Chapter 1: The Broken Faucet and the Broken Vow
The smell of old incense clung to the apartment, a stale sweetness over the sharper note of lavender dish soap. Merlin hated how quiet it got after sunset, the silence pressing in until he could hear the buzz of the single lamp on the side table. He’d arranged the throw pillows on the worn leather couch three times. The romance novels on the coffee table were stacked just so, next to two empty cans of Monster.
He checked his phone. No messages. He never got any messages.
The drip from the kitchen sink was real, at least. A slow, monotonous plink… plink… plink into the stainless steel basin. He’d let it go for a week, just to make the call believable. His heart was a frantic bird against his ribs as he listened for the knock.
It came, firm and solid. Three raps that echoed in the hollow stillness of the little living room.
Merlin smoothed his shirt, took a breath that did nothing to calm him, and opened the door.
Jimmy stood on the mat, a toolbox in one hand. Late thirties, maybe. Broad in the shoulders, soft in the middle. A wedding band caught the hall light. He had a kind, tired face.
“Merlin? Called about the kitchen sink.”
“Yeah. Come in.”
Jimmy stepped inside, his work boots heavy on the scuffed hardwood. He glanced around, taking in the thrift-store nest, the flickering lamp, the space heater glowing under the couch. His gaze was professional, detached.
“Kitchen’s through there,” Merlin said, pointing a slender hand. He stayed in the living room, listening to the sounds of the man at work: the clank of the toolbox opening, the groan of the cabinet door, the low, thoughtful hum.
Plink… plink… plink… then the sound of twisting metal. The drip stopped.
“Was just the washer,” Jimmy called out. “All fixed. Won’t take but a minute to write up the ticket.”
Merlin’s mouth went dry. This was it. The mundane ritual was over. The safety net of the problem was gone. He walked to the kitchen doorway.
Jimmy was on his knees, packing his wrench away. The fluorescent kitchen light glinted off the silver at his temples. He looked competent, settled. A man who fixed things and then went home.
“That was fast,” Merlin said, his voice thinner than he wanted.
“Easy job.” Jimmy smiled, a quick, polite flash. “Lucky for you.”
Merlin bit his lip. The taste of his own nervousness was coppery. He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing over the kneeling man. The air between them changed, grew thick. Jimmy looked up, question in his eyes.
The move wasn’t graceful. It was pure, desperate physics. Merlin’s fingers, cold and slight, found the worn leather of Jimmy’s belt. They curled around the buckle, not pulling yet, just holding.
Jimmy froze. “Kid, what are you—”
Merlin dropped to his own knees. The linoleum was hard and cold. He didn’t let go of the belt. He leaned in, his heart hammering a brutal rhythm against his sternum, and pressed his mouth to Jimmy’s.
The plumber’s lips were chapped, stunned into immobility. He tasted of spearmint gum and the faint, warm trace of his morning coffee. Merlin kissed him with a hunger that surprised himself, a raw open-mouthed kiss that was all confession. He poured every silent, lonely night of his eighteen years into it.
Jimmy made a sound, a low grunt in the back of his throat. His hands came up, not to push away, but to hover awkwardly at Merlin’s shoulders. The conflict was physical in him; Merlin could feel the tension humming through the man’s thick frame.
Then, something broke. One of Jimmy’s broad hands cupped the back of Merlin’s head, fingers tangling in his dark hair. The kiss deepened, turned hot and searching. The professional detachment shattered, replaced by a hungry, rough response that made Merlin whimper. The taste changed, deepened with the salty tang of sweat and something darker, needier.
Jimmy pulled back, breathing hard. His eyes were wide, dilated. “Christ. You can’t… I’m married.”
“I know,” Merlin whispered, his own breath coming in short gasps. He didn’t let go. His other hand found the hem of Jimmy’s work shirt, fingers slipping beneath to touch the warm, solid skin of his stomach. The feel of that coarse hair under his fingertips sent a jolt straight to his groin.
“This is a fucking bad idea,” Jimmy groaned, but his head dipped again, his mouth finding Merlin’s neck, sucking a bruise into the pale skin there. The scratch of his stung was exquisite.
“Then stop,” Merlin challenged, his voice trembling. He fumbled with the belt buckle, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet kitchen. He got it open, then the button of Jimmy’s jeans, the zip rasping down.
Jimmy didn’t stop. He helped, shoving his own jeans and boxers down over his hips. His cock sprang free, thick and already fully hard, curving upward against his stomach. Merlin stared, a spike of pure awe and lust piercing his fear. He’d never seen one like this, not real, not this close. It was veined and ruddy, the head flushed a deep red.
