Part 14: link
“Guinevere…” Arthur shouts from the bedroom.
“Yes, Love?”
“Hungry. Can I have lunch?”
“What do you want?”
“Toasted cheese sandwich?”
“What are you, seven?” She’s laughing at him now.
“I like those when I don’t feel well.”
“I know…”
“And an apple. Cut up. And do we have any bendy straws?”
“Yes, I bought you some.”
“Chocolate milk?”
“Yes. God, you are seven.”
xXx
“Guinevere?”
“Yes?”
“I need to pee, can you come help me up?”
“Can you wait one minute? I just need to finish my thought here.”
“Just one…”
xXx
“Guinevere?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“I dropped the remote, and I can’t reach it.”
Gwen rolls her eyes and goes to retrieve the fallen remote for her patient.
“We should get me one of those grabby things. You know, the stick with a handle at one end and a pinchy thing on the other?” he says, shaping his fingers into a C and pinching them open and closed like a lagosta claw.
“Yeah, I’d get that and you’d use it to pinch my bum.”
“Well, sure, now that you gave me the idea.”
“I’m going back to do some work, Arthur.”
xXx
“Guinevere?”
“What?”
“I’m itchy.”
“Um… scratch?”
“I can’t reach.”
Seriously? My father was in severe pain and near death and he was a better patient than him.
But you volunteered for this duty, Gwen. You wanted to take care of him.
“Be there in a minute.”
“Hurry…” he groans.
Gwen picks up her phone and sends Merlin a quick text: Kill me.
A couple segundos later, her phone blips. Is Nurse Gwen regretting her decision?
Shut up.
“Guineveeeeeeere…”
I’m serious. Kill me.
“Coming.” Her phone blips again. Two words: sponge bath. Torture him a little.
“Hmm…” she says, setting her phone down and saunters back to the bedroom.
Arthur is squirming on the bed, looking rather uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” she says, sitting beside him and helping him sit up.
“I know you are trying to get some work done,” he says. “I try not to bother you too much, but it’s killing me here.”
Gwen slides her hand under his t-shirt and scratches his back while he sighs happily.
“Better.”
“We should bathe you,” she says.
“What?”
“Give you a little sponge bath. You’ll feel better. I’d like to wash your hair, too, but I don’t know if you’re up for that.”
“I can try. My head feels disgusting.”
“You’ve certainly smelled better. Hmm,” she says, pondering the cast on his leg. “We could put a trash bag over that and try to get you in the tub…”
“Maybe. Higher.”
She scratches higher. “Or we could put some towels down and do this the antiquado, à moda antiga way…”
“I’d really like to try the tub. Go get a bag.” He leans over, wincing a bit, but he needs to kiss her right now because she’s right there. “If I haven’t said it yet, thank you for taking care of me. I amor you so much.”
“I amor you, too,” she says. Now I feel bad about complaining. “I’ll be right back.” She kisses him once mais and goes in procurar of an extra large lawn and leaf bag, the heavy black plastic kind. His cast covers most of his leg, so she’ll need a big one. What to secure it with, though? she ponders. She rummages through a drawer. Rubber bands. Not big enough. Wait, maybe in the garage…
Gwen scuttles outside and finds what she’s looking for: Extra large plastic zip ties she bought last spring to secure some vines around an electrical pole in her back yard, trying to encourage them up the pole to hide it. She grabs several, to keep in the house in case he wants another bath before his cast is off, and runs back inside.
She comes back into the bedroom to find Arthur trying to take his camisa off and swearing.
“Arthur, love, don’t strain your side,” Gwen says, dropping the bag and the ties on the cama to hurry over and help him before he hurts himself.
“I hate this,” Arthur complains. She leans progressivo, para a frente and kisses him.
“I know,” she says softly. “Now let’s get you naked.”
“Mmm, if I wasn’t a mess, I’d really like the sound of that. You going to cadastrar-se me?”
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” she says. “One minute.” Gwen goes into the bathroom and starts the water in the tub.
