FIC: The Girl With The Guns (Merlin/Gwen) R
Title: The Girl With The Guns
Author: samyazaz
Pairing: Merlin/Gwen
Rating: R
Word Count: 753
Summary: Gwen has no doubts about what it is that draws her to Merlin. It's his quiet competency, the steadiness of his hands on Serenity's controls. It's in the way he can make her laugh despite herself even in the most dire situations, and the way he's just as responsible as Arthur is for bringing them safely from one planet to the next but he doesn't even seem to realize it.
Author's Note: Written for Week 6 of Summer Pornathon 2012: Crossover/Fusion.
Gwen has no doubts about what it is that draws her to Merlin. It's his quiet competency, the steadiness of his hands on Serenity's controls. It's in the way he can make her laugh despite herself even in the most dire situations, and the way he's just as responsible as Arthur is for bringing them safely from one planet to the next but he doesn't even seem to realize it.
Gwen understands all that, and while she might have once stewed over her attraction to and love for this impossible man, the years have worn away the edges of that strangeness. But what she doesn't get, what she just can't ever manage to wrap her head around is what he sees in her. She'd have pegged him as the sort of man who'd go for someone more like himself, someone quick to smile and handy with a joke. Gwen's more comfortable with guns than humor, and while she's grateful for it every day, she knows she's not the only one who doesn't really get their relationship.
The ship has just settled down after a near miss with an Alliance patrol at the dock, and most everyone has retired to their bunks to relieve the stress in their own way. Merlin's brought one of his little plastic dinosaurs from the helm and is sitting cross-legged on the bed with it, not playing, just idly fingering it with a far-away look. Gwen's got her gun disassembled and spread out neatly across the blankets. The methodical process of cleaning and oiling gives her hands a chance to steady from the rush of adrenaline, from the fear of seeing Merlin in the line of fire.
She's just wiping oil off of the stock when the hair prickles at the back of her neck and she realizes that Merlin's very quiet and very still. Even the small motions of his fingers on the dinosaur toy have stilled. He's just sitting, watching her in an attentive way that feels too much like studying, like sizing an opponent up.
"What is it?" she asks without looking up, keeping her words even and her tone neutral.
Merlin clears his throat and shifts up onto his knees, scooting closer. "Nothing."
She puts the barrel down and looks at him. He's staring at her hands, a faint furrow between his brows. "Merlin…" This time it's a low rumble, a gentle warning. His cheeks flush pink and he busies himself setting the stegosaurus aside on their minuscule bedside table.
"Nothing," he says again, softer, yearning. "It's just…" And he reaches over, covers her hands with his where they're curled around the pieces of the disassembled gun. He catches his lip between his teeth and his eyes have a faraway look to them, and that expression is one that she knows intimately.
She likes having everything laid out neat and orderly, she finds it calming, but it takes her half a second to sweep it all aside and roll him over beneath her. His eyes are dark, his lips parted, begging for a kiss, and she can't deny him. She leans in and catches his mouth with hers, strips his clothes off just as methodically as she does everything, and smiles at the way he trembles beneath her palm.
She rides him, fingers twined together and hands pressed palm-to-palm, rides him until neither of them are anything like calm or soothed but it doesn't matter because anything beyond their room has ceased to exist. She likes the way she can lose herself in him, how he can strip away the neatness, the orderliness, and do it in such a way that it doesn't feel like a loss.
Afterwards, she retrieves the pieces of the disassembled gun and lays them out as they were before, resumes the process of cleaning and reassembling it. Merlin presses against her back, slides his palms down her arms until his hands cover hers once more. He traces his fingertips over the backs of her fingers, but when she stills, he murmurs a protest against the nape of her neck.
"Don't," he says, lips warm on her skin. "Don't stop. Gods, I love your hands."
She continues slowly, excruciatingly aware of the way Merlin watches her hands move like he can't get enough of it.
He looks at her the way she looks at him, when he's sitting at Serenity's controls and perfectly in his element, and she thinks maybe she understands everything a little better now.
