Rating: M for language and content.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended; these characters belong to Merlin and the BBC, I own nothing.

Pairing: Morgana/Arthur

Set early in the Merlin Universe.

I know these two are related, but some love stories are bigger than the people in them.

If this offends you, please give it a miss.

Two chapters only.

Enjoy.

For P.

WS

"We don't really talk anymore," he observed.

They had eaten alone and the sound of their silence had started to bother him.

It never got this awkward when his father was also present, but when it was just the two of them, they tended to have either a pointless argument or, well, hardly any interaction at all.

He could no longer read her, no matter how hard he tried, and tonight he wondered when he lost her; when had he stopped looking closely, when had he stopped listening to all those things she never said? When had they suddenly grown up? And how had he missed it?

He watched her rise from her chair, smooth down her dress, give him a smile.

"There are a lot of things we don't do anymore, Arthur," she replied and made to leave.

"Morgana," he called after her and she turned around. "Like what?"

He watched her think about it.

"I don't know; go riding all day."

He laughed. "That's because we've explored all of Camelot and then some."

"That's true. Besides, you are a terrible conversationalist. All you ever want to talk about is you, so I'd rather ride on my own these days."

"I … I resent that," he said, and it was her turn to laugh. She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck her tongue out. His heart missed a beat.

"Remember when we carved our names in that tree?" he asked her and she rolled her eyes in response. "You cried for a week, because I told you that trees had feelings, too." He let out a shrill, girly giggle and she walked back to the table, picked a grape off her plate and threw it at his head.

"You were such a prat that day, and yes, Arthur, I do remember. How could I forget?"

"I so wish you could have seen your face. Honestly, Morgana, it was sheer horror. I thought I'd never stop laughing."

She threw another grape at him. Then another one.

"Stop it. Don't play with food," he chided and ducked.

"What? You'd rather I throw this plate at you?" she smiled sweetly and popped a grape into her mouth.

"No need to be aggressive," he said, got up and poured himself more wine. She held out her empty cup to him, and he poured her some wine, too.

"Thank you," she said, looked him in the eye and walked around to his side of the table. Her subtle movements did strange things to his brain and the way she looked at him made the air crackle. She stood right beside his chair, looked down at him.

When did you become so irresistible, he thought.

She took a sip of her wine. "Good night, Arthur," she said. "Before we scratch each other's eyes out I shall go to my chambers."

Before he knew what he was doing he'd grabbed her hand.

"What? You want a fist fight?" she looked at him, and he wondered if she was mocking him.

"Come on, Morgana, don't go and drink on your own," he said, and their fingers lingered, briefly entwined.

"Who says I'll be drinking alone?" she asked and he released her.

"Oh? Do tell," he demanded, leaned back in his chair.

"Tell you? I'd rather cut my tongue out," she retorted, quick as a flash.

He looked her up and down, wished he hadn't done it, then turned to the guards by the door.

"Leave us," he commanded, and when he found her eyes again he spotted light amusement.

The doors fell shut with a heavy thud, its echo bouncing off the walls for what felt like a thousand years. He was incredibly aware of her presence.

"You shouldn't have sent them away. It'll start talk," she said, but he saw that rebellious twinkle in her eyes.

"Come on. Everyone in Camelot knows you're like a sister to me," he quickly said with as much manliness as he could manage.

"Is that why you want to be alone with me?" she asked and took a sip of wine. He watched her; her mouth oh so distracting.

"I simply want to know who it is you are talking about," he replied. "I mean, I should have seen it coming. Every man in this kingdom has the hots for you."

She watched him, didn't reply, just watched him, and he wondered again when he'd stopped being able to read her. He suddenly felt unbelievably hot and wanted to stop himself from babbling, but couldn't.

"Yes, they all love you. Even Merlin," he snorted, then drank some wine.

"Merlin?" she enquired, leant against the table, facing him. Her eyes were bright, her smile soft and genuine. He liked it.

"It's pathetic. Merlin's jaw literally hits the floor every time he sees you. Quite funny, actually."

She pondered over his statement for a long moment.

