Chapter 1: Whispers in the Dark: A Confession Against Glass
The rain had softened to a mist, a fine spray that haloed the single working streetlight at the edge of the lot. It caught in Merlin’s lashes as he stared out through the windshield, the world beyond reduced to a blur of dark shapes and the ghostly white screen of the abandoned drive-in. Cracked asphalt, endless puddles, weeds pushing through every fissure. The place smelled of wet decay and, inside the car, of warm leather and the strawberry lip balm Merlin had applied ten minutes ago.
He turned his head from the window, the seat creaking under him. Jacob was a silhouette against the driver’s side window, his profile sharp in the faint green glow of the dashboard lights. He wasn’t looking at Merlin. He was staring straight ahead, both hands on the wheel at ten and two, as if they were still moving at seventy miles an hour instead of parked in this silent, sodden graveyard.
“It’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?” Merlin said, his voice too loud in the sealed space.
Jacob’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. “It’s a dump.”
“No, I mean…private. No one’s coming out here.” Merlin reached over, his fingers brushing the back of Jacob’s hand on the steering wheel. The skin was warm, dry. Jacob didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn his hand over to clasp Merlin’s either. The silence stretched, filled only by the soft patter of rain on the roof.
Merlin traced the lines of Jacob’s tendons, up to the cuff of his flannel shirt. He’d been thinking about this all week, about the weight of Jacob’s body, the particular smell of his neck, the low rumble of his voice when he was tired. The thinking had become a physical ache, a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with want.
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a loud click. The mechanism retracted, slapping against the door.
Jacob finally moved, a slight turn of his head. “What are you doing?”
“It’s uncomfortable.” Merlin shifted in the seat, facing him. He drew his knees up, his sneakers pressing into the worn leather. “We’re just sitting here.”
“We’re talking.”
“We’re not talking. You’re staring at a blank movie screen and I’m…” He let his sentence fade, reaching out again. This time he cupped Jacob’s jaw, his thumb stroking the rough stubble along the edge. Jacob’s breath hitched, a short, sharp intake. “I’m here. With you.”
Jacob closed his eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw under Merlin’s palm. “Merlin…”
“You drove us all the way out here.” Merlin’s voice dropped to a whisper. He leaned in, close enough to see the flecks of amber in Jacob’s brown irises when his eyes opened. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him. “Was it just for the scenery?”
The air in the car changed. The windows were beginning to fog at the edges, the world outside softening into irrelevance. The scent of leather deepened, mixed now with the clean sweat of Jacob’s skin and something else, something electric and sweet.
Jacob’s hand left the wheel. It came up, large and rough, and covered Merlin’s hand where it rested against his face. He held it there, pressing Merlin’s palm harder against his cheekbone, a silent, desperate affirmation. Then his other hand was in Merlin’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark curls, pulling him in.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a collision of hunger, weeks of sidelong glances and brushed hands and doorways lingered in, finally given form. Jacob’s mouth was hot, demanding. Merlin melted into it, a soft sound escaping his throat as he pushed closer, knee knocking against the gear shift. He tasted of coffee and a faint, metallic tension.
Jacob broke the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against Merlin’s. “We shouldn’t,” he murmured, but his hands were moving, one down the line of Merlin’s spine, the other still gripping his hair.
“Why?” Merlin breathed, skimming his lips along Jacob’s jaw, down the column of his throat. He felt the jump of Jacob’s pulse against his mouth. “There’s no one. It’s just us.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then what?” Merlin pulled back just enough to look at him. Jacob’s eyes were dark, the pupils wide. The dash lights caught the flush high on his cheeks. “You don’t want me?”
Jacob made a sound, half groan, half laugh, raw and pained. “You know I do. Christ, Merlin.” His grip tightened. “That’s the problem.”
“It’s not a problem.” Merlin shifted, climbing over the center console with an awkward, graceless urgency. He straddled Jacob’s lap in the driver’s seat, the steering wheel pressing into his back. The position was cramped, ridiculous, perfect. He framed Jacob’s face with both hands. “Look at me. Just look at me.”
