Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or its characters.

A/N: This is basically just a bit of fluff for all the M/M lovers out there, but it's also a chance for me to try something with differing perspectives. Most of my stories are strictly from one character's POV, so let me know how you think I did with this style. :)

This is part one of a planned three.

Merlin sighs as he steps through the French doors and outside into the bright morning sunshine. Arthur, dressed in boxer shorts and an open robe, waltzes over to the crystal-clear pool and kicks up a bit of the water. Merlin watches his employer suspiciously, wondering what scheme he's going to come up with next.

Arthur throws his arms open. "It's a glorious day, isn't it, Merlin?"

"Yeah," Merlin agrees cautiously. "Very sunny."

He, unlike Arthur, isn't wearing sunglasses, and he turns his eyes away from the glare only to have his breath catch in his throat when he realizes that Morgana and Gwen are sunbathing on lounge chairs on the other side of the pool.

Arthur's half-sister is wearing a dark red one-piece, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose as she occupies herself with a thick paperback. Gwen, her assistant, turns away from her National Geographic to read an incoming text message.

Merlin looks away before either notices him. Even though it's fairly early in the morning (early for Arthur's standards anyways), the sun is beating down and he's starting to swelter in his jeans and polo. He tugs at his shirt collar.

"You know, Arthur, if there's nothing for me to do, I should probably go return some phone calls."

"What's your hurry?"

"You do want that audition for that new historical drama Cameron keeps talking about, don't you?"

"Merlin! I just got back from a four-month shoot in California. Work can wait for a day."

"Does that mean I have the day off?"

"Of course not. I've got a special job that only you can do."

Merlin pauses, waiting for the bomb to drop.

Arthur grins. "I want to throw a party."

Merlin's eyebrows creep higher and higher and finally disappear beneath his hair as he holds his mobile away from his ear and listens to an irate Norwegian man explain why there's no possible way they can ship a case of Freia chocolate bars from Oslo to Cawsand by tomorrow.

"Okay, okay," Merlin says. "Yes, I understand. Thank you anyway."

And he ends the call, cutting off the man in mid-shout. He closes his eyes and leans his head back with a sigh. Sometimes he wonders why he took this job at all, when half the time, instead of petitioning for a role for Arthur in the latest blockbuster or networking among Hollywood elites, his responsibilities consist of throwing parties and running all over the country on crazy, nearly impossible errands.

And sometimes, he wishes he could just use his magic to get the stupid chocolate. But when he came to England a year ago, he promised his mother that he would only use his abilities for good, noble deeds, lest using it for small, useless, everyday tasks would lead to laziness and corruption.

He sighs. Magic would make his job so much easier. And it's not like he's never cheated a little before, especially at household chores.

He lifts his gaze and freezes when he sees Morgana wandering down the hall on her way to the kitchen, book still in hand. She pauses outside his office door, a smile coming to her face when she notices him.

Poking her head into the doorway, she asks, "Arthur's demands proving a bit too ludicrous?"

Startled, Merlin looks up, happy to see her and even more relieved to see that she's changed out of her bathing suit and into shorts and a tank top.

"Ludicrous and impossible to procure," he laughs. Waving the list Arthur's given him, he says, "Look at this. I'm never going to get all this done by tomorrow, and I still have to invite people!"

"Well, here," she says, waltzing into the room with a wicked grin on her lips and holding out her hand for the list. He hands it to her, and she promptly rips it in two and hands one half back to him.

"Now, you only have to deal with half," she tells him.

Merlin stares at her in awe before a smile spreads across his face. "Don't you have better things to do than to help me with one of Arthur's ridiculous parties?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Win the Pulitzer or something?"

She flops down into an easy chair in the corner with a laugh. "Well, I'd be perfectly content never winning the Pulitzer if only someone would read my books."

Merlin frowns. She had given away copies of her debut novel to family and friends when it was released six months ago, but it's been a struggle trying to get anyone besides Gwen to read it. And, despite the fact that he's been in California for Arthur's movie shoot for the past four months, he's still noticed how much the lack of reaction from the people she cares about has hurt her.

Swiveling in his chair, he grabs a book off his bookshelf and hands it to her.

Something warm and unfamiliar wells in Morgana's heart as she takes in the broken spine, the dog-eared pages, the missing cover. Not only has this book been read, but it's been well-loved.

"You mean you haven't donated it to the library yet?" she teases.

