Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Four
Title: Before the Sun Breaks Another Day
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: R (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 5,783
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Thanks so much to our lovely beta/Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three
CHAPTER FOUR
Three days had passed already, since Arthur and his knights set forth from Camelot. Which also meant that time was irrevocably dissipating for Morgana, if she hoped to further her standing with Uther and cover all the ground that she was meant to. They'd dined together at least once a day since she'd returned home, and Uther made a point of stopping in every evening to ensure that there was nothing else she desired for the night and, she suspected, to confirm with his own eyes that she remained exactly where he believed she should be. But while things had gone well thus far, Morgana also recognised that she would probably need some time on her own with Uther. Everything was relatively peaceful in Camelot at the moment, which worked in Morgana's favour. It meant that there would be few distractions, fewer things that had the potential to pull Uther away, and a greater likelihood of success.
Morgana put on one of her better dresses that morning and sent one of the guards to request an invitation to dine with Uther at noon. Naturally, he'd accepted.
"I was thinking today," Morgana began, just as their meal was nearly finished, "that I'd like to get outside and enjoy the fresh air again. I've been holed up in the castle for close to three days now and I could use a taste of the outdoors again."
Uther's head shot up, eyes alight with something resembling approval. "I agree. I've no doubt that a stroll in town would do you a world of good," he said with a confident nod. "I'll arrange to have a guard accompany you."
Morgana threw together her most petrified stare and cast it in Uther's general direction, staring at a crack in the wall just past his head. "Oh, no, I'm not quite ready for that just yet," she insisted, hands shaking ever so slightly for added effect. Morgana hadn't left the castle since first arriving home, and she knew Uther was well aware of that fact, as he'd expressed some concern for her well-being in this regard over the last couple of days. Truthfully, she had no issues whatsoever with actually setting foot outside of the castle walls, but that wasn't what she wanted Uther to think. "I was thinking something more along the lines of going for a walk through the castle gardens, seeing as how the sun has been shining all morning."
As anticipated, Uther's gaze fell to her hands, and Morgana moved to place them on her lap, out of view, as though she were embarrassed by their inadvertent shaking. "I'm sure it will be just what you need. Perhaps you'd like to take your maidservant with you?"
"Actually, I gave Gwen the afternoon off," Morgana shared, biting her lip in what she hoped came across as a sheepish gesture. "Gaius needed a bit of extra help, with Merlin gone." She attempted to keep her tone neutral, in spite of the rolling bitterness brought forth by the mere mention of her former friend's name. "And I know that Gwen has assisted him in the past, so I offered her services to Gaius for the afternoon." Truly it had been a stroke of pure luck on Morgana's part, but she was not about to complain about fate working in her favour, for once. This had provided her with just the opportunity she needed, and Morgana intended to make the most of it.
"I was actually hoping, my lord..." Morgana hesitated, dropped her gaze down to her dress as she trailed off, eyes fixating on a tiny crumb of bread resting casually on her lap. She was pleased when Uther took the bait.
"You were hoping...?"
She took a steadying breath, flicked the crumb from her lap, pasted on an expectant smile, before raising her chin and purposefully seeking Uther's gaze. "Well, I was hoping that perhaps you might be interested in joining me for a short stroll. It's lovely outside, from what I hear. And we still have so much lost time to make up for."
Uther's mouth fell open slightly, and it was clear to see that he hadn't been expecting her to suggest that particular option. He recovered quickly, however, masking his surprise with an amiable smile instead. "I suppose a walk outside would be quite refreshing. I haven't been out to the gardens in ages."
Morgana grinned at him, positively delighted.
Night fell rather quickly, it seemed, following their decision to stop and regroup before heading out again the next morning. They were still a good day's ride from the spot that Morgana had escaped from, assuming their map was even accurate. Arthur wanted to believe that Morgana's information was sound, but given the strain she was under upon arriving at the castle, and the time it would have taken her to travel by foot back to Camelot, he had his doubts as to her ability to validly retrace her steps. Uther, however, was of another mind entirely. Blinded by his affection for Morgana -- one that he'd carried for her as long as she'd been a member of the Pendragon household, as far as Arthur could recall -- Uther had been insistent on following this lead.
"It appears as though we'll have another day of riding before we reach our destination," Arthur shared with Merlin, who was busy laying out the bedrolls for the night. "Which means we should probably head out at first light tomorrow."
Merlin grunted in a truly undignified manner, but otherwise paid Arthur no heed.
"You tired?" Arthur wondered, after a few silent moments.
Merlin angled his head around, staring at Arthur through the dancing flames of the fire between them, eyes momentarily taking on a golden hue, and shrugged. "Not really," he responded, voice weak and somewhat weary. "You?"
It was an obvious lie -- sagging shoulders, dark circles under the eyes, and a series of barely stifled yawns among the varying indicators to pick from -- but Arthur was surprisingly okay with that knowledge. He'd wanted to feel more distress at having been separated from the rest of his knights, every once in a while tossing an apprehensive look back over his shoulder, just in case. But the wave of red never arrived, and he finally gave up any hope of finding them; at least not any time in the near future.
He supposed there were worse fates than being saddled with Merlin all evening, though. He could be extraordinarily annoying and far too insolent for his own good, but considering how downtrodden Merlin seemed of late, there was a part of Arthur that preferred to keep the man in his sights, just in case. Besides, however loath Arthur was to admit it, Merlin was one of the only people with whom he could simply be himself, and that filled him with an odd sense of comfort, especially given the reason they were out there in the first place.
"Men of my calibre of physical and mental prowess never tire," Arthur announced haughtily, and stabbed at the fire with a large stick he'd found, simply because he could, and because the sparks tended to make Merlin uneasy when his back was turned.
"You are an arrogant prat," Merlin declared, the telltale signs of an eye roll evident even through the dim light of the flames. But the chuckle that rolled off his tongue was like a good mead -- both sweet and satisfying -- and just a tiny bit of the heaviness that sat in the pit of Arthur's stomach lifted at the sound.
Feigning nonchalance, Arthur shot Merlin an amused smirk. "You'd get bored if I changed," he stated plainly, hoping his manservant caught the throwback to a conversation that was far too old to justify remembrance. A thought flittered vaguely through Arthur's mind, silently inquiring as to when, exactly, he'd started memorising every conversation he'd ever had with Merlin, but he pushed it away roughly as being completely irrelevant at the moment.
Merlin stared incredulously at Arthur as he finally strode back around to the other side of the fire, bouncing lightly on his feet as he padded over to the log Arthur currently occupied. Taking a seat beside the prince, Merlin leaned towards him, hovering close to Arthur's face.
"You, Arthur Pendragon," he began, voice carefully schooled as he pointed a finger at Arthur's chest, "will never be boring, even if you tried."
Arthur cocked a brow, taken slightly aback by the unexpected comment, but felt the corners of his lips tug up all the same. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"
Merlin shrugged noncommittally. "Well, you keep things interesting, I'll give you that."
