I don't own Merlin.
Title comes from Death Cab for Cutie's Soul Meets Body. (Love you, cara. And, sorry, the couch stays.)
I am shamelessly plugging the marvelous EachPeachPearPlum, my beta, and an amazing author. GO AND READ HER WORK, PEOPLE.
/
Merlin slowly made his way to his car, trying his hardest not to let his stomach jitters give him away too badly. Gwaine, according to Gwen, had said that he'd be taking the bus home, and while Merlin understood that he had felt the need to get away for a bit, he didn't really want to go and force himself to talk about Will. It was a painful subject, still, and his brain was reeling from the fact that he was alive. Admittedly, it was stupid to have even hoped, but the name Will had rung a bell and after that long of a day, it had just been too much. Hope, on occasion, was a terrible thing.
He reached the Desoto, unlocked it, and climbed inside. He sat there for a minute, just feeling the age of the machine and letting it cradle him, warm and protective as always. As a gift from Arthur, the Desoto had at first been a hindrance rather than a help. It was long, bulky, nigh on impossible to park, and required upkeep in gas that was nearly impossible to keep up with. Luckily, Arthur had known a guy who knew a guy who knew how to give the beautiful car a rather more gas-friendly engine, but it was still unbelievably expensive. He hadn't liked the color scheme- white, chrome, and blue stripe, with a gray interior that did nothing for him- but had dealt with it because he didn't have the money to buy a car on his own.
But over time, he and the car had met on good terms, and now he loved it. There were times, when he felt bad enough, that he would just go down to the garage and sit, just soaking up the age and warm comfort of the machine. It was more friend than car anymore, and he was fine with that.
Sighing, he stuck the key in the ignition, and as the Fireflite rumbled to life, he absently wondered if he was going to be sleeping in its backseat that evening.
/
He knew it wasn't going to be pretty when, for the first time in six months, he came home to Gwaine sitting on the couch, with seven beer bottles neatly set on the coffee table and a shot glass next to a bottle of whiskey. Three of the bottles were empty, and about half of the whiskey was gone. He shut the door slowly; Gwaine's head turned slightly at the faint noise, only to return to his contemplation of the wall. A beer bottle swung loosely in his hands, swaying rhythmically back and forth. Merlin closed his eyes, leaning against the door and resisting the urge to hit something. I should have known, I should have known…
"Care to join me?" Gwaine drawled quietly, and Merlin slowly pushed off the wall, walking over to him. His stomach was clenched, and as he sat on the couch, it only got worse.
There was a faint clink as the fourth beer was opened, and Merlin closed his eyes, letting the couch swaddle him. He'd never really minded Gwaine's drinking; it wasn't like it was anywhere near like Kanen's had been, and he was typically a friendly, adoring drunk, not like his drunkenness ever lasted very long. He sobered up pretty fast when the need arose or his senses were well and truly needed. There was also the fact that, like too many people he knew, Gwaine was very good at acting drunk without actually drinking.
Merlin took the beer, and silence descended, low, slow, and very uncomfortable.
Nearly five minutes later, Gwaine said in a low voice, "Why."
Merlin's throat tightened, and he sighed. "It was painful," he said quietly. "The only reason I ever even told Arthur was because when I showed up at Gaius's, he saw all the bruises and cuts and wanted to know what I was running from. I wanted…I wanted to leave Will behind. I had a chance at a second life, and it…it hurt to know that I was the reason that he was probably dead." He rolled the bottle between his fingers, eyes bleak. "Now I know it was much worse."
Gwaine sighed. "Just…don't lie to me."
"Lie to you? Why would I lie to you?" Merlin said, and that was the spark. The tiny little bit of friction that, ten minutes later, had them in each other's faces and screaming, furious, angry, feeling bitter and betrayed and hurt.
The spark that, ten minutes and 30 seconds later, had the room dead silent, reverberating with the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
A tiny drop of blood fell onto Gwaine's shirt, immediately staining the white crimson.
Merlin stared in horror at his man, taking in the wide, startled eyes, and the place where his punch had split his lip.
Gwaine reached up and slowly touched the split, seeming surprised when his fingers came away bloody. He stared blankly at his fingers, as if trying to make sense of something that was too odd to comprehend.
And that was when Merlin bolted, already in tears.
/
Gwaine watched, completely baffled, as Merlin promptly fled to the bedroom and locked the door, leaving him alone in the living area. Totally confused, he rubbed his fingers together absently and went to go find some gauze and warm water. May as well fix himself up before Merlin came back out- It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, or long enough. Really, it was just a tiny little cut, and would probably be healed in the next few days.
