“I will wake you,” she murmured. She wound her fingers in his hair, combing through the curls. “Please don’t sleep in your chain mail.” Rubbing her cheek against the top of his head, she wished this one moment, safe and warm and at least a little wanted, could last forever. She tried to hold on to it, store the memory up for when he would leave.
He shook his head. “I only sleep in my chainmail when I’m out field, not at home,” he tells her. “It makes it colder anyway,” he adds after a few moments, resting his chin against her shoulder.
She giggled a little when his hair brushed her nose, and slid down to perch on his knee so she could see his face. Feeling as though it might be safe, now, she began to run her fingers over the lines of Mordred’s face, as if she was blind and trying to see what he looked like. Gentle fingertips stroked his cheekbones and slipped along his mouth, traced the bridge of his nose and shaped each eyebrow.
Summer curled her fingers against his face, then stepped in closer, putting her arms around his shoulders and leaning her head on his hair. “Stay with me for tonight?”
He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Of course, but I must be up early in the morning, I have a shift.”
“I will wake you,” she murmured. She wound her fingers in his hair, combing through the curls. “Please don’t sleep in your chain mail.” Rubbing her cheek against the top of his head, she wished this one moment, safe and warm and at least a little wanted, could last forever. She tried to hold on to it, store the memory up for when he would leave.
“Is it alright — is it — can we — ” She stumbled to a stop, face burning so hotly she was sure she was glowing. “Kiss me? Hold me?” It came out pitifully.
He nodded, leaning down and pressing his lips against hers as he snaked his arms around her waist.
Summer was glad he’d got his arms around her waist; he was so tall compared to her that otherwise she would have fallen over simply trying to reach his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank her fingers into his curls, kissing back with all she had. A little moan slipped out.
A thrill went down her spine at his touch, mixing strangely with the fear in her bones. “I barely know you,” she said softly, “and I think I’m already falling in love with you … how can that be okay?”
He swallowed, looking over her once more. He desperately wanted to give her an answer but found he had none. “I have no answer to give you, Summer, I’m sorry.”
“Is it alright — is it — can we — ” She stumbled to a stop, face burning so hotly she was sure she was glowing. “Kiss me? Hold me?” It came out pitifully.
A few short steps sufficed to bring her close to him, without the table in the way. “I’m afraid of being myself, Mordred,” Summer whispered.
He tilted her head up, allowing himself to look at her. “Don’t be,” he advises, “there is nothing to be scared of. From what I have seen, you’re a kind, caring and beautiful woman, there is certainly nothing to be afraid of, especially not around me.”
A thrill went down her spine at his touch, mixing strangely with the fear in her bones. “I barely know you,” she said softly, “and I think I’m already falling in love with you … how can that be okay?”
He towered over her when he stood up. Summer fell back a step, not frightened, but so she didn’t have to crane her neck so hard to look up at him. “I don’t know who to be if I don’t know what you want,” she told him.
He watched her for a moment, slightly astonished. “Don’t be anyone but yourself,” he tells her, feeling himself lean in to chase her lips.
A few short steps sufficed to bring her close to him, without the table in the way. “I’m afraid of being myself, Mordred,” Summer whispered.
“Oh, don’t do that, it makes me forget what I want to say! Do you have any idea what you look like!?” She hung her head for a moment. “Mordred, I want — I want a real answer. What do you want of me, since you accepted my ring? I offered it as a joke; I never thought … ” She flourished a hand. “This would happen.” She turned faintly pink. “I liked kissing you,” she added, very low.
Mordred swallowed, his fingers dancing around the edge of the goblet as he thought. He didn’t really know what he wanted, especially from her. “I don’t know, Summer,” he tells her, getting to his feet, leaning over the table, “and I liked kissing you too,” he says, his voice low.
He towered over her when he stood up. Summer fell back a step, not frightened, but so she didn’t have to crane her neck so hard to look up at him. “I don’t know who to be if I don’t know what you want,” she told him.
Playfully, she curtsied. “Thank you, kind sir. I am but a poor maid here in the capital.” Placing both hands on the table, she leaned over its scant width. “Mordred.”
Mordred shook his head, placing his goblet down on the table. “Summer,” he says, cocking a brow at her.
“Oh, don’t do that, it makes me forget what I want to say! Do you have any idea what you look like!?” She hung her head for a moment. “Mordred, I want — I want a real answer. What do you want of me, since you accepted my ring? I offered it as a joke; I never thought … ” She flourished a hand. “This would happen.” She turned faintly pink. “I liked kissing you,” she added, very low.
He looked so proud and fair, so far out of reach, sitting at her table. If she were truly home, then perhaps … but she was in Camelot alone, with little to rely on but her own wits and magic. Summer offered him a cup of wine. “You should smile more, Mordred. It suits you so well.”
He smirked, taking the goblet from her. “Thank you,” he says, taking a sip. “Perhaps,” he adds with a laugh, “you have a lovely home by the way.”
Playfully, she curtsied. “Thank you, kind sir. I am but a poor maid here in the capital.” Placing both hands on the table, she leaned over its scant width. “Mordred.”
She guided him through the few streets to her rooms, small and humble though they were. “Would you like something to drink?”
Mordred gave her a small smile. “Anything you have would be lovely, thank you.”
He looked so proud and fair, so far out of reach, sitting at her table. If she were truly home, then perhaps … but she was in Camelot alone, with little to rely on but her own wits and magic. Summer offered him a cup of wine. “You should smile more, Mordred. It suits you so well.”
