Nightshirts and Door Frames
Title: Nightshirts and Door Frames
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con branding, bondage, lot's of H/C
Summary: “What’s this about, Arthur?” Merlin’s eyes were drawn towards a large wooden table, in the centre of the room, which definitely had not been there when he’d been cleaning yesterday. He took a few steps towards it, curiously, before suddenly stopping. At each of the four corners of the table, rested a leather strap, obviously made to bind around a person’s wrists and ankles.
Written for this prompt on KMM.
Thanks to my Betalillithblack
Nightshirts and Door Frames
Merlin was woken gently by a man calling his name, a light tap to the side of his face. He opened his eyes, blearily, to see Leon, standing over him and wearing a curious expression on his face. Merlin sat up, and cast his eyes towards the window. The sun was not yet up. It could have been as early as three, Merlin reckoned, and he couldn’t help but yawn.
“I’m sorry, Merlin, but Arthur wants to see you.” Leon’s tone was stiff, almost... reluctant? Merlin frowned.
“What’s happened?” he asked, immediately expecting the worst, as he swung out of bed, and got to his feet. He stumbled a little because, well, people weren’t meant to have to do things at this hour, but Leon caught hold of his arm and steadied him.
“Nothing,” Leon cocked his head, “didn’t Arthur explain to you...?” he trailed off, after taking in Merlin’s confused expression, and Leon’s own face turned from what looked like pity, into horror.
“Leon, what-“
“Never mind,” Leon passed a hand over his face, “if he hasn’t told you... well, I’m sure he has his reasons. Come on, Merlin,” and the knight turned, striding from the room.
Merlin was used to following orders, but he didn’t appreciate Leon leaving him hanging like that, and then taking him on a trip to Arthur’s chambers, still in his night shirt. He plucked at it anxiously, as they reached Arthur’s door.
“Seriously, Leon. Will you please explain-” but Leon cut him off once again, by knocking loudly, and shaking his head. Merlin contented himself by glaring at the back of the man’s head, as though hoping he could read his mind.
In fact, he probably could read his mind, if he wanted to, but Merlin was glad he didn’t try, when Arthur swung the door open.
“Morning,” Merlin grinned at him, before yawning widely, “you gonna tell me what I’m here for?” Arthur was fully dressed, but in the clothes Merlin liked best; a loose white shirt and breeches. Clothes that looked casual, and perhaps even cheap, but still clothes Merlin could never afford.
Arthur barely spared his manservant a glance, looking towards Leon instead.
“You haven’t told him,” the knight stated, stiffly, and Merlin rolled his eyes, shuffling from foot to foot, because he was beginning to get cold.
“Told me what?” he asked, staring between them both. Arthur’s fingers clenched around the wood of the door frame.
“You can go, Leon. Thank you for bringing him here.” Leon hesitated, before nodding, casting Merlin one, last, pitying glance, and then striding away.
“Come in,” Arthur stood back, to let a bewildered, and now really quite worried (to the point of scared, but Arthur didn’t need to know that) Merlin into his chambers.
“What’s this about, Arthur?” Merlin’s eyes were drawn towards a large wooden table, in the centre of the room, which definitely had not been there, when he’d been cleaning yesterday. He took a few steps towards it, curiously, before suddenly stopping. At each of the four corners of the table, rested a leather strap, obviously made to bind around a person’s wrists and ankles.
“Sit,” Arthur instructed, gesturing towards the table. Merlin didn’t move. Arthur raised his eyebrows, before walking forwards, grabbing Merlin’s forearms and pulling him to the table, forcing him to sit down. After that, Arthur began to pace up and down, all too aware of the way Merlin’s eyes were flitting about the room, growing wider as they took in the glowing coals in the fireplace, amongst which a branding iron was resting.
The prince winced, internally, as his manservant’s breathing quickened. He called Merlin stupid, pretty much all the time, but he didn’t doubt that the boy was putting two and two together.
“Merlin, how long have you been in my service?” he inquired, stopping at last, and turning to look Merlin.
“Uh...” Merlin was still staring into the fire.
“Look at me, Merlin, and tell me. How long?”
Merlin finally dragged his eyes from the flames, to gaze at Arthur instead. “I don’t know... a year?” he said, a little hoarsely. Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn’t press upon Merlin’s lack of respect, when it came to addressing royalty.
“Exactly a year, Merlin.” He said. Merlin still looked confused,
“So?”
“So, now has come the time for you to decide whether this position is really for you, and whether you’re prepared to do what it takes, to serve the future King.” Merlin blinked, slowly, and Arthur wondered whether it had been a good idea to do this at such a late hour. The boy still looked impossibly dopey, although he guessed it was only marginally worse than usual.
“Of course I want to keep this position,” he said.
Arthur hadn’t realise he had been holding his breath until he let it go. It was even more surprising when it left his mouth, tasting of relief.
“Lie down, flat on the table,” he instructed, firmly. Merlin just sat there, and Arthur suddenly noticed that he was shaking, long, pale fingers, quivering against the table top. “Merlin,” he said, gently, “I think you know what is about to be done. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”
“Why?” Merlin asked, and his eyes were shining brightly, his body rigid.
“For God’s sake, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “it just is okay? A prince’s manservant must be bound to him, in a way that let’s everyone else know who he belongs to.”
“I’m not a slave, Arthur. I don’t belong to you,” was the sullen reply. Arthur’s nails bit into his palms,
“I don’t make these rules, Merlin. You stay, and take this,” his fingers brushed against the handle of the poker, and Merlin flinched, “or you leave.”
“Where?” Merlin asked, softly, eyes now permanently fixed on Arthur’s face. And the Prince knew that the boy wasn’t asking where he ought to go, if he left.
“Take off your breeches,” he said, and Merlin sucked in his breath, the pale skin on his neck flushing red, and travelling up to his face and ears.
Then, he stood and, with numb fingers, undid his laces, letting his breeches fall. Whereas moments before, he hadn’t been able to look at anything but Arthur, he now wanted to vanish, and turned his head away from the older man.
“Lie down,” Arthur repeated, and when Merlin faltered slightly, when he blinked rapidly because, Gods, something was in his eye, Arthur did nothing but place an arm on his elbow and guide him down, till his cheek was flat against the wood. Till his back and arse were exposed, and he was shivering, eyes squeezed shut.
From where he lay, Merlin heard Arthur’s footsteps, walking away, and then returning. Something inside the manservant twisted, and he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to see Arthur, for comfort or just to have a better idea of what was going on but, at the same time, he wanted to see nothing at all.
And then, there was a touch to his waist and he jumped violently, almost rolling off of the table. Arthur quickly fastened a hand around Merlin’s side, and pulled him back. Merlin’s eyes were open, now, and he could see Arthur was holding a pillow.
“Uh...” he held it out, wordlessly, and Merlin took it, blushing more furiously than ever as his put it beneath his crotch (it hurt, laying on top of the wood like that. Merlin was surprised Arthur had taken this into consideration), “and,” Arthur coughed slightly, as Merlin lowered himself once more, “I think I need to strap you down.”
