Fic: Thirteen Kisses Before the End, Merlin/Morgana, PG13
Title: Thirteen Kisses Before the End
Author: kepp0xy
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairing: Merlin/Morgana, mention of others
Warning: Kind-of, not-really speculation? Some fluff, some angst.
Summary: Thirteen kisses before Morgana leaves Camelot.
Author's Note: Beta'd by the ever indulgent tater_mae. First time writing & posting Merlin/Morgana, so concrit is definitely appreciated! No ficlet exceeds 200 words. Comments, as always, are ♥
1) He tasted like lightning.
Merlin was teaching her something "simple." He kept saying that word as he demonstrated effortlessly, as though by saying it more frequently, it would suddenly become true. She resented her steep learning curve in a way that made her feel uncomfortably inadequate.
Her head was beginning to ache from the concentration she was having to dedicate to practise, and while it was a nice change from the pervasive migraine associated with visions, Morgana let her mind, and eyes, wander.
She always liked the drama of Merlin's face: sharp peaks of his cheeks, the smooth length of his neck. His features always looked on the verge of sinister but for his inherent and permeating warmth. Morgana often felt cold; never when she was near him.
He caught her looking, ducked his head sheepishly, like a servant.
Why the hell not? she thought and trapped his face between her palms.
He was shocked and frozen beneath her mouth for a few moments before he responded. She wondered if it was the recent magic that made him taste like lightning or if that was how he was.
She decided she would find out.
2) He could not resist watching her mouth.
He was positive he was pathetic for it, and more importantly, was quite certain Morgana was entirely aware of his attention. He very much wanted to kiss her again, he felt in no way satisfied but thought that perhaps if the memories didn't keep invading his thoughts - waking and sleeping - he could probably ignore the desire.
It was just that the memories never desisted; they waged war on his concentration to the point that Arthur had dismissed him early merely from irritation.
He was stirred from those thoughts by her mouth moving as she asked a question he didn't hear. Then a pink tongue darted out, wetting her red lips, slow and seductive and Merlin very nearly moaned from anticipation.
He was startled by her laugh, his eyes finally rising to hers, torturous mischief dancing bright in them.
"Oh, do it already," she said and he didn't wait to be ordered twice.
3) He had always known she was aggressive.
She had sent Gwen to the market, and using the pretence of her absence, requested Merlin from Arthur for the afternoon. Merlin had entered her chambers warily, before going to her by the window. She looked a little sad as she directed her attention from a pyre being constructed in the middle of the square to his face.
Before he uttered a word, her hand had wrapped around the nape of his neck and drawn him to her. Where they had once been playful, her kisses now had an edge, a desperation he couldn't grasp. Was not entirely sure he wanted to.
There was a shout from the yard, and he had jerked, trying to pull away when her fingers knotted in his hair and her teeth closed over his bottom lip, pulling him back to her.
Merlin's eyes flashed open, looking straight into the iron grey of Morgana's and the plea there sent a chill down his spine.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.
4) She didn't like stolen kisses.
Morgana educated him on this quickly. If he intended to kiss her, he ought to do it properly, she said. Merlin had evidently twitched in disagreement for she swiftly went on to sternly explain exactly what properly meant. And then she demonstrated later that evening.
He wouldn't honestly say now he was bothered. The night made his mouth against hers more believable, somehow. The darkness buried the quality of their clothes, the marks of nobility or serf. They were allowed to exist exactly as they came: creatures of magic, tempted.
5) He kissed her in the moonlight.
She was irate because a visiting noble had muttered several indecencies from the corner of his mouth over dinner. Morgana had stormed into Gaius' chambers to find Merlin sitting before the fire, feet propped, book of spells lying across his lap as he awaited Gaius' return from the celebration. Her hand had wrapped tightly around his as she yanked him to his feet and tugged him after her to the edge of the forest.
"The bastard even touched me," she hissed as she paced before him.
Merlin slipped his fingers between hers as she passed him again and pulled her gently to a stop, rising to his feet.
"I would kill him," she told him fiercely when he faced her, standing toe-to-toe.