What he was really confused about was that Merlin had run away.
Shoving a washcloth under the faucet, he contemplated this little fact with the odd detachment of the shocked. It really didn't make any sense for Merlin to bolt. After all, it wasn't like A) there was anywhere to go and B) it hadn't happened to him before. Generally speaking, Gwaine had always been a bit leery about relationships, but he'd been in enough to know that this, when people were mad and frustrated, was standard procedure. He'd had much, much worse in his time with his first love, after all. Sighing, he hunted down the gauze and pressed it gently to his lip, wincing slightly as it stung. Admittedly, it didn't hurt anywhere near to having a lighter taken to his toes, but it was a bit painful. Head wounds tended to be on the bloodier, messier, painful side, after all.
Once the bleeding had stopped and he'd found a small butterfly bandage to put over it, he decided he'd given Merlin enough time to get out of his funk. In steps that were much to steady for the average drunk, he went to the bedroom door and knocked twice, leaning against the frame.
"Merlin?"
Silence was his only response.
"Merlin, I'm not mad."
Silence again.
"Merlin, please just come and talk to me."
The silence was deafening.
Gwaine sighed, resting his head on the door and wishing that he had less of an alcohol tolerance. The adrenaline had started itself on the journey of sobering him up very quickly, blast it. "Love…" he said softly, "do you want me to leave for a bit?"
There was a large amount of no answer, and Gwaine's heart constricted.
"Alright, love…I'll be back later tonight, alright?" He pushed off the door frame, and headed to the living room. As he passed the coffee table he picked up the empty bottles and dropped them in the recycling bin, wishing that his head was a little more fogged. He was really beginning to hurt, and it wasn't pleasant. Lack-of-hurt was the reason he drank, after all. Picking up the rest, he set the still closed bottles back in the fridge and the whiskey in the cupboard, and was about to grab his jacket when he noticed Merlin's phone sitting on the counter. He considered it for a moment, then picked it up and began looking through the contacts list.
/
Kilgarrah was not accustomed to people ringing his doorbell, and was understandably wary in opening it, but he was even more surprised when he saw Gwaine, hair plastered down by the rain and grinning through a split lip decorated by a tiny white bandage.
He considered the man on his porch, and sighed. "Well, I suppose you'd better come in then."
/
Mordred, being Mordred, existed in his own little world, where rules and regulations really didn't count for much, and morals were completely and utterly negotiable. He'd spent a long time working on his particular brand of insanity, and was almost proud of it, save one little problem.
His life had not been made for two people. He'd spent years getting accustomed to the fact that he was stuck as a bachelor for the rest of his conceivable life. This was mostly because he didn't know anyone who'd be willing to put up with the flashbacks, paranoia, and general brutality that accompanied him wherever he went. Especially after the fight that had split the family, with Merlin taking off to go help Arthur, and Mordred going with Freya and Nimue to work with the Avalon group, he'd always figured that he wasn't going to have any luck with relationships for the rest of his life. He accepted it. He'd gotten on with his life, knocking heads in for Avalon when necessary, screwing around with whoever he could find in a bar (he may have been underage, but that had never stopped him. Nothing stopped a determined, charming Mordred when he wanted something) when he needed to relax a bit, and generally adjusting to a life that was free of owners and people who wanted him to be someone he wasn't. He'd never had the chance to truly adjust to this strange new place, this country that was so different and full of rules he didn't understand. Merlin had ensured he'd gotten a high school diploma, and despite the fact that they'd tried very hard to pretend that they'd never known one another, he'd ended up working for Uther and then Merlin. Work- real, honest to goodness working- had gotten him the money to go to college. Oh, Nimue had gotten his violin for his music scholarship, but the rest had been him. One did not become a wedding planner/performer without a college degree these days, and that especially applied to ex-whores with enough mental and physical scars to compensate for a rugby team. And now…
He had a date.
And he was in love with a person he'd known for the grand total of one day. Actually, about half an hour. Maybe fifteen minutes. Okay, less than fifteen minutes.
He slumped against a wall, clutching his head and staring in worried bewilderment at his closet.
What do you wear when you know that you already want to marry the person?!
Mordred understood the rules of clubbing. He understood the rules of seduction. He understood sex, drugs, rock and roll, and the wild and crazy world of accounting and bridezillas. He knew what to wear on each of those occasions.
He did not understand dating.
And so, at 6:45, he did what had to be done.
/
"…And you're not actually drunk?"
