The Way We Love
The Way We Love
Arthur/Merlin, modern!au (pwp), R, 2071 words
Summary: For hc_bingo, prompt: hiding an injury/illness. Merlin gets hurt, but makes it out to be no big deal so Arthur won't worry. Then comes the pubs.
A/N: Unbetaed, not britpicked. There was hurt, there was comfort, but whether it was hurt-comfort XD uh... lol I da naaaaa!
Arthur worries.
Of course, Arthur doesn’t show it outwardly, but he worries, like a worrying thing. Merlin, you see, knows all about how Arthur worries.
Arthur does hide it well.
Merlin, though, however rare it is, doesn’t like a worried Arthur - thinks it novel, but entirely unhelpful - so when he pulls a muscle in his right calf (during the footie game he was forced into-by Arthur), he keeps it to himself. Nothing is worse than a worried Arthur but for a worried Arthur with a dash of guilt. Merlin will be having none of that.
They crowd around him when he falls in agony, Gwaine and Lance prodding his leg all over, Arthur standing stone-faced, and it won’t stop hurting, but he can still stand and walk relatively fine, so he just laughs it off and takes a fiver to ice it a little and give his calf a rub down.
No big deal. It’ll get better on its own, he thinks. Unfortunately, Merlin ends up sitting out the rest of the game since he isn’t much help anyway and Arthur shoots a glance at him every ten seconds like he’s going to fall apart at any given moment, but Merlin smiles and the concern slowly gives way to showing off.
And then Gwaine suggests a pub crawl after-party and Merlin’s stomach sinks.
He smiles through the ride to the first pub and through every pub after, nursing a pint here, a fruity cocktail there. No one notices his slight limp for the mere fact that he hides it well, as well as Arthur hides his emotionally stunted manpain-sitting and chatting with Lance and Elyan who’ve volunteered as designated drivers while watching Arthur and company chug their weight in beer, trailing behind the pack of boys walking to and from cars and buildings, pacing himself with short, tipsy strides, and occasionally hopping on Percy’s back in disguised jest.
Arthur gets tetchy about Merlin hopping on other men though - even when it’s Percy whom Arthur loves like a loving thing, but not like he loves Merlin - so when he catches them at it, they respectfully release each other until the trek to the next place of alcohol-drenched debauchery.
It’s 2am when they’ve all had their fun (and the pubs were obligated to kick their drunk arses out) and it’s nearly an hour until Arthur and Merlin are the last to get dropped off by Elyan.
“C’mon then, let’s get his royal drunkenness inside,” Elyan says, flinging Arthur’s limp arm around his shoulders while Merlin attempts to do the same with that last pint he had swishing in his stomach. Not enough food everyone’s drunk drunk drunk, he thinks.
Pain flares like wheels of fire churning along Merlin’s calf, but he holds on; it’s just a little bit longer. Then he can take a shower and rest and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to do just that-dump Arthur right there, on the ground in the freezing dead of night and just go. God, that sounds absolutely terrific, but Elyan is already helping and he can’t waste that sort of upright offer of etiquette.
“Thanks, El,” he says as they toss Arthur unceremoniously on the couch. “I’ll take over from here.”
“I’m sure you’ll take good care of him,” he replies with a bit of cheek and laughs as Merlin nearly shoves him out of the apartment.
Merlin heaves a sigh, locking the door, and stares at the stupendously drunk body lain drooling all over the cushions.
“Time for that shower then,” he says to the room, and leaves Arthur where he is.
He lets himself limp now, a constant throb of sharp twinges shooting up and down his leg, makes quick work of gathering a change of clothes.
The water is a blessing, but Merlin can’t stand any longer and sits under the hot spray, massaging his calf in slow and firm strokes. It’s sobering. The swelling’s gone up and right as it crosses his mind that he should ice it again before he sleeps, Arthur barges in and throws the shower curtain aside.
“Arthur! What are you d-”
“Your leg,” Arthur mumbles, eyes wide with sobered clarity and, apropos to nothing, he starts stripping down to join Merlin in the tub, capacity of one.
“There’s no room,” Merlin whines, struggling to stand up. “Can’t you wait a few minutes for me to finish-”
But Arthur hugs his waist and pulls him up, licking from ear to shoulder and shoulder to ear, stopping only to nip here and there in between. Blond hair ruffles against his nose, still reeking of the gimlet Gwaine spilled in it three pubs ago.
