tea cup down carefully, then steeples his fingers in front of his face as he regards Arthur. “I can’t help but ask myself why you haven’t brought anyone home to meet me yet,” he says, his gray eyes twinkling, which Arthur knows is a sham. Uther certainly isn’t amused about his lack of girlfriend.

Clearing his throat, Arthur puts aside his fork and swallows down the last of his rice dumpling. So that’s the purpose of the conversation. “There hasn’t been anyone serious enough to bring home,” he says cautiously, because Uther will smell untruthfulness from a mile away.

Uther huffs and wrinkles his nose, like he thinks Arthur is horribly incompetent. “What about Sophia? You seemed to enjoy her company the last time we were all together at Aulfric’s.”

“She’s very nice, but… it just didn’t click.” Arthur busies himself with pouring more tea into his cup, hoping that if he looks away, Uther will drop the topic.

“And Vivian?”

Arthur snorts, wondering what he might say that isn’t a complete smashdown.

“She is very clearly taken with you. Also, she’s very beautiful,” Uther points out, regarding him carefully.

“Oh, I agree. She’s also rather vapid and she gossips about other people in a way that makes me doubt her character.” Arthur picks up his tea and sips, grimacing at the too strong taste of the dregs at the bottom.

“You are turning 30 in January, Arthur,” his father says, sounding displeased. “Don’t you want to settle down with someone?”

Arthur suppresses a sigh and takes another sip from his cup. Settling down, he thinks, scoffing. Yes, he wants that, he wants to have somebody to come home to, someone to build a life with, someone to have a family with. Frustratingly enough, the only thing he had been able to picture clearly in his mind when he thought about his future was that he wanted to be a father one day. He hadn’t been at all able to picture the wife he wanted to have. And Vivian is certainly not the person he thinks of settling down with.

An image comes to him, of a small house, warm and full of light, with large windows showing the green landscape outside. Hard-wood floors and lots of plants, homey and cosy. He thinks of waking up and smelling coffee, of finding Merlin at the kitchen table, typing away on his laptop, greeting him with a kiss. Arthur sucks in a short breath, surprised by the fantasy that snuck up on him out of nowhere.

“I haven’t found the right person yet,” Arthur says, but in his heart he knows, it isn’t true. The lie aches, presses like a cage around his heart.

“You need to go out more. Meet people,” Uther is saying. “I invited Godwin to the Christmas office party. He’s going to bring his daughter, Elena. I heard she’s in microbiological research. Clever girl. Funny, too.”

“Why are you always trying to set me up with our business associates’ daughters,” Arthur complains, unable to help himself.

“Because you don’t seem to be able to get a date for yourself, Arthur,” Uther says, sounding frustrated.

“Why do I have to!”

Uther stares at him, obviously taken aback by Arthur’s uncharacteristic outburst. “Because I worry,” he says sharply. “And I think it would do you good to go make an effort and get to know someone. When I met your mother…”

Arthur suppresses the roll of his eyes, only half-listening to his father’s rendition of meeting Ygraine, how she was the light of Uther’s life and nobody can compare. How she saved him from working in his father’s oil business, how she inspired him to do better and how her love had made him realise that he wanted to pursue his own dreams. How even to this day, after she has been dead for almost 30 years, it’s her love and inspiration that is giving him strength to do what is right.

His mind drifts back towards Merlin, to his bright kindness and sunny disposition. Things have been a bit weird between them since that phone call. Arthur hasn’t dared talk about it and Merlin hasn’t mentioned it again, so they have skirted around the issue, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

What is even worse is that when he called Merlin a couple of days ago, on the weekend, Merlin was clearly at a club or bar, judging by the loud music in the background and the laughter Arthur could hear over the phone. Merlin had been distracted and didn’t really have time for him, claiming he would call back tomorrow, when he wasn’t out with friends. Merlin hadn’t called.

It stung, both that Merlin had forgotten and that he had been out in the first place. The thought of Merlin bestowing his attention on someone other than Arthur is making his heart ache. He realises he has no claim on Merlin, but thinking of Merlin being with someone else makes Arthur sick to his stomach. It’s outrageous that someone else should kiss Merlin, or touch him or sleep with him.

Arthur only realises he’s clenching his fingers under the table in his lap when Uther asks him if he’s all right. “You look a bit pale,” his father suggests and Arthur is surprised that Uther notices things like that.

“I’m fine,” he grouses, slowly uncurling his fingers. “I just don’t like you grilling me about my love life.”

“It’s nonexistent, how could I grill you on it?” Uther asks stubbornly.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to go out with Elena. I can procure my own date to the office party.”

Uther makes a huffing noise. “Sure,” he says, but he sounds doubtful.

Gladly, their lunch time is over and the both of them have to head back to the office for their next meetings.

“If you don’t bring a date, I want you to spend the evening getting to know Elena,” Uther says determinedly as they slip into their coats.

Arthur grumbles in annoyance, but knows there’s no use in defying his father, so he wisely holds his tongue, glaring at his father’s back all the way to the office.

Chapter Text

Merlin’s Friday evening class is always a little mellow. His students are exhausted from the work week and he learned a long time ago that the energy isn’t the same as people are heading into the weekend. It’s usually also the one class that’s not always completely booked as students go home for the weekend or prepare to go out and enjoy Cardiff’s nightlife.

He’s a bit tired himself, having done some Christmas shopping for his mother in the afternoon, wanting to get it over with early this year, before the shopping streets and arcades are teeming with crazy Christmas shoppers. Cardiff is nice this time of year, though, with its Christmas markets by the river. Merlin loves the Christmas lights in Cardiff’s City Centre. The Hayes, just around the corner from his first studio, is especially festive with its Christmas Market.

Even though he doesn’t decorate the studio for Christmas, preferring to make it a space for everyone, regardless of their religious denomination, he likes the homey atmosphere of his studio on a cold winter night. The wooden floors are warm, thanks to the floor heating he had decided on when he renovated it four years ago, a splurge that had been hard on his savings but paid off in the end. He likes to light candles, which he distributes in lanterns on the window sills and in corners. Merlin has just finished preparing the herbal tea he makes before class and taken a huge cup to the reception desk, when his first students arrive.

Soon, he’s chatting to some of his regulars as he checks them in. Usually, he has Freya or Daegal help him with administration, but Friday is slow and because it’s the last class of the night, he mostly does it on his own. It’s busy for a little while - the studio’s practice space can provide room for 45 people easily, which was one of, if not the main asset of renting the space. The former storage space of a cloth-factory had been empty and boarded up for several years until Merlin came along and decided to put the work into it to transform it into a practice space. It had also been one of the few spaces he had been able to afford.

When the trickle of students slowly runs out, Merlin finishes off his cup of tea, waiting for stragglers before it’s time to start the class. He’s busy checking his work emails, when a latecomer steps up to his desk.

“Hey,” the latecomer says, and Merlin looks up, his eyes widening when he sees who it is that stands in front of him.

“Arthur,” he breathes, and he knows he just must sound completely perplexed, because Arthur does a funny little face and shrugs.

“Yeah. It’s me,” he says, shifting on his feet, his hands in the pockets of his winter coat. A red scarf is wrapped around his neck and he dons a woolen hat that shows wispy strands of blond hair.

Merlin swallows and lets his gaze travel over Arthur, from head to toe. It’s a shock seeing him in person after such a long time. Under his scrutiny, Arthur fidgets and pulls off his cap, threading his fingers through his strands, awkwardly trying to flatten his hair.

“I have class in five minutes,” Merlin mutters stupidly, feeling like somebody punched him in the stomach. Arthur looks devastatingly good and Merlin has trouble believing he’s really standing in front of him.

“I know,” Arthur says softly. “I brought my mat.” He shifts again, displaying the mat bag hanging over his shoulder.

“Oh…” Merlin mumbles, “oh… of course.” It doesn’t make sense for Arthur to be here, least of all for a class, but Merlin checks him in on autopilot, telling him to get a wooden chip from the basket through which he can communicate what kind of assists he wants, then points him towards the wardrobes.

What are you doing here?, Merlin wants to ask, but he’s flabbergasted and he also doesn’t have time for long discussions. Another late-comer needs checking in behind Arthur and Merlin still has to close up before he can start class.

His head is reeling when he steps into the practice room. His eyes sweep the room, looking at his students glancing back at him expectantly, sitting cross legged on their mats or doing simple stretches. Arthur is in the back, having taken one of the last empty spots near the window. He’s dressed in loose shorts and a tank top and Merlin tries to not think too much about how hot Arthur is in workout clothes when Merlin only knows him in dress clothes or completely naked. His arms are especially nice to look at, damn.

