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On the first day of Merlin’s graduate traineeship, he encountered a handsome prat in the atrium of the Camelot Ltd building and nearly got himself fired before he’d even started. Which would have been a shame, because this was his best chance to become the first Fae-born person in Albion to get a graduate trainee job in the mundane world this century.

It was a grey day in mid-November, but the inhabitants of the building were clearly trying to make up for the dullness of the season by erecting a ginormous Christmas tree in the building’s reception area. This space, designed to be imposing at first glance, and second glance for that matter, was in a large open room at the entrance to the building, covered with polished facing stones and arching, shiny glass. Refusing to be impressed, Merlin entered as nonchalantly as he could manage while still having to look around to get his bearings. 

Dwarfed by this cavernous space, a table bore a sign with the Camelot Ltd dragon motif. The writing stated Camelot Graduate Analyst Trainee Scheme: register here . Behind this table, a woman with sleek, black hair, determined chin, and perfect bone structure was distributing name badges to a small group of people – presumably, his fellow graduate trainees. Reassured by the friendliness of her smile as she greeted the others, Merlin started to head over in that direction. 

Beyond her stood a fifteen-foot Christmas tree, coated with an array of red and gold baubles, also adorned with the dragon motif. A large golden dragon ornament perched on top of the tree, as if it were guarding the hoard of fake presents that had been scattered underneath. As a pagan, Merlin thoroughly approved of this nod to Albion’s origins. Beside the tree was a ladder, upon which stood a young man with shaggy dark hair, leaning precariously to drape tinsel across the upper branches.

Out of the corner of his eye, a well put together blond Adonis was also converging on the desk. Too well dressed to be one of Merlin’s fellow graduates, this bloke had to be one of the high-ups in the company. 

With a glance at his watch, Merlin realised that he was a couple of minutes late, and hastened his steps towards the table. Which was when the Christmas tree wobbled and tilted ominously to one side and started to teeter. 

“Look out, you buffoon!” the blond bloke yelled, just as the long ladder, its occupant, the tree and all, toppled to the floor, obscuring him in a shower of curses, tinsel and bouncing glass baubles.

The dragon rolled, end over end, finally fetching up at Merlin’s feet.

A second or two later, the two men emerged from the cascading tinsel. The Christmas tree dresser rose first, brushing himself down with an apologetic air. Seconds later, the blond bloke bore down on him, finger raised, jaw set into an intent line that hinted at imminent violence. 

“You!” he yelled. “You numbskull! You absolute tit. You total cretin. You fuckwit! This Christmas tree is smarter than you! I can’t believe you! You could have broken my neck!” 

“I’m sorry, I lost my balance,” cried the man as everyone, Merlin included, rushed to collect the debris. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, no thanks to you, you addlepated, incompetent idiot.” The prat stalked forward, fists raised, forcing the other guy to back up against the desk with his hands in the air. 

“Whoa, hey, you can’t do that,” Merlin, ignoring the voice in his head that told him not to get involved, stuffed the dragon under his arm and hastened over to intervene. He would never live it down with Will if he let some arrogant executive bully the proletariat for an unlucky work error. Seconds later, his hand was on the prat’s arm, attempting to hold him back. “That’s enough! Calm down, and don’t be such a bullying prat.”

This, he would figure out later, was where he made his first mistake. Instead of waiting calmly for the situation to blow over, and letting the approaching security guard deal with the ruckus, Merlin had to open his big mouth. 

“You can’t address me like that!” cried the prat, his face red with anger, which somehow served only to heighten the brightness of the blue of his eyes.

“Well, my friend, if you don’t want to be called a bullying prat, stop acting like one! He said he was sorry.” 

The problem being that now the prat, still pink faced and fuming, turned his full attention to Merlin. 

“Do I know you?” he said, piercing blue eyes narrowing to an appraising pair of slits.

“Er… No?” said Merlin, with a smile that he hoped conveyed both that he would not put up with being pushed around, and that he wished to keep the peace.

“And yet you called me… friend?” 

“Must be my mistake,” said Merlin. “I could never have a friend who could be such an arrogant, overbearing arse.” 

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“Well, you’re not Uther Pendragon,” said Merlin, with what he hoped was an appeasing grin. 

“No, I’m his son, Arthur.” 

Shit. 

Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted. In for a penny, in for a pound. 

“I see. Well,” said Merlin, poking Arthur hard in the chest with one finger. 

He was proper annoyed, so he put a bit of welly into it, and his magic, always eager to give him a helping hand, added more momentum to his shove than he’d originally intended, making Arthur stagger backwards and go sprawling onto the shiny, marble floor. 

Oops. 

The collective gasp that went up from the rest of the graduate trainees should have warned him then that running his mouth might have unpleasant consequences. But Merlin was never one to let a good bit of common sense get in the way of dressing down a bully. 

Well, he deserved it. Bloody posh twat pushing his staff around. 

“Well, in that case, Arthur,” said Merlin, lifting his chin, “perhaps you should be grateful that he’s not hurt, because if he were, I’m sure he’d be in a strong position to sue the company for health and safety violations.” 

Before he knew it, he was being pinned, face down, against the lobby countertop, with his arm twisted behind his back, which was even less comfortable than it sounded. 

Better late than never, he remembered his mother’s stern admonitions to keep his Fae powers under wraps. So, he tried his best to wriggle free from his grasp without using his magic, but the guy who had him pinned was as strong as a gorilla and his hot body bulged with muscles in all the right places, and he smelled amazing, which was very distracting. Certain mortal fragrances were irresistible to the Fae, and this one was off-the-scale alluring. 

“You’re a graduate trainee, aren’t you?” said the man, his breath hot on Merlin’s ear, making him shiver. “You should tread more carefully. You assaulted me. I could have you sacked before you even start. I could have you prosecuted.” 

“Oh, yeah?” said Merlin, once again his mouth and his wounded pride getting the better of him. Huh. Merlin could turn him into a toad with just a careless flick of his fingers. “I’d like to see you try.” 

Things were just about to get a bit out of hand when a new, calm voice entered the fray. 

“Arthur,” said this voice, smooth and conciliatory. “Arthur, there’s no harm done. There’s no need to make things worse.”

“Jesus, Leon, this idiot kid is the one who wants to pick a fight.” Arthur released Merlin from his grip all the same.

“Let me take care of the tree,” Leon went on. “And I’m sure Morris didn’t mean to land on you. Maybe we should get a better ladder, and make sure there’s someone around to steady it next time. This young man is right. Morris could have got hurt.” 

Arthur looked like he was about to argue, but then he cast his eyes around the room, at the sea of expectant faces, and returned his gaze to Leon with an abrupt nod. 

“Fine,” he said.  “But, as for him…” he pointed at Merlin with his mouth set into a thin line. “He’d better not cross my path again again. Is that clear?” 

“Of course,” croaked Merlin. “Reading you loud and clear.”

When Arthur nodded and made as if to leave, Leon caught his arm.

“Ahem.” Leon cleared his throat. 

“What is it now?” 

“You have tinsel. On your lapel.”

Scowling, Arthur brushed off the offending item and stalked off towards the panoramic glass lifts. Thoughtfully, Merlin turned to watch the prat’s (admittedly very fine) retreating rear, flexing his arm. God, that hurt. 

“Well, I think you were very brave,” said a woman by his side, linking her arm with his. She flashed him a sympathetic look that instantly made him feel better. She was wearing a smart trouser suit in a quiet shade of navy, with a bright yellow blouse and discreet heels. Her hair cascaded down her back in ringlets. “I’m Gwen. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, smiling back, although his shoulder would ache for days. “It’s okay. I’m stronger than I look. I’m Merlin, by the way. I’m here for the graduate trainee scheme, if I don’t get kicked out for arguing with the boss on the first day.” 

“Nice to meet you.” She tilted her head on one side, with a sweet smile. “I’m here on the scheme too, and I think you were very restrained, in the circumstances.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he said sincerely, because she seemed so friendly and kind, the kind of person he could really gel with. 

The woman who had been handing out badges clapped her hands, and then it was time to assemble for their orientation. 

It didn’t take long for Merlin to bond with Gwen. They sat together for their first orientation class with the scheme’s leader, whose name turned out to be Morgana, and shared coffee and gossip during their breaks. And over the next few days, as they saw a wide variety of the higher executives, learning about the different departments of the company and what they did, he and Gwen began to feel quite at home.

This comfortable state of affairs, however, did not continue for long. It was just over a week later, when…

“Good morning to this year’s graduate trainees.” 

Bloody hell. It was the bullying prat from their first day. Damn Merlin’s big mouth. 

“I’m Arthur Pendragon. Head of the Finance department.” Arthur looked around the room, smiling at everyone in turn until he came to Merlin, whom he acknowledged with a scowl. “I’m going to be taking your first class today. Please pay attention. There’s no room in this company for dawdlers, time-wasters or idlers. Your performance on these training tasks matters, and you will be being judged on the outcomes. There will be no shenanigans.”

He kept on looking straight at Merlin throughout this admonishment.  

“Shit,” muttered Merlin under his breath. “I’m dead. Or fired. Which amounts to the same thing, because if I get fired, then my mother will kill me.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic!” said Gwen, patting his arm. “You’ll be fine!” 

The task, it turned out, consisted of wrangling a relatively simple accounting problem and writing up the recommendations into a report. It was a matter of a few moments for Merlin to develop a script that would chip away at the question and spit out some automated illustrations of the path forward. Once the computer was obligingly dealing with this mundane task for him, he could focus on the more important matter, which was to fetch a coffee and gossip with Gwen.

“So… Lancelot, then,” he whispered behind his hand, with a quick nod in the direction of one of the other graduates on the scheme, a dark-haired, soulful-eyed man who glanced at Gwen approximately every five seconds. “I think he fancies you.” 

“Shh!” giggled Gwen, tilting her head on one side and nevertheless returning an admiring look at Lancelot. “I’m trying to concentrate.” 

