Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/964400.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Merlin_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Merlin/Mordred_(Merlin), Arthur/Leon, Gwen/Lance, Percy/Elyan
  Character:
      Merlin, Mordred, Arthur, Leon, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine, Percy, Elyan,
      Morgana, Cenred, Morgause, Gareth, Freya, Agravaine, Aredian
  Additional Tags:
      Community:_paperlegends, Prostitution, Sci-Fi, Violence
  Collections:
      Paperlegends_2013
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-14 Words: 29743
****** Last Turn of the Spiral ******
by janescott
Summary
     He drifts to Cenred’s window, and against his will, his thoughts turn
     to the punter from the night before - Merlin, the magic man, with the
     eye brand on his inner arm, and his way of speaking, hesitant at
     first, but bolder, and his hands .... Mordred shakes his head and
     turns around as Cenred comes back into the room.
     “Hold out your arm, lovely. This’ll get you through with Morgause.”
     Mordred smiles lazily and holds up his arm, watching as Cenred
     expertly applies the pop to his Shunt.
     “There. And now you owe me again, lovely.”
Notes
     Author's notes: As always, a fic like this takes a village. It
     certainly did this time around. Thanks, as always, to magenta for the
     beta and the handholding through the inevitable craziness and to Rei
     (llama) Orc and Jodie for being unfailingly encouraging. And of
     course to the lovely muppet for running such a great fic challenge.
     All hail. Thanks ragless for your art - I know it’s going to look
     amazing, and I’m sorry real life had such bad timing :-(
     Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to BBC and Shine.
“How much?”
Mordred lifts his head from where he’s been staring at his Shunt, wondering how
long before he could get another pop, how long it had been since his last one …
He blinks, slow as he studies the man before him. Hunched in on himself,
nondescript hoodie and jeans … Mordred keeps his lip from curling, but just
barely.
Tourist he thinks, derisive.
Food and a pop, you mean. Morgause’s voice in his head is like icewater slicing
through his veins.
“Depends,” he says, keeping his eyes on the guy’s face. “What you want?”
The guy shifts, pushing back his hood before dropping his hands to his sides.
“Um … I don’t. I mean, I can pay, I just …”
Mordred rolls his eyes and sighs. He studies the guy again and yeah, okay, he
might not even need much of a pop for this guy. He’s taller than Mordred,
slender to being skinny. Black hair, a pretty mouth, and from what Mordred can
see of the dim light filtering down through the Flesh District, deep blue eyes.
They stand like that for a minute, making Mordred think of a stand-off in one
of those old contra-westerns Freya loves so much. He leans back against the
cold brick, cocking his hips and looking up at the guy from under his lashes.
“Your first time, pretty? First time in the Flesh District? Surprised you ain’t
been robbed yet. You got new meat written all over you.”
The guy shrugs, and looks behind him, like he thinks he’s being followed.
Mordred follows his gaze, not seeing anything at this time of night but the
usual Shunters, piss-broke and desperate for a pop. He’d sneer at them too, but
he’s one of them.
He can feel the tremble starting in the tips of his fingers, if he doesn’t get
a pop soon, he’s going to start withdrawing.
“You got enough for a pop?”
The guy pulls his attention back to Mordred, frowning for a moment.
“A - oh. Uh, yeah, sure. You’re a Shunter?”
“Past the witching hour, mate. All you’re gonna get. You’re lucky. “m clean.
C’mon, let’s get off the streets before the Blue comes round this way again,
does a sweep. What’s your name?”
Mordred pushes off the wall and starts walking, heading back to the flat he
shares with Freya.
“Oh, uh, Merlin. My name’s Merlin.”
happy now
working shunters are happy shunters mordred. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Mordred feels another wash of ice through his veins. Last thing he ever wants
to do is deal with Morgause but he owes her.
“Merlin. That really your name?”
Merlin turns and gazes at Mordred like he’s never seen him before. “Uh, yes.
Should I have given a false name?”
Mordred shrugs, losing interest. “Don’t care, mate. Don’t know who you are
anyway. Up here.”
He points to his block of flats, a faceless five-storey building on the edge of
the District.
“Flatmate’s out. Got the place to ourselves for the night - if you got enough
discs for the night.”
Merlin glances at him again, his expression unreadable.
“If that’s what you want, anyway.”
“The whole night?”
Mordred shrugs, shifting his feet as restlessness starts to creep in.
He watches as Merlin licks his lips, making them slightly shiny and yeah, god,
he really wouldn’t need a pop for this guy, except it’s been hours and he’s
getting desperate. Mordred turns and presses his index finger against the scan
by the door, waiting till it reads his print.
He pushes the door open and tilts his head, silently inviting Merlin to follow.
They go up in the lift in silence, Mordred absently rubbing at his last disc -
half a bronze - that he’s got in his pocket.
He pushes a button and mutters, “gotta make a quick stop, wait here.” Merlin
nods as Mordred slips out and goes to knock on Cenred’s door.
“Come on Cenred, come on …” Mordred takes a breath as he feels the withdrawal
start to tingle through his fingers. He needs a pop now if he’s going to get
through tonight, gorgeous as Merlin is.
He bangs on the door again and blows out a breath when he hears muttering on
the other side.
Cenred flings open the door and glares at him, his lank hair falling around his
face.
“Mordred what the fuck, do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah, yeah, only, I got a punter and I need a pop Cenred c’mon help me out …”
Cenred sticks his head out and studies Merlin, who’s standing in the open lift
door, his expression blank.
“He’s got silver, Cenred, I’m good for it, I swear ..”
Cenred turns back and gives Mordred a lingering look. “Yeah, I know. Take it
out of your pretty arse if you’re not. Wait here.”
Mordred breaths out a sigh of relief as Cenred disappears into the depths of
his flat.
“Hold out your arm, let me do it, your hands are already shaking.”
Wordlessly, Mordred lifts his arm as Cenred inserts the pop into his Shunt.
Mordred closes his eyes and breathes deep as the euphoria floods his system.
Now he can do fucking anything, including pretty boys with too-blue eyes and
distracting mouths.
“Thanks. I’ll pay you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you will.”
They make the rest of the trip to Mordred’s flat on the top floor in silence.
“This way,” Mordred says when they enter his flat, which is gloomy and dim, the
only light coming from outside filtering through thin curtains.
He leads Merlin to his own room that he keeps as sparsely tidy as he can,
closing the door behind them.
“So - the rest of the night? That what you’re after?”
The pop is working its way through Mordred’s bloodstream, making him feel good,
feel happy, hell, even a little horny if he’s honest. He watches Merlin’s face,
studies the shadows and angles that his sharp cheekbones throw off and wonders
for a moment what might have happened if they’d met another way …
“Uh. Um. Yeah. I mean. If that’s. Okay.”
Merlin shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, not-quite meeting
Mordred’s eyes.
Mordred shrugs, and licks his lips, drawing Merlin’s eyes to his mouth. “Your
money, mate. You stay, I don’t have to go back out and try and hustle again.”
Merlin bites his lip and shifts his shoulders, seeming to come to a decision.
“How much?”
“One of those nice, shiny silver discs you got, you can do anything you like.”
It’s overpriced really but hell, it’s late, and Mordred’s going to be awake for
hours now, riding out Cenred’s pop, which feels fucking great, but Merlin, he
doesn’t say anything. Just reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a slim
silver disc, that he hands over to Mordred.
“Do you, uh, do you kiss?” Merlin’s voice trails off in a nervous laugh and he
pushes a hand through his hair, making it stand up every which way.
Mordred steps into his personal space and tilts his head back slightly.
“Anything you like,” he says, deliberately pitching his voice low.
They kiss for a while, feels like ages to Mordred, with the pop bubbling
through his veins, making it hard for him to stand still and he shifts on his
feet even as Merlin pushes his hands through Mordred’s hair, tugging at the
curls.
He moans a little in the back of his throat because he loves it when punters
play with his hair, but now he’s hard, and all but rutting against Merlin’s
thigh.
Mordred breaks the kiss and takes a breath. He steps back and pulls his shirt
over his head, keeping his eyes on Merlin’s face.
“C’mon. Don’t tell me you want to just kiss all night …that amount of silver,
that’s worth a fuck at least, yeah?”
Merlin blinks, and swallows, not taking his eyes off Mordred’s face.
“At, at least.”
“Well, pretty, c’mon then.”
Merlin keeps his eyes fixed on Mordred’s face as he pulls his hoodie over his
head, dropping it on the floor. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath, that follows
the hoodie to the floor.
“Your turn,” Merlin says, his voice rough.
Mordred smirks as he pulls his own shirt over his head, before unbuttoning his
jeans and shoving them off.
He leans forward and tugs at Merlin’s belt buckle. “If you waste any more time,
you’re going to have paid all that silver to watch me undress …”
He watches as Merlin swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Have
you got I mean - can you -”
Mordred starts working on the belt, undoing the buckle and sliding it through
the loops on Merlin’s trousers. He drops it on the floor with a quiet clatter.
He leans up, pressing a kiss to the side of Merlin’s mouth. “Pretty, I got
everything you need. Just. Relax. Let me do what you paid me to.”
Merlin lets out a breath at that, a long, rushing exhale that seems to push out
his remaining tension.
Mordred is fucking aching for it now, fuck Cenred’s pops, his whole body is on
fire. He grits his teeth and bites back the urge to just push Merlin on to the
bed and fuck him till they both get what they need.
Instead, he reaches out a hand, tugging at the top of Merlin’s trousers, and
says, “What you want pretty? Tell me. First thing in your head … “
“Your - your mouth. Fuck I want - “
Mordred’s mouth curls up into a smirk. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Lie down.
Let me take care of you …. “
Merlin peels his trousers off, and Mordred licks his lips in anticipation, his
eyes dropping to where Merlin’s cock is jutting up, hard and beaded with pre-
come. Mordred watches as Merlin sits on the edge of the bed, looking around the
room for a moment, before swinging his legs up and lying full length on the
bed.
“There we go.”
Mordred wastes no time, climbing on to the bed and straddling Merlin’s hips. He
gives himself a couple of idle strokes to ease some of the pressure of it,
watching Merlin’s eyes track his movement.
“Like that?” Mordred strokes himself again, biting his lip as he rubs his thumb
over the tip, spreading pre-come all over the head. He shifts on the bed until
he can bend over, curving over Merlin’s body, licking long and slow up the
length, flattening his tongue over the head, catching the drops of pre-come
starting to bead.
“I - uh. Fuck.”
Mordred smirks a little as he takes in the whole length of it suddenly,
swallowing Merlin down to the base, humming around it as he goes, letting the
vibrations do some of the work for him.
He can hear Merlin swearing softly, feel the scramble of his fingers digging
into his scalp as he pulls on Mordred’s hair.
Mordred finds a rhythm fast, and he works Merlin over with his mouth and hands,
feeling everything get slick and wet and he’s so fucking hard, jesus fuck.
Merlin’s orgasm surprises both of them, and he comes, hard, down Mordred’s
throat with a muffled shout. When Mordred pulls off and looks up, Merlin’s got
an arm across his eyes, and he’s breathing heavy.
Mordred stares at a mark on his arm, blinking hard.
“Hey. Magic man. You mind if I - “
Merlin drops his arm and lifts his head. “Sorry. I uh, should have warned you
that I was. Um. Close.”
Mordred shrugs. “Don’t care bout that but if I don’t fucking get off I’m gonna
burst. It’s the pop you know?”
“I want. I want to watch you. Uh. I want to watch you come,” Merlin says and
Mordred grins at the flush that spreads over Merlin’s face and ears and halfway
down his neck.
“Your money and time, magic man.”
Merlin studies him for a moment, frowning, before his expression clears.
“It is, isn’t it? Come on then. Show me what you’ve got …”
Mordred grins as he rocks back on his heels. He studies Merlin’s face until
he’s sure he’s got his full attention, then goes to work.
He shifts a little more until Merlin spreads his legs, leaving Mordred a space
in the V to settle. Mordred smiles before dropping his head, turning his
attention somewhat inward.
He’s got pretty good at blocking out the world, all the noise it makes, and he
blocks Morgause out of habit whenever he’s with a punter. He takes his cock in
hand, stroking it slowly, watching his own hand moving up and down, smearing
the pre-come over the tip and over the tip. He groans softly at that, his whole
body feels hot and tight, like he’s about to burst out of his skin; he can feel
his breath getting shorter and shorter, the pop racing through his veins and
buzzing through his blood.
He’s vaguely aware of Merlin, his shifting on the bed, an odd moan and sigh,
but Mordred keeps his eyes fixed on his cock, completely focused now on getting
himself off. He can feel it building, fast, the sheer relief when it happens
making him light-headed for a moment as he comes all over his hand and stomach.
Mordred raises his head to see Merlin’s reaction, and say... something but his
words catch in his throat. Merlin’s eyes are dark, his lips red-bitten and he’s
hard again.
“You - said. you were clean.” Merlin’s voice is hoarse and desperate
Mordred blinks, but nods. “Yeah. MedNanos, you know?”
“Right. Yes. Lie down. I need. God I need to fuck you.”
Mordred feels a laugh bubble up but pushes it down, and shifts till he’s lying
on the bed, ignoring the mess still all over his stomach.
“Under the pillow. Slick,” he says, turning his head. Merlin nods, and reaches
for the bottle, spilling too much over his hand before surprising Mordred with
a deep, filthy kiss.
Mordred opens his mouth easily to Merlin, he feels fucking good now, fucking
great, he’s had his pop, he’s got off, and he’s been well-paid, and he’s about
to get well-fucked. He shifts his legs to give Merlin easier access and gives
himself up to the sensations as Merlin starts fucking him oh-so-slow with his
fingers.
He pushes against it, needing friction needing … just as he’s about to say
something, Merlin pulls his fingers out and Mordred moans, trailing his own
fingers down his thigh, watching as Merlin works slick up and down his own
length, his blue gaze burning right through Mordred’s blood.
“Fuck, oh. Yeah.”
Merlin crawls back over, the hesitant look from earlier replaced with a kind of
naked need that makes Mordred lick his lips.
He closes his eyes and tilts his head back as Merlin pushes in, slowly at
first, but picking up speed as Mordred shifts slightly to accommodate him.
“Don’t hold back, pretty. You ain’t gonna hurt me. Need a good hard …”
Mordred swallows his words as Merlin pulls almost all the way out before
slamming back in, and starting to fuck Mordred the way that he likes it, when
he can enjoy it, or when a punter gives enough of a fuck to get Mordred off as
well.
Merlin’s fucking him hard and deep now and fuck, fuck “yeah, pretty that’s so
fucking good …” Nonsense babble starts spilling from Mordred’s mouth until
Merlin silences him again with a hard kiss and Mordred can feel everything and
fuck it’s good and he’s hard again but before he can move, Merlin’s hand is on
his cock and he starts stroking it hard and tight while he’s still fucking
Mordred and
 
“Fuck”
 
Mordred doesn’t know who says it, or if they both say it, but then he’s coming
and he can feel Merlin, buried deep, coming hard.
They lie tangled for a moment, breathing hard, sweat beading their skin.
Merlin pulls out carefully, folding to collapse on the bed beside Mordred, who
shifts slightly to give him room.
It’s silent for a long moment.
Then:
“Should I …. is my time up?”
Mordred sighs and drops his arm, blinking at the sudden light. He wants to ride
out the rest of his pop, get some sleep before he has to face Morgause.
“Pretty, you can do what you like, as long as you let me be, okay? Bathroom is
through there - you can clean up first. Long as you got your money’s worth,
then yeah. Time’s up.”
Mordred drifts to the sound of water running, taps being switched on and off.
He starts briefly when he feels something cool and damp against his skin.
“The hell..”
“Sorry I just uhm. Didn’t think you’d want to wake up in that mess …”
Mordred shrugs and closes his eyes again. “Used to it,” he mumbles as Merlin
carefully wipes away the come and the slick and the mess from his skin.
He wants to say thanks or something, but the last of his pop and the rare
feeling of being well-fucked is pulling him under.
He’s sure he’s dreaming the feeling of Merlin pushing his hair back from his
forehead. Mordred sighs into the imagined touch, though, as the blackness
finally takes him to sleep.
 