With a soft exhale, Merlin pulls himself together and starts his class, stepping towards the front of his mat which is set up in the middle of the room, so he’s visible from every spot, and urging his class to do the same. He does what he and his teachers jokingly call “the safety instructions”, asking about injuries, first times at yoga and explaining the use of the assist-chips, before leading his class into a couple of sun salutations. Once he is sure that everyone can follow their own version, he walks around the room, carefully instructing the movement while doing necessary adjustments when he sees someone needs help.

“Mula bandha,” he reminds one of his regular students, then tells another, newer student, to bend their knees a bit. For those with hands-on assists he provides adjustments, pressing down their hips in down dog or smoothing out their tense shoulders. When he comes to Arthur, he sees that Arthur has turned his wooden chip to show the side that spells out “Adjust me”. Merlin uses a brief, calm correction to lessen the strain on Arthur’s hamstrings, before walking back towards the middle of the room and commencing with the postures.

He set his focus on open hips and hip mobility today, leading his class through different modifications, offering a few more challenging poses for the advanced students. He’s acutely aware of Arthur, twisting and turning on his mat at the back of the room, sweating profusely, arms gleaming, face becomingly flushed. Merlin doesn’t usually feel attracted to his students, so the feeling is weird to say the least. He’s relieved when the flow takes away the distraction that is Arthur and he leads his students through a challenging sequence, grinning at their determined, sweaty faces and concentrated half-smiles. He closes the practice with a suggestion to do inversions, demonstrating shoulder stand and two headstand entries, before walking around class to help or encourage.

When he comes to Arthur, he’s pleased to see that Arthur isn’t attempting anything stupid and possibly dangerous this time, but has set up in a preparatory headstand the way he showed them.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “just push with your legs until you feel your hips are right over your head. It feels like you’re going too far, like you’re going to tip over, but you won’t. Now tighten your belly.”

Arthur lifts one leg, then the other, wobbling, but not falling. His breath is quick and a bit unsteady.

“You got it,” Merlin says calmly. “You can stay like this or try to straighten your legs. One at a time. Or two.”

Arthur wobbles again as he lifts both legs at once, a technique Merlin himself is much more comfortable with than the one leg at a time lift. He’s not entirely straight, but he’s up, feet in the air, for all of two seconds before he comes down again, laughing with excitement as he lands on the balls of his feet.

Merlin smirks, delighted at Arthur’s laugh. “Glad you took my advice this time and didn’t try and break your neck,” he says teasingly, and Arthur huffs and wipes sweat from his brow, rolling his eyes at him. “I’ve been doing this for months,” Arthur says, “I never got up.”

“Slow progress is good,” Merlin suggests. “It shows you the worth of the work you put into it. Imagine if everything came easily.”

Arthur’s grinning at him lopsidedly, looking at Merlin with a strange expression on his face. “Yeah,” he finally says, and he keeps smiling, but his gaze is suddenly intense and intimate.

Merlin clears his throat and gives Arthur one last look, before he walks back to the middle of the room. “Child’s pose, students,” he calls out, watching as those students who were still practicing inversions relax into everyone’s favourite pose. He leads his class through a couple more stretches, before dimming the lights for Savasana. It’s warm in the room and his body is loose, muscles perfectly worked, and he lies on his back, listening to his students settle down as well. It’s hard not extending Savasana, because he feels himself slip into deep relaxation, but he knows some students count on a punctual ending.

Afterwards, the room is silent as everyone rolls up their mats or goes looking for cleaning supplies. Merlin helps students with rental mats clean them properly and hang them up on the coathangers to dry, before walking out to the front to make some more tea. After class, some of the students like to hang around and chat with him or among themselves, lounging on the poufs and old ikea sofa that once stood in Merlin and Will’s student flat and drinking tea or water.

Some of his regulars ask him about things they encounter in their personal practice, like what to do about motivation, how to set up a personal schedule or wanting insights into a pose that eludes them. It’s so ordinary and it takes all his concentration so that he almost forgets that something was quite out of the ordinary, until he sees Arthur stand near the announcement board, sipping his tea and studying the leaflets for workshops and his class schedule, before he remembers that something quite extraordinary happened in today’s class.

He manages to slip away from his students after a while and steps up to where Arthur is reading the flyers.

“You’re doing a retreat next summer?” Arthur asks, not really looking at him.

“Hmmm,” Merlin confirms, feeling crazily unhinged just sharing the same space with Arthur. Arthur has showered and smells good, spicy and masculine and his hair is a little damp where it meets the collar of his coat in the back.

“That’s nice,” Arthur says, then turns to face Merlin, his gaze soft.

The way he looks at Merlin makes his heart flutter and his stomach twinge with an odd combination of nerves and lust. “I didn’t expect to see you at one of my classes. It’s a long way from London,” Merlin prompts, noting with shame that he sounds a bit breathless. What he really wants to ask but doesn’t dare to is why Arthur is here, all the way from London. He doesn’t understand how Arthur can reduce him to a blabbering idiot with no sense of reason at all.

Arthur looks shifty, like he wants to deflect Merlin’s words with a joke, before he shifts, now looking nervous himself. “I needed to see you.”

He sounds hoarse and his words shiver down Merlin’s spine, sending heat to parts of Merlin’s body that shouldn’t react, considering he’s wearing yoga leggings. Merlin licks his lips, wondering what the appropriate reaction to Arthur’s words is (because it clearly can’t be refusing to listen to reason and pushing Arthur up against the wall to snog him senseless), when he’s interrupted by one of his regular students addressing him.

“Hey, Merlin, see you on Sunday,” Kate calls, and he twists to look over his shoulder, giving her a wave. A couple of other students call out their goodbyes as well, having put their glasses and mugs in the dishwasher, and the studio empties quickly.

Here is not the time nor the place, so Merlin decides to take one step at the time.

“You want to come up to my flat for a drink? Or maybe dinner?” Merlin asks, feeling wired and a little confused by Arthur’s presence. Regardless of the fact that they’ve been talking on the phone for the last couple of months, standing next to Arthur again after almost a year makes him light-headed. He forgot how Arthur’s presence makes him feel, like they are magnets, unlike poled and attracting each other. “I… I made carrot soup earlier.”

Arthur bites his lip and nods. “I’d love to,” he says quietly, his eyes skittish as they flitter away to skim the announcement board again.

“Have some more tea, I’m closing up,” Merlin suggests, leaving Arthur at the announcement board.

He’s moving on autopilot, walking through the practice room to put out the candles and close the windows, checking the changing rooms and showers, making sure all the lights are out, before returning to the entrance. Arthur sits on the sofa, leafing through a practice book Merlin is selling in the small shop area. It gives Merlin a thrill seeing him sitting there, one leg pulled up, his coat open, his hair dishevelled and slightly damp still from his shower.

Merlin puts his mug into the dishwasher, checking it briefly, but decides it’s not full enough to wash the mugs yet, before turning to Arthur, indicating he’s finished for the night.

“Your studio is great,” Arthur says as Merlin shuts off the lights and closes up. “Much nicer than the one I’m at.”

Merlin has to bite down on his tongue to not shout out in glee that Arthur is doing yoga regularly now, and it’s all his fault.

“The house itself is pretty run down, but… I’m hoping that someone else is going to buy one of the empty flats on the second floor and the pressure on property management becomes too much,” Merlin says. “My mother saved up my father’s pension since I was a little kid - she gave me a headstart. I couldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“She’s great.”

“She is,” he confirms warmly as they make their way up the narrow stairs to the floor above, where Merlin has moved in when he opened the studio.

It’s a bit smaller than the studio below on the second floor because half of the upper floor space is an old, unused attic, but the part Merlin lives in had been offices for the cloth firm. It might have been even more work and money going into it to make it livable than renovating the studio space; in fact Merlin had knocked down almost every wall that wasn’t load-bearing. For over a year, Merlin had showered in the studio, until he had had enough money to put in a bathroom. It had been a rather continuous effort, but the rent was cheap, especially for the area.

Arthur looks around briefly as they enter, before dropping his mat and bag to the floor and shrugging out of his coat, putting it on the coat rack by the door.

Merlin ushers him towards the small table, pouring him a glass of water before reheating the carrot ginger soup he cooked earlier today on the stove in his small kitchen. It takes only a couple of minutes for it to be warm again, and he cuts them slices of thick soda bread to go with it.

“Sorry, I don’t have any wine,” Merlin mutters as he puts the soup down in front of Arthur, “but there’s a beer in the fridge if you want. I’m not sure it goes with the soup… I made some more tea-”

“Tea will be fine,” Arthur says, and he’s smiling, looking unbearably good sitting in Merlin’s flat at his small table. He looks right there, too, like he belongs, and it shouldn’t give Merlin so much pleasure to have Arthur in his space, but it does.

He bites his lip and suppresses the nervous laughter threatening to bubble out of nowhere and instead brings Arthur a cup of tea, before sitting down at the table himself. He hadn't expected his evening to go like this, had thought he would have his soup on the couch, cuddling the cats and watching some movie by himself, but instead he’s here with Arthur. His heart is beating madly, excitedly in his chest. He’s not sure he knows what he wants to happen, but he feels like bursting with excitement.