“No,” Merlin cried out, before biting his lip, embarrassed at the way his voice had broken.
“Merlin, you almost crashed onto the floor just then,” Arthur was already at the leather straps, one strong hand around Merlin’s left wrist. For a moment, Merlin struggled, trying to pull away, but he really wasn’t any match, strength wise, for the Prince.
Within minutes he was completely tied down, and his breaths were becoming painful.
“Arthur,” he whimpered, pulling feebly against the bindings, as the full force of what was about to happen crashed over him, “A-Arthur,” he twisted his neck, helplessly, trying to see him, before he felt a hand on his nape, stroking at the hair there.
“Shh,” Arthur whispered, caressing his skin in a way Merlin had always dreamed about. He sniffed, trying to rub his face on his arm, to hide the tears, because of all the things Merlin had imagined him doing with Arthur, this was the last place he wanted them to happen.
With him, bound and humiliated, and about to be branded like some animal.
Okay, so maybe this situation would do it for some people, but not Merlin. Not... not like this.
“I need you to relax, Merlin,” Arthur said, and Merlin sobbed a little, when the prince removed his hand and walked away again, this time returning with the glowing iron.
“Can’t,” he whispered, instinctively pulling at the straps again.
“Yes, you can,” Arthur insisted, fingers back in Merlin’s hair, petting and stroking.
After a few minutes, Merlin’s breathing slowed, and he asked, “The other servants... have they?” in a quiet voice.
“No,” Arthur replied, “only a King or Prince’s manservant receives this...” he trailed off. This what? Honour didn’t seem like quite the right word.
“So, your manservant before me?” Merlin pressed.
“Merlin,” Arthur spoke softly, kindly, “before you, none of my menservants lasted a year.”
Merlin wondered whether it was wrong of him to feel a twinge of pride, in a situation such as this, but then he was distracted by the way he could feel the heat from the iron, before it even touched his skin. He shuddered, fingers clenching and then unclenching. He could feel his body tensing, and trying to curl up, but the damn straps were hindering him, and tears were pulling at the corners of his eyes.
“I’ve got you, Merlin,” a palm on the pack of his legs, his right thigh, kneading the skin. Comforting, but a horrible contrast to the pain he was about to feel, Merlin knew.
He still couldn’t believe that this was happening. A little while ago, he had been dead to the world: oblivious. And now...
“Keep calm, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, “because if the straps can’t stop you from moving, I’ll have to call in someone else to help hold you down.” Merlin bit down on his lip to stop it trembling. Wasn’t it enough that Arthur, the man he loved, no less, had to see him like this?
“Just do it, Arthur,” he gritted out, because it was getting a bit too much now; tension of waiting, with Arthur’s palm against his naked skin. His eyes were stinging and panic was clawing at his insides. If only he could use magic, just for a moment, and then he mightn’t even have to feel the burn.
“I need to know you’re going to stay still,” Arthur insisted, firmly, his hand tightening on Merlin’s leg, as if in warning.
“You have me tied down, dammit!” Merlin yelled back, choking as the first tears made it past the barrier he had been trying to build up.
Arthur looked down at him, frowning. It wasn’t as if he had never branded a man before, but this was different. This was Merlin, and he was barely more than a boy. A stupid, clumsy, occasionally wise, and possibly loveable, boy. On top of that, he was Arthur’s boy, not just some other random peasant from the streets.
He was half naked, blushing to the roots of his hair, crying and moaning and writhing on the table.
Arthur swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to let gravity do its job and pull it back down to Earth.
“Don’t swear,” he said, after what seemed like an eternity. He wondered if his manservant could heat the tremor in his voice. He didn’t think so, when Merlin let out a half angry half scared hiss, his arms pulling against the leather again, instinctively, his head lifting... “No.” Arthur said, and he slapped Merlin’s arse sharply, before pushing his head back onto the table.
The slap seemed to have made the stubbornness melt out of Merlin’s bones, and Arthur felt hollow and guilty for it, even though it was probably for the best. He stroked the skin, one last time, where he had hit it, trying not to get any pleasure from touching him, because that was just wrong. He was about to brand Merlin, for Gods’ sake.
“Is there... which side, would you prefer?” He asked, finally. Merlin groaned. Why wasn’t this over by now?
“I don’t care, Arthur,” he croaked, and Arthur frowned down at him, before placing his hand on Merlin’s right arse cheek. Suddenly, Merlin shook his head, “not... not there,” he whispered, and another tear was making its way down his face. Arthur made no comment, apart from a soft ‘shush’ing sound, before moving around to the other side of the table.
“Are you going to keep still for me, Merlin? It’ll only be worse if you don’t.” And, if before Merlin had been crying, he was really sobbing now, and he couldn’t even keep quiet anymore, couldn’t stop shaking in his bindings. Arthur sighed, horrified at the way he could feel a pricking in his own eyes.
Now, Arthur might have had a certain... fondness, for his manservant, but this did not and never would result in him crying over it.
“Be quiet,” he said, harshly, placing a hand over Merlin’s mouth. He could feel the boy’s lips working furiously beneath his skin, unintentionally licking him as he tried not to cry.
Arthur pulled away, putting his hand on the small of Merlin’s back, instead, and putting as much pressure on as would keep him still, dammit, even when Merlin whimpered in pain, because this had to be done, and Arthur hated drawing it out.
“Arthur, n-no, wait,” Merlin tried to kick out, as panic well and truly settled over him, but the branding iron was already halfway to meeting his skin.
And then everything was white, and hot, and pain. Merlin screamed.
Arthur knew that Merlin could be stronger than he looked (he had seen him, heaving all the Armour up the stairs, even if he’d never commented on it), but it didn’t make him any more prepared for the way Merlin’s body spasmed beneath the poker. His back arched, pushing his chest harder into the wood, and the noises being ripped from his throat sent jolts of horror through the prince.
Arthur pressed harder against Merlin’s back, forcing the writhing man forwards, holding the iron against his skin.
Merlin had never felt a pain like it. Like his flesh was clawing away from the frame of his body, and moulding around the hot iron. He wanted to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, and then there was the agony of the magic in his veins, tugging behind his eyes, desperate to get out. It wouldn’t let his eyes shut, and Merlin was doing everything in his power to keep it from aiding him. To keep it inside.
And then, with a gasp, Arthur wrenched the metal away, eliciting another broken yell from his manservant. He stumbled back, and dropped the poker into a bucket of icy water, staring down at it, as it hissed and steamed. He found he didn’t want to look away. He didn’t want to look at Merlin.
“Arthur,” Merlin felt the loss of contact keenly, and although this was very much a good thing, he wanted to see Arthur’s face. He twisted desperately, and everything hurt, and his vision was blurred. Suddenly, he was very, very afraid of being left alone, with this throbbing, unfamiliar pain, tied down and helpless, “Arth-“
“I’m here,” Arthur was beside him in a second, “hang on, let me just...” and he was unfastening the leather at his manservant’s wrists and ankles.
When he was unbound, Merlin immediately tried to move, but ended up letting out a whimper, as the material of his nightshirt brushed against his burn.
