The Pink Creeps
Inspired by Emjayelle's You're My Land, Ahoy, this creation sprung forth two days after reading that little gem. The word 'inspired' is used, this is NOT an attempt at a continuation or a means to fill in the blanks. That being said, it is sort of set in that verse and definitely about pirates.
FEATURING: Arthur/Merlin
IN (I sincerely hope I find a better title for this story eventually but for now, here it is:)
The Pirate Life
The music seeped into the man’s ear. Acoustics nostalgic and sweet and nothing like this fucking party. The boisterous chatter, once he longed to be a part of as a young lad, was now background noise--deliberately suppressed. Stiff clothing, plastered-on fake smiles, even faker praise and compliments grew him weary.
This was not the world he craved.
He knew it with a certain clarity, a sureness that ran right into his bones, as the violin crescendo-ed and came to an immediate stop. It then began anew, softly yet with an undertone of rage that somehow calmed him. The world that had once sparkled, shined and gained the envy of a 7 year old young'in, shattered the man of 23 on his fucking birthday. It was a huge disappointment; this party that was in honour of his birth, a great gathering of guests aboard The Almatia; set sail as a sort of leisure ride. He knew better than anyone else that these people were there for his father, the Governor of Port Royal and the epitome of elite, either to gain some influence or a higher standing, ergo not for him. He snorted to himself, as if that paranoid bastard would let anyone touch a dime of what he made or let them into his books so easily, and that went doubly for him--the only lesson he was ever thankful of.
The lady that had been, so far, stuck to his arm, practically shoving her cleavage, exposed from an incredibly low cut dressing gown, grew indignant and stalked off in a huff. However, he couldn't bring himself to feel one iota of remorse. She wasn't at all genuine in her affections, and even then he wouldn't have been able to reciprocate--no matter how pretty and well-endowed she was. You see, he liked his partners of the firm, work-callused, muscled and decidedly manly variety. He looked over to appreciate a group of men, under the guise of checking out the orchestra and found one man--rakish and a ready flirt checking him out in return.
Any further advancements impeded, however, when the music hall's windows widened from a rough burst of wind, and the lights in the room dimmed simultaneously. The orchestra stopped and prepared for its finale just as the wind distracted him.
Bringing with it the smell of salt and something distinctly of the Sea, it felt like a cool caress in the room full of stifling people. The confined and claustrophobic feeling he hadn't even been aware of, sort of melted away--reminding him that he was out. Out. Sailing on a ship, on water, away from land and even if it had to be with this sorry bunch, he was still out! Could even pretend that he wasn't in this world; what with the interlude of silence, darkened room, the smell of sea water that he was inhaling greedily and the rocking of the ship that was beckoning him to a land of adventure -
"Arthur. There you are."
- and just like that, the illusion was ruined. The confined and stifling feeling was back in full force when he turned around and looked at his fath-the General. "You are needed. I opened an opportunity with the Mercia’s and I want you to seal the deal. And I hope you have learned your speech. After the finale, I want you to deliver it."
"Yes father--Mr. Pendragon", he appeased when he saw the disgruntled expression at the title, “But surely, the speech, we can do without? Having - on several occasions, already bade gratitudes. Besides, it makes more sense for you to deliver it. Thank them for coming to the occasion." The words weren't meant to be bitter but they don't come out as anything else. Uther Pendragon looked at his son sternly, and stated, “They came for your birthday. Just thank them.” Whether he noticed his tone or chose to ignore it, Arthur won't ever find out because in the next moment, the man turned around and walked away.
"Make sure you're on the stage in 10".
*****
A deft hand swiped it from its perch. The long yet elegant fingers curled around the bullet. And like a lover caressing their partner, the other hand brought forth a shotgun, tucked as it was in the waist of his boxer shorts, to pop open the chamber and load the sole bullet in. Playfully spinning the now partially-full chamber, those long porcelain-like fingers attached to an equally delicate hand, snapped a movement along the wrist and shut the chamber back into the revolver with a click.
The man then pointed it at his partner, the trigger cocked and targeted a point right along the upper thigh of his right leg. The partner in question was now fully focused on the gun in the other man’s hand, the post-orgasm bliss glazing his eyes lost in wake of danger.
“Come on, Jay. Believe in my luck? There is on’y one bullet in this gun. Think it’ll hit ye?”
Words, dripped in irony and mirth jolted Jay out of his daze, making him crack out a forced smile.
“Hey now, Merlin. I would have thought you enjoyed the last two rounds, baby… What warrants this gamble?”
At the endearment, Merlin had to grit his teeth. With a smile that rivalled the devil himself; sweet and full of contempt, he says, “When we began this sordid affair, Jay what’d I tell ye? No matt’r ‘ow temporary this shit is, ye don’t get’t screw no one else. An’ y’ve gone an’ done exactly that,” ire heavy-ing his accent.
Before the man could say anything, Merlin placed one knee on the tavern’s rented bed, leant down and placed his kiss-bruised lips against the man’s ear. “…And don’t. Call. Me. Baby,” he whispered, pulling the trigger. The sound of the bullet clearing its chamber was muffled, pressed as it was, against the right thigh. Jay had a moment to simply stare at the spot, blood gushing out before searing pain registered in his mind. Howling, he clutched his leg and shot a withering glare at Merlin. “Fuck!” he swore.
