Request-a-Fic: Fallen Quite Hard Over You
Title: Fallen Quite Hard Over You
Wordcount: ~1600
Summary: Arthur and Merlin, the morning of a royal wedding. From the Possibly Maybe I'm Falling For You 'verse.
A/N: This one is for helena_star. I've had the vague idea for this fic around for ages (since the royal wedding comment fest ages ago, in fact, but since Possibly Maybe wasn't even posted then ...), so I have been very glad for an opportunity to write it. Title once again from Landon Pigg's "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop."
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
Morgana sweeps into Gwaine’s flat while Merlin is regretting telling his mum that he really could tie his tie on his own. Which was apparently a lie, even after seven years of being in a relationship with the Prince of Wales, although it might have something to do with the fact that he’s jittery and can’t keep his hands steady. “My brother informs me that the two of you spent the entirety of last night playing Battleship on Skype,” she informs him. “I sincerely hope he meant that as a euphemism.”
“Gwaine wouldn’t leave me alone and my mum was in the next room. It wasn’t a euphemism.” He really should have rented a hotel room or something, if the Clarence House staff (not to mention King Uther’s staff) were going to insist on being Victorian.
Morgana heaves a dramatic sigh and snatches Merlin’s tie away from him to turn it the right way round. “It’s as I feared, then. Well, I suppose it’s my duty.” She rests her hand on Merlin’s shoulder and looks at him very seriously. “Your wedding night will give you a whole new experience that--” she begins, and Merlin realizes that she is trying to give him a sex talk. On the morning of his wedding.
Merlin does the only sensible thing and puts his hands over his ears. “I can’t hear you,” he announces loudly. “And also we’ve been having sex for quite some time now, thanks.”
His mum, of course, picks that exact moment to push the door open. “Well,” she says, somewhere between a smile and the mortification he knows is spreading across his face right now, “that’s good to know.” Gwaine, apparently awake and in his living room, starts laughing.
“I just wanted to be sure,” says Morgana, serene as ever. “Wouldn’t want my dear little brother to have a disappointing wedding night, after all.” Gwaine keeps laughing in the next room. “Oi,” she says, voice raised, “have a little respect for the crown!”
“Why am I marrying into this family?” Merlin asks his mother, who is apparently the only sane person helping him get ready for his wedding.
“You might have wanted to consider that two years ago when you agreed to Arthur’s proposal,” she says with a distinct lack of sympathy, but at least she doesn’t know the real story, wherein Merlin got fed up with Arthur conspicuously avoiding the subject of marriage and told him to ask because he would have done so himself but didn’t think commoners were supposed to propose to Crown Princes. Which was followed by another discussion of Mills & Boon novels and why Merlin wasn’t allowed to borrow them from Gwen ever again. Which was followed by an actual proposal. The story they told the press (not to mention their friends) was much more romantic.
“God knows,” says Morgana cheerfully, doing his tie properly and shaking his jacket out. “Arthur is nearly as inbred as a corgi and only a bit more intelligent.”
“But he’s good in the sack,” shouts Gwaine.
“I hate you all. I should have taken Arthur seriously when he offered to elope.”
“Every paparazzo and teenage girl in the country would have cried,” Morgana points out. “Horrible, copious tears of betrayal. Face it, Merlin, love, you two are Cinderella for the modern age. There’s going to be a made-for-TV film.”
“I’m hoping they cast Orlando Bloom for me,” says Merlin, and Gwaine starts laughing again.
Merlin’s phone goes off, playing the Wedding March because Arthur thinks he’s clever, and he lunges for it, hoping for a dose of sanity to be injected into his morning. “Morgana’s gone rogue,” Arthur says the second Merlin greets him.
“She’s here giving me a sex talk, actually,” says Merlin. “Or trying. If she tells me to lay back and think of England I’m going to have to punch her, I don’t care what the papers print.”
“Giving you a … she’s stayed with us before.”
“She was apparently worried, what with us playing Battleship last night and not having webcam sex.” He winces and turns around. “Sorry, mum.”
She just smiles. “Come, Morgana, dear, we’ll have tea. Let’s leave the bridegrooms to have their little chat.”
