Archive of Our Own ^beta

June 1970

Merlin could hear Mithian’s bright laughter ringing out, even before he opened the door to their flat. Daegal’s voice followed, a reasonable, low murmur, and then Arthur said, “If we want to do a rally, we need to organise way more people. On our own won’t be enough. We need allies. We’d better think who that could be. In the meantime, we should concentrate our efforts on awareness.”

Feeling tired, Merlin tossed his keys into the little bowl on the dresser and toed off his shoes, leaving them to join the jumble of boots and loafers in the small hallway of the flat above Gaius’ shop he and Arthur had been sharing for the past couple of months.

“It’s a shame that your article for the student paper has been pushed back three times already.” George’s prim voice filtered from the sitting room and Merlin rolled his eyes. Amongst Arthur’s friends from the gay-lesbian club at Arthur’s university, George was the one that he found the most aggravating. He was self-aware enough to realise it was a result of George’s tendency to hang around Arthur in the way enamoured, teenage girls follow a rockstar, always open-mouthed and wide-eyed, waiting with baited breath for Arthur to notice him.

“They’ll print it in the autumn issue, I’m sure,” Arthur said confidently, a confidence that was for show, because he had vented privately about not having much hope of this particular article ever getting published, just yesterday.

When Merlin stepped into the sitting room, the sight that greeted him was familiar. Lounging on their sofa and armchairs, were several members of the university club: Mithian, with her long, flowing hair and kohl-rimmed eyes; her girlfriend Sefa; George, whose shirt was buttoned up so tightly Merlin wondered how he could draw a breath; baby-faced Daegal, whose moustache looked terribly out of place on his too-young face; as well as Isolde, who was, as always, perfectly made up, her hair pulled back in an old-fashioned, but elegant up-do. On the table between them, there were an assortment of snacks - popcorn, the hash-infused, chocolate chip brownies Merlin had baked on Sunday with his mother instructing him over the phone, a half-empty pack of chocolate digestives and a box of Turkish delight. The room smelled like Mithian’s cigarettes and weed, but the windows had been pushed open to release the smoke into the balmy, June night.

“Hey,” Arthur said and got up quickly from his armchair, his mouth pulling into a smile as he crossed the room to where Merlin was leaning in the doorway. He stole a quick kiss, tasting like the hash chocolate brownies, but he kept his hands on Merlin when he drew back, like he didn’t want to let go. “Do you want to join us?”

It was tempting to kick back after a long day, but Merlin felt sweaty from teaching yoga, and he wanted a shower and something to eat, before he was going to, once again, tackle the shop’s accounts. Some health issues had been plaguing Gaius lately, and Merlin’s mother had finally convinced him to retire. The apothecary would be Merlin’s responsibility soon, and the prospect was completely overwhelming.

“I still have work to do,” he sighed, carding a hand through his hair. It was extra curly because of the heat, and maybe a bit too long in the back. He would probably need Arthur to cut it before they went on holiday in a week.

Arthur grimaced sympathetically, but nodded. “There’s risotto in the oven. It might still be warm.”

Merlin waved a quick hello to Arthur’s mates from the uni club, before going to the bathroom to have a quick shower. He felt a little better once the sticky layer of sweat had come off, and he took a bowl of risotto with him into their study, the little spare room Arthur used to write and to study for university.

As always, the desk was crammed with stacks of papers, and Merlin shoved aside several of them, so he could put down the accounting book he had brought with him from downstairs. A letter, neatly filed in one of the folders that was lying open, caught his eye and he skimmed it. It was a rejection letter from a publishing company, several words underlined with pencil. “...shows promise… at times obscene… issues of morality… unpublishable at this point”. Curiously, Merlin leafed through the folder, careful not to spill risotto onto the papers while he ate, finding more rejection letters beneath the first one - letter after letter, at least 50 of them. “...frankly shocking… lewd concept… crude scenes… unnecessary violence… undoubtably written masterfully, but… disturbing societal structures… see no merit… not suitable for our readership.” The list of underlined phrases, criticising Arthur’s work harshly, went on and on. He hadn’t known that Arthur had kept the letters, let alone filed them so meticulously.

He gently closed the folder and set it aside, before opening up the accounting book that was kept in Gaius’s neat, narrow handwriting, chronicling purchases, expenditures and sales. The store had been making less and less over the last few years, due to the rise of supermarkets which provided a lot of the things Gaius had on sale as well. The book confirmed what Merlin had suspected: their sales were declining rapidly and their steady customers were literally dying off. It was still enough to keep them afloat, but barely.

Merlin noted down sums in long lines on paper, counting and recounting until the numbers blurred before his eyes, but the end result proved what he had known all along. When he finally put away the pencil, he felt exhausted. Merlin wasn’t sure they would be able to survive the competition over the coming years. To make things worse, as a herbalist, he was not allowed to sell prescription drugs, and in order to take over his uncle’s licence in the hopefully far future, he would need to go back to school at some point. An ugly voice reared its head, telling him that this wasn’t what he wanted for himself anyway.

With a sigh he closed the accounting book and headed to bed, after a quick detour to the bathroom to clean his teeth. When he passed the sitting room on his way to the kitchen to deposit his bowl in the sink, the club was still discussing a flyer layout Sefa had designed to invite more students to join their Friday meetings next term. He said a quick goodnight, before turning in.

In the bedroom, he found a piece of paper lying on the duvet on his side of the bed, Merlin smiled, despite his fatigue, and picked it up.

He’s gentle magic and fast lightning,
mysterious and sharp witted
He’s wild and courageous, my steady rock,
inky-dark and marble-pale
Like another half,
A warlock to a knight
When I first saw him, I knew

Merlin’s face burned and his mouth twitched with amusement, as he carefully put the poem down on his nightstand. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had left him something to read, but Arthur’s texts weren’t always so personal or so full of Arthur’s feelings for him.

He lay down in the cool sheets, sliding his legs over towards Arthur’s side. Despite his exhaustion and the happiness Arthur’s poem brought him, he had trouble falling asleep. He thought about the future, the impossible challenge he was facing with Gaius handing over the shop to him. For a while, he listened to the sounds from the sitting room, until finally he heard Arthur’s friends leaving, then the quiet noises of Arthur getting ready for bed in the bathroom drifted through the walls, the sound of the sink running, the toilet flushing. The noises were soothing in their familiarity. While they had only lived together since last December when Merlin had returned from his trip to India, it felt like they’d been living with each other for much longer.

When Arthur crawled into bed with him, carefully sneaking into the room in the dark, Merlin was dozing. Arthur slipped under the covers with a quiet sound of contentment, shifting closer, burying his nose in Merlin’s neck as he pressed a kiss there.

“I found your poem,” Merlin murmured sleepily, sluggishly shifting against Arthur’s body, happy to feel Arthur’s arms come around him.

Arthur made a humming, questioning noise, inviting Merlin’s thoughts on his gesture.

“Did you really know?” Merlin enquired softly, sliding his top leg between Arthur’s thighs to crowd closer.

Arthur’s voice was warm and low, amused. “I did,” he said. “I saw you at that party and… I couldn’t look away.”

“I was fucking someone else, you pervert,” Merlin teased, nonetheless pleased with Arthur’s answer. He well remembered seeing Arthur for the first time. He had been the most beautiful man Merlin had ever seen and not even the military short haircut that indicated he was a soldier nor the fact that he had been going down on Merlin’s friend Freya at that point, had deterred Merlin. Merlin had wanted, fiercely and desperately, the need flaring up in him to get to know Arthur in any way possible irresistible.

Arthur laughed into his hair, nuzzling a kiss against his ear. “So was I,” he said, tightening his arms around Merlin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, after. When you kissed me, I was so stunned. It was so good. I thought about you, every day.”

“I asked around for you for weeks, like an idiot,” Merlin murmured sleepily, speaking the words into Arthur’s skin. “When we met again, I had been pestering Gwen, like every day, to make sure Lance insisted you come to that party.”

Snorting, Arthur carded a hand through Merlin’s hair. “I thought it was a coincidence when she introduced us. You sneaky man.”

Grinning into Arthur’s chest, Merlin cuddled closer. “Took you long enough to come around, though. For a while, I always thought I had seen you for the last time.” They had tiptoed around each other for months, going weeks without seeing each other, only to be drawn back together like oppositely-poled magnets. It had taken for Merlin to go to India for several months to make them both realise that they were, against all odds, already in a relationship.

“I was scared,” Arthur said, the humour gone from his voice. “Not anymore.”

And Merlin knew he wasn’t. Arthur wasn’t scared anymore, but angry. And that anger and frustration sometimes scared Merlin - made him afraid, not of him, but for him. It was in his bold, rebellious writing and in the way he was making a political commitment at university. It was in how he talked about injustice and discrimination, or how he held himself in public - his head high, his gaze challenging everyone to confront him.

Merlin swallowed down his unease. “I don’t feel much like a warlock, but you are a knight, no doubt about it,” he said quietly.

“That line is cheesy, isn’t it?” Arthur asked a bit ruefully.

“I love it,” Merlin protested quietly. He could picture it so clearly: Arthur, in shining, silver armour, proud and tall on a horse, sword belt hanging from his side, and him, the shadow always at Arthur’s side, plainer, in a forest-green cloak maybe, with his hood up.

“Okay.”

Smiling, Merlin pressed another kiss to Arthur’s chest. He might be able to fall asleep soon, after all.

*-*

A week later they were standing outside on the street in front of the house, their luggage in the boot of Gaius’s old car, saying goodbye to Gaius and Merlin’s mother, who had come down from Watford for the day, before going away for the summer.

“Do you have the bag with the sandwiches?” Hunith asked for the second time, as she slowly released Merlin from her hug.

“In the front, yes,” Merlin confirmed, rolling his eyes gently. It was obvious his mother thought he was basically unable to be a functioning adult without her around, no matter that he’d moved out several years ago and hadn’t killed himself yet with incompetency.

“And the kitchen supplies?”

“In the boot,” Arthur piped up, just as he closed the back doors of Gaius’s 1962 Ford Thames 307E. The car was a baby blue two-seater and had a large load space, bought by Gaius years ago, to make deliveries or stock up on goods. He didn’t use it these days, except for sometimes going to Watford to visit Hunith, and even on those occasions, it was usually Merlin driving him. Two years ago, Merlin had splurged on a transistor radio, which he had mounted underneath the dashboard, to make deliveries or stock runs a little bit more bearable.

“If Gwaine doesn’t show up for work on time, fire him,” Merlin advised Gaius, before going in for a hug. The man felt frail in his arms, and not for the first time, Merlin realised that Gaius was indeed getting old. While Merlin and Arthur were away, Gwaine was going to be helping out at Gaius’s shop and teaching Merlin’s yoga lessons. After the summer, he would be taking over most of Gaius’s hours. Merlin still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to find the money to pay him, because his uncle hadn’t paid himself a regular salary in the past.

“You can be sure of that, my boy,” Gaius laughed, patting his back.

“And don’t let him flirt with the students,” Arthur advised, grinning when Gaius cackled at his words.

“That might be difficult.”