"Nope. I'd really like to be, but I've got such a tolerance to it by now it's bloody well nigh on impossible. Starting drinking when you're nine years old does that to you, y'know?"
"…And you just said bloody. How very odd. What are you doin- NO. You may not have that brandy. That was a gift from my wife."
"Speaking of, where is she? I've never met her."
"…Morrigan is six feet under in a small park by a lake in Switzerland, beside the child I never got to raise and a mile away from the one I should have. Put. It. Back."
"Alright, alright…can I at least have the whiskey?"
"…Fine."
"Thanks."
"…You just…"
"What? Downed a fourth of a bottle? Yeah, typical. Y'know, I'm beginning to honestly think that I've got alcohol immunity."
"…Great good gods, what has Merlin got himself into this time?"
"Y'know, I'd dearly like to understand that one myself. I mean, why me? Honestly, sometimes I look at him and I just think, "Merlin, you beautiful thing, why didn't you just kill me and go find someone better?" because, really, there's a lot of people who are better than me. Matt Damon. Tom Cruise. Jake Glenden-Gilden-Gyhylden-whats-his-face-hall. Percival- No, never mind, he and Elyan are together, and isn't that a weird thought. Arthur, for heaven's sake. Even Christian would be better for him. I'm…I'm nothing. De nada. I wasn't even a very good hitman."
"That's not what I've heard."
"I was merciful."
"That's not a bad thing, Gwaine."
"It is when someone orders you to bring back a damn ear and you high tail it to the Florida Keys to keep your balls intact. He was a vicious man, he was, I gotta say- Where did the whiskey go?"
"…You're an interesting drunk, have I mentioned that? For a drunk that isn't actually much of a drunk."
"…I think you said it when I started trying to climb the china cupboard chasing after the dust bunnies."
/
The phone on Merlin's coffee table rang at precisely 6:45. Merlin, from where he'd curled himself into a ball wearing one of Gwaine's ridiculously oversized hoodies, uncurled and looked at it with bloodshot eyes. Slowly, a hand was extracted from blankets and folds of cloth to pick up the small thing, and "accept" was hit.
"Mordred?" His voice cracked slightly, and he curled up with the phone to his ear.
"Oh thanks be to the heavens, you picked up." Mordred sounded well and truly panicked. "I have no clue what to wear."
"…Wear?" From the corners of his brain not panicking from the punch and mourning the existence of his very life and the idiocy of his actions, a trickle of information inched its way in as gears turned. "For…OH. Date. Right."
Life was a very weird thing, Merlin thought, as Mordred ranted to him desperately, voice getting steadily higher. One person in tears from abusing their love, one almost in tears as they go to meet their love. Finally, he just interrupted him, mostly because his eardrums were threatening to explode. "Mordred, breathe. Okay? You are going to wear that green shirt you have, the ai charm necklace, black hoodie, and black jeans. Alright?"
"You, Merlin, are a life saver. I forgive you for everything you've ever done, up to and including that time where you dyed my hair orange. WAIT! SHOES! Woe is me, shoesshoesshoes-"
Merlin rolled his eyes, grinning weakly at the sound of shoe boxes being tossed about. "Anything but the orange chucks, alright?"
"I love you. You may have just ensured that I have my soul mate."
"Not a problem. Where are you going again?"
"Chinese place around the corner."
"It's raining."
"…Crap. What do I do?!"
Merlin grinned at the desperation in his voice. "I'm sure the Metro's in good enough shape. Or you could just use an umbrella, like a normal human being. Walking in the rain can be romantic, I suppose. Never done it myself…"
"All the umbrellas I have are painted silk!"
"Mordred, you have nearly 15 umbrellas. Sacrifice one of them."
/
"You have your phone on you?" Will asked sternly from where he was watching Kieran frantically pace around the tiny square of linoleum that was in front of the door.
"Yes, yes."
"And you'll be back by nine or call me, because I've got to be gone at 9:30 to catch the regulars."
"Yes, Will."
"And you won't eat anything akin to tongue, brain, or tail?"
"Don't mock ox tail soup, that stuff is great." Kieran fiddled with his watch, looking anxiously at the cracked face, trying to make out the time. "Tongue's rather bland, I've found. I don't like brain much, though." There was a faint retching noise, and Kieran grinned at his roommate. "What? Never had it before?"
"No, thanks all the same." Will had turned a delicate shade of green. "I've had to eat a lot of things in the course of my life, but I will have it said that I never ate tongue. Or brain."
