AN Apologies for the previous chapter. Should have rewritten it. Didn't have the inspiration to do so. –sigh- So be it. More angst herein. It never ends.
It took only a few moments to examine and bandage Gawain's leg. Tristan bent over him and frowned, his eyes going to the deep bruises already forming along his calf and knee.
Gawain winced as the tattooed man squeezed his ankle and foot, swallowing hard as fingers dug into the tender flesh. Tristan nodded, seemingly satisfied and looked into his unwilling patient's eyes.
"Take this" He instructed, hading Gawain a small flask, "It'll help the pain" Gawain accepted the medicine gratefully and downed the contents of the flask in a single swallow. It tasted vaguely of poppies
Tristan grunted and gave the man a withering look.
"What?" Gawain asked, licking his lips
"Not supposed to take it all at once" Tristan replied, eyeing the prone man as if he should have know it "No matter, you'll sleep the rest of the day"
A hearty chuckle drifted up from Bors' direction. "Luckily for us"
"Fuck you Bors" Gawain grunted, muttering it with some degree of indifference, as if in saying it so many time before the words had ceased to have any meaning.
"Damn lucky you are" Tristan commented as he packed his bag. He glanced up to see Gawain grinning like a boy, obviously impressed with his own uncanny fortune. Tristan's expression turned dark.
"But not lucky enough to roll dice with Bors. Or tempt the Gods again" His shadowed eyes darted to look at Galahad, who nervously stood several feet away, "Not if you want to finish what you've started"
And then he was gone, in a soft whish of wool and leather. He mounted his horse and gave the other three a bored stare, expecting them to follow suit.
Gawain thumped his head on the ground, dead tired and in too much discomfort to let the scout's words touch him. Another hint that he knew, and was not exactly keen on keeping it a secret. Gawain wasn't surprised. Tristan had long since stopped surprising him. Just accepting the fact that another would know every creeping desire in his mind was enough.
The trip up the embankment had not been easy. The heavy supply of cursing and Bors' useless suggestions had made it much like any other event, but Galahad's constant closeness, touching, pushing, catching when he slipped...Good gods, was it punishment for his actions? Was the boy purposely torturing him so?
Had he the opportunity, Gawain would have dwelled on such possibilities until one of his fellows told him to 'quit his damn sulking', but he'd barely begun to brood when the sky above his head darkened. The sun was replaced by Bors' scarred, grinning face.
"Bloody amazing trick you've got there, boy." He cracked a crooked, yellow grin, "Expensive though...how much that horse cost you?"
"Fuck you Bors" Gawain muttered pushing himself up to a sitting position. "Damn it all, how am I going to get back to the trail?"
"Walk it off" Bors suggested, turning to mount his horse, "It'll do you some good. 'Sides" he continued, patting his saddle bags, "Got too much gear here for you to ride wit me"
He looked imploringly to Tristan, but the glance he received was clear enough. Riding with the scout would have to follow events that would cause Satan and all his layers of hell to become quite chilly.
"Here" Galahad said softly, stepping forward with a proffered hand, "You can double up with me"
You hate me, Gawain said, sneering inwardly at any Gods that were paying heed, You all, fucking, hate me.
He swallowed unsteadily and nodded, letting himself be drawn upright. He almost fell as he gained his feet, finding himself chest to chest with the younger man.
"Sorry" he muttered, limping slightly as he went to Galahad's horse.
"I-It's alright" Galahad replied, his voice slightly unsteady. Was that a blush on his cheeks?
As it was his horse, Galahad swung up first, taking the reins in hand. He shifted forward, allowing room for the other man behind him. Gawain bit the inside of his lip, drawing blood, and promised himself to think of nothing but naked, haggard old women.
He clasped Galahad's arm and winced as he bent his leg to swing up. He settled easily enough, it was far from the first time he'd ridden double, but discomfort sank in almost immediately, prickling through his chest and stomach. And groin. But he was trying to ignore that.
Tristan nodded when they'd all mounted up, turned, and led the way down the trail with out a word.
Galahad's saddle was too small, Gawain decided with a soft curse. It was a miracle that the boy was able to ride it solo, let alone with another, larger, flushed knight behind him. Gawain balanced himself on the back lip of the cursed thing, hanging onto its underside with desperate, white knuckled hands. Licking his lips nervously, he tried to force his mind from all the places that his body touched the other's.
