It was a game that Guinevere started quite by accident.
“Guinevere?” Arthur enters the royal chambers, looking for his wife. Where is she? I actually had something to talk to her about…
He walks towards the sleeping quarters. “Love?” he asks. He stands with his hands on his hips, looking around.
His eyes land on the bed. Right in the center is one of Gwen’s white linen handkerchiefs; identical to the one she gifted him back at her house. Unconsciously his hand drifts to his chest, his hand resting against his waistcoat, feeling the familiar lump where an identical piece of cloth is folded neatly into its usual resting place in an inside pocket.
What is that doing there? Did she drop it? It’s so perfectly placed.
He frowns at it. Why am I worrying so much about this, anyway? Because I don’t know where she is, that’s why.
Is this a hint? Did she leave this here on purpose?
“Hmm.” What kind of hint is this?
“Hmm,” he repeats, turning and striding purposefully from the room, grabbing his long blue cloak hanging on a peg before he exits.
“Where is it?” Gwen frets to herself, looking underneath the few pieces of furniture left in her old house. It has been standing, empty and uninhabited, in the lower town since she was banished. Ironically, it was one of the few buildings that survived Agravaine’s arson.
I wonder how much the fact that this was my house plays into it still being empty,
Gwen absently wonders. I guess moving into the house that belonged to the woman who is now their queen might be seen as disrespectful. Now. Where is that damn comb?
It is a hair comb that belonged to her mother. When her meager belongings were moved to the castle, it was done so hurriedly and amidst the rebuilding that she wasn’t able to properly oversee the work. And now she can’t find the precious item that is one of her few reminders of her mother.
Arthur approaches Guinevere’s old house and peeks through the window. She is standing in the middle of the one room, her back to the door. He can’t make out what she is doing.
Silently he opens the door and creeps inside, closing it just as silently behind him. A devilish grin creeps across his face, and he grabs the edges of his cloak and raises his arms. He brings them down and around his wife’s body, making her jump. A short scream of alarm escapes her lips before she realizes to whom the familiar arms and cloak belong.
He bends down, the hood falling over both their heads as he kisses her cheek and neck, sucking lightly at the sweetness of her skin.
“Arthur,” she whispers, “you scared me half out of my mind.”
As if you weren’t expecting me,
he thinks as he continues his nibbling on her ear, his arms holding her waist.
“Show yourself if you value your life,” a voice says behind Arthur. “This is a private residence and you are trespassing.”
Arthur straightens up – carefully, as he can feel the point of a sword pressed lightly but menacingly against his shoulder blade.
“Elyan,” Arthur sighs, raising a hand to remove his hood, revealing not only himself but Gwen as well.
Elyan immediately lowers his sword and stammers, “Oh… I… Forgive me, Sire, I… I didn’t know… I heard a scream, and…”
Gwen laughs openly at her brother. “You are just doing your job, Elyan. Now go back outside and continue to do so,” she smirks at him.
“Um… yes. I’ll do that. Uh, carry on,” Elyan says awkwardly as he backs out of the door.
“What are you doing here?” Gwen asks Arthur, now that the mood has been interrupted.
He smirks at her. “I got the little hint you left me,” he says, removing his cloak.
Oh. Guess not.
“The handkerchief on the bed wasn’t a hint to meet you here?” he furrows his brow and reaches for her hand.
“Why would you think that?”
“Well, because it looked just like the one you gave me a hundred years ago, and the way it seemed so deliberately placed
in the center of our bed, and…”
She smiles at his sweetness. “A hundred years ago?”
“Okay, maybe it wasn’t that many.”
“I’m looking for my mother’s silver hair comb. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought
it was inside that handkerchief, but when I went to look for it, it wasn’t there,” she says, the worry coming back in her voice. “I don’t have much of my mother, and that was a gift from my father to her for their wedding, and…”
“I know where it is,” Arthur says quietly, pulling her into his arms.
