While You Were Gone - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: While You Were Gone
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 6292
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A vampire AU set in the Scent 'verse.
Summary: After Arthur's self-control slips, Merlin is brought back from Ealdor to help.
Merlin pulls the bed covers up until the top is nestled around his ears. He's still cold. He never used to be cold in Ealdor, and while midsummer has passed the temperature hasn't dropped nearly enough to make it winter. His bed-sheet seems thinner than before, he thinks. The bed feels lumpier; his pillow is harder. Never used to be like this.
The worst thing, though, is that his bed feels empty. And that is ridiculous - mostly because, with him in it, the bed is most definitely not empty at all. It has a population of one, considerably higher than none. Merlin rolls onto his side. He has the impression that this empty feeling is less because of an actual physical emptiness and more because there's a stupid vampire prat who is currently in Camelot instead of in bed with him where he belongs. He has had this feeling in bed for the last two weeks, ever since Arthur left with an unhappy sigh.
On the other side of the cottage, he hears a creak. It's enough to make his eyes snap open and his muscles tense up. Listening intently, he tries to discern any further sound. His mother says that she only turns during the middle of the month, that the change is periodical around the time that she was first attacked, but he can't make himself relax. In his mind's eye, there is always another change around the corner, always a wolf creeping around the village.
He can't trust her, in a way - and that's the worst part, because she has always, always trusted him. Despite the magic and unknown power racing through his blood, his mother has never viewed him as dangerous, and she's never made him feel like a monster. She's family. Family don't do that to one another.
He closes his eyes and struggles for his sleep. The itchy, thoughtful restlessness that haunts his limbs keeps him awake and he's pretty sure that it will continue to do so until he sees Arthur again. If he didn't know any better he'd say that this is some kind of vengeful vampire curse put upon him for not coming home to Camelot when Arthur had to leave. To be honest, he still hasn't entirely ruled out the possibility. Arthur hadn't said anything against it, understanding Merlin's duty to his mother, but neither of them had wanted this separation. He wonders, frequently, if Arthur resents him for staying - or, even worse, resents his mother for it. There has been no word from Arthur in over a week; he visited once when he was able to escape his duties at the castle, but it had been stilted, awkward. Merlin hadn't been able to escape the overwhelming feeling that the entire visit had just been wrong, plain and simple. Arthur hadn't seemed the same; he hadn't felt the same.
He doesn't want to think about it. He's willing to blame it purely on Arthur being a prat with the emotional maturity of a toddler. That's it, right? That's all.
*
He's jerked from sleep in the morning by his mother's hand shaking his shoulder. "Merlin," she whispers to wake him up. He groans and wonders if it is inappropriate to hex your parents if they are cruel enough to wake you from a sleep you've only just managed to catch. Probably. "Merlin, sweetheart, wake up. You've got a visitor."
Visitor.
Arthur.
His eyes snap open suddenly: why hadn't she said so in the first place? He would've been up and awake and ready to see him in seconds.
Rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand, Merlin sits up sharply and narrowly avoids head-butting his mother in the face. He mumbles an apology and she ruffles a hand through his already-messy bedhead. "She's right outside. I'll tell her you'll be out in a second."
Merlin holds back a sigh of disappointment: unless Arthur has received a fast and unexpected sex change, he isn't the visitor that Merlin has been waiting for. Mingled with the disappointment there is a thread of worry, because this has to mean something. Visitors don't often drop by Ealdor for fun, and if they do then it isn't to visit Merlin. When distant relatives used to visit other families in the village, there would be a very strong suggestion that Merlin ought to stay out of the way. In his childhood, the villagers had noticed that strange accidents always seemed to happen whenever he was around. Bad luck, wasn't he?
He is dressed as soon as is humanly possible, and while it isn't a speed that could rival a vampire he'd say it is still fairly impressive for someone unaided by undead powers. His mother is by the fire making breakfast for three, and she gestures towards the front door for him. He wishes that she'd told him who is waiting for him, but if she'd known then she probably would have.
The door creaks as he opens it, and it takes under a second to spot the woman who does not belong in a place like this. With her exotic beauty, Morgana looks like a visitor from another dimension as she stands close to his house, looking around the village as it starts to wake up for the day. The villagers throw sly, questioning glances their way, looking away in a hurry again as they struggle not to get caught.
She looks at him, her long hair trailing over her shoulders. The green cloak she is wearing must be hot in this summer heat, but she doesn't show any sign of it. Her cheeks aren't flushed. "Merlin," she says with a smile, "you look well."
He looks as if he has just lost a wrestling match with a haystack after having his arse kicked by the bed, but he smiles back all the same. It's a nervous twitch more than any other emotion. He's never spent a lot of time alone with Morgana before, but that isn't what has his nerves in overdrive. If she has come all this way, he doubts it is a social call - and Arthur isn't with her. That means something, and whatever it is it must be bad on a previously unforeseen level.
He can't bother with the social niceities. He's never been good with that. "Is Arthur okay?" he asks.
She doesn't answer straight away. That, alone, is unsettling.
Nor, when she speaks, does she roll her eyes and make a comment about how annoying Arthur is being; her face is serious. "It's the full moon," she says. "He isn't coping well without you there."
Merlin wants to say that he isn't coping especially well without Arthur around either, but something tells him that it isn't quite on the same level. A human missing someone on an emotional level doesn't quite compare to a vampire missing someone on a supernatural level. Merlin shivers: it must be bad if Morgana has come to find him. "I thought I was supposed to stay away from him on the full moon?" he says. "He said it was dangerous to be around him."
And it is; they have proof of that. It's dangerous for them both.
Morgana frowns, lips pursed, before she admits, "I've had to chain him up in the dungeons. He was starting to get violent."
Merlin would have greatly liked to be able to respond with something intelligent, but he feels like this is all going several steps beyond his understanding. The most eloquent thing he can manage to say is, "What?"
Morgana sighs at him: it isn't quite the same as Arthur's annoyed huff, but it has the same apparent tone. "He was insisting upon coming to find you and wouldn't listen to reason. It seemed like the most logical thing to do was to restrain him." She gestures vaguely with her hand: 'can you blame me?' it seems to say.
"Is he hurt?" Merlin asks, baffled.
"Only his pride," Morgana says with a faint smirk. "I left Gwen looking after him, but I thought it would be best to come and fetch you before he works out how to do any damage to himself. Don't worry: he won't hurt you. It'll calm him, I think, to have you there."
"Yeah, yeah, I-" That whole 'speaking' thing is proving far more difficult than he'd anticipated. "I'll go tell my mum then be right out."
Morgana is content to wait, but by the time he comes back outside again she is starting to look more agitated. The full moon is affecting her too, Merlin knows. She might be better at controlling it than Arthur is, but that doesn't mean that the hunger doesn't burn beneath her tightly controlled expression. "Your horse will be too slow," she says when she sees him beginning to walk towards where their livestock are kept. "Walk with me to the edge of the forest, then I'll carry you."
Merlin likes to think of himself as an open-minded individual, but even he can't hold back the disbelieving smile. "You're not serious, right?" She's wearing a long gown and jewels and even though Merlin knows she has the might of the supernatural in her muscles she doesn't look like the kind of person that he wants to trust with carrying him.
Her eyes are dark when she looks at him, bleeding into black, and when she talks he can see the faintest hint of fang. "Perfectly serious. What's the problem? Don't want to have a girl proving she's stronger than you?"
