Now I Will Unsettle the Ground Beneath You (4/6)
Part Three
***
The reason for Gwaine’s call, Merlin later finds out, was to discover if Merlin would be free for dinner the next night. It’s Lance’s birthday, and because he's been away for work so often, Gwen hasn’t yet met all of his friends, so Gwaine figured it would be as good a chance as any for a dinner party.
Merlin doesn’t know if he wants to be there when Arthur meets Gwen for the first time. Seeing her with Lance, well there’s no telling how it’s going to affect Arthur. Merlin wonders how fresh that pain still is, underneath all the scar tissue. It has to hurt, can’t not, regardless of how at peace Arthur was with their relationship in the end. The betrayal wasn’t just Gwen’s after all, and Merlin is sure that Lancelot’s betrayal hurt more, wounded deeper.
But there were other betrayals back then too, one perceived and one actual, and Merlin will never forget the look on Arthur’s face when he made that assumption about Merlin and Gwaine. Merlin would have been lying if he’d said that he’d never considered it, but he never would have gone through with it, not ever. If he’s honest, it still stings a little to think that Arthur was so quick to believe that Merlin of all people would betray him.
But it’s Arthur, and he was betrayed so often, by everyone in his life. It’s hard to fault him for not having faith, and for believing something that was spurred on by his own guilt for marrying Gwen when he loved another.
“You look- concerned, Merlin. Anything I can help with?” Gwaine asks, wrapping his arm around Merlin’s waist from behind. Merlin hates that he’s doing this to Gwaine, pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not, but he knows that he’s going to have to end it and soon. Gwaine deserves more than this: another boyfriend who's fucking one of his best friends behind his back. It makes Merlin ill just thinking about it.
He doesn't want to think about just how much it's going to hurt Gwaine when he finds out about Arthur. It's easier to pretend that he isn't in the middle of a love triangle almost exactly like Gwen, Lance and Arthur's if he doesn't even let himself entertain the notion.
“Nah. Just thinking,” Merlin replies, and he doesn’t pull away when Gwaine kisses his neck, though he really should.
The intercom buzzes, and Merlin flinches when he hears Arthur’s voice.
“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from Gwaine, “I guess I am a little- I don’t know. Anxious.”
“Grab yourself a drink and relax, Merlin, you’ll scare the guests.” Gwaine smiles, and Merlin thinks that yes, alcohol is probably the only thing that’s going to get him through this evening, and he knocks back a glass of champagne by the time Arthur walks in the door.
He looks unbelievably handsome: black peacoat, cashmere pullover and jeans that probably cost more than most people’s weekly rent. Merlin 's throat goes dry.
“Is that champagne you’re drinking, Merlin? I never thought I would see the day.” Merlin can hear the bloody smirk in Arthur’s voice as he walks over to him, and it shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.
“Yeah, well, I knew you were coming so I figured that getting very drunk was a necessity, don’t really care what I’m drinking as long as it gets me plastered.”
Merlin refills his glass and tips it towards Arthur, before taking a sip and licking the champagne from his lips, slowly. Merlin grins when he sees Arthur swallow.
Arthur pours one for himself and leans in, whispers, “It’s not nice to tease, Merlin,” and licks the shell of his ear, quick and subtle, before walking away to talk to Morgana, evil expression on his face.
Merlin should’ve known better than to try and play any game with Arthur Pendragon. He’s always destined to lose.
Lance and Gwen arrive soon after, and to his credit, Arthur doesn’t look terribly affected when he sees Gwen face-to-face for the first time. He kisses her on the cheek when introduced, and offers to fetch drinks for the two of them.
It’s just after they toast Lance's birthday that Lance nervously announces his and Gwen's engagement.
Merlin deliberately doesn’t look at Arthur.
“Are you okay?” Merlin half-whispers, noticing that Arthur is on his fourth drink and his cheeks are a little flushed.
“I’m fine, Merlin. Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugs, and pours himself another glass of champagne, and nobody else would even see it, but Merlin can’t help but notice the way his hand shakes when he picks up the bottle.
Merlin rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Stupid, emotionally repressed wanker.
Gwaine chooses that moment to come back, pulling both Merlin and Arthur into an awkward hug. Merlin wonders if Arthur feels as rotten as he does.
"Did I interrupt something?" Gwaine asks, grinning madly.
"Just your boyfriend being as hopeless a commoner as ever," Arthur says, stepping back out of Gwaine's embrace.
"Oh you can fuck right off, your highness," Merlin bites back, trying not to stare at the way Arthur's head tips back, baring his throat as he drinks his champagne. Watching him with Gwaine there makes him feel even more of a filthy cheat than he already is.
