fic: Happy Halloween
Title: Happy Halloween
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: graphic sex
Summary: written for the kinkme_merlin prompt Arthur/Merlin, modern!AU - Arthur meets Merlin for the first time in a club...and Merlin's wearing a corset. Hot sex ensues.
Happy Halloween
It's Halloween. The club is heaving at the seams; Uni kids in various states of costume and undress are pressed together as they grind and sway to the crap music the DJ insists on blasting. The floor is sticky with spilt drinks and the jelly snakes they’re giving away free at the bar. A girl squeezes past Arthur, her breasts mashed against his chest in a way that would be entirely indecent if she was even bothering to look his way. As it is, she’s calling over her shoulder to her friends, dragging another girl by the hand and waving a fake cobweb in the air which she’s obviously nicked off one of the walls. She moves on, breasts sliding squishily onwards as her friend follows her, hip pressing into Arthur’s groin in much the same fashion. Fuck, this is why Arthur hates clubs.
He forces his way towards the patio area where the smokers hang out to blacken their lungs and prey on each other whilst horny and drunk. He keeps an eye out for Morgana but she had disappeared earlier in the night, her harem outfit attracting just the kind of attention she had wanted. Arthur holds out his hand for the bouncer’s stamp and spills out onto the wooden decking that serves to keep the club’s smokers a half foot above the queue outside the ropes. He stumbles into a quiet corner, wishing he had a beer or better yet half a litre of vodka in which he could drown himself without interruption. The corner is wet from the earlier rain, littered with cigarette butts and smelling vaguely of piss. Arthur leans against the wall, and scrubs one hand tiredly against his eyes. A glance at his watch tells him that he’s still got another hour and a bit before he can leave without it being embarrassing rather than just embarrassingly early.
A commotion over on the far side of the patio draws his attention, a guy and two girls (clearly pissed out of their skulls) are jumping up and down in a huddle, and edging closer and closer to the rope that’s keeping out the public. The boy is struggling to balance in a pair of high-healed boots he no doubt bought from Primark just for the occasion. A bouncer is watching them warily, and Arthur can’t decide whether it’s due to the boy’s outfit or because he - like Arthur - knows that in about five seconds all three of them are going to go tumbling over the rope and onto the pavement. The bouncer seems perfectly content to watch however and Arthur has to give the guy his due - the boy’s outfit is something else entirely. He’s obviously meant to be Frankenfurter from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. There’s a ridiculous wig balanced on top of his head, curls matted and slightly worn in places as though it was something someone had bought a long time ago and resurrected for the night. His pale legs are shoved into a pair of thigh-high fishnet stockings, complete with garters and suspenders - though thankfully he’s wearing black boxer-briefs rather than some girl’s knickers. Arthur lets his gaze travel up those long, long limbs. They’re good legs, he admits it, and from the envious looks of some of the girls nearby, a darn sight better than any others to be seen. He spares a passing (oh alright, more than passing) glace at the pert, tight backside before focusing his attention on the costume’s pièce de résistance. It’s a corset. Black, tight, made of PVC by the looks of it. Arthur can see the boy’s shoulder blades shifting beneath the material, notices the way the boy’s alabaster skin seems to almost glow in contrast.
Arthur watches as the group jumps, once, twice, tries for a third and goes sprawling gracelessly to the ground, taking the rope barrier with them. One of the girl’s skirts hitches up around her midriff exposing long legs and some rather racy knickers. The bouncer who’d been watching the group whistles appreciatively and Arthur realises that perhaps he hadn’t been watching the boy in the corset at all. One of his co-workers comes along and drags the three up, giving them a warning that clearly amounts to ‘do that again and you’re out’. Arthur can hear the boy gasping through his laughter, apologising on the group’s behalf. “Sorry,” he says, “sorry, sorry.” The bouncer looks unconvinced but resumes his position letting the three inebriates separate themselves and wander off. The boy staggers away drunkenly, the two girls slipping off the join people he’s obviously not acquainted with, and as he stumbles past, Arthur can’t help but reach out and take his arm.
“Hey, you alright?” He asks, adding, “That looked like quite the fall.” When the boy just blinks at him, uncomprehendingly.
The boy glances back over his shoulder, and then laughs suddenly. “Yeah,” he says, turning back to Arthur, “Jess broke my fall.” He looks bemused all of a sudden, as though suddenly remembering he had come to the club with other people, but the thought doesn’t bother him for long. He smiles at Arthur, wide and a little silly, doesn’t bother to remove his arm from Arthur’s grip, either, just sinks further into it, grinning. Arthur notices that the boy’s ears stick out rather alarmingly. He glances down again at the boy’s costume; at the way the club lights catch on the PVC and on the bulge between the boy’s legs that his underwear does nothing to disguise. The boy catches Arthur looking, and when Arthur gazes up again the boy licks his lips in a most suggestive manner.
