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Lessons in the Art of Cycling
Prologue
As the TV blares, Merlin stirs his straw in the glass. “Look at that, Kittel's out-sprinting Kristoff.”
Arthur nods at the screen, munching on his crisps. “Yeah, but Nibali's still gonna win the tour.”
Merlin throws an olive at him. It hits the potted plant behind Arthur, bounces off its trunk and rolls onto the pavement, where it gets eaten by a passing spaniel. “You have no romanticism. Sports are about the challenge, the underdog making it even if he can't win.”
“Merlin,” Arthur says, shaking his head even though he's still got a smile stamped on his lips. “Kittel won the final stage last year too and the one before that. He's hardly an underdog.”
Merlin snorts, but there are dimples in his cheeks and his eyes have slimmed to slits. “Arthur, the man with a heart of stone.”
“Merlin, the gullible softie.”
Merlin starts chuckling, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening in a way that knocks Arthur's lungs a little loose — which is not fair because you can't pick at Merlin when he's like that. It's like finding fault with a child. “I've just got passion.”
Arthur sits up a little straighter, comes up with nothing else to say.
The sun baking their necks, they finish watching the last stage of the tour, take in the awarding of the medals ceremony. As the cyclists shower the crowd in champagne, Merlin says, “I wish I could do something like that.”
“Win a gold medal?”
“Nah.” Merlin scrunches up his nose. “Pedal my way along the Champs-Elysées or any other scenic route.”
“What's stopping you?” Arthur thumbs at the calendar icon on his mobile. “I'm free next Saturday. We could rent bikes and go biking along the Lee Valley.”
Merlin scratches behind his ear. “Er, there's a problem with that.”
“We can postpone it, make it Sunday,” Arthur says, flicking the pages of his diary. “Or if you're okay with—” He clears his throat. “—a moonlit ride we could do it any day of the week.”
“Er, no,” Merlin says, “the problem is I can't.”
“That busy at work, uh?”
“No.” Merlin dips his head. “Fact is...” A dusting of pink spreads across Merlin's cheeks. “I can't ride a bike.”
Arthur spits out some of his beer. “What?”
“Nobody ever taught me,” Merlin says, raking his hand through hair that's already standing on end as it is. “My dad hiked off when I was a kid and mum had no time, working two jobs, to teach me. So I never picked up the skill.”
Arthur opens his mouth several times but nothing comes out because he's too busy feeling like a heel. At last some shred of his presence of mind comes to rescue him and he says, “You know how sorry I am. What I think of the man.”
“Yeah.” Merlin grimaces. “Yeah.”
Arthur wants to wipe the sadness off of Merlin's face, feels an urge that's deep-seated in his brain and in his bones. “Why don't I teach you?”
“What?”
“Biking.” Arthur pops an olive into his mouth.
Merlin's lips soften into a smile. “You would?”
“Of course I would.” Arthur blows on his fist and rubs it against his chest. “I'm actually very good on a bike. So you couldn't have a better teacher.”
Merlin bites his lower lip, but he still can't check the toothy grin that follows. “I'm going to have a very humble teacher, am I not?”
“Very.” Arthur smiles and he does it smugly because he knows it will make Merlin laugh and shake his head and come up with a rejoinder. “And a very efficient one at that.”
“We'll see if you're really all cracked up to be,” Merlin says, reacting exactly in the way Arthur had foreseen, voice broken by laughter, his tone a little taunting, the challenge in his voice softened by the smile that comes with the delivery. “So when are we doing it? Is Saturday all right?”
“Yeah,” Arthur says, smiling against the rim of his pint glass. “Saturday's fine.”
“It's a date then.”
*****
Lesson One
The bike is red and shiny. It comes with wide wheel rims, heavy-duty spokes, a headlight, and five gears. It's actually Elyan's but Merlin needn't know that. It was the best Arthur could do at short notice in terms of getting his hands on a bike that isn't a Boris bike. Besides that, it's a really good bike, it's safe and stable enough for Merlin to learn on. Arthur walks it over to where Merlin is and Merlin's jaw slackens when he sees it. “I thought we'd use some old thing, not the latest in bike tech.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur says, squaring his chest out. “A rusty old bike would be dangerous. You wouldn't be able to brake properly and it wouldn't respond.”
“I just need to learn the basics.” Merlin shifts from foot to foot, eyeing the bike dubiously. “And I don't want to scratch the paintwork off this one.”
