Tales From a Camden Flat (1/5)Title: Tales From a Camden Flat (1/5)Rating: PG-13Pairings: Arthur/MerlinWarnings/Spoilers: Lots of unnecessary swearing and overuse of the word fuck. A complete lack of correct characterization too.Summary: The lives of students Arthur and Merlin told from their Camden flat and other assorted venues.Author's Note: This came to me after i spent a while thinking of a good AU for Merlin, and i read the Fratboy!Arthur AU by moonythestralsand was inspired. I apologise if this comes of as a rip-off, it is completely unintentional. I'm thinking there will be at most 3 parts to this. Probably. Tales From A Camden Flat1/?It’s six o’clock and it’s really bloody freezing in Camden. Merlin’s walking home from a particularly positive retail therapy session in Top Shop and he feels really good about all the scarves he’s just bought and not so happy about the ridiculous dent in his bank account they’ve just made. Sometimes he wishes he could bring himself to shop in places like Primark for more than cute cheap underwear and amazing two quid sunglasses.
When he gets home to his flat, he is less than thrilled to see a pair of Italian leather shoes in his hallway and a leather jacket that he knows belongs to him, that his prat of a roommate stole before leaving for his trip to Glasgow last month. Screwing his face up in disdain, he steps into his lounge and drops his bags and glares at the man casually sitting on the couch, flicking through TV channels.
Arthur Pendragon, second year Business student AKA constant-pain-in-the-arse-of-Merlin-Emrys, is sitting on their couch. The thing with Arthur is that he always wears Merlin’s really hard earned vintage clothes instead of his own obnoxious designer bullshit because he knows it really, really gets under Merlin’s skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Scotland or something?” Merlin mutters, shrugging off his jacket and slumping down beside Arthur.
Arthur, who doesn’t even glance at Merlin, nods. “I made a quick get away.”
“Are you serious? Wasn’t that some huge big deal with your dad?”
He nods again. “Yea. I think he’s pissed. I have like, thirteen missed calls on my phone. I figure he has to stop calling me eventually out of boredom.”
Merlin blanches. “You can’t be fucking serious.” Arthur looks at him, raises an eyebrow, then turns his attention back to the TV, just as his phone starts ringing and some trippy song by Pendulum plays. “Arthur!”
“Whaaat?” Arthur whines, placing the remote down and leaving the TV to play Cow and Chicken. “Stop being a bitch, Merlin, he’ll get over it,” he says, hitting “busy” on his phone. He turns his attention back to the TV and lets out a snort. “I fucking love this cartoon.”
Merlin only stares open mouthed and tries to remember when and why he decided living with Arthur was a good idea.
-
Two days later he’s thinking the same thing again when he opens his front door to find Uther Pendragon standing there, glaring at him and demanding to know where Arthur is. It’s six in the fucking morning and Merlin has the mother of all hangovers while Arthur’s in his own room sleeping like a log.
Merlin’s mood is sour and he finds himself slamming the door in the business tycoons face without thinking first and then he stalks back to his own bed.
“You slammed the door in my dads face?”
Merlin rubs his eyes and looks at Arthur sleepily. “What? Arthur why the fuck are you in my room?”
Arthur stares down at him, eyes wide in a sort fascinated wonder. “You slammed the door in my dads face.” He repeats, more statement than question.
“I did- Oh.” Merlin frowns, sitting up. “Yea, I think I did.”
Arthur lets out a laugh and slaps Merlin on the back. “That’s genius. He just called and forgot to mention my runner because he was too busy ranting about my ill-mannered boyfriend.”
Merlin turns to look at Arthur. “I am so not your boyfriend.” He says, then frowns. “Wait, your dad thinks I’m your boyfriend?”
“Morgana told him, not me.”
“Your step-sister told him I’m your boyfriend?”
Arthur gives a confused look. “What?”
Merlin only stares and shakes his head, falling back down onto his back and covering his face with his pillow.
“Arthur, where the fuck is my Justice League tee-shirt?” Merlin seethes, storming into their tiny kitchen. He stops just short of the doorway, glaring daggers at Arthur who is standing next to the counter drinking tea, wearing said tee-shirt. “Why, why, are you always wearing my fucking clothes?”
Arthur grins and raises his cup in a salute. “Because I can.”
Merlin is staring to give up in his faith in Karma and storms out of the kitchen and grabs his coat and goes out to Top Shop and Top Man to make himself feel less murderous, hissing a venomous “Dick,” before slamming the front door shut.
