It had taken Gwaine weeks to allow Merlin to touch him. Understandable, really, when Gwaine had nearly been killed by the one thing that Merlin was closely affiliated with. But Merlin had been patient. He hadn’t pushed Gwaine -- not when it came to that. He had pushed Gwaine to drink the remedies that Gaius had made him, to join him on walks around the castle at dusk, to eat properly. Merlin had owed it to wait for Gwaine. Heavens knew Gwaine had waited long enough for Merlin.
They’d only shared a bed several times, with Merlin being wary of inadvertently worsening Gwaine’s recovering injuries by kicking him in the night, and Gwaine worrying about accidentally hurting Merlin when he was woken from nightmares. So, when Merlin stirred in the early hours of the morning to find the bed empty, despite Gwaine having clambered in with him the previous evening, he wasn’t too concerned. Gwaine had probably gone back to his own bed.
It was when Merlin glanced towards the window to see Gwaine leaning against the wall, flicking through Merlin’s magic book by soft candlelight, that he began to be concerned. ‘Gwaine,’ he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. ‘What are you doing?’
Gwaine looked up. He still hadn’t fully recovered from Morgana’s torture, and Merlin had lost count of the number of times he’d told him to rest more, but in the moonlight his gauntness took on an ethereal form. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’
Merlin slid from the bed and sat opposite Gwaine, crossing his legs. ‘You didn’t wake me. Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, Merlin,’ he softly said, and the smile did seem genuine.
Frowing, Merlin rubbed his eyes. ‘What?’
‘It’s too warm. And I can’t turn off my thoughts.’ Gwaine set down the book, drawing his knees to his chest. ‘So, instead of lying awake and fretting about the fact I’m not sleeping, I try to wear myself out until I just drop right off.’
‘That doesn’t sound very healthy.’
‘Says the person who survived on half an hour’s sleep for two weeks.’
Merlin picked at his shirt. ‘This is about me, not you,’ he mumbled. ‘No, you, not me. You know what I meant.’
Gwaine smiled gently at him. ‘Go back to bed, love. You’re shattered.’
Picking up the book again, Gwaine raked a hand through his hair. ‘I will be. In an hour or so, I imagine.’
Merlin edged a little closer to him, fighting the urge to reach out a hand to stroke his cheek. ‘No offence, flower, but you look shattered already.’
‘I haven’t reached my peak quite yet,’ Gwaine replied, mouth flickering. He raised his head, recognising the expression in Merlin’s eyes -- the worn he himself had worn so many times. ‘It’s okay, love, you can touch me.’
‘Are you sure?’ Merlin was biting his lip. ‘It’s not going to make you too warm?’
‘You always make me warm. That’s what always drew me to you. Now I realise it was probably the fire magic...’
His fingers first entwined themselves with the hair dripping across Gwaine’s face like a stammering waterfall, skittering like stones on a lake’s surface along the smooth skin of Gwaine’s cheek. Gwaine leaned into the touch, closing his eyes, and Merlin dared to shuffle even closer so that their knees were pressing against each other. Despite the heat, Gwaine wasn’t sweaty beneath his touch, but was pleasantly cool, particularly when Merlin let his hand fall to Gwaine’s back, where he had been leaning against the wall.
‘I thought you said you were drawn to the warm.’
Merlin could feel the muscles in Gwaine’s back ripple as he shook his head. ‘No, I’m drawn to your warm. Not the generic one that the whole of Camelot experiences.’
‘I can probably find a spell to cool you down, if you’d like that. But if it’s too much, then I don’t have to,’ Merlin hastily added. ‘You can stay sitting here, or you can go back to your room, or--’
Gwaine leaned forward to rest his head on Merlin’s shoulder. ‘A spell would be nice,’ he murmured. ‘I was trying to find one...’
Hesitantly, Merlin pressed his cheek against Gwaine’s hair. ‘If you get to sleep, you get to sleep. If not, I can tell you a story. Just come to bed, flower.’
‘Anything you want,’ whispered Merlin.
Merlin laughed into his hair, closing his eyes. ‘I think I have about two dozen of those.’
Gwaine paused. ‘Now I think about it, I am pretty tired...’
Taking the book in one hand, Merlin fumbled for Gwaine’s hand with the other and, receiving a reassuring squeeze, helped him to his feet. It took them only moments before they were both stretched out on the bed, ankles interwoven, with Gwaine watching Merlin flick through the spellbook, his lashes casting gangly shadows across his face. As Gwaine slowly pushed his head along Merlin’s outstretched arm, the warlock smiled down at him. Gwaine’s eyes were closing, despite his attempts to keep them open to drink Merlin in, and Merlin contorted his hand to stroke Gwaine’s hairline.
