Look After You (Merlin/Arthur)
Title: Look After You
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: G
Warnings: None, just sick!Arthur and lots of cuddles and fluff and sweetness. :)
Summary: Merlin sits on the side of the bed. 'Arthur,' he says. 'Are you sick?'
Arthur huddles in the bedclothes. 'Throat hurts,' he croaks, and swallows painfully.
(Arthur is sick, and Merlin takes care of him. But Arthur wants something more, and he won't say what it is.)
Author's Note: Kind of pre-slash, I guess. But there's lots of cuddling, and they fall asleep together, and they're generally just about this close.
Update - now with beautiful cover art by Nicci on AO3! Used with permission. Check out her other Merlin photomanips here.AO3: Look After You
~
Arthur groans, and buries his face in his pillows.
'Come on,' Merlin says, 'up.' He shakes Arthur's shoulder.
'M'so tired, Merlin,' Arthur mumbles; and he shivers and pulls his covers more snugly around him. Merlin's about to grab them and wrestle them off him, but then Arthur coughs throatily, and Merlin notices that Arthur's looking - sick. Pale. Not as bright golden as he usually looks when he wakes from a night's rest.
Merlin sits on the side of the bed. 'Arthur,' he says. 'Are you sick?'
Arthur huddles in the bedclothes. 'Throat hurts,' he croaks, and swallows painfully. He looks pallid and pitiful and unwell, and a surge of love and protectiveness rises up in Merlin's chest, unbidden.
'Arthur,' he says softly. 'Arthur, you know that you have that meeting today, with the Mercian ambassador. I don't think you can miss it.'
Arthur grunts and rubs his cheek pathetically against the pillow, closing his eyes. And because Arthur's different like this, softer and less fierce, Merlin slips his arms quickly around him and pulls him up into a bit of a hug, against his chest. Arthur lets him, warm and droopy and heavy, and Merlin dares to cuddle him a little. 'I know it's difficult,' he murmurs. 'Look, Arthur, just stay here for now. The meeting's not till later. I'll bring you something that'll help, all right?'
Arthur makes a grateful sort of mumble into Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin gives him another squeeze, enjoying the feel of him in his arms. 'Stay here,' he says again. 'I'll be right back.'
~
Merlin makes the best sore throat draught he knows how to, with warm honey and lemon and spices and a generous trickle of mead, and takes a big gobletful up to Arthur.
‘You’ll like this,’ he says as he swings the door shut. ‘Just wait.’
Arthur’s got the covers all curled up tight around his neck, but he opens his eyes droopily to watch Merlin come round and sit back down on the bed. (He looks like a sad puppy in a red blanket, but Merlin isn’t going to tell him that just at the moment.)
Merlin holds up the goblet invitingly. ‘It’s a toddy. It has mead, and honey, and lemon, and it’s nice and warm.’
Arthur looks mildly interested, but also as though he’s too snug and comfortable to sit up. He just looks at Merlin with those big puppy eyes, and Merlin has to laugh a little bit because it’s so odd for Arthur to be this passive.
‘You really aren’t feeling good, are you?’ he says, and sets the goblet down carefully on the cabinet beside Arthur’s bed. ‘Come on. It will help, I promise.’ And he shifts across and wriggles his arm under the bedclothes and around Arthur’s shoulders, tugging gently on Arthur’s weight until he has him more or less upright.
Arthur says hoarsely, ‘Hurts.’
‘Come on then, this will do it good,’ Merlin encourages, reaching for the toddy. ‘Are you going to hold it, or do you need me to feed it to you?’
He means it as a joke, of course, but then Arthur turns his face away to cough raspingly into his arm. And he looks back at Merlin with a pitiful face that looks more like a puppy than ever, and there’s no way Merlin can resist that face.
‘Oh, all right, then, you big baby,’ he murmurs, feeling his cheeks heat a little. ‘Open up.’
Arthur opens obediently, and Merlin lifts the goblet to his lips, and lets him drink from his hand. Something about it - about feeding Arthur like this - makes a soft warmth blossom in Merlin’s chest. He wants to hold Arthur and care for him and look after him, and nurse him from his sore throat, and make sure he never gets sick again.
Obviously he can’t tell Arthur than, so he just rubs Arthur’s shoulder gently as he drinks, and when he’s had enough Merlin lets him lie down again and tucks the covers around him.
‘Just go back to sleep now,’ he says quietly. ‘I’ll wake you up in time for that meeting this afternoon. Your armour needs polishing, but I’ll go and do that somewhere else so you can rest.’
‘No,’ Arthur croaks suddenly, and Merlin looks at him, surprised.
‘No?’
Arthur tosses his head restlessly on the pillow. ‘Stay,’ he demands huskily.
‘You - you want me to stay here?’
‘Mm.’
‘And do what?’ Merlin asks. ‘All my jobs are noisy.’
