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The first time it happens, Arthur does it in front of all their friends.
All their friends, of course, meaning the two individual groups of their friends, brought together not by choice nor common interest, but by the cruel fates of the universe which had assigned Arthur Pendragon as Merlin’s roommate his second year of uni.
“Dare,” says Merlin, and Arthur gets this infuriating little smirk which can only be described as wicked.
There’s about a dozen of them crowded into their room: Merlin and Morgana and Gwen and Will and Freya, and Arthur’s full cohort, including Gwaine and Lance who Merlin knows loosely and who admittedly don’t seem all that bad, as well as four other fellows Merlin couldn’t name for the life of him who all look like they enjoy running around throwing balls at each other for fun. It’s the largest group of people they’ve hung out together in all year—the first time Merlin and Arthur themselves have hung out together, come to think of it. If hanging out can be described as Arthur passive aggressively inviting all his friends to come pregame in their room when he discovered Merlin had done so first.
Alternatively, if hanging out means cohabiting the same four by six metre room for the past month whilst aggressively pretending the other doesn’t exist, they’ve done plenty of that.
Of course, Merlin notes bitterly, Arthur had to make sure his ratio of friends outweighed Merlin’s. It fits the image of Arthur he’s scraped together so far. Even before they were cursed to live together, Merlin had noticed Arthur around campus: he’s one of those people others are drawn to, charismatic and devastatingly handsome and popular by nature. Probably something to do with the millions upon millions of pounds his family is said to possess. Whenever Merlin crossed paths with him in the past, Arthur appeared to be moody, retreated within himself; or riled up and sweaty with his obnoxious group of friends.
He also just so happens to have a distinct air of prattishness about him which repels Merlin to no end.
And now Merlin’s stuck with him. He’s fairly certain Arthur and his mates all lived in a house off campus last year—why Arthur’s even been downgraded to student housing, Merlin does not know, nor does he care to know. What he cares about is that Arthur is, in fact, a verifiable arsehole, if the past month has taught Merlin anything. He was willing to give the bloke the benefit of the doubt at first, chalking his rude nature up to shyness. But it’s been weeks now of Merlin passing Arthur in the refectory or on the quad or in the library and grinning at him, trying to get him to acknowledge Merlin’s existence, or even just smile back—and Arthur never does. He always just stares, something inscrutable in his eyes. Merlin’s given up on pretending they’ll ever get along.
So when they’re all loosened with drink and Merlin says “Dare” and Arthur gets that look on his face, Merlin doesn’t expect anything particularly nice.
Arthur sprawls in the desk chair he’s sat on, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms as he considers Merlin. He tilts his head.
“Take your dick out,” he commands finally, casually.
It’s the most words Arthur’s ever directed to Merlin at once, he’s sure of it. All he usually gets from him is a no or a what? or whatever. The response around the room is instantaneous. Gwen and Morgana and Lance all call out in protest, admonishing Arthur. Freya claps a scandalised hand over her mouth. This is what Arthur does, Merlin’s gathered: spread chaos and unrest just for the fun of it, just because he can. Merlin’s also certain Arthur is trying to embarrass him, trying to ostracise him in front of everyone, or maybe he just doesn’t think Merlin will do it, but it’s not going to work.
“You’re disgusting,” scolds Gwen.
“That is not what we’re doing here,” says Lance firmly.
“You don’t have to do it, Merlin,” someone else chimes in.
But Arthur ignores them all, just sits there and leers, and, well, of course Merlin’s embarrassed—he’s never shown his dick to this number of people on an individual basis, let alone all at once—but he glares back, because he’s damned if he’s going to let Arthur bloody Pendragon win.
Merlin’s jeans aren’t exactly loose fitting, and the way his dick presses tight against the seam when he wears them isn’t unpleasant, so he’s at least decently full when he unbuttons his trousers and holds himself out, holding Arthur’s eyes. The girls squeal and giggle; some of Arthur’s mates look away uncomfortably, and Merlin tracks Arthur’s gaze as it flicks down to his lap for just a second then back up, that stupid fucking smirk never leaving his stupid fucking face.
After several excruciatingly long seconds, Gwaine gives a loud wolf whistle. Arthur turns to cuff him and Merlin takes the opportunity to tuck himself quickly back in his jeans, cheeks heating. The game moves on, and soon most of them are well pissed and Arthur and his friends are leaving for some party at some warehouse. But until they go, Merlin feels Arthur’s eyes on him. That unbearably intense, impenetrable look.
