Chapter Text
Merlin could feel the moment coming.
It had been brewing all day, building like storm pressure behind his temples, a weight against the back of his teeth, a crawl beneath his skin.
And of course, it was Gwaine’s fault.
It always was.
It wasn’t just the usual snide comments or reckless antics. Gwaine had focused on Merlin today—hovering, poking, needling, smiling in that infuriating, devastating way.
There was a heat behind the teasing, something intentional.
Something targeted.
He’d followed Merlin to the training grounds, lounged dramatically on the grass, and shouted theatrical commentary on Merlin’s gait (“Swanlike!” “Regal!” “Truly a marvel of skinny-legged nobility!”).
He'd snuck into the kitchens when Merlin was helping the cook sort herbs, swapped the labels on three jars, and somehow convinced the entire staff Merlin had a basil allergy.
When Merlin confronted him, Gwaine only widened his eyes and said, “I would never endanger your delicate constitution.”
But now?
Now he was leaning far too close as they stood in one of the quieter stone corridors near the servant quarters, where Merlin had hoped—foolishly—for a moment of peace.
“I’m just saying,” Gwaine murmured, voice like silk and honey, “you’ve got a very expressive forehead.”
Merlin blinked. “What.”
“Right there.” Gwaine pointed, his finger almost touching skin. “Wrinkle line. Classic brooding. Very mysterious. Very warlock.”
Merlin stepped back, face a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re blushing,” Gwaine said, clearly delighted.
Merlin did not dignify that with an answer. He turned on his heel.
Gwaine followed—of course he did—hands in his pockets, smile like he owned the whole world and Merlin with it.
“I mean, think about it,” he went on. “Maybe you do like me annoying you. Maybe it’s secretly thrilling. Maybe you lie awake at night, thinking, ‘Oh no, that rogue knight looked at me again, what shall I do—’”
“Gwaine.”
“—‘If only he’d pin me to the wall and kiss me until I forget my own name—’”
“Gwaine.”
“‘But alas, I am but a humble servant with magical destiny and beautiful eyes—’”
That was it.
Merlin turned.
His magic flared behind his eyes, warm and golden, rising not with fury, but something hotter.
Rougher.
Inevitable.
“Forbearn.”
The word was quiet—almost gentle.
And Gwaine never even saw it coming.
One second he was smirking, mouth half-open with another teasing quip—and the next, he was airborne.
It wasn’t a hard throw.
Merlin wouldn’t do that.
But Gwaine was lifted. His feet left the floor with a suddenness that stole his breath, and his back hit the wall—not violently, but firmly.
Held.
His arms flew wide and stuck, invisible bonds locking them flat against the stone. His legs dangled slightly, toes just brushing the floor. He couldn’t move.
He blinked.
Hard.
“What the—”
And then he froze.
Merlin stood before him, breathing slowly, eyes still faintly gold.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
Gwaine’s chest rose and fell rapidly, every part of his body suddenly aware. Of tension. Of stillness. Of heat.
Of magic.
Not just a rumour. Not just suspicion. Real. Alive.
Coiled and crackling in the air between them.
And it was holding him.
Merlin was holding him.
With his will.
With his words.
With his power.
“Oh,” Gwaine said.
Then again, a little fainter. “Oh.”
Merlin’s shoulders jerked. “Shit.”
The gold vanished from his eyes, and he took a step forward. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t going to actually—Gwaine, are you—?”
But Gwaine didn’t respond right away.
He was too busy feeling.
His breath had caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. His heartbeat thundered like battle drums, and he swore he could feel the press of every invisible strand pinning him in place.
He strained slightly against it—not trying to escape, just testing.
He couldn’t move.
Not even a twitch.
Not unless Merlin allowed it.
And Gods, there was something devastating in that. Something he hadn’t expected. Something that lit a fire deep in his belly and set his cheeks aflame.
“Gwaine?” Merlin was panicking now. “Say something, are you—”
Gwaine looked down—well, down-ish, considering he was stuck a few inches off the floor—and blinked again.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curled.
“Oh,” he said, voice gone lower. Rougher. “I really liked that.”
Merlin stared at him.
Horrified.
“You what?”
“That—” Gwaine grinned wide now, eyes blazing.
“That was fantastic. You just—boom! I’m up! Can’t move! Magic everywhere! You’re glowing.”
He made a delighted noise in his throat. “Merlin, I think I’m in love.”
Merlin groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “No. No, no, no.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Gwaine tugged at the invisible restraints playfully. “You’ve got to do that more often.”
“I’m not doing it again!”
“Why not?” Gwaine wiggled his shoulders against the wall. “You didn’t even hurt me! I mean—look!”
He wriggled again. “Perfectly snug. Very secure.”
“You are infuriating!”
“And you are spectacular.” Gwaine laughed. “Truly. That was—Merlin, you’ve been holding back on me.”
“You are the worst man I have ever met,” Merlin said, pointing accusingly.
“You’ve met Uther and Morgana. That’s not fair.”
“Gwaine, I just pinned you to a wall with magic, and your reaction is to get turned on?”
“Obviously!” Gwaine wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you seen yourself? Tall, glowing, all dark and wrathful? That was hot.”
Merlin made a strangled sound.
“Just admit it,” Gwaine said, his tone gentling now. “You liked it too.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t!”
“You so did.”
“I’m never doing this again.”
Gwaine gave him a wide, slow grin. “Then I’ll just have to push you harder next time.”
Merlin actually stamped his foot. “You’re impossible!”
“Your eyes are glowing again.”
Merlin cursed and turned to flee, muttering a string of Old Language under his breath. Only pausing for a moment to make sure Gwaine was dropped gently.
—————————————
Gwaine found him hours later in his room, hunched on the end of the bed, face in his hands.
“Still blushing?”
“Go away.”
Gwaine shut the door behind him. “I mean it. That was incredible.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“You were angry.”
“I was at the end of my tether.”
Gwaine approached, slow and careful now. Less teasing. More sincere.
He knelt down in front of Merlin, resting his arms on the other man’s knees. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Merlin blinked down at him. “You’re apologising?”
Gwaine shrugged. “You thought I’d hate it. That you hurt me.”
“I… didn’t know what you’d do,” Merlin said softly. “I just—snapped. You push and push and sometimes I just can’t—”
Gwaine leaned closer, voice quiet. “You can always stop me. Always.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” Gwaine smiled faintly. “I promise. Not even a bruise.”
Merlin swallowed. “Still. It scared me. How easy it was.”
“You’re powerful.”
“I’m dangerous.”
Gwaine tilted his head. “And I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Gwaine leaned his forehead against Merlin’s. “But I do.”
Silence stretched between them. Warm. Real.
Merlin closed his eyes. “You’re still insufferable.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to push me until I do it again.”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re the worst.”
Gwaine smiled. “But I’m yours.”
Merlin opened his eyes and stared into the impossibly kind ones before him.
Then, slowly, he kissed him.