Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2012-06-03 10:13 pm
sophinisba) wrote2012-06-03 10:13 pm
Entry tags:
Merlin fic: Enough (to scratch the surface)
Title: Enough (to scratch the surface)
Fandom: Merlin
Ships: Arthur/Gwen, background Gwaine/Merlin, mention of other ships/interests
Rating: strong R/mild NC-17?
Contains: A teensy bit of masochism and kink negativity. No actual depiction of tattooing.
Wordcount: 6183
Summary: After Merlin comes back from his time with the Druids, the queen can't stop thinking about his tattoos.
Notes: For the "tattoos/tattooing" square on my![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo card. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
flammablehat for beta and encouragement and to fitz_y for helping me sit down and write.
Link: Read it at the AO3 or
Merlin was to be gone for just over a month, and Gwen considered that the best way she could serve Camelot in that time was to keep the men who loved him in good spirits, or at least to keep them calm.
With Arthur this meant a lot of patient talking and listening. Every night she'd let him repeat his list of things that might go wrong, and then she'd quietly remind him that Merlin was a grown man with a good deal more knowledge of magic than Arthur or any of the rest of them possessed. If he had determined that going off to be initiated by the Druids was both safe for him and advantageous for Camelot, then Arthur really ought to believe him.
"Of course, because it would be completely unlike Merlin to lie to me, or to risk his own safety for my sake," Arthur groused.
"Yes, and completely unlike you to underestimate him."
She didn't tease him much, though. Teasing Arthur wasn't nearly as much fun without Merlin around. She petted him and soothed him and told him he'd made the right decision by allowing Merlin to leave. She kissed him and stroked him until he gave up on talking and kissed her back. Even worried and distracted he knew something about how to make her happy, but she was looking forward to things getting back to normal once Merlin was back.
*
Gwaine had a good deal less fear of magic than Arthur, what with not having grown up with Uther Pendragon as a father (or come of age with every other magic user in the kingdom plotting to enchant or murder him). He also had a lot more trust in Merlin's judgment. Furthermore, he'd ridden out with him to the Druid camp, where Arthur was not yet welcome, though he would be once Merlin took his oaths. Everyone there had assured Gwaine that they held Merlin in the highest honour and that no harm would come to him. At Gwaine's insistence, they had even clarified that none of their rituals would involve Merlin having sex.
"They're weird," he'd explained upon his return, "but they're no match for him."
No one expected his cheerfulness to last very long, and it didn't. This was a man who'd spent years of his life getting drunk, shagging a stranger, and starting a bar fight in a different town every night. For Merlin's sake he'd gone from cheerful vagabond to honourable knight and devoted lover in the space of a few months. The problem was, he didn't have much practice at being good without Merlin there to be his inspiration. According to Arthur, Gwaine always became the surliest of the knights when they had to go anywhere longer than a day's ride without Merlin. No one was looking forward to spending time with him over the next month, but they weren't about to leave him alone either.
"So what I think he needs, more than convincing, is some distraction," she told her brother. "Not that kind of distraction!" she added quickly, alarmed by his quick, easy smile. "Er, not that I'm assuming you would, er, I know you've grown up a lot in the last few years and it's not fair of me to –"
"It's fine, Gwen, I knew what you meant. I should never have told you about that, but it's fine. I don't even think about him that way anymore. We do spend all day together, you know. And just because we're not girls doesn't mean we don't pay attention to each others' feelings."
"No, but I thought. I mean, Arthur sometimes doesn't –"
"Well, no, sometimes he doesn't," Elyan admitted. "Though even His Majesty's noticed Gwaine's moods lately. He seems to think the solution is to push us all harder in training."
Gwen winced, but Elyan only shrugged.
"We don't mind putting in the extra work, especially if it helps Arthur. The trouble is that it doesn't help Gwaine at all."
"So…"
"So we tried taking him out drinking, Percy and Leon and me. But that didn't work out so well either. Brings back memories from before he met Merlin, I think. If he drinks a little he starts moaning about how much he hates being alone. And if he drinks a lot he starts picking fights with anyone who says a bad word about Arthur, or about changes to the knights' code, or sorcery, or women who go to bed with more than one man, or men who bugger other men… Well, picking fights. Understandable, but not the best thing for Arthur's reputation."
"Right."
"So I thought, blacksmithing, right? I shouldn't be the only one who knows his way around the forge."
"You're not," Gwen reminded him.
"Right, I mean the only one of the knights."
"And does that work?"
"Too soon to tell, I think. I took him to the forge to show him what's what, but to be honest we were both so sore and tired from training we didn't feel like doing any more hammering."
"Hmph," said Gwen.
"Might try it again tomorrow, especially if Arthur lets us off early."
"Let me talk to Arthur about that."
*
That night, after the usual discussion of whether Merlin knew how to take care of himself, Gwen convinced Arthur to give the knights the day off. In the morning she told Gwaine that she had an errand to do outside the castle walls, and he and Elyan were to accompany her.
"I can see why you needed our assistance for this difficult labour," said Gwaine, after they'd been walking in an open field for perhaps an hour.
Elyan rolled his eyes and walked a few paces off, turning his back to them and scanning the horizon. Gwen crouched down by a bunch of red campion flowers and took out her knife. "We can't always be pinching flowers from passing merchants whenever we want to impress someone," she said mildly.
"I would have thought you and I were beyond that," said Gwaine, "needing to flirt with passing beauties, now that we're settled. Are they for Elyan?"
"The men I want to impress don't care about flowers, but thanks," said Elyan, and Gwen felt a pang at the look they shared, thinking perhaps, if things had gone another way, this man could have been family, but then reminding herself that he was as good as that now.
"I like being settled," she said to Gwaine, glad that he'd supplied the word, since married did not fit him as it did her. "Having an idea of my place – and being with Arthur, obviously, that's a good thing. But do you know I haven't been outside the castle walls in nearly three months?"
The men said nothing.
"It's one of the things I miss most about my old life. When I worked for Morgana I used to come out and gather flowers at least once a week, sometimes more. And I thought that if I didn't have so much washing and carrying to keep me busy, I'd be out here all the time."
"Running the castle turned out to be more of a job than you'd bargained for, eh?"
She nodded. "Yes, it takes holding a lot of names and numbers in my head, telling a lot of people what to do, negotiating who's going to listen to me because I used to be a maid, who's not going to listen to me because I used to be a maid, and who's going to listen to me because I'm the queen. There's also attending all Arthur's meetings and trying to learn everything he knows just in case I should need to take over for him, and then trying not to think too hard on what that would mean. Still, I've got time enough. Only it turns out I've also got enemies now. Or, Camelot's enemies have become mine. It gets stifling inside the castle and I miss having work that keeps my hands busy, but it would be madness for me to go out on my own – practically begging to be kidnapped. And I feel silly taking guards or knights away from their real jobs just so I can get a breath of fresh air."
"Your guards and knights don't mind getting away from the castle once in a while either," said Elyan from what he seemed to have chosen as his post. Gwaine looked up, as if it occurred to him just then that he too should be on guard.
