Warning: This fic contains fluffy smut with a side of Round Table kink
Summary: Arthur first spoke of it almost a decade earlier, and it was finally ready.
Author's Note: I had planned on focussing on non-smutty pieces for a while, but I recently re-read scarlettpeony's essay "The Many Lives of Gwenhwyfar" which got me thinking about the Round Table and one thing lead to another... I hope you enjoy. Comments are ♥ & concrit appreciated.
"It's finished," Arthur said by way of greeting as he entered their chambers. Gwen stood up quickly: brush, pins, and the small flowers which had adorned her hair during the day lay entirely forgotten on her vanity. Her heart jumped in anticipation, it had been so long in the making...
A smile blossomed bright on her lips as she met Arthur's gaze: his eyes over-bright, with cheeks slightly flushed. His excitement was palpable and she took a step towards him without any forethought. "Do you want to see it?" he asked softly, and Gwen nodded, taking his outstretched hand.
When they were halfway there, Gwen suddenly laughed and Arthur threw her a glance, brow raised. "I've not dashed anywhere without getting properly dressed since I was a little girl," replied Gwen, using her free hand to indicate the simple sleep smock she was wearing.
This brought Arthur up short for a moment and Gwen watched the war wage across his features: it was indecent for the Queen to run around the Castle in her sleepwear, and yet they had waited for months... Arthur's eyes travelled from her bare toes up to her dishevelled hair, and then looked forwards to the end of the corridor, just two more turns and they'd be there...
"Guinevere," he almost whined, conflicted.
Gwen laughed again and raised her hand to his cheek. "When have we ever done anything properly?" she asked, reasonably. Truly she did not mind. Clothing was clothing, and be she Queen or not, that was what was important. Arthur sighed, but turned his head to kiss her palm before they moved forward again, faster now as Arthur's eagerness increased the closer they became.
Gwen gave credit to the guards on duty by the doors, their faces not giving any indication that anything was amiss, though certainly they were taken aback by her attire. They stood at attention as Arthur strode towards them, opening the two quietly elegant doors for their Sovereigns without being asked.
Slowing down before the threshold, Arthur guided her into the room first, releasing her hand so she could explore. The doors were shut with a soft snap behind her, but Gwen hardly noticed, overwhelmed by what the chamber held.
It took her breath away. The Round Table was enormous, and perfect; Arthur had explained his dream to her nearly a decade earlier, long before they were together when the first shoots of friendship were just beginning to probe for sunlight, in tones she had felt belonged to a man who believed his goal was unattainable.
Gwen walked forwards, a heavy sense of reverence and awe sitting warm in her tummy. She stretched a hand out, let her fingers pass over the grain, smooth and comfortingly solid beneath her fingertips.
The Pendragon crest was carved with immaculate attention to detail at the centre, then painted and varnished so the flickering light from torches set around the room gave the shining dragon motion, making it seem alive. Gwen guessed that fifty high-backed, oaken chairs sat spaced evenly around the table, with enough room between that should there be need for it, more chairs could be added.
"Arthur," whispered Gwen, and he stepped behind her, putting his hands on her waist and resting his chin to the side of her head. "It's absolutely... I mean, I could only imagine, and now to see it - It's just, well, it's perfect isn't it?"
A puff of breath caught the side of her face as he chuckled. "I've not heard you stumble over your words in a very long time," Arthur said softly, turning his head to kiss hers. "It will do."
She scoffed, she couldn't help it. "It will do," came her echo of disbelief. The Table presented a sense of majesty and weight of responsibility that only the truest of Camelot's Knights would not tremble before. It took a certain mettle to sit on even terms with your King, willing to speak honestly and with conviction. "Arthur, you can be such an idiot."
"So you and Merlin never tire in telling me," he mumbled, now brushing her hair aside to kiss along her neck, taking her entirely by surprise.