"Well I must go mingle. You two enjoy your sexual tension," Gwaine says, laughing, and though Merlin knows it's a joke, his heart feels like it's going to pound out of his chest.
Gwaine kisses Merlin, soft and slow, tonguing his mouth open before he pulls away. Arthur looks away, his jaw visibly clenching.
"I think I'm going to go and mingle,too," Arthur says, sounding more than a little bitter. "Lovely to see you as always, Merlin. Gwaine." He nods to them both before refilling his champagne flute and walking away.
***
He spends the first course trying not to look at Arthur for any sign of emotion, because really, it feels almost like he’s intruding, even though it’s Arthur and Merlin knows him better than he knows himself most days. Unfortunately, Merlin’s about as subtle as an anvil to the head on a good day, and he’s now very drunk, so of course Arthur catches him every time Merlin looks at him, his only reaction that bloody arrogant raised eyebrow .
“Excuse me,” Merlin mutters to no-one in particular and walks on very unsteady legs to the bathroom.
He isn’t surprised when Arthur grabs his arm and pulls him into one of the spare rooms, locking the door behind them.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Merlin?”
“Uh-” Merlin leans against the back of the door, feeling decidedly not sober.
“Oh fine,” Arthur snaps, “you’re freaking out because of Gwen aren’t you? You think that it’s bothering me in some way being in the same room as her?”
“Well. I. Yes.” Merlin stammers. “Actually, yes. It’s Gwen, Arthur. And, well, I remember very well how you reacted when she left.”
“Merlin, I'll be okay. I am okay."
"Right."
"To tell you the truth, I'm a little more concerned with wanting to punch Gwaine in the face for kissing you in front of me." He looks sheepish, and Merlin can't help grinning.
Arthur continues: "It really is different this time with- she found him first. Mostly what I'm feeling is just regret, and my father always said regret was a waste of time, one thing that he and I agree on.”
“I wish I’d found you first,” Merlin says, so soft he can barely hear himself.
Arthur touches his cheek, gentle and tender, and Merlin leans into it, turns so his mouth grazes Arthur’s hand.
Arthur shivers. “Jesus, Merlin, what are you doing to me?”
“I could say the same thing to you. You drive me absolutely barmy.”
“You have no idea,” Arthur says, his mouth on Merlin’s, “how badly I want to fuck you right here. In his fucking house. God, Merlin, that makes me the worst friend in history. But I can't help it, I can't-”
"I know," he says, cutting Arthur off, biting back what he really wants to say, which is along the lines of "Fuck. Yes. Please Arthur, just do it. Fuck me right here.”
Merlin can't believe they're doing this, can't believe that either of them are capable of doing this to Gwaine. It makes him feel like a piece of shit, fucking around on him like this in his own house with one of his closest friends, but he can't fucking stop.
He shivers when Arthur pins his hands above his head and kisses him, slow and deep, then sinks to his knees and sucks Merlin’s cock until he comes down Arthur’s throat.
“Next time,” Arthur says, “I want to hear what you sound like when you’re not holding back.”
Next time. There's not even a question that there will be one.
Arthur comes with Merlin’s hand on his cock, Merlin’s mouth pressed into his neck.
When Merlin comes back to the dinner table, Morgana looks at him, like she’s trying to read him. He eats his Beef Wellington in silence, looking up briefly when Arthur walks back in, but he does his best to ignore him for the rest of the meal. He can feel the heat of Morgana’s gaze on him, and he doesn’t want to think about what she knows, or thinks she knows.
They’re unwinding in the sitting room, drinking coffee and nibbling on homemade shortbread, when Gwaine’s mobile starts ringing. When he takes it into the kitchen to answer it, Merlin chances a look at Arthur. He is sprawled on the sofa, head thrown back and laughing at something that Leon’s just said. Merlin loves the way Arthur laughs, it’s just like he is with everything else: fierce and committed and nothing held back. It’s very easy to love Arthur; how could anyone not? He’s like a force of nature, and after all this time, he still takes Merlin’s breath away.
He knows he has to do it now, has to break up with Gwaine, because not being with Arthur, having to keep seeing him in secret behind Gwaine's back, it's unfathomable. It's better to hurt Gwaine now than for him to find out some other way. Merlin doesn't want to lose his friendship, it's too important to him.
Merlin hears Gwaine before he sees him. There’s a loud crash in the kitchen, and Merlin jumps up, runs in to find Gwaine on the tiled floor, just sitting there.
“Gwaine?” He slides down the wall to sit next to him, “What’s wrong? What was that noise?”
