srin
in
mad_poetics
In the Jingle-Jangle Morning
Title: In the Jingle-Jangle Morning
Pairing: Merlin/Gwaine
Spoilers: Through 3x13
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~3000 words
Summary: Merlin has a night off, and Gwaine settles into his new room; these things may be related.
Note: Sort of a sequel to Left Me Blindly Here to Stand But Still Not Sleeping, but should be able to stand well enough on its own.
When things are calm - well, that’s a lie, isn’t it. Things are far from calm; Cenred’s former kingdom is in chaos, Camelot is still reeling, Uther is half mad and three-quarters broken and fully useless without Arthur or Gaius or both by his side, Arthur often looks like he hasn’t slept since their last night in the caves. But no one wants much of anything from the new knights just now other than that they stay out of the way. So. When things are calm for Gwaine.
When things are calm for Gwaine, he sits in his new room, trying to wrap his head around the fact that this is his room. His, not borrowed for a night or let for as long as he has coin or charm enough to compensate for the lack of it, but his, for as long as he wants it. His room, his bed, his table, his chair with his comically impractical new cloak draped over it, his cupboard and his washstand. It’s been years since he’s had anything more than what he can carry with him at a dead run, and he isn’t quite sure what to do with it all.
It’s not exactly how Gwaine would have imagined a room of his to be - the knight’s cloak in place of a collection of half-empty bottles is pretty unexpected, for a start. He feels a strange compulsion to mark the space in some way, leave a claim to remind everyone and especially himself that he belongs here, now. He isn’t much of an artist but he likes trying, has enough skill to manage a little something at least. Carve his name into the door maybe, or whittle a table leg into something obscene, or paint a picture across the wall. A naked girl to piss off the prissy steward perhaps, or a caricature of Arthur in a princess’s dress to piss off His Royal Pratness if he ever comes in here, or perhaps even something inoffensive, for himself. The little flowers his mother loved, or maybe, maybe a small falcon -
There’s a knock at his door.
“Yes?” Gwaine calls.
Merlin pokes his head in, grinning, and says, “Hello, Sir Gwaine.”
“Ugh,” Gwaine says with an exaggerated grimace, “don’t call me that. Come in, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Gwaine hasn’t seen too much of Merlin since their return to Camelot, mostly because he’s been ever at Arthur’s restless side, but also because he’s spent many of what free minutes he has with Lancelot, all quiet whispers and significant looks. Gwaine wouldn’t much care if he thought they were fucking; Lancelot’s an attractive man, and Gwaine’s never been terribly bothered about monogamy. (The fact that he hasn’t slept with anyone else since that first time with Merlin is pure coincidence. Really.) He doesn’t think they are, though. Lancelot seems like the sort to be very much bothered about monogamy and Gwaine’s seen how he looks at Gwen, never mind that Gwen and Arthur are - well. It’s all some kind of complicated that Gwaine wants no part of, but the point is, Gwaine’s fairly sure Merlin isn’t sleeping with Lancelot. But there is something going on between those two, some shared secret. Gwaine’s glad that Merlin has someone to confide in, even if there is a small part of him that can’t help thinking that - wishing that that someone were him.
Though, to be fair, Gwaine hasn’t exactly sought Merlin out, either. He’s wanted to, certainly, but Camelot isn’t a country tavern where Merlin’s turned up for some fun on a night off. This is his life, his normal life, and for all his sweet words about the future, Gwaine’s not entirely sure that Merlin really wants any more from him than the occasional shag. He’s been hesitant to impose, reluctant to presume and have his error made clear, especially now when Merlin already has so many more important problems to contend with. Before, their relationship was boxed in by Gwaine’s banishment and Merlin’s rare chances to seek him beyond the border; now, there are no such restrictions, but that doesn’t mean -
“Wanted to see how you’re settling in,” Merlin says as he steps inside. He shuts the door behind himself, looks a little embarrassed, adds, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner - I wanted to, but, Arthur - but I’ve got the rest of the night off, so I thought…”
He trails off, smiling shyly, and just like that all of Gwaine’s misgivings melt away. Like they always do, when Merlin’s right in front of him all earnest and beautiful.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my friend,” Gwaine tells him.