Arthur dips his spoon into his soup and tastes it, then glances at him from across the table, his eyebrows raised. “It’s really good,” he says.

“Don’t sound so surprised, clotpole,” Merlin counters and when Arthur grins lopsidedly, there’s the laughter, spilling out of him unexpectedly.

Arthur looks so good with his head thrown back, his mouth wide open as he chortles with glee, and Merlin bites his lip and decides to let the evening happen, without prejudice and fear.

Halfway through dinner, Arthur and Merlin are interrupted by what Arthur can only describe as a tiny avalanche of fur rolling across the small table, nearly upending Arthur’s tea, before it disappears again in a flurry of motion.

“Are those… cats?” Arthur asks hesitantly, watching the curled knot of black and red fur currently fighting on Merlin’s hardwood floor.

Merlin clears his throat. “Uhm. Yeah. I missed Sally. I thought it was time to give in and get myself a roommate. Two roommates, actually.”

Arthur remembers the red cat from Hunith’s house and how she liked to rub at his legs.

Merlin, who has finished his soup already, gets up and reaches down to pick up the red kitten, which hisses and stretches its little paws, before toying with his fingers.

“They are just babies. Playing all the time. I forget how active they are when they are young,” he says ruefully.

“This is Bowie,” he announces, handing the red kitten to Arthur unasked, before reaching for the black one. “And this little rascal is Mercury.”

Arthur giggles, infinitely charmed by both the tiny kittens as well as Merlin’s naming. “They are cute,” he says, stroking Bowie’s little furry belly, laughing, when the kitten tries to bite his finger, while purring almost aggressively at the same time. “And fearless.”

“No shit. They know it,” Merlin says, dumping the other kitten in Arthur’s lap too, an action that immediately causes the two kittens to attack each other again, rolling around on Arthur’s lap before dropping unceremoniously to the floor, only to start chasing each other across the flat again.

Grinning, Arthur watches them disappear around a pillar, followed by a couple of thuds as they make their way through the rest of the flat, out of sight. “They look like a handful,” Arthur observes and finishes his soup, before helping Merlin bring the dishes to the kitchen. He leans in the doorway rather than stepping into the small room, watching as Merlin puts away their plates.

“I don’t particularly like living alone, so… they keep me company,” Merlin explains, putting away the dishes into a small dishwasher, before straightening to turn towards Arthur again. Arthur rips his eyes from Merlin’s backside, which should be considered a deadly weapon in yoga pants and tries not to flush, which is a losing battle. The kitchen is functional, but tiny, and it makes Arthur aware how close they are standing with him leaning against the door frame and Merlin just a step away.

Merlin looks at him expectantly, and Arthur wonders if Merlin just gave him a strange cue to say his goodbye after practically forcing himself onto him, but then Merlin quirks his lips and asks, “You want that beer now or more tea?” and it’s clear that Arthur is welcome.

With a soft sigh, Arthur straightens and uncrosses his ankles. “More tea is fine,” he suggests.

He watches Merlin fix him another cup while he explains where he got the kittens - the shelter at the veterinary clinic where one of Merlin’s students works - and how they’ve been keeping him up half the night, being super-active and seemingly unable to lie still for even an hour.

They retire to Merlin’s couch after that, catching up with each other since they last talked. At some point Bowie hops up onto the couch and settles between Arthur’s crossed feet, purring when Arthur’s fingers find his belly again.

It’s so easy talking to Merlin and Arthur feels that constant grin tugging around his mouth, making his face almost achy, an expression that is mirrored in Merlin’s laughing eyes and smiling lips. They have turned towards each other, each of them a leg folded under them and Arthur feels so comfortable, despite the fact that they haven’t yet addressed the elephant in the room. Merlin hasn’t yet asked him what he is doing here and Arthur hasn’t yet brought up the courage to say what he came here to say, but despite those unspoken words between them, Arthur feels like he never wants to leave.

It’s just like when they were first together in each other’s presence, that undeniable pull between them, the air charged with something that’s both electrifyingly exciting and satisfyingly comfortable.

Merlin gets up to get some more tea and find something to snack on and Arthur stays on the couch. In his lap, Bowie is a warm, light weight. It’s getting late, and if Arthur wants to make it back to London tonight, he needs to get his shit together, but the perfect opportunity to say what he came here to say hasn’t arisen yet. With a groan, Arthur realises that it’s not something that’s just going to happen by itself and that he has to take action.

He gets up from the couch, dislodging Bowie who makes a disgruntled sound but curls up in the spot Arthur vacated immediately. Arthur hesitates, takes a step towards the kitchen, where he can hear Merlin move around and opening and closing cupboards, before he stops, losing his courage. He turns, about to sit down again, but he’s embarrassed by his own jitters and twists on the spot again, turning abruptly towards the kitchen once more. He manages two steps before his brain starts to scream at him to sit back down and not be a fool. When he turns back towards the couch, Bowie has raised his little head from his paws and looks at him reproachfully, like he wants to tell Arthur that he is a first class idiot.

With a sigh, Arthur turns once more, marching towards the kitchen. He nearly collides with Merlin when he rounds the corner and there’s a moment when Merlin is blinking at him with incomprehension and in surprise before Arthur moves in, all thought about talk forgotten, reaching to cup Merlin’s face and pull him closer. Against his lips Merlin inhales sharply, but his mouth is soft and yielding and when Arthur licks between Merlin’s parted lips Merlin’s surprised moan vibrates between them. There’s a dull thud, something falling from Merlin’s hands to the floor, and then Merlin’s hands are on Arthur, clutching at the fabric of his jumper around his waist.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all evening,” Arthur whispers once he pulls back, his voice coming out hoarse and breathless.

“This is a tremendously bad idea,” Merlin says, but he’s staring at Arthur’s lips longingly even while he’s saying it, and when Arthur leans forward, Merlin meets him half-way in another kiss, a kiss so hot and sweet it makes Arthur tremble. With a groan, Arthur pulls Merlin closer until they are plastered against each other, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, touching without an inch of air between them. Merlin presses forward and they stumble until Arthur hits his hip on the kitchen counter, and still Merlin crowds up against him, his kiss desperate now as he worries Arthur’s bottom lip between his teeth. They sway unsteadily until Merlin suddenly draws back, gasping for air.

“Shit,” he says with feeling, “I didn’t mean to do that. Not like that.” His forehead rests against Arthur’s as he breathes out noisily, his eyes squeezing tightly shut.

“I want to spend Christmas with you,” Arthur blurts out, overwhelmed. All that he wanted to say, the whole complex speech that had taken on form over the last couple of days and which he rehearsed over and over again on his way in the car to Wales, condensed in one concluding sentence.

“What?” Merlin asks lowly, and he sounds confused and overwhelmed.

“Please, spend Christmas with me,” Arthur says, knowing he sounds desperate and possibly lunatic.

When Merlin doesn’t answer, just breathes noisily, Arthur groans out a sigh. “Damn, I … I had this whole speech prepared, I didn’t mean to just spring this on you. It was all very well thought out and it made so much sense in my head, only now I’m sounding slightly mad, aren’t I?”

Merlin exhales another shuddering breath before he extracts himself slowly from Arthur’s arms and takes a step back. Arthur immediately misses the heat of Merlin’s body and he’s tempted to reach out again, but a look at Merlin’s face stills his intended movement.

“I can’t do this,” Merlin mutters desperately, his eyes not quite meeting Arthur’s, his face shuttered. “I thought I maybe could earlier, but… I can’t do this,” he repeats, almost to himself.

“You… “ Arthur swallows, “You can’t do what?” he continues, wanting to understand why Merlin is shutting him out all of sudden.

“You are… so lovely,” Merlin says haltingly, “but… I can’t do this.” He pauses, biting his lips as he stares at his feet. “So please don’t ask me-”

“I was going to invite you to my office party,” Arthur blurts out. “As my date.”

The corner’s of Merlin’s mouth twitch and twist, but it’s an unhappy smile and while he lifts his head he’s not really looking at Arthur, but staring at a point over his shoulder.

“It’s next Friday. Will you come?”

Arthur waits with baited breath, hating himself so much for ruining everything with his impulsive kiss. He had had the perfect strategy, a carefully voiced and well-rehearsed speech in which he had wanted to lay it all out there: the fact that he knew he was in love with Merlin, that if Merlin only said yes to him he would have no qualms to tell the whole world about it and that he wanted to prove it to Merlin by taking him to the most public place he could think of as his date.

Merlin licks his lips, finally looking at Arthur, his face still pained. “Fuck, Arthur,” he groans, “do you really think that’s the way to do this? You’re not even out. Do you really think it’s the best idea to invite me to your office Christmas party?” His voice has gotten more and more agitated while his speech went on, and he looks uncommonly tense, his posture rigid.