"I'd tell you how many times I've read it already, but I don't want to inflate your ego," he replies playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

He knows Uther and Arthur haven't read it. He's even reminded Arthur over and over again through the months. But there comes a time when familial disappointment becomes the norm, and he hates seeing Morgana subjected to that.

Besides, the book is brilliant, and the literary world seems to agree – Morgana's become its newest darling. Not that she acts it, hiding out in Cawsand instead of accepting the invitations that roll in through her agent. Sometimes he doesn't understand why she spends so much time here, why she continues to share a house with Arthur when she'd be much happier living on her own, leading her own life.

"But no," he says more seriously, "you know I love it."

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, dipping her eyes almost bashfully. "That means a lot coming from you." Propping her feet up on his desk, she continues, "Maybe we should put Gwen in charge of guests."

Morgana collapses into a patio chair, dissolving into a fit of laughter.

She hasn't had this much fun since the night she, Merlin, and Gwen had to prevent a drunk and determined Arthur from declaring his love and proposing elopement to a girl named Vivian he'd met in a pub, or the weekend they'd spent driving all across England because Arthur had to find the perfect Christmas tree. (Because somehow all their craziest times seem to revolve around Arthur.)

It's nearly three in the morning, and they decided around eleven that this task couldn't be accomplished without alcohol. So now Merlin's tottering dangerously on a chair as he desperately attempts to hang a strand of lights.

They'd tried using magic at one point, but, after three beers, Merlin had lost his concentration and his magic had started to fizzle out and Morgana was producing nothing but sparks. Occasionally even full-out explosions if she wasn't careful.

"Maybe I can help," she suggests through a giggle, sparks jumping across her palm.

"No!" he exclaims, turning around so violently that he loses his balance. Flailing his arms wildly, he tumbles off the chair and lands face-first in a bush.

She gasps, half-risen from her chair. And then the bush begins to shake, and she can hear his quiet laughter. It becomes more audible when he rolls onto his back and props himself up by his elbows, the sound carrying through the night.

Morgana, descending into mirth once again, nevertheless gets up to shove him on the shoulder, effectively forcing him back to the ground.

"Don't scare me like that," she tells him, her voice holding little weight.

"You were the one who scared me first! I don't want you blowing me up with your drunk!magic!"

"Please, I am not drunk," she insists. "Tipsy, yes, but not drunk. Believe me, you'd know if I were drunk."

If anything, he's the one three sheets to the wind.

Merlin, content to lie on his back, chuckles softly, because he's seen her drunk before, most memorably the night her manuscript got purchased. They had somehow ended up on the roof of the house, clambering over the tiles for a foothold so they could watch the stars. Not the safest situation, obviously, but definitely one of the most enjoyable.

Morgana plops down on the patio stones and smiles down at him. His dark hair blends into the shadows of the bush, but the moonlight illuminates his pale skin beautifully, and she's reminded of that night they spent on the roof.

"You're too good for this," she tells him quietly.

He tears his gaze from the stars to look up at her, his brow furrowed and his eyelids heavy. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Look at you," she chastises, "chasing down Swiss chocolate and tracking down barely-known indie bands and procuring rare foreign beer all because my spoiled brother tells you to. Can you imagine a bigger waste of such amazing talent?"

"It was Norwegian, actually." Off her frown, he elaborates, "The chocolate. Nor-we-gian."

The way he draws out the word leaves her in no doubt that he's had one too many beers.

She scoffs lightly. "Of course."

Merlin pushes himself to a sitting position, a sloppy smile tugging at his lips. "You're angry. Why are you angry?"

"Because," she answers, shaking her head uselessly. "You're . . . better than this."

A frown darkens her face as she pulls her knees in and crosses her arms over them. She gazes away at the moonlight glinting off the pool, and tells herself it's just the alcohol talking. She's been friends with Merlin for a long time now, and it's always been an easy, effortless sort of thing. But she's never dared damaging that by bringing this up before.

He's wasting his life, his talents, here.

He's a great friend to her brother, that's true, and she knows that Merlin's been the driving influence behind Arthur's subtle transformation from arrogant cinema star to decent human being.

"I know it's . . . unusual," he drawls, "but Arthur, he's so popular. I mean, he's a prat sometimes, yeah, but he's a useful prat. I can do things now, good things. Because I've got the plans, and he's got the . . . the . . ." Gesturing widely, Merlin trails off.

"The power?" Morgana suggests.

It's not the word he's looking for. He twists his head. "Ehhhh."

"The means?"

"Uh-uh."

"The influence?"