“I sent it to the silversmith to get cleaned.” He tips his head down and kisses her. “It was almost completely black with tarnish,” he pauses again, kissing her temple. “I had intended it to be a surprise.”
“Oh,” she says, her fingers tracing the edges of the vee in the neck of his red shirt.
“I… I didn’t realize that it was your mother’s. I’m sorry if I worried you,” he kisses her again, longer this time.
“Arthur…” she manages, a gasp spoken against his lips.
“Guinevere,” he says softly, “we are completely alone. No one knows we’re here,” he kisses her again, “except Elyan, and I don’t think he’s going to be saying anything.” He kisses her neck. “We should take,” he sucks her earlobe into his mouth, “advantage of the situation.”
With that, he lifts her and sets her on the table, nestling between her knees amongst the skirts of her dress. He leans in and reclaims her lips that automatically and immediately part for him, her tongue meeting his, her hands in his hair and at his neck.
Arthur’s hand comes up to her breast, squeezing it lightly, thumb grazing the soft exposed flesh above her bodice, and she arches into him.
His other hand starts pulling at her skirts, raising them so he can reach underneath.
“Arthur,” she says as his lips travel down her graceful neck, “we shouldn’t. Not here.”
“You’re right,” he says against her neck, yet his hands do not stop.
” she drops her hand to stop the one that is now caressing her thigh. “It’s the… middle of the day,” she leans her head back as he kisses her breasts, “and there are people… right outside.”
“So?” he bites her neck softly, teasing.
” she takes a deep breath, takes his face in her hands, and looks into his eyes, glazed-over with desire. “So people don’t need to be hearing
us in here.” She leans over and kisses him. Briefly.
“Very well,” he says, defeated, leaning his head on her shoulder, frustrated. “Good thing I have my cloak,” he chuckles, adjusting his trousers.
Has he lost his mind?
Guinevere is staring at a gold plate in the middle of their bed. She knows what it means. Well, she has a fairly good idea, anyway.
He thinks I left him a hint last week this way. So now he decides he’s going to actually leave me a hint.
She picks up the plate. So obvious,
she smiles, amused.
Now. Do I torture him and make him wait awhile?
A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts. “Yes?” she calls.
The door opens and Merlin pokes his head in. “Gwen?”
“Hello, Merlin,” she answers him, tossing the plate back on the bed and walking over.
His brow furrows, confused. “He told me to meet him up here just before lunch.”
Obvious and sneaky as well, I see.
She sighs. “I think I know why,” she says, grabbing him by the elbow and leading him out towards the stables.
They reach the spot by the stream to find Arthur waiting with a picnic. This time he is careful not to be caught preening into a plate.
Merlin helps Gwen dismount from her horse and tethers it beside Arthur’s. “I’m going home now,” he says, not even waiting to be dismissed. He mounts his horse and turns back to Camelot. Once out of sight, he redirects his horse.
Arthur assists Gwen across the stream. “And this time we won’t be interrupted,” he grins, leading her to the blanket.
“Not unless Elyan is on patrol of the forest,” she jokes as he feeds her a grape.
“Elyan is assisting Leon with training of some of the new recruits,” he grins.
She lounges on some pillows, slipping off her shoes while he fixes their plates.
“So… did you find my hint before Merlin came in?” he asks, handing her a plate.
“Yes,” she chuckles.
“And you understood it?”
“Yes. And you’ve gone quite mad, I think.”
“I have not!” he protests, but he is laughing. “To be honest, I’ve been wanting to make this picnic up to you for a long time now. We were having such a good time until…”
Gwen puts her fingers to his lips. “We don’t need to relive the details. We both know what happened. It’s done, it worked out in the end. So shut up and eat.”
He kisses her fingers before she removes them from his lips. “Do you still dream of running away to be a farmer?” she asks, picking up a piece of chicken.
“You remembered that?” he laughs.
“I remember everything we talked about that day.”
He smiles at her. “The only thing I dream about these days is being with you, Guinevere,” he says. “If I were to dream of running away to be a farmer, you’d be with me.”
