Part 12: link
“So, Ox starts training on Monday with Scotland Yard,” Arthur informs her. They are having lunch at a café, eating outside, enjoying a pleasant Saturday now that the heat has finally broken.
“Yes, I know. He told me,” Gwen smiles at him, poking a cucumber from her salada with her fork.
“He did?”
“Yes, Wednesday. He bombarded me outside again when I was coming to meet you. Picked me up and gave me a huge hug that nearly cracked my ribs, he was so excited,” she laughs.
Arthur scowls.
“Now, don’t be cruz with him, he didn’t hurt me. Or are you annoyed that I already knew your news?”
“Both.”
She laughs again, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
“The only person not happy about this development for him is Leon,” Arthur comments. “I mean, he’s happy for Ox and all, but now he has to find a new bouncer for the pub, you know?”
“Yes, I suppose. He said he’d still help out when he could, like weekends, but we all know that won’t last,” Gwen adds, once again showing that she knows mais than he realizes.
“Poor Leon,” Arthur muses, “he got off easy because he’s known Ox forever and so the job was an easy fit. Leon’s father owns the building that the pub and the comprar are in. Or did you know that, too?”
“No, I didn’t know that. I did wonder, though, since you said that Leon only manages the pub.”
“Yeah, his dad owns it. But it’s basically Leon’s, since his dad tends to spend most of his time in the Mediterranean, on a semi-permanent vacation.”
“Must be nice to have a bit of cash,” Gwen says.
“Right,” Arthur says, a little bitterly.
“Oh, sorry,” she apologizes.
“No, it’s fine. I rather like not being tied to my father’s bolsa strings. Means I’m not under his thumb, you see.”
“Yes,” Gwen says, but she is not entirely convinced. “So where does Merlin live?”
“With Leon. They’re flatmates. That way one of them is always close por if needed at the pub. Ox has a place not far away, too, a basement flat like mine. It’s awful for him, though. Low ceiling.”
“Oh no!” she exclaims, laughing.
“Speaking of Merlin, have you finished his manuscript?” he asks, taking a bit of his burger.
“Almost. I’m actually editing it as I read.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s all a part of my sinister master plan, you see. I’m going to convince Mr. Gaius to read it, and he’ll not only see Merlin’s brilliant writing, but my brilliant editing as well.”
“You clever little fox, you,” he says, grinning.
“Is it… too brash of me?” she asks, suddenly unsure.
“No, it’s brilliant, really. I mean, why not give yourself a little push as well?”
“That’s what I was originally thinking, but I’m starting to have segundo thoughts.”
“Don’t. You deserve to be mais than just a receptionist. You know it, and I know it. This may be the only way for you to show Mr. Gaius what you can do. So proceed with your plan or I will come to your office and handle things myself. I’ll wear my most offensive t-shirt, and I’ll bring Gwaine with me.”
She holds her hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll do it!”
“When?” he asks.
“When?” she repeats.
“Yes. You need to decide when and stick to it so you can’t keep putting it off. Give yourself a deadline, so to speak.”
Damn him, he’s right. She takes a deep breath. “I’ll do it Tuesday before I leave for my trip. That way he can have that week and a half to look it over without my interference, and I won’t be sitting there outside his office wondering if he’s leitura it.”
“Perfect,” he says, nodding.
Guinevere is packing. Arthur is pouting. She is ignoring him, pulling things out of wardrobes and drawers, holding them up and either putting them back or into the suitcase.
“You’re not leaving for four mais days, Guinevere,” he protests, sitting like a lump of a spoiled child on her bed, kicking her suitcase.
“And if you’re going to carry on like this for the seguinte four days, you can go início and stay there,” she says, fixing him in her stare, her hands on her hips.
“Sorry. I just…”
“Just say it. You don’t want me to go.”
“I don’t.”
“Too bad,” she says, spinning away.
“I know. That’s what’s so irritating.”
“Would you really stop me if you could?” she asks, turning back again. “Think carefully about your answer.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. “No.”
“Good answer,” she snaps, turning back to her wardrobe once again, now pulling clothes out a little mais vigorously than before, as if she is angry with them instead of him.
Shit. “Guinevere,” he says, climbing off the cama and walking over to her. “I’m sorry, Sweet,” he says quietly, putting his hands on her shoulders.
She moves away from him, shrugging him off with a sniffle.
