Summer sprawls, half-on half-off, Mordred’s body, one finger tracing his druid tattoo idly, before pressing her lips to it. They’ll have to get dressed again and go down to dinner soon, but just now she’s feeling much too lazy to move. For now, the blankets are tucked up over their bodies, his hand is in her hair, and all is right with the world.
Her contented little world is abruptly upended when, after a perfunctory knock, the door is pushed open, and Edward looms there. Through clenched teeth, he hisses, “Perhaps I should have given my warning more clearly.” He stalks into the room, snatching Summer’s wrist, and jerks her to the floor. One of the coverlets is dumped atop her.
“Cover yourself, /sister/,” Edward spits. “I had hoped you were not so far gone as to shame our family so. As for you,” his gaze flicks to Mordred, “you are a villain and a liar and a coward and I will see you on the dueling ground.”
He had been far more than content, running his fingers gently through her hair, caressing her soft skin with lazy kisses but the moment was cut short when the door swung open and his heart leapt into his chest.
Mordred, and quite possibly Summer too, had almost tumbled backwards off the bed when Edward had strolled in and by the time he had registered what was going on it was almost too late to do something.
A brow of his rose, partially in disbelief, “a villain, a coward and a liar? You shouldn’t use all your vocabulary in one sentence.”
Summer choked on a laugh, getting to her feet and wrapping the blanket about herself. Edward shot her a furious glance, teeth grinding, then looked back to Mordred. “You dishonour this house, the two of you. I /will/ have satisfaction of you, both for what wrong you have done Summer and for the words you speak so boldly.”