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Standing at the open bar of a charity fundraiser, Gwaine winks at the handsome gentlemen serving him a glass of champagne, earning him a quick smile, even if it is in customer-service politeness.
The spy wears a simple, but elegant three-piece suit, forgoing a tie to instead have the first few buttons tastefully open. His brown hair has been styled into a neater version of how it normally falls, thanks to Gwen's insistence, and his beard has been tidied especially for the occasion.
He smoothly turns to face the bustling crowds of rich snobs surrounding him, having a subtle check at his planned exit strategies as he goes.
“Is that non-alcoholic?” Gwen's voice chirps in his ear,
Taking a sip to mask the movement, he replies back "Well, we are on a mission."
“I know, but you never behave this much, Arthur would probably give an arm and a leg to see it. Frankly, I'm a little bored,”
It is Arthur’s one day off. One which Gwen and Lancelot had to pester him into taking, and Gwaine smirks a little, imagining their leaders outrage at him choosing the one day he's absent to do what he’s supposed to.
“You know me, Gwen, anything to piss Arthur off.”
Gwen gives a little disbelieving hum, Gwaine narrowing his eyes in lieu of a response.
Instead, he mingles with guests, sticking to his assigned alias and backstory and trying not to be too obvious while he checks his watch- seeing if enough time had passed for Gwaine to politely excuse himself and move onto the next socialite.
Their mission was straightforward.
The Lady Roselind was an outrageous flirt who happened to be privy to her husband’s illicit activities. Gwaine had initially volunteered for the mission, but was turned down in favour of Merlin.
The young man didn’t often do these sorts of missions, but Gwen had suggested him to Arthur as the countess allegedly favoured more wide-eyed, pliant, young men she could introduce mould into proper, upper-class socialites. Arthur had begrudgingly agreed with her, fitting in a snarky comment about Merlin already being a gullible oaf, making him perfect.
Their only job tonight was for Merlin to make first contact, leaving enough of an impression to be contacted again.
Gwaine was along as back-up; in case their intel was wrong or the delays they’d put in place for her husband fell through.
Which led Gwaine to his current position, standing guard over the ball and mingling with the other partygoers, as to not raise suspicion.
It's a shame he's so good at these types of events, Gwaine despises them.
Sure, he loves a good party, but events like these are full of the too-rich, making a public show of their supposed virtue. Gwaine doesn’t usually put much thought into events like these, unless they’re truly worth his time. Unfortunately, for Arthur, a mission like this usually doesn’t cut it.
The bloke currently talking with Gwaine is a key example of this, talking about his charity work for homeless communities in the same breath as his brag about buying his fourth house abroad. It’s all Gwaine can do not to sneer at the man, launching into a series of questions to thoroughly disarm his comfortable net of hypocrisy.
He instead scans the crowd, turning his head to mask his eye roll, before excusing himself to get a second glass of not-champagne.
The whole event is putting Gwaine in a foul mood, exhaling a sharp breath and readjusting the collar of his suit. At least he looks good.
"Sure you want non-alcoholic?" The same bartender as before asks. He has a playful smile that Gwaine would usually pounce on, but he just shakes his head with a wry smile.
He’s not got the heart for aimless flirting right now. Between the draining, out-of-touch nature of those he’s spoken to, mixed with trying to stay on task and not wonder what his mission partner may or may not be up to, he’s exhausted already.
Facing the party once more, Gwaine leans against the bar, watching the partygoers around him.
The bubbles taste flat on Gwaine's tongue.
The event venue is nice enough; it's the ballroom of an old Manor house, decorated to appear in a more contemporary style.
The far wall is lined with great, arching windows, framing a vast, clear night sky and a silhouetted Victorian garden.
Chandeliers line the ceiling, blanketing the room with a warm glow that compliments the lively chatter. Around the edges of the hall tall tables are dotted around for partygoers to stand and mingle, then the centre of the hall is left clear for guests to waltz- the unique draw of the event.
An ensemble of musicians play on one end of the hall, delicate, classical music curling through the hall.
Even the guests have rather nicely coordinated with the theme, sporting soft, muted colours and black suits.
It's the type of event Gwaine would usually have Arthur tearing his hair out over, flirting or lying or dancing with guests, leaving him or Leon or Elyan to cope on their own, mission be damned.
Arthur's one evening off was the perfect time to be the perfect spy, the lure of the Prince's outrage enough to make it easy.
So why wasn't he having fun?
It's all Gwaine can do to stop his forlorn sigh as once again he checks the exits.
"It's a party!" Gwen reminds him, picking up on his low energy
"It's a fundraiser," he grumbles, draining the tasteless glass of fizz and dropping it on the bar behind him.
