Part 5: link
He opens the door and she walks in. His apartment is clean, but mostly empty.
“Well, this is certainly… Spartan,” she says.
“Hey, at least I have real furniture. Some of the guys at the firehouse have lawn chairs in their living room.” He takes his shoes off and places them on a mat just inside the door. Gwen follows suit. Okay, he has a no shoes in the house rule, she thinks, smiling, but then she remembers his occupation. Oh. Soot.
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was. Would you like anything? Beverage? Snack?”
She puts her hand on her stomach and says, “Not after all that ice cream.”
“All that ice cream? You didn’t even finish yours!”
“Well, I’m not a big Valente firefighter like you who can probably eat whatever he wants because he works it all off,” she says, approaching him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She rests her chin on his chest and looks up at him. He brings his arms around her and they stand for a few moments in his living room, just holding each other. She turns her head to the side, resting it on his chest and closes her eyes.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?”
“Um, I have to pee.”
She laughs and lets go of him. He walks down the hall, calling back, “Make yourself at home.” He finds he truly hopes she does.
She looks around. Not much to look at, really. She wanders to the cozinha and finds a stack of magazines, mostly dealing with sports. She looks at the address label. Arthur Pendragon. That’s an unusual last name. She finds that she actually is a little thirsty, and she opens cupboards looking for a glass to get some water. She finds one easily, and goes to the freezer. He actually has ice cubes. Nice. She takes a couple cubes and fills her cup from the tap. Just then, Arthur’s phone rings. The tone is the theme song from a crap American TV show from the 1970s about a firehouse. She smiles.
“Arthur? Your phone is ringing,” she shouts back.
“That’s just Merlin. Hey—go ahead an answer it. It’ll be brilliant,” comes a muffled voice.
She picks up the phone. “Hello, Merlin.”
Silence. Then, “…Gwen?”
“Yes?” She is trying not to laugh now, and Arthur is strolling towards her, grinning devilishly.
“Um… is Arthur… available?” He is clearly puzzled.
“I’m sorry, but he’s a bit tied up right now,” she says, trying to make it sound as suggestive as she can. Arthur clamps his hand over his mouth.
“Uh… um… yes. I… ah…”
“Merlin! I’m kidding!” she lets him off the hook. “He was just in the loo. Here.” She hands the phone to Arthur, who is now laughing openly.
“Very funny, Clotpole,” Merlin says.
“Oh, come on, it was,” Arthur chides him. Gwen is flipping through a magazine, trying not to listen to their conversation. Oh, yes, she remembers. Looking around on the counter, she grabs an empty envelope and finds a pen. She writes the name "Morgana" on the envelope, and beneath it a string of numbers. She passes it to Arthur with a grin. He takes it and winks at her.
“So I take it the date’s going well?” Merlin asks.
“Very.”
“But you can’t give details right now because she’s there.”
“That would be correct.”
“Are you at your place, then?”
“Yes.”
“Is she going to… stay around tonight, do you think?”
“Absolutely. Oh – something’s just been handed to me.”
“What’s that?” he asks, curious.
“Looks like a number of some sort. With a name.”
“Morgana’s? Hang on.”
Arthur hears him scrambling for a pen.
“Ready,” he says. Arthur tells him the number, which he repeats back.
“Yep. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing, then.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You better call me tomorrow, mate.”
“When, while we’re at work, genius?”
“Oh yeah. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah.” Arthur hangs up the phone and then sets it to silent before he places it back on the counter.
“He’s a good friend, isn’t he?” Gwen asks, closing the magazine.
“Yes, he actually is,” he says, as she walks back out to the living room and sits on the sofa. He sits down beside her, their bodies angled toward each other.
“I’m glad.”
“So you and Morgana are roommates. Are you close?”