“We could get out of here if you like.” The boy offers, falling into Arthur’s personal space so that the entire length of his body is pressed against Arthur’s front. His tongue licks against Arthur’s lips before he has a chance to respond, and as Arthur’s tongue joins it he can taste the copious amounts of alcohol the boy had consumed. Pulling back, Arthur takes the boy’s chin in hand, dragging his head down until he could stare him in the eye. The eyes that gaze back and blue and wide and clear, pupils a little blown, but not so glazed over that Arthur thinks this boy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Besides, it’s not like Arthur’s completely sober either.
“What’s your name?”
“Merlin.”
He nods, wrapping Merlin’s hand in his and dragging them both to the entrance. Embarrassment isn’t an issue anymore - the rules just don’t apply when it’s obvious to all and sundry that you’re about to get laid. The bouncer gives him a faintly disgusted look and Arthur barely refrains from flipping the guy off. For all he knows Merlin likes this club - he doesn’t want to get him barred. They stumble out into the night, the chill of the air useless against the fire of alcohol in their bloodstreams. If they go right Arthur knows they’ll hit Queen’s street and later Cornmarket, his College only five minutes on from that, but he doesn’t want to wait that long. He turns right, then right again almost immediately, dragging Merlin down to the murky cycle path by the canal and under the bridge where they’re out of sight from passers by. The boy seems slightly dazed by the suddenness of the movement, bracing his hands against Arthur’s shoulder’s and looking down at him, puzzled. He’s half a head taller than Arthur in the heels, more maybe, and Arthur wonder’s what height he is without them. The thought doesn’t last long though, Merlin slouches down, resting his back against the wall and drags Arthur’s head to him, tongue working hot and wet between Arthur’s lips, licking at the inside of Arthur’s mouth, swirling against the pallet and along his teeth. It’s sloppy, unskilled, over-enthusiastic but Arthur finds himself pressing forward harder, grinding the other boy into the stone, listening to his corset squeak and crackle as he moves. Shifting his weight, Arthur manages to slot one knee between Merlin’s thighs, lifting upward until he has raised him almost off the ground, forcing him to rock down against Arthur’s leg to maintain any form of stability. Merlin breaks the kiss, breathing hard, rocking forward with quick sharp jerks, trying to relieve the pressure whilst never wanting it to stop. It’s a wave of pleasure tinged in pain that Arthur has perfected over the years. He relaxes his knee, letting the boy sink back to the balls of his feet, gasping even as his hips try to continue the rhythm of before. Arthur smirks, tugging one of the Merlin’s earlobes between his teeth and rearranging the boy’s hands so that he is cupping Arthur through his jeans. Merlin lowers his fly with unerring ease, slipping a pale hand inside and burrowing deep, working his way into Arthur’s underwear and dragging him into the light. Arthur gasps as cold air hit his skin before biting his lip to keep from moaning as Merlin drops to his knees and swallows Arthur. Arthur opens his mouth to demand a condom - they don’t know each other, probably won’t see each other again - but Merlin twirls his tongue experimentally and the words refuse to leave Arthur’s lips. He resorts to the next best thing, pulling Merlin to his feet and shoving his pants down; glad to see that the suspenders and belt are on the inside - as they’re supposed to be.
“Is spit enough lube?” Arthur asks, wrapping his hand around Merlin’s now exposed cock and tugging, one hand working its way back and between Merlin’s cheeks.
“I don’t need any.” Merlin tells him, eyes staring unseeingly at the drainpipe over their heads, skull resting against the damp brick. Arthur reaches around anyway, surprised when he finds the boy used and slick and open. He snarls, angry - jealous - to know that he isn’t the first tonight, may not even be the second. He shoves his fingers forward with almost brutal force, relishing the way the Merlin whines and arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on Arthur’s arms.
