Chapter Text
Merlin’s life, though far from simple, had always been rather straightforward: protect Arthur, put him on the throne, keep him on the throne, bring the beginning of Albion, get magic restored to the land. That was it.
And then, Gwaine kissed him.
**
It was nothing really.
Just a harsh press of cracked lips against his, a warm and ale-flavored gush of breath against his mouth, and then the hard, overwhelming weight of a drunk Gwaine falling on top of him, two feet away from the bed on which Merlin, good friend that he was, had been attempting to deposit him.
Arthur had a picnic with Gwen planned in the morning, a rare treat for the maid’s birthday, and the knights had wanted to take full advantage of a morning free of training session to go to the tavern and get smashed.
Merlin – who despite what Arthur thought had very little opportunity to spend time at the tavern – had been invited to join in on the improvised bash. He had graciously accepted, though he nursed the same tankard of ale the whole night and bravely fought off Percival’s attempts to get him drunk. Glad as he was to know that the knights of the round table considered him one of them, he was already the butt of their jokes when he was sober and he shuddered at the idea of what they could come up with when he was drunk.
Gwaine, on the other hand, had entered a drinking contest with Elyan, won, then entered another contest with Leon, won again, and then entered another against Lilly the barmaid and lost miserably. Which meant that by the end of the night, while Percival was carrying Elyan on one shoulder and Leon on the other, Merlin had been tasked with getting Gwaine safely back to his room.
Now, he knew this would not be an easy task, what with Gwaine barely standing up, stopping at every corner to make jokes and dry heave, and with him getting distracted by anything from the guards doing their round, to the servants going on their nightly duties, to an alley rat scampering away with a glove between its teeth.
Granted, the glove had been Gwaine’s.
Still.
Having safely left the lower town and made it up four floors up to the knights’ quarters, Merlin had relaxed significantly, thinking of how after dropping Gwaine on his bed he could then go to his and sleep for a few hours before Arthur needed him to carry food and blankets and pillows to the forest. Heavens prevent that Arthur took care of his own wooing after all.
So, there he was, inside Gwaine’s chamber, dragging the knight toward his bed, giggling at the nonsense that was coming out of his drunken mouth when Gwaine straightened suddenly, looked at Merlin with dark, surprisingly aware eyes, and wrapped one hand around his jaw to better bring their mouths together.
By the time Merlin had taken a sharp inhale – smelling ale, sweat, leather, straw, and underneath it all the musky scent that was entirely Gwaine – and realized what was happening, all the sudden awareness that had shot through Gwaine’s body seemingly vanished into the ether and the knight let himself crumble onto him, bringing them both down to the cold stone floor.
After a few seconds spent looking at the ceiling, wondering what in the dragon’s name had just happened, Merlin realized that Gwaine was now snoring heavily into his ear while slowly suffocating him under the full weight of his chainmail-clad body. Merlin then attempted to dislodge the knight, failed, tried to take a breath, attempted again, failed again, then whispered an incantation to roll him off him. Now that he was finally able to take a long breath – and oh boy, wasn’t it nice to have his lungs back –, he got to his feet, looked down at the drunken mess of a knight on the floor, considered leaving him on said floor, and ultimately decided to whisper another incantation to float him gently onto his bed.
So that was that then.
**
Except it wasn’t that, because the next day, once Arthur and Gwen had finally decided to return from their picnic – and wasn’t it so considering of Arthur to send Merlin to fetch firewood even though it was the middle of the day and they had no fire going, just so he could snog Gwen in peace, leaving Merlin to kick pebbles into a stream for hours with nothing to do – and once Merlin had been on his way back to his chamber, dreading the no-doubt long list of chores that Gaius had put aside for him, he had run into Gwaine, fresh as a daisy and with hair somehow even shinier than usual.
“Merlin!” the knight had exclaimed jovially. “Just the man I wanted to talk to.”
“Here I am,” Merlin chuckled, because in spite of his back sore from carrying all the picnic items, his toes bruised from kicking rocks instead of pebbles, and his fingers frostbitten from the cold stream, it was impossible not to smile at Gwaine and his infectious good mood.
“About last night…”
Merlin interrupted him with a small laugh, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you tried to kiss me like a flower girl at the Ostara festival.”
With a surprise snort, Gwaine shared in his laugh. “That’s entirely your right. But really I wanted to apologize for not asking your permission first. I was completely pissed and I forgot how to act like a decent fella. I’m sorry. Forgive me? Pretty please?”
Merlin blinked and smiled quizzically: “Ask my permission?” Then, realizing that he was probably being teased, he teased back: “Why, Gwaine, careful there. It almost sounds like you wanted to kiss me.”
Though Gwaine kept on smiling good-naturedly, he didn’t bark his usual joyful laughter. “Of course, I wanted to. I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you and Arthur start a brawl in that tavern.”
Merlin blinked again, but this time he was done smiling. “What?”
“What?” Gwaine repeated, not smiling anymore either.
“You – You – the tavern? B-But… Wait. This is a joke. Are you joking? Are Percival and Elyan in on this? It sounds like something those two would come up with.”
“Of course not. Merlin, why on earth do you think I even came to your rescue back then?”
In front of his unusually serious gaze, Merlin spluttered: “Why – Why, you said why! You said you saw two men against all of these bandits and that you liked those odds!”
Gwaine shook his head, all dimples and flowing hair: “I liked those odds because they had plush lips, sharp cheekbones and ridiculous ears. Really, Merlin, I’m starting to understand why Arthur thinks you are thick as a cushion.”
Merlin spluttered again, though he didn’t know if it was from the revelation, the flattering description of his face or the insult.
Bouncing on his heels, Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder: “Anyway, I wanted to apologize, that’s all. Next time I’ll do things properly.”
As Merlin watched him walk away, the sun pouring from the windows reflecting on his ridiculously shiny hair, he squeaked: “Next time?”