“Okay,” she returns and helps him with his shorts, the plaid reindeer ones, of course. “I brought some mais of your clothes over yesterday,” she mentions, tossing his shorts into the hamper to be washed.
“Oh good. Those shorts can probably walk por themselves por now,” he chuckles. “Did I have anything in my mail?”
“A few bills. Some junk. You can look at it later.” Gwen takes the bag and slides it up over his leg, reaching for the zip tie.
“Kinky,” Arthur says, raising an eyebrow.
“I was thinking mais along the lines of ‘practical,’ you naughty boy.” Gwen snugs the tie down tight.
“Ow, not so tight!”
“We don’t want any water to get in, Arthur. Don’t be a baby. Come on.” Gwen helps him to his feet and helps him hop to the bathroom. Half of his stuff is here already anyway, she finds herself thinking. And he’s here 99 percent of the time…
Arthur sits on the edge of the tub and Gwen turns the water off. “That’s not a lot of water,” he pouts.
“It’s enough. This is to get your smelly arse clean, not to have a relaxing soak.”
“I’m not smelly,” Arthur protests, lifting his arm and taking a sniff. “Oh.” He makes a face.
Gwen laughs. “In the tub. Don’t make me dare you,” she smirks. She holds his casted leg and helps him balanço around and lower himself down into his tub. She does take a moment to appreciate his biceps as they flex with the effort.
“I see you looking,” he teases. “Oh, nice and hot…” he sighs, relaxing into the tub.
Gwen takes the soap and gets a washcloth all sudsy and starts running it over his body, starting with his arms and shoulders, reaching around to get his back.
“You know, you could do this yourself,” she says.
“I am much to ill,” he argues, his eyes closed blissfully, a small smile on his face.
Gwen snorts and continues her work, checking the small punctures where they removed his appendix laproscopically, impressed that Dr. Gwaine didn’t have to make a large incision. They look like they are healing quite well, and she washes them carefully, not wanting to hurt him.
“They itch like crazy,” Arthur says.
“That means they’re healing,” she replies, running the cloth across his stomach. “Arthur…”
Something’s wrong. Arthur’s eyes fly open. “What? Something look bad?”
“What? Oh, no, sorry. Everything looks really good, actually,” she says. “Really good,” she adds, pointedly looking at his semi-erect manhood, which is apparently enjoying her ministrations as well.
Arthur laughs. “Then why the ‘Arthur…’?” he asks, mimicking her tone just before. “That’s the ‘something is wrong’ tone.”
“No, that was the ‘I want to ask you something’ tone,” she corrects, leaning over to kiss him, scrubbing his neck and behind his ears while she’s in the neighborhood.
“Oh. They’re very similar. You want to ask me something?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then: truth.”
“Hmm. This might fall mais into the ‘dare’ category.”
Arthur raises his eyebrow. Gwen runs the washcloth down his exposed leg and over his foot. “I’ll have to get the other foot later,” she mutters.
“Guinevere, you’re stalling.”
“I was just thinking when I was at your place yesterday. It’s a good thing you don’t have a goldfish or any houseplants.”
“Because I’m never there.”
“Right.” She pauses, suds the washcloth again, and slides it in between his legs, a sly smirk crossing her face. “You’re here all the time. I’ve already made o espaço for you in the closet. You’ve got your cerveja in my fridge, and a key to my door.”
“Combination,” he corrects her, groaning slightly as she is apparently very intent upon getting certain parts of him very clean. I think I know what she’s going to ask.
“Whatever,” she says, and a moment later, Arthur realizes that the washcloth is floating somewhere near his knee and she’s moving her soapy hand on him.
“So where’s my dare?” he asks, his voice low and ragged now. He reaches over with his wet left hand and creeps his fingers up under her t-shirt, searching for her breast beneath. “Mmm, no bra…” he mutters.
“Just mover in here officially already,” she says, leaning into his hand, which has found its target.
“Kiss me,” he says, turning his face to hers, and she leans over, closing her lips over his.
Her hand slides up and down, slick and warm. His fingers squeeze her breast lightly, his thumb flicking back and forth over her nipple as their tongues play and tease one another.
