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Not for the first time, Merlin is late for training.
He really hadn’t meant to be, but he’s had a very disturbed morning. He’d been woken up at five o’clock by the sound of Arthur singing “I feel pretty and witty and gay,” in the shower. Merlin felt it was a brave choice for the captain, or skip, of a men’s curling team, and for a Crown Prince – but then he had to admit Arthur was brave in his own way – brave or crazy – one of the two.
The disruption to his morning hadn’t ended there. Furious at Arthur for making so much noise, he’d burst into the tiny bathroom, only to be shocked to find him completely naked (which you would have thought he might have anticipated, given that Arthur was showering, but Merlin had been half asleep).
He remembered Arthur shutting off the water and yelling “What the fuck are you doing Emrys?” but he missed most of what came after that, because naked Arthur was very distracting. Rivulets of water had been running down the stretched tendons of Arthur’s neck and over the muscled plane of his chest and Merlin had mostly been thinking how nice it would be to follow their trails with his tongue.
Arthur had finally got his attention when he called Merlin out for staring, and Merlin had hurriedly closed his mouth, which had been hanging open in a way that probably hadn’t been all that attractive. He’d tried to regain the highground by claiming he wasn’t looking at Arthur anyway (which was a blatant lie). Then he’d called him a big-headed prat and stormed out, just as angrily as he’d stormed in moments before.
After this Naked Arthur Incident, he was too embarrassed to face his roommate again so he’d done the only viable thing in the circumstances – he’d got back into bed and pretended to be asleep. Unfortunately, he must have actually fallen asleep and when he’d come to, Arthur had left, without waking him, the tosser.
So, Merlin thinks, really it’s Arthur’s fault he’s late, because he didn’t wake him up and went to the gym without him. Nevertheless it’s not a very auspicious start to the Olympics and Merlin does feel a tad guilty as he arrives for training, an hour after he was meant to.
His other two teammates, Gwaine and Percy, have been on the weight machines for a while, judging by their sweat-damp t-shirts. They both greet him cheerfully, but Arthur is fuming. “You’re late. This isn’t a fucking holiday Emrys. You are representing your country. It’s an honour and you should take it seriously.”
And there it is again. Arthur behaving like a self-important prat. Suddenly Merlin doesn’t feel so guilty after all. Arthur may be a Prince, but he’s not Merlin’s boss! Well, actually Merlin has an employment contract with him for curling, so technically he is. But the point still stands, Arthur has no right to act like he owns him.
They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Arthur though, and despite him being one of the most demanding, irritating people Merlin’s ever known, he does realise that Arthur pushes them because he believes in them. And because Arthur personally has a lot invested in them all, in every sense. The Camelotian curling team was Arthur’s idea and lots of people told him that he’d never be able to make it work. What’s more, he’s paying for it with his personal money. He is a Crown Prince, but Camelot is a tiny, mountainous country, hidden away in a little-visited part of Europe, with an annual income that’s less than an averagely successful tech firm’s, so its Crown Prince isn’t in the league of the super wealthy.
“As you’ve missed the first hour, you can do fifty push-ups to catch up. Get started,” Arthur barks. Merlin scowls, because if Arthur had woken him up he wouldn’t have been late, but he drops to the floor and starts counting, rapidly working through the fifty he’s been asked for. Before Arthur’s training regime his arms would have started to shake by the fifth one.
Arthur stands over Merlin as he does them and so Merlin carries straight on past fifty and gets to sixty-eight before Arthur says, “Enough. That’s good, Merlin,” and Merlin thinks perhaps they’re even again.
Arthur’s shattered by the evening. He trains twice as hard as his team – partly to show them what he expects, partly because he cannot afford to fail. Not again. Although they pretend they're not, he knows that all three of his teammates are relying on him to get them through the tournament, which starts in two days' time.
It’s good that Merlin has gone out with Gwaine and Percy, because Arthur has so much work to do and he can’t afford to be distracted. Arthur thinks of how Merlin burst in on him in the shower this morning, cheeks tinged pink, tousled hair falling in front of sleepy, soft eyes. His pyjama bottoms had been low on his hips Arthur had caught a glimpse of porcelain skin, taut stomach, narrow hips below the soft, old t-shirt that clung to muscles Merlin hadn’t had when they started training less than a year ago. Arthur sighs – this morning was particularly bad, but he finds Merlin distracting in almost any scenario. It really is just as well he’s gone out.
