Pairing/s: Arthur/Gwaine as part of Merlin/Arthur/Gwaine/Lancelot
Character/s: Gwaine, Arthur
Summary: Gwaine's presents are never appropriate for a family audience
Warnings: Lots of explicitness
Word Count: 1100 - sorry!
Author's Notes: So to get back into the drabble writing I went for all out PWP, yay!
“You’ll want to open this one early,” Gwaine says, almost shy as he holds out a perfectly wrapped box in front of him, leaning on the doorway into Arthur’s office, head leaning on the doorframe.
Arthur looks over his shoulder, face blue-tinged from the laptop screen.
“Alright,” he says, a fond smile playing over his face, “Hang on.” He inputs his password to the laptop, holds still for the retina scan and watches it encrypt, arm and shut down. When he’s satisfied his work’s safe he gets up, crosses the room and heads over to Gwaine.
“Did you get me something I can actually open tomorrow, or is it just a slew of inappropriateness?” They’re spending Christmas Day with Merlin’s mother, as the only one of their parents to really approve. Lancelot’s adopted parents, to be fair, don’t object too much to four men living together, but Lance was too old when his parents died to think of them as more than an aunt and uncle. So it’s Hunith as a guest, and nothing that isn’t sweetness and light is to be mentioned throughout the day.
“Oh don’t worry,” Gwaine tells Arthur, “There’s something.”
His face gives nothing away, so Arthur just sighs and takes the present.
It’s clearly been wrapped in store, and Arthur allows himself a brief moment to wonder at the fact that sex shops (because Arthur knows the theme if not the actual content) do gift wrapping now, while he gets his finger under the sellotape. And then, with a few rips, he has it open, and then the unmarked box too, and he’s staring at a strange assortment of toys. Before he has a chance to name them all, or even think about what Gwaine’s planning with them, Gwaine takes his chin with two fingers and tilts his head up.
“Mistletoe,” he whispers, and there it is, tacked onto the doorframe. So Arthur rolls his eyes and lets Gwaine kiss him, letting out a noise that is decidedly not a squeal when Gwaine picks him up, soothing the insult to his masculinity with a probing tongue that makes Arthur forget entirely that he’s still holding the box and that Gwaine is taking him somewhere.
When Arthur opens his eyes again he’s horizontal and he recognises the ceiling as Gwaine’s room. He has a four poster bed, part of the furniture that came with the house after Arthur inherited it when Uther died, and Arthur gets an ominous feeling at the sight of lengths of rope tied to each post.
“Gwaine…” he says, warning in his voice.
“When did I ever get it wrong?” Gwaine teases, leaning over Arthur in only his boxers and kissing him, starting to work his shirt off.
Arthur almost lets himself smile, but that would be a victory for Gwaine, so instead he just lets the shirt be manoeuvred off him, and shifts his hips to let Gwaine get his trousers off too. And then it’s another one of those kisses that makes Arthur blind to just about everything else that’s happening, and when Gwaine pulls away for air he realises that in between his teeth being licked and his tongue being sucked he somehow got tied to the bed.
Gwaine has the cheek to grin. But he has lube, so all is forgiven.
Gwaine’s never really been one for self-restraint, so he shifts on the bed until he can kneel over Arthur and get his cock in his mouth and suck. Slowly, lazily, tongue lapping away, just enough to get Arthur’s interest.
He looks up under his lashes and Arthur groans.
Item number one comes out of the box. Arthur doesn’t get to see it.
He lets his eyes slip shut while Gwaine fingers him, a little sigh of pleasure escaping, because Gwaine must have noticed how this is his favourite thing; being blown and breached at the same time. The lube is cold, but it soon warms up between his arse and Gwaine’s fingers, as he adds another, then another, then slips his lips around Arthur’s cock and Arthur’s head drops back and bounces a little against the mattress.
“Gwaine,” he says, to be met with a faint chuckle, as Gwaine takes him down and something else pushes inside him, something a little bigger and so good as his arse swallows it. His eyes roll and his hips buck, and Gwaine makes this little choked noise.
“Shit!” Arthur says, apology and concern all rolled into the tone of his voice, never his words. Gwaine holds up a hand, then swallows around Arthur and pulls off abruptly to roll on a cock ring as punishment. Arthur groans, but he knows by now that it’ll be good.
Gwaine’s tongue laps at Arthur, and he plays with pushing the toy into Arthur’s arse; another ridge, and then another, then out and back in again; a string of beads that slowly drive him insane. Only when Arthur’s panting and almost begging does Gwaine do anything, but it’s the opposite of what Arthur wanted, pulling away. And Arthur curses, cock throbbing so hard that he feels like it vibrates through the rest of him, enough to shake him apart. He’s so nearly coming, but he can’t and it’s agony, but it’s beautiful at the same time. So open and so wet and so nearly there, but barred from it.
Gwaine positions himself over Arthur, and he reaches behind himself, and he lets Arthur watch as he opens himself up, slow, eyes fluttering with each pass of his fingers. Arthur wants to shut his eyes but he knows he has to watch, knows it’s what Gwaine wants. And it pushes him up against the wall again and again, and he’s so close.
And then Gwaine takes the ring off, and he sinks down slowly onto Arthur, and it’s only a few shallow thrusts before he’s coming, blindingly hard, and the world goes dark-
He wakes up to freed limbs again, to cleanliness, and to Gwaine spooned up against his back.
The parcel he opens on Christmas Day is lumpy and as badly wrapped as anything from Gwaine usually is. He shakes it, and it only makes a rustling sound.
Tearing open the paper, Arthur can feel that it’s woollen, see that it’s bright red. A Christmas jumper, covered in white snowflakes. He puts it on, because it’s Christmas, and he keeps it on because it almost suits him.
Hunith smiles over at the sweetness of it all. When she’s distracted Arthur leans over to Gwaine and raises an eyebrow.
“How very… appropriate of you.”