She blushes and looks down with a small smile.
A short distance away, Merlin has half-completed the circle he is making around them.
They eat quietly for a few minutes. “So… you sent Merlin for me why, exactly?”
“To make sure you got here. I wasn’t sure if you would remember how to get here. And I also didn’t know if I was obvious enough,” he grins.
“Arthur, love, subtlety has never really been your strong suit. But you’re right, I don’t know that I could have found my way here.”
He smirks at her first comment. “I know you don’t like being in the forest alone,” he says, taking her hand in his and stroking the back of it with his thumb.
She sets her plate aside and scoots closer to him. He does the same, and they lean back against the pillows he’s brought, Gwen in his arms this time instead of chastely apart.
Arthur makes a contented noise in the back of his throat as he gives her an affectionate squeeze.
“Happy?” Gwen asks.
“Yes. I love being with you, especially away from everything. No one needing me to make any decisions. No one running to me with their problems. No one needing orders or instruction. Just you and me.”
She looks up at him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He knows he doesn’t have to be anything for me.
“I love you, Arthur. And I love it when you are relaxed. I love—”
He stops her words with his lips, taking her by surprise. He presses her back onto the pillows, rolling them so he is over her, kissing her passionately.
Not wasting any time this time,
Gwen absently thinks as she runs her fingers through his hair, returning his kiss, feeling the familiar warmth he always creates within her start to spread through her body.
Arthur slides his hand up her bodice, feeling her curves, reaching around to pull at her laces.
“Arthur…” she gasps.
“No one is out here,” he says into her neck. “I’m… just loosening it anyway.”
Gwen turns her head and gently bites his ear as he kisses her neck, any protest effectively forgotten.
Merlin completes his circle and heads back to Camelot, secure in the knowledge that the king and queen will truly not be disturbed this time.
She feels her bodice loosen and a shoulder is exposed as Arthur pulls it down, trailing kisses over the new inches of skin he’s uncovered.
“Arthur,” she says. Something has just occurred to her. “Was there really…”
“Hmm?” he asks, lips making their way to her breasts as he works the top of her dress down to get at least one of them free.
“Was there really a wasp?”
He pauses and looks up at her. “Yes,” he says, but his eyes shift away.
She hooks a leg around his. “Really?”
“No,” he says sheepishly, dropping his head back down, right into her cleavage.
Gwen laughs and pulls his face back up to hers. “I had a suspicion,” she kisses him leisurely. “You didn’t have to go to all the trouble, you know.”
She runs her hands down his back, and her deft fingers on him make him tingle all over, even though the thin barrier of his shirt.
He presses back into her, and she can feel his hardness against her thigh. Should we? What if someone should stumble upon us? He seems completely unconcerned.
“Guinevere,” he caresses her name with his lips and all restraint is forgotten as her hands move again, this time to the laces of his trousers.
Arthur’s skillful lips travel the ridge of her collarbone, working lower, nudging her dress further down, successfully exposing a breast to his hungry attention. He closes his lips around a taut nipple, his tongue swirling around it, tasting it, caressing it. Gwen sighs and delves her hand into Arthur’s opened trousers, finding his hardness within, sliding her hand along his length a few times before closing her strong slender fingers around his shaft.
He groans into her breasts at her touch and he continues lavishing attention on them as he reaches down to lift her skirts. He bunches them in his hand, tugging gently but firmly. Finally he tears his lips away from her with a muffled curse, sits back and moves so he isn’t on her dress any more and yanks the skirts up.
Gwen chuckles at his frustration, pulling him back down over her, bringing his lips to hers for a kiss. She thrusts her tongue deep into his mouth, tasting hints of the wine on his tongue as she explores the familiar warmth. Reaching back down for him, she guides him close to the apex of her thighs, and he drops his hips in anticipation.
Arthur sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, savoring it a moment as he presses forward with his manhood. Gwen smiles slyly, her hand still on him, and she redirects the head of his manhood, sliding it along the length of her moist folds.
