Brassed Off Calendar Girls do the Full Monty in Camelot (5/?)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Arthur awoke, groaning, head heavy from another long Friday night at the Rising Sun, to the insistent sound of an alarm bleeping through his empty apartment, and to a grey and drizzly panorama across the moorland of central Yorkshire. It was the day of the long-awaited grudge match with Mercia and he couldn’t wait to get stuck in. Arthur loved playing football in the same way that ducks love to paddle round ponds or dogs like to sniff each others bums. It was as natural to him as eating and breathing - with added ego massage. Really, the only activity that he preferred to playing football was having sex. Preferably with a footballer. Still in his kit. So yeah, he was looking forward to the football match today.
He was looking forward to seeing how well Albion could play.
He dressed quickly in shorts and Arsenal shirt, and jogged down to the park, where he encountered Percival and Elyan, putting on their football boots.
Gwaine, Elena and Mithian turned up shortly afterwards, all looking a bit bleary eyed. Gwaine had an arm round each of the two girls and Arthur’s brain shied round the implications. Leon arrived panting, full of apologies for his late arrival, citing problems with buses. Kahill, Mordred and Lance were not far behind.
The rival Mercia team sported a similar mix of men and women; one of the Mercia women, a blonde with black kohl outlining her eyes, was scowling viciously at Gwaine. Given what he’d seen of Gwaine’s inclusive sexual appetite at the pub after rehearsal the other night, he suspected that there may have been some previous romantic entanglement to blame.
Arthur’s eyes rolled when Merlin appeared by the side of the pitch, clutching a large holdall. Surely that noodle-armed smart-mouthed Irish twit couldn’t play football?
“What are you doing here Merlin?” drawled Arthur. “As far as I know, cheekbone sharpness and ear size do not equate to footballing prowess.”
Merlin’s face adopted a wounded puppy expression, the bastard, causing all the girls to frown at Arthur.
“Don’t be such an arse Arthur. I’m the first aider, and team physio actually,” and the git actually leered at Arthur, taking in his muscled frame. “I’m looking forward to copping a feel of those steely glutes while I massage away your cramps.”
Arthur wanted to shoot his treacherous body for betraying him at this point with a deep blush, which made Merlin’s pink lips stretch across his face in a delighted smile as he leaned in to whisper the punch line.
“Maybe if it’s my lucky day you’ll get a groin strain, Arthur. Don’t worry I have very skilled fingers.”
Arthur tried to sharpen his gaze into daggers to hurl in Merlin’s face, but confronted by a full-beamed grin he instead found himself smiling and then barking a surprised laugh.
“In your dreams,” he retorted, but without heat as he ran off to warm up and stretch, trying not to imagine Merlin’s fingers massaging his groin as a megawatt smile followed him round the pitch.
And then another female came into view and Arthur groaned. She was a long-limbed, green-eyed, dark-haired beauty with immaculate nails and gold football boots. She broke off her shouting match with Gwen, who was in the crowd wearing an “ABBA” scarf, and strode across to Arthur, smirking.
“Hello little brother,” she said.
“Morgana,” Arthur replied. “It’s a … I won’t say pleasure … what’s the word I want now? Ah yes. Displeasure. ”
Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks and she pouted spitefully, about to speak, when a bull-faced Mercia bloke jogged up to Leon for the toss.
“Who’s the new girl then?” he said, broad Lancashire accent, nodding at Arthur. “Tinkerbell?”
“Fuck off Val, you knob,” responded Leon. As repartee went it lacked subtlety, but got to the point, thought Arthur.
"Leon! Juniors present!" hushed Lance, nodding at Mordred. Arthur gasped. Were Lance and Gwen...? But it was time for the match to start. Mercia won the toss and the players adopted positions for the kick-off. The stocky-looking Val kept his eyes on Arthur as they prepared to start the game.
“Keep your eye out for Val,” whispered Leon in an aside. “He plays dirty.” Arthur nodded his thanks for the warning as Gaius, who was acting as referee, blew his whistle to start the match, and then there was no more time to gauge the opposite team’s players, they were immediately in the thick of the game.