Merlin glanced at her screen. She was doing the problem using a spreadsheet, which although correct, was a bit inefficient, so he walked her through the script he’d developed. She was a quick learner, and soon they’d both finished all the questions and could return to the important matter of discussing how hot the rest of the graduate trainees were. 

“What about Arthur?” said Gwen, nudging him surreptitiously and nodding over towards the corner of the open-plan part of the office that they occupied, together with the other CATS (as this year’s cohort of Camelot Analyst Trainees had dubbed themselves), towards the area where the big-wigs had private offices of their own. “Look, there he is. I know you and him got off on a sour note but… He’s handsome, isn’t he? And ever so broad shouldered.” 

“Huh.” 

Although Arthur was indeed a stunning specimen of manhood, all tall, blond and rugged, with a broad set of shoulders and thoroughly ravishable bum, he also had a pompous manner that begged to be pricked. As Merlin observed this personage a flare of something that felt awfully like dislike burst in his gut and he sniffed, pursing his lips together in appraisal. 

“I know his type,” said Merlin, eyes on the oblivious Arthur as he walked around the area where they sat. 

Lofty nosed and straight backed, Arthur exuded all the smugness of Paul Hollywood on Bake-off. As he appraised the graduates and their work, he remained stolid-faced and impartial. 

“Huh,” said Merlin in an undertone designed to be heard by Gwen and her alone. “Look at him. Judging us all. Wouldn’t piss on the likes of me if I were on fire.” 

Gwen bashed him hard on the arm as her mouth dropped open. 

“Don’t be mean!” she said, voice similarly hushed. “I think he’s perfectly lovely!” 

“Mind you, I totally would, of course,” he went on conversationally.

“Merlin!” gasped Gwen, mouth an O of horror, bashing him on the arm.

Arthur turned his back on them for a moment as he bent to review Lancelot’s work, revealing as he did so a well-put-together rear end that snugly filled out a well-fitted pair of suit trousers. 

“Well, why not?” Merlin nodded towards the resulting arresting sight. “I’ve got eyes. And he’d probably be a good lay, once he got rid of that pickle up his arse.”  

“Oh, my God,” squeaked Gwen, behind her hand although her eyes betrayed an outraged glee at his cheek. “You can’t say things like that!”

“Can’t say what?” said Arthur, turning back towards them and strolling in their direction, curiosity placing a thin vertical line between his brows. 

“Nothing!” cried Gwen, panic evident across her face. “I mean, it wasn’t nothing, of course, it was something, I said something, and Merlin said something, but I didn’t mean to say anything, and nor did he, I mean, he’s just…” 

“Gwen didn’t say anything wrong,” interrupted Merlin. He didn’t want Gwen getting in trouble because of his gossiping, and besides which, his ego, pricked by that Christmas tree incident, was yelling at him that Arthur needed taking down a peg or two. He flashed Arthur a smirk. “It’s my fault. I’m being a bad influence and gossiping because I’ve finished this absurdly simple task already.” 

“Oh, God help us. Not only is he a mouthy git, but he’s cocky to boot.” Arthur cast his eyes to the heavens as if praying for strength. “I see. Well, Marvin.” 

“It’s Merlin,” scowled Merlin. “Not Marvin.” 

“As I was saying, Mer vin. It seems we have been gifted with a magician who can finish tasks in his sleep. Aren’t we all lucky, everyone. Mervin knows it all, already. He doesn’t need to learn anything! How fantastic. We should get him working on world peace next.” 

Recognising the tone of voice from that of his most sarcastic teacher, Mr Simmons, Merlin pinked and folded his arms, bracing himself for a lengthy bollocking.

“Clearly, our Mer vin here, thinks he’s in an exam. Well, Mervin, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not at school any more,” said Arthur, his tone mellowing to one of insincere disappointment. Perhaps he and Mr Simmons had studied the same module on humiliating students. “No, you’re on a team. This isn’t a competition to find out who is the quickest at problem solving. The idea is to pool all our talent and for this whole group to learn from each other. So if you do have impressive coding skills, you can help your team mates and bring us new solutions, rather than finishing the task and distracting your team mates with gossip, while carping about how simple it is. And then, perhaps, when we have to do something that you find difficult, like, for example, being diplomatic towards your new colleagues, you can draw upon the skills of your fellow graduates in return. Mer vin. Now, show me what you’ve done and let’s see if there’s anything that we can all learn from.”

Jesus. The bastard had the effrontery to be making a good point, at Merlin’s expense. How utterly humiliating. 

“It’s Merlin, not Mervin,” he said sullenly to his computer screen, unable to think of a single more intelligent retort.

Arthur bent towards him and whispered “I know”, with his mouth so close that his breath gusted on Merlin’s ear, making him shiver right down to his boots for the second time that day. 

God. What an utter git. 

Straightening up, Arthur faced the rest of the CATS, who were watching them, some open-mouthed, with a lopsided grin. 

“That’s the spirit everyone,” he said, patting Merlin on the shoulder in a companionable way, as if nothing had happened. “If you’re struggling with the task, ask Merlin here for help. He knows everything already. And I’m popping out for a coffee. I expect you all to have completed it by the time I get back.” 

The thing was, it wasn’t as if Merlin didn’t know that he managed to sabotage himself with hot, arrogant prats every time he encountered them. It was quite the theme in his short life already. Which was why his mother let him do this in the first place, despite her evident misgivings, catapulting him, with only the suit on his back and a letter of recommendation to some distant uncle or another, into the very alien world of the mortal corporate working environment. 

Well, he would show her that he was ready. 

Ten minutes. Ten uncomfortable minutes it took for Gaius, Merlin’s mother’s distant uncle, to read through her letter. Ten minutes of squirming under the scrutiny of Gaius’s rheumy, yet still-sharp eyes, punctuated by occasional moments when his eyebrow, already sceptical, but not content with merely being raised, encountered a phrase that caused it to jiggle alarmingly towards his hairline, causing his forehead to break out in stern wrinkles.

It didn’t help that the ancient wooden chair that Merlin was sitting on seemed to be able to dig simultaneously into both buttocks.

They were in Gaius’s office, an incongruously dusty type of place, lined with books and dark brown wood, permeated with the scent of leather-bound tomes. All in all, it wasn’t the kind of environment that one expected on the fifteenth floor of a steel-glass-and-marble monstrosity in the heart of the City of London. Gaius himself sat behind the desk, in a chair, Merlin noted, considerably more comfortable than the one that he had to sit on. 

“Stop fidgeting, dear boy,” said Gaius, turning the page over, seemingly absorbed by its contents. At one point he broke out into a chortle, pointing at the page and shaking his head as he laughed. “Dear me, you do get into some scrapes.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” said Merlin, prompted by a defensive instinct. 

“You don’t know what I’m laughing at,” Gaius pointed out. “But from what your mother says here about your behaviour on Beltane Eve, some of it is bound to be your fault.” 

Ah. Beltane Eve. Merlin flushed hot to the tips of his hairs and his squirming intensified. It was all very well. He wanted to be here, and he was grateful, but it’s never nice to have all your decisions questioned. He would have preferred to have arrived here in the mortal realm doing this graduate traineeship at Camelot Ltd because he deserved to be, not begrudgingly because his parents wanted to keep him out of trouble in the land of the Fae. 

“But—” he began.

“No buts.” Gaius lifted a finger. “Now stop interrupting. This is very— oh dear me. Ha ha. No wonder they sent you to me.” 

There was a silence while Gaius resumed his reading. Silence, that was, until he stopped reading for a moment to peer at Merlin above his half-moon spectacles. 

“How extraordinary,” he declared at one point, poking the paper with an extended finger. “Goodness me. Well, I suppose ambitious young people will be attracted to power, whatever package it comes in. But I must say, this particular young Sidhe does come across as a bit desperate. Were you really oblivious to her scheme?” 

Ah. He must have got to the bit about Sophia. 

“What can I say?” Merlin shrugged and tried to look cool, an effect that may have been somewhat marred by the fly that suddenly landed on his nose, causing him to swat at it ineffectually. “I’m a catch!” 

“Yes, well,” said Gaius, eyes raking Merlin’s frame with an unflatteringly sceptical air. “That’s as it may be. But your mother is right. It would not be politically sensible for you to end up handfasted to one of the Sidhe factions by mistake. They clearly wish to entangle you with their machinations.”

He might have known that Gaius would side with his parents. 

“But I didn’t get ensnared,” he pointed out. 

“Only because they sent a woman to seduce you. Now they know your preferences, next time, you might not be so lucky. You were lucky to escape unscathed. Or, unhandfasted as it were. Haha.”

Gaius laughed loudly at his own joke.  

“It’s not funny.” Merlin pouted. “And anyway, that’s not why I’m here.” He leaned forward. “I’m ready to take on my destiny. I am, Gaius. Mother and Father they… they meant well, but I was stifled, back home. I’ll prove that I’m ready, I will. They’ll see.”

“That’s the spirit, Merlin,” Gaius’s gaze softened. “Just try to keep your head down and don’t get noticed. Magic isn’t welcomed here, and the land of the Fae isn’t widely known, for a whole host of very good reasons. You don’t want the Pendragons scrutinising you too closely.” 

“Pendragons? You mean like… um… Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin bit his lip. “Um. Blond bloke. Fit as fu— fit as a fiddle, but a total knob-end who needs taking down a peg or two? People like him? I shouldn’t get noticed by them, you mean?” 

“Merlin?” Gaius’s eyes narrowed. He lowered the letter with a sigh, removing his spectacles to glare even more effectively. His pale-blue eyes bored into Merlin’s. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“N… no?” said Merlin, crossing his fingers behind his back. It wasn’t a lie, was it? After all, there was no need to tell Gaius that he’d already come across Arthur, not really. It wasn’t any of Gaius’s business. 