When he comes back, he finds that they have a new 42” TV and The Mighty Boosh is on so loudly that Merlin thinks even the dead can hear the Milky Moon song. “Turn that the fuck down.” He hisses, dropping his bags and stalking over to sit down next to Arthur, who is now not only wearing his tee-shirt, but one of his new scarves. Merlin counts to ten.
“What, you don’t like some Boosh?”
“I don’t appreciate you’re innuendos.”
Arthur grins at him. “Sure.”
“You’re the one whose dad thinks we’re fucking boyfriends. And what the fuck have I said about wearing my damn clothes?! And the fuck, when and why did you buy a new TV?!”
“You’re such a wife.” Arthur drawls, reclining back and placing his arm along the back of the couch. “And you want us to be. I can tell. You want me.”
“Oh my god. No, just,” Merlin stares at him and shakes his head. “No, Arthur stop grinning.”
“You so do!”
“Arthur-“
Arthur bursts out laughing. “You’re fucking blushing Merlin!”
Merlin can only stare open mouthed at Arthur with a look akin to complete horror mixed in with complete amazement. “Just, why?”
Grinning, Arthur turns his attention back to the TV and skips or rewinds and starts singing “The Hitcher” in time with Noel Fielding. There are times that Merlin thinks that voodoo on Arthur might be a good idea. This is one of them.
The other thing with Arthur other than that he steals all of Merlin’s clothes, is that when he’s around his father he is a totally different person. It’s even worse if his friends are there. It’s not that Merlin doesn’t find him completely irritating at the best of times, but he hates the way he acts whenever he’s on the phone to his dad or if he’s been dragged out to one of these big fancy functions where they only serve really disgustingly small dishes of food and horrible wine.
Arthur acts like a prat. Like an arrogant prat who thinks he’s the fucking Prince of Wales or something. He always drags Merlin to these things for ‘moral support’ and then leaves him to go act like a pompous git with his rich friends while Merlin sits at a table pouring Vodka into his wine glass from the fifteen miniatures he has in his coat pocket. If one thing, he comes prepared.
On this particular night, Morgana, Arthur’s really stunningly beautiful step-sister comes over and sits beside him and places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder when he’s half cut from the fifth miniature. “He’s a terrible boyfriend, you deserve better.”
“He is not,” Merlin mutters, opening the sixth miniature and gulping it down, not bothering with the glass, “my boyfriend.”
Morgana smiles at him and nods. “I know he’s your best friend, but you two are practically married.”
Merlin’s about to argue that he and Arthur are not best friends either, when he stops and he thinks and he realizes that well, yea, they kind of are. “Fuck,” he chokes, giving Morgana a hopeless look, “he is my best friend. Oh my god.”
She pats his back and squeezes his shoulder. “Be strong Merlin, you’ll survive.”
It ends up that Merlin finds himself sitting with Morgana and her best friend Gwen, completely wasted. He’s complaining about Arthur, Morgana’s complaining about some guy named Val (Merlin spends ten minutes asking what kind of a name is Val when Gwen points out that his name is Merlin) and Gwen’s raging about some tall, dark and handsome half-wit called Lance. It’s only when Merlin’s finished his fifteenth miniature and he’s just finished ranting about he always has to clean Arthur’s socks that it hits him like a ton of bricks and he stares at Gwen and Morgana with wide eyes.
“We are so fucking married, aren’t we?”
The two girls just look at each other, then back at Merlin with expectant looks on their faces.
He looks at them and shakes head miserably. “No, no, no,” he wails, head falling onto the table. “I can’t be- Not with him.” He half sobs and Gwen helps him sit up and pulls him into a hug. “He can’t even clean his own socks!” he mumbles into her shoulder while Morgana strokes his hair and looks at Arthur being a dick with his friends.
“We can’t help who we fall for.” She says sadly as Arthur does a drunken imitation of The Hitcher from the Mighty Boosh, and Merlin starts sobbing into Gwen’s shoulder as soon as he hears the words fall for.
The next morning, Merlin wakes up and instantly wishes he were dead because nausea sweeps over his stomach like a tsunami and he has a headache like there’s a hammer doing rounds to his brain. He rushes to the bathroom to vomit for ten minutes before he staggers into the kitchen looking for anything to make him feel better. He finds Arthur wearing another one of his tee-shirts, drinking tea and looking at him with a disgusted look. “You look like shit.” He remarks.
“Fuck you.” Merlin hisses, running to the cupboards in search of paracetemol or something.
