Fic: Cry Havoc
I have committed Merlin fic!
Title: Cry Havoc
Author: suaine
Rating: R
Characters: Arthur/Merlin
Summary: "Whatever you do, don't go into my room. We'll take care of it later."
Notes: I think I may have inadvertently bastardized two languages that I don't speak, at all, so take the spell-work with a grain of salt. Or a shot of Tequilla.
Cry Havoc
by Suaine
In theory it should be much easier to turn the dog back to stone. It was, after all, in its very nature to sit still and be a dog-shaped rock. The dog very much disagreed. Loudly and continuously.
“I can't concentrate!” Merlin yelled at the creature. The dog just wagged its excuse for a tail and continued bumping Merlin's hands and legs with its scary snout. Another bark and Merlin would throw the book at it.
“How are you getting along?” Gaius asked, a sort of grim amusement on his face. He'd had a bit of a fight with the dog earlier, about territory and how it was not okay to demarcate such by peeing on the floor boards.
Merlin growled. “It keeps bumping me.” He made a vague gesture at the dog. “I can't even find the proper spell, even though I know it should be right here.”
Gaius looked at the dog. The dog looked back at him. “Perhaps,” Gaius said, watching that tail in its hypnotizing motion, “this is meant to be.”
“Oh, don't you start on that destiny malarkey. Arthur might be my destiny, but I will find a way to turn that back into a pile of rubble, if it's the last thing I do.”
The dog whined. Gaius gave it a cautious pat on the head. “I think he needs a name.”
+
Merlin dropped the sword he was meant to polish and instead of bitching, Arthur just looked at him with something between distaste and concern. That's how Merlin knew that he was in it deeper than he would ever have believed possible. Destiny, bollocks! Destiny only ever interrupted his good night's sleep, what good had it ever done him?
He leaned down to pick up the blade, scrutinizing his reflection. He looked tired, almost haggard. No wonder even Arthur picked up on it. “Gaius has a new pet. A dog the size of a pony and it refuses to sleep anywhere but my bed.”
“And you think I care why exactly?” The barb didn't even have any thorns. Either Arthur was losing his touch, or Merlin looked really pathetic.
Merlin sighed. “Because I am this close to falling on my face, and then who'd clean up the mess?”
Arthur smiled, just a little, and Merlin remembered why this particular destiny was far preferable to a rabid dog. “Perhaps. I want my servant to be efficient.”
“Yes, of course, efficiency. Since that infernal creature moved into my room, I don't even know how to spell efficiency anymore.”
Arthur frowned. Once again, he'd heard the entirely wrong thing from a sentence that included far too much information about Merlin himself, rather than the actual topic at hand. He had got stop doing that. “You read?” The tone of his voice put Merlin on guard. It was the kind of tone that ended with Merlin in the dungeon.
“Read, write, make up little poems about exacting my revenge on the dog thing.”
“I didn't think you were the type.” Arthur was still in some other world, barely following their conversation. Merlin shuddered at the possibilities in his future. Whenever Arthur got to planning, it boded ill for his manservant. Usually with bruises to match.
“I'll have you know that my mother taught me well. She read me the classics when I was just a toddler.” The moment he said it, Merlin remembered. The death of his mother had left invisible but very real marks on Arthur, and it was never healthy to bring it up. Servants, him included, had been sacked for less.
Arthur pinned him with a gaze. “Why would this matter to me, Merlin? Did I ask for a description of your, no doubt, very happy childhood?”
Merlin tried deflection, for once. Arthur was getting altogether too close, and too heated up. Never say a guy like Merlin couldn't learn from past mistakes. “I did not mean anything by it, Sire.” He did his best to sound sincere and they both seemed to believe it, this time.
Arthur shook his head. “You really are a strange one.” The wistfulness in Arthur's voice was beginning to freak Merlin out.
Which is why he chanced some serious retribution, asking: “Arthur, are you all right?”
The prince snorted. “Of course, why wouldn't I be? A prince has to lead armies, be a warrior, no one expects him to be able to read.” His eyes widened as soon as the words left his mouth. Merlin vowed to check if he'd unwittingly cast some kind of truth spell on his master.
“Oh,” he said, for lack of anything else that wasn't pity or an insult. They were already walking a tightrope of violence and disrespect in every second conversation they had. He did not need another night in the dungeon, ever.
Arthur caught himself, replacing the frozen shock on his face with something nasty, something cruel. “If you speak of this to anyone-”
Merlin ducked his head. “I wouldn't,” he said, thinking of his own secrets, “I told you, you can trust me.”
As quickly as his rage had come, it disappeared. Arthur deflated visibly. “Then let's never speak of this again.”
Merlin looked up, right into Arthur's eyes. The prince was a lot closer than propriety would demand, if anyone but the two of them were in the room. Hmm. “I promise,” Merlin said.
Arthur smiled. It sparked a few interesting ideas in Merlin's brain, none of them pure.
It was only after he left, skipping back to Gaius' place with more enthusiasm than he'd had in days, thinking about books and exactly how he could sneakily teach Arthur to read without the prince noticing, that he realized he still hadn't solved his dog problem.
+
“Please take it off my hands, just for a few hours.” He was not above begging and would fall to his knees in front of Guinevere if he thought that would get him anywhere.
The dog had taken to following him around. All day. Everywhere.
Guinevere scratched the thing behind its infernal ears. “I really don't see what your problem is. He's such a good boy, and very well trained.”
Merlin glared at the creature. “Maybe with you. He's just sucking up, you know. The moment you turn your back, he'll cause havoc.”
Guinevere raised one eyebrow. She had to have learned that glare from Morgana, it was cold as ice. “Right, of course.”
Merlin scratched his own head, wondering what exactly had just happened here. “Listen, I'm really sorry, but I needed to be in Arthur's room ten minutes ago. As it is, he'll probably have me sacked again, I can't take the dog with me.”
With that he edged out of the stables, very carefully not looking at Guinevere's face.
She called after him when he was almost far enough away to be able to pretend not to have heard. “What should I call him?”
+
Arthur flipped Merlin's ear with the tip of his dagger, which was a really painful way to wake him up. It was probably expected of him to apologize to his prince for falling asleep during his incessant prattle, but really, a guy could only take so much.
“Yes, sire?”
Arthur handled the dagger, somewhat distractedly. Merlin kept looking at the weapon, almost hypnotized by its motion through Arthur's fingers. Very strong, talented fingers that, to move a blade in such a way. Merlin licked his lips and forced his eyes up to his master's face.
Arthur looked at him with equal measures confusion and curiosity. Merlin began to feel like some kind of insect under scrutiny. “My father is planning to have another ball for the sole purpose of finding me a prospect for marriage, and all you can do is fall asleep on my table?”
“I, well, you see,” Merlin struggled to find an explanation that would satisfy his prince. He barely had one that satisfied myself. “It's the dog.”
Arthur yanked his gaze away, putting up his hands in annoyance. “Not that again.”
