About this fic:

Pairings: dark!Lancelot/Merlin, with implied one-sided Merlin/Arthur.

Warnings: dark!Lancelot, borderline dark!Merlin, slash, explicit sexual content, spoilers up to 4x08, purple prose (what else did you expect from me? XD), some swearing, possibly incorrect use of the English language (I am not a native speaker and not that familiar with British English, but I'm trying)

Dedicated to: All the Mercelot lovers out there. I sometimes think I'm the only one who actually prefers this pairing over Merthur … (Not that Merthur isn't awesome, but it's not even close to the divine perfection that is Merlin/Lancelot 3)

Notes: Well, I think the warnings say it all. I just kind of wanted to write this, so I did. I quite like the outcome. Maybe I'll write more.

Takes place somewhere in season 4. Slightly AU, since Gaius is dead in this. In this version, Agravaine has killed him in 4x08, leading Arthur to believe the physician was a traitor and causing Merlin to grow very bitter about it all.

PS: It's my first English Merlin fanfic. Also, my first lemon in this language. Feel free to point out any mistakes, I'm willing to learn.

BGM: "Confessions of a Blackheart" by the Genitorturers

X

Something had fallen out of place. Ever so quietly, almost unnoticeable, yet with greater impact than anyone could have guessed, much like a single snowflake that had caused the once so strong, firm tree of all that was real to finally collapse under the weight of piled up icy sorrow.

The façade had come to crack; what was hidden underneath turned out to be ugly and rotten to the core.

Camelot was not the place it used to be.

While Arthur was a good king, supported by Guinevere, his clever and kind-hearted queen, as well as by his loyal knights, Morgana's attempts to destroy his reign had finally begun to bear fruit. The vicious plans she had made, the traitors she had placed among the court had slowly but surely eaten at the foundations of the kingdom until its very bones had now become brittle, weary of the burden they had to carry.

Merlin knew the feeling full well.

He was sick of the games he had to play. The disguise became thinner and thinner with each time he had to use his powers in order to protect his king and save the land, all while he was aware that as soon as anyone found out, Merlin would be burned at the stake for his good deeds and loyalty. It was frustrating and day after day, his hopes of living in a kingdom where magic was accepted and used for good withered away a little more as he watched Arthur growing even more bitter whenever magic was used as a force against him .

No matter the circumstances, Merlin stayed almost unconditionally loyal to Arthur and was devoted to him with all of his heart (after all, it was true what Kilgharrah had said – a half cannot hate what makes it whole), but it was tiresome and lately, it had become so very, very hard to chase away the strange, chilling sensation that had somehow afflicted the warlock's heart: Doubt.

Was this still the right thing to do? People of magic – his kin, as he had been told – still suffered at the hands of the king of Camelot and even though Arthur, unlike his father, showed mercy more often than not, there was no sign that the persecution of magic would end soon.

Instead of peace, there was war. Agravaine's poisonous advise had caused mistakes to be made and people to suffer, even die.

And then, he had done the unforgivable.

Merlin did not like to think about it, but the knowledge was there, a burden resting on his fragile shoulders and ruling his every day. He had started to mistrust every stranger he came across, something he had never done before, the naïve and meek boy he had been all his life. How he missed those days of innocence, those before he had seen the people close to him die and those he had put high hopes in had turned his back on him and betrayed him.

Maybe that was the reason. Maybe that was why he had given in to this so quickly. Maybe there was something comforting about knowing the man his arms was, without a shred of doubt, a traitor.

It was wrong. It was risky. It was insane.

But it felt bizarrely good.

For the first time in ages, Merlin felt like he could actually breathe again as his bedfellow for this night pinned him down into the mattress, trailing small, flaming kisses all over his frail neck and chest.

The sheer madness of the fact he was giving his body to an enemy made Merlin's skin crawl with a mixture of fear, guilt, excitement and simply blatant lust unlike anything the boy had ever experienced before. This was the first time he was the one using someone else, if only to satisfy the impure, malicious needs of both his body and soul. Such behaviour was nothing like him.

So why was he unable to stop?

