Fill: A Change of Pace 5g/?(Anonymous)2012-02-17 10:58 pm (UTC) (Link) Freya had tears in her eyes. “Merlin couldn’t go anywhere for months after that one. I mean, if you remember the photo, they had all that hair in his face, and his head was sort of turned, but everyone knew it was him anyway.”
“It’s your bone structure,” Gwaine said, blatantly staring. “Can’t fake it.”
“See if I invite you to do more projects for us,” Merlin threatened, pointing an unsteady finger at Gwaine.
“Don’t worry.” Freya patted Gwaine’s arm soothingly. “If he won’t, I will.”
Arthur had pretty much lost track of time, which didn’t happen to him. Ever. At some point, he glanced out the window and realised the sky was beginning to turn grey. Idly he wondered why Percy didn’t kick them out, but it seemed that Merlin wasn’t joking when he said the pub was open at all hours.
Gwaine had to catch a train to Cardiff and had bid them goodbye first. Merlin walked him to the door, the two of them talking quietly, heads bent close together. As Arthur watched, Gwaine took Merlin’s face in his hands gently and kissed him with clear affection, ruffling up his hair as he walked outside. When Merlin returned to the table, he was smiling, but didn’t meet Arthur’s eyes.
Sometime later, Percy had brought them coffee, which Freya declined. Merlin nodded approvingly. “Go home, get some sleep,” he said, patting his jacket in a vaguely concerned manner. “You have money for the cab?”
She grinned and kissed his forehead. “Way ahead of you, Emrys. I’ll ring you later today, yeah?”
“Be sure to check—”
“God, Merlin. I know.” She collected her bag and smiled at Arthur. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
They sat in companionable silence as Merlin finished his coffee, and Arthur stared at his own.
“You really need to get back to work, huh?” Arthur asked at last, a little incredulously. Merlin already looked quite a bit like a zombie. In Arthur’s recollection, he didn’t get much sleep the night before, either.
“Yeah.” Merlin grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. I have time to walk you to the cab, though.”
“Jesus, Merlin, I’m not a girl. I can get a bloody cab on my own.”
“You’re drunk and spent,” Merlin pointed out. “You were riding on adrenaline, and now it’s worn off. I know these things, Arthur. Besides, I could use some fresh air.”
Percy’s front door led to a perfectly respectable-looking street, and there was a Black Cab within sight, as though waiting. Arthur began to suspect that Merlin had some kind of cab-drawing magic.
Just as the car pulled over, and Arthur turned around to say some kind of goodbye, Merlin leaned in close and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to Arthur’s cheek.
“I – um...” Arthur blushed, blindsided and hot all over.
Merlin was smiling. “Go home, Arthur, get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”
He was back inside before Arthur could come up with a reply.
Back home, he took a long shower, drank two glasses of water, and fell into his bed, his whole body abuzz with pleasant fatigue. Arthur fell asleep to the beginnings of a mild headache, with a smile on his face.

Fill: A Change of Pace 6c/?(Anonymous)2012-02-19 06:39 pm (UTC) (Link) “It’s a simple question, Arthur.” Merlin took a sip of his wine. “My job, for one. Sure, it drives me crazy some days – most days even, and I’ll probably quit it at some point if I want to keep whatever’s left of my soul, but there are reasons why I’m doing it now. I love the people I work with; I love being smarter than the competition; hell, I even love the crazy clients, because they make me really pull out everything I have and find ways to make it work somehow. And so I like my job, even though there’s probably some special hell down there for people like me.”
Merlin shook his head, grinning, and tipped his wineglass in Arthur’s direction. “So how about you? Do you like your job?”
Arthur frowned. “My job isn’t about liking it. It’s a huge responsibility.”
“And you like handling it?”
“I can handle it. Not so many people can do it.”
“Yes,” Merlin allowed. “But not quite so few, either. So why does it have to be you specifically?”
“Because—” Arthur felt lost for a moment. “Because that’s what I do. That’s what our family does.”
“Really?” Merlin’s eyebrows arched. “Because I’m pretty sure Morgana is in Brazil right now, hunting down new specimens for her terrarium.”
