Part 8: link
Sorry about the delay, there was a slight hiccup in the proceedings. But we're back on track now!
London, 1977
kbrand5333
A/N: If آپ are unaware, “fag” is British slang for a cigarette. I would never use the crass American version.
I hope those ruffians aren’t loitering around again. I hate walking past them, Gwen thinks as she walks down the street, on her way ہوم from some Saturday morning shopping. Her bag in her arms with some groceries from the market; she rounds the corner and surveys the سٹریٹ, گلی ahead of her.
They’re there. The five of them on one side. On the other, one man on a bench, reading a newspaper. I think I’ll stay on newspaper man’s side. If nothing else, I won’t have to walk through that بادل of cigarette smoke.
She proceeds up the street, enjoying the morning sun on her shoulders, thinking about her plans for the day, her little ناشتا, برونکہ she’s going to go ہوم and make, her brother far away in America…
“Well, well, what have we here?” The seemingly innocuous man with the newspaper is now blocking her path.
“Excuse me,” she says, stepping to the side, trying to pass.
“Don’t be rude, darlin’, I’m tryin’ to talk to you, is all,” the man says, stepping with her to block her path again.
Gwen swallows uncertainly, looking up at him. He’s big. Kind of scary.
“I’m sorry, I… I need to get my groceries home,” she tries again, sidestepping once مزید to no avail.
“Don’t be like that, love, I just want to get to know آپ better,” he says, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek.
She jerks her head away from him, scared, and tries to back up. She backs into another man. He’s not alone.
“Come now, doll, Helios and me, we just wanna be friends, ain’t that right, Helios?” the سیکنڈ man coos greasily into her ear.
“Nah, Cenred, I think I wanna be more than friends,” Helios disagrees, stepping forward, closer. Gwen holds her shopping bag in front of her like a shield, but he rips it from her hands and drops it on the bench on which he had been sitting.
“Please don’t touch me,” she begs, tears welling in her eyes.
“Darlin’, I intend to do more than just touch you,” he says, his voice a growl as he closes in on her.
“That’s it,” one of the five across the سٹریٹ, گلی makes up his mind and starts crossing. They noticed the situation shortly after she backed into Cenred.
“There he goes,” one of his companions remarks, rolling his eyes.
Halfway across the street, he sees the small woman raise her knee sharply into Helios’ groin. He grins as he watches the large man drop to the bench, doubled over, his hands clutching himself.
“Oh!” Gwen cries out as Cenred spins her around. He reaches back and slaps her. Hard.
Gwen’s hand flies to her stinging cheek, soundless sobs wracking her just as Cenred is bodily flung away from her. She gasps in shock. What now?
“Oi, Cenred, ain’t your mum taught آپ any manners? آپ do not hit a lady,” a third voice says, but Gwen cannot make him out through her tears. He is just a black blur.
“Yeah, and what are آپ going to do about it, Drag?” Cenred spits back.
Gwen hears the squelchy crunch of a nose being broken سے طرف کی a well-aimed fist.
“Stay down یا I’ll crush your hand under my boot here. آپ won’t be able to have a proper wank for at least a month.”
“Piss off, Drag,” Helios croaks from his spot on the bench, where he is slowly recovering.
“Helios, if آپ have a brain in that big bald head o’ yours, you’ll keep your gob shut before I make sure your bollocks are permanently wedged inside your body cavity,” the man says, smacking Helios on the back of the head before retrieving Gwen’s shopping from the bench.
He carefully approaches Gwen and gently pulls her away from her two assailants. “Are آپ all right, miss?” he asks, the tone of his voice changing from razors to velvet, his hand warm and comforting on her elbow, where his thumb absentmindedly strokes the soft flesh there.
“I… I think so, mostly just scared. Thank you…”
“Drag,” he supplies. She’s trembling. But I don’t want to scare her further سے طرف کی putting my arms around her.
She wipes her eyes and looks at him. He’s one of the ruffians I’d been avoiding. Punks. She surveys him quickly, noting his low-slung torn black jeans with a wide بیلٹ, پٹی dotted with silver studs, his black t-shirt emblazoned with The Sex Pistols across the front, his pierced ears and nose and a black Mohawk haircut. Who pierces their nose?
“Drag?” she asks, trying to distract herself, calm herself. What an unfortunate name.
“Ain’t my دیا name. It’s from my last name, Pendragon.”
“What’s your real name?” she asks. Why am I interested? He’s just a punk.
“Arthur,” he admits, pulling a face.
“Well, Arthur, I’m Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen.” She wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and takes a deep breath.
“I like Guinevere much better,” he says, a small half-smile curling the corner of his lips.
His full lips, lips that look very kissable. What? “Why did آپ help me?” she asks suddenly. “I’m sorry… I should just be thanking you, not asking why,” she backtracks, embarrassed at the question. His hand is still holding my elbow. I really just want him to hold me and tell me everything is all right. Too much to hope, probably.
“Helios and Cenred are a couple of tossers. I couldn’t just stand there and watch them do that to you,” he says. Not to you. Of all people.
Arthur has noticed Gwen every time she has walked down the سٹریٹ, گلی over the past month. He has noticed her long dark curls glinting in the sunlight. He has noticed her skin, the color of chocolate milk; skin that looks so soft and luxurious that he longs to touch it. All of it. He has noticed her slender, shapely limbs and lush curves. He has noticed that her smile makes the sun look gloomy. He has also noticed that she avoids him and his دوستوں like the plague.
Time to put a stop to that nonsense.
“How’s your face?” he asks.
“It stings,” she says, then gasps as Arthur reaches آگے to wipe a dot of blood from the corner of her mouth. Should his touch make my stomach flip like that?
“Blood,” he explains, دکھانا her the evidence on his thumb, which has a silver ring on it. “If it makes آپ feel any better, I think I broke his nose,” he smiles.
“I heard that,” she manages a small smile.
“Can I… can I give آپ a lift home?” he asks.
“You don’t have to, really, I’ll be fine.” Yes, please.
“No, come on. Please,” he asks. “I just want to know you’ve made it ہوم safely,” he adds, looking down at his feet.
He is actually very sweet, Gwen thinks, looking down at his feet as well. Scuffed black combat boots. Of course. “If آپ insist,” she gives in.