The twat is probably just annoyed Merlin rose to his challenge.
#
A week passes before they speak again. Then Merlin gets back from class one day to find Arthur splayed out on his bed playing PlayStation. It’s not an abnormal sight, but Arthur’s usually accompanied by a sidekick at all times. Right now, for once, he’s alone.
They ignore each other as Merlin upends his backpack onto his desk, tries to stack his papers into some semblance of order.
“You play?”
Merlin looks up. Arthur’s not looking at him, just staring at the screen, thumbs moving ceaselessly. He’s got the PS5, of course. He’s playing Resident Evil, which Merlin’s only played on the PS4, but it’s one of his favourites.
“Yeah,” he says, cautious. He’s not fully sure Arthur was talking to him, but who else would he be talking to?
Arthur jerks his chin at the other controller lying by the TV he’s got set up at the foot of his bed. Merlin looks from his desk to the controller and back, then goes and picks it up. He settles cross-legged on the rug, darting a glance back at Arthur, who’s not yet looked at him since he entered the room.
They play largely in silence, except when Arthur deigns to grunt “Switch to the handgun” or “Pick up the port key,” managing to be bossy and detached at once. Merlin’s sitting closer to the TV, so he can’t see Arthur without looking over his shoulder. He feels his eyes on him, just like before, but every time he checks Arthur’s just looking at the screen.
When Arthur clears his throat Merlin almost jumps. “Can’t believe you did that the other week,” he says, and Merlin blanks for a second, then realises there’s only one thing Arthur could be talking about. He sounds meanly amused, like he’s laughing at Merlin, but Merlin isn’t fooled, and he’s still not embarrassed. Arthur’s the one who dared him, after all.
“Showing off in front of everyone,” Arthur mutters.
“No,” says Merlin, trying not to grind his teeth, “that’s you.”
“Didn’t think you would,” says Arthur, sounding wholly disinterested as he dodges a bullet. “Bet you wouldn’t do it again.”
“I’m not scared of a fucking dare.”
“Prove it then,” he snipes, and chucks a grenade.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Merlin snaps.
He turns when Arthur says nothing. To his amazement, Arthur is bright red. Merlin looks at him a moment, then snaps his eyes back to the game where his character is faltering.
Arthur’s silence and flushed face all but confirm that he would, in fact, like that.
And that kind of makes Merlin want to do it.
He transfers the controller to one hand, and with his other he unbuttons his jeans, pulls the zip down slowly. He takes his cock out, hearing his own breath loud in his ears, not even sure if Arthur is watching, if Arthur can see. Then he’s just sat holding himself in one hand and fumbling the game controls with the other.
Arthur’s character runs along, and Merlin follows slowly, thumbing the joystick.
Then—
“Touch yourself,” says Arthur, voice low. “Get it hard, at least.”
Merlin swallows. He can’t help that the words, the imperious tone of Arthur’s voice, turn him on. So he strokes his thumb along his cock, pulls at himself until he can’t focus anymore on what he’s meant to be doing in the game. His character stops, but Arthur’s does, too, and that’s how Merlin knows he’s being watched. It makes him heady, a bit dizzy, even. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing; has never done anything like this before in his life.
His breath hitches loudly when he squeezes his palm around the head of his erection, and he snatches his hand away then, flooding with shame. He stuffs himself back in his jeans, grabs the controller and plays, hands shaking, until they reach a checkpoint. Then he stops unceremoniously, abandoning the controller to turn back to his desk like he’s got coursework to do, but really he’s desperate to leave, to do something about his cock straining in his trousers.
He shuffles through his notebook for a minute, then chances a glance at Arthur. He’s propped back on his pillows in his sweats, and he’s still playing, but Merlin can see the boner he’s sporting from clear across the room.
#
That weekend, Merlin is awakened several hours past midnight when Arthur bangs through the door with a girl latched to his front. It takes him a few seconds to wake up and realise what’s going on, and by then, Arthur and the girl are bouncing back onto his bed. Merlin blinks through the darkness. Have they somehow not seen him?
But, “Your roommate,” says the girl breathily between nauseating slurping noises.
“He’s asleep,” Arthur murmurs, and pulls her shirt off.