“Phone. Threw it across the room.” Gwaine looks like he’s just gotten the worst news of his life, and Merlin lays his head on his shoulder, waiting for Gwaine to decide he’s ready to talk.
“It’s my mum,” he whispers, like it’s too painful to say it out loud, “she lost her job a while back and she's been really struggling. It's bad, Merlin, sounds like she's going to lose the house and her lawyer, who she can't really afford anyway, says she should file for bankruptcy.”
Gwaine's mum had met his dad when she was working as a housekeeper in one of Cardiff's swankiest hotels. His parents had never approved, and when Hugh Fletcher-Jones had died in a plane crash ten years after Gwaine was born, they had brought their very expensive lawyers in, leaving his mum with next to nothing. Gwaine's education had been paid for by them, a condition of the deal Eva made with them, which is a fact that Gwaine had only discovered when he came home from University. His mum has been struggling to make ends meet ever since, but things have just been getting worse and worse every year.
"And you're only telling me this now?"
"Well, I know you've been having your own problems, Merlin, the nightmares and such. You're always having trouble sleeping, yeah? Plus I didn't know it was as bad as it was, I get the stoicism from my mum, you know."
He grins, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Merlin's chest starts to ache. The mere thought that Gwaine's been holding off talking about his own problems when Merlin's been screwing around with Arthur- it makes him sick to his stomach.
"Next time," Merlin says, softly, "don't worry about me, all right? I'm okay. Really."
Merlin leans into him, kisses him gently. Which is (of course) the moment that Arthur decides to check on the two of them.
Because Merlin’s life isn’t already buggered beyond all imagining, or anything.
***
Merlin hasn't seen or spoken to Arthur for two days. Soon after Gwaine received the phonecall on Friday, Merlin had rounded everyone up and told them all the news. Arthur had known already of course, after interrupting the two of them in the kitchen, and his face had been drawn and ashen as Merlin had told the rest of the group.
Gwen and Lance had offered to stay behind to clean up while Gwaine had retreated to the bedroom. Merlin had known that there was no way he was leaving Gwaine in the house alone though, so cleaning was really the only thing that would help take his mind off everything and he had sent Gwen and Lance on their way. It hadn't just been Gwaine on his mind of course; Arthur had been taking up space in Merlin's brain too, like always.
He'd looked so defeated when he'd left, and Merlin had wanted nothing more than to hold him and kiss him and tell him everything was going to be okay. But that would have been a lie. Everything is far from okay.
Merlin's been so caught up in his own guilt, the huge weight that's been pressing down on him, that he hasn't really stopped to think about how it must be affecting Arthur. Merlin's only known Gwaine for mere months in this lifetime, whereas Arthur and he have been friends for years.
And then of course there's the reality that this situation presents. There's no way they can tell Gwaine about their relationship. Not now. And the implications of that are too horrible to think about.
Gwaine leaves for Cardiff on Monday morning to help his mum with the house, and when he kisses Merlin before heading through the departure gate and tells him he's so lucky to have him and that he'll miss him, Merlin feels like the worst person in the world.
He calls Arthur soon after and tells him they need to meet, his heart hammering in his chest.
They arrange to meet at The Lion, which is less than a mile from Merlin's studio. He'd like to pretend that the meeting place is coincidental, but it isn't. Merlin doesn't trust himself to be alone with Arthur, and he doesn't trust Arthur right now, either, so a busy, noisy pub is probably the safest place for the both of them.
Merlin's already halfway through his pint when Arthur arrives wearing designer jeans and a white button-down shirt, Armani sunglasses and stubble framing his face. He looks fucking gorgeous and Merlin digs his fingernails into his thigh to try and distract himself from just how much he wants to trace the stubble with his tongue.
As Arthur walks across to the bar, Merlin can see a group of girls pointing and giggling at him. After he gets his beer, he turns around and removes his sunglasses, flashing them a grin. It's the trademarked Arthur Pendragon grin, the one that he's been practising his whole life, the fake one that doesn't reach his eyes.
"I can see you're being as discreet as ever," Merlin says, shaking his head. "And don't you think you're a mite overdressed? Your sunglasses probably cost more than most people's entire outfits in here."
Arthur snorts. "Merlin, just because you decided to throw on an outfit that makes a garbage bag look fashionable, don't take it out on those of us who like to take a little more pride in our appearance."
"There's nothing wrong with my appearance!"
"Mmmm." Arthur's eyes travel over Merlin's whole body. "I know."
Oh fuck you, Arthur.
"So," Arthur says, taking a large drink from his pint and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "you wanted to talk. Go on, Merlin, talk."