"No. No. It's not like that; I'm not Arthur." Perhaps he's spent a little more time with Arthur than would be good for anybody's mental health, but the problem is nothing to do with that. Or, well, it's mostly nothing to do with that, in any case, though he has to wonder what exactly Uther would have to say about the whole situation. "It's more the 'hungry, full-moon-ish vampire' thing I'm having difficulty with, to be honest."
"You know, Merlin, you could do with being a little bit less honest from time to time," Morgana tells him, reaching out to hold onto his arm and lead him with her on the way out of the village. Her grip is metallic in its strength, as if it has been forged in the hottest fires, and Merlin makes the wise decision not to struggle against it. Struggling with a vampire would be foolish regardless of when in the lunar cycle it was; doing so now would be far past foolish and into 'suicidal' territory.
They walk two-trees worth into the forest, and that is all the privacy that Morgana decides they need. "This'll do," she says, looking around at their surroundings. She lets go of his arm and turns her back on him. "Hop up. Relax; I do this with Gwen all the time."
Merlin isn't sure if he wants to ask when or why, but he's distracted nonetheless by the impatient flapping of her hands. He's seen the way that Arthur's arguments with her always end with her getting her own way in a manner that looks effortless. Arthur never learns from experience; Merlin knows better.
"I hope you don't drop me," is all he says when he places his hands on her shoulders and leaps, his legs slotting around her hips. She catches him and holds on tightly, and he doesn't have time to hear her reassurance before they are off - moving at a speed that causes the world to blur and his eyes to water. Trees rush past so quickly that all Merlin can see is a blob of colour on either side. It hurts his head; he closes his eyes.
He isn't sure how long the journey takes, but by the time the bumping, whooshing movement stops and Morgana tells him that he can open his eyes again, his hands have gone stiff and sore from clinging on for dear life and his legs wobble when she puts him down.
His feet touch down on firm cobblestone and when he opens his eyes the sight of Camelot's tall castle fills his vision. It is still daylight around them, and he can't fight the feeling that this ought to be impossible. "We're here?" he checks, just in order to make sure that this is not a speed-induced hallucination.
"I'm a lot faster than any horse could be," Morgana says. She sounds proud.
Looking around them, Merlin thinks that she's quite right to sound that way. It is definitely something to be proud of.
He's not exactly focused on piling on the praise right now. As soon as he feels capable of walking once more, he looks at Morgana and asks, "Where is he?"
She takes him silently on the downwards journey to the dungeons. Merlin hates this place, robbed of sunlight and filled with damp. The slim windows, high in the ceiling, seem to be there more to show you what you're missing than to offer any real illumination. He shivers, and wishes for a few extra layers of clothing.
"I've got him," Morgana announces as she sweeps into one of the cells, leaving Merlin little option but to trail after her. "Will you stop throwing tantrums like a child now?"
At the far side of the cell there is a sight that makes Merlin's eyes widen with horror. Arthur is chained with iron shackles around his wrists - but his struggles have damaged his skin, leaving blood to trickle freely down his forearms. When he looks towards Merlin, there is nothing but midnight black in his eyes, an open and animalistic hunger. Merlin swallows hard and tries to fight against the instinctual buzz of fear that fires through his veins; he wants to trust Arthur, he really does, but when he's looked at like he's food it is a bloody difficult thing to do.
"Don't worry," Gwen says - and Merlin jumps, startled. He hadn't noticed her there, tucked away in the corner, even though her yellow dress and cautious smile are like drops of sunshine here. "He won't be able to break free. You're safe."
"Is he?" Merlin asks.
"You're here; I'm fine," Arthur reassures him, but his voice is ragged and strained. He isn't panting for breath; he only takes in air when he wants to speak. Merlin can feel the hungry weight of Arthur's gaze upon his neck, unwavering. "Come closer."
He sounds like a wolf out of a fairytale, but Merlin takes a step forward all the same. He's far from obedient at the best of times, but with Arthur chained up and stressed it is difficult to force himself to say no to him. He stops when he is under a step away, and he hears a quiet whine slip from between Arthur's lips; it sounds as if a cold and wet puppy has somehow managed to creep into the dungeons with them.
"You are utterly pathetic, you know," Merlin says.
Arthur does it again. Merlin's fairly sure it's only because he had complained about it - Arthur is nothing if not an attention whore.
"I didn't bring you back here to insult him, Merlin. I can do that perfectly well on my own," Morgana says.
Merlin isn't quite sure what she did actually bring him back for, but he's glad that she did. Otherwise, he would have been moping in Ealdor without a clue about Arthur's condition back here in Camelot. It would have passed him by unnoticed. The distance makes him miss too much.
"Can you leave us alone for a bit?" he suggests. He hopes he doesn't sound rude, although at this point Morgana knows him well enough not to take anything to heart if it slips out of his mouth the wrong way. "I promise I'll scream if he starts trying to kill me."
Morgana nods, and after an unhappy pause Gwen says, "Be careful. He's not himself."
Merlin reassures her that he won't do anything stupid, but he can't agree with her about this not being Arthur. It's him. Maybe it's more him than he is during the rest of the month; the full moon strips away his control and leaves the vampire behind. The girls leave and the door thuds shut behind them.
"You should go," Arthur says. He closes his eyes, screwing them as tightly shut as he can manage. "It's not safe here."
"You're chained to a wall. I'm not nearly as scared as you want me to be."
"You never are," Arthur says. "That's your problem. No sense of self-preservation. If you were a knight you would have been killed years ago."
Merlin prods him in the ribs with two fingers in retaliation. With Arthur's arms chained, there's nothing he can do to defend himself - so he really is one to talk about 'self-preservation'. Perhaps, when immobile, it would be better not to taunt your slightly vengeful boyfriend. He wanders away while Arthur grumbles to fetch the chair that Gwen had been sitting on, dragging it back over to where Arthur is imprisoned. He sits so close that he could reach out and touch him if he dared.
"Are you alright?" he asks. "Really? Do your arms hurt?" They must, being stuck like that, but he isn't too sure. It might be different for vampires. Maybe they can hold obscure positions for hours at a time without any ill effects. Maybe that's another of their powers. Merlin doesn't have a clue and he knows that if he bothered to ask Arthur he wouldn't get an entirely truthful answer anyway.
Arthur gives a tiny twitch of his head, but Merlin can't tell if it's a nod or a shake. Too vague.
"I want to touch you," Arthur says instead, opting for a far more interesting topic than the state of his pained body. It's enough to make Merlin swallow hard. "I swear Morgana is trying to torture me by having you there, smelling like that, looking like that... It's unfair."
Merlin tries to say something in response, but the most that can come out at first is nothing more than a muffled, 'oh'. Considering that Arthur's reply is little more than a vowel sound either, he doesn't feel too bad about it.
"Should I have stayed away?" he asks when he gets control of his mouth again, but he hopes that Arthur doesn't tell him to leave. Now that he's here, he knows that it is going to take the strength of several men - of several vampires, in fact - to get him to leave again in the near future. When they're living apart it hurts but he can handle it; when he's standing by Arthur's side, the thought of leaving is like a threat of torture.
Arthur shakes his head, but he's not looking at Merlin any more. "I attacked someone," he says, a broken confession that stings through the air. "He was in the village. He smelled a little like you, and I..." He trails away, and Merlin can imagine exactly what had happened: one whiff of the right scent on the air at the right time, with the moon heavy in the sky, and Arthur would have been upon him in seconds, so fast that the man wouldn't have had a clue what was happening until the pain registered. "Morgana pulled me off in time, and chained me down here. That's the real reason. I think Gwen brought him to Gaius. He's fine, as far as I'm aware. He survived."
