Fic: Among Remote Lost Objects (Merlin/Morgana, NC-17)
Summary: Upon what instrument are we two spanned? Morgana/Merlin. Kink. (Morgana fucks Merlin. No, really.)
AN: Written for blincolin. Thanks to ras_elased for encouragement and pre-reading and to my marvelous, tireless beta bewarethesmirk.
Among Remote Lost Objects
There is no light, the night moonless and the room dark. She feels the edges of Merlin's dreams as he sleeps next to her--golden hair, a heavier body pressing him into the bed. Morgana has seen too much of the future to be jealous, to let her heart get caught up in this. She's seen the way he glances at Arthur when he thinks no one is watching. Merlin's magic wraps around her, almost more vivid than his thin warm body pressed against her back. They can help each other for a while, sharing a bed and their bodies, some secrets and not others. That's all.
She turns and kisses Merlin awake in the dark. She isn't jealous, but a thought sparks hot behind her eyelids, a swelling rise of magic and desire. She pictures the long pale line of his back, the vast sweep of his magic, pictures him groaning, face pressed into the pillows.
His mouth is slow and sleepy under hers as she pulls him up out of the dream. Morgana feels the brush of his eyelashes against her cheek as he finally opens his eyes. It takes only a light nudge to get him onto his back. She ignores the small questioning sound he makes and kneels between his legs, letting one hand settle on his thigh. She braces the other under the pillows as she curls forward to whisper in his ear, "I want to fuck you." The images in her mind spark against almost transparent fragments of magic.
She can't see how he reacts, but she can feel it in the startled jerk of his body, in his sharp intake of breath. His hands curl around her waist.
"You know?" He sounds a little panicked and something else, almost like relief. Merlin has so many secrets.
She kisses his face, the line of his jaw, his chin. "You're not that subtle." She kisses his mouth, deeply, sliding her tongue past his lips, testing his response with just a hint of challenge: you man enough to let me? He tenses a little, but kisses her back. Open-hearted curiosity may well be the ruin of him.
"We'd need oil," she says, wondering how far they can take this, wondering who will balk first. She presses his leg up a little more, a tiny motion, but it's like the drop of a pebble in a clear lake. The ripples spin out. Merlin groans and his eyes flash gold in the dark. A vial lands on the bed next to her hand, the cool glass just touching her skin. Her breasts tighten, ache, and she wants his hands. She whispers this as she closes her fingers around the smooth hard vial. Merlin's hands slide up with deliberate slowness. His thumb brushes accidentally against the underside of her breast and she arches into the touch, not caring that he laughs a little, pleased.
He may be young and a bit dense, on the edge between a boy and a man, but he listens when she says what she likes. His large warm hands cup her breasts. He's good at teasing, at knowing how far to push. She's already slick and wet, permeating the air with the heavy smell of sex.
Morgana opens the vial and the oil is cool on her fingers. She's only seen this vaguely in his dreams, slick fingers pressed into his body and she isn't sure what about it would feel good. But she's lived her whole life at courts and knows that men do lie with men. She has seen well-dressed favourites with their beautiful, slightly girlish mouths, and talked to women who are seldom bothered by their husbands, hemmed in by sordid rumours. But none of these things seem to fit Merlin, the light clear quality of his dreams, the way he wants this. She thinks of him spread and open for someone else.
"Pull your legs up." Slowly he settles them around her waist, just above her hips, and she feels a sudden staggering wave of lust. The room is too dark but she imagines what he must look like: his flushed cock leaving glossy smears on his stomach, the lighter flush on his chest, his face. She wonders if he is embarrassed, if there's shame mixed with the desire she feels humming in his body. She leans forward and kisses him softly, keeping her oil slick fingers away from the sheets. Morgana carefully doesn't think about the future.
A swirl of magic, brilliant and intricate, forms when she slides her palms down the inside of his thighs.
"You want--" Merlin's voice is so low and rough, and she can hear the click in his throat as he swallows. "Do you want me to turn over?"
He was on his back in the dreams. "No." She closes her eyes, a flicker like second sight in the darkness from her own magic. For a moment she sees him. "No, I want you just like this."
