A/N: WARNING! This chapter is rated M for explicit content.

11. With A Shuddering Gasp

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Margaret nodded, smiling. There was only one lamp lit, and the soft glow allowed her to see the seriousness in Gilthunder's face. "I'm sure," she replied.

Her smile widened when he swallowed visibly, but he only nodded in return. There was just a moment's hesitation, the briefest half-second as he made his own decision; then he stood, leaving Margaret to sit on the bed alone.

His cloak had been discarded already, along with her own. The only armor that signified his status as a knight was a pair of thinly plated shin guards and the belted scabbard, which had also been removed and tossed on a chair.

His hands went to his shirt, and Margaret slid to the edge of the bed as he began to open the buttons. Her heart did a little flip once he was done, her eyes wide and expectant when he pulled the fabric down his arms. Tossing it over to where the other things were laying, Gil next bent down and pulled the top fasteners of his boots. Margaret stifled a bit of a giggle as he hopped from one foot to the next when pulling off one and then the other.

Before he straightened she stood herself, reaching out to slide her palm over his shoulder and sliding it down the toned muscle of his back. This was not the first time they were skin to skin—there had been a handful of flurried moments of passion before—but this was a wholly different step for them. Slowly he straightened, and her palm flattened against his chest as her hand rounded his shoulder. Margaret could feel his heart beating under her touch, and she watched, fascinated, as his chest rose and fell with his slow, deep breathing.

Gil reached up his own hand, sliding his fingertips down her arm, from wrist to elbow. She shivered at the light touch, and he pushed the sleeve of her dress up to expose her skin. Their eyes met, but Margaret could not read his expression, his face now a silhouette in the dim light. So she took a step towards him, flattening her other palm on his stomach, and he bent down slightly to cover her mouth with his.

Their kisses had grown in passion too, starting with the feathered brushes of a stolen peck, then the one shared under the fireworks, where they had poured the tightly contained emotions of their captivity and healed one another. There were others, too, before Gil had left on his journey, with his hands in her hair and her hands clutching his shirt, not wanting to let him go but knowing he had to despite her own selfish wishes.

Then later, after he had returned, and Liones spent weeks in despair at the growing conflicts all around them. Gilthunder came to her for strength, and she did all she could, finding her own resolve to go on living as he stroked her body and she kissed his in return. Each day and night together had pushed them forward, even as the world had stopped. But something had kept them from sealing their love with the final step; something unspoken but understood between them had kept that last barrier between them.

When he was taken from her, Margaret had sworn to herself that she would be rid of that barrier once and for all, if she ever saw him again. There would be nothing between them. Now they were here, the war over, Britannia and the world forever changed around them; but not the two of them. The two of them were the same as they had always been, for as long as there had been a two of them.

As they kissed, his hands brushed her long hair back gently over her shoulders. The tips of his fingers traced the outline of her face, then down her neck, hovering over the buttons that snapped together at the collar of her dress. She gave a little breathless laugh against his mouth, and she felt his own lips curve into a smile against hers.

Margaret took pity on him then and pulled her face away, looking down to quickly undo the snaps on her own. Gilthunder's hands settled on her hips, the touch heavy but loving, reminding her of the strength that existed inside his body. She peeked to see him watching her hands deftly open the top; then once her collarbone was exposed, she ran her fingers along the open edge of the dress, her nerves making her tremble.

Gilthunder slid his hands from her hips to her back. Then carefully he tilted her backwards. Her chin lifted, allowing him to kiss her neck. The princess sighed and closed her eyes, her hands gripping his upper arms to hold her steady, arching her back slightly to give him full access to the curve of her neck and shoulders. He took advantage of her offering, covering her with slow kisses and the searing pass of his tongue, and Gil took his time until she was panting and her chest was heaving.

Then he gripped her dress from the back and began pulling, the fabric sliding down her body. Margaret moved her arms to help, and Gil followed the path with his mouth, her body bending as his mouth moved in a straight path from the hollow of her throat and down between her breasts. Then down, further still, as he went down on his knees before her, and Margaret was struck with the image, as if out of a fairy tale. The knight knelt before his princess, pulling the dress down her hips and legs, and Margaret shivered and gripped his shoulders to steady herself.

His mouth was hot on her stomach, and once the fabric was pooled on the floor his hands slid upwards along her calves, moving around to trace the outline of her thighs. She thought she heard him whisper her name, and then Gilthunder pressed his cheek on her hip and looked up at her.

She could see his face better now, and the sweet adoration in his eyes made her trembling stop. Margaret brushed his bangs back from his forehead, gazing down at him as her heart tightened; then he surprised her by scooping her into his arms as he stood back up all in one movement.

Margaret laughed and covered her eyes; she felt his own chuckle against her hip a moment before he laid her down on the bed. Instantly her arms were around him, the heavy blanket of anticipation broken. Now, they were both urgent, their hands deliberate in the way they caressed each other, their kisses searing and hot. Gilthunder grabbed her body roughly, and she arched into his hold, begging for more; she wrapped her legs around him, grinding against him until their bodies were both hot and aching, and he moaned against her skin.

Her head was spinning, the world too hot, the air too humid. Then he moved, kneeling up, and Margaret tried to catch her breath has he pulled frantically at his waistband, practically kicking off his pants before covering her body once again.

Moments later she felt him, heavy and hot and prodding against her thigh, and Margaret dug her hands into his hips and pulled, wanting the throbbing part of him to be inside the aching part of her now. But Gilthunder resisted, instead nudging her open, his mouth moving along the curve of her breast as he whimpered out a gasp. She understood he was trying to slow down, make it last and make it slow so it wouldn't hurt her, but at that moment, Margaret did not care.

One hand grabbed his hair, and she pulled his mouth up to hers; the other pulled hard on his thigh, pulling him into her. With a shuddering gasp she felt him start to enter her body, and Margaret whispered, "I love you."

The final barrier was gone with the stretch of her body to envelop his. Her confession spurred him on, and then her world was nothing but his lips and the sound of his panting breaths and the feel of his hips hitting her thighs. It was pain and it was ecstasy, and when his hand moved between them and stroked her body she was lost.