A hand landed on his wrist. “Why don’t you let the rest of us pass, mate?”
“As if I’d be mates with an arse like you,” Merlin spat back. “What gives you the right?” He whirled around, and nearly swallowed his tongue. “Oh.”
Arthur Pendragon — film icon, Albion magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive for four years running, and the occasional secret star of Merlin’s most private fantasies — met his eyes. “So I see you’re not as stupid as you look,” Pendragon drawled.
“Erm.” Merlin felt his lips purse in embarrassment. “Right, yeah, but it’s only that —”
“Of course. How about you just let the people through, and sort out your difficulty later? Some of us have places to be.” He waggled his eyebrows, somehow manhandling Merlin to the side, and motioned for people to resume moving through the barrier.
Indignant, Merlin huffed at him. “I have places to be! A place, that is. I mean, I have —”
Pendragon snorted, and Merlin told himself not to be charmed by it. “Yes, I’m certain your regulars at the coffee shop will die from lack of caffeine if your shift starts late.”
With an arch of an eyebrow, Pendragon dropped his gaze to Merlin’s chest. “Just like to wear your coffee for fun, then?”
Why are the gorgeous blokes always wankers? Merlin thought, before glancing down at himself and realising he’d worn one of his permanently stained t-shirts from the not-so-long-past days when he had, in fact, cobbled together a living working in various cafés and restaurants so he could write in his spare time. He fought to keep spots of colour from his cheeks. “I mean, I was a barista — not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind. Just because you’ve never worked a job a day in your life, is that it?”
Pendragon’s lips twisted, whether in amusement or consternation, Merlin couldn’t tell. “I’m a classically trained actor.”
“How long did you train to be a prat, then?”
“You really shouldn’t address me like that.”
“Right, sorry. And how long did you train to be prat, my lord?” Merlin shot back, mimicking a half-bow. “You don’t own the Tube — or were you cast as the head of London transit in your next film?”
“Ha!“ Pendragon barked out, then cocked his head to examine Merlin again, and Merlin decidedly didn’t let himself feel hot and shivery at the gaze. “Bit clever, for an idiot.”
“Er.” Merlin felt wrong-footed. “Yeah.”
After a moment, the queue had cleared. Pendragon moved back slightly. “Close and re-open your app,” he suggested, and with a nod he stepped through the gate himself, disappearing into the crowd.
Gawping a bit, Merlin scanned his mobile at the turnstile again, throwing a two-fingered salute at the barrier as it opened easily this time.
He made his way onto the platform. Whilst he waited for the next train, his mobile dinged with an email from the director.
From: thompson.gwen@camelotstudio.co.uk
To: merwyllt42@dragonmail.co.uk
Subject: Absolute score for the lead!!!!
He opened it, and his stomach promptly fell through the floor. “Buggering fuck,” he muttered.
to be continued ...
