Fic and (debatable) art
Seems like the close of a year is a nice time to change my lurkery ways. If it doesn't go well, I can make my New Year Resolution 1) Lurk Moar.
So, (very, very g-rated) fanart first. Click on le fake-cuts to see.
As a fandom, we seem to have a thing for cats. I'm still stalking, in a vague on-and-off way, one or two people who mentioned kitty fanfic and have not delivered. T_T
( AU in which Merlin and Arthur are cats.)
A prompt on the Merlin Kink Meme mentioned mermaids, and I found it oddly appropriate to canon, considering as Merlin has saved Arthur from drowning once, and the guardian-angel-switcheroo they played with Gwen and Merlin, as much as I love the slow development of the Gwen/Arthur relationship. Where are all the Little Mermaid fairytale AUs?
( The Little Mer-Merlin)
And now for something completely different. Also from the kink meme.
Title: exigent (everybody knows)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: non-con, naturally. some violence.
Summary: from prompt - Arthur/Merlin Non-con. With Merlin begging.
Author's note: I am not besotted with my own writing. Please feel free to kick me.
Between the continual sly gibes of Lady You Were Looking at That Maid Weren't You and the pompous droning of Lord Isn't Cabbage Farming Fascinating, spiced only by the sharp looks of warning with which the king his father had taken to periodically favouring his only son and heir, the wonder isn't that Merlin is taking an unconscionably long time to return with a fresh flagon of wine for his prince to drown himself in. It is that Arthur notices the fearful eyes and bruised face of the serving boy skulking at the edge of the feast hall, watching him. Where has he seen the boy before?
Right, he'd been at one of the lower tables, pouring wine for Lord Borin. Arthur looks that way automatically, but he already knows that Borin isn't there.
The thing is, that Lord Borin is prone to ill-using the servants when in his cups is not unknown, but this unfortunate flaw passes largely unremarked in court, given as a little coin generally suffices to satisfy the honour of the man- or maidservant in question and soothe their outraged families. Everybody knows to stay out of his reach on feast days, and by the looks of the boy, he'd not succeeded but nevertheless managed to get away before any serious harm was done.
The boy is here. The lord is not. Therefore Borin's absence shouldn't trouble Arthur, but it does. Eventually the combined irritation of his empty cup and the accusing stare helps Arthur to decide that the king and his companions are too tipsy to mind if he makes his excuses, and he stalks over to find out what the fool child wants.
His frowning approach frightens the fool child into running away. Arthur curses and manages to grab him by the shoulder, then curses himself, privately, when the boy squeaks in terror and cringes. He lets go, makes his face kind, asks if the boy has a message for him, or-
What the fool child wants is to tell the prince that his truant idiot manservant has once again rushed to the rescue, rushed in like a fool, like a hero, like he thinks he is a bloody knight of Camelot, and that Lord Borin has dragged his idiot manservant off to somewhere in the west tower while the fool child he saved left him to cry and creep about the edges of the feast hall because he was too afraid to approach the prince.
He has kicked down seven doors to find three empty rooms, frighten one cleaning maidservant, and interrupt two drunken trysts before he thinks to send the boy to find and bring Gaius, and after that, it still takes far too long to find his way to the first place he should have checked - Lord Borin's chambers.
And oddly enough, when he opens the unlocked door, the first thing he notices is not Merlin's fine-boned wrists reddened and jerking unthinkingly against the torn sheets binding them to the head of the bed or the still body lying at Arthur's feet. It is the blood glistening on the corner of the table nearest the door - the table between the bed and the body. Even as he kneels and checks for the pulse (none), the thousand and one nagging oddities that have accumulated about his manservant are falling into place much like the executioner's axe.
The slight hitches in Merlin's breaths bother him more than the spreading bruise on his cheek and the cut on the corner of his mouth. The half-torn clothes bother him for a different reason that he cannot allow himself to consider for the moment.
"Merlin," he says. The boy raises his eyes to Arthur, but only for a moment, and his gaze slides back down to the body without any sign of recognition. He stands, tries again, more firmly. "Merlin. Talk to me."
"He's dead," says Merlin, so wretchedly that Arthur wishes he hadn't spoken, because once Merlin has started he can't stop. "He's dead, Arthur. I killed him." Merlin tugs on the bindings again. "I didn't mean to, but he's dead."
"Merlin, stop," he says, but Merlin is staring at the body again and doesn't hear.
"I killed him, Arthur."
Time is slipping away, sand that he can't close his fingers around or take back. "Merlin, shut up. He's not dead," Arthur spits out, and Merlin finally focuses on him. "He can't be dead." Arthur heaves the body up, drags it to the side of the bed, as Merlin stares at him as though he has gone insane. He's not insane, more's the pity. Not nearly close enough to insane or even drunk enough for what he needs to do.
He's holding a dead man upright by the front of his shirt, the fine fabric starting to give way under his fingers. He looks down at Merlin's bound wrists; Merlin follows his gaze, mute, uncomprehending. "There's no way anyone could have thrown him across the room like this. Not without magic. Do you understand?"
