Amped - Part 19
Nov. 19th, 2011 11:37 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!
Merlin felt sick. Any plans to confidently sum up his and Mordred’s relationship, and the many reasons for its demise, flew out the window along with the smoke from his destroyed belongings.
The sting of fire-dust hung low near the floor, coating every surface with a fine layer of ash as it settled.
Merlin was crushed. He sat on his haunches in front of the grate, trying to piece together any tatters of paper that hadn’t had their writing obliterated by the wave of destruction.
His hands shook.
“All my things,” he cried. “Why did you burn all my things?”
The answer was unimportant, but the question had to be asked, as if the asking would allow some gap for a reasonable explanation to seep through.
From his knees, he didn’t see Mordred’s expression, but he heard his cold laugh as he hovered over him.
“You think you’re better than me, Emrys,” Mordred said.
Tears came to Merlin’s eyes as he dropped the shards of burnt paper and raised his chin, his eyes traveling from Mordred’s boots up his long legs to where he stood with his hands on his hips.
“I’ll beat you every time,” Mordred said.
Merlin’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak. He licked his lips, trying to form words that expressed his rage, but there was only sorrow.
He wished to hell that he hadn’t ordered that second pint with Gwaine and Elyan. Maybe then, he could think with a clearer head.
Somewhere in the tenement, music was playing. Merlin was only vaguely aware of the tune, but the strains of instrumentation urged him into action. It was time to abandon the articles in the fire grate. There was no hope for restoring any of it now.
He needed to cry. He needed to find Arthur. Arthur would know how to make this right.
Merlin looked away from Mordred. He righted himself by gripping onto an old overstuffed chair, its springs worn through into the cushions.
As he stood, he remembered the scarf that he kept in his bedside table. Perhaps some good could come of this ill-fated trip to the flat, even if it was only a scrap of fabric, the memento of his mother’s love.
In three quick steps, he was inside the bedroom. He dove toward the drawer. He barely registered the feeling of Mordred’s arms tackling his legs as he yanked the drawer open.
Crashing to the floor, with Mordred still on him, he tugged the fabric into his hands. He was surprised that it was intact and just as he remembered it, since everything else had been destroyed. Before he had a chance to relish the small victory, Mordred snatched the cloth away from him.
“No,” Merlin cried. “Give it back to me!”
Mordred’s eyes flashed fire. “I’ll give it to you,” he shouted.
Before Merlin knew what was happening, Mordred had wrapped the scarf around Merlin’s neck. Merlin gasped for air as Mordred tightened his hold.
Merlin kicked at Mordred’s legs, tried anything to get himself free, but Mordred wouldn’t let go. He tugged on the scarf, raising Merlin’s head above the floor before slamming it down again and again. After what seemed like minutes, Merlin took advantage of a space when Mordred paused to catch his breath. He wrestled himself away from his grasp and crawled into the kitchen.
Inch by inch, he moved along the floor. He felt the cool pulse of blood on the back of his head as he slid along the linoleum, headed for the door.
He nearly made it, when Mordred was on him again, this time gripping at his hips. Between Merlin’s forward motion and Mordred’s gripping hands, his jeans became tugged down, exposing his arse to Mordred’s whims.
Merlin tried to get his knees under him, but the slippery floor didn’t help matters.
Mordred got to his feet and kicked Merlin’s knees apart. He began to laugh.
Merlin continued his excruciatingly slow crawl for the door, finally reaching it and collapsing in the hallway.
“I don’t even want to fuck you! You make me sick!” Mordred shouted as he locked the door behind him.
Merlin didn’t know how long he lay there gasping and bleeding on the floor of the dirty hallway, but he finally managed to get down the stairs.
He began to walk.
***
Arthur tossed and turned.
He thought back to the previous evening when he slipped into bed beside Merlin’s sleeping body. It had been ages since Arthur had spent the night with someone. Sure, he got laid plenty of times, but there was something about that shared intimacy of sleeping in each other’s space that he craved, once he had Merlin to remind him of it.
The ticking clock told him it was after midnight.
He picked up his mobile and tapped out Merlin’s number, just to make sure he got to Gwaine and Elyan’s alright, and he didn’t need Arthur to wait up to let him in. When Merlin didn’t pick up, Arthur smiled. They must still be at the pub, Arthur thought. He was going to give him some shit about it tomorrow for sure.
