Chapter Text
These years in the kingdom's history will forever be shrouded in hatred and inconsolable pain. Tears and blood will become the cause of scorched earth, where not a single sprout will grow, and on deaf nights every murderer will be unable to drown out the desperate weeping of their victims.
***
The journey took much longer than originally calculated, as many villages had to be bypassed: either there was no passage left, or the residents simply wouldn't let travelers in. And if it had been a standard inquisitorial detachment sent by the Crown, they would surely have forced their way deep into the settlement and beaten the foolish idea of hiding sorcerers and witches out of the locals' heads, undoubtedly finding the heretics and eliminating them. But his task was different, and he hadn't received it directly from the Crown, although it was at its behest.
The many-hour journey came to an end. Having dropped his passenger off at the very first houses of the town, the coachman received his well-earned pouch of gold and, hurrying, disappeared into the woods, urging on his tired horse. And Leonard, looking around, gathered his thoughts before heading to the center.
And where was one to find one's target when there wasn't really a target? "Go and don't you dare return without results!" his captain, who had completely lost his marbles, had said then. "We've been entrusted with this task, we can't screw it up!"
Opposing those in power now was a foolish and dangerous hobby. Leonard had never been suicidal enough to contradict those whose heads had been filled with ideas about an allegedly safe new world.
Word of the guest spread through the town immediately, and, gods witness, no one was happy about the stranger, as if they could read his thoughts and knew his mission. As soon as he walked past, whispering rose behind his back; as soon as he asked something, the townsfolk's faces would paint on a strained smile or, on the less theatrical ones, a frown, and everyone would watch his back with a look – some anxious, some frightened. In these times, unfortunately, such distrust was commonplace, but no one sought to stop him from settling into a free room in a small hotel, wandering among the houses and down each and every street, visiting all manner of establishments, and starting empty, pleasant dialogues during which some did eventually thaw towards him.
The town lived its life, and the only thing that changed was the newfound attention towards the unknown entity from whom people simply didn't know what to expect. But that was all. As long as the unexpected guest showed no aggression, no one wanted to lay a finger on him, for fear of sin.
And from every crack, meanwhile, blared the worn-out slogan: "Songs, dancing, and high spirits!"
Even though everyone had long known when the Summer Solstice festival would begin, the newspaper vendors wouldn't relent: every tavern and little shop was plastered with signs and invitations. People, in the end, began every street encounter with it. And on the day of the official opening, even a couple of hours before the start, crowds were already gathering in the square, claiming the best sunny spots on the main street, and throwing open all the windows in the houses to let the street music in.
***
Pushing through the thick of the crowd, a bright young man had already cursed a thousand times the thought that he could slip through it quickly and not waste precious minutes going around. Well, yes, he simply didn't have time for that – he had matters of universal importance waiting for him!
Merlin, on the first day after a long period of silence and calm in the city, certainly wasn't planning to merge with the crowd that had finally gotten its festival. It seemed too active and sharp even for him. But he couldn't be bothered not to don a flashy crimson shirt, comfortable, light shoes polished to a shine, and even pin up his hair with a beautiful, shiny clip, for the general impatience was affecting him too. As if it were his first time at such a festival. A boyish heart fluttered with delight at the bright tinsel and signs, the balloons and colored lights.
And, as if for the first time ("Don't even think about it!" he yelled from last year, from the year before, and so on), he believed in himself and went straight for the spot he'd picked out for himself a week ago.
"Avoid every acquaintance, they won't even let you get a word in and will drag you into the whirlpools of round dances! You can't trust anyone now!" he thought, but it was already too late even then. Someone was already gripping his hand tightly, so as not to break the chain, and was pulling him right into the thick of it.
Thankfully, a second before, he'd managed to snatch a goblet from a familiar vendor and, to the vendor's companion's hearty laugh and the man's own disgruntled muttering, drained it in one go. After which, he, after all, got caught up in the cacophony of laughter and music, arm-in-arm with someone. And Merlin himself, let's be honest, laughed and met the evening with a smile.
And the round dances here didn't cease for long hours: people replaced each other, rested, and often returned, but there were also those who, slipping out, tried to get away. Such was Merlin, who had clearly decided before heading out that tonight would definitely be dance-free, and yet he had been literally forced!
Clutching each other, he and a young girl broke through the crowd and quite literally tumbled out of it. And although the fall promised to be unpleasant, one of the festival guests became the perfect scapegoat, and two bodies, almost tumbling head over heels, collapsed onto him.