“Guinevere,” he grunts her name, and she tightens her grip on him, pumping a little harder.
“Mmm, yes, Love,” he groans, and Gwen isn’t sure if he’s reacting to what she’s doing or if he’s answering her question.
Gwen feels him reaching for her, beginning to pull her closer. “Arthur, be careful,” she says, pulling her lips from his.
He groans again, too far gone to properly answer her. His right hand drops from her waist to grip the edge of the tub, his left hand still on her breast, which is now completely exposed, her t-shirt shoved up above them.
She slides her hand a few mais times and then she feels his body tense and his member pulse in her hand as he releases, spilling onto his stomach. He relaxes, drained, and his hand falls from her breast. Gwen reaches for another washcloth and gently cleans his stomach, figuring he probably doesn’t want to sit in a bathtub with his “boys.”
“God, Guinevere, you are amazing,” he sighs. “I needed that…”
She leans over and kisses him, fixing her camisa as she does so. “I know. Maybe once your cast is off we can give it a try for real.”
“You can be on top,” he says, grinning.
“Is the water getting cold?” she asks, swishing her hand in the tub.
“A little,” he says, shifting a bit. “We going to do my hair?”
“Yes. Oh, here,” she says, taking the washcloth up and soaping it again before handing it to him. “I amor you, but there is one part of you I am not going to wash for you.”
He looks at the cloth a moment, then laughs. “Right,” he says, gingerly leaning on his elbow and lifting his hips to scrub down below and under.
Gwen reaches for a plastic cup and turns the taps back on, filling it. “Can you sit up a little?”
“Yes, I think so.” Arthur shoves up on his elbows and tilts his head back so Gwen can pour water over his head.
She pours shampoo into her hand and massages it into his hair and scalp.
“Mmm,” he hums appreciatively.
“Did you answer my question?” Gwen asks.
“What pergunta would this be?”
She tugs a lock of his hair. “Are you going to mover in here?”
“You really want me to?”
“Would I be asking if I didn’t?”
“Good point.”
Gwen fills the cup again, and this time pulls the drain plug while she rinses his hair. She pours clean water over his chest and shoulders as well, making sure she gets all the soap off.
“I would amor to live here with you, officially,” he finally says. “The first thing I need to mover is my telly. Yours is woefully inadequate.”
“It’s big enough,” she argues, helping him up and out of the tub, wrapping him in a large, fluffy towel.
“Not even close, my love,” he counters, beijar her again as he leans heavily on her.
“It’s going to have to wait until you’re better, you know.”
“Oho, you forget, I’m a spoiled rich boy. I can have that taken care of,” he boasts.
“Great,” she rolls her eyes, helping to dry him, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head and grabbing scissors to un-bag his right leg. Before she forgets, Gwen bends and grabs the washcloth, cleaning the toes and part of his foot sticking out from the end of the cast. “Going to have to give you a pedi later.”
“Just no polish,” he says.
“Of course not. Not that you could stop me, come to think…” she comments, pulling a clean pair of shorts up and on.
“You wouldn’t,” he says, yawning.
“Time to get you back to bed. Also time for mais meds, I do believe,” she says, quickly pulling a comb through his hair.
“I just had the best medicine,” he says, grinning goofily at her.
“You are falling asleep on your feet now,” Gwen says, helping him back to bed. “Too much exertion.”
“Oh, Guinevere…” he says, suddenly sounding concerned.
“Hmm?”
“You didn’t get any…”
“Shh, Arthur, I think I’ll live,” she says, dispensing two pills into her palm and handing them to him with a cup of water.
“I’m sorry, Love.”
She tucks him into the bed, brushing his damp hair from his forehead.
“Arthur, it’s all right,” she kisses his forehead, his temple, his cheek. “Maybe later I’ll let you watch me with BOB,” she teases.
“Bob?”
“B.O.B. Battery Operated Boyfriend. You bought him.”
“Right,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Dare you,” he mumbles before dropping off to sleep.
“Dare me, indeed,” she mutters, heading back out to try and do some mais work. “He hasn’t learned yet?”
