On Saturdays, Arthur did his shopping. He showed up at Sainsbury’s earlier than most people would even contemplate getting out of bed on a weekend, and proceeded on a well-planned and logical route across the lanes, meticulously completing his list. Arthur hated shopping and always stayed on a mission, trying to spend as little time as possible in an environment where he could be confronted by crying children and bickering couples.
(A couple of years back, he was temporarily hypnotized by the Try something new today slogan printed on a cheesy orange plastic bag, returned to the shop, and was stared down by a toddler over a pack of lemon sponge pudding. Arthur didn’t like to think about that.)
Shopping completed, Arthur took care of his dry cleaning, and then returned to his flat for a session of tidying up. Arthur had an automatic iRobot vacuum cleaner, which he regarded with severe distrust and always ended up following with a mop just in case. He could have easily hired a cleaning lady, of course, but Arthur hated the idea of a stranger in his home, touching his things and possibly even looking at his dirty socks and boxer-briefs when he wasn’t there.
Sometimes, if the weather allowed, he took walks across the neighbourhood on Saturday nights, ending up more often than not in a little pub two blocks down the street, where they always had reruns of famous footie matches on the cute little tellies that nobody really owned anymore, because they showed 16 colours instead of 16 hundred, and didn’t look like something beamed down from outer space. Arthur ordered a pint or two, watching England vs. Netherlands from the UEFA run of 1996, and engaged in philosophical reflections with a few other regulars about what would have happened if not for that first penalty shot.
Sundays were the hardest, because Arthur didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He tried the local library, but that didn’t work out, because he was bored out of his mind and besides, the librarian tried to flirt with him. Women frequently tried to do that around him, and Arthur had never quite figured out what to do about that. It always ended up in either immediate tears because he managed to say something rude without meaning to, or tears later, after three disastrous dates in expensive restaurants where Arthur tried to politely work into the conversation that he was gay without actually saying the word and got eventually yelled at or had drinks thrown in his face. Either way, there were tears and inconvenience.
He tried renting films, but because Arthur had never bothered to form a preference, he ended up being hostage to whatever the clerk advised. More often than not it led to Arthur feeling miserable and stupid as he tried to digest things like All About My Mother, or falling asleep in the middle of Avatar and waking up thinking he was watching The Lord of the Rings instead.
Sometimes there would be a family function to attend or a charity auction Arthur considered it his duty to take part in, but mostly Sundays existed to torture his active nature with the sheer lack of anything to do. The problem was eventually solved by bringing work home and spending the afternoon and evening bent over the diagrams and developing tension headaches while contemplating the moral implications of closing another factory in some faraway Indian province.
On the question of whether Arthur Pendragon, 27, with a steady job and handsome face, still relatively young and undeniably attractive, was happy, there were two different opinions. People who met Arthur either envied him and cowered before him, or shot him pitying glances and offered gratuitous alcohol.
Arthur ignored both groups, and as for his own view on the matter, he settled it by never posing that question to himself. If people asked him (they hadn’t in years), Arthur shrugged and said that, realistically, he had everything anyone could want and therefore couldn’t complain

Fill: A Change of Pace 1c/?(Anonymous)2012-02-10 04:29 pm (UTC) (Link) Sorry, mods, please delete the other one.
Still, even he had to admit when pressured that, at certain points, boredom was the bane of his existence. It was that infernal, inescapable boredom in the end that Arthur blamed for what happened next, throwing his carefully paced, meticulously well-managed life into a whirlpool of chaos and confusion.
His step-sister Morgana had dragged him out for tea on a Sunday afternoon, and Arthur sensed a favour coming to knock on his door a mile away. Morgana normally couldn’t stand his company for long because, in her own words, it made her unbearably sad. She surprised him with lunch dates and impromptu meetings a couple of times a month, but that was it really.
To Arthur, Morgana had always been an alien. She came to live with them when Arthur was ten, and they didn’t get along at all at first. Arthur didn’t hate her, but he didn’t understand her. He couldn’t grasp why she couldn’t live a single day without rebelling against every single reasonable and unreasonable rule Uther imposed on his children – or really anything the world threw at her. She, in turn, despised Arthur for doing everything his father asked of him. (It was never true, but Morgana wasn’t one for details.)
Morgana only warmed up to him a couple of years later, when Arthur had a shouting match with his father and then sneaked out of the house to visit his mother’s grave despite the pouring rain. The obscene demonstration of illogical behaviour and a shameful loss of control proved to be a winning combination in the quest for Morgana’s favour.
Arthur admired Morgana and envied her for always doing what she wanted, even though it was the exact same thing that irritated him about her. Words like ‘duty’ and ‘family obligations’ made her snort. She was selfish, self-centred, and had very little patience for people or things deemed unworthy of her attention.
But it was Morgana who stood beside him, holding his hand when Arthur came out. Morgana, who was as relentless in her support, as she was intolerant of idiots, narrow-minded bigots, and self-righteous defenders of ‘decency.’ It was Morgana who threw Arthur a mind-blowing party for his 18th birthday that included a visit to a strip club, a lap dance, lots of alcohol, and some hugely embarrassing attempt at karaoke.
Morgana was spoilt, but not unkind, and in everything she did she was utterly magnificent. Arthur loved her dearly, even though he would rather eat raw fish masquerading as a Japanese delicacy, than admit as much to her face.
But that was one of the reasons why he didn’t turn her down at once when she mentioned that a friend of hers needed a place to stay. The other reason was the aforementioned boredom.
“We went to uni together,” Morgana said, pouring milk into her green tea as though it was something sane people did. “He’s a good friend. His flat is being renovated and he’s temporarily homeless. I know you have this second bedroom that you never use, so I promised him I’d ask you if you’d be willing to sublet.”
“He has a job?” Arthur half-asked, half-stated, not sure what the protocol was here.
“Oh yes.” Morgana laughed. “Of course he does. He works in advertising. Keeps some insane hours, mind you, it’s a demanding position. He’s been sleeping in his office for the last three nights, the poor thing, because he has no time to even book a hotel room.”
“Is that so,” Arthur said flatly. He didn’t know much about advertising as a business. For some reason, there was a mental image in his head of a bunch of kindergarten kids running around with crayons.
“Don’t worry,” Morgana said, leaning over and patting Arthur’s hand. “I roomed with Merlin in uni for a couple of terms. He’s a good roommate. Cleans after himself, doesn’t throw wild parties when you need to study, doesn’t complain when you do.”
“Um.” Arthur wasn’t sure it was such a stunning recommendation.
“He’s really very sweet.” Morgana smiled. “And he’s a really good friend, Arthur.”
She looked at him imploringly, and Arthur caved. “All right,” he said, toying with his cufflink. “It’s only for a few months, right?”
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread) Fill: A Change of Pace 1d/?(Anonymous)2012-02-10 04:30 pm (UTC) (Link) Morgana beamed at him. “Of course. You’re a dear for doing this, Arthur, thank you. I’ll let him know then, yeah?”
“Tell him” – Arthur cleared his throat – “tell him I don’t need him to pay me. He can just stay, I don’t need his money.”
Morgana’s grin turned sly. “You realise he’s not a charity case, right? Arthur, he’s a creative director at Ogilvy London. He probably makes more in a month than you do.”
