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Ficlets
Ficlet dump.
Title: and my fingernails are long enough
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Summary: 'I'm not your dog,' he tells her.
A/N: Modern AU, for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kinkme_merlin prompt: 'Arthur/Morgana - stepsibling AU where Arthur's father marries Morgana's mother. She dares him to do something, the prize being that he finally gets to fuck her, after wanting to since they were moved in together. (I also wouldn't object to an Arthur/Merlin variation to this.)', originally posted here; 516 words.
Please be warned about the step-siblings part.
*
'Fetch,' Morgana says. Cruelly, carelessly, exquisitely. The robe falls away with a flick of her wrist and she's standing there, naked, hair falling in cascades on her shoulders, her breasts.
Arthur is fully clothed and stupidly hard, but Arthur obeys.
'I'm not your dog,' he tells her, passing her the hairbrush, and she laughs, she laughs, throws back her head and laughs. He waits, oh-so-patient; watches her heaving chest, her neck.
'No?' says Morgana, eyes sparkling in mirth. Another flick of her wrist and the hairbrush falls on the ground. 'Fetch,' she says. And Arthur obeys, Arthur always obeys, Arthur has always obeyed ever since he was fifteen and one summer: Morgana, careless, swimming in the pool; Morgana, cruel, in nothing but a bra; Morgana, exquisite, lips against his. You won't go running to Daddy now, will you, whispered, mocking, and Arthur nodding fervently, no, no, just let me, Morgana. Necking on his father's sofa; grinding, fully-clothed in what was once her mother's study; fevered touches and that's enough, Arthur, Morgana pulling away, always pulling away.
A long summer, aching.
Arthur picks up the hairbrush and hands it over, silent; moves to sit on the bed. Waits.
'See?' she tells him, smiling. 'Good boy,' mussing his hair in that way he hates, pushing him back on the bed, straddling. A telling flush on her skin now, lips parted, obscene.
'That it?' Arthur says. 'Do I get a bone?'
'Perhaps,' she says, breathy, batting his hand away when he reaches out. And then, finally, finally, her hand where he needs it to be, stroking, unzipping.
'You could start by not being a tease,' he says. Lies still. Waits.
'Shh,' she says, soothing. 'Shh.' A packet being ripped; her fingers and the cool latex on his dick. Arthur holds his breath. 'You've been very good, Arthur,' she says, and sinks in. White heat: enough to ignite every inch of his skin, every last cell.
She leads and he follows, bunching his fists on the sheets because she won't let him touch, not yet, her own cruel fingers on his chest, his nipples. 'Be patient,' she tells him (patience is a virtue, Arthur, what would your father say).
'I can't, Morgana—'
'You can,' she says, and he's close, so embarrassingly close. 'You're a good boy,' Morgana says, mouth twisted in a half-smirk and her own breath coming in gasps. Arthur thinks of summer, patience is a virtue, isn't that what your father says, Morgana drawing close and Morgana pulling away. Patience playing inside his head, an old record, scratched; broken images; being fifteen; Morgana pulling away, always pulling away.
'Be patient,' she breathes now, and something gives inside him, something breaks.
Arthur slides a hand down her thigh and slips it between her legs, bold, oh so bold, so disobedient, and Morgana says, 'Arthur,' startled. 'Arthur, I didn't tell you to—' Helpless, oh yes.
His other hand, pulling her closer. 'Bad dog,' he tells her, and bites down.
**
Title: to honour you with shells and coloured bottles
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Gwen/Morgana/Lancelot
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It seems like a good idea at the time.
A/N: Modern AU, for thekinkme_merlin prompt 'Gwen/Lancelot/Morgana, falling in sync', I'd love it if it were Gwen's pov. Lancelot and Morgana are so different from each other, and yet she loves them both. How do the three of them get together? How did they iron out their kinks? (pun totally intended) Would love it if the fic were in canon-verse, but if it's in modern day AU, it would be awesome too. <3', originally posted here; 650 words.
*
It seems like a good idea at the time.
Granted, Morgana is tipsy. Gwen's smile is summer, golden, and Lance is, well, easy on the eyes. It's confusing and messy and too many hands, but it seems like a good idea.
*
It goes like this.
Lance likes to think he's the last of the knights: kisses hands and opens doors, leaves nauseatingly soppy love notes underneath Gwen's pillow and inside her fridge.
'Is this Shakespeare?' Morgana asks, disbelieving, taking in the neat scrawl on the scrap of paper.
Gwen lights up when she finds the note. Gwen's eyes are nothing like the sun.
(The scorecard in Morgana's head reads Lance – 1, Morgana – 0 in flashing neon lights.)
*
It goes like this.
On Sunday, Morgana drags Gwen to Portobello and elbows past the tourists and their enormous bloody SLRs. Lance trails behind, murmuring excuse mes and may Is that no one pays heed to.
Morgana buys pretty multi-coloured beads and throws them around Gwen's neck, laughing; haggles with the fur guy until Gwen points out, 'You do realise it might end up being real, right?', at which point Morgana draws back and says,
'It was pretty,' shamefaced. Gwen pats her arm.
