Rheged Part 5
Merlin stilled. His eyes snapped open to meet Arthur’s, hot and feverish blue, and he felt his breath leave him as violently and effectively as a punch in the guts.
“It’s madness,” he bit out. “Arthur…”
Arthur barked a hard, bitter laugh. “It’s destined, Merlin. They’ve waited for us for centuries. Apparently. Its not very polite to drag it out any longer, is it?” Merlin shook his head fiercely, denying, still denying. But it was finally coming to a head. No more jousting. Arthur’s eyes were holding his now effortlessly, like a stoat with a mouse. “Myrthyrn made it crystal clear … all that it means. All that you mean. Now. The future. So. Just as I claimed Camelot, as I claimed Excalibur, I’m claiming you.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken abruptly, heavy with meaning. With power.
Merlin drew a deep, shuddering breath. Because yes, the shocking, visceral knowledge was there in his bones and in his blood, just as Arthur had declared it to be. Merlin belonged to him, was made for him, just as surely as his sword and his father’s kingdom.
“No.” he shook his head dazedly again, “No...” Why did that sound so weak? Arthur’s full lips pushed out to a considering pout but he said nothing as they stood staring at each other and the terrifying silence stretched again. “Don’t I get a say?” Merlin blurted childishly, desperately, at last, nerves shredded.
Arthur’s face softened very slightly, wide mouth quirking into a small, wry, lopsided smile.
“Not really, no.” He said reached out a hand to cup Merlin’s jaw, a first, definitive touch.
Merlin shuddered, and Arthur saw it, taking in his reaction like a hunter judging prey. He seemed to not even consider the possibility that Merlin could easily use magic against him. But then Arthur had demanded that vow from him when he'd made him sorceror to the court. Merlin hadn’t actually admitted to the times he’d used his power to control Arthur, or get back at him, or all the things Dragoon had done, but when they reconciled he’d sworn on his life and his honour never again to use magic against his lord or upon him without his express permission. How could he now break that solemn bond to Arthur? How?
Yet he had to stop this. Somehow, he knew he had to, but he'd had no time, no time to work out tactics, no time to plan. He closed his eyes tight, firmed his jaw.
“We cant… You think I’ll lie down for this?" And his raging frustration burst out of him. "You don’t even want me! God Arthur. Have you ever even lain with a man?“
Arthur’s expression changed with almost comic speed from focussed intensity to the old patented look of utter disbelief, mouth lifted on one side in a sneer of amazed incredulity, the look he used to employ endlessly when he was about to explain the blindingly obvious to his idiot manservant. As if he couldn’t believe anyone could possibly be that dense.
“I’ve been on campaign, you dolt! I’ve patrolled for months at a time. You really think I‘ve never tupped men? Boys?”
Merlin had the feeling that the look he was giving in return was equally familiar to Arthur; he knew he was gaping. But Arthur was absolutely right. That was exactly what he’d thought; he’d just never considered the realities of a soldier’s life, and in his own experience as Arthur’s servant he'd never seen him give another man so much as a second glance. Not even before he fell in love with Gwen.
“But you…I know you!” he persisted with automatic, accusing defensiveness, “You don’t want men!”
“Of course I don’t,” Arthur snapped impatiently, again clearly stating the obvious to the moron. “I mean I don’t …look at them and find them… beautiful or anything.” And Merlin suddenly saw the embarrassment writhing there underneath the familiar sneering front, as clear as paint, because Arthur hadn’t changed that much, for all his apparent comfort with emotion around Gwen. He hated talking about this kind of thing, and that, as ever, manifested itself in impatience, “I don’t want to…hell to … romance them... or ….lie in bed imagining fucking them. I’m a man for women, I know that. But… of course I’ve bedded men, when it was all that was on offer.”
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
“Right,” Merlin said flatly at last, and he thought he probably felt as awkward and exposed as Arthur must feel.
It could hardly have been less romantic. Or more honest. At least he’d been honest.
It was totally the Arthur of old, he thought half-hysterically --Merlin’s Arthur, saying bluntly what was in his head without any idea of the effect on another’s emotions.
But the force of Merlin’s disappointment was bewildering and frightening, considering the fact he’d known all of it before... except for the convenient campaign sex of course. And, he was meant to be resisting, wasn't he?
What had he hoped though, deep down?
That Arthur had harboured some secret desire?
He felt the acid burn of angry shame, souring and stabbing in his gut. It was intolerable.