Arthur scoffed. He didn’t quite believe that a job in something as – as not-serious as advertising could pay more than his, but that wasn’t the point. “Regardless,” he said arrogantly. “I’m happy with what I make, and for God’s sake, I don’t need a tenant. He’s your friend, so he can stay. Provided he behaves in a decent manner, of course,” he added as an afterthought.
Morgana laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’re a pompous arse, brother dear, but I love you anyway. Thanks.” She kissed his cheek and stood up. “I’m going to call Merlin now, let him know.”
Arthur watched her go, anticipation building up in his chest against his will. He tried to tone it down. There was nothing exciting about getting a flatmate, especially as weird as this friend Morgana described.
Nothing at all.

Fill: A Change of Pace 2a/?(Anonymous)2012-02-11 07:45 pm (UTC) (Link) Thanks for all the feedback mousies ♥
Couldn't post earlier, LJ was acting up. :(
Arthur went back home in a hurry. It occurred to him that if this Merlin person had spent the last three nights sleeping in his office, he would probably want to move in right away. His hypothesis was confirmed shortly after by a call from Morgana, who told him to expect Merlin sometime around five.
Strangely nervous, Arthur started cleaning. The flat was in pristine condition, but that was what people did when they were about to have house guests, wasn’t it? It was only polite, a simple courtesy if you please, to check that there was no dust in the spare bedroom, and that the linen closet was stocked with fresh sheets, and that... well everything was in order.
Originally, Arthur had chosen a two-bedroom flat out of practicality. What if a friend came to visit, or Morgana was evicted for keeping snakes in her bathroom again, or there was some kind of sleepover? But the truth was, Arthur hadn’t spoken to any of his friends since graduation (unless once-the-year birthday calls counted), could no more tolerate Morgana’s snakes than her previous five landlords, and no one in the history of ever had stayed at his flat for a sleepover.
The spare bedroom remained in its untouched pristine condition. Virginal, Arthur thought and resolved in a fit of giggles, taking in the quiet greenish tones of the wallpaper and the coverlet. He shook himself mentally, scowling. This was way too much already, and that Merlin fellow wasn’t even here yet. Unacceptable.
Thus scolded, Arthur retreated back to the living room that he often used as his study and dutifully immersed himself in the latest stock predictions from their Hong Kong analysts. He was uncomfortably aware of each passing minute, but that couldn’t be helped.
Finally, at half past five, the buzzer went off. Irritated, Arthur pressed the button without talking, and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t explain it even to himself, but he was actually nervous, looking around to make sure everything was in order, as though it was he who had to impress Merlin and not the other way around.
Ridiculous.
Arthur forced out a laugh, because it really was absurd. Maybe there was some truth to Morgana’s usual insults, and he really should socialise more.
There was a knock on the door. Arthur opened it, a polite smile on his face.
His breath caught in his throat so abruptly that he choked, covering it quickly with a shaky cough.
Scarf, was his first thought. His second thought that followed the first so closely that they clashed crossing the finish line in his mind was: Fuck, he’s bloody gorgeous.
“Hi.” The man smiled at Arthur a little hesitantly.
He was tall, dark hair styled in an artfully windswept way; his cheekbones were insane and could possibly cut glass. He was wearing dark skinny jeans, ripped strategically on his knees and even daringly up his thighs, knee-high black leather boots, a fitted t-shirt that stated ironically Ogilvy had it wrong in bold lettering across his chest, and a soft-looking charcoal jacket. The scarf that had stolen Arthur’s attention at first glance was rather generous and blood red, and was somehow managing to expose more of the creamy pale column of the long, elegant neck than it shielded.
“Hello,” Arthur said, frowning at the sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat. “You must be Merlin.”
Internally, he winced at the way it came out, too standoffish and possibly even arrogant. But Merlin, for it couldn’t possibly be anyone else, just smiled wider.
“I must be,” he agreed, his tone one of light teasing. “And you’re Arthur, Morgana’s brother and my knight in shining armour. Pleased to meet you.”
He stuck out his hand, and Arthur shook it automatically, blinking at the leather braid tied around Merlin’s wrist. His hand looked almost frail, compared to Arthur’s, but his handshake was strong and optimistic. Arthur didn’t know handshakes could be optimistic.
“Please, come on in,” he said.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread) Fill: A Change of Pace 2b/?(Anonymous)2012-02-11 07:48 pm (UTC) (Link) Merlin moved past him, dragging a rather battered-looking suitcase after him, peering around with trusting curiosity and eyes so bright, the room felt lighter for having them on it. Arthur slapped himself mentally and closed the door.
“Is this all you brought, then?” he asked, pointing at the suitcase.
“Oh, um. Yeah.” Merlin gave him a smile that was a bit sheepish. “My landlord sort of surprised me with his announcement. Actually, he said he'd been trying to tell me for about a month, but I was never home, and um, well, it’s possible he had a point. Anyway, I had no idea, so when he showed up with the crew, telling me to clear out, I just stuffed this with whatever was clean and within reach.” He patted the suitcase and laughed a little. “To be honest, I’m not even sure I have a spare pair of pants in there or, like, a toothbrush.”
Arthur stared. His mind boggled. “But... how are you going to—” He wasn’t even able to finish the question. The thought that anyone could be so completely disorganised had him reeling.
“Figured I’d just run to the shops for whatever I need,” Merlin said, grinning in an astoundingly carefree manner. “And pick up my stuff when I actually have a place to live.”
“Right.” Arthur nodded dumbly. “Naturally.”
Abruptly it occurred to him that Merlin was probably one of those people who went shopping without a shopping list. The thought made him dizzy.
“Right,” he said again. “Well, this is the place. This is the living room; make use of it however you like. That, through there, is my bedroom, and this is you. I hope it’s all right.”
Merlin was taking everything in with child-like fascination. “Wow, it’s really, um... really classy. And, um... space-y.”
“You hate it,” Arthur said, surprised as his heart sank. He didn’t realise he wanted Merlin to like his flat, to like him so much. He really was being ridiculous. He barely even knew Merlin.
“No!” Merlin shook his head, quickly. “It’s different from where I lived, but I like it in here. It’s very quiet.”
“Yeah.” Arthur’s mouth twisted.
“Look,” Merlin said and he was suddenly in Arthur’s space, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s wrist, startling him. “You don’t have to do this. I know Morgana pretty well, and she could steamroll anyone into doing her biding. If you don’t want me here, just say the word, mate. I’ll take no offense. I know how she can be, and it’s no problem for me to find somewhere else. Really. I mean, you don’t know me, and—”
“No, no,” Arthur breathed out, disoriented and confused by Merlin’s proximity. The lack of respect for his personal space was extremely off-putting. He could smell Merlin’s aftershave or shampoo or hair product – or whatever really that elusive but vaguely alluring scent was. Arthur swallowed; his throat was dry, his heart was beating rabbit-fast in his chest.
“It’s no trouble. Morgana didn’t bully me into this.” He pushed out with difficulty. “It – it is too quiet here sometimes, like you said. I wouldn’t – mind having company.”
“Really?” Merlin beamed and let him go, whirling in place to take another look at the room. “Well then, I think it’s going to work out brilliantly.”
Arthur couldn’t help it. Merlin’s grin was infectious, and before he knew it, he was grinning back.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)

Fill: A Change of Pace 2c/?(Anonymous)2012-02-11 07:57 pm (UTC) (Link) Arthur gave him a proper tour, relieved when Merlin remained politely cheerful and didn’t ask any potentially hazardous questions, like if it was all right for him to keep his stash of coke in the living room or something. Arthur felt a bit guilty for stereotyping Morgana’s friends and subconsciously expecting another nutjob like that Mordred character from a few years back.