Merlin scrunches his nose. “Ugh, basil. You really need to wash your hair,” but Arthur deems himself too busy, kissing his way lower and squeezing Merlin’s right thigh as he lifts the leg over his shoulder. Arthur kisses his balls, sucks on them, while one hand wraps around his cock and tugs just the right amount to make Merlin gasp.
“Arthur...” he breathes, fingers twisting through wet hair sticking out at every angle.
He lays a kiss at the crown of Merlin’s cock. “Stop pretending,” he says, and takes the cock whole before Merlin can even process what he’s just said, let alone formulate a proper response.
Instead, he whimpers, pressing his hands behind Arthur’s head and neck and praying for quick release because his cock, and his leg, and his entire body burn with pleasure and pain and it’s dizzying. He writhes at the blend of sensations, the hot wet of Arthur’s mouth sucking him so deeply and so thoroughly, fingers caressing his arsehole and thigh. His brain is in whirls and his eyes are squeezed shut. He needs to focus on everything else; the cool tiles at his back, the dulling throb of his injured calf and the ache of standing too long in the other, the coil tightening in his stomach, hungry, and his heart beating out his chest.
Stop pretending. Arthur knew. Arthur had known and let him be.
“Ahh...” he groans. “Arthur!” Merlin is all sharp intakes of breath and shaky exhales as he comes, Arthur swallowing everything, body just desperately trying not to crumple to the floor.
“Merlin,” is all Arthur says, trailing his lips back up to Merlin’s clavicle as he gets upright. He grabs the bar of soap from the ledge and starts lathering until they’re both covered in suds. Merlin reaches around him to fondle along his arsecrack and Arthur’s erection presses against Merlin’s pelvis and fuck it all, Merlin wants to suck him back, soapy cock be damned, and give back to Arthur as good as he took; but his leg won’t let him.
Arthur takes the shower nozzle and rinses them both off with quick sweeps of water turned cold; most welcome because his calf now burns tenfold and if he stands a moment longer, he’s going to need a doctor and that won’t do at all. Arthur would throw a fit if he found out and say that it was his fault for making Merlin play, and god forbid Merlin say that it was his choice in the end and that Arthur isn’t his mum and-
“Merlin, you idiot, your leg is swollen to the size of a horse! Why are you still standing?” Arthur chides.
“A Shetland pony, not a horse. There’s no need to exaggerate.”
“Dry off and go lay down,” Arthur says, no patience for games, turning off the faucet and grabbing Merlin’s towel for him.
He takes the towel and wraps it around himself. “How long have you-Ah! Arthur, put me down! What the devil do you think you’re doing? You’re going to drop me, you big prat!”
“No, I won’t, shut your gob, you girl,” Arthur says, stumbling every few steps. It doesn’t inspire in Merlin much confidence, but Arthur is strong and stubborn, so he relaxes just enough to keep from slipping off Arthur’s shoulder until he’s thrown onto his bed, still wet and still very much naked.
“Dry off,” he says again, and leaves the room.
He does what he’s told, as fast as he’s able because he realizes Arthur isn’t smiling, hasn’t been, and neither has he been taken care of. Merlin thinks this is cause for fretting.
Arthur comes back, a pack of frozen peas in one hand and Merlin’s pyjamas in the other, as Merlin finishes toweling off his hair.
“Leg,” he says, patting at Merlin’s leg to swing it over his lap.
“You’re not dressed,” Merlin says, but complies anyway.
“Neither are you; let’s ice this first,” Arthur says, wrapping Merlin’s t-shirt around the peas.
“Don’t I also need to keep it elevated?”
“While I make sweet, sweet love to you?” Arthur smirks, tucking the makeshift ice pack under Merlin’s calf, and it’s amazing how much he relaxes at the sight.
Merlin raises his brow and smiles. “Is that a joke or a threat or what? I honestly can’t tell,” and that’s when a finger niggles its way to his hole, almost petting the rim of it. He stifles a moan. “Ngh-mm-You can’t-It’s not-ahh-”
“It wasn’t anything, actually.” Arthur takes his finger away, and moves to massage along the sides of his calf. “But I like that you’re open to my suggestions. You’re such a slag.”
“Prat and a tease.”
“Remind me again why I put up with you.”
Merlin leans back on his elbows. “Remind you why you put up with me,” he says, unbelieving and unamused. Okay, he’s a little amused.
