Archive of Our Own

The game had been brutal: a four-one loss, due to Leon’s crap performance as keeper in the first half. Arthur peeled off his sock, sopping and muddy, stuck to his calf.

Beside him, Gwaine was already naked – Arthur had no idea how he always managed to strip so fast. Practise, Arthur assumed. He watched the shadows play off the dip of Gwaine’s glutes as he bent to grab a towel from the pile on the bench.

“What do you think of the new keeper?” Gwaine asked, securing the towel around his waist.

Arthur followed Gwaine’s gaze across the room to the new kid. Merlin Emrys was barely out of nappies and offered a starting spot on the team. Percival’s broken wrist and Leon’s butter-fingers had made management desperate, Arthur supposed.

Emrys’ frame was wiry, lithe for a striker, let alone a keeper. Arthur could see the outline of his ribs as he fumbled the latch of his locker. “He looks ready to fall over in a gust of wind.”

“He didn’t let a goal in once he was subbed. Not bad for the first thirty minutes of Premier play.”

Arthur shrugged, pulling off his shin guards. “Chelsea was sitting back after Leon handed them the game in the first half. Four goals. Fuck.”

Gwaine hummed. “I saw Emrys play in the U21 final. The lad’s good.”

Emrys cursed, hitting the palm of his hand against the still closed locker.

“Right.” Arthur pulled off his shirt, then shorts.

“He was brilliant, sealed the match for his team.”

“Under21 isn’t Premier League. And even crap keepers have good games. Right now he looks like he couldn’t block a jockstrap tossed at his head.” Arthur stripped off his jock, held it in his hand for half a minute, then whipped it at Gwaine.

“Hey!”

Arthur wrapped his towel around the back of his neck and headed to the showers, knowing Gwaine would be right behind, likely with his eyes on Arthur’s bare arse.

Gwaine waited for Leon to finish up and slink out of the showers before he started again. “I think he’ll surprise you.” Gwaine raised his voice to be heard over the showers.

“Who?” Arthur asked, then shoved his head under the spray to rinse out the shampoo and missed Gwaine’s exasperated growl, but he knew it happened anyway (trees falling in forests and all that).

By the time his hair was rinsed, Gwaine was already out of the shower, towel around his waist, arms across his chest, watching Arthur.

Arthur didn’t mind the flirting and the innuendos. Gwaine kept it reasonably subtle (most of the time) so Arthur could ignore it. Anyone on the team that was interested in Gwaine had already been there, done that. The rest, like Arthur, made it clear they were straight, usually by fucking every wannabe-WAG they could find to make their point. Oddly, Arthur was the only straight bloke Gwaine still wasted his smiles on. A fact his father had mentioned more than once, his lips in a thin disapproving frown.

What Arthur hated was the squirrely feel in his stomach, like pre-match jitters, that he felt when Gwaine looked at him like that – like Gwaine wanted to lick every drop of water from Arthur’s body. Arthur turned around to face the shower spray, scrubbing the last of the mud from his skin, acutely aware of Gwaine’s eyes on him and the inevitable erection Arthur would suffer because of it.

Gwaine handed him a towel the instant he turned off the water. Arthur dried his face then tied it around his waist to hide the thickness of his cock, though Gwaine had likely already seen. They never spoke of Arthur’s body’s reaction to Gwaine watching him in the shower. At first, Arthur had been mortified but as it continued to happen and Gwaine feigned obliviousness, Arthur did the same.

“Has no one ever told you that it’s rude to watch someone in the shower?”

Gwaine’s eyes widened. “Is it?”

Arthur huffed. It was a well practiced conversation. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Only with you, Princess.”

The locker room had already emptied, everyone likely at the usual haunt, drowning the sorrows of their loss and discussing whether or not Emrys would really be good enough to get them to the Cup to defend their title.

“Well, he got his locker open at least,” Arthur said, looking over his shoulder at the spot Emrys had stood earlier. The lock looked mangled and the door didn’t seem to shut properly any longer. “Talented.”

Gwaine snorted, then after a moment’s contemplation added, “I bet he could stop a penalty kick from you.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe one in ten. If he’s lucky.”

“I’m willing to wager he can do better than that.”

Gwaine’s eyes fluttered down Arthur’s chest. The back of Arthur’s neck prickled with heat and Arthur started planning which hot-spots to hit tonight for an easy lay.