Merlin, for his part, looked completely unconcerned and tucked away the empty shotgun back into his boxer shorts. “Well this has been fun, Jay. But the ship sails on the morrow, give Isobel my regards and never show me your face again.” Putting on his trousers and a stolen silk shirtsleeve, Merlin flicked his sweat damped hair and walked away.
The clothed man was a sight for sore eyes. Tall, long limbs, fair skin, raven hair in a fucked out mess, cheekbones to die for, and a half smile propped on his lips. As he reached the bottom of the tavern’s stairs and spotted Mathilda; the owner, she came straight to him, his smile irresistible and beautiful blue eyes coy. “Is everything alright, beautiful?”
Merlin blushed at the endearment, for as attractive as his features might’ve been, he was never one for compliments. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, because there was nothing worse than an angry welshwoman in her territory and her regulars at the boisterous tavern to back her up.
She grinned ruefully and pet him on his cheek, taking a long look at the sated aura the young man exuded. She took in his clear blue eyes, straightforward gaze and a lingering glint of something. She knew better than to assume that the men that waltz into her precious Mae’r Treasure, were innocent. No matter the appearance of one. However, she nonetheless felt happy that the men docking at those seaside ports, chose her tavern to have a good time. “That’s good. Have a lovely night sweetheart.”
Merlin’s eyes lowered and he looked through his eyelashes, giving the woman a last heart-thumping crooked smile. He waved and walked right out the establishment, acknowledging the barman on his way out. ‘But that’s one fine lad,’ she thought and wished him luck on his travels before being distracted by a ruckus near the bottom of the stairs. …a wounded man…
However, not even the ever-observant Mathilda had recognized the edge of a hurt-formed quirk near the corner of his downturned lips.
*****
Back in his mansion of a house, the sailing ship once again seemed other-worldly. Stripping his formal set of clothing, the man of 23--Arthur, got ready for bed. The end hadn't been painful, albeit the stiff speech, the Mercia’s were ready to invest in Uther’s project and he was once more set off to explore the world. With the development site in England, his excuse to sail on the enchanting Du Bois was ready.
The ship truly was enchanting, with beautiful polished flooring, masts several feet high supporting white and crimson sails - Pendragon colours, sturdy controls and even sturdier cabins - it was his dream materialized. Du Bois was the last memento of his mother--a sea siren through and through. Water was in her nature, it had given her life and it had taken it away too. Perhaps it was the reason why his father had been so against his sailing and commandeering the beautiful ship. However, a man who had never known what it was like to feel the rocking of adventure, the salty taste of a storm brewing or the always lingering sense of the unknown, couldn't possibly understand his obsession.
But, perhaps understanding wasn't important. Uther Pendragon was always right, and Arthur supposed, thats all that mattered. Uther had protected Arthur from the grief and the joys of stepping on a ship for a very long time. Obedient and empty, Arthur had always done what was expected of him. If some decisions made him weary or uncomfortable, he’d turn a blind eye. If work made him tired or unbearably hopeless, he’d push harder. But no one could've stopped fate, in the form of a rebelling youth, drag Arthur from negotiations and onto his Lioness Lia.
The moment the fear of being found abated, Arthur tasted freedom and he was hopelessly hooked. Kay Delforé had taken a long look at his friend and said, “Well bollocks. This is it, isn't it?”
His cryptic words stayed with Arthur, and he would think, ’Yes, Kay. That was what I had been looking for. What was missing from my life. The blue of the ocean.’ Always. Arthur’s realization had been the breaking point for his strained relationship with his father. They had always been a step back here and a beat off there but had ultimately compromised. There had been no compromising this desire. Arthur wanted to sail, and his father did not want to let him. Many a arguments later formed no solution.
Fortunately for Arthur, the times were changing. Exporting and Importing were a primary means to make money, charting and founding land said to be a man’s ideal, and seeking adventure and piracy escalating as professions. A fantastic row two years later and Arthur’s persistence gave way to Uther’s reluctant acceptance.
However, reluctant was an understatement.
Sailing for business, not pleasure were Uther’s conditions, and almost always, there was a guard of sorts to accompany him. As if Uther were weary of his son playing a grab ’n run. Arthur was also never in full command of his beautiful ship. Though he made the most pro-efficient decisions, the hired Captain thought him to be completely useless. Arthur wasn't bothered though, because he thought the man to be a complete arrogant git… they were quite even.
Arthur sighed and smushed his face further into his pillow. Tired from the day’s excitement and night’s musings, Arthur didn't even have the energy to slip into his night wear. Slinking his naked body further into the bed, he sighed as the night’s breeze cooled his heated skin. With floor to ceiling windows left open and facing the sea, the wind had the advantage of gushing in and out of his room as it pleased. Golden hair ruffled in the breeze, only the moon and stars privy to his sun-tanned skin and muscled stature lax in deep sleep.
*****
The beginning, ‘Dawn’ they said, was something everyone slept through. However, one man, older now- too old to be doing things like this, always woke up and watched the golden orb lighten the sky. He didn’t have a particularly profound reason as to why he did this, except for maybe it being a habit. Considering that he didn't specifically like it; having seen too many sunrises, he supposed people would assume he had a reason. If he thought about it, he did (have a reason that is) but abhorred the idea of it being his motivation.