"Yes. Yes," he says triumphantly, dropping a sleepy head to her shoulder.

"All your charities, that's why you stay?"

Merlin nods against her shoulder. "And the thing is, I think Arthur's starting to get it. Children in Need last year was his idea, you know."

"Well, you have a good influence on him, no doubt," she replies quietly. She hesitates before lifting a hand to stroke his hair.

"Maybe," he mumbles with a smack of his lips. "But really, I stay because I like it here."

A smile grows on Morgana's lips as she contemplates that. After a while, she sighs and murmurs, "I suppose I could think of a few things worth sticking around for."

Merlin doesn't reply.

"Merlin?"

Frowning, Morgana tilts her head to find him sleeping soundly, his lips fluttering as he exhales. He lets out a soft snore, and, chuckling, she presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Good night, Merlin."

"Morgana!"

Morgana whirls around at the sound of her name, dark waves of her hair fluttering into her face. A tall, well-built man with short black hair and tan skin stands across the balcony, his straight white teeth shining as he grins at her.

"Lance," she smiles, strolling over to him.

Arthur's best friend since they were twelve, Lance has been like a brother to her. The much nicer, sweeter brother to Arthur's pesky one, of course.

Lance, laughing throatily, sets his beer on the balcony balustrade and wraps her in a bear hug.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "I thought you were in Poland filming a movie."

"You know me. When Arthur throws a party, I can't pass it up. I'm going back at the end of the weekend, though."

"Well, it's great to see you," she smiles.

He hasn't been around since winter, when he'd been in London for a play, and it's nice to have him around again. She runs her eyes over him, drinking in his friendly face and trying to see if anything about him has changed. He's dressed in dark baggy blue jeans and a tight red t-shirt that hugs his massive biceps.

"You look pretty good," Morgana tells him, poking him in the arm. "They must be feeding you pretty well over there."

Chuckling, he crosses his arms and leans against the railing. "Oh, they've got amazing food," he gushes. "I'm surprised I haven't gained much weight. But our filming schedule is pretty rigorous, so the exercise helps me work off everything I eat, I suppose."

Morgana sits back with a smile. "Of course, of course. You'll have to make me some of these Polish dishes when you finally get back. Which is when?"

"We finish sometime in September, I think. But look at you," he says, gesturing at her outfit. "Who are you all dressed up for? Someone who's caught your eye, perhaps? Wait, has Arthur seen you? Because that thing barely covers up anything, and I don't think he wants to spend his night bashing in the heads of every guy who ogles you."

She blushes, waves off his teasing, and steals his beer to take a sip. Her dress is deep maroon, a short halter that shows off her toned thighs, and the silky material clings unabashedly to her hips. She usually doesn't care for Arthur's parties, finds his group of friends to be obsequious and self-serving, but Lance had been unnervingly close to the mark in his guess.

Morgana rolls her eyes at his brotherly concern. "I can handle Arthur."

"Well," Lance shrugs, "I can handle him for you, if you want to get him out of your hair while you go meet your paramour."

She looks at him incredulously, but then he waggles his eyebrows and she bumps him in the shoulder, nearly sending him over the balcony.

"What?" he laughs.

"You were always the nice one, and Arthur was the prat. What happened?"

"I'm sorry," he tells her, but he hasn't stopped laughing. "And give me back my beer."

"Fine. I'll just have to get my own. What ever happened to a thing called chivalry?"

"It died out with the Golden Age, my dear," Lance teases before suggesting innocently enough, "Why don't you ask Merlin? He'll get you one, I'm sure." He laughs and nods his head towards where Merlin is standing on the opposite side of the balcony, near the drink cooler, in jeans, tenners, and a black button-down.

She lifts a brow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Please," he scoffs good-naturedly.

Lance rolls his eyes. The boy's had a crush on Morgana ever since he started working for Arthur two years ago. But, even though he's not always around, he's nevertheless noticed that the crush has deepened, turned into something stronger. And he doesn't know who Morgana thinks she's fooling. The girl lights up like a Fawkes effigy whenever Merlin's around.

"Why do you two dance around each other all the time?" he queries, genuinely curious.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He bumps her shoulder and coaxes, "Come on. You're too smart to play stupid."

Morgana, sighing, crosses her arms and leans back against the balustrade. "It's . . . complicated."

"Why? Because he's your brother's best friend?"

"How'd you even know?" Morgana frowns. Then, more insistently, "How long have you known?"

He grins. "Since about a week after he started working for Arthur."

