claire_debonair (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
claire_debonair) wrote2008-12-27 04:13 am
claire_debonair) wrote2008-12-27 04:13 am
Entry tags:
Merlin fic.
Title: Chains
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R/NC-17, depending on your tolerance.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened.
Summary: Another day, another magical entity bent on killing at least one of the Pendragons, and Arthur finally oversteps the mark.
A/N: Betaed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hikarinotabi , which was very good of him because this isn't even his fandom <3 (I'm not neglecting you, caedesdeo ; I've got some erotic asphyxiation for you have at very soon).
Another day, another magic entity bent on killing at least one on the Pendragons, and Arthur finally oversteps the mark.
Much like Morgana had done before him, he asks too many questions of Uther, demands justice for the unfairly accused. What the woman was accused of matters not; what matters is the falseness of it, and the bright flames of Arthur's rage.
Uther responds to his son the same way he responded to his ward, although with considerably more pain evident in his eyes if not his bearing as the guards flank Arthur and escort him to the dungeons.
Arthur is chained in the same manner as Morgana before him, and like her his head remains unbowed as the shackles close around his wrists.
Uther does not watch this time.
—-
Arthur stands, breathing even and deep, making himself remember every move his weapons tutors ever taught him, beginning with the sword and moving through the order in which the weapons are hung on the wall of the armoury.
The chains make no noise as the door opens and Arthur looks up; he holds himself still and proudly, even if it is just a guard.
The slim figure led inside by an impassive knight makes him frown, although he says nothing until he's sure the guard has returned to his station at the end of the corridor.
Merlin stands where the guard had halted him, a few steps inside the dungeon cell, and just looks at Arthur. "No guard outside the door?"
"I'm the Crown Prince, even like this." Merlin nods, saying nothing. "Why did my father put you in here?"
"Company?" Arthur's lip curls in derision. Merlin laughs, sounding bitter and angry. "A trap, I'd guess. He has his suspicions about me."
Arthur knows, has known since Merlin had become tired of hiding what makes him Merlin from the boy he was supposed to help become a king.
It still stings, the year and a half of lies.
"I wonder how that happened." Sarcasm drips off Arthur's words as Merlin moves to lean languidly against the wall, arms loosely folded as he watches Arthur.
"He wasn't there when you fought the chimera. Neither was I."
"Not this time."
Arthur sees a flicker of gold crawl across the door and the bars giving him a limited view of the corridor outside, and knows that even if Uther himself were to stand there looking in, no matter what is truly happening all he'll see and hear will be Arthur proud and upright, with Merlin visible to one side, waiting like the obedient servant he never is.
"You've had a hand in many a miraculous victory or recovery, Merlin; rumours are bound to start."
"Your father hopes I will be so enraged at his imprisonment of Prince Arthur, to whom he considers me endlessly loyal, that I will use the magic he suspects I have to free him."
Arthur says nothing. They went beyond mere master and servant a long time ago, not that Uther would ever care to notice.
Merlin's voice drops to a darker tone. "He thinks me too stupid to realise a trap when I walk into one."
"Walk? You seemed led to me."
Magic chases up and down the iron links of the chains holding Arthur captive, sparking off to land harmlessly on the straw and Arthur's clothing. What isn't harmless is the expression on Merlin's face when Arthur looks up, composing his own expression into one of careful blankness.
Arthur shudders at the darkness in Merlin's eyes and knows that whatever Uther does to force magic to submit to his rule, Merlin never will.
Not when he is able to do this, to make a slight gesture and have the chains flatten themselves against the floor, dragging Arthur down to his knees with a sharp intake of breath. The manacles around his wrists dig into his skin, a dull pain that makes Arthur's jaw clench.
Arthur holds his head high even as the coldness of the stone floor numbs his knees. Merlin smirks. With less effort than blinking he could raise the temperature of the cell to the levels of summer, but they both know he won't.
"Do you think I'm that stupid?"
"Would I be here now if I did?" Merlin dips his head in acknowledgment, his eyes not leaving Arthur's. If Merlin had not been so confident in the villager's innocence Arthur would not have railed against Uther, would not be on his knees in his own dungeons with Merlin looking at him with pitch dark eyes.
It never occurs to Arthur to blame Merlin.
"No, I suppose not. Which might not be a bad thing," he adds, as the chains ripple. Arthur tenses, but they don't tighten any further. "I can't imagine that you enjoy being here."
