franticsga

Title:  Inside Outright
Author:  franticsga 
Warnings: none.
Notes:   Club!AU.  It all began here, with my lovely and evil accomplices kick_flaw  and bibliokat.  Although they're not to be blamed for the 6896-word monster it became.

Description:  Arthur would probably have forgotten about him, looked away and maybe had one more drink before heading home because he rather desperately wanted to be curled up in bed with his cat, Sasha, watching Lost and drinking hot chocolate (absolutely no one knew of this ritual except, of course, Sasha, who had promised never to tell).  But suddenly the guy opened his eyes and looked directly at Arthur, and something in Arthur felt total, final recognition.  Whatever was in this skinny, awkward kid's eyes was exactly what was inside Arthur-- a deep-seated, unending loneliness, the knowledge that there could never be anybody who understood or wanted him.




The music is essential here, so I'll give you that first. 









When Arthur first came into the full measure of his authority at twenty-one, three years after the death of his father, he thought he was the luckiest person in the whole world.  Seven clubs that belonged only to him-- no shareholders, only Arthur Pendragon and a board of directors who were more than willing to answer to him at their round-table discussions once a week-- what else could a boy who had recently gained his majority wish for? 

It only took a year to become bored, two years to become really bored, and three years to wish his fortune had been made in anything other than buildings in which people drank themselves sick while they danced and preyed upon each other while they were sexually vulnerable.  How did the Hiltons hold their heads up?  How did their acquaintance not laugh themselves silly when they were introduced as "the hotel heiresses"? 

Probably the same way he felt knowing that he was known as "the Albion heir".  He owned a great chunk of prime New York City real estate-- Albion, they called it, after the nightclub of the same name that Uther Pendragon had opened in 1972.  The nightclub was long closed, of course, as all popular nightclubs must be after a while.  People wanted to know that they were somewhere new, forbidden, expensive, exclusive.  Albion had stuck in New York society's memories, however, for its excess and exclusivity.  Uther Pendragon had known what he was about, always able to tell what was in the wind when it came to fashionable things. 

In the seventies, boatloads of drugs were out and available anywhere on the premises.  People got busted and taken away every night so they could have the thrill of having been busted, but Uther always made sure they only got the thrill and not the record.  He was among the first to have the rumored glory-holes in the male as well as the female restrooms.  In the eighties everything went upscale sterile, black and white and chrome, no glitter in sight but plenty of drugs in cozy secret rooms.  In the nineties he scaled back quite a bit and invested more heavily in restaurants.  By the late nineties clubs were on the rise again, and by the time Uther died of a massive heart attack in his summer home (he wanted nothing to do with New York City and spent his time in Cape Cod, forcing his directors to fly out there every weekend), he had five clubs, two more about to be built, three restaurants in New York as well as LA and Miami, and was in discussions with someone interested in selling a bit of land in Monacco. 

Investors were definitely not interested in dealing with the young Pendragon the way they were interested in the elder, but Arthur had his father's sense of what was coming next.  He'd built a reputation in the last three years for being willing to gamble carefully, for ferreting out the next bit thing and making money off of it.

Not that it interested him in the slightest anymore.  He never wanted to dance with another human being as long as he lived.  He never wanted to smell alcohol, hear a song with even mild bass, look at another tiny sparkly purse or pair of Manolo Blahniks, participate in a conversation with another jaded Spence graduate about how precious it was that she and her friends had sneaked out and gone to Tintagel when they were five or whatever and snorted coke with Jade Jagger.

Lyonesse was the newest of the seven clubs.  From what he could tell, most of the people who flooded in on the weekends were college students-- Columbia and Barnard and NYU mainly, a few from Juilliard (the musicians, never the actors and ballet students). 

It was here that Arthur preferred to spend his Friday evenings.  He had to be present at one of the clubs at least every Friday and Saturday night that he was in the city, just to make an appearance.  He told himself that he came to Lyonesse most Fridays simply because it was newest and making the least amount of money, but really it was because he was tired of the crowd who went to the other clubs.  The atmosphere here was young and sort of sweet, even innocent in its own way.  There were no drugs here, or at least nothing worse than a joint or two in the bathrooms.  The girls ordered Cosmopolitans first, giggling over the silly pink drinks, but by the end of the night they were back to rum and Coke.  He liked their skinny jeans and thin ribbed sweaters that they wore self-consciously because they were probably going braless to be daring, and he especially liked that he didn't have to have anybody on OD-watch here.

