Archive of Our Own ^beta

Merlin’s skin was cold—so cold—enough so that the occasional snowflake that drifted down from the pale-grey sky did not even melt as they landed on his brow. His lips were beyond blue, and no breath issued forth from them, nor was any pulse to be found beneath his deathly pallid skin, no matter where Gwaine’s trembling fingers pressed down in desperate search for one.

“Please…” he whispered, his hands roaming restlessly over Merlin’s face and neck as he told himself that he simply had not found the proper pulse point yet, unable to accept the rapidly growing suspicion that the reason he could feel no pulse was that his friend’s heart was not beating. “Please, Merlin. Wake up…”

He slipped his fingers beneath the sodden neckerchief that was meant to warm Merlin’s neck yet now started to stiffen with ice crystals. His skin was no less frigid beneath it, and his pulse could not be felt there either.

Fuck!

This was not happening. Sure, Merlin had been swept a considerable distance downstream after—presumably—falling in the river, but he seemed to have sustained no outward injuries and had obviously made it out of his own accord, judging by the footprints leading up from the riverbank. Why then had he lain down in the snow instead of walking back upstream to help the search party find him? Why had he not called for them? Why was he not breathing?!

Gwaine should probably be doing more to help instead of sitting there paralysed by fear—perhaps alert the rest of the group so they could get to work starting a fire to warm Merlin by. He knew that the cloak he had draped over Merlin’s still body was doing little to no good when his clothes were still drenched with icy water beneath it—that he needed to get dry in order to warm up—but there was an awfully disquieting voice in the back of his mind telling him that it did not much matter what he did since Merlin was beyond help. No one came back from being this cold.

“Please…” he choked out, his tears burning hot against his own numb skin as he tried to feed some warmth into Merlin’s cheeks with his shaking hands, his gloves lying discarded in the snow somewhere. “Don’t leave me alone in this stupid kingdom. I only became a stupid knight because you were here making the whole stupid thing a little less stupid. I swear, I’m quitting if you don’t wake up, so come on, Merlin!”

There was no response. Snowflakes embellished long eyelashes that now looked like streaks of charcoal against the white expanse of cool skin, giving the unsettling impression that Merlin too was crying, only his eyes were closed and his tears were ice.

In the distance, voices could be heard calling Merlin’s name, but Gwaine could not find it in himself to call back with anything intelligible, instead letting out a wordless cry and slamming a fist into the ground beside him to channel the rage he felt at the unfairness of it all. The few inches of snow that covered the frozen ground only softened the blow enough to stop him from breaking any bones, but his knuckles did not escape unbruised. As it was, he barely noticed the pain in his hand, occupied as he was with the searing agony of his heart breaking. A sob escaped him, and he hung his head and screwed his eyes shut against the sight of his lost friend.

“What did the poor snow ever do to you?” a quiet voice rasped.

Gwaine’s head snapped up, his eyes flying open as he looked around wildly for the source of the voice. None of their companions were close enough to see yet, though Arthur could not be very far away as his shouts rang loud and clear across the frigid landscape, even over the rushing of the nearby river.

“Ugh, what does he want now? Can’t even freeze to death in peace without Prince Prat demanding service…”

Eyes widening as reality started catching up to him, Gwaine let his gaze fall to Merlin’s face, stunned to find that his friend was looking up at him with a faint smile. The snowflakes that had landed on his skin were slowly starting to melt away.

Gwaine must have been wearing a rather strange expression as he stared at the man who had almost definitely been dead just moments ago, for Merlin frowned and said, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He stirred weakly as if to raise a hand to touch his face, but he never got that far as Gwaine’s brain chose that moment to finally start functioning again. As white-hot relief flooded him at the realisation that Merlin was not dead after all, he reached out to cradle his head in his hands once more, surging down to press a feverish kiss to still-too-cold lips.

You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive!

All right, so perhaps saying that his brain was in full working order had been an exaggeration, for only now did the last of the gears click into place, making him realise three things at once. Firstly, he was kissing Merlin. Secondly, he had not actually meant to do so—not like this, at any rate. And, thirdly, Merlin was not kissing him back. In light of these realisations, he withdrew abruptly, sitting back on his heels and snatching his hands away.

It was Merlin’s turn to stare, and so he did, looking up at Gwaine with a dazed expression. His eyes were wide and unfocused, and his lips—now more purple than blue—were slightly parted in surprise. “What…?” he asked after a moment of stunned silence.

