LAS Challenge 8 - Voting

[robinmarian]

LAS Challenge Eight Voting

VOTING RULES:

Please READ carefully before voting, thank you.

- Participants are encouraged to vote, however you may NOT vote for your own submission or ask others to vote for yours.

- Please read each entry to vote.

- Vote for your three favourite pieces, and please be sure to include feedback for each one. Please bear in mind the following point allocation while voting:
- a first place vote gets 3 pts;
- a second place vote gets 2 pts;
- a third place vote gets 1 pt.

- That said, with a view to being able to give each participant some feedback, reviews of individual stories are very much encouraged. If you liked the story, or noticed room for improvement, please let the author know!

- Use the form in the textbox below to vote. In "general comments", include any feedback for the stories you didn't vote for by indicating the number, followed by your review.

- Voting should be based around quality only: Was the prompt met? Did the author follow the Challenge-Specific Guidelines? How is the spelling, grammar and punctuation? Did the piece hold your attention?

*Guidelines from thefuturequeen's LAS Competition.

VOTING FORM

First pick: #
Feedback:

Second: #
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Third: #
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General comments:

The Challenge-Specific Guidelines were:
- Your story can be set in the same era as Merlin is OR in Modern AU.
- Other characters from Merlin may appear as support.
- Smutty smut smut smuuuuttt lololol

The prompts were:Love Bite/s || Honeymoon || Round Table

Participants had to choose one prompt OR combine two OR use all three prompts.

Voting closes Wednesday, April 20, 2011 @ 11:59 PM Eastern Standard Time (World Clock)

WARNING: The following entries are RATED NC-17

#1. Thursdays (NC-17, 1988 words)

It’s late on a Thursday night when Gwen makes a trip up to the thirty-fourth floor to drop off some papers for Merlin. She can see from the end of the hall that Merlin isn’t at his desk - in fact everyone seems to have gone home. But she can just leave it on his desk.

She passes by the conference room, which has the light on. So she steps in the doorway to flip the switch when she sees that Arthur Pendragon is occupying the room.

“Er, sorry, Mr. Pendragon,” she says.

He looks up from all the papers he has strewn across the round conference table and smiles.

“Something you want, Guinevere?”

“I was just going to switch off the light to keep it from eating up electricity,” she answers nervously. “But I didn’t know you were here, so… nevermind.”

“Working late, too?” he asks with a nod to the folder.

“The Bayard contract. I was just about to put it on Merlin’s desk, since he’s not here.”

“You might as well just give it to me, then, since that’s where it’s going.”

Gwen walks over to the table as he stands up to meet her and hands him the folder. He flips it open and thumbs through some of the pages, nodding at the revisions.

“Looks good,” he says with another smile.

Arthur Pendragon has always had a rather disarming smile. A combination of it and a drink or two too many were what had caused her to finally return those smiles at the holiday office party four months ago.

“Do you usually work this late?” he asks.

“Only the past few Thursdays, to try and finish everything up by the end of the week.”

Mr. Pendragon frowns. “You mean because of the layoffs.”

“The legal department only lost two people,” she answers with a crinkle of her eyebrows, not wanting it to be a big issue.

“It’s still more than it should have been, if you’re here working this late.”

“But it’s better than it could have been,” she says earnestly. When he looks at her questioningly, she adds, “Merlin told me how you tried to convince your father otherwise and got him to lower the total layoffs.”

He shifts his weight a little, as if uncomfortable. “I could have done a better job at getting through to him.”

“You did your best,” she says softly, stepping closer. “You genuinely care about your employees and that means a lot to us.”

“Thank you, Guinevere.”

Her own smile finally breaks at the low timbre he says her name. “You don’t have to call me that. Gwen’s fine.”

“But I like it,” he answers, a grin teasing at his lips. “I won’t call you that if you’d rather I not. But I think the name suits you.”

“Alright.”

“But I do prefer that people call me Arthur.”

Somehow the idea of calling him by his first name makes her blush. “Well… I’m done for the night, Arthur,” she says.

He raises his hands. “Don’t let me keep you. Perhaps I’ll see you next Thursday night.”

“You work late on Thursdays, too?”

“Sure. And Mondays, and Tuesdays…” he says with a smile.

“Good night then.”

“Good night, Guinevere.”

~

The Thursday after next, Gwen legitimately needs to leave something on Leon’s desk. So she pops into the conference room, which Arthur informs her is where he likes to work late at night so he can both spread out and get a change of scenery from his office. When she makes a passing comment about how strange the conference table’s circular shape is he admits that it was his doing. He feels he gets better results when people think of themselves more like his equal than his inferior, an idea which impresses Gwen. They talk for ten more minutes and he somehow convinces her to visit more often and keep him company whenever they both work late nights.

