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Beneath Merlin’s scarf, the evidence of their encounter peeks out, mottled bruises in the shape of Arthur’s mouth in black-blue, yellow and green. Their schoolmates have been gossiping loudly, wondering about the ‘vicious animal’ mauling Merlin’s neck, making lewd jokes that slide off Merlin like water, which Arthur finds mildly impressive.
Even though Arthur has tried to forget what happened and had valiantly ignored Merlin as much as you can ignore someone who you share a room with, those bruises keep reminding him of having Merlin up against the wall, violating his neck.
On the evening of their third night stepping around each other in their shoebox-sized room, Arthur can’t ignore Merlin any longer. When he looks up from underlining text in his psychology textbook with a pencil and ruler, Merlin is standing next to his bed, halfway through undressing, his school uniform shirt hanging open, arms idly by his side.
“What?” Arthur asks, hating how his voice doesn’t sound as annoyed as he wants to make it.
Merlin just stares at him, unblinking, and it’s a little unnerving. He’s pale, but there are bright spots of red on his cheeks, and his mouth looks spit-slick, like he just licked his lips.
Swallowing, Arthur puts his textbook aside and gets up, surprised when Merlin doesn’t move an inch. It brings them so close that when Merlin exhales a shuddering breath, it fans over Arthur’s face like a caress.
“Please,” Merlin whispers, his voice low and scratchy, and the jolt that travels through Arthur, making him instantly, blindingly aroused, is terrifying. He sucks in a gulping breath.
From so close, Merlin’s eyes are a tantalising mix of sea-green and grey-blue, with tiny specks of gold. An understanding passes between them and Arthur slowly lifts his hand and places his palm on Merlin’s scrawny chest, brushing the shirt tails aside. Merlin’s pale skin is warm and soft, apart from a few scratchy black hairs in the centre of his breastbone. When he moves his hand, spreading his fingers, his palm slides over Merlin’s nipple and Merlin makes a soft sound, before biting down on his bottom lip.
Breathing harder, his heart hammering behind his ribcage, Arthur presses down with the heel of his hand, feeling Merlin’s nipple harden to a stiff peak. Merlin’s lips dig harder into his bottom lip and his eyes have widened a little. Holding Merlin’s gaze, he pinches the nipple between his fingers, before twisting hard. Merlin cries out softly, his knees buckling, and his hand finds purchase on Arthur’s shoulder, but he looks so … relieved, Arthur thinks with astonishment. He does it again, loving the way Merlin’s mouth drops open on another whimper. He brings up his other hand and harshly pinches Merlin’s other nipple, just to hear the sound again.
Just these few touches have Merlin shaking, his blue eyes liquid, and Arthur sinks back down on the bed, bringing his mouth to Merlin’s abused right nipple. He grazes his teeth over the stiff flesh so Merlin can feel the sting, before closing his mouth around it. With a sob, Merlin curls forward, keeping himself upright over Arthur’s body, shaking.
Arthur sucks and licks and bites at Merlin’s nipple, worrying it with his teeth while he alternately twists and pets the other, drawing more obscene noises from Merlin’s lips. Merlin’s fingers curl uselessly around his shoulders. He’s hard in his slightly too big boxer shorts, and little shudders wreck his body, goosebumps breaking out on his skin.
When Merlin’s boneless weight becomes too heavy, Arthur moves back, panting harshly. “On the bed,” he says hoarsely, and Merlin complies, dropping back onto Arthur’s bed like a sack of flour. He’s quite a sight: shirttails hanging open, his neck still littered in bruises from three days ago, nipples reddened and stiff, a bite mark already forming next to his right nipple where Arthur’s teeth had left enthusiastic indentations.
Before Arthur realises exactly what he’s doing, he’s got his plastic ruler in his hand, and he brings it up to Merlin’s left nipple, tapping it against the erect peak. Merlin’s eyes are wide but he moans quietly, so Arthur taps the abused nipple again, harder. Holding Merlin’s gaze, he twists the ruler and digs the plastic edge into the point of Merlin’s nipple, then drags it down, pressing the edge into Merlin’s skin. It leaves a thin, red line behind. Merlin’s mouth opens on a long-drawn groan.
