ficlet: Untameable
Mar. 5th, 2012 11:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leashy_bebesTitle: Untameable
Pairing: Gwen/Leon
Rating: NC-17 (although it's not amaaazingly explicit, and could probably pass for a hard R. Maybe?)
Summary: It's the most dangerous place in the world to be, but she feels safe in his arms.
Content notes: Future fic, infidelity. Written as a comment-fill on KMM here because an anon typo'd about the 'Gwen/Leon' arc and I had this half written already.
Word Count: 775
(Gwen is no fool. She hears the silences when she walks into a room, the gossip cut short.)
His broad hands span her waist, pulling her in tight and she reaches up and up, her hands over his chest, to his shoulders, hanging on. He kisses her then, desperate possession. It's like falling, every single time. His arms close around her, drawing her up onto her toes and he's still leaning down, their mouths clinging. It's the most dangerous place in the world to be, but she feels safe in his arms. Untouchable, save by him.
(She sees doubt on the faces of those who know her best.)
She reaches down, feels the hard length of him straining against her hand. His eyes drift closed and his head drops. Gwen feels the same sharp-edged flutter as always. He wants her, enough to risk it all. His hands move, tracing her figure, and it's so different from the way it used to feel, when they were so much younger, when only simple servant's garb separated his large, capable hands from her skin. Now his fingers crumple silk to bring her closer until her hand is pressed tight between them, until she can feel the heat of him. She says his name and he kisses it off her lips.
"Let me," he tells her. And then a plea. "Let me."
She nods and catches her lip between her teeth, curling her fingers to hear him groan.
(She feels the stares whenever she and Lancelot laugh together.)
"My love," he murmurs, kissing his way up her thigh, broad shoulders pushing her legs wider. Gwen laughs breathlessly and touches his hair, shifting, inching closer to him. "Darling." He nuzzles higher, up where her skin is hot and damp. Gwen's breath catches in her throat and she curls her fingers into his shirt, over his shoulder. His lips part against her skin and she feels hot-cool-hot-cool as he breathes. He kisses the crease at the top of her thigh, tongues her skin and asks, "May I taste you?"
(The only reason she isn't terrified is because they are all so wrong.)
Gwen curses her skirts and helps him lift them higher, her fingers slipping through his on the rich material. His mouth knows her, lights her up, and she wants to see want to see herself spread open for him, to see him at work between her legs. His tongue is hot, agile, alternating between broad, flat strokes and sharp jabs that make her legs tremble. The fingers of his free hand curl into her thigh and if it's too much, if he bruises her – But it's too good to care and when he lifts his head, face flushed, lips wet, all she can do is tell him not to stop.
(Lancelot is Arthur's man, through and through, but the same cannot be said for all of them.)
When he lifts her into his lap she is still clumsy and uncoordinated with pleasure, her limbs heavy, thoroughly taken apart by his fingers, his mouth. Her fine dress is a puddle of red silk on the floor, her plain white shift rucked high up her thighs. His hand cups her right breast through the soft linen, thumb circling, while his mouth finds her left, tongue wetting the material and making her gasp. She rocks her hips impatiently and he lifts her easily, so easily. As he guides himself into her, she lets her head fall back on her shoulders, a shuddering moan escaping.
(Which is not to say that she doesn't feel guilty, or is unaware of the depths of her betrayal.)
He takes her slowly at first, guiding her in smooth little motions, as though he wants to pretend they have all the time they could ever want. She presses kisses to his face, squirms to make him tighten his grip on her, and wills the fantasy to last. It shatters though, when he presses his face to her throat and breathes desperately, his hips shuddering upward as he pulls her down. One moment brings it home and she can see his guilt, the conflict that boils in him every day. She squeezes herself around him as she rides him faster now. He has one hand on the small of her back, the other cupped around the back of her neck. His body is hard, solid as she trembles above him, drops her head to whisper in his ear,
"Leon, Leon, I love you, I love – "
(But love, fierce uncomplicated love, wild untameable love, passionate terrifying love, they make it worth it, even if they can never make it right.)
Pairing: Gwen/Leon
Rating: NC-17 (although it's not amaaazingly explicit, and could probably pass for a hard R. Maybe?)
Summary: It's the most dangerous place in the world to be, but she feels safe in his arms.