Merlin sits up, incensed. He is very much awake. He’s about to say something, but then Arthur peels his own shirt off. He unclips the girl’s bra, rolls her under him and grinds into her, her legs coming to circle his waist, and Merlin’s stopped in his tracks because it’s actually kind of hot.
He scooches back against the headboard, hoping he’s hidden in the shadows there, and watches Arthur knead at her breasts, watches him reach up under her skirt and come back out with some stringy piece of underwear that he tosses carelessly to the floor.
“What if he wakes up?” the girl gasps as Arthur slides his fingers into her.
“He won’t,” Arthur says, then looks up as if to check and sees that Merlin is, indeed, awake.
Arthur freezes, but only for a second before his arm resumes its movement. He doesn’t look away, though. He pins Merlin with his eyes, pumps his fingers in and out of the girl slowly until she’s writhing, throwing her head back, clawing at Arthur’s sides. Arthur turns to kiss her quiet, but then his eyes are back on Merlin as he undoes his trousers. Merlin can’t see for the angle, not with Arthur on top of her like that, but he can tell the moment Arthur pushes inside from the choked sound the girl makes and the way Arthur’s lips part as he looks right at him.
He starts to fuck her like that, draped over her, tucking her head into his chest so she’s not able to follow his gaze. Merlin looks at Arthur’s arse peeking out of his trousers; the way it clenches as he humps. He feels almost paralysed, and fairly horrified, but also so, so turned on. He touches himself without thinking about it, squeezes his cock over his boxers, watches Arthur watch him. Part of him’s been waiting for Arthur to turn on him and call him out, but he doesn’t—he just fucks the girl and looks at Merlin, only Merlin, so he tells himself to relax. He props himself on his side, rubs at himself lazily, feeling unreasonably smug when Arthur moans and moves his hips faster.
Merlin wasn’t showing off that first time in front of their friends, and not even the last time, when Arthur dared him to do it again. But he is now.
He licks his lips, spreads his legs a bit, and Arthur’s eyes flutter and he groans and comes, eyes piercing into Merlin through the darkness, making high pitched whines that make Merlin’s cock throb.
The girl stretches up to kiss him. As soon as Arthur looks away Merlin rolls over, hunches into himself and wills himself to fall back asleep, somewhere between turned on and mildly annoyed.
#
Naturally, Merlin fears he’s going mental. Arthur still doesn’t acknowledge him, not outside of these weird fucking sexually charged instances that were rare at first but have now somehow become a regular occurrence.
It’ll be a week of cold shoulders, of Arthur pretending he doesn’t see him in public. Then Merlin will be plucking a jumper from the closet and Arthur will say, “Where’re you off to?” and Merlin will frown and say, “Just a walk,” and Arthur will shut his textbook and finally look up at him and go, “I’ll come with,” like he was invited, like they’re just mates or something.
They’re not mates—Merlin feels that acutely. Mates would make conversation as they wander to the path that winds through the woods. But Arthur just slinks along quietly behind Merlin’s elbow, not even willing to be seen walking alongside him.
They don’t exchange a word, not until Merlin comes to a stop in the trees and turns, sees that Arthur is indeed still following.
“What is this?” he asks then, not sure if he wants to know.
Arthur stalks over. He looks haughty as ever and unfairly attractive in a bright red cardigan. He scans Merlin slowly, head to toe, then takes a step back, as if he’s decided something.
“Dare you to jerk off here,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Merlin flinches, breath coming faster already. He doesn’t know why he still bothers feeling surprised at this point.
“What are you, some kind of pervert?”
Arthur stares at him, unmoved. There’s no point in asking; clearly Arthur is, clearly he gets off on exhibitionism—or on making Merlin an exhibitionist, rather.
How does he make him do these things?
Merlin looks around them, but he knows they’re the only ones a mile out here on this overgrown path. He sighs like he’s put upon, though truth be told he’s already excited; has been buzzing with energy knowing Arthur’s trailing along after him. He’s used to the feeling of Arthur’s eyes on him by now, and he knows now, too, that he’s not just imagining it—that Arthur really does watch him all the time.
It makes him feel hot all over. Arthur is ridiculously fit; the kind of guy who plays three different sports, and Merlin would be lying if he claimed to not have started daydreaming about the muscles of his back after watching him fuck that girl.
