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marguerite_26Merlin watched through the windows of the taxi as the scenery around him grew familiar. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft grind of rocks beneath the tires as they pulled off the main road into the winding driveway. Something he hadn’t heard in two years. His eyes opened in time to see the sprawling green of the Pendragon grounds and the white latticework of the gazebo he’d pretended was a pirate ship as a child. The tennis court was empty, as was the outdoor pool. Old man Michaels was pruning the cedars by the pond, and Merlin lowered the window to catch the fresh scent on the breeze.
He was home.
Beaming, he paid the driver and climbed out, letting the sight, sounds and smell of his childhood flood back to him. Delighted laughter bubbled up in his chest as he looked up to see Gwaine walking down the front steps, dressed in Polo uniform as if appearing straight from Merlin’s fantasy.
“Hello, Gwaine,” Merlin said, unable to be shy with the thrill of being home making his face split into a grin.
Gwaine stopped short on his jog past. He cocked his head and watched the driver set the bags at Merlin’s feet.
“Hello,” he said, cautiously as though not entirely sure how friendly to be. His eyes showed no sign of recognition. “Can I help you?”
“No,” Merlin said, coy. “I think I can find my way.”
Gwaine frowned, looking around for someone who might be waiting to greet Merlin.
“Oh,” Merlin said as Gwaine turned around and the rip in Gwaine’s shirt came into view. He approached, feeling the rush of self-confidence as he stepped into Gwaine’s personal space and saw Gwaine’s flirty smile. Merlin touched the seam of Gwaine’s polo shirt at the back of the shoulder. “You have a tear.”
“What?” Gwaine twisted to see where Merlin was pointing. “Ah, just brilliant! I have a championship match in, fuck--” He checked his watch. “I’m late. The ref will have my arse if the shirt isn’t regulation.”
“I could mend it?” Merlin offered, already digging in his bag before his brain caught up to his mouth. “It’ll be quick and dirty, but it’ll last you through the game.”
“Quick and dirty?” Gwaine’s eyebrows waggled. “I like that.”
Merlin’s cheeks heated, and he could tell by Gwaine’s smirk that he’d noticed. Merlin fought to keep his hands steady as he threaded the needle. He mentally thanked Gaius for the endless practice when he managed it on the first try. He stood behind Gwaine, lining up the seam and trying not to think of the heat of Gwaine’s skin just below the material of the jersey.
Gwaine turned to look over his shoulder. “My knight in shining armour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Maybe I’ve been right here,” Merlin said as calmly as he could manage, adding silently, waiting for you to look my way. The early spring sun shone hot on his neck.
“That would be impossible. I can’t imagine anyone not noticing a gorgeous thing like you.”
Merlin’s world tilted, and he focused on the stitches, trying not to stab himself.
“Almost done,” Merlin managed to say.
“And talented hands too.” Gwaine all but purred.
Merlin’s fingers trembled through the last stitches. Gaius would have his hide if he could see him now. The stitches were wide and sloppy. The little girl who sold flowers at the beach could do better.
Gwaine was still looking at him, his eyes a little dazed. “We are having a party tonight. You should come.”
Merlin tried think up with a clever reply, but it caught in his throat. He snapped the thread with his teeth and fumbled a knot.
“Aren’t you amazing?” Gwaine turned to look at him face on.
They were almost nose to nose, though Merlin had a couple inches on him now. He could smell the faint hint of Gwaine’s cologne, see the individual bristle of his beard. Merlin wet his lips and watched Gwaine’s eyes catch the movement. He forgot how to breathe.
“Hello, Merlin.” A voice came from behind them, breaking the moment. “Nice to see you with your feet back on the ground.”
Merlin blushed, jumping back as if he’d been caught up in a tree once again. While he knelt, shoving his needle and thread back in his case, he snuck a peek at Gwaine, who was staring at him, wide-eyed.
He straightened and exhaled sharply. “Hello, Arthur.”
“How was Rome?” Arthur stood at the bottom of the steps, briefcase in hand, looking exactly as he had when Merlin left, if a little older and a little more tired.
“It was brilliant.” Merlin ran his hands through his hair, self-consciously messing with the ‘perfectly fucked-out’ look, just as Franco had told him not to.
Arthur looked him up and down. “It seems you came back all grown up.”
“Did he ever,” Gwaine said with a low whistle that made heat creep up Merlin’s neck.
