Fic-The Green Dress, Merlin/Morgana
If you asked Merlin how it started he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer, because he’s been in love with her since maybe the first moment he ever saw her. Before he’d first arrived in Camelot, he’d never seen such a beautiful woman. Now, years later, with his own tower in the castle, a position as King Arthur’s magician and friend, and Morgana as his wife, he knows that there is not anyone in the world who could replace her in his heart, nor compare to her beauty.
He loves her for who she is, for her goodness even if at times her anger overshadows it-at least he and Arthur and Gwen are there to help her along the right path. He loves her for her shared magic, and that together they are a force for good to be reckoned with. And he loves her mind, her intelligence, her willingness to speak what is in her heart, regardless of what it could mean for herself.
Everyone knows these things, knows that he respects her and loves her. Which makes him feel less guilty when, despite the years since they were hand-fasted and have shared a life, he cannot think of anything but laying her down on the nearest surface and going at it.
He was stunned by her at his first feast, when she appeared in that red dress, just to taunt Arthur and he has remained mesmerized. Her smooth skin, her gorgeous hair, her lithe figure, all of which are his and his alone to enjoy and can render him speechless and incapable of thought. But there is one singular feature of hers that has long been his favorite. That can mesmerize him from afar, and bring him to complete speechlessness, that can distract him and then entice him like a siren’s song.
Merlin has never been able to resist Morgana’s breasts, especially when she puts them on display for the entire court to see, in her low-cut dresses that cup them perfectly, and leave every man wishing she were his to take to bed, to do with as they please, to own. Despite her getting older, now a mother of two-barely worth mentioning when you compare it to Arthur and Gwen’s four-she has retained a pert, lush bosom that could bring any man to his knees.
Morgana knows which of her features Merlin likes best. And Merlin is reminded that she is aware of such knowledge as she chases their daughter into the king’s dining room, where he and Arthur were waiting for Gwen, Morgana and the children for a shared evening meal, as was often the custom of the King and his family.
Merlin can feel all moisture leave his mouth as he takes in the sight of her. Her dress is enough to make him hard in his breeches before he can even will the thought away. Which he does, thank you, because embarrassing himself in front of his king and brother in law, not to mention all of their children is not something he wishes to be reminded of next time Arthur is in the mood to be a prat (something he has largely grown out of, but still relishes in his free time, when he is alone with his family).
They’d discussed it, why she shouldn’t wear it when he was expected to keep his distance from her. He can’t control himself, or keep his hands to himself, when she is wearing it. Something that is embarrassingly clear as he slips his hand around her waist unnecessarily as she leans down to offer him a kiss in greeting. And it takes every ounce of his strength not to deepen the kiss, not to thread his hands into her hair, not to bury his face into her exposed cleavage, the way he wants to, the way he has before in the privacy of their own chambers. He sighs as he pulls away and sits in his chair, trying to focus on the conversations around the table, rather than on his desires or the way his breeches are suddenly uncomfortably full making it nearly impossible to enjoy the meal without painful desire.
***********
Morgana smiles and nods indulgently as her youngest nephew babbles and Arthur encourages him. He’s a far better father than she had ever hoped he would become, so unlike how Uther had raised him. But that is another story. She smiles to herself as Merlin shifts in his chair again, and slides his hand into hers which is resting on her thigh.
She smiles inwardly, but does not acknowledge his sign of affection, in the same way she hasn’t acknowledged any of the others he’s shown since they started their meal. She is quite satisfied with his reaction. And she knows it’s unfair of her. He had, after all, asked her not to wear this particular dress in public again, after the incident that occurred at the last feast. She smirks at the memory, when they’d nearly been caught by Arthur in the throne room, and he’d very nearly embarrassed himself in front of the entire court, with his inability to keep his hands to himself.
But she loves to elicit that reaction from him. And it’s been days since they’d been able to engage in any sort of marital privileges, between his schedule and the extra meetings Arthur had been holding, and the children who’d been unusually fussy of late. So who could really blame her if she had arranged for the nursemaid to take the children after dinner, and if she’d decided to tease him a bit with the dress?
It’s not even a new dress. That’s how she reasons with herself, because for the life of her she doesn’t know why it drives him so crazy. She’d had a purple dress just like it, with the teal gauze to accent the purple silk and the gold detailing, when she was just Uther’s ward and Merlin couldn’t look at her without Arthur threatening to take off his head.
So honestly, there is no reason that this remade dress, this time in an emerald green silk that had been part of a gift to the royal family from a visiting dignitary, should make Merlin so crazy. And yet it does. And she is not too ashamed to admit that the fact thrills her.
