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It must have been well past midnight when the poker game finally came to a close, and Marwood was extremely ready to take his comfortable (and, most importantly, safe) place in Withnail's room upstairs. Despite Monty's genial nature throughout the evening, there was no doubt in Marwood's mind that something was going to happen tonight, for better or worse. There was something in the way Monty kept meeting his eye, the assuredness of the way he placed down his chips, the way he'd muttered clandestinely with Withnail over his hand. Whatever it was kept stirring up the panic deep down in Marwood's stomach, causing him to shudder at every movement of the man across the table from him.
Sighing, Monty shot him a look with a glimmer of a smile, waving his hand over in the general direction of Withnail.
"I think we'd better get him to bed."
"Oh—no, no, he's down here." Marwood grinned, hoping the expression looked even the tiniest bit calm, although he much doubted it. "You're in my room, I'm in his room—he's down here."
Monty frowned, shooting a fairly concerned look at his nephew. "I wouldn't dream of depriving the poor fellow of his bed. Particularly in that condition."
Marwood looked over to his flatmate, and… well, it was surprising how little he'd noticed Withnail's drunkenness, considering the sheer amount of sherry he'd been pouring down his gullet. Perhaps Marwood had been a mite distracted by his twinges of anxiety throughout the evening—still, Withnail looked completely sloshed, barely conscious, and all at once Marwood kicked himself for letting him get this bad.
There was no way that he, under any reasonable circumstance, could let Withnail rest down here unattended—what if he rolled over and choked on his own vomit? Any other time Withnail had got this drunk, they'd most slept near each other in the living room at home, precisely to stop such a thing from happening.
But then again: these weren't exactly reasonable circumstances, were they? Marwood might as well have been fighting for his life here, as far as he was aware. Who knew how the night would turn out if he didn't have a lock on his door?
"It's what he wants!"
"No I don't." Withnail, it turned out, wasn't completely out of it after all. He twisted round to face Marwood with a petulant scowl, and demanded "I want to get to bed!"
Well. So much for making this a simple manoeuvre, with the bastard bungling it again for him. Marwood shot another grin at Monty, this one even more fraught than the last, as he slipped his arms under Withnail's, in order to drag him to the sofa.
"I can assure you, he doesn't know what he's talking about."
"…S'not true," Withnail muttered, hanging quite uncooperatively in Marwood's arms.
Monty's brow furrowed, and Marwood couldn't help an anxious giggle from clambering up his throat.
"He'd been quite adamant to me that he wanted to sleep down here, just only a few hours ago!" Marwood found himself floundering under that gaze, compelled to keep going but not entirely sure where the destination was. He had a suspicion that he'd come to regret all this rambling sooner than he'd like.
"I see no reason why such an arrangement would go ahead in these present conditions, dear boy." Monty gestured at Withnail, encompassing his drooping form and sozzled state in one swoop of his arm. "His conviction might have stood when he was sober, but—"
"I'm afraid I made him a promise, Monty."
It was a gamble, far more disastrous than the game they had just finished. A script was forming in Marwood's head—he only hoped that Monty would pick up on it and dismiss the notion, before he ended up doing something he'd regret.
"Promise? What promise?" Withnail twisted around, trying to break free of Marwood's grip. "I demand to be taken upstairs!"
"I would, With'," Marwood soothed, trying to make his voice seem as truthful as possible. "I'd just rather not break your confidence whilst doing so." He shot Monty a furtive look, hoping he'd all at once take the hint.
It didn't seem to be working—or at least if Monty was understanding what he meant, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it. Marwood, not for the first time that night, envied the man's impeccable poker face. If only he'd continued his career on the stage!
Marwood let out a small sigh, and allowed regret to settle in his voice as he continued, "Considering the parties currently present here—"
"Just spit it out, why don't you?" Withnail tried to break free of his arms again, almost launching himself at the door. "I can't stand this!"
"Oh. Oh." Marwood feigned shock for a second, then pretended to reign it in, hoping the glee at his plan working out wasn't showing in his expression. He hesitated for a second, before continuing: "Are you sure?"
"Whatever stops you from speaking as insufferably as this, I'll accept!" Withnail slid back into his seat, his weight proving too heavy for Marwood to carry any longer.
"Very well." Resting his hand on Withnail's shoulder as he crouched down beside him, Marwood turned back to Monty, ready to open his mouth and let the sweet, romantic lies pour forth.
Monty, it seemed, had finally got a grasp of the situation—or, at least, the one Marwood was busy falsifying. His eyes flicked back and forth, between Withnail and Marwood, a realisation dawning as he took them in. The second before Marwood began speaking, he gasped, and shot up from his seat.
