Part 2

The news of Arthur Pendragon's arrest makes way around pretty quickly, though Merlin had already known it was coming. Some of the other residents, even some of his clients, asked if he'd known. What did the Pendragon heir say? Was he scared? Did he give you any details? Where you surprised when the police came to arrest him? Even if he can't answer any of the questions, it's stupidly obvious that the last one is only a rumour. There's no way the police could have come here to make an arrest.

If there's anything that does surprise Merlin, it's what Arthur has been arrested for.

He had curiously asked if Arthur had killed before, which had never really been answered, but Merlin hadn't doubted his own assumptions, unconsciously tracing imaginary thick lines along his neck.

Four counts of murder, along with an almost petty addition of loitering. Four people dead, in what's believed to be a Syndicate territory dispute, and evidence that places Arthur at the crime, committing the deed.

Merlin feels the weight of the gun in his hands again, a finger tense against the trigger. What he'd really wanted to ask Arthur is: what is it like when someone dies by your hands? He trembles thinking about it, and he can't imagine Arthur scared like he felt.

When had working for his father begun for Arthur? Over the months of the trial hearing Merlin imagines the possibilities, placing Arthur in the stories Syndicate clients would blab to him: stories of making deals, going to meetings, threating the competition, and dealing with underlings in an always self-congratulatory fashion—with Uther's most loyal subordinates handing down underworld justice, like a soldier following his duties.

He thinks about who Arthur is, which always leads him to thinking about who his father could have been. What had his father done working for Uther Pendragon? And how close to the organization had his father been to bring that sort of wrath upon him and his relations?

Honestly, the thought of his father as a member of the Pendragon Syndicate doesn't bother him, nor does his mother being a prostitute like him. It makes him feel warm—not warm exactly, but he doesn't feel so low when recalling the insults he'd received from some of the foster homes he'd been placed into, before he ran away. His mother had been like him. And if Balinor was his father, and had worked for Pendragon, then it makes his hands twitch a lot less.

On the third month since Arthur's last appointment, Merlin notices that of all of his regulars, Tauren is the most enthusiastic about the news of Arthur Pendragon's worsening situation with the law. He's vaguely aware of Tauren's feud with the Pendragons, and either Tauren doesn't know that Arthur is one of his clients, or it's not important enough for him to break off the sexual companionship.

Currently, his legs are tightly wrapped around Tauren's waist, holding on as his client roughly rocks, grunting every so often. Merlin doesn't know what his client's thinking, but it's not him. At least the smile on his face says he's greatly pleased. Even after finding out that he's overstayed his appointment time and has to pay the fine, he still leaves with a smile. Once the door closes, Merlin moves to take a quick shower and change to new clothes and fresh bed sheets. He has an hour before his last client of the day arrives, but a knock on the door stops his preparations.

Merlin sighs, scanning the room, looking for anything that might have been left behind. He sees Turien's cufflink on the floor beside the bed and picks it up.

"You forgot—," he says, as the door opens, only to have his voice stick in his throat as he sees the man who comes through. "Arthur?"

It's like the Syndicate heir has risen from the dead, sweeping past him as though nothing had happened in the past months.

"Don't be too happy, Merlin."

"You're free."

Arthur snorts. "I was never devoid of freedom to begin with."

Merlin quickly closes the door and trails after Arthur, who goes to lie back against the sofa. "I thought you said they had evidence," Merlin says, miffed by Arthur's attitude.

"Clean as a whistle now." He motions for Merlin to sit beside him.

"I have another client in an hour."

"You can spend a little bit of time with me."

"I have things I need to do," he huffs.

Arthur ignores him, motioning again for Merlin to come.

When Merlin takes his seat, he places a bit of space between them, thinking about Arthur's arrest. If Arthur notices, he doesn't comment.

"Who's this other client?" He asks, stretching his legs out under the table.

"A regular." Merlin keeps it vague, looking at Arthur inquisitively. "Why are you here?"

"I told you the evidence wouldn't stick." He's ignored again.

Merlin stares at Arthur, itching to get him to leave so he can get ready for Simmons, a wealthy business man who secretly spends time fondling him when he's not with his wife. He's one of Merlin's oldest clients—and by old, he meant age.

Suddenly, Arthur pulls him onto his lap and gives him one hell of a kiss, smoothing hands along his body, feeling the jut of bones and the definition of lean muscles.

"You smell like someone else's cologne," Arthur comments without a hint of jealousy. In fact, he sounds pleased. Merlin jerks back to scrutinize him, and sees the dirty ideas forming in Arthur's head.

"I told you, I was with another client. And another one is coming soon."

"Do I know him?"

Merlin's brows rise reproachfully. Fifteen minutes have already been wasted, and he hopes there's enough time to blow-dry his hair. "You're just here to bug me, aren't you?" He's vexed that Arthur couldn't have set up another appointment like a regular customer. Despite the trepidation of knowing that Arthur had killed four people—Merlin doesn't doubt that—it's easy to flow into their banter, something that is uniquely theirs.

