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It’s a bit disconcerting that people no longer bat an eyelash when they see Arthur pulling him through the castle. Merlin struggles against his grip just to make a point—he drags his feet, stumbles purposefully, and once even goes so far as to sink his nails into Arthur's forearm. The fierce glare he gets in return tells him exactly what his alpha thinks of that. In the end, Merlin lets his hand drop back down to his side and bows his head. He doesn't really want to agitate Arthur more than he already has.
The door to their chambers has barely managed to close before Arthur is pushing him up against it and ordering him to strip, voice rough with anger.
"No," Merlin protests, glaring back at him.
"Do as I say or so help me, you won't be able to walk straight for a week," Arthur growls lowly. His voice sends shivers down Merlin's spine and makes something primal in him want to submit.
He doesn't. What he did during the battle wasn't wrong. He saved Arthur's people—their people. He did that. He made sure that their own losses were kept to a minimum. He was the one who protected Arthur, who kept him safe from the assassin who tried to kill him, posing as one of Arthur's own soldiers.
Arthur has no right to be mad at him for how he'd acted. Arthur has no right to tell Merlin what he can and can't do.
It's not like he got hurt, anyway. Not much, at least. The knife barely managed to graze his side; the injury stopped bleeding within minutes.
Merlin opens his mouth to tell Arthur exactly that, but this close to him, it's impossible not to notice the fear in Arthur's expression, much as he might be trying to hide it under a facade of anger.
He... alright, so maybe he didn't really think about this from Arthur's point of view before. Arthur came this close to losing his mate. Had the knife managed to plant itself in Merlin's stomach, they wouldn't be having this conversation right now.
At that thought, Merlin's own glare fades. He looks at Arthur worriedly—more so when Arthur lets his gaze slip from Merlin's face and fall to his chest. It's almost as if he can't bear to look at him. Hesitantly, Merlin raises his hand and puts it on Arthur's jaw and lets his thumb caress the stubble that's begun showing.
His actions seem to snap Arthur out of his suddenly sombre mood, because he grabs Merlin's wrist and tugs his hand back down.
"I'm not repeating myself a third time," Arthur says, grabbing the collar of Merlin's bloodied tunic. He pulls at it harshly, smiling grimly as the worn cloth comes apart. Merlin doesn't utter a single word of protest and instead helps Arthur get his arms out of the sleeves of the torn shirt. Once that's done, Arthur tosses the material over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow.
He doesn't need to say anything. Almost as if of their own volition, Merlin's hands drop down to his belt and unbuckle it. He works slowly, methodically, first removing his boots, then his socks, breeches, and smalls, until he's standing in front of Arthur completely bare.
Arthur's eyes are fixed on the light pink line on Merlin's side. Not for the first time today, Merlin is grateful for his magic. When Arthur strokes his thumb over the newly-formed scar, Merlin shivers.
The next second, Arthur's other hand is curled around the nape of Merlin's neck, and he's being dragged towards the bed in the centre of the room. This time, Merlin doesn't bother to struggle. His stumbles along obediently, unwilling to further agitate his alpha.
When Arthur throws him face down onto the bed, the bedspread muffles Merlin's grunt. He turns his head to the side so that he can breathe easier.
"Don't move," Arthur orders. He stands there, looming over Merlin just long enough to ascertain that Merlin will follow his command, then turns around and stomps his way across the room, quickly disappearing from Merlin's line of sight.
There's the sound of a chest opening— it's the chest where they keep their toys, Merlin realises. Arthur rummages around in it for a few seconds, then closes it again and makes his way back to Merlin's side. This time, he stands on the other side of the bed.
Merlin's never really been scared of Arthur, and he most certainly isn't now, but there is some worry niggling at the back of his mind at the thought of his impending punishment. Arthur would never really hurt him; most likely, he's acting the way he is because he's angry at himself for being unable to protect Merlin, angry at Merlin for not staying away from the fighting, like Arthur has told him to time and again.