Author: samyazaz
Pairing: Merlin/Gwen
Rating: R
Word Count: 753
Summary: Gwen has no doubts about what it is that draws her to Merlin. It's his quiet competency, the steadiness of his hands on Serenity's controls. It's in the way he can make her laugh despite herself even in the most dire situations, and the way he's just as responsible as Arthur is for bringing them safely from one planet to the next but he doesn't even seem to realize it.
Author's Note: Written for Week 6 of Summer Pornathon 2012: Crossover/Fusion.
Gwen has no doubts about what it is that draws her to Merlin. It's his quiet competency, the steadiness of his hands on Serenity's controls. It's in the way he can make her laugh despite herself even in the most dire situations, and the way he's just as responsible as Arthur is for bringing them safely from one planet to the next but he doesn't even seem to realize it.
Gwen understands all that, and while she might have once stewed over her attraction to and love for this impossible man, the years have worn away the edges of that strangeness. But what she doesn't get, what she just can't ever manage to wrap her head around is what he sees in her. She'd have pegged him as the sort of man who'd go for someone more like himself, someone quick to smile and handy with a joke. Gwen's more comfortable with guns than humor, and while she's grateful for it every day, she knows she's not the only one who doesn't really get their relationship.
The ship has just settled down after a near miss with an Alliance patrol at the dock, and most everyone has retired to their bunks to relieve the stress in their own way. Merlin's brought one of his little plastic dinosaurs from the helm and is sitting cross-legged on the bed with it, not playing, just idly fingering it with a far-away look. Gwen's got her gun disassembled and spread out neatly across the blankets. The methodical process of cleaning and oiling gives her hands a chance to steady from the rush of adrenaline, from the fear of seeing Merlin in the line of fire.
She's just wiping oil off of the stock when the hair prickles at the back of her neck and she realizes that Merlin's very quiet and very still. Even the small motions of his fingers on the dinosaur toy have stilled. He's just sitting, watching her in an attentive way that feels too much like studying, like sizing an opponent up.
"What is it?" she asks without looking up, keeping her words even and her tone neutral.
Merlin clears his throat and shifts up onto his knees, scooting closer. "Nothing."
She puts the barrel down and looks at him. He's staring at her hands, a faint furrow between his brows. "Merlin…" This time it's a low rumble, a gentle warning. His cheeks flush pink and he busies himself setting the stegosaurus aside on their minuscule bedside table.
"Nothing," he says again, softer, yearning. "It's just…" And he reaches over, covers her hands with his where they're curled around the pieces of the disassembled gun. He catches his lip between his teeth and his eyes have a faraway look to them, and that expression is one that she knows intimately.
She likes having everything laid out neat and orderly, she finds it calming, but it takes her half a second to sweep it all aside and roll him over beneath her. His eyes are dark, his lips parted, begging for a kiss, and she can't deny him. She leans in and catches his mouth with hers, strips his clothes off just as methodically as she does everything, and smiles at the way he trembles beneath her palm.
She rides him, fingers twined together and hands pressed palm-to-palm, rides him until neither of them are anything like calm or soothed but it doesn't matter because anything beyond their room has ceased to exist. She likes the way she can lose herself in him, how he can strip away the neatness, the orderliness, and do it in such a way that it doesn't feel like a loss.
Afterwards, she retrieves the pieces of the disassembled gun and lays them out as they were before, resumes the process of cleaning and reassembling it. Merlin presses against her back, slides his palms down her arms until his hands cover hers once more. He traces his fingertips over the backs of her fingers, but when she stills, he murmurs a protest against the nape of her neck.
"Don't," he says, lips warm on her skin. "Don't stop. Gods, I love your hands."
She continues slowly, excruciatingly aware of the way Merlin watches her hands move like he can't get enough of it.
He looks at her the way she looks at him, when he's sitting at Serenity's controls and perfectly in his element, and she thinks maybe she understands everything a little better now.