orla_dark's gift from arysani
Title: Something Old, Something New
Medium: Fanfic
Rating: None
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Morgana
Comments: orla_dark wanted Merlin\Morgana, no angst, something happy and romantic; happy if it will be something about wedding or happily ever after. It seems odd that such a simple prompt could be so difficult. I'm terrible at not using angst as a crutch to develop a happy ending. But nearly every fic exchange I've ever done, I've been given the task of doing no-angst fluff; I think fandom at large is trying to tell me something about expanding my horizons or something. But here it is, and I hope it fits the mold.
Summary: Sometime in the future, after the fall of Camelot, Merlin & Morgana meet up again...at a wedding.
"Fancy meeting you here," the velvet voice from his past is matched up with a smirk he knows even in his sleep as he turns to face it, a tiny cucumber sandwich stuffed in his mouth. His eyes widen, because he hadn't decided to be here until three days ago, so why was she here?
He tucks the bit of the sandwich still unchewed into the back corner of his mouth to utter her name. "Morgana."
She smiles this time, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she raises her glass of dessert wine (which still has the raspberry in it - he never could hold his liquor so he ate the raspberry and left the wine...somewhere) in greeting. "Bride or groom?"
"Um," he chews a second, and swallows hurriedly, trying to remember why he agreed to show up here.
Tongue behind her teeth for a second in a triumphant grin, she accuses him of being a crasher. "Honestly, I expected better of you than that," she taunts, folding one arm under the one holding the wine aloft.
"No! I'm not! I'm with him!" he points at the best man, an adjunct professor who needed a "wingman" for the wedding and enlisted Merlin, adding him as his "plus one" on the invite in a way that made both men pause, wondering if the impression that they were together-together would ruin the best man's chances at going home with a bridesmaid. The joke had been made in the middle of the best man's toast that he had brought a man-date, and he called Merlin out in the crowd, making him wave embarrassedly as he was pointed out as being one of perhaps three single men at a wedding with far more single women. So far though, Merlin had avoided most of the mildly-intoxicated come-ons.
"Yes, I remember," she smiled. "I was here for the toast."
"Oh," he swallowed the last of his wee sandwich and looked around for an exit.
The crowd began to gather in one corner of the room, and Morgana set down her wine glass, reaching for him and sliding her arm through the crook of his; he hadn't touched her, spoken to her this much in...centuries. And she still made his breath hitch, his heart double-beat. Though some of that might've been because he never knew if she was going to tease him or try and set him on fire. He supposed it kept their relationship interesting.
"Come on, the bride is going to throw the bouquet."
"Oh, no, no," he stuttered, waving his hand at her even as she began to drag him off. "I don't need to-, I mean, I don't really know these people, so-..."
"Oh rubbish, Merlin. Play along, it's a wedding."
Swallowing hard, he studied her as she pulled him into the crowd, just behind the front line. There was still a good chance he was going to end up needing to dunk himself in case of combustion; he hadn't entirely ruled that out just yet. His thoughts, however, were truncated when he was pulled slightly by the stretch of her other arm, plucking the tossed bundle of flowers out of the air. Even now, her regal height was abnormal, and those heels certainly didn't hurt her chances. Amidst the choir of "awww damn"s and tongue-clicking "tsk"s from the slighted single ladies of the group, Morgana simply pulled the flowers into her face, burying her nose in the petals and inhaling deeply. She emerged with a satisfied smile on her face.
"Your turn," she said, and he leaned away.
"No, no, I'm, I think I might be, yes, definitely, allergic to..." he gestured at the flowers, and she held her arm around his, locked so that he couldn't get very far.
"No, Merlin. Time for the garter," she raised one brow saucily and he rather wished she'd just set him on fire and be done with it. This unique form of prolonged exposure as torture was getting to be a bit too much. Truthfully, it had probably been a bit too much the moment she touched him. Memories flooded back at him in that moment, from when she used to touch him in friendship, before their détente, before their rivalry, before the years piled upon years and they circled each other. His ire had long since burnt out; he was waiting for this immortality thing to be over with, biding his time. But he could never tell with her.
There was a round of applause, and he could see that the groom (whose name he would know if he looked at the invitation - he was really bad at this sort of thing) had a frilly white thing in his mouth, which he removed and held up high.