Merlin wasn’t anything like Mordred, with his sunny smiles and easy laugh and the outgoing manner of the guy next door. Overall, he seemed like a nice enough bloke, not crazy or anything, even if he was dressed in a manner that guaranteed him everyone’s attention.
Arthur couldn’t fault him for taste, even if he did wonder exactly how Merlin’s jeans even stayed on him. Whenever he moved his arms, the hem of his t-shirt went up half an inch, revealing a tantalizing sliver of skin and the jut of hipbones, peeking just above his belt. Arthur had some difficulty looking away from that. The very thought of wearing something so... forward was making him hot.
In the kitchen, Merlin whooped loudly at the sight of Arthur’s expensive monster of a coffee maker. “Oh,” he intoned in confusion, having taken a good look at it. “It’s brand new. Don’t you use it?”
“I’m more of a tea person,” Arthur said, staring at the menacing looking machine with deep suspicion. “Besides, I could never quite get over the impression that this thing would launch nuclear missiles if I pressed the wrong button.”
Merlin laughed. “You mind if I gave it a go? I can’t live without an hourly intake of caffeine, so coffee makers everywhere and I are usually instant friends.”
Arthur made a magnanimous gesture with his hands. “Be my guest.”
Merlin beamed. “I make a mean cup of coffee, I’ll have you know. Might even convert you, once I have this beauty going.”
He chatted animatedly as he weaved his magic over the coffee maker. Arthur tried to follow the head spinning motions of his hands or the equally rapid flow of his conversation, but was gradually becoming clear to him that he didn’t have much of a chance at succeeding at either.
He felt sad suddenly, deeply upset at his own inability to say anything interesting or, in fact, anything at all. Merlin was... Cliché as the comparison was, Merlin reminded him of an exotic bird stuck in the wrong hemisphere by mistake. Any minute now Merlin would sing him a cheerful goodbye and disappear in a whirlwind of colours back to his magical tropical land.
“Sorry,” Merlin said suddenly, reaching out to touch Arthur’s arm – a gesture that came as naturally to him as breathing. “I talk too much, don’t I?”
“No,” Arthur replied, staring down at Merlin’s fingers. “No, I just—”
“I’m really sorry.” Merlin looked sincerely apologetic. “I tend to babble when I’m nervous.”
Arthur stared. “You’re nervous?”
Merlin’s face suddenly acquired a set of dimples as he dropped his gaze to the floor, and blushed, his lashes fluttering.
If Arthur had entertained any kind of illusions about it before, he knew with certainty at that moment that he was truly and utterly done for.
“I might be,” Merlin admitted, looking up, his eyes dancing.
He was flirting.
Arthur tried to swallow, but couldn’t; realised his mouth was open, closed it, and tried again, blushing something awful.
Merlin seemed to enjoy seeing him flustered, because there was laughter in his voice, as he said, “You’re so very serious, Arthur. It’s a bit intimidating.”
It wasn’t as though Arthur was prone to stammering or in the habit to be lacking words. He could talk for hours about the economical growth in China or the prospects of Dow if the Americans would start yet another war. He could deliver speeches – had, in fact, delivered speeches – in front of very important people, the kind who held the financial future of the globe in their hands. He made a presentation (once) for George fucking Soros and got a job offer out of it.
He was capable of sensible speech – of very sensible speech, in point of fact.
He couldn’t for the life of him come up with anything to say.

Fill: A Change of Pace 2d/?(Anonymous)2012-02-11 08:00 pm (UTC) (Link)
Fortunately, at that moment, Merlin’s mobile went off. Merlin looked at the caller ID and grimaced, then flashed Arthur an apologetic smile, and stood up to take the call.Arthur busied himself with rinsing their cups (Merlin’s coffee was actually quite good, as promised), moving a bit mechanically. Merlin popped up back into the kitchen just as Arthur was drying his hands with a towel.“Listen, Arthur, do you have plans?”Arthur frowned. “Plans?”“For tonight. I know it’s short notice, and you’re probably tired of me already, but I noticed that painting on your living room wall, and – you’re an art nut, aren’t you?”Arthur looked away. He hated that painting. It was a grotesque still life that reminded him most of all of vomiting aubergines and was, in all actuality, buttugly. Arthur had bought it at one of the charity auctions, because the young artist looked too desperate. He wanted to get rid of it on numerous occasions, but discovered that it had one saving grace after all – it annoyed the life out of Morgana.“I wouldn’t go that far.”“Well—” Merlin rubbed the back of his neck absently. He’d gotten rid of his scarf, Arthur noticed. “A friend of mine is an artist. Contemporary art,” he added with a strange expression. “She has an opening tonight, and I usually don’t, but I promised... Do you by any chance want to go?”Arthur blinked. “Right now?”“Well, yes. If you don’t have other plans, that is.”“Um. Not as such. I suppose.”Merlin smiled, and his whole face transformed into such genuine, unguarded hope that Arthur felt horrified at the thought of crushing it. “Then you’ll come?”“Yes,” Arthur said, his heart sinking. It wasn’t as though he had any choice, right?For a moment, Arthur thought that Merlin would hug him – he seemed the hugging type – and even stilled himself for the further expression of impropriety and complete lack of respect for personal boundaries.But Merlin just beamed at him and said, “Brilliant,” in a tone of voice that made Arthur’s stomach leap.Abruptly, he had a vision of himself jumping off a cliff into the darkness. Arthur shuddered. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.Fill: A Change of Pace 3a/?(Anonymous)2012-02-12 03:38 pm (UTC) (Link)
If you're a fan of modern art, this might hurt a bit.