"Forgive me," he said, taking a step back. "You came out here for privacy –"
"Don't be silly. If I'd wanted quiet I'd have asked for Percival. Would you help me with this please?"
Elyan laughed quietly while Gwaine knelt down next to her. One of the stems kept slipping from her fingers when she tried to cut it, and she showed Gwaine where to hold it in place.
"I always forget that you worked for Morgana," he said. "After that, I can't see that you'd be intimidated by any of Camelot's other enemies."
"Ohh, but that wasn't… It wasn't like you must imagine. By the time you came to Camelot things were different, but Morgana was very dear to me."
"She worked you until you were falling on your feet," said Elyan, and Gwen frowned,not wanting to go back to their old quarrels in front of Gwaine, not wanting to talk about the limitations of her new life in front of Elyan. But she knew very well she couldn't go out in the company of a single knight without giving rise to gossip.
"All the castle servants work hard," Gwen said determinedly. "But in those days none of them knew the kindness that Morgana showed me. And I would do anything I could to make her happy."
"You're good at that, at making people happy," said Gwaine, with the sideways grin that used to make her uneasy, before…well, before things were settled. She'd seen him flash that sly grin at scores of men and women by now, including her husband, her brother and herself. She knew that the quiet smile he had for Merlin was quite different.
"I try," she said.
"Merlin always says he wouldn't have lasted a week in Camelot if it hadn't been for your kindness."
"Oh, I don't know about that."
"He admits there were other factors."
Gwen smiled, the memory of her first meetings with Merlin easier on her mind than that of her relationship with Morgana. "I gave him one of these wildflowers once," she said. "Not quite like these – it was a different season – but small like this, and he wore it for me." She picked a blossom off the stem and handed it to Gwaine, who immediately set it behind his ear.
Elyan snorted and Gwaine called out, "You're just jealous," without taking his gaze off her, warm and fond. He held her hand.
"Arthur can't…" Gwen started, the words suddenly catching in her throat. "There are expectations. He's got fairly particular ideas about what royalty should look like and…I suppose he knows best. He needs to keep the respect of the court, and the people, and the other kingdoms."
"Sure," said Gwaine "And besides all that his hair's too short to look good with flowers in it anyway."
Gwen laughed. "Of course, that's really what's holding him back. It's a good thing we've got you now, Gwaine, or I'd have nothing to do with these flowers."
*
Arthur, Gwen, and Gwaine rode out to the Druid camp together. This was not especially safe or prudent, and Leon counselled against it, but of course Arthur had the final word. Both monarchs ought to be present, as they generally were for rites and feasts held at Camelot. And leaving Gwaine back at the castle would just be cruel.
The ceremony was unfamiliar but fairly simple. Arthur and Merlin each had some lines to recite but Gwen only had to say "I do" once or twice while Gwaine and most of the Druids looked on. It was rather easier than getting married, which allowed her to focus on the way Merlin looked in the moonlight. He was dressed in the Druids' long robes, but they weren't so very different from Gaius's clothes, or even some of Arthur's more formal things. What really caught – and kept – her attention were the dark marks painted on his skin. The most intricate designs were on his hands and presumably snaked up his arms as well, under the loose sleeves of the robe. But still more striking were the lines up his neck and his face, curling up over his cheeks. At moments his eyes turned from their usual bright blue to gold, and he looked blind and frighteningly beautiful, like a creature out of another world, or perhaps out of a dream.
Gwen thought of the sweet country boy who'd smiled at her while his head hung in the stocks, and again when he'd tucked her flower into his neckerchief. She thought of the friend whose mouth was hot with fever the one time they'd kissed. She marvelled that this could be the same person.
She was surprised by the urge to lean forward and kiss him again. She contained it.
She spoke her words at the appropriate time.
When the ritual called for it, she took his hands in hers. His skin still felt like Merlin's skin.
*
They slept in the camp. Well, Arthur slept, and presumably most of the Druids did. Gwaine and Merlin did their best to be quiet, and Gwen did her best not to listen, but the sounds of lovemaking carried easily between the tents.
Gwen wondered whether Gwaine would be able to see the designs on Merlin's skin, or if in the dark he would feel them with his fingers, taste them with his tongue.
Next to her, Arthur snored. And Gwen thought she'd had rather enough of soothing other people's nerves.
*
But of course she had more of it to do the next day.
"You're thin," said Arthur when they stopped for a meal and a rest on the ride home.
"He's always been thin," said Gwaine.
"I don't really care for their kind of food," said Merlin, tearing into the sweet break Gwen handed him now, "but they didn't try to stop me from eating it. I wasn't starving."
"Your hair's long," Arthur continued, "shaggy." Gwaine only raised an eyebrow at this and Merlin, whose hair was only to the middle of his neck, ignored it. "And the…those marks." Arthur gestured roughly toward Merlin's face. In the sunlight Gwen could see that the designs were a deep blue color, and not plain black as she had imagined.
"That's so anyone who sees me can know I'm part of their tribe," said Merlin.
"But they'll wash off."
"No, they started doing these the first night I was there. I've had a few washes since then!" He and Gwaine shared a laugh at that while Arthur continued to glare at him. "I think it fades a bit over the years," Merlin added, "but I can always go back and have it done again."
"They're…" Arthur trailed off, or possibly started to choke. Gwen clapped his back a few times but couldn't take her eyes off Merlin's hands and his face as he ate his lunch.
"They cut your skin," she blurted out suddenly, reaching toward him.
"Just a bit," said Merlin, allowing her to turn over his arm and run the pads of her fingers over the uneven texture. "Scratched, more like, just enough to take off the top layer of the skin, open things up before they rubbed in the woad."
"Barbarians," Arthur growled.
Merlin shrugged.
"They had sworn not to harm you!"
"Scratches, Arthur," said Gwaine. "They don't even draw blood." He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a much smaller, simpler design on his own arm.
"So you've decided to join their tribe as well!"
"Dunno. Wanted to be part of Merlin's, I guess."
"You –"
"Oh, but that's…lovely!" Gwen cut in, not so much because she needed to calm the situation as because she was genuinely moved. Gwaine was not part of any tribe, but he'd chosen to mark his own body, indelibly, as a sign of his relationship to one man. The band Gwen's finger felt like a trifle in comparison, never mind that it was solid gold. It was like words repeated in a ceremony because an old man told you to say them, not because you knew what they meant. A tradition, a formality.
"It's a small thing," said Gwaine.
"His certainly is," Merlin agreed. "And even mine hurt a lot less than being a dummy for your broadsword practice, so don't pretend you're such a great defender of my person."
"I don't even do that anymore," Arthur grumbled, and the four of them ate without speaking for a few minutes. As they were readying the horses to ride again Arthur asked, "Are you going to stay dressed like this as well?"
"Haven't decided yet," said Merlin, tugging at his horse's girth without turning to face the king.
"Now don't you get short with me. I didn't want to leave you out here with these people or go through their creepy ritual in the first place. I've left this all up to you, but, Merlin, why would you mark yourself as an enemy of Camelot?"
