"And I Would Be the Last to Let it Show..."

[psalm_onethirtyone]

So I finally finished the last book in Gerald Morris' Arthurian series. I had been getting steadily more disappointed, as the last three or four books were kind of awful, but the last one was actually really good. I mean, evil!2-D!Mordred, but I've really given up on that front. And yeah. I cried. At my client's house, stealthily, while she was napping and watching The Waltons. >_> I would say Mr. Morris has seen himself off with a pleasing dignity.

BUT now I am all sad b/c all my dumb Arthurian boys are dead, so obvs. this is your cue to ask for porn of them, as I am doing: THIS MEME (which shall be called This Meme):

01 » Submit a pairing (or threesome, or solo person) and a prompt by replying to this post.

02 » Please use the following format: fandom, pairing, prompt.

03 » I'll then reply with five* sentences of smut. [The original meme does say that you can request gen/other non-smutty things, but I'll say straight up that I'd prefer to flex my porn muscles (that was a TERRIBLE thing to say) and so would prefer that request. Having said that, y'all can of course request whatever you'd like, and I may even turn some requests into gen depending on how I feel about my ability to write the smut. Also, I guess "solo person" here refers to masturbation in the context of smut? Which I'm fine with too!] <-- so said blindmadness and julietveiled, so say I.

04 » If I can't do the prompt then I will beg for your forgiveness, and offer it up to others let you select another if you'd like.

This is not really restricted to Arthuriana. I also write Sherlock, Westmark, certain historical novels, Shakespeare, and can probably be conned into others if you remind me of what they are (when I'm done I will tag this post with the appropriate fandoms).

Comments

i will never go away

[mhari.livejournal.com]

Arthurian, Gawain/Ragnelle, windows
Arthurian, Mordred/Guenever, exhaustion
Arthurfly, Mordred/Kaylee, bronze
DF, Pyetr/Mary AU, luck
Westmark, Florian/Zara, relief

fancy that!

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

1. She always brightens under sunlight, so the windows of their rooms are always open in spring and summer, to let in the warm breezes that make her flower. She entwines herself with him like columbine on a strong trellis, and Gawain, when he touches her, strokes her thighs apart and sucks gently on her fingertips and the curl of vine that creeps down along her cheek. Ragnelle sighs and murmurs like wind in tree branches.

If anyone had told him when he was a boy that he'd be married one day to the faerie folk he heard of in tales, he might have believed it. But he'd never have imagined it would be like this, or that he'd learn to roll the bud of her nipple between his fingers until she cried out and he genuinely wondered whether it would burst into blossom before his eyes.



2. She doesn't have to wonder what they're looking for.

Mordred's face is gaunt with exhaustion, and he looks at her with fever-bright eyes as his hands trace the finely knobbed contours of her spine. Guenever can't blame him for anything these days, though it's half in gratitude that he doesn't blame her.

There's nothing left for them here, nothing except to try and find a little safety and escape. She holds him inside her as though every part of him were precious, and her heart hurts a little less when the mindlessness of coming makes the lines of his face smooth out for just a few seconds.



3. As they roll over again, playing the old game of who can pin the other down, Kaylee hears a clank and winces for her boat -- or him, she supposes, he might've hit himself too. But Jude props himself up on his arms, taking advantage of her distraction -- he's too busy looking over his shoulder at various bronzed pieces of metal to see what made the noise.

"It's all right, I kicked the wrench," he says, and buries his face in her neck.

"What's all right 'bout that?" Kaylee starts to say, but then he's kissing her too distracting to think about the wrench, and she subsides, tightening her hands in his thick black hair. "Wo cao, Jude!" to the sound of his breathless laughter.



4. She wishes she knew what to make of him. She wishes she understood his almost faerie-tale lure, his quality of being so alien to the world with which she's familiar that it's almost as if she's fallen into some outrageous novel. She's grown so used to the weight of his black-furred familiar on her shoulder, always present like some token of good luck.

