(no subject)
Extract 3
“I’ve got an ap for that.”
Geraint’s three companions looked over in interest, Gwaine’s sudden movement causing him to sway slightly on the spot. When it became clear, after several minutes, that Geraint hadn’t anything else further to offer and hadn’t even pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, Leon heaved a put upon sigh and Elyan and Gwaine’s interest wandered off.
“Geraint,” Leon began slurring only slightly. “You can’t just say ‘I’ve got an ap for that’ unless you’ve actually got an ap for it and, gift from the gods though the iPhone is, I don’t really think that there’s an ap to decide whether Gwaine is too inebriated to go home by himself.”
Geraint had been nodding along solemnly but Leon wouldn’t bet anything of any value that he’d actually been paying attention.
“Don’t - don’t we all live together?” Elyan asked slowly, frowning as if he was not completely sure himself.
“That’s not the point,” Leon announced firmly. “Gwaine’s room is at least twenty steps from the rest of us.”
Geraint nodded again, but this time he truly was paying attention. “He was banished.”
“Yes he was.” Leon agreed seriously, patting Geraint on the shoulder in congratulation.
Gwaine allowed his head to fall onto his arms where they rested on the kitchen table. “Why do you always bring that up? Once! I was banished once!”
“Once more than any of us, mate.” Elyan pointed out.
Gwaine rolled his head on his arms so he could fix Elyan with a bleary glare. “It’s not like any of you can talk - at least I was important enough to be banished! Uther didn’t even know who you were and he kept ordering Geraint’s execution! Leon was the only one he even talked to!”
Leon allowed himself to bask for a moment in the fact that he was the only knight that the old King of Camelot had ever had any faith in - his smile began slip as he remembered that Uther had also spent a fair amount of time throwing things at him, getting alarmingly handsy when he was drunk and preventing Leon from attending any of the really good feasts.
“The point still stands!” he exclaimed loudly and suddenly, banging his fist on the table and interrupting Geraint’s explanation that it was actually a good thing for Uther to want you dead because he had been a bad King with questionable morals. “Gwaine is drunk!”
“Am not.” Gwaine mumbled petulantly into his arms.
“Are so!” Leon replied and it was possible that the conversation could have descended into the most childish of all slanging matches if their lord and master hadn’t chosen that particular moment to stalk into the kitchen.
“What,” Arthur demanded. “Is going on?”
He tried his best to look as intimidating as he ever had done when bearing down on one of them in training in his full armour; unfortunately his hair was ruffled from sleep and he was wearing checked pajama bottoms and a shirt that had a picture of some trees and then the slogan ‘Got wood?’ underneath. Geraint hadn’t particularly understood the insinuations when he had bought it as a last minute birthday present and Leon could only assume Arthur didn’t either seeing as it was favourite piece of clothing.
The four erstwhile knights stared at him for a moment and then there was a general scraping of chairs as they stumbled to feet and attempted to sketch something that vaguely resembled a bow, murmuring variations of “your highness”, “my lord” and “my liege”.
Except for Gwaine, who must have been the most drunk of them as he distinctly greeted Arthur with a flourish and “my princess”.
Arthur glared at him for a long time before deciding that it was really best to ignore these kinds of insubordinations, otherwise he’d have to banish Gwaine again and that seemed a bit unfair after all these centuries. He would also ignore the fact that the four of them had apparently forgotten which time period they were in again and not mention that they didn’t really have to bow to him anymore.
“Has it completely escaped your notice that we have work in the morning?” he demanded, hands going to his hips, stretching the words ‘Got wood?’ across his chest. Gwaine started sniggering.
“I’ve actually been trying very hard to forget that for the last three hours.” Elyan informed Arthur, remarkably lucid.
“I suggest you all go to bed and contemplate just how awful your hangovers are going to be in the morning.” Arthur told them, pointing an imperious finger towards their bedrooms and remembering wistfully when his knights were the finest warriors in the land and hurried to obey his every command, only getting drunk when they were off duty.
Elyan and Geraint dutifully began to shuffle off towards their rooms but Leon held a demanding hand out to Gwaine. Gwaine looked at it with a bemused expression for a moment before lying his own in it and beginning to swing the clasped pair aimlessly back and forth. Arthur gave an exasperated sigh and Leon scowled, shaking his hand free before holding it out again.
“Keys. Now.” He demanded.
“I’m not driving though!” Gwaine protested.
“I don’t care, it’s the principle of thing.” Leon shook his hand under Gwaine’s nose for emphasis until the Irishman sighed and pulled his keys from his pocket and slapped them into the other man’s palm. “Right. Come on then.”
Leon wrapped a strong arm around Gwaine’s waist and swept him off down the corridor. Arthur stared after them for a moment and then sent a lingering look towards the almost empty bottle of vodka that was standing on the side. Getting completely off his face and forgetting this whole shambles certainly had its appeal. He ignored the urge however, remembering what his therapist (well Morgana, a century and a half ago) had said and put the kettle on to make a nice, soothing cup of ginger and lemon tea.
Leon and Gwaine managed to stagger their way to Gwaine’s room without being entirely clear who was actually supporting who. Gwaine was successful in flicking on the main light before being unceremoniously dumped onto his bed by Leon, who then knelt at his feet and began to unlace his boots. Gwaine stared down at the top of his head uncertainly for a long time before pulling his foot away. Leon grabbed it again.
“Got to take your shoes off.” He said and Gwaine hovered a moment on the brink of saying that he wasn’t actually a smashed Morgana that Leon was putting to bed and didn’t need looking after. By the time the words properly formed in his head however, Leon was already on his second shoe and it seemed pointless to protest.
Epic task finally complete, Leon collapsed on the bed next to Gwaine to recover himself enough to make the journey to his own room. Gwaine was staring into space by this point, but when Leon’s feet abruptly entered his line of vision he galvanized himself into action and leaned down to remove Leon’s shoes, his loafers a much easier prospect than Gwaine’s own laced boots.
Having done for Leon as Leon had done for him, Gwaine pulled off his shirt (because that’s what Gwaine did) and lay down properly on the bed, pulling Leon with him. Finding himself suddenly perpendicular, and his feet hanging off the end of the bed, Leon shifted around until his head was on the pillow and his feet just fitting on the mattress if he bent his knees. Gwaine jabbed him in the side with his elbow.
“Stop moving.” He demanded and then, to ensure his orders were followed through, threw himself over Leon’s (broad and muscular) chest and wrapped an arm firmly round his torso.
Leon sighed, brushed some of Gwaine’s hair out of his face and then they both promptly passed out into the sleep of the very drunk and no doubt hungover in the morning.