Title: Sweet Temptation
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen (first meeting)
Summary: There is none inside, but outside he finds the most fascinating temptation.
Word Count: 1,000
Author's Notes: This is medieval AU, as if A/G never met before.
Temptation is a lure that grasps the mind, coils around the heart and pulls, causing the tiniest friction of pain and pleasure. It weaves within the festive surroundings, but he feels none of it.
He finds a balcony of the castle where he can be alone.
A firing light glows in the night. He pushes so deeply against the railing that its solid stone meets his ribs.
Who is that? What are they doing?
He walks with purpose past the castle’s spikes and turrets, coming to the more humble area of village homes. The glowing light grows in prevalence with each step he takes, and soon there is an accompanying crackling sound.
Coming to the dwelling, he observes from behind. A small man dressed in loose tans and beiges works dedicatedly, shaping a sword’s blade. Arthur feels the fire’s heat abrade his exposed skin and tickle with calescence at his mouth and nostrils. It forces him to let out a cough, alerting the man.
“Finally! Get here, quick. Help me with this. Now.”
It shocks him for a moment that the man is actually a woman, curls of hair flashing by his eyes as she turns in silhouette, her timbre low, but commanding. “Did you not hear me? It’s heavy, Sir Richard’s blade’s thicker than anyone else’s.”
Uncertainly he steps forward, the woman yet to face him.
“Hold that end.”
He does, feeling it so hot that his fingers slip some.
“Elyan, you’ll drop it! What is wrong with you?” Now she does turn to him, and lets out a scream of surprise as she takes in his royal red attire. The flaming sword leaves her grasp.
Arthur catches its safest end. “Careful!”
The woman stares, questioning with disbelief. “Prince Arthur?”
His eyes are on the sword, the craftsmanship spectacular, and yet a name on the tip of his lips. “Who is Elyan?”
“Oh my Lord.” She wipes at her brow, her hands sooty and so they leave stains upon her skin. And then she curtsies halfway, eyes averted. “My Lord I did not know it was you. Please forgive me.”
Ever so tempting, the soot whispers to his hands. He brushes it away with his fingers, getting her to startle. Arthur drops his hand, gives her back the sword, asking curiously, “Who is Elyan?”
His hand finds her wrist, brings her up from her partial curtsy, getting her eyes to direct towards his.
“My brother. He was helping me, but went to get another tool.”
“You’re a blacksmith?”
She smiles. “No. My dad. I am just assisting.”
He is impressed by the blade’s finish, gets a thought, tempted to make it better. She defensively holds at the work table as he brings it out. “Oh it’s alright. Just wanted to ask, could you fix this?”
Investigating the damage and then full makeup of the sword, she comments, “It’s fine craftsmanship.”
“Best I’ve ever seen.”
She smiles a bit. “My dad's work.”
Arthur stares under the moonlight’s glow so she shows him. “See there. My dad’s. He puts that mark upon all his craft.”
“Can you fix it for me? It was my uncle’s. Has sentimental meaning.”
She looks surprised, but then quietly takes it from him. He is the prince of Camelot. Smoothing the metal to liquid pliability, firing it slowly, she asks, “Isn’t the celebration within the castle for you Prince Arthur?”
He watches with fascination how she works, answering, “Yes. But I grew bored. What is your name?”
She elbows at her brow, knowing she is sweating and that her wild curls are falling upon her face.
Arthur reaches forward, brushes them back himself. She keeps her eyes on the metal. “Guinevere.” She corrects herself rapidly. “Gwen. All call me Gwen.”
His eyes widen as the blade starts to be devoid of its damage from a beast’s infliction, smoothing out beautifully, tempting his fingers. He presses them over hers, holds with her. “That’s lovely.”
She simply nods.
The repair done, she manages to extricate herself from his light grasp, holds it out to him. “Some of the scarring is still there. Quite brutal damage, but it’s usable again, heaviest bruising gone.”
He is very close. She starts to nervously back away but then his hand is on her waist.
Arthur studies the cured blade, its wounds no longer so prevalent. “Your father has a talented daughter.”
She smiles courteously and moves to get away, but then his other hand is at her waist too, surrounding her, the fire blazing behind them.
Slowly his finger lifts at her chin. She’s just a bit too short, can’t get to her that easily. His lips press to hers as he can feel her bewilderment.
Temptation found no home inside. But now it nearly burns his heart. Tempting it forward. Excitedly anticipating contact.
She doesn’t push him away and so he presses further, kissing her wet answering lips, tasting her bitterly sweet mouth, tongue tickling her teeth, until she shudders and pulls away. Stares.
A smile takes it time to curve his lips as he keeps hold of her chin. “I was bored inside. Not so much out here.”
She shakes her head. A voice comes from behind. “Gwen, found it!”
“Oh.” She breathes. “My brother.”
So much to explain if he’s found and tarnishing any decent reputation she might have is not to his liking either. Arthur gestures to the sword within his belt now. “Thank you.”
“Service to my Prince.” She whispers. Holds still, and then lets out a sigh, “Oh why not…”
He’s not sure what she means until he feels the pressure of her lips taking the chance. “And so is this.”
Like she is a blacksmith, she too is a fascinating kisser, tempting his lips for more, urging his hands to hold, but she braces her palms against his chest. “Please.”
Arthur nods, ducking down and departing before her brother can see. But it burns on his lips now.