He’s aware, before he wakes up properly, of a tugging sensation. Opening his
eyes slowly, he’s faced with Freya, who’s pulling at the blankets Merlin must
have covered him with before he left.
“Hey, sleepyhead. You okay?”
As foggy as he still is, Mordred can still hear the note of concern in her
voice. Freya hates what he does, hates that he’s a Shunter, but she loves him
for all that, loves him fiercely and Mordred knows he can never live up to that
- he’s just … a Shunter and a whore who can sometimes read people and sense
when things are going to happen.
He’s nothing but Freya loves him anyway.
“Yeah. M’okay. Just. Uh … just. Tired.”
He pushes up to sitting, pulling the covers around him. He’s always cold, after
riding out the last of a pop and he doesn’t want Freya to see him shivering.
Freya just holds out her hand, waiting, and Mordred silently curses her nurse
training and her overwhelming instinct to take care of him, even as he holds
out his arm so she can check his Shunt.
“It’s clean, Frey. Just like it was when you checked it yesterday.”
Freya says nothing, running her fingers over the skin of his arm, and he thinks
how much easier his life would have been if he could have fallen in love with
her.
She smiles, satisfied, before sitting cross-legged on the bed.
“You got anything on for today?”
Mordred sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “Morgause. I’m supposed to
see Morgause, and I got to see Cenred, I owe him money …”
“Morgause.”
“Yeah. Speaking of people I owe money to ….”
Freya sighs, but says nothing. “Well. There’s leftovers in the fridge. At least
eat okay? I’m going to get some sleep. I have a shift tonight.”
Mordred nods vaguely, and promises to let Freya know where he is, what he’s
doing.
She leans over and kisses his cheek.
“Be careful out there, baby.”
"Always am, you know me."
Freya snorts and just kisses him again, ruffling his hair before disappearing
into her own room to sleep.
Mordred
Mordred groans and rubs his hand over his face.
you're late, Mordred, I hope whoever you were doing last night was worth it ...
Mordred lets a shiver ripple through him, Morgause's anger feels like a living
thing in his head.
I'll be there soon. Have to see cenred first.
He can still feel her anger, but there's not a lot she can say or do - she was
the one who had the Shunt inserted in the first place ....
He goes down to Cenred’s flat, pressing the pad of his index finger to the ID
slot. He’s about to start pounding on the door itself when Cenred opens it,
wearing nothing but black jeans and a blacker scowl.
It clears a bit when he sees Mordred waiting.
“Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”
Cenred stands in the middle of his impeccable, impersonal living room and
throws his arms wide. He’s grinning like a predator and Mordred feels a shiver
go up the back of his neck.
He licks his lips and digs into his own pocket, sorting through the discs until
he’s separated out what he owes Cenred, holding it out.
“So - this makes us square yeah?.”
Cenred drops his arms and bends over Mordred’s outstretched hands, sorting
through the coins with his finger.
“Must’ve been some night, youngster. Now, since you’re going to see Morgause,
I’m assuming we’re going to be opening up new negotiations ...”
Cenred steps right into Mordred’s space and rubs his thumb over his bottom lip.
Mordred opens his mouth slightly, the last of last night’s pop still bubbling
through his veins, Cenred laughs softly and slips his thumb past Mordred’s
lips, pressing down on his tongue.
“Let me use that mouth, youngster, and I’ll give you a discount on a slow-
release. You’ll be set for the next couple of days ... “
Mordred lifts his hand, gripping Cenred’s wrist, before giving his thumb a slow
lick. A slow-release is expensive, and dealers don’t give them out often,
because they last three times as long as a normal pop.
Bad for business, as Cenred says, but Mordred knows if he goes to his knees,
that Cenred will let him have a slow-release at cost.
Cenred draws his thumb out of Mordred’s mouth, slowly, his eyes dark. He turns
and sprawls across the stupidly large sofa, spreading his legs wide.
“Come on then. Earn your pop, boy.”
Mordred resists the urge to roll his eyes, settling on his knees between
Cenred’s legs. He traces the outline of Cenred’s thick cock - already straining
against the fabric of his jeans.
“Mordred ...” It’s a low warning, almost a growl, but Mordred just flicks a
look up at Cenred from under his eyelashes.
“You got somewhere else to be?”
Cenred doesn’t answer, just pushes a hand roughly into Mordred’s hair.
“I don’t, boy, but you do. And I’m all worked up here ...”
Mordred reaches for the buttons of Cenred’s jeans and undoes them quickly,
pulling out Cenred’s hard cock, red and beaded with pre-come.
He glances up at Cenred again, a small smirk on his face, and nothing in his
head but the lure of the slow-release pop as he easily and expertly swallows
Cenred’s length down to the base.
He’s vaguely aware of Cenred swearing softly and tugging on his hair, but
Mordred focuses on the task at hand, nothing he doesn’t do - he doesn’t know
how many times a day, doesn’t want to know - and swallows easily when Cenred
grips his hair hard enough to draw tears and comes roughly down his throat.
Mordred pulls off, rocking back on his heels and wipes his mouth. He’s vaguely
aware of a slight, distant throb of desire low in the base of his spine, but
rides it out, knowing it’s just the last of the previous pop.
Cenred’s breathing heavily, his face and neck flush red. After a moment he
tucks himself away, doing up his jeans. He tilts his head down and grins.
“Always a pleasure, Mordred.”
“Worth a slow-release at cost?”
Cenred laughs then, baring all his teeth. Mordred doesn’t like Cenred much as a
person, he’s a parasite, feeding off the likes of Mordred himself, perpetuating
a vicious cycle, but he’s always been honest with Mordred.
And his pops are always clean.
“I’ll go and get it. Wait here.”
Mordred stands, shaking out the pins and needles in his legs. No matter how
many times he does this, he always goes a little numb in the legs. He pushes
his hand through his hair, and does his best not to think about anything.
He drifts to Cenred’s window, and against his will, his thoughts turn to the
punter from the night before - Merlin, the magic man, with the eye brand on his
inner arm, and his way of speaking, hesitant at first, but bolder, and his
hands .... Mordred shakes his head and turns around as Cenred comes back into
the room.
“Hold out your arm, lovely. This’ll get you through with Morgause.”
Mordred smiles lazily and holds up his arm, watching as Cenred expertly applies
the pop to his Shunt.
“There. And now you owe me again, lovely.”
Mordred takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. A slow-release pop isn’t as
intense as a regular one, the high isn’t as euphoric, but it doesn’t burn out
as quickly, and he’s grateful for it, because god knows what Morgause has in
store for him.
He blinks in the harsh sunlight outside, which outlines the general squalor of
the Flesh District in sharp, unforgiving release. Even now, in the middle of
the day, there are Shunters and whores of all kinds, hovering on kerbs and
clustering at street corners, their eyes darting around and around.
Mordred never works during the day, feeling that somehow, that’s the last turn
of the spiral, that’s when he’ll hit bottom and he’ll die out there under the
harsh light of the sun, burning bright even through the ‘Net cast over the
planet to stop it frying every living thing.
People, Mordred has learned in his scant 17 years on this fucked-up planet,
suck.
He feels a sudden, unwelcome pressure at the base of his skull and winces, even
as he looks around for a HoverScoot, a free vehicle the city provides for
getting around. They’re meant to be parked everywhere, and Mordred is sure in
other districts they are. Just like in other districts there aren’t Shunters
and hustlers and whores waiting for a pop or a con or a fuck ...
on my way he sends back to Morgause, as viciously as he can manage while riding
out the slow-release pop. He’s not used to them, only had one previous to this,
and while the euhporia is reduced, it’s still there.
tryin to find a ‘scoot
He feels Morgause’s impatient sigh echo around his skull but she can’t do much
about that either, not many people can afford to own their own Hovers and in
this District ... he spots a City one a minute later and heads towards where
it’s parked in one of the few Free Zones. It’s been painted all over, and
probably pissed on more than once, but it’s there and Mordred’s indifferent to
its state as he steadies it above the Grid, waiting for gravity to do its
thing, and then he’s on it, and on his way to Morgause’s.
It’s a long ride because of course, Morgause lives clear across the city, in
the Fat Cat District. Financial District, Mordred corrects himself. He lets the
Scoot do its thing and relaxes into the ride, not thinking further ahead than
that.
He’s got an oddly informal, if tense, arrangement with Morgause. He works for
her, but not permanently; he’s not one of her stable of pretty boys and girls
that she can turn out to do god-knows-what at the drop of an easy pop.
Oddly, it was Cenred who got him out of being one of the boys that Morgause
sucks the life out of before they become just another Noon Shunter in the Flesh
District.
She’d given him the Shunt, yeah, when he was 14, but he’d escaped the medical
facility that performed the highly illegal operation. It was too late by then,
of course. Cenred had found him, passed out on the border of the Flesh
District, taken him home and given him his first, live-saving pop. Without
that, the Shunt would have become septic and Mordred would have died in a
matter of days.
And that might have been ... okay. Trading sex for pops with Cenred, if
Morgause wasn’t already inside Mordred’s head. She’d tried to demand him back,
but Cenred wasn’t without contacts himself, and negotiated some kind of ....
thing whereby Mordred could move into a flat with Freya, still work for
Morgause, and sell his arse on the street when need demanded.
It works, after a fashion, though sometimes he feels like the knot in an old
tug-of-war contravid Freya had shown him once - two sides pulling at the other
until Mordred feels frayed and stretched thin.
He wishes, sometimes, that he’d been dealt a different hand. He’d run away at
14 from a faded and overcrowded foster home after the guy who ran it put his
hand up on Mordred’s leg too high.
He wonders if that would’ve been easier, maybe. Give in to the guy and let him
do ... Mordred shakes his head as the Scoot turns on to the street where
Morgause lives in a rare mansion, taking up valuable city space. He’d not be a
Shunter or a whore - at least, not a paid-up whore, but he wouldn’t have met
Freya, wouldn’t have rare encounters like Merlin the night before, or someone
like Cenred, who watches out for Mordred, after a fashion.
Mordred lets the Scoot glide up the ridiculously long driveway and wonders -
again - how Morgause gets away with having so much prime real estate when
nearly everyone else in the city is living on top of each other. He stops the
Scoot, programmes in the nearest Free Zone to its satellite and sends it
buzzing on its way.
Morgause herself opens the door to her ridiculously large house, grinning a
wide shark’s grin. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a severe knot - a style
that doesn’t really suit her, but it’s another thing she does to intimidate.
After three years, Mordred’s used to it.
“Well, I’m so glad you could join me, Mordred, with your oh-so-busy schedule
and all.”
Mordred just shrugs, planting his feet on the wide porch until the ground feels
solid under his feet again. The Scoots are handy for sure, but it’s always a
little rocky coming off of one.
“Do come in. There’s someone that you must meet.”
Mordred smirks a little and crosses into the house, pausing in the entryway.
“In the living room. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Mordred watches as Morgause goes to climb the stairs to the next floor, and
wonders again what his life would have been like if he’d been brought back here
instead of escaping. Three years, he thinks vaguely, the euphoria of the slow-
release pop distracting him from his thought processes now that he’s off the
oddly grounding Scoot.
He’d definitely be a washed up Nooner by now.
He turns and goes into the living room, ignoring the overstated and overstuffed
opulence of it, focusing instead on the figure on the sofa.
The other glances up, frowning to see Mordred. It’s a young man, about his age,
he thinks, though it’s hard to tell. He’s got brown hair, cut short to his
skull, and mild-looking brown eyes.
“I um. Thought you were Morgause.”
Mordred shakes his head and flings himself down on the nearest fat armchair,
sprawling his arms and legs wide. He rolls his hips a little and hums under his
breath. He feels good, really good, but not desperate like a normal pop, and
it’s. It’s nice to not feel that for however long it lasts.
“Nope,” he says as cheerfully as he can. “Name’s Mordred.”
“Oh. I um. I’m. Gareth.”
Mordred glances at Gareth’s arms out of habit - he’s wearing a t-shirt and both
of his arms are clean. No Shunt.
“You’re one of Morgause’s?”
Gareth blinks and frowns, biting his full bottom lip, an action that makes
Mordred flick out his tongue to wet his own, grinning when Gareth’s ears flush
red.
“Uh - um. I mean, um.”
Mordred raises an eyebrow, beginning to enjoy Gareth’s discomfort, when
Morgause sweeps in, pulling the double doors shut behind her with a loud clang.
“Oh, good. You’ve introduced yourselves. Mordred, this is Gareth. I have a job
for both of you tonight.”
“I’m uh. New. To answer your question,” Gareth says to Mordred then, offering a
shy smile.
“Mmmm. Who’s the job? I ain’t coming all the way out here for nothing,
Morgause. Not for no cheap-ass perv, either.”
as if i’d do that to you
“Calm down Mordred, and drop that terrible Flesh District dialect. You’re on
the other side of town now. It’s Agravaine.”
Morgause settles on the sofa at the opposite end to Gareth and turns to him,
still smiling.
“Agravaine is a very important client, Gareth. He brings me a lot of money and
helps ensure I - and the boys and girls under my care - can live comfortably.
Don’t worry - he won’t touch you at all. His proclivities are somewhat
different.”
Mordred rolls his eyes when he sees confusion start to cloud Gareth’s features.
“He likes to watch,” he says, plainly. “He likes to watch boys like you and me
fucking each other while he has a nice wank in his big comfy chair.”
Gareth’s whole face flushes a dull red this time and he bites his lip again,
making Mordred shift in his seat.
all right there? do you need anything
i’m fine. just the pop.
Morgause turns to study his face, but Mordred just gives her his best blank
smile before turning his attention back to Gareth.
“Oh. Okay. I thought, um. I didn’t think I’d start .... like ... that.”
Mordred smirks again and settles back into his armchair.
Morgause stares at Gareth for a moment and sighs impatiently before turning to
Mordred.
“I don’t have time to hold his hand through his first disillusionment as a
working boy, Mordred. I’ll pay you extra for your time.”
Mordred sighs and rolls his eyes but holds out his hand, lifting his eyes to
hold Morgause’s gaze.
“Case you forget later,” he says, deliberately falling back on his District’s
dialect.
Morgause grits her teeth and Mordred gets a certain amount of pleasure out of
watching the muscles in her jaw jump.
“Fine,” she says, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a thin silver
disc.
“Here. And Agravaine will pay you both when he’s ... done.”
With that, she drops the disc into Mordred’s hand and sweeps out of the room
much the same way as she swept in; with as much noise and drama as one person
can make walking through a door.
Mordred flips the disc a couple of times before pocketing it in his jeans. He
stands up and re-settles on the sofa, a little closer to Gareth than Morgause
was, but still leaving a good deal of distance.
Gareth turns to face him, tucking one leg under the other with a kind of
unconscious elegance. Mordred licks his lips again and smiles, meeting Gareth’s
eyes.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he says, carefully. “I just .. get tired of
Morgause’s little mind games sometimes and ... cut through the bullshit, you
know?”
Gareth frowns and then sighs, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
“I suppose I’ll learn, if I stay here,” his words shaking a little bit as he
draws his hands into himself, like he’s not quite sure where to put them.
Mordred cocks his head and narrows his eyes, feeling a prickle of instinct
ghost over his skin.
“Where are you from?” he asks, impulsively, riding out the feeling, and wishing
his pop wasn’t muddying the waters quite so much.
“I, um. From the country.”
Mordred’s eyes widen in shock.
“The country. Bloody hell, mate, you’re a long way from home.”
Gareth gives a half smile and shrugs.
“Yeah, well ... it’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you about it, if I can make
it through tonight ...”
He ducks his head, and Mordred - who at heart is actually a kind soul, as Freya
keeps trying to tell him - slides along the sofa until he’s within touching
distance. Gareth raises his head, his eyes wary, but Mordred lifts his hands,
and smiles.
“It’s all right. I shouldn’t have .... said it like that. And - it sounds kind
of uh, cocky, but you’re lucky it’s with me, yeah? I’m not half the asshole I’m
pretending to be. Morgause brings it out. And trust me there are worse assholes
living in this house, so. Morgause doesn’t want this to break you, you know?
She needs you mostly whole, for the next time. She .... takes, bit by bit ....”
This time, it’s Gareth who moves closer, and now they are near enough to touch,
and even with the slow-release Mordred wants to, Gareth’s pretty in a slightly
generic way, but he’s tall, with long, long legs and a nice smile ...
Mordred shakes his head and bites his lip, letting out a small laugh.
“Sorry. Don’t let my damage become yours, okay?”
“So - tell me about tonight. About what’s .... expected. I mean - past what
you’ve already said. What’s - Agravaine? What’s he like?”
Mordred shrugs and leans into the back of the sofa, keeping his eyes on
Gareth’s face. Mordred doesn’t need his little pinpricks of intuition to tell
him just how nervous Gareth is, so he weighs his words as carefully as he’s
able.
“He’s …. very successful. Self-made and all that crap, you know?”
Gareth nods and looks down at his hands, like he’s surprised they’re knotting
and twisting together.
“He … knows what he likes. He probably won’t even talk to you - don’t uh, take
it the wrong way or anything, it’s just that - you’re there to provide a
service, and he doesn’t see you beyond that you know?
“This is how he gets off, and so this is what he does. He’s kind of a prick,
but he’s at least honest about it, if that makes sense.”
Gareth nods again and sighs, turning his head to look out the window at
Morgause’s obscene expanse of grass, mocking the overcrowded city beyond the
estate’s walls.
“Sort of. I can’t decide if that’s going to make it easier or harder. I”ve
never - I mean, I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never had sex for money before
and this - this is not how my life is supposed to go - “
Mordred leans forward then, covering Gareth’s hands with his own.
“Hey. C’mon.” He waits until Gareth turns his head back, meeting Mordred’s
eyes.
“No one chooses this, mate. Who the fuck would choose this?” Mordred shoves up
his sleeve and holds his arm up so Gareth can see the Shunt.
“Morgause put this in my arm three years ago. I was 14, but I got lucky. I ran
away, and found people to help me so I only have to put up with her bullshit
some of the time. Everyone has a sad story. Everyone’s life takes turns they
don’t - “
Mordred stops and closes his eyes, feeling the sudden anger spike his adrenalin
and making his slow-release pop suddenly bubble. He takes a deep breath, and
opens his eyes again.
“Sorry, the fucking pop - “
Gareth smiles and takes Mordred’s hand, rubbing over his inner wrist with his
thumb, just below Mordred’s Shunt.
“I’m sorry. I’m spinning a bit, I guess.”
“It’ll be easy, okay? I can make it easy, and - good, if you’ll relax, and if
you’ll let me. Don’t even think about Agravaine, in his stupid chair with his
stupid cock in his own hand because he’s too scared or fucked up to touch
another person.”
Gareth slides closer to Mordred, his eyes dark and shadowed. “So you’re saying,
you’ll take care of me.”
It’s definitely not a question, and the pop is reacting now to Mordred’s sudden
adrenaline spike and to Gareth’s closeness, and his skin feels just a little
too warm …
“I - yeah. I will. ‘Course I will. Be a shitty night if you’re stuck with
someone who don’t care if you get off, won’t it?” Mordred grins, feeling a
little more on solid ground, raising his hand to Gareth’s cheek, running his
thumb along the bone under the thin skin.
“Don’t you worry,” he says, his voice husky. “Wherever it is, I’ll get you
there.”
Gareth’s eyes drop to Mordred’s mouth briefly before he lifts them to meet
Mordred’s gaze. “All right then, Mordred. Just - for tonight. I trust you.”
Mordred smiles and leans in, pausing briefly. “This all right? Little dress
rehearsal before the big show?”
Gareth doesn’t answer, but slides a hand through Mordred’s hair, resting it on
the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their mouths meet. It’s slow
and hesitant at first, until Mordred catches on to Gareth’s rhythm, his
instincts guiding him with little pinpricks as to what Gareth likes.
They pull apart slowly, and Gareth’s face is red. He drops his head, pressing a
hand against the fly of his jeans.
Mordred rests a hand on Gareth’s neck, rubbing his thumb over the pulse he can
feel racing there.
“See? Not so bad, right?”
“Right. Now I just have to let you …. uhm. In front of someone else. Sure, I
can do that.”
Mordred snorts out a short, hard laugh. “Mate, if you can’t even say fuck, then
we have a bigger problem than someone watching.”
Gareth closes his eyes and presses his hand over his fly again, collapsing back
on the broad sofa.
“Fuck. I have to let someone watching you fuck me. Better?”
Mordred grins and crawls up Gareth’s appealingly long length.
“S’more like it. I can work with that.”
“Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it? Come on, boys. You can have your fun at
Agravaine’s.”
Mordred rolls his eyes but backs off and stands up, waiting for Gareth.
“Didn’t see you there, Morgause. All ready then?”
Morgause narrows her eyes at Mordred, but he just offers a bland smile, He
feels good, fucking good, the slow-release putting him on a far more even keel
than the normal pops he gets from Cenred.
“Agravaine has sent a car and driver for you. Try to keep your hands to
yourselves till you get there. He’s not paying to see you post-fuck.”
Mordred tilts his head at Gareth and raises his eyebrow.
 
“Ready?”
“No, but it’s either this or - actually I don’t have any alternatives at the
moment so -”
“C’mon. Be all right. Cock in your arse, money in your pocket. Could always be
worse, right?”
Gareth grins at that before moving towards the door.
“That’s one way to put it.”
The ride to Agravaine’s is quiet. Mordred closes his eyes and lets the barely-
there hum of the contraCar (no one would dare question Agravaine as to why he
still has a petrol-run car - not with the power he wields) lull him into a
doze.
He can feel Gareth beside him, his nerves pricking along Mordred’s skin like a
barely-there brush of fingertips. It’d be annoying if Mordred wasn’t pretty
pleasantly buzzed, so he just rides it out as calm as he can.
The car stops at a high-rise on the edge of the FatCat District, and disappears
around a corner after it’s let Mordred and Gareth out.
Mordred presses his finger to the ID slot and waits for the door to open before
beckoning Gareth in.
“Show time sweetheart.”
Gareth rolls his eyes, but follows Mordred into the foyer and up the elevator
to the top floor of the building.
Agravaine opens the door, leaning against the frame. He’s older, maybe in his
40s, Mordred thinks, impeccable dressed in perfectly-cut black trousers and a
black shirt.
“Mordred. How lovely to see you again. And I see you’ve brought … a friend.”
Mordred bites his lip to prevent the derisive snort that wants to come out.
“Yeah. ‘S Gareth.”
“My dear boy, I really don’t care. Come in, go into the bedroom.I’ll be with
you shortly. I have to leave early in the morning so I expect … efficiency.”
Mordred blinks so he doesn’t roll his eyes, turns and heads towards the back of
the obscenely large living space, aware of Gareth on his heels, his nerves
broadcasting so loudly that Mordred doesn’t need his gift to feel them. He
shifts his shoulders and pushes open the door to the bedroom.
He sweeps his arm through and says, “After you.”
Gareth does roll his eyes, but he brushes his fingertips over Mordred’s arm and
murmurs, “Such a gentleman.”
 