Merlin had conjured a Black Cab out of thin air, and forty minutes later, Arthur was stalking gloomily across the halls of the Whitechapel Gallery, feeling distinctly out of place. Contemporary art had always had the unfortunate effect of creeping him out, and nothing he saw around him was making it any better.There was a huge cage-like thing in the middle of the hall. It was split into many little cages, each of which hosted a light bulb in them. They went on and off at no predictable intervals, and the whole thing emitted a rather unnerving low-frequency whine that made Arthur acutely aware of every nerve string in his body.There was a huge sphere of a lamp made entirely out of litter. Visitors were supposed to lie underneath it and contemplate. (Whether they were supposed to contemplate the ever-suffering environment or their own stupidity, Arthur wasn’t sure.)In the corner, there were a few dozen books lying on the floor. They were all opened somewhere in the middle, and the fan standing at the side made the pages turn with artificial wind. It was called The Whisper for some unknown reason and was a close call between lame and creepy.Those were some of the most harmless ones. With a barely suppressed shudder, Arthur tore his eyes away from a bizarre wooden figure sitting on a stool that was either a gigantic octopus split in half and painted over or several pairs of too long rabbit ears dressed in stockings. He looked around the room, searching a bit of sanity to come deliver him from all this.Although, at this point? Arthur would have gladly taken Divine Intervention.Merlin was standing by some kind of metallic sculpture thing, talking to the artist herself, a young woman called Elena. She would have been quite lovely, Arthur thought vaguely, if she introduced her blond locks to a comb and wore some shoes.Merlin, as Arthur noticed with a measure of surprise, was doing more listening than talking, nodding a lot and laughing in presumably the right places. However, he did acquire a strangely constipated look upon his face every time Elena dragged him over to one exhibit or other.Whatever his deal was, though, it was clear as a day that Merlin was an inherent part of this crowd. Every few minutes someone would stop him to greet with a kiss or a hug, men and women alike, and Merlin seemed to have a broad smile for everyone and some words at the ready that probably weren’t painfully tortured small talk.The crowd even looked different. There were a few men and women in somewhat regular looking smart-casual, but some of the visitors made Merlin’s outfit seem downright tame, and Arthur couldn’t help but stare. He also couldn’t help the feeling that, in his slacks and jumper, he looked like somebody’s grandfather who refused to acknowledge that the 50s had passed.No one was giving him looks or anything, but Arthur felt distinctly uncomfortable. He asked Merlin before they left his flat if he ought to change, but Merlin just shook his head and said that it wasn’t ‘that kind of thing,’ whatever that meant. Arthur must have looked dubious, because Merlin grinned at him and said, ‘Lose the tie, if you’re that worried.’Arthur did and was intensely glad that he did (nobody here was wearing ties as if they went out of style), but that didn’t help him feel any more at home.He couldn’t just leave, though, even though he wanted to really badly. For one, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful to Merlin who brought him to a clearly exclusive event. For another, Arthur didn’t want to seem ignorant and confess that not only he didn’t understand the whole shtick of ‘modern,’ ‘postmodern,’ and especially ‘conceptual,’ but he actually hated the lot with a passion.For some reason, imagining the disappointed look on Merlin’s face sent cold shivers down Arthur’s spine. It didn’t make any sense. Arthur had barely known the guy, for God’s sake.But there was something chemical about Merlin’s smiles, something that made Arthur instinctively crave his approval.That didn’t stop him from looking for escape routes, all the same.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread) (Expand)

Fill: A Change of Pace 3b/?(Anonymous)2012-02-12 03:40 pm (UTC) (Link) “Young man.” A voice startled him, and Arthur turned around to see a couple of old ladies standing behind him, their arms linked in a touching manner. They would have looked classically nice if one of them wasn’t wearing trousers that seemed to be made of tinsel, and the other wasn’t sporting one wig on top of the other. “Would you mind explaining the meaning of this piece to us?”
Arthur blinked. Did they think he worked here? He didn’t know if he should be horrified or insulted, so he turned to look at the piece in question, because, whatever issues his upbringing had, he wasn’t raised to be rude to old ladies.
“Um.”
He was looking at what could only be a baboon’s arse made (hopefully) of papier mâché. It was bright pink, heart-shaped, with a hole in the middle that had an ice cream cone sticking out of it.
“Well.” Arthur stared at it blankly. “It probably symbolises creative methods of courtship,” he said at long last. “You know, unconventional, um, ways to – woo one’s intended.”
The old ladies blinked at him. “Yes,” one of them said, “but why is it called Dubious Consent?”
Arthur looked at the ice cream cone and shuddered. “I can’t know for sure, but I think the baboon objected.”
There was a loud snort behind them, and Arthur turned around to see Merlin trying unsuccessfully to smother a laugh as the old ladies stared at Arthur, scandalised.
Arthur cursed under his breath. It figured that Merlin would come to find him when he was making a fool of himself.
“Sorry I disappeared on you,” Merlin said, grinning openly, once the old ladies were out of sight. “Ellie is a bit of a disaster zone during things like that, and she’s in-between boyfriends now, so I’m her only moral support.”
“It’s fine,” Arthur said magnanimously. “Do you need to go back to her? I can entertain myself just fine.”
Merlin snorted again. “So I see.” His eyes twinkled. “But no, she’s pumped with champagne, and the critics are gone, so she’s good. And frankly, I’m starving, I didn’t have anything since breakfast. You want to go grab a quick bite? There’s a cute Moroccan restaurant near here; I have a mad carving for some shawarma.” Merlin finally paused to take a breath and peered at Arthur warily. “That is, unless you want to stay and buy something?”
Arthur winced. “No.”
Merlin laughed. “Follow me, then.”
Arthur did, relieved beyond belief to leave the gallery. He never actually ate that late in the evening, but he felt that, after a night like this, he could use the extra calories.
It had started to rain while they were inside, and the wind didn’t make it any more pleasant. They didn’t talk much on the way to the restaurant; Merlin was too busy keeping the collar of his jacket up against the onslaught of the elements, and Arthur – being shocked into silence because he had left his flat without a brolly for the first time in as long as he could remember. He was unable to explain it.
The restaurant wasn’t as near as Merlin made it sound, and by the time they found it, they were both shivering. Merlin was babbling apologies, and Arthur only managed to answer to every third one, trying to convey that it was fine around his chattering teeth.
It was a lovely place, though, even if Arthur didn’t usually appreciate the smell of incense that was permeating the air rather generously. He did appreciate the incredible cosiness of the low divans that replaced chairs in here, even though the idea that someone might be taking a meal while lying down and in public seemed rather appalling.
Merlin smiled at him across the table, lit intimately (but somehow not aggressively so) in candle light. “Trust me?”
Arthur lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. Watching as Merlin chatted at the waiter in halting Arabic (somehow not surprising after everything), Arthur wondered faintly about himself. He couldn’t remember a single time in his adult life that he allowed anyone to order for him, yet now he gave Merlin – a bloke he barely even knew – free reign without a fight.
Arthur must be really, really tired.
Or something.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread) Fill: A Change of Pace 3c/?(Anonymous)2012-02-12 03:43 pm (UTC) (Link) “So,” Merlin started sometime after their food had arrived, his tone unnaturally neutral. “What did you think of the exposition?”
Arthur chewed on a piece of couscous thoughtfully, staving off the inevitable. Weird or no, his trust in Merlin hadn’t been misplaced, because the lamb was melting on his tongue.
“It was... interesting.”
Merlin squinted at him. “In what way?”
“Well—” Arthur made an ambiguous gesture with his hand, praying for words to come. The baboon’s arse was a persistent vision in his mind’s eye; it wasn’t helping matters. “It was very, um... progressive.”
“Progressive,” Merlin repeated slowly. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “Oh my God. You hated it!”
There was so much undisguised delight in his exclamation that Arthur instantly admitted, “You have no idea.”
Merlin dropped his fork and laughed, his whole body breathing with mirth. “Oh God,” Merlin pushed out through his laughter. “I thought you, with your Paddington flat, and your Oxbridge accent, and that hideous pretentious painting on your wall – I thought you were one of them, yuppies, drawn to everything new and shiny as long as someone tells you it’s trendy.”
“I’m really not.” Arthur was laughing, too. “And I hate that painting.”
“It’s horrible,” Merlin said gleefully.
“Completely revolting.”
“Why do you keep it?”
“It annoys Morgana.”
“Man.” Merlin’s eyes glowed with admiration. “The universe appreciates your suffering for the greater good.”
“I’m sure.” Arthur snorted. “So you’re not a fan of modern art, either?”
“God, no.” Merlin chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit old-fashioned, you know? Picasso and Monet are as modern as I’m willing to get. Well, and of course Dali, but honestly, a guy has to appreciate Dali. But all those garbage sculptures and plastic bag ‘paintings’ really aren’t my kind of thing.”
“Oh. I thought you were really into it, what with being all... artsy. And stuff.”