"Fine, I'll go," Arthur laughs, clearly enjoying Merlin way too much, as he heads out.

The affirming realization that Arthur had simply came to bother him, makes him want to spit out a string of insults. It's the only explanation for Arthur acting like the stupid prat he is right now. Merlin wonders why he'd missed him at all, boredom aside.

Yet even in his annoyance, he has to ask, "You're going to set up an appointment?"

"Probably in a few days, I'm not a hundred percent in the clear yet."

"What happen to clean as a whistle?" Merlin asks, sounding unimpressed. Arthur's standing at the threshold, holding the door open and still keeping up his conversation with Merlin. He withholds the urge to quickly push him out.

Arthur kisses him on the cheek, and then tells him, "When I make my appointment, you'd better make it worthwhile for me."

"Whatever, your highness," he grouses, closing the door in Arthur's face. He's only got a bit more than half an hour to freshen up himself and the room. Yet, he does have to admit relief to see Arthur doing well. Merlin's only been in jail once for sexual solicitation, but the experience had made him realize he couldn't survive prison if he was ever caught again. He'd learned to stay well within the zones where he wouldn't be bothering nicer neighbourhoods.

His elation about Arthur's release almost makes him forget the possible backlash that would be coming his way. The very next day, Tauren is back, and the minute Merlin sees him, he knows this appointment is going to be a little rough.

"Fucking Pendragon," Tauren hisses, divesting him of his clothes with harsh yanks and pulls that burn against his skin.

Merlin doesn't say anything, trying to do everything in his power to calm Tauren down, but the man is too lost in his frustrations to listen to soft words or touches. "Shh," Merlin whispers in his ear, stroking through the hairs on Tauren's chest and flitting fingers along the muscles of his abdomen. "Come to bed," he laughs with forced joy, hoping he can get Tauren to forget about the dropped charges.

"Hmm," Tauren growls in between their kisses, "you're a minx."

He tilts his head and laughs again, giving a small nip along the collarbone, before pulling his client down on top of him.

Tauren sniffs into his hair. "You don't know how good you make this feel."

"I don't?"

Tauren laughs, "Always so sweet." A hand trails down Merlin's cheek, and he tries not to frown against the hard pressure.

"You're not going to take your clothes off?" he pouts, already knowing the answer with the way Tauren is behaving. Maybe he'd even known well before, when Gwen had informed him of the appointment's sudden inclusion.

"Oh, I like it like this."

"How 'bout like this?" he asks, legs apart.

Tauren's hands pry his legs wider, running up and down his inner thighs. He hums again, looking at one particular area. "Show me."

Merlin wets his fingers, even though he doesn't need to. The fingers leave his mouth with a pop and he gets to work putting on a show, doing everything right, getting Tauren to replace his fingers with his own, and exaggerating any tingle of pleasure he feels when Tauren eases himself in.

One leg hooks over Tauren's shoulder, while the other wraps around his side and is held in place by his client's rough hands. Merlin knows he'd made an error in judgement, that Tauren doesn't want sweet, or for him to ease his frustrations away, and that anything he might try isn't going to work. His client needs it rough, inflicting exactly what he feels inside.

Merlin looks up at Tauren to give a smile, but he can tell that his client is lost in his head, and braces himself for the onslaught. His gasps can be mistaken for pleasure, as long as he keeps his face turned away. It's easier when Tauren flips him onto his stomach, pressing him flat down on the mattress. He grits his teeth, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as Tauren pounds away. A sudden sharp pain tells him there's a tear and Merlin has to gasp from the feeling of it. He hasn't been torn like this in a long time, not since working the streets. Maybe he's gotten a little soft, because the prickling of tears form at the corner of his eyes. He's happy when Tauren is finally done.

"Shit!" he hears Tauren frantically whisper, probably seeing the blood on the condom and sheets. "Son of a bitch!"

Opting to lie still, Merlin lets his client rage further. Usually there are penalties that would be instilled, restrictions to access the residents, but Tauren could probably give a nice payoff, knowing how Cedric works.

Tauren tilts Merlin's head so he can look at him and Merlin hopes there are no tear tracks on his face. "Fuck!" his client yells angrily, not liking what he sees, and straightens his clothes before bolting out the door.

It's a few minutes later before Cedric comes in giving his own string of swears. Merlin frowns, not really understanding. From experience he knows this isn't too bad, but it might look worse than it actually is.

"It's fine Cedric," Merlin says, "it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" his boss says in disbelief. "Do you know how many cancellations there's going to be? God damn Tauren! I'm going to have the doctor have a look at you." Cedric leaves, slamming the door, and probably causing too much of a disturbance stomping through the halls.

Merlin winces as he moves his legs, trying to shift himself fully on the bed so his feet aren't hanging off. 'It's really not that bad,' Merlin thinks, 'I've had worse.' It's not a lie, but it's been a long time since he's had to endure this sort of pain.

