Amped - Part 3
Nov. 3rd, 2011 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gwyllionTitle: Amped
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: Modern au
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 57,554
A/N: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2011. For additional notes, warnings, etc, please refer to Part 1 here.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!
Arthur didn’t notice the weight of his armour as he stood atop the ridge waiting for the right moment to lead the charge. It was the weight of his heart that burdened him and the worry that he may be too late. With Percival by his side and Leon at the far end of the ranks, he raised Excalibur in his right hand, the first rays of sunrise cracking the horizon.
Below him, an encampment of tents rose from the dim valley floor like nipples on a mother cat. He focused on fifth tent from the left, the one with the door sealed shut against the wind, its flag bearing the seal of Mercia whipping and curling against itself.
He trusted his scouts when they returned with word that this was the tent that held the captive.
The Mercians wandered from their sleeping places in the chill morning air. Their grogginess would be Arthur’s advantage.
“For the love of Camelot!” Arthur cried, signalling the battle to begin.
Mercians fell to the knight’s blows on either side of Arthur as he rushed down the incline, the enemy’s numbers far outweighed by the knight’s skill and determination.
Guarded by Percival’s intimidating bulk, Arthur tore the tent flaps open. In the dark, he dropped to his knees beside the hunched figure that shivered on the dirt floor.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered.
Merlin’s eyes found Arthur’s in the dim light that entered through the tent door. He mumbled something incomprehensible.
“I’m here, love,” Arthur breathed. He sliced through the leather bindings and pulled the ratty neckerchief from where it was wadded into Merlin’s mouth.
Merlin gasped a deep breath and licked his lips while, with one swift movement of his sword, Arthur freed Merlin from the ropes that bound his hands and ankles.
Merlin rubbed his jaw with a grimy palm. “What took you so long?” he asked, his eyes bright.
“On your feet, idiot,” Arthur said, a smile in his voice. He slid his hands under Merlin’s arms and pulled Merlin to him.
Listening to the sounds of the diminishing battle outside, Arthur bit the fingers of his right glove to remove it from his hand. He let his knuckles graze the skin of Merlin’s cheek where he had suffered a wound at the hands of his captors.
He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s and said, “Let’s get you home.”
“Merlin?” Arthur’s hands silently grasped at nothing but the bedsheets.
“Merlin!”
Arthur woke from his sleep, shaking his head to clear the memory of the strange dream. He must have been thinking of that Merlin kid that Gwaine talked him into hiring. There was something about him, Arthur remembered, his face sprinkled with road grime and skin smudged with blood. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. He hoped to hell he hadn’t recognized his face from a Most Wanted poster or a mug shot left hanging around his father’s office. No, there was definitely something, but the kid probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, so it was unlikely that he was involved in a strong arm robbery or something equally nefarious. That’s all he needed, for his father to point out that Arthur had hired a wanted criminal. Arthur smirked at the thought.
The wind-up alarm clock ticked away the seconds remaining until dawn. At three o’clock in the morning, they were too numerous for Arthur to count.
He padded barefoot across the kitchen floor, triggering the soft glow of motion-sensitive lighting to illuminate his way. He opened the refrigerator door and selected a water bottle from behind Morgana’s smoothie concoction that was made from seaweed and tasted even worse.
After he chugged half the water bottle down, he returned to bed, the lights dimming automatically in his wake.
***
Merlin checked his mobile phone a dozen times on his way home, making certain that he had secured the contact information for every member of The Knights, complete with passwords and encryptions that would keep it safe from Mordred’s prying eyes. Keeping them secret made him feel safe, like he had some control of the whirlwind that was his life since his mother’s death.
He had never meant to get involved with Mordred. With his mother dead, his Ealdorian childhood home had become strangely unfamiliar. The time was right for a move. He had met Mordred on his first night in the city. Naïve, and not a little bit nervous, he hooked up with the first man who could provide a roof over his head. He knew it was a mistake, but he had no other options. He sold his guitar, his equipment, the dream of becoming a musician was dead to him now. He couldn’t stand the sound of the radio on most days, since Mordred had come into his life. Maybe that could change someday soon.
He reached the gate and felt for the latch that allowed him entry to the walkway. Checking for wayward skunks or raccoons, he passed through the narrow entrance to the door and fitted his key into the slot. The hall light illuminated the stairway. Merlin passed by the doorways of the tenement residents, the smells of their cooking and sounds of their voices as they lived and loved in the city spilled out into Merlin’s path.
He took the stairs slowly to the second floor, the third, and pausing for a few moments to gather himself before he ascended to the fourth. Breathing heavily, he inserted his key and opened the door to find Mordred busy at the stove.