“Artsy?” Merlin lifted his eyebrows, still chuckling. “If Elena heard you, she’d be horribly offended, Arthur, and mind you, not on my part. She still can’t forgive me for the Andy Warhol toilet incident.”
“I sense a story.”
“It’s a bit embarrassing,” Merlin admitted, rolling his eyes, but told Arthur anyway. “We were in the States together once, Ellie and me, and she dragged me to the Andy Warhol Museum. You know Andy Warhol, the pop art icon and—”
“Yes, Merlin. I know who Andy Warhol is.”
“Right, anyway. So picture this, Ellie is all high on those inverted post stamps and carton boxes, just going on and on about the grand philosophy and vision. And I’m just sort of wandering there, thinking that if I see another sloppily painted red triangle or blue cube, I’m going to kill somebody or jump off a cliff like a bloody lemming. So I stalk off, mind, and I’m a bit high myself on all that monstrosity, and suddenly there’s a bathroom.”
“A bathroom?”
“A bathroom. With tiled walls and everything. There’s a stall and a toilet – seriously, just a white, regular looking toilet. There’s no door, but there’s a rope hanging across and a sign ‘Out of order.’ And” – Merlin started laughing as if he could help himself – “get this, Arthur. I’m standing there, staring at it, and thinking: Is this another exhibit—”
Arthur began to laugh.
“—or is this just a bloody toilet and I’m being an idiot?”
“What happened?” Arthur choked.
“Ellie came and yelled at me,” Merlin said reminiscently. “She thought I was going to pee in it.”
Arthur couldn’t help it – he threw his head back and roared with laughter. He could just see it so clearly in his mind, Merlin standing in front of a toilet of all things, searching for some deep philosophy behind it.

Fill: A Change of Pace 4b/?(Anonymous)2012-02-13 04:34 pm (UTC) (Link) Arthur had never thought much about his own appearance. He knew he was handsome, but he had always believed himself to be a little on the bland, ordinary side, with a classical English palette, and averagely cut figure.
Merlin, on the other hand, wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense of the word, but he was striking and had that intangible je ne sais quoi about him that made people follow him with their eyes and wonder what those collarbones would taste like or what kind of noise he’d make if they pulled his hair or if he was a screamer.
It was not impossible that Arthur was extrapolating his own reactions onto the unsuspecting and entirely innocent population of the City. Somehow, he didn’t think so.
There was also the notable incident with the shirt.
Just as Merlin said, sometime after he settled in Arthur’s flat, the rest of his things arrived in boxes to be piled up in his room. Merlin only opened one when he ran out of clean clothes and didn’t have time to do laundry. He was a bit of a slob, leaving his possessions all over the flat and forgetting about them. It should have been utterly infuriating, but strangely Arthur found he didn’t actually mind.
There was a warm feeling in his chest when he would come home and find Merlin’s hoodie draped over the back of the couch in the living room, which meant that it was one of the mornings when Merlin had the time to dose in front of the telly before he went to work. Arthur would pick it up and fold it, and then unfold it and put it back. He couldn’t explain it. But he liked chasing Merlin’s bizarre notes and wayward scarves around the flat or having the reason to gripe at him playfully, when Arthur discovered another book split open and abandoned somewhere.
He even liked the war zone that was now the fridge, and the fact that Merlin used Arthur’s shampoo as often as his own, because he was often comatose when he just woke up, spoke in monosyllables, and the only word that could provoke any kind of response was ‘coffee.’(The first time Arthur timed a fresh pot to be brewed by the time Merlin got up, Merlin actually hugged him, sleep-warm and soft, murmuring thanks into Arthur’s neck.)
It wasn’t a surprise to find a shirt forgotten in the bathroom, and Arthur smiled as he picked it up and stared at it, wondering quietly.
The shirt was deep, emerald-green, the colour muted so as not to assault the eye, but still vivid enough to stand out. Arthur didn’t remember Merlin actually wearing it, and it looked fresh from the laundry. It was almost classically cut, except for some smart tailoring, and the wrinkled material.
Arthur didn’t know what possessed him to try it on. One moment he was standing there, thinking that he should go drop it in Merlin’s room, and the next he was doing up the buttons, staring at himself in the mirror.
For a minute or two, he couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. It was him, but also not him. Arthur’s fingers moved slowly, sliding along the surprisingly soft fabric, creeping toward the collar.
“It suits you,” a voice sounded suddenly, and Arthur jumped.
He didn’t close the bathroom door, and Merlin was standing in the doorway, watching him. Arthur blushed, horribly embarrassed. He hadn’t heard Merlin come home.
“I was only – I just –”
Merlin shook his head, stepping forward, a strangely intense expression on his face. “Hush, it’s all right,” he said softly.
He batted Arthur’s hands away from the upper button, undoing the next one as well. He smoothed the fabric across Arthur’s shoulders, while Arthur held his breath, unable to look away. Then Merlin nudged him gently to face the mirror.
“Look,” he said, voice lower than usual, seeping liquidly into Arthur’s ear. “It never really fit me right, but you – it does things to you.”
It did. It highlighted the stark relief of muscles on his arms, brought out the strong, broad chest, and trimmed the waistline. The colour made a beautiful contrast with Arthur’s skin tone, the open collar made him feel naked, but also brought attention to the firm, uncompromising line of his jaw, creating an impression of sensuality and power, spiked with an edge of danger.
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Fill: A Change of Pace 4d/?(Anonymous)2012-02-13 04:40 pm (UTC) (Link) Merlin shrugged a bit helplessly. “I got into this business because I like creative media, because I like smart ads. The other thing just came along with it. I felt flattered at first, but now...” He trailed off, looking despondent.
“You must be really good then,” Arthur said, trying to cheer him up. He didn’t like that look on Merlin one bit.
Merlin laughed sarcastically, but his eyes seemed less haunted as he looked at Arthur. “Oh, I’m bloody brilliant. Why do you think they’re trying so hard?” He poked at the case with the glasses again. “These are exact replicas of ones in the Queen’s collection.” He bit his lip again, teasing Arthur with the imprint of teeth. “You’d think I’d get used to it by now.”
Arthur searched desperately for anything to say, but he wasn’t certain he quite understood Merlin’s problem. Arthur grew up with the notion that there was nothing wrong with making money, the more the better. Not to the point where it became the single goal of life, of course, but it wasn’t something to be ashamed of or feel bad about, either.
Creative, Arthur reminded himself, studying Merlin’s chiselled profile. Who knew what that even meant? Except, apparently, emotionally delicate and morally sensitive.
Arthur suddenly felt like an old, fat boar standing next to a baby gazelle.
“Listen, are you staying in tonight?” he asked, wincing at his own lack of subtlety at changing the subject. “I was going to cook.”
Merlin blinked, looking up at him. The smile he gave Arthur was slow, but with the usual teasing glint to it. “You cook? How did I get so lucky again?”
“Morgana.”
“Of course. Got to send her some of those flowers.”
“Not unless you want your head bitten off by one of her snakes, you won’t.”
Merlin laughed.
Arthur liked it best when Merlin stayed in, which didn’t happen all too often. Arthur, who had been conditioned from an early age to hide his real feelings lest they’d be used against him, found it surprisingly easy to talk to Merlin, who didn’t seem to have a single judgmental bone in his body. He liked to tease Arthur, but never in a mean way.
