Guilty Pleasures

[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

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[Guinevère]

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[Arthur Pendragon]

Time as always, was not kept track of. Hours could have gone by, days and he would not have known the different. And as always, he was not sleeping. He was awake, as the guilt filled his heart once again. But this time, it was not the shock of what they had done. He knew what they had done. He had to accept it . . . for he would not have changed it. He was with her. How could he want anything different? He knew he had betrayed Elena, beyond any possible excuse. And he would not justify his disloyal actions. At the same time, he had been betraying Guinevère since the moment he married another woman. He could remain loyal to his heart, or to the politics and legalities of this land. He had chosen his heart tonight; he had chosen her. Resting his head on her chest, he felt her breathing slow, his own having been calmed as well.

His hand rested along her stomach, draped around it as if holding her in the only way he could while he felt her gentle stroking of his hair and back. Such a comforting and relaxing gesture . . . because it was from her. Her previous words entered his mind, as she had spoken of the possibility of a child. After what happened tonight, it was again, a possibility. That she would be with child. He moved his head a bit, moving it over her stomach so that he could gently place a few kisses there. "I have no right," he whispered in between kisses. It was not a harshly spoken statement, nor was he allowing all the guilt in his heart be evident in his tone. But his words were true. He had no right. No right to make love to her. No right to want her womb to be filled with his child. He wondered what that would be like. What it would feel like to have a life in there; a life that they created together.

[Guinevère]

She felt him move and places kisses over her belly, for a moment all she could do was smile and think of were this might go . . . .

His words however brought the world back down to her. For a moment she felt as if she was falling, and her hands paused where they had been running though his hair in encouragement. Her son was in the room! His wife was in the depths of disrepair after loosing her own child and the only thing they could think about was each other!

Her hands started moving again, holding him closer, unwilling to loose him for a moment even as guilt hit her, and weighted her down. What did she tell him after this? That she wished he did? That she wished he above all others would give her a child. That it had always been him. Always. "A daughter." she whispered, knowing that is what she wanted from him. A little girl with his hair, and her father's kindness, and Arthur's heart. But they could not. Ever.

[Arthur Pendragon]

When he felt her cease action, he grew worried for a moment. Worried because . . . as forbidden as this was, he didn't want this moment to end. They had already made the night theirs, what was a few more moments together. It would make the pain of the separation more intense, but it would also make him filled with less regret of not spending those extra few moments with her. Finally, he felt her resume running her hand through his hair, closing his eyes in relief. He kept them closed when she spoke two words that filled him with both hope and worry. A daughter. Their daughter. One who would have her mother's beauty and grace. One she could teach how to sew. One that would have Guinevère's compassion and strong heart. He wanted nothing more, but knew he could never have it.

He opened his eyes, his hand that had just been casually draped over her stomach, now moved across it, the palm of his hand and fingers trailing along her. "Anna." Named after her mother, because she had named her son after her father. And he would not want to name their daughter Ygraine. He closed his eyes again, taking in a deep breath, fantasizing about a daughter. One they could raise together. One that would be theirs. A sister for Thomas. Thomas. A son that was not his. Guinevère. A woman that was not his. And yet, was he not permitted to dream. He placed another soft, lingering kiss on the area that -- he both he wished and worried -- could one day carry his child. How could something he want so badly, be so prohibited.

[Guinevère]

Arthur spoke her mother's name and she closed her eyes and held onto it. Anna! She wanted a daughter to badly in this moment but she knew if she found her self with a child that she had only two options. All the others were ones she would never do. She could go away and live as a window, and raise two child far from the main city so no one would know how recently or unrecently her husband had died.

It didn't seem fair to do that. For everyone. Thomas loved it here, and Elyan loved Thomas, and he also loved his friends here. Arthur should not be forced to live without knowing his child but . . . .