“Ah,” Mordred turned to face Merlin. “The birthday boy has finally returned home.”
“Beltane,” Merlin nodded before placing a kiss on Mordred’s lips. “I had nearly forgotten.”
“Yes, Beltane,” Mordred said. “Sit. Eat.”
Merlin pulled out a chair and sat while Mordred doled the mass of pasta and vegetables onto his plate.
“Wine?” Mordred asked, pouring what he knew to be Merlin’s favourite white varietal straight from the bottle.
The wine helped, Merlin thought, taking a sip to wash down the asparagus. He longed for a time when he could feel loose and relaxed, able to say anything without it being held against him later. To be accepted for all his quirks and shortcomings, without the feeling that he was incurring a huge debt that he’d have to someday repay.
“I have something else for you,” Mordred said, when they were nearly done eating, the fluorescent kitchen light making his eyes glow amber.
“You do?” Merlin said, slurring his words, despite taking only tiny sips of the wine.
“I know you want me to make you mine,” Mordred smiled. “I know you want to belong to me in every way.”
Merlin’s mother had always taught him to be appreciative, so he obeyed his instinct, effusive in his appreciation. “What do you have in mind? Some kind of surprise for me?”
“What else could you possibly hope for?” Mordred replied. “A boy in your situation. No mother to look after you. No job to look after yourself. You’re nothing, no one without me. I’ll own you, Emrys.”
All of a sudden Merlin felt very tired. He vaguely believed that Mordred was going to present him with a piece of jewellery, a ring, maybe.
“Mordred? What have you done?” Merlin slumped over the table and eyed his wine glass.
“Nothing you’ll regret later,” Mordred replied.
Merlin barely remembered his pants being pushed down and the slice of the razor blade against his skin.
But there was music.
Somewhere in the back of his drug-addled mind, there was song.
Music… when he remembered Arthur and tomorrow’s practice at the garage.
***
Drums thumped, cymbals clinked and clanged, and the squelch of feedback squealed from the amplifiers.
Elyan and Leon got a good riff going, each arpeggio of fingers on strings building upon each other until the notes blended almost orgasmically, drowning out the sound of Arthur and Gwaine’s voices.
Arthur scowled. Gwaine’s hair bounced attractively with each angry utterance. They waved their arms and shouted, put their hands on their hips and stared red-faced at each other, and eventually folded their arms across their chests and turned their backs on each other.
Leon’s bass had the last word when he plucked a high C before dropping the instrument so it swung long and loose from its strap.
“There’s the man,” Leon said, gesturing to Merlin, as he rolled beneath the corrugated door, arriving in the garage like a whirling dervish.
“I told you he’d show up, Princess,” Gwaine jabbed Arthur in the chest with a finger.
“Uh, hi guys,” Merlin said, gingerly getting to his feet.
“It’s about time,” Arthur said, taking a few steps toward him.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I was late,” Merlin said. “Gwaine said six o’clock, yeah?”
Arthur turned to Gwaine, who simply shrugged in response.
“No matter. You’re here now,” said Arthur. “You can start by going over our play lists and sorting out which instruments belong to which musician.”
“I’ve done some research,” said Merlin. He ambled over to the table where Arthur stood, and removed the satchel from his shoulder.
“Are you limping, Merlin?” Arthur asked.
“It’s nothing,” Merlin said quickly, spreading out the schematic for the Avalon Theatre so the band members could gather around to see what he had done.
Arthur’s finger followed Merlin’s hand-drawn blocking notations for where the musicians might travel across the stage and what lighting suggestions for each performer might work best. He already had a list of favoured instruments that he had apparently acquired on his own from each band mate. Everything seemed to be neatly chronicled in a loose-leaf binder with pocket tabs and post it notes affixed to the important parts where Merlin had scribbled questions in longhand.
“You’ve done your homework,” smiled Gwaine, patting Merlin on the back.
Arthur noticed Merlin wince uncomfortably before continuing to explain his diagrams and ask the pertinent questions. Arthur leaned back from the table, suddenly feeling that he had little to say.
The band mates laughed and seemed to embrace Merlin like a long lost brother. In just Merlin’s first live meeting with the full band, things were going well. Perhaps too well, thought Arthur when he felt the vibration of his mobile in his pocket.
“Yes father,” Arthur replied, walking toward the loading dock door.
“But,” Arthur interjected.
“No,” Arthur complained.
“I’ll never approve of them,” Arthur threatened.
“Yes, father,” Arthur relented, before shoving the phone back into his pocket, wishing he’d never taken the call. He walked back to the table, where the men were still animated in conversation.
“Something wrong?” asked Gwaine.
“That was my father. He’s hired an opening band for the Round Table Tour. It’s The Black Zigzags.”
