Amped - Part 4
Nov. 4th, 2011 11:09 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!
“Fuck, yeah! Black Zigzags!” Percival shouted, beating on the table with his ever-present pair of wooden drumsticks.
Merlin laughed nervously when Leon scowled at Percival. He punched his partner in the arm, a strike that could do no damage, no matter how much weight he put behind it.
“You guys had better be good,” Merlin said with a grin. “The Black Zigzags are sick.”
Gwaine put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We are so screwed,” Gwaine said. “There goes four years of Musicology, down the tubes.” He shoved Merlin playfully.
Arthur took two steps toward Gwaine. “What do you mean by that, Gwaine?” he asked, his voice calculated and raw, his hands perched on his hips.
Merlin watched Arthur’s jaw clench in the stagnant air of the warehouse that they had converted into rehearsal space. The vein that ran vertically between Arthur’s right eye and his hairline grew as expansive as a mole tunnel.
“Well it’s obvious that they’ll upstage us,” Gwaine said. “It doesn’t matter if we plan for The Round Table Tour to continue all summer. Once the Black Zigzags show up on the scene, they’ll take all the media with them- the record producers, the magazine editors, along with the fans… our fans.”
“We have fans?” Merlin asked Gwaine under his breath.
“You look worried,” Arthur said, taking a step toward Merlin. “Are you worried that the Black Zigzags will upstage us as well?”
“Whoa,” Merlin said, his hands in the air. “Far be it for me to question whether you’re as talented as Cenred. But the Black Zigzags won every Battle of the Bands when they were in High School for four years running.”
“I’ve heard they got an offer from a record company, but they only wanted Morgause,” Elyan said.
“That’s true,” Percy added. “I think they wanted her on the kit for a chick band. Of course as any self-respecting drummer would do, she told them to fuck off.”
“Well, we’ve got a problem, men,” Arthur said, tapping the schedule for The Round Table Tour that Merlin had so thoughtfully assembled. “The tour is set to begin the first week of June, when the schools let out for the summer recess. If the Black Zigzags lure their fans into supporting their tour, there’ll be no Round Table Tour after the first night, maybe the second night, if we’re lucky.”
“Can’t you do something about your old man?” Gwaine asked. “This is shite. Why is he putting the screws to us?”
“Shut it,” Lancelot said. “You’re not the only one who has their future riding on this tour.”
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. The scraped flesh on his hip burned against the fabric of his jeans. He wondered if the cuts had started to bleed again. The tension between the band members was making his head ache.
“It’s not always all about you, Gwaine,” Arthur said. “We must practice as best we can, so when opening night comes, we’re ready and we’re better than the Black Zigzags have ever been. It’s our only chance. Now, are you with me?”
“With you!” every man shouted, the echo reverberating off the walls and rattling the cymbals and the corrugated garage door.
Merlin stepped back as he watched the display of the men pledging their allegiance to Arthur and the band. If he had ever given a second thought as to whether the time was right for him to get involved with music again, the answer was there in the sweaty sheen of Arthur’s hair and in the microphone he held aloft.
“Let’s take a tenner and then start from the top of the play list,” Arthur said. “Don’t go far. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
***
Merlin looked over the papers and kept himself available for the bandmates to ask questions about the folders and sheaf of paper he had brought with him to begin his organizational work. When they seemed satisfied with his answers and had wandered off to attend to their instruments or had stood outside the garage door to check their mobiles for missed messages and the latest news, Merlin headed for the loo.
He tried desperately to not call attention to himself by walking funny because, to be honest, he was fucking embarrassed. Although he had only just met these guys, he felt pretty sure that they’d wonder why the fuck he would have let his boyfriend mar his skin like he did.
He knew Mordred meant well, but couldn’t he have just brought home some flowers or taken him to a film, instead of taking a razor to his skin?
All in all, it wasn’t that bad, he told himself. He actually sort of thought he could learn to like it. He imagined what it would be like to tell friends how he got the image as a gift for his twenty-fifth birthday. He had no reason to think it would seem odd or unseemly, despite the fact that Mordred had to get him intoxicated before he proposed the action. Merlin had convinced himself it was a good thing. It was a gift. It showed that someone cared about him.
Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he wasn’t so sure he could be as convincing as he thought.
He dragged his cock out of his jeans and took a piss before having a quick look around to make sure no one was about.
