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“Merlin, we have a problem,” Arthur says one evening while they’re sitting on the couch in Merlin’s flat, eating Chinese takeaway and watching the telly. Or, well, in Merlin's case, it's more looking at the telly. He's not paying much attention to the plot of whatever film is currently being shown. He thinks it has something to do with aliens, though.
“Hmm?” he asks, looking up at Arthur and swallowing the food he has in his mouth. Arthur is staring at his mobile, his expression just this side of horrified, and while normally Merlin might revel in seeing anything akin to fear on Arthur's face, there's something in the tone of Arthur's voice that makes his stomach flop. “What problem?”
“Morgana just invited me to her Christmas party,” Arthur replies. Merlin furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why Arthur considers that to be a bad thing. He understands Morgana can be downright terrifying at times, but the parties she organises are always amazing, and he’s never once regretted going to one of them. Well, except for that one time that must not be named that led to an ill-advised hook up with Gwaine.
Merlin mentally shudders at the memory. He's always stayed away from Morgana's punch bowl since.
“She does that every year,” he says, then frowns as Arthur begins to shake his head, eyes still wide and still directed at the screen. He watches as Arthur anxiously lifts one hand to tangle his fingers in his hair. “And why is that my problem?”
“She said that if I don’t get off my arse and find myself a date, she’ll set me up with someone,” Arthur says, finally turning to look at Merlin, and oh, Merlin can understand that. He bore witness to the end of Arthur's previous relationship. It was messy. Sophia, he thinks her name was, threatened to stab Arthur with a knife if he didn't agree to marry her. Luckily, Arthur had been taking martial arts classes for ages and managed to hold her off long enough for the coppers to arrive. “Give it a minute and she’ll send you—”
Merlin jumps about a foot in the air when his mobile goes off. It’s Morgana, and from what he can see of the text, he’s gotten the same threat.
“Oh gods,” Merlin moans, burying his face in his arms and finally realising just how bad this is. “She wants to set me up too,” he says, looking at Arthur with trepidation. His last relationship was ages ago, and he's never been one for blind dates. He prefers to get to know people before jumping into a relationship (or bed) with them — and besides, he's currently a bit preoccupied with his own unrequited crush, thank you very much. “What do we do?” he asks, because Arthur always claims to have all the answers. The operative word being claims.
Arthur lets out an incoherent mumble from where he’s currently trying to suffocate himself with a pillow. He's got the right idea, Merlin thinks, but he reaches out and tears the pillow away from him because he's a mean like that.
“Speak up, I didn’t quite catch that,” he snipes, raising his eyebrows and hugging the liberated pillow to his chest when Arthur glares at him.
“I don’t know! Fuck, Merlin! I don’t want to have to spend the whole evening with someone I don’t know hanging off my arm!” Arthur shouts, hands back to tearing at his hair.
“She’s just worried,” Merlin says after a while, hastily looking for an explanation for why Morgana wants to put the both of them through hell. It sounds forced, even to his own ears (especially to his own ears, considering how big they are, and damn it he's been spending too much time around Arthur!)
“She has a funny way of showing it,” Arthur grumbles. He puts one hand on the couch to push himself off it, and when he’s finally standing and about to take his first step into the depths of Merlin's flat, he turns on his heel and stares straight at Merlin.
“What?” Merlin asks, already not liking the look on Arthur’s face — it's a mixture of contemplation and smugness and... is that amusement?
“We’re in the same situation, right?” Arthur asks, his eyes darting to Merlin’s mobile as though he can read the text message over from where he's standing. Merlin nods after a moment of initial hesitation. “Then why don’t we help each other out?”
“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Merlin says truthfully, and all of a sudden he’s wishing that he is anywhere but here.
~oOo~
“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Morgana cheerily greets them at the door. Merlin manages to direct a wan smile her way, before he pushes past Arthur and lets himself into the house. Let Arthur deal with his sister — it's his fault they ended up in this situation in the first place. Besides, Merlin's got most of the presents in his hands and he can feel the handles of one of the heavier bags cutting off the circulation in his right arm.
“We’d never hear the end of it if we couldn’t,” Arthur mutters under his breath, and Merlin is sure that if he turns around, he'll see Arthur directing a glare towards him for leaving him to deal with Morgana alone.
Morgana hears him and jabs him with her elbow, smiling in self-satisfaction at Arthur’s grunt of pain, and Merlin has to fight not to wince. He can attest to the fact that Morgana's elbows are sharp, having been on the receiving end of her jabs many times over the course of their 'friendship'.
