FIC: Time (of change) (Uther Pendragon/OMC, FRT)
Title: Time (of change)
Author: soft_princess
Website: Fly With Me
Date: April 15, 2009
Word count: 1,600
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Uther/OMC
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: The characters of BBC's Merlin are not mine; I claim Francis though, he only exists in my head (pity).
Spoilers/setting: None
Summary: Uther found himself reluctant to awaken Francis, to break this fragile morning peace. The night had been especially satisfying, and the warm body against his own was welcome and felt strangely comforting.
Note: Written for lgbt_fest, prompt #979: Merlin, Uther Pendragon, Uther has always told himself that he has sex with men so as not to father any bastards, but he's beginning to think there's more to it than that.
Thanks to mireille719 for the quick beta.
Uther blinked in the half light and ran a hand over the arm of his bedfellow. He'd have to wake him presently, as the sun wasn't far from the horizon. By the time light had awakened Camelot, it would be too late for Francis to return to his rooms. Maids would be scrambling in the halls, rushing to their morning chores; and maids talked.
Uther knew very well just how much maids talked; as the king, he couldn't afford for rumours to spread about who he brought to bed.
He found himself reluctant to awaken Francis, to break this fragile morning peace. The night had been especially satisfying, and the warm body against his own was welcome and felt strangely comforting. The face of Uther's companion was lax in sleep, none of the lines of age or stress showing as he rested, breathing slowly against Uther's neck. Uther yearned to touch him intimately again, to recapture the passion of the night, to watch Francis' body, his face, his hands, as they joined again and again in the light of day. He wanted more than fumbles in the dark and secrecy of night.
It hadn't been their first time together, but when Uther had asked Francis to his chamber the night before, something had been different. Uther usually did not ask the same man twice, not unless there was a very clear arrangement between them. There was no such arrangement with Francis, and Uther had no desire to form one. He wanted...
He wanted something he should not. He knew better than to wish it were possible for Francis to share his bed on a more regular basis.
Uther brushed his hand against Francis' hair, sighing when Francis muttered and moved in sleep. There was wonder in sharing life with someone. Uther hadn't felt it since Igraine's death had taken her from him. But a man wasn't the one he should give his heart to.
He'd always believed that the act of bringing a man to his bed for his baser urges was only a way to avoid fathering bastards on the maids and other women of low virtue, as so many of his, and his father's and grandfather's, generation had done. Igraine was the only woman he'd wanted to bear his children; that they'd had to make a deal with the devil for it to happen, he knew, wasn't a slight to his manhood. Igraine was the only one he'd loved, the only woman he'd wanted to love.
Besides, fathering bastards was not a good thing for a king to do; wars had broken out over less. And Uther wasn't about to leave Arthur to deal with the fallout of his father's excesses.
But something had shifted. Uther had found himself looking at Francis with more than a desire to satisfy himself. Francis had a grace not often found in the knights Uther had bedded in his life, fighters with broad builds and harsh hands. No, if Francis' hands showed callouses, they were from transcribing texts into heavy volumes, for handling books and dust in the archives of several of Uther's contemporaries, and more recently, those of Camelot. Francis' body and spirit hadn't been hardened by wars and the need to fight for his meals, for his king.
It wasn't to say that Francis was soft, or a coward; he was a scholar, and for all Uther's years of fighting alongside men of strength, he had never met one with the bravery that Francis displayed on a regular basis. He wasn't afraid to stand up to Uther when there was need for it, to voice an opinion contrary to that of his king, to challenge Uther even in bed.
Just last night he'd teased and touched Uther's body, bending the king's will to his own until Uther had surrendered a part of himself he hadn't ever given since his younger years.
And Uther had welcomed it, welcomed the flame in Francis' gaze when they'd joined, wanted him more than he'd wanted in years; more than he'd ever wanted another man.
This was no longer about fumbles in the dark.
Uther didn't want Francis as a replacement for women he couldn't take; he wanted Francis as a man. His whole body reeled at the thought, but it was true, and Uther couldn't brush off the facts.
