Fanfic: Fire and Promise
Happy Birthday telperion_15!!! Hope you're having a great day.
Considering how enthusiastic you sounded when I suggested the pairing, I couldn't *not* do it, so I've finally ventured into Merlin fandom for your birthday fic.
Title: Fire and Promise
Author: Athene
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing/characters: Merlin/Gwaine
Rating: 15
Warnings: Smut, occasional mild language, teeny bit of angst
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Shine own them.
Word count: approx 1700
Summary: Merlin had imagined many ways in which Gwaine might find out about his magic. This was not one of them.
AN: Birthday fic for telperion_15, who was very enthusiastic when I suggested this pairing, and gave the prompt, ‘cloak’.
AN2: My first foray into Merlin fandom. Meep!
They stumbled into Gwaine’s room, almost falling over each other in their rush to be hidden, and kicked the door shut. Merlin caught Gwaine’s eye, and that was enough to have the other man burst into laughter again. Merlin slapped a hand over Gwaine’s mouth, and pressed close to him against the door, listening to the sound of running footsteps in the street outside and his own heart hammering in his chest.
The footsteps receded into the night, and Merlin breathed again. He didn’t dare look at Gwaine, he knew they’d both just set each other off again.
“M mfnk me mffft em.”
Merlin arched an eyebrow, and carefully removed his hand from Gwaine’s mouth.
“What?”
“I think we lost them.”
Merlin grinned. “I think we did. But as a noble, honourable knight of Camelot, I’m not sure you should be running away from town guards.”
“Probably not. But where would be the fun in being noble and honourable all the time?” His grin turned into a decidedly cheeky leer. “Besides, if Arthur finds out, I’ll just say you were a bad influence on me.”
“Me? A bad influence on you? Even Arthur isn’t stupid enough to believe that!”
Gwaine appeared to be considering that quite seriously for all of five seconds. Then he started giggling again.
“Maybe not, but now I want to see the look on his face if I tried it.”
Merlin rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help returning Gwaine’s grin. The man was bloody incorrigible!
“And speaking of trying things...” Gwaine said. He leaned forwards until his mouth was almost touching Merlin’s. Then he stopped, his eyes asking the question.
Merlin tilted his head slightly and closed the distance. It was the barest brush of lips, until Gwaine pulled back and watched Merlin with a curious expression.
“What?” Merlin finally asked, confused.
“Just waiting to see if I was about to get punched.”
Merlin gave him his best incredulous raised eyebrow expression.
Gwaine shrugged. “I didn’t think it was likely, but you never know. It’s happened before.”
Considering this was Gwaine they were talking about, Merlin could imagine that all too well.
“You do know you look more and more like Gaius when you do that expression?”
Merlin tried to look as horrified as he felt.
“Gwaine, do me a favour, and don’t ever mention Gaius when we’re doing this.” He still wasn’t entirely certain what ‘this’ actually was, but he suspected it was going to be a lot of fun finding out.
Gwaine’s grin was entirely too mischievous.
“I’ll take that as permission to do it again, then.”
And he did. This time it was less tentative, and more eager, more adventurous, more...
Merlin squeaked in surprise when he felt Gwaine’s hands slipping under his shirt and pulling him closer. He retaliated by pressing Gwaine back against the door and encouraging him to open his mouth, tasting the ale and pie they’d both had in the tavern earlier. Now the adrenaline running through his body was nothing to do with escaping the town guards, and everything to do with desire and need and things that Merlin hadn’t even consciously realised he wanted until this moment.
And then the lights went out.
“Hey!”
“What the...?”
Arms failed and noses bumped and toes were stepped on for several seconds until they managed to extricate themselves from under a large woollen cloak that had been hanging on the back of the door, until their activities dislodged it to fall over their heads. Eventually Merlin found himself holding the cloak, while Gwaine patted his hair back down. They caught each other’s eye, and both of them burst into laughter.
“Well, that killed the mood,” Gwaine said between chuckles.
“Just a little bit,” Merlin admitted. He glanced down at the cloak, aware that he’d only been holding it for less than a minute, and already it felt heavy and scratchy. “Is this yours? It’s horrible!”
Gwaine shrugged. “It’s warm in winter, and good for hiding yourself in a crowd.” He wrinkled his nose. “Could maybe do with a wash, I suppose.”
He took it from Merlin’s hands and chucked it onto the floor.
“Right, where were we?”
“Kissing,” Merlin helpfully reminded him.
“Ah, yes.”
