at least it would seem that we don't.doc

at least it would seem that we don't
"Arthur/Merlin, reincarnation, one time they get re-born as brothers."

PART ONE

1.

No one will remember this one in time. It will matter, eventually, but by then the recordings will have been taped over with Turtle Ninjas reruns and the memory itself washed out by the monotone of the weeks surrounding that one moment of that one day.

It is the winter of their fifth year, the first one back in England and the first snow the boys have ever seen. The season in the north of Spain--right on the border--had been wet cold and nothing like this dry stillness of air, the absolute silence of water freezing mid-movement.

They're so excited for it, the both of them, holding on to the radiator in the small hall and jumping up and down as their mother tries to dress them. She is a little exasperated already, hissing Arthur, Arthur stand still right now! as he holds out his arm to be pulled into his coat sleeve and at the same time wants to press his face to the window.

Merlin loses his patience while waiting for his turn to be wrapped in a scarf, padding around in front of the door as if he needs to go go, and when his mother doesn't look for a second he frantically fumbles with the doorknob with every intention of running out and dealing with the consequences later. But the wind hits him hard in the face and he grimaces, shocked, stumbling back.

Hunith yells, abandoning Arthur with one side of his coat wobbling off and dragging over the floor in favour of gripping Merlin by the collar of his shirt and asking him in certain tones whether or not he understood her when she said he could not go outside without a coat. Merlin just frowns, looks over her shoulder at the white street and whines, But it's snooooowing!

She sighs, and Arthur takes this momentary distraction to amble out the door--discarding the coat after three deep steps into the high snow. On seeing his brother already outside Merlin loses any restraint and shakes off his mother's grip, running after Arthur with a high screech of excitement, trampling the both of them into the white.

Hunith shouts at them to come back in, unable to go after in her house coat and socks, and of course the two don't listen--pushing snow into each other's faces, laughing, stamping on the random elevations and trying to make out how this is still their front yard, and where the hark is and where their toys are buried under the layer of winter.

By the time Uther wakes up, Hunith is sitting on the doorstep with a camera, filming the wet and flushed boys as they make faces at the lens--calling, Watch me, mum, look, look--and then attempt to do a handstand, only getting as far as planting two hands in the cold snow and proudly lifting up one leg.

"You let them go out like that?" Uther asks from the bottom of the staircase. "Are you completely mad?"

Hunith ignores him, smiling as Arthur opens his mouth real close to the camera as if to eat it. Uther sighs from behind her, and she doesn't let the smile waver until he's gone, has slinked into his study and closed the door behind him.

Later, at the dining table, Hunith keeps the video running as she asks a blanket-wrapped Merlin what he thought of the snow.

"I liked it," he says on a quick breath, "but Arthur doesn't like snow he hates it."

"Why would you say that, Merlin?" Hunith asks, gently.

Merlin shrugs, short legs swaying under him between the chair and the floor. "I think it's because Hengst got caught out in the snow and then he fell in the ice and they tried to take him out but he was heavy, and then he died."

For a small moment, while the film still shows Merlin playing with his toast, Hunith says nothing. Then,

"Who is Hengst, Merlin?"

"The horse," he says, taking a bite of his breakfast.

"Arthur doesn't have a horse, sweetheart."

Merlin just shrugs again, distracted by his food. A moment later Arthur--in his underwear and undershirt--pads his way back into the room from the kitchen, holding a big mug. His mouth is smudged and it's clear he's been eating more of the chocolate milk powder than he's used with the actual milk. The second the camera turns to him he makes a face again, mouth open and tongue out, roaring dramatically for no apparent reason.

"And how did you like the snow, Arthur?"

He jumps to set his legs wide apart in a theatrical stance, giving a thumb up and shouting,

"Awesoooome!"

--

2.

Everyone remembers this one. Hunith remembers the quiet that settled on the house after years of afternoons being filled with loud voices, with Uther asking her what it is exactly she wants from him--does she want him to stop working? To not earn money? To be a great happy family eating out of a garbage can and isn't this--isn't this exactly why they moved here, why Spain didn't work anymore because they needed the money, had children to provide for for God's sake, woman, would you hold your hysterics for one--

and Hunith replying with the question of how did he even know they had children to provide for, how did he even notice because she sure didn't think he remembered, and Heavens, Uther, it's never been about the money for her--never, she'd eat out of anyone's garbage any day if that means they're happy, because that's what matters, isn't it? At least for normal people, at least for people who actually--

But now, the silence of the house only broken by the suitcases being dragged down the hall, Merlin and Arthur are more terrified than ever. Sitting together on Arthur's stripped bed, hunched in their frames, they are out of their eight-year-old depths.