Arthur smirks into his cup. “I knew you wanted me,” he teases as Merlin raids desperately. He frowns suddenly, glancing at Merlin. “Hey, what happened to you last night?”
“What do you mean?” Merlin grunts from inside a bottom cupboard.
“Dad said you left with Morgana and Gwen bawling your eyes out.”
Merlin tenses. “No I wasn’t.”
Arthur shrugs. “Oh. Ok. He said it my was my fault and that no wonder you slammed the door in his face if I was such a terrible boyfriend that I made you cry.”
“I am not your boyfriend.” Merlin hisses from inside the cupboard, but all he can think of is fuck, fuck, fuck before giving up on finding any form of pills and stalks back to his bedroom where he sleeps for the majority of the day.
Tales From a Camden Flat
Merlin wakes up well into dinner time, his headache still pounding strongly and his throat scratchy from the six times he’s vomited in between sleeping spells. Coughing and running his hands through his hair, he practically rolls out of bed and lands on his knees, slowly, slowly, slowly standing and staying quite still for a moment. “I feel like shit,” he announces to his bedroom, voice croaking and letting out a groan, walking shakily towards the kitchen.
He’s kind of hoping maybe Arthur’s gone out tonight. Like, to France for a four week house party bonanza, because he’s really hung-over and can’t even fathom having to face up to the conclusions he's come up with since last night. Especially not after the dream he’s had. Merlin’s starting to think he and Vodka need to seriously re-think their relationship and go on a break if it’s going to give him crazy dreams like that.
Arthur, of course, is in their kitchen and apparently cooking, which is something Merlin has thought he’d never see in his lifetime. “I must be still dreaming.”
Mid-carrot chopping, Arthur looks up and raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Decided to wake up, sleeping beauty?”
Merlin glowers and sits himself down at the breakfast bar, glaring at Arthur. “Fuck off,” he mutters, giving Arthur a two fingered salute. “Did you find the pills I was searching for this morning?
“Yep.”
“…Can I have them?”
Arthur’s smirk widens, “You can’t still be ill, surely.”
Merlin’s expression darkens even more. “Stop being a fucking arse, Arthur and give me them.”
And of course Arthur does. Except, instead of being civilized he sort of launches them at Merlin, and hits him square on the head.
“If looks could kill,” Arthur chortles, continuing to chop his carrots.
“You absolute prick,” Merlin hisses, trying to kill Arthur with his obvious dormant super mental death powers that he has yet to unlock. Because they are real. Obviously. Unfortunately, trying to unlock such powers requires him to make a face not unlike that police-guy from Heroes, the one who does have really cool mind powers.
“Stop looking at me like that,” says Arthur, giving Merlin a disturbed look, “you look constipated or something. Was it laxatives you wanted?”
Merlin decides right now would be a good idea to change the subject because even dignifying Arthur with any kind of response to that question would only result in humiliation. “I had a weird dream last night,” he says instead, popping out two paracetemol and standing to get a drink of water.
“Yea, what about?” Arthur asks, putting his carrots into a pot, while Merlin stands beside him, placing a glass under the running water from the tap.
“A dragon,” Merlin says, popping one pill into his mouth, swallowing with a mouthful of water.
Arthur snorts. “What like, a fire breathing one?”
Merlin nods. “Yea, he was telling me, that me and you were two halves of the same coin or something and that we had a destiny,” he says after swallowing the second pill, “I don’t know, I woke up after that.”
“I knew you fancied me.”
Merlin tosses the remaining of his glass of water at Arthur’s face in response.
Arthur, Merlin discovers, is actually a pretty decent cook. They’re both sitting on their couch, watching Ironman because Arthur had insisted that it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen (Merlin had to reluctantly agree after about ten minutes into it). Merlin’s not a big meat fan, and he’s a little touched when Arthur tells him he’s made vegetarian lasagna from scratch. For a while, Merlin thinks he’s landed in a parallel universe until Arthur makes a comment about his inebriated state the previous night (along the lines of: “I’ve seen fourteen year old girls who can handle their drink better than you.”).
“Oh, this bits fantastic!” Arthur whispers loudly, not taking his eyes from the screen; he kind of looks a grown up five-year-old, Merlin thinks, with his big blue eyes staring at Tony Stark adoringly.
“Yea?” Merlin asks (he snorts really), mouth full of food, earning him a disgusted look from Arthur.
“Don’t speak with your fucking mouth full man, that’s disgusting.”
Merlin resists the urge to chew with his mouth open and instead swallows his mouthful quickly and puts his plate on the floor, then sinking low into the couch. “This is pretty good,” he admits, twirling a strand of his hair.
