Word Count: 1134
Beta-ed by theonewiththeobsessions
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
She hates this place–this rotten cave they are forced to hide in, the foul stench in the air, the pathetic excuse for food they eat–she hates every last bit of it. But more than that, she hates the company, the people she's forced to ally herself with.
She hates that she's here with Arthur. With Guinevere. With their stupid knights.
But more than anything else, she hates that she's here with Merlin.
She feels their eyes on her. Just as she does not trust them, they do not trust her. No one dares to approach her unless they have to. She is only here out of necessity. The moment they defeat Agravaine (the traitor), she will be gone. They don't want her here, but they need her, so they tolerate her.
Except for Merlin.
Every move she makes, he follows. Every breath she takes, he sees. He refuses to leave her alone at any point in time. If he isn't glued to Arthur's side, he's following her to make sure she isn't up to something. Even when she is alone, she isn't. He is everywhere.
Every step of the way, more than anyone else, she feels Merlin's eyes following her.
Two weeks. For two of the longest weeks of her life, Morgana holds her tongue. She endures the comments, the distrust, the pathetic stalking, but there is only so much she can handle. These traitors are, after all, the reason she left Camelot.
She slips out to escape. To find some sort of freedom in that prison of a cave where her every breath is watched. She leaves to find a moment of peace, a moment where she does not feel hated or used. She wanders into the forest to find the tiniest fragment of time where she can feel like a human and not some sort of caged monster.
It barely takes Merlin five minutes to find her. He comes alone and crosses his arms over his chest and does his best not to seem to utterly pathetic. She does not bother to explain herself to him–why should she? She's done nothing wrong. Still, he snaps at her, tells her that she isn't supposed to wander off on her own, orders her to go back.
She laughs bitterly and tells him to make her. She expects him to stutter some sort of excuse, to remind her that Arthur said she is not be left alone, to say something only he would think would make a difference. Instead he marches over and grabs her by the hand and demands that she come back with him.
"Let go of me," she growls and tries to pull her hand back.
His gaze bores into hers and he does not release her. "No."
Morgana does not use magic on him. She certainly wants to–to slam him against a tree, to toss him into a river, to fling him as far away from her as she possibly can–but she knows she cannot. Not now at least; not with Arthur and his precious knights only minutes away. So she uses her own force and shoves him away from her.
Still, he refuses to let her go. He falls under her attack, but he brings her down with him so that she lands on top of him. This time he tries to scramble away, but she does not let him. This time, Morgana pins him down. It is the lowest and most barbaric thing she could do, but she does not care at this point.
She will not let him get away with this any longer.
They fight for control. He tries to roll them over, to have power over her. They toss and they turn and they tumble, but she refuses to let him win this time. He glares up at her with fire in his eyes and demands that she let him go. She laughs; she most certainly will not.
She has no idea what happens after that. One moment they are rolling through the dirt, wrestling like peasants, and the next his hands are in her hair and her lips are pressed against his neck. She vaguely hears him whimper a protest, but she is still on top of him and she can tell he really would rather she didn't stop. His hands slide along her back and eventually settle on her hips.
Morgana smirk and reaches for the tie on his trousers.
He runs off the moment they finish–tosses his clothes back on and runs straight back to that hideous cave. She takes her time, however, and ensures that she appears proper before she returns. When she does, Merlin does not look at her again.
It does not last long, of course. He goes back to watching her every move by the next morning. Except this time he does not glare at her, accuse her of crimes with his eyes. He follows her with curious gaze. He even tries to corner her once because he thinks they should talk. She laughs bitterly and hisses that they have nothing to talk about.
Yet the memory haunts her–the feel of his fingers on her waist, her nails digging into his bare back, their breath tangled together. She sees it everywhere: in the forest that lays beyond their cave, in her dreams at night, in Merlin's ever watchful gaze. It devours her every thought and blinds her so that she cannot see anything else.
It does not take her long to realise that this could very well ruin her. That this will continue to distract her from her goals–from the coming battle with Agravaine; from her chance take back the throne that is rightfully hers–unless she does something about it. And she knows that there is only one thing that she can do.
She finds him alone the next morning. Long before anyone else awakens, he leaves to gather wood and she slips out after him. She waits until they are a safe distance away before she lets herself be seen. He is so startled to see her that he drops what little wood he has gathered, but she does not give him the chance to speak. Instead, she shoves him against the closest tree and pins his arms above his head.
His eyes widen and he gasps her name. She catches his bottom lip between her teeth. She can see the realisation finally sinking in his pale eyes. "Merlin," she growls, "do not speak."
He stares at her for a moment before he nods.
Caught up in this madness too blind to see
Woke animal feelings in me
Took over my sense and I lost control
Scream, Avenge Sevenfold
Note: I haven't written anything that isn't Doctor Who for over six months and I haven't written Merlin AGES, but my god, these two are just too hot to resist.