Chapter 1: Forbidden Fruit: A Birthday Temptation
The floorboard under Merlin’s bare foot groaned, a sound like a ship breaking apart in the dead of night. He froze, heart hammering against his ribs, listening. The only other noise was the shallow, rhythmic breathing coming from the guest bed.
Jack was spread out on his back, one arm thrown over his forehead, the other resting palm-up on the rumpled sheet beside him. The single lamp on the nightstand painted him in gold and deep shadow, highlighting the dense hair on his chest, the line of it trailing down past his navel. The sheet was pooled low around his hips, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
Merlin’s throat went dry. He’d seen his uncle shirtless before, by the lake in summer, but that was different. That was sunlight and noise and distance. This was silence and lamplight and three feet of charged air.
Jack’s cock lay thick and heavy against his thigh, half-hard even in sleep. It was a profound, undeniable fact in the quiet room. The head was flushed a dark pink, peeking out from a loose fold of skin. Merlin couldn’t look away. His own body tightened in response, a low heat gathering in his gut.
He took another step. The scent of it all hit him—old paper from the bookshelves, Jack’s clean sweat, the spicy hint of his cologne. It was the smell of a man. Merlin’s knuckles brushed the rough wool of the blanket at the foot of the bed.
Jack’s breathing hitched. His eyelids fluttered.
Mervin’s blood turned to ice. He should run. Now.
But he didn’t. He stood there, exposed, as Jack’s eyes opened. They weren’t foggy with sleep. They were clear, dark, and immediately fixed on him. For a long, endless moment, neither of them moved or spoke. The world shrunk to the space between them, to the truth of where Merlin was standing and what he was staring at.
“Merlin.” Jack’s voice was a sleep-roughened scrape.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Merlin whispered. The lie was pathetic.
Jack didn’t call him on it. He just watched, his chest rising and falling a little faster. His hand, the one on the sheet, flexed. The fingers curled. “You should go back to your room.”
“I know.”
He didn’t go. His gaze dragged back down Jack’s body, a physical touch. This time, he saw the twitch. A full, jerking movement that made Jack’s cock swell, thickening and beginning to rise against his thigh. Merlin’s mouth watered.
“Jesus Christ, kid,” Jack breathed, but it wasn’t anger. It was a surrender.
“I’m not a kid.” The words came out stronger than he felt.
“No.” Jack’s jaw tightened. “You’re really not.”
That was all the permission Merlin needed. He crossed the final distance, his knees hitting the side of the mattress. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and brushed the back of his hand against the hot, velvety skin of Jack’s shaft.
Jack hissed, a sharp intake of breath. His hips rolled up, pushing himself into the touch. “Fuck.”
The sound of that word, raw and wrecked, unleashed something in Merlin. He wrapped his hand around Jack, and the feel of it—the solid weight, the heat, the smooth skin over steel—made him dizzy. He squeezed, experimentally.
“Like that?” he murmured, more to himself than to Jack.
“Yeah. Just like that.” Jack’s hand came up, fumbling, to cover Merlin’s, showing him a harder, firmer rhythm. “Tighter. You won’t break it.”
Merlin obeyed, pumping him, watching in fascinated horror and delight as the head emerged fully, wet and shining. He used his thumb, smearing the bead of moisture around the sensitive rim the way he’d done to himself a thousand times in the dark. Jack groaned, a deep, broken sound from the pit of his stomach.
“Come here,” Jack growled, pulling at Merlin’s wrist. “Don’t just stand there. Get on the bed.”
Merlin climbed onto the mattress, his body thrumming with a terrified excitement. Jack manhandled him, rough and sure, until Merlin was straddling his thighs, still fully clothed, looking down at him. Jack’s hands went to the waistband of Merlin’s pajama bottoms, yanking them down over his hips in one impatient move.
The cool air hit Merlin’s own hard cock, and then Jack’s warm, calloused hand was around them both, squeezing them together.
