Natural Selection.doc

Natural Selection

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~11,300
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended by this silly thing.

Summary: In which Arthur goes on blind dates, Merlin is his waiter, and everyone takes a ride on the crazy train.  Written for this kinkme_merlin prompt.

Notes: Thank you, ems, for the Britpick (even at this most inconvenient of times!).  And thank you to all the mousies at kinkme_merlin who ever left a kind comment.

At some point during the writing of "The Good Times Are Killing Me," I decided that angst was stupid.  This was the result.  I apologize in advance.

 

* * *

“You need to settle down,” Morgana announces over brunch one Sunday morning.

Arthur chokes on his pineapple juice as elegantly as possible and pauses with his fist pressed to his mouth for several moments before looking up at his cousin.

“Come again?” he asks.

“You need to find someone,” Morgana tells him. “Invest. Devote. Settle. Alien concepts to you, I’m sure.”

Beside her, Gwen and Lance gaze at Arthur meaningfully.

“Is this an intervention?” Arthur demands. “God, I knew something was up when you all stormed in here with blueberry pancakes.”

“We’re worried about you, Arthur,” Gwen speaks up now. “You have a new partner practically every week now. You can go at this pace for only so long, you know. One day, you’re going to burn out. And you’re going to need someone then.”

“Someone who sees you as more than a cock with a wallet,” Morgana elaborates.

“Okay, look,” Arthur says, bristling. “Just because you’ve suddenly found happiness with that schoolboy of yours—”

“Mordred is a fine man,” Morgana says airily. “With morals. You heard of them?”

"Hypocrisy, vamp. You heard of it?”

“Look, Arthur,” Lance steps in, ever the mediator. “I know it’s hard to hear, but we’ve only got your best interests at heart. Really.”

“He’s right,” Gwen says, carding her fingers through Lance’s in approval.

Arthur tries very hard not to roll his eyes.

“And we’ve already got a list of people we want you to meet,” Gwen continues. “Just take them out to dinner a few times and talk to them. See where things go. That’s all we want.”

“And please don’t sleep with them on the first date,” Morgana advises.

“I’ve slept with every single person at this table at least twice,” Arthur argues loudly. “I don’t think any of you have any right to dictate my sex—”

He stops as his words catch up to him. Morgana sits back, smug. Gwen smiles patiently while next to her, Lance frowns down at his coffee.

“I generally like brunettes,” Arthur finally offers, then returns to his pancakes.
 

*

Valiant is a brunette.

And, incidentally, an ass.

“Morgana did say you were gorgeous,” he says. “But God, you’re completely hot. I love your body.”

“Is that so?” Arthur murmurs, staring pointedly down at the menu.

“Fuck, yeah,” Valiant breathes, already sounding a little ragged. “I can already tell you’re going to be beautiful in bed.”

“I think I’ll have a pasta salad,” Arthur says shortly.

On any other day, he might have flirted right back. Might have smiled sexily at the attention and begun to think up ways to sleep with the other man without having to look at his face. But he finds himself irrationally annoyed by the knowing tone in Valiant’s voice. The smug expectation there.

“Good evening,” someone suddenly singsongs above him. “Welcome to Ealdor’s Cuisine.”

Arthur looks up to see a pale, thin man smiling down at him. He’s a bit tragic-looking: hair awkwardly gelled, bow tie askew, and ears alarmingly large.

Arthur sighs inwardly.

“My name is Merlin, and I’ll be your waiter tonight,” the man continues. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Get me a pint of your finest beer, sweet thing,” Valiant says first, looking Merlin up and down with obvious intent.

“I wouldn’t trust my taste,” Merlin says, frowning a little.

“I’d love your taste, actually,” Valiant leers.

“I’ll have a glass of Simi Chardonnay,” Arthur cuts in tartly, wondering if this is what people mean by “disaster date.”

“Right,” Merlin says slowly, eyeing Valiant warily before turning to Arthur. “I mean, very good. Um, sir.”
 
