nyxelestia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nyxelestia) wrote2009-12-21 05:04 am
nyxelestia) wrote2009-12-21 05:04 am
Euphoria, Chapter 03: Goodbye Apathy
Title: Euphoria
Rating: R
Summary: When with his veins flooded with heroin and suppressing his magic and even when he rides on the chemical bliss, Merlin's magic still sings for Arthur. And Arthur has answered the call.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: prostitution, drug abuse
Episode warnings: None
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jusmine984
Notes: I'd like to say I'm going to be updating faster from now on, but I've got two AP tests and the SAT-I's to study for, along with raising my grades. Because apparently, scoring in the 95th percentile with a selection index of 196 on the PSAT isn't good enough for my parents. *eyeroll*
Song: "Goodbye Apathy" by OneRepublic ~ listen here (YouTube link, just a fancy graphic with the song)
Beginning
Master Post
~*~
I can't sleep, no, not like I used to
I can't breathe in and out like I need to
It’s breaking ice…now, to make any movement
What's your vice? You know that mine's the illusion
~*~
Merlin smiled and leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder as they made their way through a posh apartment building. Apparently, it was one flat to every floor, and the building itself was a towering sky scraper.
Arthur seemed to be well off in this hallucination – he had the penthouse flat.
“Rich again?” Merlin mumbled as the lift went towards the top floor – 25. Christ.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, somewhat flatly. “I guess I decided for high-strung and rich to make up for the left-over hippie lifestyle of last time.”
“Mm,” Merlin said, somewhat contentedly. He hoped this one would last right up until he needed the next fix. It was a nice dream, and he was loathe to lose it too soon.
He nuzzled Arthur’s shoulder as the lift rose through the building, glad that this hallucination was willing to give him such a nice, firm Arthur.
Looking up when the floor meter said 25, Merlin remembered what started this entire thing. Well, even if Arthur was only a dream, it was still polite.
“Happy Birthday, Arthur,” Merlin said, grinning dopily.
He breathed in sharply in surprise. “You…?”
“Happy birthday to you,” Merlin sang into Arthur’s flesh. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Arthur. Happy birthday to you.” Finished with the song, he laughed and nearly fell out of Arthur’s tight grasp around his waist as he added, “What’s twenty-five like? I forgot…”
And he kept on laughing until he caught Arthur’s pain-stricken expression.
“Wha’?” Merlin asked.
Arthur sighed. “C’mon.”
They stumbled out into yet another hall, a very posh hall which was home to a posh prat and it was all very very poshy, and…
There was an intercom by the door. Very posh. Everything was so fucking-
“Lance?” Arthur called through the intercom.
“Arthur?”
“We’re here,” Arthur said, before the intercom cut out. A moment later, the door burst wide open and there stood Sir Lancelot.
Or, well, something Lancelot. Far from the mail and armor of a knight, Lancelot currently sported some gym uniform, loose trousers and tight shirt, and he was even sweating to boot like he’d just popped in from a workout. But the set of his shoulders and expression looked just as humbly regal as ever.
“Merlin!” he cried out, wrapping his arms tight around Merlin.
Well this is new… Merlin rarely ever dreamed of more than one of them at a time. But, hey, this dream was already weird enough, so he hugged back. Only polite.
“Merlin!” he heard two voices in the background. Oh, shit, what the hell had Drake cut the dope with? He practically never dreamed of all of them at once!
As such, he was left standing there at a bit of a loss when two pairs of more feminine arms wrapped tightly around him, but a moment later, Gwen and Morgana stepped back, their faces faltering as they took in Merlin’s appearance.
“This is new…” he mumbled.
For a moment, they looked thrown for a loop, before Arthur said, “Ignore him – he thinks he’s hallucinating and doesn’t believe we’re real.”
“You’re not,” Merlin said stubbornly. “You can’t be.”
He didn’t see Arthur’s reaction, but the other three looked about ready to cry as they stepped aside and allowed Arthur to drag Merlin in. What was their problem?