Teasing, Arthur could deal with. What was much, much worse was that Merlin was a natural flirt to the point where he wasn’t doing it on purpose (mostly) and still left Arthur breathless and blushing.
Arthur had no chance at winning that one. He was slow with his words, and Merlin was fast. He weighed each compliment thoroughly before speaking, so as not to be misinterpreted or show too much. Merlin went on saying things that normal people, mates, didn’t say to each other, with the kind of casual sincerity that was impossible to dismiss and that seemed to cost him nothing.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Arthur blurted out one night as they were finishing their wine. The question came out of nowhere. Arthur blamed it on the fact that Merlin looked particularly fetching in a royal blue button-down that brought out his eyes.
And on the wine. He should never have drunk that wine.
Merlin’s expression changed from relaxed to relaxed and sly, as he dragged his mind away from the story he had only just finished telling and focused his full attention on Arthur.
Arthur fought against the urge to fidget.
“Why?” Merlin asked, because he was a bastard who couldn’t give Arthur a break.
“It’s just – well, you never have anyone over,” Arthur said, trying to appear poised when he was feeling anything but. “I just wanted to tell you that you can, if you want to. Bring your boyfriend over, that is.”
“Really.” Merlin tilted his head back slightly, studying Arthur through narrowed eyes, a smirk curving his lips. “What if my boyfriend was a professional boxer in super heavy weight?”
“That’s fine,” Arthur said quickly, sweat breaking on the back of his neck.
“What if he liked to have really loud sex with me? Fuck me stupid against the wall?”
“That’s—”
“Your bedroom wall even?”
Arthur swallowed, his cheeks aflame. “I would have to invest in some headphones then, obviously.”
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Fill: A Change of Pace 4e/?(Anonymous)2012-02-13 04:41 pm (UTC) (Link) Merlin laughed softly, shaking his head. “Arthur...” He trailed off, looking at Arthur with an expression that was half-fond, half-puzzled as though Arthur was a fascinating riddle to be cracked that had been eluding Merlin by some kind of miracle.
“What?” Arthur grunted, defensively.
“It’s like you’re – not from this century,” Merlin intoned slowly as though he was deducing it as he went. “You’re so... chivalrous. You give shelter to a stranger, a person you know nothing about, just because your sister asks you to. I could have been an axe murderer or a drug addict, and you gave me access to your home, without a word.”
“Well, Morgana—
“You hate incompetence, but you wouldn’t fire that girl from the Hong Kong desk that you told me about, because she’s got a sick sister to care for. You actually do half her work for her just so no one else has reasons to fire her.”
“That’s not exactly how—”
“And just now you told me that I can have over whoever, even though it could make your flat pretty much unliveable, out of pure hospitality. Arthur—” Merlin bit his lip, his look turning gentle. “You’re kind of wonderful, but it’s kind of dangerous. What if I took you up on your word? The headphones would be the least of your troubles.”
“Would you?” Arthur asked, petulantly.
Merlin stared at him a moment longer and sighed. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend, and if I happened to pull someone in the meantime, I certainly wouldn’t bring them here. I respect you, Arthur, and I respect your home, and your generosity. But not everyone would if you go all out like that.”
“I know that, Merlin,” Arthur said irritably. “I’m not a baby. I just – I feel I can trust you, that’s all.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Why do you say such things – why do you have to be so vulgar if you had no intention of going through with it?”
Merlin looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “Because you have beautiful eyes, Arthur, and they go dark when you’re shocked or affronted. It’s a good look on you.”
Arthur sputtered.
Merlin laughed. “That’s the one. And look at you, now you’re mad. It’s cute.”
“You’re a git, you know that?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
It all went in some similar fashion. The trouble was, with Merlin’s flirting being a near-constant thing, it was impossible to tell if he meant any of it or if he was, in fact, flirting at all. Arthur had the most persistent impression that Merlin actually meant all of those unthinkable things he said. It was extremely disconcerting, and – if Arthur was being truthful with himself – exhilarating.
And if he spent less of his evenings playing chess at the club, and cut down on his workout hours slightly in the hopes that Merlin would be home when Arthur got off work, no one had to be the wiser.

Fill: A Change of Pace 5a/?(Anonymous)2012-02-17 10:50 pm (UTC) (Link) Sorry about the delay, RL interfered. Thank you for all the feedback, it really keeps me going knowing that there's still someone interested.♥
There'll be more over the weekend, but I'm sorry, I didn't have the time to read this through. Apologies for all the typos and stuff.
“Arthur! Oh my God, you can’t be asleep, please get up, get dressed, I need your help!”
“What the –? Merlin?”
Arthur sat up on the bed abruptly, grabbing for the covers that Merlin had so unceremoniously jerked off him. He missed, or Merlin had anticipated his actions, because he pulled the duvet further away from Arthur’s reach, standing at the foot of the bed, wide-eyed and panting.
“Merlin, do you mind? I’m not dressed!”
“I can see that – that’s the problem!”
“Merlin – what the hell is going on?”
It was Friday night, and, granted, it was only 10 p.m., but Merlin was never home on Friday nights. Never. Realising he was prone to sulking, Arthur had doubled his workout load on Fridays so that he could come home and go straight to bed, leaving himself a minimum amount of time for possible (sadly, very much so) moping.
“Arthur, I’m sorry about this, but I’m desperate, and you’ve got to save me!”
With that extraordinary statement, Merlin actually fell down on his knees beside the bed, effectively changing the angle of eye contact between them and making Arthur wish he wore something more than his boxer briefs to bed. Reflexively, Arthur went for the covers again, but Merlin checked his motion, quick as a viper, without even looking.
“Save you from what?” Arthur asked warily, heart beating too fast with surprise and – yeah, he was sticking to surprise.
“You have to model for us.”
“What?”
“We have this photo shoot, very, very important, and our model bailed at the last moment. The agency can’t send me anyone who’d remotely fit the profile in time, and if we don’t make it to production this weekend, we fuck up the deadline, and it’s a major client, Arthur – and my neck. Please. Please, Arthur I know you’re already doing me this huge favour by letting me live here, and I hate to ask, but I really can’t think of anyone else. Please.”
Arthur shook his head, trying to break through Merlin’s one hundred words per second gibberish. But the only thing that stuck with him was:
“You want me to model for you? Are you out of your mind? I can’t model!”
“Of course you can. I’m not asking you to walk the runway; it’s a photo shoot. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”
“You’re really mental, mate. I’m not doing this—”
“It’s not like anyone will know it’s you,” Merlin told him impatiently. “It’s a body reference shot – no one will be able to see your face.”
“Then why can’t you use someone—”
“Because there’s a concept – there’s this samurai warrior legend to go with that. The modelling agency is useless, and you’re the only person I know who’s both in the City right now and has the body type we need.”
“But—”
“Please, Arthur.” Merlin’s fingers landed on his knee, squeezing lightly. He was all in his eyes – enormously big at that moment and staring up at Arthur imploringly. “Please, I promise you no one will know. I promise.”
Arthur swallowed. Merlin’s eyes turned liquid. “Please,” he breathed out quietly.
It was like looking down at Bambi pleading with you not to kill his mother.
“Dammit.” Arthur closed his eyes. “This is crazy.”
“You’ll do it? Say you’ll do it. Oh, Arthur, you’d be a friend for life.”
Arthur opened his eyes and glared at him, but it was harder by the moment, and the corners of Merlin’s mouth were already lifting. His fingers were warm and solid on Arthur’s knee.