The commotion returns with Cedric ushering in the Avalon's doctor. In the end, Merlin's given a few weeks off, which makes Cedric even angrier, calling Gwen to cancel or try to get clients to reschedule all his appointments. He knows Tauren has enough money to appease Cedric, though his mood will be worse. None of his regulars would be happy either, and he'll have his work cut out for him after his recovery. At least he has time to figure out how to soothe each of them.

He should have known Arthur wouldn't be patient enough to wait, especially when he doesn't have to. He's terrified waking up, knowing someone else is in the room with him. Merlin wonders if he has enough time run to the door, before remembering he isn't even able to get out that way. The pain in his arse would be troublesome as well. Maybe he can throw something at the intruder and knock him unconscious.

"Calm down."

His fear abates upon recognition of the voice, but he doesn't calm. "What the hell are you doing here?" He bolts from bed ignoring the pain, too annoyed that a client would dare break and enter his room.

"Wondering why the Avalon's dispatcher called me to reschedule my appointment with you."

Arthur's suit jacket is folded and lying against the back of his sofa. There's a steaming cup of tea in his hand, a silver tray on his coffee table with the teapot, milk, and sugar, which means someone had to have delivered it up to his room.

Merlin lies back down, pulling the covers over his head as though he's trying to fall asleep. "Go away."

"Why should I?"

He says nothing, choosing to stay silent. It won't be that easy. The bed dips when Arthur sits beside him, and even with the blanket over him, Merlin can feel Arthur's presence. The thin blanket is lifted up and over his legs, leaving him bare from the waist down. Merlin doesn't move as Arthur investigates, hands pressing unconcernedly to bruises. The higher the touches go, the more wound up Merlin feels. He's sure Arthur feels it too.

A finger probes him, spreading the cream the doctor instructed him to administer along the passage. Merlin hisses when Arthur finds the tear.

"Who did this?"

He huffs, having no intention of telling Arthur about a client working for a rival syndicate. "The client just got a little rough."

"Rough enough to cancel my appointment."

Merlin throws off his blanket, rolling away from Arthur. "You're not the only person who's scheduled with me." There's a twitch of a frown on Arthur face, making Merlin realize his mistake in mentioning his other clients. They stay silent, neither giving in to the other, until Merlin lies back down and turns away from Arthur.

He hears Arthur sigh, probably rolling his eyes at him. The rustle of fabric tells him what Arthur's doing before the blanket is gently placed over his body again. "I'll see you in a few weeks," Arthur says in his ears, then pulls the blanket fully over his head.

As the doctor had said, it takes him those few weeks to fully heal and be able to work again, and the sudden onslaught of clients calling in for appointments reminds Merlin how annoying injuries can be. He'd forgotten that as many times he'll have to kiss and make-up with his clients, he'll get coddled in return. His only regular female client proceeds to treat him like a long-lost pet, and he's probably much too happy to have that session end.

Silently, he finds himself counting down the days to his appointment with Arthur, because he knows the man won't attempt to smother him with 'love' and 'care.' At the same time, he almost dreads it. The questions have crossed his mind: how much pull does Arthur have within his father's business? How easy would it be for the Pendragon heir to find the name of his last client? How easy it is for someone to get away with murder?

As Merlin kisses Arthur, both of them eager to get reacquainted with the rhythm between their bodies, the hands sliding down his back begin to make him nervous. He pulls away smiling at Arthur, knowing it won't fool him, but needing to create space between them. Thankfully all he receives is a raised brow.

"How's your week been?" Arthur asks, with an undertone that gives him away. "Receive any get well cards from your other clients?"

"Cute," he monotonously replies.

Arthur simply gives a "hmm," which seems bundled with different sorts of meanings. The Syndicate heir looks at him contemplatively, as though he's searching for injuries Merlin hasn't revealed. There's something forming beneath that content face, peering out within Arthur's eyes, and instincts tell him to quickly veer his client's thoughts from whatever he's planning.

"Come to bed." Merlin pulls on Arthur's hand, taking the lead.

"Are you trying to distract me?"

Merlin bats away the grip of fear that tightens at his lungs, hearing the subtle rage in Arthur's voice at his unwelcomed seduction. "Yes," he replies frankly.

Arthur huffs. "I enjoy your honesty."

"Lies," Merlin whispers in Arthur's ears, before yanking them onto his bed. The bed can't hold their sudden weight and they bounce, but he holds onto Arthur tightly so they don't separate and quickly begins to divest him of his clothes.

"You're going to ask how I want it?"

Merlin kisses Arthur to shut him up, and his client obliges, holding his face in his hands, one thumb caressing his cheek as the other follows the rim of an ear. Shortly after, Merlin's clothes are coming off as they break from the kissing. He feels like he's being worshipped, as tongue and teeth make trails over his body.

"Stop," he pleads, finding every nip to be a spark on a shortening fuse.

"Why?"

Merlin whines.

"I bet none of your other clients do this for you."

He's sure his heart pauses, because he knows what Arthur's trying to do. Don't talk about clients, Merlin repeats like a mantra. "It's embarrassing," is the first reason that comes to mind, and he knows Arthur won't believe it.

"I doubt it," Arthur responds, looking as though he can read Merlin's thoughts.

