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“I need a bath,” Gwaine muttered, looking down at himself. His fringe obscured his features, but not enough to prevent Merlin from seeing his lips twist comically at catching a whiff of himself. Merlin felt the familiar burst of affection that often occurred when he was around Gwaine. Evidently, it was there even when Gwaine stank and looked utterly bedraggled.
But there was something else, too, behind Merlin’s reaction. Guilt. It was his own inadvertent involvement with the dark forces of the Old Religion that sent Gwaine on a secret quest for the Stone of Agraphia. Merlin had very briefly wondered whether if Gwaine had known that there'd been an enchantment placed on Merlin, if he'd known it meant without the stone Merlin would grow very old within a month...Would he have been more worried? Or would he have recoiled from Merlin upon learning that he played with the forces of magic?
However, those questions were void, in more than one way. It was Gwaine. He trusted Merlin unconditionally, instinctively, like no one else did. And like Merlin trusted him. So no questions were asked. Gwaine had somehow seen the dire need in Merlin’s eyes, but also a truth beyond his understanding: that Merlin’s secret was heavier than any stone—and he’d just started getting ready, wordlessly for a change. Merlin’s face must have been drawn with worry and paleness, because Gwaine’s hand had lifted to Merlin's shoulder and only then Gwaine had spoken.
“If I’m not back after three days, tell them there was a message from a cousin who needed my help…and think of something more to say. It’s bound to go down as a noble cause of death, what with all the honour and chivalry everyone keeps talking about. It’d be noble enough for me to die for—”
“Don’t say it!” Merlin had interrupted him, shaking his head vehemently, and again he'd pleaded to go with him, but Gwaine was having none of it. Typically, he'd even tried to make light of it.
“We’ll go on another adventure together soon; a safer one, just with brutes who’d want to kill us," he told Merlin with an broad grin. "I’ll take them over magic creatures any day.”
He’d noticed something in Merlin’s eyes, though, at his last words—Gwaine always noticed, always watched Merlin as if Merlin’s thoughts and feelings mattered. His eyes had grown serious through their cheeky lines. His hand, still on Merlin’s shoulder, had squeezed it again. “Or we’ll ride out, just the two of us,” he said quietly. “When I’m back.”
And now he was back, and he was alive! Oh, and Merlin was alive, too, having done the spells and the ritual for disenchantment during the time Gwaine needed to report of his return. Why Gwaine didn’t go to his rooms afterwards but came back to Gaius’s Merlin didn’t know, and didn’t care. His heart felt like a bird that had just learnt to fly, zooming around in his chest, jubilant. He hadn’t stopped smiling from the second the door had creaked open and Gwaine had swaggered in, as if he’d just popped in on his way back from the tavern. If it wasn’t for the triumphant gleam in Gwaine’s eyes and for the lingering touch of his hand after their hug, no one would have known his mission had been formidable and more risky than either of them had wanted to admit it was.
“Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice startled Merlin from his thoughts. Gwaine was looking at him with an amused frown--Merlin arranged his features in their most beguiling formation, but he was unable to do anything about his silly grin. Gwaine’s lips stretched as well.
“Um, what...were you saying?” Merlin asked.
“That I’m going now. I’ve got a long night ahead of me: I need to fetch some water and warm it, and—“
“Stay,” shot out of Merlin’s mouth. His eyes widened at his own words. Gwaine’s lips remained half-open mid-word, while he looked at Merlin, confusion and something else—Why was it so dark in here?—swimming through them.
Merlin cleared his throat. He hadn’t planned on suggesting—he wasn’t even sure what he was suggesting—but now that he'd suggested it, he rushed to make sense of his words.
“There’s already some water here. Lots of water. It was for Gaius. He was going to have a bath, but he sent a message that he’d spend the night in the house of the patient he went visitng. Erm, he’d turned worse—The patient, not Gaius; Gaius is fine, really well actually. He’s been…fine. Lately.” Merlin tilted his head, unsure about his control over his own mouth. Maybe it was a side-effect of the enchantment? He felt his ears burning. Now he was grateful the space wasn’t overly bright.
Gwaine’s face was the picture of befuddlement, although he was still smiling. Merlin decided it was best he finished this as quickly as possible.
“You can have Gaius’s water.” He pointed behind his back, where everything was waiting for a nice, long bath.
Gwaine just stretched his neck to look at where Merlin was pointing, then moaned with pain and his hand moved to his shoulder. “A bit of a tumble,” he said. Despite his concern, Merlin didn’t know where to look. When had Gwaine found time to meet, er, whomever he’d met, and have a bit of, er, whatever they’d had? The man was impossible! He probably had a woman in every single village he set his—
“I had a nasty fall down a slope,” Gwaine said hurriedly.