Merlin's face was tense and closed off, and Gwaine was crossing over to them, perhaps to give Arthur a telling off. But Gwen said, "No, Arthur. Don't you see? That was the point of all this. To change the way our people look at each other, to show that he can be a Druid and still be loyal to Camelot and to you." She put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and then, with only a little hesitation, touched his cheek. "Maybe marks like this were something to be feared once. But now that Merlin's wearing them, they can only be a good thing."
Merlin smiled at her. "I always did like you best."
Arthur snorted, disarmed, and went back to his own horse, while Gwaine cuffed Merlin on the side of the head and then kissed him on the lips.
"You never did," Gwen answered, carelessly enough, "but I always loved you anyway."
*
Life didn't quite get back to normal after that, but at least Gwen had only one man to soothe now and not two. Gwaine was back to his normal flirtatious self – Gwen supposed that was more fun for him when it provoked a bit of jealousy on Merlin's part. Arthur was back to the exhausting work of ruling a kingdom, balancing the demands of the nobles who thought he was abandoning tradition too fast with those of peasants, who apparently thought that the next step after admitting commoners to the knighthood ought to be abolishing taxes.
At least the magic users continued to support him. Or at least, none of them had chosen to attack since Merlin had gone to stay with the Druids, and there had even been some diplomatic visits. "You are not our king, and you are not our queen," said one priestess, standing strong and tranquil before their thrones. "But we recognise your authority over your people, and we shall not work against it."
"I'm supposed to be grateful for that?" Arthur would fume later. "I'm supposed to see this as an improvement, having witches in my castle that aren't actively trying to kill me?"
"Yes," said Merlin and Gwen together.
Meanwhile, Gwen was coming to understand that she had no desire to go back to normal life…even if that life was, like hers, something of a fairy tale dream come true.
The knights were all as busy as the king and his sorcerer, and she did not ask any of them to come with her to pick flowers.
She woke up early – after her years as a servant she would never lie in bed through half the morning like her husband – and supervised what needed to be done for the castle, its servants, its guests and its meals. But she spent most of her day at Arthur's side, sitting through the same meetings and speeches but seldom voicing her own opinion, except in private.
When Arthur wanted to relax he still took his knights out to hunt. Gwen tried going with them but, like Merlin, she had no taste for the sport. She might sit with her ladies or by herself, with a bit of needlework, but she was growing increasingly annoyed with that pursuit as well. The stitches were too small for her to see properly, and she kept accidentally jabbing herself through the fabric – not hard or sharp enough to wound her, just enough to irritate.
Until one evening she stopped, set the embroidery down, and set the blunt tip of the needle to the tip of her index finger. She watched the way her flesh gave to the prick without coming open. Then she pressed again with the sharp end, slowly dragging it down her finger and to the centre of her palm. It left a thin white line, but drew no blood, and she knew the mark would fade before anyone had a chance to see it. Still, she held on to the memory of the sensation, the bright line of clarity.
That night she kissed her husband's strong jaw line, his perfect lips, his flawless skin. She took his beautiful cock in her hands and guided it into her cunt as he sank down over her.
"Harder," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his and bucking against him. "By the gods, I want to feel you."
When he was pounding into her hard enough to hurt, she allowed herself to touch the scars on his chest. She remembered the night he'd first trusted her enough to let her bind his wounds.
Lying in his arms after, Gwen marvelled that she was allowed to have this. Yes, she'd grown up hearing stories about poor little girls who were whisked off their feet, saved by a prince's kiss. And yes, she'd had more than a few glimpses of her country's own prince and thought he was more handsome than any man had a right to be.
But he was also a show-off and a bully, and so far away from her life and her station that her opinion of him didn't matter in the least.
She'd never dreamed that one day he'd be hers to kiss, let alone hers to command.
But she could do whatever she wanted now, at least in the privacy of their own chambers. She could speak the filthiest words, make him touch her in the filthiest of places, and as long as they didn't leave marks for anyone else to see, no one could tell her it wasn't right. She could do anything she wanted, because he was her husband.
She let her fingers trace over his again scars as she thought about all of this, but her mind must have been wandering elsewhere too, because what came out of her mouth was, "Have you seen Merlin with his shirt off?" Arthur stared at her, and she added, in a small voice, "Since he's been back, I mean."
"No," Arthur said slowly. "I've not…he doesn't even wear shirts anymore."
"You know what I mean though," said Gwen, allowing herself to pout.
"I think I do. Funny thing, though, I suppose I could still order him to come along on the hunt..."
"You are the king after all," Gwen said reasonably.
"Yes, but it's not as easy to justify it now that he's a court sorcerer and not a manservant. There's also the part where he wears dresses, and the part where looking at his face makes my skin crawl."
Gwen sighed. For some reason whenever he talked that way about the marks on Merlin's skin, she always felt as if she'd been slapped. At the same time, thinking about Merlin himself set something stirring between her thighs. She considered the opposite impulses that had suddenly come on her – to slap him back, or to climb on top of him and sink down on his prick – and concluded it was just as well she was too tired right now to do either. "Well, I think he looks very dignified," she said, and paused. "Well, maybe 'dignified' is stretching it a bit. But he looks…powerful, and it's fitting. And nice for him that he's getting to try on a new look."
Arthur shook his head. "It's all very well for him to put on women's clothes if that's what makes him happy, but the marks are permanent. And I'm not the only one who doesn't like them. You've seen how people shrink away."
"The first time or two," she acknowledged. "Good enough to intimidate your enemies, and those of us who know him have time to get used to it. Anyway, I still think they're…beautiful, in their own way."
Arthur chuckled, took hold of her wrist and stopped her hand where she'd been starting to scratch lines on his chest with her nails. "Of course you do. And you want to see what he looks like all over, underneath."
He kissed her hand and she made a small sound and nodded, yes.
"You want to know how much they cover," he said, and let her go.
Gwen buried her face in his neck while she went on caressing his chest. It wasn't that she was ashamed. It was a normal human curiosity, and probably most of the castle, including Arthur, had been wondering what Merlin looked like under his new robes. Probably, though, most of them didn't feel the need to touch themselves when they thought about it.
"Loath as I am to disappoint my queen, I must confess that I've not had the opportunity to observe my sorcerer's nipples in the last two weeks," Arthur said, just as Gwen's fingers had reached his.
"They're probably just like before," she murmured. "They wouldn't have scratched him right there, I don't think. Though if they've got the designs all around them that probably makes them look different."
"I can ask him, if you want me to."
Gwen sat up in bed and asked, "Has Camelot ever had a court sorcerer before?"
Arthur, still flat on his back, blinked up at her in the candlelight. "There's nothing in the records," he said eventually. "From what Gaius tells me, Nimueh lived here for a time and… she and my mother were very close. She did some things that my father requested but it wasn't a, um, an official post."
Gwen nodded. "There must have been, though, going further back. Uther could have had it taken out of the record books."
"Perhaps," Arthur said, eying her warily. "What's got into you, Gwen? What's this got to do with your new barbarian fetish?"
"Merlin looks like a court sorcerer because...he is a court sorcerer. He's making it up as he goes along, and he gets it right all the time because, well! No one can say, 'Oh, a court sorcerer can't come from peasant stock. He can't wear a neckerchief. He can't have another man for a lover.' No one can say that another court sorcerer did a better job, can they? And they can't say Gwaine's failing as a – what is he, even? A knight consort to the court sorcerer? I'm fairly sure we've never had that before, meaning Gwaine's got to be the finest one that ever lived."
