Part 40: link
Arthur stands on the front porch of Pendragon manor, the painting held carefully in his hand, resting on his boot.
Why did I let them talk me into this?
Taking a deep breath, he presses the doorbell.
Run. Run now. Go. Run!
The door opens and Arthur is face to face with Joseph, his father’s butler.
“Joseph,” Arthur nods at him, his face carefully calm.
“Oh. Mister Arthur. Is… is Master expecting you?” His years of faithful service to Uther Pendragon has taught him how to carefully school his facial expressions so that they betray nothing of what he is actually thinking.
“He’s expecting a delivery,” Arthur indicates the painting.
Joseph bends slightly and peers at it. “Excellent brushwork, Mister Arthur,” he comments, knowing immediately and inexplicably that it is Arthur’s work.
“Thank you.”
The butler steps aside. “Please, come in. I will fetch the Master.”
Arthur walks in, the familiar sights and smells of his boyhood início washing over him. How many times did I fall down those stairs? he thinks, looking up at the grand staircase in the foyer. Joseph leads him to the sitting room, where Arthur does just that. He sits.
A few minutos later, Uther strides into the sitting room, stopping cold when he sees that Arthur has delivered the painting personally.
“Father,” Arthur says coolly, not standing.
“Arthur,” Uther replies with equal distance.
“Thank you for buying my painting.”
“I see you had it framed. I did not ask for it to be framed.”
Arthur sighs. “Gee, you’re welcome,” he rolls his eyes. Nothing is ever right.
“It is a good frame.”
“It was Guinevere’s idea.”
“Guinevere? Is that her name?”
“Yes.”
“And was you delivering this painting yourself also her idea?” he asks. He hasn’t moved from his place in the doorway.
“Hers and Merlin’s.”
“Mmm.”
Neither speaks for a moment. Then Uther breaks the silence. “She is lovely.”
“Yes, she is.”
“She works for Will Gaius, I understand?”
“Who told you…? Morgana,” Arthur respostas his own question.
Uther nods. “She’s been pushing again.”
“She sent you the flyer. For the opening.”
Uther nods again.
“Thank you for coming. Why didn’t…” he starts to ask.
“Why didn’t I talk to you? I… I don’t know. I couldn’t. I only came because I had to see for myself. See if you were indeed any good. See if you do truly still look like…” he gestures toward Arthur, waving his hand up and down, “that.”
“Father, if you had bothered to actually pay attention to me while I was growing up, you would already know how good I am,” Arthur says crossly. “You came out of morbid curiosity. You came because now that I’ve had a glimmer of success, suddenly I might be good enough to be your son again. You wanted to see if I was worthy of you yet,” he adds, somewhat sadly. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t stand.
“Perhaps,” he admits slowly.
“You know I’m right.”
Uther sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What is it you want from me, Arthur?”
Arthur stands now. “I want you to accept me for who I am, even though who I am is not who you wanted me to be. I want you to respect me for making my own choices rather than condemning me for it.”
With that, Arthur strides from the room, brushing past his father, leaving the painting leaning against the side of the settee.
“Arthur,” Uther says. Arthur is in the foyer, halfway to the front door. He stops, but does not turn.
“What?”
“Do you amor her? Guinevere?”
“More than anything,” he says, turning slightly so that his father can see his serious expression.
“Take care of her.”
Arthur turns and walks out the door, striding purposefully toward Gwen’s Mini. “Since when are you qualified to dispense fatherly advice?” he mutters to himself, slamming the door.
Uther stands in the window watching his son peel away in the small green car. I thought he had a motorcycle. All the reports I’ve gotten on him state that he is only ever seen driving a temperamental motorcycle. Or as a passenger in Merlin’s rather unstable Ford Popular. Must be Guinevere’s car.
Turning back, he walks over and picks up the painting, studying it again. I remember this storm like it happened yesterday. It was massive. I had to carry them to their beds from where they were hiding under the table.
He really does have talent. But he’s right. If he were talentless I probably wouldn’t care. And what of the girl? There is something very special about her. What is it that she sees, that everyone else sees, that I don’t?
