Title: Weapons Check
Author: Lycanus
Fandom(s): King Arthur/Supernatural
Character(s): Tristan/Dean W.
Rating: M
Type: romance/humour; AU
Summary: When a simple clean up job gets a bit carried away ...
Comments & Reviews: positive comments welcomed
Disclaimer: Sadly, Messrs Bruckheimer & Kripke absolutely refuse to part with them. They're still not mine, although not for the want of trying ...
Warning: slashy themes
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Weapons Check
Inside the wooden barn, they both sat in companionable silence on an old, oak bench which had seen better days. Scattered around them were the tools of their trade. Although the tools differed immensely, their owners were artisans and shared the same craft. Tracking. Hunting. Killing ...
The elder of the pair was a Scout. The younger, a Hunter.
To a casual observer, they did not have anything in common.
The suede and leather clad Aorsi Scout looked feral. Dangerous.
Despite the unkempt, dark mane of shoulder-length hair, which fell like a veil masking a pair of arresting, ever-observant golden eyes and tattooed cheeks, there was an air of icy reserve about the lean man and a zen-like calm and composure. He possessed a stillness which was deceptive, for it was the kind common in all large, powerful felines before they attacked and brought down their prey. Silent. Swift. Graceful. And always fatal ...
He rarely spoke. He didn't believe in speaking just for talking's sake. When he did, people sat up and took notice of his faintly accented, husky voice. Especially the ones who fell victim to his sly wit and barbed, sarcastic tongue.
The Hunter from Kansas, was his polar opposite, although equally deadly.
At six foot, he stood taller than his companion. He was also lean, yet more muscular in comparison to the sinewy, athletically built Scout. His was an angelic beauty, with his short, spiky, dark blond hair, high cheekbones and full, pouting lips. But what really drew people's attention were his eyes. They were a striking, intense green, deceptively innocent and smouldered with latent passion. Being full of nervous energy, he was never one who could sit still for long. He was a man of action and constantly craved the thrill of the hunt.
Not as guarded as the Scout, he was more approachable and possessed a mischievous streak. His reputation as a prankster preceeded him and although well-liked, many were wary of the soft-spoken, talkative Hunter and rightly so.
Every once in a while, the Hunter would glance covertly at the enigmatic Aorsi, who was currently whetting the lethal, curved blade of the dao. He had a serious crush on the unpredictable, handsome Scout for a while now, yet had never made a move on him, for fear of being eviscerated. This reticence on his part was rare, because usually when he wanted someone he made damn sure he got them. But this time, the object of his affections was well and truly out of his league and all he could do was watch and lust from afar ...
" Seen something you like, Dean ? " The Scout's gravelly voice rasped. There was a hint of devilish amusement in its sensual tone. He didn't bother to look at the younger man, his concentration was firmly on the task at hand.
Confused, Dean flushed and for once, remained silent. How the hell did Tristan do it ? The man's uncanny ability to sense things was positively eerie ... Enough to freak out anyone. Unusually flustered, the Hunter picked up the Colt which he'd finished cleaning and began to carefully load it with bullets. He needed a distraction. Anything to take his mind off the striking man who sat beside him ...
But despite all of his efforts, Dean couldn't keep his mind focused on what he was supposed to be doing - checking out and cleaning his weapons. His eyes began to drift again to his right, mesmerized by the Aorsi, who was stroking the long, slightly curved, extremely lethal blade of the dao with total reverence. It was as if he were caressing a lover. Dean swallowed hard, forgot everything about the Colt, which now rested upon his thigh and began to imagine the Scout's slim hands with their long, calloused fingers dancing deftly and seductively across his naked skin.
" Dean ... you're staring - again ! "
" 'M not ! " Dean muttered as he was jolted out of his reverie. He agitatedly rubbed his nape and frowned in confusion. What was it about Tristan that made him act like a shy, awkward, tongue-tied teenager ? He never acted like that. He was Dean Winchester, after all ... He was the one who had that effect on people. He wasn't supposed to be the one who blushed, got all breathless and acted like a lovesick, young girl ... He was a man, for fuck's sake !
Tristan's attention fell upon the good looking, young Hunter. There weren't many people - apart from his fellow knights - that he could stumoch, but for some inexplicable reason, he liked Dean. Really liked him. He also liked the fact that he was able to constantly wind him up and that Dean never failed to rise to the bait.
Tilting his handsome head to one side, Tristan slowly rubbed his neat, pepper and salt beard and silently gave Dean the look.
Striking honey coloured eyes coolly and calmly appraised Dean. Combined with an eyebrow arched knowingly and a trace of an amused smile playing across his lips, it left the Hunter breathless and feeling very aroused.
" 'M not ! " he protested half-heartedly, cursing himself for acting like a girl around her crush. Then, to mask his confusion, he hurriedly added, " Y-You missed a bit ... "
The Scout's eyes flickered briefly to the blade and he picked up a clean cloth, before turning his scrutiny to his companion once more.
