Merlin is an idiot. Morgana is an idiot. I hate people, Arthur thinks miserably as he downs his fifth weirdly colored shot. He's kind of mystified about where all these girly drinks are coming from (Arthur distinctly remembers ordering a scotch) but they're making his limbs feel loose and fluid, and the tension in his shoulders dissipate, so he can't bring himself to care too much.

Arthur is just starting to feel a bit better about Merlin things when someone drops down next to him and starts talking. He turns to tell whoever it is to fuck off because he really does not feel like talking, but then he sees the man's face. Which looks exactly like his own. Apparently Arthur is more drunk than he'd previously thought.

Maybe he's hallucinating (oh wouldn't that be just perfect)? Arthur closes his eyes and slowly counts to ten. When I open my eyes, this dude will be gone and I can finish my fucking drink(s) by my fucking self and then sleep with someone reasonably attractive and forget this day ever happened. He opens his eyes, only to find the man still there. And looking straight at him.

"What?" Arthur says irritably.

"Oh, nothing," the other man, no, boy (upon closer inspection he's younger than Arthur is, late teens probably) says, "It's just...your eyes. They're gorgeous."

Arthur chokes on his drink. Great, he's getting hit on by someone who's probably still in high school. And he thought this day couldn't get any worse.

"Look, are you even old enough to be here?" Arthur asks.

The boy looks mildly offended. "I'm nearly twenty! That's close enough, isn't it?" But then the outrageous pout on his face melts into huge doe eyes and he slithers closer to Arthur's chair. "Hey, you're here alone, I'm here alone, and we're both highly attractive men. What else do you need?"

Before Arthur can ask him if that argument ever works on anyone, the boy man oh this was getting ridiculous man-boy attacks him with his lips. And OK, Arthur really should pull back. Nothing good can come of sleeping with his mysterious, identical twin.

But. He's miserable, and he's lonely, and the mouth against his is soft and pliant. All Arthur wants is to forget (about Merlin, the shoot, everything). And burying the memories of one person in the skin of another seems as good an idea as any. So he lets himself by drowned by the blur of alcohol and the brush of a stranger's fingertips murmuring up his spine.


...WOMAN, WHY DO YOU MAKE ME DO THESE THINGS?