Gwaine is sitting on the edge of his bed, and when Merlin moves close enough, Gwaine tugs him in by his hips and presses his cheek against Merlin’s belly, feeling stupidly pleased. Merlin’s hands immediately go to Gwaine’s hair, petting and stroking.
“I’m glad you stayed,” Merlin says, after they’ve spent a few moments just leaning together and touching like that.
“Hmm?”
“After - you know, after everything, I thought - I was afraid you’d leave again.”
“Nah,” Gwaine says, nuzzling a bit because Merlin’s admission has left him too warmed to keep still. “Arthur clearly needs a lot of looking after, best if you don’t have to go hunting for me every time you want a hand with him.”
Merlin laughs, the muscles of his stomach jumping against the side of Gwaine’s face. “Right, yeah, of course.”
“Also,” Gwaine adds, shifting a little to look up at Merlin, “the job comes with a wonderful red sheet, and close proximity to this fantastic man I have the privilege to know. How could I refuse?”
Merlin beams, and bends down to kiss Gwaine. The angle is awkward but it doesn’t last long, Gwaine breaking off after a moment to stand and return the favour with a little more grace. Or a lot more grace, really, all the grace he can muster, because he’s seized by the need to make Merlin go all wobbly and weak at the knees, to prove that he has good reason for being happy about Gwaine’s continued presence.
His efforts are not in vain: Merlin doesn’t actually sway, but he looks rather dazed and sounds more than a little breathless when he says,
“Woah, what did I do to deserve that?”
“Nothing. Everything. Why are you still wearing clothes?”
Merlin ducks his head, grinning, and runs his hand idly down Gwaine’s chest. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Flatter me? I’m already planning to sleep with you, you needn’t-”
Gwaine catches both of Merlin’s hands in his, brings them to his mouth, and kisses the knuckles of each in turn. He can tell Merlin’s kidding, or at least Merlin thinks he’s kidding, but Gwaine responds seriously regardless.
“It isn’t flattery, Merlin. I mean every word.”
Merlin looks embarrassed but happy, which is good enough, Gwaine supposes.
“You’re so…”
“What?” Gwaine asks.
“I don’t know,” Merlin says, smiling, “but I like it.”
He leans in and kisses Gwaine again, gently this time, slow and sweet like honey. It makes Gwaine’s chest go tight and achy, and at once he wants it to last forever and he wants to change it, make it fast and dirty and familiar. He doesn’t; lets Merlin keep kissing him like that, like this is more than a good time or a convenient fuck - even if Gwaine is wary of letting himself believe that. He’s still holding Merlin’s hands and maybe his fingers twitch a little, maybe his heart’s beating faster than it ought to be when he’s only standing still, and maybe Merlin notices, maybe that’s why Merlin’s grip tightens just enough to feel steadying.
“Okay?” Merlin asks, very softly.
“Of course!” Gwaine says, voice full of cheer to shove down the excess of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Merlin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but Gwaine abruptly retreats back to the bed, pulling Merlin with him, and by the time they tumble down together, Gwaine on his back and Merlin sprawled over him, Merlin’s bright-eyed and laughing again.
They fumble off a random assortment of one another’s clothing, boots and belts and, because Merlin is very insistent, everything Gwaine was wearing above the waist, and then Gwaine pushes his hands up under Merlin’s shirt while Merlin traces his fingers along the dips in Gwaine’s muscles. The light, careful touch almost-but-not-quite tickles, eliciting a slight shiver from Gwaine, which Merlin smiles at. He continues his exploration, an intent look on his face, and Gwaine realizes suddenly that he must like what he sees.
Gwaine is well aware that he’s got a great body, but somehow he’s never thought about Merlin thinking so. He’s always been intent on showing Merlin a good time when they’re together like this, on making him happy and touching him in the most pleasurable ways. It’s never really occurred to him that Merlin might enjoy Gwaine himself even without Gwaine putting any extra effort in, the same way Gwaine enjoys having Merlin near regardless of whatever else is going on.