He took a sip of his drink-- Seven and Seven, though he never admitted that to anybody but the very loyal gentlemen who tended his bar-- and tried not to sigh too noisily as he scanned the dance floor.  He supposed it wouldn't do to let anybody in his employ know that he was so bored he could scream. 

("Why don't you sell?" Morgana always asked him.  "Or at least put your money into something not quite so mind-numbingly stupid?"

But she didn't know anything.  She'd put her inheritance into research, for Christ's sake, which was hardly a growth market after all.  He wasn't taking advice from bloody Morgana.)

It was a long time since anybody on the dance floor had interested him.  His first year in charge, he'd probably slept his way through half his patrons.  There was now a generation of New York Society women and men for whom fucking Arthur Pendragon was considered a rite of passage-- the ones who had got to him at Exeter rubbed it in the face of those who hadn't until Yale, and subsequently they snubbed those who hadn't spent a night in his Carnegie Hill apartment until he was in control of the Pendragon fortune.

Lately, when he happened to fall in bed with someone, it was almost always a friend-- someone he was comfortable with, someone who knew him as Arthur and not Arthur Pendragon.  There were still a few of those who might be available to talk him or fuck him out of the bad mood that had enveloped him for the last several months at least.  Still, it had been a while since he'd had sex.  He squinted at the dance floor and tried to remember the last time he'd been naked with someone.

Perhaps it was the lack of sex that made him a little more attentive to the dance floor.  Perhaps not.  Either way, he happened to look at exactly the right moment and when he did he was done in, for good as it turned out.

He didn't know it at the time, of course, and if he had he would have laughed.  Or snorted, as he rarely laughed aloud.  The guy on the dance floor was skinny, badly dressed, flailing about in the unself-conscious way people danced when they were very drunk or very determined to Have a Good Time.  He had a pink drink in one hand and a green drink in the other, and he seemed very interested in them both, sipping from each one carefully as he danced.  Much of the time he had his eyes closed.  Arthur felt immediately sorry for him-- here was a sad sack, surely-- but there were girls all around him.  One girl danced behind him, one in front, rubbing her ass against his crotch in the way girls did when they wanted to be especially daring.

He watched the guy in the raggedy gray sweater and the dark jeans for quite a while, puzzled.  He wasn't drunk, Arthur could tell that much immediately, although he was certainly dedicated to the glasses in his hands.  He wasn't Having a Good Time, either, Arthur saw, but he was trying his damnedest.  He was also not even a little interested in the girls rubbing on him.  Gay, Arthur decided when the girl behind him tucked her hand into the front of his jeans and he didn't even flinch, just went on drinking and hopping along to a beat that had nothing to do with the music playing.

Arthur would probably have forgotten about him, looked away and maybe had one more drink before heading home because he rather desperately wanted to be curled up in bed with his cat, Sasha, watching Lost and drinking hot chocolate (absolutely no one knew of this ritual except, of course, Sasha, who had promised never to tell).  But suddenly the guy opened his eyes and looked directly at Arthur, and something in Arthur felt total, final recognition.  Whatever was in this skinny, awkward kid's eyes was exactly what was inside Arthur-- a deep-seated, unending loneliness, the knowledge that there could never be anybody who understood or wanted him. 

I could understand you, he thought, only half-aware he was thinking it.  I could know you, I could want you.

They looked at each other for several moments before the girl whose ass was currently pressed against the skinny guy's crotch turned around and began to shimmy her breasts against him instead.  He looked confused and a little alarmed, and that was when Arthur decided to take things in hand.

He stood, abandoning his drink, and crossed the dance floor for the first time (he'd never danced here, certainly; by the time it was up and running he was already wishing he'd invested in something quieter, like blood diamonds).  Not wishing to be rude, he danced slightly to the right of the girl who was pressed against the skinny guy's front, never breaking eye contact with him. 

His intention was to dance first with the girl in front, then slowly work his way past her.  But the skinny guy circumvented the whole thing by stepping out from in between the two girls and turning toward him immediately.  No protective coloring at all, Arthur thought, smiling at him slightly.  Up close, the guy's eyes were dark blue instead of the brown Arthur had thought at first, but his ears were every bit as appalling.  He had fair skin that turned pink when Arthur put a hand on his wrist, and a spray of tiny freckles across his nose.

