(no subject)

[baby_razzle]

Title: La Petite Mort D’Arthur
Author: Razzle.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin.
Rating: R
Summary: Arthur meets with a little accident. As usual, it’s Merlin who has to deal with the consequences.
Warnings: General spoilers for Le Mort D’Arthur.
A/N: Royal beta: melacita.



Merlin was at his wits’ end. In the week or so since Arthur had been injured, the young prince had become increasingly sullen and irritable.

The altercation with the Questing Beast may have led to Nimueh’s death, but the drama inherent with being a citizen of Camelot did not stop with the removal of one sorceress, no matter how powerful.

Arthur’s fight with the beast had injured his left arm and shoulder, then, little more than a day after waking, he had picked a fight with a portcullis. He had saved a young girl but his right shoulder and back had been left badly strained and bruised. Merlin understood how Arthur might be frustrated; his range of movement was limited by extraordinary pain; he was not able to dress without help and his activity outside had been limited to short constitutionals within the castle walls. While he was unable to defend himself effectively, it was unwise for him to be walking around in public.

However, Merlin really was doing absolutely everything he could to keep his master happy and occupied. He had devised as many magic-free activities as he could to keep his friend entertained during his convalescence. And yet, with each passing day, Arthur grew more surly, uncooperative, and short with his friends. Morgana now flatly refused to spend any time with him and Gwen was more than a little disturbed by the suspicious looks he was giving her. It was left to Merlin to spend his time repeatedly rolling his eyes and counting to ten while Arthur picked at him. Merlin was currently obliged to bathe his highness and using all his self-control not to drown him.

“Oh, watch it, will you!” Arthur snapped, as Merlin carefully wiped a soft cloth over Arthur’s bruised shoulders. “I am injured, you know?”

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin said through gritted teeth. He folded the cloth and laid it over the edge of the bath. “Are you ready to get out?”

“Well, I’m not going to get any cleaner, am I?” Arthur sneered, reaching out an arm so that Merlin could help him, as carefully as possible, to stand. Arthur hissed and moaned, grumbling at every moment while Merlin ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. With Arthur towelled off and wrestled into his loose slops and night-shirt, Merlin left the prince to get himself into bed while he folded the discarded clothes.

“Merlin, I’m not sure what your expectations are of my powers of recovery, but I have failed to heal miraculously since getting out of the bath to the point at which I can turn back my own sheets. If it’s not too much blessed trouble,” he said, dripping with sarcasm.

“All right, that’s it!” Merlin snapped, throwing the pile of clothes down violently. “I know you’re annoyed that you can’t go hunting or training or any of the other sweaty, manly things you like to do with your day and I’m really sorry. I am, I’m really sympathetic but you’re acting like an even bigger prat than usual and… well, that’s it. It’s not nice.”

Merlin looked away immediately, suddenly very conscious that he might have overstepped one of their ever-moving boundaries. Arthur’s mouth was open and his eyes were wider than Merlin had ever seen them. It would have been amusing, if Merlin didn’t fear that he was facing imminent relocation to the stocks.

In addition, Merlin was having trouble reconciling his totally justified outburst with the hurt he saw beside the shock in that bright blue. He prepared himself for the onslaught of retaliation. It didn’t come and he looked up in time to see Arthur’s face fall, shock replaced by chagrin. He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and made to adopt a familiar position of defeat; hunched over with his elbows on his knees. But he was denied even the simple pleasure by the ache in his shoulders. He winced, angry with himself, and sat awkwardly instead, his hands braced on his thighs.

“You’re right,” he said after a few heavy moments. “Although you could have been a little more delicate,” he admonished, gently. “But you’re right, I am being difficult And I…” he shifted, avoiding Merlin’s gaze. “I apologise. For any unpleasantness.”

Merlin’s eyebrows made a play for his hairline.
“Apology accepted,” he said earnestly. “Thank you, Sire.”

Arthur nodded, continuing to look unbearably sad. Merlin was suddenly much better disposed to obeying his prince and he relaxed, smiling sympathetically.
“Sire,” he said kindly. “Is there anything else I can do for you? I know how bored you must be. I can look into devising more diversions for you… or I can talk to Gaius and see if there is anything that can be done to speed your recovery.” He tailed off as Arthur gave a huff and, with some serious effort, leaned back, letting out a pitiful moan as he came to a rest on the cover, his feet and lower legs still dangling over the edge.