“I have a suggestion,” Valiant says then, forming a box with his thumbs and forefingers and holding it up in Arthur’s direction then Merlin’s. “The three of us. In bed. Naked. It’ll be stunning.”

Arthur and Merlin regard him silently for a few moments as he continues to peer at them through his fingers.

“Make that a glass of Laphroaig, please,” Arthur finally mutters.

“Seconded,” he hears Merlin whisper.

The rest of dinner is, needless to say, awful, and Arthur endures Valiant’s increasingly salacious proposals in increasingly stony silence. Merlin proves to be a competent enough waiter despite appearances. A bit bad with formalities, maybe, and a bit bad with balancing plates and a bit bad with remembering that Valiant had asked for ketchup, repeatedly, but Arthur thinks he did that last one on purpose anyway.

And later, at the bottom of his bill, he finds a hastily scrawled message:

Creepy date is creepy. Your drink is on the house. I think you deserve it. :o

It makes Arthur smile for the first time that night.
 

*

“What the hell were you thinking?” Arthur shouts at Morgana over the phone the next morning.

“Mmm, so you didn’t like him?” she guesses.

“He was awful,” Arthur says. “Vulgar. Cavalier. Completely irreverent.”

He pauses, feeling the beginnings of a revelation.

“Kind of sounds like someone I know,” Morgana says with deceptive lightness.

“You sure do go to extreme ends to make a point,” Arthur drawls.

“But I do make it,” she says, smile apparent in her voice. “Next one should be better, love. Promise.”
 

*

And fine, Cedric isn’t a raging pervert.

But that is seriously the least of Arthur’s concerns.

“I thought your name was Cedric,” Arthur says halfway through dinner, genuinely confused.

“Cedric is weak and hapless.” Cedric makes a face, taking out a small jar of hair gel and proceeding to slick his bangs back. “He’s a buffoon and a cretin. Forget Cedric. It’s Cornelius now.”

Arthur stares at him, incredulous.

“Cornelius is bold,” Cedric/Cornelius goes on, now slipping off his sports jacket and turning it inside-out to reveal a thick lining of black feathers. “Cornelius is charming. Cornelius doesn’t need therapy.”

“Oh my God,” Arthur whispers.

“Cornelius will get laid tonight and not cry like a baby afterwards,” Cedric/Cornelius finishes, sliding his jacket back on and carefully smoothing down the feathers.

“Did Cornelius take his medication today?” Arthur tries, cautious.

“Here you go,” Merlin arrives then, setting down their plates. “Lemon chicken and Italian wedding soup – oh, hello, wardrobe change.”

“Back off, whore,” Cedric/Cornelius hisses, reaching out to lay a hand on top of Arthur’s.

“And a personality change,” Merlin says slowly, wide-eyed.

“I do not approve of this,” Arthur mouths at Merlin silently.

“Cornelius is striking and confident and always a winner,” Cedric/Cornelius announces, narrowing his eyes in Merlin’s direction.

“I’m happy for him,” Merlin says, looking uncertain.

“Don’t encourage him,” Arthur begs, trying to remove his hand from Cedric/Cornelius’s surprisingly strong grip.

“Cornelius always gets his man,” Cedric/Cornelius continues, voice alarmingly loud now. “Cornelius won’t be thwarted by his own demons or by meddlesome twinks.”

“Cornelius’s feathers are dropping into his soup,” Merlin points out, grinning.

Cedric/Cornelius throws his cranberry juice in Merlin’s face.

“God, I am so sorry,” Arthur says in the restroom later, watching Merlin try fruitlessly to take out the stain in his shirt. “You keep getting dragged into things.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Merlin frowns down at the sprawling red blot before lifting his head and giving Arthur a small grin. “But I have to ask, how are you finding these guys?”

“The charity of my dear friends,” Arthur says with a noisy sigh, rubbing at his face.

“Mmm,” Merlin hums, untucking his shirt now and unbuttoning it. “Bit surprising that someone like you would need dating help though.”