Mercia had the best of the first half. The Albion team were getting to know each other’s strengths after all; Arthur made himself useful in midfield, passing out to Mithian on the wing whenever possible. She had an excellent turn of speed and the Mercia girl marking her couldn’t get anywhere near. Lance, Gwaine and Elyan made a solid defence. In theory, the plan was to get the ball forward to Elena who had a wicked left boot on her.
Mordred hung around in midfield and seemed to be mainly concerned with leering at the girls on the opposite team, and trying to get as close to them all as possible. Every time Morgana got the ball Mordred immediately tackled her. Arthur was sure that the teenager was trying to get a peek down his sister’s football shirt.
Albion’s best chance came towards the end of the first half. Arthur passed to Lance, who made a lightning dart forward, but was intercepted by Morgana, who passed the ball out to a Mercia midfielder. Leon tackled skillfully, crossing the ball to Mithian, who made a great run along the right wing, and passed in to Arthur. But the Lancastrian Mercia player, Val, slid at high speed towards his legs, both boots first, in a dirty tackle bringing Arthur down like a skittle.
Gaius blew his whistle for the foul and waved a yellow card at Val.
“Another one like that and you’ll be sent off the pitch,” he warned, eyebrow beetling up towards his hairline. Val scowled belligerently.
At half time the score was still 0-0, despite Mercia managing a number of strikes on target. It’s difficult to get a ball past a man-mountain like Percival, the Albion goalkeeper. Albion were playing a passing game, but hadn’t yet got the ball far enough forward to strike. Leon gave the team a pep talk over quartered oranges.
“Arthur, you’re doing a great job in midfield. I’d like you to go forward a bit more. Mithian, you’re looking tired. Lance will take over on the right wing. I’d like you to go back a bit. Mordred, great tackling, but please pay more attention to the ball than to the player. All of you look out for Val, he has murder in his eyes.”
“Kahill and I will have the defensive positions covered. OK team, let’s try to score. Albion!”
About 10 minutes in to the second half Arthur saw his chance. Morgana was loitering close to the Mercia goalkeeper, Alvarr; when Lance passed a cheeky lob to Arthur, he dodged past Val and tapped the ball delicately forward to Elena. Elena, close to the goal but in an onside position, hammered the ball to the back of the net. The Albion supporters went wild; Elena jumped on Arthur, swiftly followed by Lance. They were surrounded by the rest of the team, dealing out congratulatory thumps.
Arthur could see Merlin sitting next to Gwen in the crowd, full lips a cherry-red counterpoint to the grey drizzly day, and eyes disappearing into a mass of crinkly smile lines. And at that moment, he felt on top of the world.
The Mercia team were rattled by the Albion goal. Val’s jaw set in a spiteful grimace.
Arthur took a back pass from Leon, and, spotting a gap in the opposing side’s defence, he gestured to Gwaine, who started to sprint forwards. Gwaine looked round at Arthur, waiting for the pass, and his eyes widened in alarm.
“Arthur, look out” he shouted. In that split second Arthur spotted out of the corner of his eye Val bearing down on him at top speed, a crazed glint in his eye. The heavy Lancastrian barrelled into Arthur at crushing speed, and with a heavy crunch of bone and muscle Arthur fell to the floor, Val a heavy weight squashing into him. A studded football boot crashed into Arthur’s face with great force and an elbow viciously jabbed into Arthur’s ribs as Val fell on top of him. Painful sparks erupted in his head.
There was no way that could be written off as an accidental foul, Arthur thought triumphantly, and then “Ow!” before blacking out.
In retrospect Arthur’s first inkling of his doom should have been when, as he came to, a shaft of sunlight seemed to come out from behind a cloud, alighting on the dark shaggy locks of the man crouched in front of him, and a choir in his head started singing “Pié Jésu”.
He drifted in and out of focus, and managed to lock eyes on a pretty pair of cherry-red lips. The lips were moving and a lilting Irish voice was telling everyone to move away, to give Arthur some space, to let him take care of Arthur.