Ha. Friends don't go around hitting each other (alright, so he might be a teensy tiny bit mad at her at the moment. Just a bit, mind).
That's probably something he should make both Morgana and Arthur aware of. Preferably soon, before someone ends up in hospital.
“Come in, come in. The presents go under the tree,” she tells them before disappearing into the depths of the mansion she calls her home. Merlin doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how one person could need so many rooms. He’s just fine living in his tiny flat. Ok, so it might get a little stuffy sometimes, and he can't invite too many people over lest someone accidentally gets pushed out the living room window, but at least it's cosy and lived in.
“I swear to God I’m going to murder her before the night is over,” Arthur mutters once Morgana has gone.
“I think I might just help you,” Merlin says, because screw friendship, his dignity is suffering. He sets down the presents he’s holding and begins to undress. On account of him not being able to feel half of his left arm, he gets tangled up in his coat. He shoots Arthur a grateful smile when he helps Merlin take it off.
“It’s just one night,” Merlin says, trying to infuse his voice with cheeriness he doesn't quite feel. “One night, and then we can pretend this whole fake-dating thing never happened.” And he can go back to pining, because that's obviously much healthier.
“Yeah,” Arthur replies, looking a bit downcast, and Merlin has no idea why. “Just one night.”
~oOo~
“Merlin!” Gwen exclaims when he walks into Morgana’s oversized living room. “Arthur! Merry Christmas!”
“Thanks, Gwen. You too,” Merlin replies, letting go of Arthur’s hand to hug Gwen while everyone else shouts their greetings and waves. He misses its warmth the second their skin separates.
When Gwen finally lets him go (breathe! lets him breathe!), he steps aside and looks around. He and Arthur are apparently the last to arrive. He sees Leon talking to Morgana. Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine are all messing around with the presents under the Christmas tree, trying to arrange them so that they don’t topple over. Lance must be in the kitchen with Gwen, judging by the noises coming from there. Thank the gods it’s him and not Morgana. The last time he ate one of Morgana’s failed cooking experiments, he had to take three sick days from work. Lance, on the other hand, is an amazing cook, and Gwen is a lucky, lucky woman.
He startles when Arthur puts an arm around his waist and leads him over to the Christmas tree so that they can put down their presents among the others. Everyone near the tree instantly moves back to give them space, greeting them with ‘hi’s, or, in Gwaine’s case, a smack on the cheek that has Arthur’s arm tightening around him almost imperceptibly. It sends a shiver up Merlin’s spine and he berates his body for reacting to something so trivial.
“We just got the good news from Morgana!” Gwaine says, leering at the both of them. “Heard you two finally got your act together.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Merlin says, shoving Gwaine out of the way so that he can put the presents under the tree, being careful not to squash any of the boxes labeled ‘fragile’ (there’s a whole story behind that, involving a not-so-pleasant trip to the emergency room that has Merlin shuddering every time he thinks about it).
“Sure you don’t,” Gwaine mocks, before moving on to kiss Arthur in greeting. “Just like you’re not thinking about smiting me where I’m standing. Jealousy looks good on you, Merlin.”
“If anyone’s going to be smiting anyone, it’ll be me,” Morgana says, suddenly appearing behind them. She grins when they all flinch at the sound of her voice. “I’ve called your names three times from the dining room. Three. The food’s ready. Do not make me repeat myself again." The glare she directs at them has them all scrambling to their feet instantly.
~oOo~
The food is, as always when Lance cooks, amazing. Merlin can’t remember the last time he ate such good food, and he thinks he might slowly be falling into a bit of a food coma. He has half a mind to just fall asleep where he’s sitting because it’s so warm and comfortable on the couch, and it’s not like anyone’s paying attention to him anyway, and the hand stroking through his hair feels so good .
He might be a little drunk on eggnog at the moment, but that’s fine because it’s the punch he was supposed to stay away from.
“You two look so sweet it’s disgusting,” he suddenly hears through his sleepy haze. It’s a woman’s voice. Probably Morgana. Gwen’s voice is nicer.
“Don’t wake him,” Arthur scolds when Merlin fidgets in an attempt to get more comfortable. Merlin feels his chest rumble as he speaks and pushes further into it.
“You’ll need to wake him in a few minutes anyway. We’re about to open the presents. Unless, of course, the two of you don’t want your presents because in the end, all you really need is each other,” Morgana teases. Merlin hears the click of her heels across the hardwood floor as she walks away. Then, they stop suddenly, and Morgana speaks again.
