For The Night [Part 2]
Author: stay_magical
Title: For The Night [Part 2]
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Merlin/the john (Cenred as I picture it)
Character/s: Merlin, Cenred
Summary: Merlin was a fool to think he ever had any inkling of control in his life
Warnings: prostitution, soliciting sex, implying rape/non-con, horrible terrible non-existent parenting, no underage sex or pedophilia
Word Count: 1200
Prompt: 354: All I ask
Author's Notes: Again, sorry about this. I couldn't leave that story where it was
[Part 1]
Gone is the cocky smirk from the john’s face, now darkened and thunderous. This won’t end well, Merlin can see that.
Still, he makes another valiant attempt to make a run for the door. This time he only makes it to his feet before john is on him, grabbing him hard and throwing him toward the bed. Merlin flails, pushing, punching, gouging, trying to hit any part of the john he can but he’s off balance and the john has a good fifty pounds on him. He doesn’t stand a chance.
Though even as he’s thrown onto the bed, he rolls, trying to escape over the other side. The john is on him in a flash, grabbing him around the waist with a tug and flipping him over.
“Get off me!” Merlin immediately claws at his face, aiming for the john’s nose and eyes but the john is ready and anticipates his moves, dodging easily. He snatches Merlin’s wrists and pins them down with one hand before sitting his full weight on Merlin’s torso. Merlin gasps, the air pushed forcefully from his lungs and he lays stunned for a few precious seconds as he struggles to just take a breath. But none is forthcoming. Panic flutters like a trapped bird in his veins mouth open in a silent yell with no air to give it voice.
He should be used to this, used to constantly sitting on the knife's edge, never knowing when the scales might tip. He lives a high-risk lifestyle-not by choice but by necessity-such hazards come with the territory. But no matter how many times he’s found himself in such a precarious situation, he has never gotten used to it.
And he hopes he never will. He’s sure that’s the only reason he’s still alive today.
But for how much longer?
Merlin finds strength again and bucks his hips, heart pounding with fear and desperation. A small squeak sounds from the direction of the child on the other bed and that’s all the warning Merlin gets as his head is suddenly knocked to the side with the force of a punch. His vision wavers but Merlin barely feels the pain. With a particularly harsh buck of his hips he dislodges the john long enough to take a full breath of air but it’s short-lived. Another few quick sharp punches to the head, one catching him across his brow and two to his temple, and his vision darkens. He can feel the john’s weight shifting on top of him, the pressure on his arms increasing.
Merlin freezes at the sound of metal clicking together. Even though his vision is blurry at best, the sound is unmistakable.
Handcuffs.
Terror jolts through him.
He’s no stranger to the assortment of kinks some men prefer and even enjoys some of them himself. But he’s acutely aware that in this instance it’s less for kinks sake and more to keep Merlin from leaving. To keep him within the john’s control.
Metal encircles his right wrist with a click.
With a raging yell, Merlin doubles his previous efforts, bucking with a strength fueled by terror, panic, and anger. The john is caught off guard and Merlin takes advantage of it, unseating him enough to slide off the side of the bed and spring unsteadily to his feet. The unlatched cuff swings wildly from his wrist but he pays it no mind. There's a dull ache in his head that’s growing with every second and the whole room sways. Or maybe that’s just Merlin.
“You don’t want to do this, mate,” says Merlin and honestly it would be more threatening if the room would just sit still for god's sake. “All I ask is for us to just go our separate ways and pretend none of this ever happened.”
“What are you gonna do, go to the cops?”
And alright yeah, that’s fair enough. Merlin deems it’s best to just keep his mouth shut and stand his ground as best he can. Damn, he really wishes he had taken some self-defense classes back in the day.
“Daddy?” a small voice breaks through their standoff and steal both men’s attention away from the other. Over on the bed, the boy rubs his teary eyes, exuding an innocence and vulnerability that leaves Merlin’s protective instincts screaming.
That was him once. When he had a family, a home, a safety that he has yet to find again. When he knew nothing of the dangers this world held, the pain, the heartache, the struggle. When he was ignorant to the levels of cruelty humans would go to to get what they wanted, to the low levels they’d stoop to just to survive. How far he’d fall.
It’s too late for him, but it doesn’t have to be for this kid.
