The missing 5x01 Arwen scene we'd never get in a million years on account of me being a total perv. For Lailastar, who got it rolling.
Arthur walks into his inner chamber and sees her standing par the window in her nightdress and dressing gown, looking out into the night. He knows her thoughts are on his mission tomorrow. He walks softly to her and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her with his body.
Even after three years of marriage, he still gets a thrill every time he touches her, feels nothing but incroyable joy at simply being able to be with her. She says nothing, only sighs, and he dips his face in her neck, s’embrasser her.
“Everything will be fine, I promise,” he whispers against her skin, his warm breath a caress. She slides her hands over his arms and reaches back to stroke his hair before gliding her hand down side of his face to his neck.
“Take me to bed, Husband,” she answers, answering his whisper with her own. Unquestioningly he takes her hand and they déplacer toward their bed, the lit in which he has brought her such ecstasy nearly every night since their wedding night.
Nearly every night when he was home, that is.
“I know toi worry about me when I go,” he says, as always, trying to console her, soothe her fears.
“Of course I do. I l’amour you. I can’t help but worry,” she answers, allowing him to lay her back on the bed.
“Even though I’ve been—”
“Trained to kill since birth, yes, yes,” she smiles, pulling him down over her, bringing his lips to hers, silencing them both as she immediately parts her lips for him, allowing him entrance.
Arthur reaches down and pulls the tie on her dressing gown, working it open, sliding his hands inside to touch her body through the linen of her nightdress. Gwen makes a contended noise in the back of her throat and releases his head to loosen his belt, opening it and tossing it aside without breaking the kiss. The action is so familiar, one she has done thousands of times (often very hastily), and she no longer needs to see to do it.
He pulls his lips away just long enough to whip his white shirt, her favorite, over his head and drop it to the floor. She takes her opportunity to sit up and peel her opened peignoir, robe from her shoulders and scoot it out from under her.
“I like this one,” Arthur mutters, always appreciating her nightgowns. This one is his particular favori because it is sleeveless, low-cut, and somewhat sheer.
“That’s why I wore it.”
“Aren’t toi cold?” he asks, as this is one of the gowns she generally wears in the high summer months. He runs his hand up her arm, watching as Chair de poule rise on her skin.
“Not at the moment,” she answers. “Besides, I don’t plan on wearing it for very long.”
He raises an eyebrow at her, then jumps in surprise when she swiftly pulls the ties on his trousers.
“Keep me warm, Arthur, and I shall give toi a memory with which to keep yourself warm on the cold nights to follow,” she whispers, sliding her hands into his trousers, working them down as she caresses his hips and thighs.
He helps her remove his trousers, and he prowls back up over her, sliding the hem of her nightdress higher as he goes, occasionally dropping kisses on her skin as he goes. Her knees, her thighs. Her hips, her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel once. Her left breast, then her right. The robe passes over her head and is discarded with the rest, and Arthur kisses her neck, then her lips, hungrily, passionately, his hand finding her breast.
“I l’amour you, Arthur,” she whispers, moving to nibble his ear, pulling his earlobe gently in between her teeth. He angles his head to Kiss her neck, groaning softly.
“I l’amour you,” he mumbles into her skin, s’embrasser a molten line down her neck to her breasts, capturing a dark nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over it.
Gwen runs her hands into his hair, making his scalp tingle under her fingertips. She moves her leg to slide against him, winding it around his leg, the slender smooth limb enticing him, drawing him closer.
She reaches down between them, her hand seeking him out, grasping his length. He gently bites her nipple in response, drawing a gasp from her.
Gwen slides her hand on him, maneuvering him close to touch herself with the tip, sliding it along her folds, slippery and hot.
Arthur groans, moving to her other breast, and he presses his hips vers l'avant, vers l’avant slightly, just hovering at her entrance for a few moments before pushing inside just a tiny bit.
“You’re teasing me,” she gasps, releasing his member to grip his shoulders, pulling him, nearly begging.
He kisses his way back to her lips, s’embrasser them deeply, still moving no further. “I know,” he says, and he slides back a little.
