Upon waking, Tristan was there.

Galahad felt as though he might grow used to this. He shifted slightly, noticing that Tristan was awake as well and feeding his hawk with great care. Every so often, he would tap it on the beak, smiling with affection and whispering words in a language that Galahad didn't understand.

"Do you ever sleep?" Galahad asked bluntly. Tristan was not startled; he merely turned his attention to the bed. He sniffed the air and winced. The stench of that terrible mixture of herbs was in the air, the one that Tristan used so often. He lifted up the sheet to find it lightly spread around the wound on his leg that had been slightly infectious a few days past. Tristan didn't answer, but instead held up a needle that he must have had in his hand the whole time. Galahad paled. "No, the leg is fine."

"Trust me," Tristan instructed gently, taking the sheet off of Galahad and reaching for a bowl of water with a cloth, cleaning the skin up before locking eyes with Galahad and holding his gaze. "Can you do that?"

"Do you have to?" Galahad said pathetically, clinging to the last vestiges of desperate hope.

"Yes," Tristan replied. He sat on the bed at Galahad's hips, his attention strictly on the wound, but Galahad noticed the way that he was right at Galahad's hip, bringing warmth with him and sending small shivers down Galahad's spine. He rested one hand on Galahad's good leg. "It will be quick."

True to his word, the torture was short-lived as Tristan may not have been adept at painless stitches, he could at least insert them effectively and quickly – Tristan always cited a great burst of pain all at once was better than torture, unless it was torture by his hand. Galahad tried his best not to shift and squirm, biting down hard on his lip every time a cry seemed ready to escape and make him seem even more of a delicate sissy. He clung desperately to the bedsheets, the fabric wrinkling within his clenched fists.

Finally, the pain relented and Tristan sat back slightly, giving Galahad an inquisitive look. Tiny beads of sweat had broken on Galahad's forehead and he breathed heavily, tired of being opened and closed like he was some sort of experiment.

"Was that so terrible?" Tristan inquired, a smile breaking on the corners of his lips.

"It still hurt," Galahad grumbled, slowly releasing the sheets from his hands.

Tristan leaned forward gracefully, tucking the needle into his belt. He stretched that slight distance more that it took to kiss Galahad, and he pulled softly and slowly on Galahad's lower lip, lingering after and simply pressing their lips together. Then, Tristan shifted forward on the bed and gently increased the speed of the kiss, pushing his tongue into Galahad's mouth. There was a blissful minute of this before Tristan pulled away, evoking a small exhalation of disappointment from Galahad.

"A kiss," Tristan explained, smiling genuinely and widely now, "to make it better."

Galahad opened his mouth, feeling disoriented. He blinked. "Tristan, not to protest…"

"But you will," Tristan interrupted quietly.

"…but what is the reason behind this?" Galahad continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. He frowned in confusion, still unable to piece everything together and only aware of the fact that Tristan was indeed a very good kisser and he was getting quite worked up by all this lip-play. If this were to continue, it most certainly would have to be more than innocent kisses soon, lest Galahad go mad.

"I can't just like you?" Tristan blinked innocently. Innocence had a terrible look on Tristan, and only served to make Galahad uneasier than before. Galahad rolled his eyes and scoffed, which seemed to send the innocence out of Tristan immediately.

"You never do something without ulterior motives," Galahad accused evenly, raising one eyebrow. "You're known for that."

"I thought I was known for my brutal torture in my killings," Tristan replied lightly, as though he were discussing a meal at dinner. "I worked rather hard to earn that reputation, don't tell me it was for naught."

"Tristan!" Galahad said, his eyes wide. "Stop being so exasperating!"

"At first it was to test my theory," Tristan finally unveiled. "My theory was correct."

"And you continued because?" Galahad shifted forward and closer to Tristan.

"I continued because I enjoyed it. When I find I enjoy something, I never stop so long as the pleasure is still there," Tristan said, a cold smile on his face. Galahad felt an uneasy turn of his stomach, knowing that behind those words was the implication that this affair could be held upon a pedestal with Tristan's favourite methods of torture – he enjoyed those too, no doubt. The Knights had seen Tristan when let loose with no orders. That cold smile had made appearances before.

"What theory?" Galahad asked quietly, edging closer now to Tristan. He leaned into the touch of Tristan's hand when it cupped the side of Galahad's face. He half-closed his eyes as Tristan's fingers began to gently stroke the area where the Romans had been so cruel, digging their nails into him. Galahad felt hazy, as though he would not get this chance again and that he must seize it now.

"I know why Gawain thinks," Tristan began quietly, his voice barely a whisper that made it to Galahad's ears, "that you wouldn't understand. But you do."

Galahad pressed his lips to Tristan's jaw, letting them simply rest there, still and unmoving before he craned his neck to the side and began to run slow, heated kisses down Tristan's neck. For all he cared, no words had come from Tristan. There was only this. Tristan replied to this by tilting his gaze to the ceiling, stretching his neck and allowing Galahad to slowly nip his way down to the shoulder, his hands pushing away his shirt to make more room for skin.

