arthur/merlin one-shot, [PART ONE] the one where a sneaky foot massage leads to smut
By: little_seahorse
Title: The one where a sneaky foot-massage leads to smut.
Genre: modern!AU, non magic, fluff
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, brief Merlin/Will
Rating: NC-17
Word count: around 5,500. Broken in two as it wouldn't fit in one post.
Notes: *waves* Quite new to this fandom. This is my first Arthur/Merlin fic & i'm gifting it to elirwen - Happy Birthday! :D
It's partly inspired by
psmithery & mizufae 's fic Deft, which is delicious. I could happily read nothing but A/M fingering fics for the rest of my life.
I'd like to thank fr333bird for the excellent beta job, thoughtful suggestions, and brit-picking :D *hugs*
Feedback is very welcome!
Arthur Pendragon dislikes hearing words like 'silver-spoon,' and 'spoilt,' and 'privileged.'
No, he more than dislikes them, he fucking hates them. He overhears them at parties, whispered with sneers by people smoking cigarettes, hand-rolled with the cheapest tobacco available.
He ignores the hypocritical twats, who come from the same kind of wealth that he does. They could afford to smoke the best stuff all day long, but don't in a fucked-up fashion statement.
It was hardly his fault, being born a Pendragon. The sneering wankers who bitched about him in his lectures and in the library, and behind glasses of cask wine at parties apparently thought otherwise. They've seen his surname in the finance pages and they think they know him.
Monetarily privileged he may have been, but Arthur had earned his place at college. He'd earned his spot with his own hard work.
By the time Arthur’s halfway through his first year reading History, he's learned to keep to himself. The people around him have already made assumptions and come to conclusions about the kind of person he is, all without speaking a word to him directly.
It's lonely, but he pushes the sting of it aside, and works harder. But by the time he breaks before second semester in his second year, Arthur has had enough.
He's sick of spending all of his time in isolation, diligently researching and drafting his papers, practicing in a mirror for his orals. He's fed up with the empty flat he goes home to every night and wakes up in every morning.
Arthur's sick of going for weeks between hearing his phone ring. He can no longer remember the last time anybody knocked on his door who wasn't delivering mail or food or news of the Good Word.
He comes to a decision, and shoots a short email to his sister before shrugging on his red jacket and heading to the college library.
***
The first three calls he makes are dead-ends. The rooms being advertised had already been let, the notices on the boards in the library just hadn't been taken down. The next person who answers hangs up when Arthur gives his name. He tries two more, and for these the tone rings in his ear for a whole minute before he gives up.
He's about ready to kick over a nearby trolley loaded with books, when somebody approaches and stands beside him, pushing two mismatched pins into a half-sheet of paper over the cork-board.
Arthur watches the man, who is the same height as him, but far thinner. He has exceptionally dark hair, and ridiculously large ears. Arthur realises he's probably stared long enough, and shifts his eyes to read the note the man's just put up.
Flatmate wanted.
1 room available in 2 room flat. Shared kitchen, bath, living.
LGBT friendly.
£60 a week.
Dickheads need not apply.
Contact Merlin: memrys01@gmail.com
Arthur quickly re-reads the notice, and whips around, spying the man, Merlin, standing between two towering shelves, scanning the rows. He pulls the note from the board and hurries over to him, clearing his throat to get his attention.
When the man looks up at him, his mouth goes quite suddenly dry.
He extends his hand and introduces himself, "Arthur," hoping to cover his long silence. This doesn't appear to work, going by the amused twist of Merlin's lips, and his cocked eyebrow.
"Merlin."
"I've just read your notice," Arthur wants to kick him a little bit for the "duh..." expression on his face, but restrains himself, saying "II'm interested."
The eyebrow goes up again, and the man looks Arthur up and down.
Arthur fights the blush that rises without his permission and loses.
He clears his throat again, "in the room... I'm interested in the room." Arthur holds out the paper Merlin had pinned up a minute ago.
"I can pay the rent, and I'm not a dickhead." He gives what he hopes is a charming grin.
"Well, I'll be the judge of that. Do you want to come and see the place this afternoon? I've got some stuff to do now," he waves vaguely at the shelves in front of them.
"OK. Should I meet you back here?"
Merlin is smiling faintly, and he nods, "see you at three."
He turns back to searching the rows, and Arthur walks away, a little too aware of the heat in his face and pooling behind his navel.
***
It only takes a day to have his things moved into the new flat. Two weeks pass and Arthur settles into life alongside Merlin easily. The flat is only empty during the day when they're both in class, or in the library between classes.
Arthur wonders at how he could have gone so long without human contact. He's surrounded by people all day, but that's never been a guarantee of conversation.
Now he has breakfast with Merlin every morning, murmuring quietly and waking up over their tea, asking to pass the marmite, or the milk. Sometimes they'll be in the library at the same time at the end of the morning, so they'll go around the corner to get lunch. In the evening, if Merlin isn't working, he'll cook something spicy and colourful, and sit cross-legged on the couch beside Arthur and watch the news and talk about his lectures.