The idea terrifies him, being read so well. It should be the other way around. Merlin nudges at Arthur to continue the action, hoping to distract him from the information he seeks with an inkling of futility. And as Arthur begins to touch and kiss again, Merlin concentrates on the give and take, trading a skimming of lips across his collarbone with a nibble on Arthur's earlobe. It takes a good while before he notices that Arthur doesn't make an attempt to enter him, contenting himself with the rocking against Merlin's thigh.

He makes the annoying realization that he's being treated like a fragile doll, and the comparison makes him wince, the thought much too close to another regular's preferences.

Arthur is being exceedingly gentle, and Merlin wants to bite him in retaliation, hopefully to bring them back to a comfortable point of banter. He lets Arthur continue as he wants, all the way up to a blanket of white-haze covering his mind and eyes, then slowly descending with Arthur from their climax. The pleasure is intense; more than he'd thought it could be with just the touch of hands.

"You know these sheets almost match the colour of your eyes."

They are catching their breath when Arthur suddenly says that nonsense, and Merlin looks at Arthur like he's lost his mind. "That could almost pass for poetic."

"Does Tauren wax poetic verses to you? What did he have to say about your injuries?" Merlin never doubts Arthur's tenacity, like a rabid dog with a bone.

"Couldn't say." He turns away, putting his back to Arthur. That doesn't dissuade him in the slightest, as he rolls along with Merlin and traps him under his weight and arms. He struggles without much effort, not wanting to give away his worry. "Maybe you know more than me."

"Maybe I do." Arthur continues to scrutinize him, and Merlin feels that anything he does, from a blink of an eye to a twitch of lip, will give answers to Arthur's questions.

"Why do you bother?"

"You're an employee of my father's business. I should worry about my investments."

"Is that what you're doing here with me?"

"Apparently I technically shouldn't. But, if a high-ranking member from another Syndicate can, I don't see why I can't find out what all the fuss is about."

"Sounds like you already know a lot." At the back of his mind Gaius's warning rings, and something inside him cowers in fear at the idea of the Pendragon Syndicate's boss knowing about him.

"People say I should listen more to other's opinions." Merlin curses himself, knowing it's something he'd probably said during one of their lengthy banters. "So Merlin," Arthur continues, "what does Tauren like?"

"You want to know how other people fuck me?"

"If that's what you're comfortable with." Arthur releases him, moving to lie back with his hands resting under his head. "Either way, as your client, you have to please me."

Arthur's giving him a way out, as bent out of shape as it is to be aligning it with the number of rules and etiquette that the Avalon and common sense have. It surprises him more that he's seriously contemplating it. His relation with Arthur is already verging upon a line he feels he may have jumped across long ago.

Hedging, Merlin says, "You don't have to worry about Tauren."

"He hasn't been banned."

"He's still getting punished."

"I hardly consider a fine a punishment."

Merlin shrugs. There's nothing he can say against that. "I've had worse." At the look Arthur gives him, Merlin quickly adds, "Not here. The most that happens here are the usual kinks, some weird ones. Everyone's a little rough at times." He gives Arthur a pointed look, which he takes offence to.

"I didn't injure you—"

"I don't know, those bruises could be considered—"

"You know what I mean." Arthur cuffs him with a pillow, which leaves Merlin frozen in bafflement. Arthur doesn't give him time to respond, prodding him. "So are there certain things each one likes?"

"You just hit me with a pillow!"

"I highly doubt it'll bruise."

Merlin glares at Arthur, tempted to keep the pillow under his head out of reach. "You seriously want me to talk about what I do with other clients?" he grumbles.

Arthur's smile is razor sharp. "Think of it like a kink. For example," Arthur looks at the faint rope marks on his wrist and ankles, "someone obviously likes to tie you up."

Of all the possible responses, Merlin blushes. He drops a name, hoping Arthur will focus on that instead. "Valiant."

"Figures."

His blush is replaced by curiosity. "You know him?"

"If they have any affiliations with Syndicate activities then yeah, probably. Though, if they know of this place, they'll have affiliations." Arthur brings Merlin wrist closer to his eyes. "Let me guess what Valiant's like?"

From his tone of voice, Merlin knows that this will become a game between them, and he has to admit an eagerness to play with Arthur's competitive nature. He describes what Valiant likes to do, and he spends the next while tied to the bed in a similar fashion, Arthur successfully showing Merlin how much better it could feel.

It's almost tantamount to an addiction. He reveals bits of information about his clients and their kinks, and in return learns about their lives outside of his room and receives Arthur's explicit attention.

He talks about Simmons's odd occasional request for him to act like a purring kitten, fawning attention over the closeted old man. When Arthur talks about his client, Merlin can't imagine Simmons as a large business mogul, married to a shrewd, bitter wife. He also can't imagine the sweet and kind Freya as a mafia princess, quite capable with a gun.

Merlin avoids broaching the subject of Tauren, who has only now been allowed to schedule appointments with him again, though there's been a shift in how he treats him. Merlin knows it's not from guilt. It looks as though Tauren is planning something every time he thinks Merlin's not looking, and he fears he has an idea what it is.