“Well, I hardly think you can manage that.” Even though Merlin can be clumsy at times and he's particularly good at tripping over nothing, he's not that bad either. Especially when you make him pay attention, which Arthur intends to do. “Today we'll just be learning the ABCs.”
“Okay, where do I start?” Merlin says, clapping his hands together.
“You start by wearing this,” Arthur says, sliding a helmet off the handle bar.
“You said we were focusing on the ABC,” Merlin tells him. “Why would I need that?”
Arthur presses the helmet against Merlin's chest. “Because it's safe standard practice and because you're you, Merlin.”
“I'm not stupid.”
“No.” Arthur bobs his head up and down. Merlin can, in fact, be quite clever. “But you're also the one who ended up in a well as a child.”
“It was a shallow one,” Merlin says. “And the rescue people were so nice.”
“See I have a point.”
“That was once.” Merlin holds up a finger. “Once, when I was a kid.”
Arthur has a rebuttal for that too. “You fell down the stairs at work.”
“That was only because I was carrying a foot tall pile of documents and I couldn't see my feet and —”
“That time we went hunting at my father's,” Arthur says. “You fell into a ditch.”
“That was deliberate,” Merlin says, at a high pitch. “I was trying to save the fox.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Just wear the helmet, Merlin.”
Though he keeps muttering under his breath, Merlin does as he's told. When he's finished adjusting his helmet's strap under his chin, he says, “Okay so what do I do?”
Arthur pushes the bike forward by the saddle. “What you do is climb on it, push off with your feet and just pedal.”
“Sounds easy,” Merlin says, climbing onto the saddle. He keeps his feet on the ground and his hands on the handlebar. “I can do it.”
“Okay, right.” Arthur takes his hands off the brake lever and pushes away from the bike. “At my three. One, two, three, go.”
Merlin places his foot on the pedal and pushes. Hands gripping the handlebars tightly, he gets moving. It's imperceptible at first, but then Arthur can definitely detect a little acceleration. Even so, Merlin's going slow, too slow, the bike squelching across the only muddy patch visible in a mile radius.
Arthur shouts, “You've got to go quicker or you'll fall.”
Merlin swerves. “Still in business!”
The bike wobbles down the lane. The moment Merlin encounters his first bend, the wobble morphs into a heavy tilt.
Arthur shouts, “Steer, Merlin, bloody steer!”
Perhaps that was the wrong suggestion to give because Merlin takes to turning the handlebar rather frantically, which causes the bike to totter drunkenly.
“Not like that!” Arthur hollers.
“Then how!”
But before Arthur can tell Merlin how, the idiot's crashed his bike into a flower bed.
Cringing, Arthur rushes over to him. Fuck, if Merlin's broken something, he's going to strangle him. When he gets there, he bends over Merlin’s prone body, pats him down, checks for signs of injury even if he's not a hundred per cent sure what they’d look like. “Are you all right? God, Merlin, tell me you're all right.”
With a grunt, Merlin turns over. “Yeah.” He grins like a thorough madman, his front teeth on display. “Just hurt my elbow a bit.” He shows it to Arthur. “But I've had worse.”
Merlin's elbow is scraped from mid-forearm up, bits of gravel worked into the reddened skin and sticking to it. The lower section of the wound isn't bleeding as freely as the rest. It's only oozing fat, slow-trickling droplets. But the upper part of his elbow is injured deeply enough that a steady little rivulet of blood has drenched Merlin's shirt where it's been rolled up. Otherwise Merlin seems to be fine. Nothing's sticking out of joint, there are no other visible cuts, and Merlin's grinning too merrily for him to be sporting any broken bones.
Arthur's shoulders slump as a sigh gushes out of him. “You really are an irredeemable idiot.”
Merlin's face falls. “Does that mean that you won't teach me anymore?”
“No,” Arthur says, hauling Merlin up by the shoulder. “But we're changing methods.”
*****
Interlude
“I don't want to bleed on your fancy white sofa,” Merlin says, cupping his elbow in his hand. “Or, for that matter, on your plush white rug.”
Arthur hates both, and wouldn't mind if he had to throw either one away. “Save your breath for some other egalitarian diatribe, Merlin. I'm not letting you roam London bleeding like a zombie.”
“Zombies are dead.” Merlin snorts through his nostrils, already enjoying his rejoinder. “They don't bleed.”
“Oh shut up.” Arthur makes as big a production of rolling his eyes as Merlin did of snorting. “You need some patching up.”