“See if you’re saying that in an hour,” Mordred returns, letting the door close
behind him before he pulls his shirt over his head, discarding it on the
quietly expensive carpet.
“Uh - right.” Gareth flushes to the tips of his ears, and there’s something
about it that makes Mordred flash back on to Merlin, and god the last thing he
needs right now is to be thinking of the only punter in fucking months who’s
been kind to him.
He tries not to remember the kind ones.
Frowning, Mordred bites his lip, hard and lets the pain distract him
momentarily. He toes off his ragged sneakers and pushes his jeans down, kicking
them off before lying down on the bed.
Gareth is still fully clothed, standing awkwardly at the end of the large bed,
covered in pillows and fluffy coverlets and who-knows-what.
Mordred smirks and spreads his legs, letting his fingertips settle near his
cock, half-hard thanks to the pop and teasing Gareth back at Morgause’s.
“He did say he wanted efficiency … c’mon. Get your kit off. Don’t get paid if
you don’t put out …”
Gareth manages a small, but warm smile. “Right. Cock in the arse, money in the
pocket.”
“You’re learning.”
Mordred watches, trailing his fingers up and down his stomach, letting the pop
take over as his skin warms up and blood flushes through his body. He shifts
and starts slowly stroking his cock to full hardness as Gareth strips in front
of him, slowly, but steadily, revealing a lean, lightly muscled torso and his
insanely long legs.
Mordred’s eyes automatically drop to between Gareth’s legs, and he’s not at all
hard, but Mordred licks his lips anyway, he feels good, without the usual
desperation a pop brings.
Gareth throws his arms wide and does a turn, still blushing.
“Like what you see?”
It’s on the tip of Mordred’s tongue to say it doesn’t matter what he thinks,
but he bites it back when Gareth climbs on to the bed, moving forward with
intent.
“So - should we, uh …. make a start?”
Mordred sighs and lets his eyes flutter closed as Gareth presses a small kiss
to his neck.
“Or are we meant to wait?”
Before Mordred can answer, the door opens again, and Agravaine comes in. He
says nothing but positions himself in a large armchair in the corner of the
room.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” he says softly.
“Mordred, you know where to find everything.”
Mordred just nods, sliding an arm around Gareth’s neck, tilting his head back
and closing his eyes.
Gareth puts his mouth right by Mordred’s ear and whispers so quietly that
Mordred barely hears him.
“I don’t know what to do now …”
Mordred wants to laugh, sort of, but that’ll get them both thrown out the door
with nothing but an earful from Agravaine and another one from Morgause.
“Just - relax. Do what you’d do with anyone in your bed, y’know. Doesn’t
matter. Just has to look pretty,” Mordred replies, using the closeness to press
kisses to Gareth’s neck, the soft skin behind his ear, lingering on the spots
that make Gareth give out little sighs as he relaxes little by little under
Mordred’s expert touch.
Mordred cuts his eyes quickly to Agravaine, who’s leaning back in his chair,
his impeccable shirt gone, and his trousers open. He’s stroking himself slowly,
half-hard, but not looking like he’s in the hurry he claimed to be earlier. His
eyes are hooded, but Mordred can feel his gaze on his skin.
He turns back to Gareth and grins, before leaning in and kissing him long and
slow, till they’re both breathing a little heavily. Gareth’s starting to relax,
letting his hands roam over Mordred’s back and thighs, pulling him over and
arranging them till Mordred’s straddling Gareth’s hips.
Mordred rolls his hips and groans into Gareth’s mouth, letting himself go a
little bit; letting himself relax and ride out the fact he feels fucking good
right now.
“Wait, wait - “ he pulls back and leans to one side, scrabbling on the small
table by the bed until he comes up with a tube of slick.
Agravaine’s voice is dry, and detached, and sounds nothing like he’s just been
watching them make out on his bed.
“I would like, Mordred, to see that young man uh …. “
Mordred smirks as he opens the slick, turning back to Agravaine. “You wanna see
him fuck me? Watch him stretch me open? He’s got a nice cock for it …”
Agravaine keeps stroking himself, he’s fully hard now, and Mordred doesn’t miss
it when he squeezes the base of his cock, his colour high.
“Ah. Yes. That is … what I’d like to see. Thank you.”
Mordred turns back to Gareth, who’s blinking like he’s just woken up from a bad
dream. But his hands are still on Mordred’s hips,and he’s still mostly hard, so
Mordred lets himself relax, licking his lips as he pours too much slick over
his own fingers.
There are echoing groans as he half-closes his eyes and reaches back to stretch
himself open enough to take Gareth’s cock. It doesn’t take long - never does
now (and he’d prefer not to think about that too closely) - before he shifts
himself so he can slide down Gareth’s length, rocking his hips and making
small, satisfied sounds in the back of his throat.
From there, it goes pretty much like it always does with Agravaine, he gets off
watching, and Mordred gets off from the pop which enhances the feel of Gareth
deep inside him.
After - as they’re panting together, Gareth’s hands gripped tight on Mordred’s
legs - Agravaine moves, resting a hand on Mordred’s shoulder as he goes past.
“You can stay to clean up. Tell Morgause I’m happy to invite that one back with
you. Thanks, Mordred.”
Mordred says nothing, waiting until Agravaine has gone before carefully lifting
himself off Gareth’s lap. They lie side by side on the bed, not talking or
moving until Mordred says, “I’m pretty sure he’ll be gone. We can shower and
get out of here.
“And - I think you should come back to mine, instead of Morgause’s.”
Gareth turns his head, frowning. “Won’t she be angry?”
 
“Yeah, but - she’s not the only one with friends in scary places, y’know? You
think she just let me go when I escaped?
“Won’t be perfect - or pretty - but it’s better than there”
Gareth studies him for a long moment, until Mordred shifts uncomfortably under
his steady gaze.
“Yeah. All right. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
 
MERLIN
Merlin wakes up to the sound of his mini Screen pinging politely but
persistently and buries his head in his pillow, muffling curse words until he
feels cold paw pads on his bare back.
“Ow. Fuck, all right, all right.” He bats his hand vaguely until the pressure
lifts and he can roll on to his back.
He sighs and rubs his eyes, looking at the time on his display. It’s early, but
the first logistics meeting is today and the last thing he needs is to be late
and have Arthur give him a look. He needs all of his shit together today.
Merlin pushes to sitting and sighs when he’s faced with large orange eyes,
looking at him expectantly.
“All right, all right I’m getting up you useless animal.” He puts his feet on
the floor and wriggles his toes against the ThermaTile, pushing them into the
warmth and letting it travel up his legs.
He activates his Screen, before going into the kitchen and dropping some
obscenely expensive organic catfood in the bowl on the floor before going
through the motions of making himself tea and toast. He remembers just before
the meeting begins to pull a shirt over his head.
Well, all right maybe not all of his shit is quite together but -
A memory flashes, sudden and strong, and Merlin has to stop, or stagger under
the weight of it. The strange thing is, it’s not Arthur this time. It’s always
been Arthur before, a flash of blue eyes, or blonde hair enough to stagger him
and make him trip over his own feet and catch his breath on a burst of pain.
Even though they’d ended things three years ago, sometimes Arthur could still
trip Merlin up. But this time … this time Merlin catches a glimpse of dark
curls, and green eyes that have seen too much for the smooth skin of the face
they’re in; of a mouth twisted in a world-weary smirk …
Taking Gwaine’s advice to visit the Flesh District and - as his friend had so
elegantly put it - “Fuck him out of your system, Merlin, it’s been forever.
Save up your credits, get laid properly, and move on.” Gwaine had said it more
than once, so often in fact that a few nights ago - after another night of
feeling like he could step out of his own skin, his magic bubbling in
frustration through his blood - Merlin had impulsively left his flat and found
a ‘scoot; taking off before he could talk himself out of it.
Now, as he settles in front of his screen and waits for everyone else to sign
in for the meeting, he wonders why he ever thought he’d be able to just... fuck
and run, even with a Shunter. He sighs, biting into his toast, resigning
himself to the meeting ahead, and the inevitable distraction to follow. He can
tell himself as much as he likes that he’s not going back; he’s not going to
seek Mordred out, that it was just a fuck and run, but he’s got hard green eyes
in his mind now, and needs to know what it would take to make him see wonder
again.
Arthur signs in first, and Merlin tells himself all over again that it doesn’t
hurt to see Leon with them, to see the scattered remains of an early breakfast
and an easy intimacy between them, and then he realises something. It doesn’t
hurt, and yes, all right, it’s been getting easier, but there was always a pang
of nostalgia and regret; a cold, icy shiver running through him just briefly,
doing its damage before dissipating.
But now … Merlin doesn’t feel anything in particular. Oh, he and Arthur are
friends, will always be friends and maybe Gwaine was smarter than Merlin had
thought because for the first time, the thought doesn’t hurt.
Arthur raises an eyebrow on the Screen as it divides to show Percy and Elyan,
the latter yawning and nursing what Merlin knows is some very serious
contraCoffee.
“Are you all right there Merlin? You look a bit more vacant than usual.” The
insult is casual and easy, reflecting his and Arthur’s years and years of being
together and not-together but still not able to not be in each other’s lives.
Gwaine snorts as his face comes in on another split, then Lance and Gwen
follow, then Morgana, and they’re all there; and Merlin doesn’t get to answer
because his bloody cat gets up on the table and gives Merlin a reproachful look
before settling in for a nice tongue bath in front of everyone.
The others ignore it, used to the cat and its strange ways.
Arthur looks at Merlin for a beat longer, before turning to his own miniScreen,
scrolling through what Merlin knows are very detailed notes.
“Right,” he says, “We’re all here, and we’re on a tight timetable, so let’s get
on with the meeting, yeah?”
Arthur takes control easily, like he’s been born to it - which, of course, he
has; being the only son of Uther Pendragon, and therefore the heir to Pendragon
Corporation. He scans through the ‘Screen again before glancing up.
“We have a flight path date … six weeks from now. It sounds like a lot, but
it’s not really that long to organise a ship, supplies, and organise one
thousand miners and their families …”
Merlin nods along in the right places, occasionally making notes on his own
miniScreen, but not paying close attention beyond the dates of the flight.
Being at the Strip at the right time is crucial because the ‘Net will have to
be opened to let the craft through, and anyone not on board at the right time
will be left behind.
He glances at Gwen, who’s listening intently, making her own notes. She and
Merlin will be the MedTechs for the mission, and Gwen’s husband Lance will act
as ship’s surgeon, a responsibility he takes very seriously, Merlin knows, as
the surgeon is one of the few on board who can override the captain’s orders if
he deems it necessary.
Merlin’s glance flickers automatically to the others as Arthur outlines their
duties for the next six weeks, on into the mission itself.
Percy is the Quartermaster for the mission, meaning he’s responsible for all
the ship’s supplies, food, medical, even bedding. He’s frowning in
concentration, nodding along, smiling slightly when Arthur tells him that he’ll
have an assistant for this one.
“Not that you’re not a great QM, Percy, you are, but we’ve never tackled
something this big before,” Arthur says, leaning forward, his gaze earnest.
“I know, Arthur, it’s fine. It’s definitely a two-man job.”
Arthur smiles and turns his gaze to Elyan, moving on to talking about
navigation and piloting, Elyan nodding, as calm as ever. It’s soothing watching
Percy and Elyan together, watching them quietly co-ordinate their schedules and
to-do lists. He feels a bit wistful for a moment, sighing to himself as he
scratches behind the cat’s ears, listening to it purr with a lazy somnolence.
“Merlin, you and Gwen get together with Lance sometime soon, and make a
thorough inventory of the ship’s MedLabs - detail everything that you have, and
everything that you need, for Percy. Once we get started on this mission, we
won’t be back for a long time, and the first starbase is along way away.
It feels a little bit like Arthur’s telling Gwen and Merlin how to do their
jobs, and on another occasion Merlin might have argued with him about it, but
time really is of the essence, so he just makes a note and half-listens as
Arthur and Gwaine discuss the ship’s Transitive Core and other obscurely
engineering things that Merlin can’t hope to understand.
He taps out a message to Gwen, arranging a time to meet up with her and Lance
the next day, and she nods quietly as Arthur turns to Morgana.
“Have I forgotten anything oh great leader?” Arthur asks his sister, his face
lit up with a teasing smile.
Morgana just rolls her eyes and taps her own screen neatly. She scans down her
list and shakes her head. “No - you’ve covered everything, Arthur. I’ll be your
Earth Liaison at PenCorp, and from here on, we’re all going to be insanely
busy.”
 
Arthur pushes a hand through his hair, making it stand up and some sense
memories still catch Merlin out, because he feels the urge in his fingertips to
reach out and smooth it down, an action he’s done many, many times. He clenches
his fist under the table instead and bites back a sigh.
“Right, I think that’s enough for a few more days, we’ve all got stuff to do.
Let’s have our next meeting in person, say three days from now, here at our
flat. Nine o’ clock?”
Everyone nods and murmurs agreement before the screens flicker and darken one
by one, leaving Merlin alone in his flat, not sure whether he’s staring at his
past, or his unknown future.
He’s about to move - tidy away his breakfast dishes, have a shower, start on
his list, when his Screen flickers back to life and Arthur’s face is there, the
small icon showing that he’s opened a private channel.
Merlin resists the urge to rub his hand over his face, and sits down again,
dislodging the cat from the table, ignoring its indignant squawk.
“Did you forget something, Arthur? I’m going to meet with Gwen and Lance
tomorrow …”
Arthur shakes his head and leans forward. “No - I just wanted to - are you all
right Merlin?”
Merlin stares at Arthur blankly for a moment before sighing heavily.
“I’m fine, Arthur. I’m just … tired. I, uh, stayed up late a couple of nights
ago, that’s all. Having trouble catching up on sleep.”
Arthur narrows his eyes and Merlin resists the urge to shift under his steady
gaze. He doesn’t owe Arthur anything - not anymore. Going to the Flesh District
isn’t illegal; looking for physical comfort certainly isn’t and it’s really
none of Arthur’s business.
“I just … we’ll be travelling together for a long time, Merlin. I just want to
make sure things aren’t going to be awkward. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Me too,” Merlin says softly, before he can catch himself. “It’s - it’s been
three years, Arthur. We’ve managed to work together before; on shorter
missions, when things were - a lot more … raw. I - it might be awkward for a
while, I suppose, with Leon on board, and - everything but - I’ll be fine. I
promise.
“You have enough to do without adding worrying about me to your list.”
Arthur’s mouth curls up into a small smile, his blue eyes warm on Merlin’s
Screen. “No matter what happens, Merlin, I’ll always worry about you.”
Merlin nods, and scrubs at his eyes, feeling the grit of not enough sleep under
his lids.
He catches on a yawn, and vaguely hears Arthur snort.
“Well, you’re no good to any of us if you’re falling asleep, Merlin. Go - take
a nap or something. I’ll see you at mine in a few days.”
Merlin nods, waving his hand vaguely as Arthur breaks the connection. He
considers his bed briefly, almost seduced by the idea of the warm, rumpled nest
he’d left behind, but he knows he’d just wake up far too late, and far too
groggy.
He puts his dishes in the kitchen, then shuffles towards the bathroom, looking
forward to a hot shower, and honestly, a good, old-fashioned wank. Merlin
laughs to himself as he switches on the spray, waiting for it to heat up, and
feels his shoulders loosen.
He’ll make his list, make himself dinner and then … well, Merlin thinks as he
strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. Then he’ll just have to see
what happens.
Where the night takes him, he thinks as he looks down, wrapping a loose fist
around his hardening cock, and letting green eyes and a wicked, pretty mouth in
his mind’s eye take him over the edge.
He putters around the rest of the day, making a list to compare with Gwen’s
when they meet; he reads for a while, and feeds the cat, feeling an unnameable
itch under his skin.
PenCorp keeps its starship crews on in between missions, and Merlin has no
family to speak of, so he’s not hurting for credits; his balance is good, and
he has ready funds available.
He tells himself, even as he wanders around his flat, picking things up and
putting them down again, tripping over the cat, that he’s not going back to the
Flesh District. He’s not going to seek out Mordred again. Merlin may have a
habit of picking up strays (the cat is just the latest in a long line), but
that doesn’t mean he needs to extend that to human beings …
Sighing, Merlin lifts his jacket from the hook by the door, checking the time
before he heads out, hoping to find a ‘scoot nearby. 10pm, he thinks, making
his way down to the ground, grimacing at the permanent humidity that sticks to
his skin every time.
It was later, the last time, so there’s a possibility that Mordred’s ….
working, or that he won’t be out somewhere else, and Merlin won’t be able to
find him anyway.
Merlin has this back-and-forth argument with himself as he walks down the
street, heading for a ‘scoot park on the corner. There’s a couple of ‘scoots
there, and he takes one, settling astride it.
No more thinking, he decides suddenly. He’s not out at 10 o clock at night for
some kind of think tank. No, he’s out to …. well. What would Gwaine call it?
Get his end away, though Merlin knows Gwaine would be far more blunt than that.
He laughs to himself as he programmes his destination into the ‘scoot’s Nav.
The Flesh District of London is relatively small, an odd centre hub of the far
larger city, but it’s a dense clutch of streets, side-streets and high
buildings, with the hospital on the outskirts.
Merlin pauses the ‘scoot at an intersection and closes his eyes. He doesn’t use
his magic much, rarely needs to, and he feels vaguely guilty using it find
Mordred, but he taps into the memory anyway, touches his brand, and lets the
pathways open up in front of him.
He enters the data into the ‘nav, and powers the ‘scoot through the crowded
streets, not letting himself think about what he’s doing.
He spots Mordred in the same place, wearing, Merlin thinks, the same clothes.
He’s leaning against a building, one foot propped behind him, his hips arching
up over the top of his jeans. Merlin licks his lips as he navigates the ‘scoot
into a nearby park, feeling the strong spike of want in his blood.
He’s less hesitant than he was last time, but he still pauses when he realises
Mordred is talking to someone that Merlin hadn’t noticed. He’s tall, taller
than Mordred, and he’s smiling down at him as Mordred talks, his shunt flashing
in the neon of the streetlights.
Merlin hovers, uncertain, but then the guy looks up, raising his eyebrows
before putting his hand on Mordred’s wrist, nodding his head to where Merlin is
standing.
Merlin swallows, resisting the urge to clear his throat as Mordred turns,
grinning when he sees who it is.
Mordred pushes off the wall and tilts his head, and Merlin wishes he could see
his eyes better; to see how far he is into the pop he’s no doubt got running
through his blood.
“Back for round two, pretty? Couldn’t stay away?”
Merlin licks his lips again, and wonders what it is about Mordred that makes
him feel like he’s losing his mind and his self-control piece-by-piece.
“I uh - it looks like - “ Merlin’s throat dries up as he makes an abortive
gesture towards Mordred’s - client?
Mordred glances between them, his grin bright and sudden. “No need to worry
pretty. Gareth’s workin, like me. You want a deal? Two for one?”
Mordred raises an eyebrow, like a challenge, and Merlin feels himself flushing
under his gaze.
“Ah. Um. No. I mean, just - just you.”
The other guy - Gareth - pushes a hand through his hair and for some reason
Merlin’s briefly reminded of Gwaine, He shakes it off as Gareth touches
Mordred’s hand again.
“I’m gonna head to Flame. See if I can’t make up some credits, yeah?”
Merlin watches quietly as Mordred turns to Gareth, studying his face. “You send
me a message, you get in trouble, yeah? Pretty here won’t mind. He’s - he’s
nice.”
Gareth nods and darts a smile at Merlin who can’t interpret what Mordred’s just
said, but he waits until Gareth has disappeared into the night.
Mordred turns back, stepping suddenly into Merlin’s space, resting a hand on
Merlin’s waist.
“Missed you, pretty,” he says softly, tilting his face up and lowering his
eyelids until his lashes leave sweeping shadows on his cheeks.
“Did you,” Merlin says, hearing the rough tone in his voice as he reaches out
himself, touching Mordred’s upper arm, careful to avoid his Shunt.
“Yeah, pretty. C’mon. Gotta be a hotel, okay? Flatmate’s home, she’s sleeping
…”
Merlin falls into step beside Mordred, half-listening to him ramble, taking
quiet note of when Mordred’s speech falls out of the Flesh District slang and
into something more measured.
He starts slightly when he realises Mordred’s stopped talking. “Uh … sorry?”
“I said, pretty, is a hotel okay? You didn’t say...”
“Oh, right, sorry, I was. Distracted. That’s, uh, that’s fine.”
Mordred leads them down a couple more streets, pointing to a nondescript tall
building that looks to Merlin exactly like every other building in the Flesh
District.
They go in, he pays for a room for the night, not even thinking about it, and
leads Mordred to it, pushing him against the closed and locked door once
they’re on the right side of it.
Merlin kisses him then, long and slow, his hands pressed into Mordred’s hips.
Mordred presses against him, opening his mouth, flicking his tongue over
Merlin’s bottom lip, and Merlin sighs, letting himself fall into Mordred’s
mouth, and his wicked green eyes, that have seen far too much for his age.
They break the kiss and Merlin’s so hard already, he feels a little dizzy with
it. Mordred is watching him, his head tilted back so his neck is arched, his
adam’s apple curving out and his tendons a tempting line that Merlin wants to
just, bite down on.
He smooths a hand down one side of Mordred’s neck and flicks up his eyes to
meet Mordred’s hooded gaze. “Can I. Can I leave uh, marks. On, on your neck?”
Mordred licks his lips, slow, his tongue dragging out and back in, leaving
behind a tempting sheen.
“Whatever you like pretty. Night’s on you.”
Merlin nods, his head feeling weak on his shoulders before he presses one hand
back against Mordred’s hips, then applies his mouth to the line of Mordred’s
neck, licking at first, tasting skin and sweat; and something else under that;
something sweet and slightly corrupt, but still addictive.
Merlin presses the line of his body against Mordred’s; feels the hard line of
his cock against his hip like a trace element. Merlin digs his teeth into
Mordred’s tendon without warning, sucking at the skin until the blood rises to
the surface, aware of Mordred clinging to his shoulders and moaning softly as
Merlin sucks the same spot over and over until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark
that will linger for days.
He feels his magic, then; curling lazily under his skin, pushing at the brand
on his wrist and he pulls back, licking his lips and reaching down to rub over
the brand until it soothes again, his magic calming under his touch.
Mordred sags against the door, one hand still clutched on Merlin’s shoulder,
the other gently touching the mark on his neck.
“Fucking hell, pretty, something got under your skin tonight?” Mordred’s voice
sounds wrecked already, and it goes straight to Merlin’s cock.
He takes Mordred’s hand and tugs him towards the bed in the corner, barely
registering the sparse nature of the room.
 
