Merlin Fic: Impossible
Title: Impossible
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Words: 1417
Rating: Probably NC-17 ish.
Warnings: Slight spoilers for 2x02, 'The Once and Future Queen' but nothing major.
Summary: He heard the soft footsteps and gentle humming, and ducked behind the stone statue of a long dead King. He felt a fool, hiding in his own castle from a lowly maidservant who, at worst, would blush, curtsey, and rush past him. But even that glimpse of an encounter would be too painful, too tempting. He had been avoiding her for what felt like decades.
Note: This was written for VaginaFest. Which is an embarrassing name for a fest where I've pretty much just written complete fluff. The prompt was 'fantasies'.
IMPOSSIBLE
He heard the soft footsteps and gentle humming, and ducked behind the stone statue of a long dead King. He felt a fool, hiding in his own castle from a lowly maidservant who, at worst, would blush, curtsey, and rush past him. But even that glimpse of an encounter would be too painful, too tempting. He had been avoiding her for what felt like decades.
He didn’t even have the luxury of being able to brood or- as Merlin would probably put it- mope about what had happened. No one knew, no one was allowed to know of the secret that burned in his chest; it was better that way. Sometimes, though, the words danced on his tongue and he imagined himself screaming it to the whole court in the middle of the feast. His father would splutter in outrage. His knights would stare at him in confusion. The ladies would titter in disbelief. And Guinevere would remain silent, her eyes downcast and her cheeks glowing.
Merlin had started to look at him in that annoyingly concerned way, like he was fragile. Arthur wouldn’t break. He never had and he wasn’t about to start over a woman. Not even a woman of his rank, but a woman who was a commoner, a servant in the king’s household. A woman who wasn’t even worthy of his notice, let alone his heart. That would never change. They had shared something during those few moments when she could be Guinevere and he Arthur. Their relationship had lasted thirty seconds and, harsh as it sounded, Arthur knew that that one sweet moment was all they could ever have.
However, fate doesn’t always play along with one’s intentions.
He had not been alone with her since that day. He had avoided close contact at every turn. He had walked out of rooms that she had just entered so often that Merlin had pestered him for a reason and, in lieu of an answer, had decided that he must hate the sight of her. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so depressing.
“My Lord?”
His head jerked up at the sound of her voice so violently that it bounced off the back of the stone wall he was resting against and left him seeing spots. Guinevere stared at him with a concerned frown.
“My Lord, are you well?”
She was standing inches from him, clutching a pile of linens to her chest, and his breath fell short. He was sure he did not used to feel like this while standing before her. Now, the plain and easy to ignore facade of a maid was transformed in his eyes into a heart shaped face, dark hair curled around it, and wide, intelligent eyes. She was so calm, so collected, so completely unaffected by his presence that it annoyed him slightly. He knew that she was acting exactly as she should, but illogically he wanted his presence to elicit some reaction from her, he wanted to know that it hadn’t been completely of his fabrication. He would almost have been convinced that he had imagined it all, if it had not been for the slight flickering of her pulse and the way she hugged the linens to her like a shield.
“I- I was- just- looking for-” he stammered, not quite sure where his sentence was heading, “-Merlin. I was looking for Merlin.”
“I doubt that he is hiding behind the statue of King Lot, my Lord.”
“Well- I know, I was- just...checking...”
A clanging sound echoed down the corridor. Without thinking, Arthur grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the shadows, the linens falling to pool at their feet. He put a hand over her mouth and listened furtively as the footsteps disappeared into the distance. It was only when all was silent again that he realised what he had done. He had compromised them both unnecessarily. They had been fine, talking. It was nothing out of the ordinary and his knights would think nothing of it. However, the second he had wrapped her hand in his and pulled her body against him in the dark recess, he had created a situation that was both dangerous and incredibly tempting.
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth and didn’t quite know what else to do. He stared down at her, an apology on his lips, before he noticed that she seemed to have lost all of her calmness. As he watched, her eyes grew darker, the only light in them the reflection of the flickering flame, and he felt the swift rise and fall of her chest beneath his. For the first time, it struck him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. It wasn’t just a prince’s unrealistic fantasy of the one woman he couldn’t have, as a small part of him had feared. She looked into his eyes and saw something in them that made her stomach tremble as she made his.
It was impossible. This could lead nowhere. What was he doing? It didn’t matter that her soft curves rubbed
enticingly against his hard body. It didn’t matter that her lips parted slightly, inviting him in. It didn’t matter that he could feel her heart hammering against his as though it was a battering ram demanding entrance.
