Fic 6: link
Prompt: Staying in bed instead of going to work on a cold December morning
“Come on come on come on…” Arthur prompts in the doorway, a mantra to the small fluffy dog sniffing around in the frigid air. He dances on his bare toes, knowing that as soon as he turns away or decides to close the main door, she’ll be back and scratching. Or worse, barking, which will make the neighbors cross at this early hour.
“Finally,” he breathes, opening the glass storm door just enough to allow his number one fan and devotee, Jingle the corgi, back into the house. “Took you long enough,” he grumbles, frowning down at her. She looks up at him and smiles her doggy smile up at him and he can’t stay irritated.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says, but he smiles and reaches down to scratch between her ears. Jingle was his Christmas gift last year from Guinevere, and if you ask the dog, she will tell you that the sun rises and sets on her Arthur.
She follows him back up to the bedroom, where he hurriedly climbs back into the bed, spooning up against his sleeping wife. Jingle rests her front paws on the edge of the mattress, giving Arthur a pathetic “Can I come up and snuggle, too?” look.
“No,” Guinevere says sleepily, knowing that Arthur is moments away from reaching down and scooping his dog up so she can curl up at his feet. “Go to your own bed, Jingle,” she says gently, lifting her head slightly, and the dog acquiesces to Gwen’s status as Alpha Female of the pack.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” Arthur mutters, sticking his cold nose into her neck.
“The hell you didn’t,” she says, scooting away from him. “You’re cold, go away.”
“I need you to warm me up,” he says, scooting after her. “It’s colder than a ditch-digger’s arse outside. I thought Jingle was going to freeze to the ground when she was doing her business.”
“Arthur, that’s gross,” Gwen complains. Then she yelps when he slips his cold hand beneath the hem of her flannel pajama top, attempting to warm it on her stomach. “Get away!”
He laughs maniacally, squeezing her tighter. “Let’s stay home today,” he whispers in her ear, inspiration hitting him.
“I can’t,” she protests.
“You can,” he presses, nibbling her now.
She closes her eyes again, and her mouth falls open in a small gasp as his hand finds her breast now beneath her pajamas. “How cold is it outside?” she asks, and he knows he’s winning.
“Frigid,” he murmurs, moving to her neck. “Arctic. Sub-arctic. Apocalyptically cold.” He says all these things between kisses pressed against her warm skin, nudging her flannel collar out of the way as he goes.
“So the Mayans were right, then?” Gwen says, chuckling now.
“Is it the 21st?” Arthur lifts his head.
“Yes,” she answers, turning in his arms to face him now.
“All the more reason to not go to work. If the world is ending today, I want to die in bed with my beautiful wife, preferably in the middle of—”
“Okay, we’ll call in!” she interrupts him, laughing. “Though I don’t think I’ll use the Mayan-predicted apocalypse as my excuse.”
“Chicken,” he teases, releasing her so she can grab her phone. “And it’s Friday, besides. So long weekend, too.”
“Very long weekend,” she comments. “Hi, Gaius, this is Gwen. I’m feeling a bit under today and I don’t think I’ll be making it in today. Happy Christmas,” she says into the phone, changing her voice slightly, making sound weaker, slightly raspy.
“Voice mail?” Arthur asks, pulling her over.
“What about you?” Gwen counters, reaching across him – which he thoroughly enjoys – to hand him his phone.
Arthur sighs and takes the phone from her. “Hello, Father. I’m not coming in today. It’s cold as sin out and the world might be ending, so I’m going to stay at home and spend the day in bed with Guinevere. See you Tuesday if we haven’t all blown up by then.”
“Arthur!” Gwen exclaims, giggling despite herself, shocked that Arthur would leave such a message for his father.
“What?” he asks innocently.
“You know what,
” she scolds. “I’m going to have to face that man on Christmas, you know.”
“Guinevere, we are married,” Arthur says, pulling her on top of him now. “Surely my father must realize on some level that we engage in marital activities.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear about it. Or that I want him to know about it,” she pouts.
