Arthur/Gwen fic: What Arthur Saw
WHY? Because Arthur is just too damn HOT for me not to distract myself with angsty Arthur/Gwen fic-writing.
Title: What Arthur Saw
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angsty sex. (My favourite.)
Length: One-Shot (7350 words)
Summary: "Arthur should have known this by now. He couldn’t put himself in a situation where he was alone with Gwen. Not anymore. It didn’t work anymore."
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to the BBC, who do a fantastic job of fitting in plenty of topless Bradley James scenes.
What Arthur Saw.
He swore the man just touched her.
It was a small, insignificant touch. But not to Arthur. To Arthur, it was a movement that sliced right through him.
You’re staring again, he told himself. Just stop.
It felt as though the Hall was bursting with the noise of people. Slick with heat and chatter and the clinking of goblets. Arthur longed for the days when he could throw himself into these occasions - greet the royal guests, impress his father with his ability to command the room.
But while she was here, he couldn’t think straight. For as long as she remained in the Hall, serving the guests, refilling their wine, gliding between the Knights as though she had no idea - no idea what her presence did to him - he couldn’t function like he knew he should.
And now one Knight had touched her arm, whispering something close to her ear. Arthur’s heart seemed to squeeze in his chest as a blush of delicious pink stained her cheeks.
Why wasn’t she moving away from him? She had already poured his wine. She had already smiled politely at his thanks. Why wasn’t she done there? And what was he saying to her?
And why was Arthur such an absolute idiot for thinking any of these things mattered? Because they shouldn’t matter and they didn’t matter. It was whatever it was. It was none of his concern.
His frantic thoughts scolded him.
She’s just a servant.
A servant.
But as these words filled his head, his feet began to move. The floor was shifting underneath him and he seemed to be striding in her direction.
Stop it. Turn around. You have nothing to say to her. And that Knight shouldn’t bother you. None of it should.
And yet Arthur was suddenly between them both.
“Guinevere.”
“Sire,” she acknowledged, her expression a little startled as she curtsied.
He hated it when she did that. Just another reminder of where they stood with one another.
“I apologise for interrupting,” he mumbled, his brain searching frantically for some kind of excuse.
“You aren’t at all,” she replied, her eyes - those eyes - staring up at him expectantly.
If this were any other world - perhaps even if his father hadn’t been in the room somewhere, with the potential to see and question and think anything of it at all - Arthur would take her arm and lead her outside.
And then he would kiss her. Hard and angry. He would make her understand that he didn’t want anyone else to touch her or talk to her or look at her the way he did. He would hold her in a way that screamed out his frustration and desperation at how forbidden it all was.
But that couldn’t happen. That wasn’t what he had spent the last hundred days or so conditioning himself into believing was the right thing to do. Because he had already kissed her twice. He had already let himself slip too many times.
Not again. There was no point in it. It could never end the way he wanted it to end, for either of them. She had been the one to tell him that. Over and over again.
Arthur realised he had perhaps hesitated far too long. His silence must have seemed strange to her. He could almost feel the stare of the Knight behind him burning on the back of his neck.
You wouldn’t look at me like that to my face, he thought. I’m the Prince, after all.
The Prince. Right. Yes.
“I think some of the guests over there need more wine,” said Arthur, forcing an authority and formality in his voice. But - of course - it still sounded strained. It still sounded odd. Because the Prince wouldn’t come all the way over here to direct a servant to serve someone else.
Gwen nodded. “Yes, Sire,” she murmured. Her eyes lingered on his. It sent his pulse racing painfully under his skin.
Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m an idiot. I’m a big, fat idiot.
Arthur’s jaw clenched. He turned around as quickly as possible, without wanting the movement to look too rushed. Because he couldn’t stay close to her for very long, not when there was all those things he wanted but could never have. And then there was the fact that he was slightly embarrassed that he had come over in the first place.
He was facing the Knight now.
“Enjoy the banquet,” he said, forcefully thumping him on the shoulder in what he hoped was disguised as a friendly gesture. Though perhaps it was a little too hard for that. And perhaps on second thought he didn’t hope it was disguised as anything friendly at all.
Arthur ignored his choked but polite response and strode to the edge of the Hall. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in an effort to prevent himself from searching for her again.
Just leave, Guinevere. Leave the bloody room so that I can get on with the night. Be the King’s son. Be royalty. And whatever else is expected of me that so absolutely forbids me from thinking these thoughts about you.
But it was painfully inevitable. He couldn’t stop himself. Without thinking his eyes had found her again, and this time his heart caught in his throat because she was staring straight back at him.
Gwen stood at the opposite wall of the room, the tray balanced steadily on her hand as she waited patiently to be beckoned by whoever would next need serving.
Arthur’s mind pleaded with him to look away from her. But it was useless. He couldn’t. The too-loud noise seemed deadened somewhat, the moving bodies between them seemed to blur. Everything in the room paled as she held his gaze without wavering for one single second.
Don’t do this to me, Guinevere.
Her eyes were always too much. Everything they said and everything they knew. She saw into him far too deeply - deeper than anyone else was capable of. He hated it and yet was captivated by it all at the same time.
Suddenly, she broke his gaze. Someone had called for her. Arthur couldn’t help but hate them for it. She moved towards whoever it was and poured some wine. But then she didn’t return to the wall as he expected, she glanced at him one last time - a fleeting look - and headed in the direction of the door.
She was leaving.
Arthur ignored the pain in his stomach.
He should be relieved. He needed her to leave, remember? He could get on with it now. He could get on with being the Prince of Camelot.
But he was moving again. And it wasn’t planned or intended - it was just happening. He was several feet behind her as they left the buzz of the Hall behind them.
He knew Gwen could hear his footsteps, but she didn’t stop to look back. She didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. She continued down the steps and through the fire-lit corridors of the castle, Arthur following her without hesitation. He didn’t even let his own mind question what he was doing. Because it all felt so compulsory that he couldn’t see how he could argue with any of it.
When she finally stopped, it must have been at the furthest end of the castle. It was darker and completely silent - far away from the normality and formal obligations filling the Hall.
Arthur stopped a few steps behind her, his breath halting as she slowly turned around to face him.
As his eyes came to settle on her unreadable expression, he was suddenly hit with all the thoughts he had been suppressing as they walked.
What on earth was he doing here?
He noticed that Gwen’s breath was shaking as she exhaled slowly in some kind of effort to steady herself. He realised his own breathing was heavier than usual, his fists clenching at his sides to try and calm the fierce beating of his heart. He was convinced she could almost hear it.
They stared at each other for a few seconds.
His heart beat harder.
“Arthur-”
He heard the tray clash loudly to the floor as his body lunged for hers, his hands holding her face roughly as he kissed her desperately. It was all so unintentional and immediate that he barely had time to register what he was doing. His thoughts only began to kick in as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she whimpered into his mouth. And even then those thoughts were far too fast and quick and hazy for him to understand.
All the warnings in his head were so meaningless when his lips were against hers. All the realities seemed so unreal. As he backed her body into the wall - her head against the stone as he kissed her harder, pressed into her with even more desperation - all the reasons for why this wasn’t right seemed so completely wrong to him.
Because how could this not be right? How could the feeling of her against him not be so undeniably perfect? It felt as though this was the only way it could ever be, regardless of laws of the land and the words of his father.
His mouth moved clumsily to her jaw, the wetness of his tongue tracing heatedly up to the skin just below her ear. She whimpered again, and he was sure that she was saying something, but he couldn’t concentrate on it long enough to hear the words. His mouth was on her neck now, his hands sliding down the outline of her body, running over her waist and then her hips and then the shape of her thighs underneath her dress.
He heard words again. He felt hands pushing firmly at his chest. It pierced the haze in his head long enough for him to hear her say his name.
“Arthur-Stop-”
His movements stilled. He raised his head from the damp skin of her neck and stared at her, frowning. He was painfully aware of how heavy he was breathing.
Do not pull me out of this now. I don’t want to let myself think rationally for even a second.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she whispered.
He didn’t want to move away from her. He couldn’t bring himself to break that proximity.
“Please,” she murmured.
Why?
It seemed so unthinkable to Arthur that he should have to pull away from her. He didn’t want to end the moment between them. Because then he would have to confront what it was he’d just done.
