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She smiles as she remembers forgiving Merlin for poisoning her, how the look of pain disappeared from his face, to be changed into some kind of elation. Morgause has taught her well, Morgana thinks as she brushes her hair. She plays the role of the king's loving ward to perfection, whilst biding her time and plotting against him in secret.
Looking into her reflection in the mirror she sees a woman who knows how to use her gifts, all of her gifts, not just her magic, but her beauty, her charm. Morgause has perfected what had only been a half-formed girl. She'ss a mighty weapon now, a blade forged with the specific purpose of piercing into Uther's heart.
Merlin is her only problem, because he knows about the enchantment, knows that sh's the one who placed the mandrake under Uther's bed. She'll have to make sure he keeps the secret.
She adds a little more red to her lips, too much really, but men tend to find that attractive. Morgana takes one last look at the mirror. She's wearing a dress Uther has expressly forbidden her to wear, blood red velvet with a tight, embroidered bodice. Her breasts looks as if they might spill out, her nipples only just hidden from view. The sleeves are long and flowing, but leaves her shoulders and a large part of her back exposed. She leaves the large mass of her hair unbraided and unadorned. With her red cloak on she looks like a royal whore. Expensive, but available.
Hurrying through the castle, her heels echoing in the empty corridors, she feels strangely aroused. How Morgause will laugh, how they will both laugh when this is over! And then she reaches the empty chamber in which she'll meet Merlin, and she has to compose herself. She opens the door and sashays in, tall and imperial and unhurried.
Merlin is already there. He justs stands there, in the shadows, against the wall.
"What do you want from me, Morgana?" The notes of guilt and fear she recognises, but the hint of challenge is unexpected and something to be treasured. It means he might try to put up a fight.
"First I want some light." She makes her voice icy and aloof, every inch the king's ward. She hears him light a candle, and suddenly she sees his face. It's a good face, as far as faces go. Young, earnest, brave in all its innocence.
She supposes that some girls find him handsome, although she herself has hardly looked at him in that way before. He used to be her friend, like a little brother, almost. But she sees that he's grown. This last year has made him lose what little puppy fat he had to begin with, and now he's thin as a rake. His face is pale and smooth, with high cheekbones, a mouth any woman would kill for and blue eyes under dark eyebrows. His hair is short and dark, with pale ears sticking out. Those ears should be comical, but there's something about them, something enticing. He's taller than her, and when they're this close, he seems to loom over her.
"Light the other candles as well." He looks at her as if it is a strange request, but she ignores him. So he uses his candle to light the others, all of them.
This is a guest chamber that's been empty for months, in a less busy part of the castle. She's managed to prepare it for this meeting, ensuring she's got everything she needs. There are a few chairs, an armoire and a sumptuous four poster bed, draped in red. There is a large silver mirror opposite the bed. She has adorned the room with expensive wax candles, which fill the room with their sweet smell and soft light as they burn.
Merlin comes back to her, crossing his arms over his chest. She takes off her cloak, lets it glide slowly off her shoulders. Merlin looks at her, blushing a little, trying to be brave. Afraid and aroused, that's just what she wants. She gives him the cloak, brushing her hand past his as she does so. He puts the cloak on a chair.
She smiles wickedly at him. "Do you think you'll live to see another sunrise?"
He shudders. "I don't know. It's up to you, I guess."
"Are you afraid of dying?"
"No. Not for my own sake." He looks at her, surprisingly steady.
"Are you afraid I'll hurt you? Just like you hurt me?"
"Yes."
She pulls closer. She can almost taste the tension in the air. She feeds on it, feels power streaming through her veins.
"How dare you think you can spoil my plans, Merlin? How dare you come in my way? You're nothing. Less than nothing. You're worthless."
"And yet you've spent all that time making yourself pretty for me." There's laughter in his voice, and defiance. She slaps his face, just hard enough to make her point. She likes that he's feisty.
"So I have, Merlin. Don't you want a pretty face to be the last thing you see in this miserable world? Wouldn't that be a great way to go?"
"I would prefer the last faces I see to be those of my great grandchildren, as I die in my bed of old age."
He's trembling slightly. She can feel heat radiate from him, blood rushing to his fair skin, making him blush. She keeps herself cool, controlling even the rate of her heartbeats. She smiles at him, trails an icy hand along his overheated cheek. His face becomes a study in contrasting feelings: repulsion and lust.
"You won't tell anyone about the mandrake. You won't tell anyone about this."
"Why would I? No one would believe me. There's no need for this."
"And you won't try to spoil my plans."
"I can't promise that."
"Maybe I'll manage to convince you."
"By seducing me?" He sounds incredulous.
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Do you really think that you're worthy of me?" The smell of the candles and the closeness of him is affecting her, and she suddenly knows that none of them will escape unharmed. The thought disappears as soon as it came, and she continues to play the game.
"Would you rather have Arthur?" Merlin tries to sound mocking, but she can hear the sincerity in his tone.