Merlin was taking care of him. Arthur’ heart unaccountably pounded in his chest, and a smile ghosted his mouth, hastily quashed. His hand moved up, fingers unconsciously seeking those full lips, to bring them closer.
This movement was enough to jolt his head minutely; reality crashed down and he gasped with the sudden pain. Someone was stroking his face, wiping blood from his eyes with gentle fingers, holding an ice pack to the back of his head. It felt nice. He closed his eyes, feeling like purring.
“Have you got a cat?” he muttered weakly. “Good at stroking.” And hysterical laughter bubbled up from his belly.
“Shhh,” the steady Irish voice hushed him. “Come on now, sit up. Let’s be having you, lazy daisy”.
“Head. Hurts. Ow. Ribs.” Arthur grimaced and tried to sit up, felt Percival’s reassuring strong arms grip him from behind while Merlin’s face peered at him concernedly from the front.
“It’s OK Arthur, you’re going to be fine,” said Merlin in his soothing Irish brogue. “But this will sting a bit I’m afraid.” Long, gentle fingers dabbed antiseptic wipes at the cuts on his face. Merlin’s exhaled breath ghosted in the cold air and he carried on talking gently to Arthur, regarding him with deep blue eyes framed by long, black lashes.
“Elyan and Gwaine are dealing with that bastard Val. Gaius has suspended the match while you get treated.”
Merlin gently lifted his eyelids and shone a torch into his eyes.
“You should go and get checked out Arthur,” he concluded. “You have a mild concussion, but nothing serious. Someone should stay with you for the next 24 hours, and paracetamol will help with the pain. But you’re a bit cut up and bruised, and you’re not going to be playing any more of this match, so let’s get you checked out and off the pitch ok? Percival, Lance - can you give me a hand yeah?”
Warm hands gripped him and he was hauled unceremoniously off towards the edge where Lance and Percival gently lowered him into a sitting position on a bench, leaning back into Merlin, whose arms held him carefully so as not to jog his bruised ribs.
“Merlin?” Arthur whispered, and tried to turn his head, then bit back a cry as sudden pain pounded into his cranium.
“I’m here Arthur. Stay with me mate.” And those heavenly fingers gently stroked his hair again. He closed his eyes, sinking into Merlin’s warm embrace. “Gwen and I’ll take you to casualty to get you checked out, and then we’ll take you home. She’s just gone to get her car. At least that twat Val didn’t managed to get the boot into your embouchure, eh Arthur,” joked Merlin. “Stay awake, mate, best not to nod off yet.”
Merlin stopped stroking his head for a second. Arthur squeaked a protest and then he resumed, chuckling. Arthur closed his eyes and sank his head onto Merlin’s chest, where he could hear the soothing thud, thud of Merlin’s heart. So tired.
“Don’t go to sleep now Arthur,” Merlin’s voice rumbled in his chest.
“Shhh!” hushed Arthur to the rumbling. “Too loud.”
Merlin’s breath hitched as he spoke again, more quietly.
“Well this isn’t how I imagined our first cuddle to be you know Arthur, I sort of hoped you’d be more actively involved, you know.”
Arthur laughed faintly.
“Are you coming on to me Merlin? While I lie mortally wounded? That’s a bit low, don’t you think?”
He could hear the echoing laughter bubble up in Merlin’s chest, and burrowed the unwounded part of his face a little deeper into Merlin’s warm fleece hoody.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not in the Hippocratic oath, Merlin actually,” Arthur babbled on. Merlin’s expression saddened slightly while a corner of Arthur’s mind screamed at him to shut up shut up shut up, STOP COCK-BLOCKING YOURSELF ARTHUR YOU IDIOT.
Out of the corner of her eye he could see Gwen, brandishing a pair of car keys.
“OK girls,” she said, with a fond smile on her face. “Let’s get you both over to casualty.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest that he was definitely not a girl, but closed it again. It hurt too much to argue.
~~~
By the time Merlin and Gwen had escorted Arthur home from the hospital, with a packet of pain killers, and dire warnings not to leave him alone or let him sleep for more than two consecutive hours, his normal biting temper had returned. Merlin almost preferred the docile, dazed version of Arthur whom he had dragged from the football pitch. But he realised that the returning epithets and abuse were a sign of the patient’s recovery.