Gwen fought the instinct to tilt her head and give him better access, instead opting to distract him with talk. "Has Merlin seen it? He would be so pl- pleased." Her hiccough came when Arthur ran his tongue from her shoulder to her ear, leaving a chilled, damp line and her heart beginning to pound.
She felt him nod, his cheek brushing the side of her head in the action and he whispered, lips brushing teasingly against the curves of her ear, "he was here when the final chair was placed. Said he was surprised I'd ever thought of something so clever."
Under normal circumstance, being out of their chambers, Gwen would have stepped away from him as he licked the length of the fold behind her ear; as his hands rose slowly, laying flat and exquisite against her skin, from her hips to her ribs. And she would certainly not have raised her hand to curl around the back of his neck, pads of her fingers seeking his pulse-point to see if his heart raced as hers did.
But she had sat in on the meetings for this room, knew the thickness of the walls and doors (incredibly, to prevent eavesdropping); felt the thrill of embarking on something which would dramatically change Camelot for the better (the first time she had felt it, she thought she would fly); and was moved by the innate values of what the table represented (his belief in equality of the People, first demonstrated in his acceptance of her own and Merlin's opinions when they had still worked for the court as servants).
Gwen swallowed thickly, finally tilting her head and Arthur's lips curved in a smile against her neck. His lips closed over the sensitive and fleshy lobe of her ear, one hand lifting from her rib to graze her breast and Gwen arched back, bottom pressing against him.
As his fingers rolled her swelling nipple, sending shocks of pleasure bright and powerful like lightning strikes through her, Gwen slid her fingers from his neck into his hair, tugging locks of blond gently, letting her body move against his, rubbing sinuously along his chest and hips until she felt his own arousal press into her backside.
Twisting to face him, Gwen rose to her toes and pressed her body flat to Arthur's so that each of her curves met a hard line of his body, her breasts now pressed almost flat between them. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders as she looked at him, and a small impish smile turned her lips. "Are you trying to seduce me, Sire?"
Arthur kissed her, as he had in the beginning of their relationship: slow, inviting. His tongue tangled lazily with hers and his hands passed over her back as though exploring. It was so poignantly reminiscent of days when they were both young, foolish and irrationally, irrevocably drawn to each other that Gwen lost herself to the memories, sliding her hands to wrap tight around his shoulders.
He pulled away and grinned at her, knowing she would be embarrassed later as her eyelashes fluttered hopelessly at him. "The seduction happened long ago, Guinevere," he murmured against her mouth. Gwen wished he would stop talking, her lips burned from the lost contact, but he avoided her attempts at reconnecting with a snicker.
Changing tactics, she threaded her hands into his hair again and directed his face to hers, rather demanding. He fought only a little longer before meeting her. He matched her mood now, lips moving roughly on hers and moaning as she snaked a leg up his calf. One of his hands left a searing line down her back to hold her bum, pulling her more tightly against him so he could grind against her. Gwen cried out at the friction, his chest suddenly heaving against hers, their kiss increasing in urgency. He tightened his grip on her backside, pushing against her again and together, they began a disjointed rhythm.
She broke their kiss, touching her forehead to his chin as she searched for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, over his head and tossing it away without a care to where it landed. Arthur's fingers still against her back dragged heavy lines repeatedly against her skin through the itchy cotton of her shift. He threw his head back when her teeth grazed his collarbone, and Gwen let her tongue dart out to taste him. His flesh was hot and salty beneath her tongue, the bristles of hair a delightful stimulation against her taste buds.
Arthur growled as her lips closed over the round of his shoulder, his hips moving now constantly against hers. The friction and heat and scent and taste of him were driving her mad; he surrounded her, and this room was ringing with hope and honour and everything she associated with Arthur so that there was absolutely no escape, no reprieve.
Gwen put her hands against his chest and pushed away, body instantly protesting the loss of contact. Arthur, too, protested: a gruff grunt before he saw her hands tugging up on her gown. The chilly air of the Round Table room sent goosebumps across her skin, but Arthur was quickly there, his burning hands running over her body ceaselessly, and his eyes roved where his hands did not.