Francis stirred next to him and opened sleepy eyes which rapidly turned horrified when he noticed the light permeating through the closed curtains.
"My king," he started, "it is late."
Uther shook his head, staying silent but brushing Francis' hair with shaking fingers. "I don't wish you to go," he finally whispered when it became clear that Francis needed an answer.
"There will be talk, Uther," Francis said, his voice softening even as he leaned into Uther's touch.
"Oh, Francis, I know," Uther replied softly. "Dear one, I've no idea what I am doing, I only know that watching you hurry out would be unbearable to me."
"I may return tonight, if you wish it," Francis tried, uncertain.
"I do," Uther answered without thought. "I wish it very much, but only if it is your wish as well."
"What my king wants, I want," Francis whispered, lifting up his head to press warm lips against Uther's. "If you have need of me today, I will be in the archives, quite alone."
Uther smiled, his hand to the back of Francis' neck, feeling him shiver with the palm of his hand. "I shall make a point of visiting you then. I've a matter to discuss that perhaps can't wait for the night to fall."
"And what would that be?"
"If we start now, there will be no time for you to reach your quarters in time. Go."
"I thought you had no wish to see me go," Francis teased, his fingers brushing through the hair on Uther's chest.
"I don't," Uther admitted. "But you were right to say that it is quite late already. I wouldn't want your character to be tarnished when you've only been in Camelot a few short months."
"And what about yours? Isn't it you who should be frightened of what rumours may start?"
"I am." Uther sat up, coming behind Francis and wrapping an arm around his torso. "I cannot say that I am fearless in this." It hadn't occurred to him before he'd said the words that, for the first time in his life since Igraine's death, he was scared of what could happen now that he knew his heart to belong to someone else.
"But you want me to stay?" Francis sounded both hopeful and frightened.
Uther cupped his jaw and turned Francis' face until their eyes met. "I want to see you caught in pleasure while the sun comes up the horizon. I want to hear your cries in the light of day, not only in the dead of night."
Francis shivered visibly against Uther, but said nothing.
Uther had never taken a scholar to bed before Francis, and now, with his companion so close and awake, so beautiful in the light of dawn, he had to wonder what about him had forced Uther to confront what he'd long since denied of himself. It couldn't only be the way he challenged Uther's will in and out of bed; while there weren't many people who did now that Uther was king, there had been men in his youth who had done so.
Perhaps it was the way Francis caressed him like he did the volumes in the archives, with care and tenderness, something Uther hadn't ever expected of his many encounters. Desire and pleasure, yes, but tenderness, never.
"I'll come down to see you this afternoon, dear one; you should go now," he whispered into Francis' ear.
As he watched Francis leave, Uther wondered what the scholar was thinking of Uther's unexpected behaviour. This was the fifth morning they'd awoken together, and none of the others had found Uther so unwilling to let go. Perhaps it was only due to the way the night had been spent, so different from before. Perhaps it was due to Uther's dawning realization that his desire was more than he'd first thought.
He hadn't looked at a single woman in more time than he'd realized.
Now that he was looking back, Uther couldn't remember the last woman who'd captured his interest without the help of magic. But Francis... the first time Uther had seen him, he'd been captivated beyond anything he'd felt before. Strong chiseled cheeks, spectacles on his nose, and hands made for a quill and not for wielding a sword. Uther had thought for a moment that time had stopped when Francis' eyes had met his. By the time he'd finished reciting his qualification to the king, Francis had been bright red. The passion he seemed to possess for books and keeping records had Uther wondering just how it translated to the bedroom.
He'd had his answer only seven nights later when Francis had joined him into his bedchamber. Uther had never felt such pleasure of the flesh as Francis awakened in him.
He couldn't look back; didn't want to, in fact. Uther's heart wasn't his own anymore, and while it was a dangerous path to walk on, Uther was king and would find a way to make it work. He had to.
And the first thing he would have to do before meeting Francis this very afternoon, was sack those of his servants that he deemed untrustworthy. Uther was meant to have done it a long time ago, and now he had the best reason for it. There was no time like the present.
