Title: All Bets Off: Chapter 9 – "Doubt in the Devil's Kiss"
Author: Lassroyale
Rating: R
Warning: Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism
Parings: Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(dub-con)
Disclaimer: The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.
Word Count: 4164

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: So this took me a very long time to update! I apologize for the delay. I needed to get some things done for the SPN fandom which I did and I feel pretty okay about. I'm changing the warning to dub-con. I realized that there are fine lines to be blurred here and that there might be some repercussions with a non-con rating that I'm unprepared to deal with in this fic. Still...it could go back to it. I've grappling with that decsion but I'm not ready to make it yet.

A/N: I'll be with no internet connection starting tomorrow, so I'll respond to any comments I get over the weekend when I get back on Monday. New chapter will be up sometime next week. See you guys then!

If you read this, please review!

Chapter 9: Doubt in the Devil's Kiss

Brom, over the next two weeks, had healed well. The swelling of his face had all but disappeared, and the black and blue bruising of his skin had faded to a sickly yellowish color. The split in his bottom lip had almost closed; Merlin, however, still thought it looked downright painful.

He winced a little when the young lord smiled at him encouragingly from across the table, pushing the bowl of soup a little closer to the sorcerer with two fingers. Merlin couldn't help but notice the scabs on his knuckles from where he had hit Arthur, and he tried his best(and failed) to keep his expression neutral.

Brom only chuckled throatily and gestured again to the soup. "Eat," he said in a quiet and commanding tone, his voice the subtle rasp of silk over iron. Merlin, who was rather unsure of what he was doing there, sequestered comfortably in Brom's quarters and having a simple lunch, looked skeptically at the bowl. There was a slight crease between his eyes and his nose scrunched a bit as he took a tentative sniff of the liquid, uncomfortably aware of Brom's scrutiny.

It certainly didn't smell like poison. In fact, it smelled delicious. Against his will, he began to salivate, just a little bit.

Brom shook his head slightly and leaned forward, flecks of gold standing out in his green eyes as they caught the light of the afternoon sun. He plucked Merlin's spoon from the bowl, dipped it in the hot soup, and then spooned it carefully into his mouth. He made an exaggerated noise of delight, which Merlin found curiously lewd given the circumstances, and placed the utensil back into the bowl.

"Just like mother used to make it," he said, and the warlock was startled by the note of sincerity within the other's voice. He picked up the spoon and brought it to his lips and took a tentative taste of the broth. It was good. It...it reminded him of Ealdor, of childhood, of his mother.

Merlin put the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter and sat back. He gave Brom a long look, his blue eyes searching for some indication of what all this was. Seeing nothing except offhanded interest on the aristocrat's fine features, he finally succumbed to curiousity and asked.

"Why am I here, m'lord?" He worked to keep his voice steady, though a note of tired wariness managed to creep in. He couldn't help but be on edge when the young lord was this close to him; he remembered too clearly what could happen in this man's proximity. Though Brom had left him and Arthur well enough alone for the better part of two weeks, the invitation for lunch had been entirely unexpected.

The aristocrat mirrored the sorcerer's position, but where Merlin sat stiffly, Brom slouched against the back of his chair. He gave him another painful-looking twist of his lips, and drummed his short fingernails on the tabletop. "I just wanted to see you, that's all," he replied with a slow, nonchalant shrug. It was the type of shrug that Merlin could never hope to accomplish. It was a shrug that spoke volumes. It was a shrug that said, 'I could pounce at any moment, you know.' The young lord rubbed his right thumb into his left hand absently, much like Arthur did on a cold day.

"I find that hard to believe," said Merlin after a moment, with a note of reckless challenge. He eyed the door to his left and sighed; he might make it there but Brom had given the guards outside strict orders not to let him leave until the lord gave the okay. Ever since the incident with Arthur, the king had ordered his staff to cater to, "Lord Aurelianus' every whim."

He picked up his spoon sullenly and ate a little more. He tried not look like he was enjoying it, too much.

Brom didn't smile this time, but he watched the manner in which Merlin's lips curled over the spoon with rapt interest. "I think we got out to a bad start, you and I," said he, eventually, "and I'd like to start over." He rose and walked around the table to the other side and placed a hand lightly on Merlin's shoulder. He stroked his thumb over the skin of the manservant's neck, just under the blue hankerchief. He leaned down and settled his lips very near the other's ear. "After all, Arthur proved to me just how special he thinks you are. I've had men want to fight me over their daughters soiled innocence or their son's ruined virtue, but never over a servant. That's unheard of."