The flat matched the rest of the building. Posh. Uber posh. Poshity-posh.
It was all modern deco crossed with antique styling, rich hardwood flooring mixed with futuristic furniture, soft yellow lights by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the artsy one-room flat. Or, well, there were a few doors, but an office and living room and dining room and kitchen were all in the main area. And that was most of the important stuff, anyway.
There was a large half-circle of sofas and couches facing a large media center on one wall, and Arthur plopped Merlin down on the sofa facing away from the window. The squashy leather tried to eat Merlin, and the thought of being eaten by a sofa made him laugh.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, dubiously. “What, exactly, is so funny?”
“Your carnivorous furniture,” Merlin said, bursting out laughing at the look of confusion on Arthur’s face. And really, everyone said he was the thick one.
“What the hell is he on?” Lancelot said, crouching before Merlin. “Well, Merlin?”
“Diacetylmorphine,” Merlin giggled out. Or, wait, no – he blurted out with…with a manly, soft, voiced chuckle. It’d been fun to learn the real names for everything running in his blood. “Dope!”
“Oh, no…” Lancelot said, face falling farther than astronauts from space.
“What?” Gwen asked. “What is it?”
“Heroin,” Lancelot said.
“What?!” Arthur shouted. “He’s on fucking heroin?!”
“That’s what diacetylmorphine is,” Lancelot said.
“Wha’s it matter?” Merlin asked, still giggling at the feeling of the squashy carnivorous furniture under his rather sore arse. That man from the alley had not been kind.
None of them ever were.
“Merlin?” Lancelot asked, carefully. “How much did you take?”
“Um…spoo’ful?” he offered, cocking his head and grinning.
Lancelot’s lips tightened, and he sighed, looking towards Arthur. “Let’s hope it’s a small spoon.”
Merlin shrugged. “Nice to see you again. However long you last.”
There was a pause, before suddenly, Arthur’s hand was slapping him upside the head. “We’re real, Merlin. Get used to it.”
Merlin shook his head. “You can’t be real…you’re never real…” He looked up at Arthur. “Please don’t be real.”
Arthur shut his eyes, and turned away from Merlin towards an equally pained-looking Lancelot, and said, “So what do we do about this? How do we treat him?”
“Without going to a rehab, I presume?” Lancelot asked, sighing. “You’ll probably need to stay with him, keep a constant eye on him, for about a week, in terms of detox. Longer, in terms of reuse. No one quits suddenly and doesn’t want it back.”
“I can stay, obviously, I’ve got about a month before I have anywhere to be,” Arthur said.
“We can switch off for you to get some rest,” Morgana offered. “Make sure he doesn’t-”
“I’m right here,” Merlin complained. Why the hell were they talking without him? Did hallucinations do that?
Maybe they were real…
No.
Merlin shook his head firmly as they carried on without him. There was no way this was real.
“I’s not gonna work,” Merlin insisted. “I’ll wake up, and get my next fix, and booooom! No more dopesickness.”
“What the…Lance?” Arthur asked.
“Addicts’ word for withdrawal,” Lancelot said. Merlin watched as Gwen made something in the kitchen, Morgana read something on a laptop on the sofa opposite of Merlin, and Arthur sat on the couch, Lancelot leaning against Merlin’s sofa as he talked. “I’ll try and get some of the meds used to treat withdrawal-”
“Treat drugs with more drugs?” Arthur growled. “How does that help him?”
“It’s clonidine I’m interested in,” Lancelot said. “That’ll cut down on the severity of some of the symptoms. Baclofen, too. Methadone…”
“Does?” Arthur demanded.
“It’s a synthetic opium,” Morgana answered. “It’s not actually heroin, but it has a lot of the similar effects of opioids, and works similar on opioid receptors in the brain as actual dope does.” She wasn’t reading it from the fancy laptop.
“So it’s fake-heroin?” Arthur asked.
“I want the real one,” Merlin grumbled, scratching his arms and glancing towards the door.
He felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder as Arthur said, “Don’t even think about it.”
“It can wean him off the drugs,” Lancelot said, grip and pressure on Merlin’s shoulder never weaning. “But it’s harder to get and can extend the withdrawal period, and if you’re hoping to stifle temptation…”
“Will it help?”
“Physically? Yes. Psychologically? Maybe. But either way, it’ll be hard to get, much harder than the others.”
“Get what you can,” Arthur said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave my sight. His magic doesn’t work-”
“It does too work!” Merlin grumbled indignantly.
“Just not as well,” Arthur said, somewhat pointedly. “Morgana?”
“I can handle him when his magic gets back stronger,” she said. “…it just means I probably won’t be able to have a drink for a while.” She didn’t sound cheered by that.
“None of us will,” Arthur said with determination.
Sighing, Lancelot stood up fully and said, “I’ll have to go, if I want to get them fast.”
Arthur nodded, and the grip from Merlin’s shoulder disappeared completely, leaving a cold spot to replace the warmth of Lance’s hand.
Some things never changed. Not even in Merlin’s dreams.
Lance left, along with Morgana, both of them citing something about work, and Arthur got up with a morose sigh. “Gwen, did you-”
“Yeah,” she said, before hurrying from the kitchen through one of the doors. “Bring him in!”
Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm roughly and dragged him up, the gruff manner betrayed by Arthur’s gentle hold on Merlin as he prodded him to what turned out to a bathroom. A large, Greek-god type bathroom, with a large shower encased in clear glass, a bathtub that was more like a hot-tub, and marble tile everywhere, in more of the soft golden light Arthur seemed to prefer.
“Are you going to be late for work?” Arthur asked, as he sat Merlin down on a bench off the tub, between it and the shower, facing away from the sinks and the large mirrors, but facing large mirror-doors that seemed to lead into a big fucking closet.
“I can take some time off,” Gwen said, reassuringly.
In the mirror, Merlin winced at just how awful he looked. His reddened eyes almost bruised from the lack-of-sleep shadows, sallow skin beneath the filmy layer of grime, hair matted, his thin tee-shirt, black and terrifyingly loose for such a tight cut, was rumpled and with the hems torn, tight black jeans in much the same condition, blood on the back of his hands, hints of white crust on his face.
He looked every bit the drugwhore he was.
“Don’t,” Arthur said, walking into the walk-in closet to grab something, coming out with a large bundle of various cloths in his arms. “Your work is strained as it is. I’ll take care of him.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, looking worriedly. Even Gwen never changed in his dreams. Sweet and caring as always.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, dumping the bundle on the other end of the bench and eyeing the tub full of water critically.
“At least let me set everything out,” she said, setting up several bottles and sponges in a little wooden caddy also hanging off the tub.
While she did that, Arthur tugged off Merlin’s shirt. Or tried. But Merlin protested. This was his dream, and he didn’t want Arthur to see the true state of him.
But Arthur had strength on his side, and after a moment, Gwen came in, and somehow, they had Merlin naked in seconds, Merlin turning his face away from the reactions this cruel, cruel dream would inflict.
He heard a sharp gasp, and a moment later, Arthur was pulling Merlin’s face forward, grief in his face as he asked, “What happened?”
Merlin looked in the mirror. He was covered in thin scars and bruises, the most prominent of them being the hand-shaped bruises on Merlin’s hips, ankles, and shoulders.
“My job,” Merlin said, with a nervous laugh, not wanting to accept that the vision in the mirror was him. He’d assume his mind was playing tricks on him, but it’s been so consistent so far…maybe his magic was messing with him again? It’s been a few centuries since that happened, but who knew. “Occupational hazard.”
Arthur’s face turned grim and determined, and Gwen was crying as she left.
With a regretful sigh, Arthur stood up and rolled up his sleeves – he had nice arms, too, what did Arthur do in this life time. “Vamanos – in.”
Merlin stared at Arthur. “Huh?”
