Patron of the Arts - part 5
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Patron of the Arts – part 5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Arthur always loved to draw but when his father refused to allow it, Arthur left it all behind. Until he met Merlin.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 976
Camelot Drabble Prompt 516: Almost
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
--------------
At last, the painting was done.
In the weeks since they started, Arthur would visit Merlin’s studio once or twice a week, first to pose but later, just to watch the process. Merlin making his own paints, using photography and mirrors to model himself into the painting, talking about what he would do next and his shows coming up, his hopes for the future, his past problems with breaking into the art world.
Arthur, too, began to talk about his father had done and art, showing Merlin his first drawings that he’d done in years. That had been hard because Arthur knew he could do better, but Merlin was gentle, suggesting things to try, explaining that art was a process with lots and lots of failures, that Merlin had tried for years in some things and not succeeding, but never giving up.
That art was for the person within and not really for accolades or money or power—although the money helped.
They even spent one day, just outside, walking around the neighbourhood, each with a sketchpad, drawing whatever came to mind.
It was brilliant, it was simple, it was inevitable that it had to come to an end.
After all, Merlin had his life and Arthur wasn’t in it.
--------------
Merlin’s second show opened in the spring.
Arthur had been busy, closing deals, traveling to far-flung areas, lining up acquisitions and factories, and his contact with Merlin was left to occasional texts or funny memes or descriptions of art gone wrong. And cat videos, lots of cat videos. Never anything more personal. He told himself that Merlin wasn’t interested in him that way and Arthur mostly accepted it.
The dreams hadn’t stopped though, but Arthur knew it was just not meant to be.
Still, he remembered the quiet times they’d shared, and Arthur was drawing again, and it only seemed right that he go see Merlin’s new gallery opening.
---------------
The gallery was more packed than last time. Grabbing a glass of champagne, Arthur walked around, looking at Merlin’s work.
It was brilliant as usual but this time, Arthur couldn’t be sure, but they felt different. The choices of subject, the way the colours seemed to merge to give a sense of longing and emotion, hidden depths of feeling that made the newer paintings seem almost melancholy.
Not paying attention, staring at one painting that reminded him so much of Merlin that it hurt, when a hand came out and twisted Arthur around, his champagne spilled all down his front. “What the—.”
Merlin grinned, staring down at Arthur’s clinging shirt, then glancing back up at Arthur. “Oops,” Merlin said. He didn’t sound sorry, though.
“Merlin, is this going to be a thing?” Arthur said, putting down the glass and wiping at his wet chest.
“Apparently so.” Merlin reached over and began scrubbing away, pulling out a tissue and dabbing at Arthur. When that proved ineffective, Merlin said, “I’ve towels in the office. Come on, at least let me get you dried off.”
“Only you, Merlin,” Arthur snickered, then let Merlin pull him along, trying not to enjoy the warmth of Merlin’s hand in his own.
With the door closed and just the two of them, Merlin did indeed grab some paper towels and began to wipe him down, fast at first but slowing as the shirt dried. Arthur was breathing fast, and he watched Merlin, watched the way his mouth moved as he concentrated, the way his fingers slid over Arthur’s drying chest, the way his eyes darkened as he glanced at Arthur’s mouth and then away.
Arthur felt like he was on a precipice. But if he never tried, he’d hate himself forever.
Capturing Merlin’s busy hands in his own, Arthur pulled him close, leaning in for a kiss.
Merlin didn’t jerk away. Instead, he plunged in, groaning a little, devouring Arthur as if he were a feast and Merlin a starving man.
It was brilliant, Merlin’s hands all over him, his mouth doing sinful things that Arthur had only dreamt about. Arthur wasn’t far behind, finding ways beneath Merlin’s shirt, skin hot under his fingertips, and going further down, trying to get past jeans and buttons and barriers to curl his hand around Merlin’s hard length.
Grunting at that, pushing himself into Arthur’s grip, Merlin, too, was trying to bring Arthur off.
But just then, Mithian barged in, took one look, mumbling apologies, and quickly closed the door again.
Pulling apart, both of them half-way to ecstasy, Merlin stared at Arthur. “I thought… this… is this just you having a one-off?” Trying to slow down his breathing, taking a gulp of air, Merlin said, “I’ll take what I can get but I’ve missed you, prat.”
Merlin looked fuckable as hell, his mouth red with kisses, his skin flushed, his eyes heavy with want.
Reaching over, hands cupping Merlin’s face, Arthur said, “I didn’t think you’d want me. Or else we would have been fucking every day for all those months I was half-naked in your bed.”
A smile began to grow, and Merlin turned to kiss Arthur’s palm. “I couldn’t say anything when you were a client, could I? But now, you’re not my client and half-naked sounds good. Hell, full naked sounds better, and my bed’s been far too empty without you there.”
Looking past Merlin towards the closed door, Arthur said, “Do you think Mithian would be upset if we left?”
“I think Mithian would be cheering us on.” Merlin began to tuck himself back into his clothes, then nodded toward the door. “You coming?”
“Not yet but soon,” Arthur said. Merlin blinked a second at that, then laughed when Arthur continued, “And maybe more than once.”
-------------
Merlin’s show was a smashing success but even better, Arthur finally found his muse, and the love of his life.
Thanks to spilled champagne, an idiot's clumsiness, and art.
