Imprinted

When Arthur was five years old and Merlin two, they met at a birthday party. Their mothers, Igraine and Hunith, sat happily drinking tea with the other mothers until a series of loud noises attracted the attention of all the parents present. Arthur had thwacked Valiant over the head with the plastic sword Valiant had just been given as a gift, and was now tugging Merlin across the room by his ears.

There were apologies all around from a very embarrassed Igraine, as Valiant's mum tried to fill her son's mouth with cake to silence his earthshattering howls. Once several other children explained that Valiant had started things by pretending to be an anaconda and biting Arthur on the elbow, it was his mother's turn to apologize.

Igraine managed to loosen Arthur's determined grip on Merlin's ears.

"Mine!" said Arthur furiously.

"No, darling, the sword belongs to Valiant. It's his birthday."

"Arthur's a bully," said Will, sniggering.

"No, mine!" Arthur said again.

He pointed to Merlin.

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When Arthur was ten years old and Merlin seven, they met at a museum. Igraine and Hunith, longtime friends who seldom had the opportunity to see each other, chatted away blissfully as their children eyed each other warily in front of a display of medieval armor and a case full of swords and spears.

"I remember you," said Arthur flatly.

Merlin made no reply, simply staring at Igraine's fair-haired son, his blue eyes wide with skepticism.

"I remember your ears," Arthur added loudly.

Merlin put his hands over his ears and scowled, his pale cheeks suddenly suffused with pink.

"Arthur," murmured Igraine reprovingly, and Arthur put both hands behind his back and assumed an expression of angelic innocence.

To his surprise, Merlin smiled and kept his mouth shut, even when Igraine asked him what her boy had said to make him angry.

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When Arthur was fourteen and Merlin eleven, they met in a hospital room.

"I've brought you some flowers, and a lovely cake," Hunith said to Igraine. "It's really delicious and I want you to eat the entire thing."

"How sweet," said Igraine, faintly. "And how your boy has grown, Hunith! And what a face! A sculptor couldn't do better with those cheekbones."

"Well..." Hunith murmured, taking her friend's hand. "Now your son, Igraine...I don't think I've ever seen a boy as handsome as Arthur."

Igraine smiled proudly, and then coughed for several minutes.

Merlin glanced at the stony expression on Arthur's face and then looked away.

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When Arthur was sixteen and Merlin thirteen, they met at Eton.

"What!" exclaimed Arthur, drawing his brows together at the sight of the thin, dark-haired boy crossing the Quadrangle. "What are you doing here, Emrys?"

"He's a King's Scholar," said Lance, clapping Merlin affably on the shoulder and gesturing at his black gown. "His first year. A real brain."

"Oh," Arthur said dismissively. "On scholarship."

"That's me," Merlin said, grinning at Lance. "Poor but brilliant."

"And I'm not brilliant?" Arthur muttered with his hands on his hips.

"You play a brilliant game of football." It was Merlin's turn to sound dismissive. "Or so I've heard."

"We'll be late," Arthur said to Lance, tugging at his arm. "Come on."

"Erm...Pendragon." Arthur turned at the sound of Merlin's voice. The younger boy looked him full in the face with a faintly apologetic expression. "I was sorry...very sorry to hear about your mum."

"Thanks," Arthur replied curtly. Then he wheeled about and strode away across the lawn.

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A year later, a few weeks into Michaelmas term, Arthur and Merlin met at a rock concert.

By some odd fluke they had both ended up in the mosh pit, and by the time they struggled free and made their way to the edges of the crowd, they were thoroughly disheveled and soaked with sweat. Merlin was alone but Arthur was with a girl, dark haired, slender, and pale. A stunner.

"Oh, Emrys," said Arthur, acknowledging Merlin with just a touch of reluctance. "Meet my stepsister. She's called Morgana."

"Your step-" The look in Arthur's eyes challenged Merlin to say anything further about his widowed father's remarriage. "Hi. I'm Merlin."

"Merlin," said the dark haired girl with a smile, shaking Merlin's hand and sizing him up with a pair of cool, blue-grey eyes. "My little brother Mordred and I have known Arthur for years, but I don't think he's ever mentioned you. Have you been friends for long?"

Merlin repressed the urge to say that he and Arthur had never been friends, but he simply replied, "Erm, we see each other a bit, at school."

Arthur snorted, but Morgana gave Merlin a look of approval.