The crush of people made it a little less obvious that they were dancing together.  On a less crowded night he'd never be able to get away with it (at other clubs men dancing together wouldn't even garner a second glance, but here it was a different story).  Arthur tugged him closer, not caring who saw.

Arthur was a pretty good dancer-- he had rhythm, at least, and preferred a more subtle approach to the grinding he usually saw.  Skinny Guy had no rhythm whatsoever, so Arthur put both hands on his bony hips and guided him.  Their bodies wove together quite naturally; Skinny Guy leaned into him, close enough to kiss if he chose.  They didn't break eye contact until Arthur tilted his head so he could murmur, "I'm Arthur," into one of the kid's absurd ears. 

"Merlin," Skinny Guy replied breathlessly, obviously too naive to realize he shouldn't use his real name.  Arthur, of course, hadn't used a fake name either, but it seemed a little stupid when everybody knew who he was.

He rubbed the tip of his nose against Skinny Guy's-- Merlin's-- dark hair, liking the way he smelled, clean and lemony.  Merlin (and what a silly name, but it suited him) gave a soft little moan, sliding closer, and Arthur felt infinite satisfaction at the stiff pressure of his erection.  He'd been a little conflicted-- should he just dance with this kid, or did he want something more?-- but that decided him.  "What," he whispered, making sure his lips brushed against Merlin's ear, "did you come here for tonight?"

Merlin shivered against him.  "To forget."  He pulled away and looked at Arthur with a determined set to his jaw.  "I need to forget my own name."

"I can make that happen," he promised, and he knew he could.  

The song began to morph into another, and during the heavy beat in between them he grabbed Merlin's wrist and pulled him off the dance floor, toward the bathrooms in the back.  Nobody ever used these restrooms because they were so inconspicuous, a design flaw that had annoyed him immeasurably after the building went up but which he blessed now.  He pushed Merlin through the door hastily, wishing he could lock it behind him.

Merlin leaned against the sinks, unsmiling.  Not that Arthur was feeling particularly jolly either, but he was used to the people he'd promised to fuck into amnesia being a little more grateful about it.  Still, his hands itched, eager to touch skin.  The rosy light threw everything into sharp relief-- blue eyes, insane cheekbones, lips-- how had he not noticed Merlin's lips when they were dancing?  He wasn't much for kissing normally, but he was desperate for it now if it meant he could bite that tender pink lower lip. 

He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Merlin's jeans, anchoring himself before he leaned in to do exactly what he wanted with that mouth.  He rubbed his lips against Meriln's first, to throw him off a bit before he kissed him.  Merlin's mouth was slick and sweet, as well as unexpectedly skillful.  Inexperience was one of the many reasons Arthur hated kissing (he didn't mind getting messy for sex but slobber didn't quite make the cut) so he was grateful that Merlin's hands came up and gently cupped the back of Arthur's head like he knew what he was doing.

Arthur let go of the belt loops, assured of his welcome now, and slipped both hands up under Merlin's sweater, loving the excited rush of breath against his lips as he skimmed his fingers upward.  Merlin's hips jerked twice, hard, when Arthur lightly teased his nipples.

"Like that?" he murmured, already imagining his teeth and tongue on them.

Merlin didn't reply in words, but one of his hands left the back of Arthur's head and moved down to his ass, pulling him even closer and rubbing against him shamelessly with a satisfied moan.  Arthur reached down and thumbed the head of his cock through his jeans-- why be coy, after all?-- so he could hear that moan again, finally wrapping his hand around the full length of it and starting to jerk him off through his trousers.  That earned him a surprised shout and a hand on his wrist.

"Don't-- I'll be done in two seconds," Merlin said breathlessly, grinning at him for the first time.  He had dimples, Arthur noticed, that made it impossible not to respond in kind.  He hid his grin against Merlin's shoulder.

"What do you want me to do to you then?" he asked, still stroking lightly enough to tease. 

"Can you-- will you fuck me?" Merlin whispered, suddenly shy.  Arthur watched the pink spread over his face.  "Please?"

He'd been expecting to get on his knees and give the kind of blowjob that would make whatever Merlin was supposed to be forgetting fade into obscurity.  He didn't often give blowjobs, but he wanted to do it tonight, wanted to draw it out until Merlin begged Arthur to let him come.