In spite of Merlin's silly resistance, Arthur gets him to sit on the counter next to his first aid kit.
“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” Merlin asks.
“Yes.” Arthur looks up from his inspection of the kit. “I can wrap my head around disinfecting a minor scrape.”
“Yes, sir.” Merlin mock salutes.
Arthur gives Merlin a light rap on the head, then grabs his arm, and rains disinfectant all over his elbow.
Merlin hisses and kicks at the counter behind him, purses his lips, and shouts.
“Don't kick up a fuss, Merlin,” Arthur says. “You're worse than a toddler.”
Just to prove Arthur's point, Merlin sticks his tongue out, then socks him in the shoulder. Arthur dances back, sweeps in once more and manages to pinch Merlin in the side. Merlin yelps, tries to grab a fistful of Arthur's flank, but Arthur's quick on his feet and doesn't let Merlin grab him by his sides. Merlin lets out a deep rumble, swoops down the counter and gets a neck-hold on Arthur. With a twist, Arthur takes a hold of Merlin's arm. Head down, he shrugs his shoulders and at the same time he sinks forward and hooks his calf around Merlin's. With an oomph Arthur has Merlin down on the floor, his own weight resting on Merlin.
Merlin laughs and laughs and his chest rises and rises. Arthur flushes hot, from sternum to neck and all the breath is knocked out of him. He watches as Merlin's eyes fill with tears, get a shine that highlights them to a deeper blue. He focuses on the plunge of his Adam's apple and the way the breath ripples out of his mouth.
Then Arthur's on his back and Merlin is sitting on him, a manic grin stamped on his face. “I win!”
For a long moment Arthur can't think of a word to say, he just expels this long 'er' sound. Because he's rather confused. He doesn't know what's exactly happened, but it's rather more momentous than him losing a bout of horseplay to Merlin. His heart has turned in his chest. Flipped upside down,vcapered its way out of its proper location. He's sure an X-ray would show it. Either way it’s a thought-provoking moment and the sensation freezes him utterly and completely. Then his neurons spark again and he tells Merlin, “You didn't. I let you.”
“Not true.” Merlin shakes his head. “I win.”
“No, you don't. You just took me by surprise.”
Merlin smirks. “It boils down to the same thing. I win.”
For a spell that Arthur thinks is as long as an ice age and as distinctly uncomfortable to live through, they say nothing. Merlin's looks at him out of laughing eyes while Arthur tries to control his facial muscles the way he wishes he could keep other parts of his anatomy in check. “Come on.” Arthur slaps Merlin on the back in as casual a way as he can pull off. “Off. I need to patch you up.”
Merlin jumps upright. “You're just saying that because you're a sore loser.”
Arthur shakes his head, can't help a silent giggle and the subtle murmur of 'Idiot' that comes out fonder than the word has any right to be.
Merlin offers him a hand up and Arthur takes it.
*****
Lesson two.
“No, no way.” Merlin clamps his mouth shut. “I'm not using training wheels!”
“Oh come on.” Arthur tightens the bolt and straightens out of his crouch. “That's how I learnt.”
Merlin crosses his arms. “And how old were you at the time?”
“Five,” Arthur says, toying with the spanner.
“There,” Merlin says, swiping both arms outwards. “I rest my case.”
“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.” Arthur puts the spanner on top of the waist-high border wall. “First, these are adult training wheels. You didn't think kids' ones would fit on this?” He pats the bike. “Secondly, you have zero balance. In fact, you have worse balance than a kid's. Ergo you should try what children do.”
“I refuse.” Merlin shakes his head, strands of fringe dancing on his forehead. “I'll never climb on that thing.”
“Well, if you don't want to learn,” Arthur says, kneeling back down so he can apply the spanner to the bolt, “it's fine. I'll just remove these and we can call it a day. No learning. No acquiring a new skill. No cycling down a fine scenic route, beautiful sights brushing past.”
“No, wait.”
“Really, Merlin,” Arthur says, looking up from behind the wheel's spokes. “Not everybody has to learn.”
“I want to,” Merlin tells him, wresting the bike from him and climbing onto the saddle. “Now stand back and watch me.”
With his training wheels on, Merlin performs three tours of the park. At first he pouts all the time, especially when a girl on a kid's bike overtakes him, and keeps his head down. But as he starts going faster, one set of training wheels nearly coming off, Merlin gets a blinding smile on his face that nearly undoes Arthur.