Merlin tried not to fidget, but he was having a hard time of it. Brom's presence was heavy at his side, and it seemed to smother him like some nefarious ooze that slipped into the cracks of his skin. He tightened his grip on the spoon and resolutely ate another bite of soup. Brom's chuckle was silky in his ear, and it made made the warlock's skin crawl, mostly because it wasn't unpleasant.

"So tell me Merlin," Brom murmured, dropping his mouth lightly to that deliciously long neck, "want to start over? Get to know eachother a little better? I can be real nice...and I have the feeling that as confidants we'll be spending a lot together, sooner than you think."

Brom's lips were too hot against his skin. When the sorcerer felt the gentle scrape of teeth, however, he scrambled up, his heart beating erratically. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have come, even though he had had little choice in denying the young lord's invitation. Brom had of course, had asked for his company for lunch in front of Uther Pendragon. Arthur was down on the practice fields training his knights, leaving Merlin with his hands tied. It would have been suicide to decline it.

"Look, m'lord - " began Merlin.

"- call me Brom," said the russet-haired man, mildly.

"Brom," amended the warlock, the name sloughing awkwardly off of his tongue, "I don't want anything to do with you, especially not like that." He edged away as Brom prowled closer, though the aristocrat paused instantly when Merlin's eyes turn golden. The warning was clear: Stay away. "I'll help you," he said clearly, "because you know my secret. But I will never betray Arthur like that."

"Oh ho is that right?" replied Brom softly, his eyes lighting up with a curious glint. "I think," he mused, "that I will be able to convince you. I even suspect I might be able to before the actual bet - what do you think?"

Merlin shook his head and the gold colour faded from his gaze. He felt a nervous energy sweep through him at the mention of "the bet". He swallowed, opened his mouth, and before he could think about it, blurted, "What is the bet?"

Brom was clearly surprised. His expression was openly assessive as he gave the other a hard, long look. And then, incredulously, he laughed. It was open and genuine, and Merlin was annoyed to discover that it wasn't at all sinister. "So Arthur hasn't even told you?" Brom finally managed, when he had stopped laughing enough to catch his breath.

"No," replied Merlin churlishly. He watched the young lord with a mix of caution and irritation, though oddly, he also felt hot and flushed with nervous excitement.

"Sit," said Brom, pointing to the chair, "and I'll tell you." He smiled thinly at the sorcerer, the corners of his mouth edging up further when the other complied, albeit hesitantly. He dropped his hands lightly to Merlin's slender shoulders, his fingers curling gently to hold the other in place when he made to move. "No," he chided airly, "stay." His fingers tightened when the manservant tried to twist from his grip, clamping down painfully.

The lord's grip was like a vice and his thumbs dug deeply into his flesh unkindly. Merlin bit back a hiss of pain but ceased his efforts, nevertheless. "Good," said Brom after a moment, "you are quite quick, Merlin. Very smart." He relinquished his grip entirely, and the warlock couldn't help the sigh of relief that crept out of him. "The bet I made with Arthur involves a hunt, because we both know how much the prince enjoys hunting. Personally, I find the sport tedious, but I happen to be quite good with the bow if I really must partake in the activity."

Brom ran his fingers through his hair and Merlin endured it without flinching away. He wanted to hear what the young lord had to say. He could suffer his touch if it meant he would finally figure out what this whole mysterious bet was about. After all, and though he had asked numerous times, Arthur wasn't forthcoming with the information. Oddly enough, neither were any of the castle staff. "Is that so m'lor-- umm, Brom?" he asked in a rush, his scalp tingling where the aritocrat's fingers worked their way through his dark locks.

"Yes," said the other with a hint of a sneer, "That is so. Can you guess what we are hunting?"

When Merlin didn't answer right away, Brom fisted his hands in his hand in those dark strands and tugged hard, forcing the warlock's head back until he was looking up into the young lord's face. "I asked you a question, Merlin," said he pleasantly. He leaned forward until his lips were a nearly over the other's, giving the sorcerer a good view of his throat. "You must answer promptly when a lord asks something of you." Brom sighed, his breath sultry against Merlin's mouth. "You'll learn in time," he said cryptically. "I'll train you well."

Of course he didn't waste the opportunity to lay a burning kiss upon Merlin's hot little mouth; harsh, rough, and aggressive, as he sucked the boy's bottom lip between his teeth.

The warlock pushed away with a muffled noise of keen displeasure, and the aristocrat released him without a struggle. Merlin wiped his sleeve across his lips violently, though they still burned from the contact.

"What are you going on about?" spat the warlock. "I don't know what the bloody hell you'll be hunting. Knowing Arthur it's probably a unicorn."