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When Arthur was twenty-one and Merlin eighteen, they met at Cambridge.

"No!" said Arthur in a pained voice when they nearly collided in the Great Court of Trinity College. "It isn't possible. I didn't know you'd be coming here. Another scholarship?"

"A full scholarship," Merlin said quietly.

"Brilliance again, I suppose."

"Not so brilliant," replied Merlin, wryly. "I nearly blew up the chem lab yesterday."

"Ha!" said Arthur with a hint of a smile.

"Lucky for me my Uncle Gaius is on the sciences faculty."

"I know him," Arthur said abruptly. "He does consulting work for the Pendragon Corporation. One of the nicest fellows I've ever met."

"Yes."

"He's quite approachable. For a physicist."

"Yeah, he is."

"Well," said Arthur uncertainly. "I'll be seeing you around, Merlin." It was the first time he had ever addressed the other by his first name.

Merlin headed across the green to where Gwen was waiting for him.

"Who was that gorgeous work of art," Gwen asked Merlin, seizing him by the wrist. "I'd change my schedule all round just to sit in lectures with him."

"That's Arthur Pendragon," Merlin explained. "My mum knew his."

"Oh...Pendragon," gasped Gwen. "Good lord! The Pendragon Corporation."

"Yeah," said Merlin disinterestedly.

"Aren't they still Dow Chemical's biggest competitor?"

"Yeah," Merlin repeated. "One of them. They make all those lovely agricultural products and plastics. Just looking at him makes me think of non-biodegradable waste, bank vaults, and unbelievably hysterical stockbrokers."

"Just looking at him makes me think of unbelievably fantastic sex," Gwen said. "I don't care about his bank account."

"Another spoiled rich boy for us plebs to make way for."

"He can't be that bad," replied Gwen, frowning.

Merlin gave a half-hearted grin. "Well...perhaps not."

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When Arthur was twenty-six and Merlin twenty-three, they literally ran into each other in the main hall of the Pendragon Corporation.

"Are you ever going to change, Merlin," Arthur sighed as the younger man picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off. "Do look where you're going, will you? I thought you were studying for your doctorate. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Your dad hired me last week," Merlin said airily. "To work on pesticides. He was canvassing Cambridge for recent chemistry and biochemistry grads. He said I should come and talk to you at some point."

"You're not serious," Arthur said stiffly. "Why me? I have nothing to do with manufacturing or product testing. I'm a junior board member and liaison to the Council on Foreign Relations in the States."

"Very impressive," said Merlin, clearly not impressed.

"You haven't blown up the lab already, have you?"

"Not quite," Merlin replied. "It's early days yet. Give me time."

"I don't know what you're doing working for us," muttered Arthur, looking at his watch. "I thought you and your environmentalist friends were against anything even remotely akin to toxic."

"Got to run," Merlin replied, glancing at his watch. "Later, okay?"

"Why is Merlin Emrys working for PenCorp?" Arthur asked his father, Uther Pendragon, not half an hour later.

Uther looked down at his desk.

"Before your...your mother died," he said, getting the words out with difficulty, "she asked me to keep an eye out for Hunith Emrys' young son. Assist him with his career, if I were ever in a position to do so. But even if she hadn't, I most likely would have hired him on the basis of his record. Old Gaius certainly approves of him. The world is changing, public opinion is important, and we need more bright young things to work in the area of environmentally responsible production methods and green technology. We've been doing well in that area over the past five years or so, but we need to do better. I've been pushing the board on this issue for years. Of course we're still as profit-driven as we've always been. Why the long face? You were at Cambridge with this boy, weren't you? Do you dislike him?"

"No," said Arthur hesitantly. "No, I can't say that I do."

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Two months later, Arthur and Merlin met at the lake.

Their meeting was purely unintentional. Arthur was walking rather aimlessly through the park when he noticed a lean, black-haired figure leaning against a tree close to the bank.

"You're not stalking me, are you?" he joked, settling himself on a nearby bench.

"I was about to ask you the same question," retorted Merlin. "It's Friday evening. Why aren't you at a gala event with some glamorous film star or A-list model?"

"Very funny," grumbled Arthur. "And why is the genius of the laboratory all alone at the start of the weekend?"

"Freya's moved to Canada," Merlin answered, but he did not look particularly put out. "The Lakes District in British Columbia, to be precise. We're still friends, though, and ...oh! Look, a meteor or something."