“I already threatened him. I’m pretty sure he will behave himself,” Merlin said, watching as Hunith folded Arthur into a hug as well, whispering something into Arthur’s ear. Probably, that she expected him to take care of Merlin, as if Merlin couldn’t do that on his own.

There were more hugs, and Hunith pressed money into his hand at the last possible moment, as if she knew he would protest, before they got into the car. Arthur waved from the passenger seat, as Merlin pulled away from the curb.

For a while, they drove in silence, Merlin navigating the busy, London streets towards the south. Only when they were well on their way, on the London-South-Wales motorway, did Arthur reach for the radio buttons, turning the dials to find a station that broadcast something they might be willing to listen to, while on the road. He settled on a station that was playing a mix of folk and country, turning the dial low, a crackling, soft background to the purring of the car engine. The motorway was fairly new and pleasant to drive on, a far cry from London’s potholed streets, and the Ford was a reliable, sturdy car.

“Are you sure you want to do this with me this year, instead of going to India?” Arthur asked, like they hadn’t talked about it at length before, and it wasn’t already far too late to change their plans.

“Very sure,” Merlin sighed, shooting a quick side glance at his boyfriend. Arthur was wearing soft blue jeans and a printed, grey t-shirt that showed off his biceps, and his blonde hair fell into his eyes a bit shaggily. A worried expression had settled on his handsome face, his fair eyebrows knit tightly together.

“I could have gone alone. You didn’t need to come,” Arthur suggested, chewing on his lips as he watched the cars in the other lane.

“Don’t you want me there?”

Arthur exhaled a slow breath, finally turning to glance at Merlin. “Of course! Just… I couldn’t bear it if you got bored, sitting around with me, in a musty old cottage, all summer,” he murmured, fidgeting in his seat, his fingers playing with a thin patch of fabric on his jeans.

“It’s exactly where I want to be,” Merlin assured him quietly and reached over, stilling Arthur’s hand on his thigh. “I’ll be reading and swimming and doing yoga, and thinking about what to do about the shop, and I’ll be occasionally dragging you away from your typewriter to go and do something with me outside.”

For a moment, Arthur was silent, like he was mulling over Merlin’s words, then he gave a brief laugh. “Oh,” he said, and he sounded much brighter, humour creeping back into his voice, “I thought you were going to say you’d be dragging me away to the bedroom or something.”

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes. “I could be your kept boy,” he teased with a smirk, and grinned wider when Arthur guffawed loudly at his suggestion, obviously forgetting his worries about Merlin going with him on a writing holiday in the south of Cornwall.

“I could keep you around, naked,” Arthur suggested, teasingly, heat creeping into his voice as he gripped Merlin’s hand, which was still resting on his thigh and gave his fingers a squeeze. “Ready to be taken over the sofa or over the kitchen table, whenever I fancy. I could use the plug on you, keeping you nice and willing for me, all the time.”

The car swerved slightly and laughing, Merlin snatched his hand back to steady the wheel. “Bloody hell!” he laughed, feeling the heat in his face at Arthur’s quite explicit fantasies, “I’m driving here!”

“Just saying,” Arthur grinned smugly.

“Stop it now, and keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, while I try to get us down to Cornwall in one piece,” Merlin said, trying to will down his arousal, which had been spiked by the picture Arthur had painted. “We still have hours more to go, before we can stop for the night.”

It was a ten hour drive and Merlin refused to do it in one go. He was convinced that nobody should drive for longer than three to five hours a day, so they had agreed on an overnight stay. There were a couple of blankets in the back and an air mattress, and they had planned to stop along the way for the night.

Arthur gave him a shrewd look. “I’ll think about it privately for now, and promise to make up for it tonight.”

“Fuck,” Merlin muttered with appreciation, catching Arthur’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

*-*

Merlin woke to the soft press of lips against the back of his neck, and the familiarity of Arthur’s warm body behind him. He shifted back into Arthur’s welcome heat, sighing at the slow, languid drag of Arthur’s lips on his skin. Arousal slowly slipped in through the foggy filter of sleep, but Merlin kept his eyes closed, basking in the moment. He became aware of the sounds around him: Arthur’s soft breathing, the rustling of the sheets as he moved to press closer, the distant rolling of the waves outside the small cottage by the sea, which they’d rented for the summer. Arthur’s erection bumped against the small of Merlin’s back, smearing a bit of wet onto his sleep-warm skin.

Arthur made a small noise, a contended, low rumble, and trailed his lip towards Merlin’s ear, nosing away his curls. With a soft moan, Merlin rolled onto his stomach, burying his head into the pillow. Arthur’s hands followed the curve of his spine, huge and warm, over his side down to his arse, pushing away the sheets as they slid over his skin. Merlin shifted again, pulling one leg up and forward, exposing himself purposefully. “Go on,” he murmured, eyes still closed, caught somewhere in that place between waking and sleeping.

Behind him, Arthur laughed softly, but he moved away, scooting back on the bed. Cool air washed over Merlin’s skin where Arthur’s heat had been just a moment ago, causing goosebumps to break out on his skin. The cottage was cold in the early morning. Merlin half-dozed, listening to Arthur rummaging through the nightstand, before he heard the slick slide of Arthur’s hand on his erection, as he slowly jacked himself.

Arthur’s hand was sticky when he reached for Merlin’s hips, but Merlin didn’t mind. His eyes fluttered open slowly, when Arthur gently turned him into the curve of his body, reaching underneath his knee to pull his leg up, as he shifted closer. The light in the room was soft, still grey, the sun just rising, its first gentle tendrils creeping through the shades and spilling over the floor.

“Mhmm,” Arthur hummed, nuzzling another, sloppy kiss against Merlin’s shoulder. “You look so good,” he whispered, lining his cock up with the entrance of Merlin’s body. “Irresistible,” he added, hitching Merlin’s leg higher, before he started to push with his hips, slowly pressing his cockhead against Merlin’s hole. His breath hitching at the attempted intrusion, Merlin willed himself to relax, groaning at the unyielding pressure. He loved this, the slow, rough slide of Arthur’s cock breaching him, filling him. They both moaned when Arthur’s cock slipped past the initial resistance, and Merlin’s eyes rolled back with the combination of pleasure and the slight discomfort of an unprepared entry. When Arthur’s hips settled, snug against him after a long, leisurely slide, he let Merlin’s leg drop in favour of pulling him into his arms, wrapping himself around him.

Together they breathed, a bit shakily.

When Arthur started to move, the drag of his cock was raw and delicious, and he crushed Merlin to him, his lips still sliding wetly over Merlin’s neck. Merlin craned his head, brushing their mouths together. Merlin’s cock, which had been sleepy at first, then distracted by the way Arthur had entered his body, was filling almost too quickly, prompted by the brush of Arthur’s cock over his prostate, making him feel lightheaded. As Merlin’s muscles loosened, their coupling became more fluid, Arthur’s thrusts longer, but rather gentle.

With a sigh, Arthur pushed him over onto his belly and Merlin buried his head in the pillow, hands fisting in the sheets by his shoulders while Arthur rutted into him with sure, measured strokes, his body laid out over Merlin’s back like a blanket, arms on either side of Merlin’s head. His breath was coming fast, puffing against the suddenly sweaty skin of Merlin’s nape, and Merlin pushed back into the touch, grunting when Arthur shifted further upwards and entered him more deeply. Arthur slung one leg over Merlin’s thigh for leverage as he started to thrust harder, their skin slapping together, the sound echoing from the walls of the small bedroom.

It was the small, ahh-ahh sounds that gave Arthur’s impending orgasm away, and the sudden, harsh, long thrusts, but then Arthur stilled, body twitching uncontrollably as he spilled himself into Merlin’s arse with a long-drawn groan, before he slumped down onto his body like a dead-weight.

Amused, Merlin grinned into the pillow, feeling properly awake by now. He waited patiently, listening to Arthur’s breath evening out, enjoying the way Arthur felt inside of him, hot and heavy, and the way his own dick was pressing against the mattress, needy and throbbing.

Exhaling a huff, Arthur pulled back and rolled him over, his face sweaty and red, the flush extending down his chest, his hair wild and tousled. “Morning,” he rasped and Merlin grinned and stretched his arms over his head, giving in to a yawn. The movement drew Arthur’s gaze towards his erect cock, which bopped gently on his stomach, wetting the dark curls of his trail.

Arthur licked his lips and held Merlin’s eyes for a moment, before he shifted downwards, his warm hands reaching for Merlin’s thighs. His mouth was hot and wet as he swallowed Merlin deep, sucking him down. “Oh yeah,” Merlin sighed, reaching down to thread his fingers through Arthur’s sweaty hair, biting his lip at the sensation of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur slid his mouth over him carefully a couple of times, before he pulled back, looking at him with a question in his eyes that Merlin could interpret perfectly.

They shifted around, and Merlin pushed himself to his knees, while Arthur sat before him on the bed. He reached for Arthur again, bringing his cock to Arthur’s wet lips. Looking pleased, Arthur opened his mouth and took him back inside, moaning unashamedly around his length. He looked so good like that, Merlin thought hazily as he rocked his hips gently, watching Arthur’s lips spread around him. Merlin tugged on Arthur’s hair to give him direction, holding him tightly when he wanted him to slow down, loosening his grip when he expected him to speed up. Arthur’s moans vibrated around his length, adding to the sensation of his hot, tight mouth. He felt Arthur’s release trickling wetly down the inside of his thigh and Merlin moaned, tightening his grip on Arthur’s hair to hold him close, watching as Arthur swallowed around his dick, nose pressed into Merlin’s pubic hair. It felt so good to be encased in Arthur’s mouth like that.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his thighs shaking. When he released him, Arthur took a few gulping breaths, before taking him into his mouth again with a grin. Merlin was so close now, his cock rigid and straining, and he cursed, surging forward into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur wrapped his hand around the base of Merlin’s cock, jacking him quickly, his mouth sloppy now and Merlin grunted as he came, careful to not thrust forward too harshly.

Afterwards, they dozed, with Arthur curled around him, one leg slung over his hip.

“It’s so good to be here with you,” Arthur murmured, brushing the words over Merlin’s pectorals. Arthur’s hands were tickling along Merlin’s side, then playing with the dark curls around his belly button. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Stop feeling guilty about something I want to do,” Merlin sighed, pressing a kiss into Arthur’s dishevelled hair. He smelled like sweat and the lingering scent of salt and seaweed from yesterday’s night swim. “I consider this a holiday. Believe me, I prefer being here with you, to undertaking that long journey to India. I can go next year. The school will still be there.”

Merlin and Bayar, his teacher’s son, were still writing to each other regularly, and Merlin knew that the school was flourishing, as more and more westerners found their way to India to study yoga and meditation. This year, Merlin had opted to stay in the UK, both because of Gaius’s health problems, and his reluctance to be separated from Arthur for several months.

Arthur hummed thoughtfully, but even though Merlin could tell he wasn’t really satisfied with Merlin’s answer, he let it go for now. “I’ll go and make breakfast. I’ll call you when the coffee’s ready, yeah?” Arthur murmured, pressing a last kiss to Merlin’s stomach before rolling out of bed.

With a happy sigh, Merlin turned onto his side, burying his face in Arthur’s pillow, breathing in his familiar, spicy scent.