Gwen is just about to protest when he plunges forward, delving fully into her, sheathing himself completely within her as he drops his head into the soft curve of her neck.
Arthur doesn’t move; he just stays there, joined with his wife, his soulmate, basking in her love, her goodness, her wisdom.
Slowly he begins to move, long, languid strokes, moving fluidly over her.
“Yes, Arthur,” she sighs, arching underneath him, her hands caressing his chest, her head tossing to the side.
He adjusts his position, bracing himself on one hand, reaching down with the other to hold her firm thigh. Occasionally he lowers himself to Kiss her lips, her forehead, her neck, wherever his lips happen to land.
Gwen’s hands travel, finding his backside, gripping it, pushing it, urging him faster, harder.
“More…” she gasps, but he is already complying before the word is out. She hooks her leg around his waist now, and he releases his grasp on it and moves his hand to her breast instead.
He grunts once, then kisses her again, thrusting his hungry tongue into her mouth, almost mimicking his actions below with it, and she sucks greedily at it with her own as if she cannot get enough of him.
She whimpers, and he can feel her body quivering beneath him, close, so close, and he thrusts hard and deep, over and over, bringing her over the edge with him.
“Oh!” she tears her lips from his and cries out, digging her nails into his shoulders, her small body jerking beneath him just as he growls and drives deep, releasing finally into her, his arms giving out.
He collapses over her, his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily, his torso sliding on hers, slick with the sweat built between them.
They lay together, intertwined, waiting for their hearts to return to normal, waiting for the delicious pulsing sensations below to subside.
Waiting to see if they will suddenly wake up to find that Gwaine and Percival and the others are no longer missing and Arthur doesn’t have to leave at first light because this has all been just a nightmare.
Arthur finally lifts his head to Kiss her, moving as little as possible, wishing to stay joined with her as long as he possibly can, relishing this closeness.
“Guinevere,” he whispers against her lips, “do toi know why I always return safely home?”
“Because toi are a mighty warrior?”
“Because you are waiting for me here.”
Arthur walks into his inner chamber and sees her standing par the window in her nightdress and dressing gown, looking out into the night. He knows her thoughts are on his mission tomorrow. He walks softly to her and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her with his body.
Even after three years of marriage, he still gets a thrill every time he touches her, feels nothing but incroyable joy at simply being able to be with her. She says nothing, only sighs, and he dips his face in her neck, s’embrasser her.
“Everything will be fine, I promise,” he whispers against her skin, his warm breath a caress. She slides her hands over his arms and reaches back to stroke his hair before gliding her hand down side of his face to his neck.
“Take me to bed, Husband,” she answers, answering his whisper with her own. Unquestioningly he takes her hand and they déplacer toward their bed, the lit in which he has brought her such ecstasy nearly every night since their wedding night.
Nearly every night when he was home, that is.
“I know toi worry about me when I go,” he says, as always, trying to console her, soothe her fears.
“Of course I do. I l’amour you. I can’t help but worry,” she answers, allowing him to lay her back on the bed.
“Even though I’ve been—”
“Trained to kill since birth, yes, yes,” she smiles, pulling him down over her, bringing his lips to hers, silencing them both as she immediately parts her lips for him, allowing him entrance.
Arthur reaches down and pulls the tie on her dressing gown, working it open, sliding his hands inside to touch her body through the linen of her nightdress. Gwen makes a contended noise in the back of her throat and releases his head to loosen his belt, opening it and tossing it aside without breaking the kiss. The action is so familiar, one she has done thousands of times (often very hastily), and she no longer needs to see to do it.
He pulls his lips away just long enough to whip his white shirt, her favorite, over his head and drop it to the floor. She takes her opportunity to sit up and peel her opened peignoir, robe from her shoulders and scoot it out from under her.
“I like this one,” Arthur mutters, always appreciating her nightgowns. This one is his particular favori because it is sleeveless, low-cut, and somewhat sheer.
“That’s why I wore it.”
