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tourdefierceTitle: Rivers 'til I Reach You
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5K
Warning: D/s, spanking, violence, depictions of war, felching, rough sex, and language.
Summary: Sometimes Merlin gets lost and he needs to be guided back home.
Author's Notes: This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lolafeist. She is always writing me things and I am forever grateful for her words. On top of that, she's just a fucking lovely person and I love that I share fandom space with her. ♥ I had a lot of help with this fic. I've never written anything like this before and elicited help from marguerite_26, samsamtastic, sabriel75 and vesperdivum: if it wasn't for their patience, their comma expertise, their encouragement and their talent, this fic would be nothing. I can't thank you all enough. The title is from The Head and The Heart's song, Rivers and Roads.
I hope you all like it.
It's only when they overtake Mercia that it begins.
The battlefield is ashy from the power of Merlin's magic still shimmering over the bodies. He walks the length of it, feeling the Earth reach for him as he steps over charred remains. He's still too connected, too raw from the high volume of magic he's just had to perform to be completely unconnected with the ground below him. He can feel the soil bellow from the weight of the dead and he promises rain, leaning down and whispering into a cracked blade of grass that soon it will be done.
Camelot's soldiers and those, who have realized the strength of King Arthur's weapon, shutter away when they see him. Merlin's not used to their stares, let alone the fear that leeches off of them in waves. He feels nauseous from it and he realizes how ridiculous that sounds when he's surrounded by rotting flesh and decaying insides that have spilled out of their host's cavities. Yet, it is the fear that disgusts him.
It is the fear that shakes him, unsteadying him, and staggers his gait.
Gwaine catches him off guard. He almost runs him over, plowing into him from the side and grasping his face.
"Gods, Merlin, are you alright?"
Merlin blinks slowly. "Of course."
Gwaine shakes his head, pulling Merlin's head into his chest before looking back into his face. Gwaine doesn't look afraid of him and it grounds Merlin a bit, takes him away from the diphthongs of the Earth. Merlin traces the length of Gwaine's nose and the knight frowns deeply.
"Merlin," he says softly. "Your eyes are still molten."
"Really?"
Gwaine looks very sad. "I can't find the seas in your eyes."
Merlin nods, too shocked to say anything and lets Gwaine pull his head back into the his broad chest. Merlin lets Gwaine hold him, among the fallen, for as long as they can afford to stay idle. When they break apart, Merlin looks hopefully at Gwaine but he only shakes his head.
The gold has not left him.
<3<3<3
Night falls on the battlefield.
Merlin retreats to Arthur's tent, eyes still golden and his heart beating to no rhythm he's ever heard inside of man. It's a rhythm governed by different rules and it's threatening to consume him. He sits on a small stool, trying to catch his breath, but it's no use.
Magic throbs through the air.
Hours later, he hears Arthur coming back from a council meeting with his knights. Part of him knows that Gwaine has already told Arthur about Merlin's state and even though he wants the comfort of Arthur's hands, he doesn't know if it's safe to be around him. He almost warns him to stay away. The other part of him, the part that's chanting incantations under his breath and heaving with magic, wants King Arthur of Albion to walk through the tent flaps so that he can be leveled to the ground.
"Gods," Arthur curses as soon as he steps into the tent. Merlin looks up, but his vision is cloudy with streaks of sparkling gold light.
“Merlin, what's happening?"
Merlin shakes his head to try and clear it. "I'm too, oh Arthur—"
Arthur is there at his side, not touching but hovering near him. Merlin feels the room pulse with magic and he takes a few gulps of breath.
"I could kill you," is what Merlin says. "I wouldn't even be breathing hard. I could just--"
Arthur frowns and Merlin sags, feeling the weight of destiny bearing down on him like a thousand suns. He feels himself start to cry, the air around them singing with magic, high-pitched and painful now.
"Merlin, calm down."
Merlin blinks. He can smell fear. "I could wipe the entire land of life, Arthur, and the Earth would let me with joy."
He feels like he's bleeding from the mouth, but it's just the syrupy taste of magic sloshing between his teeth.
"You don't want to," Arthur says, panic clear. "You don't want to kill anyone. You only did because I asked you to."
"I could kill you all," Merlin whispers and when he looks away from Arthur's broken face, his hands are glowing gold, just like his eyes. The magic dances across his body as the pain floats up, like someone on a stretching machine. He feels the cogs tightening as magic sears his skin.
They both breathe into the magic, inhaling the unnatural air that makes Merlin dizzy with power-- so strong that the ground is beginning to shake. Arthur sways in front of them before he falls to his knees and crawls toward Merlin's feet.
"What do you need?"
Merlin cries harder. "I don't know."
Merlin chokes on his tongue. "I need," he sobs out. "I need to be reminded I'm human. I don't want to be stuck—Arthur, I don't want to be stuck here."
"Merlin," Arthur says, gripping his thighs with the whole of his hands. Merlin doesn't know what he's saying anymore but he knows that he doesn't want to hurt anyone anymore, that he doesn't want to be a tool anymore. "Merlin, you are mine and that makes you--"
"A weapon," Merlin screams out. "I don't want to be here anymore."
Arthur shakes his head roughly, digging his dirty finger nails into Merlin's skin. "No, Merlin, you're just a man. You're my man--not my weapon or my warlock--but my man and you answer to me."
Merlin feels the dust around them dissipate a little, the air easier to breath in. Arthur takes a deep breath, encouraged, and Merlin leans into his touch.
"Can you hear me? Merlin, you are the man that stands by my side and lies in my bed. That is where you are the most important, it is the largest part of you--"
Merlin closes his eyes.
"Show me, please. Arthur, please show me," he cries out, voice shaking with desperation.
There are a few stuttering breaths from Arthur before they're gone and something changes in his demeanor at Merlin's feet. His shoulders broaden and the set of his jaw twitches into place.
"Take off your clothes and get onto the bed," Arthur says, his voice sharp and command-like, as if he's ordering his knights into battle. "On your stomach."
Merlin goes, his body trembling with magic as he strips off his clothes. His hands shake terribly but the force of Arthur’s words compel him to keep going. He’s so different now, tone strong and sure--a dominating presence in Merlin’s chaotic world. It’s so different than the way he usually speaks with Merlin, his mocking tone or the way his voice is stripped of power, of grief and the weight of being King and is simply Arthur.
This is nothing like that.
