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It had been decades since Merlin had first stepped foot in Camelot, and in that time the realm had changed for the better in more ways than he could have ever imagined. Meanwhile, one of his greatest fears had never come to pass; Arthur’s death at the hands of someone he had once feared, and disliked on principle.
Of course, a fabricated scapegoat based upon little facts, can only lead one down so many paths. Merlin was thankful that it had been the one with the least bloodshed and heartache.
Still, Merlin and everyone else he had met in Camelot ages ago, had lived to at least fifty or past that. As such, they were becoming the old guard, as it were. Arthur and Gwen had reigned for nearly thirty years, and under their guidance, Camelot and her people had flourished. Likewise, those with magic were no longer persecuted, but revered, and it was such a stark contrast to what the Camelot of old was, that there were days where Merlin would forget just how long he had been within the citadel.
Like Gaius before, Merlin had become the Court Physician, despite the fact that at one time, Gwen and Arthur had once thought he would do well as Court Sorcerer. Merlin had assured them that he had too many ghosts to contend with. Furthermore, though the work was tedious, and difficult at times, he much preferred being a healer to dealing with politics.
That was, until one such patient entered his hallowed medicinal halls. More specifically, the man chosen to be Camelot’s first Court Sorcerer since Uther’s demise, who was lying on a cot, labored breathing noticeable to Merlin right from the start.
Mordred was dying; that much was also evident to the then seasoned physician.
Years ago, Merlin would have been happy about that, but at the present while nearing his fiftieth year of life, he was apathetic about it. Except, he was the presiding Court Physician, which meant it was his job to save the Druid Court Sorcerer.
When the cacophony died down of Knights and Arthur rushing Mordred into the Medicinal Chambers, and Merlin had shooed all but Arthur away, he asked, “What happened?”
The Druid’s breathing was shallow, but there was no visible blood anywhere.
To hear the King tell it, there was an incident involving magic, and his breath had been stolen quite literally. Whoever had harmed him, Elyan had dealt with, as the other knights retreated back to the citadel, with Mordred in tow.
“I ask that Elyan be sent here, as soon as he can be, then, so that I might know more details.”
Ignoring the weight of Arthur’s stare, Merlin began the examination of Mordred’s body. It was readily apparent though, that Mordred needed something to soothe his chest.
“Of course.”
The silence thread through them like finely done stitches in any royal garment might, while Merlin moved to a workstation, then finished mixing a concoction that he luckily had on hand prior to Mordred’s entrance. Afterwards, whilst looking to his right again, he saw Arthur biting his bottom lip.
Arthur wasted no time and turned to look at Merlin earnestly, then asked, “Can you save him?”
“I’ll do my best, as I always do,” Merlin said.
Merlin was a bit miffed, truth be told, at the insinuation.
However, that was a discussion for another time.
Right then, he had a man to save.
And so, he then shooed away the King, as he made his way towards Mordred again, with the salve he had just finished, that might ease the pain as he worked more.
Seeing Mordred fighting for his life, reminded Merlin of many years ago, when the former had saved Arthur from the Disir, which was the turning point in all of their lives that had made Camelot change for the better, truly. It was Mordred’s actions that made Arthur, and in turn Merlin, as well as others, reckon with what they actually felt about magic, and those who had the ability to use it.
It had taken Mordred being brought to the brink of death, and Arthur’s subsequent clemency of him afterwards, for magic to return to Camelot.
In the aftermath of the magic ban repeal, Mordred and Merlin were not necessarily at odds, so much as they tolerated each other’s own orbits, but maintained distance from one another, all the same. While Merlin became Court Physician, Mordred eventually became Court Sorcerer, and each carved out their own, separate existences within the citadel. Occasionally, they had to work together, advising one another, but outside of those moments, the two did not seek company in each other.
So, it was with trepidation that Merlin set about his task; heal the Druid, save the man, and put the realm to rights, once more. If he were to fail, would someone suspect the aging Court Physician of foul play, as anyone decades ago might have? In another vein entirely though, if he were to succeed, would the two men maintain their silently agreed upon equilibrium, or would the balance be upset once again, tipping their realities together into some sort of alternate timeline?
Beside Mordred, who was coughing something fierce, Merlin stood to his right.
“I’ll need to remove all of the garments on your upper torso.”
