Title: The Game
Character/s: Merlin, Will
Summary: Merlin gets into an argument with his boyfriend. Will just can't walk away.
Warnings:Modern AU, adult situations
Word Count: 695
Author's Notes: Not beta'd
Author's notes: I just wanted to give a few other quick warnings for this drabble: in addition to the "adult situations" listed above, there are mentions of drugs/alcohol, some adult language, and humiliation (kink.) The characters are a bit OOC, and the situation might make some people feel uncomfortable.
Also, as always, Merlin does not belong to me. :D
It was nearly midnight when Will heard the tell tale sounds of his roommate stumbling into their shared flat. A heavy object hit the floor, followed by a barely muffled curse. It didn't take long before Will's bedroom door was opened without so much as a knock.
“You awake?” Merlin asked, peeking his head in. His eyes raked over his friend, sitting up in bed with his laptop, a cup of tea halfway to his lips.
In a few strides, Merlin crossed the room and sat beside his friend on the bed. Up close, Will could see that his hair was disheveled, and a red tint ghosted around the whites of his eyes. His breath carried more than just a hint of liquor.
Heart beating against his ribs, Will looked into his friend's blue eyes, and was met with an intense stare. The dark haired boy reached out, the back of his hand just barely brushing Will's cheek.
“Still with Freya?” His voice was barely over a whisper. The truth was unimportant – Will knew this game, and, regardless of how fucked up it was, he never had the strength to walk away.
Things always played out the same way. Merlin would have an argument with his boyfriend. He'd get drunk, or stoned, or whatever vice was most appealing at that moment. Later, he'd stumble home, half dazed, and find his way into Will's bed.
All it takes is a half shake of the head before Merlin's lips are on Will's, greedy and demanding. He tastes of whiskey and stale cigarettes, his tongue pillaging his friend's mouth without finesse. Brain very nearly turning to mush, Will still has the sense to set the laptop on the floor, before Merlin's straddling him, pinning his wrists to the bed.
“You're so sexy,” Merlin's voice is slurred; he won't remember saying it come morning. “Wish you were my boyfriend instead.” His teeth graze Will's neck, and he forgets to be disgusted by what he's doing; what he's allowing his drunk, and likely stoned, friend do to him.
And god, Merlin's rutting against him, his prick hard and body so, so eager. A whimper escapes Will's lips. It sounds sad and pathetic to his own ears, but it makes his friend grin wickedly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Merlin purrs, his hand finding it's way down Will's sweatpants, “You're such a good boy for me.” Slim fingers grip his cock, stroking slowly. The slow pace is pure torture, and Merlin knows it – he thrives on making the boy beneath him squirm; allowed a taste but never enough to be sated.
Will grips the bedsheets with one hand. Typically, Merlin does not allow Will to touch him -he supposes that intimacy is reserved for his actual boyfriend. However, Will is feeling rebellious, and pulls his friend's head down for another kiss. He groans at the feeling of Merlin's tongue in his mouth, his hand still working his length in that tantalizingly slow manner.
“We'll never get into any rows, will we, darling?” Merlin's hot breath ghosts Will's ear. His hand picks up pace, and a groan escapes Will's mouth in response. But Merlin's impatient – he ceases his stroking abruptly, hands reaching up to grab his friend's wrists roughly.
The game has a tendency to get rough, and Will can scarcely breathe. He whispers a quiet yes, and Merlin releases his wrists, one hand snaking back down into his sweatpants.
“And if we do, sweetie – I'll punish you. Pull your trousers down wherever we happen to be, and take you over my knee. Make you count your lashings out loud, so you know how bad of a boy you've been.” Merlin's words are beyond dirty, and, with a loud sob, Will's coming in his pants, turned on and completely humiliated. The way he always is at the end of the game.
Thin arms encircle him, and Will rests his head against his friend's bony shoulder. They don't speak, and, after some time, Merlin becomes restless. He pulls away from his partner gently, and goes back to his room without another word. The alcohol is out of his system, and so is Will.