Part 33: www.fanpop.com/spots/arthur-and-gwen/articles/179879/t...-33
Arthur wakes to a peculiar sound. He sits up, groggy, and tilts his head to the side, listening.
I have a vacuum cleaner?
He swings his feet to the floor, pulls on a pair of shorts, and staggers out to his living room to find Gwen pushing the vacuum around the room, singing to herself. He leans against the wall and watches her, half a grin decorating his face.
“Oh!” she jumps when she sees him. She turns of the vacuum. “Sorry. But I figured you should get up anyway,” she shrugs.
“Ah, so this was my wake-up call, then,” he says, walking towards her. He pulls her into his arms and smiles down at her, kissing her forehead.
“Yes. Now go take the trash out to the bin, wash the dishes in your sink, and make your bed.”
“Guinevere,” he whines.
She shoves his chest. “Hey, if you think I’m going to clean your
flat while you laze about and watch
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, let me go have a pee first,” he says, padding back to the bathroom while she switches the vacuum back on.
Arthur emerges from the bathroom and looks around. “How long have you been up?” he asks. “This place is cleaner than it’s been in a long time.”
“I know.” She gives him a meaningful stare.
“Don’t look at me like that, Merlin is the one that cleans,” he says.
“And that, my love, is truly pathetic.” She stows the vacuum back in the closet in which she found it, then studies the coffee table and the beer dried on it in a sticky blob. “Trash,” she reminds him.
“Empty the cat box, too,” she calls.
An hour later, they have the place looking almost like new. Iggy emerged from his hiding place once Gwen stashed the vacuum and he is now tearing around, enjoying the extra space provided by a clean home.
Arthur plops down on the sofa, looking around. “Wow, thanks, Sweet, this is great,” he says. “Almost makes me want to start picking up after myself,” he laughs, and the phone rings.
He reaches for it. “Hello?”
“Please have good news for me. I’ve been trying to call Gwen since last night and there’s been no answer,” Morgana’s voice, both worried and threatening, pours through the phone.
“Yes, she’s here, Mo. I was a good boy and begged her forgiveness, which she gave me though I didn’t deserve it, and everything is good now.”
“Good. Because my next call was going to be Gwaine.”
“To have him hassle me, too, or to see if he’s snapped her up in her moment of weakness?” he says.
“So you’re getting a show, then?” she asks.
“How did you know?”
“Gwen told me.”
“She told me everything,
“Right down to your looking in the shower and under the bed.”
“All, right, I get it. Shut up about it now.”
“When is it? The show.”
“The opening is three weeks from yesterday,” he says.
“Shit,” Morgana says. “I’m in Rome then.”
“You can’t reschedule?”
“I’ll try, but I’ve already put it off three times and I think Carlo is going to start to think I’m avoiding this visit,” she sighs.
“You are, Mo. You hate Carlo.”
doesn’t need to know that.”
“Bugger. You probably can come see the exhibit when you return, though, even if you’ll miss the opening. They’ll be up for… Guinevere, how long?”
“I don’t know, we’ll have to ask Lance later,” she answers.
“I’ll let you know when I know.”
“Good. Send me a flyer anyway, though.”
“And hey. I had another reason for calling, too.”
“Daddy dearest is in Berlin this weekend.”
“He’s given the servants the weekend off as well.”
“Do what you will with that knowledge, Brother. Make me proud.”
Then she hangs up on him.
Arthur stares at the phone, hangs it up, and walks to the kitchen where Gwen is making them some tea. He wraps his arms around her from behind, kisses her neck, and says, “Do you want to do something almost illegal tonight?”
“I should have locked that door,” Gwen teases over her shoulder at Arthur, who is stepping into the shower. She’d only just got in when she heard him stealthily open the bathroom door.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” he says against her neck, sliding his hands around her wet midsection.
She can already feel his stiff length pressing against her back, so she presses back against him, drawing a groan from his lips. His hands creep up to her breasts, wet and slippery, and he squeezes them gently, thumbing her nipples until they are stiff. Her head drops back against his shoulder.
“Arthur,” she sighs, the hot water from the shower pounding down on them. She reaches around behind to take him in her hand, and he turns her around to face him.
“I was expecting to have to do some convincing,” he chuckles, closing his lips over hers in a kiss that leaves her breathless and gripping his chest.
“Well, if I needed any, that would have done it,” she gasps, bringing her arms up around his neck. He reaches down to find her already wet and swollen with need.