Mordred did nothing more than nod, but it was confirmation enough.
Consent mattered in medicine as much as it did elsewhere, after all.
And so, Merlin went about removing the chainmail and everything underneath it, until he was faced with the druid’s bare chest. Then, he dipped his fingers into the cool salve, and began to rub it across the newly uncovered great expanse.
Soon, the coughing stilled, and Mordred was more calm than before.
Merlin began to step away, but a hand placed over his own outstretched right hand which had been applying the salve, made Merlin pause, and glance back up to meet the unyielding, icy gaze directed at him.
“Thank you, Merlin.”
Merlin, not Emrys.
In truth, Merlin hadn’t heard Mordred use the latter in so long, and the Physician was thankful for that. He was no myth or legend, but one man; a flawed one, at that. Merlin would have liked to think he’d done something good along the way, though. At least, he hoped he had.
“You’re welcome, Mordred.”
There was a lull in between, before Merlin added, “I fear this will only waylay the issue, though.”
Mordred nodded with an air of resignation.
“I see.”
Merlin pursed his lips, then said, “I think it best you remain here in my care, until I can be sure you are well.”
Not well enough, but well, because unlike many years before, Merlin had no desire for Mordred to suffer. He was a man of medicine, and did his best to do no harm where possible.
Mordred shrugged, appearing to be unfazed by that previous assertion.
“Whatever you think is best.”
There was no malice, just acceptance, in what Mordred had said.
Merlin nodded.
Wasting not a second more, he turned away from his only patient.
The silence lasted for mere seconds, before Mordred’s voice shattered it, his voice stronger than it had been before the salve had been applied.
“Are we to do this, until we die?”
Merlin froze immediately, the empty beaker of salve in his left hand still, then turned back around.
“Do what, Sir Mordred?”
Mordred’s eyes pierced through him.
“Skirt one another, as if we weren’t primed from birth to be friends.”
“Friends?”
Merlin’s voice broke over the word, a note of incredulity evident.
“I’ve long forgiven you for your treatment of me in our earlier years, and the dismissals I faced alongside it.”
“I never sought your absolution, nor do I care whether or not I have it.”
Mordred raised an eyebrow, and met Merlin’s apathy with amusement.
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“You prefer the solitude then, away from anyone who might possibly understand you, including myself?”
Merlin clung to facts, because otherwise, he might be swept up in the tide that was the sway of Mordred’s words, and his gaze, too. He was determined to knock Merlin from his little island of tentative calm, even when Merlin wasn’t sure whether or not he’d like that.
“I have Elyan. We have been friends for a number of years, and he, too, has magic.”
“So you do.”
Merlin turned away again and hoped that would be the end of it.
He knew, somehow, that it wouldn’t be, though.
Merlin heard him before he felt Mordred's breath on the back of his neck.
“Is being known by me, too, that abhorrent to you?”
Gripping tight to the instrument he was using to stir a potion, Merlin continued to do so, tensely.
“Do not waste your breath on someone like me. You’re merely on borrowed time.”
Merlin did not care to reference his immortality so often. However, if it would be one more barrier between having to discuss this unknown path which Mordred seemed intent to tread, then yes, he would remind Mordred of the existence of his seemingly present indestructibility.
“What if I thought this was the best use of my time? If I am to die, at least, I’ll have been honest as I fade.”
“Mordred,” Merlin sighed, dropping what he had been stirring.
“Let me in, Merlin, please.”
Warm breath slid across the back of Merlin’s neck and his upper back, which made him noticeably shiver directly after.
Forget what he had previously thought days before, when Mordred had been actively closer to death; curse the bloody Druid.
Eventually, Merlin managed, somewhat weakly as he gripped the table before him, “What is it you want with me?”
“All of you.”
Oh.
Merlin’s grasp of what should be was slipping, as he recognized that perhaps there was more to his outright denial, when his body responded. It was a reflex though; protecting himself from Mordred, and the temptation of more, as it was the moral thing to do, wasn’t it? Merlin had never done anything to warrant that sort of attention, from Mordred of all people. Furthermore, hadn’t he known Mordred since he was a child?
Known was wholly untrue, given the berth he’d given Mordred for many years over, and how little involvement he’d had in the Druid’s life after saving him. But still, wasn’t it wrong to want Mordred, after all that occurred?
