Chapter 6
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Still not a hard R yet. I know I'm a saucy little minx. Well this chapter certainly made be blush as I was writing it! I know most of you don't want the relationship between Finn and Lancelot to be fight/love/fight/love, but they do get into fights with each other rather easily. It's all about the personality clash, yadda yadda yadda. Anyway, they fight because they love. And... hope you enjoy. REVIEW!!!
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The next few weeks passed by quickly at the outpost. Finn found that she felt very at home in the small outpost-village. She'd gotten to know the knights that Lancelot had served with very well, much to his apparent dismay.
"He wishes to have you all to 'im self you see, m'dear." Bors said as he nudged her in the side, almost hard enough to knock her right over. "Our Lancelot's quite the greedy little bugger." Gawain had howled at that comment, until Lancelot had tried to smack him with one of the bar stools.
They told her stories; of battles and trials that they'd come to face. Of the knights they'd lost to the crusades they'd fought so tirelessly for another country. Names like Dagonet and Pelleas, Alymere and Tristan, Bedivere and Gareth… all names she'd heard from travelers.
"It's true what you've said Guinevere," she had whispered to her only female companion, "it is almost like a fairy's tale." Guinevere had smiled and gone back to her usual dinnertime routine; watching Arthur, eating and drinking, and sneaking hurried glances at Lancelot. Finn found it increasingly difficult to withstand their glances to each other over dinner, and would always excuse herself with some ridiculous excuse. And they were only becoming more and more far fetched.
"What you mean your cat's gone missin'?" Bors had barked one night as she slid from her seat.
"You don't even live here!" Galahad joined in, trying to keep her with them. "You don't have a cat!"
"Even if she did, Bors'd probably have beaten it to a pulp and tried to make it into a stew by now." Gawain added jokingly. But she hadn't stopped to allow them to keep her. She merely shrugged and walked from the room, not chancing a look backwards.
Arthur was becoming more and more taxed with pleas of help from the tribes and towns of Briton. The Saxon raids, which had seemed to be waning over the last few months, were now back full force, terrorizing the country people.
"I promise you and Finnabhair that we will come to the aid of your home." Arthur had said one night at the table, and Lancelot grimaced as he looked over his friend. He seems stretched, bone-weary and tired of the constant fighting. Even more so now that every large decision seemed to rest on his shoulders alone. Lancelot was not the only one who felt sympathy for the great king. Finn felt it too. She felt many things these days that were foreign to her until then.
Finn felt guilty. She'd become far too attached to this place. It had become a home for her so fast, so soon, that her head spun. She tried hard to remember the grassy knolls and the hot springs. But with each passing day a little bit of her memory of her home was chipped away to be replaced by a new one of the outpost and her knights.
Meanwhile, the tension between Lancelot and Finn was becoming increasingly thick. Double entendres and flirting littered their conversations, and even the most innocent of touches – a brush on the arm, a pat on the back – had served to fuel both their imaginations of what more they could do to each other.
Guinevere had not missed these interactions, and despite herself she admitted she was jealous. Jealous that perhaps Lancelot could have eyes for any other woman than her. Of course she expected him to flirt with the many girls that served the market or tavern. But this wasn't the usual flirt and romp in the sack. It was more. She could feel it.
"Guinevere?" she turned sharply at the voice, "What is it my love?" Arthur asked wearily as he lay down on their bed. She'd shaken her head, told him it was nothing at all and resumed looking out her window and watching Lancelot and Finn, her hand placed gently on his forearm, the two walking together. It made her want run down to him and pull her away. This was not how it was meant to be.
Finnabhair was… fine. Guinevere found her to be a good enough companion, though she did not have enough bloodlust for her liking. She was sweet and thought humorous, at least among the lads. Yet she seemed weak and self conscious. She was not beautiful. Pretty perhaps, but not beautiful. It nagged at Guinevere. Why was it he seemed to be choosing her over me?
She'd known long ago they had no real future. Sexual tension had arrived in their relationship the moment they'd set eyes on each other. It was animalistic perhaps, but they weren't as civilized as they liked to lead others to believe.
There had been a rare night, once every few months, where she wondered what it would feel like to be lying naked in bed with Lancelot, not Arthur. The next morning she would rise and feel ashamed of herself, looking down at the handsome sleeping face of her dearest.