“I do at that. Come on,” he slides his hand down her forearm and takes her hand to lead her across to his friends. “I want آپ to meet my mates first. That way آپ won’t feel like آپ have to walk on the other side of the سٹریٹ, گلی when we’re about.”
“Oh, I…” she stammers. He noticed.
He laughs it off. “I understand, really. I mean, look at us. If I were آپ I’d probably do the same. But آپ know what they say about judging کتابیں سے طرف کی their covers.”
Smart, too, she thinks, finding herself inexplicably drawn to this strange man. There’s something about him that makes me trust him. Like I know he won’t let any harm come to me.
They reach the other four, who have been watching very intently since Arthur left them. “All right, آپ lot, best behavior,” Arthur announces.
Gwen coughs as she approaches, the smell of cigarette smoke assaulting her lungs.
“Gwaine, put out that fag, will ya? Can’t آپ see that our guest disapproves?” Arthur yanks the cigarette from his friend’s lips and tosses it into the wet gutter, where it hisses, dead.
“Hey!” Gwaine protests.
“Lads, this is Guinevere,” Arthur introduces her.
“Gwen,” she corrects.
“Are آپ all right, Gwen?” one immediately asks, the concern plain on his face. He is tall and thin, with pale skin and bright blue eyes beneath black hair that is sticking out in spikes in every direction.
“I’ll be fine, thanks to Ar— Drag,” she says, catching herself. Don’t want to embarrass him in front of his mates.
“I’m Merlin,” he says, holding out his hand, which she takes, noticing his fingernails seem to be painted black. Where does one even find black nail polish? she wonders. “I have the unfortunate honor of being this clotpole’s best mate,” he laughs as Arthur thumps him lightly on the back of his head.
“This is Leon,” Arthur says, pointing to a tall man with long, unruly reddish-brown curls in a white Clash t-shirt and blue jeans that appear to be held together exclusively سے طرف کی safety pins.
“And Ox,” he indicates another man, just slightly taller than the strikingly tall Leon, and twice as wide. His body is thick with muscle beneath his black t-shirt bearing an anarchy symbol on the front and the sleeves ripped off to display his impressive arms. His hair is buzzed down very close to his head and he has a small silver hoop earring in one ear. He nods at her and smiles, and Gwen cannot help smiling back at the one real surprise: his sweet boyish face.
“Ox?” she questions.
The large man sighs. “My name is Percival, actually, which is bollocks for a name. And Percy sounds like a poof. So they call me Ox, on account of my last name being Oxley.”
“And you’re as big as one,” Merlin points out, laughing, and Ox nods in agreement, grinning sheepishly.
“And…” Arthur motions toward the last man.
“Gwaine?” she supplies, turning her smile from Percival to Gwaine.
“At your service,” he says with a wink, his long dark hair falling in his face. He reaches up and sweeps it back, and Gwen sees a large tattoo covering his entire arm. It appears to be of Celtic knot patterns, surrounding his arm like a sleeve.
“Like it?” he asks, seeing her looking at it.
“It’s… interesting,” she says, leaning آگے for a better view.
“Drag did it,” he nods at Arthur. Gwen blinks in surprise. He tattoos people? Does he have any?
“Oh,” she says, at a loss for words.
“All right. Now آپ know us, so آپ don’t have to be worried walking past,” Arthur says.
“In fact, do walk on our side of the street. We’ll protect you,” Leon adds. It sounds corny, but Gwen cannot help but believe him when she looks up and sees the earnest expression on his face.
She looks at the others, who nod in agreement. She smiles again at them. “Knights in shining… chains and safety pins, yes?” she says, a little cautiously, not sure how they’ll react to the tease.
She breathes again when they laugh and nod, muttering agreeable تبصرے amongst themselves.
“I’m going to take Guinevere home; make sure she’s all right and un-accosted سے طرف کی any other wankers like Helios and Cenred. Catch آپ later,” Arthur says, waving his free hand at them just before taking Gwen’s hand again to lead her toward a nearby alley. He still has her groceries in one arm.
“Un-accosted,” he hears Gwaine mutter as they walk away. “Un-accosted سے طرف کی someone other than him, he means,” he says suggestively, laughing. Merlin shushes him as Arthur shoots him a dirty look over his shoulder.
“Here we are,” he says, indicating a large black and red motorcycle hulking menacingly in the nearby alley. “Guinevere, this is Morgana,” Arthur says, carefully placing Gwen’s grocery bag into a leather saddlebag on one side of the bike.
“Morgana? آپ named your motorcycle?”
“I did,” he says, swinging his long, lean leg over the machine and hoisting it upright. “Can آپ manage in that dress?”
Gwen is wearing a flowing floral-patterned lavender sundress. The سکرٹ, گھیرنا is long and full, so she gathers it up in her hands and gingerly swings her leg over the نشست behind Arthur. She adjusts the material as best she can, propriety fully intact. “Okay, I think I’m good.”
“Hmm,” he turns slightly, looking at her. So much bare skin. “There’s a leather جیکٹ tucked behind you. Put it on, please.”
“Why?”
“Safer for you. You’re… too exposed,” he motions to her shoulders, eyes dropping to her tantalizing chest for the briefest of moments. It would be a crime to mar that beautiful skin should we take a spill.
“Um, okay,” she reaches behind her and pulls out a black leather جیکٹ and shrugs it on over her shoulders. It’s too big, but she cannot help feeling comforted سے طرف کی its presence. It smells good. Not like smoke یا anything. “You don’t smoke,” she comments.
“How can آپ tell?” he asks.
“Your جیکٹ smells good,” she shyly says.
He chuckles. “Check the pockets. You’ll find my vice in there.”
Her eyes widen as she cautiously pokes her fingers in a pocket. They slowly withdraw a packet of sweets.
“Candy?” she laughs.
“Sugar junkie, me,” he grins, then turns his attention back to his bike. He attempts to start it up. It sputters briefly, then nothing.
“Is there a real Morgana? Like, a human?” she asks, finding herself hoping that there isn’t.
“Yeah,” he says, stomping the bike to life again. This time it almost takes. “She’s my sister.”
“You named your motorcycle after your sister?”
He attempts a third time, and the engine catches, the noise deafening. Three سیکنڈ later, it conks out again.
