Song 5: link


From wandering in the forest,
I have come into a clearing
Where I trust all men.
I am a lion who enters quietly
The cage of his own heart.

    Arthur is pacing. He is anxious. Restless. Distracted.
    Happy.
    “Are u all right, Arthur?” Merlin asks. “You’re stalking your room like a caged animal.”
    Arthur stops and looks at Merlin. “Am I all right? Of course I’m all right! I’m the happiest man in the world tonight, u know that!”
    “Then why are u pacing?”
    “I can’t settle down. I’m too excited. Too…”
    “Happy?”
    He stops and sighs, a ridiculous grin sliding across his face. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.”
    “Oh?”
    “Too many things spinning through my brain, Merlin. So much to do, so much to plan…” he trails off. The wedding night, he thinks, turning away so Merlin doesn’t see the color rising to his cheeks as his thoughts drift to joining himself with Guinevere physically as well as emotionally and legally. Thoughts that have been drifting into his head with increasing frequency in these past months.
    “I’ll turn your bed down anyway, just in case u feel like giving it a go,” Merlin says, brushing past him, pretending not to notice the king’s red ears.
    “I’m going out,” Arthur announces.
    Merlin turns. I know where you’re going. “Arthur, u just proposed to her two hours ago. And u saw her right before she went back home, just an uur ago. Remember?”
    “I need to see her of I definitely won’t sleep.”
    “Are u sure that’s a good idea?” You still may not sleep, he thinks, a little concerned about where exactly the king’s mind is.
    Arthur turns and looks at him, a challenging eyebrow raised.
    Merlin holds his hands up. “I know, you’re the king, u can do what u want…”
    “Correct. Now hand me that mantel and u can go.”