“Isn’t it though? I gotta get my dad to make me one of those suits.”
“Your dad doesn’t make mecha suits.”
Arthur glances at him, eyebrows raised. “My dad doesn’t make mecha suits yet,” he corrects, smirking and turning his attention back to the TV.
“Fucking spoiled,” Merlin mutters, punching Arthur lightly on the arm. Arthur grins at him and elbows him in the side; Merlin’s stomach feels heavy at the contact, his chest feels tighter and he can’t help but grin as a well, and it scares him.
-“I have a problem, I have a huge fucking problem and I don’t know what to do.”
Will, Merlin’s best friend since Pampers, looks up from his coffee and his face drops and he groans. “Tell me you did not fucking invite me over here to whine, Merlin.”Merlin looks around and forces a smile. “I did not invite you round to whine, Will?”
Glowering over his cup, Will rolls his eyes, “Go on then, enlighten me. What’s crawled up your arse and died this time?”
“I think I’m in love with Arthur.”
Will chokes on his coffee. “What?!”
Merlin twiddles his thumbs nervously and shrugs, leaning back against the pillows of his bed. “I mean, I think I do. I don’t really know, I sort of came to this conclusion when I was pissed.”
“What about now you’re sober?”
“When I look at him my chest gets all tight, and I start sweating but other than that everything’s normal.”
Will puts his mug down on the floor and folds his legs, giving Merlin a serious look. “You know how I feel about him.”
“Yea.”
“He’s a prat.”
“Uh huh.”
Sighing, Will’s shoulders sag and he gives Merlin a defeated look. “I always thought you fancied him, before now. The way you two are with each other, I thought you were at least shagging.”
Merlin looks at him with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open. “Why does everyone think we’re boyfriends or shagging?!”
“You just told me you think you’re in love with him.”
“I know, but,” Merlin shakes his head and looks at Will with pursed lips, “even Arthur’s dad thinks we’re dating.”
Will blinks, surprised. “Thinks?” he asks, then glances at the door when Merlin nods. “Why hasn’t Arthur set him straight?”
“I don’t know, he’s an arse-“
“Merlin,” Will sighs, taking his friends hand in his and giving it a sympathetic squeeze, “sometimes you are truly an idiot.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“It means, you fucking twat,” Will says, letting his hand go and reclining back, picking up his coffee, “that Pratface fancies you.”
“Arthur does not fancy me,” Merlin affirms, frowning. He sits forward slightly, and decides he doesn’t like the smirk Will is giving him. “Will, he doesn’t.”
“We’ll see,” Will smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. Merlin decides that yes, he definitely does not like that smirk or the way Will’s eyes are crinkling in mirth or the way he raises his mug in a silent toast to something that gives Merlin an uneasy and anxious feeling in his gut.
Tales From a Camden Flat 3/?
There’s a bar about twenty minutes from their flat, which Merlin likes because of the cheap booze and the music they play. His first time there, he confessed his undying love to the indie looking guy behind the bar because of the one pound drink menu and two quid cocktail jugs. “Marry me, and we can have our reception here with all the booze,” he’d said, quite seriously while hanging onto the bar quite drunkenly. The guy, who Merlin now knows is called Harry, had laughed and given him a vodka and red bull on the house.
This bar, which Merlin had long ago decided was a gift from God himself, is a part of Will’s ingenious plan to prove that Arthur does indeed fancy him. Fancy Merlin, that is, because Will never bothers to hide his distaste for Arthur Pendragon (or Pratface Penisdragon as he sometimes likes to call him). So of course, when Friday rolls around, Will has invited Arthur and Merlin’s new best friends Morgana and Gwen down to what Merlin calls the ‘Bar From God That I Love Unconditionally’.
“You have to understand how much this physically hurts me,” Will says as they pass the bouncers (Merlin comes here so often now that he knows their names and the names of their kids), skipping the que. “But I hate being wrong, so if making Pratface admit that he fancies you is what I have to do then I’ll do it. Then maybe you two will shag and I’ll never have to have you phone me plastered at 3am again complaining that he’s left the toilet seat up,” Will takes a breath and Merlin looks at him with a defensive look, “now that I think about it, you two are practically fucking married already, anyone ever told you that?”
Merlin’s face drops into a sarcastic look of shock, “it’s been mentioned once or twice,” he drawls, walking towards the bar. Harry smiles at him and nods at Will, while they both take seats and gaze at the menus. “What cocktail of strong alcohol do you have that will get me through what this dick has planned for me, Harry?”