They stood shivering on the doorstep to the block of flats Arthur lived in, while Merlin reached into Arthur’s jeans pocket for a key.
“I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door to my own flat, you imbecile,” spat Arthur charmingly. Merlin and Gwen exchanged a long-suffering glance.
“Fine,” said Merlin, stepping away from Arthur who promptly nearly collapsed in a heap so that he had to step back hurriedly to prop him up again. “Off you go then.”
Arthur rummaged gingerly in his pocket but his hands were trembling with the cold and delayed shock, and he fumbled.
“All right,” he snapped finally. “OK, but don’t take advantage. I’ll know if you try anything”
“As if I would,” said Merlin soothingly. He sighed a little, inwardly, at the thought of his self restraint, but he meant it.
Merlin having retrieved the key, they pushed the door open and entered Arthur’s spartanly furnished ground-floor flat, Merlin’s arm still round Arthur. Gwen trotted off to find the kitchen and turn the kettle on for a cup of tea. Merlin deposited Arthur on a sleek leather couch, and draped him with a blanket before switching on the TV. Gwen reappeared clutching 3 steaming mugs and they sat together companionably watching an old Harry Potter movie on TV with one eye, while Arthur gradually stopped shivering as he sipped his tea.
Merlin caught Gwen looking surreptitiously at her watch.
“Don’t worry Gwen,” he said. “I’ll stay here with her ladyship.”
She flashed him a guilty smile.
“Thanks Merlin. I would normally be happy to stay, it’s just…” she bit her bottom lip and Merlin smiled at her knowingly when she blurted out, “I’ve got a date.”
“Ooooh,” said Merlin knowingly. “Anyone we know?”
Gwen blushed and punched him hard on the arm. “It’s Lance, you idiot,” she said, “as if you didn’t know, sitting next to him as you do!
Merlin chuckled. “About bloody time. Look, I’ll stay here with Arthur. I’ve got nothing on tonight and I’m not due back at university til Monday. I’ll get us in a take-out or something and make sure he doesn’t get devoured by monsters or anythin’, ok?”
“Merlin you’re an angel.” And she went to get ready for her date, leaving him and Arthur alone.
Merlin sat back down on the sofa. “You OK?” he said.
Arthur nodded, and then winced, because nodding was really not a good idea. “Yeah,” he huffed eventually but his face was tense and Merlin could tell he was in pain. “Bit cold still.”
Without saying any more Merlin lifted Arthur’s feet from the ground. “Jayzus Arthur, your feet are like ice blocks.” He shuffled his bum so that Arthur’s feet lay under Merlin’s warm thighs and they watched the rest of the Harry Potter movie together like that as Arthur’s toes gradually warmed up. At some point Arthur must have nodded off. Merlin gently withdrew from the sofa and sat in a small chair, watching Arthur sleep. After a couple of hours he padded over and sat next to Arthur’s peaceful form and sighed.
“Sorry mate,” he said. “Don’t like doing this but I have to wake you up every couple of hours.” He lifted Arthur’s hand and rubbed it gently.
“Arthur! Wake up mate,” he said quietly and, not really knowing why, obeyed a sudden impulse to place a soft kiss on Arthur’s forehead. Arthur’s eyes opened and he looked momentarily dazed before smiling sweetly and unselfconsciously at Merlin, who returned the smile.
“How you feelin’?” said Merlin.
“Head hurts,” Arthur swallowed. “Could do with a drink.”
“No problem,” said Merlin and padded off to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. He placed it by Arthur’s side and gently brushed blond hair out of Arthur’s face before returning to his own chair. He set the alarm for two hours hence, and dozed before repeating the exercise.
Although the night was long, and he got very little sleep, Merlin did not regret a single minute of it. And in the morning, he and Arthur sat up and traded insults over cornflakes and poached eggs as if nothing had changed between them.
If they both knew that there was a new warmth to their bantering exchanges, and if the smiles had grown wider and the frowns had grown less frequent, neither of them mentioned it.
