Title: All Bets Off: Chapter 4 – "Battle Lines"
Author: Lassroyale
Rating: R
Warning: Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism
Parings: Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(non-con)
Disclaimer: The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.
Word Count: 2841
Summary: When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: Merlin

A/N: This is a much darker fic than my other Merlin story I have going and might end up being longer as well. While it will be eventual Arthur/Merlin, the ride there is rife with bumps and obstacles, savvy?

A/N 2: Henceforth my warnings will be in full effect. This chapter turned out rather differently than I originally intended, but when I had written the first draft things seemed too rushed for the general flow of the story. I hope you guys enjoy - please R&R!

Chapter 4 - "Battle Lines"

***

Merlin bit into the juicy flesh of an apple with relish, savoring the snap and crunch of it as he sat in the cool shade of the apple tree had, just a bit ago, fallen out of. Next to him, reclining against the trunk in what could be described as a 'tasteful slouch', Brom watched him with the sort of avid interest of someone studying a new an unusual creature.

While the attention flattered the warlock, it was also somewhat disquieting; at times Brom tended to look at him like a indulged house cat contemplating its meal in a koi pond. Merlin took another bite of his apple and glanced over at his silent companion, feeling a twist low in his gut when he noticed the way the sunlight filtered through Brom's auburn hair, making it shine like strands of spun glass. He felt his gaze slip down to touch upon the sturdy square jaw and defined cleft chin, before focusing on the other's lips.

Merlin had to force the next bite down past the sudden lump in his throat. Brom's lower lip pouted out slightly, lending the man an unexpectedly provocative air.

When he looked up he realized that Brom had noticed his scrutiny, and had born the examination with enviable sang froid. The warlock glanced away quickly, feeling chastised, like he had been caught shamelessly eying something sinful. His ears burned as he achieved high color in the span of a couple of seconds or two, and he bit more forcefully into the apple than he intended.

"Ow!" he yelped, then swore when he tasted blood in his mouth where he had bitten the inside of his bottom lip. He tongued it carefully, probing the wound to try and identify the extent of the damage. He touched the tip of his finger to it and came away with a smear of red.

"You're rather clumsy, aren't you?" asked Brom from very close to his ear, and Merlin started, his pulse quickening when he saw how near the other man had drawn. He saw amusement in that dark green gaze and felt himself grin a bit, despite his embarrassment and keen awareness of Brom's body pressed slightly against his.

"Arthur tells me that all the time," he began to say, but broke off when he saw a dark look ripple through Brom's eyes. An expression of subtle distaste distorted his features and Merlin realized his error immediately; manservant to the prince or no, he was still in the company of someone with a higher status than him. There were rules to be followed. "I, err, I mean the prince of course. I'm sorry m'lord, I forgot myself."

Brom's look was questioning first, then understanding as comprehension dawned. "No no, my little squirrel," said he with a quick flash of white teeth, "I think you misunderstand my expression. It's merely that your lord and I haven't always seen eye to eye on a lot of things and it makes me quite jealous that you seem so...comfortable with him."

Merlin raised a sable brow - Gaius would be proud - and canted his head slightly to one side. He munched thoughtfully on another bite of apple before replying. "It's hardly that he likes me," said he with a wistful look, "but we have been through a lot together. A lot. Still, he tells me what an awful manservant I am all the time, so sometimes I just don't know why he keeps me around." Merlin laughed nervously and risked a sideways peek at Brom's face, inches from his own. "You don't need to hear this, m'lord." He waved his hand as if to physically dispel the somber mood that had fallen over him. "I must be boring you."

Brom suddenly grabbed his wrist with a movement so quick, it was like adder's strike, and when he spoke, it was in a voice that was hard and serious. "No, you're not," said he, and Merlin shivered; in that instant Brom's voice had the quality of velvet wrapped around steel. "Arthur is a fool if he doesn't see what's right in front of him. But I do, Merlin, and I am right here."

Then, without pretense, Brom brought Merlin's fingers to his mouth and slid the longest digit past his lips to the knuckle. The warlock gasped as he felt his finger enveloped in warmth and wetness, and his body was swept with a raw heat as he watched Brom suck the smear of blood clean from his skin. Something flashed through the aristocrat's eyes - Merlin thought it was satisfaction - but it vanished so quickly that he couldn't be sure.