Content notes: Future fic, infidelity. Written as a comment-fill on KMM here because an anon typo'd about the 'Gwen/Leon' arc and I had this half written already.
Word Count: 775
(Gwen is no fool. She hears the silences when she walks into a room, the gossip cut short.)
His broad hands span her waist, pulling her in tight and she reaches up and up, her hands over his chest, to his shoulders, hanging on. He kisses her then, desperate possession. It's like falling, every single time. His arms close around her, drawing her up onto her toes and he's still leaning down, their mouths clinging. It's the most dangerous place in the world to be, but she feels safe in his arms. Untouchable, save by him.
(She sees doubt on the faces of those who know her best.)
She reaches down, feels the hard length of him straining against her hand. His eyes drift closed and his head drops. Gwen feels the same sharp-edged flutter as always. He wants her, enough to risk it all. His hands move, tracing her figure, and it's so different from the way it used to feel, when they were so much younger, when only simple servant's garb separated his large, capable hands from her skin. Now his fingers crumple silk to bring her closer until her hand is pressed tight between them, until she can feel the heat of him. She says his name and he kisses it off her lips.
"Let me," he tells her. And then a plea. "Let me."
She nods and catches her lip between her teeth, curling her fingers to hear him groan.
(She feels the stares whenever she and Lancelot laugh together.)
"My love," he murmurs, kissing his way up her thigh, broad shoulders pushing her legs wider. Gwen laughs breathlessly and touches his hair, shifting, inching closer to him. "Darling." He nuzzles higher, up where her skin is hot and damp. Gwen's breath catches in her throat and she curls her fingers into his shirt, over his shoulder. His lips part against her skin and she feels hot-cool-hot-cool as he breathes. He kisses the crease at the top of her thigh, tongues her skin and asks, "May I taste you?"
(The only reason she isn't terrified is because they are all so wrong.)
Gwen curses her skirts and helps him lift them higher, her fingers slipping through his on the rich material. His mouth knows her, lights her up, and she wants to see want to see herself spread open for him, to see him at work between her legs. His tongue is hot, agile, alternating between broad, flat strokes and sharp jabs that make her legs tremble. The fingers of his free hand curl into her thigh and if it's too much, if he bruises her – But it's too good to care and when he lifts his head, face flushed, lips wet, all she can do is tell him not to stop.
(Lancelot is Arthur's man, through and through, but the same cannot be said for all of them.)
When he lifts her into his lap she is still clumsy and uncoordinated with pleasure, her limbs heavy, thoroughly taken apart by his fingers, his mouth. Her fine dress is a puddle of red silk on the floor, her plain white shift rucked high up her thighs. His hand cups her right breast through the soft linen, thumb circling, while his mouth finds her left, tongue wetting the material and making her gasp. She rocks her hips impatiently and he lifts her easily, so easily. As he guides himself into her, she lets her head fall back on her shoulders, a shuddering moan escaping.
(Which is not to say that she doesn't feel guilty, or is unaware of the depths of her betrayal.)
He takes her slowly at first, guiding her in smooth little motions, as though he wants to pretend they have all the time they could ever want. She presses kisses to his face, squirms to make him tighten his grip on her, and wills the fantasy to last. It shatters though, when he presses his face to her throat and breathes desperately, his hips shuddering upward as he pulls her down. One moment brings it home and she can see his guilt, the conflict that boils in him every day. She squeezes herself around him as she rides him faster now. He has one hand on the small of her back, the other cupped around the back of her neck. His body is hard, solid as she trembles above him, drops her head to whisper in his ear,
"Leon, Leon, I love you, I love – "
(But love, fierce uncomplicated love, wild untameable love, passionate terrifying love, they make it worth it, even if they can never make it right.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-03-05 03:20 pm (UTC)I like that while reading it, it could've played out as Lancelot.
This was a really good take on the Gwen's part in the myth.
I have to read slash now
no subject
Date: 2012-03-05 10:44 pm (UTC)*shoos you off to find some slash*
no subject
Date: 2012-03-05 07:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-05 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-06 09:44 am (UTC)and did I mention how hot it was? HOW FREAKING OFF THE CHARTS HOT!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-06 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-06 01:11 pm (UTC)And hngh, sexy Leon, which you know always warms my, erm, heart. Yeah, heart.
no subject
Date: 2012-03-06 11:17 pm (UTC)Ahahahaha. He warms my quote-unquote heart as well ;)