âItâs a broken arm, Morgana. Iâm fine,â Gwaine says, voice sharp, and irritated.
She moves to stand. âRight.â
His eyes open. His uninjured hand darts out to grab her wrist. She sits back down beside him, her hip against his thigh. He lays his head on her shoulder, sighing heavily, his eyelids dropping once more. She canât help herself. He looks so fragile. She leans over, and softly kisses his temple, running a hand through his hair stroking it back from his face.
âIâm glad youâre all right.â
He exhales softly, tangling his fingers into hers. She presses her face in the top of his head, breathing in the smell of sweat and cooking oil. She kisses his hair, squeezes his fingers as though she can make the stuttering of her heart stop if she can remind it that Gwaineâs all right.
âWhat happened?â she asks again.
âYouâre just going to laugh,â he mumbles sleepily.
âAnd youâd deprive me of that?â
He huffs out a resigned laugh, and admits, âI tripped over a dog.â
She smiles into his hair, closing her eyes as she struggles valiantly to hold in her laughter for as long as she can. She breaks after a few seconds. A giggle makes its way past her bitten lip.Â
âYouâre such an idiot,â she murmurs fondly, still chuckling under her breath.
âYouâd have wanted to pet it too,â he pouts.
Read more Morgana/Gwaine fluff and hurt/comfort (and Merthur angst) in chapter 7 of Youâll Find the Real Thing Instead. (Rated E)