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het_reccersFandom Category: Merlin
Pairing: Morgana/Arthur
Fic Title: Morgana, the Vampire Slayer
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
irony_rocks
Link: Morgana, the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warning(s): PG-13
Genre: crossover, AU
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: Into every generation, a slayer is born. Five years in the life of Morgana, the vampire slayer. This is almost freakishly good, because the crossover is seamless. The journey of Morgana as she discovers her destiny as the slayer, her fight with it and her duties, is written perfectly in-character. Merlin, Gwen and especially Arthur have great roles. There's comedy, romance, angst, action - pretty much everything.
Arthur proves to be particularly distracting on patrol.
She has no idea what Merlin intended when he insisted this, but Morgana’s slaying is cut short when… well, at some point Arthur kisses her, then kisses her again, and then there’s hands involved, and the journey back to the castle seems eternal. It's only due to Morgana's intervention that Arthur doesn’t start ravishing her in the middle of the hallway.
He pins her against his door, and neither has the mind to lock or bar it, unwilling to lose contact for even a second. His hands are everywhere and his mouth is demanding and aggressive, and when Arthur draws them toward his bed, she goes willingly. She moves to straddle his lap, and Arthur holds her hips, steadying Morgana while she places open-mouth kisses up along the column of his neck.
She’s captivated by the way he swallows a moan, how the moon highlights the strong line of his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple. She runs her tongue across the spot where his pulse beats, and he groans, abruptly rolling them so they tumble across the expanse of his large bed. Arthur’s weight lands on top of her, strong and heavy, his kisses heady, and he tastes of sweat and salt and battle.
He sinks his hands in the curves of her body, hiking her up underneath him so he can bury his face in her hair. Their clothes are disheveled and a wreck, and Morgana wants desperately to strip him of his clothing until he is defenseless and naked against her. Arthur winds a hand in her hair and wrenches her head back so he can suck at her throat. She whimpers and he loosens his grasp instantly, but she doesn’t want him to be careful.
They should slow down. They should stop. Both have come to the difficult decision of waiting until their wedding night, but in these reckless moments of pure want, Morgana can’t bring herself to halt. She wants this, and so does he. Their wedding is still nearly a year away, and she curses the wait, because he is hers and she can’t have him yet.
She can feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she trails her hand down and brushes her palm over the bulge. “Morgana,” he groans in a warning.
She pulls his arms down and presses her forehead against his, catching her breath. “Arthur… I want…”
His breathing is so hard and delicious against her lips, and it feels intoxicating. “You want what?” he coaxes lowly, the tone breathless and ragged but trying so desperately for control. “Morgana?”
She can hear his unvoiced plea so clearly.
Morgana kisses him again, because he’s too close and it feels wrong not to. She doesn’t mean to make that her answer, but Arthur takes it as one, renewing his kisses and exploration with abandon. Her body more than her mind decides, yes, she doesn’t care anymore. Arthur is her husband in anything but name. He stops her when she reaches to remove her dress, taking over and then floundering, uncertain where the hidden clasp is; she has to guide his fingers.
An abrupt knock at the door pulls them to a sudden stop. “Price Arthur?” a guard calls through the heavy oak door. “Your father calls you for an urgent morning meeting with the knights.”
They look to the window, shocked to discover the sun rising. Arthur curses under his breath.
It is almost painful when Morgana pulls away from him, fixing the folds of her dress. Arthur presses a kiss to her mouth, groaning against her lips in a way that leaves Morgana almost whimpering, then forces himself to pull away. She watches him put his clothes back in order, then he leaves but she does not abandon his chambers until several minutes later, taking a long pause to pull herself together.
“You look a mess,” Gwen says, assessing the state of Morgana’s clothes when she walks through her chamber doors. “Rough and tumble last night?”
Morgana diverts her gaze. “Something like that.”
Pairing: Morgana/Arthur
Fic Title: Morgana, the Vampire Slayer
Author:
irony_rocksLink: Morgana, the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warning(s): PG-13
Genre: crossover, AU
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: Into every generation, a slayer is born. Five years in the life of Morgana, the vampire slayer. This is almost freakishly good, because the crossover is seamless. The journey of Morgana as she discovers her destiny as the slayer, her fight with it and her duties, is written perfectly in-character. Merlin, Gwen and especially Arthur have great roles. There's comedy, romance, angst, action - pretty much everything.
Arthur proves to be particularly distracting on patrol.
She has no idea what Merlin intended when he insisted this, but Morgana’s slaying is cut short when… well, at some point Arthur kisses her, then kisses her again, and then there’s hands involved, and the journey back to the castle seems eternal. It's only due to Morgana's intervention that Arthur doesn’t start ravishing her in the middle of the hallway.
He pins her against his door, and neither has the mind to lock or bar it, unwilling to lose contact for even a second. His hands are everywhere and his mouth is demanding and aggressive, and when Arthur draws them toward his bed, she goes willingly. She moves to straddle his lap, and Arthur holds her hips, steadying Morgana while she places open-mouth kisses up along the column of his neck.
She’s captivated by the way he swallows a moan, how the moon highlights the strong line of his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple. She runs her tongue across the spot where his pulse beats, and he groans, abruptly rolling them so they tumble across the expanse of his large bed. Arthur’s weight lands on top of her, strong and heavy, his kisses heady, and he tastes of sweat and salt and battle.
He sinks his hands in the curves of her body, hiking her up underneath him so he can bury his face in her hair. Their clothes are disheveled and a wreck, and Morgana wants desperately to strip him of his clothing until he is defenseless and naked against her. Arthur winds a hand in her hair and wrenches her head back so he can suck at her throat. She whimpers and he loosens his grasp instantly, but she doesn’t want him to be careful.
They should slow down. They should stop. Both have come to the difficult decision of waiting until their wedding night, but in these reckless moments of pure want, Morgana can’t bring herself to halt. She wants this, and so does he. Their wedding is still nearly a year away, and she curses the wait, because he is hers and she can’t have him yet.
She can feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she trails her hand down and brushes her palm over the bulge. “Morgana,” he groans in a warning.
She pulls his arms down and presses her forehead against his, catching her breath. “Arthur… I want…”
His breathing is so hard and delicious against her lips, and it feels intoxicating. “You want what?” he coaxes lowly, the tone breathless and ragged but trying so desperately for control. “Morgana?”
She can hear his unvoiced plea so clearly.
Morgana kisses him again, because he’s too close and it feels wrong not to. She doesn’t mean to make that her answer, but Arthur takes it as one, renewing his kisses and exploration with abandon. Her body more than her mind decides, yes, she doesn’t care anymore. Arthur is her husband in anything but name. He stops her when she reaches to remove her dress, taking over and then floundering, uncertain where the hidden clasp is; she has to guide his fingers.
An abrupt knock at the door pulls them to a sudden stop. “Price Arthur?” a guard calls through the heavy oak door. “Your father calls you for an urgent morning meeting with the knights.”
They look to the window, shocked to discover the sun rising. Arthur curses under his breath.
It is almost painful when Morgana pulls away from him, fixing the folds of her dress. Arthur presses a kiss to her mouth, groaning against her lips in a way that leaves Morgana almost whimpering, then forces himself to pull away. She watches him put his clothes back in order, then he leaves but she does not abandon his chambers until several minutes later, taking a long pause to pull herself together.
“You look a mess,” Gwen says, assessing the state of Morgana’s clothes when she walks through her chamber doors. “Rough and tumble last night?”
Morgana diverts her gaze. “Something like that.”
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