It was at that thought that Guinevere sighed and moved away from the window, towards their bed. She sat at the edge, her back to Arthur. And for the first time in all her life, she questioned a decision she had made. Was she truly meant to be with Arthur? If only she had a sign…
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They retired to Lancelot's room, as per usual, to find Gawain leaning next to the doorway. As they approached, he looked up and suddenly a large grin spread over his face. Lancelot halted, a feeling of impending doom settling over him. Finn stopped as well, but she looked to Lancelot's face, as if to try and see why they'd stopped.
"What is it…?" Lancelot asked, foreboding carrying in his tone. Finn looked to Gawain.
"We leave." He said, brandishing his axe. "Tomorrow. For your home." Finn's mouth dropped open a bit. Her hopes of a rescue for her people had been fading for the past week. She'd come to accept that her life may never involve her going home, it may have meant her starting a new life there, with the knights. But now…
"To Sarmatia?" she said dumbfounded. Then a small smile crept across her own face. "Gawain that's wonderful! Finally, I am going home!" she practically squealed, lunging forward at the knight and pouncing on him. He doubled back, patting her on the back. Then he noticed Lancelot's dark expression.
"We're to assist your people Lancelot." He said as his eyebrows knit together. Finn let go of Gawain's neck and turned to Lancelot, expecting him to be as happy as she was. But his grimace was unmistakable, and her eyebrows also creased into a frown.
"Lancelot?" she asked hesitantly.
He'd hoped, no… he'd prayed that this day would not come, and yet it had come soon enough. Fighting, once more, for a place he did not see as home. Perhaps it seemed unnatural, but the place he'd come from had lost its calling. It no longer called to him. Perhaps what had truly beckoned him back was his family, or the idea of settling with a pretty Sarmatian girl. Now, his father and mother were both dead, his village was burned to ash, and the two women he craved most to marry were spoken for…
Finn had told him that day that Alden would be arriving soon and that she would tell him that they had no real future together. He'd seen in her eyes the uncertainty she hid, making that decision. He felt it stab at him. She was not sure of her choice and he felt that deep down, any day she would tell him how foolish she was and run off with Alden after all.
Guinevere, enticing as ever, clung to Arthur more often than usual these past weeks. And though the few times their eyes met, he could see the desire she felt in her eyes, she'd look away immediately. Too soon.
He needed release.
"Lancelot?" Finn repeated, his far off gaze worrying her greatly. But his eyes refocused and they went directly to hers, seconds before he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, and the pushed past Gawain roughly to disappear into his room. Gawain bristled for a moment outside before he trudged off to find Bors to tell him the great news.
Lancelot pushed Finn roughly to the bed, her knees giving way as they hit the edge. She fell back against it, her eyes large with shock. He paced the room, a few strides. She did not understand what had just happened. It was as if his entire personality had just changed.
"What is going on?" Her voice was timid, and she cursed herself for it. When he didn't answer, and didn't bother to even look at her, the embers of her red hot temper flared. "What is going on?" this time she demanded it, no trace of meekness in her tone.
He stopped and turned to her, and she felt something slip through her when their eyes met. Fear? Agitation? Yearning? It could have been so many feeling induced by his eyes, now a dark, liquid brown.
"You are not to come with us." He said this in a low voice, and it was not a question. It was an order. She'd surely misheard him…or at least that was what she wished to believe.
"Come again?" she said. He put on his patient mask of indifference.
"You are not to come along on the mission to Sarmatia. You will stay here." Before he'd finished she'd pushed herself up off the bed and took a few paces toward him. He expected her to be mad. She wouldn't be Finn if she wasn't.
"And you think you have the authority to tell me that?" she said, her voice dangerous yet steady. He grit his teeth, his fists clenched.
"I do not need authority." He exhumed power as well as fury, and at this moment he took a step forward. Finn was unaware of it, but she'd taken a step back. "Supposing I have to tie you to this bed, you will not leave this outpost." He said evenly.
"It's my home too Lancelot." She said, and this time he could almost hear the pleading in her voice. "You think I will get hurt-"
"No, I know you will get in the way." He emphasized this, taking another intimidating step forward, and this time she couldn't break eye contact if she'd wanted to.
"I'll keep to the wagon-"
"How can I fight when I am too busy worrying about you?" It should have sounded as though he cared. But it came out as if she were a petulant child, a nuisance, one he only put up with because he had to.
"Then don't bother to worry yourself with me." If he thought of her as a child, then she could play the part. "Worry about your precious Guinevere." She said scathingly. It was the last drop of water to fall in a bucket already too full.