“Yes. Because they both can be quite a کتیا, کتيا when they want to,” he explains, trying a fourth time, and Gwen’s laughter is drowned out سے طرف کی the roar of the engine as it fires up and takes.
“Hang on,” he hollers over his shoulder, and Gwen bites her lower lip as she slides her hands around Arthur’s waist.
He’s got a nice body, she notes, feeling a firm stomach under her hands, a muscular back in front of her.
Arthur, keenly aware of her body pressed against his back, puts the bike in gear and heads out of the alley, following Gwen’s pointed directions to her flat.
“So.”
“Um.”
“Yes.”
“Thank آپ again, Arthur.”
“Any time, Guinevere.”
She looks up at him a moment. She quickly lifts up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek before sweeping past him with her bag to hurry up the steps to her door.
Oh well. She’ll be passing again. He turns back to his bike.
“Arthur?”
He turns, not sure he’s heard her, her voice was so soft.
“Would آپ like something to eat? I was going to make myself some brunch,” she indicates her shopping, biting her lip nervously. Why am I inviting him in? Why is my دل pounding like a باس, گھنگھور drum?
Yes, please. I’ll stay for dinner, too, if آپ would but ask. “Sure,” he says, removing the key from the ignition and shoving it in his pocket.
“Consider it my way of properly thanking you,” she says as he hops up the steps, skipping every other one. Some other options are occurring to me as well, though…
“Not necessary, but I am hungry,” he grins at her. And I can think of another way آپ can properly thank me.
xxx
“Arthur,” Gwen gasps as his lips connect with her neck, kissing a hot, wet trail from her ear to her collarbone, sending a thrill through her center. She reaches up and caresses the side of his head, the bare stubble there tickling her fingers as she gently holds him against her.
How did I end up beneath him on my couch, kissing like we’re both desperate for each other? Oh, that’s right. I invited him in for brunch. ناشتا, برونکہ that never got made, because he کہا my name and my knees turned to water and he came up behind me and kissed the side of my neck and my whole body cried out for him like a starved person who has just been offered a five-course meal.
Arthur mumbles something against the skin of her neck as his hand finds her breast, making her arch against him, craving the contact. The thin material of her dress suddenly feels too restrictive, too thick, too unnecessary, and she sighs as he slides one of the straps down her shoulder, kissing it as he does so.
His lips return to hers, soft and pliable and feeling just as good as she imagined they would. No, better. His warm tongue probes the interior of her mouth deliciously, meeting hers and yielding to it as she takes her turn to explore his mouth some more.
He tastes so sweet, so good. Her hands rove his back, and she feels مزید evidence of that well-muscled torso beneath his t-shirt. She bunches the material in her fists, pulling on it slightly.
Arthur gets the hint and sits back for just a moment, kneeling between her knees amongst the bunched-up skirts of her dress, his storm-colored eyes searing into hers as he yanks the شرٹ, قمیض off over his head, revealing to Gwen the beautifully muscled chest she was anticipating.
That, and a large, exquisitely detailed tattoo of a red and سونا dragon wrapped around his left shoulder.
“Wow,” she says, reaching up to touch it. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s… “Beautiful,” she says, finishing her thought aloud.
He smiles warmly down at her, his eyes passion-dark. I’m glad she likes it. He reaches down with his hand, and caresses her cheek. “Beautiful,” he echoes softly, and she pulls him back down to her waiting lips.
She moans as he kisses her to near-mindlessness, reaching up to slide the other strap of her dress down. Her hands rove his chest, slipping downward towards his belt.
He smiles against her lips just as she has a moment of pause. “Wait,” she says, her hands stilling at his belt.
He stops immediately, sitting back again, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, I…”
“No, I’m sorry,” she says, scooting back to sit مزید upright. Wow. I only had to tell him once, and he stopped. “I… I just don’t want آپ to think…”
“I don’t.”
She smiles, and sighs. “You want to wait until آپ hear what I’m going to say?”
“Proceed, my lady,” he waves his hand.
“I don’t want آپ to think that I’m just doing this out of gratitude, or… that I’m easy یا loose. I’m not.”
He listens silently, politely, twining his fingers with hers. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Because I honestly never…”
“I know.”
“I’ve let آپ get further today than most of the men I’ve dated have ever gotten, actually. I’m a—”
“A good girl,” he finishes. “I know.” He reaches over and caresses her cheek.
“I just don’t want آپ to think less of me.”
“Guinevere,” he says quietly, “I have wanted آپ from the first moment I saw آپ walk down that street. A ماہ ago. And now that I know that آپ are as beautiful inside as آپ are outside,” his thumb traces her cheekbone, “I don’t think there’s anything that could sully my opinion of you.”
She turns her face into his palm, and he adds, “I mean, unless آپ turn out to be a bloke in drag یا something.”
She laughs suddenly, and his face lights up at the sound and sight of her laughter. He bites his lower lip, slowly releasing it as he gazes at her.
How can he make what is surely an unconscious habit look so incredibly sexy? she thinks, blushing and looking down at her lap.
His fingertips touch her chin, lifting her face. “We can stop if آپ want to.”
She smiles and takes his hand in hers, bringing his fingers to her lips, kissing them sweetly. She bites one fingertip lightly, then guides it down to her breast.
“Or not,” he says, his voice breaking.
She leans آگے and kisses him. “I think I just needed to know that آپ would if I asked,” she whispers, pulling him back down over her.
“Your wish is forever my command,” he whispers just before he claims her lips with his once again. She brings her hands up to his head, her fingers bumping into the impenetrable three-inch دیوار of hair bisecting his scalp.
“Your… hair is very… uncooperative,” she says between kisses.
He chuckles against her lips. “It used to be… longer.”
Her hands leave his head and she returns them to his belt, unfastening it this time as he trails down her neck again and he starts pulling at her dress. “Which way does this go?” he complains, not knowing which direction to pull.
“Here,” she says, sitting up again, kissing him as she does so. She wriggles the dress out from beneath her and pulls it off over her head, tossing it to the floor.
“Oh,” he sighs, gazing down at her body. “Bloody hell,” his appreciation voiced in a soft curse, and he dives back in, his hands running along the skin he has so longed to touch, his lips capturing one of her breasts, bringing forth a sweet whimper from her lips.