“Get your arse back here,” Arthur shouts. “So I can get a wheel off!”
*****
Interlude two.
“You know,” Merlin says, bumping shoulders with him, “I don't understand all this secrecy. Where are we going?”
“Wait and see,” Arthur says, suiting his pace to Merlin's. “Wait and see.”
The front of the Action Bike shop is all black veneer and glass windows, rows of bikes on show.
“Arthur, what are we doing here?”
“Buying you a bike,” Arthur says, pushing the door open.
Merlin digs in his heels. “I'm not buying a bike when I'm not even sure I can ride one.”
Arthur grabs Merlin by the jacket. “I'm getting you one.”
“You're not getting me one!” Merlin says, making a point of staying stuck in place. “That's not like you lending me change to pay for my coffee. I can't ask you that.”
“You need a bike,” Arthur points out. “I can't keep lending you Elayn's.”
“The red bike wasn't yours?”
“Mine's up at my father's house.”
“Oh.” Merlin dubiously looks at the array of bikes on display. “How much will one of these cost me?”
“You'll never know if you don't enter.” Arthur cocks his head.
“I'll just have a look.”
“Nobody says you have to buy something, if you don't like what's on display.”
“Okay.” Merlin unglues his feet. “Let's see what they have.”
The shop assistant shows them a variety of different models, ranging from mountain bikes to hybrid bikes to commuter bikes. Some of them, Arthur can see, catch Merlin's eye — especially the colourful ones. There's a trek hybrid Merlin can't seem to stop pawing at. Even the assistant notices and, possible sell envisioned, starts volleying off specs, “This is a Trek Madone 2.1 C H2 - Crystal White 2015.” He pats the leather saddle. “It has an aluminium frame, a Shimano 105 drive-train, discreet rack and mudguard mounts for road versatility, alloy rims, and a highly aerodynamic shape. It's also an excellent value for the money.”
“It's really, really beautiful,” Merlin says, running a hand along the length of the top tube. “Really solid looking.”
“You can have the Trek Mandone 2.1 at a discount,” the shop assistant says.
“Really?” Merlin's eyes shine. “How much is it?”
“It was £1,000 before our great summer sale,” the shop assistant says, smiling politely. The smile intensifies when he adds, “And it's £900 now!”
“£900!” Merlin repeats, his shoulders going down. “Well, that's well out of my price range.”
The shop assistant's own body folds a little in defeat. “We have other bikes that are cheaper. Some models come in around two or three hundred. They're over there. You can have a look if you want.”
Merlin does have a look. He slides amongst the rows of bikes. There are red ones and blue ones, and shiny black models Arthur wouldn't be averse to and that Merlin really considers. He at least paws at them in a desultory fashion, trying brakes and kick up stands. But he doesn't seem to be as enthusiastic about them as he was about the first model he saw. His eyes don't quite go as bright as they had when he was looking at the Trek Madone, and there's less eagerness in his hands.
“I suppose I don't quite need all the features of the first one,” Merlin says. “I'm just learning.”
“Merlin, you should go with your heart's desire.”
“Arthur.” Merlin sighs. “I have my electricity bill and my council tax to pay. This is simply not an extra I should take on.”
“But if you really want the first one.” If Merlin's body language is anything to go by, he really fell in love with it. “You should buy that one and not another model you're only half-hearted about.”
“Arthur, I know you can't see the difference yourself,” Merlin says, both shoulders going up, “but I can't buy a grand worth of whims. I'm just not that well off.”
“But, Merlin—”
Merlin grabs him by the wrist and leads him to the exit. “I'll go home and think about it. No point lurking in the shop when I'm not making a purchase.”
“I just don't think this is a good idea.”
They walk together back to the Tube, but before they need to start on the stairs, Arthur stops dead in his tracks. He pats his pockets and says, “I forgot my oyster card in the shop.”
Merlin turns, says, “I'll walk you back.”
“No.” Arthur puts his hands on Merlin's shoulders and pushes him down a step. “Go home. You don't need to walk all the way back with me.”
“But, Arthur, we came all the way here to look for a bike for me,” Merlin says. “The least I can do—”
“Just go home, Merlin. You have a long day tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Go. I'll ring you when I get home.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Now go.”
Merlin goes down a step. “Okay. I'll text you later, to see how it went.”
Arthur nods. “See you around, Merlin.”
****
Lesson 3
Arthur walks the bike down the path, meets Merlin in the middle.