“Yes, well. I’m sure Gaius was sorry to have you leave, but Hunith will be pleased to see you.” Arthur eyed Gwaine and cleared his throat. “Gwaine, don’t you have a match?”
“Oh, dammit.” Gwaine looked at his watch again. “Merlin, I can’t… wow... Little Merlin.” His gaze roamed over Merlin, head to toe. “I will definitely be seeing you again.”
“So am I still invited, then? Tonight?”
“Oh, yes.” Gwaine grinned, his tone rich and sultry. “I most definitely want to catch up.”
“The match, Gwaine,” Arthur snapped.
“Right!” With a flash of teeth to Merlin, he hopped in the convertible parked outside the garage and waved. “Until tonight then.”
Arthur looked like he might say something, stepping toward Merlin with a serious expression, but Freya cut him off, rushing out the door and shouting Merlin’s name.
She threw her arms around him. “Merlin, look at you.”
It was a whirlwind of excitement after that. His mother cried and asked what on earth he’d done to his hair and exactly how tight did jeans need to be? Then she cried some more when he hugged her and she had to lift to her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.
He’d emptied his suitcase of all his gifts right there in the kitchen: a silk scarf for Freya, a barista’s apron for James, a seashell with a castle painted onto it for Abigail, the downstairs maid. Until his mother finally asked if he’d done anything but shop in the last two years.
“All right, best be clearing this out. I’ll need my kitchen back,” she said at last. Her face went carefully blank as she explained to Merlin, “There’s a party tonight.”
“I know,” he said, then quickly added, “I’ve been invited,” before he lost his nerve
Her knuckles whitened on the tray she was holding. “Pardon?”
“Gwaine.” Merlin couldn’t contain his smile any longer. “He invited me to attend. Me!”
“You can’t be seriously thinking of...”
“Mum.” He looked at her, smile disappearing at the concern in her face. “I’m going. I’ve wanted this all my life.”
“He’s engaged, Merlin.”
“I know,” he said; though, for the past hour he’d been pretending he didn’t. She had him there, he knew. His mother hadn’t raised him to be a home-wrecker. “I know. I’m not expecting...” He looked out the window where he could see the roof of the indoor pool. “It’s not even about that. For once, Mum, just once, I want to be a guest at a Pendragon party. I can’t turn this down.”
“What will you even wear?” She shook her head, not backing down but knowing she’d already lost the argument. “Merlin, you are an eighteen year old boy. You can’t show up to this in a pair of jeans.”
“Oh, Mum. I lived in Italy for two years as a tailor.” Merlin grinned. “I have clothes.”
Merlin picked a shirt he’d made himself. Franco had told him the sapphire blue cotton set off his eyes when Merlin had chosen the material. It had turned out well, and there was a flare of pride buttoning it up and knowing it was his. It also popped nicely beneath the darker blue of the suit coat Gaius had given to him for his graduation.
He stood before the mirror and took a deep breath to quell the butterflies.
“Engaged, but not married,” Freya whispered to him as he stopped by the kitchen for a last minute word of encouragement. He squeezed her shoulder in thanks. He’d missed her more than he’d realised. She was the closest to him in age of all the servants and had acted the part of an older sister: a mixture of partner in crime, confidant and often a mediator during family squabbles. He was proud to see the silk scarf he’d bought in Florence tied around her neck.
His mother’s tight-lipped disapproval softened as she spotted him. “Merlin, you look wonderful.”
“Thanks, Mum.” He wrapped his arms around her. And if he held her a little longer than usual, neither of them said anything.
The patio was already filling. Merlin brushed past a few groups of people, all prettier and richer than he ever dreamed he could be. He kept his head down as he made his way across the room, listening with an amused grin to snippets of conversations about yachting and scandals and weekend trips to Greece. This wasn’t his world; he didn’t need his mother to tell him that. But mingling with these people and hearing of their charmed lives had been a fantasy he’d fallen asleep to as a child while the sound of the band playing drifted into his bedroom window like a promise of someday.
Tonight, the music was just as enchanting. He drifted to stand by the stage. The rich thrum of the cello took him back to a night in Rome when he and Franco had sat on a rooftop and listened to a far away orchestra as the sunset made Rome glow red.
“Champagne, sir?” James was suddenly at his elbow, tray outstretched to Merlin.
The glint in James’s eye made Merlin wonder if a few of the staff weren’t, even just a little, living vicariously through him tonight. He grabbed a flute; it was ice-cold beneath his fingertips.
“Keep them coming, James,” he drawled in his best posh accent.
