Part 1: link
Arthur plants a longing kiss on Guinevere’s waiting lips as he sets her softly on her feet. He steps back to the door and slides the bolt, locking them in. As the bolt finds its home, they see a line of blue light trace the perimeter of the room, surrounding them like a great bubble before disappearing.
“What was that?” Gwen asks, her voice full of wonder.
“Um, must have been Merlin. He said something about a soundproofing spell and not wanting to unintentionally intrude by overhearing anything. It was part of a very awkward conversation we had while you were dressing; please don’t ask me to elaborate. I’d really rather not relive it,” he says, bending and chucking his boots and socks off unceremoniously.
She chuckles, picturing her dear friend and her dear love both stammering and clearing their throats, both trying valiantly and unsuccessfully not to turn sixteen different shades of red.
He stands and regards her and they share a brief moment, a small standoff, neither knowing how to proceed.
Arthur breaks the spell first, stepping towards Gwen and cupping her lovely face gently between his hands, tilting it up towards him so he can kiss her with equal gentleness.
Gwen’s eyes drift close as she surrenders to his kiss. She is no longer surprised by how gentle he always is with her, but it still amazes her. He is so different from his public persona when he is alone with me.
“Guinevere,” he says her name soft and low, his lips hovering near hers. She realizes he is trembling slightly. Or is that me?
He takes her hand in his and leads her to the bedside, his thumb nervously rubbing the skin of her wrist, sending tendrils of heat up her arm.
She bites her lip and releases his hand, bringing hers to his waist and his belt, which she unfastens and lays aside.
He stares, his breathing shallow. Then he reaches forward and pulls at the laces of her corset, which happen to be in the front. His knuckles brush the undersides of her breasts and they both inhale sharply at the contact, locking eyes for a brief moment before he frees the garment and tosses it carelessly away.
Gwen takes a deep breath and lifts the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. He leans forward and lifts his arms to assist her, almost as if he were a small boy again being undressed by his nursemaid. She sets the shirt beside his belt and brings her hands to his chest.
“I’ve always wanted to touch these muscles.” She whispers the admission.
He brings his hands over hers, guiding them around, encouraging her. “Be my guest, Wife, they are yours to enjoy.”
Her hands reach his shoulders and she pulls him down to kiss him again.
Arthur pulls away, reluctantly, and ponders her dress. “How…?” he asks, not sure how to proceed. He takes her shoulders and gently turns her, finding a tie in the back. “Aha,” he declares, and his fingers go to work again, pulling the narrow laces free.
The dress is just a bit too big for her petite frame, and once opened, a soft brown shoulder comes into view almost immediately. Arthur’s lips are drawn to it like a magnet, ghosting feather-light over the exposed skin, drawing a small gasp from Guinevere.
He presses his lips to her shoulder more firmly, craving the feel of her skin against them. When the tip of his tongue comes forth to shyly lick at the soft, warm flesh, she shivers and brings her arm up, her hand to his cheek.
Oh, God, if this is just what it feels like to have him kiss my shoulder…
Gwen thinks, unable to even finish the thought.
He slides the dress down from her other shoulder, and she pulls her arms from the sleeves, leaving it hanging at her hips for a moment until she shoves it to the floor.
Arthur lifts her then, out of the circle of fabric, as easily as if she were a child. She turns back to face him in her shift, the thin linen barely hiding anything.
“God, Guinevere, I…” he trails off, his eyes raking over her small form, her slender arms and soft curves, her bare feet on the soft rug.
When did she remove her shoes? Why am I thinking about her shoes?
Gwen takes a deep breath and slides the thin straps of the shift from her shoulders and lets the garment slither down her body to the floor. She steps out of it, kicking it to the side as she does so, looking down.
She keeps her eyes downcast, having used up the last of her bravery.
“Guinevere,” Arthur says softly. His voice is raspy, like it has caught in his throat.
“Guinevere, look at me,” he presses, lifting her chin with his fingers.
Her eyes meet his and she bites her lower lip again, her heart pounding so hard that she is certain he can see it.
“You are unbelievably beautiful, my love,” he whispers. He reaches towards her with one hand, hesitates in mid-air, then drops it with a curse so faint she can barely hear it.
Gwen’s teeth release their grip on her lush bottom lip and she manages a small smile and a whispered, “Thank you.”
“I don’t want to scare you,” he finally admits, explaining why he dropped his hand.