Merlin rounded on his heels to face Mordred, who met his gaze unabashedly.
“Why?”
Mordred’s face didn’t fold so much as become visibly concerned.
“Is it not enough to care for you; to worry after you when I cannot see you, or fear for you, when I cannot sleep?”
“I was so cruel to you, for so long. Why ever would you worry about me, or care for me, at all?”
The next words that escaped Mordred’s lips next were so easy, he must have thought of them prior to that conversation.
“While you were trying to save our world, who was looking after you. It wasn’t Arthur, was it?”
No, it hadn’t been Arthur at all.
Merlin bit back any single retort, as bile rose in his throat. Arthur had done his best, but it hadn’t been enough. Love was not always enough to transcend the trauma that one might have endured.
Arthur might have cared for Merlin, but he hadn’t understood him, at all. That alone had been their end, much as it had hurt to leave their union. Merlin hadn’t left though, not really, given he was still in Camelot.
However, the two had given each other space. Then, over time as Arthur’s love with Guinevere had blossomed, Merlin felt healed watching two people he cared for most of all have such a strong, and wonderful love. That had been enough for him after his and Arthur’s demise, truly.
At least, that is what Merlin tried to tell himself, as Mordred fixed him with an incredulous look.
“You understand what it is to have regrets plague your dreams, and for nightmares to haunt you during the day,” Mordred said, seemingly undeterred in Merlin's silence.
“I am not your worry," Merlin said, firmly.
Merlin’s breathing sped up slightly, as Mordred asked more softly, “What if I wanted you to be?”
“If this is to do with my standing amongst the Druids,” Merlin began, but Mordred merely waved him off.
The suggestion felt hollow, even after Merlin offered it up in vain.
“You and I both know it is not, Merlin.”
The reverent way in which Mordred said his name said as much, and oh, Merlin had been quite alone for some time.
It wasn’t just that, though.
Despite their distance, Merlin had built up a healthy respect for the Court Sorcerer in their later years, from which a small niggling seed of want had sprouted, some five years or so ago. It had surprised Merlin as much as anything else had, but still, he had squelched it down, because in what world would he have thought that someone like Mordred would want him, given their past?
A past which was rapidly becoming irrelevant, the longer Merlin held onto Mordred’s steady gaze.
“Let me in, Merlin, please. I can see your desire; I have for some time. Why do you fight it, when I’m more than willing to act on it, too?”
That should have shaken Merlin, but he was too busy marveling at the fact that somehow, his affection or whatever it was really, was returned.
Walls long kept up crumbled.
Mordred had been released from Merlin’s care the day prior, so it was no longer a conflict of interest, if he were to take up with the Druid. However, Merlin made one last attempt to put some distance between them, if only to honor Mordred, and all that Merlin had done to fail him and others like them, too.
“I’m not enough for you, Mordred. You deserve more than me, and all that I’ve been.”
Mordred set him with a steady look, and shrugged.
“Perhaps it’s a mark of poor judgement on my part, but I’ll take that, if you’ll understand you are who I am choosing.”
“For what, exactly?”
“For as long as you’ll have me, Merlin. I’m here, let me in now, please.”
Gods, Merlin was but one sorcerer, and Mordred, well, he was another, who was infiltrating the physician’s space and making far too much sense, and so, Merlin gave in. He allowed himself to be held, and kissed, as if he weren’t just himself, but someone more. He fell weak to the touch of another who by all accounts should loathe him, but somehow seemed not to.
At least, the sounds Mordred expelled eventually, ones so far removed from those he had let loose days before while he had lain dying before Merlin, were music to Merlin’s ever youthful ears, in stark contrast. Their tongues and lips tangled, as if somehow the action might provide air, to Merlin at least, who felt like he had been drowning before the Druid had drawn him closer and asked for more.
Hands and arms grasped where they could, bringing them physically closer than they had ever willingly been, and soon, it was Merlin crying out; a long built up tension began to dissipate as he truly allowed his emotions to be seen.
None of their garments had been removed, but Merlin felt like his body was on fire, still, as Mordred whispered into his ear, “That’s it; let me hear you.”
Blissfully, they held each other there, tucked away in the Medicinal Chambers where no one needed the Court Physician or the Court Sorcerer, while they continued to want and need each other. It was a weighty thing, but a breath of fresh air to Merlin, who felt himself excise some of the pain and heartache he had felt, while they continued on as they did.
