Alien
Title: Alien
Theme word/s: Yellow, Shadow
Rating: R
Word count: 2,979
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen
Warnings: Story rated R for mature themes and language.
Summary: On the eve of 2013 Gwen has an alien encounter.
Author’s notes: This is Modern AU, no spoilers. It finds inspiration from a few things, including a flower.//Written for an ag_fics challenge
Disclaimer: I wrote this for fun only. Merlin belongs to BBC/Shine.
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Alien
“Kiss me, Ki-ki kiss me
Infect me with your love
And fill me with your poison
Take me, Ta-ta take me
Wanna be a victim
Ready for abduction”
-Katy Perry E.T
Those last bits of wryly chosen music were what she heard before she ventured out.
No matter. Not like she believes in silly superstition.
You see,
She’s been warned.
He’s a shadow of mystery in a foreign destination. Inside is safe, not an exterior haven for unpredictable dangers. It’s simple really. Just enjoy the party music, banter, and exotic blended drinks. The man is a perfect stranger, in just about every sense of those words, incredibly gorgeous, and incredibly foreign. She knows nothing about him except his twice chosen drink, Bloody Mary. Really, he could be a vile threat.
An abductor.
Black, windless, humidly wet, the jungle is deceivingly still, temptingly beautiful. Thousands of trees canopy overhead, like a cave of deep green foliage. Feral nocturnal beasts come to life, embracing the dark. Exotic plants entrance, within their robust splash of color, poisonous armaments.
Infective power.
Ebony, her dress is sleeveless, formfitting and high over her thighs. As it sculpts her body, it is barely tasteful, anomaly for a sensible woman like her. What better time to bring out the wild than at the brink of a new year? As if supporting that feisty intent, her dark curls surround caliginous eyes with jungle unrestraint.
His, obscenely blue.
It was inside the brightly decorated club her best friends from university, Morgana, Freya and Elena, warned. The four of them are on holiday from academic life. They made a spontaneous decision to ring in 2012 somewhere exotic, barring the forewarned calamity.
Extol into 2013.
Their flight arrived just days ago to the humid tropical setting. They’ve spent the sun lit hours diving from jagged cliffs into cool blissful waters, the evenings cavorting upon vibrating dance floors, relaxed by infusions of buzzing liquor.
Buzzing through her head now, past the hissing premonitions.
She dimly recalls, her senses getting mixed into the jungle’s exotic temptation, that for less than a year she’s been in a mostly solid relationship. It’s a man of dark long hair, so tall, so handsome. It’s often when she’s with him she gets looks of envy. He is pleasing, a divine kisser, and a sweet maker of love. It’s so perfect that it nags. With a dueling personality of obscurity and morality he’s a conundrum that leaves her guessing, wondering.
What is he hiding?
Less than an hour until midnight, the fiery blast of 2013, she tempts fate, shadows the serpent. Perhaps it’s apropos since December was supposed to be ripe for Armageddon. Mayan doom theories went along with threats of cosmic blasts, sun enveloping earth, ragged climate conditions, and eradicative earthquakes. Not one omen has come to fruition.
Yet.
Tag-a-long is a game from childhood that Morgana, Freya, and Elena would remind her you play with those you know, not the transient being. But now in the bestial jungle she assumes tagger position, with an intuitive knowledge of how the game has a penchant for reversing roles.
Tag-you’re it.
She made the decision a short while ago to follow him, within the wild protests of her friends. It was like this cosmic pull when he slid away from the stool he had been sitting upon, moving quietly to the exiting doors without a word to anyone. In fact, she never heard him utter a single thought inside, so she excited to see if that could alter on the outside. Not even Freya’s tugging hand could hold her astern as she shadowed the stranger, swearing he turned back for just a second’s fraction with knowing satisfaction. She swore his lips curved, the obscene blue burned.
Like hypnotic fire.
The path so suitably now leads from natural green to sun blazing yellow floral captivation. Amid a myriad of other colorful flowers it is dominant, an advancing hue used for search and rescue. Yellow always stands out. The shining patulous petals of each individual flower reveal dark erogenous interior. It calls out seductively. Many of the jungle’s most exotically enticing plants are said to be infective, sprinkled with poison.