"I don't...have anything," he mumbled, feeling in his pockets for non-existent lube or condoms.  In his younger and less discriminating years he was always prepared, but apparently maturity meant he never expected to have sex in a public restroom.

"I do," Merlin said, and there was that grim determination again.  Arthur opened his mouth to ask him if that was what he'd set out to do tonight, get fucked, but it occurred to him that for one thing, it wasn't any of his business, and for another, he was quite on board with this fucking business.

"All right, yeah, then," Arthur lifted his head and began to maneuver Merlin toward the nearest stall.  "So we don't scar anyone for life."

"I wouldn't worry about anybody walking in," Merlin told him with a tight smile, but went anyway.  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a condom and two foil packets of lube, and Arthur tucked them into his jacket pocket with a strange thrill of arousal in his belly at the touch of Merlin's fingers against his own. 

Merlin was a little taller than he was, which would make fucking him against the stall so easy.  In his mind's eye, he saw Merlin braced against the door, back arched, ass out, Arthur's fingers inside him, and he groaned.  "Do you want me to get you ready or do you want to do it yourself?" he asked, his hands already going to the buttons of Merlin's jeans.  He flipped them open, raising an eyebrow when he realized Merlin was not wearing underwear.

Merlin cleared his throat, turning pink again.  "I-- you should do it," he sputtered, and Arthur laughed.  It felt rusty, and he resolved to think about that when he wasn't busy getting someone naked.  He peeled the denim down to Merlin's thighs and palmed his bare hip, urging him to turn around.  Merlin shook his head. 

"It'll be easier from behind," Arthur murmured, running the back of his fingers over the silky skin of Merlin's cock to make him clutch at Arthur and shiver helplessly.

"I know," Merlin breathed, arching to get more, "but it feels better this way."

 And, Arthur thought when he had two slick fingers up inside him, wasn't that the truth.  He'd certainly fucked his share of men-- though they always seemed like boys still, the men he knew, and it didn't help that they were waxed and shaved and plucked until they were smooth; it was a bit creepy to think of it that way actually-- but none as responsive as this one.  Arthur knelt between his thighs, sucking lightly on the head of his cock as he played with him ruthlessly.  Merlin, shaking like a leaf, had his long fingers in Arthur's hair and was tugging on it almost to the point of pain. 

"Please," he gasped, writhing on Arthur's fingers.  He didn't seem to know whether to shove back or forward, and Arthur would have smiled except he was rather busy at the moment.  "Arthur, please, before I come."

He slid his fingers out and his mouth off, snagging the condom from his pocket with slippery fingers.  "Mmm, since you asked so nicely."  He reached down to undo his trousers with his free hand, but Merlin's fingers were already there, unbuttoning and unzipping and finally drawing his cock out.  Arthur bit back a moan of relief, but when Merlin squeezed him, his mouth open like he wanted to suck, he moaned anyway.  He covered it up with logistics.  "How are we--?" he began.

"Leave it to me," Merlin cut him off, grabbing the condom from his useless fingers and rolling it onto Arthur's cock himself.  Arthur wondered what, exactly, he meant.  There was really not a lot of room in here, and while Arthur was pretty strong and Merlin was pretty scrawny, he didn't think even he could lift a man and fuck him at the same time.  Merlin kicked off his shoes and his inside-out jeans and and grabbed onto the top of the stall behind him, lifting himself up.  He braced a foot against the opposite wall, and Arthur blessed the designer for deciding on such strong materials for the restroom stalls even as he caught Merlin's other leg and held him in place just long enough to position his cock and slide very, very slowly inside of him.

"You don't need to go slowly."  Arthur looked away from what he was doing and up at Merlin's flushed face, his dark sweaty hair clinging to his forehead and his teeth worrying at his upper lip.  "Just fuck me, please."

Never let it be said that Arthur didn't give people what they wanted.  He stopped being careful and slid in easily, pulled back and slid in again, and again, and again.  Merlin cried out desperately and wrapped both legs around Arthur's hips, and Arthur put both hands on his ass to hold him up and in place.  They fell quickly into a rhythm that was just a hair faster than Arthur was used to, and he struggled not to come as Merlin threw his head back and moaned like he couldn't stop himself.  Then Arthur gave up on higher brain functions and just buried his face in Merlin's neck and fucked.

