So, I have at last managed the femmeslash.
Title: Fantasize (The Best Laid Plans)
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating/Warnings: R, sex, loving description of food
Written For: hs_bingo
Wordcount: 2,300 (UGH SELF)
Author's Notes: So... basically GWEN IS PRETTY (Morgana thinks so too) in fic form.
Morgana had contemplated a lot of possibilities for her first time with Gwen. (Her first time at all, really. Not that she was particularly avoiding sex, or storing up her virtue like an archaic princess; the opportunity had simply never presented itself.) She’d gone over the cinematic options: invite Gwen over one night when the manor was empty and answer the door in a silk dressing gown over bare skin. Or perhaps she could act calm in the early evening, and then greet her girlfriend from a candlelit bedroom, stretched out on the bed in black lace lingerie. Flowers and silk and lace and flickering, dim, gentle light - those would be beautiful. Romantic and luxurious, everything she wanted to offer. On the other hand, they could also put Gwen on the spot, and that would ruin everything. Besides, they’d be too sudden; she wanted to make it a wonderful day, not just a wonderful night.
That opened up a whole host of other options, really. A dinner at some truly lovely restaurant, and maybe a play at a nearby theater. They’d hold hands in the darkness and whispering commentary just to lean in closer together, and then the candles and flowers back at the house or the dorm room, depending on where they were. Or perhaps in the afternoon, on a blanket in the greenhouse, with the moisture in the air and the scent of the flowers, in the midst of all of the deep red and orange lilies that Gwen loved so much. Perhaps outside; Morgana had originally thought that a bad plan, but then she imagined Gwen with the sunlight streaming over her, tangling in her hair and illuminating every inch and dip and curve and shadow and shade of skin. She revised her opinion. Maybe a nice picnic first, so it would seem more romantic? Or they could go down to London and try out the nightclubs, dance for hours amid the crowds of strangers and the glimmering lights and music, and then spend the remaining hours in a night hotel. Morgana was more than a little bit fond of that one, fond of the mental image of Gwen sweaty and smiling, in a shimmery dress and body glitter, with slightly smudged makeup and shining eyes.
There were plenty of other plans, too. None of them, however, involved Gwen calling Morgana up at seven o’clock on a Friday in November and asking if she’d like to come and spend the night.
“Uhm?” Morgana managed, trying frantically to stop her runaway mind as it skidded along a hormone-soaked path to the inevitable conclusion.
“My father’s out of town,” Gwen continued, apparently oblivious to the chaos she had just unleashed on Morgana’s mind. “But he’s all right with you coming over to - to keep me. Uh. Company. I mean, if you, you know, want to?”
Morgana lost any remaining grip on her mind. “I’d be delighted,” she managed, gripping the edge of the chair. She sounded far, far more collected than she felt, but that meant absolutely nothing. This was Gwen, she could always tell. “Just let me get an overnight bag together, and I’ll be over in about half an hour?”
She actually spent far less time packing than she did frantically running through possibilities and plans. What if she were misinterpreting? What if this wasn’t what Gwen meant? What if she backed out? What if this turned out to be a bad decision? What if it ended up being horrible? (Morgana wasn’t enormously worried about that last one, but it was a possibility and she wanted everything to be perfect for Gwen.) Eventually, however, she managed to get everything together and picked out the most seductive of her nightgowns, as well as a set of plain pajamas in case the night didn’t go that direction after all. The drive over to Gwen’s house was quite possibly the longest of her life.
Gwen did not answer the door in the altogether or anything remotely approaching it, but Morgana was a connoisseur of her smiles, and this one held more than a little bit of nervous anticipation. “Hello,” was all she said, and kissed Morgana lightly on the corner of her mouth. “Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure,” Morgana said, squeezing Gwen’s hand. “You know I’m always happy to - see you.”
