Kink Me! #9
Kink Me! #9
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Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #9!
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Closed to new prompts - go to the newest meme!
Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #9!
Read the rules before you post anything. We freeze or screen anything that breaks the rules! Got a question? Ask the mods!
So you want to post a fill?
Your attention to detail helps make our archiving possible, and also tells us you've read the rules.
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Part 4b/?
Arthur didn’t stop running, taking stairs several at a time and dodging servants and castle occupants as he went, until he caught Kay as he left his chambers.
“Gods, Arthur!” Kay exclaimed, clutching at his heart. “Where’s the fucking fire, eh?!”
“Kay,” panted Arthur, “you have to help me.”
--
“Stop laughing.” Kay didn’t. Arthur rolled his eyes and scratched at a spot on the table. He’d sent a servant to tell anyone who needed an excuse for his absence this morning that he was ill. “Stop. Laughing.”
Incapable of words, Kay shook his head, howling with mirth. His face was turning red; he was going to pass out any minute now.
“Kay, stop fucking laughing.”
“She-she got you-gods, and I thought the sword was good, I should-she bought you a boy!”
“Kay!”
“Damn her, she thinks of all the clever ideas!”
Arthur let out a groan that was half a whine and buried his face in his folded arms. “Come on, Kay-brother, I hate you, help me.”
“All right, all right,” said Kay, ceasing his laughter but unable to keep a smile from his face and voice. “Arthur, tell me what’s so horrible about it?”
“What?!”
“Well, as Morgana said-” Arthur groaned, digging his nails into his scalp; Kay’s smile widened, but other than that he ignored the interruption, “-as Morgana said, you’re driving yourself insane. You need an outlet, she got you an outlet. Quite thoughtful of her, actually.”
“It’s so…dishonorable, though!” said Arthur, finally sitting up to look Kay in his unnecessarily gleeful face. “He’s just a boy, and I never…” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with Kay-or anyone, for that matter. “It’s always for mutual benefit. I wouldn’t take advantage of a-partner-that way.”
“Then ask him for consent,” said Kay, as if it was the most simple thing in the world. Maybe it was, but Arthur’s life had been far from simple for as long he could remember.
“I can’t know he’s not just saying what he thinks I want to hear-and this is completely irrelevant, because I don’t want him!”
“Really?” Kay looked skeptical.
Arthur glared at him. “I don’t want a slave in my bed, with no concept of consent or-or partnership. I want-” He froze. What did he want? “I want…” The feeling of Merlin’s warm body in his arms, the way Merlin’s pale hands grasped his shirt…it wasn’t horrible, if he could forget what Merlin was. Arthur met Kay’s gaze and saw from his expression that Kay might figure out what he wasn’t saying if he went on not saying it any longer. “I want him gone.”
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After that, Arthur didn’t say anything further on the issue and Kay didn’t press him. They spent the morning in the awkward aftermath trying to pretend the conversation had never occurred, Kay attending to his duties and Arthur tagging along with him due to skiving off his own duties. It was sort of comforting and familiar-this was how Arthur had come to learn how the castle worked in the first place, how much effort went into keeping everything running smoothly; as a youth he’d followed Kay around nearly every day when he wasn’t with his tutor. The routine helped to gloss over some of the awkwardness.
“Ah, wait-I have to go this way,” said Kay, stopping and backtracking to a corridor they’d just passed.
“Why?” asked Arthur, following. Kay stopped in front of one of the first doors on the left and knocked. Arthur grimaced. “Oh.”
“I’ll catch up if you like, I just need to-”
The door opened. A small, pale boy with dark, dark hair and piercing blue eyes stood there, not quite glaring at them, but definitely not smiling.
“Good morning, Mordred,” said Kay cheerfully. “Are you ready to go?”
Now Mordred was glaring. He scowled silently at Kay, then his unnerving gaze slid past the knight and landed on Arthur. It had been nearly five years since Mordred had come to the castle as a scrawny toddler with that uncanny stare of his, and Arthur would never get used to it. He didn’t understand how Kay was able to pretend Mordred was just another child, or how Morgana even coddled him on occasion-though in Morgana’s case he generally chalked it up to the fact that she was a women and so small children and babies made her think and do strange things.
“Mordred?” asked Kay, snapping both Mordred and Arthur out of their reveries. “Where’s your trunk?”
With a glance at Arthur, Mordred disappeared back into his chambers. Kay looked over at Arthur and shrugged, then followed. Before Arthur could decide whether to stay out in the corridor, where he was comfortable, or venture after them in Mordred’s rooms, where he was not, Kay was coming back into the corridor, carrying Mordred’s small trunk, the boy trailing close behind.
