Guilty Pleasures

[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

Guinevère was trying to clam her breathing, as she felt him kiss her shoulder. She smiled softly, turning her head to see him better. she wanted to kiss him and pull him down for another few hours just last the last few. To embrace the role that they were pretending she eve had the right to hold.

She knew that when they left this tent, or someone came looking for her or him that this little world would be shattered and they would not be able to pretend any longer. She feared for the moment, but knew that it would with in the few hours for he was a king and someone would need him at some point. Guinevère just hoped it wasn't sooner rather the later.

She didn't feel cold with no blankets, but she was feeling slightly modest. Arthur had seen everything (touched everything) but seeing while loving her and seeing casually were a bit different. Even still, she did not want him to pull away to even reach for the blanket. "I love you,Arthur."

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur gave a soft smile at her words. He loved the way she said them. So casually at yet with such strong sentiment and sincerity. In this little pretend world they created, there was nothing wrong with these words. There was no reason they would bring heartache and pain. "I love you too," he replied, just letting himself feel as if he were her husband. Physically as well as emotionally. He lightly kissed her shoulder again, his eyes looking at certain areas on her body where small bruises developed. He hadn't quite noticed them when they were in the height of their passion, but now he did.

And he knew that they were more than likely caused by him. Not this recent time but the previous one. "I hurt you," He acknowledged softly, as his hand went from her leg to linger over some of the areas where she was bruising. He hoped it didn't cause her too much pain, never wanting to be the reason he caused her pain. Though he knew he was doing a pretty bad job of that. In this case, he should have been more careful with her delicate body. Especially after what she had been through. Yet he'd allowed his drive to overpower his senses, not quite having realized how tightly he had held her, or touched her.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère felt his lips on her shoulder again and her hand moved to hold his head closer for a moment before he pilled away to look at her again. She wished this night would never end, she wanted to hold him to her forever and just be loved by him. She had not even realized she was lonely until her and Arthur had begun this. Now it was all she saw.

"You didn't hurt me." She promised, "You loved me. I needed to fill that. They don't even hurt." Ans they didn't. Nothing hurt right now. Nothing. There was only this joy in her that filled her so completely. She wished it to never leave. "They will fade in a few days. . . . " As would their little world in a few hours. Her hand moved to his back where she had broken the skin, they would he hard to explain. "Do they hurt?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

"You didn't hurt me." He wanted to believe that. He knew she was not lying, but he also knew that she would not say if they caused any pain. Even the slightest bit was too much. He didn't like seeing those marks on her body, knowing he had put them there. Yet, he did not regret his actions for they had been able to share such levels of intimacy and passion between them that he never had with anyone else. He just gave a soft smile when she claimed they didn't hurt. That she had needed him to love her. He wanted to say that next time he would be more careful . . . but he knew that after tonight, there would be no next time. And he didn't want to have such thoughts right now. He wanted to enjoy his time with her. His hands just continued to gently move over the bruises, not pushing on them, but just lingering over them. "I should have been more careful. You are rather delicate," he said with slight teasing as his lips kissed her cheek. He couldn't remember the last time he had engaged in such casual teasing.

Especially after their nights together when the conversation would entail of things that were so much harder to discuss . . . because while they had been somewhat been pretending, it had been the surge of emotions that led one thing to another. This time, he was truly pretending. Unwilling to let himself just walk away right now. When he felt her hands on his back and asked if they hurt, he hadn't even noticed that his skin had broken. Nor did he flinch in the slightest. Not when her touch was so gentle and tender. "No," he confirmed. "Nor do they look like battle wounds," he added, trying to maintain that teasing mood. But, there had been a reason he had said it. Because he knew that he would not be able to lay with his wife -- to try for another child -- until these wounds healed. It would arouse too much suspicion. And . . . he found himself, relieved for the excuse. He knew it was horrible of him to feel as such. But, he couldn't help it. He needed time to allow himself to accept the fact that he could never with Guinevère again. In which time, the wounds would heal.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère smiles when he kissed her cheek, but it faded when he spoke of his own. "Not so delicate." So whispered back to him, not wanting him to think she was. "If not for the colors, I would not even know they were there. My skin is dark enough to hide them." But his skin was not.

