lady_ragnell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lady_ragnell) wrote2012-12-17 05:35 pm
lady_ragnell) wrote2012-12-17 05:35 pm
Entry tags:
Pink and Black and Blue (for You)
Title: Pink and Black and Blue (for You)
Wordcount: ~1600
Warnings: This fic is about negotiating a relationship of which BDSM is a part, and includes D/s, flogging, rough sex, some references to bondage, and one brief scene where Morgana goes farther than she means to (with Gwen's understanding and no objection, and with apologies afterwards).
Summary: Gwen and Morgana slowly negotiate themselves towards something they both want.
A/N: Written because of 5x06 and for the Gluttonous Pornficlet Reunion a few weeks ago. The title is from "Bruises," by Chairlift.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
“I’ll start you off easy.”
Morgana’s voice is warm and soothing, incongruously fond, like they’re just chatting over breakfast. She’s somewhere behind Gwen, heels clicking gently on the floor, but Gwen doesn’t turn around. She keeps her breath steady, her knees planted right where they are. “Yes.”
Suddenly, Morgana is right behind her, hand in Gwen’s hair and pulling just enough for it to sting. Gwen holds back her gasp. “Yes what?”
Gwen swallows. “Yes—my lady.”
Morgana’s hand is cold when she scrapes her nails down Gwen’s back. “Good girl.”
*
Sometimes, Gwen’s not altogether sure Morgana isn’t someone just conjured out of her secret fantasies. She was the unattainable queen of their school before she graduated a few years before Gwen, and now she’s the business executive who keeps coming back to Gwen’s little café, dark suits and red lipstick sticking out among the students who mostly frequent it. She’s so beautiful it’s unreal and Gwen can never quite believe that she likes Gwen, wants to spend time with her, wants to kiss her and—other things. The other parts of the fantasy that never quite fit in with the flowery romance novels Gwen reads but that she wants anyway.
The first few times Morgana took Gwen out, the kisses at the end of the night were almost chaste, and Gwen would have been happy with anything, but she still felt like Morgana was holding back, like there was more Gwen could give her that she didn’t know how to articulate but still wanted. So she pushed harder, after a few dates, and got pressed against a wall, got a vicious bite to redden her lip before Morgana pulled back and apologized and Gwen blurted “No, don’t, I—liked it.”
And Morgana’s face went quiet and thoughtful and then, so gently, she took Gwen’s hair and pulled, forcing her head back until she was baring her throat, breathing unsteady as every impossible fantasy she’d had about Morgana since she was sixteen started to come true. “I see,” said Morgana, and when Gwen looked she was smiling.
*
“Tell me your safeword,” prompts Morgana.
It’s right on Gwen’s tongue, even though she’s not sure she’s thinking anymore, not with a silk scarf over her eyes and her hands clasped behind her back and Morgana’s clever, soft hands on every inch of her skin. “Camelot.” The secondary school they both attended, easy to remember.
“That’s good, Gwen. I’m going to hurt you now. Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lady,” says Gwen, and gasps as the flogger comes down.
*
Morgana took it so slow, even after she was sure Gwen wanted it just as much as she did—and went even slower once Gwen admitted that other than some light bondage with Isolde none of her girlfriends had ever been into the scene. And Gwen knew it was the smart thing, but when she was so close to having what she wanted she couldn’t help reaching for it, jumping to Morgana’s every whim whenever they kissed or had sex, struggling against her to make it rough. Sometimes Morgana would snap just a little, just enough to give her a sharp spank before she remembered herself, but she would always stop, and leave Gwen wanting more.
Even after everything was negotiated, limits and desires and needs and equipment, Morgana kept it slow. She took control, but she never hurt Gwen, just oh-so-gently tried one small new thing whenever they had sex—a blindfold, a set of flimsy handcuffs, a bite that left a bruise for Gwen to finger the next morning, a sharp order.
“You can go harder,” Gwen said over breakfast one morning, pouring the juice while Morgana made omelets.
Morgana smiled, slow and wicked. “I know that. I can do whatever I want. And what I want right now is to train you, make sure you’re ready when I decide to hurt you.”
