#slightly ooc

“Just like that, pretty girl. Just— fuck— like that,” Eddie pants above you. His camera pointed directly at the area where you’re connected. Watching the way the plump of your ass ripples with every thrust.

“Eddie,” you whine, your voice almost overshadowed by the sound of your ass meeting his thighs. His hand settles on your rear, kneading and pressing the pads of his fingers into the skin. He moves the camera up. The lens trailing your quivering body in your uniform, your soft hands clutching at his comforter and your face pushed sideways into his bed.

“Yeah? Whose dick are you taking, pretty girl? Who’s making you feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, his voice broken up by groans and ragged breaths. He damn near forgets about the camera entirely when your pretty cunt tightens around his dick. A broken moan echoing behind the camera.

“You, fuck, it’s yours,” you breathe out, nearly overshadowed by the squelch of your pussy. You let out a cry when Eddie’s hand suddenly comes down on the flesh of your ass, his rings leaving behind a sting.

“Uht uht, say my name,” he orders, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches you try to hide from the camera. He fucks you a little harder until a mumbled string of his name over and over again comes from you. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.”

Arthur, who had frozen in shock, seemed more confused than hurt, though his anger was still present in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed with no sounds coming out. Merlin had truly rendered him speechless.

Merlin knew in his heart and soul that Arthur loved and trusted him. But his actions these last months had left him feeling bereft and broken.

“After all these years. After everything we’ve been through, after everything I have done for you. War, dragons, poisons, and heartbreak. After all of it, my loyalty clearly meant nothing to you.”

Arthur had never been heartless. He had always put others before himself, and would happily die to save anyone of his people. He had once drunk poison to save his kingdom.

But his father temperament and parenting had unfortunately had lasting effects, and he would occasionally act out in anger or frustration, before he’d had the chance to think things through.

This was one such occasion.

And Merlin was not about to let him do that again. Not to Gaius. Not like this.

It saddened him to think that Agravaine had his greasy fingers so deeply entrenched into Arthur’s heart. That his influence was so strong. The man in question is seated next to the king, on his right hand side, where Sir Leon should usually sit. While his face was portraying a perfectly false shocked expression, his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with glee.

Banishment had always been Merlin’s greatest fear. Death was of course a huge concern, but to be removed from Arthur’s side was unthinkable. He would rather die than be exiled.

And yet, the prat gave him no choice.

For once in his life, or at least the past seven years, Merlin did not choose Arthur’s side. He would leave. Maybe if he left, he would have a chance of saving Gaius’ life as he took Morganas’.

He walked towards his King with determined steps. His hand reaches inside his left pocket and picks up the Sigil Arthur gifted him a year ago. He holds it in his hands and feels the weight of the silver and his decision.

But at least the decision was his to make.

Merlin forcibly put the sigil back into Arthur’s hands. The man was so stunned by his action that he didn’t move or say anything. All eyes were on them and the sigil between their hands.

“Your uncle is having an affair with your sister. Lord Agravaine is a traitor to Camelot. It was he who killed King Uther by interfering with Dragoons healing magic, just like Gaius told you. It was he who told Morgana of your travel plans. It was he who kidnapped me alongside the bandits.”

Merlin spoke so calmly and gently it that the words cut like a knife. While his anger shone through the words he used, his tone was not angry — instead it was heartbreakingly honest.

“He was the one who goaded you into killing King Caerleon and starting a war. It was he who ended your courtship with Gwen, and it was he who betrayed you when the Dorocha attacked. Lord Agravaine is not your friend. He is the reason your father is dead.”

Arthur stumbled a little at this, and had Merlin not been so angry with him, he would’ve steadied him like he always had. But not right now, he needed Arthur to hear the truth of Agrvaine’s betrayal — even if the clotpole didn’t belive him.

“I have always been by your side, my Lord. I have never given you a reason to doubt my words. I have seen them together. I have seen the many times your uncle leaves the safety of the citadel late at night and does not return until the early morning.”

Merlin sighed.

“It is true that Gaius used to practice medicinal magic. Even Uther knew that and still he kept him alive and at court because he knew that Gaius’ knowledge was valuable to his kingdom. Did you never wonder how Gaius knew so much about magical curses and creatures? He told you many times he researched them — did it never cross your mind that he had books on the subject and your father had allowed it?”

