Poetic Advent - Weapon of Choice 3/7
Title: Weapon of Choice
Author: Poetic Advent
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Leon/Morgana
Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately.
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary:Written for the KMM prompt, Uther wants to marry Morgana off for political gain. Leon is merely a knight, a dogsbody. Prompt Here
POISON
def: a harmful substance, meant to hurt living organisms at a base level.
Its intentional use is often seen as a devious means of hurting an opponent.
Everyone watched her. Knights, servants, men, women, all were bewitched as Morgana strode down the center of the room, head held high, chin lifted in proud defiance. She'd chosen the violet gown that turned her eyes to sapphires, while Gwen had curled and bound her hair up and back to showcase the slender column of her neck. The playful smile she wore was the only adornment she needed.
Morgana knew that. Leon knew that. But he wasn't the smile's recipient.
Arthur laughed at whatever joke Morgana had shared with him, in high spirits after the jousting match that day. She had her arm coiled through his, fingers splayed as if they needed to accommodate the muscle beneath them, and for once, they seemed not to be even thinking about sniping at each other. For all appearances, they could have been the king and queen, strolling amongst their subjects, basking in the adoration as was their due. They were ideally matched, light and dark, strong and beautiful, and the crowd applauded when they reached the front table to take their seats with Uther.
Though he joined in the cheers, Leon seethed. It was bad enough he'd had to throw the match so the young prince would win. What was the point when Arthur was well on the way to the point where he'd win on his own anyway? But orders were orders, and Leon understood the reasoning even if he didn't agree with it, so he did what was asked of him.
This was his reward. Getting to watch Arthur bask and preen under smiles that weren't his, with Morgana's delicate hands flitting and touching him at every opportunity, with her musical laughter soaring over the buzz of the hall to spoil Leon's appetite for the feast laid before them.
He barely ate. Food turned to sawdust on his tongue, until he had to wash it down with wine, and more wine, and even more wine after that. It burned a hole through his gullet, churning with the bile that had swelled there over the course of the day. Through it all, he watched. Her. Him. Knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
Wondering if there was anything he should.
When the musicians came out to play, he made his excuses to Bodwyn and slipped out of the great hall. The chilly spring evening crisped everything it touched, seeping through his mail to skitter along his flushed skin, leaving it icy in its wake. His face ached, cheeks chapping even with the new beard he'd grown. He gritted his jaw. For her, damn it. Another change in his life that Morgana had wrought. Because she preferred the rough texture against her body on those few opportunities they could still manage to see each other, and he didn't know how to say no to her.
He climbed his way to the parapets, half-heartedly acknowledging the nods from the guards he passed. Higher, that's what he wanted. Away from the earth and the noise and the reminders of merriment he couldn't partake in. The upper levels were deserted, all the servants focused on the revelry, all the knights and nobles and ladies enjoying the fruits of Uther's indulgence. He leaned heavily against the rear wall, head tilted back to gaze up at the prickled sky, and forced his eyes to stay open when the vertigo hit.
Closing them returned the images of her in a rush. If he stared at nothing, perhaps he could feel nothing.
His body was numb when he heard the distant creak of the door from the castle. Time to go back in, but his muscles disobeyed his command, still locked in the war between his flesh and soul. He finally shut his eyes. Let whoever walked by think he was clearing his head of the party. They would ignore him and go on their business, because in the end, he was just another faceless knight. He might wear the red cloak with pride, but that didn't mean he was always particularly proud of what it meant he had to do.
"Here you are."
Her light voice drifted to his ears, just like it had in the banquet hall. It banished the cold that had overtaken him, and he straightened out of reflex, ready to face her regardless of the tumult she had caused inside him.
While her breath plumed in front of her face, she'd not come out with a cloak or cape, leaving her arms bare and exposed to the cutting night air. Pink stained her cheeks, and her eyes glittered like unbroken frost over the fields, but she regarded him with that damnable wry amusement she reserved for Arthur most of the time.
"You left early," she commented.
"It's not my party."
"It's everyone's party. That was the point."
"Was it?"