“Oh,” Merlin said, feeling stupid. “Right, of course.” He nodded solemnly. “Dangerous, was it?”
“Yeah.” Gwaine chuckled, but then his eyes darted back behind Merlin’s back. “Are you sure about the bath?”
“Yes. Yes!” Merlin was already walking towards the fire, feeling its pleasant warmth. November was chilly anyway, but this year it had felt more like December. “It’s all here,” he said. “It’d be a shame to be wasted on erm, dishes. And clothes.”
He turned to the fire quickly, adding a small log to it. Behind him there was the familiar clinking noises of chains and a sword being moved. Merlin’s lips stretched on their own accord.
Gwaine’s voice startled him again—he was like a fox, sneaking with its soft paws. Merlin had always thought that for someone so…physical, Gwaine was uncannily graceful and quiet. Must be all that living in the open.
Merlin turned—and oh, this was very close, indeed.
His nose wrinkled. “You really need to have a bath.”
Gwaine looked at him with a mock glare, completely not insulted.
“Been around royalties for too long, eh?” he said. “I suppose Arthur smells like a summer meadow.” Merlin thought of too many things to say at the same time and ended up saying nothing.
Gwaine’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see. He does.” His tone was teasing but his eyes weren’t leaving Merlin’s.
Merlin made an awkward gesture with his head.
“Arthur doesn’t smell of—He’s a knight. You all smell,” he said defiantly, finishing with a firm nod. Gwaine huffed a laugh, then turned to look at the old but luxurious bathtub that stood in front of the fire. It wasn't just a bucket—it was a real tub that had belonged to one of the ladies of the court. Merlin had pilfered it when she’d got a new one. It was a big castle; things went missing.
Gwaine made a few steps and his hand stretched out to the gleaming metal but he didn’t touch it. Merlin could easily see Gwaine’s mood change only by looking at his shoulders. Sure enough, his tone was softer when he spoke next.
“It’d be nice to have a proper bath.”
And Merlin could just as easily hear so much more in those words. Gwaine’s life—it pained Merlin to think of him on the road all that time. Oh yes, he said he liked it. Yet Merlin couldn’t help but feel there was something else underneath—experiences Gwaine didn’t share when he spoke about this brawl or that game of cards, about nameless villages and people. Merlin never asked; he didn’t need to. He just knew things about Gwaine without having to even think.
Maybe that was why in turn Gwaine never asked him any questions.
“I’ll help you,” Merlin said, voice equally soft.
Gwaine turned his head to look at him. “You don’t have to. Trust me, I'm very good at doing everything by myself.”
Merlin took a step forward. “I know you are, but now—Once in a while, you don’t have to. I’d be honoured, Sir.” Merlin’s lips curled but he continued looking at Gwaine earnestly.
Gwaine threw his head back and laughed, then lifted an eyebrow.
“I forget I’m that now,” he said. His face took on a rarely serious expression. “You don’t have to,” he repeated.
Merlin just shook his head and pointed with his eyes to his room. Gwaine stood still for a moment, just looking at him, then headed to Merlin’s room, already removing items from himself.
***
The light of the fire danced on the surface of the water, making it look as if thousands of golden and bronze pieces were crushed over it. It was clean water, at last. Merlin had gone to great pains to make sure everything was perfect. He’d brought an extra bucket of water, while Gwaine was undressing in his room—it had taken longer to carry the water back, though, so when he returned he found a stark naked knight sat on the bench, waiting for him and looking oddly uncertain. Merlin used the first water to take off the worst of it, then the second to wash the rest of the dirt and to give Gwaine a good scrub. There’d been much laughter and some splashing, as well as a couple of sighs of contentment and not one, but two heartfelt ‘Thank yous’. Merlin had used the soap not only to make sure Gwaine was really clean, but to give his shoulders and neck a nice rub. There might have been more mumbled words of gratitude during that.
Merlin used the second water to also wash Gwaine’s hair. He had always believed (but never quite shared with anyone) that hair as gorgeous as that had to be protected at any cost, so he'd used the mildest soap to wash it, and he turned some of it into lather with a quick spell. That way he felt more justified to revel at the clean squeak of hair between his fingers...but he still didn’t let them linger.
And meanwhile the extra bucket of water had warmed and it was now used for the purpose of which Merlin had struggled to bring it in the first place: a soak. Pure indulgence.