So when Tauren asks about Arthur, Merlin tilts his head to the side and asks, "Who?"

"I heard Arthur Pendragon is a client of yours."

Merlin's not sure how good of a liar he is, but Tauren sounds much too sure of his facts. He crawls into Tauren's lap, wrapping his arms around his client's neck. "You really want to talk about someone else?"

"So he is."

"Do you want him to be my client?" Merlin laughs, cuddling into Tauren's arms. "Show me how much better you are than Mr. Pendragon." He punctuates it with a gentle rocking of his hips. It gets Tauren's attention, allowing Merlin to breathe easy, having successfully diverted his client's attention for a short amount of time.

It won't last, because Tauren's rivalry with the Pendragon Syndicate is a constant topic that comes up at almost every appointment. He's obsessed with bringing them down, and Merlin has to be careful. It's bad enough that Arthur knows about Tauren.

They could kill each other.

What am I doing, Merlin asks himself, saying goodbye to Tauren at the end of another session, another awkward attempt to pass off his questions about the Pendragon heir. At least Arthur had stopped asking about Tauren after a length of time since the incident. Still, there's a thickening panic whenever their appointments come too close after each other.

Sometimes he believes his association with Arthur is going to end in disaster, every rumour like a cautionary tale of a dangerous man following in the footsteps of his father. He's only heard stories about Uther Pendragon, but Merlin had seen the ruthlessness beneath Arthur's cold handsome exterior on their first appointment. Despite that, he's gone beyond his role as the Avalon's resident, and his strange attachment to Arthur is hard to define. Gaius's visit a few months back hadn't helped, adding his warning to the list of things he has to ponder and worry over. Like his family: a mother he could barely remember, and a father that might not even be related.

Thoughts of a potential fallout begin to scare him, and he doesn't realize it's affecting him until Arthur pulls back from a make-out session with a glare.

"Something displeasing you Merlin?"

"Nothing," he says, adding a sweet smile. It's not even a second later before Merlin knows it had been the wrong thing to do.

Arthur glares even more. "Am I boring you?"

"No." It's probably the most polite 'no' he's ever given Arthur, even when he'd been trying to dutifully fulfill his role without knowing what Arthur had wanted. The air between them goes stale and dead. Merlin must look like prey frozen beneath a predator's gaze. He's falling back on familiar patterns, all the wrong things to do and say. This isn't who he is but though he's revelled in the freedom, there's a whisper in his mind that getting closer to Arthur might not be for the best.

Without a word, Arthur gets off the couch and fiddles with his phone, a fuming aura behind him as he punches the keys.

The Avalon's training dictates that Merlin should comfort him, but he usually throws a sarcastic quip at Arthur to try and mollify him. He's too conflicted to do anything now, and too nervous to move.

"Would you like a drink?" he offers. The hands on the mobile tighten.

"Would you like some food?" He tries, and the phone is quickly dropped to the floor as Arthur rushes him.

Arthur's definitely angry, but not as furious when Merlin had hid his gun. He can tell, because this time Arthur wears his emotions on his face. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" He's surprised by the anger in his voice, but he doesn't appreciate being tackled on the couch like the street dealers selling on Syndicate boundaries. Once it's out, the rest seems to easily flow, all the nervous energy releasing into shouts.

If Arthur is shocked by Merlin's display, he keeps it hidden or truly doesn't care. Instead, a fire lights in his eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I know!"

"Then what's with the sweet act?"

"I don't know!"

They're breathing as though they've run a marathon, and both realize the need to step away from each other in order to talk rationally. Arthur takes a seat at Merlin's bed, waiting for him to speak first.

Merlin snorts at that, seeing how Arthur has to dictate who is the first to talk. Yet truthfully, Merlin wants to start first. There are a number of things he can begin with, and most he feels he can't say. So he begins with the one question that presses to be asked again. "You've killed people, right?"

The look Arthur gives him is familiar. The complete wonderment that Merlin can say something he finds completely inane. "Didn't you already ask that?"

"Yeah," Merlin shrugs, "I'm asking again."

"What's the point of it?"

"What was it like?" His palms sweat, and his heart pounds.

Arthur takes careful stock of him, as though Merlin's reason could be written on his face. "Is that really what you want to ask?"

His chest begins to feel tight. "I need to go to the bathroom." Merlin always says that when he needs a breather with a client, but he's never needed to use it on Arthur before. He doesn't bother waiting for with Arthur's response to the abrupt cut in the conversation, though later he'll realize Arthur actually didn't say a word.

Merlin doesn't think he ever reacted like this to a client, feeling as though he's stumbling once the bathroom door is closed, quickly turning on the tap to splash cold water on his face. That wasn't what he'd wanted to ask.

Or maybe it was.

Merlin looks at his drenched face. While he doesn't look tired, he can feel a haggardness masking his skin, feeling heavy and thick. It doesn't clog his lungs or throat, but the weight that spreads down to his shoulders is uncomfortable to bear.