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Arthur awoke, groaning, head heavy from another long Friday night at the Rising Sun, to the insistent sound of an alarm bleeping through his empty apartment, and to a grey and drizzly panorama across the moorland of central Yorkshire. It was the day of the long-awaited grudge match with Mercia and he couldn’t wait to get stuck in. Arthur loved playing football in the same way that ducks love to paddle round ponds or dogs like to sniff each others bums. It was as natural to him as eating and breathing - with added ego massage. Really, the only activity that he preferred to playing football was having sex. Preferably with a footballer. Still in his kit. So yeah, he was looking forward to the football match today.
He was looking forward to seeing how well Albion could play.
He dressed quickly in shorts and Arsenal shirt, and jogged down to the park, where he encountered Percival and Elyan, putting on their football boots.
Gwaine, Elena and Mithian turned up shortly afterwards, all looking a bit bleary eyed. Gwaine had an arm round each of the two girls and Arthur’s brain shied round the implications. Leon arrived panting, full of apologies for his late arrival, citing problems with buses. Kahill, Mordred and Lance were not far behind.
The rival Mercia team sported a similar mix of men and women; one of the Mercia women, a blonde with black kohl outlining her eyes, was scowling viciously at Gwaine. Given what he’d seen of Gwaine’s inclusive sexual appetite at the pub after rehearsal the other night, he suspected that there may have been some previous romantic entanglement to blame.
Arthur’s eyes rolled when Merlin appeared by the side of the pitch, clutching a large holdall. Surely that noodle-armed smart-mouthed Irish twit couldn’t play football?
“What are you doing here Merlin?” drawled Arthur. “As far as I know, cheekbone sharpness and ear size do not equate to footballing prowess.”
Merlin’s face adopted a wounded puppy expression, the bastard, causing all the girls to frown at Arthur.
“Don’t be such an arse Arthur. I’m the first aider, and team physio actually,” and the git actually leered at Arthur, taking in his muscled frame. “I’m looking forward to copping a feel of those steely glutes while I massage away your cramps.”
Arthur wanted to shoot his treacherous body for betraying him at this point with a deep blush, which made Merlin’s pink lips stretch across his face in a delighted smile as he leaned in to whisper the punch line.
“Maybe if it’s my lucky day you’ll get a groin strain, Arthur. Don’t worry I have very skilled fingers.”
Arthur tried to sharpen his gaze into daggers to hurl in Merlin’s face, but confronted by a full-beamed grin he instead found himself smiling and then barking a surprised laugh.
“In your dreams,” he retorted, but without heat as he ran off to warm up and stretch, trying not to imagine Merlin’s fingers massaging his groin as a megawatt smile followed him round the pitch.
And then another female came into view and Arthur groaned. She was a long-limbed, green-eyed, dark-haired beauty with immaculate nails and gold football boots. She broke off her shouting match with Gwen, who was in the crowd wearing an “ABBA” scarf, and strode across to Arthur, smirking.
“Hello little brother,” she said.
“Morgana,” Arthur replied. “It’s a … I won’t say pleasure … what’s the word I want now? Ah yes. Displeasure. ”
Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks and she pouted spitefully, about to speak, when a bull-faced Mercia bloke jogged up to Leon for the toss.
“Who’s the new girl then?” he said, broad Lancashire accent, nodding at Arthur. “Tinkerbell?”
“Fuck off Val, you knob,” responded Leon. As repartee went it lacked subtlety, but got to the point, thought Arthur.
"Leon! Juniors present!" hushed Lance, nodding at Mordred. Arthur gasped. Were Lance and Gwen...? But it was time for the match to start. Mercia won the toss and the players adopted positions for the kick-off. The stocky-looking Val kept his eyes on Arthur as they prepared to start the game.
“Keep your eye out for Val,” whispered Leon in an aside. “He plays dirty.” Arthur nodded his thanks for the warning as Gaius, who was acting as referee, blew his whistle to start the match, and then there was no more time to gauge the opposite team’s players, they were immediately in the thick of the game.