“We’ve been friends for a very long time, yes. She’s a lot of fun and she has a good heart, but she does have a tendency to be a bit selfish. Well, shallow might be a better word,” she says, running her fingers along the edge of the glass. She sets it down on the table. Arthur reaches behind him, grabs a coaster, lifts the glass and replaces it on the coaster. Gwen smiles at him. Cute.
“It’s a family heirloom,” he explains.
“No explanation necessary. I amor it when a man uses coasters,” she teases.
He laughs, then continues, “Yeah, Merlin really is a good guy. A bit of a klutz sometimes, but he’s great. I’m glad you like him.”
She notices a football under a chair. “Bit of a sports fan, then? I noticed all the magazines.”
“Yes, well, that’s the secret about being a fireman. It’s mostly pretty boring. I work 48-hour shifts and it’s rare that anything happens at all.”
“It has to be better than running into burning buildings every day,” she says, trying to hide the fact that the thought of him risking his life as part of his job worries her very much. mais than it should at this point.
“We do have training drills, which are fun, but actual calls where we get to do some actual firefighting don’t happen much. So we find ways to amuse ourselves as best we can. I’m in charge of keeping the magazines stocked.”
“Ah, so it’s a work assignment, then? You’re not a sports freak?”
“No, I am,” he grins. “You already know I fence. But as that’s a bit inconvenient in a firehouse, we kick a football around a lot. When the weather’s bad, we resort to indoor activities, hence the magazines. Of course there’s also the telly and the internet as well. And mesa, tabela tênis is quite popular.
“Ever try leitura an actual book?”
“Oho, now you’re getting all librarian-y on me,” he laughs. He picks up her glass and takes a drink from it, unthinkingly, not asking permission yet causing no offense.
“Of course.”
“I never got that biblioteca card, you know.”
“You don’t have a biblioteca card?” she raises her eyebrows at him, chastising.
“No, ma’am, I don’t. But I have a feeling I’ll be remedying that very soon. You see,” he leans in, conspiratorially, “I’ve got my eye on this really cute girl that works at the library, so I’m going to be spending a lot mais time there.”
“Anyone I know?” she leans in as well, gossipy now.
He lunges at her, beijar her. She laughs as he does so, but her amusement quickly changes to desire as he leans her back on the cushions of the couch, his hand on her cheek, stroking down her neck.
“I amor your skin… how it feels… so soft…” he whispers between kisses. Her hands are in his hair, down his back, on his backside. He trails kisses down her neck and she leans her head back and sighs.
“I amor how… your hands feel… on my skin,” she whispers back.
He pulls away, off of her. She blinks in surprise, and finds herself lifted from the couch, slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry as he strides down the hall to his bedroom.
“Show-off,” she says, laughing into his back. He smacks her backside playfully.
He enters the room, kicking the door closed behind him. He dumps her on the bed. She looks around, pleasantly surprised to find that not only is the cama made, but it also is not just a mattress on the floor. I’m officially impressed, she thinks.
“Thought we could make use of a proper cama this time,” he says, his voice rough.
“Arthur?” She wants to get something off her chest.
“Yes?” he says, sitting down in front of her on the bed.
“I just want you to know that I’m not usually this…” she searches for the right word.
“…brazen?” he offers.
“Well, I was going to go with ‘slutty,’ but ‘brazen’ does sound nicer.”
He kisses her briefly and says, “I never mover this fast either. Honest.” He makes an X over his coração with his finger.
“Why now? I mean, what’s going on? What’s different? You feel it, too, don’t you?” she says, furrowing her brow.
He runs his fingers along her brow, willing it to unfurl, and says, “I do. But I don’t know either. It’s that… feeling again, I think. That I’ve-known-you-much-longer-than-I-really-have feeling.”
They stare at each other. Finally, she says, “Perhaps our minds and souls have known each other for a long time. And our bodies are just trying to catch up.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says, leaning towards her again.
“Wait, maybe we should—“
“Guinevere.”
“What?”
“You think too much. Just kiss me.” She does, and forgets everything else.