There was too much to ignore. The broad, leather-clad shoulders that gently brushed his collar bone. The smooth, effortless fit of Galahad's thighs between his own. The way his lower back slid against his stomach with every step. The boy smelled of sweat and dirt and day dreams, and the musk tore through Gawain like wildfire. Curled, jet hair bobbed before his face, gently tickling his nose. God, what wouldn't he give just to reach out and touch it, feel the texture, bury his hands in it...
He swallowed and stopped his thoughts before they could trail any lower. Galahad's skill as a horseman was making the trip considerably worse. The boy let the gentle sway of the horse's footfalls take him, not fighting the slow rhythm in the slightest.
As Gawain was seated rigid as a blade, this presented rather immediate difficulties. Every damn time the bloody horse took a step, Galahad would gently brush back into him, touching places on his body he'd never even thought of as erogenous.
The horse stumbled slightly on a particularly rough section of the narrow trail, suddenly jolting the riders.
"Shit" Gawain grit out, barely staying atop the animal. Galahad's hand shot back, grabbing him before he could fall. "Thanks" he breathed, glancing up to see Galahad's amused smile as the boy looked over his shoulder. Gawain quickly looked away and dug his fingers farther into the leather saddle, praying for balance and willpower.
"Gawain" Galahad said patiently, righting himself in the saddle, "You will fall if you keep sitting like that"
"'m fine" Gawain muttered, his eyes unable to leave the boys shoulders as toned muscles moved beneath the leather. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed very slowly. He could do this, dammit, he was fine.
Galahad gave a single frustrated sigh, and reached one arm behind him. With a little bit of fumbling that left Gawain wide eyed and panting, he clasped a strong fist around one of Gawain's wrists, forcing him to bring it forward. Holding it there with one hand, he repeated the task on his other side.
"There" He grunted, forcing Gawain to hold him, "Stay like that...I won't have you hurt again" the second half of the thought was whispered in a tone that Galahad mistakenly assumed Gawain would miss.
Gawain sighed, feeling the first effects of Tristan's draught take hold. Despite himself, his suddenly weighted eyelids began slipping shut. His treacherous arms encircled Galahad's body tightly, pulling the warm youth back in to him. It didn't occur to him that Galahad did not protest.
This felt good, Gawain admitted to himself, it felt right. How many nights had he bedded a man and felt nothing but a fleeting euphoria as he came? Here with Galahad...the familiar warmth and comfort were sweet enough to choke. Desire, not just for the boy's body, welled up in him, and it was all he could do to think of other things.
He loved the boy. Good gods, it was impossible not to. Galahad was sunlight and lightning, thunder on a clear day. He was weary of death, lived for life beyond servitude, and met all obstacles with that disarming, white smile. And he was innocent, ignorant, still some how untouched by the vile deeds of man. Purity and youth, wisdom beyond his years...all contained behind dark brown eyes that that reveled little of the depth beyond.
"Perfect..."Gawain muttered, completely unaware not only that he'd spoken aloud, but into the boy's ear as well.
Drowsiness rose up around him like a sudden tide, and soon Gawain was unable to keep his eyes open. Muttering softly, he let his heavy head loll forward, coming to rest on something soft and tickling. He didn't mind all that much. The gentle rocking motion and the warm body sitting between his legs rapidly pulled him towards sleep.
In seconds, true slumber took him and the world dissolved into comforting, warm darkness.
From the lead of the party Tristan glanced over a sharp shoulder to observe the men behind him. The group was nearly back to the main trail and vague noises of men's voices drifted to him through the thick summer air. Arthur and the others were not far off.
The tonic had worked well and quickly upon the blonde knight, and Tristan could only smirk at the picture the two presented. Galahad rode quietly, his eyes darting around the trail in forced alertness, trying to distract himself. Unsuccessfully, it seemed. The tension in his eyes was not lost on scout.
Gawain was asleep. Dead to the world, as it were. The blonde man's head had fallen upon Galahad's shoulder and Tristan noted with a slight upward twist of the mouth that with each step, the rocking motion brought the sleeping man's lips against Galahad's neck. No wonder the boy was so troubled...
He righted himself in the saddle, ignoring Bors' questioning look. The main trail was coming up on them now, and they'd many more miles before sleep.
AN There we are....review? Please?