A/N: Warning: Some serious sexual tension between two of the knights. I enjoyed writing this way too much.


Ouch, I have lost myself again

Galahad's POV

It was always a mistake to spar with Gawain. He was too damn distracting.

The man was all jokes and grins and teasing winks and smirks. It was impossible to fight with him.

I knew I was starting to pout and that only served to make me angrier, because, damn it all, I am not a child anymore. I was swinging harder and faster and thinking of how furious I was with Gawain for making me love him. I wasn't supposed to love him. I wasn't supposed to love anyone. Love got you in trouble. Love was dangerous. Love made you stupid. Loving a fellow knight was even more dangerous and much stupider. I swung at him without checking the blow as I usually would, and Gawain finally stopped joking and blocked me.

Before I knew it he was swinging furiously back at me, swinging his sword faster and harder and I remembered why seeing him on the battlefield made me feel relieved to know he was on our side.

I was distracted from my contemplation when his sword cut into my thigh. I looked at my bleeding leg, at Gawain's shocked face and yelled,

"Ow!"

"Gal-"

"Gods be damned, Gawain!"

"Sorry-"

"Was that necessary?!"

"I'm sorry, you stupid oaf. Hold still, damn it!"

He was suddenly kneeling at my side, peeling my hands away from my wound and inspecting it closely. He was uncomfortably close.

"Come on, let's get you to the healer."

He slung my arm over his shoulder, half carrying me, half letting me limp like an idiot, as he brought me to the healer's rooms. The healer wasn't in. How bloody convenient.

"Let's sit you down, now." His voice was soothing, I actually found myself calming down until I realized it was the same voice he used with skittish horses. My glare was lost on him as he turned to grab bandages.

"Does it need stitches?" He asked, more to himself then to me.

"How in the hells would I know?"

He ignored me, instead poking and prodding at the ripped flesh. I rolled my eyes. Anger was completely lost on the man after a certain point.

"Here, hold up your skirt for a second, I need to wrap it."

I started pulling up the fabric before what he said sunk in. My eyes narrowed.

"Its a kilt."

"What?"

"Its a kilt, you insensitive bastard." I was furious now. It was a tradition of my tribe to wear these kilts. It was clearly not a tradition of the other tribes, seeing as how it had been the subject matter of the majority of jokes aimed at me over the years. I could've killed Gawain right then and there. He knew how sore of a subject that was.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not!"

"I damn well bloody am, Galahad! Now stop arguing with me and let me wrap your leg!"

I sighed heavily. Alright, overdramatically.

I froze as his fingers brushed my thigh.

Just wrapping it, I told myself, he's just wrapping it. When he's done you can run like hell and hide that growing problem of yours.

I stared steadfastly at my right foot, thinking of cold plunges into lakes. So. Bloody. Awkward.

"Alright, done." He grinned up at me, giving my thigh a friendly pat.

I bolted.

It wasn't until later, when I was curled up in the hay in the stables, that I allowed myself to cry. He couldn't know. He couldn't ever know.

I would never tell him.

I curled up in the hay, biting into my fist to keep from screaming. I couldn't do it anymore. It was too much emotion to contain. I raked angry fingernails down my arms as I screamed silently into the hay.