Title: Stop The Sun
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Even adorned in his Human clothes, it looks so right. It's then that he realizes this is Arthur, the Angel, the child of the light.
Warnings: Mildly implied violence, Language
Word Count: 1,553
Prompt: #81 - The Month Of Sins: Pride
Author's Notes: Oh wow, I don't hate this one! But I do feel like it moved a little fast...but there's sort of a reason for that. I actually have all of the Sin Fics planned in my head (well, except for Sloth, but shhh), and in order to do the others, I had to break the wall of stubbornness Arthur built. And well, now I suppose you can see where this goes. And plus, we already knew from the last part Arthur knows he's pretty fucked, so I'm hoping it doesn't seem...too abrupt? But anyway, please enjoy!
Other parts; "Mischief Managed" - "Into The Dark" - "With a Kiss, He Falls" - "He Who Owns Your Heart" - "The Time You Borrow"
Pain shoots through him as he stumbles through the darkness, clutching at his stomach. His breathing is erratic and he knows that he needs to stay still, and let the darkness weave its way into his wounds, but he can't, he can't afford to stop right now. He needs to go, needs to get away from the Demon Realm, and the smell of blood probably stains him by this point, burned into him. If he stays, who knows what will happen--
He passes the threshold, and breathes.
Merlin opens his eyes, and lets out a quiet hiss. Squinting, he looks up at the sky.
It's blue and the sun is shining directly overhead.
Merlin winces as he pulls his hand away from his abdomen, taking note of how it sticks just a little as he does so. He gazes down at his pale palm, and isn't at all surprised to see how nearly his entire hand is covered in blood. He sucks in a breath and bites his tongue, keeping the whine of pain firmly locked in his throat.
He needs to get out of the light.
Merlin ducks into one of the alleys, grateful for the fact that very few Humans use alleys in the middle of the day. Alleys are typically frequented at night, and as much as he loathes to admit it, it's daylight and he'll be safe once he can find the shadows he knows will be lurking. He blinks away the spots in his eyes, and swallows down the vomit that threatens to claw its way up his throat.
He lets out a shuddered breath as he sinks against the wall, his feet refusing to cooperate with him. He rubs the back of his hand along his face, and hisses when he remembers being hit there earlier. He must look terrible, he thinks, bruises all over and bleeding from the stomach.
Half in the shadows, Merlin leans his head back against the wall, breathing in deeply and letting it out, despite the pain. It's been a while since he's been beaten this badly, but he knows he'll muddle through. Soon enough these wounds will heal, and he'll be as good as new.
He can feel his mind drifting in and out. Just how much blood has he actually lost? Can't have been that much...he was only hit a few times.
It was more than a few, his mind reprimands him traitorously, and he swears quietly to himself.
He's not going to die. As if he would die from something as simple and being beaten around a bit.
They were trying to kill you, his conscience keeps telling him. It wasn't a squabble, they were trying to murder you.
Merlin swallows again, and wills the few shadows around him to aid him. He needs these wounds to fix themselves, to at least stop bleeding.
Are they still bleeding?
He sucks in a breath when the darkness crawls into his veins, into the tears in his skin, and it burns, as he knew it would, but still that doesn't stop it from hurting. He bites down hard on his tongue to keep from screaming, as the magic weaves slowly into him, but he knows it's not enough, the darkness isn't absolute, the sun is still out, this could take hours, days even, to heal. He can't stay here, it isn't safe, especially with the stench of blood all over him, but he can't go back to the Demon Realm yet, that's even less safe--
Merlin slowly opens his eyes, a wave of nausea washing over him as he does so. His vision is unfocused, blurry, and it takes him a few minutes to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden influx of light. After a moment, his eyes align themselves, and he looks up at whoever has spoken to him. The air from his lungs is stolen from him in seconds.
Arthur is there, staring at him, face a mixture of confusion and what Merlin thinks he identifies as concern. But that's not what's stolen his breath away. The sun streams into the alley, away from him, but right at Arthur, entangling its beams into his golden hair, eyes glittering in a way he's never seen them.
Even adorned in his Human clothes, it looks so right. It's then that he realizes this is Arthur, the Angel, the child of the light.
