PRISONER #AP59864: Part I
SUMMARY: Arthur Pendragon lands in prison for a dime on a manslaughter conviction and meets cocky inmate Merlin Emrys, who is serving a life sentence for a crime he may not have even committed.
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: ~10,000
NOTES: Written for princekurivaim for this round of glomp_fest. Kudos to The Scarf-Wearing Alpaca for the beta!
PRISONER #AP59864
**
The intake guard - a large man with red-blond curls and a beard whose name plate read L. Knight - handed Arthur a box of institutional garb and effects and instructed him to “strip down” and to hand over all personal belongings, including his clothes and jewellery, to be logged and kept until his release.
Arthur looked around the dismal room for a spot to change clothes.
“If you’re looking for a change room,” Officer Knight remarked dryly, “You aren’t gonna find one.” He busied himself by shuffling through the forms on the counter in front of him. “You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen.”
Arthur stripped out of his clothes quickly and handed them to the intake guard. He slipped his thumb ring - the only thing he had of his mother’s - off as well and placed it on the counter. Trying very hard not to feel self-conscious now that he was completely naked and exposed, he opened and sifted through the box that he had been given.
The box held a variety of items he would need during his stay here: four sets of clothes (two pant and shirt combos, two jumpsuits), two sets of sleep wear, four white t-shirts, four pairs of socks, four briefs, one pair of shoes, one light jacket, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a shaving kit.
He selected a pair of briefs, socks, a white t-shirt, a button shirt and a pair of pants from the box and began to redress, eternally thankful that the clothes were mundane shades of blue and grey, unlike the bright orange he had been expecting. Arthur supposed he had seen far too many prison movies, which had created those expectations. But so far, prison was nothing like he had imagined.
This was it, he thought, as Officer Knight led him out of the intake area to the general prison. This was going to be his “home” for a minimum of four years, until he qualified for consideration of parole. He had been sentenced to ten years upon conviction for manslaughter and court-ordered to serve his time at Albion, a maximum security prison. While it was generally not practice for those convicted of manslaughter as a result of a drinking and driving fatality to serve their sentence in a prison classified as maximum security, Lance - who was Arthur’s best friend and defence lawyer - had said the judge had intended to make an example of him - to send a message that no one was beyond the reach of the law and that everyone should be punished accordingly. It didn’t matter who he was or who his father was.
Arthur couldn’t disagree. He had killed someone - a thirty-two year old woman with a husband and three young children. He deserved to go to prison. And he deserved to serve his time in a maximum security environment. He was not Arthur Pendragon, the son of prominent businessman Uther Pendragon, and Vice President of Pendragon Incorporated here. In Albion, he was simply Prisoner #AP59864.
Officer Knight led him down a walkway that housed a row of cells. “This is B Range, Cellblock 5,” the guard told him. “And your new home is Cell 505.” He tapped on the outer side of the barred door to the cell and, somewhere unseen, a mechanism was engaged to release the lock on the door.
Officer Knight leaned against the bars and gestured Arthur forward into the opening. “You’re bunking with Emrys here,” the guard said, flicking his head toward a dark-haired young man sprawled across the bottom bunk. “His last cellmate got shanked, creating an unexpected vacancy,” the guard continued. “But probably a good match for a princess like you.” Officer Knight grinned. “Just remember to play nice, huh Merlin?” he said to the other man, then pulled the cell door closed, reengaging the lock.
The young man the guard had called “Emrys” and “Merlin” sat up and moved to the edge of the bunk cot, his gaze flicking over Arthur in assessment. Arthur set his box of prison goodies down then and, wanting to get off on the right footing, extended his hand toward his cellmate. “Merlin, is it? I’m Arthur.”
The young inmate glanced at Arthur’s outstretched hand, his expression purposely neutral, making no move to shake it. Instead, he drawled out some words of wisdom: “A word of advice. Never extend your hand out to anyone in here. A con might see it as an invitation to shank you or--” The corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes glistened with amusement. “At the very least you’ll end up with a palm full of some con’s just jacked jizz.”
Arthur withdrew his hand and wiped his palms down the front of his cotton-polyester pants. He heard Merlin chuckle.
Arthur went about unpacking his box, placing items in the empty metal locker that was to be his, subtly trying to take in his surroundings. The cell was approximately twelve by nine, give or take, with bunked metal cots up against one wall, lockers at the wall end of the bunks, a stainless steel toilet and sink combo in one corner. It was a cramped space - hell, the master bathroom in his condominium home was larger than this -for one person, let alone two, with complete lack of privacy, but Arthur knew he had to make do and adapt. He had no other choice.
“So, what you in for?” Merlin asked, as though making small talk.
“I...I, um, hit someone with my car,” Arthur responded. He hadn’t quite gotten used to saying the words “manslaughter” and “killed someone” out loud yet.
“Oh. So manslaughter for killing someone because you were driving while drunk then,” Merlin correctly guessed and articulated what Arthur couldn’t. Arthur raised his eyebrows and Merlin shrugged. “They don’t usually send you here for just bumping someone with your car. You know?”
Arthur let a few minutes pass before asking, “How about you?”
“Murder. In the first degree,” Merlin said easily. “Good thing there’s no death penalty here or I’d be sitting on death row right now. Capped a cop, see.”
Arthur did his best to mask his surprise. This young man - he pegged Merlin for twenty-four or twenty-five, though the jumpsuit he seemed to favour wearing over the pants and shirt accentuated his youthfulness - was a cop killer? It didn’t seem possible. He didn’t look like someone who had killed an officer of the law, though Arthur had to admit that he didn’t know what a cop killer was supposed to look like. Though he would have expected hard edges, deranged eyes, and crazy twitches - not high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and stoic calmness.