Merlin bends down and kisses Gwaine’s chest, the contact a shock of wet warmth after the cool brush of his fingers. Gwaine slides his hands slowly up and down Merlin’s back, feeling lazily content. There’s no need to rush, they have all evening, and in the morning - in the morning, Merlin will only be going as far as the kitchens or Arthur’s chambers. Maybe not even that far, if Gwaine can keep him in bed. Arthur will be cross, probably, but there are heavy shadows under Merlin’s eyes and anyway, Gwaine can tag along, make up some excuse that puts himself at fault. Watch Arthur sputter, and watch Merlin’s eyes twinkle with mirth as he does so. It will be good for both of them, really: a lie-in for Merlin and a chance for Arthur to have a nice relaxing strop about something unimportant.
“You know,” Gwaine says, “I used to think about this.”
“Hmm?”
“Having a room that’s mine,” Gwaine says. His fingers slide along something that feels like a scar on Merlin’s back, and he wonders about it, but then Merlin looks up at him, curious, so he continues. “Having a bed, with you in it.”
“Really?”
Gwaine nods. He feels the scar again, thinks about asking, but -
“I did too,” Merlin admits quietly, dropping his gaze. “I mean, not the room, I have a room, but you, in Camelot… I missed you. Arthur’s - well, Arthur, and I’ve got Gaius of course, and Gwen, but…” He trails off, kisses Gwaine’s chest a little left of centre, and with his next words Gwaine feels his heart swell below Merlin’s lips: “You’re a wonderful friend, Gwaine. I’m lucky to have you.”
His voice is soft and solemn, leaving no doubt as to his sincerity. (Later, when Gwaine is restless in Camelot or lonely in Merlin’s absence, he’ll replay those words in his mind, and be content.) Gwaine tightens his arms around Merlin’s chest and rolls them, so he can peer down at Merlin’s face. Merlin gives a startled grunt; his eyes are wide when Gwaine frees a hand and strokes his thumb along Merlin’s cheekbone.
“I’m the lucky one,” Gwaine says, surprised - and at once not at all surprised - at how thick his voice comes out.
Merlin looks so touched it kindles in Gwaine a determination to shower him with admiration and appreciation until such sentiments seem thoroughly commonplace to him, but then Merlin tugs him in for a kiss, which turns quickly into rather heated snogging, which turns into muffled groans and grabbing hands and their hips rocking together, all else forgotten. Gwaine’s hair gets everywhere and Merlin is still far more clothed than he ought to be and Gwaine does not care, not even a little bit, not when Merlin’s warm and enthusiastic in his arms and they have all night.
“Want you,” Merlin mutters between kisses, scrabbling at Gwaine’s trousers now. Those come off, followed by the rest of what Merlin was wearing, and after some communication that’s more hands and hips than words, they fit themselves together on their sides, Gwaine with Merlin’s cock in his hand and his own between Merlin’s thighs. Merlin twists around, his bottom still pressed to Gwaine’s groin but his shoulders angled towards the bed now, letting him reach Gwaine’s face and hair and neck, and giving Gwaine access to his jaw and mouth and the sight of his flushed cheeks and giddy smile.
“Gorgeous,” Gwaine groans.
Merlin grins, then tilts his head even further to mouth something that sounds like Speak for yourself against Gwaine’s throat. Gwaine laughs and nibbles at Merlin’s ear when next he can, and then Merlin starts flexing and releasing his thigh muscles, which feels incredible around Gwaine’s cock, so Gwaine tightens his fist on Merlin’s, and works his other hand around to thumb at Merlin’s nipple, and after a while he can’t tell who’s making which noises or what feels best, the pressure around his dick or the way Merlin’s rocking against him or the increasingly sweaty slide of their skin or the texture of Merlin’s stubble under his tongue.