Arthur grabbed a pillow and rolled it under the covers. He flung his arms over the mass of sheathed down, inhaling the Merlin smell that was left on the pillow after last night.
He soon fell asleep, dreaming of the lands they could conquer together.
The bells rang out from the heights of the tallest towers of Camelot and echoed through the village squares in every corner of the kingdom. Uther was dead and now Arthur’s coronation ceremony had been complete.
Everywhere in the land, children danced and the inhabitants rejoiced. A new day had dawned.
No sooner had Geoffrey placed the crown upon his head and the sceptre in his hand, had Arthur declared that Camelot and the kingdom he ruled would be a safe haven for those who practiced magic.
Arthur strode through the gallery and clasped Old Gaius’s shoulder. He felt certain that Gaius thought he’d never live to see the day. Perhaps only he truly knew where Arthur disappeared to as soon as the proclamation was made.
Deep in the dungeon below Camelot’s main floors, Arthur’s cloak skimmed along the ground behind him. He knew exactly how many steps it was from his chambers to a certain dungeon cell, one he visited every night since his father had condemned his manservant to imprisonment. Although the penalty had been death for the practicing of sorcery, Arthur had begged for Merlin’s life. It was a small measure of success that Merlin was not burned on the pyre, but instead was imprisoned beneath the castle.
Guards cleared the way before him and had already unlocked Merlin’s cell when he arrived.
Merlin had been sitting on his cot, waiting for Arthur to walk through the dungeon’s gate. He stood when Arthur approached, his eyes crinkled with joy in the torchlight.
“My king,” he said, over and over while Arthur embraced him, his hands buried in his hair.
“You’re free now, Merlin,” Arthur said, and with that he dropped to his knees and kissed Merlin’s hands.
“You’re free now, Merlin… free now…” Arthur awoke in a sweaty tangle of sheets. He had a dream. Another dream about Merlin.
He craned his neck to look at the clock. Two in the morning.
He grabbed his mobile and rang Merlin again, wondering if the dream was some kind of premonition, wondering if Merlin was in danger. He had a bad feeling about just this when the call went unanswered. He didn’t care what time it was, he dialled Gwaine.
By the fourth ring, he thought for sure it was going to go to voicemail, but he was relieved to hear Gwaine’s voice.
“Hi Gwaine, I know this probably sounds like I’m being a gigantic girl, but is Merlin with you?”
“No mate, I thought he’d be at your place. He left us at the pub hours ago. Said he had something to do,” Gwaine said.
“He did? Do you know where he was headed?” Arthur asked.
“He didn’t say. I’m sure he’s fine. He didn’t have more than two pints in him. He said he’d see us tomorrow,” Gwaine said.
“Well he’s not here,” Arthur said. “I’m going to go looking for him.”
“Do you want any help? I can check back at the pub or head over to the warehouse?” Gwaine asked.
Arthur could tell by the shuffling noises that Gwaine was getting dressed as he spoke. “Yes, that would be great. I know of another place he may be. I’ll head there now. Call me right away if you find him.”
In no time, Arthur was backing the Smart Car out of the garage.
***
Arthur knew exactly where he was headed. Thankfully, Merlin had accepted a ride home from him before. He shuddered to think if he hadn’t known where Merlin had lived with Mordred. How would he begin to find Merlin then?
He cursed the red light at the end of the street for slowing his progress.
If Mordred did anything to Merlin, he’d be furious.
He turned onto the main road that left his residential Camelot neighbourhood. There was no traffic on the roads at this hour, and no activity on the streets. That’s why when he saw the shadow of a man walking down the sidewalk, he brought the Smart Car to a screeching halt.
“Merlin?” Arthur called and climbed out of the car.
“Arthur?” Merlin said, his voice ragged.
Arthur stumbled up the curb to meet him, embracing Merlin who seemed to be none worse for wear, Arthur thought. He had to be exhausted at this hour. He didn’t seem drunk.
“Merlin, what happened? You were supposed to be with Gwaine and Elyan. Have you been to see Mordred? Why didn’t you call me?” Arthur couldn’t get the questions out fast enough.
“I would have, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry, I would have if I had my mobile.”
Merlin looked at the Smart Car.
“Can you take me to your house?” Merlin asked. “Please?” he added.
“Of course,” Arthur said.
