This one, I think, belongs in the same AU as Jealousy, Thy Name is Merlin. I am switching AUs and pairings...the Muses are all over the place. Which is lovely, if not a bit confusing.
Reviews make my day. Thank you for taking the time to give this a go. Much appreciated.
Guinevere enjoyed winning like anyone else. She enjoyed the thrill of victory. Yet she is always gracious, even when in defeat. She was, suffice to say, a good sport.
Lance, on the other hand, is anything but.
Lance is the sweetest guy there is. charming and gentle and kind and ever so easy on the eyes (yes, she has seen the looks women give him, some men too and yes, she is also aware of the levels of jealousy her presence with Lance generates…she knows all this and is gracious about it). And like Guinevere, he is a good sport, able to take his victories with his defeats.
Or so the myth was.
Only Guinevere, of course, knows the truth.
Back in the days when they were in school and then at uni, Lance had a competitive streak within him that was borderline psychotic. It was hard to believe that mild-mannered Lance, with his calmness and cool, would be a sore loser. Which he is. And it was the same trait that made him the best sportsman back in school, second only to Arthur (which he conceded grudgingly by claiming that Arthur was bulkier than him, thus made him a better sportsman. Crap reason that, of course, but no one, not even Gwaine, had been foolish enough to argue with Lance about it). Lance mellowed somewhat at uni; reading law took up much of his time and after busting both kneed (on two separate occasions) as well as spending a day and a night unconscious in the hospital (a rugby tackle gone horribly wrong), the gang intervened and Lance's competitive sporting days were done. But the guys love sports, anything from indoor football to rugby to Twister (Merlin and Gwaine claim it is a sport and none of them were idiotic enough to take those fools on the argument), so it was inevitable they would keep on playing for recreation and leisure. There is competition, of course. But it is all good fun.
Only, actually, it was not.
Guinevere learnt a long time ago that whatever competitive streak Lance had within him, it was still there, dormant, stirring to life at each 'friendly' game, spurring him on, giving him a ruthless edge on what is supposed to be merely 'for fun'. And while it seems that Lance can take the win with the loss graciously, he really, inherently, did not.
Not that he speaks of it, no. In fact, Guinevere was certain that Lance was not aware of this himself. But Guinevere, certified therapist, knew. No, she was not analyzing her boyfriend. Well, maybe a bit. Point is, Guinevere knew victories and losses in these weekend games had an impact on Lance. And on his lovemaking.
Lance is good shag. Period. He was attentive, creative, and limber and the veritable everything a woman imagines him to be in bed when they clap their eyes upon him. And their love life was good. There was this thing he does with chocolate fudge ice-cream…well, there is a reason she does not indulge in this sort of ice-cream publicly, no matter how much she loves them. He has forever made fudge a blush-worthy food item for her.
Anyway, victories and losses. Well, unbeknownst to Lance, these factors rather affect him. Or his…(skills?) performance during their post-game shagging, especially after he suffers a defeat. It's still amazing, but something was almost always off. Guinevere found that she did not like her man to be distracted when he is making love to her. Not by some stupid scoreline from a kickabout in the park.
And that afternoon, she realized, Lance will be pretty distracted for a long time, if the abysmal score of four – nil was anything to go by. Arthur's team was leading with a brace from Arthur, and a goal each from Gwaine and Leon. Lance's expression blanched when Leon scored his goal. Everyone celebrated the goal; Arthur's team (Gwaine, Leon, Mordred and another three guys from Arthur's office) and Lance's team (Percival, Elyan, another two guys from Lance's office and two more rustled from the crowd at the park. Morgana offered to play, which was as horrifying as it sounded because lack of skills can be overlooked, but not fingernails to put vampires to shame and the potential to fatally harm someone with it) as well. Anyway, Leon, who never scores a goal, scores a goal. Gwaine hails it a miracle. Morgana runs to him, tackles him to the grass, straddles him and kisses him full on the mouth and it is only through the timely intervention of Arthur and Guinevere that stopped it from becoming an act of public indecency. Lance's expression in celebration of the goal was that of a man smiling through a bite of the sourest lemon in the universe.
This did not bode well for the little nurse-themed basque she got on a special shopping trip during lunch on Thursday. It's a bank holiday on Monday and Guinevere has scheduled some fun time with Lance. Guinevere loved bank holidays. Extra long weekends meant extra long hours of loving and being lazy and ignoring the fact that Mondays existed. But when Leon scored the goal, Guinevere knew her weekend plans of staying in bed until brunch or later on Monday, went up in smoke.
Of course, before they stopped for half time, Lance scored one for his team. It won't be enough though, if the morose way he trudged through the pitch and fell in a heap next to Guinevere on the picnic mat was any indication.
