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Affliction's Sons

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Arthur had the pillow clamped tight over his head, but it didn’t do much to muffle the rustling of sheets across the small, stuffy room. Every sound was magnified in the still night, the sharp inhales and ragged exhales seeming so close that Arthur imagined he could feel his brother’s warm, wet breath against his neck. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it captivated him; shame and humiliation clawed at Arthur’s throat as he felt himself getting hard.

Arthur had never known quite what to do with Merlin. Born ten years later, Merlin had always seemed like a simple nuisance, an inconvenience around whom Arthur easily crafted his life. But at some point in the past few years, Merlin had emerged from the awkwardness of pubescence into a sharp-featured pretty boy with long, lean limbs and a secret smile that caught Arthur by surprise every time.

They’d spent a lot of time together this summer, cooking atrocious meals their mother refused to eat and playing footie one-to-one in the garden, shirtless and panting. It was impossible not to notice the dark trail of hair down Merlin’s abdomen, inviting Arthur’s eyes to the curve in the front of his brother’s shorts.

Merlin was indecent. The kid had no sense of shame, no boundaries to speak of, just reached into his pants to readjust himself whenever he felt like it. Surely it was not Arthur’s fault that he tracked the motion with his eyes, and the thick pounding of blood in his ears was embarrassment, not lust.

Not lust.

Arthur’s cock jerked in sympathy when he heard Merlin come, an urgent, quiet “Ah!” drifting over to him followed a moment later by the slow pull of a tissue from the box, somehow louder for its attempt at discreetness.

Why couldn’t Merlin just wank in the shower like a normal sixteen-year-old? That’s what Arthur had been doing all summer, hand curled tight around himself under the hot spray as he tried to think of nothing and inevitably thought of something, of pretty, pink lips wrapped around him and, on one occasion that still made his skin crawl, of the long stretch of Merlin’s pale back as fantasy Arthur fucked into his virgin arse.

Though they hadn’t had much of a relationship to speak of for most of Merlin’s life, they’d easily fallen into the brother routine, ridiculing one another, kicking each other from opposite ends of the settee, and wrestling over who got the last ice cream. The only difference, Arthur suspected, was that most brothers probably didn’t have to keep their hips carefully turned away to avoid cock confusion.

Merlin was laid out on his back on the carpet, remote control held high above his head, one long arm outstretched and the other fighting to shove Arthur down his body, to keep the prize out of his clutches. Focussed solely on the objective, Arthur planted his knee on the ground between Merlin’s legs and used the leverage to grasp the remote. Stretched out along Merlin’s body, pressing flush against his front, Arthur’s thigh slotted into place against Merlin’s groin. They shared a look of horror as they seemed to realise in unison that Merlin’s shorts failed to conceal the thick flesh of his hard cock.

Arthur’s fingers lingered with Merlin’s around the remote, and neither of them moved. The question on Merlin’s face, so close to Arthur’s, was knitted clearly between his eyebrows, and Arthur realised a beat too late that he should have pulled away. With a bravery Arthur would never have anticipated, Merlin quirked his mouth into a self-satisfied smirk and ground his cock up against Arthur’s thigh, letting out a slutty groan.

“Fuck,” Arthur said, “Mer—” The second half of the name was swallowed up in Merlin’s mouth, hot and needy in a way that had Arthur clamping his thighs around Merlin’s leg and rutting against him like a randy teenager.

It was Merlin who pulled down their shorts, Merlin whose spit-slick hand surrounded them both as they fucked against each other, Merlin who came with a moan Arthur knew he’d replay in guilty wank sessions for years to come.

Arthur’s shame was not quite strong enough to keep him from shooting his load all over Merlin’s hips and cock and balls, from staring at the mess they made with hunger, from sucking down Merlin’s come later that night. There would be time enough for self-loathing once summer ended.