“Tell me about it,” Arthur drawls.

“Or not so surprising maybe,” Merlin corrects himself, looking bemused.

“It’s complicated,” Arthur defends himself, then, feeling like a bit of a prat, adds, “Thanks for the drink last time.”

“Gaius may or may not have told me off for that,” Merlin says, slipping off his shirt before turning to quirk his lips at Arthur. “But I don’t regret it.”

“Yeah?” Arthur murmurs, eyes dropping to the pale expanse of Merlin’s chest.

God, it’s been a while. Relatively speaking anyway. Out of some secret and reluctant sense of gratitude for his friends’ efforts, Arthur had abstained from sex since the start of this whole misguided venture.

Looking now at the stretch of skin over Merlin’s collarbones and the alluring pink of his nipples, Arthur feels the loss acutely.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, looking a little flushed when Arthur raises his eyes.

Arthur thinks about pressing Merlin against the ledge and kissing him. About curling his tongue around the shell of one of those ridiculous ears and touching the sharp lines of his hipbones. It would be easy. Known.

He almost does it, too, hand lifting with intent, but changes his mind at the last second and reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone instead.

“Here, let me get your number,” he says loudly to drown out his hammering heart. “I’ll have that shirt cleaned for you.”

“It’s really not that big a deal.” Merlin waves his hands when Arthur offers his phone. “I’ve got, like, ten of these in my locker.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, lowering his hand.

A moment passes quietly.

“But I’ll give you my number anyway,” Merlin offers, sounding a bit shy.

“Good,” Arthur answers, going for pompous to hide his relief.

Arthur tries his hand at washing out the stain while Merlin adds his number but ends up making it worse, if anything.

“Wait, put in your birthday, too,” Arthur say when Merlin tries to hand his phone back. “I hate incomplete data.”

A sweet smile curls across Merlin’s mouth before he ducks his head and carefully taps the keys.
 

*

“How was that better?” Arthur yells over the phone that night.

“You didn’t like Cedric?” Morgana asks lightly.

“You mean, did I like one half of him?”

“Oh, so you met Cornelius then,” she sighs. “He tends to come out during high-pressure situations. Poor Cedric.”

“Yes, let’s just completely ignore my trauma.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“You say trauma; I say character building,” Morgana says loftily. “But, okay. Let’s try girls.”
 

*

Vivian has brilliant golden curls and stunning blue eyes and cute, pert breasts, and Arthur absolutely loathes her.

“This is all a bit plebeian, don’t you think?” she muses, casting a critical eye over the dining area.

“Oh, I like to wait until the second date to flaunt the full extent of my wealth,” Arthur says blandly, sipping his wine.

“I mean, really, what vintage is this?” Vivian continues, leaning down to sniff her own glass. “It has no subtlety whatsoever. And our waiter is quite possibly the most unsightly thing on this planet.”

“Clearly, we have different standards,” Arthur tries.

“Clearly,” Vivian says bitterly. “You’re supposed to be gorgeous.”

“And you’re supposed to be more palatable than a crazy man-bird, but I guess we can’t always get what we want,” Arthur returns.

“I beg your pardon?” she demands.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he mutters, now preoccupied with trying to make his wineglass sing.

“I had no idea the Pendragon heir would be so terribly unimpressive,” she scoffs after a moment. “I must tell my father.”

“Make sure you don’t leave out the part where you completely bore me to tears,” Arthur reminds her.

Merlin comes up to their table, pad in hand.

“Have you made a decision?” he asks, untucking a pen from behind his ear and giving Arthur a small smile.

“I’ll take death please,” Arthur mock orders.

“That’s not funny,” Vivian scowls, nose scrunching.

“And what sort of side dish would you like with that?” Merlin plays along, eyes creasing in amusement.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Arthur ponders. “How about some humiliation? With a sprinkling of profound regret?”

“Very good, sir,” Merlin nods, scribbling something down on his pad before turning to Vivian. “And you?”