He grunts, the sensation combined with the realization that she is using him to touch herself quickening his pulse. “Guinevere…” he groans into her neck.
She sighs deliciously, arching her back slightly as she continues her actions. Arthur takes charge again, waiting for the right moment, then thrusting forward, burying himself deep within her. Gwen pulls her hand away just in time with a giggle that quickly becomes a gasp.
Arthur buries his face into the curve of her neck, biting it lightly, careful not to leave a mark. He kisses the spot and leans back, pressing into her, shoving at her skirts impatiently, moving them out of his way.
Gwen stills his hands, gathering the material, collecting them neatly if a little clumsily across her stomach, no simple feat given her current distracted state. She moans low and soft, and moves her hands to his stomach, slipping them up under his shirt to feel his skin and muscles beneath the white linen.
He drives a little faster, deeper yet, and she spreads her legs wider, giving him more access. “Oh…” he manages, bending over her again to capture her lips in a swift but passionate kiss.
She wraps her arms around his torso, still beneath his shirt, holding him closer, her fingers digging into his muscled back. He can feel her fingernails against his skin like wonderful pinpricks, a sensation to which he’s grown accustomed. And rather likes.
Gwen is whimpering now, her strong small body writhing beneath him as she nears her peak, her skin flushed and glowing. Arthur feels a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and he increases his efforts, faster, harder, carrying them both over the edge of the cliff into the roaring sea.
She gasps, high and sharp; he groans, strangled and hoarse. He drops gently over her and their bodies still, his head on her shoulder, still sheathed within her.
“Just so you know,” Arthur says, once his breathing has calmed, “I wouldn’t have gone this far on that first picnic, had we not been interrupted.”
“I know,” she says, her fingers toying with his hair. “But if you had tried, I probably would have let you.”
“Merlin, please make sure that the knight’s quarters and the guest rooms are all tended and prepared for our guests. The tournament starts tomorrow, you know,” Arthur says as the two men walk the corridors of the castle towards Arthur’s chambers.
“Yes, Arthur, I know. I wrote and sent out the announcements, remember?” Merlin says testily, opening the door, allowing Arthur to enter before him.
“Yes, yes,” Arthur waves his hand absently, looking down at some parchments he’d left on the table. Ugh. Still don’t want to deal with these.
Merlin rolls his eyes. “Arthur, Gwen does want your approval on the menu for the tournament. And also for the squires that we are loaning out.”
“I’m sure whatever she’s got arranged is fine,” he says, leaning back, stretching.
“Okay, just sign these, then, to make it all official, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Why do I have to sign something?”
“Because it’s a tournament. Everything has to be documented.”
He growls in irritation and scribbles his name at the bottom of two sheets and shoves them at his former-servant-now-advisor-and-assistant. “You do the seal, I don’t feel like messing with that right now.”
Merlin takes the parchments and leaves, smiling, wondering when Arthur will make the discovery he already spotted.
Where is Guinevere, anyway?
Arthur wonders, wandering to a window and opening it, peering out into the courtyard below. He can see the bustle of activity caused by the kingdom preparing for a tournament. He can see knights returning from patrol; knights heading out on patrol. He doesn’t see the queen.
Stretching again, he strolls to the other side of the royal chambers, and then he sees it.
A gauntlet. In the center of the bed.
“That minx,” he says aloud, grinning. This is definitely what I think it is.
He retrieves the gauntlet and sweeps from the room, heading for the arena.
Arthur surveys the sea of tents, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. Here and there servants and pages and squires walk, setting things in place, bringing supplies. He spies the largest tent in the center and strides purposefully towards it.
He peeks through the tent flaps, just to make sure she is, in fact, inside. She is. I don’t know why I was worried. It’s not like I have no reason to be out here. I’m the king. I can be wherever I want.
Pulling the flap aside fully, he saunters into the tent, waving the gauntlet casually in front of him.