Mercia had the best of the first half. The Albion team were getting to know each other’s strengths after all; Arthur made himself useful in midfield, passing out to Mithian on the wing whenever possible. She had an excellent turn of speed and the Mercia girl marking her couldn’t get anywhere near. Lance, Gwaine and Elyan made a solid defence. In theory, the plan was to get the ball forward to Elena who had a wicked left boot on her.
Mordred hung around in midfield and seemed to be mainly concerned with leering at the girls on the opposite team, and trying to get as close to them all as possible. Every time Morgana got the ball Mordred immediately tackled her. Arthur was sure that the teenager was trying to get a peek down his sister’s football shirt.
Albion’s best chance came towards the end of the first half. Arthur passed to Lance, who made a lightning dart forward, but was intercepted by Morgana, who passed the ball out to a Mercia midfielder. Leon tackled skillfully, crossing the ball to Mithian, who made a great run along the right wing, and passed in to Arthur. But the Lancastrian Mercia player, Val, slid at high speed towards his legs, both boots first, in a dirty tackle bringing Arthur down like a skittle.
Gaius blew his whistle for the foul and waved a yellow card at Val.
“Another one like that and you’ll be sent off the pitch,” he warned, eyebrow beetling up towards his hairline. Val scowled belligerently.
At half time the score was still 0-0, despite Mercia managing a number of strikes on target. It’s difficult to get a ball past a man-mountain like Percival, the Albion goalkeeper. Albion were playing a passing game, but hadn’t yet got the ball far enough forward to strike. Leon gave the team a pep talk over quartered oranges.
“Arthur, you’re doing a great job in midfield. I’d like you to go forward a bit more. Mithian, you’re looking tired. Lance will take over on the right wing. I’d like you to go back a bit. Mordred, great tackling, but please pay more attention to the ball than to the player. All of you look out for Val, he has murder in his eyes.”
“Kahill and I will have the defensive positions covered. OK team, let’s try to score. Albion!”
About 10 minutes in to the second half Arthur saw his chance. Morgana was loitering close to the Mercia goalkeeper, Alvarr; when Lance passed a cheeky lob to Arthur, he dodged past Val and tapped the ball delicately forward to Elena. Elena, close to the goal but in an onside position, hammered the ball to the back of the net. The Albion supporters went wild; Elena jumped on Arthur, swiftly followed by Lance. They were surrounded by the rest of the team, dealing out congratulatory thumps.
Arthur could see Merlin sitting next to Gwen in the crowd, full lips a cherry-red counterpoint to the grey drizzly day, and eyes disappearing into a mass of crinkly smile lines. And at that moment, he felt on top of the world.
The Mercia team were rattled by the Albion goal. Val’s jaw set in a spiteful grimace.
Arthur took a back pass from Leon, and, spotting a gap in the opposing side’s defence, he gestured to Gwaine, who started to sprint forwards. Gwaine looked round at Arthur, waiting for the pass, and his eyes widened in alarm.
“Arthur, look out” he shouted. In that split second Arthur spotted out of the corner of his eye Val bearing down on him at top speed, a crazed glint in his eye. The heavy Lancastrian barrelled into Arthur at crushing speed, and with a heavy crunch of bone and muscle Arthur fell to the floor, Val a heavy weight squashing into him. A studded football boot crashed into Arthur’s face with great force and an elbow viciously jabbed into Arthur’s ribs as Val fell on top of him. Painful sparks erupted in his head.
There was no way that could be written off as an accidental foul, Arthur thought triumphantly, and then “Ow!” before blacking out.
In retrospect Arthur’s first inkling of his doom should have been when, as he came to, a shaft of sunlight seemed to come out from behind a cloud, alighting on the dark shaggy locks of the man crouched in front of him, and a choir in his head started singing “Pié Jésu”.
He drifted in and out of focus, and managed to lock eyes on a pretty pair of cherry-red lips. The lips were moving and a lilting Irish voice was telling everyone to move away, to give Arthur some space, to let him take care of Arthur.