From the look in Arthur’s eyes, he had not. Nor had anyone else in the room it seemed. Whispers and mumbling broke out, but Merlin drowned them out with his words.

“My uncle is not a traitor, but yours is. My uncle has been your steady guide and friend all these years. Yet in his hour of need Gaius, who have always supported you, was abandoned in favour of a man you met two years ago.”

He laughed at the irony and gave Arthur a sad smile. “Funny how your uncle never showed his face until King Uther, who never even trusted him, was dying and you were in a situation which was easily manipulated.”

He took a step back and let his words hover over him like an axe. He knew he had just doomed himself. And he had done so in view of everyone at court, all of whom had a higher standing than him and could demand him executed for his actions.

Each and every person sitting at the table he was never granted a place at, had witnessed his treasonous speech. Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes as he said his final piece.

“There will not be any reason for banishment, sire. I leave Camelot willingly.”

Merlin didn’t bow. Nor did he look back as he walked out of the throneroom, leaving a heartbroken Arthur behind him. After the big wooden doors closed shut, he could hear shouts and disagreements.

Agravaine was in ruptures. Gwaine was shouting in anger. Leon was desperately trying to calm the situation. He could not hear Arthur’s voice.

In moments like these, Merlin was happy he was made of magic. He could momentarily pause time, and walk freely while the world around him stood in perfect silence. Waving a hand, he stopped time and watched at people stopped moving as if frozen.

He fell to the floor and let out an earth shattering scream. Grief and rage filled him as he clawed at his torso, nails digging into his skin drawing blood, as he felt the hopelessness of the situation bleed out of him.

Merlin allowed himself a few moments to mourn the friendship he had just lost in such a tragic way. Arthur could never forgive him for such a display of insubordination and insult.

He had ended their love and friendship in such a way that it could never be repaired. Merlin had finally truly fucked up by letting his emotions overrun. The emotions he had for years suppressed and ignored.

But as much as he regretted causing Arthur pain, he didn’t find himself regretting his actions. He loved Arthur more than anything in Albion, or even the world. He would let Camelot burn to the ground if it meant saving his life — but he could not stand by and watch as Arthur burn it to the ground himself.

After years of never being treated like a true friend should, of verbal and physical assaults, he had finally stood his ground. And in doing so, he lost his King.

Like always, Merlin had to push down his own emotions, and focus on the task ahead of him. Destiny must come before anything else. He could never help Arthur become the King he was destined to be if Morgana and Agrvaiane were still alive. And maybe by leaving Camelot he had a chance.

Despite his many chances of killing them before, Merlin could never find it in himself to kill Arthur’s only living family members. He would not wish to deprive Arthur of his uncle, but that was until his own was threatened.

First he had to get up and find Gaius, and then he would have a chance to stop Morgana and Agravaine before they completely overturned Camelot and killed Arthur.

Making his way quickly to the physician’s tower, he planned to pack and leave Camelot before anyone, like Gwaine or Lancelot, could try and stop him. But with time still stopped, he had no reason to stress.

He entered his home.

The room was in total chaos, broken glass had left potions seeping into on the floor, staining it. Books were scattered and thrown about from the guards’ search of magical items. In trying to find proof of his magical treason, they had destroyed Gaius’ lifework.

And his home.

Merlin carefully stepped over the bits of broken glass on the floor, navigating through overturned tables and bookshelves, and made way to his bedroom.

The world was completely quiet. A fly was frozen in air, hovering over the windowsill. Merlin realised he had forgotten to unfreeze time. He could do that now, but he wanted some more time to pack and plan.

For years he had put Arthur’s happiness before his own, before anyone else’s even. And he had tried to bite his tongue, to act from the shadows like he always had, but this time his emotions took over.

Merlin could only hope that by causing such a scene, Arthur was forced to face the reality and consequences of his own actions. Maybe by loosing Merlin, he would finally believe him.

Getting his book and Sidhe staff, he quickly threw all his clothes into his rucksack. He grabbed his bedroll and blanket, carefully wrapping his wooden dragon into it, and made sure his room was sufficiently empty, before he left.