She forgets herself for a short time, enjoying his attention, then remembers his trousers, reaching back down to unfasten them. She shoves at them impatiently, and he lifts his head.
“Careful, Love,” he cautions, nibbling her lips a bit.
She understands his warning when she realizes that he isn’t wearing any underwear. “Oh. Yes, I see,” she laughs.
Arthur kisses her again, then stands briefly to pull his jeans off, returning to her in no time.
He delves into her breasts again, closing his lips around a taut nipple, coaxing it stiffer, مزید excited, مزید sensitive. One hand drags down to trace a finger at the edge of her scant knickers, plain white but attractive and alluring nevertheless.
“Yes, Arthur,” she gasps, encouraging the hand to slip inside and touch her, the sensation like lightning shot through her spine.
“My stupid name actually sounds good when آپ say it,” he mutters against the skin of her breasts, teasing the skin there with his lips, relishing the sensation of her skin against them.
“Arthur,” she moans again, a plea, a prayer, as he pushes his hand in further to slide a finger inside her, warm and slick.
She helps him remove the last barrier between them, which he flings across the room. She slides her thighs along the outside of his hips, enticing him, as she reaches down with her hand to touch him.
“Oh, God,” he groans as her slender fingers trace the contours of his manhood, and he loses his mind just a little.
Gwen starts to guide him home, gently encouraging him. He resists a moment, asking, “Do we need…”
“I’m on the pill,” she gasps, arching up against him again, her need for him making her quite bold.
“In that case…” he says, kissing her passionately as he pushes forward, sliding into her. She breaks the kiss, moaning softly and pressing her head back into the throw تکیا beneath it.
Arthur moves swiftly but gently, his tender lovemaking a welcome surprise for Gwen. I would have expected him to be rougher, but he really is full of surprises. She grips his shoulders, his neck, clinging to him, bringing her leg around his hip.
He leans back, grabs the leg and carefully moves it around, in front of him, resting it against his chest as he resumes thrusting, her delicate foot against his shoulder.
“Oh… ah…” she moans, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his stomach.
He caresses her leg, up to her thigh, her backside, before turning his head to kiss her foot.
“Arthur!” she exclaims, her eyes flying open in surprise as she feels his tongue on her toes, sucking at them as he moves, adding an unexpectedly pleasurable layer of sensation.
Arthur slows his movements, drawing them out, torturing her as he continues to nibble and suck at her toes.
“Yes,” she sighs, stretching her body beneath him, grabbing his waist, his hips, anything she can reach, spurring him آگے again, faster again.
“Faster?” he asks seductively, his hand trailing at her leg and he feels goosebumps rise on her soft skin.
“Yes!” she gasps, digging her fingers in where her hands rest at his hips.
He gently lowers her leg back around him and moves faster, harder, throwing his head back for a moment before tucking his head into her neck with a delicious growl. She feels so damn good, I can’t hold on much longer.
Gwen starts to cry out, her body quivering beneath him. She reaches up for his hands, threading her fingers through his, squeezing tightly as she screams in ecstasy, digging her nails into the backs of his hands.
Wow is Arthur’s last coherent thought before he drops down over her again, her hands still in his. He leans on their joined hands, pinning them on either side of her head. He crashes his lips onto hers as he releases into her, his whole body tense and taut. She sucks at his lips, and he feels as though she is drawing as much of him into her as she can.
Panting and slightly dizzy, he pulls his lips away with a gentle pecked kiss before gathering her in his arms as he relaxes over her.
xxx
Arthur blinks his eyes open and looks at the clock on the bedside table. 11:15 p.m. He looks down at Gwen’s sleeping form in his arms. So sweet. So wonderful.
I could stay here all night and the rest of my life. They did eventually eat, but they spent most of the دن getting to know each other in every way possible. They talked. A lot. He chuckles, remembering how she busted him about really having blonde hair, pointing to his eyebrows and chest hair as evidence. They made love three مزید times, eventually landing in her bedroom, where they both fell asleep just over an گھنٹہ ago, blissfully spent.
Bugger. Iggy. Bloody cat. I have to go home, یا he’ll have my place a big mess. He looks longingly down at Gwen again, and his دل hurts, wanting to stay. I don’t want her to think I’m taking off, never to return. Fucking cat.
Arthur eases himself out of the bed, gently kissing her forehead. She frowns and curls into the space he’s created, then settles back in with a sigh.
Pee. Then trousers. He pads through her small flat, finding his clothes after emptying his bladder. Back in her bedroom, he looks down at her, illuminated سے طرف کی the small bedside lamp they’d never gotten around to turning off.
Struck, he goes in تلاش of a sheet of paper and a pencil.
xxx
Dearest Guinevere,
Thank آپ for the amazing day. I promise you I am not bailing on you. I have an ill-tempered arse of a cat that I need to go ہوم and feed before he destroys the place. Yes, I know how it sounds. But honest, I have a cat. His name is Iggy. That’s the truth, and I ain’t lion.
Gwen bursts out laughing at the unexpectedness of him making such a ridiculously horrible corny joke.
I’ve left my number below, but آپ know where to find me.
Love,
Arthur
P.S. آپ look breathtakingly beautiful when آپ are sleeping. ------------>
She turns the page over. He’s sketched her while she slept. She sighs, her hand on her madly thumping heart, as she scans the drawing.
It’s gorgeous. He’s captured every detail. The wrinkles in the sheets, every curl, every curve, every eyelash. The shadows falling at my hip, my shoulder. My kiss-swollen lips, slightly parted, my fingers clutching the edge of the blanket.
Gwen caresses the picture, careful not to smudge the pencil strokes. Then she flips it back over, and reaches for the phone to dial the numbers he’s written at the bottom.
Song suggestion: “Should I Stay یا Should I Go” سے طرف کی The Clash. Not entirely applicable, but do آپ know how hard it is to find a suitable punk song??
This chapter is dedicated to my dear دوستوں Mike, Mike, Seth, Seth, Kyle, and Chad, without whom the concept of a punk rock exterior combined with a lovely, sweet, chivalrous interior might never have been born from my brain. None of them will ever read this, but they were in my thoughts as I was writing about our knights. And they were 1990s punks, not 1970s. I may be old, but I’m not THAT old.