“Oh, god.” Merlin choked, buckling forward, bracing his hands on Jack’s solid chest. The sensation was unbelievable—the slide of his own length against Jack’s thicker one, the friction, the intimate heat. Jack’s hand worked them, his grip perfect, his thumb rubbing over both of their slick heads with every upward stroke.
“Look at that,” Jack gritted out, his eyes burning up at Merlin. “Look at us.”
Merlin looked. The sight of their cocks pressed together, his paler and leaner against Jack’s ruddy fullness, was the most obscenely beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He rocked his hips, fucking into Jack’s fist, losing himself in the rhythm.
“I’m gonna come,” he gasped, warning, embarrassed it was already happening.
“Do it. Come all over me.”
The command undid him. Merlin’s whole body seized, a white-hot wire of pleasure tightening from his balls to the base of his skull. He cried out, sharp and loud in the quiet room, as stripes of hot release shot onto Jack’s stomach and chest, splattering over his own hand and cock.
Jack didn’t stop. He kept stroking, faster now, using Merlin’s come as slick. His eyes were wild, locked on Merlin’s. “You feel that?” he panted. “You feel what you do to me?”
Merlin, boneless and shivering, watched as Jack’s body arched off the bed. A thick, guttural sound tore from his throat, and he came, pulsing over his own fist, adding to the mess on his skin. It went on and on, a heavy, wet rush that left him trembling.
Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breathing. The smell of sex, sharp and musky, filled the room. Merlin slowly slid off to the side, collapsing onto the cool sheet, staring at the ceiling. His mind was a blank, whirring static.
After a minute, Jack got up without a word. He walked, naked and spent, to the connected bathroom. Merlin heard the faucet run, the sound of water on a cloth. He came back and sat on the edge of the bed. Gently, he began to clean Merlin’s stomach with a warm, damp towel.
Merlin flinched at the touch, then relaxed into it. His eyes stung. He didn’t know what this was. What happened now.
Jack finished and tossed the towel toward the bathroom door. He didn’t lie back down. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head bowed. The broad landscape of his back was tense.
“That can’t happen again,” he said, his voice flat and final.
Merlin turned his head on the pillow to look at him. The lamplight caught the sheen of sweat still on Jack’s shoulders. He knew he should agree. He should say it was a mistake, get up, and never speak of it.
But all he could taste was the salt of his own sweat on his lips, and all he could feel was the ghost of Jack’s hand on him.
He said nothing. The unsaid thing hung between them, heavier than before.
The unsaid thing hung between them, heavier than before.
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. Merlin watched the muscles in Jack’s back knot and release. He could feel the distance widening with every second, a chasm opening up on the rumpled sheets between them. This was it. A shameful, one-time fracture in their normal world. He started to sit up, the sticky chill on his skin now feeling like a brand.
Jack stood abruptly. The floorboard creaked under his weight. He walked to the window, staring out at the black nothing, his naked body a silhouette of tense lines. “You should go,” he said, but his voice lacked the finality it had held moments ago. It sounded frayed.
Merlin’s feet found the floor. He pulled his pajamas up, the fabric clinging uncomfortably. He felt young again, foolish. The brave, curious person who had crossed the hallway was gone. “Right,” he muttered.
He was at the door, his hand on the cool brass knob, when Jack spoke again.
“Wait.”
Merlin turned. Jack was already facing him. The lamplight carved the desperation plain on his face. All the quiet intensity had burned away, leaving something raw and exposed.
“Fuck it,” Jack breathed, the words a dry crackle. “Fuck all of it.”
He crossed the room in three long strides. His hands came up, not gentle this time, framing Merlin’s face, tilting it up. The kiss was nothing like before. It was a claim. Hot, open-mouthed, and hungry, all tongue and teeth and a low groan that vibrated through Merlin’s entire skeleton. The taste of him—whiskey and salt and man—was overwhelming.
Merlin melted into it, a sound of pure relief catching in his own throat. His hands flew to Jack’s waist, digging into the solid flesh of his hips.