Arthur hunches his shoulders under the bedclothes, looking small and cross and petulant, and oddly, for a second, close to tears. He makes a sore-sounding mumble that might be meant to mean ‘Don’t care,’ and Merlin melts, and pats Arthur’s shoulder.
‘If you really want me to, I’ll stay,’ he says in a soft voice. ‘I’ll try and keep it quiet.’
Arthur nods firmly, and so Merlin gives his shoulder a last reassuring pat, and goes to fetch the armour. He sits at the table, because that’s much the easiest place to do it. Arthur’s eyes follow him across the room.
Merlin polishes for a while, keeping it as quiet as he can, glancing up every so often to check on Arthur. At first, it seems as though Arthur’s drifting back to sleep, his eyes closed and his cheek pillowed in his hand.
But then Merlin hears him thrashing and shifting around, and when he looks up, Arthur’s watching him again, and his big sad eyes are impossible to ignore. Merlin puts the armour down, and the cloth.
‘What is it?’ he says, resigned.
Arthur looks at him mournfully. ‘M’cold,’ he says in a croaky voice, and then watches Merlin limply as though waiting for him to do something about it.
‘You’ve got several blankets on your bed already,’ Merlin says, coming over to the bedside again and straightening the covers. ‘You’re not running a fever, are you?’
He touches the back of his hand to Arthur’s forehead, softly brushing away the golden hair from his face. And then Arthur reaches up and puts his own hand over Merlin’s, keeping it there. He doesn’t speak, just watches wistfully; and Merlin suddenly knows what it is that Arthur wants, but won’t say.
He takes a deep breath, because it would be awfully humiliating if he was wrong. But he doesn’t think he’s wrong.
‘All right, then,’ he says, and sits on the side of the bed and starts pulling off his boots. And Arthur just watches him, and looks a very slight bit happier; and Merlin knows he wasn’t wrong at all.
He leaves his boots on the floor, and swings his legs up, wriggling past Arthur to the other side, and crawling under the covers. Arthur waits, looking hopeful, and Merlin curls up against him. Arthur is big and soft and warm, and Merlin slips his arms around him and holds him close.
‘If I catch your sore throat, I’m taking a whole week off,’ Merlin threatens gently. But Arthur just closes his eyes and gives a sleepy little smile; and his body relaxes against Merlin as he starts drifting off into sleep.
‘Sleep well,’ Merlin murmurs; and his heart is warm and full, and he can’t help brushing a light kiss onto Arthur’s soft golden hair.
~
Next: Part 2
~
greymantledlady's fic masterlist
Author: greymantledlady
Rating: G
Warnings: None, just sick!Arthur and lots of cuddles and fluff and sweetness. :)
Summary: Merlin sits on the side of the bed. 'Arthur,' he says. 'Are you sick?'
Arthur huddles in the bedclothes. 'Throat hurts,' he croaks, and swallows painfully.
(Arthur is sick, and Merlin takes care of him. But Arthur wants something more, and he won't say what it is.)
Author's Note: Kind of pre-slash, I guess. But there's lots of cuddling, and they fall asleep together, and they're generally just about this close.
Update - now with beautiful cover art by Nicci on AO3! Used with permission. Check out her other Merlin photomanips here.AO3: Look After You
~
Arthur groans, and buries his face in his pillows.
'Come on,' Merlin says, 'up.' He shakes Arthur's shoulder.
'M'so tired, Merlin,' Arthur mumbles; and he shivers and pulls his covers more snugly around him. Merlin's about to grab them and wrestle them off him, but then Arthur coughs throatily, and Merlin notices that Arthur's looking - sick. Pale. Not as bright golden as he usually looks when he wakes from a night's rest.
Merlin sits on the side of the bed. 'Arthur,' he says. 'Are you sick?'
Arthur huddles in the bedclothes. 'Throat hurts,' he croaks, and swallows painfully. He looks pallid and pitiful and unwell, and a surge of love and protectiveness rises up in Merlin's chest, unbidden.
'Arthur,' he says softly. 'Arthur, you know that you have that meeting today, with the Mercian ambassador. I don't think you can miss it.'
Arthur grunts and rubs his cheek pathetically against the pillow, closing his eyes. And because Arthur's different like this, softer and less fierce, Merlin slips his arms quickly around him and pulls him up into a bit of a hug, against his chest. Arthur lets him, warm and droopy and heavy, and Merlin dares to cuddle him a little. 'I know it's difficult,' he murmurs. 'Look, Arthur, just stay here for now. The meeting's not till later. I'll bring you something that'll help, all right?'
Arthur makes a grateful sort of mumble into Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin gives him another squeeze, enjoying the feel of him in his arms. 'Stay here,' he says again. 'I'll be right back.'
~
Merlin makes the best sore throat draught he knows how to, with warm honey and lemon and spices and a generous trickle of mead, and takes a big gobletful up to Arthur.
‘You’ll like this,’ he says as he swings the door shut. ‘Just wait.’