Running his tongue over the place where his split lip had healed over, he turned so his left side was visible in the mirror.
He hooked his thumb into the waistband and tugged the material away from his skin. The sharp sting of air against the raw flesh made him bite down on the inside of his cheek.
The sounds of the guys working on the seemingly endless tuning and re-tuning of their guitars, coupled by Percy’s sudden and unpredictable bursts into a drum solo at random moments, masked the sound of footsteps as they approached the loo.
Merlin watched the image of himself in the mirror, the door behind him, while he sneaked a glance at the five lines carved into his skin.
The mark was as big as a child’s hand, the lines touching at their five apexes where they joined, forming a star, a pentagram, as Mordred had called it.
The scar had barely bled, but the fine crimson lines had turned red and now appeared to be turning white at the centre of each one.
Just then, the loo door swung open and Merlin caught Arthur’s eyes in the mirror. He tugged his jeans up and tried to act nonchalant on his way to wash his hands in the sink.
“Everything alright?” asked Arthur.
Merlin could swear that Arthur’s eyes had swiftly raked across the exposed skin before he had covered himself. He could only hope that he wouldn’t ask about what he may have seen.
“Just great,” Merlin managed a smile.
“We’ll be getting started in just a minute.”
Merlin escaped out the loo door before Arthur had time to open his zipper.
***
Four hours later, Arthur jumped from the loading dock onto the creviced blacktop of the alley. He thought the practice had gone well, despite the disturbing news he received about the Black Zigzags. He hoped that his mates would be able to rise to the challenge presented by the drumming diva and her… what was Cenred? Her brother? Her lover? Her employee? Arthur shook his head. Damned if he knew.
The Smart Car purred to life and Arthur shifted it into gear. He slowly accelerated through the alley, avoiding rubbish bins and parked cars, easy to do in a vehicle that he could barely fit into. The car was his father’s idea-something that would make him look fiscally and environmentally responsible, no doubt.
He sounded the horn’s pitiful beep when he passed the dock. Leon waved goodnight with a cigarette in his hand as he leaned against the metal railing, waiting with his bass for Percival to bring the car around.
When Arthur turned onto the main road, he caught a glimpse of a familiar loping figure, as Merlin made his way home.
“You’ll not get away that easily,” Arthur muttered aloud.
He sped up and pulled alongside Merlin whilst he gingerly walked.
“There’s definitely something odd about you, Merlin,” he said before rolling down his window.
“Hey,” Arthur called to Merlin. “Can you help me find my lost puppy?”
Merlin leaned onto the car’s frame and poked his face through the window. “Sorry, mate. My mother warned me about getting into cars with strangers.”
Arthur couldn’t help but grin. “Can I give you a lift?”
Merlin stood upright and scanned the road. For what, Arthur wasn’t sure.
“Not tonight, mate,” Merlin said, his teeth biting down on the tip of his tongue, as if he was considering a different answer. “I’m all set.”
“Alright then,” Arthur said, swallowing hard. “Have a safe trip.”
“You too,” Merlin said. He rapped his knuckles on the yellow car door and crossed the road.
Arthur watched him disappear in the side mirror, as he drove, his thin body braced against the chilly night.
In sequence, the Pendragon’s lights illuminated the driveway when Arthur pulled in. He waited for the automatic garage door to allow the Smart Car inside, where Arthur nestled the vehicle between the Vauxhall Vectra and Morgana’s Prius.
Upstairs in his room, he untied his trainers and kicked them off. He considered just going to sleep, but there was something he needed to take care of first. Grabbing a towel from the doorknob, he headed for the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go. While the steam billowed from above the shower stall, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the hamper. He undid his jeans and shoved them down and whilst he stood in front of the mirror, he remembered what he had seen earlier in the loo when Merlin was taking his time getting back to the practice.
“What the hell was that?” he mused aloud, sliding a hand over his own bare hip where the marks had been on Merlin.
He remembered that Merlin’s eyes looked like he had been up to something, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
Arthur let his hand slide across his stomach, reaching down to squeeze his balls, while his half-hard cock vied for his attention. He stepped into the shower and grabbed the lotion, squirting a dollop of it into his hand. The rivulets of hot water ran through his hair, dripping from his eyelashes, from his nose, his lips.
With his left hand braced against the shower wall, his right hand stripped his cock. It wasn’t the hot steam or the slick friction that sent him over the edge, but the image of the boy with the scarred pale skin.