Merlin shakes his head. "Arthur, no. Don't-"
"Lord Borin cannot be dead," Arthur repeats slowly, carefully.
A punch to the face sends the corpse reeling against the near wall. Walks over to the crumpled form, kicks it in the stomach. Drags it up by the hair and shoves it past the table to the door with all his strength. Grabs its shirt again, slams it against the wall.
Merlin flinches with each blow. "Arthur-"
Then Arthur drags the corpse upright again - and lets it fall down where it had lain when he entered the room.
Merlin has started pulling at the bindings again. His eyes are wet, reddened, where they had been glassy with shock before. "Arthur."
Arthur finds his own gaze transfixed by the blood on the table's edge. "I wouldn't have found you in time." He walks to the bed, sits, lifts a hand to touch the rising bruise on Merlin's collarbone, slides it up to rest his palm against the blanched cheek. Merlin jerks; it might have been a shake of the head, a denial. It is either fear or touching faith, and he truly cannot bear either. "I wouldn't have-" he chokes, then.
Looks Merlin in the eyes, determined to communicate something, anything."I couldn't reach you in time. Do you understand."
He does. Merlin inhales sharply, the ropes loosen abruptly, and Arthur puts a hand over the thin wrists. They still, staring at each other. Merlin finds his voice first. "Arthur, don't do this. Please." It is a rusted, pathetic sound, but he has made no move to pull away, though his cheek and wrists are cold under Arthur's too warm hands. "You mustn't. Please."
"Everybody knows what he does," Arthur says distantly, fascinated by the drowning blue of Merlin's wide eyes. "I know what he does, and I did nothing. I couldn't save you."
"Please," Merlin says again. Arthur presses a chaste kiss to his frozen mouth, his lips dry and cool. "Please, Arthur, no." But his hands are unbound, and he has not pulled away from the light pressure of Arthur's hand. Arthur lifts his hand, and Merlin remains with only the loose strips of cloth over his wrists to hold him.
"Don't watch this," he says softly. A light tug frees the red kerchief from Merlin's neck, and he ties it over Merlin's closed eyes.
"Please, no. My lord."
He begins.
*
When the serving boy finally brings Gaius to the right door, the aged physician's face grey with more than exertion, they find Merlin curled on the bed, huddled beneath the prince's coat. The prince is standing by him, eyes fixed on a rusty smudge on the wall, Merlin's kerchief clenched in his fist.
Sequel Strip down.
Alternate sequel by Merihn, Merlin POV (sorry, I keep forgetting to link this)
Exculpate
So, (very, very g-rated) fanart first. Click on le fake-cuts to see.
As a fandom, we seem to have a thing for cats. I'm still stalking, in a vague on-and-off way, one or two people who mentioned kitty fanfic and have not delivered. T_T
( AU in which Merlin and Arthur are cats.)
A prompt on the Merlin Kink Meme mentioned mermaids, and I found it oddly appropriate to canon, considering as Merlin has saved Arthur from drowning once, and the guardian-angel-switcheroo they played with Gwen and Merlin, as much as I love the slow development of the Gwen/Arthur relationship. Where are all the Little Mermaid fairytale AUs?
( The Little Mer-Merlin)
And now for something completely different. Also from the kink meme.
Title: exigent (everybody knows)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: non-con, naturally. some violence.
Summary: from prompt - Arthur/Merlin Non-con. With Merlin begging.
Author's note: I am not besotted with my own writing. Please feel free to kick me.
Between the continual sly gibes of Lady You Were Looking at That Maid Weren't You and the pompous droning of Lord Isn't Cabbage Farming Fascinating, spiced only by the sharp looks of warning with which the king his father had taken to periodically favouring his only son and heir, the wonder isn't that Merlin is taking an unconscionably long time to return with a fresh flagon of wine for his prince to drown himself in. It is that Arthur notices the fearful eyes and bruised face of the serving boy skulking at the edge of the feast hall, watching him. Where has he seen the boy before?
Right, he'd been at one of the lower tables, pouring wine for Lord Borin. Arthur looks that way automatically, but he already knows that Borin isn't there.
The thing is, that Lord Borin is prone to ill-using the servants when in his cups is not unknown, but this unfortunate flaw passes largely unremarked in court, given as a little coin generally suffices to satisfy the honour of the man- or maidservant in question and soothe their outraged families. Everybody knows to stay out of his reach on feast days, and by the looks of the boy, he'd not succeeded but nevertheless managed to get away before any serious harm was done.
The boy is here. The lord is not. Therefore Borin's absence shouldn't trouble Arthur, but it does. Eventually the combined irritation of his empty cup and the accusing stare helps Arthur to decide that the king and his companions are too tipsy to mind if he makes his excuses, and he stalks over to find out what the fool child wants.