He swore to himself that the last time had been the last time. And yet here he was, doing it again.
With a heavy reluctance, Arthur took one firm step away from her. He let his hands drop to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her chest rising and falling in ways he wished it wouldn’t in her dress.
Arthur swallowed. “No,” he replied, his voice hoarse, “I’m the one who should be apologising.”
Gwen straightened her posture, pushing away from the wall and smoothing down her dress.
“But it’s my fault,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “I wanted you to follow me.” She looked down, silently.
The air around them was still filled with heat. Arthur struggled to compose himself. It was a good thing she stopped him, he reminded himself. A good, acceptable thing.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Guinevere.” He struggled to say the words. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” she replied, looking up. Her eyes were wide. “You always say that.”
It was true, of course. He did always say it - whenever he needlessly followed her down a corridor of the castle, or stood without purpose by her front door during a patrol of the town.
I shouldn’t be here.
They were all places he shouldn’t be.
“So,” he swallowed, his jaw clenching. He gestured in the direction behind him. “I should go back to the Hall.” He turned to leave.
“Arthur- Wait.” Her voice stopped him, just as he hoped it would.
He turned back to face her.
“I just need to know how long you’re going to keep doing this for," she murmured.
“Doing what?” he asked, at little pointlessly since - quite obviously - he already knew exactly what she meant.
“This,” she replied, quietly. “Making it hard to forget.”
“It’s not my intention to make anything hard,” he mumbled, his body clenching uncomfortably.
She wet her lips. He concentrated hard on not noticing.
“Maybe,” she began, her voice almost a whisper, “it might help if you found someone else.”
“What?” Arthur’s response was a little too sharp. Her comment caught him completely off-guard.
Someone else. He didn’t even understand the concept.
“You need to find someone to distract you. Someone that isn’t a servant.”
“Don’t, Guinevere.”
“But, Arthur-”
“No. Why are you saying that?” he asked. “I don’t- There’s no reason for me to need someone else. I don’t need distractions. There is nothing I need to be distracted from.” He swallowed. “I’m fine,” he added, lying.
“But I’m not.”
She’s not. It’s what you’re doing to her, you idiot. It’s what is going on outside your own bloody head.
“I’m sorry,” murmured Arthur. The words sounded empty and useless.
“Just find someone else.”
“Will you stop saying that?”
“But I need you to, Arthur. I need you to forget about me and let me forget too.”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
He said it before he could stop himself.
Her eyes were wider and darker than he had ever seen them.
“What I mean to say is- I don’t want anyone at all. I’m fine as I am,” he corrected himself. Of course, there was no point in telling such a glaringly obvious lie. Because he did want someone. She of course knew that he wanted her.
Had he not just had her pressed up against the wall moments before? Had he not told her he loved her all those months ago?
“Okay,” she breathed. “Then I’ll find someone else.”
His heart smashed against his ribcage.
“No.” Again, before he could stop himself. Before he could even think. “You can’t. I don’t want...” He trailed off.
What could he possibly say? The truth was so ridiculous. He didn’t want anyone else to have her. Because if he couldn’t have her - if Arthur couldn’t have what he wanted more than anything - then no one else could. It was wrong. And irrational. And wrong.
Stop this.
These thoughts were the ones he had to swallow down and ignore. They couldn’t manifest into words. They couldn’t have any effect on the reality around him. That was important if they were to both get through this in one piece. She had been the one to make him see that. He had slipped up again tonight, but this had to be the last time.
It had to be.
“Fine,” he said. He almost hissed it, forcing the word through his teeth.
“Fine?”
“Yes.” His voice was deep. He knew emotion was flooding his face in ways he couldn’t stop.
“So- So I can be with someone else. And you won’t stop me?”
His jaw clenched. “I can’t.”
“I know that you can’t stop me. I know that you shouldn’t. But I’m asking you if you’ll try, all the same.”
This was everything he didn’t want to do. This was the reason he should never have followed her. He shouldn’t have so much as looked at her in the Hall. Because the composure and acceptable standards always unravelled whenever he stared at her like that.
How could he have not seen the inevitability of this all screaming at him the first time she caught his eye tonight?
Arthur should have known this by now. He couldn’t put himself in a situation where he was alone with Gwen. Not anymore. It didn’t work anymore.
Any hope Arthur had of composing himself - drawing himself back into reality - was failing hopelessly. The thought of her with someone else was burning aggressively inside his skull.
“Do you really want to know if I’ll try and stop you?” He shook his head. “Of course I will, Guinevere. I don’t think I could stand by and watch you do it. I don’t think I could help but stop you from being with anyone else.” He shrugged. “I know that’s ridiculous. I know that’s irrational. But you want an honest answer? Well there you go.” He didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but it did. Because he was angry with her for making him admit it. Even though it wasn’t her fault. Even though this was all him and only him.
Suddenly, he was angry at her for making him feel it all in the first place. For doing this to him. Angry at her for being a servant - for being so forbidden and untouchable. So incredibly angry with these notions and rules and laws that existed - invisible barriers hanging heavy in the air around them - pushing them apart with a force that made Arthur feel sick.
“What’s the point in asking me these questions?” he continued, his fists unconsciously clenching at his sides. “Do you have someone specific in mind?” he asked, a warning in his voice that must have told her how important it was she said no.
“Of course not.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Arthur! I’m just trying to find a solution. You need to see what this is doing to both of us. We need to find a way to stop it.”
“Like you being with another man?”
“You say that as if I’ve been with you.”
It feels like you have. In my head, you have. Over and over again. Relentlessly. I can’t stop it.
But only twice they had kissed before this - stolen and heated moments. And it had been so long since that last time - the time before tonight. Weeks, in fact.
“I don’t want to do this, Gwen,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Then why did you follow me here?”
“Why did you let me?”
“Don’t say that,” she replied, frowning. “I have no control over this situation.”
“And you think I do?” he growled, heatedly. Arthur took a step away from her then. He turned his back to her and ran his hands through his hair. “This is insane,” he muttered under this breath. “Completely insane.”
He took a moment to calm his breathing. A moment to readjust that Prince-exterior that was so completely useless around Gwen.
When he turned back to face her, he was startled by her sudden closeness. She had taken steps towards him. They were mere inches away from each other now.
“Guinevere...” He said her name without thinking. It was unconscious and essential, like taking a breath.
“I feel so helpless,” she murmured.
For the first time he noticed the glistening in her eyes. Tears were threatening to fall onto her cheeks. And if he did that to her - if he made her cry - he couldn’t forgive himself.
“I try and get through the day,” she continued, her voice shaking. “I try and avoid you as best I can. I try and push it all away. But I can’t. Because you won’t let me. And yet - out of the both of us - I’m the one that has the least choice, aren’t I?” Her voice got stronger then. “I only ever have limited options as to what I can do. I’m a servant, after all. I can’t follow you around however I please. I can’t turn up on your doorstep whenever I want. I can’t do those things. But you - you’re a Prince. If you want to play with my head, you can. You can go wherever you want. You can do whatever you like. You can get away with anything.”
“Hardly,” he frowned. “If I could get away with anything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You’re missing my point,” she said, frustration in her voice.
“Guinevere-”
“Look, I get it, alright? The King is your father. And this - us - it can never happen. I’ve always understood that. I just- I need you to stop looking at me the way you look at me. I need you to stop staring. I need you to stop talking to me like it hurts you-”
“But it does hurt me. I know it’s stupid. I’ve told myself a hundred times over that it’s stupid,” he frowned. “But I don’t want to talk to you like you’re just anyone. Like you’re just a servant. Because you mean more to me than someone who is-”
“Just a servant.” She nodded. “Well that’s all I am. I’m just a servant.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Why do you always have to twist what I’m saying?”
“It’s the way you say that word. You say servant like it’s something so far beneath you.”
“But it is!”
She stared at him.
Right. Perhaps that was the wrong response.
“Guinevere,” he exhaled, “I’m trying to tell you that you mean more to me that what you’re supposed to mean.” He paused. “I look at you, and I see something different from what I’m supposed to see.”
Why was he saying these things? Why couldn’t he stop this, step away from her and leave?
“Yes, I know. But that can’t mean anything.”
“Of course it means something. It means everything to me.”
