Dark, nasty fanfic (2/2)
Title: stop me
pairing: Arthur/Merlin
word count approx 7760
Rating: 17+
Disclaimer: Characters adapted from BBC reproductions of characters from Arthurian legend.
Warning: passive resistance, violence, non-con bondage, rape (not graphic). The majority of fluffy bunnies were rounded up, shot and made into hideously ugly slippers. Unfortunately two survived and bred towards the end
Beta: sections 1- 7a beta'd by zafra
Summary: Merlin’s afraid, Arthur’s a prick. Merlin chooses passive resistance. Arthur continues to be a prick. Merlin gets all moony and Arthur...
7a
Pants were far too uncomfortable, even after applying the strongest healing enchantments he knew and consuming more than the recommended quantities of every analgesic Gaius produced. He filched and adjusted one of his mentor’s smaller robes and nodded happily to himself. This could quite easily become his preferred attire.
“You're still not going to tell me where you were and what happened?” Gaius wielded paternal authority to great effect with the softly voiced query.
“I was attacked on my way home to Ealdor, I don’t know where. It’s by pure chance I made it back alive.”
Gaius huffed something that sounded like ‘fat chance’. Aloud he said “Morgana rather gleefully insisted I tell you ‘it serves you right’. I don’t suppose you’d care to explain that statement.”
“You suppose correctly. I best be off, mustn’t be late for my first day working for the King.”
Some sadistic part of Merlin’s subconscious - whom Merlin dubbed ‘Clot Pole’ - found it amusing that the words Arthur used to describe his hatred for Merlin sounded very similar to words he had used in the past to describe his affection for him and persisted in pushing such thoughts to the surface. Loathe - love. Abhor - adore. The sane part finally asked ‘so what about execrate’ then? To which Clot Pole had to admit he had nothing and retreated into his dank, smelly corner to sulk.
7b
Uther took one look at Merlin and set him to work in the library with Lord Geoffrey.
“Gaius assures me you read at a scholarly level and write quite legibly. You will remain unmoles-unharmed there. Your talents may be put to better use if and when Arthur regains control of his wits. You have doubtless heard his behaviour deteriorated further during your absence. Should he approach you, directly or indirectly, I am to be informed at once. Is that understood?” This last was delivered as the weightiest of royal proclamations.
“Yes Your Majesty. Thank you Your Majesty.”
8a
In short time Merlin gained unprecedented respect from his new mentor and those who sought their assistance among the warren of records. He had years of practice sorting through the many collections of Gaius that managed to become disarrayed with every search for a hidden person or object. The order established in this literary domain enabled many varied tasks to be completed more efficiently. On several occasions over the next year Merlin was summoned before the king in his council chambers to either deliver archived records or draught new ones. For the first five months Arthur was escorted out of the room on the pretence of some errand on his father’s behalf at the same time Merlin was summoned. It was not until Lancelot was appointed as the Prince’s servant in Merlin’s place, then also bodyguard that their paths crossed.
“Ah, the king’s instructions must have been not to take this route.” Lancelot pretended the meeting was a coincidence. Merlin was not convinced it was accidental. Arthur clearly had not been privy to Lancelot’s plan as his opening gambit was a spontaneous verbal attack.
“So you have what you wanted all along, proximity to the throne. Well done. You may expect my Father to be more merciful when he learns the truth. Your death at his hands will be quicker than...”
“Don’t do this Arthur.”
“I’ve reserved a place to view your execution, marked my spot on the cobbles of the courtyard. Unless you’ve learned your lesson and confessed while exercising your talents in the king’s b...”
Merlin’s hands remained clenched in fists by his sides. The invisible force that hit Arthur across the face had been uncontrolled as Merlin had not practiced his skills since escaping Arthur’s bonds. The impact turned his head with a loud ‘crack’ against his skin. His cheek began to colour immediately.
“As I thought,” only Arthur’s eyes moved back towards Merlin, smugly vicious to match his sneer.
“You thought wrong.” Merlin stated simply and continued on his way. He deemed it prudent not to retort that Arthur remained the only man with whom he shared a bed, willingly or nay. This Prince deserved neither the privilege nor that knowledge.
8b
Lancelot later apologised. He’d been certain by things Arthur said, expressions he wore, gestures he made and other minute details that it was beyond time for such an encounter. The fact that Lancelot had been dismissed from his presence and sent to advise the king that Arthur would remain in solitude until the morrow as soon as they reached his suite implied their first meeting had not gone as Arthur intended. He was quite plainly jealous. Merlin moved forward, Arthur remained static. Merlin was free, Arthur was a prisoner.