Guinevere did not have the time to say anything encouraging or soothing to Lance. Their picnic was being invaded by players from both teams and she and Morgana and Merlin were handing out food and drinks and napkins and were generally kept busy. At the end of the ten minutes of stipulated half time break (it was closer to sixteen, but nobody was keeping watch anyway), Gwaine, now with his shirt off for the appreciative female crowd that has gathered to watch the game (it was not a particularly exciting game, but it was certainly an eye-catching one, though the truth about the guys' availability might just break all their little hearts – Arthur in a relationship with Merlin, Gwaine and Percival declaring just last evening they were dating, which does not stop Gwaine from doing what he calls 'his bit for the ladies'', Leon engaged to Morgana and Elyan in a long distance relationship with a French doctor. As for Lance's status as a man who is not available, Guinevere hoped the long kiss she gave him before the game resumed would help the women realize it) called for the game to restart again.
The game restarted and in the first minutes, it looked as if the scoreline was going to be even worse for Lance's team.
Guinevere knew she had to do something. Her bank holiday was on stake here.
Merlin's voice shouting encouragement to Arthur's team gave her an idea. It was a long shot, definitely underhanded, but well, a bank holiday is something Guinevere is not going to squander.
The sound of an ice-cream van solidified the idea in Guinevere's head. She mulls over her decision for a bit. And then Gwaine nearly scores another goal. Guinevere's mind was made up. She had to act.
She gets up from the picnic mat she was seated on. Merlin, in black RayBans and looking like a giant, raven-haired pixie carved out of marble, decimating candies on his mobile phone, inquires if anything was the matter. She smiles and says everything was fine. Morgana, sitting on a low picnic chair, her wide – brimmed hat covering her face in shadows, looking like the presiding goddess of spring afternoons and picnics, looks up at Guinevere, her expression asking the same question Merlin had verbalized. Another reassurance that everything was fine and Guinevere was off to the ice – cream van. Two chocolate Magnums were purchased and paid for and Guinevere makes her way back to the picnic mat.
Merlin gives a delighted squeal when Guinevere holds up the ice – cream to his face. He throws his mobile on the mat and gives Guinevere a hearty kiss of her cheek. Morgana's reaction was more sedate. Her response, "Bless you, cookie" was almost beatific in manner. Guinevere smiles and sits back on the picnic mat and hopes her plan came to fruition.
But first…
"Woo hoo! Go team!"
The teams stop momentarily, acknowledging Guinevere's sudden burst of enthusiasm. Guinevere grins, waving.
And yes, it had been enough.
Merlin and Morgana had distinct ways of eating ice-cream. Merlin was the sloppy one; he would have the ice – cream melting and dribbling down his hand and Arthur was usual the one to finish it for him, to save him from a bigger mess. Morgana…well, she licks them and then when they are about a third done and less likely to cause her a brain freeze, she swallows them whole.
The first time Merlin starts to lick his hand, trying to contain the mess he was going to make, Gwaine gave away the ball to Elyan, who scored a beautiful volley. Gwaine, of course, has always nursed a crush on Merlin. Percival did not seem to be too bothered with it; perhaps he trusts Gwaine enough to know the difference between 'appreciation' and 'cheating'.
Morgana smacks her lips and swallows the final bit of her ice – cream, sucking to make sure she gets them all. Leon scores an own goal. This time, there was no celebration for his goal.
Arthur, who was supposed to be man-marking Lance, was given a run-around by Lance and Percival, with the latter sprinting ahead to meet a cross from Lance and heading in a goal. Another dance around Arthur and Lance delivers another pinpoint cross for Elyan to score another. Arthur gets hit in the head with the ball twice, but he did not seem to notice. He was running in a rather uncomfortable manner. Merlin kept licking away at his ice – cream.
The match ends with a draw, which seemed to more than satisfy Lance. He seemed genuinely happy. The players returned to the picnic spread; the vibes were generally good. Arthur pulls Merlin away from the picnic and towards the ice – cream van, where Merlin was treated to another Magnum, this time sharing it with Arthur. They were not seen for the rest of the afternoon. As was Morgana and Leon. Soon, it was only Guinevere and Lance left at the picnic mat, with the debris of the teams having ploughed through the picnic spread. Lance forbade Guinevere from clearing up; he told her it could wait and stretched out on his back, his head on Guinevere's lap, a satisfied smile on his face.
"I should thank you, my love," he said, his eyes closed as he savoured the sun on his skin. And Guinevere too savoured the sight of the sun of the sun on his skin.
"Oh?" Guinevere was running her hand through his hair, marvelling at the silky softness (he does not even have a special shampoo, Guinevere knows this).
"For not eating ice-cream."
Guinevere grins. Of course he would know. "You can thank me later."
"Oh, I will," Lance says, pulling Guinevere down for a kiss, his promise and gratitude in one sweet package of chaste and innocence.
And Guinevere could not wait to get back to their flat. And enjoy the rest of the weekend, which was more of a reward to herself, properly.
-THE END-