The Fires of Beltane - 1/1 (NC-17)
Title: The Fires of Beltane
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Genre: Kink...probably...um...?
Rating: NC-17 by the time you get to the end.
Warnings/Spoilers: Very minor spoilers for the whole series. On the warning side...umm...if kinda-glossed over descriptions of orgies make you go 'squick', don't read this. There's also not-especially-graphic mentions of het, graphic descriptions of slash...and it's probably OOC. By a lot.
Summary: This is what happens when you choose Merlin for May King.
A/N: For credulesque, who is truly awesome and who got into the uni she wanted! Whoooo! I threw in a bit of jealous!Arthur, just for you! ♥♥♥♥♥ Sorry it took so long!
Also, there's absolutely nothing historically accurate in this, other than Beltane being a Feast Day in a calendar on which they lit fires and (very probably) got drunk. I've mashed a bunch of the usual traditions together and then made up the rest. Kinda like the show, that way >:) Enjoy!
~~~
There was a reason they didn't let Merlin near these sorts of celebrations, even when he'd lived in Ealdor. They kept him locked up. Not maliciously, but for his own good. He'd let them, even though he knew that he could blast his way out of his house with a thought.
His mum had explained it to him; ever since he'd...well, ever since he'd reached a certain age, and...it just wasn't safe for him to attend the rites and the feasts. Not since that first time. So he stayed away, even though the temptation to leave at times bordered on unbearable.
It had something to do with the golden haze that drifted over his vision, something to do with the the earth's magic that sang in his blood, something to do with the wildness of his expression, with the way he lost himself in the drums and the words that were chanted. No one would say for sure what, but after the first time he'd let the golden haze descend, everyone had given him a wide berth for the better part of a month. They also refused to look at one another. Or explain to him why.
So when Beltane rolled around again, Merlin thought he would spend the next three days in his chambers with a good book or six. Gaius was in on whatever secret his mum knew; he'd make up some excuse for the whole duty thing, and Merlin wouldn't come out unless Arthur was in absolute and dire need.
He did his best to ignore the upwelling of the earth's magic as the day approached, and when the Lord Mayor stopped him in the street and - cryptically - handed him a note explaining what was going to happen and the importance of the secrecy involved, Merlin had fully intended to say thanks - but no thanks.
Funny how life will often toss your best laid plans down the privy.
~~~
At five minutes to midnight, the courtyard was flooded with Camelot's citizens. They flowed up and over the executioner's block, lapped at the stairs where some tried to get a better view of what was about to happen. Their collective voices reminded Arthur of the waves hitting the rocky shore where Anhora had played his silly game...
Arthur snorted and decided that he'd taken the metaphor too far. He didn't dare mention it out loud; Morgana would likely laugh at him (she was always looking for an excuse), and his father would undoubtedly make some remark about leaving scholarly thoughts to Geoffrey the Archivist, and Merlin...wasn't on the balcony, but he'd probably smirk and then those ridiculously blue eyes of his would flash with amusement...yes, the metaphor had gone too far.
There were servants watching from every window, and more than one small child was lifted up onto their da's shoulders to see what was going on. The excitement among the people was almost tangible, a nearly-physical thing that leaped from person to person. At midnight - what everyone else was waiting for - the Announcement would be made.
Every year, a young man and young woman were chosen to represent the May King and May Queen. It was considered a high honor to be chosen, and precisely who was going to be picked was the hottest gossip for nearly two weeks leading up to the festival. At no other time of the year - not even at the Midsummer horse races - was the betting pool as fierce, and Arthur could think of no other information more sought after.
The chosen two were revealed at midnight, called out of the crowd and garlanded with flowers to mark their new status. They would be presented to the Royal Court, there would be a speech by the Lord Mayor, and then the May King and Queen would lead the procession down to the fields were the fires had been laid.
