Title: All Bets Off: Chapter 7 – "The Bet"
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: 3977
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: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! It means a lot - now I only hope to be able to keep up to the standard. ;) Kudos to anyone who picks up on the name of the stable boy - my vague nod toRPF.

A/N 2:Bloodplay, implied rape. This Chapter focuses mostly on Brom. I feel it's important to give some face time to the main antagonist, even if he is an OMC. This was a hard chapter for me to write and I'm not completely happy with it. But the story must go on, eh?

Chapter 7: The Bet

Brom preferred some blood with his bed sport.

It was something like a christening he supposed, a ritual if he had to put a word to it, though he had never put much stock in ritualistic habits. Really, he just liked it.

He liked the way each thin incision would open the skin, the wound filling with red before spilling over. He liked the way blood traced paths over the body, how it dribbled down the stomach to pool in the navel; or perhaps how it flowed down the arm to collect in the crook of the elbow.

He liked the metallic taste of it, the warmth of it under his tongue and on his fingers.

Brom also appreciated the skin and the way it yielded beneath a dull blade before tearing. He too, was appreciative of the way it parted readily at the flick a keen edge. He enjoyed the smell of skin when it was slick with sweat, blood, and other fluids.

Pity that it wasn't a perfume he could bottle.

Brom enjoyed a bit of blood play in bed because he liked watching how cutting another brought out their basest instincts. The muscles stiffened and the skin quivered, almost recoiling at the cold touch of sharp metal. The mind fought the pain while in some small part of everyone the body welcomed it.

Mostly though, liked the control it gave him over another person. There was something harshly beautiful about dominating an entity outside of himself; manipulating them to his will. The feeling of having somebody's will completely in thrall to his own was nothing short of thrilling, though Brom generally kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Outwardly he might assume the guise of the careless son of Duke Aurelianus. Inwardly, however, his mind was compartmentalized; it was easy to separate the parts of himself and examine the details without the hindrance of emotion.

It was easy to control himself. It was easier to manipulate and govern others. Breaking a person, coaxing them into ceding complete control to him - either willingly or by brute force - was better than climax.

At those times Brom fancied that he laid the soul bare; that he saw the essence of that person. He thought he could taste their soul; viscid, warm, and coppery.

It made him feel vital. It made him feel something other than varying degrees of boredom. It excited him in a way that nothing else ever had and it made him feel powerful.

Brom looked at the young lad tied to the posts of his bed, wearing nothing but his own skin. An eager blush pinked his nipples and the tops of his cheeks in response to the air's cool kiss; though he squirmed slightly against the restraints, he was otherwise still.

The young lord drank in the sight of him, tied down and laid open for consumption.

The boy's skin was gently weathered from a life outdoors, tanned caramel from the sun. His hair was dark, though still too light to pretend it was black, and his features were sharp and angular. His eyes were unremarkable, a shade of brown that reminded him of a buck's hide. Of course,Brom hadn't chosen the lad for his looks. He had chosen him for one reason alone: his neck.

The lad - one of the stable boys - had a remarkably long neck. The sinews shifted and rolled beneath the skin seductively, and when he moved it curved gracefully. It reminded him of Merlin's neck.

The thought of the manservant and his smooth, slender body stirred Brom like an inferno had been lit deep in his loins. He craved the taste of him again and had obsessed over the stark artistry of the sorcerer so much that it would have driven him to distraction, had he less control.

"What was your name again?" asked Brom casually as he walked over to perch himself on the edge of the bed. He checked his knots; a mariner would be proud.

The boy answered, nervous excitement making his voice higher than usual. "Morgan Bradwardine, m'lord." He eyed the russet-haired lord with ill-disguised desire, already half-hard with anticipation. It wasn't everyday that a stable hand got to share a lord's bed, after all, though it was hardly unheard of.

Brom leaned forward and sucked lightly on Morgan's elegant throat, nipping sharply and eliciting a yelp of surprise from the lad. It dissolved a moment later into a small moan as Brom ran a hand experimentally over the other's tanned flank, pressing the tips of his fingers into the flesh around the boy's entrance. Morgan bucked and the aristocrat smiled against his neck; not untried, but definitely inexperienced.

He separated himself from Morgan and patted his cheek when the other protested the loss of contact with a small whimper. He rose and walked to the table and carefully removed his shirt. He hung it on the back of the chair and paused when he heard Morgan's sharp intake of breath; though he was thin, he was wiry, and his flesh was stretched taut over corded muscle, like the skin of a drum. Brom smiled and picked up a knife that he had set aside just for this interaction, and examined it in the light.

