Warnings: Noncon, bondage, slavery, Morgause/Merlin
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Merlin lies in the darkness.
He has lain there for such a long time. He doesn't know how many hours or days, he's been here. The minutes stretch by uncounted. He could have been lying here for years and not have known it, as his mind grows duller, breaking down, succumbing to the madness.
He has begun looking forward to Morgause's visits.
Almost.
It is the warmth, he misses. He is sure that is what he desires. The warm fire from the torch, the witch brings with her.
Her words as well, not the meanings of her sentences, as her thoughts are poison. He simply desires to hear anything, other than his own breathing and his teeth chattering. He hates the still death in his prison.
He looks forward to the warmth. Her visits allow his blue eyes to see something other than pitch black. Even after all this time, which he thinks has been forever; even when his eyes adapt to the darkness, he is sure that he won't be able to see his hands in front of his face.
Not that he can move his hands or his arms. His legs, too, are chained to the bed.
He misses moving around, his body sore and mind dull. He has fought them both, during the minutes he is unable to count. It is growing harder not to go mad. She has let him walk around in the pitch black, for a few precious moments, on her good days. Or was that hours, evening, years? Merlin doesn't know.
Now, she is the only thing he misses, looks forward to, and he hates himself for it.
He misses the fire from her torch; the warmth from her body when she touches him. When all his mind wants to do is decay, she sits atop him as she rides the warlock, forcing him to feel.
He misses her words. He hates the meanings, as he hates her intent. Her desire for a powerful, unstoppable offspring is the reason why he is trapped here, looking forward to her.
But, it does not matter how much he hates her. How often, in the beginning he fought, screamed, bit and spat at her. She got what she wanted, and she continues to get what she wants.
And all Merlin can do is lie there, in the cold, dark abyss.
And wait with morbid glee, for the hated woman's return.
The minutes stretch by unnoticed. Merlin barely feels the cold air, anymore. He has adapted to everything, and that realisation sickens him.
The warlock's ears catch the sound of a door being opened, the old hinges loud in the silence, and he hates how his heart leaps in anticipation.
He visualises a warm glow descending the stairs, the fire bathing the walls in an orange light.
Merlin hears the click of feet against stone, as the figure descends into his prison. He hates how happy he is becoming, as the human form draws near.
He shuts his eyes tight, if he can keep anything within his control, it will be his sight. He does not want to see the woman once she touches him. Once she mounts him, raping him. Her smile as he screams in a lust filled agony.
He flinches as a hand touches his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes screw shut tighter; he does not want to see, yet he does! His eyes take over and force themselves open, to see anything other than the darkness surrounding him.
He can already see small slivers of light through his eyelids, and feel the fire warm against his face.
And he waits for her game, her purpose to begin, but instead he hears a word. And, for once, the word is not seeped in poison.
The sound come from a masculine voice.
Familiar...
"Merlin?"