Part 19: www.fanpop.com/spots/arthur-and-gwen/articles/172640/t...-19
The jarring noise of a ringing phone snaps Arthur and Gwen out of the silent study they are making of one another as they lie together on her bed, holding each other, caressing, kissing softly. Reacquainting.
Arthur groans in irritation while Gwen rolls to grab the phone.
“Hello?” she says, sitting up.
“Gwennie, you are home!” Freya’s voice exclaims on the other end.
“Yes, I am. I was going to call you in a bit. I figured you’d be at work yet.”
“I had a short day today,” she explains, “and thank God for that. Bank was crazy today.”
“Well, it is Friday. Oh!” Gwen feels herself pulled back down to lie beside Arthur, who spoons up behind her.
“What was that? Are you all right?” Freya asks.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” Gwen answers, swatting Arthur’s exploring hand away.
“Am I… interrupting
“No. I wouldn’t have answered the phone if you were,” she chuckles, once again removing Arthur’s persistent hand.
“Right. But he’s there, isn’t he?” It’s more of an accusation than a question.
“Yes. And he’s actually being a right pain in the arse right now,” she says, directing this last part over her shoulder. Arthur just winks at her.
Freya laughs. “Did he tell you that I met him and Merlin?”
“Yes, he did,” Gwen says, biting her lip as she feels Arthur move her hair away from her neck, his lips making contact with the sensitive skin there.
“They were very nice. By the way, next time tell me if I don’t need to collect your mail.”
“Sorry. Nice, huh? Nothing… more
than nice?” Gwen asks, giving up on keeping Arthur’s hands off of her. Not working, anyway.
He is running his palm along her hip, around to her stomach, up to the bottoms of her breasts. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the conversation, but his persistent lips are still at her neck.
“Oh. Um. Yeah. So he spotted that Merlin and I seemed to be getting along quite well, then?”
“Yes. Said it was,” she pauses a moment as his leg wraps around hers and his hand fully covers her breast, “pretty obvious that you two were attracted to each other.” She can feel his hardness prodding her backside now.
“He was really cute. Merlin, I mean, but Arthur is quite handsome as well,” she says, and Gwen can hear the smile in her voice.
“Arthur said that Merlin was quite taken with you, in fact,” Gwen says as Arthur’s lips travel over her shoulder.
“Yep,” Arthur agrees between kisses.
“I heard that,” Freya says. “Goodness, is he right
“Are you naked?”
“Freya!” Gwen yells, and Arthur takes this opportunity to rub his thumb against her nipple, which tightens under his hand. She bites her lip again to keep from gasping.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Call me later.”
“Okay,” Gwen says, and rolls away to hang up the phone again. She turns on Arthur. “You are evil.”
Chuckling, he pulls her back against him, kissing her neck again, more passionately, the kisses firmer, wetter.
“You love it,” he rumbles against her neck, at the spot where it meets her shoulder, biting gently as his hand travels down to touch her.
She exhales and her eyes drift close as his fingers make contact with her moist center, stroking gently, slipping inside once.
“See?” he mutters smugly.
“Oh! You…” she tries to argue, but his lips and his hand and his body behind her immediately erase any of the protesting words from her brain.
Arthur removes his leg from over hers and slides his hand down her thigh, pulling her knee up and back, bending it around, over his legs before reaching down and guiding himself into her as he lies behind her.
“Oh…” she moans as she feels him enter, his hand now sliding back up her thigh. He pulls back and thrusts forward again, slowly, languidly, kissing her neck again, her shoulder. Arthur’s hand returns to pleasure her while he thrusts, and her head drops back against his shoulder, gasping.
Arthur’s other hand, pinned beneath her, reaches up, tilting her face so he can reach her and kiss her lips, already parted and seeking him out. His tongue delves into the warmth of her mouth in time with his thrusts below. Gwen’s hand gropes behind her, reaching for him. She finds his bum and grips it, pushing, urging him faster, harder.