“Shut your goddamn mouth!” growls the john, stepping toward the boy with a rage fueled by resistance which in turn sets Merlin instincts on fire.
He steps in front of the john, blocking his path to the kid. “Don’t touch him.”
Merlin is acutely aware of the danger he’s just drawn back onto himself but there’s no taking it back as the john’s rage turns back to him with a cold murderous glare. But even given the chance, he’s not sure he would have chosen differently. Better him than the kid.
The punch, he saw coming, but he still isn’t fast enough to dodge it. The john’s fist catches him hard and sharp on his left cheekbone and he stumbles to the side, away from the bed and the kid.
“The fuck do you think you are? I’m his father.”
Merlin blinks. His cheek throbs with an anger he feels welling up inside him and it comes pouring out before he can think better of it. “A piss poor one at that. Subjecting your kid to this sort of thing.” And because he really has no filter at this moment, he spits out, “Where’s his mother?”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Another blow catches Merlin on his jaw, but miraculously, he’s able to keep his feet. “You little fuck!” screams the john and then the blows are raining harder and Merlin is stumbling this way and that, putting his arms up to protect his face, his head, anything. It’s useless though. At some point, his heels catch on something and he barely registers he’s falling before he’s flat on his back, a soft forgiving mattress beneath him. Between one heartbeat and the next, the john is on top of him and time blurs in and out with his waning consciousness.
He thinks he hears the boy scream and cry at some point during Merlin’s assault but his senses are dimming and he can’t be sure it wasn’t his own. All he knows is pain and fear, and an odd sense of relief that at least the kid can make an escape. The blows die after a bit and Merlin only registers the reprieve when he feels his arms being manhandled above his hand and metal clicking into place around the other wrist. His whole body throbs and beats in agony with his heart and he knows he doesn’t have much strength to fight anymore, that his consciousness is slipping even as he tries valiantly anyway.
It’s no use. His pants are stripped off him in a few good tugs, even as he spits curses and pleas in equal measure.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” he begs to the room, to the boy, to himself though he’s not sure the words even leave his mouth or if they are simply just the mumblings of a beaten down whore trying to escape his lot in life.
Thankfully, someone somewhere listens and Merlin falls into darkness with the feeling of fingers digging into his thighs.
Title: For The Night [Part 2]
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Merlin/the john (Cenred as I picture it)
Character/s: Merlin, Cenred
Summary: Merlin was a fool to think he ever had any inkling of control in his life
Warnings: prostitution, soliciting sex, implying rape/non-con, horrible terrible non-existent parenting, no underage sex or pedophilia
Word Count: 1200
Prompt: 354: All I ask
Author's Notes: Again, sorry about this. I couldn't leave that story where it was
[Part 1]
Gone is the cocky smirk from the john’s face, now darkened and thunderous. This won’t end well, Merlin can see that.
Still, he makes another valiant attempt to make a run for the door. This time he only makes it to his feet before john is on him, grabbing him hard and throwing him toward the bed. Merlin flails, pushing, punching, gouging, trying to hit any part of the john he can but he’s off balance and the john has a good fifty pounds on him. He doesn’t stand a chance.
Though even as he’s thrown onto the bed, he rolls, trying to escape over the other side. The john is on him in a flash, grabbing him around the waist with a tug and flipping him over.
“Get off me!” Merlin immediately claws at his face, aiming for the john’s nose and eyes but the john is ready and anticipates his moves, dodging easily. He snatches Merlin’s wrists and pins them down with one hand before sitting his full weight on Merlin’s torso. Merlin gasps, the air pushed forcefully from his lungs and he lays stunned for a few precious seconds as he struggles to just take a breath. But none is forthcoming. Panic flutters like a trapped bird in his veins mouth open in a silent yell with no air to give it voice.
He should be used to this, used to constantly sitting on the knife's edge, never knowing when the scales might tip. He lives a high-risk lifestyle-not by choice but by necessity-such hazards come with the territory. But no matter how many times he’s found himself in such a precarious situation, he has never gotten used to it.
And he hopes he never will. He’s sure that’s the only reason he’s still alive today.
But for how much longer?