There are several things around the tent that are rattling, hovering off the ground or spinning slowly. He tries to ignore them and follows Arthur's instructions. He can hear Arthur move around the room but when he finally approaches the mattress, it's a surprise. He's so close, hovering on top of Merlin and pressing nothing but his mouth to Merlin's ear. Although they're not touching except at that one point, Merlin feels absolutely smothered by him.
"Close your eyes."
Merlin does, breathing deeply and sinking further into the straw.
"You're the most human boy I know," Arthur murmurs. "Humans feel pain and they create pain, don't they, Merlin?"
He chokes on his reply. The pain he causes isn't human—
"—Merlin, are you listening to me?" The question is accompanied with the sharp press of Arthur's hand on Merlin's neck. With their position, the pressure makes it so he can hardly take a breath and the next drag of his lungs is ragged.
"I want you to remember back, to before all of this and I want you to think about the night in the stables. Do you remember how we drunkenly stumbled into the hay? Can’t you smell it?"
Merlin's mind swirls as he fights to focus on Arthur's words. He feels overwhelmed with power, his body humming with magic and pulling him just out of his control.
"Listen to me," Arthur growls. "I am your master and you will obey me."
The fog of gold lifts, as if it were never there and Merlin gasps, breath rushing into his lungs as he sobs and smells the pungent thickness of hay.
"Remember the way I fucked into you, with only the spit from my mouth to slick you up? Do you remember, Merlin? I want you to focus and remember the stretch, the way my cock just filled you until you were nothing but a hungry hole for me—your King—to use," Arthur says quietly, not in a whisper, but just calm and steady and commanding, as if he knows that Merlin will obey without restraint.
"Do you remember?"
Merlin breathes.
"Merlin, open your eyes and answer me."
When Merlin opens his eyes, the cup on the floor is no longer rattling and his shoulder isn't glowing gold. He breathes, calm rolling off of Arthur in waves. All he has to do is obey Arthur, his master, and everything will be okay.
"I do," Merlin chokes out. He might still be crying, but it's probably more from relief now than anything else.
"Good," Arthur says. He bites at Merlin's ear. "I'm going to do that again because you forgot today, and I don't want you ever to forget."
Merlin whimpers, his mind slowly sliding away from him and just existing, here with Arthur and no where else. He feels the Earth retract from him, hiding from this feeling that Arthur's voice commands.
"I'm going to fuck you until you scream, my cock dragging inside of you like Excalibur and you're never going to forget that you're mine and no one else's." Arthur meters out his words, not angry just confident. "I will not share you, not with anyone and certainly not with magic. Do you understand me?"
Merlin can barely sob out a yes, nodding frantically before Arthur kisses his forehead and fulfills his promise.
<3<3<3
It's not an everyday occurrence. Merlin doesn't need it every time they have sex. But there are times when he does need it, sometimes he isn't even aware how much he needs it to happen until Arthur is already there, taking care of him so that he doesn't slip into insanity—so that he doesn't destroy them all.
It's frequent during war times but that’s not the only time Merlin feels the hum and pull of magic too strong to deny. There are days when Earth’s balance is temperamental, demanding Merlin’s action and he finds himself wandering out of the castle--away from the safety of Arthur’s arms.
Some days, he's nothing but a ball of light. He can hear the souls of the Old Religion humming in the soil and carnage beneath his feet. Trees bend, cracking their bark to reach him as he walks through forest and animals beg to be sacrificed at his feet.
Merlin knows this is their destiny, to unite the people of Albion under their hand and lead them into their futures, but the magic it takes is inhumane. His body feels stripped clean of feeling, of anything normal or happy or painful and all Merlin can feel is the magic.
He gets lost.
Two days after Mercia’s overtaking, Arthur puts up a fight.
“I don’t want this to happen anymore,” he says lowly. Merlin’s bent over candle-lit maps, his fingers running over the grooves that he made after the last battle. “We’ll not use magic in the next battle.”
Merlin swallows. This is an old argument. “You’ll be sending men to their deaths.”
“I don’t care!”
Arthur’s temper flares, the goblet in his hand flying across the room and flopping against the tent walls. It’s terribly anti-climactic. Merlin clears his throat as Arthur huffs breaths across the tent.
“I don’t believe that,” Merlin says. “You care about your men.”
When Merlin looks up, Arthur sags against the table and Merlin feels his chest ache. When Arthur had first realized the depths of Merlin’s magic, he had sworn that he would never use it but destiny has always had other plans. It isn’t ideal but when Merlin closes his eyes, he sees a land united under one flag and peace in the hearts of the people.
This isn’t about them.
“I don’t want to lose you to this,” Arthur confesses, low and wrenched out of him. Merlin can’t help but go to him.
Merlin curls his arms around Arthur’s waist and kisses his shoulder blade.
“We use my magic for Albion,” Merlin says into his warm skin. “We use it to save your people. This is no time to abandon your stupid nobility for selfishness, Arthur.”
Stillness settles over them and Arthur’s temper bleeds out of him. Eventually his hands find Merlin’s and he strokes the dirtiest skin there.
“And you?”
Merlin sighs.
It's too hard to ask more of Arthur and Merlin doesn't want to do it anymore. The words stick inside his throat, twisting down his chest and rest, too solid, in his belly. He doesn't want to ask Arthur to do this. How can he demand Arthur's heart, his blood and his kingdom for a warlock too lost to the wilds of magic? How can Merlin unite Albion if he can't disconnect himself? How can Merlin serve the people if he is no longer human?
“I have you,” is all Merlin can say.
Arthur snorts. “What if I can’t--what if I’m not enough--to bring you back to me?”
“You will be,” Merlin says, nuzzling his face into the space between Arthur’s shoulder blades. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”
“I am no longer a knight, Merlin,” Arthur says, the seriousness of his tone is still there but it’s slipped under the surface, covered by his usual arrogant tone. “I am a king.”
Merlin bites at Arthur’s skin. “Maybe to some,” he says smiling. “But you’re still just a prat of a Prince to me.”
“Insubordinate brat.”
They go back to work after that, arguing over battle plans and enchantments, whether or not Gwaine will be able to wield a battle axe with his shoulder and if Leon can take the western border without Arthur’s help. Merlin goes to check on the wounded, making note of potions to make and spells to look up as he makes his way through the camp. When he returns, Arthur has tucked himself into bed, candles blazing low, with a book on his lap.
