PAT2011 – 09 Wiglaf x Mordred by Nebulia

Pair-A-Thon 2011 Entry

Wiglaf x Mordred
by ~nebulia

Turns out if you put Bliss in a room and shut the door and lock it, she thinks she’s stuck.

Well.

Maybe she is stuck. He can’t tell if she can float through walls or not. Either way, it’s giving him some peace and quiet, and he’s reading on the couch. Driver is…doing something, he’s not sure what, and Wiglaf is getting groceries.

The door slams open, and Mordred sighs and slides down the couch, holding the book in front of his face. Well, he  was getting groceries.

Wiglaf hums as he puts things away, the fridge opening and closing and slamming cupboards in time with the song, which is, of course, perfectly on key. Hell.

And then he’s walking into the living room. “Mordred? Oh, hey.” He leans over the couch, grinning, and when Mordred glares up at him, he suddenly scowls.

” What ?”

“I cannot believe you dyed your bangs.”

“Are you really still on that? For God’s sake, my hair is currently half black and half pink. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Wiglaf flops onto the couch and eyes him. “We had a deal,” he says.

Mordred rolls his eyes. “And I’m a villain, even if you won’t let me be one. You shouldn’t make deals with me.”

“You  promised !”

Mordred looks over at him. He’s getting angry.  “No, Lackey, we had a  deal .  Never once did I promise anything. You know I don’t make promises I don’t keep.”

“You promised to hate me forever and you don’t,” Wiglaf says smugly, and Mordred snarls.

“I do too!”

“Yeah…I’m not buying it, you know that, right?”

“Well, you’re wrong. But what’s done is done, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Wiglaf leans back against the couch, putting his feet up. “I guess so. But it’s okay.”

That’s suspicious. He never gives up arguments this fast. Mordred looks past the book to glance at him. “…And why is that?”

Wiglaf’s grin returns full force, and he leans over to ruffle Mordred’s hair, who holds back a manly squeak and shoves his hand away. “You’ll still have pink hair for Valentine’s Day!”

Mordred shoots him a glare that, if he had his way, could kill.

“We should have a party,” Wiglaf says thoughtfully, not paying any attentions.

“We should  what? ”

“You don’t think so?”

“Bloody hell I don’t!” Mordred hisses. “Wha—a  party , for bloody Valentine’s Day, which is, by the way, the worst holiday in all existence—”

“Don’t say that, Master!” Bliss chirps through the wall. “I think Valentine’s Day is lovely, and I match!” She giggles.

“You. Shut up,” Mordred says, and turns back to Wiglaf. “No. We are not having a Valentine’s Day party.”

“I’ll let you dye your hair back now.” Wiglaf’s smirking that oh-I’m-really-such-a-nice-guy smirk. “I’d go out an buy dye right now, in fact.”

And it is tempting. Oh, it is so very, very tempting. Mordred has never liked hot pink, and it clashes with his scarf, and now it’s half black and half hot pink, which is almost as awful as completely hot pink, because people keep assuming he’s a crazy gay punk kid and not the youngest child of the world’s most villainous family. Punk has nothing on him.

“The party can be three hours long, and you can’t invite my family.”

“Four, and I can invite Boudica.”

“Four, and  none of my family .”

Wiglaf considers this, and nods. “All right. Deal.”

They shake on it and Wiglaf stands up and stretches. “All right. Let’s go get some dye.”

“It’s black. You can get it yourself, I have a book to read.”

Wiglaf looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“You said you would,” Mordred reminds him, opening his book again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Wiglaf shake his head suddenly and blink, and then he stands up and leaves. For the umpteenth time, Mordred thanks whoever’s listening that Wiglaf is so easily malleable. And for some reason follows orders (for the most part) really well.

He returns with the hair dye not long after. Mordred is only halfway through his book and Wiglaf leans over the couch, as usual, and dangles the box in front of him.

“Oh, thank God,” Mordred says, and grabs it. “Come on, let’s go.”

“You can’t do it yourself?” Wiglaf asks. “Driver can.”

“Driver is, despite all appearances, a girl, and knows how to do things with hair.” Wiglaf snorts, and Mordred continues. “Also, she dyes her hair every month. I’ve never done it before in my life, so I am going to assume I need help.”

Wiglaf rolls his eyes but follows him into the bathroom anyway.

Of course Wiglaf does all the work. It’s so easy to make him pull over the vanity chair and stand next to the sink and rinse out all the dye, and when Mordred finally looks up, hair dripping onto the stained towel wrapped around his shoulders, and sees all of his hair black all at the same time for the first time in  months , he can’t help but smile into the mirror.

Wiglaf mutters something in Swedish.

Mordred turns to glare at him. “What did you just say?’

Wiglaf’s eyes are huge and innocent. “I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t say anything…?”

Mordred shrugs and leans over to dry off his hair with a clean towel. “Might as well throw this towel away, Lackey,” he says into the sink, holding out the towel from his shoulders, pristine white splattered. “It’ll never come out.”

“Sure you don’t want to keep it as a momento?” Wiglaf asks, the grin in his voice clear.

“Just go throw it out.”

Wiglaf’s “Okay then…” fades away as he leaves the bathroom, and when he returns five minutes later Mordred’s combing his hair, appreciating how it actually looks like his hair.

“Hey,” he says as he steps back in, moving the vanity chair away from the sink. “Brought you this.” He holds out Mordred’s scarf.

Mordred blinks up at him, and takes it. Their fingers brush. “Thanks,” he says. He’d left it on the table in the hall so it didn’t get stained, but he hadn’t expected Wiglaf to just get it for him without prompting. He ties it around his neck.

“Did you just thank me?” Wiglaf asks, grinning wickedly, and Mordred doesn’t even deem that worthy of a response.

He walks out of the bathroom, plops down on the couch, and opens his book. His fingers tingle where he’d touched Wiglaf, which is weird.

“I’ll start making preparations for the party then!” Wiglaf hollers down the hall.

There’s a steady thumping from the wall, and then Bliss’ muffled voice. “Master? Master? Can I come out now? I’m bored. This room isn’t pink.”

Mordred sighs and sinks down into the couch, hiding his face with his book. But a stray lock of hair, black all the way down, is in his line of vision, and it’s enough to make him smile.