Confused, Arthur wants to assure him that he’s thought about it, but when he finally gathers his wits about him to speak, Merlin already continues.

“Coming out is not something you do once, with a grand gesture and then it’s over like ripping off a plaster. It’s something you’ll have to commit to every day when you want to be with me. You’ll have to do it again and again. It’s… it’s… “ he hesitates briefly, obviously looking for the right words, looking quite helplessly frustrated for a moment, “it’s like with your headstand practice. If you do the grand gesture all at once, you’re going to fall and if you don’t keep practicing it, you will, too!”

“I can do this. I’m not afraid,” Arthur says stubbornly, hurt that Merlin obviously isn’t trusting him, isn’t seeing what Arthur is willing to do to be with him. “You just have to be there, the rest is up to me.”

“You don’t get it. When you fall, it’s me who’s going to get hurt, too. Maybe you want to start slow, like with your practice. Tell someone - maybe your sister - you’re also into men, see how that feels.”

He heaves a sigh and Arthur winces at the way Merlin’ face is full of anguish. He didn’t mean to put that expression onto his face.

“I really like you, Arthur. More than I probably should,” Merlin mutters, raking a hand through his hair in frustration, making it stand up madly. “And I realise I probably encouraged you with texting and calling you and well, that one time when… “ he trails off, blushing, making an aborted hand gesture. “But I’m not sure I can accompany you on that journey,” Merlin adds, his voice trembling. He’s once more not looking at Arthur, but past him, into the distance.

“Merlin…” Arthur says, stricken, reaching out, flinching when Merlin takes a step back. The rest of the words he came here to say die in his throat.

“It’s getting late,” Merlin says softly, then bends down to pick up a pack of salted pistachios he had dropped earlier.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his hand, before dropping it away. It’s a clear dismissal. He follows Merlin out of the kitchen, realising he’s practically being escorted towards the door.

“I’ll text you the address and time. It’s at my office. I’ll put you down as my guest. It’s just significant others and family,” he says with a last ditch attempt to get Merlin to reconsider, following Merlin through the flat towards the door. The words tumble out, hastily and rushed.

When Merlin stops and turns around to look at him, his face is carefully blank and reserved. “It was good seeing you,” Merlin says formally, like they didn’t just snog desperately in the kitchen, “but please, don’t expect me to come.”

Sighing, Arthur reaches for his coat and shrugs it on. Merlin stands nearby as he pulls his boots on, observing him almost impatiently, as if he wants Arthur gone as soon as possible. It’s awkward and the earlier warmth is gone, replaced by Merlin’s stoic apathy.

Arthur straightens, thrown by the look on Merlin’s face. “I’m in love with you,” he breathes desperately, but his confession doesn’t seem to sway Merlin at all, if anything makes him even more pained-looking.

With a huff, Merlin buries his head in his face and moans. “Please, Arthur, just go,” he says, muffled, his voice trembling. “I… I have to think about this.”

“I -” he starts, but interrupts himself. Shit, he did it all backwards.

In front of him Merlin is breathing hard and it’s terrible, like he’s panicking. Arthur wants to reach out and comfort him, maybe take it all back, but in the end he whispers his goodbye and lets himself out the door, shutting it behind himself softly.

The morning of the 24th of December is warm and sunny and Merlin has rolled out his mat in his mother’s living room in the spot where the morning sun filters over the hardwood floor and makes everything gleam, consciously breathing through his practice, waiting for the magic to happen. It doesn’t, not this time.

He’s going through the motions, concentrating on his even breathing, counting it quietly in his head, but he’s not really there, not really feeling it. Mercury is lying in a ray of sunlight at the top of his mat, his furry little face tilted into the sun, his black fur chocolate brown in the light. Merlin’s eyes keep flitting towards him, distracted by the thought of warm fur underneath his hands.

He gives up his routine half-way through and tries to listen to his body and do what feels right, but everything seems to be too much effort today. He flails through a balancing practice, frustrated with his own need to prove he can do this, can enter that flawless space where everything is wonderful and mind and body work together in sync. In a last ditch effort to level up his concentration and maybe turn this around after all he goes for a flow with handstand and arm couple combinations that demand his utmost attention, but his knee slips in Eka Pada Bakasana because he doesn’t push enough with his arms and shoulders and he takes a nose-dive he only just manages to turn into a roll, narrowly missing Mercury’s furry little body.

With a huff, Merlin flops down to the floor spread-eagled and panting and closes his eyes. It feels like defeat and the feeling is utterly ridiculous. It’s a hard lesson to accept that sometimes things won’t happen the way you want them to and that there’s no reason to fight it, but on some days acceptance eludes him completely. He lies in Savasana for a long while, even though true relaxation is unattainable and his thoughts aren’t calming down.

When he finally gets up from his mat, prompted by Mercury who decides he wants to cuddle with his human and thinks it’s best done by planting himself on Merlin’s chest and digging his tiny claws rhythmically into Merlin’s skin, the smell of cinnamon and baked apples comes wafting from the kitchen.

“Morning,” his mother greets him warmly, accepting a kiss before pressing a cup of coffee into his hand. Technically it’s almost noon, but they both slept in late to have some reserves for the long night ahead.

“You made baked porridge,” Merlin says appreciatively, taking in the kitchen island set up for two, sipping from his coffee. She spiced it with cinnamon too, and he smiles at her over the rim of his cup, aware that she too has noted he’s out of sorts. It’s a curse and a blessing to have a mother who is so tuned into his moods.

“I thought we both could use something warm and sweet,” Hunith suggests and presses a serving spoon into Merlin’s free hand.

They settle down and eat in comfortable silence for a while, but when Merlin dishes out seconds, his mother’s hand reaches over the table and covers his own.

“Do you want to talk about what’s making you look so sad and fall all over the place?” she asks gently, and when he looks up, her face is soft and compassionate.

Merlin shrugs, feeling like he’s fifteen again, sitting at this very table when she caught on he was struggling with being into boys. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but her fingers stroke the back of his hand. He watches them rub against his knuckles and thinks back to a time when he could still fit his hand into hers.

“I guess I shouldn’t expect someone else this Christmas?” she continues carefully and when Merlin looks up, she’s watching him with a knowing expression.

“No,” Merlin confirms, feeling raw and stripped open.

“No Arthur?”

“No Arthur,” Merlin repeats, not able to suppress the bitterness of his voice.

“Oh baby,” Hunith whispers and grips his hand tight, “what’s going on?”

Merlin shudders out a breath and holds her concerned, compassionate gaze. “He came to see me in Cardiff. About one and a half weeks ago. He invited me to his Christmas office party.”

When his mother only raises her eyebrows to prompt him to keep talking, he sighs. “As his date.”

“You didn’t go.”

“No.” Merlin pauses and carefully draws his hand back, wetting his dry lips, before reaching for his cup of coffee, masking his scowl behind the rim of the cup. “I thought about going… but in the end, I couldn’t. I really wanted to, I didn’t want to stand him up. I was all dressed up. I wore that suit I bought for Gwen’s wedding, the one you say is steel blue or whatever.”

“That’s a good look,” Hunith agrees gently, reaching for her own cup.

“I couldn’t leave,” Merlin moans, threading a hair through his hand, the embarrassment of that afternoon coming back to him with full force. “Every time I attempted to step out of the door, I thought about Lewis and how that hurt. And I couldn’t do it.

Hunith sighs out a soft breath. “Arthur isn’t Lewis. Lewis was a very conflicted, hurt young man.”

“He might as well be,” Merlin whimpers, and it speaks to his relationship with his mum that he doesn’t even feel embarrassed about the whininess of his tone. “The formerly straight guy, completely in the closet. I’m obviously very attractive to straight men, so attractive they feel like they could try this homosexuality thing with me, but only behind closed doors.”

“Oh, no,” Hunith says, “don’t say that.” She reaches out again, taking his hand in hers. “Maybe you need to give Arthur the benefit of the doubt. He invited you to his office party. That’s not exactly behind closed doors.”

Groaning, Merlin thumps his head down on the table. He thought so much about how that office party could have gone. Whether Arthur would have really treated him like a date, introduced him to his colleagues and friends. But memories of him and Lewis shouting at each other had been much more powerful than tentative daydreams of an unsure future.

“Sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone to keep on growing, isn’t that what you tell your students when they complain about things being too hard?” Hunith asks, and there’s some gentle teasing laced into her words.

“Ugh,” Merlin huffs disdainfully, “quoting my teaching back at me, very low.”

“Well, apparently you haven’t yet learned that lesson yourself,” she quips and Merlin raises his head to glare at her.