“Hmm,” said Gaius, with a tilt of one brow as he resumed perusing the letter. 

After a moment or two, the piece of paper twitched in his hand and ignited, burning with a bright dragon-shaped flame that had all the hallmarks of Merlin’s father’s hand. 

“What the—” cried Gaius, blowing on his scorched fingers. He pointed one of these appendages at Merlin with an accusing glare. “Did you do this? Because I have to remind you that a Fae must never do magic in the mortal realm. It could unleash wild magic, with catastrophic consequences…” 

“Me? No! I never!” cried Merlin, shaking his head with a vehemence that surprised himself. “No, that wasn’t me! Sorry, I should have warned you. My father likes to put a charm on letters he doesn’t trust me not to read. Only one person can read it before it goes up in flames. It’s totally unnecessary, of course.” 

“Unnecessary?” Gaius’s eyes narrowed to slits. “So you never tried to read this letter?”

“No, no! Of course not,” said Merlin truthfully. 

The fact was that he did not need to try to read it. He already knew every word, thanks to the secret spell that he’d put on his father’s quill back home, one that mimicked every word he wrote about Merlin on a matching piece of parchment of Merlin’s own creation. But really, Gaius did not need to know that, either. It would only raise questions about how powerful Merlin was, and whether he had surpassed his father in magic yet, none of which was anything that Merlin really wanted to be public knowledge, especially here in the mortal realm. No, the best thing to do in this situation would be to keep quiet. 

“Yes,” said Gaius, drawing out the syllable in such a way as for it to sound as if he actually meant quite the opposite. His gaze raked Merlin from head to toe and his forehead wrinkles performed an eccentric dance that hinted Gaius could see right through him. “I see.” 

Despite himself, Merlin flushed bright red to the roots of his hair. Surely Gaius couldn’t know what Merlin was thinking. Could he? Could he have telepathic powers? 

“Just… just promise me one thing,” said Gaius, steepling his fingers, after what seemed like about an hour of this uncomfortable scrutiny. 

“Of course,” said Merlin promptly. “Whatever you want. I promise!” 

“Then promise that you will keep away from the Pendragons.

“Um.” Merlin bit his lip. Arthur was the head of the finance team, after all. And Morgana Pendragon headed up the graduate trainee program. It might be hard to avoid them altogether. “I’ll try. But they’re quite difficult to avoid, sometimes.” 

“Well, you must try harder.” Gaius sighed, shaking his head. “Everything depends on it. If you are discovered, it could cause a terrible diplomatic incident at best, or outright hostilities at worst.” 

Merlin opened his mouth, but he didn’t really have anything useful to add to this apocalyptic statement, so he closed it and nodded instead. 

By the time December rolled around, Merlin had been as good as his word. He managed to evade any significant attention from any of the Pendragons for some time, outside formal training sessions where he kept his mouth shut and his head down, completing tasks as required. But soon, once the graduate trainees had learned the ropes in their formal training sessions, it was time to start on their first real work experiences – rotations into various teams within the company. Naturally, the question as to which part of the company they would be entering first was a subject of much trepidation among the group. 

Today’s meeting was when they expected to find out. As they assembled in the meeting room, the leader of the graduate trainee group, Morgana Pendragon, was perched nonchalantly on a desk at the front of the swanky fifth floor board room, with its huge round table, and its much-desired view out across the Pool of London. The water in this part of the Thames was sludge brown at this time of year, and its route entirely bounded by man-made embankments, but still the sight of it had the power to replenish Merlin’s tired bones and sharpen the focus of his faerie senses. He took a moment to walk across to the window and stare, his hand flat against the cool glass, drinking in the view like fine wine, breathing deeply and relishing the sharp tingle of his magic deep within his core. 

As the rest of the group filed in, Merlin turned away from the window with some reluctance and sat next to Gwen.

“I hope I’m rotating into HR first,” she whispered from behind her hand. She had made no secret of the fact that she eventually wanted to end up working full time under Morgana in the HR department. 

“Morgana would be silly not to choose you, don’t worry,” said Merlin.

“Where do you think you’ll go?” said Gwen. 

“I’m not sure who I’ll get first,” Merlin confided. “I think I want to do product management, but I’m not sure whether they’ll have me as a raw recruit.” 

“You’re brilliant, Merlin,” said Gwen. “They’d all be lucky to have you.” 

Similar conversations were taking place around the table, and the buzz of voices started to rise, until Morgana clapped her hands, whereupon they all fell quiet. 

“All right,” said Morgana. “Time for the big moment when you find out your first rotations. Gwen, you’re with me.” 

Gasping out in delight, Gwen pressed both hands to her mouth. She didn’t squeal, but it was a close run thing. 

“See?” murmured Merlin, patting her shoulder with pride as the rest of the room clapped. “Told you!” 

“Lancelot, you’re in product management, reporting in to Bors. Percival and Gwaine, to the consulting team – Annis will show you the ropes.”

Morgana went round the room, assigning each one of the graduates on the scheme to a team and a mentor, before finally reaching Merlin. 

“And Merlin…” she said, approaching him around the table, with a lop-sided smile that was a nanometer off being a full-blown smirk. “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.” 

She gazed down at him with her luminous green-grey eyes. They held something that made him shiver. Something that he could not quite pinpoint - something almost magical.  

“Yes?” Merlin gulped. 

“Merlin is with me,” said a familiar, prattish voice from behind Merlin’s shoulder, making him jump. When did Arthur enter the room? “In the finance department. Since he’s such a wizard with figures. Welcome on board, Mer lin.” 

Shit.

So much for keeping away from the Pendragons.

The Rising Sun was the pub around the corner from the office, and from time immemorial had always been the Camelot Ltd drinking ground. Decorated in the usual dark wood and leather, it sold fantastic beer at, for London, reasonable prices, and over the years continued to be rewarded with a steady stream of Camelot Ltd CATS. The lighting was dim, the atmosphere rowdy, there was a general fragrance of eau de stale beer , and like most pubs in the city, its clientele were largely suit-clad, with the occasional perplexed tourist. 

The pub tended to get busy at around five thirty, and to empty out by nine as its denizens moved on – either to more exciting places, or scattering by train to their homes in the southern counties of England. 

Somewhere around the back of this establishment, towards the ladies loos, Merlin sat in a booth with his new friends Gwaine, Gwen and Lancelot, imbibing a social after-work pint or three, ostensibly to celebrate their new team rotations, although Merlin had mixed feelings about his. How on earth was he to avoid the Pendragons when one of them was literally going to be his supervisor for the next three months? Gaius would have a fit. 

He ignored the voice in his head, the one that sounded suspiciously like his mother, which kept telling him that he had no head for strong beer, and took a big swig of his pint. 

Delicious. He could imagine Will liking mortal ale. And it tasted totally innocuous. He didn’t know what all the fuss was about. He could drink loads of this stuff.

“It’s my round,” said Gwen, slipping out of her chair. “Same again?”

“Yes please,” said Merlin and Lancelot at the same time. Gwaine just lifted his pint and raised an affirmative thumb.

While she was progressing towards the bar, Lancelot’s eyes remained fixed on Gwen. Honestly, it was a surprise that they didn’t contain actual hearts at this point. Exchanging a look with Gwaine, Merlin raised both eyebrows. Gwaine, who was shaping up to be an excellent partner in crime, nodded, did a complicated gesture with his elbow, and took a large swig of his pint.

“So,” said Merlin, leaning towards Lancelot, adopting his best conspiratorial air. 

Apart from pricking the overinflated egos of arrogant prats, the second most important duty of the Fae on the mortal realm was matchmaking. It was all very well for Gaius to tell Merlin to keep his head down, but he was doomed to see far too much of Arthur anyway, and it would be super difficult to avoid the temptation to deflate the rampant self-importance of the oversized big-headed pillock. So, naturally, he needed a distraction. 

It wasn’t any good just staying quiet. He knew that. If he just worked on the tasks that the enormous clotpole set him, and went home every night to go to bed early and read dull books on mundane Albion’s culture and philosophy, first, he’d die of boredom, and second, he wouldn’t achieve anything useful, and so, his mother would whisk him away back to the boring old Land of the Fae at the end of the traineeship, where he would also die of boredom. Either way, a slow and excruciating death awaited him. And here there were pubs! And strong beer! And intriguingly handsome dollopheads with nice bodies and distractingly overbearing personalities.

No, he needed to show them all that he should stay. And here was his chance to prove himself. He could show his mother that he was ready to be here, despite her misgivings, AND he would show Gaius he could keep out of trouble at the same time.

“Hmm?” Lancelot’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t look away from Gwen’s retreating figure.

“Whipped,” muttered Gwaine into his drink. 

“So-o-o,” Merlin repeated, drawing out the syllable. “Why haven’t you made a move yet?

“Made a move?” At that, Lancelot did deign to turn his head away from Gwen, although his gaze lingered in her vicinity, and followed the rest of his head only reluctantly. “What do you mean, made a move ?”

“He means Gwen!” Gwaine nudged Lancelot. “Ask her out! She fancies you like anything. You fancy her like anything.” 

“I do not!” 

“I have eyes, mate. Stop prevaricating!” 

“All right, all right, so I do fancy her. A bit.” 

“A lot .” 

“A lot.” Lancelot sighed. “But look at her! She’s way out of my league. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s so gorgeous, don’t you think? But I think she might like you, Merlin.” 

“Nah,” said Merlin, with a reassuring grin. “She twigged I’m gay within five minutes of meeting me. She is lovely, and happens to have a magnificent gaydar…” 

Gwaine snorted. 

“What does that mean?” said Merlin. 

“Merlin, mate,” said Gwaine, with a swish of his hair. He leaned forward, grinning. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I figured that out that you like cock before I even spoke to you, and my gaydar is wonky at the best of times.” 

“How come?” 