“It eats my food, sleeps in my bed, I can't get a moment's rest.”
Arthur sighed. “Good then, if the dog bothers you so much, I'll have it put down.”
Merlin's eyes widened. He hadn't thought. Not this. He'd brought the creature to life, he couldn't. Could he?
“I don't know, I mean, it's not really doing anyone any harm, right? We can't just... kill it.”
Arthur crossed his arms. “Why not? You're no good to me like this and apparently you can't deal with the dog on your own. I'll have a couple of guards come by your rooms later today.”
Merlin swallowed hard. “No.”
“What?” Arthur leaned close to Merlin, only a breath of air and the dagger between them. “Have you wasted my time with your whining for no reason?”
Merlin ducked his head. “It's just, I couldn't. It wouldn't be fair, you know? It's never really done anyone any harm.”
“Except you, and therefore by extension, me. That's enough for an execution.”
Merlin brought up his eyes, looking right into Arthur's. The two of them were so close he could feel breath on his face. “No. I'll deal with this.”
Arthur grinned, the cruel smile he hadn't shown Merlin since they first met. “See that you do.”
+
“Regredior silex canis!” Latin didn't appear to be any more helpful in turning the dog back to stone. Merlin wanted to scream from frustration.
The dog whined, one paw hiding his eyes as if Merlin had done something so horrible, even hell spawn would not dare look at it. He was tempted to throw the book across the room. This was pointless.
“It's all your fault, you know.”
The dog got up, and instead of barking at him again, he licked Merlin's face. Merlin deflated completely.
“You really do need a name, don't you?”
This, of course, was greeted with enthusiastic barks. Merlin began to regret the decision he was about to make, already knowing that this could not possibly end well. He closed the book and tentatively touched the dog's silky pelt.
+
“You didn't.” Arthur stared at the dog - at Commo - with such disbelief, Merlin felt the need to check if the dog was really there and not just a figment of his imagination.
Merlin let himself pat Commo's head. “He doesn't like to be alone.”
Arthur, of course, pretended to be furious, but Commo had his own charm, a kind of magic that seemed to work most easily on small children, women, and Arthur. Hmm, perhaps Merlin should look into that, right after he was done dressing the prince. And really, if anything would make that arrangement weirder, it was the dog watching. With its intelligent eyes that reflected far too many of Merlin's strange, distracted thoughts back at him, like how soft Arthur's skin was in all the places where he didn't, on occasion, wear chain mail.
“That tickles,” Arthur said, deadpan and unmoving. Merlin looked at his fingers, he'd been stroking Arthur's waistband for the last minute or so. Smooth, really smooth, and not just the leather of the breeches either. Merlin was an idiot.
“Sorry,” he said, hoping that Arthur was too busy being weirded out up there to see exactly how bright a young warlock could blush.
Arthur looked down at him, a strange, small smile on his face, something that looked almost... Merlin really couldn't put words to it, wouldn't while he still had his hands on Arthur's pants and his face right up against Arthur's groin. He did have some survival instincts.
“Sire?” Merlin asked, his voice traitorously breaking on the single syllable. He ducked his head to cough discreetly and diffuse some of the strange energy that had begun to fill the air between them.
Arthur stroked his hair.
Arthur's fingers carded through his hair like Merlin was a beloved dog and, honestly, he couldn't help but lean into the touch. He closed his eyes, and he was this close to purring like a gutter cat. Arthur, too, made some kind of strangled noise.
Merlin looked up. Arthur looked terrified, his hand slowly sinking to his side.
“I,” Arthur began, “I think maybe, uhm, I can do the rest myself.” His voice, at least, was as unsteady as Merlin's had been.
Merlin jumped to his feet. “Yes, I'll be. Going. Home.”
Arthur blinked, his eyes darting from Merlin's mouth to his eyes and back. “You do that.”
“Okay then.”
“Good.”
Neither of them was moving, so they were both breathing heavily, chest to chest, and standing almost on each other's toes.
“I need to go.” Merlin really, really needed to go.
“I know.”
Merlin's eyes kept being drawn to little details on Arthur's face, like the little scar on the edge of his mouth or the birthmark on his throat, right below the Adam's apple.
Just before he could do something stupid, Commo barked at the door. The tension between them went into excited energy and they sprang apart as quickly as humanly possible. Merlin almost tripped over a footstool. Arthur, suave as always, leaned against the fireplace when the Lady Morgana entered.
Merlin wasn't sure, exactly, if he was grateful for her intrusion, or pissed off.
“I hope I'm not interrupting something,” she said, a simple conversational gambit that had them both freezing for far too long. Because she kind of had, and Merlin certainly wasn't ready to examine that fact just yet.
Merlin stumbled over an explanation, at the same time as Arthur sneered out: “Of course not.”
Morgana gave them both an incredulous look, like she knew exactly what was going on here. Merlin wouldn't mind if she did and told him all about it, because he was just beginning to figure things out for himself.
“I've asked the King for a hunting party tomorrow. The stores are empty and the men are restless, it would be good for all of us.”
Arthur glanced at Merlin, lingering just a bit too long. “It sounds like a fantastic idea, but why come to me with it?”
Morgana laughed. “The King wants you to go, of course I offered, being a member of the royal family and all, by status if not blood, but apparently the King believes hunting is a man's job.”
“Great then, hear that Merlin?” Arthur slapped his hands together and rubbed them theatrically, an expression of glee that didn't sell with Merlin, or Morgana. “We're going hunting tomorrow.”
Morgana looked furious, but didn't say another word. Merlin only shrugged, what could he do? She left in a bit of a huff that went over Arthur's head like high winds.
With Morgana gone, Arthur dropped into a chair and sighed deeply, his head inclined backward, his eyes on the ceiling. He stayed like that for a long minute, until Merlin was just about to poke him to check if he was still awake.
Arthur grinned at him, suddenly. “How is your horseback riding?”
+
Commo loved the horses. The feeling, however, was not mutual. He bounced around them like a puppy, snapping at pasterns before their hoofs could kick him across the courtyard, ducking through between their legs and bellies, and generally making a nuisance of himself.
Merlin charged after the dog, but all he got for his effort was a kick in the shoulder.
Arthur, of course, seemed to find the thing supremely amusing, and not just because he was the one who'd suggested that Commo could come hunting with them.
Merlin's horse, too, was a bad attempt at joking. A beautiful cream-colored mare, fiery and not happy with being ridden, or in fact, having a saddle. It also didn't help that Arthur's stallion (princely black, of course) was biting her neck in obvious courtship.
“You did this on purpose.” Merlin hissed. He'd leashed the dog, calmed the mare, and got himself into the saddle without breaking any bones. Their horses were side by side, and Merlin leaned over in his saddle to reach Arthur and avoid any prying ears. “I am going to fall off and die, and you'll have to find a new guy to torment.”
Arthur turned a bit, bringing them face to face, so close their noses were almost touching. Merlin did not get excited about that. “There is no one quite like you.” Arthur's voice was so low, only the two of them could hear.