Soon, Mordred somehow managed to hold Merlin, who had jumped up and wrapped his legs around the Court Sorcerer’s waist. They were no longer young men, but that mattered little; if anything, it gave them a solid foundation to build upon. Their knowledge of each other and all that had happened before was only one part, that told their story in the fabric of life. Together, they were spinning a new garment; one made of tenderness, and affection.
After a collected breath, the two began kissing again, their motions gaining more fluidity as they learned how the other moved. It was a new language between them; a welcome one, that both desired to be more fluent in, as the minutes wore on.
Pressed against the wall, Merlin eventually broke away from the kiss, and cried out, whimpering, soon after.
“Gods, I want-”
But then, he broke off.
This was all more than he had ever hoped for. How could he ask for anything after?
However, Mordred wasn’t having it; in fact, Merlin heard him spell the door shut, then look up at him, his eyes heavy with lust, as he asked, “What is it that you want?”
Merlin’s lips trembled, even as he considered remaining silent.
Then, Mordred said, “Please, tell me.”
The warmth of him, still holding Merlin up, and the sincerity with which he had asked, coupled with Merlin’s own desire, had him responding before he could think better of it.
“Could I show you?”
Mordred’s arms didn’t quake to the point of dropping Merlin, but he did shudder. Which was the perfect time for Merlin to extricate himself from the former, and then he instead pressed the Druid up against the wall, kissing him deeply as his hands roved. They found new planes of existence that he was previously unaware of, as Mordred’s own hands were still cupping Merlin’s face.
When he reached the hem of Mordred’s trousers, Merlin stopped, and asked, “May I?”
Mordred closed his eyes, and was rewarded seconds later, when Merlin trailed kisses down, from his mouth all of the way to a very hard, very wet appendage that he released, and then took into his mouth seconds after.
The exhale that was elicited from that movement alone was more akin to a scream, which Merlin took as a job well done. Then, he felt hands grasp many of the long strands of his hair, and pull, as he continued to maintain a firm hold, sliding up and down as he did.
It wasn’t long before the actions bore fruit, or more so, a river of salt and sweetness being poured into his mouth. Merlin nearly followed, hearing what his own mouth had reduced Mordred to. However, something told him if he held out, it would be worth it.
As Mordred recovered, Merlin watched, elated at what he was able to do for the former. Nevermind that he might receive the same in return; seeing Mordred spent by his own handiwork was nothing short of bliss, that he had denied himself, because he had been scared. Scared, that perhaps, to let Mordred in, might one day mean to lose him.
The morose thoughts that crept in dissipated as Merlin was being led to one of the work tables he had largely cleaned off earlier. Whatever was left, Mordred shoved off onto the floor, then lifted Merlin up onto it, and splayed his legs open before him.
“Is this okay?”
Merlin nodded, and gazed up at the man, who was now above him. There were kisses, and places where he did to Merlin’s skin what the sorcerer had done to him elsewhere, just minutes before. Languorously, he worked over Merlin’s body, until like Merlin had, Mordred reached the edge of his trousers.
By that time, Merlin just looked right at him, and exhaled, “Please.”
Mordred nodded, then removed the trousers and began his work there, taking at first just the tip, then slowly adding in more length, until he held all of Merlin in his mouth. This alone is what made Merlin’s own time last so little; he exploded, and a stream of expletives, along with Mordred’s name followed, as he bucked up into the other man’s mouth and cried out in sheer ecstasy.
Eventually, he was strung out; he wasn’t as young as he used to be, regardless of how long it had last been since he had been relieved in that way. So, after they both cleaned up, Merlin allowed himself to be led to his own chamber off to the side, where he had slept alone for so many years. Then, Mordred held him, and the pair fell asleep together, not even bothering to do more than throw back on the clothes they had been wearing before.
Strangely enough, the next morning, there was still no one needing Merlin. It wasn’t that it never happened, but simply that it was rare. He should have been grateful, but it did worry him, even if it shouldn’t.
Still, Merlin allowed the Court Sorcerer to occupy his morning as they woke and enjoyed the brief break from their duties to Camelot, alongside all who inhabited the realm.