This is a beautiful frame. She has excellent taste.
“How did it go?” Gwen asks when Arthur returns home.
“About how I expected,” he says, which tells her nothing.
“Care to elaborate?”
He sighs. Not really. “I said my piece. Told him what was on my mind. Felt good to get it off my chest.” He goes on to detail their conversation, even telling her that Uther asked after her.
“It is a step in the right direction,” Gwen says, noting that Arthur doesn’t seem to have forgiven anything.
“A step?”
“Arthur, don’t get angry with me, but yes, a step. I’m happy that you were able to voice your thoughts to him. To get him to start owning up to his behavior.”
“But?”
“But you haven’t forgiven him yet.”
“I don’t think I’m ready yet, Guinevere.”
Gwen breathes a sigh of relief. The fact that he’s still discussing this with me calmly is a very good thing.
“I understand,” she says. “Come here,” she calls to him, reaching her hand out to him from her place on the sofa.
He crosses to her and sits, and she pulls him gently against her, wrapping him in her arms.
“I’m trying not to push,” she says. “I amor you, Arthur, and if you are hurting, even a little, even if it’s buried deep, I feel that hurt as well. If you and your father are truly not meant to reconcile, so be it. But it won’t be because you didn’t try.”
“It’s annoying, how smart you are,” he says, closing his eyes, treasuring the feel of her arms around him, her fingertips trailing on his scalp.
“It is a curse,” she says, smiling, leaning down to kiss his head. “Don’t give up yet.”
“The seguinte mover is his,” Arthur declares.
We’ll see, Gwen thinks, squeezing him.
Saturday morning, Arthur and Gwen head to the gallery. The show is over, some paintings have been delivered, and the rest are being taken down in preparation for delivery.
“So sad,” Gwen says, looking around.
“Yes, but you get paid, so that is not so sad,” Annis’ voice behind her makes her jump.
“Annis, how lovely to see you,” Gwen says, smiling as the older woman steps over to embrace her, beijar both her cheeks.
“Gwen, I’m happy to see you, too,” Annis says.
“Thank you for everything you’re doing for Arthur,” Gwen says.
“It’s nothing,” she waves her off.
“It’s everything. You have no idea how much he appreciates it,” she says.
“He can speak, you know,” Arthur chimes in, stepping over to hug Annis.
“Hello, darling,” Annis greets him. “Have you started the triptych yet?”
“Laying it out, yes,” he says dutifully.
“Good boy,” she pats his shoulder, then strides back to Lance. “Lancelot, my pet, my truck will be arriving presently. Are all my things ready to go?”
“Of course they are, Annis,” Lance chuckles, pointing to a stack of paintings leaning against a mural to one side.
“We need to embrulho, envoltório this one up to take home,” Arthur says, wandering over to his favorito piece.
“Yes, yes, your precious painting will make it safely início with you,” Lance rolls his eyes.
“Come to Papa,” Arthur says, reaching up and taking it down from the wall.
“He is insane,” Gwen says to Annis.
“He is in love,” Annis replies, and Gwen blushes.
“Come, let’s find out how much Lance and Arthur have made,” Annis says, looping her arm through Gwen’s and walking her back to the desk.
“All right, you know I amor my art, Lance, but this is the fun part,” she says, her eyes twinkling.
“I don’t understand why this is so fun for you, Annis. About half of this came from your accounts,” Lance says.
“I know, but I just amor seeing the look on a new young artist’s face when he sees his check from his first successful show,” she grins. “And our Drag has such an expressive face that I doubt I will be disappointed.”
“You noticed that, huh?” Gwen asks, amused.
“How can one not notice?” Annis chuckles. “He’s positively adorable.”
Gwen guffaws. “Don’t let him hear you say that!”
“Why ever not?”
“He hates being called anything remotely close to ‘cute.’ Even though he completely is,” Gwen says, smiling over at him, still talking to his painting as he wraps the thick brown paper around it.
“I am certain he allows you that privilege,” Annis says, arching an eyebrow at Gwen.