    Guinevere stares down at the ring on her finger for the thousandth time that evening. I still can’t believe it. He actually asked me. He kept his promise. She takes her shoes off and sits, chiding herself for doubting him. Of course he kept his promise. I shouldn’t doubt him.
    Reaching up to remove the comb from her hair, she sighs. I wasn’t doubting him. I was doubting the traditions. I may have even consented to being his mistress, if he had asked. Maybe. Maybe not, though. She goes to her vanity and sets the comb down, running her fingers through her long curls, letting them fall free, cascading around her face, over her shoulders.
    He would never have asked that of me though, I know it. He is too much a knight, too—
    A soft knocking at her door interrupts her thoughts. She wheels around, startled. The knock comes again, still soft but somehow meer urgent.
    She walks to the door on silent bare feet. “Who’s there?”
    “It’s me.”
    Arthur.
    She opens the door and he scoots quickly in, throwing the kap of his mantel back as she closes the door behind him.
    “I had to see you,” he says immediately, gazing down at her.
    “Oh.” She smiles. “I like it when u come to my house,” she says quietly.
    “Can I stay a bit?”
    “Of course,” she says, reaching up to unclasp his mantel and remove it from his shoulders.
    He takes advantage of her proximity and put his arms around her waist, holding her close. She looks up at him, mantel clutched in her hand over his shoulder, a knowing smirk on her face. I know why u came to see me.
    Arthur bends his head to kiss her softly, caressing her lips with his, his hands tangling in the hair falling down her back.
    “I love you, Guinevere,” he whispers to her, finally saying the words to her, his forehead against hers, eyes still closed.
    Gwen’s hart-, hart flips and her stomach flutters hearing the words. I’m surprised it affects me this much, hearing it. I knew it to be so, but hearing him say it… “I love you, Arthur.” She snaps herself out of her thoughts to answer him before he thinks she is hesitating.
    He bends his knees, wraps his arms tightly around her waist and squeezes her tightly, lifting her and spinning with her in his arms, hoping that they won’t knock anything over in the small space.
    “Arthur!” she exclaims, laughing and dropping the mantel to cling to his neck as he twirls her. He sets her on her feet, only to claim her lips again, this time a little meer urgently, a little meer aggressively.
    Her fingers twine into his hair, and she makes a small squeaking sound in the back of her throat.
    He pulls his lips away. “Sorry,” he apologizes hoarsely, thinking he’s pushed her too far.
    “For what?” she asks, stroking his cheek.
    “Oh. I… I guess I thought…”
    “You thought wrong,” she smiles, pulling his head back down to pick up where they left off.
    Arthur groans and dives back in, leaning into her. He slides his tongue forward, coaxing her lips apart, wanting more, needing more. She parts her lips for him, meeting his tongue with hers, surprising him with her forwardness as she kisses him back with equal need.
    His hands bunch her dress in his fists for a few seconden before opening wide, splaying his fingers against her back, feeling her slender form. Bravely he slides one hand down, fingertips brushing her hip, just at the very top, boven of her rear. She keeps kissing him, either not noticing of not caring, so he slides his hand down a little more, more, until his palm is resting fully on her buttocks.
    He peeks one eye open, and she still seems blissfully unaware. He gives a gentle squeeze and she sighs against him, breaking her lips away from his for a moment to whisper his name.
    Arthur dips his head to her neck, placing gentle kisses there, the new sensation making her gasp and curl her fingers into his hair.
    “Oh…” she sighs, his lips sending delicious shivers down her body. He’s kissed my lips, my cheeks, my hands, never my neck. Oh, my God, I am melting. Her head falls back instinctively, giving him meer access to the sensitive skin there, and he greedily takes advantage. She can feel his groan against her skin, a gentle vibration, and his hand slides from her rear end reluctantly to hold her waist again.
    “Guinevere,” he says into her neck, “you… are… delicious,” he mutters between kisses.
    She giggles at the sentiment before she can stop herself, and he looks at her curiously.
    “Sorry, I’ve never had anyone say that to me before,” she says, smiling at him, her eyes twinkling.
    “Good,” he says decisively, kissing her lips once before taking her hand and pulling her over to the bed.
    “Um…” she says, conflicted.
    “I’m just tired of standing, I promise,” he says, pulling her down to the bed with him, sitting her close beside him.
    He takes a moment to look at her. Her eyes are passion-dark, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair is a loose tumble of curls, unbound and now slightly disheveled.
    “What is it, Arthur?” she asks, noticing his scrutiny.
    “You look so beautiful,” he says, raising his hand to touch her hair. “I like your hair like this.”
    “It’s a mess,” she says simply, automatically lifting her hands to smooth it. He stops them.
    “It looks wonderful,” he says, adding his other hand, delving them both in and running his fingers through her curls.
    She smiles at him and leans over to kiss him. You have no objectivity, but I love u for it, she thinks as she lets him push her back on the bed, leaning over her.
    He scoots over so he is lying volgende to her but still leaning over her, nibbling gently at her lips. “Sorry about my boots,” he mumbles.
    “What?” she says absently. Why is he talking about his boots?
    “On your bed,” he says, raising his head. “My boots on your nice clean bed linens.”
    “Arthur, I don’t care,” she says, but he is already bending and pulling and flinging.
    “Better,” he says, capturing her foot between his, just to prove his point. He grins at her and claims her lips again, resting his hand on her stomach.
    His lips go wandering again, nibbling her ear, then back to her neck, kissing the ridge of her kraag bone, the hollow of her throat, her cleavage taunting him, so close.
    Careful, man. He kisses his way back to her lips, and his hand shifts its position, a little higher, to her ribcage.
    Just touch them already, Gwen thinks, debating if she should just take his hand and verplaats it where she knows he wants to put it.
    He leans into her, closer, and she feels the evidence of his desire for her against her thigh. Her eyes open, momentarily surprised, but her surprise quickly shifts to an odd feeling of satisfaction. I did that. Me.
    Arthur moves his hand again, ghosting upward, dragging his hand but just barely touching as he moves it to her face, caressing her cheek with his palm.
    Damn it. Gwen places her hand over his, gently closing her fingers around his broad hand, and pulls it downward, hoping he’ll catch on.
    He pulls his lips from hers and looks down at her, the vraag in his eyes. “Guinevere?” he simply says.
    “Yes,” she says as his fingers make contact with the softness of her breast where it rises above her bodice. They glide against the soft skin and he closes his eyes, just feeling.
    Swallowing hard, fighting with himself, he moves his hand down to close over the soft mound. He squeezes gently, caressing it, sliding his thumb over the exposed top.
    Gwen moans quietly and instinctively arches against his hand, and he can feel the stiffness of her nipple beneath the fabric of her dress.
    “Oh, God,” Arthur groans, dropping his lips to hers yet again, pressing his hips into her thigh again.
    His hand continues to familiarize itself with her breast while he kisses her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth before running his tongue lightly down the tendon at the front of her slender neck, lower, to kiss her breasts. His thumb has now found the hard nub of her nipple and has been tormenting it, drawing soft whimpers from her.
    How long has her hand been gripping my thigh? he wonders, finally noticing her strong small hand there.
    “You’re in dangerous territory, Guinevere,” he mutters into her cleavage.
    “Oh?” she asks, squeezing his thigh to toon she understands what he’s talking about. And to tease him. Just a little.
    He nudges her again. “Can u feel how much I want you?” he asks, low and soft, still peppering her neck and chest with kisses, still holding her breast in his hand.
    “Yes,” she whispers boldly, moving her leg back to feel his length with it again. I want to feel it with my hand.
    “I… I will wait until we are wed,” he says, determined. “But it doesn’t mean that it’s going to be easy,” he lifts his head to look at her, “especially when—Guinevere!” he exclaims as her clever hand finds its target.
    She kisses him, closing her eyes against her bold move, suddenly shy now that she’s done it. Can’t back down now, she thinks, the floodgates have been opened.
    He kisses her back hungrily, groaning again, feeling her hand’s bashful exploration through the material of his trousers. Trousers that will stay on. ON.
    “You just made this… meer difficult, Love,” he says against her lips.
    “Sorry,” she says, finally opening her eyes to face him. “I’ll stop if u wish,” she says, starting to lift her hand.
    “No!” he exclaims, then, immediately, “Um, no, u don’t have to,” much calmer, trying to regain control. He flicks his thumb across her nipple again, fighting brand with fire.
    He kisses her one meer time, but they both know they need to stop before they end up losing themselves and making love two days before they are to marry.
    Not that it would really matter at this point… No. I want to do this right.
    He removes his hand from her breast; she removes her hand from his groin.
    “I love u so much, Guinevere,” he says, pulling her into his arms.
    She snuggles into him. “I love u too, Arthur. And,” she pauses, snuggling closer still, “I’m looking vooruit, voorwaarts to being able to spend every night in your arms.”
    “Me too,” he says, and she closes her eyes.

Song 7: link