A scuffing noise from the corridor halts anything Arthur might want to say in return to that, the guard making his appointed rounds. Merlin's spell negates the need for silence, but all the same Arthur waits until the knight pulls away from the barred aperture in the door and continues on his way.
Merlin pushes himself away from the wall with a fluid flex of shoulders that Arthur knows isn't entirely due to him forcing Merlin to go through basic training sessions. He moves to stand in front of Arthur, blocking his view of the door.
That's probably the point, though.
Merlin cannot be made to submit - at least, not by such means as Uther is using and those that Arthur has tried - but they have found that Arthur can.
It is not something they learnt lightly, or even under the best of circumstances, and the only person who will ever know (or likely understand) is Merlin.
He's the only one that can do this to Arthur.
The chains clank as they are pulled tighter, stretching Arthur's arms out wide as the superfluous lengths coil neatly around themselves. Merlin has become better at keeping things tidy.
The downward force still being exerted keeps Arthur on his knees, makes him curl his hands into fists as the iron around his wrists crosses the line into painful.
Hopes of maintaining his proud bearing shatter as the feeling of phantom hands slides across his neck, pressing against his windpipe with teasing strength. The momentary lessening of air makes Arthur squeeze his eyes shut, chasing the feeling as the invisible hand leaves his neck.
"Or maybe I'm wrong." Merlin's voice is too loud for the claustrophobic atmosphere, its calmness at odds with the way the chains tighten further. The strain across Arthur's shoulders makes him bite his lip with pain and shiver with pleasure. "Maybe you do like being here, held tight and on your knees."
"My father is responsible for the chains, Merlin; you needn't sound so smug."
"But I am responsible for what they're doing." To prove his point, the chains jerk sharply backwards, uncoiling gratingly and yanking Arthur's arms behind his back.
It becomes more and more difficult to hold his head high even with the pretense of pride as that phantom touch Merlin has spent many a night hour perfecting slips beneath Arthur's clothing, splitting into more parts than he cares to count.
They spread over him, echoes of Merlin's own hands and tongue that make Arthur pull against the chains holding him down. His head bows so that Merlin cannot see the way his eyes flicker shut and his face heats due to the onslaught, although it does nothing to stop the shuddering of his body giving him away.
He reacts the way he always does when Merlin does this to him, although the pain of being held so firmly in place makes his arousal a fierce thing, sharp and searing through his veins. It thickens the air around them, makes Arthur remember when he used to feel guilty about even dreaming of Merlin simply touching him.
Now he has Merlin doing so much more than that, and the guilt was burnt away long ago.
Phantom hands as clever and experienced as Merlin's own touch over every spot Arthur has that makes him increasingly wish for the chains to be removed, curling around achingly sensitive flesh as Merlin's lips curve into a sly smile and he adds the feeling of teeth biting along Arthur's collarbone.
The guard's return is signaled by yet more scuffing and the flickering light of his torch, growing brighter as he nears the door of Arthur's cell.
Arthur chokes back a whimper. Merlin's smile grows wicked.
Arthur doesn't know what image Merlin has set in his place for the guard to see, but it cannot be him as he is now; on his knees and hard with want for a person most of the castle considers a bumbling servant, shuddering as fingers wrought from magic tease over pleasure spots that only Merlin has ever found.
May even have created, although he never answers Arthur's demands to know if this is true.
The guard cannot possibly see his chest heaving as Merlin's magic tightens around his neck again, gasping for more air and even more aroused with twisted pleasure when he can only pull in what Merlin intends him to.
He cannot possibly hear the harsh groan that finally fights its way free of Arthur throat as the grip Merlin's magic has on his cock tightens and mimics Merlin's own hand when he wants to send Arthur over the edge as quickly and as hard as he likes to.
If the knight could see Merlin walking slowly around Arthur to tug at one of the chains keeping his arms stretched out like a perversion of wings, sending a shock of magic along the links to spread through Arthur's taut and trembling body, then he would not stand looking into the dungeon cell with such a look of mingled pride at his prince's courage and disgust at Uther.
At least, that's how Arthur interprets it, after seeing many similar looks following his increasingly more frequent arguments with his father.
As if Merlin knows he's getting distracted, the collar of magic shrinks.
Arthur chokes and fights against the chains, feeling the bite of metal as his eyes roll back and the rising tide of pleasure fights with the pain in his shoulders and around his wrists. He can hear the whisper quiet steps as Merlin finishes circling him, stepping over the second chain with exaggerated care, because of course he knows Arthur longs for that extra bit of force to finish him.
