fic: liminal (you can wait to be king)
Title: liminal (you can wait to be king)
Author:
hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Note about the title: I KNOW. IT IS REALLY PRETENTIOUS. But it is just such an absolutely beautiful concept that I couldn't not use it! So: liminality is, basically, existing between two different states. Hercules is a liminal figure, because he's part-man and part-god. Twilight is a liminal time, because it's between day and night (liminality can also imply being in the midst of a transition). Okay? Okay. :D This was written for the 'obedience' tile on my kink_bingo card!
Summary: Arthur tries to be a good son and an obedient subject. He doesn't always succeed.
The room was dark. Arthur hadn't lit any candles or started a fire so the only light came from the last ghost of the moon peeking out through the clouds. Merlin slipped inside and quietly engaged the lock on the door. Then he closed the windows. The breeze was cold and the stone floor chilled his feet, even through the thick leather soles of his boots.
He couldn’t imagine growing up in this room. In this castle. Couldn’t imagine Arthur playing there as a child. Not even now, when Arthur looked so impossibly young. His shoulders hunched, bangs falling in his face, withdrawn and sullen like a scolded child.
He walked over to the chair Arthur was sitting in, put his fingers under Arthur’s chin, and gently tilted his face upwards. “You’re bleeding.” A dried line of blood from his right nostril to his mouth, joining even more blood spilling down his chin from his split lip.
“At least he didn’t have his rings on,” Arthur murmured, his chin moving against Merlin’s fingers. “That’s - that’s a bright side, right?” He tried to grin, but he stopped when Merlin ran his thumb over Arthur’s swollen mouth. “It’s not that bad,” he said, tentatively, as if he thought Merlin was the one who deserved the apology.
“Don’t say that.”
“I deserved worse.”
“Did you? If I had done what you did - if you were king, and a subject disobeyed you in order to protect the kingdom - what would you do?”
“The same thing,” Arthur said, but he looked away. “A king cannot afford to let defiance go unchallenged.”
“You would punish someone for doing what was right?”
“If they were disobeying orders, yes.”
“No,” Merlin whispered, because he knew Arthur, knew every inch of the man that hid so carefully behind layers of armor and disdain. “You wouldn’t.”
Arthur flinched away from him. “A king has to know that he will be obeyed,” he said, as though reciting a lesson from a book. “He has to be able to enforce his orders - ”
“If his orders are just, who would refuse to obey them in the first place?”
Arthur smirked at him. “People can be stupid, Merlin. Stupid and stubborn and set in their ways. A king does what is best for his country, even if his people don’t understand his reasons.” His tongue flickered out to test the cut on his lip. It started to bleed again.
“Stop that.” Arthur went suddenly still, the tip of his tongue pressing against the swell of his lower lip, a drop of blood slowly trailing down his chin. “You’re not king yet,” Merlin said, and Arthur flinched like he’d been smacked. Again. “You’re not king here,” and he tried to look away but Merlin’s hand on his chin (the drop of blood ran down his fingers) stopped him.
“But I will be soon.” Arthur’s smile was twisted and triumphant. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. But he wasn’t yet.
Uther had knocked him to the ground. Hit him so hard, so unexpectedly, that Arthur had fallen to one knee. And when he’d tried to stand, Uther had struck him again. Arthur had stayed down, that time, as his father yelled at him. Stayed silent and on his knees until his father left the room. And then stood up, humiliated and hurt, furious, helpless.
“So give me an order,” Merlin whispered.
Arthur smiled at him sadly. “Go to your room.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s not how this works,” Arthur murmured. “I’m pretty sure you should know that, given that you set the rules - ”
“Are you going to hit me if I don’t go?” Arthur closed his eyes. “I’m not going to obey you, Arthur. So what are you going to do?”
“Please, Merlin. Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Make me.”
Arthur sagged in his seat, like a marionette whose puppeteer had unexpectedly wandered away in the midst of a performance. “What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do, Merlin, that I haven’t already done for you - ”
“I want you to let yourself be angry.” Arthur chuckled, a dry, dirty sound. “It’s okay to be hurt, Arthur. It’s okay to let me help you.” Merlin may know fuck-all about being a prince, but he knew what it meant to be a son, he knew what it felt like to disappoint a parent. “I’ll make it an order if I have to,” Merlin said, and Arthur looked up at him - tired, empty, and done playing games. “Let me help you.”
“How?”
He wasn’t sure. Because there was a lifetime of hurt in Arthur’s eyes, a lifetime of being torn between being a son and a subject. Merlin could do magic, knew spells for all kinds of dangers and situations, but there was nothing in any of Gaius’ books or waiting in the well of power he held at his fingertips that was of any help at all.
“Stand up, and kiss me.”
Arthur got out of his chair slowly. Slower than he’d gotten up off the floor of the audience chamber. He’d looked like he was in less pain, then, too. But he leaned in towards Merlin’s mouth obediently, following Merlin’s orders, and pressed their lips together. And Merlin kissed him until the last taste of copper was gone from both of their mouths.