He must be scared—despite Arthur being adamant that he doesn't do scared—that Merlin almost died today. Which Merlin wouldn't have done, if only Arthur would finally stop putting himself in danger at every turn.
Something lands on the bed, right between Merlin's legs. He can't see what it is, and he doesn't have much of a chance to find out because right after, Arthur distracts him by winding pieces of silk rope around his wrists and securing them to the bedposts. Merlin's ankles are afforded the same treatment.
Merlin whines when he's completely immobilised. Clearly, he's misjudged the severity of his crime.
"Arthur—" Merlin starts to say, but Arthur is quick to cut him off by pressing his finger to Merlin's lips. Merlin follows his unspoken order and falls silent, unwilling to get himself into any more trouble. Instead, he does his best to look contrite, moving his head to the side and baring his neck—baring his mating bite. He's rewarded with Arthur removing the finger from his lips in order to trace the length of his cheekbone. Merlin moves into the touch, not stopping until he's got the whole of Arthur's hand pressed against his cheek, warm and calloused.
The hard expression on Arthur's face melts a little, but he pulls away quickly, very much aware from past experience that this is Merlin's way of trying to get out of whatever punishment Arthur has planned for him. In an attempt to get closer to Arthur, Merlin squirms against his bindings, but they hold tight. All he manages to do is rub his limbs raw with the rope.
"Stop. Moving," Arthur growls, voice tight with controlled anger. Merlin purses his lips, but in the end, he obeys. Arthur watches him, satisfaction evident in his expression.
And why wouldn't he be satisfied? He's got Merlin right where he wants him—tied to the bed and in his control, willing to let Arthur do as he pleases.
Arthur settles down on the bed, situating himself right by Merlin's waist, albeit not close enough for their bodies to touch. Merlin waits patiently for the first hit, but it doesn't come. Instead, Arthur starts running his hands over the smooth expanse of skin on Merlin's back, then starts travelling further and further down. He caresses his fingers over Merlin's arse, delves between his cheeks to prod at his hole, then travels lower, over his perineum, his balls, the base of his hardening cock. Arthur teases him with these soft touches over and over and over again, until there are tears welling up in Merlin's eyes from the frustration of being unable to get what he truly wants and his hole is wet and dripping with his arousal.
Arthur's hand stops moving when it settles on the scar again, bright against the backdrop of alabaster. For a moment, they both stay absolutely still, but then Arthur leans down to press a kiss against the damaged skin. Merlin wants desperately to push into the touch, but he refrains in the fear that it would only serve to drive Arthur away again.
"I was so scared today," Arthur whispers, his breath ghosting over Merlin's skin. "Absolutely terrified. When. When I thought I was about to lose you. I was terrified, Merlin. It can't happen again. I forbid it. You have to finally learn that it's not your place to sacrifice yourself for me."
The harsh words are punctuated with more soft kisses. As Arthur makes his way back down to Merlin's arse, they become harder and rougher, until he's all but biting at Merlin's skin, more than likely leaving bright red splotches wherever he goes. It's a struggle not to move, not to grind his hard cock into the sheets beneath him.
In the end, he can't help himself. The moment Arthur notices Merlin rocking his hips against the bed, he grips them tight to still him, then moves away. Merlin shivers as the warmth at his back is replaced with cool air.
From this angle, he can't see what Arthur is doing behind him, but whatever it is, it must have something to do with the items he dropped on the bed before. It's not long before Merlin hears the sound of a knife scraping against something and a pungent, spicy scent reaches his nostrils.
Ginger.
"Arthur?" Merlin asks, voice hesitant and uncertain. "What's going on?"
"Shut it, Merlin," Arthur says roughly, continuing to peel the ginger, Merlin falls silent, straining his senses and trying to figure out what, precisely, Arthur is planning to do to him.
Soon enough, the knife clatters to the floor and Arthur's fingers are at his arse, spreading it so that he has an unobstructed view of Merlin's leaking hole. When something cold starts pressing against it, Merlin clenches down, not wanting to let it in. Despite the resistance, Arthur manages to push the cold thing deep into Merlin's arse, leaving only a small nodule out.