But he's real, she's never doubted, and doesn't doubt now, as she moves, half-afraid to wrap her legs around him to pull him further into her, half-ashamed of her boldness and the lewdness of it; as his weathered hands pin her shoulders back and he pants against her mouth, mispronouncing her name as always, "Mary, Mary."

She presses her palms against his back -- he's so like a child, all suspicion and bravado, but she wants him anyway, and knows she's wrong to.



5. Zara swears with relief at the first thrust, not because she needed him, but because she can feel the desire behind it, because she can feel him wanting her behind all his mildness and evenness and refusal to confront it. He's spent her whole life being direct about everything but this, muting it behind kindliness and the words "my child."

"Devil take you, come on," she growls, her hands clenched on his shoulders, biting into his skin. Florian laughs shakily and pulls her close.

"Oh, my conscience--" he begins, but she scrapes her nails down his back until he arches into her, and says,--

"Not to-night I'm not."

Re: fancy that!

[mhari.livejournal.com]

:D :D :D :D :D

Mordred/Gwenhwy, test
Mordred/Zara, ghost
Lenomie/Divdan, binder
Alex/Emory, film
Phoena/Leonato, egg (WHAT.)

magic!

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

1.The first time they make love, after a dozen months of cold silence, Gwenhwyfach is almost afraid it's some sort of test. They've gone so long with little more than a few civil words between them.

Then he buries himself between her legs, murmuring her name into her shoulder. His hands skim upwards over her body from her hips to her breasts, like a bird riding the wind up into the sky.

And afterwards when he looks at her across the pillow his face is finally calm; it's the first time.



2. They're used to sleeping outdoors, so when they finally come upon an inn she demands a night in a bed, and then as soon as they're settled on the prickly straw mattress she changes her mind. He just laughs silently, to make her glare, and willingly follows her out.

They move like ghosts in the dark, especially her in her black dress, but once in the woods she takes it off quickly enough and her white skin gleams in the moonlight. He sinks back against the root-boned ground and watches her red hair fall all around him like a veil of muted fire -- but with more tangles -- and arches up against her fingernails and her thin hips.

Any place as civilised as a bed is no place for this.



3. "Where's my binder gone?"

"Forget your binder." Divdan lifts his head sleepily and Lenomie comes back to the bed to sit beside him; as soon as she's within reach his arm sneaks out, encircles her waist, and pulls her back in.

Well, Medraut won't be back to-day anyway. Lenomie slides under the covers and reaches for him, gets one hand on his dick and the other over his mouth before he gets a chance to say anything about poetry.



4. There's a film on, and they're supposed to be watching it, but Alex sure as hell isn't. Emory is sitting beside him, looking the fucking picture of gentility, with one of his graceful hands down the front of Alex's blue jeans. Alex bites his lip, trying not to writhe too obviously against his movie-theatre seat, vaguely hearing the sounds of on-screen voices and off-screen popcorn eaters.

He's resilient at first, and then Emory's fingers push him just a little too far. He half-swallows the moan, but it doesn't stop the woman behind them from a loud "Shhh!" and when Emory pats his thigh and starts to do up his jeans one-handed, Alex can't do anything but grin stupidly into space, his eyes gazing right past the screen.



5. It starts out a physics experiment.

Phoena honestly doesn't plan for it to turn into more; poor Leonato always looks as though he's on the verge on a nervous breakdown -- in a stolid sort of way -- and honestly who wouldn't be, if you were stuck in the unenviable position of acting as her step-sister's bodyguard. Teaching him how to cushion an egg with only a strofoam cup, a sheet of newspaper, four straws, and some scotch tape is supposed to be relaxing.

And then all of a suddenly they're spread out on the floor of her studio, with her labcoat under them and her safety glasses pushed up into her curls, and she's laughing encouragingly as he kisses her breasts and belly like it's the first time he's ever touched a girl. She wants him to relax, so that's good; but she feels a little guilty that what she'd really like to be doing is seeing to that egg.