“I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve this,” Arthur sighed, torn between resigned and incredulous. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Oh, Arthur.” Merlin’s smile was blinding. “You’re so—”
“Oh, shut up. How do you even know I have the ‘body type’ you need anyway?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m a gay guy who works in advertising. That’s like a textbook definition of ‘not blind.’”
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Fill: A Change of Pace 5b/?(Anonymous)2012-02-17 10:51 pm (UTC) (Link) His words had the curious effect of bringing their attention to the physical reality of their positions. Arthur blushed; Merlin snatched his hand away as if burned.
“I, um.” He stood up, eyes anywhere but on Arthur. “I’ll let you get dressed.”
“Merlin?” Arthur called after him, swinging his feet to the floor. “What should I wear?”
Merlin turned in the doorway, his smirk only just visible in the murky light. “Clothes would be good.”
“Bastard,” Arthur said, walking over to his wardrobe.
Merlin’s laughter trickled in from the corridor.
The shock of his own decision began to sink in slowly, and Arthur spent the cab ride in mild stupor. He stared out the window without seeing anything, and listening but not hearing a word of Merlin’s explanation about the client, the juice they were supposed to promote, and the cunning plan to change their casting agency for one that would finally stop screwing them up whenever it felt like it.
It was at this point only that Arthur had begun to suspect that he might possibly – possibly – have a bit of a thing for Merlin. There seemed to be no other explanation for this insanity.
Merlin became visibly more nervous as they got closer to the office. Or maybe nervous was the wrong word, Arthur mused. Merlin looked... charged, as though he was drawing energy from the air around him. He was almost crackling with it. Arthur sniffed the air surreptitiously for ozone.
“Come on,” Merlin said, pushing Arthur into the lobby, pressing him forward with a persistent hand on the small of his back. “We really need to hurry before—”
“Hey, Merlin?” the receptionist called out to him. “The Dragon’s looking for you.”
“Fuck,” Merlin swore, grabbed Arthur’s wrist and pulled him away from the elevators toward the staircase instead.
Arthur allowed himself to be dragged, turning his head to take in his surroundings. It was extremely confusing to see an office bursting with life this late in the evening. Everywhere people were moving, talking loudly, gulping down coffee and energy drinks, running up and down the stairs with printouts and rather desperate expressions. A lot of them stopped to say a few words to Merlin, all of them along the same lines as the receptionist. Most of them shot curious glances at Arthur, but no one offered any kind of comment.
“Who’s the Dragon?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Chief Accountant,” Merlin replied, shooting a wary glance around. “I think I might be in trouble.”
“There’s no ‘I think’ about it, Emrys.” A petite, frail-looking brunette wedged herself between Merlin and the next flight of stairs. She was holding a clipboard, wearing lipstick a shade too bright and a disapproving expression.
Merlin stopped and grabbed her shoulders. “Did you get hold of the production team?”
“No,” she said petulantly. “I was a little too busy trying to keep the Dragon off your trail. I told you, Merlin, you Paris trip will get us all in trouble. Why can’t you just fax receipts like a normal person I’ll never—”
“Freya.” Merlin shook her lightly. “Forget about the Paris trip, okay? I need you to go to production.”
“They’re still stuck at that stupid briefing with Simon.”
“Then get them unstuck. Tell them they’re not to leave the building, sit on them if you have to, but no one is going home until we get those bloody mock-ups done, understood?”
Ignoring his impassioned plea, Freya was looking curiously at Arthur. “Who’s this?”
Merlin let go of her with a sigh. “Freya, this is Arthur, who very kindly agreed to model for us. Arthur, this is Freya, my personal assistant.”
“His personal guardian angel more like,” she said, smiling flirtatiously at Arthur as she shook his hand. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “Wait a second. Arthur – as in your flatmate Arthur? Shit, Merlin, you didn’t tell me he was gorgeous.”
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Fill: A Change of Pace 5d/?(Anonymous)2012-02-17 10:54 pm (UTC) (Link) Merlin laughed and pushed him away, but his motion was intent more than effort. “I know you do. Now listen to me, would you? Arthur isn’t a professional model. He’s a friend who’s doing me a huge favour.” He rested a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. “So play nice, okay?”
Gwaine caught Merlin’s hand in both his own. “I always play nice, sweetheart.”
“Gwaine.”
“Oh, stop fretting. I won’t molest him. Well, maybe a little bit.”
Merlin rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “I need to go take care of a few things, but I’ll be back later, and Arthur had better not have reasons to complain.”
“Don’t you go worrying your pretty head about it, Merlin,” Gwaine called after him, smirking.
Merlin flipped him off, walking away.
“All right, princess,” Gwaine said, noticing that Arthur had stepped out from behind the screen. “Let’s see what we have here. Natalie, be a dear and work your magic over this one, aye? He’s way too tanned, do something about it.”
Before Arthur could come up with a retort, he was being manhandled into a chair by a thin but surprisingly strong young woman.
“Sit still,” she ordered, tiling his chin up toward the light.
Arthur gritted his teeth and tried not to snap. He wanted to remind them all that he was not a bloody model, thank you very much. He itched to tell them that he earned more in a year than their entire agency put together; that his uncle was a member of parliament; that he played chess with members of the government on a regular basis.
But then he caught sight of Merlin making his way across the room, and the words died on his tongue, their importance fading away into obscurity.
Gwaine was watching Merlin, too, Arthur noticed. Half the room was clamouring for his attention as Merlin moved from desk to desk, commenting on the sketches, reading off people’s screens, asking and answering questions, talking and laughing. It wasn’t only that he was, in all likelihood, their boss, given that this was the creative department. (Arthur was having a hard time assimilating the idea that Merlin, who was waltzing around the room in bloody Converse shoes, for God’s sake, could be anybody’s boss, but that was beside the point.)
It was more than him being their boss. Watching his progress, while Natalie was trying to pick his eyes out with a hairbrush, Arthur thought that Merlin wasn’t the most beautiful person in the room, or the loudest, or the most intimidating. But he was the person who compelled everyone’s attention like a magnet, leaving smiles and almost visibly lighter air in his wake.
He was a walking inspiration, and everyone wanted to touch him, feeling empowered when he so much as smiled their way.
“Yeah, he does that,” Gwaine said suddenly, and Arthur jumped, realising he’d been an object of scrutiny himself. He stared, and Gwaine quickly raised a quelling hand. “Don’t worry, you didn’t say it. I’ve just seen that look plenty of times before.”
“What look?” Arthur asked stubbornly, but Gwaine just shook his head.
“If you’re ready, princess? We do have a deadline to meet.”
The shoot itself wasn’t as bad as Arthur thought it might be. He had cursed himself a million times over on their way here for having agreed to something so... undignified if not downright degrading. Not to mention something he knew nothing about.
But the actual process, as it turned out, wasn’t too horrible. As soon as they began, the room around faded away, and there were only Gwaine’s instructions, bright light, the sound of the camera, and occasionally Natalie’s hands on him, adjusting his hair or clothes.
They gave him a fake sword and instructed to hold several classic fencing positions. Arthur did fencing back at school, and it wasn’t difficult. Gwaine was running a streaming commentary of everything Arthur did, and most of his observations were completely infuriating.
