(no subject)
Title: In the Dark Midwinter
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Morgana/Gwen
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The charactors are the property of the BBC and Shine. No profit is made by the author.
Summary: Gwen cannot stay away from her Lady, and her Lady will not be without Gwen.
Notes: Set after 1x12, and therefore pure speculation. Present tense. Also, my first femme. If this looks familiar, that's because I posted it at morganafay and merlinslash a while ago. I've changed a few things before posting here (thanks for the feedback previous reviewers), but nothing major.
In the dark midwinter, Morgana sends for Gwen. The first summons is a single spray of holly, laden with berries the color of fresh spilt blood. Gwen smiles as the prickly leaves draw little pricks of matching blood from her fingers. She shrugs into her cloak, that same shade of deadly crimson, and slips from a little used gate in the northern wall.
An hour or so outside of the city walls, Gwen comes upon the glade where they once gathered greenery for Yuletide. It takes a little searching, but tucked in the crook of a laden holly is a glinting silver dagger wrapped in twining ivy. Gwen lifts it gently down. The dagger goes in the back of her belt, the spring of ivy behind her ear. She walks deeper into the woods, to where the ivy grows thickly in the roots of the older trees. A soft sound startles her as she hunts through the dense foliage, and pushing through a thicket of evergreens, she sees a beautiful white mare, saddled and tied to a low branch.
A sprig of mistletoe is tied to the horn of the saddle, where Gwen could not possibly miss seeing it. She smiled gently and crossed to the mare, running her hands along its warm neck. She unties the reins, then leads the mare to a rise and manages to get herself into the saddle. Gently she turns the mare's head, urging her to a slow walk over the treacherously icy ground. Mistletoe only grows in one place in all of Camelot, and it is a few hours before Gwen reaches it, on the edges of Druid territory.
Morgana stands regally in the center of the road, her winter white furs thrown back over her shoulders. One shoulder is bare, revealing the stark black of a Druid's spiral on her pale skin. A silver circlet rests upon the Lady's dark hair, and one of her pale hands rests on the shoulder of the blue eyed boy they helped save. A slow smile eases onto Morgana's crimson lips, and Gwen slides down from the mare almost before it comes to a full halt. She begins a low curtsey, but a flash of Morgana's pale hand stills her.
"You need never bow to me Guinevere," Morgana says, voice husky with emotion, and Gwen straightens herself up. The boy gives her a little nod of greeting, then slips away, forest colored cloak soon lost in the shadows of the trees. Slowly she crosses to Morgana, and for a moment they just look at one another. Then Morgana lunges forward, encircling Gwen in her surprisingly strong arms, and they are both cocooned in the warmth of Morgana's heavy fur cloak.
Gwen gasps as Morgana's lips press to hers. In Camelot they had shared a lifetime of smouldering glances under their dark lashes, but Gwen had not dared to think her affections were returned in kind. Morgana's lips are just as soft and sweet as she has imagined though, and she whimpers softly into the kiss, bringing her hands up to tangle in Morgana's dark curls. Her callouses catch on the silken strands, but Morgana says nothing, just kisses the breath out of her.
Slowly they part, chests heaving. Gwen reaches out, gently tracing the spiral pattern on Morgana's bare shoulder. Morgana's eyes flutter closed, crimson lips parted slightly, full and wet with their kisses. "Come," Morgana says, and they link arms, the cloak settling about both of them warmly. Morgana leads them deeper into the forest, and the trees give way after a time to a beautifully cared for parkland. The simple houses of the Druids are disguised in well tended glades amongst the gently rolling hills. Grey smoke curls from chimneys, and beneath a stand of birches, a group of young women are singing wassail.
Morgana leads the way to a small house near a stream, naked willows and dark yews standing sentry around it. Letting them in, Morgana hangs up the cloak. Mordred looks around from where he sits in front of the fire, then takes his book and slides silently out of the room. "Come, warm up," Morgana says with a smile, her teeth flashing like pearls in the warm light. Gwen steps closer to the fire, watches as Morgana takes a large flagon from the cupboard and pours fragrant berry wine into the kettle, then scatters in a handful of spices.
She settles into the thick bearskin rug, relishing the heat of the fire against her skin. Soon the room smells warm and spicy, and Gwen can't help but inhale deeply, filling her lungs with the fragrance. Morgana settles behind Gwen, wraps her arms around Gwen from behind, hooking her chin over the darker girl's shoulder. The skin on the underside of her chin is still cool, but her breath is warm against the shell of Gwen's ear. "I would do anything for you," Morgana says softly, barely audible over the crackling of the fire, "you understand that don't you? That my love for you is greater than anything else in my life?" Gwen takes a deep shuddering breath, than nods once in acceptance.