She smiles at Merlin, and gently squeezes his hand. Morgana notices that Arthur is distracted by Gwen and the children, and leans in to whisper to Merlin, “I asked Mary to take the children after dinner. I thought we could use the time to get reacquainted.”
Morgana giggled as she felt the resulting spark of energy flow from Merlin’s hand to her own, the way that he always used his magic to show his enthusiasm when he couldn’t trust his voice to show it.
Her giggle caused Gwen to focus on her, and Morgana blushed. Her former maidservant and dear friend knew all too well what sort of game Morgana was playing at; she had helped in the planning after all. Gwen winked at Morgana and then focused on Arthur again.
Gwen took Arthur’s hand, and whispered something into his ear, and Morgana smirked, because Gwen had plans of her own. The late night planning sessions between Arthur and Merlin and the others had been necessary, but equally despised by Gwen and Morgana. They both had plans for this evening, and both of the nursemaids would be watching the children tonight, something that was a rather rare occurrence, but that was worth it this time for both mothers.
Arthur stands first, offering Gwen his hand, and Morgana all but ignores what he says, in favor of trying not to notice that Merlin’s hand is on her thigh, and making circles that are inching their way up. She manages to say good night to both Arthur and Gwen, and to kiss the children before the nanny takes them. But for the life of her, she can’t remember any conversations she might have had, nor does she remember making to back to their chambers.
************
Merlin groans as she responds to the kiss he’d drawn her into as soon as the door to their chambers is closed.
He slides his hands to her sides, bringing them up as his tongue seeks entrance into her hot, willing, mouth, so that his fingers are resting on her rib cage, gently rubbing against the swell of her breasts.
He moans as she leans into him, pushing her breasts into his hands. He breaks away from her lips to trail kisses down her neck, to her shoulder, and down the front of her gown, to the tops of her breasts.
Her head falls back as he sucks and nibbles at her cleavage, and she moans outright when he bites down on the flesh, leaving an unmistakable mark.
It fills him with pride, when he pulls away, and her chest heaves with the need to fill her lungs with air, the small bruise already starting to form. It’s a sight that makes him wish they were naked, Right. Now. Merlin kisses her again, and walks them back towards their bed.
She giggles as she falls onto it, drawing him into her arms, until he is resting comfortable on top of her. It’s one of Merlin’s favorite places to be, and he long ago stopped marveling at how perfect they fit together in this position. But she is still breathtaking, spread out beneath him, as if she were made for this alone. He captures her lips in a kiss once more.
As he deepens the kiss, he can’t help but grind his hips down into hers, relishing the momentary relief that is not enough, and yet too much at the same time.
Morgana pulls away, and sighs as she rests her head against the pillows, “Happy with my surprise?”
Merlin’s eyes trace over her body and can’t seem to keep from lingering on her breasts. He rolls to the side of her, and traces the outlined curve with his hands, loving the gentle slope of them. They way that they fill his hands, the way her breath hitches as he rubs the nipples through the fabric. Because Merlin knows that as much as he loves her breasts, she loves that he loves them all the more.
She reaches between them and deftly loosens the laces on his breeches, slipping her hand inside to cup him. She answers her own question, because he can’t think to form words, “I think you are. Hmm. Love that I can do this to you Merlin.”
He grunts, as she squeezes him and rubs his shaft, tracing the vein underneath in nothing more than a teasing caress. “Love you, Morgana. Love this, love your body.”
And he doesn’t seem to care that his words are somewhat unintelligible, he just plants his face in her breasts and mouths at the beautiful swell that is created, that he could drown in the same way that most men drown in water.
Morgana’s laugh is cut off with a groan as Merlin returns to licking and kissing her breasts. She draws her hand out of his breeches and then threads her fingers through his hair. He knows how to play her better than the harpist plays his instrument. She can feel her own desire building between her legs, spurred on by the obvious pleasure her husband takes in her body.
But she wants Merlin to have his pleasure from her first. Her plans for the night have included something that they have been talking about for a while, but have never had the time to try. So she pulls his head from her breasts, and kisses him quickly before she speaks, “Merlin…”
He interrupts her, “Yes, love.”
And she is suddenly feeling awkward, not sure how to give him permission. But she searches his face for a moment while she tries to find the words, and knows that no matter how she asks, he will ultimately be grateful, for it is one of his greatest desires after all. She kisses him again, deep and hard, leaving his lips swollen and red, and her voice comes out a whisper, “Fuck my breasts.”
She couldn’t tell you what she had expected, but the growl that preceded the familiar flash of his eyes to gold which left them both completely naked, was not at all what she had imagined. She laughs at his eagerness, and manages to turn him over so that she is on top.
