“Merlin, I need wewe to… Merlin? Merlin!” Arthur starts yelling for his servant as soon as he notices the other man is nowhere to be seen. He was expecting him to be waiting for him in his chambers when he returned from his evening council meeting.
“MERLIN!” he yells again, irritated now, dropping his ukanda on the table.
“I gave him the night off,” a soft voice drifts out of the dim. It is coming from the direction of the sleeping quarters.
“Guinevere?” Arthur says, puzzled. And intrigued.
“I sent him to the tavern. With Elyan.”
What? “Ah. Um, okay,” the king says, blinking a few times as he sees a single candle being lit, illuminating Guinevere’s lovely heart-shaped face. Her skin glows dark dhahabu in the candlelight.
Uncertain and off-balance, he starts to walk over. She’s sitting on his bed, one bare foot dangling over the edge, swinging idly.
“I’m tired of waiting for you, Arthur.”
“What?” he chokes, stopping, this time saying it aloud.
“I don’t believe I need to repeat myself.”
“Come here, Arthur.”
He continues slowly forward, transfixed kwa her swinging leg with its tiny brown toes looking at him from beneath the hem of her skirt.
“I’m tired of being good. Tired of being proper.”
Arthur says nothing, stunned into silence. Guinevere watches as he wages a silent war within himself, knight versus man, King Arthur versus Arthur, head versus heart. And loins.
“Guinevere, we… we can’t. I mean, we shouldn’t…” he says, his reserve wavering near the end.
“I know,” she says, a sly smile slowly playing across her face as she reaches out, for he is close enough to touch now. Her hands touch his stomach, his chest. She grabs a fistful of his white linen shati and pulls him down beside her on the bed.
He blindly acquiesces, sitting. He raises a hand to touch her. Her arm, her face, somewhere… somewhere safe. There is nowhere safe. He drops his hand before it makes contact.
Gwen reaches for him instead, touching his face the way she has done so many times in the past. Her thumb strokes his cheek, rubbing against the blonde stubble starting to poke through; her fingers tangle in the soft hair behind his ear.
“Kiss me, Arthur,” she says. Not a request. A command.
“Arthur,” she says his name again, her voice just slightly reproachful as the fingers at his face lightly rub his earlobe while her other hand boldly touches his thigh.
“Oh, God,” he whispers, finding his head moving towards hers almost of its own accord. I feel like I’m drunk.
Arthur’s lips brush hers lightly, their satiny lushness sending a shiver down his spine. He hovers there a moment, hesitating with his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, eyes closed.
He feels what is surely her tongue flick lightly yet seductively against his upper lip and his blue eyes fly wide open. He is faced with those lovely brown eyes of hers with their long black lashes and wise brows regarding him calmly, but he can see the moto there, the desire pooled behind those honey-brown irises as she watches him.
He curses under his breath and presses his lips to hers again, fully this time, surrendering to her demands. She parts her lips beneath his to snake that crafty tongue out again, and he meets it, sparring with it, massaging it with his own.
Gwen pulls her lips away eventually and leans in closer, still holding his face in her hand. She turns his face slightly and runs her tongue along the outer edge of his ear before whispering the words that completely unravel King Arthur of Camelot.
“I want you, Arthur.”
Arthur feels her warm sweet breath against his ear, her slender strong hand on his thigh, and his manhood twitch inside his trousers. Did she just say what I think she said?
“Guinevere, I…” he starts, pulling gently back, looking down at her. She is still watching him with those lust-flooded eyes, daring him to turn her away. “I… I think I’d better go lock the door.”
He returns to her, trembling slightly, her demeanor and bearing throwing him completely off balance. She is not his sweet, proper Guinevere. She is a temptress, bent on seduction.
I’m in trouble, he thinks, noting that the skirt, upindo of her dress has shifted higher still, giving him a view of a shapely ndama leading down to a slender ankle.
Eyes trained on that mesmerizing limb, he stands inayofuata to the bed, wondering what she’s going to do next.
She sees his distraction with her leg, and leaps on it. “I don’t imagine you’ve probably seen my legs before,” she says, a half smile curling one corner of her lips.
“Of… of course not,” he stammers, his throat suddenly dry.
She hitches the skirt, upindo higher still, exposing her knee now, with just the smallest bit of thigh inaonyesha above it, tormenting him.
