Chapter 2: Dangerous Dining
The shame stuck to Liam like a film. For three days, he’d scrubbed at it with routines—work, the gym, too-long showers—but the memory of Merlin’s heat, the choked sounds in the car, refused to dissolve. It lived under his skin, a guilty pulse.
Sunday dinner at Lily’s loft was a tradition. Normally a comfort. Tonight, it felt like an interrogation.
The air was rich with the smell of her roasted chicken and garlic. Strings of warm Edison bulbs glowed against the exposed brick. Lily moved between the open kitchen and the small dining table, a glass of red wine in her hand, her smile easy. Oblivious.
“Merlin, stop picking at the bread and help with the salad,” she said, swatting her brother’s hand away from the basket.
Merlin just grinned, slow and feline. He’d been watching Liam all evening. A steady, unnerving pressure. Every time Liam met his eyes, he saw the backseat, the streetlamp glow on bared skin.
“So, Liam,” Merlin said, leaning back in his chair. “How’s work? Still fixing other people’s leaks?”
Liam took a long drink of water. “It’s fine.”
“Must be satisfying. Getting your hands into tight spaces. Making things work.” Merlin’s tone was all innocence, but his foot, under the long tablecloth, brushed against Liam’s calf.
Liam jerked his leg away. “It’s a job.”
Lily set down the salad bowl, oblivious to the current arcing through the linen. “He’s being modest. He got a promotion last month. More project management.” She kissed the top of Liam’s head as she passed, her scent—vanilla and citrus—a stark contrast to the male sweat he remembered.
“Impressive,” Merlin said. His foot found Liam’s again, this time pressing insistently against his ankle. “Bet you’re good with your hands.”
“Merlin, pour the wine, you creep.” Lily laughed, taking her seat.
As Merlin stood to fetch the bottle, the catastrophe unfolded with a chilling precision. He ‘stumbled,’ his knee buckling dramatically. He fell sideways, not toward the open floor, but directly into Liam’s lap. The full, sudden weight of him landed squarely on Liam’s thighs, his ass grinding down against the growing tightness in Liam’s jeans before Liam could even react.
A harsh gasp caught in Liam’s throat.
Merlin’s hand landed on Liam’s shoulder for balance, fingers digging in. He shifted, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the soft denim of his jeans providing a torturous friction against Liam’s trapped cock, which hardened instantly, traitorously, under the pressure.
“Shit, sorry!” Merlin exclaimed, his voice full of false alarm. But he didn’t get up. He looked over his shoulder, his face mere inches from Liam’s, their breath mixing. His eyes were dark pools of pure, knowing triumph. He held the position for one second, two, grinding down again subtly, a hidden, filthy secret under the tablecloth.
Then, his gaze slid past Liam’s frozen face to Lily. He gave her a wide, apologetic smile. “Clumsy me.”
Lily giggled. “You’re such a mess. Get off him before you break something.”
Merlin pushed himself up, slow and languid, his body dragging against Liam’s arousal one last, devastating time. As he stood, his hip bumped the table, making the glasses tremble. “Crisis averted,” he said, grabbing the wine.
Liam sat rigid, his fists clenched under the table, his face on fire. He couldn’t look at Lily. The betrayal was a physical taste, copper and bile, at the back of his tongue. The rest of the meal passed in a blur of forced laughter and chewing that felt like swallowing gravel. Every glance from Merlin was a brand.
Later, the remains of dinner cleared, Lily yawned, stretching. “I’m wiped. That wine went straight to my head. Merlin, you crashing on the couch?”
“Yeah, if that’s cool,” Merlin said, his eyes on Liam.
“Of course. Liam, you’re staying, right?” Lily leaned into him, her body soft and trusting.
The loft had only one bedroom. The couch was ten feet from the bed, separated by a partial wall. It was a minefield.
“I should head home,” Liam said, the words ash in his mouth.
“Don’t be silly. It’s late.” She kissed him, a deep, slow, wine-sweet kiss. He could feel Merlin watching. He kissed her back, hating himself.
They got ready for bed in the quiet, familiar rhythm. Brushing teeth side-by-side, changing into sweats. Lily climbed under the duvet, snuggling into her pillow. “Love you,” she murmured, already half-asleep.
“Love you too,” Liam whispered. It sounded like a lie.
He turned off the main light, leaving only her bedside lamp on, casting the loft in deep pools of shadow and weak, golden light. He could see the outline of Merlin on the couch, a blanket over his legs, the blue glow of his phone on his face.
Liam lay beside Lily, listening to her breathing even out. He stared at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension, the ghost of Merlin’s weight still on his lap. An hour ticked by. The apartment settled into the deep quiet of the night.