“Well. Let me see. Could it be the way you were flirting with the head of finance the first time you met him that gave you away? Or the fact that you’ve been all over him like a rash ever since, flashing him your come-to-bed eyes and flirty dimples.”

“What… Arthur ?” said Merlin, aghast. “I have not! I… That wasn’t flirting! I was taking him down a peg or two, that’s all. I mean… He was… he’s a total and utter cock!” 

“You fancy him though, don’t you? I mean, don’t tell me you wouldn’t tap that gorgeous, posh uptight booty.” 

“I do not! I wouldn’t!” protested Merlin, who totally would. “And anyway, you’re changing the subject. Because, my friend, instead of barking up the wrong tree by trying to set me up with our pompous ass of a boss, which would be inadvisable at best, if not downright unethical, we need to focus on getting Lancelot, here, a date with Gwen!” 

“Do you really think she likes me?” said Lancelot, who hadn’t stopped watching her throughout the whole of this exchange. 

“Of course she does!” 

As they looked across to the queue for drinks, Gwen turned her head, her eyes immediately fixing on Lancelot, face morphing into a dopey smile. 

Gwaine mimed putting his fingers down his throat. 

“See?” said Merlin. 

“Well, maybe. But it’s just not that simple,” Lancelot protested in a low, earnest voice. “I can’t! She’s a colleague, and I wouldn’t want to jeopardise her career, nor mine, and I can’t take advantage of her in a social situation like this, with alcohol, plus—” 

“Good God, man, would you listen to yourself?” Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Stop raising barriers! It’s simple: you like her, she likes you. Do something about it. Happiness awaits!” 

“But she’s way out of my league!”

“No she’s not!” Merlin threw his hands up in the air. “You’re gorgeous! Jesus. You mort— um!” Ooops. Sipping from his drink, playing for time, he carried on, “um… you English! You’re all so uptight! It’s so complicated here! Back where I come from, you’d play a practical joke on her, something funny, mind, and she’d kiss you under the mistletoe, bish bash bosh, next thing, you’d be handf— married. Simple!” 

There. He covered that up nicely.

“Interesting tradition,” said Gwaine, with a swish of his hair. “I’ve not come across it. Tell me more!”

“Well, it’s a sensible one.” Merlin hummed into his beer. “It means that everyone knows where they stand. Well, as long as they can figure out who played the prank. That’s where the finesse comes in, you see.” 

“Fascinating!” said Gwaine. “And where is it that you’re from, exactly?”

“Hmm? Me? Oh, I’m from the Land of the Fa—” Merlin stopped himself just in time. Jesus, what was in that beer? “Uhh… F… F… French. The land of the French. I’m from France. Hic. Sorry. Hiccups. Hic!” 

But he’d barely had time to congratulate himself on the nice save when Lancelot chimed in, dashing Merlin’s hopes of getting away with it to pieces,

“ Alors, donc, mais tu es français ? Moi aussi! On peut parler français tous ensemble, oui ?” 

Shit.

“ Oui ?” Merlin hazarded, plastering a fake smile on his face and wondering what Lance had just said, landing on further hiccups as a time wasting and face saving measure. “Or… um… hic… non ?” 

Honestly, why did he have to land on France ? Why couldn’t he have picked on… on… Finland or something more obscure like that? Although, knowing his luck, and Lancelot’s diligence levels, he was also fluent in Finnish and… Flemish or whatever. Running out of countries and languages beginning with F, Merlin gaped at Lancelot, willing his mouth to move, change the subject, do something.

“Hic,” he said lamely. “Hic!” 

Gwaine bashed him sympathetically on the back which, rather than solving his problem, compounded it by jogging Merlin’s arm to the extent that it flailed across the table, jogging Merlin’s glass, causing a small amount of its contents to discharge onto Merlin’s lap.

With a sense of martyrdom, Merlin dabbed at the resulting wet patch on his trousers with a napkin, cursing his friend. Damn Gwaine! And damn Lancelot! Damn his diligent, handsome eyes. Eyes that were once more following Gwen’s progress back to their table, four pints of beer balanced in her hands, determination not to spill anything betrayed by the way that tongue sticking out endearingly as she navigated through the crowds.

“ Mais, de quelle partie de la France viens-toi ?” Lance carried on, oblivious to Merlin’s inner turmoil. “ Je n'ai jamais entendu parler de cette tradition. ” 

“God,” said Gwen. Saving Merlin from having to answer, she plonked the beers down in front of her with a sense of accomplishment. “It’s insanely busy in here. We were lucky to get a table.” 

Actually, luck didn’t come into it. Merlin had scattered a bit of Fae magic upon entry into the room, causing a group to leave at just the right time, which meant that they could sneakily occupy this booth. Still, even though he couldn’t tell them he’d accomplished this miracle, it was nice for it to be appreciated. 

“Anyway,” Gwen went on. “Why are you speaking French?” 

“Merlin’s French!” said Lance, beaming broadly. “Like me!” 

“He is?” Gwen flashed him a puzzled look. “You never said, Merlin!” 

“Well, erm, I… hic… lived there. For a bit,” said Merlin, inventing hastily, and using the fake hiccups to give him a chance to think. He took a sip of his beer, to give himself a bit more time to cook up a plausible story. “When I was little. I… hic… Unfortunately, never managed to keep up with the language. Haha.” 

“Merlin was just telling me and Gwaine,” said Lancelot with a sly grin, “about this fascinating courtship ritual that his peo—” 

“Hic!” said Merlin, leaping to his feet, making the table judder alarmingly, and losing at least another centimetre from the top of his new pint, but the sacrifice was worth it to get him out of this horrific situation. He gesticulated in the vague direction of the loos. “Hiccups! Hic! Excuse me a moment, I just need to… too much beer, I expect. Haha. Back in a mo. Hic!”

“You really are very, very strange sometimes, Merlin,” said Gwen, head tilted to one side in sympathetic appraisal. 

It was just as Merlin was weaving his way back to their table through the exuberant sea of beer-swilling suits, after an extended sojourn in the men’s loos, that Arthur Pendragon made an entrance – trailed by Morgana Pendragon. 

Shit. The very people that Gaius had told him to stay away from! 

Unlike most of the clientele, Arthur had changed out of his clothes. He had ditched the suit and was clad in a form-fitting pair of jeans and a plain blue shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes and made Merlin salivate. Honestly, it really was not fair that someone so pompous and full of self-importance should be at the same time so bloody fit , even after dressing down for the evening. Gods. Look at the git. Arthur’s jaw was so rugged it made the backs of Merlin’s fingers or better his cheeks itch with the desire to rub at it until they were raw. His hair, normally blond and fluffy to the point of being flyaway, had clearly recently been tamed with some product or another, and Gods, it probably smelled incredible. With a sudden shiver, Merlin recalled the scent that he’d caught a whiff of when Arthur had pinned him over the reception desk with his arm behind his back. 

A moment that had entered his most private fantasies not once in the days since. Not once, no. Not twice, either. Many times, in fact. Many happy times. 

Rude, that’s what it was.

Resolving to keep away from temptation, Merlin plonked himself in the chair next to Lancelot and Gwen and tried to look unobtrusive, but all resolutions dissolved away a moment later when Arthur and Morgana approached their table. 

“Mind if we sit here, Mer lin?” said Arthur with that horrible, sardonic, lopsided grin of his, the one that made Merlin want to wipe it off with a punch to the face, or failing that, adoring kisses. “Budge your insolent arse up a bit!”

“Go ahead.” Merlin replied sulkily, shifting his bum to accommodate the two newcomers in their booth. “You are anyway.”

“Oh, I like him,” said Morgana with a wide smile and a sideways look at Arthur. 

Meanwhile, Arthur had slid along the bench, crowding Merlin along to the end to accommodate Morgana on his other side, which had the unfortunate consequence of making it impossible for Merlin’s thighs to avoid touching Arthur’s. Not that Merlin’s thighs objected to this physical proximity, oh no. And if he wasn’t careful, other parts of his anatomy would start getting interested as well, because damn! Arthur had reapplied whatever cologne or other product he was wearing and it smelt just as fabulous as he remembered.

“Hi Arthur,” grinned Gwaine. “Don’t mind Merlin. He lost his brain-to-mouth filter after the first pint.”

“God help us,” said Arthur, lifting his eyes to the heavens. 

“Don’t be mean, Gwaine!” said Gwen from her vantage point on the opposite side of the table, where, Merlin noted, she didn’t have to stop looking at Lancelot. “Merlin’s got some really cool anecdotes.”

“Hmm?” said Lancelot, who seemed to be equally unable to tear his gaze away from Gwen. “Oh! Ahem. Oh! Ha. Yes! Like, he was telling us about a very interesting… ahem… courtship tradition from back home, a minute ago… and apparently he’s from France, like me, only he doesn’t speak any French .” 

Merlin spluttered into his pint. 

“Oh?” Arthur took a sip from his expensive-looking gin and tonic, which somehow managed to waft his cologne around. 

God, he really did smell good.

 “That does sound…” said Arthur, “...hang on a minute… Are you sniffing me?” 

“No!” cried Merlin hastily, leaning back. “Definitely not! Anyway, if you don’t want to be sniffed, don’t smell nice, that’s what my mum always said.” 

“Always? Really?” drawled Arthur. “My, my. Your mum sounds like quite the character. Tell me, Mer lin, does she live in France, too? And is she the origin of all these interesting courtship rituals of yours? Does she go round sniffing people too?” 

With an air of contentment, as if he revelled in delivering smug pronouncements about peoples’ mothers and their personal habits, Arthur leaned back in his chair and smirked that awful, handsome smirk of his, crossing those horrible, muscled thighs of his and spreading those horrendous, strong arms of his along the back of the booth in both directions, thus drawing attention not only to what a complete prat he was, but also to the width of his nasty, nasty, broad, manly shoulders. The fiend. 

Merlin ground his teeth. All this manliness was not to be tolerated. 