Merlin was taking care of him. Arthur’ heart unaccountably pounded in his chest, and a smile ghosted his mouth, hastily quashed. His hand moved up, fingers unconsciously seeking those full lips, to bring them closer.
This movement was enough to jolt his head minutely; reality crashed down and he gasped with the sudden pain. Someone was stroking his face, wiping blood from his eyes with gentle fingers, holding an ice pack to the back of his head. It felt nice. He closed his eyes, feeling like purring.
“Have you got a cat?” he muttered weakly. “Good at stroking.” And hysterical laughter bubbled up from his belly.
“Shhh,” the steady Irish voice hushed him. “Come on now, sit up. Let’s be having you, lazy daisy”.
“Head. Hurts. Ow. Ribs.” Arthur grimaced and tried to sit up, felt Percival’s reassuring strong arms grip him from behind while Merlin’s face peered at him concernedly from the front.
“It’s OK Arthur, you’re going to be fine,” said Merlin in his soothing Irish brogue. “But this will sting a bit I’m afraid.” Long, gentle fingers dabbed antiseptic wipes at the cuts on his face. Merlin’s exhaled breath ghosted in the cold air and he carried on talking gently to Arthur, regarding him with deep blue eyes framed by long, black lashes.
“Elyan and Gwaine are dealing with that bastard Val. Gaius has suspended the match while you get treated.”
Merlin gently lifted his eyelids and shone a torch into his eyes.
“You should go and get checked out Arthur,” he concluded. “You have a mild concussion, but nothing serious. Someone should stay with you for the next 24 hours, and paracetamol will help with the pain. But you’re a bit cut up and bruised, and you’re not going to be playing any more of this match, so let’s get you checked out and off the pitch ok? Percival, Lance - can you give me a hand yeah?”
Warm hands gripped him and he was hauled unceremoniously off towards the edge where Lance and Percival gently lowered him into a sitting position on a bench, leaning back into Merlin, whose arms held him carefully so as not to jog his bruised ribs.
“Merlin?” Arthur whispered, and tried to turn his head, then bit back a cry as sudden pain pounded into his cranium.
“I’m here Arthur. Stay with me mate.” And those heavenly fingers gently stroked his hair again. He closed his eyes, sinking into Merlin’s warm embrace. “Gwen and I’ll take you to casualty to get you checked out, and then we’ll take you home. She’s just gone to get her car. At least that twat Val didn’t managed to get the boot into your embouchure, eh Arthur,” joked Merlin. “Stay awake, mate, best not to nod off yet.”
Merlin stopped stroking his head for a second. Arthur squeaked a protest and then he resumed, chuckling. Arthur closed his eyes and sank his head onto Merlin’s chest, where he could hear the soothing thud, thud of Merlin’s heart. So tired.
“Don’t go to sleep now Arthur,” Merlin’s voice rumbled in his chest.
“Shhh!” hushed Arthur to the rumbling. “Too loud.”
Merlin’s breath hitched as he spoke again, more quietly.
“Well this isn’t how I imagined our first cuddle to be you know Arthur, I sort of hoped you’d be more actively involved, you know.”
Arthur laughed faintly.
“Are you coming on to me Merlin? While I lie mortally wounded? That’s a bit low, don’t you think?”
He could hear the echoing laughter bubble up in Merlin’s chest, and burrowed the unwounded part of his face a little deeper into Merlin’s warm fleece hoody.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not in the Hippocratic oath, Merlin actually,” Arthur babbled on. Merlin’s expression saddened slightly while a corner of Arthur’s mind screamed at him to shut up shut up shut up, STOP COCK-BLOCKING YOURSELF ARTHUR YOU IDIOT.
Out of the corner of her eye he could see Gwen, brandishing a pair of car keys.
“OK girls,” she said, with a fond smile on her face. “Let’s get you both over to casualty.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest that he was definitely not a girl, but closed it again. It hurt too much to argue.
~~~
By the time Merlin and Gwen had escorted Arthur home from the hospital, with a packet of pain killers, and dire warnings not to leave him alone or let him sleep for more than two consecutive hours, his normal biting temper had returned. Merlin almost preferred the docile, dazed version of Arthur whom he had dragged from the football pitch. But he realised that the returning epithets and abuse were a sign of the patient’s recovery.