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!
“Fuck, yeah! Black Zigzags!” Percival shouted, beating on the table with his ever-present pair of wooden drumsticks.
Merlin laughed nervously when Leon scowled at Percival. He punched his partner in the arm, a strike that could do no damage, no matter how much weight he put behind it.
“You guys had better be good,” Merlin said with a grin. “The Black Zigzags are sick.”
Gwaine put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We are so screwed,” Gwaine said. “There goes four years of Musicology, down the tubes.” He shoved Merlin playfully.
Arthur took two steps toward Gwaine. “What do you mean by that, Gwaine?” he asked, his voice calculated and raw, his hands perched on his hips.
Merlin watched Arthur’s jaw clench in the stagnant air of the warehouse that they had converted into rehearsal space. The vein that ran vertically between Arthur’s right eye and his hairline grew as expansive as a mole tunnel.
“Well it’s obvious that they’ll upstage us,” Gwaine said. “It doesn’t matter if we plan for The Round Table Tour to continue all summer. Once the Black Zigzags show up on the scene, they’ll take all the media with them- the record producers, the magazine editors, along with the fans… our fans.”
“We have fans?” Merlin asked Gwaine under his breath.
“You look worried,” Arthur said, taking a step toward Merlin. “Are you worried that the Black Zigzags will upstage us as well?”
“Whoa,” Merlin said, his hands in the air. “Far be it for me to question whether you’re as talented as Cenred. But the Black Zigzags won every Battle of the Bands when they were in High School for four years running.”
“I’ve heard they got an offer from a record company, but they only wanted Morgause,” Elyan said.
“That’s true,” Percy added. “I think they wanted her on the kit for a chick band. Of course as any self-respecting drummer would do, she told them to fuck off.”
“Well, we’ve got a problem, men,” Arthur said, tapping the schedule for The Round Table Tour that Merlin had so thoughtfully assembled. “The tour is set to begin the first week of June, when the schools let out for the summer recess. If the Black Zigzags lure their fans into supporting their tour, there’ll be no Round Table Tour after the first night, maybe the second night, if we’re lucky.”
“Can’t you do something about your old man?” Gwaine asked. “This is shite. Why is he putting the screws to us?”
“Shut it,” Lancelot said. “You’re not the only one who has their future riding on this tour.”
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. The scraped flesh on his hip burned against the fabric of his jeans. He wondered if the cuts had started to bleed again. The tension between the band members was making his head ache.
“It’s not always all about you, Gwaine,” Arthur said. “We must practice as best we can, so when opening night comes, we’re ready and we’re better than the Black Zigzags have ever been. It’s our only chance. Now, are you with me?”
“With you!” every man shouted, the echo reverberating off the walls and rattling the cymbals and the corrugated garage door.
Merlin stepped back as he watched the display of the men pledging their allegiance to Arthur and the band. If he had ever given a second thought as to whether the time was right for him to get involved with music again, the answer was there in the sweaty sheen of Arthur’s hair and in the microphone he held aloft.
“Let’s take a tenner and then start from the top of the play list,” Arthur said. “Don’t go far. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
***
Merlin looked over the papers and kept himself available for the bandmates to ask questions about the folders and sheaf of paper he had brought with him to begin his organizational work. When they seemed satisfied with his answers and had wandered off to attend to their instruments or had stood outside the garage door to check their mobiles for missed messages and the latest news, Merlin headed for the loo.
He tried desperately to not call attention to himself by walking funny because, to be honest, he was fucking embarrassed. Although he had only just met these guys, he felt pretty sure that they’d wonder why the fuck he would have let his boyfriend mar his skin like he did.
He knew Mordred meant well, but couldn’t he have just brought home some flowers or taken him to a film, instead of taking a razor to his skin?
All in all, it wasn’t that bad, he told himself. He actually sort of thought he could learn to like it. He imagined what it would be like to tell friends how he got the image as a gift for his twenty-fifth birthday. He had no reason to think it would seem odd or unseemly, despite the fact that Mordred had to get him intoxicated before he proposed the action. Merlin had convinced himself it was a good thing. It was a gift. It showed that someone cared about him.
Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he wasn’t so sure he could be as convincing as he thought.
He dragged his cock out of his jeans and took a piss before having a quick look around to make sure no one was about.
Running his tongue over the place where his split lip had healed over, he turned so his left side was visible in the mirror.