Arthur wasn't completely sure what happened after that because he'd never been allowed to attend anything after the beginning of the procession, even after he came of age. The rites were apparently too...rustic, if Uther's mutters were anything to go by. The whole point of them was apparently to celebrate the return of summer by getting as many women as possible pregnant - and Uther had made it abundantly clear that bastard children were not allowed in the Pendragon line.
So (discounting the one time he'd gotten cought sneaking out of the castle to see what the fuss was all about), Arthur had never gone to the main part of the Beltane rites.
The knights would tell stories, of course, of what went on. Arthur had heard enough stories from knights to know when they were exaggerating, but from what he could tell, after the procession and the lighting of the fires, people ate food, got drunk, and then slipped off into the darkness with their sweethearts. Sir Cei, who had been the May King in his youth, had hinted that it was expected for the May King and Queen to 'inaugurate the festivities', as it were, and the best omen the people could have for the rest of the year was finding out that the May Queen had 'caught'.
When Uther had first banned magic in Camelot, he had recognized that banning magic was far easier than banning the traditions associated with magic - no magic was actually used at the Beltane celebrations (any more, at least), and so the people were allowed to keep them.
Of course, that was at the beginning of his reign - now Uther was becoming so paranoid that it was rumored that this would be the last time the Beltane fires were lit. It was the only topic that had eclipsed the gossip that surrounded who had gotten nominated.
Arthur wasn't sure how his people would react to this. From the grumble in the streets, the people weren't pleased with the idea. The Beltane celebrations marked more than just an excuse to get drunk and bed a lively woman; they marked the days when the farmers drove their herds back out to pasture. In a society so thoroughly based on the rhythms of its agrarian people, how could they not mark this day? Banning it would only drive the rites underground. Making them forbidden would only serve to make them tempting, which would only lead to more executions for paper-thin reasons and Uther's popularity was falling enough as it was.
For tonight, however, the people didn't have to worry. Their festival was sanctioned still by the king, and so they gathered like they always did in the courtyard to present the chosen young man and young woman to the crowd, their king and their prince.
The courtyard, like the rest of the castle, was decked out in flowers and boughs of spring wood. The crowd themselves were out in their feast day finery and draped in flowers, and several of them had already been celebrating at the inns and alehouses around the city. Everyone was laughing and singing songs that were usually never sung in polite company, twirling one another in impromptu dances, stealing kisses in the torchlight.
No one seemed to have a care, in this world or any other. They were happy. Winter was finally over, and summer was beginning and the days were getting longer. The women were pretty and willing, and the ale was flowing and there was a lot to be happy about, so when the young couple was presented the crowd roared its approval. They would have, even if they'd been a pair of sheep.
"My King," the Lord Mayor said, hopping up onto a makeshift stage to be seen over top of the crowd. He bowed theatrically to the balcony. "My lords and ladies. Good people of Camelot! I give you your May King and May Queen!"
A young man and woman climbed up onto the stage, the young man smiling and helping the young woman catch her balance. Arthur clapped along with his father, and studied the couple before them. The young woman was comely enough, with long brown hair and a white gown and a shy smile. But the young man...
...was Merlin.
Merlin?
Shock went through him, paving the way for the slow burn of anger that followed. Why hadn't anyone told him of this? Why hadn't Merlin mentioned it when he was attending Arthur just a few moments ago? His name hadn't even been amongst those nominated. Arthur knew, he'd heard all of the gossip several times from several different sources. Merlin had to have known - they wouldn't just blindside anyone with this; there was at least a day's warning in case the prospective May King didn't know how the ceremonies went...
Blast it! This meant Merlin wasn't going to be attending the Royal Feast! Which meant that Arthur was going to have to sit through speeches and dry talk alone, and fend off the young ladies of the court alone, and have to rely on someone else's servant to keep his cup full. Brilliant.
Arthur, in the spirit of his annoyance, would have liked to think that Merlin looked utterly ridiculous in his ceremonial green tunic and crown of leaves and flowers. He wanted to believe that Merlin would have been awkward standing there, because Merlin looked awkward standing anywhere.