When it gets too difficult to maintain that position, Merlin straightens with his back to Gwaine, which is good for a bit but then Gwaine misses Merlin’s face. He tugs until they’re front to front and thrusting inelegantly against each other, Gwaine’s hands on Merlin’s waist and Merlin’s in Gwaine’s hair and their mouths wet and panting together. Some time, Gwaine thinks a little wildly, maybe they’ll have to try having sex with some amount of finesse, maybe plan something exciting in advance instead of just grinding together or sucking each other off, but then again, there’s no hurry, because this is fucking fantastic.
He’s dimly aware that he may have said - or growled, gasped, whatever - that last bit aloud, because Merlin’s voicing his agreement with breathy murmurs of yeah, yeah, yes and dragging Gwaine even closer, both to his body and to the brink of orgasm. Gwaine shifts his hand from Merlin’s hip to his cock; Merlin mirrors the move and meets Gwaine’s gaze, his expression hot and open and intensely fond. In that curiously still moment, Gwaine feels a little private piece of himself that he hadn’t quite realized was misplaced settle where it belongs.
Then Merlin jerks and spills himself over Gwaine’s hand, and about two seconds later Gwaine seizes up, bucking hard into Merlin’s hold as he starts to come - and about two seconds after that, he shudders violently, sending them both tumbling off the edge of the bed to the floor, along with all the sheets and one of Merlin’s socks.
After a stunned beat, during which Merlin is silent and Gwaine tries to remember how to think, Merlin laughs, loud, breathlessly happy sounds that Gwaine can’t help but echo. Gwaine’s much too sated to even consider moving, but after a minute Merlin extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and material just enough to climb over Gwaine and kiss him.
“Think we’ll be needing a bigger bed,” Merlin says.
“Think you might be right,” Gwaine agrees, smiling.
Eventually they do put the bed to rights, and clean each other up a bit before crawling back into it. It isn’t so late, yet, so they spend a while just laying together and talking. Merlin tells stories about the events in Camelot that Gwaine’s missed, ranging from assorted magical beasts to the girl who keeps coming to Gaius for help with lame birds and injured kittens and weak baby rabbits. Gwaine has a sneaking suspicion that Merlin sees a little of himself in that girl, and he’s charmed by the thought. He prefers not to think of himself as an injured kitten, though he did rather enjoy Merlin fussing over him that first time they met...
Gwaine, for his part, tells ever-so-slightly embellished tales of his own adventures.
“You did not fight off six dragons single-handedly,” Merlin protests, shoving at Gwaine’s chest and laughing.
Gwaine kisses his nose and says, “All right, all right, when I said ‘six dragons’ I may have meant five stubborn sheep and a very belligerent goat…”
At that point the stories fall apart into teasing and less innocent touching, so they abandon talking for traded blow-jobs, and eventually fall asleep curled rather closer together than the size of the bed strictly requires.
*
Gwaine wakes early, thoroughly rested, and keeps still, holding Merlin while he sleeps on. The space between them is tiny, all soft and warm even where they aren’t pressed together. Merlin’s shallow steady breaths ghost across Gwaine’s shoulder, and there’s a faint sound of birdsong, and just enough weak light for Gwaine to make out the peaceful lines of Merlin’s face and the random spread of their clothes around the room. This funny sense of satisfaction and belonging must be what home feels like; he’d forgotten.
Gwaine decides he doesn’t really need to paint the walls if he can just keep Merlin’s scarf on the bedpost, but maybe he’ll paint them anyway, because he isn’t going anywhere any time soon. Maybe Merlin will help when he has more free time, or at least admire the results when Gwaine is finished. Maybe Gwaine can get some colours meant for ladies’ faces, too, and draw on Merlin’s back with them one night, or let Merlin paint him up as he likes. Maybe they can share ale and brushes, and make a brilliant mess of each other and the bigger bed they’ll get and the entire room. Maybe -
Merlin shifts a little in his sleep, and Gwaine’s fingers fall along that scar he found last night. He’ll have to ask about that, too, later. Maybe Merlin will even tell him the story, the real one. But that can wait. They have time.