Arthur was sitting up, his brow furrowing fairly adorably. "Have you been hearing things, Gwen? What have they –"
"No, Arthur," she said soothingly. And then, because she was tired, because she couldn't help herself, because she needed someone to comfort her, "I don't need to hear it in words."
She let him hold her tightly and they said nothing for a time. She was lucky, Gwen told herself, and her normal life was a very, very good life. But if she was allowed to have all this she was also allowed to have her sadness sometimes. She would not push his comfort away.
*
It looked like a regular pot of ink, with two new quills laid out beside it on Gwen's dresser. But the smell was slightly different, she thought. It brought to mind slow walks among yellow wildflowers.
"Arthur, did you leave this here?" She picked it up and turned towards his writing desk, wondering how an inkpot of all things had ended up on the opposite side of the room.
"No," said Arthur who'd been standing so close behind her that she nearly jumped and spilled the ink. "That is, I did, but on purpose. It's a gift."
"A gift? From whom?"
She watched him take a deep breath before answering. "From Gwaine. Well, I asked him to procure it and he got it through Merlin, so. A gift from us, I suppose."
"Is it for –"
"Painting," he said quickly. "Or writing, I suppose, but on – It comes off. Not right away, but it's not – and you use a quill, just as you would on parchment."
"I see. Of course."
"Because we don't – we're not part of that tribe. It's not our place to –"
"I understand," said Gwen, smiling, reaching for him. "I agree." She pulled him close and kissed him gently, wanting him to know how happy she was, how happy she'd be with his gesture, even if it never went any further than that.
When they drew apart he said, "I won't cut you."
"Thank you."
"And I won't put it on your face, for anyone to see. This is…"
"For us," she said. "A gift, just for us."
Arthur took a few shallow breaths. Gwen watched him. "I don't dance naked in the moonlight," he said finally.
"No."
"If you wanted –"
"I don't. I never did. I want you, Arthur. You know I want you."
"Good. So you wouldn't have… Right."
"I've been silly. I didn't think you'd take it to heart."
"But I don't want you to think that I – that I expect you to be like some other queen. Like the ones in Geoffrey's books or. And I don't want you to think that I can never change, or try something new."
"I know that you can change," said Gwen, her voice rising with feeling. With regret, perhaps, for ever having let him think she was bored with him. "That's one of the things I love most about you. I saw how you grew up, and I've seen how much humbler and wiser you've become. How you looked past my position and saw me. And how you learned to accept Merlin and his magic, despite everything you'd been taught."
"Oh," said Arthur. "Well, good then."
"And thank you for bringing me this gift! Is it – It's for both of us, yes?"
"Yes."
"For tonight?" she said hopefully.
Arthur nodded, still somewhat stiff.
"Well, what are you waiting for then? Take off your clothes!"
Getting Gwen out of hers took more time and effort, but they were a good team with a lot of practice. Once they were naked they sat on the bed, facing each other. Gwen smoothed her hands over his chest, as she'd always liked to do. And as always, she admired the contrast of her brown skin against his, as if they were drawing a work of art whenever they touched.
"Have you thought about how you will lay claim to me, my lord?" she asked, her voice coming out husky and low.
Arthur's smile was crooked and lovely. "I should make a dragon," he said, "but there's no room."
"There's room!" Gwen said, pushing her chest out and pulling his hand to touch her breast.
Arthur laughed, caressed her and kissed her and said, "I said that wrong, they're – there's plenty of skin but I – I don't want to mark you here. I'd rather see just your skin." Gwen smiled uneasily until he went on, "But I thought. I thought I might use your back."
She nodded and slowly turned to lie on her stomach, propped up on her elbows so her back angled toward Arthur. He straddled her hips and kissed just above the blade of her shoulder. "Here," he breathed. A moment later she felt a soft wet scratching on the same spot. She smiled down at her pillow as she pictured Arthur with tongue between his teeth, concentrating hard on the tiny movements of the quill. For half a moment he pressed harder and Gwen shivered with delight.
She was surprised when he said, "All right, that's – I think that's good enough," not because he hadn't taken his time, but because as far as she could tell he'd barely touched an inch of her skin.
"Can I see?"
He had to get up to fetch the mirror, and she had to twist her head around while he held it behind her, and even so she couldn't get a very good look. But she had an idea that it was quite small and not much of a dragon after all. More like a letter S with some stubby limbs sticking out. That was all right, though. Merlin's and Gwaine's designs didn't resemble anything in particular and they were quite beautiful, and so was this one.
"Just as well that it's not permanent, don't you think?" said Arthur.
"I love it," she answered, turning around to face him. "I love being marked as a Pendragon." She held his gaze until the smile he gave her was a real one, not shy or self-deprecating, and then she kissed his forehead and said, "My turn now. On your back, please."
Gwen drew the thin crescent of a day-old moon on Arthur's breast, just to the side of his right nipple. She imagined trees and white flowers as well, tilting their heads toward its pale light. And on the ground a pair of lovers, too tired from dancing to stay upright, falling on top of one another.
She hadn't the skill to paint them though. She put down a few simple lines instead, and told Arthur what they meant. He nodded sagely, and she admired the tautness of the muscles in his chest and his belly, the very slight movement in them when he inclined his head.
"How long must we wait to let it dry?" she asked, impatient to touch and taste him.
"I'm not sure," said Arthur. "That's part of why I made sure yours was small and out of the way."
He kissed her breast and slowly took hold of him, let one hand card through his hair while the other stroked his broad, unpainted back. They moved like that for hours: carefully, always aware of the stretches of their skin that mustn't be brushed against or smudged, for the changes they'd marked on each other had yet to set in. It was by no means the first time Gwen brought Arthur Pendragon off with her hands, but it was the first time she did it while sitting behind him, letting her breasts rub warm against his back, clenching her thighs around his hips. That night was the first time she would kneel on their bed, pressing her hands against the wall while Arthur lay beneath her and licked between her folds. She came so hard she was afraid she'd fall, but Arthur held her hips steady while she pressed her arms and her chest and her face to the wall. It was solid and cool. He helped her come down slowly.
It would not, she decided, be the last time they did that.
And that was when it occurred to her that there was no reason why they couldn't do all of this again. The ink, the quills – or perhaps next time they'd spread it with their fingers. They could do that if they wanted.
Any time they liked.
Grateful and excited as she'd been, up until that moment Gwen had thought of the marks they were putting on each other as a game, and a mere imitation of what Gwaine and Merlin had done.
But no, she thought now, as she laid her head on her arms and Arthur stroked the curve of her hip. That this dye was impermanent did not mean that it was less. That it would wash off meant that in a week's time or a month their skin would be as new again. Gwen could come back to paint a full moon where the new one had been, or perhaps or perhaps a star, or a chalice or a tree. And Arthur might let the dragon go, think of another way to make her his.
Perhaps they'd even get better at drawing.