“That's the Trek Madone from the shop,” Merlin says, goggling at the bike.
“Yes.” Arthur sounds the bike's bell. “And it's yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” says Arthur, puffing his chest out, “that this is a gift for you.”
“Arthur!” Merlin gapes. “I can't. I can't accept a thousand quid worth of bike.”
“Nine hundred actually.”
Merlin's eyes go smaller. “You know that's not the point. The point is that I can't accept this.”
“I get it.” Arthur lowers his head. “You don't like it.”
“No, no, I do.” Merlin waves his hands about. “You know I do. I just can't take it.”
“Why?” Arthur asks, toying with the bike's brakes. “I don't get it.”
“Because it's worth an arm and a leg.”
“I can afford it.”
“I know.” Merlin's face softens, his eyes full of understanding. “But it's still not something I can repay right now.”
“I don't want you to.” Arthur pushes his lower lip out. “I just want you to finish learning on this one.” While he wishes Merlin could understand that Arthur wants him to have the very best of everything, that's not something that's going to happen soon. Arthur's theories simply won't fly with him, because Merlin's used to doing economies and keeping his head on his shoulders, and making a little go a long way. Arthur must think something up fast or he'll have to return the bike. “You know learning on this one will be much safer, don't you? This bike's got killer brakes.”
“Killer brakes?”
“Yes.” Arthur says. “The safest you can think of.”
Merlin caresses the brake handle.
“Look, I can store this at mine for when I'm in town and you can use it as a training bike now that you're learning.”
“You need a second bike?” Merlin tips his head to the side and his eyes widen a fraction.
“Told you my old one is at my father's,” Arthur says, pushing the bike at Merlin. “I can definitely turn this one into my town bike.”
Merlin smiles. “Well, in that case.”
“Hop on.” Arthur pats the saddle. “Let's give this beauty a spin.”
Merlin climbs on, puts one foot on the pedal and the other down. His arms are a little tense as they reach for the handlebars, but he's wearing a big smile. “Yeah. Yeah.”
Arthur places one hand next to Merlin's, while he rests the other one at the small of Merlin's back. He leans close and says in Merlin's ear, “Now I want you to push off. Don't slow down too much or you'll wobble and fall as you did last time.”
“Okay,” Merlin says, trembling subtly. “Okay, no slowing.”
Arthur doesn't want Merlin to tense up, so he moves a little closer and runs his hand up and down Merlin's back. He makes it as soothing as he can but Merlin doesn't relax. If anything some of his back muscles knot further up. “It's literally child-play, Merlin.”
Merlin exhales. “Yeah, I know.”
“Just don't go tensing up,” Arthur says, ruffling Merlin's hair. “Even you can do it.”
Merlin murmurs something but Arthur can't make it out. He knows it's not one of the usual insults Merlin likes to throw at him because Merlin's go to ones are generally composites of made up words and this is none of it.
“Okay,” Arthur says, cupping Merlin's elbow. “Start pedalling at my three. Three, two, one.”
A little after Arthur's said one, Merlin starts. At first the bike totters. Merlin puts his feet on the ground but they skid. The Trek Madone tilts.
Arthur cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Try again.”
Merlin says, “Easier said than done.”
“I know you can do it.”
Merlin steadies himself, looks at the pedals and pushes again. He's spilling off the sides once more, but then he straightens, wrestles the handlebars, and succeeds in getting the bike under control. And then he's cruising down the lane, going steady and more or less straight.
“That's it!” Arthur shouts, holding both arms up in the air, fists formed. He jumps up and down, dances around. “You've made it.”
Merlin whoops loudly and laughs. The park lane resounds with it and Arthur can feel the sound bubble inside of him too. It echoes around the chambers of his heart and in his chest and puts a smile on his face.
That smile only falters when Merlin takes a left turn, the bike lurches, and he ends up in a flower bed. Arthur rushes up to him, fearing Merlin's hurt himself, but when he gets there he finds that Merlin is grinning like a maniac. Arthur's never seen Merlin radiate such joy before. It's in his eyes, and in the tilt of his lips.
Merlin spits out a handful of grass. “Did you see that? Did you? I was riding a bike.”
“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur says, extending his hand so Merlin can grab it. He feels its warmth, its strength, the energy pouring off Merlin. “You cycled for about two hundred yards. It was just the same as winning the Tour de France.”
“Shut up.” Merlin lets himself be levered up. “It was a great triumph.”