“Well, we can’t all be as selfish as Morgana,” Arthur snapped. Merlin was gazing at him calmly, and Arthur felt ashamed of his outburst. “Sorry. It’s just – my father has a heart condition. He can’t endure any stress – any stress at all. And this company was his life’s work.”
“But surely your father is still a shareholder?”
“He is, we all are, but it’s not the same. He needs to be involved, and he can’t.”
“And so you do it for him.”
“Fuck, Merlin, stop looking at me like that. I like my job fine.”
“Really? So who’d you want to be when you were a child?”
“What does it have to do—”
“I’m just curious. I find it difficult to imagine any kid thinking ‘I’m gonna be a financial analyst or a risks manager when I grow up.’”
“Yeah, well, not all of us get to make a living posing for pretty pictures and flirting with everything that moves.”
Instead of being offended, Merlin laughed out loud. “You could,” he pointed out, grinning.
Arthur’s lips twitched. “Shut up.”
The rest of the meal was spent talking about more neutral subjects, for which Arthur was grateful. Merlin was the kind of person who didn’t let anyone get away with anything, no matter how important or powerful that ‘anyone’ was. Arthur admired that about him, but it was unnerving to have this ability directed at himself. Merlin was too perceptive for his own good.
After the dishes were cleared, Arthur and Merlin migrated to the living room couch, though not without a round of bickering. Merlin tried to check in with the office to see how the mock-ups were coming along, but Arthur was under strict instructions from Freya to not let Merlin anywhere near his laptop. Merlin accused him of being intimidated by a girl, but Arthur ignored him. He grew up with Morgana, and had a very healthy appreciation of all the numerous and painful ways ‘a girl’ could screw him over.
Besides, there was something almost... fierce about Freya, her quiet would-be shy ways notwithstanding. Arthur had the distinct feeling that he’d rather have a wrestling match with Percy than cross her.
They ended up watching Air Crash Investigations – Arthur was a fan of the series. Merlin gave him a strange look, but other than that didn’t object, curling up on the couch instead, wrapped in a soft fleece quilt that Arthur kept there mostly because it came along with the furniture and not for any other reason. Merlin, who was perpetually cold and probably still tired, hogged it and didn’t think twice about it. He seemed relaxed and engrossed in the show.

Fill: A Change of Pace 6d/?(Anonymous)2012-02-19 06:42 pm (UTC) (Link) Arthur was feeling prickly.
“So, you and Gwaine?” he started finally, when he couldn’t fight the urge any longer.
“What about us?”
“Are you and he, um...”
Merlin turned to look at him, one eyebrow rising. “Am I and he – what?”
He was smirking, and Arthur suppressed a groan. Merlin knew perfectly well what Arthur was asking – Arthur was certain of it. He just wanted to be a bastard about it and make Arthur say it.
“Lovers,” Arthur blurted out, irritated.
“Wow.” Merlin’s gaze flickered away for a moment. “You don’t mince words, huh?”
Arthur waited.
At long last, Merlin sighed, shifting under the quilt uncomfortably. “Gwaine and I are friends,” he said quietly. “We used to be more.”
“Didn’t work out?”
“Not so much, no.”
“He... seems to like you a great deal.”
“Oh, he does like me; that wasn’t the problem.”
Arthur couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud, but his expression must have spoken for him, because Merlin sighed and elaborated.
“We’re too different, he and I. He’s a free spirit, and I admire that, but I couldn’t...” Merlin trailed off, frowning. “He got me a stripper for my birthday once. The kind that wasn’t just a stripper, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh.” Arthur swallowed. “Did you—”
“Yeah.” Merlin closed his eyes. “I did a lot of things trying not to disappoint Gwaine, trying to impress him. I really liked him and thought that maybe if I went with it all, I’ll... adapt. Or something.”
“You didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” Merlin smiled a bit sadly. “It’s not that I can’t figure out what three or more people could do in bed, it’s just that I don’t think that a gangbang is a great way to build up intimacy.” He sighed. “I’m not a prude, and I don’t judge. But I tried that, and it’s not for me. I’m” – he waved a helpless hand in the air – “a bit old-fashioned.”
