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A Hard-On for Violence
This has been the worst day of Arthur's life.
Arthur shoves Merlin into the lockers as hard as he can, relishes the thud of Merlin's body against metal and the whoosh of his lost breath. "You little fucking shit," he says.
"Fuck off," Merlin snarls, pushing back, pushing away, trying to get out of this, but Arthur—he isn't done yet. Holds him there with a hand spread on Merlin's chest.
"You wanted to be on the team," Arthur sneers. "From the beginning. You. Are you fucking kidding me? You?" He lets his eyes drift scornfully over Merlin's scrawny, weakling body. Too thin, clumsy. "You thought you could play football? Really?"
Merlin is glaring, two spots of angry red high on his cheeks. "You didn't deserve to win the way you were planning."
Arthur can't help it, he's just so—so angry, that this self-righteous fuck had gotten them disqualified—from the entire season—he hauls Merlin away from the lockers and slams him back again, smiles at the crack of Merlin's skull. Merlin's shoving at him with his faggot artist hands, fragile wrists, is looking dazed. "I'm going to beat you so bad your whore mother will cry blood."
"Arthur," Gareth says. "Don't—"
"Get out." Arthur doesn't turn, doesn't have to. He stares at Merlin's stubborn face, imagines his lips red and bloody, dark circles of bruises around his eyes. He wants to lift color into Merlin's pale skin all over. It only takes another few moments, some brief hesitation, before the Knights are gone. One locks the door to the locker room behind him, probably Lamorak, good man.
Merlin laughs, actually fucking laughs, and lets his arms drop.
"What?" Arthur jostles him. "What the hell? Stop it."
Merlin shakes his head, sagging in Arthur's grip. "I just. Can't believe this is happening."
"Oh, it's happening," Arthur agrees, pulls a fist back, punches Merlin in the gut.
Merlin chokes and tries to go double, ends up with his face in Arthur's chest, clutching at Arthur's jersey. "Shit!"
"Shut the fuck up." Arthur backhands him across the face; Merlin stumbles to the right with the force of it, into the bench and over, a graceless tangle on the floor. He's almost got his hands and knees under him when Arthur steps on his back and forces him into the dirty tiling.
Arthur replaces his foot with a knee, making sure to push it right into Merlin's spine, and grabs a handful of Merlin's unkempt dark hair. Lifts, jerks his head into the air. Merlin struggles; he's long and skinny and determined, it's hard to keep him trapped. He twists in Arthur's hold, just enough to reach out and grasp Arthur's leg, digging his nails in like a fucking girl, like he's going to scratch, make this a catfight. Arthur shifts away and brings his other knee down on Merlin's hand with a satisfying crunch.
"You," Merlin grits out past the tight stretch of his throat. "You're a fucking—bully."
Now it's Arthur's turn to laugh. "A bully? Seriously?" He stands, keeping his grip on Merlin's hair so Merlin's forced up to his knees. He scrabbles at Arthur's fingers with both hands, one already blooming black and purple. Arthur looks at his neck, wants to leave a ring of fingerprints there. "That's all you've got?"
Merlin's eyes are slitted dark-hot, angry, unafraid. They send a shiver down Arthur's spine. "You're a bully," Merlin repeats. "You're an arrogant, fuckwit jock with daddy issues and a cheat, to boot. You're the most typical thing I've ever seen. Go ahead, Arthur, beat me up. It just proves my point." His gaze drops, enough to see—and the little fuck actually smirks. "Is that hard-on for violence—or is it for me? I bet Daddy Pendragon would love to—"
A white flash of rage blinds Arthur. He throws Merlin so hard he skids backwards along the floor. Arthur can barely move, he's gasping his fury, can't even make up his mind how to hurt Merlin next, for seeing, for—for being the mouthy bitch he is, but so—and before he can overcome the film of animal hatred in his mind, Merlin's up and running. Not to the entrance, no, he's not that stupid. He'll head to the showers, where maybe he can barricade himself behind the aluminum door separating them from the main changing room.
