[merlin] minor adjustments
I don't even know what came over me. I wanted to bring into this hideously talented fandom something meaningful and wistful and pretty and Gigantomachy-esque (if only because I don't have have the perseverance or attention span for epics), but then I started looking at unfilled kink meme prompts and the other meaningful thing isn't done yet anyway and this thing started kicking around my tender headmeat and screaming like a banshee in heat. So. Filthy, filthy (and a little snarky) plotless porn. The boys aren't mine in any way; caveat lector, yada-yada bow-chika orz.
Meet my very awkward hello ilu. o/ This is, embarrassingly enough, probably the longest thing I've ever written, at least for a one-shot. I DON'T EVEN KNOW, GUYS.
For the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, AU.
Merlin tests new products for a sex toy company. Arthur is the head designer. It is his job to observe these tests, ask questions and take notes. It's all very professional and clinical, until Arthur gets hard during a session.
minor adjustments
(a good day could keep you sparkling awhile)
"And how does that feel?"
The dark-haired man bites his lip, seeming to consider the question. And perhaps the entire situation might be laughable to anyone, anywhere else, but here it is not an issue -- rather, Arthur crosses his legs with a pointed glance at the man who has one pale skinny leg propped up on the table, the better part of five inches worth of dull grey vibrating latex cock buried in his ass.
To Arthur, this is just another day at work, though perhaps not an aspect he supervises often in person. The device is just the latest in a series of new (or at least improved) products his department has designed, and rather than watch the show with anything approaching interest, he taps the nub of his pencil against his clipboard and considers whether to go with flesh tones or something more vibrant.
"Today, preferably." There's just the slightest edge in his voice. He's got a meeting with the advertisement council in half an hour.
"Calm down, will you? Jesus." There doesn't seem to be anything remarkable about the situation to this man, either, which is at least moderately useful -- it's hard enough to find people willing to run through the lab's rather unique gamut of tests properly without being insufferable about it, giggling or suddenly finding their sense of modesty or any of an incalculable number of troubles that plague this stage of development.
A moment later, the man sighs and tugs the vibrator free, twisting his hips enough to swing both legs off the table. "Frankly, It's absolute trash," he says, and waves the thing -- still glistening with lubricant -- in Arthur's direction with a frown.
Dimly, Arthur is aware of Merlin saying something else, but his mind has stopped somewhere around trash and is circling it, the steady tap of his pencil becoming a twitch, leaving a thick smear of graphite across yellow paper. "Excuse me?"
The man has the nerve to roll his eyes. "I said, It's certainly not thick enough, and it's too soft -- who wants to feel they're being fucked by a half-hard prick, eh?" Arthur's teeth are trying to grind themselves to dust, and obviously the man notices it, because he shrugs and smiles widely (which is a little disconcerting, even to Arthur who is used to observing all kinds) and adds what he no-doubt feels is a helpful "I know they can do better."
There's a long pause while Arthur tries, mostly successfully, to unlock his jaw. "I see." It's cold and utterly clinical, dispassionate in every sense. "That will be all, then."
A shrug, and the man hops off the table, shambling over towards the chair where his clothes have been left in a crumpled heap. Arthur watches, noticing the fact that he doesn't show any sign of discomfort as he moves, entirely unmoved as the man uses a handful of wet wipes to clean himself. He waits until the man bends to slide a leg into his jeans (and here Arthur thought going commando went out of style in the nineties, huh) to look down at his notepad.
Somewhere in the time the man was voicing his displeasure, Arthur had managed to write 'IDIOT' in strong block letters. Several times. Underlined.
He leaves before the man has finished dressing, vaguely considering the idea of booting the cocky little bastard off the list of "consultants" just because he can, and because he certainly shouldn't have to sit here and listen to some pasty-faced hipster brat tell him he doesn't know how to design a proper plastic dick.
--
But he doesn't, and he's starting to regret it, this time for entirely different reasons.
This time, the man is sitting facing him, stroking himself slowly, his cock sheathed almost from root to tip in a gel-filled sleeve. The basic design is a recent staple of the solo toy scene, but Arthur's team has added a few minor improvements -- considering the man's occasional soft moan and the way he tips his head against his shoulder to reveal a small spot of stubble beneath his chin where his razor has missed, it seems to be working.
"How is it?" And if there's the slightest bit of trepidation in Arthur's mind, he does his best not to inject it into his voice.
"Mmm, well," and the man's eyes flicker upwards to watch Arthur through a fringe of coal-black hair, the faintest quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips, "much better this time." He's still stroking himself, not even a hitch in his rhythm as he answers Arthur's questions and fucks his hand at the same time, though his breathing has certainly caught a few times, as if he'd found something particularly pleasant in the device.
Arthur is taking notes, only offering occasional glances to keep an eye on the progression, when the man looks up suddenly. "I'm Merlin," he says brightly, though the end of his name is snagged by the beginning of another soft, unselfconscious moan.
"That's nice," Arthur replies automatically, without feeling. Though the consultant has a name now, and Arthur supposes that's something, however little he cares to have it.
"You're Arthur, right?" One of Merlin's fingers slide up to pinch at a hard nipple, and Arthur makes a note in the margins, nodding once in confirmation rather than encouraging the conversation with anything further. "Ah, the other one -- the nice lady with the curly hair -- she mentioned it. Last time."
Arthur bites back a sneer of disdain and quietly vows to strangle Gwen the next time he sees her.
Fortunately, Merlin's picked a good time to really get into it. Arthur eases back in his chair, pencil tapping once more against his notepad as the man's hand works himself in quick, sure strokes, squeezing and tugging and suddenly -- inexplicably -- he's opening his mouth and saying "there's one thing, but ex --" and he comes with a harsh gasp, arching against the tabletop, emptying himself across his belly.
"Er. Excuse me ... oh. I was, er--"
On a purely personal (which is definitely rare, he'd be quick to add) note, Arthur notices with amusement that Merlin picks now to be embarrassed, however slight that embarrassment might be. Merlin needs a moment to catch his breath, but certainly not as much as one might think -- he's tugging the cuff off and dangling it between two skinny fingers, studying the mess he's managed to smear across the back of his hand with a slight frown. "I was saying, that you might want to, er ... file this a bit or something," and he draws a line along the length of the cuff with the index finger of his other hand before setting it aside, and Arthur thinks ah, realizing Merlin's talking about the seam and the fact that for once it's a halfway-decent observation. "It was still pretty good, but you know -- I might be a bit raw, I think."
Arthur can't even find it in himself to be surprised as Merlin's fingers find his softening, still-slick cock, pinching the head between thumb and forefinger to glance at the underside, running a curious finger along the prominent vein experimentally. And yes, Arthur notes that there might be a bit of irritation there, and his pencil scratches against the paper purposefully.
"It's not too bad, though," Merlin supplies, and does something to make Arthur's heart lurch out of his chest and deposit itself somewhere in his socks: he lifts his hand to his mouth and swipes at the glistening back with his tongue, and his eyes don't leave Arthur's for even a moment.
The sound of a pencil snapping is obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Fuck.
It takes every ounce of Arthur's considerable will to force a deep, calming breath and mutter "that's all."
--
The next time, it's another vibrator -- well, the same one, essentially, tweaked and ready for another round of testing. Merlin still complains about it, whining that it's still too soft, too flexible, and how did anyone expect to get off on that? Then it's an adjustable cock ring that Merlin swears won't fit properly, no matter what he does. Arthur's on the clock and regretfully can't offer the obvious retort that maybe Merlin's is just too small for such a magnificent device, despite the fact that he knows from these frequent observations that it's certainly not the case. Then it's a cage that simply won't stay put. Each new object is met with honest but nonetheless irritating criticism, always offered with a cheerful (though even Arthur's not daft enough to miss the occasional sarcastic) note and a distinct lack of malice. Merlin teases, like it's just a game, and Arthur dutifully does not take the bait, though even he wonders how he does it sometimes.
