a/n: I read a couple of Arthurian myth stories (The Quest of the Holy Grail and The Death of King Arthur) back in December, which refueled my love for Guinevere and Lancelot's romance and inspired me to write this. This is the first smut I publish, so lemme know what you think and enjoy!

"I'm pleased to find you safe and sound, Sir Lancelot."

"My lady," he said, kneeling on one knee. She gave him her hand. The touch of his hand was familiar. The callouses roughing hand, his long fingers wrapping around her palm. Her eyes couldn't leave his as he bowed his head, pressed the softest feathery kiss on her hand. With a smile only for her, he stood again, and let her go. "It is through His Grace, Jesus Christ, that I am safe and back to this place I call home."

His blue glittered under the lights of the torches sconce around the walls.

"How blessed you are, my dearest knight." Guinevere clasped her hands in front of her and looked ruefully at him. "Alas, you've come late. The king is gone with his retinue. The wait for you proved too long for the duty that called him, and he left just yesterday."

"Tis a pity I could not arrive any sooner to accompany King Arthur."

"You'll be here to welcome him. That's sure to make him happy. Am I wrong in hoping you'll be staying with us? Or do you have another adventure to ride towards?" A small laughter rippled through the court, but though she smiled, the Queen's eyes were serious. He'd been gone for too long, and she was tired of the uncertainty of his fate, the ill rumors and empty nights.

Lancelot joined the laughter, but shook his head, whilst looking around the crowd that had gathered to see his arrival. "My lady is right." He looked up at her. "Adventure can wait until I've rested well under your care."

Queen Guinevere smiled, pleased.

She tossed in her bed, opening her eyes and stared into the darkness that closed on her. Then she closed them again, willing sleep to come and take her. When she opened them again, she couldn't take it anymore.

She needed to find him; she needed him, period. Not her king, not him, never like this, but her knight.

"I need fresh air. I'm going for a walk," she whispered to her sleeping maids, the lie rolling deftly out of her tongue. One of them merely nodded deep in her sleep, and she waited for a seconds more before she left the bed. She was only wearing her nightgown, white silk that reached the ground, so she wrapped herself in one of her cloaks, velvet trimmed with white fur.

Traces of winter were still felt in the cold night as she stepped out of her chamber. The iciness bit her face, made her pull her cloak tighter around her.

The queen knew the way to his chamber by heart. The sconces running along the stone wall lit the way, casting deep shadows as she crossed before them, but blind she would've found the way she was sure. She found no one as she walked through the empty halls, eyes scanning her surroundings, her cloak fluttering behind her. No one seemed to be awake but for some of the night animals. Twice, the sound of an owl hooting jerked her to a stop.

The garden looked especially majestic under the moonlight. It was in the middle of the castle, all of its green and blooming flowers silver and dark. She crossed it with the barest of whispers of her sandals on the ground.

Finally, she reached the other side of the castle, to the aisle where the knights kept their chambers. Without a second doubt, she headed to the one at the end of the hall. Her hand reached out to touch the door. The wood was cold, strong.

There was still chance for her to turn around and return to her chamber. Lancelot probably was sleeping, tired from traveling, and part of her knew she should let him rest. Yet she hadn't seen him in months, hadn't touched him for even longer.

She ached for him.

If she could just hold him for a few moments, feel him against her chest...

Gingerly, without further thought, Guinevere opened the wooden door just enough for her to peek inside. His chamber was dark but the shining moon gave enough light so she could discern his empty bed before the she noticed the shadow in front of her.

"Guinevere?"

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" asked Lancelot, surprise and confusion lacing his words. He came slowly forward, but she was already meeting him halfway.

She pressed her mouth against his, her hands softly resting on his arms and holding him to her. "I came to see you," she whispered, nuzzling his neck. "I missed you." She inhaled the scent of his skin, a mix of sun, grass and horse. "You've been gone for so long. I thought-" she paused, pulling away from the crook of his neck, shaking her head, as he tightened his hold around her waist. "There were weeks when I heard nothing from you, not a rumor or a tale."

He looked at her, stroking her head.. "I'm here. I'll always come back to you." He kissed her cheek then, and she became aware it was wet. "Guinevere…"

But she was already kissing him again, slowly, as if time and distance had rendered him strangers and they were meeting for the first time. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and pulled him closer to her. He kissed her back, not ungently, deepening their kiss and making her desire for more. Guinevere softly moaned into him, but just as quickly, he was breaking the kiss. Just barely. Their foreheads touched and their warm breaths mingled.

Her eyes were on his lips as he spoke. "We shouldn't," he said. "They could find you gone. Tomorrow after mass just send the messenger and I'll come to you."