He tries to wipe the feeling away, rubbing at his face and neck, uncaring of how his shirt collects the water.

What does he really want from Arthur? The worst part about the question is that he's expecting Pendragon to have the answers, because surely he is the best person to ask. That's what Merlin feels, even if he doesn't want to know what the instinct is behind it.

Maybe he's getting too close?

The weight finally leaves to his relief, though he'll need a new shirt. It probably won't be very necessary.

"What is this?" he hears, after exiting the bathroom.

Merlin looks around the room, Arthur nowhere in sight. There's a light coming from his closet and he heads towards it, ready to chastise Arthur for looking through his things. Yet when he sees what Arthur is holding, he panics. "Don't."

The red satin robe Arthur inspects looks smooth and sleek under the closet's light. "This from a boyfriend," Arthur jokes, his fingers smooth along the black accent trimmings and the faded floral patterns painted on the robe long ago.

Merlin rushes to take it out of Arthur hands, walking away to find a suitable hiding place. He folds it gently and places it in the drawer of the nightstand.

"It must be really important."

It's the first time Arthur has ever displayed jealousy. Even when Merlin's spoken of other client's preferences, that dark look has never crossed his face. He can only roll his eyes. "It's for another client."

"You had no problem telling me about the others."

"Edwin's different." At Arthur's inquiring look, Merlin adds, "Not like that." His mouth gapes open and closes, trying to find a way to describe his most unusual client. Gesturing to the robe inside the nightstand, he says, "Edwin's tastes are…unique."

"You mean weird." Arthur gently pushes him aside and pulls out the robe. He holds it out, inspecting it once again. "What does he do?"

Merlin shuffles where he stands, uneager to talk about Edwin's preferences, or the man himself.

"Does he make you wear this?"

"What else would I do with a robe," Merlin chastises.

"So what is it that he does that's making you act so weird?" Arthur turns around and holds the robe up against Merlin, imagining the way it will look.

His shuffling increases. "It's weird."

"Weirder than making you purr like a kitten, or pretending you're their wife."

Not really. At least Merlin doesn't think so. But with Edwin, his preferences seem intimately attached to whatever illusion the man has. For this client, it almost appears as a need.

"It's too private."

"Any fantasy is private, Merlin."

He finds he can't scrape up an argument against that. "Well…" he tries anyway, hoping the words will leap from his mouth on their own. But Merlin has been breaking the privacy rule for four months with Arthur, and Edwin's preferences are no stranger than the others.

"He likes dolls," Merlin starts, feeling unease bubble in the pit of his stomach. "So I wear that to make the image."

Arthur frowns at the robe before holding it up against Merlin again, stretching it from shoulder to shoulder to properly see how it might look.

Merlin huffs at Arthur, and grabs the robe from him. With deft efficiency, he quickly divests himself of his clothing so the only attire he's wearing is the robe. It's cold against his skin.

"And this makes you look like a doll."

"There's more to it," Merlin explains, seeing Arthur's doubt, "like make-up to pale my skin."

"You're already pale as it is," Arthur comments, a habitual insult he throws at him. "What exactly does he do? Offer you tea?"

"I don't do anything," he says with a shrug.

"You dress up and you do absolutely nothing."

Merlin shrugs again. He never understood the fantasy but it pleased Edwin, which works well for him.

"So you're basically a sex doll…a very dressed up, expensive sex doll." Arthur looks at him with interest, and Merlin quickly sets to crushing his idea. If Edwin finds out—Merlin doesn't know why, but there's something about Edwin that always made him follow his client's instructions to the tee.

"Act like a doll. Don't make a sound; don't move; try not to breathe too deeply. Lie there and I'll do what I want," he remembers Edwin saying melodically, too focused on how the ensemble looked to notice the surprise Merlin had failed to hide.

Edwin is Merlin's easiest client in comparison, though the act of sex is hard when you're not allowed to move or breathe.

He explains this to Arthur, who still reaches out to him. "No." He takes a step away, working to untie the robe until Arthur wraps an arm around to still his hands.

"Why not? I'm curious."

Arthur doesn't sound miffed, only amused.

"Edwin's different," he struggles for the next thing to say. "He takes this seriously."

"Fantasies are a game. How does he take this seriously?"

Merlin can't answer when he doesn't know how to explain it to himself, but he does realize that Arthur isn't thinking about Merlin's behaviour earlier, and he'll take whatever he can get to keep Arthur distracted. He can feel himself physically deflate from trying to argue.

"I want to see what it's like." Arthur slips a hand under the robe, scratching the trail of pubic hair to the base of his flaccid member.

His breath hitches and he works to stay still in defiance, rather than follow the rules of the fantasy. "I doubt you'll find it arousing."

Merlin gasps as Arthur lifts him up in his arms bridal style, the satin material easily letting the warmth of Arthur's body connect to his own. Arthur eagerly places Merlin onto the bed and straddles him. "Just lie there and try not to make a sound," he whispers, adding a wink.

Merlin snorts at that, and receives a pinch. "Ow," Merlin exclaims, indignant about the unnecessary punishment.