Without thinking, Merlin leaned forward and licked a hot stripe from base to tip. The skin was silken and hot. Jimmy jerked, a choked curse escaping him.
“Fuck, kid…”
Merlin took him into his mouth. He had little technique, only a desperate willingness. He used his tongue, explored the weight and salt of him, hollowed his cheeks. Jimmy’s hand tightened in his hair, not guiding, just holding on, his hips giving tiny, involuntary thrusts.
“Okay… okay, stop,” Jimmy panted, pulling Merlin up by the shoulders. His eyes were wild. “Not like this. Not on the fucking kitchen floor.”
He stood, pulling Merlin up with him, and dragged him the few feet into the living room. They fell onto the worn couch, the old springs groaning in protest. The floral throw pillowed Merlin’s head. Jimmy was on top of him, heavy and real, his work clothes rough against Merlin’s thinner fabric.
They kissed again, a messy, teeth-clacking battle of tongues. Jimmy yanked Merlin’s shirt over his head, then his own. His chest was solid, a mat of graying hair. He mouthed at a nipple, biting down just enough to make Merlin arch and cry out.
“You got any…?” Jimmy growled into his skin.
“Drawer. Side table.”
Jimmy leaned over, fumbling one-handed. He came back with a small bottle and a condom foil, ripped the packet with his teeth. He slicked himself up, the sound obscene in the quiet room. He pushed Merlin’s jeans and briefs down, his hand wrapping around Merlin’s erection, giving him a few rough, slick pulls that made Merlin’s vision blur.
“You sure?” Jimmy asked, his voice ragged. It was the last gasp of conscience.
“Yes. Please.”
Jimmy positioned himself. The broad, slick head of his cock pressed against Merlin’s entrance. He pushed, and it was a burn, a stretching fullness that was almost too much. Merlin gasped, his nails digging into Jimmy’s back.
“Relax,” Jimmy muttered, but his own control was fraying. He pushed in further, a slow, inexorable invasion. The pain crested, then blurred, transformed into a deep, shocking fullness. Jimmy bottomed out, his hips flush against Merlin’s ass, both of them panting.
For a second, they were frozen. Merlin felt utterly speared, pinned by this married stranger in his shabby apartment. He could feel every inch of him, a hot, relentless presence inside.
Then Jimmy moved.
He withdrew almost all the way and slammed back in. It was a raw, punishing rhythm from the start. No tenderness, just a frantic, driving need. The couch slammed against the wall with each thrust. Thump. Thump. Thump. Merlin wrapped his legs around Jimmy’s waist, taking it, meeting each plunge with a gasp. The friction was electric, lighting up every nerve ending.
“God, you’re tight,” Jimmy grunted, his face buried in Merlin’s neck. “So fucking tight.”
His thrusts became harder, faster, losing any semblance of rhythm. It was just animal need. Merlin could feel his own climax coiling, a tight heat in his gut. He reached between them, jerking himself in time with Jimmy’s brutal pistoning.
Jimmy cursed, a stream of filthy, beautiful words. “Gonna come… fuck, I’m gonna…”
His body locked, a deep, shuddering groan was punched from his lungs. Merlin felt the pulsing throb inside the condom, the final few, jerking thrusts. It triggered his own release, streaks of white painting his stomach and chest in hot spurts as he clenched around Jimmy’s still-hard cock.
The world blurred into sound and sensation. The hum of the space heater. The smell of sex and sweat and lavender soap. The heavy, ragged breaths gusting against his skin.
Jimmy collapsed on him, a dead weight of sweat-damp skin and spent desire. For a minute, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing.
Then Jimmy stirred. He pulled out, the loss making Merlin feel hollow, empty. The plumber sat up on the edge of the couch, his back to Merlin. He disposed of the condom, wiped himself with a corner of the throw, then silently handed the cloth to Merlin.
The silence was different now. Charged, and crumbling into something like shame.
Jimmy dressed quickly, efficiently, not looking at him. He fastened his belt. The clink of the buckle was final.
He stood by the door, toolbox in hand, a man returned to his original shape. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.
“The ticket’s on the counter. Bill gets mailed.”
His voice was flat, the voice of a plumber giving instructions.
Then he left. The door clicked shut, soft and definitive.
Merlin lay on the ruined couch, sticky and aching. The drip from the kitchen sink was gone. The silence was back, deeper and more complete than before. He stared at the water stain on the ceiling, listening to the empty echo of the thump, thump, thump fading from the walls. The only proof it had happened was the dull ache in his body and the faint, fading smell of a stranger on his skin.