A small one-shot fic which has been bugging me for a few days now. Enjoy!

Guinevere lifted the skirt of her heavy white dress as she made her way down the steps so as not to fall. The sun was large and pale in the blue sky as she crossed the large, beautiful garden, past the trees and the flowers and the bushes, down to the lake, where the water was almost silver. She stood watching it, her expression one of sadness, her hair tumbling wildly about her face, her arms crossed around her waist.

"Guinevere."

His voice behind her, even though he was many feet away, sent chills down her spine. She did not turn around. "Lancelot. I did not expect to see you here."

"Yet at the same time you wanted it more than anything else," he said quietly, stepping up behind her, his warm breath tickling her neck.

She turned sharply. "You should not be out here, Lancelot."

"You would be disappointed if I was not."

She lowered her eyes. "You think far too much of yourself."

"Don't play games, Guinevere," he said, catching her face in his cupped hands, touching the forbidden fruit, longing to move his hands down her neck, into the soft curves of her body.

She pulled free of his grasp, her flesh burning where he had touched it, and she walked along the side of the lake, stopping a good few metres away from him.

"You should be inside," she said simply. "Your wound was almost fatal."

He smiled grimly. "I've had worse."

She shook her head, and turned back to the water.

"How was your wedding night?" he asked, a tone of bitterness in his voice.

"Beautiful," she replied bluntly.

"Queen Guinevere," he said darkly.

"Do not mock me, Lancelot," she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

He stared hungrily at her. Then he shook his head. "Do you deny the attraction? Because if you do, if you tell me right now that you do not feel the same, I will leave you here and never bother you again."

She opened her mouth, and he saw her falter. Her eyes, wet with unspilled tears, met his briefly for a moment, then quickly returned to the water. "I will not deny it, Lancelot. I will not lie. But it is just an attraction, it is lust, not love, nor will it ever be anything more than that."

"It's... it's killing me, Guinevere."

"I'm sure you've had worse," she said coldly, a grim smile on her face.

"No, I haven't," he admitted. "You're driving me insane."

Her eyes, wide and distraught, flew back to his. "How do you think you make me feel? The way my stomach ties itself in knots when our eyes meet, the way my skin burns from the most innocent of contact with your's, the things I think about you..."

Lancelot took this as an excuse to walk forward to her. They stood close, mere inches seperating their bodies. She looked up at him, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away gently with his thumb. She lowered her eyes.

"Lancelot..." she whispered.

He leaned in close, his heart pounding as his hands closed around her cheeks, and his lips touched her's...

"Guinevere!" Arthur's voice filled the garden, and Lancelot leapt back from Guinevere, who was glowing positively scarlet.

Arthur pushed his way through the trees and smiled at the sight of his wife and his best friend. His smile faded slightly as he took in Lancelot's flushed face, and Guinevere's red cheeks and the tears clinging to her eyelashes.

"What is it?" he asked.

For a moment Lancelot and Guinevere's eyes met. Then they said together, "Nothing."