*
Everything is a haze of pain, singing skin and forming bruises that feel as if they must go bone-deep even though Gwen knows Morgana is going easy on her. Gwen’s mind is melting in pleasure, in feeling the sting of every inch of her and hearing Morgana calmly counting off strokes. Maybe it’s been ten, maybe it’s been fifty—Gwen lost count sometime around “six,” the first one Morgana put any force behind—but she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t think her skin is broken, thinks the moisture dripping down between her shoulder blades is sweat and not blood, but she doesn’t know, and the uncertainty only makes it better, makes her shudder and wish there was friction to rock into. She doesn’t realize Morgana’s stopped counting until she hears her name, insistent, like Morgana had to say it more than once (and oh, that’s not good, she’s meant to answer Morgana when she checks in, that’s one of the rules). “I’m fine,” she manages. “My lady.”
Morgana laughs, maybe a little relieved. “I’m sure you are, darling, but my arm’s tired. Here, come here.” She pulls Gwen to where she wants her, until she’s kneeling at Morgana’s feet. “I think I’ll take a little break. Use your mouth, Gwen.”
Gwen doesn’t even mind losing the pain, with that reward ahead of her.
*
Once, Morgana came from dinner with her stepbrother and stepfather right to Gwen’s door, with her mouth set and her eyes wild, wearing a pretty floral sundress and looking like someone she wasn’t anymore. “I just needed to …”
Gwen welcomed her in without asking for more explanation than that, and wasn’t surprised when Morgana kissed her the second the door closed, fingers gripped bruisingly tight on her chin like she was afraid Gwen would run away. She was vicious and beautiful, and never said a word as she prodded Gwen to the bedroom and tumbled her onto her back, stripping her as she went.
When Gwen started to ask if she was okay, Morgana bit down into her shoulder, hard, and even when Gwen arched into it she froze and pulled back, a little drop of red smeared on her mouth. “Christ,” she said. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
No matter how much Gwen tried to tell her it was okay, Morgana was upset and allowed to lose control, especially when Gwen was ready, Morgana wouldn’t listen, and wouldn’t touch her like she was anything but porcelain for the next week.
*
Gwen is good with her mouth. She may be new to being a sub, may have to learn all that from Morgana, but she knows how to get on her knees and make a woman forget all her troubles. It’s an anchor in the middle of the way Morgana has her feeling, something familiar.
Morgana usually likes to be the one giving things, whether that means pleasure or pain, which Gwen thinks is a pity because she’s incredibly responsive when Gwen mouths at her, or uses her fingers, or does anything she can to make her fall apart. Sometime she thinks she’d like to be the one to tie Morgana to the bed and just do whatever she wants to her, but for now she’s content to lean into Morgana’s warmth, back stinging, and lick into her, get her off once and twice and a third time before Morgana puts her back on the bad.
“Good girl,” she says every few seconds, like she’s worried Gwen doesn’t know she likes it just as much as Gwen does. “Oh, you’re so good, my darling, just keep doing that.”
*
Negotiating the rules for their first proper scene should have made it less exciting, but somehow knowing everything Morgana was allowed and planned to do only made the anticipation worse. Sitting at Morgana’s dining room table and sipping tea, Morgana talking about floggers and restraints in a businesslike tone, was incredibly surreal, but Gwen couldn’t help imagining it every time Morgana said something new, and by the end of it she was squirming.
Morgana was already dressed for the scene, all tall leather boots and loose-laced corset, nothing Gwen had asked for but something she’d put on with a smile and Gwen’s help. Gwen didn’t need to be—she’d be naked, they agreed, though Morgana had showed her the whole drawer of pretty stockings and clothes and toys she’d laid in just for Gwen’s use since they started negotiating. Those were for later.
“Good, then,” Morgana said when Gwen finished the last dregs of her tea. “Go into the bedroom, strip, and kneel where I set the mat out. I’ll be in soon and we’ll begin.”
*
Gentleness doesn’t usually come easily to Morgana, but when the scene is finished, both of them sated and gasping, she’s sweet with Gwen. She washes every inch of her, cleans off her back even around Gwen’s squirming, whispering encouragement and praise the whole time. “No skin broken at all,” she remarks once, sounding proud of herself. “That’s for another time.”
Gwen lets herself be taken care of, just floats on the wave of endorphins and thinks dreamily of baking in the café in the morning, the delicious ache of her back reminding her of everything that’s happened to her tonight. “Thank you, my lady,” she remembers to say after a while—not something Morgana asks for, but polite nonetheless.