The guard bows his head to what he believes is Arthur, and moves away. Merlin leans in close to speak against Arthur's ear, close enough that the heat of his body and the metallic taste of his magic fill Arthur's senses.
"I am responsible for this." The collar of magic vanishes, but Arthur barely has time to suck in much-needed air as the manacles contract and the magic on his body intensifies. He tilts forward, straining against the chains as he is stroked and teased and bitten in every place that, ordinarily and in a safer environment, makes him arch and cry out.
Here, though, he cannot move, let alone arch, and he will not let himself make any noises other than his gasps.
Arthur is being touched everywhere, Merlin finally sending him crashing into blinding heat and pleasurepain with a flash of gold eyes and a solid hand twisting in his hair.
Well, almost everywhere. Not inside him; no matter how much he begs (and oh how he wants to beg), Merlin will not do that here.
The chains hold his weight as he slumps forward, manacles relaxing their hold with the effect that they rub against the bruises left behind and send more shudders through Arthur's already-wracked body.
The magic trickles over him one last time before being withdrawn, Merlin reigning in the haze of shimmering gold he has allowed free because he knows how much Arthur likes (wants) to see it.
Merlin returns to lean against the wall and watch Arthur come down slowly, but he doesn't relax his hold on the chains. They remain unyielding, the pull on Arthur's arms and torso making it hard for him to regain his senses.
Merlin watches and waits while Arthur breathes carefully, shuddering when his eyes close and the bruises he can feel at his neck and wrists make it seem as if Merlin hasn't yet finished.
—-
Uther keeps Arthur in the dungeon for a night, no more and no less than Morgana, although that was of Arthur's doing.
Arthur is neat and tidy, if liberally covered in straw and dust. There is no evidence of the control Merlin had had over him; his clothes are as neat as they were when he had been led down there the day before, smelling merely musty.
The bruises, though, those are still there.
A glamour spell that Arthur and Merlin have had many opportunities to be grateful for shows Uther only the traces of bruises, those caused by unavoidable contact with the heavy iron shackles.
Once hidden away in his chambers Arthur holds his arms out and Merlin removes the spell, eyes darkening at the livid rings encircling Arthur's wrists.
Before the hour is out, Merlin has a matching set on his hips, whispering wicked promises as Arthur traces them with his tongue and lets himself think about chains.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R/NC-17, depending on your tolerance.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened.
Summary: Another day, another magical entity bent on killing at least one of the Pendragons, and Arthur finally oversteps the mark.
A/N: Betaed by
hikarinotabi , which was very good of him because this isn't even his fandom <3 (I'm not neglecting you, caedesdeo ; I've got some erotic asphyxiation for you have at very soon).Another day, another magic entity bent on killing at least one on the Pendragons, and Arthur finally oversteps the mark.
Much like Morgana had done before him, he asks too many questions of Uther, demands justice for the unfairly accused. What the woman was accused of matters not; what matters is the falseness of it, and the bright flames of Arthur's rage.
Uther responds to his son the same way he responded to his ward, although with considerably more pain evident in his eyes if not his bearing as the guards flank Arthur and escort him to the dungeons.
Arthur is chained in the same manner as Morgana before him, and like her his head remains unbowed as the shackles close around his wrists.
Uther does not watch this time.
—-
Arthur stands, breathing even and deep, making himself remember every move his weapons tutors ever taught him, beginning with the sword and moving through the order in which the weapons are hung on the wall of the armoury.
The chains make no noise as the door opens and Arthur looks up; he holds himself still and proudly, even if it is just a guard.
The slim figure led inside by an impassive knight makes him frown, although he says nothing until he's sure the guard has returned to his station at the end of the corridor.
Merlin stands where the guard had halted him, a few steps inside the dungeon cell, and just looks at Arthur. "No guard outside the door?"
"I'm the Crown Prince, even like this." Merlin nods, saying nothing. "Why did my father put you in here?"
"Company?" Arthur's lip curls in derision. Merlin laughs, sounding bitter and angry. "A trap, I'd guess. He has his suspicions about me."
Arthur knows, has known since Merlin had become tired of hiding what makes him Merlin from the boy he was supposed to help become a king.
It still stings, the year and a half of lies.
"I wonder how that happened." Sarcasm drips off Arthur's words as Merlin moves to lean languidly against the wall, arms loosely folded as he watches Arthur.
"He wasn't there when you fought the chimera. Neither was I."
"Not this time."
