#this literally fell onto the page so beautifully and then i deleted it by accident. am i ever going to be satisfied with my rewrite?

[centurieslove]

the dress (before) morgana/gwen, T, 2k, read on AO3

“Now, don't these look darling.”

Gwen didn't know how she'd ended up like this. It was late, the air was cooling rapidly now the harvest season had arrived, there was much to organise about the citadel yet here she was, dallying about in her mistress’s chamber as if she had nothing better to do. Gwen hid a small smile to herself whilst Morgana flitted about her room, twirling fabrics, dresses clutched to her chest, pulling out the entirety of her wardrobe.

“This one, this one,” Morgana said with glee, spinning back towards Gwen to thrust a long silken garment into her hands. “Marion, you know, from down the market - she showed me these incredible fabrics,” she gushed, eyes sparkling. “Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?”

Gwen looked down at the dress in her hands; a deep, inky red, folds of silk slipping across her fingers, the torchlight bouncing off the sheen making it seem almost alive. She held it out in front her, watching in awe as the fabric swept down to fall at her feet. “Yes,” she said in wonder. It was probably the most expensive thing she had ever held.

“Got to save it for the most perfect occasion, don't you think?”

Gwen glanced up; Morgana's pale face shone from across the room, her sharp eyebrow quirked, and Gwen smiled at her, amused. She tilted her head, studying the dress as it hung against the backdrop of Morgana’s chambers, her lady peering at her from over the neckline albeit a few metres apart. Gwen squinted her eyes to better picture it.

“What.” Morgana teased, jutting her chin down knowingly.

Gwen said nothing, and just stepped silently towards her mistress until she had fully closed the gap between them. Morgana's gaze was steady, those blue-green eyes gleaming with mischief, and Gwen flicked her eyes back down. Her hands were careful, yet assured; she took a second, admiring how the material weaved and swept and curved in long lines and then– held it up to her lady’s shoulders.

Gwen pinched the fabric gently with her fingertips, holding up the garment to properly assess its fit; she observed, transfixed, how the wine-red of the silken cloth poured over her lady, contrasting with the cream of her nightgown, and even more so with the paler skin that lay beneath. Morgana had stilled, her figure stone-like as the gorgeous tapestry laid against her. Gwen adjusted her position, pondering, then froze - her knuckles had brushed against collarbones, a tendon of a neck.

“Do you think I'll fit?” Morgana said in a whisper, her tongue curling around the words. Gwen swallowed, keeping her gaze lowered. Then– grasped the neckline of the garment in one hand and tugged the fabric down with the other, down, down towards her lady’s side, watching in silent vigil how the silk fell, gentle, across her front and then cinched in by her waist. The torchlight curved around her figure, now ruby-like and glowing, the only movement in the fabric the slow rise and fall of Morgana’s breaths, each inhale a gentle tug against Gwen’s grip on the material– she shut her eyes, feeling heat simmer under her skin.

“Yes,” she murmured. She opened her eyes again. The ruby statue still breathed in front of her, but she daren’t look it in its eyes.

“You’re certain?”

“Of course,” she replied, dazed.

“What about—” Gwen felt Morgana's hand rise up and rest on her own, “—here?” Morgana pressed down, pulling her hand onto her waist, so warm, warm and soft even under the two layers of fabric. She could feel the way Morgana's eyes were on her, but she refused to lift her gaze away from the dress; instead, Gwen stuck to the task at hand, pinning the silk firm against her lady’s waist, curving her hand round her side, tracking her eyes over the way the inky red cloth draped across her stomach, the way it rippled, curved, pulled up and up over Morgana's chest, she could hear Morgana's breaths falling faster, deeper, could feel the way her body moved under the silk— Gwen swallowed roughly, her palms damp; she held onto the dress like a lifeline, pressing it closer to Morgana’s body, feeling the strain of the fabric as her lady seemed to sway, lean into it, falling forward towards her— Gwen was frozen, gripping Morgana’s waist, their bodies close, the ruby silk the only thing between them. She felt a caress to the back of her hand, and looked up in horror to see her knuckles brushing against her lady’s neck, her chin, and that brought her gaze dangerously high; she buckled, met those blue-green eyes for a wild moment and then flung herself away.

“I–” she spluttered, the dress falling down between them, crumpling to the floor. “I-I…”

Morgana took a step towards her. “Gwen.”

“I must go.” She needed to leave. The dress was still on the floor. She should have never let it fall. Her heart pounded with the memory of how Morgana had looked at her - eyes wild and dark and slightly glazed over, just for second before she wrenched away. She needed to leave.

Morgana’s hand had reached out. “Don’t,” she pleaded. Gwen twisted her hands infront of herself, and didn’t look up again.

“I must go,” she repeated, as if a mantra could get her out the door, even though her legs were frozen in place and she couldn’t stop looking at the pile of ruby fabric, spilled like ink on the stone. It didn’t deserve that. It was so beautiful. “There is much I need to attend to.”

“I need you here.”

“My lady–”

Morgana grasped her wrist, and she finally braved looking into those eyes once again. They shone, wide and earnest, and she looked as long as she dared, long enough to watch them crinkle at the edges and she felt another deep swoop fall through her stomach. “I haven’t even shown you the best, yet,” Morgana teased, although less confident this time, as if afraid Gwen was about to run out the door.

Gwen let out a long, shaky breath, and nodded.