srin
in
mad_poetics
fic: Asylum, Refuge
Hello there everybody! Look, I do still exist! And I come with fic! Not exactly happy fic I'm afraid, but still, fic!
Title: Asylum
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: 4x12
Rating: R
Warnings: Mind-control, dubious consent.
Length: ~590 words
Summary: Simpleton!Arthur is cold. Merlin is warm.
Note: Takes place during 4x12, originally written for this prompt at the kink meme.
It’s cold. The clothes are thin, and leave so much of his skin bare to the weak but persistent rain, so he’s clammy on the outside and shivery on the inside. Merlin said these clothes were best, so that must be true; maybe he’s cold because he deserves to be cold, because he’s rude and very annoying and must have done something else very very bad, something to make Morgana chase them out of Camelot. So he tries to keep still, at first, to be strong and endure his punishment because he does not want to disappoint Merlin again.
But then he thinks: Merlin did not say he had to be cold. Merlin told him what he did wrong and what he should do to make up for it, so surely Merlin would have told him if he had to be cold. Maybe it would be all right, if he were warmer. Merlin’s warm, and Merlin’s safe, and Merlin looks after Arthur, so maybe he’ll share some of his warmth with Arthur.
Arthur rolls along the ground, and the motion hurts his chest some but that’s okay, he knows he deserves that because he didn’t fight well enough to stop them hurting him. Next time he’ll be better, and maybe then it won’t hurt. He rolls until he bumps his body up against Merlin’s, and then he tucks his face against Merlin’s neck, and his arm around Merlin’s chest, and his leg over Merlin’s leg. Merlin’s a little damp too but he is warm, bright heat rolling off him and sinking into Arthur’s body where they touch. It feels good, he knew it would be good because it’s Merlin, and he wants more. Merlin’s sleeping, still body and steady breathing, and waking him would be very annoying probably, so Arthur tries to do his burrowing unobtrusively, slipping his hands under Merlin’s shirt and jacket and curling in and clinging, quietly.
He thinks he’s done it, thinks he’s done well, but then Merlin’s breath catches and he goes stiff.
“Arthur?” he mumbles.
“I’m cold,” Arthur explains, and hopes Merlin won’t tell him he has to go. “You’re warm. Please can I stay?”
Merlin makes a sound like he wants to say something, and then stops, and then says, “Yeah. Okay. You can stay.”
“Thank you,” Arthur says, grateful that Merlin is so kind to him, even when he’s done wrong and landed them out here in the rain and cold. After a moment, Merlin settles his hand on Arthur’s back, on the naked skin between his shirt and trousers, and his fingers feel like a promise: he knows what’s best and he’ll take care of Arthur, always. Everything will be all right, so long as Arthur does what Merlin tells him.
Arthur is content, in his mind and in his body, too. He gets hard between his legs after a little bit, his body happy because Merlin is so good to him, and warm, and close. Merlin’s thigh is hard too, and Arthur rocks against it, and doesn’t notice Merlin’s choked noise or the way his fingers lock up all tense on Arthur’s back. Arthur rubs against Merlin until his pleasure peaks, and then he drifts away to sleep in a haze of safe and protected and the calm certainty that he need only tell Merlin please and thank you and obey, and all will be well.
(Merlin keeps very still, and stares up at the dark sky while Arthur holds him, and the rain falls on his face.)
Title: Refuge
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: 4x12
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Deals with after-effects of the events from above.
Length: ~770 words
Summary: Arthur doesn't remember being a simpleton. Mostly.
Note: Sequel to the above.
The enchantment (not that Arthur knows it was an enchantment) is long gone, and Arthur doesn’t remember it - mostly. He does not remember the events, the things Merlin said or the things he himself did. But the odd reflection creeps up in the corners of his mind, sometimes.
He nods off at his desk, wakes with his face and arms and chest pressed to the surface, and feels a flash of the curious comfort he found in wrapping himself around a tree. The reassurance of something hard and still against his body, immovable, sturdy, something stronger than himself that poses no threat. Arthur stays there, cheek flat against the wood, content until Merlin bangs through the door. Then he sits up abruptly, embarrassed without quite understanding why.
Merlin. Merlin brings up shards of memory, too. He’ll say something, tell Arthur to do this or that, get out of bed or finish his vegetables or stop being so difficult, would you, and instead of rolling his eyes or telling Merlin off as he ought to, Arthur finds himself complying. Doing it automatically, easily, and feeling comfortable in it, as though there were something right and proper in doing as he’s told. In doing as Merlin, specifically, tells him. He’ll catch himself at it and it’s clear that Merlin does too, that Merlin notices. Merlin will flinch, and look guilty - guiltier than usual. Arthur has stopped asking, because Merlin always pretends loudly that he’s imagining things when he tries to question him, but Arthur can see the secrets buried in his eyes and the way they rise to the surface when Arthur unthinkingly obeys him.