A week later she’s working at the round conference table with him. He orders them takeout for dinner and she casually looks over what he’s working on while she takes a break to eat. She eventually works up the courage to give some input, which Arthur surprisingly appreciates. Two months’ worth of Thursdays passes like this, until one night she’s hunched over the company’s financials that are spread out over one portion of the conference table.

“Do we really need that much dedicated to the company banquet?”

“You know Dad,” Arthur answers, coming up behind and leaning over her shoulder. She can feel how much he towers over her now that she’s slipped off her heels. “Got to keep up appearances. Can’t let it look like we’re struggling, can we?”

Gwen makes a quiet disapproving noise, but doesn’t say anything. She’ll leave the criticizing of the company head to Arthur.

“Are you finished for the night?”

“Pretty much,” she answers.

“Ah, so now you’re just staying because you enjoy pointing out all the faults in our finances,” he teases.

“No… it just helps me get a better feel of where we are as a company.”

“I didn’t realize you took such an interest.”

“I take an interest when the success of this company determines my own future and the future of my coworkers.”

“So you’re an activist, I see.”

She smiles and looks over her shoulder at him. What she hadn’t realized was how close his face is to hers. She freezes, watching as his eyes drop to her mouth. He meets her gaze one more time and she’s not sure what he finds there, but it seems to be what he’s looking for because he kisses her.

Somehow Gwen forgets to breathe, feeling like a teenager again who doesn’t know the first rules about how to kiss because for the few seconds it lasts she barely even reciprocates.

He pulls away, his face surprisingly flushed as he begins to take a step back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha-”

But Gwen doesn’t let him. For what hadn’t even been that great of a kiss, it seems to have awakened something in her, causing her to reach for his tie and pull him back.

This time Gwen kisses him for all he’s worth, her other hand snaking into the hair at the back of his head. Arthur seems to take being kissed by surprise much better. His hands find her waist and he rubs his thumbs against the material of her blouse but does no more. She nips at his lip and he responds with his tongue searching out for hers. Gwen gives a small moan, pulling him closer.

Arthur’s hands drift down to her hips. She can feel the tension in his fingers as they press into her, making her all too curious of what else he could do with his hands if he let himself. The thought makes her tremble and she detaches from his mouth to make her way down his neck, further loosening his tie and undoing a few more buttons to get better access. When she rakes her teeth across his skin, he groans and juts his hips against her so that’s she’s flush between him and the edge of the table.

Arthur finds her mouth again, kissing her in a way that could almost be described as harsh was she not welcoming it. But she presses just as firmly against him. The feeling of his growing erection against her hip makes her gasp, the sensation traveling down to between her thighs and making her instinctively grind against it.

“Fuck,” he hisses, resting his forehead against hers as he catches his breath.

Gwen wonders if this would be the point where sane people would stop. But with a fully-hard cock pressed between them, she almost doesn’t feel like that’s an option. Not when she feels like her whole body, and especially the area between her legs, is throbbing for more.

She lets go of his collar, dragging her hand down his chest. Arthur locks his eyes with hers and picks her up, pushing her back onto the conference table. His hands move to her knees and begin dragging up her skirt. He doesn’t lose eye-contact, waiting for her to tell him to stop. But how could she when his fingers are tracing over the bare skin of her thighs, fingers slipping under the string of her knickers?

Gwen reaches for his dress shirt, tugging it out of the waist band, her fingers grazing over the skin she finds there. Arthur’s flush has traveled down his neck at this point, his chest heaving as she unbuttons his shirt. She feels her legs spreading as he steps in closer and she finally gets to his belt.

He leans over her, getting her to lie back against the rustling papers beneath her, and one of his thumbs slips down to rub her clit through the material of her knickers. She keens, her hands losing purchase on the button of his trousers for a moment before they fall to his ankles.

He finally drags off her knickers, making her realize just how wet she was. His fingers slickly slide inside of her and she moans as he slowly begins to pump them in and out. She reaches for his boxerbriefs helping him push them down as he struggles to do it with one hand. Her hands then wrap around him and he makes a small groan before extracting his fingers from her and guiding himself inside.

Once they begin to move, Arthur reaches for her blouse and starts to undo the buttons. He leans down and starts to kiss her chest. He cups one breast through her bra, thumb pushing the material down so his lips can latch onto her nipple. Gwen gasps, arching up into his mouth and grasping the back of his head. He stops his attention only when they both want to set the pace faster.

Gwen curls her legs around his hips, pulling him closer and getting him to rub against her in just the right way. Arthur’s buried his face in her hair, his breath sending shivers down her neck. He reaches for the hole in the center of the table where wires run through, giving him better leverage to rut against her and she cries out, fingers digging into his shoulders as she gets closer to coming.

