fic: just this before the rain, morgana/gwen
just this before the rain
Morgana/Gwen, explicit, 698 words
The air is damp and heavy, filled with the promise of cooling rain rolling in on swollen, cumulous clouds, looming just overhead, plunging the castle grounds into faded grey, making the earth and stone smell rich and wet and alive. Gwen is spread languid over the coverlet bunched around her shoulders and back, Morgana tangled around her at the foot of the bed.
Her hair clings to the nape of her neck, the sweat that makes it sticky, curls it around to tickle at her throat, behind her ear; she loosely shakes her head, too tired and content to do anything but breathe softly "My lady," and bring a hand to run through Morgana's hair, dark and soft against her thigh, close to where she places kisses that make Gwen gasp and arch slightly off the bed in silent offering.
This is how they spend the entire afternoon -- Morgana touching the soft skin of Gwen's wrists, pressing dark and purple bruises into the planes of her throat, to her breasts, down her belly, up her legs, coaxing Gwen open with her tongue. Today, there is no duty but the one they owe to each other, nothing but the anticipation of the coming rain that makes Gwen look longingly at the window. She can almost picture herself standing there, naked, the raindrops coating her skin in a refreshing mist and the wide, vast lands of Camelot at her feet.
She sighs and turns her attention back to Morgana pressed against her stomach and tracing patterns that feel like runes into her skin. If Gwen didn't know any better, she'd say it's magic that skims across her hipbones and binds her to Morgana in a way that's even more intimate than the fingers pushed inside her, curling into her heat, making her slick with renewed moisture.
Morgana huffs a laugh when their eyes meet, catching Gwen's glance in the direction of the low rumbles of faraway thunder and her exasperated groan of "It's so hot," as she squirms beneath Morgana and tries to move closer yet also tries to shift to a place on the bed that's at least somewhat cooler. Morgana simply smiles at her maidservant and slides her way up Gwen's body, leaving trails of hot, open-mouthed kisses as she goes, murmuring endearingly "Lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy, lazy," all the way until she reaches her mouth and a hair's breadth away from her lips, says "Gwen."
She watches Gwen's eyes slip to half-closed, hazy with want, and she allows herself a secret flutter in her belly at how her ability to make Gwen unravel where no one else can. Gwen, who already does so much for her, who brings her flowers and tokens and spars with her when the knights are away and brushes her hair before she goes to sleep and deserves to be touched as if she is sunshine itself: golden and beautiful and warm.
She slips her thumb along the edge of Gwen's lips, runs the tip of it along her teeth, seeking the wetness and the tongue that rubs against it as Gwen lets a moan escape from her throat when Morgana buries her face in her hair and licks at the sweat on her neck. "She wants a drink of water," she says and curls her fingers up and more between Gwen's thighs, feels her tremble around them. Gwen breathes "Morgana," and tips her head back, exposing more of herself to Morgana who greedily takes it, biting and sucking at every inch of skin she can find.
"So she waits and waits and waits." And the air almost shimmers with the heat, the sound of the coming storm enough now to drown out the thudding of Morgana's pulse in her ears. "And waits and waits."
She takes Gwen's earlobe between her teeth and kisses the tender skin behind it as the rain begins a gentle beat against the stone and she says "For it to rain," as Gwen comes, fingers pulling Morgana closer, clinging, melding, eyes shut to the sensation, mouth curved in pleasure and contentment, Morgana's name just a gasp between her lips and the magic thrumming wordlessly between them.
~Credit goes to Shel Silverstein for the poem "Lazy Jane" which became lazy Gwen.