The whirl of magic turns around them, slow and tense like the leading edge of a storm. She runs a slick fingertip over the tight pucker of muscle, surprised at how easily he relaxes, how her finger slides in past the first knuckle. He breathes in sharply. She opens him up, two fingers and then as he relaxes, loosening, trying three, wondering again about limits, how much he can take. He's sweating and trembling slightly, under her, the whirl of magic spinning faster and faster. Her hands are slick with oil when she starts to fuck him with her fingers. Merlin spreads his legs to let her closer, coming to pieces, and it's her name that he moans. She closes her hand around his cock and he pushes up into her fist with a grateful shudder and then back onto her fingers. She thinks about his hands fisted in the sheets, his dreams, the way he'll beg for more and harder as Arthur laughs darkly and presses a kiss against the back of his neck.
There is a deep roll of power, lust and magic, sweat and slick. A circle closes. The flow and flex of unseen forces overlap, slotting into place, and suddenly she feels the tight hot stretch of his magic around her as she slides into him. She can't stop, slowly fucks him open, pushing in deeper and deeper, finding ways of touching him that make him groan. His body clenches around her fingers and his back arches off the bed. She feels the warm staggering scope of his hidden magic, the soft and beautiful way it yields as all that power is made vulnerable to her. They are each so slick and open, and she wants him like this, and wants to straddle him and sink down on his cock. She wants to fuck him and ride him both, to have his mouth against her swollen sensitive folds, his clever tongue and long fingers, wants everything all at once. Morgana feels a rush of pride that, whatever their destinies, she will be the only lover to have him exactly like this, that no one else will ever make him come apart body and magic. She can touch him in ways beyond Arthur's reach.
The magic whirls, swells. She smiles in the dark and slightly spreads her fingers, wanting him loose. The lines of power loop and tighten, the ripples pulling inward. His magic around her is so tight as he takes her slow rocking thrusts, hot and slick and open for her. She hits a limit, like bumping the back of his throat, like their bodies pressed together and finally flush, and slips over the edge with a sudden sharpness, eyes closed, head thrown back, her magic spinning out. The circle breaks, and she pushes into him as deeply as she can one last time. Her body clenches around nothing. Merlin tenses, a high whining sound in his throat, more of those strange delicate flutters around her fingers. He thrusts up into her fist with a breathy moan and spills out his release over her hand.
She slumps forward against his sweaty heaving chest, wrung out, not caring about the mess between their bodies, picturing how he must have looked, his face, his slack mouth. She imagines bending forward and kissing him. But instead she simply presses her face against his chest, skin to skin, and listens to the mad frantic pounding of his heart.
AN: Written for blincolin. Thanks to ras_elased for encouragement and pre-reading and to my marvelous, tireless beta bewarethesmirk.
Among Remote Lost Objects
There is no light, the night moonless and the room dark. She feels the edges of Merlin's dreams as he sleeps next to her--golden hair, a heavier body pressing him into the bed. Morgana has seen too much of the future to be jealous, to let her heart get caught up in this. She's seen the way he glances at Arthur when he thinks no one is watching. Merlin's magic wraps around her, almost more vivid than his thin warm body pressed against her back. They can help each other for a while, sharing a bed and their bodies, some secrets and not others. That's all.
She turns and kisses Merlin awake in the dark. She isn't jealous, but a thought sparks hot behind her eyelids, a swelling rise of magic and desire. She pictures the long pale line of his back, the vast sweep of his magic, pictures him groaning, face pressed into the pillows.
His mouth is slow and sleepy under hers as she pulls him up out of the dream. Morgana feels the brush of his eyelashes against her cheek as he finally opens his eyes. It takes only a light nudge to get him onto his back. She ignores the small questioning sound he makes and kneels between his legs, letting one hand settle on his thigh. She braces the other under the pillows as she curls forward to whisper in his ear, "I want to fuck you." The images in her mind spark against almost transparent fragments of magic.
She can't see how he reacts, but she can feel it in the startled jerk of his body, in his sharp intake of breath. His hands curl around her waist.
"You know?" He sounds a little panicked and something else, almost like relief. Merlin has so many secrets.
She kisses his face, the line of his jaw, his chin. "You're not that subtle." She kisses his mouth, deeply, sliding her tongue past his lips, testing his response with just a hint of challenge: you man enough to let me? He tenses a little, but kisses her back. Open-hearted curiosity may well be the ruin of him.
"We'd need oil," she says, wondering how far they can take this, wondering who will balk first. She presses his leg up a little more, a tiny motion, but it's like the drop of a pebble in a clear lake. The ripples spin out. Merlin groans and his eyes flash gold in the dark. A vial lands on the bed next to her hand, the cool glass just touching her skin. Her breasts tighten, ache, and she wants his hands. She whispers this as she closes her fingers around the smooth hard vial. Merlin's hands slide up with deliberate slowness. His thumb brushes accidentally against the underside of her breast and she arches into the touch, not caring that he laughs a little, pleased.