Her fingers trailed over them, while she tried think of some way to help him hide them from people. From his wife. The knowledge that he would be intimate with another woman hurt so bad that her eyes watered and a few tears spilled over. "You could tell her they are from her." She whispered, knowing she was breaking their pretend world. She prayed that his responses was that he'd not been with his wife and therefore they could not be from her. She waited for the words to ease this pain in her chest, but knew it was none of her business.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He was relieved to hear that she couldn't feel them, hoping that it remained that way past tonight. That she would not feel any strain from them. For he never wanted to inflict any sort of injury on her. Yet he knew if he apologized she would tell him not to. He also knew . . . that another may not even see them. That . . . she would not be intimate with another man any time soon. The thought of her being intimate with another now, would make him want to kill that man. And then know it was unfair of him. Which was why he felt a pain in his heart, for the reality of this all. He saw her tears and knew, that she knew. He wished with every thing within him that he could promise her that he would not lay with another woman. That it would only be her from now on. Her and no one else. Her tears broke his heart. As did her words. He could not lie to her, nor did he want to admit that . . . he had been intimate with Elena. So recently too.

He just looked at her, internally debating what to do. Either way, his answer would not be the desired one. It would either be too honest or too dishonest. And he never, ever wanted to hurt her. He moved his hands from where they lingered on her bruise and gently wiped away her tears. He tried to smile but it didn't come out. All he could do was slowly shake his head, as his gaze fell downwards, away from her eyes. He was unable to look at her while making this silent admittance; that he would not say that they were from his wife. Even though they could have been. Which meant . . . she would know what it meant. As did he. It only made him despise himself even more. That he could not even stay loyal to one woman. That he had betrayed both in unimaginable ways. That he was so undeserving of two incredible women.

[Guinevère]

O-oh. She should have expected that. Elena was his wife. Of course he would have been welcomed home as a wife would welcome a husband. It had been foolish and plain stupid of her to forget that. It made her feel very guilty and torrid about herself, her actions, and her judgments. Very weak. She wasn't sure what to say but she knew that she could not let him think she was mad at him, for she was only ashamed in herself.

She reached up to his cheeks and kissed his lips softly, knowing that it was wrong. Her heart was beating awkwardly in her chest with the hurtful reminder. When the kiss was over, she brushed his hair back once more, taking in every detail she could, before turning to sit up, and reach for the blanket to cover her self. After many long moments of a bit awkward silence she stood fully and looked around for her dress. Which she saw with out touching that it was ruined. Wearable, but never again after her trip home.

She reached for it, so she could slip it over her head and at least appear normal, even though her heart was breaking completely in two. Arthur was not her husband. He would never be.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He knew that this silent revelation had made things awkward. That the thought of his wife, had ruined the small pretend world they had created in each other's company. And . . . he couldn't do anything to change it. He wished he could. But apart from running away from Camelot with Guinevère -- which was something neither of them would ever be able to bring themselves to do -- there was not escape from the reality of their lives. Only moments of pretending. When she leaned forward to kiss him he closed his eyes and returned the kiss, though it was not an overly heated one. Just a soft, lingering embrace . . . as if to say goodbye. He kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds, feeling her hand brush back his hair, until he opened them to see her pull the blanket around her. He just looked at her, and then looked down at the bed they were both on. He remained silent when she stood to look for her dress.

Still not speaking. Still unsure what to say. When he glanced over and she was pulling it over her head, he took the opportunity to quickly put his pants on, lacing them up and putting his feet over the edge of the bed sitting there for a minute before he rose to his feet. He picked up his shirt off the guard and walked over to his table where there was a folded cloak. It was his own, but he wouldn't need to wear it on the way back. Judging from the state of her dress, she would need it more than him. He picked it up and took a few steps over to her, holding it out. "This will keep you warm and covered." Since her dress was so tattered. He wished things did not have to be so, awkward. But knew that with the subject that had arose, it was impossible for everything not to be.

[Guinevère]

Lifting her corset from the ground she held it and looked at it for a moment. The deign she had spent months sewing into it was ruined beyond repair. It was the same corset that she had worn for years, worn the first Arthur kissed her, and so many other times when they shared moments and laughs and kisses. It was almost ironic that now in the end it was gone too.