Morgana's lips press cool and soft against the pulse point behind Gwen's ear, and Gwen shivers, hands coming up to rest on Morgana's arms. Morgana's lips part, and Gwen's breath grows ragged as Morgana's tongue presses to her skin. She draws a deep, shuddering breath and turns in Morgana's arms, twisting uncomfortably to press their lips together. It's awkward and messy and perfect, their breath curling into one another's mouths, hands clutching at one another's upper arms.
Gently Morgana pushes at Gwen, urging her onto her back. Gwen gives way easily, reaching for the laces at the neck of her gown. Morgana smiles broadly, rocking back on her heels, watching. Slowly Gwen unlaces her dress, then lifts her hips and pulls off the coloured overdress. Morgana's smile widens, and then Gwen is shucking off her heavy woolen day dress and lighter woolen chemise in the same motion, wiggling out of her hose. Morgana's eyes sea green eyes glitter in the firelight as they map the honeyed curves of Gwen's form.
Gwen lays still and silent, feeling Morgana's gaze like a heavy caress. Morgana takes her time. Her eyes trace the curve of Gwen's full breast, the ripple of her rib-cage. Gwen shivers as Morgana's gaze sweeps down her, mapping the softness of her stomach and the swell of her hips before settling at the dark thatch of curly hair between her legs. She takes a deep breath, then parts her thighs. Morgana licks her lips slowly, then leans in, takes a deep breath, inhaling the salty musk of Gwen's arousal.
The flicker of Morgana's tongue against her makes Gwen arch her back and whimper, hands fisting in the thick wool of the bearskin. Morgana's mouth slowly wends south, lips and tongue creating heat and moisture and suction. When it reaches Gwen's entrance, Morgana's tongue darts out insistently, piercing her. Gwen chokes back a cry of arousal, hand shifting from the golden brown bearskin to Morgana's raven locks. She gasps and moans as Morgana's tongue again plunges into her, then again and again, simulating fornication. She bites back another sharp cry as Morgana's fingers slide in alongside her tongue.
"Morgana," she whimpers, and then Morgana is surging up, capturing Gwen's mouth in a filthy kiss and twisting two fingers into her hard. Gwen writhes and thrashes, then wraps her legs around Morgana's torso and claws at her heavy velvet gown. Morgana finally pulls away panting, fighting off her gown so they can press together, flesh to flesh. Morgana's slender fingers worm back between Gwen's caramel thighs, twist back into her wet heat. Morgana puts the strength of her thigh behind her twisting hand, and Gwen whimpers again, thighs clenching as she shudders and cums.
Gwen fumbles her hand between Morgana's thighs, strokes the downy dark hair there, then slides her fingers between the soft moist folds of skin, into the softer, moister center. Morgana's pupils dilate fully, the black of her lust glazed eyes catching the spark and glow of the hearth and holding it. As Gwen's fingers ease into Morgana, Morgana throws her head back with a groan. Gwen lunges up eagerly, teeth sinking into the ivory skin, marking it blatantly. When Morgana groans, Gwen can feel the vibrations of her voice through her teeth, and she twists her fingers to make Morgana moan again.
Being the heavier of the two young women, it is not terribly difficult for Gwen to roll them so she has Morgana pinned to the warm rug. She kisses Morgana deeply, then sets about mapping every inch of alabaster skin with her mouth. The attention makes Morgana's vaunted composure shatter like a delicate plate, and soon it is Morgana who is writhing and gasping and fisting her hands in the thick fur of the bearskin rug. Gwen takes her time though, ignoring the throaty pleas of her lover. Morgana has cum twice by the time Gwen leans down to lick at her entrance, and she tastes bitter and salty and Gwen loves it.
She leans up, kisses Morgana deeply, shares the musky taste between their mouths. She slides her fingers back into Morgana as she does, and Morgana groans deeply into the kiss. Gwen grins as she pulls back, watching the deep flush of arousal on Morgana's otherwise pale cheeks, the slick fullness of her bottom lip where she has bitten it. Gwen leans down, flicks her tongue across one of Morgana's pink nipples as she thrusts a third finger into Morgana, and Morgana curses violently and arches off the floor as she cums again, then collapses, whimpering, back onto the rug.
"I'll never leave you again," Morgana promises when Gwen curls next to her, and Gwen smiles, leaning up to kiss her Lady gently, answering Morgana's promise with one of her own.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Morgana/Gwen
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The charactors are the property of the BBC and Shine. No profit is made by the author.