Gwen, just as dutifully, does not comment when Arthur picks up something of a habit when it comes to sitting in on observations involving Merlin.
--
Really, Arthur should have realized it'd come down to the plastic dicks. It's become something of a challenge, something entirely weird that Arthur has nonetheless taken quite personally. He even stays late for the last R&D meeting before the third round of testing commences.
He hauls it to the observation room and brandishes it like a terribly awkward sort of weapon at Merlin, who quirks a brow and shrugs as he slips out of his clothes. This time, however, he watches in relative silence as Arthur slicks the thing up and Merlin crawls up onto the table, on his knees when he coats his own fingers in lubricant and reaches back to stretch himself open, just a little.
"Well then, let's see what you've done with it this time," he says as he braces himself, reaching out his comparatively clean hand to tug the slippery dildo from Arthur's grasp. Arthur seats himself in his usual chair, crossing one leg over the opposite knee to give himself a surface to rest his notepad against, familiar enough with the way Merlin teases at his entrance with the head a few moment before sliding it in to not need to watch one more time.
Actually, the less he watches, the easier it seems to be. This is becoming a distinct problem, given the nature of his duties, and he scowls.
Merlin's bracing arm is bent at the elbow, his cheek resting against the meat of his forearm to watch Arthur, and he blinks at the expression. "You look like someone just ran over your dog," he says conversationally, the concern only slightly dampened by the way his thighs tense. "And seriously, Arthur. I don't think you've done anything to this at all since the last time -- it's still off. Is this some sort of placebo thing where you haven't done anything but I'm supposed to think you have and tell you it's all better?"
Excellent paychecks be damned; Arthur went to medical school for fuck's sake, and suddenly the prospect of potential termination over wringing a mouthy consultant's neck doesn't seem like that bad of a way to go. His glare isn't shuttered in the least, and Merlin? He just smiles.
"Oh, come now, Arthur. It's not like it's actually your cock. Don't get bent out of shape about it, eh?"
God help me, he thinks, though the words are already on their way out of his big, stupid mouth. "Maybe you're just doing it wrong, Merlin." Dimly, he's aware of the fact that this is the first time he's actually used Merlin's name, just as he's aware of the fact that Merlin's picked up on this fact as well, and his grin is fucking blinding.
"Really, now? I suppose." He groans and closes his eyes as he twists the dildo inside himself, and judging by the way his hips are starting to shift it's obviously not that bad and Arthur's attention is only somewhat focused on that in lieu of an entirely different problem.
The problem this time seems to be that Merlin seems intent on making his job as hard as possible -- quite literally -- and he's succeeding. Rather brilliantly, by the way Arthur's trousers have grown unaccountably tight in the last few moments.
At least he's good for something, Arthur thinks, and the flash of annoyance is enough to take the edge off -- for the moment, at least.
"Care to show me how, then?" And oh, there's that lurching feeling again. There's a challenge in Merlin's eyes, and Arthur stares at him, clipboard forgotten because it's hard to treat Merlin like just a nameless sex-lab rat when he won't stop ignoring the obvious and (obviously) unnecessarily unspoken boundaries between researcher and consultant and keeps being so human at him. Part of Arthur informs him that now is the proper time to call a mis-test and excuse himself before he says or does something else ridiculously stupid and cushy-paycheck-destroying --
-- because Arthur's always been shit at backing down from a challenge, and Merlin's watching him like he's waiting for confirmation to an answer he knows already and his mouth is parted just so, tongue pressed against the back of his front teeth and Arthur couldn't walk out of this room with even a scrap of dignity right now if he tried.
Tight-lipped, unwilling to relinquish the fierce glare that's considering making a permanent home on his face, Arthur sets the clipboard aside and pushes himself to his feet in a mostly-smooth motion, glad for the long white coat that covers what he's certain is an otherwise very obvious hard-on, quietly thanking fortune for the fact that the company didn't also decide to employ cameras in the observation room.
He doesn't think this is in the job description --
-- though if he must, he's sure he can pass it off as professional instruction or somesuch. Still.
Merlin's grin is a bit toothy when Arthur glares down at him, expectant and cat-content and far too trusting, and Arthur's looking for a flicker of anything resembling smugness or -- or anything to set him off, really, and Merlin -- being Merlin, apparently -- simply won't give. He's let go of the device, and that hand is splayed beneath him now on the table, fingers spread wide against the textured plastic cover.
There's a heaviness, a tension between them, and then Merlin says his name. Or -- not so much says it as murmur-whimper-groans it, dragging the last syllable out into this obscene new sound that hits Arthur like a punch to the kidneys even as Merlin wiggles his hips ineffectually.
It's such an utterly ridiculous gesture that he can't keep the tight coils of irritation from releasing with his surprised bark of laughter, and there's an answering flicker of something like doubt in Merlin's eyes (probably wondering if Arthur's gone insane, just as Arthur himself is) before Arthur's hand is a firm weight against the base of his spine. For a moment, neither of them moves, the situation far too tenuous for anything too rash or careless. It feels like any wrong move could shatter everything.
He wants to look once more, to make sure there's nothing suddenly reconsidering in Merlin's expression, but then he thinks, no, Merlin asked for it and since that's the case he'd certainly better be willing to accept the consequences. His thumb tracks down and down, over sharp bone and along the cleft between Merlin's buttocks, fingers coming to a stop over the wide end of the dildo fit snugly within Merlin's ass. Before he has a chance to think too hard about what exactly it is he's doing, Arthur curls his fingers around it, slides it halfway out and then in again, slowly, experimentally.
And hey, it really can't be that bad because Merlin makes a soft sound and clenches his fingers, and a moment of brief observation yields that yes, he's hard now, too, his cock a long, slender thing that curves gently upwards towards his belly.
For some reason Arthur feels inordinately better about that fact. He slides the dildo free and adjusts the angle, aiming to hit the spot where --
Ah. Merlin's cry (coupled with the frantic, shameless buck of his hips) is more than worth the effort, and Arthur can't help the desire to lean down and purr, "apparently, it's just your shoddy technique, Merlin," right against the warm curve of Merlin's ear.
Whatever retort Merlin might have tried to voice, it's strangled by a thin, reedy gasp, Merlin's eyes squeeze shut, hips pressing back against Arthur's hand, completely shameless and needy and holy shit, this isn't in either of their contracts, Arthur is absolutely certain. He can't be bothered to care about this fact now, though, because Merlin is gasping Arthur's name as Arthur slides the device out, just a little, to drive in again, aiming for precisely the same spot.
And then Merlin's hand snakes out on the next pass, blindly curling bony fingers into the crisp white linen of his coat and what were immaculately pressed trousers beneath, and perhaps it's accidental or intended; perhaps it's just the height of the table or else the fact that Merlin refuses to act as a simple consultant should, but his wrist is hard and skinny against the heavy arc of Arthur's restrained cock, a still, hot weight.
Arthur pauses completely at that, surprised and vaguely mortified that he's been discovered. He's holding his breath, eyes focused on the prominent knobs of Merlin's spine, holding until he senses movement. Merlin turns his head and opens one glittering blue eye, looking up at Arthur with a look both amused and entirely debauched.
"Oh," Merlin says, and his smile only widens into an obnoxious grin in the face of Arthur's furious horror.
But then he's twisting his wrist to press against the length of him, enough to rip a quiet gasp from Arthur's throat, and Arthur thinks the room's too hot and Merlin won't stop looking at him like that, like he's set aside his own pleasure momentarily to study this new and fascinating thing.
Arthur's the one who's supposed to be doing the studying. Unsurprisingly, Merlin has confused everything yet again.