His face is unlined, the toll of the day relaxing from the sharp grooves his face holds during battle and leaving the young man Merlin remembers from all those years ago. Merlin doesn’t hesitate to strip his robes and climb into the pallet next to him. Arthur sighs, as if he wants to start another argument, but his arms come around to hold Merlin anyway and he keeps the silence between them.
Arthur is always there.
It's like magic.
<3<3<3
The next major battle is two weeks later, their conversations about the subject of Merlin's burden are tense but informative and Merlin marches into battle feeling confident in Arthur's ability. In the love that binds them together in all things.
He casts the first spell with the memory of Arthur’s kiss pressing against his chest like a tether.
Merlin needs it when he brings a castle to the ground. The stones roll out, hurtling toward their enemies and exposing women and children inside, inside the barreled belly of the castle. The ground is still shaking and Merlin feels raw with power, roaring above all the noise of death and claiming dominion over the land.
His hand is poised, ready to suck the life out of the crying babes when Arthur arrives.
"Merlin, you're disobeying me," he says calmly, his voice hardly shaking.
Merlin licks his lips, surprised that he even has lips and takes a few breaths, relearning the lay of his lungs. He blinks and the fog of magic clears, although he can still feel it in the air. He wonders, idly, if he can choke them all with the force of his magic—if he can drown them in showers of gold until it’s all they bleed.
"Hands behind your back," Arthur commands.
Merlin's hands fall.
Arthur doesn't sag in relief but it's a near thing. Merlin is slowly gaining more awareness of the area around him. He clasps his hands behind his back and folds his head to his chest, just like they practiced.
"Good boy," Arthur says, placing a kiss to Merlin's exposed neck. It feels soft and safe and Merlin's head clears a fraction more. "I want you to remember that you have feet, that you need these feet to walk across the field and into our tent."
Just as the world around him comes back into focus, it leaves just as quickly and Merlin can only hear Arthur's measured voice.
"You'll walk to the tent and kneel by the bed to wait my return. You will speak to no one and under no circumstances are you to preform magic. Is that understood?"
Merlin rocks back and forth with his nod, chin still tucked to his chest.
"Very well. Leave me," Arthur continues, voice still strong.
Merlin stumbles on shaky legs, eyes glued to the ground and focuses on keeping his hands clasped behind his back.
"Merlin?"
He stills at Arthur's voice.
"I will be very disappointed if you disobey my orders," Arthur says firmly. "When a King takes a companion, it is expected that they listen to each other. Do not forget this."
The next step Merlin takes is not as shaky as the first.
<3<3<3
Merlin waits. The sun falls and it begins to rain, as it always does after too much magic has penetrated battle. Merlin doesn't move from his place by the bed. His knees hurt and it's blissful.
He has knees.
When Arthur arrives, he takes his time moving about the tent and undressing himself. Merlin hears him hissing as he takes off his armor himself, not an easy feat with the soreness of his muscles from battle.
The air is thick with magic but it's not unbearable.
Merlin focuses on the pain on his knees; the ball joints feel jelly-like, as if they’ll disintegrate and just leave his legs with nothing to connect them in the middle. Every time the ground begins to shake or Merlin's vision gets cloudy with gold streaks, he focuses on his knees and tries to breathe.
Eventually, Arthur makes his way over to Merlin's place. Merlin doesn't dare look up because he knows his eyes are still molten and that is not what Arthur wants to see right now.
No, that's not it. That gold, that gold is not what he loves about Merlin and therefore, Merlin ought not to do it. Not now.
Arthur's hand sinks into Merlin's hair, just stuck in the tangled mess of his hair and Merlin surges into the touch.
"You forgot yourself today," Arthur says idly, almost bored. “You forgot who you belonged to.”
The apology sticks in Merlin's throat as Arthur jerks his head back, fingers tight in his hair as tears prickle his cheeks like pin-pricks. Merlin keeps his eyes closed, baring his throat to Arthur in complete submission as he hears the dull roar of magic slip further away.
"Magic does not own you," Arthur spits out, suddenly vicious. He rubs his teeth against Merlin's throat and Merlin is overcome, full up of Arthur and shaking. Arthur runs his teeth up and down Merlin's naked submission. "I am your King, I am your master and I am your bonded. Your forgetfulness will have to be punished."
When Merlin goes to open his eyes, to give his consent, Arthur smacks him across the face. Merlin yelps, the pain smarting across his cheek and it feels electric but real. Merlin moans, softly.
"I do not want to see the evidence of your absentmindedness," Arthur says, voice as commanding as ever. He sits down on the edge of the straw mattress but he doesn't remove his hand from Merlin's hair. Merlin screws his eyes tighter sill. "Over my knee."
Merlin scrambles up and over Arthur's knee, his feet awkwardly touch the ground and Arthur's thighs dig into Merlin's chest; it feels heavenly. He's distantly aware of Arthur tugging down his breeches but he's concentrating on breathing deeply. His body shifts more onto Arthur's lap and it's then that Merlin registers Arthur’s nakedness.
But there isn't any time to be aroused by Arthur's cock, already straining at Merlin's belly because Arthur's fingertips are digging into the space between Merlin's arse cheeks. They don't find his hole, they just run the length of it until Merlin moans, soft and painful, as Arthur's fingernails break the skin.
"I'm going to spank you because you've disobeyed me," Arthur says darkly. "After every strike, you will repeat the words I am yours, King Arthur. Do you understand me?"
Merlin lets Arthur's words sink inside of him. He feels them run the length of his spin and settle. He feels the magic slowly leech out of him, like someone is bleeding him of poison.
"What will you say?"
Merlin swallows. "I am yours, K-king Arthur."
"Good," Arthur replies, caressing Merlin's bottom once before rising it to strike.
The flat of Arthur's palm feels impossibly big as it reigns wrathfully down on Merlin's cheeks. There is a slight pause after each one and Merlin calls out his response as loudly as he can. He starts crying at ten, but the tears are out of joy. The skin of his arse is on fire with the force of Arthur's smacks and Merlin can do nothing but arch into them and choke out his response, voice desperate and awed because Arthur loves him.
Arthur owns him.
The breeches inch down his thighs until they give up and abandon him all together. Merlin’s thighs have goose-pimples all up and down them, jealous of the attention his arse is getting and wanting, very badly, to be beaten too.
"Twenty," Arthur says sometime later, voice very ragged but still in control.
"I am yours," Merlin cries out, hips hitching back as Arthur's hand leaves his throbbing arse, "King Arthur."