Rallying himself, Arthur settles to work. Most teams would have a small battalion of people to do the things he’s doing. He’s only twenty-one and it’s been a tough learning curve, with no one to help him work things out. Gwaine and Percy are both older than Merlin and him, but neither of them have any sort of business background.
Arthur checks his bank balance and pulls up the email folder with the latest set of invoices to pay, trying to work out whether there is any opportunity to save money. They’ve had to train abroad because Camelot doesn’t have any facilities for curling. It helped when Percy and Gwaine said they wanted to share a room and Merlin offered to share with him. Well, it had helped his finances – it hadn’t helped his sanity.
He runs his hand through his hair and turns back to his laptop, reviewing the list of companies he hopes might one day sponsor his team, and considering which ones he should try to contact again now they are in Beijing. His money will run out by the end of the Olympics, so if the team is going to have any future, they need a sponsor very soon. A few good TV interviews with major networks would make all the difference in getting them noticed. Arthur knows they will have to make the most of the round robin part of the tournament, as they are very unlikely to get through to the knock-out stage. He clicks open his list of reporters and pundits, wondering how he can catch their attention.
Merlin felt a bit bad as he left Arthur alone in their room, surrounded by bills, itineraries and training schedules. He’d headed down to Percy and Gwaine’s room and the three of them had gone out to explore. An hour later they’d walked most of the way around the athletes’ village and had a snowball fight which ended up including half the Italian snowboarding team, two figure skaters from Romania, and Gwen and Elyan, a sister and brother from the British mixed curling team. The siblings had taken their side and Gwen proved dangerously accurate with a fistful of snow.
Now Gwen and Elyan are sitting in the bar with Merlin, as Percy and Gwaine make their way back to the table with a tray of diet cokes, a concession to Arthur’s no alcohol before a competition rule. As Percy puts the tray down, Merlin is in the middle of complaining about how their skip always seems to have some kind of special treatment for him and none of it is ever nice.
“Thanks guys,” Elyan says as he takes his drink. “Merlin here seems to think your skip’s particularly got it in for him. Is that true?”
“Nah,” Gwaine drawls, “Merlin’s just fixated on him and imagines he’s getting more attention than he is.” Gwaine flashes a cheeky grin at Merlin who sticks his tongue out in response.
“Hmm, but Merlin is just Arthur’s type,” Gwen muses. “He’s always liked his men tall, willowy and dark haired.” She pauses and then adds, “Not that I’m saying you’re willowy, Merlin” as she pats his arm. She turns to Elayn and asks, “Do you remember that guy he was mooning over when he was eighteen? Cenred or something?”
“Yeah, Cenred,” Elyan replies. I think everyone had a lucky escape when he got kicked off the squad, but especially Arthur. Arthur wants to believe the best of people, even of creeps like him.”
“Hang on! You guys know Arthur?” Gwaine asks in surprise. “How come?”
Elyan looks confused that this is news to Arthur’s teammates. “He got into the British curling scene when he was at boarding school in Scotland. He has dual citizenship because his mother was a minor British aristocrat, and he trained with the British team from when he left school until last year.”
“Poor Arthur,” Gwen continues. “It wasn’t easy for him because his father, King Uther, wanted him to go to university. He made it very clear he didn’t support Arthur taking up sport instead of studies.”
“What happened? Why did he leave the British team?” Merlin asks.
“He didn’t make it onto the Olympic squad at the trials last year,” Elyan explains “That was why he went back to Camelot and started his own team.”
“That must have been pretty tough on him,” Percy muses.
“Nah,” Merlin laughs. “I’m sure he’s much happier with his own team – suits his overwhelming need to boss everyone around all the time.”
But despite his flippant comment, Merlin reckons Percy is probably right. It explains a lot – especially why Arthur is so fearful of failing – it’s apparently fear of failing again. And with a father like Uther (Merlin shudders at the memory of the one time he attended their training) Arthur probably feels like he’s been letting the Pendragons down since the first time he picked up a stone.