“Oh, God, Guinevere,” he groans, teasing her with his fingers until she is making small sharp sounds in her throat, pleading for more.
He carefully lifts her, bracing her against the shower wall. She wraps her legs around his waist and he drives into her unaided, seating himself deep within her.
“Yes,” she sighs, her hands clinging to his shoulders.
He pulls back and thrusts upward again, holding her hips. “Oh,” she gasps, “harder.”
“Harder?” he asks, lifting his head from her neck.
He growls and plants his feet as best he can on the wet shower floor and repeats his actions, more forcefully.
“Yes,” she cries out, moving with him, riding him as he drives into her, nailing her to the wall while the shower beats down on his back.
He ducks his head and takes a nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, biting lightly.
Arthur moves to the other nipple, still plunging furiously into her, almost frantic for her. His fingers dig into her hips, her hands clutch at his head, holding it to her breast.
“Oh… OH!” she yells, and she presses his face into her breast tightly, her whole body registering her release.
“Mmmph,” Arthur mumbles, and she releases his head, giggling a little. He continues, just a few more thrusts, and he is stilled within her, holding her tightly as he pulses within her, leaning against her, weak from his climax.
Slowly she slides down off of him, and, kissing his chest, she reaches for the soap and proceeds to wash him lovingly, feeling each muscle with her hands, making his skin tingle under her touch.
“Mmm, this is almost as good,” Arthur sighs, letting her attend him.
“Almost as good as what?” she asks innocently, her face bearing a not-so-innocent smirk.
“Almost as good as shagging you senseless against the shower wall,” he answers casually, leaning down to capture her lips in a swift kiss.
“I was not senseless,” she protests. “Rinse.”
“You nearly smothered me in your tits, Sweet. I’d say that qualifies as senseless.
“Nonsense,” she says, reaching for his shampoo. “My tits are not big enough to smother anyone.”
Arthur laughs, hunching down so she can more easily reach his head, shampooing the remnants of the ridiculous white glue he uses out of his hair, so he can just put more in.
“My turn,” Arthur declares after rinsing his head, and starts to return the favor, running soapy hands all over Guinevere’s petite body.
“Behave yourself,” she warns him, looking down to see the beginnings of a fresh arousal.
“Don’t tell me, tell him,
” he nods downward at himself.
“Behave yourself,” she repeats, looking down now, and he slips his soapy hand between her thighs.
“I forgot to tell you. He doesn’t listen.”
They step out of the shower, laughing and teasing, and Arthur suddenly stops.
“Shit. The phone,” he says, throwing a towel around his waist and jogging out the door.
“Hello, Drag? Lancelot.”
“Oh, hey, Lance.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, we—I mean, I was just getting out of the shower,” he says.
“Right,” Lance says wryly.
“I was calling because I wanted to know if I should bring lunch. I mean, unless you’ve eaten… lunch… already.”
Arthur barks an involuntary laugh at Lance’s bold implication. “No, lunch would be great, thanks. What time is it, anyway?”
“Almost noon. Good God, man how long were in you in that shower all by yourself?
“All right, all right, you caught me. Sheesh,” he laughs.
“Let me find out.” He pulls away from the phone. “Guinevere?”
She pokes her head out of the bathroom, unwinding her hair from where she had it pinned on top of her head. “Yes, Love?”
“Lance wants to bring lunch. Anything you’ve got a hankering for?”
“Anything is fine, you can pick,” she says, then she disappears again.
“She’s no help,” he says to Lance, who laughs. What can I suggest that might help me prove my case?
He thinks. She said he likes healthy food.
“I could really go for some fish and chips,” he says, grinning.
“Great. I’ll pick some up and will be over in an hour or so.”
“I’ll start bringing out the paintings. As soon as I put some trousers on.”
“Thank you. More for the trousers than for the paintings, mind.”
Arthur laughs now. “See you in an hour.”
“What’s he bringing?” Gwen asks, appearing in the hallway wrapped in her towel.
“You look like a goddess,” he says, his eyes growing soft at the sight of her, towel around her body like a sarong, her shapely little legs and bare feet in full view, her dark curls cascading down around her shoulders, slightly tousled and loose.
She smiles at him. “That’s going to end up being another painting, isn’t it?” she asks knowingly.
“Possibly. He’s bringing fish and chips.”