He ends on a moan, breathless and gasping. Seconds float by but Merlin feels blissful, so happy and human and owned. Arthur's hand returns to the inflamed skin, gentle this time with his touch.
"I can see my ring print," Arthur whispers, wonder laced inside his voice but ownership too, as if he's amazed that Merlin lets Arthur keep him.
Merlin squirms back into the touch. He wants Arthur to know that it's not that way at all, but that Merlin is the lucky one and so he does, he moans and lets Arthur trace his bruised behind until there is nothing but the blank expanse of nothing inside his head.
"Please, Arthur," Merlin moans.
Arthur's hand stills. "You were very good through your punishment, Merlin. I'm very proud of you."
Merlin sobs.
Arthur's response is to slip two fingers, slick with oil, into Merlin's tender hole. Merlin knows his body’s response, he knows that his entrance clings to Arthur's fingers before surrendering to their plunder and he knows he mews and makes so much noise because it feels so good. He knows this but it's distant. It's far away from him, this writhing and the place he's occupying is smooth and white and pure of everything but Arthur's voice and the safety that comes with it.
"Merlin," Arthur says later, three fingers buried deep inside Merlin's slick and needy hole. "Merlin, who do you belong to?"
Merlin's body bows back as Arthur's fingers find that place inside him that feels like fire from the inside, a direct line from Merlin's body to his mind. Merlin's fingernails scramble for purchase on the dirt of the floor.
"You," Merlin cries out. "I belong to you."
"Yes, you do. Let me show you how thankful I am."
Merlin nods and suddenly Arthur is lifting him up and settling him in his lap. Merlin goes willingly, remembering that he has hands that can cling to Arthur and he does, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck and burying his face into the soft curve of Arthur's muscled shoulder. He smells not of battle but of the grass outside Camelot's walls, of silky candle wax, and of wine, sweet and pungent. Merlin laps at the skin there as Arthur readjusts Merlin's legs to sit outside his thighs.
"You're mine and I'll always take care of you," Arthur murmurs, into Merlin's hair.
Merlin nods, sucking on the skin of Arthur's neck when those hands, gloriously large and calloused lift him up by the hips and seat him on Arthur's cock.
Merlin moans, loud and pathetic into Arthur's ear, but he is shushed by Arthur's hands traveling up and down Merlin's back, covering him with their sheer width. He is reminded of how small he is, fitting into the space that Arthur has carved out for him but completely dwarfing him with the size of Arthur... the size of...
Arthur's hands settle on his hips, lifting him solidly and slamming him down onto Arthur's cock. It's good, rough and blistering. The pace Arthur sets has Merlin moaning loudly into the skin of Arthur's neck. Arthur feels very big inside him, stretching him to the limits. Arthur manhandles Merlin with little effort, simply moving his hole up and down his cock, fucking up into him and bending Merlin's body to his will.
"Merlin, you feel so good," Arthur murmurs into Merlin's neck. "So hot for me."
Merlin moans, teeth nibbling into Arthur's skin.
"Can you feel how amazing you make me feel? Can you feel how hard my cock is for your willing hole—how much owning you pleases me? You're so magnificent, Merlin. You have no idea."
It hurts. Arthur's cock is brutal inside of him, seemingly able to thrust deeper with every stroke and claim every part of Merlin. He can feel the bruises rising on his skin where Arthur's hands have demanded their presence be remembered—where Merlin's skin has scrambled to comply with Arthur's desires.
Merlin clutches at Arthur's neck, wrapping arms and legs around him as the pleasure heightens and breaks through whatever barrier Merlin has slipped into place. It bursts behind his eyelids, white light and Merlin screams.
"Good boy," Arthur yells into his ear. "So good, now come for me. Come for me so I can lick it up off of you because you’re mine, you’re mine—"
Merlin comes, his cock a secondary part of him as something in his chest implodes and all he can see, taste and be is Arthur's. Distantly, he feels Arthur come with a shout. His cock coats the inside of Merlin's hole with heat, sticky and slick and a possession all of its own. He feels it, both soothing and filthy, but where he is there is only legions of pure white and honey silk words.
Merlin lets the warmth take him away.
When he wakes, he’s on his back and Arthur is licking the come from his stomach. Merlin watches, silently, as Arthur cleans him up with his mouth before lifting his legs and licking him there too. He's too sensitive, his body twitching with over stimulation but Arthur keeps going, licking and massaging Merlin's hole with his tongue until he can suck his own come out of Merlin's body.
Merlin moans, clutching at Arthur's head and smiling when Arthur hums, content against his weeping hole.
Arthur runs a wet piece of cloth he’s torn from a shift over both of them, and when he's done, he simply throws it over the side of the bed. He climbs on top of Merlin and the last part of the tension in Merlin's shoulders releases as Arthur's body covers Merlin's completely.
They breathe into each other.
Arthur eventually raises his head and takes Merlin's face in between his lovely palms.
"Your eyes are blue," Arthur whispers.
Merlin smiles. "So are yours."
They kiss, tender and longing, all the broken pieces of Merlin filling up with just Arthur and it's fine, everything is going to be fine.
He has Arthur and Arthur has him. Nothing else matters.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5K
Warning: D/s, spanking, violence, depictions of war, felching, rough sex, and language.
Summary: Sometimes Merlin gets lost and he needs to be guided back home.
Author's Notes: This is for
lolafeist. She is always writing me things and I am forever grateful for her words. On top of that, she's just a fucking lovely person and I love that I share fandom space with her. ♥ I had a lot of help with this fic. I've never written anything like this before and elicited help from marguerite_26, samsamtastic, sabriel75 and vesperdivum: if it wasn't for their patience, their comma expertise, their encouragement and their talent, this fic would be nothing. I can't thank you all enough. The title is from The Head and The Heart's song, Rivers and Roads.I hope you all like it.
It's only when they overtake Mercia that it begins.
The battlefield is ashy from the power of Merlin's magic still shimmering over the bodies. He walks the length of it, feeling the Earth reach for him as he steps over charred remains. He's still too connected, too raw from the high volume of magic he's just had to perform to be completely unconnected with the ground below him. He can feel the soil bellow from the weight of the dead and he promises rain, leaning down and whispering into a cracked blade of grass that soon it will be done.
Camelot's soldiers and those, who have realized the strength of King Arthur's weapon, shutter away when they see him. Merlin's not used to their stares, let alone the fear that leeches off of them in waves. He feels nauseous from it and he realizes how ridiculous that sounds when he's surrounded by rotting flesh and decaying insides that have spilled out of their host's cavities. Yet, it is the fear that disgusts him.