“I think Arthur was very brave coming to see you and inviting you to that party,” she says, sounding serious now. “He was obviously willing to step out of his comfort zone for you.”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty,” Merlin mutters with frustration, wrinkling his forehead as he scowls.

“All I’m saying is that you should take a risk once in a while, or you can’t be rewarded. You haven’t been seeing anyone in a long time. When you came home unexpectedly with Arthur last year, I thought maybe, maybe you were finally feeling better.” She pauses, smiling at him a bit sadly. “There was something about you two, a very strong connection. You were so in tune with each other.”

“I didn’t even know him back then,” Merlin says, slowly pulling back his hand. “It felt like I did. Like I’ve known him forever. Like he was both well-known and excitingly uncharted.”

He thinks of Arthur standing in his doorway, coat haphazardly on, scarf loosely slung around his neck, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment before Merlin all but chased him out the door. “He said he was in love with me…” he says softly, and it only hits him now, the fact that Arthur really did come to him all the way from London to clumsily confess his feelings and Merlin shot him down.

“You should go see him,” Hunith suggests, getting up from the table and taking her plate towards the counter.

“What? Now?” Merlin asks, confusedly looking at his mother, who calmly has started putting the dishes into the dishwasher. When she doesn’t immediately answer, he adds, “It’s Christmas Eve!”

The look she shoots him over her shoulder is unimpressed. “Exactly. What better time…”

“But we have guests. I can’t have you prepare everything on your own for tonight.”

“I’ll manage,” she says lightly, before turning to face him again, leaning herself back against the kitchen counter. “You should go have a shower and get dressed. I’ll drive you to the station, you can take the 1.20 p.m. train unless you want to take the car to London?”

Merlin realises he’s taking her suggestion seriously when he starts considering the parking situation in central London. “I-” he starts, then stops himself. “Train.”

“Good,” Hunith tells him, suddenly beaming. She steps forward and presses a kiss to his hair. “Now go get ready.”

“This is ridiculous,” Merlin mutters, but he gets up and takes his plate with him towards the dishwasher.

“You are ridiculous,” Hunith counters, but she’s grinning. “Also, don’t you dare come home tonight. At least not alone.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You are very sure of my success rate in this very ridiculous endeavour.”

Hunith just quietly grins to herself.

On Christmas Eve, the office usually empties around 2 p.m., except for the occasional stragglers who stay for a little longer, maybe because they don’t have any last minute obligations or don’t need to prepare anything for Christmas. It’s 4 p.m. when Owen from controlling briefly sticks his head inside Arthur’s door - always open, like all the other doors - to tell Arthur that everyone on their floor has gone home and that he put out all the lights in the other offices already.

“Have a merry Christmas,” Owen says, giving a short wave, before pulling his woolen cap over his ears and making for the lifts. Arthur listens to his footsteps as he walks down the corridor.

Sighing, Arthur drops his head back against the headrest of his chair and stares up at the ceiling, listening for the ding of the lift doors opening, then closing. The silence that follows feels oppressive and Arthur tilts his head, hearing the satisfying crack of vertebrae. It’s been a slow day, a slow week even and he’s been using the last couple of hours to go through his email folder for an end-of-the-year cleaning. Surprisingly there hasn’t been that much else to do. Arthur could have called it a day like his colleagues, but there’s no one waiting for him at home and he’s only expected to turn up at Mithian and Leon’s Christmas party around 8 p.m. He already bought a present and selected a fine red wine to bring with him, so he has nothing to do but wait it out and the office is the best place to stay away from all the Christmas cheer that is doing nothing but bringing him down. He’s glad his father’s company has always been pretty sparse on the Christmas decoration, and the few carefully placed wrapped parcels and the tree on the floor below are the only reminders of the season.

Outside his office, the lift dings again as the doors open and someone steps outside. It’s probably Owen, who has forgotten something in his office.

Arthur selects another batch of emails to send to the trash folder, absentmindedly listening to the footsteps outside. They are hesitant, not at all like Owen’s brisk, stompy walk - he’s slightly overweight - and they stop right outside his door.

When Arthur looks up, there, standing in the doorway, is the last person he would expect to see today.

“Arthur,” Merlin says softy, looking windswept and beautiful in his winter coat, a red woolen cap on his head, his dark curls springing out from underneath it, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “You didn’t pick up your phone,” he adds, as if he’s apologising for showing up unannounced.

“I had it on vibrate. Morgana set my ringtone to “Santa Baby” and I haven’t been able to revert it,” Arthur says, when all he really wants to ask is why Merlin is here, in his office, on Christmas Eve. At Merlin’s disbelieving look, he wrinkles his nose. “No, seriously. She deleted all other ringtones and changed my app-store password and-” he stops himself, because Merlin looks like he’s about to burst into hysterical laughter. “Forget it,” he grumbles, and Merlin grins, a grin that lights up his whole face. “You’re ten days late,” is what he says next, and he winces at the hurt he can detect in his own words, a hurt that is barely dulled, has actually intensified with time, with every day that went by without a word from Merlin.

It’s Merlin’s turn to wince and he does so with a flinch and a guilty expression. “I know,” he says softly, sounding chagrined. “I know, and I’m sorry I stood you up.” He takes a step forward, further into the room, then reaches up and pulls off his cap, smoothing a hand over his perpetually dishevelled hair in a fruitless attempt to straighten it.

“You didn’t even text me. You totally ghosted me,” Arthur says, surprised how reproachful he sounds, how hurt. He had been on tenterhooks that night of the office party, not knowing whether Merlin would come. Merlin had never reacted to his messages, had never really agreed to show up, but still Arthur had been waiting. He had checked in with the reception area and the girl who had Merlin’s name on her guest list so often it had been slightly embarrassing. When it had turned late, he had finally given up and had gotten blindingly drunk.

“I… I know.“ Merlin cringes, all but wringing his hands, looking mortified.

“Do you have anything more to say to me than ‘I know’?” Arthur asks, frustration colouring his tone and making it sharp and snappish. Before Merlin can reply, he barges on, surprised at how angry he really feels. “I came to see you! In Cardiff. I drove down there and obviously made a fool out of myself. I laid myself completely bare! I went about it clumsily, yes,” he admits, because he’s that self-aware, “but I took a risk on you and you weren’t even able to do me the courtesy of telling me that you’re not going to take a risk on me!”

Throughout his tirade, Merlin’s face has become progressively paler, his face a sharp contrast to his black hair and pink lips. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs heavily. “I was fucking scared, okay?” he says, but rather than petulant he sounds desperate.

Arthur just manages to suppress his disbelieving scoff, because why would Merlin need to be afraid?

Merlin takes a step forward, closer to Arthur’s desk, his hands fidgeting with the woolen cap between his fingers. “I had this boyfriend. A few years ago.” He sounds hesitant, but when Arthur gives him an encouraging nod, he keeps talking. “He wasn’t out. We were pretty young, so I thought that I didn’t want to pressure him, that I would give him time to come out on his own terms.”

Arthur grimaces, his heart hurting for the pain audible in Merlin’s words. He slowly gets up from his chair and rounds his desk, needing to eliminate the space between them, needing to be closer.

“You can imagine how that went, right?” Merlin continues darkly. “For two years we were together in secret. At first he was pretty much in denial. Then he promised me he would come out when the time was right. Only… the right time never came. It was really ugly in the end,” he says, his voice low, a whisper. “It nearly broke me. I… I haven’t had a meaningful relationship since.”

“Shit,” Arthur says, realising how deep Merlin’s hurt must run. He swallows, takes another step forward, so close, they are almost touching. “Did you come all the way from Cardiff to apologise?” he asks softly.

Merlin shrugs like a little boy getting scolded by his school teacher. “I was going to come to your office party. Couldn’t go through with it. I panicked every time I tried to step out the door.” He looks at Arthur imploringly. “I’m here now.”

“What are you here for?” he asks hoarsely, his knees feeling like rubber as he takes a tentative step towards Merlin. He valiantly tries to calm his suddenly wildly beating heart which is galloping in his chest almost painfully. Hope floods his veins and with it the fear of another rejection.

In front of him, Merlin rolls his eyes. “You know…” he says, and grins almost abashedly. “I’m here for that grand gesture. Trying to be brave, I guess. Taking a risk.”

“On me?” Arthur breathes, aware that his voice is wobbly with emotion.

Merlin briefly closes his eyes, his lashes resting on his cheek, a small smile tugging at his lips, before he exhales and looks up. “Yeah, you clotpole,” he says warmly. “I came to tell you that I think you’re absolutely worth the risk.” He pauses, looking sheepish for a moment. “I haven’t been sleeping well the last couple of days. I was beating myself up so badly for not taking that step forward to meet you halfway. I don’t need any grand gestures, either. I just want to be with you,” he says honestly. “Everything else has time.”