"Shut up, will you?" Arthur's chuckling as he says it, eyes bright with mirth.

He lies back down and purposely looks bored at Arthur, who's still laughing as he unties the robes and reveals his body underneath. The laughter is infectious though, and soon neither of them can stifle it. Arthur drops down on his stomach beside him, laughing into his ear. When their mirth dies down, a kiss is placed on his mouth, and he can see the affection in Arthur's eyes.

It causes elation and fear.

Arthur sits back up, continuing where he'd left off, caressing Merlin's pale skin lovingly. Merlin doesn't move, but not because of the fantasy. The adoring worship of each kiss is fascinating, and he wants to remember as though he'll forget. He doesn't want to break the moment by talking. He's even afraid his own breathing could disrupt this.

Eventually, Arthur's head goes lower past his member, moving his legs so he has room to work. The hot breath warms the skin and a wet tongue makes its way along his most intimate of places. Merlin works on keeping his breathing calm, his chest rising to the highest point before deflating back down. Arthur's wet tongue makes circles around, dipping in ever so slightly.

He's forgotten that he's still wearing the robe, and he wants to take it off otherwise it might get dirty. Edwin always made sure it didn't. But too soon, Arthur's tongue breaches him.

Merlin looks down at Arthur, where his ministrations are enough to make him dizzy. He knows to stay quiet, regardless of what Arthur says, and doesn't make a sound when Arthur pulls back, wiping his mouth with his arm.

He takes stock of Merlin, quietly panting, limbs loose. He reaches down to cup him and move his fingers along the soft skin, carefully watching Merlin. For the next while he doesn't do anything else.

Each little pleasure that it gives add to a filling pressure. The muscles of his groin quake and twitch. He's so lost that he doesn't even realize that Arthur had stepped away to get a condom, until Merlin can feel Arthur's full length. A sigh escapes him. He hadn't even been trying to stay still, but he doesn't move to rock his hips or pump his arousal.

Arthur rocks at a moderate pace, in no rush to completion and with no desire to tease. Merlin legs are hiked up so they're resting upon Arthur's shoulder, and every so often Arthur places a kiss to his leg. The best way Merlin can describe it is comfortable, despite the slowly increasing need to come.

As he thinks that, Arthur shivers. He arches his back as he reaches climax. Merlin looks at Arthur, silently pleading for him to bring him off. Arthur smiles at him before bending down to take Merlin into his mouth.

The yelp Merlin gives from the sudden sensation shatters the silence. He whimpers as the hot warmth of Arthur's mouth encases him. It doesn't take very long to reach his climax, struggling with the hands that hold down his hips.

Arthur runs fingertips along his skin as Merlin tries to collect himself. He looks down at Arthur, and instantly sits up, noticing the come on the front of the robe. "Shit, Arthur!"

"What?" There's a moment of panic before he realizes what Merlin's shouting about. "It's only a little bit of spunk."

"Only?"

"I wasn't aware he was so important. Does he visit often?"

"About every month. Always on the same day." Merlin rubs at the come, but only manages to smear the wet spot. "Shit!"

"Just wash it off."

"That's not—Edwin's a regular, he'll notice if there's something wrong with the robe." Merlin rushes to the bathroom, hoping to remove the come from the satin material.

"You're being absolutely paranoid. Why do I bother with you?"

"If you'd rather not, maybe you should just listen to your father and not sample the products," Merlin shouts from the bathroom.

Arthur rolls his eyes at Merlin.

But strangely enough, Arthur schedules even less time with him in the following weeks, and he shouldn't be feeling disappointed, but it does crush him a bit. That revelation truly annoys him. He can't have gotten so attached to Arthur that he truly depends upon the Syndicate heir's companionship. Add in the details that he's a prostitute in a Pendragon establishment and that Arthur's father wants his family dead, and it turns into a bad joke.

"Is something going on?"

Arthur's head is somewhere else. For the past two hours they had done nothing but eat and drink while Arthur worked from his phone. "What?" He absentmindedly looks over at Merlin before registering the question. "I just received some information and I have to look into it."

He goes back to working on his phone and Merlin wonders if he'll get caught if he tries to sneak a peek. He tries, but ends up catching Arthur's attention, getting eyed with suspicion.

At least, he thinks its suspicion. Merlin knows something is wrong, like it had been when Arthur had been using his room as a hideout before the murder trial. Yet with Arthur looking his way like that, he's beginning to feel he's involved somehow and not in a good way.

It isn't until Arthur cancels an appointment that his doubt starts to take hold. He'd gotten used to being stuck in this room, but now what had become a home is a trap again. Merlin continuously tells himself the stupidity of his thoughts, because there's no way Arthur would subtly make his way around a problem. His client had always met things head-on. He even went to his murder trial with perfect ease—or so Merlin's heard, though he can believe it.

"Been busy with your father ordering you around?" Merlin jokes as Arthur walks in. He's no longer bothering to wait at the door like he should with clients, but is instead in the bathroom trying to wash blood from a shirt the previous client had ruined with a sudden nosebleed.