*-*

Their seaside holiday home was a 120 year old, former fisherman’s cottage, converted for renting out to families on holiday. It was on the outskirts of a small fishing village in Cornwall and stood on a low cliff, with a footpath leading down towards the beach. The cottage had a sitting room with a kitchenette and a fireplace, a small bedroom and a suitably modernised bathroom. The best thing about it, Merlin thought, was the modern style, wood deck in front of the house. It overlooked the beach and was broad enough to do yoga on, with a seaview. It was also where Arthur set up his writing desk, and when the weather allowed, which fortunately was often, they spent most of their time outside on the deck.

Below, the sandy beach stretched out to the left, with smaller, more secluded coves, that were perfect for snorkelling, to the right. The village was only a ten minute car ride away, and provided them with everything they could need. While the main beach was well populated throughout the day, it was nearly empty in the morning and evening, but for lone walkers or runners, and when they wanted to take a swim alone, they just needed to hike down to one of the coves.

Merlin hadn’t taken a holiday in years - if you didn’t count his trips to India, which were way too stressful to be counted as relaxation, even though they were surely self-indulgent. For Arthur, it was also one of the first trips in recent years. For a long time, they hadn’t had the money, but recently, Arthur had managed to procure a steady income by writing a regular column for a newspaper, and he was also publishing a lot in different magazines. For a while, it had been mostly articles, but he was finally getting some of his short stories published as well, and while the book deal was still not happening, his financial situation was looking up.

He was trying to use the holiday to finish his second novel, a rather dark, time-travel piece, that propelled a young man to a dystopian future, where a race of androids ruled the remaining, enslaved humans. Arthur had been inspired by the works and thoughts of Alan Turing, especially those on artificial intelligence, and had read his publications, pouring over them and talking to mathematicians to understand what Turing was proposing. Frankly, it was beyond Merlin’s understanding, but Arthur’s clever mind soaked up knowledge like a sponge, until he could talk about these topics as if he had studied mathematics himself. It was like this with Arthur, when something interested him - he went into a kind of hyperfixation and came out the other side with a well of new knowledge.

While Arthur was writing, like clockwork, every day from 10 a.m. to noon, and then again from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m, Merlin kept himself occupied in a number of ways. He had been asked not to lounge around in swim trunks on a towel, unless he wanted to distract Arthur from his work, so he read books in the deckchair, played at being houseman, cooked meals, and pondered the problem of the apothecary.

They slowly settled into their holiday. Arthur used the mornings to sleep in, a luxury he felt very indulgent about, but Merlin, who was too used to getting up at dawn, fell back into his normal morning routine after just a couple days of late sleep-ins. While Arthur was still asleep, he walked down to the beach for an early morning swim, enjoying the solitude, the cawing of the seagulls and the refreshing chill of the sea. Afterwards, he often did yoga on a beach towel while the sun rose higher in the sky, the wind ripping at his ears, the taste of salt on his tongue.

Getting up so early, he usually had the beach to himself. On their fifth day, however, three early surfers who had shown up to brave the exuberant waves after the previous night's storm, came over to him after he was finishing up, interrupting his Upluthi. They had been eyeing him for the past half hour and their curious gazes had made him rather uneasy. He had wondered if he ought to leave, but he had swallowed down his disquiet, concentrating on his practice instead.

“Could you show me how to do that?” asked a gangly blonde, with sun bleached locks, waving his hand at Merlin and the towel, while his two friends looked on curiously. They had their surfboards crammed under their arms, leashes connecting the boards to their ankles.

Merlin took his time to answer, slowly lowering himself down into Lotus Pose. “It’s called yoga. I teach it in London,” he said cautiously. “It’s not something to be learned in a day.”

The blonde shrugged, then looked over his shoulder at his two friends, like he wanted to confirm something. “Well,” he said, grinning and raking a hand through his tousled hair, “that’s okay. Could you teach us?”

“We’re here for the next five weeks,” one of the blonde’s friends, a stocky youth with pimples and dark brown hair, said. “We don’t have anything to do but surf.” The last of the three, a tall twenty-something with bad sunburn on his shoulders and nose, nodded enthusiastically.

Merlin contemplated them for a moment, taking in their eager, smiling faces. He had seen them earlier on their surfboards, riding the morning waves, looking unexpectedly elegant and somewhat… free. The word was lacking, but Merlin couldn’t explain the emotion that watching them evoked in him. It was a longing, a yearning, to experience what they might experience, as they conquered the water.

“Only if you teach me to surf in return,” he suggested, pointedly looking at one of the surfboards, and the blonde smirked and held out his hand. “It’s a deal, mate!” he said. “I’m Stevie.”

The other two introduced themselves as Matthew, the pimply youth, and Nick, the tall man with the sunburn, and they settled down in the sand, so Merlin could explain about the yoga tradition, before leading them through a couple of slow sun salutations.

When he told Arthur about it over lunch, his boyfriend rolled his eyes good-naturedly, as he bit into his egg sandwich. “Seriously, I can’t take you anywhere,” he teased, looking at Merlin with fond amusement. “This is supposed to be a holiday for you. You’re like the Pied Piper of Yogis.”

The next day, when Merlin came down to the beach in the morning, Nick, Matthew and Stevie were waiting with their surfboards and Nick explained the basics to him. He didn’t really surf much that day, although his ability to balance well helped tremendously in stepping up onto the board. Afterwards, they spread out their beach towels near the cliffs and Merlin taught them once more, leading them through sun salutations until the boys were sweating and groaning, their arms trembling, before teaching them the standing poses. He finished with the closing postures, grinning when they flopped back down into Savasana, looking exhausted. They had drawn a few spectators, mostly young people who were here on holiday, curiously staring at the strange contortions they performed, and Merlin found himself answering more questions.

The next day, he had seven students, moving through the postures on their beach towels.

“I can’t believe you’re working,” Arthur said that evening, when they were sitting out on their deck with a beer in hand, looking out over the sea as the sun went down, and Merlin told him about his morning in detail.

“Well, you are working, too,” Merlin pointed out, knocking their shoulders together gently.

“I’m doing what I love,” Arthur suggested, taking a sip from his beer. “It doesn’t feel like working.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, clinking his bottle against Arthur’s.

*-*

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin watched Arthur tilt his chin back and draw the razor up his jaw, with a concentrated look on his face, scraping away the last two days’ worth of stubble. He was standing in front of the basin next to Merlin, in nothing but a towel, his hand moving with precision, revealing smooth, tanned skin underneath the foam. Inbetween, he wetted the blade to wash off the foam and hair, before continuing, until he had shaved off every last bit of bristle from his jaw, chin and cheeks.

Merlin turned to look at himself in the mirror, his hand coming up automatically to cup his own jaw, rubbing his fingers along his beard. It was soft and reasonably well groomed, but he’d been wearing it for years now. His hair had grown longer, curling down almost to his shoulders, and together with the beard, it just made him seem so… hairy.

Next to him, Arthur had finished shaving and was wiping a fresh towel over his face, glancing into the mirror to see if he caught every bit. Biting his lip, Merlin let his eyes travel down Arthur’s body. Even after only a couple of days in the Cornish sun - and they had had perfect weather so far - his skin was tanned golden and his fine body hair glinted in the early morning sun, streaming in through the window. Compared to him, Merlin looked like a barbarian, pasty white skin and curly dark hair scattered over his body.

“Do you think I ought to shave off my beard?” he asked, turning back to glance at himself in the mirror once more.

“Hmmm?” Arthur hummed, then turned to him, tilting his head in question.

“Should I shave it off?” Merlin repeated, rubbing his fingers through his beard.

Arthur contemplated him for a moment with squinting eyes before he answered. “I like your beard. It’s soft and you have this turn-of-the-century look going for you, which is really hot. But you look good without it, too.”

“So you’d approve?” Merlin smirked and dropped his hand away from the face. He didn’t wait for Arthur’s confirmation. “Help me get this thing off, then.”

Arthur huffed out a brief laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let me get the electric razor, though,” he grinned, before leaving Merlin standing in the bathroom, still staring at his reflection. Now that he’d suggested it, he could barely wait to have the beard gone.

Arthur returned with the electric razor and clippers that he had invested in a while ago and plugged it in, stepping up behind Merlin, the familiar heat beating off his body, making Merlin feel warm and secure. Arthur made Merlin sit down on the small bathroom stool, before picking up the clippers again. “Are you ready?” he asked expectantly, and Merlin nodded.

He closed his eyes, sighing at the touch of Arthur’s hand, brushing away his curls, before Arthur’s warm fingers reached for his chin, tilting his head. The clippers buzzed, moving smoothly over his skin, the hair from his beard sliding down his chest as it was clipped away.

“Wow,” Arthur said, turning the clippers off, one finger gentle on Merlin’s jaw as he turned his head this way and that. “I always forget how good stubble looks on you. I’m jealous.”

Merlin blinked his eyes open, feeling a little thrill run through him at the sight of his own face. The beard trimmer hadn’t taken away his beard entirely, but had reduced it to stubble, to be removed by a wet shave. It brought out the angular lines of his jaw, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones and the straight bridge of his nose. He thought he looked different, immediately, harsher somehow. He wasn’t quite sure if he liked it.

“Wet shave, next,” Arthur rasped, and put the electric trimmer away, then ran warm tap water over a fresh towel. When he pressed it to Merlin’s face, the heat was welcome, and Merlin sighed, glancing up through his lashes to find Arthur bent over him, a small smile on his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” Arthur asked knowingly, arching a brow, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Obviously,” he replied, putting as much fond mocking in his tone as he could.

Arthur hummed thoughtfully, keeping the towel firmly on Merlin’s face for another minute, before asking Merlin to take over, while he prepared the shaving cream, whisking it gently, with practised movements, in the little shaving bowl. When he applied the lather to Merlin’s face with the soft brush, Merlin closed his eyes, feeling content and cared for. Arthur’s touch was gentle on his face as he tilted Merlin’s head as he scraped away stubble, occasionally rinsing the sharp blade.

“Done,” Arthur said, finally, patting Merlin’s skin dry carefully, before dropping his hands away. Merlin opened his eyes, staring at himself in the mirror. Even more than before, he looked different like this. His mouth twitched as he studied himself, taking in his smooth chin, the fullness of his lips and the little dimple next to his mouth that he had nearly forgotten was there.

“Shit,” Arthur laughed. “I’ve seen you with a clean-shaven face before, but… you’re hot. Like Jim Morrison-hot.”

“I look like I’m fifteen or something,” Merlin said critically, running a hand over his smooth jaw and turning his head to look at himself from all angles. “Just a couple of pimples missing.”

Arthur guffawed, before he turned Merlin around and slid to his knees. “You look nothing like fifteen,” he said, pushing in between Merlin’s legs. He was still just in a towel, and Merlin grinned, letting his hands slide up Arthur’s strong arms.

“No?”

“I definitely wouldn’t want to shag you, if you looked fifteen,” Arthur murmured, and moved forward, between Merlin’s spread thighs.