Merlin's stomach cramps up and he laughs, humourlessly. "I don't even know where to start."
Arthur nods. "Yes. Well, it's all a bit of messy, isn't it? Gwaine and his mum and all."
"Messy," Merlin repeats. "That's one way of putting it."
Arthur's expression is almost blank, guarded, and Merlin knows this Arthur. This is the Arthur who shuts down because it hurts too much not to. This is the Arthur who refused to talk about Morgana for years after she betrayed them, who pretended she didn't exist, and who spent hours, practising drills in the rain and crying when he thought no-one was watching.
"Well we can't- can't keep on like this I suppose," Arthur says, and it sounds like he's forcing the words out.
"Arthur, please," Merlin begs, under his breath, "don't shut me out like this. I don't think I could bear it, not again."
"Well what would you have me do?" Arthur hisses. "You want me to bare my feelings, Merlin? Do you want me to tell you that I don't think I can do this, walk away from you, if I don't shut you out? God, it's all I can do not to reach across the table and touch you."
Merlin's only heard Arthur like this one other time.
"Don't leave," Arthur begs, his voice cracking. "I don't want you to."
"I know." Merlin tries to keep the waver out of his voice. He doesn't succeed. "But you have a duty, Arthur. To the kingdom. To your wife."
"But I don't- Merlin-" Arthur reaches out to grab him and Merlin steps aside.
"No, Arthur. Not tonight. I will not be the man that stands between you and your heir."
Merlin walks away, and the back of his throat tastes like tears.
"It won't be forever," Merlin says, trying to sound like this isn't tearing him apart. "We just- we can't do this to Gwaine now. Not when everything else in his life is- "
"I know," Arthur cuts him off. "I know, Merlin. It's just fucked is what it is."
"So noble," Merlin says bitterly. "Why do we always have to do the right thing? Why can't we fucking think of ourselves for once, Arthur?"
Arthur puts out his hand to touch him, but Merlin flinches away. He can't do this, can't feel Arthur touching him or he won't be able to walk away.
"Because you're you, Merlin." Arthur says, soft and almost inaudible. "And I'm me, and we'll never be anything else."
"I can't believe I have to lose you again."
"Merlin-"
"No." He says, getting to his feet. "I can't, Arthur. I need to go. Don't call me, okay? Not for a while."
Merlin can't believe he manages to walk away without his knees buckling, but he does. Walks out of the pub and away from the love of his life, and he manages to get home before he doubles over and cries until his throat hurts.
He lies there for fuck knows how long, could be hours, just staring at the minute hand going around and around on the kitchen clock and trying to focus on that and not the fact that everything in this room makes him think of Arthur.
When he closes his eyes, he can feel Arthur's hands on him. The way his fingers know every inch of Merlin's skin, know what it takes to make him sigh and moan and beg. His mouth, full and soft and arrogant and the way he makes Merlin irritated one minute and enamoured the next. It feels like Arthur's really there, and it's not until Merlin's eyes open that he realises that he's not.
He drags himself to his feet and trudges up the stairs to the studio, opening his MacBook.
The first email Merlin sees is from Gwen.
From: Gwen [mailto:gwen_89@gmail.com]
Sent: Saturday, 4 September 7:37 AM
To: Merlin
Subject: Invitation
Merlin! Where have you been? I miss you so much! How is Gwaine? Lance said to tell you that he is sending some money to help. It's not much, but every little bit helps, right?
Invite is attached, could you cast your artist's eye over it and let me know what you think? I'm not sure about it, and we have to sign off by tomorrow.
Love you, Gwen :)
PS: Can you believe I thought Lance was having an affair, and really he was just trying to work up the nerve to propose? I swear I am the luckiest person in the world.
Merlin thinks that Gwen probably is the luckiest person, because she managed to find the love she was destined to be with for all eternity and not fuck everything up in the process. He wishes he could say the same.
He writes back almost straight away letting her know that Gwaine is doing okay, his mum is going to be just fine, Gwaine's got it well-covered, but Lance is a sweetheart and yes, the invite looks wonderful.
It's a matter of months until the wedding. Merlin thinks it'll probably be best if he avoids Arthur until then. Being around him, seeing him, Merlin's already proved that he isn't capable of doing that without giving in to the connection between them, and he won't do that to Gwaine. Not again. It's best if he just cuts Arthur out of his life for as long as possible, give them both a chance to cool off while he can work out what he's going to do about Gwaine.
He shuts the lid, grabs his acrylics and a blank canvas and starts painting.
***
Arthur's eyes are ice-cold and Merlin feels like he can't escape his gaze.