“I’m not doing this bare.” Arthur tells him, and Merlin fumbles in his garter for something, reaches out a small foil packet, black and - Christ, were those pumpkins on the front of it? Arthur snatches the packet from the boy’s hands, tearing it open and sliding the condom down over his straining erection. It’s orange and it might be fluorescent but Arthur doesn’t waste time investigating choosing instead to hike one of Merlin’s legs up to his hip and thrust forward with all his might. Merlin groans, necks arching forward as his body fights against Arthur’s weight. Arthur keeps him pinned, setting a brutal pace, not allowing Merlin any room or leverage, changing his angle until he hits the place that makes Merlin babble and swear cursing Arthur and his ancestry until Arthur does it again and robs him of his ability to speak. With one hand braced against the wall and the other holding Merlin’s leg, Arthur doesn’t have a hand free to see to Merlin’s pleasure. The boy is forced to tug and stroke himself, and the most Arthur could do was lick Merlin’s palm and suck his fingers, all the time wishing he had a third hand so he could claim full responsibility for Merlin’s orgasm. Merlin’s hand is pinching and twisting, the movements looking almost painful but obviously having the desired effect. Arthur thrusts harder, angling his hips so as to hit Merlin’s prostate as much as he is able. He keeps his gaze fixed on Merlin’s face, watching the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks, the breath that comes panting from his lips and the pulse that jumps just beneath his chin. Aggressive, Arthur drags Merlin’s head down for a kiss, claiming him even as he drives into that tight channel of heat. He feels when Merlin spasms beneath him, teeth clicking against Arthur’s lips as he spills in spurts into his own fist. Arthur pumps once, twice, fighting against the fierce clench of Merlin’s muscles and looses the battle, flooding Merlin with sticky, white mess.
They come down slowly panting into each other’s necks, the quiet gurgle of the canal behind them. Any moment Arthur’s expecting the flash of torchlight and a policeman’s voice in the darkness. It’s a miracle they weren’t caught. Fumbling, he drags his phone from his pocket, pushing it into Merlin’s hand as he tucks himself back into his trousers.
“Give me your number yeah?” He says, not really asking and hoping Merlin just doesn’t tell him to shove it. Merlin nods and jabs his thumb down onto the pad, handing the phone back to Arthur as he makes himself decent again. Arthur slid his phone shut with a click, ignoring the sideways look Merlin’s giving him, and the exhaustion that seems to be radiating from his every pore.
“I’d better get going.” Merlin says, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the club where he had left his friends.
“Sure.” Arthur says, “I’ll give you a call, sometime.”
Merlin nods half-heartedly, and stumbles away into the darkness. Arthur listens to the clack of heals against the cobbled streets and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling through his address book, he presses on Merlin’s name and pulls up the number. A string of zeros spill across the screen.
By the time Arthur makes it onto the top of the bridge, Merlin’s nowhere to be seen.
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: graphic sex
Summary: written for the kinkme_merlin prompt Arthur/Merlin, modern!AU - Arthur meets Merlin for the first time in a club...and Merlin's wearing a corset. Hot sex ensues.
Happy Halloween
It's Halloween. The club is heaving at the seams; Uni kids in various states of costume and undress are pressed together as they grind and sway to the crap music the DJ insists on blasting. The floor is sticky with spilt drinks and the jelly snakes they’re giving away free at the bar. A girl squeezes past Arthur, her breasts mashed against his chest in a way that would be entirely indecent if she was even bothering to look his way. As it is, she’s calling over her shoulder to her friends, dragging another girl by the hand and waving a fake cobweb in the air which she’s obviously nicked off one of the walls. She moves on, breasts sliding squishily onwards as her friend follows her, hip pressing into Arthur’s groin in much the same fashion. Fuck, this is why Arthur hates clubs.
He forces his way towards the patio area where the smokers hang out to blacken their lungs and prey on each other whilst horny and drunk. He keeps an eye out for Morgana but she had disappeared earlier in the night, her harem outfit attracting just the kind of attention she had wanted. Arthur holds out his hand for the bouncer’s stamp and spills out onto the wooden decking that serves to keep the club’s smokers a half foot above the queue outside the ropes. He stumbles into a quiet corner, wishing he had a beer or better yet half a litre of vodka in which he could drown himself without interruption. The corner is wet from the earlier rain, littered with cigarette butts and smelling vaguely of piss. Arthur leans against the wall, and scrubs one hand tiredly against his eyes. A glance at his watch tells him that he’s still got another hour and a bit before he can leave without it being embarrassing rather than just embarrassingly early.