Merlin finds strength again and bucks his hips, heart pounding with fear and desperation. A small squeak sounds from the direction of the child on the other bed and that’s all the warning Merlin gets as his head is suddenly knocked to the side with the force of a punch. His vision wavers but Merlin barely feels the pain. With a particularly harsh buck of his hips he dislodges the john long enough to take a full breath of air but it’s short-lived. Another few quick sharp punches to the head, one catching him across his brow and two to his temple, and his vision darkens. He can feel the john’s weight shifting on top of him, the pressure on his arms increasing.
Merlin freezes at the sound of metal clicking together. Even though his vision is blurry at best, the sound is unmistakable.
Handcuffs.
Terror jolts through him.
He’s no stranger to the assortment of kinks some men prefer and even enjoys some of them himself. But he’s acutely aware that in this instance it’s less for kinks sake and more to keep Merlin from leaving. To keep him within the john’s control.
Metal encircles his right wrist with a click.
With a raging yell, Merlin doubles his previous efforts, bucking with a strength fueled by terror, panic, and anger. The john is caught off guard and Merlin takes advantage of it, unseating him enough to slide off the side of the bed and spring unsteadily to his feet. The unlatched cuff swings wildly from his wrist but he pays it no mind. There's a dull ache in his head that’s growing with every second and the whole room sways. Or maybe that’s just Merlin.
“You don’t want to do this, mate,” says Merlin and honestly it would be more threatening if the room would just sit still for god's sake. “All I ask is for us to just go our separate ways and pretend none of this ever happened.”
“What are you gonna do, go to the cops?”
And alright yeah, that’s fair enough. Merlin deems it’s best to just keep his mouth shut and stand his ground as best he can. Damn, he really wishes he had taken some self-defense classes back in the day.
“Daddy?” a small voice breaks through their standoff and steal both men’s attention away from the other. Over on the bed, the boy rubs his teary eyes, exuding an innocence and vulnerability that leaves Merlin’s protective instincts screaming.
That was him once. When he had a family, a home, a safety that he has yet to find again. When he knew nothing of the dangers this world held, the pain, the heartache, the struggle. When he was ignorant to the levels of cruelty humans would go to to get what they wanted, to the low levels they’d stoop to just to survive. How far he’d fall.
It’s too late for him, but it doesn’t have to be for this kid.
“Shut your goddamn mouth!” growls the john, stepping toward the boy with a rage fueled by resistance which in turn sets Merlin instincts on fire.
He steps in front of the john, blocking his path to the kid. “Don’t touch him.”
Merlin is acutely aware of the danger he’s just drawn back onto himself but there’s no taking it back as the john’s rage turns back to him with a cold murderous glare. But even given the chance, he’s not sure he would have chosen differently. Better him than the kid.
The punch, he saw coming, but he still isn’t fast enough to dodge it. The john’s fist catches him hard and sharp on his left cheekbone and he stumbles to the side, away from the bed and the kid.
“The fuck do you think you are? I’m his father.”
Merlin blinks. His cheek throbs with an anger he feels welling up inside him and it comes pouring out before he can think better of it. “A piss poor one at that. Subjecting your kid to this sort of thing.” And because he really has no filter at this moment, he spits out, “Where’s his mother?”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Another blow catches Merlin on his jaw, but miraculously, he’s able to keep his feet. “You little fuck!” screams the john and then the blows are raining harder and Merlin is stumbling this way and that, putting his arms up to protect his face, his head, anything. It’s useless though. At some point, his heels catch on something and he barely registers he’s falling before he’s flat on his back, a soft forgiving mattress beneath him. Between one heartbeat and the next, the john is on top of him and time blurs in and out with his waning consciousness.
He thinks he hears the boy scream and cry at some point during Merlin’s assault but his senses are dimming and he can’t be sure it wasn’t his own. All he knows is pain and fear, and an odd sense of relief that at least the kid can make an escape. The blows die after a bit and Merlin only registers the reprieve when he feels his arms being manhandled above his hand and metal clicking into place around the other wrist. His whole body throbs and beats in agony with his heart and he knows he doesn’t have much strength to fight anymore, that his consciousness is slipping even as he tries valiantly anyway.
It’s no use. His pants are stripped off him in a few good tugs, even as he spits curses and pleas in equal measure.
“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” he begs to the room, to the boy, to himself though he’s not sure the words even leave his mouth or if they are simply just the mumblings of a beaten down whore trying to escape his lot in life.
Thankfully, someone somewhere listens and Merlin falls into darkness with the feeling of fingers digging into his thighs.