“Guinevere,” he says, stepping even closer. Another step and he’ll be back on the kitanda with her. The kitanda which I now notice has been conveniently turned down already. He swallows.
Gwen raises her leg up on the bed, placing it beside the other one, bent in front of her as she leans back on her hands. Arthur tears his eyes away from her knee just long enough to appreciate the amount of cleavage taunting him above her bodice, now thrust mbele in her current position.
“Arthur, don’t make me wait,” she says plainly, reaching her hand out for his. She takes it and places it on her bared knee.
Oh God, her skin is so soft. “You’re sure wewe want to do this?” he whispers. You will be my wife before long, he thinks, realizing that he’s put off asking her for too long already.
Instead of answering him, she takes his hand again and slides it upwards, skimming it up her thigh and pulling him over her simultaneously.
Arthur closes his eyes, the sensation of her firm thigh under his hand too much for him to take. Almost. He drops his lips to hers, giving in, realizing deep down that there’s no way he’ll be able to stop now. Somehow I don’t think she’d take no for an answer anyway.
Gwen kisses him deeply, leaning up into him, reaching up for his shoulders, her hands finding their way into his hair, holding him to her.
He pulls away again, breathing heavily, staring down at her. A half smile on her face, she drops her hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, raising it over his broad chest. Arthur sits back slightly and yanks the shati off, tossing it to the floor before hesitating yet again.
“Guinevere, I’m not sure I can let you…”
“Arthur. I give myself freely to you,” she says, cutting him off. She sits up herself and starts sliding her hands over his bare chest, feeling his muscles jump under her touch. “I want wewe to have me. I want wewe to be my first, hopefully my only,” she adds, a hint of shyness turning up finally. “I want…” she pauses, searching for the words.
“I do, too,” Arthur says, running a single finger along her cheek, down to her neck, where she captures his hand and places it over her breast. “Oh, God,” he sighs, his voice shaky. “I want wewe so much it hurts, Guinevere,” he admits. “I was going to wait until…”
“No zaidi waiting, Arthur,” she says, her voice quiet but commanding. His hand is moving slightly at her breast, feeling it, measuring it, enjoying it.
“But…” One last try.
“Shut up. Sire.”
He chuckles a little in surprise, but her hands are moving again, stroking his chest, learning the feel of his muscles, feeling the soft yet coarse texture of his chest hair. Arthur draws in a sharp breath at her touch, and leans mbele again, lowering his head to kiss her neck.
“Oh…” she breathes as his lips make contact with her skin, and his hand drops from her breast and moves around behind her, holding her. His other hand comes around to jiunge the other, and before he realizes he is doing it, his fingers are searching out the laces in the back of her dress.
“Arthur,” Gwen softly says his name as she drops her head back, his lips and tongue sending lines of moto down through her body as he kisses and sucks at the skin on her neck. Somewhere in her passion-fueled haze she reaches up and sweeps her hair out of the way, gathering it over her other shoulder.
He groans into her as he finally finds the tails of the lacing and pulls, lifting his head a moment to look over her shoulder and down, willing his trembling fingers to work, to free the laces, clumsy in their eagerness to have her willing body revealed to his waiting eyes.
Guinevere runs her fingers through his hair, making his scalp tingle. She feels him fight with her laces, hears him curse, and she takes his face in her hands again.
“Arthur, would wewe like me to do it?” she asks, planting a scorching kiss on his pouting lips.
“Please,” he says hoarsely, dropping his hands.
Arthur’s gaze is locked on her legs again, almost totally exposed before she slides off the kitanda and her skirts drop down, hiding them from view again.
He watches, transfixed, as she reaches up behind her, blindly pulling the laces free. Of course she does this every day, idiot, he thinks. He angles his head. She must have very flexible shoulders to be able to reach like that.
Smirking at Arthur’s expressions, Gwen turns her back on him just in time for him to see the lacings pull free of the last eyelet.
“You’re just torturing me now,” he says, the anticipation thick in the room. His skin feels superheated and sensitive, his trousers feel too tight, and his head is swimming.
Gwen turns her head and gives him a heated look as she pulls the dress off, exposing one creamy brown shoulder, then the other. The dress slides lower, and her lovely strong back comes into view for just a moment before her dark brown curls drop back over it, brushing over her skin like a caress.
Arthur can take it no zaidi and leaps forward, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, helping her to push the kanzu, gown the rest of the way off.