He took that remaining step forward, his left hand grabbed her hip, his right grabbed the back of her head and suddenly he pulled her to him. She was pressed flush against him, her face not even an inch away from his. His breath tickled her nose, and she felt that sense of fear and desire fill her again.
"I have never once hit a woman," he said in a harsh voice, "but if I do not kiss you, I will be forced to beat you." Her eyelids had fallen lazily, and she stared at his mouth, thin lips taut and angry. She'd always wanted to know what his kiss would feel like.
"Then I suppose you shall have to kiss me." She said it almost teasingly, but before a smile could play her lips, he'd already covered her mouth with his own. She tensed at first but as her fear dissolved, she sunk into it, returning his kiss, his tongue tracing her lips.
He heard her moan, perhaps for good effect, but his lust fogged mind couldn't be sure. He wanted her… badly. He hadn't bedded a woman in too long, and the release he needed he knew he needed from Finn. He wanted to have her touch every part of him. He wanted her to lick hot trails from his neck to his chest.
She felt his hand bring her closer, literally pressing her against the length of him, as if to mesh them together. She let out a little gasp as he nibbled on her lower lip. She was inexperienced… far more inexperienced than she'd let on. But she wasn't about to let him know that.
"Finney…" Lancelot sucked in a breath as her cold hands found their way under his shirt, onto his well defined stomach. She began massaging him for a few seconds, drawing out a groan of frustration from him, before she took the hem of his shirt and raised it up, above his chest and over his head.
She threw it across the room, and her hands once again began to explore, wandering over his biceps, across his collar bone, down his torso. She was driving him insane, and she had no idea. His eyes snapped shut as he felt the contrast of her cold small hands being replaced by her hot mouth, which sucked his neck greedily.
His hands went to the back of the dress Vanora had lent her. It was loose on her and the ties had just managed to close without showing anything too private. But her back was exposed and he'd yearned to let his hands travel down her spine all day. His nimble fingers made their way to the bow and pulled it free.
His hands crept up her back, and splayed her well muscled back. His hands, unlike hers, were warm, and Finn mumbled an 'mmmmmm' as she felt his hands against her. The humming of her voice against his neck made heat rush low in his body. He just needed to touch her, to feel her skin against his, her impossibly smooth, soft, beautiful skin…
"Lancelot?" he let out a feral growl when he heard Bors voice. He would have ignored him, yet Finn had stopped her ministration on his neck, and had leaned away, looking at the door. She looked…embarrassed? Was she ashamed of being with him in such an intimate way?
"Lancelot you bloody cad, get out here now." Bors bellowed. "Probably lazing about with his gilded youth." He said under his voice. Lancelot turned to see Finn smile at that, before she turned to look up at him.
"Go on." She said after a moment. "They need you." He was still hesitant, his hand tracing light patterns against her bare back. But she knew if he continued, she'd not have the will power to send him away, so she stepped fully out of his embrace. He looked worse than sorely disappointed. "They need you." She repeated. "Life of a Knight, remember?"
Despite the foul mood he'd be in when he left, he smiled. "Wait for me. I shan't be long." He said stepping forward. She was about to step away, but he simply brushed his lips against the top of her head. It was a gentle gesture, one that had ended too soon.
She leaned up just as he was pulling away, but stopped herself halfway towards his lips. But he'd already known what she was doing. The two stared at each other wantonly, and they leaned in, ready to resume their sweet kisses when something flew through the door and hit Lancelot's shoulder. He knelt down and picked up a large boot.
"BORS!" he yelled, throwing the heavy boot back through the door.
"Watch it Laddy, or it'll be followed by me right one." He howled back. Lancelot rolled his eyes, and looked back to Finn, who was sitting down on the bed. She began to scoot back.
"I will wait for you." She said reading his mind. "But the sooner you leave, the sooner you can return." She looked up at him and smiled. "Go."
The last word was simple, and with that he turned, grabbing his shirt on his way, throwing it on and walked out of the room. Finn let go a long sigh and fell back against her pillow. A smile was firmly planted on her face. Kissing Lancelot was like … tasting immortality. She felt safe and beautiful and young and untouchable by anything other than his steady hands.
When he returned many hours later from their meeting, the sun was rising over the hillside, and he saw her lithe body lying across his bed.
She'd fallen asleep waiting for him. He'd been away far too long.