But the truth was, Merlin looked....earthy. Like he belonged there, flowers included. His usual ungainliness was gone, replaced by a confidence that Arthur had only glimpsed before...
Since Arthur had been old enough to stand, he'd stood on the balcony on Beltane Eve to greet the May King and May Queen. None of them had fit quite as well as Merlin did. He looked...taller. Stronger. Wild. Elfin.
Beside him, the May Queen was a pale, human creature - until Merlin took her hand and then whatever golden quality that he possessed was passed to her. Quite suddenly, she seemed more than she had been. She...glowed. Arthur felt his heart race in response, and he was certain that he was not the only one who felt so. Men all through the crowd had taken notice too. If Arthur had known anything about electricity, he would have said that a circuit had been completed, a light had been turn on, a switch thrown - there was a collective intake of breath as the men's heads swiveled to stare. Even Uthur noticed, and Arthur hadn't seen his father look at a woman like that in a very long time. Everyone stared.
Except Merlin.
Merlin looked up at the balcony - at Arthur.
Arthur shivered, and felt his knees go weak. Tactile memories of hard wooden support beams holding him up, the rough weave of Merlin's shirt in his clenched hands, the salty skin of Merlin's hand over his mouth, and the all-consuming white heat of Merlin's other hand as he...
Cold metal bit into his hands, and Arthur realized that he had gripped the edge of the balcony hard enough for his ring to cut into his finger. He unclenched his hands slowly, forced himself to breathe again, to show no weakness in front of his people or his father.
The king, as always, seemed oblivious to his son's troubles. He smiled wistfully and bestowed his blessing on the couple beneath them.
Merlin and the May Queen smiled at one another, jumped down into the crowd, began the procession and were gone. The crowd cheered and went with them. Someone started playing music as they went, and it no time at all, the courtyard was emptied.
Arthur was left to deal with his memories without the aid of Merlin's dark eyes and promising smile.
~~~
The Royal Court celebrated Beltane differently than the common folk.
For instance, rather than spending the night getting roaring drunk and bedding wenches by the massive bonfires, they got quietly sozzled in the Great Hall with a decent feast and a minimum of staff - all of whom were old enough that the lure of the fires was no longer distracting. Service was slow at best. Still worthy of Uther's hall, but the age of the servants it meant that the feast itself was dreadfully dull.
Arthur had never had really liked the Feast of Beltane. Princely duties meant that he couldn't enjoy any of the more...pastoral...side of the rites, which the Royal Court were said to disdain anyway. Now he didn't like it because Merlin wasn't there to ease the burden of his boredom with that ridiculous hat he would have had to wear. Merlin was off at the fires, probably getting completely drunk and - if Sir Cei was correct about the Beltane rites - having it on with the May Queen.
Arthur's hand clenched around his goblet. After a moment, he tried to drown his jealousy in the bitterness of his wine, but it only made his stomach sourer. The memory of that white heat had never left him, nor had the knowledge of the fact that it had melted him and made him malleable. That day in the hay loft, Merlin had...dominated him, in a way that Arthur would gladly sell his soul to feel it again. The idea that some nameless girl, picked only for her age and relative beauty, could be experiencing that right this instant...
"Arthur?" His father's voice cut through Arthur's thoughts. "Are you quite alright?"
"Father?"
Uther looked down at Arthur's hand, and Arthur followed his gaze. His fingers had crushed the soft metal of his goblet, spilling wine all over his hand and his food and rendering the cup useless.
Silence from the rest of the Great Hall made him look around. The revelers had stopped, and were staring at him and the crushed goblet in his hands, the wine dripping from his fingers onto the table.
"My apologies," he said. "I am not feeling well. Please excuse me." He rose from his seat, bowed slightly to his father and the rest of the court, and then fled.
~~~
He knew going down to the fires was both stupid and forbidden, but his rooms felt like a prison.
Arthur could see the firelight from his window, glowing red-gold off the buildings. From here, the people cavorting around the fires were little more than small black shapes and shadows. With the window opened to the cool night, he could smell the burning wood and smoke, hear the thumping, pounding drums of the ceremony as it continued. His blood sang to its rhythm, his heart thumped in time to it.