Fuck me, she’s crying. I made her cry. I never wanted to do that. “Guinevere,” he tries again, following her into the bathroom.
She is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, tissue clutched in her hand. “I was really looking progressivo, para a frente to this trip, Arthur. I’ve had it planned for almost a year. And if you’re going to be a giant pain in the arse about it, then we’re going to have a problem. I won’t allow you to ruin my vacation.”
He drops to his knees on the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost a plea, surprised to find tears pricking at his eyes as well. Go away, go away. “I want you to have a good time with your brother, I really do. Really,” he says, taking her empty hand. “It’s just… difficult for me. I’m going to miss you so much,” he admits softly.
“I’m going to miss you, too, Arthur, but I know that’s not the only reason you don’t want me to go.” She dabs her eyes with the tissue.
He looks to the side. She already knows me too well.
“What did we promise at jantar with your sister?” she asks.
“That you wouldn’t run off on me in Chicago and I wouldn’t have a fit about you going.”
“Yes. And…?”
“And I just fucked it right up, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Arthur. I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?”
“Of course.”
She studies him, not sure if she believes him or not.
“Really. I do trust you. I…”
“I know, Arthur. You want to protect me. Well, that’s not always going to be possible.”
“I have a hard time accepting that.”
“I know. But you have to figure out how. Because I’m leaving in four days, and I want these last four days before I go to be good ones, do you understand me?”
“Whoa. Strict. Yes, I understand. I want the same thing.”
“And if you’re going to be a… a bitch the entire time, then that’s not going to happen.”
He actually chuckles at her calling him a bitch. “I know.”
“So stop it.”
“Okay.” His shoulders slump slightly.
“Now get out. I have to pee,” she says, shoving him lightly.
He leans over and kisses her cheek before leaving her alone in the bathroom. In the hallway, he leans his head against the wall, still furious with himself. Stupid, stupid. You like this girl. No, you amor her. Just admit it, you do. Don’t go all Alpha Male on her or she will walk. You know this. Get it together or you will lose her.
“Arthur?” Gwen’s soft voice reaches his ears, and he lifts his head from the wall.
“I’m okay,” he says, straightening up and holding his arms out to her. She walks into his embrace, holding his waist tightly as he wraps his arms around her, beijar the topo, início of her head.
Tell her.
No, don’t. It’s too early. You’ll scare her away.
But it’s a perfect moment to say it.
Wait.
“Will you help me pack?” she asks, looking up at him, her eyes rimmed with red.
He smiles and strokes her cheek. “Of course.”
Arthur immediately dives into her underwear drawer and proceeds to dig until he finds ten of the most unattractive pairs of knickers he can find.
“There,” he declares.
Gwen looks and bursts forth laughing, unable to help herself. “You are ridiculous,” she says. “But actually…” she says, going to her nightstand and pulling out a circular plastic case. “Actually, I’ll need some of those. See? Good timing for my trip. Well, as far as you’re concerned, anyway.” She points to the pack, which will be empty in a week.
He peers at it, not sure what he’s looking at. “What does that mean, exactly? You’ll have to pardon me, but I am a bit ignorant here.”
“Female issues while I’m in America. So my, um, lady parts won’t even be open for business most of the time I’m there.”
“Aha,” he says, understanding, unable to keep from smiling.
“You are so predictable,” she groans, dropping the pack back in the drawer.
“Sorry,” he says, trying to stop smiling. “Oh. Ugh. So you mean that these,” he prods the pile of knickers with a finger, “are your…”
“Period panties, yes,” she declares, purposely being as straightforward as possible about it because he is so clearly horrified por the concept. She strides to the pile, counting on her fingers, and removes a few pairs back to the drawer, returning with an equal number of nicer ones.
“Do… do all girls do that? Have special knickers for… that?”
“As far as I know. Don’t want to wear the nice ones during that time, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to know, actually,” he says, settling back down on the bed. “I think I’ll just watch.”
“Probably best,” she laughs.
“Can I take you to the airport?” he asks, picking up one of her romance novels.
“My dad is, actually. The flight is early.”
“Oh,” he frowns. “How early?”
“7:30, which means he’ll be picking me up around five. But,” she says, “you can pick me up when I come back. He has to work.”
“What time will that be?”
“It will be a week from Friday at… hang on,” she picks up a sheet of paper. “9:35.”
“P.M.?”
“A.M.”