He's about to say something (like what terrible porno did they drag you out of anyway? or this certainly doesn't seem to be a new experience for you or even god yes, please) when Merlin squeezes, making another of those quiet, obscene sounds that this time Arthur can't help but echo, which doesn't help anything at all. Of course, neither does the fact that his own body is arching into Merlin's hand like some helpless, horny schoolboy, but it takes him a considerable few seconds longer to acknowledge this particular bit of information.
Merlin obviously isn't having any trouble processing that at all; instead, his delight only seems to grow.
"Fuck, Arthur," he groans, and traces the length of him with teasing fingers. "Are you always like this?"
"No," Arthur wrenches out from between gritted teeth, seriously considering the merit of strangling Merlin and then finding himself a quiet, much-needed place to jerk off in peace before hiding the body.
"Oh," Merlin laughs, like his bare ass isn't in the air and full of plastic cock, like he's not on display like some strange and large-eared piece of controversial living art, "it's just me, then?" And there's not even a hint of uncertainty in that, which Arthur finds more annoying than anything he can recall Merlin having ever said before.
And Arthur has an entire verbal barrage to respond with, denial and indignation heavy on his tongue, but Merlin outmaneuvers him once again by wriggling his fingers in through the front of Arthur's lab coat, fumbling one-handed at Arthur's fly, slipping the button open and tugging the zipper down to reach inside, pressing against damp cotton and it's not enough, not nearly enough.
"You're insufferable," Arthur growls, because it seems like it's necessary, and because he can.
"As you say," Merlin quips, and Arthur twists the dildo in retaliation, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this no longer has anything to do with observation and everything to do with the intense burst of need that's coiling low in his belly, forcing a tremble through his legs as Merlin's fingers snake beneath the front of his dress shirt and beneath the waistband of his briefs, the pad of his thumb brushing the head of Arthur's cock and Arthur groans, one hand curling around the edge of the table in a rather valiant attempt to keep himself from keeling over.
The rest of Merlin's hand follows, gripping him tightly, confidently, the coolness of his fingers a shock against the heat of Arthur's skin and it's still not enough. Arthur stares at Merlin, his gaze raking along his body, the delicate arc of his neck and the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, following the bow of his spine down to the curve of his ass, finding quiet delight in the way he can see the quiver of wiry muscle beneath the pale skin of his thighs. Too pale to suit his tastes, really, and too bony, but Arthur doesn't mind, especially considering the way Merlin's working him like a back-alley professional, mouth parted and cheeks pink in a vibrant flush. He sees that Merlin's staring back, and is surprised by how much he --
"You like it, don't you?" Merlin breathes, blue eyes glittering with mischief and maybe a little curiosity as he turns his head, nearly craning his neck to look at Arthur properly. "You like to watch."
Arthur tries to twist his face into a proper scowl, but it's an awful lot of effort right now, and he gives up on it after a moment in fear of making a bigger fool of himself. "Most people -- nngh -- don't try to make such a show of it."
"I'm not most people."
Obviously, Arthur thinks, and rocks into Merlin's fist, aware that the angle's all wrong and not really caring at all.
"But it's more fun to participate, I think," Merlin continues, "god, Arthur, maybe you should have modeled that thing on this." And he gives Arthur's cock a proper squeeze, dragging a quiet, rumbling sound from deep in Arthur's throat. "I'd buy a dozen, I swear."
"Do you ever shut up?" Arthur retorts, but the effect is lost in the breathless rush of his words -- it's utterly stupid, but it's a little bit like vertigo and fucking hell, apparently Arthur's cock isn't the only think Merlin's intent on stroking. Annoyingly enough, it's working; Arthur wants little more than to tug the cheap latex from Merlin's body and fill that space himself, to savor all the ways he knows Merlin's obnoxious mouth can be put to use, something along the lines of begging and howling his pleasure like an animal instead of just being irritating and ... sexy and irritating, god.
Really, it's quite a fantastic idea. Arthur all but nods to himself as he slides the dildo free and is pleased to feel Merlin lose his rhythm for a moment; he's not quite sure what to do with it so he simply pushes it to the far side of the table, his hand already reaching back for Merlin, curling possessively around a bony hip and tugging closer.
And it seems Merlin's got nothing to say for once, but he makes the regrettable move of pulling his hand out of Arthur's pants which Arthur likes none at all; he growls but Merlin only looks up at him from beneath thick lashes, silent and seeming to be entirely pleased with the new arrangement-in progress. He shifts to a somewhat sprawling, somewhat half-seated position, one arm back in a quick stretch, one leg already curling around the back of Arthur's thighs and Arthur is staring at Merlin's knees, cherry red and bearing the imprints of the textures and creases of the plastic sheet covering the table.
Strange that such an innocuous detail could seem suddenly so obscene, but it is. Arthur feels something that comes dangerously close to a flush surge across his face; he scowls instinctively, as if will and ire alone can chase it back. Instead, it only seems to make Merlin's eyes light up with poorly-hidden amusement, which in turn serves to both irritate Arthur further and set his heart racing, even as Merlin makes a grab for the small jar of lubricant in Arthur's coat pocket, the one he'd used before, still holding it curled tightly in his fingers as he hooks his thumbs into the waist of Arthur's briefs and pushes them halfway down his thighs.
"You don't waste any time, do you?" Arthur breathes, a little startled but not complaining, not at all, especially when his cock is free and Merlin's stroking it again, twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb across the head with a dark little rumble of pleasure. Wide blue eyes meet Arthur's and Merlin smiles, offering a half-shrug as he sets the jar against his own damp thigh, pressing down for leverage as he twists it open with the palm of his hand and scoops out a generous amount.
"Why wait? You make it sound like a bad thing, you know."
But all Arthur can think is you have the strangest talents.
And then Merlin's hands are on him again, slicking lubricant along the length of him, all long, skinny fingers and sharp, panting breaths. Arthur glances down and shudders at the sight of those fingers curled around his cock, and glances up to catch Merlin watching him intently.
"What?" He asks, slightly breathless, brows knitted into a momentarily confused expression.
The corner of Merlin's lips quirk upward. "What do you mean, what?"
"You're looking at me."
Merlin arches a brow, offering a look that says he's about to start speaking to Arthur very slowly. "Would you prefer I looked elsewhere? Really--"
God, he's irritating, Arthur thinks. "Just -- shut up." And Merlin's laughing again silently, slender shoulders shaking with mirth and Arthur growls a warning that's completely unheeded, even when Arthur presses in closer between Merlin's bare legs, lifting a hand in what he hopes is a vaguely threatening gesture.
Obviously it's not, because Merlin's response is to lean in and kiss Arthur, who is forced to pause and reconsider yet again, because of all the unexpected things happening on this unexpected day, surprise (still) inferior toys and surprise handjobs and surprise sexual advances, surprise kisses are currently number one on the list. You just -- you don't do that. Kisses are for lovers, for people you come home to or at the very least like a little, and Arthur's fairly certain they are none of these things to each other.
It's still nice. Better than nice, really, the way Merlin's sucking at his lower lip, running his tongue just along the inside and Arthur gives in, tasting the faint hint of orange and cloves, his lifted hand finally settling against Merlin's pale neck, just below the jawline, his fingertips buried in curls of soft black hair. Merlin moans into his mouth, unashamed, and he's already taking advantage of the situation to curl his other leg around Arthur below the hip, urging him closer.
They may not know each other beyond first name and profession, but Merlin kisses Arthur like a lover should, open and generous, his fingers looser and teasing now against Arthur's cock. It's more than a little disconcerting; Arthur can't find a rhythm, a tone for this, because where at first it was rough and demanding, the promise of a brief, thoughtless fuck in the observation room (oh god) it feels different, now. Softer.
Arthur doesn't know what to do with that, so he jerks away from Merlin's mouth and bites roughly at Merlin's neck, scrambling for familiar ground as he grinds against that teasing hand. Merlin's legs lock around him and he whines -- "hurry" -- and Arthur feels safe again.