“I'd call it a moderate sized one,” Arthur says, not letting go of Merlin's hand, “but you did do better, I'll concede.”
Merlin body bumps him and Arthur staggers back, laughs because he can't help it, though he most certainly tries to sober up as soon as he can.
“You have a heart of stone.”
The truth is that Arthur's positive his heart is no such thing. Right now it's doing its level best to contract and release, to pump his blood at too fast a pace. It's making a right nuisance of itself, and it's quite scary the way it's behaving. It almost feels like Arthur has no control over the thing, which is upsetting, to say the least, because it's his, and he should be able to make it do his bidding. But Merlin seems to have it at his beck and call. “Pffft, hardly,” is what he says, because the stuff he's just thought is really quite pathetic. “Next week I'm teaching you to take turns. Then we'll see about miracles.”
*****
Interlude Three.
Arthur's flat is by no means tiny. With three rooms it's actually quite spacious for his bachelor self. He has a bedroom, a guest bedroom he never uses, a den that subs as an office, and a nice chrome kitchen. The place also comes with several cupboards, so he's not short on storage space. But he's also a stickler for order and a lover of uncluttered spaces. That's why he asks Gwaine. “Why not?”
“Because I live in a one-room bedsit,” Gwaine says. “That's why.”
“Oh come on,” Arthur says, putting his beer on the floor, “you can find a nook for my new bike.”
“No, nope, can't.”
“You have all sorts of rubbish strewn in there,” Arthur points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why can't you make room for my bike?”
“The more pressing question is why did you buy a bike if you didn't want one around?”
“Just because,” Arthur says with studied unconcern.
“Then find a place for it.”
“I can't!”
Gwaine snorts. “Why?”
“Because I don't need it,” Arthur says, “I can take the tube to work and I've got a car if I want to go farther.”
Gwaine takes a sip of his beer, smacks his lips together. “Question still stands.”
“The bike was for Merlin,” Arthur says, looking away. “He's learning how to ride one.”
“You bought Merlin a bike?”
Arthur picks his beer back up, unglues the label from the bottle. “He didn't have one.”
“But somehow the bike's back in your hands?”
Arthur mumbles the words. “Merlin wouldn't accept such an expensive gift.”
“What did you say?”
“Merlin wouldn't keep a gift I spent so much on.”
“Then why did you give it to him?” Gwaine asks, pushing both eyebrows up.
“Because he needed a bike and deserves to start on a decent one.”
Gwaine bursts out laughing and it gets so bad he starts holding his sides. “You have it so bad. So, so bad.”
****
Lesson 4
“Keep the handlebars steady,” Arthur says, as he watches Merlin prepare to take a turn. “Now don't veer sharply, do it gently.”
Arthur squints, bracing for the moment Merlin will make a mistake. But it doesn't happen. Instead of sharply wrenching the handlebar, Merlin just lightly touches it, so that he starts on the turn without a single hiccup. “Yes, that's it, Merlin, you've done it. You've learnt how to ride a bike!”
Merlin disappears down the bend and only resurfaces from behind the shield of greenery lining the path a minute so later. He's going fast, laughing and shouting, riding his bike for all he's worth. He makes a bee line for Arthur and Arthur yells, “Do you know how to brake?”
“What do you think?” Merlin hollers back at him.
The tires screech as Merlin's bike comes to a halt an inch or two short of Arthur's foot. Arthur places his hands outside of Merlin's, his legs on either side of the front wheel. He grins widely. “You've made it!”
“Yes, thanks to you.” Merlin's Adam's apple goes down, comes back up. “Without you I...” He slides off the saddle and plants his feet wide on the ground. “I wouldn't have made it. You're a friend. You're more than—”
“Well, I'm a genius teacher,” Arthur says, because Merlin's so close and his eyes are shining so bright and Arthur can do nothing but babble. “That's what—”
Merlin's lips are cushiony and warm when they touch his and steal a gasp from him. They yield when they rub together with Arthur's, perfect when they open a notch and allow Arthur to lick his way into Merlin's mouth, to taste his breath. The kiss deepens, becomes shallower, then softer and even more moving. Arthur's hearts squeezes, his lungs falter and it's all very painful and all very beautiful. Arthur almost can't stop, can't drop his hands away from Merlin's face, can't stop slanting his lips across Merlin's, renewing the pressure even when his lips tingle and smart and he feels so light headed and dizzy he knows he needs air.
