I already wrote that fic, and boots
Be not afraid misled by the icon. This is an Uther/Gaius fic, because it was necessary.
Title: Not Made to Die
Rating: R
Word count: 1,575
Summary: Post episode 4x3. Uther/Gaius.
Now with added beta by cienna.
.Not Made to Die.
Gaius sits for a long time that night watching the moon cross the clear autumn night sky and not thinking about anything but the cold creeping up from his toes to his knees and the silver-blue reflection shimmering across the open glass window. He should close it, but he doesn't. His bones ache more than ever and he doesn't think he's ever felt so old.
Uther wasn't supposed to die first. Uther wasn't supposed to die at all. He was king. He was always the strong one, in everything, since the first moment Gaius met him. They were young men then, arrogant and proud and full of hope.
But Gaius isn't thinking about this. He's contemplating the darkness of his chambers; no candle lit nor fire burning. Gaius doesn't have the strength for it. The tables are a mess of books and failed medicines and there is a strong musty smell that reminds Gaius of forgotten, shut up rooms. The last time Uther came here he'd complained about the smell. That was back when Uther was still confident of his place in the world, sure in his convictions. Gaius remembers how Uther had screwed up his nose at Gaius's foul-smelling potions, how he hadn't dared sit down anywhere in case he disturbed the piles of papers and vials around him.
In many ways Uther has been dead for a lot longer than a few hours. The Uther Gaius had known died with Morgana's betrayal, but this is different. Now Gaius can no longer sit at the king's bedside and imagine Uther is just sleeping, and that when he wakes he'll smile like he did when they were young, and he will say, "Gaius, what are you doing out of bed? It's a cold morning." An illusion: this hasn't happened in a very very long time, or maybe it never happened at all, but Uther's body had been alive when Gaius told him to eat red meat, to keep up his strength, and his hands had been warm when Gaius had helped Uther to stand, and sometimes the king had even thanked him.
Merlin waits for Arthur in a cold corridor, and they are so very similar to how he and Uther once were that sometimes it hurts. Gaius waits for Uther in his cold chamber but he knows that he will never see Uther again, and that hurts even more.
These are all the things Gaius isn't thinking of as he feels himself falling asleep. He's too old to keep these kinds of hours. He's too old for nostalgia. He needs his bed and he needs blankets and comfort, but tonight he needs Uther to be alive more.
It's easy to know, then, when he's fallen asleep because the first thing he feels is warmth. Not of fires or thick furs, but the kind of warmth you get from having another human being lying next to you. Gaius knows he can only be asleep because Uther says, "It's not so bad, being dead."
"That, sire," Gaius replies, though he doesn't know why because none of this is real, "Is easy for you to say."
Uther's laugh is a quiet, warm thing. It is the kind Gaius hasn't heard in years. Maybe decades. Then there is a hand on his arm, movement behind him, warmth curling closer, and they are in bed.
"I suppose it is," Uther agrees easily. "But Gaius, I can be here." A dry, callused hand strokes down Gaius's side and he can't help but shiver at the touch. The touch that isn't a touch at all.
"No." Gaius disagrees, "You can't." Because Uther is dead. No heartbeat. No breath. Gaius checked himself a hundred times. This is just a dream. Gaius knows it's a dream because Uther's hands are creeping around his waist and his foot is rubbing at Gaius's calf and Gaius always did wonder how Uther managed to contort himself to do that. They're in Uther's chambers, or rather they're not. Uther's chambers are empty now because his body lies in state. The sheets of his bed are stripped clean. Here they are soft and worn and cling to their bodies.
"I can," Uther insists. Always so stubborn. He always had to be right. "I know I'm dead," he says, like it's nothing. A fact, like the price of grain or the number of troops in reserve. "But perhaps this is magic." There's no fierce disgust in his voice, and it's another thing that tells Gaius this can't be real. "Perhaps I'm a ghost, or my soul is lingering. It was all very sudden."
"You speak as though you don't care." Gaius is angry. He's angry and he refuses to face Uther. If he faces Uther, if he sees him there on the pillow beside him he doesn't think he'll be able to ignore Uther's light touches any more.