His hand rakes down Merlin's back and beneath his ass, tugging him closer and Arthur thanks whatever (obviously rather perverted) deity is watching over them that Merlin's already been prepared because he doesn't think he'd have the patience at the moment. His cock is so hard he's fairly certain it might just burst at any time, but he's consoled by the fact Merlin is obviously in a very similar position.
Merlin's definitely doing his part to remedy that, though; he releases his hold on Arthur to brace himself once more against the table, canting his hips upwards until his thighs curl around Arthur's waist (and Arthur thinks for a brief moment of his lab coat and his clean clothes and how they'll likely not survive this and then thinks he really doesn't fucking care) and Arthur reaches between them to grip his cock at the base and squeeze before aligning it with Merlin's slick, stretched entrance. And he pauses a moment, just to be sure, but Merlin gives him a look that might be scathing if it weren't for the fact that his bottom lip is pressed between his teeth so tightly Arthur can see the white where the blood has retreated; as it is, the effect is rather ... debauched, and coy.
Merlin nods, just in case Arthur needed something more obvious.
He shifts, just a little, and the head of his cock slips inside. Merlin's legs tremble around him, a quiet groan trapped in his throat, eyes closing with a curious flutter of eyelashes that's echoed low in Arthur's belly. It's slow, and Arthur gets the feeling that it doesn't need to be, but he's never really made a habit of fucking men and it makes him cautious by instinct.
"Arthur," Merlin murmurs, when he's fully inside, buried to the hilt.
"I knew you couldn't keep your mouth shut for long," Arthur returns, and shifts his grip on Merlin's ass.
Merlin laughs, shaky, breathless. "That's almost nice."
Arthur thinks I'll show you nice and moves, pulling out almost completely before pressing in again and repeating the motion, watching Merlin as his head falls back to reveal the long line of his throat -- again, Arthur's eye is drawn to that tiny patch of stubble Merlin seems to have missed again, and he wonders --
He leans forward, brushing his lips against the spot, and Merlin is obviously so surprised that one of his elbows buckles; he yelps as his shoulder hits the table, jerking Arthur forward to knock his thighs against the edge. Arthur laughs sharply, and Merlin's eyes fly open, mouth open like a fish and glaring, turning a rather interesting shade of red.
"Oh, give it up," Arthur murmurs, and slips a hand beneath Merlin's thigh to nudge it upwards, until his skinny calf rests on Arthur's shoulder, lifting his hips and spreading him wide. Arthur waits for a moment, watching through half-lidded eyes as Merlin's chest rises and falls once more, his ribs plainly visible beneath smooth, pale skin.
Skinny hipster brat he may be, but Merlin's almost ... pretty, in a masculine way. The thought surprises Arthur; to make up for it, he thrusts in once again and Merlin gasps, his hand snaking out to grab a fistful of Arthur's lab coat to attempt to drag him closer.
Arthur follows, burying his face in the hollow above Merlin's collarbone, licking at salty skin as he reaches for that spot again -- Merlin bucks beneath him, his cock dragging heavily against the white linen of Arthur's coat and Arthur reaches between them to curl his fingers around the girth of it and stroke in time with each thrust.
"God, yes, please--" Merlin's a fantastic wreck, flushed and sweat-damp, and Arthur's fairly certain he's never looked better. And, really, somewhat quieter when occupied, except not because Merlin is also rather vocal though the smart-ass comments have mercifully been replaced by shameless begging and interesting (and rather filthy) variations on Arthur's name between desperate moans. Arthur thinks he could get used to this; just a bit of duct tape when they aren't naked and he'd be set. Of course, there's a few gags ready for the testing floor, and god, when did he start thinking of doing this, with Merlin, again?
That thought is wrested free as Merlin's breathing hitches, sharp, staccato bursts of air and Arthur's mouth slides up the side his throat, nipping at one ridiculously large ear. "Come on, Merlin," he whispers, and obviously that's enough; Merlin's clinging to Arthur as his body arches off the table and Arthur doesn't bother to think about the lost cause his coat's become because Merlin's body is impossibly tight around his cock. Three more thrusts and Arthur is done; he shudders and groans, bending against Merlin as the force of his orgasm washes through him, a tingling rush that he can feel down to his toes.
Merlin slips his leg off Arthur's shoulder but doesn't let go. Instead he turns his face, enough to press another one of those weirdly gentle lover-type kisses at the corner of Arthur's mouth, reaching up to run his thumb through the fine hair just behind Arthur's ear.
"Soft," Merlin murmurs, and Arthur cracks open one eye.
"What?"
"It's soft," Merlin repeats, snorting. "I wondered."
Arthur takes a moment to consider that. "You are the strangest person I have ever met."
"Do you make a habit of this sort of thing with strange people?"
The line of Arthur's shoulders goes stiff; he makes to pull away, but Merlin clings stubbornly, uncaring or unaware that Arthur's sense of professional pride feels absolutely robbed. "I -- don't," Arthur bites out at last, feeling defensive and raw and all-too aware of the fact that he is still buried deep within Merlin's body. "I don't --"
"-- good," Merlin interrupts in a quiet drawl, and smiles. "That's good."
Even sated, Merlin is still annoying. Arthur supposes some things are bound to never change. "I'm on the clock, oh god," he groans, slowly working to extract himself from Merlin's limpet-like grasp. Surprisingly, Merlin lets go (mostly), holding on only by the hand curled against Arthur's neck, where his thumb is still stroking over slightly rumpled golden hair.
"A professional opinion then," Merlin says with another of his half-shrugs. "The plastic thing is still crap. But that one --" and his eyes flicker down Arthur's body to where he's beginning to tuck himself back into his pants, "is fantastic. Though I think further testing might be required. Vigorous testing. Soon. This evening, preferably." He lifts his eyebrows suggestively and stares at Arthur, as if it's already a done deal.
Arthur makes a mental note to add that last bit to his list of pick-up lines to never be used, ever, and wonders where the hell they managed to find Merlin in the first place. "And what makes you so sure I'd be willing to participate in these ... tests?"
"Guaranteed head?" Merlin tips his head. "Or whatever. I'd be more than happy to dig that stick out of your ass, if you want."
Well, Arthur supposes, that'd be one way to really shut Merlin up. "Who could say no to a proposition like that?" He asks, bemused.
"Great! Then--"
"But I don't sleep with consultants," Arthur interrupts, tucking his shirt in carefully, trying to avoid thinking about Merlin and blowjobs and ignore the way his traitorous cock was already showing signs of renewed interest. "Well, usually. Never. Except, look, I'm -- this is my job," he finishes lamely.
Merlin just watches him, and Arthur briefly wonders if this is going to get dramatic. But then there's another one of those smiles, and Merlin sits up, resting his elbows on his bony knees. "That's easy. I quit," he says airily, and it's Arthur's turn to stare. "What? Hate to break it to you, but defense law pays better, anyway."
Arthur takes a moment to let that sink in. Porn star he'd been prepared for, pizza boy he could see. I have just fucked a defense attorney, he thinks, and he is an idiot.
"So..?" Merlin asks, and he looks so hopeful that Arthur's pretty certain he just felt his heart skip a beat. There's a long silence, a moment where the two of them just watch each other, Merlin open and expectant, Arthur suddenly nervous and damp in the palms.
"Seven-thirty," he says softly, looking away. "Club Camelot, on Vine."
The way Merlin's face lights up, he supposes, makes it entirely worth it.
He tells himself the promise of blowjobs helps, though.
-fin
03.08.10
--
God Arthur, you are forever a hideously repressed emotional retard. Ew, feelings! Merlin was a ton of fun this time around, though.
Yes, the 'conflict' resolution was entirely contrived, and I'm the first to admit it. But it's four in the morning, and I am writing sex toy AU so I'm kind of thinking I might be able to get away from it.