If she stayed, she would have to wed another. Give her child that man's name if he would allow it. There were many men of honor that she knew would offer for her--after Lancelot had died, one of them even offered to marry her to make sure she was not alone--but she could not do what she did her her husband to another man. Marry him and cry for another. Want an other. Love an other.

There could never be a child. "I love her already." She whispered, knowing it was a child that could never be.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"I love her already." As did he. He was holding on to this fantasy, to this dream. When he should be thinking of his wife, and thinking of consoling her for the loss of their own child. It was something Arthur still felt. The devastation over having lost a son or daughter. If a child entered his life, he would never regret it. But if he had to choose who it could be with . . . as unfair as it would be, as complicated as it would be . . . he would want his child to be with Guinevère. And that was part of why he was unrightfully jealous of Lancelot. Because he had that honor. He had that privilege. And Arthur had wished every moment of every day that it could have been him. Which would only make him feel guilty for having such thoughts about another man's wife . . . and such thoughts when he was already married.

But the guilt was incomparable to the kind he had now. For it was deeper, stronger. "Do you, ever think of remarrying?" The question had come out before he had time to think about it. It had been a question that had been on his mind, long after Lancelot had passed on. When she was married to him, he had stayed up nights, thinking of how they were together. When he passed away, he would stay up at night, thinking of her grieving for the man she once loved; a good husband, and the father of her child. So he wanted to know, if she ever planned to be married once more. Perhaps to brace himself for it, knowing he should want her to be happy and well looked after. Yet, he would feel those pangs of jealousy and guilt all over again.

[Guinevère]

Arthur was asking her about the same things in her mind, which made her wonder if he could read her mind or if they were just completely in sync with their thoughts. It was hard to fully answer him, for she didn't know anymore what she would or would not do. She was lost in the woods.

"I loved him." She whispered, "I did. I loved him very much. But my whole marriage was a lie, Arthur and I am so afraid he knew it. That he knew how unfair I was to him. I sobbed on my wedding night, and it took me a week to let let him touch me. To become his wife instead of a bride."

It was something awkward to explain to a man while he was naked in her bed but she wanted him to understand. See how it was, and how unfair it would be to any man. "Shortly after his death, I was approached. Asked if I would marry him, another knight. I knew he was doing it to be honorable, and there was no love and nor would be expect it. For all he knew, it would be Lancelot that I cried over."

"But I could not hurt another the way that I hurt him. I can not see myself with another man." Only Arthur. Her hand moved to her belly, and she wondered how a babe would change everything. "But I know somethings are more important, and I would protect a child the only way I could." By giving the babe a name to protect them from the world. From scandal.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Though Arthur was not looking at her, he was listening. Very attentively. He hated hearing that she felt she betrayed her husband . . . when he was the one who betraying his wife. But he could understand what that felt like. For long before he had slept with Guinevère, he had betrayed Elena. Emotionally, rather than physically -- until now. He wished he could have the words to offer her, but he knew anything he said to rest assured her mind, would make him a hypocrite. When she had previously told him something similar, though in less detail, Arthur had reminded her that she did love Lancelot. That at least there was an element of love in their relationship. That there was something there to hold on to. But again, hearing that she sobbed on her wedding night . . . he knew that mustn't have been easy for her, or him. When she brought to words the images in his head, of allowing him to touch her, Arthur inwardly cringed. The thought alone was maddening, unable to help himself growing frustrated with the thought of her with another man. He shouldn't be, but he was.

Which was why he had asked the question he did. Someone had proposed to her? Who? Subconsciously, his arm draped around her stomach again, holding on to her. As if . . . as if he had some sort of claim to her. As if the thought of her with another man would bring back all those envious and shameful thoughts that he had. Yet, he knew that he could never ask her not to marry another. She was not his mistress. He would not isolate her life . . . and he did not want her to think that just because he was king, he could. It was not like that. Despite the fact that titles had always been a strong barrier -- the only one really -- in their relationship. She could not see herself with another man, just as he had not been able to see himself with another woman. But he knew that sometimes circumstances controlled what a person wanted. Which was why he could not argue with the fact that if -- IF -- she was with child, then she would have to remarry.