Arthur sees a flicker of gold crawl across the door and the bars giving him a limited view of the corridor outside, and knows that even if Uther himself were to stand there looking in, no matter what is truly happening all he'll see and hear will be Arthur proud and upright, with Merlin visible to one side, waiting like the obedient servant he never is.
"You've had a hand in many a miraculous victory or recovery, Merlin; rumours are bound to start."
"Your father hopes I will be so enraged at his imprisonment of Prince Arthur, to whom he considers me endlessly loyal, that I will use the magic he suspects I have to free him."
Arthur says nothing. They went beyond mere master and servant a long time ago, not that Uther would ever care to notice.
Merlin's voice drops to a darker tone. "He thinks me too stupid to realise a trap when I walk into one."
"Walk? You seemed led to me."
Magic chases up and down the iron links of the chains holding Arthur captive, sparking off to land harmlessly on the straw and Arthur's clothing. What isn't harmless is the expression on Merlin's face when Arthur looks up, composing his own expression into one of careful blankness.
Arthur shudders at the darkness in Merlin's eyes and knows that whatever Uther does to force magic to submit to his rule, Merlin never will.
Not when he is able to do this, to make a slight gesture and have the chains flatten themselves against the floor, dragging Arthur down to his knees with a sharp intake of breath. The manacles around his wrists dig into his skin, a dull pain that makes Arthur's jaw clench.
Arthur holds his head high even as the coldness of the stone floor numbs his knees. Merlin smirks. With less effort than blinking he could raise the temperature of the cell to the levels of summer, but they both know he won't.
"Do you think I'm that stupid?"
"Would I be here now if I did?" Merlin dips his head in acknowledgment, his eyes not leaving Arthur's. If Merlin had not been so confident in the villager's innocence Arthur would not have railed against Uther, would not be on his knees in his own dungeons with Merlin looking at him with pitch dark eyes.
It never occurs to Arthur to blame Merlin.
"No, I suppose not. Which might not be a bad thing," he adds, as the chains ripple. Arthur tenses, but they don't tighten any further. "I can't imagine that you enjoy being here."
A scuffing noise from the corridor halts anything Arthur might want to say in return to that, the guard making his appointed rounds. Merlin's spell negates the need for silence, but all the same Arthur waits until the knight pulls away from the barred aperture in the door and continues on his way.
Merlin pushes himself away from the wall with a fluid flex of shoulders that Arthur knows isn't entirely due to him forcing Merlin to go through basic training sessions. He moves to stand in front of Arthur, blocking his view of the door.
That's probably the point, though.
Merlin cannot be made to submit - at least, not by such means as Uther is using and those that Arthur has tried - but they have found that Arthur can.
It is not something they learnt lightly, or even under the best of circumstances, and the only person who will ever know (or likely understand) is Merlin.
He's the only one that can do this to Arthur.
The chains clank as they are pulled tighter, stretching Arthur's arms out wide as the superfluous lengths coil neatly around themselves. Merlin has become better at keeping things tidy.
The downward force still being exerted keeps Arthur on his knees, makes him curl his hands into fists as the iron around his wrists crosses the line into painful.
Hopes of maintaining his proud bearing shatter as the feeling of phantom hands slides across his neck, pressing against his windpipe with teasing strength. The momentary lessening of air makes Arthur squeeze his eyes shut, chasing the feeling as the invisible hand leaves his neck.
"Or maybe I'm wrong." Merlin's voice is too loud for the claustrophobic atmosphere, its calmness at odds with the way the chains tighten further. The strain across Arthur's shoulders makes him bite his lip with pain and shiver with pleasure. "Maybe you do like being here, held tight and on your knees."
"My father is responsible for the chains, Merlin; you needn't sound so smug."
"But I am responsible for what they're doing." To prove his point, the chains jerk sharply backwards, uncoiling gratingly and yanking Arthur's arms behind his back.
It becomes more and more difficult to hold his head high even with the pretense of pride as that phantom touch Merlin has spent many a night hour perfecting slips beneath Arthur's clothing, splitting into more parts than he cares to count.
They spread over him, echoes of Merlin's own hands and tongue that make Arthur pull against the chains holding him down. His head bows so that Merlin cannot see the way his eyes flicker shut and his face heats due to the onslaught, although it does nothing to stop the shuddering of his body giving him away.
He reacts the way he always does when Merlin does this to him, although the pain of being held so firmly in place makes his arousal a fierce thing, sharp and searing through his veins. It thickens the air around them, makes Arthur remember when he used to feel guilty about even dreaming of Merlin simply touching him.