The future awaited him.
Author: soft_princess
Website: Fly With Me
Date: April 15, 2009
Word count: 1,600
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Uther/OMC
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: The characters of BBC's Merlin are not mine; I claim Francis though, he only exists in my head (pity).
Spoilers/setting: None
Summary: Uther found himself reluctant to awaken Francis, to break this fragile morning peace. The night had been especially satisfying, and the warm body against his own was welcome and felt strangely comforting.
Note: Written for lgbt_fest, prompt #979: Merlin, Uther Pendragon, Uther has always told himself that he has sex with men so as not to father any bastards, but he's beginning to think there's more to it than that.
Thanks to mireille719 for the quick beta.
Uther blinked in the half light and ran a hand over the arm of his bedfellow. He'd have to wake him presently, as the sun wasn't far from the horizon. By the time light had awakened Camelot, it would be too late for Francis to return to his rooms. Maids would be scrambling in the halls, rushing to their morning chores; and maids talked.
Uther knew very well just how much maids talked; as the king, he couldn't afford for rumours to spread about who he brought to bed.
He found himself reluctant to awaken Francis, to break this fragile morning peace. The night had been especially satisfying, and the warm body against his own was welcome and felt strangely comforting. The face of Uther's companion was lax in sleep, none of the lines of age or stress showing as he rested, breathing slowly against Uther's neck. Uther yearned to touch him intimately again, to recapture the passion of the night, to watch Francis' body, his face, his hands, as they joined again and again in the light of day. He wanted more than fumbles in the dark and secrecy of night.
It hadn't been their first time together, but when Uther had asked Francis to his chamber the night before, something had been different. Uther usually did not ask the same man twice, not unless there was a very clear arrangement between them. There was no such arrangement with Francis, and Uther had no desire to form one. He wanted...
He wanted something he should not. He knew better than to wish it were possible for Francis to share his bed on a more regular basis.
Uther brushed his hand against Francis' hair, sighing when Francis muttered and moved in sleep. There was wonder in sharing life with someone. Uther hadn't felt it since Igraine's death had taken her from him. But a man wasn't the one he should give his heart to.
He'd always believed that the act of bringing a man to his bed for his baser urges was only a way to avoid fathering bastards on the maids and other women of low virtue, as so many of his, and his father's and grandfather's, generation had done. Igraine was the only woman he'd wanted to bear his children; that they'd had to make a deal with the devil for it to happen, he knew, wasn't a slight to his manhood. Igraine was the only one he'd loved, the only woman he'd wanted to love.
Besides, fathering bastards was not a good thing for a king to do; wars had broken out over less. And Uther wasn't about to leave Arthur to deal with the fallout of his father's excesses.
But something had shifted. Uther had found himself looking at Francis with more than a desire to satisfy himself. Francis had a grace not often found in the knights Uther had bedded in his life, fighters with broad builds and harsh hands. No, if Francis' hands showed callouses, they were from transcribing texts into heavy volumes, for handling books and dust in the archives of several of Uther's contemporaries, and more recently, those of Camelot. Francis' body and spirit hadn't been hardened by wars and the need to fight for his meals, for his king.
It wasn't to say that Francis was soft, or a coward; he was a scholar, and for all Uther's years of fighting alongside men of strength, he had never met one with the bravery that Francis displayed on a regular basis. He wasn't afraid to stand up to Uther when there was need for it, to voice an opinion contrary to that of his king, to challenge Uther even in bed.
Just last night he'd teased and touched Uther's body, bending the king's will to his own until Uther had surrendered a part of himself he hadn't ever given since his younger years.
And Uther had welcomed it, welcomed the flame in Francis' gaze when they'd joined, wanted him more than he'd wanted in years; more than he'd ever wanted another man.
This was no longer about fumbles in the dark.
Uther didn't want Francis as a replacement for women he couldn't take; he wanted Francis as a man. His whole body reeled at the thought, but it was true, and Uther couldn't brush off the facts.