Sitting on the docks, the chilly breeze sent shivers throughout his body, and ruffled his bed hair as Merlin watched the sun break over the water. Still in his sleep clothes, a hasty woollen parka thrown over his shoulders, he contemplated his previous - first - expedition as a full fledged member of the crew. The ship he had sailed on as a stowaway, somehow became a home of sorts for the better part of two months. His shipmates, once his handlers were now a crew. His trigger pulls and gunman-ship vastly improved, refined his haggling skills and kept his body fit through strenuous exercise -usually in the form of running away from Officials.
When the sun had soared above the sea-level enough for it’s rays to reflect off of his earring, he snapped out of his thoughts and grinned a beguiling smile. Touching the black pearl delicately, he thought ‘Proud o’ me now, you worthless bastard?’
“Did ya know, little on’? Dawn, ’s the time when ya c’n see us comin’ home.”
“Always?”
“Mmhmm.”
The little child had grinned back then, sleepy and re-assured. The man now, knew better - that a pirate always lies.
The heavy creak of hard wood jolted Merlin out of his daze and quick as he was, whirled around, already reaching for his pocket knife. Freezing at the rumbling laugh, he confirmed that it was indeed one of the more joyous merry-maker’s of the crew. Gwaine sauntered towards him, a hand holding a tiny flask like it always did and a drunken swagger in his gait. Well. Gwaine was damn lucky Merlin had been distracted this time otherwise he’d have had a three-inch handle of a knife sticking out of his belly by now. Crossing the length of the docks, Gwaine approached Merlin and threw his arms around the amused male.
“Gwaine, did you just return from the tavern?”
Giggling drunkenly, he started pressing kisses into his friend’s skin, nuzzling his sleep warm neck. Chuckling himself, Merlin wrapped his arms around the sloshed man and held him tight. Alerted at the missing indignation and flailing, Gwaine stopped doing what he was doing and looked at Merlin. The complete change, from a drunken slosh to serious and concerned was disconcerting.
But then again, he was Gwaine… and since Gwaine was Gwaine, he said, “Jay?”
At Merlin’s confused expression, he relaxed, thinking that whatever was wrong with his friend, wasn't Jay’s doing. Manner loosening into a drunken slosh once more, he re-wrapped his arms around the tall male and said, “You gonna ‘cept me offer then, Beautiful?”
That roused Merlin, shoved Gwaine away and shook his head while chuckling amusedly, thinking that Gwaine was definitely sharp, Merlin just cuffed Gwaine’s head and steered him towards the ship.
“As always, rain check on tha’ one mate.”
Carrying the grumbling man towards the ship and into their sleeping quarters, Merlin thought about how the sun rose and that his father never had come back.
*****
It was when the ship tilted abnormally - some degrees to the right waywardly, did Arthur finally clue in to his restlessness that had been roiling off his skin since morning. Scrambling upright and away from his usual desk in the cosy built-in lounge of the Du Bois, scattering various reports and utensils, Arthur hurriedly clambered to the nearest window. His stomach dropped at the sight of the weather outside.
The skies were clear, not a cloud in sight and the waters were on the side of just still. Except. Except not 100 yards north of east were there clouds, grey bordering lining black, accumulating into this massive thing, surging faster than bloody fire with oil to slick its path. And never were waters supposed to be so still. Somebody had steered his ship right into a fucking storm without so much as a hey-mate-you-think-we-should-check-the-compass-anytime-soon? blind-as-bats-yes attitude from the other side! At the rate they were going, they would hit the edge just shy of forty five minutes. Not nearly enough time to pack essentials into the small rafts, evacuate non-risqué workers, turn the damn ship around and secure a safe position, preferably before it capsized.
To think Arthur had just barely been able to keep his eyes from growing glassy-eyed at the lists of contractors and their backgrounds; public or otherwise. Well, he was wide-awake now and -almost panicking- was not how he liked his wake-up calls. Gathering himself, no time for prim and proper, he rushed out of the lounge, paying no mind to his guard-of-the-week yelling at him to ‘Stop! Please, sir, is there something wrong?’
Yes, there was something bloody well and wrong! They were heading straight into what the officials would later declare as a ‘devastating storm that spanned the entire English channel losing brilliant sailors to the atrocities of the Sea’s Rage’. Flat out sprinting, Arthur dashed through the bridge, clambering for sturdy footing - as the waters picked that moment to start to thrash - and climbed the ladder leading to the Captain’s cabin.
He was not going to be part of that broadcast, willing to bet his pride and life on the line.
Gaining footing, he hauled himself up into the cabin only to find half the things packed and Captain Haynes gathering the last remnants of the transaction they’d made back in England and pocketing the twenty euros earned through unsavoury and deceitful tactics.
In exchange for ‘allowing’ the Mercia’s to build their expanding empire onto Property of Pendragon, he had to exact a certain amount of shares and money. The whole reason he was sent to England in the first place, was to negotiate that amount.
But in reality, if they had re-searched the site better, they would have never invested in it in the first place. The site wasn't better than a rogue’s resting place and the location of it ensured that Mercia was always short on clientele. Forcing them to move onto another location and have to wait until the contract of this landsite expired while simultaneously relying on them again for the next one. A brilliant strategy, if anyone ever heard of one--if only it didn't make Arthur’s stomach recoil.