And it isn’t only the obedience. When Arthur undresses for the bath, when he staggers against Merlin after too much wine, when he wakes up hard and hasn’t had a chance to take care of himself before Merlin’s there dragging the sheets off. Merlin never used to react much to such things - a bit of embarrassment, maybe, or some teasing, or a little hint of something that Arthur, in his more hopeful moments, might read as want. But now he goes pale, jerks away, makes excuses and flees as though he’s frightened.
It’s unsettling. Merlin’s supposed to be safe, he’s always felt safe to Arthur even with his secrets. When Arthur wakes from a dream, or maybe it’s a piece of memory, and he isn’t quite in the real world yet, he finds himself reaching for Merlin beside him. He unconsciously wants to burrow down in the warmth of Merlin’s body and be held there, be protected. Which is absurd of course, Arthur knows that, but his bones want it and it hurts a little, it hurts more than a little every time Merlin startles away from him as though he’s been burned.
The worst of it is that it’s Merlin. The Merlin he wants and the Merlin who’s guilty and distant is the same Merlin who would normally hear Arthur while he talks through the jumble in his head and heart. Who would listen and advise and be steady and firm at Arthur’s side, even if he might be tripping over his own feet at the same time. There’s no one, without Merlin. Arthur certainly isn’t about to admit any of this to anyone else.
So Arthur retreats into the strange little comforts that leak from the hidden corners of his mind. When it all gets to be too much, he finds a space where he can be assured of his privacy, and clutches to a pillar. The smooth stone isn’t quite so good as rough bark, but it’s not exactly feasible for the king to run off and hug a tree when he’s feeling low. The pillar, constant and unbending under all its heavy burdens, suffices to sooth. When he’s in that half-dreaming state on the edge of sleep, he holds onto it, lets himself linger in the imagined heat of Merlin’s embrace. Imaginary Merlin, who’s close and dear and safe, and hiding nothing.
And, as disconcerting as the idea is, Arthur occasionally lets himself enjoy the quiet bewildering pleasure that comes of acquiescing to Merlin instead of annoying him. He bites back the odd insult, slips in the odd please. Maybe, one day, if he’s good enough, Merlin will tell him the truth of those missing hours. Maybe one day, Merlin will stop hiding, and tell him the truth of everything. Arthur holds that hope tight within himself, tiny as it is. A little seed of promise that will maybe one day, if he nurtures it well enough, grow great and strong and true.
(AND THEN A UNICORN CAME AND MADE IT ALL OKAY. Man I miss the happy fluffy days of series 1.)
Title: Asylum
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: 4x12
Rating: R
Warnings: Mind-control, dubious consent.
Length: ~590 words
Summary: Simpleton!Arthur is cold. Merlin is warm.
Note: Takes place during 4x12, originally written for this prompt at the kink meme.
It’s cold. The clothes are thin, and leave so much of his skin bare to the weak but persistent rain, so he’s clammy on the outside and shivery on the inside. Merlin said these clothes were best, so that must be true; maybe he’s cold because he deserves to be cold, because he’s rude and very annoying and must have done something else very very bad, something to make Morgana chase them out of Camelot. So he tries to keep still, at first, to be strong and endure his punishment because he does not want to disappoint Merlin again.
But then he thinks: Merlin did not say he had to be cold. Merlin told him what he did wrong and what he should do to make up for it, so surely Merlin would have told him if he had to be cold. Maybe it would be all right, if he were warmer. Merlin’s warm, and Merlin’s safe, and Merlin looks after Arthur, so maybe he’ll share some of his warmth with Arthur.
Arthur rolls along the ground, and the motion hurts his chest some but that’s okay, he knows he deserves that because he didn’t fight well enough to stop them hurting him. Next time he’ll be better, and maybe then it won’t hurt. He rolls until he bumps his body up against Merlin’s, and then he tucks his face against Merlin’s neck, and his arm around Merlin’s chest, and his leg over Merlin’s leg. Merlin’s a little damp too but he is warm, bright heat rolling off him and sinking into Arthur’s body where they touch. It feels good, he knew it would be good because it’s Merlin, and he wants more. Merlin’s sleeping, still body and steady breathing, and waking him would be very annoying probably, so Arthur tries to do his burrowing unobtrusively, slipping his hands under Merlin’s shirt and jacket and curling in and clinging, quietly.
He thinks he’s done it, thinks he’s done well, but then Merlin’s breath catches and he goes stiff.
“Arthur?” he mumbles.
“I’m cold,” Arthur explains, and hopes Merlin won’t tell him he has to go. “You’re warm. Please can I stay?”
Merlin makes a sound like he wants to say something, and then stops, and then says, “Yeah. Okay. You can stay.”