Merlin doesn't get an answer in reply, and he sticks his head out to see Arthur examining the wet bar, running his hands beneath the edge of the top with careful consideration.

"What are you doing?"

Arthur doesn't turn around when he says, "This is good workmanship."

Merlin knows Arthur's excuse is absolute bullshit. He pretends to sleep after sex, hoping to catch Arthur at it again. Merlin slows his breathing, loosening muscles, despite the tension he feels. He catches Arthur getting up and rifling through his closet, which turns his doubt to fear. He sniffles, slowly 'waking up' from a nap.

"Seems I wore you out." Quicker than he can blink, Arthur's by his side in a snap with a smirk. Merlin hadn't even heard him move.

"Hmm, well I was hoping to wake up to something better."

Arthur kisses him, but suspicion roars like a bonfire.

Whenever Merlin needs comfort he pulls out his mother's pendant. He can imagine the warmth of her holding him, and doesn't care if he's just making it up. But after Arthur leaves, even with no other clients to contend to, he's too paranoid to pull the pendant out.

He so worried he almost forgets to double check the robe before Edwin's appointment the next day. He arrives as punctually as ever. At times, Merlin's tempted to borrow a client's watch to see if he's even on time by the second. But instead Merlin's always lying dutifully on the bed, robe wrapped around him, skin pale, waiting for Edwin to play with his favourite doll.

He hears the quiet padding of Edwin moving about at the door before he closes it, but doesn't react to any of it, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Soon the bed dips and Edwin's face comes into view smiling serenely at him. A hand cups his cheek before leaning down to Merlin's unresponsive lips.

Edwin groans his satisfaction.

Merlin notices Edwin is being especially slow today, opening the robe, trailing his hand down his skin, then drawing it over his body, smoothing down the fabric so it lays perfectly against Merlin like a display. Despite the pace, it's Edwin's usual routine before he undresses and begins methodically wetting Merlin's entrance, positioning his knees up with his feet on the bed.

Every so often Edwin whispers, "Beautiful." Merlin can feel his client watching him, so he makes extra care not to move. He even tries not to blink. Thankfully, there isn't a mark on the robe from when he shouldn't have slept with Arthur in it, and it's been ironed of all its creases. The crinkle of the condom wrapper brings him back to the moment, as Edwin rolls it on himself, breathless in anticipation.

The first thrust in is always the loudest, as though the sensation is pure rapture for Edwin. "Why are you so beautiful?" Edwin says, one hand cupping his face gently, while the other positions his hips to the correct angle.

"So gorgeous." The litany of compliments continues, as Edwin drives forward. Merlin's numb to it, used to the very strict routine Edwin follows. Except he's noticing slight changes, like the increasing strength of Edwin's hold. It's nowhere near painful, not even rough, but he's wondering if he should do something even though he's not supposed to move.

"You were perfect." The words are a turmoil of grief and anger.

Merlin looks down at Edwin, finding his client wreathed with hate. Their eyes meet and Edwin's hand shoots out to grind Merlin's shoulder to the bed.

"Get off!" Merlin says in a hurried whisper, the feeling much too familiar.

"Why did you let him?" Edwin asks him tonelessly, like he's always expected this.

There's the sensation of fingers stretching up to his neck and something grows inside of Merlin's chest, trying to tear out his throat.

It sticks when Merlin looks back at Edwin, somehow seeing two people on top of him. Suddenly, he realizes the reason he can't scream is because there's a hand on his throat. One of Edwin's hands is still holding his hips down while he continues moving. And it's not his imagination that the member inside him stiffens, or that there is elation in Edwin's eyes.

There's a shriek in Merlin's head as his throat is squeezed tighter. He tries to scramble away but he can't get free. Merlin looks around him and spots the lamp on the nightstand. It's the only thing within reach and his hand shoots out to grab it. The lamp fumbles in his grasp and he's too slow. When Merlin whips his arm around to smash Edwin with the lamp, his client is quick to bring up an arm to protect his head. It bounces off to the side out of reach and Edwin becomes furious at Merlin.

Two hands clamp down on his throat. Edwin is still hard inside him. Tears form at the corner of his eyes as Merlin tries to pull in breath. His legs kick out from beneath Edwin's weight, and his hands try to smack and scratch the arms pressing him down. On instinct Merlin breathes out but can't suck air back in. There's a roaring in his ears as a pressure develops up in his head.

Help, he mouths to no one as his finger twitches, needing the weight in his hand that had saved him once before.

Arthur, comes up next, thinking that the one person he wants to save him would have to be the Pendragon Syndicate's executioner.

Tears are pouring down his face and the heat of blood rushing to his head makes him dizzy. The one thing Merlin wants most is to hold the pendant in his hand.

Merlin barely hears the door breaking down. Nor does he feel the hands taken away as the Avalon's security pries Edwin off of him. He's not sure if he's really breathing—the tears don't stop and his throat constricts with a weird prickle as he sobs.

The medics come in to inspect him and Merlin finally screams.

Update - Part 3 - 09/30/2012