“Well, if he expects grandchildren, and he does, then…” Arthur smirks, leaning up to kiss her tempting lips.
“Ugh,” they say in unison.
“Break for teeth brushing,” Gwen declares, climbing out of the bed and scurrying to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later they are back, bladders empty, teeth brushed, lips searching, hands groping.
Arthur’s nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on the front of Gwen’s pajama top, her favorite pajamas, red with gold dragons. She’d bought them for Arthur, but he complained they were too warm. A couple washings in hot water later, they were small enough to not be completely falling off Gwen’s petite body.
He tosses her top to the floor, narrowly missing Jingle, who lifts her head, sighs, and puts it back down just as Arthur’s t-shirt joins the other garment on the floor.
Arthur leans over her, pulling the down-filled comforter up over his shoulders to shroud them, cocoon them from the cold. He straddles her, kissing her lips, sweeping his tongue, tasting the interiors of her mouth, now cinnamon-flavored from their toothpaste.
Her fingers find his sleep-tousled hair, sliding though the silken tresses, catching on a tangle or two as he moves his lips down her jaw to her neck, her collarbone, to her waiting breasts.
She arches against him, her body aching for his kisses, her hands reaching for his pajama bottoms, simple cotton stripe, pulling at them with first her hands, then feet, until he shuffles them off, leaving them abandoned beneath the blankets at his feet.
“Now you,” he says, his lips still on her skin, pulling her pants down and off, disappearing beneath the blankets momentarily, only to kiss his way back up, starting at her knee.
Kneeling between her legs now, he trails his lips up her smooth thigh, lingering at her hipbones, teasing the apex of her thighs with his tongue briefly, too briefly, just long enough to make Gwen squirm and whimper.
She hooks a leg around his leg, running her foot along his calf while he kisses her stomach, back to her breasts, where his blonde head emerges from beneath the blankets finally to close his lips over a nipple.
“Arthur,” she moans softly, pulling his hips toward her with her legs, drawing him towards her until she can feel his shaft against her, prodding her moist warmth.
He hums contentedly against her and she sighs as he kisses across to her other breast, tongue laving her nipple as he suckles her, his hands stroking her soft skin.
Gwen reaches down and takes his manhood in her hand, sliding her slender fingers on his firm length, the familiarity of its shape, its girth not detracting from the pleasure she feels from it, the excitement new each time.
“Love me, Arthur,” she whispers, pulling him gently towards her. He groans and sinks slowly into her, savoring each moment, each molecule of her as she surrounds him.
“Oh…” he sighs, throwing his head back before returning to her lips, moving smoothly, almost leisurely. Indulgently. She tugs his lower lip between her teeth, sucking it into her mouth, closing her lips over his to kiss him greedily.
“Guinevere,” he gasps, starting to move faster now, his desire building, his need growing.
“More…” she whimpers, “harder…”
He grunts a reply and thrusts harder, deeper, and she cries out as he finds that spot that she wants, needs, and she wraps her legs fully around him now, her hands clinging to his shoulders.
“Yes,” she gasps as it builds, the blissful sensations overtaking them both, the heat intense between them now, and he throws the comforter back, off of their too-warm bodies, the motion delving him deep within her, and she cries out again.
Arthur repeats the motion and she comes, his name a half-formed shout from her lips. He thrusts a few more times before he finds his own release, surging forth, hot and wonderful.
They lay together, a tangled, spent mass of limbs, still joined, still clinging to one another.
“Okay, world, if you’re going to end, do so now,” Arthur says once he’s regained his breath, his head on Gwen’s chest.
“I’d really prefer it didn’t, you know,” Gwen says.
“Me, too,” he agrees. “Besides, there’s more I want to do to you – I mean, with you, today.”
She laughs and leans her head down to kiss him. “But first, breakfast.”
“Breakfast, indeed,” he declares with a kiss, rolling them to their sides. “In bed.”
Fic 8: link