Gwen’s face shifted from anticipation to pleased embarrassment - her smile stretched a little wider and she bobbed her head slightly, breaking eye contact only to make it again sideways, one shoulder shrugged as if bemused by the idea of her loveliness. Morgana tilted her girlfriend’s face up, long cold fingers pale and stark against the warmth of her skin, and kissed her full on the lips. Not passionate or consumptive, just an extension of the human need to confirm loveliness by touch. This happened remarkably often around Gwen, who squeezed Morgana’s hand at the end of the kiss and led her into the living room.
Morgana loved this room; loved Gwen’s house, really. Cozy and warm, with deep-red walls and a rag carpet, a battered brown couch with an orange-and-amber afghan, and lots of comfortable warm-colored wood with no particular gloss to it. Tonight the coffee table held a plate of sugar-dusted ginger snaps and a pitcher of steaming cider next to a couple of well-worn pottery mugs.
“Would you like some?” Gwen asked, indicating these items as the two of them sank into the slightly girl-enveloping couch cushions. “Or I can make you a proper dinner if you forgot to eat again.”
“Oh, no, I remembered dinner,” Morgana laughed, somewhat ruefully since this reassurance really was necessary. For the week before last year’s finals, Gwen had simply started texting Morgana “EAT” at seven every night to make certain. “But these look delicious, and I’d love some cider too.”
“Then here,” Gwen chuckled, pouring out the cider with absolutely none of Morgana’s practiced grace and all of her own attitude that there was nothing special about filling a mug. Morgana, who had maneuvered her way through public life with the precision of a classical ballerina since the age of six, continued to find this fascinating.
“So, how is your father?” she asked, leaning her head against Gwen’s shoulder and cupping her fingers around the heated weight of the mug.
They talked for what felt like an age, absorbing each other since it had been too busy a week to socialize much, and after that Gwen made quite a good showing at chess. She lost, but slowly, and left quite the trail of destruction through Morgana’s lightweight plastic pieces before finally surrendering her king with a rueful grin. They watched a movie after that - Imagine Me & You, a favorite of Gwen’s. Morgana had always found the lead a little annoying, but she didn’t really mind, especially not when she watched like this, curled up together with their intertwined hands pressed against Gwen’s leg.
“Do you want to shower first?” Gwen asked, after the movie was over and they’d stretched themselves out and disentangled themselves from each other and the afghan and the warm hollow of the carnivorous couch cushions.
“Sure,” Morgana managed, wondering if Gwen was going to offer to join her. She didn’t, and Morgana was just wondering if this evening was going to turn out fairly innocent after all when Gwen stepped closer, rested a hand by the base of her throat - callused thumb brushing Morgana’s collarbone - and kissed her close-mouthed and slowly with the solemnity of a vital promise. It left Morgana blinking, frozen for a moment before she fled to the bathroom to try and restore her mental functions to some semblance of their normal state.
By the time she left the bathroom, her thoughts were still buzzing frantically in unhelpful circles. She found Gwen was leaning against the wall by her bedroom door, clutching a bundle of fabric to her chest. She caught sight of Morgana and blinked twice, taking in the sight of creamy skin framed by edges of black lace and curlicues of dark hair.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Gwen stammered, ducking into the bathroom. Morgana nodded, trying to keep her hands from trembling, as she slipped into Gwen’s room and settled herself on the edge of the bed. Gwen hadn’t set up an air mattress or any such thing. Just her ordinary bed, with its painted metal frame and cream-and-chocolate cover. The little room was almost as familiar as Morgana’s own; more, actually, after all these months in the dorms. This bed, the mismatched desk and dresser in different shades of brown, the shelves hanging from the ivory-painted walls, ripe with a multicolored crop of bright-covered books. The only light was the nightstand lamp, a junk-store find with the body made from an old glass bottle and the shade made of falsely aged paper; it made the whole room look dim and golden.