Arthur didn’t even have to say anything, this time, to make the boy lie back down, completely still. He clenched his fists for a moment, as if steeling himself, and then went round to look at what exactly had been done to Merlin’s, once perfect, white skin.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and didn’t notice Merlin cringe at the sound of it.
The burn was black around the edges, skin curling sickeningly about puckered, red flesh. The initials of Arthur’s name were marked clearly in blisters upon Merlin’s arse, ornate and terrible.
“Is it...” Merlin whispered, and Arthur’s head snapped up to look towards Merlin’s head, “hideous?” and he sounded so scared of the answer he was about to be given, that Arthur didn’t even consider making a joke about how Merlin had always been ugly anyway.
“It’ll get better,” he said, gently, “it’ll soon fade. Not ever completely, obviously. The initials will always be clear. But, with the right treatment, we can heal it.”
Merlin made a soft noise that sounded like an agreement, but could have also just been another snuffle of anguish.
“C’mon,” Arthur said, heavily, “up you get.” Merlin stared up at him, eyes wide and red rimmed. There were still tears leaking down his face, leaving salt encrusted tracks in their wake, and there was snot running towards his upper lip. He looked like a very young child, especially as he wordlessly reached for Arthur, who bent down to allow his manservant to wrap his arms around his neck.
He was shockingly docile, as he let Arthur lift him up, careful not to touch anything below his waist, and set him on the floor. Merlin swayed dangerously, and then let out a cry, as his night shirt pulled at his injury once more.
“Arms up,” Arthur instructed, and once again Merlin obeyed without question, arms lifting into the air. Arthur reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it gently over the boy’s head. Merlin bit his lip to stop any noise from escaping, as he was left, standing naked, in the middle of Arthur’s chambers.
Arthur couldn’t look away, as the shine from the moon outside mixed with the light from the fire, and played on Merlin’s pale skin, colouring the shadows beneath his ribs. He was beautiful, standing there and trembling; unclothed and unearthly. Arthur simply stared, for a moment, before making a decision, grabbing his own shirt, and pulling it roughly over his head. He threw it into a corner of the room and stood, bare-chested, before his manservant. He didn’t make any move towards the ties on his breeches, however:
No matter how many times Merlin had seen Arthur in this state of undress, this was the first time he’d put himself in this position for the boy’s sake, rather than just out of habit, or for convenience. In Arthur’s opinion, stripping to the waist as a way of comforting Merlin, was inappropriate enough as it was.
Merlin’s cheeks were red with embarrassment, and Arthur could see the shame in his eyes, but it had lessoned some, now that Arthur had some skin on show. The prince took a step closer to Merlin; he could hear the younger man’s breath quickening, and he wondered if he was scared.
“It’s okay,” and Arthur pulled Merlin gently to him, wrapping his arms around the slighter man’s middle, allowing him to rest his forehead against his shoulder. Merlin’s own shoulders began to shake, and Arthur could feel a wetness on his skin, where Merlin’s eyes were pressed.
He held on even tighter, feeling Merlin’s shape against him, the bones jutting into him. Merlin’s cock hung limp and heavy between his legs, but Arthur could feel that, too, and he could only imagine how humiliated Merlin must be. Arthur didn’t want that. Not at all.
“You did well, Merlin,” he told him, softly, running his hands through his hair, “don’t worry, I’ve got you. Shh, Merlin, everthing’ll be alright. I’m proud of you. You did so good,” and whether it was the way he was rubbing circles into Merlin’s back, or his soothing words, he wasn’t sure, but Merlin’s heaving sobs slowly became silent tears, and hiccups.
“I...” he gasped against Arthur’s skin, “I’m proud... to be yours,” the words were muffled, but Arthur heard them all, and something inside him lit up. He had always been able to see Merlin’s devotion to him. He remembered laughing with the knights about it, saying how Merlin was like a puppy, always running after its master.
But this... this was something else, entirely. Arthur had never appreciated just how important Merlin was to him; just how much it meant to have someone who’d stand by you, no matter what you asked of them, until that moment. He pressed his lips, lightly, to the top of Merlin’s head, and the boy stiffened slightly, in his arms, before relaxing into the embrace completely.
Merlin was surprised by how completely at home he felt, locked in Arthur’s arms. He had always imagined that, if he ever did hug Arthur, it would be an awkward affair. Maybe, it was because Merlin’s mind was still numb with pain; that his entire bottom half felt like it was on fire, which made being hugged by Arthur feel so natural.
“Hurts, Arthur,” he bit out, teeth clenched against the agony.
“I know,” Arthur said, just as Merlin’s knees gave way, and he slumped. Arthur just managed to grab him, and hold him upright, saying, “come on, onto the bed, that’s it,” and leading Merlin to his big four poster, helping him up, and then laying him down on his front.
Immediately, Merlin started jerking on the bed clothes, eyes wide with terror. Arthur crouched down, so he could look into the boy’s face,“Merlin, what’s wrong?” he asked, anxiously.
Merlin couldn’t reply, apart from twisting desperately, as if trying to roll onto his back. And then Arthur understood. “Merlin,” his voice was choked, “I’m not going to... I’m not going to bind you again, alright? You’re fine now, you’re going to be okay. Just... lying on your back will only make the pain worse.” Merlin gazed at Arthur as he steadily fell still, as if latching onto his voice. He nodded slowly, but was still panting, red lips parted, and slack...
Arthur couldn’t help it. The room was too warm, and Merlin’s mouth looked too wet. He leaned forwards, swiftly, pressing his own lips to Merlin’s, forcing his tongue into that breathy space, a moan escaping him, as he began to move his mouth, urging Merlin to do the same.
And then, he did, Merlin’s fingers flitting up to brush at the side of Arthur’s face, and he dragged himself closer on his elbows, only to shout out, almost clamping his teeth over Arthur’s tongue. Moving, as it turned out, was not a good idea, and Merlin felt faint from the pain of it.
Arthur pulled away quickly, his breeches suddenly straining, because Christ, he’d wanted to do that for a very long time. Any reaction to the kiss Merlin might have had, however, had wilted because of the throbbing in his arse, and he looked desperately sorry and miserable for it, his face scrunched up and his hand reaching for his backside.
“No,” Arthur slapped the hand away, “don’t touch it, Merlin. Hang on,” and Arthur walked quickly to the cupboard at his bedside, flinging it open. He didn’t look back at Merlin, as he located the salve. His lips were still tingling, and he didn’t want to see any regret in Merlin’s lovely, orb like eyes.
Once he had the little bowl of salve, which he had had Gaius prepare earlier, he sat on the edge of the bed, behind Merlin, so that the boy couldn’t see him. Seeing the burn up close, for a second time, was enough to make Arthur’s erection subside. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t believe he could grow to love the way Merlin’s skin changed for him; the way Arthur’s own initials marred the boy’s perfection. In fact, Arthur believed that this might even become one of his favourite parts, on Merlin’s body. The part that belonged, entirely, to him.
But, for now, it was just a reminder of his own cruelty, and he wanted nothing more than to have it washed away.