Suddenly aware that the topic of conversation had once more circled back to all the subjects that Merlin had been warned off covering, he blinked down at his pint and belatedly decided that perhaps best stop drinking this beer and go back to something more suitable for a Fae with a chronic lack of alcohol tolerance. 

Being in Arthur’s team for the next two weeks was every bit as frustrating as Merlin had feared, and more. It was bad enough to have to sit through daily meetings with one shiny-shoed ponce, albeit one (Arthur) who smelled so good that Merlin could happily bottle his scent as perfume and flog it back in the land of the Fae for half a bag of gold. But as well as Arthur, the gods had seen fit to curse him with not just one but two other shiny-shoed ponces from the graduate trainee program. 

Take today, for example. A sunny afternoon in mid December, when they should by rights be outside trampling through the forest gathering holly and preparing to feast. But no. No such luck. Today, there would be no holly gathering. Today was all about running financial reports. Today would be spent in this airless, windowless room, gazing at a large screen upon which Leon’s laptop was being displayed. And no matter that Merlin had heard, absorbed, and memorised everything he needed to know the first time Leon explained it, the other two trainees, seemingly competing for prizes in an brown-nosing competition, insisted on going over it again and again until Merlin thought he might scream out of sheer boredom. Apart from the drone of Leon’s voice – soporific after a large pasta-based lunch – the only sound was the scratch-scratch of George’s pen on paper.

As for Arthur – well. He must know this stuff like the back of his hand, but that did not stop him from sitting there, his arms folded in a way that made all the muscles in his broad, manly shoulders and arms bulge obscenely against his pale blue, immaculately pressed shirt. And smirking as if he could read Merlin’s mind. 

“I don’t quite get the bit about report generation,” said George, frowning at his copious notes. George was arguably the least annoying of the two other trainees on Merlin’s rotation, which was saying a lot, given his propensity to sit ramrod straight and make odd jokes about obscure brass instruments. Who cared what the difference was between a sousaphone and a tuba anyway? 

“Shall I go over that one more time?” said Leon. 

Again? Dear Goddess. Please, no! Wincing, Merlin bit his lip and lifted his eyes to the heavens, blinking quickly in a vain attempt to get his eyelids to co-operate and stop drooping. 

“Oh, yes please,” said George, eager to please as always. 

“Oh, yes, please, Leon,” gushed Mordred. “You make it seem so easy, but I just want to check that I’ve got it absolutely right.” 

What a pair of suck-ups. And as for Mordred, well, he was far worse than George. Although polite to the point of sycophancy, there was something cold about Mordred that set Merlin’s magic and his teeth on edge. It didn’t help that the twerp also sat there openly ogling Arthur’s admittedly well-chiselled jaw, making occasional obsequious comments designed to expand their prat of a boss’s already gigantic ego even further. 

If there were Olympic medals awarded for not groaning or rolling one’s eyes, Merlin should be in line for gold. 

Arthur’s weight shifted on his chair. His hands went up behind his head and he leaned back in his chair, pushing his crossed legs out straight in front of him. The main effects of this movement were twofold - first, a strong wave of Arthur’s irresistible cologne went wafting out across the room, making Merlin salivate, despite the large bowl of spaghetti carbonara he’d just inhaled for his lunch. Second, Mordred’s eyes swivelled towards Arthur, raking him up and down, and he seemed to lean towards him at the same time. 

Yes, there was definitely something unappealing about Mordred.

“...and the figures from the last accounting period go on this sheet,” said Leon for the umpteenth time. “Once you’ve checked all the formulae, press this button to run the financial report.”

It was the third time they’d gone over this in ten minutes. Regretting the large portion of pasta that he’d eaten an hour earlier, Merlin sighed heavily, closed his drooping eyelids for just a second. 

“Ahem,” said Arthur, clearing his throat loudly, quite close to Merlin’s ear, making Merlin startle.

“Are you all right, sir?” said Mordred, jumping to his feet. “Do you have a cough? Let me get you some water!” 

Huh. Trust Mordred to call Arthur sir . The smarmy little git.

“No, no, don’t worry, Mordred,” said Arthur. “I was merely ensuring that Merlin was paying attention. He looked like he was dropping off, for a moment there. This is an important part of the end-quarter process, Merlin, it would not do for you to muck it up.”

As he spoke, Arthur’s mouth turned up on one side in a self-satisfied way. It was a very kissable mouth – all pink and sarcastic, begging to be hushed. 

“I wouldn’t muck it up,” said Merlin through gritted teeth. “I could probably do it in my sleep.” 

I might have to, if Leon keeps droning on like that , he didn’t add, although the sudden gleam in Arthur’s eye hinted that he had sensed it. 

“Well, then, since you’ve mastered it already, let’s see you demonstrate the process now, then, shall we?” said Arthur.

“Hmm?” 

“Go on.” Arthur pointed at the screen. “Share your laptop screen and walk us through the process, if you’ve got it all off pat already. Let us learn from your genius.” 

Bloody hell. Cursing his own big mouth, Merlin flushed bright red, his face heating from his throat to the tips of his hairs. 

“What’s the matter, Merlin,” drawled Arthur, tapping his pencil on the table. “Scared?” 

“Scared? Of you?” scoffed Merlin, hitting the screen share button. He had never been one to back down from a challenge and he wasn’t going to start now. 

Settling into his chair, he walked them through the process, with four pairs of eyes trained on the screen as he explained all the entries on the balance sheet. He found the whole thing ridiculously simple, so it didn’t take him long. As he went, he noticed a couple of minor errors, corrected a spreadsheet formula, and then, because the room was still silent and everyone staring at him expectantly, he walked them through his own algorithm, which he thought might run a bit more efficiently than the robust but rather elderly accounting software that the company was using at the moment. 

Finally, he pressed the button to generate the report.

“And that’s it,” he said with a shrug.

Everyone was silent. Arthur stared at him, eyes narrowed. 

“What’s wrong?” Merlin peered down at his laptop screen. “Did I make a mistake?” 

He couldn’t see anything wrong. Firing up the coding console again, he ran a couple more quick diagnostics, and the answers all seemed to check out okay. 

“No, Merlin,” said Leon, quietly. “No mistakes. Well done. And would you be happy to share that new procedure you developed with me after this meeting? I’d love it if you could walk me through your logic.” 

“Thank you! Of course I will!” 

Happy to receive some rare praise, Merlin beamed, which probably made his dimples pop in a very unprofessional way, but he couldn’t help himself. It was the first time on this job that he’d been given an opportunity to prove himself, and he found it oddly satisfying. It was a bit like the time when he was ten years old and his mother, shocked that he could master mundane technology and get computers to cooperate, let him stay up late on Beltane because he’d figured out how to get all her greetings cards envelopes written and sent at the press of a button. 

“There’s something about you, Merlin,” said Arthur, who was still staring at him. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

Merlin practically preened at the praise. And the best thing about it was that both Mordred and George looked most put out.  

The penultimate day of Merlin’s rotation in the finance team was a cold and wintery morning in late December, just before the holiday break. The wind howled and shrieked. Violent squalls battered rain against every surface, blurring windows and rendering the dull skies grey and dark. Against such elements, mere umbrellas were no defence. Understandably, therefore, Merlin left it to the very last minute before tearing himself away from the comfort of his bed. 

Alas, much of London’s population felt the same way, it seemed. Because pretty much the entire population of the city seemed to be trying, simultaneously, to board Merlin’s bus from the unfashionable part of east London where he lived. Any residual enthusiasm he might have had for his commute (there wasn’t any at the best of times) disappeared five minutes into the journey, when a group of damp and noisy teenagers squeezed on, meaning that he had to spend the entire journey listening to them squabble and brag, the tinny rhythms from their headphones setting his teeth on edge.

Which is why he found himself, half an hour later than usual, not so much walking as mooching towards the office, chin and neck retracted into the collar of his coat, hands thrust into the deepest parts of his pockets. 

Merlin took public transport to work each day. So did most of the rest of the CATS, the others often coming in on foot or by bicycle. As far as he was aware, most of the company’s employees did the same. After all, it wasn’t as if there was anywhere to park in the area. The cyclists had space in the basement to park their bikes, and there was an adjacent area for them to use showers and changing rooms. 

Today, just as Merlin was reaching the entrance to the building, a bright red sports car passed him at high speed, sending an arc of puddled rainwater to spray liberally across whatever part of Merlin wasn’t already drenched, thanks to the failure of his cheap umbrella to cope with the wind. 

“Absolute arse!” Aghast, Merlin stood for a moment, rain dripping from his hair onto his now sodden trenchcoat as he stared, open mouthed, down towards his now-ruined work trousers and shoes. “Oh, my God! I’m soaked!” 

If he were on his own, he would cast a discreet spell to banish the water and re-crease his trousers, but unfortunately it was the peak of the rush-hour and the wet pavements were busy with scurrying commuters. So instead, he focused his attention on the vehicle responsible for his predicament, and sprinted after it, shouting and waving.

“Hey! Stop! Wait!” he yelled, not expecting the driver to actually notice him. But by some miracle, the car drew to a stop about ten metres ahead. It had a vanity plate that identified its occupant as PEN1 . 

It’s missing a letter, thought Merlin savagely. His magic, suppressed to the point of painfulness, leaped against his breastbone in agreement, making his skin tingle.

Running over to the offending car, Merlin rapped on the passenger side window. When it opened, it revealed the familiar face of a certain posh prat. A warm, dry, unapologetically smirking prat. 

“Look at me! I’m drenched!” Merlin cried. “That’s assault, you wanker! I could have you prosecuted!”

“Sorry,” said Arthur, the sincerity of this apology brought into question by the peal of laughter that accompanied it. “God, look at you! You look like a drowned rat!”

“It’s not funny,” growled Merlin between gritted teeth. “And don’t call me a rat!”

“All right then, a very angry, half-drowned kitten.” 

