Chapter 1: Stolen Moments in the Front Seat
The car door opened with a muffled click, letting in a slice of the cold night and the smell of wet asphalt. Merlin slid into the passenger seat, his movements fluid and sure, as if he’d been expected.
Liam jolted, the half-empty whiskey bottle between his thighs sloshing. “What the fuck, Merlin? Get out.”
“Drive,” Merlin said, his voice low. He pulled the door shut, sealing them in a world of dim amber light from the flickering streetlamp outside. The windows were already fogged, a private cocoon.
“I’m not driving you anywhere. Your sister thinks you’re asleep upstairs.” Liam’s words were sharp, but his hands stayed on the wheel, not reaching for the door.
“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Merlin turned, the leather seat creaking under him. His eyes, dark and unblinking, held Liam’s. “I just needed to get you alone.”
Before Liam could form another protest, Merlin’s hand was on his thigh, high up, fingers pressing into the dense muscle of his inner leg through the denim. The touch was electric, a current that shot straight to Liam’s groin. He sucked in a breath.
“I’ve been thinking about your cock all fucking day,” Merlin breathed, the words hot and obscene in the close space. His hand slid higher, palm grinding against the growing hardness in Liam’s jeans. “Since I saw you fixing the sink this morning. Leaning over. I could see everything.”
“Stop it.” Liam’s voice was a strangled thing. He grabbed Merlin’s wrist, but his grip lacked conviction. He could feel the kid’s pulse hammering against his own fingers. “This is insane. I’m with Ella. I love her.”
“You want me,” Merlin stated, simple as truth. He leaned in, his free hand coming up to cup Liam’s jaw. His thumb brushed Liam’s lower lip. “I see you watching me. When you think I don’t know.”
Liam’s mind fragmented. One part screamed betrayal, a siren of guilt. Another, older, hungrier part, uncoiled low in his belly, mesmerized by the fullness of Merlin’s mouth, the fierce need in his eyes. The whiskey in his veins sang a coward’s song, blurring the edges of his loyalty.
Merlin didn’t wait for permission. He closed the gap, his lips crashing against Liam’s. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a takeover. His tongue pushed past Liam’s teeth, hot and insistent, tasting of spearmint gum and daring. A muffled groan vibrated in Liam’s throat, a sound of surrender he hated. He kissed back. His hand left Merlin’s wrist and tangled in the thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.
The consent was in the grip, in the open mouth.
Merlin broke the kiss with a wet sound, his breath coming in ragged pants. He shoved Liam’s seat back with a violent clatter, the mechanism screaming in the quiet car. He was on him then, straddling his hips in the confined space, their bodies awkward and desperate in the driver’s seat. Merlin’s fingers went to Liam’s belt, fumbling with the buckle.
“Fucking… wait,” Liam gasped, but his hips arched up off the seat, meeting the pressure of Merlin’s weight.
“No more waiting.” The belt came loose. The button of Liam’s jeans popped. The zipper hissed down. Merlin yanked the denim and the boxers beneath them over Liam’s hips, freeing him. The cold air hit his heated skin, followed a second later by the blistering heat of Merlin’s hand wrapping around his length.
“Christ,” Liam swore, his head thudding back against the headrest. Merlin’s grip was tight, unpracticed, perfect.
“Told you,” Merlin whispered, feverish, his eyes glued to what he was doing. He began to stroke, a rough, quick rhythm. “All day. Thinking about this. How it would feel. How you’d taste.”
He bent his head, his lips parting.
The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue across the head made Liam’s whole body tense. It was clumsy, too much pressure, but the intent, the sheer filthy willingness of it, shattered the last of Liam’s resistance. He watched, hypnotized, as Merlin took him into his mouth, cheeks hollowing. The sight was profoundly wrong and more arousing than anything he’d ever known. Merlin’s lips stretched, a string of saliva escaping down the shaft.