He was trying to build a ritual. So he undressed Arthur the same way he always did at the end of long, tired days. And then took his right hand, and pulled him over to the bed. Merlin guided him to the center of the mattress, and then ran his hands and mouth every inch of his body. Ran his fingers through the light dusting of hair on Arthur's chest, licked at his nipples, massaged the muscles of his legs and the tendons like ropes in in his arms, then turned Arthur on his stomach to work on the knots in his back. Merlin knew that this was just the first of many times that he would have to remind Arthur that being a king didn’t mean that he couldn’t be human.
And when Arthur was tangling the sheets in his hands, grasping for leverage, his eyes red even though Merlin pretended not to notice he’d been crying, he reached for the lotion on the bedside table and massaged it into the golden skin of Arthur’s back, the firm swell of his buttocks, into the hidden crease between them.
He worked Arthur open slowly. One finger, two, and then just his tongue until Arthur was rutting back against him, holding himself open, desperate for more. Then three fingers, three fingers and Arthur’s thighs spread as wide as they’d go, three fingers and Arthur not trying to hide the noises he was making, not turning his face away. Three fingers and a lot of time and Arthur letting Merlin take care of him.
He fucked his prince slowly. Took his time and did it right, Arthur’s hips tilted just so, Merlin rocking into him at an angle that made Arthur gasp. Arthur came after a handful of thrusts and Merlin pressed his chest against Arthur’s back, wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock, and fucked him until he came again. After that it was a matter of seconds before Merlin let go and spilled deep inside Arthur’s body.
He cleaned them up quickly, then crawled back into bed and bullied Arthur into cuddling. Spooned himself around his back and refused to let go. Arthur made some half-hearted protests but was asleep within minutes, his foot hooked over Merlin’s ankle, his fingers loose around Merlin’s wrist, the darkening bruise on his cheekbone close enough that Merlin could lean over and kiss it.
He needed to build a ritual. Because he had no spell that would be able to hold Arthur together as his responsibilities tore him apart, as he tried to be a good son and a better man. Arthur would be the greatest king Camelot had ever known. And Merlin would be with him every step of the way. Every second and every stumble, at his side and in his bed, to marvel at the king he would become and love him for the man he would always be. Strong, and kind, and human.
Reviews are loved and adored!
http://hoosierbitch.dreamwidth.org/30924.html |
comments | Comment at Dreamwidth
Author:
hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Note about the title: I KNOW. IT IS REALLY PRETENTIOUS. But it is just such an absolutely beautiful concept that I couldn't not use it! So: liminality is, basically, existing between two different states. Hercules is a liminal figure, because he's part-man and part-god. Twilight is a liminal time, because it's between day and night (liminality can also imply being in the midst of a transition). Okay? Okay. :D This was written for the 'obedience' tile on my kink_bingo card!
Summary: Arthur tries to be a good son and an obedient subject. He doesn't always succeed.
The room was dark. Arthur hadn't lit any candles or started a fire so the only light came from the last ghost of the moon peeking out through the clouds. Merlin slipped inside and quietly engaged the lock on the door. Then he closed the windows. The breeze was cold and the stone floor chilled his feet, even through the thick leather soles of his boots.
He couldn’t imagine growing up in this room. In this castle. Couldn’t imagine Arthur playing there as a child. Not even now, when Arthur looked so impossibly young. His shoulders hunched, bangs falling in his face, withdrawn and sullen like a scolded child.
He walked over to the chair Arthur was sitting in, put his fingers under Arthur’s chin, and gently tilted his face upwards. “You’re bleeding.” A dried line of blood from his right nostril to his mouth, joining even more blood spilling down his chin from his split lip.
“At least he didn’t have his rings on,” Arthur murmured, his chin moving against Merlin’s fingers. “That’s - that’s a bright side, right?” He tried to grin, but he stopped when Merlin ran his thumb over Arthur’s swollen mouth. “It’s not that bad,” he said, tentatively, as if he thought Merlin was the one who deserved the apology.
“Don’t say that.”
“I deserved worse.”
“Did you? If I had done what you did - if you were king, and a subject disobeyed you in order to protect the kingdom - what would you do?”
“The same thing,” Arthur said, but he looked away. “A king cannot afford to let defiance go unchallenged.”
“You would punish someone for doing what was right?”
“If they were disobeying orders, yes.”
“No,” Merlin whispered, because he knew Arthur, knew every inch of the man that hid so carefully behind layers of armor and disdain. “You wouldn’t.”
Arthur flinched away from him. “A king has to know that he will be obeyed,” he said, as though reciting a lesson from a book. “He has to be able to enforce his orders - ”
“If his orders are just, who would refuse to obey them in the first place?”