“Thank you,” Arthur says, grateful that Merlin is so kind to him, even when he’s done wrong and landed them out here in the rain and cold. After a moment, Merlin settles his hand on Arthur’s back, on the naked skin between his shirt and trousers, and his fingers feel like a promise: he knows what’s best and he’ll take care of Arthur, always. Everything will be all right, so long as Arthur does what Merlin tells him.
Arthur is content, in his mind and in his body, too. He gets hard between his legs after a little bit, his body happy because Merlin is so good to him, and warm, and close. Merlin’s thigh is hard too, and Arthur rocks against it, and doesn’t notice Merlin’s choked noise or the way his fingers lock up all tense on Arthur’s back. Arthur rubs against Merlin until his pleasure peaks, and then he drifts away to sleep in a haze of safe and protected and the calm certainty that he need only tell Merlin please and thank you and obey, and all will be well.
(Merlin keeps very still, and stares up at the dark sky while Arthur holds him, and the rain falls on his face.)
Title: Refuge
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: 4x12
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Deals with after-effects of the events from above.
Length: ~770 words
Summary: Arthur doesn't remember being a simpleton. Mostly.
Note: Sequel to the above.
The enchantment (not that Arthur knows it was an enchantment) is long gone, and Arthur doesn’t remember it - mostly. He does not remember the events, the things Merlin said or the things he himself did. But the odd reflection creeps up in the corners of his mind, sometimes.
He nods off at his desk, wakes with his face and arms and chest pressed to the surface, and feels a flash of the curious comfort he found in wrapping himself around a tree. The reassurance of something hard and still against his body, immovable, sturdy, something stronger than himself that poses no threat. Arthur stays there, cheek flat against the wood, content until Merlin bangs through the door. Then he sits up abruptly, embarrassed without quite understanding why.
Merlin. Merlin brings up shards of memory, too. He’ll say something, tell Arthur to do this or that, get out of bed or finish his vegetables or stop being so difficult, would you, and instead of rolling his eyes or telling Merlin off as he ought to, Arthur finds himself complying. Doing it automatically, easily, and feeling comfortable in it, as though there were something right and proper in doing as he’s told. In doing as Merlin, specifically, tells him. He’ll catch himself at it and it’s clear that Merlin does too, that Merlin notices. Merlin will flinch, and look guilty - guiltier than usual. Arthur has stopped asking, because Merlin always pretends loudly that he’s imagining things when he tries to question him, but Arthur can see the secrets buried in his eyes and the way they rise to the surface when Arthur unthinkingly obeys him.
And it isn’t only the obedience. When Arthur undresses for the bath, when he staggers against Merlin after too much wine, when he wakes up hard and hasn’t had a chance to take care of himself before Merlin’s there dragging the sheets off. Merlin never used to react much to such things - a bit of embarrassment, maybe, or some teasing, or a little hint of something that Arthur, in his more hopeful moments, might read as want. But now he goes pale, jerks away, makes excuses and flees as though he’s frightened.
It’s unsettling. Merlin’s supposed to be safe, he’s always felt safe to Arthur even with his secrets. When Arthur wakes from a dream, or maybe it’s a piece of memory, and he isn’t quite in the real world yet, he finds himself reaching for Merlin beside him. He unconsciously wants to burrow down in the warmth of Merlin’s body and be held there, be protected. Which is absurd of course, Arthur knows that, but his bones want it and it hurts a little, it hurts more than a little every time Merlin startles away from him as though he’s been burned.
The worst of it is that it’s Merlin. The Merlin he wants and the Merlin who’s guilty and distant is the same Merlin who would normally hear Arthur while he talks through the jumble in his head and heart. Who would listen and advise and be steady and firm at Arthur’s side, even if he might be tripping over his own feet at the same time. There’s no one, without Merlin. Arthur certainly isn’t about to admit any of this to anyone else.
So Arthur retreats into the strange little comforts that leak from the hidden corners of his mind. When it all gets to be too much, he finds a space where he can be assured of his privacy, and clutches to a pillar. The smooth stone isn’t quite so good as rough bark, but it’s not exactly feasible for the king to run off and hug a tree when he’s feeling low. The pillar, constant and unbending under all its heavy burdens, suffices to sooth. When he’s in that half-dreaming state on the edge of sleep, he holds onto it, lets himself linger in the imagined heat of Merlin’s embrace. Imaginary Merlin, who’s close and dear and safe, and hiding nothing.
And, as disconcerting as the idea is, Arthur occasionally lets himself enjoy the quiet bewildering pleasure that comes of acquiescing to Merlin instead of annoying him. He bites back the odd insult, slips in the odd please. Maybe, one day, if he’s good enough, Merlin will tell him the truth of those missing hours. Maybe one day, Merlin will stop hiding, and tell him the truth of everything. Arthur holds that hope tight within himself, tiny as it is. A little seed of promise that will maybe one day, if he nurtures it well enough, grow great and strong and true.
(AND THEN A UNICORN CAME AND MADE IT ALL OKAY. Man I miss the happy fluffy days of series 1.)