Part 16: link
“Guinevere…” Arthur shouts from the bedroom.
“Yes, Love?”
“Hungry. Can I have lunch?”
“What do you want?”
“Toasted cheese sandwich?”
“What are you, seven?” She’s laughing at him now.
“I like those when I don’t feel well.”
“I know…”
“And an apple. Cut up. And do we have any bendy straws?”
“Yes, I bought you some.”
“Chocolate milk?”
“Yes. God, you are seven.”
xXx
“Guinevere?”
“Yes?”
“I need to pee, can you come help me up?”
“Can you wait one minute? I just need to finish my thought here.”
“Just one…”
xXx
“Guinevere?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“I dropped the remote, and I can’t reach it.”
Gwen rolls her eyes and goes to retrieve the fallen remote for her patient.
“We should get me one of those grabby things. You know, the stick with a handle at one end and a pinchy thing on the other?” he says, shaping his fingers into a C and pinching them open and closed like a lagosta claw.
“Yeah, I’d get that and you’d use it to pinch my bum.”
“Well, sure, now that you gave me the idea.”
“I’m going back to do some work, Arthur.”
xXx
“Guinevere?”
“What?”
“I’m itchy.”
“Um… scratch?”
“I can’t reach.”
Seriously? My father was in severe pain and near death and he was a better patient than him.
But you volunteered for this duty, Gwen. You wanted to take care of him.
“Be there in a minute.”
“Hurry…” he groans.
Gwen picks up her phone and sends Merlin a quick text: Kill me.
A couple segundos later, her phone blips. Is Nurse Gwen regretting her decision?
Shut up.
“Guineveeeeeeere…”
I’m serious. Kill me.
“Coming.” Her phone blips again. Two words: sponge bath. Torture him a little.
“Hmm…” she says, setting her phone down and saunters back to the bedroom.
Arthur is squirming on the bed, looking rather uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” she says, sitting beside him and helping him sit up.
“I know you are trying to get some work done,” he says. “I try not to bother you too much, but it’s killing me here.”
Gwen slides her hand under his t-shirt and scratches his back while he sighs happily.
“Better.”
“We should bathe you,” she says.
“What?”
“Give you a little sponge bath. You’ll feel better. I’d like to wash your hair, too, but I don’t know if you’re up for that.”
“I can try. My head feels disgusting.”
“You’ve certainly smelled better. Hmm,” she says, pondering the cast on his leg. “We could put a trash bag over that and try to get you in the tub…”
“Maybe. Higher.”
She scratches higher. “Or we could put some towels down and do this the antiquado, à moda antiga way…”
“I’d really like to try the tub. Go get a bag.” He leans over, wincing a bit, but he needs to kiss her right now because she’s right there. “If I haven’t said it yet, thank you for taking care of me. I amor you so much.”
“I amor you, too,” she says. Now I feel bad about complaining. “I’ll be right back.” She kisses him once mais and goes in procurar of an extra large lawn and leaf bag, the heavy black plastic kind. His cast covers most of his leg, so she’ll need a big one. What to secure it with, though? she ponders. She rummages through a drawer. Rubber bands. Not big enough. Wait, maybe in the garage…
Gwen scuttles outside and finds what she’s looking for: Extra large plastic zip ties she bought last spring to secure some vines around an electrical pole in her back yard, trying to encourage them up the pole to hide it. She grabs several, to keep in the house in case he wants another bath before his cast is off, and runs back inside.
She comes back into the bedroom to find Arthur trying to take his camisa off and swearing.
“Arthur, love, don’t strain your side,” Gwen says, dropping the bag and the ties on the cama to hurry over and help him before he hurts himself.
“I hate this,” Arthur complains. She leans progressivo, para a frente and kisses him.
“I know,” she says softly. “Now let’s get you naked.”
“Mmm, if I wasn’t a mess, I’d really like the sound of that. You going to cadastrar-se me?”
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” she says. “One minute.” Gwen goes into the bathroom and starts the water in the tub.