It's only for tonight, he told himself. A few hours of ease. A simple game of cat and mouse. It means nothing really.

Choking back another groan as the other man's tongue lightly teased his nipple, Merlin closed his eyes firmly and, for a second, tried to forget who it was that brought him so much pleasure. It made things easier. Merlin tried to let go, with his fingers clinging so desperately to his lover's full locks and his muffled screams becoming louder, but he did not manage. He was too afraid of falling for the trap that had been set for him – too afraid, his heart could speak up and demand its price for nearly breaking under every single touch.

There was still a part inside of him that was bleeding with grief over how this single, stupid night would sully the well-loved image of the dear friend Merlin had kept deep down in the shadows of his soul.

I'm sorry, Merlin thought, knowing full well that it was a little too late for that now. Please forgive me, Lancelot …

None of his words was addressed to the man sharing Merlin's bed just in this moment. No – that was not Lancelot. Just a body that looked suspiciously like his. But what was underneath the mask had nothing to do with the good-hearted, virtuous knight the warlock had grown so close to before his selfless sacrifice.

That was the Lancelot Merlin had wished to remember. Not this mysterious black-clad twin that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and was so obviously not Lancelot even Merlin had felt it from the very second he had caught the other man's gaze for the first time, despite being overjoyed by happiness to know his friend back among the living.

Something just was not right about this.

Merlin certainly was no fool, no matter what everyone thought of him. It was obvious that the man whose touches and kisses swiped him off his feet with such ease was not the same Lancelot he knew.

Yet … it did not matter. Not a single bit.

The feeling of losing his head was just too delicious not to devour it with intense hunger.

He could feel the rhythm of his breath quickening along with his racing pulse, which by now was so intense his heart seemed dangerously close to breaking his ribcage with each painful beat. Sweat was dripping down his skin, burning in his eyes as he lay there, unable to do anything other than staring up to the man on top of him and indulge himself in the poisonous beauty that was Sir Lancelot – he, who had once been as pure as snow and now lit up all the fires of hell just beneath Merlin's skin.

The slightly older man knew how to toy with the boy's senses, covering his white skin with playful kisses as the knight's cunning fingers gently caressed Merlin's body in all the places that would make his mind go blank and his insides clench in a lot of good ways.

Sure, it was torture just as much as it was the closest thing to heaven (or at least a vicious parody thereof) Merlin had ever experienced, but there was no chance he would have ever wanted it to stop.

How long had this been going already? Maybe it was no more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours – if time still was of any importance right now. There was but a small piece of reason left for Merlin and as lust grew, it became even harder for him to hold on to the slippery rope called 'rationality' which was the only thing saving him from falling into the pitch black abyss already hungrily awaiting him beyond.

What on earth was he doing? He could feel his sanity drifting further and further away under the touch of Lancelot's all too clever hands … and he was loving every minute of it.

Those long, sensual fingers were secretly claws, ripping at his skin, forcibly pulling off his cheerful, naïve mask and revealing the rotten flesh that was hidden underneath, so hideous and yet so beautiful. The stench of his own sin was the most abhorrent thing Merlin could have ever imagined … but at the same time, it was such a seductive perfume, oddly alluring, so sweet it is was downright revolting.

Impossible to endure, impossible to resist.

Merlin knew fine well that what he did was wrong, but he had no intent of fighting it. All he could do was lie there and give in to the overwhelming sensations while his hungry eyes greedily took in the sight of those darker ones that now somehow seemed to have a hint of red in them when the pale moonlight hit them in the right angle. Oh, and those lips! Those lips that seemed to never stop smiling for even a second – when they were not locked with Merlin's, that was. Mesmerized by the taste of evil still lingering on his tongue, the warlock allowed himself to slide his hand up to the other man's neck and pull him into another passionate kiss.

Lancelot was all too eager to participate. Almost violently, his tongue invaded Merlin's mouth and he kissed him so deeply as if he was trying to suck his very soul right out of his body.