“Yeah?” he finally squeaked out, hoping Merlin wouldn’t catch the panic in his voice. Maybe Merlin was just yanking his chain, trying to scare him or something.
“Yeah,” Merlin said, looking suddenly very solemn. He shifted his glance to the side then and screwed his mouth into a smirk. “But don’t worry. It wasn’t me who stabbed my last cellmate with a spoon shank. Despite what Officer Knight claims, I generally play nice.” The smirk turned into a full grin. “Unless you snore like a bear, I’m probably not gonna stab you in your sleep.”
**
Despite residual reservations brought on by their earlier conversation, Arthur stuck close to Merlin in the mess hall at dinner time. After all, it wasn’t as though he knew anybody. Merlin was the only fellow inmate he had so far met.
They sat on a bench on the same side of a table across from an inmate Merlin called “Gwaine”, who dug into the food on his tray like it was his last meal. This made Arthur wonder.
Gwaine scraped the last bit of food into his mouth then gestured with the tip of his head over his shoulder, saying, “Alvarr and his gang are looking to troll for fresh fish.” He nodded his head toward Arthur but addressed Merlin, “You might want to keep an eye on your boy.”
Merlin nodded, casting a furtive glance over Gwaine’s shoulder at a group of rough-looking men, whom Arthur presumed was ‘Alvarr and his gang’. Arthur remained still, resisting the urge to shift away his discomfort. He had a million questions, starting with ‘Who was Alvarr?’ and ‘What did it mean to troll for fresh fish?’ but now was not the time to ask. In any event, he was damn sure he wasn’t going to like the answers. He and Merlin finished their meals in silence as Gwaine rambled on about this and that. And when Alvarr’s group got up to dispose of their trash and return their trays, Arthur tried very hard to ignore them and refused to meet anyone’s eyes, though he was acutely aware that one of them - Alvarr, he was pretty sure - was, for the lack of a better word, ‘ogling’ him and grinning.
Later, when he and Merlin were back in their cell, getting ready before “lights out” and “night lockdown”, he decided to broach the subject.
“Who’s Alvarr?”
“Not a very nice con,” Merlin replied, shrugging out of the jumpsuit. He exchanged the white t-shirt for a grey one and slipped on the institutional-issued sleep pants. Arthur felt like he should give Merlin some privacy but there weren’t many other places to look. “In the Albion pecking order, Alvarr is somewhere in the top. Serving sentences for multiple murders. Has gang affiliations. Also a major player in the drug scene here.”
Arthur followed Merlin’s lead and changed out of his day clothes and into his sleep wear, noting the way Merlin’s eyes seemed to rake briefly over his bare torso.
“That pack you saw him with in the mess hall are his boys,” Merlin continued. “Some are acquaintances from the outside. Some are acquaintances from inside. A couple are boys he caught by trolling fish. It’s a nasty pack and you want to stay clear of them.”
Arthur really did not want his naivety to show through but he had no other choice. So, he asked, “Trolling fish? What does that mean?”
Merlin’s grin was patient. “Fish are newbies - new inmates,” he explained. “You are a fish. When a con trolls for fresh fish, he’s looking for new blood. A pretty con usually. Someone he can make into his boy, his bitch. New boys do whatever the con says, right? Otherwise, you’ll get a shiv in your side or a beating laid on ya so hard you’ll wish you’d gotten the shiv instead.”
Merlin looked at Arthur carefully, as if gauging his reaction. Arthur forced himself to appear unshaken, which was the farthest thing from what he was actually feeling. He had seen enough prison movies to know what could happen to him. But this - this was real.
“And Gwaine thinks Alvarr is going to try to troll me?” Arthur asked, his voice giving away his unease. He never thought he would ever be having such a conversation.
For a moment, Merlin’s eyes registered something akin to empathy but then, just like that, it was quickly gone. “Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You’re young, good-looking and not a typical con - exactly the kind of fish Alvarr likes to break.” Arthur may have made a strangled noise in his throat upon hearing this because Merlin looked up suddenly and said, “Look, if you want me to keep you safe, I will. But there are conditions.”
“Conditions?” Arthur asked, his voice sounding distant to his ears, like he was speaking a million miles away.
“In here, protection is given in exchange for certain...favours,” Merlin said. He seemed to hesitate on the last word and Arthur chose not to ask what “favours” might be expected, though he could very well guess. Instead, he asked, “And how are you going to keep me safe?”
“It’s a matter of establishing you as my boy,” Merlin said matter-of-factly. “The cons in here, including Alvarr, will leave other cons’ boys alone. That’s how it works.”
Arthur nodded. The whole of it was entirely fucked up. But he had to admit that, if he was going to be made someone’s ‘boy’, he would rather it be Merlin than Alvarr.
“Okay,” he said, noting the surprise he saw flicker across Merlin’s face, however brief. “Can I ask you something?” he prodded further. Merlin nodded. “This isn’t the first time you’ve offered to protect a fish, is it?” Arthur wanted to be sure that Merlin knew what he was doing.
Merlin shook his head. “No.”
Arthur suspected Merlin was bending the truth a little, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Still. “Okay,” he said again then, “Ever been a con’s boy?” he risked asking.
Merlin met Arthur’s eyes with unnerving confidence. “I was twenty-one when I came here three years ago,” he said quietly. “Had cred for capping a cop but you don’t come in that young without ending up someone’s prag.”
“Prag?”
“Bitch. Boy. Kid. Whatever you want to call it.” Merlin grinned at him. “You really need to learn the lingo and catch up on the Code,” he said. “But that lesson’s gonna have to wait. Time to sleep.”
Arthur agreed. He was very tired. It had been a very long day. And he had roughly fifteen hundred more days like it to get through.