"Oh, uncle! It's you!" the girl laughed, trying to catch her breath while lying on top of the pile.
Merlin was smiling too, though not as merrily.
"How many times do I have to say, what kind of uncle am I to you?" he grumbled, nudging the familiar little devil to finally get up. And she, like a free breeze, fluttered away, pleased and happy – whether just from the general mood or because she'd escaped the epicenter of the dancing.
Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin thought to bestow an apologetic smile on the unfortunate man he'd rolled off of just seconds ago, help him up, and likewise run off to scout what they'd arranged this year, but, looking at the surprised young man, he froze for a moment. Gears turned in his head, and a sign painted itself before his eyes: "Danger!" But it was already too late to avoid this man by all means, since he'd fallen on him himself. Even if he was smiling, even if he was putting on an innocent face – Merlin knew perfectly well about people's talk, and they only talk if they couldn't find out what they wanted.
And if anyone had seen this picture: a young sorcerer and an unknown man with unknown motives, around whom swirled various rumors yet to be confirmed or refuted – they would surely have worried about the familiar boy. But in the hustle and bustle of the festival's first day, no one paid any attention to those sitting on the sun-warmed ground.
"Leonard Mitchell," the new acquaintance introduced himself slightly uncertainly, watching the changing expressions on his face.
Slightly casting his eyes down, Merlin finally got up from the not-so-comfortable spot and – oh, how he didn't want to! – offered a helping hand.
"Merlin," he introduced himself, echoing Leonard, as they finally stood face to face, flashing a smile that didn't touch his watchful eyes. The handshake lingered a bit, and somewhat awkwardly, Leonard was the first to break it, also breaking eye contact. But he didn't want to look away.
"Is this a charm?" he thought immediately, trying to remember his lessons and figure out if he was enchanted, or if a nascent influence wasn't manifesting. But he didn't pursue the truth, for the heat on his face had subsided, so everything seemed calm... But even so, the uncertainty and awkwardness next to the young man, who had probably only recently entered adulthood, remained with him, though forcibly and hastily shoved deep down.
Soft facial features, the clear shape of bright eyes with long dark lashes, similarly soft nose and lips...
"Mister Mitchell," Merlin began, as if tasting the sound. "Are you here for long?" he asked, stretching his lips into a smile and looking at him expectantly with large, expressive eyes.
And Leonard's heart skipped into a rapid rhythm just from that, making him tense up internally even more.
"At least for the festival days," he said, not losing his composure, uttering the first thing that came to mind. He shoved that momentary confusion far away, deciding to figure it out later, and the conspiratorial smile, cursed by many he'd left alone, once again clearly painted itself on his face. "You're a local, right? Could you show me a good eatery?" And, pausing thoughtfully for just a second, he widened his eyes as if he'd come up with something worthwhile. "And maybe we can use 'tu'?"
"We can use 'tu'," Merlin smiled, tilting his head slightly towards his shoulder. As if not noticing it, he was drawing out each syllable, involuntarily causing faint goosebumps. "But arranging dinner is trickier. I'm still not sure what's even available these days, I only just arrived myself..." Now his voice sounded so disappointed, as if he couldn't help at all.
And, already knowing – even foreseeing – what Merlin was about to say next, Leonard interrupted him, for a seventh sense whispered that he couldn't let this man go:
"Maybe then you'll keep me company, and we can look for a decent spot together?"
Mentally curling his lip and clearly sighing heavily a couple of times, Merlin remained pleasant-faced. Even too much so. Although he could have sworn he'd cursed himself a couple of times already for not heeding his family's warnings, given to him quite some time ago: "Always carry a dagger with you." If he spent tonight in this man's company, it would be calmer either to be a fool and not know about the street talk, or to be prepared for anything... Well, or to find out that the general panic could be called off by learning the purpose of the visit, but then he'd be the luckiest man in the whole world.
"Yes, of course," he answered without a flicker on his face or even losing the smile. "Let's look for something."
Skirting the crowds of cheerful people, they involuntarily moved close. And at one point, Merlin even grabbed Leonard slightly above the elbow by the sleeve of his soft shirt and pulled him aside, slightly changing direction. Clearly hiding them behind one of the tents, he merely muttered something displeased, peeking out and hiding again without any explanation. They stopped to wait.
