In service [fic]
Title: In service
Author: shadowbyrd
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 780
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Some days, Merlin hates his job.
Warning: Non-con
For Arthur it’s a last resort, a way of keeping warm those times his charms, such as there are, fail him. Or, more commonly, when he can’t be bother to employ them.
For Merlin it’s a duty. Not explicitly mentioned, and certainly not in his initial list of chores, but a duty to be performed nonetheless. Some servants have it, some servants don’t, but they’re all aware of it; it could be ordered of any of them any time.
If Merlin’s honest it isn’t one of his most pleasant duties. The first time was painful and just downright embarrassing. He didn’t have a clue what to do with his hands (or anything else for that matter), and Arthur almost threw him out of bed. It was only when Merlin started shifting to try and get comfortable that they seemed to get anywhere. Merlin felt unpleasantly limp afterwards, and Arthur made him clean up the mess before letting him get dressed.
The next morning, Merlin had tried to take some consolation from the fact that whatever he would have to endure that day, there was no way he could be made to feel anymore awkward. Then when he couldn’t sit down at breakfast Gaius had sighed and handed him a pot of ointment. His attempt at explanation trailed off into a few embarrassed coughs and ominous hand gestures. Merlin had never eaten so quickly in his life.
He’s gotten used to it since, though it has taken a while. It helps that he mostly trusts and likes Arthur. But the truth is (were he to ever actually be asked) he doesn’t actually want to do anything of the sort. Not with Arthur, in any case.
It’s worst when Arthur’s feeling angry or frustrated about something. He just wants to come and he doesn’t care how and where. He’s rough in a way that isn’t just lack of regard, but borders on actual violence. He usually only shows remorse a few days later, acknowledging Merlin’s apparent discomfort (sometimes even pain) with a vaguely repentant look before continuing with whatever he was doing. Once or twice, though, he’s made the mistake of looking Merlin in the face after noticing how he winces when he sits down, or sees some tell-tale bruise from the night before. And whatever was in his face those couple of times earned him an apology. Mumbled, and Arthur would probably deny it later, but an apology nonetheless.
The best is when Arthur (or Uther) feels that he has failed. He seems to forget himself, going out of his way to please Merlin. Perhaps to try and prove to himself there is something he can succeed at, that there is someone he won’t disappoint. Or maybe he just wants comforting, feeling like someone appreciates him, like someone wants him. Either way Merlin is sure to make a little more noise than usual and to stroke through his hair afterwards when Arthur drowses against his chest. Those nights, Arthur doesn’t always let him leave.
But then there are those times. Like when Kay, the oldest of Arthur’s knights, the man who taught him to fight, ingests a fatal dose of poison (probably meant for either Arthur or Uther, come to think of it) and Merlin brings dinner up to find that Arthur has torn his room apart and Arthur himself huddled on the floor by his chair.
When Merlin sets the food down on the floor beside Arthur, rights the table, pulls the chair out and replaces the dishes on the table. This is duty.
When Merlin crouches beside Arthur and pulls him into a tight hug, expecting resistance, but instead Arthur clutches at him like he’s drowning, hands a crushing grip on Merlin’s arms. This is not.
When Merlin tries (fails) to pull him up into his chair, chastises him (“You shouldn’t work yourself up like this, it only makes things worse.”), encourages him to eat while he sets the room right again. This something in between, the two merged seamlessly together.
Merlin likes those moments.
However, when Arthur’s staring down at his plate of half-eaten food, food that Merlin knows he’ll have to clear away later, when Arthur glances up at him, catching his eyes and glancing over to his bed and raising his eyebrows.
He sets Arthur’s plates to one side and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it unevenly and putting it down on the table.
Merlin wishes it wasn’t. Arthur stretches, long coat slipping off his shoulders and watches while Merlin unties his scarf and pulls his shirt over his head. He wishes it was at least something in between.
But it’s duty, and duty alone.
Author: shadowbyrd
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 780
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Some days, Merlin hates his job.
Warning: Non-con
For Arthur it’s a last resort, a way of keeping warm those times his charms, such as there are, fail him. Or, more commonly, when he can’t be bother to employ them.
For Merlin it’s a duty. Not explicitly mentioned, and certainly not in his initial list of chores, but a duty to be performed nonetheless. Some servants have it, some servants don’t, but they’re all aware of it; it could be ordered of any of them any time.
If Merlin’s honest it isn’t one of his most pleasant duties. The first time was painful and just downright embarrassing. He didn’t have a clue what to do with his hands (or anything else for that matter), and Arthur almost threw him out of bed. It was only when Merlin started shifting to try and get comfortable that they seemed to get anywhere. Merlin felt unpleasantly limp afterwards, and Arthur made him clean up the mess before letting him get dressed.
The next morning, Merlin had tried to take some consolation from the fact that whatever he would have to endure that day, there was no way he could be made to feel anymore awkward. Then when he couldn’t sit down at breakfast Gaius had sighed and handed him a pot of ointment. His attempt at explanation trailed off into a few embarrassed coughs and ominous hand gestures. Merlin had never eaten so quickly in his life.
He’s gotten used to it since, though it has taken a while. It helps that he mostly trusts and likes Arthur. But the truth is (were he to ever actually be asked) he doesn’t actually want to do anything of the sort. Not with Arthur, in any case.
It’s worst when Arthur’s feeling angry or frustrated about something. He just wants to come and he doesn’t care how and where. He’s rough in a way that isn’t just lack of regard, but borders on actual violence. He usually only shows remorse a few days later, acknowledging Merlin’s apparent discomfort (sometimes even pain) with a vaguely repentant look before continuing with whatever he was doing. Once or twice, though, he’s made the mistake of looking Merlin in the face after noticing how he winces when he sits down, or sees some tell-tale bruise from the night before. And whatever was in his face those couple of times earned him an apology. Mumbled, and Arthur would probably deny it later, but an apology nonetheless.
The best is when Arthur (or Uther) feels that he has failed. He seems to forget himself, going out of his way to please Merlin. Perhaps to try and prove to himself there is something he can succeed at, that there is someone he won’t disappoint. Or maybe he just wants comforting, feeling like someone appreciates him, like someone wants him. Either way Merlin is sure to make a little more noise than usual and to stroke through his hair afterwards when Arthur drowses against his chest. Those nights, Arthur doesn’t always let him leave.
But then there are those times. Like when Kay, the oldest of Arthur’s knights, the man who taught him to fight, ingests a fatal dose of poison (probably meant for either Arthur or Uther, come to think of it) and Merlin brings dinner up to find that Arthur has torn his room apart and Arthur himself huddled on the floor by his chair.
When Merlin sets the food down on the floor beside Arthur, rights the table, pulls the chair out and replaces the dishes on the table. This is duty.
When Merlin crouches beside Arthur and pulls him into a tight hug, expecting resistance, but instead Arthur clutches at him like he’s drowning, hands a crushing grip on Merlin’s arms. This is not.
When Merlin tries (fails) to pull him up into his chair, chastises him (“You shouldn’t work yourself up like this, it only makes things worse.”), encourages him to eat while he sets the room right again. This something in between, the two merged seamlessly together.
Merlin likes those moments.
However, when Arthur’s staring down at his plate of half-eaten food, food that Merlin knows he’ll have to clear away later, when Arthur glances up at him, catching his eyes and glancing over to his bed and raising his eyebrows.
He sets Arthur’s plates to one side and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it unevenly and putting it down on the table.
Merlin wishes it wasn’t. Arthur stretches, long coat slipping off his shoulders and watches while Merlin unties his scarf and pulls his shirt over his head. He wishes it was at least something in between.
But it’s duty, and duty alone.