Written for Camelot_Drabble on Livejournal. Prompt #3: Scars.

Fair warning: This fic contains BDSM, D/s, KNIFE PLAY, BLOOD PLAY, and h/c. If that's not your cup of tea, then beat it.

They called him the Dark Prince. Not only because he had an ego the size of England, but also because he actually was a bit royal. Some King had a niece who slept with a farmer who had a brother or some such. Loooong time ago of course. So, there was no chance of him, like, ruling the country anytime soon. But that didn't stop him from being the biggest royal ego the local BDSM community had ever seen.

The first time Merlin had met—no, not met, encountered rather—he'd been sitting nervously at the bar, trying to avoid eye contact with the naked men and women dotted about the club. He'd seen some of them in dog collars, with leashes and everything!

"You can always tell who the fresh meat are, just by the look on their face. They all look like scared puppies." Emphasis on the puppy. Merlin swallowed and turned toward the voice. The sight that met him was tall, broad and blond. And wearing what was possibly full leather, but Merlin was too distracted by the smug smirk on the man's face to pay too much attention to other things at the moment.

"Is there a reason you're being a prat, or are you just naturally rude?"

Suffice to say, their first meeting was not them at their best. Neither were their second, third or fourth meetings; all of which somehow always ended with frustration and inexplicable erections—at least on Merlin's side, he couldn't really speak for Arthur. By the time Arthur had taken Merlin under his wing and introduced him to the whole, wide world of BDSM, they'd actually gotten to be quite close.

Trust was essential, especially in this world. And over the months, Arthur and Merlin had cultivated that trust. It grew to a point that Merlin felt they were ready for something… more serious.

"No. Absolutely not. You're not ready." We're not ready.

"Yes, I am. Arthur. I want to do this. You did it with Sophie all the time!"

Arthur leveled a glare at him. "Sophie and I had been scening together for years. We've known each other since we were children. She trusts me with her life."

"I trust you with my life!"

"Do you, Merlin?" He crowded up into Merlin's face, speaking harshly, trying to get it through his thick skull just how serious a step like this was. "You trust me to put a blade to your pretty skin? You trust me not to go too deep, nick a vein? Do you trust yourself not to squirm or twitch or do anything that could possibly cause me to threaten your safety?"

Merlin sucked in a shaky breath. "Yes. All of that, yes."

In the end Arthur sighed and looked at Merlin with a deadly serious expression and says, "I'll think about it. And I think you should too."

They talked about it extensively. For days, hell for weeks. Going over exactly what Merlin wanted, what Arthur will do, how it will feel, safe words, facts, questions, assurances. It all boiled down to Merlin on his stomach with Arthur straddling his waist. Arthur had brought out his new blades, sharpened and cleaned religiously in the last week. The metal warmed quickly in his hand. He took a deep breath and ran a calm hand down Merlin's back.

"You're sure about this Merlin? Remember you safe word?"

"Yes." Merlin breathes out. His back is relaxed, but Arthur can see his hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets.

"I'm gonna give you the back of the blade now. Just like I showed you earlier." Before they had even started Arthur had sat Merlin down and used his own body to show him what he would do. Now, he drew the backside of his blade across Merlin's shoulder, putting pressure on the tip at the last second. Merlin's breath knocked out of him at the sting.

"Alright?" Arthur received a jerky nod in reply. Merlin's eyes were closed, but there didn't seem to be any stress or bad pain in his expression, so Arthur continued.

By the time he worked up to actually pressing the sharp blade into Merlin's skin, Merlin was practically panting. Arthur placed the flat of the blade across the red stripes on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin hissed.

Merlin was beautiful under the blade. Arthur watched the muscles of his back tense and relax. And the stark, red cuts along his shoulder. A bead of blood wept from one of the cuts. He smeared it down as far as it would go.

"Arthur." Merlin's croaky voice brought him back to the present. There was a furrow between his brows as he looked up at Arthur.

"What is it, love?"

"I –" Merlin's face scrunched up. "Please, just… Please."

Arthur seemed to know exactly what he wanted—needed—and carefully set down his blade so he could turn Merlin over. Merlin's cock was straining and deep red. Arthur often marveled at humans' endurance for pain, and the enjoyment of it. It only took maybe half a dozen strokes before Merlin was coming over his stomach and Arthur's hand, a sob torn from his throat.

When the cuts healed over there remained thin white lines over his shoulder blade. Whenever Arthur saw them he gave in to the urge to place a gentle kiss over the scars. Merlin smiled softly and curled deeper into his embrace. The scars never faded, Arthur made sure of that.