Rating: M for a reason
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended; these characters belong to Merlin and the BBC, I own nothing.
Pairing: Morgana/Arthur
Pure unadulterated smut. Sinful writing, sinful reading. Enjoy.
WS
"Morgana, I can't," he whispered and traced the outline of her face with his fingertips. Her eyes fell shut for a split second, and she took a shallow breath. "I...I just can't."
"But you want to," she stated quietly, and he didn't bother denying it since his body was giving him away in the most embarrassing way.
"I am not like you, Morgana," he said, her delicious lips right there, inches from his. "I can't just rush into things like there's no tomorrow. And certainly not...with you."
"Rush into things? Arthur, don't tell me that you didn't see this coming," she said and shook her head in disbelief.
"And if we did and anyone...anyone found out?"
"Arthur, we have been sleeping together for years and nobody has a clue."
"Please don't say it like that," he released a breath he didn't know he was holding, and when he looked at her again, she had the hint of a smirk on her face.
"What, you don't like the way that sounds?"
He nodded his head in slow motion. "I love the way it sounds," he admitted, and traced the long line of her neck, then her collarbone with the back of his hand. "And I cherish every moment I have with you, but there is a line, and you know there is a line, and..."
She shut him up by taking his hand and running it further down her front, over her breasts. "And what, Arthur?"
"And...everything," he said flippantly and pulled his hand away as if he'd burned himself. He stepped away from her, looking for something to punch. Testosterone overload! What was she doing to him? He took a deep breath and crossed the room in a few long strides. Horny anger and frustration was not the right state of mind to be in when he was in the same room with her. He pressed his head against the cold wall. What was she even thinking? And he knew she wasn't looking to itch a scratch; Morgana could have any man in Camelot. And he secretly loathed that fact. The thought of her with another man made him want to put his fist through the wall...and of course, that was exactly what was going to happen. And probably sooner rather than later. His father would marry her off to somebody strategically promising; some ancient king who'd think it's his lucky day, who couldn't wait to put his senile, strategic, dirty hands on her. It made him bilious even imagining it.
He turned around and they stood on opposite walls, both with their hands folded in front of themselves, in a new kind of darkness, one that didn't have their answers this time. They stood quietly, patiently, regarding each other for a long time.
"You are beautiful, Morgana," he whispered when he could no longer keep it to himself. She at least deserved the truth from him. "I've always thought that, you know?"
"Always?" she queried in a playful way, and he relaxed ever so slightly.
"Well, not always. Sometimes you look pretty rough."
Outrage spread across her face in the most delicious way, and his heart skipped a beat.
"Rough? When have I ever looked rough, Arthur Pendragon?"
"Oh, I can think of the odd occasion," he laughed quietly, and again silence transcended.
"No, really, you are beautiful," his words caressed the night, and it sounded like a hidden promise. "And you know what makes you even more beautiful?" he asked, and she shook her head so slightly he almost missed it. "The fact that you're blushing. And I don't have to see it to know that you are."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not," she protested again.
"If I didn't know any better I'd say you put a spell on me," he smiled.
"Maybe I have," she suggested quietly, and her statement sat in mid air for a moment. "The first time I met you I thought you were a mean bully," she told him.
"A mean bully? I have you know I am the most compassionate soul in all of Camelot," he declared, held out his arms.
"Please, what do you dream at night?" she laughed.
"About you mainly,"he said, and she tilted her head to one side, watching him.
"You have dirty dreams about me, have you?" she enquired, and he shook his head.
"Not dirty. Filthy."
"When I was there?"
He shrugged. "Yes, especially then."
"Why didn't you share this very interesting information," she smirked.
"Oh, you were always out like a light. It appears my extreme manliness was always too much for you."
She giggled.
"Any details?" she asked, a picture of innocence.
"Nothing special. Your eyes. I dream about your eyes. And your mouth. I dream about kissing you," he said quietly, and she took a couple of slow steps towards him.
"I imagine you naked. And what it would feel like to run my hands all over you."
She took another couple of steps. Closer.