"Perhaps it was my time." Uther's words are soft, almost a whisper, and they feel warm against the back of Gaius's neck.
It's morning in this dream. The air is cool outside of the sheets. Gaius still aches, but it's more memory than age. And then Uther kisses his shoulder, and kisses his back, and puts his fingers to Gaius's spine, kneading his way downwards. This, Gaius remembers. It's distracting.
"You shouldn't have died," Gaius argues. He always used to argue. He can't say, Because Morgana killed you, so he says, "You were still strong."
It's the sadness in Uther's voice, the way his touches turn lighter, uncertain, that almost convinces Gaius to turn to him. But he holds himself still.
"I wasn't, Gaius," he says. "You know that."
Gaius knew it better than anyone. He says nothing.
"Besides," Uther goes on, shifting restlessly, pulling Gaius bodily closer, "To die saving my son's life: what better way could there be?"
An easy question to answer: "To not die at all."
Uther answers with another kiss, another caress. "Look at me, Gaius."
He won't. He's not real.
"Please," Uther says into his hair, and not once, not once, can Gaius ever remember Uther saying that to him. It's easy then to turn around, to sit up, feeling the rich silks falling to his waist, feeling the sting of morning air. There's no fire. No maid has been. None dare enter the king's chambers when they are together. It's easy to glare down at Uther's face, but then Gaius stops. He looks so young. He's smiling. His hair is a mess. There are teeth marks on his shoulder and he doesn't look at all like the ruler of powerful Camelot. He looks like a man who has had a long night, with bags under his eyes, pale skin, and Gaius forgets why he was ever angry in the first place.
On the other side of Uther there is a space, empty, the blankets thrown back. Uther notices the direction of his gaze.
"She's gone to find a servant," Uther explains. "Though I think that might be some sort of euphemism."
Gaius remembers this.
"She's sick," Gaius says. Last time he didn't know that. Last time he told Uther the lady Igraine was too refined for euphemisms.
This time Uther looks at Gaius like he doesn't understand the words, continues as though Gaius never spoke. "Whatever the lady is doing, I'm sure she will return soon." He looks down at Gaius's chest, and lower, and Gaius realises that he is naked. And he is young, but why that should be a surprise to him he doesn't know. "We should amuse ourselves in the meantime," Uther says, and now his smile has turned hungry. "We should make ourselves ready for her."
"We should," Gaius agrees, and reaches out. There is a part of him that says this is wrong, or pointless, or that it will hurt more in the end, but he ignores it. It's just fear, he tells himself. Just disbelief that he can have this with the king and his queen. So Gaius reaches out and touches Uther's face, and slides his hands down his chest, and Uther hauls him close, pressing them together. It is exquisite, and Gaius loves his skin and the way Uther's hands dig into his thighs and the insistence of his tongue as they kiss. "But," Gaius pants between kisses and touches, "But the lady will be angry at us if she misses anything."
She is fire and will and passion. She is stronger than Uther and she will certainly outlive them both. There is a memory, somewhere, that tells Gaius this is a lie, but he ignores this too. The feel of Uther's teeth against his ear, and his knee between his legs overwhelms any other thought. It makes Gaius forget himself, makes it impossible not to arch himself closer, looking for more, and panting and not moaning into Uther's neck.
"Gaius," Uther breathes, "Gaius," and Gaius is lost. Something whispers to him that this is the last time Uther will ever speak his name this way. There is a chill that says everything will change once this is over, but the heat of their proximity burns the doubt away. The insistence of their movements is all Gaius knows. The pull of muscle, the tightness pooling in his stomach, the creasing of sheets under him; these are the things Gaius can feel, because these are the only things Gaius remembers.
.END.
Well. That was surprising. Of all the things to get me to sit down and complete something- Merlin fic no less- in record time it would be this. Although maybe that's not so surprising after all. My preference for old men is of course well known. Still, as much as this episode was tragic beyond words for me I have to say that after hating season 2 and being bored by season 3 somehow season 4 is managing to make me care again.
Also, what is it with shows killing off all my favourite characters and OTPs at the moment anyway?