He thinks all this and says nothing; thinks all this and thinks once again that he really must be at least a little mental, because he has to be to do this, to listen to Arthur, but he does. He pushes his jeans down the tops of his thighs, balls his fists in his boxers and twists at the material there, pulling it tight against his cock until he’s good and hard. Then he pushes his boxers down, too, and takes himself in his hand and pulls himself off quickly, breath coming in harsh before long.
He’s looking down at himself this time, darting glances around to make sure no one’s coming, so it’s a minute before he sees that Arthur’s taken out his phone, is holding it up. He’s aiming it at Merlin, Merlin realises, like he’s—like he’s filming him.
He groans; wants to be mad but he isn’t, knows he should tell Arthur to stop, but god, there’s something hot about it and Merlin doesn’t want to tell him to stop; doesn’t want him to stop at all.
Arthur keeps the phone tilted down, focused on the bottom half of Merlin’s body. At least he’s considerate enough to leave Merlin’s face out of the frame. Merlin brings his free hand to lift his shirt, baring his torso, running his palm over his stomach and his chest and his nipples, and Arthur’s phone follows the movement. He knows he’d never be able to do this were Arthur not stood there watching. It turns him on like nothing else.
Arthur meets Merlin’s eyes then, gives a little half smile, as if they’re sharing a secret, and Merlin gulps in a deep breath, trying to stave off his orgasm.
“You close?” Arthur murmurs, stepping forward.
“Yeah,” whispers Merlin, feeling it build.
He pulls himself faster and bursts then, cum spurting onto the crunchy leaves at his feet.
“Fuck,” says Arthur quietly, tilting the phone to capture it. Merlin milks it all out for him to see.
#
Something weird happens, which is that Arthur and Lance and Gwaine start sitting with Merlin and his friends at meals sometimes. Lance and Gwaine turn out to actually be pretty cool. They act like normal human beings, at least—Gwaine talks to Merlin a lot, and Lance seems drawn to Gwen. But Arthur will just sit fiddling with his phone, looking grumpy as ever and talking to no one.
Merlin thinks of what Arthur might be looking at on his phone and shivers.
Gwen must notice Merlin staring, because she leans over when Arthur and Lance go up for their food one day, speaking into Merlin’s ear. “Is Arthur being nice to you?”
He watches Arthur give Lance a good shove, nearly knocking him into a table of girls.
“Nice isn’t the adjective I’d use to describe Arthur Pendragon.”
Gwen hums, possibly in agreement. “It’s weird,” she says. “It’s like he’s always trying to impress you.”
Merlin looks at her, surprised, then looks back to Arthur. It’s not exactly how he’d put it, but maybe, he thinks, as Arthur glances in his direction then quickly away, Gwen isn’t so far off the mark.
#
That same night Merlin wakes to Arthur looming over his bed. He thinks briefly that he must be dreaming, but then he smells the alcohol emanating from Arthur’s breath and knows he’s really there.
“Can I?” asks Arthur gruffly, swaying forward, and in his stupor Merlin nods instantly, not sure what he’s agreeing to.
Because sure, Arthur may be a suppressed, closeted bully—but this is Merlin’s fantasy come to life, and if Arthur feels moved to get drunk and grope him, Merlin’s not going to stop him.
“Is this a dare?” he says quickly, just as Arthur steadies a knee on the bed next to him.
“It can be if you want.” Arthur frowns down at him, and Merlin wonders suddenly, desperately, what he looks like when he smiles. He’s only ever seen Arthur laugh with his friends, and even then it’s more of a snort than actual joy-fueled laughter.
“No, I mean… did someone dare you to do this?”
As if he can read Merlin’s thoughts, Arthur smiles then. It lights up his whole face. “You’re the only one stupid enough to do those dares, Merlin.” It’s the first verbal confirmation Merlin’s received that Arthur actually knows his name. He places an unnecessary amount of emphasis on the first syllable, taunting as ever.
“I only do exactly what I want to.” Arthur swings his leg over to straddle Merlin, kneeling above him, hips tilted forward, and Merlin feels a wave of nerves. “Take your shirt off,” Arthur orders. Before Merlin has a chance to listen, Arthur reaches for the hem, pulls it up so Merlin has no choice but to lift his arms and let him yank it off.
“Have you ever done this?” asks Arthur. He looks intently at Merlin’s torso, but doesn’t touch him.
Thus far in life, Merlin’s sexual experiences amount to several well-meaning but ultimately misguided snogging sessions with girls back home, one handjob given and one received from another boy in sixth form, and a few blowjobs he’d exchanged last year with a kid who’d transferred schools after the first semester. So whatever it is they’re about to do, Merlin figures there’s a good chance he hasn’t done it before.