She slid it on and was lancing it up when he offered her his cloak. She reached over and took it from him, her hands lingering over his for a few long moments before she fully took it. "Will you not be cold?" She asked, not wanting to trade his warmth for her's. She knew that her dress was beyond wearable again, but she could make do with a shirt perhaps and be warmed in the carriage . . . had a carriage made it? So many questions and she could not ask them. Right now she only wished she could forget again.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He wondered if her reluctance in taking it was because . . . it was his. But when she spoke again he soon realized that it was due to her own concern for him. This was one of the many reasons he loved her. She was so considerate, so caring. Everything about her just made it impossible to ignore the love he held in his heart for her, which was why it had been so hard to keep denying it. And while, it had resulted in hurting her more. "No," he assured her. "I will be dressed warm enough." With his shirt, the padding, and his chain mail, as well as his cape . . . he would be warm for the journey ride home. It wasn't too long of a journey. But he did not want her to get cold just in case.

And he knew she was not entirely comfortable clad solely in the torn dress. He put his shirt over his head, picking up his boots and sitting on the stool in the tent. "Besides, I think you need it more than I do." His pathetic attempt to lighten the mood. Knowing, it would not work. The words slipped out regardless, for he wasn't sure what else to say in this moment. He wished he was better with words. Better at explaining things. But he wasn't. He recalled when he'd first fallen in love with her, he'd be so frazzled and flustered. Now, he just didn't know the appropriate words to say. Not when he was aware of how much he'd hurt her.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère watched him sit to put on his boots. She wondered if that meant their time was truly up. Perhaps that was best, for she feared her own actions, and knew that she felt horrid enough as a person. Elena was a good person! She did not deserve Guinevère's attempts at stealing her husband, and Arthur did not deserve her trying to pull at his loyalty to his wife.

She pulled the cloak over her shoulders and drew it tight around her. "Thank you." She told him softly, watching as he dressed. Her eyes looked for her own shoes and she found her slippers. She moved to sit at the other end of the bed to put them on, not trusting her self to sit beside him. When she was done, she stood back up and buckled the cloak to her, pulling the hood up to rest over her hair and cover head her. "It smells of you." She said, not even know she'd whispered the words out. She liked it, the scent of him surrounding her. It was the blue-green cloak he wore when he'd stayed with her, and her wearing when he stayed with her, and it made it important to her. Made her love it. "For everything."

[Arthur Pendragon]

He gave a small nod when she thanked him for it. Once his boots were on, he walked over to where his chainmail and under padding was laying on the ground, as she put her own shoes on. "It smells of you." He paused and gave a slight smile at her words. She had said the same thing about his cape, but not so directly. And when she had spoken of when she felt cold and alone how she would wear his cape and . . . he needed to pull his thoughts away from such things. Knowing that if they continued to surface in his mind, he would just pull her back onto the bed and make love to her all over again. "I take it that's a good thing," he said in an equally soft voice, knowing he shouldn't be entertaining such ideas, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't just pretend that she meant nothing to him. For he meant every word of affection he had spoken to her.

Every confession. Every emotionally sentimental phrase. He held on to the jacket he wore for padding as she thanked him. Though, he still felt that she had nothing to thank him for. That he had only done more damage than good. "No thanks is needed, for anything," he told her, not wanting her to feel like she owed him gratitude . . . when he deserved none of it. "You can rest here Guinevère," he added. Not wanting her to go out in the cold just yet, perhaps if she was able to fall asleep on his bed, he could just join the others in keeping watch, so that there would be no questions about where he spent his night. "At least for a little while longer," he added, so that she would not feel like she had to leave right this instant.

[Guinevère]

Her cheeks blushed with slight embarrassment at having spoken allowed but she would not take her words back. "You make me feel very safe, Arthur. Even if it's just your cloak around me." For she knew that he was the bravest man she knew, and that he'd let no harm come to her--even if she rather he did not risk his life for her's.

He was holding his padded jacket and she walked over and took it from him, holding it out to help him slide it on. Once he had one that, she walked around to stand before him and lace it up the front in the few places it tired off. "If you could, can you walk me to see my brother? I am sure he must be worried, and a short visit with him would let him relax some." Plus getting some air would let her mind clear . . . and she wanted to see the damage if she could. See it before they left. "When do we ride out?" For Camelot. She dearly needed to hug her son half to death.

