Chapter Text
The thing about Arthur’s life, is that it used to be normal. Perfectly and completely normal. He grew up in a nice house, with his two parents, who absolutely loved him unconditionally and each other to death. He had a sister who was only one year older than him, who also was a harpy, and moved away for college. He was handsome, popular, a sport star at school and eventually went to the college of his choice; leaving his tiny town of Tintagel behind. He met his roommate on day one, and was lucky enough to like him — they got own like a house on fire, to be more precise — and knew this was a lifelong friendship. He settled in University just fine, and introduced his roommate, Lance, to the only other person he knew on Campus: Gwen, who had attended school with his sister and been her best friend for years — and who was just starting too, as she returned from her gap year abroad.
His life had been perfectly normal. He tried and failed to maintain a relationship with his school love. Then, he dated a few people. He fell in love. He got his heart broken. He partied hard, and studied harder, and had good grades. He got his degree, with effort and pride. He watched as those who had become his truest, closest, dearest friends fell in love and got together; how they were slowly but surely walking towards the altar and marriage. They moved to Camelot together, the biggest city in the country, and started to discover it — with winnings and failures, just like any other twenty-somethings out there, all over the globe.
Then — then, he had met Gwaine.
And things sort of spiralled down towards crazy there.
Now, Arthur liked crazy — some crazy, at least. Crazy made for good stories, and if real life wasn’t sweet, well, he knew exactly how to make it so. All those years, him and Morgana alone in the house while his father was away in one business trip or another, it had left him with a thorough knowledge of how things were supposed to be in romance world, at least what novels and soaps and movies made it to be; what women supposedly wanted, and what sold well when it came to fiction. He had used it to his advantage; both in getting lucky and in his career.
(That his father was well known and had contacts everywhere also hadn’t hurt, but Arthur tried not to think of it much).
He had enough sanity in his life, what-with Gwen being all down to earth and centred; with a perfectly reasonable sort of 9 to 5 job in teaching preschoolers — it didn’t always make it easy with Lance’s hectic schedule — but it was still centred and grown up as his long hours were caused by his excessively good heart and saviour complex as he battled through residency and dreamed of becoming a pediatrician. It was just one of those things that made them perfect for each other; often sharing details about their kids and giggling about their cute stories; or having profound conversations on things that totally went over Arthur’s head. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so sweet — or if the first story he had ever managed to sell to a movie company hadn’t been inspired by them. Arthur was grateful enough to endure some sweet nothings and tiny little habits that he could never see himself having.
It was good, it kept him centred, helped him develop healthy habits and have some sort of timetable for himself and his days. It stopped him from spiralling down towards the crazy, late night writing sprints and long mornings of hangover that seemed to be the lot of most people that made money through writing.
Maybe he had missed a bit of crazy in his life. All of his teenage years had been filled with it in the form of his wild, inappropriate, rebellious older sister. Morgana had been filled with some particular fire and Arthur thought half of the reason their parents had been so willing to pay for her and Gwen’s travel around the world for a whole year was that they had hoped it’d be enough adventure to tame her (and the money would not even be missed, so…). Of course, they had been sorely mistaken — even if it had made her land a somewhat profitable and permanent job; Arthur was sure that Uther was more horrified by Morgana’s modelling than by Arthur’s artistic inclination. Perhaps it was because it kept him with his clothes on, while his sister… Well. Her definitions of clothes seemed to be very flexible. And tiny. Uther was an old, conservative man; and more than once it was clear he had to fight the urge to get her into a coat or glare at the men around them in fashion shows.
(He also seemed to be completely unaware that most of those man would eye Arthur himself more often than his sister, but Arthur preferred it that way. He didn’t put it past his father doing exactly the same to him and mortifying him utterly).
So, in a way, Gwaine’s crazy was good — it was something he needed — it was something he enjoyed even while pretending not to; and Gwaine probably knew it too, it was likely to be the very reason he stayed around; part of the reason he had wormed himself into their little group with charming smiles and unbelievable anecdotes.
It didn’t mean he was glad with his brand of crazy and inappropriate, though.
It had started maybe two years after they first met — and Arthur should’ve predicted it, really. Gwaine had come by to meet them on their way to a New Year’s Eve party when he saw the card that Gwen had pinned to their fridge. It was clearly a discarded picture from a photo shoot, and Morgana was laughing, her head thrown back, her black hair shiny and curling down her back, dressed in a red dress and with silly antlers. It was a perfectly harmless picture, specially considering some of the things she had done.
Gwaine had picked it up immediately, reading the caption for a moment ( “Gwen, dearest, merry Christmas. Send the boys my love. — XXX, Morgana) before he whistled low. Arthur didn’t even had the time to fully register what was going on before his newest friend was frowning and singing in a truly terrible falsetto.
“Santa Baby, just slip ‘Gana under the tree for me;
Been an awful good boy, Santa baby,
So hurry down the chimney tonight”
“This is my sister!” he spluttered, his face red.
“Also, a bit late for Santa to show up, mate” had agreed Lance, with a small smile.
“She’s a catch!” Gwaine announced, wiggling his eyebrows. “Where have you been hiding her, Princess?”
“She’d have you for breakfast” he warned, and that just made him give a lecherous grin.
“I’m counting on that!”
“Gwaine!” Gwen chided, having just arrived, and slapped him in the arm lightly. “Don’t be rude.”
“That’s like telling a dog not to bark” sniggered Arthur, but Gwaine was never put off by this sort of comment, and just threw his arm around him, pulling him close.
“Oh, you love it. Every second of it. So much you’ll introduce your sister to me next time she’s in town.”
Arthur had just scoffed at that.
“Not in a million years.”
“Come on, we’re gonna be late” said Gwen, and Arthur thought that had been the end of it.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
Gwaine was smart, and didn’t say anything for so long that Arthur had completely, completely forgotten the incident.
Until Christmas season had arrived again.
Part of it was, he was sure, Uther’s fault. He had talked his ear off, and Arthur had been maudlin and irritable as he spoke to Gwen and Lance, Gwaine in the kitchen trying to find something that was still edible.
“So, my father is giving a Ball on Christmas Eve. It’s ridiculous and old fashioned, but no one dares contradict him. He’ll make all of Tintagel come to it, when people probably would rather to be in their own homes. Now he’s demanding my presence — he wants to have a full family front for it, says it’ll look good for his candidacy next year.” Arthur lowered his head, resting it against the back of his chair. “It’ll be a nightmare.”
“Did he manage to convince Morgana of going?” Gwen asked, and Arthur just huffed.
“She’s already there. She scheduled her holidays around it and everything — she’s been there for weeks, it seems.”
“Well, with any luck, she’ll destroy the whole estate before Christmas Eve” Lance tried to cheer him up, but it only made him huff.
