Story Title: against the walls, against your rules, against your skin
Rated: NC-17 for cross-dressing and sexual situations
Status: Complete / 700+
Summary: [Arthur/Merlin] Merlin feels strangely powerful and intoxicating, and wonders if this is how girls feel all the time.
Steve's Notes: Written for hermette's fu-a-thon on LiveJournal, for a picture prompt. I'm pretty sure I screamed "YES PLEASE" at my computer screen and wrote this entirely to Passion Pit's Sleepyhead, which is why my title is so odd. DAMN YOU PASSION PIT.
Disclaimer: Merlin © BBC

"Merlin," Arthur cajoles from their tiny, shared dormitory. "It cannot possibly be as terrible as you are making this out to be."

If he could find his voice, Merlin would like it known that yes, yes, it could possibly be as terrible as he made this out to be, if not worse.

"Don't be such a girl," Arthur snorts, his contempt penetrating the bathroom door that separates them. "A dare is a dare is a dare, and you'll owe me money I know you don't have if you balk."

The reflection in the mirror tells Merlin that he would rather pull double shifts at the Starbucks in the student union than go outside because he is never going to hear the end of this.

"Really, Merlin, I'm not going to take any pictures," Arthur continues to prattle. "It's enough that the entire footie team saw you lose spectacularly and that Morgana bought these especially for you. And if you doesn't have the—"

Merlin will never know what possesses him to open the bathroom door, jerking it so hard it nearly comes off its abused hinges. Maybe it's because he—like Arthur—is prone to fits of shockingly pig-headedness that often result in undue amounts of embarrassment and, despite the embarrassment he feels hot in his face and ears, he's not about to back down.

Arthur's reaction, however, is not something Merlin is prepared for. He's not prepared for the way Arthur's crossed arms go slack and drop to his sides, the way his fists curl and uncurl by his hips. He's not prepared for the noise that crawls out of Arthur's throat, a choked and desperate whine, nor is he prepared for the way Arthur's blue, blue eyes go round in his golden face. He's not prepared for the way he feels his cock swell and twitch inside the sheer black panties at Arthur's obvious desire, the way he sees Arthur's pressed hard and sudden against the placket of his jeans.

"You—" Arthur grits through his imbalanced teeth. "You really—"

Despite his embarrassment and the flush that he knows has crept down his neck and into the dip of his clavicles, Merlin quirks his hip to the right and throws his shoulders back. He nearly teeters on the kitten heels he's crammed his feet into and the bra tightens, alien, underneath the line of his pectorals. Merlin feels strangely powerful and intoxicating, and wonders if this is how girls feel all the time.

"I don't think we should give Morgana these back," Merlin purrs, finally, because Arthur can only stare. "Well?"

Arthur takes two huge strides forward until he's against the heat of Merlin's body, then a third so Merlin is trapped between him and the bathroom door. Then he drops to his knees without regard and has his mouth against the curve of Merlin's dick so quickly that Merlin has time only to exclaim, "Fuck!"

Arthur drags his mouth, his teeth, his wet hot tongue over Merlin, pressing against him through the fabric. Arthur sucks and he moans against the silk like a whore, his spit soaking through and cooling sharply where his harsh, whistling breathes don't wash over Merlin's skin. Merlin immediately, instinctively bites into his knuckles to keep his noise inside his chest and throat, where it bounces around and steals the air from his lungs.

Again and again, Arthur runs his red mouth over Merlin's cock, his tongue pressed hard and wide against it, the threat of his teeth lingering as he sucks on the head. Merlin watches unblinkingly, tears in the corners of his eyes, because he cannot bear to not watch. He stares at the furrow between Arthur's bold eyebrows, how the fingers of his free hand tangle in the mane of Arthur's hair, how blooded red and fat and slick Arthur's lips look against the damp, hot and cold silk. Merlin comes like this: pulling sharply on Arthur's hair, teeth breaking the skin of his knuckles, the fragments of Arthur's name still inside, with his lungs and his heart.

Then, Merlin's bony knees knocking against Arthur's shoulders, Arthur tugs him down and pulls him close, one of his hands sticky—impatient, like he couldn't wait to have Merlin, like he couldn't wait to suck Merlin's cock. And he's still panting as he nuzzles the soft and sweat slick skin behind Merlin's ear, when he murmurs, "If Morgana asks—you burned them."

end.