“Mhmm,” Merlin hummed, delighted with the way Arthur’s eyes roamed over his face in a somewhat hungry way. He smiled when Arthur leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

“Kissing you feels… different. But awesome,” Arthur confessed when he drew back, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Yeah?” Merlin enquired, biting his lip and hoping his expression was unsubtle enough to indicate that he would very much enjoy being kissed some more.

It probably was, because Arthur snorted out a laugh, but instead of moving in for another kiss, he pushed to his feet, extending a hand to pull Merlin up. “Aftershave lotion first,” he said, and patted Merlin’s cheek.

“Right, I forgot that having to shave is hard work,” Merlin sighed, wondering if he was going to regret his decision. But, if it bugged him too much, he could always grow the beard again.

“I’ll help you,” Arthur said lightly as he rummaged on the shelf for the lotion he used on his face, to avoid ingrown hairs and to smooth the skin. “I don’t mind.”

“That’s an incentive,” Merlin grinned, and slid his arms around Arthur from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

*-*

By week three, they had settled into their comfortable routine. In the morning, while Arthur slept, Merlin went down to the beach to meet the surfer boys, braving the waves on the board Stevie lent him every day. Afterwards, he taught yoga on the main beach. There were some regulars who came every morning, but in addition, their little group was attracting all kinds of young people who were on holiday, and sometimes, someone on their morning walk would join in, spontaneously.

“Oh wow,” Arthur said one morning, when he came down to the beach, having forsaken his long lie-in for a morning swim, “you have quite the congregation here.”

“You could help me?” Merlin pointed out, gently correcting a posture on one of the locals, who dropped in most mornings on his dogwalk, smoothing out the man’s tense shoulders.

“Nah,” Arthur snorted, shaking his head. “I’m not a teacher and also, I’m on holiday.”

“Just put down your towel and do a demonstration then,” Merlin said pleadingly, “so I can give hands-on help with poses.” If he could advise everyone to look at Arthur, he wouldn’t need to perform the poses himself and would have more time to go around and help those who were struggling to follow. While Merlin’s group of surfer friends had become quite adept at some poses already, naturally having a certain athleticism and balance, Arthur’s form was much better. He’d been doing yoga with Merlin for months now.

Arthur grumbled a little, but spread out his beach towel and joined in, by now easily following Merlin’s verbal instructions.

“Thank you,” Merlin said softly when he passed, briefly pressing a hand to Arthur’s lower back to remind him of his Mula Bandha.

“You’re lucky I love you, Piper,” Arthur whispered back, grinning as he visibly pulled his navel in to correct his posture.

While Arthur took a swim after his Savasana, with several of the other yogis, shouting with excitement as they ran for the waves, Merlin settled on his towel and answered questions. He had decided to not collect a fee, offering ‘Free Yoga on the Beach’, but sometimes, people wanted to thank him by bringing little gifts, ranging from fresh fruit and home-baked treats, to invitations for dinner or books they thought he might enjoy. Most of all, people wanted to talk, like they did after his regular classes in London. While teaching on the beach was amazing in its own right, he missed the familiar, comfortable practice room at home, where he usually served hot tea made with herbs from their own herb garden afterwards. Even though they had made the cottage their home for the holidays, Merlin missed their little flat above the shop, with its many plants, old-fashioned kitchen and its mismatched, but comfortable furniture.

“Yes, I'll be here tomorrow, same time. Yes, every day. I’ll teach as long as someone is here,” Merlin reassured two new students, a young couple from Camden, smiling when they shook his hand, before walking off with a promise to return tomorrow.

“You need to hand out flyers for your classes in London,” said Nick, who was a graphic designer in an advertising agency. He was stretched out on his towel, slathering his long, pale limbs with suncream. Despite his efforts, his skin wasn’t any more tanned, but at least he wasn’t getting sunburnt as often. Looking at Nick’s already red, glowing shoulders, Merlin was glad that, while he was naturally pale, his skin took on a healthy hue in the sun and wasn’t prone to burn. “All these people every morning, half of them are from London anyway. This is excellent advertising,” Nick continued conversationally, applying another thick, oily layer of Ambre Solaire. Nick and Matthew, who lived in London, had already expressed a wish to continue their yoga journey in Merlin’s classes.

“You think so?” Merlin wondered, looking after the young couple as they walked down the beach, hands clasped and swinging between them, talking excitedly. “I’m not even sure I can teach so many classes. So far, people have learned about my classes mostly by word-of-mouth. I only have one room and I have a full-time job, besides teaching.”

“You said you had a friend who’s teaching your classes right now. He could do more classes, too,” Nick pointed out quietly, absentmindedly scratching at a scab on his shins.

“Yeah, Gwaine.” Merlin reached up and rubbed a hand over his jaw, briefly surprised at the smooth skin he found there. He still wasn’t yet used to his beardless chin, and the habit of rubbing his beard was hard to get rid of. Nick’s suggestion had merit, if there was more demand for lessons. If Gwaine taught regularly, he could double the classes offered. Some of his students had expressed a wish for another schedule and the evening sessions, especially, were getting a bit crowded on several days of the week, so maybe Gwaine teaching was a solution.

“Seriously,” Nick continued, “you need those flyers. I can draw something up later today and we can go into town to find a copy machine. Think about it like this: if you teach enough classes, you might even be able to stop working your full time job.”

“... it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Merlin said, frowning as he thought about the apothecary and its declining profits. Over the past couple of days, he had pushed the problem away, enjoying the sun, the surfing and Arthur’s company. “But I won’t say no, if you want to help me with flyers.”

“Excellent,” Nick grinned, wiping his oily hands on his towel. “Fingers are already itching to draw something. Maybe you could do some wicked pose, something impressive looking, and I’ll draw that for the flyer?”

This time, Merlin’s nose curled with slight distaste. “Yoga isn’t about looking impressive.”

Nick laughed out loud. “I know. Humour me then. For advertising. People will not want to do yoga for Savasana. They want to do yoga for the cool stuff, for like… headstands, or Tittibhasana. I know I did.”

Merlin was quite impressed that Nick had remembered the name of the poses, but then again, Nick was one of his most attentive and also enthusiastic students here in Cornwall, so he relented. “All right. Come up to my cottage after lunch. You can draw some poses and then we can drive into town. I promised Arthur I’d go looking for fresh tomatoes anyway: he wants to make lentil lasagna. You could stay for dinner, if you’d like. I’m sure Arthur would enjoy the company.”

“What about me?” Arthur said, having returned from his swim, water droplets clinging to his sun-tanned skin and glueing his hair, dark-blonde and water-lagged, to his skull. He reached up, and vigorously rubbed a hand through his hair, messing up the strands and showering Merlin with salt-water droplets.

“I just invited Nick for dinner tonight, and I thought we’d ask Stevie and Matt to come, too.”

“I’ll make lasagna, if you finally go into town and stock up on food,” Arthur grinned and stepped closer, purposefully dropping more water onto Merlin’s sun-heated skin by shaking out his hair, like a dog, above him. “Otherwise, it’s potatoes with salt and butter, for the second night in a row.”

“Oi!” Merlin complained, shuddering at the cold drops.

Nick laughed at their antics. “I’ll drop by around two, so you’d better think about those poses you want me to draw.” When he saw Arthur’s slightly confused expression, he added, “We’re making flyers. For Merlin’s lessons in London. So he can hand them out here.”

Arthur looked surprised for a moment, but then his face brightened. “That’s a great idea,” he said, settling down, cross legged, onto the towel next to Merlin, still dripping water everywhere. His skin was cool to the touch when their arms brushed together, and Merlin shuddered, leaning away a little.

Stevie and Matthew returned from their swim as well, smiling and excited like two young puppies.

“Dinner at Merlin’s, tonight,” Nick said, in lieu of a greeting, as they threw themselves onto their towels. “Arthur is cooking.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Matt asked, rubbing himself down with his shirt.

“That’s me,” Arthur grinned, and Merlin was briefly overcome with a fierce wave of affection and lust at his boyish grin and handsome smile. It didn’t help that Arthur was easily the most beautiful man anywhere they went, and it was especially apparent when he was wearing nothing but swim shorts and water droplets. While Merlin relied on yoga to keep himself strong and limber, Arthur had never given up on his army training regime, and it showed in his strong arms, broad chest and abs.

“You haven’t seen him so far, because he’s a recluse and a lazybones, who likes to sleep in,” Merlin said teasingly, yelping when Arthur poked him in the side with a too-cold finger.

“I’m a writer, and I’m actually here for work, unlike this dollophead here,” Arthur protested, sticking out his tongue at Merlin, who laughed in delight at the weird insult.

“What do you write?” Nick asked curiously, turning on his own towel to face Arthur.

“Everything,” Arthur said lightly and shrugged, picking up an apple that one of the girls who had participated in class today had left behind as a thank you. He looked at it critically, before polishing it on the edge of Merlin’s towel, then bit into it. It was so juicy that he sprayed Merlin with apple juice.

“We’re here, because Arthur wants to finish the novel he’s working on,” Merlin clarified, wiping some apple juice from his kneecap. “I’m just tagging along.” He enjoyed the way Arthur flushed a little, like he always did when Merlin mentioned his serious writing projects in front of others. Despite his recent successes with newspapers offering him spots for articles, Merlin knew that Arthur still felt inadequate as a writer. Even after over two years of knowing Arthur, Merlin still hadn’t met his estranged father, Uther Pendragon, but he knew of Uther’s very strict views about Arthur’s passion for writing; thinking it not worthwhile, nor an honest occupation. It pained Merlin that Arthur couldn’t see how talented and brilliant he was.

“That’s awesome,” Stevie commented, leaning forward on his towel, his interest piqued. He was a philosophy student from Newcastle, who had met Matthew and Nick here in Cornwall while surfing. “What’s it about?”

Arthur took another giant bite from his apple thoughtfully, then cleared his throat.

“Here we go,” Merlin said fondly, watching as Arthur became animated, his eyes lighting up as he relayed the plot of his new novel to Stevie, who was listening attentively. Soon they were caught up in an earnest discussion about artificial intelligence, which frankly was too complicated for Merlin to follow. It seemed Arthur had found his match in Steve though.

“Your friend is amazing,” Nick said, fondly rolling his eyes when Stevie went off on a long monologue about ethics, for once having an appreciative audience in Arthur. Merlin could practically see his boyfriend’s clever brain soak up everything Stevie laid out for him. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, smiling at the way Arthur’s hands were moving as he explained something to Stevie in return, who was nodding along, a concentrated little frown on his face.

*-*

“I always thought surfer boys were dimwits,” Arthur said conversationally, as he took a sip from his beer, his legs comfortably crossed at the ankles and propped up on the railing of the veranda, as he looked out into the darkness. A little earlier, Stevie, Nick, Matt and the girl Matt had picked up a couple of days ago, had left, giggling and falling all over each other as they made their way down the hill by the light of two, battery-powered torches. “Now I see that’s a prejudice, like so many other things we are taught to believe.”

He held one of the hand-drawn flyers, which Nick had put together that afternoon, showing a stylised Merlin in lotus seat. “This is great,” Arthur commented, carefully putting the flyer down on the table. “You should hand out flyers in London, too.”