“Mordred’s paying a visit to Lord Godwyn,” Kay told Arthur conversationally as they walked. “He has a son about Mordred’s age who’s taken sick and could do well with a playmate.”
“That sounds fun,” Arthur said, looking to his young half-brother and trying to seem amicable.
“I don’t want to go to,” said Mordred shortly.
Arthur didn’t know what to say to that, so he just went “Ah,” and then faced resolutely forward.
There was an entourage of four knights waiting for them in the main courtyard with Mordred’s pony and four horses, one of which was pulling a wooden cart. Kay settled Mordred’s trunk in the wagon with the other supplies and Arthur helped Mordred climb up onto his little silver pony.
“I’m not going there to keep Lord Godwyn’s son company,” said Mordred in that soft little voice of his abruptly.
“Oh?” said Arthur, caught off-guard. “You’re not?”
“Father can’t keep me from my mother forever.” Mordred said, fixing his unnatural gaze on Arthur. It was so hard to believe that he was so young-his eyes were so old. “The longer he tries, the worse it will be. For all of you.”
Sometimes Mordred did this; the rare times he did speak, it was spout dark comments and ill-disguised threats against their father. Most of the court-Arthur included-thought the boy must be touched in the head.
“Mordred, your mother’s not here,” Arthur reminded him.
“Now,” said Mordred simply, and then the knights were moving, leaving, and Mordred with them, and Arthur was left standing there with that strange, shaken feeling he often had after conversations with Mordred.
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Mordred is certainly ominous. It would be hilarious if we didn't know how powerful he is.
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Merlin woke feeling very strange. It was late, firstly-he could tell by the way he felt sweaty and groggy and just off. Secondly, he was in unfamiliar surroundings; when he’d fallen asleep, it had been on the floor by the fire, and now he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Sitting up just a touch too quickly, he looked around and realized that he was in the bed-the prince’s bed.
“Fuck!” he hissed, scrambling off the thing and stumbling against the table, as if he’d been laying on hot coals. How did he end up on the bed? Nervously, he straightened the blankets and pillows, to try and hide the evidence of his being there. Once he was satisfied that it wasn’t too terribly obvious that someone had slept in the bed, he stepped back and looked around the room.
He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. His purpose was clear, but the prince hadn’t seemed all that responsive to the plan. Well it wasn’t as though this was Merlin’s ideal situation… He shook his head, trying to dislodge thoughts like that before they could take hold.
There was a knock at the door suddenly, and Merlin froze as he heard a key turn in the lock, unsure whether or not to dive under the bed and hide, and his indecision made the choice for him.
Thank the gods, it was the Lady Morgana’s maid. She looked chipper until she saw Merlin’s face, which must have shown the way his heart was racing. “I’m sorry, did I startle you? Arthur sent me with the spare key.” She was carrying a silver food tray in one hand and a basket in the other, braced against her hip. How had she managed the door? The girl had a third hand hidden somewhere. Merlin crossed the room, got the door, and took the basket from her.
“Oh, thank you, Merlin,” she said.
“It’s nothing-Gwen.” Names weren’t often consequential in his line of work, but the maid had been so kind to him, and she’d even remembered his name, so Merlin wanted to make sure he returned the favor.
‘Gwen,’ he thought, ‘short for…Gwendolyn?’
Meanwhile, Gwen was setting the food on the table and telling him she’d come back for the dishes later, and then she pointed at the basket Merlin was holding. “We found some clothes for you, since you didn’t, um, have much. Some old things of my brother’s; we can make adjustments to them if they don’t fit.”
Curious, Merlin picked up a soft, well-worn shirt made of blue fabric. “Thank you,” he said, and meaning it.
“Do you need help with the-er-well, the-” Gwen gestured to her own neck, and Merlin reached up to touch his collar.
“No,” he said, feeling a blush in his ears. “No, it…I need it.”
There a tense, awkward, silent moment, then Gwen said, “Well, I’ll just-leave you to get dressed, then, and-er-Arthur should be back in a bit, I’m sure, and…yes.” And she was gone. And Merlin was alone.
Even in the brothel, he had never really been alone. He’d had friends. They were very nearly a family. Then the madam had fallen into some financial troubles, and then things started disappearing, exchanged for a few coins-furniture, plates, candlesticks, and then Merlin.