He smiles. “Good. I’ll tell Gwaine I’m not working that day, so I can spend the whole dia with you. Even if you’re just sleeping.”
“Silly man,” she says absently.
“Oh, wait. I don’t have a car.”
“So take mine. It’s a Mini, so don’t bring any passengers,” she laughs.
“Okay. Can I…?” he trails off.
“What?”
“Can I bring in your mail for you while your gone? Keep an eye on your flat? Water your plants? Something?”
“Yes, of course. I don’t have any plants, though. But yes, bring in my mail, por all means, thank you.”
She walks over to him, and sees him flipping through the book. “Looking for pointers?” she laughs.
Arthur chuckles. “I don’t need any help, thank you very much.”
Darn right you don’t, she thinks. Then she remembers.
Gwen sits down on the cama seguinte to him and kisses him sweetly, lips soft and moist. “Arthur,” she says, opening her eyes.
“Mmm?” he asks.
“I thought of something.”
“You what, now?”
“Remember what you asked me last weekend?”
“I asked you a lot of things last weekend.”
“About any… kinks?”
His eyes widen. “Oh, that.”
“I’ve thought of something I’d like to try.”
Arthur has grown bored watching Gwen pack and has found a pad of paper and is idly doodling, drawing his own version of the cover from her romance novel, except he’s using himself and Guinevere instead of the original models.
“What are you doing there?” she asks, peeking over. She laughs loudly when she sees what he’s doing.
“I like the long, flowing Mohawk you’ve given yourself,” she says. She turns her head, looking closer. “Arthur, my breasts are nowhere near that large, and you know it.”
He laughs, “Just following the style, Sweet.” He holds up the book. “I’d wager hers are nowhere near that large, either,” he says, pointing.
“And your chest is… who could that be?” she looks up, interrupted por a knock at the door.
Gwen walks out and Arthur follows at a small distance, curious. She goes to the door and opens it.
“Dad! Hi!” she exclaims. “This is a surprise.” She reaches up and hugs him.
“Sorry, Princess, I would have called, but I was out at the shops and got something for your trip, and I was coming right past. Are you busy?” he asks.
“No, just working on packing. Um, you get to meet Arthur, though.”
“Oh, really?” he says, peering into her living room. “Where is he?”
She turns around. “He was right behind me…” she muses, but then they hear the distinct sound of three bottles of cerveja, ale being opened. “Oh.”
Arthur comes out with the bottles, offering one first to Gwen, then Tom.
“Dad, this is Arthur Pendragon,” she says, taking her bottle. “Arthur, my father, Tom Degrance.”
“Thanks,” Tom says, impressed at the peace offering. Mohawk. Nose ring. Pierced ears. Wonder how many tatuagens he has?
“Very nice to meet you, sir,” Arthur says, offering his hand.
Sir, even? Either he’s buttering me up or his privileged upbringing is actually intact. “You, too,” he says, taking the younger man’s hand and shaking it firmly, trying not to be too obvious that he’s inspecting the offered arm for needle marks. Gwen said he was clean, but I’m checking anyway.
“Come sit,” Gwen says, leading them to the living room.
Tom sits beside Gwen on the sofa, and Arthur takes the chair. Tom looks closely at his daughter. “Guinevere, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, puzzled.
“Your eyes look a little red is all. Like you’ve been crying.”
“Um, truth is, sir, we had a bit of an argument a short time ago,” Arthur offers, looking properly sheepish.
“Oh?”
“Arthur…” Gwen says.
“No reason to hide it, Sweet,” he says. “I was being somewhat a prat about her going away, and she let me have it. Appropriately so, I might add,” he says, twisting his mouth to the side.
“I see,” Tom says, carefully neutral. He’s honest. He owns up to his mistakes. seguinte thing I know we’ll be finding out he’s really royalty or something.
“Yeah, um, I’ve got a bit of a protective side—”
“Overprotective,” Gwen clarifies.
“Yeah,” he admits. “But surely, as a father, her father, and a man of the law, you can appreciate my concern, sir.”
“Um, yes,” Tom says, surprised at himself. “I’m not entirely thrilled with her going alone either, but you try stopping her when she has her mind set on something,” he says, chuckling.
“I’m beginning to discover that,” Arthur laughs now, too.
“But I know that Elyan will look after her. He may be a pastry chef, but he’s no pansy, that’s for damn sure,” Tom says, taking a pull from his bottle.