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Still not a hard R yet. I know I'm a saucy little minx. Well this chapter certainly made be blush as I was writing it! I know most of you don't want the relationship between Finn and Lancelot to be fight/love/fight/love, but they do get into fights with each other rather easily. It's all about the personality clash, yadda yadda yadda. Anyway, they fight because they love. And... hope you enjoy. REVIEW!!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next few weeks passed by quickly at the outpost. Finn found that she felt very at home in the small outpost-village. She'd gotten to know the knights that Lancelot had served with very well, much to his apparent dismay.
"He wishes to have you all to 'im self you see, m'dear." Bors said as he nudged her in the side, almost hard enough to knock her right over. "Our Lancelot's quite the greedy little bugger." Gawain had howled at that comment, until Lancelot had tried to smack him with one of the bar stools.
They told her stories; of battles and trials that they'd come to face. Of the knights they'd lost to the crusades they'd fought so tirelessly for another country. Names like Dagonet and Pelleas, Alymere and Tristan, Bedivere and Gareth… all names she'd heard from travelers.
"It's true what you've said Guinevere," she had whispered to her only female companion, "it is almost like a fairy's tale." Guinevere had smiled and gone back to her usual dinnertime routine; watching Arthur, eating and drinking, and sneaking hurried glances at Lancelot. Finn found it increasingly difficult to withstand their glances to each other over dinner, and would always excuse herself with some ridiculous excuse. And they were only becoming more and more far fetched.
"What you mean your cat's gone missin'?" Bors had barked one night as she slid from her seat.
"You don't even live here!" Galahad joined in, trying to keep her with them. "You don't have a cat!"
"Even if she did, Bors'd probably have beaten it to a pulp and tried to make it into a stew by now." Gawain added jokingly. But she hadn't stopped to allow them to keep her. She merely shrugged and walked from the room, not chancing a look backwards.
Arthur was becoming more and more taxed with pleas of help from the tribes and towns of Briton. The Saxon raids, which had seemed to be waning over the last few months, were now back full force, terrorizing the country people.
"I promise you and Finnabhair that we will come to the aid of your home." Arthur had said one night at the table, and Lancelot grimaced as he looked over his friend. He seems stretched, bone-weary and tired of the constant fighting. Even more so now that every large decision seemed to rest on his shoulders alone. Lancelot was not the only one who felt sympathy for the great king. Finn felt it too. She felt many things these days that were foreign to her until then.
Finn felt guilty. She'd become far too attached to this place. It had become a home for her so fast, so soon, that her head spun. She tried hard to remember the grassy knolls and the hot springs. But with each passing day a little bit of her memory of her home was chipped away to be replaced by a new one of the outpost and her knights.
Meanwhile, the tension between Lancelot and Finn was becoming increasingly thick. Double entendres and flirting littered their conversations, and even the most innocent of touches – a brush on the arm, a pat on the back – had served to fuel both their imaginations of what more they could do to each other.
Guinevere had not missed these interactions, and despite herself she admitted she was jealous. Jealous that perhaps Lancelot could have eyes for any other woman than her. Of course she expected him to flirt with the many girls that served the market or tavern. But this wasn't the usual flirt and romp in the sack. It was more. She could feel it.
"Guinevere?" she turned sharply at the voice, "What is it my love?" Arthur asked wearily as he lay down on their bed. She'd shaken her head, told him it was nothing at all and resumed looking out her window and watching Lancelot and Finn, her hand placed gently on his forearm, the two walking together. It made her want run down to him and pull her away. This was not how it was meant to be.
Finnabhair was… fine. Guinevere found her to be a good enough companion, though she did not have enough bloodlust for her liking. She was sweet and thought humorous, at least among the lads. Yet she seemed weak and self conscious. She was not beautiful. Pretty perhaps, but not beautiful. It nagged at Guinevere. Why was it he seemed to be choosing her over me?
She'd known long ago they had no real future. Sexual tension had arrived in their relationship the moment they'd set eyes on each other. It was animalistic perhaps, but they weren't as civilized as they liked to lead others to believe.
There had been a rare night, once every few months, where she wondered what it would feel like to be lying naked in bed with Lancelot, not Arthur. The next morning she would rise and feel ashamed of herself, looking down at the handsome sleeping face of her dearest.