To begin with Merlin thought that Arthur had things easy and everything the Prince wanted had been handed to him on a silver platter – probably by a team of footmen. But the reality is, Arthur has fought for everything he’s accomplished. It’s him and Gwaine and Percy who have had everything laid out for them – mostly by Arthur. He was a gardener before Arthur came along and changed his life. He knows Arthur has faith in them all and it makes Merlin feel good about himself, to be believed in by someone like Arthur.
“Well,” Gwaine declares, “regardless of Arthur’s rules, I think we all need some alcohol to toast the British team for kicking Arthur out, and Arthur for splashing his cash on bringing us here, and Uther for failing to find a way to stop him!”
After that things get louder and sillier. Merlin really likes the British brother and sister: Elyan has a dry sense of humour and Gwen’s bubbly and friendly, but also sharp and perceptive.
“So, why did you decide to try out for Arthur’s team?” she asks the Camelotians when Gwaine and Elyan come back with a third round.
“It was something to do,” Gwaine says nonchalantly. “Not much happens in Camelot, and Merlin dragged me along. I’d spent the past six years working in bars and doing bits of modelling when I could get it, so it’s not like I was giving up much of a career. Not like Percy – Percy is a real athlete and going to the Olympics was his dream.”
Percy shrugs and Merlin nudges him with his shoulder. “Don’t be bashful, Perce. You are the only one of us who actually deserves to be here, apart from Arthur of course,” Merlin says.
“What about you though, Merlin?” Gwen asks. “What did you like about curling that made you try out for the team?”
Merlin shrugs. “I’m not sure I did like it much to be honest. I mean I am enjoying it more now, but I guess generally I prefer sports with a bit more action.”
Elyan gasps in mock horror, “Have you told Arthur this?” he asks.
“God no, don’t tell him. He’d hate me. Honestly, I do like it now, but before the try outs I had to look it up to find out what it was and I thought it was some kind of joke – a sport with brooms! It really didn’t look promising.”
“What were you expecting?” Gwen asks. “Some sort of obstacle course for the stone or something?”
“That’s not a bad idea, Gwen!” Gwaine says, leaning forward and jabbing the table with a finger. “Crazy curling! – like crazy golf, you know mini-golf? With obstacles and trap doors and tunnels and the whole damn lot. And instead of having to look ridiculous with a brush, Merlin and I could operate all the different obstacles, guiding the stone through.”
They all laugh. “No, I’m serious, guys. This could be a thing! Perce, Merlin, you know that mediaeval castle themed, adventure golf place outside Camelot city? It could be like that – you know with drawbridges and moats and towers you have to toss the stone onto the top of, so that it slides down a helter skelter inside.”
Gwaine is sloshing his drink around as he waves his hands, illustrating the stone weaving around different obstacles and Percy has ducked away from him to avoid getting covered in beer. Merlin is laughing so much he has tears coming down his cheeks, because it’s ridiculous but he does also see Gwaine’s point – for the people of Camelot, who’d never heard of curling until the Olympics, something like Gwaine is describing would be much more appealing.
“Careful, love,” Percy says affectionately, prising Gwaine’s pint out of his fingers and putting it safely out of reach on the table.
“It’s a lovely idea,” Gwen muses, “but I don’t think the curling world will take to it, nor the International Olympic Committee.” Elyan snorts at the very idea.
It’s getting close to Arthur’s 10.30 curfew, so Merlin hurries the others up to finish their drinks. As they head back to the accommodation, Merlin cautions Gwaine, “For goodness' sake don’t say anything about crazy curling to Arthur, or at least not until after the competition. You know this really matters to him and he’d think you’re making fun of him.”
“Aw, the princess knows I make fun of him,” Gwaine replies, but Merlin’s pretty sure Gwaine doesn’t really want to upset Arthur and won’t say anything.
Arthur’s surprised that Merlin gets back before the curfew he set, because he never knows whether the team will take things like that seriously. It makes him feel a little less alone.
“You still working?” Merlin asks as he flops onto his bed.
Arthur’s eyes covertly trace over Merlin’s long, sprawling limbs. “No, I’ve pretty much finished. I was going to make a camomile tea and get ready for bed,” he replies, looking away.
“I’ll make it for you,” Merlin says and he gets up to fill the kettle. “You look tired Arthur. I wish you’d come out with us. Sometimes, even you need to relax and not take on so much.”