His other hand finds her breast, thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple, then pinching. And it’s just enough to pry the orgasm out of her. He pulls out of her at the last second and spills into his hand, reminding Gwen yet again of them being like a couple of teenagers.

Arthur reaches for the nearest rumpled paper, giving it a quick look and apparently deciding it unimportant enough to smear his other hand on it. He then crumples it in a ball and tosses it in the bin.

“Er,” he pants.

“I…” she starts.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he says as he pulls up his trousers. “I mean - Jesus. That’s not… Inviting you up here all the time. It wasn’t just some scheme to sleep with you.”

“Me neither,” she answers with a quick nod, sitting up and covering her chest with her blouse. “I’m not the type of woman who’ll sleep with her boss to -”

“I don’t think that,” Arthur snaps. “I thought you’d think I’m some… pervert boss who preys on -”

“I don’t think that either.”

He takes a deep breath. “Good. Because I… I did keep inviting you up here because I… I do like you. Although even that was inappropriate, given that I’m your superior.”

“Well I kept coming up because I felt something, too,” she said softly.

A long moment passes where they just stare nervously at each other, unsure of what else to say.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
__

#2. For My Own (NC-17, 1835 words)

Even her front door hated her.

“Damn it,” Gwen swore when the key stuck in the lock, refusing to turn properly. They’d rung and rung about getting it fixed, but still, nobody came to even take a look at the bloody thing. She had to drop the carrier bag with the Chinese takeaway she’d picked up on the way home, as well as her overladen bag with the extra shoes she’d taken to work that day-ha, to look good for her review, fat lot of good that had done her-in order to wrestle the lock with both hands.

It finally gave way with a squeak. As she pushed the door open, she gave it an added kick along the bottom for good measure.

It didn’t actually make her feel better.

Her shoulders slumped as she stepped over the threshold, wishing she could leap ahead to that moment when thinking about today’s events didn’t make her feel like she’d fallen into a bed of nettles. The food weighed heavily in her hand, but she lacked the wherewithal to do much more than set it on the coffee table. From down the hall, the soft spray of the shower filled the flat with its ambient rush. She sighed. Arthur was home already. He would want to hear what happened.

The bathroom door was ajar, steam filtering through the opening and into the corridor. Gwen slipped inside, but the greeting poised on her tongue faded away at the sight in front of her.

Arthur stood in the shower, head bent beneath the spray. Though more steam clouded the transparent glass, enough was clear to reveal the sculpted plane of his back, the heavy muscles in his shoulders rippling as he ran his fingers through his hair. Water dripped down his skin, its tone still golden from their holiday in Menorca. Each rivulet found its own swell to caress, skimming in slow motion over a muscle here, a shoulder blade there. Some collected along his spine, the lack of impediment in the straight valley spurring them faster out of view. Those were the ones she wished she could see. They led to his perfect bottom, an angle she didn’t get to appreciate nearly enough.

When he straightened, her attention snapped up again, just in time for him to meet her gaze when he turned around for his shampoo. “You’re home early,” he said, his crooked smile firmly in place. “Are we going out instead of eating in?”

“No, no, I stopped and got the takeaway.”

The longer his eyes lingered on her, the more his smile faded. “You’re not bubbling with excitement.”

The acid in her stomach burned. “No, I’m not.”

“What happened? Did they postpone your review?”

She wished. “I had it. They gave the promotion to Vivian.” Her lip curled in mocking disgust. “I guess they decided the job required the ability to shag everyone in management rather than any actual talent to do the job.”

“Oh, Gwen.” Shaking the water from his hair, he reached for the tap. “I’ll be right out. We’ll-”

“No.” Her interruption surprised both of them. He paused to look back at her, while she ventured farther into the room. “I’m coming in. I just want to wash this day away.”

She stripped out of her clothes in record time, tossing them in piles onto the floor in her haste. Arthur edged out of the way when she opened the shower door, but as soon as it shut, his arms folded around her shivering body, strong and warm from the pelting spray.

“She won’t last,” he murmured. “Then they’ll come crawling to you to save them.”

When the tears that had been threatening her all day rose up again, she buried her face against his wet chest in an effort to stifle them. “That job was mine. Everybody said so. They promised.”

“I know.”

“I worked my ass off for that promotion.”

He smoothed his hand over the back of her head, cupping her nape to hold her close. “You’ll get it next time.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Right then, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to stay there if it meant having the rug ripped out from beneath her again.

His lips brushed against her temple. “What can I do? Just tell me, Gwen. Anything you want.”

He would, too, because that was what Arthur did, seeing to what everybody else needed, reminding her of what it meant to be important.