"I just asked you for an explanation, Merlin." Arthur demands, advancing on him, venom dripping from every word.
"I- I can't give you one." Merlin gasps as Arthur grabs him, his hands clenching Merlin's forearms.
"How?" Arthur sounds like he's choking. "How could you do this to me?"
"Arthur," Merlin starts, but he doesn't know how to finish what he's begun to say.
"Get out of my sight," he spits out. "I mean it. I don't want to see your face."
"But Arthur-"
"I mean it, Merlin. Get out now, or so help me I will-"
Merlin doesn't want to hear Arthur finish.
When Merlin comes to, there's a sketch of his own face looking up at him and the paper is wet with tears. Merlin's blackouts are becoming a regular occurrence now. They've been getting more frequent, more regular ever since the day in the pub when he walked away from Arthur.
He remembers everything now: the magic, who they were to each other, and how hurt Arthur had been when he finally had seen Merlin's magic for himself.
Merlin can remember so clearly the day that Arthur forgave him. He remembers it like it was only a day or two ago: Arthur dropping to his knees in his chambers and begging, pleading Merlin to promise that he would never get caught, that Arthur couldn't bear to watch him burn.
They had held each other afterwards, just lying in bed together and Arthur's hands mapping Merlin's body like he didn't want to stop touching him.
Merlin can see his phone sitting on his desk and he feels like his fingers are burning with the need to call Arthur. Instead, he tamps it down and calls Gwaine to check on him.
But the need doesn't go away, and when he tries to sleep, it spreads through his body from the tips of his fingers to his elbows. Merlin's never needed like this before, it's pure and frightening and like it used to be when he had magic coursing through his body. He isn't in control of this at all.
He gives up on trying to sleep, taking his duvet and pillow up to the studio, and dumping them in the middle of the floor, just in case the need to sleep arises. It doesn't.
Instead of painting, he checks his emails. There are ten or so Google Alerts with the keywords "Arthur Pendragon", and yes, he really is that much of a pathetic stalker.
The first link he clicks on is some tabloid clip of Arthur outside The Ritz in Paris. He's glassy-eyed and having trouble focusing, and he's wrapped around some gorgeous, leggy model, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looks like he's been partying for days; unshaven, shirt unbuttoned, and dark circles framing his eyes which are all pupil. Seeing Arthur like this: awful and terrifyingly beautiful at the same time, makes Merlin ache right down to his bones.
Merlin isn't the only one who's falling apart.
***
Time passes like he's in some vacuum, and Merlin barely notices one day become the next. He doesn't sleep much at all and when he does his dreams are always of Arthur holding him, touching him. When he wakes it's like something has been ripped away from him.
His days are full of memories and painting and reading about Arthur. But over the last few weeks, the headlines have changed.
He no longer sees "Playboy Pendragon Headed For Rehab?" in his inbox, but "Arthur Pendragon Cleans Up Act, Starts Foundation For GLBT Youth"
Arthur is growing up.
He can only imagine how Uther is going to react to that. It's one thing having a drug-fucked playboy of a son . It's accepted that young, rich, and gorgeous goes hand-in-hand with parties and clubs and all the vices that the common man can't afford. However, it's quite another thing for the future Duke of Westminster to be championing issues that will invariably cast aspersions on the sexuality of said future Duke. That will not be going down well at all.
Merlin on the other hand, couldn't be more thrilled. Arthur is becoming the man, no, the ruler that Merlin was proud to serve until the day he died.
He remembers the first time it really hit him. He'd always admired Arthur for his bravery, his skill in the arena, and the way he risked his own life for others. But it was in Ealdor that Merlin saw his first glimpse of the leader, the man who would inspire loyalty and sacrifice. The king whose men would follow him into war, follow him gladly and lay down their lives for him, without hesitation.
Merlin saw Arthur go from the boy who believed they would lose, to the man who led the peasants of a village he had never seen before into battle. He had made them believe then and there that if they died, they did so with honour and nobility. And as Arthur had thrust his sword into the air, Merlin's skin had prickled with it- the undeniable pull of this man who would become King.
He clicks on the interview that Arthur has done with Tonight, and within seconds, it's like he's back in Ealdor. Arthur is charismatic, beautiful and fearless, and he answers the questions about his years of partying with complete honesty.
"So, Arthur, I have to ask. What brought about this complete transformation?"
"Well, Fiona-" Arthur adjusts his cuff-links and smiles. It's like a punch to Merlin's stomach to see him like this: capable, professional and utterly charming. "A friend recently made me remember that money and power are worth nothing if other people are suffering. It's something I'd forgotten, but thanks to him I'm starting to take a little more responsibility. I can't say I've completely changed, I haven't turned into a monk, but I do want to put some of this privilege that I've inherited to good use."