He hit a plateau at one point, where he knew he wouldn't come until he wanted to, and he didn't want to until Merlin did.  He didn't think he could let go of Merlin's ass to touch his cock, but as it turned out that wasn't necessary.  Merlin, sobbing with every unsteady drive of Arthur's hips, suddenly opened his eyes and looked glassily at Arthur.  "Faster, god, I'm so close--"

He redoubled his efforts, muscles trembling with the strain, and when he shifted his hips slightly Merlin gave a choked wail and arched high, freezing as he tightened impossibly around Arthur's cock.  "Oh, fuck, fuck," Arthur whimpered brokenly into Merlin's neck as it came upon him out of nowhere, shivering into orgasm just as he felt the sudden wetness spreading between them.  He drew out the pleasure as it washed over him and his moans caught in his throat, thrusting and thrusting still in the dizzying spiral.

*

They stayed in position for a few moments, heaving and panting.  His dry-cleaner was going to kill him, Arthur thought as he felt wet patches of sweat cooling against his back, armpits, and stomach.  Actually, never mind the dry cleaner-- the top two buttons had been ripped off and he was fairly sure there were worse stains on his trousers. 

Finally his legs gave out and he staggered backward until he sat on the toilet seat.  Merlin's legs unlocked from around his waist, and he shifted so Arthur could slip out of him.  Arthur opened his mouth to say something inane, like that was fantastic or come home with me and let's do that again.  But he found that inanity or even the barest of politeness wouldn't come.  Small talk after fucking was his least favorite part. 

Merlin sat up a little straighter, hands still clenched in Arthur's shirt, and Arthur winced thinking he was going to have to deal with post-sex chatter after all.  But Merlin merely gave him a considering look before his face abruptly crumpled.

"Oh, my," Arthur said (although he would deny it to his dying day), his arms going around Merlin's shaking body automatically.  Merlin curled around him like an octopus, crying like his heart was breaking. 

Arthur gathered him close, alarmed and mortified and more than a bit miffed actually, because-- well, was it not bad form to cry all over a man who had just shagged you senseless?  He was quite certain it was.  And though this obviously had nothing to do with him, he felt duty-bound to make things better, somehow.  He tucked Merlin's head onto his shoulder and patted him, making soothing noises that sounded ridiculous to his own ears but seemed to do the job pretty well.

"What's this all about then?" he murmured, channeling his old nanny, Silva.

"My boyfriend broke up with me," Merlin replied, muffled into Arthur's jacket, sniffing wetly. 

"Ah," Arthur said, and the puzzle pieces fell into place.  "And you thought anonymous sex-- fantastic anonymous sex, I might add-- would help you forget that."

"...I guess."  Merlin sounded forlorn, and Arthur stroked his hair while trying very hard not to seem like he was doing anything of the sort. 

"Am I going to be fending off an angry boyfriend if you get back together?" Arthur suddenly had visions of this night ending quite badly indeed.  "Oh, god, he's not here right now, is he?"

"No," Merlin laughed in a horrible, choking sort of way, pushing himself up.  "Will's a boring bastard.  And it's completely over, for good."

Arthur used his sleeve to dab at Merlin's blotchy, tear-stained face.  "What happened?"

"He...found out something about me that I'd never told him.  Something important."  Merlin crumpled up some toilet paper and blew his nose.

"Like what?" Arthur demanded, feeling keen curiosity for the first time in...god, how long had it been since he was interested in anything?  Something about this whole encounter, familiar as it was to fuck a stranger in a restroom, was giving him the sense that he'd been numb a long time and that now feeling was coming back in tingly, almost-painful waves. 

"Like...oh, do you really want to know?" Merlin asked, a strange half-smile on his face.  It was made even stranger by his swollen, pink eyes and nose.  Arthur nodded.  "All right then."

He put out his palm and took a deep breath.  Arthur saw his eyes flash as though a camera had just gone off, and when he looked down again there was a tiny black horse trotting on Merlin's palm.  It looked just like Juggernaut, Arthur's favorite black beast of a childhood companion.  He watched, mesmerized, as the horse stopped and threw his head back, and a tiny person in riding gear ran up to him, patting his nose and then mounting smoothly.  Arthur squinted and looked closer at the miniature person, who looked exactly like himself at twelve, right down to his favorite black and brown riding boots.  He jolted and Merlin nearly fell out of his lap, and the spell was broken.  Merlin closed his fist and looked up, his eyes wide and blue again.