“Reluctantly,” Gwen smirks. “Arthur, when you’re done making amor to your painting, perhaps you’d care to cadastrar-se us?” she calls.
“Huh?” Arthur’s head snaps up, Gwen’s voice drawing him back to reality. “Oh. Right.” He leans the painting on the wall, ponders it a moment, then reaches for a marker. He writes the word “mine” across the paper before turning back to cadastrar-se them.
“Arthur, really,” Gwen says, tilting her head at him.
“Well, they all look the same now. I had to do something to identify it,” he defends his actions.
“Yes, but ‘mine?’ Are you four years old?”
“You’d better hope not,” he mutters close in her ear and kisses her neck.
“All right, you two, I still have imagens of Gwaine and Morgana’s makeout session scarring my brain, don’t add to my misery,” Lance complains, unceremoniously thrusting a check at Arthur.
Annis is not disappointed. Arthur gapes. He positively gapes. Blue-grey eyes huge, jaw on the floor.
“So, then, I need to give you your ten percent from this, right?” he asks, apparently unable to believe the amount is all for him.
“No, mate, that’s all yours. My cut is already subtracted, look,” Lance leans over and points to some numbers on the topo, início half of the check. “That is the full total, there. My percentage, tax and all that legal shit, and the rest is yours,” he moves his finger down the rows as he talks.
“Holy fuck,” Arthur whispers. “Oh, sorry,” he looks up and apologizes to Annis.
She just smiles, quite satisfied in her new investment, her new protégé. “And that’s not even the best part,” she says, looking at Lance.
“What? There’s a best part? Bester than this?” he waves the check in the air, passing it to Gwen, who gasps.
“You have two commissions, Drag,” Lance says.
“What? Two? Who from?” Arthur sputters, digging into his pocket for a limão drop, needing his doces immediately.
“Damn, I’m out…” he mutters, and Gwen digs into her purse, handing him one from a little plastic baggie she has inside.
“I amor you,” he says, taking the candy.
“Well, the first came from none other than William Gaius,” Lance says, looking at Gwen.
“Really? Bloody hell!” Gwen exclaims, shocked.
“And the segundo is from Sunshine Childcare Center,” he finishes, still looking at Gwen.
“The people who bought the painting of little Arthur and Merlin?” Gwen says. “Arthur, you remember, I told you about that. When you were sick. The creepy guy and the nice woman?”
“Yes, but a childcare center?” Arthur asks.
“Do you dislike children?” Lance asks, glancing at Gwen.
“No, I amor them, I’m just surprised. What could they possibly want?”
“Art, darling,” Annis says, chuckling.
Lance and Gwen laugh, but Arthur just sighs. “You know what I mean.”
“You’ll have to go and find out. Here,” he hands Arthur a card. “Call them Monday. Ask for Sharon.” He points to a name written on the back. “And Mr. Gaius is expecting a call from you as well.”
“Alison was nice,” Gwen says to Arthur as they enter their flat, just início from the pub. Ox had finally gotten up the courage to ask the young lady out, and he brought her to the pub after their date.
“Yes, Ox seems quite smitten,” Arthur says, cursing as he nearly trips over Iggy as he bounds towards Gwen, meowing and rubbing against her legs.
“Hello, Baby,” she coos at the cat, reaching down to stroke his ears. “Come, Mummy bought you some new treats,” she adds, heading for the cozinha while Arthur stares after them.
Mummy?
“What?” Gwen says, seeing his face as she emerges from the kitchen, a few morsels in her hand, Iggy at her feet, looking expectantly up at her.
“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Mummy’ to my cat?”
“Yes,” she says casually, sitting and patting her lap. Iggy hops up and Gwen feeds him a treat, which he takes delicately from her fingers. “And I believe he is officially our cat, darling.”
“More like your cat,” he mutters, removing his boots. “What are those?”
“Freeze-dried chicken livers.”
“Yum.”
“They’re not for you,” she laughs.