“Getting away from all of you for a bit is relaxing,” Arthur scoffs, but he’s touched that Merlin’s noticed, even if doing less isn’t an option.
Arthur gets up from the tiny desk and sits on top of his duvet, leaning against the headboard. Merlin hands him the tea and sits on the bottom of the bed. Arthur’s bare feet are touching against Merlin’s leg. Arthur tries not to think about it.
Merlin smiles at him and squeezes his ankle. His smile looks … Arthur’s not sure … soft? Merlin pulls his long legs up onto the bed and crosses them, and then he starts to describe their evening. Apparently there was an international snowball fight between multiple countries, right under Arthur’s window, but with the triple glazing he hadn’t heard a thing, isolated in the towering accommodation like some imprisoned princess. Merlin’s eyes gleam as he describes it and Arthur wishes he’d been there. An excited, gleeful Merlin is one of his favourite things.
They finish their tea and Merlin asks, “Are you nervous about the tournament?”
“I don’t get nervous, Merlin,” is Arthur’s automatic retort.
Merlin cocks his head and raises his eyebrow and Arthur slumps slightly. Merlin strokes Arthur’s leg and just the feel of his warm hand is soothing. “You’ve made sure we’re ready,” he says. “We’re your team. You’re not in this on your own Arthur.”
“Except for the media interviews,” Arthur laughs, but it feels hollow. “None of you would even do the media training, so they’re down to me, and they matter as much as the results, because they’re our best way of getting noticed by a sponsor – I can’t afford to keep doing this forever without one.”
Merlin’s face falls, and Arthur feels bad. He wishes he hadn’t said anything – he forgets he’s still the skip, and the team manager, and he can’t just share everything he’s feeling. Merlin makes him let his guard down in a way no one else ever has. It doesn’t even feel like letting it down – there just isn’t a guard there.
He prods Merlin in the side with his foot to break the tension, and Merlin huffs and gives him that look of mock-outrage, which Arthur thinks Merlin only really uses on him, then grins cheekily. Merlin’s insults and abuse are comforting and he wonders what that says about him. He’s still thinking about it in the small hours of the morning, when he’s lying awake listening to Merlin’s gentle breathing and growing more and more anxious about how he can’t sleep even though he really needs to.
Merlin feels elated. He feels like he could conquer the world – he feels like they have conquered the world. Despite being expected to lose every match, they have won two games on the opening day.
His Uncle Gaius is going to be 10,000 euros better off than he was this morning because he was going to put 100 euros on them winning at least one game at 100-1, which showed just how unlikely it was that it would happen. His mum will be feeling rueful. She didn't bet on them because, as she’d explained, although she hoped they’d win with all her heart, she didn’t like throwing money away.
Their first game had been a white-wash against Olympic favourites, the USA. But because they were playing the reigning champions their game had been televised and the Camelotians, with their semi-amateur team of under-dogs and a minor European royal as their skip, had caused a bit of a stir. The pundits had been talking about the Camelot curlers being the Jamaican bobsleigh team of the Beijing Olympics, though none of them had been born when that had been the surprise sensation of the 1988 Olympics. Maybe there’ll even be a film about them Merlin thinks, letting himself get carried away.
So although they’d lost unambiguously to the USA, the spectators had warmed to them and they’d been the crowd’s favourite for each of their subsequent matches. The cheering had spurred them on and Merlin had felt himself upping his game, more focused than ever before, with an intensity he didn’t know he was capable of.
Then, against the odds, they had beaten Portugal in their second game of the day.
Merlin has a sense memory of Arthur throwing his arms around him and hugging him, saying softly, right in his ear, “You were brilliant, Merlin.” The feeling of Arthur’s warm breath on the side of his face, and his nose scrunched in Merlin’s hair, is lingering with Merlin, hours later. Arthur even kissed his cheek – he’s pretty sure he didn’t imagine it because he remembers how Arthur’s lips were surprisingly soft. Arthur had stilled there, lips hot on Merlin’s cold skin – Merlin’s always cold, he should never have picked a sport played on ice. Merlin wanted to turn and kiss Arthur properly, but Arthur had pulled back and left without saying anything else. He wishes he’d done it, although maybe with all the cameras everywhere it’s just as well he didn’t. Even what Arthur had done was risky.