Kieran grinned briefly, but it quickly vanished. He looked back at his watch for a minute, and then said hesitantly, "Will?"
"Mm?"
"What…what's wrong with me?"
Will looked up from where he'd been scrutinizing a stain on the couch. "What do you mean, what's wrong with you? You're a perfectly healthy young man going on a date with another healthy young man who happens to like Chinese food, and who you happen to be in love with. Please explain the problem?"
Kieran fidgeted slightly, looking uncomfortable, and returned his gaze to his watch. "Two weeks ago I was raped and tortured. And yet I'm going on a date with a person I hardly know."
"You remember none of it."
"But I know it happened. Shouldn't…I don't know, shouldn't I be a bit more, well, broken?"
Will folded his arms and stared intently at him. "Kieran Gonzales, your mentality is not like anyone else. How you handle stress and trauma is totally unique for each person. Personally, I think it's because you're one of the sweetest, most beguilingly innocent people I've ever met, temporary whoring aside. And, who knows, it might just be that this Mordred could be the key to fixing whatever the hell is wrong with you."
Kieran stared at him, and then nodded slowly. "Thanks, Will."
"De nada, boyo."
Kieran grinned, and jumped as there was a soft knock on the door. Will flashed him a thumbs up, and warily, he pulled it open. A shy grin blossomed across his face. "Hello."
Mordred smiled back just as shyly, and said, "Ready?"
/
Merlin was vaguely aware of someone singing, but seeing as he was currently occupied with a bottle of vodka, some cherries, and a very squished orange, he didn't care much. He was also vaguely aware that it sounded a lot like his voice, but really, that was ridiculous- oops, there went one of the cherries, straight into the window.
"NO! COME BAAAAACK! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS, MR. CHERRY! IT DIDN'T HAVE TO END LIKE THIS!"
The banana, who was having serious doubts about itself as a person at this point, decided that maybe escape should be a little higher on its priority list.
/
Kilgarrah watched in amusement as Gwaine scrambled up the back of the couch, eyes as wide as saucers and marginally less terrified than was normally seen in skittish racehorses. "Alright there?" He asked mildly.
"It's looking at me!"
"Yes, as he has eyes. He's also very curious."
Wolfy eyed Gwaine with hungry appreciation. A small tongue flickered out, and he hissed loudly.
Gwaine swore.
Kilgarrah chuckled, leaning back in his high-backed armchair and letting Wolfy have fun with his new friend. Gwaine, of course, was terrified out of his wits, but that was to be expected. After an incident with a small garden snake two months ago, Kilgarrah had learned that he was more than a bit leery of scaly creatures. It really was rather funny to watch though.
Eventually, Gwaine warily slid down the couch, Wolfy watching his every move. Eyes firmly fixed on the large iguana, Gwaine sat still, wedging himself into the corner of the couch.
Wolfy, realizing that his prey had been cornered, promptly struck.
Gwaine shrieked as he received a lapful of large, green, mischievous iguana with very long claws.
"Hold still, he just wants to get a look at you," Kilgarrah drawled, reclining a bit more. Wolfy bobbed his head in a loose "yes" motion, his tongue flicking out and back in. Gwaine swallowed hard and tried not to cringe.
"So," Kilgarrah continued once Wolfy had completed his survey of Gwaine and had decided that his lap would make for a very nice place to sleep. "Why did you come to me?"
Gwaine looked marginally embarrassed. "Well…you're really the only person I know who wouldn't think I was insane if I stayed."
"You're going to stay then." Kilgarrah very carefully ensured that his voice was devoid of inflection.
"Yes. Violence… violence is part of both of our lives, and really, that was nothing."
Kilgarrah's eye brows twitched upward. "Nothing?" He echoed, surprised. "Nothing that a person who panics when you so much as get a hangnail punched you hard enough to split skin and draw blood?"
Gwaine smiled at him, and Kilgarrah noticed that it wasn't the smile of a drunk man. Ye gods, he's gone through how much alcohol and is still sober enough to talk about this? The younger man warily rested his hand on Wolfy's back, and seemed pleased when the iguana relaxed a bit. "The first person I was ever in a relationship with would knock me unconscious," he admitted, eyes focused on the scales and spines. "He'd take me out with one hit, tie me to the bed, and the take a lighter to the bottom of my feet when I did something stupid- and as insurance that I wouldn't run. This is nothing, Kilgarrah. I…I guess that I'm just confused."
"Confused?"