Gwen sighs. “If the two of you are finished throwing your testosterone around, may I have my present?” she asks, looking at her father.
“Mmm. Yes, sorry, here.” He gives her the bag, and she digs inside, producing a new Polaroid camera.
“Dad! You didn’t!”
“I did. If I couldn’t be there, I wanted you to be able to take a whole ton of pictures for me. There’s a case for it and several packs of film in there, too.”
She jumps over and hugs the burly man, squeezing his neck. “Thank you, Daddy, I amor it,” she says, beijar his cheek.
“Is that one of those where the fotografia comes right out?” Arthur asks, leaning progressivo, para a frente and setting his bottle on a coaster.
“Yes,” Gwen says, opening the box eagerly, grinning like a little girl at Christmas.
“Cool.”
“Arthur,” Tom turns his attention to him while Gwen gets her new toy set up.
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t like the way you look,” he starts.
“Daddy…”
He holds up his hand, “But you seem a decent bloke. Guinevere certainly seems happy with you. And clearly you do care about her.”
“I do, sir.”
“Just remember this, young man: I carry a gun and know how to use it.”
“Understood.”
“I also know six ways to permanently disable a man.”
“Well, you’ll have to discuss that subject with Ox on Monday, sir. He can teach you four more.”
Tom stops short, his mouth open. Gwen watches. Suddenly he starts laughing, a deep joyous rumble.
“You’re okay, lad,” he says, sitting back and taking another drink from his bottle.
Gwen breathes again, snapping the door closed, securing the film inside the camera. “There,” she declares, and immediately lifts the camera to her eye and snaps a shot of Arthur, his face still twinkling with laughter.
“That’s the memory I want to take with me,” she declares, pulling the fotografia from the camera.
As she watches, the gray square gradually transforms into an image of Arthur’s handsome laughing face.
“When are you going to tell me?” he asks, poking a bite of peixe with his fork. He’s been preoccupied since she teased him with her news this afternoon.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says evasively. “I might yet chicken out.”
“Guinevere, you promised.”
“Did I?”
“I think so. Sure, why not? You did. And besides, it’s practically all I’ve been thinking about since then. I’m going mad, honestly. It would be most unfair to leave me… hanging.”
“I know. I’m still trying to decide exactly what I want to do.”
“I could help you if you’d tell me,” he tries. “This is good fish, por the way.”
“Thank you. And I’ll think about telling you,” she teases.
He makes a frustrated growl and picks up his bottle of ale, taking a drink.
Gwen reaches over and picks up the fotografia she took of him. “I’ll bring this with me on my trip,” she says.
“Can I take one of you?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Not here,” he looks around.
“Um…” she hesitates, afraid he’s got something in mind that she might not be comfortable with.
“No, no, nothing indecent!” he exclaims, laughing. “I just want a fotografia of you someplace other than your kitchen.”
“Why? We’ve got some good memories in this kitchen, I seem to recall,” she purrs, leaning progressivo, para a frente and sliding her foot up his leg.
He shudders slightly, leaning progressivo, para a frente to kiss her across the table. “Tell me,” he whispers.
“Later.”
He makes a frustrated grunt, and leans back. “Pain.”
“Yes. Done?” she asks, even though his plate is empty.
“Yeah,” he answers, standing when she takes his plate. He follows her to the sink and starts poking through cupboards to look for something sweet.
“You are hopeless,” she says, putting the dishes in the sink.
“And you don’t have any good sweets.”
“If I had them, I would eat them.”
“Kind of the point.”
“Check the freezer.”
“Aha. Ice cream.” He pulls out the carton and finds a spoon, leaning against the counter. He digs in and eats straight from the container.
“Arthur…” she sighs at him.
“What?” he asks, mouth full of ice cream. “You want to wash another bowl?”
“I suppose you’ve a point,” she allows, turning back to the sink.
Arthur finishes what he wants of it and returns the carton to the freezer. Gwen is still standing at the sink, drying the dishes now, and he comes up behind her, slipping his arms around her to wash his spoon.
He nibbles at her neck lightly as he dries the spoon with the corner of the towel she has in her hand.
Gwen sighs and leans back against him. He turns her face gently towards him, angling it up and back, beijar her softly but ardently.
He pulls away gently, tugging her lower lip lightly with his teeth as he does so. Staring down into her clear brown eyes, he caresses her cheek.
“Come on, tell me.”
