gnimaerd | Fic: Things You Shouldn't Do With Your Best Friend's Older Sister (Pt 1 of 2

They keep sleeping together, though, over the next couple of weeks. It becomes routine – he will turn up an hour before Arthur is expecting him; Morgana will quietly let him in round the back and they’ll fuck, hard, in her bedroom – on her bed or on the floor or once on her desk. A couple of times she climbs into his lap and wraps her arms around her shoulders to do it – which feels a little odd, though Merlin likes how it feels somehow more intimate than when they’re lying down (even if it’s harder to keep all the right bits in the right places).

At first he feels a bit sort of apprehensive. What if making her cum that one time was a fluke? What if she’s expecting it every time? What if he never gets it quite right again?

But Morgana tells him she likes the way his neck smells, and she likes the feel of his shoulders and she likes the nooks in his collar bones and the way his lips go when he smiles. She says those things and Merlin forgets to be terrified that this will end, that she’s way out of his league, that Arthur is going to beat him to a pulp if he ever finds out – and instead his stomach gets warm and he wants to kiss her. He thinks oh god, I think I’m in love with you – which is insane because all they ever do is fuck. And sometimes they talk about stupid random stuff like the weather or sushi, when they catch each other in the kitchen or the hall; before sex; after.

You can’t fall in love with someone just because you’re sleeping with them, can you?

It must be a chemical thing. He’s sure he’s read about it – how endorphins are released after sex to create a feeling of closeness. Biology forcing you to bond with your partner for the sake of the potential offspring.

Doesn’t mean he’s finding the smell of her hair any less pleasant recently, though.

A few weeks later – after he’s lost count of the number of times they’ve had sex – he’s just finished and is gasping against her chest.

“Did you – ?”

“Mm? Oh – yes,” Morgana pushes her fingers through his hair, letting him rest his check against her collarbone.

“Thought so,” he allows himself a grin and she laughs.

Her skin is slick and soft – he kisses what he finds beneath his lips and she exhales, softly. “You don’t always have to ask, you know.”

“What?”

“About whether or not I came. I mean – it’s nice that you do, but you don’t have to,” her fingers find the rim of one of his ears – traces the shell of it.

Curious, now, he levers himself up on his elbows to look at her. “Thought it was kind of important, though.”

Her lips twitch – she slides one hand beneath her head, against the pillows – shrugs. “Well it is. It is and it isn’t. I don’t know. It’s nice but… men are so fixated on the end-game. I think the process can be more important.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin tries not to sound like too much of the insecure five year old he suddenly feels like.

Morgana reaches out, and gently tugs him down next to her on the pillows. “Okay,” she says, settling them both more comfortably amongst the tangle of bed-sheet and duvet, “sex is like a street, yes? A long, long street with… lots of interesting things all down it. And at the end of the street is… a cake shop. And the cake shop is where everybody on the street wants to get to – word of mouth has it that the cake shop is the best cake shop in the world – that there’s nothing like what’s in there anywhere else – and it’s so special, and so important, that everybody’s running down the street trying to get to it. You following me so far?”

Merlin nods.

“Alright, so… the things is, what nobody’s noticing is that along this street there’s… a festival, and lights, and music, and dancers and… well, once you pause, to take in all of that, and enjoy it, and… experience it… the cake shop… doesn’t seem so important anymore,” she shrugged, and grinned, stroking his cheek. “I mean – don’t get me wrong, you still want to get there. There really is the best cake in the world in that shop. But – you know… at the end of the day, it’s just cake. The street’s where all the interesting stuff is happening.”

“Yeah – but it’s orgasm-cake,” Merlin pointed out, “that’s pretty special cake.”

Morgana’s head tips back as she laughs.

“I just mean,” she giggles, into his hair, “that you don’t need to worry too much about it – when you get too hung up on the orgasm-cake, you miss the party. And I like the party, Merlin – I really like the party.”

“I thought you said we were on a street?”

“Clearly, I should work with fewer metaphors.”

He grins.

He likes that it’s not difficult to talk to her about stuff. Even if the stuff they talk about is limited to sushi, the weather, and sex.

“Not all girls are going to be so blasé about the cake, though,” she warns him, after a moment, “some girls really need the cake. Remember that.”

“Some girls need cake,” he repeats, dutifully.

She laughs again, softly, and kisses his cheek.

“Why do you… I mean… what do you see in me, Morgana?” He asks, when things have been comfortably quiet for a little bit longer.

She raises her eyebrows, “what do you mean?”

Merlin swallows an awkward laugh – glances away from her. (For all he’s sort of used to her nakedness these days, it’s still a bit distracting that her breasts are right there).

“I mean…” his ears go red, “I’m so… and you’re so…”

His train of thought is interrupted by Morgana kissing him. “Perhaps,” she begins, a moment later, “you should let me worry about whether or not I’m out of your league?”

“Who said anything about you being out of my league?”

“That’s what you’re thinking,” Morgana finds his ribs with a finger and delivers a gentle poke. “I like you, Merlin, okay? You’re interesting. And you have nice collar bones. Now stop worrying – if I didn’t want to sleep with you, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you.”