His frowning approach frightens the fool child into running away. Arthur curses and manages to grab him by the shoulder, then curses himself, privately, when the boy squeaks in terror and cringes. He lets go, makes his face kind, asks if the boy has a message for him, or-
What the fool child wants is to tell the prince that his truant idiot manservant has once again rushed to the rescue, rushed in like a fool, like a hero, like he thinks he is a bloody knight of Camelot, and that Lord Borin has dragged his idiot manservant off to somewhere in the west tower while the fool child he saved left him to cry and creep about the edges of the feast hall because he was too afraid to approach the prince.
He has kicked down seven doors to find three empty rooms, frighten one cleaning maidservant, and interrupt two drunken trysts before he thinks to send the boy to find and bring Gaius, and after that, it still takes far too long to find his way to the first place he should have checked - Lord Borin's chambers.
And oddly enough, when he opens the unlocked door, the first thing he notices is not Merlin's fine-boned wrists reddened and jerking unthinkingly against the torn sheets binding them to the head of the bed or the still body lying at Arthur's feet. It is the blood glistening on the corner of the table nearest the door - the table between the bed and the body. Even as he kneels and checks for the pulse (none), the thousand and one nagging oddities that have accumulated about his manservant are falling into place much like the executioner's axe.
The slight hitches in Merlin's breaths bother him more than the spreading bruise on his cheek and the cut on the corner of his mouth. The half-torn clothes bother him for a different reason that he cannot allow himself to consider for the moment.
"Merlin," he says. The boy raises his eyes to Arthur, but only for a moment, and his gaze slides back down to the body without any sign of recognition. He stands, tries again, more firmly. "Merlin. Talk to me."
"He's dead," says Merlin, so wretchedly that Arthur wishes he hadn't spoken, because once Merlin has started he can't stop. "He's dead, Arthur. I killed him." Merlin tugs on the bindings again. "I didn't mean to, but he's dead."
"Merlin, stop," he says, but Merlin is staring at the body again and doesn't hear.
"I killed him, Arthur."
Time is slipping away, sand that he can't close his fingers around or take back. "Merlin, shut up. He's not dead," Arthur spits out, and Merlin finally focuses on him. "He can't be dead." Arthur heaves the body up, drags it to the side of the bed, as Merlin stares at him as though he has gone insane. He's not insane, more's the pity. Not nearly close enough to insane or even drunk enough for what he needs to do.
He's holding a dead man upright by the front of his shirt, the fine fabric starting to give way under his fingers. He looks down at Merlin's bound wrists; Merlin follows his gaze, mute, uncomprehending. "There's no way anyone could have thrown him across the room like this. Not without magic. Do you understand?"
Merlin shakes his head. "Arthur, no. Don't-"
"Lord Borin cannot be dead," Arthur repeats slowly, carefully.
A punch to the face sends the corpse reeling against the near wall. Walks over to the crumpled form, kicks it in the stomach. Drags it up by the hair and shoves it past the table to the door with all his strength. Grabs its shirt again, slams it against the wall.
Merlin flinches with each blow. "Arthur-"
Then Arthur drags the corpse upright again - and lets it fall down where it had lain when he entered the room.
Merlin has started pulling at the bindings again. His eyes are wet, reddened, where they had been glassy with shock before. "Arthur."
Arthur finds his own gaze transfixed by the blood on the table's edge. "I wouldn't have found you in time." He walks to the bed, sits, lifts a hand to touch the rising bruise on Merlin's collarbone, slides it up to rest his palm against the blanched cheek. Merlin jerks; it might have been a shake of the head, a denial. It is either fear or touching faith, and he truly cannot bear either. "I wouldn't have-" he chokes, then.
Looks Merlin in the eyes, determined to communicate something, anything."I couldn't reach you in time. Do you understand."
He does. Merlin inhales sharply, the ropes loosen abruptly, and Arthur puts a hand over the thin wrists. They still, staring at each other. Merlin finds his voice first. "Arthur, don't do this. Please." It is a rusted, pathetic sound, but he has made no move to pull away, though his cheek and wrists are cold under Arthur's too warm hands. "You mustn't. Please."
"Everybody knows what he does," Arthur says distantly, fascinated by the drowning blue of Merlin's wide eyes. "I know what he does, and I did nothing. I couldn't save you."
"Please," Merlin says again. Arthur presses a chaste kiss to his frozen mouth, his lips dry and cool. "Please, Arthur, no." But his hands are unbound, and he has not pulled away from the light pressure of Arthur's hand. Arthur lifts his hand, and Merlin remains with only the loose strips of cloth over his wrists to hold him.
"Don't watch this," he says softly. A light tug frees the red kerchief from Merlin's neck, and he ties it over Merlin's closed eyes.
"Please, no. My lord."
He begins.
*
When the serving boy finally brings Gaius to the right door, the aged physician's face grey with more than exertion, they find Merlin curled on the bed, huddled beneath the prince's coat. The prince is standing by him, eyes fixed on a rusty smudge on the wall, Merlin's kerchief clenched in his fist.
Sequel Strip down.
Alternate sequel by Merihn, Merlin POV (sorry, I keep forgetting to link this)
Exculpate