Her smile faded-or was that his imagination? Did he see only what he wanted to see? Was that the curse she'd created as she'd reached adulthood, blinding him to the truth of her nature because he still saw the innocence of the girl who'd confronted him in the armory? He didn't know. The wine made anything seem possible.
Just hours ago, he would've said Morgana was the one who could make anything seem possible.
"Something's wrong."
When she reached out to touch his forehead, his reflexes took over and knocked her hand away. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Touch me."
The smile came back, if it had ever left at all. "Nobody's here to see. I locked the door from this side so we wouldn't be disturbed."
That wasn't the point, though of course Morgana wouldn't understand that. "There's nothing for them to witness," he said. "You should go back." A sneer crept into his tone. "You'll be missed."
"By who? Uther's in his cups already."
"Don't forget Arthur."
"Arthur?" She laughed and stepped forward, driving him to retreat a matching pace. "What do I care about Arthur?"
"A great deal, if your behavior is anything to judge by," he snapped.
"He won the day. I was required to join him for the feast. Now if you'd won-"
He would not let her go there. "And everything else was just a gift for him, is that it? A little extra to say, job well done?"
"You're jealous."
"Half the room was jealous of Arthur tonight."
"But you're the one who left." Her advance forced him against the wall, so he pulled himself up to his full height to better glare down at her. She didn't quail, though if he was being honest she never did, and instead rested her palm against his chest, directly over his heart. "Just as you're the one I came to find. That means something."
"Does it?" He might not be able to feel her heat through the chain, but the need to touch her still ran rampant, in spite of how he felt. He gripped her arms and hauled her upward, forcing her to tiptoes. "What games are you playing, Morgana? Do you think we're just toys for you to discard when you're bored with us?"
"No game-"
She gasped when he shook her, lips parting, corners curling into another damnable smirk. It made him want to shake her again, but that was what she desired, provoking until he had no choice but to react. It was what she'd always desired, and he was the sorry bastard who fell for it every time.
"You should go back to the feast," he said. "Where you're actually wanted."
Though he needed the words to cut, the glow in her eyes remained. "You want me," she purred. She smoothed her hand down and down, never looking away. When she reached his groin, she deftly slid beneath his tunic to squeeze his erection. "Were you hard while you ate? Did you sit there, imagining what it would be like to tear me away from Arthur's side?"
"Yes," he ground out, hating his weakness. Her flirtations were his punishment. She'd said so more than once. For following through on his duty, for becoming a more trusted member of the court, for being necessary in ways that took him away from Camelot. Even Gwen had come to him once to explain how much Morgana moped when he wasn't around, but Leon could do nothing about it short of shirking responsibilities he'd striven to attain his entire life. To be with Morgana more would mean being less of a knight. The exchange wasn't worth it.
Yet.
Because he feared that one day, if he allowed his connection with Morgana to continue to deepen, he would be willing to sacrifice everything he was for her.
"I'm here now," she whispered. She stretched to touch his mouth with hers, the kiss cold and fleeting. Only her breath was warm. That, and the hunger she didn't bother trying to hide. "It would be a shame to waste the privacy."
Time alone they so rarely achieved anymore. As the weight of his position grew, so did Morgana's. Their sparring sessions had ceased before she turned eighteen. Whatever hours they could sneak away to share were spent naked and sweat-soaked, entwined around each other as if that moment would be their last. He missed her when she wasn't around. Her wicked sense of humor. The way she looked at him and made him feel like more of a man. He couldn't blame her for the same sense of loss.
Without letting her go, he whirled around, reversing their positions so her back now bent slighly over the edge of the parapet. Her hands flew upward, grabbing at his shoulders as her feet left the ground. He yanked at her skirts, freeing her legs, then moved on to his own trousers when she coiled her calves around his hips. She wore nothing beneath the gown. The dark curls over her mound glistened with the dew of her arousal.
"Arthur can't have you." Thrusting his hand between her legs, he sank three fingers into her wet channel, hooking them forward once they were buried to stroke the inner wall. "I don't care if he is the heir to the throne."
She clenched around him, a small, needy cry escaping her tight control. "No," she agreed. "And he never will."
