Lord Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi was not unfamiliar with the types of magic that one had to endure to join the Holy Grail War.
The magic drain was extensive, as was the connection that needed to be established between two beings. The Holy Grail itself was not quite a summoner of pure spirits—the Holy Grail summoned legends, stories, things that were not truly real, after all—but this made the connection between the servant and the summoner all the stronger. The servant would be called from the land around them, the stories in their culture, and the mind of the master themselves.
This was the backdrop of the Holy Grail war, where Lord El-Melloi summoned Diarmuid from his wife's culture and fed him her mana, making her his Lady in all but name, and Lord El-Melloi his assignment to protect.
In knight's terms, he was the Queen Diarmuid was assigned to battle for, and Diarmuid's love spot was the focus of all his thoughts afterwards.
The first infuriating thing about Diarmuid was the fact that he was completely and utterly beautiful.
He had deep, molten gold eyes that were flecked with brown and yellow, giving him an unearthly appearance, but one that was not terrifying, at least when he was not angry. His skin was like marble, his lashes framing his eyes—sending long shadows down his cheeks, like feather dusters more than lashes.
His clothing was ridiculously skin-tight, showing off the curves of his muscles, the shading and the sinew and the skin kissed by light and warmth. His hands were skilled, with long fingers, and the very way he walked was more like a dancer than any kind of fighter.
Lord El-Melloi found himself staring sometimes, his eyes riveted to the beauty mark underneath Diarmuid's eye. It was the fact that his wife could fall—that was why he stared. That was what all the stories said.
His knight smiled at him, warm and comforting. And Lord El-Melloi looked away.
His worry for his wife's unfaithfulness was going to drive him mad.
He could not stop staring at that spot.
Lord El-Melloi dreamed about Diarmuid.
He could feel everything from the Lancer, the highs, and the lows of heartbreak. The knight's memories buried themselves deep into his mind, finding themselves in the depths of his heart in his sleep.
He could see through the Lancer's eyes, the things he felt. The beauty of the Queen who fell for him, her gentle touch, her smile. His genuine love he had for his Lord. His Lord, who he followed to the ends of the Earth. His Lord, who he loved as much as his Lady.
He knelt, on one knee. Staring up at his Lord with adoration, with nobility. Staring at the Queen, whom he felt nothing but chaste love for.
He wanted to serve so purely, to love with the code of chivalry. He admired his Queen like a goddess, like the moon. Shining down on him luminously.
He was on his knees before her. He was on his knees before the Queen. He was on his knees for the King. His body did not belong to him, it belonged to them. He would always belong to his Lord, his Lady. He was a pure knight.
Lord El-Melloi could feel every kiss, every touch. The knight, kneeling before his royalty, his cheeks pressed to his Queen's hands. Kissing her palms.
He woke up sometimes, flushed and red. Diarmuid stared out the window when he did.
"My Lord, tell me how to please you."
Lord El-Melloi stared down at the knight, kneeling before him. Diarmuid stared back up at him.
His eyes flickered to that spot, and he glanced away, to make sure that his wife was not around. So that she would not be swayed by him. So that she would finally start to return the affection he was so starved for.
He looked back down at Diarmuid. The Lancer smiled at him. Smiled, like he was genuinely happy to see him.
"My Lord, please. Allow me to show my loyalty to you."
Kayneth waved a hand.
"Go defeat Saber. That's all I need."
Diarmuid's hands were strong.
He could easily counter powerful swords with two poles, could easily carry men if he really wanted to on his shoulders. His smile was displayed when he did so—and his true joy in battle was both convenient and irritating.
Kayneth supposed it could be useful when he was battling the Saber and her master. But his insistence on a fair fight was going to make the both of them lose.
Diarmuid may be talented, but he was also a blind fool who could not see when his honor code and his insistence on short-term gratification would get in the way of both of their goals. What mattered the most was to prove his lineage, and to reach the Root. None of this old code nonsense.
He glanced back to Diarmuid, his eyes falling on the spot.
He needed to keep his wife away from that man. She kept staring at him.
"Diarmuid, next time you fight, do not take so long. You are using too much mana. I do not want to have to transfer to you."
Diarmuid shook his head, kneeling. He reached up, as if to take Kayneth's hand, and the other withdrew.
No matter how much he was starved for touch.
"Of course, My Lord. I would never dream of denying you."
The dreams were beginning to change.
Kayneth El-Melloi was no longer Diarmuid when he dreamed.
He was Grainne.
This was what he wanted—more than anything. Laying back, staring back at Diarmuid, staring at those molted, golden eyes. The geis had taken hold—and he was happy. His entire story was magic and love and laying with women—and she had tamed him, she had tamed the wild Diarmuid, that incredible boar, and he was hers, and only hers.
He could feel it.
Diarmuid, his body strong and heavy, weighing down on him with warmth and presence. Those hands handling his body, touching him in all the right places. Everything was Diarmuid—his scent, his body, his smile.
He could feel it when Diarmuid spread his legs, he could feel it when Diarmuid held him by the small of his back. He could feel it when Diarmuid pushed insi—
He woke up in a cold sweat. Alone, in his bedroom. His wife was never with him, she only slept by Diarmuid.
He stared at his command seals. He could sense Diarmuid nearby. The Lancer manifested, seemingly at his thoughts.
He stared down, over the side of the bed, as Lancer took his hands and held them both against his cheek. Against his mouth. Kayneth allowed it to happen for a second, before he snatched them back again.
"You're wrong." He whispered. "I am not your Lord. I am not her, either. There is no geis or love spots here. You're just my servant."
Diarmuid's eyes were the stars themselves.
He could feel the answer, more than he could hear it.
He stayed up the rest of the night, reading. He had summoned a tragedy. He had summoned a story of two lovers enchanting each other. Where did all this fit?
Diarmuid was running low on prana, with how much he had used against Caster, and keeping the curse on Saber.
Kayneth held out his hand to offer his blood.
Diarmuid kissed him, instead.
He was pushed into bed, his clothes torn from him. He bit onto Diarmuid's shoulder while the other had his way with him. Grasping at the Lancer, he stared at the eyes, he stared at the body.
He stared at that spot.
"You're going to betray me. You are going to have me killed. You're going to hate me because your wife is going to love me, and there is nothing you can do about it."
Kayneth whimpered against Diarmuid's ear. Diarmuid covered him in kisses, and bit at his skin.
"That's okay. The only two people I ever loved did that, too, and I forgave them. I am bound to you, my Lord, and you are bound to me. I will please you, and I will love you. My Grainne, who I hate and adore."
Kayneth was in Diarmuid's arms, while the other stroked his hair and kissed him, whispering things in his ear in a language Kayneth did not speak, but understood.
There was anger, so much anger in Diarmuid. Betrayal. Loss of free will. A destiny set upon him by his father and his wife and no choice given to him in the manner.
Kayneth was no legend, he was only a man who was caught in the story of Diarmuid.
The Lancer cupped his face and stared at him. Kayneth stared at the beauty mark, then Diarmuid himself.
He was kissed, and it was violent. And it was full of love. And it was Diarmuid.
"You should have never feared me stealing your wife, El-Melloi. You are my Lord, and my Lady. I will not be betrayed this time. My geis is for you."
A/N:
This is RIDICULOUSLY ooc, and I started to write in more IC, but the Love Spot idea took over.
It's horror writing, but you can also imagine they ran away and had four kids like he did with Grainne.