He's fast, but Arthur is faster. Merlin has reached the door, is swinging it closed, when Arthur barrels through and sends them both crashing to the slick shower floors. For a moment everything is a jumbled, confusing, wet mess of boy—limbs, joints, grunts—Merlin jabs Arthur painfully in the throat—until Arthur's build and training win out and again he pins Merlin on his front, nose and mouth mashed into the run-off of sweaty bodies cleaned up.
Arthur straddles Merlin's arse, hauls his arms back and pins them at the wrist with one hand. "Cunt," he says, "Coward."
Merlin's eyes are closed; he's breathing shallowly, trying to keep water out of his lungs. There's a large, red print on his cheek. His arse is bony but nice, just right, beneath Arthur's cock. He wants to—
"Go on, then," says Merlin, resigned.
Maybe he means something else. Maybe he knows he can't win, can't get away, maybe he just wants Arthur to finish beating him up already so he can go lick his wounds and tattle to the Principal. But Arthur—he's got this haze in his mind, all this stuff bubbling out past the barriers he's put in place, and he's still furious too, at Merlin and at himself. He hadn't wanted to try to cheat, but Coach Ector—it doesn't matter. Football is over for him now, no scholarship, no Ivy League University, no future, what does any of it matter?
Arthur grinds down into Merlin's arse, feels his cock slip into the hot place where Merlin's cheeks meet, and groans.
"Oh, fuck," Merlin says, suddenly contorting underneath Arthur, a desperate snaking of his body that rubs him against Arthur's groin wonderfully. "What the fuck? Get off of me."
"Just," Arthur grinds down again, gasping. "Shut up."
"No!" Merlin sounds shrill, won't keep still, not that it's such a big problem to have him moving like that. "Listen, Arthur. Just. You can't. This isn't you. I know you. Listen to me, man. How long have we known each other? You won't do this. Take a deep breath, ok. Ok?"
Somehow, Merlin's words pierce the fog of emotion in Arthur's mind, and he's right. He's fucking right, of course, like always. This isn't who Arthur is, isn't the type of person he wants to be, and for fuck's sake, this is Merlin, his nerdy, over-eager neighbor who this afternoon saved Arthur from taking a false win and hating himself forever. Who Arthur has been wanking for since he first figured out how to stick his hand down his pants.
"Relax," Merlin coaxes. "Let me go, and we'll talk. Ok?"
Arthur slides off of Merlin to sit against a stall wall and press his forehead into his knees. His cock goes soft as fast as a balloon deflating.
Merlin scrambles up and Arthur expects him to bolt, wouldn't blame him at all if he did. Wants him to, even, so Arthur can wallow in his self-hate in peace for a while. But Merlin doesn't; he hesitates a moment, then sits down again, at Arthur's side.
"I'm sorry," Arthur croaks.
"I think you might have broken something in my hand." Merlin sounds amazed.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says again.
"You called my mother a whore."
"I'm really sorry."
He feels Merlin shrug, shoulder up against his own. "All right. No worries, then. I—you were freaking out, I know. It wasn't about me. Well, maybe it was, I did report you. I mean. It was wrong. I don't understand why you would even consider cheating like that, I—"
"Coach Ector," says Arthur. "But I went along with it, I thought. Mercia is so good, and my dad really wanted me to get that scholarship..."
"...oh. Yeah. I'm sorry." Merlin touches him then, lightly, on the elbow, and Arthur flinches, anger whip-cracking through him again.
"Fuck you!" He spits, glaring at Merlin. "You are so fucking dumb! Why are you still here? I almost—first, I beat you up, and then I almost—I—"
"You were freaking out!" Merlin yells back. "Jeez, heat of the moment, I get it. I'm not going to hold it against you, man. You didn't, and that's what matters, it's not like you actually really...wanted to, I mean, that's insane, right?"
Arthur can't take it anymore, honestly can't. He's sick of pretending. Something snaps. He reaches for Merlin, curls his hands around Merlin's chin and nape, and kisses him before Merlin can work out that he needs to get away. Merlin's lips are soft and damp, taste of stale water. A jolt of lust makes Arthur's balls clench. He inhales, parts his mouth, tilts for a better angle, wanting a slow, open crawl of tongues, but Merlin's not responding. Arthur's heart drops like a ball of lead into his stomach—he didn't even know that he'd still had hope left for this.