The defense attorney thing? I've been playing Phoenix Wright again. Besides, he's kind of a doctor by default in most AUs, and I wanted something a little different. MERLIN EMRYS, ATTORNEY AT LOL haha did I mention it's four in the morning. D: Sorry for the lack of beta, though the dirty truth is that I don't actually have one because I haven't written much for the last few years, sob.
Meet my very awkward hello ilu. o/ This is, embarrassingly enough, probably the longest thing I've ever written, at least for a one-shot. I DON'T EVEN KNOW, GUYS.
For the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, AU.
Merlin tests new products for a sex toy company. Arthur is the head designer. It is his job to observe these tests, ask questions and take notes. It's all very professional and clinical, until Arthur gets hard during a session.
minor adjustments
(a good day could keep you sparkling awhile)
"And how does that feel?"
The dark-haired man bites his lip, seeming to consider the question. And perhaps the entire situation might be laughable to anyone, anywhere else, but here it is not an issue -- rather, Arthur crosses his legs with a pointed glance at the man who has one pale skinny leg propped up on the table, the better part of five inches worth of dull grey vibrating latex cock buried in his ass.
To Arthur, this is just another day at work, though perhaps not an aspect he supervises often in person. The device is just the latest in a series of new (or at least improved) products his department has designed, and rather than watch the show with anything approaching interest, he taps the nub of his pencil against his clipboard and considers whether to go with flesh tones or something more vibrant.
"Today, preferably." There's just the slightest edge in his voice. He's got a meeting with the advertisement council in half an hour.
"Calm down, will you? Jesus." There doesn't seem to be anything remarkable about the situation to this man, either, which is at least moderately useful -- it's hard enough to find people willing to run through the lab's rather unique gamut of tests properly without being insufferable about it, giggling or suddenly finding their sense of modesty or any of an incalculable number of troubles that plague this stage of development.
A moment later, the man sighs and tugs the vibrator free, twisting his hips enough to swing both legs off the table. "Frankly, It's absolute trash," he says, and waves the thing -- still glistening with lubricant -- in Arthur's direction with a frown.
Dimly, Arthur is aware of Merlin saying something else, but his mind has stopped somewhere around trash and is circling it, the steady tap of his pencil becoming a twitch, leaving a thick smear of graphite across yellow paper. "Excuse me?"
The man has the nerve to roll his eyes. "I said, It's certainly not thick enough, and it's too soft -- who wants to feel they're being fucked by a half-hard prick, eh?" Arthur's teeth are trying to grind themselves to dust, and obviously the man notices it, because he shrugs and smiles widely (which is a little disconcerting, even to Arthur who is used to observing all kinds) and adds what he no-doubt feels is a helpful "I know they can do better."
There's a long pause while Arthur tries, mostly successfully, to unlock his jaw. "I see." It's cold and utterly clinical, dispassionate in every sense. "That will be all, then."
A shrug, and the man hops off the table, shambling over towards the chair where his clothes have been left in a crumpled heap. Arthur watches, noticing the fact that he doesn't show any sign of discomfort as he moves, entirely unmoved as the man uses a handful of wet wipes to clean himself. He waits until the man bends to slide a leg into his jeans (and here Arthur thought going commando went out of style in the nineties, huh) to look down at his notepad.
Somewhere in the time the man was voicing his displeasure, Arthur had managed to write 'IDIOT' in strong block letters. Several times. Underlined.
He leaves before the man has finished dressing, vaguely considering the idea of booting the cocky little bastard off the list of "consultants" just because he can, and because he certainly shouldn't have to sit here and listen to some pasty-faced hipster brat tell him he doesn't know how to design a proper plastic dick.
--
But he doesn't, and he's starting to regret it, this time for entirely different reasons.
This time, the man is sitting facing him, stroking himself slowly, his cock sheathed almost from root to tip in a gel-filled sleeve. The basic design is a recent staple of the solo toy scene, but Arthur's team has added a few minor improvements -- considering the man's occasional soft moan and the way he tips his head against his shoulder to reveal a small spot of stubble beneath his chin where his razor has missed, it seems to be working.
"How is it?" And if there's the slightest bit of trepidation in Arthur's mind, he does his best not to inject it into his voice.
"Mmm, well," and the man's eyes flicker upwards to watch Arthur through a fringe of coal-black hair, the faintest quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips, "much better this time." He's still stroking himself, not even a hitch in his rhythm as he answers Arthur's questions and fucks his hand at the same time, though his breathing has certainly caught a few times, as if he'd found something particularly pleasant in the device.
Arthur is taking notes, only offering occasional glances to keep an eye on the progression, when the man looks up suddenly. "I'm Merlin," he says brightly, though the end of his name is snagged by the beginning of another soft, unselfconscious moan.
"That's nice," Arthur replies automatically, without feeling. Though the consultant has a name now, and Arthur supposes that's something, however little he cares to have it.
"You're Arthur, right?" One of Merlin's fingers slide up to pinch at a hard nipple, and Arthur makes a note in the margins, nodding once in confirmation rather than encouraging the conversation with anything further. "Ah, the other one -- the nice lady with the curly hair -- she mentioned it. Last time."
Arthur bites back a sneer of disdain and quietly vows to strangle Gwen the next time he sees her.
Fortunately, Merlin's picked a good time to really get into it. Arthur eases back in his chair, pencil tapping once more against his notepad as the man's hand works himself in quick, sure strokes, squeezing and tugging and suddenly -- inexplicably -- he's opening his mouth and saying "there's one thing, but ex --" and he comes with a harsh gasp, arching against the tabletop, emptying himself across his belly.
"Er. Excuse me ... oh. I was, er--"
On a purely personal (which is definitely rare, he'd be quick to add) note, Arthur notices with amusement that Merlin picks now to be embarrassed, however slight that embarrassment might be. Merlin needs a moment to catch his breath, but certainly not as much as one might think -- he's tugging the cuff off and dangling it between two skinny fingers, studying the mess he's managed to smear across the back of his hand with a slight frown. "I was saying, that you might want to, er ... file this a bit or something," and he draws a line along the length of the cuff with the index finger of his other hand before setting it aside, and Arthur thinks ah, realizing Merlin's talking about the seam and the fact that for once it's a halfway-decent observation. "It was still pretty good, but you know -- I might be a bit raw, I think."
Arthur can't even find it in himself to be surprised as Merlin's fingers find his softening, still-slick cock, pinching the head between thumb and forefinger to glance at the underside, running a curious finger along the prominent vein experimentally. And yes, Arthur notes that there might be a bit of irritation there, and his pencil scratches against the paper purposefully.
"It's not too bad, though," Merlin supplies, and does something to make Arthur's heart lurch out of his chest and deposit itself somewhere in his socks: he lifts his hand to his mouth and swipes at the glistening back with his tongue, and his eyes don't leave Arthur's for even a moment.
The sound of a pencil snapping is obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Fuck.
It takes every ounce of Arthur's considerable will to force a deep, calming breath and mutter "that's all."
--
The next time, it's another vibrator -- well, the same one, essentially, tweaked and ready for another round of testing. Merlin still complains about it, whining that it's still too soft, too flexible, and how did anyone expect to get off on that? Then it's an adjustable cock ring that Merlin swears won't fit properly, no matter what he does. Arthur's on the clock and regretfully can't offer the obvious retort that maybe Merlin's is just too small for such a magnificent device, despite the fact that he knows from these frequent observations that it's certainly not the case. Then it's a cage that simply won't stay put. Each new object is met with honest but nonetheless irritating criticism, always offered with a cheerful (though even Arthur's not daft enough to miss the occasional sarcastic) note and a distinct lack of malice. Merlin teases, like it's just a game, and Arthur dutifully does not take the bait, though even he wonders how he does it sometimes.
Gwen, just as dutifully, does not comment when Arthur picks up something of a habit when it comes to sitting in on observations involving Merlin.