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: Modern au
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 57,554
A/N: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2011. For additional notes, warnings, etc, please refer to Part 1 here.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!
Arthur didn’t notice the weight of his armour as he stood atop the ridge waiting for the right moment to lead the charge. It was the weight of his heart that burdened him and the worry that he may be too late. With Percival by his side and Leon at the far end of the ranks, he raised Excalibur in his right hand, the first rays of sunrise cracking the horizon.
Below him, an encampment of tents rose from the dim valley floor like nipples on a mother cat. He focused on fifth tent from the left, the one with the door sealed shut against the wind, its flag bearing the seal of Mercia whipping and curling against itself.
He trusted his scouts when they returned with word that this was the tent that held the captive.
The Mercians wandered from their sleeping places in the chill morning air. Their grogginess would be Arthur’s advantage.
“For the love of Camelot!” Arthur cried, signalling the battle to begin.
Mercians fell to the knight’s blows on either side of Arthur as he rushed down the incline, the enemy’s numbers far outweighed by the knight’s skill and determination.
Guarded by Percival’s intimidating bulk, Arthur tore the tent flaps open. In the dark, he dropped to his knees beside the hunched figure that shivered on the dirt floor.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered.
Merlin’s eyes found Arthur’s in the dim light that entered through the tent door. He mumbled something incomprehensible.
“I’m here, love,” Arthur breathed. He sliced through the leather bindings and pulled the ratty neckerchief from where it was wadded into Merlin’s mouth.
Merlin gasped a deep breath and licked his lips while, with one swift movement of his sword, Arthur freed Merlin from the ropes that bound his hands and ankles.
Merlin rubbed his jaw with a grimy palm. “What took you so long?” he asked, his eyes bright.
“On your feet, idiot,” Arthur said, a smile in his voice. He slid his hands under Merlin’s arms and pulled Merlin to him.
Listening to the sounds of the diminishing battle outside, Arthur bit the fingers of his right glove to remove it from his hand. He let his knuckles graze the skin of Merlin’s cheek where he had suffered a wound at the hands of his captors.
He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s and said, “Let’s get you home.”
“Merlin?” Arthur’s hands silently grasped at nothing but the bedsheets.
“Merlin!”
Arthur woke from his sleep, shaking his head to clear the memory of the strange dream. He must have been thinking of that Merlin kid that Gwaine talked him into hiring. There was something about him, Arthur remembered, his face sprinkled with road grime and skin smudged with blood. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. He hoped to hell he hadn’t recognized his face from a Most Wanted poster or a mug shot left hanging around his father’s office. No, there was definitely something, but the kid probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, so it was unlikely that he was involved in a strong arm robbery or something equally nefarious. That’s all he needed, for his father to point out that Arthur had hired a wanted criminal. Arthur smirked at the thought.
The wind-up alarm clock ticked away the seconds remaining until dawn. At three o’clock in the morning, they were too numerous for Arthur to count.
He padded barefoot across the kitchen floor, triggering the soft glow of motion-sensitive lighting to illuminate his way. He opened the refrigerator door and selected a water bottle from behind Morgana’s smoothie concoction that was made from seaweed and tasted even worse.
After he chugged half the water bottle down, he returned to bed, the lights dimming automatically in his wake.
***
Merlin checked his mobile phone a dozen times on his way home, making certain that he had secured the contact information for every member of The Knights, complete with passwords and encryptions that would keep it safe from Mordred’s prying eyes. Keeping them secret made him feel safe, like he had some control of the whirlwind that was his life since his mother’s death.
He had never meant to get involved with Mordred. With his mother dead, his Ealdorian childhood home had become strangely unfamiliar. The time was right for a move. He had met Mordred on his first night in the city. Naïve, and not a little bit nervous, he hooked up with the first man who could provide a roof over his head. He knew it was a mistake, but he had no other options. He sold his guitar, his equipment, the dream of becoming a musician was dead to him now. He couldn’t stand the sound of the radio on most days, since Mordred had come into his life. Maybe that could change someday soon.
He reached the gate and felt for the latch that allowed him entry to the walkway. Checking for wayward skunks or raccoons, he passed through the narrow entrance to the door and fitted his key into the slot. The hall light illuminated the stairway. Merlin passed by the doorways of the tenement residents, the smells of their cooking and sounds of their voices as they lived and loved in the city spilled out into Merlin’s path.
He took the stairs slowly to the second floor, the third, and pausing for a few moments to gather himself before he ascended to the fourth. Breathing heavily, he inserted his key and opened the door to find Mordred busy at the stove.
“Ah,” Mordred turned to face Merlin. “The birthday boy has finally returned home.”