Morgana rewards her with a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. “You did so well, darling. I can’t wait to see how you bruise up. I’ve already got plans for you next time.”
Gwen shivers, the anticipation already rising again.
Wordcount: ~1600
Warnings: This fic is about negotiating a relationship of which BDSM is a part, and includes D/s, flogging, rough sex, some references to bondage, and one brief scene where Morgana goes farther than she means to (with Gwen's understanding and no objection, and with apologies afterwards).
Summary: Gwen and Morgana slowly negotiate themselves towards something they both want.
A/N: Written because of 5x06 and for the Gluttonous Pornficlet Reunion a few weeks ago. The title is from "Bruises," by Chairlift.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
“I’ll start you off easy.”
Morgana’s voice is warm and soothing, incongruously fond, like they’re just chatting over breakfast. She’s somewhere behind Gwen, heels clicking gently on the floor, but Gwen doesn’t turn around. She keeps her breath steady, her knees planted right where they are. “Yes.”
Suddenly, Morgana is right behind her, hand in Gwen’s hair and pulling just enough for it to sting. Gwen holds back her gasp. “Yes what?”
Gwen swallows. “Yes—my lady.”
Morgana’s hand is cold when she scrapes her nails down Gwen’s back. “Good girl.”
*
Sometimes, Gwen’s not altogether sure Morgana isn’t someone just conjured out of her secret fantasies. She was the unattainable queen of their school before she graduated a few years before Gwen, and now she’s the business executive who keeps coming back to Gwen’s little café, dark suits and red lipstick sticking out among the students who mostly frequent it. She’s so beautiful it’s unreal and Gwen can never quite believe that she likes Gwen, wants to spend time with her, wants to kiss her and—other things. The other parts of the fantasy that never quite fit in with the flowery romance novels Gwen reads but that she wants anyway.
The first few times Morgana took Gwen out, the kisses at the end of the night were almost chaste, and Gwen would have been happy with anything, but she still felt like Morgana was holding back, like there was more Gwen could give her that she didn’t know how to articulate but still wanted. So she pushed harder, after a few dates, and got pressed against a wall, got a vicious bite to redden her lip before Morgana pulled back and apologized and Gwen blurted “No, don’t, I—liked it.”
And Morgana’s face went quiet and thoughtful and then, so gently, she took Gwen’s hair and pulled, forcing her head back until she was baring her throat, breathing unsteady as every impossible fantasy she’d had about Morgana since she was sixteen started to come true. “I see,” said Morgana, and when Gwen looked she was smiling.
*
“Tell me your safeword,” prompts Morgana.
It’s right on Gwen’s tongue, even though she’s not sure she’s thinking anymore, not with a silk scarf over her eyes and her hands clasped behind her back and Morgana’s clever, soft hands on every inch of her skin. “Camelot.” The secondary school they both attended, easy to remember.
“That’s good, Gwen. I’m going to hurt you now. Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lady,” says Gwen, and gasps as the flogger comes down.
*
Morgana took it so slow, even after she was sure Gwen wanted it just as much as she did—and went even slower once Gwen admitted that other than some light bondage with Isolde none of her girlfriends had ever been into the scene. And Gwen knew it was the smart thing, but when she was so close to having what she wanted she couldn’t help reaching for it, jumping to Morgana’s every whim whenever they kissed or had sex, struggling against her to make it rough. Sometimes Morgana would snap just a little, just enough to give her a sharp spank before she remembered herself, but she would always stop, and leave Gwen wanting more.
Even after everything was negotiated, limits and desires and needs and equipment, Morgana kept it slow. She took control, but she never hurt Gwen, just oh-so-gently tried one small new thing whenever they had sex—a blindfold, a set of flimsy handcuffs, a bite that left a bruise for Gwen to finger the next morning, a sharp order.
“You can go harder,” Gwen said over breakfast one morning, pouring the juice while Morgana made omelets.
Morgana smiled, slow and wicked. “I know that. I can do whatever I want. And what I want right now is to train you, make sure you’re ready when I decide to hurt you.”