Gwen shook her head. “You have to stop, Arthur. Because this is hurting me too.” She brought a hand to her chest. “Every time your eyes remind me that there’s something there and I can’t handle it. And knowing that nothing can happen is made so much worse by the fact that things keep happening.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You have to.”
“But I can’t.”
“You’re the Prince! You’re the reason why we cannot be together!”
“Guinevere-“
“Don’t say my name like that,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly now. “Please, don’t. When you say my name, it feels like...” She shook her head. “This has to stop.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he asked, frowning.
“What can I do about it, Arthur?” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. She took a step backwards, her body falling against the wall. “What can I possibly do?” she asked, exhaustion in her voice.
Arthur stared at her. He wanted so much to take back everything he had done to her. He hated that this was hurting her more than he hated any other part of it.
“Nothing. You can’t do anything.”
“Exactly. You have to be the one that does something.”
Something.
“Yes.”
Yes. He had to be the one that does something.
He had to stop waiting for the situation to magically repair itself. He had to stop waiting for the day that he woke up, and she wasn’t the first thing that he thought about.
Because that day wouldn’t come.
Arthur took two steps towards her. The suddenness of the movement made her jump. It brought them close enough together for him to feel the heat radiating off her beautiful skin. It was a heat that made him dizzy.
He breathed in.
Something. He had to do something.
Because neither of them could go on like this. He had tried so desperately to ignore her. He had tried to look at other girls. He had tried to focus on other things - sport, battle, being heir to the throne. He had shrugged off every single mention of her name from Merlin.
But had he really been trying hard enough? Can he ever really try hard enough to ignore something he wanted more than anything - almost more than he wanted royalty itself?
“Arthur?” she asked, her voice soft and cautious.
He had been silently staring at her again. She must be so used to him doing that by now. It was no wonder she wanted out of the whole mess.
“Do you know what my father would say?” he asked her. He brought a hand to her cheek and lightly grazed his knuckles over her skin.
She turned her head into his touch. “I think- I think I can imagine,” she stammered.
Arthur found it so hard to think rationally about what he should say or what he should do when he was around her. He found it so hard to plan a way out of it all. Because when she was right there in front of him - when he was touching her - finding a way out was the very last thing he wanted to do.
“Really?” he asked, his voice low. “Because I don’t think you realise how much danger you’d be in if I told him. He’d attempt many things to make sure I never saw you again.”
She swallowed.
Arthur shook his head. “But I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he added. “You know that, don’t you?” Touching her skin again had quickened his heartbeat. His fingers couldn’t seem to leave it. He stroked down her neck and felt her shiver beneath him.
Her breathing was stronger now. “Why tell me that?” she asked, wetting her lips. “You can never say anything to the King. So these things don’t matter.”
Arthur’s thumb came to rest against her pulse. It was throbbing wildly. He tried harder to concentrate on the words in his head and not the feeling of her body beneath his fingers. “You said I need to do something.”
“Yes.”
“Telling my father is doing something.”
“Arthur, no-”
“I’ve tried hard,” he said, firmly. “I see you every single day and I try to ignore you. I tell myself it’s wrong. I tell myself I shouldn’t look at you - but it’s completely useless.”
The feeling of her pulse against his fingers was clouding his mind. He felt rooted to the spot. He almost felt utterly compelled to commit to her completely - right there and then - and swear to her that they would be together.
He should have known this by now. This was the effect her close proximity had on him. It made things so hazy that he couldn’t even tell himself it was wrong anymore. He couldn’t even recognise or understand why he was fighting against it.
“Stop this,” she breathed, her hand raising and her fingers closing around his. Gently, she pulled them away from her skin. “I’m a servant, Arthur. And you’re the Prince.” She shook her head. “Don’t pretend for a second that this can happen.”
The sudden frustration that shot through him alarmed them both as he thumped his fist against the wall beside her head. “Why not?” he demanded, frowning deeply. He took her hand that was around his fingers and held it tightly between them.
“Listen, Arthur-”
“No, Guinevere.”
“Mere moments ago you were admitting that you shouldn’t be here!”
“But it’s never really me saying those things!” he replied, his other hand against her face again. “It’s never words I really mean! And you’re always telling me to be true to myself. You’re always telling me to stand up to my father.” Or at least she used to say those things - before, when it was easier for them to be around each other.
“It was never my place to say those things to you,” she murmured.
“But you were right. Every time you were right. So why can’t you tell me to do the same now?” he asked. “Is it because you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you? Because - I swear, Gwen - I won’t let anyone so much as touch you.”
“Listen to yourself,” she pleaded. “You’re getting carried away with a fantasy.”
Arthur’s jaw clenched. This couldn’t just be a fantasy.
“I love you,” he murmured.
He loved her. He told her before and he would tell her again. There was no point in pretending otherwise - not when he was reminded of what the feel of her skin could do to him.
She stared at him, her eyes glistening. Slowly, she shook her head. “Maybe you do,” she murmured.
“I do.”
“And if you were King, things may have been different. But you’re not. And they aren’t.”
“You’ve said this to me before. And I’ve tried to listen to you, but it doesn’t work.”
“Arthur-”
“You were the only person I could look at in that Hall, Guinevere. You were the only person I could think about. When you’re in the same room as me I can’t concentrate on anything but you.”
How quickly all his pretences dissolved around her. How quickly he lost any hope of convincing himself that the idea of the two of them was wrong.
Uther’s predictable words shot momentarily through his mind. Things about royalty, bloodline, acceptable standards. But they left his head as quickly as they entered it. Because when Gwen was in front of him - so close he could almost feel her breath - his father’s words didn’t seem to matter. They didn’t seem to make anything an impossibility.
“I look at you, Guinevere,” he continued, “and I see the only woman I love. The only woman I ever need to be with.”
She swallowed. “You’ll go back upstairs, Arthur, and you’ll remind yourself of why these words cannot mean anything between us. Once you see the King, you’ll remember. You always do.”
“You’re wrong,” he replied defiantly. He held her hand tighter. “I only ever told myself those things because you told me to forget.”
“I only told you what you already knew.”
Arthur shook his head. His breathing was heavy. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said, bringing up his other hand to cup her face. He held her cheek firmly, frustration and confusion and hopelessness burning in his fingers. “I’m the Prince of Camelot. I’m his son. There is only so much my father will do to me to stop us.”
“You said yourself that it’s what he would do to me.”
To her. To Guinevere. What would his father do? What lengths would he go to? Arthur thought that maybe he would banish her. Or maybe something worse. Maybe his father was really capable of something worse if it meant keeping up those traditions he so solemnly swore by.
But he wouldn’t let him. He was stronger than his father.
“I would protect you.”
“At what cost, Arthur?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to be rational about it.
“Your heritage? Your family? Everything you’ve achieved here in Camelot? The kingdom cannot survive without you. You absolutely have to stay here, Arthur. You have to be King one day. You’re all that Camelot needs in a King.”
He hated it when she said those words - when she made his future sound so necessary and so inescapable. But then, of course, Arthur didn’t truly want to escape his future as King. It was everything he had been building up to. Everything his father had raised him to be. And Arthur truly wanted every part of it. He felt committed to the people of Camelot in a way that he could never undo.
But Camelot and being King were not the only things he wanted. They were not the only instincts he carried. Guinevere was there in that future. She was such a necessary and natural part of it.
He couldn’t possibly understand why it didn’t all just fit together.
Gwen was staring him, waiting for a response, but Arthur felt empty. He felt hopeless. What could he say? He could plead with her to accept his love, but then what? He could promise to tell his father everything. But she was right. There was too much at stake - his future and his leadership and his chance to save the people of Camelot. He hated that in considering his own future, he was considering hundreds of others along with it.
“Arthur...” Her fingers wrapped lightly over the hand on her face. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head again, slowly.
It didn’t make any sense. None of it. All those frozen expectations and heated desires so utterly incapable of breaking one another.
Arthur didn’t let her move his hand away from her face. Suddenly, he didn’t want anyone to stop him from touching her. Before he knew it, his mouth was on hers again. And he wasn’t even sure of how or why. It was forceful and frantically despondent. His lips sucking at hers, desperately wanting all those words of rationality and reality she’d spoken to disappear forever.
She made a sound as his knee involuntarily pushed in between her legs.