Arthur resolutely stomped on the images that flooded his mind at Merlin’s words. Because he had absolutely no problem seeing what three or more people could do in bed with Merlin, to Merlin, and it was making Arthur’s insides churn with stinging jealousy and white-hot desire.
Also, he really wanted to punch Gwaine. A lot.
Arthur cleared his throat. “So you broke up with him.”
Merlin made a face. “He likes to play the victim, but it was a mutual decision. Funny thing is, we became better friends afterwards. Helped each other out of quite a few tight spots, and I don’t think I trust anyone quite as much as I trust Gwaine. We work better as friends.”
“So you don’t have sex with him anymore?”
Merlin cocked his head to the side, studying Arthur from under his lashes. “Never pegged you for the observant type,” he said around a slow smile. “But actually, yeah, we do sometimes.”
Arthur’s stomach dropped. “Like fuck buddies?”

Fill: A Change of Pace 6e/?(Anonymous)2012-02-19 06:44 pm (UTC) (Link) “No. Well, not really. And it’s not often, it’s just... Look, in this business, there are these days, you know? Normally, I can handle it fine, but sometimes it all just gets to me. I just – wind myself up into a frenzy, and I need to snap out of it, and I can’t. Some days I just can’t – not by myself.” Merlin glanced at Arthur uncertainly and sighed. “Look, this is going to sound vulgar again, but some days, Arthur, I really need for someone to—”
“What?”
“Well, frankly? To hold me down and make me take it until I stop thinking.”
Arthur’s heart was hammering somewhere in his throat. “You’re not vulgar,” he managed. “And I do understand.”
He did. He knew exactly the kind of days Merlin was talking about. He lived through them himself more often than he would have liked to admit.
The only difference was that, in Arthur’s case, he wanted to hold someone down and lose himself in them until he forgot about everything else, until he stopped feeling trapped inside his own head.
That was why he haunted certain places in the City every other month. Arthur was huge on self-discipline, but sometimes even his control wasn’t enough. He wasn’t proud of himself for that, and if he could help it at all, he tried not to think about it.
He gritted his teeth. Jealousy had been stirring in him throughout the whole conversation, but it flared up the brightest at Merlin’s last admission. It wasn’t so much about Gwaine having sex with Merlin as it was about the intimate knowledge of him that the man possessed. That Gwaine knew Merlin well enough to tell when he’d be needing that kind of... assistance. That he’d know exactly how to give it to him.
“Arthur?” Merlin was looking at him warily, his teeth torturing his lower lip in absent worry. “I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Arthur said at once. “No, Merlin, you didn’t. I’m not a – I’m not a prude, either.”
“Because you look a little as though—”
--I’m having trouble keeping my hands to myself when you’re just sitting here, smelling of my shower gel and rolling filthy words off your tongue and I just really want to—
“I’m just not used to discussing it,” Arthur said firmly, clasping his hands in his lap in a white-knuckled grip. “But it’s fine. Really.”
Merlin peered at him for a moment longer, either wary or waiting for something. Finally he nodded, smiling his soft, soothing smile again.
“Oh, good. Because you wanted to know, and I wanted to tell you, but not if it cut my access to the culinary delights you dish out.”
Arthur laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, grinning. Then, because he couldn’t help himself any longer, he reached out and tweaked Merlin’s ear.
“Prat,” Merlin muttered, sinking back into the cushions, hiding his grin. “Shut up now. I’m watching the film.”
Arthur shook his head and turned back toward the telly.
He could see a very, very cold shower in his nearest future.

Fill: A Change of Pace 7a/?(Anonymous)2012-03-02 06:33 pm (UTC) (Link) A/N: Hey anons (and not)! Thank you very much for all the support and feedback. ♥ I apologise that the updates come up at irregular intervals, but this prompt is taking me places and I really want to do it justice. I'm working on it, believe me, every moment I can. Thank you for your patience.
----
It was Friday a week later that Arthur’s assistant walked into his office shortly after he arrived to work, carrying a steaming mug in her hand. She placed it on the desk in front of Arthur, as though inviting him to admire a cheery smiley face on its side.
Arthur blinked. “What is that?”
Mithian was gazing at him serenely, as if Arthur was a not particularly bright toddler. She was ten years older than him and completely and utterly unflappable.
“Coffee.”