A commotion over on the far side of the patio draws his attention, a guy and two girls (clearly pissed out of their skulls) are jumping up and down in a huddle, and edging closer and closer to the rope that’s keeping out the public. The boy is struggling to balance in a pair of high-healed boots he no doubt bought from Primark just for the occasion. A bouncer is watching them warily, and Arthur can’t decide whether it’s due to the boy’s outfit or because he - like Arthur - knows that in about five seconds all three of them are going to go tumbling over the rope and onto the pavement. The bouncer seems perfectly content to watch however and Arthur has to give the guy his due - the boy’s outfit is something else entirely. He’s obviously meant to be Frankenfurter from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. There’s a ridiculous wig balanced on top of his head, curls matted and slightly worn in places as though it was something someone had bought a long time ago and resurrected for the night. His pale legs are shoved into a pair of thigh-high fishnet stockings, complete with garters and suspenders - though thankfully he’s wearing black boxer-briefs rather than some girl’s knickers. Arthur lets his gaze travel up those long, long limbs. They’re good legs, he admits it, and from the envious looks of some of the girls nearby, a darn sight better than any others to be seen. He spares a passing (oh alright, more than passing) glace at the pert, tight backside before focusing his attention on the costume’s pièce de résistance. It’s a corset. Black, tight, made of PVC by the looks of it. Arthur can see the boy’s shoulder blades shifting beneath the material, notices the way the boy’s alabaster skin seems to almost glow in contrast.
Arthur watches as the group jumps, once, twice, tries for a third and goes sprawling gracelessly to the ground, taking the rope barrier with them. One of the girl’s skirts hitches up around her midriff exposing long legs and some rather racy knickers. The bouncer who’d been watching the group whistles appreciatively and Arthur realises that perhaps he hadn’t been watching the boy in the corset at all. One of his co-workers comes along and drags the three up, giving them a warning that clearly amounts to ‘do that again and you’re out’. Arthur can hear the boy gasping through his laughter, apologising on the group’s behalf. “Sorry,” he says, “sorry, sorry.” The bouncer looks unconvinced but resumes his position letting the three inebriates separate themselves and wander off. The boy staggers away drunkenly, the two girls slipping off the join people he’s obviously not acquainted with, and as he stumbles past, Arthur can’t help but reach out and take his arm.
“Hey, you alright?” He asks, adding, “That looked like quite the fall.” When the boy just blinks at him, uncomprehendingly.
The boy glances back over his shoulder, and then laughs suddenly. “Yeah,” he says, turning back to Arthur, “Jess broke my fall.” He looks bemused all of a sudden, as though suddenly remembering he had come to the club with other people, but the thought doesn’t bother him for long. He smiles at Arthur, wide and a little silly, doesn’t bother to remove his arm from Arthur’s grip, either, just sinks further into it, grinning. Arthur notices that the boy’s ears stick out rather alarmingly. He glances down again at the boy’s costume; at the way the club lights catch on the PVC and on the bulge between the boy’s legs that his underwear does nothing to disguise. The boy catches Arthur looking, and when Arthur gazes up again the boy licks his lips in a most suggestive manner.
“We could get out of here if you like.” The boy offers, falling into Arthur’s personal space so that the entire length of his body is pressed against Arthur’s front. His tongue licks against Arthur’s lips before he has a chance to respond, and as Arthur’s tongue joins it he can taste the copious amounts of alcohol the boy had consumed. Pulling back, Arthur takes the boy’s chin in hand, dragging his head down until he could stare him in the eye. The eyes that gaze back and blue and wide and clear, pupils a little blown, but not so glazed over that Arthur thinks this boy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Besides, it’s not like Arthur’s completely sober either.
“What’s your name?”
“Merlin.”
He nods, wrapping Merlin’s hand in his and dragging them both to the entrance. Embarrassment isn’t an issue anymore - the rules just don’t apply when it’s obvious to all and sundry that you’re about to get laid. The bouncer gives him a faintly disgusted look and Arthur barely refrains from flipping the guy off. For all he knows Merlin likes this club - he doesn’t want to get him barred. They stumble out into the night, the chill of the air useless against the fire of alcohol in their bloodstreams. If they go right Arthur knows they’ll hit Queen’s street and later Cornmarket, his College only five minutes on from that, but he doesn’t want to wait that long. He turns right, then right again almost immediately, dragging Merlin down to the murky cycle path by the canal and under the bridge where they’re out of sight from passers by. The boy seems slightly dazed by the suddenness of the movement, bracing his hands against Arthur’s shoulder’s and looking down at him, puzzled. He’s half a head taller than Arthur in the heels, more maybe, and Arthur wonder’s what height he is without them. The thought doesn’t last long though, Merlin slouches down, resting his back against the wall and drags Arthur’s head to him, tongue working hot and wet between Arthur’s lips, licking at the inside of Arthur’s mouth, swirling against the pallet and along his teeth. It’s sloppy, unskilled, over-enthusiastic but Arthur finds himself pressing forward harder, grinding the other boy into the stone, listening to his corset squeak and crackle as he moves. Shifting his weight, Arthur manages to slot one knee between Merlin’s thighs, lifting upward until he has raised him almost off the ground, forcing him to rock down against Arthur’s leg to maintain any form of stability. Merlin breaks the kiss, breathing hard, rocking forward with quick sharp jerks, trying to relieve the pressure whilst never wanting it to stop. It’s a wave of pleasure tinged in pain that Arthur has perfected over the years. He relaxes his knee, letting the boy sink back to the balls of his feet, gasping even as his hips try to continue the rhythm of before. Arthur smirks, tugging one of the Merlin’s earlobes between his teeth and rearranging the boy’s hands so that he is cupping Arthur through his jeans. Merlin lowers his fly with unerring ease, slipping a pale hand inside and burrowing deep, working his way into Arthur’s underwear and dragging him into the light. Arthur gasps as cold air hit his skin before biting his lip to keep from moaning as Merlin drops to his knees and swallows Arthur. Arthur opens his mouth to demand a condom - they don’t know each other, probably won’t see each other again - but Merlin twirls his tongue experimentally and the words refuse to leave Arthur’s lips. He resorts to the next best thing, pulling Merlin to his feet and shoving his pants down; glad to see that the suspenders and belt are on the inside - as they’re supposed to be.
