Fic: Reality Surpasses the Dream, Arthur/Gwen, PG
Title: Reality Surpasses the Dream
Author: kepp0xy
Rating: PG for kissy kissingness
Characters/Pairing: Gwen/Arthur
Warning: See A/N, and expect romance and fluff
Summary: The three ways Arthur imagines he'd kiss Gwen and the one way it actually happened.
Author's Note: Inspired by, and based loosely upon, spoilers discussed here & here at camelot_love and the series 2 trailer here. If you're not aware of the spoilers though, you won't notice anything in the fic. The second of Arthur's imaginings was also somewhat inspired by dfriendly's fic Under Seige. No fic exceeds 200 words, except the last which sits at 238 words. But I personally am 100% okay with this as the Real Thing ought to be more indulgent than the rest ;)
Comments are ♥ & concrit appreciated.
The first scenario he imagines, Arthur is gentle and the vision simple. He finds her alone in Morgana's room - an unplanned visit, but he truly would go with the belief he'd find Morgana there - and Guinevere is sitting at the table, mending some garment or other.
Her smile is warm and her tones are genuine when she asks after his well-being; cheeks flushing a little when he asks the question curiously in return. She assures him Morgana will be back shortly, and watches his face intently, in a way which suggests to him that her mind is on his lips as equally as his mind is on hers. His hand lands lightly on her shoulder, then slides to the back of her neck, tilting her head so he can lean around her and touch his lips softly to hers.
It's a short kiss, because she is Guinevere, and to demand anything longer would be a crime unless she specifically invited it. But a kiss is a kiss, and Arthur imagines that as he pulls away, her eyes flash disappointment at its swiftness even as her lips tug in a nervous, but undeniable, smile.
The second way he images it, there is little time and much urgency. Somehow, Guinevere always, always seems to be on the periphery of trouble these days and he thinks that perhaps he'd do it because he truly thought there may not be another opportunity.
He can easily imagine the dirt on her cheeks, and the damage to her dress; the way she looks so anxious and capable at the same time. There's always a blade in one of her hands, and a dirt stained, blood soaked handkerchief in the other.
When their eyes meet, she draws, almost compulsively, close to him to wipe dirt or blood or whatever from his face but he reaches a hand towards her. Forefinger and thumb, with careful firmness, hold her jaw as he lowers his head to claim her mouth with his - swift and strong as lightning. After receiving her sigh of something like approval and something like longing, he dashes away without a word.
And sometimes he takes the handkerchief with him - for luck.
The third incarnation is possibly held most valued and secret. Arthur can list hundreds of reasons not to act upon his feelings for Guinevere, which run stronger and hotter through his veins than he cares to admit. And it was no longer easy; he cannot cling to the despicability innate in a man forcing himself onto an unwilling woman. Not now that he knew she felt the same.
He thought it likely she didn't realise how loudly her eyes spoke, when anyone paused to listen.
But in this fantasy, Camelot is changed; he stands at his windows, the weight of a new crown resting heavy about his head. The sun just up, with few souls in the kingdom yet awake.
His door opens slowly, cautiously, and Gwen's face appears in the crack, breaking into her beautiful glowing smile when she finds him awake. She walks to him, curtsies and humbly congratulates him once again on his ascension.
Arthur wastes no more time. Guinevere is bold today; nearer than ever before, and his arm finds her waist as easily as her hand grips his elbow. The first kiss is fleeting, like the breeze from a sigh, before several longer, achingly more satisfying kisses follow.
*
When they do kiss, it's nothing like Arthur's fantasies. He's a little bit frightened for the kingdom, and she's a lot bit angry with their attackers. Arthur can't explain how they ended up alone together, waiting for news from Merlin, but he has no complaints.
Any spare moments with Guinevere he cherishes, and he stopped being embarrassed by that truth long ago.
She's pacing the room - which speaks to her agitation as it seems very un-Gwen-like to him - until she suddenly stops, turns and moves to stand before him. He blinks in surprise at the intensity on her features, before she asks him (it sounds more like an order) to tell her how he's remaining so calm.
With a wry smile, he tells her he has learned faith. His smile turns wistful at the blaze of dusty pink which claims the line of her cheeks. Her eyes are wide as they keep contact with his, and though Arthur knows that it is he who leans forward, he's not certain whose lips touched whose first.
But he feels that her lips are far softer than he imagined, that her style is more fearless than he's ever given her credit for, and that mercifully, she seems to appreciate the kiss as much as he does, if the musical and inviting sounds coming from the back of her throat and racing like substantial caresses across his skin are anything to go by.