“And now, father says I must drive up to Tintagel; that if Morgana, who has a real, out of the house job, could come, there is no possible excuse for me not to be there. I can’t even contradict him, we won’t start shooting for another six weeks, and my part is mostly done anyway, and he knows it, of course, because Olaf told him all about it in their last lunch — damn the man.”
“Oh, it won’t be that bad” Gwen said, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll come with you.”
“Christmas with the in-laws, I like it” Lance agreed, leaning down to kiss her.
They were truly disgusting. And truly the best people in the world.
“Thanks” he said, with a sigh. “I still have to…”
“What is this?” Gwaine piped in from the kitchen, and came into the room with a card in his hand.
This was, of course, Morgana’s Christmas card. She was laying down in the middle of a snow angel, in front of their parents house, thankfully completely covered.
“It’s my parent’s house” Arthur said, not really paying attention to it.
“House?” Gwaine asked, with a scoff. “Mansion, more likely. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about the house, just the —” he made a gesture, showing off Morgana’s body on the frame, the way her hair was spread through the snow, and why hadn’t he noticed before how tight her clothes were?
Oh, right. Because he was her brother.
Gwaine had no such restrains, and grabbed a vodka bottle that had been lying on the counter, before starting to sing — again.
“I’ve…. I’ve been dreaming of a naked Christmas
Just like the ones I’ve used to go”
Gwen giggled at that, and Lance snorted while Arthur groaned. He took back everything he had thought before about them being the best people in the world. They were the worst.
“Gwaine, as much as I love to hear your talent for completely despoiling Christmas songs and Irving Berlin’s legacy, now it’s not the time” Lance said, trying to hide his mirth. “Arthur’s having a serious holiday crisis here.”
“What’s up?” he had replied, sitting himself on the couch on the other side of him, as if there wasn’t a perfectly empty armchair in the room. “Princess doesn’t have a date for her Christmas Ball?”
The worst. Arthur groaned again.
“And there is that too” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got to find myself a date.”
“We said we’re coming with you” Lance replied with a shake of his head.
“Yeah, honey, I don’t think we count as a date” Gwen answered, with a small smile.
“Yeah, better not let Papa Pendragon know you’re in an incestuous, pansexual, poly relationship” agreed Gwaine, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, picturing his father’s face if he sauntered in and announced that Gwen and Lance were his date for the evening. His friend stood up again and started heading back to his kitchen search.
“We don’t say this often, so hold on to it Gwaine — you’re right” he agreed. “It’d probably kill him. Which still leaves me with the issue of finding myself a date that won’t freak out about meeting my parents or decide it means we’re extremely serious in two weeks time.”
“Can’t you ask one of your colleagues?” wondered Gwen, with a pained smile. “Someone you’re friends with?”
“Yeah, that turned out really well the last time.”
Last time Arthur had been forced to go to a family event and bring a date had been to their cousin’s wedding. Uther had been adamant that it would be ridiculous for a twenty-five year old man to come alone. Arthur had wanted no sort of relationship, but him and Vivian had been really hitting off during the production of his next TV Series, and she had been invited to the wedding anyway — courtesy of being Olaf’s daughter — and it had seemed simple. A reasonable thing to do, without any sort of expectations. Then, sometime during the wedding ceremony, something the priest had said had made her think that the two of them were made to be, written in the stars and what-not. Arthur had been sure there wouldn’t be anything more shocking in the ceremony than Morgana showing up with a boy at least eight years her junior and barely out of school in tow, but he had been proved wrong. So very wrong.
Vivian had told everyone how they were really serious, how Arthur would propose any day now, how she couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Pendragon. She ingratiated herself to his parents (who were mildly uncomfortable), bragged to Morgana (who just smirked through the whole thing), and talked the ear off the bride. That had led to Olaf confronting him about despoiling his daughter behind his back, and his attempts of telling the truth had fallen on deaf ears — partially because Olaf didn’t believe him and partially because it made Vivian wail so hard that the crystal glass in his hand shook.
In the end, he had bolted, with Morgana’s date as his runaway driver. Which was fortunate, as it caused him to actually meet Mordred, who was a talented young actor that Morgana was not sleeping with at all, but rather trying to sponsor — and who had since been responsible for some of his best hits with the teen audience, who just loved his curly back hair and sweet smiles. The unfortunate side, of course, was that it made Vivian quit her job right away, saying she’d never work with him again and leaving him with a ton of re-writes in order to explain her character’s sudden disappearance, some really annoying paparazzi and reporters following him around for days and gaining the reputation of being a bit of a player.
Which, eventually, he had really earned.
“Maybe not, then” she conceded, with a grimace.
“You could just go alone?” offered Lance, and Gwen gave him a small slap on the leg.
“Not gonna work with Uther” she said, with a sigh. “Maybe you could… Ask Isolde?”
Arthur sniggered at that.
“I don’t think she’s feeling very charitable towards me since I fired her brother. I’m probably the worst person to take anywhere at this time.”
“Wow, you really don’t have a date?” asked Gwaine, sauntering back in the living room, some beer bottles in his hands that he gave around.
“No options what so ever” he agreed, taking a sip of the beverage and wishing it was something stronger.
“Well — that’s easy. Take me.”
Arthur wished he could say he was shocked, but he wasn’t, not really. Just a bit disbelieving that Gwaine would say something like that. A heavy silence permeated the room while he just gaped at his friend.
“I mean, it makes sense” he continued, not noticing or ignoring the tension. “You’ll have a date, your father will be happy about it — well, at least a bit — we can wingman each other during it to try and score, and you can introduce me to this hot sister of yours.”
“Gwaine, you’re a man full of crappy ideas” Arthur answered, finally. “But this one probably is the worst of them all.”
“Why?” he asked, looking just a tad offended.
“For starters, you’re a man” Arthur said, while Gwen bit her lower lip and Lance looked at the floor, trying to pretend he wasn’t in that awkward situation.
“Right, you are” he answered, wiggling eyebrows and smiling, and Arthur would’ve laughed at it at any other moment. “But that’s not a problem, it just means that if nothing else works out we can —”
“My father is not aware I bed men” he reminded his friend, sighing. “And even if I were planning on letting him know in such a fashion; it wouldn’t be with you of all people.”
Gwaine blinked at this, before pouting.
“I’m a damn good date — and a damn good lay — and you know it.”
And, as a matter of a fact, the whole problem with the idea lay in the fact that Arthur did.
Arthur, Gwen and Lance had been living in Camelot for eight months before they met Gwaine.
At first, they had been somewhat confused by the huge city, and so many things to do. Lance had managed to get in time for his first day at the hospital for his initial lecture by a hair’s breath; even if he had come out of the house over three hours before he was supposed to be there. Gwen had took everything in stride, perky as usual as she left on the morning of her first day of class, only to come back crying that she didn’t want to commute for hours every day (she, too, had gotten lost, they eventually noticed, but people were terrible at giving information). Arthur’s job in New Avalon Productions had started a whole week after theirs, and sure enough, it had gone down the same path: lost, confused and late — he had been scolded by someone other than his father for the first time in his whole life.