Arthur held the door open for Merlin to enter. He noticed that Merlin wasn’t carrying his ever-present satchel of belongings. He figured he’d have time to ask about it later. Right now he just wanted to get Merlin home.
Uther and Morgana had long been asleep. Arthur was grateful that his bedroom lay at the opposite end of the house from them.
He quietly led Merlin through the kitchen and up the stairs. When the light illuminated Arthur’s room, he finally got a good look at Merlin.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his fingers gingerly touching Merlin’s scalp where the blood had dried into an unsightly mat.
“I got into a bit of a fight,” Merlin said.
“And you’re limping, is that explained by the fight too?” Arthur asked.
“No,” Merlin said. “I walked. I was walking to your house. It’s all I could do under the circumstances. Do you think I could use your shower now? ” Merlin asked.
“Go ahead,” Arthur said. “But we’re going to put some ice on that knot you’ve got on your head, and I want to know more about where you’ve been, when you’re through.”
Arthur knew he sounded like a parent scolding a petulant child, but he didn’t care. He was concerned about Merlin’s welfare, not to mention that he was just a little in love with him.
He grabbed an extra pair of sleep pants and a T-Shirt that would probably be two sizes too large for Merlin’s narrow frame and sent Merlin into the bathroom.
The water was still running when he returned to his bedroom with some ice cubes wrapped in a tea towel, a couple bottles of water, and yesterday’s leftover tortellini salad with two forks.
He put his things on the bed and knocked softly on the bathroom door.
There was no answer except for the running water.
Arthur turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Merlin?”
He could hear Merlin’s sobs echoing faintly off the shower walls.
Arthur took a deep breath.
“Merlin, come on. It’s time to get out now,” Arthur said.
Merlin turned the water off.
“I know,” he said, stifling a sob. “I’m sorry.”
“Here,” Arthur said. “I’ve got a towel for you.”
Merlin slid the shower curtain open.
Arthur swallowed hard. He held the towel open so Merlin could step into it. When he did, Arthur wrapped him in the warm softness.
They stood there for a moment, Arthur patting his back dry before he wrapped the towel around Merlin’s waist and tucked it into a loose knot below his navel.
“Come on now,” Arthur said. “Let’s talk about this.”
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!
Merlin felt sick. Any plans to confidently sum up his and Mordred’s relationship, and the many reasons for its demise, flew out the window along with the smoke from his destroyed belongings.
The sting of fire-dust hung low near the floor, coating every surface with a fine layer of ash as it settled.
Merlin was crushed. He sat on his haunches in front of the grate, trying to piece together any tatters of paper that hadn’t had their writing obliterated by the wave of destruction.
His hands shook.
“All my things,” he cried. “Why did you burn all my things?”
The answer was unimportant, but the question had to be asked, as if the asking would allow some gap for a reasonable explanation to seep through.
From his knees, he didn’t see Mordred’s expression, but he heard his cold laugh as he hovered over him.
“You think you’re better than me, Emrys,” Mordred said.
Tears came to Merlin’s eyes as he dropped the shards of burnt paper and raised his chin, his eyes traveling from Mordred’s boots up his long legs to where he stood with his hands on his hips.
“I’ll beat you every time,” Mordred said.
Merlin’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak. He licked his lips, trying to form words that expressed his rage, but there was only sorrow.
He wished to hell that he hadn’t ordered that second pint with Gwaine and Elyan. Maybe then, he could think with a clearer head.
Somewhere in the tenement, music was playing. Merlin was only vaguely aware of the tune, but the strains of instrumentation urged him into action. It was time to abandon the articles in the fire grate. There was no hope for restoring any of it now.
He needed to cry. He needed to find Arthur. Arthur would know how to make this right.
Merlin looked away from Mordred. He righted himself by gripping onto an old overstuffed chair, its springs worn through into the cushions.
As he stood, he remembered the scarf that he kept in his bedside table. Perhaps some good could come of this ill-fated trip to the flat, even if it was only a scrap of fabric, the memento of his mother’s love.
In three quick steps, he was inside the bedroom. He dove toward the drawer. He barely registered the feeling of Mordred’s arms tackling his legs as he yanked the drawer open.
Crashing to the floor, with Mordred still on him, he tugged the fabric into his hands. He was surprised that it was intact and just as he remembered it, since everything else had been destroyed. Before he had a chance to relish the small victory, Mordred snatched the cloth away from him.
