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The waters are cold around him. They sting his eyes as he sinks in the deep shifting blues and dirty greens, the yellow tinge of faint diluted light. It’s peaceful, a nice change from the harsh light of the Isle’s neverending golden summer days where everything is always in bloom, always luxuriant, always so alive that it sometimes feels too much like a cruel joke.
And then there’s her, too. He can already hear her exasperated sigh, see the way she juts her chin out, clenching her jaw when he’s been, in her opinion, stupid and reckless.
She always thinks him stupid and reckless.
Arthur wonders if he doesn’t do it a little bit on purpose, just to see the way she narrows her eyes at him. It’s so easy to tease her.
At first, she’s only a vague shape—white naked skin, dark hair floating around her—pushing through the hazy colours until her lips are on his, blowing air that he doesn’t need between them.
She puts her arms around his chest, kicks with her legs, her knees knocking his thighs. She swims up until they pierce the surface of the lake, into the blinding sun, into air that smells like grass, and earth, and blooming flowers.
She drags him to the Isle, fingers tight on his skin. He loves the annoyed look she gives him, and the roll of her eyes when he grins back, wanting to say something that’ll make her kick at his shins only she’s already pushing him impatiently on his back to the grassy floor of the shore and straddling his thighs, small hands spread wide on his chest. There are blades of grass sticking to her stomach and breasts, and her knees are stained with dirt. Her hair sticks to her forehead and shoulders, dripping water drops that shine into the light.
“Every single time, Arthur,” she says with an angry roll of her hips, rubbing herself against his hard cock. He grips her naked waist and marvels at how small she looks between his hands, his fingers stretching to her back, to her ribs, but he knows she’s actually supernaturally strong.
He lifts his hips, cock sliding on her stomach.“I have to keep trying,” he says, already a bit breathless, a bit blinded by the angry spark in her eyes, and the ever vibrant green of Avalon.
She bends down and he flicks his tongue out at one of her nipples, before closing his lips around it and sucking. She tastes like salt, and lake water.
A moan escapes her and she arches her back. He moves his hands to her arse, pushing her down on him, grinding harder against her.
“You have to—have to trust Avalon,” she says, breath warm and wet against his mouth. “You have to trust me.” She drags her tongue over his lips and slides a hand between their bodies, guiding his cock inside of her where she’s slick and warm.
He kisses her then, hard and urgent, wrapping his arms around her body, holding her still as he fucks into her. She moans and grunts into his mouths and he gathers the sounds on his tongue, rolls them in his mouth, precious and sweet.
It’s rough in the way he now knows she likes it. He doesn’t stop to think on how or when they got to this point; to where he knows exactly what to do to make her moan, the pace that makes her grind down harder on his cock, or grab at his hair. To where he knows the shape of her body, the weight of her breasts in his hands, the way she says more with her eyes than with her words. He doesn’t think on how long it took him to learn all these things about her, or what exactly she’s learned about him in return.
She pulls back a little to take a deep breath and Arthur cannot understand how they can need air right now, gasping and panting, lungs almost burning. As much as he loves the sounds she makes into his ear, over his skin, he resents it a little, too, this false mimicry, this reminder of life when theirs are over. Everything here is made to remind them of life, and sometimes Arthur hates it, all of it. Except this. This he likes—even craves—what they have and do between them.
“Be patient,” she says, teeth over his earlobe.
“It’s not like I can die again,” he says, heat tightening in his stomach, at the base of his spine, making him lose his rhythm.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not going—going to—fuck—going to hurt.”
“Worth. It,” he says, punctuating each word with a deep, hard thrust until he’s coming inside of her. She crushes her mouth to his, swallowing his gasps as he shakes and trembles, fingers digging in her sides, her knees and thighs squeezing the side of his chest. He loves that too, the way she seems to always want to keep him there, tight between her legs, solid against her body.
He sometimes thinks that what they have between them is also the only thing she doesn’t hate about this place. It’s easy to forget that she used to be human, alive, too.
She pulls off of him and lies on her back, hands quick and fast between her legs. She arches her back again and Arthur loves the perfect curves it makes, creamy white against the green of the grass, hair the colour of rich earth, and he’s struck at how otherworldly she looks right in this moment.
He turns and gathers the sweat and water off the underside of her left breast with his tongue, biting gently at her nipple, wrenching a whimper from her lips.
Kissing down her side and stomach, he sucks the remaining lake water from her skin and then pushes three fingers inside of her where she’s dripping wet with his come and her own juices. She grabs his hair tightly with one hand, while the other works frantically on her clit.
“Come on, Freya,” he says. “Come for me.” And bites the inside of her thigh. She comes with a scream, closing her legs around his head. He flicks his tongue over her, between her fingers, while she spasms around his.
She breathes hard and fast and he spreads his free hand over her stomach and chest, watching it rise and fall as her breathing slows down. It’s a beautiful rhythm and he lets himself enjoy it for what it is, and not what it makes him long for.
He licks into her, sucking lightly, making her twitch and close her legs harder around him, and he does it again and again, until she groans exasperated and pushes him away with a foot on his shoulder.
“Had I known you’d be so much trouble, I would have made sure Merlin buried you in another bloody magical lake,” she says, voice cracking, but Arthur doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smile there too.
He laughs, mouth and lips tasting of her skin, her sex, the lake water, making the wait just a tiny bit sweeter.