He inclined his head, and nodded. With a whisper of "I know," he let his lips caress hers in affectionate invitation.
He kissed her because she trusted him. Because she was so strikingly beautiful in her anger and the cold light of the moon. Because she should be treated with care, not indignity.
6) He chuckled. Her frown deepened.
"It was an accident!" he cried out for innocence, throwing his hands in the air in surrender.
"Hardly!" she replied incredulously. "You can be clumsy Merlin, but even you would not trip and happen to land with your lips on my head."
He laughed outright at that. "Perhaps it was accidental-on-purpose in an unplanned and not entirely preconceived kind of way."
His eyes shone with glee and his words had been so earnest that her lips twitched. "I can't claim to know what that means," she admitted grudgingly. "But perhaps it is a viable explanation."
Merlin raised his chin to accept her acquiescence and almost succeeded at keeping the pleased smile from his face.
7) She was soft when she tasted like wine.
Merlin knew he was entirely within her hold, though he didn't dare contemplate it for long. And it did not matter when or where or how long he was with her, he was always left craving more.
It was always better and worse after Morgana had wine. Not so much that she was lost to the alcohol, but enough that it softened her edge, brought down her defences. She would hold him, then, rest her head to the crook of his shoulder and allow for his embrace to be tender around her.
It was the quiet moments with her when Merlin accepted that he loved her. It was stupid, and bound for heartbreak and upset. But that didn't matter when she had her arms around his middle, her glorious hair hanging loosely and lying over everything.
It didn't matter when she would pull away slightly, tip her head up and kiss him softly, without any more cause than that she wanted to.
8) The crack of the branch breaking across Merlin's skull sounded across the glen.
Morgana had sincerely believed his ignorance was fake. She rushed to his moaning, crumpled form on the forest floor, dropping to her knees and cradling his head on her lap.
"I thought you were faking!"
"No." He winced when she gently prodded the bump. "Definitely not faking. You're improving, though," he offered weakly, tones only slightly sarcastic.
She bit her tongue against a retort. "Is there something I can do?"
"A kiss would help."
A spell was what she had intended. "I think not. Have you learned nothing from Gaius? The blood would rush to your head and increase the pain."
Merlin smirked, and she narrowed her eyes at his expectant mischief. "I don't think my head is where the blood would be rushing."
"Merlin!" It took a lot to scandalise Morgana, but Merlin had just managed it.
His grin turned innocent and he raised his hands with palms forward in surrender. "I was hit on the head, I'm not thinking clearly!"
"Entirely clearly," she corrected sarcastically, but kissed him anyway.
9) She was absolutely and irreparably furious.
"You could have died," she hissed and Merlin actually had the audacity to roll his eyes.
"Arthur could have died," he corrected, entirely unconcerned. "I wasn't in any danger."
"Until you called their attention to yourself!"
Then he shrugged, and had she been nearer, her palm would be stinging from the strength of her slap. How he could be so cavalier about his own life-
He looked at her over his shoulder and frowned. "You were really worried," he said. Statement, not question. Tones bewildered as if her concern was an entirely new phenomenon to him. Hurt ignited to burn more fiercely than the ice of her fear froze her.
"What do you take me for?"
Morgana took a defencive step back when he strode to stand before her. "Too good for me."
His mouth was hard on hers, his long fingers tangling, demanding, in her hair.
She only fought him for a moment.
10) He was insatiable.
She hadn't realised until quite recently. It was evident in the way he would be with her: long arms encircling her, hugging her so flush to himself she could hardly breathe as his mouth moved on hers.
Morgana had entertained the attentions of many men: from sewer to throne room, those native to Camelot and those most certainly not. The majority she had turned away with disdain; their eyes leering, mouths almost dripping with drool. It made her stomach roil, her skin crawl.
Merlin was different; he had been guarded at first, almost scared to touch her regardless that it was so obvious he wanted to. She thought it was fear of breaking her, though she now knew it was fear of shattering them both.