Suddenly it registers. No underdress. No shift. She’s been planning this.
I don’t care.
Gwen feels his body pressed against her back, feels the firm length of his manhood against her back as he slowly raises his hands to her breasts, taking one in each hand while he drops his lips to her neck again, kissing a line down to her shoulder.
“Oh…” he groans long and low as his hands acquaint themselves with her breasts, reveling in their softness, their hard sensitive nipples responding to his touches as if they are asking for them.
“Oh, God, let me see you…” he whispers, pulling back and turning her around, his eyes raking over her naked body, drinking her in, printing her image on his brain.
“Guinevere, you… wewe are just… perfect,” he says, his voice still a bare whisper. He reaches out with one shaky hand, touching her waist, his fingers splaying at the curve of her hip, his thumb reaching up to stroke the bottom of her ribcage. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She allows him to pull her closer, allows his hands to roam her body, loving the feel of them on her. She kisses his chest, closing her eyes a moment.
Then she lowers her own hands to the waist of his trousers.
Arthur’s moyo thumps again as he feels her pull the tie, and he pulls his feet out of his boots, stepping awkwardly but quickly out of them and kicking them several yards away.
Gwen boldly thrusts her hands down, sliding them into his trousers at the sides, her hands on his hips, his warm skin firm under her hands. She giggles as his body stiffens a moment from the surprise, then she pushes the trousers down, letting them fall at his feet.
Arthur steps out of them, then quickly bends to remove his socks as well. He stands before her now, his mind momentarily drifting back a few weeks zamani when she made that surprise appearance in his bath.
“You are quite beautiful, too,” she says, taking her own time to admire him, his golden skin glinting in the candlelight, the definition of his muscles sharpened kwa the deep shadows.
He smiles shyly at her compliment, and now it is her turn to reach a hand forward. She bites her lower lip as her steady hand touches his erect member softly, gently, just curious and sweet.
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head back, reaching to grab a bedpost to keep his knees from buckling underneath him. “Oh, God…”
Her hand leaves him then and he feels her brush past him, back to the bed. Arthur opens his eyes and turns, forgetting to breathe as he sees her lying on his bed, naked, waiting for him.
“Come here, Arthur,” she says again.
“I just want to look at wewe another moment,” Arthur says quietly. It seems he can barely form the words.
“Very well, my lord,” Gwen replies, stretching languidly on the bed, arching her back slightly; writhing just enough to make Arthur groan again as he rakes his eyes over her lithe form, trying to memorize everything in case this is just another frustrating erotic dream.
Surrendering entirely, he drops onto the kitanda beside her, hesitantly placing his hand on her stomach. He feels the fluttering within, the anticipation and need all just beneath the surface of her unbelievably soft skin.
“Guinevere…” he starts again, and when Gwen sees the intensity in his eyes, she stops him.
“Arthur, if you’re going to ask me if I’m sure again…”
“No! No. I was going to tell wewe how beautiful wewe are again. How I’ve often tried to imagine how wewe looked beneath your gown, how wewe would look laid out on my kitanda like this…” he trails off, taking a moment to stroke her cheek and place a soft kiss on her waiting lips. “But it doesn’t even compare. My imagination was woefully inadequate.”
Gwen reaches her hand over, placing it on his chest. “Arthur,” she says quietly, “show me what wewe have imagined. Make me your own.”
“The time for talking is over, Arthur.” She pulls his head down to hers and captures his lips, nibbling lightly at them until he opens his mouth and thrusts his tongue deep inside, hungrily exploring with it while his hands explore her body.
Gwen slides her hand from his head downward, running it along his heated skin, finally feeling the beautifully-formed muscles she has long admired.
Arthur tears his lips away from hers with a whispered curse and climbs over her, covering her petite body with his, careful not to crush her. He brings his lips back to her, back to her neck this time, moving lower, lower, till they reach a waiting breast, where they close over its sensitive nipple.
Guinevere cries out at the contact and her fingers grip his head, tangling in his hair. Arthur's moyo pounds as he lowers one hand, skimming it along her ribs, following the curve of her hip, down to her thigh, where it changes direction and moves up again until he feels the warm wetness of her.
“Oh, God,” he moans against her, moving now to her other breast. He slips a curious finger between her folds, drawing forth another beautiful cry from her lips.