Merlin's been something of a revelation to Arthur. Merlin read English at Queens, he hadn't been judgemental of Arthur's name, and he hadn't asked why he was sharing a place when he could afford to live somewhere much more comfortable and decadent than this place, without the suspicious stains on the carpets, and the dodgy burner on the cooker.
Merlin had become a friend. He didn't laugh a lot, but he had a sly wit, and was cheeky, and he smirked when he made Arthur laugh, which was often.
Merlin had been a bit cagey and coy when, a week after he had moved in, Arthur asked what his part-time job was. Arthur almost wished he hadn't asked when Merlin finally relented and told him he made a bit of money as an artist’s model, and by posing for life-drawing classes. Arthur had gone bright red and dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter, choking on a mouthful of rice and lamb.
Merlin had laughed at him for that, and grinned for the rest of the night as Arthur avoided eye contact.
It's been two weeks since he moved in, and ten days since Arthur got past his feelings of propriety and staunch refusal to wank over his flatmate.
At first glance, Merlin was all gawky and big-eared and sticky-outy. Arthur thinks he shouldn't really be as stunning as he is, by rights. He's a bit clumsy and his mouth is too wide, elbows too pointy. But Arthur doesn't mind those things.
He sprawls on his bed late at night, stroking himself gently as he stares at the ceiling, picturing Merlin. Merlin's fingers, Merlin's lips. Merlin's long legs. Merlin's dark hair, wet from the shower - a line of it dark above the towel wrapped twice round his slim hips. Merlin's filthy grin when Arthur loses another fight with his blushes. Merlin's cheekbones... mother of god, Merlin's cheekbones. Arthur closes his eyes, fucking his fist hard now, picturing Merlin's cheeks painted with hot, white stripes.
When the heat is finally gone from his belly, and he tosses the sodden bundle of tissues into the bin across the room, Arthur feels a tug of shame. But the next morning he smiles at Merlin over his tea and tells himself he'll stop. Until two days later, when Merlin licks something sticky from his lips, or walks, dripping, from the bathroom to his bedroom in his towel.
***
Arthur still works hard, and he still enjoys his classes and likes being at home and having company. Things only start to get difficult when Merlin brings a friend home one night.
"Hey Arthur. This is my mate, Will. Will, my flatmate, Arthur."
Arthur stands up from where he's sitting on the couch, putting his book aside. He reaches out a hand and smiles.
"Pleased to meet you, Will."
Will doesn't smile back, just nods and grips Arthur's hand for a long moment.
Merlin rolls his eyes indulgently at Will, and pulls him into the kitchen.
"Come help me with dinner, wanker."
Arthur sits back down, frowning at Will's back as Merlin pulls him by the hand through the door.
He tries to find his place in his textbook again, and had just started reading when he hears a distinctly wet smacking noise coming from the other room. Arthur focuses his eyes on the words with determination, but he can't help scowling at the page when he hears Merlin snicker softly, and murmur "stop it...oi! stop it, you bloody oaf. Dinner before pudding."
Arthur's grateful that Merlin isn't there to see what is no doubt his most spectacular blush to date. He pushes his books into his bag and takes the whole lot to his room, shutting the door and sagging against it.
He'd only just started to toy with the idea in his head, of asking Merlin out. He’d figured that by now a boyfriend or girlfriend would have been mentioned in conversation, or would have come over to stay the night. This, apparently, was that night. Merlin had given him time to settle in, to feel at home and comfortable.
Arthur rubs his face with his hands, tells himself how stupid he'd been to think that someone like Merlin would be unattached. He feels particularly grateful that he hasn't already made a complete dick of himself by asking Merlin out. At least now he doesn't have to be shot down, and deal with the awkward aftermath of that.
***
Arthur forces himself to behave normally during dinner. He ignores the fleeting, flirting touches Will gives Merlin, who brushes off the attention to eat and sip his wine. He tries to make conversation and polite chat with Will, in what he hopes is his usual way.
When the plates are empty, he says he'll take care of the dishes, waving away Merlin's offer to help. Will is clearly glad to be shot of him, if the swift opening and closing of Merlin's bedroom door, followed shortly by the sudden blare of loud music from within is any clue.
Arthur fills the sink, scalding his hand when he turns the hot water on more forcefully than he means to. He scrubs at the dinner plates and tries concentrating on the notes he made during the day’s lectures. By the time he's finished drying the dishes, and put away all the warm, dry cutlery his hands have stopped shaking.
He brushes his teeth and rinses with mouthwash, grimacing at the sting before spitting into the bathroom sink. Music is still blaring from Merlin's room, but there is no way Arthur is going to ask him to turn it down.
Slipping beneath his duvet, Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his pillow, curling his knees up to his chest.
He deliberately empties his head and lets the music seeping through the walls fade into the background, so he can drift to sleep.
It works for a while, until a loud moan washes over the music, followed by Will's voice groaning, "Merlin...fuck, Merlin."
