Eurydice (eurydice72) wrote,

Fic: Perchance (Gwen/Lancelot) - NC17

Another summerpornathon challenge (plus, I only just realized I misnumbered the challenges when I saved them, oops, yesterday's was the sixth, this was the fifth). This was the one that gave me the most fits. It was to write something using mythology as a basis (excluding Greek and Roman), but the challenge was so vague and poorly worded, and the mod mostly useless in clarifying answers, that I was pretty darn furious with it all. I finally hit upon an idea that would work and wouldn't make me tear my hair out, but then it turned out two other people used the same myth I did (different pairings) and then there was voting annoyances...

Okay, I'll stop bitching, lol.

It's not a pairing I've ever done, mostly because Lancelot for the most part bores me to tears (and Arthur loves Gwen so I hate the idea of giving her to Lancelot), but you know what? Looking at the story standing alone, I actually quite like what I came up with. It's sweet and emotional, and hey, there's not a Percival in sight, lol.

TITLE: Perchance
AUTHOR: Eurydice
PAIRING: Gwen/Lancelot
SUMMARY: Modern AU. Lancelot dreams about what he once had.
NOTES: Written for challenge 5 at summerpornathon, where we needed to write a story based on mythology. I chose The Cowherd and the Weaving Girl.
DISCLAIMER: The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.


When the magpies burst away from the bridge, a flurry of feathers obscuring the brilliant sky, he smiled. Anticipation already had his heart racing. The joy from watching the birds take flight simply added a fresh surge of energy.

A soft body collided with his, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into the hair at his nape to drag his head down. Her mouth was hot and lush, hungry for kisses he only needed a moment to return, and as he scooped her into a full embrace, she bit at his lower lip, a shock of electricity that went straight to his balls.

“Slow down,” Lancelot murmured when she gave him the chance to breathe. His hands slid to cup her full bottom, encouragement she barely needed to climb up his body and grind against his now-hard cock. “There’s no rush.”

“There is.” She pulled back, and for the first time, he got to see her, the wide desperation in her brown eyes, the faint blush warming her cheeks. Curls had fallen loose from where she’d pinned it, tickling along her cheeks where the breeze caught the tendrils. “All we have is today.”

“All day.”

“Less than twenty-four hours.”

“And you’re wasting it by talking?” When she slapped at his chest in protest to his teasing, he laughed. “Ah, there’s my lady. As spirited as ever.”

“I’ll show you spirited.”

Her sudden release surprised him, the shift in her weight enough to drive him back a single step. Those scant inches were all she needed to push him down, knees hitting the bridge first, followed quickly by shoulders and back. Though her skirt kept her legs hidden from view, he didn’t need to see them to feel the way her thighs tightened around his hips, or how nothing kept her wet heat from him but the thin layer of his trousers.

“Don’t move,” she instructed. Without looking away, she slipped her hand between them out of sight but not out of touch. Nails she always kept blunt for work scraped along his aching cock as she fumbled blindly with his zipper. Lancelot couldn’t breathe, could barely manage to obey her demand. Twenty-four hours was never enough. When they were apart, he did everything he could not to dwell on what he couldn’t have, but here, now, with her eager fingers tight around his shaft, he didn’t understand how he could leave her behind again.


The rest choked off, stolen by the swift intersection of her flesh to his, hot, slick, all-encompassing as his head swam, his clumsy fingers grasping at her hips to keep her still. His attempts failed, her need driven to greater strengths, and he had no choice but to rise up, meet her strokes, slam into her again and again and again with the pulse of all the stars that usually fell between them…


The world crashed around him, the sharp jolt in his shoulder jarring him from sleep. His head jerked up from where it had rested on his folded arm, and he blinked blearily at a grinning Merlin standing on the other side of the telescope.

“You fell asleep taking measurements again.” Merlin nodded to the open notebook in front of Lancelot. A wet spot where he’d drooled wrinkled the edge of the right page. “What star system knocked you out this time?”

Wiping at the corner of his mouth, he glanced at the notes, though he remembered all too clearly. “The same one.” Lyra. Though more and more, he thought of the bright star as a different name.

Merlin’s mirth softened. “You should call her,” he said quietly.

“She doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She chose her work.”

“So did you at one point. But you’re having second thoughts about that now, too, aren’t you?”

God help him, he was. They’d both agreed their careers were too important to abandon, even though their directions diverged, separating them for months at a time. But every time he had to gaze upon Lyra, he remembered the Chinese fairy tale about the weaver girl and the cowherd who could only spend a single day together once a year, and he couldn’t fathom how they could survive it.

His hand shook as he picked up his phone. As he dialed her number. But when her voice leapt across the distance to greet him, breathless and eager as his dreams, the nerves vanished.

“Hello, Gwen…”
Tags: fic, gwen/lancelot, merlin

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