“So what are we talking here?” Arthur asked, slipping on his jeans and trying to hide his sudden discomfort.

“I’ll bet he can stop five of five.”

Arthur paused the pulling up of his zip. “Not even Percival can stop five of five.” He finished the zip and button. “And the man fills half the net. Hard to get a proper angle when he’s positioned right.”

Gwaine shrugged, bending to tie a shoe. His jeans were tight across his arse. “What can I say? The lad’s a bit magic.”

“Five of five?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. “And if he can’t?” It was on the tip of his tongue to say you’ll stop flirting. It’s driving me mad. But the thought of what Gwaine might do with that info (he’d be merciless, or he might stop all together) kept Arthur silent.

“If he lets one in, you can have my bike for a week.”

Arthur felt his eyes widen, and he knew what he must look like: Adam staring at the damned apple. Gwaine’s bike was the closest Gwaine had to a significant other in his life. He’d probably have proposed to it by now if man and motorbike could marry in the UK. It was a vintage Honda 450 Black Bomber with 444cc dual overhead cam engine, and it drove like a dream.

The one time he’d let Arthur on it – a single trip from London to Dover, Arthur had been aching hard the entire way, the machine was so smooth. He didn’t know how Gwaine got anywhere without stopping at the services for a quick pull. He was going to take this bet and from the look in Gwaine’s eyes, he knew it. The bastard.

“And if he stops all five?”

“If he can-” Gwaine paused, staring Arthur straight in the eye. “I want you to blow me in the showers.”

“What?” The word came out shrill, echoing in the empty locker room. Arthur looked around, panicked that they might not be alone, that someone, fuck, a reporter, might overhear.

Gwaine stepped closer, spoke softly. “After everyone is gone, we’ll lock the doors. Just us – your mouth on my cock.”

“Christ.” Heat pool in Arthur groin at the rumble of Gwaine whispering ‘mouth’ and ‘cock’. He scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “I’m not going to suck your cock, Gwaine.”

“You said yourself: you can’t lose.”

Arthur had never touched another man; he wasn’t gay even if Gwaine seemed to think... whatever it was that Gwaine thought. Convincible, he’d said once. Arthur shook his head. He wasn’t gay.

“It won’t mean anything, yeah?” Gwaine added, as if reading Arthur’s mind. “Just a spot of fun between mates. Won’t change us or anything.”

His tongue moved around his mouth as if testing the phantom weight. It wouldn’t be... impossible to do. Once. Maybe.

“Five of five?”

Gwaine grinned.

"A single goal, and I get your bike."

"For one week." Gwaine dug his keys out of his pocket and dangled them. The tiny handcuffs he had as his keychain clanked as he shook it.

"I can't lose." Arthur laughed and tried to snatch the keys. Gwaine's eyes crinkled at the edges as he pulled them out of reach.

Arthur stood on the pitch, the ball already in position for a penalty while Gwaine and Emrys chatted by a goal post.

They'd opted to do this after the next day's practice. The practice had been gruelling – not least for the hangovers half the team sported after licking their wounded egos. Arthur stretched his stiff arms and hopped a few times to keep his muscles from cramping in the cold April air.

It was only the three of them left on the pitch. Gwaine was discreet enough (when he wanted to be). Whatever he'd told Emrys this was all about would be vague and most likely a lie.

The conversation looked serious enough, Gwaine talking and Emrys nodding along. He couldn't imagine what the hell advice Gwaine – who hadn’t played goal in his life – could be sharing. But when Emrys started grinning like it was Christmas morn, Arthur gritted his teeth and shouted over to them, "You ladies, ready? I'm freezing my bollocks off over here."

Gwaine tapped Merlin's shoulder. “All right?”

Merlin's grin broadened further. "No problem, mate. I got this."

Arthur snorted. He could already feel the hum of the Black Bomber between his thighs.

Emyrs moved to the centre of the goal, well out, blocking the angle as best he could with his slight frame. Arthur smirked. This kid would need magic if he wanted to stop any of these.

Arthur toed the ball an inch to the right until it was exactly on spot. He stepped straight back, six paces, then left three more. Top left corner, easy shot, and he swept in.

Emrys moved the instant Arthur's foot touched the ball, lunging top left.

The smack of that ball hitting Emrys' thick gloves was one of the loudest sounds Arthur had ever heard.

He stared, cheeks burning as Gwaine retrieved the ball from where it had been deflected and scampered over to spot it.

