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"Shall I send in your next client, Mr. Pendragon?"

His finger holds down the button to his intercom, “Yes thank you, Mithian.”

He's accustomed to grown men and women coming to him. With weary eyes they enter his establishment, happily letting him draw the stress out of their tired bones. It's a rare occasion he deals with anyone under 18 -although by company policy anyone over 14 is a valued customer, even if by legal standards minors are limited to specific, mostly above the waist massages- so he's just a little taken aback at the sight of the wide-eyed youth sent his way.

The boy is slight, a bit hunched in on himself. He regards his surroundings with quiet curiosity. He manages an awkward hello when their eyes meet.


"What's your name?"

He watches him swallow past his shyness, examines him with muted interest when the boy sends him a small, warm smile.

"Merlin, sir.”

"Hello, Merlin. I'm Mr. Pendragon, but you can call me Arthur," he says. "What kind of massage are you in for today?"

"Um- hold on," Merlin chuckles sheepishly, reaching into his jeans to pull out his receipt. "It's for... Shoulders, neck and back."

"Hmm." He walks past the boy to shut the door, resists the peculiar urge to lock it. "First time?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Uh, yeah. Birthday present from my uncle Gaius."

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"He's a physician. My shoulders are always sore from lugging around my schoolbooks so he thought it would help." He scratches the back of his neck idly.

"I see. How old you turn then?"


"That's a good age. I remember being sixteen. Had all sorts of fun."

His words are perfectly proper, professional; a direct contradiction to the suggestive glint in his eyes. He's close enough that he can see blue ones widen with comprehension, a peachy flush spreading across his cheeks. Merlin averts his eyes, fiddling with his sleeve.


He drops his voice to a playful whisper. "Tell you what, Merlin... Since it's your first time here, I'll give you a full-body massage, no extra charge."

"Really?" He can't help but perk up, like a puppy being praised. "I mean- that's very kind of you, but I wouldn't want to take advantage."

"Nonsense, I offered. Think of it as a birthday gift from me to you," he supplies, sending the boy a wink.

The answering smile is sweet and guileless, wholly endearing. "Thank you, Arthur."

He grabs for his box of matches, striking the match until a flame sparks to life. He then busies himself lighting a few candles, like he always does to promote a tranquil environment. Switching off the small lamp on the counter, the room is suddenly void of artificial light, bathed entirely in the warm glow of candles. The boy's angular features are accentuated under the flickering light, and he goes from lovely to striking.

"You can go ahead and undress to your comfort level, and then hop on the table so we can get started."

"My comfort level?" Merlin asks, looking unsure.

"Are you easily embarrassed?"


Arthur chuckles. "Well do you feel uncomfortable with me?"

Merlin considers the question. "No. You're... you're nice."

"Then how about you just take everything off then? It'll give me easier access to all the areas we'll be working on, and you won't get any oil on your clothes."

"Oh, um..."

"Self-conscious? I can take my shirt off if that'll help," he jokes.

Merlin ducks his head but not before Arthur sees him smirk. "If we're going for less self conscious here then you should probably keep your muscles to yourself, thanks."

That gets a genuine laugh out of him, and the sound seems to set the boy at ease. Arthur turns around to sift through his many scented massage oils, contemplating his options. Lavender was so frequently requested he was nearly out.

"Any allergies to oils I should be aware of?"

"No, not that I know of."

A calming chamomile or french vanilla to soothe? Or perhaps something more stimulating to the senses.

"Egyptian musk, okay?"

"Sure, alright."

He grabs the towel he'd forgot to offer the boy before in his distraction, turning around to hand it to him. Merlin's got his back to him, already having shucked his shirt. His body is willowy, pleasingly slight. He shimmies to aid in pulling his trousers down over the little swell of his arse, unwittingly provocative. Arthur leaves the towel on the table for him and tells him such, turning around before he's stripped so as not to spoil the surprise; soon enough he'll not only be able to look his fill, he'll map every inch of him laid out on the table.

The boy hops onto the soft, cushiony table top and Arthur instructs him to lie on his stomach.

“We’ll start up top, and work our way down.”

He squeezes a liberal amount of massage oil onto his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it up. He starts at the boy’s neck, kneading circles into the smooth skin at his nape, watching the boy’s eyes shut, lashes long and dark against his fair skin.

As his hands move lower, the tension gathered in Merlin’s shoulders is obvious, and he focuses his talents on the areas under the most stress. He works the muscles loose skillfully, slowly and surely forcing them to concede under his effort, Merlin’s soft sighs of contentment falling on his ears. His hands venture lower down his back, down to his tailbone, the heat of his palms a shock against the cool skin there. Merlin arches lightly at the touch, and Arthur massages the area above his rear with vigor, pushing a surprised huff out of the boy.

“When I’m done with you you’ll be a changed man,” he says. It’s an attempt at light humor, but it comes out a little gravelly, worked up as he is; he mentally chastises himself on the slip in his restraint.

He takes a moment to gather himself, reaching for more oil to excuse the delay. He decides to shift his focus to safer territory, taking one delicate ankle between his palms. It’s a common area of stress for obvious reasons, so extra attention is paid here, and it’s easier to lose himself in the task. He rubs from toe to heel, massaging the arch of each foot fervently, but finds it does little to distract him from the growing hardness in his trousers.

Inevitably he must work his way higher, massaging his calves, up towards knobby knees. Once he reaches the boy’s thighs, it’s with careful control that he instructs “Spread your legs a little."