Pairing: Merlin/Gwaine
Spoilers: Through 3x13
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~3000 words
Summary: Merlin has a night off, and Gwaine settles into his new room; these things may be related.
Note: Sort of a sequel to Left Me Blindly Here to Stand But Still Not Sleeping, but should be able to stand well enough on its own.
When things are calm - well, that’s a lie, isn’t it. Things are far from calm; Cenred’s former kingdom is in chaos, Camelot is still reeling, Uther is half mad and three-quarters broken and fully useless without Arthur or Gaius or both by his side, Arthur often looks like he hasn’t slept since their last night in the caves. But no one wants much of anything from the new knights just now other than that they stay out of the way. So. When things are calm for Gwaine.
When things are calm for Gwaine, he sits in his new room, trying to wrap his head around the fact that this is his room. His, not borrowed for a night or let for as long as he has coin or charm enough to compensate for the lack of it, but his, for as long as he wants it. His room, his bed, his table, his chair with his comically impractical new cloak draped over it, his cupboard and his washstand. It’s been years since he’s had anything more than what he can carry with him at a dead run, and he isn’t quite sure what to do with it all.
It’s not exactly how Gwaine would have imagined a room of his to be - the knight’s cloak in place of a collection of half-empty bottles is pretty unexpected, for a start. He feels a strange compulsion to mark the space in some way, leave a claim to remind everyone and especially himself that he belongs here, now. He isn’t much of an artist but he likes trying, has enough skill to manage a little something at least. Carve his name into the door maybe, or whittle a table leg into something obscene, or paint a picture across the wall. A naked girl to piss off the prissy steward perhaps, or a caricature of Arthur in a princess’s dress to piss off His Royal Pratness if he ever comes in here, or perhaps even something inoffensive, for himself. The little flowers his mother loved, or maybe, maybe a small falcon -
There’s a knock at his door.
“Yes?” Gwaine calls.
Merlin pokes his head in, grinning, and says, “Hello, Sir Gwaine.”
“Ugh,” Gwaine says with an exaggerated grimace, “don’t call me that. Come in, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Gwaine hasn’t seen too much of Merlin since their return to Camelot, mostly because he’s been ever at Arthur’s restless side, but also because he’s spent many of what free minutes he has with Lancelot, all quiet whispers and significant looks. Gwaine wouldn’t much care if he thought they were fucking; Lancelot’s an attractive man, and Gwaine’s never been terribly bothered about monogamy. (The fact that he hasn’t slept with anyone else since that first time with Merlin is pure coincidence. Really.) He doesn’t think they are, though. Lancelot seems like the sort to be very much bothered about monogamy and Gwaine’s seen how he looks at Gwen, never mind that Gwen and Arthur are - well. It’s all some kind of complicated that Gwaine wants no part of, but the point is, Gwaine’s fairly sure Merlin isn’t sleeping with Lancelot. But there is something going on between those two, some shared secret. Gwaine’s glad that Merlin has someone to confide in, even if there is a small part of him that can’t help thinking that - wishing that that someone were him.
Though, to be fair, Gwaine hasn’t exactly sought Merlin out, either. He’s wanted to, certainly, but Camelot isn’t a country tavern where Merlin’s turned up for some fun on a night off. This is his life, his normal life, and for all his sweet words about the future, Gwaine’s not entirely sure that Merlin really wants any more from him than the occasional shag. He’s been hesitant to impose, reluctant to presume and have his error made clear, especially now when Merlin already has so many more important problems to contend with. Before, their relationship was boxed in by Gwaine’s banishment and Merlin’s rare chances to seek him beyond the border; now, there are no such restrictions, but that doesn’t mean -
“Wanted to see how you’re settling in,” Merlin says as he steps inside. He shuts the door behind himself, looks a little embarrassed, adds, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner - I wanted to, but, Arthur - but I’ve got the rest of the night off, so I thought…”
He trails off, smiling shyly, and just like that all of Gwaine’s misgivings melt away. Like they always do, when Merlin’s right in front of him all earnest and beautiful.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my friend,” Gwaine tells him.