So, he prepared to climb up to the top bunk but Merlin put a hand on his arm and said, “Top bunk’s mine, actually. I was just taking advantage of not having a cellmate earlier.” He grinned then hoisted himself onto the top bunk.
Arthur settled on the bottom bunk, deciding to pretend he was on a rustic camping trip to distract him from the discomfort of the thin mattress pad and meagre blankets. Then he closed his eyes, barely registering Merlin’s quiet ‘Night, Arthur’ before sinking soundly into sleep.
**
“Always keep your feelings tucked the fuck in. Emotions make you vulnerable and the sharks here will rip you apart.”
Merlin was explaining “The Code” to him - the rules that cons were expected to live by in interacting with each other in prison. He had already versed Arthur on the prison slang and was now going over the highlights of the Convicts’ Code. Arthur might have found it fascinating in any other circumstances. But in here - as a new “con” who was expected to not only know these unwritten rules but to adhere to them or risk harm, it was a whole other and rather frightening lesson.
“In other words, don’t let them see you sweat?” Arthur tried to joke.
Merlin grinned then frowned. “Every con learns to mask his emotions pretty fucking quick,” he continued, giving Arthur a look that was so serious it was unnerving. “It’s actually easier than you think. Just don’t give a con anything to hang you by. Got it?”
Arthur nodded. He got it. As it was, Arthur was not a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve. Being raised by Uther Pendragon had taken care of that. But the prison environment was different, a place where any kind of emotion could be taken advantage of. He understood that he had to be careful. The fellow cons in here were not his friends. They would never be his friends - not even Merlin. It was dog-eat-dog - or something like that - and friendship was a luxury. Emotional distance was necessary. Still, it was darkly depressing to think one had to spend four years or more living an emotionally void existence. And what about cons like Merlin who were serving a life sentence?
“Just stick to the Code,” Merlin said, “and you’ll be fine.”
**
It only took a week before marking Arthur as Merlin’s boy came to be tested.
They were in the showers on B Range - Merlin and Arthur and four other cons from their Cellblock. Arthur was wrapping a towel around his waist, while Merlin was just finishing up under the spray when the cons in the showers with them suddenly made themselves scarce.
Alvarr, flanked by two of his cons, eyed Arthur from head to toe, a lazy predatory expression on his face.
“Let him be,” Merlin said, his body naked and wet, having just shut off the shower spray. He staked his claim. “The fish is mine.”
Alvarr gave Merlin an amused look. “Alright, Emrys,” he said and Arthur thought his tone sounded dangerous. He tried to remain calm and not let fear take hold of him. “I’ll let you keep the fish.” For a moment, Arthur felt relief but then panic gripped him when Alvarr said, “But there’s a string attached.”
Merlin, who looked anything but vulnerable in his naked state, Arthur marvelled, asked nonchalantly, “What’s that?”
Alvarr smiled, a cruel twist of his lips that conveyed a hardness that had been formed over years of living a hard life. “You take him,” he said. “Here. Right now.”
Arthur thought he sensed a hint of hesitancy in Merlin’s stance, as if he was weighing his options, but if it had ever been there, it was quickly gone. Merlin pulled Arthur roughly, and with a firm hand on his back, he pushed Arthur into the shower wall. Unsure what else to do but cooperate, Arthur planted his palms against the still warm and wet tile, as Merlin pressed the length of his body against him from behind.
Arthur closed his eyes. He knew that in order for him to be spared from being made Alvarr’s bitch, Merlin had to make Arthur his boy. He knew it - understood it - but he still wasn’t prepared for it. How could anyone be prepared for something like this?
He felt the heat of Merlin’s body pressed against him, Merlin’s hand coming around his front to loosen the hold of his towel. Then he felt Merlin’s mouth on his neck, his teeth sinking into his shoulder. His hand skirting over his hips, his buttocks, his dick. It was unfamiliar and strange and all together wrong. Arthur did not want this to happen. But it was going to happen and Arthur much preferred that it would be Merlin than Alvarr or anyone else.
Merlin’s mouth and hands suddenly stopped roaming. Arthur felt cool air between them as Merlin created space between their bodies. Arthur heard him say to Alvarr, “Think I’m gonna let the fish take me.” He laughed. It sounded hollow. “See if he’s man enough.”
He heard Alvarr now laugh. “Whatever turns your crank, boy.”
Merlin quickly changed their positions, pulling Arthur forward by the hips up against him.
“Best to fuck me hard and quick,” Merlin whispered so low Arthur almost didn’t hear him. “Don’t be gentle. And for godsakes, don’t fucking shake while you do it.”
Arthur willed every one of his nerves to relax, pushing aside all his pent up anxiety, doing his best to follow Merlin’s advice. He stroked his member, hoping desperately he’d manage an erection or it would be the end for him - he understood that much. He managed to get hard by calling up as many wank fantasies as he could and slid the head of his cock between Merlin’s firm cheeks, searching for and nudging at his hole. Then he pressed into Merlin - no warning, no apology, no hesitancy, no gentleness. Just like Merlin had told him. And while he rammed his cock in and out of Merlin, he tried not to think that he was probably hurting him, or that he was exposing them both to all kinds of potential diseases, or that he was fucking a man he hardly knew in front of three others in the showers on the range of Albion Prison, and instead concentrated on Merlin’s words and the conviction in his voice that told Arthur this is what he had to do. Because even if this was terrible and dirty and completely ugly, the alternative was far, far worse.
Arthur surprised himself by coming quickly and he pulled out to let his seed eject mostly on rather than in Merlin. Merlin caught his right hand and yanked it around to his front, shoving it against his prick, encouraging Arthur to jerk it. Arthur complied, and with only a few quick pulls of Arthur’s hand, Merlin came, spurting against the shower wall.
