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The air conditioner in the small motel room seems to be working over-time, bringing goose flesh to skin heated by long hours in the sun. Merlin shivers, and Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, tucking his chin onto Merlin’s shoulder.
The three men watch Morgana pull her long, dark hair into a pony tail, Leon sprawled in the large vinyl chair, sipping on a luke warm bottle of beer.
“So what did Uther say?” Leon asks Arthur, who just returned from a long conversation on his mobile outside.
“When I told him about our engagement, he made a point of quoting, ‘If you want to turn two people into two-headed, fire-breathing dragons over-night, just put rings on their fingers,’” Arthur answers mildly.
Leon laughs, balancing his beer on his knee.
“He’s such a romantic.”
“I take it Uncle won’t be coming to the wedding?” Morgana checks her tan-line beneath her bikini strap.
“I don’t care anymore,” Arthur replies, and Merlin makes a noise of irritation, slapping at Arthur’s hands and stepping out of his embrace.
“You do, too.”
“Of course he does, Merlin,” Morgana agrees, reaching for her cover-up and slipping it over her arms. “Uther’s made sure Arthur lives for his praise.”
Before Arthur can retort, the door to the motel room clicks open and sounds fill the room of splashing water and laughter from the swimming pool just outside.
“Are we going to sit here all night, or go to the clam bake?” Lance asks, dripping a puddle onto the cheap, grey carpet. “Gwen’s been ready for fifteen minutes!”
“We’re ready.” Leon hefts himself out of the chair and takes Morgana’s hand in his. “You two coming?” He looks at Arthur and Merlin.
“In a minute,” Merlin says, following them to the door.
When their friends are safely out, Merlin rounds on his boyfriend. “Okay, they’re gone. Go ahead.”
Arthur raises a brow. “Go ahead and what?” Arthur seems nonplussed, but Merlin knows all his tells: the tight line of his jaw, the way he won’t meet Merlin’s eyes, the fidgeting with his thumb ring.
“Tell me what kind of vitriol Uther spilled over the phone.” Merlin crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “I know he doesn’t like me and probably shouted at you when you said you were marrying me. It’s okay, Arthur.” Merlin waits.
Arthur runs his hand through blond hair made almost platinum from two days in the sun. Merlin can’t help but admire the sleek lines of Arthur’s fit body beneath the tight shirt and shorts he wears, and a long-familiar mixture of lust and tenderness wells inside him.
“He didn’t say anything about you, Merlin, just the state of matrimony in general. But what do you expect? He’s had seven failed marriages.”
Merlin shrugs. “I don’t expect anything. I just want you to get it all off your chest so you can be rid of it. It doesn’t bother me, Arthur. In spite of his large stature and all his wealth, your father’s a very small man. I decided that the first time he spoke unkindly to you. I don’t like him, and I never will, and I certainly don’t care what he thinks.” Merlin’s words aren’t heated because there’s no real emotion behind them. He means what he says; he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is Arthur’s feelings.
Arthur sighs, flopping down on the bed beside Merlin, his eyes darting about the room until they finally settle on the ceiling.
“There’s sand on the bed,” Arthur says after a few moments.
“That’s because you insisted on shagging on it straight from the beach,” Merlin reminds him, pulling his legs up and rolling to his side to stare down at Arthur. “Horny prat.”
Arthur looks at Merlin then. “I couldn’t help myself, after watching you come up against the wall like you did.” His mouth quirks, and Merlin can’t help but blush, remembering the feel of that mouth attached to the soft flesh under Merlin’s arm. He leans down and kisses Arthur.
“I love you,” Merlin whispers against Arthur’s lips just before licking inside them.
“Don’t you want to go to the clam bake?” Arthur asks innocently into Merlin’s mouth.
“After,” Merlin answers, and pulls Arthur into his arms.