Comments and concrit most gratefully welcomed and appreciated.
Title: Not Made to Die
Rating: R
Word count: 1,575
Summary: Post episode 4x3. Uther/Gaius.
Now with added beta by cienna.
.Not Made to Die.
Gaius sits for a long time that night watching the moon cross the clear autumn night sky and not thinking about anything but the cold creeping up from his toes to his knees and the silver-blue reflection shimmering across the open glass window. He should close it, but he doesn't. His bones ache more than ever and he doesn't think he's ever felt so old.
Uther wasn't supposed to die first. Uther wasn't supposed to die at all. He was king. He was always the strong one, in everything, since the first moment Gaius met him. They were young men then, arrogant and proud and full of hope.
But Gaius isn't thinking about this. He's contemplating the darkness of his chambers; no candle lit nor fire burning. Gaius doesn't have the strength for it. The tables are a mess of books and failed medicines and there is a strong musty smell that reminds Gaius of forgotten, shut up rooms. The last time Uther came here he'd complained about the smell. That was back when Uther was still confident of his place in the world, sure in his convictions. Gaius remembers how Uther had screwed up his nose at Gaius's foul-smelling potions, how he hadn't dared sit down anywhere in case he disturbed the piles of papers and vials around him.
In many ways Uther has been dead for a lot longer than a few hours. The Uther Gaius had known died with Morgana's betrayal, but this is different. Now Gaius can no longer sit at the king's bedside and imagine Uther is just sleeping, and that when he wakes he'll smile like he did when they were young, and he will say, "Gaius, what are you doing out of bed? It's a cold morning." An illusion: this hasn't happened in a very very long time, or maybe it never happened at all, but Uther's body had been alive when Gaius told him to eat red meat, to keep up his strength, and his hands had been warm when Gaius had helped Uther to stand, and sometimes the king had even thanked him.
Merlin waits for Arthur in a cold corridor, and they are so very similar to how he and Uther once were that sometimes it hurts. Gaius waits for Uther in his cold chamber but he knows that he will never see Uther again, and that hurts even more.
These are all the things Gaius isn't thinking of as he feels himself falling asleep. He's too old to keep these kinds of hours. He's too old for nostalgia. He needs his bed and he needs blankets and comfort, but tonight he needs Uther to be alive more.
It's easy to know, then, when he's fallen asleep because the first thing he feels is warmth. Not of fires or thick furs, but the kind of warmth you get from having another human being lying next to you. Gaius knows he can only be asleep because Uther says, "It's not so bad, being dead."
"That, sire," Gaius replies, though he doesn't know why because none of this is real, "Is easy for you to say."
Uther's laugh is a quiet, warm thing. It is the kind Gaius hasn't heard in years. Maybe decades. Then there is a hand on his arm, movement behind him, warmth curling closer, and they are in bed.
"I suppose it is," Uther agrees easily. "But Gaius, I can be here." A dry, callused hand strokes down Gaius's side and he can't help but shiver at the touch. The touch that isn't a touch at all.
"No." Gaius disagrees, "You can't." Because Uther is dead. No heartbeat. No breath. Gaius checked himself a hundred times. This is just a dream. Gaius knows it's a dream because Uther's hands are creeping around his waist and his foot is rubbing at Gaius's calf and Gaius always did wonder how Uther managed to contort himself to do that. They're in Uther's chambers, or rather they're not. Uther's chambers are empty now because his body lies in state. The sheets of his bed are stripped clean. Here they are soft and worn and cling to their bodies.
"I can," Uther insists. Always so stubborn. He always had to be right. "I know I'm dead," he says, like it's nothing. A fact, like the price of grain or the number of troops in reserve. "But perhaps this is magic." There's no fierce disgust in his voice, and it's another thing that tells Gaius this can't be real. "Perhaps I'm a ghost, or my soul is lingering. It was all very sudden."
"You speak as though you don't care." Gaius is angry. He's angry and he refuses to face Uther. If he faces Uther, if he sees him there on the pillow beside him he doesn't think he'll be able to ignore Uther's light touches any more.