“Aren’t toi cold?” he asks, as this is one of the gowns she generally wears in the high summer months. He runs his hand up her arm, watching as Chair de poule rise on her skin.
“Not at the moment,” she answers. “Besides, I don’t plan on wearing it for very long.”
He raises an eyebrow at her, then jumps in surprise when she swiftly pulls the ties on his trousers.
“Keep me warm, Arthur, and I shall give toi a memory with which to keep yourself warm on the cold nights to follow,” she whispers, sliding her hands into his trousers, working them down as she caresses his hips and thighs.
He helps her remove his trousers, and he prowls back up over her, sliding the hem of her nightdress higher as he goes, occasionally dropping kisses on her skin as he goes. Her knees, her thighs. Her hips, her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel once. Her left breast, then her right. The robe passes over her head and is discarded with the rest, and Arthur kisses her neck, then her lips, hungrily, passionately, his hand finding her breast.
“I l’amour you, Arthur,” she whispers, moving to nibble his ear, pulling his earlobe gently in between her teeth. He angles his head to Kiss her neck, groaning softly.
“I l’amour you,” he mumbles into her skin, s’embrasser a molten line down her neck to her breasts, capturing a dark nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over it.
Gwen runs her hands into his hair, making his scalp tingle under her fingertips. She moves her leg to slide against him, winding it around his leg, the slender smooth limb enticing him, drawing him closer.
She reaches down between them, her hand seeking him out, grasping his length. He gently bites her nipple in response, drawing a gasp from her.
Gwen slides her hand on him, maneuvering him close to touch herself with the tip, sliding it along her folds, slippery and hot.
Arthur groans, moving to her other breast, and he presses his hips vers l'avant, vers l’avant slightly, just hovering at her entrance for a few moments before pushing inside just a tiny bit.
“You’re teasing me,” she gasps, releasing his member to grip his shoulders, pulling him, nearly begging.
He kisses his way back to her lips, s’embrasser them deeply, still moving no further. “I know,” he says, and he slides back a little.
Gwen is just about to protest when he plunges forward, delving fully into her, sheathing himself completely within her as he drops his head into the soft curve of her neck.
Arthur doesn’t move; he just stays there, joined with his wife, his soulmate, basking in her love, her goodness, her wisdom.
Slowly he begins to move, long, languid strokes, moving fluidly over her.
“Yes, Arthur,” she sighs, arching underneath him, her hands caressing his chest, her head tossing to the side.
He adjusts his position, bracing himself on one hand, reaching down with the other to hold her firm thigh. Occasionally he lowers himself to Kiss her lips, her forehead, her neck, wherever his lips happen to land.
Gwen’s hands travel, finding his backside, gripping it, pushing it, urging him faster, harder.
“More…” she gasps, but he is already complying before the word is out. She hooks her leg around his waist now, and he releases his grasp on it and moves his hand to her breast instead.
He grunts once, then kisses her again, thrusting his hungry tongue into her mouth, almost mimicking his actions below with it, and she sucks greedily at it with her own as if she cannot get enough of him.
She whimpers, and he can feel her body quivering beneath him, close, so close, and he thrusts hard and deep, over and over, bringing her over the edge with him.
“Oh!” she tears her lips from his and cries out, digging her nails into his shoulders, her small body jerking beneath him just as he growls and drives deep, releasing finally into her, his arms giving out.
He collapses over her, his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily, his torso sliding on hers, slick with the sweat built between them.
They lay together, intertwined, waiting for their hearts to return to normal, waiting for the delicious pulsing sensations below to subside.
Waiting to see if they will suddenly wake up to find that Gwaine and Percival and the others are no longer missing and Arthur doesn’t have to leave at first light because this has all been just a nightmare.
Arthur finally lifts his head to Kiss her, moving as little as possible, wishing to stay joined with her as long as he possibly can, relishing this closeness.
“Guinevere,” he whispers against her lips, “do toi know why I always return safely home?”
“Because toi are a mighty warrior?”
“Because you are waiting for me here.”