“Yes, well,” Merlin said, blushing to the tips of his ears.
Arthur laughed, and smacked the back of Merlin's head lightly. “Come on, let's earn ourselves a feast.”
+
In hindsight, Merlin should have known something bad would happen.
Something bad always happened. Especially when he was having a good time. Having a good time with Arthur and his cronies, even, and while the others didn't talk to him directly there was a kindness in Arthur now that hadn't been there before. He smiled at Merlin when his men cheered a particularly good shot, and he even offered to teach Merlin how to use a bow. The laughter that ensued was warm and inclusive, nothing like the jeers from when they'd all met for the first time.
“There's nothing to it, the bow does all the hard work for you.”
Merlin stared at the thing in his hand. “I'm sure it does.” The bow was nothing like magic, but he could feel its purpose running through the wood, each arm humming with tension and the string singing with a high and mighty voice. It was like a symphony of death, right there at his finger tips.
“Point it to the ground, pull the string and keep your elbow up, one sweet motion.”
Arthur stood close enough that Merlin was afraid he'd hit him with his elbow, and wouldn't that put a lovely end to this excursion. Giving a black eye to the prince would certainly land him in the dungeon, again, if only to make up for the humiliation. He kept the target in sight, wondering how he was going to hit something he could barely make out.
Arthur's voice in his ear, breath tickling along the upper rim, made Merlin shiver. “Close your eyes, follow the motion and the bow will shoot where you point it. Don't grip the handle.”
Merlin released the string and immediately got whacked in the face by the bow's upper arm. He heard Arthur snicker beside him. “That went well, thanks.” He handed his bow to one of the guys and turned to see after Commo and the horses. Arthur tapped his shoulder.
“Look,” he said, and Merlin looked. The arrow protruded from the trunk of the tree, spot in the middle, exactly where he'd wanted it to go. Arthur grinned and Merlin couldn't help grinning back.
“Not a bad shot, but I think we still have to work on that recoil.”
Merlin rubbed his head, “Yeah, I don't think it's supposed to do that.”
They hunted for most of the day, with a meal of roasted rabbit and bread for a break, and many awful jokes that were only funny thanks to the mead they'd brought to share. The work was bloody. They did most of the skinning right there and packed the meat in special cases of treated leather. They threw out the bones and innards for the predators and only took the skins and meat with them, both a concession to the forest life and a matter of weight and transportation.
With evening coming upon them and their horses loaded with bloody loot, they readied themselves to head back to the castle. Merlin patted Jem, when suddenly she bucked under him and he slammed right up against a low hanging branch from the oak tree they'd rested under.
He could just hear Arthur cursing and telling the others to leave, that he'd take care of... something... when his world went black.
+
Merlin woke to darkness and a tongue on his face. “Oh god, Commo, you stink.” He tried, quite ineffectually, to push the dog away, but his limbs felt like they were weighted down with lead.
“Shh,” Arthur said from close by, “Quiet or the dragon might hear you.”
Merlin frowned. Dragon. He knew a dragon, seemed like a nice guy, if a bit obsessed with Merlin and Arthur and their great big destiny. “I didn't know you knew the dragon.” He tried to sit up, but the dizziness let on that this wasn't an option, not right now.
“I wouldn't exactly say I know it. But it is right there in front of the entrance, if you want to say hello.”
Merlin blinked. It was dark, the only light came from the stones ahead, glinting with the reflection of the moon. Oh dear. Gaius must be beside himself with worry, they should have been back hours ago. Not to mention the King. And those shadows were moving.
“I think I'm going to throw up.” Merlin heaved his upper body into a vague approximation of leaning against the stones at his back, so that he would not get any sick on himself should it come to that. The effort took his breath away and his head began pounding with the rhythm of his heart.
A cool hand slipped behind his neck, not offering much in the way of assistance, but a welcome distraction nonetheless. Arthur, despite the threat of vomit, sat himself right behind Merlin's half-turned back. They were touching from shoulder to toe and Merlin wished he didn't feel like dying just now.
“Do you know why my father had all those dragons killed?” The low rumble of Arthur's voice pressed into a whisper sent shivers down Merlin's spine. Arthur's thumb stroked the nape of his neck, where Merlin's hair curled into annoying little locks.
“No, but how did that work out for him? Got his son eaten by a vengeful dragon.” Merlin felt tired, and his words came out in a weak mumble.
Arthur chuckled. “Not yet, Merlin.” Arthur shifted his body closer. “The dragons took what they wanted and they were cruel, but not without cause. There was a time when the people of Albion were under the protection and guidance of the dragons, we were their chose people. But children grow up, they grow angry, and the people of Albion turned from the dragons' wisdom.”
Merlin let the story wash over him, feeling safe and warm with Arthur so close. “The people fought amongst themselves, death and pain covered the lands. The dragons could not bear to see them - see us - like that and they intervened.”
The story had a well-told quality to it, like a beloved book whose pages had grown soft with many years of being turned. “The men of Albion rose up against the dragons, and when the first blood was spilled, a war broke out that would last centuries and destroy the dragons as well as the people.”
Merlin felt himself slip away. He held tight to the sound of Arthur's voice, not wanting to pass out in case he had hit his head harder than he thought. “Dragons are prophetic creatures, they dream of the future more than they live in the present. Their leaders warned the men of Albion, even when they were struck in irons and executed by magic fires that burned as bright as the midsummer sun - that the death of the last dragon would be the death of Albion herself.”
Merlin frowned. The dragon! That must be the reason why Uther kept him under the castle! “Your father... he killed the dragons, but he knew.” He turned, despite severe vertigo, to look at Arthur.
Arthur's expression was unreadable, but not unfriendly. “I believe he did.”
Merlin pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily against Arthur, who didn't complain. This, right here, was the weirdest situation they'd been in so far, even counting the magical assassination attempts. “That story-”
“My mother told it to me before I was born, and her handmaiden would tell it to me after her death.” For once, Arthur didn't seem upset about his mother. He smiled. To Merlin, it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen - he only wished it wasn't so dark.
“Arthur,” Merlin began, but stopped when he couldn't remember the end of the sentence. Instead he let his head drop against Arthur's shoulder. To his surprise, the prince didn't complain.
“We're going to be just fine, you'll see,” Arthur said, stroking Merlin's hair. Somewhere from the dark, Commo gave a single, assenting bark. Merlin settled himself against Arthur's body and tried to just breathe for a while.
The silence stretched into uncounted minutes, hours maybe. Merlin was drowsy, but kept himself awake by listening to Arthur's heartbeat. Arthur, too, was awake, keeping watch.
+
There were faint crashing noises outside when Merlin woke up. He didn't register right away that Arthur was missing. Commo had taken the place of Arthur somewhere in the early morning hours. When his pillow growled and licked his nose, however, Merlin realized that the prince was gone. He fought down a stab of fear and tried to sit up. His limbs were a bit shaky, his head a bit dizzy, but he could manage. It was nothing worse than the morning after his sixteenth birthday, minus the smell of mead.