"But that doesn't really answer my question," Arthur pressed, absently tossing a few twigs into the fire, and watched as they crackled and shrivelled under the heat of the flames.
Merlin shifted, knocking his knee playfully against Arthur's, and accorded him an easy smile. "I'll let you decide that one for yourself," he said, and Arthur knew without even asking that he wouldn't get any more clarification beyond that.
Oddly enough, Arthur felt quite sure it'd been intended as a compliment, though he was willing to concede that this belief was as much based on wishful thinking as it was on the actual interpretation of Merlin's words. Arthur inexplicably felt heat spread through him at the comment, starting in his belly and rising up to settle comfortably across his neck and cheeks, and he cursed the tiny voice at the back of his mind that insisted his current state couldn't be entirely blamed on the warmth of the fire.
"Yes, well, I choose to take it in the obviously complimentary manner in which it was intended," Arthur said, as soon as he found the ability to form words once again, and attempted a half-smile. Standing, he moved deliberately to the other side of the fire, suddenly feeling an urgent push to put some distance between himself and Merlin. He turned away, eyes squeezing shut, hands fisting loosely at his sides, as he forced his mind to settle.
The crackle and fizz of the flames behind his back shifted, as though the wood had been stirred or another log added to the burning pile, and Arthur craned his head around in time to glimpse Merlin throwing a few more pieces of wood to the fire.
"We should get to sleep," Arthur announced a moment later, turning back to face Merlin. "Early morning tomorrow." And as if to emphasize his point, Arthur sank to the ground, tugging his boots from his feet elaborately.
Merlin watched him, expression carefully guarded now and nothing like he'd been only minutes prior, nodding wordlessly before finally following suit.
*
Arthur awoke in the middle of the night, the cold seeping through the blankets and fabric of his clothing, frost pricking painfully at his skin. He shivered involuntarily and pried a single eye open to survey the scene.
At first he thought he was imagining things, but when he forced the other eye open, Arthur could see as plain as day that Merlin was sitting in front of the sputtering fire, stoking it and mumbling something to himself.
"What are you doing?" Arthur rasped, teeth chattering.
Merlin started, practically jumping out of his skin, as wide, frightened eyes settled on Arthur's face.
"The fire went out. I was trying to get it started up again," he replied evenly, though there was a hint of anxiety present in his voice. It caught Arthur's attention, teeming with significance, but in his sleep-addled state, he lost the threads of it almost at once.
"You're going to freeze to death," Arthur said matter-of-factly, curling tightly into himself and tugging the blanket up to his nose, as if to prove the point. He wondered idly if Merlin was as ready to pass out from the cold as he seemed to be.
Merlin snorted. "And going back to lie down on the cold ground with no heat source will certainly help prevent that from happening."
"Well, just hurry up then," Arthur instructed tightly. "I don't particularly feel like dragging your dead arse around for the rest of this trip."
Merlin's mumbled response floated through the air, though Arthur couldn't make any of it out; which was probably for the best anyway. Arthur yanked the blanket up over his head, screwing his eyes shut and desperately forcing thoughts of dying a slow and painful death alone with Merlin from his mind.
After what felt like an inordinately long period of time (and was likely no more than two or three minutes at most), he heard Merlin emit a satisfied grunt. Chancing a peek, Arthur pulled the blanket down off his face to witness their fire, blazing strongly as though it'd never died down in the first place. How Merlin had done it, Arthur had no idea, but he was quite sure he'd never before seen someone stoke a fire into burning that hotly in such a short period of time.
Without another word, Merlin settled back down on his bedroll, wrapping the blanket tightly around his thin frame. Arthur closed his eyes too, with every intention of going back to sleep. The problem, however, was that in spite of having a roaring fire once more, Arthur was still genuinely chilled to the bone. He lay there, shivering almost uncontrollably, curling into himself even more as he fought off the chills and inched as close to the flames as he deemed safe.
"Merlin?" Arthur called out softly, several minutes later, already regretting what he was about to do but knowing that he had no other choice.
"Hmm?"
"Get over here."
A pause. "What?"
"I'm cold," Arthur offered as way of explanation.
"But I got the fire going again." He sounded distant; sleepy.
"Yes, but I'm still cold."
The silence was longer this time, and Arthur briefly wondered if he'd managed to fall asleep, when Merlin's typically defiant voice wafted softly towards him. "Why can't you move over here instead?"
In spite of the cold, and Arthur's current level of diminished cognitive functioning, he still couldn't quite bite back the smile that wanted to form on his lips. "Because last I checked -- you were the servant and I the prince. Unless you'd like to travel back to Camelot yourself and explain how you let the future king die in the middle of a freezing forest?"
Several seconds of grumbling and protesting followed, but, somewhat surprisingly, Merlin complied with the request, clumsily dragging his bedroll and blankets across the forest floor. At Arthur's insistence, Merlin situated himself between the fire and Arthur, tiredly lying back down on the ground and proceeding to grouse about Arthur being a 'royal prat' before quieting down.
Arthur closed his eyes, listening to the fire crackle gently and the rise and fall of Merlin's breath next to him, and felt a deep warmth suffuse his skin inside and out. Contentment lingered a while, before being swept away with the rest of his consciousness as sleep settled over him for the night.
In distinct contrast to the rekindled, easy familiarity Morgana had managed to spark during her afternoon walk with Uther, the evening meal had been another largely silent affair; it was difficult to persist in her advances when there were guards hovering behind them and servants constantly coming and going to refill their goblets and clear plates. If she wanted to make an impression, and quickly, clearly she had to get him alone.
Morgana paced the length of her room until she heard outside her doors the night guard relieving Sir Leon of his watch, and waited, counting footsteps and stairs and paths long seared into half a lifetime's worth of memories. When she was reasonably sure that Leon had gone, far from the scene, she pulled open the door and instructed the guard to escort her to see Uther, feeling just the slightest twinge of something that felt extraordinarily close to guilty relief. It seemed indecent, somehow, and unkind, involving Leon in any small way in her manipulation of the king, as though if she could manage to keep him out of the way, he might escape the taint of Uther's Camelot.
She shook her head at herself, let a breath of mirthless laughter past her lips. Now was really not the time to crusade for the purity of one small knight; she had much bigger plans to pursue.
Uther would still be up at this time, probably in his throne room going over maps and disputes and requests from all over the kingdom. Whatever he was, Uther did take his duties seriously, and, with strict orders not to be disturbed, could often be found working through the early hours of the morning. Which made it all the better if she could distract him from his responsibilities and undermine his efficacy as king. Perhaps no one would even miss him once she was through with him.
She rapped her knuckles smartly on the door and let herself into the throne room without leave, though Uther seemed pleased to see her.
"My lord," she said, bowing her head slightly, largely acclimatised by now to her role and able to affect deference without having to bite down a sneer at the same time. "I wondered if you'd mind having some company this evening?"