She delights in his complete surrender as Merlin lets his head fall back when she quickly and expertly moves down his body to suck his shaft into her mouth. They’ve been together long enough that she knows what he likes, and she opens her mouth to take him deeper, her tongue pressing against the vein as she applies pressure. She pulls off him and uses her lips to press steadily against the spot just under the head of his shaft. And as always, he bucks into her mouth, his hips moving on their own accord.
He manages to groan out words, “Morgana, love, stop teasing.”
She pulls off and chuckles, low and dirty, before acquiescing and sucking his cock back into her mouth, using her saliva to wet it.
After a few moments, she pulls off, and Merlin takes it as the cue that it is. Before she can really focus on what is happened, Merlin has arranged her on the bed beneath him.
Then he startles her, by doing something unexpected. He brings first her right palm to his lips for a kiss, and then places it against her breasts, then brings the left to his lips and does the same. She smiles as she realizes what he is asking, and she pushes her breasts together, forming a tight channel for him to move into.
Merlin steadies himself and then takes an experimental thrust into the tight heat that her breast are creating for him. He moans at the sensation, unable to keep the words from falling from his mouth as he thrusts again and again into her chest.
“Fuck Morgana. So Good.”
She relishes the sounds emitting from his lips, as well as the steady litany of words he would never repeat outside their room.
“Fuck, you were made for this. They were made for me. Ugh.”
And she could lose herself in this, in the unadulterated look of pleasure on his face, the knowledge that her body can send him into such a frenzy of sweat and lust and need (all of which are written across his face, as she watches him thrust erratically, clearly close to his completion), but then she sees his eyes flash golden, and moans when she feels a nonexistent hand nudging her legs apart.
If there is one benefit of having a husband with magician abilities, it’s this. Even when he is otherwise engaged, she can feel the mirror image of his own fingers, not really there, but present all the same, nudging against her clit. His thumb rubbing maddening circles against her sex, while two of his fingers slip her open, drawing something akin to a howl from her lips.
And normally Merlin would chuckle at her response, the nearly animalistic way she reacts, but he can’t because he’s too shamelessly rutting against her breasts, slapping against her neck and chin with his barely controlled frantic movements, in a frantic search of completion.
She can tell from the way his eyes are screwed shut and his face is pinched in the best possible way, that it’s heaven for him. She knows, just knows, that it’s exactly what he’s dreamed of since he first saw her in the red dress at his very first feast, what he’s been so close to having since they were married, what he’s lusted after since he first saw her draped in green silk.
And it’s all too much.
He’s coming, pulling out to splatter her breasts with rope after rope of his release, and she’s trembling underneath him, her own climax wringing from her body with trembling breaths and tightly-shut eyes.
He covers her body with his own, their sweaty skin mingling and slipping against one another, reining kisses along her face, her lips, everywhere until they both have come back to themselves.
She doesn’t even realize it at first, but between every kiss, he is whispering, “Thank you.”
And she trails her fingers through his hair, in comfort and simply smiles at him. She lets herself be wrapped tightly against his chest, feeling loved and cherished, and warm. They rest together, and before the thoughts of her children, and the needs of Albion, and what Arthur will require of them next, she thinks that she will have to save the dress for their own chambers from now on, because he will be absolutely incapable of keeping his hands off of her at the sight of it now that his greatest desire has been met.
Merlin laughs from his spot next to her, and drops a kiss to her temple, his mind chasing her thoughts, their internal dialogue linked by their conjoined magic as it so often is after their love making.
His mind races with the thoughts of what that dress could inspire him to do, if she were to wear it again in public. Thinking of taking her against Arthur’s throne, the dress pooled around her waist, his hands pinching at her nipples as he comes. Then again, of her underneath him on the grass in the garden, his face buried in her breasts as he brings her off with his fingers. And again, this time in an alcove near Giaus’ old chambers rutting fast and dirty against each other, trying to keep their moans contained. Or perhaps his hands underneath the skirt at a feast, while she tries to keep her plea for more from the rest of the guests.
Morgana laughs, as she sees the thoughts swirling in his mind. Her voice is whispered and husky, laced with renewed desire, “hmm. It’ll have to be a private treasure for us then. But we could always play at one of those ideas here, in our own chambers.”
Merlin kisses her, slow and dirty, his hands sliding between her thighs once again as he speaks, his voice teasing, “and I can bet I know which one you’d wish for first. Ready for a second round, my lady?”
He takes her throaty moan as a yes, and uses his fingers to penetrate her once again. Merlin is all too aware that he is a lucky man, so luck that he knows she will not fight him when he declares his plan of never letting her leave their chambers in that dress ever again. And if that dress and privacy bring them nights like this one, well he doesn't think it will be hard to convince her of his point. Her grins against her throat as she keens against him, forcing his fingers deeper into her heat. He is a lucky man indeed.