"Maybe you would rather have Arthur?" she retorts, not acknowledging his question.
"Maybe he would be less dangerous."
She chuckles; a deep, throaty sound. "I don't know. But dying at my hand would be more pleasurable."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Merlin whispers.
The nervous energy that surrounds him pulls her closer. She wonders what it is, the prickling sensation that emanates from him. It fascinates her, and drags her to him like a moth to a flame. She craves his submission, needs to hurt him, needs him to hurt her. They must touch, or they'll never leave this chamber, she thinks.
It's Merlin who moves first. He holds her gaze and slowly lifts his hand. He gently touches her hair, just above her left shoulder. He smiles, and she can't help but smile back, despite everything that's happened between them. There's something so open and endearing about the boy, no wonder everyone likes him. She reaches for his neckerchief and removes it. He looks naked without it, his long white neck exposed for her pleasure.
She can see the pulse beat rapidly in his jugular. It's easy to move in now, snaking an arm languidly round his waist, pressing her lips against his breastbone through the thin linen of his shirt. He gasps, words finally failing him. Her free hand slides up over his chest to stroke at his collarbone until he catches her hand in his.
"Morgana... We can't. What if someone finds us?" his voice is strained.
"Are you afraid, Merlin? Afraid of what the king would do to anyone found despoiling his ward?"
"Oh, gods. He would kill me."
"I could make it worth it." She takes his hand and place it over her breasts. When he actually tries to remove his hand, she almost admires his strength of character. Almost. She keeps his hand there, and eventually he gives up. He lets his gaze fall, from her eyes to her generous décolletage. He trails his index finger slowly in the cleft between her breasts. It makes her gasp a little.
She lifts his other hand and let it join the first one. He looks up to meet her eyes again. His pupils have dilated, his lips are red and moist and slightly parted. She might have dressed the part, she thinks, it's he who has the face of an expensive whore.
Slowly, as if they're dancing, she moves away from him. When she reaches the bed she turns around.
"Come." She whispers it so silently she might only have been mouthing the word.
He shudders, and walks towards her, awkwardly. His eyes burn into her. When he gets to her he stands there, almost swaying, not knowing what to do. She puts her hand to his chest and pushes him to sit on the bed.
"Tonight you'll die in my arms."
She sinks into his lap, running her hands over his back and shoulders. To her surprise he's not as skinny as she thought. There is some muscle in his body, after all. His lips are so close to hers now. His breath is warm and strangely odourless, like vapour.
"Touch me," she says. "I need you to touch me."
And he obeys. He lifts her right hand, traces her jaw, aligns his head and kisses her. It's a surprisingly gentle kiss at first. He sighs, helplessly, and soon his hands are stroking her. She starts rocking against him, grinding her body against his erection. It's big, and somehow it's strange that it should be there, she has never given much thought to that part of him before. She presses closer to him, pushing her hungry tongue into the wet heat of his mouth. Her hands are trailing under his shirt now, feasting on his smooth, pale skin.
He's losing control, trailing kisses on her jaw, on her neck, along her collarbones and shoulders. He's sucking her, biting her, while he holds the coil of her hair in his hands. She moans with the sensations, and bends backwards, exposing herself to him. Suddenly he freezes a little, and she realises that he must have caught sight of them in the mirror.
She laughs. "Do you like to watch, Merlin? Like to see yourself with me?"
He stares at their reflection, looking both ashamed and excited. "Yes," he says eventually.
She smiles at him, bites her lower lip seductively. She stands up again, and sits down in his lap again, this time facing the mirror. They look like a painting, she thinks, as they're both frozen, staring at their own selves.
His face looks fevered, shining, impossibly darkened eyes, cheeks flushed, lips stained with the red of her lips. He's leaning over her, both hunter and prey. The faded blue of his shirt is visible behind her, one of his shoulders almost exposed. But it is she, in his arms, who dominates the scene. Her full red skirts flows over both of them, obscuring his legs. Her face is turned slightly to the left, away from his face, exposing her white neck and the upper parts of her breasts. His hand rests on her shoulder, possessively. Her face is shadowed by the coils of her hair, but there is a hint of dark lashes over veiled eyes, and red lips swollen by kisses.
She moans a little, breaking their reverie, and puts his hands to her breasts as she cranes her neck to let him kiss her again. He digs her hands into her bodice, strokes and pinches her nipples. He pushes the bodice downwards, and let her breasts fall out. Her breasts have always been sensitive to touch, and seeing the spectacle of him kissing and touching her makes her tremble with lust. Her breasts are large; creamy white with pink nipples the size of thimbles. He's also looking at the mirror now, squeezing and caressing her breasts. She needs more, and she stands up again, sits down on the bed again and makes him face her.
"Suck them."
She lays down on the bed, and soon he's over her, burying his hot face between her breasts, covering them with kisses, licking and sucking and biting. Bruising her, leaving his marks on her.