“Is spit enough lube?” Arthur asks, wrapping his hand around Merlin’s now exposed cock and tugging, one hand working its way back and between Merlin’s cheeks.
“I don’t need any.” Merlin tells him, eyes staring unseeingly at the drainpipe over their heads, skull resting against the damp brick. Arthur reaches around anyway, surprised when he finds the boy used and slick and open. He snarls, angry - jealous - to know that he isn’t the first tonight, may not even be the second. He shoves his fingers forward with almost brutal force, relishing the way the Merlin whines and arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on Arthur’s arms.
“I’m not doing this bare.” Arthur tells him, and Merlin fumbles in his garter for something, reaches out a small foil packet, black and - Christ, were those pumpkins on the front of it? Arthur snatches the packet from the boy’s hands, tearing it open and sliding the condom down over his straining erection. It’s orange and it might be fluorescent but Arthur doesn’t waste time investigating choosing instead to hike one of Merlin’s legs up to his hip and thrust forward with all his might. Merlin groans, necks arching forward as his body fights against Arthur’s weight. Arthur keeps him pinned, setting a brutal pace, not allowing Merlin any room or leverage, changing his angle until he hits the place that makes Merlin babble and swear cursing Arthur and his ancestry until Arthur does it again and robs him of his ability to speak. With one hand braced against the wall and the other holding Merlin’s leg, Arthur doesn’t have a hand free to see to Merlin’s pleasure. The boy is forced to tug and stroke himself, and the most Arthur could do was lick Merlin’s palm and suck his fingers, all the time wishing he had a third hand so he could claim full responsibility for Merlin’s orgasm. Merlin’s hand is pinching and twisting, the movements looking almost painful but obviously having the desired effect. Arthur thrusts harder, angling his hips so as to hit Merlin’s prostate as much as he is able. He keeps his gaze fixed on Merlin’s face, watching the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks, the breath that comes panting from his lips and the pulse that jumps just beneath his chin. Aggressive, Arthur drags Merlin’s head down for a kiss, claiming him even as he drives into that tight channel of heat. He feels when Merlin spasms beneath him, teeth clicking against Arthur’s lips as he spills in spurts into his own fist. Arthur pumps once, twice, fighting against the fierce clench of Merlin’s muscles and looses the battle, flooding Merlin with sticky, white mess.
They come down slowly panting into each other’s necks, the quiet gurgle of the canal behind them. Any moment Arthur’s expecting the flash of torchlight and a policeman’s voice in the darkness. It’s a miracle they weren’t caught. Fumbling, he drags his phone from his pocket, pushing it into Merlin’s hand as he tucks himself back into his trousers.
“Give me your number yeah?” He says, not really asking and hoping Merlin just doesn’t tell him to shove it. Merlin nods and jabs his thumb down onto the pad, handing the phone back to Arthur as he makes himself decent again. Arthur slid his phone shut with a click, ignoring the sideways look Merlin’s giving him, and the exhaustion that seems to be radiating from his every pore.
“I’d better get going.” Merlin says, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the club where he had left his friends.
“Sure.” Arthur says, “I’ll give you a call, sometime.”
Merlin nods half-heartedly, and stumbles away into the darkness. Arthur listens to the clack of heals against the cobbled streets and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling through his address book, he presses on Merlin’s name and pulls up the number. A string of zeros spill across the screen.
By the time Arthur makes it onto the top of the bridge, Merlin’s nowhere to be seen.