“Someone” he says, pulling Mordred down with him.
Merlin takes his time, this time; not feeling the same desperate edge as
before. He marks as much of Mordred’s skin as he can, leaving purpling bruises
on his neck, over the hollow of his hip, his inner thigh.
Mordred just laughs, low and dark, tangling his hands in the sheets, and Merlin
knows he’s lost; he’s gone, for this boy that he hardly knows.
They lie side by side on the bed after, close, but not quite touching. Merlin’s
sated and exhausted; he’s sweat-slick and feels sticky. There’s air
circulating, but the hotel’s filters must be blocked, because it’s far too
warm.
Mordred is sprawled on his front, his head turned towards Merlin and his eyes
half-closed.
“Are you .. all right? With your - I mean - “
Mordred blinks, slow and smiles.
“Yeah, pretty. ‘m fine. Don’t need anythin for a few more hours. Some sleep
‘s’all.”
Merlin reaches out, tracing a finger over a mark he’s left at the base of
Mordred’s spine.
“You don’t want to clean up first? I got a room with a bathroom attached … “
Mordred groans and buries his head in the pillow.
“Sleep, pretty, y’wore me out.”
“Come on,” Merlin says, laying his hand flat against Mordred’s back. “Nice cool
water, then we can sleep here, and I’ll take you home tomorrow …”
Mordred turns his head again, and offers a half-hearted grin. “Will you wash my
hair for me too?”
Merlin snorts and pushes himself up, holding out his hand once he’s standing.
Mordred grumbles but he reaches out and lets Merlin pull him up.
Mordred’s Shunt catches the low light of the room, and Merlin finds himself
reaching out, gently running his finger over the skin around it. It’s no hotter
than the rest of Mordred’s skin, which Merlin knows is a good sign.
“Flatmate’s a nurse,” Mordred says quietly, not moving. “She checks the damn
thing every day.”
Merlin glances up, but he can’t read anything in Mordred’s expression. “I …
sorry. I’m a, uh, MedTech. Habit I guess?”
Mordred snorts, but pulls his arm gently out of Merlin’s light grasp. “Figures,
pretty. C’mon. Shower?”
Merlin nods and follows Mordred into the small, clinical bathroom that’s little
more than a toilet, sink and shower head over a drain.
“Run it hot,” he says to Mordred. “I can cover the hot water.”
Mordred nods and Merlin doesn’t miss the way he licks his lips at the idea of
hot running water, a luxury now for all but the wealthiest with power credits
running higher and higher.
There’s a small shelf near the shower head, containing shampoo and some kind of
gel. Mordred adjusts the temperature and eyes the bottle hopefully before
turning his wicked green eyes back to Merlin.
“Come on in, magic man. Water’s nice n hot.”
Merlin laughs softly, surprised anything can force its way past the dry knot in
his throat. The sight of Mordred standing under running water, the spray
flattening his black hair to his skull, drops sliding down his body … Merlin
steps under quickly, waiting for the spray to widen to accommodate both of
them.
He slides his hands down Mordred’s wet shoulders and arms, careful to avoid his
Shunt. He just can’t stop touching and he would be worried about his impulse
control, but for now, just for right now, Merlin gives himself permission to
stop thinking.
He reaches for the small bottle and says, “Turn around,” softly to Mordred. He
holds up the bottle so Mordred knows his intentions and the returning grin is
nearly enough to make Merlin drop everything and drag Mordred back to his own
flat and just, he just -
“You, uh, you wanted me to wash your hair?”
Mordred shuffles back slightly, looking down, and if it weren’t for the heat of
the water, Merlin would swear his face was flushing red.
“I, uh. You don’t have to, I shouldn’t ask - “
Merlin frowns at the sudden change and reaches out with his free hand, rubbing
his thumb over Mordred’s wrist, where he can feel his pulse start to pick up.
“Mordred. It’s all right. I want to. Come on. Turn around.”
Mordred studies Merlin’s face for a long moment, his eyes searching. Merlin
waits, patiently, and tries not to think about the drops of water clinging to
Mordred’s eyelashes. Finally, Mordred half-shrugs and turns so his back is to
Merlin.
Merlin pours out a small amount of shampoo, rubbing it in his palms before
carefully digging into Mordred’s hair. For a long moment, the only sound is the
water going down the drain and the heavy tick of Mordred’s breathing as
Merlin’s fingers dig through the thick strands of his hair and into the shape
of his skull underneath.
Sighing a little Merlin steps closer so he’s flush against Mordred’s back. He’s
hard, again, but he’s content to wait; to give Mordred back the smallest
kindness.
“Good?” he murmurs against the back of Mordred’s neck, careful to avoid the
site of Mordred’s MedNano ‘plant.
“Mmm...” is all that Merlin gets in response, but Mordred’s eyes are closed and
his head is tilted back against Merlin’s shoulder now, as the suds run down and
out the drain.
Merlin slides his hands down, resting them on Mordred’s hips, feeling tension
bleed out of Mordred’s shoulders as he just stands with Merlin, taking the care
on offer.
Carefully, Merlin reaches out and switches off the controls to the shower. He
keeps a steady grip on Mordred, whose eyes blink open slowly. He frowns for a
moment, then turns around to face Merlin.
“You all right?” Merlin asks softly, tilting Mordred’s chin up so he can check
his eyes.
“Um - yeah. Sorry for uh, spacing on you.”
“That’s all right. Come on - lets get some sleep yeah?”
Mordred just nods, and lets Merlin dry him off, standing passively as he does
so.
“Sorry … I uh. Weird head space?”
Mordred shakes his head as though to clear it and glances up at Merlin from
under his lashes.
“It’s all right, Mordred. It’s fine. Go - go and get into bed. I’ll be with you
in a minute.”
Mordred nods and makes his way out of the small bathroom. Merlin watches
through the open door as Mordred climbs under the covers, nesting himself in
the bundle of sheets and blankets, making Merlin smile softly at the sight of
it.
Sighing, he picks up another clean towel, making a mental note to add credits
for the hot water to his bill the next morning.
He stares at himself in the mirror, his own hair still damp and sticking up in
places, his normally pale skin flushed red from the heat of the water - and, he
knows, from something completely unrelated to water.
He turns his wrist over and stares at his magic brand for a moment, feeling the
tendrils of it curl lazily and happily under his skin. He brushes a thumb over
the brand, feeling the raised lines of it; noting absently that the gold in the
iris of it will need to be re-done before they head off on the mining mission.
Merlin dries himself off slowly, letting his thoughts skitter away; not trying
to catch hold of anything. He drops the towel and sighs, feeling a kind of
exhausted lassitude settle into his bones.
He drags himself back into the bedroom and into the bed; curling his long frame
around Mordred’s slightly smaller one. Mordred is already asleep; his breathing
even and deep.
Merlin carefully fits himself to the curve of Mordred’s back, sliding an arm
around his waist; careful to avoid the Shunt in his arm.
Mordred doesn’t move, except to push back against Merlin slightly; his
breathing doesn’t change at all, except for a soft sigh.
Merlin bites back his own sigh, pressing his lips lightly to the back of
Mordred’s neck.
“What,” he says softly to the sensitive skin there, “are you getting me into?”
He gets no answer in return, just Mordred shuffling back against him again.
Merlin sighs and lets his eyes slide shut, letting himself enjoy the sensation
of having someone in his arms again as he falls asleep.
He fucks Mordred again in the morning, before they sign out. Mordred’s nearer
the edge now; Merlin knows he’s feeling the pull of his addiction by the way he
digs his blunt nails into Merlin’s shoulders as he rides him. Mordred’s green
eyes are hazy and his pupils are endless black holes that Merlin keeps falling
deeper and deeper into.
Mordred stays close, as they shower again, get dressed and Merlin pays for the
room and the extra hot water.
“All right?” he asks, pushing a hand through Mordred’s hair as they walk to a
‘scoot park on the corner.
Mordred nods, curling a hand around Merlin’s arm. “Yeah. Just - need a pop is
all. ‘M fine.”
Merlin says nothing else as he guides Mordred down the street to the ‘scoot
park. He helps him on to the back of a double ‘scoot, then programmes the
address of Mordred’s building into the ‘nav.
They ride back in silence, Mordred’s head tipped forward against Merlin’s neck.
Merlin parks up outside the building and waits for Mordred to slip off behind
him. He digs into his credits and tips the right amount into Mordred’s hands.
Mordred blinks and closes his fist around them, clutching tight.
“Thanks, magic man. See you again.”
Merlin laughs slightly at the nickname and impulsively reaches out to push back
a stray lock of Mordred’s hair. “Take care,” is all he can think of to say,
before he reprogrammes the ‘scoot and aims it for home.
 
Gareth is grateful to Mordred, he really is. He watches the way Mordred
struggles with his Shunt and his addiction every day, and he knows it could
easily have been him, that he could have ended up as one of the spaced-out
Nooners who are so fried by pops and lust by now that there’s no coming back.
He has a bed (well, a couch), friends and even protectors in an odd way.
Gareth wants to tell Mordred that he’s really not worth the effort, he’s just
another fuck-up, another run away, but Mordred has opened up so much for him -
his home; his whole life is pretty much upside down for a while for Gareth, and
Gareth can’t bring himself to say anything except thank you.
Mordred introduces him to Cenred after the first night, when he goes back to
replenish his pop, and tells him almost off-handedly that he’d stolen Gareth
out from under Morgause’s nose.
The smile that forms slowly on Cenred’s face when he hears that is nothing
short of predatory.
“Really,” he says in a slow drawl, looking Gareth up and down, even as he
expertly administers a pop to Mordred’s Shunt.
“Back off Cenred, or you’ll scare him away,” Mordred says without opening his
eyes. Gareth watches, then, as the pop takes effect and Mordred shifts in his
seat, rolling his hips up against the air, restlessly looking for friction.
Cenred shrugs, but tosses a wink to Gareth before reaching out and hauling
Mordred to his feet.
“Help yourself to - well, anything Gareth. I’m going to help Mordred here ride
out the first wave of his pop.”
Gareth just nods as Cenred ushers Mordred towards the bedroom. He collapses
back on Cenred’s sofa when he hears the door shut, and closes his eyes.
He’s … he’s okay. Safe, for now.Safer, anyway, than he would have been if
Morgause hadn’t thrown Mordred in his path.
Gareth takes a very long breath and lets it out. Then another one.
Maybe now, he has a shot at actually finding his brother.
 
Gareth catches his thoughts on a long yawn, suddenly feeling more tired than he
can ever remember. He jumps slightly when he catches sight of Cenred out of the
corner of his eye, coming out of his room wearing nothing but ridiculously
small pants and a smile.
“If you keep your mouth open like that, someone’s going to take it as an
invitation,” Cenred says, making his way to the kitchen and taking two bottles
out of the fridge.
“Here,” he says, tossing one to Gareth who catches it by luck more than
anything.
“Uh, thanks. Um, Sorry, I mean - “
Cenred comes and sprawls on the sofa, kicking his legs up onto the small table
in front of him.
“S’alright, kid. Mordred’s sleeping. You can wake him up in a couple of hours;
meet Freya.”
Gareth twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long drink of ice-cold water,
not knowing what to say.
“Um. Well. Thanks.”
Cenred shrugs, and then grins, the smile curving sharp and wide. “Hey, anything
that pisses off Morgause is absolutely fine by me. You run into any trouble
around here, kid, any trouble, you come and tell me, all right?”
Gareth finds himself flushing under Cenred’s sudden scrutiny, but he manages a
nod, and a shy smile.
“I - uh. Thanks. I will.”
Cenred nods as he swallows half of his bottle of water in one long go, drawing
Gareth to the motion of his adam’s apple, bobbing up and down. He flushes when
he sees that Cenred has caught him looking and bites his lip, feeling suddenly
young and awkward and too big.
Cenred snorts out a quiet laugh as he puts his empty bottle down on the table.
“You’ll do fine here, kid. Stick to Freya and Mordred, and I’ll keep an eye out
for you - when I can be arsed. I’m going to check on Mordred. Stay put, yeah?”
 
Gareth nods, offering up another shy smile, and … it’s as easy as that. He
meets Freya next, after Mordred wakes up, and she’s wary at first, but Gareth
knows that’s more about how protective she is of Mordred than anything else,
and he can understand that.
So he sets about quietly showing Freya that all he wants is to be Mordred’s
friend; to help her take care of him, and go out with him when Mordred needs
him.
He sees the moment Freya’s shoulders relax, when Gareth absently takes
Mordred’s arm after a particularly rough punter and gently checks his Shunt,
wiping away his tears and curling up with him because sometimes that’s the only
way Mordred can sleep.
They talk, a lot; late into the nights that Mordred can’t sleep; wired from a
pop and too many punters in a row. Gareth gets tired, but he doesn’t mind; he
just wraps himself around Mordred and lets him talk, and talk.
He rambles over everything from his early foster families, to his spitting
hatred for Morgause; to how much he loves Freya; to someone he calls,
alternately, “pretty”, “magic man”, and “Merlin.”
Gareth figures that Merlin is one of Mordred’s punters, and wonders, as Mordred
curls into Gareth’s side and rambles on, how he could have got under Mordred’s
skin so fast.
As far as Gareth knows, Mordred’s only been with Merlin once, but there’s
obviously something about him.
He strokes Mordred’s hair, because it’s the easiest and fastest way to get him
to calm down, and asks him if he hopes Merlin will come back - or hopes that he
won’t.
Mordred sighs, and turns his face into Gareth’s neck, just breathing for a
moment.
“I dunno,” he says, his voice scratchy and low. “I - he was nice to me y’know?
Real nice. And I’ve had nice punters before and all, but - “ Mordred sighs as
he seems to run out of words and all Gareth can do is pull him in a bit
tighter.
“I want to see him again, I really do, I think about him sometimes when I’m
with a punter who’s just -” Mordred shifts against Gareth’s side, restless and
Gareth rubs his back, not saying anything.
“S’why I try not to remember the nice ones,” Mordred says quietly, closing his
eyes.
“Because it makes the other fuckers seem so much worse.”
There’s nothing Gareth can say to that; any words of comfort that might come to
him would sound hollow and trite. He has no idea, not really, of what Mordred
has gone through during the past three years, but he thinks, maybe, if there is
a punter out there who thinks Mordred is worth something - worth more than what
Mordred himself thinks - then that’s worth something.
Gareth has to believe that’s worth something.
He finds himself taking care of Mordred, along with Freya and - to a lesser
extent - Cenred. Gareth thinks it’s the absolute least that he can do after
everything Mordred has done for him, but Mordred just shrugs him off, muttering
something about not letting Gareth lose his worth.
It all becomes part of a new routine for all of them. Gareth finds himself
settling into it very quickly, riding out the wave of gratitude he still feels
as it morphs into something very like friendship - and family.
Freya and Mordred help, and he doesn’t …. mind the work that much. It helps
that Mordred and Cenred find him some easy jobs to start with, men who pay well
for a pretty mouth, but have gentle hands and quiet voices, who let him go
easily afterwards.
It’s nowhere near perfect, but it’s better than where he would have ended up -
a strungout, useless Shunter used up by Morgause and thrown out when his appeal
had been used up and drained away.
He has nightmares about that, sometimes. About what terrible path his life was
headed for. And about the things he endured when he ran away from his family’s
home all those months ago; set on finding his brother, with no more clue than a
vague memory that he’d gone to London.
He wonders about his brother - more now that he knows he’s not going to freeze
or starve out on the streets with no one to remember him - wonders if maybe he
actually has half a shot of finding him of maybe letting him know that ..
 