"Magic," Gwaine mouthed and Arthur whispered back, "Lucky."

With a deep breath Arthur set up again. He only needed one. He'd never seen a keeper stop five penalty kicks in a row. Impossible.

Bottom left, off the post and in, he repeated to himself, visualising it in his head, the ding of the post then the swish of the net as Emrys dove right (which he likely would).

It was a perfect kick, fast, with a nice spin. Dead on target – or would have been if Emrys had indeed dove right. Instead of the ding of the post, it was the thud of Emrys hitting the ground as his finger tips grazed the ball, knocking the trajectory enough for the ball to go wide.

"Fuck!"

Before Gwaine could say a thing Arthur was already turned away, marching into position. He needed to concentrate, visualise. He needed to know that he could score. Instead, his frustration got the better of him.

Shin-level, centre-right ; Emrys hugged that one.
Graze the top post, dead-centre; Tipped over the net easily.
Top right corner; Hit Emrys' outstretched arms. The lad was taller than he looked.

It took a second to realise that it had been five. Five fucking penalties kicks and not a single one getting through. He fell to the grass with his head in his hands and screamed into the empty stadium, "What the fuck!"

Gwaine was laughing, clasping Emrys' shoulder. and giving him a hard smack on the arse. "Bloody brilliant."

"What the fuck!" Arthur repeated, as his mind seemed to be looping on not much more than that. He wrapped his arms around his knees and glared at the net as if it had personally offended him.

Then Emrys was in front of him, tugging off his keeper gloves with his teeth. He stretched out his hand, raised his eyebrow and waited.

Arthur looked at it a minute, remembering the sound of that first save. He swallowed back the mortification, found that shred of sportsmanship that always got him through moments like this, and let Emrys pull him to standing. "You might just take us to the Cup."

Emrys smiled, shy and sincere. "Well, let me play one full match. Then we'll see, right mate."

"Yeah." Arthur laughed, liking Emrys despite his bruised ego. He clasped Emrys’ hand and pulled him in until their shoulders bumped. "I can't fucking believe it."

"Well, I had motivation." Emrys turned to Gwaine, who tossed something in the air. Emrys snatched it instantly, but not before Arthur spied the glint of the tiny handcuffs and the jingle of keys.

"Cheers, mate." Emrys was glowing as he walked off the field, still in his kit and headed for the car park.

A tiny frantic whine escaped from Arthur at the thought of that beautiful piece of machinery in the hands of the kid who could barely open his locker yesterday.

Arthur felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder and turned. The minute he saw Gwaine he remembered the rest of the bet. It wasn't just about the new kid's talent, Arthur's ability at penalty kicks or the bike. Your mouth on my cock, Arthur had rolled those words around in his mind a hundred times last night, trying to come to terms with what he'd agreed to. Panic must have flickered across his face because Gwaine gave him a rare tentative smile, stripped of bravado. Then headed off the field and into the changing rooms.

Arthur followed slowly, his mind both blank and racing, like his thoughts were moving too fast to take form and left nothing but a void behind. He knew Gwaine. He could get out of this, if he really wanted to. He'd pay for it – something insanely expensive maybe, or humiliating like needing to wear pink nail polish for the rest of the season and endure all the speculation by the press, the questions from his father. It would be something good and quite unpleasant for Arthur, but Gwaine never did anything without a plan B.

He could get out of it... but as much as he knew that, there was also part of him that didn’t want to back out. And fuck, what the fuck did that mean?

When Arthur stepped into the locker room, only Hendrick and Crawford were there, arguing about the latest formation. They both left before Arthur started on his laces.

Arthur sat on the bench, head in his hands, weighing his options. The shower was running in the background, reminding him that Gwaine was back there, waiting for him.

Gwaine wasn't likely to say a word either way today. Either Arthur bit the bullet and fulfilled his end of the bet, or he didn't. Tomorrow the teasing would begin.

Gwaine had often commented on Arthur’s oral fixation, whether it was his hands, a pen, a toothpick -- something was always in his mouth or by his lips. One drunken night at the pub, Gwaine had called him a fucking cock tease, the way he never wanted his mouth empty. Arthur had punched his shoulder, hard enough leave a good bruise and to shut him up for a bit but they’d mostly laughed it off. It had never quite left Arthur’s mind though, every time he licked a sticky finger or wrapped his lips around an ice lolly it got him thinking. It succeeded in making him endlessly curious.