“Arthur,” she said quietly. The sound of her saying his name when heretofore all he’d got was ‘my Lord’ made his insides hurt. Her eyes were pools filled with questions and desires, but only one enticed him to his next action.
“Guinevere...” he whispered and he lowered his lips to hers. He intended his kiss to be as chaste, as gentle as it had been before, but the instant he gave in to temptation he lost control. His lips traversed hers as if he had been starving for the taste of her for weeks. Every moment that he had left the room instead of allowing himself to gaze upon her beauty, every second that he had seen her face and not been able to smile at her, every day that had passed when he had not been able to admit to another soul that the living, breathing monster inside of him that yearned for her existed, he poured into his kiss.
She grasped his shoulders, and he felt her nails dig into the skin beneath his shirt as she clung onto him. She moaned as he pushed her hard against the wall and deepened their kiss. His tongue darted into her mouth and his hands whispered across her skin, worshipping every inch of her like he never thought he could. He jumped as he felt cold hands caress the warm flesh of his stomach, her hands somehow undoing the ties of his shirt, and at her touch, a thrill shot through him, pushing him further into the abyss.
He pushed the fabric of her dress down, baring one shoulder, and met her eyes. They were dark and dangerous and she was sporting an expression he had never seen before; something like a challenge, like she was the hunter and he her prey. Excitement flooded him as she grabbed his shirt, pulled him back into her arms, and ravaged his lips.
Of their own accord, his hands pushed up the hem of her dress and found the temptation that was the silky untouched skin of her legs. He began to kiss his way down the soft skin of her collarbone at the same time as he stroked from knee to buttock and she whimpered against him.
He smiled into her neck and whispered, reverently, “Guinevere...”
“Yes, my Lord?” an annoyingly chipper voice answered.
His head jerked up at the sound of her voice so violently that it bounced off the back of the stone wall he was resting against and left him seeing spots. Guinevere stared at him with a concerned frown.
“My Lord, are you well?”
“Yes- yes.” Arthur pushed himself out of the recess as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be squeezed into a dark alcove whispering the name of handmaidens he had sworn to have no part of.
“I’m perfectly well, thank you, Gwen,” he said as he avoided her gaze, the words burning on his tongue. He could feel her eyes piercing his back as he strode away down the corridor, but he refused to look back as he had once before.
He kept his fantasies a secret.
--
A/N: Ok, first attempt at anything even vaguely porntastic. Thoughts?
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Words: 1417
Rating: Probably NC-17 ish.
Warnings: Slight spoilers for 2x02, 'The Once and Future Queen' but nothing major.
Summary: He heard the soft footsteps and gentle humming, and ducked behind the stone statue of a long dead King. He felt a fool, hiding in his own castle from a lowly maidservant who, at worst, would blush, curtsey, and rush past him. But even that glimpse of an encounter would be too painful, too tempting. He had been avoiding her for what felt like decades.
Note: This was written for VaginaFest. Which is an embarrassing name for a fest where I've pretty much just written complete fluff. The prompt was 'fantasies'.
IMPOSSIBLE
He heard the soft footsteps and gentle humming, and ducked behind the stone statue of a long dead King. He felt a fool, hiding in his own castle from a lowly maidservant who, at worst, would blush, curtsey, and rush past him. But even that glimpse of an encounter would be too painful, too tempting. He had been avoiding her for what felt like decades.
He didn’t even have the luxury of being able to brood or- as Merlin would probably put it- mope about what had happened. No one knew, no one was allowed to know of the secret that burned in his chest; it was better that way. Sometimes, though, the words danced on his tongue and he imagined himself screaming it to the whole court in the middle of the feast. His father would splutter in outrage. His knights would stare at him in confusion. The ladies would titter in disbelief. And Guinevere would remain silent, her eyes downcast and her cheeks glowing.
Merlin had started to look at him in that annoyingly concerned way, like he was fragile. Arthur wouldn’t break. He never had and he wasn’t about to start over a woman. Not even a woman of his rank, but a woman who was a commoner, a servant in the king’s household. A woman who wasn’t even worthy of his notice, let alone his heart. That would never change. They had shared something during those few moments when she could be Guinevere and he Arthur. Their relationship had lasted thirty seconds and, harsh as it sounded, Arthur knew that that one sweet moment was all they could ever have.
However, fate doesn’t always play along with one’s intentions.
He had not been alone with her since that day. He had avoided close contact at every turn. He had walked out of rooms that she had just entered so often that Merlin had pestered him for a reason and, in lieu of an answer, had decided that he must hate the sight of her. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so depressing.
“My Lord?”
His head jerked up at the sound of her voice so violently that it bounced off the back of the stone wall he was resting against and left him seeing spots. Guinevere stared at him with a concerned frown.