Author: kepp0xy
Rating: PG for kissy kissingness
Characters/Pairing: Gwen/Arthur
Warning: See A/N, and expect romance and fluff
Summary: The three ways Arthur imagines he'd kiss Gwen and the one way it actually happened.
Author's Note: Inspired by, and based loosely upon, spoilers discussed here & here at camelot_love and the series 2 trailer here. If you're not aware of the spoilers though, you won't notice anything in the fic. The second of Arthur's imaginings was also somewhat inspired by dfriendly's fic Under Seige. No fic exceeds 200 words, except the last which sits at 238 words. But I personally am 100% okay with this as the Real Thing ought to be more indulgent than the rest ;)
Comments are ♥ & concrit appreciated.
The first scenario he imagines, Arthur is gentle and the vision simple. He finds her alone in Morgana's room - an unplanned visit, but he truly would go with the belief he'd find Morgana there - and Guinevere is sitting at the table, mending some garment or other.
Her smile is warm and her tones are genuine when she asks after his well-being; cheeks flushing a little when he asks the question curiously in return. She assures him Morgana will be back shortly, and watches his face intently, in a way which suggests to him that her mind is on his lips as equally as his mind is on hers. His hand lands lightly on her shoulder, then slides to the back of her neck, tilting her head so he can lean around her and touch his lips softly to hers.
It's a short kiss, because she is Guinevere, and to demand anything longer would be a crime unless she specifically invited it. But a kiss is a kiss, and Arthur imagines that as he pulls away, her eyes flash disappointment at its swiftness even as her lips tug in a nervous, but undeniable, smile.
The second way he images it, there is little time and much urgency. Somehow, Guinevere always, always seems to be on the periphery of trouble these days and he thinks that perhaps he'd do it because he truly thought there may not be another opportunity.
He can easily imagine the dirt on her cheeks, and the damage to her dress; the way she looks so anxious and capable at the same time. There's always a blade in one of her hands, and a dirt stained, blood soaked handkerchief in the other.
When their eyes meet, she draws, almost compulsively, close to him to wipe dirt or blood or whatever from his face but he reaches a hand towards her. Forefinger and thumb, with careful firmness, hold her jaw as he lowers his head to claim her mouth with his - swift and strong as lightning. After receiving her sigh of something like approval and something like longing, he dashes away without a word.
And sometimes he takes the handkerchief with him - for luck.
The third incarnation is possibly held most valued and secret. Arthur can list hundreds of reasons not to act upon his feelings for Guinevere, which run stronger and hotter through his veins than he cares to admit. And it was no longer easy; he cannot cling to the despicability innate in a man forcing himself onto an unwilling woman. Not now that he knew she felt the same.
He thought it likely she didn't realise how loudly her eyes spoke, when anyone paused to listen.
But in this fantasy, Camelot is changed; he stands at his windows, the weight of a new crown resting heavy about his head. The sun just up, with few souls in the kingdom yet awake.
His door opens slowly, cautiously, and Gwen's face appears in the crack, breaking into her beautiful glowing smile when she finds him awake. She walks to him, curtsies and humbly congratulates him once again on his ascension.
Arthur wastes no more time. Guinevere is bold today; nearer than ever before, and his arm finds her waist as easily as her hand grips his elbow. The first kiss is fleeting, like the breeze from a sigh, before several longer, achingly more satisfying kisses follow.
*
When they do kiss, it's nothing like Arthur's fantasies. He's a little bit frightened for the kingdom, and she's a lot bit angry with their attackers. Arthur can't explain how they ended up alone together, waiting for news from Merlin, but he has no complaints.
Any spare moments with Guinevere he cherishes, and he stopped being embarrassed by that truth long ago.
She's pacing the room - which speaks to her agitation as it seems very un-Gwen-like to him - until she suddenly stops, turns and moves to stand before him. He blinks in surprise at the intensity on her features, before she asks him (it sounds more like an order) to tell her how he's remaining so calm.
With a wry smile, he tells her he has learned faith. His smile turns wistful at the blaze of dusty pink which claims the line of her cheeks. Her eyes are wide as they keep contact with his, and though Arthur knows that it is he who leans forward, he's not certain whose lips touched whose first.
But he feels that her lips are far softer than he imagined, that her style is more fearless than he's ever given her credit for, and that mercifully, she seems to appreciate the kiss as much as he does, if the musical and inviting sounds coming from the back of her throat and racing like substantial caresses across his skin are anything to go by.