Later, that evening, Gwen kisses her first and perhaps Lance looks a tad wistful, kicked-puppyish in that way of his, but Morgana is far too busy to care.
*
'I won't pretend I understand, but—'
'Are you giving me relationship advice?' Morgana raises an eyebrow. Arthur has the gall to look offended.
'I may have had a few failed relationships—'
'Disasters,' Morgana interjects.
'—but as someone who knows Guinevere—'
'Biblically, you mean.'
'—I'm just saying that it's not always about winning,' Arthur finishes with a flourish.
They're both quiet for a moment. A car blows up on-screen. Morgana sips on her coffee.
'That's a nice line,' she tells Arthur. 'Where's it from?'
'Sophia said that to me before we broke up,' Arthur has to concede.
'Sophia. Who tried to drown you.'
'I fell.'
Silence. A building blows up on-screen.
'Have you considered what I said the other night?'
'No, Morgana, I do not think I should start seeing men for a change,' Arthur says firmly.
'How about Merlin?' Morgana says.
*
It goes like this.
Morgana loses her temper. Morgana screams.
Lance never raises his voice. Lance is polite and condescending. Lance is infuriating and Morgana screams some more until Gwen marches out of her study and says, 'That's enough. Both of you,' a small, yellow pencil in her hand and her eyes blazing. 'That's enough.'
The door shuts with an uncharacteristic slam.
Lance peels and Morgana chops vegetables. 'I didn't mean to,' Lance begins to say and Morgana mutters, 'Sorry,' amidst an onion-induced hazed.
(The make-up sex, though.
Lance has one possessive arm around Gwen, and another one between her thighs, relentless. Morgana kisses a sorry on her jaw, peppers a series of I love yous on her collarbone, her neck and a soft you deserve better between her breasts.
Afterwards Lance thrusts into her, slow, deliberate strokes that make her madly liquid, make her arch against him, seeking, needing more. 'Come on, Lance,' Morgana tells him, 'show me what a champion you are,' digging her fingernails into his arse. And Lance, smug bastard, says,
'Maybe I am being considerate.' Unperturbed.
'Nice guys finish last,' Morgana says, biting back a gasp.
'That's actually a good thing, if you think about it,' Gwen says, pressing soft, wet kisses on Morgana's breasts.)
*
The score, she supposes, is a boring draw.
*
And sometimes:
The bed is too small and Morgana hates the middle, but she stays over when Gwen asks: sleepysoft and pliant in Morgana's arms.
Lance's foot brushes over her calf, her ankle.
**
Note: Titles are from Leonard Cohen, Song of Patience.
Title: and my fingernails are long enough
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Morgana
Rating: NC-17
Summary: 'I'm not your dog,' he tells her.
A/N: Modern AU, for the
kinkme_merlin prompt: 'Arthur/Morgana - stepsibling AU where Arthur's father marries Morgana's mother. She dares him to do something, the prize being that he finally gets to fuck her, after wanting to since they were moved in together. (I also wouldn't object to an Arthur/Merlin variation to this.)', originally posted here; 516 words. Please be warned about the step-siblings part.
*
'Fetch,' Morgana says. Cruelly, carelessly, exquisitely. The robe falls away with a flick of her wrist and she's standing there, naked, hair falling in cascades on her shoulders, her breasts.
Arthur is fully clothed and stupidly hard, but Arthur obeys.
'I'm not your dog,' he tells her, passing her the hairbrush, and she laughs, she laughs, throws back her head and laughs. He waits, oh-so-patient; watches her heaving chest, her neck.
'No?' says Morgana, eyes sparkling in mirth. Another flick of her wrist and the hairbrush falls on the ground. 'Fetch,' she says. And Arthur obeys, Arthur always obeys, Arthur has always obeyed ever since he was fifteen and one summer: Morgana, careless, swimming in the pool; Morgana, cruel, in nothing but a bra; Morgana, exquisite, lips against his. You won't go running to Daddy now, will you, whispered, mocking, and Arthur nodding fervently, no, no, just let me, Morgana. Necking on his father's sofa; grinding, fully-clothed in what was once her mother's study; fevered touches and that's enough, Arthur, Morgana pulling away, always pulling away.
A long summer, aching.
Arthur picks up the hairbrush and hands it over, silent; moves to sit on the bed. Waits.
'See?' she tells him, smiling. 'Good boy,' mussing his hair in that way he hates, pushing him back on the bed, straddling. A telling flush on her skin now, lips parted, obscene.
'That it?' Arthur says. 'Do I get a bone?'
'Perhaps,' she says, breathy, batting his hand away when he reaches out. And then, finally, finally, her hand where he needs it to be, stroking, unzipping.
'You could start by not being a tease,' he says. Lies still. Waits.
'Shh,' she says, soothing. 'Shh.' A packet being ripped; her fingers and the cool latex on his dick. Arthur holds his breath. 'You've been very good, Arthur,' she says, and sinks in. White heat: enough to ignite every inch of his skin, every last cell.
She leads and he follows, bunching his fists on the sheets because she won't let him touch, not yet, her own cruel fingers on his chest, his nipples. 'Be patient,' she tells him (patience is a virtue, Arthur, what would your father say).