Brom was untroubled by the rejection; in fact he expected it. What interested him more was that the manservant had let him get that close in the first place. "You must really want to know the details of this bet," he purred, dropping lightly into the now unoccupied chair. He dipped his chin. "I acquiesce. We will be hunting a white hart. First one to kill it and bring it back to Camelot wins the prize."

Merlin could feel a sudden heat rise in him as his pulse quickened. A feeling of dread wormed through his veins as he asked, "What's the prize?"

Brom only shrugged in response. "That's something you should ask our dearest prince," he replied indifferently. "While I simply would love to tell you, I have the feeling that it's not my place." He smiled at the sorcererer, cat-like and cruel.

The fight ebbed from Merlin at the lord's reply, and his whole body seemed to slump, like some unseen hand had just lashed a steel weight across his shoulders. He glanced away from the other man and worried his bottom lip, aware that he could still taste Brom in the corners of his mouth. "Arthur refuses to tell me that," he said quietly, a note of defeat in his tone. "And so does everybody else."

"I'm sure we could work something out," said Brom as he rose from the chair. He instead perched himself at the edge of the table. "I need you to help me win this bet and you need me to keep your secret, but you also want information I have. What can you give me that will be fair trade for what I know?" His green eyes were bright beneath the suggestive arch of his auburn brows.

Merlin felt sick, though it was not due to Brom's unspoken suggestion. It was because he was giving it serious consideration. "I can find out another way," he said dubiously.

"If you believe that," replied Brom mildly, "then you may go."

Merlin wasn't sure, however.

The last couple of weeks had been anything but easy between he and Arthur. In fact, they had been rife with arguments and half-said truths, which always led to Merlin on his back while Arthur ravaged his mouth urgently. While that part wasn't all bad, it left a lot to be desired when it came to making any meaningful headway in their relationship. Throughout it all, Arthur had been stubbornly avoiding any talk about the bet between he and Brom, despite how much Merlin had brought it up. He would look away, his jaw tightening in agitation, and say, "It's nothing that concerns you, Merlin. And I don't need to answer you." Afterwards he would send the warlock on some menial task that would take up a lot of time and accomplish little.

It left Merlin wanting for more. It hurt him, especially because Arthur would never say what he wanted when he told him that he loved him. All the prince would reply was, "I know," kiss him on the corner of his mouth, and turn away.

"What would you have me do?" asked Merlin quietly, his eyes averted.

"I want you to kiss me like you would Arthur," said Brom simply.

Merlin looked up sharply, but he didn't see anything on the young lord's face that indicated he really knew what was going on between he and the prince. He licked his lips quickly and bobbed his head.

Brom moved as fast as an adder's strike. He pulled the sorcerer to him and his hands settled heavily upon his hips. He brushed his lips softly across Merlin's, almost politely, and raised a his thumb, running it over the bow of his mouth. Then abruptly, as if by magnetic force, he kissed the sorcerer intensely.

Brom's tongue slipped past the boy's teeth, tasting him, roaming every inch that was offered. He drank Merlin in, imbibing him until he could feel him in his throat. He kissed him long and deep, like a man drawing a lingering pull from a bottle of spiced rum.

Though his kiss was thirsty, it wasn't desperate. Brom languished in the connection of their mouths, taking his time to explore Merlin. He drank fully of him, until he could feel the sorcerer spike through his veins with a bite like strong liquor. He kneaded the back of the other's neck with nimble, sure fingers, and gloated inwardly when he felt the manservant become yielding and malleable under his hands. He turned them swiftly and pressed Merlin down upon the table, pressing himself flush against him.

Again, he was met with weak resistance. Brom gave himself a proverbial pat on the back; this was going far better than he had expected.

***

All Merlin knew was that his skin was on fire and that the lines were blurring between what he knew was in his heart, what was right, and the demands of the mouth upon his own. He kept picturing Arthur, how his mouth fit with his, and the picture was shattered every time Brom moved his lips more securely against his. His mouth was talented.

The warlock struggled against the rising heat of his body, remembering the easy manner in which the young lord had lashed him and carved into his back. Violence was effortless for Brom; consequences meant little. Yet too he remembered the way the other had cared for him afterwards, and the odd moments of near-tenderness that he had felt beneath the tips of those deceivingly long, slender fingers. It was hard to justify the monster with the man who now kissed him, and kissed him like he was the only thing worth kissing in the entire world.

It was confusing and it made Merlin hate himself the longer Brom's lips remained upon his. It made him loathe his traitorous body, when he felt himself relent and relax beneath the expert touch of the other's fingers. And yet Brom didn't press it any further than that, backing off when Merlin could clearly feel that he wished to do far more.