They had won another game later in the afternoon, a result which placed them unexpectedly high in the results table at the end of the first day. Now Merlin is standing in the competitors’ area gazing up at the overall scoreboard, still not quite able to believe how well they have done. Percy and Gwaine are talking excitedly to Elyan and Gwen who came to watch as the mixed competition hasn’t started yet.
He looks around for Arthur and sees he’s still talking to reporters, a huge camera in his face as he smiles that golden smile he’s been trained to produce on demand, since birth. If looking dazzling was an Olympic sport, Arthur would be unbeatable, Merlin sighs to himself.
As Merlin's watching him, a dark haired reporter wearing a blood-red jacket and matching lipstick approaches. “I’m Nimeuh,” she smiles winningly. “I’m with Sky Sports. It’s Merlin, isn’t it? May we have a word?”
Merlin stutters, “Oh err, that’s kind, but you want to talk to Arthur. He does the interviews.”
“But he’s so busy. He waved us over to you. I’m sure he wants you to talk to us instead,” she implores.
Merlin is surprised because only that morning Arthur had reminded them all that none of them were to talk to the cameras, seeming how they’d declined to have any media training. But maybe Arthur’s changed his mind because he’s been asked for a lot more interviews than they had ever expected. Merlin’s touched that Arthur trusts him to do this and Nimeuh seems very nice.
“Well if Arthur said so I guess it’s okay,” he agrees. Nimeuh’s eyes flash. She almost seems triumphant and Merlin’s surprised that an interview with someone like him seems to matter to her so much.
“Good, Merlin! Well done. Arthur will be pleased. So just look at me and ignore the camera, and I’ll ask you a few questions. There are no wrong answers so you can say anything you want, don’t worry. I can tell you’re going to give me everything I need.”
She seems so pleased to be interviewing him and she makes it sound very straight forward, so Merlin relaxes a little. Her first few questions are pretty easy. Merlin tells her how he felt the matches went, what good form his teammates are on, how much he’s enjoying being at the Olympics. He finds it surprisingly easy to talk and he’s actually quite enjoying doing this.
“And tell us about that kiss, Merlin?” she asks suddenly, “You seem to be particularly special to Prince Arthur.”
“What?” Merlin stutters, his hand rising to his cheek. Nimueh looks at it and he hastily pulls it away and tries to look stern. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He realises that sounds defensive and he remembers how artfully Arthur redirects questions he doesn’t want to answer. Merlin’s out of his depth and Nimueh looks like she knows.
“Err, why don’t you ask me another curling question?” he offers and tries to smile nicely. He wishes he knew whether this is live or not.
Nimueh tilts her head, and Merlin doesn’t like the look in her eye. He’s feeling more and more like he’s being ambushed. “Tell me what you like about curling?” she asks.
Merlin’s relieved that Nimeuh has let the kiss question go. He relaxes because Gwen had asked him this question last night and he feels on safer ground. His mind is still going over the kiss and whether he said the right thing, as his mouth is regurgitating their conversation from last night.
He doesn’t really properly tune into what he’s saying until he hears himself animatedly explaining how Gwaine and he thought curling was a bit boring when they first found out about it. “In fact just last night the Camelot team were saying that curling would be a lot better if it was like crazy golf – you know, with ramps and tunnels and drawbridges and things.”
“Drawbridges?” Nimueh asks brightly, she seems enthralled by the idea.
“Well yes, it could be themed crazy golf – you know a castle theme … or something …” Merlin trails off as he realises what he’s saying and throws Nimueh a desperate look.
She responds with a sly smile. “Wow, it surprises me that Prince Arthur would support an idea like that,” she observes and Merlin’s heart sinks as he realises how angry Arthur is going to be about this.
“Well, he wasn’t actually there,” Merlin says lamely. He desperately wants to stop the interview now but he doesn’t know if it’s live and he has no idea how to bring it to a close without storming off. Fortunately Nimueh seems to have what she wants. She turns from him to the camera and says, “And that was Merlin Emrys, from the Camelot curling team. This is Nimueh Afanc, for Sky Sports.” She waves at the camera person and they lift the camera off their shoulder, looking around for another target.
Merlin grabs the sleeve of her red jacket as she turns to go. “Is there any chance you could not broadcast that bit about the crazy curling?” he asks. “I shouldn’t have said that. And Arthur wouldn’t want the question about the kiss either.”