Feeling a little light-headed, Arthur leads the ruler lower, sliding it over Merlin’s hip, before moving up the inside of his thigh, where the skin is soft and marble-pale. He slides it into the leg of Merlin’s boxers, and Merlin squirms, his breath coming quick and irregular.
Shortly before making contact with Merlin’s cock or balls, Arthur withdraws the ruler, not quite sure how to follow up with his teasing. Instead he says, “Turn around.” Merlin doesn’t hesitate one second, all but flinging himself onto his belly.
Wordlessly, Arthur guides him up on his knees and reaches out to pull down his boxers, revealing pale and remarkably perky arse cheeks. He places the ruler on Merlin’s left arse cheek, and Merlin moans at the contact like Arthur is pressing an iron brand into his skin. It’s only then that Arthur remembers to ask.
“Is this… is this okay?”
Merlin nods, his dark curls catching in the fabric of Arthur’s pillow, before he finds his words. “Yes. Please. Go on.”
His voice is raw, but firm, and Arthur takes a moment to breathe. He’s throbbing in his pyjamas, so hard it nearly hurts, and in front of him, Merlin, with his naked arse in the air on Arthur’s bed, is begging to be hit with a ruler. He tries to wrap his head around it, but it’s almost too big a concept, so he decides to go with the flow.
He brings the ruler down in a measured practice swing, swatting Merlin’s left arse cheek. Merlin moans and squirms, his fingers digging into Arthur’s sheets, but otherwise keeps still. When Arthur lifts the ruler, there’s a faint red line left behind. He hits him again in the same spot, a bit harder, and this time, Merlin yelps. He doesn’t tell Arthur to stop, so Arthur does it again. Another yelp, and Merlin is pressing his heated face into Arthur’s pillow, moaning. Arthur swings again, emboldened, and Merlin shouts and jerks.
Merlin’s left arse cheek is reddened, in stark contrast to the right one, so Arthur applies hits to the other, in quick succession. Merlin is trying to stifle his shouts by biting down on the pillow. The filthy, increasingly desperate noises falling from his lips spur Arthur on and Arthur keeps bringing down the ruler, alternating between stinging slaps and gentler hits, left and right. Merlin’s behind has taken on colour, the skin throbbing, angry and red. Merlin is all but sobbing into the pillow now, but between his legs, his cock is leaking against Arthur’s sheets. When Arthur finally lets up, Merlin is hiccuping out little breaths, shaking.
Gently, Arthur brushes his hands over Merlin’s red skin, and Merlin whimpers at his soft, barely-there caress. Arthur trails his fingers down, slipping them into the crack and lower, until he can cup Merlin’s swollen balls, already drawn up tightly, squeezing hard. Merlin’s whole body convulses and he moans, and Arthur’s gaze is drawn to his pucker, dark and wrinkled.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, surprised that he still has a voice, before pulling his own cock from his pyjamas. Whining, like he’d been waiting for permission, Merlin is shoving a hand between his legs. Leaning forward, Arthur presses a kiss to the abused flesh of his behind, following a particularly vicious ruler mark with his tongue.
He wants to dip his tongue lower, to taste the dusky, wrinkled hole and pry it open with his tongue, but instead he opts to dig his fingers into Merlin’s arse, applying pressure to already forming marks.
“Fuck, fuck,” Merlin whines, desperately.
Arthur places sloppy kisses over Merlin’s heated skin, licking and occasionally sucking it into his mouth, until Merlin comes with a hoarse cry, slumping as all the tension drains from him.
Panting, Arthur pulls back, and it only takes one look at Merlin’s blissed out face turned sideways on his pillow to follow, spilling in ropes over Merlin’s spit-slick arse, white on red. Merlin sobs and trembles with his eyes closed, and Arthur crashes down on the duvet next to him.
For a while, they lie like that, their heads on Arthur’s pillow, breath mingling. It’s so quiet in their room now. Arthur’s mind is void of anything.
When Merlin opens his eyes, his gaze is soft and he looks pleased. He’s so quiet, after all the filthy noise he’s made. “Thank you,” Merlin whispers.
“You’re welcome,” Arthur breathes, and brushes a curl from Merlin’s forehead.
The smile that’s been nothing but a hint on Merlin’s lips so far, takes flight.