He didn’t want to take a moment to think of how improper his actions were. Or how wrong he was to hold her against the wall like this, his grip almost certainly too tight. Because it wasn’t something he planned. Touching her and kissing her was never planned. It was only ever thought of and dreamt of. And yet now, in that moment, her words had pushed him too far to the edge of his own desperation for him to resist. They had reminded him too brutally of why they weren’t together and why they couldn’t be. And yet the truth only compelled him to touch her even more.
His mouth left hers and her head cocked back against the wall. He buried his face into her exposed neck, feeling the heat of his own breath reverberate off her skin as one of his arms snaked around her back to pull her in closer.
“Arthur-This isn’t helping.”
“Shut up, Guinevere.” The words were hot and angry against her neck. He hadn’t meant them to sound so harsh. But she had said too much. And everything she said had hurt. Every truth she whispered cut through the air and pulled them further apart. He loved her too much to be able to stand hearing anymore of it.
Arthur pressed Gwen harder against him, his mouth moving back up to meet hers. His other hand was holding the back of her head, his fingers buried deep into the wild curls of her hair. The kiss was deep and hungry and unrelenting. He was finding it hard to breathe and yet he couldn’t stop. The tiny sounds escaping from Gwen’s mouth were fizzing in his brain and prickling against his skin. He needed to hear more of her. He needed to feel more, regardless of how incredibly wrong that was.
He slid his hand from her back to the top of her the thigh, wrenching it upwards so that he was holding her leg to his hip.
“Arthur- What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Standing up for what I truly believe is right,” he replied, his voice low and trembling. “Haven’t you always told me to do that?”
She whimpered softly as Arthur’s frantic hands began to clumsily bunch her dress up around her waist.
“But you can’t...”
“I don’t want to think about that now,” he growled. “I don’t want to think about any of it. I need to just be with you.” He stilled his movements then, moving his lips away from her skin so that he could look into her eyes. “Please, Guinevere,” he murmured. “Let us have this. If we can’t ever have anything ever again, then at least let us have this.”
He needed this. If this was as far as it could ever go - if reality left him no choice but to survive without her - then he couldn’t go on without having touched her one last time.
She stared back at him, breathing deeply. After a few moments, she nodded slowly.
The movement was so small, but made his heart jump. Arthur ignored the nervous feeling that suddenly bubbled in the pit of his stomach, bringing his lips to hers again.
He grinded his hips into her and she moaned. Arthur bit down unintentionally on her lip in response, struggling to keep her dress around her waist. Gwen held it for him, freeing his desperate hands. He moved a hand up to cup her breast through her bodice. The feel of her soft body against him was inexplicably beautiful.
Gwen shifted her hips, and Arthur’s eyes shot to hers. She was staring at him, a desperate look in her widened eyes.
All of Arthur’s concentration snapped to the fastening on his trousers, and as they dropped to his ankles, his hands grabbed her thighs firmly. His movements were clumsy and inexperienced, yet neither of them seemed to care. A sound escaped her lips as he pressed himself into her.
She felt hot underneath him - hotter than he ever imagined she could feel. He heard her breath catch in her throat as his fingers brushed to the inside of her thigh. His face was buried in her neck again, his mouth sucking and nipping at her skin.
Arthur felt as though he wasn’t even consciously directing his actions anymore. And when her leg wrapped tighter around his hips, and his fingers dug into her thigh, for a fleeting second he was anxious that he was going to lose control completely.
Gwen bucked her hips into him again, moaning softly at the friction between them. The weight of his body against hers held her dress around her waist, and her hands moved up to his head, lacing her fingers through his hair and pulling him in towards her mouth. Their lips met in another hungry kiss - it was wet and slightly misplaced, but neither of them seemed to care. He could only think of her body against him. He could only listen to the quiet sounds escaping her mouth.
When he broke the kiss, Arthur stared at her once again, his eyes silently begging for what he needed more than anything.
She nodded. “Yes, Arthur...”
They both groaned loudly as he pushed into her, engulfing himself completely in the heat of her body. Her head fell back against the stone of the wall, her eyelids fluttering shut.
Slowly, he pulled out of her. And as he slid into her again, her fingers held tighter in his hair. The pain of it made him thrust into her harder.
Arthur’s rhythm was erratic and his breathing was coarse. Her body was shifting roughly against the wall as he drove into her. His vision began to cloud as she arched her back, pushing herself deeper onto him with every thrust.
“Guinevere.”
Her name sounded almost strangled in his throat as he growled it against her skin. The euphoric feeling of her weight falling down onto him with every movement was overwhelming him completely. The heat of her was flooding his skin. The room was filled with their heavy breathing - frenetic and erratic and completely devoid of any composure.
“Arthur!” she cried, her body beginning to tremble. He almost lost his way at the sight of her, her head rocking against the wall, her breasts swelling in her dress. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could scarcely believe that they were doing this. He couldn’t understand at what point all of his dreams and fantasies began to play out so magnificently in front of him.
Arthur bit down on Gwen’s shoulder as his movements became increasingly hard to control. He didn’t think he could keep going for much longer - not when he was inside of this woman - not when it was her that was trembling and hot and damp beneath his fingers.
He heard himself speak, somewhere amidst the groans and heavy breathing. “I think- I’m going to...” But he couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too consumed by the way her body met his with every thrust. He was too completely drenched with the thought and feeling of it all.
She cried out his name again, and Arthur felt her muscles tighten around him. The choked sounds escaping her mouth surrounded him and pulled him under even further. Gwen was shaking violently underneath him, and he knew that her orgasm was washing over her now. The spectacular thought of it caused his heart to tighten in his chest.
He pushed into her forcefully once more as he felt his own release flood through him, tightening every muscle in his body. He let the ecstasy consume him, relishing the wet heat of her as his deep groans echoed in the corridor around them.
Finally, he fell silent.
For a while, they both stayed there. Two bodies pressed up against the wall, panting through the heated emotion of what had just happened between them. Arthur’s head was resting heavily on Gwen’s shoulder. He struggled to compose his breathing. Her fingers were still entwined in his hair, and he could feel her stroking him softly. He closed his eyes.
Arthur didn’t want to move from this place. He didn’t want to end the feeling of her skin against his. He vaguely noted that he had yet to loosen his grip on her thigh, his fingers still digging into her soft skin.
Gwen broke the silence between them.
“Arthur...”
He raised his head from her shoulder, slowly pulling out of her. He growled quietly as he did so.
Gwen’s fingers slid down to the back of his neck. “Are you okay?” she swallowed.
They stared at each other. After a moment, Arthur shook his head.
“Did I- Did I do something wrong?” she frowned.
“No, Guinevere,” he replied, quickly. “You did not do anything wrong.”
“Then, why-”
“I can’t do this,” he murmured. “I cannot pretend that I don’t love you.” He shook his head again. “I will not.”
“Arthur-”
“I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m not saying that I will go up to the Hall right now and tell my father everything. Because I do not trust him enough not to hurt you. I cannot be sure of your safety yet.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she replied, her eyes searching his in confusion. “We agreed. We agreed that nothing-”
“I am saying that I refuse to let this be the last time I touch you,” he breathed. “I refuse to let myself move on from you. I don’t want to. I can’t.”
Gwen stared back at him. She didn’t say anything in response. It almost surprised Arthur. For the first time in such a long time, she didn’t try and convince him that he was wrong. She didn’t try and persuade him that none of it could be the way he wanted it to be.
Arthur thought that maybe - finally - she saw it too. Maybe she finally looked at him in the same way that Arthur had always looked at her - seeing that they had no choice but to need each other.
Arthur brought his mouth to hers, kissing her softly. “I look at you, Guinevere, and I see the woman I love. I don’t think I will ever stop seeing that.”
A tear fell onto her cheek.
He planted another kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I do not want to ever stop seeing that.”
Gwen’s body began to tremble heavier with more tears, and Arthur pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against him.
“You don't need to be sorry,” he breathed, burying his face softly in her hair. “I just- I need you to promise me that you’ll stop saying this is impossible. Promise me that you’ll believe there can be a future for us.”
She shook against him.
“Promise me, Guinevere.”
He absolutely knew, in that moment, that they had to be together. And it wouldn’t be soon. It wouldn’t be perfect and without difficulty. But it had to be, all the same.
“I promise you, Arthur,” she whispered, raising her head from his chest.