Part 7: link
He opens the door and she walks in. His apartment is clean, but mostly empty.
“Well, this is certainly… Spartan,” she says.
“Hey, at least I have real furniture. Some of the guys at the firehouse have lawn chairs in their living room.” He takes his shoes off and places them on a mat just inside the door. Gwen follows suit. Okay, he has a no shoes in the house rule, she thinks, smiling, but then she remembers his occupation. Oh. Soot.
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was. Would you like anything? Beverage? Snack?”
She puts her hand on her stomach and says, “Not after all that ice cream.”
“All that ice cream? You didn’t even finish yours!”
“Well, I’m not a big Valente firefighter like you who can probably eat whatever he wants because he works it all off,” she says, approaching him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She rests her chin on his chest and looks up at him. He brings his arms around her and they stand for a few moments in his living room, just holding each other. She turns her head to the side, resting it on his chest and closes her eyes.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?”
“Um, I have to pee.”
She laughs and lets go of him. He walks down the hall, calling back, “Make yourself at home.” He finds he truly hopes she does.
She looks around. Not much to look at, really. She wanders to the cozinha and finds a stack of magazines, mostly dealing with sports. She looks at the address label. Arthur Pendragon. That’s an unusual last name. She finds that she actually is a little thirsty, and she opens cupboards looking for a glass to get some water. She finds one easily, and goes to the freezer. He actually has ice cubes. Nice. She takes a couple cubes and fills her cup from the tap. Just then, Arthur’s phone rings. The tone is the theme song from a crap American TV show from the 1970s about a firehouse. She smiles.
“Arthur? Your phone is ringing,” she shouts back.
“That’s just Merlin. Hey—go ahead an answer it. It’ll be brilliant,” comes a muffled voice.
She picks up the phone. “Hello, Merlin.”
Silence. Then, “…Gwen?”
“Yes?” She is trying not to laugh now, and Arthur is strolling towards her, grinning devilishly.
“Um… is Arthur… available?” He is clearly puzzled.
“I’m sorry, but he’s a bit tied up right now,” she says, trying to make it sound as suggestive as she can. Arthur clamps his hand over his mouth.
“Uh… um… yes. I… ah…”
“Merlin! I’m kidding!” she lets him off the hook. “He was just in the loo. Here.” She hands the phone to Arthur, who is now laughing openly.
“Very funny, Clotpole,” Merlin says.
“Oh, come on, it was,” Arthur chides him. Gwen is flipping through a magazine, trying not to listen to their conversation. Oh, yes, she remembers. Looking around on the counter, she grabs an empty envelope and finds a pen. She writes the name "Morgana" on the envelope, and beneath it a string of numbers. She passes it to Arthur with a grin. He takes it and winks at her.
“So I take it the date’s going well?” Merlin asks.
“Very.”
“But you can’t give details right now because she’s there.”
“That would be correct.”
“Are you at your place, then?”
“Yes.”
“Is she going to… stay around tonight, do you think?”
“Absolutely. Oh – something’s just been handed to me.”
“What’s that?” he asks, curious.
“Looks like a number of some sort. With a name.”
“Morgana’s? Hang on.”
Arthur hears him scrambling for a pen.
“Ready,” he says. Arthur tells him the number, which he repeats back.
“Yep. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing, then.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You better call me tomorrow, mate.”
“When, while we’re at work, genius?”
“Oh yeah. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah.” Arthur hangs up the phone and then sets it to silent before he places it back on the counter.
“He’s a good friend, isn’t he?” Gwen asks, closing the magazine.
“Yes, he actually is,” he says, as she walks back out to the living room and sits on the sofa. He sits down beside her, their bodies angled toward each other.
“I’m glad.”
“So you and Morgana are roommates. Are you close?”