He glanced at the piles of parchment and ledgers in front of him, and said somewhat regretfully, "Yes, well, I'm afraid I'm rather occupied with work at the moment."
Morgana forged ahead. "Is there anything I can help with?" she asked, coming to sit next to him.
Uther's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled, a sound so warm and rare she smiled in spite of herself. "Surely there must be other pleasures to attend to than spending the evening with an old man and his grain ledgers."
"Nonsense, my lord," she said, leaning toward him, and her fingers brushed his arm, just the gentlest of touches, "you're as young and spry as the day I met you."
He turned to her, the lines around his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Now you're just mocking me."
"I wouldn't dare," Morgana said, indulgent. She drew her chair next to his, armrests slotting alongside each other neatly like a perfect join, and squeezed his hand, letting the touch linger for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Let me help."
Uther looked at her curiously, as if wondering where this sudden bounty of agreeableness had come from.
"It must be so tiring," she added for good measure, "working like this every night on your own. Lonely." The word drifted in the air, and Morgana averted her gaze, like she'd accidentally revealed something secret about herself.
"Well, what do you think of that, then?" he asked, sliding the paper in front of him towards her; whether it was to humour her or because she had said something that struck a nerve somewhere wasn't immediately apparent, but that he was willing to let her stay was a small victory in itself.
Morgana had never taken a deep interest in the running of a kingdom before, condemned as she had been to leisurely pursuits like embroidery by dint of her sex and usually preferring, clandestinely, activities that required heavy weaponry. The complexities revealed to her now of governing vast tracts of land and nameless, faceless populations struck her as far more taxing than a day's worth of swordplay (or pretending to enjoy needlework, for that matter). Though he had several lords serving him to oversee the daily business of every town and village that fell under Camelot's wide reach, Uther still maintained knowledge and involvement of every tax levied and every skirmish waged, and Morgana couldn't help the admiration, however grudging, that welled up inside her.
That Camelot had not only remained free from extended conflict longer than she could remember, but also managed to flourish in relative prosperity was a testament to Uther's rule. If it wasn't for his hard stance against sorcery, she might even be tempted to think of him as a good king.
Morgana shifted uncomfortably in her seat and hardened her thoughts. If she expected to effect any change at all, she couldn't afford to let herself be swayed like this; to even imagine merits in Uther's reign was absurd. She was better than that and stronger.
She pushed her chair back. "I think," she said, before her thoughts could run away from her, "I will retire to my chambers now, my lord, and leave you in peace."
Uther rose, extending an arm, and walked her to the entrance of the throne room. "Well, I very much appreciate your assistance this evening."
Morgana laughed quietly. "I thank you for saying so, my lord, but I'm afraid I was rather more a burden than a help."
His eyes flickered with sudden warmth, like embers springing to life. "My dear girl," he said, touching her cheek lightly, "you could never be a burden to me."
A smile formed on her lips before she could even remember to force it, and it froze there, as it dawned on her how quickly and how easily she had almost fallen into old patterns once again, granting forgiveness for all his sins and cruelty in exchange for a mere smile. Her fist clenched at her side, fingernails pressing into her palm, reminding herself that it was affectation; the kindness in his face was no reflection of what resided in his heart.
With a slight bow, she excused herself from the room, and fled, the ghost of his touch burning like ice.
She hated him, she told herself, over and over and over until she believed it again.
Pleasure soared through his body, filling him so fully and completely that he felt he might come apart at any moment.
Sweat glistened on his forehead, neck and back, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he shut off all other senses, savouring the feel and taste of Merlin on him, and in him.
He thrust up once, twice, three times, into the hand that stroked him, and finally found his release, his moans and cries muffled only by the hot mouth enveloping his.
Arthur's eyes fluttered open to the sound of the horses, stomping their feet and neighing restlessly, as though impatient to get on with their day. Sunlight streamed through the tree branches, casting a soft, early-morning glow over the area, and Arthur briefly watched the leaves hanging above his face, dancing to the rhythm of a gentle breeze. He felt, for some inexplicable reason, utter contentment wash over him in that moment. Tossing the thought aside as being irrelevant, Arthur allowed his eyes to drift shut once more, arms instinctively tightening around the warm body curled into his side.
He froze. Warm body. Curled into his side. Head resting on Arthur's chest. Even without prying open his eyes once more, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Merlin was the only person who could possibly be occupying the entire right half of his body, using his chest as a pillow. Which lent itself to his brain asking the most important questions of how... and why?
Arthur awoke to the feeling of Merlin shifting beside him, the blanket of night still wrapped firmly around them, dim glow of burning embers flickering just past the back of Merlin's head.
Even with the absence of any significant light source, Arthur could see Merlin shivering beneath his blankets, a few feet away. It seemed a little excessive a response, though Arthur was willing to acquiesce that it was still cold, even with the burn of flames attempting to keep them warm. There was a fragile quality to Merlin's shivering that provoked a protective instinct in Arthur, and while his normal reaction would be to roll over and go back to sleep, he couldn't ignore Merlin's cold form mere feet from him.
Arthur hesitated for a second or two, weighing the potential consequences of this decision, before inching forward and sidling up to Merlin, reaching an arm around his body and pulling his manservant flush against his chest. Merlin let out a gasp of surprise, but to Arthur's immense relief, he didn't try to pull away, and in fact seemed to even lean back into the embrace. Arthur shifted slightly, moving so their bodies were practically touching from shoulder to toe, and he was amazed at how well they fit together, as if they were always meant to be like this. Tucking his head, Arthur's lips ghosted lightly across the back of Merlin's neck, and Arthur felt him shiver, though he doubted it had anything to do with the cold. Sleep descended upon them once more, and Arthur drifted off with one hand splayed across Merlin's stomach, warmth seeping into every pore of his body.
A hot flush crept up Arthur’s neck and worked its way to the tip of his ears, ridiculous in its intensity. There was little reason for such a reaction at all; this wouldn't have been the first time they'd relied on body heat to get through a cold night, and if there was a little part of Arthur that knew he was telling himself a lie, it was squashed down quickly. However before he could eradicate it altogether, another vision, through the haze of distant dreams, came floating back to him.
"Clothes. Off. Now," Arthur mumbled headily, hands fumbling clumsily with the drawstrings of Merlin's trousers as he sought the heat of Merlin's mouth again.
Merlin groaned into his mouth, rocking hips forward into Arthur, fingers clawing desperately at his back.
As one, they moved together, shedding tunics, trousers, socks, until nothing remained between them but the cool air of night. And Arthur moaned, low and deep in his throat, as Merlin reached between them (finally, finally, finally...) and capturing his mouth once more in a rough, wet kiss.
