Warnings: Angst, Infidelity, Age difference, Underage (Merlin is 16)
Prompt: "Arthur has the perfect life; a loving wife and two beautiful kids. The only problem is that he likes to fuck his sixteen years old son's best friend."
Notes: AU! The title comes from the Hunchback of Notre Dame Disney song 'Hellfire': "It's not my fault/if in God's plan/He made the devil so much stronger than a Man." If deleted, you will be able to find this on my livejournal under the same pen name.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin *Sobs* the BBC does. And the song belongs to whoever wrote it and Disney probably.
Arthur Pendragon has the perfect life. His wife is simply beautiful, a model of feminine grace and poise, kind and personable, a devoted mother and wife. He has fathered two wonderful kids; his first is a son, Kay they called him. Popular, handsome, athletic with a good work ethic and strong morals – he is a picture of a modern teenager hurtling towards a bright and successful future. His second is a daughter; Ygraine (named after his deceased mother) is lovely girl with a creative flair and an even temperament, the epitome of loyalty and honesty with consistently high grades. She too has a full life awaiting her, with prospects in the best universities in England. His job is invigorating and explorative into human nature and pays him well. He lives a life of luxury. His family want for nothing and yet are not spoiled. He is surrounded by tasteful opulence and open love and comfort and a peace he had not known before he settled down and procreated.
There is only one flaw in his pretty picture, a dastardly, scandalous, oh so deliciously wrong flaw. A temptress in the dark that beguiles him and lures him into something depraved, something wonderful.
His sixteen year old sons' best friend.
Merlin Emrys is trouble incarnate. While at first glance he may appear to be a clumsy awkward teenager teetering at the cusp of adulthood, beneath that he is so much more. Looking beyond the obvious, one sees that the ridiculous ears flush so prettily when he is embarrassed, that the gangly limbs move him with that strange grace of fawn. His grin looks childlike and innocent but there is a hidden sinful sensuality behind it all.
Look into those electric blue eyes and you will see the siren within. Arthur knows, he has been enraptured by it.
Arthur couldn't tell you how it began. All he remembers, all those months ago, was that Merlin had turned up early to the Pendragon household after being invited over by Kay, who had football practice but would be home in a couple of hours. Kay had told him after school that his parents would be out, Arthur would discover later before the shame settled in, and here, why not take the key and just wait for me there, you're practically family anyway, they won't care.
And Kay had been correct. Gwen was visiting a friend for a long weekend, a girl she knew from university whose mother had recently died and required company. Arthur was meant to be tied down in a meeting with a divorcing couple that was particularly vindictive, but his client had cancelled the meeting due to an emergency or some such and rescheduled for next week.
Arthur hadn't meant to be home, and now he spends his days wondering if the fact that he had been was a blessing or a curse.
He had been surprised to find Merlin on his couch, surfing the channels on his wide screen TV. How the boy had jumped at his greeting, launching himself from the sofa and spinning to face him. Even now Arthur can remember his expression, so contrite and awkward, cheeks flooding with colour, bottoms lip being compulsively chewed as he stuttered out a mumbled something that was half apology and half explanation.
From then, however, it's blur. He couldn't tell you now the moments between the enticing, stuttering mumbles that spilled from a demure Merlin (a rare sight indeed) and Arthur bending his sons' friend over the sofa and shoving roughly into him, over and over and over with powerful thrusts that had him grunting an animal and Merlin groaning like a whore. He remembers they were both still fully dressed. Merlin jeans and underwear had slid to his knees and Arthur had simply pulled his rigid cock from smart slacks. There was no elegance. There was none of the gentleness that he employed when bedding his wife, none of the real tenderness and reverent touches.
His and Merlin's kisses where flames, biting, burning flames. Their touches were scratches and rips that tore electric pleasure that was almost painful down Arthur core. The fucking was raw and brutal and all the more brilliant for it. He didn't hold back like he would with Gwen, no. Merlin didn't want that, the boy begged for more and more, pleaded to be pushed to his limits and Arthur provided all that and more with a sickening eagerness.
Rough, strong thrusts, rapid and short and fiery. Merlin had been a blistering heat around him, squeezing his prick, clenching around him as his nails clawed into the sofa and tears (of pleasure? Of pain? Of both?) gathered in his eyes even as he cried out for more.
The power he had over the boy then was intoxicating. He punished them both with a near cruelty that they both craved.
The experience was immoral, oh he knows even now as sly glances and lingering touches occur under the very noses of his wife and kids, that it is so fucking wrong, that something within is twisted but it was so good. Never before has his orgasm shattered him quite as it did that first time, as it does all the times afterward. It slammed into him, boiling, writhing, white hot ecstasy that incinerated all that he was until he was oblivion, he was excruciating pleasure and blissful agony. He was all and nothing.
Merlin gave him – gives him – something he had never experienced before and wanted, nay needed, to feel again.
He looks at his wife and kids now and he feels the guilt, he bares the weight of his betrayal as he lies away the occasional bruising or scratches. It ravages through him like a beast, coloured him in black and taints him. It's sick. It's wrong. It's decadent.
But it doesn't stop him sitting Merlin in his lap in his office after hours. It doesn't stop him sucking cock at the kitchen table when his family are entertaining themselves elsewhere out of the house or screwing the boy in the swimming pool. It doesn't stop him from letting Merlin fuck him back, just as hard.
Oh the guilt, it tears him apart like nothing else ever could, but it doesn't stop him.
Arthur Pendragon has the perfect life, but what everyone should remember is that perfection is only a fallacy.