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merlin_holidaysTitle: On Pins and Needles (In the Company of Wolves)
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yue_ix
Author:coffeemugged
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Merlin/Uther
Word Count: 17,325
Warnings: D/s, student-teacher relationship, age disparity (Merlin is 16), BDSM,
Summary: Sometimes, the fairy tale heroine isn't just a cutout victim waiting for her saviour, but the agent of her own fate. Merlin thinks so, anyway, as he tries his best to woo a beast of his own - his English Lit teacher - Mr Pendragon.
Author's Notes:This was meant to be a quick PWP. But then the characters started having feelings and opinions and this happened. I went with Merlin/Uther, D/s, and used your suggestion of fairy tales to give this fic some structure. I used Angela Carter’s The Company of Wolves, which happens to be one of my favourite Red Riding Hood retellings and is worth a read (if only for this fic to make more sense. It's really short!). The interpretation is obviously just one of many, but I hope it makes sense. Happy Merlin Hols, Yue, hope you like it! ♥
Big thanks to C and F for their support and encouragement and to D and P for beating and whipping this fic into submission.
Also huge thanks to mods for being so understanding and accommodating.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.
Merlin watched Mr Pendragon from beneath his fringe. He positioned his head to look like he was, just like everyone else, focused on the pop quiz on his desk. Though definitely didn’t need half the course-time to finish. Instead, the extra time gave him ample opportunity to watch his favourite English lit teacher like a creeper. Not that Merlin minded, really.
Mr Pendragon was looking down at something on his desk, shoulders and arms a tense line, the knuckles around his pen alternating between white and red, emphasizing the tension there. Merlin couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to rub his lips along the soft skin and kiss it reverently. Mr Pendragon looked at his wristwatch and Merlin’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall. The quiz would be ending any moment now. Mr Pendragon stifled a yawn and briefly closed his eyes, tiredness painted all over his face, before schooling his features back into the stern look his students had grown accustomed to. It couldn’t have been more than a split-second change, but it made Merlin feel like he’d just witnessed something very few ever got to, it was a little breath-taking.
Merlin frowned and scribbled his name at the top of the page, quickly glancing over it to make sure he didn’t miss anything before looking back up at the front of the room, committing to memory the way Mr Pendragon looked when he waited, when he got ready to do something, the way his brow furrowed as he thought.
It felt just a bit wrong to be thinking so intently of someone who was mere feet away from him, but Merlin couldn’t help it. The way Mr Pendragon stretched his arms back--palms on the armrests of his chair--broadened his chest and stretched the flaps of his suit jacket just enough to expose more of his crisp white dress shirt underneath, the half-moon outline of his undershirt just beyond his bright red tie. Merlin bit his lip, imagining having the tie around his own neck, tight, like a leash for Mr Pendragon to lead him on, to show him off. A small shudder went through his body and he suddenly felt hot. He startled a bit when he realized Mr Pendragon was watching him back, an eyebrow cocked slightly the tiniest hint of a grin threatening to break out. Merlin felt his cheeks flush and looked down quickly, pretending to busy himself with something on his paper.
Mr Pendragon stood, his chair scraping against the old wooden floor, and cleared his throat,
“Your time is up. Please place your quizzes face-down, top of the page toward the blackboard on my desk.” He gazed at the clock again and back at the class, briefly meeting Merlin’s gaze before Merlin glanced back down and pretended to be checking something over one last time. He heard Mr Pendragon clasp his hands together, a hollow clap, and looked up to see him tugging at the cuffs of his jacket, a nervous habit Merlin found oddly fascinating and arousing. Mr Pendragon spoke once he had the class’ full attention again, “And since I’m sure none of you have even started Wilde’s Fairy Tales yet, I’ll expect you all to have finished The Company of Wolves for tomorrow instead and get the weekend for Wilde. You’re dismissed.”
A couple of “Cheers, sir!” and “Woo's” surfaced above the shuffling of papers and backpacks and everyone began to file out, handing off their papers just as their teacher had asked.
Merlin waited for everyone else to go before slowly and leisurely getting up himself, knapsack strewn over just one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. He pushed himself to keep his head up as he walked the length of the classroom, from his favourite spot in the back left corner. Mr Pendragon stood by the desk, leaning on the corner now, the pile of papers in the crook of his elbow. Merlin finally reached the desk, the last student in the classroom and looked up at Mr Pendragon before speaking,
“Excuse me, sir, but there’s no more room on your desk for my paper.” His eyes met his teacher’s head-on and Mr Pendragon’s direct gaze was dark and overwhelming. Merlin felt his whole body heat up, knowing he was most definitely blushing and hoping and praying that his hardening cock was not obviously straining against his regulation trousers.
“You may place it right here, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon’s voice was lower than it had been moments ago, when the classroom was a sea of noise. It felt deeper, more intimate, and it took everything in Merlin’s power to make him reach up his arms and place his paper face-down top facing the blackboard, right in Mr Pendragon’s arms. His arms had a great deal of tone and definition to them, and Merlin wanted them wrapped around him, or holding him down...or cradling him the way they were cradling the quizzes...after a nice long shag.
Merlin stepped closer to Mr Pendragon and could smell a faint hint of something spicy that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, a smell that made him near-dizzy, eyes still trained on the stack of papers where his hand was slowly letting go of his own. The smell overpowered Merlin, pinning him to the spot with hints and teases of possibilities, thoughts of uncharted territories spinning through his head. All he could think was how powerful it was, and how good it felt to lose himself in it.
“Will there be anything else, Mr Emrys?” Mr Pendragon’s amused voice reached Merlin through his reverie and he flushed, shaking his head.
“No, sir. That’s all. I- Have a good afternoon, sir.” Merlin babbled as he walked backwards toward the door. He began to turn to finally walk away with perhaps a shred of his dignity intact, inwardly face-palming but unable to imagine things any other way. In spite of making a giant fool of himself, Merlin loved getting to spend any time with Mr Pendragon he could. A strong hand on his shoulder stopped him dead in his tracks.
“It seems you can’t follow simple instructions, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon’s honey-smooth voice came from directly beside Merlin’s ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his neck, making him shudder and all the blood flow straight to his cock.
“Sir?” Merlin gulped and chanced slowly turning around to face Mr Pendragon, who was standing so close now, the quizzes still in his arms, inches away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin looked up into his teacher’s eyes, each one a different hue, one of Merlin’s favourite things about Mr Pendragon. Mr Pendragon was looking down at him expectantly. Merlin could feel his cock twitch in his trousers and this was definitely not the time to be this aroused.
“Your quiz was not placed down the way I asked, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon said slowly, looking directly into Merlin’s eyes. He held up the stack of quizzes for Merlin and Merlin looked down at them, puzzled. He could have sworn he’d placed it exactly the way Mr Pendragon had instructed. Merlin rarely made mistakes. Perhaps his daydreaming had made him careless.
“I expect more of you, Mr Emrys. Such carelessness is unacceptable.” Mr Pendragon stepped closer to Merlin, definitely entering his personal space now, and Merlin could feel all the air he had in his lungs escaping out of him. The next time he inhaled, it was all fresh laundry, soap and leather; sweet, alluring, intoxicating.
“I- I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what happened.” His voice was stuttery and breathy; he was unable to make it above a whisper, not sure if he was allowed to even speak.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Mr Pendragon’s voice was stern but amused. Merlin didn’t have the courage necessary to look up to see if his face showed any as well, the pounding of his own heart a drumbeat in his ears.
“Yes, sir.”
“Fix your mistake, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon’s arms slowly moved forward and the quiz papers were pressed against Merlin’s chest, a welcome pressure, reminding him to breathe, loving the way they dug into his chest every time it expanded as he inhaled.
Merlin’s hand trembled in a mixture of fear, apprehension and definite arousal as he lifted the top quiz in a delicate pinch. He turned it over to make sure it was his and to check where the top was. He turned the quiz back over and, using two hands now, replaced it almost reverently back on the stack, making sure it aligned perfectly. His motions were slow, but deliberate, turning the quiz slowly, taking his time, replacing it. Merlin wondered idly if Mr Pendragon’s arms were getting tired from holding the stack for so long.. When he was done, Merlin was still unable to look Mr Pendragon in the eye, very possibly because Merlin realized that at some point in the last few minutes, his cock had gone from half-hard to rock solid, straining against the fabric of his boxers and trousers, most definitely visible if Mr Pendragon were to chance a look. Merlin felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“Good job, Mr Emrys. It makes me so pleased when order is kept.” Hearing this was satisfying to Merlin in a way he’d never considered before. His teacher stepped back from Merlin then, the pressure of the papers against his chest suddenly gone, making Merlin sway a bit in place, as if they were all that was holding him upright. He felt exposed, cold somehow, but he didn’t try to move or look up, feeling like perhaps he shouldn’t until Mr Pendragon dismissed him this time.
“You should get on with your day now. Oh, and Mr Emrys? I think that you’ll really enjoy the reading I’ve assigned for tonight.” With that, Mr Pendragon turned back and walked to his desk, giving Merlin a chance to quickly glance at him, at his broad back and the way his shoulders stretched the fabric of the pristine suit jacket, at his graceful, confident walk and the power in his legs the way they carried him across the creaky wooden panels.
“Thank you, sir.” Merlin got out quickly and managed to school his own legs into some sort of a trembling rhythm, bearing enough resemblance of a walk to get him out of the room.
***
When he finally managed to get outside the classroom, Merlin quickly made his way to the closest handicapped loo and locked the door behind himself. His breath came out in harsh ragged huffs, his heart beating a mile a minute. He dropped his backpack by the door and turned on the faucet, hoping the running water would drown out the hammering in his chest. He looked at his reflection and walked back to the sink to splash water on his flushed face. It didn’t help any and his erection hadn’t flagged at all.