The object is hard and unyielding. Merlin tries to push it out, but Arthur's hand is on the back of it, preventing Merlin from dislodging it. Reluctantly, Merlin settles down and waits.
He doesn't notice the tingling sensation at first, too focused on the warmth of Arthur's hand on his arse and the stretch of his hole. After a minute or so, the tingling transforms into a light, but still pleasant warmth, leaving Merlin uncertain about what, exactly, Arthur's intentions are.
Then, the heat deepens into an almost painful burning.
"Arthur," Merlin whines, pressing his face into the bedspread. He clenches his hole around the object and sobs roughly when it only serves to exacerbate the burn.
"Working, is it?" Arthur asks, voice dark and deep with lust. "Are you finally feeling the ginger heat up? How is it, Merlin? Is the burning enough to make you sorry?" Arthur harshly presses down on the base of the ginger plug—gods, is that really ginger in his arse?!— making Merlin hitch away his hips as the burning becomes that much worse.
"Arthur, please," Merlin begs, biting down on his lower lip. Arthur scoffs and slaps his palm against Merlin's upturned arse, causing him to cry out. He instinctively clenches his cheeks to protect himself from the pain, but that only serves to make him rub up against the ginger that's lodged deep inside him. Merlin whimpers at the burn.
"Don't call me by my name, Merlin," Arthur growls dangerously. "It's unbecoming of someone in your position."
To his complete humiliation, Merlin's eyes start to tear up. He tries to blink them away, but it doesn't work—instead of dissipating, the tears spill and trail over his nose, then soak into the bedspread beneath him. Merlin starts squirming again, willing to do just about anything to rid himself of that vile burning sensation.
The bed dips as Arthur makes himself more comfortable upon it.
"Sire," Merlin whines, voice muffled by the bedspread he's shoving his face into. "Sire."
Arthur smacks his arse so hard that it pushes Merlin further up the bed. The ropes around Merlin's limbs are the only thing keeping him from hitting the headboard. He sobs quietly, but doesn't dare to say anything more.
It doesn't seem to matter that he's stopped talking, stopped begging. Arthur's hand lands on his arse again, this time on the other cheek, leaving behind a stinging pain and an intense burning sensation inside Merlin's hole. Merlin grits his teeth to stop himself from crying out.
Arthur's hand lands on his arse again, and again, and again, but Merlin holds true to his resolve and refuses to make a sound. Refuses to give Arthur the satisfaction.
After about thirty hard, stinging, burning hits, Arthur stops. For a moment, Merlin thinks that maybe he's finally getting a second of reprieve. He even starts to hope that his punishment is over and now he and Arthur will be able to move onto things that are actually pleasurable and nice and don't end up with both the inside and outside of Merlin's arse set aflame.
When he hears Arthur removing his belt, Merlin realises just how wrong he was.
"No," Merlin begs, twisting and turning in his binding until he's able to look at Arthur. "No, please," he sobs. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry. Please don't do this. Please."
His begging must not be what Arthur wants to hear because he winds the belt around the palm of one hand and slaps it against the other. He manoeuvres around the bed into a position that will give him enough room to make the hits land hard and proper.
Merlin can't help the cry that tears itself from his throat when the first blow lands. It hurts so much more than the previous spanking, leaving behind a wide line of sharp pain that doesn't want to fade, doesn't settle into the nice, warming sensation Arthur's bare-handed spanks do.
When Arthur lands another hit on the same spot, Merlin starts crying again. He sobs and begs, stripped of the last vestiges of his dignity. Arthur pays him no attention and lands a third hit on his arse.
The hits all seem to meld together after that. Each time the belt lands on his arse, Merlin instinctively clenches around the ginger, worsening the pain.
He's unsure how many of these hits he can take, not when he's already in so much pain that it feels as though his flesh has been stripped raw.
Then, Arthur catches his sit spot and Merlin downright howls. And that moment— that moment—is when he finally gives in, finally apologises.