That should’ve been a wake up call, but as Morgana was fond of saying, Arthur could be really oblivious. Sometimes, it got him into trouble. In this case — well, it had gotten him into trouble, but of a different kind.
Arthur was assigned as a junior assistant to one of the backup writers; who were developing a new show that was meant to be their big release the following year. He had arrived — late — and been sent for coffee in just about ten seconds. When he came back, the meeting had arrived to the point where the first presentations of the show were happening. It was something truly silly, that was based on the idea that after years seeing people close their hearts to love and become immune to his arrows, Cupid had come down to Earth to actually try to understand humans in order to be effective once again, after being scolded by his mother. The idea was that every episode would show a different couple that Cupid had finally managed to join — starting with neighbours, moving towards coworkers (he would work at a coffee shop, since those were now considered the most romantic place of all times; and Arthur had to admit that very little in the world could top his infatuation for coffee), clients and finally; in the end; gaining his groove back and returning to Olympus.
It was ridiculous and far fetched — which was a given from the first line of the pitched idea — but people seemed to love it.
So, even all those years later, Arthur could not explain exactly why, apart from the fact that he had never really needed to control his mouth, he had spoken at all, much less out loud.
“And what about Psyche?”
That had made every head in the room turn towards him; and he had felt mildly embarrassed, especially considering how the Head Writer was now shooting daggers at him through stare alone. He gulped, before someone asked him what the hell had psyche do to with cupid. Which, naturally, had led someone else — one of the producers, Annis, — to summarise the myth to them, and turning towards Arthur with a wide beam.
She had loved it. And so did Olaf.
Alined, the Head Writer, was even more displeased, but he couldn’t completely dismiss anything that Olaf had liked, since it was his company. It had ended with the whole team coming together to try and scrape a whole secondary story revolving around Psy, 21st Century version of the mortal that would cause the Cupid to experience love first hand, even with her sort of punk clothes, fake red hair and combative behaviour as one of the employees of the shop next to Cupid’s coffee shop.
Incidentally, that was how he had met Vivian, whom he had only heard of so far, when she was cast — completely by chance — as Psy.
The sheer amount of rewriting and re-planning it took meant that Arthur was basically holed up inside for months. It was the first time writing was truly a job, and he didn’t want to muck things up, which meant a whole lot of moaning, late night crying, early morning drinking and days without remembering to shower or eat, as he typed away things furiously that would later be revised, rewritten, and completely mangled — for the best, really.
So when all the scripts and adjustments were done and sent, and he was just on the verge of a true collapse, Lance and Gwen had intervened and taken him for a true night out. It was one of those lucky Fridays in which Lance was out of work in a reasonable hour and wasn’t scheduled to work on the following day, so Gwen had ordered him to shower (Arthur was ashamed to admit he probably stank by then), put on some nice clothes and go out with them.
It wasn’t as if Arthur had avoided social contact for months, he had been going to meeting and seeing his co-workers, and emailing and calling everyone all hours of the day, and he was tired, but his pleas were completely ignored by the couple. So, grudgingly, Arthur had showered, put on the clothes Gwen selected for him, and fixed his hair before they left. He had assumed they would go to the pub that was just across the street from their flat and where they had been to somewhat constantly in the last few months (mostly when there was no food in the house), but Gwen had hailed a cab as soon as they walked out.
“Not Kilgharrah’s” Gwen had said, pushing him inside the parked car. She was surprisingly strong for someone so tiny. “Today, you’re going to party with your people.”
As they pulled in front of The Crystal Cave, Arthur noticed for the first time that he hadn’t gone clubbing once since they had moved to Camelot — in spite of its vast amount of clubs being part of the reason they had been so excited at first; and it had been even longer since Arthur had been in a place like this — a place where he supposedly belonged. Truth was, ever since the whole Valiant Disaster two years before, he hadn't felt a lot like hooking up with other men and having his heart trampled. It made him feel both giddy and nervous, unsure of how he should behave in such an environment.
But The Crystal Cave wasn’t exactly a club — more like a mixed bar and dancing space, with booths on the corners where people could just talk and a glass room in the middle of the space, where people danced under blueish light. Funnily, outside of it, the sound was pleasantly low and they wouldn’t have to shout to hear each other. Arthur had eyed appreciatively the whole set up, the bodies moving in tandem inside, and Gwen had given him a small tug and they all had set in one of the empty corner booths around the bar.
It had taken something like 30 seconds for the first man to show up — so huge he would easily tower over all of them had them been standing, and even more so when they were sitting. The guy sported a sleeveless shirt that somehow didn’t look tacky on him and his arms were as large as Lance’s leg. He had a sweet, kind smile, but there was no doubt of his intentions as he slid beside Lance in the booth, his hand going straight to his friend’s small back.
“Hey” he had said, and smiled, and Lance had smiled too, if a bit awkwardly while Gwen giggled.
“Oh, I’m really flattered — but this is. I’m not. This is my girlfriend” he had said, gesturing towards her, and she had smiled sweetly back at the man, whose face was rapidly blushing.
“Oh — I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to…” the huge man hide his hand on his face, mortified. “I’m bollocks at this.”
“We came with our friend — Arthur” Gwen had elbowed him, and when he didn’t do anything, she continued. “We’re sort of new in town, and Arthur hadn’t come to any of the LGBT places yet.”
As she continued elbowing him, Arthur cleared his throat.
“Erm, hi. Arthur.”
He offered his hand for the man to shake, which he promptly did.
“Percy” he had scratched his head. “And I don’t come out often either — one of my friends actually dragged me here today —”
A loud laugh had cut his words, and a hand rested on Percy’s head. When Arthur looked up, there was another man almost doubling over in mirth there, his face half hidden by his falling hair.
“Oh, Percy, mate, don’t tell me you tried to hit on the straight one again.”
That had made Percy shake his head again, with a small snort of embarrassment, and the other man had petted his head.
“No harm done” said Lance, good natured. “We were just introducing Percy to our friend.”
And as the man turned towards Arthur, he felt acutely self-conscious for the first time in years. It was not simply that the man was handsome, with shiny hair and a scruffy beard covering the lower part of his face; it wasn't even only that his smile was far too charming to be real, or that his nose had an undeniable appeal — it was the way that his eyes roamed over Arthur, knowingly and appreciatively, making his trousers tight.
“I’m Gwaine” he had said with a smile and a hair flip.
And his life just dove back into crazy.
Gwaine hadn’t asked before sitting himself beside Arthur, his smile never faltering in the face of his obvious discomfort, which had led Percy to shake his head as if he was incorrigible (which, as it happened, he was). He had asked everyone what they were drinking and demanded to pay for it. He had asked about all of their lives, what they did and what they liked, and smiled at if he wanted nothing more than to hear all about them. He had told stories, and laughed at theirs, and eventually leaned across the table to stage whisper to Percy about this cute guy on another booth that was totally his type — which, by the way, meant looking like some sort of Latin sex god, and given him a few pointers before sending him packing. Then he explained to all of them as he and Percy had been roommates at university and how his friend was just now start trying to get back out there after what sounded like a really bad break up.