“Sorry,” Gwaine blurted out in response. “Shouldn’t have done that. I…thought you were dead, is all.”

Understanding seemed to dawn on Merlin, and he smiled weakly and said, “It happens; consider it forgotten. Thought I was dying too—though I suppose I might still be, unless we can get a fire started…”

This snapped Gwaine out of his stupor, and he pushed the relief of not having offended Merlin too badly out of mind along with the vague disappointment that the kiss had not been returned (nor did his feelings appear to be).

“Right so. Let’s get you dry and warmed up, eh?”

The next couple of hours flew past in a flurry of activity as the rest of the search party was alerted to their location and Operation Thaw Merlin started in earnest. Gwaine took a step back as the idea of sharing body heat was raised, leaving that task to Lancelot rather than offering himself as a volunteer and risking making Merlin more uncomfortable than he had already managed. When it was decided—against Merlin’s will—that he ought to return to Camelot on the morrow instead of accompanying them on the rest of the patrol, Gwaine likewise let Lancelot have the honour of riding back with Merlin, reasoning that a week apart might be enough for them both to forget that the inadvisable kiss had ever happened. With some luck.

“What’s wrong with Gwaine?” Arthur asked Merlin one day during the break in training. “He’s all…sluggish and unfocused—more unfocused than usual, that is.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow as he held out Arthur’s cloak for him to bundle up in while he caught his breath. “Well, let’s see… You are forcing everyone to train outside in below freezing temperatures for no good reason. I’d be more surprised to hear he’s the only one not on top of his game today.”

“No, there’s something else,” Arthur mused. “He keeps glancing in this direction.”

“You mean in the direction of the door that leads to the inside of the nice, warm castle? I wonder why.”

“I meant in your direction.”

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Merlin said, “Maybe he’s concerned that someone who almost froze to death not two weeks past is also being forced to spend the day out of doors for an even worse reason than practising waving a sword around. At least you lot are keeping somewhat warm running about; I’m just standing here hoping that my toes don’t fall off before you decide you’ve had enough and let me go inside.”

Arthur actually did roll his eyes at that. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you helping yourself to my cloak while I’m training. Try wearing mail in this weather.”

With that, Arthur signalled for training to resume, handing his cloak back to Merlin, who unashamedly wrapped it around himself again as he settled in to watch the second half of the session. He made no mention of the heating spell he had secretly started placing on his clothes after the ordeal with the river—a spell which actually had him feeling rather toasty even standing about in the cold as he was. The cloak was just a bonus, really.

“What’s wrong with Gwaine?” Lancelot asked him around a week later.

Merlin frowned and looked over to the other end of the banquet hall where Gwaine was having a seemingly half-hearted conversation with a visibly enamoured serving girl.

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t tossed his hair even once even though she’s obviously flirting with him.”

“So?”

“So, he’s not flirting back.”

“And? Maybe he’s just not interested?”

“When have you ever known Gwaine not to flirt back, regardless of whether he’s interested? It’s just what he does, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t flirt back with me, Merlin thought privately, pushing down the familiar sting of longing with practised ease.

“Maybe she has terrible breath or something,” he suggested lamely.

Lancelot shook his head. “I may only have known the man a couple of months, but something is going on with him; mark my words.”

The furrow in Merlin’s brow deepened as he watched Gwaine glance over in their direction, only to quickly look back to the serving girl when he caught Merlin looking at him. With what looked like an awkward excuse and a stiffly bowed head, he then took leave of the bemused girl and made his way over to Elyan and Percival where they stood chatting by a window, greeting them both with a hearty clap on the shoulder and a wide grin—the authenticity of which Merlin could not quite make out at this distance.

“Hm,” Merlin said.

Perhaps Lancelot was right.

“What’s wrong, Gwaine?”

He looked up from the sword in his lap, stilling the rag with which he was polishing the blade. “Oh, nothing. Thought I spotted a bit of rust; turns out it was just a speck of dirt.”

Merlin pushed himself away from the doorpost he had been casually leaning against and stepped into the armoury proper, coming to sit down beside Gwaine on his bench. “Not what I meant. You’ve seemed a little…off, lately.”

“‘Off’ how?” Gwaine asked, despite knowing exactly what he meant.

“I don’t know… Quieter? More distracted? Elyan says you haven’t joined him and Percival at the tavern much either.”

The weight of Merlin’s concern made Gwaine avert his eyes and return his focus to the blade in his hands, going back to his polishing. “I’m grand, mate. Just haven’t felt the need to go out on top of all the Yule celebrations in the citadel.”