“So that’s the union you want is it?” he spat then, maddened, arms spread wide in furious, provocative mockery. “That’s it? The one fated for centuries? Meant to last for eternity? You’d have to force yourself to lie with me to even complete the union. And… what…? You’d pretend I’m Gwen? Why?? Why even think to do it? Why betray her for that? And Gwaine…”
Arthur’s hand snapped out, snake quick, and grabbed one of Merlin’s gesticulating arms. He looked beyond furious himself.
“It has nothing to do with want. There’s no betrayal. And I’m not having to force myself to do anything, Merlin. There’s men. And then there’s you.”
Merlin stared at him, mouth half open to protest, completely thrown... he wasn’t a man? No betrayal? But Arthur had apparently had enough of talk and resistance. He reached out impatiently, grabbed the back of Merlin’s head and hauled him close, the other hand sliding under his tunic and up his naked back and then he was right there, mouth on Merlin’s startled lips.
Vaguely Merlin had time to think just this: that Arthur had decided before Merlin rode back through the gates of Camelot. That this had been an ambush; that Arthur knew him so well, well enough to push this before Merlin had a chance to work out a way to thwart him. And then just like that, rational thought was gone, wiped out by the fizzing chemistry of that mouth moving on his, overwhelming.
Because... Arthur kissed just as Merlin had imagined he would, and yes somewhere in his deep subconscious he must have imagined it, because there was no surprise.
He was arrogant and in charge, and disturbingly, horribly good at it, moving Merlin as he kissed him, tongue probing against his shocked lips; backing him across the room. Merlin was vaguely aware that he was making tiny noises when Arthur lifted his mouth; dazed, whimpering noises.
The connection between them was terrifying and it seemed as physical as the Druids and the redoubtable Myrthyrn had suggested it had to be. The terrible, awful rightness of it.
At least to Merlin.
Arthur still had the presence of mind to set about Merlin’s tunic, hauling it roughly over his head with no warning and no ceremony, catching his ears painfully as it went . He was all no nonsense urgency, down to business. Or perhaps he just wanted to get Merlin under him before he started arguing again.
In seconds, Merlin could feel the edge of cold air on the skin of his back and Arthur was less than a foot away, hauling off his own red shirt to show his broad, lightly haired chest. Beautiful, Merlin thought despairingly through his shock and panic. He was so achingly, perfectly beautiful; hair ruffled by his tunic and face set with absolute, cold-eyed determination, a warrior about to enter battle.
They stood glaring at each other for a long moment, like adversaries in the arena, both breathing heavily, naked from the waist up. Merlin was tall and he’d become broader and well-muscled with manhood, no longer the skinny boy who had come to Camelot, but he still felt almost puny before Arthur. He clenched his teeth, dry-mouthed. And in that long, brutal moment, he realised, with appalled self disgust, that he’d actually become aroused as he'd talked sex and magic and betrayal with Arthur. His cock was as hard as an iron bar in his fine breeches, for all he’d lain with Gwaine not an hour before.
His throat worked with impatient, horrified guilt and he looked away, totally ashamed, to the side. And it was only then, as he registered his surroundings at last, that he realised Arthur's manoeuvring had taken them to the side of his bed.
Merlin looked down at it, completely startled, then up again, mouth open to once again begin a vicious protest, just as a strong, broad hand planted itself in the middle of his chest and shoved hard. Merlin toppled like a felled sapling and before he could bounce on Arthur’s feather mattress, Arthur followed him down, crawling over him, then dropping the whole length of his body down on him. They both froze for a fraught second just like that, heaving for breath, and there Merlin was - lying topless on the king’s bed with Arthur, half naked, on top of him.
Their skin caught and rubbed, and Merlin all but whined. Arthur’s triumphant, narrow-eyed smile though, was enough to stiffen his spine.
He managed a furious, “Arthur!” and began to struggle in earnest, pushing at Arthurs wide, muscular shoulders with the flat of his hands, wriggling like an eel beneath him. But each movement seemed only to make things worse; the lump of his clothed erection rubbing with appalling ecstasy against Arthur’s hard body.
He had to stop after a few useless seconds, heaving for air, sparks going off behind his eyes, and he was barely aware at first of Arthur’s fingers fumbling at the ties of his breeches. And then he was.
It was surreal how fast it was happening; terrifying how fast Arthur was propelling them toward a point of no return.
Panic returned in earnest.