Part 14: link
“So, Ox starts training on Monday with Scotland Yard,” Arthur informs her. They are having lunch at a café, eating outside, enjoying a pleasant Saturday now that the heat has finally broken.
“Yes, I know. He told me,” Gwen smiles at him, poking a cucumber from her salada with her fork.
“He did?”
“Yes, Wednesday. He bombarded me outside again when I was coming to meet you. Picked me up and gave me a huge hug that nearly cracked my ribs, he was so excited,” she laughs.
Arthur scowls.
“Now, don’t be cruz with him, he didn’t hurt me. Or are you annoyed that I already knew your news?”
“Both.”
She laughs again, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
“The only person not happy about this development for him is Leon,” Arthur comments. “I mean, he’s happy for Ox and all, but now he has to find a new bouncer for the pub, you know?”
“Yes, I suppose. He said he’d still help out when he could, like weekends, but we all know that won’t last,” Gwen adds, once again showing that she knows mais than he realizes.
“Poor Leon,” Arthur muses, “he got off easy because he’s known Ox forever and so the job was an easy fit. Leon’s father owns the building that the pub and the comprar are in. Or did you know that, too?”
“No, I didn’t know that. I did wonder, though, since you said that Leon only manages the pub.”
“Yeah, his dad owns it. But it’s basically Leon’s, since his dad tends to spend most of his time in the Mediterranean, on a semi-permanent vacation.”
“Must be nice to have a bit of cash,” Gwen says.
“Right,” Arthur says, a little bitterly.
“Oh, sorry,” she apologizes.
“No, it’s fine. I rather like not being tied to my father’s bolsa strings. Means I’m not under his thumb, you see.”
“Yes,” Gwen says, but she is not entirely convinced. “So where does Merlin live?”
“With Leon. They’re flatmates. That way one of them is always close por if needed at the pub. Ox has a place not far away, too, a basement flat like mine. It’s awful for him, though. Low ceiling.”
“Oh no!” she exclaims, laughing.
“Speaking of Merlin, have you finished his manuscript?” he asks, taking a bit of his burger.
“Almost. I’m actually editing it as I read.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s all a part of my sinister master plan, you see. I’m going to convince Mr. Gaius to read it, and he’ll not only see Merlin’s brilliant writing, but my brilliant editing as well.”
“You clever little fox, you,” he says, grinning.
“Is it… too brash of me?” she asks, suddenly unsure.
“No, it’s brilliant, really. I mean, why not give yourself a little push as well?”
“That’s what I was originally thinking, but I’m starting to have segundo thoughts.”
“Don’t. You deserve to be mais than just a receptionist. You know it, and I know it. This may be the only way for you to show Mr. Gaius what you can do. So proceed with your plan or I will come to your office and handle things myself. I’ll wear my most offensive t-shirt, and I’ll bring Gwaine with me.”
She holds her hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll do it!”
“When?” he asks.
“When?” she repeats.
“Yes. You need to decide when and stick to it so you can’t keep putting it off. Give yourself a deadline, so to speak.”
Damn him, he’s right. She takes a deep breath. “I’ll do it Tuesday before I leave for my trip. That way he can have that week and a half to look it over without my interference, and I won’t be sitting there outside his office wondering if he’s leitura it.”
“Perfect,” he says, nodding.
Guinevere is packing. Arthur is pouting. She is ignoring him, pulling things out of wardrobes and drawers, holding them up and either putting them back or into the suitcase.
“You’re not leaving for four mais days, Guinevere,” he protests, sitting like a lump of a spoiled child on her bed, kicking her suitcase.
“And if you’re going to carry on like this for the seguinte four days, you can go início and stay there,” she says, fixing him in her stare, her hands on her hips.
“Sorry. I just…”
“Just say it. You don’t want me to go.”
“I don’t.”
“Too bad,” she says, spinning away.
“I know. That’s what’s so irritating.”
“Would you really stop me if you could?” she asks, turning back again. “Think carefully about your answer.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. “No.”
“Good answer,” she snaps, turning back to her wardrobe once again, now pulling clothes out a little mais vigorously than before, as if she is angry with them instead of him.
Shit. “Guinevere,” he says, climbing off the cama and walking over to her. “I’m sorry, Sweet,” he says quietly, putting his hands on her shoulders.
She moves away from him, shrugging him off with a sniffle.