He was entranced and uncomfortable, but couldn't force himself to move when Brom began to suck lightly on the tips of each of his fingers in turn, the nerve endings tingling when he blew lightly on the moistened skin. His senses began to overload when the other man nipped lightly on the underside of his wrist and then moved his mouth to suck harshly on the skin over his collarbone, after he ripped the red kerchief from his neck.

Brom was skillful and Merlin had never been touched like this. He wondered if Arthur's mouth would feel like this on his flesh and he closed his eyes, imagining that princely mouth gliding over him, bruising him...marking him. He moaned and was snapped out of his fantasy when Brom's hands pushed him back violently. His head slammed painfully into the solid trunk of the tree at his back.

Pain bloomed where his skull had struck the rough bark, and he looked in shock and disbelief at Brom's face as the man loomed before him.

"I am not Arthur. Don't you ever moan his name in my presence like that again," he snarled, looking decidedly less friendly as anger mottled his features. In fact Brom looked downright dangerous. When he gripped the back of Merlin's neck and shook him roughly, it was like a dog giving a thorough shake of a vermin it had just caught. He was also surprisingly strong.

Merlin stammered out an apology, "I'm sorry m'lord." He tried to sound as sincere as possible, but inwardly he writhed with a peculiar kind of panic; this was an entirely different kind of danger. He had faced many things, from supernatural creatures to powerful sorcerers, with less fear spiking through him than there was now.

Instantly, Brom's features transformed back into the kind and attractive face that it had been just moments ago. He even looked remorseful. "I'm sorry I had to do that," he apologized in a voice thick with sincerity, "but hearing you moan Arthur's name like that just made me so upset."

Merlin was very still as the other man drew close, until they were nearly nose to nose. He didn't think he could reconcile this Brom with the one he had just glimpsed; and the one he had just glimpsed set his teeth on edge.

"What is going on here?" barked a familiar, infuriated voice. Merlin looked over Brom's shoulder and saw Arthur standing there, looking more enraged than he had ever seen him. They locked gazes and what the warlock saw there was a combination of fury, fear, and what could quite possibly be jealousy. "Merlin," growled Arthur, ignoring Brom even when the other man sat back on his haunches and gave a lazy wave, "get up and come here right now."

Under normal circumstances, Merlin would have protested the command and told Arthur that he was not some hunting dog that could be called to his master's side with a whistle and a pat on the thigh. Right then, however, he pushed himself to his feet and went to the prince's side without complaint.

"Arthur," he said in a quick, hushed tone, "I can explain -" but he was interrupted when the blonde held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Are you okay?" asked the prince, looking pointedly at his manservant mussed clothing. 'Did he hurt you?' remained unspoken. Merlin glanced at Brom, who by that time had risen and was leaning casually against the trunk of the apple tree, watching them with absent interest. He danced a coin over his knuckles and the silver piece glinted in the slanting rays of the sun.

"I'm fine," replied the warlock after a moment's hesitation.

"Good," said Arthur brusquely, turning his attention away from Merlin to focus on Brom instead. "Go polish my armor, I need to speak to Master Aurelianus alone."

"I just polished your armor," said Merlin before he could stop himself, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. The blonde looked at him sharply, warning flashing through his clear blue eyes.

"Now."

The warlock, taken aback, bit out a quick, "Yes sire," before striding off. He looked back once and frowned when he saw that the two nobles hadn't moved and were simply standing across from one another, engaged in a silent and charged glaring match.

In a moment he was gone, leaving Arthur and Brom to their discussion.

***

As soon as Merlin was out of sight Arthur closed the distance between himself and the russet-haired aristocrat. He jabbed a finger into Brom's chest, hard.

"Whatever your game is, Brom, you're going to have to play it with somebody else besides Merlin. He is my manservant and I won't allow it." He spoke with a hard edge, his voice rough with the depth of his emotion. Brom just grinned humorlessly, his lips drawing back from his teeth in an almost feral manner.

"Oh but your manservant is just so delicious, Arthur," he said in a velvety purr. "I can still taste him on my lips, and he tastes so pure...so untried."

Before he had realized it, Arthur had grabbed Brom by the collar and shoved him back against the apple tree with barely checked force. His voice, when he spoke, was full of animus. "Don't even think about it," he spat, "I forbid it."