“Okay,” she returns and helps him with his shorts, the plaid reindeer ones, of course. “I brought some mais of your clothes over yesterday,” she mentions, tossing his shorts into the hamper to be washed.
“Oh good. Those shorts can probably walk por themselves por now,” he chuckles. “Did I have anything in my mail?”
“A few bills. Some junk. You can look at it later.” Gwen takes the bag and slides it up over his leg, reaching for the zip tie.
“Kinky,” Arthur says, raising an eyebrow.
“I was thinking mais along the lines of ‘practical,’ you naughty boy.” Gwen snugs the tie down tight.
“Ow, not so tight!”
“We don’t want any water to get in, Arthur. Don’t be a baby. Come on.” Gwen helps him to his feet and helps him hop to the bathroom. Half of his stuff is here already anyway, she finds herself thinking. And he’s here 99 percent of the time…
Arthur sits on the edge of the tub and Gwen turns the water off. “That’s not a lot of water,” he pouts.
“It’s enough. This is to get your smelly arse clean, not to have a relaxing soak.”
“I’m not smelly,” Arthur protests, lifting his arm and taking a sniff. “Oh.” He makes a face.
Gwen laughs. “In the tub. Don’t make me dare you,” she smirks. She holds his casted leg and helps him balanço around and lower himself down into his tub. She does take a moment to appreciate his biceps as they flex with the effort.
“I see you looking,” he teases. “Oh, nice and hot…” he sighs, relaxing into the tub.
Gwen takes the soap and gets a washcloth all sudsy and starts running it over his body, starting with his arms and shoulders, reaching around to get his back.
“You know, you could do this yourself,” she says.
“I am much to ill,” he argues, his eyes closed blissfully, a small smile on his face.
Gwen snorts and continues her work, checking the small punctures where they removed his appendix laproscopically, impressed that Dr. Gwaine didn’t have to make a large incision. They look like they are healing quite well, and she washes them carefully, not wanting to hurt him.
“They itch like crazy,” Arthur says.
“That means they’re healing,” she replies, running the cloth across his stomach. “Arthur…”
Something’s wrong. Arthur’s eyes fly open. “What? Something look bad?”
“What? Oh, no, sorry. Everything looks really good, actually,” she says. “Really good,” she adds, pointedly looking at his semi-erect manhood, which is apparently enjoying her ministrations as well.
Arthur laughs. “Then why the ‘Arthur…’?” he asks, mimicking her tone just before. “That’s the ‘something is wrong’ tone.”
“No, that was the ‘I want to ask you something’ tone,” she corrects, leaning over to kiss him, scrubbing his neck and behind his ears while she’s in the neighborhood.
“Oh. They’re very similar. You want to ask me something?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then: truth.”
“Hmm. This might fall mais into the ‘dare’ category.”
Arthur raises his eyebrow. Gwen runs the washcloth down his exposed leg and over his foot. “I’ll have to get the other foot later,” she mutters.
“Guinevere, you’re stalling.”
“I was just thinking when I was at your place yesterday. It’s a good thing you don’t have a goldfish or any houseplants.”
“Because I’m never there.”
“Right.” She pauses, suds the washcloth again, and slides it in between his legs, a sly smirk crossing her face. “You’re here all the time. I’ve already made o espaço for you in the closet. You’ve got your cerveja in my fridge, and a key to my door.”
“Combination,” he corrects her, groaning slightly as she is apparently very intent upon getting certain parts of him very clean. I think I know what she’s going to ask.
“Whatever,” she says, and a moment later, Arthur realizes that the washcloth is floating somewhere near his knee and she’s moving her soapy hand on him.
“So where’s my dare?” he asks, his voice low and ragged now. He reaches over with his wet left hand and creeps his fingers up under her t-shirt, searching for her breast beneath. “Mmm, no bra…” he mutters.
“Just mover in here officially already,” she says, leaning into his hand, which has found its target.
“Kiss me,” he says, turning his face to hers, and she leans over, closing her lips over his.
Her hand slides up and down, slick and warm. His fingers squeeze her breast lightly, his thumb flicking back and forth over her nipple as their tongues play and tease one another.