The contractors were not going to go easy. Arthur would have to root out the best in the lot and have them draw up the most convoluted and mixed messages agreement they’ve ever had to write up. Hence the frantic list of contractors and their thoroughly looked into backgrounds - official or otherwise, all piled for Arthur to sort.
But the problem at hand was… All at once he felt relieved, to know that he wouldn't have to touch that tainted bag of gold and at the same time felt incredibly - immensely - angry to find that the Captain, the position he had wanted for so long, was abandoning ship without even informing anyone and pocketing the money--the swine,
“What do you think you’re doing, Haynes?” As always, the name was pronounced as if it were something dirty, a curse and full of resentment.
The man, wearing his finest silk--the thread count easily exceeding few hundreds, froze when Arthur’s harsh voice reached him. His eyes rolled heavenward and he mocked, about never having an easy day in his life, silently. Hands that had stopped packing finance-tracking documents and navigational charts, once more resumed their actions.
Arthur fumed, how could he not when the bloody Captain of his precious ship was abandoning it. Though Arthur had never had expectations from Haynes, Uther certainly did. They fought about it enough. And to so easily betray the General’s trust, when he put Haynes above him, stung. Uther was a bigot and incredibly narrow-minded about his decisions but the reason Arthur could never get him to reconsider his employment was because for all of Haynes’ faults, he was a cunning bastard. Played his cards discreetly - immediately taking credit for someone else’s ideas - people never knew that their ideas were good - but also taking the blame for other people’s mistakes - letting them know that they owed him, that he was charming and not at all a threat.
Until now.
Arthur had evidence and was infinitely smarter than to reveal what he had seen and concluded. Cooling his anger, he needed to focus, he played dumb. Haynes always thought he was an idiot anyway and pretending he didn't know what was going on wouldn't alert him. The guy was arrogant, narcissistic and had a huge ego - what could possibly go wrong?
Everything apparently.
Arthur stepped forward causally, trying to change his demeanour from panicked into something a little more relaxed. Trying to control his panting from the short yet powerful run, Arthur acted nonchalant and put an edge of angst in his voice when he said, “I asked you a question, Haynes.”
Haynes abruptly whipped around and sneered at Arthur, marring certain attractive features into something positively nasty. “What I do is none of your business brat. I am the Captain of this ship and you do not have the authority to question my actions.”
“Authority? And where did you learn that mouthful Haynes? I’m impressed, and I don't doubt you know its meaning - you do know what it means, yes?” Arthur goaded him. Trying to press, push and goad him into revealing himself - into proving that he was not the man for his Du Bois.
“Don’t test my patience boy. I have a lot to do and some snot-nosed brat ain’t going to disturb me. Scram.”
While it was true that Haynes was at least a decade older than Arthur, he wasn't nearly as accomplished in his studies or in his working career. Instead of punching the guy as Arthur suddenly wanted to do, he read the implications from Haynes’ response.
He knew exactly what he was doing, the swine, all the workers, Arthur, and their ‘guests’ all of them would die in the rough tumble of the sea and Haynes wasn't going to do anything about it - saving himself. It suddenly struck Arthur that this could have been Haynes’ plan all along - to steer everyone to their deaths and come out a hero, saying that he tried oh-so-very-hard but none of them could be saved and pocketing the gold to boot! And here, Arthur had come rushing in to the cabin, trying to warn Haynes to turn the ship around.
Arthur started laughing - a maniac sound, strangled and forced. Haynes jumped and turned back to watch Arthur as he clapped his thighs, trying to find out what was so damn funny. He hadn't finished whirling around when he was knocked off his feet, Arthur having delivered a powerful punch.
He stood there, breathing ragged and disgust twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, whilst Haynes lay on ground and clutched his face in shock.
“Now you listen to me and listen up closely Haynes. Sea travel is sacred and I will not let you taint its journey; not now and certainly not in the future. And if you dare harbour these thoughts again… Well, let it be said that I won’t be held responsible for my actions. It’ll be your word against mine.”
Taking a step closer to the cowering monger, Arthur paused, re-thinking his rage. It would be best to save this for later, change the course of the ship and get passengers off and into smaller vessels now. Sparing the man another sneer, Arthur didn't see the blooming rage arresting the man’s stature.
Watching as Arthur stepped around him, clambering for the on-board radio, Haynes couldn't help but quake with anger. How dare this brat come up here and order him around - wasted all his hard work! But even Haynes knew that if it came down to a hand-to-hand battle, he would lose. Instead he quietly got up, Arthur too pre-occupied barking orders through the radio to notice Haynes open the Captain’s cabin doors and give a meaningful nod.
However, he did notice the sudden noise inflection in the cabin and the presence of another body in the his small headquarters. The bad feeling only intensified when he turned around to face a gun barrel’s muzzle held by his bodyguard-of-the-week.
Haynes was standing off to the side, smirking cruelly and mirth rolling off of him in waves at having successfully cornered Arthur. Arthur, who was in all fairness, a brat with a condescending attitude, the centre of everyone’s attention and a tendency to destroy all the carefully calculated plans Haynes conjured. No one bothered to even glance at Haynes when Arthur was in the room; neither the aristocrats nor the ladies. Haynes may have the position as Captain, but even the workers on the ship followed Arthur more than their own official commander.
This feeling of incompetence festered in Haynes for four years until the man couldn't handle it anymore. He had to get rid of Arthur. And as the gun went off, he felt relief as he hadn't ever before.