A faint creak.
Then the soft pad of bare feet on hardwood.
Liam’s heart hammered against his ribs. He kept his eyes closed, pretending sleep. The bedroom door, already ajar, swung open another silent inch. A shadow fell across the bed.
He could smell him now—soap and the particular scent of Merlin’s skin. He felt the dip as a knee pressed into the mattress beside his hip.
Lily sighed in her sleep, turning away from them.
Merlin’s hand slipped under the duvet. His fingers, cool and sure, found the waistband of Liam’s sweats. He tugged them down, just enough. Liam’s cock, already hard, sprung free into the cool air. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. This was a dream, a punishment.
Merlin’s mouth was on him a second later, hot and engulfing, no preamble.
A sharp, silent inhale burned Liam’s lungs. His eyes flew open. Merlin was a silhouette in the dim light, head bobbing in Liam’s lap, the blanket from the couch draped over his back like a shroud. The wet sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet room, each suck a potential detonation. Liam could see the curve of Lily’s shoulder, bare and trusting, inches away.
He tangled a hand in Merlin’s hair, not to pull him off, but to hold on, to guide the devastating rhythm. Pleasure and terror twisted together in his gut, a nauseating helix. He was fucking up into that eager mouth, the duvet moving, the bed creaking softly.
Merlin pulled off with a slick pop. He leaned up, his lips at Liam’s ear. “Need you to fuck me,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “Now. While she’s here.”
“You’re insane,” Liam hissed back, but his body was already shifting, betraying him.
“You want to.” Merlin’s hand wrapped around Liam’s length, stroking slowly, defiantly. “You’re so hard for it. For this.”
He was right. The danger was an aphrodisiac, fatal and irresistible. Merlin slid off the bed, pulling Liam by the hand. Liam followed, a man sleepwalking to his own execution. They moved to the floor, on the far side of the bed, a feeble barrier of wood and mattress between them and Lily.
Merlin was already on his hands and knees, his sweats shoved down around his thighs. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression savage with need. “Do it. Like in the car. Hard.”
Liam spat into his palm, wet himself, and positioned himself. He pushed inside in one brutal thrust, his hand clamping over Merlin’s mouth to stifle the cry. The tight, clutching heat was just as he remembered, but the context made it feel new, more vile, more electric.
He set a ruthless pace, each drive forward muffled by the carpet, each pull back a symphony of wet, flesh sounds. Merlin pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, his own cock swaying, hard and leaking. Liam’s hand stayed clamped over his mouth, feeling the vibrations of his moans, the hot panting against his palm.
Lily stirred in the bed above them.
Both men froze, Liam buried deep, Merlin trembling beneath him. They listened to the rustle of sheets, her soft, sleepy murmur. She settled.
The pause made it worse. The imminent threat coiled their arousal tighter. Liam began moving again, slower now, deeper, each inward grind calculated to wring sensation from silence. He leaned over Merlin’s back, his lips against the kid’s ear. “You like this?” he whispered, venom and desire mingling. “You like me fucking you while she sleeps ten feet away?”
Merlin could only nod, a frantic jerk of his head, his eyes squeezed shut.
Liam’s climax built, a storm surge at the base of his spine. He fucked into Merlin with a final, desperate fury, his orgasm ripping through him silent and violent. He spilled inside, pulses of warm release, his forehead dropping between Merlin’s shoulder blades as he shuddered.
A moment later, Merlin’s body went taut beneath him, his own climax hitting in silent, convulsive waves, his seed painting the carpet below.
The aftermath was a cold, sucking void.
Liam pulled out, the physical separation a shock. He yanked his sweats up, the wet spot inside a disgusting confession. Merlin stayed on the floor for a second, then pulled his own clothes up, wiping his hand on the carpet.
They didn’t look at each other. The only sound was Lily’s steady, peaceful breathing from the bed.
Merlin crept back to the couch, a ghost returning to its post.
Liam stood on shaking legs, then slipped into the bathroom. He locked the door and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was pale, haunted. He could still feel the phantom grip of Merlin’s body, the terror of Lily’s nearness.
He splashed cold water on his face, but it didn’t help. The contamination was internal. He had crossed a line from which there was no conceivable return. The loft, once a sanctuary, was now a crime scene. And the evidence was in the quiet dark, in the tangled sheets where his girlfriend slept, and in the predatory calm of the boy on the couch who now owned a fundamental piece of him.
He had to go back to bed. He had to lie down beside Lily and pretend to sleep. The thought made his stomach clench. He turned off the bathroom light and opened the door, stepping back into the silent, waiting dark.