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur said resignedly. “It’s really not the boredom. Well,” he added honestly. “The boredom doesn’t help. But it’s not that, it’s… I’m…” he covered his face with one hand, hissed with the pain and grunted with irritation as he dropped it back to his side. “I’m frustrated,” he said. “Physically.”

Merlin rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment, pouting in consideration. “I know,” he said, wanting for something more helpful. “But there just aren’t that many things you can do, are there? I mean, you can’t ride, you can’t train your…”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, with obviously forced patience. “Try, just for a minute, not to be an utterly naïve country bumpkin, would you? Since the accident, I have been unable to… relieve myself.” He correctly interpreted Merlin’s continued silence. “My physical needs,” he explained. He turned to glance at Merlin, who was kicking at the clothes in a way that was either adorable or infuriating. “My physical need for release. As a man,” Arthur spelled out very slowly, very deliberately, while looking at Merlin very pointedly and silently begging him to understand.

“All right, I get it,” Merlin said quickly, meeting Arthur’s gaze for a heartbeat. They both looked away and Merlin bent to pick up the dropped clothes. “I just don’t know what to tell you.”

“Sorry,” Arthur said petulantly. “I thought you were being all wholesome and… innocent.”

Merlin balked. “There’s nothing wholesome about the country, Arthur,” he said, as if Arthur was being particularly dense again. “Have you seen what animals get up to?”

Arthur shook with genuine, good-natured laughter.
“I am sorry,” he said kindly. Merlin smiled to hear Arthur using the light, easy tone that was easily his favourite thing to hear from Arthur’s lips. He nodded in acquiescence, but didn’t repeat his acceptance of the apology. “Merlin,” Arthur said quietly. “Would you mind… could you please rub some of Gaius’ salve into my shoulders? Please?” he added, quickly.

Merlin smiled, even though Arthur was too horizontal to see it, and put his armful of sheets to one side.
“Can you sit up?” Merlin asked, automatically reaching out for his hand. Arthur smiled, reaching up so their arms locked with their hands in the crooks of one another’s elbows. Arthur huffed as he was pulled up to sitting. Merlin knelt on the bed, next to him, one foot braced on the floor.

Merlin was wholly professional when he placed his hands on the prince. He carefully removed Arthur’s nightshirt, smiling in apology and sympathy as the movement required made Arthur hiss. But the prince didn’t complain, or even make mention of it. He kept his eyes to the front and let the healer’s apprentice do his work

“How’re the bruises?” Arthur asked, almost conversationally.

Merlin scrunched up his nose, surveying the damage.
“Hideous,” he said honestly.

Arthur smiled to himself, dropping his head a little as he indulged the amusement.

“But that’s good,” Merlin said. “If the bruise is coming out, that means it’s healing.”

Arthur half-turned to him.
“I think I’ve had enough bruises…” he started to snap, before catching himself. He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “You’re quite right.”

Merlin grinned, lowering his head to hide the smile under the pretence of consulting the bottle and spreading its contents over his fingertips.

“If I object to the pain, feel free to ignore me,” Arthur said suddenly. “I know it will hurt.”

“But you’ll complain anyway,” Merlin said, without malice.

“Of course!” Arthur confirmed. “Prince’s prerogative.”

Merlin laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder but didn’t push.
“You will let me know if it gets too much,” he prompted. “Don’t just hit me around the head.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur said kindly. “Would that I had the capacity to physically abuse you.”

Merlin grinned again and set to his work.

The prince did, indeed, offer a fair quantity of objections to the treatment, although he was carefully restrained in blaming Merlin. He hissed and he cursed and he tried, despite himself, to wriggle out of the touch, but his aggression was well controlled. Merlin spread a thin film of wolfsbane over the horrible bruises, working it into Arthur’s flesh with his fingertips. Not for the first time, he wished he had the power to speed up Arthur’s recovery, to mend the damage to his muscles and get him well. As much as he might occasionally wish Arthur a touch of punishment, he had no desire to see his friend in pain.