"Remember that gala where you made it a goal to tell each person you spoke to more and more outrageous lies, till that old lord tried to challenge you to a duel?" Gwen asks,
While Gwaine hasn’t seen their technician today, he’s done enough of these missions to see Gwen curled up with a blanket over her shoulders at her desk, hair already in a bonnet beneath her oversized, beat-up headpiece and a large mug of coffee in a novelty cup, steaming, forgotten, at her elbow. She’ll be wearing large-framed glasses, having ditched her contacts and will be squinting at her screens, with four monitors to take care of.
And Gwaine knows that despite all that, illuminated by the blue lights of her computer, she’ll be looking like an angel. Albeit a restless one.
Gwaine hums in response,
"Or that time you made a man purple by flirting with his wife just subtly enough that he couldn't reasonably object to it?"
"Yeah?"
"And remember how much fun it was? I don't like it when you're behaving, I know you're trying to make Arthur go grey early, but you're clearly miserable and this is unbearable."
"Just watch Merlin's feed" Gwaine counters, knowing wherever the other spy is, he's having fun,
"He turned it off- doesn't like knowing I'm there when he's flirting, says it throws off his game,"
Gwaine straightens, searching the crown for the other spy, "you don't have his feed?" He hisses, looking out for the familiar mop of black hair.
"He's fine," Gwen rolls her eyes, "he spotted Lady Roselind and turned it off, said he'd get in contact if anything went awry. It makes him feel more in character or something,"
"Can't all be as good as me," Gwaine mumbles, masking his worry and falling against the bar once more.
Gwaine continues to socialise, making his rounds amongst the edges of the halls.
He can't focus entirely on what people are saying anymore though, fighting the burning urge to track down his partner and confirm everything's going smoothly.
“Any updates?” he mutters to Gwen, ignoring how she broadcasts her heavy sigh at his response,
“You know I have Arthur trying to get in touch on the other end asking me the same thing?” she complains. Gwaine can hear the impatient click of a pen from her end, spelling out her irritation,
“I’ll tell you what I told him, Merlin is fine. Aren’t you usually the one to tell Arthur that he’s perfectly capable and, in fact, very good at what he does?”
“Maybe I’ve had too many run-ins with jaded husbands,” Gwaine counters, “it’s never the most enjoyable way to end an evening,”
“And it being a honeypot mission has nothing to do with it?”
“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Gwaine replies cooly, “Merlin flirts on missions all the time, this is exactly the same,”
Gwen pointedly drops wherever she’s trying to lead the conversation, “what I’m trying to say,” she starts, tone gentle, “is that you usually entertain me on these missions, or at least yourself. It’s not going to hurt if you try and have a little fun.”
Determined to prove a point, Gwaine loosens his efforts, flirting with whoever happens to draw his eye. It’s easy, it’s entertaining and it takes his mind off of other things for the time being. He even sneaks a few sips of alcohol as he goes, softening the blows of snide one-upmanship that so often sneaks its way in.
The young lady he's currently entertaining is welcoming his advances, laughing flirtatiously and his sharp remarks about other guests and retorting with her own fierce wit.
She's gorgeous, of course, her skin is finely freckled, pale and soft, creating a nice contrast to the darker silk of her gloves and gown.
She’s shorter than him, having to look up to talk to him.
Her hand falls to rest on Gwaine's bicep, and he meets her eyes, breath catching in his throat.
A new tune flows from one side of the dancefloor, and she meets his eyes, biting her lip through a smile,
"Want to dance?" She asks him,
And for a second, Gwaine freezes, lungs turning to stone as he forces himself to breathe through the feeling.
She's beautiful, interesting and she likes him.
He should say yes.
As he opens his mouth, he hears a too-loud laugh, turning to see the source. Just a few metres away, Gwaine sees the Lady Roselind, dark hair coiffed into an elaborate style and floor length skirt, a rich, light plum that compliments her skin tone. Her lipstick only just doesn’t match, an intense tone that frames her boisterous laugh.
Merlin is at her side, the source of her laughter. The other spy faces away from Gwaine, but he’d recognise him anywhere, tall frame that had filled out handsomely when he began doing field work and soft black hair curling at his neck.
Face falling, whatever Gwaine was going to say turns to ash in his mouth.
"I'm sorry, but not right now," he lamely excuses, giving a kind smile and retreating from their flirtation.
He heads back to his primary position by the bar, the location giving him both a good view of the newcomers and their potential exit, and tries to swallow around the lump that's forced its way into his throat.
"You should have said yes, you're a great dancer," Gwen muses lightheartedly as he passes through the crowd.
Gwaine stays silent. Forces himself to go over the mission details Arthur drilled into them.
By the time he reaches the bar, he manages to smooth out his expression to something more neutral and pretend he doesn't know why.
Gwaine can practically feel the seconds tick as the evening drags on, three hours into the fundraiser now and the atmosphere has bubbled into something boisterous and a little tipsy and all-round bright.