Arthur strides through the flat yanking his t-shirt off and yawning as he goes. Gwen hears him groaning and stretching, clearly tired from a very busy day. The toilet flushes. A drawer opens and closes. A moment later he strolls back out in his athletic shorts, comfy as you please.
“All done there?” he asks. Gwen holds her hands up, empty. “Good. Push off, Ig,” Arthur says, but he scratches the cat under his chin first before gently nudging him away.
“My hands smell like liver, hang on,” Gwen says, standing. Arthur plunks down on the sofa.
She returns, hands washed, and Arthur pulls her down on topo, início of him, beijar her, burrowing his hands into her hair.
“Leon’s new bartender seems a good chap,” she says, cuddling down against his chest.
“Poof,” Arthur declares.
“Honestly, Arthur, what is it with you?” Gwen lifts her head and asks him, incredulous.
“No, honest, he is. Told Leon straight away.”
“Oh.” She puts her head on his chest. “Doesn’t change my opinion.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy. Maybe we should set him up with Lance.”
She lifts her head again. “Lance is not gay!”
“Until I have conclusive evidence to the contrary, I am standing por my opinion,” he says, worming his hand underneath the back of her shirt.
She sighs, weary of this topic, tracing his dragon with her finger. “How much longer are you going to work at Excalibur?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Don’t know. I haven’t spent a full dia there since before the opening. I’m sure Gwaine’s already looking for a replacement.” His hand is caressing her back beneath her camisa now, his fingers warm and gentle.
“You do have two commissions and an assignment from Annis,” she says, grinning against his chest. She turns her face and kisses it.
“I know,” he says, “I can hardly believe it. I am very curious about the childcare center one.”
“Could be fun, who knows?”
Arthur reaches up and unhooks her bra with one hand.
“Why are we laying out here?” Gwen asks, laughing.
“Good question,” Arthur says, and starts to sit up.
“Hey!” Gwen giggles, sliding off before she falls off.
He takes her hand and pulls her back to the bedroom, flopping onto the cama to wait for her while she changes as does whatever mysterious female things she needs to do before bed.
I should mover a telly in here, Arthur thinks. The one at my flat – my studio – is bigger than hers. We could put that one in the living room and mover hers in here.
“What are you plotting over there?” Gwen asks when she returns, wearing a green nightie.
“I want to mover your TV back here. Bring mine over for the living room.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yeah. ’Cause then we could lie in cama together and watch telly. You know, when we’re not… otherwise occupied.”
She shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Oh. I was expecting mais of a discussion,” he says, surprised.
“I like cuddling with you on the sofa, but it is a bit narrow,” she smiles, sliding beneath the covers.
Arthur had been sitting above, so he quickly joins her beneath the blankets, pulling her over to him.
“Hello,” he says quietly.
“Arthur,” she says, wanting to ask the pergunta that has been in the back of her brain for a few days now.
“What’s on your mind, Love?”
“Would you mind if… if I paid your father a visit?”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” he asks, confused.
“I’m not sure,” she says, furrowing her own brows now. “But maybe, since I’m relatively new to this whole drama, I can bring a fresh perspective to him.”
“I don’t know…” he says, rolling onto his back, away from her, but he still reaches for her hand, twining their fingers together beneath the covers.
“I just want to try,” she says.
“What if he yells at you? He’s not a nice man, Guinevere.”
“He was nice to me at the opening.”
“Because he didn’t know who you were.”
“I think he did, actually.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, I’m sure he saw me sitting on the arm of your chair with your arm wrapped around me, Arthur.”
“Hmm.”
She leans over and kisses his cheek. “If I try and fail, I will have at least tried.”
He looks at her and kisses her lips. “You’re going to do it even if I say no, aren’t you?”
Gwen leans in and returns his kiss, sliding her tongue between his lips, teasing him briefly. “Probably,” she says.
“You are not playing fair,” he mutters against her lips, nibbling, his hand wandering now to her thigh, sliding up beneath the hem of her nightie.
“Also probably,” she answers, scooting closer to him as she feels his fingers nab the waistband of her knickers.
