Kink Me! #28

Feb 05, 2012 10:15



Kink Me! #28
closed to new promptsWelcome to Kink Me! Merlin #28!

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Tug of War [Warning: Character Death], 3b anonymous June 4 2012, 21:56:07 UTC
cont.

But, for all of Morgana’s whispered warnings, the swift clutches to Merlin’s wrist to assure she has his attention when she reminds him about keeping Arthur focused (“What he wants, Merlin. Make Arthur think of Arthur.”), Uther is always distantly pleasant when he and Merlin happen to meet each other. It’s never on purpose but Merlin supposes bringing Arthur lunch once a week in Parliament where he and Uther work in offices next to each other makes their meetings not quite unexpected.

Openly, he doesn’t speak a word against Merlin and when he mentions it - Uther’s passiveness, his ease of conversation - to Morgana one afternoon, she passes him a glare that could freeze the Thames in July. “Have you not been listening, Merlin? Uther is in politics; polite conversation is his profession. You know first-hand what an arse Arthur is but very few others are very knowledgeable about that, yes? They’re both closed books and reading their pages is difficult - Uther, especially. Don’t assume that he’s on your side, Merlin. Never let your guard down; his attacks are often indirect but powerful nonetheless.”

Arthur bites into his pasta, chewing slowly as he listens to Merlin repeat the entire conversation. When he’s done meal and story both finished, Arthur says, “My father hasn’t said anything at all in regards to this relationship. Despite Morgana’s declarations, if he was unhappy, he would have directly and purposely let us both know he was displeased with the status quo. He works in politics; his speciality is making things go his way.”

“I thought working in politics means you’re meant to make things go the way the people want, not yourself.”

“Mind your mouth, Merlin,” Arthur warns. Merlin knows he’s toeing the line and doesn’t respond. Arthur thinks male nurses are silly and Merlin thinks politics are all a grand scheme to swindle money out of people (not that he complains when he sips coffee on the patio and watches the sun rise slowly over the Thames, all paid for by centuries of well-invested, politically-earned funds) but their guests all think they’re well-educated and perfectly matched when they stare at bookshelf upon bookshelf of Merlin’s medical texts (and how were they to know the tomes there were actually tiny in comparison to what doctors studied?) alongside Arthur’s books on political theory, law and guides to surviving Oxford (Arthur claims they’re rubbish; he tells anyone who will listen than all you need is long, sleepless nights and more pints than you can count on the weekends). “Tell Morgana to mind her own business and then follow the same advice. You sound like an idiot when you talk about things you don’t understand.”

Merlin glares at Arthur’s back, silently hoping it burns a hole in his posh collared white shirt. When he doesn’t see the smoke, a flash of flame ignited, he changes his tactic and wonders which tie he wants to strangle Arthur in his sleep with. Red, blue, green? Something with or without stripes?

Sod it all, his bare hands will do the job just as well.

Morgana texts him that night while he’s stretched across the sofa, the Thames dark in the window beside him but greater London still alight with life long after the sun has faded in the distance and blackness has filled the once bright space.

It’s starting, Merlin. Stop it. Stop it soon.

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