But that wasn’t necessarily what she craved right now.

She peeled away, meeting his brilliant gaze. “Turn around.”

A curious cock of his head, the return of his smile, but he did as she requested, dropping his shoulder so he didn’t bump her. His body was stiff and awkward, poised in wait of what she intended.

Her mouth went dry. All that flawless skin stretching over his sinuous muscles. Hers for the touching.

Or the tasting.

Leaning forward, she dragged her tongue along the dip below the swell of a shoulder blade, capturing the beads of water on her tongue, feeling the twitch beneath his skin as he reacted to her touch. Through the sound of the water, she heard him catch his breath and echoed it with her own small moan.

“Gwen…”

“Brace against the wall.” Her lips hovered scant millimeters away from his body. More was impossible. As he adjusted his stance, his muscles conformed to a new shape, a sculpture of her construction, and she ran her hands up the length of his arms to grasp his wrists. “I wanted that job. So much, Arthur.”

His nod was a mere fraction. “I know.”

Another taste of his skin, but this time, the few droplets weren’t enough. She sealed her lips over the muscle and sucked, the tip of her tongue dancing along its surface. When he groaned, she sucked even harder, relishing the way the flesh pulled farther into her mouth.

She had to gasp for air when she broke away. Arthur’s ragged breaths joined hers.

“It was mine.” The spot of skin had gone bright red from the strength of her kiss. “Mine, Arthur.”

Desire drove her back to his body, finding another patch to suck and nibble. She let go of one of his wrists to slide her hand to his front, pinching the tight peak of a nipple with a matching force.

His back arched. “Next time,” he panted. “They’ll realize their mistake soon enough.”

“Yes…” She mouthed the line of his spine, drifting lower and lower. Occasionally, she veered off course, selecting fresh skin to mark, licking over the reddened patches when she was done. If it wasn’t red enough, she sucked at it again, calling as much blood to the surface as she could summon, all the while raking her nails down his flat stomach to where his cock bobbed in front of him.

Through it all, he repeated his assertions, how valued she was, what an error they’d made. The words choked off when she’d find someplace new to brand, but soon enough, he’d start up again, telling her what he thought she needed to hear.

And she did. To some degree. But what she needed even more was knowing the body that curled around her every night, the man who woke up with her in the morning, who’d chosen her when he could have had any other woman in the world, was hers, that he was hers to do with as she wished, and if she wanted to worship his powerful back, she could-and would-with his fervent approval.

When she reached the curve of his backside, she settled on her knees, withdrawing for the first time to better appreciate its glory. She’d never considered herself an ass girl until she met Arthur, but he managed to fill out his jeans so perfectly, she was a permanent convert from the moment she first noticed. She wanted to touch it, to watch it react to her fingertips, but one hand was firmly around the base of his cock, her thumb stroking along the vein on its underside as far as it could reach, the other anchoring her in place with its hold on his hip. She wasn’t willing to let go to indulge a simple curiosity. She needed to bring him to his release and feel it pulse into her palm more than the map touching him would provide.

A minute passed where neither of them moved nor spoke. Then…

“Please, Gwen.”

Such a simple request. Two words. And still, they shattered Gwen’s stasis as assuredly as any action he might have taken.

Water eased the path of her hand down his shaft. Pre-come slicked the last few inches, speeding up her stroke, but she refused to let it stop her, sliding back down with the same firm grip. Arthur thrust into the tight circle of her fingers. As he did so, his buttocks clenched, the muscles going hard and even firmer than normal. They relaxed when he did, and she watched, transfixed, by the rhythmic undulations of his flesh.

On his fifth thrust, she leaned forward. Her mouth sealed over one delectable cheek as it slackened, and she sucked harder than she had before, letting her teeth drag slightly across the heated skin.

Arthur cried out, his body going rigid. For a moment, she thought she’d hurt him, but when her hand stilled on his cock, he squirmed against her.

“Don’t stop,” he begged. “Please. Just don’t stop.”

Love like she’d never felt surged through her, overwhelming her in its intensity before she found the strength to do as he asked. Her strokes continued, but she slid her mouth to the side to savor new skin, alternately sucking and licking over the quivering splotches in tandem with her hand. He’d asked what he could do for her, to make up for her terrible day, and somehow, he’d found the perfect response, though she was fairly sure he’d argue later he only wanted to get off.

He was hers. For the lack of anything else, he’d given her the confirmation she needed to possess him in body as well as in spirit. He let her brand his flawless skin, albeit temporarily, and when he came, trembling from the power of it, he only had one word to fall from his lips.

Her name.

Her.