Fuck me, she’s crying. I made her cry. I never wanted to do that. “Guinevere,” he tries again, following her into the bathroom.
She is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, tissue clutched in her hand. “I was really looking progressivo, para a frente to this trip, Arthur. I’ve had it planned for almost a year. And if you’re going to be a giant pain in the arse about it, then we’re going to have a problem. I won’t allow you to ruin my vacation.”
He drops to his knees on the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost a plea, surprised to find tears pricking at his eyes as well. Go away, go away. “I want you to have a good time with your brother, I really do. Really,” he says, taking her empty hand. “It’s just… difficult for me. I’m going to miss you so much,” he admits softly.
“I’m going to miss you, too, Arthur, but I know that’s not the only reason you don’t want me to go.” She dabs her eyes with the tissue.
He looks to the side. She already knows me too well.
“What did we promise at jantar with your sister?” she asks.
“That you wouldn’t run off on me in Chicago and I wouldn’t have a fit about you going.”
“Yes. And…?”
“And I just fucked it right up, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Arthur. I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?”
“Of course.”
She studies him, not sure if she believes him or not.
“Really. I do trust you. I…”
“I know, Arthur. You want to protect me. Well, that’s not always going to be possible.”
“I have a hard time accepting that.”
“I know. But you have to figure out how. Because I’m leaving in four days, and I want these last four days before I go to be good ones, do you understand me?”
“Whoa. Strict. Yes, I understand. I want the same thing.”
“And if you’re going to be a… a bitch the entire time, then that’s not going to happen.”
He actually chuckles at her calling him a bitch. “I know.”
“So stop it.”
“Okay.” His shoulders slump slightly.
“Now get out. I have to pee,” she says, shoving him lightly.
He leans over and kisses her cheek before leaving her alone in the bathroom. In the hallway, he leans his head against the wall, still furious with himself. Stupid, stupid. You like this girl. No, you amor her. Just admit it, you do. Don’t go all Alpha Male on her or she will walk. You know this. Get it together or you will lose her.
“Arthur?” Gwen’s soft voice reaches his ears, and he lifts his head from the wall.
“I’m okay,” he says, straightening up and holding his arms out to her. She walks into his embrace, holding his waist tightly as he wraps his arms around her, beijar the topo, início of her head.
Tell her.
No, don’t. It’s too early. You’ll scare her away.
But it’s a perfect moment to say it.
Wait.
“Will you help me pack?” she asks, looking up at him, her eyes rimmed with red.
He smiles and strokes her cheek. “Of course.”
Arthur immediately dives into her underwear drawer and proceeds to dig until he finds ten of the most unattractive pairs of knickers he can find.
“There,” he declares.
Gwen looks and bursts forth laughing, unable to help herself. “You are ridiculous,” she says. “But actually…” she says, going to her nightstand and pulling out a circular plastic case. “Actually, I’ll need some of those. See? Good timing for my trip. Well, as far as you’re concerned, anyway.” She points to the pack, which will be empty in a week.
He peers at it, not sure what he’s looking at. “What does that mean, exactly? You’ll have to pardon me, but I am a bit ignorant here.”
“Female issues while I’m in America. So my, um, lady parts won’t even be open for business most of the time I’m there.”
“Aha,” he says, understanding, unable to keep from smiling.
“You are so predictable,” she groans, dropping the pack back in the drawer.
“Sorry,” he says, trying to stop smiling. “Oh. Ugh. So you mean that these,” he prods the pile of knickers with a finger, “are your…”
“Period panties, yes,” she declares, purposely being as straightforward as possible about it because he is so clearly horrified por the concept. She strides to the pile, counting on her fingers, and removes a few pairs back to the drawer, returning with an equal number of nicer ones.
“Do… do all girls do that? Have special knickers for… that?”
“As far as I know. Don’t want to wear the nice ones during that time, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to know, actually,” he says, settling back down on the bed. “I think I’ll just watch.”
“Probably best,” she laughs.
“Can I take you to the airport?” he asks, picking up one of her romance novels.
“My dad is, actually. The flight is early.”
“Oh,” he frowns. “How early?”
“7:30, which means he’ll be picking me up around five. But,” she says, “you can pick me up when I come back. He has to work.”
“What time will that be?”
“It will be a week from Friday at… hang on,” she picks up a sheet of paper. “9:35.”
“P.M.?”
“A.M.”