Gwaine is sitting on the edge of his bed, and when Merlin moves close enough, Gwaine tugs him in by his hips and presses his cheek against Merlin’s belly, feeling stupidly pleased. Merlin’s hands immediately go to Gwaine’s hair, petting and stroking.
“I’m glad you stayed,” Merlin says, after they’ve spent a few moments just leaning together and touching like that.
“Hmm?”
“After - you know, after everything, I thought - I was afraid you’d leave again.”
“Nah,” Gwaine says, nuzzling a bit because Merlin’s admission has left him too warmed to keep still. “Arthur clearly needs a lot of looking after, best if you don’t have to go hunting for me every time you want a hand with him.”
Merlin laughs, the muscles of his stomach jumping against the side of Gwaine’s face. “Right, yeah, of course.”
“Also,” Gwaine adds, shifting a little to look up at Merlin, “the job comes with a wonderful red sheet, and close proximity to this fantastic man I have the privilege to know. How could I refuse?”
Merlin beams, and bends down to kiss Gwaine. The angle is awkward but it doesn’t last long, Gwaine breaking off after a moment to stand and return the favour with a little more grace. Or a lot more grace, really, all the grace he can muster, because he’s seized by the need to make Merlin go all wobbly and weak at the knees, to prove that he has good reason for being happy about Gwaine’s continued presence.
His efforts are not in vain: Merlin doesn’t actually sway, but he looks rather dazed and sounds more than a little breathless when he says,
“Woah, what did I do to deserve that?”
“Nothing. Everything. Why are you still wearing clothes?”
Merlin ducks his head, grinning, and runs his hand idly down Gwaine’s chest. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Flatter me? I’m already planning to sleep with you, you needn’t-”
Gwaine catches both of Merlin’s hands in his, brings them to his mouth, and kisses the knuckles of each in turn. He can tell Merlin’s kidding, or at least Merlin thinks he’s kidding, but Gwaine responds seriously regardless.
“It isn’t flattery, Merlin. I mean every word.”
Merlin looks embarrassed but happy, which is good enough, Gwaine supposes.
“You’re so…”
“What?” Gwaine asks.
“I don’t know,” Merlin says, smiling, “but I like it.”
He leans in and kisses Gwaine again, gently this time, slow and sweet like honey. It makes Gwaine’s chest go tight and achy, and at once he wants it to last forever and he wants to change it, make it fast and dirty and familiar. He doesn’t; lets Merlin keep kissing him like that, like this is more than a good time or a convenient fuck - even if Gwaine is wary of letting himself believe that. He’s still holding Merlin’s hands and maybe his fingers twitch a little, maybe his heart’s beating faster than it ought to be when he’s only standing still, and maybe Merlin notices, maybe that’s why Merlin’s grip tightens just enough to feel steadying.
“Okay?” Merlin asks, very softly.
“Of course!” Gwaine says, voice full of cheer to shove down the excess of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Merlin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but Gwaine abruptly retreats back to the bed, pulling Merlin with him, and by the time they tumble down together, Gwaine on his back and Merlin sprawled over him, Merlin’s bright-eyed and laughing again.
They fumble off a random assortment of one another’s clothing, boots and belts and, because Merlin is very insistent, everything Gwaine was wearing above the waist, and then Gwaine pushes his hands up under Merlin’s shirt while Merlin traces his fingers along the dips in Gwaine’s muscles. The light, careful touch almost-but-not-quite tickles, eliciting a slight shiver from Gwaine, which Merlin smiles at. He continues his exploration, an intent look on his face, and Gwaine realizes suddenly that he must like what he sees.
Gwaine is well aware that he’s got a great body, but somehow he’s never thought about Merlin thinking so. He’s always been intent on showing Merlin a good time when they’re together like this, on making him happy and touching him in the most pleasurable ways. It’s never really occurred to him that Merlin might enjoy Gwaine himself even without Gwaine putting any extra effort in, the same way Gwaine enjoys having Merlin near regardless of whatever else is going on.