Swallowing thickly, trying to think through his caresses, she reached for his trousers. Impossible, she thought, that the rough callouses on his fingers and palms would be so softly pleasurable on her skin and if he would only -
"Yes," she gasped as his fingers slid across her abdomen, tangling briefly in the hair above her apex before stroking down between her thighs. Her own fingers closed over the top of his trousers, gripping tightly for support as Arthur's hand cupped her and rubbed in agonising slowness across the wet heat of her folds.
A tremble rocked through her when his finger dipped into her, slipped out. She gasped when two fingers slid into her next, twisting and wiggling inside her before a third pushed in and he tickled the sensitive wall. Gwen was lost on her feet, she pressed down against his hand and Arthur responded, fingers probing and tangling inside her so that the pressure in her body mounted until she was nearly exploding with it. His thumb began rolling against her clitoris and Gwen was whining, thrusting and pressing against him until a cry was ripped from her throat, shocks of pleasure passing through her.
Arthur kept up his hand's works until her climax passed fully, and then he languorously dragged his fingers free of her. Gwen watched as his hand left a wet trail up her stomach, fingers swirling around her nipple before leaving her chest, and slipping into his mouth. Arthur's blue eyes shone with barely contained arrogance and lust when Gwen whimpered, the simple action of him sucking her taste from his fingers propelling her into a state of desire once more.
Determined not be sidetracked again, Gwen unclenched her fingers from the top of his trousers, and reached for the strings that held his bulge hidden. Arthur ducked his head as she worked, cleaning the damp line he'd left on her chest and breasts with his tongue so that Gwen forced all her concentration into not focusing on the delicious sensation of Arthur's hot, wet mouth sucking and worrying her breast.
She bit her lip and held in moans of ecstasy - he knew that if he laved the taut point and swirled his tongue in just that way...
His trousers were loose and Gwen shoved them down, knocking Arthur free of her chest with a low grunt when her fingers danced along his shaft. He rose to his full height then, put his hands on her hips and guided her back towards the table. It was icy against her thighs, but Gwen ignored it, keeping Arthur in her palm, circling him with her fingers and beginning to rub him quickly.
He ducked his head and kissed her, so forcefully that she was made to lean back. He wrapped an arm around her back to hold her steady, rested his other hand on the table and held her as his mouth moved on hers just as her hands moved on him. Small growls and moans forced their way from the back of his throat and his arm propping them faltered when Gwen tightened her hold and increased the tempo. He was so hot in her hold, throbbing, moist and Gwen could tell if she just kept this up a little while longer...
"I want..." he mumbled almost incoherent against her mouth between kisses. Gwen smiled, let her tongue pass across the roof of his mouth and he twitched against her. "I want," he tried again and suddenly Arthur straightened. He grasped her hands, pulled them away and said roughly, "You."
Gwen's eyes flashed to his, the strength of his want nearly taking her breath away. He stepped aside and in a lithe motion, had climbed on the table and laid back for her. She clambered onto the table as well, not nearly as graceful, but didn't care. She crawled over him, careful to press her knees and thighs against his hips, to let her breasts brush against his chest. Her damp hair fell in a curtain around their faces as she lowered hers to his, holding his gaze.
Her hand wrapped around him again, and she lowered herself down, guiding him in. Her gasp mingled with his, the feel of him thick, burning inside of her was a pleasure she was had blessedly never become accustomed to. Arthur ran his hands up her thighs and cupped her bum, fingers urging her to move against him.
She did, slowly at first, feeling the chilled wood beneath her knees in sharp contrast to the scorching heat of Arthur's hips against her thighs. She braced herself with palms on his chest, his thumbs kneading circles just below her hip bones, fingers massaging the cup of her bottom. Arthur thrust beneath her, in controlled and exacting movements each time, certain to fill her as she could not imagine any other man ever could.