He’s fallen asleep on Mordred’s bed again, and he doesn’t mean to, but it just
happens some nights after Mordred has finally talked himself to sleep and the
sofa seems so very far away.
He’s jolted awake, suddenly, by a loud curse and a sharp kick to his leg.
Gareth’s eyes fly open when the sharp pain reaches his brain and he pushes up
and ducks out from Mordred’s flailing limbs.
“Freya!” He shouts as loud as he can over Mordred’s constant stream of curses
and Gareth’s never seen him like this.
He’s seen Mordred in the throes of bad dreams before, but whatever this is
looks like it’s hurting him. He shouts for Freya again, unable to remember
whether she’s working or not before he ducks in and grips Mordred’s upper arms
as hard as he can, careful to avoid Mordred’s Shunt.
“Mordred, Mordred wake up; you’re having a nightmare, Mordred come on …” Gareth
keeps his voice low, but his grip tight, with the way Mordred had been flailing
around he’s in real danger of hurting himself.
Freya stumbles in then, rubbing her eyes and frowning in confusion.
“What - “
“He’s - I think he’s having a nightmare, but I can’t wake him up!” Gareth can
feel the edge of panic in his voice and forces himself to take a deep breath.
Freya leans in closer and examines Mordred’s face. He’s pale, and there are
deep purple shadows under his eyes.
“Look at his eyelids,” she says softly. “His eyes - they’re moving far too
fast, for any kind of sleep. That’s not a nightmare, it’s Morgause.
“MORDRED! MORDRED OPEN YOUR EYES.”
Gareth flinches but doesn’t let go of Mordred as Freya’s voice thunders
unexpectedly loud in the room.
“MORDRED, IT’S JUST US, IT’S ME AND GARETH. OPEN YOUR EYES, PLEASE OPEN YOUR
EYES.”
Gareth watches as the muscles in Mordred’s jaw start jumping and he turns his
head carefully towards Freya.
“Should I let him go?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip. “No, if you can, hold on to him. He’s
liable to hurt himself, or try and pull out his Shunt like this and that would
be - it wouldn’t be good.”
Gareth nods, and watches quietly as Freya steps carefully into Mordred’s
personal space, even though his legs are still flailing around the bed.
“Mordred,” she says, right by his ear this time, “Please open your eyes.
Please. For me. I know you can...”
Gareth breaths a sigh of relief when Mordred’s eyes start to flutter as his
limbs start slowing with their frantic movements. He keeps his hands on
Mordred’s arms, but lessens his grip so he’s just holding him lightly.
Mordred blinks his eyes open slowly, so slowly, turning his head to Freya
first. “Frey? Are you all right? Did I h-hurt you?”
Freya shakes her head, her dark eyes shining with tears. “No, baby, you didn’t
hurt me. Gareth got to you. Are you all right now?”
Mordred glances at Gareth before dropping his gaze and nodding.
“You can let me go, Gareth. I’m all right.”
Gareth releases Mordred’s arms, wincing when he sees the deep, red marks. “Oh -
I’m - I’m sorry about that …”
Mordred scoots back from both of them, leaning back against his pillows. He
won’t meet their eyes. He draws his knees up to his chin and rests his forehead
on them, breathing heavily.
“Morgause,” he says bitterly when the silence has stretched out and become
heavy. “Fucking Morgause. I should have known, I should have expected it, I was
being careful, I swear I was - “ this last is directed at Freya who just nods
as the tears spill down her cheeks.
“I know you were, babe, I know how hard you’ve been working it’s all right, I’m
fine, I’m okay, I’m here....”
Gareth sits back on the bed and watches as Freya crawls right up to Mordred and
wraps her arms around his shoulders.
Mordred doesn’t move except to lift his head so Freya can rest hers on his
chest.
“Your heart is still beating too fast,” she says softly. “Just. Just sit and
breathe for a few minutes, babe, okay?”
Gareth is lost; feeling like he’s walked in on the middle of a story that he
has no hope of understanding.
What he does know is that his friends are hurting. He can’t fix that for them,
right now, maybe he can never fix what this is, but he can do small things for
them that will add up one day.
“I’ll … I’ll go and make some tea,” he says quietly, looking to Freya, who nods
wordlessly. Mordred just tilts his head back against his pillow and closes his
eyes. He has, however, Gareth notices, moved enough to wrap an arm around
Freya’s waist.
He loses himself briefly in the small, quiet ritual of boiling water and
steeping tea in a battered old teapot. It’s enough to soothe whatever’s left of
his own shock at being woken up like that. He still wonders what’s going on,
and what it has to do with Morgause, but he’s content to wait until Mordred
feels ready and able to tell him.
He hands out the mugs quietly before resettling at the end of the bed, sitting
cross-legged opposite Freya and Mordred who have disentangled long enough to
take their tea.
They all drink in silence for a while, Gareth occasionally stealing a look at
Mordred, who’s slowly regaining some colour in his face. Freya presses an
expert hand against his neck after a few minutes and nods, satisfied.
“That’s much better. Your heart’s not going to jump out of your chest any
more.”
Mordred smiles, before putting his mug down on the rickety table that serves as
a nightstand. He mirrors Gareth’s cross-legged position and rests his chin on
his hands.
“I suppose you want to know what all that was about.” It’s not a question.
Gareth turns his own mug around, draining the dregs before putting it on the
floor.
“I do, but - only if you want to tell me. I mean - I don’t want to make
whatever it was worse for you by making you relive it..”
Mordred stares off into the distance for a moment before sighing and looking
down at the Shunt in his arm.
“No time like the present, right?”
It’s silent again, for a long moment, and Gareth doesn’t move, feels like he’s
barely breathing even though he doesn’t understand the reason for the tension.
He glances at Freya but her eyes are on Mordred’s face and she’s holding his
hand, running her thumb over his knuckles that are clenched and white.
Gareth doesn’t think she realises she’s doing it and he feels his heart turn
over a little bit, for Mordred - and for Freya a little bit, too.
“You know - I’m .. wired a little different? Up here,” Mordred says, tapping
his forehead with his free hand.
Gareth frowns, but nods anyway. “The way, uh, Morgause can talk to you in your
head? And the way you can read punters sometimes?”
Mordred nods, and drops his eyes to his and Freya’s joined hands, sighing.
“Yeah. There’s a bit more to it, but - sometimes, if I’m real tired, or I’m
right at the end of a pop, she can …. get in. Get in my head, and I c-can’t
block her out. I can, most of the time, when I’m, uh, working - “
Gareth winces at the bitterness in Mordred’s voice, and he wonders if Mordred
even hears it
“ - but sometimes … I can’t, and she’s - she’s angry”.
Mordred’s face is still somewhat pale, and his eyes look huge in his face, and
it’s ridiculous because they’re the same age, but Mordred looks and sounds so
young all of a sudden. Gareth moves impulsively to Mordred’s other side,
wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Because of me,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to Mordred’s curls and
meeting Freya’s concerned gaze over the top of Mordred’s head.
“I - yeah, I guess, this time. Sometimes, if she knows I’m uh, open to it, she
pokes around in there just because she can. It’s - it’s like a nightmare, but
it’s so much worse, because I can’t wake up and so far Freya’s the only person
who can - “
Mordred turns his head suddenly, burying it in Gareth’s neck and Gareth can’t
do anything except rub at Mordred’s side when he feels the wetness on his neck.
“It’s all right, Mordred, it’s okay, it’s just us, shhh …” Gareth barely knows
what he’s saying, soothing nonsense as he waits for the storm to pass and for
Mordred to calm down.
“M all right,” he mumbles eventually, pulling his head back and scrubbing at
his eyes with the hand that’s not still gripped in Freya’s.
Freya shifts so she can look Mordred in the eye, tilting his head and studying
his face closely.
“I’m all right, Frey, I promise, I’m sorry …”
Freya shakes her head and suddenly launches herself at Mordred, wrapping as
much of him as she can reach in a tight hug. Gareth draws his arm back and
shuffles back on the bed, not wanting to intrude.
“Was that - was it just - “
Gareth frowns because Freya’s not making any sense but Mordred seems to know
what she’s talking about and he buries his face in her hair, his breathing
heavy.
“No. That wasn’t - there’s, there’s more. It’s - she - it’s …” Mordred’s voice
fails him and Gareth can only watch as Freya soothes him this time, long
strokes with her hand down his back until the shudders that had overtaken him
stop.
Mordred pulls back, calmer and glances at Gareth before turning back to Freya.
“She … um. It’s - it’s Aredian.”
Gareth looks from one to the other as a heavy silence falls on the room again.
He’s missing something major, judging by the look on Freya’s face and the way
Mordred won’t meet her eyes.
“Mordred. Mordred, look at me. Please.” Freya doesn’t say anything else until
Mordred lifts his eyes to meet her gaze.
“Mordred, you can’t. Aredian is insane, he nearly killed you, you can’t go back
there!”
Gareth feels a jolt of shock go through him and he studies Mordred’s reaction.
He knows that Mordred comes home sometimes with marks and bruises and
occasionally limping which - Gareth frowns as he looks from Mordred to Freya,
trying to puzzle everything out.
Mordred glances at him then, offering a small, watery smile.
“Sorry, Gareth. You must feel like you’re only getting half the story.”
Gareth scoots closer and puts a hand on the back of Mordred’s neck, gently
scruffing his fingers through Mordred’s curls the way he knows he likes.
“Don’t worry about me. Just - who’s Aredian.”
Freya puffs out a sigh and looks away for a moment and Gareth notices that
she’s blinking rapidly.
“He’s - he’s a punter, but he’s not - like. He’s not like other punters,”
Mordred says quietly, leaning back into Gareth’s gentle touch.
“He’s insane,” Freya says, her voice sounding harsh and loud in the small
bedroom.
“He gets Shunters, from Morgause and he - he thinks he can fix them, or cure
them by, I don’t know, praying over them or, fucking it out of them, or beating
them nearly senseless and - “
“And usually I can avoid him, because I’m not really one of Morgause’s
Shunters, but if I make her really angry …”
“Which you did, because of me,” Gareth says quietly, a sick, heavy feeling
settling into his gut.
“He - he managed to get b-back here,” Freya says, shuffling closer until Gareth
wordlessly holds out his free arm until Freya curls into him, settling her
slight weight against his chest.
“He looked - I thought, I thought you were d-dead.”
Mordred sighs and bites down on his lip. “I - I know, but if I don’t go … she’s
just going to keep trying to get to me. And if not me, she might go for you, or
for Gareth and I c-can’t, I can’t have that, Frey. I can’t lose you. I won’t
lose you.”
They’re all silent after that and Gareth sighs, feeling something like
inevitability settle behind his heart.
“Then I’ll go with you.”
 
Arthur’s distracted as he walks down the street, pacing out long strides.
There’s a strategy meeting at his and Leon’s flat, but everyone had taken a
break and Arthur took the chance to bodily drag Merlin outside for a walk.
“Come on, Merlin, we’ve barely had a chance to talk these past few weeks.”
Merlin had grumbled, but followed Arthur anyway, letting his feelings out in a
series of long-suffering sighs.
They’ve been walking for about 10 minutes, in companionable enough silence, but
Arthur can feel all of the details of the upcoming mission crowding back into
his brain.
“So, Merlin, tell me - “
He’s cut off just as he’s about to ask Merlin about his new … person by a loud
shout.
 