It was wrong, so bloody wrong.

***

Merlin left Brom's room in a daze, his hair mussed, his lips full and swollen. His thoughts were consumed by varying degrees of guilt, confusion, and disbelief. His skin was warm with a heat that was slow to fade. The aristocrat had kept his word and divulged what "the prize" was.

He replayed the short conversation in his mind, Brom's voice sleek and oily in his ear.

'The prize, little sorcerer, is you' Merlin scrambled back from the other man, his blue eyes filled with disbelief.

"You're lying," he said.

Brom's only reply was to suck the tip of his thumb into his mouth, and nibble lightly on the edge of his nail. He shook his head after a moment and offered another of his articulate shrugs. "Ask Arthur then."

"I'm not a possession," said Merlin quietly, with conviction.

"No you're not a possession," agreed Brom, with a tilt of his head, "you're his possession."

Brom had sent him away at that point stating that he required his company again, tomorrow afternoon. Merlin had left in the daze he was currently in, his thoughts racing too fast for his brain to process them. As he dragged his heels down the corridor, vaguely in the direction of the practice fields, he still held onto a thread of hope that Brom was outright lying. There was no way Arthur would ever agree to something like that, even with Uther's iron-clad decree. He would have at least told him of it...right?

Still, he had just learned that the bet in fact did directly involve him. Arthur had been keeping the truth form him this whole time.

Merlin shook his head and felt his resolve in Arthur begin to waver and crumble. His steps faltered halfway to the practice field. He could glimpse the prince a little ways away, sparring violently with one of his knights. The warlock imagined that his blonde hair would be drenched with sweat and stuck erratically to his scalp. His cheeks would be flushed red from exertion and he would have that bright, ferverish glint in his eyes that he did everytime he trained with the knights.

Merlin shook off his doubt; he had to believe that Arthur would tell him it was all a lie.

***

"Where've you been, Merlin?" drawled Arthur, as soon as he caught sight of his manservant lagging over the grass to the practice area. "You're late as usual."

Merlin paused near the weapons rack, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he had hot coals in his boots. The prince stalked over and clapped him soundly on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. "Well, what is it? I asked you a question," he snapped irritably. Behind him, his knights snickered.

The warlock grit his teeth; though the prince was markedly nicer behind closed doors, in front of anybody else he was still a royal prat. "I was, err, busy with lunch with...myself and one of the maids." At his words, Arthur's expression turned decidedly menacing.

"I hope you weren't being untoward," he growled ominously, his eyes flitting to take in his manservant's generally rumpled state. "There would be severe repurcussions for such an offense."

Before Merlin could answer, one of the knights - Sir Gowain - piped up unhelpfully. "Merlin with of the maids? That's a laughable thought, m'lord." Some of the knights chuckled along with him, but hushed instantly when they saw the prince bristle and turn quickly in their direction.

"Whoever wishes to join Sir Gowain in two laps around the practice field - full armor - may speak now."

Unsurprisingly, the knights were silent. Sir Gowain, barely managing to school his outraged look into a more respectful expression, began to clunk around the perimeter of the field after shooting off a forced, "Yes m'lord."

Arthur turned back to Merlin and raised a brow as if to say, "Well?"

"No of course not sire," hissed the warlock, feeling as if he should defend his dignity just a bit. "Nothing untoward happened." It was of course, not exactly a lie as he hadn't done anything "untoward" with a maid. Just Brom, if one really good kiss could be considered improper, of course. Which, he figured, it likely was.

"Good," said Arthur with a smirk, "though I do enjoy a good oppurtunity to punish you." His eyes grew fond and distant as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. "You haven't been in the stocks lately," he mused with a sudden grin. "I think it might be good for you to visit them again, lest you forget how warm and welcoming they are." Now the knights laughed along with their prince, who patted Merlin on the shoulder and began to turn away.

"Wait, sire," said the manservant, reaching out to lay his fingers lightly upon Arthur's arm. The blonde turned back to him with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked sharply, and in a tone that warned that there were eyes and ears all around them.

Merlin took a quick, deep breath, and laid it all out on the table in one hushed sentence. "Is it true that I'm the 'prize' in this bet that you have with Brom?" He could feel the stillness that settled over the practice field, as knights held their collective breaths and pretended to not be listening.

Arthur frowned at the casual use of Brom's name on his manservant's lips, though he refrained from commenting on it. Merlin's face was far too serious for his liking; it was far too pleading.

He glanced away, uncomfortable, and then, with a single word, crumpled Merlin's world around him like a piece of paper in his fist.

"Yes."

(To be continued..)