Becoming of Age Again
By: Sheiado

Author's Note: I haven't done any chapters for this story for awhile. However, I am going to publish out random scenes that I had written out in a notebook. All are during different age periods for my character, Claire, and the Knights. Some are comical, some are romantic, and some are very serious scenes. Due to it being so long since I've last written, I figured that I can at least publish what I had to get my idea out. So, here we go.

Random Scene II: Age 16-17

I hovered over him, my movements frantic while I checked for a pulse at his wrist.

During my feverant task of making sure his heart was till beating, I felt a hand grasp the front material of my tunic and pull me downward.

I cried out in alarm just as a pair of lips crashed against mine. My eyes bulged in startlement and I soon began to realize that "my patient" was not only alive but also breathing normally as well... and soon would no longer be after I got through with him.

I shoved him away, a strange surge of outrage unlike any I have ever felt before in my entire life taking over my body. Before I knew what I was doing, my fist flew with forceful precision toward his flawless face and I was satisfied to hear the audible sound of a pained groan escape his lips.

"Don't you EVER do that to me again, you ASS!" I screamed.

Despite his injury, I was dismayed to see the cocky idiot actually smiling at me. My fury increased ten fold and I glared at him for all that I was worth.

"Well, My Lady," he replied, wincing with a roguish grin plastered across his face, "the pain was well worth the experience."

"I hope it was for you," I snapped with a sharp glower, "because next time something like this happens, I'm going to just watch and let you drown!"

"Claire, my dear sweet Lady," he replied with that same infuriatingly pompous smirk, "I know that, in my heart no matter the circumstance, you will always come to my rescue. After all, a knight must have a lady."

My eyes narrowed. "You are a cocky, arrogant, egotistical, jack ass and the day that I choose to 'come to your rescue' or 'be your lady' is the day that hell freezes over and they start to serve ice water!"

I tried to move in order to stand for the absolute sole purpose of huffing away before the acute impulse to punch him again overrides my good sense for a second time in one day.

A hand suddenly seized my wrist just as I was half way up off the ground. The grip propelled me forward and I was plunked down tersely in front of him, my face a mere few inches away from his own, save mine was the only one set into a deep scowl while his sported a cocksure grin that irritated me to no end.

"Do you want a matching color to go along with your other eye?" I asked in a hiss.

To prevent me from doing just that, he promptly latched his fingers onto my other wrist, effectively restraining me. My eyes narrowed. "You have a death wish, don't you?"

"Not at the moment," he confessed, his voice smooth and devoid of worry.

I could tell by the mischevious glint forming in his warm brown eyes that he had a trick up his sleeve.

That was never a good sign.

"What do you want, Lancelot?" I asked, resigned, albeit still simmering with irritation down below the surface.

"A real kiss."

"No."

He flashed me a sly smirk. "Well," he replied lazily, "I suppose we are going to be sitting on his field for quite some time then."

"Let me go," I demanded.

"No."

"I'd sooner kill you rather than kiss you."

"Ah," he countered, amused. "But how would you explain that action to our dear Arthur?"

"The kiss or your murder?" I asked with false sweetness. Oh, how I wanted to give him a matching bruise! Unfortunately, however, he had been smart and quick to act in order to prevent me from doing just that.

Ignoring my question, he pulled my hands to his chest. "Kiss me," he demanded, his eyes lingering heavily upon my lips.

"Why?"

He blatantly, once again, ignored my questioning and asked with a delighted smirk, "You do want to leave here before nightfall, don't you?"

I would be lying if I said that my body wasn't responding to his voice and close proximity. On the outside I was holding up a valiant, overt front of refusal and nonchalance. Whereas on the inside, I was waning. God damn hormones! I did want to kiss him. He knew it and I knew it... but I also didn't want to kiss him either.

Rule number one when dealing with womanizing young adults: don't ever let your guard down. They take it for a tell tale sign equivalent of seeing an open doormat.

And, after that, that's when they begin the inevitable process of lifting up their shoes in order to walk all over you.

My eyes narrowed. "You can't answer a question with a question and your evasiveness is getting on my nerves."

He chuckled, clearly amused. "Always so straight-forward. Do you know how beautiful you are when you're angry?"

"Always the charmer," I mocked, my mouth once again moving before my mind could even process my words. "Do you know how annoying you are when you smirk like that?"

"Ah, but even a charmer has a weakness, My Lady," he countered, gazing at me expectantly.

"How cute," I noted with a dry touch of sarcasm. The man was positively incorrigible in these situations.

He pulled me in closer until our foreheads touched. "Kiss me, Claire," he breathed.

His fingers around my wrists, their grip firm but not in the least big painful, tingled along my skin.

I shifted my face away from his, ignoring my traitorous body's reaction once again with valiant effort. "No."

He must have caught the look of brief hesitation that flickered across my face. "Claire, damn you," he whispered, "you think too much."

I looked back at him sharply, a biting retort forming upon my lips just as his mouth crashed against mine.

I tried to squirm away at first, a hopeless feat on my part as I couldn't ignore the warmth that ignited my veins. I felt his tongue coax against my outer lips, demanding entry and my resolve soon began to slip away.

'Damn him.. damn him, da-"

I found my usual coherent thoughts abandoning me, leaving me desolate and helpless as I melted into him.

My lips parted against his in compliance and a low moan escaped me just as our mouths tentatively explored one another's.

Teasingly, I lightly nipped at his lower lip, eliciting a low growl just as he lowered us to the grass plain, the kiss deepening just as he pinned my wrists to either side of my head.

I arched into him and an audible groan of need reached my ears as he sank and molded himself against me, his lips moving against mine more forcefully as our mouths battled for dominance.

In the back of my mind, I knew this wasn't a kiss of basic experiment between two young adults. This was a kiss of long repressed sexual tension and uncertainty between two people who knew not where they really stood with one another.

For a lot of our years knowing each other, Lancelot and I have always waged a war, a long-lasting one starting from early childhood to young adulthood. Why we have fought each other for so long, with such unchecked and unwarranted animosity towards the other, was a question I couldn't find a relevant answer for.

To Be Continued... next scene (Claire, Lancelot, Arthur, and the Knights) Reviews Welcome!