They stood shivering on the doorstep to the block of flats Arthur lived in, while Merlin reached into Arthur’s jeans pocket for a key.
“I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door to my own flat, you imbecile,” spat Arthur charmingly. Merlin and Gwen exchanged a long-suffering glance.
“Fine,” said Merlin, stepping away from Arthur who promptly nearly collapsed in a heap so that he had to step back hurriedly to prop him up again. “Off you go then.”
Arthur rummaged gingerly in his pocket but his hands were trembling with the cold and delayed shock, and he fumbled.
“All right,” he snapped finally. “OK, but don’t take advantage. I’ll know if you try anything”
“As if I would,” said Merlin soothingly. He sighed a little, inwardly, at the thought of his self restraint, but he meant it.
Merlin having retrieved the key, they pushed the door open and entered Arthur’s spartanly furnished ground-floor flat, Merlin’s arm still round Arthur. Gwen trotted off to find the kitchen and turn the kettle on for a cup of tea. Merlin deposited Arthur on a sleek leather couch, and draped him with a blanket before switching on the TV. Gwen reappeared clutching 3 steaming mugs and they sat together companionably watching an old Harry Potter movie on TV with one eye, while Arthur gradually stopped shivering as he sipped his tea.
Merlin caught Gwen looking surreptitiously at her watch.
“Don’t worry Gwen,” he said. “I’ll stay here with her ladyship.”
She flashed him a guilty smile.
“Thanks Merlin. I would normally be happy to stay, it’s just…” she bit her bottom lip and Merlin smiled at her knowingly when she blurted out, “I’ve got a date.”
“Ooooh,” said Merlin knowingly. “Anyone we know?”
Gwen blushed and punched him hard on the arm. “It’s Lance, you idiot,” she said, “as if you didn’t know, sitting next to him as you do!
Merlin chuckled. “About bloody time. Look, I’ll stay here with Arthur. I’ve got nothing on tonight and I’m not due back at university til Monday. I’ll get us in a take-out or something and make sure he doesn’t get devoured by monsters or anythin’, ok?”
“Merlin you’re an angel.” And she went to get ready for her date, leaving him and Arthur alone.
Merlin sat back down on the sofa. “You OK?” he said.
Arthur nodded, and then winced, because nodding was really not a good idea. “Yeah,” he huffed eventually but his face was tense and Merlin could tell he was in pain. “Bit cold still.”
Without saying any more Merlin lifted Arthur’s feet from the ground. “Jayzus Arthur, your feet are like ice blocks.” He shuffled his bum so that Arthur’s feet lay under Merlin’s warm thighs and they watched the rest of the Harry Potter movie together like that as Arthur’s toes gradually warmed up. At some point Arthur must have nodded off. Merlin gently withdrew from the sofa and sat in a small chair, watching Arthur sleep. After a couple of hours he padded over and sat next to Arthur’s peaceful form and sighed.
“Sorry mate,” he said. “Don’t like doing this but I have to wake you up every couple of hours.” He lifted Arthur’s hand and rubbed it gently.
“Arthur! Wake up mate,” he said quietly and, not really knowing why, obeyed a sudden impulse to place a soft kiss on Arthur’s forehead. Arthur’s eyes opened and he looked momentarily dazed before smiling sweetly and unselfconsciously at Merlin, who returned the smile.
“How you feelin’?” said Merlin.
“Head hurts,” Arthur swallowed. “Could do with a drink.”
“No problem,” said Merlin and padded off to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. He placed it by Arthur’s side and gently brushed blond hair out of Arthur’s face before returning to his own chair. He set the alarm for two hours hence, and dozed before repeating the exercise.
Although the night was long, and he got very little sleep, Merlin did not regret a single minute of it. And in the morning, he and Arthur sat up and traded insults over cornflakes and poached eggs as if nothing had changed between them.
If they both knew that there was a new warmth to their bantering exchanges, and if the smiles had grown wider and the frowns had grown less frequent, neither of them mentioned it.