The crashing became louder until there was a storm of noise right outside the cave. Merlin wondered if he should go investigate, when Arthur came stumbling in. He looked a bit singed.
“I think we have a problem,” Arthur said.
Merlin looked at him and grinned. “It certainly looks like it.”
“Merlin, there's no time for jokes now. I found the horses.”
Great, Merlin was ready to get out of here. “Good then-”
“Let me rephrase, I found what's left of the horses.” Arthur wore a grim expression and didn't look Merlin in the eye.
“Wait a minute,” Merlin jumped up, “You went out there on your own, you could have been killed.” The sudden motion was a bit much for his head, and Merlin stumbled. Arthur caught him.
“We have to go.”
Merlin, his arm draped over the prince's neck for support, dug in his heels for all the good it did. If Arthur wanted, he could just drag him out there, to face the dragon. “Why the sudden hurry, it's not like it can get in here-” Arthur made a point to look at the entrance, where the dragon's claws came into view. “It can't get in here, right?”
Arthur sighed. “It may not have known we were here.”
“But it does now?” Merlin asked, his voice reaching hysterical heights.
Commo barked at the claws, ducking away whenever they reached in to shred him to pieces. Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin. “I think I may have given it that idea.”
Arthur's heart pounded hard and erratic, Merlin could almost hear the blood rush through the prince's veins. Time began to slow around him, turn thick like molasses. The magic sometimes took over in times of extreme stress, and the fear Arthur projected fed right into Merlin's own.
“Maybe I can distract it...” Arthur said, his voice casting the flimsy plan into doubt.
Magic built up inside Merlin like the heat of passion, ready to burst at any moment. He was breathing harder, turning adrenaline into magical energy with every heartbeat. “Do you trust me?” He said to Arthur.
“What?”
Merlin extricated himself from the prince's grasp, everything around him seemed slower, thicker and warm, like the air of a hot summer night. “Do you trust me, Arthur?” He pressed it out, still reining in the magic that threatened to escape on every word.
“What are you talking about?” But there was something in Arthur's eyes, something that belied the question.
Merlin grabbed hold of his shoulders and drew him close. Searching Arthur's eyes, Merlin asked again. “Do you. Trust me?”
Arthur looked away. “Yes, okay. Yes, I trust you.” He sounded almost pained, admitting it after everything that had happened with Knight Valiant.
Merlin kissed Arthur on the mouth, lips closed, a promise more than anything else. “Good,” he said, and then he turned around to face the dragon.
+
When the surge of magic wore off, it left a vacuum for adrenaline to fill up. Merlin shivered with it, almost bounced on his heels, wanting to hit something, run somewhere, yell at the top of his lungs that he had bested a dragon. The dragon was left alive only because it had chosen to run away as far and fast as it could, leaving Merlin with no target to direct all his power at. It left him energized and unfulfilled.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, and there was fear in that voice, but also amusement, joy, love, all the things Merlin now felt hammering in his veins.
He turned to Arthur, who stood at the entrance of the cave, a look of surprise, but not contempt, not that dreaded hate Merlin had half expected. The sight gave Merlin another jolt of pure pleasure. He rushed toward Arthur and didn't stop, just threw himself at the prince like they were in some infernal game of tag. Arthur caught him around the waist and maneuvered them to the ground easily, asserting control.
“What the hell was that?” Arthur asked, with a crooked smile that made Merlin think the answer wouldn't be all that important.
Merlin grinned. “I don't know, freak weather maybe?”
Hands roaming over Arthur's back, Merlin felt heat rising in his stomach, spreading through his body. He pulled Arthur close. Arthur, in turn, slipped one thigh between Merlin's legs, adding wonderful pressure to his heated groin.
“Yes,” Arthur said, adding tiny kisses for every word, “I'm sure winds like that descend from the blue skies all the time.”
Merlin groaned, tilting his head back to offer access to his throat. “It wasn't anything like magic.”
Arthur chuckled, as he nipped at Merlin's jaw. “Of course not. There is,” he punctuated his words with licks and kisses down Merlin's chest, paying extra attention to Merlin's nipples. “Absolutely no way you are a wizard.”
For a second, Merlin wondered if he should be offended. He whispered a few words under his breath and their positions reversed, leaving him on top and slightly dizzy. But that could just be from the look Arthur gave him. Heat. Heat and desire and a little fear, but the trust between them thrummed like the echo of their hearts beating in unison.
Merlin leaned down to kiss Arthur, properly this time. Their mouths met, both of them yearning to get closer, running out of control and air and none of it mattered. They kissed like a starving man eats a feast, fast and hard and fearing it might stop at any time. Merlin's hand met Arthur's between their bodies, and they circled their cocks together, fingers hopelessly entangled, unable to say where one of them ended and the other began.
The frantic motion brought them close, so close, and Merlin whispered the words of a spell into Arthur's mouth. When they came, it was to a symphony of emotion and feeling and shared experience. Merlin's universe exploded into color and light and sound, and the universe was called Arthur, and it took his breath away.
+
“I'm betting my father never did that with a wizard,” Arthur said, and the lightness in his eyes spilled over into sound. He giggled, a thing that Merlin wouldn't have expected to hear from Arthur, not when he first met him, and not anywhere but here, lying on the damp and dirty ground, his arm tightly around Merlin.
“I would really prefer not to think about that, ever,” Merlin said, as his fingers lightly stroked over Arthur's, dancing with them in an abstract, distracted way that didn't mean anything except Merlin had fallen so deep, he had come out the other side.
The grin on Arthur's face made him look radiant, and Merlin could not look away. “So, I'm assuming the book you keep failing to hide whenever someone walks up to you is all about magic.” The teasing note in his voice sent jolts of renewed pleasure through Merlin's body. But there was a warning, too, and Merlin felt indulgent in his loose-limbed state.
“You can look at it, if you want.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You know I can't... you know.” There was, however, a flash of hope, of almost childish curiosity in those eyes.
Merlin leaned close enough to whisper in Arthur's ear. “I could teach you to read it.” He wove just enough of a spell into those words to make Arthur groan and squirm a bit.
It was almost dark again before they managed to get fully dressed and realized that Commo sat, unmoving as a statue is wont to do, in the shadow of the entrance, waiting patiently for someone to set him free again.
Merlin touched the statue and felt a pang of regret, of love for this strange, unexpected creature. Turned out that love happened like that, unexpected and wild and hard to name. Arthur's hand covered his, and the prince looked into Merlin's eyes.
Arthur smiled, a bit unsteady, but expectant. Hopeful. “Show me what you can do.”
Merlin grinned at Arthur, never taking his eyes off him, as the magic coursed through them both. “Bábær ódóefe árísan cwician!“
----
This was meant to be just a silly drabble about the dog. Yeah, I don't know where the plot came from either ;) The porn, of course, is kind of unavoidable when writing for Merlin.
