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Drinking, Gwaine thinks, would be a lot more fun if Merlin joined them. It’s still fun--Gwaine doesn’t think there will ever be a day when watching Arthur drunk off his ass won’t be fun--but he wants Merlin there too, so he can sling a drunken arm around him and lean just slightly too close and nobody will say a thing.
“Do you know, there was once that I caught Merlin with one of Morgana’s--” Arthur takes a big gulp of his mead, “one of her dresses. I think he meant to wear it. But I didn’t ask. Because I don’t want to know.”
On the other hand, maybe Arthur wouldn’t be so forthcoming with Merlin there.
Leon coughs loudly. “Maybe he needed a disguise.”
Arthur scowls. “Leon, no man with any dignity would ever wear a dress. Ever. I would de-knight him if he did.”
“Even a peasant?” Percy asks, and Gwaine wonders about the sudden redness to his ears. He has barely touched his drink.
“I’ll knight him just to de-knight him,” Arthur says, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
They all laugh at that, though Elyan’s voice seems higher-pitched than usual. Gwaine pokes him in the side. “Worn a dress before, Elyan?”
“No!” Elyan shouts. “It’s just-- well, Gwen and I used to play together, and there’s some things little brothers are forced to do by their big sisters. So I could understand if a man, in his past, maybe has worn a dress before.”
Gwaine is positive there’s more to it than that, but Arthur is already rumbling about the disgrace that his knights are, and how soon everybody in the kingdom will be wearing dresses, and how Merlin will be downright smug about it.
There’s something faulty about this sequence, but Gwaine laughs and takes another hearty swig of his ale.
----
Gwaine has not forgotten what Arthur said.
It’s been several weeks, and after careful consideration, and a lot of booze, he has made a decision.
He’s on his third flagon of ale for the night. This night is the night when he shows Merlin just how amazing he is. He (and the booze) have finally figured out how to get through to Merlin, who has, up until now, been oblivious to his charms.
He flings his head back, hair swishing, and slugs down the last of the ale. He is a man of action, after all, and action is more active than sitting at a tavern drinking, alone. It is also less lonely.
On a mission, he walks purposefully, if a little unevenly, back to his chambers before losing his nerve. A few people try to say “Good evening,” but Gwaine merely grunts at them, stopping conversation before it even starts. In his room, he thrusts his hand under his mattress and reaches for the wrapped parcel stored there.
Gwaine wonders, as he walks through the castle, if he would be nervous if he hadn’t had anything to drink, but dismisses that thought and ignores his pounding heart. At Merlin’s quarters, he raises his hand, but hesitates. How loud should he knock? Should he knock? Maybe it’s better if he just goes in. Less chance of waking Gaius.
Once inside, he stumbles into a table, and he can’t stop a sharp yelp of pain. The parcel falls to the floor with a dull thud, and when he bends to pick it up, he hits his head, knocking the dishes onto the floor as well. So much for secrecy, he thinks, but, despite it all, Gaius continues snoring in his bed.
Merlin, however, is not asleep. He comes out, scratching his head sleepily, and whispers, “Who’s there?”
Distracted by his aching shin and pounding head, Gwaine grunts out, “It’s me. Gwaine.”
He sees Merlin visibly relax and then Merlin gestures. “Everything all right? Come here.”
Unable to resist the command, he approaches Merlin, slowly. In the doorway, Merlin puts an arm around his shoulder and Gwaine feels his knees go weak. He grips the parcel tighter. He could still back out. Merlin would never know.
“Whoa there,” Merlin says, guiding him to the bed where they sit, legs touching from hip to knee. Gwaine sets the parcel on his lap.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, this?” Gwaine tries to act nonchalant, but his hand is shaking. “It’s a present for you. I got it at the fair.”
“The fair? Last month?”
“Yes. Well, um, just go ahead. Open it. I hope you’ll like it.”
It’s hard to see Merlin’s expression in the dark, but Gwaine thinks that he’s smiling a bit. That’s better than imagining Merlin upset, insulted, and demanding that Gwaine leave Camelot for good. (Gwaine doesn’t doubt that if Merlin asked him to, Arthur would banish Gwaine without a second thought. Arthur is a prat like that.)
But Merlin should be happy about the present, because Gwaine used all his cunningly acquired knowledge to find something Merlin will truly appreciate.
“Is this a dress?”
Gwaine swallows, feeling a big lump travel uncomfortably down the length of his torso. Unable to form words, he just says, “Mm hm,” through a tight lipped smile.
Merlin holds the dress up, smoothing it onto his body, spreading it out wide. The pale moonlight shows just a hint of its color, a bright blue that would look good with Merlin’s eyes. Because if Gwaine is going to buy a present for Merlin, of course he’s going to think about every last detail.
There is silence, and Gwaine’s heart starts sinking and sinking, until--
“Why?” Merlin doesn’t sound angry, but he doesn’t sound happy either. Mostly just confused.
Gwaine slumps against Merlin’s shoulder and tells himself it’s because he’s still drunk.
“Somebody told me that you liked dresses.”
“And by somebody, do you mean Arthur?”
Gwaine laughs nervously. “How’d you know?”
“Because he’s the only one who would immediately assume that a man carrying a dress is doing it because he wants to wear it himself. I mean, is that really your first thought? How does his mind come up with those things? Unless he’s the one who wants to wear dresses. Who knows what kinds of things nobles get up to in their free time.”
“Oy, I’m almost a noble now!”
Merlin laughs. “But I know what you do in your free time. Going to taverns, sleeping with all the ladies, being a rogue... Which, I think, just proves my point.”
Their shoulders are still touching, every single movement Merlin makes reverberates through Gwaine. He doesn’t have enough drink in him to do more, because there isn’t enough ale in the world that would make him want to ruin any moment with Merlin. He doesn’t want to rush it.
Let’s just stay like this, Gwaine wants to say, but just as he opens his mouth to say the words, Merlin stands up. The spot next to Gwaine seems chilly now.
“Is it my color?” Merlin asks; Gwaine almost chokes on his next breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, if I’m going to be prancing about in a dress, I want to look good in it. Maybe I should ask Gwen to help me put it on.”
Now Gwaine does choke. Flustered, he says, “No! I mean, let me help you put it on.” He ducks his head a little, suddenly shy.
“Ah, Gwaine,” Merlin says quietly, “I wasn’t serious.”
Gwaine wants to kick himself. Right. He’d gotten ahead of himself, already thinking of what it would feel like to tie the bodice around Merlin’s thin frame. He tries to save the situation: “I wasn’t either!” but the lie is obvious.
Merlin takes a step closer, the dressed folded over his arms, and Gwaine averts his gaze. He can’t stand to see the disgust in those eyes.
“Gwaine?” Merlin is so close now that Gwaine feels the heavy fabric brush against his knees. “Look at me.”
Gwaine tilts his head up, and he can honestly say that no amount of booze would have prepared him for what comes next: Merlin bending down to kiss him, their noses bumping awkwardly.
“That’s... that’s all right, yeah?” Merlin sounds nervous. Which can’t be right; Gwaine is the one with his heart skipping beats.
“Y-yeah. It’s good. I mean,” and since when has Gwaine ever been at a loss for words, he’s smoother than this, “it’s better than good. Again?”
Merlin drops the dress to the floor and pushes Gwaine flat onto the bed. “Yeah. Again is good.”
Gwaine doesn’t know if the dress helped his wooing efforts, but he thinks he can live with this turn of events. He wraps his arms around Merlin and enjoys the brush of their lips against each other.
And who knows, maybe later, he’ll wear it for Merlin.
Arthur might have a point about his knights and dresses.