“Oh Merlin, of course I would have held it back, but I’m afraid it was all live.” Her smile thins into a scowl and she prises Merlin’s grasping fingers from her jacket sleeve and sweeps off to her next victim. Merlin slumps onto one of the many hard plastic chairs and puts his head in his hands.
He doesn’t know how much later it is when Arthur comes over and sits beside him, nudging his shoulder. “After a day like today you should be on top of the world Merlin. What’s wrong?”
He summons up as bright a smile as he can for his captain, but although he can feel it in his cheeks, he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. Arthur tilts his head and pushes against him, nudging him with his shoulder, which does make Merlin smile a little bit. Next thing he knows Arthur’s grabbing him by the neck and pulling him over, almost into his lap, and playfully ruffling his hair with his knuckles. Arthur pushes him back up and looks at him hopefully to see if it’s worked. Merlin can’t help himself and he laughs, because Arthur looking expectantly and hopefully at him is something that will always make him happy. “That’s better,” Arthur says.
But Merlin knows it’s only a matter of time until Arthur finds out about the interview.
Arthur is worried about Merlin as they walk back to their room. He’s quiet and out of sorts, when he should be feeling euphoric. Arthur is so proud of what they all did today, but it’s hard to keep his mood high when something is obviously wrong with Merlin.
As soon as they get to their room, Merlin grabs his towel and goes to have a shower. He’s in there for ages, so Arthur flicks on the television to the Olympics coverage and opens his laptop and checks his emails. There are piles of congratulations from people he hardly knows, but he’s scanning for something from any of his potential sponsors. He clicks on one or two bland congratulations but there’s nothing very promising.
Not feeling like responding to all the well-wishers yet, he closes the laptop and flicks the TV over from the Olympics coverage to the news channel. Unbelievably, Merlin’s face is filling the screen and he’s being interviewed by the unscrupulous Nimueh Afanc. Arthur refuses to be interviewed by her and his immediate reaction is fear about what on earth Merlin will have said and anger that he’s talked to the media when Arthur told him not to. He’s surprised Merlin’s interview has made a news channel – he sucks in an anxious breath and listens.
Surprisingly, Merlin is doing really well. He’s talking animatedly about their game, remembering to compliment the opposition, acknowledging how hard they worked to get to the Olympics. Arthur’s impressed – Merlin’s relaxed and confident. Arthur knows he’s seen as the golden boy of the team, but Merlin’s sharp cheekbones, sooty eyelashes and captivating eyes seem to be made for the camera. Who would have thought Merlin was a hidden media asset? Maybe they should be using him more in their sponsorship search, he thinks.
But then Arthur goes cold. There on the screen is a photo of that moment when Arthur kissed Merlin’s cheek, after the first time they won a game. He doesn’t know what came over him – it was so stupid – but there hadn’t seemed to be any cameras pointing their way when he checked afterwards, so he thought he got away with it.
The photo of the kiss is inset in the corner of the screen and Nimueh is asking Merlin about it. Merlin says he doesn’t know what she means, but he’s blushed a beautiful rose pink across his cheeks and his hand is touching the place where Arthur had put his lips, which rather nullifies his words. Merlin hadn’t seemed to react to the kiss at all at the time, but it looks like he had noticed it … Arthur's heart beats faster and he wonders what that means.
And then Merlin is suggesting Nimeuh asks him about curling. It’s not a very elegant way of diverting but it’s effective. Arthur’s fingers drift up to his lips as he half listens to the rest of the interview, whilst thinking again about the prick of Merlin's stubble on his lips.
He tunes back in to hear Merlin saying, “...the Camelot team were saying that curling would be a lot more fun if it was like crazy golf – you know, with ramps and tunnels and drawbridges and things.”
“Drawbridges!!!” Arthur exclaims angrily.
“Drawbridges?” asks Nimueh on the screen.
Arthur can’t believe what he’s seeing – Merlin is waving his arms around animatedly, whilst he makes a complete laughing stock of everything Arthur has worked for. No one is going to take them seriously after this. Especially not a sports sponsor.