Darkness lived between them, she could sense it. And when his lips softly explored her face, throat, neck... She could feel his tethered desperation, his need to memorise her. She couldn't name why, and to consider any reasons terrified her.
11) He knew she would leave.
He couldn't name how he knew. It was in the same way he knew Arthur would be a legendary King, that Gwen had the kindest heart of all of them, that his magic would lead him to a terrible splendour, that Gaius would be gone when it happened.
She did not know, he could tell. The shadows beneath her eyes came and went like the waning of the moon; her thirst for magical knowledge, he thought, likely exceeded his own; her internal and tentative truce with Uther was precariously sat upon the edge of a sword.
It was in her blood, rode on her tongue, danced along her fingertips, and laid as secret upon his heart.
It was why he would catch himself giving her tender kisses, and, though she was entirely unaware, it was why she would sometimes accept them.
12) She may adore him when he smiles at her like that.
It was a grin she had seen a thousand times since his arrival: mouth stretched and open as palpable cheer radiated from him like heat from the sun. And she had always enjoyed seeing that smile; it was the recent way in which she was the cause of it that set her heart fluttering.
Caught too many times by Uther and Arthur and various other men and women whose business it certainly was not, Morgana could not keep the smile from her own face, sharing the secret with Gwen alone.
She spotted him before he saw her, laced her fingers with his and pulled him close, lightly touching her lips to his before he'd said more than, "hel-
13) She would never say good-bye.
Morgana had Seen it now. She sat across a fire from a boy in a green cloak, whose ice eyes spoke of danger and excitement and knowledge. A woman was beside her, power singing through her bones, kin to the boy and friend of the man with the hood standing at the forest's edge.
She had dreamt it, awaking in the warmth of Merlin's arms; his slumberous breath puffing against her neck, his swollen lips parted in rest, the hair on his head rising in mussed tufts and his eyes closed, still as he slept, undreaming.
Her fingers caressed his cheek and he stirred, smacking those lips she was so addicted to in the familiar routine of waking. She did not await his first words, laying claim to his mouth so he gave a startled grunt before sliding his fingers into her hair and smiling into her kiss.
She wondered then if he knew.
Author: kepp0xy
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairing: Merlin/Morgana, mention of others
Warning: Kind-of, not-really speculation? Some fluff, some angst.
Summary: Thirteen kisses before Morgana leaves Camelot.
Author's Note: Beta'd by the ever indulgent tater_mae. First time writing & posting Merlin/Morgana, so concrit is definitely appreciated! No ficlet exceeds 200 words. Comments, as always, are ♥
1) He tasted like lightning.
Merlin was teaching her something "simple." He kept saying that word as he demonstrated effortlessly, as though by saying it more frequently, it would suddenly become true. She resented her steep learning curve in a way that made her feel uncomfortably inadequate.
Her head was beginning to ache from the concentration she was having to dedicate to practise, and while it was a nice change from the pervasive migraine associated with visions, Morgana let her mind, and eyes, wander.
She always liked the drama of Merlin's face: sharp peaks of his cheeks, the smooth length of his neck. His features always looked on the verge of sinister but for his inherent and permeating warmth. Morgana often felt cold; never when she was near him.
He caught her looking, ducked his head sheepishly, like a servant.
Why the hell not? she thought and trapped his face between her palms.
He was shocked and frozen beneath her mouth for a few moments before he responded. She wondered if it was the recent magic that made him taste like lightning or if that was how he was.
She decided she would find out.
2) He could not resist watching her mouth.
He was positive he was pathetic for it, and more importantly, was quite certain Morgana was entirely aware of his attention. He very much wanted to kiss her again, he felt in no way satisfied but thought that perhaps if the memories didn't keep invading his thoughts - waking and sleeping - he could probably ignore the desire.
It was just that the memories never desisted; they waged war on his concentration to the point that Arthur had dismissed him early merely from irritation.
He was stirred from those thoughts by her mouth moving as she asked a question he didn't hear. Then a pink tongue darted out, wetting her red lips, slow and seductive and Merlin very nearly moaned from anticipation.