He's trying to sound lofty and unaffected, but Merlin knows him better than that; he knows that Arthur's lack of control bugs him far more than he is willing to say. "No harm done, then. He'll have a few nightmares, but that's it. Nothing to worry about." He smiles in encouragement, but he still doesn't think that it's too convincing.
"Don't, Merlin," Arthur sighs. "Please don't try to make me feel better. You're terrible at it."
Merlin rolls his eyes, and has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything in return. He's not used to forcing himself not to speak back to Arthur, but in this case he'll make an exception: Arthur seems upset enough without him being there to needle at him.
He also looks pale and ill, like he ought to be curled up in bed - preferably with Merlin at his side - instead of being locked down in a dank dungeon. It isn't right, not at all, but if he's too dangerous to be near others then they have very little choice.
Merlin looks up at Arthur for a few thoughtful moments, a frown on his face as he tried to think this all through. Within twenty-four hours, the effects would probably have passed and Arthur would be back to normal. It should have been nothing more than a waiting game, which sounded so simple. When he was sitting so close to Arthur, however, a front row seat at his suffering, waiting and watching was far more torturous than it ever could have sounded.
"You could drink," he offers, barely thinking about it. If he thinks about it, there will be too many drawbacks and too many potential mishaps, and Arthur will have to look hungry and pained and miserable until tomorrow morning. That's a long time to wait. "Just a little, I mean. Maybe from my finger, like the first time."
Arthur looks up at him, doubt already laced through his expression - but his eyes are black like the darkest, dampest cave. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. It's too dangerous."
"You're chained up and can hardly move. I'll remind you that I'm not feeling exceptionally scared right now."
"I know you have an extremely short attention span, but do you remember what happened the last time I fed from you? Morgana had to wrestle us apart. You fainted. I turned Gaius into a squirrel."
"...I did not faint," Merlin huffs after a delicate pause. There may have been a short period of unconsciousness, but that was far removed from fainting. Really. "And, again, that's not going to happen this time. I want to help, Arthur. You look miserable."
"I am miserable," Arthur sighs, working on his best kicked puppy expression. His brow is creased, his head is dipped to look down at the ground and Merlin thinks that his conscience and his hunger would probably wrestle all night if they were given the chance. He'd like to say that Arthur has far more control than he gives himself credit for, but there is an injured man in Gaius's chambers who would probably argue against that statement.
"I'm going to cut my finger," Merlin announces. "It's up to you if you have a taste or not, but... It's a 'free for all' if you're interested. Or, actually, just a 'free for Arthur'. Morgana's lovely, but I don't want her to start sucking on my finger, and my only other experience with vampires was with Edwin and I don't want him to suck my finger either. Just you." He clears his throat. He isn't really sure where he's going with this.
Arthur has had the melancholy baffled out of him, for now. His black eyes blink, he clears his throat, and then he says, "I don't want anyone else to suck your finger either."
Merlin feels that his life has taken another few steps into complete and utter ridiculousness.
He's strangely okay with this.
"Right. Well, I'm glad we got that cleared up. I'm going to stop talking and get on with the cutting now."
"Probably for the best," Arthur agrees, with a hint of a smirk on his face. That's alright, then. If Arthur is smirking, that must mean that his inner prattishness is still in tact. He's okay, deep down.
Merlin covers his pinkie finger with one hand, partly for effect and mostly because it's gross. A muttered word and a golden flash of his eyes later, he winces at the small slice of pain. It's slightly deeper than a papercut, but not by much - and even so small, it's enough to make Arthur moan once the first drop wells up from the cut and the scent enters the air.
"Merlin, get over here," he orders, his voice rasping. Merlin hesitates for only a second, enough time to squeeze at his little finger to produce more blood, but the gap is enough time to make Arthur thrash angrily, the chains holding him rattling. There is barely any give in them at all so he can't move far, but Merlin looks up and wonders if Arthur might be able to snap them completely if he wanted to. He doesn't particularly want to test the theory.
Standing up from the chair he'd been sitting in, he approaches Arthur. He has to get far closer than is probably healthy, and Arthur's eyes are so black and starving that Merlin's heart begins to thud with unease. He reminds himself of his magic, of the chains holding Arthur back, and of Morgana who must be lurking nearby. There is really no danger here.
Arthur opens his mouth, lips parting for Merlin as he places his finger between them. Arthur sucks it inside, his tongue tracing the cut, and he moans loudly in a way that is downright carnal. It should be far more disturbing than it is, because this isn't what regular boyfriends do. Merlin hasn't even kissed Arthur in far too long. You don't skip straight to the finger-sucking. It's jumping ahead a few steps of foreplay, Merlin thinks, but he shuffles closer and watches, entranced. He feels that someone licking blood from his finger shouldn't feel nearly as good as it does, but he's far past the point of questioning the way that Arthur makes him feel. Most of the time he is, anyway.
Arthur allows Merlin's finger to drop from his mouth, and he says, "Your wrist would be better." He's breathing heavily out of habit, and Merlin had thought that he might sound drunk after this: he doesn't. It's the opposite. He sounds more alert and awake than he ever has before. There is a shimmer of gold beginning to invade the ink of his eyes. "Remember to stop me before I go too far."
"Of course," Merlin says, with the hint of a smile and the shadow of a laugh. "I'm not stupid."
"I'm not convinced of that," Arthur says. Merlin thinks they're just going through the motions, bickering because they're used to it. There's no joy there, not right now. They're distracted. "Hurry up."
Merlin should kick him in the shins and tell him to be more polite, but he's raising his arm so that his wrist is by Arthur's mouth before he thinks of a single thing. He's so close to Arthur now that he could easily curl against his chest and rest his head on Arthur's shoulder. If Arthur's arms weren't chained above his head he would be able to reach out and hold him.
Fangs extend and he bites, causing a sharp blast of pain. Blood trickles. Arthur's eyes close.
Merlin breathes through clenched teeth and reminds himself that he can stop this at any second. He started it; it was his idea. His chest moves shallowly, and his eyes watch as Arthur's throat moves to swallow. He's close enough that he can hear the sounds coming from Arthur's chest; it's like the purring of a cat, of a lion tamed. Arthur's tongue swipes against the cuts he's made as the blood flows, and he sucks and swallows with greed.
The pain is beginning to fade by now, but he knows that he needs to pull away before this ends far more messily than it needs to. "Arthur," he says. "I need to pull back now. Okay?"
Arthur licks, kitten-like, at his wrist. It tickles, and Merlin smiles. He's not in much of a hurry any more, not when Arthur is being more cute than terrifying.
"I don't understand how someone who is such a brat can taste so sweet," Arthur says, murmuring the words against Merlin's wrist. "I feel amazing."
His eyes are swimming in gold now, Merlin realises when Arthur looks at him. He starts to lower his arm and Arthur allows him to do so with nothing other than a sigh of complaint. His wrist is beginning to hurt again now that he isn't distracted, and he knows that he should have been more organised. He's seen Morgana feeding from Gwen before and he knows that they always have supplies; towel and bandages and who knew what else. He only has his other hand, clamping down painfully around his wrist to get the blood to stop.