“Guinevere,” he grunts her name, and she tightens her grip on him, pumping a little harder.
“Mmm, yes, Love,” he groans, and Gwen isn’t sure if he’s reacting to what she’s doing or if he’s answering her question.
Gwen feels him reaching for her, beginning to pull her closer. “Arthur, be careful,” she says, pulling her lips from his.
He groans again, too far gone to properly answer her. His right hand drops from her waist to grip the edge of the tub, his left hand still on her breast, which is now completely exposed, her t-shirt shoved up above them.
She slides her hand a few mais times and then she feels his body tense and his member pulse in her hand as he releases, spilling onto his stomach. He relaxes, drained, and his hand falls from her breast. Gwen reaches for another washcloth and gently cleans his stomach, figuring he probably doesn’t want to sit in a bathtub with his “boys.”
“God, Guinevere, you are amazing,” he sighs. “I needed that…”
She leans over and kisses him, fixing her camisa as she does so. “I know. Maybe once your cast is off we can give it a try for real.”
“You can be on top,” he says, grinning.
“Is the water getting cold?” she asks, swishing her hand in the tub.
“A little,” he says, shifting a bit. “We going to do my hair?”
“Yes. Oh, here,” she says, taking the washcloth up and soaping it again before handing it to him. “I amor you, but there is one part of you I am not going to wash for you.”
He looks at the cloth a moment, then laughs. “Right,” he says, gingerly leaning on his elbow and lifting his hips to scrub down below and under.
Gwen reaches for a plastic cup and turns the taps back on, filling it. “Can you sit up a little?”
“Yes, I think so.” Arthur shoves up on his elbows and tilts his head back so Gwen can pour water over his head.
She pours shampoo into her hand and massages it into his hair and scalp.
“Mmm,” he hums appreciatively.
“Did you answer my question?” Gwen asks.
“What pergunta would this be?”
She tugs a lock of his hair. “Are you going to mover in here?”
“You really want me to?”
“Would I be asking if I didn’t?”
“Good point.”
Gwen fills the cup again, and this time pulls the drain plug while she rinses his hair. She pours clean water over his chest and shoulders as well, making sure she gets all the soap off.
“I would amor to live here with you, officially,” he finally says. “The first thing I need to mover is my telly. Yours is woefully inadequate.”
“It’s big enough,” she argues, helping him up and out of the tub, wrapping him in a large, fluffy towel.
“Not even close, my love,” he counters, beijar her again as he leans heavily on her.
“It’s going to have to wait until you’re better, you know.”
“Oho, you forget, I’m a spoiled rich boy. I can have that taken care of,” he boasts.
“Great,” she rolls her eyes, helping to dry him, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head and grabbing scissors to un-bag his right leg. Before she forgets, Gwen bends and grabs the washcloth, cleaning the toes and part of his foot sticking out from the end of the cast. “Going to have to give you a pedi later.”
“Just no polish,” he says.
“Of course not. Not that you could stop me, come to think…” she comments, pulling a clean pair of shorts up and on.
“You wouldn’t,” he says, yawning.
“Time to get you back to bed. Also time for mais meds, I do believe,” she says, quickly pulling a comb through his hair.
“I just had the best medicine,” he says, grinning goofily at her.
“You are falling asleep on your feet now,” Gwen says, helping him back to bed. “Too much exertion.”
“Oh, Guinevere…” he says, suddenly sounding concerned.
“Hmm?”
“You didn’t get any…”
“Shh, Arthur, I think I’ll live,” she says, dispensing two pills into her palm and handing them to him with a cup of water.
“I’m sorry, Love.”
She tucks him into the bed, brushing his damp hair from his forehead.
“Arthur, it’s all right,” she kisses his forehead, his temple, his cheek. “Maybe later I’ll let you watch me with BOB,” she teases.
“Bob?”
“B.O.B. Battery Operated Boyfriend. You bought him.”
“Right,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Dare you,” he mumbles before dropping off to sleep.
“Dare me, indeed,” she mutters, heading back out to try and do some mais work. “He hasn’t learned yet?”
Part 16: link