He was smooth, and friendly, and if they hadn’t switched to shots right after the first beer, Arthur might have taken notice of how everyone seemed to know him, how he waved and winked to people around, all the while keeping his full attention on them. He had won Lance over with his clear loyalty towards his friend, and a little help of preferring pisco over tequila; he had bonded with Gwen talking about children and how difficult it was to deal with them (Gwaine had taught music to kids right out of college, before managing to land a job at Carleon Records). Arthur couldn’t really say what had made him feel so comfortable, connected around him — the tales of his terror of a sister; the fact they supported the same team, the way he kept on gently making fun of Arthur the same way Morgana used to, in a continuous trade of small insults and annoyances, or just the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away, touching him all the time.
It had taken him seven rounds of drinking and Gwen and Lance announcing their intention of leaving before he invited Arthur to dance, and he couldn’t say no, not when Gwen winked at him and smiled like a proud mama. He just followed Gwaine inside the dancing room and let his body move with the music, his head a bit dazzled by drinking and the smell of his cologne, and the way Gwaine held him through the hips and followed his body’s every move. It was a bit intoxicating, and Arthur hadn’t thought twice before leaning in, pressing his mouth against the man’s. Arthur and Gwaine kissed like they had talked — a push and shove of wills, both demanding and neither surrendering, turning filthy quickly. They grinded against each other on the dancing floor, and it hadn’t taken that long before they were ready to go, Gwaine’s hardness clear through his jeans, his hands all over Arthur’s arse.
True to their word, Lance and Gwen had gone home; but Gwaine still made sure to check on Percy before he pulled Arthur out of the bar — and Arthur would always swear to himself that it had been this, along with his tipsy state that had softened him. They hadn’t even tried to keep their hands away from each other during the cab ride, and Arthur somehow wasn’t surprised to learn that Gwaine lived but a few blocks away from him. They had rushed in, hungry kisses, clothes dropping, and breaths short in their eagerness to get to the bed.
They didn’t make it there (at least for the first time).
The following morning, Arthur had woken up to the smell of pancakes, and Gwaine naked in the kitchen, cooking. And, yeah, maybe he had fallen in love a bit there, easy talking, great sex and breakfast before he did his first walk of shame in Camelot — not feeling ashamed at all. A couple of days later, Gwaine had rang him and asked if he wanted to grab a beer and — surprise — suggested they met at Kilgharrah’s. This time, no alcohol in his system, he had noticed how he was clearly a regular, talking animatedly with bartenders, flirting with the waitresses, before sitting in front of him. Gwaine had talked about this week and told him about how Kilgharrah had banned him from the bar for over six months for something he called “a minor offense” (which they eventually learnt involved strip darts and body shots); Arthur had laughed before he offered some random commentary on his own week; Gwaine had asked about Lance and Gwen and, surely enough, the night had ended with the two of them christening Arthur’s bed.
The same thing had happened a few times, before one day, not having planned anything together, Arthur, Lance and Gwen ran into Gwaine clearly trying to pull a girl at Kilgharrah’s. He had seemed happy to see Arthur, and immediately stopped putting his moves on her to talk to them. He was obviously happy at the encounter, but Arthur knew, then, without anything having been said, that it would never come to anything between them.
It had made him mopey for a bit, all woe and broken heart, and he had exorcised it in his writing, the script for a whole movie coming out in less than a fortnight, making his characters suffer terribly and giving it a loving, wonderfully cheesy happy ending that soothed his heart. That evening, when he walked into Kilgharrah’s and found Gwaine chatting with the bartender, he just sat next to him and talked as if it had meant nothing for him. Later that night, as first Gwen, then Percy and finally Lance arrived, they had sat together on a booth and just enjoyed being young and silly.
It hadn’t been hard to become friends after that. Gwaine balanced out his life, really, and stopped him from becoming a complete eremite; or being stuck as a perpetuals third-wheel for Gwen and Lance. It was good, also, to have another person around that was as flexible as he was when it came to finding people attractive, which wasn’t always a given even in the community. Arthur had heard often, in college, that he was just confused, or not ready to admit it, or in the closet — but with Gwaine’s complete lack of concern for other people’s opinions and his in-your-face way of dealing with his sexuality, he had finally grown truly comfortable with who he was. Percy’s constant presence had also helped, stopping Arthur from doing something stupid when he was too horny — or too self-destructive. By the time Percy had been offered a job in another town, six months before Uther had decided that giving a Christmas Ball was a must, Arthur barely remembered that he and Gwaine had ever been anything but friends.
Most days, at least. He could totally ignore the sharp pang that never failed to show up in him when he Gwaine mentioned it carelessly; even if he knew it had been the best choice he ever made, even if he knew he would’ve been miserable, even if he didn’t even believe that love, romantic, passionate, epic love was a thing that most people could or should experience — and that most of the time it was nothing but lust and infatuation. Still, it burns a bit.
(Incidentally, it had also been how he had ended up deciding to try things with Vivian — terrible choice — and writing about Lance and Gwen — excellent choice — and, as everything with Gwaine, it seemed to be a bit of a mixed bag of good and bad).
Arthur ended up taking one of Gwen’s coworkers as his date - he had met Elena a few times, and she was clearly not even remotely interested in any special relationship. It had been a complete disaster, as Elena was accident prone as no one else Arthur had ever met, but it had made them fast friends and at least that was something he could clearly do well.
It surprised no one that Elena and Arthur didn’t form a relationship. So he wasn’t really shocked when, ten days before the following Christmas, Elena had brought Sefa with her to their apartment. They had planned a quiet game night between the five of them (in spite of five not being the best number to play anything), and this had been the final push towards her asking Sefa out. Well. Sort of out. Sefa had met them a number of times before.
It would’ve been a normal winter night among them, with Elena flailing, Sefa stuttering, Gwen and Lance being corny, Gwaine flirting and Arthur being, well, Arthur. He wasn’t that good at describing himself. It would’ve been just perfect if Elena hadn’t walked in with a envelope in her hand.
“Hey, Gwen, the lady from 22B just asked me to…” she started, and Gwaine just picked the thing out of her hand, silencing her.
“Morgana!” he announced, before ripping it open without even asking. Arthur tried to steel himself over what would surely come next, because this was Gwaine and he clearly was developing some sort of obsession with his sister’s Christmas cards. He observed the picture for a moment, not bothering to turn around and look at the message, before jumping into yet another song.
“Long time ago in Camelot, so the tale says
Morgana Pendragon, Arthur’s sis, was boned on Christmas Day”
The one consolation was that Sefa had both blushed more than he had ever imagined possible; eyes wide and not without some anger, looking between a giggling Elena and a grinning Gwaine, who kept on completely misinterpreting Mary’s Boy Child while Gwen laughed and Lance shook his head. Arthur could only grip the bridge of his nose and sigh. The friends he had, really.
