Answer Enough - Arthur/Morgause - PG-13 - 1/1
Title: Answer Enough - Complete
Author: force-oblique
Fandom: Merlin -
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything! :P
Characters/Pairings: Arthur Pendragon, Morgause (non canon?)
Spoilers/Warnings: If you know who Morgause is and have seen the epis you are ok.
Summary:She shouldn’t be here in this castle and he shouldn’t have sneaked her in.
She wasn’t supposed to be able to find her way inside the castle nor inside his heart.
{But she did}
Her skin wasn’t supposed to feel so soft.
Not after all her long hours of training. Of wielding a blade almost like a man. Better than a man.
Word Count: ~ 1100
Author's Notes: I had never thought of this pairing before Dee define-serenity put it in my head. I am not very knowledgeable so it is rather vague.. But i tried to make it sensual! XD
I only wrote this for Dee so I hope at least she likes it! *g*
~ English is not my native language, so excuse any crappiness and/or mistakes!
Comments will be greatly appreciated! :)
Dedication: To define-serenity: I hope this makes you feel better sweetie and that it feeds your muse so that you can write your own Morgause fiction - because mine sucks! lol <3
Crossposted at morgause-fox, merlinfic, camelot-haven, merlin-women
ANSWER ENOUGH - ARTHUR/MORGAUSE
This shouldn’t be happening. That’s what he kept thinking. Over and over again as her scent invaded his senses. Brutally, mercilessly. Forever changing him.
A scent so unique, so distinct he could recognize it anywhere. Everywhere…
Even when it wasn’t really there.
It didn’t matter, because even if Morgause was away his mind would cover the distance. Unwilling to part with her. Reluctant to let go.
It would travel to space if that was it took, to feel her, to sense her.
No!
This shouldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t be here, next to him.
She shouldn’t be here in this castle and he shouldn’t have sneaked her in.
She wasn’t supposed to be able to find her way inside the castle nor inside his heart.
{But she did}
Her skin wasn’t supposed to feel so soft.
Not after all her long hours of training. Of wielding a blade almost like a man. Better than a man.
Her hair wasn’t supposed to smell like fresh-baked bread.
Not while she let it loose, prey to the wind and the sun and everything that hardened a man.
No fighter grew softer or sweeter the longer he stayed outside.
Yet she was.
She was driven, dedicated, strong.
She drove him crazy so much that he wondered how she was ever sane with the strength of her emotions, her passions.
How could this lean, tall body hold so much passion?
How could this passion not have devoured him whole yet?
Her lips weren’t supposed to taste like berries. And he wasn’t supposed to be tasting those lips.
Yet he was.
And with every minute this strange attraction that connected them grew stronger, more mysterious and more compelling.
His mind was racing.
His mind was a roller coaster, spinning faster and faster till he couldn’t make out the colors or the lights anymore.
It was all a gigantic bright spot at the centre of his mind heating him up from the inside, burning him.
He couldn’t form words. He knew that he couldn’t form words even if he tried. Not while she was kissing his neck.
Not while her hands curled through his hair, bringing him closer. Closer to her.
Her voice was soothing, teasing, knowing, sending shivers down his spine.
But shouldn’t it be the other way around?
Shouldn’t he be the hunter - not the prey?
Shouldn’t he be the one chasing her out in the open, in the woods… Not have her chase him inside Kamelot.
Shouldn’t he be the conqueror, the one in charge, the one in control?
Shouldn’t she be at his mercy?
Shouldn’t she be mesmerized by him?
Yes, she should. Life should be unbearable for her without him.
The world should not exist without him in it, the sound of his voice, the feel of his lips on her skin, hot and wet and electric…
“Arthur”
He could hear his name. Once, twice.
She was calling his name, whispering it in his skin as she was kissing him, as if she was trying to envelope herself in everything his and everything “him”.
Everything that constituted him, physically and otherwise.
“Arthur” she whispered again.
More needy this time. With a hunger unmistakable in her voice.
A longing he could feel deep in his soul as well.
Be hers, be consumed by her and own her at the same time.
Tame her and set her free.
Torture her and pleasure her.
Burn her and freeze her, suspend her in time, in a moment that could last forever and ever.
He had to reply. Say something.
Tell her he felt it too, make sure she felt it too and that it wasn’t a lie, make-believe or a charade.
That she acknowledged it.
Reassurance, confirmation. That’s what he needed.
He gently pulled her towards the bed and leaned on it with her in his arms. Her on top, him beneath her, like the nestle underneath newborn birds.