He changed into the clothes Gwen had brought him; the pants were just a hair too short, and the shirt seemed to be made for someone just a touch broader in the chest than him, but the faults were so minute it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t really hungry, but he’d learned long ago to take food when it was available, and besides, it was hot and very good. Afterwards, he stacked the dishes as he had the previous night, and went and sat down in front of the fire as he had the previous night, to wait.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for, really. He wasn’t being put to use, so was he supposed to just stay in this room, hiding, forever? Or at least until the prince turned him out? Living on the streets would be better than being sent back to the trader. He shuddered at the thought. Aredian, unlike the madam at the brothel, did not possess a shred of what one might call humanity. He’d been a harsh, cruel master, even as a transitory one. Merlin curled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and setting his chin on his knees. He hadn’t felt quite this vulnerable, this helpless, in a very, very long time.
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Kay had convinced Arthur to go back to his own chambers (“Honestly, Arthur, you’re getting underfoot-you haven’t been this annoying since you were six!”), but Arthur had convinced Kay to help him move Gaius’s spare cot down to his chambers as well.
“Is it clear?” asked Arthur. They’d paused at an intersection of corridors, and Kay was peering around the corner to check for passerby. Gaius had given them the cot freely, of course, but it would be much better for all of them if they didn’t have to explain to castle staff why the prince needed the extra bed.
“Go!” said Kay, and they each lifted an end of the thing and shuffled as quickly as they could. They were nearly there, and he knew the door was open-he’d had Gwen go in earlier to make sure the boy was fed and clothed properly. “I’ve got it,” Kay said, voice strained, as he fumbled with the door handle, holding up his end of the cot with one hand.
The door fell open and they managed to get the little bed inside before anyone came upon them. Arthur shut the door, nearly laughing-it had been a while since he and Kay had gotten up to any shenanigans, and he’d forgotten how fun it was.
“You’re Merlin, then?”
Arthur suddenly remembered the reason they needed the cot in the first place and spun around, nearly tripping over the stupid thing.
Kay was smiling kindly at the boy, who was, thank the gods, dressed appropriately. He looked slightly scared, though, which bothered Arthur a bit. What did he have to be frightened of here?
“I’m Kay,” continued his brother, holding out a hand in greeting. Hesitantly, Merlin shook his hand and at least had the sense to bow his head respectfully. “I understand you’ll be staying with us for a time.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Merlin. His eyes darted to Arthur and then to the floor, and he amended, “At least-I’m not sure, my lord.”
“I-I’ve brought a spare bed,” said Arthur, awkward. “Until we-er-figure things out, you’ll have to…stay here.”
“Right, where is it going then?” asked Kay, returning his attention to their task. “Over against that wall?”
“Yes, that’ll work.”
As they moved the cot into the corner, Arthur could sense Merlin over by the table, and his heart was straining agonizingly with terror of the situation the boy represented. He was sort of relieved to see, when Kay had excused himself and Arthur faced him again, that the boy looked as uncomfortable as he did. He wasn’t alone in this.
“Er…” He didn’t know where to begin. “Well…”
“You don’t want me,” said Merlin simply, and the flat, defeated tone was unacceptable and had Arthur saying, before he realized it, “No, it’s not that-” He stopped, sighing, passing a hand over his eyes in exasperation. “Merlin, it’s just…this isn’t right.”
Merlin nodded slowly; not as though he agreed, but as though he understood what Arthur was saying.
“I’ll…make arrangements for you to…I don’t know, something will be arranged. I…I just don’t know. I’m sorry. Excuse me.” Arthur left, as quickly as tact would allow, and as he did he cursed himself for letting the boy run him out of his chambers a second time. He vowed it would not happen again.
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When Arthur came back after training to prepare for dinner, Merlin was sitting in front of the hearth, his arms around his legs and his chin on his knees. He glanced over his shoulder, when Arthur came in, and moved to stand.
“No,” said Arthur, going to his wardrobe, “sit, please. I just need to change quickly.”
“Change for what?” asked Merlin. As if an afterthought, he added, “My lord.”
“Three more days of feasts until my birthday’s over.” Arthur pulled out something suitable and moved behind the screen to put it on. “All the really important people start to show up now, and gods only know how long they’ll stay.”
“Is this Camelot custom, sire, or is it simply for you?”
“Birthday celebrations typically last three days. There are tournaments, banquets-all the things they sing about.” Arthur stepped out, adjusting his belt. “However, my father felt this year my birth deserved extra attention,” he said, glowering at the ridiculousness of it.
Merlin stood, turning to face Arthur. “It’s not to your pleasing?”
“The amount of attention I receive is wildly disproportionate to how much I warrant it,” said Arthur. “And I seem to be the only one who thinks so.”
“Your people want to express their loyalty. They love you,” Merlin replied. “I’ve been here less than a week and I can see that.”
“But I haven’t done anything to earn their loyalty.”
“But they know you will,” said the boy. “And by that, you have earned their loyalty.”
