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Merlin really wishes people would listen to him more, because the entire night has been full of terrible ideas. The Magic Registration Act is being shot down in Parliament, and that's a good thing. Merlin doesn't mind celebrating it-- he wants to celebrate it. But no, it shouldn't be a loud boisterous party. No, it shouldn't be held in an office building, even if their contact has express permission to be there after hours. No, there shouldn't be copious amounts of alcohol. No, Alvarr and his circle of anarchists and zealots should not be invited and, when they inevitably arrive, they should not be allowed in the party.
But no one ever listens to Merlin, and so he spends the entire evening not quietly celebrating progress, but instead keeping an eye on everyone. Alvarr and Enmyria and their loud laughs and quiet whispers. Mordred, drinking shot after shot of tequila and performing small tricks, his magic uncurling at the edges as he does.
Morgana tells Merlin to smile, and he flips her off. She laughs, replies in kind, and swans off, and Merlin pretends he wasn't watching Mordred as the younger sorcerer looks towards him.
Really, in all honestly, Merlin is surprised they managed to get an hour and a half of celebration in before the whisper of "cops coming" breaks out.
What was a horrible idea -- and likely to become an anecdote for Merlin to lord over everyone -- but otherwise a light hearted event turns into something more, though, when they get wind the head officer on his way over is none other than Chief Inspector Aredian.
It's a mad scramble, then, assigning who is going to disable the CCTV cameras around, and trying to tidy things up, and it's a mad exodus out of the building.
Merlin is at the stairwell of the building, when he feels an iron grip clamp down on his wrist.
Behind him, Morgana is staring at him, eyes wide with fear, and an intoxicated Mordred is plastered against her side. "I need to get back," she says, voice laced with the obvious implication of Uther. "Take him?"
Merlin would rather simply zap back to his own flat (where he knows the perfect area where there are no working cameras pointed), but he presses his mouth into a thin line, and nods.
Relief floods her face, and then suddenly she's gone, and Mordred is swaying and falling against Merlin. He grumbles something into the front of Merlin's shirt.
Merlin looks down at him, and sighs, heavily.
He gets them out of the building, following the path of fleeing sorcerers where the CCTV doesn't work, before he stops, and rearranges Mordred, so it looks less like awkward ballroom dancing, and more like an actual walk. He finally manages to get Mordred on his right-- a near impossible task, Mordred seems to have grown into Merlin's late-teen body shape of being entirely made of limbs that he can't quite control-- with Mordred's arm looped around his neck, and his own arm around Mordred's waist.
It's easy enough to walk, compared to the few times he's had to drag a drunken Arthur around. Mordred lets Merlin lead him more easily than Arthur ever did.
Oh gods, Arthur.
He wonders how long before Aredian boasts to Uther who'll boast to Arthur, or if the news will climb another grapevine to reach him.
Merlin can worry about that later. For now, he thinks he's on the right path to Mordred's flat, but he isn't entirely sure. He's only been there once, in the daylight, and now it's night. "Am I going the right way?" he asks Mordred.
Mordred murmurs something indistinct against where his mouth is resting against the corner of his neck. Merlin's scarf has ridden down, and Mordred's breath is making him slightly ticklish, but he's seen Mordred drunk a few times now, and he knows he's useless like this.
Instead, he lowers his head, and uses his magic to find his way to Mordred's flat.
He feels Mordred inhale deeply against the column of his throat, before it's followed by a breathy exhale. He continues murmuring nothing, but in his proximity it turns into Mordred just mouthing at Merlin's neck.
Merlin draws himself up straighter, and starts walking a brisker pace, even though it causes them to stumble more and more.
The lift isn't working at Mordred's building, and so Merlin has to basically manhandle him up four flights of stairs.
It's no small feat, and so when they break into the hallway, they're still stumbling; and between Merlin trying to regain his footing, and Merlin suddenly feeling the press of a tongue against the skin of his neck, he winds up accidentally dropping Mordred onto the ground.
He takes a quick snapshot of Mordred, and sends it to Morgana -- who had been the one handing him drinks all night -- along with the question What did you do to him?
Her reply is near immediate. What are you *doing* to him?
Merlin frowns, then looks back down at Mordred. His legs are splayed open, one leg propped against the wall, the other curled in front of him; and the hem of his t-shirt is pushed above the waistband of his jeans, revealing a sliver of pale skin.
He’s 12 Merlin texts back, because that’s what he remembers: a twelve-year-old boy. Orphaned, in no government system, magic too powerful for him to control coursing through his system, imprisoned after one of Aredian’s witch hunts; then Morgana found out, begged Arthur to help, begged Merlin to help. An innocent twelve-year-old boy, Morgana had said, tears in her eyes.