Alvarr let out a whistle and his con buddies jeered. “Didn’t think the fish had it in him,” Alvarr remarked.
Arthur moved away from Merlin, plucked his towel from the floor of the showers and wrapped it around his hips. Merlin retrieved his own towel and did the same. He did not look at Arthur.
“Okay, Emrys,” Alvarr said. “He’s yours.” He nodded at the two cons with him and they all retreated.
Arthur wanted to say something to Merlin about what had just happened but he knew now was not the time to do it. Besides, Merlin was already padding out of the showers, going about business as usual, as though what had just happened wasn’t worth talking about anyway.
**
When they were back in their cell, fully dressed, Arthur sitting on his bottom bunk and Merlin buttoning up a clean jumpsuit, Arthur decided it was time to say something.
“I’m sorry, Merlin.”
Merlin flicked a glance at him. As usual, his expression gave nothing away. “Never be sorry, Arthur,” he said. “For anything you do in here. You did what I told you to do like a good boy, a right bitch. And if you hadn’t, you’d be bending over for one of those fuck bastards right now.”
“Still, you let me...and I...” Arthur tried to express. The truth was, Arthur was grateful. And he wanted Merlin to know that he truly was.
“Remember the Code, Arthur,” Merlin said, something almost soft passing over his face. Then he made his voice hard. “You’re gonna get us both fucking killed if you keep fucking talking like that.”
Later, at night, just after lights out at twenty-two hundred hours, Merlin’s voice floated down in the quiet darkness.
“Haven’t had good cock like that in a long while,” he said. “Just thought you should know.”
Arthur stared up at the underside of the top bunk cot. Merlin had let him off the hook. Arthur was grateful for this, but it still didn’t make him feel any less guilty.
**
Gwen came to visit a month after Arthur had been sent to Albion. He had not yet qualified for an open visit, so Arthur’s visit with Gwen had to take place through a Plexiglas window with contact by phone receiver only. It was degrading and humiliating. Arthur had almost refused the visit but Merlin had reminded him that visits from those on the outside don’t happen very often so Arthur decided to make the best of it.
He picked up the receiver on his end and tried to smile at Gwen, who looked decidedly uncomfortable and a tad bit terrified. “You shouldn’t have come, Gwen,” he said softly.
“I wanted to see you,” Gwen said through the receiver. “I needed to...to-to see if you are doing okay.”
“I’m fine,” Arthur said. He knew his reply was short and sharp but he was not ready for a full conversation with Gwen. What could he possibly tell her?
Gwen’s face pinched in concern. “Are you getting enough to eat? Are you sleeping okay? Are they treating you all right?”
“It’s not a country club, Gwen,” Arthur retorted with a sigh into the phone and immediately felt bad when he saw her flinch as if stung by his words. “I mean, it’s hard but I’m doing okay.” He offered a little smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
A part of Arthur wanted to tell Gwen about Merlin. How Merlin was looking out for him. How he hadn’t become Alvarr’s or some other con’s bitch. And how Merlin had saved him from that fate. But that necessitated details that Arthur could not share with Gwen. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He was surprised to see tears in Gwen’s eyes. “I can’t help but worry about you, Arthur,” she said. “You don’t know how it’s been for me...how much I miss you...how scared I am that something will happen to you in there.” She inhaled a deep breath, trying to gather herself. “Lance says it’s a tough prison. There’s a lot of violence and...”
“Gwen,” Arthur said firmly, getting her attention. “Don’t worry about me,” he repeated. “In fact, just forget me. Don’t even think about me anymore.”
Gwen looked alarmed and protested, “I’m not going to just forget you, Arthur--”
“Go and live your life, Gwen,” Arthur continued. He knew what needed to be said. “Marry someone like Lance and have a bunch of babies. You’ll be a good wife and mother.”
“Arthur--”
“It’ll be at least four years before I get out of here,” Arthur said. “You deserve someone better than me. So I’m asking you to forget me. Please.” Arthur gave Gwen one last pleading look and then hung up the receiver.
He stood and signalled to the guard to take him back to his cell.
**
It was after lights out and Arthur and Merlin were in their beds. Merlin kept his voice low, floating on the surface of the darkness surrounding them.
“I got a mom on the outside who loves me despite the shit I’ve done. And a foster brother who will hopefully take a different path than me. What about you, Arthur? You got anybody on the outside?”
Arthur thought about his father and Gwen.
“I had a girl,” he replied. “She loved me, I guess. But this has been very hard for her. I want her to forget about me and live her life.”
Merlin hummed a non-judgemental response.
Arthur liked to think that this made him sound like the noble one, wishing for Gwen to move on, but the truth was Arthur was afraid that Gwen hadn’t ever loved him enough to stick by him. It was easier to let her go before she left him, he reasoned.
“My father is very angry and disappointed with me,” Arthur continued. “He has pretty much cut our ties. Uther Pendragon is not a man to give unconditional love.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but Arthur knew that Merlin, who was astutely discerning, would catch it.
“Are you?” Merlin asked, surprising him.
Arthur thought about it some. He loved Gwen. He loved Lance. He even loved his half-sister Morgana who had invested a great deal of time in making his life a living hell over the years. And, despite never having even known her, Arthur loved his mother. But, in many respects when it came to love, Arthur did not think he was much different than his father. He resented his father’s expectations and the pressure he had foisted upon Arthur in insisting that he be the best at everything he did. He blamed his father for the drinking problem he had developed as a result of these expectations and pressures, a problem that had contributed to the accident that had killed that thirty-two year old wife and mother. Arthur knew the woman’s death was his fault and not his father’s but the resentment and anger were there, no matter how hard he tried to quash these emotions. He loved his father, he supposed. But Arthur didn’t think that love was wholly unconditional. Not by a long shot.