Interested and with a glint of amusement in his eyes at such open reluctance to run into someone, Leonard looked questioningly at Merlin, who was waiting for his nightmare to pass by. In turn, Merlin, quite literally starting from the shoes, was studying Leonard himself. Noticing now the trousers whose sharp crease hadn't been seen in ages, the strong arms hidden under the wide, untucked shirt, the small moles on his face, and how deep his eyes seemed.
Then he froze.
When their gazes met, Merlin already understood that he couldn't look away and pretend he hadn't been studying the man and, moreover, hadn't seen the question (and the long-standing mockery, wishing he'd trip up somewhere) in his eyes, wondering why they were still waiting. Although, probably, the reason for that mockery now wasn't just their hide-and-seek.
"Just better not to run into a certain person at festivals," he finally answered, deciding to reply only to the unasked question. "She'll either make you work or sit on your head... and honestly, I don't know which is worse," Merlin finished sourly, even making his voice quieter.
And Leonard unexpectedly felt like laughing and spitefully dragging this guy to that woman, just to watch the expressive emotions on that pleasant face.
As he'd thought: the town's best vendor with the truly best menu couldn't help but announce himself at the festival. And although the choice wasn't as varied, only things that cooked quickly enough, Merlin certainly trusted them.
The young waitress worked fast, darted between tables, talked to every guest, but near them specifically she slowed down and began examining very attentively. And not even them, but one specific person, which made Leonard feel slightly out of place...
Slightly... Gods, not even the gazes of his superiors were this unnerving!
"Does she like me?" he decided to joke. Leaning on the round table, Leonard moved closer to Merlin, somehow knowing for sure that he'd understand the question correctly. The guy didn't even bat an eye at the next bit of nonsense.
A second later, their orders arrived, and when they were relatively alone again, Merlin smiled ("Like a real cat," flashed through Leonard's mind) and, almost squinting, mirrored Leonard, leaning in.
"Mary's worried you might be some kind of maniac."
"A maniac?" he snorted, but glanced uncertainly towards the girl. She was literally looking at them at that very second, standing by the farthest table!
"Of course, a maniac. Trying to sweet-talk a boy, whisk him off to the woods somewhere, and – oh, the horror! – do something terrible to him," he listed conspiratorially, counting on his fingers.
In the eyes sparkling with mischief, Leonard certainly couldn't read the same fear just named. Rather, interest in the subsequent actions, in the reaction to his expressive words. Leonard decided to play along.
"Hearing your little voice, it seems to me that you're planning something terrible and depraved."
And Merlin merely swapped that smile for a sweet one and, sitting up properly, lowered his eyes as if to say, what are you talking about. The picture of innocence, if one didn't pay attention to the game he'd been playing, shooting glances ever since they'd taken this spot.
Leonard honestly tries to pick up the thread and gain the right to lead, though so far utterly unsuccessfully, for his heart simply wouldn't calm down and only raced harder each time. He still couldn't stop noticing individual beautiful details in the face opposite him, in his expressions, his glances. He kept pulling himself back, not allowing himself to focus on it for too long. This attention to a near-stranger definitely couldn't be a simple reaction of his soul.
"Darling, add a jug of wine to the order," Merlin addressed her, carefully catching the arm of the girl flitting about.
"You know they've jacked up alcohol prices threefold, right?" she clarified, trying not to let her gaze drift towards Leonard and not show tension around him.
"Exactly why just one jug," he chuckled.
Just then, Leonard spoke up:
"Please bring two jugs, I'll pay for the dinner."
Merlin pretended to be surprised for a second before simply spreading his hands.
"Then bring something delicious, Mary. I plan to fleece this young man."
Leaning his cheek on his hand, Leonard couldn't hide the smile stretching his lips, nor did he try—he simply didn't notice it had softened. He was genuinely intrigued, genuinely felt like smiling. He seemed unaware of how he was gazing at the boy, as if he wasn't just about to take a sip of strong wine that would certainly not be enough to get drunk on, but had already been intoxicated upon meeting him... Or had become drunk the moment their eyes met.
"The debauchery part I understand, but the truly terrifying thing is to leave me penniless?" he drawled as the golden eyes turned toward him again.
And once more, Merlin didn't answer, merely filled their glasses with crimson wine and slid one closer to Leonard, wetting his own already-bright lips.
When glass clinked against glass for the last time, it seemed Leonard could find no way out, for the desire to touch those lips was truly impossible. These glances, accidental touches of hands, smiles, and the sometimes-awkward silences made him feel like he was drowning.