--
Really, Arthur should have realized it'd come down to the plastic dicks. It's become something of a challenge, something entirely weird that Arthur has nonetheless taken quite personally. He even stays late for the last R&D meeting before the third round of testing commences.
He hauls it to the observation room and brandishes it like a terribly awkward sort of weapon at Merlin, who quirks a brow and shrugs as he slips out of his clothes. This time, however, he watches in relative silence as Arthur slicks the thing up and Merlin crawls up onto the table, on his knees when he coats his own fingers in lubricant and reaches back to stretch himself open, just a little.
"Well then, let's see what you've done with it this time," he says as he braces himself, reaching out his comparatively clean hand to tug the slippery dildo from Arthur's grasp. Arthur seats himself in his usual chair, crossing one leg over the opposite knee to give himself a surface to rest his notepad against, familiar enough with the way Merlin teases at his entrance with the head a few moment before sliding it in to not need to watch one more time.
Actually, the less he watches, the easier it seems to be. This is becoming a distinct problem, given the nature of his duties, and he scowls.
Merlin's bracing arm is bent at the elbow, his cheek resting against the meat of his forearm to watch Arthur, and he blinks at the expression. "You look like someone just ran over your dog," he says conversationally, the concern only slightly dampened by the way his thighs tense. "And seriously, Arthur. I don't think you've done anything to this at all since the last time -- it's still off. Is this some sort of placebo thing where you haven't done anything but I'm supposed to think you have and tell you it's all better?"
Excellent paychecks be damned; Arthur went to medical school for fuck's sake, and suddenly the prospect of potential termination over wringing a mouthy consultant's neck doesn't seem like that bad of a way to go. His glare isn't shuttered in the least, and Merlin? He just smiles.
"Oh, come now, Arthur. It's not like it's actually your cock. Don't get bent out of shape about it, eh?"
God help me, he thinks, though the words are already on their way out of his big, stupid mouth. "Maybe you're just doing it wrong, Merlin." Dimly, he's aware of the fact that this is the first time he's actually used Merlin's name, just as he's aware of the fact that Merlin's picked up on this fact as well, and his grin is fucking blinding.
"Really, now? I suppose." He groans and closes his eyes as he twists the dildo inside himself, and judging by the way his hips are starting to shift it's obviously not that bad and Arthur's attention is only somewhat focused on that in lieu of an entirely different problem.
The problem this time seems to be that Merlin seems intent on making his job as hard as possible -- quite literally -- and he's succeeding. Rather brilliantly, by the way Arthur's trousers have grown unaccountably tight in the last few moments.
At least he's good for something, Arthur thinks, and the flash of annoyance is enough to take the edge off -- for the moment, at least.
"Care to show me how, then?" And oh, there's that lurching feeling again. There's a challenge in Merlin's eyes, and Arthur stares at him, clipboard forgotten because it's hard to treat Merlin like just a nameless sex-lab rat when he won't stop ignoring the obvious and (obviously) unnecessarily unspoken boundaries between researcher and consultant and keeps being so human at him. Part of Arthur informs him that now is the proper time to call a mis-test and excuse himself before he says or does something else ridiculously stupid and cushy-paycheck-destroying --
-- because Arthur's always been shit at backing down from a challenge, and Merlin's watching him like he's waiting for confirmation to an answer he knows already and his mouth is parted just so, tongue pressed against the back of his front teeth and Arthur couldn't walk out of this room with even a scrap of dignity right now if he tried.
Tight-lipped, unwilling to relinquish the fierce glare that's considering making a permanent home on his face, Arthur sets the clipboard aside and pushes himself to his feet in a mostly-smooth motion, glad for the long white coat that covers what he's certain is an otherwise very obvious hard-on, quietly thanking fortune for the fact that the company didn't also decide to employ cameras in the observation room.
He doesn't think this is in the job description --
-- though if he must, he's sure he can pass it off as professional instruction or somesuch. Still.
Merlin's grin is a bit toothy when Arthur glares down at him, expectant and cat-content and far too trusting, and Arthur's looking for a flicker of anything resembling smugness or -- or anything to set him off, really, and Merlin -- being Merlin, apparently -- simply won't give. He's let go of the device, and that hand is splayed beneath him now on the table, fingers spread wide against the textured plastic cover.
There's a heaviness, a tension between them, and then Merlin says his name. Or -- not so much says it as murmur-whimper-groans it, dragging the last syllable out into this obscene new sound that hits Arthur like a punch to the kidneys even as Merlin wiggles his hips ineffectually.
It's such an utterly ridiculous gesture that he can't keep the tight coils of irritation from releasing with his surprised bark of laughter, and there's an answering flicker of something like doubt in Merlin's eyes (probably wondering if Arthur's gone insane, just as Arthur himself is) before Arthur's hand is a firm weight against the base of his spine. For a moment, neither of them moves, the situation far too tenuous for anything too rash or careless. It feels like any wrong move could shatter everything.
He wants to look once more, to make sure there's nothing suddenly reconsidering in Merlin's expression, but then he thinks, no, Merlin asked for it and since that's the case he'd certainly better be willing to accept the consequences. His thumb tracks down and down, over sharp bone and along the cleft between Merlin's buttocks, fingers coming to a stop over the wide end of the dildo fit snugly within Merlin's ass. Before he has a chance to think too hard about what exactly it is he's doing, Arthur curls his fingers around it, slides it halfway out and then in again, slowly, experimentally.
And hey, it really can't be that bad because Merlin makes a soft sound and clenches his fingers, and a moment of brief observation yields that yes, he's hard now, too, his cock a long, slender thing that curves gently upwards towards his belly.
For some reason Arthur feels inordinately better about that fact. He slides the dildo free and adjusts the angle, aiming to hit the spot where --
Ah. Merlin's cry (coupled with the frantic, shameless buck of his hips) is more than worth the effort, and Arthur can't help the desire to lean down and purr, "apparently, it's just your shoddy technique, Merlin," right against the warm curve of Merlin's ear.
Whatever retort Merlin might have tried to voice, it's strangled by a thin, reedy gasp, Merlin's eyes squeeze shut, hips pressing back against Arthur's hand, completely shameless and needy and holy shit, this isn't in either of their contracts, Arthur is absolutely certain. He can't be bothered to care about this fact now, though, because Merlin is gasping Arthur's name as Arthur slides the device out, just a little, to drive in again, aiming for precisely the same spot.
And then Merlin's hand snakes out on the next pass, blindly curling bony fingers into the crisp white linen of his coat and what were immaculately pressed trousers beneath, and perhaps it's accidental or intended; perhaps it's just the height of the table or else the fact that Merlin refuses to act as a simple consultant should, but his wrist is hard and skinny against the heavy arc of Arthur's restrained cock, a still, hot weight.
Arthur pauses completely at that, surprised and vaguely mortified that he's been discovered. He's holding his breath, eyes focused on the prominent knobs of Merlin's spine, holding until he senses movement. Merlin turns his head and opens one glittering blue eye, looking up at Arthur with a look both amused and entirely debauched.
"Oh," Merlin says, and his smile only widens into an obnoxious grin in the face of Arthur's furious horror.
But then he's twisting his wrist to press against the length of him, enough to rip a quiet gasp from Arthur's throat, and Arthur thinks the room's too hot and Merlin won't stop looking at him like that, like he's set aside his own pleasure momentarily to study this new and fascinating thing.
Arthur's the one who's supposed to be doing the studying. Unsurprisingly, Merlin has confused everything yet again.
He's about to say something (like what terrible porno did they drag you out of anyway? or this certainly doesn't seem to be a new experience for you or even god yes, please) when Merlin squeezes, making another of those quiet, obscene sounds that this time Arthur can't help but echo, which doesn't help anything at all. Of course, neither does the fact that his own body is arching into Merlin's hand like some helpless, horny schoolboy, but it takes him a considerable few seconds longer to acknowledge this particular bit of information.