Part 42: link
Arthur stands on the front porch of Pendragon manor, the painting held carefully in his hand, resting on his boot.
Why did I let them talk me into this?
Taking a deep breath, he presses the doorbell.
Run. Run now. Go. Run!
The door opens and Arthur is face to face with Joseph, his father’s butler.
“Joseph,” Arthur nods at him, his face carefully calm.
“Oh. Mister Arthur. Is… is Master expecting you?” His years of faithful service to Uther Pendragon has taught him how to carefully school his facial expressions so that they betray nothing of what he is actually thinking.
“He’s expecting a delivery,” Arthur indicates the painting.
Joseph bends slightly and peers at it. “Excellent brushwork, Mister Arthur,” he comments, knowing immediately and inexplicably that it is Arthur’s work.
“Thank you.”
The butler steps aside. “Please, come in. I will fetch the Master.”
Arthur walks in, the familiar sights and smells of his boyhood início washing over him. How many times did I fall down those stairs? he thinks, looking up at the grand staircase in the foyer. Joseph leads him to the sitting room, where Arthur does just that. He sits.
A few minutos later, Uther strides into the sitting room, stopping cold when he sees that Arthur has delivered the painting personally.
“Father,” Arthur says coolly, not standing.
“Arthur,” Uther replies with equal distance.
“Thank you for buying my painting.”
“I see you had it framed. I did not ask for it to be framed.”
Arthur sighs. “Gee, you’re welcome,” he rolls his eyes. Nothing is ever right.
“It is a good frame.”
“It was Guinevere’s idea.”
“Guinevere? Is that her name?”
“Yes.”
“And was you delivering this painting yourself also her idea?” he asks. He hasn’t moved from his place in the doorway.
“Hers and Merlin’s.”
“Mmm.”
Neither speaks for a moment. Then Uther breaks the silence. “She is lovely.”
“Yes, she is.”
“She works for Will Gaius, I understand?”
“Who told you…? Morgana,” Arthur respostas his own question.
Uther nods. “She’s been pushing again.”
“She sent you the flyer. For the opening.”
Uther nods again.
“Thank you for coming. Why didn’t…” he starts to ask.
“Why didn’t I talk to you? I… I don’t know. I couldn’t. I only came because I had to see for myself. See if you were indeed any good. See if you do truly still look like…” he gestures toward Arthur, waving his hand up and down, “that.”
“Father, if you had bothered to actually pay attention to me while I was growing up, you would already know how good I am,” Arthur says crossly. “You came out of morbid curiosity. You came because now that I’ve had a glimmer of success, suddenly I might be good enough to be your son again. You wanted to see if I was worthy of you yet,” he adds, somewhat sadly. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t stand.
“Perhaps,” he admits slowly.
“You know I’m right.”
Uther sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What is it you want from me, Arthur?”
Arthur stands now. “I want you to accept me for who I am, even though who I am is not who you wanted me to be. I want you to respect me for making my own choices rather than condemning me for it.”
With that, Arthur strides from the room, brushing past his father, leaving the painting leaning against the side of the settee.
“Arthur,” Uther says. Arthur is in the foyer, halfway to the front door. He stops, but does not turn.
“What?”
“Do you amor her? Guinevere?”
“More than anything,” he says, turning slightly so that his father can see his serious expression.
“Take care of her.”
Arthur turns and walks out the door, striding purposefully toward Gwen’s Mini. “Since when are you qualified to dispense fatherly advice?” he mutters to himself, slamming the door.
Uther stands in the window watching his son peel away in the small green car. I thought he had a motorcycle. All the reports I’ve gotten on him state that he is only ever seen driving a temperamental motorcycle. Or as a passenger in Merlin’s rather unstable Ford Popular. Must be Guinevere’s car.
Turning back, he walks over and picks up the painting, studying it again. I remember this storm like it happened yesterday. It was massive. I had to carry them to their beds from where they were hiding under the table.
He really does have talent. But he’s right. If he were talentless I probably wouldn’t care. And what of the girl? There is something very special about her. What is it that she sees, that everyone else sees, that I don’t?
