Fic: Colours (15 pairings)

[keep_counting]

For 15pairings. Merlin BBC

Title: Colours
Author: keep_counting
Theme: theme set 6, #1 - be careful
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Gwaine/Gwen
Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin there would be a lot more shirtlessness for our boys. Alas, I do not.
Rating&Warnings: PG-15 - some sexual themes, nothing heavy. AU
Summary: Gwaine has never been much for giving up.

 

Colours

 

Having traveled so much, Gwaine is used to all kinds of exotic creatures: women with hair as golden as the sun, with caramel-coloured skin, with purple eyes and full red lips. He’s used to beauty as much as he is death and violence, but both still affects him equally as much and chatting up the pretty girl in the purple dress that hugs her curves so nicely, is something he just has to do.

He doesn’t expect the rush of emotion as she keeps walking, but he’s persistent, she’s intriguing now. Her hair is soft, his fingers barely brushing it as he places the flower behind her ear.

“It’s not my colour,” She says and deftly tries to move past him. He creates a scene, flicks and bows and is dramatic, because that’s what he does best after fighting and she mutters in embarrassed tones, but she isn’t blushing and he’s (almost) disappointed. The white of the flower stands in contrast to her skin, bringing out the softness in it and she whispers her name as she clutches her basket.

Gwen. Guinevere.

“This isn’t working, is it?” He hates to admit it, but she’s smiling and it’s beautiful.

“No, not really,” Gwen says and there’s no mocking in her tone. “But I like that you tried and that you knew when to give up.”

Gwaine has never been much for giving up.

 

oOo

 

He sees her again (in his dreams) one cold November morning in the town of Rellyon. She looks like she’s freezing, thin coat not enough to keep out the cold, but her breath comes in small puffs of white around her face and her chin is lifted as she strides onwards.

She looks like a lioness and it makes a shiver run down his spine. She’s wearing red today and it brings out her skin and hair in a way that seems almost in-human. It’s like a blood on the snow as stops to survey her surroundings and he ducks down behind a cart, not even sure why he won’t let her see him. Maybe because he’s unwashed and still not completely sober and still has a purple bruise over his eye after a brawl two nights ago. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that if she walked much closer in those colours, red against brown, against black and white and against soft, alluring skin, he’s not sure he could be held responsible for his actions. And really, Gwaine doesn’t feel like being slapped today.

Someone detaches themselves from the shadows surrounding the buildings, and a tall, dark man walks over to her. He is surprised to feel a surge of jealousy as the man places a hand on her arm and she smiles fondly at him, but then they’re standing right next to each other and there’s the realization that it’s her brother. He immediately calms down, almost embarrassed at his audible reaction.

Her brother looks well-muscled and strong, and while Gwaine knows he’s one of the best – perhaps, possible the best – swords-man in all of Albion, he’s still not sure if he wants someone like that being angry just because he compromised his sister. Come to think of it, Merlin would probably kill him too, and if there’s one thing Gwaine’s learned on his travels, it is to never mess with a warlock.

Gwen walks out of sight, her red dress a drop of blood that slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it disappeared from his vision. He stands up again, all of the sudden feeling like going for another drink.

 

oOo

 

There’s a faint rapping on his door, that slowly goes louder as he sleeps through it. He wakes, disgruntled and not sure if he’s still dreaming, especially not when her voice floats through the thick wood.

“Gwaine? Are you in there?” Her voice sounds throaty and dry and as he opens the door he can see in the flickering candle-light that her eyes are red. She’s been crying.

“He’ll be alright.” He tells her, even though he’s not sure of that: seeing Merlin lying in that bed, pale as the sheets, hair drenched in sweat and purple marks around his eyes… the illness was taking its toll and it seemed that what dragons and warriors and witches couldn’t do, pneumonia would. Kill their best friend.

Tears are streaming down her face and it makes him squirm uncomfortably: he’s not used to giving comfort to anyone, much less the beautiful girl he fancies (and there, he’s said it, admitted it, but he’s too tired not to, not when she’s wearing nothing but a thin night-gown under her robe, falling and folding over her curves like she was born in it).

“Shouldn’t you be with Arthur? I mean… I’m sure he can… I’m not very good with.”

Gwen smiles, a crooked one that makes his heart clench. “Arthur’s so busy: I wouldn’t want to worry him with me being a mess. And I heard…” She stops, hesitating and then turns to leave, muttering a soft ‘sorry’. Her hair is tied up and he gets a glimpse of her neck, long and graceful like a swans and he reaches out and grabs her arm.

“Gwen,” He breathes, because saying her name is like drawing in a deep breath before battle, before plunging headfirst into mile-deep water. “Gwen,” He says again as she steps forwards and rests her forehead against his shoulder. She sighs something that might be his name, as his arms wound around her and all of the sudden, the door is closed and they’re sitting on his bed, her face still hidden and his hand gently stroking her hair. Her shoulders aren’t shaking, but he can feel the dampness on his shirt and knows that the tears are still falling freely from her eyes.

“I heard you were… that the army was leaving tomorrow.”

“We can’t let Cenred have the upper hand, just because our warlock is ill,” Gwaine says, feeling like he has to justify it, why he’s – why they are all – leaving her behind. She shifts a little and for a moment – a dreadful, horrible moment – he thinks that she’s going to move away, but she only grips him tighter, small fingers curling around his shirt.

“Gwaine…” She mumbles and her voice is still throaty and he has to swallow hard and tries to keep a reign on himself. “Will you… I mean… will you promise to do… anything you can, to come back home?”

“Of course,” He says, but knows he doesn’t sound convincing. She lifts her face and glares at him.

“Gwaine.” She says again and he thinks that he will promise her the world, the sky and the head of a dragon, if she just keeps saying his name like that. “Do you promise?”

“Of course I’ll do my best, Gwen.” He says. “But I’m not like Leon or Elyan or Arthur: I don’t have that much to live for.” The words slips out before he can stop them and he curses himself.

But then her lips is suddenly pressed against his, and he feels an explosion in his chest, an array of colours – brown, purple, red, black – and he thinks he’s gripping her so tightly she must have a hard time breathing. But breathe she does, right into his mouth, moving to straddle his hips, firm grip on his shoulders.

I have only eyes for you.

They fall into the bed, white sheets tangling and Gwaine thinks that he could easily get lost in black curls and brown skin. He whispers, into her ear, promises that he’ll return to her, that she won’t be alone, that everything will be alright. That he loves her.

It’s when she says the words back to him that he loses himself, every inch of her body pressed against his and he wonders when this happened, how it happened, that he should take a walk on the street and decide that, her, that girl, was deserving of his attention that day.

They lie in bed quiet afterwards, her head on his chest and his arm around her and Gwaine is sure that he will never want to be moved from this position. She shifts and nuzzles her face into his neck and murmurs ‘be careful’ and he assures her that he will.