"Let me," Arthur suggests, his cool hand moving to replace Merlin's. His touch tingles - and it's right then that Merlin remembers that Arthur should not be at all in a state of wrist-grabbing at all: he's supposed to be chained up right now. Merlin looks up from his wrist and finds that Arthur's hands are free, with the shackles hanging down, empty now. His eyes swirl with gold and Merlin wonders if he looks like that when he's using magic, so inhuman. Arthur looks like he's from another planet, beautiful in a way he would never admit to. "Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you." Arthur smiles at him indulgently, much more good-natured after feeding than he is at any other time.
"I'm not entirely sure if I believe you," Merlin admits, and when he looks down at his wrist where Arthur is holding onto him, covering the wound, he can see a golden haze surrounding it. He swallows. "Are you trying to dissolve my wrist?"
"I'm trying to fix it," Arthur says, quietly. There is a rusty smear of blood around his mouth and down his chin, little dribbling lines that are beginning to dry. He looks like a child who has gorged himself on chocolate cake. "Don't speak. If you distract me I might do something odd."
"Like you did with Gaius?"
"Exactly." Arthur's grin widens, even as he looks down with single-minded focus at Merlin's wrist. It tickles and tingles like something is running across it. "You might end up with a squirrel for a hand. I'd like to see you trying to harvest with that."
"He'd be trying to eat the wheat even as we were bringing it in. Might cause a bit of trouble."
"Might get you sent back here for good," Arthur muses. "I can't see the downside."
"I'd set my squirrel-hand on your boots. All of them. Even your shiny black ones."
"Ah. Now I see the downside." Arthur grins and pulls his hand away from Merlin's wrist. "How is it?"
Merlin looks down. The skin is healed so that only sticky, drying blood remains, along with a pink tinge of freshly healed skin where the bitemark had been. He's never been able to heal someone like that before; he's never tried for fear of accidentally killing them. That either makes Arthur more talented or more reckless than he is. He's inclined to go for the latter option. "It's fine," he says, rotating the joint experimentally. "Good as new."
"I'll put Gaius out of business any day now," Arthur says proudly. Merlin has his doubts, considering that the magic of his blood will fade out of Arthur's system soon, but he doesn't say much at all. "Let's sit down."
"There's only one chair."
"That really isn't a problem." Arthur sits down and his impossibly strong arms tug Merlin after him; a well-aimed foot at Merlin's ankles ensures that he falls rather spectacularly into Arthur's lap. Arthur's arms slide around his waist and he nuzzles against the back of his neck. "See?"
"This is one solution, that's true," Merlin agrees; it's a little too easy to rest against Arthur, relaxing completely, with all of the warnings about being on guard during the full moon slipping from his mind. He doesn't feel safe, as such, but he isn't worried for his life. "You get awfully snuggly during the full moon, you know."
"It's a vampire thing," Arthur announces.
He's using that voice he always uses when he wants to sound as if he knows what he's talking about. Merlin is slowly becoming immune to it. "Oh really?"
"Mm, yes. It's a very mystical thing," Arthur murmurs. "Don't worry yourself trying to understand it. It's far too... advanced."
Merlin wants to stop smiling, well aware that he looks as if he is missing half his brain, but it won't go away. There's a warmth in his belly and Arthur's arms are around him, and despite the full moon he thinks they're both fairly safe and happy - no chains required. "I'm a very powerful sorcerer," he says. "I'm sure I could understand it far better than you ever could."
Arthur nudges him on the shoulder; it's nearly enough to make him fall. "You should stop being a brat," he complains.
Merlin smiles and continues to argue with him, taking the time to make Arthur stop and wipe his mouth clean. He might love Arthur in a funny kind of way, but until he learns not to be such an incredibly messy eater Merlin doesn't think they're ready to take the same route as Morgana and Gwen have. The gold gradually fades from Arthur's eyes, a charge hanging in the air as they talk. Merlin listens and smiles and can only think of just how much he's missed him.
*
The full moon passes. Both black and gold disappear from Arthur's eyes, and along with Morgana he goes back to normal - to being a prat without the risk of surprise bites or cuddles. They visit Gaius in the morning to visit the man Arthur had attacked; his eyes go wide when they enter, but he doesn't say a word. Arthur approaches and kneels down beside him. There is a bandage on his neck and a sling holding his arm in place.
"A few broken bones and some cracked ribs. His neck is in a very poor state," Gaius tells Merlin in a hushed voice near the door while Arthur and his victim talk. "In all truthfulness, he is lucky to be alive."
Merlin watches Arthur's heart-felt apology and can see the tension that has crept into his back. It's hard to think of him as being the cause of all that damage, even with the pain that Arthur has inflicted upon him from time to time. Arthur may be a prat; he may be arrogant and self-centred and he may be determinedly obnoxious at times, but it is difficult to see him as a monster. Here, right in front of them, there is the evidence of the destruction he can cause. If it hadn't been for Morgana, this man would have been dead in all likeliness.
They don't stay for long before Arthur leaves and Merlin trails behind him. Arthur has lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence; Merlin thinks that he's brooding.
Brooding never leads to anything good.
"It wasn't your fault; you weren't in your right mind," Merlin says. He's having to half-jog to keep up with Arthur's speedy walk. "You can't blame yourself."
"I'm blaming myself because I'm the one that did it. I attacked him, I drank from you..." He doesn't stop walking. He doesn't even look towards Merlin. "Morgana shouldn't have brought you back. You were safer when you were away."
"I'm glad she did. I would have been downright angry if I hadn't been told about this," Merlin snaps. He's angrier than he's supposed to be right now. "I'm your boyfriend, you arse. I'm supposed to be here for stuff like this."
"You're a servant, Merlin. You're 'supposed' to do as I tell you, and right now you're supposed to be in Ealdor looking after your mother. Remember?"
It's with a stab of guilt that Merlin looks down and stops walking. He knows that he shouldn't take anything that Arthur says right now to heart; he's upset, in his very own vampirey, princely way. He needs someone to be firm yet sympathetic - and he needs someone with much thicker skin than Merlin possesses.
"I remember," he says, "but I think I'm needed here too. When I'm not around, people get hurt." It sounds like an accusation, and in a way it is. He doesn't want to make Arthur feel any worse than he already does, but the words seem to say themselves as if he's not in control. He wonders if that is how Arthur feels when he attacks defenceless humans. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I need to be around her and you. You won't come to Ealdor. If I bring my mother here, will she have somewhere to live?"
It sounds as if they're fighting, and any passers-by might decide to avoid their presence where they stand half-way down a corridor, snapping and sniping. To Merlin, it feels as if they might be negotiating.
Arthur's eyes have narrowed with anger, but he says, "She would be provided for. You would be too."
Merlin nods, even though he has no idea whether or not his mother would be willing to do such a thing. She has lived in Ealdor for all of her life. They have a life there: they have friends and property and farmland to tend to, but if it is possible to tempt her away then Merlin will do so. This full moon has taught him the dangers of separation from a vampire latched upon you; he doesn't want to make the same mistake again.
"I'll go and see what I can do," he says - and even though he knows that Arthur likes him to be where he can see him when he's in the castle, he turns to walk in the opposite direction. It's small and petty; it feels like he's trying to punish Arthur, but that isn't the case at all. He looks down at the stone floor as he walks, his shoulders hunched. He needs to get away from Arthur for now before he says anything more to make him feel even worse. Sometimes separation is as important as the reunion.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 6292
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A vampire AU set in the Scent 'verse.