She took her time sliding back up his body, taking care with the marks she’d left behind. Her pussy was wet, her nipples sensitive everywhere they dragged over him, but satisfaction still managed to suffuse her body, a sense of wellness that had her smiling long before she laid her cheek along his back.

Arthur caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. “You should have let me get you off,” he teased.

“No worries.” With her eyes closed, she focused on the rise and fall of his torso as his breathing gradually slowed. “I got exactly what I wanted.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________

#3. Title (NC-17, 2000 words)

He'd offered to make the downpayment. When she'd flatly refused and did it herself, he'd then said he'd said he'd pay the first six months. She'd made a face and he'd gone silent and then two months later, when she wasn't receiving her electric or water bills, she'd called to find out they were all paid for. Gwen hadn't been mad, not exactly, but she'd quietly put the money - down to the last pence - on Arthur's kitchen counter.

The thing, it's her house. Hers. She'd pinched and saved and went without for so long to make sure that the title says Guinevere Leodegrance on it. She's never owned anything all by herself before, at least, nothing quite this important, even though it's a tiny piece of shit in a (slightly, only slightly) dodgy neighborhood. It's got exactly two garishly-painted rooms, a kitchen, a moldy bathroom, and a back garden that's barely big enough to put a chair in, but god, it is hers.

And they're not at the point where he should feel obligated to pay for her stuff - or be moving in, for that matter. Although the idea of posh boy Arthur Pendragon shacking up with her in her tiny townhouse is more than a little funny.

She says as much - the first part, about having something to own, not the second part, because the second part is about the future ifs and thens concerning them, and she doesn't like how everything is ifs and not whens - over dinner. They're passing cartons of curry and chips between them, lounging on her living room floor, because while the kitchen can fit a small table, she hasn't got the money yet for chairs.

Gwen licks the salt off her fingers and shrugs. “I just like owning something just for me.”

“Okay,” Arthur says, and she's glad to see that there's something like understanding in the set of his shoulders now. “So - there any part of you that's just for me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just wondering,” he says, “since you're so concerned about ownership.”

She snorts, laughing, but when she looks up from her chicken tikka she realizes he's looking at her quite seriously. She puts down her carton and cups his face with her hand. “Every part,” she murmurs, and he smiles softly, making her smile as well. He kisses her open palm, then makes a face.

“Salty,” he coughs. “You scruff.”

Gwen laughs and throws a chip at him.

Twenty minutes later, he's got his mouth on her neck and she's got her hands down his jeans, and then there's only the sound of their mingled panting as he pushes into her repeatedly - the sloppy wet slaps of skin against skin - nails scraping against flesh - all frantic need, a frenzied crescendo.

*

She doesn't notice it until she's in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. A purplish mark, right at the juncture of her throat and shoulder. Cursing, Gwen spits out the toothpaste and digs through her make-up bag for some heavy concealer and powder. Just as she's unscrewing the cap to the concealer, Arthur comes in, sleepily rumpled. Despite her annoyance, she has a fleeting thought that it's nice to see him this way, more than once in a while - but that's a stupid thought, because he has to go back to his place and she's got to go to work.

“You were a bit too enthusiastic last night,” she says to his reflection in the mirror.

“That was on purpose,” he grumbles, then slides his arms around her, and, from behind, nuzzles the fall of her hair away and starts nipping and sucking on the side of her neck - the unmarked side.

“W-what are you doing?” she murmurs, dropping her make-up. The bottles clatter into the sink - she braces her hands on the vanity when he grinds his cock against her bum, gasps when one hand moves up to mold her breast through her thin t-shirt and the other dips into her knickers, probing.

“Nothing,” he says, turning her around. He boosts her up onto the vanity, starts pulling at her knickers as she tugs off his trackie bottoms. When he finally pushes into her, rough and uncompromising, she throws her head back - it hits the mirror, but she doesn't care, not while his hands keep doing that, not with his mouth and tongue swirling on her throat -

“Y-you've got to - ah, god - Arthur -” She threads her fingers through his hair, pulls to get his attention. He doesn't budge. “You'll - leave - another - m-mark . . . ah, god, ah god, ah god god god god god oh my GOD-”

*

Three days of turtlenecks and strategically-placed scarves in 24 Celsius degree weather later, she's had enough.

“Look, it's not as if I don't enjoy the process,” she murmurs, when he's accosted her in her kitchen while she's busy chopping veg for tonight's salad. She shrugs his mouth off her neck, to force him to pay attention. “But come on. Could you at least be, more, I don't know - discrete?”

He leans against the counter, folds his arms across his chest and smirks. “That can be arranged.”