Merlin groaned and leaned back against the wall, quickly fumbling with his zip and tugging his boxers and trousers down to get his cock out. He hissed and bit his bottom lip as the chilly air hit his over-sensitized prick. Merlin watched himself in the mirror. The way he stroked his erection, hand languidly moving up and down the shaft, tugging the foreskin back and forth over the head. Merlin wondered if Mr Pendragon would like what he saw, or if he’d tell Merlin to do it differently, just how he liked it. Merlin pulled his uniform tie askew and undid the buttons of his jacket, spreading his legs open more to brace himself against the wall better.
Merlin held his hand still and thrust into the loose channel it made, all the while watching the movements in the mirror. He loved the way his own hips rolled his cock into his fist and moaned out quietly, but it rushed through his ears and he was thankful for the water running hushing out some of the sound. He continued imagining himself putting on a show for Mr Pendragon, both of them flushed and worked up from their confrontation, Merlin doing this to take Mr Pendragon’s mind off his mistake, to please him completely. He imagined that Mr Pendragon would hold back his face from breaking out into grins or smirks or obvious arousal, but he figured Mr Pendragon’s pupils would be blown and his knuckles would be turning pure white as he gripped the armrests of his teacher’s chair.
Merlin imagined that once Mr Pendragon let go, he was a force, but he’d never let go in school, so Merlin would push him and tease him and hope that it was enough. It would be enough, until Merlin realized he was doing it all wrong and he needed Mr Pendragon to help him – needed Mr Pendragon’s firm hand on his cock. He’d look at him pleadingly and stop stroking, even though it hurt to, even though his cock was hot and throbbing in his palm, beads of precome gathering on the tip, threatening to drip down until he gathered them with his thumb, swiping them along the length of his cock. Once Mr Pendragon’s face relaxed even more, enjoying seeing Merlin on edge, he’d finally speak, his voice that low whisper from earlier, “Spit on it, Mr Emrys. Get yourself wet and sloppy and fuck your hand. Don’t come until I tell you.”
Merlin groaned and opened his eyes, unable to recall when he’d closed them in the first place but followed imaginary Mr Pendragon’s instructions and gathered saliva in his mouth before releasing a bit down the length of his body to catch into the palm around his cock. He thrust his hips once, twice, all the saliva spreading along his cock, making each thrust easier, but the friction just this side of not-enough. Merlin moaned out and cursed Mr Pendragon but didn’t stop pumping his fist. He tightened his grip and relished in the sloppy, squishy sounds each thrust made.
His other hand, which had been clinging to the wall behind him, came up to twist a nipple through his shirt and he really made a picture then: flushed from head to toe, hair and clothes all askew, legs trembling from the building pressure of the pleasure as he continued thrusting into his palm. He felt increasing tingling low in his abdomen and whimpered, pinching his nipple harder as he bit his lip to keep from being louder.
“I want to hear you. Don’t hold back,” Imaginary Mr Pendragon said. aMerlin thought he could cry, his body trembling against the cold concrete wall behind him.
Little whimpers and moans escaped his lips with increasing frequency now as his thrusts got more and more erratic and the grip on his cock tighter and tighter. The thrusts were now nothing more than twitches just to get the head of his cock the pressure it needed. Merlin was close, so so close. “Oh, oh fuck. Yes. Fuck, yes.” He was almost there and his moans were getting louder, the rushing water across from him no longer doing the trick of masking them.
“Please, sir, please,” Merlin pleaded, knowing he couldn’t just let go. Not anymore, not after today. He’d never again be able to wank the way he used to. Mr Pendragon behind his eyelids dictating his every move, his stern features softening, pleased, whenever Merlin obeyed. Merlin needed to come, but the hand tweaking his nipple had gone down to hold the base of his cock as his hips kept moving the head of his cock in and out of his other palm.
“Please, sir, I need-” Merlin was practically crying for release at this point and probably would have if the Mr Pendragon in his head hadn’t taken pity on him right then.
“Let go, Mr Emrys. Come for me.”
The bell rang as Merlin’s come hit the floor.
***
The next day, Merlin couldn’t even begin to recall a word said in his first class, all thoughts focused on English Lit and the story Mr Pendragon had made them read. “The Company of Wolves” was shorter than the selection from Wilde’s fairy tales, but definitely no less dark in its telling. Merlin read the short six pages enraptured in the mythos. The prose drew him in and made him fall for the wolves more than the people, and he found that he identified with what appeared to be a version of Little Red Riding Hood more than a bit. He was lured and seduced by the young man just as much as she was, and would have burned his clothes for him all the same. He wondered idly if something was seriously wrong with him.
The time for English Lit came and Merlin strode into the room with purpose. Being in the mere presence of Mr Pendragon again was an invigorating force propelling him forward; he was excited today not just because of his presence, but because he knew it would be a good class. The class after an assigned reading was always Merlin’s favourite. It brought together two of his favourite things: his love of literature and all things academia, and Mr Pendragon. Merlin loved watching his teacher in action: passionate about the readings and the knowledge he passed on to his students.
It was especially exciting today, because the reading was unlike anything Mr Pendragon had ever assigned before, usually keeping to the more conservative side of things. The fantasy portion of his class must have really inspired him though, and it definitely inspired Merlin, too.
Merlin listened to Mr Pendragon’s deep voice as he began the lecture, first telling them about Angela Carter and her life, inspirations, and other works, before getting to the nitty gritty of the text.
Merlin meant to pay attention, as he’d really enjoyed the story and couldn’t wait to hear Mr Pendragon’s in-depth analysis, but every time he looked away from his page, at the board, all he saw were the long, elegant extensions of Mr Pendragon’s arm as it wove and danced across the blackboard. The graceful notes in his voice with every new fact he wanted to emphasize. The softness of his face as he began to get more and more lost in storytelling, educating, sharing.
The words filtered in and out, and Merlin was sure that if it came to studying, he’d be able to extrapolate them from each movement and action in front of him. He knew he could relate the “whore-Madonna” dichotomy to himself, and the way he felt split wide open within himself every time he thought of Mr Pendragon, or the subtleties of horror and the way Merlin’s mind had come to associate fear with arousal. The road to passing would be paved with Mr Pendragon and filthy dirty thoughts of him.
Merlin shook out of it before it got too far, already noticing his body temperature climbing, much like his cock, as he listened to Mr Pendragon’s confident, self-assured speaking voice.
“...so, because she walks the path of pins in this story and falls into the wolf’s trap by succumbing to temptation, Red Riding Hood is thus embodying the “whore” archetype, and falling victim to the wolf, Mr Pendragon was saying.
Merlin scoffed before he could stop himself. The sound was suddenly the loudest thing in the room. Most of his classmates turned to look at him and Merlin saw Mr Pendragon’s nostrils flare as his eyes shot to look at him directly.
“Mr Emrys. Something you’d like to share with the class?” Mr Pendragon asked.
Merlin felt like a deer in headlights, or how he imagined one must feel; knowing your doom is near but being completely unable to do anything but gape and stare.
“I-” he started after a moment, reluctantly, and was just about to apologize for the interruption when he saw one of Mr Pendragon’s eyebrows shoot up and the beginning of a smirk on his face. It felt like a challenge, and, academically at least, Merlin could not back down. He cleared his throat.
“It’s just that I disagree with your assessment of Carter’s Red Riding Hood from the story, Mr Pendragon.” Merlin was deliberate in his phrasing, knowing he’d accepted Mr Pendragon’s challenge head-on, showing him he was a worthy discussion partner. He waited for a reaction, or maybe permission, at this point, he wasn’t sure.
“By all means, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon stepped away from the blackboard, putting down the chalk and leaned against his desk. “The floor is yours.”
“Right. So, you talked about this path of pins and needles and how each heroine has this choice to take one and pins make her a whore, but needles make her the Madonna, but I don’t think it’s that simple. Well, at least not in this story. I mean, the original fairy tales were written by men, right? And in our sociology class...” Merlin felt his palms starting to sweat, he stretched out his fingers quickly and went on.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, but I just don’t think a woman rewriting a fairy tale would have made her heroine such an obvious archetype. By putting her into a tidy boxes, we simplify her character and completely ignore the notion of agency in this story. I mean, there obviously isn’t much, since we know what happens, but I do think that at many parts of the story Red Riding Hood could have turned back or done something else.” Merlin’s thoughts raced to come up with something from the story as an arguing point, anything, to make it compelling. When it came to him, he nearly shouted.
“For example! At the very end, even when it was too late, she still had agency enough to make a choice for the wolf, she turned him completely as well by burning his clothes. So I just don’t think it’s fair to call her a victim, when she makes sure to seal his fate, too.” Merlin finished, a little breathless and light-headed, his arms somehow having found their way into the air, no doubt after a series of ridiculous gestures. He could feel all eyes on him, all, including Mr Pendragon’s. And the seconds after he finished speaking stretched, amplifying every sound around him, the scraping of chairs, the shuffling of paper’s, someone’s awkward cough.
Finally, Mr Pendragon spoke, “A very compelling point, Mr Emrys, and a very thorough interpretation of the material you’ve only just read. Impressive.” He nodded his head in approval at Merlin. “However, your interruption was still rather out of order, wouldn’t you say? I’ll be expecting to see you here after school.” With that, he carried on with the rest of the lesson while Merlin remained completely frozen in his spot, half-hard cock pressing against the inseam of his trousers, and heart beating faster than an oncoming train.
***
Merlin’s body thrummed with anticipation as he watched the hallways clear out, everyone eager to leave.
“Hey Merls, you coming?” Freya was waving her hand in front of Merlin’s face and she tilted her head, giving him a bit of an exasperated look as he blinked at her. He noticed Gwen trying to school her face not to give away the giggle she was holding back.
“What? Oh. No, I’m not. The Dragon’s keeping me back today.” Merlin feigned nonchalance while his insides twisted up and around, attempting an escape act via his throat.
“Ugh. What an arse. You of all people!” Freya rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder. “Guess you’ll just have to tell us all about it tomorrow, then. Bye!”