He smiles. “Good. I’ll tell Gwaine I’m not working that day, so I can spend the whole dia with you. Even if you’re just sleeping.”
“Silly man,” she says absently.
“Oh, wait. I don’t have a car.”
“So take mine. It’s a Mini, so don’t bring any passengers,” she laughs.
“Okay. Can I…?” he trails off.
“What?”
“Can I bring in your mail for you while your gone? Keep an eye on your flat? Water your plants? Something?”
“Yes, of course. I don’t have any plants, though. But yes, bring in my mail, por all means, thank you.”
She walks over to him, and sees him flipping through the book. “Looking for pointers?” she laughs.
Arthur chuckles. “I don’t need any help, thank you very much.”
Darn right you don’t, she thinks. Then she remembers.
Gwen sits down on the cama seguinte to him and kisses him sweetly, lips soft and moist. “Arthur,” she says, opening her eyes.
“Mmm?” he asks.
“I thought of something.”
“You what, now?”
“Remember what you asked me last weekend?”
“I asked you a lot of things last weekend.”
“About any… kinks?”
His eyes widen. “Oh, that.”
“I’ve thought of something I’d like to try.”
Arthur has grown bored watching Gwen pack and has found a pad of paper and is idly doodling, drawing his own version of the cover from her romance novel, except he’s using himself and Guinevere instead of the original models.
“What are you doing there?” she asks, peeking over. She laughs loudly when she sees what he’s doing.
“I like the long, flowing Mohawk you’ve given yourself,” she says. She turns her head, looking closer. “Arthur, my breasts are nowhere near that large, and you know it.”
He laughs, “Just following the style, Sweet.” He holds up the book. “I’d wager hers are nowhere near that large, either,” he says, pointing.
“And your chest is… who could that be?” she looks up, interrupted por a knock at the door.
Gwen walks out and Arthur follows at a small distance, curious. She goes to the door and opens it.
“Dad! Hi!” she exclaims. “This is a surprise.” She reaches up and hugs him.
“Sorry, Princess, I would have called, but I was out at the shops and got something for your trip, and I was coming right past. Are you busy?” he asks.
“No, just working on packing. Um, you get to meet Arthur, though.”
“Oh, really?” he says, peering into her living room. “Where is he?”
She turns around. “He was right behind me…” she muses, but then they hear the distinct sound of three bottles of cerveja, ale being opened. “Oh.”
Arthur comes out with the bottles, offering one first to Gwen, then Tom.
“Dad, this is Arthur Pendragon,” she says, taking her bottle. “Arthur, my father, Tom Degrance.”
“Thanks,” Tom says, impressed at the peace offering. Mohawk. Nose ring. Pierced ears. Wonder how many tatuagens he has?
“Very nice to meet you, sir,” Arthur says, offering his hand.
Sir, even? Either he’s buttering me up or his privileged upbringing is actually intact. “You, too,” he says, taking the younger man’s hand and shaking it firmly, trying not to be too obvious that he’s inspecting the offered arm for needle marks. Gwen said he was clean, but I’m checking anyway.
“Come sit,” Gwen says, leading them to the living room.
Tom sits beside Gwen on the sofa, and Arthur takes the chair. Tom looks closely at his daughter. “Guinevere, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, puzzled.
“Your eyes look a little red is all. Like you’ve been crying.”
“Um, truth is, sir, we had a bit of an argument a short time ago,” Arthur offers, looking properly sheepish.
“Oh?”
“Arthur…” Gwen says.
“No reason to hide it, Sweet,” he says. “I was being somewhat a prat about her going away, and she let me have it. Appropriately so, I might add,” he says, twisting his mouth to the side.
“I see,” Tom says, carefully neutral. He’s honest. He owns up to his mistakes. seguinte thing I know we’ll be finding out he’s really royalty or something.
“Yeah, um, I’ve got a bit of a protective side—”
“Overprotective,” Gwen clarifies.
“Yeah,” he admits. “But surely, as a father, her father, and a man of the law, you can appreciate my concern, sir.”
“Um, yes,” Tom says, surprised at himself. “I’m not entirely thrilled with her going alone either, but you try stopping her when she has her mind set on something,” he says, chuckling.
“I’m beginning to discover that,” Arthur laughs now, too.
“But I know that Elyan will look after her. He may be a pastry chef, but he’s no pansy, that’s for damn sure,” Tom says, taking a pull from his bottle.