Arthur bites his lip, unable to help the smile that’s stealing on his face in anticipation of what he will say next. “I’m sorry, but you’re kind of late for the grand gesture, too,” he relates, feeling impish and proud about the news he has to report. “Not that it was a very grand gesture. It was very anticlimactic, actually.”

Merlin frowns with confusion, his lips quirked in a confounded half-smile. “Did you take another bloke to the office party?”

It’s Arthur’s time to roll his eyes. “I talked to my father. And some of my friends. They know.”

“Oh.” Merlin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, blinking at him in surprise, his eyes wide. He looks at Arthur for a long time without speaking, looking dumbfounded. “What… what did they say?”

Arthur shrugs. “My father didn’t seem very surprised. He said something along the lines of ‘At least it doubles your chances of finding someone’.” Arthur replays that particularly strange office lunch in his head. Arthur’s father had complained that Arthur hadn’t entertained Elena, but instead had moped around the party and had drunk too much, and Arthur, still hurting from Merlin’s rejection, had reacted instantly and vented his frustration about being stood up by his date. Then he had corrected Uther when his father had assumed his date had been a girl. To Uther’s credit, he had barely paused eating, before he delivered the punch-line.

Merlin chortles, bewildered, tension quickly draining from his posture.

“I told you, very anticlimactic,” Arthur says dryly, eyes flitting over Merlin’s face and the way he looks lit up from within, laughter lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, his teeth showing.

“But it feels good?” Merlin asks somewhat tentatively, his smile turning hopeful, and Arthur takes another step forward, crowding into Merlin’s space until they are standing so close he can feel Merlin’s breath against his face.

“Yes,” he murmurs, unable to look away from Merlin’s eyes and smiling mouth. He’s surprised how true his answer is, how he had never considered that omitting the whole truth from his friends and family was weighing him down with guilt. It’s gone now and he feels lighter for it, more like himself. He feels free, even from his own expectations.

“I guess what I came to say is,” Merlin says softly, pausing to take a deep breath, before continuing to speak, “Do you want to spend Christmas with me?”

“Only this one?” Arthur says only half-mocking, raising his eyebrow in inquiry. “Because I want to spend more than this one with you. Actually, I want to spend a whole lot of Christmases with you.”

At his words, Merlin snorts out surprised laughter, but Arthur doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before he leans in, pressing their mouths together. Against his lips, Merlin is still laughing, a peculiar sensation. “Okay,” he says breathlessly, “okay.”

“Good,” Arthur murmurs, before deepening the kiss and making Merlin’s laughter turn into soft, appreciative moans. Merlin’s lips are cool and his cheeks are still icy from the wind outside when Arthur cups his face and when Merlin’s gloveless fingers slip underneath his suit jacket and skim over the thin material of Arthur’s button-down, he shivers, but it doesn’t matter. They are warming up quickly and heat travels through Arthur’s body with every nip of Merlin’s teeth on his bottom lip, with every swipe of his tongue. Arthur’s hands find their way underneath Merlin’s coat where it hangs open at the front, wrapping around his middle, seeking out the skin underneath Merlin’s soft jumper.

When they finally break apart, they are both breathing hard and Merlin rests his forehead against Arthur’s. “Oh God,” he says, “we haven’t even started our relationship and we’re already going to have that awkward discussion where to spend Christmas this year.”

“That’s easy,” Arthur murmurs, a bit distracted by how Merlin’s thumb keeps drawing circles on his lower spine, just above the waistband of his trousers. His hands have definitely warmed up. “I met your family last year, now it’s your turn to meet mine.”

At his words, Merlin draws back, looking him over earnestly. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” Arthur confirms without hesitation. “In fact, once I manage to pry my hands off you - “ he trails his hands down Merlin’s back and grips his arse through his jeans for demonstration how difficult that would be, making Merlin groan in surprise, “- I’m going to make two phone calls. One to tell my father he needs to account for another guest tomorrow, another to my best friend to set out another plate for tonight's Christmas Eve party.”

“Alright,” Merlin agrees readily, and when Arthur lifts his gaze, he’s looking soft and pleased, his face becomingly flushed. Arthur can’t help but smile and Merlin surges forward and kisses him again, taking him by surprise and making them both stumble.

Arthur laughs, giddy and excited as their lips part. “You know, I haven’t really been feeling very Christmas-y this year so far, but I just gained a new-found appreciation for it. I can’t believe I’m looking forward to Christmas Day dinner with my father.”

Merlin smirks. “Then we should head out before the party. Go to a Christmas market. Drink some punch. Soak up the Christmas-y atmosphere. Get ourselves into the spirit.”

“Oh, I’m already very much in the spirit,” Arthur mutters, groaning as he leans in to nibble at Merlin’s tempting lips.

“Mhmmm, later,” Merlin chuckles softly, but he does nothing to stop Arthur’s kiss, which turns dirty and deep and goes on for so long that they are both panting when Arthur finally draws back. “I want to take my time with you,” Merlin says hoarsely, splaying a hand over Arthur’s chest, his gaze heated and a little bit drugged as he looks at him. “I didn’t get to do that the first time.”

“An incentive. A taste of what’s to come, then” Arthur suggests, not caring that he is corny. He feels like bursting with the knowledge that Merlin is here, in his arms and not going anywhere. Not going anywhere for a long time. Not going anywhere ever if Arthur can help it.

Merlin looks at him like he’s an impossible prat, but then he huffs and leans in to kiss him again. “Oh fuck, well then, Merry Christmas,” he whispers before their lips meet once more.

Arthur’s grin is so wide, the kiss is an absolute mess.

Chapter Text

One year later.

Merlin wakes to Bowie’s paw tapping his face repeatedly. He does it nicely, though, without his claws out and purring while sitting on his chest, but it’s doing the job of waking Merlin up the rest of the way.

With a groan, Merlin reaches up to rub his eyes, before glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s way too early, but then again, Bowie doesn’t care that it’s Christmas morning as long as he gets fed at his usual time. Next to him Arthur is snoring softly, his mouth parted, plush lips wet, one arm slung around Merlin’s waist. Gently, Merlin extracts himself from Arthur’s arms, then slides out of bed, hissing at the cool air outside the cocoon of blankets.

He makes his way towards the kitchen, nearly stumbling over Mercury lying in wait in the doorway, before he continues carefully padding down the corridor, the cats winding through his feet, mewling. He opens the can of cat food on autopilot and changes their water, used to the fact that they ignore him now completely in their haste to get to their filled bowls.

He makes his way back through the flat, secretly pleased with the way the Christmas tree looks in the corner of the living room decorated with its red and white baubles and ornaments. It’s the first time he actually had a tree of his own, and he definitely enjoyed dragging it up the stairs and decorating it together with Arthur, while the cats wondered if it was something that could be climbed.

Back in their bedroom, the first gray light of morning is just filtering through the curtains. In the bed, Arthur has turned onto his back, the sheet having slipped from his shoulder and revealing a collarbone, his strong arm flung out over the space Merlin recently vacated. Grinning, Merlin slips back between the sheets, moaning a bit at the warmth underneath the blankets, reaching for Arthur’s warm body with cold fingers.

Arthur snuffles then grumbles, but pushes into his touch nonetheless. He looks gorgeous, like, Merlin-can’t-believe-he-has-him-in-his-bed-gorgeous, his blond hair dishevelled, his fair lashes looking impossibly long resting on his cheeks.

“Your fingers are cold,” Arthur complains with a rumble, but he’s not sounding particularly concerned.

“You are so toasty warm,” Merlin moans happily and gives up any reservation now that Arthur is clearly awake, crowding closer and pushing his legs with their icy toes between Arthur’s bedwarm ones. Against him Arthur shudders and hums, but turns into his embrace. Merlin presses closer, breathes in Arthur’s scent, a warm, comforting and spicy smell that makes Merlin want to bury his nose in Arthur’s skin. It reminds him of home and the way Arthur’s body moves with him when they make love.

Arthur shifts against him and Merlin pulls him closer, sliding his hands, warm now, across the trim lines of Arthur’s stomach to his hips. Merlin brushes his nose against Arthur’s neck, nuzzling underneath his ear until Arthur tilts his head aside, allowing him better access to his skin, and he moans softly when Merlin presses his lips at the juncture where neck meets shoulder.

“This is nice,” he hums softly, one hand coming up to twine in Merlin’s hair.

“Just nice?” Merlin asks, mock-offended, pressing his hips forward to allow Arthur to feel his erection against his hip.

“More than,” Arthur breathes. “You’re going to do something about it?”

“You bet,” Merlin murmurs into Arthur’s skin, before rolling them until he comes to lie on top, Arthur’s body splayed out beneath him. When he looks down, Arthur is blinking at him, a soft smile playing around his lips. His erection is digging into Merlin’s thigh, twitching eagerly as it fills.

“I’m glad. I thought you might have enough of me after last night.” Arthur’s grin is mischievous and his voice rough and it sends a shiver down Merlin’s spine.

