Galahad woke to find Tristan awake, something he should have been ready for, really. He bit on his lip and fought back the grin that was fighting to make an appearance. Eighteen was too young to know love, not in its pure and true form. This was good enough, he supposed. Infatuation, maybe? Whatever it was, it felt good. He stretched, yawning as he did and scratching the side of his face, wincing when his fingers came across the scars from the Romans.
"Come, let me dress the wound," Tristan beckoned with his fingers, gesturing to a chair. He helped Galahad stand and walked him over to the chair. Galahad sat gingerly, the ache something dull and low, but ever present in him now. If his healing kept up, he would be able to go unattended in a matter of days. Though, now he wondered if maybe he should heal more slowly and enjoy Tristan's attentiveness while it lasted. "I only hope I didn't ruin all the good work I'd done," Tristan mused distractedly, brushing his thumb across the stitches.
"There was good work," Galahad commented with interest, looking down. "I must have missed that. Perhaps I was passed out?"
"You're not amusing," Tristan remarked dryly, pushing hard against the wound and digging his nails against the stitches for a brief, agonizing second.
"Oh…ow!" Galahad snarled, feeling anger burn through him. That same unnatural innocence settled on Tristan's face, the whole picture set another few degrees off-kilter by the self-serving grin Tristan wore. There was something playful in Tristan's eyes though, and it took the edge of Galahad's anger – but only slightly. "You are a sadist, aren't you?"
Tristan tied the knot off and patted Galahad on the shoulder. "Someone will just have to find out."
"You expect me to stay by your side long enough to do so?" Galahad snorted, getting up and walking around the room slowly, testing his strength. It was a good morning because it was about fourteen paces before Galahad's legs began to wobble.
"I'm irresistible," Tristan grinned toothily, leaving Galahad in peace. Galahad stood there a moment, running a hand through his hair and looking out his small window to find that it had begun to snow slightly, light flakes dusting the ground. He heard the door open again and turned to find Tristan standing there. "Are you coming?"
Galahad frowned. "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise," Tristan drawled lazily. "Let's go."
"You're not going to kidnap me, are you?" Galahad hesitated. He had to ask. "It's getting to be winter, and…and Lancelot will notice I'm gone. Eventually." He frowned. "Possibly." He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Right. When the others get back, I'll be searched for."
"Let's," Tristan repeated sternly, "go."
Galahad mumbled to himself as he got dressed, sneaking another look out the window and grasping an extra shirt to keep himself warm. He put on his boots and marched off slowly after Tristan, who was waiting for him. Galahad stopped as he met up with him. He gave an expectant look and Tristan wrapped his arm around Galahad's waist, supporting him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You know, I'm going to grow used to this," Galahad warned mildly.
"Well then, I'll just have to learn my way around your body," Tristan retorted immediately, just as lightly. He pushed open the door to the stable, leading Galahad inside and grabbing the reins of both their horses. "You promise you won't fall off?"
Galahad regarded his horse nervously, feeling his leg twinge with slight pain. "I can't make any promises," he said faintly. "We'll go slow?"
"Yes," Tristan responded, mounting his own horse.
"Then, I promise not to make my injuries worse," Galahad swore, slowly getting on top of his horse. He cantered forward, Tristan reaching out to steady him and leading him. Galahad looked down nervously, grasping at the reins. "Exactly how far are we going?"
"Not far," Tristan replied, briefly glancing to Galahad, his eyes forward. "I found it two days ago while I was out checking to see if the others had returned. You might enjoy it, or you might find it a terrible waste of time and hate me for it."
"That's not possible," Galahad tossed that off, their horses trotting slowly out past the field and into the woods. "After all, you're so damn irresistible and all, how could anyone hate you? Unless of course, they met you," he snapped out.
"Sarcasm does not look good on you," Tristan retorted with a shrug, sitting up perfectly straight in the saddle.
"You're lying," Galahad smirked. "Everything looks good on me."