This is a beautiful frame. She has excellent taste.
“How did it go?” Gwen asks when Arthur returns home.
“About how I expected,” he says, which tells her nothing.
“Care to elaborate?”
He sighs. Not really. “I said my piece. Told him what was on my mind. Felt good to get it off my chest.” He goes on to detail their conversation, even telling her that Uther asked after her.
“It is a step in the right direction,” Gwen says, noting that Arthur doesn’t seem to have forgiven anything.
“A step?”
“Arthur, don’t get angry with me, but yes, a step. I’m happy that you were able to voice your thoughts to him. To get him to start owning up to his behavior.”
“But?”
“But you haven’t forgiven him yet.”
“I don’t think I’m ready yet, Guinevere.”
Gwen breathes a sigh of relief. The fact that he’s still discussing this with me calmly is a very good thing.
“I understand,” she says. “Come here,” she calls to him, reaching her hand out to him from her place on the sofa.
He crosses to her and sits, and she pulls him gently against her, wrapping him in her arms.
“I’m trying not to push,” she says. “I amor you, Arthur, and if you are hurting, even a little, even if it’s buried deep, I feel that hurt as well. If you and your father are truly not meant to reconcile, so be it. But it won’t be because you didn’t try.”
“It’s annoying, how smart you are,” he says, closing his eyes, treasuring the feel of her arms around him, her fingertips trailing on his scalp.
“It is a curse,” she says, smiling, leaning down to kiss his head. “Don’t give up yet.”
“The seguinte mover is his,” Arthur declares.
We’ll see, Gwen thinks, squeezing him.
Saturday morning, Arthur and Gwen head to the gallery. The show is over, some paintings have been delivered, and the rest are being taken down in preparation for delivery.
“So sad,” Gwen says, looking around.
“Yes, but you get paid, so that is not so sad,” Annis’ voice behind her makes her jump.
“Annis, how lovely to see you,” Gwen says, smiling as the older woman steps over to embrace her, beijar both her cheeks.
“Gwen, I’m happy to see you, too,” Annis says.
“Thank you for everything you’re doing for Arthur,” Gwen says.
“It’s nothing,” she waves her off.
“It’s everything. You have no idea how much he appreciates it,” she says.
“He can speak, you know,” Arthur chimes in, stepping over to hug Annis.
“Hello, darling,” Annis greets him. “Have you started the triptych yet?”
“Laying it out, yes,” he says dutifully.
“Good boy,” she pats his shoulder, then strides back to Lance. “Lancelot, my pet, my truck will be arriving presently. Are all my things ready to go?”
“Of course they are, Annis,” Lance chuckles, pointing to a stack of paintings leaning against a mural to one side.
“We need to embrulho, envoltório this one up to take home,” Arthur says, wandering over to his favorito piece.
“Yes, yes, your precious painting will make it safely início with you,” Lance rolls his eyes.
“Come to Papa,” Arthur says, reaching up and taking it down from the wall.
“He is insane,” Gwen says to Annis.
“He is in love,” Annis replies, and Gwen blushes.
“Come, let’s find out how much Lance and Arthur have made,” Annis says, looping her arm through Gwen’s and walking her back to the desk.
“All right, you know I amor my art, Lance, but this is the fun part,” she says, her eyes twinkling.
“I don’t understand why this is so fun for you, Annis. About half of this came from your accounts,” Lance says.
“I know, but I just amor seeing the look on a new young artist’s face when he sees his check from his first successful show,” she grins. “And our Drag has such an expressive face that I doubt I will be disappointed.”
“You noticed that, huh?” Gwen asks, amused.
“How can one not notice?” Annis chuckles. “He’s positively adorable.”
Gwen guffaws. “Don’t let him hear you say that!”
“Why ever not?”
“He hates being called anything remotely close to ‘cute.’ Even though he completely is,” Gwen says, smiling over at him, still talking to his painting as he wraps the thick brown paper around it.
“I am certain he allows you that privilege,” Annis says, arching an eyebrow at Gwen.