Arthur’s got the covers all curled up tight around his neck, but he opens his eyes droopily to watch Merlin come round and sit back down on the bed. (He looks like a sad puppy in a red blanket, but Merlin isn’t going to tell him that just at the moment.)
Merlin holds up the goblet invitingly. ‘It’s a toddy. It has mead, and honey, and lemon, and it’s nice and warm.’
Arthur looks mildly interested, but also as though he’s too snug and comfortable to sit up. He just looks at Merlin with those big puppy eyes, and Merlin has to laugh a little bit because it’s so odd for Arthur to be this passive.
‘You really aren’t feeling good, are you?’ he says, and sets the goblet down carefully on the cabinet beside Arthur’s bed. ‘Come on. It will help, I promise.’ And he shifts across and wriggles his arm under the bedclothes and around Arthur’s shoulders, tugging gently on Arthur’s weight until he has him more or less upright.
Arthur says hoarsely, ‘Hurts.’
‘Come on then, this will do it good,’ Merlin encourages, reaching for the toddy. ‘Are you going to hold it, or do you need me to feed it to you?’
He means it as a joke, of course, but then Arthur turns his face away to cough raspingly into his arm. And he looks back at Merlin with a pitiful face that looks more like a puppy than ever, and there’s no way Merlin can resist that face.
‘Oh, all right, then, you big baby,’ he murmurs, feeling his cheeks heat a little. ‘Open up.’
Arthur opens obediently, and Merlin lifts the goblet to his lips, and lets him drink from his hand. Something about it - about feeding Arthur like this - makes a soft warmth blossom in Merlin’s chest. He wants to hold Arthur and care for him and look after him, and nurse him from his sore throat, and make sure he never gets sick again.
Obviously he can’t tell Arthur than, so he just rubs Arthur’s shoulder gently as he drinks, and when he’s had enough Merlin lets him lie down again and tucks the covers around him.
‘Just go back to sleep now,’ he says quietly. ‘I’ll wake you up in time for that meeting this afternoon. Your armour needs polishing, but I’ll go and do that somewhere else so you can rest.’
‘No,’ Arthur croaks suddenly, and Merlin looks at him, surprised.
‘No?’
Arthur tosses his head restlessly on the pillow. ‘Stay,’ he demands huskily.
‘You - you want me to stay here?’
‘Mm.’
‘And do what?’ Merlin asks. ‘All my jobs are noisy.’
Arthur hunches his shoulders under the bedclothes, looking small and cross and petulant, and oddly, for a second, close to tears. He makes a sore-sounding mumble that might be meant to mean ‘Don’t care,’ and Merlin melts, and pats Arthur’s shoulder.
‘If you really want me to, I’ll stay,’ he says in a soft voice. ‘I’ll try and keep it quiet.’
Arthur nods firmly, and so Merlin gives his shoulder a last reassuring pat, and goes to fetch the armour. He sits at the table, because that’s much the easiest place to do it. Arthur’s eyes follow him across the room.
Merlin polishes for a while, keeping it as quiet as he can, glancing up every so often to check on Arthur. At first, it seems as though Arthur’s drifting back to sleep, his eyes closed and his cheek pillowed in his hand.
But then Merlin hears him thrashing and shifting around, and when he looks up, Arthur’s watching him again, and his big sad eyes are impossible to ignore. Merlin puts the armour down, and the cloth.
‘What is it?’ he says, resigned.
Arthur looks at him mournfully. ‘M’cold,’ he says in a croaky voice, and then watches Merlin limply as though waiting for him to do something about it.
‘You’ve got several blankets on your bed already,’ Merlin says, coming over to the bedside again and straightening the covers. ‘You’re not running a fever, are you?’
He touches the back of his hand to Arthur’s forehead, softly brushing away the golden hair from his face. And then Arthur reaches up and puts his own hand over Merlin’s, keeping it there. He doesn’t speak, just watches wistfully; and Merlin suddenly knows what it is that Arthur wants, but won’t say.
He takes a deep breath, because it would be awfully humiliating if he was wrong. But he doesn’t think he’s wrong.
‘All right, then,’ he says, and sits on the side of the bed and starts pulling off his boots. And Arthur just watches him, and looks a very slight bit happier; and Merlin knows he wasn’t wrong at all.
He leaves his boots on the floor, and swings his legs up, wriggling past Arthur to the other side, and crawling under the covers. Arthur waits, looking hopeful, and Merlin curls up against him. Arthur is big and soft and warm, and Merlin slips his arms around him and holds him close.
‘If I catch your sore throat, I’m taking a whole week off,’ Merlin threatens gently. But Arthur just closes his eyes and gives a sleepy little smile; and his body relaxes against Merlin as he starts drifting off into sleep.
‘Sleep well,’ Merlin murmurs; and his heart is warm and full, and he can’t help brushing a light kiss onto Arthur’s soft golden hair.
~
Next: Part 2
~
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