“Never,” he says and wets his lips, and Arthur flushes as they both remember last night’s lovemaking.

“Have me again?” Arthur asks, and Merlin groans and leans down to slot their mouths together in lieu of an answer. Arthur kisses back fervently, his mouth falling open to allow for Merlin’s tongue to explore. For a while, they move against each other languidly, a slow rocking of hips accompanying their kissing, but it gets hot underneath the blankets and Merlin feels sweat trickle between their stomachs. He shrugs the duvet off before sitting up, letting his eyes drink their fill of Arthur’s body.

“You are breathtaking,” he murmurs, letting his hands skim up Arthur’s thighs, breath hitching when Arthur drags his legs apart and lets them fall open, tilting his hips up, wantonly and arousing. He watches the gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, the tightly pebbled nibbles, rosy with a smattering of blond hair, the way his cock rises from its nest of slightly darker hair, before he feels his eyes drawn further down. He swallows, heat rising in his already aroused body when he remembers eating Arthur out last night, listening to his loud moans, stilling the thrashing of his body with his hands as he licked his tongue inside him.

“Hurry, I’m cold,” Arthur complains impatiently, dragging Merlin from his feverish reverie, and he does as he’s told, reaching for the nightstand and the tube of lube there. He uncaps it quickly and slicks his cock, hissing a bit at the cool liquid. Meanwhile, Arthur has appropriated one of his pillows and pushed it underneath himself, drawing his legs up in invitation.

Merlin reaches out, presses his fingers against Arthur to find him relaxed and ready, and he doesn’t bother with his fingers, because Arthur reaches for him, drawing him close and wrapping a hand around his cock. Merlin presses the head of his cock against Arthur’s opening, smearing the muscle with lube and precome, biting his lips at the way Arthur twitches and whines.

When he sinks forward, carefully leaning over Arthur’s body, Arthur exhales an affirmation, a hoarse, relieved sigh, taking him in so easily. The slide is tight, but smooth. The familiar heat of Arthur’s body around his cock may just be the best sensation Merlin ever felt.

“Gah, you feel so good,” he sighs, uncaring that he sounds carried away and drugged, and Arthur laugh-moans underneath him, clutching his hips with hard fingers and pushing upwards. With a grunt, Merlin presses forward until their groins meet, his balls resting heavily against the seat of Arthur’s arse. Even after a year, he still can’t believe he gets to have this, Arthur’s absolute trust, and he presses soft kisses against Arthur’s lips and chin and underneath his jaw, just savouring the connection of their bodies.

They start out slow, just a soft rolling of hips that escalates into a rougher, more primal rhythm. It’s like flying, a smooth, undulating flow, Arthur’s body moving with him like they are truly one being. Merlin attempts to make it last, but Arthur is having none of it, clutching his shoulder and twisting his fingers into his hair, panting against his mouth and urging him on, until he’s falling apart, crying out and smothering his exhilaration into Arthur’s neck. Against his stomach, Arthur’s come splashes warmly as he follows him.

He comes to with warm fingers carding through his hair and Arthur’s kisses against his temple and the sides of his face. They must have been lying like this for a while, because Arthur’s breath is smooth and even, not breathless like before.

“Hnnn,” he says unintelligibly, and Arthur laughs, body shaking with mirth underneath Merlin.

“Still cold?” he asks groggily, and Arthur shakes his head, stroking his cheekbones with his thumb and pressing soft kisses against his mouth.

When he attempts to draw back, Arthur grips his waist, pressing him down again. “Stay,” he says softly, and there’s a blush there on his face, a faint trace of embarrassment in his eyes. “I love feeling you inside me,” he confesses, smoothing a hand over Merlin’s flank, down to trail across his arse. Goosebumps break out on Merlin’s skin, but he does what he has been told, dropping back down on Arthur’s body, despite the mess between them. Arthur’s mouth is soft and gentle as they kiss and Merlin lets himself sink into the sensation of warm body and lips. He could spend hours kissing Arthur, has actually spent hours kissing Arthur and it never gets old.

Arthur licks more boldly into his mouth, a moan rumbling over his lips, and Merlin is surprised to feel him clench around him where they are still joined and Merlin is half-hard. “Seriously?” he asks, grinding his hips a little, feeling justified when Arthur whimpers against his mouth.

“Yeah,” Arthur sighs. “Can’t get enough of you, either, I suppose.”

“Aren’t you glad we have nothing else to do for hours,” Merlin murmurs, nipping at Arthur’s lips, before turning the kiss more demanding once again. He’s not quite sure he’ll be able to finish like this, but he has hands and a mouth and he would never, ever deny Arthur anything, so he keeps grinding his hip, until they are both trembling.

When he pulls out he’s hard, hard enough to turn Arthur onto his side and slide up from behind. He pushes Arthur’s leg up and bites his lip at the way Arthur’s pucker lies pink and wet, waiting. He taps the muscled ring with his fingers, hears Arthur’s filthy, wrecked moan, and echoes it when his come trickles from Arthur’s hole. He never considered himself to be a possessive man, but maybe he was wrong because the sight fills him with animal satisfaction.

With a growl, he slots himself forward, pressing his mouth to Arthur’s shoulder as he enters him again. Arthur is trembling and panting, and Merlin wraps one hand around his cock, sliding his fingers slowly along Arthur’s length in a rhythm he knows Arthur likes. They are a sticky mess of sweat and body fluids, but he doesn’t mind, not when Arthur can’t stop shaking and moaning, pressing back into him and riding his hand at the same time.

It’s slow this time, slow and filthy, and Merlin watches himself slide in and out of Arthur, riding on that wave of cave-manish possessiveness until Arthur comes all over his hand with a hiccupping sob. He grips Arthur’s hips with both hands, uncaring that he’s smearing come everywhere - the sheets are ruined, anyway - and presses his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder blades, going cross-eyed as he finishes, jerking his hips into Arthur’s body.

For a while they lie quietly, the only sound in the room their panting breath slowing down gradually.

When Arthur finally speaks, his voice is shot. “Fuck, that was hot,” he says hoarsely, but despite his words, he winces when Merlin pulls out of his body.

“Very,” Merlin confirms drowsily, pressing another kiss to Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I kind of made a mess.” He trails his fingers through the stickiness on Arthur’s thighs, before accepting that the bedsheets are a lost cause anyway and reaching for the edge of the blanket, gently wiping him off as best as possible.

“A hot mess,” Arthur suggests, twisting in his embrace. He grimaces and shifts, before pressing his mouth just underneath Merlin’s ear. “Also, fair warning, but for the next couple of days it’s your pretty arse getting fucked. Mine is out of commission.”

“Like I ever have a problem with that,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes and giggling when Arthur licks against the lobe of his ear, before trailing his mouth back downwards to capture Merlin’s lips. He smooths his hands down Arthur’s back and along his hip, scowling at the crusty stickiness of their skin.

Arthur snickers and stretches like a cat, flopping down onto his back. “I know you feel disgusting, so go and have a shower while I doze. Afterwards, you can make me coffee,” he hums, sounding content and a little sleepy. When Merlin looks at him, trying to convey he’s unimpressed with a raise of his eyebrows, Arthur snorts. “I’m going to wash the sheets, so don’t complain. We can’t leave the bed like this. Morgana is going to want to see every room, she’s nosy like that.”

“Well aren’t you glad we decided against turning this room into a sex dungeon,” Merlin quips dead-pan.

It’s Arthur’s turn to look unimpressed. “Go. You’re smelly and disgusting and if you don’t go now, I’ll think of inappropriate things we could do despite the mess and we’re never going to get out of bed and we have to cancel our very first Christmas dinner party because we wouldn’t be fit for company.”

“I mean, we could-” Merlin starts, because there’s something very enticing and intimate about watching each other having a leisurely wank as the culmination of love making, but Arthur interrupts him with a fondly-annoyed “Go!”

Merlin holds up his hands in appeasement. “I’ll make coffee.”

“I love you,” Arthur murmurs happily, and turns and buries his head in Merlin’s pillow with a soft sigh.

Merlin’s lips quirk and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against the side of Arthur’s neck. “Yeah, clotpole. Me too.”

He leaves the room with the image of Arthur grinning stupidly into his pillow.

When Arthur is done cleaning the kitchen and putting away the last pan they used to make Christmas dinner - well, mostly Merlin cooked, leaving chaos in his wake, while Arthur sat on the counter and entertained him while snacking on raw vegetables and chestnuts - it’s already 2.30 p.m., just about an hour until their guests are likely to arrive. He makes himself another cup of coffee before venturing out of the small kitchen into the living room, where Merlin has spread out his mat and is doing yoga.

