Title: Roses are Red
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Valentine's Day comes, and Merlin gets more than he bargained for
Warnings: Age difference
Word Count: 778
Author's Notes: Well, you did ask for more teacher!Merlin, student!Arthur
There’s nothing serious between them. There can’t be. Can’t ever be.
Except Merlin can’t help but think that there’s something special about the way Arthur looks up to his classroom from the field every time he scores, knowing he’ll be there, knowing he’ll be watching. There’s something a little bit perfect about the way he makes Merlin hang his jacket up properly before they fuck. Something that makes his chest tighten about the way Arthur still tries to impress him even though he’s won, even though they’re doing this whatever it is and show no sign of stopping.
So, alright, maybe there is something. But it’s not something that Merlin will admit to, barely even to himself, because that would not end well. There would be a smug Arthur and probably requests to go round Merlin’s flat and eat chocolate cake together and snuggle and watch Friends episodes they both know back to front and have sex on an actual bed and-
And God, Merlin wants that.
But he shouldn’t, because Arthur is a student, and if what they’re doing now is wrong Merlin hates to think about the levels of hell he’d get into for more.
February the 14th happens to be a school day. Merlin doesn’t want anything, because they’re not that sort of couple, hell, they’re not even a couple. Merlin doesn’t expect Arthur to even acknowledge that it’s Valentine’s, and he plans to ignore it himself. Which is exactly what happens, even through period four with Arthur’s class. Arthur makes it to practice after school without a hitch, and Merlin shamelessly watches them out of the window while pretending to work, and if he’s a little disappointed, well, he has no right to be. But though it’s for the best even Arthur’s little grins in his direction do little to lift his mood.
He packs up when the rugby team trail back into the changing rooms. The caretaker will be coming round soon to lock up, so there’s no point in actually starting some marking. He hefts his bags over his shoulders and stands, about to leave.
Only to stop still when he sees Arthur in the doorway.
He doesn’t know immediately that it’s Arthur. His face is obscured by a bouquet of red roses, but the rest of him is covered in muddy tracksuit so it’s fairly easy to guess who it is.
“Happy Valentine’s,” Arthur says, voice deep and a little hoarse from training. Merlin doesn’t go weak at the knees. Not in the slightest.
“Arthur?” he says, because it’s the only thing he can think of. The shock of Arthur of all people, sex-obsessed, shelf-breaking-and-unrepentant, three-orgasms-for-each-of-Merlin’s Arthur, being romantic strikes him dumb.
“I wanted to get you something,” he tells Merlin, holding the flowers out at arm’s length so Merlin has to drop his bags and take them. He bundles them up in his arms, and when one of the petals brushes his cheek it’s silk-soft, and they smell like that slow smile Arthur sometimes gives him and under that the mud of the pitch. Merlin just wants to bury his nose in Arthur, drink in the smell of the mud and the sweat and the roses. But he doesn’t. He stays still, just staring at Arthur.
“I knew you were going to be like this.”
“Like what?” Merlin manages to croak out.
“All shocked and righteous and it’s only the sex, Arthur, you don’t really care, you’re just confused.”
Arthur’s Merlin impression really is appalling, but Merlin forgets to pull him up on it because he hadn’t actually got past the shock, hadn’t realised that the roses might mean something more than let’s have lots of sex in the book cupboard, now.
“Of course I bloody do,” Arthur says, brusquely, “Now, please just tell me we can go to yours and order in and have lots of sex because I want to climb you like a tree right now.”
Merlin lets out a little burst of nervous laughter at Arthur and shuffles a little on his feet. Arthur leans right into him, lips brushing against his cheekbone, and smooths his hands over Merlin’s arse.
“If it helps,” he murmurs, voice low and enticing, “I have a whole load of lube and the biggest box of condoms I could find in the shop in my bag.”
Merlin swallows audibly. His Adam’s apple bobs, and Arthur swoops in to kiss it quickly. But before that can turn into anything else, he grabs Merlin’s wrist and tugs.
“Come on! Your place! Now!”
Merlin has, for all intents and purposes, no say in the matter, so he goes.