Jack broke the kiss, panting. His eyes were black, pupils swallowing the hazel. “You sure?” he demanded, his thumbs rough on Merlin’s cheeks. “This is the last off-ramp. After this, there’s no pretending.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Merlin heard himself say, and it was the truth.
A savage grin touched Jack’s mouth. “Then get your ass back on that bed.”
He didn’t wait. He pushed Merlin backward, guiding him until his knees hit the mattress and he fell onto it. Jack followed him down, a wall of heat and weight. This wasn’t tentative exploration. This was a taking.
Jack’s mouth was everywhere—on his neck, sucking a mark that was going to bruise, biting his collarbone, lapping at his nipple until Merlin arched off the bed with a cry. He shoved the pajama pants down Merlin’s legs and tossed them aside. His own hand wrapped around Merlin’s re-hardened cock, stroking with a brutal, knowing efficiency.
“You like that? You like your uncle’s hands on you?”
“Yes,” Merlin gasped. “God, yes.”
“Tell me what you want.” Jack’s voice was a rough whisper against his ear. His other hand slid down, over Merlin’s stomach, fingers trailing through the mess they’d made earlier. He didn’t stop at his cock. He went lower, pressing against the tight pucker of his asshole.
Merlin’s whole body clenched. He’d never… He’d thought about it, in the vague, hazy way he thought about all of it, but never so specifically, never with the imminent, terrifying possibility.
“Jack, I…”
“I know,” Jack soothed, but his finger kept circling, insistent. “I’ll make it good for you. But I need to hear you say it. I need you filthy for me.”
The command, the dirty request, unraveled the last of Merlin’s hesitation. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, then louder, his voice breaking. “I want you inside me. Please.”
Jack groaned, a sound of pure triumph. He leaned over, fumbling in the nightstand drawer. The rattle of a bottle. The snick of a cap. When his wet, cool fingers returned, they were slick with lube. He kissed Merlin deeply as one finger pressed, slowly, inexorably, past the tight ring of muscle.
Merlin gasped into his mouth. It was a strange, burning fullness. Jack worked his finger, shallow at first, then deeper, curling it. A bolt of shocking pleasure shot up Merlin’s spine.
“There?” Jack murmured.
“Oh, fuck. Yeah. Right there.”
A second finger joined the first, stretching him wider. The burn intensified, then faded into a deep, throbbing ache of readiness. Jack scissored them, his eyes locked on Merlin’s face, watching every wince, every shudder of pleasure.
“Can’t wait,” Jack gritted out. He pulled his fingers free. Merlin heard him slick himself up, the wet, rhythmic sound obscenely loud. Then Jack’s hands were on his hips, hauling him up, dragging him onto his lap as Jack sat back against the headboard.
Merlin straddled him, facing him. Their eyes met. The moment hung, suspended. The air was thick with the smell of sex and sweat and their shared, terrible decision.
“You guide it,” Jack said, his voice strained. “You take what you need. Slow.”
Merlin reached between them, his hand trembling. He took Jack’s thick, solid cock in his hand, the head slick and swollen. He positioned it, the blunt pressure so much more than his fingers. He sank down, an inch, and the world whitened out. A sharp, tearing pain.
“Breathe,” Jack commanded, his own breath hitching. His hands steadied Merlin’s hips. “Just breathe through it, baby.”
The endearment, so unexpected, did something to Merlin. He relaxed, exhaling a shaky stream of air. He sank down another inch, then another, the burn a live wire, the fullness beyond comprehension. He bottomed out, Jack’s hips meeting his ass, and they both cried out.
For a second, neither moved. Merlin was split open, impaled, utterly full. He could feel every frantic beat of Jack’s pulse inside him.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Jack rasped. “So fucking tight.” He leaned forward, capturing Merlin’s mouth in a searing kiss. “Now move.”
Merlin rose up, the drag exquisite agony, and sank back down. A jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure seared through the pain. He did it again. And again. Finding a rhythm, a clumsy, desperate piston motion. Jack’s hands gripped his ass, kneading the flesh, pulling him down harder, guiding him.