"What the fuck was that?" he whispered.  All the hair on his body felt like it was standing on end, goosebumps racing up his sides and arms. 

"That was the happiest you ever were," Merlin said simply, and suddenly there was ferocious knocking on the restroom door.  

"Merlin, are you in there?"  It was a woman's concerned voice.  "Is there anybody in there?"

"Shit," Merlin muttered, grabbing his jeans and turning them right-side-out frantically.  "Look, that's my friend Gwen.  Don't come out until I've been gone for a few minutes, yeah?  'Cause she's supposed to be protecting me from myself tonight, so she'll be on the warpath."

Arthur gaped at him like a fish, trying to get his bearings enough to even get rid of the damn condom.  He tied it up hastily, cleaned himself up with toilet paper as well as he could, zipped and buttoned his trousers, and caught Merlin's arm before he could exit the stall.  "Look," he began, and couldn't think of anything to say except explain who and what you are, please.  "At least wash up a second." 

Merlin lifted his sweater and looked down at his belly sheepishly.  His eyes went gold again and suddenly there was no trace of what they'd just been doing.  Arthur looked down and his trousers were unstained, his shirt perfectly white and tucked in neat as a pin.  He felt as though he'd gone through a brisk car wash.  "What...I don't understand."

"You don't have to," Merlin said, opening the stall and smoothing his hand down the front of his sweater.  "Thank you, by the way."

"No problem, come back for service anytime!" he called after him angrily, but when he poked his head out of the stall, Merlin had disappeared.  

"What the fuck?" he asked the empty restroom, kicking at the stall door furiously.  The restroom, perhaps sensing that it was a rhetorical question, declined to respond.

*

Six Months Later...

(it was really seven months later, but people generally expect a roundish sort of number like three months or six months or nine months, something easily divisible.  Not seven months.)



 "Let's have dinner at my place tonight, all right?" Morgana asked with one of her breezy dips into his office.  She looked particularly pretty, not that Arthur would ever have told her that, in her purple wool trench and gray scarf.

"Got a better cook than the last time I was there?" he asked absently, sifting through the stack of paperwork he'd deemed third-most important.  It was a productive day if he got through the second-most important stack, so he was actually quite pleased with himself.  

"Same cook, better menu," she laughed.  "Make it nine, all right?  I'm having drinks with Gwen after work."

"I'll be there."  He raised his pen in salute and she breezed out again.  Morgana never used to be this cheerful, he felt quite sure of that.  She was unbearably smug since he'd come to her five months ago and told her he wanted to close the clubs, totally convinced it was her good influence that finally brought him around.

In a way, it was.  He'd gone around like a man in a dream for several weeks after the incident with Merlin.  All he'd been able to think about was tracking him down, but for such a silly name there were an astonishing amount of Merlins in Manhattan alone.  To really get into the nitty-gritty stalking, he'd have to alert someone on his staff that he wanted to find someone, and then there would have to be explanations, and he still hadn't been able to explain anything sufficiently to himself.  One day he'd be convinced it was all a hallucination, including the sex, but the next day he would be just as convinced that it wasn't.  He was in good mental health, extraordinary physical health.  There was nothing indicating he would hallucinate having sex with a magician in a restroom at one of his clubs.

Finally Morgana sat him down and said bluntly, "Arthur, your board of directors is about to revolt.  Whatever's wrong with you, you need to come to terms with it or pretend to."

That was when he told her he wanted to sell.  Sell everything, now.  She knew as well as he did that it wasn't logical to sell straight away; there would have to be negotiations. And he didn't know what he wanted to reinvest in yet.  He made a lot of people very, very angry with his decision.  A flurry of resignations landed on his desk that very afternoon.  But there were still quite a lot of loyal people on the board, and he paid them regularly, assuring them that when he figured out the next step they'd be the first to know.

Morgana's cook had apparently taken a course or three on how not to burn the delicate tongues of her American employers since the last time Arthur visited, because the meal was flawless.  He gave the chicken a wary glance, remembering their last encounter, but there were no chilis involved this time.

"Gwen thinks we have a very solid chance for a donation from the Astor trust this time around," Morgana told him during the cheese course.  "I was thinking...would you be interested in investing as well?"

Arthur swirled his wine around a bit before answering.  "I already donate to every major lab in the US, you know that.  The thing is that, right this second, we're not making any money except interest.  Until we are, I don't want to invest in anything that won't have long-term returns."