“I’m not scared. Not really. Not of you. Nervous, yes. Not scared.” I’m rambling,
she realizes and she drops her eyes again.
He chuckles now, able to read her like a book. He finally touches her then, his hand snaking around her waist, sliding his battle-roughened palm against her smooth skin as he pulls her closer.
“We are unequal,” he whispers, dropping his head down over hers and inhaling deeply, taking in the smell of her hair.
“But you’re not really a prince anymore,” she says, confused as to why he is bringing this up now.
He laughs, confusing her further. “No, Love, I mean I still have my trousers on,” he says, guiding her hands to the waist of his trousers.
She drops her head against his chest. “Oh,” she says dumbly. He lifts her chin again, smiling warmly at her before kissing her lips again.
“And here all this time I thought that you were smarter than me,” he teases. “Oof!” he exclaims when Gwen moves her hand and punches his stomach.
“You are not funny, Arthur,” she says, trying not to laugh now. I’m standing here naked, on my wedding night, giggling like an idiot. Not how I pictured this at all.
He silences her with another toe-curling kiss, once again guiding her hands to the ties of his trousers, determined that she be the one to remove them. This time her hands comply, pulling the ties.
They open and she just barely pushes them down before they drop unceremoniously to his feet.
Gwen suddenly finds her hands touching the bare skin of his hips and she gasps in surprise, pulling her lips away.
Arthur steps out of his fallen trousers and he kicks them aside, catching her hands in his and keeping them in place just as she tries to remove them.
“Touch me, Guinevere,” he whispers, nuzzling her nose with his, his eyes half-lidded, his surprisingly long lashes brushing her cheek.
His voice is like a drug, and Gwen’s hands still beneath his. He removes his hands and places them back at her waist, sliding up her back, down to rest on her hips, fingers reaching down to her backside just slightly.
Gwen keeps her hands on him, but doesn’t move them. He kisses her again, softly, and she slides her hands up his sides, and he jumps.
Arthur is ticklish?
She gives an experimental poke and he jumps again, yelping this time as well.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, giggling. “I just didn’t know you were ticklish.”
“Well, find someplace else
to put your hands, Wife,” he says, dropping his voice to that low soft register again, moving her now, slowly, towards the bed.
Arthur’s lips are at her neck again, encouraging her as one of his hands creeps slowly towards its target, sliding around to rest at her side. She feels the side of the bed against her legs just as she feels Arthur’s thumb graze the underside of her breast.
Guinevere pulls her lips from his and gazes up at him, her eyes dark and passion-glazed. She drops her eyes again, this time boldly looking at him, her eyes drinking all of him in, her curiosity and desire finally making her brave enough to give in to her urge to look him. All of him.
Arthur doesn’t move his hand, watching her watch him. Gwen reaches her hand slowly across to him, touching with one finger, running it along the length of his shaft experimentally.
He sucks in his breath sharply and she jerks her hand away as if she has been burnt.
“Sorry,” she says.
Arthur takes her hand and places it fully on him, showing her that she didn’t hurt him, wrapping her fingers around him.
“Oh,” she breathes. It’s so strange. It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Oh!” she gasps as his hand finally covers her breast, his palm grazing her nipple before giving an experimental squeeze. Her hand reflexively tightens around his manhood and he gasps in response.
Arthur moves his hand and runs his thumb across her nipple, which tightens and stiffens further under his touch. Gwen’s back arches slightly, reflexively, her body wanting more of his touches.
He kisses her once more before removing his hand. She makes a small noise of disappointment that makes him smile just before she finds herself lifted off her feet again. She releases him as he sweeps her into his arms and he lays her on the bed, where he stares down at her again.
So beautiful. That cinnamon-colored skin, softer than I could have possibly imagined. She’s perfect; it’s like she was crafted specifically for me, to fit into my hands, against my body.
“Arthur?” she asks, opening her eyes when she realizes he hasn’t joined her.
“I still am having trouble believing we are here, together; married. Guinevere, I cannot get over how beautiful you are.”
“You are going to make me as arrogant as you if you keep saying that,” she chides gently, reaching her hand out to touch his leg, the only place she can reach as he’s set her in the center of the bed.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he smiles. “No one is as arrogant as I am,” he says proudly, sinking down onto the bed.
“Even arrogant about your arrogance, I see,” she remarks with a smirk that he promptly kisses away.
Arthur’s tongue finds hers within the recesses of her mouth and his hand finds her breast again, the other one this time, giving it similar treatment to the first. He kisses down her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, down lower until he finds her unoccupied breast, where he flicks his tongue against her nipple.