He nods, unconvinced, and she rolls her eyes – but her smile is genuine enough, and her mouth is soft when she kisses him again.

It’s her birthday the following week, and Merlin’s torn. As far as the outside world is concerned, he barely knows Morgana – getting her a present would look really weird. On the other hand… how many times do you have to see someone naked before getting them birthday presents becomes a bit mandatory?

“Gwen,” he asks, two days before Morgana’s birthday when he still hasn’t figured out what to do, “what do you get a girl who’s not your girlfriend but who you’re sleeping with if it’s her birthday?”

Gwen puts down her morning flapjack. “What?”

“I said – ”

“I heard you,” she holds up a hand, “who are you sleeping with, Merlin?”

“Um…” Merlin looks down, “it’s a bit complicated…”

“Simplify it for me,” she folds her arms.

Merlin tugs distractedly at the sleeve of one of his jumpers. “There’s a girl who’s not my girlfriend. I wish she was, but she isn’t. But we have sex quite a lot.”

“Is this the girl you asked about when – you know,” she waves a hand, “that conversation we’re never going to talk about again?”

“Mm,” Merlin nods, attempting nonchalance.

“I see.” Gwen goes back to nibbling her flapjack, “when’s her birthday?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“And you like her?”

“Yeah – well – if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sleeping with her,” Merlin shrugs.

Gwen grins, “I don’t think you necessarily have to like someone to get into bed with them. At least, so I’m told.”

“Well, I like this girl.” Merlin tells her, “she’s… she’s great, Gwen, she is – you wouldn’t think we’d have anything in common but we seem to always be able to talk about stuff and… anyway. I feel like I should get her something but… I mean… would it be weird?”

“You want her to be your girlfriend?” Gwen’s head quirks, “then no – it’s not weird. Just don’t get her anything too expensive. If you talk so much get her something… simple but… you know – something that will mean something to her. Show how well you know her.”

“Mm,” Merlin considers – then, abruptly, hits upon a plan. “Okay. Right.”

He’s invited to the party because he’s Arthur’s closest friend. There are a lot of people there and he doesn’t really get to see Morgana anyway. Still, he manages to eventually slip away and up to her bedroom, where he leaves the little clear plastic bottle of soapy liquid on her desk – a note stuck to the top. Happy Birthday, - M.

At half three in the morning, having had a bit too much to drink, he still has it in the back of his mind to look for her – and somehow manages to struggle up three flights of stairs, to the roof.

Morgana is resting her elbows on the low wall designed to keep people from hurling themselves from the chimney tops, blowing bubbles into the clear, cold starry night.

“Hi,” he says, making her jump. Then adds, “happy – happy birthday.”

Her lips twitch. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Mm,” Merlin agrees.

He manages to walk in a straight line towards her, and catches himself on the wall, because his knees have suddenly decided that now would be a very good time to cease doing their job correctly and give way beneath him.

Morgana ignores him for a moment, blowing another stream of bubbles over the wall.

“Do you like them?” Merlin asks, feeling his tongue go oddly dry, “the – um – the bubbles? I thought you would like them.”

“I like them, Merlin,” Morgana assures him.

“Happy birthday,” Merlin repeats, sincerely – and Morgana laughs.

“You’re an adorable drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” He taps his chest, emphatically.

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“Well,” he hesitates, wondering, vaguely, if she’ll think less of him, “um – I might be a bit drunk. But that’s um… mostly Arthur’s fault. He kept giving me drinks and I couldn’t put any of them down until I’d drunk some!”

“Oh, he gets a lot of people that way.”

“He’s sneaky,” Merlin is sincere, “and I think he fancies Gwen – Gwen. Um – Guinevere. He stares at her breasts a lot. She doesn’t like him.”

“I don’t blame her.”

“Gwen’s the one who taught me to do that thing with my tongue.”

“I remember.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“The best.”

“I’m going to sit down now,” he informs her, “because my legs hurt.”

He sits down.

Morgana stays standing, blowing her bubbles. She’s wearing a dress that cuts off just above the knee, leaving a lot of soft, pale calf exposed. He touches it, distractedly – tentatively running his finger tips from her knee to her ankle. It feels nice. He’s always liked her legs.

He likes all of her, actually. He likes every little bit of her and he especially likes the brain part of her – the part that is the bit that makes her all… Morgana-ish.

He likes that bit.

She sits down next to him after a while, tucking her skirt beneath her – he catches a glimpse of her knickers and is too drunk to blush when she kisses his cheek.

“You’re so cute, Merlin.”

“You’re very pretty,” he replies, honestly. Then adds, “do you want to be my girlfriend? I’ll be your boyfriend. I’d be a good one. But I’ve never had a girlfriend before – not properly with… you know – sex.”

She giggles, but she doesn’t say what he’s expecting – which is instantly ‘no’.

She just wraps her arms around him; presses her lips close to his ear. “If you can remember this conversation in the morning, we can go out sometime, okay?”

Merlin nods, feels a grin split his face in two. “I’ll remember,” he promises.

Morgana kisses him – she tastes like wine and chocolate birthday cake.

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