"You could very easily live off the interest of one of Uther's trusts and you know it."  Morgana glared at him, but it had no heat behind it.  She was proud of him, Arthur thought, and wondered if he should buy a yacht just to make her stop looking at him like he was her creation.

"Yes, but I need to do something."  He set his wine down emphatically.  "I...have to make something, or do something.  I can invest in research, certainly, but what I really want is to create something myself.  I just haven't figured it out yet."

"Can't just rest on your laurels, can you?" Morgana smiled understandingly.  Yes, he was definitely buying something outrageous as soon as possible.

"I have no laurels," he muttered, and she laughed, chattering away while he nibbled on his cheese and tried not to get too drunk on the spicy Chilean wine Morgana preferred. 

She'd gone on for nearly ten minutes with minimal response from him when his attention suddenly caught on a word and he sat up poker-straight, sloshing wine everywhere.

"What did you just say?" he demanded.

"I said Gwen's friend Merlin was at the bar with us," Morgana said, her eyebrows knitting together delicately.  "Excuse me, Master Pendragon, but you've just ruined not only your shirt but my tablecloth as well."

He ignored her.  "Merlin.  Tall, skinny, black hair, ears like jug handles?"

"Yes," she said coldly.  "And quite handsome."

"Unbelievable," Arthur breathed.  "Un-fucking-believable."

Morgana's face suddenly transformed-- frosty first, the displeased duchess dealing with matters far below her station, then wickedly gleeful.  "Wait a minute.  No.  Oh, god.  You."

He shook his head.  "No, no, not me at all."

"YOU," she whooped.  "You're the bathroom stall shag at Lyonesse.  Oh, god!"

 "He talked about it?" Arthur bellowed, scandalized, then winced when he realized he'd as good as admitted that he was, in fact, the bathroom stall shag at Lyonesse.

"Said it was the stupidest thing he'd ever done," Morgana crowed.  "Oh, Arthur, you are infamous at the lab."

Arthur slammed his glass down on the table so hard he thought it might break, but it didn't because it was two-hundred-year-old crystal and heavier than a bowling ball.  Standing, he stalked over to the rack and grabbed his coat.  "Well, tell Merlin I'm terribly sorry he indulged in the stupidest thing he'd ever done."

"Oh, god, Arthur."  Morgana flew over, unbuttoning his coat as he buttoned it and dragging him back toward the table.  "Unclench your dignity for just one second, will you.  He said the man was lovely and he-- Merlin-- acted like an idiot and cried all over him-- you-- and that's why it's stupid.  Come back here and let me tell you every single word he's ever said on the topic; you know you're dying to hear it."

"Well," Arthur grumbled, somewhat mollified.  "All right.  But you had better tell me everything."

*

The next evening, armed with more knowledge than he possibly cared to have (did he really need to know how favorably his cock compared to Merlin's pathetic ex-boyfriend's?  Well, all right, yes, but it was downright unsettling to hear it from Morgana), he knocked on the door of Merlin's somewhat questionable tenement (was that the proper term?  He felt like there should be raggedy children picking his pockets and asking him for soup). 

There were three cats guarding the stoop, so still and hostile that he wondered, remembering the last few moments of his encounter with Merlin, if they were petrified.  He was just working up the courage to poke at them when the door opened and Merlin himself stood in the arch, his silly hair sticking up and his face alight.  His smile froze on his face, and Arthur's carefully-planned speech (that went something like "AHA!" and might have included a lot of pointing) was lost.  Merlin looked from Arthur, with his arm outstretched, to the cats, who were suddenly animated and began to lick furiously at their paws.

"I thought they were statues," Arthur said lamely, withdrawing his hand and not mentioning that he was sort of concerned that they might want to eat him.  "Anyway.  Hello."

"Hi," Merlin replied uncertainly, shifting back and forth on his bare feet.  "Um, would you like to come inside?"

He nodded with a confidence he didn't feel.  There was that sense, again, of having dreamt the last several months and only now waking up, in Merlin's presence.  It put him off balance, but it was oddly enjoyable. 

Merlin didn't appear to care about locking doors or, Arthur noticed, cleaning up.  When Arthur mentioned the locks, Merlin smirked and said, "Anyone's welcome to try breaking in."  Which was no kind of answer at all, Arthur thought.

