It's their wedding night and both Arthur and Gwen are nervous as they assume both of them are not virgins

Is this was a Quentin Tarantino movie, they would be standing there with guns in their hands, pointing, standing, staring, waiting. Waiting to see who would shoot first.

Never in a million years did Gwen think that she would be in a Mexican standoff on her wedding night.

They stand there, Arthur's shirt unbuttoned, hanging open, half-untucked. Gwen's dress is hanging off one shoulder, unzipped, staying up by sheer willpower.

"You mean you haven't…?" Arthur finally speaks.

"No."

"Not Lancelot?"

"Why do you think he broke up with me?"

"I haven't, either."

"What?"

"Don't make me repeat that, please…"

"But, Vivian…"

"Was a cock-tease. Plus, I was only going out with her because I thought I should. I don't know if I would have even if…"

"Oh."

"Why do you think I was so willing to wait till we were married?"

"I thought it was because you loved me," she says, but there is no ire in her voice.

"Well, I do, very much. But also I was… a little embarrassed that I hadn't, and I thought you had…" he takes one step closer, then stops.

Suddenly Gwen starts giggling.

"Well, I'm glad you find this so amusing," he says, but the corners of his mouth are pulling upwards now themselves.

"I guess we have nothing to be nervous about then, do we? Neither of us knows anything at all!"

"Mmm, you're right," he rumbles, prowling closer to her now. "And I feel like learning something…"

Clothing falls to the floor. One shoe hits the dresser, narrowly missing the television.

"Good thing I missed. The hotel would have made us pay for that if we'd broken it."

"Come over here, Arthur."

"What? Oh…"

"Mmm…"

"Wait, how does this…?"

"Oof!"

"I don't think…"

"Oh, my…"

"Guinevere!"

Giggles give way to soft sighs.

A sharp gasp as he breaks through. Then soft whispers, soothing words spoken in her ear.

The squeak of bedsprings, contented murmurings, the occasional grunt.

All too soon, it is over.

"Sorry," his muffled voice as he hides his face in her neck, burying himself in her hair.

"Don't be," Gwen soothes, threading her fingers through his hair. "It was wonderful."

"Not wonderful enough, not for you."

She kisses his ear. "Are you going to keep apologizing or are you going to get back on the horse?"

He lifts his head. "You're not a horse."

"Thank you for noticing."

"You're not upset?"

"No, I'm not upset. A little… pent up, if I am being honest, but upset? No."

"Pent up, you say? Well, we'll have to do something about that. In a few minutes…"

A few minutes and some washing up later, and they are back in the bed on the probably-ruined sheets.

Taking their time this time.

It's much better the second time. Especially for Gwen.

The third time, they get it right. Because practice makes perfect.