Arthur had let his weight lift to get at Merlin’s laces, and that allowed Merlin freedom to begin to wriggle again, even as Arthur tightened his powerful thighs around his lower body to keep him still. Merlin moaned, and struggled harder, trying to use his forearms and his elbows, but without his magic he knew it was a hopeless match - just like the first time they'd ever met and he blindly took Arthur on; an ordinary boy up against the best warrior in Camelot, with all his elegant power.
But still, even then, Merlin had been enough to cause trouble .
“Merlin will you …stop…!” Arthur spat and Merlin thought with a kind of hysterical satisfaction that this wouldn’t be his normal experience in bed at all. Gwen would be gentle, adoring, playful maybe, submissive. The thought made him fight harder.
Inevitably though, Arthur outflanked him. He lifted his weight further and allowed Merlin loose long enough to wriggle away up the bed, away from him, but in seconds he pounced again, pinning Merlin’s still-narrow wrists above his head with one big hand while the other groped underneath the pillows to which Merlin had so conveniently taken them. He produced, triumphantly, a short bladed knife.
Merlin froze to panting stillness and Arthur smirked, barely out of breath.
He looked totally in control, Merlin thought wildly. Not angry, just flushed by the struggle and the challenge.
Merlin couldn’t comprehend it - why Arthur wasn’t shaken by what he was doing. Why he seemed so utterly determined to go through with it.
He didn’t let go of Merlin’s hands, but he rolled to one side and deftly slid the blade into the ties of Merlin’s breeches, severing them with one sharp pull as Merlin gasped in shock. Then, still holding Merlin in place, he slid the knife to his own groin and cut his own laces too.
Merlin did the only thing he found he could at that moment. He squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as possible, more horribly turned on than he had ever been in his life.
He barely registered the moment his wrists were released. He held them dazedly where they were as Arthur knelt up, shuffled down the bed and pulled Merlin’s breeches and underclothes down to his boots with one violent tug. And then his boots were off too, cloth following inelegantly in Arthur’s relentless hands. He’d make a lousy manservant, Merlin thought weakly.
He cracked open his eyes to look, and make himself face the fact that, for all his struggles and denial, he was lying stripped bare on Arthur’s bed, with a massive erection, resting swollen and red on his belly.
He watched, heart hammering with panic, as Arthur slid upright to shimmy down his own last pieces of clothing. Then, there he was too, standing magnificently nude and fully aroused. Of course, Merlin thought despairingly, a fight would excite him.
Merlin had glimpsed Arthur without clothes before, of course, many times, though as prince and as king, he’d actually been quite prone to modesty. But Merlin had never allowed himself to look properly. Not really. And he’d certainly never seen his prick standing, though he’d seen enough sometimes to know it would be impressive, just like everything else about Arthur. But he hadn’t been prepared for how lovely it was, perfectly in proportion with his beautiful body, long and thick and a kind of dusky-flushed golden-rose, rising from a nest of dark blond hair.
He looked at Arthur, openly awestruck, as Arthur stared steadily back at him, taking in his own pale, excited nakedness. It didn’t seem to be putting him off.
Arthur was so different to Gwaine; bigger, broader, more muscled, face young and smooth, and all of him it seemed, from the hair on his head to the skin of his feet, golden.
Merlin thought dimly that it made total sense that Gwen had looked at Arthur after their wedding night as if she couldn’t believe he was possible. And that brought him horribly back to reality again.
He had to focus on them.
Gwen and Gwaine. And Arthur. It’d hurt him too, destroy him, if Gwen couldn’t forgive this insanity.
He twisted desperately onto his front and up to his hands and knees, trying to propel himself across the bed to the other side. It was his one hope of escape, since Arthur was past reason, and he couldn’t depend on his own body not to just capitulate the moment Arthur touched him again.
But he had no chance, as he’d known deep down. Arthur was behind him and on him at once, easily pushing him down flat onto his front and blanketing his body with his own.
Arthur’s thigh, thickly muscled, warm and heavy, pushed between his legs. And now Merlin could feel that magnificent cock, hard and eager against the swell of his arse, and he was panting like a dog, head turned to the side for air while Arthur was barely breathing hard. Then Arthur leaned his head closer to Merlin’s, and sucked his earlobe into his mouth.
Merlin yelped, then moaned, his head abruptly and frighteningly spinning with lust, and with as much movement as his restricted position would allow him, he reflexively humped his excited cock hard into the mattress. Arthur let the lobe slide from the hot wet of his mouth and huffed a tiny, victorious laugh against Merlin’s ear.
“Stopped fighting it?”
To Part 6