“You offend me,” Vivian tells him.

“Sorry?” Merlin pauses.

Arthur begins to drink furiously.

“Your existence,” Vivian clarifies. “Your being. It offends me.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, nonplussed.

“I mean, this entire establishment is dull and unrefined,” Vivian goes on. “The colour scheme is simply appalling. The menu is completely uninspired. And your ears. Your ears are quite possibly the most tragic thing I have ever seen.

Merlin and Arthur stare at her wordlessly as she begins to fuss with her hair.

After several moments, Merlin turns away. Arthur reaches a hand out, heart falling a little, but Merlin is already turning back, his expression determined.

“Couple of things,” he tells Vivian in a steady voice. “First, my godfather, Gaius, owns this place, and it’s his pride and joy and one of the best in this town. My best mate is the chef, and he created the menu himself. My ears are from my father, and I love them very much. And finally, that push-up bra looks like it hurts, darling.”

Arthur is too busy laughing to see the hand flying towards him.

“It was worth it,” Merlin announces later, examining the angry red blotch on his cheek in the restroom mirror.

“Oh, absolutely,” Arthur agrees, gingerly touching the matching mark on his own face.

Merlin grins at him in the mirror.

“Third time’s the charm, huh?” he teases.

“Or something,” Arthur mutters, wincing a little at the lingering sting.

Merlin turns in place and leans against the counter.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks then, looking curious.

“An unfortunate sense of obligation,” Arthur answers, drawing away from the mirror. “Also, a sinking feeling that my friends may have a point.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m a bit of a man-whore who’s afraid of commitment,” Arthur drawls, then frowns at the unintended confession.

“Well, admitting it’s the first step, I suppose,” Merlin says lightly after a moment.

Arthur squints at the floor, terribly embarrassed.

“Though at this rate, I think you might become an ascetic monk who swears off human contact forever instead,” Merlin quips.

Arthur laughs, grateful for the digression, and looks up.

“Any other alternatives?” he asks wryly.

“I guess you could meet the one and live happily ever after.” Merlin grins.

“I’d like that actually,” Arthur muses absently, gazing at him

A bright flush breaks out over Merlin’s cheekbones, and he drops his eyes and begins to fiddle with his cuff.

Arthur continues to look at him, unable to stop. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this kind of attraction. Not the familiar visceral kind, not the hot rush of hormones and intention, but slower and curious. Becoming aware of parts before the whole. The blue of Merlin’s eyes. The sincere curve of his smile. The alluring shape of his thin wrist, now revealed as he rolls up his sleeve, nervous. The charm of his details.

And the next part is new, too, the way Arthur reaches out before he’s really aware of it and nudges a knuckle along the inside of Merlin’s wrist. Just to feel the softness there.

Merlin stills at the touch. His flush darkens, matching the ugly pink of his growing bruise.

Arthur runs his knuckle across once more, lingering, then drops his hand.

A couple of beats pass.

“Guess I should just keep my options open then,” Arthur finally says, keeping his voice easy.

“Guess you should,” Merlin agrees, sweet smile returning.

*

“Please tell me you hated her,” Morgana says first.

“Morgana, what are you doing to me?” Arthur sighs wearily.

“Just wanted to make sure she’s not your type,” she explains. “Process of elimination.”

“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” Arthur mumbles.

“All right, look,” Morgana soothes. “This next one’s for real. She’s a dear friend of mine.”

“No.”

“Arthur—”

“No.”

“I care about you deeply and only want the best for you,” Morgana whispers into the phone.

“That’s gross,” Arthur recoils.

“Fine, fine,” Morgana laughs. “But, really. Give this one a chance. I want you to like her.”
 

*

Morgause—

Oh, God, Morgause.

“I like your, er,” Arthur trails off, then points in the general direction of his face.

Morgause narrows her heavily-lined eyed at him and sips her vodka martini slowly.

“So you and Morgana are close then,” she murmurs after a moment, her voice polished, her brow severe.