So he did what he could, tending to the bruising of the stiff, aching muscles with all the clever potions and lotions that their court physician cared to provide.

After several minutes of his careful ministrations, he tentatively lifted Arthur’s arm to feel the difference; the increased range of movement. Satisfied, he began to work a little below the shoulderblades, working down between Arthur’s ribs. The initial injuries had not damaged this area, but all the muscles in Arthur’s back were suffering as one compensated for another’s restricted activity.

The sounds leaving Arthur’s mouth lost their pained edge and began to take on a more grateful tone; breathy and full of pleasure with the acknowledgement of the release. Merlin smiled, looking down over the prince’s body, taking in the loosening of his shoulders, the softening of his posture, the tenting in the fabric of his slops. Of course, it was just as Merlin’s eyes were widening at the sight of Arthur’s obvious arousal that the prince turned to look at Merlin. He looked embarrassed but disguised it quickly.

“Don’t take it personally,” Arthur said, pulling his discarded nightshirt over to cover his groin.

Merlin nodded silently, not even bothering to fake being flustered for the show of things. He stood and Arthur tensed, presumably expecting him to get up and leave. It pleased Merlin that he could surprise Arthur by simply mirroring his previous position on the other side and beginning his therapy anew.

It was easier on Arthur’s right, being the side somewhat less badly damaged, but he would still benefit hugely from the balance. Arthur kept the cloth in his lap, relaxing back into the touch.

“Sire, can I ask…” Merlin said quietly. “I mean, you’re good looking…”

Arthur turned to regard him with a quirked eyebrow.

“I mean to say, you are considered good looking,” Merlin corrected. “By people. So I hear. If you like that… sort of thing.”

“Is there any possibility you are trying to make a point?” Arthur prompted.

“Well, just…” Merlin decided to bite the bullet. “There are lots of women, chamber maids, even, who would be… happy… to help out?”

Arthur seemed to spend a moment conversing with himself, then gave a lopsided smile and something that, had he been properly mobile, might have been a shrug.
“No,” he concluded. “Women, including chamber maids… especially chamber maids… they have mouths.”

Merlin balked a little, digging in a mite too deep with his fingertips.
“Well, I didn’t mean…” he was genuinely flustered this time. “But if that’s what you prefer… I’m sure they’d still…”

“I mean they talk,” Arthur corrected him before he could guide himself further into rambling madness. “I’d rather not have my personal shortcomings become the talk of the Kingdom.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, the wind removed from what he thought were rather inspired sails. He struggled to add something helpful but drew a blank and remained blissfully silent.

“I appreciate the concern,” Arthur said instead. “But I think I am destined to suffer this through.”

Merlin nodded silently, reserving comment diplomatically. He went back to his task, working through Arthur’s tense shoulder and down the ribs as before.
Arthur’s head rolled back as far as he could comfortably let it and he sighed out in pleasure as Merlin’s hands descended to the least painful part of his torso.

“That’s wonderful, Merlin, thank you,” he said breathily, a small smile gracing his lips. Merlin’s touch faltered as he watched the candle highlighting the curves of Arthur’s face. When Arthur smiled, when he wasn’t angry or sarcastic, he really was a pleasure to behold.

“You’re welcome,” Merlin said honestly, rather fascinated by the pleasure of having Arthur acknowledging indebtedness to him. He took the proffered arm and eased Arthur down onto his back. “Oh,” he said suddenly. “If you’re going to bed, we should move you around properly.”

“In a minute,” Arthur said, releasing Merlin’s hand and wriggling contentedly against the mattress. “Just let me enjoy this.”

Merlin smiled fondly, his hand still resting lightly on Arthur’s side. His smile faded a little as he was struck with half-formed inspiration. In that moment, it seemed like a perfectly sensible course of action to assuage his prince’s plight. He let his hand drift lower, fingers creeping underneath the folds of fabric resting in Arthur’s lap. Arthur didn’t object, just rolled his hips ever so slightly and came to rest once more. Emboldened, Merlin pushed the discarded nightshirt ahead of himself and lowered his hand, his fingers brushing the firm curve of Arthur’s arousal.