Merlin bends down and kisses Gwaine’s chest, the contact a shock of wet warmth after the cool brush of his fingers. Gwaine slides his hands slowly up and down Merlin’s back, feeling lazily content. There’s no need to rush, they have all evening, and in the morning - in the morning, Merlin will only be going as far as the kitchens or Arthur’s chambers. Maybe not even that far, if Gwaine can keep him in bed. Arthur will be cross, probably, but there are heavy shadows under Merlin’s eyes and anyway, Gwaine can tag along, make up some excuse that puts himself at fault. Watch Arthur sputter, and watch Merlin’s eyes twinkle with mirth as he does so. It will be good for both of them, really: a lie-in for Merlin and a chance for Arthur to have a nice relaxing strop about something unimportant.
“You know,” Gwaine says, “I used to think about this.”
“Hmm?”
“Having a room that’s mine,” Gwaine says. His fingers slide along something that feels like a scar on Merlin’s back, and he wonders about it, but then Merlin looks up at him, curious, so he continues. “Having a bed, with you in it.”
“Really?”
Gwaine nods. He feels the scar again, thinks about asking, but -
“I did too,” Merlin admits quietly, dropping his gaze. “I mean, not the room, I have a room, but you, in Camelot… I missed you. Arthur’s - well, Arthur, and I’ve got Gaius of course, and Gwen, but…” He trails off, kisses Gwaine’s chest a little left of centre, and with his next words Gwaine feels his heart swell below Merlin’s lips: “You’re a wonderful friend, Gwaine. I’m lucky to have you.”
His voice is soft and solemn, leaving no doubt as to his sincerity. (Later, when Gwaine is restless in Camelot or lonely in Merlin’s absence, he’ll replay those words in his mind, and be content.) Gwaine tightens his arms around Merlin’s chest and rolls them, so he can peer down at Merlin’s face. Merlin gives a startled grunt; his eyes are wide when Gwaine frees a hand and strokes his thumb along Merlin’s cheekbone.
“I’m the lucky one,” Gwaine says, surprised - and at once not at all surprised - at how thick his voice comes out.
Merlin looks so touched it kindles in Gwaine a determination to shower him with admiration and appreciation until such sentiments seem thoroughly commonplace to him, but then Merlin tugs him in for a kiss, which turns quickly into rather heated snogging, which turns into muffled groans and grabbing hands and their hips rocking together, all else forgotten. Gwaine’s hair gets everywhere and Merlin is still far more clothed than he ought to be and Gwaine does not care, not even a little bit, not when Merlin’s warm and enthusiastic in his arms and they have all night.
“Want you,” Merlin mutters between kisses, scrabbling at Gwaine’s trousers now. Those come off, followed by the rest of what Merlin was wearing, and after some communication that’s more hands and hips than words, they fit themselves together on their sides, Gwaine with Merlin’s cock in his hand and his own between Merlin’s thighs. Merlin twists around, his bottom still pressed to Gwaine’s groin but his shoulders angled towards the bed now, letting him reach Gwaine’s face and hair and neck, and giving Gwaine access to his jaw and mouth and the sight of his flushed cheeks and giddy smile.
“Gorgeous,” Gwaine groans.
Merlin grins, then tilts his head even further to mouth something that sounds like Speak for yourself against Gwaine’s throat. Gwaine laughs and nibbles at Merlin’s ear when next he can, and then Merlin starts flexing and releasing his thigh muscles, which feels incredible around Gwaine’s cock, so Gwaine tightens his fist on Merlin’s, and works his other hand around to thumb at Merlin’s nipple, and after a while he can’t tell who’s making which noises or what feels best, the pressure around his dick or the way Merlin’s rocking against him or the increasingly sweaty slide of their skin or the texture of Merlin’s stubble under his tongue.