Merlin obviously isn't having any trouble processing that at all; instead, his delight only seems to grow.
"Fuck, Arthur," he groans, and traces the length of him with teasing fingers. "Are you always like this?"
"No," Arthur wrenches out from between gritted teeth, seriously considering the merit of strangling Merlin and then finding himself a quiet, much-needed place to jerk off in peace before hiding the body.
"Oh," Merlin laughs, like his bare ass isn't in the air and full of plastic cock, like he's not on display like some strange and large-eared piece of controversial living art, "it's just me, then?" And there's not even a hint of uncertainty in that, which Arthur finds more annoying than anything he can recall Merlin having ever said before.
And Arthur has an entire verbal barrage to respond with, denial and indignation heavy on his tongue, but Merlin outmaneuvers him once again by wriggling his fingers in through the front of Arthur's lab coat, fumbling one-handed at Arthur's fly, slipping the button open and tugging the zipper down to reach inside, pressing against damp cotton and it's not enough, not nearly enough.
"You're insufferable," Arthur growls, because it seems like it's necessary, and because he can.
"As you say," Merlin quips, and Arthur twists the dildo in retaliation, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this no longer has anything to do with observation and everything to do with the intense burst of need that's coiling low in his belly, forcing a tremble through his legs as Merlin's fingers snake beneath the front of his dress shirt and beneath the waistband of his briefs, the pad of his thumb brushing the head of Arthur's cock and Arthur groans, one hand curling around the edge of the table in a rather valiant attempt to keep himself from keeling over.
The rest of Merlin's hand follows, gripping him tightly, confidently, the coolness of his fingers a shock against the heat of Arthur's skin and it's still not enough. Arthur stares at Merlin, his gaze raking along his body, the delicate arc of his neck and the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, following the bow of his spine down to the curve of his ass, finding quiet delight in the way he can see the quiver of wiry muscle beneath the pale skin of his thighs. Too pale to suit his tastes, really, and too bony, but Arthur doesn't mind, especially considering the way Merlin's working him like a back-alley professional, mouth parted and cheeks pink in a vibrant flush. He sees that Merlin's staring back, and is surprised by how much he --
"You like it, don't you?" Merlin breathes, blue eyes glittering with mischief and maybe a little curiosity as he turns his head, nearly craning his neck to look at Arthur properly. "You like to watch."
Arthur tries to twist his face into a proper scowl, but it's an awful lot of effort right now, and he gives up on it after a moment in fear of making a bigger fool of himself. "Most people -- nngh -- don't try to make such a show of it."
"I'm not most people."
Obviously, Arthur thinks, and rocks into Merlin's fist, aware that the angle's all wrong and not really caring at all.
"But it's more fun to participate, I think," Merlin continues, "god, Arthur, maybe you should have modeled that thing on this." And he gives Arthur's cock a proper squeeze, dragging a quiet, rumbling sound from deep in Arthur's throat. "I'd buy a dozen, I swear."
"Do you ever shut up?" Arthur retorts, but the effect is lost in the breathless rush of his words -- it's utterly stupid, but it's a little bit like vertigo and fucking hell, apparently Arthur's cock isn't the only think Merlin's intent on stroking. Annoyingly enough, it's working; Arthur wants little more than to tug the cheap latex from Merlin's body and fill that space himself, to savor all the ways he knows Merlin's obnoxious mouth can be put to use, something along the lines of begging and howling his pleasure like an animal instead of just being irritating and ... sexy and irritating, god.
Really, it's quite a fantastic idea. Arthur all but nods to himself as he slides the dildo free and is pleased to feel Merlin lose his rhythm for a moment; he's not quite sure what to do with it so he simply pushes it to the far side of the table, his hand already reaching back for Merlin, curling possessively around a bony hip and tugging closer.
And it seems Merlin's got nothing to say for once, but he makes the regrettable move of pulling his hand out of Arthur's pants which Arthur likes none at all; he growls but Merlin only looks up at him from beneath thick lashes, silent and seeming to be entirely pleased with the new arrangement-in progress. He shifts to a somewhat sprawling, somewhat half-seated position, one arm back in a quick stretch, one leg already curling around the back of Arthur's thighs and Arthur is staring at Merlin's knees, cherry red and bearing the imprints of the textures and creases of the plastic sheet covering the table.
Strange that such an innocuous detail could seem suddenly so obscene, but it is. Arthur feels something that comes dangerously close to a flush surge across his face; he scowls instinctively, as if will and ire alone can chase it back. Instead, it only seems to make Merlin's eyes light up with poorly-hidden amusement, which in turn serves to both irritate Arthur further and set his heart racing, even as Merlin makes a grab for the small jar of lubricant in Arthur's coat pocket, the one he'd used before, still holding it curled tightly in his fingers as he hooks his thumbs into the waist of Arthur's briefs and pushes them halfway down his thighs.
"You don't waste any time, do you?" Arthur breathes, a little startled but not complaining, not at all, especially when his cock is free and Merlin's stroking it again, twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb across the head with a dark little rumble of pleasure. Wide blue eyes meet Arthur's and Merlin smiles, offering a half-shrug as he sets the jar against his own damp thigh, pressing down for leverage as he twists it open with the palm of his hand and scoops out a generous amount.
"Why wait? You make it sound like a bad thing, you know."
But all Arthur can think is you have the strangest talents.
And then Merlin's hands are on him again, slicking lubricant along the length of him, all long, skinny fingers and sharp, panting breaths. Arthur glances down and shudders at the sight of those fingers curled around his cock, and glances up to catch Merlin watching him intently.
"What?" He asks, slightly breathless, brows knitted into a momentarily confused expression.
The corner of Merlin's lips quirk upward. "What do you mean, what?"
"You're looking at me."
Merlin arches a brow, offering a look that says he's about to start speaking to Arthur very slowly. "Would you prefer I looked elsewhere? Really--"
God, he's irritating, Arthur thinks. "Just -- shut up." And Merlin's laughing again silently, slender shoulders shaking with mirth and Arthur growls a warning that's completely unheeded, even when Arthur presses in closer between Merlin's bare legs, lifting a hand in what he hopes is a vaguely threatening gesture.
Obviously it's not, because Merlin's response is to lean in and kiss Arthur, who is forced to pause and reconsider yet again, because of all the unexpected things happening on this unexpected day, surprise (still) inferior toys and surprise handjobs and surprise sexual advances, surprise kisses are currently number one on the list. You just -- you don't do that. Kisses are for lovers, for people you come home to or at the very least like a little, and Arthur's fairly certain they are none of these things to each other.
It's still nice. Better than nice, really, the way Merlin's sucking at his lower lip, running his tongue just along the inside and Arthur gives in, tasting the faint hint of orange and cloves, his lifted hand finally settling against Merlin's pale neck, just below the jawline, his fingertips buried in curls of soft black hair. Merlin moans into his mouth, unashamed, and he's already taking advantage of the situation to curl his other leg around Arthur below the hip, urging him closer.
They may not know each other beyond first name and profession, but Merlin kisses Arthur like a lover should, open and generous, his fingers looser and teasing now against Arthur's cock. It's more than a little disconcerting; Arthur can't find a rhythm, a tone for this, because where at first it was rough and demanding, the promise of a brief, thoughtless fuck in the observation room (oh god) it feels different, now. Softer.
Arthur doesn't know what to do with that, so he jerks away from Merlin's mouth and bites roughly at Merlin's neck, scrambling for familiar ground as he grinds against that teasing hand. Merlin's legs lock around him and he whines -- "hurry" -- and Arthur feels safe again.
His hand rakes down Merlin's back and beneath his ass, tugging him closer and Arthur thanks whatever (obviously rather perverted) deity is watching over them that Merlin's already been prepared because he doesn't think he'd have the patience at the moment. His cock is so hard he's fairly certain it might just burst at any time, but he's consoled by the fact Merlin is obviously in a very similar position.