Gwaine nodded, slowly stroking the iguana's head. "Why wouldn't he tell me?" He asked quietly. "I mean, it's not like I know everything about him- he won't tell me anything about Mordred, for one, or why you have a home in China, or even how he and Freya met up. I know that he's got secrets, because I have plenty I'm not telling either, but this…this is a bit much."
"How so?"
Wolfy resettled in Gwaine's lap, making the man stare intently for a minute before returning to his petting. "I don't have someone that I might still be in love with, for starters."
/
The front of the restaurant was small, with a rather plain and simple design scheme. The walls were covered in simple bamboo mats, with a round, red, interlocking design painted over it that looked like they had been copied from the Forbidden City. Bamboo plants sat discreetly in the corners, and a faint trickle of water could be heard over the faint buzz of people. The people seated at various tables about the room were diverse. Gangsters and mafia bosses sat elbow to elbow with young Chinese mothers with their children. Kieran immediately approved of the place. It was immaculately clean, and tantalizing aroma's slipped through the air with ease, from the kitchen could be seen behind the counter. He sniffed appreciatively, letting the scents of chicken and rice invade his nose. It took a great deal for him not to drool. In class they'd worked on puffed pastry, and this food smelled infinitely better. Mordred grinned at the look on his face, pushing his hood back and waving to one of the serving girls in a cheongsam. She hurried over, inclining her head and murmuring something in soft Mandarin.
Kieran watched in interest as Mordred inclined his head and replied in the same language, but with an extremely different accent. The girl nodded, bowing again, and scurried off in the direction of the kitchen.
"What did she say?"
"Oh, she was just asking my name."
"I didn't hear you say it."
"I gave her my Chinese name for the reservations," Mordred explained, and made a noise of approval as the cheongsam-wearing girl returned holding menus. Her hair, tied up in two buns and bedecked with ribbons, bobbed once and then whipped around as she scurried towards another direction, waving an excited hand for them to follow.
Kieran raised an eyebrow. "You have two names?"
"Yep. The Chinese one is Wu Dàiyù."
Kieran stared at him, fascinated, and promptly nearly ran into a plant. Recovering quickly and trying to ignore both Mordred's grin and the color flooding his cheeks, he said "And that means…"
Mordred stiffened ever so slightly, and his smile became a bit strained. "Dàiyù means "dark one", though it's typically more of a feminine name. Wu can either mean "soft", or "gentle", but in my case it's just a surname."
They entered a hallway that led to a small, private back room with a round doorway. Mordred grinned, and waved him in. "After you, love."
Face going a delicate shade of red, Kieran complied.
/
Kilgarrah's Rolls rumbled to a halt, and Gwaine clambered out of the car. Leaning down, he said seriously to the Dragon ensconced inside, "Thank you. For listening, and all that. I…Well, there wasn't really anyone I could go to, and I just needed to talk for a bit. And drink some more, too."
The Dragon gave him the most deadpan stare he'd ever received. "If you start crying I swear I'll punch you."
"Thanks, Baba."
Gwaine grinned as Kilgarrah made a noise of strident disapproval and shut the door, turning to head up into the building.
/
"No, relax your hand. Little more, little more…Good, now slide your fingers forward, carefully- yes. There you go."
Kieran glared at the sticks in his hand. "It's insane," he grumbled, trying to click them together. After a few misses he got it. "Insane. An entire country stays alive by foraging for food with things the size of number two pencils. An entire civilization has been built on these things. Can you imagine it? They survived on little bits of food artistically arranged with sweet and sour sauce, and two sticks. The ingenuity of people astounds me."
Mordred neatly lifted a bit of rice up, raising an amused, challenging eyebrow. Kieran scowled, and did his best to repeat Mordred's feat, only to fail miserably.
"Here."
Looking up, he felt his cheeks heat up as Mordred motioned a delicate piece of pork balanced on some rice, all held up by those stupid chopsticks towards him. Figuring that he had nothing to lose, and that Mordred could very easily have knocked him out earlier if he so desired, Kieran leaned over the small table and let Mordred neatly deposit the food in his mouth. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second before both looked away, blushing furiously.
/
Gwaine pushed the door open, tossing his keys on the table in the darkened half-hallway that opened into the kitchen. Shrugging off his coat, he let it collapse onto a hook that he'd personally set onto the wall (Merlin practiced the first-available-surface form of coat placement. Gwaine, whose coat was cashmere, had no intention of letting such a fate happen to his.). As he did so, he realized that he was steadily approaching sober and hating it. Too much adrenaline, he decided, and was about to collapse on the couch when he realized that there was a plethora of bottles, fruit rinds, and glasses sitting on the coffee table. Ah, so Merlin had left the bedroom, at least.
