Part 6: link


    In the alley where Arthur’s motorcycle is parked, away from prying eyes in the shade of the tall buildings, Arthur pulls Guinevere into his arms to Kiss her properly. Thoroughly.
    She loops her arms around his neck, hanging on as he leans into her, parting her lips with his tongue, s’embrasser her hungrily, deeply.
    They come up for air, gazing into each other’s dazed eyes, breathing heavily.
    “You’re hungry for plus than lunch,” she says, smiling her smile for him.
    “Lunch first this time,” he says quietly, s’embrasser her briefly before stepping over to his bike.
    Gwen climbs on behind, automatically pulling his leather veste on once again.
    “Good girl,” he says, nodding at her.
    “It’s too hot, toi realize,” she says as she zips it up.
    “Too bad. If toi insist upon wearing such… small clothes, then toi have to wear the jacket.”
    Gwen laughs and waits while he fights with the machine, starting it on the seconde try with a triumphant whoop. She slides her hands around his torso, deliberately touching him as much as she can as she wraps her arms around him, holding on tightly as he peels out.

    “Okay, are toi ready?” Arthur asks as they descend the concrete stairs down to the door of his flat.
    “This had better be some cat, with all the build-up toi all have donné him,” she says, unconcerned.
    “Well, we just had fish, so we should at least smell good to him. You’ve got your leftover piece?”
    Gwen holds up the little bag with her last piece of poisson inside. She had rolled her eyes when he suggested she keep it and bring it with as a peace offering, but complied anyway.
    “He sometimes pounces, so I’ll go in first,” he says, turning his key in the lock and shoving the door open.
    He steps inside, looking around, blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of his flat.
    Gwen sidles in behind him, swiftly and quietly. “So?” she asks.
    “I don’t know where he is.”
    “Can toi call him?”
    “He’s a cat. One may as well call a goldfish,” he remarks, but just then, Iggy comes leaping down from a nearby ledge, shoving against Arthur’s shins. “Aha,” he says.
    Gwen looks down and almost laughs. This is Iggy? I was expecting a sleek black feline, stealthy and sinister, maybe missing an eye ou something. This cat is an obese ginger ball of fur.
    He’s massive. Fat, spoiled and superior, he head-butts Arthur’s shin once ou twice and Arthur nudges him away with his boot.
    Then Iggy notices Gwen. She stands still, looking down at him. “Hello,” she says, and he pads forward, towards her.
    Arthur is ready with his boot again, but Iggy merely winds his hefty orange body around Gwen’s legs, purring.
    Purring.
    “Well, I’ll be buggered. He never purrs. Like, never.” Arthur is dumbfounded.
    Gwen bends down and rubs a finger behind his ears, under his chin, and Iggy eats it up as if he were a cuddly kitten, closing his normally cold green eyes contentedly, purring louder.
    “Who’s a good boy, then?” Gwen coos, now crouching, handing the bag with the poisson in to Arthur, almost absentmindedly.
    “Yes, toi are,” she says, and he rolls onto his back for a belly rub, which she grants.
    “Okay, now I’m getting jealous,” Arthur says, still perplexed, bending to remove his boots.
    “All right, Iggy, we can play later,” Gwen says, scratching him under his chin one plus time. He rolls to his feet and bounds away.
    “What the fuck?” Arthur asks.
    “I guess he likes me,” Gwen shrugs and smiles, highly amused.
    “I’ve had that bastard for three years and I have never seen him behave like that. Even when he was a kitten.”
    “Well maybe if toi didn’t call him a bastard he would like toi more,” she says, walking into his flat, looking around.
    Unlike Arthur, who wasn’t all that interested in the details of her apartment, Gwen pokes around, taking everything in, looking at the various pieces of art in various stages of doneness, even looking inside closets and cupboards. Arthur follows her around, amused.
    “Well, you’re a slob, I can see that,” she assesses, stepping over a pile of records on the floor. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not dirty, it’s just cluttered.”
    “Merlin has a tendency to tidy up when he’s here, and I think I’ve become dependent on it,” Arthur admits.
    “You let your best friend clean your flat?” she turns to him, eyebrows raised.