[Arthur Pendragon]

He was relieved to hear that. That he still had the ability to make her feel safe, even if he knew he hadn't given her much reason to feel so. He was at least glad that she gained some comfort from it. That if he could not hold her all the time, then at least she had something to remember him by. Then again, he feared that would only make it worse. And that he shouldn't wish for such things. Such selfish things. Not when he had a wife . . . and knew he had no claim to Guinevère. So he just nodded, that subtle smile still on his lips, finding the circumstances too difficult to smile with full joviality. He watched her as she came towards him, taking his shirt in hand and turned so that he could put his arms through it. She even went further to help him lace it. And he found his eyes resting on her, trying to hide that soft longing look he often gave her. Trying to be . . . what was the word? Formal! Right; Formal! But he could not escape the thought of how this felt like a wife helping her husband dress. In the same way that his own wife . . .

"Of course," he agreed when she asked if he would take her to her brother. Elyan had been terribly worried and he doubted he was sleeping. Plus it would at least give her comfort to have family nearby. "He was terribly worried about you. It would indeed do him good to be able to see you." Everyone had been worried about her. Himself included. When his jacket was on, he leaned to pick up his chainmail, pulling it over his head as he heard her ask when they were going to ride out. He pulled the metal down, adjusting it so that it fit comfortably, refocusing his attention on her to answer her question, though walked over to his table where his sword attached to its belt lay. "Tomorrow morning. As soon as we can." Which was why he should check on the status of his men; see if anyone required special traveling arrangements because they were severely injured.

[Guinevère]

Arthur lifted his chainmail and Guinevère's hand reached up to move it down easier. He was taller so she was unable to help with the top parts. "Elyan is always worried about me. In many ways I enjoy it, but I wish he did not worry so much." He wanted to make a joke about him needed a wife to keep him busy but wives were not something they could joke about between them. It was a reminder.

"I look forward to seeing Thomas." She admitted, "I know I said so earlier, but I really doubt I will ever be able to leave him behind again. Though I am grateful I did so. I would have not wanted him for this. I could have lost him." Which made her feel glad she did leave him behind, so he was safe rather then in danger.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"He worries about you because he loves you." As did he he. But he was not going to bring the subject back on them when they had moved it along to something else. He thought of Elyan. Of . . . if he would lose the man's loyalty if he knew what he had done. If he would throw down his gauntlet to defend his sister's honor. Challenge him to single combat. Truth be told, Arthur would not blame him if that was what he did. He would understand it completely. How many lives would he anger and destroy, just by acting on his love for Guinevère? What would Merlin say about it? Would he be angry or understanding? What about the other knights? Gwaine? Percival? Even Leon? What if when Thomas came of age and he learned of this? Would he too fight for his mother's honor? "The others were were also extremely worried about you: Percival, Gwaine and Sir Leon. I am certain they will be glad to see that you are well."

Though the bruise on her face and cut on her cheek may continue to keep them concerned for her, but he did not want to bring the focus to that. Then she spoke of Thomas. The image of him running towards him, cape in hand, entered his mind. "It is a relief he was spared from the trauma of these events. I wish the same could be said for you." That she did not have to endure what she did. "And the others," he added, as he adjusted his belt to the side. "He will be happy to see you. As I said before, I have never seen such a determined child." Determined to come with him. To protect his mother. And he was glad that she was able to have someone in her life that brought her such unconditional joy.

[Guinevère]

"They are all very kind, I am lucky to have them in my life." she admitted, "I am even claiming Sir Kolby in that for now. He was a brave man." Talkative, but a good man. "We feared they might kill him to shut him up." She tried to joke, though it came out too serious. Kobly was known to talk too much, and it was a reputation highly earned.

Arthur spoke of Thomas and she smiled softly, wishing she could have seen that. Glad that he was not here for her to have seen such a sight. she pulled his cloak around her to trap in the warm air of the tent for when they left. She knew that he was almost ready to leave, and staying here all night would make people worry for her, and she did not wish to make them do so.