"Well Mori, who's the lucky bloke in the crowd? Or should I just aim for that poor frightened sod on your arm?" the groom yelled with a grin.
"Just get it over with Gerry! We all know you're estimating how many dances you need to put up with before you go find a broom closet to christen!" she shouted back with a smile on her face, and he laughed, and his new bride covered her amusement by planting her face into her hands.
Merlin watched with a slow-motion horror as Gerry squinted one eye to aim, and pulled the stretchy fabric back, snapping it in a beeline to him. It hit him in the nose, and dropped to the floor, leaving him blinking awkwardly.
"Well get on with it buddy! The wifey and I only have this place til six, and there's a lot of spare rooms to christen!" Gerry shouted, and "wifey" smacked his arm, eliciting a laugh from the crowd.
"Erm..."
Morgana leaned in close as the crowd parted around them. "Pick up the garter and kiss me," she whispered, her lips brushing his cheek on the 'p' and 'm'.
He swallowed hard, and knelt down, picking up the piece of frothy lace, and on his way back up, he was attacked. At least it wasn't literal fire this time, but the way her lips pressed against his felt pretty damn combustible.
"Jesus Mori, upstage us why don't you?" Gerry yelled, and Merlin's eyes were still closed when her lips left his.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, as the crowd began to disperse and the DJ called for the bride and groom to come forth for their first dance.
"Trying something new," she admitted, and he saw a tiny flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
"Does this mean you're not going to set me on fire?"
She laughed, a softer version of the taunting one he knew so well. "Why are you always so worried about that? I did that once!"
"Twice," he corrected. "That's more than fifty percent of our post-Cam-" he began, but was silenced by another kiss, her hand on his collarbone, and the arm that had held him like a brace sliding around his waist. He had no choice, really, but to slide one arm around her waist and the other up her back and return the favor. It was only fair, really.
"I've got a room," she began, and he interrupted her.
"I live just..."
"...just upstairs," she finished, and smiled.
"Okay, that sounds good," he admitted, and reached down, grasping her hand in his, winding his fingers with hers, and thinking that this wedding wasn't turning out as poorly as he had expected.
FIN
Medium: Fanfic
Rating: None
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Morgana
Comments: orla_dark wanted Merlin\Morgana, no angst, something happy and romantic; happy if it will be something about wedding or happily ever after. It seems odd that such a simple prompt could be so difficult. I'm terrible at not using angst as a crutch to develop a happy ending. But nearly every fic exchange I've ever done, I've been given the task of doing no-angst fluff; I think fandom at large is trying to tell me something about expanding my horizons or something. But here it is, and I hope it fits the mold.
Summary: Sometime in the future, after the fall of Camelot, Merlin & Morgana meet up again...at a wedding.
"Fancy meeting you here," the velvet voice from his past is matched up with a smirk he knows even in his sleep as he turns to face it, a tiny cucumber sandwich stuffed in his mouth. His eyes widen, because he hadn't decided to be here until three days ago, so why was she here?
He tucks the bit of the sandwich still unchewed into the back corner of his mouth to utter her name. "Morgana."
She smiles this time, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she raises her glass of dessert wine (which still has the raspberry in it - he never could hold his liquor so he ate the raspberry and left the wine...somewhere) in greeting. "Bride or groom?"
"Um," he chews a second, and swallows hurriedly, trying to remember why he agreed to show up here.
Tongue behind her teeth for a second in a triumphant grin, she accuses him of being a crasher. "Honestly, I expected better of you than that," she taunts, folding one arm under the one holding the wine aloft.
"No! I'm not! I'm with him!" he points at the best man, an adjunct professor who needed a "wingman" for the wedding and enlisted Merlin, adding him as his "plus one" on the invite in a way that made both men pause, wondering if the impression that they were together-together would ruin the best man's chances at going home with a bridesmaid. The joke had been made in the middle of the best man's toast that he had brought a man-date, and he called Merlin out in the crowd, making him wave embarrassedly as he was pointed out as being one of perhaps three single men at a wedding with far more single women. So far though, Merlin had avoided most of the mildly-intoxicated come-ons.
"Yes, I remember," she smiled. "I was here for the toast."
"Oh," he swallowed the last of his wee sandwich and looked around for an exit.
