fic: Lemsip and Chicken
Title: Lemsip and Chicken
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Word count: 1,258
Summary: Pointless schmoopy fluff wherein Merlin is ill and Arthur doesn't believe him. Written for bedofpearls who is all sniffly and ew, and my quill_it prompt 'breathing'
When Arthur walked in from work, flinging his coat over the banister, he made to just flop over onto the sofa and found a most perturbing obstacle in the form of a napping Merlin curled up on it instead. "Mmnnrgh," he mumbled incoherently, trying to shift the mismatch-socked feet to make some space. Finally managing to simply sprawl with his bum wedged into the back of the sofa and his legs hanging over Merlin's, Arthur sank back wearily, reaching for the remote, turning the tv on and turning down the volume until it was a dull buzz of inane sound that comfortably filled the silence. He didn't like it when the flat was silent.
Somewhere along the way, Arthur found himself starting to doze off when Merlin prodded him back to the land of wakefulness. "Gerroff," Merlin grumbled, shoving at Arthur's legs before swivelling himself around and nuzzling up against Arthur's side after removing Arthur's tie, which had somehow sidled up to under his ear.
Chuckling lightly, Arthur absently curled one hand around Merlin's skinny ribcage, tipping his head so that Merlin's could fit in more comfortably just as Fiona Bruce started announcing the main headlines. "What's up with you, you lazy thing? You must've been home for hours."
Merlin usually got home somewhere around four pm from his days working in Reception class, covered in poster paint, PVA glue and shreds of newspaper and then spent the evening with various bits of materials trying to come up with ever more creative ways of teaching. It was probably the first time their living room didn't have something all over the floor in a long while. "Mm," a sniffle came from somewhere around Arthur's neck, "I'm ill."
With a snort, Arthur ruffled his hair. "You're probably just tired from working with little monsters for the whole week. C'mon, I'll cook you some food and you can be a slouch for a few days." He, of course, had an immune system like the Bank of England and had not been ill since the Unmentioned Weekend Wherein Arthur Merely Had A Ticklish Throat two years ago.
"Don't go," Merlin wilted onto him and Arthur found himself easing back into the sofa again, tucking the sleepy Merlin against himself. Well, takeaway it was. At some point in his life, Arthur had more exciting things to do on a Friday night. He still went out with a few mates from uni or work every other weekend or so, but this new idea of staying in and just relaxing after a week's work always seemed to make a smile slide skittishly across his face.
Unfortunately, this weekend did not seem to be destined to be calm and relaxing, as Arthur woke up the next morning to what sounded like an elephant's trumpet. Blearily checking that it was definitely past half ten, he wandered out into the stuffy, boiling living room to find Merlin holding a sodden tissue in one hand with approximately the rest of the box of tissues in the bin. "You're ill," he stated, blinking through sleep-smeared eyes.
"Genius," Merlin might have grumbled through a blocked nose, breath all wheezy, looking up at Arthur with eyes so watery it looked as if he'd just been crying. "I said that yesterday."
Arthur sniffed, using the tissue box to cram all the disgusting tissues properly into the bin without touching them. "But you weren't ill ill yesterday," he defended himself, letting Merlin tug him onto the sofa by his belt loop for a cuddle. The room was stifling to the point where Arthur could hardly breathe, but Merlin's body was still shivering, and he pulled off his dressing gown, tenderly tucking it around Merlin instead.
Pressing a plump cushion under Merlin's head and making him lie down, Arthur pressed a kiss to his forehead before briskly heading out. "I'm going to go and buy you some medicine and soup and more tissue and... things." Having never succumbed in his mind to being sick, Arthur had no notion of how to deal with it apart from what he'd seen on tv, where people spent all day in bed with hot drinks.
"Lemsip," was Merlin's only feeble insistence, tugging at Arthur's shirt.
Outside was thankfully breezy. Cooling off the layer of sweat garnered from the sweathouse that was their living room, Arthur jogged to their closest Tesco, hurriedly poking around the unfamiliar section that had paracetamol, plasters and... aha, Lemsip! In fact, Arthur did very little shopping at all, and so wasted quite a while meandering back and forth through the aisles trying to navigate it. Tottering around with a basket felt strangely domestic, and Arthur wondered guiltily whether he ought to volunteer to shop more often, even if Merlin did seem to gain a vicious sort of joy from digging through the discount shelves.