It is the fear that shakes him, unsteadying him, and staggers his gait.
Gwaine catches him off guard. He almost runs him over, plowing into him from the side and grasping his face.
"Gods, Merlin, are you alright?"
Merlin blinks slowly. "Of course."
Gwaine shakes his head, pulling Merlin's head into his chest before looking back into his face. Gwaine doesn't look afraid of him and it grounds Merlin a bit, takes him away from the diphthongs of the Earth. Merlin traces the length of Gwaine's nose and the knight frowns deeply.
"Merlin," he says softly. "Your eyes are still molten."
"Really?"
Gwaine looks very sad. "I can't find the seas in your eyes."
Merlin nods, too shocked to say anything and lets Gwaine pull his head back into the his broad chest. Merlin lets Gwaine hold him, among the fallen, for as long as they can afford to stay idle. When they break apart, Merlin looks hopefully at Gwaine but he only shakes his head.
The gold has not left him.
Night falls on the battlefield.
Merlin retreats to Arthur's tent, eyes still golden and his heart beating to no rhythm he's ever heard inside of man. It's a rhythm governed by different rules and it's threatening to consume him. He sits on a small stool, trying to catch his breath, but it's no use.
Magic throbs through the air.
Hours later, he hears Arthur coming back from a council meeting with his knights. Part of him knows that Gwaine has already told Arthur about Merlin's state and even though he wants the comfort of Arthur's hands, he doesn't know if it's safe to be around him. He almost warns him to stay away. The other part of him, the part that's chanting incantations under his breath and heaving with magic, wants King Arthur of Albion to walk through the tent flaps so that he can be leveled to the ground.
"Gods," Arthur curses as soon as he steps into the tent. Merlin looks up, but his vision is cloudy with streaks of sparkling gold light.
“Merlin, what's happening?"
Merlin shakes his head to try and clear it. "I'm too, oh Arthur—"
Arthur is there at his side, not touching but hovering near him. Merlin feels the room pulse with magic and he takes a few gulps of breath.
"I could kill you," is what Merlin says. "I wouldn't even be breathing hard. I could just--"
Arthur frowns and Merlin sags, feeling the weight of destiny bearing down on him like a thousand suns. He feels himself start to cry, the air around them singing with magic, high-pitched and painful now.
"Merlin, calm down."
Merlin blinks. He can smell fear. "I could wipe the entire land of life, Arthur, and the Earth would let me with joy."
He feels like he's bleeding from the mouth, but it's just the syrupy taste of magic sloshing between his teeth.
"You don't want to," Arthur says, panic clear. "You don't want to kill anyone. You only did because I asked you to."
"I could kill you all," Merlin whispers and when he looks away from Arthur's broken face, his hands are glowing gold, just like his eyes. The magic dances across his body as the pain floats up, like someone on a stretching machine. He feels the cogs tightening as magic sears his skin.
They both breathe into the magic, inhaling the unnatural air that makes Merlin dizzy with power-- so strong that the ground is beginning to shake. Arthur sways in front of them before he falls to his knees and crawls toward Merlin's feet.
"What do you need?"
Merlin cries harder. "I don't know."
Merlin chokes on his tongue. "I need," he sobs out. "I need to be reminded I'm human. I don't want to be stuck—Arthur, I don't want to be stuck here."
"Merlin," Arthur says, gripping his thighs with the whole of his hands. Merlin doesn't know what he's saying anymore but he knows that he doesn't want to hurt anyone anymore, that he doesn't want to be a tool anymore. "Merlin, you are mine and that makes you--"
"A weapon," Merlin screams out. "I don't want to be here anymore."
Arthur shakes his head roughly, digging his dirty finger nails into Merlin's skin. "No, Merlin, you're just a man. You're my man--not my weapon or my warlock--but my man and you answer to me."
Merlin feels the dust around them dissipate a little, the air easier to breath in. Arthur takes a deep breath, encouraged, and Merlin leans into his touch.
"Can you hear me? Merlin, you are the man that stands by my side and lies in my bed. That is where you are the most important, it is the largest part of you--"
Merlin closes his eyes.
"Show me, please. Arthur, please show me," he cries out, voice shaking with desperation.
There are a few stuttering breaths from Arthur before they're gone and something changes in his demeanor at Merlin's feet. His shoulders broaden and the set of his jaw twitches into place.
"Take off your clothes and get onto the bed," Arthur says, his voice sharp and command-like, as if he's ordering his knights into battle. "On your stomach."
Merlin goes, his body trembling with magic as he strips off his clothes. His hands shake terribly but the force of Arthur’s words compel him to keep going. He’s so different now, tone strong and sure--a dominating presence in Merlin’s chaotic world. It’s so different than the way he usually speaks with Merlin, his mocking tone or the way his voice is stripped of power, of grief and the weight of being King and is simply Arthur.
This is nothing like that.
There are several things around the tent that are rattling, hovering off the ground or spinning slowly. He tries to ignore them and follows Arthur's instructions. He can hear Arthur move around the room but when he finally approaches the mattress, it's a surprise. He's so close, hovering on top of Merlin and pressing nothing but his mouth to Merlin's ear. Although they're not touching except at that one point, Merlin feels absolutely smothered by him.
"Close your eyes."
Merlin does, breathing deeply and sinking further into the straw.
"You're the most human boy I know," Arthur murmurs. "Humans feel pain and they create pain, don't they, Merlin?"
He chokes on his reply. The pain he causes isn't human—
"—Merlin, are you listening to me?" The question is accompanied with the sharp press of Arthur's hand on Merlin's neck. With their position, the pressure makes it so he can hardly take a breath and the next drag of his lungs is ragged.
"I want you to remember back, to before all of this and I want you to think about the night in the stables. Do you remember how we drunkenly stumbled into the hay? Can’t you smell it?"
Merlin's mind swirls as he fights to focus on Arthur's words. He feels overwhelmed with power, his body humming with magic and pulling him just out of his control.
"Listen to me," Arthur growls. "I am your master and you will obey me."
The fog of gold lifts, as if it were never there and Merlin gasps, breath rushing into his lungs as he sobs and smells the pungent thickness of hay.
