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"Mr. Myrridin-"
"-Arthur please, call me Merlin," Merlin says. "It makes this less embarrassing for the both of us.”
Arthur scowls over the tops of his reading glasses. Merlin looks like he's biting down a smile.
"Fine. Merlin," he continues, "you actually have to fill out the entirety of the form. You haven't declared this entire chunk of income."
Merlin blushes bright red from the roots of his hair to the tips of his ears, so even if Arthur didn't know Merlin was a terrible liar he'd be certain that Merlin's stammered, "I, um, I do some writing on the side?" was blatantly untrue.
"Mmmm. Is that why these checks were addressed to you in payment for the services of one M. Emrys?"
"Yes," Merlin says, sinking lower into his chair. His face is now fire-engine red and turns impossibly redder as Arthur puts two and two together and says with dawning horror, "no fucking way."
"You’re M. Emrys? Grocery-store-bodice-ripper M. Emrys? Throbbing members and heaving bosoms M. Emrys? "
"YES that M. Emrys," Merlin says with an expression that suggests the floor would be welcome to swallow him up at any time now. Arthur just throws back his head and laughs. It’s too much, the idea that Merlin of all people, Merlin, who stops by to deposit checks faithfully every other Friday with a dopey grin, Merlin who always takes two of the lollipops they leave out on the front desk for children, writes the kind of soapy titles he finds in line at the Safeway check-out. Ridiculous.
His laughter draws stares from the other bankers in the atrium, and a vicious hissing noise from Merlin.
"Shut up Arthur. Shut. Up."
Arthur dabs at his eyes. "Or what,” he chuckles, "you’ll bend me over the copier in a fit of passion?"
"Like your head would even fit through the copy room door," he says. “Besides, the copier? Really? Copiers are way more uncomfortable than they look despite whatever the terrible porn you’re watching tells you.” There's color high on his cheeks and his blue eyes are wide and honest. Arthur's laugh gets caught in his throat, comes out strangled and choked.
Merlin whacks him helpfully on the back, with perhaps more gusto than is necessary.
"Excuse me?" Arthur manages eventually.
"The whole 'ravished on the copy machine' thing," Merlin says with a helpful hand gesture. "Been there, done that. It’s kind of trite by now.”
Arthur isn’t sure how they got here from refinancing a mortgage, but he’s not going to just lie there taking shit from someone who writes garbage like The Runaway Bride’s Knight of Passion. That, and the image of Merlin spread out half-naked on top of the copy machine is a little…distracting.
“Enlighten me then, Broke-Hack Mountain, how would you go about seducing innocent bankers?”
Merlin makes a face. “I guess it depends on what people find hot. I mean, romance novels are mostly about fantasy, so something you think is hot on paper you might not necessarily like in reality. Like, spanking seems to be really popular, so someone must think it’s hot, but I’ve tried and it just-” he wiggles his hand in a ‘meh’ gesture. “It’s easier to stick to writing what I know. And if it seems like embellishment it’s only because I made some really regrettable life choices in my twenties. Some more regrettable than others. So I can tell you from experience that spanking is right out, but I could definitely find a couple creative uses for your tie.”
This conversation is so wildly inappropriate that Arthur just might burst into flame in the middle of the atrium. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.
“Bullshit. You wear argyle socks unironically, there's no way you’ve done half the shit that you write about.”
"Well," Merlin says in a smug voice that makes Arthur squirm in his seat, "I'm very good at what I do."
An hour later and Merlin sweeps out of the bank with his loan application successfully completed and the tables undeniably turned. Arthur will never be able to look at the copy machine again without imagining Merlin sprawled out over top of it, blue eyes crinkling with laughter as he reels Arthur in by his tie and-
“Hate to watch him go, but you love to watch him leave?” Mithian says at the desk next to his and Arthur scowls.
“I’m taking my lunch break.”