Master of leaving no marks, Gwen indulged this time; her nails dug into his chest as he pushed up against her again, and she was rewarded when his chin tilted up, back arching as his head pressed back and a deep, resonating groan vibrated from his throat. Gwen glided her nails across him once more, and suddenly she was rocking faster to match his frantic movements, pushing harder against him as he moved into her again, a fever taking them.
He was closer than she was, and Gwen knew it, rolling herself quickly on him, twisting her hips in ways she knew elicited the most pleasure for him. Gwen could see Arthur was on fire: his skin red as a ripe apple, cords in his neck pulled tight, and eyes glazed, he watched her fiercely.
Desperate for him to release, Gwen sent her hand to his head, fingers stroking all across his face, the added titillation just enough. His movements became less refined, erratic and then he arched, back and hips entirely leaving the table surface and lifting Gwen with him. Arthur spilled into her with a hoarse shout of her name and the rush of heat inside her sent the familiar tendrils of satisfaction twining through her limbs and around her heart.
She had always thought it a grand accomplishment to bring Arthur to the breaking point of ecstasy and never tired of seeing him the moment after his release: entirely bared to her, not a single barrier between his heart and hers.
As Arthur panted through the aftershocks of his pleasure, Gwen rolled her hips, rocking against him needily. He slid his hand from her bum, slipping a finger between them and once more massaged her until white flashed behind her eyes. She gasped, "My King," and was overcome, rapture washing through her, consuming her, before she collapsed boneless across his chest.
They lay still for a while, spent and sated. Then Arthur wrapped his arms around her, his skin felt as hot as coals against her back, and he whispered, "you're shivering."
Feeling suddenly foolish, Gwen shifted, realising for the first time that she was curled into the warmth of Arthur's chest against the cold of varnished wood beneath her knees and legs, and the chilly air of the chamber. "It's a bit cold," whispered Gwen into his shoulder and Arthur had the audacity to laugh.
"So satisfied in my seduction that you didn't even notice the temperature?" he asked, all boyish pomposity and raw male gratification. Those tones caused jolts of arousal from the bottom of her stomach even as she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
Gwen reluctantly forced herself to rise from his chest, and glare playfully down at him. "I thought you said the seduction happened long ago."
"I was being romantically hyperbolic," Arthur replied with a grin. Before Gwen could retort he had raised his head to press a consolatory kiss to the edge of her mouth. "Every time I take you to our bed, it's a seduction. You're not an easy woman to win over."
Thinking that he was incredibly far from speaking truth, that in reality she was all too easily taken by Arthur, and had been ever since he first courted her, she was wary to correct him. Instead, Gwen glanced significantly around them. "This isn't exactly taking me to bed," she pointed out, and Arthur's grin grew cheeky. He sat up slowly, keeping her tight to his chest, and Gwen carefully rose herself off of him before sliding free of his hold.
She could feel his eyes following her as she crawled to the edge of the table and climbed down before she heard movement behind her. She waited until he stood beside her, turning to him, preparing another retort but he bent to pick up her smock, and offered it to her peaceably. Gwen did not trust the motion, a light of mischief still bright in his eyes, but his expression was so innocent that she deigned to place a hand on the material.
As soon as she grasped it, Arthur used the fabric to tug her into him and she slapped a hand lightly into his chest. He laughed again and laid a finger over her mouth before she could speak. "I just wanted to say, this may not be our bed, but it was still an act of love." Gwen watched him wordlessly, waiting impatiently with a raised brow for his conclusion, eyes widening as his expression grew more affectionate, amusement creasing the lines around his eyes. "For our love of Camelot," he said earnestly, and she read the honesty in his tones even wrapped in his joke.
There was a pause between them in which time Gwen was not sure if she wanted to laugh, roll her eyes, or lead Arthur back onto the Table and not ever let him up.
She settled on kissing his finger still pressed across her lips.