It would be another night where he’d be saddled with Gwaine, the two of them drinking together in Kilgharrah’s and knowing that whatever their friends seemed to be so eager to find, was not for them.
Christmas 2011 was the first one since college to find Arthur in a relationship — and probably the first in a decade to find him in a good one. Even more surprisingly, Uther had been the first to introduce them. Mithian was the only child of one of his University classmates, a man who had risen to be the head of a company that almost rivalled Uther’s own — and they had long disputed the same market share. Now, with Uther so focused in politics, he seemed to be minding less the petty squabbling that had stopped him from talking to Rodor Nemeth for decades.
Mithian had lived her whole life in Camelot, and it showed in the way she managed to keep the perfect pose even when faced with the unexplainable. More than pose — and a stunning face — she was reasonable and level headed even when he knew other women would have made a scene. And yet — he could barely believe it — she wasn’t above doing silly things, getting drunk and sleeping on the floor with the six of them during Halloween, or getting into a burping contest with Elena; she would speak quietly to Sefa, help Gwen preparing the materials of arts and crafts for her class, hear to Lance’s unending stories and give Gwaine a one up when it came to talking dirty, and visit shootings with Arthur. She was fun and smart and sexy, and Arthur felt ridiculously lucky, in a way most of his relationships hadn’t made him feel.
He was content with his lot in life. His script had been sold, and the film had been delightful, making girls coo all around and Lance had used the opportunity to propose to Gwen, in the middle of the red carpet on opening night. The beautiful pictures that had been made of them, along with the story that they had been the inspiration for the movie, had helped sell it out, and Arthur could, finally, call himself successful.
It made him feel giddy inside, really. He didn’t even really mind, for the first time, when Gwaine had walked inside their apartment on boxing day, with a Santa Hat on his head and a picture in hand, singing about his sister yet again.
“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening
In the card, her body’s glistening
A beautiful sight,
We’re happy tonight
Wanking in a summer wonderland”
Arthur had to even give it to him that Morgana had walked right into this one. The picture on her card this year showed her in a red bikini, skin glowing under the sun, with a Santa hat in her head, while a male model lay by her side, also sunbathing, also in red, with a huge red bag next to him. Arthur supposed he was meant to be hot!Santa on Summer Vacations.
Elena had giggled, and Sefa — as usual, had joined — while Gwen, who clearly had spent far too long with his sister, asked for a repeat as she set the camera. Mithian had smiled at their antics, while Arthur cringed in listening to it again.
“Mate, this obsession of yours with my sister in red isn’t healthy”
“I would prefer her in nude, if you know what I mean” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and Gwen was still recording the exchange. Undoubtedly, it’d make the internet later on. “Come on, Arthur, it’s been five years since we met, and you still haven’t introduced her to me.”
“I’m not introducing you to her ever — and I doubt she’ll want to after Gwen uploads this to Youtube.”
It was Gwen’s turn to laugh, the camera shaking and she finally put it down.
“Oh, Arthur, you really don’t know your sister, do you?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Not as thoroughly as you!” Gwaine replied, with a lecherous grin. “Tell me, Gwen, how was it knowing Morgana biblically? Just so I can prepare myself.”
Gwen sat down in a fit of giggles, her face completely red, and the girls’ attentions went straight to her.
“What is this? You’ve slept with her?” Elena asked, clearly surprised.
“Oh” Gwen waved her hand. “It was just — you know. College lesbianism?”
“Except you were in school” Arthur answered, grinning. “Across the globe lesbianism, too, if I recall correctly.”
“Yes — there was that — and it was lovely ” she agreed, looking around, as if she expected Lance to show up at any moment and bemoan that he had never done anything like that with her.
“Gwen was Morgana’s only ex any of us could stand — even if my father turned a blind eye to it” Arthur continued, with smile. “My mother still loves her.”
“Because Ygraine is the sweetest person ever” Gwen was beaming, before waving away with her hand. “This was all — well, very long ago — long before I met Lance.”
Arthur could see her eyes becoming little hearts, like some Japanese cartoon character. He chuckled, and Mithian patted his head.
“See!” complained Gwaine, shaking his head. “Gwen slept with Morgana. Why can’t I sleep with Morgana?”
“You slept with her brother though — tons of times” Elena pointed out, and Arthur just bit his lower lip — he might have glossed the tons of times part over with Mithian.
“Yeah, well, so what? Gwen’s slept with both!”
“I didn’t sleep with her!” Arthur protested, but he could feel how quiet Mithian had gone by his side.
“It was one kiss!” Gwen replied, at the same time. “On a dare! Ten years ago!”
Gwaine gestured as if it didn’t matter, putting one of his hands on his hips.
“And Morgana kicked me in the nuts for it” he completed, and Gwen made her adorable ‘I’m so sorry’ face, all with biting her lower lip and everything. “If you slept with her, I might have to kick her too — and while she is a harpy, I can’t hit a girl.”
“You can kick my nuts afterwards, I promise” Gwaine answered, grinning.
“Wow, you really are a bit incestuous, aren’t you?” Sefa asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Would you like to be a bit more incestuous, Sefa?” the man asked, and it was Elena who kicked him in the nuts.
Mithian had broken up with him the first time they met after New Year’s.
“I’m sorry” she said, with a sad smile. “I know this is — I just. It’s too much for me, I think.”
Arthur could only blink at her, unsure of what she was on about. He was sure they had been fine.
“Look — I took my time thinking, and it’s not that I’m jealous or anything — but… I don’t think you’re there yet.”
“There where?” he had asked, like he was one stupid character in one of his stupid stories.
“You’re not ready yet for… Something more than casual.”
“I’ve been with you for six months” he reminded her, and she seemed both sorry and sure at once.
“Yeah. And by now — if it was ever going to happen, you’d be in love with me already — and you aren’t. You are not even close to it. And to be perfectly honest, neither am I.”
Arthur had felt somewhat crushed, and tried to wave it all away, true as it was.
“Maybe, but — I don’t even — we are great together” he smiled at her, trying to make her see sense. “You fit right in with everyone around me, and you’re wonderful, you’re…”
She just shook her head, slightly.
“Yes — we are great, in theory — but, Arthur, this is life, not a story. I like you — I like you a lot, really. You’re a great person to be with. You’re fun, gorgeous, sexy — you have the craziest friends, too — but I want more. More than you can give me, and certainly more than what I can give you. I don’t…. I don’t want to waste my twenties in a comfortable relationship. I want to live — I want to experiment — and listening to you guys talk… I guess I just realised I’ve been living in reasonable all the time, and that’s not what I want anymore. It can’t be what you want with the things you write.”