It takes another second to work up the will, but Arthur pulls back, lets go though his fingers are reluctant to draw away from Merlin's skin.
"But I did," he mutters, looking at his knees. He doesn't want to see Merlin's expression. "I do."
Merlin doesn't move, doesn't speak for several agonizing moments, then, "Oh."
"Yeah." Arthur laughs weakly. "Insane."
"I—" Merlin says.
"No, I know," Arthur interrupts. He really doesn't need to hear this. "It's ok. I'm sorry, I know. I can't help it, though. Don't, uh. Don't hate me."
He sounds so pitiful it makes him nauseous. But he doesn't know if he can bear to lose Merlin's friendship too. Hell, Merlin is probably the best friend he has.
Merlin hits him on the arm. "Don't be a fuckwit. I don't hate you."
"So," Merlin says, after a long time in silence, "how long have you had this wild homo crush on me?" He's trying for funny, trying to make light of the issue so they can brush it off and ignore it, but Arthur's too wrecked for that.
"Since that day when your Mom took us to the harbor and you made me explore under the pier with you and then slipped, and I had to carry you back all wet to the car because you concussed yourself on a rock." No point being subtle anymore.
"That was." Merlin pauses. "We were thirteen."
"Yeah."
"Arthur."
"Can we not talk about this anymore?"
"I had no idea." Merlin sounds breathless and awed, as if Arthur's ability to lie for years on end to everyone close to him was something to be impressed by. Arthur shrugs helplessly. "Has it always been…a me thing? Or is there anyone else? I mean, you've always been good friends with Lancelot. Or one of the other Knights?"
Arthur scrubs a hand down his face, scowling. He may be slightly in love with Merlin, but he can still be fucking irritating sometimes. Frequently. How had his day turned into this, sitting on the floor of a school shower, suspended from football indefinitely, an angry, disappointed father waiting at home, explaining his unrequited crush on his best friend to said friend? Maybe it was time to drop out and join the military. "Only you. I need—we should go home."
"We're locked in," Merlin says.
"Don't be stupid, the door locks people out, you dumbass." Arthur stands, wipes the water from his hands, doesn't offer one to Merlin. The awkwardness is almost painful, but he waits at the shower room door for Merlin anyway.
Unmoved, Merlin looks up at him from across the room, eyes dark and considering. Arthur doesn't want to notice the long, lanky fold of Merlin's legs, his scuffed trainers, the gaping collar of his black band shirt, his hair, a mussed ruin. But he does. Merlin's hands hang loose between his knees, his lips—Arthur can't help it and it shows, he can tell from the look on Merlin's face.
Merlin swallows. "Arthur," he says. "Come back."
The hop-skip of Arthur's heart makes breathing impossible. He forces it under control. He can't imagine what's going through Merlin's mind right now, why he's doing this. Merlin has never seemed anything but happy dating girls, and Arthur refuses to let himself believe for one moment that there's a chance.
"Drop it," he says tightly.
"Come. Here," says Merlin.
"Don't do this if you don't mean it," Arthur warns.
"Don't I get to experiment?" Merlin asks, smiling slightly.
"Not with me."
The smile drops from Merlin's face. "Fine. Just. Come here, you great twat."
Arthur does; he does. He doesn't say but you don't like boys or what about your crush on Morgana or I love you, just walks back over and drops to his knees and pulls Merlin—god, Merlin, this is Merlin, he is letting Arthur—up onto his knees as well, close enough to kiss.
He doesn't kiss him though. It all seems too big, a moment expanding like a soap bubble from the end of a wand, about to snap, growing more fragile as they breathe against each others' lips in the humid dark.
Merlin smooths his hands over Arthur's cheeks, into his hair, shuddery but intent, and leans in. His mouth is a shock of electricity, brushing lightly, barely there at all. Arthur's insides are in a crazy, mixed-up knot; he inhales sharply. Merlin kisses him harder.
Arthur surges into it then, tightens his grip on Merlin's upper arms and jerks him in full against Arthur's body, slides his tongue out to dab pleadingly at the crease of Merlin's lips. Merlin opens on a surprised sort of gasp, and Arthur licks into his mouth.