Arthur suddenly felt very warm, almost as if he were aflame, and he could feel heat pooling in his belly and advancing south to his groin as more images flooded his mind, images of hands and teeth and tongues and... Arthur bit back a groan, cock twitching, and for the first time since waking, it suddenly dawned on him that he was aroused, almost painfully so, and probably had been since first opening his eyes.
Merlin grunted -- Arthur could feel the vibrations as much as he heard it -- and shifted slightly, burying his face even further into Arthur’s chest. Arthur silently thanked the gods that Merlin remained sound asleep; he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if Merlin awoke at this very second, how he would explain his erection. But then Arthur felt something hard press into his thigh, and he nearly cringed when realisation hit. Merlin, too, was completely aroused. This was awkward. Utterly embarrassing, even. What was worse, a series of graphic images kept flashing in Arthur’s mind of the things he and Merlin had done in his dreams, and he actually had to fight the urge to hook a leg over Merlin’s hips and rut up against him, longing for just the briefest brush of their hardened cocks.
Panic began to well up in Arthur, and he swallowed thickly, urging the images to vacate his mind as quickly as possible, while at the same time fighting to slow his suddenly quickened breaths. He blinked up at the leaves, waving carelessly in front of his eyes, and willed frayed nerves to get back under control. There had been numerous situations in the past where Arthur had been put in a compromising position, and he’d been able to deal with those situations without batting an eye. Surely he could handle this as well.
His one consolation at the moment was the fact that they were both fully clothed, which could only mean that nothing had actually happened between them. Which was an immense relief, especially considering the fact that Arthur didn’t actually want anything to happen anyway. Of course, he also couldn't be entirely sure that everything he'd dreamed of had merely been a dream, and suddenly Arthur desperately needed to get away -- from Merlin and from this place and especially from the barrage of images that still continued to assault his mind.
The problem, however, was that Merlin was still sprawled on top of him, nothing more than a dead weight, and after several failed attempts to extricate himself without drawing Merlin's attention, Arthur gave up. It was no use, and Arthur could only resign himself to the fact that without waking Merlin, escape would be impossible.
With a frustrated sigh, Arthur poked Merlin's shoulder, fighting back another flush. "Wake up!"
He barely moved. Arthur felt his annoyance grow. "Come on, Merlin, get up and get off me," he instructed, reaching out to shake him lightly.
Something resembling a grunt escaped past Merlin's lips then, and his head rose slightly off Arthur's chest, stilling in mid-air. It took a few moments of Merlin staring down at Arthur before reality seemed to sink in, and when wide eyes turned to glance reluctantly up at him, face flushed crimson, Merlin's expression held a quality of embarrassment, with a tinge of fear. Arthur might've even laughed, had the situation been different and not involving him, but as it was, all he could do was stare blankly back at Merlin, his own face mirroring the pink flush reflected back at him.
"Er..." Merlin mumbled sleepily, though he was very much awake at this point, and cast his eyes away from Arthur.
It was like a scene out of a nightmare, and just when Arthur thought it couldn't get any worse, it somehow did. Pushing himself up on one arm, Merlin still hovered over Arthur, and he took this opportunity to trail eyes down the length of their still intertwined bodies. Arthur, in some sick twist of masochism, watched the expression on Merlin's face, followed him through the looks of confusion, shock, realisation, and then embarrassment. Merlin's cock continued to dig into his thigh, while Arthur's pressed up through his breeches, still standing obviously and pointedly at attention. There was no doubt as to when Merlin noticed their shared arousal, and it was in that very instant that Arthur wished beyond words that the ground would open up beneath him and take him away from this humiliating experience.
Merlin's gaze sought Arthur's once more, and then he completely froze, bewilderment, panic and terror flashing across his face in equal measure as he stared down as his unintended bed partner. Meanwhile, Merlin's dick was mere inches from Arthur's, and Arthur didn't think that his willpower would last for much longer, at this rate.
"Merlin, move," Arthur finally commanded, grabbing hold of his arm and shoving Merlin off entirely, sitting up abruptly. Merlin tumbled to the side, and Arthur immediately felt a twinge of guilt at the force he'd used. It'd been unnecessary, but he needed to get away. Now.
"Arthur, what...?" Merlin cried, rubbing the back of his head with a deep frown. "Wait!"
But Arthur ignored him, already stalking away from the camp, desperate to put some distance between a horny and angry Merlin, and Arthur's own obvious arousal. He could not deal with any of this right now.
When he was far enough away, Arthur stopped and closed his eyes, leaning back against the rough bark of a large oak tree, and once again attempted to still his racing thoughts. He was so hard, knew he needed to take care of his current predicament, but there was a large part of him that wished this would all go away and he could pretend none of it had ever happened. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind inevitably drifted back to Merlin, and his arousal only intensified. With great reluctance, Arthur untied his drawstrings and shoved his trousers down past his hips. He stared down at his cock for several moments, twitching and aching to be touched, before finally wrapping his hand around himself. With a few tentative strokes, Arthur imagined that it was another hand touching him. He tried to picture a random woman, but when that didn't seem to work, he switched the image to that of Gwen instead.
That particular fantasy was successful for a few moments before the image morphed into Merlin, stroking him and whispering dirty things into Arthur's ear, and gods did it feel amazing all of a sudden. But the moment the image changed, Arthur stopped stroking himself, guilt and embarrassment and shame welling up inside at what he was doing. He tried several more times to imagine the hand touching him was someone other than Merlin, but it always drifted back to him anyway. Arthur suddenly felt like crying, just a little, as he stilled his hand once more.
He wasn't supposed to become aroused at the thought of Merlin touching him. Merlin’s hands touched Arthur a great deal of the time -- helping him dress, removing armour, rubbing salve into Arthur’s aching muscles. To respond to the feel of Merlin’s hands on him in that way... it could create a world of trouble. Arthur shook his head. No, it wasn’t even just that. He was willing to concede that it was possible that Merlin was his closest friend, likely the best he’d ever had. But he couldn’t destroy that, wouldn’t allow himself to potentially lose Merlin over something like this. Arthur wasn't supposed to have sexual fantasies about Merlin in dreams, and he certainly wasn't supposed to react even more strongly when awake. And yet, here he was, stiff cock in hand, and the only images running through his mind were those of Merlin -- mouth trailing hot kisses down his neck, lean fingers stroking his length, Merlin's own erection pressing into Arthur's thigh.
Finally Arthur started moving his hand again, quick and rough against his sensitive cock, so aroused it was becoming painful. And if his thoughts wandered back to Merlin, imagining his gorgeous mouth sucking Arthur off, if his climax nearly blinded him with a white-hot pleasure that he hadn't experienced in a very long time, Arthur chose not to think about it, ignoring the gut-wrenching shame and fear that instantly flooded his consciousness, because he most certainly was not sexually attracted to Merlin.
Arthur allowed himself a few moments for his breathing to slow and the remorse to diminish, then began cleaning himself off, a heaviness in his heart as he tried to figure out what he was going to do now.