Arthur studied him. This scrawny, pale boy. A slave-a whore, if Arthur were cruel enough to call him such. Yet the gods saw fit to make him wise?
A ghost of a grin tugged at the boy’s lips. Arthur shook himself.
“They’ll be expecting me in the Hall.” He crossed the room, heading for the door. “Your dinner will be brought to you shortly,” he said, taking on the official tone he’d lost somewhere amid this conversation. The spectre-smile vanished like the morning fog. “Retire when you wish, I may be late coming in-I’ll try not to wake you.” He paused at the door, looked back at the boy. “Help yourself to the books, if you like.”
“Thank you, my-” Merlin began, but the heavy oaken portal closed shut on his words. “…Prat.”
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With the arrival of several important persons, Arthur was obligated to be a bit more social tonight; he couldn’t hide up at the high table all night. He mingled and chatted and was even able to appear cheerful.
As a visiting lord moved away to speak to Uther, Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Morgana, smiling and conspiratorial.
“How are you and Merlin getting on, then?” He glared at her, and her smile vanished, replaced by annoyance. “Would you stop it already, Arthur? Gods, you’re so uptight-”
“You know what, Morgana?” he interrupted. “It’s not even that you arranged a bedmate for me. I’ve seen the method to that particular madness. It’s that you bought him, like a-like a horse. A person-just a boy, and he’s no more than an object to you.” He turned to leave her, but she grabbed his arm, tugging him back to face her.
“I can’t believe you’d think that of me!” she exclaimed. “Arthur, I bought him, yes, as I bought the other three the trader had, and I gave all of them their freedom. Merlin agreed to this, he wasn’t forced into it. I may not abide by your insanely restricting codes of ‘honour,’ but I’m no slave trader, and I’m hurt that you’d assume that of me.” Without another word, she turned and strode out of the Hall.
Then Kay was at his shoulder, asking, “What set her off?”
“I did,” said Arthur miserably. How could he have thought Morgana would do such a thing? Had he really grown that pretentious and judgmental? And for what? The defense of honour?
AN: I'll try to have the next part up before the weekend's over. Thank you for the comments--I love hearing what you guys think! :]
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I like that Merlin is smart and speaks his mind. He and Arthur could probably be friends if Arthur would sit down long enough for a real conversation. The situation has both boys on edge. It's great.
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I also think that Arthur was at least partially right in shunning Morgana's gift, because asking somebody who has spent most of their live in sex industry, and who probably thinks himself incapable of doing anything else or even coming home, whether they want to become a bed wormer for the prince or go free is not as much of a choice as Morgana seems to think it is. She's noble hearted but also pretty naive here (work well with her S1 characterisation).
I really like the world you created here and I love Arthur and his insistence on trying to be honourable. Looking forward to the next parts :)
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Part 6a/?
There was a soft knock at the door. “Morgana?”
“Go away!” she snapped, hating the way her voice was clogged with hurt so obviously. She wiped at her eyes angrily.
“Love, please.” It was Kay.
Morgana sighed, tugged at the handkerchief in her hands. “Come in.”
Kay came in, shutting the door behind him. He crossed the room to where she sat in her window seat and perched on the cushion in front of her.
“I know, I know,” she said. “‘Pendragons don’t cry.’ I’m not really a Pendragon anyway, so you can spare your breath.”
“Sweet girl,” said Kay, wiping at her tearstained cheek. “I’ve never known you to hurt easily. Your skin’s tougher than mine, certainly, for all your soaps and creams.” A smile twitched at the side of her mouth.
It faded quickly. “He’ll never be happy,” Morgana said. “He’ll never let himself be happy.”
“He wants so desperately to be a better man than Father.”
“A simple task.”
Kay tucked a dark wavy lock behind her ear. “It’s more than that-he wants to redeem Uther, he wants to cancel out all his indiscretions. As Uther’s one trueborn son, he is the only one who can.”
“He took me for a slave trader, Kay. A slave trader!” She shook her head. “I know everyone thinks I’m just the pretty little party-planner, but I can’t believe he’d have such little faith in my character. Is that what people think of me, Kay? Am I so shallow, so materialistic?”
“No, shh, you are kind and loving, and any fool who thinks differently doesn’t make it out of the city alive, I promise you.” Kay shifted, turning to face her in the seat. He put a hand on each of her shoulders. “We are Pendragons, Morgana. Not in name, but in blood. Names are nothing more than ink on paper, words in a mouth. Blood is life, blood is family. I would lay down my life for you, and for Arthur. As would he.”
“And I.”
Kay smiled. “Cry your fill-you are still the fiercest dragon I’ve ever known.” That brought a soft smile to her lips. He always knew just what to say to cheer her up.