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Fill: A Change of Pace 5e/?(Anonymous)2012-02-17 10:55 pm (UTC) (Link) “Looking good there, princess. Just like that – very pretty. Do you mind tucking your arse in a bit? This is going to be on the juice cartons, we don’t want to give kids the wrong idea. Very nice. Does your jaw ever hurt from sticking it out like that?”
It was all Arthur could do not to attack him with the stupid plastic sword he was holding. Fortunately, his anger seemed to translate into the right visual, if Gwaine’s mutterings of ‘great body lines, very aggressive, give me more of that’ were any indication.
“How are we doing?” Merlin’s voice cut in suddenly, and Arthur’s head snapped up. He hadn’t noticed Merlin return. “Wow, Gwaine, those look fantastic.”
He was pointing at the laptop screen. Arthur pursed his lips in annoyance, not really certain why he was feeling so peculiar.
“Yeah,” Gwaine said a bit absently, glancing over Merlin’s shoulder. “If I could just get him to—”
Suddenly he was moving, climbing over the reflector to join Arthur in the shooting zone. Arthur glanced at him warily, and Gwaine smirked at him.
“Relax, princess.” He came up close to Arthur from behind, laying his hands confidently on Arthur’s hips, moving them for him and murmuring rather filthily into Arthur’s ear: “I just need to put you in one more position. Do those knees actually bend?”
Arthur gritted his teeth, blushing furiously. He was tense as hell, but he allowed Gwaine to manhandle him to his satisfaction, refusing to give him the pleasure of knowing how embarrassed (and reluctantly turned on) Arthur was.
“That’s it,” Gwaine’s whisper came hot in his ear. “Don’t move.”
Arthur could hear him retreating hastily back toward the camera and stood stubbornly still. Natalie appeared at his side to mop the sweat off his forehead, and Arthur wanted to die a little bit from the sheer humiliation. The clicks of the camera seemed endless, his arms and shoulders were beginning to ache.
“And we’re done!” Gwaine called out finally, just as Arthur was about to break. “Thanks everyone, good job.”
Arthur dropped the sword as if it burned his hands and straightened up, wishing nothing better than to leave as soon as possible.
But the next moment he forgot all about it, because Merlin was suddenly right beside him, in his space, pulling Arthur – sweat-soaked shirt and all – into a hug.
“Don’t, I’m gross,” Arthur mumbled, heat pooling low in his belly.
Merlin just laughed and hugged him a bit tighter. “You’re perfect. That was perfect. Thank you.”
And Arthur must have been stinking by now, but Merlin smelled awesome, like every good thing Arthur had ever tasted, and he was loath to let go.
Natalie had shown him the way to the men’s room, which earned her Arthur’s eternal gratitude, even if he was convinced that the woman was a menace with makeup brushes. He cleaned up as best he could, trying not to look too much at his hair. There was product in it.
When Arthur came back into the workroom, he found Merlin, Gwaine, and Freya gathered around the laptop. Gwaine was still standing way too close to Merlin to be casual or even friendly, touching him frequently to get his attention. Arthur frowned for no reason at all, but Merlin shot out a hand a pulled Arthur close in by the elbow, so that they could all decide which pictures to choose.
Arthur wasn’t an expert, so he kept quiet, as Merlin and Gwaine discussed angles and light. The photos all seemed surreal to him, and although it was clearly his own face staring back at him (it would be taken care of later in editing, Merlin assured him), he couldn’t quite recognise himself. It made him feel relieved, but also strangely discomfited. He wondered if Gwaine was one of those photographers that stole people’s souls.
He wasn’t needed here anymore, strictly speaking, but Merlin’s hand was still on his elbow, and so Arthur stood still, ignoring Gwaine’s occasional scathing comments on Arthur’s appearance.
Gwaine’s job was done, and it turned out that after the final shots were selected and Merlin (or rather Freya) made certain that the production team started to work on them right away, Merlin’s presence wasn’t required to supervise the process for quite a few hours.

Fill: A Change of Pace 5f/?(Anonymous)2012-02-17 10:57 pm (UTC) (Link) “It’s Friday night, for fuck’s sake,” Freya said, without looking up from where she was texting seemingly every person on the planet. “I have no life as it is, thanks to you people. The least you can do is buy me a drink.”
“Arthur?” Merlin turned toward him with a smile.
Arthur just blinked, staring at him. “Hm?”
Gwaine laughed. “He’s still high from the shoot, Merlin. Remember your first time? Get him a bloody drink.”
Which was how Arthur found himself being escorted through a maze of dark corridors to the backdoor, into a miniscule backyard, through the hole in the fence into the backyard of what looked like the City’s least known pub. The backdoor opened after Freya had knocked in a particular way, and then they made their way through a small kitchen where a couple of dim silhouettes were bickering over a stove, and into a softly lit pub room. In a few moments, they were settled in a booth in the far corner, and a smiling giant in a polka dot apron was beaming down at them.
“Um,” Arthur said, blinking. The man looked like he could bend steel.
“Arthur, meet Percy.” Merlin said. “This is his pub. He keeps it open at all hours, and without him the agency would have died out by now.”
“Nice to meet you,” Arthur said, because there wasn’t anything else to it.
Gwaine snorted, and Freya scowled at them all. “We’ll be doing shots, Percy,” she declared in a no-nonsense tone that reminded strongly Arthur of Morgana. “Better just bring us the bottle.”
Arthur wasn’t normally one for heavy drinking, but after watching Freya, who looked like he could knock her over with a loud breath, knock down a shot without batting an eyelash, he felt he couldn’t back down.
In the end, he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the whole experience of being out with Merlin doing strange and unusual things, but eventually Arthur felt the tension bleed out of him. He felt suddenly wide awake and interested in everything. Merlin, Gwaine, and Freya had clearly known each other a long time and gleefully grabbed at the opportunity to tease each other for Arthur’s benefit, telling him all the embarrassing tales about each other they had in their collection.
Arthur pretty much laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
“So you did a photo shoot, too, huh?” Arthur asked Merlin at some point.
“Oooh, this is precious,” Freya said, leaning forward in her eagerness, her elbows slipping on the spilled tequila. “Merlin pitched a photo ad campaign to Calvin Klein that year, and the brand manager was sweet on him—”
“He was not!” Merlin sputtered.
“—and said that the only way they’d give us the account was if Merlin was also the model.”
“Oh my God.” Merlin buried his face in his hands.
Gwaine was laughing. “Mordred was so into you, Merlin. I did the actual shoot, but he directed it. I can tell you, the bloke’s got some fantasy life.”
“I think I know what you’re talking about,” Arthur said suddenly, surprising everyone at the table, though no one as much as himself.
“No, you don’t,” Merlin said hoarsely, horror splashing in his eyes.
Arthur began to smile. “Yeah, I do. It was all over the City, even I couldn’t miss it. I just didn’t know it was you, obviously.”
“You didn’t—”
“A black and white photo, a skinny guy wearing jeans and, well, briefs, another bloke behind him, his hands in his – your, I guess – jeans pockets, and another one in front of you, sort of just watching?” Merlin’s eyes were wide and desperate, and Arthur laughed triumphantly. “You were the skinny guy!”
Gwaine and Freya were cackling. Merlin, beet-red and huffing, glared at them. “I hate you all.”
“Oh, come on, Merlin,” Gwaine managed through the laughter. “That was one hot ad! I got an award for it.”
“Oh, yeah,” Merlin drawled sarcastically. “Gay Time favourite. Not exactly a Cannes Lion, was it?”