Arthur feels his palms prickle with sweat. Knowing what's happening in the other room is one thing, hearing it, another entirely.
More moans puncture the music, some long and low, some choked and gasping and desperate. Arthur hates himself for the way his cock hardens as the sounds reach him, the moans, and broken grunts and oh, God, Merlin...fuck...oh God, yeah...right there...
It carries on, always the same voice. Arthur never hears Will's name moaned, he doesn't hear Merlin's voice at all. His prick remains traitorously hard, leaking stickily onto his thigh. It takes another ten minutes of grunts and moans and worshipping words over the now ineffective music, for Arthur to give in and close his hand around himself.
He twists to lay on his back, closing his eyes and licking his palm before returning it to fist his cock. He covers his mouth with his other hand to stifle the moan that escapes him, and wanks hard and fast, picturing what Merlin could be doing to earn such emphatic, enthusiastic praises.
***
Arthur forces himself to leave his room the next morning, determined to sit across from Merlin and drink his tea like he hadn't heard him being worshipped as some sort of...cock-god for hours on end.
He's surprised and quietly pleased to see Merlin sitting alone at the table, eating his toast. He can't hear the shower, so Will must already be gone.
"Morning." Arthur tries to sound chirpy, but his voice sounds strange in his ears.
"G'morning, Arthur. Made your tea already." Arthur sits and tries not to focus on the reasons for Merlin sounding a bit more gravelly than usual.
They sit quietly for a few minutes. Arthur is taking a sip from his mug when Merlin clears his throat and speaks.
"Sorry about the noise last night."
Arthur can't look at him, so he keeps looking into his milky tea when he replies,"no problem. I've slept through loud music before."
There's a long pause before Merlin speaks again.
“The music isn't why you can't look me in the eye."
Arthur keeps staring into his tea, but he can feel Merlin's smirk, so he scowls into it.
He doesn't look up, and he doesn't answer when Merlin calls, "see you later," from the front door.
***
Merlin doesn't mention Will, and he doesn't bring him around again. After a few days things go back to normal between Arthur and Merlin, without the awkwardness and light, tentative conversations where they breathe in the wrong places.
Arthur can still feel something strange hanging around them, though they joke and talk and eat together like mates again. He thinks he feels Merlin's eyes on him sometimes, but whenever he turns his head to check, he’s never looking.
He's given up pretending that he has any control over his libido where Merlin is concerned. The pull of guilt each time he spills into his hand or a wad of tissues is still there, but he's stopped telling himself not again, no more.
About a week after Will's visit, Arthur is wandering around the flat waiting for Merlin to get home. He’d told Arthur he'd be working until seven, but not to cook, he'll bring some take-out home.
It's six, and dark outside as the news starts. Arthur can't bring himself to open his book and look over his scrawled lecture notes, so he tidies up the flat a bit, clearing away piles of books and small messes. He keeps glancing at Merlin's bedroom door and looking away again.
When he's finished putting everything in its right spot he treads lightly toward the closed door.
He checks his watch again to make sure Merlin won't be home soon, and turns the knob slowly, heart racing with anticipation, and with guilt.
Arthur leaves the door ajar behind him and looks around, not bothering to turn the light on. Desk. Wardrobe. Bin. Chair. Bed. Arthur eyes the dented pillow and rumpled sheets longingly before looking at the bedside table. There's a box of tissues sat beside an alarm clock, and front and centre stands a bottle of lube.
His heart's beating faster as he checks his watch again. Arthur lets out a sigh of relief, and takes two more steps into the room after pushing the door shut.
He peeks at the wrinkled sheets again before he looks at the walls. He can't help the small sound he lets out when he spots the large portrait hanging beside the window.
It must have been a gift from one of the students who practiced their anatomy skills on Merlin's lean white form. There's no background, or context, except for the cloth-covered table beneath long pale limbs and shocks of black hair.
Arthur stares at the oil-and-pastel Merlin. The dark hair is there, as are the big blue eyes. Shading has highlighted the jut of his cheekbones and the curved swell of his lips. Arthur can't help moving closer to the large portrait, admiring the skill and the subject.
Merlin’s leaning back on his arms, one long leg tucked beneath him as the other hangs from the table he sits upon. His ankles look delicate. The hair from his bellybutton, leading to his groin and surrounding his pale cock, is as dark as it is on his head.
Arthur wonders at how relaxed Merlin looks. How comfortable he must be, with his own body, to sit in front of strangers with his bollocks out like that. There's still a hint of the gawky limbs, and Arthur smiles as he sees the scale of pastel-Merlin's ears, but he looks beautiful rendered with care onto thick white paper. The word 'coltish' flickers into Arthur's mind and he rolls his eyes at his own girlishness.
He creeps out of Merlin's room away from his tissues and his sheets, and immortalised perfection, and waits on the couch watching the TV, trying to absorb some of the words. Arthur’s heart jumps into his throat when he hears the lock on the front door turning, and he smiles up at Merlin as he calls out cheerily from the hall.
***
Part 2