Continue to Chapter Five
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: R (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 5,783
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Thanks so much to our lovely beta/Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three
CHAPTER FOUR
Three days had passed already, since Arthur and his knights set forth from Camelot. Which also meant that time was irrevocably dissipating for Morgana, if she hoped to further her standing with Uther and cover all the ground that she was meant to. They'd dined together at least once a day since she'd returned home, and Uther made a point of stopping in every evening to ensure that there was nothing else she desired for the night and, she suspected, to confirm with his own eyes that she remained exactly where he believed she should be. But while things had gone well thus far, Morgana also recognised that she would probably need some time on her own with Uther. Everything was relatively peaceful in Camelot at the moment, which worked in Morgana's favour. It meant that there would be few distractions, fewer things that had the potential to pull Uther away, and a greater likelihood of success.
Morgana put on one of her better dresses that morning and sent one of the guards to request an invitation to dine with Uther at noon. Naturally, he'd accepted.
"I was thinking today," Morgana began, just as their meal was nearly finished, "that I'd like to get outside and enjoy the fresh air again. I've been holed up in the castle for close to three days now and I could use a taste of the outdoors again."
Uther's head shot up, eyes alight with something resembling approval. "I agree. I've no doubt that a stroll in town would do you a world of good," he said with a confident nod. "I'll arrange to have a guard accompany you."
Morgana threw together her most petrified stare and cast it in Uther's general direction, staring at a crack in the wall just past his head. "Oh, no, I'm not quite ready for that just yet," she insisted, hands shaking ever so slightly for added effect. Morgana hadn't left the castle since first arriving home, and she knew Uther was well aware of that fact, as he'd expressed some concern for her well-being in this regard over the last couple of days. Truthfully, she had no issues whatsoever with actually setting foot outside of the castle walls, but that wasn't what she wanted Uther to think. "I was thinking something more along the lines of going for a walk through the castle gardens, seeing as how the sun has been shining all morning."
As anticipated, Uther's gaze fell to her hands, and Morgana moved to place them on her lap, out of view, as though she were embarrassed by their inadvertent shaking. "I'm sure it will be just what you need. Perhaps you'd like to take your maidservant with you?"
"Actually, I gave Gwen the afternoon off," Morgana shared, biting her lip in what she hoped came across as a sheepish gesture. "Gaius needed a bit of extra help, with Merlin gone." She attempted to keep her tone neutral, in spite of the rolling bitterness brought forth by the mere mention of her former friend's name. "And I know that Gwen has assisted him in the past, so I offered her services to Gaius for the afternoon." Truly it had been a stroke of pure luck on Morgana's part, but she was not about to complain about fate working in her favour, for once. This had provided her with just the opportunity she needed, and Morgana intended to make the most of it.
"I was actually hoping, my lord..." Morgana hesitated, dropped her gaze down to her dress as she trailed off, eyes fixating on a tiny crumb of bread resting casually on her lap. She was pleased when Uther took the bait.
"You were hoping...?"
She took a steadying breath, flicked the crumb from her lap, pasted on an expectant smile, before raising her chin and purposefully seeking Uther's gaze. "Well, I was hoping that perhaps you might be interested in joining me for a short stroll. It's lovely outside, from what I hear. And we still have so much lost time to make up for."
Uther's mouth fell open slightly, and it was clear to see that he hadn't been expecting her to suggest that particular option. He recovered quickly, however, masking his surprise with an amiable smile instead. "I suppose a walk outside would be quite refreshing. I haven't been out to the gardens in ages."
Morgana grinned at him, positively delighted.
Night fell rather quickly, it seemed, following their decision to stop and regroup before heading out again the next morning. They were still a good day's ride from the spot that Morgana had escaped from, assuming their map was even accurate. Arthur wanted to believe that Morgana's information was sound, but given the strain she was under upon arriving at the castle, and the time it would have taken her to travel by foot back to Camelot, he had his doubts as to her ability to validly retrace her steps. Uther, however, was of another mind entirely. Blinded by his affection for Morgana -- one that he'd carried for her as long as she'd been a member of the Pendragon household, as far as Arthur could recall -- Uther had been insistent on following this lead.
"It appears as though we'll have another day of riding before we reach our destination," Arthur shared with Merlin, who was busy laying out the bedrolls for the night. "Which means we should probably head out at first light tomorrow."
Merlin grunted in a truly undignified manner, but otherwise paid Arthur no heed.
"You tired?" Arthur wondered, after a few silent moments.
Merlin angled his head around, staring at Arthur through the dancing flames of the fire between them, eyes momentarily taking on a golden hue, and shrugged. "Not really," he responded, voice weak and somewhat weary. "You?"
It was an obvious lie -- sagging shoulders, dark circles under the eyes, and a series of barely stifled yawns among the varying indicators to pick from -- but Arthur was surprisingly okay with that knowledge. He'd wanted to feel more distress at having been separated from the rest of his knights, every once in a while tossing an apprehensive look back over his shoulder, just in case. But the wave of red never arrived, and he finally gave up any hope of finding them; at least not any time in the near future.
He supposed there were worse fates than being saddled with Merlin all evening, though. He could be extraordinarily annoying and far too insolent for his own good, but considering how downtrodden Merlin seemed of late, there was a part of Arthur that preferred to keep the man in his sights, just in case. Besides, however loath Arthur was to admit it, Merlin was one of the only people with whom he could simply be himself, and that filled him with an odd sense of comfort, especially given the reason they were out there in the first place.
"Men of my calibre of physical and mental prowess never tire," Arthur announced haughtily, and stabbed at the fire with a large stick he'd found, simply because he could, and because the sparks tended to make Merlin uneasy when his back was turned.
"You are an arrogant prat," Merlin declared, the telltale signs of an eye roll evident even through the dim light of the flames. But the chuckle that rolled off his tongue was like a good mead -- both sweet and satisfying -- and just a tiny bit of the heaviness that sat in the pit of Arthur's stomach lifted at the sound.
Feigning nonchalance, Arthur shot Merlin an amused smirk. "You'd get bored if I changed," he stated plainly, hoping his manservant caught the throwback to a conversation that was far too old to justify remembrance. A thought flittered vaguely through Arthur's mind, silently inquiring as to when, exactly, he'd started memorising every conversation he'd ever had with Merlin, but he pushed it away roughly as being completely irrelevant at the moment.
Merlin stared incredulously at Arthur as he finally strode back around to the other side of the fire, bouncing lightly on his feet as he padded over to the log Arthur currently occupied. Taking a seat beside the prince, Merlin leaned towards him, hovering close to Arthur's face.
"You, Arthur Pendragon," he began, voice carefully schooled as he pointed a finger at Arthur's chest, "will never be boring, even if you tried."
Arthur cocked a brow, taken slightly aback by the unexpected comment, but felt the corners of his lips tug up all the same. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"
Merlin shrugged noncommittally. "Well, you keep things interesting, I'll give you that."