Summary: After Arthur's self-control slips, Merlin is brought back from Ealdor to help.
Merlin pulls the bed covers up until the top is nestled around his ears. He's still cold. He never used to be cold in Ealdor, and while midsummer has passed the temperature hasn't dropped nearly enough to make it winter. His bed-sheet seems thinner than before, he thinks. The bed feels lumpier; his pillow is harder. Never used to be like this.
The worst thing, though, is that his bed feels empty. And that is ridiculous - mostly because, with him in it, the bed is most definitely not empty at all. It has a population of one, considerably higher than none. Merlin rolls onto his side. He has the impression that this empty feeling is less because of an actual physical emptiness and more because there's a stupid vampire prat who is currently in Camelot instead of in bed with him where he belongs. He has had this feeling in bed for the last two weeks, ever since Arthur left with an unhappy sigh.
On the other side of the cottage, he hears a creak. It's enough to make his eyes snap open and his muscles tense up. Listening intently, he tries to discern any further sound. His mother says that she only turns during the middle of the month, that the change is periodical around the time that she was first attacked, but he can't make himself relax. In his mind's eye, there is always another change around the corner, always a wolf creeping around the village.
He can't trust her, in a way - and that's the worst part, because she has always, always trusted him. Despite the magic and unknown power racing through his blood, his mother has never viewed him as dangerous, and she's never made him feel like a monster. She's family. Family don't do that to one another.
He closes his eyes and struggles for his sleep. The itchy, thoughtful restlessness that haunts his limbs keeps him awake and he's pretty sure that it will continue to do so until he sees Arthur again. If he didn't know any better he'd say that this is some kind of vengeful vampire curse put upon him for not coming home to Camelot when Arthur had to leave. To be honest, he still hasn't entirely ruled out the possibility. Arthur hadn't said anything against it, understanding Merlin's duty to his mother, but neither of them had wanted this separation. He wonders, frequently, if Arthur resents him for staying - or, even worse, resents his mother for it. There has been no word from Arthur in over a week; he visited once when he was able to escape his duties at the castle, but it had been stilted, awkward. Merlin hadn't been able to escape the overwhelming feeling that the entire visit had just been wrong, plain and simple. Arthur hadn't seemed the same; he hadn't felt the same.
He doesn't want to think about it. He's willing to blame it purely on Arthur being a prat with the emotional maturity of a toddler. That's it, right? That's all.
*
He's jerked from sleep in the morning by his mother's hand shaking his shoulder. "Merlin," she whispers to wake him up. He groans and wonders if it is inappropriate to hex your parents if they are cruel enough to wake you from a sleep you've only just managed to catch. Probably. "Merlin, sweetheart, wake up. You've got a visitor."
Visitor.
Arthur.
His eyes snap open suddenly: why hadn't she said so in the first place? He would've been up and awake and ready to see him in seconds.
Rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand, Merlin sits up sharply and narrowly avoids head-butting his mother in the face. He mumbles an apology and she ruffles a hand through his already-messy bedhead. "She's right outside. I'll tell her you'll be out in a second."
Merlin holds back a sigh of disappointment: unless Arthur has received a fast and unexpected sex change, he isn't the visitor that Merlin has been waiting for. Mingled with the disappointment there is a thread of worry, because this has to mean something. Visitors don't often drop by Ealdor for fun, and if they do then it isn't to visit Merlin. When distant relatives used to visit other families in the village, there would be a very strong suggestion that Merlin ought to stay out of the way. In his childhood, the villagers had noticed that strange accidents always seemed to happen whenever he was around. Bad luck, wasn't he?
He is dressed as soon as is humanly possible, and while it isn't a speed that could rival a vampire he'd say it is still fairly impressive for someone unaided by undead powers. His mother is by the fire making breakfast for three, and she gestures towards the front door for him. He wishes that she'd told him who is waiting for him, but if she'd known then she probably would have.
The door creaks as he opens it, and it takes under a second to spot the woman who does not belong in a place like this. With her exotic beauty, Morgana looks like a visitor from another dimension as she stands close to his house, looking around the village as it starts to wake up for the day. The villagers throw sly, questioning glances their way, looking away in a hurry again as they struggle not to get caught.
She looks at him, her long hair trailing over her shoulders. The green cloak she is wearing must be hot in this summer heat, but she doesn't show any sign of it. Her cheeks aren't flushed. "Merlin," she says with a smile, "you look well."
He looks as if he has just lost a wrestling match with a haystack after having his arse kicked by the bed, but he smiles back all the same. It's a nervous twitch more than any other emotion. He's never spent a lot of time alone with Morgana before, but that isn't what has his nerves in overdrive. If she has come all this way, he doubts it is a social call - and Arthur isn't with her. That means something, and whatever it is it must be bad on a previously unforeseen level.
He can't bother with the social niceities. He's never been good with that. "Is Arthur okay?" he asks.
She doesn't answer straight away. That, alone, is unsettling.
Nor, when she speaks, does she roll her eyes and make a comment about how annoying Arthur is being; her face is serious. "It's the full moon," she says. "He isn't coping well without you there."
Merlin wants to say that he isn't coping especially well without Arthur around either, but something tells him that it isn't quite on the same level. A human missing someone on an emotional level doesn't quite compare to a vampire missing someone on a supernatural level. Merlin shivers: it must be bad if Morgana has come to find him. "I thought I was supposed to stay away from him on the full moon?" he says. "He said it was dangerous to be around him."
And it is; they have proof of that. It's dangerous for them both.
Morgana frowns, lips pursed, before she admits, "I've had to chain him up in the dungeons. He was starting to get violent."
Merlin would have greatly liked to be able to respond with something intelligent, but he feels like this is all going several steps beyond his understanding. The most eloquent thing he can manage to say is, "What?"
Morgana sighs at him: it isn't quite the same as Arthur's annoyed huff, but it has the same apparent tone. "He was insisting upon coming to find you and wouldn't listen to reason. It seemed like the most logical thing to do was to restrain him." She gestures vaguely with her hand: 'can you blame me?' it seems to say.
"Is he hurt?" Merlin asks, baffled.
"Only his pride," Morgana says with a faint smirk. "I left Gwen looking after him, but I thought it would be best to come and fetch you before he works out how to do any damage to himself. Don't worry: he won't hurt you. It'll calm him, I think, to have you there."
"Yeah, yeah, I-" That whole 'speaking' thing is proving far more difficult than he'd anticipated. "I'll go tell my mum then be right out."
Morgana is content to wait, but by the time he comes back outside again she is starting to look more agitated. The full moon is affecting her too, Merlin knows. She might be better at controlling it than Arthur is, but that doesn't mean that the hunger doesn't burn beneath her tightly controlled expression. "Your horse will be too slow," she says when she sees him beginning to walk towards where their livestock are kept. "Walk with me to the edge of the forest, then I'll carry you."
Merlin likes to think of himself as an open-minded individual, but even he can't hold back the disbelieving smile. "You're not serious, right?" She's wearing a long gown and jewels and even though Merlin knows she has the might of the supernatural in her muscles she doesn't look like the kind of person that he wants to trust with carrying him.
Her eyes are dark when she looks at him, bleeding into black, and when she talks he can see the faintest hint of fang. "Perfectly serious. What's the problem? Don't want to have a girl proving she's stronger than you?"