" Where ? Show me ... " he growled softly, goading the young, impulsive Hunter, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to resist a challenge. The cloth hung between his long, slim fingers, his warm gaze firmly fixed upon Dean's face, daring him to respond.
Tempestuous green locked with sultry gold eyes, as Dean slowly leant closer to take the rag from the Scout. Their fingers accidentally brushed against each other. Dean's breath hitched as he saw Tristan's eyes dilate at the unexpected surge of attraction which passed between them at the slightest touch. Raw tension suddenly filled the air, and although Tristan was the first to gracefully rise to his feet, Dean was the one who broke eye contact.
" Show me ... " Tristan rasped once more. The dao was held in a firm, yet loose grip in his right hand, its deadly blade gleaming faintly beneath the weakening, evening sunlight. " Show me ... "
The Hunter leisurely rose to his feet, wiping his damp palms against his thighs and slowly sauntered over to where the Scout stood, his heart racing madly in anticipation. Anticipation of what, he had no idea, but he couldn't help being aware of the lithe, sinfully attractive death-dealer that stood expectantly before him.
Dean ran the tip of his tongue lightly across his dry lower lip and stood behind the smaller man. He closed his eyes briefly as he inhaled Tristan's attractive, musky scent, recognizing the aroma of leather and horse combined with freshly scented herbs. Dean shook his head to bring himself out of his daze, then slowly skimmed a hand down the Aorsi's sinewy, suede-clad arm before taking hold of his right hand and drawing the sword up for closer inspection.
He began to cautiously stroke the long blade with the cloth, from hilt to tip then back again. The Scout, who stood calmly in his arms, slowly shook his head and murmured, " You've missed a bit, Dean ... "
Curiosity got the better of him. Dean inched closer until Tristan's back rested flush against his broad, black t-shirt clad chest. The Aorsi's wild, dark hair tickled his left cheek as he peered over the older man's shoulder.
" Uh ... where, Tristan ? I don't see anything ... "
Tristan kept his head averted, his long mane shielding the faint grin on his lean, noble features and calmly covered the Hunter's hand with his own, guiding it with agonizing slowness over the sharp, spotless blade. His grin widened as he heard Dean's soft, startled gasp and he was acutely aware of the coiled tension in the taller man's powerful physique. He moistened his own lips in anticipation and continued to drag Dean's hand deliberately and rhythmically over the cold, hard steel.
Dean bit down hard on his lip to stifle the low moan which was threatening to escape. His imagination began to wander. All he could think of was the Scout's hand curled around his own hot, throbbing and by now, excruciatingly hard "weapon." Those wickedly seductive fingers stroking firmly, kneading, caressing, teasing and tormenting his sensitive, heated flesh.
" Aagh ! " Dean hissed sharply. The lapse of concentration caused the keen blade to burn as it slashed into the ball of his thumb. " Fuck ! " He reluctantly pulled his hand from under the Scout's warm palm to study the damage. Blood flowed freely down the digit and he began to raise his hand towards his mouth, when he felt Tristan's fingers wrap around his wrist, staying it with a gently firmness.
" No ... " Tristan said huskily, as he carefully placed the crimson stained dao on the bench, " let me ... "
He slowly turned to face Dean, then lowered his head towards the wound and with a gentle deftness began to lap at it with his tongue. Dean could only watch in fascination as the Aorsi cradled his hand in both of his and curled his moist tongue around the still bleeding thumb, slowly drawing it into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. It was the hottest, most erotic thing Dean had ever felt ... and he'd thought he'd experienced it all. Boy, had he been wrong ...
Dean's breathing became heavy and laboured as the Scout continued to lick, suck upon and massage his injured thumb with his skilful tongue. Tristan watched Dean through his shock of hair and smiled inwardly as the Hunter closed his lustful, expressive, green eyes and was unable to supress a low moan of need. Slowly and reluctantly, Tristan gave the wound a final, firm swipe with his tongue before releasing it and smirked as he heard Dean's groan of protest.
The Scout leaned back slightly in the Hunter's embrace, his smouldering, darkened eyes taking in Dean's flushed cheeks, the way his white, even teeth bit down firmly on his full lower lip and how his chest rose and fell agitatedly beneath the thin t-shirt. He shifted slightly and suddenly became aware of the Hunter's own "weapon" barely concealed by the soft, worn, faded denim of his snug-fitting jeans as it brushed against his hip.
Grinning wickedly, his golden eyes dancing with devilry, Tristan looped his arm around Dean's neck until he rested flush against him.
" Now ... I'm aware you know the importance of checking your weapons, Dean, and of keeping them in perfect working condition, but tell me ... " Tristan reached up, his beard gently brushing against Dean's cheek, his lips curving into an amused smirk, " is that a very large gun in your pocket, or are you just very pleased to see me, hmm ? "
Finis