With a quick wave of her hand and a soft, “Bye, Merlin!” from Gwen, they were making their way down the hall and Merlin could finally let go of the breath he’d been holding before he turned the opposite direction and walked to Mr Pendragon’s classroom.
He stood lurking just outside the door like a creeper before finally getting the courage to turn the corner and quietly knock on the doorframe.
“Mr Pendragon?” Merlin cleared his throat, “You wanted to see me?”
Mr Pendragon looked up at Merlin and it seemed to take him a few minutes before he recognized him. “Ah yes, Mr Emrys, please, have a seat.” He pointed to the desk directly in front of his own, “This one will do, unless of course you have something to say on the matter.”
Merlin flushed, knowing how transparent he’d been and how easily Mr Pendragon must have seen through him. Though he looked the row of seats up and down mock-thoughtfully as he walked through the classroom, he sat in the one that had been chosen for him, head down, without a word. When he looked up at Mr Pendragon, he was rewarded with a small smile and a nod.
“What you said in class today; that was quite an in-depth analysis, Mr Emrys. I was impressed,” Mr Pendragon said.
“Thank you, sir.” Merlin didn’t want Mr Pendragon to know how pleased he felt with the compliment, but his whole body thrummed with joy.
“The way you spoke out of turn, however, and your scoffing, Mr Emrys,” Mr Pendragon sounded incredulous, “were much less impressive.” He stood up from his desk and walked around it to lean against the front, directly in front of Merlin, his crotch right in Merlin’s eyeline. It had to be deliberate. Had to.
Merlin looked up the long, strong line of Mr Pendragon’s body slowly. He tried his hardest not to squirm so his hardening cock would not be as obvious. Mr Pendragon crossed his arms in front of his chest, only wearing his shirt now, making his torso appear wider and the sheer fabric stretch across his arms. Merlin gulped.
“Yes, sir.”
“Glad you understand, Mr Emrys. So I hope you will also understand that I cannot let such things go unpunished.”
“Yes, sir,” Merlin answered, hands sweating in his lap, whole body flushing in an odd mix of shame and anticipation.
Mr Pendragon stood and walked over to the large cabinet at the side of the classroom. Merlin felt like it would be somehow wrong to look, so he tried sitting still, but chanced a glance to the side anyway. In his periphery, he saw Mr Pendragon reaching into the cabinet and bending over and Merlin couldn’t hold back from turning his head fully to admire the view; the dark grey trousers clinging tightly around muscular thighs and a pleasantly round arse. Merlin tried to imagine gripping the desk as Mr Pendragon pounded into him and he felt himself flush, looking back to the front of the room.
Soon after, he heard Mr Pendragon’s footsteps nearing after a quiet click of the cabinet doors closing, and before he knew it, his teacher was standing before him once again. The power coming off him was palpable and made Merlin want to cower in on himself, but that wasn’t the game he’d set out to play.
Mr Pendragon placed a stack of foolscap in front of Merlin with a slap against the desk top.
"For your inappropriate interruptions in class, Mr Emrys, you will use this time to write on ten full foolscap pages, front and back, ‘I will not interrupt. I will know my place.'" Mr Pendragon moved to stand beside Merlin and straightened out the pages on the desk. He pointed to the lines.
"You will double-space each sentence and exceed no more than two lines per sentence. Your writing will be clear and legible. Am I understood?" His hand had come to rest on Merlin’s shoulder as he loomed over him. A deep spot of heat spread all through Merlin’s body to his core. It fired all his cells into action and Merlin felt his body want to sag in submission.
"Yes, sir." He replied with what he felt was an even tone, even though his body thrummed with excitement, hands itching to hold the pen and write.
"Good. Oh, and Mr Emrys?" Merlin looked up to see Mr Pendragon turn on the way to his desk, looking directly at him, a small smile playing at his lips, making him look much younger than Merlin was used to; much more approachable, too. "I hope you won’t mind a few interruptions." With that, he went to sit down at his desk, getting to work, leaving Merlin with nothing else to do but begin writing his lines.
Merlin’s hand began to ache after about the fourth double-sided, double-spaced page of “I will not interrupt. I will know my place.” But he didn’t give up. He knew that was what Mr Pendragon must have expected of him, but he’d rise to the challenge and meet it head-on. The ache was a pleasant kind of pain, the kind borne of hard work, of being good and of pleasing someone. Merlin enjoyed that kind of ache, it made him feel productive and proud of himself. He loved nothing more than persevering at a task and getting it done.
Merlin flipped the page over onto the corner of the desk, ready to start the next one, taking a moment to stretch his fingers and roll his neck, both hating and loving its stiffness from being in the same position for so long. He cracked his knuckles and was ready to resume writing lines when he heard the scrape of Mr Pendragon’s chair. He looked up.
"Mr Emrys. It seems the attendance didn't get taken down to the main office earlier today." Mr Pendragon didn't look the least bit surprised, a glint in his eye as he walked toward Merlin's desk with the leather folder.
"I hope you won't mind this little interruption, and take it down to the office." He placed the folder on top of Merlin's notes and pen, looking at him expectantly. When Merlin didn't move quickly enough, Mr Pendragon turned and began walking back to his desk.
"Now, Mr Emrys."
Merlin got up quickly then, clumsily knocking the folder down and picking it back up. He knew Mr Pendragon was punishing him for his earlier interruption, but he'd thought that his quiet obedience and writing lines would be enough, that it was all still a part of the game they were playing.
Even with all the thoughts making him question himself, Merlin took the folder down to the office.
When he got back, he found Mr Pendragon sitting on the corner of his desk, the very corner where Merlin had placed his finished pages, in fact.
"Sir?" Merlin said quietly as he approached the desk and slid back into the chair.
Mr Pendragon stood, holding the finished pages and turning them over in his hand looking at each side multiple times. Merlin worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he watched his teacher standing next to his desk, perfectly still, save for his hands.
"This is not your best penmanship, Mr Emrys." Mr Pendragon looked at Merlin. "You can do much better." He aligned the sheets in his fingers, neatly holding each side.
"And you will." Mr Pendragon tore the sheets in half. He dropped the halves back onto the desk and went back to his own to finish whatever he was working on.
Merlin was in shock. What? He looked down at the torn up pages and back up at his teacher, now calmly sitting at his desk, flawless head between strong firm shoulders bent over some unimportant piece of paper, paying Merlin no attention.
Merlin took a couple of breaths, collected the torn up pages, folded them neatly, and placed them on the corner of his desk. He would continue, he would not give up.
Merlin became very focused on the task at hand, making sure that each new line was better than the previous. He swore he could almost see his handwriting improving by the minute.
It was odd, at times, when Merlin would suddenly become acutely aware of the fact that he was all alone in the classroom with Uther Pendragon, and his thoughts could focus on nothing else, his hand suddenly rendered immobile as he tried to remember how to hold a pen so it didn't feel alien in his fingers.
They worked in companionable silence and Merlin idly thought that he could get used to it.
Merlin fell back into a steady rhythm of pen scraping against paper and he didn't even notice Mr Pendragon until a shadow loomed onto the desk from over his shoulder, and the back of his neck suddenly felt like it was on fire.
"Is this your best work, Mr Emrys?" Mr Pendragon asked from Merlin's right, his voice low and thick in Merlin's ear, breath hot on his skin. His right palm rested on the desk, propping him up.
Merlin shuddered, and the hand not holding his pen clenched in his lap.
"Yes, sir," he said with conviction.
Mr Pendragon "hmm'd," still in Merlin's ear and reached around his neck with his left hand to pull up the sheets Merlin had been writing on, no longer making a point of placing them in the corner after he finished. They stayed that way as Mr Pendragon surveyed each side meticulously; all the while his breath continued heating the skin of Merlin's neck.
With every inhale and exhale, Merlin concentrated only on the rhythm of Mr Pendragon's breathing in his ear, the tickle of each breath out against the fine hairs on his neck. He closed his eyes and got a bit lost in it, finding it oddly calming and arousing. His cock went from soft to rock hard in seconds and he was digging his nails into his thigh to keep it at bay, to keep himself from doing something stupid like leaning his face just a little to the right. Just enough to-
"This is still not good enough." Compared to his soft, even breathing, Mr Pendragon's voice was a boom in Merlin's ear.
"What?" Merlin said, before he could stop himself. He opened his eyes to look at the page in question, only one this time, and blinked.
"I expect better than this, Merlin." Mr Pendragon shifted, replacing the pages after tearing one of them up, both hands resting on the desk, his face much closer to Merlin's. And hearing him utter Merlin's first name, the way it fell out of his lips onto Merlin's skin, made Merlin feel open and vulnerable and owned. It was exhilarating.
Merlin didn't dare move, even though every single thing that made him a sixteen-year-old male told him to. He wanted to rub his cheek against Mr Pendragon's, to feel the stubble brush his skin, scratching him and marking him. He wanted to lean back and feel the press of his strong chest against his own back. He had to play along, this was just another distraction.
"Yes, sir," he gritted out.
"Good," Mr Pendragon said into his ear and pushed away from the desk. Merlin felt cold with the lack of his body heat at his back. He wanted to chase after it, after the comfort and the mystery and all it could hold for him.
Mr Pendragon made his way back to his desk again without looking back or looking up. Merlin was beginning to feel annoyed. His fingers were beginning to cramp up after every fifth line and only so much stretching helped. His erection straining in his lap wasn't helping. And though he wanted nothing more than to just show Mr Pendragon and put his pen down and go to town on himself right then and there, he knew it wasn't the place.
Still, that didn't stop him from doing all the writing in a manner that hopefully annoyed Mr Pendragon as much as having to rewrite yet another page annoyed Merlin.
Merlin breathed loudly through his nose, hoping the sound was irritating enough, considering how well he'd learned in class that Mr Pendragon valued complete silence. Merlin picked up his pen again and tried to channel his rage into the best printing he'd ever done.
After a minute or so of his heavy breathing, Merlin was just about to stop, all his rage seeping out into the smoothest and most legible letters he'd ever produced, but Mr Pendragon spoke before complete silence fell over the classroom once more.