"No. No. It's not like that; I'm not Arthur." Perhaps he's spent a little more time with Arthur than would be good for anybody's mental health, but the problem is nothing to do with that. Or, well, it's mostly nothing to do with that, in any case, though he has to wonder what exactly Uther would have to say about the whole situation. "It's more the 'hungry, full-moon-ish vampire' thing I'm having difficulty with, to be honest."
"You know, Merlin, you could do with being a little bit less honest from time to time," Morgana tells him, reaching out to hold onto his arm and lead him with her on the way out of the village. Her grip is metallic in its strength, as if it has been forged in the hottest fires, and Merlin makes the wise decision not to struggle against it. Struggling with a vampire would be foolish regardless of when in the lunar cycle it was; doing so now would be far past foolish and into 'suicidal' territory.
They walk two-trees worth into the forest, and that is all the privacy that Morgana decides they need. "This'll do," she says, looking around at their surroundings. She lets go of his arm and turns her back on him. "Hop up. Relax; I do this with Gwen all the time."
Merlin isn't sure if he wants to ask when or why, but he's distracted nonetheless by the impatient flapping of her hands. He's seen the way that Arthur's arguments with her always end with her getting her own way in a manner that looks effortless. Arthur never learns from experience; Merlin knows better.
"I hope you don't drop me," is all he says when he places his hands on her shoulders and leaps, his legs slotting around her hips. She catches him and holds on tightly, and he doesn't have time to hear her reassurance before they are off - moving at a speed that causes the world to blur and his eyes to water. Trees rush past so quickly that all Merlin can see is a blob of colour on either side. It hurts his head; he closes his eyes.
He isn't sure how long the journey takes, but by the time the bumping, whooshing movement stops and Morgana tells him that he can open his eyes again, his hands have gone stiff and sore from clinging on for dear life and his legs wobble when she puts him down.
His feet touch down on firm cobblestone and when he opens his eyes the sight of Camelot's tall castle fills his vision. It is still daylight around them, and he can't fight the feeling that this ought to be impossible. "We're here?" he checks, just in order to make sure that this is not a speed-induced hallucination.
"I'm a lot faster than any horse could be," Morgana says. She sounds proud.
Looking around them, Merlin thinks that she's quite right to sound that way. It is definitely something to be proud of.
He's not exactly focused on piling on the praise right now. As soon as he feels capable of walking once more, he looks at Morgana and asks, "Where is he?"
She takes him silently on the downwards journey to the dungeons. Merlin hates this place, robbed of sunlight and filled with damp. The slim windows, high in the ceiling, seem to be there more to show you what you're missing than to offer any real illumination. He shivers, and wishes for a few extra layers of clothing.
"I've got him," Morgana announces as she sweeps into one of the cells, leaving Merlin little option but to trail after her. "Will you stop throwing tantrums like a child now?"
At the far side of the cell there is a sight that makes Merlin's eyes widen with horror. Arthur is chained with iron shackles around his wrists - but his struggles have damaged his skin, leaving blood to trickle freely down his forearms. When he looks towards Merlin, there is nothing but midnight black in his eyes, an open and animalistic hunger. Merlin swallows hard and tries to fight against the instinctual buzz of fear that fires through his veins; he wants to trust Arthur, he really does, but when he's looked at like he's food it is a bloody difficult thing to do.
"Don't worry," Gwen says - and Merlin jumps, startled. He hadn't noticed her there, tucked away in the corner, even though her yellow dress and cautious smile are like drops of sunshine here. "He won't be able to break free. You're safe."
"Is he?" Merlin asks.
"You're here; I'm fine," Arthur reassures him, but his voice is ragged and strained. He isn't panting for breath; he only takes in air when he wants to speak. Merlin can feel the hungry weight of Arthur's gaze upon his neck, unwavering. "Come closer."
He sounds like a wolf out of a fairytale, but Merlin takes a step forward all the same. He's far from obedient at the best of times, but with Arthur chained up and stressed it is difficult to force himself to say no to him. He stops when he is under a step away, and he hears a quiet whine slip from between Arthur's lips; it sounds as if a cold and wet puppy has somehow managed to creep into the dungeons with them.
"You are utterly pathetic, you know," Merlin says.
Arthur does it again. Merlin's fairly sure it's only because he had complained about it - Arthur is nothing if not an attention whore.
"I didn't bring you back here to insult him, Merlin. I can do that perfectly well on my own," Morgana says.
Merlin isn't quite sure what she did actually bring him back for, but he's glad that she did. Otherwise, he would have been moping in Ealdor without a clue about Arthur's condition back here in Camelot. It would have passed him by unnoticed. The distance makes him miss too much.
"Can you leave us alone for a bit?" he suggests. He hopes he doesn't sound rude, although at this point Morgana knows him well enough not to take anything to heart if it slips out of his mouth the wrong way. "I promise I'll scream if he starts trying to kill me."
Morgana nods, and after an unhappy pause Gwen says, "Be careful. He's not himself."
Merlin reassures her that he won't do anything stupid, but he can't agree with her about this not being Arthur. It's him. Maybe it's more him than he is during the rest of the month; the full moon strips away his control and leaves the vampire behind. The girls leave and the door thuds shut behind them.
"You should go," Arthur says. He closes his eyes, screwing them as tightly shut as he can manage. "It's not safe here."
"You're chained to a wall. I'm not nearly as scared as you want me to be."
"You never are," Arthur says. "That's your problem. No sense of self-preservation. If you were a knight you would have been killed years ago."
Merlin prods him in the ribs with two fingers in retaliation. With Arthur's arms chained, there's nothing he can do to defend himself - so he really is one to talk about 'self-preservation'. Perhaps, when immobile, it would be better not to taunt your slightly vengeful boyfriend. He wanders away while Arthur grumbles to fetch the chair that Gwen had been sitting on, dragging it back over to where Arthur is imprisoned. He sits so close that he could reach out and touch him if he dared.
"Are you alright?" he asks. "Really? Do your arms hurt?" They must, being stuck like that, but he isn't too sure. It might be different for vampires. Maybe they can hold obscure positions for hours at a time without any ill effects. Maybe that's another of their powers. Merlin doesn't have a clue and he knows that if he bothered to ask Arthur he wouldn't get an entirely truthful answer anyway.
Arthur gives a tiny twitch of his head, but Merlin can't tell if it's a nod or a shake. Too vague.
"I want to touch you," Arthur says instead, opting for a far more interesting topic than the state of his pained body. It's enough to make Merlin swallow hard. "I swear Morgana is trying to torture me by having you there, smelling like that, looking like that... It's unfair."
Merlin tries to say something in response, but the most that can come out at first is nothing more than a muffled, 'oh'. Considering that Arthur's reply is little more than a vowel sound either, he doesn't feel too bad about it.
"Should I have stayed away?" he asks when he gets control of his mouth again, but he hopes that Arthur doesn't tell him to leave. Now that he's here, he knows that it is going to take the strength of several men - of several vampires, in fact - to get him to leave again in the near future. When they're living apart it hurts but he can handle it; when he's standing by Arthur's side, the thought of leaving is like a threat of torture.
Arthur shakes his head, but he's not looking at Merlin any more. "I attacked someone," he says, a broken confession that stings through the air. "He was in the village. He smelled a little like you, and I..." He trails away, and Merlin can imagine exactly what had happened: one whiff of the right scent on the air at the right time, with the moon heavy in the sky, and Arthur would have been upon him in seconds, so fast that the man wouldn't have had a clue what was happening until the pain registered. "Morgana pulled me off in time, and chained me down here. That's the real reason. I think Gwen brought him to Gaius. He's fine, as far as I'm aware. He survived."
