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Wear Back the Crown

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Merlin looms over the man, a scowl on his face.

“You are pathetic. That you sat at the table this long is laughable. Arthur really was a weak old man.”

Harry comes up behind Merlin and runs a hand over his back as he steps around him. He pulls his favorite knife out from the sheath on his hip and flicks it open.

They've only been out on a job together twice now, but already they find themselves falling into a rhythm with each other. It’s easy for Harry to anticipate Merlin’s need to destroy every aspect of this man’s life.

While Harry runs the knife gently over the trembling man's shoulder, Merlin takes out his tablet and pulls up the man's accounts. He goes to reach for the ledger sitting on the desk when Harry makes a noise and Merlin looks up.

“You shouldn’t be so careless,” Harry says. He steps away from the man, letting his knife slice through the skin at the side of the man’s neck as he pulls it back. The man screams pathetically into the gag and Harry can barely restrain rolling his eyes. He walks over and sets the knife down on the desk beside the ledger and tugs his gloves off slowly, finger by finger.

There is a dark heat playing between them as Merlin’s eyes flick from Harry’s hands to his face. These are Harry’s favourite pair, supple black leather with a slim edge of red silk at the wrist, and he’s certain that Merlin has noticed. When the gloves are off, he holds them out to Merlin.

“Wear these.”

Carefully, Merlin sets his tablet down on the edge of the desk, not breaking eye contact with Harry. Their hands brush together when Merlin reaches out to take the gloves, and the corners of Harry’s mouth pull up into a sharp smile.

The gloves are small for Merlin’s hands, but not too small. The leather pulls tight over Merlin’s fingers and lets out an audible creak as he flexes them. Harry drops his gaze then, eyes drawn to the sight of Merlin’s hands wrapped like a present in his favourite leather.

Time hangs there for just a moment, Merlin flexing his fingers slowly and Harry unable to tear his gaze from the sight, until the man tied to the chair finally finds his balls and starts to thrash against the rope tying him to the chair.

Harry sighs and picks his knife back up from the desk. He really doesn’t have the patience to take the man apart slowly now. Not when, after he walks around to press the knife under the man’s chin, he looks up to see Merlin with a gloved hand resting thoughtfully against his lips as he looks at the ledger.

Harry thinks that when they are done this job that he has some shopping to do.