“Arthur…” she groans, wanting more. Arthur’s lips curl into a grin against hers as he stubbornly keeps his slow pace, tormenting both of them.
He pulls his lips away for just a moment. “We have all day, Guinevere,” he purrs, flicking his tongue out, licking her upper lip just lightly before moving to nibble her ear.
His fingers continue to rub and stroke her firm nub, pushing her closer to the edge, the sensations flooding her, his leisurely yet passionate lovemaking unraveling her completely.
Gwen’s body is quivering in front of him, her breath coming in short bursts, her nails digging into his buttocks. Arthur continues his steady pace, chuckling quietly, closing his eyes now as he feels himself approaching his own precipice.
He keeps his deliberate pace, stubbornly drawing it out, relishing every millimeter of contact as he slides himself back and forth.
“Guinevere,” he says her name low in her ear, his fingers making her insides flip, his voice turning them to water.
She gasps a few more times, then suddenly shouts out, “Oh!” and her whole body jerks against him as she comes crashing down.
Arthur continues unabated, his hand moving now to wrap around her waist before creeping up to hold a breast gently, thumb stroking the taut nipple, kissing her neck, holding her lovingly, securely as she recovers.
“Oh…” he groans, losing control of his careful pace. “Fuck,” he grunts quietly and suddenly he is moving faster, harder, plunging deep into her, finally reaching his own completion. His grip tightens around her and his face is pressed against the back of her neck, buried in her hair.
After a few moments, he relaxes, leaning back slightly, relaxing his grip on her.
“Oh, God…” she breathes, her hand releasing his backside to rest across her forehead.
“Yeah…” he agrees, his hand idly caressing her stomach.
Gwen carefully turns around in his arms so that she is facing him again, and leans up to kiss him.
“You are amazing,” he tells her, kissing the end of her nose.
“Me? I didn’t even do anything,” she protests, giggling.
“You don’t have to do anything to be amazing, Sweet. You just are.”
“Iggy!” Gwen exclaims as they enter Arthur’s flat the next day. The fat orange ball of fur bounds towards her, winding around her ankles, his purring reaching a ridiculous level.
Gwen crouches down and scratches his ears, rubs his chest, and kisses the top of his large head. “I bought you a pressie in Chicago, baby, yes, I did,” she coos to him as he butts his head against her hand, wanting more affection.
“He’s demanding today. Apparently he thinks you owe him for having been gone,” Arthur assesses, shaking his head at the two of them.
“Come,” Gwen says to Iggy, and she stands and walks to the couch. Arthur stares, dumbfounded, as his bastard feline obediently follows her, hopping up onto the cushion beside her, sitting politely, waiting.
“What, suddenly you’re a Labrador?” Arthur asks the cat. Iggy ignores him, his attention on Gwen, who is digging into her bag.
Arthur sits in a chair, wondering what she’s gotten for Iggy. She pulls out a black cat collar, leather with silver studs, not unlike the belt Arthur often wears.
“He doesn’t like collars,” Arthur says, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he knows she’s going to prove him wrong. Again.
“Yes, but look.
” she holds up the collar to show him a silver tag hanging from it. It is shaped like a skull and has the name Iggy
engraved on the back.
“Where the bloody hell did you find that?
“Chicago,” she deadpans, giving him a sideways look. She shows it to Iggy, and he meows, so she fastens it around his neck, muttering, “I’m glad I got the large.”
“There. Now who’s a handsome boy?” she asks, and Iggy actually preens, sitting taller, prouder. Arthur swears the cat gives him a haughty look. You don’t buy me nice things, jerk.
“Fucking cat,” he mutters, standing up. “Cool collar, though, Guinevere.”
She laughs as Iggy leaps down from the couch, trots across the room, and proceeds to follow his path of elevated items that leads to his window ledge, where he settles in contentedly.
“So let me see this painting,” Gwen says, standing and heading towards his easel.
He’s got the first painting resting there now, the one he started from memory. It’s about 75% done; Gwen can really recognize a lot of the details and nuances he’s added.