“HELP ME, PLEASE.”
There are people on the streets, milling around and ‘scoots coming and going
but none of them stop except for Merlin and Arthur who turn around to see a
tall young man, his face distorted with something that looks like grief. In his
arms, is another young man, apparently unconscious, but what gets Arthur’s
attention is Merlin who stares for a second before moving very quickly towards
the pair.
“Mordred, oh my god, what the - what happened?”
Arthur hangs back slightly as Merlin talks to the tall young man who’s holding
on to - Mordred as though they’re both going to break if he drops him.
“His sh-shunt. Merlin, the bastard tried to pull out his sh-hunt and I g-got
him out of there but I don’t know what to do, what do I do?”
Arthur sees the moment that Merlin’s training takes over. His face is still
pale but his eyes are focused now and his jaw is set.
Merlin gently lifts Mordred’s arm and Arthur winces when he sees the mess of
tubing and blood hanging from it.
“Arthur. I need you to count his pulse for me. In his neck. Count, count the
beats.”
Arthur just nods and reaches for Mordred’s neck, finding the pulse easily. He
closes his eyes and counts to himself, knowing from his PenCorp first aid
training what to listen for.
“It’s … thready, Merlin. Going in and out a little. But it’s steady, I think.”
Merlin just nods as he carefully wraps his own shirt around Mordred’s arm.
“Gareth - we’re not far from Arthur’s flat. It’s that big building across the
road over there. Top floor. Give Mordred to Arthur - you’re in shock. It’s all
right, Gareth. Arthur will take care of him, come on …”
Arthur gently manages to extract Mordred from Gareth’s arms, cradling him
easily.
He knows, from the few things Merlin has told him, that Mordred is 17, and that
he’s been a Shunter for a while. He’s still lighter than Arthur expects and he
holds him easily. Merlin quickly arranges his damaged arm so it’s sitting above
Mordred’s heart in an effort to staunch the blood.
“Y-your shirt, you’ll get b-blood on your shirt.”
“Gareth is it?” Arthur waits until the young man nods, and he smiles while he
starts moving towards his flat, vaguely aware of Merlin on the phone to Lance
on his other side.
“Don’t worry about it. Believe me, I can always buy a new shirt. Or a new shirt
company come to that. Come on, let’s get Mordred to my flat. Get him taken care
of.”
Gareth pushes one bloody hand through his hair, nodding as they work their way
through the people to the flat.
Arthur carries Mordred carefully, occasionally asking Gareth to check his pulse
as they move.
“Lance and Gwen will meet us there. He says - he says that it sounds like it -
might have to come out.”
Arthur nearly stops in shock and he feels Gareth exclaim beside him.
“The Shunt?”
Merlin nods as they enter the building and push the elevator button for the top
floor.
“He’ll have - t-tears and, I don’t know what else and he’s got MedNanos but
they’re targeted for STIs and I don’t know what - “
Arthur nudges Merlin gently with his shoulder. “Breathe, Merlin. Lance is the
best surgeon I have ever met. If anyone can help him …”
Arthur trails off as the elevator opens to his floor. He lets his natural
instincts take over (bossy, Merlin would say if he were in any shape to tease)
and starts giving out instructions and explanations as soon as they’re inside
the flat.
Leon is right there, and Arthur can breathe again finally. “Strip the bed in
the spare room,” he says. Leon doesn’t say anything, just lets his glance flick
across Arthur, Mordred, Merlin and Gareth before he nods and leads the way to
the bedroom - and ad hoc surgery, Arthur reminds himself as he lays Mordred
gently down on the now-bare mattress.
“Can we do anything?” he asks Merlin softly as he moves around the bed,
arranging Mordred’s limbs, careful to keep his damaged arm folded up above his
heart.
Merlin shakes his head, keeping his focus on Mordred, taking his pulse again.
“No - not until Lance gets here.”
Arthur nods and quietly tilts his head at Gareth.
“Come on, come with me. I know you’re worried about him, but we’re better off
out of it for now...”
Merlin looks up and flashes Arthur a grateful look, before nodding at Gareth.
“I’m not going anywhere, Gareth. Go with Arthur all right? You’re probably in
shock. Give him uh, something to drink, Arthur, make sure he stays warm.”
Arthur rolls his eyes in exasperated affection but doesn’t say anything before
leading Gareth out of the bedroom and into the stupidly large kitchen where
Leon already has steaming mugs of tea on the table.
“Sit,” Arthur says gently, pushing one of the cups towards Gareth, who wraps
his fingers around it as he hunches down in a chair.
Leon puts another cup in front of Arthur and they both sit, Arthur opposite
Gareth and Leon beside him, a constant, quiet presence.
Arthur raises his head when he hears the door, and smiles in relief when he
sees Lance and Gwen. He points towards the guest room.
“In there. I - I don’t know how bad it is, or how much Merlin told you ..”
Lance just nods and they both disappear into the depths of the flat.
“Was that, was that - “
“That was Lance and Gwen. He’s a surgeon. One of the best, and Gwen, his wife.
She’s a MedTech, like Merlin.”
Gareth just nods, distracted, looking up when he sees Merlin approaching. He
collapses in a chair by Gareth and Arthur feels his heart go out to him.
“I - Lance said it - would be better if - it wasn’t me helping, because of, of
our uh, personal connection.”
Arthur reaches a hand out silently, waiting until Merlin reaches back, gripping
Arthur’s fingers tight enough to make them tingle with the sudden loss of
blood.
“You would do the same thing, Merlin. You know you would.”
Merlin nods, but he doesn’t look up from the table.
Arthur sits in silence, holding on to Merlin, and feeling Leon’s hand stroking
over the back of his neck, anchoring him to the present.
“I um. I should let - uh Freya know,” Gareth says, his voice sounding slightly
less blank than it had before.
“She’s our flatmate and she um, she’s a nurse, and she’ll want to know - “
“Here,” Leon says softly, sliding a miniScreen across the table. Gareth picks
it up and stares at it, blinking, before he manages to navigate far enough to
dial a number.
“F-Freya? It’s - it’s Gareth.”
Arthur hears a sharp question on the other side of the line and listens to a
minute of Gareth’s fumbling answers before he holds out his free hand.
“Gareth. Finish your tea, all right? Let me talk to her.”
Gareth looks up, his face pale. He frowns, but hands the Screen over anyway,
wrapping his hands back around his mug.
Arthur’s vaguely aware of Leon putting a mug in front of Merlin before he puts
the mini to his ear.
“Freya is it? My name’s Arthur Pendragon. I’m a friend of Merlin’s. Mordred’s
here at my flat. He’s being treated by a surgeon right now, and a MedTech - no,
not Merlin, Gwen du Lac - yes of course you should come here. Go find a ‘scoot
and I’ll send you the address for the Nav. No, we - don’t know anything yet.
They’re still - in there. All right. We’ll see you soon.”
Arthur disconnects the call and types in his address quickly for Freya to
programme into the ‘scoot.
He puts the Screen down and pushes his hand through his hair. Merlin is still
gripping his hand across the table and it feels numb and tingly, as though he’s
fallen asleep on it.
“Merlin. Merlin, look at me.” Arthur says it gently as he can, but he needs to
see Merlin’s eyes, needs to see if he’s all right.
Merlin sighs but he lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s steady gaze. “I’m - I’m all
right, Arthur, I am. I just - what do I do? What can I do? What if - “
“Hey. No. Merlin, don’t - don’t do that to yourself.” Leon’s voice is soft and
kind, his eyes searching Merlin’s face. “I know it’s hard, but you’ll just end
up - looping it. All right?”
Merlin nods and takes a deep breath, disentangling his fingers from Arthur’s
and wincing. “Sorry, sorry about that.” He wraps his long fingers around his
mug and takes a sip of the tea, even though it must be starting to go cold by
now.
“It’s all right, Merlin.”
Arthur turns to look at Gareth, studying his face as he fidgets in his seat.
“Can you - do you feel up to telling us what happened? It’s all right if you
don’t, but it might help to - talk?”
Arthur hears the uncertainty in his own voice and he frowns, hating it. He
hates being on such shaky ground, not knowing what’s coming next. He’ plans
everything - well, nearly everything he thinks, tilting a fond glance towards
Leon.
Some things that you don’t plan, or look for turn out to be the best.
Or - as he looks at Gareth and Merlin again - the worst.
“I - it’s my fault. It’s all my fault and I’m so - I’m so sorry Merlin, I am,
he likes you so much and he’ll n-never tell you but he does and I’m so sorry -
“
Merlin reaches out, instinctively and runs a hand down Gareth’s back.
“Just - tell us what happened, if you can, all right? We can worry about - the
rest - later.”
Gareth nods, takes a long drink of his tea, and studies his hands, flat on the
table for a long moment before he starts talking, his voice wavery and quiet.
“It is my fault, though. That much I know. We - we were there because of me.”
“Where were you?” Leon’s voice is soft, easy-sounding and Arthur can see
Gareth’s shoulders slump a little bit.
“On - a job. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but Freya - Freya s-said the guy
had nearly killed Mordred the last time and - “
“What? I mean - sorry, carry on.”
Gareth turns to Merlin and gives him a small, sad smile before his gaze
flickers over to the closed door of the room where Lance and Gwen are working
on Mordred.
“That’s why I went with him. He - he felt he had to go, because of - of
Morgause.” Gareth stops and rubs at his eyes and Arthur frowns.
“Do you mean Morgause Gorlois?”
Gareth blinks at Arthur, like he’s forgotten he’s there. “Uh, yes. I do. She’s
- well, she’s -”
“She’s a parasite,” Arthur says grimly.
Gareth just nods and Arthur sighs a little. “I”m sorry. Go on.”
“Mordred can - he can kind of … see things? I don’t know how to describe it? He
can kind of … speak inside your head?
“Anyway, Morgause can do the same thing, but on a bigger scale, I guess, and
I’m telling this all backwards, I’m sorry - “
“It’s all right, Gareth. You’re doing fine.” Gareth gives Merlin a small,
strained smile and sighs before he resumes talking.
“Anyway - I’d come to - to London to look for my older brother, he left our
family h-home years ago, and when my father kicked me out a few months ago, all
I could think was of trying to find G-Gwaine - “
“Wait - your brother’s name is Gwaine? What’s your last name?”
“Uh it’s Greene. With an E. Why?”
Arthur frowns and bites his lip, studying Gareth closely, almost missing a
mutter from Merlin.
“Of course, I should have seen it myself -”
Arthur reaches out a hand to Merlin and says “Wait. Not now. Let Gareth finish
his story.”
Gareth looks between them, his expression clearly confuse.
“I - do you know Gwaine? Could I see him?”
Arthur bites his lip and looks sideways at Leon.
“Finish telling us about Mordred, Gareth. Then we can talk about Gwaine.”
Gareth nods and frowns before starting again.
“Anyway it wasn’t long before I - ran into trouble. I was half-starving on the
edges of the Flesh District when Morgause found me. She said she could help me,
that I could have regular food and a bed, and I just had to do a few jobs for
her.”
Gareth laughs and rubs a hand over his head.
“I wasn’t stupid, I knew what she meant but I wasn’t going to last much longer.
So I went with her because at the time it was the difference between living and
dying.
“That’s how I met Mordred. He’d been a foster till he was 14 and ran across
Morgause. She gave him the Shunt, turned him into an addict. He said - he
didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. We - did a, uh, a job together and
then he persuaded me to come with him. He - he saved me. If it weren’t for him,
I’d be a Shunter for sure, and maybe even a Nooner by now. Mordred saved my
life.”
“But Morgause was angry,” Arthur says, quietly as he can because he can hear
the thread of steel running through his voice.
“Sh-she was. Mordred can block her out of his head sometimes, I think, but if
he’s tired, or if he’s right at the end of a pop, he’s vulnerable. She sent -
h-hallucinations. I don’t know what they were but he was sc-screaming, and she
said the only way she’d stop is if he took this job with Aredian.”
“Who nearly killed him?”
Gareth nods, eyeing the table instead of meeting Merlin’s gaze. “It was -
before I knew him. Freya said he was half beaten to death, she doesn’t know
even now how he made his way back to the District.”
There’s a pause then, and a buzz from Arthur’s intercom. They all jump and Leon
lets out a small laugh.
“That’ll be Freya, I suppose. I’ll let her in and hopefully soon we’ll know
something, all right?”
Gareth nods, but Arthur notices that he won’t take his eyes off the table.
He hears a murmur of voices and then he’s aware of a small woman with dark hair
hurtling straight at Gareth. Arthur thinks at first she’s going to slap him but
she wraps her arms around him instead, holding on tight.
“Freya, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, Mordred wouldn’t even have been
there if it weren’t for me - “
Freya just shakes her head, drawing back far enough to kiss Gareth on the
cheek. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself. If you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t
been there, Gareth, he’d be d- he’d be dead.”
Gareth wraps his arms around Freya, burying her face in his hair. “I’m so
sorry, Frey.”
Arthur clears his throat after a minute and Freya turns her head, frowning.
“Sorry,” he says, feeling terrible for interrupting them. “Do you want -
anything? Tea or anything while we wait?”
Freya shakes her head, and repositions herself so she’s sitting on Gareth’s
lap, apparently unwilling to break contact.
“You said the MedTech was Gwen du Lac. Is the surgeon, who’s the surgeon - “
“It’s Lance, yes,” Arthur says quietly and Freya nods, absently tucking a
strand of hair behind her head.
“I’ve watched him work before. Not - assisted, I’m not a surgical nurse, but we
can sit in and observe surgeries sometimes. He’s - he’s the surgeon I would
have chosen for Mordred.”
“You must be wondering why we didn’t take him to a hospital,” Arthur says. “The
truth is, the nearest hospital - well, they wouldn’t have taken him, and beyond
that -”
“It would have been too late.” Freya’s voice is low and thick with tears.
Arthur glances at Merlin who nods, silently, his glance going back to the
closed door.
“I - thank you. For - bringing him into your home. I - thank you.”
“He’s important to Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, leaning back slightly as Leon
places a hand on his neck, warm and still. “So he’s important to us.”
Freya nods, and wipes a hand over her face. Arthur thinks she’s about to say
something else, when the bedroom door opens and Lance and Gwen come out.
The sudden tension in the room makes Arthur reflexively clench his teeth and he
reaches out again, finding Merlin’s hand already across the table.
Lance looks tired,but he’s smiling quietly. Gwen is carrying a miniScreen, her
eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“This - this is Gareth, and Freya,” Arthur says. “Friends of Mordred.”
Lance nods and accepts the mug of tea that Leon hands him, wrapping his hands
around it as Gwen puts the Screen on the table in front of Merlin.
“The good news is,” Lance says, taking a sip of his tea, “Is that we
successfully got the Shunt out, and Mordred’s sleeping.”
Arthur bites his lip as Merlin’s grip tightens on his own and he’s aware of
Freya letting out a sob and burying her head in Gareth’s neck for a second.
“He’s young, which is on his side, and the STI-resistant ‘Nanos he’s got have
served to keep him healthy.”
“What’s the bad news, Lance?” Merlin’s voice is quiet and a little shaky, and
Arthur rubs his thumb over the back of Merlin’s hand out of long habit.
Lance takes a deep breath, and stares down into his tea.
“Well, he’s unconscious, and will be for quite some time. Because we had to
remove the Shunt, we’re going to have to Withdraw him. The good thing is, we
can keep him under while we do it, so he’ll wake up without the cravings, but -
“
Lance turns to Gwen, who sighs. “I’m trying to formulate a new MedNano. Because
it’s addiction, it needs to be designed specifically for Mordred.”
Gwen pauses and draws her finger up from the flat surface of the Screen on the
table. Merlin leans forward, some of his concern shifting into professional
curiosity. Murmuring, he trails the lines that are appearing with his finger.
“It’s good, Gwen. It should work -”
Gwen nods, and bites her lip, waiting. “Here,” Merlin says softly. “See there?
There’s a strand missing …”
Gwen leans over his shoulder and nods, swearing softly.
“Can we uh, use your study Arthur? We can get this done tonight but it’ll be
easier on our own.”
Arthur merely nods, giving Merlin a warm smile as he leans back into Leon’s
touch.
“Would you come with us, Freya? You know Mordred best.”
“If it’s all right, I”ll go and sit with Mordred. I can monitor him and I’d -
I’d just like to.”
“Of course,” Lance says. “I’ll feel better, actually, knowing you’re keeping an
eye on him.”
Freya nods and slips off Gareth’s lap, heading towards Mordred’s room.
“You’re welcome to stay with us, Gareth,” Leon says. “We can talk about Gwaine,
if you’re ready.”
Gareth watches as Freya leaves with Merlin and Gwen, Lance sitting down now in
Merlin’s unoccupied chair.
“Yes - please. I’d - I’d like that.”
 
Mordred is dreaming. He’s dreaming in shattered-glass visions of colour and
noise and there’s nothing he can do. There’s an icy-cold shade of pale blue
coming towards him, and he knows that nothing lies within except madness and an
eternal dependence.
He wills his hand into a fist and smashes forward, as hard as he can,
shattering it around him, screaming soundlessly at the noise. It falls in a
seemingly endless shower, and Mordred knows he should move, try to run, but
he’s glued to the spot.
He closes his eyes, and hopes that it doesn’t shred him to pieces.
Mordred is dreaming, and the next thing he sees is yet another shade of blue.
This one, though, is warmer; deeper and it’s shot through with lines of gold.
He reaches out to that shade, needing to be close, needing to somehow wrap it
around himself, because that blue is Mordred’s safety.
He wrenches his feet, sobbing in the dream until they start moving again. He
crunches the pale-blue shattered glass as he goes, heedless of the hissing
sound that’s now following in his wake.
 
Merlin double-checks his work again, tracing the paths of the Med Nano on the
3D holoScreen in front of him. He whispers a couple of soft words in an ancient
and dead language and smiles as his magic surges under his pulse, enhancing his
own instinct.
He tweaks the strand he’s created, finally nodding in satisfaction.
Gwen sits beside him quietly, her eyes tracing the pattern over and over. She
finally nods, as her deft fingers run the command for a human simulation to
run. They both trace the ‘Nano’s path carefully before Gwen lets out a long
breath.
“Good, yeah. That’s it.”
Merlin nods and pushes back from the table.
“I’m … going to go and see how he is.”
Gwen smiles up at him, her expression fond. “Of course. I’ll be in soon with
the ‘Nano.”
Merlin nods and ducks down to give Gwen a tight half-hug before leaving.
He knocks softly on the closed door, saying “It’s me, Merlin,” quietly and
waiting until Freya tells him to come in before pressing down on the door
handle.
He glances at Mordred’s still figure, noting how pale he looks, despite knowing
Gwen would have synthed more than enough plasma to compensate for the blood
loss.
He smiles at Freya, sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. She pushes
her hair back, glancing at the ‘Screen on the nightstand that’s been set up to
monitor Mordred’s progress.
“His vitals are stable,” she says, glancing up at Merlin before turning her
gaze back to the ‘Screen.
“That’s good,” Merlin says quietly, his eye drawn to the ugly scar on Mordred’s
arm. Lance has done his best with relatively limited equipment and it’s neatly
closed but it’s raised and red.
“It looks - painful,” he says, nodding towards the scar before awkwardly
perching on the very edge of the bed, careful not to disturb anything.
“Mmm. It’s not infected, thankfully. The skin was badly irritated when the -
Shunt was pulled out. It should fade, over time.”
Merlin just nods. His fingers twitch with the need to reach out, touch
Mordred’s skin for himself, feel his pulse under his skin, but he merely looks
on.
“He likes you, you know. He likes you a lot. He - talks about you sometimes.
Mostly with Gareth, I think, but - he likes you. It - doesn’t happen often.”
Merlin smiles at Freya, taking the small comfort for what it is. Cautiously, he
inches a little closer to Mordred on the bed, and runs his thumb over the back
of Mordred’s hand. He’s warmer than Merlin expects and it helps to release a
knot of tension in his gut he’s been aware of since Gareth shouted for help.
There’s a light knock at the door, and Gwen is there with the finished MedNano.
She goes and gets Lance, and both Freya and Merlin watch closely as Gwen makes
a new incision on the opposite side of Mordred’s neck to the other ‘Nano and
slides it in place.
They all watch the MonitorScreen in silence, waiting for the ‘Nano to find its
pathways and to track down Mordred’s addiction. There’s a small murmur of
satisfaction as the lines of it light up the ‘Screen and Merlin breathes in
relief.
Whatever happens next, Mordred is going to be all right.
Merlin quietly offers to sit with Mordred for a while, and Freya nods, quietly
leaving the room with Lance and Gwen.
Merlin is vaguely aware of some kind of commotion out in the living room, and
he can hear Gwaine’s voice booming out over the rest, before someone quiets him
down. Merlin shakes it off as Gwen closes the door, cutting the noise down to
nothing.
He settles in the chair that Freya had vacated and checks Mordred’s MedScreen
out of habit. His vitals are still good and the new MedNano is tracking the way
it should.
Mordred’s hand twitches on the covers suddenly and Merlin glances quickly at
the screen, noting that Mordred is having some kind of a dream. By the ‘wave
activity, it looks like a pretty intense nightmare.
He won’t wake Mordred up without Lance’s permission, and his level of distress
looks unpleasant but manageable, so Merlin does the only other thing he can
think of - he reaches out, takes Mordred’s hand and begins talking softly.
He doesn’t say anything important, really, just talks quietly about meeting
Mordred, about how they’re preparing for the trip in a few weeks; about the
fact that he’s pretty sure Gareth and Gwaine have been reunited.
“Just think,” Merlin says, rubbing his thumb over Mordred’s knuckles, while
checking his ‘wave activity that finally seems to be calming down, “If I hadn’t
met you, if I’d talked myself out of going to the Flesh District that night,
that wouldn’t have happened. It’s … kind of amazing, I think, you know? We live
in this strange, and overcrowded world, and we’re all trying to make
connections and all it took for that to happen was for me to - well. To come
and find you.”
He feels Mordred’s fingers tighten around his own, and he checks the ‘Screen
again, but there’s no real change in Mordred’s wave activity.
“Just a reflex, then,” Merlin says softly. “Or another part of the same dream.”
Mordred is dreaming. He’s running, he thinks, towards the gold-shot blue, but
no matter how much he wills himself to go faster, it feels like he’s running
through syrup. He turns his head and sees the cold, ice-cold pale blue still
behind him, still following him, and no, it can’t have him, he hasn’t fought
all this way to be submerged again. He lets out a mighty roar, that’s
immediately swallowed into silence; and another, and another until his voice
starts having some impact on the air around him.
He turns around, and there - the dark blue with the gold is closer - Mordred
has no idea whether it’s come to him, or he’s going towards it, but it doesn’t
matter because suddenly he’s falling, and suddenly, he can breathe freely.
Mordred is dreaming, and he lets himself fall.
Merlin’s is the first face he sees, when he manages to push through the dream,
and wake up. He blinks in confusion and licks his lips. His throat feels like
sand, and he’s so very tired.
“Mer-Merlin? What -”
Merlin leans over and smiles, before glancing at something to the side. “Don’t
try and talk yet. Here - drink this - “ Mordred takes the glass and nearly
moans at the feel of ice-cold water sliding down his throat. “I need to get
Lance - he’s the surgeon who worked on you - and Freya and Gareth are here, too
and thank god you’re all right!”
“What - what happ-” Mordred takes another drink of water, wetting his dry mouth
and throat. “What happened?”
Merlin bites his lip and then looks again at what Mordred now realises is a
MedScreen, then back to Mordred. “Let me get Lance first, okay? Then we’ll
answer all of your questions.”
Mordred sighs and resists the urge to shake his head; he feels as though the
dream is weighing him down and making his head feel too heavy.
“Okay,” he says when he realises Merlin is waiting for an answer.
“I’m … I’m glad you’re all right, Mordred. I don’t know what I - I’m glad
you’re all right.”
Mordred manages a small smile and watches as Merlin leaves, coming back with
Freya, Gareth and a man he doesn’t recognise.
“Frey. Frey, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry - “
Freya cuts him off then, climbing on to the bed and wrapping her arm around his
shoulders carefully as Lance studies the ‘Screen and examines the site of
Mordred’s surgery.
Gareth has seated himself on the end of the bed, and there’s another man
standing behind him, who’s shorter than Gareth and stockier, but they look so
much alike that Mordred knows it must be Gareth’s brother.
Gareth smiles and tips his head in a nod, biting his lip. Mordred smiles back,
happy for his friend.
“Well, Mordred, everything looks good. Now - “
Mordred turns his head and says, realising he’s interrupting Lance, but he
can’t do this, he’s terrified. “Merlin?”
“I’m here, you’re all right,” Merlin says, carefully positioning himself on the
bed, so Mordred’s flanked by Merlin and Freya.
Mordred reaches out, feeling shy for the first time, which is ridiculous, he
thinks, but this is the first time he’s seen Merlin when he’s been -
“Doc? I’m sorry for um. Interrupting. But. I don’t feel, I don’t - “ Mordred
frowns and tightens his grip on Merlin’s hand. Merlin merely squeezes back,
offering silent support.
“Well - your last … client, Aredian?”
Mordred closes his eyes as his heart rate elevates and oh god now he remembers
everything. He nods and forces himself to open his eyes and meet Lance’s gaze.
“He tried to tear out your Shunt. You were lucky that Gareth was with you, he
got you out of there, and as I understand it, almost literally bumped into
Merlin and Arthur. I had to take out the Shunt, and Merlin and Gwen created a
new MedNano, to combat withdrawal. You’re … fine. You’re, well, free, I
suppose.”
“Free,” Mordred echoes blankly, as Freya tightens her arm around his shoulder
again. He feels Merlin’s fingers laced with his own. He stares at his arm,
where a flat, long scar now mars the skin.
“When - or if - you’re ready later, I can remove the scarring for you. My
priority today was saving your life.”
Mordred nods, without taking his eyes off the scar.
“Mordred. Mordred?”
Mordred blinks at looks up at Gareth, who’s still sitting on the end of the
bed, the man behind him - Gwaine, Mordred remembers - resting one hand on
Gareth’s shoulder.
“Yeah, mate, sorry. What is it.”
“I um. I’m glad. You’re okay. Really glad. And um. I. While you were sleeping,
I … called Cenred.”
Mordred frowns at that. “Okay but - why?”
“Well, first to tell him about you being hurt … and I uh, might have let slip
who was responsible for it.”
Gareth bites his lip and glances at Freya before looking back to Mordred. “He
said. He said to tell you not to worry. That he would take care of it, and to
tell you … he hopes he never sees you again.”
Mordred chokes out a laugh at that, which turns into coughing, before Merlin
hands him the glass of water again, and Lance gently but firmly herds everyone
out.
“One of you can stay, but Mordred needs to rest. Out, out out.”
Freya meets Merlin’s eyes and she smiles in understanding. She gives Mordred
another careful hug and kisses him on the cheek.
“I love you,” she says, “And I’m glad you’re all right. Never, ever do that to
me again.”
“I love you too,” he says quietly. “And I promise.”
Merlin doesn’t say anything as the others file out, but he gives Gwaine a big
grin, and is rewarded by the biggest, brightest smile that Merlin has ever
seen. He hovers close to Gareth as they all file out, apparently determined to
not let his brother out of his sight again.
Mordred sighs and settles back against the pillows, half sitting up. He’s still
got hold of Merlin’s hand, but Merlin doesn’t feel like mentioning that right
now. He’s perfectly happy to sit here, holding Mordred’s hand forever, if he’s
honest with himself.
“So, how are you feeling?” Merlin asks quietly, shifting on the bed and
settling back beside Mordred.
“I don’t - I don’t really know yet. I feel like - I have a lot to process? I
mean, I’ve been a - a Shunter, and a hooker for - three years, you know? I
never even thought of coming off of it, I figured I’d die like that - either as
a Nooner, or at the hand of some psycho punter. And now - now I don’t know.
“I’m tired, that’s about all I know for now.”
Merlin makes a small noise like a hum, and sighs. “Well, that does makes sense.
I - uh, I should go. Let you rest. Let you start getting your head around
whatever’s next. Do you um. Need anything? Should I send Freya back in?”
Mordred sighs as Merlin disentangles their fingers and slides off the bed. He
doesn’t feel any level of pain at all, which he knows is due to Lance’s skill
as a surgeon, but he’s exhausted and he feels … he feels empty.
“No, that’s all right. I’m pretty sure she’ll come back in on her own, sooner
or later anyway. I”m just - I’m going to try and get some sleep.”
He’s vaguely aware, as he drifts off, of Merlin’s lips on his forehead and a
whisper of a word he doesn’t understand, but it reminds him of his dream
somehow; of the dark blue shot with gold, and he lets sleep pull him under with
a smile on his face.
 