When it gets too difficult to maintain that position, Merlin straightens with his back to Gwaine, which is good for a bit but then Gwaine misses Merlin’s face. He tugs until they’re front to front and thrusting inelegantly against each other, Gwaine’s hands on Merlin’s waist and Merlin’s in Gwaine’s hair and their mouths wet and panting together. Some time, Gwaine thinks a little wildly, maybe they’ll have to try having sex with some amount of finesse, maybe plan something exciting in advance instead of just grinding together or sucking each other off, but then again, there’s no hurry, because this is fucking fantastic.
He’s dimly aware that he may have said - or growled, gasped, whatever - that last bit aloud, because Merlin’s voicing his agreement with breathy murmurs of yeah, yeah, yes and dragging Gwaine even closer, both to his body and to the brink of orgasm. Gwaine shifts his hand from Merlin’s hip to his cock; Merlin mirrors the move and meets Gwaine’s gaze, his expression hot and open and intensely fond. In that curiously still moment, Gwaine feels a little private piece of himself that he hadn’t quite realized was misplaced settle where it belongs.
Then Merlin jerks and spills himself over Gwaine’s hand, and about two seconds later Gwaine seizes up, bucking hard into Merlin’s hold as he starts to come - and about two seconds after that, he shudders violently, sending them both tumbling off the edge of the bed to the floor, along with all the sheets and one of Merlin’s socks.
After a stunned beat, during which Merlin is silent and Gwaine tries to remember how to think, Merlin laughs, loud, breathlessly happy sounds that Gwaine can’t help but echo. Gwaine’s much too sated to even consider moving, but after a minute Merlin extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and material just enough to climb over Gwaine and kiss him.
“Think we’ll be needing a bigger bed,” Merlin says.
“Think you might be right,” Gwaine agrees, smiling.
Eventually they do put the bed to rights, and clean each other up a bit before crawling back into it. It isn’t so late, yet, so they spend a while just laying together and talking. Merlin tells stories about the events in Camelot that Gwaine’s missed, ranging from assorted magical beasts to the girl who keeps coming to Gaius for help with lame birds and injured kittens and weak baby rabbits. Gwaine has a sneaking suspicion that Merlin sees a little of himself in that girl, and he’s charmed by the thought. He prefers not to think of himself as an injured kitten, though he did rather enjoy Merlin fussing over him that first time they met...
Gwaine, for his part, tells ever-so-slightly embellished tales of his own adventures.
“You did not fight off six dragons single-handedly,” Merlin protests, shoving at Gwaine’s chest and laughing.
Gwaine kisses his nose and says, “All right, all right, when I said ‘six dragons’ I may have meant five stubborn sheep and a very belligerent goat…”
At that point the stories fall apart into teasing and less innocent touching, so they abandon talking for traded blow-jobs, and eventually fall asleep curled rather closer together than the size of the bed strictly requires.
*
Gwaine wakes early, thoroughly rested, and keeps still, holding Merlin while he sleeps on. The space between them is tiny, all soft and warm even where they aren’t pressed together. Merlin’s shallow steady breaths ghost across Gwaine’s shoulder, and there’s a faint sound of birdsong, and just enough weak light for Gwaine to make out the peaceful lines of Merlin’s face and the random spread of their clothes around the room. This funny sense of satisfaction and belonging must be what home feels like; he’d forgotten.
Gwaine decides he doesn’t really need to paint the walls if he can just keep Merlin’s scarf on the bedpost, but maybe he’ll paint them anyway, because he isn’t going anywhere any time soon. Maybe Merlin will help when he has more free time, or at least admire the results when Gwaine is finished. Maybe Gwaine can get some colours meant for ladies’ faces, too, and draw on Merlin’s back with them one night, or let Merlin paint him up as he likes. Maybe they can share ale and brushes, and make a brilliant mess of each other and the bigger bed they’ll get and the entire room. Maybe -
Merlin shifts a little in his sleep, and Gwaine’s fingers fall along that scar he found last night. He’ll have to ask about that, too, later. Maybe Merlin will even tell him the story, the real one. But that can wait. They have time.