"But that doesn't really answer my question," Arthur pressed, absently tossing a few twigs into the fire, and watched as they crackled and shrivelled under the heat of the flames.
Merlin shifted, knocking his knee playfully against Arthur's, and accorded him an easy smile. "I'll let you decide that one for yourself," he said, and Arthur knew without even asking that he wouldn't get any more clarification beyond that.
Oddly enough, Arthur felt quite sure it'd been intended as a compliment, though he was willing to concede that this belief was as much based on wishful thinking as it was on the actual interpretation of Merlin's words. Arthur inexplicably felt heat spread through him at the comment, starting in his belly and rising up to settle comfortably across his neck and cheeks, and he cursed the tiny voice at the back of his mind that insisted his current state couldn't be entirely blamed on the warmth of the fire.
"Yes, well, I choose to take it in the obviously complimentary manner in which it was intended," Arthur said, as soon as he found the ability to form words once again, and attempted a half-smile. Standing, he moved deliberately to the other side of the fire, suddenly feeling an urgent push to put some distance between himself and Merlin. He turned away, eyes squeezing shut, hands fisting loosely at his sides, as he forced his mind to settle.
The crackle and fizz of the flames behind his back shifted, as though the wood had been stirred or another log added to the burning pile, and Arthur craned his head around in time to glimpse Merlin throwing a few more pieces of wood to the fire.
"We should get to sleep," Arthur announced a moment later, turning back to face Merlin. "Early morning tomorrow." And as if to emphasize his point, Arthur sank to the ground, tugging his boots from his feet elaborately.
Merlin watched him, expression carefully guarded now and nothing like he'd been only minutes prior, nodding wordlessly before finally following suit.
*
Arthur awoke in the middle of the night, the cold seeping through the blankets and fabric of his clothing, frost pricking painfully at his skin. He shivered involuntarily and pried a single eye open to survey the scene.
At first he thought he was imagining things, but when he forced the other eye open, Arthur could see as plain as day that Merlin was sitting in front of the sputtering fire, stoking it and mumbling something to himself.
"What are you doing?" Arthur rasped, teeth chattering.
Merlin started, practically jumping out of his skin, as wide, frightened eyes settled on Arthur's face.
"The fire went out. I was trying to get it started up again," he replied evenly, though there was a hint of anxiety present in his voice. It caught Arthur's attention, teeming with significance, but in his sleep-addled state, he lost the threads of it almost at once.
"You're going to freeze to death," Arthur said matter-of-factly, curling tightly into himself and tugging the blanket up to his nose, as if to prove the point. He wondered idly if Merlin was as ready to pass out from the cold as he seemed to be.
Merlin snorted. "And going back to lie down on the cold ground with no heat source will certainly help prevent that from happening."
"Well, just hurry up then," Arthur instructed tightly. "I don't particularly feel like dragging your dead arse around for the rest of this trip."
Merlin's mumbled response floated through the air, though Arthur couldn't make any of it out; which was probably for the best anyway. Arthur yanked the blanket up over his head, screwing his eyes shut and desperately forcing thoughts of dying a slow and painful death alone with Merlin from his mind.
After what felt like an inordinately long period of time (and was likely no more than two or three minutes at most), he heard Merlin emit a satisfied grunt. Chancing a peek, Arthur pulled the blanket down off his face to witness their fire, blazing strongly as though it'd never died down in the first place. How Merlin had done it, Arthur had no idea, but he was quite sure he'd never before seen someone stoke a fire into burning that hotly in such a short period of time.
Without another word, Merlin settled back down on his bedroll, wrapping the blanket tightly around his thin frame. Arthur closed his eyes too, with every intention of going back to sleep. The problem, however, was that in spite of having a roaring fire once more, Arthur was still genuinely chilled to the bone. He lay there, shivering almost uncontrollably, curling into himself even more as he fought off the chills and inched as close to the flames as he deemed safe.
"Merlin?" Arthur called out softly, several minutes later, already regretting what he was about to do but knowing that he had no other choice.
"Hmm?"
"Get over here."
A pause. "What?"
"I'm cold," Arthur offered as way of explanation.
"But I got the fire going again." He sounded distant; sleepy.
"Yes, but I'm still cold."
The silence was longer this time, and Arthur briefly wondered if he'd managed to fall asleep, when Merlin's typically defiant voice wafted softly towards him. "Why can't you move over here instead?"
In spite of the cold, and Arthur's current level of diminished cognitive functioning, he still couldn't quite bite back the smile that wanted to form on his lips. "Because last I checked -- you were the servant and I the prince. Unless you'd like to travel back to Camelot yourself and explain how you let the future king die in the middle of a freezing forest?"
Several seconds of grumbling and protesting followed, but, somewhat surprisingly, Merlin complied with the request, clumsily dragging his bedroll and blankets across the forest floor. At Arthur's insistence, Merlin situated himself between the fire and Arthur, tiredly lying back down on the ground and proceeding to grouse about Arthur being a 'royal prat' before quieting down.
Arthur closed his eyes, listening to the fire crackle gently and the rise and fall of Merlin's breath next to him, and felt a deep warmth suffuse his skin inside and out. Contentment lingered a while, before being swept away with the rest of his consciousness as sleep settled over him for the night.
In distinct contrast to the rekindled, easy familiarity Morgana had managed to spark during her afternoon walk with Uther, the evening meal had been another largely silent affair; it was difficult to persist in her advances when there were guards hovering behind them and servants constantly coming and going to refill their goblets and clear plates. If she wanted to make an impression, and quickly, clearly she had to get him alone.
Morgana paced the length of her room until she heard outside her doors the night guard relieving Sir Leon of his watch, and waited, counting footsteps and stairs and paths long seared into half a lifetime's worth of memories. When she was reasonably sure that Leon had gone, far from the scene, she pulled open the door and instructed the guard to escort her to see Uther, feeling just the slightest twinge of something that felt extraordinarily close to guilty relief. It seemed indecent, somehow, and unkind, involving Leon in any small way in her manipulation of the king, as though if she could manage to keep him out of the way, he might escape the taint of Uther's Camelot.
She shook her head at herself, let a breath of mirthless laughter past her lips. Now was really not the time to crusade for the purity of one small knight; she had much bigger plans to pursue.
Uther would still be up at this time, probably in his throne room going over maps and disputes and requests from all over the kingdom. Whatever he was, Uther did take his duties seriously, and, with strict orders not to be disturbed, could often be found working through the early hours of the morning. Which made it all the better if she could distract him from his responsibilities and undermine his efficacy as king. Perhaps no one would even miss him once she was through with him.
She rapped her knuckles smartly on the door and let herself into the throne room without leave, though Uther seemed pleased to see her.
"My lord," she said, bowing her head slightly, largely acclimatised by now to her role and able to affect deference without having to bite down a sneer at the same time. "I wondered if you'd mind having some company this evening?"