"If you deem the punishment unfair and undeserved, Mr Emrys, you're welcome to leave now and take this up with administration tomorrow." His voice was cold and distant, a complete turnaround from the soft tones placed directly into Merlin's ear, only for him.
Merlin looked up from the page, confused.
"Sir, I-" he began to speak, but seeing Mr Pendragon's deep, dark, unsmiling eyes looking back at him made him pause. Merlin wasn't sure when things changed so suddenly.
"I was merely trying to instil some discipline, Mr Emrys." He punctuated each syllable of Merlin's name like it was a sentence, like it was a chore getting the words out. "But if you feel that you have learned your lesson, then there is nothing I can do." He looked at Merlin expectantly.
Merlin didn't know what to say. He gaped at Mr Pendragon, looking for something to say, but could find nothing. He placed the pen down, worrying his hands together now.
"Sir-" he began again.
Mr Pendragon sighed and shook his head slightly. He closed the folders on his desk, picked up his briefcase from beside his chair and began slowly placing papers inside it.
"This isn't fair!" Merlin said then, finding his voice, fuming with anger now. "You told me to write lines and I have been!" He held up all the pages on his desk. "You know I have been, and I've been pushing and trying in spite of the pain in my wrist and the cramping in my fingers...and your interruptions!" Merlin threw the pages back onto the desk and slumped back in his chair.
"I just. I don't know what else you want me to do."
"Go home, Mr Emrys." Mr Pendragon's chair scraped as he stood and gathered his jacket from the back, slipping it on, fingers swiftly doing up the buttons. His quickness to leave only made Merlin angrier, the way he never carried himself without poise and grace. At that moment, Merlin hated him.
"I suggest you think hard about your behaviour today," Mr Pendragon said as he walked out of the classroom. He was gone before Merlin could even reply.
In retrospect, as the door clicked closed behind him, Merlin thought that he could have just gone back to writing. It was too late now, and he could have kicked himself, but it'd serve no point.
All alone in the classroom now, Merlin looked around before slipping his hand into his trousers. He had all weekend to figure out how to fix things.
***
Monday morning rolled around sooner than Merlin could have expected or hoped for, in spite of the weird mix of feelings. He was still reeling from his dismissal on Friday, unsure of where he stood with his teacher, and whether he’d finally gone too far in what he’d felt was their mutual game.
Thankfully he was able to work through, or rather with, all of those emotions and channel them into his assignment: a creative retelling of a work of his choice. With all the thoughts still spinning through his head, Merlin couldn’t have even attempted any story other than Carter’s Wolves. So he didn’t.
Instead, he poured all of himself into the writing, to getting Red Riding Hood’s voice just right and creating not a victim, but a three-dimensional character. He became her as she wrote to her parents, in the light of the moon, before her first and only transformation took place, as she explained it all and questioned so much. Merlin wondered if he’d crossed a line by making her so innocent, naive, and young, but the passion he felt as he put pen to paper for his first draft was full of raw energy.
The energy continued through the weekend and Merlin felt that his assignment said exactly what he wanted and needed it to. He made his way to class excited, unable to hold back, a stream of consciousness keeping him floating between hyperaware and unable to concentrate all the way through his first course. All he needed was the bell, English Lit, and Mr Pendragon.
Making his way into class, Merlin tried not to stare, but attempted a courteous,
"Good morning, sir." as a way of greeting, only to be met with the silver-lined crown of Mr Pendragon’s head, the fine hairs sweeping down as he looked through his drawer.
Merlin’s excitement began to wane, but he couldn’t let it go. He had to do this, had to get him back, had to change the rules of their game. His voice needed to be heard.
As the class settled down, Merlin made up his mind, his whole body tight as a bowstring with the nervous anticipation, sitting on the edge of his seat, feet firmly planted on the floor, hands balled up in fists on the edge of the desk.
"Are there any volunteers for presentations, before I go down the list alphabetically?" Mr Pendragon asked, quickly glancing around the classroom, mostly at the keeners in the front row, and over the bowed heads of everyone else.
Merlin put up his hand.
"Mr Emrys?" Mr Pendragon kept his voice level, but barely glanced at Merlin, instead focusing his attention back on the attendance list on his desk.
"Sir. I’d like to present first, please." Merlin spoke softly, attempting demure, but his whole body thrummed with anticipation, wanting to push his teacher and to show him, to tell him he wasn’t afraid. He’d worn his tightest briefs that morning under his uniform, hoping they’d stave off any unwanted erections peeking out, but feeling the pressure now was more of a hindrance than help as it pressed against his half-hard cock. Merlin happily held the little papers down in front of him, hopefully blocking out everyone else’s view.
Mr Pendragon looked back up at Merlin then, actually meeting his glance, and nodded.
"Very well then. You have five minutes." He leaned back in his chair with a clipboard in his lap, poised against a leg crossed ankle-over-knee, and looked expectantly at Merlin. Merlin nodded, stood up, took a deep breath, and began.
"I’ve decided to interpret Angela Carter’s "The Company of Wolves" from the point of view of the girl, Red Riding Hood in a letter written to her parents before she turns. I’ve also written an analysis based on this reworked framework, but I don’t think I’ll have the time for that, so I’ll just read the letter." Merlin looked up from the cue cards he was holding in his hands. His heart was pounding in his chest. Public speaking was one of his least favourite things, but he persevered. Seeing Mr Pendragon with his pen down and hands clasped over his clipboard, merely watching him gave Merlin that extra push. He read from the letter,
"Dearest Mother and Father,
By the time you find this letter, I will be long gone. I am not sure how long I have, for the beast has not slept soundly. He continues stirring, searching me out..."
Merlin could see this Red Riding Hood as she watched the sleeping beast and she scribbled her last human words to her parents. His heart felt for her as her words left his lips. Merlin easily transported himself back to his own body, though, reading Red’s letter aloud, eyes glancing away from the page as often as possible, meeting Mr Pendragon’s head-on.
"I could hear you both, Mother, Father - your voices warning me about straying from the path. I did not. I kept on, walking alone..."
Merlin made each word deliberate, his voice growing more and more confident by the minute. His palms trembled around the cards in his hands, channelling Red’s fear, but also her conviction as she began to write of the choices she willingly made, never allowing herself to be victimised. Merlin’s heart pounded in his chest, nerves, excitement, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Merlin could see Mr Pendragon shift in his chair with every passing sentence, his stance no longer relaxed and leaning back, but more attentive, sitting forward, listening intently.
"Knowing the fate Grandmother had faced, I could not bring myself to run. But I could not bring myself to fight. I humoured the man - the beast - and I played his game..." At this, Merlin made sure to pause, taking a deep breath, his body no longer trembling with nerves. The whole the classroom narrowed to the single, looming desk at the front to his teacher and his darkened eyes looking back at him.
"I do not want to die. Looking at the beast in Grandmother’s bed now, I know I could kill him if I wanted, but what would become of me? I burned my clothes at his demand, succumbing to the easier choice, to life, but I could never return to you as I am, only as a creature of the night. He is now my companion and I am his, for his clothes burned with mine, sealing our fate together and keeping him from tempting other girls and destroying their families."
Merlin could feel the emotion welling up in his voice as his letter built to a climax, the final goodbye from Red Riding Hood to her parents, to her innocence and life as she knew it before the beast. He could feel Mr Pendragon’s eyes on him and Merlin stared back, putting down the cue cards on the desk, hands falling to his sides. The lament meant only for him.
"In his human form, the beast told me, as the wolves howling serenaded us, that he loved nothing more than the company of wolves, as I feel my skin trembling in the cold night and as my hands become crippled around this pen, I feel that I will learn to enjoy it as well."
"I hope I have not disgraced you, nor Grandmother in my final human moments, but I cannot regret this decision and hope you do not, either. As my body trembles with what I fear is the transformation, I hope you know I love you and never wish this upon you, dearest parents, so remember me as I am, though I’ll never be that again..."
Merlin finished speaking, his heart pounding in his chest from the exhilaration of getting to share his ideas aloud, from letting Mr Pendragon know how he felt, and what he felt, that he would not be the victim. He watched his teacher make a few rushed notes on his clipboard, hand hurrying the script along. Merlin’s tunnel vision began receding and the rest of the classroom and his classmates came back to him, looking decidedly bored or weirded out. He was sure that most of them did not appreciate the story the way he did, thus they wouldn’t have appreciated his presentation. He didn’t care.
He waited for Mr Pendragon to acknowledge him again, a quick glance and nod - not what Merlin was expecting - before sitting back down in his seat. Mr Pendragon glanced around the class, everyone with their heads back down and spoke,
"If there are no more volunteers..."
His voice seemed to dissipate with each word for Merlin, whose attention was drifting until it disappeared. Later, Merlin would wonder what everyone had presented about, random bits of information floating through his head now and again, but nothing stuck. He thought he probably spent most of the class staring at Mr Pendragon, unashamedly, but he couldn’t be sure, so lost in his own head and his thoughts of baring himself that way and getting nothing in return.
Merlin relived his presentation in his head, all his words and moves and all the glances from Mr Pendragon. With each replay, his confidence fell just a bit lower, but his desire for Mr Pendragon had climbed to brand new heights. There was nothing better than hearing the shrill sound of the bell, finally snapping Merlin out of it and pushing him out of his chair and past Mr Pendragon’s desk, his assignment swiftly placed on the corner of his desk, then out the door ahead of everyone without a single glance back.
***
Days had gone by since Merlin did his presentation and handed in his paper. He saw Mr Pendragon in English Lit every day, and tried for nonchalant each time, going by the daily routine like nothing was amiss, like he wasn't dying to just jump out of his seat during one of Mr Pendragon's patent perfectly stoic classroom talks, and shout at him.
Merlin couldn't stand how easy it seemed for Mr Pendragon to dismiss him. There he was, each and every single class, acting like nothing happened. Like nothing was different.