There was indeed a mark on the cobblestones: here will I stand to watch you fall. The physical strength and patience required to engrave the words so precisely was intimidating enough without the sentiment attached. Yet Arthur had not revealed the truth. Their current situations would be reversed if he had.
Is this how you choose to punish yourself?
Merlin asked Lancelot to put that very question to Arthur, no need to mention who sought an answer.
“He told me: if you wish to live long enough to have your knighthood returned to you Lancelot, you’ll sod off and mind your own business; which translates into: Yes, let me get on with it.”
“Let him know an apology would not be rejected, should he feel the need to offer one.”
“I’m not a falcon. Tell him yourself.”
“If Uther finds out we met in the corridor...”
“A week in the dungeon might be what he needs to gain some perspective,” Lancelot smiled encouragingly. “No? Suit yourself.”
A fortnight later Lancelot found his way to the library seeking Merlin’s assistance.
“You don’t really need me to find all that do you?”
“None of it. I asked a certain personage if he experienced regret over the loss of a particular friend. Two words: Every day. Neither of you are going to tell me what happened.”
“No.”
“Then you have to start talking directly. Since when has crossing Uther stopped either of you in the past?” Lancelot picked up a random tome and left with a nod.
9a
Numerous uneventful weeks passed yet the rapid descent into brutality was never entirely forgotten.
Lancelot forgot which route to avoid several times. With each occurrence it was clear that while Arthur no longer sought to inflict pain on Merlin he was no closer to forgiving himself.
Gawain was appointed to prevent such accidental encounters after the last time Lancelot became confused. Arthur escaped punishment because it was he who told Uther what happened - though he neglected to state how many times - and nominated Gawain specifically for the task.
“Why would he do that?” Gawain asked Merlin in Gaius’ room one morning days later. “I’ve made no secret of my dislike for the man, and only he knows why.”
“He knows you won’t let me near him.” Merlin and Lancelot had begun to hope such brief and increasingly casual meetings could lead to a renewal of acquaintance, if not friendship between the estranged pair. Arthur had meant it when he said I never want to see, touch, hear or think about you again.
“Let you near him? You can’t be serious!”
“If Uther died today what sort of king would take his place?”
Gawain appeared horrified by the thought.
“If Uther died this day a year ago...”
“You think you can fix things?”
“I have to try.”
9b
Merlin stood to the side as Gawain knocked on Arthur’s door that night. It seemed Lancelot’s suspension of guard and servant’s duties was temporary when he opened the door as though he had every right to do so.
“Sir Gawain, my Lord.” Lancelot certainly announced visitors in a more suitable manner than Merlin had ever done. “You stay out there,” he ordered quietly through the side of his mouth, leaving the door open just wide enough to listen through and Merlin obeyed.
“To what do we owe this mutual displeasure Sir Gawain? Am I to dwell with my father’s dogs now after all?”
“I have brought someone who wishes to see you. While I have not been entirely wrong in my opinion of you, it appears I have not been entirely right.” As previously, Gawain did not deem it fit to address his king’s heir by title or name.
“Is this your doing you wretch or his, or perhaps yours Lancelot? Am I surrounded by traitors? He cannot be here again. Never, it’s bad enough...”
“He is determined.” Gawain insisted when it became apparent Arthur could not go on. Merlin could hear the confused edge to the knight’s voice.
“You understand more than any how persistent he can be Arthur.” Lancelot was more compassionate.
“Needlessly stubborn,” Arthur grumbled.
“Irritatingly so,” Lancelot agreed.
“Sire?” Gawain asked, following Lancelot’s respectful example. If Lancelot genuinely liked a fellow he couldn’t be a complete arse. Lancelot did not tolerate fools or ruffians lightly.
“If he insists then I will meet him somewhere else, anywhere but here.”
“Yes, Sire.”
10
Merlin’s accommodations under Uther’s employ were simple; a single room containing a basic bed, table and chair plus a cupboard for his robes. His physical wounds had healed long ago but by then he was convinced you couldn’t beat a robe for comfort. Give him a hat to protect his head from the weather and he’d be set no matter the season. You could wear three shirts and two pair of breeches or nothing at all underneath and none would be the wiser. Gaius was a clever old duck after all. He was currently preparing for bed so he was in a night shirt and comfortable sleep pants when he received a guest.
He answered the knock at his door by throwing it open wide, expecting Gaius or perhaps Gwen.