    “I don’t let him do anything. He just does it. Claims he can’t help it. Neat freak, I guess,” he shrugs.
    She turns her attention to the walls, which are covered in paintings, murals done right on the cement block.
    “You must have a very lenient landlord,” she notes, tracing a dragon very similar to the one on his shoulder with her finger.
    “I have to cover this all up white if I ever déplacer out. That was the condition.”
    “Pity,” she says, moving along to a giant arbre overlooking a meadow, a pond in a valley, a sunset over the ocean, an abstract geometric black and white affair, all straight lines and shapes; a giant koi poisson with a long flowing tail, and finally, in one corner, a beautiful blonde woman who looks suspiciously like Arthur.
    “Your mother?” she asks. He nods. “She was beautiful. toi do look very much like her,” she says, turning to look at him. “Especially the eyes.”
    “It’s from a picture I found crammed in the back of my father’s bureau when I was a kid.”
    She nods.
    “I nicked it, but he caught me a mois later, so I had to do this from memory,” he says.
    “Really? Wow. I mean, I’ve never seen the picture, but wow.”
    “I have… kind of a unique memory. It’s very visual, almost like a camera,” he says with a shrug, following Gwen as she wanders to the kitchen.
    “Whoa, tiny,” she says, “where do toi eat?”
    “On the sofa, mostly,” he says. “I never got a table. No room.”
    She looks around, amused par three large apothecary jars on the counter. One is full of citron drops, one red licorice ropes, and the third M&Ms.
    “Your stash?” she points to the jars with a smile.
    “Of course. Help yourself.”
    “Oh, very generous of you,” she says, taking a small handful of M&Ms.
    She opens the fridge. Bottles of ale, a packet of sausages, a couple eggs. No vegetables. Oh, look, an apple. She chuckles and closes the fridge.
    “What?”
    “You’re such a man,” she says, smirking and stroking his cheek lightly.
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he counters. “Come on,” he says, taking her hand and walking over to the one somewhat bright corner of his living room where he has an easel set up.
    She follows, and gasps when she sees the beginnings of what is clearly her face on the canvas, in two-thirds profile, head inclined slightly downward. Her expression is soft and pensive, a very small smile touching the corners of her lips.
    “It’s still just a rough sketch,” he says, frowning at it, but Gwen is fascinated.
    Did he say rough sketch? This is rough? “When did toi do this?”
    “This morning. After I got done talking to toi on the phone.”
    “It’s amazing.”
    “Thank you. toi don’t mind?”
    “Not at all. I’m quite flattered, really,” she says shyly.
    “I told toi I was going to draw and paint toi a lot. toi were warned, Guinevere,” he says, one corner of his mouth curving up in a half-smile.
    She leans up and kisses his cheek, and looks over his shoulder. “Is that your room?” she asks, walking towards the half-open door.
    “Um, yeah,” he says, sounding strangely uneasy.
    She goes in and looks around, noting the posters on the wall, all bands. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop, The Ramones, Wire. His lit is a mattress on the floor, which doesn’t surprise her, and there are clothes scattered around.
    Something familiar catches her eye suivant to his lit and she walks over.
    “Guinevere,” he starts.
    “Are those my sandals?” she asks, knowing the answer is yes.
    “Um…”
    “I was looking for those this morning, toi pervert!” she exclaims, turning to look at him, her hands on her hips.
    Is she trying not to smile? “I was going to give them back,” he says sheepishly.
    “Oh? When, exactly? When you’ve gotten them all good and molested, perhaps?” Her lips twitch slightly, and Arthur is now convinced that she’s trying very hard not to laugh.
    “Um, when toi noticed they were gone,” he réponses sheepishly, stepping forward.
    “Arthur. They are shoes, and I am a woman. How long did toi think it would take me to notice?”
    He opens his mouth, then closes it.
    “You didn’t… do anything to them, did you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
    “No! Honest, I just…” he trails off. I don’t really want to tell her, but I’m going to have to.
    “What?” she says, bending to retrieve her shoes.
    “They spent the night on the other pillow,” he says quietly, looking down.