Fertile soil for cultivation.
Something love would flourish on.
“Morgause”
He hardly recognized the voice as his own. He sounded vulnerable, weak, overwhelmed.
Unable to speak, to think , even to breathe, he brought his hands to her face and made her look at him. He needed this contact.
Eye contact transcending the contact of their bodies.
A contact, a connection that could last, not momentary, not fleeting but permanent, constant.
He sighed despite himself.
“Morgause” he groaned again; inches from her face, their foreheads almost touching.
“Hmmm?” she taunted him, playing with his lips, touching her nose to his, forcing them both to breathe each other in.
God, she was so good at this. So much better than him.
Like a game with rules only she knew, bending them at will to suit her wishes.
Almost angrily, he kissed her. The force of his mouth on her almost excruciating. He was surprised it didn’t bleed or make them sore. Everything was burning.
His tongue smothered her, battling with hers, tasting her, leaving his taste, his mark everywhere past the barrier of her teeth.
It felt ticklish, then intense, like a wave rising and rising until it became a tide.
And he should be a tide. He should be THE tide.
He was the future king of Camelot.
The lives of his people, his subjects would depend on him some day.Dozens of lives, hundreds of lives.
The safety of others would rely on his good judgment one day.
The judgment that she was clouding right now.
The judgment of a king, mold in her hands.
“Tell me” he said breaking off their kiss, pulling her even closer, her face at the nape of his neck.
“Tell me, tell me now” he pleaded.
What; he didn’t really know.
He didn’t know what she should say, what he should hear.
What needed to be said and heard.
He only knew there was a need in him. Like a hole.
Like a hole in the ground with gravity making it bigger, deeper like an omnivore devouring as much as it can, gnawing at everything greedily and voraciously.
Maybe she could find the right words. The words that escaped him.
Maybe she already knew, maybe everything was neat inside her head, maybe she was lucid with clarity even at a moment like this, with hormones and emotions overflowing body and mind.
Maybe she had a plan.
But as she wiggled her hand underneath his shirt, her fingers lingering on every inch of his flesh, caressing his skin, covering his heart, whose beat was a rhythmic hammer inside his ribcage, somehow he didn’t mind.
He didn’t care.
And when she answered “Shhh, don’t talk”...
It was answer enough.
~ Fin ~
Comments are love! :)
Author: force-oblique
Fandom: Merlin -
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything! :P
Characters/Pairings: Arthur Pendragon, Morgause (non canon?)
Spoilers/Warnings: If you know who Morgause is and have seen the epis you are ok.
Summary:She shouldn’t be here in this castle and he shouldn’t have sneaked her in.
She wasn’t supposed to be able to find her way inside the castle nor inside his heart.
{But she did}
Her skin wasn’t supposed to feel so soft.
Not after all her long hours of training. Of wielding a blade almost like a man. Better than a man.
Word Count: ~ 1100
Author's Notes: I had never thought of this pairing before Dee define-serenity put it in my head. I am not very knowledgeable so it is rather vague.. But i tried to make it sensual! XD
I only wrote this for Dee so I hope at least she likes it! *g*
~ English is not my native language, so excuse any crappiness and/or mistakes!
Comments will be greatly appreciated! :)
Dedication: To define-serenity: I hope this makes you feel better sweetie and that it feeds your muse so that you can write your own Morgause fiction - because mine sucks! lol <3
Crossposted at morgause-fox, merlinfic, camelot-haven, merlin-women
ANSWER ENOUGH - ARTHUR/MORGAUSE
This shouldn’t be happening. That’s what he kept thinking. Over and over again as her scent invaded his senses. Brutally, mercilessly. Forever changing him.
A scent so unique, so distinct he could recognize it anywhere. Everywhere…
Even when it wasn’t really there.
It didn’t matter, because even if Morgause was away his mind would cover the distance. Unwilling to part with her. Reluctant to let go.
It would travel to space if that was it took, to feel her, to sense her.
No!
This shouldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t be here, next to him.
She shouldn’t be here in this castle and he shouldn’t have sneaked her in.
She wasn’t supposed to be able to find her way inside the castle nor inside his heart.
{But she did}
Her skin wasn’t supposed to feel so soft.
Not after all her long hours of training. Of wielding a blade almost like a man. Better than a man.
Her hair wasn’t supposed to smell like fresh-baked bread.
Not while she let it loose, prey to the wind and the sun and everything that hardened a man.
No fighter grew softer or sweeter the longer he stayed outside.
Yet she was.