Francis stirred next to him and opened sleepy eyes which rapidly turned horrified when he noticed the light permeating through the closed curtains.
"My king," he started, "it is late."
Uther shook his head, staying silent but brushing Francis' hair with shaking fingers. "I don't wish you to go," he finally whispered when it became clear that Francis needed an answer.
"There will be talk, Uther," Francis said, his voice softening even as he leaned into Uther's touch.
"Oh, Francis, I know," Uther replied softly. "Dear one, I've no idea what I am doing, I only know that watching you hurry out would be unbearable to me."
"I may return tonight, if you wish it," Francis tried, uncertain.
"I do," Uther answered without thought. "I wish it very much, but only if it is your wish as well."
"What my king wants, I want," Francis whispered, lifting up his head to press warm lips against Uther's. "If you have need of me today, I will be in the archives, quite alone."
Uther smiled, his hand to the back of Francis' neck, feeling him shiver with the palm of his hand. "I shall make a point of visiting you then. I've a matter to discuss that perhaps can't wait for the night to fall."
"And what would that be?"
"If we start now, there will be no time for you to reach your quarters in time. Go."
"I thought you had no wish to see me go," Francis teased, his fingers brushing through the hair on Uther's chest.
"I don't," Uther admitted. "But you were right to say that it is quite late already. I wouldn't want your character to be tarnished when you've only been in Camelot a few short months."
"And what about yours? Isn't it you who should be frightened of what rumours may start?"
"I am." Uther sat up, coming behind Francis and wrapping an arm around his torso. "I cannot say that I am fearless in this." It hadn't occurred to him before he'd said the words that, for the first time in his life since Igraine's death, he was scared of what could happen now that he knew his heart to belong to someone else.
"But you want me to stay?" Francis sounded both hopeful and frightened.
Uther cupped his jaw and turned Francis' face until their eyes met. "I want to see you caught in pleasure while the sun comes up the horizon. I want to hear your cries in the light of day, not only in the dead of night."
Francis shivered visibly against Uther, but said nothing.
Uther had never taken a scholar to bed before Francis, and now, with his companion so close and awake, so beautiful in the light of dawn, he had to wonder what about him had forced Uther to confront what he'd long since denied of himself. It couldn't only be the way he challenged Uther's will in and out of bed; while there weren't many people who did now that Uther was king, there had been men in his youth who had done so.
Perhaps it was the way Francis caressed him like he did the volumes in the archives, with care and tenderness, something Uther hadn't ever expected of his many encounters. Desire and pleasure, yes, but tenderness, never.
"I'll come down to see you this afternoon, dear one; you should go now," he whispered into Francis' ear.
As he watched Francis leave, Uther wondered what the scholar was thinking of Uther's unexpected behaviour. This was the fifth morning they'd awoken together, and none of the others had found Uther so unwilling to let go. Perhaps it was only due to the way the night had been spent, so different from before. Perhaps it was due to Uther's dawning realization that his desire was more than he'd first thought.
He hadn't looked at a single woman in more time than he'd realized.
Now that he was looking back, Uther couldn't remember the last woman who'd captured his interest without the help of magic. But Francis... the first time Uther had seen him, he'd been captivated beyond anything he'd felt before. Strong chiseled cheeks, spectacles on his nose, and hands made for a quill and not for wielding a sword. Uther had thought for a moment that time had stopped when Francis' eyes had met his. By the time he'd finished reciting his qualification to the king, Francis had been bright red. The passion he seemed to possess for books and keeping records had Uther wondering just how it translated to the bedroom.
He'd had his answer only seven nights later when Francis had joined him into his bedchamber. Uther had never felt such pleasure of the flesh as Francis awakened in him.
He couldn't look back; didn't want to, in fact. Uther's heart wasn't his own anymore, and while it was a dangerous path to walk on, Uther was king and would find a way to make it work. He had to.
And the first thing he would have to do before meeting Francis this very afternoon, was sack those of his servants that he deemed untrustworthy. Uther was meant to have done it a long time ago, and now he had the best reason for it. There was no time like the present.
The future awaited him.