"Merlin," she whispered.

"Morgana! No!"

"Why not?" she asked.

"No."

"But Merlin's so cute."

"Cute?" Arthur barked.

"Yes. He's got such a cute little face. And such pretty eyes, don't you think?"

"Morgana!" Arthur warned, pointed his cup at her. "Hands off of Merlin. You'd probably scare him away forever, or you'll have him for breakfast and then I'm left with him and his broken heart. No thanks."

She laughed lightly which made him chuckle, too.

"I know it's not Merlin. Who is it?" he queried again. "Spill it." And I'll kill the bastard, he added in his head.

"I don't kiss and tell, Arthur," she pulled a face at him.

"That is an excellent quality to have … for someone in your position," he added.

"Yes, isn't it just? And therefore, Arthur Pendragon, you shall never hear any details," she raised her glass to him and drank. "Unless, of course, you should hear anything from Merlin."

He groaned. "Morgana, seriously. Hands off. Poor guy. He'd probably fall hopelessly in love with you or something."

"But every girl wants someone to fall hopelessly in love with her, doesn't she?" she asked, sweet as pie, not letting go of his eyes. "But how would you know?"

He took in a sharp breath. No come-back. Picked up a grape and threw it at her. "Shut up Morgana."

She found another one and threw it right back at him.

"Pick your fights, Morgana," he warned, reached for an apple.

"You throw that at me and I swear I am going to make your life a living hell, Arthur Pendragon," she warned.

He didn't break eye contact for a moment and threw the apple straight up in the air before catching it again with the same hand.

Before she realized what he was doing, she'd ducked under the table.

Arthur burst out laughing.

"I hate you," she shouted at him.

"Morgana; that was the face," he croaked, fell apart laughing. "The tree carving face of sheer horror."

He kept laughing hysterically until he had tears in his eyes.

"You are intolerable, you know that?" she shot at him and tried to snatch the apple out of his hand.

"Stop it," he winced as she pulled on his arm, trying to unfold the fruit from his clenched fist.

"Stop it, Morgana, stop it," he laughed and made her struggle.

She grabbed hold of his one hand with two of hers, and next thing she knew he'd pulled her unceremoniously onto his lap.

"Morgana, let go," he laughed, and so did she now.

"Not until you give me that apple," she whispered.

"So you can give me a concussion? I don't think so."

"You said not to play with food, so don't," she pulled his arm hard.

"Ouch. What are you going to do with it?"

"Eat it, of course. What else would I want to do with it?" she asked through half-closed eyes and although he didn't believe a word of it he loosened his grip.

She grabbed it immediately and he was already regretting having let go, because suddenly he couldn't think of what to do with his hand. Put it on her leg? She'd probably scratch his eyes out.

She took a bite and looked at him sweetly.

"Apple?" she offered and held it in his face.

"Thanks. I think I'll have another drink," he said and she passed him his cup from the table.

He took a long sip and looked at her.

She held his gaze, eating the apple, one bite at a time. Slowly.

Her lips wet and juicy; damn her.

There was something in her eyes that he couldn't place.

Was she mocking him?

Was it a challenge?

Were they playing a game?

Was he losing?

All he knew was that he was unbelievably hot and her proximity was mindboggling, making him dizzy … or maybe it was the wine?

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I was just thinking that you should probably eat more fruit," she shrugged and shoved the apple in his face.

He took a bite, tried to not think about the fact that she'd had her mouth on it moments earlier.

Two could play this game … if they were playing one. He washed it down with the last of his wine. She took the empty cup off him and placed it back on the table. Again, he had no idea what to do with his hand, and so he took the apple from her.

"You're getting apple all over me. You're done with this," he whispered and threw it across the dining hall.

She laughed a gentle laugh and wiped her mouth.

"Are we fine Morgana?" he asked.

"What do you mean? Fine?"

"I mean; we don't really talk anymore or go riding, or carve trees, and all we ever seem to do is fight, but you know that … "

"You love me really?" she interrupted and his throat went dry.