Gwen arches her brow at him. Arthur's smirk deepens. “Don't be an ar -” she starts to say, but he's already pushed her against the refrigerator. In their haste, he doesn't even pull off her skirt - just lifts the hem and starts sucking at her thighs, ignoring the way her limbs quake around his ears. “Fuck,” she moans, when his lips trail wetly up the smooth skin, close, close, closer to where she needs them the most . . .

His teeth latch on, he sucks and pulls at her thigh, and Gwen squirms, grabs onto his head, tries to get him to move, to stop being such a damned tease, but he's got her hips gripped tightly and god -

When he finally digs his tongue deep into her, she cries out. She wants to push herself into his face, but he holds her still and licks and nibbles . . . and then he slides one finger into her, purses his lips around her clit and sucks.

Gwen gasps as she feels her inner walls contract around his finger, the heat spiking through her center. Her legs give out, and she would slither down against the fridge but suddenly Arthur stands. She whimpers, the pleasant aftershocks of her orgasm abruptly cut off, and she almost says why he didn't stay longer down there like he normally does, but then he's grabbing her hips again and she nods, barely coherent, as he pushes her down onto the kitchen table. She fumbles with his belt and in seconds he's inside her, filling her up and stretching her out, one thumb swirling against the thigh where his mouth had been, the other flicking against her clit. Gwen pulls his head down for a kiss, muffling his groans and her high-pitched gasping. She closes her eyes, grinds her hips upwards - lets it all wash over her, his hands, his mouth, his heat.

*

“That tickles.”

“So?”

Gwen swats at his head, but Arthur keeps kissing up her stomach, rolling the edge of her t-shirt up as he goes. With a sigh, she shifts in the lawn chair and stretches to put her glass of lemonade down on the sidetable. “People will see,” she murmurs. She trails her foot up his bare calf - the air is sticky and hot, though the sun is setting over her still over-grown back garden.

“I fixed the fence for you,” he murmurs back, his voice shivering through her body. His lips go bump-bump-bump along her ribs, fingers following. “No one'll be able to see over.”

“Unless they tiptoe.”

“Well, then they're perverts, let's give 'em a show.”

She bursts out laughing, which turns to quiet moans when he hikes up her bra and licks her nipple. He doesn't lick very long, though, and she whinges when she feels cool air pucker the already tightly ruched flesh - but then she hisses, arching up against him, when his teeth clasps over the side of her breast, next to her nipple. He sucks, his tongue flickers, she squirms.

The chaise shrieks as Arthur reaches behind her to lower the chair to a lying position. They just get her shorts off and unzip his, her t-shirt and bra still stuck up awkwardly underneath her armpits. She keeps her eyes open as he fucks her, slow and long - watches the sky darken, the stars appear, dots of sparkling white. She's careful not to make a sound - they both are - even when each heated ripple of pleasure starts coiling, tight and fiery, deep and low in her . . . even when that rush engulfs her, leaving her shuddering and hot, oh so hot. She murmurs something about loving him, which she's pretty sure he doesn't hear. He lies between her legs afterwards and licks and suckles at her breasts some more, and she doesn't feel cold at all as she plays with his hair, now silver in the starlight.

*

It's when she's brushing her teeth again. Gwen sticks her toothbrush into her mouth so she can use both hands to tie her hair back when she spots the faded bite on her neck - and the new one Arthur just made, while they were in the shower.

Her shock turns slowly over to a smirk as realization creeps in. Calmly, she finishes brushing her teeth, then opens the bathroom door. Arthur's already sleeping - too late to go back to his place - sprawled flat on his stomach.

She crawls up his body, sits on the small of his back with a purposeful “oof!” Arthur grunts, jerks awake, turns his head. “What the hell?”

“You're a bastard Pendragon!” she exclaims, smacking his bum through the covers.

“Ow!” He turns over, lies flat on his back and yawns. “What are you on about?” he asks, lacing his fingers behind his head.

She reaches over, grabs one hand, puts it on her neck - on the faint mark. “Bathroom.” She moves his fingers to the new one, just underneath it. “Bathroom, just now.” She moves his hand to the other side of her throat. “First night - the living room.” She trails his hand down her side, though he tries to stop at her breast. She shoves it down, biting her lip against her growing grin, and settles his hand on her thigh, lifting the hem of her oversized t-shirt. “Kitchen.” She lets go.

Arthur smiles softly, pushes his hand up underneath the cloth, cups her breast. “Garden.” Gwen shakes her head, bemused, as he thumbs her nipple gently. “Was wondering when you'd cotton on.”

“I was a bit distracted,” she says, fake-haughtily, and he huffs out a laugh. She catches his hand through her t-shirt and he stills, pushing his hips up against her with a cheeky grin. “Territorial jerk.”

“So?” He waggles his eyebrows.

She snorts, glances around - and realizes something else. “How come none for here?”