Gwen whimpers, clamping her mouth closed, trying to be quiet, proper, not wanting to appear a wanton hussy. Her hands clutch at the bedsheets.
Arthur’s lip curls into a devilish half-smile before descending fully over her nipple, suckling at it, running his tongue around, even gently biting it, trying to coax more noise from her.
“Mm!” She makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a squeak as she bites her lip. Her traitorous body is arching against him again and Arthur continues his assault on her senses, moving to her other breast.
“Don’t hold it in, Guinevere,” he purrs against her chest as he travels across, licking the valley between her breasts as he goes. “I want to hear everything.
He finds her other nipple and vaguely she is aware that one of his hands has gone traveling again, working its way down her stomach. Currently it is resting below her navel, his fingertips just barely touching the line of soft-yet-coarse curls at the apex of her thighs.
Arthur runs his teeth lightly across her nipple and she squeaks again, louder, this time opening her mouth again, trying to let loose the reins.
His hand drops lower and to the side, on her thigh, where he can feel her legs trembling slightly as she wars with keeping them closed and splaying them wide for him.
Obviously she’s been given the wrong kind of advice,
Arthur realizes, sliding his tongue across her rock-hard nipple while he slides his hand towards her inner thigh, gently coaxing her open for him.
“Oh…” she gasps, but still seems reserved.
Arthur kisses her breast and lifts his head. “Guinevere,” he says, looking at her. She opens her eyes. “Trust me,” he commands gently, trying again at her thigh.
He kisses her lips softly once again and finally she decides to relax. She seems to melt into the bed, her tension kissed away and her legs finally relent to his touch, parting.
“Thank you,” he whispers, “don’t worry, Love. Let yourself enjoy it. I want you to be wanton.”
“How did you…?” she asks, but he kisses the question away, his hand now touching the warmth between her legs. He slides a finger carefully between her folds, moving slowly, and her body nearly flies from the bed. Arthur smiles both at her reaction and at the fact that she is already wringing wet and ready for him.
“Oh!” she shouts, finally releasing her voice as she tears her lips away. His finger finds the firm button of nerves and slides around it, very gently, letting her get used to his touch.
“Oh, God,” she moans, pushing her hips into his hand, clearly not wanting him to be so gentle.
He nibbles at her ear with kisses and small bites and he moves his fingers again, slipping one inside her tight warmth, and she finally releases the sheets and grips his shoulders.
There we are,
he thinks, happy to have her fully his again, fully abandoned to sensation.
He withdraws his finger and plunges it in again, repeating the action a few times before pulling it fully out to stroke her sensitive point again.
“Arthur,” she says his name and it almost undoes him. He climbs fully over her, nudging his knees in between hers, and she opens wider still, this time without hesitation.
“Touch me again, Guinevere.”
Her hand moves, dropping to his waist, where it pauses a moment before she takes him in her hand the way he showed her before, grasping him.
“Move your hand on me now,” he whispers, hoping she’ll understand what she means.
She does. Gwen slides her strong, slender hand on his length, and when she draws forth a moan from him, she moves faster, holds tighter.
“Whoa, whoa…” he gasps, moving his hand over hers, stilling it. “Too much and I’ll…”
“Sorry,” she giggles, somewhat pleased with herself.
He drops down and kisses her. “Don’t apologize for being wonderful,” he says, peppering kisses over her lips, across the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.
She captures his lips with hers, kissing him fiercely, thrusting her tongue deeply into his mouth. He groans in the back of his throat and meets her passion with his own.
Finally he pulls away, leans his forehead against hers, and says quietly, “I am sorry for the pain.”
“I know,” she says, kissing him once more as he lowers his hips, reaching down to guide himself into her.
He pushes gently in, and at first Guinevere thinks something is wrong. It doesn’t hurt. He’s going to think I’m not a maiden. Oh, God, no, this is…
“Ah!” she cries out when the pain hits, her eyes flying open. When she sees that Arthur’s face looks as pained as she feels, suddenly she is overcome with the need to console him.
“It’s okay, Arthur,” she says, reaching up for his face, holding it in her hands, “I’m all right, I promise,” she lies, the stinging burn still sharp as he body learns to adjust to his.
“Liar,” he smiles weakly at her, holding himself up on hands planted on either side of her head.
He watches her, kissing her periodically, waiting until her breathing slows and she relaxes again.