Trembling with shock, Arthur thinks of all the effort he’s put into this, wasted by Merlin’s ridiculous words; all the money he’s spent getting them here, only for Merlin to throw it all away. He thinks of his father watching this – possibly right now – and of the cold fury that will be sweeping over Uther, that his son has let this happen – bringing Camelot to international attention, only to make the country into a joke. His hopes of finally winning his father’s respect smash into piercing shards.
Anger surges up in him and Arthur leaps to his feet, turning the TV off and only narrowly stopping himself from throwing something at it. At that moment, Merlin comes out of the bathroom, hair dripping and a towel around his waist.
Grimly Arthur strides towards him and shoves him against the wall. A look flashes over Merlin’s face that Arthur can’t read, but then it turns to anger. “What are you playing at, you prat?” he yells, giving Arthur a retaliatory shove and making him stumble backwards. Arthur pushes him again and this time he pins him to the wall with the weight of his body. He doesn’t budge as Merlin strains against him, kicking at his legs to try to get him to move.
His eyes are pricking but Arthur’s not going to cry in front of Merlin, so he jostles against him even more fiercely, trapping Merlin's right arm beside his head and resisting Merlin’s efforts to free it. He leans right into Merlin’s face and snarls, “What the fuck were you thinking Emrys. You idiot! You fucking idiot!”
The fight goes out of Merlin as he realises why Arthur’s so angry. His expression sinks and he goes limp under Arthur. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
But Merlin feeling sorry isn’t going to stop the inferno of humiliation and misery Arthur’s feeling. “I know this is all a joke to you," he spits, "but how could you do that to me? To us? If it had been Gwaine … but you, Merlin … I thought I could trust you.”
There are damp trails on Arthur’s cheeks and it enrages him further that Merlin has driven him to this. Merlin lifts his free hand and rubs his thumb over the tears, “I’m so sorry Arthur. I was still thinking about you kissing me and I didn't realise what I was saying.”
Arthur doesn’t want to be soothed and he bats Merlin’s hand away. He wants to make him feel all the things he’s feeling – the shame, the frustration, the fear. He wants Merlin to fight back, but Merlin just looks beautiful and sad, long, dark eyelashes clumped together with tears of his own, dark pink lips turned into such a soft, sorrowful expression.
Somehow it makes Arthur even angrier. He wants Merlin riled up, fighting back, so he can punish him, ruin him. He needs to provoke him, so Arthur tilts his head and slams his dry chapped lips against Merlin’s tremulous pout, feeling Merlin’s soft pursed lips give in surprise under the pressure of his mouth.
Twisting his head away, Merlin fights back and Arthur feels completely inappropriate heat pooling in his belly, as Merlin throws all his effort into trying to squirm out from under him. With his free hand, Merlin grasps Arthur’s hair and Arthur swallows a moan as Merlin yanks and makes his eyes smart. Arthur responds by gripping Merlin’s right arm more tightly, which is still trapped against the wall. He pushes their bodies together and the force of it makes Merlin grunt.
They hold like that, staring each other down. Merlin’s eyes are dark and intense and full of challenge – Merlin’s no more the type to back down than he is. Arthur is intensely aware of the hard press of their bodies against each other, the dampness from Merlin’s bare chest soaks into his t-shirt and cools his burning skin, but not his feelings. He moves towards Merlin and their mouths lock together again, teeth clashing in an angry mess, until Merlin’s mouth softens under his, and now it feels like a real kiss, slow and hot.
The kiss is too much for Arthur, combined with the feeling of Merlin’s sinewy body under his, and his breath quickens as his cock swells where it’s trapped against Merlin’s leg. Embarrassment sweeps over Arthur and hastily he lets Merlin go and steps backwards, shoulders drooping, not able to meet Merlin’s eyes. How has this day, when he thought he’d won things he never dared to believe he’d be able to win, ended with him losing things he hadn’t even properly had?
Although he knows he should say something to Merlin he hasn’t got the words. Then Merlin takes his hand and brings the inside of his wrist to his lips. “I don't understand everything that just happened Arthur, but it’s okay.”
Arthur slowly raises his eyes, and he sees the sincerity in Merlin’s face. It doesn’t make how he’s just behaved okay though and he mutters, “I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Merlin whispers. “Whatever you want is okay.” Then his eyes sparkle and there are those adorable dimples on his cheeks, as he says, “Maybe I like you a bit rough, sometimes. I’m not fragile, you know. I could pin you against the wall just as easily.”