Merlin closes the door quietly and just barely resists sliding down to the
floor. He studies his hands in a detached manner, watching them tremble. It’s a
form of shock, he knows, a delayed reaction to all of the things he hasn’t been
able to process over the past few hours.
“Merlin? Are you all right?” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to look
up, to meet Arthur’s concerned gaze.
“I’m - okay. I’m fine. It’s just - an adrenalin dump. Delayed - shock. I’ll be
fine in a minute.”
Arthur nods, and Merlin anchors himself in the steady blue of his eyes.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
Merlin nods, and breathes out softly when Arthur takes his hands, rubbing over
them with his own warm fingers.
“You really do have it bad, don’t you, Merlin? You never do things the easy
way.”
Arthur’s tone is light and teasing, and so familiar that Merlin can feel his
heart rate slowing and his hands easing under the care of his friend’s
ministrations.
“Well,” he says, pleased that his voice is close to steady. “Where’s the fun in
that?”
Arthur laughs at that, before biting his lip and glancing at the closed door.
“He’s asleep,” Merlin says quietly. “He’ll be tired, for a while. But, like
Lance says, he’s young, so he’ll heal quickly.”
Arthur nods and holds out his hand. “Well, come on then. You should have
something to eat while you can.”
 
Mordred wrenches awake so suddenly that for a moment all he can hear is the
roar of his pulse thumping through his ears. The room he’s in is dark, and for
a sick moment he wonders if he’s fallen asleep beside some punter.
No, he thinks shaking his head to try and clear it. That’s not right. He sits
up carefully, aware of … someone sleeping beside him.
Freya, he realises as his eyes adjust to the dark, and the most recent events
fall into place in his mind. He raises a shaking hand and pushes it through his
hair, glancing to his side as something catches his eye. Merlin is sprawled out
in an armchair, his head tilted back, sound asleep.
Mordred bites his lip at the sight, and frowns as he quietly scoots back until
he’s sitting up, resting against the headboard. He feels different, and that’s
not quite right, but it’s the best he’s got for now. He knows it’s because of
Lance removing his Shunt, and as irrational as it is, he feels a little bit
like his arm has been cut off.
All he can feel, now, is the absence of things: the absence of the ever-present
slight tug of the Shunt in his arm; the push/pull need for another pop and
another pop, and the driving desire for -
Mordred pushes his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. He’s not
being monitored now, otherwise the medScreen would wake up Freya and Merlin
with how damn fast his heart is racing.
He needs. He needs to get out of here so he can think.
Slowly and silently, he slides out of the bed. Someone has put him in too-big
sweatpants and an equally too-big t-shirt, which just about hang off him.
Sighing, Mordred clutches at the drawstring on the pants and slowly makes his
way out of the bedroom.
He pauses outside the door, not sure which way he’s going. Not down the hallway
further, he thinks - that will likely lead to more bedrooms, and he needs - he
needs to think.
Hesitantly, Mordred turns the other way, and soon steps into a large living
area. He pauses there, undecided still. He could, he could leave, he could.
Just. Just, go now. Freya and Gareth are all right, clearly; Merlin and his
friends will take care of Freya, and Gareth has his brother …
“You all right there Mordred?”
Mordred jumps and claps a hand over his mouth to stop the shout that wants to
burst through.
“Fuck, you scared me!”
“Sorry. But are you okay? You need anything?”
Gwaine, Mordred thinks then. It’s just Gwaine. He takes a deep breath and lets
it out slowly.
“No, I was just - I woke up suddenly and I’m just - there’s a lot in my head?”
Gwaine nods, and tilts his head, his gaze steady and considering.
“Yeah, I bet there is. Well, no need to go around waking everyone up. Come on,
I’ll make you some tea or something. Sound good?”
Gwaine starts walking and Mordred falls in behind him without thinking about
what he’s really doing. He glances at the sofa in the middle of the living
room, half-smiling when he sees Gareth’s long form, curled up around a cushion.
“He all right?” he asks Gwaine quietly as they pass.
“Yeah,” Gwaine says just as quietly. “Was a big day with you, and meeting me
again, and everything. He’s exhausted, but he’s fine.”
Mordred nods and follows Gwaine into the kitchen. He blinks at the sudden
light, but sits down at the table. Every so often, he raises his hand to play
with his Shunt, sighing each time when he realises it’s gone.
Gwaine doesn’t say anything, but moves easily about the kitchen, putting
together two steaming, aromatic cups of tea. He places one in front of Mordred
and sits down across from him.
Mordred wraps his hands around the cup and lets the warmth leach into his
fingers.
“Thanks,” he says softly, watching the steam as it curls up.
“No worries. Plus, I should be thanking you. Gareth told me what you did for
him.”
Mordred shifts in his chair and half shrugs.
“I just … didn’t want to see him get used up by Morgause. I mean - what I could
offer wasn’t much better because he still had to, uh, work, but - “
“Mordred you saved his life. When I left home … I was about 18. Gareth was 10.
He begged me to take him with me, but I was still half a kid myself. I told
myself - and him - that he was better off where he was. It was the hardest
thing I ever did. And I know - I was lucky. One of the first people I met was
Arthur. PenCorp put me through school, and I’ve worked for them ever since.”
Mordred takes a sip of his tea and chances a look at Gwaine’s face as the drink
warms his insides. Gwaine grins at him then, open and happy.
His face falls slightly though as he looks down at his own tea. “I - I meant to
go back for him, when I was established, when I could afford it. I was going to
go and get him and bring him to live with me here. But then we started getting
contracts for space missions and we’d be gone for months at a time …. “
Gwaine shakes his head.
“Anyway. Past regrets aside, you brought Gareth back to me, and I’m grateful.”
Mordred clears his throat and takes another drink.
“He talked about you. He talked about you a lot. He - wanted to try and find
you. That’s why he came to London, but he just wasn’t - lucky or something, I
don’t know.”
Mordred licks his lips and sighs, lifting his head to meet Gwaine’s gaze again.
“Being… a Shunter, and doing what I do - what I did - it sucks. It fucking
sucks because you’re at the mercy of that fucking thing all the time. I was a
bit … luckier because I had Freya to take care of me, and I had a dealer who’s
pops were always clean. But sooner or later, that wouldn’t have been enough.
Sooner or later I would’ve …. burnt out. Become one of those fucking Nooner
zombies that are so fried, the can’t feel anything. If I could spare Gareth
that, I was going to - try. I’m - I’m glad he found you.”
Gwaine smiles over the rim of his cup, his eyes looking tired, but there’s
nothing in them but kindness for Mordred.
“So - do you know what you’re going to do now?”
Mordred laughs and shrugs, staring down at the table. “Dunno. Can’t go back -
I’d say none of us can, now. I know what Cenred - that’s who Gareth talked to,
he’s - he was my uh, dealer - I know what he’s capable of and … well. We can’t
go back.”
Gwaine nods in understanding. “Well, I’d want Gareth here with me, anyway. And
Freya can stay at mine, there’s plenty of room. And you, if that’s what you
wanted.”
Mordred shuffles around in his seat, and glances back towards the bedrooms. “I
uh, I don’t know …”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t try and push like that. You’ve just basically escaped
death, had major surgery and lost your Shunt - in little more than a day. You
don’t have to decide anything right now. I just - it was my very heavy-handed
way of letting you know that none of you are out in the cold, yeah? However it
shakes down from here - all of you will have somewhere to go.”
Mordred ducks his head, feeling overwhelmed and suddenly exhausted. Tears prick
the back of his eyes and he suddenly, desperately wants to be alone.”
“I - I’m sorry, I don’t.” He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, forcing
himself to raise his head and meet Gwaine’s steady, kind gaze.
“I’m not used to people just being … nice, you know? They always want -
something, or I get hurt, or - well, bad things happen. I mean, I shouldn’t
think that way because of Freya and Merlin and all, but …. I’ve had way more
bad things than good things happen, you know? Sometimes I still think that I’ll
turn around and Frey will see me for the lowlife I am, and - “
“Hey.”
Gwaine’s voice is soft and he reaches his arm across the table, waiting
patiently until Mordred slowly reaches his own arm back.
“You’re not - okay, I don’t really know you, but I do know that you’re no kind
of lowlife. If you were, you would have abandoned Gareth to his fate; you would
have, I don’t know, tried to rob Merlin when you met him, or worse ...you are -
as far as I can see from my very limited perspective - a person who cares
deeply about his friends and wants what’s best for them. I literally cannot
repay you for bringing Gareth back to me. Not only that, but at great personal
risk to yourself you got him away from a terrible situation.”
Gwaine sighs, and sits back in his own seat, as Mordred reaches up, surprised
to find tears on his cheeks. He scrubs at them, and blinks hard.
“What would you do now. If - if you were me?” It’s a hard question for Mordred
to ask, and he feels the deep weight of it on his chest as he waits.
Gwaine glances over to the large sofa in the living area, where Gareth is still
peacefully sleeping.
“I would, I think, talk to the people I care about the most. To Freya, and
Gareth. See what they think. And, of course, Merlin.”
Mordred nods, and sighs.
Merlin.
“Merlin,” he says softly, glancing towards the bedroom again. “I don’t - don’t
know what to do about Merlin,” he admits, voicing the one thing that’s been
weighing on him since he woke up.
“Well, I can’t tell you what to do, of course, but I will say this. Merlin
cares about you. He cares about you a lot, and he’s possibly the best person
I’ve ever met, aside from maybe Lance.”
Mordred nods, and can’t stop a small smile blooming on his face.
Gwaine says nothing, but raises his cup to his face again, small lines
crinkling his eyes and making them light up with what Mordred assumes is
amusement.
“Start with talking to Freya and Gareth. And go from there.”
Mordred nods, and is suddenly caught by a massive yawn. He’s so very tired.
“And go back to bed. Merlin will shave my hair off if you get sick from staying
up half the night.”
Mordred laughs at that and pushes back from the table, groaning softly.
“Thanks, Gwaine. For - everything.”
Gwaine smiles and raises a hand.
“Nothing to thank me for, mate. Go get some sleep.”
 
Merlin wakes up with a start, blinking in confusion until the previous day
comes crashing into his memory. He curses softly as he sits up, his neck stiff
from sleeping upright. He glances over at the bed and smiles to see Freya and
Mordred curled around each other, sleeping.
He shifts as quietly as he can, glancing at his miniScreen, realising that most
of the morning has gone. Sighing, Merlin pushes a hand through his hair and
makes his way to the kitchen.
Arthur and Leon are there, sitting close together and talking quietly over the
remains of tea and toast, and once, the tableau would have twisted up Merlin’s
insides, but now it makes him smile fondly.
He stumbles into a chair and yawns hugely, sighing. Leon snorts in amusement
from the other side of the table but gets up and starts moving around the
kitchen, making more toast and boiling the kettle.
“Rough night?” Arthur asks, his voice far too amused.
“Fell asleep in the chair,” Merlin mutters as Leon puts a steaming mug of tea
down in front of him. “M’neck hurts.”
He loses himself in the tea for a long, blissful moment.
“How’s Mordred?” Arthur asks, when Merlin surfaces again.
“Sleeping,” Merlin says. “Freya’s still in there, too. Sleep’s the best thing
at the moment. Where’s - everyone else?”
“Gwaine took Gareth back to his place early this morning. Lance and Gwen went
home, too. They’ll all be back later today for the mission briefing,” Leon says
as he places a plate piled high with buttered toast down in front of Merlin.
Merlin just nods as he takes a bite of the toast, just managing to restrain
himself from moaning. Arthur, bless him and his future children, has got real
butter, and it’s all Merlin can do not to bury his face in the toast.
He scratches his hand through his hair again, making it look like a
particularly messy birds’ nest, and sighs.
“I should go home for a bit, too. Feed the demon cat; have a shower.”
Arthur nods and pinches a piece of toast, ignoring Merlin’s indignant squawk.
“Well, Mordred and Freya can stay here as long as they like. I think Gwaine
said something about them being welcome to stay with Gareth at his place, too,
so there’s no shortage there.”
Merlin nods, and smiles gratefully.
“Thanks, Arthur.”
He drains his mug of tea, takes one last piece of toast and reluctantly pushes
back from the table.
“Right. I’ll be back later for the meeting.”
 
The next few weeks are a blur of activity and rush rush rush for Merlin as the
crew organises the final details for the trip.
Gwaine opens his home easily to Gareth and Freya, and Freya starts a new job
soon enough at a private clinic; one that Merlin vaguely thinks was organised
by Morgana.
He quietly offers to take Mordred in while they do the last of the planning and
organising, and Mordred agrees, just as quietly.
 
Merlin sets him up in the spare bedroom, chattering away nervously as he
fetches blankets and sheets and towels, and introduces Mordred to the cat.
“He’s - he’s a real cat. I mean, he’s not a, a clone or anything, I found him
as a kitten, filthy and half-starved and I couldn’t just leave him. Now, of
course, he’s a holy terror who rules my whole life.”
Mordred just nods, but there’s a warm look in his eyes as he tentatively
reaches out to rub between the cat’s ears.
“So, you’re used to picking up strays then,” Mordred says softly, but his eyes
are warm and teasing when Merlin looks up from where he’s dragging a sheet over
the mattress.
“Cheeky. Come and make yourself useful, then. Grab the other side of this.”
They work together in companionable silence after that, taking turns to lift
the cat down from the bed, laughing every time.
Merlin pushes back his hair once the bed is made, and looks around the rather
sparse room. There’s the bed, and a nightstand, and a chair in the corner.
“There. It’s not - it’s not much but it’s all yours - for as long as you want
it.”
Merlin’s careful to keep his tone neutral. He knows what he wants from Mordred,
but he also knows that he can’t push it; that whatever happens between them
next, has to come from Mordred.
Glancing at him as he reaches out to pet the cat again, his expression soft and
unguarded with wonder, Merlin thinks he’ll be able to wait forever.
It scares him a little how content he is with that idea.
Mordred slots into Merlin’s life like he’s always been there, and the closer
the trip gets, the heavier the lump in Merlin’s chest becomes. He’s going to be
gone for months, and he tells himself over and over again that it’s all right,
that it’s good that Mordred will be here to look after the cat, and it’ll be
nice to have … a friend to come home to.
He knows he’s lying to himself, knows it every time he catches on to silly
things - the curve of Mordred’s neck as he reads through a book on his Screen,
or the way his hands move when he’s making a simple pot of tea.
Without the Shunt; without the desperate, driving need for a pop over-riding
everything, Merlin finds that Mordred is clever, sarcastic, funny and loving.
And he wants to do nothing more than spending his whole life finding out
everything he can.
A couple of weeks out from the mission, Merlin feels overwhelmed, exhausted and
as though there’s a colony of bees buzzing in his head.
So he goes to see Arthur.
Arthur is up to his neck in finalising details for the trip, but he has a smile
for Merlin - albeit a very tired one - and stops long enough to put the kettle
on and pull out one of Leon’s decadent home-made chocolate cakes.
Arthur very carefully slices a piece for Merlin, and sits down across from him,
waiting patiently.
Merlin sighs as he picks at his cake, shifting his shoulders to dislodge some
tension.
“How’s Mordred doing?” Arthur asks finally.
Merlin glances up at that, a rueful smile twisting at his mouth.
“He’s doing really good, actually. He’s settled in, the evil cat loves him …
he’s reading his way through my books at the moment. It’s … good.”
Merlin nods again and takes a very large bite of cake, resisting the urge to
lick his lips because the cake has real, rich contra-chocolate in it and not
just the synthetic stuff that’s everywhere.
“Just good?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow. Merlin rolls his eyes and
deliberately takes another large bite.
“Yes,” he says when he’s able to talk again. “Just good. I don’t want to …
crowd him, or push him into something he’s not ready for. Besides, we’re
leaving soon, and we’re going to be gone for so long and it’s going to be
nearly impossible to communicate, because of the timing and the Net and you’ll
need most of the packets to talk to Morgana and, I just - I don’t know what to
do.”
Merlin pushes a hand through his hair and sits back, exhaling loudly.
Arthur just blinks for a long moment, saying nothing.
 