Morgana inspected the nightstand more closely to stop herself from twitching: a pile of books ranging from Pierce to Austen, a few stray pencils and hair clips, a drawing pencil and scrap of paper. One of Gwen’s midnight sketches, this time a surreal image of jagged clouds around a delicately curving moon. It looks protective, not ominous. Morgana had already noticed the royal-red poinsettia occupying pride of place next to Gwen’s prized if slightly battered stereo, but on closer inspection she discovered two little tea-lights and a box of matches settled there too.
Candles and flowers. Morgana had pictured pink roses and slender tapers, maybe creamy lilies and silver candlesticks, but the flattened silver disks as accents to the crimson - it’s just as striking, and warmer too. Simpler. She lit them to confirm it, and yes, it was true. Gwen’s taste, with hints of her own in the balance of it.
Looked like Gwen had planned this too.
A slight cough attracted Morgana’s attention; Gwen was by the door, resplendent in a creamy flannel nightgown, its full sleeves and snowy length more suited to the cover of a gothic romance than this cozy, simple room. Morgana slid to her feet to greet her and stretched out her arms in a welcome that wasn’t, technically, hers to give; nonetheless, Gwen seemed to have no compunctions about stepping closer and linking her arms around Morgana’s shoulders.
“You found the candles,” Gwen murmured as Morgana’s right hand settled against the small of her back.
“Yes,” Morgana confirmed pointlessly, resting her other hand against Gwen’s shoulder. She could feel the anxiety in Gwen’s muscles through the cloth, see it on her face as she bit her lip.
“I - I mean, you probably know what - what I was thinking, I mean, it’s pretty obvious, and I’ve been thinking for a while that you wanted to, you know, be with me, and I know I’ve been wanting it for ages, but I guess I’m probably doing this all wrong, I should have talked to you about it earlier and everything, but - I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, we can just -”
“Gwen, Gwen, of course I want to,” Morgana broke into the panic. “Of course I want to. As long as you’re sure, I want to.” The smile breaking across Gwen’s face was the most beautiful thing Morgana had ever seen - relief, and excitement, and pleasure, and love. She was glorious. “Unless you think we should talk about what it means to us, first?” she asked, shifting her voice deliberately to teasing. It wasn’t hard to do.
A little bit of impishness spilled into the mixture of emotion in Gwen’s smile. “That we love each other. Right?”
And just like that all anxiousness and playfulness melted in the warmth of her face. “Right, of course. I love you.” Morgana leaned in and kissed her tenderly, slowly, and started flicking the buttons of her nightgown open. She could feel Gwen’s heart fluttering against her palm; she slid her hand sideways and down. Semi-familiar, this part, but the promise that they wouldn’t stop made it all feel new. And besides, the warmth of Gwen’s breast under her hand, Gwen breaking the kiss to gasp almost inaudibly and exhale very, very slowly - it never grew old. Morgana ran her lips along Gwen’s collarbone, licking lightly along the clean skin; every flicker of her tongue made Gwen’s hands twitch on her back as she fumbled with the zipper of Morgana’s nightgown. After a few moments Morgana focused the efforts of her tongue on one spot, right by the base of Gwen’s throat, and felt as much as heard Gwen inhale every molecule of air in the room.
Everything simply hovered right there, both of them frozen with Gwen’s head thrown back and Morgana’s hand on her skin and mouth on her neck, and then Gwen found Morgana’s zipper and pulled it straight down her back with one smooth motion. She dug her fingers into the base of Morgana’s spine, massaging the muscles as Morgana’s nightgown collapsed, straps slipping off of her shoulders and leaving her bare. Morgana half-fell backwards onto the bed, pulling Gwen with her, close to her, kissing her throat and breasts and shoulders and her lips, always her lips. They got tangled up in each other in a mess of legs and hands and sheets as they tried to fit themselves into the bed and divest each other of their nightgowns simultaneously, but the clumsiness of that part didn’t matter because they had all of each other to touch and feel, soft and warm and desperately close underneath their fingertips. Better than anything Morgana had ever planned or imagined.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating/Warnings: R, sex, loving description of food
Written For: hs_bingo
Wordcount: 2,300 (UGH SELF)
Author's Notes: So... basically GWEN IS PRETTY (Morgana thinks so too) in fic form.
