Title: Consent
Author: hermitknut
Pairing: merlin/arthur
Rating: NC-17 (see warnings)
Warnings: Non-con. Hence the rating. It's not as explicit as other fics I've read, but still.
Wordcount: 835
Summary: Arthur and Merlin's relationship is strong, but there is a fear that Arthur is unable to voice. One-shot.
Disclaimer: Not mine. 
A/N: I'm very interested in hearing what people think of this; it's not what I'd usually write, and I'm not very sure about it. Concrit welcome. Thanks! HK.

He was with Merlin. There was something odd, like a bad taste in the air as though something was wrong – but it didn’t matter. He was with Merlin.

They were entwined under the soft sheets of Arthur’s bed; Merlin’s elegant, long-fingered hands gripped Arthur’s shoulders desperately and Arthur kissed him harder in response, his hands planted either side of Merlin’s head, the thinner man shuddering beneath him.

Merlin’s lips were against his, moving almost frantically. Arthur pulled away a little to kiss the line of his jaw and suddenly Merlin’s voice could be heard.

“No, please, no, stop! Stop, please, no, no, no…”

Something in Arthur’s heart jumped; some reflection of the pain in Merlin’s voice was felt. But it did not reach the rest of his body, and he did not stop.

“Arthur! Arthur, no, please… oh god…”

Arthur was biting the side of Merlin’s neck now, tasting, enjoying; he dragged his teeth across Merlin’s throat causing another shudder of Merlin’s body. He shifted his weight to his left hand, moving his right down Merlin’s side to grasp one hip, roughly.

“Please, stop it, just stop, please…”

He dug his fingers in and moved himself against Merlin, prompting a sudden gasp, feeling the body beneath him shaking. He let go of Merlin’s hip and worked his hand around to lift his lower body for easier access.

“No… oh god… no…”

Merlin was still pushing him away, his hands scraping at Arthur’s skin; Arthur let some of his weight fall on him to hold him down. He was still struggling when Arthur forced himself inside him, rough and uncaring; still clawing uselessly at Arthur’s back when Arthur threw his head back in ecstasy, eyes closed with the pleasure. Arthur eventually collapsed on top of him, spent; Merlin’s cries had faded to a quiet, agonised whimpering. The shaking was still constant.

Arthur raised himself up on his elbows and looked down upon his servant’s tear-streaked face.

“And do you now understand your place?” he asked calmly, as though talking to a child. The shudder in Merlin’s voice was clearly audible as he replied.

“I-I do, sire.”

Arthur woke up. He lay on his back, breathing heavily, disoriented. He had been looking down, and now he was staring up at the canopy above his bed. He had been calm, sated, and now he was sweating, panicked and desperate. He had been with Merlin –

Arthur turned abruptly, his heart racing, half-expecting an empty bed or at worst the traumatised, shaking Merlin of his nightmare; but there was his manservant, lying beside him, sleeping soundly. Arthur gazed at him for a moment, fear overriding him despite Merlin’s peaceful state, and then reached over and shook him gently by the shoulder.

“Merlin! Merlin, wake up!” he said, half whispering and half speaking. “Please, Merlin, wake up!”

Merlin made some sleepy, grumpy noises before turning over reluctantly in the dark.

“Not all of us can sleep in every morning, your pratness,” he mumbled, as Arthur turned and fumbled to light the candle beside the bed. “Some of us prefer to sleep while we – Arthur, what’s wrong?”

Arthur still looked at Merlin, unspeaking. Merlin was squinting at him in the light of the candle and had obviously spotted something in his expression, for he looked more awake now.

“Arthur,” Merlin said again, concern in his voice, reaching out a hand to Arthur’s face, “what is it, what’s the matter?”

Another few seconds passed. And then Arthur shook his head, retaining his composure.

“Nothing; nothing. Just a bad dream. Sorry to wake you up,” he said. He turned and blew out the candle, lying down again facing away from Merlin.

“Arthur?” came Merlin’s quiet voice in the dark. Arthur did not answer. There was a short pause, and then the rustle of the sheets as Merlin moved towards him, sliding an arm tenderly around his waist.

“Tell me about your dream,” he said softly.

Arthur swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the thought.

“It’s nothing. Go to sleep,” he said. “Please.”

A minute or so passed, and then Merlin seemed to give up.

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled, already starting to fall back to sleep, “but I find it helps when I talk about them.”

Soon after, Arthur could hear Merlin’s quiet, even breathing, and relaxed slightly. He was not sure that he would be able to fall back to sleep again, but at least Merlin was at peace.

Arthur gazed steadily at nothing as night passed and the sunlight rose on the stones. He said nothing about the nightmare as the morning routine progressed, teasing Merlin and challenging the knights as always. But every time he glanced around to see those blue, blue eyes, he reminded himself. No matter how much Merlin professed to want, to desire, to need, he was still a servant. Arthur was still the Prince. And until that changed, Merlin could not do what Arthur needed him to do.

He could not give his consent.