He glanced at the piles of parchment and ledgers in front of him, and said somewhat regretfully, "Yes, well, I'm afraid I'm rather occupied with work at the moment."
Morgana forged ahead. "Is there anything I can help with?" she asked, coming to sit next to him.
Uther's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled, a sound so warm and rare she smiled in spite of herself. "Surely there must be other pleasures to attend to than spending the evening with an old man and his grain ledgers."
"Nonsense, my lord," she said, leaning toward him, and her fingers brushed his arm, just the gentlest of touches, "you're as young and spry as the day I met you."
He turned to her, the lines around his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Now you're just mocking me."
"I wouldn't dare," Morgana said, indulgent. She drew her chair next to his, armrests slotting alongside each other neatly like a perfect join, and squeezed his hand, letting the touch linger for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Let me help."
Uther looked at her curiously, as if wondering where this sudden bounty of agreeableness had come from.
"It must be so tiring," she added for good measure, "working like this every night on your own. Lonely." The word drifted in the air, and Morgana averted her gaze, like she'd accidentally revealed something secret about herself.
"Well, what do you think of that, then?" he asked, sliding the paper in front of him towards her; whether it was to humour her or because she had said something that struck a nerve somewhere wasn't immediately apparent, but that he was willing to let her stay was a small victory in itself.
Morgana had never taken a deep interest in the running of a kingdom before, condemned as she had been to leisurely pursuits like embroidery by dint of her sex and usually preferring, clandestinely, activities that required heavy weaponry. The complexities revealed to her now of governing vast tracts of land and nameless, faceless populations struck her as far more taxing than a day's worth of swordplay (or pretending to enjoy needlework, for that matter). Though he had several lords serving him to oversee the daily business of every town and village that fell under Camelot's wide reach, Uther still maintained knowledge and involvement of every tax levied and every skirmish waged, and Morgana couldn't help the admiration, however grudging, that welled up inside her.
That Camelot had not only remained free from extended conflict longer than she could remember, but also managed to flourish in relative prosperity was a testament to Uther's rule. If it wasn't for his hard stance against sorcery, she might even be tempted to think of him as a good king.
Morgana shifted uncomfortably in her seat and hardened her thoughts. If she expected to effect any change at all, she couldn't afford to let herself be swayed like this; to even imagine merits in Uther's reign was absurd. She was better than that and stronger.
She pushed her chair back. "I think," she said, before her thoughts could run away from her, "I will retire to my chambers now, my lord, and leave you in peace."
Uther rose, extending an arm, and walked her to the entrance of the throne room. "Well, I very much appreciate your assistance this evening."
Morgana laughed quietly. "I thank you for saying so, my lord, but I'm afraid I was rather more a burden than a help."
His eyes flickered with sudden warmth, like embers springing to life. "My dear girl," he said, touching her cheek lightly, "you could never be a burden to me."
A smile formed on her lips before she could even remember to force it, and it froze there, as it dawned on her how quickly and how easily she had almost fallen into old patterns once again, granting forgiveness for all his sins and cruelty in exchange for a mere smile. Her fist clenched at her side, fingernails pressing into her palm, reminding herself that it was affectation; the kindness in his face was no reflection of what resided in his heart.
With a slight bow, she excused herself from the room, and fled, the ghost of his touch burning like ice.
She hated him, she told herself, over and over and over until she believed it again.
Pleasure soared through his body, filling him so fully and completely that he felt he might come apart at any moment.
Sweat glistened on his forehead, neck and back, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he shut off all other senses, savouring the feel and taste of Merlin on him, and in him.
He thrust up once, twice, three times, into the hand that stroked him, and finally found his release, his moans and cries muffled only by the hot mouth enveloping his.
Arthur's eyes fluttered open to the sound of the horses, stomping their feet and neighing restlessly, as though impatient to get on with their day. Sunlight streamed through the tree branches, casting a soft, early-morning glow over the area, and Arthur briefly watched the leaves hanging above his face, dancing to the rhythm of a gentle breeze. He felt, for some inexplicable reason, utter contentment wash over him in that moment. Tossing the thought aside as being irrelevant, Arthur allowed his eyes to drift shut once more, arms instinctively tightening around the warm body curled into his side.
He froze. Warm body. Curled into his side. Head resting on Arthur's chest. Even without prying open his eyes once more, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Merlin was the only person who could possibly be occupying the entire right half of his body, using his chest as a pillow. Which lent itself to his brain asking the most important questions of how... and why?
Arthur awoke to the feeling of Merlin shifting beside him, the blanket of night still wrapped firmly around them, dim glow of burning embers flickering just past the back of Merlin's head.
Even with the absence of any significant light source, Arthur could see Merlin shivering beneath his blankets, a few feet away. It seemed a little excessive a response, though Arthur was willing to acquiesce that it was still cold, even with the burn of flames attempting to keep them warm. There was a fragile quality to Merlin's shivering that provoked a protective instinct in Arthur, and while his normal reaction would be to roll over and go back to sleep, he couldn't ignore Merlin's cold form mere feet from him.
Arthur hesitated for a second or two, weighing the potential consequences of this decision, before inching forward and sidling up to Merlin, reaching an arm around his body and pulling his manservant flush against his chest. Merlin let out a gasp of surprise, but to Arthur's immense relief, he didn't try to pull away, and in fact seemed to even lean back into the embrace. Arthur shifted slightly, moving so their bodies were practically touching from shoulder to toe, and he was amazed at how well they fit together, as if they were always meant to be like this. Tucking his head, Arthur's lips ghosted lightly across the back of Merlin's neck, and Arthur felt him shiver, though he doubted it had anything to do with the cold. Sleep descended upon them once more, and Arthur drifted off with one hand splayed across Merlin's stomach, warmth seeping into every pore of his body.
A hot flush crept up Arthur’s neck and worked its way to the tip of his ears, ridiculous in its intensity. There was little reason for such a reaction at all; this wouldn't have been the first time they'd relied on body heat to get through a cold night, and if there was a little part of Arthur that knew he was telling himself a lie, it was squashed down quickly. However before he could eradicate it altogether, another vision, through the haze of distant dreams, came floating back to him.
"Clothes. Off. Now," Arthur mumbled headily, hands fumbling clumsily with the drawstrings of Merlin's trousers as he sought the heat of Merlin's mouth again.
Merlin groaned into his mouth, rocking hips forward into Arthur, fingers clawing desperately at his back.
As one, they moved together, shedding tunics, trousers, socks, until nothing remained between them but the cool air of night. And Arthur moaned, low and deep in his throat, as Merlin reached between them (finally, finally, finally...) and capturing his mouth once more in a rough, wet kiss.