The crowd began to gather in one corner of the room, and Morgana set down her wine glass, reaching for him and sliding her arm through the crook of his; he hadn't touched her, spoken to her this much in...centuries. And she still made his breath hitch, his heart double-beat. Though some of that might've been because he never knew if she was going to tease him or try and set him on fire. He supposed it kept their relationship interesting.
"Come on, the bride is going to throw the bouquet."
"Oh, no, no," he stuttered, waving his hand at her even as she began to drag him off. "I don't need to-, I mean, I don't really know these people, so-..."
"Oh rubbish, Merlin. Play along, it's a wedding."
Swallowing hard, he studied her as she pulled him into the crowd, just behind the front line. There was still a good chance he was going to end up needing to dunk himself in case of combustion; he hadn't entirely ruled that out just yet. His thoughts, however, were truncated when he was pulled slightly by the stretch of her other arm, plucking the tossed bundle of flowers out of the air. Even now, her regal height was abnormal, and those heels certainly didn't hurt her chances. Amidst the choir of "awww damn"s and tongue-clicking "tsk"s from the slighted single ladies of the group, Morgana simply pulled the flowers into her face, burying her nose in the petals and inhaling deeply. She emerged with a satisfied smile on her face.
"Your turn," she said, and he leaned away.
"No, no, I'm, I think I might be, yes, definitely, allergic to..." he gestured at the flowers, and she held her arm around his, locked so that he couldn't get very far.
"No, Merlin. Time for the garter," she raised one brow saucily and he rather wished she'd just set him on fire and be done with it. This unique form of prolonged exposure as torture was getting to be a bit too much. Truthfully, it had probably been a bit too much the moment she touched him. Memories flooded back at him in that moment, from when she used to touch him in friendship, before their détente, before their rivalry, before the years piled upon years and they circled each other. His ire had long since burnt out; he was waiting for this immortality thing to be over with, biding his time. But he could never tell with her.
There was a round of applause, and he could see that the groom (whose name he would know if he looked at the invitation - he was really bad at this sort of thing) had a frilly white thing in his mouth, which he removed and held up high.
"Well Mori, who's the lucky bloke in the crowd? Or should I just aim for that poor frightened sod on your arm?" the groom yelled with a grin.
"Just get it over with Gerry! We all know you're estimating how many dances you need to put up with before you go find a broom closet to christen!" she shouted back with a smile on her face, and he laughed, and his new bride covered her amusement by planting her face into her hands.
Merlin watched with a slow-motion horror as Gerry squinted one eye to aim, and pulled the stretchy fabric back, snapping it in a beeline to him. It hit him in the nose, and dropped to the floor, leaving him blinking awkwardly.
"Well get on with it buddy! The wifey and I only have this place til six, and there's a lot of spare rooms to christen!" Gerry shouted, and "wifey" smacked his arm, eliciting a laugh from the crowd.
"Erm..."
Morgana leaned in close as the crowd parted around them. "Pick up the garter and kiss me," she whispered, her lips brushing his cheek on the 'p' and 'm'.
He swallowed hard, and knelt down, picking up the piece of frothy lace, and on his way back up, he was attacked. At least it wasn't literal fire this time, but the way her lips pressed against his felt pretty damn combustible.
"Jesus Mori, upstage us why don't you?" Gerry yelled, and Merlin's eyes were still closed when her lips left his.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, as the crowd began to disperse and the DJ called for the bride and groom to come forth for their first dance.
"Trying something new," she admitted, and he saw a tiny flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
"Does this mean you're not going to set me on fire?"
She laughed, a softer version of the taunting one he knew so well. "Why are you always so worried about that? I did that once!"
"Twice," he corrected. "That's more than fifty percent of our post-Cam-" he began, but was silenced by another kiss, her hand on his collarbone, and the arm that had held him like a brace sliding around his waist. He had no choice, really, but to slide one arm around her waist and the other up her back and return the favor. It was only fair, really.
"I've got a room," she began, and he interrupted her.
"I live just..."
"...just upstairs," she finished, and smiled.
"Okay, that sounds good," he admitted, and reached down, grasping her hand in his, winding his fingers with hers, and thinking that this wedding wasn't turning out as poorly as he had expected.
FIN