Within them, he stands, expression shrouded.
Such an alluring serpent.
Pursuit is over. Tag-a-long comes to a standstill. He’s close enough to touch. As he makes no move and shows no interest, she frets her foolishness. This has been the wanderings of a crazy girl, not a level headed woman of sophistication. She’s practically graduated from university, a cool headed scientist of mathematical physics and intellectually based astronomy, not paranormal frenzy. Or hormone propelled wandering. Lifting her head, shunning his lack of interest, she turns her back. Ready to tell her friends it was a lack of judgment, she takes a step away from Mr. Silly Serpent.
Nothing is that enticing. All men have similar enough codes of D.N.A. Human is human, in male variation as much as female.
Another step and it’s there.
Hard. Unyielding. Mandatory.
His long edged fingers clamp her dress. Obscene blue orders no. She cannot leave. Shining so hard, they inaudibly, invisibly hiss. It clenches her breath, excitably, nervously. “I’m Gwen.” The scientist to be, the woman of such sense and order, her voice trembles annoyingly. “Well, actually Guinevere, but Gwen is the norm.”
He’s not it.
She’ll have to wait to hear his voice, because the stranger dressed in all black, barring a nonpareil gravitating crimson belt, remains silent. Under golden champagne wielding filaments, the obscene blue makes no comment. The pouting lips remain a solid unemotional line until a slight alteration takes place. They curve into an analytical smile.
Scientific dissection?
He snaps one of the shining prurient yellow flowers off its stem, eliciting a protesting cry as it’s broken from its protective root. Lifting it into curling fingers, he eyes her steadily. Gwen watches him warily, mind conjuring an escape plan if needed. It’s unsettling, how he won’t say anything. “You do have a name, right?”
He nods just slightly, not a clear yes or no, before she feels the petal brush her cheek. Her sensitive skin flares. It could be infective. It could be poisoning her already. It feels so luxurious though, so oddly chemically alluring, making her breathe fast. It vulnerably leaves her mouth open for seconds at a time, enough.
For him.
It’s there with no warning as his hand brings her astern. The bark of the tree presses roughly against her partially exposed back. And then strangely enough it is not so harsh. She turns to see it covered with leafage. Can’t be. It wasn’t like that before.
“Who are you?”
What are you?
She asks the first question, the second swirling uncomfortably in her mind. No answer. No reassurance. But beyond her fear is this ascending excitement. It brings her breasts to rise against the forceful bind of her dress. Somehow this isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Those obscene blue eyes, the champagne patterns of hair, entice her. She looks down at the lowered glossy yellow petal. Her attention diverted, he surges with expeditious claiming speed.
Oh shit.
His mouth communes around, with, under, and into hers. As she inadvertently allows him the opening he’s by chance desired since teasing her with the flower, he possessively plunges. His lips are wetly igneous. They push, pull, and thrust for intimate entry. It’s gained with dissecting satisfaction, with smoldering breath.
Is this what the taken feel like?
Hotly he presses against her, no hands needed, just the forcible surge of his hard body. It’s like some poisonous addiction, some aphrodisiac that won’t let her febrile body go. She can’t stop him, doesn’t want to. His tongue, trailing hers, coalescing around, into, she’s completely off centered, completely his willing desiring victim. Upward she inches to be closer, feeling how firm he is against her leg.
What’s next? Jungle uninhibited fornication?
Her mind keeps responsibly reminding that he’s a stranger, but her body is under a different power. It’s as she’s dueling, mind, skin, he breaks the kiss. Gwen grasps the tree’s leafy bark, not caring anymore how it came to be so, just grateful for its cushion.
His forehead comes against hers, humidly, passionately wet. If it means she’s making him feel anything like he’s doing to her, then there’s at least that reassurance. She opens her eyes, sees his closed. Gwen wants to touch his cheek, but if she lets go of the bark she’ll fall. So she just waits. His eyes open, penetrate her deeply. No words. No indication, but physical. His mouth descends again, lands against hers. It locks in place, like he’s known her for centuries, no invitation requested.