There were pulls, nips, tugs, kisses as well as smiles pressed against bare skin. All of this happened before either rose out of bed for more than nature calling, even. And so the morning went on like this, more tension easing out of Merlin, as he allowed himself the briefest moment of quiet bliss.
Mordred seemed to enjoy finding new ways to make him whine with want, but they had yet to culminate their desires again, unlike the night before which had gotten hot and heavy, rather quickly. Merlin enjoyed this side of it all, though, being doted on with physical affection, that may or may not readily have to be finished. However, he wouldn’t mind if it was of course.
The ghost of warm breath on his neck, as Mordred’s hand closed over his cock, brought him back to the moment at hand, or in hand, as it were.
“May I?”
“Yes, please,” Merlin managed, before he began to enjoy the strokes that had resumed after his consent to them.
The strong hand that grasped him was welcome, as was the teasing which brought him so close, yet did not allow for the sort of release that was promised with the new movement.
As he moved his hand up and down, Mordred kissed the back of Merlin’s neck, and murmured sweet words; “Listen to how beautiful you sound. You deserve this sort of attention. Oh, Gods, I love hearing you say my name.”
Merlin could feel Mordred’s length pressing into him, and it made him shiver. Still he rubbed his backside against him, and hoped it would be enough, given the way they were laid, and his hands unable to reach the appendage.
Soon, his right ear lobe was being slowly sucked on, and Mordred pulled some of his hair, alongside the other motions. It was all so much, but still Merlin did want more.
Then, the motions ceased, and Merlin’s body stilled, wondering if he had done something wrong. Before he could ask, though, he felt hands on his hips, and Mordred’s cock pressing more firmly into his backside than he had before.
It was as if he was answering the question that Merlin had been afraid to ask.
“May I divest you of your garments?”
“Please.”
Merlin trusted that whatever might follow, was closer to what he had wanted, then.
Moments later, he was then reaching with shaky hands, and after a quick, “May I?”
Following confirmation, Merlin began divesting Mordred of his own clothes, slowly.
Then, the two faced each other and tangled around, kissing each other lip to lip fervently. Shortly after, there was pre-cum, as if their bodies knew as they did, where this new adventure might lead.
“All I ask this time Merlin, if you’ll allow it, is that you let me in.”
The thought of it made Merlin shudder, then he nodded, and turned, so that Mordred could do what he must, to prepare him.
Tenderly, it was done, which made Merlin cry out with want. He needed to be bedded right then, in that manner, or he might combust, he thought.
Soon, there were hands firmly gripping Merlin's hips, whilst he pressed up and into what was being slowly, alongside carefully pushed into him. It was not so easy after so much time, but Mordred made it simple enough, and so achingly sweet yet firm, that Merlin was in complete, utter bliss.
Merlin sputtered and cried out, as everything that had truly built up, began to expel from him in that manner; with exhalations and exaltations of Mordred’s name, for only them to hear. Together, they made love on Merlin’s bed, and a bond was built anew.
When they collapsed on top of each other, after using magic to clean up, they held each other close, and still refused to let go of the other. It was magical, and terrifying all at the same time. Merlin wanted this every day, from then, until it wasn't feasible to have it all. And then, he would stand by Mordred, even as he died, truly.
It was a weighty thing, wanting to be with someone until the end of their days.
Mordred’s right hand began toying with some of Merlin’s hair, and then he whispered, while pressing kisses into Merlin’s neck, less heated then, “If you’ll allow it, I’ll give you this and more, Merlin. Just say the words, and I’m forever yours.”
Oh, how that made Merlin ache.
It had been so long since he had declared a love, or even taken someone to bed with such emotion. Arthur had been his last, before their traumas, particularly Merlin's, had torn them apart. Though the King was physically never far apart, it had never been the same, after.
They had loved and tried to let that fix everything, but love had not been enough to transcend the vast ocean of pain that stood between them. Things that though Arthur did his best to mend, could never be healed in a way that Merlin could comfortably lay down beside him, knowing what had happened.
Mordred though, understood. He and Merlin had orbited, until they crashed into each other’s paths, and there was no going back. Was that such a bad thing, really?
“And I shall be yours; only yours,” Merlin managed eventually.
Afterwards, he allowed himself to be held tighter as they lay together, beginning again.
Beginning what, one might ask?
Their future, destiny would reply.