*****
TBC
The pink creeps, hopefully it will creep again.
FEATURING: Arthur/Merlin
IN (I sincerely hope I find a better title for this story eventually but for now, here it is:)
The Pirate Life
The music seeped into the man’s ear. Acoustics nostalgic and sweet and nothing like this fucking party. The boisterous chatter, once he longed to be a part of as a young lad, was now background noise--deliberately suppressed. Stiff clothing, plastered-on fake smiles, even faker praise and compliments grew him weary.
This was not the world he craved.
He knew it with a certain clarity, a sureness that ran right into his bones, as the violin crescendo-ed and came to an immediate stop. It then began anew, softly yet with an undertone of rage that somehow calmed him. The world that had once sparkled, shined and gained the envy of a 7 year old young'in, shattered the man of 23 on his fucking birthday. It was a huge disappointment; this party that was in honour of his birth, a great gathering of guests aboard The Almatia; set sail as a sort of leisure ride. He knew better than anyone else that these people were there for his father, the Governor of Port Royal and the epitome of elite, either to gain some influence or a higher standing, ergo not for him. He snorted to himself, as if that paranoid bastard would let anyone touch a dime of what he made or let them into his books so easily, and that went doubly for him--the only lesson he was ever thankful of.
The lady that had been, so far, stuck to his arm, practically shoving her cleavage, exposed from an incredibly low cut dressing gown, grew indignant and stalked off in a huff. However, he couldn't bring himself to feel one iota of remorse. She wasn't at all genuine in her affections, and even then he wouldn't have been able to reciprocate--no matter how pretty and well-endowed she was. You see, he liked his partners of the firm, work-callused, muscled and decidedly manly variety. He looked over to appreciate a group of men, under the guise of checking out the orchestra and found one man--rakish and a ready flirt checking him out in return.
Any further advancements impeded, however, when the music hall's windows widened from a rough burst of wind, and the lights in the room dimmed simultaneously. The orchestra stopped and prepared for its finale just as the wind distracted him.
Bringing with it the smell of salt and something distinctly of the Sea, it felt like a cool caress in the room full of stifling people. The confined and claustrophobic feeling he hadn't even been aware of, sort of melted away--reminding him that he was out. Out. Sailing on a ship, on water, away from land and even if it had to be with this sorry bunch, he was still out! Could even pretend that he wasn't in this world; what with the interlude of silence, darkened room, the smell of sea water that he was inhaling greedily and the rocking of the ship that was beckoning him to a land of adventure -
"Arthur. There you are."
- and just like that, the illusion was ruined. The confined and stifling feeling was back in full force when he turned around and looked at his fath-the General. "You are needed. I opened an opportunity with the Mercia’s and I want you to seal the deal. And I hope you have learned your speech. After the finale, I want you to deliver it."
"Yes father--Mr. Pendragon", he appeased when he saw the disgruntled expression at the title, “But surely, the speech, we can do without? Having - on several occasions, already bade gratitudes. Besides, it makes more sense for you to deliver it. Thank them for coming to the occasion." The words weren't meant to be bitter but they don't come out as anything else. Uther Pendragon looked at his son sternly, and stated, “They came for your birthday. Just thank them.” Whether he noticed his tone or chose to ignore it, Arthur won't ever find out because in the next moment, the man turned around and walked away.
"Make sure you're on the stage in 10".
*****
A deft hand swiped it from its perch. The long yet elegant fingers curled around the bullet. And like a lover caressing their partner, the other hand brought forth a shotgun, tucked as it was in the waist of his boxer shorts, to pop open the chamber and load the sole bullet in. Playfully spinning the now partially-full chamber, those long porcelain-like fingers attached to an equally delicate hand, snapped a movement along the wrist and shut the chamber back into the revolver with a click.
The man then pointed it at his partner, the trigger cocked and targeted a point right along the upper thigh of his right leg. The partner in question was now fully focused on the gun in the other man’s hand, the post-orgasm bliss glazing his eyes lost in wake of danger.
“Come on, Jay. Believe in my luck? There is on’y one bullet in this gun. Think it’ll hit ye?”
Words, dripped in irony and mirth jolted Jay out of his daze, making him crack out a forced smile.
“Hey now, Merlin. I would have thought you enjoyed the last two rounds, baby… What warrants this gamble?”
At the endearment, Merlin had to grit his teeth. With a smile that rivalled the devil himself; sweet and full of contempt, he says, “When we began this sordid affair, Jay what’d I tell ye? No matt’r ‘ow temporary this shit is, ye don’t get’t screw no one else. An’ y’ve gone an’ done exactly that,” ire heavy-ing his accent.
Before the man could say anything, Merlin placed one knee on the tavern’s rented bed, leant down and placed his kiss-bruised lips against the man’s ear. “…And don’t. Call. Me. Baby,” he whispered, pulling the trigger. The sound of the bullet clearing its chamber was muffled, pressed as it was, against the right thigh. Jay had a moment to simply stare at the spot, blood gushing out before searing pain registered in his mind. Howling, he clutched his leg and shot a withering glare at Merlin. “Fuck!” he swore.