"D'you even wanna go with dad?" Merlin asks, quietly.

Looking down, Arthur nods.

"Then I wanna go with dad too."

"You can't," Arthur says. "Mum'll go mental, you know that."

"Well, dad won't go mental if you stay here. So."

"I want to go with dad."

"Oh." And then, "All right."

"I'll still see you at school and all."

Merlin sets his jaw, staring at the floor. He mumbles, "You won't talk to me at school anyway," and then looks away.

"Well--you just, I've got different friends and all, from football, and you . . . " He shrugs, glancing up at Merlin. "Are you--Merlin, are you crying?"

"No," Merlin says, roughly rubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve.

"You're crying."

"You're crying!"

Arthur gives a short laugh, sitting up straighter. "No I'm not." He reaches up to playfully push at Merlin's head, ruffling his hair. "You're like a girl."

"You won't be around anymore anyway," Merlin quickly replies, muffled into his own shoulder as he wipes his nose on his shirt. "I can be a girl all I want to. Won't even matter to you."

Arthur lets his hand fall back onto the bare mattress, shoulders slumping for a moment before he gets up with a small sigh. The bed bobs a little with it, and Merlin looks up at him, angry and blotchy-red. Arthur shrugs, again, not knowing what else to do, and Merlin sets to staring at the floor again.

"Bye," Arthur says, a bit weakly, hands in his pockets as he stands with his back to the door.

"Bye," Merlin replies in a low mutter, still not looking up--not as Arthur leaves, not when his mother calls him down an hour later, not during that first quiet dinner, and not later--trying to fall asleep in the empty room with the empty bed opposite his, Arthur's posters still on the walls, their assortment of waterguns and plastic swords still littered all across the floor. He crawls into his mother's bed that night, and she holds him very close as he goes and acts like a girl into the pillows.

--

3.

Mostly Arthur remembers this. Remembers locking himself up in his bathroom with the phone on weekends, sitting in the empty tub and waiting for his mother to call. It'll be around dinner time, and he'd listen to the sound of her cutting vegetables in the background, the pots and pans clanging as she tried to talk and cook at the same time.

"How's the new school, sweetheart?" was the question at age eleven. "Merlin misses you quite a great deal, you know."

"Mum," he'd whine, sinking a bit lower in the tub.

"What, Arthur? What? He's your brother."

"Yeah, well." He glances up at the white ceiling, the edge of the tub hard where it supports his neck. "We didn't really hang out at school either way."

"Well, maybe that's the problem. Maybe you should call him."

"I'm calling right now though, aren't I?"

"Really? Would you like me to put him on?"

"No! I--" He switches ears, bringing the receiver to his right side. "I just want to talk to you, mum."

She sighs. "I don't understand. You two used to be so close."

"Can we talk about something else?" Arthur quickly interjects, hating this subject every time again. "Dad has a new girlfriend."

"Yes," Hunith says with a new, amusedly resigned sigh. "By all means, tell me about the man's new conquest."

--

4.

And this one, this one is Merlin's to remember. He'd sit down for dinner early weekend, his mother having stood at the bottom of the stairs for a good five minutes calling him down from his models and he--'Just a second, mum! Almost done, okay, just a second, okay!'--eventually joined her at the table, ready to eat as much as he could as quickly as possible.

"Just got off the phone with Arthur," was the conversation starter at thirteen, casual as she handed him the mashed potatoes. "He sends his love. Misses you lots."

Merlin snorts, piling up his plate. "There's no way he said that."

"And why would you think that?"

"Mum, honestly." He glances up with a quick quirk to his brow. "He didn't actually go, Oh yeah, and and mum, before I hang up, please tell my estranged brother I love him like, a lot."

"Your point being?" Hunith wants to know. "Just because you boys don't have the courage to say it doesn't mean--"

"Mum," he interrupts, knowing by now how to deal with this. "Mum, please. Please. No."