He stopped wondering how many others this witch had lured in like this. Such thoughts for pondering crept in by the third glass, but by the fifth, only the gleam of otherworldly eyes reflecting the sunset and the whisper of words and silly jokes held any meaning. With the subsequent glasses, he no longer even remembered wanting to think it over, or perhaps discuss it (just as well, for the only candidate for discussion sat opposite – what an interesting scene that would have been).
Lines of some intricate poem flowed like a river between them. Leonard recited from memory and kept watching, kept memorizing: the lines of the face and of the body hidden by clothing, yet no less graceful for it.
"I'm drunk," Merlin uttered. Lost in his own thoughts, his slightly unfocused gaze settled on the other's flushed cheeks. But even so, Leonard's face remained just as attractive – a fact that offered no consolation to Merlin.
"Me too," Leonard snorted, not at all offended that he was probably not being listened to. Well, maybe just a little.
Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the table: the empty plates and platters of appetizers had long been cleared away, leaving only two glasses and the final – fourth – jug, with barely a mouthful left. There was no point in pouring more, and Merlin was already finishing his last glass half-heartedly. So, as Leonard downed his, he didn't notice Merlin leaning across the table, closing the distance. Lips met lips, and the still-warm wine never made it into the other's body.
Silence filled the space between them. Leonard didn't react at first, only licking his lips, which seemed to still hold the warmth of the other's and the moisture of the spilled wine that had narrowly avoided dripping down his chin. His thoughts came to a standstill as he stared at the smug Merlin. The man was either hellishly drunk or so relaxed he could afford to smirk at him so defiantly. He was squinting his eyes like a contented cat after a prank, sprawled in the comfortable armchair, his foot nudging Leonard's leg, slipping a toe into his trouser leg and lightly hiking it up.
And Leonard felt himself unraveling further under this scene. And under the other's silence, for he was clearly waiting for Leonard to act.
What was this? Genuine interest in him, even if it had surfaced under the haze of intoxication, or was this all born of cosmic boredom? His body burned from the touch, even if it wasn't a hand caressing him – yet imagining one wasn't difficult. It seemed just another second, and his mind would conjure those images, but his breath caught – whether from astonishment at the audacity or from the immediate reaction of his body as the shoe-clad toe slid higher. A touch to his thigh, right between his parted legs, and…
Ah. And, looking into those amused eyes, Leonard could no longer say with any certainty whether Merlin was drunk, or even if he himself was merely drunk or under the influence of something heavier. Herbs? Oblivion? Enchantment?
What drives him every time it comes to this person, every time he lets slip-whether out loud or in his mind-something ambiguous, something careless, something he would normally think twice before saying?
Right now, he desperately wants to erase that smile with his own lips, to make that smile part into a silent moan... But for now, all he does is part his lips slightly, drawing in the hot summer air. But he himself didn't notice this, so when the completely uninhibited guy pressed right against his crotch, and a gasp escaped him, Leonard swiftly grabbed the other's leg, digging his fingers into the pale ankle, forcefully stopping the leg in place. And now his gaze is sharp and stern again, he looks at the guy like a hunter at his prey, but he sees no fear from the painful grip. Only interest.
Springing up from his spot, he looms over the guy, who, tilting his head back, looks straight into his eyes. And it's as if he'd been waiting for just that.
Merlin's hand glides down his cheek, lower, to his very neck, his fingers comb through the soft strands and stop somewhere at the nape, to pull him closer.
But he doesn't let their lips meet, only whispers, staying too close:
"What exactly did you want?"
Scorching with his breath, he kisses the soft skin of the neck, leaving a vivid mark where it will be hard to hide. And Leonard braces his hands on the armrests on either side of his body, holding his balance just like that and not falling to his knees before Merlin from legs that suddenly weakened.
"Will you take me to the room?" he whispered, ignoring the question. He had absolutely no idea what answer he would get, everything around seemed too unexpected, even though it had all been leading to something like this.
"I will."
A warm hand leading him through the darkness of the streets, and a couple dozen seconds of silence allowed his mind to start working again.
And when the thin doors slammed shut behind them, strong hands pressed Merlin against that very door, and Leonard, holding him by the shoulders, buried his lips in his neck, first biting, then moving to surprisingly careful licking. A quiet hiss and a painful hit to the side, followed by-still-a suppressed sigh, were louder than words.
His body began to burn in the heat of rising arousal.