“Um. What are we doing?”
Arthur looks up at his face. “Would you—would you let me come on your chest?”
“Oh,” says Merlin. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Arthur wrests his own pants down. “You’ve done this before?” he asks again, and now he’s got his cock in his hand, is stroking himself with a focused look on his face. His pupils are so wide they nearly eclipse the blue of his eyes.
“No,” croaks Merlin, feeling faint.
Arthur’s cock is nice and fat, the tip perfectly pink and so plump Merlin kind of wants to put his mouth on it. At the very least he wants to replace Arthur’s hand with his own, but he doesn’t want to startle him, and has a feeling that might do it—something about the way Arthur’s behaving tonight seems almost vulnerable, as if one wrong move could do him in.
“No?” Arthur repeats, looking up at Merlin through his fringe. “You’ve not let anyone do this to you?”
“No.” He brings his hands carefully to the backs of Arthur’s naked thighs.
Arthur’s hips jerk forward. “You’ll let me though?”
God, but he’s handsome, pouting while he pulls himself off over Merlin.
“Yeah,” says Merlin, and swallows. “Yeah, I’ll let you.” He kneads the muscles of Arthur’s thighs, squeezing his own legs together to put pressure on his cock. He lowers his voice, tries to match what Arthur’s offering. “Let you come all over me. That’s what you want, yeah?”
Arthur grunts and reaches a trembling hand to rub at Merlin’s chest. “What else would you let me do?”
Merlin pushes his hips up, but Arthur’s knelt too far above him to reach.
“I let you film me,” he says, digging his nails into Arthur’s legs. “You—god, you make me do things I don’t even—do you watch it? Do you watch it and get off to it?”
“Yeah,” whispers Arthur, skin slapping loudly as he fucks his hand faster. He squeezes Merlin’s pec like it’s a tit.
“Yeah, I’ll fucking bet you do. Fucking obsessed with me, you are. You like my cock, don’t you?”
Arthur coughs out a sound that could be a laugh or a sob. “Yeah.”
“You like fucking teasing me?”
He nods wildly, shining eyes darting from his cock in his hand to Merlin’s face. Merlin goes on, a man possessed.
“Come on then, show me how much you like it. Show me why you had to wake me up in the middle of the night. Come on, Arthur—”
Arthur moans, voice climbing, and he shoots his load until Merlin’s covered in it. It collects in his navel, in the dip above his collarbone, hot on his skin.
“Jesus fuck,” says Merlin as Arthur stutters to a stop. He’s heaving for air, studying the mess he made on Merlin, then suddenly he’s gone, scrambling off him, away from the bed, all the way to the other side of the room.
Merlin gets his elbows under him, looks to see Arthur lowering himself to sit on his own bed. Clearly he’s got no plans to relieve Merlin’s blue balls. Merlin’s disappointed, though not surprised.
“At least get me a tissue, you prick.”
His voice comes out too loud, and Arthur looks up, startled, eyes wide. Merlin expects to be told to fuck off, but Arthur just stares for a moment then gets up, lurching for the Kleenex on his wardrobe.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, handing Merlin a huge wad of paper.
He sighs. “’S alright.” Arthur follows the movements as Merlin wipes his torso clean, but he won’t meet his eyes.
Merlin hasn’t the slightest clue what the fuck’s supposed to happen now. He wants to reach in his pants and do something about his boner, but Arthur looks like he’s seen a ghost. Leave it to him to pull Merlin headfirst into his big gay crisis.
He digs his shirt out from the folds of the sheets and pulls it back on. The scent of Arthur’s cum is still heavy in the air.
Arthur’s sat on his bed again, staring into space in a way that’s decidedly existential.
“Am I taking advantage of you?” he says into the silence, voice cracking.
Merlin opens his mouth and shuts it several times before landing on an answer. “Sort of,” he says honestly. “Maybe. But I—I really like it.”
Arthur looks at him, frowning. For the first time, Merlin wonders if his pompousness isn’t just a layer of bravado masking something else, something he keeps buried underneath.
“It’s just sex,” Merlin grumbles, flopping to his back.
Apparently it’s the wrong thing to say. “We’re not having sex,” says Arthur quickly.