She pauses, expression softening as he puts down the salad bowl. "I wonder at the both of you sometimes," she says after a moment. "I really do."

"Wonder what," Merlin mutters around a mouthful of dinner.

"Just wonder. That's all."

Merlin looks at her oddly, frowning, chewing down his food--then writes it down as typically vague and decides he can't be bothered figuring out the cryptic worry that is his mother. He returns to his plate with a small shake of a head.

--

5.

Christmases fade in and out of their memories over the years; some they recall, some not at all. The holidays used to be so memorable before, when it was all of them in one house and there was one tree, one dinner to be had, one round of gifts to share. But now it's a day here and a day there, Merlin quiet in the large country house he never considered any kind of home--Arthur angry and rough in the small place where he once grew up but no longer belonged.

At fourteen, at their mother's, they shared a room for two awkward days. Before falling asleep a short attempt at conversation was made, something along the lines of,

"So how's dad?"

"Fine."

"Good."

"So what's up with, what's his face, Bill or something?"

"Will."

"Yeah. Him."

"Will's okay. At his nan's for the hols."

"Fascinating."

"Well, you asked."

"Whatever."

"Look, what's your--"

"What? What's my what?"

"Nothing. Never bloody mind."

"Oh, language, Merlin. Aren't you a tough one."

"Why are you being such a prat, Arthur?"

"Neat aeroplane models, by the way. Bet the girls really swoon when you show them those."

On the other side of the room, Merlin is silent. He turns in his bed, back to Arthur, and the last thing he says on that Christmas evening is,

"I'm glad you don't live here anymore."

and Arthur, from his corner, "Yeah. Well. Feeling's mutual."

At fifteen, at their father's, they each get a room of their own on separate ends of the second floor. They see each other at breakfast, sometimes not. Sometimes Arthur is out with his friends. That Christmas Merlin spends the week locked in a guest room half-heartedly designed to make him feel at home, reading comics, watching TV and finding out how many channels Uther really gets--living up to the name of mid-puberty by tossing off more times a day than he ever will in his life.

--

6.

Then comes the one that's just theirs. Just the boys'.

Hunith's first summer away in sixteen years she takes with her new boyfriend who Merlin is completely indifferent about, and Arthur doesn't even know. But they both do love her, love her more than they know how to love anything else, and there isn't much outwardly grumbling and protestations when Merlin's dropped off at Uther's for the length of two months.

Arthur helps drag Merlin's suitcases up the stairs, then dumps them outside his new room. Merlin vaguely thanks him, and Arthur says,

"I don't care what you do here, just don't get in my way."

Merlin thinks, How is that even possible? but says nothing, rolling his eyes at his brother and closing the door between them. And for two weeks that door stays closed, most of the time at least. Uther is not around a lot, and when he is the man is not very susceptible for conversation. Merlin is relieved for the most part, venturing downstairs to pick empty the fridge and disappear back into his room with armfuls of pickles, cheese, chocolate spread and mayo--combinations like only a sixteen year old can stomach.

His bedroom window overlooks the back garden, the old pool and the woods in the distance. He watches the scenery almost as often as he flips through the channels. He watches the gardeners, then the swallows dipping down to flash past the pool's surface, then Arthur and his friends stumbling into the water half-drunk--taking the girls down with them, laughing and drinking and being generally loud and audacious. One night he watches Arthur spend twenty minutes kissing a girl in that pool. Merlin holds his breath when she pulls, starts to take off her swimming top, and thinks that if his heart is hammering like that all the way up there--what Arthur must feel like, so close to real-life breasts. It's the first time he himself has seen them anywhere other than TV or printed out, if you don't count that one time Big Vicky (who never wore a bra until last year) leaned forward over his table and she was wearing this big, loose shirt and he could look right in.

He glances from the girl's breasts, to her face, to Arthur's, and he stops thinking altogether when he sees his brother is looking right up--into his window, at him.