“A kitten?” squawked Merlin in protest. “I’m not a bloody kitten! I’m wet from head to toe and it’s your bloody fault!”

“Look, I genuinely didn’t see the puddle there,” said Arthur, in a more conciliatory tone. “You’d better get in before you frighten the rest of the commuters and cause a crash.” 

“Oh, I see, we wouldn’t want to frighten the commuters, would we? Thanks a bunch, arsehole!” 

“Look, just…” Arthur sighed and pinched the skin between his brows. “Just… stop arguing and get in. We’ll park up in the basement. I’ve just been to the dry cleaners, so I’ve got some clean clothes in my car, plus there’s a towel and some shower gel in my gym kit.”

“Huh. I’m fine!” Merlin ground his teeth together. Of all the cheek! “I don’t need help from you , and I wouldn’t be seen dead in one of your horrible designer suits. I bet they’re made of scratchy material, besides which, they’d all be too short for me—” 

“They would not,” said Arthur immediately. “Because I am taller than you.” 

“In your dreams,” scoffed Merlin. Ha. Point scored. Merlin didn’t like to think of himself as being a petty man, but from time to time, one did have to keep a tally. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, before continuing, “… not to mention how ugly all your ties are.” 

“They are not.” 

“They are.” 

“Are not.” 

“Are.”

“Look. I know you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” said Arthur. “And it won’t work. Now, stop being such a stubborn idiot. You need to dry off or you’ll catch your death of cold. And I’m offering to help you. Stop being so obstinate and get in the car!” 

Much as it annoyed him to have to accept help from the twat, Merlin was wet from head to toe, and beginning to shiver. At least this way, he would get mucky rainwater all over the passenger seat of Arthur’s shiny red car. Thus resolved, he put his hand to the handle. 

“All right,” he said, deliberately, “but I’m going to drip all over your Porsche.” 

Merlin bunged his damp rucksack into the footwell and clambered in after it, settling into the bucket chair and fumbling for the seatbelt with cold wet hands.

“I’ll take that risk,” drawled Arthur. 

Just for that, Merlin shook his hair out like a dog, sending water flying into Arthur’s face, taking some satisfaction from the way that this movement caused Arthur’s smirk to morph into a scowl.

“Jesus!” said Arthur, pulling out an immaculately pressed handkerchief to wipe his face. “Are you always this annoying?” 

“Only to stuck-up tits like you.” 

“Change the record, Merl in,” said Arthur. Pocketing his hanky, he turned on the engine of the car and started to indicate to pull out into the traffic. “This one is getting a bit repetitive.” 

“Your face is getting a bit repetitive,” said Merlin, sulkily. “I hope you’re not expecting gratitude, by the way. It’s your fault that I’m in this situation in the first place.” 

“Gratitude? From you?” Arthur snorted. “Luckily for us both, I can assure you that I can live without your good opinion.” 

“Fine by me,” said Merlin, ignoring the irrational pang of hurt that this statement sent shooting through his chest. He wrapped both arms around himself. He was freezing cold now, but he desperately tried not to shiver, not wanting to show weakness in front of Arthur. 

Arthur shook his head, but he also turned on the car’s heating, claiming that Merlin was steaming up the windows, although Merlin couldn’t help noticing that he also turned on the heated seating at the same time, which felt heavenly. Not that he would ever say that out loud. 

They inched forward through the traffic until, a few moments later, they were pulling up at the entrance to the Camelot Ltd. office building. Arthur pressed a button on his key fob. The garage to the building’s basement opened slowly. The security guard waved Arthur in. 

Average employees were not allowed to park cars beneath the office. As well as space for several scores of bikes, there were four spaces for cars, all reserved: one was already occupied by Arthur’s father’s shiny black Mercedes with tinted windows and the vanity plate UTH3R, while another had a yellow disabled parking sign on it, because it was reserved for the adapted vehicle driven by Gaius, Camelot Ltd’s most senior disabled employee. The third space contained Morgana’s sleek, silver BMW while the final one… well, Arthur reversed into it before killing the engine. 

They both got out of the car into the cold air. The sudden dip in temperature made Merlin shiver, unable now to disguise the violence of his shaking. 

With a quick flick of his hand, Arthur opened the boot from which he retrieved a large kit bag with the Arsenal football club logo on it. 

“Here,” he said, thrusting it towards Merlin, who took it from him, unsmiling. “You’re freezing. There’s a towel in here, and some clean underwear. Go and have a hot shower. You might as well use the facilities. I fought Father hard enough for them.” 

“You did?”

“Yeah. He wanted to lease out the entire basement to other companies for parking, but Gaius and I felt it would be better to let employees use it for bikes, which meant they would need showers too.” 

“You fought for this perk?” said Merlin, biting his lip, digesting this unexpected information about Arthur’s care for his employees. “For your staff? I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mer lin. But it makes sense for our staff to be able to cycle, and stay fit. Oh, and wait. Here.” Arthur turned back to the car and brought out a suit bag, piling it on top of the gym kit, making Merlin stagger backwards with the sudden extra weight. “It won’t fit very well, and you’ll need to wear your damp shoes but… there’s a suit in here and a spare shirt. No need to wear one of my ties, since you find them so obnoxious. Ties are optional in this company, anyway.”  

“Thank you, Arthur. That’s very generous of you,” said Merlin, surprised to find himself meaning it. 

“I want it back, mind. After all, the trousers will be too short for you.” Arthur winked. “And probably a little bit too wide in the waist.”

Merlin barked out a surprise laugh. Somehow, the lameness of Arthur’s attempt at a joke made him seem more human. After all, this was Arthur, the son of his ultimate boss. Arthur, who despite being a giant knob-end, was also extremely handsome and fit, and, miracle of miracles, underneath everything was actually turning out to be unexpectedly kind. 

"That's better." Half smiling, Arthur gave an approving nod of the head before stalking away towards the lifts. 

“Oh, and Arthur?” said Merlin.

“Hmm?” Arthur stopped and looked back. 

“Just. Um. Thanks. And… I guess your ties aren’t actually all that bad. I mean, they’re not completely hideous. Apart from the purple paisley one. That one that looks like a dog threw up on it.” 

“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur grinned widely, putting his hand on his heart and bowing. “I live for the faint praise of a man whose entire wardrobe was bought from the bargain rack at Marks and Spencers.” 

When Arthur smiled joyously like that, his face was transformed. His eyes compressed into delighted blue-black almond shapes, and his mouth tilted up in an unselfconscious expression of charm that sent a jolt of electricity racing through Merlin’s veins. 

“And there he is. There’s the prat I’ve come to know.” Merlin grinned back widely, his heart, that treacherous organ, thumping happily in his chest, as if he were a dog that had been praised by its owner, not a lowly employee whose boss had just smiled at him before delivering a snarky insult. “Just when you were almost acting like a human being, too. But no, you had to go and spoil it all by making a sarky remark!” 

Arthur didn’t reply. Instead, he just carried on looking at him for a moment, mouth forming a startled O shape.

“What?” said Merlin, puzzled. He took a look behind him, in case Arthur was looking at someone else, but there was no-one there. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,”  said Arthur, with a shrug. “Just… Your smile. It’s… you should smile more, you know.” His gaze dipped casually down at Merlin’s wet clothes and then back up to his eyes. “It… um… it suits you. That’s all.” 

“Thanks. I think.” Disarmed, Merlin gaped back at him, mouth suddenly dry. What was happening? Was Arthur actually being nice to him? “It’s… I mean, you should smile more, too. Um.”

They must have stood there grinning at each other for a good half minute before Arthur turned back to the security gates, fishing in his pocket for his smart badge and waving it at the entrance panel. 

Whereupon Merlin heaved a sigh of relief and dried himself off with a muttered spell and a pass of his hand across his body. Okay, so he would have to change into Arthur’s suit anyway, but at least this way, he would be warm enough to do up the buttons on the shirt. And it was all very well for Gaius to admonish him not to use his magic in the mortal realm, but he wasn’t the one standing here in the dark, freezing cold and wet with his entire body yearning to pepper Arthur Pendragon’s stupid, handsome jaw with grateful kisses. 

When Merlin looked back at Arthur’s Porsche, there was a suspicious glow hovering over the number plate. He blinked at it, trying to focus through the gloom, but there didn’t seem to be anything untoward about the car. Hopefully, his magic hadn’t done anything silly. Because, judging by the impact it kept having on Merlin’s physiology, the wild magic really liked Arthur. A lot. 

That night, Gwen and Lancelot finally admitted, to no-one’s surprise, that they’d been dating for the last two months. Which necessitated a round of after-work drinks, followed by another. This time, Merlin, scarred by his previous experiences with alcohol, and cognisant of the fact that the next day would be Yuletide, a time when his magic, difficult to keep under wraps at the best of times, would be begging to break free, elected for the non-alcoholic beer. The rest of the grads showed no such restraint. 

“Here’s to the next rotation,” cried Gwaine, raising his pint. “Finance, here we come!” 

“God help us,” said Leon, but he grinned and swigged from his glass even so. 

“Finance? I can’t think of anything worse,” said Gwen, taking a sip from her gin and tonic. “I’d go cross-eyed, staring at numbers all day. Give me an opportunity to talk to people, any day!” 

“You’ll love it in account management, then,” said Sefa, who was just coming off an account management rotation. “You’ll be on the phone all the time. I mean, I do like customers, really, but it will be quite a nice change to be able to sit and concentrate without having to break off and talk to someone about their installation problems.” 

 Shortly after the second round of drinks, Arthur came in with a swagger and bought a third, at which point the volume of the chatter went up another five notches.

Sitting with his hot thigh pressed up against Merlin’s, Arthur sipped from a pink drink dressed up with paper umbrellas and a plastic flamingo.

“I never put you down as a cocktail girl,” said Merlin, actually a little envious. As well as the lurid pink decorations, the concoction was adorned with an array of fruits on a stick that made his stomach gurgle. Like most of the Fae, Merlin had a chronically sweet tooth.

