Title: Mirrors Belong In Bedrooms
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine
Summary: There are boys, and there are reflections
Warnings: Nothing not covered by the rating EDIT - menage a quatre
Word Count: 408
Author's Notes: Because I needed cheering up after the last one. The first bit came to me almost fully formed, the rest I had to search for.
Lance is staring at the screen, waiting for the flash of inspiration that will let him move on with his article. But there’s nothing. Just lines of text… and a silhouette, reflected in the screen. The hair’s right for Gwaine, and there’s no sound, so he must be trying to sneak up. Lance smiles to himself, and keeps quiet.
Gwaine’s mouth is on his neck, stubble scratching and lips soothing it away.
“You need a break,” he murmurs, unperturbed by the lack of shock from Lance.
And since there’s no illumination forthcoming, and Gwaine’s hand’s sneaking under his waistband, he may as well let himself be dragged away to bed.
Arthur stands in front of the mirror, three piece suit, umbrella hanging off his elbow, and adjusts his tie. He’s ready for his meeting on Olympics security at least three hours early. Too busy concentrating on the dip in the knot of his tie, he jumps almost out of his suit when Lance’s hands wrap around his waist.
“I thought you were-”
“I work from home, remember?”
He’s gorgeously sleep-tousled, bed head and pyjamas, when he slips round to kiss Arthur and push him through the open doorway behind them by his shoulders.
Merlin isn’t sure how he’s ended up with the cleaning again. They have a cleaner, of course, since Arthur earns a ridiculous salary. But there are some things the poor woman shouldn’t have to see, like the mess they left all over the French doors.
He squirts glass cleaner and wipes until he can see the smirk in the reflection. Merlin spins, only to have Arthur pin him to the glass, lips descending over his, hands already working his trousers down.
“So sorry to undo all your good work,” he tells Merlin, though neither of them are sorry. Not one bit.
The water stains red when Gwaine wipes his hands off, knuckles scraped raw from when his fist collided with the wall instead of the man he was supposed to be arresting. Letting the water down the drain, he sits on the edge of the bath, watching the colours of the bathroom reflected in the running water. The colours change, but the possible reasons don’t register until hands on his shoulders are pushing him into the water, and he blinks at a naked Merlin getting in with him.
Gwaine raises a slow eyebrow.
“You sounded stressed,” Merlin tells him with a shrug.