He coated his hands in the thick, yet clear, paste and then hovered them over the burn. He was surprised to feel his own face heating up, as it truly hit him that Merlin had managed to make him hard with just one kiss, and now he was about to touch his arse, and not for the first time that night.
Hell, Arthur swallowed, his eyes widening, Merlin was naked on his bed. This was... fuck, this was like one of Arthur’s fantasies, being played out right in front of his eyes, only someone had gone and twisted with the opening. He pulled in a deep breath, through his nose, before lowering his hand, pressing it to the raw flesh. Merlin moaned, pressing his face deeper into the mattress.
“Sorry,” Arthur muttered, trying to ignore the stuttering of his heart, at the noises Merlin was making.
Arthur wasn’t ever sure how he got through tending to Merlin. He was trembling and aching again, by the end of it, beads of sweat on his brow, his hands made soft from the salve, his fingers tingling from so much contact with a body that he craved more than anything else. A person who, over the last few hours, he had fallen even deeper in love with than he would have believed possible.
“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, and his voice was heavy with tiredness.
“Yeah?” Arthur whispered, voice hoarse.
“I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”
Arthur hesitated, before laying down on his front, beside the manservant, turning his face so that they were looking at each other. Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his face; could see the firelight dancing in his eyes.
“I can fetch you something, to help... from Gaius?” he suggested, even though the last thing he wanted at that moment, was for Merlin to leave him.
Merlin shook his head, shuffling ever so slightly closer, so that now their foreheads were touching. Arthur could almost hear Merlin’s heartbeat, it was going so fast and hard. Or maybe, that was just his own.
“Please stay with me,” Merlin begged, ever so quiet. Arthur reached forwards, a light touch to the boy’s pale forehead, the tip of his nose.
“Anything, love,” he answered, and he wondered that he had earlier felt that taking off his breeches would have been inappropriate. Baring his body to Merlin was nothing like this; that would have been nothing, compared to whispering these words, when they were breathing the same air, sharing the same heat. Arthur had never felt so exposed. Nor had he ever felt so free.
Merlin’s lips curved upwards, slightly, a tiny smile. He ate up Arthur’s words, and felt them inside him. He would never forget them.
After a few hours, Merlin’s eyes drifted shut, and the hand which Arthur had been trailing up and down, over his back, stilled.
“Merlin?” he asked, but Merlin only moved closer to the Prince, allowing himself to be held there, “Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Arthur breathed into his hair, and it wasn’t at all like him to apologise, but he could tell Merlin still hurt, even though the sun was truly rising now, “I’ll fetch some more salve,” and he was about to pull away, when Merlin’s fingers began to scrabble at his chest.
“’M fine,” the boy murmured, looking up at him with tired, red rimmed eyes.
“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur said, relieved to be saying something which didn’t involve ‘sorry’ or ‘I love you’. Gods, Merlin always made everything so complicated, and now Arthur was soothing him in his arms, a thumb running over his chin, the bridge of his nose, up the sharp cheekbones.
Merlin hesitated, before pressing his lips to Arthur’s. It wasn’t as desperate as the first time, and Merlin was determined not to be hindered by his new brand. They took it slow, a whisper of what they’d had before, but still just as enjoyable. Merlin’s tongue ran tentatively across Arthur’s upper lip, his fingers ghosting over the Prince’s chest.
Arthur let him explore his body, allowing himself to forget that this was just a serving boy. He was inexperienced, and injured, but he was still Arthur’s. No one could ever say otherwise; not now, anyway.
Merlin’s hand stopped, high on Arthur’s stomach, and Arthur could practically feel the mixture of nerves and anticipation, rolling off him. Arthur could also tell that, however forwards and outspoken Merlin might usually be, today would be a day he would get nothing done, unless encouraged.
So, the Prince gently took Merlin’s hand, and guided it to his hard on. Merlin gasped into Arthur’s mouth, before pressing the heel of his hand against Arthur’s clothed cock. The man groaned, trying desperately not to rut against Merlin’s hand.
“I-Arthur, I-” Arthur’s eyes flew open, to see Merlin’s tear filled ones.
“Merlin,” he gasped, horrified, fully breaking the kiss, and carefully pulling the boy into an embrace, “Gods Merlin, you don’t have to, you can... oh my god, you don’t want this-”
“No! I do,” Merlin insisted, and his hand was back, palming and rubbing, and there was a determined look in his eyes, “I just wasn’t sure you wanted,” Arthur was panting against Merlin’s neck,
“If course I want it, you idiot,” he breathed. Merlin laughed, and it was such a good sound, that Arthur almost came right there.
Merlin’s fingers pulled at the laces of Arthur’s breeches, desperately, before getting his long fingers beneath, wrapping them around Arthur’s cock. He twisted, kneeling up on the bed perhaps a little too fast, and a scream of agony was ripped through him, before he could control himself. The calloused heel of his foot had pressed into the burn, and he sobbed.
Immediately, Arthur dragged Merlin’s hand away from him, forcing him to lie down again.
“That’s enough, Merlin,” he said, gently, “you need to sleep. You cannot injure yourself further.”
“But-” Merlin began, his expression imploring,
“But nothing,” Arthur interrupted, “I can deal with this,” and he gave his cock a few, slick tugs, before he came all over his own fingers. Merlin moaned, and Arthur couldn’t help the tiny smirk which edged its way over his lips.
“Not many men have the power to make me that hard, that quickly, Merlin,” he said, sliding a hand under Merlin’s belly, and grinning when he realised Merlin was in the same position he’d been in just minutes before, “can I say the same for you?”
Merlin smiled, still hazy from pain and want, and Arthur sighed, hating the way that the mark which had, essentially, brought them together, was the same as the one which now kept them apart.
“I can... fix that for you,” he said, before carefully levering Merlin up again.
“Make up your mind,” Merlin muttered, wincing as he was set back on his knees once more, but this time he had the sense to stay up straight, rather than lowering himself onto his heels. Arthur chuckled, and gave Merlin’s ribs a pinch,
“Nice to see you’re getting some of that old insolence back,”
Merlin grinned, if a little shyly, and Arthur thought it was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.
And then, he was bringing Merlin off, with swift, firm strokes, loving the way Merlin’s lips parted; the way he cried out as he spilled his come all over his own stomach; all over Arthur.
After that, Arthur insisted Merlin slept, no exceptions.
Merlin grumbled something about not being told what to do, and Arthur being an indecisive prat, before getting comfortable. Arthur proceeded to fondly roll his eyes, and then carefully clean the boy up with a warm, damp cloth. By the time he was finished Merlin was, finally, asleep, the little crease between his eyes, the only thing signifying his discomfort, on an otherwise peaceful face.
Arthur hesitated, steeling himself, before laying a soft kiss to Merlin’s burn, tasting the flesh. Then, he lay on his back, beside his manservant, staring up at the ceiling.
Neither of them moved till well into the day, apart from when Merlin shuffled in his sleep, unconsciously wrapping thin limbs around the Prince, and holding on tightly, seemingly without the intention of ever letting go.