Part 10: link
Sorry about the delay, there was a slight hiccup in the proceedings. But we're back on track now!
London, 1977
kbrand5333
A/N: If آپ are unaware, “fag” is British slang for a cigarette. I would never use the crass American version.
I hope those ruffians aren’t loitering around again. I hate walking past them, Gwen thinks as she walks down the street, on her way ہوم from some Saturday morning shopping. Her bag in her arms with some groceries from the market; she rounds the corner and surveys the سٹریٹ, گلی ahead of her.
They’re there. The five of them on one side. On the other, one man on a bench, reading a newspaper. I think I’ll stay on newspaper man’s side. If nothing else, I won’t have to walk through that بادل of cigarette smoke.
She proceeds up the street, enjoying the morning sun on her shoulders, thinking about her plans for the day, her little ناشتا, برونکہ she’s going to go ہوم and make, her brother far away in America…
“Well, well, what have we here?” The seemingly innocuous man with the newspaper is now blocking her path.
“Excuse me,” she says, stepping to the side, trying to pass.
“Don’t be rude, darlin’, I’m tryin’ to talk to you, is all,” the man says, stepping with her to block her path again.
Gwen swallows uncertainly, looking up at him. He’s big. Kind of scary.
“I’m sorry, I… I need to get my groceries home,” she tries again, sidestepping once مزید to no avail.
“Don’t be like that, love, I just want to get to know آپ better,” he says, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek.
She jerks her head away from him, scared, and tries to back up. She backs into another man. He’s not alone.
“Come now, doll, Helios and me, we just wanna be friends, ain’t that right, Helios?” the سیکنڈ man coos greasily into her ear.
“Nah, Cenred, I think I wanna be more than friends,” Helios disagrees, stepping forward, closer. Gwen holds her shopping bag in front of her like a shield, but he rips it from her hands and drops it on the bench on which he had been sitting.
“Please don’t touch me,” she begs, tears welling in her eyes.
“Darlin’, I intend to do more than just touch you,” he says, his voice a growl as he closes in on her.
“That’s it,” one of the five across the سٹریٹ, گلی makes up his mind and starts crossing. They noticed the situation shortly after she backed into Cenred.
“There he goes,” one of his companions remarks, rolling his eyes.
Halfway across the street, he sees the small woman raise her knee sharply into Helios’ groin. He grins as he watches the large man drop to the bench, doubled over, his hands clutching himself.
“Oh!” Gwen cries out as Cenred spins her around. He reaches back and slaps her. Hard.
Gwen’s hand flies to her stinging cheek, soundless sobs wracking her just as Cenred is bodily flung away from her. She gasps in shock. What now?
“Oi, Cenred, ain’t your mum taught آپ any manners? آپ do not hit a lady,” a third voice says, but Gwen cannot make him out through her tears. He is just a black blur.
“Yeah, and what are آپ going to do about it, Drag?” Cenred spits back.
Gwen hears the squelchy crunch of a nose being broken سے طرف کی a well-aimed fist.
“Stay down یا I’ll crush your hand under my boot here. آپ won’t be able to have a proper wank for at least a month.”
“Piss off, Drag,” Helios croaks from his spot on the bench, where he is slowly recovering.
“Helios, if آپ have a brain in that big bald head o’ yours, you’ll keep your gob shut before I make sure your bollocks are permanently wedged inside your body cavity,” the man says, smacking Helios on the back of the head before retrieving Gwen’s shopping from the bench.
He carefully approaches Gwen and gently pulls her away from her two assailants. “Are آپ all right, miss?” he asks, the tone of his voice changing from razors to velvet, his hand warm and comforting on her elbow, where his thumb absentmindedly strokes the soft flesh there.
“I… I think so, mostly just scared. Thank you…”
“Drag,” he supplies. She’s trembling. But I don’t want to scare her further سے طرف کی putting my arms around her.
She wipes her eyes and looks at him. He’s one of the ruffians I’d been avoiding. Punks. She surveys him quickly, noting his low-slung torn black jeans with a wide بیلٹ, پٹی dotted with silver studs, his black t-shirt emblazoned with The Sex Pistols across the front, his pierced ears and nose and a black Mohawk haircut. Who pierces their nose?
“Drag?” she asks, trying to distract herself, calm herself. What an unfortunate name.
“Ain’t my دیا name. It’s from my last name, Pendragon.”
“What’s your real name?” she asks. Why am I interested? He’s just a punk.
“Arthur,” he admits, pulling a face.
“Well, Arthur, I’m Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen.” She wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and takes a deep breath.
“I like Guinevere much better,” he says, a small half-smile curling the corner of his lips.
His full lips, lips that look very kissable. What? “Why did آپ help me?” she asks suddenly. “I’m sorry… I should just be thanking you, not asking why,” she backtracks, embarrassed at the question. His hand is still holding my elbow. I really just want him to hold me and tell me everything is all right. Too much to hope, probably.
“Helios and Cenred are a couple of tossers. I couldn’t just stand there and watch them do that to you,” he says. Not to you. Of all people.
Arthur has noticed Gwen every time she has walked down the سٹریٹ, گلی over the past month. He has noticed her long dark curls glinting in the sunlight. He has noticed her skin, the color of chocolate milk; skin that looks so soft and luxurious that he longs to touch it. All of it. He has noticed her slender, shapely limbs and lush curves. He has noticed that her smile makes the sun look gloomy. He has also noticed that she avoids him and his دوستوں like the plague.
Time to put a stop to that nonsense.
“How’s your face?” he asks.
“It stings,” she says, then gasps as Arthur reaches آگے to wipe a dot of blood from the corner of her mouth. Should his touch make my stomach flip like that?
“Blood,” he explains, دکھانا her the evidence on his thumb, which has a silver ring on it. “If it makes آپ feel any better, I think I broke his nose,” he smiles.
“I heard that,” she manages a small smile.
“Can I… can I give آپ a lift home?” he asks.
“You don’t have to, really, I’ll be fine.” Yes, please.
“No, come on. Please,” he asks. “I just want to know you’ve made it ہوم safely,” he adds, looking down at his feet.
He is actually very sweet, Gwen thinks, looking down at his feet as well. Scuffed black combat boots. Of course. “If آپ insist,” she gives in.
