Title: Lie-In
Fandom: Arrow
Pairing: Diggle/Oliver
Rating: PG
Length: 491 words
Content Notes: Set after Season One's Year's End.
Summary: Oliver's kind of a demanding patient. Diggle doesn't mind as much as pretends to.


“So I take it you’re not planning on waking up before noon?”

That gets him a groan, Oliver rolling onto his front and pulling the pillow over his head. There’s probably a reply in the groggy grumbling, but the pillow muffles it.

Diggle smiles, knows his expression is fond, but Oliver’s not actually looking at him right now, so it’s okay. Truth is, it’s nice to see Oliver resting up. After his encounter with the other archer not even two weeks ago, Diggle’s been worried Oliver would be itching to get back out there, would push himself too hard, too fast.

But Oliver’s actually been following doctor’s orders, so apparently wonders will never cease. He’s been getting plenty of bed rest, staying away from any strenuous activity, even attending his physiotherapy sessions.

Diggle’s pretty sure that prior to his injuries, Oliver hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since before the Queen’s Gambit went down. And now here he is, lounging about in bed hours after sunrise.

So it’s nice to see Oliver resting up, but Diggle’s not about to let him waste the entire day.

“You’ve got an appointment for a check-up in two hours,” Diggle reminds him. “And I assume you’ll want a shower and breakfast first.”

This time the muffled groan definitely contains some choice insults.

“Get out of bed, Oliver.”

The pillow pulls away enough that Oliver can glare at him. It’d be more impressive if he didn’t have lines on his cheek from the fabric. “Later. For now, how about you get into bed?”

Okay, Diggle should have seen that coming.

He should refuse. But Thea’s back at school, and Mrs Queen has barely visited any room that isn’t the main family room, the kitchen, or her own bedroom since Walter’s disappearance.

He sighs and shrugs off his suit jacket, and the smirk Oliver gives him definitely has a touch of gloating to it.

“Be careful with me,” Oliver deadpans when Diggle settles beside him. “I’m terribly injured.”

Diggle snorts. “You’re fine.” Which is only partly true. Oliver bounces back from injuries scary quick, and he’s actually been taking care of himself this time. But Diggle can still remember it, still hear the fear in Oliver’s voice on the other end of the phone when he'd begged Diggle for help, too hurt to do anything but wait for rescue.

He probably kisses Oliver a little harder than he should, but Oliver just moans and opens up for him. Hand cupping Oliver’s throat, Diggle’s thumb pressing up against his jaw to tilt his head back so the angle’s better. Being careful where he touches, fingers skimming past bruises and stitches.

“Help me take a shower?” Oliver asks, lips brushing Diggle’s own.

Diggle fixes him with a pointed look. “You don’t need help.” Oliver can stand just fine on his own.

Oliver grins, slow and teasing. “I know. Help me anyway.”

Diggle probably should have seen that coming, too.