“I’m full of surprises, me,” said Arthur, his gaze raking Merlin’s lean frame with an intensity that made him shiver. “Although, actually, this is a mocktail, because I’m driving tonight, and that’s why I’m not drinking. You, however… ” 

“What about me?” said Merlin, suddenly dry throat making him sound hoarse. 

“Well, you… presumably are not driving, which is why it’s interesting that you’re on zero alcohol beer.” 

“It tastes nicer.” Merlin licked his lips, a movement that Arthur watched without changing the intensity of his stare before returning his gaze to Merlin’s eyes, quirking a brow in challenge.  

“Well, it also means that you’re sober, and therefore, no-one can be said to be taking advantage of you.” Arthur’s lips closed around his straw and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked. “If they made a move.” 

“Oh?” Merlin swigged from his bottle, aware of how Arthur was watching his throat as he swallowed. Was Arthur actually flirting with him? Feeling greatly daring, he wiped his mouth with a finger, and licked it, watching Arthur’s reaction to gauge his interest. “Is that likely to happen?”

“Maybe.” Sure enough, Arthur watched, smiling, before selecting an item of fruit from his own ridiculous drink, and sucking it off the cocktail stick, making it enter his mouth with an obscene noise that made Merlin’s belly do flip flops.

Definitely flirting. 

Interesting.

Arthur’s head tilted to one side and drew a little nearer, making Merlin’s head tilt the other way in a natural reaction that made his heart beat like a jackhammer because gods, were they really going to kiss, right here, in the pub, in front of everybody? Well, if so, he would be totally down for that, actually. 

But at that moment, Gwaine yelled “it’s my round!”, the pub erupted around them and the moment was lost. 

And then, before Merlin knew it, the next day dawned. The shortest day of the year, a day on which his magic always fizzed under his skin, and this year it was even more desperate to get out than usual. The effect of Arthur’s unexpected behaviour the previous night had been to heighten Merlin’s already magnified senses. If he didn’t manage to get out somewhere green that night, the magic might burst from within, and who could say what it would do, then? No, he had to get to a green area, even a park would do, and bury his hands in the soil, to ground himself, to reconnect with the goddess and feel some balance return amid all the craziness of city life

Meanwhile, he had to get through handover day. All the graduate trainees at the end of their first rotation, gathered in the boardroom for a debriefing. Some of them more fresh-faced than others, given the celebrations that had occurred the night before, all of them were eager and ready to be passed onto their next team rotation. 

Merlin would be spending the next few weeks of his working career in the product management department working under Elena, where Morgana felt that his robust coding skills would be put to good use.

It was what he’d wanted to do in the first place, but he would miss the finance team, though. Despite his initial misgivings, spending each day near Arthur had become less than a chore. Truth be told, there were worse things to look at than Arthur’s face, and buried deep beneath that prattish exterior was a heart of actual gold. Besides which, Arthur smelt nice. Merlin was sure that Elena didn’t smell bad, but whatever cologne Arthur used was top notch.

Despite the previous night’s festivities, Gwen was dressed immaculately in a pale blue dress suit and demure heels. She kept biting her lip. Diagnosing this behaviour as betraying nerves, Merlin put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be brilliant at account management,” he said to Gwen, helping himself to a coffee and a biscuit from the table that had been set out in the corner. “You’re a fantastic listener.” 

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” said Gwen. She selected a camomile and lemon teabag and poured hot water over it. “It’s one of the rotations I really wanted, and I know I was angling for HR before, but, well, like Sefa said that it’s great talking to actual customers and getting the hang of what they do with our products, but it really seems like account management will be brilliant for me, and I’m so worried that I’ll be crap at it, and Mithian is so beautiful, and I’m terrified she’ll hate me because I’ll do something stupid because I’m nervous, and I always put my foot in it when I’m nervous, and what if I upset a client…?”

“Don’t be daft!” said Merlin. “There’s literally no-one less likely to upset a client than you!” 

“Stop it!” She elbowed him, but she was pleased, Merlin could tell.  

Soon, all the heads of the respective departments were there, ready for the handover. All of them except one. 

“Where’s Mr Pendragon?” whispered Mordred behind his hand to George, who shrugged.

“All right, everyone,” said Morgana, looking around. “We’re nearly all ready. I’m sure Arthur will grace us with his presence soon, so in the meantime let’s get started. Well done all of you on your rotations. I’ve heard great things about you all, and no doubt you’ll continue to shine in y—”

At that moment the door was flung open. Arthur entered, face like a thunderstorm, his normally perfectly coiffed hair in tufts, with Leon close on his heels.

“All right, which one of you was it?” Arthur said, his jaw working, danger raising his voice by an octave. 

Goddess. Merlin had seen a lot of versions of Arthur, all of them attractive to varying degrees, but of them all angry Arthur was the hottest by a massive margin. 

“Close your mouth, Merlin,” whispered Gwen. “You’ll catch flies.” 

“Shut up,” Merlin whispered back, but he closed his mouth. 

“Arthur, what’s got into you?” said Morgana, levelling a steely glare at him that would have made a lesser man, or possibly just a less angry man, shiver. “Go and calm down, and don’t come back till you can act professional.”

“It’s one of them, I know it!” Arthur yelled, ignoring her, a perilous move, and pointing his finger at the assembled graduate trainees. “I’ll find out who it is, and have them sacked!” 

“What on earth has happened?” said Mithian. “Is someone sick?” 

“No!” cried Arthur. “It’s my car! I have just spent half an hour of my life, half an hour that I will never get back, explaining to a police officer why I don’t know my car’s own registration number, because the number plate has been defaced, by some moron, and it has to be someone in this room, because no-one else…” 

As his rant continued, Merlin was hit by a dawning realisation. A memory came to him. A memory of the moment when the wild magic, set free by his momentary weakness, had cast a golden glow across Arthur’s car. 

Oh, no. 

His own magic had done something terrible to Arthur’s car. 

And although he wasn’t sure what it was, he could give it a good guess. It wouldn’t be the first time that his magic had detected an intrusive thought in Merlin’s addled brain and acted on it without his permission, but the last time that had happened, he was eight years old, and he’d got in such big trouble with Old Man Simmons that he had been forced to go to remedial magic control lessons for months afterwards. And he had really thought that he was on top of it, by now. 

But, no. Evidently his magic, sensing his irrational attraction to Arthur, and the mischievous thought that had originally popped into his head the first time he saw Arthur’s car, with its number plate PEN1… well, obviously his magic had put two and two together, and made five, as it were. Appending said digit to the requisite place on the number plate, thus improving it beyond measure to say PEN15. Or possibly it had even skipped the numerals and gone straight to PENIS. 

All of which crept across Merlin’s lust-fogged mind, provoking in him two instantaneous though unwelcome reactions. The first of which was to blush furiously, no doubt painting bright pink across his normally pasty features. And the second was to break out in inadvisable giggles.

“Merlin,” said Arthur, his voice full of venom. “I might have known it would be you.” 

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose,” said Merlin, his illogical giggles on the edge of turning to tears, because, oh, goddess, this whole debacle would likely mean he would be out on his ear and running back to the land of the Fae with his tail between his legs before you could say gross misconduct . “I couldn’t help it, you see.” 

“How can you commit such an elaborate prank by mistake , Merlin!” said Arthur, glaring. “Pray enlighten us all.” 

“Um,” Merlin bit his lip, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to reveal his magic to absolutely everyone in the whole company.

“Um, I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding,” interjected Gwen, ever the diplomatic one. “But I’m not sure everyone needs to be involved in this discussion?”

Looking around at the sea of curious faces, Merlin couldn’t help agreeing with her.

“Gwen is absolutely right,” said Morgana, taking charge. “And rather than interrupt this important meeting any further, I think we should take this to a private room, don’t you? Arthur, Merlin, you come with me. The rest of you, please get on with your handover. I’m sure we’ll be back very soon, once we’ve resolved this problem amicably.” 

“Amicably,” cried Arthur, his face flushing if anything a brighter shade of red. “That’s my car we’re talking abou—” 

“Shut up, Arthur,” said Morgana, grabbing Arthur by the elbow and stalking out of the room, practically dragging him with her. “Come along, Merlin.” 

Hastily scrambling to catch up with them, Merlin followed her along the corridor towards a  discreet room where HR was known to hold difficult interviews. Without being asked, Gaius and Gwen came with him. Gwaine went to get up too, but Leon dragged him back to his chair.  

Once they were ensconced in the private meeting room, Morgana told them all to sit down, following suit herself.

“So, Arthur,” she said, steepling her fingers. “What exactly is it that you are accusing Merlin of doing?”

“He defaced my car!” cried Arthur. 

“In what way?” 

“The number plate! I was pulled over by the police and they were… sniggering behind their hands, and then they said that it wasn’t valid.” 

“It was an accident!” cried Merlin. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” 

“Now, this is the bit that I don’t understand,” said Morgana. “I totally understand and applaud the urge to correct Arthur’s pompous number plate…”

“Hey!” protested Arthur.

“Shhh.” Morgana silenced him with a raised hand. “As I say, while I totally get why you did it, I don’t really see how you could do it by mistake.” 

“My magic did it,” said Merlin sullenly, head lowered, peering up at everyone through beetling brows, not expecting to be believed. “I didn’t want it to. I didn’t even know that it was going to do it. It just… did.” 

“Your magic?” said Arthur, leaping to his feet. He bashed the table with his fist. “Am I to believe that—” 

“Shut up, Arthur, the grown ups are talking!” said Morgana. “Now, Merlin, this is strange, because one of the first things I was taught about magic is that it always reflects the intention of the user. Magic has no morality in and of itself. Like any other tool, it acts under the direction of the one wielding it. Correct?”