This was…true enough, but he decided against adding the explanation, I try not to make a habit of drinking when I’m maudlin, since that would undoubtedly lead to questions about why he found it difficult to fully share in the spirit of the season—the reason being that his unrequited infatuation had proven harder to shake than expected, try as he might. But that was his burden to bear—not Merlin’s.

Merlin did not seem all that convinced, but he said, “Right, that’s… Okay. I admit, I was almost starting to suspect the tavern wasn’t the only thing you were avoiding.”

He looked up again at that, surprised by the uncertainty in Merlin’s voice. “‘Course I haven’t been avoiding you,” he hurried to reassure him. Not intentionally, at any rate. “Though the same could be said of you, I suppose. Haven’t seen you around much lately, except at training.”

“Me? Avoiding you?” Merlin looked genuinely confused. “Never. It’s just…Arthur, you know? I don’t know how he does it, but I swear he thinks of a new chore to add to the pile every day. The list is truly never-ending.”

“Nobles, eh?” Gwaine laughed, feeling rather relieved to have his vague suspicions proven groundless. Maybe that relief was what made him careless enough to add, “I was afraid I’d gone and made things weird.”

“Weird?” Merlin asked, entirely innocently.

So much for trying to forget it ever happened.

“Ah, well… You know, with the, er, kiss and all. Sorry, again. Don’t know what got into me.”

Merlin’s expression turned inscrutable, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks as he nonchalantly said, “Oh, that. I told you; it happens. You wouldn’t be the first to do something rash like that on someone’s ‘deathbed.’ Think nothing of it.”

Gwaine forced himself to smile and nod. “Right.” Rash, it might have been, but nothing it was not. He just wished it might have been something to Merlin as well, but there was nothing to be done about it but accept Merlin’s graceful forgiveness for his overstepping that boundary in the heat of the moment. “You gave us quite the scare there. Wasn’t sure you’d be bouncing back from that one.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Worry? Nah, why would I get worried by you disappearing from camp for hours only to be found doing your best impression of an icicle?”

“Yeah, it’s not like falling into a freezing river is the worst thing to ever happen to me on patrol.”

As images of Merlin’s lifeless form in the snow flashed before his eyes anew, Gwaine found that he could not stomach any further joking on the subject, and his voice came out a touch strangled as he quietly said, “Merlin, you almost died. I— For a moment there, I could have sworn your heart had stopped—that you were…gone. ‘Worried’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Part of him wanted to ask how it was even possible for Merlin to have survived after going that cold—how it was that he had somehow gone from practically frozen solid to thawed enough to make jokes with no more intervention than having a cloak draped over him for a brief moment and not so much as a case of frostbite afterwards—but there were things Merlin Did Not Talk About, and Gwaine was not about to ask. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday, if he ever felt like he had earned himself enough trust to receive an honest answer.

All the mirth drained from Merlin’s face as he too sobered. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and laid a hand over Gwaine’s where it rested around the hilt of his sword. “I know. But you saved me. I’m all right, thanks to you.”

The touch was light, but the warmth of Merlin’s hand was like a brand upon Gwaine’s skin—a searing reminder that his friend was, indeed, safe and warm once more and of the fact that Gwaine would very much like to keep touching Merlin. This was a desire which he had not yet succeeded in quelling, despite having been so kindly let down (twice now).

“It was a group effort,” he managed to say in way of a response, in lieu of putting his foot in it again by making any allusions to his feelings. He made no move to pull away from the touch, nor to try to return it for fear that doing so might spook Merlin and make him withdraw.

Merlin smiled and tightened his hand around Gwaine’s. “Maybe, but you’re the one who found me. It was your wit that led you to guess I’d been swept off by the river, and your strength that carried me back to camp. Who knows how much longer I would’ve had to wait if we were relying on Arthur’s deduction skills?”

That startled a laugh out of Gwaine. “Perish the thought. Plus, I’m a great deal prettier a sight to wake up to than Arthur’s ugly bake.”

“Exactly,” Merlin grinned. “Brains, brawn and beauty; what more can you ask for in a saviour?”

Being on the receiving end of that brilliant smile was always a dizzying experience, but combined with the touch and the compliments (which were very hard not to read into as flirtation, despite everything) it was breathtaking.

