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Merlin squinted at his phone in the darkness, the light far too close for comfort and a bit grating on his eyes, but he’d already tried closing them, but he had been all too aware of his eyeballs shifting underneath closed eyelids; thus, the phone was a last resort to try to tire himself out enough to fall back asleep.
He heard Arthur grunt from next to him and Merlin quickly hit power button. Arthur was always annoyed when he woke up in the middle of the night, and Merlin tried not to let his insomniac ways affect Arthur, he really did, but there was only so much staring at the ceiling one could take before going insane.
Thankfully, Arthur only shifted slightly before his usual light snoring resumed; Merlin considered flipping him to his side and off his back to get the snoring to stop, as Arthur was a pretty heavy sleeper and probably wouldn’t notice, but the phone light might have woken him up just enough that another prod would be all it took.
Thinking himself in the clear, Merlin tapped Justin Trudeau’s Twitter feed before thinking better of getting into politics when he was trying to sleep, and instead went to his Instagram page to edit the photo he’d taken of Whiskey earlier that evening when she’d been perched on Arthur’s shoulder like a parrot.
“Mrow.”
“Shit,” Merlin whispered, tearing his eyes away from his phone. In the muted light that the phone gave off, Merlin could see the beady green eyes of his cat staring up at him expectantly, her whiskers twitching in anticipation, her tail furling behind her as if she prepared to jump –
“Kennel, Whiskey, kennel,” Merlin hissed under his breath, but it was too late. Whiskey leapt onto the bed in a single bound, a paw hitting Merlin’s stomach in the wrong place as she trampled over the bed as if it were her domain.
Merlin groaned, rubbing his stomach and glaring at his cat, who didn’t really seem to care. She’d already passed Merlin by – he was already awake, after all, and there was another stomach to step on.
“Mmm,” Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat as Whiskey made herself at home on top of Arthur’s chest and began to purr. Loudly.
Merlin slowly set his phone on the bedside table, glaring at his cat all the while.
“Wha’s the cat doing here?” Arthur slurred, reaching a lazy and uncoordinated hand out to bat in Merlin’s general direction. “Kennel, stupid.”
“Don’t call my cat stupid,” Merlin said reproachfully, grabbing Whiskey away as he sat up, pulling her close to his chest. She mrowed in protest at first before she realized Merlin wasn’t going to depose her from her kingdom.
Merlin pet his extremely stupid until she calmed down, reaching over to turn on a lamp as he did so, illuminating the room in a soft haze.
Arthur groaned immediately even at the tiny bit of light, his sleep-crinkled face, turning away from Merlin as he buried his head in his pillow. Merlin, boyfriend extraordinaire, ran a hand through Arthur’s hair with one hand, the other still preoccupied with Whiskey.
She was unamused at getting half of Merlin’s petting and attention, and mrowed again in order to regain her status as Best Beloved in the Apartment.
“You like that cat more than me,” Arthur turned around to glare at Merlin when he pulled his hand away from Arthur to smooth down his cat’s matted fur. “She needs a shave.”
“She does not,” Merlin objected, stroking Whiskey’s fine, overwhelmingly fluffy ginger fur. “And I do not. Like her more. I told her to go away, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Because you never trained her properly.”
“You can’t train cats, Arthur –”
“Yes you can, there was an Atlantic article about it!”
“She knows what kennel means,” Merlin said stubbornly, “And she knows what food means, and what litter means. What else does she need to know?”
“Not to steal away your attention,” Arthur said a bit petulantly, turning to flop dramatically onto his stomach next to Merlin, pulling a pillow up under his chin in a way that was far too endearing for this late at night. “And not to interrupt my rest. Go ‘way, Whiskey.”
Arthur shoved, albeit lightly, at the cat, but both Whiskey and Merlin knew he wasn’t serious.
“He doesn’t mean that, darling,” Merlin kissed the top of Whiskey’s head. Arthur made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.
“See what I mean? The cat gets called darling. I get called prat.”
“I’m sorry, did you want to be called darling?” Merlin gave Arthur a snarky grin, but then Arthur’s petulant pout morphed into an honest-to-God frown, and Merlin froze.
“Um. Did you want to be called darling?”
“I don’t want to share a nickname with the cat,” Arthur made a face and flipped away from Merlin to face the other way.
Merlin froze for a moment; he and Arthur had been friends for years before they started dating. The dating thing had, miraculously enough, not imploded in two years’ worth of time, and never, not once, did Arthur hint that he wanted to be called a pet name.
“You do know that my insults are very affectionate, right?” Merlin slowly placed Whiskey on the other side of Arthur, so that she’d still feel like she was included, but Merlin could wrap an arm around Arthur’s waist.
“I’m aware,” Arthur said, suddenly grouchy again, probably at being exposed as a fucking sap, but Merlin was so, totally, completed endeared by Arthur’s stupid, lovely petulance.
“You can have a pet name if you want,” Merlin said, prodding Arthur’s shoulder with his chin a little playfully. “There are so many to choose from, you know. Baby? No, I’ve never liked that. Honey? No, my mum calls me honey, that would be weird. Sweetheart? Does that work?”