Arthur snorted, because wasn’t this his most well-kept secret? That he thought it was all non-sense, and not for everyone, and not at all something he wanted for himself? That he was, in his heart, a man of reason and not of emotion? That he would pass the chance, if it came to it?
There was little to do but to nod and accept things as they were. They wanted different things, they expected different things, and it would never work — not without them faking it, or without them giving up things they’d rather be (or not be).
Mithian had kissed him sweetly on the cheek and started walking out before she stopped, turned around and came back.
“Arthur — I like you. And because I like you, I’ll tell you this. This thing that you’re doing? Living with your sister’s ex, who’s engaged with your best friend, and hanging out daily with a girl you were set up with and ended up in a relationship with your ex, plus her girlfriend and your ex — that’s never gonna work. There are — how to put it in a way you’ll understand? There are too many balls in the air, too many threads left unfinished, too many unfinished plots going on at once; and it’ll never help you find someone. So — I love them, I really do, they’re all amazing — but you need to find yourself a space, too, or you’ll be forever that guy, hanging around his ex, drinking with him in the pub and watching as he picks up girl after girl, boy after boy, and never stop wondering why it can’t be you.”
“I’m not” Arthur gasped, really, with the absurdity of it. “I don’t think about him that way!”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart” she answered, with a wink, turning around again.
“You’ve been watching too many soaps!” he said to her, but she didn’t even turn, just kept walking and raised her hand in a back wave, in a full grand entrance. Well. Leaving. Same difference.
Definitely she had been watching too many soaps.
Leon and Mithian ran into each other by total chance 4 months later, in Arthur’s favourite coffee shop. He had been, well, getting muffins and coffee for Arthur while he bemoaned his total lack of talent as a writer and suffered with not doing what he should be doing (procrastinating was the primary art form of his life, really, writing was just in second place). Mithian had been… Arthur had no idea.
They had greeted each other with good humour, and chatted, and eventually one thing led to another and all them led towards happily ever after.
(And it clearly proved that Coffee Shops were the New Place For Romance, too).
It wasn’t as if Arthur wanted anything long term, he didn’t want to deal with expectations, silly ideas of romance (that he was completely guilty of propagating), and all the rest, so he actually spent 2012 on the pull, with Gwaine. Eventually the two of them even conceived a whole point system, which was written on the whiteboard that hang in Arthur’s living room (where it was supposed to help with plotting, but he had conceded to noting the system on it after Gwaine reminded him that this was how they were plotting to conquer all of Camelot between them).
Gwen and Lance had decided to hold on their wedding until they had managed to not only secure an apartment, but also buy everything they needed for it; which meant they complained a bit about having to deal with the specific brand of crazy that guided him through that year. Arthur had never been very specific about what he wanted — but he completely sunk to Gwaine’s level of no parameters at all.
His apartment saw a parade of people — some leaving in the early morning, some leaving in the middle of the night. Men and Women. Blonds, brunettes, red-haired, really, it didn’t even matter. In pairs. Once, in a trio while Gwen and Lance visited his family, and hadn’t that been fun?
It also bothered Gwen and Lance to no end, he was sure, but they didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to play the “it’s my name on the lease” card, though, so he slowly started trying to go back to their places instead of his. The last thing he needed, he knew deep down, was to miss their dose of normal in his life.
Somehow their little group continued to grow — slowly, but surely. There was Arthur, then Lance&Gwen (building up to be a single entity); Sefa&Elena (a single entity in a way that only girls in love could be); Leon and Mithian, who they saw occasionally and mostly not together, Percy, who was promoted and sent back to Camelot; Gwaine (still the same, even as he hit his 30’s); Gwen’s brother Elyan, who had just finished school and moved in a part of the city with a terrible reputation but that was all he could afford as he declined any sort of help; and finally Oh-My-How-You’ve-Grown Mordred, who had just returned from one year abroad.
And he had grown, indeed — it was almost shocking. His shoulders had broadened, and his curls were softer than ever, his baby blue eyes crinkling with laughter as he sat with them, his face covered with the slightest hint of stubble and Gwaine had whistled upon seeing him.
“Looking good, Mordred!” he said, with a clap on the back. “Delectable.”
“Gwaine, you have no criteria” he replied, sitting down with them on Kilgharrah.
“I second it” said Sefa, before blushing redder than her hair. “Erm — hi. I’m Sefa. Elena’s girlfriend? Big fan.”
Mordred had smiled, and taken it all in good nature, while Gwen cooed over him, and Lance beamed as if he was a proud papa. They had spent a nice evening talking about his latest experiences, Arthur thanking the gods that he’d have his star back, and Gwaine flirting shamelessly.
And Gwaine — well, he turned the charm to max every time he wanted to seduce someone, but when he knew the person, it was even worse: he went completely over the top, with whole schemes and putting himself in the spotlight and what-not.
So it didn’t shock Arthur at all that when they met to exchange gifts for the Secret Santa Elena and Gwen had been adamant on doing — Gwaine had been adamant on hosting — they walked into the apartment to find everything dark, and the fairy lights shining alone in sync with the music on the background, until Gwaine’s voice rang through the darkness, lightening the lamp right above him in a very dramatic fashion.
“Oh your brother’s rage is frightful
But this fire is so delightful
And since he already knows
Let clothes go! Let clothes go! Let clothes go!
It’s my head that he’ll be chopping
And I’ve got your cherry for popping
The lights are turned way down low
Let clothes go! Let clothes go! Let clothes go!”
They had clapped as he finished, bowing, Elena rolling with laughter on the sofa, and Mordred chuckling under his scrutiny, and Lance turned up all the lights.
“You didn’t even see the card!” Arthur complained, shaking his head. He had made sure to hide it on the deepest drawer of his closet as soon as it arrived.
“Oh, but I have” Gwaine countered, and Gwen blushed, and Arthur just hated them all, really.
“Really, Gwen? Really?”
“She posted it on my Facebook Wall!” Gwen said, not looking sorry at all. “And I love the songs — It’s a pity I didn’t record this one, I…”
“I did” Gwaine pipped up, immediately. “State of Art camera, I’ll send you later!”
“Cheers!” she said, and headed towards the kitchen with the bags she had been carrying.
“So, Morgana, huh?” Mordred asked, still smiling.
“It’s nothing” Gwaine waved the whole thing away. “A Christmas Tradition of ours” he winked. Arthur just rolled his eyes.
“Gwaine has been singing her praises for at least five years now” Lance said, ignoring Gwaine’s claims that it was irrelevant. “It drives Arthur mad.”
“I do just to annoy him, really” the man insisted, and Arthur could well believe it, if Elena hadn’t interrupted just them.
“Oh, yes, I bet the reason you have a full binder of every campaign she ever did on your bedroom is to annoy him!”
It was a nice experience to see Gwaine gagging, and without words, while Mordred rolled with laughter, and Arthur was surprised by how attractive he had become all over again.
And if he was old enough for Sefa to consider him attractive, he was surely old enough for Arthur.