“No,” Merlin cried. “Give it back to me!”
Mordred’s eyes flashed fire. “I’ll give it to you,” he shouted.
Before Merlin knew what was happening, Mordred had wrapped the scarf around Merlin’s neck. Merlin gasped for air as Mordred tightened his hold.
Merlin kicked at Mordred’s legs, tried anything to get himself free, but Mordred wouldn’t let go. He tugged on the scarf, raising Merlin’s head above the floor before slamming it down again and again. After what seemed like minutes, Merlin took advantage of a space when Mordred paused to catch his breath. He wrestled himself away from his grasp and crawled into the kitchen.
Inch by inch, he moved along the floor. He felt the cool pulse of blood on the back of his head as he slid along the linoleum, headed for the door.
He nearly made it, when Mordred was on him again, this time gripping at his hips. Between Merlin’s forward motion and Mordred’s gripping hands, his jeans became tugged down, exposing his arse to Mordred’s whims.
Merlin tried to get his knees under him, but the slippery floor didn’t help matters.
Mordred got to his feet and kicked Merlin’s knees apart. He began to laugh.
Merlin continued his excruciatingly slow crawl for the door, finally reaching it and collapsing in the hallway.
“I don’t even want to fuck you! You make me sick!” Mordred shouted as he locked the door behind him.
Merlin didn’t know how long he lay there gasping and bleeding on the floor of the dirty hallway, but he finally managed to get down the stairs.
He began to walk.
***
Arthur tossed and turned.
He thought back to the previous evening when he slipped into bed beside Merlin’s sleeping body. It had been ages since Arthur had spent the night with someone. Sure, he got laid plenty of times, but there was something about that shared intimacy of sleeping in each other’s space that he craved, once he had Merlin to remind him of it.
The ticking clock told him it was after midnight.
He picked up his mobile and tapped out Merlin’s number, just to make sure he got to Gwaine and Elyan’s alright, and he didn’t need Arthur to wait up to let him in. When Merlin didn’t pick up, Arthur smiled. They must still be at the pub, Arthur thought. He was going to give him some shit about it tomorrow for sure.
Arthur grabbed a pillow and rolled it under the covers. He flung his arms over the mass of sheathed down, inhaling the Merlin smell that was left on the pillow after last night.
He soon fell asleep, dreaming of the lands they could conquer together.
The bells rang out from the heights of the tallest towers of Camelot and echoed through the village squares in every corner of the kingdom. Uther was dead and now Arthur’s coronation ceremony had been complete.
Everywhere in the land, children danced and the inhabitants rejoiced. A new day had dawned.
No sooner had Geoffrey placed the crown upon his head and the sceptre in his hand, had Arthur declared that Camelot and the kingdom he ruled would be a safe haven for those who practiced magic.
Arthur strode through the gallery and clasped Old Gaius’s shoulder. He felt certain that Gaius thought he’d never live to see the day. Perhaps only he truly knew where Arthur disappeared to as soon as the proclamation was made.
Deep in the dungeon below Camelot’s main floors, Arthur’s cloak skimmed along the ground behind him. He knew exactly how many steps it was from his chambers to a certain dungeon cell, one he visited every night since his father had condemned his manservant to imprisonment. Although the penalty had been death for the practicing of sorcery, Arthur had begged for Merlin’s life. It was a small measure of success that Merlin was not burned on the pyre, but instead was imprisoned beneath the castle.
Guards cleared the way before him and had already unlocked Merlin’s cell when he arrived.
Merlin had been sitting on his cot, waiting for Arthur to walk through the dungeon’s gate. He stood when Arthur approached, his eyes crinkled with joy in the torchlight.
“My king,” he said, over and over while Arthur embraced him, his hands buried in his hair.
“You’re free now, Merlin,” Arthur said, and with that he dropped to his knees and kissed Merlin’s hands.
“You’re free now, Merlin… free now…” Arthur awoke in a sweaty tangle of sheets. He had a dream. Another dream about Merlin.
He craned his neck to look at the clock. Two in the morning.
He grabbed his mobile and rang Merlin again, wondering if the dream was some kind of premonition, wondering if Merlin was in danger. He had a bad feeling about just this when the call went unanswered. He didn’t care what time it was, he dialled Gwaine.