Now he has Merlin doing so much more than that, and the guilt was burnt away long ago.
Phantom hands as clever and experienced as Merlin's own touch over every spot Arthur has that makes him increasingly wish for the chains to be removed, curling around achingly sensitive flesh as Merlin's lips curve into a sly smile and he adds the feeling of teeth biting along Arthur's collarbone.
The guard's return is signaled by yet more scuffing and the flickering light of his torch, growing brighter as he nears the door of Arthur's cell.
Arthur chokes back a whimper. Merlin's smile grows wicked.
Arthur doesn't know what image Merlin has set in his place for the guard to see, but it cannot be him as he is now; on his knees and hard with want for a person most of the castle considers a bumbling servant, shuddering as fingers wrought from magic tease over pleasure spots that only Merlin has ever found.
May even have created, although he never answers Arthur's demands to know if this is true.
The guard cannot possibly see his chest heaving as Merlin's magic tightens around his neck again, gasping for more air and even more aroused with twisted pleasure when he can only pull in what Merlin intends him to.
He cannot possibly hear the harsh groan that finally fights its way free of Arthur throat as the grip Merlin's magic has on his cock tightens and mimics Merlin's own hand when he wants to send Arthur over the edge as quickly and as hard as he likes to.
If the knight could see Merlin walking slowly around Arthur to tug at one of the chains keeping his arms stretched out like a perversion of wings, sending a shock of magic along the links to spread through Arthur's taut and trembling body, then he would not stand looking into the dungeon cell with such a look of mingled pride at his prince's courage and disgust at Uther.
At least, that's how Arthur interprets it, after seeing many similar looks following his increasingly more frequent arguments with his father.
As if Merlin knows he's getting distracted, the collar of magic shrinks.
Arthur chokes and fights against the chains, feeling the bite of metal as his eyes roll back and the rising tide of pleasure fights with the pain in his shoulders and around his wrists. He can hear the whisper quiet steps as Merlin finishes circling him, stepping over the second chain with exaggerated care, because of course he knows Arthur longs for that extra bit of force to finish him.
The guard bows his head to what he believes is Arthur, and moves away. Merlin leans in close to speak against Arthur's ear, close enough that the heat of his body and the metallic taste of his magic fill Arthur's senses.
"I am responsible for this." The collar of magic vanishes, but Arthur barely has time to suck in much-needed air as the manacles contract and the magic on his body intensifies. He tilts forward, straining against the chains as he is stroked and teased and bitten in every place that, ordinarily and in a safer environment, makes him arch and cry out.
Here, though, he cannot move, let alone arch, and he will not let himself make any noises other than his gasps.
Arthur is being touched everywhere, Merlin finally sending him crashing into blinding heat and pleasurepain with a flash of gold eyes and a solid hand twisting in his hair.
Well, almost everywhere. Not inside him; no matter how much he begs (and oh how he wants to beg), Merlin will not do that here.
The chains hold his weight as he slumps forward, manacles relaxing their hold with the effect that they rub against the bruises left behind and send more shudders through Arthur's already-wracked body.
The magic trickles over him one last time before being withdrawn, Merlin reigning in the haze of shimmering gold he has allowed free because he knows how much Arthur likes (wants) to see it.
Merlin returns to lean against the wall and watch Arthur come down slowly, but he doesn't relax his hold on the chains. They remain unyielding, the pull on Arthur's arms and torso making it hard for him to regain his senses.
Merlin watches and waits while Arthur breathes carefully, shuddering when his eyes close and the bruises he can feel at his neck and wrists make it seem as if Merlin hasn't yet finished.
—-
Uther keeps Arthur in the dungeon for a night, no more and no less than Morgana, although that was of Arthur's doing.
Arthur is neat and tidy, if liberally covered in straw and dust. There is no evidence of the control Merlin had had over him; his clothes are as neat as they were when he had been led down there the day before, smelling merely musty.
The bruises, though, those are still there.
A glamour spell that Arthur and Merlin have had many opportunities to be grateful for shows Uther only the traces of bruises, those caused by unavoidable contact with the heavy iron shackles.
Once hidden away in his chambers Arthur holds his arms out and Merlin removes the spell, eyes darkening at the livid rings encircling Arthur's wrists.
Before the hour is out, Merlin has a matching set on his hips, whispering wicked promises as Arthur traces them with his tongue and lets himself think about chains.
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