“Gwaine pines for her” he said, leaning towards Mordred, and the younger man turned to him with a soft smile that was all the encouragement Arthur needed. “But it’ll never be.”
“You’ll all see” Gwaine grumbled, crossing his arms in his chest and causing Elena to snort.
“Well, you are a very attractive family” Mordred said, a blush tinging his cheeks. “I really can’t blame him.”
And Arthur was so in.
One of the things Arthur had learned since he had come to Camelot was that sleeping with people he worked with never ended well — and, of course, Vivian was the biggest showcase of that, but she was far from the only case. There had been Sophia, who was a total bitch; then Isolde, who was very nice but had taken it too personally that he had fired her brother; after that Arthur had slept with Owain, one of the junior writers, and it would have been fine if it hadn’t meant the man thought he could poke and prod to each and every word Arthur wrote. Still he had slept with Geraint a few times, until the guy had decided to use the bed to push for his promotion — and then Arthur swore that he’d never do it again.
So, in hindsight, his idea of sleeping with Mordred had been really bad. It could never end well.
And yet — yet! — Mordred had been eager, and handsome, and young, and sort of adored Arthur, so it had been too much of a temptation. At the same time, he kept a completely professional behaviour when they were working, which was good. So, maybe, if Arthur had ever been romantically inclined, he might have actually started to care for Mordred — but it seemed that whatever his hands typed and what his heart felt weren't anywhere near the same thing.
For a while, it was good. Really good. And then, slowly but continuously, it had become not enough. Mordred never asked for anything, allowing him to go at his own pace, waiting, hoping, expecting and it broke Arthur’s heart in a way that had nothing to do with romance, and everything to do with really liking him. Mordred was important to Arthur, as a person, as a friend, as an actor and he didn’t want to hurt him, but he also didn’t know how to lie.
So one day, one brilliant summer day like any other, as the sun shone over them and they were wrapping up the filming — Arthur there, at Annis request — and sweat pouring down his back as Mordred cried and swore to Kara that they belonged together; he decided it was enough.
Mordred hadn’t even been surprised, he hadn’t even asked anything, he just looked at Arthur’s face, who probably gave everything away — because he could use a mask, but Mordred was a friend, and he wouldn’t play him like that, he just smiled sadly at him and nodded.
“Yeah. It’s for the best” he said, before hugging Arthur closely. “Kilgharrah’s on Sunday?”
“You bet” Arthur replied — and they just knew it was not a date, that it would never again be a date, but Mordred coming to meet all their friends as he had started doing even before Arthur decided to bed him on an impulse.
As fall became heavier and their filming came to an end — for the year, at least, hopefully there would be more to come soon enough, a renewal, a longer project — it felt absolutely natural that all of them would be at their wrapping up party. Arthur liked partying as much as the next twenty-a-lot-of-somethings man, but he always felt somewhat wrong-fitted in those, probably because it was the one moment where he couldn’t help but deal with Vivian, who had proved a thousand times over how deeply she could hold a grudge.
Except that when he finally arrived — late, his hair still still wet — Vivian had no mean comments for him, just a bright smile as she came up.
“Your friends are wonderful” she announced, before pouting a bit. “Which is surprising, I might say.”
“Thank you” he said, not knowing where this had come from. She had always eyed Lance and Gwen as if they were beneath her, and had never given much attention to Gwaine’s charm.
“They’re at the back” she said, with a nod. “You should go and see them.”
So he did, and found that pretty much everyone was there: Sefa had Elena on her lap, laughing at something Lance was explaining, Gwen perched on the arm of the sofa on his left, her arm around him. Mithian and Leon stood behind it, his arm around her waist, both grinning. Gwaine seemed to be chatting one of the make up artists on the side, while Mordred and Percy were busy bringing people their drinks, and Elyan seemed to be looking out, waiting for something, a small smile on the corner of his lips.
Arthur felt a really huge surge of warmth at them — Vivian was right, they were all sorts of awesome. Each and every one of them. He was lucky to have these people in his life. He approached them, smiling openly.
“The man of the hour!” Lance announced, interrupting his story, and standing to clap him on the back. “And fashionably late.”
“Fashionably late was over half an hour ago” disagreed Mithian, but she came close and kissed his cheek anyway, her eyes fond. “Congratulations.”
Leon hugged him, eyes shining with happiness, and from all of them, he was probably the one that was closest to understanding how huge this was. Well, Mordred would know, of course, but it was different for him. He’d still have so much ahead — promoting and pictures and interviews; the whole nine yards. One by one, they all came to congratulate him invidiously — Gwaine using the opportunity to brag about how he really knew Arthur and how it hadn’t been just a line.
All but Elyan, who still sat in the exact same way as before, seeming unaware of the commotion around him.
“What’s up with your brother?” he asked Gwen, and she giggled while Gwaine shook his head.
“The other Princess told him she’d be back” he explained, slapping Elyan’s head. “She won’t.”
“Really?” Arthur asked, looking between Gwaine and Elyan. “Vivian?”
“How can she be even more beautiful in person?” he asked.
“Don’t just stand there” Lance said, pushing his back. “Ladies like to be chased. Go chase her!”
Arthur barked out a laugh at how quickly this had Elyan standing up, straightening his back, and leaving.
He sat down on Elyan’s vacated place, accepted Percy’s shot, and gulped it at once, before Mordred ordering him to race him for them, his eyes full of mirth and any infatuation he might have felt long gone, and replaced with nothing but friendly teasing.
Well, all rules had an exception after all.
In some ways, Christmas 2013 was completely different from Christmas 2012 — none of them could fit their schedules, with Mordred filming a side project abroad; Vivian taking Elyan to her mother’s house, under Olaf’s threats; Sefa and Elena visiting their own widowed fathers; while Mithian and Leon had managed to secure a couple’s get-away until after the New Years. It was just Arthur, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine and Percival; like old times come again, before they had to abandon their booth in favour of moving tables.
They had agreed on spending the Christmas Eve at Kilgharrah’s, since they’d feel bad about the old man alone there at night (even knowing he’d grumble and be cryptic, and get out for a cigarette every two minutes, claiming not to feel the cold even while a thick layer of snow covered the streets) before Arthur, Lance and Gwen took the morning train to Tintagel. Arthur went straight there after his afternoon meeting with the executives about a new season of his show (long gone were the Cupids, there was nothing in this but a young couple being parted before going away to University and meeting again as young adults); and Gwen arrived not long past five; having left the gifts she received from children in the apartment. Percy arrived around seven, smiling as ever, and even wearing long sleeves for a change. Lance walked in around nine, off his shift, and was the first to truly notice that something was wrong.
“Where’s Gwaine?”
They had been drinking and talking for so long, making theories about their aged bartender and imitating his riddles that they hadn’t even noticed how late it was for him not to show up — and he had once come even while running a fever. Gwen was immediately concerned and Percy frowned, but as the only one truly sober, Lance was the quickest to call.