Morgana had contemplated a lot of possibilities for her first time with Gwen. (Her first time at all, really. Not that she was particularly avoiding sex, or storing up her virtue like an archaic princess; the opportunity had simply never presented itself.) She’d gone over the cinematic options: invite Gwen over one night when the manor was empty and answer the door in a silk dressing gown over bare skin. Or perhaps she could act calm in the early evening, and then greet her girlfriend from a candlelit bedroom, stretched out on the bed in black lace lingerie. Flowers and silk and lace and flickering, dim, gentle light - those would be beautiful. Romantic and luxurious, everything she wanted to offer. On the other hand, they could also put Gwen on the spot, and that would ruin everything. Besides, they’d be too sudden; she wanted to make it a wonderful day, not just a wonderful night.
That opened up a whole host of other options, really. A dinner at some truly lovely restaurant, and maybe a play at a nearby theater. They’d hold hands in the darkness and whispering commentary just to lean in closer together, and then the candles and flowers back at the house or the dorm room, depending on where they were. Or perhaps in the afternoon, on a blanket in the greenhouse, with the moisture in the air and the scent of the flowers, in the midst of all of the deep red and orange lilies that Gwen loved so much. Perhaps outside; Morgana had originally thought that a bad plan, but then she imagined Gwen with the sunlight streaming over her, tangling in her hair and illuminating every inch and dip and curve and shadow and shade of skin. She revised her opinion. Maybe a nice picnic first, so it would seem more romantic? Or they could go down to London and try out the nightclubs, dance for hours amid the crowds of strangers and the glimmering lights and music, and then spend the remaining hours in a night hotel. Morgana was more than a little bit fond of that one, fond of the mental image of Gwen sweaty and smiling, in a shimmery dress and body glitter, with slightly smudged makeup and shining eyes.
There were plenty of other plans, too. None of them, however, involved Gwen calling Morgana up at seven o’clock on a Friday in November and asking if she’d like to come and spend the night.
“Uhm?” Morgana managed, trying frantically to stop her runaway mind as it skidded along a hormone-soaked path to the inevitable conclusion.
“My father’s out of town,” Gwen continued, apparently oblivious to the chaos she had just unleashed on Morgana’s mind. “But he’s all right with you coming over to - to keep me. Uh. Company. I mean, if you, you know, want to?”
Morgana lost any remaining grip on her mind. “I’d be delighted,” she managed, gripping the edge of the chair. She sounded far, far more collected than she felt, but that meant absolutely nothing. This was Gwen, she could always tell. “Just let me get an overnight bag together, and I’ll be over in about half an hour?”
She actually spent far less time packing than she did frantically running through possibilities and plans. What if she were misinterpreting? What if this wasn’t what Gwen meant? What if she backed out? What if this turned out to be a bad decision? What if it ended up being horrible? (Morgana wasn’t enormously worried about that last one, but it was a possibility and she wanted everything to be perfect for Gwen.) Eventually, however, she managed to get everything together and picked out the most seductive of her nightgowns, as well as a set of plain pajamas in case the night didn’t go that direction after all. The drive over to Gwen’s house was quite possibly the longest of her life.
Gwen did not answer the door in the altogether or anything remotely approaching it, but Morgana was a connoisseur of her smiles, and this one held more than a little bit of nervous anticipation. “Hello,” was all she said, and kissed Morgana lightly on the corner of her mouth. “Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure,” Morgana said, squeezing Gwen’s hand. “You know I’m always happy to - see you.”