    “You are weird,” she says, leaning up to Kiss him before sweeping from the room, sandals in hand, laughing.
    He slouches, relieved.
    Arthur walks back out into his living room to find her setting the sandals suivant to the door and removing the ones she’s wearing.
    “If toi want to borrow a pair of my shoes ou my knickers ou want any other little souvenir, Arthur, toi just need to ask,” she says calmly, now barefoot. She hears a meow from above and looks up to see Iggy perched in the high window, looking for her attention. She blows him a Kiss and turns her attention back to Arthur.
    “Really?” he asks, blinking in disbelief.
    “Yes,” she says, walking forward, towards him. “Arthur,” she says, “I want to tell toi something.”
    “Uh-oh,” he says, sitting on the couch.
    She smiles, and he relaxes.
    “When I told toi that I quite liked toi yesterday, that wasn’t just the… lust talking. I really do like you,” she says, biting her lip, starting to lose her nerve. No. toi need to get this out ou you’ll never say it.
    “I like toi a lot, actually. I’ve never met anyone like you,” she continues, letting him pull her down beside him. “And I mean that in a good way. You’re…”
    “Yes?” he asks quietly.
    “Refreshing,” she settles on.
    “Refreshing?”
    “I know, it sounds awful. What I mean is that I’ve never met someone so lacking in pretense. toi are who toi are and if people have a problem with it, then it’s their problem, and toi don’t let it bother you. toi don’t put up a front par being who toi think other people want toi to be. There’s no bullshit. The rest of the world is too interested in what everyone else thinks about them, but you’re only interested in what makes toi happy. But not in an arrogant ou self-centered way. toi care. The fact that toi wouldn’t stand par while Helios and Cenred tried to do… whatever it is they were going to do, speaks volumes to your character.”
    “I helped toi because it was you.”
    “You would have helped anyone in that situation,” she says, taking his hand in between hers.
    “I hope I’m not making toi uncomfortable,” she says quietly when he doesn’t say anything.
    “Oh, sorry, you’re not,” he says suddenly. “I was just trying to decide if I can say what I want to say.” He bites his lip.
    “Well, now toi have to say it, because toi brought it up,” she says lightly.
    “I want toi to be my girl,” he says plainly. “I don’t want any plus of Gwaine’s leftovers ou any of those idiotic twats that hang around the pubs. I want you, and only you.”
    “Oh,” she says, her breath leaving her, swallowing.
    “If I’m going too fast for you, I understand,” he says quietly, a little worried about her lack of reaction. “I’ve had my eye on toi for a whole mois now, toi know. I guess I’ve fallen pretty hard, and—”
    She silences his lips with her own, a hard, urgent Kiss delivered as she leaps into his lap, knocking him backward onto the cushions of the couch.
    “Yes, Arthur,” she whispers between kisses, “I’m yours.”
    His hands come around her waist, sliding his palms against her soft skin, creeping up her back, poking his fingers under the elastic hem of her top, simultaneously holding her and working the small vêtement off.
    “Did toi make this, too?” he asks when her lips travel over to his ear, closing over his earlobe.
    “Mmm-hmm,” she answers, her tongue teasing. “Do toi like it?” she asks, her voice low and soft in his ear.
    “Yes,” he grunts, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the floor. He looks down at it. “It looks smashing on my carpet.”
    She laughs, and he leans over her, pushing her back, off of him, and with a kiss, he stands, pulling her up to her feet and then scooping her up into his arms.
    “Oh!” she squeals as she is hoisted off her feet and carried back into his bedroom. She leans in and kisses his neck, opening her mouth against his skin to bite lightly.
    Arthur groans and places her gently on his bed, pulling his own chemise off before dropping down beside her. He gazes down at her and reaches over to stroke her cheek, down her neck. His hand drifts and he pulls the elastic from the end of her braid, setting it on the table, tableau suivant to his bed. He works the braid free and then delves his hands into her hair, threading his fingers through, spreading her curls around to tumble over her shoulders.
    She reaches up for him and pulls his head down, her lips parted and waiting for his. He claims her lips and her tongue dances with his, exploring the now-familiar contours of his mouth.