“Wow,” she says, staring.
“Here,” Arthur removes the painting and puts the other one up, the one of her back.
“Oh, my…” her voice trails off. That is not me. There’s no way that’s me. It’s too gorgeous.
He’s gone with the dewy morning garden, as Gwen suggested, so it appears that she is gazing out a window just after waking, taking in the glint of the sun on the plants outside, still damp from the previous night. She can almost feel the warmth of the sun.
“What do you think?” he asks, almost a whisper.
“It’s… sublime, Arthur. Amazing. I… don’t have a word for how wonderful it is.”
“I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever done.”
She turns and looks at him, and finds that he’s not even looking at the painting; he’s looking at her. “What are you going to do with it?” Don’t put it in the closed with the others.
“I might frame it and hang it. In my bedroom.”
“Well, of course,” she teases, looking away.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, raising his hand to her face, gently turning it back to him.
“Nothing. The painting is fabulous, Arthur, it really is. I love it.”
“But you still don’t think that’s what you look like,” he says, looking down at her.
He is too smart,
she thinks, pressing her lips together.
“How much convincing do you need, Guinevere?” he asks, pulling her into his arms. “Surely you don’t think you are unattractive.”
“I’m… fair,” she allows. He raises his eyebrows at her. “Honestly, Arthur, am I supposed to go around thinking I’m gorgeous? Those kinds of people are irritating and tiresome to be around.”
“Yes, but you must be able to accept that other
people, like me,” he smiles at her, stroking her cheek, “think you are the most beautiful creature to walk the earth.”
“That’s a bit of an overstatement, Arthur,” she says, blushing.
“Not to me, it isn’t,” he says, bending to kiss her briefly.
She sighs, dropping her head against his chest. “I know you think I’m beautiful.”
“Yes, I do. And so does Merlin, and Leon, and Ox, and Gwaine.”
“Especially Gwaine,” she laughs.
“Yes, let’s not talk about him.”
She laughs more.
“I warned you that you were going to be my new favorite subject. So get used to admiration.” He pecks her lips.
“Not likely, but I’ll try.”
“Good enough. Now. What time are we meeting your dad?” he asks, releasing her from his arms.
“12:30. So put on a clean shirt or something. Not
the one I just gave you,” she warns, knowing that he would very likely do just that.
“Aw…” he moans, heading to his room.
get the molasses out of your trousers,” Gwen calls, standing impatiently.
“What’s the rush?” he answers, strolling out.
“You will gain a lot of points with my father if we are punctual. Or better still, early. So let’s go.”
“All right, all right, I’m ready.”
He drives them in her Mini to a nearby café, and Gwen smiles smugly when she sees that they’ve arrived before her father. They wait outside, enjoying the warm sunshine. She leans against Arthur, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her forehead.
Gwen sighs, realizing that she’s happier than she has been in a long time. Not that I was unhappy, but now it’s like Arthur has filled a missing piece of me that I didn’t even know was absent.
“What are you thinking about, Sweet?” he asks.
“That I’m happy,” she answers, looking up at him and kissing his chin.
“Well, that’s good news,” he smiles. “And I’m glad, because I’m happy, too.” He drops his head and kisses her, sweetly, softly.
“Hey, they have laws about public indecency, you know,” Gwen’s father’s booming voice interrupts them and Arthur releases her, blushing only because he was caught by her dad.
Gwen laughs, though, saying, “We weren’t doing anything indecent, Dad. And hello.” She walks to him and gives him a hug and offers her cheek, which he kisses.
“Hello, Gwennie,” he says warmly, smiling at his daughter. “Pendragon,” he nods in Arthur’s direction.
“Afternoon, sir,” Arthur says politely.
Gwen sighs. “Dad, be nice,” she mutters, then, “Okay, who’s hungry? I know I am.” With that, she strides forward and into the café. The two men look at each other and follow her inside.