“Admit it, when I first told you I was being taught to surf, you thought I would lose my last remaining brain cell,” Merlin teased, comfortably leaning into Arthur’s side on the sofa they had dragged outside, so they would have enough space to sit for everyone. He dropped his head onto Arthur’s shoulder, twisting his neck to look up at Arthur’s clean-shaven face, glowing faintly orange in the light of the candles they had distributed on the wooden railing.

“I’m very fond of that brain cell, yes. I feared it would be battered to death by the waves and washed away with saltwater, and the sea would return to me nothing but an empty husk - pretty, but vapid,” Arthur said, his mouth tugging into a smile.

“That’s very poetic,” Merlin murmured. “You should take up writing professionally.”

Arthur chortled a laugh that shook his whole body. “Oh man,” he said when he had recovered, but still a bit breathlessly, “I fear it’s already gone.”

“I was trying to be funny,” Merlin protested mildly and knocked his elbow into Arthur’s side. “Idiot.”

They were quiet for a bit, listening to the sound of the rolling waves, creeping up the shore and breaking against the cliffs in the distance.

“I love it here,” Merlin whispered. “I’m glad we came.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, his voice just as low, sounding satisfied. “I could spend all my time here. Just you, me, the sea, my little writing table looking out towards the sea… I thought my next book could be about water. About a water planet, maybe. Or a people, living on the sea, who have never set foot on land.”

Smiling, Merlin took the beer bottle from Arthur’s hands and took a sip. “You are already planning your next book? That’s amazing.” He loved to hear about Arthur’s ideas, loved how they crept up on him and made him so excited and happy.

“I’ll be the first person to die with forty unpublished books in my writing desk,” Arthur said, but he didn’t sound too despondent about it.

“That’s nonsense,” Merlin said, handing the bottle back to Arthur.

“But this place here - it’s perfect for writing,” Arthur murmured. “I enjoy not having to go to uni and get distracted by classes and exams. It’s so much quieter. It gives my brain more space, somehow. I wish we could stay here for longer.”

They were going back at the end of August, but Arthur’s autumn term didn’t really start until the end of September. “You could stay a bit longer,” Merlin suggested. “I need to go back, but you could tag on a couple of weeks.”

Violently, Arthur shook his head. “No. I’d go mad, alone. I’d totally lose myself in a funk. I’d probably never get out of bed in the morning, and then I would starve to death, sitting at my writing desk, because I forgot to eat. No, you must be my voice of reason.” He turned his head slightly to squint at Merlin in the candle light. “Besides, you’re going to need help this autumn, whatever you decide about the apothecary.”

Groaning, Merlin buried his face into Arthur’s shoulder. “God, let’s not talk about that. I’ve been successfully not thinking about that problem for a while now. Thanks for bringing it up again.”

With a clang, Arthur put the bottle down on the table and shifted, pulling one leg up as he turned to face Merlin and reaching under his arms to pull his slumped-over form upright. “Ahhh,” he said in a chiding tone, “you could have told me outright that you wanted some distraction.”

Merlin snorted and rubbed his face against Arthur’s arm, before raising his gaze so their eyes met. His boyfriend was grinning, eyebrows drawn upwards in a teasing bow, and Arthur reached out, tilting Merlin’s chin up.

“Oh, you,” Arthur said fondly, and then leaned in, gently pressing their mouths together.

Merlin exhaled a sigh against Arthur’s lips and reached up to curl his hands around Arthur’s neck, pulling him closer. Arthur’s mouth was soft, despite being slightly chapped, and when Merlin deepened the kiss, angling his head to the side, Arthur rumbled out a soft groan that raised the fine hair at the back of Merlin’s neck.

“Mhmmm,” Arthur hummed encouragingly, when Merlin pulled him into his lap, settling himself comfortably, his welcome, familiar weight resting on top of Merlin’s thighs and his hands pressed against Merlin’s chest. For a while they kissed, soft and comfortable, until those soft kisses turned more urgent, and Arthur was gasping against Merlin’s mouth, his fingers digging into Merlin’s t-shirt. Merlin slid his hands underneath Arthur’s loose shirt and brushed them up the smooth, muscular line of his back, then down again, towards the waistband of Arthur’s shorts. He spread his fingers around the curve of Arthur’s arse, delighted in the hitch of Arthur’s hips, reacting to his firm touch.

“Yeah,” Arthur breathed softly, and sucked Merlin’s tongue into his mouth until it almost hurt. With a protesting laugh, Merlin drew back and urged Arthur to get up, reaching for his hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmured, and picked up one of the candles, leaning down to blow out the others. Arthur followed his example, and when they had extinguished all the candles except the one in Merlin’s hand, Merlin drew Arthur inside through the screen door and the darkened cabin, towards their small bedroom. He placed the candle on the nightstand and pushed Arthur down onto the bed, laughing at the protesting squeak of the bedsprings.

Arthur was already impatiently struggling out of his clothes, and Merlin stepped back to watch him, enjoying the way the candle light bathed Arthur’s golden skin with stark angles and softer curves. Arthur’s hair was standing up where his t-shirt had tousled the dark blonde strands, and his chest was rising and falling with his accelerated breath, his pink mouth dropped open, eyes sparkling and softly sleepy.

Merlin didn’t consider himself much of a poet - he left that to Arthur - but if required, he would be able to rhapsodise quite thoroughly on the wonders of Arthur’s body, and what it inspired in him. “You’re gorgeous,” was what he settled on saying, and enjoyed the slight blush that crept over Arthur’s face.

He wanted to touch, wanted to reach out and smooth his hands over Arthur’s skin, but more than that, he wanted to keep looking. “Wait here,” he murmured as inspiration struck, and despite Arthur’s slightly confused gaze, he went back outside and picked up the rest of the candles, lighting them one by one from the one they had brought inside earlier, then placing them strategically around the room: on the other nightstand, the dresser, on a little shelf above the bed that held books and one of the potted plants Merlin hadn’t been able to leave at the store last week.

Arthur was watching him with curious eyes, his teeth dug deeply into his bottom lip. When Merlin was finished, Arthur shifted on the bed, reaching for him.

Merlin shook his head, quirking his lips in a smile. “No. I want to watch. Then I’m going to wreck you.”

Arthur’s brows drew upwards, but he laughed. “You want to watch? You mean… watch watch?”

“Watch watch,” Merlin confirmed, letting his eyes skim over Arthur’s naked form. “Watch you touch yourself. Play with yourself.”

At his quiet words, a visible shiver travelled through Arthur’s body. “O-okay,” he breathed, sounding quite dry-mouthed. He wetted his lips, before he skimmed one hand slowly down his chest, almost hesitantly so, his wide eyes on Merlin. “I’m not sure I’m good at that…” he added, sounding almost a bit nervous.

“Oh, I’m quite sure you’re amazing,” Merlin answered, “but if you want, I can give you instructions.”

Arthur’s breath hitched and he laughed again, his hand travelling over his chest. He shuddered when his fingers brushed a nipple and he licked his lips again. “Yes, yes, I think that would be… a good idea.”

“Perfect,” Merlin murmured, and grinning, he crouched down next to the bed, so he was eye level with Arthur. “Then skim your hands down your stomach. Slowly. Take your time.”

Arthur’s eyes didn’t leave his, but his hand moved, as instructed, skimming his palm downwards in increments, fingers tangling in the fine, blonde curls of his body hair. He hissed when his cock, already rising proudly from its nest of tawny pubic hair, bumped against his fingers.

Biting his bottom lip, Merlin let his eyes drop down to where Arthur’s fingers were splayed on his lower belly, twitching with anticipation, much like his cock. “Now, trail your fingers up your cock. I want you to do it very, very lightly.”

Arthur’s breath was speeding up considerably, but he did what Merlin had demanded, his fingers shaking a little, drawing a path from the base of his cock up the rigid length of it.

“Less pressure,” Merlin murmured, his eyes glued to the hypnotic slide of Arthur’s elegant, long fingers.

A frustrated hiss left Arthur’s lips, but he didn’t protest, doing as he was told. Beneath his hand, his cock jumped slightly, as if it was rising up to meet him.

“Stroke back your foreskin, but… just like before… gently,” Merlin said, his own voice having become quite breathy and low.

With a moan, Arthur dug his head back into the pillow, his eyes falling closed as he tugged down his foreskin, the crown of his cock protruding from the folds, flushed and damp.

“I want you to only touch yourself there. Play with your foreskin, touch your slit, rub your glands. No fucking your hand, no firm grip. Just… keep it… soft.”

“Oh fuck,” Arthur whimpered. “When you said you wanted me to touch myself I thought…” he trailed off, another hitch in his breath when his index finger rubbed over his slit.

“Shhh,” Merlin murmured, and laid a finger on Arthur’s lips, excited by the desperate breath that escaped Arthur at the gesture.

Groaning, Arthur did as he was told, stroking himself slowly, with barely-there touches. It was beautiful, Merlin thought, watching his broad fingertips sliding gently over the tip of his cock, while the rest of his body trembled. Exhaling slowly, Merlin pushed himself to his knees and started to undress himself. Arthur’s eyes opened, alerted by his movement, looking at him, half-lidded and a little glassy, already. He didn’t ask how long Merlin wanted him to continue, didn’t demand anything, following Merlin’s orders, even while his body clearly wanted more.

“So good,” Merlin praised him, as he tossed his own shirt on the floor behind him, rewarding Arthur with a press of his lips to his hitching stomach, delighted when Arthur moaned, low and desperate. He could tell Arthur was getting close despite, or maybe because of, the deliberately slow touch, his cock straining, impossibly hard, foreskin drawn back completely. A drop of clear liquid had collected at the tip of Arthur’s cock, and Merlin reached for Arthur’s wrists, drawing his hands away, pressing them into the bed by Arthur’s side.

When he leaned down, Arthur shifted, his hips moving upwards. “Please,” Arthur whispered, and he sounded much like Merlin had wanted him to sound - close to desperation. Merlin bent down, ghosting his breath over the heated tip of Arthur’s cock, then gently touched his tongue to the tip, licking up the drop that had formed there. Beneath him, Arthur shook, and thrust upward, his cock bumping into the underside of Merlin’s chin. “Merlin!” he pleaded.

Unable to keep himself from grinning at the annoyed desperation in Arthur’s voice, Merlin leaned back down and trailed his tongue around the crown once, smirking when Arthur all but howled.

“You fiend,” Arthur gasped when Merlin drew back. He was glaring, which was way too amusing. “Oh God, you enjoy torturing me. You’re a sadist.”

“Oh please,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes, but he kept Arthur’s hands pressed firmly to his side. “Just for that, I’m taking away your right to touch yourself,” he grinned.

“Right?” Arthur blurted out, mock enraged. “It’s a bloody privilege! You, getting to watch me.”

They both chortled a bit at that, before Merlin leaned down for a hard kiss, his hands coming to rest on Arthur’s thighs. “Now spread your legs and let me be real nice to you, love,” he said when he drew back, enjoying how Arthur’s expression was both rewardingly breathless, and slightly annoyed, at once.