"But you understand," Tristan went on whispering. "You understand far better than he could know."

Galahad was moving as quickly as he could now, shifting himself out of the loose bedshirt he had taken to wearing – no breeches, because they irritated the wound on his leg. He moved to kiss Tristan fervently, feverishly now, forgetting anything about gentleness or delicacy. Now, their teeth clashed together and Tristan pulled hard at Galahad's lower lip with his teeth, almost savage.

Galahad moaned desperately into Tristan's mouth as Tristan mounted him, straddling his hips tightly, not allowing for much motion at all. Galahad thrust his hips upwards, understanding with precise knowledge that the heat flickering through him and settling in his groin meant that he needed more than this. He needed it right now.

"Tristan," he drew out the name into an inhumanly long exhalation, his voice hitching near the end. He began to breathe heavily while Tristan slowly pushed down on Galahad while taking off his belt, proceeding to move nimble fingers over expert knots. Galahad ran his hands through Tristan's hair, tugging him down by the braids and planting another searing kiss on his lips, distracting him from the knots. Tristan was warmer than anyone Galahad had kissed before. He didn't know how that was possible, but it was. Now Tristan was straddling him, completely shirtless. Galahad traced the scars on Tristan's chest with his fingers, amazed that a person could have so many terrible scars, yet still retain some modicum of…well, beauty, Galahad supposed. Tristan shifted slightly, a tiny motion needed for him to push his belt and breeches to the floor.

Most of the scars had faded and were now a faded pink, harsh white. Memories of battles past and enemies already defeated. Galahad inhaled sharply, tilting his head back and letting Tristan take to his neck like a predator, using his teeth roughly, yet not causing any true pain. The only thing to come from Galahad was the long, drawn-out cries of pleasure and they were a far cry from pain.

He needed this.

Tristan seemed to need this just as much if his frantic pace was any indication. He took Galahad by the biceps and turned him over without so much as a warning he was going to do so, he did not say a word, merely used his strength and got Galahad on his stomach. Galahad spread himself out, turning his body into a starfish as best he could. He felt warm breath by his ear after a moment.

"Are you all right?"

He was worried about the wounds. Yes, those bloody things. Galahad had just put them out of his mind. He turned as best he could and nodded, not saying anything but merely resting his forehead against the pillow, his body screaming with need now. He let his head roll lazily, relaxing his muscles and then finally, that heat was upon him again. Tristan pushed deep into him, gentle again – just like those first kisses had been – and dug his fingers into the muscles in Galahad's shoulders, kneading and massaging slowly, making it so that Galahad was on his way to becoming utterly boneless.

And then, just as the kisses had turned into something more heated and frantic, Tristan's pace as he thrust into him did just the same. Each gentle push turned into a defiant and powerful thrust, sending Galahad to the brink of some kind of oblivion. He sputtered incoherently and arched forward into the bed as he clung once more to the sheets, this time to prevent himself from letting loose a terrible scream.

He succeeded in keeping the noise down to a dull roar.

Tristan pushed in and stayed there, trailing his hands down Galahad's spine lightly, fingertips hovering just barely over the skin. Galahad inhaled brokenly as he came, crying out Tristan's name loudly as he exhaled. He slumped down, sated and truly boneless now with Tristan pushing in as he came, wrapping his arms around Galahad's own as everything went silent.

"I think that may have helped take away the pain," Galahad murmured with pleasure. "You're good."

"I told you I was good at everything," Tristan commented quietly in his ear, pressing his lips to the back of Galahad's neck. Galahad could hear the smile in his voice. He laughed richly, feeling better than he had since before the attack.

"Not stitching," Galahad snorted.

"Even stitching," Tristan snapped back. The heat came off his back and Tristan lightly made sure that Galahad was on his side before putting his breeches back on and sitting in the chair. He relaxed into it, draping his legs over the side.

"What are you doing?" Galahad murmured in confusion.

"Sleeping," Tristan remarked.

"In the chair?" Galahad wrinkled his nose. He shook his head and moved over. "If you're going to sleep, you are going to sleep where I can witness it. Get in this bed. Now." He gave Tristan an expectant look and set his chin determinedly.

"It's useless to argue, isn't it?" Tristan grumbled in resignation. He stood up in a fluid motion and arranged himself on his back beside Galahad. "Watch carefully, this may be the only time in your life you get to see me asleep." He shifted slightly, his fingers just lightly resting by Galahad's hip as he closed his eyes.

"I'll remember it," Galahad remarked with a small smile, grabbing the sheet and making sure it covered both their bodies. He turned so he could watch Tristan as he slept, realizing that this really may be the only time he would get to see Tristan completely unguarded.

Four hours later, Galahad was still awake and marveling at just how relaxed Tristan was when he slept. The look of innocence this time was pure and it did nothing to put Galahad at unrest. Instead, it was rather endearing.

And perhaps, he fell slightly in love.

tbc