“Good question,” he says, in a wondering tone, that tells her that he knows exactly why. Her grin softens into a touched smile. Gwen leans over, kisses him achingly soft, licks a path down his jaw and towards his neck - tries to tell him, with each nip and nibble, each press of her lips and each suck between her clenched teeth, that yes, he's hers here . . . here . . . here . . . here . . .

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#4. Éadlufu (NC-17, 1995 words)

Note: See this post by winwin7 for an explanation of the title, specifically this comment by sophielou21 regarding the translation.

Gwen traced her fingertips over a swirl carved into the stone table. "It will mean a lot to your men to have this at Camelot."

"It will mean a lot to me, as well." Removing his gloves and smiling at her while he placed them on the table, Arthur added, "As does your accompanying me here today." A cart was on its way, along with men to move the heavy object, but they were slowed by the poor condition of the road which led to the ruined fortress. Arthur had decided to go ahead and see about the best way to arrange the move, and Gwen had gone with him.

A little wistfully, she replied, "Any chance to have a moment with you is worth grasping."

Ambling over to her, he gently brushing a stray curl away from her cheek. "This last week has been incredibly hectic, hasn't it?"

"Not surprisingly." Arthur's every waking moment had been consumed by the rebuilding effort, organizing search parties to look for Morgana and Morgause, and dealing with the council urging him to assume the regency in light of Uther's mental state. While Gwen understood his obligations, it was still disappointing.

Placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, he ran them down her arms and finally took her hands. "I am sorry about that. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too. But, we will have time together soon."

Looking at their joined hands, he muttered, "Not soon enough."

She shared his frustration, but would rather ease what he was feeling than add to it. "Arthur--"

"It's true," he cut her off, looking up. "I have no idea when we may be alone again."

Hesitating, she said, "Then, perhaps we should make the most of it now. How long will it take for them to get the cart up here?"

His mouth curved into a slow smile. "I should think an hour, or so."

When she smiled back, he leaned over and gently kissed her, experimentally at first, drawing her neatly against himself as she parted her lips beneath his. The embrace made her emit a small oomph, and he eased back with an apology.

Surveying the emptiness of the ancient palace around them, his expression took on a hint of mischief as he tugged at his armor. "If you would not mind helping me, I believe our hour will be more enjoyable without a few of these layers."

"I believe you're right," she agreed, amused. Usually, Gwen felt that her knowledge of armor was not really something to be proud of. However, with it came technical expertise, and Arthur looked quite impressed as she unfastened each piece with rapid efficiency.

"You are better at this than most squires."

Raising a teasing eyebrow and setting his vambraces aside, she replied, "Something to think about, isn't it?"

He gave her a wry look before unbuckling his sword belt and setting it aside, after which she helped him shed his chainmail. Finally, he was down to his shirt and trousers; glancing between her and the pile of armor, he laughed ruefully. "Well, that killed the mood."

Sliding her arms around his neck, she argued, "Not at all," and pulled him down, pressing her lips against his. It was much easier to settle against him like this; she could feel his warmth through the fabrics of their clothing, and it made her melt into him that much more. As the kiss deepened and their tongues danced playfully, his hands began to roam over her back, nudging her closer while he rested against the edge of the table, and she settled comfortably between his thighs.

The way she was leaning against him made it obvious how much he was enjoying the interlude. That realization settled low in her belly, near where the evidence of his enjoyment was pressing, and she suddenly became very aware of the way her breasts were constrained by the bodice of her dress, and how his hands on her hips really would feel so much better seeing to the bindings on her corset. While this had begun as a pleasant kiss, now she wanted-- needed-- more.

Running her hands down from where they had been tangled in his hair, she reached up under the hem of his shirt and smoothed her fingers over his stomach. At that, he sucked in an uneven breath, effectively breaking off the kiss, yet keeping his mouth right by hers; she continued the caress around his back, one palm glided up beneath his shoulder blades, and the other slid down to rest above the band of his trousers. His eyes opened sleepily, meeting hers mere inches away, as his arms tightened around her waist.

"Guinevere..." he murmured.

Things she tried to say had a way of coming out wrong when she was even slightly hesitant, and being that she was not used to verbalizing such things as she was currently thinking, she was definitely nervous. But for once, what she said somehow came out exactly how she intended. "Make love to me, Arthur."

He blinked, the surprise in his eyes immediately giving way to desire as he accepted that she was sincere, and he pulled her in for a kiss so thorough, it made her knees wobbly. Either sensing that or perhaps just due to good timing, Arthur slid further back on the table and pulled her up to straddle his lap. Her skirt hiked as she did, and he helped raise it even further, his palms skimming up her thighs to her backside. It felt so good, she gave a small shiver, which briefly caused a break in the kiss, and she took advantage of the moment to lift his shirt. With his help, she quickly cast it aside, and then his arms were around her again, but this time his mouth went to her neck.