James winked and disappeared into the crowd. A moment later, a warm hand slid along the small of his back and Gwaine was before him, standing far too close for Merlin to get his bearings.
“Merlin, you’re a vision.” Gwaine shook his head as though he was in awe. “An absolute vision.”
Merlin laughed, ducking his head in a complete loss for words.
“And to think,” Gwaine said, voice soft, “all this time you were right here.”
Merlin stepped back, needing space to catch his breath and find his thoughts. It was all happening too fast, Gwaine’s words too perfect. The entire evening had an edge of surrealism that made Merlin need grounding. His eyes went to the balcony, remembering how many times he’d dreamt of exactly this. “That’s where I was.”
Gwaine followed his line of sight and chuckled softly. “I can just imagine. Little Merlin in his pyjamas, pressing his cheeks between the banisters, watching us all get sloshed.” Gwaine’s hands tightened on Merlin’s hips. “I like you better down here.”
Merlin, his head already a little fuzzy from the champagne, couldn’t even begin to process the idea of Gwaine -- Gwaine -- holding him like this, swaying their hips to the music in a crowded party, unashamed. His chest went tight, like maybe this was all a dream and, when he woke and had to face a world where Gwaine didn’t even know his name, it would all be too much to bear.
He tried to refocus.
“This song.” Merlin closed his eyes. “An old man on an accordion played it one night in Rome. It was a feast.” He laughed. “There was always a feast of one saint or another to celebrate in Rome. That night the piazza near Gaius’s studio was filled with people dancing and eating and laughing.” He let his mind wander, recapturing the memory. “That old man sat on a dirty wooden barrel and played well into the night.”
When he opened his eyes, Gwaine was staring at him, eyes half-lidded like he too was under the spell of that night.
“It was the best night of my life,” Merlin said. “Until now.” He cleared his throat, embarrassed at his own admission. “My friend and I, we danced until we couldn’t stand anymore.”
Gwaine pulled him in closer, close enough for Merlin to feel trapped against Gwaine’s broad chest. “Hmm... and what did you and your friend do then?”
Merlin choked on a laugh and fought his blush.
Gwaine leaned in so his breath tickled Merlin's ear as he whispered, “I’ll admit, Merlin, I’m jealous.”
“Arthur,” Uther said, jaw clenched. “Who is that?”
Arthur saved a draft of the email he’d been typing and slipped his phone into his pocket. He followed Uther’s gaze across the patio to the edge of the dance floor. Gwaine stood, moving softly to the music with his hands on Merlin’s hips. There was no mistaking the intimacy of it, or the love-struck glaze to Merlin’s eyes.
“That’s Merlin,” Arthur said, cursing Elena for having gone to the French countryside for the weekend. “He’s just back from Rome. He was studying under Gaius for a couple years, I believe.”
“That’s Hunith’s son? He’s how old now?”
“Old enough to make Gwaine lose his head,” Arthur muttered as he watched Merlin slip through the back gate of the patio and head down the well-worn path to the indoor pool. Gwaine was already at the bar, asking for a bottle of Dom Perignon while slipping champagne flutes into his backpockets.
“Well make it stop,” Uther said. “Do what you have to but do it fast. Godwyn’s not blind or stupid.”
Sure enough, Godwyn was watching Gwaine with narrowed eyes as Gwaine took the champagne from the bartender.
Gwaine was just stepping off the patio when Arthur caught up to him. “Gwaine, we need to talk,” he said, swinging his arm around Gwaine’s shoulder and directing him towards the house.
“Arthur, not now.” Gwaine tried to shrug off Arthur’s hand. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“I think we all know what you’re in the middle of, Gwaine,” Arthur said, his tone dry. “I’m afraid this can’t wait.”
He led Gwaine back through the party and into his father’s study. Uther stood by his desk, and the fury in his face made Gwaine try to turn back around.
“Of all the irresponsible...” Uther’s voice boomed and Arthur wisely shut the door. “The cook’s son, for god’s sake!”
“Don’t you dare speak of Merlin like that! You don’t even know him!”
“Gwaine, you didn’t even know his name a few hours ago,” Arthur felt the need to point out. “Did you even notice he’d been gone?”
“Arthur, you have to believe me. I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Not with the countess when you were twenty? Or that actress in London two years ago when you almost eloped?” Uther snapped. “Those both cost me thousands of pounds to keep out of the papers.”
“Merlin is different! Have you even talked to him? Ever?”
“Have you?” Arthur muttered.