Merlin, for his part, looked completely unconcerned and tucked away the empty shotgun back into his boxer shorts. “Well this has been fun, Jay. But the ship sails on the morrow, give Isobel my regards and never show me your face again.” Putting on his trousers and a stolen silk shirtsleeve, Merlin flicked his sweat damped hair and walked away.
The clothed man was a sight for sore eyes. Tall, long limbs, fair skin, raven hair in a fucked out mess, cheekbones to die for, and a half smile propped on his lips. As he reached the bottom of the tavern’s stairs and spotted Mathilda; the owner, she came straight to him, his smile irresistible and beautiful blue eyes coy. “Is everything alright, beautiful?”
Merlin blushed at the endearment, for as attractive as his features might’ve been, he was never one for compliments. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, because there was nothing worse than an angry welshwoman in her territory and her regulars at the boisterous tavern to back her up.
She grinned ruefully and pet him on his cheek, taking a long look at the sated aura the young man exuded. She took in his clear blue eyes, straightforward gaze and a lingering glint of something. She knew better than to assume that the men that waltz into her precious Mae’r Treasure, were innocent. No matter the appearance of one. However, she nonetheless felt happy that the men docking at those seaside ports, chose her tavern to have a good time. “That’s good. Have a lovely night sweetheart.”
Merlin’s eyes lowered and he looked through his eyelashes, giving the woman a last heart-thumping crooked smile. He waved and walked right out the establishment, acknowledging the barman on his way out. ‘But that’s one fine lad,’ she thought and wished him luck on his travels before being distracted by a ruckus near the bottom of the stairs. …a wounded man…
However, not even the ever-observant Mathilda had recognized the edge of a hurt-formed quirk near the corner of his downturned lips.
*****
Back in his mansion of a house, the sailing ship once again seemed other-worldly. Stripping his formal set of clothing, the man of 23--Arthur, got ready for bed. The end hadn't been painful, albeit the stiff speech, the Mercia’s were ready to invest in Uther’s project and he was once more set off to explore the world. With the development site in England, his excuse to sail on the enchanting Du Bois was ready.
The ship truly was enchanting, with beautiful polished flooring, masts several feet high supporting white and crimson sails - Pendragon colours, sturdy controls and even sturdier cabins - it was his dream materialized. Du Bois was the last memento of his mother--a sea siren through and through. Water was in her nature, it had given her life and it had taken it away too. Perhaps it was the reason why his father had been so against his sailing and commandeering the beautiful ship. However, a man who had never known what it was like to feel the rocking of adventure, the salty taste of a storm brewing or the always lingering sense of the unknown, couldn't possibly understand his obsession.
But, perhaps understanding wasn't important. Uther Pendragon was always right, and Arthur supposed, thats all that mattered. Uther had protected Arthur from the grief and the joys of stepping on a ship for a very long time. Obedient and empty, Arthur had always done what was expected of him. If some decisions made him weary or uncomfortable, he’d turn a blind eye. If work made him tired or unbearably hopeless, he’d push harder. But no one could've stopped fate, in the form of a rebelling youth, drag Arthur from negotiations and onto his Lioness Lia.
The moment the fear of being found abated, Arthur tasted freedom and he was hopelessly hooked. Kay Delforé had taken a long look at his friend and said, “Well bollocks. This is it, isn't it?”
His cryptic words stayed with Arthur, and he would think, ’Yes, Kay. That was what I had been looking for. What was missing from my life. The blue of the ocean.’ Always. Arthur’s realization had been the breaking point for his strained relationship with his father. They had always been a step back here and a beat off there but had ultimately compromised. There had been no compromising this desire. Arthur wanted to sail, and his father did not want to let him. Many a arguments later formed no solution.
Fortunately for Arthur, the times were changing. Exporting and Importing were a primary means to make money, charting and founding land said to be a man’s ideal, and seeking adventure and piracy escalating as professions. A fantastic row two years later and Arthur’s persistence gave way to Uther’s reluctant acceptance.
However, reluctant was an understatement.
Sailing for business, not pleasure were Uther’s conditions, and almost always, there was a guard of sorts to accompany him. As if Uther were weary of his son playing a grab ’n run. Arthur was also never in full command of his beautiful ship. Though he made the most pro-efficient decisions, the hired Captain thought him to be completely useless. Arthur wasn't bothered though, because he thought the man to be a complete arrogant git… they were quite even.
Arthur sighed and smushed his face further into his pillow. Tired from the day’s excitement and night’s musings, Arthur didn't even have the energy to slip into his night wear. Slinking his naked body further into the bed, he sighed as the night’s breeze cooled his heated skin. With floor to ceiling windows left open and facing the sea, the wind had the advantage of gushing in and out of his room as it pleased. Golden hair ruffled in the breeze, only the moon and stars privy to his sun-tanned skin and muscled stature lax in deep sleep.
*****
The beginning, ‘Dawn’ they said, was something everyone slept through. However, one man, older now- too old to be doing things like this, always woke up and watched the golden orb lighten the sky. He didn’t have a particularly profound reason as to why he did this, except for maybe it being a habit. Considering that he didn't specifically like it; having seen too many sunrises, he supposed people would assume he had a reason. If he thought about it, he did (have a reason that is) but abhorred the idea of it being his motivation.
