Rating: G, possibly PG
Warning: Nope! Or, well, perhaps: copious amounts of fluff and romance?
Summary: Gwen always wakes before Arthur. But not today.
Author's Note: Title shamefully stolen from Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love". I was looking through my old fic files and discovered a couple of almost-complete pieces like this one. I thought this was the sweetest (so sugary, it may hurt your teeth ;) but was rather in love with the concept. So I hope y'all love it as much as I do. Concrit appreciated & comments, as always, are ♥
The knock sounded gently at the door and Arthur started awake; glancing quickly at Gwen, he breathed a sigh of relief as a soft snore puffed from between her parted lips. Carefully sliding his arm from beneath her shoulder, he winced as she moaned softly in protest, but she simply rolled away from him, still clearly asleep.
The sun was not yet risen, but it was sure to send its golden fingers crawling over Camelot's walls shortly. Guinevere was always up with the sun - and sometimes before it - which was the reason Arthur had ordered breakfast to be brought up in advance of that. It had initially agitated him that she was constantly up before him, dressed and ready for the day while he still slugged through his morning routine. But he supposed her early rising was a result of so many years as a servant, a habit she could not and did not seem to want to break herself from.
The knock sounded again as he pulled his shirt over his head, and, with a hiss, he snapped his head to look back at Gwen's sleeping form. Once certain she was still asleep, he moved quickly towards the door and opened it slowly, eyeing the hinges lest they squeal in protest.
The exhausted servant blinked somewhat blearily up at Arthur, bowing his head and muttering the required obeisances before passing Arthur the tray. A strong whiff of freshly baked bread trailed into his nostrils, followed by the appealing scents of breakfast meats. He heard Gwen stir quietly behind him as the scent permeated through their rooms, and quickly thanked the servant, shutting the door carefully behind him.
Arthur made his way silently to their dining table, sliding the tray as quietly as possible across the wooden surface, before padding back to bed. He released the curtains of their ties and slipped under the covers, revelling in the false darkness for a moment.
He slid carefully across the bed to where Guinevere still lay, and he watched as she drew breath, slowly but more shallowly than before, an indication she was near waking. Arthur moved to hover above her, his legs resting pressed next to hers and sheautomatically shifted her hips, fitting hers to his in an intimate gesture that sent the whispers of desire curling gently through him.
His eyes now adjusted to the darkness within their canopy, he twitched her gauzy nightgown to the side and ducked his head to feather kisses along her collarbone. Gwen's head rolled away, giving his mouth more purchase against her skin, and a sleepy moan escaped her lips.
He continued his ministrations, dusting the kisses now up her throat and moving carefully to line them back down the side of her neck. Finally she moved beneath him, her hands slipping into his hair and a satisfied mumble vibrated through his lips.
She dragged her hands softly over his head until her thumbs could brush his cheekbones and finally he pulled away from her neck after placing one full, long kiss against a pulse point.
"A new morning ritual?" she murmured, eyes still closed, and warm smile turning her lips upwards. "Not that I'm complaining," she hastily clarified, words still slurring slightly through the last vestiges of sleep.
It had not been rising from an empty bed, or being the only one eating breakfast, or even missing a chance for early morning bed-play, that had irritated him initially. It was that, after waking to her sprawled on his chest that first morning after their wedding, he had missed her slumberous wakening: the way she was soft and warm and so damned sweet when she woke beside him. But he had grown used to waking alone, had come to realise that if she woke after him, it was usually a bad omen: a sign of illness, or worry having kept her up late.Occasionally , it indicated a late and intimate night, when they were able to stay up especially long with one another; she would wake up after him the following day, comfortably lethargic and sleepily eager for more. But those mornings were rare, their lives too busy for the luxury of long nights filled with lovemaking and little sleep.
Gwen's hands slid down from his face to curl lazily around his elbows where they propped him up at her sides. Arthur didn't respond to her comments, instead nuzzling his nose against hers until at last she opened her eyes, her drowsy affection shining in them bright and warm as the midday sun.
"Good morning," he finally whispered to her. Her smile grew and she leaned up to meet his lips. The caress had been intentionally swift, and her surprised giggle was stifled as Arthur's head followed hers back down to continue the kiss. She playfully fought against him, preventing him from deepening it until she was ready. When her lips finally parted, shesimultaneously arched languidly against him and, when he moaned softly, he felt her lips curve as she smiled widely.
When his blood began to heat, and the earlier whispers of desire increased in volume, Arthur pulled his head away and rested his forehead to hers. "Much more like that and breakfast will get cold," he scolded her teasingly.
"I thought I smelled sausage," she responded quietly, entirely unabashed. She turned her head to look past him towards their table, only to have her view blocked by the curtains he'd unfurled earlier. "Trying to confuse me?" she asked, amusement lighting her face.
Arthur watched her blink sleepily up at him, and felt the gentle contentment that always accompanied her presence warm him more than ever. "Possibly trying to delay the inevitable."
She raised an eyebrow at him and shifted her foot to stroke his ankle. It was a habit of hers he adored: when they were in bed, she never ceased to touch him. He thought it unlikely she even really thought about it; her affections were constant and gentle and had he been the poorest man in Albion, with Guinevere there, he still would have felt a King.
Her fingers sought out his, tangling with them and she tickled his palm with her thumb. "Arthur?" she asked as he didn't elaborate.
"You specially had breakfast brought up early - which I adore you for, by the way - but... Are we ever going to get out of bed to enjoy it?"
Chuckling, Arthur ducked his head, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to her mouth, before giving a final dusting from his lips to the hollow of her throat. "I suppose we could eat."