Waiting is an exhausting task. It is desperation, anticipation, imaginings of the future that spiral into fantasies that dive into dreams that stay in limbo, never coming true. Arthur has been waiting for this kiss for years, and all of his tired teenaged longing pours out as he slides his tongue past Merlin's teeth, tangling it up with Merlin's own. He feels out of control, wonders if he's freaking Merlin out, but can't reign it back in anymore. He bears Merlin to the floor, lays his gangly body down and spreads himself on top. He wants to cover Merlin, seep into his pores. He wants to taste every crevasse and every rise, if Merlin will let him.
"Arthur, Arthur," Merlin mumbles, fingers clumsily tugging at Arthur's jersey. The room is silent but for the sound of their bodies and mouths.
Arthur tries to lift away so they can get his top off but Merlin arches to keep their mouths together and Arthur sinks back with a groan. The tiling is slippery and painful under his elbows (it must be worse for Merlin, for his jutting shoulder-blades) and the sun has set, only yellow, flickering streetlamp light falling in through the warped window glass. Merlin's trainers squeak on the floor as Arthur knees his legs apart and pushes their cocks together through denim and polyester.
"Oh, fuck," says Merlin, scrabbling for hold on Arthur's shoulders.
Arthur watches his face twist up at every thrust until Merlin opens his eyes and catches him, flushing, saying, "Stop it, hell, just—"
"I want to suck you," Arthur utters involuntarily.
Merlin's mouth falls open, so Arthur kisses him again, slips his tongue inside for another taste, tracing the straight, hard line of Merlin's teeth and soft place at the corner where lip meets lip.
"Yeah, ok, that would be," Merlin says. "Yeah. Yes. Oh, god." This last bit as Arthur crawls down and unties Merlin's trainers. They slip off of Merlin's feet easily. Merlin sits up, pops open the button of his fly, gets the zipper down, and Arthur strips him of his trousers in several awkward tugs. Merlin's legs are long and white, feathered in coarse, dark hair. He's got his Scooby Doo boxers on, the ones with loose elastic and frayed seams from being worn so many times. Arthur reaches for them.
"Wait," Merlin blocks his hands. "Wait, wait. Take your shirt off. I don't want to be. Undressed. Alone. I mean."
Arthur laughs, "Sure," and pulls his sweaty shirt off, finally. He knows he's pretty hot, tan and muscled. He hopes Merlin thinks so, that Merlin's open-minded enough to swing that far. That this isn't a one-time thing. "Now can I?"
Merlin licks his lips and nods. The boxers come off, Merlin's cock bouncing free, hard and leaking against his shirt. Arthur did that; he's hard for Arthur. It's a good cock, a great cock, perfect, with throbbing, lickable veins and a wide, purpled head. Arthur shoves Merlin onto his back again and puts his mouth on it.
He's never done this before but he's watched lots of porn, so he does what those girls and boys do. He licks around the head at first, slow and slick, getting used to the strange flavor, then opens his mouth and takes in as much as he can, pushing down until he's about to gag.
"Shit, shit," Merlin hisses, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Shit."
Which Arthur takes as a good sign, pulling off and then sucking down again and again. Merlin pants under him. He puts one trembling hand on Arthur's shoulder, stroking the skin with his thumb, and Arthur shivers. This should be humiliating; instead he feels extremely powerful, sexual. Merlin's a wreck, just because Arthur decided to open his mouth a little—it's wonderful. Gaining confidence, he moves a hand up Merlin's chest, dragging the shirt up to reveal Merlin's pert, pink nipples, which he pinches between forefinger and thumb as he presses his tongue into Merlin's seeping slit.
It's a good thing he has his other hand on Merlin's narrow hip, because Merlin jerks helplessly at the sensation, moaning, "Do that. Again."
Arthur's happy to do whatever Merlin asks. He pinches the nipple again, this time as he slides down Merlin's cock. Merlin gasps and shudders upwards; his nipples must be extremely sensitive. Arthur pinches and strokes, rubs and pets at them to the sound of Merlin's increasingly hot little noises. Merlin's fingers are digging into his shoulder now.
"Arthur," he says, " I'm going to come, I'm going to—"
He comes, and Arthur isn't quite ready for the explosion of taste and texture. Still, he swallows what he can, rides out Merlin's seizing thrusts to the best of his ability, until Merlin's gone lax.