“I don’t know,” was all he could say.
PART II
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: ~10,000
NOTES: Written for princekurivaim for this round of glomp_fest. Kudos to The Scarf-Wearing Alpaca for the beta!
PRISONER #AP59864
**
The intake guard - a large man with red-blond curls and a beard whose name plate read L. Knight - handed Arthur a box of institutional garb and effects and instructed him to “strip down” and to hand over all personal belongings, including his clothes and jewellery, to be logged and kept until his release.
Arthur looked around the dismal room for a spot to change clothes.
“If you’re looking for a change room,” Officer Knight remarked dryly, “You aren’t gonna find one.” He busied himself by shuffling through the forms on the counter in front of him. “You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen.”
Arthur stripped out of his clothes quickly and handed them to the intake guard. He slipped his thumb ring - the only thing he had of his mother’s - off as well and placed it on the counter. Trying very hard not to feel self-conscious now that he was completely naked and exposed, he opened and sifted through the box that he had been given.
The box held a variety of items he would need during his stay here: four sets of clothes (two pant and shirt combos, two jumpsuits), two sets of sleep wear, four white t-shirts, four pairs of socks, four briefs, one pair of shoes, one light jacket, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a shaving kit.
He selected a pair of briefs, socks, a white t-shirt, a button shirt and a pair of pants from the box and began to redress, eternally thankful that the clothes were mundane shades of blue and grey, unlike the bright orange he had been expecting. Arthur supposed he had seen far too many prison movies, which had created those expectations. But so far, prison was nothing like he had imagined.
This was it, he thought, as Officer Knight led him out of the intake area to the general prison. This was going to be his “home” for a minimum of four years, until he qualified for consideration of parole. He had been sentenced to ten years upon conviction for manslaughter and court-ordered to serve his time at Albion, a maximum security prison. While it was generally not practice for those convicted of manslaughter as a result of a drinking and driving fatality to serve their sentence in a prison classified as maximum security, Lance - who was Arthur’s best friend and defence lawyer - had said the judge had intended to make an example of him - to send a message that no one was beyond the reach of the law and that everyone should be punished accordingly. It didn’t matter who he was or who his father was.
Arthur couldn’t disagree. He had killed someone - a thirty-two year old woman with a husband and three young children. He deserved to go to prison. And he deserved to serve his time in a maximum security environment. He was not Arthur Pendragon, the son of prominent businessman Uther Pendragon, and Vice President of Pendragon Incorporated here. In Albion, he was simply Prisoner #AP59864.
Officer Knight led him down a walkway that housed a row of cells. “This is B Range, Cellblock 5,” the guard told him. “And your new home is Cell 505.” He tapped on the outer side of the barred door to the cell and, somewhere unseen, a mechanism was engaged to release the lock on the door.
Officer Knight leaned against the bars and gestured Arthur forward into the opening. “You’re bunking with Emrys here,” the guard said, flicking his head toward a dark-haired young man sprawled across the bottom bunk. “His last cellmate got shanked, creating an unexpected vacancy,” the guard continued. “But probably a good match for a princess like you.” Officer Knight grinned. “Just remember to play nice, huh Merlin?” he said to the other man, then pulled the cell door closed, reengaging the lock.
The young man the guard had called “Emrys” and “Merlin” sat up and moved to the edge of the bunk cot, his gaze flicking over Arthur in assessment. Arthur set his box of prison goodies down then and, wanting to get off on the right footing, extended his hand toward his cellmate. “Merlin, is it? I’m Arthur.”
The young inmate glanced at Arthur’s outstretched hand, his expression purposely neutral, making no move to shake it. Instead, he drawled out some words of wisdom: “A word of advice. Never extend your hand out to anyone in here. A con might see it as an invitation to shank you or--” The corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes glistened with amusement. “At the very least you’ll end up with a palm full of some con’s just jacked jizz.”
Arthur withdrew his hand and wiped his palms down the front of his cotton-polyester pants. He heard Merlin chuckle.
Arthur went about unpacking his box, placing items in the empty metal locker that was to be his, subtly trying to take in his surroundings. The cell was approximately twelve by nine, give or take, with bunked metal cots up against one wall, lockers at the wall end of the bunks, a stainless steel toilet and sink combo in one corner. It was a cramped space - hell, the master bathroom in his condominium home was larger than this -for one person, let alone two, with complete lack of privacy, but Arthur knew he had to make do and adapt. He had no other choice.
“So, what you in for?” Merlin asked, as though making small talk.
“I...I, um, hit someone with my car,” Arthur responded. He hadn’t quite gotten used to saying the words “manslaughter” and “killed someone” out loud yet.
“Oh. So manslaughter for killing someone because you were driving while drunk then,” Merlin correctly guessed and articulated what Arthur couldn’t. Arthur raised his eyebrows and Merlin shrugged. “They don’t usually send you here for just bumping someone with your car. You know?”
Arthur let a few minutes pass before asking, “How about you?”
“Murder. In the first degree,” Merlin said easily. “Good thing there’s no death penalty here or I’d be sitting on death row right now. Capped a cop, see.”
Arthur did his best to mask his surprise. This young man - he pegged Merlin for twenty-four or twenty-five, though the jumpsuit he seemed to favour wearing over the pants and shirt accentuated his youthfulness - was a cop killer? It didn’t seem possible. He didn’t look like someone who had killed an officer of the law, though Arthur had to admit that he didn’t know what a cop killer was supposed to look like. Though he would have expected hard edges, deranged eyes, and crazy twitches - not high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and stoic calmness.
“Yeah?” he finally squeaked out, hoping Merlin wouldn’t catch the panic in his voice. Maybe Merlin was just yanking his chain, trying to scare him or something.
