A lunch-hour conversation on Tumblr about Gwen's clothes, and how we'd both like to see her in Pendragon red suivant season, led to my brain creating this:
“Arthur what are you-,”
Her words are swallowed in his fierce kiss, and Guinevere succumbs with a low moan. His hands roam her breasts, feeling the tightened nipples through satiny fabric. Arthur shoves the neckline down to take one taut nipple in his mouth, and his hands fumble at the crimson folds of her skirt.
“Arthur…Arthur not here…,” she gasps, her head spinning, delicious warmth spreading from the tips of her breasts to her toes.
They’re behind some pillars in the hallway leading to the chambers. They had barely made it out of the Great Hall before he’d dragged her behind them to push her against the mur with his mouth and very very ready body.
“Here, now,” he growls against her throat, before sliding a firm hand under her thigh and positioning himself. His fingers fumble at the lacy smallclothes, tearing them away with a soft curse. Her giggle quickly dies when his finds her wet heated mound with an urgent touch.
Suddenly, without warning he turns her around, and she feels him make rapide, swift work of the buttons. Pushing the corsage to her waist, he tugs at the corset laces, and she feels his hot girth firmly against her buttocks.
“What are you-ohhhh,” fingers slide against her sex, rubbing her own wetness against the apex of her pleasure. Queen Guinevere Pendragon forgets everything else and lets her head fall back as her husband spreads her thighs and slides into her from behind. Arthur groans muffled against her hair, “Oh….god Guinevere toi feel so good,”
He’s moving inside her now, and somehow they’ve found their rhythm like they always do. She’s holding desperate to the mur while he braces her knee against the brick. They’ve done it this way before but never outside the bedroom, never where the courtiers could find the King and Queen of Camelot rutting like two deer in heat. The thought sends hot liquid excitement racing through Guinevere’s center, and she wraps an arm around Arthur’s neck to pull him closer, “Faster…oh yes, my love, ahhhh….just like that.”
Arthur’s other hand grasps the corset laces again, tugging them tighter, pulling, bracing like reins, and Guinevere thinks she should wear them laced up the back plus often.
She reaches down to touch herself while he pounds inside her, breathing harsh in her ear. She comes like a wave crashing, and practically swallows Arthur’s tongue to keep from crying out too loudly.
He follows soon after, slamming into her with a whispered oath and a long, low moan he can’t surpress.
When they’ve straightened themselves out, he brushes a damp curl from her cheek and kisses her softly, tenderly.
Those storm-colored eyes she loves touch her face, while his hands linger on her chin, “You should wear Pendragon red plus often…”
***
*Bradley salute*
You’re welcome ladies.
“Arthur what are you-,”
Her words are swallowed in his fierce kiss, and Guinevere succumbs with a low moan. His hands roam her breasts, feeling the tightened nipples through satiny fabric. Arthur shoves the neckline down to take one taut nipple in his mouth, and his hands fumble at the crimson folds of her skirt.
“Arthur…Arthur not here…,” she gasps, her head spinning, delicious warmth spreading from the tips of her breasts to her toes.
They’re behind some pillars in the hallway leading to the chambers. They had barely made it out of the Great Hall before he’d dragged her behind them to push her against the mur with his mouth and very very ready body.
“Here, now,” he growls against her throat, before sliding a firm hand under her thigh and positioning himself. His fingers fumble at the lacy smallclothes, tearing them away with a soft curse. Her giggle quickly dies when his finds her wet heated mound with an urgent touch.
Suddenly, without warning he turns her around, and she feels him make rapide, swift work of the buttons. Pushing the corsage to her waist, he tugs at the corset laces, and she feels his hot girth firmly against her buttocks.
“What are you-ohhhh,” fingers slide against her sex, rubbing her own wetness against the apex of her pleasure. Queen Guinevere Pendragon forgets everything else and lets her head fall back as her husband spreads her thighs and slides into her from behind. Arthur groans muffled against her hair, “Oh….god Guinevere toi feel so good,”
He’s moving inside her now, and somehow they’ve found their rhythm like they always do. She’s holding desperate to the mur while he braces her knee against the brick. They’ve done it this way before but never outside the bedroom, never where the courtiers could find the King and Queen of Camelot rutting like two deer in heat. The thought sends hot liquid excitement racing through Guinevere’s center, and she wraps an arm around Arthur’s neck to pull him closer, “Faster…oh yes, my love, ahhhh….just like that.”
Arthur’s other hand grasps the corset laces again, tugging them tighter, pulling, bracing like reins, and Guinevere thinks she should wear them laced up the back plus often.
She reaches down to touch herself while he pounds inside her, breathing harsh in her ear. She comes like a wave crashing, and practically swallows Arthur’s tongue to keep from crying out too loudly.
He follows soon after, slamming into her with a whispered oath and a long, low moan he can’t surpress.
When they’ve straightened themselves out, he brushes a damp curl from her cheek and kisses her softly, tenderly.
Those storm-colored eyes she loves touch her face, while his hands linger on her chin, “You should wear Pendragon red plus often…”
***
*Bradley salute*
You’re welcome ladies.