“You are naughty,” she laughs, knowing his mind well enough now to know that he intentionally ordered something greasy and deep fried.
“Bet you a pint he shows up with a salad
“Oh, you are on,
” she calls over her shoulder, heading to the bedroom to dress. “And you’re dripping on my clean carpet.”
clean carpet?” he yells back, returning to the bathroom to properly dry himself off.
“When was the last time you vacuumed it?”
“I didn’t even know I had a vacuum!” he yells back, laughing.
He strides into the bedroom now, completely naked and as casual as you please. Gwen rolls her eyes, but secretly she peeks while she rubs moisturizer into her arms and legs.
“Ooo, my favorite show,” Arthur says, yanking up his black jeans, watching her in her bra and panties, her hands running over her shining skin.
Gwen laughs and tosses the bottle at his head, which he catches easily. “Nice reflexes,” she observes, holding her hands out for him to throw it back.
“Too many years playing football,” he shrugs, tossing it back to her. She tucks it in her bag, beginning to wonder if she should really start leaving a few things here.
He pulls his red t-shirt over his head, the one Gwen got him in Chicago, and grins at her.
“Yes, I see. I always notice when you wear it, silly,” she says indulgently, stepping into a pair of jeans and a purple shirt with a deep vee, designed to looks like it wraps around her.
“Did you make that shirt?” he asks, reaching out for her.
“No, not this one.”
“I like it,” he says, his eyes dropping to her cleavage.
“Dog,” she teases as he leans down to place a few soft kisses on her chest.
“Woof,” he says, licking her now, and she giggles.
She reaches up to start doing something with her hair, and he takes her hands, pulling them gently away. “Leave it loose,” he says. “For me. Please. I love it like this.” He lifts a few curls to his lips, kissing them.
“I’ll try, but if it starts to get in my way, it’s getting at least the front pulled back.”
“Understood,” he smiles. “Okay, let’s get those paintings back out.”
Lance knocks at 1:00 sharp, bags in hand. Arthur opens the door for him. “Mind the cat,” he warns, scanning the room for Iggy. Bloody hell, he still dresses this way on the weekends?
he thinks, noting Lance’s tan trousers, light blue collared shirt and leather shoes.
“What cat?” Lance asks.
“He may turn up. But be alert. He may ambush you,” Arthur warns.
“He will do no such thing,” Gwen says confidently, taking the bags from Lance and setting them on the coffee table. “I spoke to him this morning and he will be a good boy.”
“You spoke… to…” Arthur starts, then gives up. “I don’t know why I continue to be surprised.”
“Cat listens to her and not you, I’m guessing?” Lance says, looking around the flat, distracted by the walls, his eyes lingering briefly on each image, amazed at how they are unrelated images and yet they flow into each other and somehow seem to make sense.
“Fucking cat never purred once until she turned up. Now he’s a fucking motorboat.”
Lance laughs. “So we’re lunching picnic-style, then?” he asks, indicating the table.
“Sorry, no room for a proper table,” Arthur apologizes. “Ale?” he offers.
“Just some water, thanks,” Lance says.
“Water it is,” Arthur says, strolling to the kitchen.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any lemon, would you?” Lance calls.
“No,” Arthur calls back.
And now he has another piece of “evidence” for his argument,
“Oh, never mind, the fish shop gave us some for the fish. Excellent,” Lance says.
Arthur brings him a glass and Lance squeezes the lemon over it before dropping it in. Then, to Gwen’s hidden horror, he produces a salad from one of the bags. But it is a small one, a side dish. He has another for Gwen, even.
“Didn’t peg you as a salad eater, mate,” he says to Arthur.
“Good call,” Arthur answers. Lance digs in to his fish, and Arthur looks at Gwen. Do you owe me a pint or do I owe you one now? I’m confused.
Gwen chuckles and takes a bite of her salad. They sit around the table and eat, chatting idly.
“This is very Moroccan,” Lance says. “Sitting around a low table like this. We should be eating with our hands or something. Wait, we kind of are…”
“All we need are some belly dancers,” Arthur laughs. “Guinevere, you up for it?”
“Left my finger cymbals in my other pair of harem pants, sorry,” she says, picking off a bit of fish and holding it out for Iggy, who turned up as soon as the fish was brought out. Iggy takes the fish gently from her fingers and eats it happily.
“And that’s why he likes her better,” Lance guesses.
“No, he liked her better the instant she stepped through that door,” Arthur says, nodding at the door.