"Your father has been known to donate to some organisations that have, shall we say, less progressive views regarding gay youth. How is he reacting to your new foundation?"
Arthur's smile doesn't even fade, he just takes a breath and says, "Well, if we all agreed with our parents, Fiona, it would makes us carbon copies now, wouldn't it? My father and I have always enjoyed a healthy debate, and I doubt very much that will ever change."
Which of course, is a very diplomatic way of saying He is not, in the slightest way, happy.
Merlin's fingers shake as he shuts his laptop. He can't watch Arthur anymore without it hurting too much to look at him.
***
It's been six weeks since Gwaine left for Cardiff and therefore six weeks since Merlin walked away from Arthur. He knows this only because of the date on his mobile phone.
Gwaine calls every few days, and Merlin does his best to keep the exhaustion and depression out of his voice. He's going to be in Cardiff for another couple of weeks, just until he's sure his mum's settled and secure and Merlin doesn't want to think about what's going to happen when Gwaine gets back to London.
He doesn't leave his studio. There's a shower there, which is just as well because Merlin doesn't want to know how badly he'd be reeking if it weren't for that. He's not really eating, but when he is it's pizza straight from the box. He hasn't shaved in days.
The painting he's working on is the same one he's been working on for the last three days. Blood and bodies, but no faces yet. The canvas is huge, spread across the floor, and Merlin doesn't think he wants to know what memory this is that he's recreating.
He loses consciousness now with alarming regularity, falling into the memories to the extent that he isn't aware of what it is he's painting or drawing, and when he comes to it isn't like he's had a memory at all. It's like he's lived it.
He wonders if his eyes are gold when he paints; he thinks they probably are.
***
Merlin tries to stop him, but Arthur won't hear a word of it.
"I can't just leave my men there to die, Merlin! That would make me a miserable coward, and I just- I can't-"
"He will kill you, Arthur." Merlin's voice is starting to crack, "He'll kill you and I won't be able to stop him. Gods, do you understand what you're asking of me letting you do this?"
"Yes," Arthur says, barely audible. "I do."
Mordred has cast a binding spell on him that makes it impossible for Merlin to cast any spells whatsoever or to be anywhere near the battlefield. Arthur will be walking to his death and there isn't a thing Merlin can do to stop it. But Arthur being Arthur, the thought of fleeing, of leaving his men to die alone, it's unthinkable, and Merlin knows that. But it doesn't make it any easier.
"Then go," Merlin forces out. "Go and die, Arthur. Leave."
He turns away, because he's sobbing now, and he doesn't want Arthur to see him like this.
"I'll find you," Arthur whispers into his neck, and kisses him there. "You hear me, Merlin? I will find you."
Merlin doesn't turn around again until he hears Arthur's voice outside the tent, rousing his men for battle.
When Merlin wakes, he can't move. His muscles are so fatigued that he can't even lift his hand to brush the hair back from his eyes. His brow is damp with sweat and he's crying, his throat hoarse with it, and even though he barely has any voice, he manages to cry out Arthur's name before he blacks out again.
Arthur's body is still warm when Mordred lifts the binding spell, letting Merlin run onto the field.
His magic returns to him in such a rush that it makes him stumble: sheer energy thrumming through him, his skin alive with it.
"Have you come to kill me, Emrys?" For a moment, he sounds like the frightened child that Merlin had met all those years ago.
"I will kill you, Mordred," Merlin says, flatly. "But not today."
Today all that exists is Arthur.
He walks past Mordred, not even looking back, and drops to his knees in front of the body. Arthur looks so beautiful, just like he does when he's asleep, but Merlin knows he isn't sleeping this time. He kisses Arthur's forehead and whispers the prayer that Hunith had taught him all those years ago, the one that assures the fallen their safe passage to Avalon.
"Go on, Mordred," he says, the words thick and cloying in his mouth. "Run back to Morgana and tell her that her brother is dead."
"But-"
"Go!" The ground shakes and Mordred flees.
Merlin brushes a soft kiss across Arthur's lips and the skies go black.
Merlin wakes to pounding. His head throbs and he can't lift it, but after a minute or so, he realises that it is the downstairs door, his front door. Someone is banging on it.
"Merlin!" God. Arthur.
Merlin wants to yell, tell Arthur where he is, but when he tries to form words there is only air. He can't speak, can't move, can't do anything to tell Arthur not to leave.
He loses consciousness again.
***
He wakes to cool, gentle hands on his face, and he feels himself being lifted.
