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ONE FINGER
October wind comes in through the opened window with smells of wet earth and dead leaves, but Merlin’s still too hot under his blazer, half-hard in his school trousers.
Arthur’s gone for the weekend, so Merlin just takes everything off without worry—doesn’t bother going to the washroom where he usually do this—and grabs Arthur’s undershirt left at the foot of his bed, yellowed-white and worn-soft.
He fattens up quick like this: the shirt to his nose, a hand on his dick, and a flush all over his skin—embarrassed and angry at himself for wanting it this way. He inhales, gets his face full of Arthur’s scent and his dick jumps in his fist, spurts some precome out just from that.
The idea is wild in his head, like a scream, when he leaves the shirt on his chest so he can get his hand behind his balls, regular rhythm with his hips, fucking up in his fist. He skirts a finger over his taint, pushing with his wrist against his thigh to help steady the trembling.
And fuck, Arthur’s shirt is right there, so Merlin contracts forward to smell it just as he forces his fingertip into his hole, dry and warm. He jerks hard and sudden, bending in two, his muscles cramping up. He jizzes all over himself and Arthur’s shirt, finger still hooked there, inside.
TWO FINGERS
“Is that what you like?” Arthur says, rolling his sleeves up. “Stick things in your ass? Steal a guy’s shirt?”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “Wetter,” he says as he watches Arthur lick his fingers. “Spit on them. Come on, it’s my ass we’re talking about here. Fucking suck on them.”
It’s simpler in the dark—deep in the school grounds, behind the garden shed with only the overhead light around the corner to see by—to not be too ashamed. It still churns in his stomach a little, but not enough to distract from the heat pooling there. Not enough to soften his dick.
It’s cold, this late, but Merlin doesn’t really feel it. Heat under his skin, booze in his stomach, and an itch he needs scratched.
Arthur looks at him up and down—at his shirt and tie and blazer all in place, but trousers around his ankles, fat dick peeking out from under the shirt’s hem.
“Fucking look ridiculous,” Arthur says, popping his fingers out of his mouth with a slick sound.
Merlin snorts. Arthur has his tie around his head like an arsehole and still smells like the wine they filched from the Headmaster’s office. “Yeah?” he says. “You don’t look like you mind much,” staring at Arthur’s bulge, all stark shadows between his legs.
If Arthur doesn’t hurry, Merlin has half a mind to get on his knees in the mud to suck on that thick dick he knows is there, snug and warm in Arthur’s uniform.
Arthur grabs him and spins him around roughly, pushes him between the shoulderblades while tugging at his hip. “Come on, stick it out like you want to,” he says with a swat to Merlin’s ass, kicking the inside of his feet so Merlin widens his legs as much as he can stuck as he is in his trousers.
Whatever. Merlin sticks it out because, yes, that’s what he wants.
“Yeah, like that,” Arthur murmurs. His hand slides over Merlin’s arsecheek and squeezes. “Would love to watch you. See what it was like, the way you made yourself jizz all over my clothes.”
Merlin’s breath catches, grateful for the low light when he feels himself flush. He can’t contain the shiver that goes through him, hot cheek on the cool wood of the shed.
Arthur laughs low, fingers running up and down Merlin’s crack, fingertips stopping for a second on his hole and pushing without going in. “Slag.”
“Gonna complain?” Merlin says, sending him a look over his shoulder.
“This doesn’t mean—Just giving you what you want.” Arthur presses close so Merlin can feel his hard cock on the back of his thigh, and his wet breaths against his neck. It’s good like this, even better when Arthur shoves two wet finger between his arsecheeks. He finds Merlin’s hole quickly and doesn’t stop to ask, just keeps pushing, rough little twists to screw them in good and tight. “Aren’t I nice?”
THREE FINGERS
Arthur’s procured lube. Asked Lance, who asked his girlfriend Gwen at St. Augustine’s, who asked her big brother. Now Lance says Arthur owes him one because Gwen’s brother thinks Lance does her backdoor. “Should be happy,” Arthur said. “Means you won’t get her preggers.”
Merlin’s naked on all fours on his bed, dick heavy between his thighs. “Did you really tell him that,” he asks, shivering as Arthur hums, rubs lube over Merlin’s hole with the flat of his fingers. “Fuck you’re an asshole,” he adds, then, “Goddammit, Arthur. It’s not fucking lotion, fucking do something.”
“Well, it kind of is, you know. For fucking.”
Merlin gasps, chokes on his saliva and goes silent. Arthur’s just as still and quiet behind him and Merlin knows they’re thinking the same thing. He squeezes his muscles, his hole, imagines what a dick would feel like there, how stretched he’d be. How full. Imagines it’s Arthur’s dick.
He moans without meaning to, clenching even more on nothing.
“Fuck, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Arthur says, low and breathless with a bit of awe in his voice, Merlin thinks. Like it just occurred to him. “Oh god, would you let me?”
His fingers tap once, twice on Merlin’s hole, then he shoves two fingers in without warning and starts pumping, steady and fast the way he knows by now Merlin likes.
For the first time it’s light outside, and from where he is on the bed, Merlin can see out the window into the field behind the school where people are playing football. They wouldn’t see him, if they looked up, but it makes him hot anyway. He shoves back into Arthur’s fingers, gets his hands on the wall to straighten himself, curve his back, dick dripping on the bedsheets.
“More,” he says, quick, hand going from the wall to behind him. His fingertips brush Arthur wrist and he feels Arthur’s other hand curl around it.
“Put it in, then,” Arthur says, choked and low as he guides Merlin’s hand, grips his middle finger and puts it where Merlin can feel the rim of his hole stretched around Arthur’s fingers. “Show me how you did it when you came all over my shirt. Come on, let me see.”
Merlin does, hooks his fingertip in, moans—from the stretch, the tightness and the heat. From the loud wet sound it makes, all the lube Arthur rubbed there to make it this easy.
“Told you so,” Arthur says, and starts fucking in again, fingers rubbing Merlin’s own, dragging it deeper.
DICK
Merlin stays still for a moment, feeling the blunt head of Arthur’s dick against his hole, rolling his hips to rub himself on it, to fuck it tight and warm inside his cleft. The head keeps catching on his rim and every time Arthur’s legs jump and he makes a sound at the back of his throat, punched out of him, past his wet lips.
Merlin looks down at Arthur, at his face all scrunched up like it pains him to be this motionless, and he keeps on looking as he lowers himself slowly, finally. He doesn’t stop to breathe, just goes all the way down until he’s sitting on Arthur’s dick proper, grinding on it and so fucking full with it.
Arthur’s hands flutter in mid-air for a moment, his eyes wide like he can’t quite believe what’s happening, until they settle soft and gentle on Merlin’s hips.
“You okay?” he whispers, blinks sweat off, and Merlin nods, throat too full to speak right now, and leans forward. Leans in so Arthur can wrap his arms around his middle and hold him tight.
“Fuck me,” Merlin says, wet with his lips sticking to Arthur’s skin.