It was at that thought that Guinevere sighed and moved away from the window, towards their bed. She sat at the edge, her back to Arthur. And for the first time in all her life, she questioned a decision she had made. Was she truly meant to be with Arthur? If only she had a sign…
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They retired to Lancelot's room, as per usual, to find Gawain leaning next to the doorway. As they approached, he looked up and suddenly a large grin spread over his face. Lancelot halted, a feeling of impending doom settling over him. Finn stopped as well, but she looked to Lancelot's face, as if to try and see why they'd stopped.
"What is it…?" Lancelot asked, foreboding carrying in his tone. Finn looked to Gawain.
"We leave." He said, brandishing his axe. "Tomorrow. For your home." Finn's mouth dropped open a bit. Her hopes of a rescue for her people had been fading for the past week. She'd come to accept that her life may never involve her going home, it may have meant her starting a new life there, with the knights. But now…
"To Sarmatia?" she said dumbfounded. Then a small smile crept across her own face. "Gawain that's wonderful! Finally, I am going home!" she practically squealed, lunging forward at the knight and pouncing on him. He doubled back, patting her on the back. Then he noticed Lancelot's dark expression.
"We're to assist your people Lancelot." He said as his eyebrows knit together. Finn let go of Gawain's neck and turned to Lancelot, expecting him to be as happy as she was. But his grimace was unmistakable, and her eyebrows also creased into a frown.
"Lancelot?" she asked hesitantly.
He'd hoped, no… he'd prayed that this day would not come, and yet it had come soon enough. Fighting, once more, for a place he did not see as home. Perhaps it seemed unnatural, but the place he'd come from had lost its calling. It no longer called to him. Perhaps what had truly beckoned him back was his family, or the idea of settling with a pretty Sarmatian girl. Now, his father and mother were both dead, his village was burned to ash, and the two women he craved most to marry were spoken for…
Finn had told him that day that Alden would be arriving soon and that she would tell him that they had no real future together. He'd seen in her eyes the uncertainty she hid, making that decision. He felt it stab at him. She was not sure of her choice and he felt that deep down, any day she would tell him how foolish she was and run off with Alden after all.
Guinevere, enticing as ever, clung to Arthur more often than usual these past weeks. And though the few times their eyes met, he could see the desire she felt in her eyes, she'd look away immediately. Too soon.
He needed release.
"Lancelot?" Finn repeated, his far off gaze worrying her greatly. But his eyes refocused and they went directly to hers, seconds before he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, and the pushed past Gawain roughly to disappear into his room. Gawain bristled for a moment outside before he trudged off to find Bors to tell him the great news.
Lancelot pushed Finn roughly to the bed, her knees giving way as they hit the edge. She fell back against it, her eyes large with shock. He paced the room, a few strides. She did not understand what had just happened. It was as if his entire personality had just changed.
"What is going on?" Her voice was timid, and she cursed herself for it. When he didn't answer, and didn't bother to even look at her, the embers of her red hot temper flared. "What is going on?" this time she demanded it, no trace of meekness in her tone.
He stopped and turned to her, and she felt something slip through her when their eyes met. Fear? Agitation? Yearning? It could have been so many feeling induced by his eyes, now a dark, liquid brown.
"You are not to come with us." He said this in a low voice, and it was not a question. It was an order. She'd surely misheard him…or at least that was what she wished to believe.
"Come again?" she said. He put on his patient mask of indifference.
"You are not to come along on the mission to Sarmatia. You will stay here." Before he'd finished she'd pushed herself up off the bed and took a few paces toward him. He expected her to be mad. She wouldn't be Finn if she wasn't.
"And you think you have the authority to tell me that?" she said, her voice dangerous yet steady. He grit his teeth, his fists clenched.
"I do not need authority." He exhumed power as well as fury, and at this moment he took a step forward. Finn was unaware of it, but she'd taken a step back. "Supposing I have to tie you to this bed, you will not leave this outpost." He said evenly.
"It's my home too Lancelot." She said, and this time he could almost hear the pleading in her voice. "You think I will get hurt-"
"No, I know you will get in the way." He emphasized this, taking another intimidating step forward, and this time she couldn't break eye contact if she'd wanted to.
"I'll keep to the wagon-"
"How can I fight when I am too busy worrying about you?" It should have sounded as though he cared. But it came out as if she were a petulant child, a nuisance, one he only put up with because he had to.
"Then don't bother to worry yourself with me." If he thought of her as a child, then she could play the part. "Worry about your precious Guinevere." She said scathingly. It was the last drop of water to fall in a bucket already too full.