And when Arthur looked at her, he saw all those things that he spoke of. All those things that he dreamed of. Desire. Love. Need.
And hope.
*
Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.
Title: What Arthur Saw
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angsty sex. (My favourite.)
Length: One-Shot (7350 words)
Summary: "Arthur should have known this by now. He couldn’t put himself in a situation where he was alone with Gwen. Not anymore. It didn’t work anymore."
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to the BBC, who do a fantastic job of fitting in plenty of topless Bradley James scenes.
What Arthur Saw.
He swore the man just touched her.
It was a small, insignificant touch. But not to Arthur. To Arthur, it was a movement that sliced right through him.
You’re staring again, he told himself. Just stop.
It felt as though the Hall was bursting with the noise of people. Slick with heat and chatter and the clinking of goblets. Arthur longed for the days when he could throw himself into these occasions - greet the royal guests, impress his father with his ability to command the room.
But while she was here, he couldn’t think straight. For as long as she remained in the Hall, serving the guests, refilling their wine, gliding between the Knights as though she had no idea - no idea what her presence did to him - he couldn’t function like he knew he should.
And now one Knight had touched her arm, whispering something close to her ear. Arthur’s heart seemed to squeeze in his chest as a blush of delicious pink stained her cheeks.
Why wasn’t she moving away from him? She had already poured his wine. She had already smiled politely at his thanks. Why wasn’t she done there? And what was he saying to her?
And why was Arthur such an absolute idiot for thinking any of these things mattered? Because they shouldn’t matter and they didn’t matter. It was whatever it was. It was none of his concern.
His frantic thoughts scolded him.
She’s just a servant.
A servant.
But as these words filled his head, his feet began to move. The floor was shifting underneath him and he seemed to be striding in her direction.
Stop it. Turn around. You have nothing to say to her. And that Knight shouldn’t bother you. None of it should.
And yet Arthur was suddenly between them both.
“Guinevere.”
“Sire,” she acknowledged, her expression a little startled as she curtsied.
He hated it when she did that. Just another reminder of where they stood with one another.
“I apologise for interrupting,” he mumbled, his brain searching frantically for some kind of excuse.
“You aren’t at all,” she replied, her eyes - those eyes - staring up at him expectantly.
If this were any other world - perhaps even if his father hadn’t been in the room somewhere, with the potential to see and question and think anything of it at all - Arthur would take her arm and lead her outside.
And then he would kiss her. Hard and angry. He would make her understand that he didn’t want anyone else to touch her or talk to her or look at her the way he did. He would hold her in a way that screamed out his frustration and desperation at how forbidden it all was.
But that couldn’t happen. That wasn’t what he had spent the last hundred days or so conditioning himself into believing was the right thing to do. Because he had already kissed her twice. He had already let himself slip too many times.
Not again. There was no point in it. It could never end the way he wanted it to end, for either of them. She had been the one to tell him that. Over and over again.
Arthur realised he had perhaps hesitated far too long. His silence must have seemed strange to her. He could almost feel the stare of the Knight behind him burning on the back of his neck.
You wouldn’t look at me like that to my face, he thought. I’m the Prince, after all.
The Prince. Right. Yes.
“I think some of the guests over there need more wine,” said Arthur, forcing an authority and formality in his voice. But - of course - it still sounded strained. It still sounded odd. Because the Prince wouldn’t come all the way over here to direct a servant to serve someone else.
Gwen nodded. “Yes, Sire,” she murmured. Her eyes lingered on his. It sent his pulse racing painfully under his skin.
Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m an idiot. I’m a big, fat idiot.
Arthur’s jaw clenched. He turned around as quickly as possible, without wanting the movement to look too rushed. Because he couldn’t stay close to her for very long, not when there was all those things he wanted but could never have. And then there was the fact that he was slightly embarrassed that he had come over in the first place.
He was facing the Knight now.
“Enjoy the banquet,” he said, forcefully thumping him on the shoulder in what he hoped was disguised as a friendly gesture. Though perhaps it was a little too hard for that. And perhaps on second thought he didn’t hope it was disguised as anything friendly at all.
Arthur ignored his choked but polite response and strode to the edge of the Hall. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in an effort to prevent himself from searching for her again.
Just leave, Guinevere. Leave the bloody room so that I can get on with the night. Be the King’s son. Be royalty. And whatever else is expected of me that so absolutely forbids me from thinking these thoughts about you.
But it was painfully inevitable. He couldn’t stop himself. Without thinking his eyes had found her again, and this time his heart caught in his throat because she was staring straight back at him.
Gwen stood at the opposite wall of the room, the tray balanced steadily on her hand as she waited patiently to be beckoned by whoever would next need serving.
Arthur’s mind pleaded with him to look away from her. But it was useless. He couldn’t. The too-loud noise seemed deadened somewhat, the moving bodies between them seemed to blur. Everything in the room paled as she held his gaze without wavering for one single second.
Don’t do this to me, Guinevere.
Her eyes were always too much. Everything they said and everything they knew. She saw into him far too deeply - deeper than anyone else was capable of. He hated it and yet was captivated by it all at the same time.
Suddenly, she broke his gaze. Someone had called for her. Arthur couldn’t help but hate them for it. She moved towards whoever it was and poured some wine. But then she didn’t return to the wall as he expected, she glanced at him one last time - a fleeting look - and headed in the direction of the door.
She was leaving.
Arthur ignored the pain in his stomach.
He should be relieved. He needed her to leave, remember? He could get on with it now. He could get on with being the Prince of Camelot.
But he was moving again. And it wasn’t planned or intended - it was just happening. He was several feet behind her as they left the buzz of the Hall behind them.
He knew Gwen could hear his footsteps, but she didn’t stop to look back. She didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. She continued down the steps and through the fire-lit corridors of the castle, Arthur following her without hesitation. He didn’t even let his own mind question what he was doing. Because it all felt so compulsory that he couldn’t see how he could argue with any of it.
When she finally stopped, it must have been at the furthest end of the castle. It was darker and completely silent - far away from the normality and formal obligations filling the Hall.
Arthur stopped a few steps behind her, his breath halting as she slowly turned around to face him.
As his eyes came to settle on her unreadable expression, he was suddenly hit with all the thoughts he had been suppressing as they walked.
What on earth was he doing here?
He noticed that Gwen’s breath was shaking as she exhaled slowly in some kind of effort to steady herself. He realised his own breathing was heavier than usual, his fists clenching at his sides to try and calm the fierce beating of his heart. He was convinced she could almost hear it.
They stared at each other for a few seconds.
His heart beat harder.
“Arthur-”
He heard the tray clash loudly to the floor as his body lunged for hers, his hands holding her face roughly as he kissed her desperately. It was all so unintentional and immediate that he barely had time to register what he was doing. His thoughts only began to kick in as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she whimpered into his mouth. And even then those thoughts were far too fast and quick and hazy for him to understand.
All the warnings in his head were so meaningless when his lips were against hers. All the realities seemed so unreal. As he backed her body into the wall - her head against the stone as he kissed her harder, pressed into her with even more desperation - all the reasons for why this wasn’t right seemed so completely wrong to him.
Because how could this not be right? How could the feeling of her against him not be so undeniably perfect? It felt as though this was the only way it could ever be, regardless of laws of the land and the words of his father.
His mouth moved clumsily to her jaw, the wetness of his tongue tracing heatedly up to the skin just below her ear. She whimpered again, and he was sure that she was saying something, but he couldn’t concentrate on it long enough to hear the words. His mouth was on her neck now, his hands sliding down the outline of her body, running over her waist and then her hips and then the shape of her thighs underneath her dress.
He heard words again. He felt hands pushing firmly at his chest. It pierced the haze in his head long enough for him to hear her say his name.
“Arthur-Stop-”
His movements stilled. He raised his head from the damp skin of her neck and stared at her, frowning. He was painfully aware of how heavy he was breathing.
Do not pull me out of this now. I don’t want to let myself think rationally for even a second.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she whispered.
He didn’t want to move away from her. He couldn’t bring himself to break that proximity.
“Please,” she murmured.
Why?
It seemed so unthinkable to Arthur that he should have to pull away from her. He didn’t want to end the moment between them. Because then he would have to confront what it was he’d just done.
He swore to himself that the last time had been the last time. And yet here he was, doing it again.