“Don’t have phone sex!” Gwaine yells from the next room. “The whole country will know if you come to your wedding looking as if you’ve just been shagged!”
Arthur makes a pained noise that means Gwaine’s voice, as always, carried. “We need better friends,” says Merlin. “And relatives. I don’t suppose it’s allowed to replace Morgana and Gwaine?”
“With whom, exactly? I suppose I could call cousin Morgause, but I’d really rather not. And most of my bodyguards do need to remain bodyguards today.”
Because they are getting married today. Merlin has to remind himself of that periodically, because it doesn’t seem quite real. He keeps expecting to wake up and have it be his first term of university again, because surely he can’t be marrying the Prince of Wales. “Fine, they can stay. But I am going to silence Gwaine if he starts saying anything awful and not take it off till after the honeymoon. Maybe not until after our visit to North America.”
Arthur laughs. “It was your idea to stay with him, and he’s been alternating calling us ‘princess’ for years. You didn’t actually think he would refrain from mocking you today of all days, did you?”
“I thought he would get me drunk last night.” Which he did, or at least a little bit tipsy. He and Arthur had their “stag night,” such as it was, two weeks ago, since the Clarence House staff was terrified that any closer and they might still be hung over, but Gwaine announced that Merlin couldn’t waste the last night of his bachelorhood watching Return of the Jedi for the hundredth time and Merlin decided that he wanted to forget about the probability of tripping over a carpet in front of all of Britain’s best and brightest, not to mention the TV cameras. He’s done it before.
“Are you going to be okay?” Someone in the background on Arthur’s end of the line says something, and Arthur covers his mouthpiece, probably to tell some staff member that Morgana has been located and isn’t off doing something unwise like giving an interview to Nimueh. “Because you haven’t actually panicked since Lady Gaga wrote that song about us and I’m starting to worry.”
“After Lady Gaga, the wedding is a piece of cake,” says Merlin. “It’s not going to be my favourite day ever, but we’ll be married at the end of it.” Married, with diplomatic visits to do and journalists to talk to and probably a title since he certainly can’t be a princess, in between working on his PhD because he doubts any IT department in the country will hire the Prince’s husband and practicing his magic. Still, he’s surprised at how little will change, except now the few people who weren’t bothered by the gay prince but were bothered by him living in sin will stop muttering.
“Rumour has it the string quartet at the reception has done an arrangement of her song. It’s only a pity she couldn’t make it to sing with them,” says Arthur, and Merlin can hear the grin.
“I wish she could, then maybe people would be paying less attention to whose hat Morgana is wearing.”
Arthur laughs. “Have you seen her hat yet? She nearly murdered her stylist when she saw it.”
“No. Who wants to bet she’s donated it to charity already and shows up in a fabulous hat of her own design?”
“No bet.” Someone is talking to Arthur again, and this time he curses. “I’ve got to go. Father wants to talk to me before the ceremony, apparently. But I’ll see you in a few hours and this will all be over.”
“I’ll send Morgana back to you as soon as she’s finished torturing me,” says Merlin, because for all they fight like cats and dogs Morgana will probably be the only thing to keep Arthur from pacing a hole in the floor after whatever King Uther wants to talk to him about. “And I’ll see you in a few hours. Take deep breaths, yeah? I’m not going to jilt you at the altar.”
“Gag Gwaine if you must. Actually, gag Morgana while you’re at it or she’s going to say incriminating things about our sex life on national television. And tell your mother hello from me.”
“Arthur. Seriously. Deep breaths. We’re going to get married, and everything is okay.”
“Everything is okay,” Arthur repeats, sounding more certain of it by the second. “Don’t let them get you down, and don’t be late.”
Gwaine pokes his head through Merlin’s door. “Oi, Cinderella, get a move on, Morgana just left so you don’t have to hide from her anymore and she brought a garter for you.”
“Wear it,” says Arthur before Merlin can even begin to object, sounding a bit breathless.
Merlin laughs. “As you wish,” he says, because he can’t say what he wants to with Gwaine staring at him expectantly.
“I love you too,” says Arthur, and rings off.
“Well,” says Gwaine, rolling his eyes because he, like the rest of the world, has seen The Princess Bride. “Let’s get you married, Buttercup.”