“It means come on,” Arthur said, as he lifted Merlin up. “Spanish.”
“Is that why you have the fucked accent?” Merlin asked.
“No,” Arthur said, sitting Merlin on the edge of the large tub. “That’s a long story for later. In!”
And with that, Arthur put Merlin in.
“AH!” Merlin yelled out in shock as he landed in the hot water. Too hot, too hot too hot toohottoohot-
“Shh…” Arthur soothed as he lay Merlin back in the water.
Breathing heavily, Merlin nodded absently as the water slowly immersed him. This dream was getting weird.
And he couldn’t bear the thought of this being real.
“Now, then,” Arthur said, long suffering, as he reached for a bottle of liquid soap and a scrub sponge, lathering it up with foaminess. “Let’s get you cleaned up."
For the next hour, Merlin lay there in the water, letting Arthur clean him thoroughly, clearing away weeks of grime and filth and shame, and Merlin mourned how he would feel once it returned when he woke up.
Arthur winced whenever he came across a bruise or cut or the blood, and when he cleaned off the cum from his face and blood from his thighs, he’d had to stop to…well, something, do something that involved him shutting his eyes and taking several deep breaths and muttering to himself before his eyes opened again and he continued.
It was weird, how a dream could be so cruel and so nice. Like that time Lance showed up naked in Picadilly Circus riding that stupid motorbike from WWII and carrying a rifle. That was a weird dream, too. Merlin was pretty sure whatever he’d had that night had been cut with something else.
When the bath was done, Merlin fidgeted as Arthur dried him off and wrapped him in a towel, before lifting him up and carrying him straight to his bedroom. He tried fighting back, knowing Arthur was no longer listening to him, but he couldn’t budge, and squawked in indignation as he was dumped onto Arthur’s large and plush bed.
He pushed himself up only to have Arthur pulling the towel away and yanking on a shirt over Merlin, followed by a pair of underpants and some sweatpants, which despite their elasticity were only barely on this side of not slipping right off Merlin’s frame.
“Can I go, now?” Merlin asked, desperately, pushing himself up, feeling his blood itch for another dose, another fix. He didn’t know if he had enough money left to pay for it and if Drake was in a bad mood who knew what he would make Merlin do to pay for the next fix and honestly that man in the alley had torn him to bits and Arthur wasn’t real so he hadn’t fixed Merlin up and-
“No,” Arthur said.
Merlin growled and got up, wobbling slightly but heading towards the door. He made it one step before Arthur’s strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and shoved him onto the bed, and a moment later, he found Arthur straddling him, and leaning forward to pin Merlin’s wrists and shoulders to the bed.
“I’m not letting you go, Merlin,” Arthur insisted, his face softening even as Merlin desperately, futilely, tried to wriggle out of Arthur’s grasp.
After a few minutes, Merlin finally gave up, realization dawning on him in tune with sweating and achy muscles and the desperate need to move and the complete inability to.
He stared up at Arthur in a daze, realizing it actually was Arthur. Which was impossible, because Merlin had urged his magic that he didn’t want to be found, never wanted to be found again, let them live their lives and let Merlin have his not-life, but then, no-
Arthur seemed to deign Merlin safe, because after a moment, he let go, and crawled off Merlin, perching on the edge of the bed and clutching Merlin’s hand in his own.
“You’re real, aren’t you?” Merlin asked, staring in something akin to horror in relief and none of it made any sense anymore.
Sighing, Arthur said, “That’s what we’ve been telling you all this time, Merlin.”
Merlin stared at this dream which wasn’t a dream at all, and shut his eyes.
A moment later, the room echoed with the sounds of his sobs, his world narrowed down to that sound, and Arthur’s hand holding onto his own, as reality came crashing down around him.
~*~
And all at once
(As I'm trying)
I can help you out
(Just to keep things right)
I'll be what you need
(I kill myself to make everything perfect for ya)
I’ll do anything
Goodbye apathy, so long apathy…
~*~
A/N: Comments are ♥. ^+^ Also, links and lyrics for the other songs have been added to the previous chapters if you're interested in them.
