For @avrina, who requested “Merwin + 1″ from this askbox writing meme
1. “Come over here and make me.”
“You know,” Eggsy says, “I totally expected you to be a cat person, but this is ridiculous.”
Merlin turns from the box he’s currently rummaging through to see Eggsy holding up an old Polaroid photo, capturing one of the rare afternoons where he had been able to stretch out on the couch and read a good novel without HQ ringing him frantically if Bors so much as looked at a hand grenade. Here, he’s doing just that, surrounded by what Harry called the legion of cats: Margaret, Spock, Callum, Yvonne, Leia, Jack, and Sarah the Great.
“There’s nothing better than a cat,” Merlin says, putting an old owl lamp into the chuck pile. “Harry loves dogs, but they’re too needy for my taste. Cats are independent and can occupy themselves without making you feel guilty about it.”
Eggsy pouts, folding his arms across his chest. “Thought you liked JB, though?”
“He’s all right,” Merlin says, though he still hasn’t quite forgiven the pug for getting teeth marks into his first edition of Dune. “But I much prefer your company to his.”
“Aw,” Eggsy says, placing a hand on his heart, grinning. “You sure know how to make a bloke go weak at the knees.”
Merlin shakes his head, but a small smile is already making itself known. “Well, I’ve used up my quota today, so you better get back to work on helping me clean out this attic instead of flipping through old photo albums.”
“But who can resist looking at photos of you with hair? Roxy would give me her leather jacket for - oh.”
Merlin looks up, only to be confronted with yet another photograph: this time, with him sitting astride on the Challenger he’d saved up for months to buy. His dark hair had already begun to thin, but that’s all covered up by a helmet, complete with a white racing stripe, and dark sunglasses are perched on his nose. His hands, encased in leather gloves, are gripping the handlebars. He remembers Harry taking that picture, mock-swooning and tossing his hair that always looked wind-tousled until he discovered pomade and flat irons.
“Holy shit, Merlin,” Eggsy murmurs, grinning, “you were the bad guy mums tell their kids to stay away from.”
“Not really,” Merlin says dryly, “I always got good grades. Worse thing I ever did was smoke cigs on the school grounds.”
“Shut up,” Eggsy replies. “You definitely were a bad boys. Nice guys don’t go looking like they can break you in half...and with that jacket. Forget Roxy’s, yours looks aces.” His gaze then drifts to the box Merlin’s standing over, and his hands, faster than Merlin can blink, snatch that exact jacket from an assortment of scarves and gloves. “Oh, yeah. Go on, then, put it on now.”
Merlin raises his eyebrows, knowing exactly what Eggsy is thinking. “Come over here and make me.”
Smirking, Eggsy starts forward, jacket in hand, hips swaying. “Gladly. What do I have to do, sir?”
Just before Eggsy’s mouth can make contact with his, Merlin places one hand on his chest and whispers in his ear, “After you help me clean the attic.”