Arthur blinked again. “But you never brought me coffee before.”
It was true. The only time Arthur asked her for coffee or tea was when he had visitors, and even then all Mithian was supposed to do was place a call down to catering. Serving Arthur drinks was way beneath her station.
This didn’t look like servitude, though, and the way she was staring down at him in a mildly interested but mostly condescending manner wasn’t either. Not to mention that the mug clearly looked like someone’s personal possession and not at all like the fragile china branded with Pendragon and Gorlois crests.
“You never looked like you needed it before,” Mithian told him dryly. “Now it almost seems as if you actually have a life outside these walls. It’s nice.”
Arthur stared at her. For a moment, he had a mad thought that he had somehow switched places with Merlin, and it was Freya standing in front of him, not his own assistant. Merlin and Freya acted in a fashion more appropriate for siblings rather than colleagues. Arthur’s workplace had always been a stronghold of strict formality and subordination.
Or so he thought.
“I like the tie,” Mithian added pensively. Her eyes flickered up to Arthur’s face, and she sighed. “Do drink the coffee, sir. You have a conference call in ten minutes.”
Arthur stared after her as she glided with dignity toward the door, his eyes drawn to the impeccable 3-inch heels she was wearing. Arthur shuddered and grabbed at the mug reflexively.
He hadn’t realised the change was so noticeable, but now that he thought of it, it probably shouldn’t have been quite so shocking. His nights were quite late these days, because Arthur couldn’t say no when Merlin called and invited him for drinks after work. They met at The Rising Sun, and Arthur was becoming steadily fonder of the place.
Percy, as it turned out, was an Arsenal fan, which made Arthur warm up to him instantly, because football talk was the most genuine of them all. Plus, Arthur wasn’t above admitting (out loud to Merlin, no less) that Percy was kind of nice to look at with his remarkable biceps and easy smiles. He wasn’t as quick at grasping the smartarse jokes Merlin and Gwaine fired at each other, but he laughed readily when Freya explained.
Arthur knew he’d never be really fond of Gwaine, who kept calling him Princess and went on touching Merlin in all the inappropriate ways. Still, Arthur couldn’t deny that the man was fun to be around, and deep down inside Arthur went as far as to acknowledge that his dislike stemmed from envy. Gwaine was easy in all senses of the word, and sometimes Arthur couldn’t help but wish for a little bit of that for himself.
Freya was the quiet one, preferring to listen rather than talk. However, when she did talk – normally several stiff drinks in – her words were all cutting humour and sharp-witted sarcasm. It was a bit humiliating, but also undeniably hot to watch her wipe the floor with all of them when she was in the mood, starting with her own boss and ending with whoever was in her bad graces that day.
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Fill: A Change of Pace 8b/?(Anonymous)2012-03-05 05:09 pm (UTC) (Link) “You ordered... Um, Father, isn’t that a bit early?”
“I want to be ready.” Uther glanced at him sternly. “I’m going to have a son, Arthur. A son. Everything must be perfect. I’m reading all the literature for parents now, and have you any idea how hard it is to raise healthy, happy, well-adjusted offspring?”
Arthur swallowed. “I would imagine—”
“Imagine,” Uther mocked, snapping the secateurs almost viciously. “You can’t ‘imagine’. It’s a huge responsibility. All those things that could happen to children if they aren’t watched – you wouldn’t believe it.”
Arthur stared at the tips of his shoes, biting his lip hard. He would, in fact, believe it. Children needed to be watched, yes. They needed to feel the attention, to have someone they trusted around, to be touched, as sappy as that sounded.
Morgana had that for the better part of her childhood at least, while her mother was still alive. Arthur – Arthur had so many nannies and tutors and servants to look after him, one coming after another, that, to his shame, he couldn’t remember most of their names, as none of them seemed to stay around long enough to make an impression.
Was he jealous? He didn’t feel jealous. He didn’t feel anything yet toward the tiny person growing inside Helen, except perhaps a stray tendril of protectiveness and wonder.
But it hurt; inexplicably, it hurt to hear so much anticipation and caring in his father’s voice.
Was it true after all? Was Arthur a bad person?
Snap. Snap. Snap.