Every muscle in Arthur’s abdomen tensed at once and Merlin lifted his fingers just enough to stop the contact.
“Er, Merlin?” Arthur asked, sounding confused.

“Look, why don’t you think of it as a favour?” Merlin proposed. He lowered his hand again, letting his fingers close carefully around Arthur’s still-clothed erection. Arthur may have been about to object, but the sensation was such a welcome one. “Just close your eyes and think of Camelot.”

Arthur sniffed laughter, the shiver pushing his sensitive flesh up into Merlin’s hand. His whispered assent was more or less just a hitched breath, a croak of ‘okay,’ just audible if one were listening closely.

Merlin didn’t want to break the delicate balance, so he was careful not to make any comments or remind Arthur who he was, as he carefully drew the loose fabric away from his tense flesh.

It wasn’t so odd, he considered, to take Arthur’s cock into his hand. It wasn’t the act itself that he expected to find peculiar; he hadn’t been joking when he discussed country activities; he’d been rolling in the hay with friends and visitors of both sexes since he was old enough to know he wanted to. Rather, he would have expected it to feel rather awkward to be doing this to his friend; his very straight, proud master.

It didn’t feel odd in the slightest. In fact, it felt gloriously natural to cradle the warm weight of Arthur’s (decidedly ample) manhood in his hand. Arthur’s cock was a little longer than his own, pale as the rest of him and rising from a patch of coarse hair that Merlin was fascinated to see was almost as fair as that on his head. He caught himself staring and reminded himself that this was a self-given duty, in which he was being lax. He quieted the insidious voice inside that suggested he was never usually this dedicated to his duty.

Arthur kept his eyes closed as he had been instructed and let his manservant attend to him. He seemed to harden further as Merlin’s fingers tightened around him, beginning a firm stroke up and down the smooth shaft.

As Merlin grew in confidence, stroking more quickly, Arthur moved, tilting his hips up into the touch. Merlin stretched out his fingers, unable to resist the temptation to lay his hands on the slowly tensing, twisting plane of Arthur’s abdomen.

Arthur wasn’t difficult to please; he had been too long without the pleasure of stimulation and, just as it had taken little to incite him to hardness, so was he quick to respond to the stimulation.

Merlin’s activities were not complicated; he had no need to employ any fancy tricks, as Arthur seemed to be enjoying the treatment just as it was. Arthur’s thighs tightened below him, his heels moving and catching on the rug that sat beside the royal bed.

Merlin pressed his thumb to the head of Arthur’s cock, twisting his wrist and smiling as Arthur tensed, his stomach clenching under Merlin’s hand and his backside lifting off the bed to thrust into the tight channel.

Merlin glanced down to the bedspread, where the tightening of Arthur’s fingertips twisted the fabric into a mess of red and gold, and took it to be as much of a warning as he was likely to receive.

He was right to be aware; Arthur stiffened, moaning as if in glorious, welcome pain, and came, shuddering, over his own pale, sweat-damp belly.

Merlin was feeling so well-disposed to his prince at that point that he even fetched a damp cloth with which Arthur could clean himself off.

“Don’t judge me,” Arthur said, taking the cloth and wiping his stomach down. “I’m not usually… finished that quickly.”

Merlin laughed lightly in reply, took the cloth from him and put it to the side before helping Arthur to move sideways and get into bed.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Merlin offered, rather redundantly. “Sleep well.”

“I will,” Arthur said, sounding extraordinarily confident of the fact. “Oh, Merlin,” he added as his manservant opened the door to leave. Merlin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Thank you,” Arthur said, and Merlin was so struck by his honesty, it was all he could do to smile and nod.

#

Arthur didn’t ask and Merlin didn’t offer. It just became a natural habit. Two days after the first gesture, Merlin caught Arthur snapping at a chambermaid who had come into his room before he woke and maybe made a touch too much noise setting the fire. Merlin hurried her out and, without comment, slid his hand under the covers beside Arthur’s hip.

“Oh,” Arthur said as his ever-reliable morning erection jumped for joy to find itself in Merlin’s hand. “Oh, yes, okay, good point,” he conceded, closing his eyes and leaning back with a smile.