Part II
Recipient:
yue_ixAuthor:
coffeemuggedRating: NC-17
Pairings: Merlin/Uther
Word Count: 17,325
Warnings: D/s, student-teacher relationship, age disparity (Merlin is 16), BDSM,
Summary: Sometimes, the fairy tale heroine isn't just a cutout victim waiting for her saviour, but the agent of her own fate. Merlin thinks so, anyway, as he tries his best to woo a beast of his own - his English Lit teacher - Mr Pendragon.
Author's Notes:This was meant to be a quick PWP. But then the characters started having feelings and opinions and this happened. I went with Merlin/Uther, D/s, and used your suggestion of fairy tales to give this fic some structure. I used Angela Carter’s The Company of Wolves, which happens to be one of my favourite Red Riding Hood retellings and is worth a read (if only for this fic to make more sense. It's really short!). The interpretation is obviously just one of many, but I hope it makes sense. Happy Merlin Hols, Yue, hope you like it! ♥
Big thanks to C and F for their support and encouragement and to D and P for beating and whipping this fic into submission.
Also huge thanks to mods for being so understanding and accommodating.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.
Merlin watched Mr Pendragon from beneath his fringe. He positioned his head to look like he was, just like everyone else, focused on the pop quiz on his desk. Though definitely didn’t need half the course-time to finish. Instead, the extra time gave him ample opportunity to watch his favourite English lit teacher like a creeper. Not that Merlin minded, really.
Mr Pendragon was looking down at something on his desk, shoulders and arms a tense line, the knuckles around his pen alternating between white and red, emphasizing the tension there. Merlin couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to rub his lips along the soft skin and kiss it reverently. Mr Pendragon looked at his wristwatch and Merlin’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall. The quiz would be ending any moment now. Mr Pendragon stifled a yawn and briefly closed his eyes, tiredness painted all over his face, before schooling his features back into the stern look his students had grown accustomed to. It couldn’t have been more than a split-second change, but it made Merlin feel like he’d just witnessed something very few ever got to, it was a little breath-taking.
Merlin frowned and scribbled his name at the top of the page, quickly glancing over it to make sure he didn’t miss anything before looking back up at the front of the room, committing to memory the way Mr Pendragon looked when he waited, when he got ready to do something, the way his brow furrowed as he thought.
It felt just a bit wrong to be thinking so intently of someone who was mere feet away from him, but Merlin couldn’t help it. The way Mr Pendragon stretched his arms back--palms on the armrests of his chair--broadened his chest and stretched the flaps of his suit jacket just enough to expose more of his crisp white dress shirt underneath, the half-moon outline of his undershirt just beyond his bright red tie. Merlin bit his lip, imagining having the tie around his own neck, tight, like a leash for Mr Pendragon to lead him on, to show him off. A small shudder went through his body and he suddenly felt hot. He startled a bit when he realized Mr Pendragon was watching him back, an eyebrow cocked slightly the tiniest hint of a grin threatening to break out. Merlin felt his cheeks flush and looked down quickly, pretending to busy himself with something on his paper.
Mr Pendragon stood, his chair scraping against the old wooden floor, and cleared his throat,
“Your time is up. Please place your quizzes face-down, top of the page toward the blackboard on my desk.” He gazed at the clock again and back at the class, briefly meeting Merlin’s gaze before Merlin glanced back down and pretended to be checking something over one last time. He heard Mr Pendragon clasp his hands together, a hollow clap, and looked up to see him tugging at the cuffs of his jacket, a nervous habit Merlin found oddly fascinating and arousing. Mr Pendragon spoke once he had the class’ full attention again, “And since I’m sure none of you have even started Wilde’s Fairy Tales yet, I’ll expect you all to have finished The Company of Wolves for tomorrow instead and get the weekend for Wilde. You’re dismissed.”
A couple of “Cheers, sir!” and “Woo's” surfaced above the shuffling of papers and backpacks and everyone began to file out, handing off their papers just as their teacher had asked.
Merlin waited for everyone else to go before slowly and leisurely getting up himself, knapsack strewn over just one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. He pushed himself to keep his head up as he walked the length of the classroom, from his favourite spot in the back left corner. Mr Pendragon stood by the desk, leaning on the corner now, the pile of papers in the crook of his elbow. Merlin finally reached the desk, the last student in the classroom and looked up at Mr Pendragon before speaking,
“Excuse me, sir, but there’s no more room on your desk for my paper.” His eyes met his teacher’s head-on and Mr Pendragon’s direct gaze was dark and overwhelming. Merlin felt his whole body heat up, knowing he was most definitely blushing and hoping and praying that his hardening cock was not obviously straining against his regulation trousers.
“You may place it right here, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon’s voice was lower than it had been moments ago, when the classroom was a sea of noise. It felt deeper, more intimate, and it took everything in Merlin’s power to make him reach up his arms and place his paper face-down top facing the blackboard, right in Mr Pendragon’s arms. His arms had a great deal of tone and definition to them, and Merlin wanted them wrapped around him, or holding him down...or cradling him the way they were cradling the quizzes...after a nice long shag.
Merlin stepped closer to Mr Pendragon and could smell a faint hint of something spicy that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, a smell that made him near-dizzy, eyes still trained on the stack of papers where his hand was slowly letting go of his own. The smell overpowered Merlin, pinning him to the spot with hints and teases of possibilities, thoughts of uncharted territories spinning through his head. All he could think was how powerful it was, and how good it felt to lose himself in it.
“Will there be anything else, Mr Emrys?” Mr Pendragon’s amused voice reached Merlin through his reverie and he flushed, shaking his head.
“No, sir. That’s all. I- Have a good afternoon, sir.” Merlin babbled as he walked backwards toward the door. He began to turn to finally walk away with perhaps a shred of his dignity intact, inwardly face-palming but unable to imagine things any other way. In spite of making a giant fool of himself, Merlin loved getting to spend any time with Mr Pendragon he could. A strong hand on his shoulder stopped him dead in his tracks.
“It seems you can’t follow simple instructions, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon’s honey-smooth voice came from directly beside Merlin’s ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his neck, making him shudder and all the blood flow straight to his cock.
“Sir?” Merlin gulped and chanced slowly turning around to face Mr Pendragon, who was standing so close now, the quizzes still in his arms, inches away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin looked up into his teacher’s eyes, each one a different hue, one of Merlin’s favourite things about Mr Pendragon. Mr Pendragon was looking down at him expectantly. Merlin could feel his cock twitch in his trousers and this was definitely not the time to be this aroused.
“Your quiz was not placed down the way I asked, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon said slowly, looking directly into Merlin’s eyes. He held up the stack of quizzes for Merlin and Merlin looked down at them, puzzled. He could have sworn he’d placed it exactly the way Mr Pendragon had instructed. Merlin rarely made mistakes. Perhaps his daydreaming had made him careless.
“I expect more of you, Mr Emrys. Such carelessness is unacceptable.” Mr Pendragon stepped closer to Merlin, definitely entering his personal space now, and Merlin could feel all the air he had in his lungs escaping out of him. The next time he inhaled, it was all fresh laundry, soap and leather; sweet, alluring, intoxicating.
“I- I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what happened.” His voice was stuttery and breathy; he was unable to make it above a whisper, not sure if he was allowed to even speak.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Mr Pendragon’s voice was stern but amused. Merlin didn’t have the courage necessary to look up to see if his face showed any as well, the pounding of his own heart a drumbeat in his ears.
“Yes, sir.”
“Fix your mistake, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon’s arms slowly moved forward and the quiz papers were pressed against Merlin’s chest, a welcome pressure, reminding him to breathe, loving the way they dug into his chest every time it expanded as he inhaled.
Merlin’s hand trembled in a mixture of fear, apprehension and definite arousal as he lifted the top quiz in a delicate pinch. He turned it over to make sure it was his and to check where the top was. He turned the quiz back over and, using two hands now, replaced it almost reverently back on the stack, making sure it aligned perfectly. His motions were slow, but deliberate, turning the quiz slowly, taking his time, replacing it. Merlin wondered idly if Mr Pendragon’s arms were getting tired from holding the stack for so long.. When he was done, Merlin was still unable to look Mr Pendragon in the eye, very possibly because Merlin realized that at some point in the last few minutes, his cock had gone from half-hard to rock solid, straining against the fabric of his boxers and trousers, most definitely visible if Mr Pendragon were to chance a look. Merlin felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“Good job, Mr Emrys. It makes me so pleased when order is kept.” Hearing this was satisfying to Merlin in a way he’d never considered before. His teacher stepped back from Merlin then, the pressure of the papers against his chest suddenly gone, making Merlin sway a bit in place, as if they were all that was holding him upright. He felt exposed, cold somehow, but he didn’t try to move or look up, feeling like perhaps he shouldn’t until Mr Pendragon dismissed him this time.
“You should get on with your day now. Oh, and Mr Emrys? I think that you’ll really enjoy the reading I’ve assigned for tonight.” With that, Mr Pendragon turned back and walked to his desk, giving Merlin a chance to quickly glance at him, at his broad back and the way his shoulders stretched the fabric of the pristine suit jacket, at his graceful, confident walk and the power in his legs the way they carried him across the creaky wooden panels.
“Thank you, sir.” Merlin got out quickly and managed to school his own legs into some sort of a trembling rhythm, bearing enough resemblance of a walk to get him out of the room.
When he finally managed to get outside the classroom, Merlin quickly made his way to the closest handicapped loo and locked the door behind himself. His breath came out in harsh ragged huffs, his heart beating a mile a minute. He dropped his backpack by the door and turned on the faucet, hoping the running water would drown out the hammering in his chest. He looked at his reflection and walked back to the sink to splash water on his flushed face. It didn’t help any and his erection hadn’t flagged at all.