Guinevere is lounging in a chair inside, waiting. She waves at him, wearing the other gauntlet. It reaches almost to her elbow. “Hi.”
He raises his eyebrows. “‘Hi?’” he quotes back at her, smirking. “You’re getting… brave, little wife.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asks innocently, pulling the gauntlet off her hand and dropping it casually but pointedly to the ground.
Arthur watches it fall and takes a step forward. “Weren’t you the same woman who, two weeks ago, was concerned about being heard when we were in your house?”
“Do you hear anyone outside?” she asks from her place in the chair, leaning back, hooking a leg over the arm of the chair.
He takes another step forward, listening. He hears nothing. There were people outside before, I know there were.
“Hmm. I guess not.”
He is right in front of her now. He bends down and picks up the gauntlet, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiles seductively at him as he accepts her challenge, putting her leg back down on the seat of the chair.
Arthur starts to stand, but decides to kneel in front of her instead, running his hands up her legs, the silk of her dress sliding and slipping beneath his palms. He raises up slightly and leans forward to kiss her, nudging himself between her knees. Gwen holds his face gently in her hands while his tongue sneaks into her mouth. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registers that his hands are busy raising her skirts.
She can feel the cooling air of the evening against the exposed skin of her legs, the rough material of his shirt between her knees.
He pulls back from her lips, gives her a devilish grin, leans forward again to plant a kiss at her cleavage, then drops back down, pulling her forward on the chair as he does so.
“Arthur…” she says, realizing what he’s doing. My plan was to do this to him,
she thinks, but any protest rising to her throat is swiftly abandoned, forgotten, as his lips make contact with her beneath her skirts, warm and wet.
“Oh…” Guinevere breathes, slumping back in the chair, her eyes fluttering closed. Arthur plunges his tongue forward, pointed and firm, as he thrusts it into her, then retracting it to slide along her warmth, flicking against the tight bundle of nerves in the front, swollen with desire.
He can feel her body trembling ever so slightly, weak with desire, and he smiles smugly against her, his tongue and lips soft and luxurious against her most sensitive area, drawing the sweetness out of her like a hummingbird drinking nectar from a flower.
Arthur reaches up, groping blindly up her abdomen with his left hand. Gwen takes it and guides it to her breast, its intended target, and he grasps it, his thumb tracing the soft skin above her bodice in time with his tongue below.
“Arthur,” Gwen gasps quietly, reaching her hand down into his hair, the soft blonde strands threading through her fingers.
He suckles at the sensitive nub between her legs, and a heated torrent of sensation courses through her. She feels heavy as lead yet floating as a feather in the breeze. Two fingers entering her join his licks and gentle nibbles, and she cries out, her fingers bunching his hair in her fist.
He moves his hand, sliding his fingers in and out as he flicks his tongue against her, faster, more urgently. Gwen puts her hand over his hand on her breast, holding it there, squeezing. Her head falls back as the heat building within her spills over, flooding her veins with liquid fire, and she cries out again, his name a prayer and a curse on her lips.
Arthur feels her come to her release, her inner walls pulsing around his fingers, her hips jerking beneath his lips, her thighs reflexively squeezing his head. He chuckles against her inner thighs as he slowly withdraws his fingers from her, bringing them to his own lips to lick them clean. He kisses her thighs a few times, then emerges from beneath her bunched-up skirts, grinning.
He replaces her skirts and rests his head in her lap, and she strokes his cheek and his hair lovingly as she waits for her breathing to slow and her pulse to return to normal.
“That wasn’t what I had planned, my king,” Guinevere finally says.
“Oh? Were we just going to have wine and polite conversation?”
She laughs. “Not exactly. You are too… persuasive
He lifts his head. “And what was it you were planning?”
“I’m not going to tell you now,” she says with a shrug. “You’ll just have to wait,” she grins at him, ruffling his hair.
Part 2: www.fanpop.com/spots/arthur-and-gwen/articles/163416/t...t-2