"That you can't get enough of me? That I am always right and you are wrong? That I win and you lose? That I am the better rider?" she babbled on and on, and he couldn't help but get caught up in it.

When she had run out of exampled, she finally took a deep breath.

"On second thought, Morgana," he cleared his throat. "I am not going to finish that sentence. You are the most infuriating person I have ever met, and I actually despise you a lot."

"Just like a sister?" she asked, and again he saw the twinkle in her eye.

"Morgana, I … "he stuttered, wasn't ready for what he wanted to say, and quickly before his eyes could spill the beans, he dropped his gaze to her necklace.

"My father gave you this," he mumbled and touched it with his index finger. The skin underneath was the softest thing he'd ever touched, and it gave him goose bumps. He couldn't look at her.

Please tell me to stop, he thought, but she couldn't read his mind.

"I think it belonged to my mother."

"It did," she said and he felt her eyes on him.

"I don't know anything else about it, do you?" she whispered, and he shook his head.

"My father is a very private man," he found her eyes again, and when he did, he could have sworn he was on fire.

"Morgana, you need to stop looking at me like that," he told her.

"Like what?" she queried, tilted her head to one side. A long dark strand of hair fell over her shoulder and down her front. He wanted to touch it so badly.

"Like that," he replied. "I'm feeling surprisingly sober, but I know for a fact that I've had too much to drink, and quite frankly, this …" he gestured to her sitting on his lap, "is not helping."

"Don't be such a drama queen, Arthur," she told him. "I thought we were having a nice time."

"We're having a very nice time," he said and traced the back of her hand with his index finger. Slowly, carefully.

For God's sake, tell me to stop it!

"Because, you know, there's still time. I could still go and find Merlin," she teased and he hated it.

"And what do you think you are going to do with Merlin?" he asked voicelessly.

"Oh, I could think of a thing or two," she contemplated.

"Morgana," he groaned.

"I could kiss his sweet little face," she suggested.

"I don't know about that," he said, took a deep breath, took his hand off hers. "I reckon Merlin is a terrible kisser."

"And why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch."

"Well, I reckon that you are a terrible kisser, Arthur Pendragon."

"And I reckon that you, Morgana, need to back off before I do something really, really stupid and prove you wrong."

"Oh?" she said, her eyes shining. And then she looked at his mouth.

Fatal error.

Electric shock.

When did you become so irresistible?

He licked his lips in response.

Don't look at me that way.

Tell me to stop.

But nothing.

Time stood still for only that very significant instant and he leaned up and into her and gently brought his mouth to hers, and then he thought of nothing at all for a long, long time as he was starting to lose himself completely in her.

Her little noises of pleasure went through him like bolts of lightning. He felt her every movement, every breath. Her mouth was the single most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

He picked her up in one swift movement, getting up from the chair. Sat her on the table and pulled her closer, closer, closer.

You're mine, he thought. You've been mine from the beginning.

How could he ever have enough of kissing her?

He planted lingering kissed down her soft neck, trying hard not to let her little moans drive him absolutely crazy.

He pushed her skirts up, his shaking hand touched her ankle, knee, thigh, and he knew he had to…

"Stop it!" he said, out of breath, took a step back; his hand brushed through his hair.

"Morgana! We need to stop … God! Or I'm going to have you on that table," he said, big breath out.

She looked stunned, flustered, shockingly beautiful.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Well, that would certainly make future banquets a lot more entertaining," she whispered, got off the table, smoothed down her dress.

Her eyes were full of questions, and he couldn't go there.

"I'm sorry Morgana," he said, his voice shaking, and when he looked at her again, her eyes were shooting daggers.

"How dare you, Arthur?" she hissed. "You can't kiss me like that and then say you're sorry."

"I … I'm sorry," he babbled ridiculously and she never looked him in the eyes again that night.

"Way to cheapen things, Arthur. You must be so proud," she said quietly, and he watched her walk all the way across the hall and through the heavy wooden doors.

His lips were tingling, his insides were on fire.

He sat down and rested his spinning head on the table.

Damn you Morgana.

Damn you and the way you just made me feel.