Title: You Bring Out The Worst In Me
Summary: An evening at his best friend's house should be easy to navigate, but Merlin can't even be trusted with his own thoughts. And showering, as it turns out, doesn't help.
Warnings: Language, masturbation, whiny teenagers, underage drinking
Word Count: 478
Prompt: #87 Arouse
Author's Notes: This is a little continuation to my previous entry :)
Arthur had the kind of a shower you could fit three people in, all in black marble, glass panes and tasteful metal decorations that looked like they were ripped straight from a designer magazine. There was a huge showerhead that could, with careful fiddling of all the knobs and whatnot, be persuaded to drizzle over Merlin like pleasantly warm summer rain. He soaked, alone and miserable and slightly tipsy.
They had a perfectly lovely evening of games, youtube videos and beer that somehow culminated in Merlin being invited to stay over. In Arthur's house. Sleeping in a guest bedroom, wearing Arthur's borrowed pyjamas.
Merlin forced himself to breathe. Arthur's pyjamas were folded next to the sink – a wonderfully soft red flannel he couldn't help rubbing against his cheek, inhaling the imaginary smell of Arthur. It made him feel like the worst kind of creep.
He squeezed some shower gel onto his hands and ran them down his torso. The touch of his own hands made him shiver. His skin was over-sensitized, buzzing with alcohol and the entire evening of uncomfortable arousal, brought on by Arthur's proximity.
His easy smiles. His light, teasing tone. A hand reaching out to ruffle Merlin's hair or punch him playfully in the arm, like Merlin was his favourite little brother.
Merlin bit his lip and stifled a gasp. His fingers danced over his cock, their flimsy touch almost doing him in. He blinked the water out of his eyes to stare down at the offending appendage, standing tall and proud, making him think all kinds of stupid thoughts.
Arthur would hate him if he found out. Arthur.
His hand wrapped around the length and gave it a sharp squeeze. The pain was sudden, unexpected and very, very pleasant. Merlin bit back a moan, thankful that the rushing water would muffle all sounds.
It was a bit like jacking off three steps from the fiery pits of Hell, thought Merlin hysterically. He sped up, images of tanned skin and golden hair flashing before his eyes. His thumb brushed over the tip, pulling at the foreskin and exposing the pink head; his hips snapped forward, pushing his cock further into his hand.
Arthur would hate him.
Maybe. Maybe Arthur would push him down – press his hands to Merlin's shoulders and Merlin would fall to his knees, willingly and without a fuss. Maybe Arthur would be angry and rough and hateful, and push Merlin further and further until he broke all his limits.
And Merlin would love it.
His orgasm felt like a punch to the gut. Merlin reached out with a shaky hand to turn the water hot, boiling hot, letting it wash away all traces of his shame and humiliation.
Oh, Arthur would have every right to be angry. And truth be told, Merlin preferred it that way. Understanding, kindness, gentleness – that. That would be too much to handle.
Fuck Arthur. And fuck his ability to make Merlin want things he didn't deserve.