Sitting on the docks, the chilly breeze sent shivers throughout his body, and ruffled his bed hair as Merlin watched the sun break over the water. Still in his sleep clothes, a hasty woollen parka thrown over his shoulders, he contemplated his previous - first - expedition as a full fledged member of the crew. The ship he had sailed on as a stowaway, somehow became a home of sorts for the better part of two months. His shipmates, once his handlers were now a crew. His trigger pulls and gunman-ship vastly improved, refined his haggling skills and kept his body fit through strenuous exercise -usually in the form of running away from Officials.
When the sun had soared above the sea-level enough for it’s rays to reflect off of his earring, he snapped out of his thoughts and grinned a beguiling smile. Touching the black pearl delicately, he thought ‘Proud o’ me now, you worthless bastard?’
“Did ya know, little on’? Dawn, ’s the time when ya c’n see us comin’ home.”
“Always?”
“Mmhmm.”
The little child had grinned back then, sleepy and re-assured. The man now, knew better - that a pirate always lies.
The heavy creak of hard wood jolted Merlin out of his daze and quick as he was, whirled around, already reaching for his pocket knife. Freezing at the rumbling laugh, he confirmed that it was indeed one of the more joyous merry-maker’s of the crew. Gwaine sauntered towards him, a hand holding a tiny flask like it always did and a drunken swagger in his gait. Well. Gwaine was damn lucky Merlin had been distracted this time otherwise he’d have had a three-inch handle of a knife sticking out of his belly by now. Crossing the length of the docks, Gwaine approached Merlin and threw his arms around the amused male.
“Gwaine, did you just return from the tavern?”
Giggling drunkenly, he started pressing kisses into his friend’s skin, nuzzling his sleep warm neck. Chuckling himself, Merlin wrapped his arms around the sloshed man and held him tight. Alerted at the missing indignation and flailing, Gwaine stopped doing what he was doing and looked at Merlin. The complete change, from a drunken slosh to serious and concerned was disconcerting.
But then again, he was Gwaine… and since Gwaine was Gwaine, he said, “Jay?”
At Merlin’s confused expression, he relaxed, thinking that whatever was wrong with his friend, wasn't Jay’s doing. Manner loosening into a drunken slosh once more, he re-wrapped his arms around the tall male and said, “You gonna ‘cept me offer then, Beautiful?”
That roused Merlin, shoved Gwaine away and shook his head while chuckling amusedly, thinking that Gwaine was definitely sharp, Merlin just cuffed Gwaine’s head and steered him towards the ship.
“As always, rain check on tha’ one mate.”
Carrying the grumbling man towards the ship and into their sleeping quarters, Merlin thought about how the sun rose and that his father never had come back.
*****
It was when the ship tilted abnormally - some degrees to the right waywardly, did Arthur finally clue in to his restlessness that had been roiling off his skin since morning. Scrambling upright and away from his usual desk in the cosy built-in lounge of the Du Bois, scattering various reports and utensils, Arthur hurriedly clambered to the nearest window. His stomach dropped at the sight of the weather outside.
The skies were clear, not a cloud in sight and the waters were on the side of just still. Except. Except not 100 yards north of east were there clouds, grey bordering lining black, accumulating into this massive thing, surging faster than bloody fire with oil to slick its path. And never were waters supposed to be so still. Somebody had steered his ship right into a fucking storm without so much as a hey-mate-you-think-we-should-check-the-compass-anytime-soon? blind-as-bats-yes attitude from the other side! At the rate they were going, they would hit the edge just shy of forty five minutes. Not nearly enough time to pack essentials into the small rafts, evacuate non-risqué workers, turn the damn ship around and secure a safe position, preferably before it capsized.
To think Arthur had just barely been able to keep his eyes from growing glassy-eyed at the lists of contractors and their backgrounds; public or otherwise. Well, he was wide-awake now and -almost panicking- was not how he liked his wake-up calls. Gathering himself, no time for prim and proper, he rushed out of the lounge, paying no mind to his guard-of-the-week yelling at him to ‘Stop! Please, sir, is there something wrong?’
Yes, there was something bloody well and wrong! They were heading straight into what the officials would later declare as a ‘devastating storm that spanned the entire English channel losing brilliant sailors to the atrocities of the Sea’s Rage’. Flat out sprinting, Arthur dashed through the bridge, clambering for sturdy footing - as the waters picked that moment to start to thrash - and climbed the ladder leading to the Captain’s cabin.
He was not going to be part of that broadcast, willing to bet his pride and life on the line.
Gaining footing, he hauled himself up into the cabin only to find half the things packed and Captain Haynes gathering the last remnants of the transaction they’d made back in England and pocketing the twenty euros earned through unsavoury and deceitful tactics.
In exchange for ‘allowing’ the Mercia’s to build their expanding empire onto Property of Pendragon, he had to exact a certain amount of shares and money. The whole reason he was sent to England in the first place, was to negotiate that amount.
But in reality, if they had re-searched the site better, they would have never invested in it in the first place. The site wasn't better than a rogue’s resting place and the location of it ensured that Mercia was always short on clientele. Forcing them to move onto another location and have to wait until the contract of this landsite expired while simultaneously relying on them again for the next one. A brilliant strategy, if anyone ever heard of one--if only it didn't make Arthur’s stomach recoil.
The contractors were not going to go easy. Arthur would have to root out the best in the lot and have them draw up the most convoluted and mixed messages agreement they’ve ever had to write up. Hence the frantic list of contractors and their thoroughly looked into backgrounds - official or otherwise, all piled for Arthur to sort.