He's trying to sound lofty and unaffected, but Merlin knows him better than that; he knows that Arthur's lack of control bugs him far more than he is willing to say. "No harm done, then. He'll have a few nightmares, but that's it. Nothing to worry about." He smiles in encouragement, but he still doesn't think that it's too convincing.
"Don't, Merlin," Arthur sighs. "Please don't try to make me feel better. You're terrible at it."
Merlin rolls his eyes, and has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything in return. He's not used to forcing himself not to speak back to Arthur, but in this case he'll make an exception: Arthur seems upset enough without him being there to needle at him.
He also looks pale and ill, like he ought to be curled up in bed - preferably with Merlin at his side - instead of being locked down in a dank dungeon. It isn't right, not at all, but if he's too dangerous to be near others then they have very little choice.
Merlin looks up at Arthur for a few thoughtful moments, a frown on his face as he tried to think this all through. Within twenty-four hours, the effects would probably have passed and Arthur would be back to normal. It should have been nothing more than a waiting game, which sounded so simple. When he was sitting so close to Arthur, however, a front row seat at his suffering, waiting and watching was far more torturous than it ever could have sounded.
"You could drink," he offers, barely thinking about it. If he thinks about it, there will be too many drawbacks and too many potential mishaps, and Arthur will have to look hungry and pained and miserable until tomorrow morning. That's a long time to wait. "Just a little, I mean. Maybe from my finger, like the first time."
Arthur looks up at him, doubt already laced through his expression - but his eyes are black like the darkest, dampest cave. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. It's too dangerous."
"You're chained up and can hardly move. I'll remind you that I'm not feeling exceptionally scared right now."
"I know you have an extremely short attention span, but do you remember what happened the last time I fed from you? Morgana had to wrestle us apart. You fainted. I turned Gaius into a squirrel."
"...I did not faint," Merlin huffs after a delicate pause. There may have been a short period of unconsciousness, but that was far removed from fainting. Really. "And, again, that's not going to happen this time. I want to help, Arthur. You look miserable."
"I am miserable," Arthur sighs, working on his best kicked puppy expression. His brow is creased, his head is dipped to look down at the ground and Merlin thinks that his conscience and his hunger would probably wrestle all night if they were given the chance. He'd like to say that Arthur has far more control than he gives himself credit for, but there is an injured man in Gaius's chambers who would probably argue against that statement.
"I'm going to cut my finger," Merlin announces. "It's up to you if you have a taste or not, but... It's a 'free for all' if you're interested. Or, actually, just a 'free for Arthur'. Morgana's lovely, but I don't want her to start sucking on my finger, and my only other experience with vampires was with Edwin and I don't want him to suck my finger either. Just you." He clears his throat. He isn't really sure where he's going with this.
Arthur has had the melancholy baffled out of him, for now. His black eyes blink, he clears his throat, and then he says, "I don't want anyone else to suck your finger either."
Merlin feels that his life has taken another few steps into complete and utter ridiculousness.
He's strangely okay with this.
"Right. Well, I'm glad we got that cleared up. I'm going to stop talking and get on with the cutting now."
"Probably for the best," Arthur agrees, with a hint of a smirk on his face. That's alright, then. If Arthur is smirking, that must mean that his inner prattishness is still in tact. He's okay, deep down.
Merlin covers his pinkie finger with one hand, partly for effect and mostly because it's gross. A muttered word and a golden flash of his eyes later, he winces at the small slice of pain. It's slightly deeper than a papercut, but not by much - and even so small, it's enough to make Arthur moan once the first drop wells up from the cut and the scent enters the air.
"Merlin, get over here," he orders, his voice rasping. Merlin hesitates for only a second, enough time to squeeze at his little finger to produce more blood, but the gap is enough time to make Arthur thrash angrily, the chains holding him rattling. There is barely any give in them at all so he can't move far, but Merlin looks up and wonders if Arthur might be able to snap them completely if he wanted to. He doesn't particularly want to test the theory.
Standing up from the chair he'd been sitting in, he approaches Arthur. He has to get far closer than is probably healthy, and Arthur's eyes are so black and starving that Merlin's heart begins to thud with unease. He reminds himself of his magic, of the chains holding Arthur back, and of Morgana who must be lurking nearby. There is really no danger here.
Arthur opens his mouth, lips parting for Merlin as he places his finger between them. Arthur sucks it inside, his tongue tracing the cut, and he moans loudly in a way that is downright carnal. It should be far more disturbing than it is, because this isn't what regular boyfriends do. Merlin hasn't even kissed Arthur in far too long. You don't skip straight to the finger-sucking. It's jumping ahead a few steps of foreplay, Merlin thinks, but he shuffles closer and watches, entranced. He feels that someone licking blood from his finger shouldn't feel nearly as good as it does, but he's far past the point of questioning the way that Arthur makes him feel. Most of the time he is, anyway.
Arthur allows Merlin's finger to drop from his mouth, and he says, "Your wrist would be better." He's breathing heavily out of habit, and Merlin had thought that he might sound drunk after this: he doesn't. It's the opposite. He sounds more alert and awake than he ever has before. There is a shimmer of gold beginning to invade the ink of his eyes. "Remember to stop me before I go too far."
"Of course," Merlin says, with the hint of a smile and the shadow of a laugh. "I'm not stupid."
"I'm not convinced of that," Arthur says. Merlin thinks they're just going through the motions, bickering because they're used to it. There's no joy there, not right now. They're distracted. "Hurry up."
Merlin should kick him in the shins and tell him to be more polite, but he's raising his arm so that his wrist is by Arthur's mouth before he thinks of a single thing. He's so close to Arthur now that he could easily curl against his chest and rest his head on Arthur's shoulder. If Arthur's arms weren't chained above his head he would be able to reach out and hold him.
Fangs extend and he bites, causing a sharp blast of pain. Blood trickles. Arthur's eyes close.
Merlin breathes through clenched teeth and reminds himself that he can stop this at any second. He started it; it was his idea. His chest moves shallowly, and his eyes watch as Arthur's throat moves to swallow. He's close enough that he can hear the sounds coming from Arthur's chest; it's like the purring of a cat, of a lion tamed. Arthur's tongue swipes against the cuts he's made as the blood flows, and he sucks and swallows with greed.
The pain is beginning to fade by now, but he knows that he needs to pull away before this ends far more messily than it needs to. "Arthur," he says. "I need to pull back now. Okay?"
Arthur licks, kitten-like, at his wrist. It tickles, and Merlin smiles. He's not in much of a hurry any more, not when Arthur is being more cute than terrifying.
"I don't understand how someone who is such a brat can taste so sweet," Arthur says, murmuring the words against Merlin's wrist. "I feel amazing."
His eyes are swimming in gold now, Merlin realises when Arthur looks at him. He starts to lower his arm and Arthur allows him to do so with nothing other than a sigh of complaint. His wrist is beginning to hurt again now that he isn't distracted, and he knows that he should have been more organised. He's seen Morgana feeding from Gwen before and he knows that they always have supplies; towel and bandages and who knew what else. He only has his other hand, clamping down painfully around his wrist to get the blood to stop.