“Promises,” Arthur huffed out, but his eyes turned hazy with arousal again, and he was pliant and complying when Merlin pushed between his legs and pulled Arthur’s thighs over his own. Merlin had fetched the slick from the nightstand earlier, and now he coated his fingers, before bringing them between Arthur’s legs, biting his lip as he rubbed his finger gently over Arthur’s entrance.

Arthur made a low sound of encouragement, shifting on the bed and letting his legs fall further apart, but Merlin kept up his gentle touch, enjoying the way Arthur’s rim twitched beneath the ministration of his fingers. He dipped his fingertip inside occasionally, but mostly kept up his tender rubbing, until Arthur was squirming. One look confirmed that his boyfriend was flushed all the way down to his stomach now, a frantic red that spread from his face down his throat and over his chest. “Merlin,” Arthur groaned, pushing down against his finger.

Grinning at Arthur’s impatience and slight distress, Merlin took pity on him, opening him up on his thumbs, pressing them inside. The sudden intrusion made Arthur thrash, but he caught himself quickly. “For fuck’s sake,” he murmured, “are you trying to kill me?”

“With kindness,” Merlin wisecracked, and Arthur responded by shooting him a dirty look, from wide-blown eyes. Merlin slid out his thumbs before returning with two fingers of his right hand, reaching deep, enjoying Arthur’s long, drawn-out groan.

“Yes,” Arthur whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut, fair lashes resting on his flushed cheeks.

With a soft sigh of contentment, Merlin searched with his fingertips for the slight change in texture that indicated Arthur’s prostate, rubbing until he had found it and Arthur was shuddering. He continued to assault the small patch, pressing and rubbing, listening to the whimpering noises falling from Arthur’s lips. When Arthur’s hand crept down to his neglected cock, rising sharply to rest against his stomach, Merlin reached out with his other hand and stilled him.

“No,” he said, softly but determined. For a moment, he thought Arthur would protest, but he just hissed through his teeth and gripped the bedspread instead.

It was perfect watching him like that, listening to the way his breathing changed. Arthur’s eyes were tightly shut by now, and his body was trembling with every brush of Merlin’s fingers, skin highlighted by the glow of the candles around them. Another wicked idea struck Merlin, and he groaned softly, before removing his fingers, wiping them on the bedspread.

“Wh…” Arthur enquired, pushing himself up on his elbows, his eyes flying open, then widening, when he saw Merlin get up and reach for one of the long, dining room candles in the candle holder. Merlin blew out the candle, then turned it over, careful to not touch the still hot end.

When he turned back towards the bed, Arthur seemed struck speechless at the implication, but as Merlin stepped closer, Arthur gave a short nod of consent, his pink mouth dropped open, breath coming fast. He dropped back down on the pillow with a huff, one arm coming up to cover his burning face. His legs were trembling when Merlin got back on the bed, but he whined low in his throat at the first touch of the cool end of the candle, pressing against his pucker.

Merlin pressed the candle inside, listening to Arthur’s gulping breaths, angling it where he had rubbed his prostate earlier. He could reach it better like this, even though he couldn’t feel the spot he was aiming for. It didn’t matter - by now, Arthur’s prostate was sensitive to any touch and, as expected, a jolt ran through his body when Merlin found the right place.

“No touching,” he hoarsely reminded Arthur, who made a low sound of protest, but was already too lost to the sensation of Merlin jabbing the candle end firmly against his prostate.

Biting his lips, Merlin’s eyes flickered between where the candle end slid easily into Arthur’s body, Arthur’s face, half-hidden behind his arm, and the way his cock was swaying on his body, pumped full of blood, twitching with arousal. While Arthur’s left arm was slung over his eyes, his right was gripping the bedspread, knuckles white. Merlin listened to Arthur’s increasingly loud noises, applying more pressure as Arthur’s voice rose, until he was moaning on every stroke of the candle over his prostate.

When he was sure that Arthur was close, Merlin reached out with his left hand, trailing his fingers up Arthur’s length like he had told Arthur to do earlier, and circled his exposed, wet crown gently with his fingers. With a shout, Arthur convulsed, toes curling, cock jumping, as a small amount of clear fluid dripped down his length onto his heaving stomach. “Fuck,” Arthur cursed, gripping the bedsheets, “fuck.”

Slowly, Merlin pulled out the candle, surprised when Arthur reached for him immediately, with shaking fingers, tugging him forward and between his legs. “Come on,” Arthur said, hoarsely, “come on,” his hands frantic as they slid over Merlin’s shoulders and into his hair, pulling him down. Arthur kissed him sloppily, his mouth wet and soft and impatient. “I need your cock,” he murmured between kisses, shifting underneath Merlin. “And your hand on mine,” he added shakily.

Arthur’s words were like a punch to his stomach, making Merlin feel his own arousal. He reached down between them and guided his cock to Arthur’s wet opening, sliding into his warm heat with a groan. Arthur’s fingers clutched at his shoulders fiercely, his fingernails pinpricks of pain. He let out a low, satisfied groan when Merlin entered him, but his voice was soon rising again, as he gasped and moaned whenever Merlin thrust forward. Arthur’s body was like a vice, clutching him tightly, and Merlin dropped his forehead against Arthur’s, listening to the noises he made, sucking in breaths desperately.

It was brief and wild and explosive, and Arthur’s hands clutched desperately at Merlin’s moving buttocks, hips pressing upward. He came with a guttural groan, falling apart beneath Merlin so beautifully, without even a touch of Merlin’s hands, and Merlin followed, coming violently, until the rush subsided and his mind blanked.

When he came to, he was cradled to Arthur’s chest, and Arthur was carding his hands through his hair.

“Bloody hell, now that was delightfully filthy and nasty,” Arthur murmured, when Merlin managed to raise his head. He was saying it so matter of factly, that Merlin broke into laughter, unable to help himself. He dropped his head down again, to bury his face against Arthur’s sweaty, hot neck, enjoying the way Arthur joined him in laughing, his rumbling laugh jostling him.

“You are going to throw away that candle,” Arthur said, once he had calmed down.

With a blinding grin, Merlin lifted his head. “Are you suggesting I throw away my cock, too?”

Arthur made a disgusted noise and clubbed him over the side of the head. “Ge’off me,” he huffed, mock-affronted, pushing at Merlin’s sweaty body. With a groan, Merlin rolled off him and flopped over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling where the flickering light from the candles painted it in warm, yellow shadows. When he looked sideways, Arthur was still grinning, a sex stupid, glowing expression on his sweaty face.

“Love you, too,” Merlin murmured, and turned onto his side, breathing in the scent of Arthur’s skin, the salt of the ocean and fresh sweat.

“Yeah,” Arthur whispered, eyes glittering in the candle light.

*-*

The days passed quickly, gifting them with beautiful, balmy weather and just the occasional quick shower of rain. Arthur was making excellent head-way on his novel, satisfied with his progress, lost in a rush of creativity. By now, their schedules had diverged quite a bit: while Merlin was getting up early to go down to the beach for a surf and yoga, Arthur slept in, exhausted from his late night writing sessions. More often than not, Merlin had to forcefully drag him away from his writing table. He was in the last stages of his novel and he often stayed up late into the night, typing outside on the veranda by the light of a nightstand lamp, wrapped in a wool blanket against the evening chill, the clack-clack-clack of his typewriter coming in through the open window, lulling Merlin to sleep.

Merlin prided himself that he was still able to lure Arthur away from his writing desk for the occasional hangout. Nick’s, Stevie’s and Matt’s summer holiday was nearing its end, and Merlin spent a lot of time with the trio, which was occasionally supplemented by some of the boys’ summer flings or other holiday-makers they had met. On the last weekend before Stevie went back to Newcastle, they threw a big party on the beach that started in the early evening, but was supposed to last into the night. Stevie would leave the coming Tuesday, with Nick and Matt going back to London on Friday next.

Social as they were, Stevie, Nick and Matt had racked up an amazing number of friends, both other people on holiday and locals, in the few weeks they had stayed in Cornwall. Several of Merlin’s yoga students had come to say goodbye, too, and because everyone brought something, there was plenty of food and drink. Matt, who turned out to be a bit of a boy scout, had lit a bonfire with the help of a local farmer who rented out rooms where the boys were staying. A girl had brought a battery powered radio, and the sound of Radio North Sea International drifted in the background of every conversation.

Merlin had been able to convince Arthur to leave his typewriter alone for the night, and they sat on the beach in the still warm sand, eating sandwiches, breadsticks and salad and listening to Stevie entertain the crowd with stories of his adventures surfing in Hawaii last summer. “It was so expensive getting there. I will need to work a lot, to ever afford it again,” Stevie sighed, at the end of his tale about braving the often 25 feet high waves at Makaha.

“Cornish waves will never be that exciting, I guess,” Matt agreed with a look of longing on his narrow, pimply face.

“You can get 25 foot waves here, too,” Nick pointed out, “only, it’s a bit more dangerous surfing here, with so many rocks.”

“I wouldn’t go out there in those conditions,” Stevie agreed, tossing a nearby piece of driftwood into the fire. “The weather is very different.”

“I was considering getting a wetsuit for next season,” Nick mused. “Keeps you warm, so you can really surf all year round.”

“Expensive,” Matt pointed out, waving his beer bottle around. “I’m in need of a new board next season, better start saving for that.” He was sipping on his fourth beer, and the way he was slightly slurring his words was an indication that he was rapidly approaching true drunkenness.

“About that,” Nick said, and turned towards Merlin, a grin stealing onto his face. “We’ve decided that you, Merlin, need your own board. We’re going home next week, but you’re staying until the end of August.”

“I couldn’t afford a board, I fear,” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose. “I heard they were about thirty quid, that’s more than I make in a month.”

“I know a bloke in Newquay, where I surfed last summer. He makes boards in his backyard for less than half of that, if he likes you. And we’ve been kind of collecting from the yoga regulars behind your back. Everybody wanted to give something, even some of the drop-ins. They feel grateful. You’ll find that you’re more than halfway to your own surfboard.”

“What?” Merlin said, jumping to his feet. “Are you insane?”

“Oh, come on, it’s only fair that we give something back. Mrs Peters tossed a whole quid in there, man. That lady is mostly here to ogle your bum, but at least she’s paying for it.”

Slowly, Merlin sank back down on his towel. “Oh man,” he said, wiping a hand over his face, feeling a little confused when he didn’t find his beard there.

Nick snorted out booming laughter, and slapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “What do you say, we take a day trip to Newquay on Monday? I can call ahead. Bill owes me a favour.”

Merlin took a deep breath, a little overwhelmed. The answer was clear though. “Yes,” he said. “Okay.”

“Arthur?” Nick called, getting the attention of Arthur who was now deep in a conversation about human rights and the need for change in the treatment of the gays, with a girl from south London, a topic very dear to Arthur’s heart. “Day trip to Newquay on Monday? We’re getting Merlin a surfboard.”

“You’re getting a surfboard?” Arthur asked, looking at Merlin with arched eyebrows.

“Apparently?” Merlin said, and flushed a bit, strangely concerned about whether Arthur would approve or not.

“I can see it,” Arthur nodded, smiling a little. “Suits you well.”

Relieved, Merlin exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Arthur’s opinion meant a lot, and also, he would be spending hard-earned money, they desperately needed, on an indulgence. He felt like he had wanted to discuss it, but Nick had been faster.