    He slides his hands around to unclasp her bra, tossing it aside to land on the floor with his chemise and the other aléatoire articles of his clothing strewn about.
    “They are so perfect,” he mutters, his hands reaching to touch her breasts as he returns his lips to hers, leaning her back against the pillows, shoving at the rumpled bedclothes.
    His hands caress her skin, his thumbs rubbing her nipples to stiff nubs before he takes over with his lips, his tongue sweet torment against the sensitive mounds.
    Arthur reaches down and unfastens her shorts, and he trails kisses down her stomach as he works the vêtement down over her hips, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her knickers as he goes, removing both at once. He slides them down over her lean legs, chasing them with kisses until they are off and tossed somewhere in his room.
    “I had better be able to find those later,” she absently says as he gathers both of her feet in his hands, s’embrasser them only briefly this time before crawling slowly back up over her body.
    “All of toi is perfect,” he comments, sliding his hands up over her cinnamon skin, drinking in the sight of her, the feel of her.
    “I’m glad toi think so,” she chuckles, her hands cupping his face as it comes back to her. He kisses her again, his lips soft and warm and moist, tasting her, cherishing her.
    Gwen reaches down to his jeans and he immediately assists. They are gone in no time, and she pushes him onto his back so she can do a little appreciating herself.
    “You’re not so bad yourself, toi know,” she smiles at him, running her hands down his chest, his stomach, over his hips and down his thighs, deliberately avoiding the part of him that is sitting up and demanding her attention.
    “Don’t tease me, woman,” he moans when she reverses the direction of her hands and still avoids touching him. He closes his eyes and leans his head back into the pillows.
    Giggling quietly, she shifts position and takes his length in her mouth, holding the base of his shaft with her hand.
    Surprised par her actions, he groans long and loud, his hand groping for her, grabbing a handful of her hair as she moves her mouth on him, sucking and licking. Her hand grips him, reaching beneath to squeeze gently, working in concert with her lips and tongue as she drives him mad with pleasure.
    He releases her hair and moves his hand down her body, wanting to touch her, to feel her skin, something. He finds her waist and pulls towards himself. She moves her body again, angling so he can reach her, and he slips his fingers in between her legs.
    Guinevere moans as he touches her, her mouth still full of him, still sliding and caressing, all lips and tongue and gently-applied teeth.
    He slides a finger into her, then two, and she releases him from her lips, another moan escaping.
    “Come up here,” he says, “I want to be inside you.”
    His simple request makes her cœur, coeur race and she shifts position again. Arthur dives over her, pushing his hardness against her, not entering her, just touching. Teasing.
    He slides against her and she sighs, her hands on his chest, eyes closed. He bends his head to take a breast into his mouth again as he pushes vers l'avant, vers l’avant again, entering her easily.
    “Arthur…” she breathes his name, her hands holding his head against her breast. He moves his hips, smooth and gentle and slow, savoring her.
    She feels the edges of his teeth grazing her nipple and she cries out softly, hooking a leg around him.
    He bites the tiniest bit harder and she cries out again, gripping his shoulders as he kisses a trail up her neck, returning to her lips.
    “Guinevere,” he whispers against her, speeding the motion of his hips some, increasing the intensity.
    “Yes…” she breathes, her hands roving his chest again.
    “Tell me what toi want,” he says roughly, pulling his lips away, raising up to support himself on his hands so that he can see her.
    “Oh… harder…” she gasps.
    He obliges, thrusting harder, watching her.
    “Yes,” she responds, arching her back. “Faster.”
    Grunting, he moves faster as well, smiling a little smugly at her reactions.
    “Yes… oh, Arthur… oh…”
    Her hands grab his arms, gripping tightly, her head thrashing as she comes, crying out, her whole body twitching and quivering beneath him.
    “Guinevere,” he repeats, his voice rough as he follows her climax with his own, washing over him, engulfing him as he collapses over her, gathering her into his arms.
    “You are wonderful, do toi know that?” he says, his face tucked into her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair.
    “It sounds familiar,” she says, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw.
    He chuckles and rolls off of her, holding her close beside him. She reaches down and pulls the sheet up over them.
    “Are toi cold?” he asks.