Title: Cry Havoc
Author: suaine
Rating: R
Characters: Arthur/Merlin
Summary: "Whatever you do, don't go into my room. We'll take care of it later."
Notes: I think I may have inadvertently bastardized two languages that I don't speak, at all, so take the spell-work with a grain of salt. Or a shot of Tequilla.
Cry Havoc
by Suaine
In theory it should be much easier to turn the dog back to stone. It was, after all, in its very nature to sit still and be a dog-shaped rock. The dog very much disagreed. Loudly and continuously.
“I can't concentrate!” Merlin yelled at the creature. The dog just wagged its excuse for a tail and continued bumping Merlin's hands and legs with its scary snout. Another bark and Merlin would throw the book at it.
“How are you getting along?” Gaius asked, a sort of grim amusement on his face. He'd had a bit of a fight with the dog earlier, about territory and how it was not okay to demarcate such by peeing on the floor boards.
Merlin growled. “It keeps bumping me.” He made a vague gesture at the dog. “I can't even find the proper spell, even though I know it should be right here.”
Gaius looked at the dog. The dog looked back at him. “Perhaps,” Gaius said, watching that tail in its hypnotizing motion, “this is meant to be.”
“Oh, don't you start on that destiny malarkey. Arthur might be my destiny, but I will find a way to turn that back into a pile of rubble, if it's the last thing I do.”
The dog whined. Gaius gave it a cautious pat on the head. “I think he needs a name.”
+
Merlin dropped the sword he was meant to polish and instead of bitching, Arthur just looked at him with something between distaste and concern. That's how Merlin knew that he was in it deeper than he would ever have believed possible. Destiny, bollocks! Destiny only ever interrupted his good night's sleep, what good had it ever done him?
He leaned down to pick up the blade, scrutinizing his reflection. He looked tired, almost haggard. No wonder even Arthur picked up on it. “Gaius has a new pet. A dog the size of a pony and it refuses to sleep anywhere but my bed.”
“And you think I care why exactly?” The barb didn't even have any thorns. Either Arthur was losing his touch, or Merlin looked really pathetic.
Merlin sighed. “Because I am this close to falling on my face, and then who'd clean up the mess?”
Arthur smiled, just a little, and Merlin remembered why this particular destiny was far preferable to a rabid dog. “Perhaps. I want my servant to be efficient.”
“Yes, of course, efficiency. Since that infernal creature moved into my room, I don't even know how to spell efficiency anymore.”
Arthur frowned. Once again, he'd heard the entirely wrong thing from a sentence that included far too much information about Merlin himself, rather than the actual topic at hand. He had got stop doing that. “You read?” The tone of his voice put Merlin on guard. It was the kind of tone that ended with Merlin in the dungeon.
“Read, write, make up little poems about exacting my revenge on the dog thing.”
“I didn't think you were the type.” Arthur was still in some other world, barely following their conversation. Merlin shuddered at the possibilities in his future. Whenever Arthur got to planning, it boded ill for his manservant. Usually with bruises to match.
“I'll have you know that my mother taught me well. She read me the classics when I was just a toddler.” The moment he said it, Merlin remembered. The death of his mother had left invisible but very real marks on Arthur, and it was never healthy to bring it up. Servants, him included, had been sacked for less.
Arthur pinned him with a gaze. “Why would this matter to me, Merlin? Did I ask for a description of your, no doubt, very happy childhood?”
Merlin tried deflection, for once. Arthur was getting altogether too close, and too heated up. Never say a guy like Merlin couldn't learn from past mistakes. “I did not mean anything by it, Sire.” He did his best to sound sincere and they both seemed to believe it, this time.
Arthur shook his head. “You really are a strange one.” The wistfulness in Arthur's voice was beginning to freak Merlin out.
Which is why he chanced some serious retribution, asking: “Arthur, are you all right?”
The prince snorted. “Of course, why wouldn't I be? A prince has to lead armies, be a warrior, no one expects him to be able to read.” His eyes widened as soon as the words left his mouth. Merlin vowed to check if he'd unwittingly cast some kind of truth spell on his master.
“Oh,” he said, for lack of anything else that wasn't pity or an insult. They were already walking a tightrope of violence and disrespect in every second conversation they had. He did not need another night in the dungeon, ever.
Arthur caught himself, replacing the frozen shock on his face with something nasty, something cruel. “If you speak of this to anyone-”
Merlin ducked his head. “I wouldn't,” he said, thinking of his own secrets, “I told you, you can trust me.”
As quickly as his rage had come, it disappeared. Arthur deflated visibly. “Then let's never speak of this again.”
Merlin looked up, right into Arthur's eyes. The prince was a lot closer than propriety would demand, if anyone but the two of them were in the room. Hmm. “I promise,” Merlin said.
Arthur smiled. It sparked a few interesting ideas in Merlin's brain, none of them pure.
It was only after he left, skipping back to Gaius' place with more enthusiasm than he'd had in days, thinking about books and exactly how he could sneakily teach Arthur to read without the prince noticing, that he realized he still hadn't solved his dog problem.
+
“Please take it off my hands, just for a few hours.” He was not above begging and would fall to his knees in front of Guinevere if he thought that would get him anywhere.
The dog had taken to following him around. All day. Everywhere.
Guinevere scratched the thing behind its infernal ears. “I really don't see what your problem is. He's such a good boy, and very well trained.”
Merlin glared at the creature. “Maybe with you. He's just sucking up, you know. The moment you turn your back, he'll cause havoc.”
Guinevere raised one eyebrow. She had to have learned that glare from Morgana, it was cold as ice. “Right, of course.”
Merlin scratched his own head, wondering what exactly had just happened here. “Listen, I'm really sorry, but I needed to be in Arthur's room ten minutes ago. As it is, he'll probably have me sacked again, I can't take the dog with me.”
With that he edged out of the stables, very carefully not looking at Guinevere's face.
She called after him when he was almost far enough away to be able to pretend not to have heard. “What should I call him?”
+
Arthur flipped Merlin's ear with the tip of his dagger, which was a really painful way to wake him up. It was probably expected of him to apologize to his prince for falling asleep during his incessant prattle, but really, a guy could only take so much.
“Yes, sire?”
Arthur handled the dagger, somewhat distractedly. Merlin kept looking at the weapon, almost hypnotized by its motion through Arthur's fingers. Very strong, talented fingers that, to move a blade in such a way. Merlin licked his lips and forced his eyes up to his master's face.
Arthur looked at him with equal measures confusion and curiosity. Merlin began to feel like some kind of insect under scrutiny. “My father is planning to have another ball for the sole purpose of finding me a prospect for marriage, and all you can do is fall asleep on my table?”
“I, well, you see,” Merlin struggled to find an explanation that would satisfy his prince. He barely had one that satisfied myself. “It's the dog.”
Arthur yanked his gaze away, putting up his hands in annoyance. “Not that again.”