Arthur smirked at him. “People can be stupid, Merlin. Stupid and stubborn and set in their ways. A king does what is best for his country, even if his people don’t understand his reasons.” His tongue flickered out to test the cut on his lip. It started to bleed again.
“Stop that.” Arthur went suddenly still, the tip of his tongue pressing against the swell of his lower lip, a drop of blood slowly trailing down his chin. “You’re not king yet,” Merlin said, and Arthur flinched like he’d been smacked. Again. “You’re not king here,” and he tried to look away but Merlin’s hand on his chin (the drop of blood ran down his fingers) stopped him.
“But I will be soon.” Arthur’s smile was twisted and triumphant. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. But he wasn’t yet.
Uther had knocked him to the ground. Hit him so hard, so unexpectedly, that Arthur had fallen to one knee. And when he’d tried to stand, Uther had struck him again. Arthur had stayed down, that time, as his father yelled at him. Stayed silent and on his knees until his father left the room. And then stood up, humiliated and hurt, furious, helpless.
“So give me an order,” Merlin whispered.
Arthur smiled at him sadly. “Go to your room.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s not how this works,” Arthur murmured. “I’m pretty sure you should know that, given that you set the rules - ”
“Are you going to hit me if I don’t go?” Arthur closed his eyes. “I’m not going to obey you, Arthur. So what are you going to do?”
“Please, Merlin. Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Make me.”
Arthur sagged in his seat, like a marionette whose puppeteer had unexpectedly wandered away in the midst of a performance. “What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do, Merlin, that I haven’t already done for you - ”
“I want you to let yourself be angry.” Arthur chuckled, a dry, dirty sound. “It’s okay to be hurt, Arthur. It’s okay to let me help you.” Merlin may know fuck-all about being a prince, but he knew what it meant to be a son, he knew what it felt like to disappoint a parent. “I’ll make it an order if I have to,” Merlin said, and Arthur looked up at him - tired, empty, and done playing games. “Let me help you.”
“How?”
He wasn’t sure. Because there was a lifetime of hurt in Arthur’s eyes, a lifetime of being torn between being a son and a subject. Merlin could do magic, knew spells for all kinds of dangers and situations, but there was nothing in any of Gaius’ books or waiting in the well of power he held at his fingertips that was of any help at all.
“Stand up, and kiss me.”
Arthur got out of his chair slowly. Slower than he’d gotten up off the floor of the audience chamber. He’d looked like he was in less pain, then, too. But he leaned in towards Merlin’s mouth obediently, following Merlin’s orders, and pressed their lips together. And Merlin kissed him until the last taste of copper was gone from both of their mouths.
He was trying to build a ritual. So he undressed Arthur the same way he always did at the end of long, tired days. And then took his right hand, and pulled him over to the bed. Merlin guided him to the center of the mattress, and then ran his hands and mouth every inch of his body. Ran his fingers through the light dusting of hair on Arthur's chest, licked at his nipples, massaged the muscles of his legs and the tendons like ropes in in his arms, then turned Arthur on his stomach to work on the knots in his back. Merlin knew that this was just the first of many times that he would have to remind Arthur that being a king didn’t mean that he couldn’t be human.
And when Arthur was tangling the sheets in his hands, grasping for leverage, his eyes red even though Merlin pretended not to notice he’d been crying, he reached for the lotion on the bedside table and massaged it into the golden skin of Arthur’s back, the firm swell of his buttocks, into the hidden crease between them.
He worked Arthur open slowly. One finger, two, and then just his tongue until Arthur was rutting back against him, holding himself open, desperate for more. Then three fingers, three fingers and Arthur’s thighs spread as wide as they’d go, three fingers and Arthur not trying to hide the noises he was making, not turning his face away. Three fingers and a lot of time and Arthur letting Merlin take care of him.
He fucked his prince slowly. Took his time and did it right, Arthur’s hips tilted just so, Merlin rocking into him at an angle that made Arthur gasp. Arthur came after a handful of thrusts and Merlin pressed his chest against Arthur’s back, wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock, and fucked him until he came again. After that it was a matter of seconds before Merlin let go and spilled deep inside Arthur’s body.
He cleaned them up quickly, then crawled back into bed and bullied Arthur into cuddling. Spooned himself around his back and refused to let go. Arthur made some half-hearted protests but was asleep within minutes, his foot hooked over Merlin’s ankle, his fingers loose around Merlin’s wrist, the darkening bruise on his cheekbone close enough that Merlin could lean over and kiss it.
He needed to build a ritual. Because he had no spell that would be able to hold Arthur together as his responsibilities tore him apart, as he tried to be a good son and a better man. Arthur would be the greatest king Camelot had ever known. And Merlin would be with him every step of the way. Every second and every stumble, at his side and in his bed, to marvel at the king he would become and love him for the man he would always be. Strong, and kind, and human.
Reviews are loved and adored!
http://hoosierbitch.dreamwidth.org/30924.html |
comments | Comment at Dreamwidth