Also posted on AO3 and FFnet
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con branding, bondage, lot's of H/C
Summary: “What’s this about, Arthur?” Merlin’s eyes were drawn towards a large wooden table, in the centre of the room, which definitely had not been there when he’d been cleaning yesterday. He took a few steps towards it, curiously, before suddenly stopping. At each of the four corners of the table, rested a leather strap, obviously made to bind around a person’s wrists and ankles.
Written for this prompt on KMM.
Thanks to my Betalillithblack
Nightshirts and Door Frames
Merlin was woken gently by a man calling his name, a light tap to the side of his face. He opened his eyes, blearily, to see Leon, standing over him and wearing a curious expression on his face. Merlin sat up, and cast his eyes towards the window. The sun was not yet up. It could have been as early as three, Merlin reckoned, and he couldn’t help but yawn.
“I’m sorry, Merlin, but Arthur wants to see you.” Leon’s tone was stiff, almost... reluctant? Merlin frowned.
“What’s happened?” he asked, immediately expecting the worst, as he swung out of bed, and got to his feet. He stumbled a little because, well, people weren’t meant to have to do things at this hour, but Leon caught hold of his arm and steadied him.
“Nothing,” Leon cocked his head, “didn’t Arthur explain to you...?” he trailed off, after taking in Merlin’s confused expression, and Leon’s own face turned from what looked like pity, into horror.
“Leon, what-“
“Never mind,” Leon passed a hand over his face, “if he hasn’t told you... well, I’m sure he has his reasons. Come on, Merlin,” and the knight turned, striding from the room.
Merlin was used to following orders, but he didn’t appreciate Leon leaving him hanging like that, and then taking him on a trip to Arthur’s chambers, still in his night shirt. He plucked at it anxiously, as they reached Arthur’s door.
“Seriously, Leon. Will you please explain-” but Leon cut him off once again, by knocking loudly, and shaking his head. Merlin contented himself by glaring at the back of the man’s head, as though hoping he could read his mind.
In fact, he probably could read his mind, if he wanted to, but Merlin was glad he didn’t try, when Arthur swung the door open.
“Morning,” Merlin grinned at him, before yawning widely, “you gonna tell me what I’m here for?” Arthur was fully dressed, but in the clothes Merlin liked best; a loose white shirt and breeches. Clothes that looked casual, and perhaps even cheap, but still clothes Merlin could never afford.
Arthur barely spared his manservant a glance, looking towards Leon instead.
“You haven’t told him,” the knight stated, stiffly, and Merlin rolled his eyes, shuffling from foot to foot, because he was beginning to get cold.
“Told me what?” he asked, staring between them both. Arthur’s fingers clenched around the wood of the door frame.
“You can go, Leon. Thank you for bringing him here.” Leon hesitated, before nodding, casting Merlin one, last, pitying glance, and then striding away.
“Come in,” Arthur stood back, to let a bewildered, and now really quite worried (to the point of scared, but Arthur didn’t need to know that) Merlin into his chambers.
“What’s this about, Arthur?” Merlin’s eyes were drawn towards a large wooden table, in the centre of the room, which definitely had not been there, when he’d been cleaning yesterday. He took a few steps towards it, curiously, before suddenly stopping. At each of the four corners of the table, rested a leather strap, obviously made to bind around a person’s wrists and ankles.
“Sit,” Arthur instructed, gesturing towards the table. Merlin didn’t move. Arthur raised his eyebrows, before walking forwards, grabbing Merlin’s forearms and pulling him to the table, forcing him to sit down. After that, Arthur began to pace up and down, all too aware of the way Merlin’s eyes were flitting about the room, growing wider as they took in the glowing coals in the fireplace, amongst which a branding iron was resting.
The prince winced, internally, as his manservant’s breathing quickened. He called Merlin stupid, pretty much all the time, but he didn’t doubt that the boy was putting two and two together.
“Merlin, how long have you been in my service?” he inquired, stopping at last, and turning to look Merlin.
“Uh...” Merlin was still staring into the fire.
“Look at me, Merlin, and tell me. How long?”
Merlin finally dragged his eyes from the flames, to gaze at Arthur instead. “I don’t know... a year?” he said, a little hoarsely. Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn’t press upon Merlin’s lack of respect, when it came to addressing royalty.
“Exactly a year, Merlin.” He said. Merlin still looked confused,
“So?”
“So, now has come the time for you to decide whether this position is really for you, and whether you’re prepared to do what it takes, to serve the future King.” Merlin blinked, slowly, and Arthur wondered whether it had been a good idea to do this at such a late hour. The boy still looked impossibly dopey, although he guessed it was only marginally worse than usual.
“Of course I want to keep this position,” he said.
Arthur hadn’t realise he had been holding his breath until he let it go. It was even more surprising when it left his mouth, tasting of relief.
“Lie down, flat on the table,” he instructed, firmly. Merlin just sat there, and Arthur suddenly noticed that he was shaking, long, pale fingers, quivering against the table top. “Merlin,” he said, gently, “I think you know what is about to be done. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”
“Why?” Merlin asked, and his eyes were shining brightly, his body rigid.
“For God’s sake, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “it just is okay? A prince’s manservant must be bound to him, in a way that let’s everyone else know who he belongs to.”
“I’m not a slave, Arthur. I don’t belong to you,” was the sullen reply. Arthur’s nails bit into his palms,
“I don’t make these rules, Merlin. You stay, and take this,” his fingers brushed against the handle of the poker, and Merlin flinched, “or you leave.”
“Where?” Merlin asked, softly, eyes now permanently fixed on Arthur’s face. And the Prince knew that the boy wasn’t asking where he ought to go, if he left.
“Take off your breeches,” he said, and Merlin sucked in his breath, the pale skin on his neck flushing red, and travelling up to his face and ears.
Then, he stood and, with numb fingers, undid his laces, letting his breeches fall. Whereas moments before, he hadn’t been able to look at anything but Arthur, he now wanted to vanish, and turned his head away from the older man.
“Lie down,” Arthur repeated, and when Merlin faltered slightly, when he blinked rapidly because, Gods, something was in his eye, Arthur did nothing but place an arm on his elbow and guide him down, till his cheek was flat against the wood. Till his back and arse were exposed, and he was shivering, eyes squeezed shut.
From where he lay, Merlin heard Arthur’s footsteps, walking away, and then returning. Something inside the manservant twisted, and he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to see Arthur, for comfort or just to have a better idea of what was going on but, at the same time, he wanted to see nothing at all.
And then, there was a touch to his waist and he jumped violently, almost rolling off of the table. Arthur quickly fastened a hand around Merlin’s side, and pulled him back. Merlin’s eyes were open, now, and he could see Arthur was holding a pillow.
“Uh...” he held it out, wordlessly, and Merlin took it, blushing more furiously than ever as his put it beneath his crotch (it hurt, laying on top of the wood like that. Merlin was surprised Arthur had taken this into consideration), “and,” Arthur coughed slightly, as Merlin lowered himself once more, “I think I need to strap you down.”