"They wouldn't know where to look for me."

Guinevere stepped back and started removing her clothes. Cloak and nightdress were dropped on the stone floor.

"Wicked woman," he said with resignation and amusement, and then kissed her. He took her to his feather bed, laid her down and then took off his tunic. His chest was muscled as always but he carried new scars and a few bruises. She didn't ask, not now.

There was no shyness when she opened her legs for him, no tremor of hesitancy as he moved to his place above her. There was never any doubt about him. No, there was only the growing heat between her thighs that made her want to rub her legs together.

His mouth found her breast, and one hand the special place under her thigh that made her shiver. In a moment it had moved to caress her inner thigh. She was already moaning, already wet, by then, his teeth and tongue working wonders, when his hand slipped to touch her sex. Fingers stroked her, and then she felt them inside her, effortlessly and gentle. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against him, an arm holding on to him. Her hips moved along his movements, seeking that thrill, but knowing she wanted something else, him inside her.

"Let me feel you inside me."

"As you wish, my lady," he replied, promptly taking his fingers off her.

Lancelot shifted slightly above her as he tried to accommodate himself for the change of position. In a few moments, though, Guinevere felt something thicker poking into her. It took her breath away when pushed into her. He grunted in pleasure, the fingers that were inside her were wet on her hips as his hand gripped her tight.

Panting in her neck, he continued pushing into her, and she could feel her heart in every inch of her body. When he was fully inside her, she closed her eyes and held him tight. Guinevere ran her hands over his back, felt the ripples of his muscles, the scars that tarnished his otherwise smooth skin. Home, she thought, contentedly, never wanting to let him go.

He chuckled. Had she spoken out loud?

"No, that's you," he murmured before taking her mouth in his again.

Lancelot started moving inside her, slowly at first, matching the languor of his kiss, but then faster and deeper. She moaned, breaking the kiss, slightly gasping. Meanwhile, he settled in the crook of his neck was panting in her ear as he exerted such energy. She moved along with his movements, seeking that high he always knew how to give her. One of his hands gripped her butt cheek, trying to keep her still so he could plow efficiently into her, and she whined in pleasure as he sped up his tempo, as delicacy stripped away from his actions.

These were the times where she felt alive, when she lost control to him, and he drove her body to heavenly heights. Their movements became erratic, and they held each other even tighter and closer.

He came first, stilling above her as she felt the warmth of his seed spill inside her. It almost made her come as well, but she needed more. "Don't stop," she pleaded at him, as he picked up his pace.

Guinevere moaned and whimpered as the heat inside her body was so close to explode. And then as her legs tightened around him, a burst of light filled her vision and made her lose momentary control of her body. A deep moan left her lips. Bliss and satisfaction saturated her body as she remained under him, hips still rising to meet him as the afterwaves of her orgasm slowly ebbed away.

Eventually, he stopped, pulled away, and fell next to her. Their hearts slowed their racing and desire was slowly replaced by gentleness. Their arms found each other, and bodies slick with sweat and warm they held each other. Lancelot brushed some hairs out of her face as she stared at him. She had one leg over him, and a hand rubbed idly on the arm that touched her.

For the first time, she noticed the cool air on her skin. It soothed her body that still hummed with the ecstasy of their lovemaking, yet made her uncomfortably aware of the thick wetness in her thighs. Slowly realized that the sky in the window was less dark and bluer than when she came in.

"I never asked you why you were awake?" she asked him, her eyes on the sky.

"I couldn't sleep. It is almost as if I knew you were coming. Though to be fair, whenever I'm back here, so close to you, you are the only thing I can think of."

That made her smile.

"Quite a pair, aren't we?"

She said nothing, mind unraveling with dreams that could never be true, memories that only existed in her heart. Eventually, she found herself enjoying the deep silence of the new morning only punctuated by their breathing. Concentrating on that worked to make time slow its pace, but it was only a cheap trick.

"I need to go," she said, yet made no effort to move yet. Moments like these were all they had, and there was nothing she detested more than the feeling of emptiness that would overtake her when they'd leave. Now, leaving was unthinkable. In his arms, there wasn't just comfort, but the beat of her heart that told her he loved her.

But she had to. Dawn was approaching and the queen needed to be back in bed. Not to mention, she had to clean herself up as best as she could lest suspicions arise.

"Go," said Lancelot, watching the struggles so obvious in her face. He pulled away from her. "You've tired me out. I think I've found the cure to my sleep."

She smiled, kissed his cheek goodbye. She was about to say how much she loved him and had missed him; she was about to tell him all of the things she hadn't said to him when he was gone. But he was quick, and stopped her before she could say anything.

"I know. Me too."