"I love you," Gwen breathed sleepily. And she reached out and traced the words on Arthur's forearm with a finger that left no mark.
Fandom: Merlin
Ships: Arthur/Gwen, background Gwaine/Merlin, mention of other ships/interests
Rating: strong R/mild NC-17?
Contains: A teensy bit of masochism and kink negativity. No actual depiction of tattooing.
Wordcount: 6183
Summary: After Merlin comes back from his time with the Druids, the queen can't stop thinking about his tattoos.
Notes: For the "tattoos/tattooing" square on my
kink_bingo card. Thanks to flammablehat for beta and encouragement and to fitz_y for helping me sit down and write.Link: Read it at the AO3 or
Merlin was to be gone for just over a month, and Gwen considered that the best way she could serve Camelot in that time was to keep the men who loved him in good spirits, or at least to keep them calm.
With Arthur this meant a lot of patient talking and listening. Every night she'd let him repeat his list of things that might go wrong, and then she'd quietly remind him that Merlin was a grown man with a good deal more knowledge of magic than Arthur or any of the rest of them possessed. If he had determined that going off to be initiated by the Druids was both safe for him and advantageous for Camelot, then Arthur really ought to believe him.
"Of course, because it would be completely unlike Merlin to lie to me, or to risk his own safety for my sake," Arthur groused.
"Yes, and completely unlike you to underestimate him."
She didn't tease him much, though. Teasing Arthur wasn't nearly as much fun without Merlin around. She petted him and soothed him and told him he'd made the right decision by allowing Merlin to leave. She kissed him and stroked him until he gave up on talking and kissed her back. Even worried and distracted he knew something about how to make her happy, but she was looking forward to things getting back to normal once Merlin was back.
*
Gwaine had a good deal less fear of magic than Arthur, what with not having grown up with Uther Pendragon as a father (or come of age with every other magic user in the kingdom plotting to enchant or murder him). He also had a lot more trust in Merlin's judgment. Furthermore, he'd ridden out with him to the Druid camp, where Arthur was not yet welcome, though he would be once Merlin took his oaths. Everyone there had assured Gwaine that they held Merlin in the highest honour and that no harm would come to him. At Gwaine's insistence, they had even clarified that none of their rituals would involve Merlin having sex.
"They're weird," he'd explained upon his return, "but they're no match for him."
No one expected his cheerfulness to last very long, and it didn't. This was a man who'd spent years of his life getting drunk, shagging a stranger, and starting a bar fight in a different town every night. For Merlin's sake he'd gone from cheerful vagabond to honourable knight and devoted lover in the space of a few months. The problem was, he didn't have much practice at being good without Merlin there to be his inspiration. According to Arthur, Gwaine always became the surliest of the knights when they had to go anywhere longer than a day's ride without Merlin. No one was looking forward to spending time with him over the next month, but they weren't about to leave him alone either.
"So what I think he needs, more than convincing, is some distraction," she told her brother. "Not that kind of distraction!" she added quickly, alarmed by his quick, easy smile. "Er, not that I'm assuming you would, er, I know you've grown up a lot in the last few years and it's not fair of me to –"
"It's fine, Gwen, I knew what you meant. I should never have told you about that, but it's fine. I don't even think about him that way anymore. We do spend all day together, you know. And just because we're not girls doesn't mean we don't pay attention to each others' feelings."
"No, but I thought. I mean, Arthur sometimes doesn't –"
"Well, no, sometimes he doesn't," Elyan admitted. "Though even His Majesty's noticed Gwaine's moods lately. He seems to think the solution is to push us all harder in training."
Gwen winced, but Elyan only shrugged.
"We don't mind putting in the extra work, especially if it helps Arthur. The trouble is that it doesn't help Gwaine at all."
"So…"
"So we tried taking him out drinking, Percy and Leon and me. But that didn't work out so well either. Brings back memories from before he met Merlin, I think. If he drinks a little he starts moaning about how much he hates being alone. And if he drinks a lot he starts picking fights with anyone who says a bad word about Arthur, or about changes to the knights' code, or sorcery, or women who go to bed with more than one man, or men who bugger other men… Well, picking fights. Understandable, but not the best thing for Arthur's reputation."
"Right."
"So I thought, blacksmithing, right? I shouldn't be the only one who knows his way around the forge."
"You're not," Gwen reminded him.
"Right, I mean the only one of the knights."
"And does that work?"
"Too soon to tell, I think. I took him to the forge to show him what's what, but to be honest we were both so sore and tired from training we didn't feel like doing any more hammering."
"Hmph," said Gwen.
"Might try it again tomorrow, especially if Arthur lets us off early."
"Let me talk to Arthur about that."
*
That night, after the usual discussion of whether Merlin knew how to take care of himself, Gwen convinced Arthur to give the knights the day off. In the morning she told Gwaine that she had an errand to do outside the castle walls, and he and Elyan were to accompany her.
"I can see why you needed our assistance for this difficult labour," said Gwaine, after they'd been walking in an open field for perhaps an hour.
Elyan rolled his eyes and walked a few paces off, turning his back to them and scanning the horizon. Gwen crouched down by a bunch of red campion flowers and took out her knife. "We can't always be pinching flowers from passing merchants whenever we want to impress someone," she said mildly.
"I would have thought you and I were beyond that," said Gwaine, "needing to flirt with passing beauties, now that we're settled. Are they for Elyan?"
"The men I want to impress don't care about flowers, but thanks," said Elyan, and Gwen felt a pang at the look they shared, thinking perhaps, if things had gone another way, this man could have been family, but then reminding herself that he was as good as that now.
"I like being settled," she said to Gwaine, glad that he'd supplied the word, since married did not fit him as it did her. "Having an idea of my place – and being with Arthur, obviously, that's a good thing. But do you know I haven't been outside the castle walls in nearly three months?"
The men said nothing.
"It's one of the things I miss most about my old life. When I worked for Morgana I used to come out and gather flowers at least once a week, sometimes more. And I thought that if I didn't have so much washing and carrying to keep me busy, I'd be out here all the time."
"Running the castle turned out to be more of a job than you'd bargained for, eh?"
She nodded. "Yes, it takes holding a lot of names and numbers in my head, telling a lot of people what to do, negotiating who's going to listen to me because I used to be a maid, who's not going to listen to me because I used to be a maid, and who's going to listen to me because I'm the queen. There's also attending all Arthur's meetings and trying to learn everything he knows just in case I should need to take over for him, and then trying not to think too hard on what that would mean. Still, I've got time enough. Only it turns out I've also got enemies now. Or, Camelot's enemies have become mine. It gets stifling inside the castle and I miss having work that keeps my hands busy, but it would be madness for me to go out on my own – practically begging to be kidnapped. And I feel silly taking guards or knights away from their real jobs just so I can get a breath of fresh air."
"Your guards and knights don't mind getting away from the castle once in a while either," said Elyan from what he seemed to have chosen as his post. Gwaine looked up, as if it occurred to him just then that he too should be on guard.
"Forgive me," he said, taking a step back. "You came out here for privacy –"
"Don't be silly. If I'd wanted quiet I'd have asked for Percival. Would you help me with this please?"
