Chapter Text
Arthur’s first day in Gedref is when he first sees him. He’s at the grocery, buying things for his new house, when he suddenly becomes aware of someone staring at him in his peripheral vision. When he turns to look, the man who’s staring doesn’t even try to look away. He’s tall and lean, and has wide, blue eyes with long beautiful lashes, and Arthur can’t help but stare back.
They’re too far apart for speech, but Arthur quirks a brow in question. The man’s eyes simply widen further, as though surprised Arthur can see him.
Then a woman walks behind him, a short lady with light brown hair, and says, “Come along, Merlin.”
The man doesn’t move at first, not for a few seconds, still simply stares openly at Arthur. But then he turns on his heel and says, “C-Coming, Mother.”
• • •
Merlin.
Arthur thinks about him a lot. He wonders why Merlin stared. He wonders about Merlin’s curious eyes. He wonders when he’ll see him again.
• • •
The second time Arthur sees him, Arthur isn’t sure it’s him. He’s only just left his house and is about to start walking when he catches sight of a pale figure he’s seen only in his dreams. The instant he turns around, trying to get a closer look, the figure drops, hidden behind a neighbour’s rose bushes.
Arthur doesn’t question it.
• • •
The third time is weeks later, and Arthur sees him first. He’s in the grocery again and turns a corner when he sees Merlin, then quickly jumps back. He doesn’t want Merlin to know he’s seen him yet, but Merlin is partially turned away, and Arthur peers around slowly, silently.
Merlin’s wearing a cotton jumper, purple and with sleeves that reach his fingertips, and grey joggers that look old and tattered. His hair is longer, curlier, and there’s more stubble on his jaw from what little of his face Arthur can see. He holds himself tall and straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and his arms swing back and forth occasionally, reminding Arthur of a child.
And then he speaks, “What d-d-day is it, Mother?” and Arthur had thought his voice would be higher, thought he remembered it not quite so deep, but that’s probably his mind playing tricks on him, making him think Merlin is younger than he really is.
“It’s Friday, Merlin,” the woman beside him replies. Arthur can only just see her from his hiding place, but it isn’t her he’s interested in, not at all. “Reach up and get that tin of soup for me, would you?” she says, pointing to the shelf.
Merlin reaches up with his long arms and grabs a tin, handing it to her, and that’s when Arthur finally turns, because he knows he looks odd to the other people here, lurking behind a corner like this. He walks by the two of them, and it’s as though he can feel the exact moment when Merlin notices him, like a prickling on the back of his neck, he senses it, though Merlin doesn’t make a sound.
Arthur stops though, pretends to search for something on the shelf, and when he turns his head to glance at Merlin, it’s to see Merlin and his mother walking away, Merlin’s neck nearly twisting from trying to stare as long as possible before going out of sight.
• • •
He only catches a glimpse of Merlin that Saturday night. He’s taking the rubbish out when a shadow slinks behind a hedge. He’s not sure if it’s Merlin or not, but he speaks into the night anyway.
“Hi, Merlin.”
There’s no response for a few moments, just the rustle of the leaves in the Gedref air, until Arthur’s on his doorstep, nearly inside, and even then Arthur wonders if he imagines it.
“H-Hi.”
• • •
Arthur doesn’t want to ask anyone about Merlin, because word spreads fast in a small town, but it gets to a point where he can’t help it anymore. He asks Lancelot, because Lance has become his closest friend since moving here, and he’s sure the man is trustworthy.
“Do you know anything about a man named Merlin?” he asks when they’re at work.
Lance shrugs. “Just as much as anyone knows—he’s the quiet boy that lives with his mum, acts really strange all the time.”
“But nothing else?”
“He has a stutter, I think. Haven’t heard him talk much.”
“Do you know how old he is?”
Lance tilts his head then, giving Arthur a curious look. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
I think he’s stalking me. I think I like it.
Lance shrugs again. “More than twenty, less than thirty. Who knows?”
• • •
Arthur doesn’t know how he knows Merlin is outside, but he knows. He can feel it under his skin, like a sixth sense. He thinks he can feel Merlin’s eyes on him outside the window of his living room, but doesn’t dare turn to look.
He feels his cock getting hard from it, from having Merlin’s eyes on him, and doesn’t try to keep from touching himself. He just rubs his erection through the fabric of his joggers at first, leisurely, unhurried, watching telly without watching telly, but then he gives in, takes his cock out and strokes properly, thinks of Merlin’s long, swinging arms, the strong line of his back, and the large, blue, all-seeing eyes. He thinks of Merlin’s timidness, wonders if Merlin’s shy in bed too, if he’s ever even had sex before, and he comes to the thought of Merlin gasping his name, of being Merlin’s first.
When Arthur finally dares to get up and look out the window, there’s no one there. But when he breathes across the glass, there’s a handprint.