“I do at that. Come on,” he slides his hand down her forearm and takes her hand to lead her across to his friends. “I want آپ to meet my mates first. That way آپ won’t feel like آپ have to walk on the other side of the سٹریٹ, گلی when we’re about.”
“Oh, I…” she stammers. He noticed.
He laughs it off. “I understand, really. I mean, look at us. If I were آپ I’d probably do the same. But آپ know what they say about judging کتابیں سے طرف کی their covers.”
Smart, too, she thinks, finding herself inexplicably drawn to this strange man. There’s something about him that makes me trust him. Like I know he won’t let any harm come to me.
They reach the other four, who have been watching very intently since Arthur left them. “All right, آپ lot, best behavior,” Arthur announces.
Gwen coughs as she approaches, the smell of cigarette smoke assaulting her lungs.
“Gwaine, put out that fag, will ya? Can’t آپ see that our guest disapproves?” Arthur yanks the cigarette from his friend’s lips and tosses it into the wet gutter, where it hisses, dead.
“Hey!” Gwaine protests.
“Lads, this is Guinevere,” Arthur introduces her.
“Gwen,” she corrects.
“Are آپ all right, Gwen?” one immediately asks, the concern plain on his face. He is tall and thin, with pale skin and bright blue eyes beneath black hair that is sticking out in spikes in every direction.
“I’ll be fine, thanks to Ar— Drag,” she says, catching herself. Don’t want to embarrass him in front of his mates.
“I’m Merlin,” he says, holding out his hand, which she takes, noticing his fingernails seem to be painted black. Where does one even find black nail polish? she wonders. “I have the unfortunate honor of being this clotpole’s best mate,” he laughs as Arthur thumps him lightly on the back of his head.
“This is Leon,” Arthur says, pointing to a tall man with long, unruly reddish-brown curls in a white Clash t-shirt and blue jeans that appear to be held together exclusively سے طرف کی safety pins.
“And Ox,” he indicates another man, just slightly taller than the strikingly tall Leon, and twice as wide. His body is thick with muscle beneath his black t-shirt bearing an anarchy symbol on the front and the sleeves ripped off to display his impressive arms. His hair is buzzed down very close to his head and he has a small silver hoop earring in one ear. He nods at her and smiles, and Gwen cannot help smiling back at the one real surprise: his sweet boyish face.
“Ox?” she questions.
The large man sighs. “My name is Percival, actually, which is bollocks for a name. And Percy sounds like a poof. So they call me Ox, on account of my last name being Oxley.”
“And you’re as big as one,” Merlin points out, laughing, and Ox nods in agreement, grinning sheepishly.
“And…” Arthur motions toward the last man.
“Gwaine?” she supplies, turning her smile from Percival to Gwaine.
“At your service,” he says with a wink, his long dark hair falling in his face. He reaches up and sweeps it back, and Gwen sees a large tattoo covering his entire arm. It appears to be of Celtic knot patterns, surrounding his arm like a sleeve.
“Like it?” he asks, seeing her looking at it.
“It’s… interesting,” she says, leaning آگے for a better view.
“Drag did it,” he nods at Arthur. Gwen blinks in surprise. He tattoos people? Does he have any?
“Oh,” she says, at a loss for words.
“All right. Now آپ know us, so آپ don’t have to be worried walking past,” Arthur says.
“In fact, do walk on our side of the street. We’ll protect you,” Leon adds. It sounds corny, but Gwen cannot help but believe him when she looks up and sees the earnest expression on his face.
She looks at the others, who nod in agreement. She smiles again at them. “Knights in shining… chains and safety pins, yes?” she says, a little cautiously, not sure how they’ll react to the tease.
She breathes again when they laugh and nod, muttering agreeable تبصرے amongst themselves.
“I’m going to take Guinevere home; make sure she’s all right and un-accosted سے طرف کی any other wankers like Helios and Cenred. Catch آپ later,” Arthur says, waving his free hand at them just before taking Gwen’s hand again to lead her toward a nearby alley. He still has her groceries in one arm.
“Un-accosted,” he hears Gwaine mutter as they walk away. “Un-accosted سے طرف کی someone other than him, he means,” he says suggestively, laughing. Merlin shushes him as Arthur shoots him a dirty look over his shoulder.
“Here we are,” he says, indicating a large black and red motorcycle hulking menacingly in the nearby alley. “Guinevere, this is Morgana,” Arthur says, carefully placing Gwen’s grocery bag into a leather saddlebag on one side of the bike.
“Morgana? آپ named your motorcycle?”
“I did,” he says, swinging his long, lean leg over the machine and hoisting it upright. “Can آپ manage in that dress?”
Gwen is wearing a flowing floral-patterned lavender sundress. The سکرٹ, گھیرنا is long and full, so she gathers it up in her hands and gingerly swings her leg over the نشست behind Arthur. She adjusts the material as best she can, propriety fully intact. “Okay, I think I’m good.”
“Hmm,” he turns slightly, looking at her. So much bare skin. “There’s a leather جیکٹ tucked behind you. Put it on, please.”
“Why?”
“Safer for you. You’re… too exposed,” he motions to her shoulders, eyes dropping to her tantalizing chest for the briefest of moments. It would be a crime to mar that beautiful skin should we take a spill.
“Um, okay,” she reaches behind her and pulls out a black leather جیکٹ and shrugs it on over her shoulders. It’s too big, but she cannot help feeling comforted سے طرف کی its presence. It smells good. Not like smoke یا anything. “You don’t smoke,” she comments.
“How can آپ tell?” he asks.
“Your جیکٹ smells good,” she shyly says.
He chuckles. “Check the pockets. You’ll find my vice in there.”
Her eyes widen as she cautiously pokes her fingers in a pocket. They slowly withdraw a packet of sweets.
“Candy?” she laughs.
“Sugar junkie, me,” he grins, then turns his attention back to his bike. He attempts to start it up. It sputters briefly, then nothing.
“Is there a real Morgana? Like, a human?” she asks, finding herself hoping that there isn’t.
“Yeah,” he says, stomping the bike to life again. This time it almost takes. “She’s my sister.”
“You named your motorcycle after your sister?”
He attempts a third time, and the engine catches, the noise deafening. Three سیکنڈ later, it conks out again.