She was driven, dedicated, strong.
She drove him crazy so much that he wondered how she was ever sane with the strength of her emotions, her passions.
How could this lean, tall body hold so much passion?
How could this passion not have devoured him whole yet?
Her lips weren’t supposed to taste like berries. And he wasn’t supposed to be tasting those lips.
Yet he was.
And with every minute this strange attraction that connected them grew stronger, more mysterious and more compelling.
His mind was racing.
His mind was a roller coaster, spinning faster and faster till he couldn’t make out the colors or the lights anymore.
It was all a gigantic bright spot at the centre of his mind heating him up from the inside, burning him.
He couldn’t form words. He knew that he couldn’t form words even if he tried. Not while she was kissing his neck.
Not while her hands curled through his hair, bringing him closer. Closer to her.
Her voice was soothing, teasing, knowing, sending shivers down his spine.
But shouldn’t it be the other way around?
Shouldn’t he be the hunter - not the prey?
Shouldn’t he be the one chasing her out in the open, in the woods… Not have her chase him inside Kamelot.
Shouldn’t he be the conqueror, the one in charge, the one in control?
Shouldn’t she be at his mercy?
Shouldn’t she be mesmerized by him?
Yes, she should. Life should be unbearable for her without him.
The world should not exist without him in it, the sound of his voice, the feel of his lips on her skin, hot and wet and electric…
“Arthur”
He could hear his name. Once, twice.
She was calling his name, whispering it in his skin as she was kissing him, as if she was trying to envelope herself in everything his and everything “him”.
Everything that constituted him, physically and otherwise.
“Arthur” she whispered again.
More needy this time. With a hunger unmistakable in her voice.
A longing he could feel deep in his soul as well.
Be hers, be consumed by her and own her at the same time.
Tame her and set her free.
Torture her and pleasure her.
Burn her and freeze her, suspend her in time, in a moment that could last forever and ever.
He had to reply. Say something.
Tell her he felt it too, make sure she felt it too and that it wasn’t a lie, make-believe or a charade.
That she acknowledged it.
Reassurance, confirmation. That’s what he needed.
He gently pulled her towards the bed and leaned on it with her in his arms. Her on top, him beneath her, like the nestle underneath newborn birds.
Fertile soil for cultivation.
Something love would flourish on.
“Morgause”
He hardly recognized the voice as his own. He sounded vulnerable, weak, overwhelmed.
Unable to speak, to think , even to breathe, he brought his hands to her face and made her look at him. He needed this contact.
Eye contact transcending the contact of their bodies.
A contact, a connection that could last, not momentary, not fleeting but permanent, constant.
He sighed despite himself.
“Morgause” he groaned again; inches from her face, their foreheads almost touching.
“Hmmm?” she taunted him, playing with his lips, touching her nose to his, forcing them both to breathe each other in.
God, she was so good at this. So much better than him.
Like a game with rules only she knew, bending them at will to suit her wishes.
Almost angrily, he kissed her. The force of his mouth on her almost excruciating. He was surprised it didn’t bleed or make them sore. Everything was burning.
His tongue smothered her, battling with hers, tasting her, leaving his taste, his mark everywhere past the barrier of her teeth.
It felt ticklish, then intense, like a wave rising and rising until it became a tide.
And he should be a tide. He should be THE tide.
He was the future king of Camelot.
The lives of his people, his subjects would depend on him some day.Dozens of lives, hundreds of lives.
The safety of others would rely on his good judgment one day.
The judgment that she was clouding right now.
The judgment of a king, mold in her hands.
“Tell me” he said breaking off their kiss, pulling her even closer, her face at the nape of his neck.
“Tell me, tell me now” he pleaded.
What; he didn’t really know.
He didn’t know what she should say, what he should hear.
What needed to be said and heard.
He only knew there was a need in him. Like a hole.
Like a hole in the ground with gravity making it bigger, deeper like an omnivore devouring as much as it can, gnawing at everything greedily and voraciously.
Maybe she could find the right words. The words that escaped him.
Maybe she already knew, maybe everything was neat inside her head, maybe she was lucid with clarity even at a moment like this, with hormones and emotions overflowing body and mind.
Maybe she had a plan.
But as she wiggled her hand underneath his shirt, her fingers lingering on every inch of his flesh, caressing his skin, covering his heart, whose beat was a rhythmic hammer inside his ribcage, somehow he didn’t mind.
He didn’t care.
And when she answered “Shhh, don’t talk”...
It was answer enough.
~ Fin ~
Comments are love! :)