Summary: Family begins together.
Warnings: Mildly mature situations
Word Count: 984
Author's Notes: This is cannon (future cannon) so it assumes certain things. There has been no reveal about the ‘bracelet’ Lancelot gave Guinevere. No one knows that it was enchanted etc. Arthur does not know Agravaine died at Merlin’s hand.
The fire was stoked, a softly burning flame. Upon a bed of scarlet and gold coverlet the king and newly crowned queen slept, their clothes of earlier lain upon the chairs. The crowns, having once belonged to his father and mother, sat protectively within the wardrobe.
Hours after regal celebration, the kingdom was theirs to command and insure. With the daylight they’d be facing that awesome responsibility.
Here, in the last bits of dark, there was no one to impress, to adopt firm voice for, or to face with backs so straight it created quiet aches.
They simply lay, entwined after long adventurous moments of new found exploration of each other.
As Gwen opened her eyes, she felt the heat of his chest, and the beat of his heart against her cheek. It was warm, just a little hotly damp, like she was. His hardness hinted between her thighs. Like him it was sedate now, earlier filling her with passionate excitement.
For a moment she recalled her banishment, being torn apart from kingdom and him. It made her eyes burn so much that she pressed her head against his shoulder, creating his wakefulness.
Feeling the curls tickling his skin, the mouth and nose press against him, Arthur’s lashes fluttered, his eyes opening. He felt amazing and tired the same. The kingdom had needed a happy occasion after Morgana’s takeover and then disappearance. Agravaine was dead, supposedly succumbed during their time away from Camelot. Helios was gone too and of course Isolde. Arthur had tried to convince the grieving Tristan to stay, but he was having none of it, needing time alone. And there were of course other deaths. So the uplifting ceremony was crucial.
The need for the union was more personal too. After being separated from Guinevere for so long, watching Isolde die in Tristan’s arms, Arthur’s heart had panged brutally with the thought of if he ever similarly lost her. Even with the tiring schedule during the day, it brought him joy to be unified with her now.
The joy was marred though by something he became fully aware of within moments of waking, tears stinging his skin. Lifting her face, he saw a troubling pattern of them wetting her cheeks. “Guinevere?”
She read his concern right away and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
He touched her face, felt her naked backside. “You’re crying.”
She smiled for a bit, but couldn’t contain it all. “I thought for a while I may not see you again.”
That answer only left him partially relieved. “I was wrong. Sending you away.”
She grimaced. “But I-
He pressed his finger against her lips, shaking his head. “I told you I don’t care. You love me, yes?”
She brought down her fingers, stroked his chest. “You must ask?”
He negated her question. “No. I felt it today.” He grazed his fingers over her body suggestively eliciting a pleasured moan from her lips before he continued. “And tonight. We’re married now. Family. The rest is in the past.”
She sighed at that, kissing his half pouting lips and then laying her head upon his chest.
Her curls tickled him. He murmured softly, kissing them and closing his eyes as he held her intimately, touching her where only a husband was allowed, family. Her eyes traversed his muscled constitution, aglow from the fire burning afar. She stroked the skin, grazed her fingers against some of the faint and more prevalent scars.
“Battle wounds.” He whispered, eyes slitting open just a fraction.
She touched one at his hip. Peculiar to her fingers for some reason. “And this?”
Arthur looked down, felt her fingers slightly tickle against the area. “That’s from a long time ago. Before you even became Morgana’s handmaiden.”
Resting her chin upon his fine haired chest, she peered upward. Arthur stroked her midnight curls with his fingers, smiling just a bit with sentimental reflection. “It was the first time, and one of the last times I was really scared. I was separated from the knights. They always watched over me because the purge meant everyone wanted my head. But somehow we lost each other. I saw a wolf and…I was scared and…I fell off my horse. I rolled down a hill and it came after me. I hit my hip, right there where your fingers are and I crawled, found a cave, hid there, but it still tried to get me. I thought it would have my life and then he was there.”
“Who?” Gwen asked softly.
Wetness filled Arthur’s eyes without him even warranting it. “My father. He scared the wolf away with his arrow and he grabbed my arm. I howled out the pain from my side, but he just hugged me hard. And I felt his tears and even though my hip still was aggravating me I…I concentrated just on that hug. Because it was so rare. And something he almost never gave me again.”
Her lips pressed against the remnant of the wound, and his fingers scraped with feeling against her curls. She admitted, “I think that’s what I miss most from my Dad. His hugs. He had them so often.”
Arthur nodded his head, grasping at her waist to bring her back up more level with his face. “Probably why I fell in love with you. You’re a good teacher of affection. I’m still awkward with it sometimes.”
She shook negative. “I don’t think so. When we’re together your love surrounds me. Like now. I am so warm.”
Feeling the intimate friction of her womanly breasts pressed against his chest, the tickles of her hair, the heat of her thighs, Arthur murmured consent. “Me too. Family, yes?”
She knew what he meant, that no matter what had separated them before because of strong emotions, or whatever class differences had rippled, they were now together. Would create life…a part of each. “Yes Arthur. Family.”