Merlin snorts, reaches for the goopy balled up tissue and chucks it in Arthur’s general direction. “Then what the fuck is this?”
“That wasn’t sex.”
Merlin sits back up to face him, properly angry now. “I’m not accusing you of anything, mate. I didn’t say we’re dating, or that you’re my boyfriend, or that you even like me—you’ve made it clear you don’t. I’m giving you an out here. There’s no fucking feelings. It’s just sex.”
A muscle in Arthur’s jaw twitches as he works his mouth. “You’re the one who does everything I tell you to,” he says, voice low. “Besides. No one would believe you.”
“Like I’m out here trying to advertise what a fucking arsehole you are to me?!” Without thinking, he picks up his pillow, goes over and thwacks Arthur with it. “First of all, I’d bet the dozen fucking people you dared me to whip my dick out in front of might somehow find it believable. Second, I haven’t told anyone and I’m not planning to, you absolute fucking tosser. God.”
Arthur just sulks.
“Well?” says Merlin, shoving at his chest. “Why are you such an arse?”
“Fuck off,” Arthur mutters finally, but it’s half-hearted and does nothing to tame the hurt inside Merlin that’s making him shout.
“No. You just came in here and woke me up to have a wank on me, and I let you. You—you fucking filmed me, yeah, and I let you. So why can’t you even talk to me?”
“How could I talk to you?” cries Arthur, throwing his hands up. He takes Merlin’s pillow and pitches it violently back over to his bed. “What am I meant to say? ‘Hey, you don’t know me, yeah, but I like to watch you and I wanna see what your dick looks like and I think about you when I wank. Oh, and you’ll have to share a room with me for the next year, that’s okay, right?’ Is that it, yeah? That doesn’t make me sound like a total fucking creep?”
Merlin gapes. What Arthur’s saying isn’t exactly news at this point, but the way he says it feels—different. Almost as if he—
“I like you, okay?” says Arthur. “Like, I like you. So. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that. I’m sorry I’m a prick to you. I am.” He looks away, swiping a hand across his face in a jerky motion.
To Merlin’s dismay, his rage evaporates instantly. He sits next to Arthur.
“It doesn’t have to be such a bad thing, you know.”
“I can’t like—guys.”
Merlin’s instinct is to roll his eyes, but he remembers how it felt, going through this himself years back. “It can kind of suck when you figure it out. But it’s not that bad. Mostly it’s good. People won’t care nearly as much as you think they will.”
“My father will,” says Arthur miserably.
“Well he’s one person.” Arthur looks at him for a long second when he says that. “Anyway. I still won’t tell anyone. And we don’t have to keep… doing this, if it freaks you out.” He shrugs, fighting a smirk. “But. Like I said. When you figure it out, it can be… really good.”
Arthur laughs, bright and loud, better than Merlin imagined.
“Go to bed,” says Merlin. “You’re drunk anyway, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Where’re you going?” asks Arthur when Merlin goes for the door.
“Uh. To the bathroom,” he says, looking down at the tent in his boxers.
Arthur pins him with a look until Merlin goes and gets back onto the bed, sits next to Arthur and takes out his cock and just does it right there.
#
Merlin is off to class the next morning before Arthur wakes, so he doesn’t see him again until he’s coming out the science building late in the afternoon. He hurries down the steps, registers someone loitering there, stops when he sees it’s Arthur.
“Hey,” says Arthur, falling into step beside him. “I’m starving. You do dinner yet?”
“Er. It’s half past four, so no, not yet.”
“Sometimes I get hungry early, don’t you?” shrugs Arthur.
So they head to the pub where they run into Will, who gives Merlin a look like he’s lost the plot. Arthur accumulates a pair of friends there as well, and they all eat together, just like that. Arthur seems sort of embarrassed around Merlin, almost sheepish, but he actually talks to him.
“So,” he says when they land back in their room for the night, conjuring a conversation from thin air. “Last night. You said we don’t have to keep doing… what we’ve been doing. If I’m freaked out. And I am, a bit. To be fair. But… I do want to keep doing it.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Keep doing what? I’m not gonna fuck around with you if you can’t even say it aloud. You know there are plenty of blokes just as fit as you around here who aren’t so—”
“Keep watching you touch yourself. Maybe. Or—or you could let me touch you. If you wanted. Or. I mean. I’d let you touch me. My cock.”
“Oh,” says Merlin, disarmed.