Summary: Gwen cannot stay away from her Lady, and her Lady will not be without Gwen.
Notes: Set after 1x12, and therefore pure speculation. Present tense. Also, my first femme. If this looks familiar, that's because I posted it at morganafay and merlinslash a while ago. I've changed a few things before posting here (thanks for the feedback previous reviewers), but nothing major.
In the dark midwinter, Morgana sends for Gwen. The first summons is a single spray of holly, laden with berries the color of fresh spilt blood. Gwen smiles as the prickly leaves draw little pricks of matching blood from her fingers. She shrugs into her cloak, that same shade of deadly crimson, and slips from a little used gate in the northern wall.
An hour or so outside of the city walls, Gwen comes upon the glade where they once gathered greenery for Yuletide. It takes a little searching, but tucked in the crook of a laden holly is a glinting silver dagger wrapped in twining ivy. Gwen lifts it gently down. The dagger goes in the back of her belt, the spring of ivy behind her ear. She walks deeper into the woods, to where the ivy grows thickly in the roots of the older trees. A soft sound startles her as she hunts through the dense foliage, and pushing through a thicket of evergreens, she sees a beautiful white mare, saddled and tied to a low branch.
A sprig of mistletoe is tied to the horn of the saddle, where Gwen could not possibly miss seeing it. She smiled gently and crossed to the mare, running her hands along its warm neck. She unties the reins, then leads the mare to a rise and manages to get herself into the saddle. Gently she turns the mare's head, urging her to a slow walk over the treacherously icy ground. Mistletoe only grows in one place in all of Camelot, and it is a few hours before Gwen reaches it, on the edges of Druid territory.
Morgana stands regally in the center of the road, her winter white furs thrown back over her shoulders. One shoulder is bare, revealing the stark black of a Druid's spiral on her pale skin. A silver circlet rests upon the Lady's dark hair, and one of her pale hands rests on the shoulder of the blue eyed boy they helped save. A slow smile eases onto Morgana's crimson lips, and Gwen slides down from the mare almost before it comes to a full halt. She begins a low curtsey, but a flash of Morgana's pale hand stills her.
"You need never bow to me Guinevere," Morgana says, voice husky with emotion, and Gwen straightens herself up. The boy gives her a little nod of greeting, then slips away, forest colored cloak soon lost in the shadows of the trees. Slowly she crosses to Morgana, and for a moment they just look at one another. Then Morgana lunges forward, encircling Gwen in her surprisingly strong arms, and they are both cocooned in the warmth of Morgana's heavy fur cloak.
Gwen gasps as Morgana's lips press to hers. In Camelot they had shared a lifetime of smouldering glances under their dark lashes, but Gwen had not dared to think her affections were returned in kind. Morgana's lips are just as soft and sweet as she has imagined though, and she whimpers softly into the kiss, bringing her hands up to tangle in Morgana's dark curls. Her callouses catch on the silken strands, but Morgana says nothing, just kisses the breath out of her.
Slowly they part, chests heaving. Gwen reaches out, gently tracing the spiral pattern on Morgana's bare shoulder. Morgana's eyes flutter closed, crimson lips parted slightly, full and wet with their kisses. "Come," Morgana says, and they link arms, the cloak settling about both of them warmly. Morgana leads them deeper into the forest, and the trees give way after a time to a beautifully cared for parkland. The simple houses of the Druids are disguised in well tended glades amongst the gently rolling hills. Grey smoke curls from chimneys, and beneath a stand of birches, a group of young women are singing wassail.
Morgana leads the way to a small house near a stream, naked willows and dark yews standing sentry around it. Letting them in, Morgana hangs up the cloak. Mordred looks around from where he sits in front of the fire, then takes his book and slides silently out of the room. "Come, warm up," Morgana says with a smile, her teeth flashing like pearls in the warm light. Gwen steps closer to the fire, watches as Morgana takes a large flagon from the cupboard and pours fragrant berry wine into the kettle, then scatters in a handful of spices.
She settles into the thick bearskin rug, relishing the heat of the fire against her skin. Soon the room smells warm and spicy, and Gwen can't help but inhale deeply, filling her lungs with the fragrance. Morgana settles behind Gwen, wraps her arms around Gwen from behind, hooking her chin over the darker girl's shoulder. The skin on the underside of her chin is still cool, but her breath is warm against the shell of Gwen's ear. "I would do anything for you," Morgana says softly, barely audible over the crackling of the fire, "you understand that don't you? That my love for you is greater than anything else in my life?" Gwen takes a deep shuddering breath, than nods once in acceptance.