Rating: R
Summary: When with his veins flooded with heroin and suppressing his magic and even when he rides on the chemical bliss, Merlin's magic still sings for Arthur. And Arthur has answered the call.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: prostitution, drug abuse
Episode warnings: None
Beta:
jusmine984Notes: I'd like to say I'm going to be updating faster from now on, but I've got two AP tests and the SAT-I's to study for, along with raising my grades. Because apparently, scoring in the 95th percentile with a selection index of 196 on the PSAT isn't good enough for my parents. *eyeroll*
Song: "Goodbye Apathy" by OneRepublic ~ listen here (YouTube link, just a fancy graphic with the song)
Beginning
Master Post
I can't sleep, no, not like I used to
I can't breathe in and out like I need to
It’s breaking ice…now, to make any movement
What's your vice? You know that mine's the illusion
Merlin smiled and leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder as they made their way through a posh apartment building. Apparently, it was one flat to every floor, and the building itself was a towering sky scraper.
Arthur seemed to be well off in this hallucination – he had the penthouse flat.
“Rich again?” Merlin mumbled as the lift went towards the top floor – 25. Christ.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, somewhat flatly. “I guess I decided for high-strung and rich to make up for the left-over hippie lifestyle of last time.”
“Mm,” Merlin said, somewhat contentedly. He hoped this one would last right up until he needed the next fix. It was a nice dream, and he was loathe to lose it too soon.
He nuzzled Arthur’s shoulder as the lift rose through the building, glad that this hallucination was willing to give him such a nice, firm Arthur.
Looking up when the floor meter said 25, Merlin remembered what started this entire thing. Well, even if Arthur was only a dream, it was still polite.
“Happy Birthday, Arthur,” Merlin said, grinning dopily.
He breathed in sharply in surprise. “You…?”
“Happy birthday to you,” Merlin sang into Arthur’s flesh. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Arthur. Happy birthday to you.” Finished with the song, he laughed and nearly fell out of Arthur’s tight grasp around his waist as he added, “What’s twenty-five like? I forgot…”
And he kept on laughing until he caught Arthur’s pain-stricken expression.
“Wha’?” Merlin asked.
Arthur sighed. “C’mon.”
They stumbled out into yet another hall, a very posh hall which was home to a posh prat and it was all very very poshy, and…
There was an intercom by the door. Very posh. Everything was so fucking-
“Lance?” Arthur called through the intercom.
“Arthur?”
“We’re here,” Arthur said, before the intercom cut out. A moment later, the door burst wide open and there stood Sir Lancelot.
Or, well, something Lancelot. Far from the mail and armor of a knight, Lancelot currently sported some gym uniform, loose trousers and tight shirt, and he was even sweating to boot like he’d just popped in from a workout. But the set of his shoulders and expression looked just as humbly regal as ever.
“Merlin!” he cried out, wrapping his arms tight around Merlin.
Well this is new… Merlin rarely ever dreamed of more than one of them at a time. But, hey, this dream was already weird enough, so he hugged back. Only polite.
“Merlin!” he heard two voices in the background. Oh, shit, what the hell had Drake cut the dope with? He practically never dreamed of all of them at once!
As such, he was left standing there at a bit of a loss when two pairs of more feminine arms wrapped tightly around him, but a moment later, Gwen and Morgana stepped back, their faces faltering as they took in Merlin’s appearance.
“This is new…” he mumbled.
For a moment, they looked thrown for a loop, before Arthur said, “Ignore him – he thinks he’s hallucinating and doesn’t believe we’re real.”
“You’re not,” Merlin said stubbornly. “You can’t be.”
He didn’t see Arthur’s reaction, but the other three looked about ready to cry as they stepped aside and allowed Arthur to drag Merlin in. What was their problem?
The flat matched the rest of the building. Posh. Uber posh. Poshity-posh.