He can't tell who it is who draws back first. They both breathe deep at the same time and look into each other's faces. He can't be positive as to what's on his – though he does feel mildly hot about the cheeks – but Merlin's flushing and his lips are stretched up to his ears. “I've wanted to do that for such a long time,” Merlin tells him and the words hack their way right into Arthur's heart.
****
Interlude Four.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur says, as he kisses the back of Merlin's neck while the poor sod tries to open the door. "Why?."
"Why didn't you?" Merlin asks, his voice at a tilt so that Arthur knows this is a pointed question, that Merlin thinks he's scoring points. "Uh?"
Arthur doesn't say. It's not because he doesn't know why he's behaved in a certain way, it's because he does. It's because he realises how sad the truth sounds. He settles for something that comes close to the truth while deflecting from the most embarrassing aspects of it. "I didn't want to mess with our friendship." This comes across as incredibly less pitiful than the more truthful, 'I couldn't bear to lose you."
After some fiddling with the keys, the door opens. Merlin pushes inside. "Neither could I," he says, lobs his keys at the bowl and turns around. "I never want to lose you."
Merlin's statement, the courage of it, saws right through Arthur's flesh and spears his heart. He pushes past Merlin, leans the bike against the wall. "God, the things you do to me," Arthur says, backing Merlin against the door, cradling his neck.
"Do I?" Merlin quirks his lips. Arthur thinks he does the same, hopes he isn't looking as dopily silly as Merlin is.
"Yes, you do." Arthur's on the edge of baring himself, and for a moment he considers saying something stupid, something flippant, so that he won't have to, so he can keep safely hiding behind a wall of cool. But then Merlin looks at him with love in his eyes and Arthur can't do that. He refuses to give less than he's been gifted with. "You've made me fall." He kisses Merlin then, partly because that's easy and he won't have to wax into a proper declaration, but also because there's nothing he wants more.
Their kiss starts like a banked fire, with them taking measure of each other, this new thing between them. They're friends and they're not used to this. So Arthur goes slow and Merlin does too and it's lips on lips for a long while. It's sweet and tender, and unlike anything's Arthur's ever known, but it floors him more than anything's ever done before. Emotion saps his bones and makes them feel completely rubbery, like he's about to keel over. It makes his heart pulse in starts and painful jabs that poke at his ribcage and race so fast it's nearly scary.
His hands land on Merlin's waist, find an anchor at his hips, pull him to him at the same time Merlin goes of his own volition. When he's so close there's not an inch between them, Merlin rakes his teeth up Arthur's throat, up the side of his jaw, rubs his face against Arthur's. He swipes his palm under Arthur's shirt, up his back. Arthur needs more of that but the position they're in doesn't allow for much. “Let's move.”
They push off the wall and the moment they do the bike falls flat on its side. “Leave it,” Merlin says, kissing Arthur's mouth and walking him backwards towards the sofa. “I only want you.”
“You do, do you?” Arthur waggles his eyebrows, tries to go for comic effect even while he's striving to kiss and touch Merlin like this is the last chance he's got.
“Yes, I do.” Merlin pushes him down on the sofa, climbs on top of him. “I do.”
Arthur buries his head in Merlin's neck, smells the scent of him. He runs his hands up the back of his arms, twists his fingers in his hair, reaches up so he can kiss Merlin's throat, his mouth, trace the shape of his face till his lips tingle with the chafing from Merlin's stubble.
Merlin hisses when Arthur sucks a mouthful of flesh into his mouth. His spine flexes, he strains upwards, bears down.
With Merlin sitting in his lap, their cocks brush. Arthur goes hard in record time, goes dizzy, can hardly vocalize what he wants. He makes a grab for Merlin, digs his fingers into his flesh, strains with his mouth for Merlin's lips, for his skin.
Merlin surges upwards again. Spine arching, he scrambles for his shirt, yanks it over his head. With Merlin bare to the waist, Arthur runs his palms flat up his chest, lets his mouth follow in the wake of his hands. He skates them across Merlin's pecs, mouths at them, licks at a nipple. With a little, bitten off noise, Merlin throws his head back. Arthur nuzzles his throat, nuzzles at his collar bones.
In answer Merlin rocks against Arthur, robs him of all breath. He manhandles him so Arthur's falls flat on his back, sideways on the sofa. Merlin thumbs at the button of his jeans, lowers the zip. With it, Merlin’s jeans and underwear slide off his hips too. The head of his cock is a dark pink, soaking wet. Merlin fumbles, takes himself in hand. His cock disappears in and out of his fist. Because of those visuals, Arthur is quick to open his own jeans, lower them.