“No,” Merlin cried out, before biting his lip, embarrassed at the way his voice had broken.
“Merlin, you almost crashed onto the floor just then,” Arthur was already at the leather straps, one strong hand around Merlin’s left wrist. For a moment, Merlin struggled, trying to pull away, but he really wasn’t any match, strength wise, for the Prince.
Within minutes he was completely tied down, and his breaths were becoming painful.
“Arthur,” he whimpered, pulling feebly against the bindings, as the full force of what was about to happen crashed over him, “A-Arthur,” he twisted his neck, helplessly, trying to see him, before he felt a hand on his nape, stroking at the hair there.
“Shh,” Arthur whispered, caressing his skin in a way Merlin had always dreamed about. He sniffed, trying to rub his face on his arm, to hide the tears, because of all the things Merlin had imagined him doing with Arthur, this was the last place he wanted them to happen.
With him, bound and humiliated, and about to be branded like some animal.
Okay, so maybe this situation would do it for some people, but not Merlin. Not... not like this.
“I need you to relax, Merlin,” Arthur said, and Merlin sobbed a little, when the prince removed his hand and walked away again, this time returning with the glowing iron.
“Can’t,” he whispered, instinctively pulling at the straps again.
“Yes, you can,” Arthur insisted, fingers back in Merlin’s hair, petting and stroking.
After a few minutes, Merlin’s breathing slowed, and he asked, “The other servants... have they?” in a quiet voice.
“No,” Arthur replied, “only a King or Prince’s manservant receives this...” he trailed off. This what? Honour didn’t seem like quite the right word.
“So, your manservant before me?” Merlin pressed.
“Merlin,” Arthur spoke softly, kindly, “before you, none of my menservants lasted a year.”
Merlin wondered whether it was wrong of him to feel a twinge of pride, in a situation such as this, but then he was distracted by the way he could feel the heat from the iron, before it even touched his skin. He shuddered, fingers clenching and then unclenching. He could feel his body tensing, and trying to curl up, but the damn straps were hindering him, and tears were pulling at the corners of his eyes.
“I’ve got you, Merlin,” a palm on the pack of his legs, his right thigh, kneading the skin. Comforting, but a horrible contrast to the pain he was about to feel, Merlin knew.
He still couldn’t believe that this was happening. A little while ago, he had been dead to the world: oblivious. And now...
“Keep calm, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, “because if the straps can’t stop you from moving, I’ll have to call in someone else to help hold you down.” Merlin bit down on his lip to stop it trembling. Wasn’t it enough that Arthur, the man he loved, no less, had to see him like this?
“Just do it, Arthur,” he gritted out, because it was getting a bit too much now; tension of waiting, with Arthur’s palm against his naked skin. His eyes were stinging and panic was clawing at his insides. If only he could use magic, just for a moment, and then he mightn’t even have to feel the burn.
“I need to know you’re going to stay still,” Arthur insisted, firmly, his hand tightening on Merlin’s leg, as if in warning.
“You have me tied down, dammit!” Merlin yelled back, choking as the first tears made it past the barrier he had been trying to build up.
Arthur looked down at him, frowning. It wasn’t as if he had never branded a man before, but this was different. This was Merlin, and he was barely more than a boy. A stupid, clumsy, occasionally wise, and possibly loveable, boy. On top of that, he was Arthur’s boy, not just some other random peasant from the streets.
He was half naked, blushing to the roots of his hair, crying and moaning and writhing on the table.
Arthur swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to let gravity do its job and pull it back down to Earth.
“Don’t swear,” he said, after what seemed like an eternity. He wondered if his manservant could heat the tremor in his voice. He didn’t think so, when Merlin let out a half angry half scared hiss, his arms pulling against the leather again, instinctively, his head lifting... “No.” Arthur said, and he slapped Merlin’s arse sharply, before pushing his head back onto the table.
The slap seemed to have made the stubbornness melt out of Merlin’s bones, and Arthur felt hollow and guilty for it, even though it was probably for the best. He stroked the skin, one last time, where he had hit it, trying not to get any pleasure from touching him, because that was just wrong. He was about to brand Merlin, for Gods’ sake.
“Is there... which side, would you prefer?” He asked, finally. Merlin groaned. Why wasn’t this over by now?
“I don’t care, Arthur,” he croaked, and Arthur frowned down at him, before placing his hand on Merlin’s right arse cheek. Suddenly, Merlin shook his head, “not... not there,” he whispered, and another tear was making its way down his face. Arthur made no comment, apart from a soft ‘shush’ing sound, before moving around to the other side of the table.
“Are you going to keep still for me, Merlin? It’ll only be worse if you don’t.” And, if before Merlin had been crying, he was really sobbing now, and he couldn’t even keep quiet anymore, couldn’t stop shaking in his bindings. Arthur sighed, horrified at the way he could feel a pricking in his own eyes.
Now, Arthur might have had a certain... fondness, for his manservant, but this did not and never would result in him crying over it.
“Be quiet,” he said, harshly, placing a hand over Merlin’s mouth. He could feel the boy’s lips working furiously beneath his skin, unintentionally licking him as he tried not to cry.
Arthur pulled away, putting his hand on the small of Merlin’s back, instead, and putting as much pressure on as would keep him still, dammit, even when Merlin whimpered in pain, because this had to be done, and Arthur hated drawing it out.
“Arthur, n-no, wait,” Merlin tried to kick out, as panic well and truly settled over him, but the branding iron was already halfway to meeting his skin.
And then everything was white, and hot, and pain. Merlin screamed.
Arthur knew that Merlin could be stronger than he looked (he had seen him, heaving all the Armour up the stairs, even if he’d never commented on it), but it didn’t make him any more prepared for the way Merlin’s body spasmed beneath the poker. His back arched, pushing his chest harder into the wood, and the noises being ripped from his throat sent jolts of horror through the prince.
Arthur pressed harder against Merlin’s back, forcing the writhing man forwards, holding the iron against his skin.
Merlin had never felt a pain like it. Like his flesh was clawing away from the frame of his body, and moulding around the hot iron. He wanted to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, and then there was the agony of the magic in his veins, tugging behind his eyes, desperate to get out. It wouldn’t let his eyes shut, and Merlin was doing everything in his power to keep it from aiding him. To keep it inside.
And then, with a gasp, Arthur wrenched the metal away, eliciting another broken yell from his manservant. He stumbled back, and dropped the poker into a bucket of icy water, staring down at it, as it hissed and steamed. He found he didn’t want to look away. He didn’t want to look at Merlin.
“Arthur,” Merlin felt the loss of contact keenly, and although this was very much a good thing, he wanted to see Arthur’s face. He twisted desperately, and everything hurt, and his vision was blurred. Suddenly, he was very, very afraid of being left alone, with this throbbing, unfamiliar pain, tied down and helpless, “Arth-“
“I’m here,” Arthur was beside him in a second, “hang on, let me just...” and he was unfastening the leather at his manservant’s wrists and ankles.
When he was unbound, Merlin immediately tried to move, but ended up letting out a whimper, as the material of his nightshirt brushed against his burn.