It was all modern deco crossed with antique styling, rich hardwood flooring mixed with futuristic furniture, soft yellow lights by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the artsy one-room flat. Or, well, there were a few doors, but an office and living room and dining room and kitchen were all in the main area. And that was most of the important stuff, anyway.
There was a large half-circle of sofas and couches facing a large media center on one wall, and Arthur plopped Merlin down on the sofa facing away from the window. The squashy leather tried to eat Merlin, and the thought of being eaten by a sofa made him laugh.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, dubiously. “What, exactly, is so funny?”
“Your carnivorous furniture,” Merlin said, bursting out laughing at the look of confusion on Arthur’s face. And really, everyone said he was the thick one.
“What the hell is he on?” Lancelot said, crouching before Merlin. “Well, Merlin?”
“Diacetylmorphine,” Merlin giggled out. Or, wait, no – he blurted out with…with a manly, soft, voiced chuckle. It’d been fun to learn the real names for everything running in his blood. “Dope!”
“Oh, no…” Lancelot said, face falling farther than astronauts from space.
“What?” Gwen asked. “What is it?”
“Heroin,” Lancelot said.
“What?!” Arthur shouted. “He’s on fucking heroin?!”
“That’s what diacetylmorphine is,” Lancelot said.
“Wha’s it matter?” Merlin asked, still giggling at the feeling of the squashy carnivorous furniture under his rather sore arse. That man from the alley had not been kind.
None of them ever were.
“Merlin?” Lancelot asked, carefully. “How much did you take?”
“Um…spoo’ful?” he offered, cocking his head and grinning.
Lancelot’s lips tightened, and he sighed, looking towards Arthur. “Let’s hope it’s a small spoon.”
Merlin shrugged. “Nice to see you again. However long you last.”
There was a pause, before suddenly, Arthur’s hand was slapping him upside the head. “We’re real, Merlin. Get used to it.”
Merlin shook his head. “You can’t be real…you’re never real…” He looked up at Arthur. “Please don’t be real.”
Arthur shut his eyes, and turned away from Merlin towards an equally pained-looking Lancelot, and said, “So what do we do about this? How do we treat him?”
“Without going to a rehab, I presume?” Lancelot asked, sighing. “You’ll probably need to stay with him, keep a constant eye on him, for about a week, in terms of detox. Longer, in terms of reuse. No one quits suddenly and doesn’t want it back.”
“I can stay, obviously, I’ve got about a month before I have anywhere to be,” Arthur said.
“We can switch off for you to get some rest,” Morgana offered. “Make sure he doesn’t-”
“I’m right here,” Merlin complained. Why the hell were they talking without him? Did hallucinations do that?
Maybe they were real…
No.
Merlin shook his head firmly as they carried on without him. There was no way this was real.
“I’s not gonna work,” Merlin insisted. “I’ll wake up, and get my next fix, and booooom! No more dopesickness.”
“What the…Lance?” Arthur asked.
“Addicts’ word for withdrawal,” Lancelot said. Merlin watched as Gwen made something in the kitchen, Morgana read something on a laptop on the sofa opposite of Merlin, and Arthur sat on the couch, Lancelot leaning against Merlin’s sofa as he talked. “I’ll try and get some of the meds used to treat withdrawal-”
“Treat drugs with more drugs?” Arthur growled. “How does that help him?”
“It’s clonidine I’m interested in,” Lancelot said. “That’ll cut down on the severity of some of the symptoms. Baclofen, too. Methadone…”
“Does?” Arthur demanded.
“It’s a synthetic opium,” Morgana answered. “It’s not actually heroin, but it has a lot of the similar effects of opioids, and works similar on opioid receptors in the brain as actual dope does.” She wasn’t reading it from the fancy laptop.
“So it’s fake-heroin?” Arthur asked.
“I want the real one,” Merlin grumbled, scratching his arms and glancing towards the door.
He felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder as Arthur said, “Don’t even think about it.”