It was a polished blade, curved like an eagle's talon with a clean edge. It would slice through flesh like a knife through butter.

Brom glanced a Morgan and smiled when he saw that the stable boy was looking at him with apprehension now, a spike of fear within his brown eyes. "M'lord?" he ventured, hesitantly.

The aristocrat sauntered back to the bed and sat down again, leaning over the lad as he trailed the tip of the knife up from his navel to the collarbone. It left the barest trace; a mere scratch that was beaded with red in the places where he had pressed harder. Morgan quivered beneath him when he produced a length of blue cloth - a piece of Merlin's torn shirt from the previous night - and gagged him with it.

"Now remember," said Brom, slicing into the flesh below Morgan's navel, with a quick flick of his wrist, "if you go squealing to Uther Pendragon I will kill you. Can your family afford that?"

Morgan, whose eyes were now wide and scared, shook his head. "Good, then we have an understanding," Brom affirmed with a pleased smirk. He leaned down to the lad's ear and whispered in a low, assured voice, "Besides, nobody would believe a little tart like you who just wanted a quick rut with the Duke's son."

He stood to shrug out of his breeches and show that he was stiff and ready. "Shall we begin?"

***

The boy next to him was praying. Brom could pick out the words behind the gag, muffled and fervent. He pretended to sleep as he watched Morgan from beneath the veil of his lashes, feeling sated and indulgent, his distorted prayer like a soothing lullaby.

The young man's body looked as if it had been wrapped in red ribbons, and the trails of blood glistened in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. A thin layer of sweat coated Morgan's skin and his thighs were bowed outward, the muscles too tired to hold his knees shut. There was an awful mess between there, anyway, whereBrom had cut too deeply. It was red and sticky down to the lad's calves.

Well, it was mostly sticky. There were flakes of dried blood in the matted hair of Morgan's groin, crusted with other fluids; evidence of the violence of their coupling. The air was rank with sex and heady maleness, and woven underneath it all was a hint of copper. The smell drenched the skin and coated the nose, andBrom , shedding the pretense of sleep, stretched and reveled in it. He flicked out his tongue as if he could taste the sex on the air, like a hunting serpent. He then rolled over to taste the sweat and blood cooling on Morgan's skin.

He grinned when the boy jerked forcefully away from him, choking on his prayer. Brom tsked but chuckled and jumped out of the bed, unfurling languidly before going about his business as if Morgan were not even there.

He bathed in the small tub that had been filled some time before, uncaring that the previously hot water was cold. He scrubbed the evidence of his afternoon's activities from his skin and then rose, water rolling down the taut lines of his body in chilly rivulets.

Normally he would have had his manservant dress him, but Brom opted to do it himself; his room was a mess, after all. He chose a dark brown leggings and a cream-colored chemise. Over it he donned a forest greenbliaud embroidered with his family's crest, cinched with a wide belt.

He topped off the ensemble with a pair of soft doe-skin gloves and departed without a backwards glance at the stable boy still tied to his bed. He paused outside of the door and fixed his cuffs as he spoke to Bryce, his manservant on loan. "Clean that up, will you?" he said nonchalantly, waving a dismissive hand in the general direction of his room. Bryce simply nodded, wisely saying nothing when he peered in and spied the lad on the bed.

The lord Aurelianus had lined his pockets well enough to ensure that he kept his mouth shut on these matters, though he did feel a pang of sympathy when he saw the shallow cuts that scored Morgan's body; ruby ink on living parchment.

***

The banquet hall was a hub of activity. Servants were bustling about with some sense of chaotic order, finalizing the last of the preparations for the celebration that was not even hours away. Some of the lesser nobles had already arrived, keen on earning some face time with the king and his honored guests. They stood in the middle of the hall, wine goblets already filled, and exchanged banalities with the King and DukeAurelianus.

Ambrosius Aurelianus cut a severe figure next to Uther Pendragon, clad in blacks and greys, with the only color coming from the sash he wore; a dash of green across his chest, bearing his family's crest. He was balding at the temples, though wore the rest of his steel grey hair swept back into a neat tail. While his shoulders were broad they were rounded and hunched, indicative of a former warrior gone to seed.