There was something else in the air, too. It tasted almost metallic, it felt warm like sunlight, it smelled like gold-purple, but he could see nothing, and it bothered him that he couldn't put a name to it or accurately describe it.
Something was happening by those fires, something that didn't usually happen. Arthur had heard the distant drums before, but had never been tempted to join the dance and potentially ruin the Succession. He had smelled the roasting game and burning wood at the last Feasts, but had never wanted it like he did now.
He changed out of his feast-day clothes and into something a little more practical. He hesitated as he pulled off his crown, and then tossed it to his bed. Tonight was not a night to be a prince, and Merlin would get it in the morning. Presumably.
Settling his long brown coat over his shoulders, Arthur left.
~~~
There were four giant fires in a field on the outskirts of the city, and all four were surrounded by a multitude of smaller fires on which wild game roasted and by which citizens ate and drank and participated in the their time honored fertility rites. From a distance, it looked as though the people danced in a sea of flame. Up close, the heat was stifling, the music thundering, the moans and laughter and singing blending with the roaring fires into a wash of sound that teased and disoriented.
Arthur passed among the fires, mostly unseen and entirely ignored. He was glad that the people hadn't noticed his presence, even as he walked among them in his trademark brown coat and dodging a few of the more exuberant celebrants. He wasn't in a mood to be noticed.
He wasn't even sure where he was going. Ostensibly, he was here to find Merlin and beat some sense into him for running off with the May Queen (just because one was chosen to lead the procession didn't mean one had to abandon one's prince in favour of some peasant tart). But Arthur knew, deep in the back of his mind, that he was here more out of jealousy. He remembered the crushed metal in his hands and knew that he was here to keep Merlin to himself.
The longer he was there, the more he was tangled in the rhythm of the drums. He was lost amongst the smaller fires, completely disoriented by the surreality of his surroundings. That subtle, golden-purple scent tantalized him, drew him forward. Sweat dripped down his back.
At the four largest fires, men tossed huge bundles of wood into the blaze. Hundreds of pounds of wood had already gone up in smoke, and the night had barely begun. More than a year's worth of fuel was stacked by each giant fire.
Young men and women darted up in pairs to the larger fires and tossed in bundles of their own - straw dolls wearing tiny crowns of flowers. A love spell, a luck spell, or a sacrifice-in-effigy of the May King and Queen? Arthur didn't know, and didn't care to find out. He needed to find Merlin.
He didn't know how long he'd been there before a young woman pressed a tankard of ale into his hands and another put a garland of flowers around his neck and a third took advantages with the Royal Person that - on any other night - would have gotten her hands cut off. Arthur almost pushed them away, but he was much too angry with Merlin for not appearing within the first five minutes of his arrival at the field. Rather than push the women away, he let them do what they wanted, and even reciprocated.
It was petty of him - stupid of him too, especially if he got one of them with child from this - but if Merlin was going to go off sharing what was rightfully Arthur's, Arthur was going to snog as many willing girls as he possibly could. Maybe then Merlin would understand the burning-angry-searing jealousy that felt so much like acid reflux. Maybe then, Merlin wouldn't be so quick to accept the post of May King.
The heat of the fires made Arthur dizzy; the grass beneath him was deliciously cool. He pulled the women down with him, his long coat spread like a blanket. He lost track of whose hands undid his buttons and whose his breeches, and whose golden thigh quivered beneath his touch. One of them might have even been the May Queen herself; Arthur wasn't sure and he didn't care.
He looked up and saw Merlin on the other side of a fire.
Arthur's eyes widened and his breath caught, and for a long moment he forgot about the three women that surrounded him, no matter what their hands were doing.
Merlin...wasn't Merlin. Oh, he was Merlin - he just wasn't Merlin on some fundamental level that Arthur couldn't quantify.