“It can wean him off the drugs,” Lancelot said, grip and pressure on Merlin’s shoulder never weaning. “But it’s harder to get and can extend the withdrawal period, and if you’re hoping to stifle temptation…”
“Will it help?”
“Physically? Yes. Psychologically? Maybe. But either way, it’ll be hard to get, much harder than the others.”
“Get what you can,” Arthur said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave my sight. His magic doesn’t work-”
“It does too work!” Merlin grumbled indignantly.
“Just not as well,” Arthur said, somewhat pointedly. “Morgana?”
“I can handle him when his magic gets back stronger,” she said. “…it just means I probably won’t be able to have a drink for a while.” She didn’t sound cheered by that.
“None of us will,” Arthur said with determination.
Sighing, Lancelot stood up fully and said, “I’ll have to go, if I want to get them fast.”
Arthur nodded, and the grip from Merlin’s shoulder disappeared completely, leaving a cold spot to replace the warmth of Lance’s hand.
Some things never changed. Not even in Merlin’s dreams.
Lance left, along with Morgana, both of them citing something about work, and Arthur got up with a morose sigh. “Gwen, did you-”
“Yeah,” she said, before hurrying from the kitchen through one of the doors. “Bring him in!”
Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm roughly and dragged him up, the gruff manner betrayed by Arthur’s gentle hold on Merlin as he prodded him to what turned out to a bathroom. A large, Greek-god type bathroom, with a large shower encased in clear glass, a bathtub that was more like a hot-tub, and marble tile everywhere, in more of the soft golden light Arthur seemed to prefer.
“Are you going to be late for work?” Arthur asked, as he sat Merlin down on a bench off the tub, between it and the shower, facing away from the sinks and the large mirrors, but facing large mirror-doors that seemed to lead into a big fucking closet.
“I can take some time off,” Gwen said, reassuringly.
In the mirror, Merlin winced at just how awful he looked. His reddened eyes almost bruised from the lack-of-sleep shadows, sallow skin beneath the filmy layer of grime, hair matted, his thin tee-shirt, black and terrifyingly loose for such a tight cut, was rumpled and with the hems torn, tight black jeans in much the same condition, blood on the back of his hands, hints of white crust on his face.
He looked every bit the drugwhore he was.
“Don’t,” Arthur said, walking into the walk-in closet to grab something, coming out with a large bundle of various cloths in his arms. “Your work is strained as it is. I’ll take care of him.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, looking worriedly. Even Gwen never changed in his dreams. Sweet and caring as always.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, dumping the bundle on the other end of the bench and eyeing the tub full of water critically.
“At least let me set everything out,” she said, setting up several bottles and sponges in a little wooden caddy also hanging off the tub.
While she did that, Arthur tugged off Merlin’s shirt. Or tried. But Merlin protested. This was his dream, and he didn’t want Arthur to see the true state of him.
But Arthur had strength on his side, and after a moment, Gwen came in, and somehow, they had Merlin naked in seconds, Merlin turning his face away from the reactions this cruel, cruel dream would inflict.
He heard a sharp gasp, and a moment later, Arthur was pulling Merlin’s face forward, grief in his face as he asked, “What happened?”
Merlin looked in the mirror. He was covered in thin scars and bruises, the most prominent of them being the hand-shaped bruises on Merlin’s hips, ankles, and shoulders.
“My job,” Merlin said, with a nervous laugh, not wanting to accept that the vision in the mirror was him. He’d assume his mind was playing tricks on him, but it’s been so consistent so far…maybe his magic was messing with him again? It’s been a few centuries since that happened, but who knew. “Occupational hazard.”
Arthur’s face turned grim and determined, and Gwen was crying as she left.
With a regretful sigh, Arthur stood up and rolled up his sleeves – he had nice arms, too, what did Arthur do in this life time. “Vamanos – in.”
Merlin stared at Arthur. “Huh?”
“It means come on,” Arthur said, as he lifted Merlin up. “Spanish.”