*
Everything is a haze of pain, singing skin and forming bruises that feel as if they must go bone-deep even though Gwen knows Morgana is going easy on her. Gwen’s mind is melting in pleasure, in feeling the sting of every inch of her and hearing Morgana calmly counting off strokes. Maybe it’s been ten, maybe it’s been fifty—Gwen lost count sometime around “six,” the first one Morgana put any force behind—but she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t think her skin is broken, thinks the moisture dripping down between her shoulder blades is sweat and not blood, but she doesn’t know, and the uncertainty only makes it better, makes her shudder and wish there was friction to rock into. She doesn’t realize Morgana’s stopped counting until she hears her name, insistent, like Morgana had to say it more than once (and oh, that’s not good, she’s meant to answer Morgana when she checks in, that’s one of the rules). “I’m fine,” she manages. “My lady.”
Morgana laughs, maybe a little relieved. “I’m sure you are, darling, but my arm’s tired. Here, come here.” She pulls Gwen to where she wants her, until she’s kneeling at Morgana’s feet. “I think I’ll take a little break. Use your mouth, Gwen.”
Gwen doesn’t even mind losing the pain, with that reward ahead of her.
*
Once, Morgana came from dinner with her stepbrother and stepfather right to Gwen’s door, with her mouth set and her eyes wild, wearing a pretty floral sundress and looking like someone she wasn’t anymore. “I just needed to …”
Gwen welcomed her in without asking for more explanation than that, and wasn’t surprised when Morgana kissed her the second the door closed, fingers gripped bruisingly tight on her chin like she was afraid Gwen would run away. She was vicious and beautiful, and never said a word as she prodded Gwen to the bedroom and tumbled her onto her back, stripping her as she went.
When Gwen started to ask if she was okay, Morgana bit down into her shoulder, hard, and even when Gwen arched into it she froze and pulled back, a little drop of red smeared on her mouth. “Christ,” she said. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
No matter how much Gwen tried to tell her it was okay, Morgana was upset and allowed to lose control, especially when Gwen was ready, Morgana wouldn’t listen, and wouldn’t touch her like she was anything but porcelain for the next week.
*
Gwen is good with her mouth. She may be new to being a sub, may have to learn all that from Morgana, but she knows how to get on her knees and make a woman forget all her troubles. It’s an anchor in the middle of the way Morgana has her feeling, something familiar.
Morgana usually likes to be the one giving things, whether that means pleasure or pain, which Gwen thinks is a pity because she’s incredibly responsive when Gwen mouths at her, or uses her fingers, or does anything she can to make her fall apart. Sometime she thinks she’d like to be the one to tie Morgana to the bed and just do whatever she wants to her, but for now she’s content to lean into Morgana’s warmth, back stinging, and lick into her, get her off once and twice and a third time before Morgana puts her back on the bad.
“Good girl,” she says every few seconds, like she’s worried Gwen doesn’t know she likes it just as much as Gwen does. “Oh, you’re so good, my darling, just keep doing that.”
*
Negotiating the rules for their first proper scene should have made it less exciting, but somehow knowing everything Morgana was allowed and planned to do only made the anticipation worse. Sitting at Morgana’s dining room table and sipping tea, Morgana talking about floggers and restraints in a businesslike tone, was incredibly surreal, but Gwen couldn’t help imagining it every time Morgana said something new, and by the end of it she was squirming.
Morgana was already dressed for the scene, all tall leather boots and loose-laced corset, nothing Gwen had asked for but something she’d put on with a smile and Gwen’s help. Gwen didn’t need to be—she’d be naked, they agreed, though Morgana had showed her the whole drawer of pretty stockings and clothes and toys she’d laid in just for Gwen’s use since they started negotiating. Those were for later.
“Good, then,” Morgana said when Gwen finished the last dregs of her tea. “Go into the bedroom, strip, and kneel where I set the mat out. I’ll be in soon and we’ll begin.”
*
Gentleness doesn’t usually come easily to Morgana, but when the scene is finished, both of them sated and gasping, she’s sweet with Gwen. She washes every inch of her, cleans off her back even around Gwen’s squirming, whispering encouragement and praise the whole time. “No skin broken at all,” she remarks once, sounding proud of herself. “That’s for another time.”
Gwen lets herself be taken care of, just floats on the wave of endorphins and thinks dreamily of baking in the café in the morning, the delicious ache of her back reminding her of everything that’s happened to her tonight. “Thank you, my lady,” she remembers to say after a while—not something Morgana asks for, but polite nonetheless.
Morgana rewards her with a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. “You did so well, darling. I can’t wait to see how you bruise up. I’ve already got plans for you next time.”
Gwen shivers, the anticipation already rising again.
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