“That’s it. Ride me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
The filthy words spurred Merlin on. He moved faster, the headboard knocking a dull thud against the wall with every drive downwards. The pain was gone, replaced by a building, coiling tension so intense it felt like panic. Jack’s thumb found his nipple, pinching and twisting. The dual sensation—the deep, internal friction and the sharp, bright pain—sent him spiraling.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice a ragged mess.
“Do it. Come all over me. Let me feel you come apart inside.”
Jack’s own movements became jerky, frantic. He thrust upwards, meeting Merlin’s descents, pounding into him. The slap of skin on skin filled the room.
It was the helpless, wanton look on Jack’s face—the complete loss of control—that finally pushed Merlin over the edge. His orgasm tore through him, violent and silent for a second before a broken shout was ripped from his throat. His cock jerked, spilling hot stripes across Jack’s stomach and chest as his inner muscles clamped down in rhythmic pulses.
The sensation of Merlin tightening around him was Jack’s undoing. His head slammed back against the headboard, a raw, guttural shout erupting from his chest as he emptied himself deep inside Merlin in long, hot pulses.
The spasms seemed to go on forever. Merlin collapsed forward, boneless, his face buried in the sweat-damp crook of Jack’s neck. He could feel the wet heat leaking out of him, onto Jack’s thighs. They sat there, joined, breathing in shattered, synchronized gasps.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The amber glow of the lamp. The distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs. The heavy, spent weight of Jack inside him.
Jack’s arms came up, wrapping around Merlin’s back. Not pushing him away. Holding him there. His lips brushed Merlin’s temple.
No one moved. The words ‘can’t happen again’ were ashes in the air, meaningless. They had burned the off-ramp down behind them. There was only this room, this bed, this terrifying new gravity that held them together.
Merlin closed his eyes. He didn’t know what happened now. He only knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his ravaged bones, that nothing would ever be the same.
He only knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his ravaged bones, that nothing would ever be the same.
The sweat on their skin cooled, becoming a sticky, intimate glue. Jack was still inside him, softening, but present. A final, undeniable tether. Merlin didn’t want to move. Moving would mean acknowledging the outside world, the hallway, the dawn, the consequences. Here, in this lamplit cave of rumpled sheets, there was only the hammering of two hearts slowing into sync.
Jack’s hand, broad and rough, swept slowly up the length of Merlin’s spine. The touch wasn’t lustful. It was measuring. As if tracing the contours of a decision he couldn’t take back.
“You okay?” Jack’s voice was wrecked, gravel and smoke.
Merlin nodded against his neck. The words were stuck. Okay didn’t touch it. He was unspun. Remade.
With a final, tender brush of his lips against Merlin’s temple, Jack shifted. He slipped out, and Merlin felt the loss immediately, a hollow, damp ache. Jack didn’t pull away. He reached for the discarded towel, now cold, and cleaned himself with a few efficient swipes before gently turning Merlin onto his side and tending to him. The care in the act was almost more shocking than the fucking had been.
“We should sleep,” Jack said, but he made no move to turn off the lamp or retrieve the discarded sheet from the floor. He just lay back, pulling Merlin with him, arranging him so Merlin’s back was against his chest, his front a wall of heat against Merlin’s spine. An arm snaked around his waist, possessive and solid.
Merlin stared at the plaster wall, its imperfections lit in the amber gloom. His mind, which should have been screaming, was quiet. Sated. He drifted in the warm, sweaty scent of Jack, in the safe cage of his arms.
He must have slept.
He woke to a different touch. Jack’s hand was no longer resting on his stomach. It was moving. Slowly, deliberately, fingertips tracing the line of his hip, dipping into the hollow beside his pelvic bone. Merlin held his breath. Behind him, Jack was awake. He could feel the alert tension in the body pressed against him, the hard heat already nudging at the base of his spine.
Jack’s mouth found the sensitive spot behind his ear. “You’re still here,” he murmured, not a question. A dark, gratified observation.
“Where else would I be?”