Gwaine, himself, stands quiet and still, barely bothering to blend with the others.
His tongue lays heavy in his mouth, answers clipped and vague to those who attempt to mingle with him. Gwen has gone silent too, guilt tugging at him for causing the stifled environment.
He's politely smiling at a graceful older woman gossiping about the other partygoers, when a familiar face catches his eye, just a few metres from their location.
Excusing himself, Gwaine quickly moves away into the crowd, heading for where he'd last seen Merlin,
"Gwen," he hisses, drawing the technician's attention,
"What? What is it?" Gwen pipes up, startled,
"I'm compromised- or I'm going to be. Just saw an old friend,"
"Friend?" Gwen asks with a tired concern,
Gwaine hums an affirmative, confirming for her what she needs to know.
Before being picked up by the Round Table, Gwaine had been a rather prolific grifter and, unfortunately, was remembered by a number of rather distasteful people.
"I'm going offline," Gwaine announces, to the technician, "I'll get in contact when I'm safely out. Merlin'll be on his own,"
The spy brushes his hair behind his ear, subtly switching off his earpiece and subsequently, the camera feed hidden in his contacts and Gwen's protests go dead.
Making sure his face was kept out of his old acquaintance's line of sight, he moved through the crowd as briskly as he can naturally allow.
Eventually, he catches sight of a bright blue pocket square, chosen by his accomplice to flatteringly compliment his eyes. Merlin similarly wears a three-piece suit, jacket and trousers black but waistcoat a softer, charcoal grey. Unlike Gwaine, he sports a tie, a deeper blue that compliments, but doesn’t match his pocket square.
He's leaving the dancefloor, promising the countess a second dance as she spies old friends. As Gwaine approaches, he grasps the cuff of Merlin's suit jacket, the other spy reacting accordingly and pretending to bump into him,
“Dominic, is it? I believe we met at a couple of these things in the past?”
“That's right. Jonathan, I believe?” Gwaine answers, using the aliases they'd been assigned.
Merlin smiles at him, something joyous and warm and welcoming, filling Gwaine with a warmth he’s been absent of all night.
“It's such a beautiful evening, yet I don't believe I've seen you on the dancefloor yet,” Merlin remarks, keeping up the casual conversation. It’s no secret that Gwaine usually jumps at the chance to show off when dancing is involved, often jumping at the chance to woo many a willing partner.
Gwaine hesitates, brown eyes boring into Merlin's blue. The other man's expression falls slightly into a small frown.
The only person here I want to dance with is you,
Is what Gwaine can’t bring himself to say.
Instead, he shakes his head smiling and replies,
"I'm very particular about my partners,"
It's a lie, and they both know it.
Breaking eye contact, he ignores the concern in Merlin's eyes as he searches for answers in Gwaine that he hopes don't show.
"It's funny," Gwaine starts again, clearing his throat, "running into you after all these years, and I see an old acquaintance of ours here as well,"
"Oh?" Merlin prompts, understanding flashing over his features,
Gwaine hums an affirmative, "from the second time we met, I believe. Though I don't think he'd recognise you without me."
Merlin and Gwaine's second encounter had been an utter disaster, involving gambling, treacherous wives and Merlin helping Gwaine after getting shot.
The taller man had stayed up through the night, ensuring he didn't get an infection in a dusty old hotel room, despite the chastising he received from Arthur for ditching his mission.
At the memory, Gwaine's fingers dance over the scar. Something about a near stranger caring so fiercely about whether he lived or died- and trying to keep him laughing through it all. It's probably the moment his life began to change…
The man in question luckily wasn't directly involved, but if he got a good look at Gwaine's face, the rogue would undoubtedly be recognised.
Merlin, too, had drifted off into silence, before catching Gwaine's eye again, clasping his hand on the other man's elbow and beginning to lead them to one of the exits,
"Such a shame you have to leave early," Merlin improvises, "I would've loved to catch up and reminisce."
The pair walk together, Gwaine keeping his face hidden while Merlin keeps a lookout.
"How are things on your end?" Gwaine asks, lowly as they weave through the crowd.
"Going well, but not well enough," Merlin responds, worrying his thumb with his teeth, "she likes me, but I don't think I've made enough of an impression on her,"
"I'm sure you'll come up with something, you've always been very quick on your feet,"
Merlin flashes him a smile
It drops just as fast Merlin suddenly curses under his breath, whispering, "I think he saw me. He's headed this way,”
They’ve successfully crossed the ballroom at this point however, reaching the hallway that leads through to bathrooms and kitchens where waiters bring deliveries of hors d'oeuvres to soak up the free-flowing alcohol.
It’ll give them the opportunity to evade the approaching threat, the brief cover giving them the opportunity for Gwaine to slip quietly away from the event.
Before they can even cross the threshold of the door, Merlin spins the two of them round the corner, Gwaine finding himself pushed against the wall of the sparsely populated room.