“Because I don’t refer to him as ‘Bastard’ or ‘Fucking Cat,’” Gwen supplies. “Isn’t that right, baby?” she says to Iggy, rubbing him once behind his ears. He meows questioningly, looking up at her.
“No, no more fish. You’ll get a sick tummy,” she says. He looks at her for a moment, then bounds away to his window.
what I don’t understand,” Arthur says. “It’s like he understands everything she says.”
“He does,” Gwen says simply, reaching for another chip. She is about to eat it, then she realizes she is full. She feeds it to Arthur, saying, “I don’t know why I took this; I’m full.”
Arthur happily takes it, quickly kissing her fingers immediately afterward. “Happy to be of service, my love,” he says, chewing.
Gwen glances at Lance. Does it bother him that we’re so demonstrative?
she wonders. Doesn’t seem to. There’s nothing between us any more, I am sure of that. At least on my part. And if he is gay… Damn you, Arthur, for planting that thought!
She stands and clears her place, throwing the waste in the bin, letting the two men finish. While they eat, she sets out the paintings, and, on a whim, the stacks of drawings he did last week, thinking that Lance might have an idea about them.
“All, right, that’s it for me,” Lance says. “I haven’t eaten food like this in a while. I may end up regretting it later,” he laughs.
“Good thing you had the salad, then,” Arthur says, smirking. Gwen considers throwing a pencil at his head.
They stand and clear the rest of the table, and Lance goes to refill his glass from the tap. He strolls back out. “All right, let’s get to business, here.”
He surveys the paintings, looking at each one in turn, saying nothing. Once he’s seen them all, he looks up. “These are fucking brilliant, Arthur.”
“We need about fifteen for the show. Or we can use all of these; I’ll find wall space if I have to. Build some, even. Well, maybe not the kitten.”
“You don’t like baby Iggy?” Arthur asks, laughing.
“He’s adorable. But he doesn’t match,
if you get my meaning.”
“I know. I didn’t expect that one to be included; it was a just a lark anyway. And I don’t want these two in, either,” he says, pointing to the ones of his pregnant mother and his crying father. “They’re a little too personal.”
“That’s too bad, they are very moving. Especially that one,” he points to the painting of Uther.
“And that one,” Arthur points to the painting of Guinevere’s back, “we can show, but it is not for sale.”
“Drag, are you sure? That is probably the best one. We could fetch a pretty penny for it.”
“Mine. I am not parting with that one.”
“Says the petulant five-year-old,” Gwen laughs. Really she is touched that he wants to keep it.
“There’s this one, too, that just needs a couple more touches before it’s done,” Arthur indicates the one on the easel, the other one of Gwen.
“Now this is lovely as well,” Lance declares.
“He painted that one from memory,” Gwen tells him.
“Really?” Lance is impressed.
“Yes, he has an amazingly visual memory. I’ve been here while he worked on it, but I never actually sat
for that one. I did for the other, but not this one.”
Lance studies it, noting Gwen’s pensive face in it, her downcast eyes, her soft expression. “Amazing. Every detail. How long did it take you to get her exact
shade of brown?”
“Not long at all, actually,” Arthur says. “It’s imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.”
Gwen thinks, her heart fluttering slightly.
“I guess I can part with this one, if you insist,” Arthur sighs.
“Bet my father buys it,” Gwen mutters darkly.
“Guinevere…” Arthur says reproachfully. “She doesn’t see how beautiful she is,” Arthur tells Lance.
“I know,” Lance answers, and Arthur realizes he just told Lance something he already know.
Arthur chuckles, then, “Of course you would already know that.”
“Boys, if you’re done embarrassing me, perhaps we could move on?”
“What else do you have?” Lance asks.
“Nothing, really,” Arthur says.
“Liar,” Gwen pulls Lance to the kitchen, where she has his sketchbooks and the stacks of drawings he did of her.
“These are just pencil drawings,” Arthur says, opening one of his jars and pulling out a bunch of red licorice, which he munches while Lance looks.
“These are amazing,” Lance says, flipping through the sketchbook. “Merlin… Gwaine…” he pauses. “That guy is unreal,” he comments, laughing.
“Tell me about it,” Gwen says.
“I made the mistake of thinking I could out-drink him last night,” he says.
“Oh, no,” Arthur says, laughing.
“Hey, he challenged me.”
“We both ended up under the table, singing.”