"I'm sorry!" he yells through the lump in his throat, desperate for this agony to be over. "Sorry. So sorry. I won't do it again, I promise! Please, Arthur. Sire! Stop! Please," Merlin cries out, unable to help the tears that are streaming down his face.
And then. Then, Arthur drops the belt to the floor. Merlin starts sobbing in relief the moment he hears it clatter against the stones. He can't seem to stop, can't seem to breathe properly. Why does he keep doing this? Why does he keep pushing Arthur? Why does he keep putting himself in danger at every turn when he knows that Arthur hates him for it, punishes him for it, hoping that he can finally, finally stamp that disobedient streak out of Merlin, make him stop constantly risking his own life?
(Deep down, he knows that nothing Arthur does will ever take away Merlin's irrevocable desire to keep Arthur safe at all costs. He'll keep saving Arthur again and again, and Arthur will punish him for it again and again, because the one thing he would never be able to live with would be Merlin sacrificing himself for his sake.)
Arthur isn't gentle when he delves his fingers in between Merlin's arse cheeks and rips out the ginger plug. Merlin reflexively clenches around it, refusing to let it out, but Arthur manages to pull it through the tight ring of muscle and drops it onto the floor.
The relief isn't instantaneous. In fact, the removal of the plug hardly does anything other than remove the source of the heat. His arse still hurts, still burns, making him regret having earned this punishment.
"Thank you," Merlin whispers, breath catching in his throat. "Thank you. I'm sorry. Thank you. So sorry."
Once he's started speaking, he can't seem to stop. The words pour out of him as if a dam has been broken, punctuated by sobs and cries. Arthur does nothing, says nothing, leaving Merlin to mutter his apologies into the bedspread.
Something prods at his hole, startling him. It shoves inside, much larger than the plug, bringing with it a different kind of burning altogether. Merlin's sobs and apologies and words of gratitude turn into grunts and moans as Arthur's cock pushes into him, spreading him wide open.
Arthur didn't bother to prepare him more than the plug had. Merlin's hole is tight—so tight that it feels as though he's going to tear at any second—but Arthur keeps going, keeps driving his hips forward steadily, Merlin's slick easing the movement of his cock.
Arthur doesn't wait for him to get used to the penetration. He pushes through the resistance until his hips are pressed against Merlin's burning arse, then pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside Merlin. Then, he thrusts back in roughly, shoving Merlin painfully up and down the bed, holding his arse cheeks apart to be better able to get at the hole between them.
There isn't much pleasure in it for Merlin, not right now as Arthur thrusts his hips back and forth, chasing his own release and using Merlin's body as little more than a toy. Merlin's hole still burns from the ginger, and the pain in his arse cheeks deepens with every slam of Arthur's hips against his own.
Arthur fucks him roughly. Eventually, he removes his hands from Merlin's arse and plants one on his lower back, keeping him from arching away, and the other on the nape of Merlin's neck, pressing his face into the bedspread and making it difficult to breathe.
It's only when Merlin feels something wet land on his shoulder that he notices the tears on Arthur's face. Arthur doesn't look angry anymore, but rather frightened. Terrified. Try as he might, he can't seem to blink away the tears, so he ducks his head instead, trying to keep Merlin from seeing them.
He can't stop them from pooling on Merlin's skin.
"Arthur?" Merlin asks, suddenly inexplicably scared himself. "Arthur, what's wrong?" he pleads, suddenly filled with an overwhelming, undeniable need to know what's making his alpha—his mate—so upset. He licks his lips nervously as he waits for an answer, eager to understand, to put a stop to whatever it is making Arthur so scared.
Arthur doesn't answer, but he does remove his hands from Merlin's neck and back and instead places them on either side of his head. He leans down and presses his forehead to the space in between Merlin's shoulder blade. The rough thrusts change into a slow grind; this time, Arthur makes sure to angle his hips in a way that drags his cock against Merlin's prostate.
It's a wonderful, vivid spark of pleasure amidst all the pain. Merlin can't help how loudly he moans at the sensation.