"Smugness isn't exactly appealing either," Tristan commented, riding slightly ahead. Galahad kicked his horse to get it to go slightly faster, dodging trees as they made it into the forest. Galahad ducked his head, but was unable to completely avoid brushing his head against the tree branches. He managed to follow Tristan, but just barely. They arrived in a valley of sorts eventually; it couldn't have been more than two miles outside the walls.
Tristan stepped over to help Galahad off his horse. Galahad took his hand and stepped down carefully, looking around at the area. His gaze was drawn over to a small waterfall that had begun to ice over with the frosts at night. The ground hadn't thawed from the morning chill, and every step left a solid print. It was a good thing that no one was tracking them, because it would be an easy job.
"This is beautiful," Galahad remarked with awe. It hung from every word as he slowly tore away from Tristan's hand and stepped forward, marveling at how an oasis of serenity had existed so close to their hellish hole and how no one had discovered it until now. He turned around to regard Tristan. "This is…this is amazing." The stream beside him was burbling quietly, setting Galahad's mind at ease. He closed his eyes and listened to the water. "It sets my mind at ease," he murmured distantly. "And I can forget that they tied me. I can forget what they said. I can even forget the dreams," he said, feeling himself drift away with the water.
Strong hands came up on Galahad's shoulders, turning him. He opened his eyes and melted into Tristan's touch, leaning up and pressing a swift kiss upon his lips, pushing his hips up against Tristan's. Together, their breath mixed in their air and Tristan pushed back, increasing the intensity of the kiss and wrapping one arm around to Galahad's back, supporting him.
Finally they parted, Galahad gasping for the cold air.
"You really are good at that," he remarked raggedly, his face flushed. "You should be more careful. If you kiss many girls like that, you'll be a followed man, sought for by all the girls in the village."
"And how many boys?" Tristan questioned, not taking his hand off Galahad's back. "Or will it just be you?"
"How many boys do you kiss like that?" Galahad challenged and kissed Tristan before he could respond. He slipped his tongue into Tristan's mouth and surged forward, pressing their bodies even closer together.
"Just the prettiest ones," Tristan mumbled into Galahad's mouth. "But I can't seem to explain you," he said, a small smile on his lips as he pulled Galahad closer and pushed his tongue against Galahad's, both fighting for control and neither of them truly winning it. Galahad finally gave him a push away, mainly to catch his breath before turning to see the horses in the clearing. "It's far too cold to do anything here," Galahad commented, wondering how quickly they could return to his room.
"Not with you so injured," Tristan continued gravely, his gaze turned downwards to Galahad's stomach and thigh. A thoughtful look passed over Tristan's features as he took Galahad by the hand. "Come, now. We're not going to repeat last night. You're too worn for that right now."
"But, I…" Galahad began to protest.
"Galahad, shut up and trust me," Tristan warned, helping him atop his horse. "I may only be good at everything, but I'm quite remarkable when it comes to my hands. Trust me enough and you'll find out instead of me having to harm you further."
"You had better keep that promise," Galahad threatened as they began to ride back towards the village, Galahad leading the way as quickly as he could go in his state. "You know, these threats of violence are becoming all too normal in this relationship."
"If you say relationship once more," Tristan began idly, his gaze focused straightforward. He didn't even glance at Galahad once as he spoke, "you will be sleeping on your own for the next three fortnights."
Galahad slowly dismounted his horse once they reached the stables and clung to the saddle for balance while he sorted himself out on his feet. "Leaving you to wander the great woods on your own? You really don't sleep much," Galahad accused, crossing his arms. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until I believe you won't become a raving insomniac who walks the woods instead of sleeping like any normal, sane person would."
Tristan mumbled something under his breath as he passed Galahad, hanging the saddles up. Galahad froze, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint Tristan's words to see if he had said…but he couldn't have meant…
"What did you say?" Galahad asked sharply.
"You," Tristan started slowly, punctuating each word, "utter," he took a step closer to Galahad, "woman."
"Yes, well, if you insist of being a complete idiot," Galahad spat out, watching Tristan hang up the saddle of Galahad's horse as well. "I mean, really. Exactly what do you think will happen when exhaustion finally claims you? Perhaps you'll frolic about in a field of daisies, exclaiming your true love for the Woads."