"Harder"
He looks up at her, then goes down again. He puts his lips around her right nipple, sucking it hungrily. She cries out, and he bites it, making her buck up against her. He squeezes the other nipple between his thumb and index finger, twisting it. He's starting to rub against her, his cock eager and twitching. Eventually he moves his lips to the other breast, licking it teasingly, tracing his tongue closer and closer to her nipple. She grabs his hair and pushes him down, holds him to her. And he starts to suck her in earnest, like he's drinking from her. Her nipple feels sore and swollen and wonderful. She moans, not caring if anyone hears her. And then he stops, presses his hands to her breasts, holding them together, trying to cover both breasts with his mouth, trailing his tongue between them, rubbing her nipples with his thumbs.
"Oh, yes," she whispers. "Oh god, yes. Lick between the tits Merlin, make it nice and slippery."
He's almost beyond surprise, and only nods. When she feels she's wet enough she stops him.
"Your cock, it needs to go here."
He looks at her, his gaze scorchingly hot. He scrambles up, pulls off his clothes quickly and straddles her. She can't help but smile. His body is mouthwatering. Thin and graceful, just enough muscles to make him look athletic, but not enough to make him look all hulking and gross. His skin is soft and unblemished, a light scatter of dark hairs on his chest, a subtle line of hairs from his navel down to the hair in his groin. And then she stares at his cock. It's long and thick, and at the moment it's standing against his taut stomach. She gets hold of it and pulls him closer, licks the swollen head.
He moans desperately, and she remembers how shortly an untrained boy lasts without some help. She uses one of the spells Morgause has told her, one that applies a pressure to the base of the penis. He will not come until she lets him. He gasps as he feels her magic.
"I didn't even know such spells existed," he somehow manages to say.
"There's much you don't know, Merlin," she replies before continuing her exploration of his shaft. She treasures the taste of his precome and the sound of his frantic breathing. She grabs his buttocks - soft, white, perfectly shaped - which makes him moan and pant. She trails her fingers into his cleft, and he arches into her touch with a gasp. She pushes him away a little.
"God, Merlin, you're such a whore. Such a shameless little thing. I wonder what Arthur would say if he saw you."
Merlin swallows, looks shamefaced.
"I want you to fuck my tits now."
"You want me to what?"
She smiles and puts his cock between her breasts, then presses them together.
"Now move."
He makes a gurgling sound, as if he's drowning, then starts to move. He leans over her and takes hold of the headboard as he slams herself between the soft globes of her breasts. She pushes them together while at the same time pressing her nipples between her fingers and the palms of her hands. It hurts, and it's so good. She feels her tits tingle. They feel heavy and sore and glorious.
"Please, let me come, Morgana! I need to come!" his voice is hoarse and pitiful. And eventually he lets him.
"Oh, gods," he moans as he spurts her seed on her neck and in her face. He slumps, falls back, and remains straddled over her. His hair is sweaty and disheveled, and there's an almost ecstatic look in his face. He pumps his shaft a last time, and a few drops land on her breasts. There is white fluid pooled in the hollow of her throat, and he worries it with his hand, spreading it downwards, rubbing it into her tender breasts. The seed on her face he simply wipes into her mouth, and she lets him, hungrily licking his fingers.
He looks tired and solemn as he sits down besides her.
She's still aroused, and while he looks at her she pulls up her skirts and starts touching herself. She holds his gaze as she rubs her fingers over her clit and dips into her wet hole. It's arousing, having him looking at her, and eventually she stuffs herself with three fingers of one hand and rubs her clit with the other hand. Before long she's climaxing. And then she just lies there, too tired to do anything. She turns her head briefly, looking to the mirror.
The scene is more debauched now. He sits naked in the background, folded, resting his weary head on his pulled up knees. His body is flushed, his pale skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. She lies sprawled, her hair loose on the pillows. Her bodice is obscenely pulled down, exposing her swollen, tortured breasts. Her skirts are pulled up, massed around her parted legs, her sex open between dark curls. One of her hands lie below her head, the other is still on her thigh. Her face is turned toward the mirror. She looks tired, her body a glorious mess of post-coital bliss.
Eventually Merlin moves, reaches for his clothes, start to dress. She feels extremely languid, doesn't even have the energy to cover herself up. He gets out of the bed, about to leave.
"Leaving so soon?"
"You know I have to go."
He turns and looks at her, and she can see his arousal. He bends down, and for a moment she thinks he will throw himself on her and fuck her. But he simply gives each of her breasts a kiss.
"I hate you, but right now you're still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
There's genuine pain in his voice, and he hurries to the door. She lies there for a few minutes after his steps have faded away in the corridor, feeling her breasts. They will be so sore tomorrow, each brush of her clothes will remind her of this. Then she turns to the mirror again. She casts a spell, and suddenly she sees Morgause reclining in a bed, a devilish smile playing on her lips.
"Sister," Morgause's voice is rich and sultry.
Morgana laughs. "Sister dear, was it as good for you as it was for me?"
"It was. You're quite the performer. Now tell me, what do you want me to do to Cenred the next time?"