Before he can protest, he finds himself stunned into silence when he notices how close Merlin's face is to his own.
Illuminated by a soft glow from behind, he looks like an angel. Gwaine is drawn to the soft highlights against his cheekbones, eyes easily led from there to the contrast of dark eyelashes against blue, blue eyes.
The hallway is lined with heavy, decorative curtains, shielding Gwaine's face from any onlookers and similarly narrowing his world to just the man in front of him.
He lets out a breath, the chatter of the ballroom, just one wall away, fades easily into the background.
The world around Gwaine moves like he's underwater, watching, awestruck, as Merlin glances over his shoulder, then whispers something, before leaning closer to Gwaine.
Trust me, yeah?
The words finally reach his mind, only to be banished as Merlin's soft, full lips meet his own.
Gwaine wonders if perhaps he's been caught in a dream, but the tickle of Merlin's hair brushing his face and the subtle scent of cedarwood and something lightly floral from the other man's cologne verifies it as real, real, real.
The rogue leans into it, drawing the other man in and lightly cupping his jaw as he goes in to kiss him again.
His heart is pounding in his ears as Merlin draws back, brushing his hand against Gwaine's neck in a touch that feels electric, before giving him a bright, all too innocent smile and crowding him against the wall.
The corresponding kiss is far from innocent, the other spy introducing teeth and tongue into the mix in a way that makes Gwaine feel rather lightheaded as Merlin's teeth scrape against his bottom lip.
The hand that brushed past his neck has found its way into Gwaine's hair, pulling gently as Merlin leads him closer. Gwaine lets him, relaxing into his touch and feeling, rather than hearing, the pleased little purr Merlin gives at his obedience.
Clenching his spare hand, Gwaine hesitantly slips it past Merlin's jacket and waistcoat to rest it against his waist.
The touch practically burns as Gwaine feels the thin fabric of the shirt, the only layer between their skin.
Gwaine lets him press ever closer, unsure of when his eyes had fluttered closed, but relishing the press of Merlin's weight as his tongue skillfully dips into Gwaine's mouth.
Merlin's other arm, previously bracing the wall, moves to Gwaine's hip, pinning him against the wall. The brunette feeling goosebumps rise at the contact, chasing Merlin’s lips as he leans back, catching his breath.
In this moment, Gwaine's existence seems to have narrowed to this pinpoint in time, not remembering, or caring about anything other than what's happening in this moment.
His breath stutters as Merlin leans back in, this time kissing down the rough edge of his jaw and across the side of his neck, the rogue leaving a breathy gasp as the other nips a spot just behind his ear.
A plea bubbles up from Gwaine’s chest, prevented only by a sudden gasp-
"-Jonathan, you wicked boy,"
Moment interrupted, the pair quickly pull apart. Gwaine leaning dazedly against the wall as Merlin turns to face their Countess. She’s coming from the direction of the bathrooms, clutch tucked under her arm,
"Five minutes on your own and you find some handsome young man to impress," Roselind chastises, dark eyebrow arched, "I like it,"
Merlin smooths back into his role easily, giving Roselind a wide, sheepish grin, the countess barking a loud, bemused laugh in response,
"Well I mustn't keep you," she winks, moving back to the ballrooms,
"-and Jonathan," she pauses mid-step, calling over her shoulder, "do let me know if your gentleman friend is willing to share,"
Gwaine has been useless the entire exchange, eyebrows creased in confusion as he catches his breath, trying to keep track of the conversation.
Merlin turns back to him with a quirked eyebrow, "I think I actually quite like her?"
Gwaine clears his throat, still all-too-aware of their proximity.
Merlin, the smug bastard, chuckles and takes a step back,
"Sorry about that, I figured it would stop you getting found out. Can’t see your face if we’re two partygoers looking for a more private location,” he explains, “I got a bit carried away, but I'm sure you know you're pretty," he tells Gwaine with a sheepish smile.
Gwaine watches the other man in disbelief, mouth hanging slightly open as he tries to stop his brain from short-circuiting at Merlin’s comments.
"It worked, too!" Merlin says, clapping him on the bicep with a grin.
Gwaine's hand, now feeling numb in the absence of Merlin's warmth, rises to where Merlin's hand had just been cupping his face.
Heat rises off of his cheek, informing Gwaine he's likely gone rather pink.
Oblivious to Gwaine's reaction, Merlin continues with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "Right, you have a pretty smooth exit now, and I think we made a good impression on the countess, don't you?"
With those final words, he leaves, back into the ballroom, stealing Gwaine's breath one final time.
The older man leans his head against the wall, with a sigh, staring at the cream of the wallpaper opposite him, pondering how on Earth he’ll be able to compose himself enough to update Gwen on the mission after his escape.
God forbid whatever he’ll need to put on the mission report.