The thought . . . almost made Arthur hope she wasn't. Knowing it was selfish, and was unable to explain it without sounding like the greediest man alive. Which, he was. He knew he was. The way he was toying with two women's emotions, acting as if he had the right. The right to tell Guinevère to please not marry another. To not commit herself to another, when he was the one who was committed. What kind of man had he become. He was ashamed of himself. She spoke of how he was great and had a strong heart . . . but his thoughts and actions went against her beliefs in him. It was why he knew he was unworthy of her compliments . . . of her love. "Who asked you?" He inquired, trying to keep his tone void of any jealousy. Whoever it was . . . he asked in case he needed to brace himself. In case she was with child and would therefore have no other choice. He wanted to -- no, needed to know. What if this man became her husband, and . . . Arthur didn't want to think of it.

In this seemingly perfect moment, he didn't want to think of her getting married to someone else and laying with them, and making love to him as they had just done. "I know I have no right," he said, repeating his earlier words . . . unable to stop himself from talking; from saying too much that would only hurt them in the end. He finally raised his head, to look at her. To fight the urge to tell her how much he despised the thought of another man in her love. "I love you." Because if they could never have this escape from reality again . . . he wanted her to know that. His gazed only lasted a few moments as he lowered his head to her chest again. "And I need you," he whispered, once again, knowing he had said these words before. And once again, knew how selfish they were. He despised sounding so vulnerable . . . so needy . . . acting as if it was only his needs that mattered. When that was not the case at all. Yet, that seemed to be what it sounded like.

If she remarried, he would take a step back. Or would he. He thought he could, but after what they shared . . . it was getting more and more difficult to maintain a distance. If she had husband, then they would have no choice. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't bare the thought, but he didn't. It was unfair. After all, she was not the one who should be feeling guilty; it was him. "I wish, everything could be different." He was not sure why he was saying that, other than because it was the truth. He had tried so hard to focus on reality, spending years concentrating on that. But one night with her had put him into a dream world; a place where they were together, where they could have a child to raise together . . . and there was nothing wrong with that. No obstacles they needed to face; no barriers; no . . . marriages. Elena. His wife. He took a deep breath, thinking of how he had become a man who so easily dismissed the feelings of others: of Guinevère and the woman who he had sworn his life to.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère didn't want to tell him who has asked her, for it would not be who he thought it was. It had not been on of the knights that he had called brothers but someone different. That whole encounter had been filled with heart breaking awkwardness. She'd thanked him, for his kindness, and told him that if she needed anything it would be him she'd asked it of. But even that had been a lie. "Someone who is married now, and quite happy."

It would have to be the best answer she could give him for now. For she did not want to embarrass anyone, even if Arthur would never tell the man what he knew. He then spoke of rights and looked at her. Guinevère moved so she was sitting up, not being the covers with her. "Will anyone miss you tonight?" She asked, knowing she was damning herself with her request. "Can you stay for an hour or so? I know this can never be. We both know it, Arthur. Tomorrow we will have to try to pretend we are other people. But tonight . . . will you hold me?" Just hold her, and keep her warm. Keep her safe.

[Arthur Pendragon]

She was not giving him a name, and he understood why. He just . . . feared for the day -- the day that he knew would eventually come -- where Guinevère found a man to marry. Someone who could support and protect her. Someone who could play the role of father for Thomas. Someone who would give her more children. And it wouldn't be him. It couldn't be. He did not push for answers; no name, no men who she thought may ask her. He would let it be. Because, he wanted to enjoy what time they had left together. As she said, this could never be. Come tomorrow, they had to resume with their lives. He would have to return to being king. He looked at her when she shifted so she was seated more upright. "Will anyone miss you tonight?" Not tonight.

