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calvinbox2015-12-29 04:40 am
hornrimming) wrote in calvinbox2015-12-29 04:40 am
Entry tags:
I'm so tired my mind is set on you
Who: Merlin, Eggsy Unwin ( mannersmaketh ) & Harry Hart (etiquette )
What: Merlin has had a rough day, and the men in his life take it upon themselves to wind him down.
Verse: Fix-It Canon
Rating: NC-17
One week.
One week until Harry's (hopefully) final medical exam. If they were all lucky, he would pass it with flying colors and the remains of the round table could go ahead and swear him in as Arthur. One week, and Robin could slide comfortably back into Merlin and catch up with the building backlog that had been, for the time being, siphoned off between Nimueh and Morgana. One week, and it can't come soon enough.
For a man who has trouble at times admitting his limitations, he has become painfully aware of them in the last few months. One such limitation, it seemed, was having to talk to people, outside of his current sphere of being and in a realm he had never once had the desire to be in: that of politics. With the world gone to shit and him being one of the only men still breathing that knew the grand scope of what had happened, that responsibility fell to him in abundance. From the moment Eggsy handed him Chester's phone, the clock ticked and ticked until it ran nonstop. Returning the remaining world leaders from cells to their home countries, meetings, avoiding press conferences, maintaining secrecy in the face of mass global panic, finding Harry, rehabilitating Harry, more meetings, filling in the fractures in Kingsman itself--it just built up, and up, and up.
( Funny, how something that was usually a more stressful engagement had become his only source of peace from the chaos. Forming functional threesomes with your coworkers didn't exactly have a precedent for being easy. )
His key turns in the door of Harry's Mews home, and he hangs it on it's hook by the door. He feels heavy, but getting out of his shoes and coat, out of this suit into a nice jumper, that's all he wants. One more week, and no more emergency phone calls from Jeremy Corbyn or the Harriet with the CIA. No more gaping holes in his staff that he couldn't address, no more being the secret face of a bloody great secret organization, a position he had never signed up for in the first place.
One more week and he could just be Merlin again.
mannersmaketh ) & Harry Hart (etiquette )What: Merlin has had a rough day, and the men in his life take it upon themselves to wind him down.
Verse: Fix-It Canon
Rating: NC-17
One week.
One week until Harry's (hopefully) final medical exam. If they were all lucky, he would pass it with flying colors and the remains of the round table could go ahead and swear him in as Arthur. One week, and Robin could slide comfortably back into Merlin and catch up with the building backlog that had been, for the time being, siphoned off between Nimueh and Morgana. One week, and it can't come soon enough.
For a man who has trouble at times admitting his limitations, he has become painfully aware of them in the last few months. One such limitation, it seemed, was having to talk to people, outside of his current sphere of being and in a realm he had never once had the desire to be in: that of politics. With the world gone to shit and him being one of the only men still breathing that knew the grand scope of what had happened, that responsibility fell to him in abundance. From the moment Eggsy handed him Chester's phone, the clock ticked and ticked until it ran nonstop. Returning the remaining world leaders from cells to their home countries, meetings, avoiding press conferences, maintaining secrecy in the face of mass global panic, finding Harry, rehabilitating Harry, more meetings, filling in the fractures in Kingsman itself--it just built up, and up, and up.
( Funny, how something that was usually a more stressful engagement had become his only source of peace from the chaos. Forming functional threesomes with your coworkers didn't exactly have a precedent for being easy. )
His key turns in the door of Harry's Mews home, and he hangs it on it's hook by the door. He feels heavy, but getting out of his shoes and coat, out of this suit into a nice jumper, that's all he wants. One more week, and no more emergency phone calls from Jeremy Corbyn or the Harriet with the CIA. No more gaping holes in his staff that he couldn't address, no more being the secret face of a bloody great secret organization, a position he had never signed up for in the first place.
One more week and he could just be Merlin again.