He may be young and a bit dense, on the edge between a boy and a man, but he listens when she says what she likes. His large warm hands cup her breasts. He's good at teasing, at knowing how far to push. She's already slick and wet, permeating the air with the heavy smell of sex.
Morgana opens the vial and the oil is cool on her fingers. She's only seen this vaguely in his dreams, slick fingers pressed into his body and she isn't sure what about it would feel good. But she's lived her whole life at courts and knows that men do lie with men. She has seen well-dressed favourites with their beautiful, slightly girlish mouths, and talked to women who are seldom bothered by their husbands, hemmed in by sordid rumours. But none of these things seem to fit Merlin, the light clear quality of his dreams, the way he wants this. She thinks of him spread and open for someone else.
"Pull your legs up." Slowly he settles them around her waist, just above her hips, and she feels a sudden staggering wave of lust. The room is too dark but she imagines what he must look like: his flushed cock leaving glossy smears on his stomach, the lighter flush on his chest, his face. She wonders if he is embarrassed, if there's shame mixed with the desire she feels humming in his body. She leans forward and kisses him softly, keeping her oil slick fingers away from the sheets. Morgana carefully doesn't think about the future.
A swirl of magic, brilliant and intricate, forms when she slides her palms down the inside of his thighs.
"You want--" Merlin's voice is so low and rough, and she can hear the click in his throat as he swallows. "Do you want me to turn over?"
He was on his back in the dreams. "No." She closes her eyes, a flicker like second sight in the darkness from her own magic. For a moment she sees him. "No, I want you just like this."
The whirl of magic turns around them, slow and tense like the leading edge of a storm. She runs a slick fingertip over the tight pucker of muscle, surprised at how easily he relaxes, how her finger slides in past the first knuckle. He breathes in sharply. She opens him up, two fingers and then as he relaxes, loosening, trying three, wondering again about limits, how much he can take. He's sweating and trembling slightly, under her, the whirl of magic spinning faster and faster. Her hands are slick with oil when she starts to fuck him with her fingers. Merlin spreads his legs to let her closer, coming to pieces, and it's her name that he moans. She closes her hand around his cock and he pushes up into her fist with a grateful shudder and then back onto her fingers. She thinks about his hands fisted in the sheets, his dreams, the way he'll beg for more and harder as Arthur laughs darkly and presses a kiss against the back of his neck.
There is a deep roll of power, lust and magic, sweat and slick. A circle closes. The flow and flex of unseen forces overlap, slotting into place, and suddenly she feels the tight hot stretch of his magic around her as she slides into him. She can't stop, slowly fucks him open, pushing in deeper and deeper, finding ways of touching him that make him groan. His body clenches around her fingers and his back arches off the bed. She feels the warm staggering scope of his hidden magic, the soft and beautiful way it yields as all that power is made vulnerable to her. They are each so slick and open, and she wants him like this, and wants to straddle him and sink down on his cock. She wants to fuck him and ride him both, to have his mouth against her swollen sensitive folds, his clever tongue and long fingers, wants everything all at once. Morgana feels a rush of pride that, whatever their destinies, she will be the only lover to have him exactly like this, that no one else will ever make him come apart body and magic. She can touch him in ways beyond Arthur's reach.
The magic whirls, swells. She smiles in the dark and slightly spreads her fingers, wanting him loose. The lines of power loop and tighten, the ripples pulling inward. His magic around her is so tight as he takes her slow rocking thrusts, hot and slick and open for her. She hits a limit, like bumping the back of his throat, like their bodies pressed together and finally flush, and slips over the edge with a sudden sharpness, eyes closed, head thrown back, her magic spinning out. The circle breaks, and she pushes into him as deeply as she can one last time. Her body clenches around nothing. Merlin tenses, a high whining sound in his throat, more of those strange delicate flutters around her fingers. He thrusts up into her fist with a breathy moan and spills out his release over her hand.
She slumps forward against his sweaty heaving chest, wrung out, not caring about the mess between their bodies, picturing how he must have looked, his face, his slack mouth. She imagines bending forward and kissing him. But instead she simply presses her face against his chest, skin to skin, and listens to the mad frantic pounding of his heart.