Gwaine realised in that moment that there was no use fighting his infatuation, for he stood no chance against Merlin’s charm. Of course, he would have to keep it to himself, but he had no choice but to let it run its course rather than try to prematurely smother it. It had taken root in him very early into their acquaintance, and it had only grown stronger since then, especially after he had accepted the knighthood and made a permanent home of Camelot. No, there was no subduing his feelings when he was exposed to the wonder that was Merlin on a near-daily basis; he would just have to learn to live with loving him from afar.

When Merlin received no reply but a soft smile from Gwaine, he continued, “What I mean to say is thank you. You saved my life, and I appreciate it.”

“Any time, old friend,” Gwaine said earnestly. “Any time at all.”

Merlin looked to be on the verge of saying something else, but he was interrupted by a faint but irate, “Merlin!” drifting into the armoury from the corridors outside.

“Duty calls,” he huffed wryly, and with a last squeeze of Gwaine’s hand he rose and made his way towards the door with what seemed like some reluctance. As he reached the doorway, he paused and looked back. “You know you could tell me if something was actually wrong, right?”

You know you’re too good for this world, right?

“I know, and if anything were, you’d be the first to know.”

Merlin nodded and gave him a quick smile before hurrying off to see what Arthur wanted.

Gwaine’s shoulders sagged and he slumped forward subtly the moment his friend disappeared from view, heaving a wistful sigh. It took quite a lot of self-restraint not to press his lips to his own knuckles where Merlin’s hand had rested only moments before, but he told himself that while he was undeniably a fool in love, he did not have to be pathetic about it. It was a wonder that Merlin had bought his charade as it was, best not to tempt fate…

“I don’t buy it—not for a second,” Merlin muttered. “Something’s definitely wrong with Gwaine.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Gwen said distractedly. “Hand me the rosemary oil, would you?”

He briefly paused in his pacing the length of the infirmary to do as he was asked, watching as she carefully added a few drops of the oil to the ointment they were working on—well, which she was working on, more accurately.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right? You’re the sister of a knight these days and your suitor is the Crown Prince himself.”

“I need to do something,” she replied. “Arthur is with Uther, so I’m not needed there tonight, and with Gaius so busy in the lower town, I thought he’d appreciate the assistance.”

“Sure, but that’s what he’s got me for.”

She looked up at him, pointedly raising an eyebrow as she followed him with her eyes while he continued pacing back and forth by the table she was seated at. “Oh, yes, and I can see you’re hard at work restocking his poultice supplies.”

Merlin faltered in his steps, sheepishly coming to a halt. “Ah. Sorry, it’s just—”

“You have your own patient on your mind, I know,” she said with a teasing smile.

“He’s not a patient,” Merlin protested. And he’s not mine…

Corking the bottle and putting it aside, Gwen leaned forward and directed her full attention at him. “Let’s pretend like he is and get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all. Go on, tell me the symptoms.”

He sighed and sat down opposite her at the table. “It’s not like there’s anything physically wrong with him—as far as I know.”

“Then what ails him?”

“I don’t know… At first I thought he was avoiding me, but he says he wasn’t, and he’s been different after I asked him about it—still weird, but less distant and on edge and more… I don’t know. Not sad, exactly, but maybe wistful? It’s hard to describe, but it’s definitely unlike him.”

She nodded sagely, clasping her hands on top of the table. “Sounds like a malady of the heart, then.”

“The heart? How do you mean?”

“When did it start?” she deflected.

“After he returned from patrol about a month ago.” That question, at least, was easy to answer.

“You mean the one you almost died on?”

“Yeah, but as broken up about it as he seemed at the time, we’ve both been through worse; I doubt that’s what’s troubling him,” Merlin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Unless he’s still embarrassed by the kiss…” he wryly added under his breath—though not quietly enough, apparently.

“The what?” Gwen asked, perking up.

He winced as he realised that what he had just revealed might very well be considered a breach of Gwaine’s trust. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“I will not! Are you saying you guys finally kissed?”

“Please, don’t tell anyone about this,” Merlin pleaded. “He’s mortified enough as it is.”

She frowned, excitement giving way for confusion. “You kissed him and he reacted with mortification? Really?”

“Well, no. He kissed me and was promptly mortified about it.”

“Why? Did you react badly?”

“No! I even reassured him it wasn’t a big deal and told him to forget about it.”

“You did what? I thought you liked him!”

“I did! I mean, I do. But he obviously regretted it, and it’s not like it meant anything. That sort of thing happens all the time.”

Gwen stared at him in dumbstruck silence for a good couple of seconds before saying, “Walk me through this step by step; I’m obviously missing something.”