He's so focused on the pleasure that he doesn't notice the pressure against his hole at first. When Arthur tries to press his knot into Merlin's arse, Merlin's moans turn into low whines. He clenches his hands around the bed sheets so hard that he fears his nails will tear right through the material and sink into the palms of his hands. Arthur shoves forward harshly, attempting to push his swollen knot past the tight ring of muscle with no regards to Merlin's own comfort or pleasure.
Merlin doesn't even think of protesting, just as eager for the tie as Arthur is.
When the knot finally pushes past his rim, Merlin sighs in relief. It's short-lived, however, because now that it's inside him, the knot starts expanding to an even larger size, tying him to his alpha. Merlin shudders when it settles right atop his prostate, and then bucks his hips when Arthur manages to sneak his hand between Merlin's body and the bedspread, and wrap it around Merlin's cock.
The angle is awkward and it must be at least a little uncomfortable for Arthur, but he doesn't let the discomfort show as he strokes Merlin's cock over and over again, swiping his thumb against the head to clear away the precome.
It's tempting to move into the warmth and tightness around his cock, but the knot lodged deep inside him prevents Merlin from moving away from Arthur. He's helpless, defenceless, tied up and bare and vulnerable; his cock twitches in Arthur's grip and a rush of slick spreads through his arse.
Eventually, the pleasure becomes too much. Merlin sees stars as he comes all over Arthur's hand and the bed. His hole clenches around Arthur's cock, twitching uncontrollably and hastening Arthur's own orgasm. When he comes, he bites down on the mating bite, reaffirming his claim.
The sudden rush of warmth inside Merlin's arse doesn't seem to want to stop as Arthur continues grinding his hips into his backside, pressing into the painful welts as he tries to get his seed deeper inside Merlin. Each spasm of Merlin's hole has him spurting more come, and by the time Arthur has finished and collapsed on top of him, Merlin's belly has begun to feel uncomfortably swollen and his hole oversensitive.
He's still floating through a haze of pleasure when he sees Arthur crying again.
"Tell me what's wrong," Merlin whispers, voice hoarse.
"Nothing," Arthur replies instantly, ducking his head "Nothing, I just—"
"Arthur," Merlin implores, turning his own head in an attempt to catch Arthur's gaze. "Please tell me what has you so upset."
Arthur doesn't move for what seems like forever, but eventually, he looks up at Merlin and purses his lips. He seems hesitant to say anything, but when Merlin nudges his forehead against Arthur's own, he finally starts to speak.
"I was scared," Arthur admits, mouth moving over the soft skin at the back of Merlin's neck. "I was terrified. I thought he kill—" he breaks off with a desperate sob. "I thought you were dead, Merlin. I thought he killed you because I couldn't protect myself and you had to do it for me. I thought I'd lost you and I— I—" Arthur hides his face in the groove between Merlin's neck and shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Arthur, no," Merlin says softly. He tries to turn around and face him, but the ropes around his limbs and Arthur's knot in his arse prevent him from moving too much. "It wouldn't have been your fault. I protect you because I love you. I protect you because I wouldn't be able to handle having something happen to you, not when there was something I could do to prevent it."
Arthur is still shaking, still crying, and Merlin wants nothing more than to take him in his arms and never let him.
"Never again, Merlin. Never again are you to put yourself in danger for my sake. I forbid it, do you hear me? I forbid it!"
Arthur's hands find their way to the bindings around Merlin's wrists and he loosens the knots enough that Merlin is able to slip out of them. The same can't be done for Merlin's ankles at the moment, but it doesn't matter. At least now, Merlin is able to move a little, shift out from under Arthur and manoeuvre the both of them onto their sides. He reaches for Arthur's hand and links their fingers together.
"You know that isn't a promise I can keep, much as I might want to," Merlin says, feeling incredibly tired all of a sudden. "I'll keep trying to keep you from danger and you'll keep getting furious about me risking my life and nothing will change."
"I love you," Arthur murmurs into the back of his neck. "I love you so much, and it's killing me, the way you always put me before yourself."
Merlin smiles sadly.
"I only do it because I love you, too," he says, pressing his lips against Arthur’s.