A low rumble of a laugh vibrated through him. Jack’s hand slid lower, palming Merlin’s cock, which was already filling under his touch. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
“You made me this way.”
The words hung in the air, a challenge and an accusation. Jack’s grip tightened. In one fluid, powerful motion, he rolled Merlin onto his stomach. The air left Merlin’s lungs in a whoosh. Before he could even process it, Jack was over him, knees nudging his legs apart, his full weight pinning Merlin down into the mattress.
“Jack—”
“Shut up.” The command was hot against his shoulder. Jack’s hand smoothed down the curve of his back, not a caress, a claiming. It settled on his ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “You want more? You get it my way this time.”
Merlin turned his head to the side, his cheek against the rough cotton sheet. He could only nod, a frantic little movement.
He heard the snick of the lube bottle again. This time, there was no gentle preparation. Jack’s fingers, slick and insistent, pressed against him, pushing one, then two inside with a brutal efficiency that made Merlin gasp and claw at the sheets. It burned, a bright, sharp stretch.
“You can take it,” Jack growled, curling his fingers, scissoring him open. “I felt you. You’re open. You’re ready for me.”
He was. The pain flared and then dissolved into a deep, throbbing readiness. Merlin pushed back against his hand, a silent plea.
Jack withdrew his fingers. The blunt, slick head of his cock pressed where they had been. He didn’t ask. He didn’t guide Merlin. He just held Merlin’s hips locked in a vice grip and pushed.
It was slower than last time, but infinitely more deliberate. An inexorable, conquering invasion. Merlin cried out, the sound muffled by the mattress. It was too much. It was everything. Jack seated himself to the hilt with a final, grinding thrust that forced a broken sob from Merlin’s throat.
“Fuck,” Jack breathed, shuddering. “Christ, that’s it.”
He didn’t wait. He pulled back and slammed home.
The rhythm was punishing. Jack fucked him with a raw, focused intensity, each drive punching the air from Merlin’s lungs, scraping pleasure from his very nerves. The bedframe crashed against the wall in a frantic, unstable tempo. Jack’s breaths were ragged gusts against his neck.
“This what you wanted?” Jack gritted out, his voice strained. “This what you crept in here for? To get split open on your uncle’s cock?”
“Yes!” Merlin screamed it into the sheet. It was a truth stripped bare, ugly and glorious.
“Tell me.” Jack’s hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head back, arching his spine. “Tell me what I’m doing to you.”
“You’re fucking me,” Merlin choked, each word jolted out of him by the relentless pounding. “You’re fucking me so hard. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Jack’s thrusts became wilder, less controlled. His grip on Merlin’s hip was sure to leave fingerprints. The slap of skin was obscenely loud, a frantic beat underscoring their ragged moans. Merlin felt himself coiling again, the pressure building from a place deep inside that Jack was hammering with pinpoint accuracy.
“I’m gonna come,” he whimpered. “Jack, I’m gonna—”
“Come then,” Jack snarled. “Come all over the sheets. Make a mess. I wanna feel you lose it while I’m buried in you.”
The permission, the filthy command, tipped him over. Merlin’s orgasm ripped through him, violent and convulsing. He shouted, his body seizing as he spilled onto the sheets beneath him, the pulses wracking him, squeezing around Jack’s driving cock.
Jack swore, a long, low stream of profanity. He pistoned into him twice, three more times, then slammed deep and held, his body bowing over Merlin’s as a hoarse cry was torn from his throat. Merlin felt the hot, urgent flood inside him, a claiming more profound than any words.
Collapse. A weight. The desperate gasping for air. Jack’s body slumped over his, heavy and spent. For a long time, there was only the sound of their breathing, the frantic drumbeat in their ears slowing to a weary thud.
Slowly, carefully, Jack rolled off. The cool air hit Merlin’s wet back. He didn’t move. He felt ruined. Beautifully, perfectly ruined.
Jack’s hand found his, their fingers tangling on the soaked sheet. The lamp still burned, a silent witness. The first grey hint of dawn sketched the edges of the window blind.
Outside, a bird began to sing.