“Reluctantly,” Gwen smirks. “Arthur, when you’re done making amor to your painting, perhaps you’d care to cadastrar-se us?” she calls.
“Huh?” Arthur’s head snaps up, Gwen’s voice drawing him back to reality. “Oh. Right.” He leans the painting on the wall, ponders it a moment, then reaches for a marker. He writes the word “mine” across the paper before turning back to cadastrar-se them.
“Arthur, really,” Gwen says, tilting her head at him.
“Well, they all look the same now. I had to do something to identify it,” he defends his actions.
“Yes, but ‘mine?’ Are you four years old?”
“You’d better hope not,” he mutters close in her ear and kisses her neck.
“All right, you two, I still have imagens of Gwaine and Morgana’s makeout session scarring my brain, don’t add to my misery,” Lance complains, unceremoniously thrusting a check at Arthur.
Annis is not disappointed. Arthur gapes. He positively gapes. Blue-grey eyes huge, jaw on the floor.
“So, then, I need to give you your ten percent from this, right?” he asks, apparently unable to believe the amount is all for him.
“No, mate, that’s all yours. My cut is already subtracted, look,” Lance leans over and points to some numbers on the topo, início half of the check. “That is the full total, there. My percentage, tax and all that legal shit, and the rest is yours,” he moves his finger down the rows as he talks.
“Holy fuck,” Arthur whispers. “Oh, sorry,” he looks up and apologizes to Annis.
She just smiles, quite satisfied in her new investment, her new protégé. “And that’s not even the best part,” she says, looking at Lance.
“What? There’s a best part? Bester than this?” he waves the check in the air, passing it to Gwen, who gasps.
“You have two commissions, Drag,” Lance says.
“What? Two? Who from?” Arthur sputters, digging into his pocket for a limão drop, needing his doces immediately.
“Damn, I’m out…” he mutters, and Gwen digs into her purse, handing him one from a little plastic baggie she has inside.
“I amor you,” he says, taking the candy.
“Well, the first came from none other than William Gaius,” Lance says, looking at Gwen.
“Really? Bloody hell!” Gwen exclaims, shocked.
“And the segundo is from Sunshine Childcare Center,” he finishes, still looking at Gwen.
“The people who bought the painting of little Arthur and Merlin?” Gwen says. “Arthur, you remember, I told you about that. When you were sick. The creepy guy and the nice woman?”
“Yes, but a childcare center?” Arthur asks.
“Do you dislike children?” Lance asks, glancing at Gwen.
“No, I amor them, I’m just surprised. What could they possibly want?”
“Art, darling,” Annis says, chuckling.
Lance and Gwen laugh, but Arthur just sighs. “You know what I mean.”
“You’ll have to go and find out. Here,” he hands Arthur a card. “Call them Monday. Ask for Sharon.” He points to a name written on the back. “And Mr. Gaius is expecting a call from you as well.”
“Alison was nice,” Gwen says to Arthur as they enter their flat, just início from the pub. Ox had finally gotten up the courage to ask the young lady out, and he brought her to the pub after their date.
“Yes, Ox seems quite smitten,” Arthur says, cursing as he nearly trips over Iggy as he bounds towards Gwen, meowing and rubbing against her legs.
“Hello, Baby,” she coos at the cat, reaching down to stroke his ears. “Come, Mummy bought you some new treats,” she adds, heading for the cozinha while Arthur stares after them.
Mummy?
“What?” Gwen says, seeing his face as she emerges from the kitchen, a few morsels in her hand, Iggy at her feet, looking expectantly up at her.
“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Mummy’ to my cat?”
“Yes,” she says casually, sitting and patting her lap. Iggy hops up and Gwen feeds him a treat, which he takes delicately from her fingers. “And I believe he is officially our cat, darling.”
“More like your cat,” he mutters, removing his boots. “What are those?”
“Freeze-dried chicken livers.”
“Yum.”
“They’re not for you,” she laughs.