"Let me," Arthur suggests, his cool hand moving to replace Merlin's. His touch tingles - and it's right then that Merlin remembers that Arthur should not be at all in a state of wrist-grabbing at all: he's supposed to be chained up right now. Merlin looks up from his wrist and finds that Arthur's hands are free, with the shackles hanging down, empty now. His eyes swirl with gold and Merlin wonders if he looks like that when he's using magic, so inhuman. Arthur looks like he's from another planet, beautiful in a way he would never admit to. "Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you." Arthur smiles at him indulgently, much more good-natured after feeding than he is at any other time.
"I'm not entirely sure if I believe you," Merlin admits, and when he looks down at his wrist where Arthur is holding onto him, covering the wound, he can see a golden haze surrounding it. He swallows. "Are you trying to dissolve my wrist?"
"I'm trying to fix it," Arthur says, quietly. There is a rusty smear of blood around his mouth and down his chin, little dribbling lines that are beginning to dry. He looks like a child who has gorged himself on chocolate cake. "Don't speak. If you distract me I might do something odd."
"Like you did with Gaius?"
"Exactly." Arthur's grin widens, even as he looks down with single-minded focus at Merlin's wrist. It tickles and tingles like something is running across it. "You might end up with a squirrel for a hand. I'd like to see you trying to harvest with that."
"He'd be trying to eat the wheat even as we were bringing it in. Might cause a bit of trouble."
"Might get you sent back here for good," Arthur muses. "I can't see the downside."
"I'd set my squirrel-hand on your boots. All of them. Even your shiny black ones."
"Ah. Now I see the downside." Arthur grins and pulls his hand away from Merlin's wrist. "How is it?"
Merlin looks down. The skin is healed so that only sticky, drying blood remains, along with a pink tinge of freshly healed skin where the bitemark had been. He's never been able to heal someone like that before; he's never tried for fear of accidentally killing them. That either makes Arthur more talented or more reckless than he is. He's inclined to go for the latter option. "It's fine," he says, rotating the joint experimentally. "Good as new."
"I'll put Gaius out of business any day now," Arthur says proudly. Merlin has his doubts, considering that the magic of his blood will fade out of Arthur's system soon, but he doesn't say much at all. "Let's sit down."
"There's only one chair."
"That really isn't a problem." Arthur sits down and his impossibly strong arms tug Merlin after him; a well-aimed foot at Merlin's ankles ensures that he falls rather spectacularly into Arthur's lap. Arthur's arms slide around his waist and he nuzzles against the back of his neck. "See?"
"This is one solution, that's true," Merlin agrees; it's a little too easy to rest against Arthur, relaxing completely, with all of the warnings about being on guard during the full moon slipping from his mind. He doesn't feel safe, as such, but he isn't worried for his life. "You get awfully snuggly during the full moon, you know."
"It's a vampire thing," Arthur announces.
He's using that voice he always uses when he wants to sound as if he knows what he's talking about. Merlin is slowly becoming immune to it. "Oh really?"
"Mm, yes. It's a very mystical thing," Arthur murmurs. "Don't worry yourself trying to understand it. It's far too... advanced."
Merlin wants to stop smiling, well aware that he looks as if he is missing half his brain, but it won't go away. There's a warmth in his belly and Arthur's arms are around him, and despite the full moon he thinks they're both fairly safe and happy - no chains required. "I'm a very powerful sorcerer," he says. "I'm sure I could understand it far better than you ever could."
Arthur nudges him on the shoulder; it's nearly enough to make him fall. "You should stop being a brat," he complains.
Merlin smiles and continues to argue with him, taking the time to make Arthur stop and wipe his mouth clean. He might love Arthur in a funny kind of way, but until he learns not to be such an incredibly messy eater Merlin doesn't think they're ready to take the same route as Morgana and Gwen have. The gold gradually fades from Arthur's eyes, a charge hanging in the air as they talk. Merlin listens and smiles and can only think of just how much he's missed him.
*
The full moon passes. Both black and gold disappear from Arthur's eyes, and along with Morgana he goes back to normal - to being a prat without the risk of surprise bites or cuddles. They visit Gaius in the morning to visit the man Arthur had attacked; his eyes go wide when they enter, but he doesn't say a word. Arthur approaches and kneels down beside him. There is a bandage on his neck and a sling holding his arm in place.
"A few broken bones and some cracked ribs. His neck is in a very poor state," Gaius tells Merlin in a hushed voice near the door while Arthur and his victim talk. "In all truthfulness, he is lucky to be alive."
Merlin watches Arthur's heart-felt apology and can see the tension that has crept into his back. It's hard to think of him as being the cause of all that damage, even with the pain that Arthur has inflicted upon him from time to time. Arthur may be a prat; he may be arrogant and self-centred and he may be determinedly obnoxious at times, but it is difficult to see him as a monster. Here, right in front of them, there is the evidence of the destruction he can cause. If it hadn't been for Morgana, this man would have been dead in all likeliness.
They don't stay for long before Arthur leaves and Merlin trails behind him. Arthur has lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence; Merlin thinks that he's brooding.
Brooding never leads to anything good.
"It wasn't your fault; you weren't in your right mind," Merlin says. He's having to half-jog to keep up with Arthur's speedy walk. "You can't blame yourself."
"I'm blaming myself because I'm the one that did it. I attacked him, I drank from you..." He doesn't stop walking. He doesn't even look towards Merlin. "Morgana shouldn't have brought you back. You were safer when you were away."
"I'm glad she did. I would have been downright angry if I hadn't been told about this," Merlin snaps. He's angrier than he's supposed to be right now. "I'm your boyfriend, you arse. I'm supposed to be here for stuff like this."
"You're a servant, Merlin. You're 'supposed' to do as I tell you, and right now you're supposed to be in Ealdor looking after your mother. Remember?"
It's with a stab of guilt that Merlin looks down and stops walking. He knows that he shouldn't take anything that Arthur says right now to heart; he's upset, in his very own vampirey, princely way. He needs someone to be firm yet sympathetic - and he needs someone with much thicker skin than Merlin possesses.
"I remember," he says, "but I think I'm needed here too. When I'm not around, people get hurt." It sounds like an accusation, and in a way it is. He doesn't want to make Arthur feel any worse than he already does, but the words seem to say themselves as if he's not in control. He wonders if that is how Arthur feels when he attacks defenceless humans. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I need to be around her and you. You won't come to Ealdor. If I bring my mother here, will she have somewhere to live?"
It sounds as if they're fighting, and any passers-by might decide to avoid their presence where they stand half-way down a corridor, snapping and sniping. To Merlin, it feels as if they might be negotiating.
Arthur's eyes have narrowed with anger, but he says, "She would be provided for. You would be too."
Merlin nods, even though he has no idea whether or not his mother would be willing to do such a thing. She has lived in Ealdor for all of her life. They have a life there: they have friends and property and farmland to tend to, but if it is possible to tempt her away then Merlin will do so. This full moon has taught him the dangers of separation from a vampire latched upon you; he doesn't want to make the same mistake again.
"I'll go and see what I can do," he says - and even though he knows that Arthur likes him to be where he can see him when he's in the castle, he turns to walk in the opposite direction. It's small and petty; it feels like he's trying to punish Arthur, but that isn't the case at all. He looks down at the stone floor as he walks, his shoulders hunched. He needs to get away from Arthur for now before he says anything more to make him feel even worse. Sometimes separation is as important as the reunion.