He sat on the saggy brown sofa in what passed for the living room-- there were piles of books everywhere, being used as furniture most likely, as there was no table, chairs, or shelving.  There was no television either, but in the far corner, by the window, there was a large desk, a work bench really, with complicated equipment.  In the kitchen something bubbled on the stove.  It smelled awful, like cabbage and chlorine.  Arthur hadn't told Morgana anything about the hallucinations he sometimes thought he'd had, but when he found out Merlin was in training as a chemist in the lab Morgana oversaw, he nodded as though it somehow made sense. 

"Beer?" Merlin asked, holding out a murky brown bottle.  Arthur took it out of politeness, but since he hated beer he wasn't certain exactly what to do with it.  Finally he cracked open the top and took a sip.  No, his memory hadn't embellished upon exactly how disgusting it was.

"So," he began.

"So," Merlin agreed, raising his eyebrows.  The sun was going down, and Merlin lifted a finger.  At the same moment the lights came on.  Arthur glared at him.  "Sorry."

"So," he continued, seeing no reason to dodge the issue, "I've been reliably informed that you considered having sex with me to be the stupidest thing you've ever done."

"I never said that!" Merlin cried indignantly.  "And anyway, how would you know?"

"Your boss is my stepsister."  He thought for a moment.  "Step something, anyway."

"Wait," Merlin held up a hand, putting down his beer.  "Morgana is your step something.  That makes you..." his eyes widened "...that makes you Arthur Pendragon oh fucking hell."

Arthur gave a mock bow.

"The Arthur Pendragon who owns our lab," Merlin went on.

"Do I?" he wondered.  "I suppose I do."

"Does this mean I'm fired?"  Merlin stood up and went into the kitchen to turn off the burner, running his left hand through his hair distractedly.  "Oh god, I'm fired, aren't I.  This just gets better and better."

"You're not fired," Arthur said gently, standing as well to catch Merlin by the wrist.  "I don't even really think I can do that."

"So why are you here?"

That was a good question, wasn't it-- why Arthur was there.  He wasn't sure of most things in his life right now-- what he was meant to do next, what exactly being Arthur Pendragon meant-- but he was pretty certain he knew why he was here right this second.  "I came," he said, tugging on Merlin's wrist, "to ask you if you wanted to go out on a date with me."

Merlin paused, looking wary.  "What kind of a date?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know," he sputtered.  "A date-date."

"You've never been on a date before, have you."

"No," Arthur admitted.  "But I think it involves dinner and a movie and wine and maybe," he added thoughtfully, "I might get to kiss you."

"You might," Merlin looked at him narrowly, as if Arthur didn't know that he had a wild, unreasonable yearning to find out who he'd shagged so they could go out on a proper date, with dinner and wine and a movie (Morgana hadn't mentioned a kiss, but Arthur read between the lines). 

"I tried to find you," Arthur confessed, grasping Merlin's hand and pulling him closer.  "I tried for ages.  Do you know how many Merlins there are in this stupid city?"

Merlin laughed, allowing himself to be manhandled into Arthur's arms.  "Probably fewer than there are Arthurs," he replied, letting his forehead rest on Arthur's with a happy sigh.  "I didn't look as hard as I could have.  I was ashamed."

Arthur breathed him in.  "Don't be ashamed.  Just go out to dinner with me."

"So I don't," Merlin said tentatively, "I don't...freak you out or anything?"

Like that stupid fucker Will, Arthur thought but managed not to say, who had discovered Merlin's strange gift and left him without even an argument.  "No, you don't freak me out."  He pulled Merlin's hand so it rested, palm up, in Arthur's.  "But I have a favor to ask you."

Merlin looked resigned.  Arthur had no idea what he thought was coming next, but cursed every person who had ever contributed to the defeated twist of his lips.

"You showed me the happiest time of my life," he said, tracing a finger softly over Merlin's palm.  "What's yours?"

Merlin looked at him in the dying afternoon light, and suddenly his eyes were bright gold.  In his palm a woman read to the dark-haired little boy in her lap, her cheek resting on the top of his head.  Arthur still traced a finger along the side of Merlin's hand, watching raptly.  Abruptly, the scene changed.  Instead of the mother and little boy there were miniature Merlin and Arthur, in the clothes they were wearing right now.  They were kissing quite thoroughly, Arthur noticed, and miniature Arthur had his hands in some very inappropriate places.

"That hasn't happened," he protested.

"Oh," Merlin said happily.  "It will."


The End