Summerpornathon Bonus Challenge Six
Title: Be My Baby?
Rating: G
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Wordcount: ~700
Challenge: Bonus Six: Kareoke
Summary: Modern!AU. If there is one thing Arthur knows about Merlin it's that he 'doesn't do kareoke'.
If there is one thing Arthur knows about Merlin (and actually he knows a lot more than one thing about Merlin - he knows that all his socks have holes in the toes and that his laptop is fondly named Earnest and that he likes to sleep with a hot water bottle at the foot of his bed in winter because his feet get cold, and this is starting to be a tangent), it's that he 'doesn't do kareoke'.
The inverted commas, of course, signify that Merlin most certainly does do kareoke, but that he will always deny it right up until the moment he drags his drunken arse up onto the stage and staggers his way through don't stop me now. He does it at least once a month.
As such, Arthur really isn't paying that much attention one Saturday as Merlin staggers his way over to the kareoke machine, eyes bright and excited. He continues to not pay much attention until Gwaine nudges him, gesturing at the stage, and Arthur twists round in his chair to find Merlin looking right at him, waving a little.
“Hi, Arthur,” he says, slurring a little. Arthur blinks. “I have. A song.”
He's so awkward and sheepish looking that Arthur can't help but smile, thinking this is just Merlin's usual drunken antics, but then, after a squeal of feedback, a bouncy melody starts up, and Merlin begins to sing, looking at Arthur the whole time.
It takes him until the first chorus to realise what Merlin is doing. Be My Baby.. He's singing, Be My Baby. To Arthur.
Arthur gapes, then slowly turns to Gwaine, and says, “What's he doing?”
“I'm not sure,” says Gwaine, “but I think he's asking you out.” He winked cheerily. Arthur sank down in his seat, squirming. People were starting to look at him.
It wouldn't be so bad were Merlin not spectacularly rubbish. He was getting maybe half the notes, and he kept forgetting the words, stumbling about on the stage like a drunken idiot. Like a drunken idiot on roller blades. It's ridiculous and awkward and downright cringeworthy, but Merlin's eyes are still as bright as ever, his gaze piercing, and Arthur can't help but laugh. Merlin is asking him out. He's asking him out in the most embarrassingly public way possible, but still - Arthur is going to say yes. He should be at least tempted to turn him down for being so rubbish about it, but the thought barely even crosses his mind.
Of course, Merlin is maybe two thirds of the way through his song when he gets his feet tangled in the wires on the stage and tumbles off the edge with a yelp and a thud and a clatter of falling microphone. The music trails to a sad finish, and Arthur leaps to his feet, almost tripping over his chair in his haste to get there, throat suddenly tight with anxiety.
There's already a little crowd forming around Merlin's fallen body, but it parts easily for Arthur as he pushes past and falls to his knees. Merlin isn't moving. He hasn't moved yet. Oh god, what if -
“Ow,” says Merlin, pushing himself up on his elbows and rubbbing his head. He looks at Arthur. “Um.”
Arthur glares down at him. “Well, I hope that knocked some sense into you,” he says. “What the hell was that?”
“It was supposed to be romantic,” says Merlin. “I. Er. Did you like it?”
“You can't sing,” says Arthur. “And you're ridiculously clumsy, and you're terrible at romance.” Merlin's hopeful expression fades. “But - yes. Yes, I can see how that would have been romantic had you been less rubbish.”
“Sorry for being rubbish,” said Merlin. He suddenly brightens. “So will you be my baby?”
Arthur rolls his eyes dramatically. “You're ridiculous,” he says, but he kisses Merlin anyway, completely forgetting the little crowd of worried onlookers until there's a happy coo around them. He draws back slowly - Merlin's lips are dry and his mouth tastes of cheap beer, so all in all that was a bit rubbish too - and glares at them until they disperse. “I think you should probably go home,” he says, helping Melrin disentangle himself from the microphone.”
“Yeah, probably,” says Merlin, with a little hiccup. “Want to go to the chippie on the way back?”