“Where did you end up and do we have to worry about possible bodies?”
Arthur observed while he frowned, before he pulled the phone away from his face and looked at it as if it was something alien.
“He told us to go upstairs” Lance said, and while none of them had any idea how Gwaine had managed to get into the apartment, they were all certainly curious about it.
It might have been the drink that allowed them to feel surprised when, after running into the apartment, they saw it empty, save for the fairy lights that someone had turned on. Percy switched the rest of the lights on, and it was all the cue Gwaine needed, to get out of Arthur’s bedroom, in a tiny dirty Santa outfit, with a red vinyl miniskirt with white fur hemming that matched the one on the top, all with tiny straps strained over his muscled shoulders, and a black belt with a side lace and high black leather boots. There was also the red cap. And of course — of course — it matched part per part the Mean Girls inspired outfit in Morgana’s latest card. The whole thing was hilarious and left nothing for imagination, and Arthur was laughing before he even started singing — and dancing.
“Jingle balls, jingle balls, jingle my rocks
Jingle your tits, and Jingle my cock
Stripping and blowing, it’s lots of fun —”
It was nothing like his previous songs, and it probably showed on their faces, because he stopped as soon as he was facing them, as they stood. Percy was shaking with laughter, but Lance was gawping at him, Gwen was biting her lower lip, between amused and sorry, and Arthur — Arthur was glad he had stopped or he might have said something that would require punching.
“Was it over the line?” Gwaine asked, suddenly sheepish.
“Way, way, waaaay over, mate” Percy said, chuckling. Punching Percy also wouldn’t be good.
“The line isn’t even in the horizon” Arthur said, his voice clipped.
“Oh” Gwaine was crestfallen, and it made Arthur feel a bit better about it. “I didn’t — I’ll shut it then. It’s a pity, really, I had a whole dance routine planned.”
That, on the other hand, he would want to see, but not with whatever pornographic lyrics Gwaine had composed this time. He snorted, and Percy guffawed, while Gwen just kept looking at him as if he was a lost puppy she had to save.
“I love the outfit, though” she said, as a form of consolation. “It really shows your good form.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Gwaine asked, perking up again. “I bet I’d score easily on it with these legs” he turned towards Arthur, looking somewhat contrite. “Not your sister, though. I’m sorry.”
Arthur could do nothing but to shake his head fondly.
“Come on” Lance said, closing the subject. “Let’s go to Kilgharrah’s. I’ve been working all day and I could really use a beer.”
“And there you can play the proper version of Jingle Bell Rocks and show us your dance routine” Arthur continued, clapping his hand. “Let’s see how well you’ll score with it.”
Together, they came down, Gwaine freezing his balls off in the tiny clothes, and Arthur somewhat mollified by seeing him ridiculing himself next to the jukebox.
(And yet, he got a girl interested easily — and made sure to introduce her friends to Arthur, before winking at him. It was hard to stay mad for long, really, knowing now that Gwaine would never really cross the line again).
In hindsight, Arthur should have expected something major to happen. The year had been entirely too calm, like the sea right before a storm. Nothing shocking had happened — well, nothing that could be called shocking. Gwen and Lance had moved out, sure, but that had been so detailedly planned that it didn’t really count as a change. Their new house was somewhat smaller than the one they shared with Arthur, and a bit further away — but still within the same neighbourhood. The heating was terrible, but they seemed happy with it. They had also convinced Elyan to move into Lance and Gwen’s old room; assuring that it was no favour and that Arthur needed some company in order not to lose himself in his writing. It had been refreshing, in a way, that for the first time in years, Arthur wasn’t living with a girl; and even Vivian’s constant visits were a small price to pay not to have to remember to lower the toilet seat. It did cause him to buy powerful earplugs, though.
Elena and Sefa had also moved in together, but it mostly changed nothing since they had been joined at the hip since before they actually started dating. Leon had confessed he planned on proposing to Mithian soon — perhaps during Valentine’s, during their romantic getaway, and Arthur was truly happy for them. Mordred was becoming a huge thing, which made him both happy and paranoid, shuffling closer to the closet than ever before, and Percy had seen a really-nice-guy for a while before an amicable parting. Gwaine was still the same, and had been promoted at work — finally into the creative team he had always wished to be — which meant he currently made more than all the rest of them (save Mordred, the lucky kid). The promotion meant not only more work (and more money to waste in some truly ridiculous things, such as a life-sized model of the TARDIS to his living room), but also far more travelling than before.
Gwaine was supposed to be travelling — he wasn’t meant to be back in town until Boxing Day.
He was the furthest thing from Arthur’s mind when they walked into Kilgharrah’s three days before Christmas.
Arthur had a minor moment of panicking when all the lights went out as they walked inside the pub; but in a matter of seconds, a solitary light was turned back on, Gwaine under it, wearing a red button-down shirt and dark grey skinny jeans that should be forbidden, his hair perfect as ever, and a microphone in his hand. No one said a word, as he started to sing a Capella — and, really, Arthur should have known.
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,
There’s just one thing I need
I just want to see her tits
Underneath the Christmas tree”
Arthur was somewhat glad nobody could see the way his face burned with it, his thoughts frozen on the horror of the moment. He heard some people giggling, but he couldn’t really register it as Gwaine continued and he wished to be anywhere else.
“I just wanted it on my phone
More than I’ve wanted to bone
Make my dream come true
All I want for Christmas is nudes”
Suddenly there was the sound of drums turning, the lights went back on, the people on the bar started clapping, a whole band behind Gwaine (where had it come from? How had old, grumpy Kilgharrah allowed this?) and to top it off, canon’s exploded spreading silver paper in the air as Gwaine continued singing.
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,
There’s just one thing I need
I just want to see her tits
Underneath the Christmas tree
I don't need it on my stocking
Send me on the cyberspace
What would make me happy
Are her pics on Christmas day
I just wanted it on my phone
More than I’ve wanted to bone
Make my dream come true
All I want for Christmas is nudes”
The thing about the lights being back on, was that it became clear to everyone that Gwaine had his eyes on them — and the whole bar seemed to have their eyes on their little group; Gwen had her camera out, filming everything for future humiliation; Lance looked even more mortified than Arthur, while Percy & Elena, the traitors, clapped and Mordred seemed to be breathless with laughter. Arthur thought there was no way this situation could get worse, but, of course, he was wrong, because that was the moment his harpy of a sister decided to step from where she had been, behind Percy, and stare straight at Gwaine with her terrible smirk on.
On any other moment, Arthur would’ve laughed at the way Gwaine missed the cue, his jaw slacking as he stared at Morgana, there in flesh, out shocked for once; the band stopped as they noticed Gwaine’s lack of response, and everyone was staring harder. It would’ve been funny, but he knew his sister, and he knew that look, and he knew it didn’t bode well for him.
“Well, we certainly can talk about that” Morgana said, her voice flirtatious and her smirk still on.
How was this his life?