“Yeah,” Merlin said, looking suddenly very solemn. He shifted his glance to the side then and screwed his mouth into a smirk. “But don’t worry. It wasn’t me who stabbed my last cellmate with a spoon shank. Despite what Officer Knight claims, I generally play nice.” The smirk turned into a full grin. “Unless you snore like a bear, I’m probably not gonna stab you in your sleep.”
**
Despite residual reservations brought on by their earlier conversation, Arthur stuck close to Merlin in the mess hall at dinner time. After all, it wasn’t as though he knew anybody. Merlin was the only fellow inmate he had so far met.
They sat on a bench on the same side of a table across from an inmate Merlin called “Gwaine”, who dug into the food on his tray like it was his last meal. This made Arthur wonder.
Gwaine scraped the last bit of food into his mouth then gestured with the tip of his head over his shoulder, saying, “Alvarr and his gang are looking to troll for fresh fish.” He nodded his head toward Arthur but addressed Merlin, “You might want to keep an eye on your boy.”
Merlin nodded, casting a furtive glance over Gwaine’s shoulder at a group of rough-looking men, whom Arthur presumed was ‘Alvarr and his gang’. Arthur remained still, resisting the urge to shift away his discomfort. He had a million questions, starting with ‘Who was Alvarr?’ and ‘What did it mean to troll for fresh fish?’ but now was not the time to ask. In any event, he was damn sure he wasn’t going to like the answers. He and Merlin finished their meals in silence as Gwaine rambled on about this and that. And when Alvarr’s group got up to dispose of their trash and return their trays, Arthur tried very hard to ignore them and refused to meet anyone’s eyes, though he was acutely aware that one of them - Alvarr, he was pretty sure - was, for the lack of a better word, ‘ogling’ him and grinning.
Later, when he and Merlin were back in their cell, getting ready before “lights out” and “night lockdown”, he decided to broach the subject.
“Who’s Alvarr?”
“Not a very nice con,” Merlin replied, shrugging out of the jumpsuit. He exchanged the white t-shirt for a grey one and slipped on the institutional-issued sleep pants. Arthur felt like he should give Merlin some privacy but there weren’t many other places to look. “In the Albion pecking order, Alvarr is somewhere in the top. Serving sentences for multiple murders. Has gang affiliations. Also a major player in the drug scene here.”
Arthur followed Merlin’s lead and changed out of his day clothes and into his sleep wear, noting the way Merlin’s eyes seemed to rake briefly over his bare torso.
“That pack you saw him with in the mess hall are his boys,” Merlin continued. “Some are acquaintances from the outside. Some are acquaintances from inside. A couple are boys he caught by trolling fish. It’s a nasty pack and you want to stay clear of them.”
Arthur really did not want his naivety to show through but he had no other choice. So, he asked, “Trolling fish? What does that mean?”
Merlin’s grin was patient. “Fish are newbies - new inmates,” he explained. “You are a fish. When a con trolls for fresh fish, he’s looking for new blood. A pretty con usually. Someone he can make into his boy, his bitch. New boys do whatever the con says, right? Otherwise, you’ll get a shiv in your side or a beating laid on ya so hard you’ll wish you’d gotten the shiv instead.”
Merlin looked at Arthur carefully, as if gauging his reaction. Arthur forced himself to appear unshaken, which was the farthest thing from what he was actually feeling. He had seen enough prison movies to know what could happen to him. But this - this was real.
“And Gwaine thinks Alvarr is going to try to troll me?” Arthur asked, his voice giving away his unease. He never thought he would ever be having such a conversation.
For a moment, Merlin’s eyes registered something akin to empathy but then, just like that, it was quickly gone. “Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You’re young, good-looking and not a typical con - exactly the kind of fish Alvarr likes to break.” Arthur may have made a strangled noise in his throat upon hearing this because Merlin looked up suddenly and said, “Look, if you want me to keep you safe, I will. But there are conditions.”
“Conditions?” Arthur asked, his voice sounding distant to his ears, like he was speaking a million miles away.
“In here, protection is given in exchange for certain...favours,” Merlin said. He seemed to hesitate on the last word and Arthur chose not to ask what “favours” might be expected, though he could very well guess. Instead, he asked, “And how are you going to keep me safe?”
“It’s a matter of establishing you as my boy,” Merlin said matter-of-factly. “The cons in here, including Alvarr, will leave other cons’ boys alone. That’s how it works.”
Arthur nodded. The whole of it was entirely fucked up. But he had to admit that, if he was going to be made someone’s ‘boy’, he would rather it be Merlin than Alvarr.
“Okay,” he said, noting the surprise he saw flicker across Merlin’s face, however brief. “Can I ask you something?” he prodded further. Merlin nodded. “This isn’t the first time you’ve offered to protect a fish, is it?” Arthur wanted to be sure that Merlin knew what he was doing.
Merlin shook his head. “No.”
Arthur suspected Merlin was bending the truth a little, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Still. “Okay,” he said again then, “Ever been a con’s boy?” he risked asking.
Merlin met Arthur’s eyes with unnerving confidence. “I was twenty-one when I came here three years ago,” he said quietly. “Had cred for capping a cop but you don’t come in that young without ending up someone’s prag.”
“Prag?”
“Bitch. Boy. Kid. Whatever you want to call it.” Merlin grinned at him. “You really need to learn the lingo and catch up on the Code,” he said. “But that lesson’s gonna have to wait. Time to sleep.”
Arthur agreed. He was very tired. It had been a very long day. And he had roughly fifteen hundred more days like it to get through.
So, he prepared to climb up to the top bunk but Merlin put a hand on his arm and said, “Top bunk’s mine, actually. I was just taking advantage of not having a cellmate earlier.” He grinned then hoisted himself onto the top bunk.