“Arthur?” she says, her voice sounding distant and unnaturally soft. Maybe Merlin was wrong. Maybe it is Gwen speaking, after all.
“Hmm?” Arthur asks, hand coming to rest on top of Merlin’s head. It's a comforting weight, and it makes Merlin smile into Arthur's shirt.
“I’m happy for you. The both of you,” she says, and all of a sudden, Merlin feels more awake than he was a second ago.
“Yeah,” Arthur replies somewhat awkwardly, and his hands falls from Merlin’s head. “Thanks.”
The sound of her heels fade away as Morgana leaves, and Merlin feels more than hears Arthur sigh. He groans when Arthur moves to get up, unwilling to let go of his makeshift pillow. He swears he’s never going to tease Arthur about getting fat ever again, not when he's obviously of an ideal size for snuggling into.
“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur urges. “You can sleep when we get home.”
Merlin forces his bleary eyes to open. Arthur runs his fingers through Merlin’s hair again, and it feels so nice, but also so oddly intimate that it has Merlin pushing away from him under the guise of getting up. His vision goes black at the change in position, but he leans away as Arthur tries to steady him, pretending that he doesn’t see the hurt on Arthur’s face once his vision clears.
“Presents,” Arthur says as he stands up and begins to walk to other end of the room where the Christmas tree is, far away from their secluded spot on the couch. Merlin watches him go and he feels his heart drop all the way down to his toes. Maybe it’ll fall a bit further and he won’t be able to feel it at all, soon.
“I never should have agreed to this stupid plan,” he berates himself before moving to follow. He’s loved Arthur ever since he stopped hating him nine and a half years ago, and this situation — this closeness — is making the whole situation harder than it has to be. Now that he’s gotten a taste of what it would be like to be with Arthur, he can’t help but to want more, and it makes his heart ache unpleasantly in his chest.
He wants Arthur to hold his hand and wrap his arm around Merlin’s waist. He wants to fall asleep to the sound of Arthur breathing and wake up to Arthur’s fond smile. He wants Arthur.
He thought he’d long since learned not to want things that are unattainable.
Merlin has to stifle a yawn as he sits down next to Arthur on the rug. They’re sitting in a semicircle around the tree, with Morgana in the middle and handing out the presents. As they’re slowly distributed, Merlin finds himself having to fight to keep his eyes open. No matter what he does, they keep falling shut of their own accord. More than once, he feels his head fall forward and has to lean back to keep from crashing to the floor.
Although, would that be such a bad thing? Morgana’s rug is very plush and fluffy, and it looks more expensive than Merlin’s bed. It’s probably more comfortable, too.
He’s debating whether or not it would be worth it to take a nap on Morgana’s rug when Arthur’s hand suddenly comes up to push Merlin’s head to his shoulder. Merlin resists for only a moment, before figuring that he might as well make the most of the situation while it lasts. It’s not like he has anything to lose. After all, what’s emotional stability really worth?
Arthur’s shoulder seems incredibly comfortable, but that might just be the alcohol talking. Well, the alcohol and the food and the warmth. The stress put on him by the whole pretend relationship thing is probably also doing its part. He dozes for a while, flitting in and out of consciousness as Morgana continues handing out presents and everyone watches the recipient unpack them. He thinks he hears Gwen’s high-pitched squeal when she unpacks the scarf Morgana got her, and he definitely hears Gwaine’s whoop of joy when he unwraps the bottle of expensive-looking alcohol Leon got him. The whole city probably heard Gwaine.
He startles out of his doze when Arthur lightly shakes his shoulder.
“Your presents,” Arthur gestures to the pile before them. “Everyone else has already unpacked theirs.”
“Have they?” Merlin yawns. “Guess it’s my turn.” He reaches out for the first present, the one on top of the small pile before him, and turns it over in his hands. The tag says it’s from Arthur.
“Well, open it!” Gwen urges. Merlin shoots her a quick smile before turning to look at Arthur. He already knows what’s inside. Ever since the first Christmas they knew each other, they always got each other mugs for Christmas. Merlin doesn’t even remember how that little tradition got started, but he recalls it having something to do with Arthur’s love for coffee and Merlin’s own infatuation with tea (Arthur's taken to calling it an obsession because no one should know so much about how to properly steep tea, Merlin).
He unties the bow at the top of the small box and slowly peels off the tape, grinning when he hears Arthur groan beside him. Arthur always rips the wrapping paper right off. He’s impatient that way. Merlin, on the other hand, thinks that the unwrapping of presents should be savoured almost as much as the present itself.