And then he looked at the couch.
Groaning, he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, but couldn't keep from smiling. Of course. Merlin never made life simple for him, and it appeared that he wasn't even going to grant him the chance to sleep on the couch tonight, thus breaking the most basic rules of fighting couples.
His love was snoring softly, wrapped up in about four blankets and Gwaine's favorite hoodie, with a bottle of vodka clutched in loose fingers. Cherry pits were stuck to the couch, along with half of an orange rind and what looked like a crust of bread. Gwaine reached down and gently pried away the vodka, setting it on the coffee table after examining it. There was only about a fourth left. This done, he unwrapped the cocoon that Merlin had stuck himself in, scooped him up off the couch and headed towards the bedroom. Merlin mumbled something and nuzzled his neck, thin fingers inching up to curl up on Gwaine's shirt collar. Gwaine smiled, only to wince at the pull on his lip. Inching the door open, he deposited Merlin on the bed. He immediately curled up in the sheets, forehead creasing worriedly as he muttered in his sleep. Gwaine reached down and gently ran his fingers through Merlin's hair. Merlin relaxed a bit, mumbling his name before drifting back into a deep sleep.
"Oh, you are not going to like life when you wake up tomorrow," he murmured before heading into the adjoining bathroom to shower.
/
By the time he reluctantly left the warmth of the shower, Merlin had successfully managed to tangle himself in the sheets and steal Gwaine's pillow, apparently trying to either smother himself or inhale the entire pillow. Gwaine shook his head, and tugged his pillow back, ignoring Merlin's faint whine of displeasure. Clambering into bed, he was utterly unsurprised when Merlin flailed his way over to him and began doing a very reasonable impersonation of an octopus. Gwaine chuckled, reaching up to gently ruffle his hair. Merlin made a soft purring noise, nuzzling against him with a happy smile.
"Lovely. You're a bipolar sleeper."
Thin, cold fingers meshed with Gwaine's, and the man sighed. He was not looking forward to the morning but…
For now, he'd take what comfort he could have. Smiling, he wrapped his free arm around Merlin, and went to sleep.
/
"So…"
"Um… Yes. H-how was it?"
"Good! Good, yes, really good, I don't get Chinese food very often so, yeah, uh, very good. The dim sum was amazing."
"Oh! Yes, yes it was! I'm partial to Hong Shao Rou, myself, but...yes. Very good."
"So, uh… Why do you have a Chinese name?"
"Oh. I grew up in Shanghai."
"Really? That's incredible."
"No, not really. It wasn't a good place to live."
"It looks so pretty, though."
"Yeah, they don't really show you the bad part of town."
"Ohhh. I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have brought it up-"
"What- No, it's fine, really, I've… well, I've mostly put it behind me. You can ask me anything you want, really."
"…"
"…"
"…"
The two huddled under one painted silk umbrella as they walked down the street.
"…Mordred?"
"Mm?"
"Can…Can I tell you something?"
"Of course you can." The two stopped, and Mordred looked seriously into Kieran's eyes. "I'm not perfect, but I don't give up secrets, and I never would from you unless I had your permission."
"You mean that?"
"I swear it."
The two stared at each other, and Kieran said, very softly, "I want very, very much to kiss you right now. Two days ago I wouldn't have even have imagined that I would ever want to be seen with another man, but it's…it's like I've known you forever, and God I just want to kiss you so badly, and I don't care how sappy that sounds, it's the truth."
"What's stopping you?" Kieran's eyes widened, and Mordred smiled tenderly, reaching over to gently catch a raindrop that had landed on Kieran's cheek. "It's alright," he said quietly. "You don't have to tell me. Wait till you're comfortable."
Kieran nodded, and licked his lips pensively, eyebrows scrunching together in a way that made Mordred's inner female side squeal and want to cuddle him. Tentatively, the smaller man reached up, took Mordred's face in his hands, and stared intently into his eyes, searching for something.
"No more than this?" He asked, almost sternly, but there was an underlying current of terror. Mordred reached up with his free hand to cup one of Kieran's.
"Whatever you want, love."
The umbrella fell to the ground.
And so it was that they kissed for the first time, standing beside a silk umbrella with a few holes, on the wrong side of the tracks, with a bum in the nearest alley looking on and shaking his head, muttering "kids," under his breath all while the rain poured down like a cleansing agent straight from the heavens.
And unlike a million and one other people kissing that night, for them it was totally and utterly perfect.