"Is this magic? All of it, from the very start?" Leonard hissed right into Merlin's lips, holding him in place.
"I don't understand what you're whining about," Merlin laughed against his mouth, deftly slipping his fingers under the buttons of the other man's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and pressing his lips against Leonard's on his own accord. He didn't bite, imitating Leonard, but instead covered them in kisses, leaving only a burning redness and stirring a new wave of heat.
"Won't you answer the question?"
"Did you answer mine?" Merlin replied and kissed him again, this time somewhere on his cheekbone, and from that tenderness, from that soft tone, Leonard wanted to bestow the same upon this creature.
He was no longer thinking about the reasons for what was happening.
Now his hands weren't gripping the fragile shoulders hard enough to make the fabric or bones creak; they slid lower and, slipping under the clothes, caressed the slender waist of the supple body. Step by step they moved away from the wall and fell onto the bed.
All these shifts between sharpness and softness between them only intensified each other. The moments outside and the extremely brief seconds here, during which he had wanted to possess this body, to reclaim his own sanity just so he wouldn't see mockery in those other eyes, but only tears from his member pounding in too roughly, had passed. His heated body and mind, of course, did not wish for what was happening to stop, but now he wanted those eyes – the eyes of a true succubus in human guise – to shed tears only because the body, in its bliss, ceased to hold back and the mind ceased to think.
And he held Merlin, who was sitting between his spread legs, practically pressing against his own chest, and who was clearly more impatient than Leonard, who was being tossed from one extreme to another.
"So, will you take me?" he whispered bitingly into his lips. With his hand, he meanwhile shook off the long-bothering, nearly fallen hairpin, causing the slightly long hair to finally tumble free in a swift cascade, covering the redness of his ears.
"So you really want to give yourself to me, and it wasn't just a game out of boredom?" he chuckles softly, slowly unbuttoning the other's shirt, caressing the bare skin, yet not moving towards the hips clad in trousers.
"Perhaps you don't know what to do?" he hisses, arching under the tenacious hands. "Or are you drunk and have forgotten everything you ever knew? What a lapse, you look like the real favorite of women, surely you've had experience in giving pleasure."
"I'm drunk on you," he replies, tracing his fingertips over the delicate skin, stopping his journey below the navel and only inching his way under the thin belt. And, watching the other's face twist at the deliberately spoken foolishness, Leonard feels truly wonderful.
And, pressing closer, Merlin now bites near his ear, still breathing evenly but with effort from arousal and these games of mercy. Thrusting his hips forward, he only excites himself more, and an unsatisfied moan escapes his lips. Bracing his hands against Leonard's chest, he finally pushes him down onto the bed and, with a slight lift of his hips, unbuckles his belt buckle, while bright eyes, slightly veiled with haze, memorize every moment of these insistent movements.
And when they were both naked, Leonard finally took the initiative, touching the tip of the other's rigid, standing member, smearing the pre-ejaculate between his fingers, making him breathe raggedly, and – "Gods, this madman will drive me insane before he even comes!" – drawing him close, licking him clean.
He said nothing, only looked straight into the golden eyes, half-closing his own as if from genuine pleasure. And then he stroked his member again from the very base, spreading the slickness along its entire length, while his own, aching from neglect, twitched and leaked.
"Should I proceed, or show you something I know?" he whispers with a soft laugh, seeing the beautiful eyes frown at his question.
"Just do something already," Merlin replies, breathing raggedly from another movement of the hand.
And then wet, cool, slick fingers caressed the buttocks with one hand and, gently parting them with the other, swept over the ring of muscle, pressing but not attempting to enter.
"Have you ever been with anyone like this?" Leonard whispers, laying his head on the other's shoulder, pressing his lips to a pulsing vein, not kissing, not biting, just feeling.
"As if I'd tell you that."
His breath is ragged, his body refuses to relax, and as he pulls back, Leonard seems to ignore Merlin's discontent, scooping him up by the hips and turning him over. Laying him on the bed, he kisses the lips parted by sighs, and it seems, just from how pliant the boy looks, he's willing to do anything today for his bliss.
Spreading the other's legs, he sits on the floor between them, nudging for Merlin to lift them and drape them over his shoulders. And Merlin understands without words, squeezing the other's head between his thighs, pulling him closer to his body. The touch of wet, hot lips to his straining member – it's like a blow to the head, a ringing in his ears, tiny sparks before his eyes. For the first few seconds, Merlin doesn't even notice the strong fingers penetrating him again.