“Is that why you have the fucked accent?” Merlin asked.
“No,” Arthur said, sitting Merlin on the edge of the large tub. “That’s a long story for later. In!”
And with that, Arthur put Merlin in.
“AH!” Merlin yelled out in shock as he landed in the hot water. Too hot, too hot too hot toohottoohot-
“Shh…” Arthur soothed as he lay Merlin back in the water.
Breathing heavily, Merlin nodded absently as the water slowly immersed him. This dream was getting weird.
And he couldn’t bear the thought of this being real.
“Now, then,” Arthur said, long suffering, as he reached for a bottle of liquid soap and a scrub sponge, lathering it up with foaminess. “Let’s get you cleaned up."
For the next hour, Merlin lay there in the water, letting Arthur clean him thoroughly, clearing away weeks of grime and filth and shame, and Merlin mourned how he would feel once it returned when he woke up.
Arthur winced whenever he came across a bruise or cut or the blood, and when he cleaned off the cum from his face and blood from his thighs, he’d had to stop to…well, something, do something that involved him shutting his eyes and taking several deep breaths and muttering to himself before his eyes opened again and he continued.
It was weird, how a dream could be so cruel and so nice. Like that time Lance showed up naked in Picadilly Circus riding that stupid motorbike from WWII and carrying a rifle. That was a weird dream, too. Merlin was pretty sure whatever he’d had that night had been cut with something else.
When the bath was done, Merlin fidgeted as Arthur dried him off and wrapped him in a towel, before lifting him up and carrying him straight to his bedroom. He tried fighting back, knowing Arthur was no longer listening to him, but he couldn’t budge, and squawked in indignation as he was dumped onto Arthur’s large and plush bed.
He pushed himself up only to have Arthur pulling the towel away and yanking on a shirt over Merlin, followed by a pair of underpants and some sweatpants, which despite their elasticity were only barely on this side of not slipping right off Merlin’s frame.
“Can I go, now?” Merlin asked, desperately, pushing himself up, feeling his blood itch for another dose, another fix. He didn’t know if he had enough money left to pay for it and if Drake was in a bad mood who knew what he would make Merlin do to pay for the next fix and honestly that man in the alley had torn him to bits and Arthur wasn’t real so he hadn’t fixed Merlin up and-
“No,” Arthur said.
Merlin growled and got up, wobbling slightly but heading towards the door. He made it one step before Arthur’s strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and shoved him onto the bed, and a moment later, he found Arthur straddling him, and leaning forward to pin Merlin’s wrists and shoulders to the bed.
“I’m not letting you go, Merlin,” Arthur insisted, his face softening even as Merlin desperately, futilely, tried to wriggle out of Arthur’s grasp.
After a few minutes, Merlin finally gave up, realization dawning on him in tune with sweating and achy muscles and the desperate need to move and the complete inability to.
He stared up at Arthur in a daze, realizing it actually was Arthur. Which was impossible, because Merlin had urged his magic that he didn’t want to be found, never wanted to be found again, let them live their lives and let Merlin have his not-life, but then, no-
Arthur seemed to deign Merlin safe, because after a moment, he let go, and crawled off Merlin, perching on the edge of the bed and clutching Merlin’s hand in his own.
“You’re real, aren’t you?” Merlin asked, staring in something akin to horror in relief and none of it made any sense anymore.
Sighing, Arthur said, “That’s what we’ve been telling you all this time, Merlin.”
Merlin stared at this dream which wasn’t a dream at all, and shut his eyes.
A moment later, the room echoed with the sounds of his sobs, his world narrowed down to that sound, and Arthur’s hand holding onto his own, as reality came crashing down around him.
And all at once
(As I'm trying)
I can help you out
(Just to keep things right)
I'll be what you need
(I kill myself to make everything perfect for ya)
I’ll do anything
Goodbye apathy, so long apathy…
A/N: Comments are ♥. ^+^ Also, links and lyrics for the other songs have been added to the previous chapters if you're interested in them.