“Better?” he asks, lifting a hand to twine a curl around his finger. He releases it as she nods, caressing her face. He slowly moves his hips, sliding back out a bit experimentally, then back in. She nods her head again and he moves again, more this time.
Sighing, he starts a rhythm within her, slow at first, gradually faster until he finds the pace he wants, still watching Guinevere.
Her eyes flutter closed and she makes another small noise in her throat, and he knows she’s okay.
Arthur drops to his elbows, lowering himself so he can kiss her swollen lips some more. She feels his lips touch hers and she tilts her face to meet his, wanting his kisses as much as he wants hers.
Gwen feels the sensations building within her, building to something she’s never felt before, something good, something amazing, and she suddenly starts to understand what all the fuss is about.
She lifts her hands and threads them through Arthur’s silken hair, now slightly damp with sweat. She runs her fingertips across his scalp and he groans again, so she repeats the action as his lips find her sensitive neck again.
He is thrusting faster again, a little harder now, too. She whimpers again, and Arthur starts to lose control.
“Guinevere… I… I’m sorry… I can’t…” Arthur whispers, his face tight, every muscle in his body straining.
“Arthur, what…?” she manages, not understanding why he’s apologizing until he suddenly thrusts hard and deep, stilling within her. She can feel a strange pulsing sensation within her as his seed rushes forth into her.
He drops down carefully over her, hiding his face in her hair, burrowing into her neck.
She wraps her arms around him, holding his broad back, closing her eyes, still wondering at the sensations that were building within her, now left hovering, abandoned. Frustrated?
Arthur eases off of her but still holds her tight against him. Neither speaks for several minutes, Arthur out of disappointment with himself, Guinevere out of simply being perplexed by the whole experience.
“Sorry, Love,” he finally whispers.
“You did not, um, reach your finish. I could not hold on any longer,” he says, still hiding in her neck, in her soft curls.
“I did not expect my first time to be as pleasurable as it was, actually,” she admits. “From what I’ve heard, many women do not enjoy their first time at all.”
“But you did not enjoy it as much as you should have,” he says.
“We’ll have other opportunities,” she says simply, suddenly realizing that one of his hands has again gone wandering.
“Surely you must feel… unfulfilled,” he says, his hand on her thigh now, his fingers stroking the softness of their inner curve.
She sighs. “There was something building there,” she admits, and his hand creeps higher.
“You’ve never…” He finally lifts his head to look at her.
“No, not to completion, apparently,” she says, guessing at his train of thought. Now it is her turn to look away, embarrassed. “I always stopped myself, thinking I was being improper.”
“Nothing improper about it,” he purrs in her ear as his fingers softly touch her, still slick and slightly swollen.
“Oh!” she gasps, her hips once again unconsciously lifting and tilting into his hand.
“I want you to always have as much pleasure as possible in our marriage bed,” he mutters low in her ear, his teeth nipping lightly at the tender shell.
His fingers are gentle, knowing that she may be sore. He wants to slide a couple into her warmth, to feel her surrounding them again, but he chooses to stay centered on the place that will give her the most pleasure, that will bring her the release she is craving.
“You are my wife,” he continues talking low and soft, his voice ever a caress, “and I want my wife to be completely and thoroughly
satisfied,” he says, increasing the pressure with his fingers slightly on the last word.
Gwen moans and arches her back, so Arthur moves his lips back to her breasts, closing his lips around a nipple, adding fuel to the fire already burning hot in her belly.
“Oh…” she gasps, her hand in his hair again, grabbing a fistful.
A few more flicks and swirls of his fingers and Gwen feels the soaring sensation of her release, like the sun itself has risen in her belly, shining its shafts of light out of her fingers and toes, and she cries out loudly, pulling Arthur’s hair as she does so.
Arthur stills his fingers and carefully extracts them from her, as her thighs clamped together when her climax hit, trapping them.
“Ow,” he says after a minute.
“Sorry,” she says, releasing his hair and smoothing it back down, gently placing his head down on her chest where she caresses his face tenderly.
“Better now?” he asks, lifting his head and turning them so she is cradled against him.
“I had no idea,” she admits. “Wow.”
He chuckles and bends down to kiss her forehead.
“Arthur?” Gwen asks quietly, her head pillowed on his shoulder as they lay together, their limbs still entwined as if they are afraid to break contact.
“Yes, my love?”
“Had you ever, um… done this before?” she asks hesitantly.