✍✍✍
God bless whoever invented e-readers, thinks Arthur, flipping through M. Emrys’ digital catalogue on the train home. He keeps shooting furtive glances around at the other bored commuters in his car as if one of them is suddenly going to rip the tablet out of his hands and shout Aha! Caught you! Or take one look at his face and somehow just know that it’s porn.
The covers featuring endless Fabio impersonators and swooning busty maidens are both greater and more terrible than the hokey titles. He squints down at one titled Conquered by the Warrior Prince where two half-naked men are awkwardly embracing. One of them actually has the sleeves of his chain mail cut off to better showcase his biceps. It’s ridiculous. Arthur’s ridiculous. He blames Merlin for all of this. Merlin might not have told Arthur to go look up everything he’s ever written, even if it seemed like a dare when he was sitting across from Arthur with his terrible smirk and his terrible face, insinuating that underneath all his Mr. Rogers sweaters he writes erotica based on real life acts of sexual deviancy committed by his person.
I could definitely find a couple creative uses for your tie echoes inside Arthur’s head and he absentmindedly fingers the blue silk stripes until he catches himself and shakes his head like a dog shaking off water.
He has another twenty minutes to kill and the book is only three bucks. If it’s as bad as Arthur's imagining, he can probably get Merlin to pay him back with interest.
✍✍✍
Conquered by the Warrior Prince turns out to be only the first book in the much acclaimed Lovers of the Lochs series, chronicling the sexcapades and political intrigues of roguish Highland Warrior Prince Gawaine and captive Englishman Lord Percival. It’s not objectively good, but each chapter feels like Merlin’s punching Arthur right in the Id. He just really needs to see Percival find happiness with someone who will appreciate his undying loyalty as much as his chiseled abs, and goddammit he doesn’t want to be invested in Gawaine but the next book promises to finally reveal his mysterious past and, well. The sex is a lot less flowery than he was expecting, and when he stops scanning for passages to throw back in Merlin’s face Arthur finds that it’s actually pretty hot.
There’s the slight problem of Arthur imagining Merlin being fucked over a banquet table, instead of Percival, or replacing himself with Gawaine in the desperate, climactic sex scene after swordplay actually becomes foreplay and they fuck wild and desperate on the misty moors. He refuses to knock one out to trashy kilt-wearing Fabios on principle, leading to one incredibly awkward commute, a number of cold showers, and Arthur re-evaluating his life choices.
When he devours both The Highlander’s Captive Heart and Tempted by the Sword in a matter of days Arthur resigns himself to his fate and buys the whole set.
✍✍✍
Which is why, about a month later when Merlin walks back into the bank, Arthur abandons all pretenses of dignity and hides under Mithian’s desk.
“Shit, shitshitshitshit-”
“Oh no, it’s that incredibly attractive rich guy who writes about his crazy sex life for a living and was 110% flirting with you the last time he was in,” says Mithian, dry as the Mojave. “Whatever will you do?”
“-shitshitshit-”
“-Arthur?” Merlin’s confused face peeks down over the counter at him. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Secret banking information—really can’t discuss it—would you look at the time I think my phone is ringing I’ll be right back.”
Merlin and Mithian give him twin unimpressed looks. Arthur momentarily debates the wisdom of leaving them alone together before flight wins out over fight and he beats a strategic retreat to the back offices where he can shut the doors and close the blinds and remember how to breathe.
A few agonizing minutes pass where Arthur brushes off his suit and tries not to think about spending the last month fantasizing about banging his client in various secreted locations all over his workplace before there’s a tap on the door.
“Someone order a large pizza with extra meat?”
Arthur freezes.
“No? Okay how about: I’m here to pick up paperwork regarding my mortgage.” Merlin thankfully shuts the door behind him. He gives the mess of spreadsheets on the desk and the overflowing bankers boxes stacked in the corner a devastating raised eyebrow.
“This isn’t the copy room.”
“As observant as ever, Merlin.” There’s an unintended edge to the words that doesn’t escape either of them. He takes a small step back.