He can hear the click of Merlin's throat as he swallows, obliging. Just the sight of his hands, large and tan against such soft, pale flesh invites him to indulge. There’s a stillness to the room then, an undeniable tension, though the nature of it isn’t exactly clear. Arthur takes care to start slowly, as if coaxing an animal not to flee. A gentle rhythm begins, and Merlin sighs deeply, relaxed, setting Arthur at ease.

After long minutes wherein he’s had time with every part he can reach, he’s eager to have the boy turn and face him. “If you’ll turn around now,” he instructs. Demands.

Merlin hesitates, turning his face away. "I.. I can't,” he confesses.

It dawns on him as he watches the boy fidget, a pink flush traveling from the tips of his ears down to his chest. His mortification is genuine, ridiculously alluring in its timidity.

Arthur feigns obliviousness, prods the boy into turning over, feeling a bit wicked and loving every moment of it. Merlin does so reluctantly, revealing his state with no small amount of chagrin. The tent in his towel isn't big enough to be obscene.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about. It's a natural reaction to a pleasant touch."

A voice of reason to keep the game in motion.

"...Do we stop?”

"Would you like to stop?" Merlin worries his lip again, ankles crossed nervously. He shakes his head no, the gesture almost small enough for Arthur to attribute it to wishful thinking.

"It's not an issue. I'd be happy to continue if you'll allow it," he encourages.

Play ball.

Merlin contemplates, his fringe sweeping further across his eyes. Finally, he nods. "Okay."

He lies back down and Arthur slowly releases the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He slicks his hands again, rubbing slow, soothing circles around Merlin’s hipbones, up his naval, skirting across cream-colored nipples as he begins to knead his pectorals. This is no longer a real massage, this is touching, but Merlin wouldn’t know to object, and Arthur is past the point of behaving professionally. He’s back to putting pressure along the boy’s inner thighs when his mouth starts speaking for him.

"There's another area people often hold tension."


"Mm. I don't usually offer my expertise in that area, but it'd leave you well and truly relaxed.”

Merlin says nothing, but his intrigue is apparent.

“Might even take care of your little problem,” Arthur offers further.

He lets his fingers work inwards, until they're slipping between the globes of Merlin’s arse, teasing the crease pointedly. Merlin's eyes widen, his legs tensing reflexively. "What-"

"A massage of the prostate," he states confidently.

He slowly skims his fingers across the small place, watching the minute tremble of Merlin's legs.

"Stimulating the organ helps to relieve stress and even decrease risk of cancer when done regularly.”

Merlin swallows, his chest rising and falling in increasingly shallow breaths. A long moment passes where neither of them make a sound. For a terrible moment Arthur thinks he's gone too far, but when he finally catches the boy's eye his stare is lidded.

"...I've never managed to reach it myself. Probably best to leave it to a professional like you."

His arousal spikes at the words, cock going from half-hard to full on at the boy’s consent.

"You're in good hands, I assure you," he says. "I'll take care of you.”

He turns away briefly to reach for a different oil. Fragrance-free, for sensitive skin. He squeezes a dollop onto his fingers.

"We'll start by applying pressure to the perineum, and massaging the anus. That should help to relax your hole so I can press inside you."

Merlin makes a needy noise in his throat. He circles the boy’s entrance, pushing lightly, and feeling it flex against him. He starts by dipping the tip of his finger inside, not enough to breach him, only a tease to lessen the initial shock.

”Are you ready?” he asks, breathless with anticipation.

“Yes,” comes the whispered reply.

He presses inside, his finger pushing past the resistant furl of muscle into delightful heat. Merlin makes a tiny noise at the intrusion, and it takes a great deal of his effort to take it slow. He moves it in and out for a while, working more in with each stroke until he’s well-slicked inside. Only then does he push in as far as he can, holding the boy open with his other hand as his finger begins a slow, steady rhythm.

Merlin's mouth is open, his eyes flitting from Arthur's face and where his arm works between his legs, settling on his cock where it lies plump and wet-tipped against his thigh.

“Oh God,” he breathes, pinching his eyes shut.

Arthur tugs on the boy's pink sack, curling his finger to see if he can make the flush on his cheeks spread further. It’s clear when he finds what he’s looking for. The resulting moan is raw and wanton in the quiet of the room, Merlin’s reservations slipping away as he spreads his legs further.

"There's a good lad. Can you take another?"

He nods, bucking his hips as Arthur's pointer finger nudges his rim, pressing within and slotting alongside the other digit with little resistance. It only takes a few thrusts of his fingers for him to adjust, and then he’s fucking the boy in earnest, the soft wet noise permeating the space.


He savors the sight of Merlin debauched; his plump little cock sticky against his stomach, rosy hole spread open on his fingers. Sure he’d seen potential in the youth right away, but saturated with desire as he is Merlin is like his very own Ganymedes.

All it takes is Arthur wrapping a hand around his shaft to send him over, white-hot pleasure seizing him.


Though Arthur doesn’t know it, Merlin will remember what happens next in a haze. He’ll remember a damp cloth, hands fastening his belt, and then somehow being home in bed contemplating how an event could play out so utterly different from anything he’d been prepared to expect.

He’ll find a business card in his jeans the next morning as he gets ready for school, and his cheeks will burn red as a longing grows in the pit of his stomach, one that insists upon action.