Morgana's lips press cool and soft against the pulse point behind Gwen's ear, and Gwen shivers, hands coming up to rest on Morgana's arms. Morgana's lips part, and Gwen's breath grows ragged as Morgana's tongue presses to her skin. She draws a deep, shuddering breath and turns in Morgana's arms, twisting uncomfortably to press their lips together. It's awkward and messy and perfect, their breath curling into one another's mouths, hands clutching at one another's upper arms.
Gently Morgana pushes at Gwen, urging her onto her back. Gwen gives way easily, reaching for the laces at the neck of her gown. Morgana smiles broadly, rocking back on her heels, watching. Slowly Gwen unlaces her dress, then lifts her hips and pulls off the coloured overdress. Morgana's smile widens, and then Gwen is shucking off her heavy woolen day dress and lighter woolen chemise in the same motion, wiggling out of her hose. Morgana's eyes sea green eyes glitter in the firelight as they map the honeyed curves of Gwen's form.
Gwen lays still and silent, feeling Morgana's gaze like a heavy caress. Morgana takes her time. Her eyes trace the curve of Gwen's full breast, the ripple of her rib-cage. Gwen shivers as Morgana's gaze sweeps down her, mapping the softness of her stomach and the swell of her hips before settling at the dark thatch of curly hair between her legs. She takes a deep breath, then parts her thighs. Morgana licks her lips slowly, then leans in, takes a deep breath, inhaling the salty musk of Gwen's arousal.
The flicker of Morgana's tongue against her makes Gwen arch her back and whimper, hands fisting in the thick wool of the bearskin. Morgana's mouth slowly wends south, lips and tongue creating heat and moisture and suction. When it reaches Gwen's entrance, Morgana's tongue darts out insistently, piercing her. Gwen chokes back a cry of arousal, hand shifting from the golden brown bearskin to Morgana's raven locks. She gasps and moans as Morgana's tongue again plunges into her, then again and again, simulating fornication. She bites back another sharp cry as Morgana's fingers slide in alongside her tongue.
"Morgana," she whimpers, and then Morgana is surging up, capturing Gwen's mouth in a filthy kiss and twisting two fingers into her hard. Gwen writhes and thrashes, then wraps her legs around Morgana's torso and claws at her heavy velvet gown. Morgana finally pulls away panting, fighting off her gown so they can press together, flesh to flesh. Morgana's slender fingers worm back between Gwen's caramel thighs, twist back into her wet heat. Morgana puts the strength of her thigh behind her twisting hand, and Gwen whimpers again, thighs clenching as she shudders and cums.
Gwen fumbles her hand between Morgana's thighs, strokes the downy dark hair there, then slides her fingers between the soft moist folds of skin, into the softer, moister center. Morgana's pupils dilate fully, the black of her lust glazed eyes catching the spark and glow of the hearth and holding it. As Gwen's fingers ease into Morgana, Morgana throws her head back with a groan. Gwen lunges up eagerly, teeth sinking into the ivory skin, marking it blatantly. When Morgana groans, Gwen can feel the vibrations of her voice through her teeth, and she twists her fingers to make Morgana moan again.
Being the heavier of the two young women, it is not terribly difficult for Gwen to roll them so she has Morgana pinned to the warm rug. She kisses Morgana deeply, then sets about mapping every inch of alabaster skin with her mouth. The attention makes Morgana's vaunted composure shatter like a delicate plate, and soon it is Morgana who is writhing and gasping and fisting her hands in the thick fur of the bearskin rug. Gwen takes her time though, ignoring the throaty pleas of her lover. Morgana has cum twice by the time Gwen leans down to lick at her entrance, and she tastes bitter and salty and Gwen loves it.
She leans up, kisses Morgana deeply, shares the musky taste between their mouths. She slides her fingers back into Morgana as she does, and Morgana groans deeply into the kiss. Gwen grins as she pulls back, watching the deep flush of arousal on Morgana's otherwise pale cheeks, the slick fullness of her bottom lip where she has bitten it. Gwen leans down, flicks her tongue across one of Morgana's pink nipples as she thrusts a third finger into Morgana, and Morgana curses violently and arches off the floor as she cums again, then collapses, whimpering, back onto the rug.
"I'll never leave you again," Morgana promises when Gwen curls next to her, and Gwen smiles, leaning up to kiss her Lady gently, answering Morgana's promise with one of her own.