“My Lord, are you well?”
She was standing inches from him, clutching a pile of linens to her chest, and his breath fell short. He was sure he did not used to feel like this while standing before her. Now, the plain and easy to ignore facade of a maid was transformed in his eyes into a heart shaped face, dark hair curled around it, and wide, intelligent eyes. She was so calm, so collected, so completely unaffected by his presence that it annoyed him slightly. He knew that she was acting exactly as she should, but illogically he wanted his presence to elicit some reaction from her, he wanted to know that it hadn’t been completely of his fabrication. He would almost have been convinced that he had imagined it all, if it had not been for the slight flickering of her pulse and the way she hugged the linens to her like a shield.
“I- I was- just- looking for-” he stammered, not quite sure where his sentence was heading, “-Merlin. I was looking for Merlin.”
“I doubt that he is hiding behind the statue of King Lot, my Lord.”
“Well- I know, I was- just...checking...”
A clanging sound echoed down the corridor. Without thinking, Arthur grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the shadows, the linens falling to pool at their feet. He put a hand over her mouth and listened furtively as the footsteps disappeared into the distance. It was only when all was silent again that he realised what he had done. He had compromised them both unnecessarily. They had been fine, talking. It was nothing out of the ordinary and his knights would think nothing of it. However, the second he had wrapped her hand in his and pulled her body against him in the dark recess, he had created a situation that was both dangerous and incredibly tempting.
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth and didn’t quite know what else to do. He stared down at her, an apology on his lips, before he noticed that she seemed to have lost all of her calmness. As he watched, her eyes grew darker, the only light in them the reflection of the flickering flame, and he felt the swift rise and fall of her chest beneath his. For the first time, it struck him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. It wasn’t just a prince’s unrealistic fantasy of the one woman he couldn’t have, as a small part of him had feared. She looked into his eyes and saw something in them that made her stomach tremble as she made his.
It was impossible. This could lead nowhere. What was he doing? It didn’t matter that her soft curves rubbed
enticingly against his hard body. It didn’t matter that her lips parted slightly, inviting him in. It didn’t matter that he could feel her heart hammering against his as though it was a battering ram demanding entrance.
“Arthur,” she said quietly. The sound of her saying his name when heretofore all he’d got was ‘my Lord’ made his insides hurt. Her eyes were pools filled with questions and desires, but only one enticed him to his next action.
“Guinevere...” he whispered and he lowered his lips to hers. He intended his kiss to be as chaste, as gentle as it had been before, but the instant he gave in to temptation he lost control. His lips traversed hers as if he had been starving for the taste of her for weeks. Every moment that he had left the room instead of allowing himself to gaze upon her beauty, every second that he had seen her face and not been able to smile at her, every day that had passed when he had not been able to admit to another soul that the living, breathing monster inside of him that yearned for her existed, he poured into his kiss.
She grasped his shoulders, and he felt her nails dig into the skin beneath his shirt as she clung onto him. She moaned as he pushed her hard against the wall and deepened their kiss. His tongue darted into her mouth and his hands whispered across her skin, worshipping every inch of her like he never thought he could. He jumped as he felt cold hands caress the warm flesh of his stomach, her hands somehow undoing the ties of his shirt, and at her touch, a thrill shot through him, pushing him further into the abyss.
He pushed the fabric of her dress down, baring one shoulder, and met her eyes. They were dark and dangerous and she was sporting an expression he had never seen before; something like a challenge, like she was the hunter and he her prey. Excitement flooded him as she grabbed his shirt, pulled him back into her arms, and ravaged his lips.
Of their own accord, his hands pushed up the hem of her dress and found the temptation that was the silky untouched skin of her legs. He began to kiss his way down the soft skin of her collarbone at the same time as he stroked from knee to buttock and she whimpered against him.
He smiled into her neck and whispered, reverently, “Guinevere...”
“Yes, my Lord?” an annoyingly chipper voice answered.
His head jerked up at the sound of her voice so violently that it bounced off the back of the stone wall he was resting against and left him seeing spots. Guinevere stared at him with a concerned frown.
“My Lord, are you well?”
“Yes- yes.” Arthur pushed himself out of the recess as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be squeezed into a dark alcove whispering the name of handmaidens he had sworn to have no part of.
“I’m perfectly well, thank you, Gwen,” he said as he avoided her gaze, the words burning on his tongue. He could feel her eyes piercing his back as he strode away down the corridor, but he refused to look back as he had once before.
He kept his fantasies a secret.
--
A/N: Ok, first attempt at anything even vaguely porntastic. Thoughts?