They are seated at a table near the window, Gwen between the two men. Dad is still being a papa bear, so I’d best separate them for now,
she thinks, glancing at her father, then Arthur, who smiles reassuringly at her. She touches his leg with her foot under the table.
“Oh, before I forget,” Gwen says, plunking down a bag containing her father’s coffee.
Tom digs into the bag and pulls out a vacuum-sealed pack of coffee beans. He presses his nose to it and inhales. “Ahh…” he sighs. “Thank you, Gwen.”
“So can I ask what is so special about that coffee? I’m curious,” Arthur asks, looking up from his menu.
“It’s just better. Stronger. I get so bloody sick of tea sometimes. I went to Chicago with Elyan when he moved there, and this doughnut shop had excellent coffee, and they actually sell it there, like this,” he holds up the pack, “so I bought a bunch. I have to grind the beans myself, but it’s definitely worth it.”
I think that’s the most I’ve heard him say in one go,
Arthur realizes. “How do you grind them?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair.
“I had to buy a little machine to do it. Bought it there, actually, so I have to use an adaptor to plug it in here,” he chuckles.
Gwen smiles behind her menu as Arthur charms her father, asking him questions, engaging him in simple conversation that draws the reticent man out of his protective armor a bit.
“Your friend Oxley is doing quite well at the Yard,” Tom comments while they eat their lunches.
“Good to know. Haven’t seen much of him lately, he’s so busy now with his training, and when he’s not there, he’s home studying.”
Tom snorts. “Studying? He already knows all the materials, what could he possibly be studying?”
“He does, really?” Gwen asks, spearing some salad and popping it in her mouth.
“Yeah, since you told me about him, I’ve kind of made it my business to follow his progress. You know, to make sure I’d made a good investment, kind of thing.”
“Sanders tells me that Oxley is always the first to volunteer, the first with his hand up to answer. Even for tear gas training, he got stuck right in.”
“Tear gas?” Arthur asks.
“They have to go in a closed room while tear gas gets pumped in,” Gwen explains. “It sounds horrid.”
“Part of the training is to know the weapons, the, um, tools of the trade. And that means experiencing some unpleasantness from time to time,” Tom shrugs.
“Do you have to get shot as well?” Arthur asks.
Gwen thinks, worried that her father will not take his joke at face value.
Luckily, Tom laughs, and says, “No, no, but the hand-to-hand training can get a little rough sometimes.”
“Pity whoever gets partnered up with Ox,” Arthur comments, smirking at his chip before biting half of it off.
“Lad will definitely graduate with honors. Top of the class already.”
Gwen smiles, pleased.
“He was born for the work, sir, trust me,” Arthur says, nodding at him.
“I’m inclined to agree, Pendragon.”
They finish their lunches, and Guinevere has finally relaxed, as her father and Arthur seem to be getting on quite well now. They’ve discovered that they both love football and Tom has a secret penchant for sweets as well.
“So. How long do you plan on tattooing people for a living?” Tom asks, serious again.
“I’m sorry, Gwen, but I need to ask.”
“No, he’s right to do so,” Arthur allows. “And I plan on being in the tattoo business only as long as I must, and no more.”
“Which means what, exactly?”
“Honestly, I haven’t quite figured that out yet. I’m sure Guinevere has told you that I am an artist, and I only do the tattooing to pay the bills. It’s honest work, sir, and while it’s neither glamorous nor particularly rewarding, I am good at it and it beats being on the dole.”
“True. Though, and understand I’m only questioning because I love my daughter, have you thought about your future? Where are you going
with your life?”
“Dad, enough,” Gwen says. “You don’t need to grill him.” We’ve only been going out a little over a month, it’s not like he’s asking for my hand.
“It’s all right, Sweet,” Arthur says, taking her hand in his. “Ideally I’d like my art to be recognized. Sold. Seen.
I realize that may be a pipe dream, but… well, perhaps one day I could take in students or something. I was reading something about Graphic Design recently, you know, like adverts and the like? Basically, I just have to decide, I guess.”