Merlin groaned and leaned back against the wall, quickly fumbling with his zip and tugging his boxers and trousers down to get his cock out. He hissed and bit his bottom lip as the chilly air hit his over-sensitized prick. Merlin watched himself in the mirror. The way he stroked his erection, hand languidly moving up and down the shaft, tugging the foreskin back and forth over the head. Merlin wondered if Mr Pendragon would like what he saw, or if he’d tell Merlin to do it differently, just how he liked it. Merlin pulled his uniform tie askew and undid the buttons of his jacket, spreading his legs open more to brace himself against the wall better.
Merlin held his hand still and thrust into the loose channel it made, all the while watching the movements in the mirror. He loved the way his own hips rolled his cock into his fist and moaned out quietly, but it rushed through his ears and he was thankful for the water running hushing out some of the sound. He continued imagining himself putting on a show for Mr Pendragon, both of them flushed and worked up from their confrontation, Merlin doing this to take Mr Pendragon’s mind off his mistake, to please him completely. He imagined that Mr Pendragon would hold back his face from breaking out into grins or smirks or obvious arousal, but he figured Mr Pendragon’s pupils would be blown and his knuckles would be turning pure white as he gripped the armrests of his teacher’s chair.
Merlin imagined that once Mr Pendragon let go, he was a force, but he’d never let go in school, so Merlin would push him and tease him and hope that it was enough. It would be enough, until Merlin realized he was doing it all wrong and he needed Mr Pendragon to help him – needed Mr Pendragon’s firm hand on his cock. He’d look at him pleadingly and stop stroking, even though it hurt to, even though his cock was hot and throbbing in his palm, beads of precome gathering on the tip, threatening to drip down until he gathered them with his thumb, swiping them along the length of his cock. Once Mr Pendragon’s face relaxed even more, enjoying seeing Merlin on edge, he’d finally speak, his voice that low whisper from earlier, “Spit on it, Mr Emrys. Get yourself wet and sloppy and fuck your hand. Don’t come until I tell you.”
Merlin groaned and opened his eyes, unable to recall when he’d closed them in the first place but followed imaginary Mr Pendragon’s instructions and gathered saliva in his mouth before releasing a bit down the length of his body to catch into the palm around his cock. He thrust his hips once, twice, all the saliva spreading along his cock, making each thrust easier, but the friction just this side of not-enough. Merlin moaned out and cursed Mr Pendragon but didn’t stop pumping his fist. He tightened his grip and relished in the sloppy, squishy sounds each thrust made.
His other hand, which had been clinging to the wall behind him, came up to twist a nipple through his shirt and he really made a picture then: flushed from head to toe, hair and clothes all askew, legs trembling from the building pressure of the pleasure as he continued thrusting into his palm. He felt increasing tingling low in his abdomen and whimpered, pinching his nipple harder as he bit his lip to keep from being louder.
“I want to hear you. Don’t hold back,” Imaginary Mr Pendragon said. aMerlin thought he could cry, his body trembling against the cold concrete wall behind him.
Little whimpers and moans escaped his lips with increasing frequency now as his thrusts got more and more erratic and the grip on his cock tighter and tighter. The thrusts were now nothing more than twitches just to get the head of his cock the pressure it needed. Merlin was close, so so close. “Oh, oh fuck. Yes. Fuck, yes.” He was almost there and his moans were getting louder, the rushing water across from him no longer doing the trick of masking them.
“Please, sir, please,” Merlin pleaded, knowing he couldn’t just let go. Not anymore, not after today. He’d never again be able to wank the way he used to. Mr Pendragon behind his eyelids dictating his every move, his stern features softening, pleased, whenever Merlin obeyed. Merlin needed to come, but the hand tweaking his nipple had gone down to hold the base of his cock as his hips kept moving the head of his cock in and out of his other palm.
“Please, sir, I need-” Merlin was practically crying for release at this point and probably would have if the Mr Pendragon in his head hadn’t taken pity on him right then.
“Let go, Mr Emrys. Come for me.”
The bell rang as Merlin’s come hit the floor.
The next day, Merlin couldn’t even begin to recall a word said in his first class, all thoughts focused on English Lit and the story Mr Pendragon had made them read. “The Company of Wolves” was shorter than the selection from Wilde’s fairy tales, but definitely no less dark in its telling. Merlin read the short six pages enraptured in the mythos. The prose drew him in and made him fall for the wolves more than the people, and he found that he identified with what appeared to be a version of Little Red Riding Hood more than a bit. He was lured and seduced by the young man just as much as she was, and would have burned his clothes for him all the same. He wondered idly if something was seriously wrong with him.
The time for English Lit came and Merlin strode into the room with purpose. Being in the mere presence of Mr Pendragon again was an invigorating force propelling him forward; he was excited today not just because of his presence, but because he knew it would be a good class. The class after an assigned reading was always Merlin’s favourite. It brought together two of his favourite things: his love of literature and all things academia, and Mr Pendragon. Merlin loved watching his teacher in action: passionate about the readings and the knowledge he passed on to his students.
It was especially exciting today, because the reading was unlike anything Mr Pendragon had ever assigned before, usually keeping to the more conservative side of things. The fantasy portion of his class must have really inspired him though, and it definitely inspired Merlin, too.
Merlin listened to Mr Pendragon’s deep voice as he began the lecture, first telling them about Angela Carter and her life, inspirations, and other works, before getting to the nitty gritty of the text.
Merlin meant to pay attention, as he’d really enjoyed the story and couldn’t wait to hear Mr Pendragon’s in-depth analysis, but every time he looked away from his page, at the board, all he saw were the long, elegant extensions of Mr Pendragon’s arm as it wove and danced across the blackboard. The graceful notes in his voice with every new fact he wanted to emphasize. The softness of his face as he began to get more and more lost in storytelling, educating, sharing.
The words filtered in and out, and Merlin was sure that if it came to studying, he’d be able to extrapolate them from each movement and action in front of him. He knew he could relate the “whore-Madonna” dichotomy to himself, and the way he felt split wide open within himself every time he thought of Mr Pendragon, or the subtleties of horror and the way Merlin’s mind had come to associate fear with arousal. The road to passing would be paved with Mr Pendragon and filthy dirty thoughts of him.
Merlin shook out of it before it got too far, already noticing his body temperature climbing, much like his cock, as he listened to Mr Pendragon’s confident, self-assured speaking voice.
“...so, because she walks the path of pins in this story and falls into the wolf’s trap by succumbing to temptation, Red Riding Hood is thus embodying the “whore” archetype, and falling victim to the wolf, Mr Pendragon was saying.
Merlin scoffed before he could stop himself. The sound was suddenly the loudest thing in the room. Most of his classmates turned to look at him and Merlin saw Mr Pendragon’s nostrils flare as his eyes shot to look at him directly.
“Mr Emrys. Something you’d like to share with the class?” Mr Pendragon asked.
Merlin felt like a deer in headlights, or how he imagined one must feel; knowing your doom is near but being completely unable to do anything but gape and stare.
“I-” he started after a moment, reluctantly, and was just about to apologize for the interruption when he saw one of Mr Pendragon’s eyebrows shoot up and the beginning of a smirk on his face. It felt like a challenge, and, academically at least, Merlin could not back down. He cleared his throat.
“It’s just that I disagree with your assessment of Carter’s Red Riding Hood from the story, Mr Pendragon.” Merlin was deliberate in his phrasing, knowing he’d accepted Mr Pendragon’s challenge head-on, showing him he was a worthy discussion partner. He waited for a reaction, or maybe permission, at this point, he wasn’t sure.
“By all means, Mr Emrys.” Mr Pendragon stepped away from the blackboard, putting down the chalk and leaned against his desk. “The floor is yours.”
“Right. So, you talked about this path of pins and needles and how each heroine has this choice to take one and pins make her a whore, but needles make her the Madonna, but I don’t think it’s that simple. Well, at least not in this story. I mean, the original fairy tales were written by men, right? And in our sociology class...” Merlin felt his palms starting to sweat, he stretched out his fingers quickly and went on.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, but I just don’t think a woman rewriting a fairy tale would have made her heroine such an obvious archetype. By putting her into a tidy boxes, we simplify her character and completely ignore the notion of agency in this story. I mean, there obviously isn’t much, since we know what happens, but I do think that at many parts of the story Red Riding Hood could have turned back or done something else.” Merlin’s thoughts raced to come up with something from the story as an arguing point, anything, to make it compelling. When it came to him, he nearly shouted.
“For example! At the very end, even when it was too late, she still had agency enough to make a choice for the wolf, she turned him completely as well by burning his clothes. So I just don’t think it’s fair to call her a victim, when she makes sure to seal his fate, too.” Merlin finished, a little breathless and light-headed, his arms somehow having found their way into the air, no doubt after a series of ridiculous gestures. He could feel all eyes on him, all, including Mr Pendragon’s. And the seconds after he finished speaking stretched, amplifying every sound around him, the scraping of chairs, the shuffling of paper’s, someone’s awkward cough.
Finally, Mr Pendragon spoke, “A very compelling point, Mr Emrys, and a very thorough interpretation of the material you’ve only just read. Impressive.” He nodded his head in approval at Merlin. “However, your interruption was still rather out of order, wouldn’t you say? I’ll be expecting to see you here after school.” With that, he carried on with the rest of the lesson while Merlin remained completely frozen in his spot, half-hard cock pressing against the inseam of his trousers, and heart beating faster than an oncoming train.
Merlin’s body thrummed with anticipation as he watched the hallways clear out, everyone eager to leave.
“Hey Merls, you coming?” Freya was waving her hand in front of Merlin’s face and she tilted her head, giving him a bit of an exasperated look as he blinked at her. He noticed Gwen trying to school her face not to give away the giggle she was holding back.
“What? Oh. No, I’m not. The Dragon’s keeping me back today.” Merlin feigned nonchalance while his insides twisted up and around, attempting an escape act via his throat.
“Ugh. What an arse. You of all people!” Freya rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder. “Guess you’ll just have to tell us all about it tomorrow, then. Bye!”