But the problem at hand was… All at once he felt relieved, to know that he wouldn't have to touch that tainted bag of gold and at the same time felt incredibly - immensely - angry to find that the Captain, the position he had wanted for so long, was abandoning ship without even informing anyone and pocketing the money--the swine,
“What do you think you’re doing, Haynes?” As always, the name was pronounced as if it were something dirty, a curse and full of resentment.
The man, wearing his finest silk--the thread count easily exceeding few hundreds, froze when Arthur’s harsh voice reached him. His eyes rolled heavenward and he mocked, about never having an easy day in his life, silently. Hands that had stopped packing finance-tracking documents and navigational charts, once more resumed their actions.
Arthur fumed, how could he not when the bloody Captain of his precious ship was abandoning it. Though Arthur had never had expectations from Haynes, Uther certainly did. They fought about it enough. And to so easily betray the General’s trust, when he put Haynes above him, stung. Uther was a bigot and incredibly narrow-minded about his decisions but the reason Arthur could never get him to reconsider his employment was because for all of Haynes’ faults, he was a cunning bastard. Played his cards discreetly - immediately taking credit for someone else’s ideas - people never knew that their ideas were good - but also taking the blame for other people’s mistakes - letting them know that they owed him, that he was charming and not at all a threat.
Until now.
Arthur had evidence and was infinitely smarter than to reveal what he had seen and concluded. Cooling his anger, he needed to focus, he played dumb. Haynes always thought he was an idiot anyway and pretending he didn't know what was going on wouldn't alert him. The guy was arrogant, narcissistic and had a huge ego - what could possibly go wrong?
Everything apparently.
Arthur stepped forward causally, trying to change his demeanour from panicked into something a little more relaxed. Trying to control his panting from the short yet powerful run, Arthur acted nonchalant and put an edge of angst in his voice when he said, “I asked you a question, Haynes.”
Haynes abruptly whipped around and sneered at Arthur, marring certain attractive features into something positively nasty. “What I do is none of your business brat. I am the Captain of this ship and you do not have the authority to question my actions.”
“Authority? And where did you learn that mouthful Haynes? I’m impressed, and I don't doubt you know its meaning - you do know what it means, yes?” Arthur goaded him. Trying to press, push and goad him into revealing himself - into proving that he was not the man for his Du Bois.
“Don’t test my patience boy. I have a lot to do and some snot-nosed brat ain’t going to disturb me. Scram.”
While it was true that Haynes was at least a decade older than Arthur, he wasn't nearly as accomplished in his studies or in his working career. Instead of punching the guy as Arthur suddenly wanted to do, he read the implications from Haynes’ response.
He knew exactly what he was doing, the swine, all the workers, Arthur, and their ‘guests’ all of them would die in the rough tumble of the sea and Haynes wasn't going to do anything about it - saving himself. It suddenly struck Arthur that this could have been Haynes’ plan all along - to steer everyone to their deaths and come out a hero, saying that he tried oh-so-very-hard but none of them could be saved and pocketing the gold to boot! And here, Arthur had come rushing in to the cabin, trying to warn Haynes to turn the ship around.
Arthur started laughing - a maniac sound, strangled and forced. Haynes jumped and turned back to watch Arthur as he clapped his thighs, trying to find out what was so damn funny. He hadn't finished whirling around when he was knocked off his feet, Arthur having delivered a powerful punch.
He stood there, breathing ragged and disgust twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, whilst Haynes lay on ground and clutched his face in shock.
“Now you listen to me and listen up closely Haynes. Sea travel is sacred and I will not let you taint its journey; not now and certainly not in the future. And if you dare harbour these thoughts again… Well, let it be said that I won’t be held responsible for my actions. It’ll be your word against mine.”
Taking a step closer to the cowering monger, Arthur paused, re-thinking his rage. It would be best to save this for later, change the course of the ship and get passengers off and into smaller vessels now. Sparing the man another sneer, Arthur didn't see the blooming rage arresting the man’s stature.
Watching as Arthur stepped around him, clambering for the on-board radio, Haynes couldn't help but quake with anger. How dare this brat come up here and order him around - wasted all his hard work! But even Haynes knew that if it came down to a hand-to-hand battle, he would lose. Instead he quietly got up, Arthur too pre-occupied barking orders through the radio to notice Haynes open the Captain’s cabin doors and give a meaningful nod.
However, he did notice the sudden noise inflection in the cabin and the presence of another body in the his small headquarters. The bad feeling only intensified when he turned around to face a gun barrel’s muzzle held by his bodyguard-of-the-week.
Haynes was standing off to the side, smirking cruelly and mirth rolling off of him in waves at having successfully cornered Arthur. Arthur, who was in all fairness, a brat with a condescending attitude, the centre of everyone’s attention and a tendency to destroy all the carefully calculated plans Haynes conjured. No one bothered to even glance at Haynes when Arthur was in the room; neither the aristocrats nor the ladies. Haynes may have the position as Captain, but even the workers on the ship followed Arthur more than their own official commander.
This feeling of incompetence festered in Haynes for four years until the man couldn't handle it anymore. He had to get rid of Arthur. And as the gun went off, he felt relief as he hadn't ever before.
*****
TBC
The pink creeps, hopefully it will creep again.