None needed.
Kisses pungent with foreplay, hiss erotic intention. His lips so puckered, so swollen, she is paralyzed, abducted from normal action. His hand starts to play with her dress, enjoying its texture, how it sculpts her. It stills for a moment over her breast, feeling her rising heartbeat, brushing over her alert nipple. There’s a moan, so high, so electrically charged. It’s only after she hears it, Gwen realizes it comes from her own mouth. Her legs languidly part. Her mind screams at her to do something protective, kick him like she learned in kickboxing class. Use one of those moves her long lost brother taught her.
RUN.
All the conflict swirling shrilly through her mind, she is not sure if it’s real,
Shhhhh…
Soothing. Calming.
He’s taken with her neck, but each kiss from his mouth now is gentle. She can’t be sure if any voice came out, if he actually tried to comfort her. She just knows those lips keep her from panicking. The way his body rhythmically pulses against hers, tempts her needing one. It seems to be all he needs. His fingers splay over her dress, mold her curves, and abduct her senses. Where it stops, where it ends, she’s not sure.
She feels, without warning, without polite question, the pressure of his fingers at the bottom hem of her dress. Her breath hitches, unsure.
That halts his action. Once again Mr. Champagne Filament Serpent penetrates her deeply with just his eyes, like he’s pulling her apart. It’s like he’s learning her with just that one look. It’s like he’s psychically aware.
Seeming finally satisfied, he takes her lips hard with his again, before lowering his mouth further, tongue stroking her neck.
Gwen doesn’t know what mind-play just happened, but somehow she lost, and won. Feeling the hand, the penetrating fingers wantonly on her thigh, his delving tongue in her mouth, on her face, lowering to her neck, sucking, she backwardly holds the tree trunk with clenching fingers, needing its hard base, something to bolster her liquid limbs. Hot wet sensations course through her, all the way to her toes as he starts to caress, rub, as she feels his hardness come against her.
Against her betraying body.
It doesn’t want him to stop as her mind attempts to fight the insanity. It’s like he has this cosmic power, this occupation of all she is. And yet she’s not so much frightened, more excited, titillated. She wants to touch him, reach out and feel exactly who he is as he’s getting to know her intimately, but some invisible force doesn’t allow it.
Something transcendental.
The petal comes back, locked in his fingers, glides over her thigh. She hears an aching moan, realizes belatedly it’s hers again, ready to combust.
His lips nip at hers, hard short kisses. She tries to stretch her limbs, but they won’t leave the boundary of the trunk. It’s like being locked in. It makes her wonder about the flower, but there’s no fear, just fascination because the way he uses it is so fucking delicious. So carnally beautiful. She wants this. To be his for this second so when it’s over she can show him her own power. It is infective, but also electrifying. Her body has never felt more alive.
More-
It’s the way he strokes her skin, uses that petal as a desirable lure, and how all she can feel now is him, his traversing dangerous fingers, his hot magma mouth, his pulsing body pressing deeply into hers-
Too much.
Not enough.
She can feel him penetrating her, those lurid fingers deep inside, that poisonous petal, making her body flame. She wants to let go, expel. The pressure is so intense. The petal rubs, caresses, over and over, erotic infection. His fingers climb, find that place, where it makes her thighs clench, and her entire body pulse uncontrollably.
Oh so far. Oh so high.
She’s floating, as freaking nonsensical that sounds. Carried on his vibrating wavelength. She can’t contain it, can’t stop. He’s taking her there, to that existential zenith. He’s filling her, without even releasing his attire. It’s his fingers intimately exploring her, teasing her, his mouth sucking her in, worshiping her, and that petal tantalizing ever sensitive nerve of her being. So carnal. So climactic. She can’t take it, feels herself vibrating into total wild surrender.
Cosmic capitulation.
Everything crashes.
Waves of uninhibited pleasure hit, making her eyes go wide, her body tremble and her voice cry out. Gwen bites down, eyes closing with overwhelming agonizing bliss.
She’s sapped.
She’s filled.
It comes then, gentling caresses, soothing her back to regularity or whatever normalcy is left. What is normal anyway? Gwen languidly wonders.