“It eats my food, sleeps in my bed, I can't get a moment's rest.”
Arthur sighed. “Good then, if the dog bothers you so much, I'll have it put down.”
Merlin's eyes widened. He hadn't thought. Not this. He'd brought the creature to life, he couldn't. Could he?
“I don't know, I mean, it's not really doing anyone any harm, right? We can't just... kill it.”
Arthur crossed his arms. “Why not? You're no good to me like this and apparently you can't deal with the dog on your own. I'll have a couple of guards come by your rooms later today.”
Merlin swallowed hard. “No.”
“What?” Arthur leaned close to Merlin, only a breath of air and the dagger between them. “Have you wasted my time with your whining for no reason?”
Merlin ducked his head. “It's just, I couldn't. It wouldn't be fair, you know? It's never really done anyone any harm.”
“Except you, and therefore by extension, me. That's enough for an execution.”
Merlin brought up his eyes, looking right into Arthur's. The two of them were so close he could feel breath on his face. “No. I'll deal with this.”
Arthur grinned, the cruel smile he hadn't shown Merlin since they first met. “See that you do.”
+
“Regredior silex canis!” Latin didn't appear to be any more helpful in turning the dog back to stone. Merlin wanted to scream from frustration.
The dog whined, one paw hiding his eyes as if Merlin had done something so horrible, even hell spawn would not dare look at it. He was tempted to throw the book across the room. This was pointless.
“It's all your fault, you know.”
The dog got up, and instead of barking at him again, he licked Merlin's face. Merlin deflated completely.
“You really do need a name, don't you?”
This, of course, was greeted with enthusiastic barks. Merlin began to regret the decision he was about to make, already knowing that this could not possibly end well. He closed the book and tentatively touched the dog's silky pelt.
+
“You didn't.” Arthur stared at the dog - at Commo - with such disbelief, Merlin felt the need to check if the dog was really there and not just a figment of his imagination.
Merlin let himself pat Commo's head. “He doesn't like to be alone.”
Arthur, of course, pretended to be furious, but Commo had his own charm, a kind of magic that seemed to work most easily on small children, women, and Arthur. Hmm, perhaps Merlin should look into that, right after he was done dressing the prince. And really, if anything would make that arrangement weirder, it was the dog watching. With its intelligent eyes that reflected far too many of Merlin's strange, distracted thoughts back at him, like how soft Arthur's skin was in all the places where he didn't, on occasion, wear chain mail.
“That tickles,” Arthur said, deadpan and unmoving. Merlin looked at his fingers, he'd been stroking Arthur's waistband for the last minute or so. Smooth, really smooth, and not just the leather of the breeches either. Merlin was an idiot.
“Sorry,” he said, hoping that Arthur was too busy being weirded out up there to see exactly how bright a young warlock could blush.
Arthur looked down at him, a strange, small smile on his face, something that looked almost... Merlin really couldn't put words to it, wouldn't while he still had his hands on Arthur's pants and his face right up against Arthur's groin. He did have some survival instincts.
“Sire?” Merlin asked, his voice traitorously breaking on the single syllable. He ducked his head to cough discreetly and diffuse some of the strange energy that had begun to fill the air between them.
Arthur stroked his hair.
Arthur's fingers carded through his hair like Merlin was a beloved dog and, honestly, he couldn't help but lean into the touch. He closed his eyes, and he was this close to purring like a gutter cat. Arthur, too, made some kind of strangled noise.
Merlin looked up. Arthur looked terrified, his hand slowly sinking to his side.
“I,” Arthur began, “I think maybe, uhm, I can do the rest myself.” His voice, at least, was as unsteady as Merlin's had been.
Merlin jumped to his feet. “Yes, I'll be. Going. Home.”
Arthur blinked, his eyes darting from Merlin's mouth to his eyes and back. “You do that.”
“Okay then.”
“Good.”
Neither of them was moving, so they were both breathing heavily, chest to chest, and standing almost on each other's toes.
“I need to go.” Merlin really, really needed to go.
“I know.”
Merlin's eyes kept being drawn to little details on Arthur's face, like the little scar on the edge of his mouth or the birthmark on his throat, right below the Adam's apple.
Just before he could do something stupid, Commo barked at the door. The tension between them went into excited energy and they sprang apart as quickly as humanly possible. Merlin almost tripped over a footstool. Arthur, suave as always, leaned against the fireplace when the Lady Morgana entered.
Merlin wasn't sure, exactly, if he was grateful for her intrusion, or pissed off.
“I hope I'm not interrupting something,” she said, a simple conversational gambit that had them both freezing for far too long. Because she kind of had, and Merlin certainly wasn't ready to examine that fact just yet.
Merlin stumbled over an explanation, at the same time as Arthur sneered out: “Of course not.”
Morgana gave them both an incredulous look, like she knew exactly what was going on here. Merlin wouldn't mind if she did and told him all about it, because he was just beginning to figure things out for himself.
“I've asked the King for a hunting party tomorrow. The stores are empty and the men are restless, it would be good for all of us.”
Arthur glanced at Merlin, lingering just a bit too long. “It sounds like a fantastic idea, but why come to me with it?”
Morgana laughed. “The King wants you to go, of course I offered, being a member of the royal family and all, by status if not blood, but apparently the King believes hunting is a man's job.”
“Great then, hear that Merlin?” Arthur slapped his hands together and rubbed them theatrically, an expression of glee that didn't sell with Merlin, or Morgana. “We're going hunting tomorrow.”
Morgana looked furious, but didn't say another word. Merlin only shrugged, what could he do? She left in a bit of a huff that went over Arthur's head like high winds.
With Morgana gone, Arthur dropped into a chair and sighed deeply, his head inclined backward, his eyes on the ceiling. He stayed like that for a long minute, until Merlin was just about to poke him to check if he was still awake.
Arthur grinned at him, suddenly. “How is your horseback riding?”
+
Commo loved the horses. The feeling, however, was not mutual. He bounced around them like a puppy, snapping at pasterns before their hoofs could kick him across the courtyard, ducking through between their legs and bellies, and generally making a nuisance of himself.
Merlin charged after the dog, but all he got for his effort was a kick in the shoulder.
Arthur, of course, seemed to find the thing supremely amusing, and not just because he was the one who'd suggested that Commo could come hunting with them.
Merlin's horse, too, was a bad attempt at joking. A beautiful cream-colored mare, fiery and not happy with being ridden, or in fact, having a saddle. It also didn't help that Arthur's stallion (princely black, of course) was biting her neck in obvious courtship.
“You did this on purpose.” Merlin hissed. He'd leashed the dog, calmed the mare, and got himself into the saddle without breaking any bones. Their horses were side by side, and Merlin leaned over in his saddle to reach Arthur and avoid any prying ears. “I am going to fall off and die, and you'll have to find a new guy to torment.”
Arthur turned a bit, bringing them face to face, so close their noses were almost touching. Merlin did not get excited about that. “There is no one quite like you.” Arthur's voice was so low, only the two of them could hear.
