Lilacs Out of the Dead Land (Uther/Arthur, AU, Hard R)
Summary: Memory and desire. AU. (WARNING: COERSED NON-CON.)
AN: Many thanks to veleda_k and p_zeitgeist for betaing and much needed hand-holding. Written in response to a kinkme_merlin prompt.
Lilacs Out of the Dead Land
The boy catches his eye, fair and strong--something in the slant of his nose, his full lips. He's carrying chain mail and a dented helm, but he's not well-dressed enough for a squire. His body is strong enough to be a blacksmith's boy, though, with a man's wide shoulders but still a few years away from his full weight, something unfinished about his torso and chest.
The boy throws back his head and laughs, shoving one of his friends. It's some trick of the light, nothing more.
But that mouth.
Uther watches the boy until he is out of sight.
And that might have been the end of it. Should have been the end of it. But Tom is a good blacksmith and favoured by some knights in high standing. Uther sees the boy talking to one of the sentries in the northern wing of the castle, sees him in the upper courtyard carrying a nicked sword, thoughtfully examining the blade with a small frown line between his eyebrows. The sunlight turns his hair a particular shade of gold.
Uther thinks of long curls spread out across white pillows and sheets, of kissing a soft full mouth in the early hours near dawn.
The boy stares down at the blade, at the device traced into the metal.
Uther turns away. But it feels more like waiting than a denial.
The boy is in the armoury staring at a shield blazoned with the Pendragon coat of arms. His hands are behind his back, his face upturned. He glances over and Uther knows what color his eyes will be, the exact shade of blue. The boy drops his gaze to the ground at once but it's too late.
Uther stands too close, lifting the boy's chin. He has high cheekbones and dark golden eyelashes, but a commoner's tanned skin and a strong square jaw. There are too many similarities and too many differences.
"You can leave now," Uther says, but his fingers tighten on the boy's chin. Uther watches the boy struggle over which signal to believe. "Look up at me, boy."
Those same blue eyes. And suddenly Uther needs this to be unrecognizably different. He locks away every memory, shoving them into the deep places that will always ache, and covers them over with fine-grained anger. He won't sully the past with this.
Uther's thumb slides up just enough to touch the boy's lower lip and he watches as the boy's eyes go wide. He doesn't have to say, get on your knees. The boy is bright, then, or has at least some understanding of the world and his place in it. Uther touches that full beautiful mouth with his thumb and then his cock, sliding past soft lips. He sweeps his fingers along those high cheekbones and traces the almost straight line of his nose.
The boy keeps his hands at his side and won't look up. His mouth is hot and clumsy and Uther thinks of breaking in a new horse, new gloves. Sunlight falls in a long slant through the one high window. The shield on the wall gleams, the Pendragon arms floating above the boy's golden head.
He leaves the boy there kneeling, slumped and bowed, staring down at the floor.
AN: Many thanks to veleda_k and p_zeitgeist for betaing and much needed hand-holding. Written in response to a kinkme_merlin prompt.
Lilacs Out of the Dead Land
The boy catches his eye, fair and strong--something in the slant of his nose, his full lips. He's carrying chain mail and a dented helm, but he's not well-dressed enough for a squire. His body is strong enough to be a blacksmith's boy, though, with a man's wide shoulders but still a few years away from his full weight, something unfinished about his torso and chest.
The boy throws back his head and laughs, shoving one of his friends. It's some trick of the light, nothing more.
But that mouth.
Uther watches the boy until he is out of sight.
And that might have been the end of it. Should have been the end of it. But Tom is a good blacksmith and favoured by some knights in high standing. Uther sees the boy talking to one of the sentries in the northern wing of the castle, sees him in the upper courtyard carrying a nicked sword, thoughtfully examining the blade with a small frown line between his eyebrows. The sunlight turns his hair a particular shade of gold.
Uther thinks of long curls spread out across white pillows and sheets, of kissing a soft full mouth in the early hours near dawn.
The boy stares down at the blade, at the device traced into the metal.
Uther turns away. But it feels more like waiting than a denial.
The boy is in the armoury staring at a shield blazoned with the Pendragon coat of arms. His hands are behind his back, his face upturned. He glances over and Uther knows what color his eyes will be, the exact shade of blue. The boy drops his gaze to the ground at once but it's too late.
Uther stands too close, lifting the boy's chin. He has high cheekbones and dark golden eyelashes, but a commoner's tanned skin and a strong square jaw. There are too many similarities and too many differences.
"You can leave now," Uther says, but his fingers tighten on the boy's chin. Uther watches the boy struggle over which signal to believe. "Look up at me, boy."
Those same blue eyes. And suddenly Uther needs this to be unrecognizably different. He locks away every memory, shoving them into the deep places that will always ache, and covers them over with fine-grained anger. He won't sully the past with this.
Uther's thumb slides up just enough to touch the boy's lower lip and he watches as the boy's eyes go wide. He doesn't have to say, get on your knees. The boy is bright, then, or has at least some understanding of the world and his place in it. Uther touches that full beautiful mouth with his thumb and then his cock, sliding past soft lips. He sweeps his fingers along those high cheekbones and traces the almost straight line of his nose.
The boy keeps his hands at his side and won't look up. His mouth is hot and clumsy and Uther thinks of breaking in a new horse, new gloves. Sunlight falls in a long slant through the one high window. The shield on the wall gleams, the Pendragon arms floating above the boy's golden head.
He leaves the boy there kneeling, slumped and bowed, staring down at the floor.