Because Merlin wasn't that sure in his skin. Merlin wouldn't lie around without any clothes on. Merlin wasn't supposed to look that predatory. Merlin wouldn't have had to disentangle himself from several beautiful women (and one or two of Arthur's knights) to come to Arthur's side - not in real life.
Except that this was Beltane, and Merlin was the May King. Anything Merlin did was right, even if it would be entirely wrong when the sun came up. He must have tapped into something ancient and primal, though, because the only other time that Arthur had seen Merlin look that positively wild was in the hay loft, right before heavenly pleasure had stolen his coherent thought.
Across the fire, Merlin calmly bit into the curve of the neck of the woman in his arms, and just as calmly watched Arthur while he did it, and then smiled with swollen lips as Arthur tried to jerk himself upright and march across the field to pull Merlin out from under the orgy he was instigating.
The women who were Taking Advantage of the Royal Person held him back and passed him more wine, and that - added to the heat of the fires and the alcohol he'd already drunk and the other-worldliness of everything that was going on - tossed him over whatever brink he'd been walking and robbed him of coherency. Damn Merlin and his soul-stealing fingers! There was pleasure enough here, with willing women and flowing wine.
Arthur let himself be pulled back down and chose to completely ignore the smugness in Merlin's wild eyes.
~~~
It must have been hours later that Arthur found himself standing in the middle of the field. He knew he should be cold - his coat had vanished, and his clothes had vanished, and his concept of consequence had vanished with the three women who were sleeping peacefully by the fire he'd left. He should have been cold - but there was heat burning in his belly and between his legs and an all consuming need that had to be satiated, and all of the wine and women in the world wasn't going to do it.
He saw Merlin rise from the pile of bodies that were writhing together in a way that was likely wholly responsible for his father's distrust of fertility rites in general. He watched Merlin step out into the night, the orgy forgotten. Merlin - as naked as the day he was born except for his crown of leaves and flowers - gave Arthur a look that reminded him that, in this, Merlin owned him completely. Arthur groaned softly, a sound of need that seemed loud in the night around him, even with the rushing music and roaring fires.
And then Merlin turned and walked further into the darkness.
Arthur swallowed hard. For an instant, Merlin had been outlined by the bonfire behind him, and Arthur had to blink repeatedly.
He added to the list of things that Merlin couldn't be: Merlin wasn't that tall. Merlin wasn't that broad in the shoulders, and Merlin...didn't have antlers branching out from his forehead.
Arthur was seeing things. But then the vision passed, and Arthur blinked to clear the flashburn from his eyes.
He still followed Merlin, though. He had no choice but to follow, delusions or no. He felt like a dog being called to his master's side, and he went gladly into the darkness.
~~~
He found Merlin leaning against an old oak, waiting for him with hooded eyes and a hunter's grace.
Arthur, if he'd been in his right mind, would have been striding across the remaining distance between them and proving precisely how much in control he really was, that he was the hunter and that he was the one who should be doing the claiming.
Arthur was not in his right mind. He wanted to turn tail and run, but his body wouldn't let him. Down past the drunkenness and the desire he was ashamed at himself for this, but he still crossed the cool grass to Merlin's feet and knelt before him.
He could feel the servile adoration in his expression and knew that Merlin could see it too. He hated himself for it.
Merlin reached down and let his fingers ghost over Arthur's chin. Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, drawn forward by subtle pressure on his jaw. He opened his eyes and looked up and waited for Merlin to tell him what to do.
Merlin's fingers wound themselves in his hair and pulled him forward, until he was face-to-face with the evidence of Merlin's arousal. Glancing upwards for permission (wondering vaguely what he'd do if Merlin didn't give it), Arthur leaned forward and took Merlin in his mouth. Eagerly swallowing the entire length of him, Arthur never took his eyes off Merlin's face, not even when Merlin shut golden eyes and leaned his head back against the oak behind him. Arthur wondered if he was the first to do this, or if another of the revelers had gotten there first. Jealousy stabbed his heart with a hot knife - Merlin was his. Beltane rites or no.