Title: Patron of the Arts – part 5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Arthur always loved to draw but when his father refused to allow it, Arthur left it all behind. Until he met Merlin.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 976
Camelot Drabble Prompt 516: Almost
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
--------------
At last, the painting was done.
In the weeks since they started, Arthur would visit Merlin’s studio once or twice a week, first to pose but later, just to watch the process. Merlin making his own paints, using photography and mirrors to model himself into the painting, talking about what he would do next and his shows coming up, his hopes for the future, his past problems with breaking into the art world.
Arthur, too, began to talk about his father had done and art, showing Merlin his first drawings that he’d done in years. That had been hard because Arthur knew he could do better, but Merlin was gentle, suggesting things to try, explaining that art was a process with lots and lots of failures, that Merlin had tried for years in some things and not succeeding, but never giving up.
That art was for the person within and not really for accolades or money or power—although the money helped.
They even spent one day, just outside, walking around the neighbourhood, each with a sketchpad, drawing whatever came to mind.
It was brilliant, it was simple, it was inevitable that it had to come to an end.
After all, Merlin had his life and Arthur wasn’t in it.
--------------
Merlin’s second show opened in the spring.
Arthur had been busy, closing deals, traveling to far-flung areas, lining up acquisitions and factories, and his contact with Merlin was left to occasional texts or funny memes or descriptions of art gone wrong. And cat videos, lots of cat videos. Never anything more personal. He told himself that Merlin wasn’t interested in him that way and Arthur mostly accepted it.
The dreams hadn’t stopped though, but Arthur knew it was just not meant to be.
Still, he remembered the quiet times they’d shared, and Arthur was drawing again, and it only seemed right that he go see Merlin’s new gallery opening.
---------------
The gallery was more packed than last time. Grabbing a glass of champagne, Arthur walked around, looking at Merlin’s work.
It was brilliant as usual but this time, Arthur couldn’t be sure, but they felt different. The choices of subject, the way the colours seemed to merge to give a sense of longing and emotion, hidden depths of feeling that made the newer paintings seem almost melancholy.
Not paying attention, staring at one painting that reminded him so much of Merlin that it hurt, when a hand came out and twisted Arthur around, his champagne spilled all down his front. “What the—.”
Merlin grinned, staring down at Arthur’s clinging shirt, then glancing back up at Arthur. “Oops,” Merlin said. He didn’t sound sorry, though.
“Merlin, is this going to be a thing?” Arthur said, putting down the glass and wiping at his wet chest.
“Apparently so.” Merlin reached over and began scrubbing away, pulling out a tissue and dabbing at Arthur. When that proved ineffective, Merlin said, “I’ve towels in the office. Come on, at least let me get you dried off.”
“Only you, Merlin,” Arthur snickered, then let Merlin pull him along, trying not to enjoy the warmth of Merlin’s hand in his own.
With the door closed and just the two of them, Merlin did indeed grab some paper towels and began to wipe him down, fast at first but slowing as the shirt dried. Arthur was breathing fast, and he watched Merlin, watched the way his mouth moved as he concentrated, the way his fingers slid over Arthur’s drying chest, the way his eyes darkened as he glanced at Arthur’s mouth and then away.
Arthur felt like he was on a precipice. But if he never tried, he’d hate himself forever.
Capturing Merlin’s busy hands in his own, Arthur pulled him close, leaning in for a kiss.
Merlin didn’t jerk away. Instead, he plunged in, groaning a little, devouring Arthur as if he were a feast and Merlin a starving man.
It was brilliant, Merlin’s hands all over him, his mouth doing sinful things that Arthur had only dreamt about. Arthur wasn’t far behind, finding ways beneath Merlin’s shirt, skin hot under his fingertips, and going further down, trying to get past jeans and buttons and barriers to curl his hand around Merlin’s hard length.
Grunting at that, pushing himself into Arthur’s grip, Merlin, too, was trying to bring Arthur off.
But just then, Mithian barged in, took one look, mumbling apologies, and quickly closed the door again.
Pulling apart, both of them half-way to ecstasy, Merlin stared at Arthur. “I thought… this… is this just you having a one-off?” Trying to slow down his breathing, taking a gulp of air, Merlin said, “I’ll take what I can get but I’ve missed you, prat.”
Merlin looked fuckable as hell, his mouth red with kisses, his skin flushed, his eyes heavy with want.
Reaching over, hands cupping Merlin’s face, Arthur said, “I didn’t think you’d want me. Or else we would have been fucking every day for all those months I was half-naked in your bed.”
A smile began to grow, and Merlin turned to kiss Arthur’s palm. “I couldn’t say anything when you were a client, could I? But now, you’re not my client and half-naked sounds good. Hell, full naked sounds better, and my bed’s been far too empty without you there.”
Looking past Merlin towards the closed door, Arthur said, “Do you think Mithian would be upset if we left?”
“I think Mithian would be cheering us on.” Merlin began to tuck himself back into his clothes, then nodded toward the door. “You coming?”
“Not yet but soon,” Arthur said. Merlin blinked a second at that, then laughed when Arthur continued, “And maybe more than once.”
-------------
Merlin’s show was a smashing success but even better, Arthur finally found his muse, and the love of his life.
Thanks to spilled champagne, an idiot's clumsiness, and art.