By the fourth ring, he thought for sure it was going to go to voicemail, but he was relieved to hear Gwaine’s voice.
“Hi Gwaine, I know this probably sounds like I’m being a gigantic girl, but is Merlin with you?”
“No mate, I thought he’d be at your place. He left us at the pub hours ago. Said he had something to do,” Gwaine said.
“He did? Do you know where he was headed?” Arthur asked.
“He didn’t say. I’m sure he’s fine. He didn’t have more than two pints in him. He said he’d see us tomorrow,” Gwaine said.
“Well he’s not here,” Arthur said. “I’m going to go looking for him.”
“Do you want any help? I can check back at the pub or head over to the warehouse?” Gwaine asked.
Arthur could tell by the shuffling noises that Gwaine was getting dressed as he spoke. “Yes, that would be great. I know of another place he may be. I’ll head there now. Call me right away if you find him.”
In no time, Arthur was backing the Smart Car out of the garage.
***
Arthur knew exactly where he was headed. Thankfully, Merlin had accepted a ride home from him before. He shuddered to think if he hadn’t known where Merlin had lived with Mordred. How would he begin to find Merlin then?
He cursed the red light at the end of the street for slowing his progress.
If Mordred did anything to Merlin, he’d be furious.
He turned onto the main road that left his residential Camelot neighbourhood. There was no traffic on the roads at this hour, and no activity on the streets. That’s why when he saw the shadow of a man walking down the sidewalk, he brought the Smart Car to a screeching halt.
“Merlin?” Arthur called and climbed out of the car.
“Arthur?” Merlin said, his voice ragged.
Arthur stumbled up the curb to meet him, embracing Merlin who seemed to be none worse for wear, Arthur thought. He had to be exhausted at this hour. He didn’t seem drunk.
“Merlin, what happened? You were supposed to be with Gwaine and Elyan. Have you been to see Mordred? Why didn’t you call me?” Arthur couldn’t get the questions out fast enough.
“I would have, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry, I would have if I had my mobile.”
Merlin looked at the Smart Car.
“Can you take me to your house?” Merlin asked. “Please?” he added.
“Of course,” Arthur said.
Arthur held the door open for Merlin to enter. He noticed that Merlin wasn’t carrying his ever-present satchel of belongings. He figured he’d have time to ask about it later. Right now he just wanted to get Merlin home.
Uther and Morgana had long been asleep. Arthur was grateful that his bedroom lay at the opposite end of the house from them.
He quietly led Merlin through the kitchen and up the stairs. When the light illuminated Arthur’s room, he finally got a good look at Merlin.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his fingers gingerly touching Merlin’s scalp where the blood had dried into an unsightly mat.
“I got into a bit of a fight,” Merlin said.
“And you’re limping, is that explained by the fight too?” Arthur asked.
“No,” Merlin said. “I walked. I was walking to your house. It’s all I could do under the circumstances. Do you think I could use your shower now? ” Merlin asked.
“Go ahead,” Arthur said. “But we’re going to put some ice on that knot you’ve got on your head, and I want to know more about where you’ve been, when you’re through.”
Arthur knew he sounded like a parent scolding a petulant child, but he didn’t care. He was concerned about Merlin’s welfare, not to mention that he was just a little in love with him.
He grabbed an extra pair of sleep pants and a T-Shirt that would probably be two sizes too large for Merlin’s narrow frame and sent Merlin into the bathroom.
The water was still running when he returned to his bedroom with some ice cubes wrapped in a tea towel, a couple bottles of water, and yesterday’s leftover tortellini salad with two forks.
He put his things on the bed and knocked softly on the bathroom door.
There was no answer except for the running water.
Arthur turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Merlin?”
He could hear Merlin’s sobs echoing faintly off the shower walls.
Arthur took a deep breath.
“Merlin, come on. It’s time to get out now,” Arthur said.
Merlin turned the water off.
“I know,” he said, stifling a sob. “I’m sorry.”
“Here,” Arthur said. “I’ve got a towel for you.”
Merlin slid the shower curtain open.
Arthur swallowed hard. He held the towel open so Merlin could step into it. When he did, Arthur wrapped him in the warm softness.
They stood there for a moment, Arthur patting his back dry before he wrapped the towel around Merlin’s waist and tucked it into a loose knot below his navel.
“Come on now,” Arthur said. “Let’s talk about this.”