He tipped his head back, straining to see the barely visible streak of light in the darkening sky.

Arthur's eyes inadvertently went to the long line of Merlin's throat, below the lifted chin. It seemed as though reflections from the still water of the lake were illuminating those high cheekbones. Then his glance was drawn to Merlin's mouth, the full, bow-shaped upper lip, and the pillowy lower one, indented in the middle. Merlin was so pale that he seemed almost otherworldly in the evening dimness but the darkness of his hair stood out, even against the night sky.

"He's really quite beautiful," Arthur said to himself, almost horrified to be thinking such a thing. He was even more horrified to find that he actually wanted to reach out and touch-

Another pinprick of bright light arced above the horizon, followed by a series of brighter ones.

"Those aren't the Perseids, are they?" Arthur asked feebly. "Or whatever they're called. The ones that come round every summer?"

"That's very good, Arthur," said Merlin, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench. "Did you hear about them on the telly?"

"Don't be so bloody superior and smug, Merlin," Arthur retorted, scowling. "I was an Honors student as well."

"Who's superior and smug?" asked Merlin, but his voice and smile were friendly. Arthur stopped scowling and the two sat for a long time in companionable silence.

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Six months later, Arthur and Merlin met at a small dinner party hosted by Gwen and Lance.

Lance had been Arthur's closest friend since Eton. Gwen had dated Arthur at university. Amazingly, all three were still excellent friends, and Arthur had sworn that he would organize the wedding breakfast if Lance and Gwen ever took the plunge into matrimony.

"I heard," said Gwen over coffee, "that Uther might be named for a knighthood, or even for a what's-it-called, a barony?"

"God have mercy," muttered Lance, blanching. "Uther in the peerage."

"It's still rumor," drawled Arthur, frowning a little. "It's only talk, as far as I know."

"On the basis of the Corporation's contributions to advances in green technology, and res-responsible, sustainable...something," said Lance, stumbling a bit over his words. It was late; they had polished off several bottles of wine and some brandy, and by this time all four of them were very much the worse for drink. "Everybody's been talking about Uther's promotion of green technology. Those new pesticides are supposed to revolutionize arg...ar...agriculture in the UK and elsewhere." It was true that PenCorp was due to release a new line of safe, organic household products (some of which you could actually eat if you were so inclined), and nonpoisonous, plant-based alternatives to pesticides that the most conscientious environmentalist would be hard put to find fault with.

Arthur had the grace to blush. "The detergents and pesticides won't be released on the market until after thorough testing and government approval," he said. "But Father can't take credit for creating them. That...that was Merlin's doing."

"Perhaps he'll give me a raise, then," Merlin said, and they all roared heartily.

"A food allowance is what he needs," Arthur insisted, gesturing in Merlin's direction. "I mean, look at him! When he stands sideways he's practically invisible. It's ridiculous."

"Spoken like a true aristo prat," replied Merlin. "I can see you're going to need very little training."

"Milk and chocolate biscuits," Lance shouted, hiccuping. "Get our ickle Merlin some milk and biscuits, Gwen."

"Oh, shut it, you lot!" said Merlin, but he was laughing.

Gwen deposited an enormous pudding in the center of the round table. "I'm sorry it isn't creme brulee, Arthur," she announced. "I can't make one to save my life, and I couldn't buy one at the last minute."

"I would do anything," Arthur said, slurring his words even more than Lance. "At this moment, I would kill for a good creme brulee. I would commit murder. I would marry anybody who makes a good creme brulee."

He pounded on the table vigorously, upsetting his wine glass.

"Merlin makes a fantastic creme brulee," Gwen said, smiling broadly. "Don't you, Merlin?"

"One of the few culinary tricks my mum taught me," Merlin said in a self-deprecating voice.

"Really?" Arthur exclaimed, staring desperately at his empty dessert plate. "I don't suppose you'd marry me, would you, Merlin?"

"Are you mad?" Merlin snorted, grinning. "I have no desire to be the future Right Honorable Lady Pendragon."

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When Arthur turned twenty-seven and Merlin was twenty-four, Arthur asked Merlin to have dinner with him.

"It's my birthday," Arthur said by way of explanation. "Father's out of town. Morgana's swanned off to Paris with what's-his-name, Alvarr, and Lance and Gwen are at the cinema. I really hate eating alone, especially on my bloody natal day. I'd be happy to take Mordred, but he's at a friend's for the weekend."