He doesn’t answer right away, and immediately regrets the question. “Never mind. It’s not my business.” What was I thinking? He probably had women throwing themselves at him all the time.
“Once,” he says simply, quietly.
“I was seventeen. It was almost a complete disaster,” he chuckles now, squeezing her lovingly.
“Who… wait, no. I don’t want to know. Really.”
He kisses the top of her head. “The lady in question was a few years older, bent on, um, ‘making me a man.’ She actually no longer lives in Camelot.”
“Not because of that.”
Arthur laughs again, enjoying his wife’s curiosity. “Guinevere,” he says, lifting her chin with one finger. “What’s mine is yours. Completely. Ask me anything, tell me anything. Even if it is uncomfortable or you think it may make me angry.”
Gwen just smiles in response as she feels her heart swell yet again. He angles his head to kiss her once again and his hand strokes the soft skin of her back, roaming down to rest on her backside, simply because it can.
“I love you, Arthur,” she whispers into his lips, her eyelashes tickling his cheek as they flutter against his face.
“I love you, too, Guinevere, my wife,” he answers.
Arthur moves to blow out the candles next to the bed, so Gwen reaches for the blankets and pulls them up over them before collapsing, exhausted, against Arthur’s shoulder again.
Entwined in the strange bed, they drift off to sleep together, too tired to even spare a thought about Uther or Camelot.
“Leaving us already?” the innkeeper’s wife asks when Merlin asks for their horses to be brought out from the stables.
“Yes, we need to continue our journey, I’m afraid,” Merlin says. He’s been sitting at a table enjoying more of her excellent cooking while he waits for the newlyweds to emerge from their cocoon.
“Well, don’t rush your friends. One only gets one wedding night,” she comments, sighing romantically. “Well, one should
only get one, if it is done correctly,” she amends.
“No need to worry about those two,” Merlin comments dryly. “Though they could drag their indulgent backsides out any day now,” he mutters, idly considering sending a snowstorm into their room as a tiny hint.
“No need to worry about whom?” Arthur’s voice rings out behind him, and Merlin turns.
“About time,” he says. Gwen blushes.
“Oh yes, very romantic, you,” Arthur says sarcastically. “Pity the woman you marry.”
Gwen puts a hand on his arm and gives him a look.
“We need to get going, you know,” Merlin says carefully.
“I know,” Arthur says.
The innkeeper strides into the room. “Horses are just outside,” he declares.
“Thank you,” Merlin says. “And thank you for the breakfast,” he nods at the innkeeper’s wife.
“Here, Loves, I’ve packed a little something for you,” she thrusts a bundle to Arthur, who takes it gratefully.
“Thank you very much,” he smiles at her. The bundle is still warm.
“Can’t have you traveling on an empty stomach, now,” she smiles, looking at Gwen, noting that she looks perfectly happy, not pale or sickly in the least. The girl is glowing, in fact,
the thinks, and shoots her husband a dirty look.
“For your troubles,” Arthur presses a few coins into the innkeeper’s hand.
“Sir, you’ve paid more than enough already,” he protests, but the coins are already in his pocket.
Gwen steps shyly over to the innkeeper’s wife, handing the borrowed dress back, neatly folded.
“Keep it. It looked better on you than it ever did on me,” she laughs. “And I daresay I couldn’t squeeze myself into it anymore anyway.”
“Thank you,” Gwen says, grateful because she has no other dresses with her. She takes the innkeeper’s wife’s hand and places a coin in it, whispering, “For the sheet. Um, sorry…”
“Quite all right, Lamb,” she says in the way of an understanding mother. Aha! I was right, Eldon!
She presses the coin back into Gwen’s palm. “Keep your coin, dear. Use it to buy something for your first child.”
Gwen smiles, still blushing.
” Merlin urges.
“Strict, that one,” the innkeeper’s wife laughs.
“You have no idea,” Arthur chuckles.
“Thank you again,” Gwen says.
The trio walk out the doors into the bright morning sun. Arthur helps Gwen onto her horse and mounts up himself as well.
“Merlin, are you joining us?” he asks, noticing that Merlin hasn’t mounted his horse yet.
“Shh,” Gwen shushes Arthur. Merlin is peering at the inn, whispering something, his hand outstretched.
He turns towards them and climbs into the saddle. “Now
we can go,” he declares, and spurs his horse into a walk.
“What did you just do?” Arthur asks.
“Just caused a little confusion, that’s all,” Merlin answers noncommittally.
Part 3: link