An innocent twelve-year-old boy the Dragon said was destined to kill Arthur.
Now nineteen, he’s grown into his power, but all Merlin can think of when he sees him is the vision of him killing Arthur.
The thought of losing Arthur still makes his throat tighten, and so he just looks down the hallway, using a quick flare of magic to find Mordred’s flat. It’s only a few doors down, thankfully. “We’re almost there,” Merlin tells him. He debates the merits of just dragging Mordred. But when Mordred lifts a hand up, Merlin walks over to him, and hauls him to his feet. Mordred seems to be clinging to Merlin more and more as they pass each door.
“Do you have a key?”
Merlin can feel Mordred smile against his neck. “Better,” he murmurs. "Tospringe."
Merlin glances around quickly to make sure there’s no one who saw that, and he hurriedly drags Mordred into his flat. Mordred is wrapped too closely around Merlin, and it quickly turns into a stumble into the tiny, tiny flat. There’s a sofa two steps away, but it looks too small for Mordred to sleep comfortably on. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“I’ll show you.”
And then Mordred is pressing kisses down Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin – as gently as he can – shoves Mordred back onto the sofa.
He makes an indistinct, but somehow petulant noise as he lands on the cushions. He slumps onto his side, and bonelessly melts into the sofa. With the amount of tequila in his system, Merlin guesses he’s not going to be moving an inch from the position.
Merlin has it on good authority – from Morgana and Daegal – that Mordred is an affectionate drunk, but isn’t aware either of them were propositioned. “Well, now that you’re at home and settled,” Merlin says, wincing at how his voice is pitched higher than normal, “I’m going to go ahead and go now.”
“I saw you, you know,” Mordred announces, as Merlin reaches the door.
Merlin doesn’t reply.
“You were watching me.”
Merlin turns around, surprised at the fact Mordred is now standing right before him.
“The entire night,” Mordred adds. And then Mordred kisses Merlin. His hands come up to cup the sides of his face, admittably warm against the cool air of the flat.
After a – very baffled – moment, Merlin sets his hands on Mordred’s shoulders, and pushes him back. “Mordred, this really isn’t a good idea,” he says, slowly. “You’re drunk—“
"If you're concerned about my level of my inebriation, then stay the night," Mordred says, and his voice is painfully sincere. "Stay with me."
"Mordred, you're drunk," Merlin reiterates, and while he would like to stay calm and slow, he finds his words coming out hurried, "you're going to regret this tomorrow--"
"How can I regret something I've been wanting to do for this long?" Mordred asks, gaze bright and sincere. He kisses Merlin again.
In the next moment, Merlin comes to two conclusions:
Mordred is a rather good kisser.
Mordred is attracted to him.
Both realizations are terrifying.
Merlin honestly cannot count the reasons that this is a bad idea. Mordred is seven years his junior. Merlin had only been watching Mordred the entire night out of suspicion, not out of any personal desire.
Mordred stills.
If nothing else, the vision of Mordred killing Arthur is fresh in Merlin’s mind.
Mordred pulls back, and stares up at Merlin. He is blinking rapidly, gaze focusing. His eyes are a piercing, icy blue, and Merlin feels chilled as he comes to a third realization.
Mordred is a telepath, and while his last few years have been spent training strengthening his powers and his barriers, Merlin wonders how strong those barriers are after over a half dozen shots of tequila.
He guesses that they're not strong.
He guesses that Mordred can hear his thoughts.
Mordred drops his hands, and takes a step back. His breathing is uneven, his eyes burn an uneven gold, and suddenly the door behind Merlin is gone, and Merlin's stumbling back into the hallway. He straightens up, quickly, and looks around.
He sees Mordred's betrayed expression before the door rematerializes.
Merlin takes the two steps back to the door, and tries the handle. He jiggles it a few times, before he sighs. Glancing around once more, he lowers his head and whispers, "Tospringe." It doesn't open. There's a flare of panic, as his magic has never been outmatched by Mordred's before. "Mordred," he starts. "Open the door."
There's no response.
"Mordred," he tries, louder. He doesn’t know what he wants to say to Mordred – he’s been doing everything he could to avoid having this conversation so much that he’s avoided even planning for it – but he just knows he needs to talk to Mordred.
Unfortunately, his phone goes off, and when Merlin glances down, he sees Arthur’s contact photo beaming up at him. He sighs, steels himself, and answers his phone. Voice controlled, he asks, "Yes, Arthur?"
And then Arthur is updating Merlin on Aredian addressing a "situation that got out of hand."
"I'll be there soon as I can," Merlin assures him, before hanging up. He stares at the door to Mordred's flat for a long minute, before sighing again. He'll text Morgana later, tell her to check up on Mordred. For now, Arthur needs him.