Gwen’s face shifted from anticipation to pleased embarrassment - her smile stretched a little wider and she bobbed her head slightly, breaking eye contact only to make it again sideways, one shoulder shrugged as if bemused by the idea of her loveliness. Morgana tilted her girlfriend’s face up, long cold fingers pale and stark against the warmth of her skin, and kissed her full on the lips. Not passionate or consumptive, just an extension of the human need to confirm loveliness by touch. This happened remarkably often around Gwen, who squeezed Morgana’s hand at the end of the kiss and led her into the living room.
Morgana loved this room; loved Gwen’s house, really. Cozy and warm, with deep-red walls and a rag carpet, a battered brown couch with an orange-and-amber afghan, and lots of comfortable warm-colored wood with no particular gloss to it. Tonight the coffee table held a plate of sugar-dusted ginger snaps and a pitcher of steaming cider next to a couple of well-worn pottery mugs.
“Would you like some?” Gwen asked, indicating these items as the two of them sank into the slightly girl-enveloping couch cushions. “Or I can make you a proper dinner if you forgot to eat again.”
“Oh, no, I remembered dinner,” Morgana laughed, somewhat ruefully since this reassurance really was necessary. For the week before last year’s finals, Gwen had simply started texting Morgana “EAT” at seven every night to make certain. “But these look delicious, and I’d love some cider too.”
“Then here,” Gwen chuckled, pouring out the cider with absolutely none of Morgana’s practiced grace and all of her own attitude that there was nothing special about filling a mug. Morgana, who had maneuvered her way through public life with the precision of a classical ballerina since the age of six, continued to find this fascinating.
“So, how is your father?” she asked, leaning her head against Gwen’s shoulder and cupping her fingers around the heated weight of the mug.
They talked for what felt like an age, absorbing each other since it had been too busy a week to socialize much, and after that Gwen made quite a good showing at chess. She lost, but slowly, and left quite the trail of destruction through Morgana’s lightweight plastic pieces before finally surrendering her king with a rueful grin. They watched a movie after that - Imagine Me & You, a favorite of Gwen’s. Morgana had always found the lead a little annoying, but she didn’t really mind, especially not when she watched like this, curled up together with their intertwined hands pressed against Gwen’s leg.
“Do you want to shower first?” Gwen asked, after the movie was over and they’d stretched themselves out and disentangled themselves from each other and the afghan and the warm hollow of the carnivorous couch cushions.
“Sure,” Morgana managed, wondering if Gwen was going to offer to join her. She didn’t, and Morgana was just wondering if this evening was going to turn out fairly innocent after all when Gwen stepped closer, rested a hand by the base of her throat - callused thumb brushing Morgana’s collarbone - and kissed her close-mouthed and slowly with the solemnity of a vital promise. It left Morgana blinking, frozen for a moment before she fled to the bathroom to try and restore her mental functions to some semblance of their normal state.
By the time she left the bathroom, her thoughts were still buzzing frantically in unhelpful circles. She found Gwen was leaning against the wall by her bedroom door, clutching a bundle of fabric to her chest. She caught sight of Morgana and blinked twice, taking in the sight of creamy skin framed by edges of black lace and curlicues of dark hair.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Gwen stammered, ducking into the bathroom. Morgana nodded, trying to keep her hands from trembling, as she slipped into Gwen’s room and settled herself on the edge of the bed. Gwen hadn’t set up an air mattress or any such thing. Just her ordinary bed, with its painted metal frame and cream-and-chocolate cover. The little room was almost as familiar as Morgana’s own; more, actually, after all these months in the dorms. This bed, the mismatched desk and dresser in different shades of brown, the shelves hanging from the ivory-painted walls, ripe with a multicolored crop of bright-covered books. The only light was the nightstand lamp, a junk-store find with the body made from an old glass bottle and the shade made of falsely aged paper; it made the whole room look dim and golden.
