Seducing a Supposedly Straight Magician Is Easier Than You Think

"Thanks," he murmured, flashing a rare unguarded smile. "It's only cotton, but it's Egyptian cotton of a high thread count--very posh, very expensive. Nearly as high-maintenence as the rest of my wardrobe."

"Mm-hm," Hesekiel mumbled, completely tuning him out at as he undid the last button. Merlin was so incredibly pale, but his skin was milky, unblemished and otherwise perfect; much like Merlin pretended to be, but Hesekiel knew the truth all too well. The thought of ruining Merlin brought him much delight, and he knew his hands were lingering at the other man's hips, barely grazing the skin there, but he was still touching him.

The smile ruined him. He couldn't do it anymore, couldn't be asked to pretend anymore. He tried to be gentle as he grabbed Merlin's waist and pulled him into a kiss, but he could feel the intensity of it and knew he wasn't being as gentle as he hoped. It was far too deep a kiss; Merlin would be all too able to realize just how long he had been holding this back. But he wasn't sure he cared at that moment.

Slowly, clumsily, Merlin returned the kiss. He pressed his tongue in between Hesekiel's lips, drinking in his scent. He felt foggy, barely able to hold onto anything was happening. Foremost in his mind was the thought that he hated facial hair far less than he let on. He tangled his long fingers in Hesekiel's hair, pulling away only to aim an uncoordinated kiss at his jaw.

This was bad. Very, very bad. But Hesekiel didn't let that stop him from pressing his hands against Merlin's hips, against his perfectly pale skin and it didn't stop him from setting his eyes on his neck, kissing and nipping just a bit too roughly. He craved the thought of dark marks on his beautiful skin, of Merlin seeing them in the mirror as he buttoned up his shirt to hide them from everyone else, just their little secret...

And he forced himself to pull away, a wave of guilt and other jumbled, confused emotions washing over him.

Merlin reached after him, but he was too slow. He reclined back into his pillows, sighing deeply.

"...Be a friend and fold my clothes, would you? I'm a little...dizzy."

"...right," Hesekiel said, too quietly. "I'll fold your clothes. You...just sleep this off."

He pulled the blankets over Merlin and made sure he was laying in a position that wasn't going to kill him if he decided to get sick in the middle of the night before he went to fold Merlin's clothes. The mundane task made him feel even more disconnected from what had just happened. He hoped, prayed Merlin didn't remember. Although, that mark on his neck was going to be hard to explain in any other way...

He put Merlin's clothes where they belonged, sat down on his own makeshift bed of pillows and blankets, and covered his face. Stupid. He was so stupid. But there was nothing left to do but wait until morning and hope for the best.

---

The next few days, Merlin rose, ate, and worked as though nothing had happened.  He didn't mention dinner, much less anything that had happened afterward.  The only indication he had any clue what had happened was the way he carefully dabbed concealer on the mark on his neck, and the way his scarves stayed on even when the tent he was in grew too warm.

Though they practiced and did shows together, he did his best to speak to Hesekiel only as much as necessary.  His words weren't harsh; on the contrary, his neutral tone was far more unusual and off-putting.  He even brought women to the shared caravan less and less frequently, opting for hotels and other less private places.

This carried on for over a month, until the moon was round and full again.  Merlin kept his distance from Hesekiel during this time, ordinarily muttering something derogatory about the smell; now he merely kept silent.

It was on the morning after, as the sun hung irritatingly high in the sky, that Merlin trudged through the trees back toward camp, his hair an absolute mess and his clothes wrinkled. All he could think of was his precious, soft bed after a night of much activity.

In his haste, he tripped over the large body of his assistant, who was laying beneath a tree.

Hesekiel was roused from his deep slumber as someone rudely kicked him awake. He opened an eye, wincing slightly as he looked around. It was a drunken hobo. No, wait...Merlin? What was Merlin doing here? For a few, sleepy moments he was terrified something like a month ago was happening again, but as he became less foggy he realized what day it was. And where he was.

"...what are you doing here?" he mumbled, yawning, and his canines were still slightly too sharp.

"...Returning, if you must know," he responded flatly, rolling his eyes. "Sleepless night. Sure you wouldn't understand. Do you know which way the caravan is parked? Beginning to feel like I'm walking in circles. Sleep deprived and whatnot."

He pulled his velveteen jacket closer around himself, letting out a yawn into his hand.

Hesekiel made a vague motion as he finally got to his feet, stretching out shamelessly despite his tattered, barely holding together, possibly suspiciously blood marked clothing. He desperately needed to change, he couldn't wait to take a hot shower and wear something decent.

He looked to where the caravans should be, where they were last night, and he stopped. Was he lost? He looked around again. Maybe they were farther than he remembered?

He started to walk in the direction he was pretty sure was right.