Merlin allowed himself one last look at his Camelot home. The smell of herbs and spices filled his nose as he closed his eyes. At last he decided to unfreeze time, and he could hear the people in the castle come back to life.

Life continued in Camelot, as Merlin made his way down the spiral stairs. He knew the knights would be running around trying to find him, not knowing he was already leaving the castle grounds.

Once he had found Gaius and killed Morgana, he would return.

It wasn't the first tug of the thorned vines pulling against Uzair's trachea that broke his spirit to fight. It wasn't his fingernails scraping his neck in stringy ropes of dead skin cells, muscle and blood. It wasn't even knowing that Rehman was too far away to save him.

No, it was the realisation catching up to Uzair that Hamza Ali Mazari would be the one to kill him.

—✿—

'Somewhere in South End when you were fun'

Uzair's gaze was soft as he watched Hamza light up like a child with a new toy as he rummaged through the new guns Shirani had gifted them. The day was already filled with festivities, and it was as if the pressure of the Major's demand had completely left Uzair's mind.

'You took my hand and you made me run'

There was something about the way Hamza pranced around with the guns with him, Rehman watching them from far away. Uzair wasn't usually this trigger-happy (who am I kidding, he always had a finger on the trigger, but let's pretend he was a normal man for today), but Hamza's presence had opened some sort of floodgates within him.

"Don't get reckless," Hamza eventually said to Uzair.

The taller man laughed freely. "We'll be fine."

He felt young. Not that he was particularly old, but he never had anyone his age around him. Siyahi liked Donga. Donga was...well, he was Donga. Rehman bhai loved him, don't get me wrong. But Uzair respected him far too much.

'Up past the prison to the seafront'

He always felt a little left out.

Well, that was until Hamza turned up.

Uzair really hoped that he would stick around longer than the others. There was this spark in him. Potential.

'You climbed the cliff edge and took the plunge'

The Major's plans with the ammunition succeeded. Everyone was elated; celebrations ensued and even Rehman didn't show any restraint in getting drunk with Uzair, Donga and Siyahi. The only man missing was...

'Why can't we laugh now like we did then?'

...Hamza.

Where was he? In his drunken haze, Uzair lamented about the man's presence to Donga and Siyahi the whole night.

"Man, is he your wife or something?" Donga nudged Uzair, the taller man flopping around like an overgrown toddler. "Why are you so worried about him?"

That struck a nerve.

Why, someone didn't need to be your wife for you to care about them. Not that Donga would understand that.

"Isse 'attachment issues' kehte hain—" Siyahi began.

"—zyada biology mat chuda—"

"—psychology—"

"Shut up." Uzair mumbled, unheard.

'How come I see you and ache instead?'

The next few days, Hamza was distant.

"Hamza—"

The longer haired man turned away from Uzair as soon as he saw him in the hallway. He wasn't at his kabootar-khana of a house either. Uzair didn't know what he had done to receive this behaviour.

'How come you only look pleased in bed?'

Everyone in the gang was going around whispering, 'Yalina. Jamali. Yalina. Jamali. Yalina Jamali.'

Uzair didn't quite like that.

He followed along with smiles, sure, but the prospect of Hamza getting married was...not good. It surely wasn't bad; I mean, who wouldn't want to see their best friend getting married? And Yalina was a sweet girl. But Hamza getting married would mean responsibilities. Duties. Duties that would hold him back from romping about with Uzair and Donga and Siyahi and all those other idiots whose names he couldn't be bothered with. Why did Hamza need to get married?

And married to Jameel Jamali's daughter, no less. That dumb politician couldn't say something genuine to save his life. Everything about him screamed fake. Artificial.

Uzair couldn't trust him.

And Uzair didn't know how to feel.

'Let's climb the cliff edge and jump again'

Getting blackout drunk at your best friend's wedding seemed to be the natural thing to do.

'Pineapples are in my head'

Hamza looked good. Smart. A little strange, with his hair and beard done instead of being left frizzy and free.

'Got nobody 'cause I'm braindead'

The good thing was that Hamza was talking to Uzair again. The jokes were a little stilted, but it didn't matter. As long as Hamza spoke to him in his soft voice. Looked at him with his mossy green eyes. Smiled at him with—

'Somebody said that I'm a fuckin' slum'

The bad thing was that Uzair felt like screaming every time he saw Hamza holding Yalina's hand? Brushing a lock of soft, curled hair away from her ear? Rehman, a little tipsy, congratulated them every other minute and Uzair's ears had blood rushing into them, blocking away the music and merriment around him.

