A shield? Where am I supposed to go with a shield? Arthur stares at the bed, at the shield laying impertinently on the coverlet, betraying nothing.
The armory? No, there are knights in there all the time. That would be… inconvenient. No tournament this week. The knights aren't training right now, so the training fields are empty…
…
Surely not.
He hefts the shield from the bed and heads for the training fields, hoping he's wrong.
He's not.
She's waiting for him, dressed in trousers and a tunic, a sword in her hand.
"You tricked me," he says, striding forward.
"I did not," she argues.
"So you didn't lure me down here to teach you how to use a sword?"
"Perhaps a little," she says, raising her sword and walking slowly towards him, swaying her hips seductively. "But I assure you that your efforts will be rewarded," she smiles that smile of hers for him, but points the sword at him as well.
He sighs, looking at her. "You're doing that all wrong," he says, giving in, compelled by the years of instructing prospective knights in proper swordsmanship.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to help yourself," Gwen smiles as he comes around behind her, adjusting her grip, her stance.
He places her hands just so, then slides them along her arms, lifting an elbow here, straightening a wrist there, then moves his hands down, tracing the contours of her body, straightening her hips. He moves a foot beside hers, pressing against her back as he nudges her feet into place.
"Mmm, I hope this isn't how you treat your men," she teases.
"No," he kisses her neck. "I nibble their ears a bit, though, stroke their beards lovingly, that kind of thing," he jokes.
She laughs and drops her arms.
"Guinevere," he chides, raising her arms again.
"You were the one that made me laugh," she protests.
"Now," he says, getting back to business, "I'll show you a few basic moves."
His arms on hers, he guides them, showing them how to wield the sword, thrusting, slicing, sweeping.
"Is this sword too heavy for you?" he asks in her ear. He can feel her muscles straining through her sleeves.
"No. You forget I spent most of my life doing hard work, not lounging around, oh, weaving or doing needlepoint or whatever it is that ladies do before they get married off."
Now he laughs, and his left hand slides down around her waist, giving her a squeeze as he kisses her neck once again.
"Arthur…"
"You know I can't help myself when your hair is out of the way," he nuzzles her neck, kissing it some more.
She reaches up and smacks him on the head with the very braid that is giving him access to her neck. "Back to work, Arthur."
He sighs and releases her waist. Checking her grip once more, he mutters, "You should be wearing gloves."
"I couldn't find any that fit me," she says. "I shall have to make some."
"Have some made, you mean," he corrects her.
She sighs and lets him re-set her, rather enjoying his sure hands roaming her body this way.
"There, now you're ready for battle," he purrs in her ear before removing himself to stand opposite her, drawing his own sword.
"Now what?" she asks, motionless.
He carefully swings his sword towards her, and she instinctively meets it with hers. He does it again, from another angle, and she meets it again. And again. And again.
"Your defense is good," he says.
"You're going easy on me," she remarks.
"You're a beginner. And you're my wife."
"Bah," she says, attempting a thrust of her own, which he parries easily, so easily, in fact, that the sword flies from her grip.
"Bah?" he asks, amused.
She stomps to pick up her sword. "The 'bah' was to the wife comment. I don't want you to go easy on me just because I'm your wife."
"I don't know if I can do that."
"Then I will have Elyan train me. Or Gwaine," she challenges, knowing exactly which name to throw into the pot.
"Elyan I would consider, but not Gwaine," he says, motioning with his sword that she should ready her own.
"Oh?" she asks innocently, attacking again.
This time she holds onto her sword when he defends. "Gwaine would neither be a skilled nor a patient teacher," he attempts weakly, going back on the offensive, forcing her into defense again.
"Right, I'm sure that's it," she grins, spinning to avoid him.
He raises his eyebrows. "Nice footwork, Love."
"Thank you." He pursues her again, and she leaps out of the way and to the side, landing behind him and smacking him on the backside with the flat of her blade.
"Hey!" he spins. "You're a fast little thing, you are," he grins.
"Why are you grinning?" she asks, thrusting the blade forward again.
"Because I just found your strength," he dodges her thrust, "something we can build on." He swings his sword in a wide arc and she ducks and sweeps her own sword under his.
"And your weakness," Arthur finishes, grabbing her arm gently as he trips her, insuring that she doesn't fall too hard.
In fact, he falls as well, pulling her down over him, both their swords tossed into the grass.
"And what, pray tell, is my weakness?" she purrs, her face inches from his on the ground.
"You were thinking I was still going to go easy on you," he says, lifting his gloved hand to the back of her head to pull her down to him for a kiss, capturing her lips and persuading them to open immediately, their tongues now thrusting and parrying.
He lifts his hand from her head and peels his gloves off, wanting the leather barrier gone. He worms his hand back into her hair, lacing his fingers into the loose braid at the nape of her neck to hold her head, his other hand roving her back.
Arthur rolls them, covering her body with his, kissing her hungrily, feeling her fingers roam through his hair. He lets her suck at his lips a bit, enjoying the sensation before he trails kisses down her neck to her throat, his hand at her side, thumb reaching up to stroke the side of her breast.
"Arthur…" she says, pressing her head back, tilting her chin to give him easier access, "we're outside, Love."
"I know," he says, kissing a few more times before coming back up to peck her lips softly.
He rolls to his back, pillowing his head with his arm thrown up and bent behind his head, his other arm gathering Guinevere to his side, where she rests her head on his shoulder.
She throws a leg over his and sighs, her fingers toying with the ties hanging from the neck of his shirt.
"I still want you to train me," she says.
"I know. If all your training sessions go as well as this one, I could really get to enjoy this."
"Arthur," she cautions.
"Yes, yes, they can't all deteriorate into snogging," he chuckles. "Only sometimes."
She giggles into his shoulder.
"Oh! Sorry, my lord, my lady, I didn't realize," Leon and Percival have just appeared from around the corner, apparently to do some sparring. Leon backs up, pushing Percival with him, heading away.
The king and queen sit up. "Sir Leon," Arthur calls.
He stops and turns, his face worried. "Sire?"
"It's all right. We're done here. Guinevere wanted me to show her how to properly wield a sword," he says, bending to retrieve their discarded swords, handing hers to her after helping her to her feet. She takes her sword and smiles sheepishly at them.
"We got a bit distracted," Gwen admits.
"Um. Yes. Of course," Leon says. Both knights are blushing and looking anywhere but at Arthur and Gwen.
"The field is yours, men," Arthur says, striding past them, patting Percival on the shoulder as he passes.
As they walk away, Gwen hears Percival say, "I bet she was winning and Arthur decided to try a different tactic."
She snickers to herself and continues away with Arthur.
"You know what, Love?" he says.
"What's that?"
"I think we're both due for a bath," he answers suggestively, grinning down at her.
"Indeed, my lord."
A/N: Two requests for this one, from LadyOfLegend9 and shaymars.