With a heavy reluctance, Arthur took one firm step away from her. He let his hands drop to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her chest rising and falling in ways he wished it wouldn’t in her dress.
Arthur swallowed. “No,” he replied, his voice hoarse, “I’m the one who should be apologising.”
Gwen straightened her posture, pushing away from the wall and smoothing down her dress.
“But it’s my fault,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “I wanted you to follow me.” She looked down, silently.
The air around them was still filled with heat. Arthur struggled to compose himself. It was a good thing she stopped him, he reminded himself. A good, acceptable thing.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Guinevere.” He struggled to say the words. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” she replied, looking up. Her eyes were wide. “You always say that.”
It was true, of course. He did always say it - whenever he needlessly followed her down a corridor of the castle, or stood without purpose by her front door during a patrol of the town.
I shouldn’t be here.
They were all places he shouldn’t be.
“So,” he swallowed, his jaw clenching. He gestured in the direction behind him. “I should go back to the Hall.” He turned to leave.
“Arthur- Wait.” Her voice stopped him, just as he hoped it would.
He turned back to face her.
“I just need to know how long you’re going to keep doing this for," she murmured.
“Doing what?” he asked, at little pointlessly since - quite obviously - he already knew exactly what she meant.
“This,” she replied, quietly. “Making it hard to forget.”
“It’s not my intention to make anything hard,” he mumbled, his body clenching uncomfortably.
She wet her lips. He concentrated hard on not noticing.
“Maybe,” she began, her voice almost a whisper, “it might help if you found someone else.”
“What?” Arthur’s response was a little too sharp. Her comment caught him completely off-guard.
Someone else. He didn’t even understand the concept.
“You need to find someone to distract you. Someone that isn’t a servant.”
“Don’t, Guinevere.”
“But, Arthur-”
“No. Why are you saying that?” he asked. “I don’t- There’s no reason for me to need someone else. I don’t need distractions. There is nothing I need to be distracted from.” He swallowed. “I’m fine,” he added, lying.
“But I’m not.”
She’s not. It’s what you’re doing to her, you idiot. It’s what is going on outside your own bloody head.
“I’m sorry,” murmured Arthur. The words sounded empty and useless.
“Just find someone else.”
“Will you stop saying that?”
“But I need you to, Arthur. I need you to forget about me and let me forget too.”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
He said it before he could stop himself.
Her eyes were wider and darker than he had ever seen them.
“What I mean to say is- I don’t want anyone at all. I’m fine as I am,” he corrected himself. Of course, there was no point in telling such a glaringly obvious lie. Because he did want someone. She of course knew that he wanted her.
Had he not just had her pressed up against the wall moments before? Had he not told her he loved her all those months ago?
“Okay,” she breathed. “Then I’ll find someone else.”
His heart smashed against his ribcage.
“No.” Again, before he could stop himself. Before he could even think. “You can’t. I don’t want...” He trailed off.
What could he possibly say? The truth was so ridiculous. He didn’t want anyone else to have her. Because if he couldn’t have her - if Arthur couldn’t have what he wanted more than anything - then no one else could. It was wrong. And irrational. And wrong.
Stop this.
These thoughts were the ones he had to swallow down and ignore. They couldn’t manifest into words. They couldn’t have any effect on the reality around him. That was important if they were to both get through this in one piece. She had been the one to make him see that. He had slipped up again tonight, but this had to be the last time.
It had to be.
“Fine,” he said. He almost hissed it, forcing the word through his teeth.
“Fine?”
“Yes.” His voice was deep. He knew emotion was flooding his face in ways he couldn’t stop.
“So- So I can be with someone else. And you won’t stop me?”
His jaw clenched. “I can’t.”
“I know that you can’t stop me. I know that you shouldn’t. But I’m asking you if you’ll try, all the same.”
This was everything he didn’t want to do. This was the reason he should never have followed her. He shouldn’t have so much as looked at her in the Hall. Because the composure and acceptable standards always unravelled whenever he stared at her like that.
How could he have not seen the inevitability of this all screaming at him the first time she caught his eye tonight?
Arthur should have known this by now. He couldn’t put himself in a situation where he was alone with Gwen. Not anymore. It didn’t work anymore.
Any hope Arthur had of composing himself - drawing himself back into reality - was failing hopelessly. The thought of her with someone else was burning aggressively inside his skull.
“Do you really want to know if I’ll try and stop you?” He shook his head. “Of course I will, Guinevere. I don’t think I could stand by and watch you do it. I don’t think I could help but stop you from being with anyone else.” He shrugged. “I know that’s ridiculous. I know that’s irrational. But you want an honest answer? Well there you go.” He didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but it did. Because he was angry with her for making him admit it. Even though it wasn’t her fault. Even though this was all him and only him.
Suddenly, he was angry at her for making him feel it all in the first place. For doing this to him. Angry at her for being a servant - for being so forbidden and untouchable. So incredibly angry with these notions and rules and laws that existed - invisible barriers hanging heavy in the air around them - pushing them apart with a force that made Arthur feel sick.
“What’s the point in asking me these questions?” he continued, his fists unconsciously clenching at his sides. “Do you have someone specific in mind?” he asked, a warning in his voice that must have told her how important it was she said no.
“Of course not.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Arthur! I’m just trying to find a solution. You need to see what this is doing to both of us. We need to find a way to stop it.”
“Like you being with another man?”
“You say that as if I’ve been with you.”
It feels like you have. In my head, you have. Over and over again. Relentlessly. I can’t stop it.
But only twice they had kissed before this - stolen and heated moments. And it had been so long since that last time - the time before tonight. Weeks, in fact.
“I don’t want to do this, Gwen,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Then why did you follow me here?”
“Why did you let me?”
“Don’t say that,” she replied, frowning. “I have no control over this situation.”
“And you think I do?” he growled, heatedly. Arthur took a step away from her then. He turned his back to her and ran his hands through his hair. “This is insane,” he muttered under this breath. “Completely insane.”
He took a moment to calm his breathing. A moment to readjust that Prince-exterior that was so completely useless around Gwen.
When he turned back to face her, he was startled by her sudden closeness. She had taken steps towards him. They were mere inches away from each other now.
“Guinevere...” He said her name without thinking. It was unconscious and essential, like taking a breath.
“I feel so helpless,” she murmured.
For the first time he noticed the glistening in her eyes. Tears were threatening to fall onto her cheeks. And if he did that to her - if he made her cry - he couldn’t forgive himself.
“I try and get through the day,” she continued, her voice shaking. “I try and avoid you as best I can. I try and push it all away. But I can’t. Because you won’t let me. And yet - out of the both of us - I’m the one that has the least choice, aren’t I?” Her voice got stronger then. “I only ever have limited options as to what I can do. I’m a servant, after all. I can’t follow you around however I please. I can’t turn up on your doorstep whenever I want. I can’t do those things. But you - you’re a Prince. If you want to play with my head, you can. You can go wherever you want. You can do whatever you like. You can get away with anything.”
“Hardly,” he frowned. “If I could get away with anything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You’re missing my point,” she said, frustration in her voice.
“Guinevere-”
“Look, I get it, alright? The King is your father. And this - us - it can never happen. I’ve always understood that. I just- I need you to stop looking at me the way you look at me. I need you to stop staring. I need you to stop talking to me like it hurts you-”
“But it does hurt me. I know it’s stupid. I’ve told myself a hundred times over that it’s stupid,” he frowned. “But I don’t want to talk to you like you’re just anyone. Like you’re just a servant. Because you mean more to me than someone who is-”
“Just a servant.” She nodded. “Well that’s all I am. I’m just a servant.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Why do you always have to twist what I’m saying?”
“It’s the way you say that word. You say servant like it’s something so far beneath you.”
“But it is!”
She stared at him.
Right. Perhaps that was the wrong response.
“Guinevere,” he exhaled, “I’m trying to tell you that you mean more to me that what you’re supposed to mean.” He paused. “I look at you, and I see something different from what I’m supposed to see.”
Why was he saying these things? Why couldn’t he stop this, step away from her and leave?
“Yes, I know. But that can’t mean anything.”
“Of course it means something. It means everything to me.”
Gwen shook her head. “You have to stop, Arthur. Because this is hurting me too.” She brought a hand to her chest. “Every time your eyes remind me that there’s something there and I can’t handle it. And knowing that nothing can happen is made so much worse by the fact that things keep happening.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You have to.”