Her admission wasn't enough. He needed all of her, body, spirit, heart. Circling at her clit with his thumb, he grinned when she squirmed, refusing to strengthen the contact the way he knew she wanted. "He wouldn't know what to do with you, even if he did. Who else has ever made you feel like I do, Morgana?"
Using her hold on his shoulders, she pulled herself up, grinding down against the heel of his hand. Dark hair tumbled from its careful knots, unleashing the woman who resided behind the mask. She nipped at his lower lip, then slid along his jaw in a series of bites that made him shudder.
"No one," she answered when she reached his ear. She dragged her tongue along his beard, filling his head with her moans. "It's only ever been you."
Leon yanked his fingers free, using the juices clinging to them to slick his shaft. A pass over the tip coated his palm in pre-come, and he added that to the lubrication, deliberately angling his cock to slap against her clit every time he stroked down to the root.
"Now who's playing games?" Morgana panted.
She had a point. With a tilt of his hips, he ploughed into her pussy, barely able to rein in the violence creeping beneath his skin.
He was too frustrated to manage finesse, and she was too eager to seem to care. Driving into her ready flesh brought groans from both of them, and they turned together at the same time to seal away the sounds with kisses made feral from their need. It was a familiar dance. Behind tapestries, in hushed chambers, anywhere they could find the time to be together. In all the nearly five years since he'd first kissed her, not one person had ever discovered the truth about them. Gwen had been told, but they had done that together, out of necessity. Otherwise, their secret had been theirs alone to share.
Now, as he pounded into her, Leon wished it didn't have to be so. It wasn't the first time he'd hoped for more. She sparked desires in him he wished would remain dormant. Nothing good would come of it.
Being buried inside her hot, willing flesh was very close, though. He let loose all his fury, biting at her neck, scraping his roughened cheeks along her delicate skin. She would be raw and sore within hours, perhaps hiding away in her chambers in the morning to deflect questions of what might have caused it. Over the years, she had left her own marks, but Leon never covered those up. When the other knights would rib him about them, he allowed the games, even joining in with pleased ownership. Morgana's name remained a mystery to his comrades, though. She was his to have, his to claim. His alone.
"More...Leon..."
Her pleas were rare. Morgana usually took what she wanted without having to ask, sometimes tearing into Leon to find the release she craved. This was a gift. It might even have been a peace offering for the way she'd treated him. Whichever it was, he closed his eyes, kissed her again, and poured everything he was into each stroke. On a night like tonight, the emotions were too powerful to corral anyway. Better to let them go and pray Morgana was strong enough to bear the weight of them.
In his heart, he knew she would.
She came with a whimper, arching away from the wall to slam her hips into his. Her muscles contracted around him, making it harder to thrust through her orgasm, but he powered each stroke even more, ready for his release to set him free. He was the one to shout, unbridled for the first time that day, and though she clung to his shoulders for balance, he was the one in need of it. His world turned upside-down when it came to her. It happened every time, so much so he wondered if perhaps he had it backwards the rest of his hours, that he walked through his life in search of being righted and only found it when Morgana was there beside him, around him, with him, shifting it to its proper axis.
The first thing he became aware of as the adrenaline ebbed was the sound of their harsh panting. He gulped for breath and rested his forehead against Morgana's shoulder, waiting for everything to stop spinning. Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling slightly as she caressed his head. Lips touched to his temple. Her smile left a brand when she withdrew.
"Silly man," she teased. "Though if this is what happens to you when you're all jealous..."
"Don't." Somehow, he found the strength to lift his heavy hand and meet her eyes. "Not now."
After a moment, she nodded. Solemnity replaced her mirth. "But you know, right? Tell me you understand. You're the only one who ever has."
She made such claims all the time. He wanted to believe them. Occasionally, he even did. "Yes," he said. Because he needed to trust in her right now just as much as she needed to know he did.
Her kiss was a bird's distant cry. "Come back to my rooms with me. Spend the night."
He closed his eyes. "I shouldn't."
"And I shouldn't love you like I do, but that doesn't mean I don't." Another feathery brush, tickling his chin. "Let me make it up to you."
With a promise such as that, with her still quivering in his arms, he couldn't refuse.
He didn't want to, either.
Part 4