He took that remaining step forward, his left hand grabbed her hip, his right grabbed the back of her head and suddenly he pulled her to him. She was pressed flush against him, her face not even an inch away from his. His breath tickled her nose, and she felt that sense of fear and desire fill her again.
"I have never once hit a woman," he said in a harsh voice, "but if I do not kiss you, I will be forced to beat you." Her eyelids had fallen lazily, and she stared at his mouth, thin lips taut and angry. She'd always wanted to know what his kiss would feel like.
"Then I suppose you shall have to kiss me." She said it almost teasingly, but before a smile could play her lips, he'd already covered her mouth with his own. She tensed at first but as her fear dissolved, she sunk into it, returning his kiss, his tongue tracing her lips.
He heard her moan, perhaps for good effect, but his lust fogged mind couldn't be sure. He wanted her… badly. He hadn't bedded a woman in too long, and the release he needed he knew he needed from Finn. He wanted to have her touch every part of him. He wanted her to lick hot trails from his neck to his chest.
She felt his hand bring her closer, literally pressing her against the length of him, as if to mesh them together. She let out a little gasp as he nibbled on her lower lip. She was inexperienced… far more inexperienced than she'd let on. But she wasn't about to let him know that.
"Finney…" Lancelot sucked in a breath as her cold hands found their way under his shirt, onto his well defined stomach. She began massaging him for a few seconds, drawing out a groan of frustration from him, before she took the hem of his shirt and raised it up, above his chest and over his head.
She threw it across the room, and her hands once again began to explore, wandering over his biceps, across his collar bone, down his torso. She was driving him insane, and she had no idea. His eyes snapped shut as he felt the contrast of her cold small hands being replaced by her hot mouth, which sucked his neck greedily.
His hands went to the back of the dress Vanora had lent her. It was loose on her and the ties had just managed to close without showing anything too private. But her back was exposed and he'd yearned to let his hands travel down her spine all day. His nimble fingers made their way to the bow and pulled it free.
His hands crept up her back, and splayed her well muscled back. His hands, unlike hers, were warm, and Finn mumbled an 'mmmmmm' as she felt his hands against her. The humming of her voice against his neck made heat rush low in his body. He just needed to touch her, to feel her skin against his, her impossibly smooth, soft, beautiful skin…
"Lancelot?" he let out a feral growl when he heard Bors voice. He would have ignored him, yet Finn had stopped her ministration on his neck, and had leaned away, looking at the door. She looked…embarrassed? Was she ashamed of being with him in such an intimate way?
"Lancelot you bloody cad, get out here now." Bors bellowed. "Probably lazing about with his gilded youth." He said under his voice. Lancelot turned to see Finn smile at that, before she turned to look up at him.
"Go on." She said after a moment. "They need you." He was still hesitant, his hand tracing light patterns against her bare back. But she knew if he continued, she'd not have the will power to send him away, so she stepped fully out of his embrace. He looked worse than sorely disappointed. "They need you." She repeated. "Life of a Knight, remember?"
Despite the foul mood he'd be in when he left, he smiled. "Wait for me. I shan't be long." He said stepping forward. She was about to step away, but he simply brushed his lips against the top of her head. It was a gentle gesture, one that had ended too soon.
She leaned up just as he was pulling away, but stopped herself halfway towards his lips. But he'd already known what she was doing. The two stared at each other wantonly, and they leaned in, ready to resume their sweet kisses when something flew through the door and hit Lancelot's shoulder. He knelt down and picked up a large boot.
"BORS!" he yelled, throwing the heavy boot back through the door.
"Watch it Laddy, or it'll be followed by me right one." He howled back. Lancelot rolled his eyes, and looked back to Finn, who was sitting down on the bed. She began to scoot back.
"I will wait for you." She said reading his mind. "But the sooner you leave, the sooner you can return." She looked up at him and smiled. "Go."
The last word was simple, and with that he turned, grabbing his shirt on his way, throwing it on and walked out of the room. Finn let go a long sigh and fell back against her pillow. A smile was firmly planted on her face. Kissing Lancelot was like … tasting immortality. She felt safe and beautiful and young and untouchable by anything other than his steady hands.
When he returned many hours later from their meeting, the sun was rising over the hillside, and he saw her lithe body lying across his bed.
She'd fallen asleep waiting for him. He'd been away far too long.