“Yes, all you ever do is go around all beautiful and shit and then, you clumsy fool, you get yourself hurt and don’t fucking tell anyone,” Arthur says quite meanly, “I don’t know why you bothered pretending you were fine at all, Merlin. Everyone would’ve understood the need for us to go home early. What if you needed the hospital? What if you needed a brace? Why were you walking around on a bum leg? What were you thinking!”
Arthur’s forehead is creased and his eyes are shining in that genuine Arthur way and Merlin sighs. He leans in close, wrapping a hand around Arthur’s nape, and kisses his ear.
“Arthur, calm yourself. I am fine,” Merlin says, close to a whisper. “I’m not dying. It will heal.”
Arthur huffs. Like a child. “You still should’ve told me.”
“You knew anyway.” Merlin smiles, rolling onto his stomach and laying his head on a pillow, and enjoys as Arthur tosses the pack aside and kneads his calf in slow lines.
“Well...”
Merlin looks back at him. “Shifty.”
“Well...” he starts again and presses his fingers softly along the coarse hairs of Merlin’s leg. “I may not have figured it out until I saw you in the shower.”
“Wait,” says Merlin after a beat, “Then why did you-Oh. You horny bastard.”
“May I remind you I was drunk. The sound of the shower and you splish-splashing in it were calling to me-”
“You did not honestly just say that.”
“-and you were the only one that got off in the end! Don’t make me out to be some sort of deviant, Merlin.”
“I was confused! And tired. Don’t trust my cock to know up from down when you’re sucking it.”
“It seemed to know at least up.”
“Oh, ha bloody ha,” Merlin scoffs, catching sight of Arthur’s not entirely inattentive cock. “Well come on then, your Majesty,” he says, spreading his thighs wide and lewd, “Sweet love awaits.”
-
So, really, Merlin worries. About Arthur.
And Arthur... Arthur copes.
Merlin shoves him off in the morning because his hair still smells strongly of basil and Arthur texts Lance to tell him not to include him for the next few games (and not to include Merlin again ever).
Merlin’s pulled calf takes some time, but it heals. Arthur fusses before it does, in his way, and he does blame himself as Merlin feared he would - pestering him to take a few days off work, seeing a doctor to check the damage - so Merlin does as he’s told. He’ll enjoy the gruff mothering while he can because it’s the only time he’ll see Arthur more sensitive than the hide of a rhinoceros.
fin.
c/c would be ♥
Arthur/Merlin, modern!au (pwp), R, 2071 words
Summary: For hc_bingo, prompt: hiding an injury/illness. Merlin gets hurt, but makes it out to be no big deal so Arthur won't worry. Then comes the pubs.
A/N: Unbetaed, not britpicked. There was hurt, there was comfort, but whether it was hurt-comfort XD uh... lol I da naaaaa!
Arthur worries.
Of course, Arthur doesn’t show it outwardly, but he worries, like a worrying thing. Merlin, you see, knows all about how Arthur worries.
Arthur does hide it well.
Merlin, though, however rare it is, doesn’t like a worried Arthur - thinks it novel, but entirely unhelpful - so when he pulls a muscle in his right calf (during the footie game he was forced into-by Arthur), he keeps it to himself. Nothing is worse than a worried Arthur but for a worried Arthur with a dash of guilt. Merlin will be having none of that.
They crowd around him when he falls in agony, Gwaine and Lance prodding his leg all over, Arthur standing stone-faced, and it won’t stop hurting, but he can still stand and walk relatively fine, so he just laughs it off and takes a fiver to ice it a little and give his calf a rub down.
No big deal. It’ll get better on its own, he thinks. Unfortunately, Merlin ends up sitting out the rest of the game since he isn’t much help anyway and Arthur shoots a glance at him every ten seconds like he’s going to fall apart at any given moment, but Merlin smiles and the concern slowly gives way to showing off.
And then Gwaine suggests a pub crawl after-party and Merlin’s stomach sinks.
He smiles through the ride to the first pub and through every pub after, nursing a pint here, a fruity cocktail there. No one notices his slight limp for the mere fact that he hides it well, as well as Arthur hides his emotionally stunted manpain-sitting and chatting with Lance and Elyan who’ve volunteered as designated drivers while watching Arthur and company chug their weight in beer, trailing behind the pack of boys walking to and from cars and buildings, pacing himself with short, tipsy strides, and occasionally hopping on Percy’s back in disguised jest.
Arthur gets tetchy about Merlin hopping on other men though - even when it’s Percy whom Arthur loves like a loving thing, but not like he loves Merlin - so when he catches them at it, they respectfully release each other until the trek to the next place of alcohol-drenched debauchery.