Tom studies him. “Perhaps you should give it some thought,” he says, somewhat cryptically.
“Yes, sir. I am an adult, I know, and at some point I should behave like one.”
“Indeed. But… just not all the time,” Tom answers, allowing a small smile.
Arthur laughs, “Perhaps I just need someone to come along and give me a swift kick in the arse to get me to start thinking.”
“Let me go get my steel-toed boots,” Tom says, making as if to stand.
Gwen laughs now, putting her hand on her father’s arm. “Dad!”
“Don’t worry, Gwennie, I think Pendragon and I understand each other.”
“Yes, sir,” Arthur says, nodding at the older man. Is it possible that he can see how completely head over heels I am for his daughter?
“One more question,” Tom says, taking a drink as the waiter brings the check. Tom grabs it immediately, noting that Arthur did reach for it as well.
“It’s been my experience that blokes that do tattooing for a living usually are covered with them.”
“Ah. I have one,” Arthur says, answering the question before it is actually asked.
“It’s a large one, but yes, just the one.”
Tom angles his head, looking, trying to spot it.
“It’s here,” Arthur points, “on my shoulder. And chest. And some of my back. I’d show you, but they’d boot me from the restaurant for taking my shirt off,” he laughs.
“What is it?”
“A big dragon.”
“It’s really beautiful, Dad,” Gwen says.
“Hmm. ‘Beautiful’ isn’t usually a word I equate with tattoos,” Tom says, skeptical.
“You haven’t seen it. It’s his own design,” Gwen says.
“So, you don’t have a problem with tattoos in general, just not as a career option, is that correct?” Arthur asks.
“Basically. As a cop, tattoos are very helpful things. Identifying marks and all that. Good for ID-ing a criminal. Or a body. Like if someone were to, say, lop your head off and separate it from your body, your headless corpse could be identified by that large tattoo on your shoulder, there.”
“Ugh,” Gwen makes a face.
“Sorry,” he apologizes to his daughter. “You think she’d be used to it by now. It’s not like I haven’t been a policeman her whole life,” he chuckles.
Arthur laughs as well. “It was probably the use of the phrase ‘headless corpse’ that did it.”
“Don’t help,” Gwen says, looking sideways at Arthur.
Tom pays the waiter and they stand to leave.
“Thank you for lunch, Mr. Degrance,” Arthur says, offering his hand.
“You’re welcome, Pendragon,” he says, shaking the young man’s hand.
“Yes, thanks, Dad. El sends his love, by the way.”
“Yeah, I called him yesterday to tell him you were home safe. So I talked to him already,” he grins at her.
“Figures,” she rolls her eyes.
They walk outside and Gwen hugs her father again.
“What are you up to the rest of the day?” he asks.
“Not much. I’m still pretty jetlagged, so I may just lounge around with Arthur’s gigantic ginger cat while he paints or something.”
“I’d like to see some of your work sometime,” Tom says to Arthur. “I know exactly nothing about art, mind, but my curiosity is piqued now.”
“I’d like that, actually. I’ve been working on one of Guinevere, actually,” he says.
“Fully clothed,” Gwen adds quickly, glancing at Arthur. Don’t say anything about the one you just finished.
“Yes, she’s a fascinating subject to paint. Very beautiful. Unique.”
Tom smiles. “I definitely agree there, but of course I would, wouldn’t I?”
“Certainly hope so,” Arthur grins.
“All right, it’s hot out here and I would like a nap,” she says, taking Arthur’s hand. “Goodbye, Daddy.”
“Goodbye, Gwennie. Oh, and Gwen?”
“Yes?” she turns back.
“You had better not get any tattoos.”
“Dad…” she scowls at him.
“I basically told her the same thing, sir,” Arthur chimes in.
“Suck up,” Gwen mutters to him as they walk to the car.
“Hey, he’s liking me now, I’m not losing that,” he says back, squeezing her hand.
Part 21: www.fanpop.com/spots/arthur-and-gwen/articles/174111/t...-21