That other man she’s been seeing, the one that makes women jealous of her, doesn’t do it to her so amazingly, not like this uninhibited encounter that barely bypassed foreplay. It didn’t need to ascend further, all in itself, hypnotic splendor.
Something alters in her blue eyed serpent, his hold fiercely intensifying. Gwen tries to open her eyes, but lips are soon descending again, thirsting.
If she’s taken, being taken, she won’t fight it. Not when it’s so rousing.
Electrifying.
Dimly she hears it, the toll of the New Year, the fireworks exploding into the air, 2013 lighting up the sky with orgasmic flashing bursts.
She’s already lit by scintillating touches, galactic lips, lusting dimensional climaxes.
Flying on an exoteric transport.
She wants it so badly that soon enough it happens, a release of the control. Her eyes open. He’s looking down at her meaningfully, obscene blue practically glowing. She peers down at the shadows of all the plants and trees, trying to find his. But there’s none. No shadow.
No shadow?
It comes out of her mouth a bit nervously, fumblingly, within nutty complaint. “Are you a vampire? Hopefully not. Bloodsucking does nothing for me; neither does the bedazzled craze of years ago. Please, whatever you do, just don’t start bodily shimmering.”
His lips have been teasing at her neck, but now they stop as she swears a chuckle nearly escapes his mouth, his eyes shining with amusement. Then he’s kissing her again, hotly, stroking the bared part of her back, luring, soothing, and caressing it away from the tree. She melts against him, thinking more solidly, the man she’s been dating can’t make her feel so electrically charged.
And with that stray thought the impenetrable stranger’s change of demeanor is back. His hold intensifies. And the lock on her vision is also returned. She can’t see, can only experience. The hardness of his body leveled against hers keeps her from sliding to the ground. Generously used, infectively desired, she’s bolstered to whatever he wants, whatever her body covets.
She feels it again, the soft rub of the yellow petal. Daring to open her eyes, with allowance granted, the blue is so magnetizing.
No repel. She’s solidly engaged.
His mouth opens. She thinks excitedly he’s going to talk. Finally. Tell her something. She wants to hear what it will be like, his voice, soft or hard, commanding or suave.
She realizes now fully if she wanted to stop him she could have a long time ago, that he’s never prevented her from it, that her own strength of will could have ceased it. He’s brought to life her every sense, possessed her soul and body, but beyond that have been these little things, the softness sometimes wandering into his eyes, that near chuckle of laughter. He’s pulled her apart this night, and yet also he’s brought her more together than ever, because she can feel it. She matters to him, not just for the physical. He’s aware. Observant, he’s in tune with her wavelength. Above all his carnal desires is this rule of caring for her. For much.
Kingdom of caring
She swears she hears it even as no voice truly utters. Something enters deep in her subconscious, making contact with her soul.
Yes
Guinevere
And with that breathless, unspoken whisper, she becomes aware.
Transcendental. Exoteric. Blue Eyed Serpent.
He’s not there anymore.
The mouth that was just pressed to hers, she can no longer feel its wet heat. The hands that stroked her skin so rapturously are vacated.
Has she been abducted?
She waits for the resistance, but there’s none. Her eyes open too easily. She gazes down at her dress to see the black material fixed back into place, as if his hands never fondled it or her. As if he was never there.
Gwen turns around rapidly, searches, but there is no sign, which is impossible. Paranormal. No human could ever vacate that quickly.
Supersonic.
There aren’t footprints, any kind of imprint upon the jungle’s surface. No sound signaled his departure. Not a single thing alerted her that he was going to leave. There’s no trace, no-
It
presses against her skin.
She notices her hand fisted. Cautiously she uncurls it, sees within her grasp,
The yellow petal.
Glowing.
Words unexplainably etched into its erogenous crease.
“Careful.
He is not what he seems.
This petal of a distant realm
Will guard you
Protect you
Connect us.
You perceive I abducted you,
But from first sight you *captured* me Guinevere.
*King Arthur
Ruler of the galactic outer dimension of Albion
Alien Lover.
Alien Threat.
Alien Warning.
Alien Gift.
Alien
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