Arthur didn’t even have to say anything, this time, to make the boy lie back down, completely still. He clenched his fists for a moment, as if steeling himself, and then went round to look at what exactly had been done to Merlin’s, once perfect, white skin.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and didn’t notice Merlin cringe at the sound of it.
The burn was black around the edges, skin curling sickeningly about puckered, red flesh. The initials of Arthur’s name were marked clearly in blisters upon Merlin’s arse, ornate and terrible.
“Is it...” Merlin whispered, and Arthur’s head snapped up to look towards Merlin’s head, “hideous?” and he sounded so scared of the answer he was about to be given, that Arthur didn’t even consider making a joke about how Merlin had always been ugly anyway.
“It’ll get better,” he said, gently, “it’ll soon fade. Not ever completely, obviously. The initials will always be clear. But, with the right treatment, we can heal it.”
Merlin made a soft noise that sounded like an agreement, but could have also just been another snuffle of anguish.
“C’mon,” Arthur said, heavily, “up you get.” Merlin stared up at him, eyes wide and red rimmed. There were still tears leaking down his face, leaving salt encrusted tracks in their wake, and there was snot running towards his upper lip. He looked like a very young child, especially as he wordlessly reached for Arthur, who bent down to allow his manservant to wrap his arms around his neck.
He was shockingly docile, as he let Arthur lift him up, careful not to touch anything below his waist, and set him on the floor. Merlin swayed dangerously, and then let out a cry, as his night shirt pulled at his injury once more.
“Arms up,” Arthur instructed, and once again Merlin obeyed without question, arms lifting into the air. Arthur reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it gently over the boy’s head. Merlin bit his lip to stop any noise from escaping, as he was left, standing naked, in the middle of Arthur’s chambers.
Arthur couldn’t look away, as the shine from the moon outside mixed with the light from the fire, and played on Merlin’s pale skin, colouring the shadows beneath his ribs. He was beautiful, standing there and trembling; unclothed and unearthly. Arthur simply stared, for a moment, before making a decision, grabbing his own shirt, and pulling it roughly over his head. He threw it into a corner of the room and stood, bare-chested, before his manservant. He didn’t make any move towards the ties on his breeches, however:
No matter how many times Merlin had seen Arthur in this state of undress, this was the first time he’d put himself in this position for the boy’s sake, rather than just out of habit, or for convenience. In Arthur’s opinion, stripping to the waist as a way of comforting Merlin, was inappropriate enough as it was.
Merlin’s cheeks were red with embarrassment, and Arthur could see the shame in his eyes, but it had lessoned some, now that Arthur had some skin on show. The prince took a step closer to Merlin; he could hear the younger man’s breath quickening, and he wondered if he was scared.
“It’s okay,” and Arthur pulled Merlin gently to him, wrapping his arms around the slighter man’s middle, allowing him to rest his forehead against his shoulder. Merlin’s own shoulders began to shake, and Arthur could feel a wetness on his skin, where Merlin’s eyes were pressed.
He held on even tighter, feeling Merlin’s shape against him, the bones jutting into him. Merlin’s cock hung limp and heavy between his legs, but Arthur could feel that, too, and he could only imagine how humiliated Merlin must be. Arthur didn’t want that. Not at all.
“You did well, Merlin,” he told him, softly, running his hands through his hair, “don’t worry, I’ve got you. Shh, Merlin, everthing’ll be alright. I’m proud of you. You did so good,” and whether it was the way he was rubbing circles into Merlin’s back, or his soothing words, he wasn’t sure, but Merlin’s heaving sobs slowly became silent tears, and hiccups.
“I...” he gasped against Arthur’s skin, “I’m proud... to be yours,” the words were muffled, but Arthur heard them all, and something inside him lit up. He had always been able to see Merlin’s devotion to him. He remembered laughing with the knights about it, saying how Merlin was like a puppy, always running after its master.
But this... this was something else, entirely. Arthur had never appreciated just how important Merlin was to him; just how much it meant to have someone who’d stand by you, no matter what you asked of them, until that moment. He pressed his lips, lightly, to the top of Merlin’s head, and the boy stiffened slightly, in his arms, before relaxing into the embrace completely.
Merlin was surprised by how completely at home he felt, locked in Arthur’s arms. He had always imagined that, if he ever did hug Arthur, it would be an awkward affair. Maybe, it was because Merlin’s mind was still numb with pain; that his entire bottom half felt like it was on fire, which made being hugged by Arthur feel so natural.
“Hurts, Arthur,” he bit out, teeth clenched against the agony.
“I know,” Arthur said, just as Merlin’s knees gave way, and he slumped. Arthur just managed to grab him, and hold him upright, saying, “come on, onto the bed, that’s it,” and leading Merlin to his big four poster, helping him up, and then laying him down on his front.
Immediately, Merlin started jerking on the bed clothes, eyes wide with terror. Arthur crouched down, so he could look into the boy’s face,“Merlin, what’s wrong?” he asked, anxiously.
Merlin couldn’t reply, apart from twisting desperately, as if trying to roll onto his back. And then Arthur understood. “Merlin,” his voice was choked, “I’m not going to... I’m not going to bind you again, alright? You’re fine now, you’re going to be okay. Just... lying on your back will only make the pain worse.” Merlin gazed at Arthur as he steadily fell still, as if latching onto his voice. He nodded slowly, but was still panting, red lips parted, and slack...
Arthur couldn’t help it. The room was too warm, and Merlin’s mouth looked too wet. He leaned forwards, swiftly, pressing his own lips to Merlin’s, forcing his tongue into that breathy space, a moan escaping him, as he began to move his mouth, urging Merlin to do the same.
And then, he did, Merlin’s fingers flitting up to brush at the side of Arthur’s face, and he dragged himself closer on his elbows, only to shout out, almost clamping his teeth over Arthur’s tongue. Moving, as it turned out, was not a good idea, and Merlin felt faint from the pain of it.
Arthur pulled away quickly, his breeches suddenly straining, because Christ, he’d wanted to do that for a very long time. Any reaction to the kiss Merlin might have had, however, had wilted because of the throbbing in his arse, and he looked desperately sorry and miserable for it, his face scrunched up and his hand reaching for his backside.
“No,” Arthur slapped the hand away, “don’t touch it, Merlin. Hang on,” and Arthur walked quickly to the cupboard at his bedside, flinging it open. He didn’t look back at Merlin, as he located the salve. His lips were still tingling, and he didn’t want to see any regret in Merlin’s lovely, orb like eyes.
Once he had the little bowl of salve, which he had had Gaius prepare earlier, he sat on the edge of the bed, behind Merlin, so that the boy couldn’t see him. Seeing the burn up close, for a second time, was enough to make Arthur’s erection subside. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t believe he could grow to love the way Merlin’s skin changed for him; the way Arthur’s own initials marred the boy’s perfection. In fact, Arthur believed that this might even become one of his favourite parts, on Merlin’s body. The part that belonged, entirely, to him.
But, for now, it was just a reminder of his own cruelty, and he wanted nothing more than to have it washed away.
