Warnings: Noncon, bestiality, bondage, slavery, slash.

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The rope bites into Merlin's wrists, the coarse weaving of the material rubbing the alabaster skin more raw and red. He has spent days like this, with his hands bound before him. He has been kneeling like this for such a long time, hour after hour, day after day. He has lost track of time. It has become something of unimportance.

All he knows for sure is that here he is once more, bound to a pole, his hands tied before him; kneeling on the dirt floor, knees rubbed and scraped - a perfect hue to match the red ones on his wrists. The robe he is forced to wear has become rags with stains, memories, that still need to be washed clean; a mock imitation of an old sorcerer's gown, and it is barely hanging onto his skinny form anymore. The only thing that has remained unblemished is the collar wrapped around his neck, the steel making the skin underneath it itchy and bothersome.

And then, there are the crowds - hundreds of people surrounding him, a screaming, cheering assemblage of people. He has long forgotten how to distinguish one person from another; they are one giant mass to him, now.

They all want to see the magic-user, Merlin, being humiliated - torn into pieces. Someone who is like the many sorcerers that have threatened their homes be ripped apart and fucked by so many things. They call him names he has long lost remembrance or count of, just like the days.

Then, the noise from the people grows louder, and the bound sorcerer forgets how to breath again; he knows that it is time.

He hears movement behind him, a low growl, but he does not bother looking back. He shuts his eyes as he feels the magical creature - he does not know which one this time around - place claws on his shoulders, followed by another two on his hips.

He tried to leave the tent, pulling his mind away - far from the circus tent; far from this kingdom.

When he feels something thick and long plunge ruthlessly into his passage - the pain is like knives throughout his lower back - he thinks that he may be as far away as Gaul. When he feels the claws tighten their hold, breaking the already bruised skin on his shoulders and hips, when the thing inside him begins to pump him up and off the ground, pushing his body against the pole the youth thinks of the towns he has heard about dotting the countryside there. The endless groves of grapevines.

The groves, that is where Merlin is. He is running through the groves, picking through the grapes.

"Take as many as you like, lad," he can imagine the farmer saying.

And, he does; he picks as many as his hands can carry - where he will take them, he isn't sure.

When the creature pushes deeper inside of him, when Merlin feels his blood and the creatures semen run down his legs between each thrust, he thinks he will simply stay there. Stay there and eat the grapes; he does not mind them unwashed. He is a simple country boy, after all - he isn't some picky noble.

Maybe he'll bring some back to his mother.

The thought of his parent creeps in like a nightmare, and he is shaken mercilessly back into reality, a scream and tears marring his gentle features when he remembers what is happening to him. He begins to feel each hard, thick thrust again. The pain as his muscles fight the shaft digging into him.

Too deep - the creature is too long, too hard, too thick, and he is still too sore from his violation before this one.

Eventually, he feels the dreaded sensation of wetness as he the monster fill him, the creatures shaft growing smaller. And finally, the terrible, wonderful feeling because then the magical creature exits, and the warlock can collapse on the dirt floor. Bliss follows because he knows that now it is all over.

But there is still the horrendous knowledge that is only a matter of time, a short etch of minutes, before it starts all over again.

Later on in the day, when the sun begins to hide away under the horizon, Merlin finds himself in his usual position in another tent.

He looks at the man holding him captive from where he is kneeling on the floor; the soft floor cover of his main caretaker's tent is a welcome blessing to the youth's bleeding knees. However, it is the only comfort he is ever given, and it is but a small one.

"What other kingdoms have you traveled to, across the ocean?" he asks from his position on the floor, his voice weak and hoarse. The words leave slowly as he coughs between the syllables. The older man laughs, before a terrible smile finds its way onto his features.

"Ran out of places to hide, Sorcerer?"

He does not look up at the man as he hears him unbutton the front of his trousers. He is already too familiar with the game he is forced to play every night.

"You hungry, sorcerer?" Merlin hears him say.

Merlin closes his eyes and grinds his teeth together when he feels the other man's cock brush against his lips, leaving a thin travel of semen behind. He refuses, screams, when a large hand grabs and pulls his hair as he is ordered to take the other male in. He fights as much as his tired, weak body allows him to when the other man pinches the youth's nose, and he is forced to take air in through his mouth, except in its place something big is shoved in between his lips, hitting the back of his throat.

Noise.

Merlin is awoken again from his light slumber by the noise in the other cages.

His morning is greeted by the animals' growling, screeching, and clawing through the spaces between the metal bars. They are still trying to get to him; the magic-user who is huddling in the center of his cell. His prison is placed in the center of all the other cages to taunt the monsters through the night, in order that they are ready and willing to take him quickly the next morning.

He vaguely registers the men outside of his cage, neither the door being opened among all the noise. He curls into himself more, eyes studying the empty air as he tries to leave everything behind.

It's going to be another day in a too long nightmare.

When will he finally remember how to wake up?

One of the entertainers enters, and drags the warlock up by his hair, screaming in protest. He is hastily shoved out of his prison, his steps slow and weak as he is pushed towards the direction of the show tent. He shivers as he passes all the animals in their cages, morbidly wondering which one will break him in this morning.

The tent flaps are open wide like the gates of Hell, and he is pushed one more time inside, falling to his knees.

Quick work is made of binding his hands to the pole, and placing a bar between his legs; the youth suppressing a scream as they are spreading him wide and ready.

He should be used to mornings by now, but he isn't; he isn't used to any of this, and he doubts that he will ever be.

Hopes that he will never be.

He is not a seer - of all the magical gifts he was given, the one he could have appreciated the most was withheld from him. The one power that could have saved him from this fate entirely.

His eyes screw shut and his breathing quickens in fear when he hears an animal being led to him, the sounds of the crowd growing louder and more excited.

The warlock tries to push it all away; All the noise. Everything. He tries to be somewhere else where there are no bindings around his wrists; no collar around his neck. A utopia far from Albion where there are no claws scratching his skin. He screams when the animal suddenly pushes its way into him - they have forgotten to prepare him again.

The warlock tries to be elsewhere.

But, he can't. He can't.

He's run out of places to hide; the memories of his former life and mother have invaded every place he knows.

He cannot escape this nightmare, this dream today.

Another scream bursts from his lips as the animal digs into him deeper, and he is shoved hard against the pole. When sharp claws dig into his back his mouth opens in silent agony, tears cascading down his face unchallenged. His eyes shoot open when the animal begins to grow wider inside of him.

Anywhere but here.

He would give anything, to be anywhere but here.

Then, like an angel come down from the heavens to save him, Merlin finds a golden figure standing in front of the massive crowd. Their eyes lock on one another instantly, the world melting away around them.

He doesn't even scream when the animal pushes him harder against the pole, continuing to pump his broken body along the animal's large shaft.

His eyes and the other man's gaze never leave one another. The other's eyes are wide, a stray golden lock gently brushing against his skin. His lips begin moving, forming shaky, disbelieving sounds that almost make Merlin's heart wring out in so many different directions at once.

"... Merlin?"