"Remember the way I fucked into you, with only the spit from my mouth to slick you up? Do you remember, Merlin? I want you to focus and remember the stretch, the way my cock just filled you until you were nothing but a hungry hole for me—your King—to use," Arthur says quietly, not in a whisper, but just calm and steady and commanding, as if he knows that Merlin will obey without restraint.
"Do you remember?"
Merlin breathes.
"Merlin, open your eyes and answer me."
When Merlin opens his eyes, the cup on the floor is no longer rattling and his shoulder isn't glowing gold. He breathes, calm rolling off of Arthur in waves. All he has to do is obey Arthur, his master, and everything will be okay.
"I do," Merlin chokes out. He might still be crying, but it's probably more from relief now than anything else.
"Good," Arthur says. He bites at Merlin's ear. "I'm going to do that again because you forgot today, and I don't want you ever to forget."
Merlin whimpers, his mind slowly sliding away from him and just existing, here with Arthur and no where else. He feels the Earth retract from him, hiding from this feeling that Arthur's voice commands.
"I'm going to fuck you until you scream, my cock dragging inside of you like Excalibur and you're never going to forget that you're mine and no one else's." Arthur meters out his words, not angry just confident. "I will not share you, not with anyone and certainly not with magic. Do you understand me?"
Merlin can barely sob out a yes, nodding frantically before Arthur kisses his forehead and fulfills his promise.
It's not an everyday occurrence. Merlin doesn't need it every time they have sex. But there are times when he does need it, sometimes he isn't even aware how much he needs it to happen until Arthur is already there, taking care of him so that he doesn't slip into insanity—so that he doesn't destroy them all.
It's frequent during war times but that’s not the only time Merlin feels the hum and pull of magic too strong to deny. There are days when Earth’s balance is temperamental, demanding Merlin’s action and he finds himself wandering out of the castle--away from the safety of Arthur’s arms.
Some days, he's nothing but a ball of light. He can hear the souls of the Old Religion humming in the soil and carnage beneath his feet. Trees bend, cracking their bark to reach him as he walks through forest and animals beg to be sacrificed at his feet.
Merlin knows this is their destiny, to unite the people of Albion under their hand and lead them into their futures, but the magic it takes is inhumane. His body feels stripped clean of feeling, of anything normal or happy or painful and all Merlin can feel is the magic.
He gets lost.
Two days after Mercia’s overtaking, Arthur puts up a fight.
“I don’t want this to happen anymore,” he says lowly. Merlin’s bent over candle-lit maps, his fingers running over the grooves that he made after the last battle. “We’ll not use magic in the next battle.”
Merlin swallows. This is an old argument. “You’ll be sending men to their deaths.”
“I don’t care!”
Arthur’s temper flares, the goblet in his hand flying across the room and flopping against the tent walls. It’s terribly anti-climactic. Merlin clears his throat as Arthur huffs breaths across the tent.
“I don’t believe that,” Merlin says. “You care about your men.”
When Merlin looks up, Arthur sags against the table and Merlin feels his chest ache. When Arthur had first realized the depths of Merlin’s magic, he had sworn that he would never use it but destiny has always had other plans. It isn’t ideal but when Merlin closes his eyes, he sees a land united under one flag and peace in the hearts of the people.
This isn’t about them.
“I don’t want to lose you to this,” Arthur confesses, low and wrenched out of him. Merlin can’t help but go to him.
Merlin curls his arms around Arthur’s waist and kisses his shoulder blade.
“We use my magic for Albion,” Merlin says into his warm skin. “We use it to save your people. This is no time to abandon your stupid nobility for selfishness, Arthur.”
Stillness settles over them and Arthur’s temper bleeds out of him. Eventually his hands find Merlin’s and he strokes the dirtiest skin there.
“And you?”
Merlin sighs.
It's too hard to ask more of Arthur and Merlin doesn't want to do it anymore. The words stick inside his throat, twisting down his chest and rest, too solid, in his belly. He doesn't want to ask Arthur to do this. How can he demand Arthur's heart, his blood and his kingdom for a warlock too lost to the wilds of magic? How can Merlin unite Albion if he can't disconnect himself? How can Merlin serve the people if he is no longer human?
“I have you,” is all Merlin can say.
Arthur snorts. “What if I can’t--what if I’m not enough--to bring you back to me?”
“You will be,” Merlin says, nuzzling his face into the space between Arthur’s shoulder blades. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”
“I am no longer a knight, Merlin,” Arthur says, the seriousness of his tone is still there but it’s slipped under the surface, covered by his usual arrogant tone. “I am a king.”
Merlin bites at Arthur’s skin. “Maybe to some,” he says smiling. “But you’re still just a prat of a Prince to me.”
“Insubordinate brat.”
They go back to work after that, arguing over battle plans and enchantments, whether or not Gwaine will be able to wield a battle axe with his shoulder and if Leon can take the western border without Arthur’s help. Merlin goes to check on the wounded, making note of potions to make and spells to look up as he makes his way through the camp. When he returns, Arthur has tucked himself into bed, candles blazing low, with a book on his lap.
His face is unlined, the toll of the day relaxing from the sharp grooves his face holds during battle and leaving the young man Merlin remembers from all those years ago. Merlin doesn’t hesitate to strip his robes and climb into the pallet next to him. Arthur sighs, as if he wants to start another argument, but his arms come around to hold Merlin anyway and he keeps the silence between them.
Arthur is always there.
It's like magic.
The next major battle is two weeks later, their conversations about the subject of Merlin's burden are tense but informative and Merlin marches into battle feeling confident in Arthur's ability. In the love that binds them together in all things.
He casts the first spell with the memory of Arthur’s kiss pressing against his chest like a tether.
Merlin needs it when he brings a castle to the ground. The stones roll out, hurtling toward their enemies and exposing women and children inside, inside the barreled belly of the castle. The ground is still shaking and Merlin feels raw with power, roaring above all the noise of death and claiming dominion over the land.
His hand is poised, ready to suck the life out of the crying babes when Arthur arrives.
"Merlin, you're disobeying me," he says calmly, his voice hardly shaking.
Merlin licks his lips, surprised that he even has lips and takes a few breaths, relearning the lay of his lungs. He blinks and the fog of magic clears, although he can still feel it in the air. He wonders, idly, if he can choke them all with the force of his magic—if he can drown them in showers of gold until it’s all they bleed.
"Hands behind your back," Arthur commands.
Merlin's hands fall.
Arthur doesn't sag in relief but it's a near thing. Merlin is slowly gaining more awareness of the area around him. He clasps his hands behind his back and folds his head to his chest, just like they practiced.