Arthur settled on the bottom bunk, deciding to pretend he was on a rustic camping trip to distract him from the discomfort of the thin mattress pad and meagre blankets. Then he closed his eyes, barely registering Merlin’s quiet ‘Night, Arthur’ before sinking soundly into sleep.
**
“Always keep your feelings tucked the fuck in. Emotions make you vulnerable and the sharks here will rip you apart.”
Merlin was explaining “The Code” to him - the rules that cons were expected to live by in interacting with each other in prison. He had already versed Arthur on the prison slang and was now going over the highlights of the Convicts’ Code. Arthur might have found it fascinating in any other circumstances. But in here - as a new “con” who was expected to not only know these unwritten rules but to adhere to them or risk harm, it was a whole other and rather frightening lesson.
“In other words, don’t let them see you sweat?” Arthur tried to joke.
Merlin grinned then frowned. “Every con learns to mask his emotions pretty fucking quick,” he continued, giving Arthur a look that was so serious it was unnerving. “It’s actually easier than you think. Just don’t give a con anything to hang you by. Got it?”
Arthur nodded. He got it. As it was, Arthur was not a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve. Being raised by Uther Pendragon had taken care of that. But the prison environment was different, a place where any kind of emotion could be taken advantage of. He understood that he had to be careful. The fellow cons in here were not his friends. They would never be his friends - not even Merlin. It was dog-eat-dog - or something like that - and friendship was a luxury. Emotional distance was necessary. Still, it was darkly depressing to think one had to spend four years or more living an emotionally void existence. And what about cons like Merlin who were serving a life sentence?
“Just stick to the Code,” Merlin said, “and you’ll be fine.”
**
It only took a week before marking Arthur as Merlin’s boy came to be tested.
They were in the showers on B Range - Merlin and Arthur and four other cons from their Cellblock. Arthur was wrapping a towel around his waist, while Merlin was just finishing up under the spray when the cons in the showers with them suddenly made themselves scarce.
Alvarr, flanked by two of his cons, eyed Arthur from head to toe, a lazy predatory expression on his face.
“Let him be,” Merlin said, his body naked and wet, having just shut off the shower spray. He staked his claim. “The fish is mine.”
Alvarr gave Merlin an amused look. “Alright, Emrys,” he said and Arthur thought his tone sounded dangerous. He tried to remain calm and not let fear take hold of him. “I’ll let you keep the fish.” For a moment, Arthur felt relief but then panic gripped him when Alvarr said, “But there’s a string attached.”
Merlin, who looked anything but vulnerable in his naked state, Arthur marvelled, asked nonchalantly, “What’s that?”
Alvarr smiled, a cruel twist of his lips that conveyed a hardness that had been formed over years of living a hard life. “You take him,” he said. “Here. Right now.”
Arthur thought he sensed a hint of hesitancy in Merlin’s stance, as if he was weighing his options, but if it had ever been there, it was quickly gone. Merlin pulled Arthur roughly, and with a firm hand on his back, he pushed Arthur into the shower wall. Unsure what else to do but cooperate, Arthur planted his palms against the still warm and wet tile, as Merlin pressed the length of his body against him from behind.
Arthur closed his eyes. He knew that in order for him to be spared from being made Alvarr’s bitch, Merlin had to make Arthur his boy. He knew it - understood it - but he still wasn’t prepared for it. How could anyone be prepared for something like this?
He felt the heat of Merlin’s body pressed against him, Merlin’s hand coming around his front to loosen the hold of his towel. Then he felt Merlin’s mouth on his neck, his teeth sinking into his shoulder. His hand skirting over his hips, his buttocks, his dick. It was unfamiliar and strange and all together wrong. Arthur did not want this to happen. But it was going to happen and Arthur much preferred that it would be Merlin than Alvarr or anyone else.
Merlin’s mouth and hands suddenly stopped roaming. Arthur felt cool air between them as Merlin created space between their bodies. Arthur heard him say to Alvarr, “Think I’m gonna let the fish take me.” He laughed. It sounded hollow. “See if he’s man enough.”
He heard Alvarr now laugh. “Whatever turns your crank, boy.”
Merlin quickly changed their positions, pulling Arthur forward by the hips up against him.
“Best to fuck me hard and quick,” Merlin whispered so low Arthur almost didn’t hear him. “Don’t be gentle. And for godsakes, don’t fucking shake while you do it.”
Arthur willed every one of his nerves to relax, pushing aside all his pent up anxiety, doing his best to follow Merlin’s advice. He stroked his member, hoping desperately he’d manage an erection or it would be the end for him - he understood that much. He managed to get hard by calling up as many wank fantasies as he could and slid the head of his cock between Merlin’s firm cheeks, searching for and nudging at his hole. Then he pressed into Merlin - no warning, no apology, no hesitancy, no gentleness. Just like Merlin had told him. And while he rammed his cock in and out of Merlin, he tried not to think that he was probably hurting him, or that he was exposing them both to all kinds of potential diseases, or that he was fucking a man he hardly knew in front of three others in the showers on the range of Albion Prison, and instead concentrated on Merlin’s words and the conviction in his voice that told Arthur this is what he had to do. Because even if this was terrible and dirty and completely ugly, the alternative was far, far worse.
Arthur surprised himself by coming quickly and he pulled out to let his seed eject mostly on rather than in Merlin. Merlin caught his right hand and yanked it around to his front, shoving it against his prick, encouraging Arthur to jerk it. Arthur complied, and with only a few quick pulls of Arthur’s hand, Merlin came, spurting against the shower wall.
Alvarr let out a whistle and his con buddies jeered. “Didn’t think the fish had it in him,” Alvarr remarked.