He let his head fall to the table with a groan. He was not at all keen on continuing to relive the moment, but it was clear that Gwen would not let it go. Sighing, he raised his head again and said, “Look, it’s perfectly simple. He found me unconscious after I fell in the river, I woke up, he kissed me, and when I asked why he told me it was just because he thought I was dead. That’s it. Do I wish there was something more to it? Sure, you know I do, but it was just your standard ‘I’m relieved you’re alive’ kiss. We’ve both moved past it. It’s fine.”

Well, it was not exactly fine. It was a crying shame that it had been a one-time thing only, actually, but it was what it was.

Gwen blinked a couple of times as she processed this, then she reached across the table to take Merlin’s hands in hers. “Merlin. I hope you know that I don’t agree with Arthur when he calls you an idiot, but right now you are being really stupid. How many patients have you and Gaius brought back from the brink of death?”

“Loads, but I don’t see—”

“And how many have you kissed out of relief that they survived?”

“Well, I haven’t done it myself, but you kissed me for the same reason!”

“Merlin, you idiot!” she exclaimed, retrieving her hands to hide her rapidly reddening face in them. “I kissed you because I had a massive crush on you when you first came to Camelot!”

He gawped at her silently as he tried to make sense of this. “But— You— I thought you liked Arthur? And Lancelot for a bit, I guess—”

“I do now, yes! Like Arthur, that is.” She sighed and lowered her hands, studiously avoiding looking him in the eye as she explained, “When I kissed you and you never mentioned it again, I got the hint that you weren’t interested and that I should move on. Although, I’m starting to see that it might not have been a hint so much as total obliviousness…”

“So…you didn’t kiss me just out of relief?” The gears were turning embarrassingly slowly in Merlin’s head.

“No! That’s what made me do it, but it’s not why I did it!”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “You don’t think Gwaine actually…fancies me, do you?”

“Of course he does!”

“Really?”

She shook her head in fond exasperation. “He flirts with you all the time. You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

“He flirts with everyone all the time. And when I try to flirt back he usually goes all quiet and serious and says something about how much he values me as a friend or something dismissive like that.”

“Merlin, are you even listening to yourself? He’s obviously trying to show you that he takes you seriously—that it’s not just flirting when it comes to you!”

Merlin’s mouth fell open as he turned this suggestion over in his mind, trying to look at it from Gwen’s point of view. Gwaine was almost never serious—or at least he gave that impression to people who did not care to look too closely. He only really grew serious and earnest in times of crisis or— Or when the two of them were alone together.

Oh.

He was on his feet before he had made the conscious decision to rise. “Gwen. Would you mind terribly finishing these ointments on your own? I believe there’s something I must do.”

“Go,” was her simple reply, “before he takes the wrong hint too.”

He was already halfway out the door by the time she finished her sentence.

Gwaine was absentmindedly passing a comb through his hair while pondering the question of whether he should brave the winter air and accept the invitation to go to the tavern for once or just call it a day and turn in for the night when the door to his chambers flew open, slamming against the wall with enough force to almost swing shut again. The person who had tumbled inside only just caught it before it could smash right into his face, and he closed it behind him with marginally more care than he had opened it.

“Gods— Merlin!” Gwaine exclaimed, his hackles lowering as he recognised the intruder.

“What were you going to do with that?” his friend snorted, looking at the object in his hand. “Comb me to death?”

Gwaine looked down, only then realising that he had instinctively assumed a defensive position in his surprise, brandishing his comb as if it were a blade. “Ah,” he said, laughing a little and giving the comb a casual flip before raising it to his hair again to resume the activity it was designed for. “I’m sure I would’ve thought of something, had I had cause to use it in self-defence. Doubt I have anything to fear from you, though.”

“No,” Merlin said slowly, seemingly transfixed by the comb’s path as it slid through Gwaine’s hair.

“So?” he asked when it became obvious that no explanation for the visit was forthcoming. “To what do I owe the pleasure if you didn’t come here to challenge me to a grooming duel?”

Merlin tore his eyes from the comb, blinkingly returning his focus to Gwaine’s face. A light flush dusted his cheeks as he cleared his throat and said, “It has come to my attention that I’m an idiot.”

“Oh?” Gwaine lowered the comb. “Who told you that, and are they prepared to be challenged to a duel?”

Merlin shook his head with a low chuckle. “No, no, they were right in this case.” He stepped further into the room, slowly approaching Gwaine.

“This case being…?”

“You know how you go all numb when you get too cold?” Merlin asked instead of saying something which, you know, logically followed the last thing he had said.

“I— Yes? Why?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a shame, isn’t it?”