One, then two, measured thrusts, movement inside. The resilience of the tongue sucking the head, its elasticity as it lavishes attention on the entire shaft in one motion – all of this combined with the pressure in his backside creates an incredible picture. And Merlin could swear he truly can't hold back these quiet, yet passionate moans.
And he squeezes the head between his thighs tighter, not wanting to lose the hot contact, not letting him pull away, and Leonard just takes more in. More than ever before.
And when his body jerks sharply, his bright eyes fly open, Merlin grips the slightly long strands of Leonard's black hair forcefully, making him look up with those gleaming, feverish malachite eyes.
"Like that," he whispers quietly, breathlessly. "Again." And when the thrust repeats, that "again" sounds once more, and his soul begins to thrash inside his body, threatening to slip out along with his wildly pounding heart.
Leonard, pressing his cheek to the inner thigh, merely stroked the prostate with strong fingers, slipping past it but hitting the damn spot every single time. His eyes, full of admiration, were fixed only on Merlin's trembling breath, on his openness to him, on how his pale skin grew damp with sweat, on how his member, neglected for some time, continued to leak from the body's sensations.
Leonard didn't touch himself at all. However much he wanted to finally feel release and calm the blood hammering in his temples, he only worked on the other's pliant body, covered those magnificent thighs with kisses, and watched.
Merlin whispered something, the sound tearing from his lips in fragments, as if in a heavy delirium. Just a second or two more-and his body would shudder in convulsive movements, arching forward, impaling itself one last time on the wet fingers. But abruptly, and therefore painfully, the bliss was cut off, and his pulsing member was squeezed tightly at the very base. Thrusting his hips, spreading them wider, breathing in ragged gasps and feeling the detestable emptiness, he either sobbed or moaned; these sounds, muffled by nothing, echoed off the walls. A tremor ran through his body from the tension, from the peak of sensitivity.
Drawing near to the bitten, red lips, Leonard kissed him while Merlin's hands dug into his shoulders, leaving crimson crescent marks, and then, with one smooth motion, he pushed into the hot core. Tears streamed down flushed cheeks as the body was filled again. And then it was Leonard who groaned quietly, burying his head in the slender shoulders, biting, then kissing over his own marks.
The pulsing member inside was enveloped by tight, wet walls, creating that very desired pressure, and, no longer holding himself back, Leonard thrust, then withdrew slowly, almost completely, and repeated. And he sped up, and sped up.
And Merlin, pressing close, close, feeling the other's frantic heartbeat against his chest, squeezed his eyes shut and accepted everything. He pressed the other's head to himself, embraced him, buried trembling fingers in his hair, lightly scratched the tender scalp, and allowed himself to sink. Irrevocably and finally.
The orgasm crashed over him sharply. It seemed that just a moment ago, all the passion in the world was concentrated in their frantic movements, and a second later their bodies, as if fused, as if grown together, went limp on the damp sheets, and only ragged breathing against hot skin echoed off the bare walls, for there was no strength left to speak.
***
The cold metal stopped millimeters from the trustingly exposed neck. Reddened, slightly inflamed marks had spread across it, down to the back and shoulders, which would remain a reminder for Leonard for many days of this night.
Their naked bodies were close, but Leonard, who had passed out after his climax, didn't stir a muscle when Merlin, pinned in his embrace, moved.
Sitting very close, Merlin was indeed ready to strike the pale neck if the man so much as twitched, but Leonard was softly snoring into the pillow, and the furrow between his brows, which Merlin remembered from the heat of orgasm, had been smoothed by peaceful sleep.
He left quietly and quickly: not looking back into the room as he closed the door behind him, not turning around as he left the street.
Slowly, as if reluctantly, Leonard opened his eyes. Rubbing his face with his hands, he exhaled and, without removing them, remained in the same position.
He knew that even though the blade of the pocket knife was dull, by applying force or striking sharply directly at the artery, Merlin could have killed him. He had felt his tense gaze, heard his heavy thoughts. He had been ready at any moment to surge up and pin the body to the soft mattress, knocking him out with one sharp move.
And the room still held their scents, it was even stuffy, as if they had just fallen onto the bed. As if Merlin was still lying on his chest, sleeping soundlessly, his breath tickling his skin. But now Leonard thought the boy hadn't closed his eyes at all, waiting for him to fall into slumber. But he hadn't slept either.
Now, in the room that had witnessed their passion and desire, he was alone. It was time to think.