Arthur moved away from Merlin, plucked his towel from the floor of the showers and wrapped it around his hips. Merlin retrieved his own towel and did the same. He did not look at Arthur.
“Okay, Emrys,” Alvarr said. “He’s yours.” He nodded at the two cons with him and they all retreated.
Arthur wanted to say something to Merlin about what had just happened but he knew now was not the time to do it. Besides, Merlin was already padding out of the showers, going about business as usual, as though what had just happened wasn’t worth talking about anyway.
**
When they were back in their cell, fully dressed, Arthur sitting on his bottom bunk and Merlin buttoning up a clean jumpsuit, Arthur decided it was time to say something.
“I’m sorry, Merlin.”
Merlin flicked a glance at him. As usual, his expression gave nothing away. “Never be sorry, Arthur,” he said. “For anything you do in here. You did what I told you to do like a good boy, a right bitch. And if you hadn’t, you’d be bending over for one of those fuck bastards right now.”
“Still, you let me...and I...” Arthur tried to express. The truth was, Arthur was grateful. And he wanted Merlin to know that he truly was.
“Remember the Code, Arthur,” Merlin said, something almost soft passing over his face. Then he made his voice hard. “You’re gonna get us both fucking killed if you keep fucking talking like that.”
Later, at night, just after lights out at twenty-two hundred hours, Merlin’s voice floated down in the quiet darkness.
“Haven’t had good cock like that in a long while,” he said. “Just thought you should know.”
Arthur stared up at the underside of the top bunk cot. Merlin had let him off the hook. Arthur was grateful for this, but it still didn’t make him feel any less guilty.
**
Gwen came to visit a month after Arthur had been sent to Albion. He had not yet qualified for an open visit, so Arthur’s visit with Gwen had to take place through a Plexiglas window with contact by phone receiver only. It was degrading and humiliating. Arthur had almost refused the visit but Merlin had reminded him that visits from those on the outside don’t happen very often so Arthur decided to make the best of it.
He picked up the receiver on his end and tried to smile at Gwen, who looked decidedly uncomfortable and a tad bit terrified. “You shouldn’t have come, Gwen,” he said softly.
“I wanted to see you,” Gwen said through the receiver. “I needed to...to-to see if you are doing okay.”
“I’m fine,” Arthur said. He knew his reply was short and sharp but he was not ready for a full conversation with Gwen. What could he possibly tell her?
Gwen’s face pinched in concern. “Are you getting enough to eat? Are you sleeping okay? Are they treating you all right?”
“It’s not a country club, Gwen,” Arthur retorted with a sigh into the phone and immediately felt bad when he saw her flinch as if stung by his words. “I mean, it’s hard but I’m doing okay.” He offered a little smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
A part of Arthur wanted to tell Gwen about Merlin. How Merlin was looking out for him. How he hadn’t become Alvarr’s or some other con’s bitch. And how Merlin had saved him from that fate. But that necessitated details that Arthur could not share with Gwen. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He was surprised to see tears in Gwen’s eyes. “I can’t help but worry about you, Arthur,” she said. “You don’t know how it’s been for me...how much I miss you...how scared I am that something will happen to you in there.” She inhaled a deep breath, trying to gather herself. “Lance says it’s a tough prison. There’s a lot of violence and...”
“Gwen,” Arthur said firmly, getting her attention. “Don’t worry about me,” he repeated. “In fact, just forget me. Don’t even think about me anymore.”
Gwen looked alarmed and protested, “I’m not going to just forget you, Arthur--”
“Go and live your life, Gwen,” Arthur continued. He knew what needed to be said. “Marry someone like Lance and have a bunch of babies. You’ll be a good wife and mother.”
“Arthur--”
“It’ll be at least four years before I get out of here,” Arthur said. “You deserve someone better than me. So I’m asking you to forget me. Please.” Arthur gave Gwen one last pleading look and then hung up the receiver.
He stood and signalled to the guard to take him back to his cell.
**
It was after lights out and Arthur and Merlin were in their beds. Merlin kept his voice low, floating on the surface of the darkness surrounding them.
“I got a mom on the outside who loves me despite the shit I’ve done. And a foster brother who will hopefully take a different path than me. What about you, Arthur? You got anybody on the outside?”
Arthur thought about his father and Gwen.
“I had a girl,” he replied. “She loved me, I guess. But this has been very hard for her. I want her to forget about me and live her life.”
Merlin hummed a non-judgemental response.
Arthur liked to think that this made him sound like the noble one, wishing for Gwen to move on, but the truth was Arthur was afraid that Gwen hadn’t ever loved him enough to stick by him. It was easier to let her go before she left him, he reasoned.
“My father is very angry and disappointed with me,” Arthur continued. “He has pretty much cut our ties. Uther Pendragon is not a man to give unconditional love.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but Arthur knew that Merlin, who was astutely discerning, would catch it.
“Are you?” Merlin asked, surprising him.
Arthur thought about it some. He loved Gwen. He loved Lance. He even loved his half-sister Morgana who had invested a great deal of time in making his life a living hell over the years. And, despite never having even known her, Arthur loved his mother. But, in many respects when it came to love, Arthur did not think he was much different than his father. He resented his father’s expectations and the pressure he had foisted upon Arthur in insisting that he be the best at everything he did. He blamed his father for the drinking problem he had developed as a result of these expectations and pressures, a problem that had contributed to the accident that had killed that thirty-two year old wife and mother. Arthur knew the woman’s death was his fault and not his father’s but the resentment and anger were there, no matter how hard he tried to quash these emotions. He loved his father, he supposed. But Arthur didn’t think that love was wholly unconditional. Not by a long shot.
“I don’t know,” was all he could say.
PART II