It’s 2am when they’ve all had their fun (and the pubs were obligated to kick their drunk arses out) and it’s nearly an hour until Arthur and Merlin are the last to get dropped off by Elyan.
“C’mon then, let’s get his royal drunkenness inside,” Elyan says, flinging Arthur’s limp arm around his shoulders while Merlin attempts to do the same with that last pint he had swishing in his stomach. Not enough food everyone’s drunk drunk drunk, he thinks.
Pain flares like wheels of fire churning along Merlin’s calf, but he holds on; it’s just a little bit longer. Then he can take a shower and rest and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to do just that-dump Arthur right there, on the ground in the freezing dead of night and just go. God, that sounds absolutely terrific, but Elyan is already helping and he can’t waste that sort of upright offer of etiquette.
“Thanks, El,” he says as they toss Arthur unceremoniously on the couch. “I’ll take over from here.”
“I’m sure you’ll take good care of him,” he replies with a bit of cheek and laughs as Merlin nearly shoves him out of the apartment.
Merlin heaves a sigh, locking the door, and stares at the stupendously drunk body lain drooling all over the cushions.
“Time for that shower then,” he says to the room, and leaves Arthur where he is.
He lets himself limp now, a constant throb of sharp twinges shooting up and down his leg, makes quick work of gathering a change of clothes.
The water is a blessing, but Merlin can’t stand any longer and sits under the hot spray, massaging his calf in slow and firm strokes. It’s sobering. The swelling’s gone up and right as it crosses his mind that he should ice it again before he sleeps, Arthur barges in and throws the shower curtain aside.
“Arthur! What are you d-”
“Your leg,” Arthur mumbles, eyes wide with sobered clarity and, apropos to nothing, he starts stripping down to join Merlin in the tub, capacity of one.
“There’s no room,” Merlin whines, struggling to stand up. “Can’t you wait a few minutes for me to finish-”
But Arthur hugs his waist and pulls him up, licking from ear to shoulder and shoulder to ear, stopping only to nip here and there in between. Blond hair ruffles against his nose, still reeking of the gimlet Gwaine spilled in it three pubs ago.
Merlin scrunches his nose. “Ugh, basil. You really need to wash your hair,” but Arthur deems himself too busy, kissing his way lower and squeezing Merlin’s right thigh as he lifts the leg over his shoulder. Arthur kisses his balls, sucks on them, while one hand wraps around his cock and tugs just the right amount to make Merlin gasp.
“Arthur...” he breathes, fingers twisting through wet hair sticking out at every angle.
He lays a kiss at the crown of Merlin’s cock. “Stop pretending,” he says, and takes the cock whole before Merlin can even process what he’s just said, let alone formulate a proper response.
Instead, he whimpers, pressing his hands behind Arthur’s head and neck and praying for quick release because his cock, and his leg, and his entire body burn with pleasure and pain and it’s dizzying. He writhes at the blend of sensations, the hot wet of Arthur’s mouth sucking him so deeply and so thoroughly, fingers caressing his arsehole and thigh. His brain is in whirls and his eyes are squeezed shut. He needs to focus on everything else; the cool tiles at his back, the dulling throb of his injured calf and the ache of standing too long in the other, the coil tightening in his stomach, hungry, and his heart beating out his chest.
Stop pretending. Arthur knew. Arthur had known and let him be.
“Ahh...” he groans. “Arthur!” Merlin is all sharp intakes of breath and shaky exhales as he comes, Arthur swallowing everything, body just desperately trying not to crumple to the floor.
“Merlin,” is all Arthur says, trailing his lips back up to Merlin’s clavicle as he gets upright. He grabs the bar of soap from the ledge and starts lathering until they’re both covered in suds. Merlin reaches around him to fondle along his arsecrack and Arthur’s erection presses against Merlin’s pelvis and fuck it all, Merlin wants to suck him back, soapy cock be damned, and give back to Arthur as good as he took; but his leg won’t let him.
Arthur takes the shower nozzle and rinses them both off with quick sweeps of water turned cold; most welcome because his calf now burns tenfold and if he stands a moment longer, he’s going to need a doctor and that won’t do at all. Arthur would throw a fit if he found out and say that it was his fault for making Merlin play, and god forbid Merlin say that it was his choice in the end and that Arthur isn’t his mum and-
“Merlin, you idiot, your leg is swollen to the size of a horse! Why are you still standing?” Arthur chides.