Arthur strides through the flat yanking his t-shirt off and yawning as he goes. Gwen hears him groaning and stretching, clearly tired from a very busy day. The toilet flushes. A drawer opens and closes. A moment later he strolls back out in his athletic shorts, comfy as you please.
“All done there?” he asks. Gwen holds her hands up, empty. “Good. Push off, Ig,” Arthur says, but he scratches the cat under his chin first before gently nudging him away.
“My hands smell like liver, hang on,” Gwen says, standing. Arthur plunks down on the sofa.
She returns, hands washed, and Arthur pulls her down on topo, início of him, beijar her, burrowing his hands into her hair.
“Leon’s new bartender seems a good chap,” she says, cuddling down against his chest.
“Poof,” Arthur declares.
“Honestly, Arthur, what is it with you?” Gwen lifts her head and asks him, incredulous.
“No, honest, he is. Told Leon straight away.”
“Oh.” She puts her head on his chest. “Doesn’t change my opinion.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy. Maybe we should set him up with Lance.”
She lifts her head again. “Lance is not gay!”
“Until I have conclusive evidence to the contrary, I am standing por my opinion,” he says, worming his hand underneath the back of her shirt.
She sighs, weary of this topic, tracing his dragon with her finger. “How much longer are you going to work at Excalibur?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Don’t know. I haven’t spent a full dia there since before the opening. I’m sure Gwaine’s already looking for a replacement.” His hand is caressing her back beneath her camisa now, his fingers warm and gentle.
“You do have two commissions and an assignment from Annis,” she says, grinning against his chest. She turns her face and kisses it.
“I know,” he says, “I can hardly believe it. I am very curious about the childcare center one.”
“Could be fun, who knows?”
Arthur reaches up and unhooks her bra with one hand.
“Why are we laying out here?” Gwen asks, laughing.
“Good question,” Arthur says, and starts to sit up.
“Hey!” Gwen giggles, sliding off before she falls off.
He takes her hand and pulls her back to the bedroom, flopping onto the cama to wait for her while she changes as does whatever mysterious female things she needs to do before bed.
I should mover a telly in here, Arthur thinks. The one at my flat – my studio – is bigger than hers. We could put that one in the living room and mover hers in here.
“What are you plotting over there?” Gwen asks when she returns, wearing a green nightie.
“I want to mover your TV back here. Bring mine over for the living room.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yeah. ’Cause then we could lie in cama together and watch telly. You know, when we’re not… otherwise occupied.”
She shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Oh. I was expecting mais of a discussion,” he says, surprised.
“I like cuddling with you on the sofa, but it is a bit narrow,” she smiles, sliding beneath the covers.
Arthur had been sitting above, so he quickly joins her beneath the blankets, pulling her over to him.
“Hello,” he says quietly.
“Arthur,” she says, wanting to ask the pergunta that has been in the back of her brain for a few days now.
“What’s on your mind, Love?”
“Would you mind if… if I paid your father a visit?”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” he asks, confused.
“I’m not sure,” she says, furrowing her own brows now. “But maybe, since I’m relatively new to this whole drama, I can bring a fresh perspective to him.”
“I don’t know…” he says, rolling onto his back, away from her, but he still reaches for her hand, twining their fingers together beneath the covers.
“I just want to try,” she says.
“What if he yells at you? He’s not a nice man, Guinevere.”
“He was nice to me at the opening.”
“Because he didn’t know who you were.”
“I think he did, actually.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, I’m sure he saw me sitting on the arm of your chair with your arm wrapped around me, Arthur.”
“Hmm.”
She leans over and kisses his cheek. “If I try and fail, I will have at least tried.”
He looks at her and kisses her lips. “You’re going to do it even if I say no, aren’t you?”
Gwen leans in and returns his kiss, sliding her tongue between his lips, teasing him briefly. “Probably,” she says.
“You are not playing fair,” he mutters against her lips, nibbling, his hand wandering now to her thigh, sliding up beneath the hem of her nightie.
“Also probably,” she answers, scooting closer to him as she feels his fingers nab the waistband of her knickers.
Part 42: link