“Yes, well,” Merlin said, blushing to the tips of his ears.
Arthur laughed, and smacked the back of Merlin's head lightly. “Come on, let's earn ourselves a feast.”
+
In hindsight, Merlin should have known something bad would happen.
Something bad always happened. Especially when he was having a good time. Having a good time with Arthur and his cronies, even, and while the others didn't talk to him directly there was a kindness in Arthur now that hadn't been there before. He smiled at Merlin when his men cheered a particularly good shot, and he even offered to teach Merlin how to use a bow. The laughter that ensued was warm and inclusive, nothing like the jeers from when they'd all met for the first time.
“There's nothing to it, the bow does all the hard work for you.”
Merlin stared at the thing in his hand. “I'm sure it does.” The bow was nothing like magic, but he could feel its purpose running through the wood, each arm humming with tension and the string singing with a high and mighty voice. It was like a symphony of death, right there at his finger tips.
“Point it to the ground, pull the string and keep your elbow up, one sweet motion.”
Arthur stood close enough that Merlin was afraid he'd hit him with his elbow, and wouldn't that put a lovely end to this excursion. Giving a black eye to the prince would certainly land him in the dungeon, again, if only to make up for the humiliation. He kept the target in sight, wondering how he was going to hit something he could barely make out.
Arthur's voice in his ear, breath tickling along the upper rim, made Merlin shiver. “Close your eyes, follow the motion and the bow will shoot where you point it. Don't grip the handle.”
Merlin released the string and immediately got whacked in the face by the bow's upper arm. He heard Arthur snicker beside him. “That went well, thanks.” He handed his bow to one of the guys and turned to see after Commo and the horses. Arthur tapped his shoulder.
“Look,” he said, and Merlin looked. The arrow protruded from the trunk of the tree, spot in the middle, exactly where he'd wanted it to go. Arthur grinned and Merlin couldn't help grinning back.
“Not a bad shot, but I think we still have to work on that recoil.”
Merlin rubbed his head, “Yeah, I don't think it's supposed to do that.”
They hunted for most of the day, with a meal of roasted rabbit and bread for a break, and many awful jokes that were only funny thanks to the mead they'd brought to share. The work was bloody. They did most of the skinning right there and packed the meat in special cases of treated leather. They threw out the bones and innards for the predators and only took the skins and meat with them, both a concession to the forest life and a matter of weight and transportation.
With evening coming upon them and their horses loaded with bloody loot, they readied themselves to head back to the castle. Merlin patted Jem, when suddenly she bucked under him and he slammed right up against a low hanging branch from the oak tree they'd rested under.
He could just hear Arthur cursing and telling the others to leave, that he'd take care of... something... when his world went black.
+
Merlin woke to darkness and a tongue on his face. “Oh god, Commo, you stink.” He tried, quite ineffectually, to push the dog away, but his limbs felt like they were weighted down with lead.
“Shh,” Arthur said from close by, “Quiet or the dragon might hear you.”
Merlin frowned. Dragon. He knew a dragon, seemed like a nice guy, if a bit obsessed with Merlin and Arthur and their great big destiny. “I didn't know you knew the dragon.” He tried to sit up, but the dizziness let on that this wasn't an option, not right now.
“I wouldn't exactly say I know it. But it is right there in front of the entrance, if you want to say hello.”
Merlin blinked. It was dark, the only light came from the stones ahead, glinting with the reflection of the moon. Oh dear. Gaius must be beside himself with worry, they should have been back hours ago. Not to mention the King. And those shadows were moving.
“I think I'm going to throw up.” Merlin heaved his upper body into a vague approximation of leaning against the stones at his back, so that he would not get any sick on himself should it come to that. The effort took his breath away and his head began pounding with the rhythm of his heart.
A cool hand slipped behind his neck, not offering much in the way of assistance, but a welcome distraction nonetheless. Arthur, despite the threat of vomit, sat himself right behind Merlin's half-turned back. They were touching from shoulder to toe and Merlin wished he didn't feel like dying just now.
“Do you know why my father had all those dragons killed?” The low rumble of Arthur's voice pressed into a whisper sent shivers down Merlin's spine. Arthur's thumb stroked the nape of his neck, where Merlin's hair curled into annoying little locks.
“No, but how did that work out for him? Got his son eaten by a vengeful dragon.” Merlin felt tired, and his words came out in a weak mumble.
Arthur chuckled. “Not yet, Merlin.” Arthur shifted his body closer. “The dragons took what they wanted and they were cruel, but not without cause. There was a time when the people of Albion were under the protection and guidance of the dragons, we were their chose people. But children grow up, they grow angry, and the people of Albion turned from the dragons' wisdom.”
Merlin let the story wash over him, feeling safe and warm with Arthur so close. “The people fought amongst themselves, death and pain covered the lands. The dragons could not bear to see them - see us - like that and they intervened.”
The story had a well-told quality to it, like a beloved book whose pages had grown soft with many years of being turned. “The men of Albion rose up against the dragons, and when the first blood was spilled, a war broke out that would last centuries and destroy the dragons as well as the people.”
Merlin felt himself slip away. He held tight to the sound of Arthur's voice, not wanting to pass out in case he had hit his head harder than he thought. “Dragons are prophetic creatures, they dream of the future more than they live in the present. Their leaders warned the men of Albion, even when they were struck in irons and executed by magic fires that burned as bright as the midsummer sun - that the death of the last dragon would be the death of Albion herself.”
Merlin frowned. The dragon! That must be the reason why Uther kept him under the castle! “Your father... he killed the dragons, but he knew.” He turned, despite severe vertigo, to look at Arthur.
Arthur's expression was unreadable, but not unfriendly. “I believe he did.”
Merlin pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily against Arthur, who didn't complain. This, right here, was the weirdest situation they'd been in so far, even counting the magical assassination attempts. “That story-”
“My mother told it to me before I was born, and her handmaiden would tell it to me after her death.” For once, Arthur didn't seem upset about his mother. He smiled. To Merlin, it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen - he only wished it wasn't so dark.
“Arthur,” Merlin began, but stopped when he couldn't remember the end of the sentence. Instead he let his head drop against Arthur's shoulder. To his surprise, the prince didn't complain.
“We're going to be just fine, you'll see,” Arthur said, stroking Merlin's hair. Somewhere from the dark, Commo gave a single, assenting bark. Merlin settled himself against Arthur's body and tried to just breathe for a while.
The silence stretched into uncounted minutes, hours maybe. Merlin was drowsy, but kept himself awake by listening to Arthur's heartbeat. Arthur, too, was awake, keeping watch.
+
There were faint crashing noises outside when Merlin woke up. He didn't register right away that Arthur was missing. Commo had taken the place of Arthur somewhere in the early morning hours. When his pillow growled and licked his nose, however, Merlin realized that the prince was gone. He fought down a stab of fear and tried to sit up. His limbs were a bit shaky, his head a bit dizzy, but he could manage. It was nothing worse than the morning after his sixteenth birthday, minus the smell of mead.