It took Arthur mere moments to steel himself for re-entering the flat, and he immediately bustled into the kitchen to make Lemsip, which was surely too simple for him to be able to mess up. Merlin was still miserably perched on the sofa buried in tissue, thin body wracking as a sneezing fit overtook him, wheezing as he sneezed too many times in succession to catch his breath properly. Seeing Merlin's face light up as Arthur handed him his ridiculous purple dinosaur mug with hot lemon-flavoured paracetamol was so worth the first-degree burn he'd given himself by not grabbing the mug using the handle.
"Guess what else I got you," Arthur fumbled with the Tesco bag, which seemed to stick to his hand no matter how much he kicked it off. "Chicken!" He beamed, destroying the packaging. "For soup!"
Merlin recoiled, nearly splashing Lemsip everywhere. "Arthur! Don't shove raw chicken in my face, I'll get food poisoning!" He choked, although not unamused. "Go take it into the kitchen!" He instructed as Arthur stood there waving the whole chicken proudly. "Cut it into little bits without chopping your fingers, put it in a pan with some water and bring to boil." He hoped that would at least keep Arthur busy for enough time for him to slowly sip and relish his Lemsip before making his own chicken soup.
Eventually mustering enough energy to wander into the kitchen dressed in Arthur's dressing gown especially now he could breathe after the copious amounts of Lemsip, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur, who was shredding chicken fiercely, and pressed his cheek into the strength of his shoulders. "Nurse Arthur," he teased as Arthur refused to let him take over and instead set the soup on a low heat to safely simmer away and whisked Merlin back into the living room.
"You're ill; you can't do anything," Arthur said firmly, evidently confusing sickness with injury. He cuddled Merlin up on the sofa, which had been chosen because it looked just about big enough to accommodate the both of them lying down as long as they spooned, and entwined his fingers through Merlin's long, spindly fingers.
Because Arthur was facing the back of Merlin's head, he didn't see the sappy little smile that might have snuck across Merlin's lips. "Nurse Arthur," he repeated with a chuckle. "You should wear a poofy dress with a little white cap with a red cross on it."
Arthur kissed Merlin on his hot, feverish neck. "You have been playing too much Pokémon. Do you feel any better yet?"
Dragging Arthur's hand in his so that Arthur's hand splayed over his stomach, Merlin squirmed just a little bit to settle his back more firmly against Arthur's broad chest and sniffled disgustingly. "Yeah."
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Word count: 1,258
Summary: Pointless schmoopy fluff wherein Merlin is ill and Arthur doesn't believe him. Written for bedofpearls who is all sniffly and ew, and my quill_it prompt 'breathing'
When Arthur walked in from work, flinging his coat over the banister, he made to just flop over onto the sofa and found a most perturbing obstacle in the form of a napping Merlin curled up on it instead. "Mmnnrgh," he mumbled incoherently, trying to shift the mismatch-socked feet to make some space. Finally managing to simply sprawl with his bum wedged into the back of the sofa and his legs hanging over Merlin's, Arthur sank back wearily, reaching for the remote, turning the tv on and turning down the volume until it was a dull buzz of inane sound that comfortably filled the silence. He didn't like it when the flat was silent.
Somewhere along the way, Arthur found himself starting to doze off when Merlin prodded him back to the land of wakefulness. "Gerroff," Merlin grumbled, shoving at Arthur's legs before swivelling himself around and nuzzling up against Arthur's side after removing Arthur's tie, which had somehow sidled up to under his ear.
Chuckling lightly, Arthur absently curled one hand around Merlin's skinny ribcage, tipping his head so that Merlin's could fit in more comfortably just as Fiona Bruce started announcing the main headlines. "What's up with you, you lazy thing? You must've been home for hours."
Merlin usually got home somewhere around four pm from his days working in Reception class, covered in poster paint, PVA glue and shreds of newspaper and then spent the evening with various bits of materials trying to come up with ever more creative ways of teaching. It was probably the first time their living room didn't have something all over the floor in a long while. "Mm," a sniffle came from somewhere around Arthur's neck, "I'm ill."
With a snort, Arthur ruffled his hair. "You're probably just tired from working with little monsters for the whole week. C'mon, I'll cook you some food and you can be a slouch for a few days." He, of course, had an immune system like the Bank of England and had not been ill since the Unmentioned Weekend Wherein Arthur Merely Had A Ticklish Throat two years ago.
"Don't go," Merlin wilted onto him and Arthur found himself easing back into the sofa again, tucking the sleepy Merlin against himself. Well, takeaway it was. At some point in his life, Arthur had more exciting things to do on a Friday night. He still went out with a few mates from uni or work every other weekend or so, but this new idea of staying in and just relaxing after a week's work always seemed to make a smile slide skittishly across his face.