“Correct,” said Merlin, his forehead creasing. How strange. Morgana seemed more puzzled by the way the magic had acted than by the fact of the magic itself. He flashed her a sideways glance. How come she knew so much about magical theory? Maybe…? 

“So, how come,” Morgana went on, “you say that you did not intend it to?”

“Ahem.” Gaius coughed. “If I may speak?”

“Go ahead, Gaius,” said Morgana. 

“Well,” said Gaius. “Alas, I fear that Merlin is a bit of a special case. He was born with magic, you see. He’s a warlock. And a dragonlord. But alas, from the letter that his parents sent me, he has always struggled to control the sheer strength of his capabilities, especially in times of high emotion. And this is not the first time that his magic has taken a subconscious urge of Merlin’s and acted on it.” 

“Gaius,” protested Merlin, flushing bright red. “You make me sound like an out of control delinquent!”

“Do you deny that your magic acted of its own volition?” 

“Well, no, but I don’t know why it did that, I mean, it hasn’t done it for years…” 

“If I might make a suggestion?” It was Gwen’s turn to speak up. 

All heads swivelled towards her. Of all the people in the room, Gwen was the last one that Merlin would think would have an opinion about magic. 

“Go ahead, Gwen,” said Morgana. 

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Merlin was telling us, some time ago, that where he comes from…” 

“The land of the Fae,” supplied Gaius.

“Gaius!” cried Merlin. Were none of his secrets safe? 

“Not France, then? That would explain a lot,” said Gwen, a small smile tweaking the corner of her mouth. “Anyway, in this place, whatever it’s called, pranking is an important courtship ritual. Correct, Merlin?” 

“Y…yes,” said Merlin, seeing where this was going, but not liking it one bit, because yet another of his best kept secrets was about to be winkled out, just like that, without so much as a by your leave. 

“Well, there you are,” said Gwen with a shrug. “It’s obvious.” 

“Is it?” growled Arthur. 

“Yes, Arthur. Don’t be such an old grump. Merlin fancies you! He fancies you like nobody's business.” 

“Ugh, Gwen, do you have to?” Merlin threw his hands in the air. 

“Don’t be so silly, Merlin, it’s been obvious to anyone with eyes for weeks that you want to get into Arthur’s pants. I’m surprised your magic stopped with the number plate and didn’t take a punt at removing Arthur’s trousers in front of everyone.” 

“Don’t give it ideas,” said Merlin morosely. “I wouldn’t put it past it.” 

Sure enough, his magic was making little mischievous tugs at his chest as they spoke. 

“Stop that!” yelled Arthur, clutching his belt. 

With an effort, Merlin pulled his magic in, which was difficult, because it was doing wild loop-the-loops through all his internal organs, leaving a trail of sparkling heat in its wake. Gritting his teeth, he tried to focus on stopping blushing. 

“So, there you go,” said Gwen, her head at a sympathetic tilt. “Gaius said that at times of heightened emotional tension, Merlin’s magic has been known to break out before, becoming wild magic. And it did so, to play a prank on Arthur. See?”

“No!” said Arthur, crossing his arms and pouting like a toddler. “As a matter of fact, I don’t see where you’re going with this.” 

Merlin did. He buried his head in his hands. 

Far too perceptive, by far, that was Gwen. She would be brilliant in sales and account management. Goddess help the rest of the world when subjected to Gwen’s intuition in a professional context. They would buy anything from her. It was a good thing that she was such a kind, decent person. Just think what would happen if Gwen ever turned evil? The world would not survive. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Gwen went on, a world of sympathy wrapped up in her warm voice. “Merlin has a crush on you, that’s all. And so does his magic!” 

“It does?” said Arthur, whose temper seemed to have abated. He looked uncertainly over at Merlin, with a question in his eyes. 

“Yes. It does,” said Gwen. “Which is why it acted instinctively when it did. And why he’s blushing like a beetroot right now, bless him.” 

“Merlin?” said Arthur. “Is this true?”

“Um…” removing his (hot) face from his (sweaty) hands, Merlin bit his lip and shrugged. “There’s no point hiding it, I suppose. I have magic. A lot of it. More than I can handle, sometimes. And I can’t deny that I find you attractive. It’s been torture having you as my boss, you know, and not being able to act on it, and it’s all your fault, with those posh trousers and that gravelly voice and that bloody, irresistible cologne you insist on wearing all the time … ” 

“I don’t even wear cologne,” growled Arthur, getting out of his chair and approaching Merlin, which did nothing to reduce the impact of the… the… perfume or whatever it was on Merlin’s equilibrium. 

“You don’t?” Merlin bit his lip, mind working hard. Arthur didn’t wear cologne? But that scent was more powerful than ever. He smelt amazing … “But…” 

“Has it occurred to you that… Maybe you just like the way I smell. Mer lin.” 

It had occurred to him, only just that minute, and hot dang. Merlin swallowed hard. 

“Also, has it occurred to you that… now that you’re no longer on rotation in my team, technically speaking I am not your boss any more?”

“It has now, you arrogant clotpole,” gasped Merlin, finding it difficult to concentrate on anything except the intent look in Arthur’s clear blue eyes. 

Distantly, he could hear the sounds of people leaving the room, and the door clicking quietly behind them, but he couldn’t really focus very much on that right now, because Arthur was right in front of him, looking at him with a lopsided smile and soft eyes, and he smelt absolutely incredible. Like a fine wine, and honey, and pine forests, and a distantly almost vanilla-ish smell that he remembered from his childhood. 

“And so,” Arthur carried on, “I wouldn’t be violating any contracts if I were to, say, kiss you under this obliging strip light, there being no mistletoe available in this room. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Merlin croaked, his senses too befuddled to enable him to say anything more articulate. 

Somehow, he was on his feet and Arthur was dipping in towards him, and at that moment, there was pretty much nothing that anyone could do to stop him from completing the movement to make their lips meet. 

The sensation of Arthur’s mouth on his exceeded all his (extremely high) expectations and he groaned as he deepened the kiss, pulling Arthur closer and closing his eyes to inhale that heady scent. 

Somewhere above them, a bird trilled sweetly. A gentle breeze caressed Merlin’s hair. 

Abruptly, Arthur broke off the kiss. 

“What the…?” he said, articulately. 

“Hmm?” 

Merlin opened his eyes again, about to say something extremely funny about how his kisses had reduced Arthur to a monosyllabic mess. Only for his gaze to encounter – instead of a gloomy office with a false ceiling and white desk and chairs – a sunlit glade, canopied by holly and oak, serenaded by a cacophony of birdsong. Above their heads dangled the most enormous, white-berried knot of mistletoe Merlin had ever seen. 

“Merlin!” said Arthur, accusingly. His eyes narrowed. “Merlin, has your magic been playing up again? Where are we now? Because I’m sure that, last time I looked, Morgana’s office did not contain a ring of toadstools.”

Sure enough, around them was a perfect circle of inkhorns, upon a sward of mossy grass. A couple of yards away, a hedgehog muzzled in some leaves. Outside the faery ring, a curious roe deer scented the air. 

“Oh, Goddess!” said Merlin, recognising the scene. “We’re back home. My magic must have transported us here. You see, I used to come here when I wanted a bit of peace and quiet.”

“Home? Are we in the land of the Fae?” 

“I’m afraid so,” Merlin confessed. “This glade… It’s my favourite place in all Avalon… I put a glamour on it, years ago, and my magic has enhanced it a bit, over the years, too. Um. It must have brought us here when you mentioned the mistletoe… look, I’m really sorry. I thought I had it under control. I’ll take us back, shall I?” He raised his hand, preparing for the spell.

“Actually, wait a second. What’s the hurry?” Arthur laughed, his breath gusting against Merlin’s chin, raising goose bumps and making Merlin shiver. “Your magic has gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that we are standing under a large mistletoe clump. It would be a shame to waste it, don’t you think?” 

“So, what are you waiting for, dollophead?” Merlin grinned. “Why aren’t you kissing me yet?” 

“I should have known you’d be demanding. Needy, even!” 

Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed as their faces drew nearer. A few delightful minutes ensued. As their mouths and bodies met beneath the benevolent canopy, the birdsong intensified, erupting into a sweet melody.

“Wait a minute,” said Arthur, abruptly breaking contact. “Can I hear actual angels singing?” 

“Sort of.” Merlin groaned as he realised what was going on and clicked his fingers, the unspoken spell flashing gold behind his irises. As his magic dispersed the glamour spell, several giggling flower fairies fluttered out from behind the mistletoe. “They’re not angels, exactly. More like pests, to be honest. Oy! Aren’t you lot meant to be hibernating at this time of year?” 

“Sorry, boss,” said one, unrepentantly. Merlin recognised him. His name was Gareth, and he was a nuisance, who insisted on singing all the time. Hunith, Merlin’s mum, thought he was a genius.  “But your mum said…” 

“My mum ?” Merlin threw his hands in the air. “Does everyone in the land of the Fae know where I am and what I’m doing?”

“Or rather,” said Gareth, with a cheeky nod towards Arthur,  “ who you’re doing.” He went off into a peal of laughter, and flew just out of Merlin’s reach when Merlin tried to swipe at him. 

“You see what I have to put up with?” said Merlin to Arthur, who was looking a little wild-eyed at all this by-play. “Can you blame me for wanting to live in the mundane world, and be successful at product management, rather than having to put up with this lot dogging my every move?” He turned back to the fairies. “Guys, will you cut that out, please? And tell my mother, and all the rest of the Fae who seem so invested in my love life, that I’m going back to London, and I don’t expect anyone to follow me.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” 

“Good,” murmured Merlin. With another click of his fingers, he found himself back in the relative sanctuary of Morgana’s office. Grinning, he leaned forward to capture Arthur’s willing mouth in another delicious kiss. 

Unknown to either of them, snared on the bare strip light, a single strand of mistletoe gleamed gold with wild magic that weaved and danced an ecstatic rhythm above their heads. 

END