“We’ve been friends for a very long time, yes. She’s a lot of fun and she has a good heart, but she does have a tendency to be a bit selfish. Well, shallow might be a better word,” she says, running her fingers along the edge of the glass. She sets it down on the table. Arthur reaches behind him, grabs a coaster, lifts the glass and replaces it on the coaster. Gwen smiles at him. Cute.
“It’s a family heirloom,” he explains.
“No explanation necessary. I amor it when a man uses coasters,” she teases.
He laughs, then continues, “Yeah, Merlin really is a good guy. A bit of a klutz sometimes, but he’s great. I’m glad you like him.”
She notices a football under a chair. “Bit of a sports fan, then? I noticed all the magazines.”
“Yes, well, that’s the secret about being a fireman. It’s mostly pretty boring. I work 48-hour shifts and it’s rare that anything happens at all.”
“It has to be better than running into burning buildings every day,” she says, trying to hide the fact that the thought of him risking his life as part of his job worries her very much. mais than it should at this point.
“We do have training drills, which are fun, but actual calls where we get to do some actual firefighting don’t happen much. So we find ways to amuse ourselves as best we can. I’m in charge of keeping the magazines stocked.”
“Ah, so it’s a work assignment, then? You’re not a sports freak?”
“No, I am,” he grins. “You already know I fence. But as that’s a bit inconvenient in a firehouse, we kick a football around a lot. When the weather’s bad, we resort to indoor activities, hence the magazines. Of course there’s also the telly and the internet as well. And mesa, tabela tênis is quite popular.
“Ever try leitura an actual book?”
“Oho, now you’re getting all librarian-y on me,” he laughs. He picks up her glass and takes a drink from it, unthinkingly, not asking permission yet causing no offense.
“Of course.”
“I never got that biblioteca card, you know.”
“You don’t have a biblioteca card?” she raises her eyebrows at him, chastising.
“No, ma’am, I don’t. But I have a feeling I’ll be remedying that very soon. You see,” he leans in, conspiratorially, “I’ve got my eye on this really cute girl that works at the library, so I’m going to be spending a lot mais time there.”
“Anyone I know?” she leans in as well, gossipy now.
He lunges at her, beijar her. She laughs as he does so, but her amusement quickly changes to desire as he leans her back on the cushions of the couch, his hand on her cheek, stroking down her neck.
“I amor your skin… how it feels… so soft…” he whispers between kisses. Her hands are in his hair, down his back, on his backside. He trails kisses down her neck and she leans her head back and sighs.
“I amor how… your hands feel… on my skin,” she whispers back.
He pulls away, off of her. She blinks in surprise, and finds herself lifted from the couch, slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry as he strides down the hall to his bedroom.
“Show-off,” she says, laughing into his back. He smacks her backside playfully.
He enters the room, kicking the door closed behind him. He dumps her on the bed. She looks around, pleasantly surprised to find that not only is the cama made, but it also is not just a mattress on the floor. I’m officially impressed, she thinks.
“Thought we could make use of a proper cama this time,” he says, his voice rough.
“Arthur?” She wants to get something off her chest.
“Yes?” he says, sitting down in front of her on the bed.
“I just want you to know that I’m not usually this…” she searches for the right word.
“…brazen?” he offers.
“Well, I was going to go with ‘slutty,’ but ‘brazen’ does sound nicer.”
He kisses her briefly and says, “I never mover this fast either. Honest.” He makes an X over his coração with his finger.
“Why now? I mean, what’s going on? What’s different? You feel it, too, don’t you?” she says, furrowing her brow.
He runs his fingers along her brow, willing it to unfurl, and says, “I do. But I don’t know either. It’s that… feeling again, I think. That I’ve-known-you-much-longer-than-I-really-have feeling.”
They stare at each other. Finally, she says, “Perhaps our minds and souls have known each other for a long time. And our bodies are just trying to catch up.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says, leaning towards her again.
“Wait, maybe we should—“
“Guinevere.”
“What?”
“You think too much. Just kiss me.” She does, and forgets everything else.
Part 7: link