“Yeah. Keep doing that.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” says Merlin. “Fuck. Yeah, okay.”
“Right now?”
“Fuck,” he repeats. “Sure. Yeah.”
Somewhere in the midst of their yeahs he’d become rock hard. Arthur crosses the room, stands between Merlin’s legs, looking at him like he’s concentrating. His gaze crawls down Merlin’s body, lands on the bulge in his jeans.
“You wanna touch it?” Merlin whispers. Arthur nods, mesmerised. Merlin takes his rough hand, guides it to his crotch. It’s absurd, how good Arthur touching him over his trousers feels.
“I’m afraid I won’t know what to do,” says Arthur quietly.
“It’s nothing you’ve not already done to yourself.”
Arthur licks his lips, curling his fingers around Merlin. He trails his hand toward the button of his jeans. His knuckles brush Merlin’s erection as he brings the zipper down, and Arthur pauses there, nudging at his cock, testing. Merlin pushes him away to peel his trousers and shirt off, then Arthur’s reaching for him again, cupping him through his boxers this time, and Merlin can’t stop himself from moaning.
“Here, come on, can we—” Merlin grabs him by the shirt, pulls them to sit with their backs against the wall on his bed. He spreads his legs, tossing one over Arthur’s, and again Arthur reaches for him, rubs him until the head of Merlin’s cock is poking out his boxers. Then he pulls Merlin’s boxers down, takes him out and rolls his cock in his hand like he’s examining it. He sweeps a thumb over the head and Merlin shudders.
“That feels good?”
“So good,” Merlin sighs as Arthur does it again. “You like it?”
“Yeah,” says Arthur, just holding him, swirling his thumb around the head every few seconds. He does it until Merlin’s hips are bucking up, and after enough times Merlin comes, spilling into his hand.
#
So that’s how it goes. Merlin gets Arthur off the next time, then they try doing it to each other at once. (Merlin likes that arrangement in particular.) Arthur meets him after his classes, invites him out with his friends, invites Merlin’s friends along, even. He’s almost like a puppy now that they’ve turned this corner, trailing after Merlin, grinning when Merlin says something he likes. But when they’re alone in their room, he’s a beast. Something fierce and hungry that can’t get enough of him.
Quickly he finds that Arthur is characteristically entitled—possessive, even—when it comes to the things he perceives as belonging to him.
“Let me just play with it,” he begs as Merlin swats at him, trying to finish his essay.
“Quit pawing me, you animal, I’ve got to concentrate.”
He really has got to write this paper, but the larger part of him still can’t believe it’s Arthur who’s throwing himself at him, who seems to love it. Outwardly Merlin pretends to disapprove, but he hasn’t found it in himself yet to turn the man away a single time.
Arthur knows this, worming his hand into Merlin’s lap from where he sits by his feet.
“Merlin. I’ll revise for you when you’re done. Come on. You don’t even have to do anything.”
“You are relentless,” Merlin groans. “Fine. Just don’t distract me.”
“Never,” says Arthur in a mock serious tone. He folds his hand into Merlin’s sweats, grips him firmly. Merlin keeps tapping away at his laptop, but obviously his concentration wanes as Arthur pulls his cock out, rolls his foreskin between his fingers, fondles him until Merlin’s dribbling cum onto his desk chair.
He’s insatiable. One night when they’re walking home from the club with all their mates, Arthur pulls Merlin into an alleyway, pins him against the bricks and ruts against his leg ’til he comes in his trousers like a randy teenager. Another weekend he pulls Merlin into the loo at the campus centre and they masturbate across from each other in a cramped stall.
And then there’s the time he sees Merlin at the pub, excuses himself from his group and beelines over.
“Hi Freya, hi Morgana. Merlin.” Arthur comes to stand behind him, places a hand on the small of his back. His voice is low when he leans in and murmurs in Merlin’s ear.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Cheers,” says Merlin automatically.
“I want to try sucking your cock.”
Merlin jumps up from his stool, spinning around to lead Arthur away. “Wow. Alright, thank you. That’s maybe something you can save to tell me all about later.”
“Not later. Now.”
“Arthur, I’ve just got here. Do you really need to do this right now?”
“Let’s go,” says Arthur, breezing past him, and Merlin sighs and follows because he’s never had so much sex in his life, and sex with Arthur is, if he’s being honest, by far the best he’s had.