“Yes. Because they both can be quite a کتیا, کتيا when they want to,” he explains, trying a fourth time, and Gwen’s laughter is drowned out سے طرف کی the roar of the engine as it fires up and takes.
“Hang on,” he hollers over his shoulder, and Gwen bites her lower lip as she slides her hands around Arthur’s waist.
He’s got a nice body, she notes, feeling a firm stomach under her hands, a muscular back in front of her.
Arthur, keenly aware of her body pressed against his back, puts the bike in gear and heads out of the alley, following Gwen’s pointed directions to her flat.
“So.”
“Um.”
“Yes.”
“Thank آپ again, Arthur.”
“Any time, Guinevere.”
She looks up at him a moment. She quickly lifts up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek before sweeping past him with her bag to hurry up the steps to her door.
Oh well. She’ll be passing again. He turns back to his bike.
“Arthur?”
He turns, not sure he’s heard her, her voice was so soft.
“Would آپ like something to eat? I was going to make myself some brunch,” she indicates her shopping, biting her lip nervously. Why am I inviting him in? Why is my دل pounding like a باس, گھنگھور drum?
Yes, please. I’ll stay for dinner, too, if آپ would but ask. “Sure,” he says, removing the key from the ignition and shoving it in his pocket.
“Consider it my way of properly thanking you,” she says as he hops up the steps, skipping every other one. Some other options are occurring to me as well, though…
“Not necessary, but I am hungry,” he grins at her. And I can think of another way آپ can properly thank me.
xxx
“Arthur,” Gwen gasps as his lips connect with her neck, kissing a hot, wet trail from her ear to her collarbone, sending a thrill through her center. She reaches up and caresses the side of his head, the bare stubble there tickling her fingers as she gently holds him against her.
How did I end up beneath him on my couch, kissing like we’re both desperate for each other? Oh, that’s right. I invited him in for brunch. ناشتا, برونکہ that never got made, because he کہا my name and my knees turned to water and he came up behind me and kissed the side of my neck and my whole body cried out for him like a starved person who has just been offered a five-course meal.
Arthur mumbles something against the skin of her neck as his hand finds her breast, making her arch against him, craving the contact. The thin material of her dress suddenly feels too restrictive, too thick, too unnecessary, and she sighs as he slides one of the straps down her shoulder, kissing it as he does so.
His lips return to hers, soft and pliable and feeling just as good as she imagined they would. No, better. His warm tongue probes the interior of her mouth deliciously, meeting hers and yielding to it as she takes her turn to explore his mouth some more.
He tastes so sweet, so good. Her hands rove his back, and she feels مزید evidence of that well-muscled torso beneath his t-shirt. She bunches the material in her fists, pulling on it slightly.
Arthur gets the hint and sits back for just a moment, kneeling between her knees amongst the bunched-up skirts of her dress, his storm-colored eyes searing into hers as he yanks the شرٹ, قمیض off over his head, revealing to Gwen the beautifully muscled chest she was anticipating.
That, and a large, exquisitely detailed tattoo of a red and سونا dragon wrapped around his left shoulder.
“Wow,” she says, reaching up to touch it. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s… “Beautiful,” she says, finishing her thought aloud.
He smiles warmly down at her, his eyes passion-dark. I’m glad she likes it. He reaches down with his hand, and caresses her cheek. “Beautiful,” he echoes softly, and she pulls him back down to her waiting lips.
She moans as he kisses her to near-mindlessness, reaching up to slide the other strap of her dress down. Her hands rove his chest, slipping downward towards his belt.
He smiles against her lips just as she has a moment of pause. “Wait,” she says, her hands stilling at his belt.
He stops immediately, sitting back again, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, I…”
“No, I’m sorry,” she says, scooting back to sit مزید upright. Wow. I only had to tell him once, and he stopped. “I… I just don’t want آپ to think…”
“I don’t.”
She smiles, and sighs. “You want to wait until آپ hear what I’m going to say?”
“Proceed, my lady,” he waves his hand.
“I don’t want آپ to think that I’m just doing this out of gratitude, or… that I’m easy یا loose. I’m not.”
He listens silently, politely, twining his fingers with hers. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Because I honestly never…”
“I know.”
“I’ve let آپ get further today than most of the men I’ve dated have ever gotten, actually. I’m a—”
“A good girl,” he finishes. “I know.” He reaches over and caresses her cheek.
“I just don’t want آپ to think less of me.”
“Guinevere,” he says quietly, “I have wanted آپ from the first moment I saw آپ walk down that street. A ماہ ago. And now that I know that آپ are as beautiful inside as آپ are outside,” his thumb traces her cheekbone, “I don’t think there’s anything that could sully my opinion of you.”
She turns her face into his palm, and he adds, “I mean, unless آپ turn out to be a bloke in drag یا something.”
She laughs suddenly, and his face lights up at the sound and sight of her laughter. He bites his lower lip, slowly releasing it as he gazes at her.
How can he make what is surely an unconscious habit look so incredibly sexy? she thinks, blushing and looking down at her lap.
His fingertips touch her chin, lifting her face. “We can stop if آپ want to.”
She smiles and takes his hand in hers, bringing his fingers to her lips, kissing them sweetly. She bites one fingertip lightly, then guides it down to her breast.
“Or not,” he says, his voice breaking.
She leans آگے and kisses him. “I think I just needed to know that آپ would if I asked,” she whispers, pulling him back down over her.
“Your wish is forever my command,” he whispers just before he claims her lips with his once again. She brings her hands up to his head, her fingers bumping into the impenetrable three-inch دیوار of hair bisecting his scalp.
“Your… hair is very… uncooperative,” she says between kisses.
He chuckles against her lips. “It used to be… longer.”
Her hands leave his head and she returns them to his belt, unfastening it this time as he trails down her neck again and he starts pulling at her dress. “Which way does this go?” he complains, not knowing which direction to pull.
“Here,” she says, sitting up again, kissing him as she does so. She wriggles the dress out from beneath her and pulls it off over her head, tossing it to the floor.
“Oh,” he sighs, gazing down at her body. “Bloody hell,” his appreciation voiced in a soft curse, and he dives back in, his hands running along the skin he has so longed to touch, his lips capturing one of her breasts, bringing forth a sweet whimper from her lips.