The crashing became louder until there was a storm of noise right outside the cave. Merlin wondered if he should go investigate, when Arthur came stumbling in. He looked a bit singed.
“I think we have a problem,” Arthur said.
Merlin looked at him and grinned. “It certainly looks like it.”
“Merlin, there's no time for jokes now. I found the horses.”
Great, Merlin was ready to get out of here. “Good then-”
“Let me rephrase, I found what's left of the horses.” Arthur wore a grim expression and didn't look Merlin in the eye.
“Wait a minute,” Merlin jumped up, “You went out there on your own, you could have been killed.” The sudden motion was a bit much for his head, and Merlin stumbled. Arthur caught him.
“We have to go.”
Merlin, his arm draped over the prince's neck for support, dug in his heels for all the good it did. If Arthur wanted, he could just drag him out there, to face the dragon. “Why the sudden hurry, it's not like it can get in here-” Arthur made a point to look at the entrance, where the dragon's claws came into view. “It can't get in here, right?”
Arthur sighed. “It may not have known we were here.”
“But it does now?” Merlin asked, his voice reaching hysterical heights.
Commo barked at the claws, ducking away whenever they reached in to shred him to pieces. Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin. “I think I may have given it that idea.”
Arthur's heart pounded hard and erratic, Merlin could almost hear the blood rush through the prince's veins. Time began to slow around him, turn thick like molasses. The magic sometimes took over in times of extreme stress, and the fear Arthur projected fed right into Merlin's own.
“Maybe I can distract it...” Arthur said, his voice casting the flimsy plan into doubt.
Magic built up inside Merlin like the heat of passion, ready to burst at any moment. He was breathing harder, turning adrenaline into magical energy with every heartbeat. “Do you trust me?” He said to Arthur.
“What?”
Merlin extricated himself from the prince's grasp, everything around him seemed slower, thicker and warm, like the air of a hot summer night. “Do you trust me, Arthur?” He pressed it out, still reining in the magic that threatened to escape on every word.
“What are you talking about?” But there was something in Arthur's eyes, something that belied the question.
Merlin grabbed hold of his shoulders and drew him close. Searching Arthur's eyes, Merlin asked again. “Do you. Trust me?”
Arthur looked away. “Yes, okay. Yes, I trust you.” He sounded almost pained, admitting it after everything that had happened with Knight Valiant.
Merlin kissed Arthur on the mouth, lips closed, a promise more than anything else. “Good,” he said, and then he turned around to face the dragon.
+
When the surge of magic wore off, it left a vacuum for adrenaline to fill up. Merlin shivered with it, almost bounced on his heels, wanting to hit something, run somewhere, yell at the top of his lungs that he had bested a dragon. The dragon was left alive only because it had chosen to run away as far and fast as it could, leaving Merlin with no target to direct all his power at. It left him energized and unfulfilled.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, and there was fear in that voice, but also amusement, joy, love, all the things Merlin now felt hammering in his veins.
He turned to Arthur, who stood at the entrance of the cave, a look of surprise, but not contempt, not that dreaded hate Merlin had half expected. The sight gave Merlin another jolt of pure pleasure. He rushed toward Arthur and didn't stop, just threw himself at the prince like they were in some infernal game of tag. Arthur caught him around the waist and maneuvered them to the ground easily, asserting control.
“What the hell was that?” Arthur asked, with a crooked smile that made Merlin think the answer wouldn't be all that important.
Merlin grinned. “I don't know, freak weather maybe?”
Hands roaming over Arthur's back, Merlin felt heat rising in his stomach, spreading through his body. He pulled Arthur close. Arthur, in turn, slipped one thigh between Merlin's legs, adding wonderful pressure to his heated groin.
“Yes,” Arthur said, adding tiny kisses for every word, “I'm sure winds like that descend from the blue skies all the time.”
Merlin groaned, tilting his head back to offer access to his throat. “It wasn't anything like magic.”
Arthur chuckled, as he nipped at Merlin's jaw. “Of course not. There is,” he punctuated his words with licks and kisses down Merlin's chest, paying extra attention to Merlin's nipples. “Absolutely no way you are a wizard.”
For a second, Merlin wondered if he should be offended. He whispered a few words under his breath and their positions reversed, leaving him on top and slightly dizzy. But that could just be from the look Arthur gave him. Heat. Heat and desire and a little fear, but the trust between them thrummed like the echo of their hearts beating in unison.
Merlin leaned down to kiss Arthur, properly this time. Their mouths met, both of them yearning to get closer, running out of control and air and none of it mattered. They kissed like a starving man eats a feast, fast and hard and fearing it might stop at any time. Merlin's hand met Arthur's between their bodies, and they circled their cocks together, fingers hopelessly entangled, unable to say where one of them ended and the other began.
The frantic motion brought them close, so close, and Merlin whispered the words of a spell into Arthur's mouth. When they came, it was to a symphony of emotion and feeling and shared experience. Merlin's universe exploded into color and light and sound, and the universe was called Arthur, and it took his breath away.
+
“I'm betting my father never did that with a wizard,” Arthur said, and the lightness in his eyes spilled over into sound. He giggled, a thing that Merlin wouldn't have expected to hear from Arthur, not when he first met him, and not anywhere but here, lying on the damp and dirty ground, his arm tightly around Merlin.
“I would really prefer not to think about that, ever,” Merlin said, as his fingers lightly stroked over Arthur's, dancing with them in an abstract, distracted way that didn't mean anything except Merlin had fallen so deep, he had come out the other side.
The grin on Arthur's face made him look radiant, and Merlin could not look away. “So, I'm assuming the book you keep failing to hide whenever someone walks up to you is all about magic.” The teasing note in his voice sent jolts of renewed pleasure through Merlin's body. But there was a warning, too, and Merlin felt indulgent in his loose-limbed state.
“You can look at it, if you want.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You know I can't... you know.” There was, however, a flash of hope, of almost childish curiosity in those eyes.
Merlin leaned close enough to whisper in Arthur's ear. “I could teach you to read it.” He wove just enough of a spell into those words to make Arthur groan and squirm a bit.
It was almost dark again before they managed to get fully dressed and realized that Commo sat, unmoving as a statue is wont to do, in the shadow of the entrance, waiting patiently for someone to set him free again.
Merlin touched the statue and felt a pang of regret, of love for this strange, unexpected creature. Turned out that love happened like that, unexpected and wild and hard to name. Arthur's hand covered his, and the prince looked into Merlin's eyes.
Arthur smiled, a bit unsteady, but expectant. Hopeful. “Show me what you can do.”
Merlin grinned at Arthur, never taking his eyes off him, as the magic coursed through them both. “Bábær ódóefe árísan cwician!“
----
This was meant to be just a silly drabble about the dog. Yeah, I don't know where the plot came from either ;) The porn, of course, is kind of unavoidable when writing for Merlin.