Vagina Fest Round Two- Uther/Gwen fic
I just posted an Uther/Gwen fic in response to javabreeze's prompt forbidden at the Vagina Fest '09: Round Two. And now I really wish I hadn't because the fic was bad. Really bad. Totally OOC and weird. Argh. It was the third or fourth attempt I made at the prompt (instead of doing my essay), and all of them didn't really fit the theme properly. If I feel like it, I might clean up one or two of the others and post them.
I will post the one I did at the fest here though, for posterity. :P
Title: What we cannot speak of
Pairing: Uther/Gwen
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters, don't mean to cause any offence.
A/N: This is a kind of strange little AU, in which Uther hasn't died but Arthur is King. And Gwen is doing the deed with her husband's old man rather Lancelot, which is obviously a more enlightened decision.
Sometimes Gwen missed people questioning her actions.
When she had been a maidservant, people were always asking her where she was going, barring her entry, prodding her to provide an explanation for whatever she happened to be doing at the time. Everything she did was considered unimportant but everyone wanted to know why.
Now that she was Queen, no one challenged her. They might enquire, but Gwen was certain she could announce, “I think I’ll take a stroll through the marketplace naked, it’s so sunny,” and her advisors would bow, say, “Very good, my lady,” and keep their thoughts to themselves.
But there were benefits.
Uther’s chambers were still his own though he was no longer king. Arthur had insisted on it; Gwen knew her husband still felt conflicted over succeeding the throne while his father lived. But Uther had stepped down of his own accord, weary and in pain, and Arthur could not refuse.
He looked far older now than barely two months ago when he had still been whole, hunting every sorcerer in Camelot. Without his crown, in a land to which magic was returning, Uther had shrunk.
No one asked Gwen why she personally brought him flowers every day. Why she shut the door. Why she re-emerged with a flush on her face.
“Guinevere,” he greeted, so like and unlike Arthur.
She propped the flowers up in the vase by his bed and then went to him, standing by the window, kissed him until he pushed her against the wall, bed, table, and took her. Gave them both a pleasure they were not meant to have.
“Why do you come here?” Uther asked afterwards, as always.
Gwen looked up from adjusting her corset and flattening her gown. The old king’s face was lined with his life.
“Why do you let me?” she replied. As always.
She didn’t think either of them would ever answer.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, turning away, and Uther watched her leave.
*
Eh, I don't know. Now I'm going to go stay up forever and do my effing essay stuff, hopefully. Because apparently I'm more easily distracted this semester than any other. All I really want to do is read fanfiction, write my modern!uni!AU, and work on my novel.
I will post the one I did at the fest here though, for posterity. :P
Title: What we cannot speak of
Pairing: Uther/Gwen
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters, don't mean to cause any offence.
A/N: This is a kind of strange little AU, in which Uther hasn't died but Arthur is King. And Gwen is doing the deed with her husband's old man rather Lancelot, which is obviously a more enlightened decision.
Sometimes Gwen missed people questioning her actions.
When she had been a maidservant, people were always asking her where she was going, barring her entry, prodding her to provide an explanation for whatever she happened to be doing at the time. Everything she did was considered unimportant but everyone wanted to know why.
Now that she was Queen, no one challenged her. They might enquire, but Gwen was certain she could announce, “I think I’ll take a stroll through the marketplace naked, it’s so sunny,” and her advisors would bow, say, “Very good, my lady,” and keep their thoughts to themselves.
But there were benefits.
Uther’s chambers were still his own though he was no longer king. Arthur had insisted on it; Gwen knew her husband still felt conflicted over succeeding the throne while his father lived. But Uther had stepped down of his own accord, weary and in pain, and Arthur could not refuse.
He looked far older now than barely two months ago when he had still been whole, hunting every sorcerer in Camelot. Without his crown, in a land to which magic was returning, Uther had shrunk.
No one asked Gwen why she personally brought him flowers every day. Why she shut the door. Why she re-emerged with a flush on her face.
“Guinevere,” he greeted, so like and unlike Arthur.
She propped the flowers up in the vase by his bed and then went to him, standing by the window, kissed him until he pushed her against the wall, bed, table, and took her. Gave them both a pleasure they were not meant to have.
“Why do you come here?” Uther asked afterwards, as always.
Gwen looked up from adjusting her corset and flattening her gown. The old king’s face was lined with his life.
“Why do you let me?” she replied. As always.
She didn’t think either of them would ever answer.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, turning away, and Uther watched her leave.
*
Eh, I don't know. Now I'm going to go stay up forever and do my effing essay stuff, hopefully. Because apparently I'm more easily distracted this semester than any other. All I really want to do is read fanfiction, write my modern!uni!AU, and work on my novel.