She forgets herself for a short time, enjoying his attention, then remembers his trousers, reaching back down to unfasten them. She shoves at them impatiently, and he lifts his head.
“Careful, Love,” he cautions, nibbling her lips a bit.
She understands his warning when she realizes that he isn’t wearing any underwear. “Oh. Yes, I see,” she laughs.
Arthur kisses her again, then stands briefly to pull his jeans off, returning to her in no time.
He delves into her breasts again, closing his lips around a taut nipple, coaxing it stiffer, مزید excited, مزید sensitive. One hand drags down to trace a finger at the edge of her scant knickers, plain white but attractive and alluring nevertheless.
“Yes, Arthur,” she gasps, encouraging the hand to slip inside and touch her, the sensation like lightning shot through her spine.
“My stupid name actually sounds good when آپ say it,” he mutters against the skin of her breasts, teasing the skin there with his lips, relishing the sensation of her skin against them.
“Arthur,” she moans again, a plea, a prayer, as he pushes his hand in further to slide a finger inside her, warm and slick.
She helps him remove the last barrier between them, which he flings across the room. She slides her thighs along the outside of his hips, enticing him, as she reaches down with her hand to touch him.
“Oh, God,” he groans as her slender fingers trace the contours of his manhood, and he loses his mind just a little.
Gwen starts to guide him home, gently encouraging him. He resists a moment, asking, “Do we need…”
“I’m on the pill,” she gasps, arching up against him again, her need for him making her quite bold.
“In that case…” he says, kissing her passionately as he pushes forward, sliding into her. She breaks the kiss, moaning softly and pressing her head back into the throw تکیا beneath it.
Arthur moves swiftly but gently, his tender lovemaking a welcome surprise for Gwen. I would have expected him to be rougher, but he really is full of surprises. She grips his shoulders, his neck, clinging to him, bringing her leg around his hip.
He leans back, grabs the leg and carefully moves it around, in front of him, resting it against his chest as he resumes thrusting, her delicate foot against his shoulder.
“Oh… ah…” she moans, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his stomach.
He caresses her leg, up to her thigh, her backside, before turning his head to kiss her foot.
“Arthur!” she exclaims, her eyes flying open in surprise as she feels his tongue on her toes, sucking at them as he moves, adding an unexpectedly pleasurable layer of sensation.
Arthur slows his movements, drawing them out, torturing her as he continues to nibble and suck at her toes.
“Yes,” she sighs, stretching her body beneath him, grabbing his waist, his hips, anything she can reach, spurring him آگے again, faster again.
“Faster?” he asks seductively, his hand trailing at her leg and he feels goosebumps rise on her soft skin.
“Yes!” she gasps, digging her fingers in where her hands rest at his hips.
He gently lowers her leg back around him and moves faster, harder, throwing his head back for a moment before tucking his head into her neck with a delicious growl. She feels so damn good, I can’t hold on much longer.
Gwen starts to cry out, her body quivering beneath him. She reaches up for his hands, threading her fingers through his, squeezing tightly as she screams in ecstasy, digging her nails into the backs of his hands.
Wow is Arthur’s last coherent thought before he drops down over her again, her hands still in his. He leans on their joined hands, pinning them on either side of her head. He crashes his lips onto hers as he releases into her, his whole body tense and taut. She sucks at his lips, and he feels as though she is drawing as much of him into her as she can.
Panting and slightly dizzy, he pulls his lips away with a gentle pecked kiss before gathering her in his arms as he relaxes over her.
xxx
Arthur blinks his eyes open and looks at the clock on the bedside table. 11:15 p.m. He looks down at Gwen’s sleeping form in his arms. So sweet. So wonderful.
I could stay here all night and the rest of my life. They did eventually eat, but they spent most of the دن getting to know each other in every way possible. They talked. A lot. He chuckles, remembering how she busted him about really having blonde hair, pointing to his eyebrows and chest hair as evidence. They made love three مزید times, eventually landing in her bedroom, where they both fell asleep just over an گھنٹہ ago, blissfully spent.
Bugger. Iggy. Bloody cat. I have to go home, یا he’ll have my place a big mess. He looks longingly down at Gwen again, and his دل hurts, wanting to stay. I don’t want her to think I’m taking off, never to return. Fucking cat.
Arthur eases himself out of the bed, gently kissing her forehead. She frowns and curls into the space he’s created, then settles back in with a sigh.
Pee. Then trousers. He pads through her small flat, finding his clothes after emptying his bladder. Back in her bedroom, he looks down at her, illuminated سے طرف کی the small bedside lamp they’d never gotten around to turning off.
Struck, he goes in تلاش of a sheet of paper and a pencil.
xxx
Dearest Guinevere,
Thank آپ for the amazing day. I promise you I am not bailing on you. I have an ill-tempered arse of a cat that I need to go ہوم and feed before he destroys the place. Yes, I know how it sounds. But honest, I have a cat. His name is Iggy. That’s the truth, and I ain’t lion.
Gwen bursts out laughing at the unexpectedness of him making such a ridiculously horrible corny joke.
I’ve left my number below, but آپ know where to find me.
Love,
Arthur
P.S. آپ look breathtakingly beautiful when آپ are sleeping. ------------>
She turns the page over. He’s sketched her while she slept. She sighs, her hand on her madly thumping heart, as she scans the drawing.
It’s gorgeous. He’s captured every detail. The wrinkles in the sheets, every curl, every curve, every eyelash. The shadows falling at my hip, my shoulder. My kiss-swollen lips, slightly parted, my fingers clutching the edge of the blanket.
Gwen caresses the picture, careful not to smudge the pencil strokes. Then she flips it back over, and reaches for the phone to dial the numbers he’s written at the bottom.
Song suggestion: “Should I Stay یا Should I Go” سے طرف کی The Clash. Not entirely applicable, but do آپ know how hard it is to find a suitable punk song??
This chapter is dedicated to my dear دوستوں Mike, Mike, Seth, Seth, Kyle, and Chad, without whom the concept of a punk rock exterior combined with a lovely, sweet, chivalrous interior might never have been born from my brain. None of them will ever read this, but they were in my thoughts as I was writing about our knights. And they were 1990s punks, not 1970s. I may be old, but I’m not THAT old.
Part 10: link
