Title: Knights
Author: Stigmatized
Fandom: The Book of Lost Things
Pairing: Roland/Raphael
Rating: M (for slash)
Warnings: Slash, use of alcohol, fluff
Summary: Book of Lost Things How did things start between Roland and Raphael?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to John Connolly, as does The Book of Lost Things. They are not mine, and I am making no money from writing this. I assure you. Put the lawyers down, please.

Notes: I adore this book so much, and I'm really surprised there doesn't seem to be anything else on it. The relationship between Roland and Raphael was one of the most interesting aspects of the book, in my opinion, and I would really have loved some more back story for them, since we only ever see Roland from David's perspective.

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Perhaps it was the whiskey in his belly, the empty space in the bottle they'd been drinking all night. Maybe it was the way Raphael had been sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, his left leg on the bed, arm resting on knee, and his right dangling off the side. Maybe it was Raphael's easy grin and light laugh, the way his shirt was loose at the neck, somehow pulled to one side and showing more skin than would have been decent at the feast they had just departed.

Whatever the cause, Roland felt himself noticing the way his friend's dark hair fell softly over his laughing eyes and how he pushed it back using his whole arm, pushing with his elbow in the air and holding his hand on top of his head for just a moment before letting go, the dark strands falling back into place almost instantly. The way his cheeks flushed that particular shade of pink when he had been drinking and that his glass was nearly empty.

Roland picked himself up from the chair next to the fireplace and moved over to lean beside Raphael at the side of the bed, picking up the bottle of whiskey his father had received from some far away dignitary and leaning over to pour some of the amber liquid into his friend's glass. Raphael looked up at him, smiling and flushed. He seemed to pause for a moment, his eyes half-closing as Roland exhaled, his breath playing over the younger man's neck and tickling the hair at the top of his spine. Roland had to remember to breathe at the look he gave him after that: so subtle but heated he could feel it smoulder in his guts, and tried to reassure himself that it was just the liquor.

Raphael bit down on his lower lip, looking away to the fire for a moment before looking back at Roland, and as he moved the glass to his lips Roland took it of his hand spilling the whiskey over himself and Raphael and the bed-clothes and pressed his mouth where the glass has been. He felt Raphael gasp in surprise as the breath was taken from his own lungs, but soon he felt hands on his neck and in his hair, tightening almost painfully and pulling him closer.

Then it was over and Roland pulled back, panting lightly as he looked down on Raphael: lips moist and kiss-red and slightly parted, his hands sitting loosely in his lap as if he was no longer sure what to do with them and dark eyes not sure where to look, even though they frequently came back to Roland's own. He seemed to garner the courage to hold Roland's gaze after a few moments and back went his hand to push away errant strands of hair. He shifted himself to sit up a bit straighter, to hold his chin higher and to try and elicit some sort of explanation from Roland.

Roland tried to speak, but his throat had dried and his voice cracked and he had to settle for a nervous half-smile, hoping that his friend would understand. The gesture was returned and Raphael sat forwards and brought his hand to Roland's rough cheek, leaning close and pressing his lips gently to Roland's so that they both had time to think this time.

Slow and soft and calm, and when Roland felt the trace of a tongue against his lips he nearly fell - but, looking back, perhaps he did. He opened his eyes -not sure when they'd closed- and pulled away, just slightly, to look once more at Raphael. He found himself sitting on the edge of the bed with Raphael lying below him and covered by Roland's arm, not sure when this rearrangement had occurred. He smiled and seeing that easy, relaxed grin again he felt all the tension seep away. Raphael's grin turned into a teasing smirk, one eyebrow rising beneath his hair.

"Sir Roland, I am quite sure your father would not approve."

Roland chuckled and smiled back, replying, "My father is a fool," before kissing him again. "And anyway," he went on, "I have waited a long time to do this." He kissed Raphael's smile once more, leaning back to grin himself. He moved to lie down himself and Raphael shuffled along the bed and rolled onto his side to look at the knight.

Roland felt his hand on his cheek, felt the warmth and the reassuring steady weight of it and sighed, his eyes falling shut as that hand stroked up to his hair and down behind his ear, rubbing the patch of skin just before his hairline.

His eyelids grew heavy: the drink and the long day finally catching up with him as Raphael's fingers played over his skin

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Notes: If you read this, please review. Even if you didn't like it. Just so I know I'm not the only fan of this book!