Because Merlin wanted to indulge Gwaine. He had always wanted to take care of him in some way, or at least make sure he was all right, but now he wanted him to feel good. Despite their raucous laughter and messing about, the entire time Merlin’s throat had been tight and his skin had been taut with the need to do something for Gwaine—something more. Something special. Something to please, to soothe whatever aches there were in Gwaine’s body and—although Merlin couldn’t quite get his head around it—he wanted to stroke and lull whatever aches there might have ever been in Gwaine’s heart, too.
Yep, definitely suffering from enchantment side-effects.
The late hour had to be affecting him as well—it was gone past midnight. And the fire. The light of it, especially when it was the only light, always made everything look slightly askew: objects and their shadows, sensations, time itself. Gwaine’s arms. The muscles and the lines of his chest. The mesmerising wave of his collar bone. His absurdly sensual lips that Merlin was sure were the reason for Gwaine to grow his beard—he probably hid his mouth that way, embarrassed about what it might give away about him.
Merlin poured some lavender oil and some rose oil from Gaius’ ‘fancy’ supplies, stirred the water with his fingers, barely brushing Gwaine’s chest, and silently flashed his eyes. Gwaine was leaning back, eyes closed, so he didn’t see the water turn luminescent for a second, the drops of oils multiplying with the added magical strength to take away pain and burn and stinging. When he saw that Gwaine didn’t move, Merlin quietly drew a low chair near and sat down. He watched Gwaine: the rise and fall of his chest, the odd tremble of his closed eyelids, the movement of his throat. Merlin let his own fingers gently sail back and forth in the water, their tips touching the body in it randomly.
Gwaine’s head tilted towards Merlin; the warm eyes opened, hazy and dark. “You should have used this water for yourself,” Gwaine murmured.
Merlin’s fingers jolted to come out, but Gwaine’s hand shot with disconcerting speed for someone so subdued, and captured them, then sank them back into the water, giving silent permission.
“Nah,” Merlin said, mouth dry. “I’m always clean. Sparkling.”
The water rippled as Gwaine softly laughed. “That you are.”
Merlin felt heat rise up his neck and knew he was blushing furiously, and there was nowhere to hide anymore. He felt perspiration, too, covering his skin like dew—maybe he’d need a bath after all. There was the sudden flash of an image of him in the tub, resting his back against Gwaine’s chest. Merlin’s vision blurred; he swallowed and lowered his eyes, frantically searching for something to say.
Under his eyelashes he saw Gwaine’s hand come out of the water. It left little droplets in its wake, until it found Merlin’s chin and lifted it. Merlin’s eyes took a bit longer to meet Gwaine’s, but when they did, palpable relief swept through him. Gwaine was smiling; he wasn’t grinning and he wasn’t smirking, and he wasn’t laughing—he was giving Merlin the kind of intimate smile that Merlin had wondered about. Whether Gwaine gave it to everyone but in private…or whether he kept it for Merlin only. The same small, awkward smile that had extended to his eyes when he’d told Merlin he wasn’t risking his life in the Perilous Lands for Arthur, Prince of Camelot and Future King—but for Merlin.
Only this time, Gwaine’s eyes had fallen to Merlin’s mouth.
Merlin parted his lips to speak, but he couldn’t think about anything that wouldn’t make him sound mortifyingly besotted. Gwaine’s eyes darkened further—his thumb moved upwards—Gwaine’s gaze let go of Merlin’s mouth to search his face instead—and then, then his thumb brushed Merlin’s bottom lip. Merlin’s eyes fluttered shut; an impulse to lick and suck, and take into his mouth singed the edges of his mind, and Merlin fought it desperately. But he couldn’t help letting his lip droop down under the pressure of Gwaine’s thumb caressing it gently, dipping lightly in, skirting the moist, smooth surface just inside. Merlin could feel his own hot breath caress the wicked intruder in turn.
“Merlin.” Gwaine’s voice came out, rough, like Merlin had never heard it. His eyes snapped open and a shiver shook his body when he saw Gwaine’s face: urgency, hunger and restraint mingled on it to make it look dangerous in the sweetest, most thrilling possible way. Merlin’s eyes fell on Gwaine’s lips just as they opened to speak.
“Wait for me in your room,” Gwaine said, his finger making a final, gentle swipe, this time over Merlin’s upper lip. Merlin just nodded and stood up. His own hand twitched towards Gwaine’s bare face, bashfully reached out and stroked the thick, dark, glistening strands of hair—then Merlin turned on his heels and made his way to his room.