blind-side, tr.v., [1] to hit or attack on or from the blind side; [2] to catch or take unawares, especially with harmful or detrimental results.
Title: Blind-side
Author: trinchardin
Fandom: King Arthur
Pairing/s: Tristan/Lancelot, implied Arthur/Lancelot
Category: Angst/Romance
Rating: R
Summary: [Second in Blind Trilogy] Tristan stumbles in the darkness.
Disclaimer: The myth owns itself, Touchstone Pictures owns the movie.
There was something primal about their coupling. He felt like he was exorcising Arthur in laying a claim to Lancelot. He held the younger man down, bruising arms and nipping the soft skin of his neck. Attempts of the other to stifle his shouts outraged Tristan. He pushed the pillow to the floor, making the tousled dark head hit the pallet with a thud. Hearing the shouts interspersed with whimpers was an affirmation he needed. The whisper of his name stirred his blood. Taking Lancelot that way was to remind the other that he wasn't Arthur. No gentleness would be found from him. He was no man's replacement.
When it was over, he let Lancelot rest a damp head underneath his chin, and placed a possessive arm around the other, though not drawing him close. Before sleep claimed him, Lancelot turned his head to bestow a kiss, a flashback of what started the frenzy. Tristan could still taste the wine on bruised lips. His last thought that night was 'mine'. And when rosy dawn came with promise of a new day, he left without a word or sound, dressing with quiet efficiency and leaving no trace he had even been there but the marks on the other's body. Everyone left tracks, even him. For once, he wanted it known.
Lancelot only joined them at noon, seemingly none the worse for wear, but for the impressions on his neck. Gawain teased him of his wildcat lover and the previous night's shouts. Smiling roguishly, and avoiding Tristan's steely gaze, Lancelot's riposte was that the other just didn't know how to bed a real woman. Even as he calmly peeled an apple with sure, practiced strokes, Tristan could feel the half-moons on his unprotected palm weep crimson around his blade. He left before Lancelot was done with his meal.
This time, it was he who cornered the other. No dark corridor now, but the cool chiaroscuro of the stables at late afternoon. In a secluded corner, Lancelot came undone at his touch, mouth hungry and hands eager. Yet, even when he'd placed the other on his knees, there was a hollowness inside of Tristan, a pain he could not name or understand. He pulled the other up and pushed him back to the wall. Looking into those gleaming eyes, he found he could no longer hold back his tongue, and he spoke for once on impulse.
"What are you more ashamed of? That I'm a man, or that I'm not Arthur?"
He watched the light in those dark eyes die, sunlight swiftly ovecome by a storm of surprise and pain. The stable doors' slam punctuated the sound of rushed footsteps. Yet, what decided the matter was the soft hitch of breath that spoke of a flood held back only by sheer will. It was like a mace to his stomach, leaving him fighting to breathe.
How could he have been so horribly wrong in reading the other's signs?
Title: Blind-side
Author: trinchardin
Fandom: King Arthur
Pairing/s: Tristan/Lancelot, implied Arthur/Lancelot
Category: Angst/Romance
Rating: R
Summary: [Second in Blind Trilogy] Tristan stumbles in the darkness.
Disclaimer: The myth owns itself, Touchstone Pictures owns the movie.
There was something primal about their coupling. He felt like he was exorcising Arthur in laying a claim to Lancelot. He held the younger man down, bruising arms and nipping the soft skin of his neck. Attempts of the other to stifle his shouts outraged Tristan. He pushed the pillow to the floor, making the tousled dark head hit the pallet with a thud. Hearing the shouts interspersed with whimpers was an affirmation he needed. The whisper of his name stirred his blood. Taking Lancelot that way was to remind the other that he wasn't Arthur. No gentleness would be found from him. He was no man's replacement.
When it was over, he let Lancelot rest a damp head underneath his chin, and placed a possessive arm around the other, though not drawing him close. Before sleep claimed him, Lancelot turned his head to bestow a kiss, a flashback of what started the frenzy. Tristan could still taste the wine on bruised lips. His last thought that night was 'mine'. And when rosy dawn came with promise of a new day, he left without a word or sound, dressing with quiet efficiency and leaving no trace he had even been there but the marks on the other's body. Everyone left tracks, even him. For once, he wanted it known.
Lancelot only joined them at noon, seemingly none the worse for wear, but for the impressions on his neck. Gawain teased him of his wildcat lover and the previous night's shouts. Smiling roguishly, and avoiding Tristan's steely gaze, Lancelot's riposte was that the other just didn't know how to bed a real woman. Even as he calmly peeled an apple with sure, practiced strokes, Tristan could feel the half-moons on his unprotected palm weep crimson around his blade. He left before Lancelot was done with his meal.
This time, it was he who cornered the other. No dark corridor now, but the cool chiaroscuro of the stables at late afternoon. In a secluded corner, Lancelot came undone at his touch, mouth hungry and hands eager. Yet, even when he'd placed the other on his knees, there was a hollowness inside of Tristan, a pain he could not name or understand. He pulled the other up and pushed him back to the wall. Looking into those gleaming eyes, he found he could no longer hold back his tongue, and he spoke for once on impulse.
"What are you more ashamed of? That I'm a man, or that I'm not Arthur?"
He watched the light in those dark eyes die, sunlight swiftly ovecome by a storm of surprise and pain. The stable doors' slam punctuated the sound of rushed footsteps. Yet, what decided the matter was the soft hitch of breath that spoke of a flood held back only by sheer will. It was like a mace to his stomach, leaving him fighting to breathe.
How could he have been so horribly wrong in reading the other's signs?