    “I’m fine. I just want a cover, that’s all,” she says, cuddling into him. “It’s actually quite cool and comfortable down here.”
    “One of the nice things about living in a basement. Total crap in the winter, though.”
    “Still cold?”
    “Frostbitten,” he says, toying with her curls, winding them around his fingers, gently pulling them straight and letting them spring back.
    They lay quietly together, snuggling and touching.
    I’m very comfortable with him. He’s easy to be comfortable with, she thinks, turning her head slightly to gently Kiss his chest.
    He sighs, content, giving her a squeeze and placing a gentle Kiss on her forehead.
    The phone rings, and they both jump, snapped out of their quiet solitude par an interloping telephone.
    “Bugger,” Arthur says, getting up and picking up the phone. “Hello,” he says crossly.
    “Is that any way to greet your favori sister?” Morgana’s voice teases him from the other end.
    He grabs the phone and yanks it, freeing the cord, pulling it with him so he can sit back on the bed.
    “To what do I owe the honor of your precious time, Mo?” he asks with mock sweetness. He looks at Gwen and mouths “my sister.” She nods, snuggling into the sheets and closing her eyes, resting while he talks.
    “Okay, now I’m going to be sick. Am I interrupting something, perhaps?”
    “Not really.”
    “Well, I was calling to let toi know that I’ll be in town suivant week and I want to see you.”
    “Visiting the main office, then?”
    “Of course. Must rapporter to Daddy Dearest, toi know.”
    “Uh-huh,” he says vaguely. “Don’t try anything this time, though. With Dad and me. I want toi to promise that if I’m meeting toi for dîner it’ll be just you, not toi and him like last time.”
    “Oh, God, do toi really think I’d try that again? toi were both so mad at my double ambush that I was afraid I’d Lost my father, brother, and my job. No thanks.”
    “Good.”
    Just then, Guinevere sneezes, suddenly and loudly. He looks over at her, and her eyes widen. “Sorry!” she whispers, giggling quietly in spite of herself. He smiles understandingly, but groans inwardly, knowing he’s in for the third degree now.
    “Who was that? And don’t tell me it’s Merlin, because that was clearly[i] a woman’s sneeze.”
    “You’re right, that wasn’t Merlin,” he says, and Gwen tucks her face into the oreiller and giggles.
    “Ugh, don’t tell me you’ve got some silly aléatoire trollop over for a little Sunday afternoon romp,” she says, groaning into the phone.
    “No, she isn’t some silly aléatoire trollop,” he says, poking Gwen in the shoulder because she’s laughing even harder now, oreiller over her head.
    “Oh? Arthur…” she prods.
    “Her name is Guinevere.”
    “Ooo, fancy. So who is she, exactly?”
    “Ah…” he stalls.
    “Arthur David Pendragon, do toi actually have a [i]girlfriend?” she asks, sounding exactly like she did when they were kids.
    “Yes. She’s my girlfriend, all right? Satisfied now?”
    “Yes, thank you. So. Is she another bloody punk?”
    “No, she’s not a punk.”
    “How did toi meet her?”
    “Mo, do we need to have the interrogation right this instant?”
    “Very well. Just tell me how toi met her and I’ll save the rest for suivant week. And I expect to meet her, Arthur. If she’s able to put up with toi for that long.”
    He sighs again. “Helios and Cenred were trying to rough her up. ou something. I’m not exactly sure what they were on about, but I stopped them.”
    “Excuse me, I stopped Helios myself,” Gwen pipes up.
    Morgana laughs. “I heard that. Those two wankers still slinking around town?”
    “Yeah. I broke Cenred’s nose, though,” he says brightly.
    “Excellent. So now I’m curious. How did she stop Helios?”
    “She kneed him in the bollocks.”
    Gwen can Morgana’s laughter as Arthur has had to pull the receiver from his ear. “I like her already.”
    “Okay, no plus questions. See toi suivant week.”
    “Love you, Brother.”
    “Love you, too, Mo.”
    Arthur hangs up the phone, looks down at Gwen, and just says, “Bless you.”
    Guinevere falls to laughter again, pulling the sheet up over her head.

Part 8: link