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It was scary, really. The sickness of love’s sweet infection that wove its way into Gwaine’s heart. His stomach tumbling, his cheeks blossoming with reds, his pulse threatening to give out every time that smile was pointed at him.
Scary, but not nearly terrible enough for him to wish it to stop. No, if anything he had become somewhat of an addict for the feeling. Needing it more than he needed life. The sweaty palms, the tongue twisting glory, the beauty of soft illness on every painful breath.
So when that golden sunlight hit that smiling face out on the training field in just the right way, while they were joking about nothing at all instead of actually spending time on their duties, framing all the joy, the love, the excitement on such a beautiful face in the light of a warm afternoon, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He needed it, to taste it, to hold it for himself, to feel the malady entirely and fully, if only for a second, if only for a heartbreaking beat, just to be able to feel it absolutely and not catch a glimpse in rays of gilded brilliance.
So he pulled him into his rooms, not too long after. Excited and fearful all the same. Very few objections coming from plump, melt worthy lips like he was expecting. Climbing his temperature to new heights as that mouth fell right into place with barely an encouragement in the right direction, touching Gwaine’s skin. His stomach erupting with the fiercest of butterflies as the person responsible for his ailment took absolute control and compelled Gwaine into the bed with nothing but a breathy ‘please’. Suffocating as his throat closed with the feeling of a body pressing into him, demanding for sweet moans to fill the air with every tactic he had. Sweat pooling as hands roamed the length of him, cheeks and chin, to neck and stomach, brushing over muscles and tendons, before crawling further down, claiming more, more, more all for himself, all for him. Head completely foggy with just the thought of him doing this sweet dance. Nose stuffed with the scent of herbs and soap and something so completely Merlin, intertwined entirely with the heavy smell of sex, for which he hoped would never leave his lungs.
And so he was rightfully, completely, contaminated by the time both of them had finished, and they had fallen into each other’s arms. Held as much as he was holding. Warmer than the sun rays rinsed over heated skin, than the fever of lust and love and longing, even as the moon climbed higher in the sky.
Merlin must have been rather exhausted, just how quickly his pulse had evened, his eyes had closed, his body had softened with sleep. And Gwaine could admit he was very close to the precipice of slumber, too.
But still he held onto his consciousness with all his might, fingers turning white with the strength he was forcing into them, nails clawing at anything at all to keep his eyes open. Reliving this moment as many times as he could, the tingle of lips just kissed, the softness of breath over collarbone, the stretch of his heart expanding ever more, with the threat of empty sheets awaiting him in the morning.
He knew when he had taken this step, it would be his damnation as much as it was his divination. The idea of how temporary this was making him more ill than the love could ever hope too. All of the emptiness that awaited him in the light of dawn, when all he had to hold onto was the lingering memory of a brush of his mouth, the draw of his hand, the attention, for once, completely spotlighted on just him and no one else.
It was a type of loneliness he was quite used to, an old friend really, left in times of taverns every night and skipping town every morning. Now crawling over him once again as he ran gentle fingers through raven hair, knowing it wasn’t his to keep forever like he so very much craved.
He supposed he was mighty greedy for this not being enough. For not shouldering the pain, the misery, the ailment all the more because he knew Merlin didn’t have to. For keeping his disorder contained to just this night. But it was something that spread in him worse than a disease. Pushing all the thoughts of altruistic quietness and empty beds and muscles aching as they strain to keep him back, right out of reach.
And well, he very much hated that while Merlin was sleeping nearly on top of him, he was planning how to keep him. As if he were the bird he was named for, being caged by a cruel master. Twisting his stomach in suffering and not lewdness as it had just minutes before. Washing out the taste of Merlin with something entirely sour.
A horrible person worthy of such illness reaching into his lungs as the passion, the overwhelming wants, the absolute adoration, tried to eat him alive. Worthy to have nothing, be nothing but a husk when the morning dew started littering the ground, and he would find all the wishes had been used up.
So yes, it was rather scary to be this in love. Truly terrifying, heart thumping, sickly kind of fear. Inspiring such hideous thoughts, such offensive desires, such ugly longing...
But, still not nearly as scary as waking up to a crinkled nose and an adorable smile painted with the pinks hues of sunrise. Not nearly as nerve wracking as realizing this wasn’t even nearly a one time thing. Not nearly as worrying as rousing to find himself in a relationship.
Not nearly as sickening as the idea that his little bird had chosen his companion, and was gladly entering the cosy cage he was offering, as long as Gwaine was there with him. That it might honestly be freedom for both of them if they just continued to hold each other.
But well, that type of sickness was better than any health could wish to be.