“That’s …. a lot. That’s what’s going around in your head right now?”
Merlin nods, feeling suddenly exhausted by his outburst. “Pretty much. And I
mean, I want to - I want … but - it can’t come from me, and I feel like the
worst person in the world because it feels like I’m going to burst out of my
skin.”
Arthur laughs at that and shakes his head. “Breathe, Merlin, it’ll be all
right. What did Lance say?”
Merlin props his head on his hand and sighs. “Just that, well, Mordred is
young, and healthy and that he expects that his natural um, sex drive will
reassert itself soon enough. That’s … not what I’m worried about. What if. What
if he … discovers that …”
Merlin stops and bites his lip, looking up at Arthur from under his lashes.
“That what, Merlin? That … he doesn’t want you? To be involved with you?”
Merlin nods, swallowing hard. It’s what’s at the basis of his restlessness
lately but hearing out loud makes it seem more real, and more stark.
Arthur just studies him for a long, weighted moment.
“I can’t answer that question, Merlin. You said yourself that Mordred seems to
be settled, and happy. Stronger?”
Merlin nods, biting his lip again.
“Then you need to talk to Mordred. One thing at a time, all right? And - Merlin
- don’t worry about the trip. If things with Mordred do work out the way you
want them to … well, I’ve been talking with Morgana, and we - he can come with
us. He’ll have to work, of course; I thought perhaps he could help Gauis with
the oxygen garden .. but. Anyway. Go home, Merlin. Talk to Mordred. We’ll go
from there.”
Merlin is speechless. He stares at Arthur, even as he feels a huge grin
spreading across his face. “I don’t - Arthur - thank you.”
Merlin pushes up out of his chair and rushes around the table, collecting
Arthur in a massive hug.
Arthur laughs, and pats Merlin on the back. “Yes, well, don’t get too far ahead
of yourself, Merlin, all right? You do need to talk to Mordred first. Go on. Do
it today, before you lose your nerve and crawl back up inside your own head
again.”
Merlin laughs as he lets Arthur go, but he’s still grinning widely. “I. Um.
Right. I’ll get going. I just - thank you again, Arthur.”
 
Arthur gently pushes Merlin back and waves him off. “Go on, get away with you.
Sort it out, Merlin, we’re leaving soon.”
Arthur’s tone is teasing and Merlin just rolls his eyes before making his way
out of Arthur’s flat and heading back to his own.
 
Mordred stretches out on Merlin’s sofa, shuffling through the pages of the book
he’s picked up from Merlin’s shelves. Merlin, to Mordred’s vast amusement has
actual books. He also has a massive library loaded on to his ‘Screen, but
Mordred knows that Merlin prefers touchable, tangible things.
He settles on the sofa, flicks through the pages, and admits to himself that
Merlin might be on to something.
 
The cat finds him easily and parks himself right in the middle of Mordred’s
chest. Mordred gives out a soft ‘hey’, but the cat merely glares at him before
curling up and going to sleep.
Mordred rolls his eyes, sighs, and prepares to lose himself with Alice in
Wonderland.
It’s an apt … analogy, he thinks, for his own life. Down the rabbit hole, and
out the other side, He touches his scar absently, feeling it like a talisman,
before he resumes reading.
 
He’s half-dozing when he hears the soft click of the door opening and closing.
He stirs himself and groans softly when he realises the cat is still pinning
him to the sofa.
Mordred watches Merlin as he comes over, gently lifting the cat off and holding
out a hand so Mordred can haul himself upright.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling softly and licking his lips as he feels a tingle go
up his arm where Merlin is touching him.
 
Merlin sits down beside him and stretches out his limbs, groaning softly.
Mordred resettles himself and studies Merlin’s profile for a moment.
“Are you … are you all right?” He’s not sure what to do, or say, here. Merlin’s
told him - over and over again that he can stay as long as he likes, that he
never has to worry about having a home, about Freya and Gareth being safe, and
he appreciates that, but he finds it hard to get a read on Merlin - on anyone,
really, he’s finding, without the ride of the pop.
Merlin turns his head, and his eyes are warm, which makes Mordred relax a
little bit.
“I’m fine. Just - there’s a lot to do before we go.”
Mordred can’t help pulling a face at that, he’d rather not think about Merlin
being gone for so long. He’s going to miss him, he realises, and feels stupid,
suddenly, for not seeing it before.
“Merlin … “ Mordred stops and bites his lip, unsure what to say next.
 
“It’s just … um.” Mordred sighs and stops again. He feels ridiculously young,
and awkward suddenly. He knows what he wants, knows who he wants and he thinks,
maybe that Merlin wants the same thing, but he’s finding it hard to take the
last step.
It’s different, from before. Different from when he was just another Shunter,
looking for a punter, craving the next pop, the next sensation. He’s scared, he
thinks as he looks at Merlin again, meeting his gaze. Scared that he won’t …
that it will go wrong, somehow.
Merlin turns so he’s facing Mordred on the sofa. He reaches out a hand slowly,
stroking his thumb gently over Mordred’s cheekbone, and Mordred can’t help it -
he leans into the small touch and sighs.
“Just this?” Merlin asks, his voice quiet, something wavering in the tone that
Mordred can’t read. He closes his eyes, nods, and lets himself fall.
He feels the rustle of Merlin’s clothes as he draws closer to Mordred, until
Mordred can feel his breath against his cheek.
“Mordred,” Merlin says softly. “I need you to look at me. I need to know that
this is okay, that this is what you want - “
Mordred blinks his eyes open and Merlin is so close that Mordred can see all
the shades of blue in his eyes. He closes the small space, and presses his lips
against Merlin’s. It’s a short kiss, close-mouthed, but warm, and Mordred pulls
back smiling. He’s certain, now, the surety of it settling into his very bones.
“You,” he says softly. “I want - I want you.”
 
Merlin smiles at that, the one Mordred loves, that lights up Merlin’s whole
face and makes his eyes blaze blue and bright.
He stands up, and holds out his hand for Mordred, who grins and goes willingly,
trying not to pay attention to the feeling of relief that floods his system as
he thinks finally.
He feels no rush of adrenaline; no rising or coursing of his blood as Merlin
lays him down on the bed and kisses him until they’re both breathless.
Before, it had always been about getting off; the drive of the pop forcing him
to seek out more and more and more.
Now, Mordred realises as Merlin puts lips and teeth and tongue to his neck, now
he has all the time in the world to just … enjoy.
He lets himself sort of melt into Merlin’s messy sheets, raising one lazy hand
to push through Merlin’s hair.
“You all right?” Merlin asks quietly, kissing the hollow at the base of
Mordred’s throat.
“Mmmmmm,” Mordred hums lightly, lifting up his arms when Merlin tugs at his
shirt. It gets tossed aside and Mordred grins up at Merlin, tugging at the hem
of his shirt till Merlin gets the idea.
“I’m … good. Great, maybe. I feel … I don’t know - just - good.”
He bites his lip and laughs at himself for rambling, but Merlin just kisses him
quickly and smiles. Everything feels slow and light, and kind of perfect.
Merlin strips them both down, kissing as much of Mordred’s skin as he can reach
as he goes. He coaxes Mordred to full hardness with his mouth and his hands,
and Mordred curls his hands into the sheets, biting down hard on his bottom
lip, his breath coming out in hitching gasps.
“Merlin, st-stop, wait - “
Merlin lifts his head immediately his eyes filled with concern. “What is it?
Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
Mordred laughs, breathless again, and tips his head back on the pillow,
suddenly feeling strangely shy.
“N-nothing. I just. Uh, I don’t want to come just yet. Not till… uhm.” Mordred
wants to laugh at himself because he never had a problem with this before,
never had a problem letting absolute filth spill out of his mouth while some
punter was fucking him, but this, this is so very different from before.
Merlin laughs softly and kisses the corner of his mouth.
“All right, that’s all right. That’s. Brilliant actually.”
Mordred closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, listening to Merlin rustle
around in the drawers beside his bed, muttering.
He feels Merlin’s lips on him again, on his cheek, the corner of his mouth
again his neck.
He winds his arms around Merlin’s neck and they lie like that for a while,
nothing but deep, dragging kisses and lazy rolls of hips until Mordred feels
Merlin’s length against him and he gasps against Merlin’s mouth.
“Mordred. Can you open your eyes? Look at me, love.”
Merlin’s voice is low and gentle and his eyes are nothing but warmth on
Mordred’s face when he slowly blinks his own open again, and he has to resist
the urge to stretch and bask under the attention.
“I’m good, Merlin, I’m great, go ahead, please, I want you.”
Merlin smiles down at him, nothing hidden in his face at all, his whole
expression looking lit up from inside.
“I’ll. I’ll go as slow as I can, yeah? Give you time to - get used to how it
feels without - “
Mordred’s throat is suddenly sand-dry but he finds a smile, and nods, biting
back too many words; words that it’s far too soon for, but he knows that
they’re true, for all that.
He pushes a hand through Merlin’s thick hair, tangling the black strands around
his fingers.
“Merlin, I trust you, you’re not going to hurt me, please”.
Merlin nods, licking his own lips before groping blindly on the bed for the
bottle of slick he’d dropped there earlier.
True to his word, Merlin goes slow; deliciously, torturously slow, and Mordred
thinks he might just go out of his mind as he uses his fingers and his tongue
to open Mordred up, occasionally pressing words of reassurance into Mordred’s
thigh.
By the time Merlin is pressing in, Mordred feels as though his skin is going to
ignite under the sure touch of Merlin’s hands, and his lips against Mordred’s
neck. He grips at Merlin’s skin, leaving behind pinching bruises as he grasps
any part of Merlin he can, to stop himself flying apart.
His orgasm hits suddenly, out of nowhere, making him gasp into Merlin’s mouth
as it rolls over and over him and he feels like it’s never going to end. He’s
vaguely aware of Merlin’s hips stuttering out of rhythm, and then he’s still,
everything is still, and Mordred thinks he could float right up to the ceiling.
He winces slightly as Merlin pulls out gently, peppering small kisses along
Mordred’s jaw as he moves. Mordred lies back, spreading his arms and legs out
on the bed, feeling like he’ll never be able to move again. He drifts, in and
out of a half-doze, vaguely aware of Merlin moving to and fro from the bed,
feels the sensation of a warm, damp cloth, before Merlin returns and pulls the
thick duvet over both of them.
 
Mordred rolls lazily on to his side and sighs in contentment when Merlin snugs
up behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist.
“All right?” Merlin asks softly, nuzzling at the base of Mordred’s neck.
“Better than all right,” Mordred replies softly. “My bones feel like … liquid
or something. And, I don’t know, I guess it’s the ‘Nano or something but
normally by now I’d be … craving, going nuts for the next pop, and now I just
feel .. I just want to sleep, and that’s, that’s all I can feel. I’m just -
tired.”
“A good kind of tired, I hope,” Merlin says, his voice equally quiet, matching
Mordred’s somewhat pensive mood.
“A very good kind of tired,” Mordred replies sleepily before yawning hugely and
letting out a laugh when the cat lands on the bed suddenly, it’s fur bristling
with silent indignation.
Mordred lets his eyes grow heavy as he watches the cat make a nest for itself
on the bed.
Merlin is a comforting weight behind him; he’s got a slight, but not unpleasant
ache in his lower back and thighs, and he feels wanted in a way he never has
before. He drifts off to sleep with that feeling lingering, like the feeling of
sunlight on his skin.
The next couple of weeks pass in a rush as the Pendragon crew prepare to leave
with the mining colonists and their families. Merlin feels as though he can
barely turn around, or catch his breath, as the final preparations are made.
Mordred begins to feel like an anchor amid all of the chaos; someone that
Merlin can reach out to as a fixed point in his life, and he can barely
remember what his life was like before.
Even so, it’s a few days after he’s spoken to Arthur before he gets the chance
to sit Mordred down and repeat Arthur’s offer. Mordred’s expression, is at
first, wary, but as Merlin describes how long the trip would take, and that
Gaius is more than willing to take him on as a botanical apprentice, his
expression shifts to something else - something closer to hope.
“But -” he frowns in concentration, and Merlin can only sit and watch, biting
his lip. “But I don’t know anything about plants and trees and things. That’s
what it is, right? An oxygen garden?”
Merlin nods, and tries to bite back a smile, because asking questions like this
means that Mordred is at least considering it. “Well, yes but that doesn’t
matter, you’ll have months to learn, and Gaius has been talking about retiring
for at least five years. And - I mean - you don’t have to take it on, of
course, but - “
Mordred frowns again, his eyes shifting across Merlin’s face. “But otherwise
I’d have to stay here, right? Everyone has a role, yeah? Everyone has some kind
of job.”
Merlin nods and bites his lip. “Yeah, that’s how it works. It’s a PenCorp …
efficiency I guess. Look - I know I’m piling a lot on you, all at once, and I’m
sorry. If it helps, I’d love for you to come along. We’re going to be gone for
months at least, possibly over a year, because we’ll likely have to help with
settling the colonists, and call me selfish, but I don’t want to leave you
behind for that long.”
“Plants and trees,” Mordred says slowly, like he’s been turning the idea over
in his head. “I just never thought about it. Before … before you, I never had
to think of anything beyond - beyond survival and when I could get my next pop.
And now you’re talking … space, and apprenticeships and all kinds of things
that -”
“Hey, hey, breathe,” Merlin says softly, moving slightly closer to Mordred on
the wide sofa. “It’s all right.” He takes Mordred’s hand and rubs his thumb
over the delicate skin on his inner wrist. “You don’t have to decide anything
right now, okay? If you decide to come with me, the paperwork is already taken
care of. It just has to be filed with PenCorp. If you decide to stay here, well
- I’ll need to make you a list for the demon cat. There is no wrong decision,
Mordred. Take your time.”
He leans forward and places a small kiss at the corner of Mordred’s mouth.
“I’ve been saving some credits, and I’m going to run a very hot, and very
indulgent bath. Join me?”
Merlin stands up and holds out his hand, smiling. It’s the one thing, he knows,
guaranteed to calm Mordred right down; hot water being such a luxury that the
first bath Mordred ever had was right here in Merlin’s flat.
“A bath?” Mordred’s face lights up and he looks, suddenly, very young. Merlin’s
breath catches and his heart gives a painful lurch before racing away from him.
“Yeah, come on. I’ll … wash your back for you.”
Mordred snorts out a small laugh as he takes Merlin’s hand. “Is that what they
call it now?” and Merlin grins again, helpless.
“Well,” he says thoughtfully as they make their way to the bathroom. “I’ll wash
your back as well.”
The delighted, spontaneous peal of Mordred’s laughter goes straight to Merlin’s
head and heart like the most expensive wine and he has to take a deep breath.
“All right,” Mordred says later, when they’re wrapped up in bed together, wet
towels discarded on the floor, huddled naked under the duvet.
“Plants and trees it is, Merlin. I can’t imagine spending all that time waiting
for you to come back, when I could go with you. I’ll - I’ll come.”
 
Merlin can feel the smile on his face, feel how it blazes out, and he can’t
even try and hide it.
“That’s. That’s great, that’s brilliant, I’ll call Morgana now, get the
paperwork pushed through. Um. What else. You’ll need to have a med-exam done,
but I can’t do that because of, you know, but uh -”
“What about Freya? Can she do it? Or - or Gwen? I need to talk to Freya anyway,
and she’s not going to let me go anywhere if she thinks I’m not up to it …”
Merlin bites his lip as he scrolls to Morgana’s details on his miniScreen.
“Freya would be fine, yeah. I can’t - this is so - “ Merlin flings his hands in
the air, completely out of words, and Morgana answers his call to the sound of
Mordred’s laughter in the background.
Everything after that slots into place so easily that Merlin suspects his
friends have been working behind his back.
The med-exam is done by Freya, with Gwen helping out, and Merlin pacing outside
the door of the examination room at Pencorp Headquarters.
Arthur laughs when he sees him, drawing him into a hug. “Calm down, Merlin.
It’s just a physical, and it’s basically a formality. You know that.”
Merlin lets out a shaky laugh and accepts the thermocup of tea Arthur hands
him.
He sits down on the waiting area’s couch and tilts his head back.
“I’m being a bit ridiculous, aren’t I.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question.
Arthur hums for a moment before answering. “Overprotective, maybe. Everything
will be fine, Merlin.”
Merlin’s stopped from answering by the door open, and it’s only the thought of
how much Arthur will mock him for the rest of his life that keeps him pinned to
the sofa.
“All right,” he asks as Mordred tucks down beside him on the sofa, stealing his
tea in the process.
Mordred nods as he sip from Merlin’s cup. “Yeah, all good, right Frey?”
Freya and Gwen come out next, both smiling. “Yep. You’re disgustingly healthy,
and all set for your first big mission.”
“Where I’m going to grow trees,” Mordred says, grinning as he takes another sip
of Merlin’s tea.
“Lovely,” a voice says from behind them. “Your paperwork is all filed, you’re
healthy … now, let’s go shopping.”
Mordred’s eyes widen as he turns to Merlin, who’s trying to hide his laughter
behind his hand.
“Go on, go with Morgana. The easiest line of defence is always to just … give
in.”
“Plus, you need new … everything, you can’t shuffle around in space for that
long wearing Merlin’s scruffy hand-me-downs.”
“Um. But I. I can’t pay for anything,” Mordred says as Merlin reaches out to
snag his tea back.
Morgana merely raises an eyebrow and says nothing.
“Go on, love,” Merlin says, his voice softer. “It’s all right, yeah? I’ll see
you tonight.”
By the time Morgana drops Mordred back at the flat, he’s laden down with boxes
and bags and a slightly wild look in his eyes.
Merlin bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing as he helps
Mordred put everything away. It’s clothes, mostly, but there’s also a shiny new
miniScreen, and Merlin makes a mental note to copy his own library over, and
there’s … he turns the items over in his hands, glancing up with a question in
his eyes.
“Oh. Um. Morgana said that - Gaius liked … old-fashioned things. Because he
thinks you can uh, hold on to stuff better if you write it down? So, she
insisted on the pens and paper … “
Merlin nods and hands them back carefully, watching as Mordred handles the rare
paper and pens like they’re the most precious things in the world. “She said I
could - or that maybe Gaius could - show me how to draw, to - keep a record of
all the plants? It sounds kind of … fun?”
He glances up at Merlin from under his spiky eyelashes and Merlin feels his
heart turn right over in his chest. His throat tightens, and for a long moment,
he can’t speak at all.
“That’s - that does sound fun. And Morgana is right, Gaius will be pleased. He
likes … things you can hold on to. Things that aren’t … temporary, or, or
transient.”
His voice softens as he steps closer to Mordred, licking his lips.
“Permanent things then,” Mordred says, lifting his gaze to meet Merlin’s.
Merlin reaches out and traces the line of Mordred’s cheekbone with the pad of
his thumb. Everything that he feels for Mordred seems to rise up and roll
around in his blood as they both unconsciously move closer to each other, their
lips meeting in a soft, silent kiss.
Merlin rests his forehead against Mordred’s and closes his eyes, breathing in,
breathing out. He smiles when he feels Mordred’s hand on his arm, tracing an
invisible path up to his shoulder, curling behind his neck.
Mordred sighs against Merlin’s skin, a soft breath of nothing; an exhalation
for a new life.
“Come on,” he says finally, his voice creating a shiver against Merlin’s skin;
so close. “Let’s go to bed.”
 
Later that night, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of
streetlights through the curtains, Mordred props himself up on one arm, and
looks down at Merlin’s sleeping form.
He’s tired from a long day, and there’s a deep ache in his thighs that he hopes
he’ll never get used to. He lets his thoughts drift where they will; from his
early childhood as a foster, through the past three years as a Shunter - and he
notes just as quietly that the word doesn’t twist his insides up anymore; and
he thinks that maybe he’s finally ready to move on.
Merlin’s face looks young in sleep, all care smoothed away and nothing left
behind but sharp lines and a generous mouth.
Mordred resists the urge to reach out and trace the generous lines of Merlin’s
mouth, not wanting to wake him up. Instead, he carefully lies down and fits
himself to Merlin’s side, sighing at the slide of skin.
He pulls up the duvet, pushed away earlier by impatient hands and feet, and
closes his eyes.
He finally feels like he’s where he’s meant to be.
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