Wordcount: ~1600
Summary: Arthur and Merlin, the morning of a royal wedding. From the Possibly Maybe I'm Falling For You 'verse.
A/N: This one is for helena_star. I've had the vague idea for this fic around for ages (since the royal wedding comment fest ages ago, in fact, but since Possibly Maybe wasn't even posted then ...), so I have been very glad for an opportunity to write it. Title once again from Landon Pigg's "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop."
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
Morgana sweeps into Gwaine’s flat while Merlin is regretting telling his mum that he really could tie his tie on his own. Which was apparently a lie, even after seven years of being in a relationship with the Prince of Wales, although it might have something to do with the fact that he’s jittery and can’t keep his hands steady. “My brother informs me that the two of you spent the entirety of last night playing Battleship on Skype,” she informs him. “I sincerely hope he meant that as a euphemism.”
“Gwaine wouldn’t leave me alone and my mum was in the next room. It wasn’t a euphemism.” He really should have rented a hotel room or something, if the Clarence House staff (not to mention King Uther’s staff) were going to insist on being Victorian.
Morgana heaves a dramatic sigh and snatches Merlin’s tie away from him to turn it the right way round. “It’s as I feared, then. Well, I suppose it’s my duty.” She rests her hand on Merlin’s shoulder and looks at him very seriously. “Your wedding night will give you a whole new experience that--” she begins, and Merlin realizes that she is trying to give him a sex talk. On the morning of his wedding.
Merlin does the only sensible thing and puts his hands over his ears. “I can’t hear you,” he announces loudly. “And also we’ve been having sex for quite some time now, thanks.”
His mum, of course, picks that exact moment to push the door open. “Well,” she says, somewhere between a smile and the mortification he knows is spreading across his face right now, “that’s good to know.” Gwaine, apparently awake and in his living room, starts laughing.
“I just wanted to be sure,” says Morgana, serene as ever. “Wouldn’t want my dear little brother to have a disappointing wedding night, after all.” Gwaine keeps laughing in the next room. “Oi,” she says, voice raised, “have a little respect for the crown!”
“Why am I marrying into this family?” Merlin asks his mother, who is apparently the only sane person helping him get ready for his wedding.
“You might have wanted to consider that two years ago when you agreed to Arthur’s proposal,” she says with a distinct lack of sympathy, but at least she doesn’t know the real story, wherein Merlin got fed up with Arthur conspicuously avoiding the subject of marriage and told him to ask because he would have done so himself but didn’t think commoners were supposed to propose to Crown Princes. Which was followed by another discussion of Mills & Boon novels and why Merlin wasn’t allowed to borrow them from Gwen ever again. Which was followed by an actual proposal. The story they told the press (not to mention their friends) was much more romantic.
“God knows,” says Morgana cheerfully, doing his tie properly and shaking his jacket out. “Arthur is nearly as inbred as a corgi and only a bit more intelligent.”
“But he’s good in the sack,” shouts Gwaine.
“I hate you all. I should have taken Arthur seriously when he offered to elope.”
“Every paparazzo and teenage girl in the country would have cried,” Morgana points out. “Horrible, copious tears of betrayal. Face it, Merlin, love, you two are Cinderella for the modern age. There’s going to be a made-for-TV film.”
“I’m hoping they cast Orlando Bloom for me,” says Merlin, and Gwaine starts laughing again.
Merlin’s phone goes off, playing the Wedding March because Arthur thinks he’s clever, and he lunges for it, hoping for a dose of sanity to be injected into his morning. “Morgana’s gone rogue,” Arthur says the second Merlin greets him.
“She’s here giving me a sex talk, actually,” says Merlin. “Or trying. If she tells me to lay back and think of England I’m going to have to punch her, I don’t care what the papers print.”
“Giving you a … she’s stayed with us before.”
“She was apparently worried, what with us playing Battleship last night and not having webcam sex.” He winces and turns around. “Sorry, mum.”
She just smiles. “Come, Morgana, dear, we’ll have tea. Let’s leave the bridegrooms to have their little chat.”