"Don't tell me you're lost too," he murmured, rolling his eyes. "Why in the hell do I even keep you around?"

He blew into his hands, rubbing them together; even in the sunlight, they were freezing. God, he needed his bed right now, the sateen sheets and soft pillows and his comforter, warm and fluffy like a dream. He leaned against the hard, rough trunk of the tree, a poor substitute.

"No, I always..." he began, and then stopped. What time was it, again? He looked up at the sky and then dug around in his pocket until he found his pocket watch. The screen was cracked, but that was old damage and he knew it still told time properly. Which was precisely why he had to stop himself from throwing it across the forest and breaking it for good.

This couldn't be happening.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and rejoined Merlin as he sulked near a tree.

"I don't think we're lost," he said plainly, crossing his arms.

"What the hell does that mean?!" he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The caravan's not here and we can't find it. Isn't that the definition of lost?" He closed his eyes, trying to shield them from the blinding sunlight, but they felt sore underneath his lids.

Hesekiel groaned. Merlin was so needy when he was in a bad mood. And when he was in a good mood, but it was slightly more tolerable then.

"They're gone," he said slowly, making sure Merlin was following him. "They already left. At least an hour ago, maybe more."

He braced himself for Merlin's reaction which he was quite sure would consist of Merlin finding some way to blame him.

"What do you mean, 'they left?'" he hissed, his eyes snapping open. His slender hands were clenched into subconscious fists.

"What do you think I mean by that?" Hesekiel snapped despite his best intentions not to but Merlin managed to get under his skin so easily. "They're gone. They aren't here. They moved on already. Remember, how we were supposed to do that today? Or were you too busy gallivanting around with some skank to remember?"

Hesekiel clicked his tongue and looked in the general direction of the city. What the hell were they supposed to do now?

"Maybe I didn't know because my good for nothing assistant didn't tell me!" he snapped, immediately reaching for his temples. Shouting was only making his headache worse. He lifted his chin upward; tears would look ridiculous right now, even from pain.

He slid down the tree trunk until he was crumpled on the ground, too miserable to even think about the bark and dirt and grass filthying his beloved clothes.

"I can't fucking believe this." Merlin despised the word ordinarily, but was too tired to come up with something better.

There it was. It was always his fault, somehow, especially when it wasn't.

But who cared about that argument, what he really wanted to know was how they were supposed to make it to their next destination which was, as it were, completely unknown to Hesekiel. They needed a phone, but that would require money. Of which Hesekiel had none. And he doubted Merlin had any on him.

"Do you have your wallet on you?" Hesekiel asked, wracking his brain for some way out of this mess.

He dug into his pocket and threw the designer leather square at Hesekiel, missing by a large margin. It landed on the grass with an unsatisfyingly light thud.

"That's all we have for now, unless you have something on you. I never take more than a few bills out with me."

Hesekiel picked it up and counted the money. Enough for a phone call but not enough for much else. If they begged, a night at a seedy hotel maybe. But that would likely require more charm than he could muster with his clothes looking, well. Like this.

He sighed. Again.

"I'm going into the city to make a call," he decided. "You can come or not but that's my plan."

"I'm so exhausted," he whined, glaring at Hesekiel. But he forced himself to his feet. Being left alone in the forest sounded far scarier than he would admit.

"You've been sleeping. Carry me, you have more muscle and more energy."

Hesekiel moved to oblige but something felt familiar about this situation and he recalled the last time he had carried Merlin. He knew he must have hesitated slightly before he eventually did as he was told but was entirely too reluctant to admit why so he hoped Merlin didn't notice or ask.

"Only as far as the city," he said sternly but he didn't mean it, anyway. Merlin weighed nothing to him, truthfully, and he did feel a slight twinge of guilt over the fact that he hadn't properly informed him of their departure date in the first place.

"Don't think anything of it," he mumbled. "It's your job." He leaned his head against Hesekiel's chest, wrinkling his nose theatrically at the smell he truly didn't mind. He closed his tired eyes and did his best to drift off, and in the end he succeeded; something about the rhythm of Hesekiel's breathing and his steps lulled the exhausted magician into a light sleep.

There was something oddly comforting about Merlin falling asleep in his arms. He must trust him to some extent. Although perhaps he shouldn't, all things considered. The city seemed to come into view sooner than Hesekiel wanted to admit and so he walked a bit slower, giving Merlin a few more moments of restful sleep before they eventually reached civilization. Dreary, bustling civilization. Hesekiel sighed softly.

"Okay, on your feet," he said in a tone softer than necessary as he gently placed his companion on his feet.

Merlin groaned, stretching his thin, long body. He felt sore and groggy, but at least his head hurt a little less.

"So what's your plan? I...assume you have one," he said flatly, back to his usual curt tone.