"Now that," Tristan started with amusement, "would be raving lunacy."
Galahad began to walk forward, reaching down to itch at his breeches and wincing. Tristan rolled his eyes and smacked at his wrist, binding them by holding Galahad's hands with his own and leading him down the corridors.
"Stop that," Tristan said lightly.
"It itches," Galahad growled. "I hate wearing breeches. They irritate me. Why can't I wear the tunic?"
"Because it's too cold. The wound may grow infectious if exposed to too much dirt, not to mention the stitches may tear open if you decide to do anything decidedly stupid," Tristan rattled off his answer quickly. "And with you, it's only a matter of time."
"You never say the right thing," Galahad snapped irritably, storming in the direction of his room now, all previous thoughts of illicit acts forgotten. Now, the only thing he truly wanted to do was slam the door, preferably in Tristan's face. That would serve the bastard right.
"But I always do what's right," Tristan replied with a smirk, "dependant on the situation, of course."
Instead of slamming the door, Tristan maneuvered his way inside and shut the door with his back. He turned and locked the door – a terrible sound with finality to it, something that Galahad still associated with the Romans in his room. He shivered once, involuntarily, but soon forgot about the sound when Tristan began advancing on him like a predator on its prey. This time when Galahad shivered, it was not out of fear but out of the sheer anticipation.
Tristan took him by the upper arms and sat him on the bed, turning him and lying him down before he snaked one hand inside the breeches, warm upon Galahad's hip. Galahad leaned into the touch as Tristan used his other hand to push down the waist of the breeches. He breathed in and out slowly, watching Tristan the whole time before turning his gaze downwards to watch as each of Tristan's fingers wrapped slowly and perfectly around Galahad's cock.
Galahad inhaled sharply through his teeth. One moment, the light touch of Tristan's fingers were barely there, and the next, they were a sudden and commanding presence, gripping him and stroking him with force – yet not enough to be anything painful. It seemed as though every finger had its own independent task in driving Galahad mad with the touch. Galahad arched forward, tossing his head back and letting out a drawn out cry when Tristan's thumb and forefinger lightly ran over the head of Galahad's cock, pinching it before traveling to the underside and pushing with great pressure there on Galahad's erection.
"Yes," Galahad gasped out. "You're good…"
"I know," Tristan interrupted, shifting slightly so that he faced Galahad as he brought him off. His strokes quickened, every one seemingly faster, seemingly warmer than before. He slowed it down to a torturous slow pace, his fingers skirting over Galahad's cock as though exploring a newfound territory. Galahad knew his face must have been contorting in strange ways as his mouth dropped open and his gaze dropped down to watch, each breath rocking his body back and forth.
Galahad let out a loud cry and his back arched forward as he came, all the tension in his body seemingly going out of him with his climax. When he opened his eyes, he slouched forward, resting his forehead on Tristan's shoulder.
"You weren't supposed to wear me out," Galahad chastised, his words sticking together as he fought to work himself out of the laziness claiming both his speech and his body. "But that, yes, very good. Honestly," Galahad remarked with amazement, chuckling, "you're really wonderful at this."
"Yes," Tristan replied, his clean hand already threading through Galahad's hair and stroking through the curls softly. There was no argument to his words, just simple acceptance. Galahad closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth from Tristan's body. He sighed and pried himself off, standing and padding around the room, searching for water to cleanse himself. He turned back to Tristan and bit his lip.
"I will reciprocate," Galahad promised. Tristan merely raised an eyebrow. "You've been doing so much for me, and I…"
"Galahad, you're better looking when you're quiet," Tristan advised, interrupting the nervous words. "You can reciprocate by coming here," he gestured to himself, "and sitting still while I go about exploring your body."
"I never turn down a good offer," Galahad replied with a grin, taking the damp cloth with him and settling into Tristan's body – his back to Tristan's chest – and waiting while Tristan cleaned his hand off and then went about washing down Galahad. Galahad relaxed into the touch, closing his eyes and trying to memorize this moment, not knowing how long they might last.
And all the while, he kept reminding himself that this could not be any kind of love.
tbc