Elyan laughed quietly while Gwaine knelt down next to her. One of the stems kept slipping from her fingers when she tried to cut it, and she showed Gwaine where to hold it in place.
"I always forget that you worked for Morgana," he said. "After that, I can't see that you'd be intimidated by any of Camelot's other enemies."
"Ohh, but that wasn't… It wasn't like you must imagine. By the time you came to Camelot things were different, but Morgana was very dear to me."
"She worked you until you were falling on your feet," said Elyan, and Gwen frowned,not wanting to go back to their old quarrels in front of Gwaine, not wanting to talk about the limitations of her new life in front of Elyan. But she knew very well she couldn't go out in the company of a single knight without giving rise to gossip.
"All the castle servants work hard," Gwen said determinedly. "But in those days none of them knew the kindness that Morgana showed me. And I would do anything I could to make her happy."
"You're good at that, at making people happy," said Gwaine, with the sideways grin that used to make her uneasy, before…well, before things were settled. She'd seen him flash that sly grin at scores of men and women by now, including her husband, her brother and herself. She knew that the quiet smile he had for Merlin was quite different.
"I try," she said.
"Merlin always says he wouldn't have lasted a week in Camelot if it hadn't been for your kindness."
"Oh, I don't know about that."
"He admits there were other factors."
Gwen smiled, the memory of her first meetings with Merlin easier on her mind than that of her relationship with Morgana. "I gave him one of these wildflowers once," she said. "Not quite like these – it was a different season – but small like this, and he wore it for me." She picked a blossom off the stem and handed it to Gwaine, who immediately set it behind his ear.
Elyan snorted and Gwaine called out, "You're just jealous," without taking his gaze off her, warm and fond. He held her hand.
"Arthur can't…" Gwen started, the words suddenly catching in her throat. "There are expectations. He's got fairly particular ideas about what royalty should look like and…I suppose he knows best. He needs to keep the respect of the court, and the people, and the other kingdoms."
"Sure," said Gwaine "And besides all that his hair's too short to look good with flowers in it anyway."
Gwen laughed. "Of course, that's really what's holding him back. It's a good thing we've got you now, Gwaine, or I'd have nothing to do with these flowers."
*
Arthur, Gwen, and Gwaine rode out to the Druid camp together. This was not especially safe or prudent, and Leon counselled against it, but of course Arthur had the final word. Both monarchs ought to be present, as they generally were for rites and feasts held at Camelot. And leaving Gwaine back at the castle would just be cruel.
The ceremony was unfamiliar but fairly simple. Arthur and Merlin each had some lines to recite but Gwen only had to say "I do" once or twice while Gwaine and most of the Druids looked on. It was rather easier than getting married, which allowed her to focus on the way Merlin looked in the moonlight. He was dressed in the Druids' long robes, but they weren't so very different from Gaius's clothes, or even some of Arthur's more formal things. What really caught – and kept – her attention were the dark marks painted on his skin. The most intricate designs were on his hands and presumably snaked up his arms as well, under the loose sleeves of the robe. But still more striking were the lines up his neck and his face, curling up over his cheeks. At moments his eyes turned from their usual bright blue to gold, and he looked blind and frighteningly beautiful, like a creature out of another world, or perhaps out of a dream.
Gwen thought of the sweet country boy who'd smiled at her while his head hung in the stocks, and again when he'd tucked her flower into his neckerchief. She thought of the friend whose mouth was hot with fever the one time they'd kissed. She marvelled that this could be the same person.
She was surprised by the urge to lean forward and kiss him again. She contained it.
She spoke her words at the appropriate time.
When the ritual called for it, she took his hands in hers. His skin still felt like Merlin's skin.
*
They slept in the camp. Well, Arthur slept, and presumably most of the Druids did. Gwaine and Merlin did their best to be quiet, and Gwen did her best not to listen, but the sounds of lovemaking carried easily between the tents.
Gwen wondered whether Gwaine would be able to see the designs on Merlin's skin, or if in the dark he would feel them with his fingers, taste them with his tongue.
Next to her, Arthur snored. And Gwen thought she'd had rather enough of soothing other people's nerves.
*
But of course she had more of it to do the next day.
"You're thin," said Arthur when they stopped for a meal and a rest on the ride home.
"He's always been thin," said Gwaine.
"I don't really care for their kind of food," said Merlin, tearing into the sweet break Gwen handed him now, "but they didn't try to stop me from eating it. I wasn't starving."
"Your hair's long," Arthur continued, "shaggy." Gwaine only raised an eyebrow at this and Merlin, whose hair was only to the middle of his neck, ignored it. "And the…those marks." Arthur gestured roughly toward Merlin's face. In the sunlight Gwen could see that the designs were a deep blue color, and not plain black as she had imagined.
"That's so anyone who sees me can know I'm part of their tribe," said Merlin.
"But they'll wash off."
"No, they started doing these the first night I was there. I've had a few washes since then!" He and Gwaine shared a laugh at that while Arthur continued to glare at him. "I think it fades a bit over the years," Merlin added, "but I can always go back and have it done again."
"They're…" Arthur trailed off, or possibly started to choke. Gwen clapped his back a few times but couldn't take her eyes off Merlin's hands and his face as he ate his lunch.
"They cut your skin," she blurted out suddenly, reaching toward him.
"Just a bit," said Merlin, allowing her to turn over his arm and run the pads of her fingers over the uneven texture. "Scratched, more like, just enough to take off the top layer of the skin, open things up before they rubbed in the woad."
"Barbarians," Arthur growled.
Merlin shrugged.
"They had sworn not to harm you!"
"Scratches, Arthur," said Gwaine. "They don't even draw blood." He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a much smaller, simpler design on his own arm.
"So you've decided to join their tribe as well!"
"Dunno. Wanted to be part of Merlin's, I guess."
"You –"
"Oh, but that's…lovely!" Gwen cut in, not so much because she needed to calm the situation as because she was genuinely moved. Gwaine was not part of any tribe, but he'd chosen to mark his own body, indelibly, as a sign of his relationship to one man. The band Gwen's finger felt like a trifle in comparison, never mind that it was solid gold. It was like words repeated in a ceremony because an old man told you to say them, not because you knew what they meant. A tradition, a formality.
"It's a small thing," said Gwaine.
"His certainly is," Merlin agreed. "And even mine hurt a lot less than being a dummy for your broadsword practice, so don't pretend you're such a great defender of my person."
"I don't even do that anymore," Arthur grumbled, and the four of them ate without speaking for a few minutes. As they were readying the horses to ride again Arthur asked, "Are you going to stay dressed like this as well?"
"Haven't decided yet," said Merlin, tugging at his horse's girth without turning to face the king.
"Now don't you get short with me. I didn't want to leave you out here with these people or go through their creepy ritual in the first place. I've left this all up to you, but, Merlin, why would you mark yourself as an enemy of Camelot?"
Merlin's face was tense and closed off, and Gwaine was crossing over to them, perhaps to give Arthur a telling off. But Gwen said, "No, Arthur. Don't you see? That was the point of all this. To change the way our people look at each other, to show that he can be a Druid and still be loyal to Camelot and to you." She put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and then, with only a little hesitation, touched his cheek. "Maybe marks like this were something to be feared once. But now that Merlin's wearing them, they can only be a good thing."