“Don’t have phone sex!” Gwaine yells from the next room. “The whole country will know if you come to your wedding looking as if you’ve just been shagged!”
Arthur makes a pained noise that means Gwaine’s voice, as always, carried. “We need better friends,” says Merlin. “And relatives. I don’t suppose it’s allowed to replace Morgana and Gwaine?”
“With whom, exactly? I suppose I could call cousin Morgause, but I’d really rather not. And most of my bodyguards do need to remain bodyguards today.”
Because they are getting married today. Merlin has to remind himself of that periodically, because it doesn’t seem quite real. He keeps expecting to wake up and have it be his first term of university again, because surely he can’t be marrying the Prince of Wales. “Fine, they can stay. But I am going to silence Gwaine if he starts saying anything awful and not take it off till after the honeymoon. Maybe not until after our visit to North America.”
Arthur laughs. “It was your idea to stay with him, and he’s been alternating calling us ‘princess’ for years. You didn’t actually think he would refrain from mocking you today of all days, did you?”
“I thought he would get me drunk last night.” Which he did, or at least a little bit tipsy. He and Arthur had their “stag night,” such as it was, two weeks ago, since the Clarence House staff was terrified that any closer and they might still be hung over, but Gwaine announced that Merlin couldn’t waste the last night of his bachelorhood watching Return of the Jedi for the hundredth time and Merlin decided that he wanted to forget about the probability of tripping over a carpet in front of all of Britain’s best and brightest, not to mention the TV cameras. He’s done it before.
“Are you going to be okay?” Someone in the background on Arthur’s end of the line says something, and Arthur covers his mouthpiece, probably to tell some staff member that Morgana has been located and isn’t off doing something unwise like giving an interview to Nimueh. “Because you haven’t actually panicked since Lady Gaga wrote that song about us and I’m starting to worry.”
“After Lady Gaga, the wedding is a piece of cake,” says Merlin. “It’s not going to be my favourite day ever, but we’ll be married at the end of it.” Married, with diplomatic visits to do and journalists to talk to and probably a title since he certainly can’t be a princess, in between working on his PhD because he doubts any IT department in the country will hire the Prince’s husband and practicing his magic. Still, he’s surprised at how little will change, except now the few people who weren’t bothered by the gay prince but were bothered by him living in sin will stop muttering.
“Rumour has it the string quartet at the reception has done an arrangement of her song. It’s only a pity she couldn’t make it to sing with them,” says Arthur, and Merlin can hear the grin.
“I wish she could, then maybe people would be paying less attention to whose hat Morgana is wearing.”
Arthur laughs. “Have you seen her hat yet? She nearly murdered her stylist when she saw it.”
“No. Who wants to bet she’s donated it to charity already and shows up in a fabulous hat of her own design?”
“No bet.” Someone is talking to Arthur again, and this time he curses. “I’ve got to go. Father wants to talk to me before the ceremony, apparently. But I’ll see you in a few hours and this will all be over.”
“I’ll send Morgana back to you as soon as she’s finished torturing me,” says Merlin, because for all they fight like cats and dogs Morgana will probably be the only thing to keep Arthur from pacing a hole in the floor after whatever King Uther wants to talk to him about. “And I’ll see you in a few hours. Take deep breaths, yeah? I’m not going to jilt you at the altar.”
“Gag Gwaine if you must. Actually, gag Morgana while you’re at it or she’s going to say incriminating things about our sex life on national television. And tell your mother hello from me.”
“Arthur. Seriously. Deep breaths. We’re going to get married, and everything is okay.”
“Everything is okay,” Arthur repeats, sounding more certain of it by the second. “Don’t let them get you down, and don’t be late.”
Gwaine pokes his head through Merlin’s door. “Oi, Cinderella, get a move on, Morgana just left so you don’t have to hide from her anymore and she brought a garter for you.”
“Wear it,” says Arthur before Merlin can even begin to object, sounding a bit breathless.
Merlin laughs. “As you wish,” he says, because he can’t say what he wants to with Gwaine staring at him expectantly.
“I love you too,” says Arthur, and rings off.
“Well,” says Gwaine, rolling his eyes because he, like the rest of the world, has seen The Princess Bride. “Let’s get you married, Buttercup.”