Morgana inspected the nightstand more closely to stop herself from twitching: a pile of books ranging from Pierce to Austen, a few stray pencils and hair clips, a drawing pencil and scrap of paper. One of Gwen’s midnight sketches, this time a surreal image of jagged clouds around a delicately curving moon. It looks protective, not ominous. Morgana had already noticed the royal-red poinsettia occupying pride of place next to Gwen’s prized if slightly battered stereo, but on closer inspection she discovered two little tea-lights and a box of matches settled there too.
Candles and flowers. Morgana had pictured pink roses and slender tapers, maybe creamy lilies and silver candlesticks, but the flattened silver disks as accents to the crimson - it’s just as striking, and warmer too. Simpler. She lit them to confirm it, and yes, it was true. Gwen’s taste, with hints of her own in the balance of it.
Looked like Gwen had planned this too.
A slight cough attracted Morgana’s attention; Gwen was by the door, resplendent in a creamy flannel nightgown, its full sleeves and snowy length more suited to the cover of a gothic romance than this cozy, simple room. Morgana slid to her feet to greet her and stretched out her arms in a welcome that wasn’t, technically, hers to give; nonetheless, Gwen seemed to have no compunctions about stepping closer and linking her arms around Morgana’s shoulders.
“You found the candles,” Gwen murmured as Morgana’s right hand settled against the small of her back.
“Yes,” Morgana confirmed pointlessly, resting her other hand against Gwen’s shoulder. She could feel the anxiety in Gwen’s muscles through the cloth, see it on her face as she bit her lip.
“I - I mean, you probably know what - what I was thinking, I mean, it’s pretty obvious, and I’ve been thinking for a while that you wanted to, you know, be with me, and I know I’ve been wanting it for ages, but I guess I’m probably doing this all wrong, I should have talked to you about it earlier and everything, but - I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, we can just -”
“Gwen, Gwen, of course I want to,” Morgana broke into the panic. “Of course I want to. As long as you’re sure, I want to.” The smile breaking across Gwen’s face was the most beautiful thing Morgana had ever seen - relief, and excitement, and pleasure, and love. She was glorious. “Unless you think we should talk about what it means to us, first?” she asked, shifting her voice deliberately to teasing. It wasn’t hard to do.
A little bit of impishness spilled into the mixture of emotion in Gwen’s smile. “That we love each other. Right?”
And just like that all anxiousness and playfulness melted in the warmth of her face. “Right, of course. I love you.” Morgana leaned in and kissed her tenderly, slowly, and started flicking the buttons of her nightgown open. She could feel Gwen’s heart fluttering against her palm; she slid her hand sideways and down. Semi-familiar, this part, but the promise that they wouldn’t stop made it all feel new. And besides, the warmth of Gwen’s breast under her hand, Gwen breaking the kiss to gasp almost inaudibly and exhale very, very slowly - it never grew old. Morgana ran her lips along Gwen’s collarbone, licking lightly along the clean skin; every flicker of her tongue made Gwen’s hands twitch on her back as she fumbled with the zipper of Morgana’s nightgown. After a few moments Morgana focused the efforts of her tongue on one spot, right by the base of Gwen’s throat, and felt as much as heard Gwen inhale every molecule of air in the room.
Everything simply hovered right there, both of them frozen with Gwen’s head thrown back and Morgana’s hand on her skin and mouth on her neck, and then Gwen found Morgana’s zipper and pulled it straight down her back with one smooth motion. She dug her fingers into the base of Morgana’s spine, massaging the muscles as Morgana’s nightgown collapsed, straps slipping off of her shoulders and leaving her bare. Morgana half-fell backwards onto the bed, pulling Gwen with her, close to her, kissing her throat and breasts and shoulders and her lips, always her lips. They got tangled up in each other in a mess of legs and hands and sheets as they tried to fit themselves into the bed and divest each other of their nightgowns simultaneously, but the clumsiness of that part didn’t matter because they had all of each other to touch and feel, soft and warm and desperately close underneath their fingertips. Better than anything Morgana had ever planned or imagined.