“I’m sorry we left early,” Gwen says, laughing.
“Yes, well, he had to teach me ‘The Wild Rover,’ and so then I had to teach him ‘Au Claire de la lune,’ and from there it devolved into dirty limericks.”
“Oh, my God,” Gwen leans her head on the kitchen counter, laughing.
“How long were you under there before Ox pulled you out?”
“I don’t even know. Merlin and Leon were quite amused and entertained, so it was quite a while, probably,” he shrugs, turning back to the sketchpad.
“Wow, nice one of Phil. And Leon… Ox...”
“You have a good memory for names,” Arthur says, impressed that he remembered them all.
“I was at the pub for a while last night, you know. Who’s this?”
“This one should go out. She’s fascinating.”
“Even more so in person,” Arthur agrees. “But I don’t know if she’d be flattered or horrified to have a drawing of herself up in an art gallery.”
“Only one way to find out, then, hey?” Lance says, smirking. “I like this doll head one, too.”
“Yeah, kind of unsettling, isn’t it?” Arthur says, tilting his head slightly as he looks at it.
“Positively creepy. I love it.”
They find a few more drawings to include, then Gwen leads him to the stacks.
“Guinevere…” Arthur protests, his hand over that
“Hey, you drew them, tough guy.”
“Well, I never thought they’d be seen
by anyone other than you and I.”
Lance is already busy flipping through the other drawings, pulling some aside, re-sorting the stacks.
“Don’t make me remind you that Lance has already seen…
” Gwen starts, and Arthur makes a face.
“Seen what?” Lance asks.
“Me,” Gwen says, blushing despite herself.
“So these are nudes, then?” Lance guesses, completely nonplussed.
“Yeah. I drew all these in the four days we were broken up. Well, three actually, because I kind of lost Monday,” Arthur explains.
these? In three days? From memory? Good Lord, man, I need to sit down.”
“And now he doesn’t want you to see this stack.”
“I was wondering why they were face-down,” he says, reaching for them.
“But…” Arthur stammers.
“Already seen it, mate, no longer interested,” Lance says casually, flipping the stack over.
Arthur stands, dumbfounded and staring for a moment. Then he slowly looks at Gwen and raises an eyebrow, a triumphant devilish smile slowly spreading across his face.
She glares back. You don’t know that’s what he meant.
“Drag, these are beautiful. Sometimes nudes can be kind of… porn-y, but these are very tasteful.” He looks up at him. “You really missed her.”
“I did,” Arthur says, having the good sense to look contrite.
“I have an idea,” Lance says, pulling aside a few of the nude drawings and adding them to the other stack. He flips through them, guessing about thirty or forty. “Come on,” he says, picking up the stack and heading back to the living room.
He hands the stack to Gwen, and reaches down to the coffee table. “Help me move this,” he says, and Drag takes the other end, and they clear a large space in the middle of the small living room, pushing the furniture back as well. Lance takes the stack back and starts laying the drawings out in a grid on the floor. He steps back, and the three of them stare down at a large collage of his drawings, all of Guinevere in whole or in part, a five-by-six grid of 30 pieces of paper.
“We matte and mount this and put it in a huge frame,” Lance says, holding his arms out wide. “It would be a beautiful feature piece in the gallery, right in the center on the moveable wall.”
“Wow, that’s… that’s bloody brilliant, Lance,” Arthur says, looking down at them. “Although…” He bends down and rearranges some of the drawings. “Better.”
“No,” Gwen says, bending down and retrieving one of her, her entire body on display. “I get final veto power.” She reaches over and chooses another one from the remainder of the stack in Lance’s hands and puts it in the empty slot.
“Fair enough, since you are the subject,” Lance laughs.
“What about that one?” Arthur points to one where her bum is showing.
“Um… I guess that one’s okay,” she allows. “Just no full frontals.”
“And what about the rest?” Arthur asks Lance.
“We keep them for later. Our Gwen is going to be a popular girl, I think,” he grins.
“Wait,” Arthur reaches for the stack Lance is still holding, flips through it and finds one that suits his needs. He bends over, picks one up, an extreme close-up of a segment of her face, her eyes half-lidded, her lips full and shiny, and replaces it.
“This one deserves to stand on its own,” Arthur says, holding it up for Lance to see.
“Agreed,” Lance nods.
Gwen blushes again.
Part 35: www.fanpop.com/spots/arthur-and-gwen/articles/181803/t...-35