The Duke had been a huge man of height and girth in his youth and though he stood a head taller than Uther, none would consider him the superior. Uther Pendragon wore his privilege well, and there was a hardness behind his blue eyes that spoke of one used to making the difficult decisions in life. They were the eyes of a king; commanding, cold, and confident.

It was little wonder that they had become comrades and later friends; their outlook on life was similar. Status and the hierarchy of power, was very important to them.

Just then, one of the serving lasses came flying through the double doors of the banquet looking agitated and a little frightened. She skittered to a halt in front of bothUther and Ambrosius, apron askew, and dipped into a deep curtsy.

"What is it?" asked Uther, cutting straight to the matter. Something was apparently wrong and he had no time for frivolities.

"Your Highness, it's the prince and the Duke's son," she began, suddenly hesitating. She looked timidly up at the two men, before bowing her head again. She stammered, all confidence withering under the their twin gazes.

"Just say it, girl!" snapped Ambrosius, his voice like the grumble of thunder in a gathering cloud.

The serving lass blushed and stumbled over her words in her haste to reply. "Fightin'...m'lord, they - they're fighting, m'lords!" she finally managed, shrinking back a bit when Uther stepped forward suddenly.

"Who are they fighting?" he asked quickly, already wondering how many enemies could possibly be inside of Camelot's walls. The girl shook her head, loose tendrils of hair flying about her round face.

"Nay, your majesty," said she, "they're fighting each other."

Uther glanced at Ambrosius who nodded curtly and joined him as they strode from the hall, a procession of lesser nobles and his personal guards, following at their heels.

***

All of the frigid anger that had encased his thoughts and driven his feet to stalk the halls, vanished the minute Arthur laid eyes uponBrom . Instead, the prince found himself enraged to the point of seeing red, barely able to stop his legs from carrying him forward directly into young lord's path.

Brom of course, just grinned, arching a perfect brow as he gave a mock bow to the prince.

"Good evening Arthur, come to escort me to the banquet?" he asked with looking at the blonde slyly through his lashes. "My my," he sneered, "don't you look...tense. Need me to help pull that stick from your royal arse?"

Without quite thinking it through, Arthur let his fist fly. It connected with Brom's jaw with a satisfying thud. The aristocrat's head snapped violently to the side and he went down in a graceless heap.

Brom recovered quickly and rolled to his side, spitting a glob of reddish saliva as he did so. When he glanced up at Arthur, his grin was stained crimson. The young lord brushed back a loose strand of auburn hair with a finger, then probed the side of his face tenderly. He winced; that would be an ugly bruise in the morning.

"You have no control whatsoever, do you my prince?" he asked speculatively as he rose to his feet. "That's the difference between you and I." Although his tone was thick with derision there was a sharp note of excitement twined with his words; Arthur was sorely off balance and he wanted to know why. He wanted to know how he could use it to his advantage.

"Shut your foul mouth," growled Arthur, fists curled at his side, "I know what happened to Merlin and I know it was you." The fury within him felt like curdled milk on his tongue; it left a sour taste that made him want to spit in the other's face. "If you ever touch him again, I'll kill you."

Brom's eyes widened in surprise but he concealed it quickly with a chuckle. Interesting; he hadn't expected Arthur to find out so quickly. He changed tactics. "Oh I see," he said in a quiet hiss, "you got my little note. I would have written it on parchment but you know," he shrugged in a show of indifference, "I had to make due with what I had available at the time. I think it was an effective medium, don't you agree? I'm not surprised you recognized it." Brom dropped his eyes pointedly to the prince's right thigh.

This time when Arthur hit him, Brom was expecting it. He rolled with the punch but still felt his bottom lip split open and his teeth rattle. He swallowed the taste of his blood, warmth trickling down his throat. Arthur was enraged. He smiled through the sting of his slashed lip and ache bruised face; the prince was too easy to manipulate.

Still, it was a good thing that Brom didn't mind a little pain.

Arthur could scarcely stop himself from kicking Brom when he was down, though he did have some discipline despite what the other man said. He had honor, too.

The blonde hauled Brom up by the collar and brought his face close. His eyes were almost feverish, gleaming with the force of his emotion. "I will never forgive you for this," he advised grimly. "I am the Crown Prince," he said, "I doubt your death would mean much in the long run."

Brom twisted his lips into an awful grimace; his teeth were stained red and his lower lip split wider. He spied serving lass over Arthur's left shoulder who had hesitated, uncertain of what was going on between the two. Perfect. "Do you love him Arthur Pendragon?" he challenged suddenly, green eyes locking with blue. "All this for a servant...a death threat even! You must be in love with Merlin!"