And so it went on. Rather than allowing Arthur’s frustration to build to the point at which it might inconvenience someone, Merlin resolved to deal with it an timely fashion. His initial plan, being every other day, soon became a daily part of their morning ritual. It set Arthur into good spirits for the day and everyone benefited.

Merlin didn’t find it to be a particular inconvenience, anyway. It wasn’t particularly awkward and neither had it changed the dynamic between the two of them. Of that he was even more grateful and surprised, he had feared for the delicate professional and personal relationship that he had built with his friend. If anything, Arthur had started to treat him with an additional level of fondness; perhaps particularly pleased with him for being the source of such welcome relief with, as had been implied, complete confidentiality. Merlin caught Arthur looking at him thoughtfully, lingering a little longer and with a softness that Merlin was sure he’d never seen before. Indeed, since Arthur always needed somebody with him, they had been spending even more time together than was usual. They laughed, they talked, they… Merlin hesitated to even think it, but they were bonding.

Indeed, Merlin did not need to worry about their relationship. But he did have at least one cause for concern.

He had been almost entirely relieved of his duties to Gaius while Arthur was in need of constant attention, but his sleeping arrangements remained the same and he was able to help out when he had the time. He was on his way back from readying Arthur for the day when he was intercepted by the physician and two small bottles were pressed into his hand.

“Morgana’s fortnightly prescription,” Gaius explained. Merlin was about to protest that it couldn’t have been a fortnight, as he had last delivered the same medicines the very day of Arthur’s second accident. He shut his mouth as a moment of reflection put him right.

Arthur had made little to no improvement in two whole weeks. While Merlin may not have expected full recovery in this time, he would definitely have anticipated some noticeably improvement.

This needed addressing. Arthur’s original injury had been sustained via magic and, although his life had been saved, it was possible that some sort of magical phenomenon could hinder his improvement. Merlin wasted no time; he had to establish if that was the case. He resolved to seek Arthur out as soon as the remedy was delivered.

Finding Arthur wasn’t difficult. In fact, Morgana was able to tell him exactly where the prince would be.

“But why would be he with his knights?” Merlin pressed. “He can’t possibly be training them.”

“No, of course,” Morgana answered awkwardly. “But he can… oversee their training. I think he just wants to be around then, so they understand that he’s still in charge, that he’s still invested in their well-being.”

“Oh, well,” Merlin said, pouting a little. “He shouldn’t be out there on his own. Not while he’s still vulnerable.”

“Merlin,” Morgana said petulantly. “He’s surrounded by his knights, who couldn’t love him more; he’s as safe with them as he is with anyone.”

“Of course, if he doesn’t go showing off and overexerting himself,” Merlin said sulkily. The look Morgana gave him was amused, and a little shaming, so he gave up. “Thank you for your… help,” he concluded, politely if a little wearily.

Merlin was beside himself as he started across the courtyard. Of course Arthur was safe from external harm when he was with his knights (although not as safe as he was with his personal sorcerer by his side, of course, but the prince continued to wear his self-inflicted blinkers as far as Merlin’s particular talents were concerned.) But Arthur couldn’t be trusted around his buddies for five minutes without getting himself into a metaphorical pissing contest. And literal pissing was just about the only thing he could actually do without help.

Sure enough, Merlin approached the training grounds beyond the stables just in time to see Arthur reaching out to take a fighting pole from one of his friends. He was about to break into a prince-saving run, but skittered to a halt as Arthur wielded the baton with barely a wince, moving it in an easy figure of eight to show the knight how it should be done.

It wasn’t a violent movement, but it was clean and repetitive and it used his full range of motion, twisting his wrist and shoulder as it rolled.
With a grin and a nod, the prince did something fancy that twisted the bar until it pointed to its original owner, who took it with a grin and a small bow.

Merlin turned, as if in a daze, and walked away from the training field. Some tiny, faint, loyal part of him suggested that he should be happy to see his prince making such a speedy recovery, indicating that magic was not a hindrance. But mostly, however, that was drowned by his complete and abject fury.

Merlin made an effort to avoid Arthur for most of the day. He was so incensed that exposure would have probably led to ill-advised words that would see him back in the stocks. So he kept quiet and stayed away from Arthur to avoid any confrontation.