Merlin's definitely doing his part to remedy that, though; he releases his hold on Arthur to brace himself once more against the table, canting his hips upwards until his thighs curl around Arthur's waist (and Arthur thinks for a brief moment of his lab coat and his clean clothes and how they'll likely not survive this and then thinks he really doesn't fucking care) and Arthur reaches between them to grip his cock at the base and squeeze before aligning it with Merlin's slick, stretched entrance. And he pauses a moment, just to be sure, but Merlin gives him a look that might be scathing if it weren't for the fact that his bottom lip is pressed between his teeth so tightly Arthur can see the white where the blood has retreated; as it is, the effect is rather ... debauched, and coy.
Merlin nods, just in case Arthur needed something more obvious.
He shifts, just a little, and the head of his cock slips inside. Merlin's legs tremble around him, a quiet groan trapped in his throat, eyes closing with a curious flutter of eyelashes that's echoed low in Arthur's belly. It's slow, and Arthur gets the feeling that it doesn't need to be, but he's never really made a habit of fucking men and it makes him cautious by instinct.
"Arthur," Merlin murmurs, when he's fully inside, buried to the hilt.
"I knew you couldn't keep your mouth shut for long," Arthur returns, and shifts his grip on Merlin's ass.
Merlin laughs, shaky, breathless. "That's almost nice."
Arthur thinks I'll show you nice and moves, pulling out almost completely before pressing in again and repeating the motion, watching Merlin as his head falls back to reveal the long line of his throat -- again, Arthur's eye is drawn to that tiny patch of stubble Merlin seems to have missed again, and he wonders --
He leans forward, brushing his lips against the spot, and Merlin is obviously so surprised that one of his elbows buckles; he yelps as his shoulder hits the table, jerking Arthur forward to knock his thighs against the edge. Arthur laughs sharply, and Merlin's eyes fly open, mouth open like a fish and glaring, turning a rather interesting shade of red.
"Oh, give it up," Arthur murmurs, and slips a hand beneath Merlin's thigh to nudge it upwards, until his skinny calf rests on Arthur's shoulder, lifting his hips and spreading him wide. Arthur waits for a moment, watching through half-lidded eyes as Merlin's chest rises and falls once more, his ribs plainly visible beneath smooth, pale skin.
Skinny hipster brat he may be, but Merlin's almost ... pretty, in a masculine way. The thought surprises Arthur; to make up for it, he thrusts in once again and Merlin gasps, his hand snaking out to grab a fistful of Arthur's lab coat to attempt to drag him closer.
Arthur follows, burying his face in the hollow above Merlin's collarbone, licking at salty skin as he reaches for that spot again -- Merlin bucks beneath him, his cock dragging heavily against the white linen of Arthur's coat and Arthur reaches between them to curl his fingers around the girth of it and stroke in time with each thrust.
"God, yes, please--" Merlin's a fantastic wreck, flushed and sweat-damp, and Arthur's fairly certain he's never looked better. And, really, somewhat quieter when occupied, except not because Merlin is also rather vocal though the smart-ass comments have mercifully been replaced by shameless begging and interesting (and rather filthy) variations on Arthur's name between desperate moans. Arthur thinks he could get used to this; just a bit of duct tape when they aren't naked and he'd be set. Of course, there's a few gags ready for the testing floor, and god, when did he start thinking of doing this, with Merlin, again?
That thought is wrested free as Merlin's breathing hitches, sharp, staccato bursts of air and Arthur's mouth slides up the side his throat, nipping at one ridiculously large ear. "Come on, Merlin," he whispers, and obviously that's enough; Merlin's clinging to Arthur as his body arches off the table and Arthur doesn't bother to think about the lost cause his coat's become because Merlin's body is impossibly tight around his cock. Three more thrusts and Arthur is done; he shudders and groans, bending against Merlin as the force of his orgasm washes through him, a tingling rush that he can feel down to his toes.
Merlin slips his leg off Arthur's shoulder but doesn't let go. Instead he turns his face, enough to press another one of those weirdly gentle lover-type kisses at the corner of Arthur's mouth, reaching up to run his thumb through the fine hair just behind Arthur's ear.
"Soft," Merlin murmurs, and Arthur cracks open one eye.
"What?"
"It's soft," Merlin repeats, snorting. "I wondered."
Arthur takes a moment to consider that. "You are the strangest person I have ever met."
"Do you make a habit of this sort of thing with strange people?"
The line of Arthur's shoulders goes stiff; he makes to pull away, but Merlin clings stubbornly, uncaring or unaware that Arthur's sense of professional pride feels absolutely robbed. "I -- don't," Arthur bites out at last, feeling defensive and raw and all-too aware of the fact that he is still buried deep within Merlin's body. "I don't --"
"-- good," Merlin interrupts in a quiet drawl, and smiles. "That's good."
Even sated, Merlin is still annoying. Arthur supposes some things are bound to never change. "I'm on the clock, oh god," he groans, slowly working to extract himself from Merlin's limpet-like grasp. Surprisingly, Merlin lets go (mostly), holding on only by the hand curled against Arthur's neck, where his thumb is still stroking over slightly rumpled golden hair.
"A professional opinion then," Merlin says with another of his half-shrugs. "The plastic thing is still crap. But that one --" and his eyes flicker down Arthur's body to where he's beginning to tuck himself back into his pants, "is fantastic. Though I think further testing might be required. Vigorous testing. Soon. This evening, preferably." He lifts his eyebrows suggestively and stares at Arthur, as if it's already a done deal.
Arthur makes a mental note to add that last bit to his list of pick-up lines to never be used, ever, and wonders where the hell they managed to find Merlin in the first place. "And what makes you so sure I'd be willing to participate in these ... tests?"
"Guaranteed head?" Merlin tips his head. "Or whatever. I'd be more than happy to dig that stick out of your ass, if you want."
Well, Arthur supposes, that'd be one way to really shut Merlin up. "Who could say no to a proposition like that?" He asks, bemused.
"Great! Then--"
"But I don't sleep with consultants," Arthur interrupts, tucking his shirt in carefully, trying to avoid thinking about Merlin and blowjobs and ignore the way his traitorous cock was already showing signs of renewed interest. "Well, usually. Never. Except, look, I'm -- this is my job," he finishes lamely.
Merlin just watches him, and Arthur briefly wonders if this is going to get dramatic. But then there's another one of those smiles, and Merlin sits up, resting his elbows on his bony knees. "That's easy. I quit," he says airily, and it's Arthur's turn to stare. "What? Hate to break it to you, but defense law pays better, anyway."
Arthur takes a moment to let that sink in. Porn star he'd been prepared for, pizza boy he could see. I have just fucked a defense attorney, he thinks, and he is an idiot.
"So..?" Merlin asks, and he looks so hopeful that Arthur's pretty certain he just felt his heart skip a beat. There's a long silence, a moment where the two of them just watch each other, Merlin open and expectant, Arthur suddenly nervous and damp in the palms.
"Seven-thirty," he says softly, looking away. "Club Camelot, on Vine."
The way Merlin's face lights up, he supposes, makes it entirely worth it.
He tells himself the promise of blowjobs helps, though.
-fin
03.08.10
--
God Arthur, you are forever a hideously repressed emotional retard. Ew, feelings! Merlin was a ton of fun this time around, though.
Yes, the 'conflict' resolution was entirely contrived, and I'm the first to admit it. But it's four in the morning, and I am writing sex toy AU so I'm kind of thinking I might be able to get away from it.
The defense attorney thing? I've been playing Phoenix Wright again. Besides, he's kind of a doctor by default in most AUs, and I wanted something a little different. MERLIN EMRYS, ATTORNEY AT LOL haha did I mention it's four in the morning. D: Sorry for the lack of beta, though the dirty truth is that I don't actually have one because I haven't written much for the last few years, sob.