Arthur turned just his head to stick his tongue at Merlin in disgust. Merlin laughed, slotting a leg between Arthur’s and kissing his face before he could turn it back around.
“You’re too energetic and snarky for one in the morning,” Arthur said grouchily. “Turn off the light, let’s talk about this in the morning – or never again, never again would be fine, too. Whiskey, get down.”
Whiskey gave Arthur a disapproving look – well, all of Whiskey’s looks were disapproving – before jumping off the bed and curling up in her fort of blankets – otherwise known as her kennel, because Merlin couldn’t bear to put her in an actual kennel.
Merlin gave Arthur a disapproving look as well, but turned off the light as requested. Arthur pulled a pillow to his chest and tried to move away from Merlin, but Merlin kept a hold on.
“Leggo,” Arthur muttered, but Merlin wasn’t going to let this go quite yet.
“I like you more than Whiskey,” Merlin kicked lightly at Arthur’s feet. “Though it is a close contest. And you can have whatever nickname you want, even darling. I’ll renege it from Whiskey’s jurisdiction and it’ll be all yours. Okay?”
“You talk about the cat like she owns this apartment,” Arthur said, but his the lightness in his voice suggested that all was forgiven.
“She does,” Merlin said as if it were obvious. “We can’t help that now.”
Arthur stopped trying to move away and instead snuggled further into Merlin’s embrace, taking a hold of one of his hand’s and running his fingers up and down Merlin’s palm.
“I…guess a nickname would be acceptable,” Arthur said begrudgingly after a moment and Merlin tried not to laugh at the professionalism in his voice, like he was proceeding over a merger. “A nice one. I mean, I call you babe.”
“You have called me babe…half a dozen times tops,” Merlin said after a moment, wracking his brain for certain memories over the past two years of he and Arthur ever calling each other anything other than prat, idiot, dollophead, clotpole, cabbagehead. “But I’ll call you anything you’d like. Did you like sweetheart?”
Arthur made a noncommittal noise Merlin took as a no, so he kept up a list. “Uh…Teddy Bear? Lollipop? Sugar? Honey Bun?”
“You’re trying to make this more painful than it needs to be,” Arthur shook his head, shoving at Merlin’s face in an undignified manner. “Just call me babe half a dozen times and we’re even.”
“No, no,” Merlin said, not being able to stop smiling, grabbing Arthur’s hand from the air to play with it. “I have to find one now. Um…kitten?”
“Mrow,” Whiskey, summoned by the name of her species, was suddenly back on the bed, pawing at Merlin’s back.
“Stupid cat,” Merlin batted her away, “I’m talking to Arthur, not you.”
Merlin could almost see Arthur smiling in the darkness.
“That’ll just confuse her,” Merlin gave Whiskey an obligatory pat before returning his attention to more pressing matters. Whiskey took this as permission to curl up at Merlin’s back, purring softly. “On the animal theme…Puppy? Bunny? Goose?”
That one made Arthur laugh. “Only if you’re Maverick.”
Merlin’s grin widened. “Okay – Goose and Maverick. We found our nicknames. And the Oxford dictionary defines maverick as unorthodox or individualist, so I really think it’s the perfect nickname for me.”
Arthur snorted. “Weirdo. Only you would know that. Reading the dictionary for fun. Like a nerd.”
“I thought we were done with mean nicknames,” Merlin said with mockingly reproachful seriousness.
“I didn’t mean that,” Arthur said, his fingers intertwining with Merlin’s. “Mean nicknames are a part of the tradition. I just…wanted to have a nice one, too. So people don’t look at us oddly and think…think we shouldn’t be together.”
“Always so worried about what people think,” Merlin said fondly, and a little sadly, as he leaned over to press a kiss in the general area of Arthur’s face. He ended up hitting his jawline. “No one who knows us thinks we shouldn’t be together. And I’m pretty sure we’ll get odd looks anyway, but that’s because we’re two men who hold hands in public, not because we call each other idiots.”
Arthur sighed a bit dramatically as he rolled over to curl around Merlin’s waist, Merlin falling onto his back. Whiskey hissed as she was forced out of her space, but didn’t leap from the bed, instead curling up next to Merlin’s head. Merlin reached up to pat her.
“I just wanted a cute, coupley thing,” Arthur said into Merlin’s chest. “Since we’re generally so shit at coupley things. Don’t make fun of it tomorrow.”
“Are you kidding?” Merlin’s lips spread into a smile. “I’ve always wanted to call you a cute name, I just never thought you’d ever let me.”
“Congratulations,” Arthur yawned, and Merlin could tell he was falling asleep, which, under normal circumstances, would piss him off that Arthur could be so quick to drop off in any and all situations. But Merlin couldn’t even begrudge him for it right now. “Night, Maverick.”
“Night, Goose,” Merlin kissed the top of Arthur’s head, and then craned his neck to pull Whiskey’s head toward him to kiss her as well. “Night, Whisks.”
“Knew you liked the cat better,” Arthur muttered and Merlin grinned down at him.
He had much less trouble sleeping that night.