Merlin did not complain. Right now, he would not have minded if his lover for a night had slowly drained him of all life-force until the very last drop. This was more than worth it. Merlin had never felt anything like this before. In fact, he could barely believe this was even real. Or maybe it was not real after all? It almost seemed that way … It all had happened too quickly, to suddenly.

One second, he had been lost in dreamless, exhausted slumber and in the next, without any warning, he had found himself in the arms of a beautiful demon, an incubus infesting his sleep. Lancelot had just been there, coming out of nowhere, sitting on the edge of Merlin's bed and smirking to himself as if this all was some kind of subtle joke only he understood.

At first, thinking this was but a dream, Merlin had not questioned his lost friend's presence and just played along. Words had not been needed; this was his dream; he could do as he pleased. Somehow, they had kissed before Merlin had gotten the chance to say more than the knight's name. The young warlock was not even sure if it had been him who had kissed Lancelot or if it had been the other way around, but it did not matter anyway – from this fateful moment on, their bodies had simply taken over when their minds were lost for an explanation. It all had happened so fast Merlin's head had not stopped spinning yet – he still could not believe that he really felt Lancelot's naked flesh against his own, that the other man really was on top of him, inside of him, making him moan and scream and fear for his sanity with each and every single thrust.

This could not possibly be real. No, it could not. It just made no sense. This had to be a bizarre dream, a foul trick of his weary mind. In the morning, Merlin would wake up in his own sweat, his bed sheets sullied and messy, but he would be alone. The aftermath of the dream would last for a while, but eventually, the imaginary taste of his dead friend's skin and lips – this unique mixture of resin and vermouth – would fade away, leaving nothing but a faint memory of Merlin's own shameful thoughts. He would bury them deep inside his soul and never speak about it to anyone.

Thinking back, he had always thought Lancelot incredibly attractive. Yes, that had to be it. Merlin's feelings for the knight had never been exclusively platonic, of that he was sure - but he probably had lusted for him yet a little more than he had realized until now and this strange … dream … was the result of his repressed desires. Nothing more.

After all, it had been a while since he last had shared a bed with another this way. He was a man, he had needs. This was perfectly normal.

If only he had not been so aware of the fact that his mind could not have come up with this even in his wildest fantasies …

Eventually, Lancelot broke their kiss again, allowing Merlin to breathe for a bit.

"You are so beautiful, do you know that?", the knight whispered to him, gently brushing his lips over the boy's temple and hair. "Not handsome or anything like that – just beautiful. There is no other word for it."

Merlin knew he would have blushed if his blood had not been needed elsewhere. He had always thought of himself as fairly good-looking – nothing outstanding, but by no means ugly – but this was the first time someone had actually complimented him on his looks.

"You're not too bad yourself", he answered with a wide grin on his face. Damn, that sure as hell was a major understatement. Lancelot was so absurdly gorgeous is was almost ridiculous. The dim light casting shadows all over his perfect features actually made things even worse.

Merlin could not believe how much he wanted him. Longingly, he let his fingers trail over Lancelot's muscular chest, all the way up to his neck, the pronounced jaw, the high cheek bones. No matter how hard he tried, Merlin could not find a single flaw about the knight's face, but at the same time, it surely was not his features alone which made him so irresistible.

It was those eyes.

Once filled with sorrow and never-ending sadness, dark and turbid like the clouded sky, they now radiated something else, a mysterious cold light, cunning and ambitious. And they were absolutely beautiful. The look they gave Merlin had written 'danger' all over it, yet this was exactly the reason the warlock could not help desiring Lancelot more than anything else in this world.

Merlin had never thought he could one day be so overthrown by physical desire. Before this night, he had always been a bit of a romantic. The type who was looking for a love that could last a lifetime. All his life, he had been dreaming of a sweet wife and children … Or a maybe a male lover he could grow old with side by side. It did not matter as long as they truly loved and mutually trusted each other.

Yes, that was what Merlin had wanted. The thought of seeking out someone just for the sake of getting some sexual pleasure from them had never occurred to him before. He was not sure why he had changed his mind so suddenly, but it was an urge he could not fight; a passion far greater than what his mind could comprehend, something primal and animalistic. And truth be told, Merlin was not nearly as surprised about how much he loved this crazy, possibly suicidal interplay of danger and pleasure – after all, one of his most outstanding talents was the power he held over fire and his control over the storms that would make the flames rise even higher.