Morgana frowns thoughtfully. There's something about Merlin certainly; she knew it from the first time she laid eyes on him. And it's not just that he shares her magic. It's deeper.

Ever since she was fifteen, men looked at her in a certain way. She'd been content, happy even, and she liked to feel beautiful. But then Arthur had advertised for a new assistant, and it happened that their old physician's nephew had just moved in with him and was looking for work.

That's how Merlin walked into her life. No miracle, just a simple series of coincidences. But from the start, he'd made her feel like she was so much more than what others made of her, more than just her beauty.

One conversation with him and she didn't want to skirt by on just her looks anymore. She wanted more. Merlin had been the first one she'd shown her writing to, the first to encourage her. He's practically the reason she's a published author now. He's the reason she's no longer known as "Arthur's pretty sister" anymore. She's finding herself, finding who she wants to be as a person, finding her own worth in life, using her own talents to get by.

All because of a clumsy boy with angular cheeks and enchanting blue eyes.

Lance sighs. "Is it because he's gone a lot, on Arthur's movie shoots? Morgana, that's no reason –"

"It's not that," she assures him with a shake of her head.

"Then what?'

"He doesn't even like me."

Lance lets out a hearty laugh, and Morgana turns to him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"What the hell is so funny, Lancelot du Lake?" she demands.

"It's just, can you really not see that that boy has eyes for no one but you?"

Morgana stares at him, her heart fluttering hopefully. Quietly, she asks, "Are you joking with me? If you're joking with me, I swear –"

"Would I lie to you, Morg? Look," he takes her by the shoulders and turns her to look at Merlin.

He's been backed into the corner by a brunette, but she can tell just by the embarrassed look on his face, by the way he nervously scratches his eyebrow, that he's more uncomfortable than flattered by the attention.

"He'd much rather be talking to you," Lance chuckles, giving her a little push on the shoulder. "So why don't you go over there and rescue him?"

Morgana turns on her heel. "B-but –"

"But nothing. The two of you have been acting like fools for years now. Just jump already."

"But he never even pays attention when I flirt!"

"So the guy's a little slow on the uptake," Lance shrugs. "But trust me, I know what I'm talking about." His grin fades a little when he adds, "I know what it is to love someone from afar, thinking it's impossible."

Right on cue, a shriek from down below catches their attention, and Morgana turns to see her brother teasing Gwen. Arthur holds a towel over his head, keeping it away from Gwen, while she tries in vain to retrieve it.

"A kiss!" Arthur shouts. "I shall hold thy towel ransom until you bestow upon me a kiss, my lady!"

Lance turns away, a frown on his face and his arms crossed. Softly, he says, "If you wait too long, you're going to miss your chance."

Morgana leans into him and slides a comforting arm around his back. There's nothing she can say to soothe the ache in his heart. He'd been cautious, admiring Gwen from afar, and then the delicate balance had collapsed the day Arthur decided to take matters into his own hands, swooping in to sweep her off her feet.

"Just think," she says, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, "we'll always have each other."

"Wonderful," he deadpans, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now go! Before I ask him out for you."

Merlin breaks out into a relieved smile as Morgana saunters over. He'd noticed her earlier in the night, noticed the slinky maroon dress (his favorite color, though any color looks amazing on her) that barely covers anything, but the sight of her in it and walking over to him still makes his heart skip a beat. He has to make a conscious effort not to ogle.

"Hi," she greets, her gaze flicking over the pretty brunette standing in front of him. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

The girl looks familiar, but Morgana can't quite place her.

Before he can answer, the girl murmurs a soft goodbye and makes a quick exit, Merlin nodding at her retreating form.

"No. Nope," he says, "Not interrupting at all."

Morgana leans against the balustrade and sidles up against him. "So," she says, bumping his shoulder, "you pulled off a pretty good party."

He grins. "We did."

"So what's next?"

"Uh," Merlin chuckles, "I'm not sure. Arthur's got a movie shoot scheduled in August, and then he's up for a lead role in this historical action drama. We'll probably hang around here a bit before heading off to the shoot."

"Well," she smiles, "you'll be here for a couple of months. That'll be fun."

"Yeah. Yeah, it will be. I won't lie, though – there'll probably be a few more parties."

She laughs, and he can't stop staring at her, has to remind himself not to keep staring at her lips. His work schedule and responsibilities keep him from spending as much time here as he would like, but the prospect of taking time off is more tempting now that he knows Morgana will be around as well.