“Merlin,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin so he's blanketing him. He seeks his mouth, locks them into a kiss, while Merlin rubs their cocks together.
It's all slick from the get go. Merlin's shedding pre-come, drop after drop, and Arthur is too. His thigh muscles tense; heat washes from the inside out. He throws his head back, throat working into a swallow that doesn't help him control the surge of sensations that blots everything out.
Merlin bears down on him, pulls on their cocks with long strokes that leave Arthur breathless. At first it's just a quick up and down motion from tip to base. He cups them both, changes his grip. And it's so good Arthur knows he can't last long. Merlin's fingers are cool, his cock is flesh warm and slick and the contact makes Arthur just want to rut. He breathes hot and heavy in Merlin's ear, splays one hand at the small of his back. With the other he cups his nape and pulls him down for a kiss that's a series of small bites and licks.
Merlin's fingers graze the swollen head of Arthur's prick. In a jerky motion he can only half control Arthur flexes his hips towards Merlin. With a choked noise, a harsh breath that comes deep from the stem of his lungs, he comes.
Before Arthur can help him with it, Merlin paws at Arthur's jeans, pulls them down to the knee and resettles atop Arthur.
In a rush of motion, Merlin places his knees outside Arthur's hips, lowers himself. His cock nudges between Arthur's legs, a pin point of warmth. Arthur locks gazes with Merlin. He nods, caresses his back with slow swipes of his hands.
Merlin flattens his palms above Arthur's shoulder. As he starts rocking back and forth, his jaw scrapes Arthur's face. They don't kiss, Arthur doesn't think Merlin can find the coordination to. He's too frantic now, too lost into his own world. He strokes himself between Arthur's legs, his prick dampening Arthur's skin where it touches it.
On his latest pass, Merlin's cock nudges up against Arthur's balls, gets caught. Merlin hisses, draws back, looks down. He thrusts quick and jerky, his cock sliding between Arthur's thighs, touching the underside of Arthur's own prick, the head poking lower down before Merlin pulls back. He does it again and again, his breath coming faster, sweat breaking on his skin. His face twists as if he's in pain. Arthur grips his forearms, leans up, sucks at Merlin's parted lips, rakes his teeth along the underside of his chin. “Go on, let go,” Arthur says, because he wants Merlin to feel good, wants to watch pleasure take over his features.
With a desperate little sound Arthur wants to catch with his lips, Merlin slams his hips forward.
His come is wet and sticky between Arthur's legs, but Merlin's face is flushed and his eyes are shot wide into a sweet expression that fills Arthur's heart with wonder. He's heavy lidded, mouth slouching open, as if he's about to yawn, and Arthur really thinks him somewhat adorable. He can't say that in so many words, not without having Merlin think him a total goner, so he says, “I think you just wrecked your sofa. Come stains show.”
“That's what you’re choosing to say?” Merlin asks, tipping his head back, half-arsedly raising an eyebrow even though his lids are so puffy it looks as though he's about to go into hibernation mode. “We have sex and you comment on my furniture?”
Arthur grins. “What did you want me to do, murmur sweet nothings in your ear?” He bites Merlin's lobe. “I could call you cuddle-cakes if you want?”
“You're a turnip-head, aren't you?” Merlin says, a grin splitting his face.
“Oh now he insults me.”
“Your pillow talk was about the damage to my upholstery!”
“So what do you propose to do to improve my pillow talk?”
“Make you so tired,” Merlin says, thrusting his hips and kissing Arthur on the lips, “that you can't say anything stupid anymore.”
“I can work with that,” Arthur says, chasing that kiss till it's as deep and satisfying as he wants it to be.
****
When he puts his head on the pillow, Arthur's face hits something other than the smooth cotton of the case. He sits up, turns on the light. Merlin doesn't wake. Rather he snores on, so Arthur continues with his inspection.
He finds an envelope sitting on the swell of the pillow. He opens it. Three sheets of paper spill out. Two are plane tickets. One in Arthur's name, the other in Merlin's. The third is a voucher for a two star hotel in Madrid. Across the back of the sheets the words 'Come see the Vuelta with me?' are scribbled.
Arthur turns, leans over Merlin, who's starfished belly down on the mattress. He kisses his cheek and says, “Yes, yes, I am.”
The End