'Don't know where I belong.'

Uzair always thought these types of whims were faced by those watery-eyed, fair-faced women in films. Not men, surely. He had seen Rehman bhai lament over Ulfat, but this?

'Maybe you're I'm fucking dumb.'

He'd dropped his pocket diary at the table as the Major rambled about more ammunition. Hamza bent to pick it up along with Uzair, and their hands brushed for a moment. Uzair froze, but Hamza picked the diary up without a second thought.

'Maybe I'm just a bum.'

Dazed, Uzair wondered how Hamza would've reacted if it was Yalina's hand instead of his.

'Maybe you're I'm fucking scum.'

'Don't you go psycho chum'

'I want you for the world'

'I want you all the time'

At the end of the night, it was Hamza that carried Uzair's telephone pole of a body out of his seat. By this time, Uzair was far too gone to care about what people thought about him. Even what Rehman bhai thought about him.

'Five thousand footsteps in your wet dress'

"Tu theek hain?" Hamza asked, a smile hidden under his now-freed locks, as if something was funny. "You drank too much."

'Back to the house with your arms around my neck'

"Why did you have to get married?" Uzair groaned as they walked—or, well, Hamza walked and Uzair was dragged.

"I don't see the problem." Hamza rearranged his grip around Uzair's shoulders. "You got free food. I got someone I loved."

"You don't love me?"

'We drank pork soda with tangled legs'

Now, Hamza laughed.

"No, seriously." Uzair slurred. "I love you."

"Kam peeya kar, bhai."

Uzair did something stupid that day. He was drunk. His head was spinning and Hamza was along with it. He planted his hands on either side of Hamza's broad shoulders and pressed his forehead against Hamza's.

His lips twitched and he wanted to ask a plethora of questions, 'wasn't I enough? What's all this about love? You've only known eachother for a few months. What about us? Why not me?'

He just said, forcing a joking smirk, teeth bared more in desperation than mockery, "don't forget about me."

'I won't forget how you looked at me then'

A beat.

Hamza gently pushed him along, thank god.

Uzair slumped as he was dumped to Rehman bhai.

Hamza stopped avoiding him after that. They were friends again, and Uzair couldn't find it in himself to protest.

'I know I'm no sweet prince of love'

Gun forgotten. Running. Head throbbing with the pain of slamming it into the centre console, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Leaves crunching under his feet. Blood ran along his temples.

Hamza. A traitor.

'Those times that we got drunk'

Hamza was the one who got pushed into the thorned bark, but Uzair was the one who felt the pain.

'Maybe Jamaica rum'

Uzair was a hotheaded man from the start. In his rage, he didn't notice when Hamza had tangled him in the thorned vines. His chest ached, and Uzair didn't know if it was the ache of betrayal or the sting of sharp spines digging into his skin.

'Maybe some Johnny Dub'

Hamza pulled. Barbaric.

'Maybe you still think of us'

Death wasn't merciful. Uzair's neck didn't snap. Instead, his throat was squeezed. Spots dancing in his vision.

'Phone buzz, and still I jump'

Their first meeting. Hamza jumping as Uzair's gun shot almost thirty bullets at once.

Another pull.

Football. Picking Hamza's burly self up in joy when he won against Donga and Siyahi.

Hamza lets out a scream. Guttural.

Laughing his ass off when Hamza coughs like an asthmatic after one puff of a cigarette.

Uzair felt the ends of his limbs go numb.

The chase through Cheel-Chowk.

A snap.

Rescuing Rehman bhai from the Lyari Task Forces.

It wasn't the last tug of the thorned vines pulling against Uzair's trachea that broke his spirit to live. It wasn't his fingernails scraping his neck in stringy ropes of dead skin cells, muscle and blood. It wasn't even knowing that Rehman was too far away to save him. Maybe he was dead already.

'Why don't I say it then?'

No, it was the realisation catching up to Uzair that Hamza Ali Mazari was the one to kill him.

'I want you all the time'

—-—-—-

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