"You know," he said, his voice muffled by her skin, "this is not how I planned this."

"Hmm?" He had begun unlacing her bodice, and all she could focus on was the way he was nipping the delicate area beneath her ear, and how perfect it was going to feel to have the bodice off and his hands in its place.

"Taking you to bed. I was going to do it right." He got the corset undone and dropped it to the floor behind her.

"This feels right to me," she remarked, wriggling her feet so her shoes would fall off, and lifting each knee in turn so that he could dispense with her stockings.

Pulling her dress up over her head and consigning it to the floor with the rest of their garments, his hands skimmed swiftly up her ribs to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing their crests and eliciting a moan from her, causing her to arch into his touch. "I was going to draw it out," he said absently, the majority of his attention now focused on what he was doing, as opposed to saying. He lowered his head and tilted her backward, supporting her with one arm while the other hand held a breast at a good angle for him to draw her nipple into his mouth.

She grasped his hair and managed to mumble, "Make it up to me later," before he readjusted his hold on her and slid a hand down her belly.

While his mouth moved to her other breast, the first light brush of his fingers against her center was so acute a sensation, it stole her breath; then, his touch became more direct, rubbing small, insistent circles against her most sensitive area. Everything was building so desperately as he continued, and it was not enough, yet he was not moving ahead. She was just on the verge of begging when he finally slid a finger into her, her cry turning into a long moan when he immediately added a second finger and pressed within her perfectly. Leaning toward him again, she kissed his mouth, his jaw, his ear, and then unintentionally left a bright mark on his neck when his thumb resumed those small circles and his fingers started moving faster.

Reaching for the fastenings on his trousers, she met his gaze, intently affixed on her face. She never realized that fire could be so incredibly blue; she already felt as though she was burning, and that further fuelled the blaze. Hastily, she yanked the hooks free, and he lifted up to slide his trousers down. She went to climb off and finish the job, but he held her in place. "It's enough for now," he said urgently, and she had to agree.

He started to pull her forward, but Gwen wrapped a hand around his shaft before he could; while today was not going to be a time for extended lovemaking, she wanted to give him as much pleasure as he was giving her. He groaned and he let his head fall back as she stroked him, and she took that opportunity to rain a series of kisses up his throat, culminating in a deep, frantic kiss, during which she reached down to cup him a little lower.

At that touch, he flew up and pulled her hand away. "Sorry, should I not have done that?" she asked.

"No, no, no-- by all means, please, do it again sometime," he ardently assured her, with a strained smile that told her it had simply been too much just now. Her return smile turned into a sharp intake of breath when he adjusted her position above him and she felt him press against her entrance; with a slight wiggle of her hips, he began to slide in. They let out a collective moan as he pushed halfway into her, and again as she raised up again and then sank down again. One more time, and she bore down completely, thrilling at the stretched feeling as he filled her, thankful as never before for the brief tryst with a tailor when she was younger, which made this encounter purely enjoyable.

They were beyond moving slowly, but they started out with deliberation, Arthur leaning back to get better leverage. Their pace increased, and she felt the tightness begin to build deep within her, gradually at first, then with growing speed. Their groans echoed off the chamber walls in an oddly muted way, strengthening the sense of their being alone with one another, which was an enticement unto itself. The hot friction as he drove deeply into her was exquisite, bringing her ever closer; and if he would just move faster, she could get there... and then, he leaned back a bit more, and her urgency reached its zenith--

--and, crying out, she flew apart. With a few more thrusts, he reached his release, his fingers sinking into her hips and her name exploding from his lips in a shout.

As they calmed, he laid back and Gwen collapsed on top of him, each of them trying to catch their breaths. She twirled her fingers languidly through the hair on his chest, enjoying the feel of it beneath her cheek as she listened to his heartbeat begin to return to normal.

Running a hand soothingly up and down her back, he finally said, "Well."

"Well, indeed," she agreed, in complete accord with the awe in his voice, sated to her bones.

After a peaceful while, he said, "We should get dressed before the others arrive."

She folded her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them to look up at him. "I suppose we should." Before they moved, however, he tugged her gently up for a sweet kiss.

Resting back again, he murmured, "You are beyond beautiful." She blushed and dropped her eyes, but looked up again when he said softly, "I love you, Guinevere."

Even had he not spoken, that sentiment was shining through in his gaze, as it must also be in hers. "I love you, too, Arthur."

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* Thank you SO MUCH to our last four participants for submitting their entries.

* I hope I didn't mess up any of your fonts ie. italic fonts. I tried my best to keep your fonts. :D

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