Merlin didn’t get to ponder about it more, because one of the local boys had brought a guitar and had started to play a rather brilliant version of ‘The Times they are a-changin’, while someone else handed out spliffs like candy. It was turning into that kind of party.

Later, when Merlin had enough of the food and the beer and the smoke and the conversation at the bonfire, he and Arthur strolled down the long beach in the dark, in the direction of the town. The sand was still warm, and the light from the moon was brilliant enough that they could see where they were stepping. They bypassed another couple lying on a towel in the sand, unmistakably caught up in each other, and kept walking. The sounds of Gordon Lightfoot’s ‘If you could read my mind’, drifted towards them from the bonfire. Merlin took a look over his shoulder, making sure that they had been swallowed up by the darkness, before reaching for Arthur’s hand.

“I meant to talk to you about the surfboard,” he said, “but Nick just blurted it all out.”

Arthur’s low chuckle was scratchy, the way it got when he was smoking. “It’s all right. I like that for you. I like watching you on a board. You look good on it. Right.” he added, “Like you belong. Just like when you’re doing yoga. You are a very physical man, so surfing suits you.”

“I didn’t know you saw me,” Merlin said, surprised, turning to look at Arthur’s face in the pale light of the moon.

Arthur laughed again and gave a gentle squeeze to Merlin’s fingers. “Yeah, you wouldn’t know. You’re so caught up, out there in the waves.”

Merlin hummed thoughtfully. “It’s just… I guess even with Nick’s friend-discount, it’s still a lot of money. And where would I use it?”

Arthur stopped and turned, his smile visible even in the dark because of the moonlight glinting off his teeth. “I heard there are spots to surf in Kent and Sussex. You could go down to Brighton, or anywhere on the coast, for a weekend trip.” He paused, before adding, almost hesitantly, “And we can also come back here.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as well, at Arthur’s soft suggestion. Already he felt a yearning for this place, and they weren’t even gone yet. London, and its chaotic traffic, noise and pollution, seemed far away. “We can come back here.”

Arthur looked at him for a long moment, before he leaned down, pecking a quick kiss on Merlin’s lips. “I wish we could stay here for longer. I could write from here. You could teach,” he mused softly, his voice holding the same kind of longing that tugged at Merlin’s heart.

The words hung in the air between them. “The shop…” Merlin said hesitantly.

They were silent for a bit, the only sounds their quiet breathing, and the rolling of the waves. The bonfire had been left far behind them and ahead, around the curve of the cliff, the lights of the town had become visible. Arthur pulled Merlin with him onto the sand, but didn’t let go of his hand.

“I still have uni,” Arthur said, “and there’s the student group and the literary circle and all our friends in London. And of course I’ll help you in the shop, if that’s what you want. But maybe, over the summer holidays, or in a couple of years…” he trailed off.

“I’d love to,” Merlin whispered, rubbing his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles. Once more, silence descended, while Merlin’s brain was doing summersaults. Fear gripped him, as thoughts came to the forefront of his mind, until he felt like he would burst with them if he didn’t share them, even if sharing them filled him with anxiety. It was making his traitorous thoughts just more real.

“I think I want to give up the apothecary,” he said finally, his heart hammering loudly, a little sick in his stomach for having said it out loud.

Arthur exhaled long and loud, but when he turned to Merlin, there was a small smile on his face. “Yes,” he said, sounding unsurprised. “I figured you would want to do that.”

“Not really give up the shop, entirely,” Merlin hastened to explain. “I’d rather concentrate on the things we make that no one else does anymore. The things we can sell, that all these new chemists don’t. The tea and herbal mixes; the creams and soaps. Natural remedies and beauty treatments. All that, and the yoga classes. Just not the pharmacy. I don’t want to be a pharmacist.”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Arthur offered. “And you could concentrate on your yoga classes some more. Nick would help you with advertisements. He already said so.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, digging his fingers into the sand by his hip, enjoying the feel of the soft grains between his fingers. “Yes. This. … The studio could be a place for holistic healing. Just, it might mean more work for less income. At least for a while, and I know we’re tight on money anywa-”

His nervous mumbling was interrupted by Arthur’s steady hand on his knee. “We can make do. I can write more articles.”

“You should work on your novels,” Merlin protested.

“I don’t mind,” Arthur said, his fingers gently stroking Merlin’s naked kneecap. “I’ll take on more journalistic work, if needed.”

“I know you’re not too keen on that.”

Snorting, Arthur shook his head. “Nah, I made my peace with that. I think I’d rather be like Jack London. He was both a dreamer and a pragmatist. He wrote because he loved it, and he wrote because he wanted to put food on the table.”

“Wasn’t he also an adventurer?” Merlin asked, thinking he remembered reading about London sailing the South Pacific, in an article in one of the men’s magazines that Arthur wrote for.

“The biggest adventurer,” Arthur confirmed, a bit of admiration swinging in his voice. “Took part in the Yukon gold rush. Was an oyster pirate, back home in San Francisco. Sailed half the world. Correspondent in several wars. Pity he drank himself to death.”

Once more they were silent. Next to Merlin, Arthur’s breath came steady and familiar, like the rolling of the waves. “We’re doing fine, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, and turned, wrapping his legs around Merlin from behind and pulling him against his chest, resting his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, as they gazed out at the moonlit water. “And soon, we’re coming back here, okay? Or maybe, we go on to other adventures. Go see the world. I still want you to show me India. And maybe… maybe if we’re lucky and we have some more money, we go to Hawaii and you surf those 25 foot waves.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said quietly, his voice thick. His heart was swelling with the familiar feeling of love, of acceptance, of partnership. He thought back on the start of their holiday, when Arthur had wondered whether Merlin wouldn’t have preferred going to India for his studies. The decision to come with Arthur to Cornwall instead had been easy, not only because it was where Arthur was, but also, because he wanted to give Arthur his support. Hearing he had Arthur’s support in return, made him feel choked up.

“We should make some trips in the next two weeks,” Arthur suggested softly, his breath brushing warmly against the shell of Merlin’s ear, as he nuzzled his face into his hair. “I’m nearly finished with the novel and there’s so much to see in Cornwall. We should go to St. Michael’s Mount. And Penzance is supposed to be nice - we should check out one of the clubs Stevie told me about. And there’s St. Ives to see. We should also take a hike or two.”

“Oh, you really want to do the holiday thing now do you, you lazy sod?” Merlin asked teasingly and leaned back, into the familiar warmth of Arthur’s arms. It was wonderful and peaceful, sitting here underneath the star-lit, night sky, on the still-warm beach, with the waves gently rolling in, and the heat of Arthur’s body against his back. He felt detached from everything, like he sometimes did in nature, and he could feel his body relax, letting go of tension.

“I think we deserve it,” Arthur suggested, and his grinning mouth moved against the back of Merlin’s neck, making him shiver, goosebumps racing up his naked arms. Noticing, Arthur rubbed his palms up and down Merlin’s arms. “While I’d love to ravish you on the beach,” he murmured, brushing another kiss against Merlin’s skin, “the nights aren’t warm enough for that. I bet the couple back there end up being sick as dogs.”

Already, Merlin could feel the chill from the light breeze seeping into his skin, and even though he had enjoyed the moment, now he pushed to his feet, dragging Arthur up with him. While the days in Cornwall rarely got hotter than the high 70s’, the nights in August could be downright chilly. “Then let’s get back to our cottage and make use of our warm, comfy bed. I’m not too keen on getting sand anywhere, anyway,” Merlin proposed, laughing.

“We’re turning into one of those couples…” Arthur said, a note of mock-terror in his voice.

“Just because we prefer to fuck in our bed like sophisticated people, instead of rolling around in the dirt?” Merlin snorted, swinging Arthur’s hand as they started to walk back in the direction of the bonfire and the footpath that led up the hill to their cottage.

Arthur snorted out a brief laugh and kicked up sand with the toe of his shoe, but didn’t immediately answer. “It’s good,” Arthur said after a while. “I like it. Knowing you like this. Having you like this.” His voice was warm and low, and he sounded content and a little sleepy.

“Yes,” Merlin said, because he knew exactly what Arthur meant. “I love knowing you, too.”

They were silent all the way back to the cottage, climbing the steep, sandy path in the darkness, by the light of a torch.

*-*

“I can’t find my blue shirt,” Arthur called out, frustration audible in his voice.

“Which one?” Merlin asked, popping his head into the bedroom to find Arthur deep in the belly of their wardrobe, the suitcase he’d been packing still open on the bed.

“The one with the white trim,” Arthur said, emerging from the wardrobe with tousled hair and a harassed expression on his face.

“Didn’t you wear that to the theatre last week?” Merlin suggested. They had gone to a production of The Italian Girl at the Minack theatre, a modern-day, open-air amphitheatre, set high up on the Cornish cliffs near Porthcurno. While the play had been enjoyable, the real highlight had been the sun setting in the background over the white-sanded beach.

Arthur gave him a blank look for a moment, before moving past him into the small sitting room and kitchen area. Amused, Merlin watched him rummage around in the pillows on the sofa, before he came up with a swatch of blue fabric, clutched in his fist. “Hah,” he said, triumphant, and stalked back towards the bedroom, brandishing the shirt in Merlin’s face. “You pulled that off me.”

“I remember,” Merlin said, smirking.

“Yeah, you would be smug about that,” Arthur grumbled goodnaturedly, but brushed past him and tossed the shirt into the open suitcase. “Have you secured the surfboard on the car yet?”

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed, “I’m quite confident the thing won’t drop off on the M5.”

“Excellent,” Arthur said, then emptied the contents of their nightstands into the suitcase haphazardly, by pulling out the drawer and upending it over the open suitcase.

“I’ll go back to putting the groceries into the trunk, because I can’t watch this massacre,” Merlin said lightly. “Just so you know, you’re unpacking this mess at home.”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur grinned dutifully, performing an excellently executed salute. Sometimes, Merlin forgot that when he had met Arthur in 1967, Arthur had come straight from a tour in Yemen.

Merlin left for the kitchen, and picked up the last crate of groceries to take out to the car. It was a beautiful day, the last of August, but you could already tell that the season was changing into autumn. There was a persistent, cool wind blowing over the coast line and the nights were getting colder. Over the past two weeks, they had got out their windbreakers in the morning and evening, and while Merlin still surfed every day, he’d reduced his time in the water and taken to immediately putting on dry clothes afterwards.

Arthur had finished his last page ten days ago, stacking his pages neatly and putting them into the drawer for the time being, as he always did, before throwing himself into the plans for the rest of their holidays with even more enthusiasm. “Needs some time to rest, like good dough,” he had said, his eyes twinkling. With Arthur’s work done, they had taken on the task of exploring Cornwall, a diverse adventure that included hikes along the coastal path and exploration of the fine, sandy beaches around the south coast, and for a change, a visit to a beat rock club in Penzance like Stevie had suggested..