“Like proverbial oil and water,” Arthur jokes lamely and tries one of his charming smiles.

“She speaks of you a great deal,” Morgause continues, unmoved.

“Of my varied merits, I suppose?” Arthur quips desperately.

“It is most unwelcome,” she gives him a hard stare.

“Oh,” Arthur says, at a loss.

He proceeds to spell out save me in teeny letters using the condensation gathered on his wineglass.

“You are intimate with Morgana?” Morgause suddenly asks.

“What?” Arthur looks up with a frown. “God, no.”

“My hand has brushed against her breast twice,” she says.

He stares at her, disbelieving.

“And she wears my bracelet,” she goes on, tone reverent now, eyes softening.

“Look, I’m pretty sure neither of us is Morgana’s type,” Arthur says very carefully.

Morgause stands up abruptly, chair falling to the floor behind her, and gazes down at him.

“Oh, God,” Arthur whimpers.

“A match then,” Morgause announces, taking out her hair piece and throwing it down on the table.

“Listen,” Arthur tries to placate her, hearing disapproving murmurs around them. “Why don’t you sit back down so we can talk this out like normal people?”

“The winner will be the keeper of Morgana’s affections,” she continues, grave.

“She’s my cousin!” he hisses. “And a psychotic harpy. I have no interest in her like that, for God’s sake.”

“Hi, hello!” Merlin comes running then. “I’m going to have to ask you to sit down. You’re upsetting the other customers.”

“He must accept the challenge first,” Morgause says without taking her eyes off Arthur.

“Accept the challenge,” Merlin repeats slowly.

“I am so sorry, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles.

“The challenge to decide the possessor of Morgana’s heart,” Morgana whispers.

“You can have it, lady,” Arthur groans.

“Look, this all sounds super interesting, but you’re either going to have to sit down or leave,” Merlin tells Morgause, voice firm.

“You’re nothing but a simple serving boy,” she says, turning to him. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

“These are my premises,” Merlin returns. “So I do.”

“I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with here,” she says, her outrage growing.

“Um, crazy bitch number four?” Merlin rolls his eyes.

 “Stop, stop,” Arthur cuts in quickly when Morgause begins to reach into the bosom of her dress. “Okay, look, I’ll play. I’ll do it. Just stop.”

Morgause gives Merlin a pointed look before turning to Arthur. She regards him for a long moment before leaning down and resting her elbow on the table. She stretches her hand towards him.

“Arm wrestling,” she finally says. “Best of five.”

“I had no interest in the prize in question anyway,” Arthur huffs later, cradling his wrist and watching Merlin scoop ice into a small takeaway bag.

“Right,” Merlin drawls, now tying the ends of the bag into a small knot.

Arthur makes a face, and Merlin grins before gently settling the makeshift ice pack on Arthur’s forearm.

“Thought you were on my side,” Arthur says, mock petulant, even as he gives a grateful nod.

“I am,” Merlin assures him. “Go, team.”

“Do you think this is all karma?” Arthur muses out loud as someone bursts into the kitchen noisily.

“There you are, Merlin,” a man in a chef’s uniform calls out. “It’s your turn tonight to send the drunkards home—”

He stops then and narrows his eyes at Arthur.

“Are you possibly the bastard who keeps bringing the crazies to our restaurant?” he asks with undisguised hostility.

“Be nice, Will,” Merlin reprimands him. “Arthur here just got terribly emasculated.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says dryly before turning to the other man. “Look, I’m really sorry, but it’s not like I’m intentionally bringing trouble here. I’ve been having a string of godawful blind dates.”

“Yes, well, sincerely appreciate your patronage and all that bullshit,” Will grouses. “But could you take the circus act elsewhere? Christ.”

“Will’s the chef,” Merlin tells Arthur. “And as such, has no authority to be telling customers off.”

“But I can tell you off,” Will says, glaring at Merlin. “Come back out in five minutes, or I’m telling Gaius that you’re making out in the walk-in fridge aga...