He’s recording himself in a flow, because he’s talking in what Arthur thinks of as his teacher voice - low and patient - and his phone is propped up on the table in the little halter that secures it from sliding away. If Arthur wants to cross his way towards the sofa, where Mercury and Bowie are having the right idea about a little Christmas afternoon nap, he has to pass through the frame anyway.

He walks up to Merlin, who is bent over in a wide-legged forward bend, counting breath as he grabs his toes and squares his elbows, and waits patiently for him to come up. “I know you’re standing in the frame, Arthur,” Merlin says, amusement swinging in his voice, “you’re worse than the cats,” but when he straightens, he’s smiling, and Arthur doesn’t hesitate to give him a quick peck.

Merlin is still smiling when Arthur pulls back, his eyes lit up, and his face flushed, which might just be because Merlin was bent over, or maybe because he’s pleased. “Shuh, now,” he says, but his eyes are warm and they follow Arthur as he walks towards the sofa, before he turns back to his recording.

“It’s called the wide-legged forward kiss, in case you were wondering, and it’s best demonstrated with a partner,” he quips smartly, “even if said partner is an arrogant prat who doesn’t care when he’s interrupting things,” to which Arthur picks up one of the pillows from the couch and flings it in his direction. Merlin manages to duck, but the pillow still grazes him and dishevels his hair, sweeping a dark lock over his forehead. He snickers, then goes back to his flow, while Arthur curls up on the couch, reaching for the sidetable and the book he’s currently reading.

It’s warm in the flat and cosy, and the book doesn’t really grip him, so Arthur’s eyes sweep around the room, taking in his surroundings where his belongings are now evenly distributed between Merlin’s, feeling at peace. On the bookshelf, their books are sitting side by side. His record player sits on the sideboard he brought from his old flat in Islington and the framed painting he found at a small gallery selling contemporary art two years ago is hung above it. His desk is in the guest room, because he’s been working from home a lot of the last year after he moved to Cardiff, but Uther had agreed that Arthur could move his department to Cardiff, so he’s been looking for an office space and recruiting staff.

The living room is spacious and has windows on both sides and it doesn’t even feel cluttered with the tree and the table pulled out to full capacity to accommodate their guests. They already set the table yesterday - gladly, Merlin has an eye for detail, because Arthur would have just dumped the silverware and plates, and it looks inviting and festive. It reminds Arthur of the cosiness of Hunith’s living room.

He pushes his bare feet underneath Bowie’s warm fur, sips his coffee and watches Merlin move on his mat, mesmerized by the play of lean muscles in his strong arms and legs. He remembers sitting at the airport two years ago, seeing Merlin for the first time, flowing through a practice and looking joyous and calm. He had been devastatingly beautiful then, despite the harsh neon-lights and gray carpets, but he’s even more so now, here, in their home. The flat has good afternoon sunlight and it slides over Merlin’s pale skin, highlighting the colorful ink on his arm and the blueish tint of his black hair.

Merlin finishes, resting on his mat for a couple of minutes, his chest gently rising and falling underneath his shirt, and Arthur thinks fondly about how he looked last night, when they had been lying in bed next to each other, Merlin’s tousled head propped up on his arm, his mouth kiss-swollen, talking quietly in the soft light from the bedside table lamp. Arthur’s not quite sure how he got to be so lucky, but he’s just glad that this is his life now.

He pretends to be interested in his book when Merlin gets up and finishes his recording, before padding over towards the couch and sliding into the vacant space next to Arthur, fiddling with his phone as he quickly edits his recording to post it on his social media accounts.

“You’re not editing out my kiss?” Arthur asks with raised eyebrows, twisting to look over Merlin’s shoulder.

“I would never,” Merlin says, scandalised, mock-glaring at him, his mouth twitching.

“Mhmmm,” Arthur hums, pressing his lips and nose underneath Merlin’s ear. Sweat is glistening on Merlin’s bare shoulder and he tastes salty. “You need a shower.”

“Are you telling me I’m smelly and disgusting again?” Merlin says warningly, his eyebrows raised.

“No. But if you don’t, I might do something we might not be able to finish, considering our guests will arrive in half an hour and then you’ll look sweaty and debauched when my father arrives and that’s not the impression we want to give.”

“Shame,” Merlin mutters, but he stops playing with his phone and tosses it onto the couch next to Arthur, startling the cats. Mercury raises his head from his paws and gives Merlin the stink eye, before yawning widely and settling back down with his nose in Bowie’s neck.

When Merlin gets up Arthur pulls on his wrist, briefly pulling him into his lap for a kiss, unable to resist groping his backside in his leggings, before sending him towards the bathroom. With fond annoyance, he rolls up Merlin’s mat and stows it away (because otherwise it might be lying around all evening, guests or not), before walking into the kitchen to have a look at the state of the roast potatoes. The smell is heavenly, and Arthur’s stomach rumbles. They had a large late breakfast, but it’s been hours, and he isn’t used to not having lunch.

Merlin’s still in the shower when Gwen and her family arrive, bringing with them the cool wintery air from outside, shortly followed by Hunith, who’s providing the Christmas pudding. Merlin emerges from the bedroom looking rosy, his hair carefully styled - or at least as carefully as possible with that mop of his - just when the doorbell rings again. It’s Morgana, 7-months pregnant with her first child, accompanied by her boyfriend and Uther, and suddenly the spacious flat feels much smaller.

Arthur only realises he’s nervous about having his family here for Christmas as he fidgets around in the kitchen, trying to transfer the sprouts from the pan onto a plate.

“Some help would be appreciated!” Arthur calls, slightly frustrated that Merlin isn’t feeling the need to look after the meal he cooked after all, because with Arthur’s luck and ability to burn water, he’s going to ruin something.

Merlin pops into the kitchen, Gwen’s daughter Greta on his hip. He’s been carrying her around and playing airplane while she squealed ever since she flung herself at his legs earlier, but her attention has kept him from helping in the kitchen, because apparently you can’t handle roast turkey with a toddler on your hip.

Arthur can see Merlin’s reluctance when he lets Greta slip to the floor and tells her to go to her Mum, and Arthur rolls his eyes at himself, because he’s so soft when it comes to Merlin, it’s ridiculous. He finds Merlin looking after Greta with a small, charmed smile on his face as she runs through the living room towards the table and Arthur thinks that this, too, might be something to think about along the way. It’s a surprising thought and it catches him unaware, making him nearly drop the bowl of potatoes he’s holding.

At his fumbling and quiet cursing, Merlin turns towards him, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he takes in Arthur’s difficulties to not drop the tableware. Arthur wonders if his face looks as flabbergasted as he feels, but Merlin doesn’t immediately say anything and steps forward instead, taking the bowl from his hand, his eyes searching Arthur’s face like he knows exactly what Arthur is thinking about.

“Maybe next year...?” he suggests softly, not quite finishing the sentence like he wants to give Arthur an out or allow him to misconstrue his meaning. Arthur is glad that Merlin is holding the bowl of potatoes already, because he would have surely dropped it now by how hot he suddenly runs, just like he does when Merlin says something inappropriately dirty.

He nods dumbly, breathlessly, still shell-shocked about the epiphany he just had. Merlin smiles, like he can’t believe what an idiot Arthur is, before he leans in, murmurs, “Okay, definitely looking into that soon,” against Arthur’s ear and presses a kiss beneath his jaw, his breath shivering warmly over Arthur’s skin. It sends another spike of heat through Arthur, the knowledge of Merlin thinking the same thing making him weak-kneed.

“Grab the turkey,” Merlin says as he draws back, his tone deliberately casual, but he sounds a bit hoarse, and when he looks at Arthur, he’s beaming like a lunatic, like Arthur just bestowed upon him the greatest gift by nodding his agreement.

Arthur nods again, feeling unable to speak, grappling for the platter he took from the oven ten minutes ago. Merlin bites his lip and turns towards the living room, shooting him another grin over his shoulder, a soft, mischievous one that says Merlin is aware how badly he startled him and is pretty proud of his achievement.

He’s still a little shaky when he makes it out of the kitchen, but soon, he’s so caught up in eating and chatting with family and friends that he briefly forgets what happened. Only later, when they are all full and stuffed to the brim - and Uther is on his way towards spectacularly sloshed - and he catches Merlin’s eye over the table, finding him glance back at him with a secret, private smile, does he remember and the thought races through him again. He can’t wait to talk to Merlin about it, to quietly make plans in the comfort of their bed.

Maybe next Christmas they could… he flushes and cuts off his train of thought, glancing around at Gwen and her two kids and Morgana sitting across the table with her huge belly, thinking he might be getting ahead of himself. It might be a long journey and still some time off, but he knows without a doubt that this is something he wants to do.

It’s not at all how he imagined to start a family, but maybe, just maybe, he thinks, watching Merlin laugh uproariously at something Greta whispers to him in her toddler two-word language, it’s better like he could have envisioned.

He might have just found the right person to do it with after all.

The End