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Arthur sits in the silent changing room, his head in his hands. Disgraced. Humiliated. Confused.
He hadn’t meant to lose his temper. But before he knew it he’d seen red and now his team are going to lose against their biggest rivals.
He glances up as he hears the slow creaking of the changing room door.
No doubt it’s someone who’s going to bollock him, or sympathise with him. Hopefully it’s the former, he couldn’t bear the latter.
Turns out it’s neither, as a dark-haired man slips into the room.
Arthur huffs.
“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?”
“They subbed me off after well… you know.”
“Come to gloat about it then, have you?”
Merlin shrugs.
“Not really.”
Merlin Emrys, plays for Ealdor City; Camelot United’s biggest rivals. The two of them have met a few times over the years, and the tension between them is always electric. Even now in the pits of despair, Arthur can feel that pull between them.
Merlin sits down next to him.
“It’ll be alright you know—”
This is the worst, He doesn’t want Merlin’s pity.
“Fuck off,” he snarls.
Merlin reaches out, putting his hand on Arthur’s thigh and something in Arthur snaps. He turns on Merlin, pinning both his arms against the wall as he leans over him.
He’s about to speak when he sees how large Merlin’s eyes are, Merlin’s throat bobs.
But it only angers Arthur further.
He hates this about himself. He hates his weakness. He hates that he’s attracted to this man—always men—when he should be normal like the other players with some kind of overly glammed-up woman on his arm.
But he can’t bring himself to do it.
Instead his team thinks he’s immensely private. And he is. Because he has to be.
And he hates how Merlin reminds him of that.
They’re not even a thing. They hook up. That’s it.
It can’t go anywhere. It can’t never go anywhere.
He yanks Merlin to his feet, swinging him around to shove him against another wall, pressing him against it.
“Why can’t you leave me the fuck alone?” Arthur growls.
“Because I don’t want you to be lonely!” Merlin snaps back, his face angry-sad.
It’s enough to make Arthur want to kiss the look off his face.
“Stop,” he says, punctuating each word with a bruising kiss, “feeling— sorry— for me!”
Merlin grips Arthur’s hair, pulling him closer for a deeper kiss.
They shouldn’t be doing this. Someone could walk in any minute. But as Merlin’s tongue snakes into Arthur’s mouth he gives in.
He glances around and tugs on Merlin’s wrist, leading him into the nearby shower room, where at least they’re out of view.
Once inside it’s Merlin who’s pushing him against the wall, his breathing shallow, eyelashes fluttering. And God if that does things to Arthur.
“We can’t be doing this,” he groans, his eyes shut. “Not here. Not now.”
“There’s still another fifteen minutes, it’s fine,” Merlin gasps.
He drops down on his knees, his long, lean fingers grip the waistband of Arthur’s shorts. Arthur’s already shirtless and barefoot, having thrown his shirt, socks and boots in a rage when he came in.
Arthur swallows as Merlin tugs down his shorts.
He should stop him. All of his instincts are screaming at him.
But he doesn’t.
This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. The fans would kill them if they ever found out. Not necessarily even for being gay. More for daring to fraternize with the enemy.
But Arthur’s so tired of denying himself what he wants.
When his cock comes free and Merlin’s breath ghosts over it, all Arthur’s thoughts cease.
Merlin kisses along the length of him. It’s silly but sweet and strangely tender.
As Merlin’s tongue starts to swirl around the head, Arthur chokes on his own breath. It's been a while. But this is always good. A part of him thinks the fact that it’s so verboten makes it even better.
Merlin starts to bob his head, taking Arthur further and further into his mouth.
Arthur’s head thuds back against the tiled wall. He slides his hand into Merlin’s hair, the strands soft to his touch.
He guides Merlin, encouraging him to go faster. They don’t have time to draw this out.
Merlin obliges, using a hand as well as his mouth to spur Arthur along.
It won’t take long. Arthur’s too worked up. It’s been ages since he’s known a touch other than his own. The last time was with Merlin, when playing away in Ealdor. They’d bumped into each other at a restaurant.
His hips buck helplessly into Merlin’s mouth, forcing his cock deeper and deeper, Merlin chokes for a moment before adapting to the increasing erratic rhythm.
Arthur pushes harder and deeper, it feels good to be able to take his frustrations out on someone. He knows he was going to catch hell for his behaviour today and fuck Merlin for coming and trying to make him feel better about it.
Merlin chokes again as Arthur holds him in place, unmoving, watching as Merlin’s eyes widen and water. A surge of lust and power flows through him, loving that Merlin is letting him do this. Heat pools deep and Arthur starts to throb. He holds Merlin’s head and fucks his mouth, thrusting and thrusting until his vision whitens.
Arthur gasps out his release.
When he blinks back into reality Arthur looks down at Merlin, still breathless. He wishes he could say all the things his heart wants to say. He wants to ask Merlin to stay. To be with him properly. To build a life together. But the words won’t come.
His cock slips from Merlin’s lips and he gets to his feet, pushing a keycard into Arthur’s hand, as he hurries to adjust himself.
In the quiet room a look of longing passes between them.
“We’re staying at the Royal Hotel,” Merlin says, his voice hoarse. “I'm in room 439.”