His lips twitch into an unconscious smile, tilting his head, despite the pain. “Little angel.”
The nickname doesn't seem to fit him right now, but it's so natural for him, makes him forget that he's actually in quite a lot of pain and every movement is like agony. It makes him feel stronger, and he doesn't...he realizes then he doesn't want to be weak, not in front of Arthur.
But his body, always going against him, feels a sharp burn just then, and he cries out, before biting down on his tongue once more. “Buggering fuck.”
Arthur winces at the swear, or at least, Merlin thinks he does. It's entirely possible he imagined that.
However that may be, Merlin knows he doesn't imagine Arthur suddenly being close—so close—and grabbing his arm, pulling his hand away from his wound. He hears Arthur suck in a startled breath, before the grip on his arms tighten.
“Lord in Heaven,” he whispers, almost like a prayer. It's more tentative than Merlin's ever heard his voice. “What happened to you?”
Merlin tries to shrug, but ends up suppressing another whine. So instead, he attempts to play it off as a joke. “Nothing. Got into a bit of a tumble with some other Demons. All in good fun, really.”
The lie sounds horrible—even to his own ears. He can tell by the way Arthur curls his lips into a barely concealed sneer that he doesn't believe him at all. He's not even going to attempt to believe Merlin's pitiful excuse for a lie.
He's a Demon, for fuck's sake. He couldn't come up with a better lie than that?
“Did said tumble consist of sharp objects and oh, I don't know, plans for murder?” Arthur asks sarcastically, now scrutinizing the bruises on his face.
“No,” Merlin says petulantly, just to annoy him. Arthur scoffs, but says little more on the matter.
They're both quiet for a minute, before Arthur finally sighs, seemingly finishing his examination. “You look horrid.”
“Aw, but I spent hours making myself look pretty for you,” Merlin replies bitterly, rolling his eyes. “Of course I look like shit.”
Arthur huffs, but doesn't reply. He looks at Merlin in a strange way, eyes betraying nothing, but his expression looks conflicted, as if he has no idea what to do. Merlin is about to tell him just to shove off, not really in the mood to play around with him right now, when Arthur shucks off his jacket.
Merlin raises a brow, about to ask what he's doing, until Arthur starts tearing at the fabric. He shuts his mouth, swallowing the question before it's even asked, and Arthur shifts closer to him, urging him to sit forward a bit. Merlin does so, with great difficulty, and Arthur ties the strip of fabric he'd torn around his stomach, pulling it tightly.
“Ow!” Merlin cries out, then lets out a breath. He frowns. “Arthur...”
“Shut up,” Arthur snaps. Then, softer, “Just...let me do this. Just swallow your forsaken pride and let me do this.”
The Demon says nothing as the Angel repeats the process over and over, tearing and tying. If Merlin notices how little splotches of blood appears on his fingers, he doesn't mention it.
Arthur's face is a mask now, completely void of anything that pertains to his feelings on the situation. Merlin just lets him bask in his silence, not in the mood to talk anyway. Occasionally a whimper will escape his lips, and if he imagines Arthur quietly shushing him, not in reprimand, but in concern, he ignores it.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the Angel pulls away from him, tossing his wrecked jacket to the side. He gazes over Merlin's body, and if it were anyone else but Arthur, Merlin would've made a lewd comment about it.
He sighs quietly, and Merlin, though he can't explain it, sees something break in his Angel, though he doesn't know what. Maybe it's his resolve, maybe it's the barricade that he'd built around himself, but whatever it happened to be, it's broken now, in shards all around him.
Arthur reaches a hand up, and though his face is still marred in a frown, his eyes are shining with something. He's careful to avoid the bruise on Merlin's cheek as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. It's chaste and soft, sweet and when he pulls away, Merlin notices that he's leaning forward, almost chasing after him.
Arthur pulls his hand away, but Merlin catches his wrist with his bloodied hand. Arthur doesn't flinch, nor does he make any move to take it away. There's a beat, and Arthur meets his eyes.
He's surprised when Arthur whispers weakly, brokenly, “I think...I think I could fall in love with you.”
He's not surprised when he answers back, just as weak, just as delicate.
“I think I already have.”