"And I dream about what your hair would look like. All in disarray, against your pale skin."
Another few steps yet.
"And I dream about what you would taste like," he said, watching her take that final step until she was right in front of him.
Her eyes were on fire and he reached for her crushed his mouth on hers.
Who had he been kidding? He'd secretly claimed her the first time he laid eyes on her, and now she was irrevocably his.
He couldn't remember ever having been kissed like that. He felt his knees buckle. She was sweet and rough and demanding and so, so delicious. He held her like his life depended on it, and she put her arms around his neck. Her hot, wet mouth found his ear. "Arthur. Let's go to bed," she said, took his hand and never waited for his approval.
She stood with her hands firmly holding on to one of the four posts of the bed and brushed her hair over one shoulder to reveal her back.
"Care to get me out of this dress?" she asked and when he didn't move she gave him a puzzled look. "Or did you think this was going to be a quick screw against the wall?"
"I...Oh, shut up, Morgana," he stuttered and got to work.
"And be careful," she instructed, and with a shaking hand he unlaced her inch by inch.
The dress fell to the floor leaving her standing in front of him in nothing but a white undergarment. He turned her around to face him and proceeded to trace her body through the thin fabric. He covered her breasts with his hands and sucked on her gorgeous neck. She let out an almost painful moan.
Slowly, slowly, one inch at a time, he raised the underdress with one hand until he was touching her naked thigh.
He was so painfully hard, he doubted they'd get anywhere at all...
The sexy little noises she made didn't help, just drove him towards complete insanity more quickly. When he closed his eyes, white dots came flying at him.
It was so good. So hot. So forbidden. So desperate.
"Arthur."
Hearing his name pretty much gave him the rest, and he pushed the underdress up around her waist and got on his knees.
She inhaled sharply, and for a moment he really thought that she might fall, so he pressed her harder against the pillar, his hands digging into her hips.
He put his mouth between her legs and ran his tongue over her again and again and again. He felt her complete surrender and he continued his sweet torture until she firmly pushed his head away.
"Arthur. God...just...fuck me," she mumbled, and her surprisingly crude language undid all sorts in him.
He shoved her onto the bed, almost ripped that damn virginal white thing off of her, got undressed in seconds and pushed into her like it was the last thing he'd do.
When she let out a wince of pain he briefly thought about apologizing, but he kissed her mouth instead. His senses were flooded with all things Morgana, and he quickly got lost in a mindless muddle of pleasure.
"Fuck me, Arthur, fuck me," she kept whispering again and again and again. She met him thrust for thrust and just when he thought he was dying, her sexy mouth found his ear again. "You're going to make me come."
"God's sake, Morgana." He gave her a couple of final thrusts until she completely crumbled, and moments later, so did he.
"Mygodmygodmygodmygod," he mumbled, his face buried in a pillow.
Morgana lay on her back and laughed out loud.
"Are you okay?" she asked him, and let her limp arm fall onto his naked back.
"Always knew you'd be the death of me someday," he slurred.
She laughed again, rolling herself onto her side. She ran her fingertips down his spine.
He shivered. "Don't touch me, I'm...wow...dizzy."
"Poor Arthur," she teased, but didn't stop.
Finally his face emerged from the pillow and looked at her through groggy eyes.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked tenderly, and Morgana pulled a face.
"Don't flatter yourself," she dismissed him.
"Morgana. I'm serious."
"No," she shook her head. "Not at all."
He brushed hair from her face.
"You know I'm in love with you, don't you?" he asked, and she didn't answer, but her eyes did. "It was always you."
She nodded and he knew that she understood.
"Roll over, let's go to sleep," he said and pulled the blanket over them. It was the way it always had been, and yet all had changed. He spooned her and kissed her neck like it had never even been forbidden.
A few minutes later he chuckled into the darkness.
"What?" she asked.
"Fuck me, Arthur, fuck me," he said in a high pitched, girly voice.
She kicked his shin. Hard.
"Ouch. Morgana!"
"One word, Arthur Pendragon, and you're a dead man."
He couldn't help himself and laughed again, and a moment later, so did she.