Merlin stowed the crate in the boot of Gaius’s car, which was already overflowing with everything that had accumulated over the past couple of months. Mostly, they had amassed books, and the plants Merlin had bought or been given during his stay, but some of his local students had given him goodbye-gifts. They were taking home strawberry preserves and blackberry compotes, as well as so many vegetables that Merlin would probably hand them out in London later. Among the gifts was also a giant sack of potatoes, several bottles of wine and a whole round of locally made cheese, wrapped in linen. For some reason, Merlin’s students seemed to think he’d be starving in London.

Even though Merlin was looking forward to seeing his family and friends again, and teaching his regular students, leaving Cornwall behind was bittersweet - apart from Stevie, Nick and Matt, he had made other friends, and he would miss teaching on the beach every morning. He had promised to come back, realising that he wanted to return sooner than ‘someday’. He felt drawn to this place, to its natural beauty and mild climate, and the sense of freedom here, on the coast, so different from noisy, chaotic London.

When Merlin went back into the cottage, he gave the sitting room a quick once over. It looked empty and foreign with all of their stuff packed away, and the many plants out in the boot. A quick check of the bathroom showed him that Arthur had finished packing there, too. When he came into the bedroom, he found the suitcase standing by the door, and Arthur sprawled out on his back on the bed, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“Everything done?” Merlin asked unnecessarily.

“Just the bed sheets to take off,” Arthur said, and there was an audible sigh to his voice.

Merlin crossed the room and dropped down next to Arthur on the bed, mimicking his posture.

They both were silent for a bit. Through the open window came the gentle rolling of the waves. Merlin would miss that soothing sound most of all, he thought. He could barely believe that they’d be back in their flat tomorrow night, and the sounds coming through the windows would be the noise from the busy street below, and the occasional siren of an ambulance.

“Soon, okay?” he finally said, and Arthur gave another sigh next to him, before he twisted his head on the pillow. A smile was playing around Arthur’s lips and his blue-green eyes sparkled with the soft sunlight, spilling in through the blinds.

“Soon,” he confirmed, then pushed himself up on his elbows, leaning over Merlin. They looked at each other. Fine lines were crinkling the corners of Arthur’s eyes. “One more for the road?” he suggested impishly, his mouth twitching.

Merlin pressed his head back in the pillows and laughed. “Very romantic,” he chided, but he slipped his hands around Arthur’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

They made love with the weak, autumn sunlight on their naked bodies and the sound of waves and seagulls coming in through the window. Arthur, above him, shone like something sacred, like a god or a king maybe, his hair a crown of spun-gold, his tanned skin, bronzed and healthy looking. Summer freckles were dotting his nose, giving him a look that was forever boyish. It was slow and sensual and unhurried, and Merlin slung his legs around the back of Arthur’s thighs and pressed into his touch, listening to his breathy moans and whispered endearments.

Afterwards, they basked in the sunlight for a little longer, until the sweat on their bodies had been cooled by the slight breeze. Shivering, Merlin pushed himself up and made a quick trip to the bathroom to clean himself up, wiping himself off with water and some leftover toilet paper. When he returned to the bedroom, Arthur was still dozing, his long, tanned limbs tangled in the sheets.

“Up, you lazy daisy,” Merlin prompted, reaching out to tickle the underside of Arthur’s bare foot. “We’re homebound.”

His boyfriend grunted, but slowly rolled to his feet as well. They dressed themselves quickly, stealing little, amused glances at each other, like one more fuck in their holiday bed, during the day, had been something naughty and worth feeling entertained about. Together, they stripped the bed and left the sheets folded on a corner of the mattress for their landlady to collect.

“Homewards, then,” Arthur said, with another sigh, but he was smiling a little now, and he picked up the suitcase, briefly leaning in to peck Merlin on the lips. “You’re driving.”

“Yeah, because you want to sleep in the passenger seat. You’re pretty predictable. I know you.”

“You do,” Arthur grinned, terribly smug, “which means, really, if you wanted me to drive, you shouldn’t have fucked me.”

“Right,” Merlin growled with mock-annoyance, and gave him a shove out the door.

*-*

Nothing much had changed in London. When Merlin stepped into their flat above the shop the next day, the place was quiet and a little bit stuffy, like it was only now waking from a long sleep it had been having during their absence. Thanks to Gaius's care, all of Merlin’s plants were thriving and Hunith had been around to clean the flat before their arrival, a wonderful and thoughtful gift that only a mother would think about. Gwaine was helping them carry everything up from the car, cursing as he dropped the sack of potatoes on the kitchen floor.

“For fuck’s sake, did you befriend every local farmer in Cornwall or what?” he complained, rubbing his shoulder.

Snorting, Merlin gave him a pat on the back and went to open the windows, letting fresh air into the kitchen. “Only a few.” He couldn’t wait to tell Gwaine in detail about the wonders of teaching on the beach, or going for a surf in the early morning. Downstairs, Gwaine had already admired Merlin’s surfboard, custom-painted according to his wishes. Merlin pulled open the two windows in the sitting room as well, before moving to the other rooms.

When he returned to the kitchen, Arthur arrived, looking a little sweaty, carrying the last crate. He deposited it on the ancient, scarred kitchen table, making the otherwise sturdy piece of furniture groan beneath the load.

“Oh wow, that’s a lot of mail,” he whined, when he spotted the pile of letters and leaflets that had accumulated during their absence, on the worksurface.

“Gaius opened up all the ones that looked like bills and took care of them,” Merlin said, as he picked up one of the plants that they had brought back from Cornwall and settled it on its new spot, on a shelf by the window. He loved giving his plants a new home, carefully choosing the best place for every plant, according to its needs.

Arthur settled his hip against the worksurface and methodically started to open up the mail with a knife, while Gwaine gulped down water by the sink and splashed some onto his sweaty face, before starting to inspect every box they had brought back, with interest.

Merlin didn’t want to rush things, but while he dreaded telling Gaius about his decision, he could barely contain his excitement to talk to Gwaine about his new plans for the shop. Over the last couple of days, while they had taken long hikes along the coast, Merlin had spoken about his plans in detail, refining them with Arthur’s valuable feedback and suggestions. He was going to reduce shop hours after a careful survey of their regulars and get rid of a lot of things in a sale. He wanted to knock down one of the walls in the back, so he could combine two of the shop rooms into one big practice room and one of the storage rooms would become a wardrobe, while keeping the office and kitchen, where they made soaps and herbal blends. He only hoped Gaius would tolerate all the changes.

Soon, there was a pile of opened letters next to Arthur. From the resigned, tired look on Arthur’s face, and the nice paper, Merlin realised that most of them were rejection letters, like the ones which were collected in Arthur’s folder on his desk already.

Merlin placed the last plant in a perfect spot in its new home, enjoying the way their bathroom started to look a little like an indoor jungle, and returned to the kitchen to stop Gwaine from sticking his fingers into an opened glass of Cornish honey. “Use a bloody spoon, you barbarian,” he complained, and slapped Gwaine’s hand away harshly, before opening the drawer to pull out a spoon.

Arthur made a soft sound that alerted Merlin’s interest. He was holding one of the letters, looking at it with wide eyes. The paper shook a little, due to Arthur’s slightly trembling fingers. “Pan Macmillian wants to publish my novel,” he said tonelessly.

Merlin gently pressed the spoon into Gwaine’s hands and stepped behind Arthur, to read over his shoulder, skimming the contents of the neatly typed letter, adorned with the familiar Pan Books logo. “Oh my God,” he said. “That’s… that’s amazing.”

Arthur turned to look at him, his face slightly gobsmacked. “I’m going to be published by Pan Books,” he said again, wondrously, like he couldn’t yet believe it. He read the letter once again, as if to make sure he had got it right, then slowly lowered it onto the worksurface. His hands were still shaking with nervous energy. “This… this changes everything,” he murmured, sounding overwhelmed. “I always thought that if I got published at some point, it would be by one of the smaller, independent publishers. Not a bloody Macmillian imprint.”

“Seems like they know what they are doing,” Gwaine offered, and Merlin briefly looked up to find him licking honey off his fingers, having foregone the spoon despite Merlin’s efforts.

Merlin decided to ignore the fact that his breakfast honey had Gwaine’s germs in it for now, and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, pressing a kiss to his neck, just below the line of his hair. “We need to celebrate. I knew it would happen. It just took a little time.”

“You are a celebrity now,” Gwaine grinned, dipping his finger into the honey once more, like a misbehaving child, heedless of Merlin’s dark glare. “I’ve never known a published author. Is there any champagne in this house?”

Arthur laughed, slowly emerging from his numb surprise, a real smile edging on his face, his posture relaxing in Merlin’s arms. Merlin could feel his happiness spreading in the way Arthur’s limbs loosened and he sank back against Merlin’s chest, becoming heavy. “No champagne, but we brought home several bottles of wine. I’m surprised you haven’t started helping yourself to those…”

“Not just potatoes, then,” Gwaine said contendly and went to rummage through the crates and boxes they had brought up earlier, expressing a delighted ‘aha!’ when he pulled out several dark-green bottles, depositing them on the worksurface.

“We should take this down to Gaius and Hunith,” Arthur suggested. Downstairs, in Gaius’s apartment, Hunith was preparing a welcome home dinner of her famous nut roast, which was usually reserved for special occasions.

“On it,” Gwaine said eagerly and made for the door, not one, but three bottles of red wine clutched in his fists.

“Don’t spoil anything!” Merlin called after him, laughing as the door fell shut behind Gwaine. They heard their friend thundering down the stairs, full of excitement.

Arthur turned in the circle of Merlin’s arms and took a deep breath. “What a homecoming,” he said, smiling, a bit overwhelmed.

“You deserve it,” Merlin said softly, stroking a stray strand of fair hair out of Arthur’s eyes.

“This is big, Merlin,” Arthur said, sounding grave. “Real big. They want to put out a first run print of forty to fifty thousand copies. Forty to fifty thousand copies!” He picked up the letter again, as if he wanted to read it through for good measure. “This changes everything.”

Grinning, Merlin slung his arms around Arthur’s neck and pressed another kiss to his lips. “You always knew you were a writer,” he said. “Now the world will know, too.”

Arthur closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Merlin’s, taking in a big, shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he murmured, his exhale wet on Merlin’s face.

“For what?” Merlin laughed.

“For always believing in me. For being there. You never scoffed at me, like most of my friends and family did. You always supported me, even when all I had ever produced on paper were a few sloppy lines about the frontline and what I had for dinner the night before.”

“Ah, yes, we have each other’s back, right?” Merlin said lightly, blushing a bit. He remembered a Saturday afternoon in his old flat, only weeks after he had first met Arthur, when Arthur had come over spontaneously, sitting on his sofa, drinking tea and eating the biscuits he had brought - it had been when Arthur had first mentioned that he was writing. Back then, Arthur had still been sure he was going to go back into the army. Afterward, they had smoked weed and Merlin had fucked Arthur in front of the mirror on the inside of his wardrobe until they were a shaking mess on his bedroom floor.

“We do,” Arthur agreed, then took another deep breath. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and celebrate.”

Slowly, Merlin extracted his arms from around Arthur’s neck, and captured Arthur’s hand in his. “Let’s do that,” he said, smiling. “Here’s to changes.”

“Here’s to changes,” Arthur confirmed, before pulling him along.

The End (for now)