Harry stifles a laugh when Will glares at Merlin. “Shut the fuck up, you owe me for this.”
“How the hell do I owe you?”
Will gives him a smug look. “I’m getting you laid, that’s why. Give me a JD and coke, Harry.”
Merlin shakes his head and covers his head with his hands. “Surprise me, Harry,” he says, clutching at his hair and making a miserable face. Harry nods, giving Will a bemused look.
“I won’t ask,” he says, going to pour their drinks.
“They’re late,” Will says nonchalantly, twirling his drink mixer around his glass.
“We’ve only been here twenty minutes and we were early,” Merlin grumbles, downing the last of his nameless drink (apparently something Harry came up with himself – Merlin doubts that this is actually legal, but he had taken it nevertheless).
Will keeps glancing towards the door every two minutes, looking quite agitated. “If they don’t hurry up, you’ll be shitfaced by the time Pratface shows up.”
“Wasn’t that your plan?” Merlin asks sarcastically, signaling for another drink.
Scoffing, Will reaches into his jeans pocket to pull out his phone. “Don’t be stupid, if you get shitfaced you’ll end up making an arse of yourself,” he mutters, dialing a few digits, “besides,” he says, looking at Merlin, phone pressed against his ear, “you won’t remember Arthur confessing all if you’re smashed."
Merlin groans and drops his head to the counter, hand clutching his empty glass desperately. “Why me?” he half sobs while Will gives whoever he’s just phoned an ear full. “Stop being a bitch to whoever that is.”
Will shoots him a scowl, hanging up his phone. “They’re on their way. Apparently.”
“If that was Arthur, it means he’s outside arguing with the bouncer,” says Merlin, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, “maybe you should go break it up.”
“Why would he be arguing with the bouncer?”
“He used to work for his dad,” Merlin replies, casting an amused smile towards the doors, “I think those pointed hand gestures outside are Arthur.”
Will sighs and scrunches up his face. “You really fucking owe me,” he snarls, getting up from his seat to head towards the doors. Merlin casts a nasty smirk at his back, and then gives Harry a pleasant smile.
“Another one.”
Harry glances at Will’s distancing form then back at Merlin, eyebrow raised. “So you’re on a date then?”
“It’s not a date,” Merlin mumbles, shifting in his seat, “Will’s trying to prove a point- it’s complicated.”
Harry smirks, mixing Merlin’s drink. “And here I thought you had your heart set on marrying me, Merlin.”
Merlin scowls and rips the glass from Harry’s hand. “Shut up, you,” he grumbles, making a point to ignore Harry’s amused snicker.
About ten minutes later, Will appears again, followed by Morgana and Gwen, and no Arthur. “He’s outside,” Will mutters as he sits down beside Merlin again, while Gwen and Morgana give him tight hugs.
“Doing what?”
Will gives a sigh, glancing at Morgana, “he saw one of his ex’s and decided to be his usual self.”
Morgana sits down the opposite side of Merlin and places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says, squeezing reassuringly, “she tried to kill him. I expect he’s only gone to remind her that she isn’t allowed to be within a fifty foot radius of him.”
Despite himself, Merlin can’t help the amused snort he lets out.
Arthur decides to join them fifteen minutes later, looking quite smug. Morgana rolls her eyes at him and turns her head to speak to Gwen, while Will gives an icy glare towards him which gives Arthur the idea that he should grin at Will and wink. “Wanker,” Will hisses, getting up from his seat, “I’m going to go piss,” he informs Merlin, who gives a look that clearly says ‘way too much fucking information.’
“Merlin,” Arthur drawls, sitting down in Will’s previously occupied seat, “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.”
Merlin gives him a disturbed look. “Why are you saying my name over and over?”
Grinning, Arthur places his elbow on the counter and rests his head in his hand, looking up at Merlin with a look that can only be described as mischievous. Suddenly, Merlin feels terrified. “I’m just practicing, you know?”
“Practicing, right,” he says with a slight nod of the head, then frowns, looking at Arthur directly, “practicing for what?”
Arthur winks at him.
Merlin stares right back, face emotionless.
Arthur’s grin widens ever so slightly.
Merlin blinks once, then twice, then frowns in confusion. “Wait, what?”
The grin fades off Arthur’s face and he scowls, sitting up straight. “You're an idiot,” is all he says, picking up a drinks menu.
Merlin blinks again, awkwardly. “That’s a bit unfair…”
Arthu...
Mojaunicorn