Merlin starts, pulls closed his curtains with a hissed shit, and--for good measure--turns off the lights, and sits on his bed for a long while, heart hammering in his chest. He's so hard it hurts, and he refuses to do anything about it for an entire hour. But he's only sixteen, and can only help it so far, and from there on it's just a long trail of fuck it's, lying back and letting his hand do the work. He sees the girl's breasts, and remembers the way she wrapped her legs around Arthur's waist, and how she'd moved, and how she'd looked and kissed, flashes of her tongue between her and Arthur's mouth, his hands cool and easy on her back, stroking down and then looking up, slight smirk and bright eyes and--

"If you're gonna spy like the little pervert that you are," Arthur says the next day, planting himself on the pool's edge next to Merlin, "might at least turn off the lights, yeah?"

"Yeah," Merlin quietly replies, back of his neck burning with an embarrassed flush. "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't--mean to--"

"Christ, relax, mate." He laughs, giving Merlin a somewhat pitying look. "Was only joking."

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin looks at him for a moment. Then, down at his submerged feet, "Thought you were out with your friends."

"Wanted to," Arthur says. He squints up at the sunny day, leans back on his elbows. "Dad wants me to spend more time with you. Says you're freaking him out, locking yourself up all day and stuff."

Merlin snorts, giving Arthur a weird look over his shoulder. "Uther did not say that."

"Whatever. That's what it came down to, anyway."

"Well . . . you can still go if you want to." He turns back to look out at the pool. "I mean, I can tell him we spent the afternoon together or something. If you want me to."

There's a small pause on Arthur's part, audibly pensive even in the silence, then,

"Thanks."

"Sure."

"Though we could--I don't know. Do something. Sometime."

"Do what?"

"Dunno. Do you . . . " Arthur shifts, shrugging. "D'you still do those models? Because I'm not doing that kind of--"

"Oh shut up, you used to do them too."

"Yeah, when I was ten."

Merlin huffs a laugh, shaking his head to himself, and Arthur sits up next to him. There's a lift of a smile on him as well, and for a little while it's nice, almost companionable.

"Bet you're real popular though, right," Merlin says. "At school."

Arthur grin widens. "I do all right." And then, "Bet you're a real geek, though."

"I do all right," Merlin laughs, not as bitter as he expected. "That girl, from before, she's your girlfriend?"

"A girlfriend," Arthur says, ducking his head and lifting his eyebrows, point made rather easily.

"Of course. Should've guessed. Well, good on you, Arthur. Well done."

"Come on, little brother. Like you wouldn't if you could." He nudges Merlin with a shoulder, grinning. "What about you, anyway? No girls left for the nerd herd?"

"I'll have you know, all right, that back home they line up down the street for me. Right now in fact they're having support groups, help 'm through the months I'm not there to grace them with manly presence."

At this Arthur laughs right out, loud and hearty, head thrown back and chest heaving. Merlin doesn't know whether to be insulted or glad for it, proud that he's still the funny one. He looks at Arthur, who looks so much more like the adult Merlin wants to be, who--in his swimming trunks and damp hair--looks like he belongs by this poolside, a member of the fancy household with too many rooms to count, lazy and arrogant and far too handsome for his own good.

"We're not really twins though, are we," Merlin says, cutting off Arthur's subsiding laughter. "I mean, not really."

Arthur stops, looks at him. Frowns. "What?"

Merlin finds it in him to smile at this. "Uh, look at us," he says, glancing between the two of them.

"So?"

"So? Well--we're just--" He makes a hapless, self-explanatory little shrug of a gesture. But when Arthur remains puzzled, he deflates a little, plucking at the grass as he says, "It's like that movie with Denny Devito and Schwarzenegger. You know the one? Where they're twins? And Devito turns out to be the, like, left-over jizz which they--"

Arthur starts laughing again, loud over whatever else he was going to say and Merlin can't help but laugh a little too.

"I'm serious," he says all the same. "S'not funny."

"S'a little funny," Arthur says, adding a final chuckle. And then, a long-stretched pause later, when it's calmer, "Do you remember when we were, I think seven or something and I said we weren't brothers, and that I was a prince and you were my servant? And you said--" He smiles a bit meanly, a bit wistfully amused too, "You said 'all right, but only if I'm a magic servant.'"

"Yeah, I remember." But Arthur continues to grin, and Merlin has to add, "What? What of it?"

"Magic," Arthur enunciates, almost rolling his eyes. "Of all the superpowers you could've chosen, right, you picked magic."

"What's wrong with magic?"