“But I can’t.”
“You’re the Prince! You’re the reason why we cannot be together!”
“Guinevere-“
“Don’t say my name like that,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly now. “Please, don’t. When you say my name, it feels like...” She shook her head. “This has to stop.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he asked, frowning.
“What can I do about it, Arthur?” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. She took a step backwards, her body falling against the wall. “What can I possibly do?” she asked, exhaustion in her voice.
Arthur stared at her. He wanted so much to take back everything he had done to her. He hated that this was hurting her more than he hated any other part of it.
“Nothing. You can’t do anything.”
“Exactly. You have to be the one that does something.”
Something.
“Yes.”
Yes. He had to be the one that does something.
He had to stop waiting for the situation to magically repair itself. He had to stop waiting for the day that he woke up, and she wasn’t the first thing that he thought about.
Because that day wouldn’t come.
Arthur took two steps towards her. The suddenness of the movement made her jump. It brought them close enough together for him to feel the heat radiating off her beautiful skin. It was a heat that made him dizzy.
He breathed in.
Something. He had to do something.
Because neither of them could go on like this. He had tried so desperately to ignore her. He had tried to look at other girls. He had tried to focus on other things - sport, battle, being heir to the throne. He had shrugged off every single mention of her name from Merlin.
But had he really been trying hard enough? Can he ever really try hard enough to ignore something he wanted more than anything - almost more than he wanted royalty itself?
“Arthur?” she asked, her voice soft and cautious.
He had been silently staring at her again. She must be so used to him doing that by now. It was no wonder she wanted out of the whole mess.
“Do you know what my father would say?” he asked her. He brought a hand to her cheek and lightly grazed his knuckles over her skin.
She turned her head into his touch. “I think- I think I can imagine,” she stammered.
Arthur found it so hard to think rationally about what he should say or what he should do when he was around her. He found it so hard to plan a way out of it all. Because when she was right there in front of him - when he was touching her - finding a way out was the very last thing he wanted to do.
“Really?” he asked, his voice low. “Because I don’t think you realise how much danger you’d be in if I told him. He’d attempt many things to make sure I never saw you again.”
She swallowed.
Arthur shook his head. “But I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he added. “You know that, don’t you?” Touching her skin again had quickened his heartbeat. His fingers couldn’t seem to leave it. He stroked down her neck and felt her shiver beneath him.
Her breathing was stronger now. “Why tell me that?” she asked, wetting her lips. “You can never say anything to the King. So these things don’t matter.”
Arthur’s thumb came to rest against her pulse. It was throbbing wildly. He tried harder to concentrate on the words in his head and not the feeling of her body beneath his fingers. “You said I need to do something.”
“Yes.”
“Telling my father is doing something.”
“Arthur, no-”
“I’ve tried hard,” he said, firmly. “I see you every single day and I try to ignore you. I tell myself it’s wrong. I tell myself I shouldn’t look at you - but it’s completely useless.”
The feeling of her pulse against his fingers was clouding his mind. He felt rooted to the spot. He almost felt utterly compelled to commit to her completely - right there and then - and swear to her that they would be together.
He should have known this by now. This was the effect her close proximity had on him. It made things so hazy that he couldn’t even tell himself it was wrong anymore. He couldn’t even recognise or understand why he was fighting against it.
“Stop this,” she breathed, her hand raising and her fingers closing around his. Gently, she pulled them away from her skin. “I’m a servant, Arthur. And you’re the Prince.” She shook her head. “Don’t pretend for a second that this can happen.”
The sudden frustration that shot through him alarmed them both as he thumped his fist against the wall beside her head. “Why not?” he demanded, frowning deeply. He took her hand that was around his fingers and held it tightly between them.
“Listen, Arthur-”
“No, Guinevere.”
“Mere moments ago you were admitting that you shouldn’t be here!”
“But it’s never really me saying those things!” he replied, his other hand against her face again. “It’s never words I really mean! And you’re always telling me to be true to myself. You’re always telling me to stand up to my father.” Or at least she used to say those things - before, when it was easier for them to be around each other.
“It was never my place to say those things to you,” she murmured.
“But you were right. Every time you were right. So why can’t you tell me to do the same now?” he asked. “Is it because you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you? Because - I swear, Gwen - I won’t let anyone so much as touch you.”
“Listen to yourself,” she pleaded. “You’re getting carried away with a fantasy.”
Arthur’s jaw clenched. This couldn’t just be a fantasy.
“I love you,” he murmured.
He loved her. He told her before and he would tell her again. There was no point in pretending otherwise - not when he was reminded of what the feel of her skin could do to him.
She stared at him, her eyes glistening. Slowly, she shook her head. “Maybe you do,” she murmured.
“I do.”
“And if you were King, things may have been different. But you’re not. And they aren’t.”
“You’ve said this to me before. And I’ve tried to listen to you, but it doesn’t work.”
“Arthur-”
“You were the only person I could look at in that Hall, Guinevere. You were the only person I could think about. When you’re in the same room as me I can’t concentrate on anything but you.”
How quickly all his pretences dissolved around her. How quickly he lost any hope of convincing himself that the idea of the two of them was wrong.
Uther’s predictable words shot momentarily through his mind. Things about royalty, bloodline, acceptable standards. But they left his head as quickly as they entered it. Because when Gwen was in front of him - so close he could almost feel her breath - his father’s words didn’t seem to matter. They didn’t seem to make anything an impossibility.
“I look at you, Guinevere,” he continued, “and I see the only woman I love. The only woman I ever need to be with.”
She swallowed. “You’ll go back upstairs, Arthur, and you’ll remind yourself of why these words cannot mean anything between us. Once you see the King, you’ll remember. You always do.”
“You’re wrong,” he replied defiantly. He held her hand tighter. “I only ever told myself those things because you told me to forget.”
“I only told you what you already knew.”
Arthur shook his head. His breathing was heavy. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said, bringing up his other hand to cup her face. He held her cheek firmly, frustration and confusion and hopelessness burning in his fingers. “I’m the Prince of Camelot. I’m his son. There is only so much my father will do to me to stop us.”
“You said yourself that it’s what he would do to me.”
To her. To Guinevere. What would his father do? What lengths would he go to? Arthur thought that maybe he would banish her. Or maybe something worse. Maybe his father was really capable of something worse if it meant keeping up those traditions he so solemnly swore by.
But he wouldn’t let him. He was stronger than his father.
“I would protect you.”
“At what cost, Arthur?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to be rational about it.
“Your heritage? Your family? Everything you’ve achieved here in Camelot? The kingdom cannot survive without you. You absolutely have to stay here, Arthur. You have to be King one day. You’re all that Camelot needs in a King.”
He hated it when she said those words - when she made his future sound so necessary and so inescapable. But then, of course, Arthur didn’t truly want to escape his future as King. It was everything he had been building up to. Everything his father had raised him to be. And Arthur truly wanted every part of it. He felt committed to the people of Camelot in a way that he could never undo.
But Camelot and being King were not the only things he wanted. They were not the only instincts he carried. Guinevere was there in that future. She was such a necessary and natural part of it.
He couldn’t possibly understand why it didn’t all just fit together.
Gwen was staring him, waiting for a response, but Arthur felt empty. He felt hopeless. What could he say? He could plead with her to accept his love, but then what? He could promise to tell his father everything. But she was right. There was too much at stake - his future and his leadership and his chance to save the people of Camelot. He hated that in considering his own future, he was considering hundreds of others along with it.
“Arthur...” Her fingers wrapped lightly over the hand on her face. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head again, slowly.
It didn’t make any sense. None of it. All those frozen expectations and heated desires so utterly incapable of breaking one another.
Arthur didn’t let her move his hand away from her face. Suddenly, he didn’t want anyone to stop him from touching her. Before he knew it, his mouth was on hers again. And he wasn’t even sure of how or why. It was forceful and frantically despondent. His lips sucking at hers, desperately wanting all those words of rationality and reality she’d spoken to disappear forever.
She made a sound as his knee involuntarily pushed in between her legs.