"Good boy," Arthur says, placing a kiss to Merlin's exposed neck. It feels soft and safe and Merlin's head clears a fraction more. "I want you to remember that you have feet, that you need these feet to walk across the field and into our tent."
Just as the world around him comes back into focus, it leaves just as quickly and Merlin can only hear Arthur's measured voice.
"You'll walk to the tent and kneel by the bed to wait my return. You will speak to no one and under no circumstances are you to preform magic. Is that understood?"
Merlin rocks back and forth with his nod, chin still tucked to his chest.
"Very well. Leave me," Arthur continues, voice still strong.
Merlin stumbles on shaky legs, eyes glued to the ground and focuses on keeping his hands clasped behind his back.
"Merlin?"
He stills at Arthur's voice.
"I will be very disappointed if you disobey my orders," Arthur says firmly. "When a King takes a companion, it is expected that they listen to each other. Do not forget this."
The next step Merlin takes is not as shaky as the first.
Merlin waits. The sun falls and it begins to rain, as it always does after too much magic has penetrated battle. Merlin doesn't move from his place by the bed. His knees hurt and it's blissful.
He has knees.
When Arthur arrives, he takes his time moving about the tent and undressing himself. Merlin hears him hissing as he takes off his armor himself, not an easy feat with the soreness of his muscles from battle.
The air is thick with magic but it's not unbearable.
Merlin focuses on the pain on his knees; the ball joints feel jelly-like, as if they’ll disintegrate and just leave his legs with nothing to connect them in the middle. Every time the ground begins to shake or Merlin's vision gets cloudy with gold streaks, he focuses on his knees and tries to breathe.
Eventually, Arthur makes his way over to Merlin's place. Merlin doesn't dare look up because he knows his eyes are still molten and that is not what Arthur wants to see right now.
No, that's not it. That gold, that gold is not what he loves about Merlin and therefore, Merlin ought not to do it. Not now.
Arthur's hand sinks into Merlin's hair, just stuck in the tangled mess of his hair and Merlin surges into the touch.
"You forgot yourself today," Arthur says idly, almost bored. “You forgot who you belonged to.”
The apology sticks in Merlin's throat as Arthur jerks his head back, fingers tight in his hair as tears prickle his cheeks like pin-pricks. Merlin keeps his eyes closed, baring his throat to Arthur in complete submission as he hears the dull roar of magic slip further away.
"Magic does not own you," Arthur spits out, suddenly vicious. He rubs his teeth against Merlin's throat and Merlin is overcome, full up of Arthur and shaking. Arthur runs his teeth up and down Merlin's naked submission. "I am your King, I am your master and I am your bonded. Your forgetfulness will have to be punished."
When Merlin goes to open his eyes, to give his consent, Arthur smacks him across the face. Merlin yelps, the pain smarting across his cheek and it feels electric but real. Merlin moans, softly.
"I do not want to see the evidence of your absentmindedness," Arthur says, voice as commanding as ever. He sits down on the edge of the straw mattress but he doesn't remove his hand from Merlin's hair. Merlin screws his eyes tighter sill. "Over my knee."
Merlin scrambles up and over Arthur's knee, his feet awkwardly touch the ground and Arthur's thighs dig into Merlin's chest; it feels heavenly. He's distantly aware of Arthur tugging down his breeches but he's concentrating on breathing deeply. His body shifts more onto Arthur's lap and it's then that Merlin registers Arthur’s nakedness.
But there isn't any time to be aroused by Arthur's cock, already straining at Merlin's belly because Arthur's fingertips are digging into the space between Merlin's arse cheeks. They don't find his hole, they just run the length of it until Merlin moans, soft and painful, as Arthur's fingernails break the skin.
"I'm going to spank you because you've disobeyed me," Arthur says darkly. "After every strike, you will repeat the words I am yours, King Arthur. Do you understand me?"
Merlin lets Arthur's words sink inside of him. He feels them run the length of his spin and settle. He feels the magic slowly leech out of him, like someone is bleeding him of poison.
"What will you say?"
Merlin swallows. "I am yours, K-king Arthur."
"Good," Arthur replies, caressing Merlin's bottom once before rising it to strike.
The flat of Arthur's palm feels impossibly big as it reigns wrathfully down on Merlin's cheeks. There is a slight pause after each one and Merlin calls out his response as loudly as he can. He starts crying at ten, but the tears are out of joy. The skin of his arse is on fire with the force of Arthur's smacks and Merlin can do nothing but arch into them and choke out his response, voice desperate and awed because Arthur loves him.
Arthur owns him.
The breeches inch down his thighs until they give up and abandon him all together. Merlin’s thighs have goose-pimples all up and down them, jealous of the attention his arse is getting and wanting, very badly, to be beaten too.
"Twenty," Arthur says sometime later, voice very ragged but still in control.
"I am yours," Merlin cries out, hips hitching back as Arthur's hand leaves his throbbing arse, "King Arthur."
He ends on a moan, breathless and gasping. Seconds float by but Merlin feels blissful, so happy and human and owned. Arthur's hand returns to the inflamed skin, gentle this time with his touch.
"I can see my ring print," Arthur whispers, wonder laced inside his voice but ownership too, as if he's amazed that Merlin lets Arthur keep him.
Merlin squirms back into the touch. He wants Arthur to know that it's not that way at all, but that Merlin is the lucky one and so he does, he moans and lets Arthur trace his bruised behind until there is nothing but the blank expanse of nothing inside his head.
"Please, Arthur," Merlin moans.
Arthur's hand stills. "You were very good through your punishment, Merlin. I'm very proud of you."
Merlin sobs.
Arthur's response is to slip two fingers, slick with oil, into Merlin's tender hole. Merlin knows his body’s response, he knows that his entrance clings to Arthur's fingers before surrendering to their plunder and he knows he mews and makes so much noise because it feels so good. He knows this but it's distant. It's far away from him, this writhing and the place he's occupying is smooth and white and pure of everything but Arthur's voice and the safety that comes with it.
"Merlin," Arthur says later, three fingers buried deep inside Merlin's slick and needy hole. "Merlin, who do you belong to?"
Merlin's body bows back as Arthur's fingers find that place inside him that feels like fire from the inside, a direct line from Merlin's body to his mind. Merlin's fingernails scramble for purchase on the dirt of the floor.
"You," Merlin cries out. "I belong to you."