“What about Elena? For God’s sake, man! You are engaged!” Uther slammed his fist against his desk, knocking over a crystal paperweight. “Don’t think for one second that Bayard didn’t tell Godwyn about your reputation the minute you started dating his daughter. He’s only permitting the marriage because he honestly believed you’d changed.”
“Elena’s a peach. I love her, honestly.” Gwaine began pacing. With every length of the room, his suit jacket gaped over the obvious bulge of his trouser back pockets from the champagne flutes. “But Merlin...”
“Is the son of our cook! After all I’ve done --”
Arthur, his voice soft and calming, cut off his father’s inevitable speech, knowing Gwaine would stop listening if they went down that path. “Gwaine, we know Merlin is special. But we do have this issue of your engagement to deal with before you can start this thing with Merlin.” He walked forward, backing Gwaine up as he spoke. “How about we all sit down so we can discuss this rationally.” With one last step forward, the back of Gwaine’s legs hit the plush leather chair in front of Uther’s desk. Arthur smiled. “I’m sure we can figure this all out.”
Gwaine exhaled. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said, and then dropped dramatically into the chair.
Arthur was grateful the band was loud enough to drown out the worst of Gwaine’s curses as the champagne glasses shattered.
Arthur found Merlin sitting on the pool deck, his arms wrapped around his knees and a funny look on his face, like he’d just been kicked in the gut.
At the sound of Arthur’s footsteps he looked up, brightening for an instant before recognition hit and his face fell. “Oh.”
Arthur debated lying -- Gwaine bumped into someone more to his tastes was on the tip of his tongue -- but the downwards curl of Merlin’s lips stopped him. Ignoring the voice that said this was a terrible idea, Arthur threw out his practiced speech and said, “There was an accident.”
Merlin sat up. “An accident?” His expression was so innocent in his concern that he barely looked old enough for the champagne Arthur had brought along to smooth things over.
Arthur nodded. “Gwaine has been rushed to A&E.”
Merlin stood, brow furrowed. “What happened?”
“He was on his way here to meet you and there was an unfortunate incident. Somehow Gwaine managed to sit down on a pair of champagne flutes.”
“Sat on a...” Merlin’s eyes widened.
“No one’s quite sure why he’d have put glasses in his back pocket.”
Merlin slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle what might have been a laugh. At that moment, Merlin rose in Arthur’s estimation.
“Look, Merlin, you’re a smart boy.” He winced as he heard his tone mirroring the one his father used during tough negotiations. He fingered the chequebook he’d slipped into his jacket pocket before heading down here, and he hesitated.
“Oh my God, you are going to offer me money, aren’t you?” Merlin laughed, incredulous.
Arthur pushed away the guilt creeping into his conscience and focused on the task at hand. He had to deal with this delicate situation. If he pushed too hard, the whole thing might backfire. He had to somehow convince Merlin he doesn’t belong here, and remind Gwaine that he loved Elena and did want to marry her, all while keeping the entire mess under wraps until Elena returned.
Arthur watched Merlin continue to laugh, somewhat hysterically at the idea of being paid off. He might be young and foolish enough to end up smitten with Gwaine, but Arthur didn’t doubt he was sincere in that affection and that made him a pretty dangerous wildcard. And the Godwyn merger was worth more than Merlin’s throbbing heart -- if that was indeed what he was currently thinking with. He opted for a change in direction.
“I’m here to make Gwaine’s apologies, Merlin.” Arthur lifted his left hand to show off a bottle of champagne and two flutes tangled artfully in his fingers. He sat down beside Merlin and poured them each a glass. “With compliments, from my dear cousin.”
Merlin eyed him suspiciously but took the offered glass.
Arthur lifted his glass to Merlin. “To old acquaintances, come new again.”
Merlin ducked his head in a charming, shy smile before clinking their glasses together. And in the pale lighting of the pool deck, Arthur could see exactly what had Gwaine falling over himself.
They fell silent, sipping their champagne.
Arthur’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he had to clench his fist not to answer it, but some things were more important. Without a doubt, making sure that Gwaine kept his head on his shoulders -- and his dick in his pants -- until Elena returned was Arthur’s current priority.
Arthur watched Merlin’s long fingers draw meaningless shapes in the condensation on his glass and a plan began to form in his head, complicated and messy, but it could be just the thing.
The first thing he needed to do was fire his tailor. And the second was to send Nancy shopping.
Merlin stared out the water, sipping his champagne, oblivious to it all.
Part 3