He glances at Arthur again, and finds him looking at Merlin with an expression that’s a mix between excitement and dread.
The mug inside the box is beautiful. It’s large (475 ml, the tag says, and why he’s paying attention to such minor details, he doesn’t know), and the handle is in the shape of a heart.
“Is it wrong to love a man made of gingerbread?” It reads in a flowing script. Next to the words is a picture of a smiling gingerbread man.
“Awww,” Gwaine teases. “I never knew Arthur could be so romantic.”
Merlin flips him off, going back to analysing the cup, and then looks at Arthur in question.
“You love gingerbread,” Arthur says, not quite meeting his eyes, and Merlin could swear that his heart just skipped a beat — which is probably unhealthy from a medical point of view, but he can’t bring himself to care. A glance down tells him that Arthur’s toying with another box — the one he’d packed Arthur’s present into.
“I love you more,” he says truthfully, and spares but a second to regret being so forward, because then Arthur’s eyes are on him, all surprised and warm and soft, and Merlin leans forward to peck him on the cheek. “I’ll unpack the rest of mine later, yeah? When I’m not sleep-muddled and can properly appreciate them. Speaking of which, why haven’t you opened your present yet? I thought you said everyone besides me was done?” he asks, reaching over for the box, and his heart rate picks up as he remembers what exactly it says on the mug he got Arthur.
Arthur moves the box out of his reach and shoots him an amused glare. Merlin smiles, watching as the wrapping paper is torn to bits within seconds.
“The most handsome man in the world,” Arthur reads raising his eyebrows. The miniature Santa drawn on it is looking at them all in amusement.
“Do you really think so?” Arthur tries to tease once he’s read the words, but to Merlin, he sounds a bit too vulnerable to be amused.
Merlin shrugs and pretends that he’s not trying to beat into submission a blush that’s threatening to spread over his face.
“I’m worried that if I tell you the truth, your ego will grow too large to let you leave this house,” he says evasively, watching as everyone else gets up to leave now that the opening of the presents has, for the most part, been concluded.
Soon, they’re the only two people sitting on the rug. Gwen and Lance have gone back into the kitchen, and Morgana and the rest of the guys have dug out a bunch of board games and are arguing over which one to play. Merlin’s itching to join them, if only to give himself some space from Arthur and allow himself to breathe.
“Merlin…” Arthur whispers softly, before sighing. He pulls away from Merlin and looks him in the eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says, voice riddled with pain.
“What are you talking about?” Merlin asks, not understanding the change of topic. He blames the alcohol again because he’s usually much better at keeping up with Arthur’s line of thought.
“You. Me. I can’t pretend like this, not when I want—” Arthur grits his teeth, and his eyes fall from Merlin’s face to his chest. “Not when I want so much more,” he finishes, still avoiding Merlin’s gaze.
“You want—” Merlin begins, but breaks off in shock, blinking and feeling his heart do its best to pound its way right out of his chest. “Oh.”
“Say something,” Arthur urges. His hand makes an aborted move towards Merlin’s own, and Merlin’s left wishing that it had made contact. “Please.”
Except that there’s nothing to say. And even if there was, Merlin is nowhere near articulate enough to voice anything right now. He grips the mug in his hands tighter and leans forward. Their lips meet in one soft kiss, then another, and then Arthur is moving towards him, pulling Merlin into his lap, and their kisses turn messy as they become more desperate. Merlin just barely remembers to put his mug down on the floor before wrapping his own arms around Arthur. Since he didn’t think he heard anything break, Arthur must have done the same. He can feel Arthur's warm breath on him. Arthur's lips are chapped against his, and his stubble is a bit too scratchy to feel good, but to Merlin, it's one of the best kisses he's ever had. He tangles his fingers in Arthur's shirt to pull him closer, even though it's probably physically impossible now.
“Wow,” Merlin manages to say once they finally pull apart to catch their breath and the fireworks stop going off behind his eyelids. “That was… wow.”
Arthur smiles at him and pulls him in for another chaste kiss. Merlin can feel his thighs beginning to burn from the strain their position is putting on them, but he doesn't move away, can't move away because he's finally got what he's wanted for so long. Arthur is in his arms and they're both wrapped around each other, and really, his thigh muscles can wait a bit longer.
“Merry Christmas, Merlin,” Arthur says, looking at him with this huge, soppy smile on his face, and Merlin can't help but to return it.
“Merry Christmas,” he replies, and as Arthur pulls him up with an arm around his waist, he can't help but to think about just how true those words are.