Unfortunately, this weekend did not seem to be destined to be calm and relaxing, as Arthur woke up the next morning to what sounded like an elephant's trumpet. Blearily checking that it was definitely past half ten, he wandered out into the stuffy, boiling living room to find Merlin holding a sodden tissue in one hand with approximately the rest of the box of tissues in the bin. "You're ill," he stated, blinking through sleep-smeared eyes.
"Genius," Merlin might have grumbled through a blocked nose, breath all wheezy, looking up at Arthur with eyes so watery it looked as if he'd just been crying. "I said that yesterday."
Arthur sniffed, using the tissue box to cram all the disgusting tissues properly into the bin without touching them. "But you weren't ill ill yesterday," he defended himself, letting Merlin tug him onto the sofa by his belt loop for a cuddle. The room was stifling to the point where Arthur could hardly breathe, but Merlin's body was still shivering, and he pulled off his dressing gown, tenderly tucking it around Merlin instead.
Pressing a plump cushion under Merlin's head and making him lie down, Arthur pressed a kiss to his forehead before briskly heading out. "I'm going to go and buy you some medicine and soup and more tissue and... things." Having never succumbed in his mind to being sick, Arthur had no notion of how to deal with it apart from what he'd seen on tv, where people spent all day in bed with hot drinks.
"Lemsip," was Merlin's only feeble insistence, tugging at Arthur's shirt.
Outside was thankfully breezy. Cooling off the layer of sweat garnered from the sweathouse that was their living room, Arthur jogged to their closest Tesco, hurriedly poking around the unfamiliar section that had paracetamol, plasters and... aha, Lemsip! In fact, Arthur did very little shopping at all, and so wasted quite a while meandering back and forth through the aisles trying to navigate it. Tottering around with a basket felt strangely domestic, and Arthur wondered guiltily whether he ought to volunteer to shop more often, even if Merlin did seem to gain a vicious sort of joy from digging through the discount shelves.
It took Arthur mere moments to steel himself for re-entering the flat, and he immediately bustled into the kitchen to make Lemsip, which was surely too simple for him to be able to mess up. Merlin was still miserably perched on the sofa buried in tissue, thin body wracking as a sneezing fit overtook him, wheezing as he sneezed too many times in succession to catch his breath properly. Seeing Merlin's face light up as Arthur handed him his ridiculous purple dinosaur mug with hot lemon-flavoured paracetamol was so worth the first-degree burn he'd given himself by not grabbing the mug using the handle.
"Guess what else I got you," Arthur fumbled with the Tesco bag, which seemed to stick to his hand no matter how much he kicked it off. "Chicken!" He beamed, destroying the packaging. "For soup!"
Merlin recoiled, nearly splashing Lemsip everywhere. "Arthur! Don't shove raw chicken in my face, I'll get food poisoning!" He choked, although not unamused. "Go take it into the kitchen!" He instructed as Arthur stood there waving the whole chicken proudly. "Cut it into little bits without chopping your fingers, put it in a pan with some water and bring to boil." He hoped that would at least keep Arthur busy for enough time for him to slowly sip and relish his Lemsip before making his own chicken soup.
Eventually mustering enough energy to wander into the kitchen dressed in Arthur's dressing gown especially now he could breathe after the copious amounts of Lemsip, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur, who was shredding chicken fiercely, and pressed his cheek into the strength of his shoulders. "Nurse Arthur," he teased as Arthur refused to let him take over and instead set the soup on a low heat to safely simmer away and whisked Merlin back into the living room.
"You're ill; you can't do anything," Arthur said firmly, evidently confusing sickness with injury. He cuddled Merlin up on the sofa, which had been chosen because it looked just about big enough to accommodate the both of them lying down as long as they spooned, and entwined his fingers through Merlin's long, spindly fingers.
Because Arthur was facing the back of Merlin's head, he didn't see the sappy little smile that might have snuck across Merlin's lips. "Nurse Arthur," he repeated with a chuckle. "You should wear a poofy dress with a little white cap with a red cross on it."
Arthur kissed Merlin on his hot, feverish neck. "You have been playing too much Pokémon. Do you feel any better yet?"
Dragging Arthur's hand in his so that Arthur's hand splayed over his stomach, Merlin squirmed just a little bit to settle his back more firmly against Arthur's broad chest and sniffled disgustingly. "Yeah."