Gwen sighs. “If the two of you are finished throwing your testosterone around, may I have my present?” she asks, looking at her father.
“Mmm. Yes, sorry, here.” He gives her the bag, and she digs inside, producing a new Polaroid camera.
“Dad! You didn’t!”
“I did. If I couldn’t be there, I wanted you to be able to take a whole ton of pictures for me. There’s a case for it and several packs of film in there, too.”
She jumps over and hugs the burly man, squeezing his neck. “Thank you, Daddy, I amor it,” she says, beijar his cheek.
“Is that one of those where the fotografia comes right out?” Arthur asks, leaning progressivo, para a frente and setting his bottle on a coaster.
“Yes,” Gwen says, opening the box eagerly, grinning like a little girl at Christmas.
“Cool.”
“Arthur,” Tom turns his attention to him while Gwen gets her new toy set up.
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t like the way you look,” he starts.
“Daddy…”
He holds up his hand, “But you seem a decent bloke. Guinevere certainly seems happy with you. And clearly you do care about her.”
“I do, sir.”
“Just remember this, young man: I carry a gun and know how to use it.”
“Understood.”
“I also know six ways to permanently disable a man.”
“Well, you’ll have to discuss that subject with Ox on Monday, sir. He can teach you four more.”
Tom stops short, his mouth open. Gwen watches. Suddenly he starts laughing, a deep joyous rumble.
“You’re okay, lad,” he says, sitting back and taking another drink from his bottle.
Gwen breathes again, snapping the door closed, securing the film inside the camera. “There,” she declares, and immediately lifts the camera to her eye and snaps a shot of Arthur, his face still twinkling with laughter.
“That’s the memory I want to take with me,” she declares, pulling the fotografia from the camera.
As she watches, the gray square gradually transforms into an image of Arthur’s handsome laughing face.
“When are you going to tell me?” he asks, poking a bite of peixe with his fork. He’s been preoccupied since she teased him with her news this afternoon.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says evasively. “I might yet chicken out.”
“Guinevere, you promised.”
“Did I?”
“I think so. Sure, why not? You did. And besides, it’s practically all I’ve been thinking about since then. I’m going mad, honestly. It would be most unfair to leave me… hanging.”
“I know. I’m still trying to decide exactly what I want to do.”
“I could help you if you’d tell me,” he tries. “This is good fish, por the way.”
“Thank you. And I’ll think about telling you,” she teases.
He makes a frustrated growl and picks up his bottle of ale, taking a drink.
Gwen reaches over and picks up the fotografia she took of him. “I’ll bring this with me on my trip,” she says.
“Can I take one of you?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Not here,” he looks around.
“Um…” she hesitates, afraid he’s got something in mind that she might not be comfortable with.
“No, no, nothing indecent!” he exclaims, laughing. “I just want a fotografia of you someplace other than your kitchen.”
“Why? We’ve got some good memories in this kitchen, I seem to recall,” she purrs, leaning progressivo, para a frente and sliding her foot up his leg.
He shudders slightly, leaning progressivo, para a frente to kiss her across the table. “Tell me,” he whispers.
“Later.”
He makes a frustrated grunt, and leans back. “Pain.”
“Yes. Done?” she asks, even though his plate is empty.
“Yeah,” he answers, standing when she takes his plate. He follows her to the sink and starts poking through cupboards to look for something sweet.
“You are hopeless,” she says, putting the dishes in the sink.
“And you don’t have any good sweets.”
“If I had them, I would eat them.”
“Kind of the point.”
“Check the freezer.”
“Aha. Ice cream.” He pulls out the carton and finds a spoon, leaning against the counter. He digs in and eats straight from the container.
“Arthur…” she sighs at him.
“What?” he asks, mouth full of ice cream. “You want to wash another bowl?”
“I suppose you’ve a point,” she allows, turning back to the sink.
Arthur finishes what he wants of it and returns the carton to the freezer. Gwen is still standing at the sink, drying the dishes now, and he comes up behind her, slipping his arms around her to wash his spoon.
He nibbles at her neck lightly as he dries the spoon with the corner of the towel she has in her hand.
Gwen sighs and leans back against him. He turns her face gently towards him, angling it up and back, beijar her softly but ardently.
He pulls away gently, tugging her lower lip lightly with his teeth as he does so. Staring down into her clear brown eyes, he caresses her cheek.
“Come on, tell me.”
Part 14: link