He hooked his thumb into the waistband and tugged the material away from his skin. The sharp sting of air against the raw flesh made him bite down on the inside of his cheek.
The sounds of the guys working on the seemingly endless tuning and re-tuning of their guitars, coupled by Percy’s sudden and unpredictable bursts into a drum solo at random moments, masked the sound of footsteps as they approached the loo.
Merlin watched the image of himself in the mirror, the door behind him, while he sneaked a glance at the five lines carved into his skin.
The mark was as big as a child’s hand, the lines touching at their five apexes where they joined, forming a star, a pentagram, as Mordred had called it.
The scar had barely bled, but the fine crimson lines had turned red and now appeared to be turning white at the centre of each one.
Just then, the loo door swung open and Merlin caught Arthur’s eyes in the mirror. He tugged his jeans up and tried to act nonchalant on his way to wash his hands in the sink.
“Everything alright?” asked Arthur.
Merlin could swear that Arthur’s eyes had swiftly raked across the exposed skin before he had covered himself. He could only hope that he wouldn’t ask about what he may have seen.
“Just great,” Merlin managed a smile.
“We’ll be getting started in just a minute.”
Merlin escaped out the loo door before Arthur had time to open his zipper.
***
Four hours later, Arthur jumped from the loading dock onto the creviced blacktop of the alley. He thought the practice had gone well, despite the disturbing news he received about the Black Zigzags. He hoped that his mates would be able to rise to the challenge presented by the drumming diva and her… what was Cenred? Her brother? Her lover? Her employee? Arthur shook his head. Damned if he knew.
The Smart Car purred to life and Arthur shifted it into gear. He slowly accelerated through the alley, avoiding rubbish bins and parked cars, easy to do in a vehicle that he could barely fit into. The car was his father’s idea-something that would make him look fiscally and environmentally responsible, no doubt.
He sounded the horn’s pitiful beep when he passed the dock. Leon waved goodnight with a cigarette in his hand as he leaned against the metal railing, waiting with his bass for Percival to bring the car around.
When Arthur turned onto the main road, he caught a glimpse of a familiar loping figure, as Merlin made his way home.
“You’ll not get away that easily,” Arthur muttered aloud.
He sped up and pulled alongside Merlin whilst he gingerly walked.
“There’s definitely something odd about you, Merlin,” he said before rolling down his window.
“Hey,” Arthur called to Merlin. “Can you help me find my lost puppy?”
Merlin leaned onto the car’s frame and poked his face through the window. “Sorry, mate. My mother warned me about getting into cars with strangers.”
Arthur couldn’t help but grin. “Can I give you a lift?”
Merlin stood upright and scanned the road. For what, Arthur wasn’t sure.
“Not tonight, mate,” Merlin said, his teeth biting down on the tip of his tongue, as if he was considering a different answer. “I’m all set.”
“Alright then,” Arthur said, swallowing hard. “Have a safe trip.”
“You too,” Merlin said. He rapped his knuckles on the yellow car door and crossed the road.
Arthur watched him disappear in the side mirror, as he drove, his thin body braced against the chilly night.
In sequence, the Pendragon’s lights illuminated the driveway when Arthur pulled in. He waited for the automatic garage door to allow the Smart Car inside, where Arthur nestled the vehicle between the Vauxhall Vectra and Morgana’s Prius.
Upstairs in his room, he untied his trainers and kicked them off. He considered just going to sleep, but there was something he needed to take care of first. Grabbing a towel from the doorknob, he headed for the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go. While the steam billowed from above the shower stall, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the hamper. He undid his jeans and shoved them down and whilst he stood in front of the mirror, he remembered what he had seen earlier in the loo when Merlin was taking his time getting back to the practice.
“What the hell was that?” he mused aloud, sliding a hand over his own bare hip where the marks had been on Merlin.
He remembered that Merlin’s eyes looked like he had been up to something, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
Arthur let his hand slide across his stomach, reaching down to squeeze his balls, while his half-hard cock vied for his attention. He stepped into the shower and grabbed the lotion, squirting a dollop of it into his hand. The rivulets of hot water ran through his hair, dripping from his eyelashes, from his nose, his lips.
With his left hand braced against the shower wall, his right hand stripped his cock. It wasn’t the hot steam or the slick friction that sent him over the edge, but the image of the boy with the scarred pale skin.