Arthur kisses Merlin's hip, his fluttering abdomen, his belly-button, his ribcage, his sternum, licks Merlin's reddened nipples while Merlin whines and brings himself back down. When Arthur reaches his mouth, Merlin just lets his jaw drop and they share a filthy, come-flavored kiss with more tongue than lip.
"Gah," Merlin says feelingly when Arthur pulls away. He's sprawling boneless, naked except for his t-shirt, rucked up into his armpits, eyes closed. Arthur's cock twitches, painfully hard. It leaves sticky trails on the inside of his uniform shorts.
Merlin opens his eyes, looking sleepy and sated. "My turn?"
"You don't have to," Arthur says quickly. "I can just—"
Merlin glares, sitting up with effort. "Don't be stupid, of course I'm gonna." He takes his shirt off; it makes a sodden thwap as it hits the floor.
"But you don't really—"
"That's for me to decide, prat." Merlin shoves Arthur in the chest. "Sit back and let me try, ok?"
Arthur lets himself be manhandled so he's sitting against the wall, trying not come from just picturing Merlin sucking his cock. If there's one image that's haunted his fantasies for years, that's it, Merlin with his soft lips stretched taut around Arthur's cock. Merlin pulls Arthur's shorts and trainers off without fuss, determined though he's blushing a little. Once Arthur is naked, Merlin sits back on his heels and stares.
"Look," Arthur says.
"That was your first time?" Merlin asks.
"...Yeah," Arthur admits.
Merlin bites his lip. "Ok, that's—good. Don't get mad if I suck at this. Haha, suck. Get it?"
"Merlin." Arthur doesn't want Merlin to do this if he's so nervous he can barely think.
Shaking his head, Merlin knee-walks forward into the vee of Arthur's legs, trailing his fingers up and down the tops of Arthur's thighs. Arthur clenches his teeth so hard they ache.
Merlin only hesitates for another moment, bracing himself with a deep, deep breath, before ducking in. He's tentative, nuzzling first, then kissing lightly along one side of Arthur's shaft. Arthur looks down at his dark head and has to fist his hands to keep from grabbing, forcing. A bead of precome actually slides from his slit over the ridge of his head and under Merlin's lips.
Merlin twitches and draws back, licking at the flavor. Arthur's toes curl.
"Hmm." Merlin plants an open-mouthed kiss right on Arthur's cockhead, sucking lightly. He opens his mouth more, slips down until the whole head is encased in the hot wet of his mouth, and Arthur groans.
Merlin's eyes dart up to his face, then away again, too shy to hold eye contact. One hand, the unbruised one, curves around the base of Arthur's cock and holds on as Merlin flattens his tongue and sucks down, down, and Arthur's kind of amazed and kind of jealous and kind of about to come, because Merlin swallows and swallows, his throat working, his lips firmly settling along the ring of his fingers...
Merlin takes a whistling breath through his nose and hums.
"Oh—" Arthur says, strangled, coming.
Merlin chokes, jerks away with a harsh scrape of teeth, and gets a face-full of semen for it. It clings, sticky, to his chin and cheeks, and Arthur manages another long string of come at the sight.
"Sorry," he grunts. "Sorry, sorry, I—"
"You just," Merlin says. "You prick! You could have warned me!" A dollop of come slides down his nose, and he grimaces.
"I didn't have time!"
Merlin grabs Arthur's damp jersey and wipes his face mostly clean with it, saying, "I guess I'm just that good, first try, and what? You capped off in about two minutes."
Arthur scowls. "In my defense, I've been hard for almost an hour."
"And here I thought you athletic types had more stamina," Merlin quips.
Then they're both naked and staring at each other, and it all hits Arthur, all at once, what they've done. He swallows and, allowing the tiniest bit of hope, says, "Next time I promise I'll warn you."
Merlin smiles. "Next time can we not do this at school, in your gross shower room? Kinky, but also foul."
"Do you really mean that?" Arthur asks against his will. "Next time?"
Merlin grabs his around the neck and kisses him with a clack of teeth.
Best day of Arthur's life. (So far.)
END
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