After all, he'd seen enough naked, fit men in his years of football to feed any fantasy that might pop into his head mid-wank. Thinking about it didn't mean he wanted to do it in reality. Lots of people had fantasies they'd never follow through on, or just weren't practical (like having the strap of a jock twisted around his neck while he was fucked hard against the tile of the showers, gasping until he came or passed out, or both). Fantasies hurt no one. Fantasies didn't end up as fodder for the gossip mags.

Fantasies didn't mean he'd have to come out to his father.

Just a spot of fun and maybe it could be. Gwaine was safe, he'd tell no-one. This one time, maybe it could happen and mean nothing. It was a bet, after all. And he'd finally know what it was like to feel the smooth heat of a thick cock slip through his lips. A tingle of heat curled at the base of Arthur's spine, twisting lower until it seemed to slither around his balls and up his cock.

The shower turned off. Before he could think better of it, he rose and slid the dead bolt of the locker room door.

He stripped quickly, grabbing a towel and heading back to the showers. He kept his eyes off Gwaine, who was leaning against the far wall, in nothing but a tented towel. Arthur showered as usual, feeling Gwaine's eyes on him the entire time, and ignoring the heavy sway of his cock, knocking at his thigh.

When he’d finished, Gwaine didn’t hand him his towel as he usual did. Arthur looked to his hook and found it empty – though he knew he’d put the towel there a few minutes before. Gwaine was still propped against the wall as though he hadn’t moved. His eyes were closed but there was no mistaking the rigid set of this shoulders or the stiffness of his cock below the only towel in the room.

Arthur stalked over, dripping wet, goose bumps raising on his arms from the cool air. Gwaine cracked an eye open and Arthur couldn't help the grin that pulled at his lips at the faked nonchalance. He looked as though the next words out of his mouth would be, “Come here often?”

Before he opened his mouth, though, Arthur snuck out his hand and snapped the towel from Gwaine’s waist. Arthur smirked at Gwaine’s sharp inhale, as he took his time drying his face and chest.

When he was finished, he folded the towel in two and placed it at Gwaine’s feet. Gwaine stood a little straighter, legs apart. Nothing in Gwaine’s face was casual now, just shock and nerves and pent-up energy.

The only way Arthur was going to manage this was to dive in. He didn’t wear ‘awkward’ well – it tended to make him bolt. When he fell to his knees and Gwaine hissed, “Christ,” through clenched teeth, he knew he’d made the right choice in following through on the bet.

Gwaine’s cock bobbed in front of his face. Arthur inhaled the scent of shower dispenser soap and skin. He closed his eyes and after a moment’s indecision, leaned in and brushed his tongue to the soft skin of the shaft to see if it tasted like his own fingers, which he loved suck on while he wanked.

He knew nothing of sucking cock, other than knowledge attained on the receiving end. He remembered how he always lost himself in the deep slide of a bird's mouth and so that's exactly what he did, opened his mouth as wide as he could and took it. Except when the head of Gwaine’s cock hit the back of his throat, he began to gag. Panicked, he pulled off completely, choking and gasping.

Pressing his forehead to Gwaine’s trembling thigh, he coughed, caught his breath. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.” He flushed in humiliation. The reality of being naked and on his knees, of wanting this, wanting to be good at this all came crashing down on him.

Gwaine barked a laugh. “It was a fine start, I thought.” He reached down and rubbed his thumb along Arthur’s cheek, surprisingly gentle. “Just go slow.”

Gwaine angled his cock down and Arthur shifted so it hovered before his lips.

“Just the tip.”

Gwaine gently pressed his cock to Arthur’s mouth, just grazing Arthur’s bottom lip. Arthur looked up to see Gwaine’s eyes fluttered shut like it was heaven.

It occurred to Arthur then that it was really hard to mess up a blowjob. Even bad blow jobs were still a hot mouth around your cock, which was pretty brilliant no matter what. He wet his lips and let Gwaine rub a bit more. His lips were in a loose, open pucker while Gwaine traced his cock back and forth, smearing spit and pre-come in a messy trail.

“Fuck, Pendragon. That mouth of yours.”

Arthur was a bit mortified by how much that thrilled him to hear. Then again – he loved to be good at things, prided himself at being a natural in just about everything. This wasn’t something he was about to add to his CV, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t proud of the noises Gwaine was making.