Jacob did. His gaze roamed over Merlin’s features—the too-wide eyes, the mouth still swollen from kissing, the youthful arch of his brows. A war played out on his face, desire warring with a deeper, more ingrained restraint. The car windows were fully fogged now, a private cocoon in the rainy dark.
Merlin leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time, more deliberate. He rolled his hips, a deliberate, grinding pressure, and felt Jacob harden beneath him. Jacob’s hands flew to his hips, fingers digging in through the denim, holding him steady, holding him close.
“Merlin,” Jacob gasped against his lips. “You have to…you have to know what you’re doing.”
“I know.” Merlin kissed his chin, the corner of his mouth. “I’m not a child.”
“You are.” Jacob’s voice was thick. “You’re eighteen. You’re a kid.”
Merlin drew back, a flare of frustration cutting through the haze of want. “Stop saying that. I’m here. I’m with you.” He took Jacob’s hand from his hip and guided it under the hem of his t-shirt, pressing the calloused palm flat against the bare skin of his stomach. Jacob’s touch was fire. Merlin shuddered. “Do you feel that? That’s real. I’m real.”
Jacob’s control snapped.
In one fluid, violent motion, he shifted, unlocking his seat and shoving it back as far as it would go on its rusty tracks. The sudden space tilted Merlin backwards, but Jacob’s arms were around him, hauling him forward, crushing him against his chest. The kiss was all teeth and tongues and shared, ragged breath. Jacob’s hands were everywhere—under Merlin’s shirt, pushing it up, mapping the lines of his ribs, the dip of his spine.
Merlin fumbled with the buttons of Jacob’s flannel, his fingers clumsy. He got it open, pushed it off his shoulders. The worn cotton of Jacob’s own t-shirt beneath was damp with sweat. Merlin buried his face in the hollow of Jacob’s neck, breathing him in, salt and skin and him.
“Please,” Merlin whispered, the word muffled against Jacob’s skin. It wasn’t a question. It was a final, whispered surrender. He lifted his head, his lips brushing the shell of Jacob’s ear. His voice dropped to a breath, a secret just for them in their warm, fogged-glass world. “Please, Daddy.”
The word hung in the steamy air.
Jacob went utterly still. The only sound was their breathing, harsh and loud in the confined space. Then, a low, visceral growl ripped from his throat. His hands, which had been roaming Merlin’s back, stilled. Then they tightened, possessive and definitive.
“Okay,” he said, the single word rough, final. “Okay.”
He moved. It was not gentle. He manhandled Merlin off his lap, back into the passenger seat with a thump. For a terrifying second, Merlin thought he’d gone too far, said the wrong thing, broken the fragile spell. But Jacob was already out of the car, the door flying open with a screech of protesting metal.
The cold, wet night air rushed in, a shock against Merlin’s feverish skin. He watched, heart hammering against his ribs, as Jacob stalked around the front of the car, his figure cutting through the mist under the lone streetlight. His expression was unreadable, carved from shadow and resolve.
The passenger door wrenched open.
Jacob stood there, rain matting his hair to his forehead, his eyes gleaming with a dark, terrifying heat. He leaned in, his arms caging Merlin in the seat.
“Get in the back,” he said, his voice a low command that brooked no argument. It wasn’t Jacob anymore. It was something else, something unleashed.
Merlin scrambled, his earlier confidence replaced by a thrilling, liquid fear. He climbed awkwardly over the console again, collapsing into the dim cavern of the backseat. The old springs groaned under his weight.
Jacob followed, filling the space, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid, final thud that sealed them in. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the drumming rain, the fogged windows, and the two of them in the dark.
He loomed over Merlin, one knee planted on the seat beside his hip, one hand braced against the roof. He was breathing hard, just looking, his gaze a physical weight.
Merlin looked up, his chest tight. The playful flirt was gone, burned away by the intensity of Jacob’s stare. He’d asked for this. He’d wanted the pretense stripped away. Now, faced with the raw reality of it, a shiver of pure adrenaline coursed through him.
Jacob saw it. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips, one Merlin had never seen before. He leaned down, until his mouth was a whisper from Merlin’s.
“You asked nicely,” he murmured, the words a dark promise. “Now lie back.”