“How is work?” Uther asked in a tone of voice that was much more familiar.
Arthur straightened up instinctively. “It’s good.”
“Is Tristan a good leader? That Chinese deal was very risky. Or was it Agravaine’s doing? You have to watch out for that man, Arthur. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried something to ruin us.”
Arthur frowned. Uther’s presumption and unshakable certainty that Arthur was a complete pushover were nothing new but still jarring, especially as Arthur was forbidden by a myriad of doctors to argue the point or risk upsetting his father in any other way. What bothered him most right now, though, wasn’t that.
“Father, you’re not supposed to take an interest in this. It’s too stressful—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m perfectly fine.” Uther bristled impatiently. “I’m just making sure that by the time your brother is old enough, there’ll still be a company for him to inherit.”

Fill: A Change of Pace 8c/?(Anonymous)2012-03-05 05:11 pm (UTC) (Link) Arthur took a step back reflexively, his throat suddenly too tight to suck a breath in.
What have I done to displease you, Father? I spent my life doing everything you asked of me – how is it not good enough? Why am I not good enough? Why have I never been good enough for you? Why?
They were choking him, the questions he could never ask, because heart was a fragile organ. He could feel it aching in his own chest, the real, physical pain he’d never experienced before become stronger with every beat. He could never ask those questions to Uther’s face, he could never again explode the way he did when he was fifteen and hurting like this for the first time as a man, not a boy, not any longer.
The twisted irony of it was that Uther wasn’t being deliberately cruel. He probably thought he was doing it for Arthur, too. Arthur had never wanted the company in the first place. He was in the middle of his rebellion when he saw his father on a hospital bed, barely alive, hooked to all kinds of machines and monitors, looking fragile and mortal for the first time that Arthur’d seen him.
The decision to put his life on hold and do whatever was required of him wasn’t a decision so much as it was the only thing to be done. Arthur had always been haunted by an irrational but persistent thought that he was responsible for his mother’s death. He couldn’t stand to be the one to kill his father, too. He’d done enough damage with his coming out, and his dreams of sky, and every other deviation from the plan laid out for him.
He’d done enough.
Now Uther was telling him that in another twenty-five to thirty years Arthur would be free of his obligations. Would have repaid his debt by then, too, perhaps?
Arthur mumbled some kind of excuse and walked away as fast as he could. He didn’t want his father to be around when a hysterical hyena laugh that was strangling him would finally spill from his lips, ugly and broken.

Fill: A Change of Pace 8e/?(Anonymous)2012-03-05 05:19 pm (UTC) (Link) And Merlin dared to look so hurt, so wronged at that moment that it was all Arthur could do not to hit him. He slammed his fist into a wall instead, white-hot pain exploding in his knuckles.
Merlin didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. He was paler than usual as he tracked the motion with eyes that were suddenly steel-grey.
“What do you want me to do?”
“NOTHING!” Arthur roared. “I want you to do absolutely nothing because that’s the only thing you’re good at!”
He spun on his heel and stomped into his room, slamming the door behind him.
Arthur collapsed face-down on the bed, his body shaking with suppressed rage. He stayed like that for an indefinite while, until all anger had bled out through the throbbing ache in his split knuckles, and there was nothing left but hurt and shame. He curled into himself, afraid to open his eyes. They were wet, he could feel it.
Arthur groaned as his own actions, his own words drifted back to him. He didn’t know what came over him. A fit of insanity?
He yelled at Merlin – at the innocent, unsuspecting Merlin – for nothing at all, for a bloody piece of wrapper that he knew Merlin would have picked up. Merlin was a slob in the sense that he didn’t understand the need to alphabetise books on the shelves or do the dishes immediately after the meal, but in no way did he deserve the abuse Arthur hurled on him.
He didn’t deserve any of that, and Arthur lashed out at him for the very thing he loved about Merlin’s presence – he made Arthur’s flat look lived in, his things creating the illusion that Arthur had someone to come home to.
Arthur groaned again, miserable, and rolled off the bed, his knees shaking.
Merlin’s eyes as Arthur smashed his fist into the wall.
Bile rose in a disgusting wave at the back of his throat. How could he ever apologise for that?