This was not the first time the dark side had tempted him and it would not be the last, though tonight would be the one and only time he would give in to the toxic, yet saccharine words and allow himself to dive as deep as possible into the tight, velvet embrace of night.

Moaning once again, Merlin closed his eyes for a second and dug his fingernails firmly into Lancelot's shoulder as he felt the other man's lips travelling over his sensitive neck. The stubble on the knight's chin tickled a bit on the boy's skin, but it only enhanced the sensation. Why did Merlin not fear with this vicious beast's teeth so close to his throat? Instead, the mere thought sent shivers of delight all over his body.

"Do you like it, Merlin?", Lancelot asked, his voice soft and polite as ever, only tainted by a certain smugness in the low chuckle following his words. The mention of his own name made Merlin shudder. He could not say if it was in a good way or not.

The hand not busy scratching Lancelot's bronze skin bloody still lingered on the knight's cheek, with its thumb absent-mindedly stroking the rough skin in disbelieving admiration.

Apparently, at least judging from the look on his face, Lancelot found this most amusing. Gently, he grabbed the servant boy's hand and respectfully kissed his reddened fingertips before seductively taking them into his mouth one after one, lightly sucking on each digit.

It did not seem like much, but for Merlin, it was the most erotic thing something had ever done to him in his entire life. He had not known that his hands were this sensitive …

With every time the other man's lips brushed over his palm and wrists ever so lightly, he groaned louder, allowing himself to let that feeling of immense pleasure wash over him like a wave and drown his senses even more. And then, before he even realized what he was doing, he lost control completely.

In a single swift motion, he turned both their bodies around, forcefully pushing Lancelot into the mattress while straddling his hips. The knight was visibly surprised, but did not complain for a second. Instead, he even seemed rather intrigued by the spontaneous gesture.

"What are you doing, my friend?", he asked with fake disappointment in his voice, but his vicious grin still perfectly in place. "Did I not please you?"

"Don't worry, you are amazing", Merlin responded truthfully. "It's just that I wanted to show you some of my skills for a change. Just lean back and let me do the work for a while, I promise I'll give my best …"

Teasingly, he moved his pelvis a little, receiving a loud moan from Lancelot.

"More", the knight demanded immediately and, gladly, Merlin granted him his wish. The warlock knew he had just crossed another line, but he really had wanted to be in control over what was happening to him or he had been too scared of would was happening to him.

Even this way, every movement of his body felt so good, with Lancelot's manhood sliding in and out, gently rubbing against the Merlin's insides, the boy could hardly keep in touch with reality.

It took him a while to find the right rhythm, but once he had adjusted to a convenient pace, the whole experience was simply mind-blowing. He had always liked to be on top like this, able to look down upon his lover and spoil him with caresses and the smooth movements of his hips.

And while he knew that Lancelot was hardly a lover, Merlin still enjoyed the look of pleasure on the knight's face and the feel of the surprisingly soft skin beneath his greedy hands.

"Oh Merlin, you really know how to make a man happy", he heard Lancelot say with great satisfaction. "Who taught you this? Arthur?"

"Arthur?" Merlin cringed slightly at the thought. Sharing a bed with Arthur … Not that the thought had not been crossing his mind before, but he preferred not to contemplate it too much. That could not possibly be good for his mental health … So he quickly pushed the thought aside, blushing a little.

"We're not … you know … like that", he informed Lancelot coolly. "He's just my master and my friend."

"Would you like to try him?", the knight enquired further, rendering Merlin even more flustered.

"I've never looked at him like that."

"Don't think you can lie to me, Merlin", Lancelot advised him and the man's grin just grew even wider. Provokingly, he grabbed Merlin's hardened member with a quick motion and rolled the boy over again so they both came to lie side by side, still oddly entangled with each other.

The young warlock winced quietly, almost jumping over the edge when he felt his lover's firm grip and the change in position caused Lancelot's manhood to brush over that very special place inside of him.