"So I'm the last resort," Merlin replied, smiling. "At the bottom of the list."

"Not quite, you idiot," said Arthur, straight-faced. "I could always ring Vivian."

Merlin remembered Vivian from university; Arthur had dated her briefly. A giggly blonde, quite pretty, with a luscious decolletage but little else to commend her.

"I'm thrilled and flattered, you rich bastard," Merlin said amiably.

They went to a pricey Japanese restaurant and ingested quantities of expensive sake. Arthur devoured beef teriyaki and Merlin ate vegetable tempura. From there they moved on to a pricey pub, where they resisted the temptation to drink more than was good for them.

They had drunk enough, however, so that when they found themselves walking long a secluded lane, shielded from passersby by a very old and very large tree, it seemed entirely natural that Arthur should catch hold of Merlin when he tripped over one of its roots, and just as natural that he should then proceed to kiss him. Merlin's lips were soft and tantalising and even more delicious than creme brulee.

"Nmmmmph!" said Merlin in astonishment, but when Arthur released the front of his shirt, he put his hands on Arthur's shoulders and kissed him back, lingeringly and with a great deal of skill and finesse.

"You seem to know what you're doing, Merlin," Arthur gasped a few minutes later.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "So I should hope. What did you think...that I've been saving myself for you all these years?"

Arthur grimaced. "Hardly that. But now..." His voice trailed away and he looked at Merlin questioningly. He was trembling with the shameless desire to run his hands over the cool, pale skin of Merlin's back, to sample more than just those unbelievable lips. "I know we haven't been exactly close in, uh, the past. What would you say if I asked you to..." His mouth was suddenly dry with apprehension and need. "To come to my place for a drink?"

"Another drink?" Merlin cocked his head to one side and looked at Arthur speculatively, making both of them laugh.

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When Arthur was two hours older, he was in bed with Merlin in his arms.

Arthur's king-sized bed was long and wide, and it seemed as though they had covered every inch of it in their quest to learn the textures and tastes of each other's skin, caress and kiss until they were so dizzy that they couldn't have stood up if they wanted to, which they didn't. Merlin's hands, slim-fingered, deft, experienced, drifted slowly across the musculature of Arthur's stomach and chest and shoulders before burying themselves in his rumpled golden hair. He murmured softly against Arthur's throat.

Arthur rolled over onto his back, the palms of his hands testing the sharpness of Merlin's hipbones. What were those lines from that wretched poem by Donne he had been forced to memorize at school, the one he and all the other boys had sniggered about. Something about comparing a lover to a new found land...?

License my roving hands, and let them go / Behind, before, above, between, below. / Oh my America, my new found land, / My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned.

Never were truer words spoken - that is, written - he thought vaguely as his roving hands went behind, before, above, between, below. But if Merlin was a new discovery he was also Merlin, and true to form, when (much later) they had done and were lying in a dazed, gently perspiring heap, the first words out of his mouth took Arthur by surprise and made very little sense to him.

"It's as though we were imprinted," he mumbled into Arthur's shoulder. "On each other. You know, like ducks."

"What!" said Arthur, startled out of his dreamy, post-coital state. He had been petting Merlin absently, and being compared to a duck was about the last thing he had expected.

"You know," Merlin repeated drowsily. "Birds. After they hatch. You've heard about the orphaned Canada Geese who were imprinted on their human caregiver. There's a critical period during which they become irrevocably attached to the first suitable creature they see."

"Really," mumured Arthur doubtfully. "You must have seen an awful lot of unsuitable creatures in your infancy, then. I don't believe we met until I was five."

"Perhaps the critical period is longer than we think, in humans," Merlin said, yawning. "You're one of the first people I can remember meeting, I mean properly remember. I was two."

"I refuse to be compared to a goose," said Arthur. "Imprinting be damned, you're simply mine. Now if you don't shut up, I shall find some way to make you."

"You've already found them," Merlin replied, suddenly looking wide awake. "At least two of them, anyway."

"Right," said Arthur. "Thank God you don't have a beak. Shove over, will you Merlin, I'm practically falling out of the bloody nest."

To give credit where credit is due: I got the reference to the Perseid meteor shower and the idea of Merlin as a scientist working on non-toxic pesticides from the novel A Big Storm Knocked It Over, by the late Laurie Colwin.