"Arthur?" He manages to breathe out.
"Shhhh. Don't talk, just let me-"
Merlin melts into Arthur, and lets sleep, real sleep, take him at last.
***
He feels himself being pulled out of slumber like he's drowning and someone is pulling him out of the water. He doesn't feel achy or sore now, just tired and a little drugged.
"You're awake."
Merlin opens his eyes, slow and sluggish, and sees Arthur sitting in a chair next to the bed. He looks drawn, so tired and Merlin wants to reach out and touch him so badly that his body aches with it.
"How did you get in?" He manages to croak out. His voice is still patchy, but at least there is more than just breath.
"Broke down the door," Arthur says, grinning. "I'll buy you a new one."
Merlin laughs, but it sounds hollow.
He doesn't bother asking Arthur how he knew to come; the connection between them is so strong that his magic has to be involved somehow, even completely unconsciously.
"When I saw you lying there, I thought-" Arthur is no longer grinning.
Merlin swings his legs around so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring Arthur's protests. He doesn't feel bad at all, it's like everything that was wrong has all gone away. His body is no longer hurting with need and loss and it's clear that the absence of Arthur, along with years of repressed memories fighting their way to the surface is what's responsible for making him so horribly ill and exhausted .
"I saw you die," Merlin whispers. "In Camlann. I held your body until it was cold, and cried and cried until I couldn't anymore."
"Merlin-" Arthur stands, his hands gripped tightly by his sides.
"They're not just memories, you know," he says, cutting Arthur off. "It's like I can feel them with my whole body. It's why I have to paint them. It's almost like-"
"Like you're living them again."
Merlin nods, and stands up to face Arthur.
"I felt you calling for me," he says, his hands reaching for Merlin, like he can't stop himself. "Felt you pulling me in, and I couldn't- couldn't stay away any longer, Merlin."
"Then don't," Merlin says. "I don't want you to. Never did."
He knows it's wrong, knows he shouldn't be letting Arthur in like this, but he can't keep doing this, trying to push him away, trying to deny the connection. His body aches with trying to resist it and he's just so tired. It's unbearable.
Arthur grabs him then, his hands on Merlin's arms, holding him there and just looking at him, like he's trying to memorise every inch of him.
They don't say anything: no smart back and forth banter, no serious conversation about what they're doing. They just stare at each other, silent and still for long, long minutes. There's so much between them right now: pain and loss and grief, Merlin can feel the weight of it on him like lead.
"I can't lose you," he whispers, as if saying it out loud is too difficult, "not again. Don't go, okay?"
"Not planning on it," Arthur says, gently. He raises one hand to Merlin's face and traces the outline of Merlin's mouth with his thumb.
It's a jolt to Merlin's cock. His body's on fire, flushed and prickly, every nerve ending begging for Arthur's touch. Merlin's so hard now that he aches, and the want is almost crippling.
"I need-" he says, almost breathlessly.
Merlin doesn't even have any time to react before Arthur is slamming him against the wall next to the bed.
Arthur just stands there still, his hands on Merlin, panting hard. His eyes are so dark, so intense, and he looks hungry. He inhales sharply, and something flashes across his face that looks an awful lot like abandon, and then he's pushing Merlin into the wall with his hips, crushing his mouth against his and kissing him, hard and frantic, his hands on Merlin's cheeks, holding him still for Arthur to kiss deeper and deeper. Merlin feels his stomach bottom out just from the kiss, and when Arthur pushes his thigh in between Merlin's, rubbing up and down the length of his cock, Merlin groans and grabs at Arthur as he kisses him back, fiercely.
"Couldn't stop thinking about you, Merlin," Arthur says between kisses, "had to- Christ- had to touch myself all the time, felt like a fucking kid again. Couldn't get through the day without it."
"It hurt," Merlin admits. "Hurt that you weren't here, that I couldn't see you. My body ached."
"Yes," Arthur says, his hands touching Merlin everywhere now, skimming over his face, his neck, his arms, like he's trying to refamiliarise himself with Merlin's body.
"I want-" Merlin pants, holding onto Arthur with his hands fisted in Arthur's shirt, like he's afraid that Arthur will disappear if he lets go. "I want you to fuck me. Can't wait any more."
"Yes," Arthur growls. He throws Merlin on the bed, knocking the bedside lamp to the floor in the process and smashing it in the process.
"Caveman," Merlin says, laughing. Arthur grins, but he doesn't stop, doesn't waste any time getting rid of his clothes, ripping his shirt off so that buttons fly halfway across the room and getting his jeans and boxers off like he's trying to win some sort of race. When Merlin moves to pull his shorts off, Arthur grabs the neck of Merlin's t-shirt and rips it down the middle.