Arthur blushes at the thought and Merlin sees it and steps forward. “Come here,” he says as he pulls Arthur towards him, winding his arm around Athur’s waist and threading the other hand through Arthur’s hair, giving a little tug, playful this time. Arthur’s breathing stutters and Merlin grins, “You like that huh, your Highness? How about this?” and Merlin brushes his tongue over Arthur’s lips until they part and then Merlin is gently exploring his mouth as he holds Arthur firmly in his arms, and Arthur feels like maybe he did win today after all.
Merlin doesn’t know how much later it is. He and Arthur lost track of time. They never had supper though and Merlin is scrabbling around in both their suitcases looking for snacks to feed Arthur, who really ought to eat something after the day they’ve had. Merlin realises he likes taking care of Arthur and someone needs to, after all. Despite his royal privilege, Merlin suspects Arthur has much more experience of trying to live up to other people’s expectations than he does of being cared for.
Arthur’s singing in the shower again and Merlin smiles fondly as he listens to songs from the shows, coming through the open bathroom door – Arthur’s rich baritone voice echoing around the small tiled room. He’s still gathering together a meagre supper of mars bars, haribos and dry roasted peanuts, when he hears the message alert on Arthur’s phone. Most of the text appears on the lockscreen – it’s from GQ magazine asking to do a feature for their North American and European editions. Merlin’s heart races in excitement because this is just the kind of publicity Arthur is looking for. He grabs the phone and bursts into the bathroom.
“Arthur,” he shouts over the water and the singing.
Arthur shuts off the tap and pulls back the curtain, looking worried. “What have you done now, Merlin?”
“Nothing!” Merlin says indignantly. He’s proud of himself because he’s looking at Arthur’s face, despite the huge temptation of Arthur’s unabashed nudity. “You’ve got a message, look” and he thrusts Arthur’s mobile towards him. Arthur shakes the water off his hands and takes it, unlocking the phone and swiping for the message.
Merlin feels his own smile growing as Arthur’s face lights up and he throws his head back and laughs. “It seems your ridiculous stunt might have paid off, Merlin. GQ magazine wants to do a feature on us … they ask us to confirm we’re a couple and, if we are, they’d like to do a piece on tradition and innovation in the world of curling, with a heavy emphasis on the love angle, it says. This could be just the breakthrough we need!”
A dozen thoughts and questions fly through Merlin’s mind but the only one that sticks is the one that he’s been wondering all evening, because it’s not been at all clear to him, in this crazy, mixed up day, where he stands with Arthur now.
“Are we a couple then?” Merlin asks, and he wishes he could sound more casual about it than he does.
Arthur looks at him as if he’s mad, and his heart sinks, but he says hastily, “I mean we can pretend for GQ and stuff if that’s what we need to do …” he trails off because now Arthur’s looking confused.
Shrugging, Arthur reaches for a towel and wraps it round him. He steps out of the shower and mutters, “Yeah, sure, okay we’ll just pretend.”
“I mean I don’t want to pretend …” Merlin says, scuffing his feet and looking at the floor.
With a sigh, Arthur says, “No okay, we don’t have to do it at all then. I shouldn’t ask that of you. There’ll be other ways of getting some publicity.”
Merlin’s prickling with embarrassment but they are heading in the opposite direction to the one he wants, so he makes himself spit out what he needs to say. “I’ll do whatever you need for the team, Arthur, but I don’t want to pretend to go out with you.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation because Arthur is just staring at him quizzically. “I don’t know how you can be confused about this, but to be clear, even though you are an irritating, stupid, prat, I want to be your boyfriend.” Then mutters under his breath, “God help me.”
Arthur grins, “Oh I see! Well okay, then if you’re so desperate to go out with me – boyfriend – I’ll text them back and say we’ll do it.”
Merlin wants to hit him, he’s being so annoying. But then Arthur’s face lights up with that smile which Merlin is pretty sure is largely responsible for the way the world keeps turning day after day, because really you could power a planet with it, and Merlin throws his arms around him instead, nuzzling his nose in the drips from Arthur’s hair, which are running down his neck and realising it turns out that, if he wants to, he can trace them with his tongue.