It was evening before he saw Arthur for any length of time, after he had had dinner with his father and was returning to his chambers for the rest of the evening. He called for Merlin and, of course, Merlin came.

“I’ve barely seen you today,” Arthur said as Merlin helped him change his shirt, gritting his teeth and knowing that he hadn’t helped Arthur into the shirt he was currently wearing.

“No, Sire, I was busy,” Merlin answered without apology.

“Is that so?” Arthur asked, a little petulantly. “Too busy to attend your injured master?”

“So it would seem,” Merlin snipped.

“Excuse me,” Arthur said, lowering himself overdramatically into his chair. “If I expect my manservant to attend me when I am injured following such acts of heroism! Next time I will let the stupid beast eat you instead!”

Arthur’s short tone seemed somewhat forced to Merlin, as if he were struggling against the urge to be playful and he had to make an effort to be a pain.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said with a sigh and exaggerated repentance. “I’ve had a particularly tiring day. I’m a little more… frustrated than of late.”

Merlin clicked his teeth together, glaring at the wall as realisation dawned. He was standing out of Arthur’s eyeline, so the prince couldn’t see Merlin slowly cut his eyes at him.

“Is that right?” Merlin asked, in a tone that was distinctly dangerous to and completely lost on Arthur.

“Hmm,” Arthur said, as casual as anything. “I don’t suppose I could impose upon you to help alleviate it?”

Merlin bit his lip and nodded, pasting on a small smile.
“Of course, Arthur,” he said pleasantly, and he really hadn’t intended for him to have such a seductive edge, but it seemed to work. “I’ll pour your wine, first,” he added.

Arthur seemed to sag in relief; almost as if he had been anxious about the answer and was extra pleased to be offered wine with his pleasure. Merlin half-filled the goblet and approached the prince, who was sinking lower in his chair in anticipation. Merlin upended the cup into Arthur’s lap.

“Merlin? What in God’s name are you doing?” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and batting the puddle of wine to the ground. Merlin passed him a spare garment with which he could push away the worst of the damp, then stood back, arms crossed, as Arthur wiped at his soaking shirt, gesturing at Merlin while he cursed his clumsiness.

Finally, the litany of insults abated as Arthur looked up to meet Merlin’s eye. Merlin cocked his head, looked pointedly at Arthur’s hands and waiting for him to catch up.

Arthur’s eyes widened comically.
“Oh, ow!” he exclaimed belatedly, hissing and clutching at his arm. “Oh, the pain took a while to…”

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin snapped, snatching the cloth back. “There’s nothing wrong with your arms and you know it. I can’t believe you, letting me get worried half to death that you might be so badly damaged you might never recover.”

Arthur’s shocked, guilty look softened to something thoughtful.
“You were worried?” he asked, his lip twitching into a smile. It didn’t help his case.

“Not the point!” Merlin exclaimed. “You’ve been milking this just so, what, you can just lay around being an even bigger ass than usual?”

“No, I haven’t!” Arthur cried, sounding for all the world like a child caught out in a lie. “I haven’t. I was… I thought…” He sighed and let his gaze drop away in embarrassment. “I thought if I got better, you’d stop doing… that thing you do in the morning.” Merlin’s eyebrows made another run for his hairline. “And to be quite honest, I… like it when you do.”

Merlin couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Oh, Arthur, you really won’t ever stop being a prat, will you?” Arthur looked up, pouting. “I don’t mind doing it,” Merlin went on, part of him pointing and laughing at them both for being so coy discussing something they did every day. “But now you are better…”

Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I know, Merlin, it has to stop,” he said sadly.

“No,” Merlin said in his best ‘talking to a slow child’ voice. “Now you’re better you can bloody well even up with me.”

A lopsided grin grew slowly on Arthur’s face.
“Really?” his smile faded thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m not sure a prince would do that sort of thing.”

Merlin scoffed at him, reaching up to Arthur’s neck to undoing the laces he had only just finished tying.
“I’m pretty sure this one will,” he asserted.

Arthur tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you being insubordinate?” he asked.

“Depends,” Merlin said. “Does that frustrate you?”

Arthur’s grin could only be described as wolfish.

“Oh, terribly.”

The End.