Gwaine’s hands found Merlin’s hips, and he walked him backwards across the room until Merlin felt the edge of Gwaine’s bed against the back of his legs. He wobbled, and grabbed the front of Gwaine’s shirt, and dragged him down with him when he fell onto the bed. They landed in a giggling heap, and suddenly there were hands everywhere, burrowing under clothes, exploring skin, tangling in that oh so swishy hair. Merlin thought he heard a faint mumble of protest about messing his hair up, but really, between the adrenaline and the fun and the three pints of ale that were still very much in his system, Merlin felt that was just an incentive to do it more.
Possibly as an act of retaliation, or maybe just an attempt to distract him, Gwaine slipped his hand down the front of Merlin’s trousers and began to stroke his cock. As distraction techniques went, Merlin has to admit it worked wonderfully. The sensation of Gwaine’s rough fingers was enough to make him throw his head back and arch into his friend’s touch. There was a loud, needy moan, and it took Merlin a moment to realise that he was the one who had made it.
“Now that’s a sound I could get used to hearing.”
Merlin looked up and saw the amusement sparkling in Gwaine’s eyes. Amusement, and lust. Merlin couldn’t help wondering if that was just the ale talking, but then Gwaine did something with his hand that sent all his coherent thoughts scattering to the four winds. He could feel the heat gathering within, the fire, the power. With one unexpected twist of Gwaine’s fingers, Merlin let go, a choked cry escaping with his ecstatic release.
Somewhere on the periphery of his awareness, he heard a bang, and a crashing and clattering noise, and a faint flump. He could see what it was in a minute, though. Right then, Merlin wasn’t even sure he had enough energy left to move.
“Merlin?”
There was something in Gwaine’s voice that cut through Merlin’s daze, and he opened his eyes. The look of shock on Gwaine’s face was like a bucket of cold water, and suddenly Merlin knew, knew, without even needing to see the faint golden sparkles in the air around him.
Oh, shit.
Gwaine suddenly turned and looked behind.
“Oh, shit!”
He leapt up and dived across the room, stamping hard on the blazing remains of the cloak they had left on the floor. Merlin dragged himself to sit up, and saw the scattered tankards and armour and a broken jug that lay on the floor. Gwaine hissed as the fire licked at his trouser leg, and Merlin raised his hand and put the fire out with a single word, the cloak disintegrating into a pile of black ash and dust.
Then he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
“Merlin?”
He didn’t reply. What could he say? The evidence was all pretty incriminating, and Gwaine wasn’t even remotely drunk enough to make it worth trying to pretend there was a sensible explanation that didn’t involve magic.
“Merlin, look at me.”
Numb and empty to his core, Merlin forced himself to look up.
“That was you. You have magic.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
He held Gwaine’s gaze, seeing the shock and the incredulity in his eyes.
“You have magic,” Gwaine said again, this time more quietly, more thoughtfully. As if he was trying the idea out for size.
Merlin knew he ought to say something, but he had no idea where to even start.
Unexpectedly, Gwaine chuckled. “Suddenly a lot of things make sense.”
It was Merlin’s turn to stare in shock. Through the fog of fear it began to dawn on Merlin that there was no sign of horror or anger in his friend’s voice. And Gwaine’s sword was still hanging in its scabbard from a hook on the wall.
“I’m guessing Arthur doesn’t know?”
Merlin shook his head. He hesitated, but he had to ask. “Are you going to tell him?”
Gwaine actually looked hurt.
“Do you honestly think I would do that to you?”
Merlin shook his head again, feeling terrible for even having entertained the thought. Gwaine might be reckless and foolish and entirely too fond of ale and excitement, but he was also loyal and trustworthy, and one of the best friends Merlin had ever known. In that moment, Merlin almost wished he had told Gwaine the truth a long time ago.
“I’m sorry about your cloak,” he said, trying to change the subject.
Gwaine glanced down and kicked at the charred remains.
“I never liked that one anyway.”
He walked over and sat down beside Merlin.
“Gwaine, I’m sorry. Really. But I-”
Merlin’s apologies were cut off by Gwaine’s finger on his lips, which he had to admit was a fairly effective way of stopping him from babbling.
“I’m not going to hand you over to Arthur, and I’m not going to tell anyone, I promise. We can talk about everything else in the morning.”
“M’kay,” Merlin agreed into Gwaine’s finger, the muffled word not even beginning to convey his relief. It took him a moment to realise the implication that Gwaine wasn’t throwing him out, and was, in fact, expecting him to stay the night. It took rather less time for Merlin to realise that he was actually quite happy with that idea.
Gwaine slipped his hand round the back of Merlin’s neck and tugged him into another kiss, this time slow and full of promise. When they eventually separated, there was a twinkle in Gwaine’s eyes.
“Good. Because if this is what happens with a bit of foreplay, I can’t wait to see what happens when you’re on top.”
Despite everything, Merlin laughed and returned Gwaine’s smile. He rather liked the sound of that himself.
Although, he thought, it might be worth having a bucket of water on standby. Just in case.