Gwen fights moto with fire, sliding her own hand down, trailing her fingers down his stomach to touch him again, bolder, grasping him fully in her hand. Arthur cries out now himself, pulling away from her breast and dropping his head between them for a moment, distracted and momentarily overcome.
He regains his wits and starts kissing again, familiarizing himself with her soft contours while his fingers resume their motions below. He slides one into her, allowing himself a small grin when she opens her thighs wider and sighs his name.
Gwen squeezes his shaft in response, moving her hand along its length. She allows herself a small grin when he again drops his head with a grunt. He moves his fingers, finding that most sensitive point, and Gwen’s hips jerk upward from the kitanda as she shouts, “Oh!”
Arthur gently rubs the spot, and Gwen loses her grip on him, rendered weak.
“Oh, yes, Arthur,” she whispers, pulling his head up, needing his lips. Her hand finds him again and gently starts to guide him to her, sliding her thighs against his hips.
“I’ll… I’ll try to be gentle,” he says, looking down into her eyes, the knowledge that he will have to cause her pain a sharp shaft in his heart.
“It’s all right, Arthur,” she majibu gently, kissing him softly, sweetly, almost innocently, a striking contrast to circumstances.
Arthur lowers his hips, her hand still holding him, helping him find his home. He pushes slowly forward, staring intently down at her all the while, drowning in the warm liquid pools of her brown eyes. He feels the barrier then, and stops, his blue eyes now searching hers, asking for permission one final time.
Guinevere takes one hand and skims it down his back, feather-light, causing Goosebumps to rise on his skin. She lifts her face to his, and kisses her consent, her hand coming to rest on his rear, where it applies a gentle push. Go; move.
He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, watching her as he pushes through the barrier, and with a sharp cry and a sting of fingernails into the skin of his buttocks, he is fully sheathed within her, her virginity now his.
“I won’t songesha until wewe tell me,” he whispers in her ear, brushing his lips against the skin there, kissing her neck, her cheek, wiping the few tears that have stubbornly come forth.
Guinevere breathes again, not realizing that she had been holding her breath, and relaxes her hand on his backside, moving it higher again, to his shoulder, then his head, cradling the back of it while he nibbles softly at her neck.
She could hear the strain, the control in his voice when he whispered in her ear and realizes that this may be just as painful for him. The sharpness has receded now, leaving just a dull burn in its wake and she caresses his cheek with her fingertips and simply says, “Okay.”
He slides back out, slowly, gently, carefully, and then mbele again, slowly, gently, carefully. Still watching her. Still heartsore at causing her pain.
“Arthur,” she says, kissing him, trying to tell him that she is fine, zaidi than fine. She is flying. Soaring. Her moyo swells, threatening to burst from her chest. “My love,” she breathes, finally acknowledging the feelings she has been keeping so carefully tucked to the side, compartmentalized to keep from losing her mind.
His eyes fly wide at the endearment, and his hips songesha faster of their own accord. Guinevere moans softly, her eyes fluttering closed, her breathing going ragged.
Arthur moves within her, mindless to everything but the sensation of her, her small body beneath his, her shapely leg finding its way around his hip, her tight wet warmth surrounding his manhood.
This is good. This is right. This is unbelievable.
“Guinev…” he abandons her name halfway through, instead lowering his lips to hers, kissing her fiercely, a passion he didn’t know he possessed gripping him, taking control.
She grips his shoulders, matching his ferocity with her own, the pain a distant memory, thoroughly replaced with nothing but pure pleasure and the realization that her mind, body and soul are Lost forever now, completely his. Quite happily lost.
“Oh…” she mewls, almost a squeak, and Arthur’s movements intensify again; faster, harder.
Gwen feels the pleasure, the unbelievable pleasure building, growing, pleasure that she never knew existed. Small breathy gasps are coming forth now as Arthur drives into her, his hand now at her breast and his lips on her neck. I don’t know how much zaidi I can take. I— Her weak thoughts are interrupted when the dam bursts and she cries out his name, her body writhing in its climax, her leg locking around him, her one hand gripping a handful of his hair while the other squeezes his shoulder.
Arthur moves furiously now, his own release imminent, Gwen’s only pushing him closer. She is still moaning and crying out when Arthur falls over the edge with her, flooding into her, his entire body tensing up around her; within her. He growls into her neck, sucking at the soft tender flesh there, biting a little as well.