Merlin smiled at her. "I always did like you best."
Arthur snorted, disarmed, and went back to his own horse, while Gwaine cuffed Merlin on the side of the head and then kissed him on the lips.
"You never did," Gwen answered, carelessly enough, "but I always loved you anyway."
*
Life didn't quite get back to normal after that, but at least Gwen had only one man to soothe now and not two. Gwaine was back to his normal flirtatious self – Gwen supposed that was more fun for him when it provoked a bit of jealousy on Merlin's part. Arthur was back to the exhausting work of ruling a kingdom, balancing the demands of the nobles who thought he was abandoning tradition too fast with those of peasants, who apparently thought that the next step after admitting commoners to the knighthood ought to be abolishing taxes.
At least the magic users continued to support him. Or at least, none of them had chosen to attack since Merlin had gone to stay with the Druids, and there had even been some diplomatic visits. "You are not our king, and you are not our queen," said one priestess, standing strong and tranquil before their thrones. "But we recognise your authority over your people, and we shall not work against it."
"I'm supposed to be grateful for that?" Arthur would fume later. "I'm supposed to see this as an improvement, having witches in my castle that aren't actively trying to kill me?"
"Yes," said Merlin and Gwen together.
Meanwhile, Gwen was coming to understand that she had no desire to go back to normal life…even if that life was, like hers, something of a fairy tale dream come true.
The knights were all as busy as the king and his sorcerer, and she did not ask any of them to come with her to pick flowers.
She woke up early – after her years as a servant she would never lie in bed through half the morning like her husband – and supervised what needed to be done for the castle, its servants, its guests and its meals. But she spent most of her day at Arthur's side, sitting through the same meetings and speeches but seldom voicing her own opinion, except in private.
When Arthur wanted to relax he still took his knights out to hunt. Gwen tried going with them but, like Merlin, she had no taste for the sport. She might sit with her ladies or by herself, with a bit of needlework, but she was growing increasingly annoyed with that pursuit as well. The stitches were too small for her to see properly, and she kept accidentally jabbing herself through the fabric – not hard or sharp enough to wound her, just enough to irritate.
Until one evening she stopped, set the embroidery down, and set the blunt tip of the needle to the tip of her index finger. She watched the way her flesh gave to the prick without coming open. Then she pressed again with the sharp end, slowly dragging it down her finger and to the centre of her palm. It left a thin white line, but drew no blood, and she knew the mark would fade before anyone had a chance to see it. Still, she held on to the memory of the sensation, the bright line of clarity.
That night she kissed her husband's strong jaw line, his perfect lips, his flawless skin. She took his beautiful cock in her hands and guided it into her cunt as he sank down over her.
"Harder," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his and bucking against him. "By the gods, I want to feel you."
When he was pounding into her hard enough to hurt, she allowed herself to touch the scars on his chest. She remembered the night he'd first trusted her enough to let her bind his wounds.
Lying in his arms after, Gwen marvelled that she was allowed to have this. Yes, she'd grown up hearing stories about poor little girls who were whisked off their feet, saved by a prince's kiss. And yes, she'd had more than a few glimpses of her country's own prince and thought he was more handsome than any man had a right to be.
But he was also a show-off and a bully, and so far away from her life and her station that her opinion of him didn't matter in the least.
She'd never dreamed that one day he'd be hers to kiss, let alone hers to command.
But she could do whatever she wanted now, at least in the privacy of their own chambers. She could speak the filthiest words, make him touch her in the filthiest of places, and as long as they didn't leave marks for anyone else to see, no one could tell her it wasn't right. She could do anything she wanted, because he was her husband.
She let her fingers trace over his again scars as she thought about all of this, but her mind must have been wandering elsewhere too, because what came out of her mouth was, "Have you seen Merlin with his shirt off?" Arthur stared at her, and she added, in a small voice, "Since he's been back, I mean."
"No," Arthur said slowly. "I've not…he doesn't even wear shirts anymore."
"You know what I mean though," said Gwen, allowing herself to pout.
"I think I do. Funny thing, though, I suppose I could still order him to come along on the hunt..."
"You are the king after all," Gwen said reasonably.
"Yes, but it's not as easy to justify it now that he's a court sorcerer and not a manservant. There's also the part where he wears dresses, and the part where looking at his face makes my skin crawl."
Gwen sighed. For some reason whenever he talked that way about the marks on Merlin's skin, she always felt as if she'd been slapped. At the same time, thinking about Merlin himself set something stirring between her thighs. She considered the opposite impulses that had suddenly come on her – to slap him back, or to climb on top of him and sink down on his prick – and concluded it was just as well she was too tired right now to do either. "Well, I think he looks very dignified," she said, and paused. "Well, maybe 'dignified' is stretching it a bit. But he looks…powerful, and it's fitting. And nice for him that he's getting to try on a new look."
Arthur shook his head. "It's all very well for him to put on women's clothes if that's what makes him happy, but the marks are permanent. And I'm not the only one who doesn't like them. You've seen how people shrink away."
"The first time or two," she acknowledged. "Good enough to intimidate your enemies, and those of us who know him have time to get used to it. Anyway, I still think they're…beautiful, in their own way."
Arthur chuckled, took hold of her wrist and stopped her hand where she'd been starting to scratch lines on his chest with her nails. "Of course you do. And you want to see what he looks like all over, underneath."
He kissed her hand and she made a small sound and nodded, yes.
"You want to know how much they cover," he said, and let her go.
Gwen buried her face in his neck while she went on caressing his chest. It wasn't that she was ashamed. It was a normal human curiosity, and probably most of the castle, including Arthur, had been wondering what Merlin looked like under his new robes. Probably, though, most of them didn't feel the need to touch themselves when they thought about it.
"Loath as I am to disappoint my queen, I must confess that I've not had the opportunity to observe my sorcerer's nipples in the last two weeks," Arthur said, just as Gwen's fingers had reached his.
"They're probably just like before," she murmured. "They wouldn't have scratched him right there, I don't think. Though if they've got the designs all around them that probably makes them look different."
"I can ask him, if you want me to."
Gwen sat up in bed and asked, "Has Camelot ever had a court sorcerer before?"
Arthur, still flat on his back, blinked up at her in the candlelight. "There's nothing in the records," he said eventually. "From what Gaius tells me, Nimueh lived here for a time and… she and my mother were very close. She did some things that my father requested but it wasn't a, um, an official post."
Gwen nodded. "There must have been, though, going further back. Uther could have had it taken out of the record books."
"Perhaps," Arthur said, eying her warily. "What's got into you, Gwen? What's this got to do with your new barbarian fetish?"
"Merlin looks like a court sorcerer because...he is a court sorcerer. He's making it up as he goes along, and he gets it right all the time because, well! No one can say, 'Oh, a court sorcerer can't come from peasant stock. He can't wear a neckerchief. He can't have another man for a lover.' No one can say that another court sorcerer did a better job, can they? And they can't say Gwaine's failing as a – what is he, even? A knight consort to the court sorcerer? I'm fairly sure we've never had that before, meaning Gwaine's got to be the finest one that ever lived."