The flat was dark and silent when Arthur opened his bedroom door. The living room was empty, the telly dark and lifeless, the crisps and the laptop gone without a trace, and the furniture righted into places. Arthur bit his lip viciously, closing his eyes for a moment, and went to knock on Merlin’s door.
There was no response.
“Merlin?” Arthur called uncertainly, his voice hoarse and scratchy.
He pushed the door open finally, but he already knew that Merlin wasn’t there. The room was silent and dark.
Arthur sank to the floor gracelessly, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking from side to side. His whole body hurt and he hated himself more than he had ever hated anything in his entire life.
He didn’t keep any strong alcohol in his flat and now was not the time to think about why. Probably because he’d known the truth about himself all along and was afraid of it, afraid of slipping into that darkness.
It wasn’t an issue any longer, and Arthur picked up his keys, his jacket, and went straight to the pub with little tellies. It was Tom’s shift, and Tom always kept it open late, and Arthur needed a drink or twenty. He picked the darkest corner and told Tom to leave the bottle.
A few shots in, things became clearer and a sense of deadly calm settled over Arthur. He remembered another dark night, the one when he threw his dream away and mourned it, ashamed as he was to do it in light of his father’s condition. Uther had always told Arthur he was selfish. It seemed as if his father had been right all along.

Fill: A Change of Pace 8f/?(Anonymous)2012-03-05 05:23 pm (UTC) (Link)
Merlin
Arthur would apologise, perhaps even explain, and Merlin would accept it. But their friendship was ruined forever, let alone a chance at anything more. Merlin would walk out of his life like that other dream Arthur used to chase, but this time it was solely his own doing.
So be it. Merlin would be better off.
Behind the uptight exterior, Arthur was a mess, and his life, solid and substantial as it appeared, was in reality a house of cards, held together by his will alone.
Arthur had a lot of will. It was probably the only thing that kept him going.
He’d allow himself this one night of emotional breakdown, because it had already happened. He might as well lie back and think of England, or whatever would be more fitting in this context.
Tomorrow, he’d be back to his old self, and everything would go back to normal.
As for Merlin, it was fun while it lasted.
Alcohol-induced clarity was, of course, short-lived, and soon enough everything melted into a pleasantly blurry haze, numbing raw nerve endings and making everything fleeting and unimportant. There were noises, and bright lights, the screech of tyres, someone shouting his name and cursing. And then Arthur realised he had fallen asleep and was dreaming, because Merlin was there.
Dream-Merlin was asking him something persistently, taking Arthur by the chin and looking into his eyes, his face creased with worry. His voice was laced with concern and Arthur tried to tell him that it would be okay, whatever it was, but Dream-Merlin still sounded troubled and shook Arthur for some reason. Arthur pouted, and Dream-Merlin had instantly desisted, holding Arthur close instead, muttering apologies which Arthur graciously accepted.
Dream-Merlin’s hands were cool against Arthur’s feverish skin as he tugged Arthur’s clothes off, cooler still against his forehead, making Arthur mewl with pleasure.
“Shh,” Dream-Merlin whispered, running his fingers soothingly through Arthur’s hair. “Drink this water for me, Arthur, there’s a good man.”
The water was too wet and the whole task seemed pesky. “You’re my dream,” Arthur mumbled, accusing. “You should lemme dream you.”
Dream-Merlin hoisted him up with surprising strength and pressed a glass against his lips stubbornly. “Drink this water, you big baby, and I’ll let you dream all you want.”
“Promise?”
“Dear God. Yes, I promise. Now open up.”
It was only partially a success, but Dream-Merlin was persistent, and the glass, endless as it seemed, was finally finished.
“Sleep, Arthur,” Dream-Merlin murmured softly, helping Arthur lie down, which was glorious. Everything around him was spinning.
“I’m on a carousel,” Arthur deduced, waving his hands in the air, trying to reach for the horses and unicorns.
“I bet you are.” Dream-Merlin snorted, caught his wrists and pressed them gently to Arthur’s chest. “Close your eyes, Arthur.”
Arthur did, pouting still. “You’ll stay?”
Dream-Merlin brushed his lips against Arthur’s forehead, humming softly. “Sleep, Arthur. I’ll stay.”
Arthur slept.