With a quick wave of her hand and a soft, “Bye, Merlin!” from Gwen, they were making their way down the hall and Merlin could finally let go of the breath he’d been holding before he turned the opposite direction and walked to Mr Pendragon’s classroom.
He stood lurking just outside the door like a creeper before finally getting the courage to turn the corner and quietly knock on the doorframe.
“Mr Pendragon?” Merlin cleared his throat, “You wanted to see me?”
Mr Pendragon looked up at Merlin and it seemed to take him a few minutes before he recognized him. “Ah yes, Mr Emrys, please, have a seat.” He pointed to the desk directly in front of his own, “This one will do, unless of course you have something to say on the matter.”
Merlin flushed, knowing how transparent he’d been and how easily Mr Pendragon must have seen through him. Though he looked the row of seats up and down mock-thoughtfully as he walked through the classroom, he sat in the one that had been chosen for him, head down, without a word. When he looked up at Mr Pendragon, he was rewarded with a small smile and a nod.
“What you said in class today; that was quite an in-depth analysis, Mr Emrys. I was impressed,” Mr Pendragon said.
“Thank you, sir.” Merlin didn’t want Mr Pendragon to know how pleased he felt with the compliment, but his whole body thrummed with joy.
“The way you spoke out of turn, however, and your scoffing, Mr Emrys,” Mr Pendragon sounded incredulous, “were much less impressive.” He stood up from his desk and walked around it to lean against the front, directly in front of Merlin, his crotch right in Merlin’s eyeline. It had to be deliberate. Had to.
Merlin looked up the long, strong line of Mr Pendragon’s body slowly. He tried his hardest not to squirm so his hardening cock would not be as obvious. Mr Pendragon crossed his arms in front of his chest, only wearing his shirt now, making his torso appear wider and the sheer fabric stretch across his arms. Merlin gulped.
“Yes, sir.”
“Glad you understand, Mr Emrys. So I hope you will also understand that I cannot let such things go unpunished.”
“Yes, sir,” Merlin answered, hands sweating in his lap, whole body flushing in an odd mix of shame and anticipation.
Mr Pendragon stood and walked over to the large cabinet at the side of the classroom. Merlin felt like it would be somehow wrong to look, so he tried sitting still, but chanced a glance to the side anyway. In his periphery, he saw Mr Pendragon reaching into the cabinet and bending over and Merlin couldn’t hold back from turning his head fully to admire the view; the dark grey trousers clinging tightly around muscular thighs and a pleasantly round arse. Merlin tried to imagine gripping the desk as Mr Pendragon pounded into him and he felt himself flush, looking back to the front of the room.
Soon after, he heard Mr Pendragon’s footsteps nearing after a quiet click of the cabinet doors closing, and before he knew it, his teacher was standing before him once again. The power coming off him was palpable and made Merlin want to cower in on himself, but that wasn’t the game he’d set out to play.
Mr Pendragon placed a stack of foolscap in front of Merlin with a slap against the desk top.
"For your inappropriate interruptions in class, Mr Emrys, you will use this time to write on ten full foolscap pages, front and back, ‘I will not interrupt. I will know my place.'" Mr Pendragon moved to stand beside Merlin and straightened out the pages on the desk. He pointed to the lines.
"You will double-space each sentence and exceed no more than two lines per sentence. Your writing will be clear and legible. Am I understood?" His hand had come to rest on Merlin’s shoulder as he loomed over him. A deep spot of heat spread all through Merlin’s body to his core. It fired all his cells into action and Merlin felt his body want to sag in submission.
"Yes, sir." He replied with what he felt was an even tone, even though his body thrummed with excitement, hands itching to hold the pen and write.
"Good. Oh, and Mr Emrys?" Merlin looked up to see Mr Pendragon turn on the way to his desk, looking directly at him, a small smile playing at his lips, making him look much younger than Merlin was used to; much more approachable, too. "I hope you won’t mind a few interruptions." With that, he went to sit down at his desk, getting to work, leaving Merlin with nothing else to do but begin writing his lines.
Merlin’s hand began to ache after about the fourth double-sided, double-spaced page of “I will not interrupt. I will know my place.” But he didn’t give up. He knew that was what Mr Pendragon must have expected of him, but he’d rise to the challenge and meet it head-on. The ache was a pleasant kind of pain, the kind borne of hard work, of being good and of pleasing someone. Merlin enjoyed that kind of ache, it made him feel productive and proud of himself. He loved nothing more than persevering at a task and getting it done.
Merlin flipped the page over onto the corner of the desk, ready to start the next one, taking a moment to stretch his fingers and roll his neck, both hating and loving its stiffness from being in the same position for so long. He cracked his knuckles and was ready to resume writing lines when he heard the scrape of Mr Pendragon’s chair. He looked up.
"Mr Emrys. It seems the attendance didn't get taken down to the main office earlier today." Mr Pendragon didn't look the least bit surprised, a glint in his eye as he walked toward Merlin's desk with the leather folder.
"I hope you won't mind this little interruption, and take it down to the office." He placed the folder on top of Merlin's notes and pen, looking at him expectantly. When Merlin didn't move quickly enough, Mr Pendragon turned and began walking back to his desk.
"Now, Mr Emrys."
Merlin got up quickly then, clumsily knocking the folder down and picking it back up. He knew Mr Pendragon was punishing him for his earlier interruption, but he'd thought that his quiet obedience and writing lines would be enough, that it was all still a part of the game they were playing.
Even with all the thoughts making him question himself, Merlin took the folder down to the office.
When he got back, he found Mr Pendragon sitting on the corner of his desk, the very corner where Merlin had placed his finished pages, in fact.
"Sir?" Merlin said quietly as he approached the desk and slid back into the chair.
Mr Pendragon stood, holding the finished pages and turning them over in his hand looking at each side multiple times. Merlin worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he watched his teacher standing next to his desk, perfectly still, save for his hands.
"This is not your best penmanship, Mr Emrys." Mr Pendragon looked at Merlin. "You can do much better." He aligned the sheets in his fingers, neatly holding each side.
"And you will." Mr Pendragon tore the sheets in half. He dropped the halves back onto the desk and went back to his own to finish whatever he was working on.
Merlin was in shock. What? He looked down at the torn up pages and back up at his teacher, now calmly sitting at his desk, flawless head between strong firm shoulders bent over some unimportant piece of paper, paying Merlin no attention.
Merlin took a couple of breaths, collected the torn up pages, folded them neatly, and placed them on the corner of his desk. He would continue, he would not give up.
Merlin became very focused on the task at hand, making sure that each new line was better than the previous. He swore he could almost see his handwriting improving by the minute.
It was odd, at times, when Merlin would suddenly become acutely aware of the fact that he was all alone in the classroom with Uther Pendragon, and his thoughts could focus on nothing else, his hand suddenly rendered immobile as he tried to remember how to hold a pen so it didn't feel alien in his fingers.
They worked in companionable silence and Merlin idly thought that he could get used to it.
Merlin fell back into a steady rhythm of pen scraping against paper and he didn't even notice Mr Pendragon until a shadow loomed onto the desk from over his shoulder, and the back of his neck suddenly felt like it was on fire.
"Is this your best work, Mr Emrys?" Mr Pendragon asked from Merlin's right, his voice low and thick in Merlin's ear, breath hot on his skin. His right palm rested on the desk, propping him up.
Merlin shuddered, and the hand not holding his pen clenched in his lap.
"Yes, sir," he said with conviction.
Mr Pendragon "hmm'd," still in Merlin's ear and reached around his neck with his left hand to pull up the sheets Merlin had been writing on, no longer making a point of placing them in the corner after he finished. They stayed that way as Mr Pendragon surveyed each side meticulously; all the while his breath continued heating the skin of Merlin's neck.
With every inhale and exhale, Merlin concentrated only on the rhythm of Mr Pendragon's breathing in his ear, the tickle of each breath out against the fine hairs on his neck. He closed his eyes and got a bit lost in it, finding it oddly calming and arousing. His cock went from soft to rock hard in seconds and he was digging his nails into his thigh to keep it at bay, to keep himself from doing something stupid like leaning his face just a little to the right. Just enough to-
"This is still not good enough." Compared to his soft, even breathing, Mr Pendragon's voice was a boom in Merlin's ear.
"What?" Merlin said, before he could stop himself. He opened his eyes to look at the page in question, only one this time, and blinked.
"I expect better than this, Merlin." Mr Pendragon shifted, replacing the pages after tearing one of them up, both hands resting on the desk, his face much closer to Merlin's. And hearing him utter Merlin's first name, the way it fell out of his lips onto Merlin's skin, made Merlin feel open and vulnerable and owned. It was exhilarating.
Merlin didn't dare move, even though every single thing that made him a sixteen-year-old male told him to. He wanted to rub his cheek against Mr Pendragon's, to feel the stubble brush his skin, scratching him and marking him. He wanted to lean back and feel the press of his strong chest against his own back. He had to play along, this was just another distraction.
"Yes, sir," he gritted out.
"Good," Mr Pendragon said into his ear and pushed away from the desk. Merlin felt cold with the lack of his body heat at his back. He wanted to chase after it, after the comfort and the mystery and all it could hold for him.
Mr Pendragon made his way back to his desk again without looking back or looking up. Merlin was beginning to feel annoyed. His fingers were beginning to cramp up after every fifth line and only so much stretching helped. His erection straining in his lap wasn't helping. And though he wanted nothing more than to just show Mr Pendragon and put his pen down and go to town on himself right then and there, he knew it wasn't the place.
Still, that didn't stop him from doing all the writing in a manner that hopefully annoyed Mr Pendragon as much as having to rewrite yet another page annoyed Merlin.
Merlin breathed loudly through his nose, hoping the sound was irritating enough, considering how well he'd learned in class that Mr Pendragon valued complete silence. Merlin picked up his pen again and tried to channel his rage into the best printing he'd ever done.
After a minute or so of his heavy breathing, Merlin was just about to stop, all his rage seeping out into the smoothest and most legible letters he'd ever produced, but Mr Pendragon spoke before complete silence fell over the classroom once more.