“Shit, Merlin… not so deep,” Liam choked out, but he pushed his hips up anyway.
Merlin pulled off, gasping, a line of spit connecting his lips to Liam’s cock. “I want to feel you fuck my face.” His words were a raw, guttural challenge. He dove back down, taking him deeper, his throat working around the intrusion.
Liam lost himself in the sensation, in the taboo of it. The car filled with the sounds of it: wet, sucking noises, Liam’s low curses, Merlin’s choked gags. The world narrowed to this point of blinding, selfish heat. His hands tightened in Merlin’s hair, guiding the pace, fucking up into that willing, hot mouth. He was close, teetering on the edge.
Merlin sensed it. He pulled off again, his lips swollen and slick. “Not like that,” he panted. “I want you inside me.”
The statement hung in the fogged air, absolute.
“We don’t… I don’t have anything,” Liam said, the practical objection a last, feeble dam.
Merlin was already moving, clambering off him and over the center console into the cramped backseat. He kicked his own jeans and briefs down to his ankles. The pale curve of his ass was illuminated by the sickly yellow streetlight. “I don’t care. Do it. I want to feel it.”
The dam broke.
Liam scrambled over the seat, his own clothes hobbling him. The backseat was a cave of shadows and discarded clothing. He shoved Merlin forward, chest against the leather, and spat roughly into his own palm. He slicked himself, the act crude and animal. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against Merlin’s entrance.
Merlin shoved back against him, a sharp, impatient jerk of his hips. “Just fucking do it, Liam.”
Liam drove forward.
A sharp, punched-out cry tore from Merlin’s throat as Liam pushed inside, breaching him in one relentless thrust. It was impossibly tight, searing hot, a dry, clutching friction for a devastating second before his body yielded.
“Fuck! Fuck, you’re so tight,” Liam groaned, burying himself to the hilt, his body shuddering. He stayed there, impaled, feeling Merlin’s body flutter and convulse around him.
“Move,” Merlin demanded, his voice muffled against the seat. “Please, move.”
Liam pulled back and slammed home again. And again. The car began to rock on its suspension, a gentle, rhythmic creak. There was no tenderness, only a frantic, driving need. Each thrust was a punctuation mark on their betrayal. The slapping of skin, the ragged symphony of their breathing, the whiskey-sour smell of their sweat—it built into a frenzy.
Merlin reached a hand between his own legs, stroking himself in time with Liam’s punishing rhythm. “Yeah… like that… right there,” he chanted, a broken mantra.
Liam’s vision whited out at the edges. The coil in his guts wound unbearably tight. He grabbed Merlin’s hip with one hand, the other tangling in the back of his shirt, holding him in place as he fucked into him with a final, desperate violence. With a shattered groan, he came, pulsing deep inside, his body buckling over Merlin’s.
The intensity pulled Merlin over right after. His back arched, a silent scream taut in his neck, as he spilled over his own fingers and the leather seat, his body clamping down hard around Liam’s softening cock.
For a long minute, the only sound was their heaving breaths, fogging the glass even thicker. The world, with its streetlamps and loyalties, seeped slowly back in.
Liam pulled out, the reality of what they’d done crashing down like cold water. He looked at the mess, the proof. Merlin slowly collapsed onto his side, facing the door, his breathing still irregular.
Liam fumbled for his jeans, dragging them up over his sticky skin, his hands trembling. The silence was worse than the noise had been.
Merlin finally spoke, his voice quiet, raw. “She can’t ever know.”
Liam looked at the back of his head, at the vulnerable line of his neck he’d just been mouthing. A profound, sickening shame curdled in his gut, but beneath it, a thrilling, terrifying ember still glowed.
He knew, with a cold certainty, that this wasn’t over. It was just the first crack in the foundation of everything he was supposed to be. He started the car, the engine roaring to life, needing to move, to outrun the moment. The headlights cut two bright paths through the dark, leading nowhere good.