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Gwaine, dressed in a black tux, surveys a formal business party with dark critical eyes, looking for his next targets tonight: two single people that would compliment and perfect each other. He finds them after glancing around twice: a sharp blond man on one side of the room and a sweet curly haired woman on the other. Respectively, they are his boss and his friend.
Arthur is a serious entrepreneur in need of some love and humor in his life. Gwen is a compassionate ambassador looking for someone serious. They would be perfect, so Gwaine thought.
“Are they your hundredth target?”
Gwaine glances up beside him where a tall built man in a dark grey suit stands. “Percy,” Gwaine greets with a broad grin, “here to witness my ascension?”
The other man’s lips curl in amusement. “Don’t you mean failure?”
Gwaine huffs and turns away, crossing his arms with a manly pout. “I would have my hundredth match by now if you weren’t always interfering.”
Percy snorts and leans against a wall beside them. “If you call standing and talking to you ‘interfering’.”
It absolutely is when Gwaine is in love with the other man since their teenage days. Percy’s mere proximity is distracting enough to make Gwaine lose focus on his missions, which is to match a hundred couples with the power of his bow and arrow. But Percy, or Percival, incarnate to the mighty war god, Mars, would never associate with Gwaine, an incarnate of the amorous god of passion, Cupid. Love and war just don’t mix.
“What a load of tosh! I’m talking about how there’s always some fishy interruption when you’re around,” Gwaine says, moving towards a secluded corner with a giant marble statue. He’ll have a better chance of a shot concealed behind there. Percy doesn’t follow; he just gives him a simple smile that is all too handsome and untrustworthy. It completely ruffles Gwaine’s feathers.
Strange things really have happened when Percy was around. Like that one time Gwaine’s arrow case was half full of blunt arrows instead of the sharp ones he thought he had supplied earlier. The majority of couples Gwaine targeted ended up either hating each other, or running away from the love-struck one. Or that time a bull crossed his arrow’s path and fell in love with a duck instead. All the while, Percy had been sitting or watching somewhere with an amused chuckle. Perhaps it’s his aura that swamps Gwaine’s. Or perhaps there’s some real foul play that Gwaine just can’t catch Percy in the middle of. Either way, Gwaine is determined to have his hundredth couple matched tonight!
As the party continues, the air warm and filled with the sounds of happy classical music, Gwaine unbuttons his tux jacket, drops it to the floor, and begins working on his dress shirt. He only stops half way, shirt still tucked in his pants, and slides out of the sleeves, tying them at his waist.
He glances around quickly, makes sure no one, especially Percy, is watching before rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath; exhales. Then summons his wings to come forth. A familiar tingling and itch form at his shoulder blades as his wings sprout out. Now, he can summon the rest of his gear. Stretching out a hand, a smooth wooden bow materialises and fits in his palm and fingers. Then he reaches over his shoulders, knowing his arrow carrier will have materialised at the same time, and draws a sharp golden tipped arrow.
Peeking around the statue, he finds Arthur drinking by a table of refreshments and Gwen heading towards said table.
Perfect.
Gwaine knocks the arrow and draws the bowstring back, holding it steady until the two are closer.
“Hmm, your wings are as puny as always,” a deep voice says by his ear.
He really should’ve known this wouldn’t go smoothly. Percy has taunted about his wings since forever, but the shock of hot breath on Gwaine’s shoulders and a heavy stroke over his, yes, small wings, has him gasping and releasing the arrow far earlier than planned.
Horrified, Gwaine watches as the golden arrow whizzes through the air and strikes Arthur square on the left side of his chest. The blond man keels over, grunting, and clutching at his surely stung heart.
“Sir, are you all right?”
Gwaine’s stomach plummets as Arthur looks up at the young dark-haired man who asked, who has crouched down too and has his hands gripping Arthur’s broad shoulders with a worried frown on his face.
“I-I’ve never been better,” Arthur answers with large awed eyes. As he thanks him and asks for a name, Gwen takes a pastry from the table, another champagne, and walks off—taking Gwaine’s victory away.
“Oh, not a problem, I thought you might’ve had a heart attack.” The man smiles and helps Arthur to his feet. “The name’s Merlin. And you?”
“Arthur,” Arthur replies, still staring at the stranger. “Pendragon,” he adds belatedly. Then, with the same dazed quality in his eyes, asks, “Will you marry me?”
Merlin, dressed in a handsome dark blue suit, raises his brows and laughs in surprise. “I think you need to lay off on the drinks and sit down, Mr Pendragon.”
“Anything you say. Will you accompany me?”
“As long as it’s not to the aisles, yes.” Merlin grins teasingly and leads Arthur out of eyesight.
Gwaine groans from his hiding place, ready to round on Percy and berate him—if only he could get out of the god’s firm hold on his wings and waist.
“Why do you want to ascend so bad?” Percy murmurs, stroking the delicate arch of Gwaine’s wings.
Shivering, Gwaine tries to shrug him off to no avail. Percy plasters to his side instead. “Ascending will grant me full-fledged bigger wings,” Gwaine mutters. And it’ll finally stop the god of war’s constant teasing about his “equipment” being too small. “Then you’ll shut up for once about my puny wings.”
“…I don’t think any less of you, Gwaine,” Percy sighs, his warm breath ghosting over Gwaine’s shoulder. “In fact, I think your wings are…adorable.”
Gwaine holds still, whispers, “…What?"
“Your wings,” Percy repeats, “they’re adorable. You’re adorable.”
This time, when Gwaine tries to turn around, Percy lets him. A warm dark look meets his when Gwaine glances up from a circle of arms; he never thought he would see such a look upon the god of war's face. Only in his dreams did Percy want him; love him.
“Really?” Gwaine murmured, heart stinging as if struck by his own weapon. He had always thought that only his golden arrow could make the god of war fall in love, had seriously considered to act upon it on desperate days, but gave up as soon as he had summoned his bow. None of Percy’s attentions would have been real anyway.
But what happens now is real. Percy leans down, pushes Gwaine’s hair back gently, and kisses him lightly before uttering, “Yes. Ever since we've met.”
Love requited and being the passionate god he is, Gwaine, of course, happily kisses back. One thing leads to another that whisks them away, from the shadows of the giant statue, and onto a large bed swathed in rich red blankets, surrounded by Corinthian columns. Feathers ruffle and clothes loosen as the deities of love and war clash in the most intimate ways possible.
And it didn’t take a golden arrow to do it.