Dia Duit ar Maidin
Author: magnolia822
Title: Dia Duit ar Maidin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gwaine/Merlin
Character/s: Gwaine/Merlin
Words: 480
Warnings: Age disparity, voyeurism
Prompt: Superboy
When he wakes on Sunday morning, Gwaine’s mouth tastes of stale whiskey and the vinegar crisps he ate before passing out after a night on the lash with the lads. Sun shines through the window at the foot of his bed, mocking him. It’s too early and everything is far too bright, worsens the pounding in his head.
“Fuck,” he says, throwing back the covers and stalking to the window. He’s just about to yank the curtains shut when movement in the house across the street catches his eye.
“Fuck,” Gwaine says again, but it comes out more like a whisper this time. His cock gives an interested, very inappropriate, twitch. It’s Merlin, his neighbour’s barely legal son, standing in full view at his bedroom window, starkers except for a pair of bright green underpants.
Lord, they’re tight. And tiny.
Gwaine knows he should look away, but he’s mesmerized by the long line of Merlin’s body as the boy stretches, spine curving, hand scratching at his naked belly. Jesus, the kid is like a wet dream sent to cure Gwaine’s hangover and send him straight to hell. Merlin’s mum would flip her shite if she knew he was gawking like a pervert, but then again, what in the world is Merlin doing . . . oh . . . ohhhh. He’s dancing, shaking his arse at the window to music Gwaine can’t hear, gyrating his slim hips and touching himself all over.
This isn’t the first time Gwaine has seen Merlin nearly naked-the kid has some sort of penchant for exhibitionism and never closes his shades-but it’s the first time he’s let himself look. Maybe it’s the fact he’s still halfway drunk. He stares like his brain has short-circuited and he doesn’t even have a choice.
Merlin’s still dancing, turned again to face the window when it happens. The kid’s hand drifts lower, presses against his groin. And, oh sweet Mary, even from this distance Gwaine can see Merlin pulling at himself through those little pants. He keeps going like he means business, like he’s trying to make himself come.
Gwaine can’t help it; his own hand drifts down, squeezes his morning erection. He’s so worked up he hasn’t considered the obvious: if he can see Merlin, Merlin can certainly see him.
That is, until Merlin looks up, eyes widening, hand at his crotch. Gwaine stills, shocked, realizing his own hand is down his y-fronts and there’s no doubt about what he’s doing.
“Shite.”
He holds his breath, wondering crazily if he’ll have enough time to finish before the police haul his arse to jail. He’s so close he can’t stop, even with Merlin staring at him.
But Merlin only smiles, moves nearer the window to give Gwaine an unobstructed view of his hand slipping into the tight green pants, forearm jerking.
Gwaine groans and lets go.
Title: Dia Duit ar Maidin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gwaine/Merlin
Character/s: Gwaine/Merlin
Words: 480
Warnings: Age disparity, voyeurism
Prompt: Superboy
When he wakes on Sunday morning, Gwaine’s mouth tastes of stale whiskey and the vinegar crisps he ate before passing out after a night on the lash with the lads. Sun shines through the window at the foot of his bed, mocking him. It’s too early and everything is far too bright, worsens the pounding in his head.
“Fuck,” he says, throwing back the covers and stalking to the window. He’s just about to yank the curtains shut when movement in the house across the street catches his eye.
“Fuck,” Gwaine says again, but it comes out more like a whisper this time. His cock gives an interested, very inappropriate, twitch. It’s Merlin, his neighbour’s barely legal son, standing in full view at his bedroom window, starkers except for a pair of bright green underpants.
Lord, they’re tight. And tiny.
Gwaine knows he should look away, but he’s mesmerized by the long line of Merlin’s body as the boy stretches, spine curving, hand scratching at his naked belly. Jesus, the kid is like a wet dream sent to cure Gwaine’s hangover and send him straight to hell. Merlin’s mum would flip her shite if she knew he was gawking like a pervert, but then again, what in the world is Merlin doing . . . oh . . . ohhhh. He’s dancing, shaking his arse at the window to music Gwaine can’t hear, gyrating his slim hips and touching himself all over.
This isn’t the first time Gwaine has seen Merlin nearly naked-the kid has some sort of penchant for exhibitionism and never closes his shades-but it’s the first time he’s let himself look. Maybe it’s the fact he’s still halfway drunk. He stares like his brain has short-circuited and he doesn’t even have a choice.
Merlin’s still dancing, turned again to face the window when it happens. The kid’s hand drifts lower, presses against his groin. And, oh sweet Mary, even from this distance Gwaine can see Merlin pulling at himself through those little pants. He keeps going like he means business, like he’s trying to make himself come.
Gwaine can’t help it; his own hand drifts down, squeezes his morning erection. He’s so worked up he hasn’t considered the obvious: if he can see Merlin, Merlin can certainly see him.
That is, until Merlin looks up, eyes widening, hand at his crotch. Gwaine stills, shocked, realizing his own hand is down his y-fronts and there’s no doubt about what he’s doing.
“Shite.”
He holds his breath, wondering crazily if he’ll have enough time to finish before the police haul his arse to jail. He’s so close he can’t stop, even with Merlin staring at him.
But Merlin only smiles, moves nearer the window to give Gwaine an unobstructed view of his hand slipping into the tight green pants, forearm jerking.
Gwaine groans and lets go.