“Oh!” he and Arthur exclaimed like a pair of dunces. “You mentioned where but not when to the others,” Arthur continued. “They got snarky when I asked and told me to ask you my damn self so, um when?”
“Now’s probably good.” Merlin stepped back from the door to let him in but Arthur stood there like a lump; a miserable, lonely, utterly kissable lump. “You can come in.”
“No, I don’t think I can. Just tell me what you want.”
“I want my best friend back.”
“Will? Bit late for that isn’t it or have you only discovered necromancy recently? Not much chop with your magic tricks are you?”
“Why are you being such an arse?”
“Why are you being nice?”
“Because I miss Arthur, that’s why. This,” Merlin gestured with his hands to indicate Arthur, “I have no idea who this is. I want my Arthur back. Camelot needs my Arthur back, the real one. Not some cranky bugger who looks like him and mopes about...”
“If your Arthur was so damn great why didn’t you trust him?”
Merlin remained silent while his brain picked through all the reasons he made the decisions he did and tried to set them in order.
“That’s what I thought.” Arthur turned to go but found himself facing Merlin again, in Merlin’s room, with the door closed behind him. “What?”
“That’s one of the reasons. If you knew I could make you do whatever I needed you to do without you knowing I was making you do it you wouldn’t know if you were doing things because you chose to do them or because I made you.”
Arthur repeated what he could to try and make sense of it and only became more confused.
“Run that by me again?”
“I love you.” He did, the same man he fell in love with stood in front of him. He was currently wrapped in thick outer layers of clot pole, prat and ass but he was still there.
“Don’t, no; don’t start up with that nonsense.”
“I know now you would have kept the secret from your father because you did, you still do. I didn’t want you to have to make that decision...”
“Ah, well that fixes everything. You lied to me so I wouldn’t have to think for myself or choose between you and my father. Did you ever consider that I’d already made that decision, oh I don’t know, around the time I let you stick your dick up my arse perhaps? Maybe it was before that, when I told you to run and hide instead of arresting you? Or before that when I disobeyed him to pick a flower off a cliff in a cave beneath a forest to save your life? Any of those events seem vaguely familiar?”
“It’s all so bleeding obvious when you put it like that!” Merlin protested.
Arthur responded by flippantly presenting both hands wide, palm up and sticking his tongue out in a manner that could only mean ‘err, moron!’
“But you were always unconscious or oblivious every time!”
“It’s called ‘pretending’ Merlin, I do it in court all the time when I pretend to listen, or when I pretend a visiting noble is a welcome guest rather than an excuse to overindulge on mead while pretending his daughter is beautiful to behold and delightful company rather than a whiny bush pig in a frock. You really are an idiot! At least I only pretended to be one.”
Merlin must be an idiot because one hand wended its way around Arthur’s waist while the other clasped the back of his neck and Merlin kissed him. It took half a second for Arthur to accept the kiss and respond then less than five for him to stop and push away.
“I can’t.”
“Don’t you want to?”
“No, I don’t.” Merlin knew he was lying. He felt how Arthur needed that kiss as much as he did.
“You’re going to keep punishing me by denying you still love me is that it?”
“Punish you? I think you’ve already received far harsher punishment than you earned, don’t you?”
“Show me you’re sorry. Prove I’m worthy of your love Arthur. Kiss me better.” Merlin began kissing him again. “I need to know you still love me. Hold me, kiss me, tell me like you did the first time.”
He looked into Arthur’s eyes, touched Arthur’s face and neck and hair the way he did when they first admitted they loved each other as more than the closest of friends, coaxing whispers of affection and kisses from Arthur. Merlin tried encouraging him to be more passionate but each time he sped up Arthur slowed down further. Merlin pressed in closer and Arthur drew back.
“I’ve never been with anyone but you.” Merlin took Arthur’s hand and positioned it none too subtly beneath his shirt.
Arthur broke free and leaped back leaving three feet between them as soon as he made contact with bare skin. His hands were behind his back.
“I can’t! After what I did - I shouldn’t touch you. How can you possibly...? No.”
11
It took another three hundred and eleven days for Merlin and Arthur to be friends again.
Almost four years after that, once Arthur had been crowned king, they tried kissing again. Merlin persisted every few months but Arthur reacted the same way on each occasion.
"No , I can't. How could you let me...You were supposed to stop me!"
His horror at what he had done remained the same.
They united Albion together, forged a nation of peace and honour together but remained separate and broken in themselves; doomed to love forever but never to touch.