based on a reel i saw on instagram lol. changed the narrative a bit to fit the characters.
Stiles' eyes track Merlin's, towards the corner of the massive ballroom, where two men are standing with their hands crossed against their chest. Their side-profile are almost identical: crisp, tailored black suits, accentuating their biceps, broad shoulders, and tantalizingly shaped body figures. Even their heights seem to be the same; the only notable difference from this angle is the color of their hair: a dark, deep, raven onyx versus a golden halo.
"They're arguing about something."
"Yes," Merlin sips his drink, the one he's claimed several times into the evening to be a disgusting piece of beverage, and winces. "I don't know why I keep drinking it."
"That's because Arthur brought it for you," Stiles tells him with a knowing smile. "And you won't deny him the pleasure of serving you, no matter how awful the taste might be."
Merlin looks at the gaudy, unneeded, and entirely unnecessary piece of diamond ring that Derek gifted him for this evening. It's almost the same size as his engagement ring, and it sits prettily enough on his left hand's pointer finger. Merlin catches his eye with a gentle smile on his own face.
"Arthur and I share something special," he begins, voice lilting into the foreign accent Stiles hasn't been able to place yet. It sounds like Welsh, but different than the one he knows. Older. "For a long time I thought my devotion to him wouldn't be reciprocated, and it was fine. I was fine with it. But as always, the clotpole had other ideas." Clotpole. What the hell does that even mean? Merlin's chuckle brings him back to what he is saying, "—told him, and so, now Arthur thinks he must make it up to me."
"Or he just loves you very, very much, but has awful taste."
"That, too."
They'd turned towards each other for the conversation, the din of the hall loud enough to keep it private from prying ears, but now they turn. Someone just gasped, and they're both most definitely into drama from the sidelines.
"Oh my god."
"Are they— ARTHUR!"
"DEREK SEBASTIAN HALE!"
Both men freeze. The old lady who gasped turns to look at them, as does the rest of the room, but Stiles isn't paying them any heed, and neither is Merlin. No. Their focus is entirely on their idiots.
Arthur's left hand is fisted at Derek's tie, and his right hand is frozen near his waist, crooked fingers looking for purchase. Weirdly, Stiles likens this action with looking for a sword in its scabbard, tightened securely near hips.
On the flip side, Derek's got his right hand centimeters from Arthur's nose, while his left one must be aiming to intercept Arthur's sword-hand or whatever.
And their faces. Oh Jesus Christ, their faces.
Red with anger. Mouths open in a feral cry of war. And eyes? Stuck on Stiles and Merlin, fear melting their rage.
Both him and Merlin stride towards them, Merlin's glass of questionably purple drink handed to one of the catering staff, and it's as if their movement reminds Arthur and Derek that they're caught. They jump apart, though they do share a look of commiserating grief over being caught.
Bastards. United against spousal anger.
Merlin and him don't say anything in this hall with interested ears and human eyes and multitudes of equipment ready to immortalize this scene; they simply take their respective husband's hands in their own and drag them out towards the parking lot, which happens to be mostly empty. Still, they go in deeper towards a secluded corner.
Once there, Stiles stares their Derek down, hands back at his sides. Merlin does the same.
"So? Care to elaborate what the fuck that was about?" His question is met nervous breathing and another commiserating look. "Oh, so now you're both buddy-buddy, but inside the hall you two were — what, enemies?" He snorts. He can't help it; Derek and him have faced literal monsters, and yet Derek was about to fight a posh, young man for... some reason?
Before either of them can speak, Merlin narrows his eyes. "Wait. Was this a ruse?"
"A ruse? What do you mean, Merlin?"
"Your royal pratness, by that I mean a very elaborate scheme to leave that dull place with questionable drinks and—"
Arthur's face goes from confused to dull. "Did you not like the Favor?"
"Favor?" Merlin question's, and Stiles shoots Derek a look to shush. Why the hell is he finding this so funny?
"That's what the drink was called. And it was purple. It wasn't nice? So I..." Arthur's gaze turns wide. "And you still drank it all! I even brought you a second glass of it, why didn't you tell me you didn't like it?"
Merlin rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture. When no answers seem forthcoming from him, Stiles steps in.
"It was thoughtful, I guess, since I'm gonna assume purple and that name means something to you both?" They nod in assent. "Right. See, thoughtful gifts are nice... but not always. Like, maybe you like it, but Merlin wouldn't. And it's not a bad thing at all, you just need to communicate."
Merlin rolls his eyes. "Says the man who hates the diamond ring gifted to him."
Stiles hisses, "Hey!" at the same time Derek asks, voice small, "Stiles?"
He turns towards his husband, moves closer. "Hey, it's nice. It's a very good gift."
Arthur says, weirdly with glee, "Which you don't like!"
"I love the thought behind it though!"
"But you don't like it," Derek repeats, eyes on Stiles', daring him to lie again.
Stiles cups his face, rubs his thumb against his stubble. "No," he admits. "I don't."
"I think we have gone a bit off-track here," Merlin says, after a while. Stiles turns to see the other couple in a similar position: in an almost-embrace, an intimate moment shared. "Why were you two at each other's throats?"
A third look is shared between Derek and Arthur. Then, Derek says, "It was about what that lady asked us."
"Yeah."
Merlin and Stiles wait for further elaboration, one which doesn't come. Now they share a look, and take a step to move away from their respective embraces. That, apparently, does the trick, and Arthur continues from his monosyllable answer, neither of the men letting Merlin or Stiles leave their personal space in the process.
"She asked us, 'What's the most expensive thing you've ever eaten?' and we told her. We disagreed at each other's answer, though."
"This was done over a trivial question? Derek. What the hell."
"I wonder how bigger your head can grow, Arthur. Really?"
Derek leans in close to him and tells him, in almost his Alpha voice, "My answer was you."
Stiles blinks. Huh? "Huh?" And then, "Oh my god—"
"And I said you," Arthur adds. "Of course, my Merlin is more expensive than your husband."
"I said this, and I'll say this again: Stiles is literally wearing the most expensive set of clothes right now on this side of the coast, he's wearing two diaomond rings, and that's just today's outfit."
Both Derek and Arthur push him and Merlin behind them, and move closer to each other, gearing up for a fight. Again.
"Unappreciated gifts don't count, and my husband is wearing a neckerchief made of the most pure gold, and that's just one of them!"
Stiles and Merlin look at each other.
"I had no idea this suit was that fucking expensive," he tells the man, who is eyeing up his own neckerchief in betrayal.
"You said this was just the color gold!"
"Merlin, we're leaving. Let's go."
"Yes. They can duke it out between themselves, while we enjoy this evening with people who tell us the truth."
They turn around, and start walking back towards the ballroom. Behind them, the fight never occurs. Instead, pounding footsteps follow them, and really, this evening did not go how Stiles had envisioned it to be.
(Lydia tells them a week later that "Derek Hale and Arthur Emrys begging their partners for forgiveness in the charity gala" is still a solid opening hit for a conversation, and Merlin rolls his eyes before his eyes glow gold and his favorite chips appear in his hand.
Because apparently, they're the Merlin and Arthur: Magic itself, and the Once and Future King.
Stiles' own eyes glow a deep purple, and both him and Lydia now have their favorite drinks in their hands.
Meanwhile, Derek's authority and Arthur's ego clash over something else equally trivial in the kitchen. Hopefully their bickering won't get in the way of dinner.
If it does... oh well. A Spark and The Sorcerer can cook something, can't they?
And no, both him and Merlin have decided that in no way, shape, or form, are they telling their husbands that the fact that their arguments occur mostly over being the 'better husband' is adorable. Nope, never, ever.)