"Oh ho, you 'forbid' it, my prince?" answered Brom, his elegant brows drawn up in question. "You must really care for your manservant if you seek to pull rank on me." Where Arthur's voice was full of rage and fire, Brom's was of the same quality as marble; smooth, cold, and emotionless. "Would you like to take a wager that I can bed your manservant - one way or another - before you?" He waggled his brows suggestively, unperturbed that he was being pressed quite harshly into the solid trunk behind him.

Before Arthur could answer, Brom pushed him violently and slipped from his reach, cat-quick. He whirled and his green eyes were as stony as jade. "You listen to me, prince, I always get what I want, and what I want is Merlin." He grinned and danced nimbly out of the way when the blonde lunged at him. "You should know that already. But," he began to back up, beating a hasty retreat, "if you want to try and stop me, go ahead." He turned and jogged back through the orchard, escaping to the safety of the castle and his father's company.

Left alone and seething with a sort of fury he never knew he possessed, Arthur turned and punched the trunk of the apple tree, relishing the feel of pain when the skin of his knuckles split and bruised.

He only wished that it had been Brom's face, instead.

***

Merlin knew it was Arthur who walked into the armory by the weight and staccato click of his footsteps, without turning to see. He was still upset over the way he had been treated in the orchard, and before that, from their conversation on the battlements. So he ignored the prince, furiously polishing a piece of armor that was already gleaming.

"Merlin."

He didn't turn, but just dipped his clothe in more polish and rubbed over the same spot he had been rubbing for the better part of ten minutes.

"Merlin, I command you to look at me."

With a frustrated sigh, the warlock turned slightly to regard the prince. "Yes sire?" he asked rigidly.

"I want you to stay away from Brom Aurelianus."

"Why's that, Arthur?" challenged Merlin defiantly. He stood so that they were on even ground and looked the prince directly in the eye.

"Because I forbid you to," said Arthur, prowling towards his manservant with slow, sure steps. There was something in the other's tone that made the warlock suddenly nervous. Still, he stood his ground. The prince reached out and placed his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "Because he will hurt you...and...I don't think I could stand to see that."

"What are you saying, Arthur?" asked Merlin unsympathetically. "Just tell me."

Arthur didn't tell him but he instead crushed his lips to his manservant's with a sense of urgency that was staggering. The kiss was bruising in force, more a bid for dominance than something truly tender, but Merlin heard himself issue a desperate sound of need in the back of his throat, nonetheless. His hands flew up to tangle in those blonde locks as he had longed to do for some time now. He reveled in the soft texture of it.

Arthur pulled his manservant flush to him by his belt-loops, his fingers curling beneath the hem, damaged knuckles brushing soft skin. The warlock gasped into the prince's mouth, moaning when the other slipped his tongue past his lips. When Arthur drew back to regard Merlin, he had to admit that the manner in which his manservant's lips were swollen and reddened, was highly erotic.

"You are mine," he rumbled, taking the other boy's face in both of his hands, "not his." He dipped his mouth again to taste Merlin's, and stumbled back, confused, when his manservant pushed away from him.

The warlock stood, slightly out of breath, his body buzzing with a fervid yen. A look of clear disbelief was on his face. "You're doing this because of him? Because Brom was sniffing about what was yours? You're doing this because you don't want someone else to have your possession?"

Arthur stubbornly looked away, his jaw clenched. It was enough of an answer for Merlin, who, with the anger of someone who has been terribly wronged, for the second time that day walked away from his master.

***

Something woke him, he was sure of it. There was little other reason for Merlin to be awake in the middle of the night, still dead tired and drained from the events of that day. After he had left Arthur in the armory, he had busied himself with menial tasks around the castle, sweating out some of his anger and trying to sort out the jumble of emotions that twisted in Byzantine knots within him.

Dinner had been a relatively small affair; the grand feast was tomorrow night, where Ambrosius and Brom would receive a proper welcome. Still, the air had been ripe with tension and Merlin had felt like a scrap of meat that was being fought over by two jealous mongrels. It had worn him out, both physically and emotionally, and when Arthur had given him his leave he had collapsed onto his bed, clothes and all. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.

Which is why it was odd that he was awake now.

Disoriented, Merlin sat up groggily, and peered into the long shadows of his room, trying to identify what could possibly have stirred him awake. He froze, his blood cold in his veins, when he realized that somebody was sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Hello Merlin," said Brom congenially, "did I wake you?"

(To be continued...)