“Arthur I can leave if this isn’t a good time for you.” There’s a worry line creasing Merlin’s forehead and Arthur feels awful for putting it there, which is probably why he blurts out, “I read your books,” and then prays to be struck by lightning. The gods aren’t that merciful. Merlin takes a couple cautious steps forward and seats himself on the corner of the desk.
“Yeah, what did you think?”
Arthur thinks he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He thinks Merlin is on his mind all the damn time, he thinks he’d much rather keep Merlin’s gaze flitting to Arthur’s lips, the drawn blinds, then up to his eyes, anything to keep him from being upset.
“I think you promised to show me alternative uses for my ties.”
Arthur has obviously lost it. He might feel bad about it too if he could bring himself to care about anything other than the blinding smile unfolding across Merlin’s face and pulling his eyes into little half-moons.
“So I did,” Merlin says catching Arthur’s tie and pulling him in close. “That tends to works better on a bed though. Rain check?” Their noses are brushing. Arthur is charmed to notice that the sunny weather has given Merlin tiny freckles on his cheeks.
Arthur’s yes gets swallowed up by the eagerness of Merlin’s mouth. His lips are sticky from the lollipop he must have taken from the front desk, everything around them dissolving into sugary warmth, sweet and slow. It has Arthur so light-headed he doesn’t notice Merlin sliding off his perch on the desk until he’s poured himself into Arthur’s lap. The poor desk chair wasn’t made to handle the way Merlin’s straddling him now, one hand wrapped in Arthur’s tie and the other untucking the edges of his shirt. His hands on Merlin’s ass probably aren’t helping matters, but when it gets him Merlin groaning and thrusting his tongue in Arthur’s mouth he doesn’t think it’s hurting anyone either. The chair has other ideas.
“That copy room idea’s just looking better and better all the time,” Arthur laughs when they break for air. It comes out a bit rusty.
“Or…” Merlin gives him an appraising look then slides off his lap. Both Arthur and the desk chair make a protesting noise that dies quickly when Merlin sinks to his knees.
“Fuck yes.” Arthur’s dick is 110% onboard with this plan, and Merlin wastes no time undoing the buttons on his fly and taking Arthur into his mouth.
“God Merlin you and your fucking ‘write what you know,’ fucking read all your sex scenes imagining it, if that’s what you liked in bed.”
He pitches his voice low, conscious of his co-workers just outside. Merlin falters in his rhythm just a bit, his pupils blown wide when he looks up at Arthur through his lashes.
“Read all of them and all I could think about was you, how I’d fuck you, how much I didn’t want to be one of those guys you wrote into your books.”
He’s pretty sure he’s not saying this right because Merlin seems intent on sucking his brains out through his dick, but it’s important that he gets this part out before he falls too far too fast.
“I want you to be selfish with me. I want you to want to keep me all to yourself.” Arthur keeps his voice from cracking mostly by force of will. It’s easier if he closes his eyes; Merlin’s cheeks hollow obscenely where his lips stretch wide around Arthur’s dick. The way he drags his tongue across Arthur’s slit makes it a miracle Arthur can string words together at all.
Merlin hears him. He pulls off to place a quick kiss on Arthur’s knee, lips spit-slick and swollen, unexpectedly sweet. It catches Arthur off guard and he’s coming, dripping across Merlin’s jaw. Merlin swallows him back down with fumbling fingers, eyes wide in awe, presumably at the mess he’s made of Arthur, who’s going to face awkward questions from his co-workers working in the offices next door. Mithian will be unbearably smug.
Merlin takes Arthur’s hand in his, and guides it towards the bulge in his own jeans.
“I think,” he says, eyes half-lidded and promising wicked things to come, “If that’s what you’re worried about, I think I won’t have any trouble at all being selfish with you, Arthur.”
Arthur swallows. “You know I haven’t used any sick days, I could probably leave early today.”
Merlin grins. “How many ties would you say you own, exactly?”
✍✍✍
The dedication page of the first book in M. Emrys’ new Albion series, A Hard Day’s Knight:
To A.P.- They're all for you.