Arthur was sitting up, his brow furrowing fairly adorably. "Have you been hearing things, Gwen? What have they –"
"No, Arthur," she said soothingly. And then, because she was tired, because she couldn't help herself, because she needed someone to comfort her, "I don't need to hear it in words."
She let him hold her tightly and they said nothing for a time. She was lucky, Gwen told herself, and her normal life was a very, very good life. But if she was allowed to have all this she was also allowed to have her sadness sometimes. She would not push his comfort away.
*
It looked like a regular pot of ink, with two new quills laid out beside it on Gwen's dresser. But the smell was slightly different, she thought. It brought to mind slow walks among yellow wildflowers.
"Arthur, did you leave this here?" She picked it up and turned towards his writing desk, wondering how an inkpot of all things had ended up on the opposite side of the room.
"No," said Arthur who'd been standing so close behind her that she nearly jumped and spilled the ink. "That is, I did, but on purpose. It's a gift."
"A gift? From whom?"
She watched him take a deep breath before answering. "From Gwaine. Well, I asked him to procure it and he got it through Merlin, so. A gift from us, I suppose."
"Is it for –"
"Painting," he said quickly. "Or writing, I suppose, but on – It comes off. Not right away, but it's not – and you use a quill, just as you would on parchment."
"I see. Of course."
"Because we don't – we're not part of that tribe. It's not our place to –"
"I understand," said Gwen, smiling, reaching for him. "I agree." She pulled him close and kissed him gently, wanting him to know how happy she was, how happy she'd be with his gesture, even if it never went any further than that.
When they drew apart he said, "I won't cut you."
"Thank you."
"And I won't put it on your face, for anyone to see. This is…"
"For us," she said. "A gift, just for us."
Arthur took a few shallow breaths. Gwen watched him. "I don't dance naked in the moonlight," he said finally.
"No."
"If you wanted –"
"I don't. I never did. I want you, Arthur. You know I want you."
"Good. So you wouldn't have… Right."
"I've been silly. I didn't think you'd take it to heart."
"But I don't want you to think that I – that I expect you to be like some other queen. Like the ones in Geoffrey's books or. And I don't want you to think that I can never change, or try something new."
"I know that you can change," said Gwen, her voice rising with feeling. With regret, perhaps, for ever having let him think she was bored with him. "That's one of the things I love most about you. I saw how you grew up, and I've seen how much humbler and wiser you've become. How you looked past my position and saw me. And how you learned to accept Merlin and his magic, despite everything you'd been taught."
"Oh," said Arthur. "Well, good then."
"And thank you for bringing me this gift! Is it – It's for both of us, yes?"
"Yes."
"For tonight?" she said hopefully.
Arthur nodded, still somewhat stiff.
"Well, what are you waiting for then? Take off your clothes!"
Getting Gwen out of hers took more time and effort, but they were a good team with a lot of practice. Once they were naked they sat on the bed, facing each other. Gwen smoothed her hands over his chest, as she'd always liked to do. And as always, she admired the contrast of her brown skin against his, as if they were drawing a work of art whenever they touched.
"Have you thought about how you will lay claim to me, my lord?" she asked, her voice coming out husky and low.
Arthur's smile was crooked and lovely. "I should make a dragon," he said, "but there's no room."
"There's room!" Gwen said, pushing her chest out and pulling his hand to touch her breast.
Arthur laughed, caressed her and kissed her and said, "I said that wrong, they're – there's plenty of skin but I – I don't want to mark you here. I'd rather see just your skin." Gwen smiled uneasily until he went on, "But I thought. I thought I might use your back."
She nodded and slowly turned to lie on her stomach, propped up on her elbows so her back angled toward Arthur. He straddled her hips and kissed just above the blade of her shoulder. "Here," he breathed. A moment later she felt a soft wet scratching on the same spot. She smiled down at her pillow as she pictured Arthur with tongue between his teeth, concentrating hard on the tiny movements of the quill. For half a moment he pressed harder and Gwen shivered with delight.
She was surprised when he said, "All right, that's – I think that's good enough," not because he hadn't taken his time, but because as far as she could tell he'd barely touched an inch of her skin.
"Can I see?"
He had to get up to fetch the mirror, and she had to twist her head around while he held it behind her, and even so she couldn't get a very good look. But she had an idea that it was quite small and not much of a dragon after all. More like a letter S with some stubby limbs sticking out. That was all right, though. Merlin's and Gwaine's designs didn't resemble anything in particular and they were quite beautiful, and so was this one.
"Just as well that it's not permanent, don't you think?" said Arthur.
"I love it," she answered, turning around to face him. "I love being marked as a Pendragon." She held his gaze until the smile he gave her was a real one, not shy or self-deprecating, and then she kissed his forehead and said, "My turn now. On your back, please."
Gwen drew the thin crescent of a day-old moon on Arthur's breast, just to the side of his right nipple. She imagined trees and white flowers as well, tilting their heads toward its pale light. And on the ground a pair of lovers, too tired from dancing to stay upright, falling on top of one another.
She hadn't the skill to paint them though. She put down a few simple lines instead, and told Arthur what they meant. He nodded sagely, and she admired the tautness of the muscles in his chest and his belly, the very slight movement in them when he inclined his head.
"How long must we wait to let it dry?" she asked, impatient to touch and taste him.
"I'm not sure," said Arthur. "That's part of why I made sure yours was small and out of the way."
He kissed her breast and slowly took hold of him, let one hand card through his hair while the other stroked his broad, unpainted back. They moved like that for hours: carefully, always aware of the stretches of their skin that mustn't be brushed against or smudged, for the changes they'd marked on each other had yet to set in. It was by no means the first time Gwen brought Arthur Pendragon off with her hands, but it was the first time she did it while sitting behind him, letting her breasts rub warm against his back, clenching her thighs around his hips. That night was the first time she would kneel on their bed, pressing her hands against the wall while Arthur lay beneath her and licked between her folds. She came so hard she was afraid she'd fall, but Arthur held her hips steady while she pressed her arms and her chest and her face to the wall. It was solid and cool. He helped her come down slowly.
It would not, she decided, be the last time they did that.
And that was when it occurred to her that there was no reason why they couldn't do all of this again. The ink, the quills – or perhaps next time they'd spread it with their fingers. They could do that if they wanted.
Any time they liked.
Grateful and excited as she'd been, up until that moment Gwen had thought of the marks they were putting on each other as a game, and a mere imitation of what Gwaine and Merlin had done.
But no, she thought now, as she laid her head on her arms and Arthur stroked the curve of her hip. That this dye was impermanent did not mean that it was less. That it would wash off meant that in a week's time or a month their skin would be as new again. Gwen could come back to paint a full moon where the new one had been, or perhaps or perhaps a star, or a chalice or a tree. And Arthur might let the dragon go, think of another way to make her his.
Perhaps they'd even get better at drawing.
"I love you," Gwen breathed sleepily. And she reached out and traced the words on Arthur's forearm with a finger that left no mark.
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