"If you deem the punishment unfair and undeserved, Mr Emrys, you're welcome to leave now and take this up with administration tomorrow." His voice was cold and distant, a complete turnaround from the soft tones placed directly into Merlin's ear, only for him.
Merlin looked up from the page, confused.
"Sir, I-" he began to speak, but seeing Mr Pendragon's deep, dark, unsmiling eyes looking back at him made him pause. Merlin wasn't sure when things changed so suddenly.
"I was merely trying to instil some discipline, Mr Emrys." He punctuated each syllable of Merlin's name like it was a sentence, like it was a chore getting the words out. "But if you feel that you have learned your lesson, then there is nothing I can do." He looked at Merlin expectantly.
Merlin didn't know what to say. He gaped at Mr Pendragon, looking for something to say, but could find nothing. He placed the pen down, worrying his hands together now.
"Sir-" he began again.
Mr Pendragon sighed and shook his head slightly. He closed the folders on his desk, picked up his briefcase from beside his chair and began slowly placing papers inside it.
"This isn't fair!" Merlin said then, finding his voice, fuming with anger now. "You told me to write lines and I have been!" He held up all the pages on his desk. "You know I have been, and I've been pushing and trying in spite of the pain in my wrist and the cramping in my fingers...and your interruptions!" Merlin threw the pages back onto the desk and slumped back in his chair.
"I just. I don't know what else you want me to do."
"Go home, Mr Emrys." Mr Pendragon's chair scraped as he stood and gathered his jacket from the back, slipping it on, fingers swiftly doing up the buttons. His quickness to leave only made Merlin angrier, the way he never carried himself without poise and grace. At that moment, Merlin hated him.
"I suggest you think hard about your behaviour today," Mr Pendragon said as he walked out of the classroom. He was gone before Merlin could even reply.
In retrospect, as the door clicked closed behind him, Merlin thought that he could have just gone back to writing. It was too late now, and he could have kicked himself, but it'd serve no point.
All alone in the classroom now, Merlin looked around before slipping his hand into his trousers. He had all weekend to figure out how to fix things.
Monday morning rolled around sooner than Merlin could have expected or hoped for, in spite of the weird mix of feelings. He was still reeling from his dismissal on Friday, unsure of where he stood with his teacher, and whether he’d finally gone too far in what he’d felt was their mutual game.
Thankfully he was able to work through, or rather with, all of those emotions and channel them into his assignment: a creative retelling of a work of his choice. With all the thoughts still spinning through his head, Merlin couldn’t have even attempted any story other than Carter’s Wolves. So he didn’t.
Instead, he poured all of himself into the writing, to getting Red Riding Hood’s voice just right and creating not a victim, but a three-dimensional character. He became her as she wrote to her parents, in the light of the moon, before her first and only transformation took place, as she explained it all and questioned so much. Merlin wondered if he’d crossed a line by making her so innocent, naive, and young, but the passion he felt as he put pen to paper for his first draft was full of raw energy.
The energy continued through the weekend and Merlin felt that his assignment said exactly what he wanted and needed it to. He made his way to class excited, unable to hold back, a stream of consciousness keeping him floating between hyperaware and unable to concentrate all the way through his first course. All he needed was the bell, English Lit, and Mr Pendragon.
Making his way into class, Merlin tried not to stare, but attempted a courteous,
"Good morning, sir." as a way of greeting, only to be met with the silver-lined crown of Mr Pendragon’s head, the fine hairs sweeping down as he looked through his drawer.
Merlin’s excitement began to wane, but he couldn’t let it go. He had to do this, had to get him back, had to change the rules of their game. His voice needed to be heard.
As the class settled down, Merlin made up his mind, his whole body tight as a bowstring with the nervous anticipation, sitting on the edge of his seat, feet firmly planted on the floor, hands balled up in fists on the edge of the desk.
"Are there any volunteers for presentations, before I go down the list alphabetically?" Mr Pendragon asked, quickly glancing around the classroom, mostly at the keeners in the front row, and over the bowed heads of everyone else.
Merlin put up his hand.
"Mr Emrys?" Mr Pendragon kept his voice level, but barely glanced at Merlin, instead focusing his attention back on the attendance list on his desk.
"Sir. I’d like to present first, please." Merlin spoke softly, attempting demure, but his whole body thrummed with anticipation, wanting to push his teacher and to show him, to tell him he wasn’t afraid. He’d worn his tightest briefs that morning under his uniform, hoping they’d stave off any unwanted erections peeking out, but feeling the pressure now was more of a hindrance than help as it pressed against his half-hard cock. Merlin happily held the little papers down in front of him, hopefully blocking out everyone else’s view.
Mr Pendragon looked back up at Merlin then, actually meeting his glance, and nodded.
"Very well then. You have five minutes." He leaned back in his chair with a clipboard in his lap, poised against a leg crossed ankle-over-knee, and looked expectantly at Merlin. Merlin nodded, stood up, took a deep breath, and began.
"I’ve decided to interpret Angela Carter’s "The Company of Wolves" from the point of view of the girl, Red Riding Hood in a letter written to her parents before she turns. I’ve also written an analysis based on this reworked framework, but I don’t think I’ll have the time for that, so I’ll just read the letter." Merlin looked up from the cue cards he was holding in his hands. His heart was pounding in his chest. Public speaking was one of his least favourite things, but he persevered. Seeing Mr Pendragon with his pen down and hands clasped over his clipboard, merely watching him gave Merlin that extra push. He read from the letter,
"Dearest Mother and Father,
By the time you find this letter, I will be long gone. I am not sure how long I have, for the beast has not slept soundly. He continues stirring, searching me out..."
Merlin could see this Red Riding Hood as she watched the sleeping beast and she scribbled her last human words to her parents. His heart felt for her as her words left his lips. Merlin easily transported himself back to his own body, though, reading Red’s letter aloud, eyes glancing away from the page as often as possible, meeting Mr Pendragon’s head-on.
"I could hear you both, Mother, Father - your voices warning me about straying from the path. I did not. I kept on, walking alone..."
Merlin made each word deliberate, his voice growing more and more confident by the minute. His palms trembled around the cards in his hands, channelling Red’s fear, but also her conviction as she began to write of the choices she willingly made, never allowing herself to be victimised. Merlin’s heart pounded in his chest, nerves, excitement, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Merlin could see Mr Pendragon shift in his chair with every passing sentence, his stance no longer relaxed and leaning back, but more attentive, sitting forward, listening intently.
"Knowing the fate Grandmother had faced, I could not bring myself to run. But I could not bring myself to fight. I humoured the man - the beast - and I played his game..." At this, Merlin made sure to pause, taking a deep breath, his body no longer trembling with nerves. The whole the classroom narrowed to the single, looming desk at the front to his teacher and his darkened eyes looking back at him.
"I do not want to die. Looking at the beast in Grandmother’s bed now, I know I could kill him if I wanted, but what would become of me? I burned my clothes at his demand, succumbing to the easier choice, to life, but I could never return to you as I am, only as a creature of the night. He is now my companion and I am his, for his clothes burned with mine, sealing our fate together and keeping him from tempting other girls and destroying their families."
Merlin could feel the emotion welling up in his voice as his letter built to a climax, the final goodbye from Red Riding Hood to her parents, to her innocence and life as she knew it before the beast. He could feel Mr Pendragon’s eyes on him and Merlin stared back, putting down the cue cards on the desk, hands falling to his sides. The lament meant only for him.
"In his human form, the beast told me, as the wolves howling serenaded us, that he loved nothing more than the company of wolves, as I feel my skin trembling in the cold night and as my hands become crippled around this pen, I feel that I will learn to enjoy it as well."
"I hope I have not disgraced you, nor Grandmother in my final human moments, but I cannot regret this decision and hope you do not, either. As my body trembles with what I fear is the transformation, I hope you know I love you and never wish this upon you, dearest parents, so remember me as I am, though I’ll never be that again..."
Merlin finished speaking, his heart pounding in his chest from the exhilaration of getting to share his ideas aloud, from letting Mr Pendragon know how he felt, and what he felt, that he would not be the victim. He watched his teacher make a few rushed notes on his clipboard, hand hurrying the script along. Merlin’s tunnel vision began receding and the rest of the classroom and his classmates came back to him, looking decidedly bored or weirded out. He was sure that most of them did not appreciate the story the way he did, thus they wouldn’t have appreciated his presentation. He didn’t care.
He waited for Mr Pendragon to acknowledge him again, a quick glance and nod - not what Merlin was expecting - before sitting back down in his seat. Mr Pendragon glanced around the class, everyone with their heads back down and spoke,
"If there are no more volunteers..."
His voice seemed to dissipate with each word for Merlin, whose attention was drifting until it disappeared. Later, Merlin would wonder what everyone had presented about, random bits of information floating through his head now and again, but nothing stuck. He thought he probably spent most of the class staring at Mr Pendragon, unashamedly, but he couldn’t be sure, so lost in his own head and his thoughts of baring himself that way and getting nothing in return.
Merlin relived his presentation in his head, all his words and moves and all the glances from Mr Pendragon. With each replay, his confidence fell just a bit lower, but his desire for Mr Pendragon had climbed to brand new heights. There was nothing better than hearing the shrill sound of the bell, finally snapping Merlin out of it and pushing him out of his chair and past Mr Pendragon’s desk, his assignment swiftly placed on the corner of his desk, then out the door ahead of everyone without a single glance back.
Days had gone by since Merlin did his presentation and handed in his paper. He saw Mr Pendragon in English Lit every day, and tried for nonchalant each time, going by the daily routine like nothing was amiss, like he wasn't dying to just jump out of his seat during one of Mr Pendragon's patent perfectly stoic classroom talks, and shout at him.
Merlin couldn't stand how easy it seemed for Mr Pendragon to dismiss him. There he was, each and every single class, acting like nothing happened. Like nothing was different.
Part II
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