He didn’t want to take a moment to think of how improper his actions were. Or how wrong he was to hold her against the wall like this, his grip almost certainly too tight. Because it wasn’t something he planned. Touching her and kissing her was never planned. It was only ever thought of and dreamt of. And yet now, in that moment, her words had pushed him too far to the edge of his own desperation for him to resist. They had reminded him too brutally of why they weren’t together and why they couldn’t be. And yet the truth only compelled him to touch her even more.
His mouth left hers and her head cocked back against the wall. He buried his face into her exposed neck, feeling the heat of his own breath reverberate off her skin as one of his arms snaked around her back to pull her in closer.
“Arthur-This isn’t helping.”
“Shut up, Guinevere.” The words were hot and angry against her neck. He hadn’t meant them to sound so harsh. But she had said too much. And everything she said had hurt. Every truth she whispered cut through the air and pulled them further apart. He loved her too much to be able to stand hearing anymore of it.
Arthur pressed Gwen harder against him, his mouth moving back up to meet hers. His other hand was holding the back of her head, his fingers buried deep into the wild curls of her hair. The kiss was deep and hungry and unrelenting. He was finding it hard to breathe and yet he couldn’t stop. The tiny sounds escaping from Gwen’s mouth were fizzing in his brain and prickling against his skin. He needed to hear more of her. He needed to feel more, regardless of how incredibly wrong that was.
He slid his hand from her back to the top of her the thigh, wrenching it upwards so that he was holding her leg to his hip.
“Arthur- What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Standing up for what I truly believe is right,” he replied, his voice low and trembling. “Haven’t you always told me to do that?”
She whimpered softly as Arthur’s frantic hands began to clumsily bunch her dress up around her waist.
“But you can’t...”
“I don’t want to think about that now,” he growled. “I don’t want to think about any of it. I need to just be with you.” He stilled his movements then, moving his lips away from her skin so that he could look into her eyes. “Please, Guinevere,” he murmured. “Let us have this. If we can’t ever have anything ever again, then at least let us have this.”
He needed this. If this was as far as it could ever go - if reality left him no choice but to survive without her - then he couldn’t go on without having touched her one last time.
She stared back at him, breathing deeply. After a few moments, she nodded slowly.
The movement was so small, but made his heart jump. Arthur ignored the nervous feeling that suddenly bubbled in the pit of his stomach, bringing his lips to hers again.
He grinded his hips into her and she moaned. Arthur bit down unintentionally on her lip in response, struggling to keep her dress around her waist. Gwen held it for him, freeing his desperate hands. He moved a hand up to cup her breast through her bodice. The feel of her soft body against him was inexplicably beautiful.
Gwen shifted her hips, and Arthur’s eyes shot to hers. She was staring at him, a desperate look in her widened eyes.
All of Arthur’s concentration snapped to the fastening on his trousers, and as they dropped to his ankles, his hands grabbed her thighs firmly. His movements were clumsy and inexperienced, yet neither of them seemed to care. A sound escaped her lips as he pressed himself into her.
She felt hot underneath him - hotter than he ever imagined she could feel. He heard her breath catch in her throat as his fingers brushed to the inside of her thigh. His face was buried in her neck again, his mouth sucking and nipping at her skin.
Arthur felt as though he wasn’t even consciously directing his actions anymore. And when her leg wrapped tighter around his hips, and his fingers dug into her thigh, for a fleeting second he was anxious that he was going to lose control completely.
Gwen bucked her hips into him again, moaning softly at the friction between them. The weight of his body against hers held her dress around her waist, and her hands moved up to his head, lacing her fingers through his hair and pulling him in towards her mouth. Their lips met in another hungry kiss - it was wet and slightly misplaced, but neither of them seemed to care. He could only think of her body against him. He could only listen to the quiet sounds escaping her mouth.
When he broke the kiss, Arthur stared at her once again, his eyes silently begging for what he needed more than anything.
She nodded. “Yes, Arthur...”
They both groaned loudly as he pushed into her, engulfing himself completely in the heat of her body. Her head fell back against the stone of the wall, her eyelids fluttering shut.
Slowly, he pulled out of her. And as he slid into her again, her fingers held tighter in his hair. The pain of it made him thrust into her harder.
Arthur’s rhythm was erratic and his breathing was coarse. Her body was shifting roughly against the wall as he drove into her. His vision began to cloud as she arched her back, pushing herself deeper onto him with every thrust.
“Guinevere.”
Her name sounded almost strangled in his throat as he growled it against her skin. The euphoric feeling of her weight falling down onto him with every movement was overwhelming him completely. The heat of her was flooding his skin. The room was filled with their heavy breathing - frenetic and erratic and completely devoid of any composure.
“Arthur!” she cried, her body beginning to tremble. He almost lost his way at the sight of her, her head rocking against the wall, her breasts swelling in her dress. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could scarcely believe that they were doing this. He couldn’t understand at what point all of his dreams and fantasies began to play out so magnificently in front of him.
Arthur bit down on Gwen’s shoulder as his movements became increasingly hard to control. He didn’t think he could keep going for much longer - not when he was inside of this woman - not when it was her that was trembling and hot and damp beneath his fingers.
He heard himself speak, somewhere amidst the groans and heavy breathing. “I think- I’m going to...” But he couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too consumed by the way her body met his with every thrust. He was too completely drenched with the thought and feeling of it all.
She cried out his name again, and Arthur felt her muscles tighten around him. The choked sounds escaping her mouth surrounded him and pulled him under even further. Gwen was shaking violently underneath him, and he knew that her orgasm was washing over her now. The spectacular thought of it caused his heart to tighten in his chest.
He pushed into her forcefully once more as he felt his own release flood through him, tightening every muscle in his body. He let the ecstasy consume him, relishing the wet heat of her as his deep groans echoed in the corridor around them.
Finally, he fell silent.
For a while, they both stayed there. Two bodies pressed up against the wall, panting through the heated emotion of what had just happened between them. Arthur’s head was resting heavily on Gwen’s shoulder. He struggled to compose his breathing. Her fingers were still entwined in his hair, and he could feel her stroking him softly. He closed his eyes.
Arthur didn’t want to move from this place. He didn’t want to end the feeling of her skin against his. He vaguely noted that he had yet to loosen his grip on her thigh, his fingers still digging into her soft skin.
Gwen broke the silence between them.
“Arthur...”
He raised his head from her shoulder, slowly pulling out of her. He growled quietly as he did so.
Gwen’s fingers slid down to the back of his neck. “Are you okay?” she swallowed.
They stared at each other. After a moment, Arthur shook his head.
“Did I- Did I do something wrong?” she frowned.
“No, Guinevere,” he replied, quickly. “You did not do anything wrong.”
“Then, why-”
“I can’t do this,” he murmured. “I cannot pretend that I don’t love you.” He shook his head again. “I will not.”
“Arthur-”
“I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m not saying that I will go up to the Hall right now and tell my father everything. Because I do not trust him enough not to hurt you. I cannot be sure of your safety yet.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she replied, her eyes searching his in confusion. “We agreed. We agreed that nothing-”
“I am saying that I refuse to let this be the last time I touch you,” he breathed. “I refuse to let myself move on from you. I don’t want to. I can’t.”
Gwen stared back at him. She didn’t say anything in response. It almost surprised Arthur. For the first time in such a long time, she didn’t try and convince him that he was wrong. She didn’t try and persuade him that none of it could be the way he wanted it to be.
Arthur thought that maybe - finally - she saw it too. Maybe she finally looked at him in the same way that Arthur had always looked at her - seeing that they had no choice but to need each other.
Arthur brought his mouth to hers, kissing her softly. “I look at you, Guinevere, and I see the woman I love. I don’t think I will ever stop seeing that.”
A tear fell onto her cheek.
He planted another kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I do not want to ever stop seeing that.”
Gwen’s body began to tremble heavier with more tears, and Arthur pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against him.
“You don't need to be sorry,” he breathed, burying his face softly in her hair. “I just- I need you to promise me that you’ll stop saying this is impossible. Promise me that you’ll believe there can be a future for us.”
She shook against him.
“Promise me, Guinevere.”
He absolutely knew, in that moment, that they had to be together. And it wouldn’t be soon. It wouldn’t be perfect and without difficulty. But it had to be, all the same.
“I promise you, Arthur,” she whispered, raising her head from his chest.
And when Arthur looked at her, he saw all those things that he spoke of. All those things that he dreamed of. Desire. Love. Need.
And hope.
*
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