But he knew . . . eventually, that his nights would not be so free. He hated to think on it. But it was the harsh reality. She then asked him to hold her . . . something that he shouldn't do. But the only thing he wanted to do. He moved his head off from her chest and instead, lay next to her. He kept his arms around her however, and put them around her, pulling her as close to him as possible so that they were still close and still facing each other. In this angle, he only needed to move slightly forward to lightly kiss her lips. "I don't want to be anywhere else tonight," he admitted to her. Not tonight. Not ever. Tonight was theirs and he would spend it with his arms around the woman he loved.

[Guinevère]

She was afraid. She was afraid of the morning to come and how she would once again have to return him to his wife. She knew it was unfair and that doing this made her an evil woman with morals as high as Morgana, but even still she could not let him go. Not tonight. Tomorrow would be different. She hoped.

Guinevère did eventually sleep, and for the first time in years it was a very good sleep. She didn't feel cold or alone, but warm and loved. His arms seemed to protect her from any bad feelings. When she awoke her eyes went to the window. Light was just starting to creep up into the sky, and she knew they only had an half hour or so before dawn. Before he would need to go to his own bed, so that no one would miss him come morning. She pushed to sit lean up on her arms and watched him sleep for a few moments. Completely unguarded in his rest she looked at the man behind the crown he showed everyone.

How did one love someone so much, and live their life watching him be with another? She didn't know but she would. After tonight there could not be another. She would be strong for him, and he would be the king everyone loved. Reaching her hand to gently touch his cheek with her finger tips she whispered his name, "Arthur," to wake him. He had to go before someone discovered them.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur fell into a restful sleep. It was not deep, but it was peaceful. The most peaceful one he'd had . . . in years. It may not have been long, but it was exactly what he had needed. The thoughts of what he had done did not haunt his mind. He just let himself fall into sleep with ease, wanting to embrace the night rather than keep fighting it all the time. It was getting harder and harder to fight. He felt a slight stir in the bed and then a soft hand on his cheek. He knew without opening his eyes that it was Guinevère's. That it wasn't a dream he was having, and that she was actually there with him. He just took in the moment for a few seconds, hearing her softly speak his name. Before he slowly opened his eyes, her image coming into view. He didn't want to move, but he knew he had to. He knew that the sun was rising and he needed to leave before the castle woke for the morning; before her son awoke and before someone came in to check on Guinevère and Thomas.Yet he could not just leap out of bed.

He remained lying down, just watching her for a moment with a soft expression. Finding he had so much to say and no words came out. Finally, he took a deep breath and raised himself, sitting up in the bed and just blinking a few times as if to allow himself to fully realize where he was, what he had done . . . and how it could never happen again. They'd said that last time, and yet here they were again. Should he apologize? Should they make the same promises. In the end he just found himself leaning towards her to kiss her; a good morning kiss mixed in with a goodbye one. He put his hand on her cheek, letting himself think of nothing else in this embrace. After letting the wonderful sensation of the kiss linger, he pulled away, once again finding it so hard to smile. It was bittersweet. Everything between them seemed to be bittersweet. And it only seemed to be getting harder to maintain that distance they were both striving for. He lowered his hand and his eyes darted around, looking for his pants. Knowing he had to leave, no matter how much he wished he could stay.

[Guinevère]

She felt Arthur kiss her and she wanted to pull him back down and spend the whole day in bed. But she knew she could not, she needed to get up and dressed and go check on her son. She wanted to make sure he was warm and not hot or cold, then ask Gaius to come see him again.

She knew she had need him tonight, and he'd broken his honor code again to give her what she'd forced on him. Silently she stood out of bed, using one of the blankets to wrap around her and found a robe to put on around her. She then began picking up the rest of his close to bring to him. She knew they both knew this could not happen again and her words were un-needed in this. "I have to attend an lunch with Lady Marian for a charity. I will be gone for an hour. You should stop by and give Thomas the lance. He'd like that." And he'd not have to see her..