"What's wrong with magic? It's the gayest power ever, is all. It's like--"

"Hold on, what? How--how is magic gay? At all? It--kills people, Arthur, and, yeah, it--"

"Kills people with pink bolts of lightening." He makes an incredulous face, as if Merlin should've seen his point way faster than this. "And! Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter is not gay."

"Have you even seen the films?"

"They're books."

"Which were made into films." He raises his eyebrows and spreads his hands as if he's just given the winning argument. "Am I right?"

Unthinkingly, Merlin pushes at him--half joking, half meaning it, intending it to be a weak retaliation but not counting on the surprise element, not expecting it at all when Arthur flails for half a second before falling into the water with a splash. Wide-eyed and torn between hilarity and fright, Merlin watches as Arthur spins underwater and then comes up again, breathing hard, two hands pushing his hair back from his face.

Merlin lets out a loud cough of a laugh.

"You," Arthur exhales on a harsh breath, a disbelieving smile on his face, "are going down, little brother."

Merlin has a moment to raise an unimpressed eyebrow and then a wall of water is splashed his way. It's cold, even in the relative heat of the day, and his mouth opens wide to breathe in the surprise when a strong hand clutches at his ankle and tugs.

He's pulled into the water without a trace of grace, twisting and kicking in the process. When he finally gets free it is war and he knows it, turning around to make out the exact location of Arthur's disappearing head--pushing at it just as he wants to resurface, holding him underwater. Arthur is quick to tackle him when under, though, and from there on it's a mess of limbs and water, joking around and making a real fake fight out of it--calling points, bonus points and fouls, defending their point with nonexistent rules that inadvertently make the other either crack up or object, loudly, trying to win by shouting and splashing around a lot.

It's wonderful, something they've missed for so long and it comes to a skidding halt far too soon. Arthur disappears for a moment and Merlin notices his swimming figure at the bottom of the pool a second too late--right beneath him, coming up with the idea of lifting Merlin on his shoulders. He'd seen Arthur and his friends do this enough times from his bedroom window.

Though Merlin isn't quite prepared for it, and when Arthur's arms curl around his thighs and lift, he immediately starts scrabbling for purchase--tries to get off before Arthur's even fully upright. Arthur laughs at this, doesn't let go, and Merlin has to grunt it out--almost shout,

"Let--Arthur, let go."

It's probably the sudden seriousness to his voice that slackens the grip, and then Merlin is back in the water--back paddling.

Arthur turns to him, breath still shallow in his chest from exercise but smiling, a bit confused as he looks at Merlin. But then the confusion seems to clear away, no indication as to why, replaced by a bad sort of grin.

"My God," he says. "You've got a stiffy."

"No. What?" Bewildered, defensive and embarrassed at once Merlin takes a step back from the deeper ground, back toward the edge. "No I haven't."

"Yeah, you do," Arthur insists, and the playfulness is just a little too mean. "You got a stiffy from playing around with your--"

"You're making this up." Merlin's back hits the far end. "It's not funny, Arthur."

"Hey, I'm not the one with a hard-on, all right." Arthur gives a minute shrug, starting to slosh his way through to Merlin. And Merlin, with his jaw set and his back against the low wall of the pool, considers pushing himself up and walking away. But no, of course, then there'd be no question to it—his swimming trunks plastered to his skin and it'll show and shit, he doesn't even know why this happened but didn't it sometimes just happen? When messing around, didn't these things just--You don't even have to be into someone, it can be just anyone as long as you're--

Arthur is too close and Merlin moves, half-swimming himself sideways with Arthur still laughing, still on his heels as he works himself into a corner. Bad move, he thinks, bad move and then Arthur is there, saying something like, "No stiffy, huh?" and reaching out underwater, palming him in what was probably was supposed to be a lark, but becomes painfully awkward as Merlin breathes in sharply, and Arthur becomes aware that Merlin really does have a stiffy and also that no, no it's not funny, and that you don't just randomly grab other blokes' junk through their pants--you just don't, not at all like this, preferably not ever if know you're a good guy and you know your boundaries.

And from the way Arthur's face blanks out, smoothes into wide-eyed shock, he probably realises this very well with every second that ticks by and his hand is still on Merlin's continuously hardening erection.