He ignored the memory of the three sleeping women he'd left. They were irrelevant now that he had Merlin.
His hands grabbed at Merlin's hips and held him close, held him still. Merlin's breath hissed into the night, mingling with the moans and the thundering drums from elsewhere in the field. Arthur swirled his tongue as he sucked and pulled and licked and nipped, until Merlin's breathing was ragged and harsh and his fingers clenched painfully in Arthur's hair. He pulled Arthur back, and Arthur couldn't stop the moan from escaping his throat. What Arthur wanted right then, more than anything, was to please Merlin.
Pleasing Merlin meant that Merlin would gift him with the all-consuming pleasure.
Merlin's pupils were so wide they eclipsed his glowing irises. He pulled Arthur upwards and attacked him with a kiss. Arthur let his hands roam over Merlin's naked torso, until - without warning - Merlin spun him and shoved him hard against the tree. Tree bark scratched the skin of his chest painfully, and the impact drove the air from his lungs. Arthur hardly noticed because Merlin was reaching down and around and between them with hot, callused hands.
The anticipation made him weak in the knees, made him arch off the tree in search of Merlin's hand. Merlin pushed him back and held him there with one hand as the other completed its purpose of sending streaks of fire across Arthur's belly and thighs. It went beyond anything that Arthur had ever experienced - even counting what had happened in the hayloft. Fingers were pushing where no fingers had ever pushed before, leaving tendrils of golden heat to shiver up his spine, left him begging, pleading, promising...
The pain of Merlin finally entering him was almost unbearable, until Merlin leaned forward and whispered something next to his ear. It was the first human sound that Merlin had made, the first real words that had left his lips since Arthur had followed him into the darkness. Arthur didn't recognize the words - he couldn't have, not with the pain-pleasure radiating upwards - but they took his pain away and replaced it with pleasure and then even that didn't matter because Merlin was moving within him.
Tree bark abraded him, and each of Merlin's thrusts drove deeper and deeper within him, pushing the golden-white pleasure ahead of them. Hot, callused hands wrapped themselves securely around his shaft, and Arthur shuddered and shivered and keened the need he could not articulate otherwise.
The fires within him consumed him completely. His pulse pounded in time to Merlin's thrusts and the drums of the rites. When Merlin pulled him away from the tree and bit down on his shoulder - shuddering in his own release - Arthur cried out and let the fires destroy him.
The world vanished. Sound dwindled until only the pounding of his blood could be heard. His lungs heaved and burned as they tried to fill themselves with air. His skin hurt, burnt from the fires and from Merlin's touch. Everything smelled of woodsmoke and treebark and soil, and Arthur figured out why when he raised his head from the ground and looked around.
Around him, Merlin's arms kept the world at bay, as Arthur quivered and gasped his way to completion. Aftershocks rippled up and down their bodies, static-like shocks of white fire leaped between them. They had collapsed, utterly spent, to the ground beneath them.
Arthur didn't even try to work out the whys or the whats or the hows. He was much too involved in trying to articulate the sensation of completeness that had taken him over. Consequence had been left by the Beltane fires.
It could stay there.
~~~
A/N: Good? Bad? Sorry it took so long.
I had the best conversation EVER with my boyfriend the other night:
bf: "What are you doing?"
me: "...Reading Merlin/Arthur stories"
bf: "I love Merlin-Arthur stories!"
me:"...really?"
bf: "I have that Arthur one and the Mists of Avalon, though that one's actually yours."
me: "...That's not what I'm talking about."
bf: "What do you mean?"
me: "Slash fic. I'm reading slash fic. Like...Merlin-slash-Arthur."
bf: "I don't get it."
me: "..."
bf: "Really, I don't."
me: "Slash. It's...I'm reading gay porn. About Merlin and Arthur. Doing porny things. Together."
bf: "Oooohhhh! Why?"
me: "...never mind."
A/N pt II: I did some minor edits for word choice. Nothing major, just stuff I hadn't noticed when I'd edited it last.