And he wasn’t even inside Arthur’s mouth anymore. He took his hand from where it’d been clutching Gwaine’s thigh and wrapped his finger around Gwaine’s shaft. Slowly, he opened and glided just the tip inside. Gwaine’s hand grazed Arthur’s hair and seemed to hover before settling on Arthur’s shoulders.

Suddenly, Arthur wanted nothing more than to see the Gwaine he knew, cocky and always in over his head--not this tentative man that Arthur didn't recognise.

Now that there was a cock in his mouth, and he wasn’t preoccupied with choking himself on it, Arthur took a minute to absorb the experience. The weight on his tongue, the salty bitterness of the tip, the endless murmurs of encouragement in Gwaine’s husky voice assaulted his senses. He tongued at the contours of Gwaine’s cock, feeling the texture of the ripples of pulled-back foreskin; he felt the dip of the slit, softer and more tender than the rest. Gwaine cried out, rough and strangled like it was his throat being used. Arthur flicked his tongue again, pushing as if he could shove his tongue inside the tiny hole.

Beneath Arthur’s hands, Gwaine shook. He did it again, lapping at the hole that seemed to be a button to make Gwaine’s thighs tremble and his curses bounce off the acoustics of the empty shower.

He swore to himself he’d never let it go beyond a fantasy – but this, taking Gwaine apart with a few flicks of his tongue, was a heady, dizzying sort of power trip. He couldn’t imagine ever giving it up. It felt too good, the stretch of his lips, the heat beneath his fingers as he tightened his grip and pumped.

He could feel the drip of pre-come on his thigh, where his own cock must be standing erect, flushed and purple at the tip as if it were waiting its turn. That thought set Arthur sucking, hollowing his cheeks around Gwaine’s cock and imagining Gwaine doing the same to him -- what it would be like with that shameless mouth sucking him dry. He moaned and Gwaine’s hand fell to his hair.

Gwaine’s hips were stuttering, barely holding back from thrusting forwards. If he thought he could take it, Arthur would let him, open wide and just let Gwaine take what he needed. If he did this again, maybe. The thought of offering, asking for this again sent a shiver through Arthur. He’d wanted this far too long, hidden it just beneath the surface. He wrapped his free hand around his own cock and started to pull, stroking in time with the bobbing of his head. He moaned around Gwaine’s cock as his balls began to stir. Arthur wouldn’t last another minute.

Arthur felt a sharp tug on his hair and he understood the meaning. But he was too close. He pulled away from Gwaine’s grip, loving the sliver of pain as Gwaine yanked again. This was rougher, far more intense, than the sex he’d had with women. They were rode him hard and fast when he asked, but the heat that rose within him when Gwaine pulled at his hair and Gwaine’s cock knocked further down his throat was on another level completely. This was feral, chaotic. Arthur lost himself in it, his fist flying on his cock, slick with sweat.

His orgasm tore from him as he breathed desperately though his nose, panicked for more oxygen. He moaned around Gwaine’s cock as he spent himself on his own hand, his thigh... likely Gwaine’s feet. Before he could pull away, Gwaine shouted, voice wrecked, and Arthur’s mouth filled. He waited it out, holding the come in his mouth as he milked the last drops from Gwaine’s cock.

Gwaine’s hands fell away from Arthur’s hair, his whole body seeming to melt against the tiles. Arthur blinked up at him, his mind providing useful things like: I did that, and I just had his cock in my mouth, and Gwaine’s chest goes really pink during sex. He pocketed the first to be proud of later; the second, Arthur assumed would pop into his mind at the worst moments and he wondered if he needed to freak-out yet, or if he’d passed that point; the third would be immortalised in his memory forever, whether he wanted it to be or not. Slowly pulling himself from the fog of the afterglow and identity crisis, he stood. Knees aching and unsteady, he stumbled to the closest shower drain and spit. And spit again.

“Sorry.” Gwaine’s eyes were closed, voice sleepy. “Tried to warn you.”

Arthur shrugged, picked up the towel and wiped the mess off his hands and the stripe of come from his thigh and then from Gwaine’s shin. It left the hair wet and matted.

“I have a confession to make,” Gwaine said, his tone low and raspy. It was obvious by the furrow of his brow that he didn’t want to say it and Arthur was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it either.

Arthur held the towel in front of his crotch, in a pathetic need to feel a bit less naked.