Merlin wishes he could stop breathing. Wishes he could keep his lungs from demanding more and more air to provide for his quickening heartbeat, his heating blood, temperature, the way he is almost hissing in his short inhales at the sight of Arthur's eyes dark and level on him--wide and unreadable. For a moment his thoughts escape toward where they're ploughing for, and Merlin--for a whole second—thinks of the hand on him, the fingers on him and what it'd be like if instead of moving away they'd just move, out of their own accord.

His cock gives an involuntary throb. Merlin screws his eyes shut and waits for Arthur to say something, be disgusted or maybe punch him, if that's how far he wants to take it.

But when the fingers move, hesitant and hot even in the water, they move toward the waistband--then quickly under it. And instead of opening his eyes when Arthur's hand closes around him, instead of that, he bites his lip to muffle a gasp and screws his eyes tighter shut.

Arthur gives an experimental stroke and Merlin bites back another weak groan. He's clutching on to the pool's edge, desperately shutting down his frantic mind and bucking up into the firm grip pulling him up a bit, stripping his cock with a steadily quickening pace. His elbows give way eventually and he has to lean back, his teeth slipping on his lip and then there's nothing keeping the hard breaths, quiet grunts and sloshing water from filling the hot afternoon air of the back yard.

Then the angle changes. He can feel Arthur stepping closer, can feel the shoulder graze his, the near heat of his chest and it's almost no surprise at all when a hand covers his on the tiled edge, half on the grass. His eyelids are heavy, stubborn, but he manages to open them just enough to see Arthur's face inches away--his eyes down, staring at the space between them. He's tugging Merlin's hand from it's grip on the stone, and Merlin gives in with barely any struggle, gaze fixed on Arthur's slack jaw as his hand is guided down his brother's trunks, is shakily thrust down past the wet fabric without so much as an explanation.

Arthur's grip on Merlin loosens the moment Merlin's wrapped his own hesitant fingers around his cock. Arthur barely breathes, leaning forward to support himself on the ground behind Merlin, the sides of their faces touching.

"Do it," Arthur breathes into his ear, hand picking up where it left and twisting now, pulling a choked gasp from Merlin.

"I--fuck, don't know--"

"Not--rocket science," he hisses in reply, rolling his hips into Merlin's hand. "Just fucking move."

So Merlin just fucking moves. He squeezes, strokes, mimics Arthur's own movements and tries not to be amazed at the feel of it, or the fact that this is his first time doing anything like this or that it's with Arthur, fucking Arthur who is jerking him, to whom he's doing the same in return.

In the end, it takes very little for him to finish. Arthur bites down on his shoulder, says, Merlin, and he's there--voicelessly gasping for breath, coming into the clear water of the pool. Arthur gives him three seconds to ride it out then places both hands on either side of him, using the leverage to fully thrust into Merlin's fist, eyes screwed shut into his shoulder and grunting as he comes, the roll of his hips continuing for what seems like far too long afterwards.

The aftermath is quick and confusing. Arthur swallows, throat bobbing against Merlin's collarbone, and he stays still until--until he's not still anymore, and then he's swimming to the other end, lifting himself out by the metal support of the steps. He doesn't look back at Merlin, not once, nearly swaggering his way back toward the house--leaving a wet trail in his wake.

Merlin closes his eyes, leans back all the way on the cool grass, and remains that way for a good hour before gathering the wits about him to get out, to dry in the cooling afternoon, to shuffle the path back through the house to his room. He collapses on the bed, still mostly damp, lying on the sheets and pretending to be asleep so that he wouldn't have to come down for dinner.

(6B. And if Merlin thinks this is the end of the summer, that this is the end of everything and he will spend the rest of his life regretting that one hour by the pool where his good sense of humanity was shoved aside by something too depraved to even consider, then he is wrong and he is right and he is in for so much more.

It continues as a stuttering trend, not to be explained. It goes from A)The next day he sees Arthur once, in the hallway, he on his way to the kitchen and Arthur on his way out, and both seem terrified of each other, to B) Arthur coming into his room that night, standing in the doorway for a long minute—outlined by the hallway's dimmed lights—Merlin watching him with bleary eyes, propped up on his elbows—before closing the door behind him, crossing the room and crawling into Merlin's bed and then over Merlin himself. His eyes are big and glinting in the dark, catching the garden lights through the window as he shuffles t...