“Just take it slow,” he’s urging ten minutes later, sat on the edge of his bed with Arthur knelt before him. “Fuck. I hate to inflate that head of yours further but you look good on your knees.”
“’Course I do,” says Arthur, flippant. Merlin’s lost in an eye roll when Arthur swallows him down, warm and wet and so much all at once, just going for it, the way he likes to do everything.
“Teeth,” Merlin hisses. Arthur corrects immediately, finds an easy rhythm bobbing up and down on Merlin’s cock. Merlin doesn’t last long at all. Just before he comes Arthur pulls off, cupping his hand and finishing Merlin into it.
“Not as bad as I expected,” he declares later. They’re lying squashed shoulder to shoulder on Arthur’s bed, mindlessly playing a game.
“Gee, thanks. I'm flattered.”
“Besides, you owe me one now. Can’t wait to get that mouth of yours on me.”
Merlin laughs. “Is that how this works?”
“Obviously.” Arthur smirks at him, but the smile slides from his face as he glances down at Merlin’s lips. His gaze stays there, and Merlin realises he’s staring at Arthur’s mouth, too, then suddenly Arthur’s kissing him.
It starts as something plush and soft and slow, until a switch flips in Arthur and he’s suddenly sucking, licking at Merlin’s lower lip, trying to get inside.
He kisses like he’s trying to win something. He kisses with his whole body, holding Merlin’s face, rolling on top of him, slotting their legs.
“Your lips,” he murmurs when they break apart for air, and Merlin almost bloody blushes before Arthur goes back in.
It’s been months of their weird little arrangement now, nearly the whole semester. Sometimes Merlin feels he understands it less now than he did before. Before Arthur was nice to him; before Arthur did things like kiss him. He can’t make sense of it.
He turns his head, sending Arthur’s lips skidding across his jaw. “Hang on, hang on.”
Arthur pulls back and looks at him, sees something is wrong. He lifts some of his weight off Merlin, hesitant, hovering.
“You don’t want to kiss me?” he says softly, sounding so sad that Merlin’s heart pinches.
And—yeah, that’s a problem.
Merlin lets out a deep breath. “Fuck,” he says, voice hoarse. “I do want to kiss you.”
“But?” asks Arthur when Merlin says nothing more, trying to gather himself.
“Sorry. I do. But…” He pushes a hand through his hair which he knows must be sticking up from Arthur combing his fingers through it. “But like. Are we dating?”
Arthur stares.
“I mean. I know. It’s not that I think we are. I know you wouldn’t—I know that’s not what this is. But. You wait for me after all my classes. We go out together nearly every night. And then we get back and you’re all over me—and don’t get me wrong, I love it—but now you’re kissing me and I—I just… You slept in my bed last night.” He twists his hair. “You sleep in my bed every night!”
“Why are you having more of a reaction to me snogging you than did to me sucking your cock?”
“Because this feels—this feels…” He wraps his arms around himself, nervous. “Because I like you, actually, like a lot. You’re a total prat and you’re arrogant and pushy and you drive me mad, but you’re also really clever and funny and obviously beautiful, and I can’t believe I let myself catch feelings but maybe I don’t know if I can keep doing this if you just want sex. ’Cause now I’m starting to wonder stuff like where you’re from and what films you like and what your favourite class is and—and, I dunno, the top most embarrassing moment from your childhood. Except I don’t know if we’re even allowed to talk about things like that.”
“Are you quite finished?” says Arthur, sounding bored, but his eyes blaze into Merlin’s. “I told you I like you months ago, Merlin. Glad you’ve finally caught up.”
Merlin frowns. “Well… yeah, but—”
“But maybe I wasn’t clear enough.”
“You said you think about me when you wank,” says Merlin dryly.
“Yeah, and I stand by that. I also think about you during class. And footie practice. I think about how you chew on your pen, and the weird way you sleep all curled up, and that thing you said about how my father is only one person. And when we’re together you’re all I can think about. Anything you do, it’s like—I just want to look at you. Be near you. Be touching you, ideally.” He shrugs like it’s simple as that. “So yeah, I like to think we’re dating. I would’ve kissed you sooner but I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
“Oh my god,” says Merlin, stunned. “Arthur, are you soppy?”
Arthur tackles him, pins him to the mattress. “You’re my boooyfriend,” he sing-songs. “Deal with it.”
Merlin laughs, feeling lighter than his body, and this time he kisses Arthur first.