He coated his hands in the thick, yet clear, paste and then hovered them over the burn. He was surprised to feel his own face heating up, as it truly hit him that Merlin had managed to make him hard with just one kiss, and now he was about to touch his arse, and not for the first time that night.
Hell, Arthur swallowed, his eyes widening, Merlin was naked on his bed. This was... fuck, this was like one of Arthur’s fantasies, being played out right in front of his eyes, only someone had gone and twisted with the opening. He pulled in a deep breath, through his nose, before lowering his hand, pressing it to the raw flesh. Merlin moaned, pressing his face deeper into the mattress.
“Sorry,” Arthur muttered, trying to ignore the stuttering of his heart, at the noises Merlin was making.
Arthur wasn’t ever sure how he got through tending to Merlin. He was trembling and aching again, by the end of it, beads of sweat on his brow, his hands made soft from the salve, his fingers tingling from so much contact with a body that he craved more than anything else. A person who, over the last few hours, he had fallen even deeper in love with than he would have believed possible.
“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, and his voice was heavy with tiredness.
“Yeah?” Arthur whispered, voice hoarse.
“I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”
Arthur hesitated, before laying down on his front, beside the manservant, turning his face so that they were looking at each other. Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath on his face; could see the firelight dancing in his eyes.
“I can fetch you something, to help... from Gaius?” he suggested, even though the last thing he wanted at that moment, was for Merlin to leave him.
Merlin shook his head, shuffling ever so slightly closer, so that now their foreheads were touching. Arthur could almost hear Merlin’s heartbeat, it was going so fast and hard. Or maybe, that was just his own.
“Please stay with me,” Merlin begged, ever so quiet. Arthur reached forwards, a light touch to the boy’s pale forehead, the tip of his nose.
“Anything, love,” he answered, and he wondered that he had earlier felt that taking off his breeches would have been inappropriate. Baring his body to Merlin was nothing like this; that would have been nothing, compared to whispering these words, when they were breathing the same air, sharing the same heat. Arthur had never felt so exposed. Nor had he ever felt so free.
Merlin’s lips curved upwards, slightly, a tiny smile. He ate up Arthur’s words, and felt them inside him. He would never forget them.
After a few hours, Merlin’s eyes drifted shut, and the hand which Arthur had been trailing up and down, over his back, stilled.
“Merlin?” he asked, but Merlin only moved closer to the Prince, allowing himself to be held there, “Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Arthur breathed into his hair, and it wasn’t at all like him to apologise, but he could tell Merlin still hurt, even though the sun was truly rising now, “I’ll fetch some more salve,” and he was about to pull away, when Merlin’s fingers began to scrabble at his chest.
“’M fine,” the boy murmured, looking up at him with tired, red rimmed eyes.
“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur said, relieved to be saying something which didn’t involve ‘sorry’ or ‘I love you’. Gods, Merlin always made everything so complicated, and now Arthur was soothing him in his arms, a thumb running over his chin, the bridge of his nose, up the sharp cheekbones.
Merlin hesitated, before pressing his lips to Arthur’s. It wasn’t as desperate as the first time, and Merlin was determined not to be hindered by his new brand. They took it slow, a whisper of what they’d had before, but still just as enjoyable. Merlin’s tongue ran tentatively across Arthur’s upper lip, his fingers ghosting over the Prince’s chest.
Arthur let him explore his body, allowing himself to forget that this was just a serving boy. He was inexperienced, and injured, but he was still Arthur’s. No one could ever say otherwise; not now, anyway.
Merlin’s hand stopped, high on Arthur’s stomach, and Arthur could practically feel the mixture of nerves and anticipation, rolling off him. Arthur could also tell that, however forwards and outspoken Merlin might usually be, today would be a day he would get nothing done, unless encouraged.
So, the Prince gently took Merlin’s hand, and guided it to his hard on. Merlin gasped into Arthur’s mouth, before pressing the heel of his hand against Arthur’s clothed cock. The man groaned, trying desperately not to rut against Merlin’s hand.
“I-Arthur, I-” Arthur’s eyes flew open, to see Merlin’s tear filled ones.
“Merlin,” he gasped, horrified, fully breaking the kiss, and carefully pulling the boy into an embrace, “Gods Merlin, you don’t have to, you can... oh my god, you don’t want this-”
“No! I do,” Merlin insisted, and his hand was back, palming and rubbing, and there was a determined look in his eyes, “I just wasn’t sure you wanted,” Arthur was panting against Merlin’s neck,
“If course I want it, you idiot,” he breathed. Merlin laughed, and it was such a good sound, that Arthur almost came right there.
Merlin’s fingers pulled at the laces of Arthur’s breeches, desperately, before getting his long fingers beneath, wrapping them around Arthur’s cock. He twisted, kneeling up on the bed perhaps a little too fast, and a scream of agony was ripped through him, before he could control himself. The calloused heel of his foot had pressed into the burn, and he sobbed.
Immediately, Arthur dragged Merlin’s hand away from him, forcing him to lie down again.
“That’s enough, Merlin,” he said, gently, “you need to sleep. You cannot injure yourself further.”
“But-” Merlin began, his expression imploring,
“But nothing,” Arthur interrupted, “I can deal with this,” and he gave his cock a few, slick tugs, before he came all over his own fingers. Merlin moaned, and Arthur couldn’t help the tiny smirk which edged its way over his lips.
“Not many men have the power to make me that hard, that quickly, Merlin,” he said, sliding a hand under Merlin’s belly, and grinning when he realised Merlin was in the same position he’d been in just minutes before, “can I say the same for you?”
Merlin smiled, still hazy from pain and want, and Arthur sighed, hating the way that the mark which had, essentially, brought them together, was the same as the one which now kept them apart.
“I can... fix that for you,” he said, before carefully levering Merlin up again.
“Make up your mind,” Merlin muttered, wincing as he was set back on his knees once more, but this time he had the sense to stay up straight, rather than lowering himself onto his heels. Arthur chuckled, and gave Merlin’s ribs a pinch,
“Nice to see you’re getting some of that old insolence back,”
Merlin grinned, if a little shyly, and Arthur thought it was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.
And then, he was bringing Merlin off, with swift, firm strokes, loving the way Merlin’s lips parted; the way he cried out as he spilled his come all over his own stomach; all over Arthur.
After that, Arthur insisted Merlin slept, no exceptions.
Merlin grumbled something about not being told what to do, and Arthur being an indecisive prat, before getting comfortable. Arthur proceeded to fondly roll his eyes, and then carefully clean the boy up with a warm, damp cloth. By the time he was finished Merlin was, finally, asleep, the little crease between his eyes, the only thing signifying his discomfort, on an otherwise peaceful face.
Arthur hesitated, steeling himself, before laying a soft kiss to Merlin’s burn, tasting the flesh. Then, he lay on his back, beside his manservant, staring up at the ceiling.
Neither of them moved till well into the day, apart from when Merlin shuffled in his sleep, unconsciously wrapping thin limbs around the Prince, and holding on tightly, seemingly without the intention of ever letting go.
Also posted on AO3 and FFnet