"Don't you dare say his name!" threatened Arthur, but he released Brom and took a hasty step back. He looked a little unsure of himself, denial and the truth warring openly across his handsome features. "I don't love Merlin," he said unconvincingly, "not exactly." He eyed the young lord warily as the other wiped a dribble of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. Though his right eye was beginning to swell shut,Brom still managed to look smug.

Behind the prince, the serving girl was beginning to edge away. Brom made one last play before his window of opportunity closed. "It's a good thing you don't love him, my prince, trust me," he simpered, and his words dripped like venom from his tongue, "that boy moans like a little whore when he ruts. But oh, he was good, Arthur, so tight."

This time when Arthur hit him he didn't stop.

Blood pounded in Brom's ears as the serving girl shrieked and ran down the hall. His laughter echoed her footsteps even as his blood splattered onto the ground in bright red drops. He laughed wildly until Arthur wrapped his fingers around his throat and squeezed the laughter from him.

Brom fought back tooth and claw at that point. He managed to jackknife a leg beneath him and used the leverage to unbalance Arthur, who had been kneeling on either side of his body with a solid grip on his neck. The lord gasped and sucked in a huge breath of hair, then, cat-quick, threw his elbow backward and broke the prince's nose. He followed up with a savage kick to the blonde's stomach, though it lacked the necessary power to do permanent damage.

Blood poured from Arthur's nose as he grappled with Brom who fell upon him with a wild-cat's fury, the two of them slipping in the crimson patches that stained the ground. He felt another blow land on his face and then another, and just as he had grasped a handful ofBrom's hair in his fingers, he felt multiple hands yanking them apart.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded a voice, terrible in its anger. Uther. Arthur turned and looked at his father, squinting through a fresh black eye. Nearby, Brom was being helped up by two of the guards and blonde was pleased to see that he looked worse for the wear.

"Who started this?" asked another voice. Arthur was going to answer when he realized that the question wasn't directed at him. He peered at the serving girl who stepped forward to answer Ambrosius's question.

"The prince did, m'lord," she said haltingly, not not looking towards Arthur.

Uther's face turned purple with outrage. He held up a hand when his son opened his mouth to explain. Instead the king turned towards Brom who was swaying unsteadily upon his feet, even with the support of the two guards. "I must offer my apologies for my son's behavior," he began diplomatically, "and I hope you and your father will accept my offer to extend your stay until you feel fit to travel."

Brom nodded mutely; his head felt heavy upon his neck. Ambrosius also inclined his head, though his thick brows were drawn down in thought. "Of course, your majesty, you are too kind to offer. I am curious, however, as to learn what the source of this...misunderstanding was?"

Arthur felt himself go still and tried to think up a quick response. His brain, however, felt like it was made of thick stew and somebody was stirring it with a spoon. Before he could answer, Brom did.

"It was over his manservant, Merlin," said Brom, his vocals bruised and words a bit slurred, "he didn't like how I disciplined the boy after he disrespected me." The prince fumed, feeling his anger wash over him again. Lies, all of it. Uther and Ambrosius only frowned deeply.

"If a servant disrespects a lord, he or she is to be punished for it," said Ambrosius seriously, looking at Uther. "That is only proper. My son was in his rights."

"Yes," agreed Uther, "he was. My son has been too soft on his manservant. It was likely a good lesson for him to be had. Arthur shall be punished as well for his transgression againstBrom."

"Wait," said Brom, holding up a staying hand, "I want to make a bet with the prince." When Ambrosius and Uther looked at him in question, he bowed as much as he could towards the King. "To regain my honor and put this behind us, your Majesty," he explained magnanimously.

"Very noble of you," said Uther with approval, "Arthur shall accept."

"Father!" Arthur protested, dumbfounded by what he just heard. There was no sympathy in Uther's gaze, but the disappointment he saw there struck him like a physical blow.

"You dishonored not only our guests but me in my own castle," said Uther in a solemn voice. "That cannot go unacknowledged. You attacked our guest over what? A servant? That is simply disgraceful. This is a way for you to regain some of your pride and mine and you will do as I command."

Before Arthur could say anything in response, his father had turned back to Brom. "What are your stakes, lord Aurelianus?"

Brom managed a smile though it looked even worse than before. He stared directly at the prince as he said, "I want your manservant, Merlin, for my own."