"But of course!" He rounded the table, sliding past the concerning collection of glasses on Withnail's side. "I'm truly astounded I didn't notice it before."
"I'm surprised you didn't either, Monty," Marwood smiled sweetly. "We both thought it was pretty obvious."
And with that, Marwood turned to his flatmate, grabbed him by both sides of his face, and covered his confused grimace with his own lips.
In all fairness, the kiss wasn't required at this point. Monty already believed his story—but then again, what harm could come of a little extra evidence?
Quite more than he was expecting, it seemed. Although Withnail was edging over onto the wrong side of being wasted, some mechanism within him seemed to react compulsively to the feeling of lips over his. Withnail's body turned, arms shooting out to encircle Marwood. He closed his eyes as he did so, and broke away for a second to capture Marwood's mouth again in a much firmer kiss.
This was unexpected to Marwood, to say the least, and the movements made his heart clatter into his stomach and back into his ribcage with all the force of a car engine restarting. All at once he could feel his fingers trembling on the sides of Withnail's face, as if stimulated by a slight electric current, and he slid his hands further back to clasp Withnail by the nape of his neck to try and get rid of the staticky feeling. It only intensified, though, and mixed in with the slight wooziness that was clouding his mind. It had been a while since he'd kissed a woman, that much was true, but he had no recollection of it feeling quite like this. Perhaps Withnail's drunkenness was rubbing off on him, the copious amounts of sherry being exchanged through the touch of their lips?
No, surely it didn't work like that. Actually, it definitely didn't work like that. Which meant the simultaneous peacefulness and the nigh-unbearable jolting of his heart were being caused by something else—
After what must have been only a few seconds, Marwood's lips were released from Withnail's, and immediately his eyes snapped back over to face Monty. The man's eyes were wide, not out of shock or surprise anymore, but out of a sincere sympathy. Still, he was evidently caught off-guard by the sudden show of affection, and he coughed into his hand before speaking.
"Well," he croaked, before coughing again to clear his throat more. He continued. "I can see you're quite dedicated to each other."
Marwood snuck a glance at Withnail, only to see a quite unbearable look of smugness on his face. Immediately Marwood's blood froze ice-cold. What in the hell did Withnail have to be smug about? He'd just been ambushed by a kiss from his flatmate, his male flatmate, for Chrissake!
Shooting him a glare, he turned back to Monty, but not before reverting back to a smile.
"Yes. We are, I admit, quite smitten." He beamed, to what he was sure was a near-sickening degree. "It's been, what, almost six years now, I'm sure? Since we realised. We'd already been living together a good few months by then."
The look on Monty's face took on a decidedly sombre tone.
"The thing is, Monty… we knew you'd understand our situation—of course! But Withnail, the poor fellow, he still wasn't so sure about telling you quite yet—we've been having troubles, see, and decided to take a break from the city to sort things out between us." He gave a weaker smile as he said this, and some traitorous part of his own chest even twinged, like his body itself was getting fooled by his lies. " 'Wanted to see how the holiday would go, before finally telling you. Truth be told, we thought you'd confront us when you caught us in that bed together!"
He chuckled again, and Monty's expression cleared up entirely, replaced with a round, familiar joviality that made the last traces of anxiety face from Marwood's chest. He'd bought the lie hook, line, and sinker—disturbingly easily, some part of Marwood's mind whispered, but he brushed that off—and hopefully that meant Marwood's night was free from any more hints of danger. Feeling pleasantly accomplished, he rested his head on Withnail's shoulder as he waited for Monty to start speaking.
"Well, it would probably be in everyone's best interest if I left you two to the rest of your holiday, wouldn't it?" Monty beamed, no trace of sorrow left on his face. "I wouldn't want to, ah, intrude, at least more than I already have done."
"Feel free to stay the night, Monty—it's too dark for you to set off now, and perhaps you'd like breakfast before setting off?"
"Of course! Of course, dear boy. I'll not be turning down a comfortable bed any time soon! Or at least—I'm assuming you two will be sharing? If you are, I'll take the smaller room once I'm finished down here."
Oh—Marwood hadn't thought that bit through. Of course, after all that Monty would expect them to share! It wasn't so bad as the prospect of being cornered by Monty, but the thought of sharing a room with Withnail for another night, under the pretence of being lovers… Well, it made the staticky feeling in his fingers come back full force, and once again his heartbeat pressed uncomfortably against his skin.
"Come on luvvie," he whispered, dragging Withnail back off the chair and over to the door, "let's get you to bed, then." Meeting Monty's eye with a wan smile, he pulled Withnail round the frame and to the base of the stairs. "A good night's sleep will do us both some good."