“Beltane,” Merlin nodded before placing a kiss on Mordred’s lips. “I had nearly forgotten.”
“Yes, Beltane,” Mordred said. “Sit. Eat.”
Merlin pulled out a chair and sat while Mordred doled the mass of pasta and vegetables onto his plate.
“Wine?” Mordred asked, pouring what he knew to be Merlin’s favourite white varietal straight from the bottle.
The wine helped, Merlin thought, taking a sip to wash down the asparagus. He longed for a time when he could feel loose and relaxed, able to say anything without it being held against him later. To be accepted for all his quirks and shortcomings, without the feeling that he was incurring a huge debt that he’d have to someday repay.
“I have something else for you,” Mordred said, when they were nearly done eating, the fluorescent kitchen light making his eyes glow amber.
“You do?” Merlin said, slurring his words, despite taking only tiny sips of the wine.
“I know you want me to make you mine,” Mordred smiled. “I know you want to belong to me in every way.”
Merlin’s mother had always taught him to be appreciative, so he obeyed his instinct, effusive in his appreciation. “What do you have in mind? Some kind of surprise for me?”
“What else could you possibly hope for?” Mordred replied. “A boy in your situation. No mother to look after you. No job to look after yourself. You’re nothing, no one without me. I’ll own you, Emrys.”
All of a sudden Merlin felt very tired. He vaguely believed that Mordred was going to present him with a piece of jewellery, a ring, maybe.
“Mordred? What have you done?” Merlin slumped over the table and eyed his wine glass.
“Nothing you’ll regret later,” Mordred replied.
Merlin barely remembered his pants being pushed down and the slice of the razor blade against his skin.
But there was music.
Somewhere in the back of his drug-addled mind, there was song.
Music… when he remembered Arthur and tomorrow’s practice at the garage.
***
Drums thumped, cymbals clinked and clanged, and the squelch of feedback squealed from the amplifiers.
Elyan and Leon got a good riff going, each arpeggio of fingers on strings building upon each other until the notes blended almost orgasmically, drowning out the sound of Arthur and Gwaine’s voices.
Arthur scowled. Gwaine’s hair bounced attractively with each angry utterance. They waved their arms and shouted, put their hands on their hips and stared red-faced at each other, and eventually folded their arms across their chests and turned their backs on each other.
Leon’s bass had the last word when he plucked a high C before dropping the instrument so it swung long and loose from its strap.
“There’s the man,” Leon said, gesturing to Merlin, as he rolled beneath the corrugated door, arriving in the garage like a whirling dervish.
“I told you he’d show up, Princess,” Gwaine jabbed Arthur in the chest with a finger.
“Uh, hi guys,” Merlin said, gingerly getting to his feet.
“It’s about time,” Arthur said, taking a few steps toward him.
“Sorry, I didn’t think I was late,” Merlin said. “Gwaine said six o’clock, yeah?”
Arthur turned to Gwaine, who simply shrugged in response.
“No matter. You’re here now,” said Arthur. “You can start by going over our play lists and sorting out which instruments belong to which musician.”
“I’ve done some research,” said Merlin. He ambled over to the table where Arthur stood, and removed the satchel from his shoulder.
“Are you limping, Merlin?” Arthur asked.
“It’s nothing,” Merlin said quickly, spreading out the schematic for the Avalon Theatre so the band members could gather around to see what he had done.
Arthur’s finger followed Merlin’s hand-drawn blocking notations for where the musicians might travel across the stage and what lighting suggestions for each performer might work best. He already had a list of favoured instruments that he had apparently acquired on his own from each band mate. Everything seemed to be neatly chronicled in a loose-leaf binder with pocket tabs and post it notes affixed to the important parts where Merlin had scribbled questions in longhand.
“You’ve done your homework,” smiled Gwaine, patting Merlin on the back.
Arthur noticed Merlin wince uncomfortably before continuing to explain his diagrams and ask the pertinent questions. Arthur leaned back from the table, suddenly feeling that he had little to say.
The band mates laughed and seemed to embrace Merlin like a long lost brother. In just Merlin’s first live meeting with the full band, things were going well. Perhaps too well, thought Arthur when he felt the vibration of his mobile in his pocket.
“Yes father,” Arthur replied, walking toward the loading dock door.
“But,” Arthur interjected.
“No,” Arthur complained.
“I’ll never approve of them,” Arthur threatened.
“Yes, father,” Arthur relented, before shoving the phone back into his pocket, wishing he’d never taken the call. He walked back to the table, where the men were still animated in conversation.
“Something wrong?” asked Gwaine.
“That was my father. He’s hired an opening band for the Round Table Tour. It’s The Black Zigzags.”