He was startled by her laugh, his eyes finally rising to hers, torturous mischief dancing bright in them.
"Oh, do it already," she said and he didn't wait to be ordered twice.
3) He had always known she was aggressive.
She had sent Gwen to the market, and using the pretence of her absence, requested Merlin from Arthur for the afternoon. Merlin had entered her chambers warily, before going to her by the window. She looked a little sad as she directed her attention from a pyre being constructed in the middle of the square to his face.
Before he uttered a word, her hand had wrapped around the nape of his neck and drawn him to her. Where they had once been playful, her kisses now had an edge, a desperation he couldn't grasp. Was not entirely sure he wanted to.
There was a shout from the yard, and he had jerked, trying to pull away when her fingers knotted in his hair and her teeth closed over his bottom lip, pulling him back to her.
Merlin's eyes flashed open, looking straight into the iron grey of Morgana's and the plea there sent a chill down his spine.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.
4) She didn't like stolen kisses.
Morgana educated him on this quickly. If he intended to kiss her, he ought to do it properly, she said. Merlin had evidently twitched in disagreement for she swiftly went on to sternly explain exactly what properly meant. And then she demonstrated later that evening.
He wouldn't honestly say now he was bothered. The night made his mouth against hers more believable, somehow. The darkness buried the quality of their clothes, the marks of nobility or serf. They were allowed to exist exactly as they came: creatures of magic, tempted.
5) He kissed her in the moonlight.
She was irate because a visiting noble had muttered several indecencies from the corner of his mouth over dinner. Morgana had stormed into Gaius' chambers to find Merlin sitting before the fire, feet propped, book of spells lying across his lap as he awaited Gaius' return from the celebration. Her hand had wrapped tightly around his as she yanked him to his feet and tugged him after her to the edge of the forest.
"The bastard even touched me," she hissed as she paced before him.
Merlin slipped his fingers between hers as she passed him again and pulled her gently to a stop, rising to his feet.
"I would kill him," she told him fiercely when he faced her, standing toe-to-toe.
He inclined his head, and nodded. With a whisper of "I know," he let his lips caress hers in affectionate invitation.
He kissed her because she trusted him. Because she was so strikingly beautiful in her anger and the cold light of the moon. Because she should be treated with care, not indignity.
6) He chuckled. Her frown deepened.
"It was an accident!" he cried out for innocence, throwing his hands in the air in surrender.
"Hardly!" she replied incredulously. "You can be clumsy Merlin, but even you would not trip and happen to land with your lips on my head."
He laughed outright at that. "Perhaps it was accidental-on-purpose in an unplanned and not entirely preconceived kind of way."
His eyes shone with glee and his words had been so earnest that her lips twitched. "I can't claim to know what that means," she admitted grudgingly. "But perhaps it is a viable explanation."
Merlin raised his chin to accept her acquiescence and almost succeeded at keeping the pleased smile from his face.
7) She was soft when she tasted like wine.
Merlin knew he was entirely within her hold, though he didn't dare contemplate it for long. And it did not matter when or where or how long he was with her, he was always left craving more.
It was always better and worse after Morgana had wine. Not so much that she was lost to the alcohol, but enough that it softened her edge, brought down her defences. She would hold him, then, rest her head to the crook of his shoulder and allow for his embrace to be tender around her.
It was the quiet moments with her when Merlin accepted that he loved her. It was stupid, and bound for heartbreak and upset. But that didn't matter when she had her arms around his middle, her glorious hair hanging loosely and lying over everything.
It didn't matter when she would pull away slightly, tip her head up and kiss him softly, without any more cause than that she wanted to.
8) The crack of the branch breaking across Merlin's skull sounded across the glen.
Morgana had sincerely believed his ignorance was fake. She rushed to his moaning, crumpled form on the forest floor, dropping to her knees and cradling his head on her lap.
"I thought you were faking!"
"No." He winced when she gently prodded the bump. "Definitely not faking. You're improving, though," he offered weakly, tones only slightly sarcastic.
She bit her tongue against a retort. "Is there something I can do?"
"A kiss would help."