"Yes, you do. Let me show you how thankful I am."
Merlin nods and suddenly Arthur is lifting him up and settling him in his lap. Merlin goes willingly, remembering that he has hands that can cling to Arthur and he does, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck and burying his face into the soft curve of Arthur's muscled shoulder. He smells not of battle but of the grass outside Camelot's walls, of silky candle wax, and of wine, sweet and pungent. Merlin laps at the skin there as Arthur readjusts Merlin's legs to sit outside his thighs.
"You're mine and I'll always take care of you," Arthur murmurs, into Merlin's hair.
Merlin nods, sucking on the skin of Arthur's neck when those hands, gloriously large and calloused lift him up by the hips and seat him on Arthur's cock.
Merlin moans, loud and pathetic into Arthur's ear, but he is shushed by Arthur's hands traveling up and down Merlin's back, covering him with their sheer width. He is reminded of how small he is, fitting into the space that Arthur has carved out for him but completely dwarfing him with the size of Arthur... the size of...
Arthur's hands settle on his hips, lifting him solidly and slamming him down onto Arthur's cock. It's good, rough and blistering. The pace Arthur sets has Merlin moaning loudly into the skin of Arthur's neck. Arthur feels very big inside him, stretching him to the limits. Arthur manhandles Merlin with little effort, simply moving his hole up and down his cock, fucking up into him and bending Merlin's body to his will.
"Merlin, you feel so good," Arthur murmurs into Merlin's neck. "So hot for me."
Merlin moans, teeth nibbling into Arthur's skin.
"Can you feel how amazing you make me feel? Can you feel how hard my cock is for your willing hole—how much owning you pleases me? You're so magnificent, Merlin. You have no idea."
It hurts. Arthur's cock is brutal inside of him, seemingly able to thrust deeper with every stroke and claim every part of Merlin. He can feel the bruises rising on his skin where Arthur's hands have demanded their presence be remembered—where Merlin's skin has scrambled to comply with Arthur's desires.
Merlin clutches at Arthur's neck, wrapping arms and legs around him as the pleasure heightens and breaks through whatever barrier Merlin has slipped into place. It bursts behind his eyelids, white light and Merlin screams.
"Good boy," Arthur yells into his ear. "So good, now come for me. Come for me so I can lick it up off of you because you’re mine, you’re mine—"
Merlin comes, his cock a secondary part of him as something in his chest implodes and all he can see, taste and be is Arthur's. Distantly, he feels Arthur come with a shout. His cock coats the inside of Merlin's hole with heat, sticky and slick and a possession all of its own. He feels it, both soothing and filthy, but where he is there is only legions of pure white and honey silk words.
Merlin lets the warmth take him away.
When he wakes, he’s on his back and Arthur is licking the come from his stomach. Merlin watches, silently, as Arthur cleans him up with his mouth before lifting his legs and licking him there too. He's too sensitive, his body twitching with over stimulation but Arthur keeps going, licking and massaging Merlin's hole with his tongue until he can suck his own come out of Merlin's body.
Merlin moans, clutching at Arthur's head and smiling when Arthur hums, content against his weeping hole.
Arthur runs a wet piece of cloth he’s torn from a shift over both of them, and when he's done, he simply throws it over the side of the bed. He climbs on top of Merlin and the last part of the tension in Merlin's shoulders releases as Arthur's body covers Merlin's completely.
They breathe into each other.
Arthur eventually raises his head and takes Merlin's face in between his lovely palms.
"Your eyes are blue," Arthur whispers.
Merlin smiles. "So are yours."
They kiss, tender and longing, all the broken pieces of Merlin filling up with just Arthur and it's fine, everything is going to be fine.
He has Arthur and Arthur has him. Nothing else matters.
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no subject
Date: 2011-04-07 03:32 am (UTC)*whimper*
First of all: The MAGIC in this story. THE MAGIC. It's really a living thing. It's incredible the way you've painted it here, the way it's so earthy and organic and FUCKING TERRIFYING. Merlin's disconnection and brokenness and willingness to serve his king, GAH. GAHHHhhhhhh. I love how you portray him here. FUCK.
ARTHUR. GOD. His devotion to Merlin and to his people is beautiful here. The way he slips into this role that Merlin needs is GORGEOUS and so perfect. Oh oh oh. OH I LOVE IT.
GWAINE. THE HUG. And his worry. I think I made squeaky noises and flailed a little. AW GWAINE. BEIN A KNIGHT AND A FRIEND.
And ahhh, Merlin. The way he remembered his body. It really took my breath away. I love how you described the ups and downs of his relationship with his magic, and how human Arthur could ultimately make him feel.
SPANKING. I AM YOURS, KING ARTHUR. THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT. OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.
Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.
Thank you, lady. Seriously. Fuck. So cool. <3 I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me that you wrote something for me. YOU WERE MY FIRST COMMENTER EVER IN THIS FANDOM. And and and now you wrote me a story. *sniffle* Dude. <3
no subject
Date: 2011-04-07 05:38 pm (UTC)Magic: Yes. I was hoping you would love his magic. I'm always trying to get a feel for how epic Merlin's magic is and I'm not sure I did it to the fullest extent but I'm really glad you enjoyed it! MERLIN HAS A LOT OF FEELINGS. GOLD ONES.
Arthur: I think that it's a sad part of him, he'll always be filling roles, even if he doesn't want to and although that's sad, and I question his agency, I think that he finds hope or love in it as well.
Gwaine: I CAN'T WRITE FIC WITHOUT HIM IN IT NOW. WHYYYY.
Spanking: DID YOU SEE THE RING PART? I TOOK THAT FROM OUR CONVO.
Thank you for being awesome. Seriously. I PROUDLY HOLD THAT FIRST COMMENTER PLACE. I'M AWESOME AND YOU ARE AWESOME, IT WAS A UNION OF AWESOMENESS. ♥ I'll write you all the stories you want, bb.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-07 07:17 pm (UTC)I have a lot of angst on Arthur's behalf because he ultimately has to put his kingdom and his people above all else. Merlin can always choose Arthur first. This makes me sad for them. But spanking makes it better. Obviously.
I have a hard time not writing Gwaine in canon era stuff now. He just wanders in like HEY DOES MERLIN NEED A HUG? CAUSE I HAVE SOME. So I approve of this heartily. I'd probably read an entire story that involved Gwaine hugging Merlin in a totally non-sexual way.
You're so cool. <3