“Sounds like fun,” says Arthur.
Rating: G
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Wordcount: ~700
Challenge: Bonus Six: Kareoke
Summary: Modern!AU. If there is one thing Arthur knows about Merlin it's that he 'doesn't do kareoke'.
If there is one thing Arthur knows about Merlin (and actually he knows a lot more than one thing about Merlin - he knows that all his socks have holes in the toes and that his laptop is fondly named Earnest and that he likes to sleep with a hot water bottle at the foot of his bed in winter because his feet get cold, and this is starting to be a tangent), it's that he 'doesn't do kareoke'.
The inverted commas, of course, signify that Merlin most certainly does do kareoke, but that he will always deny it right up until the moment he drags his drunken arse up onto the stage and staggers his way through don't stop me now. He does it at least once a month.
As such, Arthur really isn't paying that much attention one Saturday as Merlin staggers his way over to the kareoke machine, eyes bright and excited. He continues to not pay much attention until Gwaine nudges him, gesturing at the stage, and Arthur twists round in his chair to find Merlin looking right at him, waving a little.
“Hi, Arthur,” he says, slurring a little. Arthur blinks. “I have. A song.”
He's so awkward and sheepish looking that Arthur can't help but smile, thinking this is just Merlin's usual drunken antics, but then, after a squeal of feedback, a bouncy melody starts up, and Merlin begins to sing, looking at Arthur the whole time.
It takes him until the first chorus to realise what Merlin is doing. Be My Baby.. He's singing, Be My Baby. To Arthur.
Arthur gapes, then slowly turns to Gwaine, and says, “What's he doing?”
“I'm not sure,” says Gwaine, “but I think he's asking you out.” He winked cheerily. Arthur sank down in his seat, squirming. People were starting to look at him.
It wouldn't be so bad were Merlin not spectacularly rubbish. He was getting maybe half the notes, and he kept forgetting the words, stumbling about on the stage like a drunken idiot. Like a drunken idiot on roller blades. It's ridiculous and awkward and downright cringeworthy, but Merlin's eyes are still as bright as ever, his gaze piercing, and Arthur can't help but laugh. Merlin is asking him out. He's asking him out in the most embarrassingly public way possible, but still - Arthur is going to say yes. He should be at least tempted to turn him down for being so rubbish about it, but the thought barely even crosses his mind.
Of course, Merlin is maybe two thirds of the way through his song when he gets his feet tangled in the wires on the stage and tumbles off the edge with a yelp and a thud and a clatter of falling microphone. The music trails to a sad finish, and Arthur leaps to his feet, almost tripping over his chair in his haste to get there, throat suddenly tight with anxiety.
There's already a little crowd forming around Merlin's fallen body, but it parts easily for Arthur as he pushes past and falls to his knees. Merlin isn't moving. He hasn't moved yet. Oh god, what if -
“Ow,” says Merlin, pushing himself up on his elbows and rubbbing his head. He looks at Arthur. “Um.”
Arthur glares down at him. “Well, I hope that knocked some sense into you,” he says. “What the hell was that?”
“It was supposed to be romantic,” says Merlin. “I. Er. Did you like it?”
“You can't sing,” says Arthur. “And you're ridiculously clumsy, and you're terrible at romance.” Merlin's hopeful expression fades. “But - yes. Yes, I can see how that would have been romantic had you been less rubbish.”
“Sorry for being rubbish,” said Merlin. He suddenly brightens. “So will you be my baby?”
Arthur rolls his eyes dramatically. “You're ridiculous,” he says, but he kisses Merlin anyway, completely forgetting the little crowd of worried onlookers until there's a happy coo around them. He draws back slowly - Merlin's lips are dry and his mouth tastes of cheap beer, so all in all that was a bit rubbish too - and glares at them until they disperse. “I think you should probably go home,” he says, helping Melrin disentangle himself from the microphone.”
“Yeah, probably,” says Merlin, with a little hiccup. “Want to go to the chippie on the way back?”
“Sounds like fun,” says Arthur.