“I gave Emrys the advantage.”

It took a second to process the words. “What?”

Gwaine opened his eyes. “I wanted – I wanted this. I needed to know if you wanted it too. If maybe you just needed an excuse.”

Arthur’s cheeks burned. His lips pressed together, keeping in the tirade (denial, lies) that was simmering.

“I was watching you at practice two weeks ago, taking penalty kicks with Percival before he broke his thumb.”

Arthur remembered, always knew when Gwaine’s eyes were on him.

“Your eyes flickered to the spot you were about to kick the instant before you moved.”

“Impossible. The coach looks for that. God, Gwaine. I’ve been trained not to do that since I wore my first studs.”

“It’s subtle. I don’t know that anyone else would notice.”

“But you did?” His eyes were drawn to Gwaine’s jaw, and how nice it would feel right now to feel the crack of it against his knuckles. His fists clenched.

“I notice a lot of things.” Gwaine stared at his hands.

It was surreal having a conversation like this, naked and spent, Gwaine’s come still tingling on Arthur’s tongue like he might taste it forever.

“It’s the same look you shoot at me when you think I won’t notice.” He gave Arthur a wry smile. Half-flirt, half-apology. It made the fury he was feeling trickle into a different kind of heat.

“Oh.” Arthur cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from Gwaine’s body, mortified.

“That look, just a flash of something – like you want it but you don’t dare let anyone know. I’ve dreamt of that look for years now,” Gwaine said, voice barely over a whisper. “That’s how I knew.”

Arthur’s skin felt pulled tight. His chest ached to throw that punch for tricking him, making a fool of him. But also for making him face something he wasn’t ready, had never wanted to be ready to face. He was exposed more that a tiny towel could cover. He turned on his heel, walked out, left the showers and started pulling on his clothes. His mind spun with everything and nothing all at once. Gwaine joined him a moment later and they dressed in silence.

“I have no ride home,” Gwaine said, finally.

Arthur huffed, still a blink away from giving in and knocking Gwaine on his arse. “Poor planning on your part.” He wanted to sound furious, to snarl the words, but they came out teasing, flirting - like his voice couldn’t manage any other tone with Gwaine. He looked up and met Gwaine’s eyes and saw a question there he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to.

Gwaine stepped closer, tentative, put his hands on Arthur’s hips, moving like Arthur was a frightened animal and might tear his arms off if he moved too quickly.

“I was hoping that you might drive me back my flat. Let me return the favour. As an apology?”

Gwaine eyes were wide, hopeful. They’d been dancing around this for so long; Arthur had known what was happening, even if he’d never fully admitted it to himself that he was being courted. Or what translated to courting in Gwaine’s mind. Along the way, Arthur had excepted it, appreciated the attention - he now needed to own up to wanting this, or put an end to it. A thrill ran through him at the thought of seeing where this might lead, finally knowing instead of boxing up his curiosity like a dirty secret.
“You are offering me sex for manipulating me into sex?” Arthur deadpanned. His lips quirked and Gwaine’s followed until they were both grinning like fools.

Gwaine leaned in and slowly pressed their mouths together. Arthur’s breath caught as at the coarse stubble of Gwaine’s upper lip, the softness of his lips and the strength of his flat chest under Arthur’s palms. Arthur’s fingers curled, clutching Gwaine’s t-shirt as their tongues grazed.

As Gwaine pulled back he licked his lip and smiled; Arthur knew he was tasting his own come.

“I bet you’re pretty good at it, that mouth of yours,” Arthur said, a little more breathless than he’d expected to be.

“Are you willing to find out, Pendragon?” Gwaine stepped back, giving Arthur a little breathing room. He pulled on a jumper and leather jacket, and gave Arthur a brash, filthy once over.

“I’ll drive you home, wanker.” Arthur huffed in exaggerated annoyance, knowing he was looking too flushed to pull it off. “I’ll take that blowjob and I want a week with your bike, if it survives Emyrs.”

“Sold.” Gwaine smacked Arthur on the arse and unlocked the door.

As they walked together to Arthur’s car, Gwaine nudged his shoulder. The slight tilt of his head was enough of a question, Are you sure? Arthur knocked him back, bumping him until Gwaine stumbled. Arthur laughed as Gwaine swept his hair from his eyes to show off his scowl. He wasn’t sure - not by a long shot - but maybe he needed to do this anyway.

-fin-