Collapsing carefully over her, he rolls them so she is beside him, cradling her against his side as he withdraws himself from her.
Arthur reaches back and pulls the blankets over them. He kisses her forehead; he strokes her back.
“I upendo you, Guinevere,” he says after a time. It comes out casual, almost nonchalant.
“I know,” she says, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “I…” now it is her turn to hesitate.
He captures her fingers in his hand, lifting them to his lips where he kisses each one. “I know wewe have trouble saying it. But you’ve just shown me, and that’s enough for me now. zaidi than enough,” he says gently, understanding her reticence.
They lay entwined until the lone candle is almost used up, saying little, mostly caressing and kissing, basking in each other’s presence.
Eventually Gwen sighs and says, “I should go.”
“No. Stay here. I want to spend the night with wewe in my arms.”
“I need wewe to stay, Guinevere,” he says, burying his face into her hair, hiding, letting the break in his voice convince her.
She lifts his face and kisses him, again answering him with affection rather than words.
“At least let me change the sheet, then,” she finally says. “We can’t have Merlin be completely horrified in the morning.”
Arthur laughs now, squeezing her to him, willing to grant her anything if it means she will stay.
“Faster, Percival, honestly, wewe really do need to work on being lighter on your feet! Being built like an oak mti doesn’t guarantee victory, wewe know. wewe need to… to…” Arthur’s sword drops and he trails off mid-sentence, his attention diverted kwa a certain maidservant approaching with a pitcher of water for the men.
“Oof!” Arthur falls, felled kwa the non-distracted oak mti that is Sir Percival.
“An oak may not be able to move, but it can still fall on a squirrel,” Gwaine shouts, laughing from the side, “especially if a beautiful lady squirrel has taken his attention.”
Percival gives Arthur a hand up and pretends not to notice the color that has risen in the king’s cheeks. Arthur slowly walks away from the training field, wandering in the direction of Guinevere, almost as though he is being pulled.
Merlin smirks, the only one knowing the true reason for the king’s distraction. He says nothing, though, and continues polishing armor at a nearby table.
“Fresh water, good sirs,” Gwen says brightly, as if the siku were any other day, and sets the pitcher on the meza, jedwali near Merlin.
“Morning Gwen,” Merlin says, glancing up for a moment.
“Merlin, I trust wewe had an enjoyable evening?” she asks. Arthur reaches them and she pours a goblet of water for him. “My lord,” she smiles and hands him the drink.
“Thank you, Guinevere,” he says softly, his keen eyes searching her face, her actions, for any sign of… of anything.
“Yes, the knights and I had a smashing time last night. Thank you, Arthur, for the rare night off,” Merlin says, smirking again.
“Hmm?” Arthur asks, paying no attention whatsoever to his servant. “Oh, right, right…”
“Wonderful, I’m glad wewe enjoyed yourself. wewe don’t seem too much the worse for wear this morning. I trust Sir Gwaine went easy on you, then?”
Did I dream it? Arthur drinks slowly, still watching her. His moyo is pounding furiously, and he’s trying not to think about what is threatening to happen in his trousers.
I woke up alone, disappointed and naked. I could smell her scent clinging to the pillowcase, even to my skin, on my shoulder where she slept all night until she must have decided to slip away and return to her own home. My moyo ached that she was gone; made me doubt that she had even been there. The sheet she had removed was nowhere to be seen.
I do not normally sleep unclothed. My bedding does not normally smell of lavender. Nor does it normally have a single long curly dark brown strand of hair clinging to it…
“Not really. I’m hiding my misery, actually, and doing so quite well, I might add. Oh, I’m sorry, I forget my manners. Did wewe have an enjoyable evening last night, Gwen?” Merlin asks, poking the skunk at last.
“I had a lovely evening last night, thank you,” is all she’ll say. “Now if wewe will excuse me, I am needed in the laundry.”
Guinevere turns, and as she slowly passes Arthur, she gives him a smoldering gaze, her eyes finally giving her away. He forgets to breathe and suddenly feels at least ten degrees warmer.
As Arthur turns and watches her retreat, a breeze lifts a few tendrils of her hair, revealing a red mark on the side of her neck. Arthur smiles a small smile as she hurriedly lifts her hand, smoothing her hair back down, concealing the bite mark again.