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Arthur, a king who had faced down monsters and stood with gods among men, felt utterly, completely out of his depth. Every witty opening line, every royal decree, every plea he had rehearsed evaporated like mist in the sun. His throat was dry. For the first time in a long time, his mind was utterly blank, wiped clean by sheer, overwhelming beauty. It was as if he was back in high school again, meeting his first crush.
She stopped a few feet from the shore, the water parting around her as if in deference. Her eyes, the colour of storm-tossed seas, regarded him with an ancient, patient intelligence. A small, knowing smile played on her lips.
"King of the Seas," she said, her voice like the chiming of water against crystal. "You did not have to shout. I am always listening."
Arthur found his voice, though it was rougher than he intended. "My Lady. I... apologize for the intrusion."
'Why am I stuttering? Why am I even apologising? I have seen Atlantean beauties before, haven't I? Why do I feel like I am a teenager again?' Arthur thought to himself arranging himself in a regal fashion. He was royalty after all.
Her smile widened, a genuine, radiant thing that made the water around her glow a little brighter. "You are never an intrusion here, Arthur. You are a part of this place, as it is a part of you." Her gaze drifted to his left arm, the liquid blue of it swirling gently. "Or have you forgotten?"
"I could never forget," he said, stepping closer to the water's edge. "That's why I'm here. I can't control it. The power you gave me... it's wild. It takes me where it wills, not where I need to go. I'm a danger to myself and others."
"And you thought I could teach you to tame it?" she asked, tilting her head. A stray droplet of water traced a path from her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts, and he found himself following its journey with an embarrassing intensity.
'How can I be this thirsty for intimacy? It's embarrassing! Look at her eyes for goodness's sake, Arthur! Remember why you are here!' Arthur gathered himself once more and slowed his breathing.
"You taught me how to receive it," he replied, forcing his gaze back to her eyes. "It stands to reason you can teach me how to wield it. Batman was right. I need to get a handle on it."
Her expression softened, a flicker of something like sympathy in her oceanic eyes. "The Bat sees the world in terms of control and variables. He forgets that some things are not meant to be tamed, but understood."
She took another step forward, and the water level dropped to just below her hips, revealing the long, graceful lines of her legs and the subtle, powerful muscles of her thighs. "You treat the power as a tool, a weapon to be drawn and sheathed. But it is not a weapon, Arthur. It is an extension of your essence. It flows from you, just as this lake flows to the streams."
"I don't understand," he admitted, the frustration warring with the intoxicating pull she had on him.
"Then you will learn," she said simply. "First, you must stop fighting it. Stop seeing it as separate from yourself. Let it be what it is." She raised a slender, blue hand, and a ribbon of water rose from the lake, dancing in the air between her fingers. "This is not my power, not truly. The water and I are one. I do not command it; I harmonize with it."
As she spoke, she began to move, her body flowing into a slow, hypnotic dance. The ribbon of water mirrored her movements, weaving around her, brushing against her skin, tracing the curve of her hip, circling her breasts without ever breaking its form. It was a mesmerizing display of control and unity, a partnership between flesh and fluid.
Arthur watched, spellbound. He could feel the power in his own arm responding, pulsing in time with her movements, aching to join the dance. The memory of Mera, of Starfire, tried to surface, a wave of cold horror threatening to drown him in shame and rage. But the Lady's presence was a warm current, pushing it back, silencing the ghosts. Here, in this sanctuary, there was only the present moment.
"Your turn," she whispered, her dance slowing to a stop. The ribbon of water settled back into the lake, leaving behind only the memory of its touch.
He hesitated. The last thing he wanted was another humiliating failure in front of her.
"Trust me," she urged, her eyes holding his. "And more importantly, trust yourself. Close your eyes. Do not think of control. Think of flow, think of the water you were born to rule. Think of the blood in your veins."
"... Think of me." She paused for a while before whispering such sweet words that softening the king's heart that it was the first time his mind felt at peace.
He did as she asked. He closed his eyes, shutting out the impossible sight of her, and focused on the sensations. The warmth of the air, the lapping of the water, the faint, sweet scent of lilies. He let go of the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest. He thought of the ocean, of the crushing depths and the serene silence beneath the waves. He thought of the rhythm of the tides, an endless, patient breath. And he thought of her. The cool, ancient strength of her, the liquid grace of her form.
He felt a shift. Not a violent surge, but a gentle uncoiling deep within him. The liquid blue of his arm no longer felt like a foreign substance. It felt... warm. Alive. Connected.
A tendril of blue energy, identical in colour to the substance of his arm, extended from his fingertips. It was hesitant at first, wavering like a candle flame in a draft. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed more of his intent into it, not a command, but an invitation. The tendril solidified, becoming a coherent strand of liquid light. He opened his eyes.
The strand of energy drifted lazily in the air before him, pulsing with a soft, inner glow. He had done it. He had manifested it without a fight, without the chaotic burst of untamed magic.
A soft laugh drew his attention. She was closer now, standing just before him on the shore, the water dripping from her body and patterning the dark stones at her feet. "See?" she murmured, her voice a husky caress. "You and the power are not at war. You simply needed to learn each other's language."
Her eyes dropped to the tendril of energy, then back to his. The admiration in her gaze was unmistakable, a potent aphrodisiac that went straight to his head. He felt a primal surge of pride, a king basking in the approval of his queen. He took a step toward her, drawn by an invisible current.
"You are a remarkable teacher," he said, his voice low.
"And you are a remarkable student," she countered, her smile turning coy. "But we have only touched the surface."
As if to prove her point, she reached out, not for him, but for the tendril of energy he held. Her slender, blue fingers brushed against it. The contact sent a jolt through him, not of pain, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was like touching a live wire, but one made of pure sensation. The energy flared, glowing brighter, and he felt a sudden, vivid image in his mind: her, arching her back, a silent cry of ecstasy on her lips. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it left him breathless.
She gasped softly, her eyes widening. "You felt that?"
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