Arthur suddenly felt very warm, almost as if he were aflame, and he could feel heat pooling in his belly and advancing south to his groin as more images flooded his mind, images of hands and teeth and tongues and... Arthur bit back a groan, cock twitching, and for the first time since waking, it suddenly dawned on him that he was aroused, almost painfully so, and probably had been since first opening his eyes.
Merlin grunted -- Arthur could feel the vibrations as much as he heard it -- and shifted slightly, burying his face even further into Arthur’s chest. Arthur silently thanked the gods that Merlin remained sound asleep; he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if Merlin awoke at this very second, how he would explain his erection. But then Arthur felt something hard press into his thigh, and he nearly cringed when realisation hit. Merlin, too, was completely aroused. This was awkward. Utterly embarrassing, even. What was worse, a series of graphic images kept flashing in Arthur’s mind of the things he and Merlin had done in his dreams, and he actually had to fight the urge to hook a leg over Merlin’s hips and rut up against him, longing for just the briefest brush of their hardened cocks.
Panic began to well up in Arthur, and he swallowed thickly, urging the images to vacate his mind as quickly as possible, while at the same time fighting to slow his suddenly quickened breaths. He blinked up at the leaves, waving carelessly in front of his eyes, and willed frayed nerves to get back under control. There had been numerous situations in the past where Arthur had been put in a compromising position, and he’d been able to deal with those situations without batting an eye. Surely he could handle this as well.
His one consolation at the moment was the fact that they were both fully clothed, which could only mean that nothing had actually happened between them. Which was an immense relief, especially considering the fact that Arthur didn’t actually want anything to happen anyway. Of course, he also couldn't be entirely sure that everything he'd dreamed of had merely been a dream, and suddenly Arthur desperately needed to get away -- from Merlin and from this place and especially from the barrage of images that still continued to assault his mind.
The problem, however, was that Merlin was still sprawled on top of him, nothing more than a dead weight, and after several failed attempts to extricate himself without drawing Merlin's attention, Arthur gave up. It was no use, and Arthur could only resign himself to the fact that without waking Merlin, escape would be impossible.
With a frustrated sigh, Arthur poked Merlin's shoulder, fighting back another flush. "Wake up!"
He barely moved. Arthur felt his annoyance grow. "Come on, Merlin, get up and get off me," he instructed, reaching out to shake him lightly.
Something resembling a grunt escaped past Merlin's lips then, and his head rose slightly off Arthur's chest, stilling in mid-air. It took a few moments of Merlin staring down at Arthur before reality seemed to sink in, and when wide eyes turned to glance reluctantly up at him, face flushed crimson, Merlin's expression held a quality of embarrassment, with a tinge of fear. Arthur might've even laughed, had the situation been different and not involving him, but as it was, all he could do was stare blankly back at Merlin, his own face mirroring the pink flush reflected back at him.
"Er..." Merlin mumbled sleepily, though he was very much awake at this point, and cast his eyes away from Arthur.
It was like a scene out of a nightmare, and just when Arthur thought it couldn't get any worse, it somehow did. Pushing himself up on one arm, Merlin still hovered over Arthur, and he took this opportunity to trail eyes down the length of their still intertwined bodies. Arthur, in some sick twist of masochism, watched the expression on Merlin's face, followed him through the looks of confusion, shock, realisation, and then embarrassment. Merlin's cock continued to dig into his thigh, while Arthur's pressed up through his breeches, still standing obviously and pointedly at attention. There was no doubt as to when Merlin noticed their shared arousal, and it was in that very instant that Arthur wished beyond words that the ground would open up beneath him and take him away from this humiliating experience.
Merlin's gaze sought Arthur's once more, and then he completely froze, bewilderment, panic and terror flashing across his face in equal measure as he stared down as his unintended bed partner. Meanwhile, Merlin's dick was mere inches from Arthur's, and Arthur didn't think that his willpower would last for much longer, at this rate.
"Merlin, move," Arthur finally commanded, grabbing hold of his arm and shoving Merlin off entirely, sitting up abruptly. Merlin tumbled to the side, and Arthur immediately felt a twinge of guilt at the force he'd used. It'd been unnecessary, but he needed to get away. Now.
"Arthur, what...?" Merlin cried, rubbing the back of his head with a deep frown. "Wait!"
But Arthur ignored him, already stalking away from the camp, desperate to put some distance between a horny and angry Merlin, and Arthur's own obvious arousal. He could not deal with any of this right now.
When he was far enough away, Arthur stopped and closed his eyes, leaning back against the rough bark of a large oak tree, and once again attempted to still his racing thoughts. He was so hard, knew he needed to take care of his current predicament, but there was a large part of him that wished this would all go away and he could pretend none of it had ever happened. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind inevitably drifted back to Merlin, and his arousal only intensified. With great reluctance, Arthur untied his drawstrings and shoved his trousers down past his hips. He stared down at his cock for several moments, twitching and aching to be touched, before finally wrapping his hand around himself. With a few tentative strokes, Arthur imagined that it was another hand touching him. He tried to picture a random woman, but when that didn't seem to work, he switched the image to that of Gwen instead.
That particular fantasy was successful for a few moments before the image morphed into Merlin, stroking him and whispering dirty things into Arthur's ear, and gods did it feel amazing all of a sudden. But the moment the image changed, Arthur stopped stroking himself, guilt and embarrassment and shame welling up inside at what he was doing. He tried several more times to imagine the hand touching him was someone other than Merlin, but it always drifted back to him anyway. Arthur suddenly felt like crying, just a little, as he stilled his hand once more.
He wasn't supposed to become aroused at the thought of Merlin touching him. Merlin’s hands touched Arthur a great deal of the time -- helping him dress, removing armour, rubbing salve into Arthur’s aching muscles. To respond to the feel of Merlin’s hands on him in that way... it could create a world of trouble. Arthur shook his head. No, it wasn’t even just that. He was willing to concede that it was possible that Merlin was his closest friend, likely the best he’d ever had. But he couldn’t destroy that, wouldn’t allow himself to potentially lose Merlin over something like this. Arthur wasn't supposed to have sexual fantasies about Merlin in dreams, and he certainly wasn't supposed to react even more strongly when awake. And yet, here he was, stiff cock in hand, and the only images running through his mind were those of Merlin -- mouth trailing hot kisses down his neck, lean fingers stroking his length, Merlin's own erection pressing into Arthur's thigh.
Finally Arthur started moving his hand again, quick and rough against his sensitive cock, so aroused it was becoming painful. And if his thoughts wandered back to Merlin, imagining his gorgeous mouth sucking Arthur off, if his climax nearly blinded him with a white-hot pleasure that he hadn't experienced in a very long time, Arthur chose not to think about it, ignoring the gut-wrenching shame and fear that instantly flooded his consciousness, because he most certainly was not sexually attracted to Merlin.
Arthur allowed himself a few moments for his breathing to slow and the remorse to diminish, then began cleaning himself off, a heaviness in his heart as he tried to figure out what he was going to do now.
Continue to Chapter Five