“A Shetland pony, not a horse. There’s no need to exaggerate.”
“Dry off and go lay down,” Arthur says, no patience for games, turning off the faucet and grabbing Merlin’s towel for him.
He takes the towel and wraps it around himself. “How long have you-Ah! Arthur, put me down! What the devil do you think you’re doing? You’re going to drop me, you big prat!”
“No, I won’t, shut your gob, you girl,” Arthur says, stumbling every few steps. It doesn’t inspire in Merlin much confidence, but Arthur is strong and stubborn, so he relaxes just enough to keep from slipping off Arthur’s shoulder until he’s thrown onto his bed, still wet and still very much naked.
“Dry off,” he says again, and leaves the room.
He does what he’s told, as fast as he’s able because he realizes Arthur isn’t smiling, hasn’t been, and neither has he been taken care of. Merlin thinks this is cause for fretting.
Arthur comes back, a pack of frozen peas in one hand and Merlin’s pyjamas in the other, as Merlin finishes toweling off his hair.
“Leg,” he says, patting at Merlin’s leg to swing it over his lap.
“You’re not dressed,” Merlin says, but complies anyway.
“Neither are you; let’s ice this first,” Arthur says, wrapping Merlin’s t-shirt around the peas.
“Don’t I also need to keep it elevated?”
“While I make sweet, sweet love to you?” Arthur smirks, tucking the makeshift ice pack under Merlin’s calf, and it’s amazing how much he relaxes at the sight.
Merlin raises his brow and smiles. “Is that a joke or a threat or what? I honestly can’t tell,” and that’s when a finger niggles its way to his hole, almost petting the rim of it. He stifles a moan. “Ngh-mm-You can’t-It’s not-ahh-”
“It wasn’t anything, actually.” Arthur takes his finger away, and moves to massage along the sides of his calf. “But I like that you’re open to my suggestions. You’re such a slag.”
“Prat and a tease.”
“Remind me again why I put up with you.”
Merlin leans back on his elbows. “Remind you why you put up with me,” he says, unbelieving and unamused. Okay, he’s a little amused.
“Yes, all you ever do is go around all beautiful and shit and then, you clumsy fool, you get yourself hurt and don’t fucking tell anyone,” Arthur says quite meanly, “I don’t know why you bothered pretending you were fine at all, Merlin. Everyone would’ve understood the need for us to go home early. What if you needed the hospital? What if you needed a brace? Why were you walking around on a bum leg? What were you thinking!”
Arthur’s forehead is creased and his eyes are shining in that genuine Arthur way and Merlin sighs. He leans in close, wrapping a hand around Arthur’s nape, and kisses his ear.
“Arthur, calm yourself. I am fine,” Merlin says, close to a whisper. “I’m not dying. It will heal.”
Arthur huffs. Like a child. “You still should’ve told me.”
“You knew anyway.” Merlin smiles, rolling onto his stomach and laying his head on a pillow, and enjoys as Arthur tosses the pack aside and kneads his calf in slow lines.
“Well...”
Merlin looks back at him. “Shifty.”
“Well...” he starts again and presses his fingers softly along the coarse hairs of Merlin’s leg. “I may not have figured it out until I saw you in the shower.”
“Wait,” says Merlin after a beat, “Then why did you-Oh. You horny bastard.”
“May I remind you I was drunk. The sound of the shower and you splish-splashing in it were calling to me-”
“You did not honestly just say that.”
“-and you were the only one that got off in the end! Don’t make me out to be some sort of deviant, Merlin.”
“I was confused! And tired. Don’t trust my cock to know up from down when you’re sucking it.”
“It seemed to know at least up.”
“Oh, ha bloody ha,” Merlin scoffs, catching sight of Arthur’s not entirely inattentive cock. “Well come on then, your Majesty,” he says, spreading his thighs wide and lewd, “Sweet love awaits.”
-
So, really, Merlin worries. About Arthur.
And Arthur... Arthur copes.
Merlin shoves him off in the morning because his hair still smells strongly of basil and Arthur texts Lance to tell him not to include him for the next few games (and not to include Merlin again ever).
Merlin’s pulled calf takes some time, but it heals. Arthur fusses before it does, in his way, and he does blame himself as Merlin feared he would - pestering him to take a few days off work, seeing a doctor to check the damage - so Merlin does as he’s told. He’ll enjoy the gruff mothering while he can because it’s the only time he’ll see Arthur more sensitive than the hide of a rhinoceros.
fin.
c/c would be ♥