"What are you doing?", Merlin stammered, feeling helpless like a moth trapped in a spider's web.

"Making sure you don't lie to me again", Lancelot said, gently kissing the boy's neck.

(Injecting the poison …)

Provokingly, he let his tongue slide down Merlin's throat, right where the warlock could feel his own pulse racing through his veins.

(Devouring the prey from inside out ...)

"Oh dear God, you sure are endearing in every single way, Merlin …", Lancelot mumbled with his lips pressed against his lover's white skin. "Arthur doesn't know what he's missing …"

"I told it's not-", Merlin protested, but he was silenced when Lancelot squeezed his member even tighter, successfully making the boy's mind go blank immediately. The knight knew what he was doing. His teasing caresses and touches were so intense they almost hurt.

Almost.

"Your body is a lot more honest than you are", Lancelot snickered, looking into his lover's eyes as if he was searching for some secret hidden behind the steel blue surface. "I can feel you twitching down there when I merely mention Arthur's name." He paused to quickly kiss Merlin on the lips. "It's fine. He is quite good-looking, now isn't he."

"S'ppose he is …", Merlin murmured to himself. He did not like this topic. It made him feel even more vulnerable than he already was. "Now will you please shut up and let me get on with this? I don't want to talk about other guys while being in bed with you."

"Aw, that's sweet of you", Lancelot mocked him with a disgustingly sugary, sticky tenderness in his voice that vaguely reminded of his former benignity, just twisted into something dark and malicious. "Are you getting impatient?"

Merlin nodded silently; the mood had cooled down a little, but his body was still hot and yearning for release. However, when Lancelot continued to softly caress his chest and legs, obviously eager to make this last forever, Merlin suddenly felt sick. There was a sour taste upon his tongue and his stomach started to clench.

He did not want Lancelot to treat him with tenderness and patience like a real lover. He could not stand the smug smile upon the other man's otherwise so beautiful face and he certainly did not want to be treated with affection.

This was not supposed to be love. Pretending it was turned it into something utterly revolting.

Disgusted, Merlin pushed the knight away.

"Please, stop", he could hear himself say.

"What's wrong?", Lancelot asked softly. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, that's not it. But I want … I need …" Merlin felt his eyes fall shut for a second. He took a deep breath.

"Fuck me", he finally exclaimed.

"Merlin, what exactly do you think I'm doing?", Lancelot tried to laugh it off, but Merlin did not let him finish.

"You know what I mean. Just shut your mouth and do it already!"

The warlock had not wanted to shout, it just happened. He was panting heavily now, but that did not stop him from pulling the other man into an angry kiss that much more resembled a bite.

Lancelot seemed astonished by these actions, even if his surprise did not last long. Before Merlin had even a chance to do anything, he was turned around on his knees – so easily as if he was nothing more than a straw doll.

With one swift motion Lancelot slammed all the way back into Merlin's tightness, making the boy whimper and moan in pain and pleasure alike. Yes, this was what he wanted.

Clenching his teeth and trying not to scream, he gripped the headboard of his bed so tightly his knuckles grew white, but he did not succeed. He just had to cry his pleasure out into the night.

Lancelot was in full power over him now – and he used it shamelessly to drive Merlin straight into insanity. His pace was quick, his every thrust so hard and deep the warlock could feel his eyes fill with tears of pain, but he did not want it any other way.

This was the first time he was not making love. Instead, it was just fucking. And that was exactly how it was supposed to be: Raw. Feral. Aggressive.

Without any mercy, Lancelot pounded him from behind, fingers entwined in the boy's short, dark hair, pulling his head back and exposing the vulnerable throat for his tongue to explore.

Merlin gasped in excitement, ecstasy and pain – all these odd, intense feelings boiling inside of his body and soul.

"I … can't …", Merlin stammered when he could feel his muscles stiffen, preparing for climax. He could not hold on much longer. Not like this.

Lancelot just chuckled above him, going even faster. Every place of Merlin's body he touched now seemingly began to sear; the heat was too much for the frail boy to handle.