The furrow in Gwaine’s brow grew deeper along with his confusion. “A shame? Can’t say I’ve thought of it that way before myself.”

“I have,” Merlin said, coming to a stop but a pace away from Gwaine, a queer gleam in his eyes. “A lot. This past month, I’ve probably thought about it…oh, at least two or three times a day, I’d say. Conservatively estimated.”

“Okay…?” It was even more difficult to try to follow the strange twists and turns of the conversation with Merlin standing so close to him. At this distance, he could have counted Merlin’s eyelashes if he so desired—his long, dark, beautiful eyelashes—and he could have sworn that the gorgeous eyes behind them were flitting down to his mouth more often than usual.

“See, there’s this kiss I can’t get out of my mind, and it’s just such a pity that I couldn’t really feel much of it when it happened. It definitely makes imagining it happening again a bit tricky. I thought maybe you could help me out with that…?”

Gwaine could think of nothing more intelligent to say to this but, “Huh?”

Fortunately, this inarticulacy did not deter Merlin from leaning in even closer, and a second later he was kissing Gwaine, making all conscious thought fly out the window as his body instinctively and enthusiastically responded in kind. The comb clattered to the floor, entirely forgotten as Merlin’s hands found their way into Gwaine’s hair, undoing all its hard work.

As soon as the initial surprise abated, Gwaine’s hands flew up to land on Merlin’s hips, intuitively pulling him closer. He could not say that he was getting any less confused, but that did not matter much when Merlin’s lips—so warm compared to a month ago—were moving so tantalisingly softly against his. He was not about to break a kiss as lovely as this just to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he gave back as good as he got, eagerly granting Merlin entrance as he cautiously licked at the seam of his mouth, allowing their tongues to brush and mingle in a heady dance that made time stand still and lose all meaning.

It was hard to say how much time had passed by the time Merlin eventually broke the kiss to catch his breath, but even an eternity would have felt too short. At least he did not draw back from the embrace entirely, and his hands lingered in Gwaine’s hair, gently combing through the silky strands. His dark eyes remained fixed on Gwaine’s mouth as he smiled wordlessly, panting softly.

Gwaine took a moment to gather his wits about him before murmuring, “I was under the impression that you were trying to forget about the kiss.”

“How could I?” Merlin breathed. “It’s just that I was under the impression that you regretted kissing me.”

“I regretted making you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t; I was just surprised. And a bit distracted by almost dying. Then all of a sudden you were apologising, saying it was a mistake, and I realised you hadn’t meant to do it—or so I thought.”

“I hadn’t meant to do it like that—doesn’t mean I’d never imagined it happening.”

“And how do you usually do it in your imagination?” Merlin asked huskily, wetting his plush lips with a quick dart of his tongue. Gwaine could not help following its movement with his eyes, mesmerised by the slight sheen it left in its wake.

“Oh, a million different ways… A common denominator is you not being near dead in any of the scenarios.”

“Well, I’m all better now, so why don’t you give me an example—or, better yet, a demonstration?”

A frisson of excitement ran through Gwaine as he realised what was being asked of him. “Hm, do I have to pick just one?”

“I could be persuaded to work through the whole list.”

He sobered a little at that, meeting Merlin’s eyes solemnly. “You sure? Could take years,” he said, doing his best to infuse his words with enough weight to make it clear that a quick snog or two was not all he was after. “We’d have to spend a great deal of time together to even make a dent in the list.”

“Good,” Merlin replied emphatically. “Arthur is always saying I have too much free time on my hands. I disagree, but signing up for a worthwhile endeavour like this should be enough to keep him from adding any more chores to my schedule, don’t you think? Now, about that demonstration…”

Joy bubbled up within Gwaine upon seeing the amused affection writ plain in Merlin’s smiling eyes, and he let out a giddy laugh. “Impatient, are we?”

“Oh, I think I’ve been more than patient, seeing as I didn’t jump you on the spot upon seeing you wake up shirtless in my bed after your little feat of heroism way back when.”

“You’ve thought about it that long, eh?”

“Maybe.”

“Then we had better get started making up for lost time,” he said, still grinning as he pulled Merlin in for another kiss.

They worked their way through quite a few of the scenarios on Gwaine’s list that night—and the night after, and the night after that. Of course, getting a taste of the real thing only bolstered his imagination, meaning that the list was ever expanding. There simply were not enough hours in a day to keep up with it, and as a result there was no end in sight to their little demonstrations.

What a wonderful problem to have…