It's getting to the point where he feels like a teenager around her, where he's glad to spend time with her because it's her, even if they're not together, even if she'd never look at him that way.

He opens his mouth to ask her about her plans for the summer, hoping that she intends to spend as much time with him as he intends to spend with her, but his thoughts are interrupted when Freya, one of the Pendragons' servants, steps out of the house and heads straight for them.

"Merlin!"

Morgana purses her lips. Freya's off duty, and she doesn't have a problem with the girl at all, except for the fact that she's always had a bit of a crush on Merlin. Morgana is a naturally passionate person; she's prone to anger and jealousy. But the stirrings of envy within her when she's around Merlin are stronger and more acute than the envy of a spoiled rich girl when someone else has the designer handbag she wants.

Freya, a black-haired, petite young woman, stops short in front of them and says, "Merlin, your office, it's . . . um, it seems to be occupied."

He tilts his head. "What? What do you mean? I thought I locked it earlier."

"I don't know. All I know is that I was coming back from the kitchen, and, well, I heard people in there."

"Do you know who it was? Why they were there?" An aside, he mumbles, "What would they want with my office?"

Chuckling softly, Morgana explains, "She means they were making out, Merlin. It's not your office they wanted, just an empty space, away from everyone."

Merlin looks at her before realization dawns on his face. "Oh."

Freya shifts from foot to foot. "Well, I just thought I should let you know."

"Yeah. Thank you."

He crosses his arms as Freya leaves before turning to Morgana. "What should I do? I mean, I'm not the most authoritative person, and I'm not sure if they'd even listen to me if I asked them to leave, but it's also my office, and I don't really want two strangers . . . you know . . ."

She laughs as he gestures. He's right – he's not exactly the type to strut in and reclaim his office as his own, especially not from a couple engaged in amorous activities.

"Come on," Morgana urges, taking his hand and pulling him inside the house. "Let's go deal with this."

Merlin grins as he follows her. He loves watching her take charge like this. They wind their way through the manor, hand in hand, until they reach the hallway outside his office. The lights are on, the door slightly ajar, and drunken laughter drifts through. He puts his hands on his hips.

"So what do we do?" he asks quietly

"Just follow my lead," Morgana replies with a smirk.

And he doesn't have a chance to react before she pulls him to her and leads them stumbling through the door. She fists his shirt with one hand, grabs a hold of his neck with the other, and drags him down to her. A spark jumps through him as his lips crash into hers. His mind goes blank, and he forgets why they're doing his at all. The only things he can comprehend are the feel of her thumb brushing against his neck, the pounding of his blood in his ears, the way she tastes of strawberry and a touch of alcohol.

It's enough to intoxicate him, and he hasn't touched a drop all night.

They trip backwards until Morgana's legs hit the edge of the desk, and Merlin's so lost in her that he doesn't want to stop, that he leans her back ever so slightly as he deepens the kiss.

Morgana doesn't protest, and the way she drags her fingers through his hair isn't helping at all.

"Ahem. Excuse me."

Merlin jumps back, his cheeks burning red, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

A disheveled couple is staring at them from the armchair in the corner, and it takes him a few seconds to remember his situation.

Morgana – beautiful, quick Morgana – leans into him to hide her embarrassment and says, "We're so sorry! I'm so embarrassed. Honey, I thought you said this was your office."

She discreetly pokes him in the ribs, and he regains enough of his senses to reply, "It is . . . sweetie. Why would I lie?" Turning to the man, he says, "I'm sorry, but if you don't mind . . . we, uh . . ."

The couple in the corner stands up, the woman combing a hand through her hair and smoothing her shirt, a ditzy smile on her face.

"Sorry, man," the man says, a young blond guy Merlin thinks he recognizes as a crew member from one of Arthur's past movie shoots. "We thought it was first come, first served. We'll just, ah, be leaving now, then, shall we?"

He drags his giggling companion away, and they disappear into the hallway.

Despite the fact that the operation turned out to be much easier than he presumed, Merlin finds it difficult to think about anything but her arm around his waist, her palm on his abdomen.

He can still taste her on his tongue.

But she pulls away from him, and he's left empty as he remembers it was all just an act.

"Well," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing at the floor, "you should probably make sure you lock it this time."

Merlin is speechless as Morgana strides out of the office, her pace quick enough to match the pounding of her heart. She should be used to this, used to the way he makes her feel so . . . foolish. She's never been this insecure regarding a man, never more uncertain of how to proceed.

And yet the touch of his lips had made her heart soar, and she can't separate the fear from the hope.