"Christ," Merlin chokes, "you really are taking this alpha male thing seriously, aren't you?"
Arthur helps Merlin pull his shorts off. "I just can't wait," he admits. "Wasted too much time already. You feel so fucking good, Merlin. Missed this so much."
"Oh god, I love you," Merlin blurts out, before he can stop himself, and the look on Arthur's face is shock followed by need so strong that it almost makes Merlin flinch seeing it.
"Lube. Condoms. Now," Arthur barks out, and Merlin just points to the top drawer next to the bed. Arthur reaches out with one hand and grabs a condom and tube of lube. It looks so awkward it makes him laugh a little.
"You could, you know, use both hands," he offers.
Arthur shakes his head and looks embarrassed. "Can't. I don't want to stop touching you. Ever."
Something twists in Merlin's belly. "I know," he says under his breath, moving up the bed so his head's resting on his pillow.
Seconds later, Arthur is opening Merlin with slick fingers, pressing into him. This isn't romantic, or tender, like a first time usually is. But this isn't a first time. They've done this hundreds of times, hundreds of ways before, and they need this right now: rough and fast and desperate. Need each other in ways that are truly scary if Merlin thinks about it for too long.
"Fuck," Arthur swears under his breath as he fingerfucks Merlin even deeper. "So damn tight. How are you still so tight after all this time?"
"Hurry up," Merlin demands, "you don't need to be gentle. I can take it, you know."
"Oh yes," Arthur says, dirty grin on his face. "I know." He has three fingers inside him now and Merlin can't help but groan at the feel of it: long, thick fingers filling him and opening him up for Arthur's cock, grazing his prostate every time Arthur pushes in deeper.
"Please," he begs, "need your cock, Arthur. Now."
"So demanding," Arthur says, pulling his fingers free. "I should teach you a lesson about not having ideas above your station."
"Like you ever could," Merlin pants.
Arthur bites at Merlin's thigh, adds, "Don't tempt me, Merlin."
Merlin wants to tempt Arthur every day for the rest of their lives.
Arthur rolls the condom on, slicks himself with lube and pushes right in. Not gently, not conservatively, just shoves the entire length of his cock inside Merlin and it's so tight it's painful, but Merlin doesn't care.
Arthur doesn't waste any time setting a rhythm that's so fast and hard that Merlin's head hits the headboard each time Arthur fucks into him. It's so unbelievably good: rough and fast and hot and the two of them are sliding against each other, slick with sweat. Arthur looks amazing: his hair plastered to his forehead and so much power in his body. He looks so focused and intense, concentrating so hard on fucking Merlin within an inch of his life. He kisses him on every forward thrust, biting and sucking at Merlin's lower lip; it's so good that Merlin wants to scream, and he drops his hand to his cock, fisting himself with long, rough strokes.
"So fucking good," Arthur grinds out.
"Missed you, Arthur."
"Me too," Arthur admits, "and if you ever tell anyone I said that? I will kill you."
Merlin laughs. Typical.
Arthur grabs Merlin by the hips, pounding into him now with increasing speed and intensity. Merlin thinks he could quite easily die right now, and die very happy, too. He lets go of his cock, not able to even move while Arthur is fucking him so frantically. The next thing he's aware of is a loud crack, and the bed under him is moving. Arthur doesn't react to the noise, he just throws his head back and yells, "Fuck, Merlin. Jesus fucking Christ," before coming inside him.
It doesn't take Merlin long to follow him, Arthur's lube-slicked hand stripping his cock. He comes pathetically fast just from Arthur's hand touching him, and the way he is looking at Merlin.
Arthur rolls off him, onto his back, and knots the condom, throwing it into Merlin's rubbish bin. Perfect aim of course, like Arthur ever does anything that isn't perfect.
Arthur lays back down, and long minutes pass where he doesn't even move, just inhales and exhales, over and over. His face hot and sweaty against Merlin's skin. He feels amazing, perfect.
Merlin kisses him then, slow and wet. It's as if the edge has been lifted now and it feels like they have all the time in the world and no complications, nothing but the two of them just lying there, kissing, skin to skin.
It isn't true of course. There are so many complications and while it's lovely to pretend that what they're doing isn't hurting anyone, it is just that: a pretence. He pulls back a little and just looks at Arthur. There's so much there between them that the air feels heavy with it.
"I could really use a shower," Merlin says, breaking the silence. "I stink."
"I can go one better than that." Arthur gets up and pulls Merlin in, kisses him slow and wet and tender. "We'll go to my place."
Part Five
Masterpost