After a moment, she said, “I forgot to tell you, I solved that problem for you. About what to do about security for Arthur.”
“You are the brains of the operation,” Kay said. “What did you do?”
--
Arthur shoved his chamber door open, intending to demand why the fuck Merlin hadn’t told him he was a free man-it would make things so much easier-but the room was quiet, and the only light came from the dying fire. Arthur stepped further into his chambers, looking around. It didn’t take long to find him; the boy was on the cot, facing the wall and seeming to be asleep.
Practically hissing in frustration, Arthur kicked off his boots and threw himself down on his bed. He would not run in the morning. He would not leave his rooms until he had learnt the entire story and resolved the whole ridiculous issue.
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Merlin stumbles, slamming into the wall and falling to the floor, pain cutting into his neck. Is this what beheading feels like? He tears at the source of the white-hot agony squeezing, as it pulls tighter like a rope.
“No…!” he chokes desperately. “Help!”
Cold laughter; blackness begins filling the edges of his vision, like water in a leaky boat. He gasps for air that won’t come, pushing himself across the stone floor on his stomach, a fish out of water. He crawls, fingers searching blindly. They connect with ice-cold digits, and he reaches out to grab hand with his own.
‘Help us…’ he thinks hopelessly, squeezing his hand as though it’s consciousness and not Arthur he’s clinging to. ‘Save him, just…I don’t care, save him.’
“Out of the way!” Something connects with his side, hard, forcing him onto his back, and his vision is blurring and framed by roiling black, but he can see the knife, and he can see it coming towards him-he’s going to die, he’s going to die and then Arthur’s going to die, and then-
“Merlin! Merlin, quiet! You’re going to wake half the castle!”
Merlin shook his head, eyes adjusting to the dark. Arthur stood over him, looking concerned, but more importantly alive, and Merlin’s heart was pounding uncontrollably in his chest, and before he knew what was happening, he’d latched onto the front of Arthur’s nightshirt, pulling him close, still gasping for air as if he’d been drowning.
Baffled, Arthur nearly fell on top of him, with a knee on the bed and a foot on the floor, but he braced himself with his hand against the wall, putting his other arm around the shaking boy, hugging him to his chest.
“Gods, what happened?” asked Arthur, but Merlin shook his head, fighting to control his breathing. He pressed his forehead against Arthur’s chest.
Arthur wasn’t sure what to do. It was some obscene hour of the morning, and suddenly he’d woken to Merlin shouting and thrashing about. Perhaps the boy suffered night terrors?
“All right, it’s fine, you’re all right,” he said at last, shifting so he could sit on the edge of the cot rather than kneel awkwardly over Merlin. Somehow his hand found its way to Merlin’s head and was carding through his dark hair, damp with cold sweat.
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“I’m sorry,” Merlin mumbled, when he’d stopped shuddering so violently and pulled away from Arthur’s embrace. Arthur dropped his arms awkwardly, but didn’t move to get up.
“What happened?”
“I…I don’t know,” Merlin croaked, still shivering. “I just-I-had a nightmare, I suppose.”
“What was it about?” When Arthur had been a small child, his nurse had always made him tell the dream, which often seemed silly once he was awake, and it helped soothe him.
“It was strange,” said Merlin. “I…I didn’t recognize where we were.”
“‘We?’”
Merlin bit his lip. Arthur honestly couldn’t help it when his gaze lingered there before flicking back up to Merlin’s eyes.
“You were there, sort of,” said the boy. “You were…dead. Or nearly.”
That was understandably disconcerting to Arthur. There was an odd prickly feeling on the back of his neck, as if…but there was no way that there could be any truth to Merlin’s words.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “as you can see, I’m alive. So, er…” He turned to leave, but Merlin’s hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve.
“No!” He flushed, embarrassed by his sudden outburst. “I-I mean…please. Don’t go.”
Arthur studied Merlin’s face. Ever since this boy had come into his life-only yesterday, but it seemed eons ago already-his world had been just that much more complicated. He’d still have to talk things out with him in the morning. He’d still have to figure out what to do with him in the morning.
But not until the morning.
Arthur sighed, the familiar feeling of unwanted resolves settling over him, and climbed over Merlin’s legs, putting himself between Merlin and the wall and laid down there. But even with Arthur trying to flatten himself against the wall, the cot was just clearly made to accommodate a single person. Eventually they shifted around into just the right position to keep them both on the small bed: Arthur mostly on his back, with Merlin held snug at his side, his head on Arthur’s shoulder.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t uncomfortable, and it didn’t take long for either of them to drift back to sleep.
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