A spell was what she had intended. "I think not. Have you learned nothing from Gaius? The blood would rush to your head and increase the pain."
Merlin smirked, and she narrowed her eyes at his expectant mischief. "I don't think my head is where the blood would be rushing."
"Merlin!" It took a lot to scandalise Morgana, but Merlin had just managed it.
His grin turned innocent and he raised his hands with palms forward in surrender. "I was hit on the head, I'm not thinking clearly!"
"Entirely clearly," she corrected sarcastically, but kissed him anyway.
9) She was absolutely and irreparably furious.
"You could have died," she hissed and Merlin actually had the audacity to roll his eyes.
"Arthur could have died," he corrected, entirely unconcerned. "I wasn't in any danger."
"Until you called their attention to yourself!"
Then he shrugged, and had she been nearer, her palm would be stinging from the strength of her slap. How he could be so cavalier about his own life-
He looked at her over his shoulder and frowned. "You were really worried," he said. Statement, not question. Tones bewildered as if her concern was an entirely new phenomenon to him. Hurt ignited to burn more fiercely than the ice of her fear froze her.
"What do you take me for?"
Morgana took a defencive step back when he strode to stand before her. "Too good for me."
His mouth was hard on hers, his long fingers tangling, demanding, in her hair.
She only fought him for a moment.
10) He was insatiable.
She hadn't realised until quite recently. It was evident in the way he would be with her: long arms encircling her, hugging her so flush to himself she could hardly breathe as his mouth moved on hers.
Morgana had entertained the attentions of many men: from sewer to throne room, those native to Camelot and those most certainly not. The majority she had turned away with disdain; their eyes leering, mouths almost dripping with drool. It made her stomach roil, her skin crawl.
Merlin was different; he had been guarded at first, almost scared to touch her regardless that it was so obvious he wanted to. She thought it was fear of breaking her, though she now knew it was fear of shattering them both.
Darkness lived between them, she could sense it. And when his lips softly explored her face, throat, neck... She could feel his tethered desperation, his need to memorise her. She couldn't name why, and to consider any reasons terrified her.
11) He knew she would leave.
He couldn't name how he knew. It was in the same way he knew Arthur would be a legendary King, that Gwen had the kindest heart of all of them, that his magic would lead him to a terrible splendour, that Gaius would be gone when it happened.
She did not know, he could tell. The shadows beneath her eyes came and went like the waning of the moon; her thirst for magical knowledge, he thought, likely exceeded his own; her internal and tentative truce with Uther was precariously sat upon the edge of a sword.
It was in her blood, rode on her tongue, danced along her fingertips, and laid as secret upon his heart.
It was why he would catch himself giving her tender kisses, and, though she was entirely unaware, it was why she would sometimes accept them.
12) She may adore him when he smiles at her like that.
It was a grin she had seen a thousand times since his arrival: mouth stretched and open as palpable cheer radiated from him like heat from the sun. And she had always enjoyed seeing that smile; it was the recent way in which she was the cause of it that set her heart fluttering.
Caught too many times by Uther and Arthur and various other men and women whose business it certainly was not, Morgana could not keep the smile from her own face, sharing the secret with Gwen alone.
She spotted him before he saw her, laced her fingers with his and pulled him close, lightly touching her lips to his before he'd said more than, "hel-
13) She would never say good-bye.
Morgana had Seen it now. She sat across a fire from a boy in a green cloak, whose ice eyes spoke of danger and excitement and knowledge. A woman was beside her, power singing through her bones, kin to the boy and friend of the man with the hood standing at the forest's edge.
She had dreamt it, awaking in the warmth of Merlin's arms; his slumberous breath puffing against her neck, his swollen lips parted in rest, the hair on his head rising in mussed tufts and his eyes closed, still as he slept, undreaming.
Her fingers caressed his cheek and he stirred, smacking those lips she was so addicted to in the familiar routine of waking. She did not await his first words, laying claim to his mouth so he gave a startled grunt before sliding his fingers into her hair and smiling into her kiss.
She wondered then if he knew.