'I can't, Morgana—'
'You can,' she says, and he's close, so embarrassingly close. 'You're a good boy,' Morgana says, mouth twisted in a half-smirk and her own breath coming in gasps. Arthur thinks of summer, patience is a virtue, isn't that what your father says, Morgana drawing close and Morgana pulling away. Patience playing inside his head, an old record, scratched; broken images; being fifteen; Morgana pulling away, always pulling away.
'Be patient,' she breathes now, and something gives inside him, something breaks.
Arthur slides a hand down her thigh and slips it between her legs, bold, oh so bold, so disobedient, and Morgana says, 'Arthur,' startled. 'Arthur, I didn't tell you to—' Helpless, oh yes.
His other hand, pulling her closer. 'Bad dog,' he tells her, and bites down.
**
Title: to honour you with shells and coloured bottles
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Gwen/Morgana/Lancelot
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It seems like a good idea at the time.
A/N: Modern AU, for the
kinkme_merlin prompt 'Gwen/Lancelot/Morgana, falling in sync', I'd love it if it were Gwen's pov. Lancelot and Morgana are so different from each other, and yet she loves them both. How do the three of them get together? How did they iron out their kinks? (pun totally intended) Would love it if the fic were in canon-verse, but if it's in modern day AU, it would be awesome too. <3', originally posted here; 650 words. *
It seems like a good idea at the time.
Granted, Morgana is tipsy. Gwen's smile is summer, golden, and Lance is, well, easy on the eyes. It's confusing and messy and too many hands, but it seems like a good idea.
*
It goes like this.
Lance likes to think he's the last of the knights: kisses hands and opens doors, leaves nauseatingly soppy love notes underneath Gwen's pillow and inside her fridge.
'Is this Shakespeare?' Morgana asks, disbelieving, taking in the neat scrawl on the scrap of paper.
Gwen lights up when she finds the note. Gwen's eyes are nothing like the sun.
(The scorecard in Morgana's head reads Lance – 1, Morgana – 0 in flashing neon lights.)
*
It goes like this.
On Sunday, Morgana drags Gwen to Portobello and elbows past the tourists and their enormous bloody SLRs. Lance trails behind, murmuring excuse mes and may Is that no one pays heed to.
Morgana buys pretty multi-coloured beads and throws them around Gwen's neck, laughing; haggles with the fur guy until Gwen points out, 'You do realise it might end up being real, right?', at which point Morgana draws back and says,
'It was pretty,' shamefaced. Gwen pats her arm.
Later, that evening, Gwen kisses her first and perhaps Lance looks a tad wistful, kicked-puppyish in that way of his, but Morgana is far too busy to care.
*
'I won't pretend I understand, but—'
'Are you giving me relationship advice?' Morgana raises an eyebrow. Arthur has the gall to look offended.
'I may have had a few failed relationships—'
'Disasters,' Morgana interjects.
'—but as someone who knows Guinevere—'
'Biblically, you mean.'
'—I'm just saying that it's not always about winning,' Arthur finishes with a flourish.
They're both quiet for a moment. A car blows up on-screen. Morgana sips on her coffee.
'That's a nice line,' she tells Arthur. 'Where's it from?'
'Sophia said that to me before we broke up,' Arthur has to concede.
'Sophia. Who tried to drown you.'
'I fell.'
Silence. A building blows up on-screen.
'Have you considered what I said the other night?'
'No, Morgana, I do not think I should start seeing men for a change,' Arthur says firmly.
'How about Merlin?' Morgana says.
*
It goes like this.
Morgana loses her temper. Morgana screams.
Lance never raises his voice. Lance is polite and condescending. Lance is infuriating and Morgana screams some more until Gwen marches out of her study and says, 'That's enough. Both of you,' a small, yellow pencil in her hand and her eyes blazing. 'That's enough.'
The door shuts with an uncharacteristic slam.
Lance peels and Morgana chops vegetables. 'I didn't mean to,' Lance begins to say and Morgana mutters, 'Sorry,' amidst an onion-induced hazed.
(The make-up sex, though.
Lance has one possessive arm around Gwen, and another one between her thighs, relentless. Morgana kisses a sorry on her jaw, peppers a series of I love yous on her collarbone, her neck and a soft you deserve better between her breasts.
Afterwards Lance thrusts into her, slow, deliberate strokes that make her madly liquid, make her arch against him, seeking, needing more. 'Come on, Lance,' Morgana tells him, 'show me what a champion you are,' digging her fingernails into his arse. And Lance, smug bastard, says,
'Maybe I am being considerate.' Unperturbed.
'Nice guys finish last,' Morgana says, biting back a gasp.
'That's actually a good thing, if you think about it,' Gwen says, pressing soft, wet kisses on Morgana's breasts.)
*
The score, she supposes, is a boring draw.
*
And sometimes:
The bed is too small and Morgana hates the middle, but she stays over when Gwen asks: sleepysoft and pliant in Morgana's arms.
Lance's foot brushes over her calf, her ankle.
**
Note: Titles are from Leonard Cohen, Song of Patience.