White lights exploding in front of his eyes, he spilled his hot, sticky seed all over his own pillow before he collapsed unto the bed. Lancelot finished quickly after him, using his now limb body like a lifeless doll to find satisfaction.

Merlin did not mind. His mind and body had gone numb. He did not care about anything right now, least of all about the small, tender kisses Lancelot placed upon his shoulders for a while before rolling to the side and idly caressing Merlin's back with one hand.

"Thank you, Merlin", he whispered. "That was a wonderful way to welcome me back to Camelot."

He laughed quietly, but Merlin did not respond. The boy was glad for all that exhaustion blurring his conscience. He knew that, once the sleepiness was gone, guilt would be washing over him like a giant tidal wave, crushing him underneath the burden of what he had done tonight.

A part of him wanted to push Lancelot out of his bed and forget about all this, but he could not find the strength to do that. So he just lay there, avoiding the other man's look and trying not to pay attention to the soft, affectionate touches.

"You are beautiful", Lancelot said again, slowly running his fingertips down his lover's spine.

"Would you please stop saying that?", Merlin retorted. He was becoming annoyed with all of this, mostly because he knew that it was nothing but sweet-talking. Whoever had sent that demon with his old friend's face (it probably once more was Morgana's deed) most likely tried to gain Merlin's trust. The warlock could not allow for himself to be flattered by the love and attention he was so starved off – he knew that, in the end, he would be betrayed.

Playing with fire as dangerous as this, he had to be careful. He could not let Lancelot know that he was well aware of his dark intentions, but he could not give in either.

If only it was so easy …

"But it's true", Lancelot reassured him, gently planting a kiss upon Merlin's temple. "You should see yourself through my eyes. Do you know what I see in you?"

"A pretty damsel in distress?", Merlin joked without any enthusiasm, hoping to cut the conversation off as quickly as possible, only for the knight to softly grab his chin and force him to look into those dark brown eyes that Merlin despised and admired so much at the same time.

"I see a man who is fit to be a king", Lancelot said in a hushed tone, but with unwavering certainty.

"Me, a king? Don't be a fool, Lancelot." Merlin could not help but laugh. He had never even dared to dream about such an outrageous idea. Of course Lancelot was just trying to flatter him, but why did he have to overdo it so much?

"I mean it. Trust me: You have it all, Merlin. The wisdom. The strong will. The kindness. The charm. You deserve something better than just being Arthur's servant. How often have I dreamed about a kingdom under your rule instead of his? You would be the man I would love to devote my life to."

"I thought you had already devoted your life to Arthur."

"I have devoted my life to Camelot, not him. I only accept him as the legitimate king. That doesn't mean I can't wish for someone better to take his place."

"You're being silly. I am happy to be a servant." Merlin paused for a second. "I am happy to be Arthur's servant."

He meant it. Power was utterly meaningless to him. All he wanted was a little recognition for what he did and lately, Arthur had begun to give him a lot more credit.

Needless to say, Merlin liked Arthur, as much of an ass as the king still was from time to time.

There was no way in the world Merlin would ever betray him.

"I'm sorry", Lancelot said. "It was just a thought. It's just … I'm really fond of you, Merlin. Probably more than is good for me. I certainly didn't mean to hurt your pride as a royal servant. Please forgive me."

"It's fine", Merlin grumbled. "Just let me rest now. I will have to get up early tomorrow, my chores don't do themselves on their own."

"Of course. Sleep well … love."

Merlin flinched at the last word. He did want this … this monster to even pretend to have feelings for him. It made him want to throw up.

Somehow he managed to just keep calm and ignore the implied closeness that almost seemed like a menace to him.

Instead, he just wished Lancelot a goodnight in return and rolled to the side, his back turned towards the knight who took the chance to embrace Merlin tightly from behind and bury his face in the boy's hair.

"I missed you, Merlin", he whispered and for the first time, it felt absolutely genuine.

"I missed you, too", Merlin mumbled, hardly conscious at this point, right before his eyes fell shut and he drifted off into dreamless, exhausted sleep.