"Perhaps it was my time." Uther's words are soft, almost a whisper, and they feel warm against the back of Gaius's neck.
It's morning in this dream. The air is cool outside of the sheets. Gaius still aches, but it's more memory than age. And then Uther kisses his shoulder, and kisses his back, and puts his fingers to Gaius's spine, kneading his way downwards. This, Gaius remembers. It's distracting.
"You shouldn't have died," Gaius argues. He always used to argue. He can't say, Because Morgana killed you, so he says, "You were still strong."
It's the sadness in Uther's voice, the way his touches turn lighter, uncertain, that almost convinces Gaius to turn to him. But he holds himself still.
"I wasn't, Gaius," he says. "You know that."
Gaius knew it better than anyone. He says nothing.
"Besides," Uther goes on, shifting restlessly, pulling Gaius bodily closer, "To die saving my son's life: what better way could there be?"
An easy question to answer: "To not die at all."
Uther answers with another kiss, another caress. "Look at me, Gaius."
He won't. He's not real.
"Please," Uther says into his hair, and not once, not once, can Gaius ever remember Uther saying that to him. It's easy then to turn around, to sit up, feeling the rich silks falling to his waist, feeling the sting of morning air. There's no fire. No maid has been. None dare enter the king's chambers when they are together. It's easy to glare down at Uther's face, but then Gaius stops. He looks so young. He's smiling. His hair is a mess. There are teeth marks on his shoulder and he doesn't look at all like the ruler of powerful Camelot. He looks like a man who has had a long night, with bags under his eyes, pale skin, and Gaius forgets why he was ever angry in the first place.
On the other side of Uther there is a space, empty, the blankets thrown back. Uther notices the direction of his gaze.
"She's gone to find a servant," Uther explains. "Though I think that might be some sort of euphemism."
Gaius remembers this.
"She's sick," Gaius says. Last time he didn't know that. Last time he told Uther the lady Igraine was too refined for euphemisms.
This time Uther looks at Gaius like he doesn't understand the words, continues as though Gaius never spoke. "Whatever the lady is doing, I'm sure she will return soon." He looks down at Gaius's chest, and lower, and Gaius realises that he is naked. And he is young, but why that should be a surprise to him he doesn't know. "We should amuse ourselves in the meantime," Uther says, and now his smile has turned hungry. "We should make ourselves ready for her."
"We should," Gaius agrees, and reaches out. There is a part of him that says this is wrong, or pointless, or that it will hurt more in the end, but he ignores it. It's just fear, he tells himself. Just disbelief that he can have this with the king and his queen. So Gaius reaches out and touches Uther's face, and slides his hands down his chest, and Uther hauls him close, pressing them together. It is exquisite, and Gaius loves his skin and the way Uther's hands dig into his thighs and the insistence of his tongue as they kiss. "But," Gaius pants between kisses and touches, "But the lady will be angry at us if she misses anything."
She is fire and will and passion. She is stronger than Uther and she will certainly outlive them both. There is a memory, somewhere, that tells Gaius this is a lie, but he ignores this too. The feel of Uther's teeth against his ear, and his knee between his legs overwhelms any other thought. It makes Gaius forget himself, makes it impossible not to arch himself closer, looking for more, and panting and not moaning into Uther's neck.
"Gaius," Uther breathes, "Gaius," and Gaius is lost. Something whispers to him that this is the last time Uther will ever speak his name this way. There is a chill that says everything will change once this is over, but the heat of their proximity burns the doubt away. The insistence of their movements is all Gaius knows. The pull of muscle, the tightness pooling in his stomach, the creasing of sheets under him; these are the things Gaius can feel, because these are the only things Gaius remembers.
.END.
Well. That was surprising. Of all the things to get me to sit down and complete something- Merlin fic no less- in record time it would be this. Although maybe that's not so surprising after all. My preference for old men is of course well known. Still, as much as this episode was tragic beyond words for me I have to say that after hating season 2 and being bored by season 3 somehow season 4 is managing to make me care again.
Also, what is it with shows killing off all my favourite characters and OTPs at the moment anyway?
Comments and concrit most gratefully welcomed and appreciated.