Altair left the clay house first, under the breath of early dawn. Something held him back for the slightest of moments, but his mission pulled harder. Thomas left near noon, using the busy midday traffic to his advantage. As he made his way through the crowded streets, he saw something at the edge of his sight. But every time he turned his head to see, the flitting shadow would disappear. Thomas grew worried; someone was following him. But when he entered the guarded compound held by the Templar Knights, the shadow that had crept in the alleys and crawled on roofs vanished. The shadow became an afterthought as Thomas stopped at the large, oaken doors which led to the interior of the complex. He exhaled heavily through dry, cracked lips and readied himself the confrontation ahead; the Knights from the marketplace had undoubtedly reported Thomas as a traitor; it was up to him to clear his name. The Knights have long memories and they bear longer grudges, and Thomas was unsure of what lay ahead. But the Knight had another purpose beyond himself. He wanted to meet with the Lieutenant, or a Sergeant, or some noble with power. Certainly they, of all people, would be outraged when they heard of their own soldiers acting like villains. They would not condone the injustices like those he had witnessed. So with another shaky, unsure breath, he entered the building.
The compound was elegant and extravagant; it seemed a crime to Thomas that the Templars possessed such wealth, and yet the soldiers and the citizens had next to nothing. Only the highest of the Order were permitted to reside here, and Thomas felt out of place just standing in the antechamber. A large fountain in the middle of the room bubbled eerily and the sounds of moving water did nothing for the overbearing heat or Thomas's thirst. A grand staircase curved around both sides of the fountain; everything was beautiful, but it still felt wrong to the young knight. Thomas looked around for a moment, before calling out in a timid voice,
"Uh… hello?" Almost immediately, a pair of guards with plumed helms appeared and they descended the staircase, meeting him at the door. They were both shorter than Thomas, but their arrogant eyes seemed to stare down at him.
"Are you reporting in?" One asked severely; his supercilious tone pierced Thomas's self-confidence. Thomas swallowed noisily,
"Er… yes, I am," he said nervously. A pit formed in his stomach and Thomas thought to himself, Oh, it's just a little lie! And it's for something important anyway. The guards exchanged looks and the one who had spoken earlier spoke again,
"Clearly not. You know neither the procedure nor do you bear the messenger's symbol," The guard said flatly. Crap, Thomas thought. The guard continued, "And now, you will come with us. The Lieutenant decides the fate of idiots like you." Thomas shook his head,
"But I really do have something to tell them…" he pleaded. The guard smiled viciously,
"Then let us escort you to them," was the reply. The pit in Thomas's stomach became a knot. Each soldier took one of Thomas's arms and they jerked him violently in front of them. The three of them climbed the staircase to the landing above.
The second floor was just as glamorous as the first; desert flowers filled every window, and gaudy rugs embroidered with bright reds and golds covered the hard wooden floor. Beautiful pine bookcases lined the walls and in the middle of everything was a large, marble desk that glittered strangely in the light and behind the desk stood two large men. They were of the same height and build, but one man was clearly older, with a grey, ruffled mane of hair. The younger knight had very short, dark hair and his mouth was lined with stress and stubble. They were heatedly debating something, but Thomas could not hear their muffled, angry whispers. One of the guards cleared his throat loudly and the talking ceased abruptly. The older man with the grey spoke first,
"I hope there is a good reason for this interruption," he said impatiently. One guard thrust Thomas forward, and the young knight stumbled. His helm fell clumsily to the ground and Thomas stooped to retrieve it. His hand stopped in mid reach as the dark haired Knight recognized him.
"Thomas?" he said slowly as Thomas retrieved his helmet and straightened.
"L-lieutenant Barnes…" Thomas replied with a weak salute. Their eyes met for an instant and Thomas became engulfed in a wave of emotion and memory.
Thomas was born in one of the many small hamlets that surround London. He was the only son of a poor farmer. He had many brothers and sisters, but they all met untimely deaths in childhood. As Thomas grew older, his perception of the injustices and cruelties of the world also grew. He could not understand why some men were kings, and others were beggars, and he did not see any plausible method of changing the social structure around him. But, Thomas had very little time to consider the problems of the world, as he could barely manage his own. Along with his poverty were certain other complications of Thomas's life. He was decidedly different than the other village boys; while they were roughhousing and fighting, Thomas spent his limited free time with the sick and the unfortunate. He was overly sensitive and cried easily, which brought only jeers and taunts from the other children. He was not interested in swordplay or farming or woodcutting. Instead, he wanted to read and write, and this brought the scorn of his father and the other village men. Thomas knew he was different in more significant ways, but he did not know what they were.
When Thomas turned seventeen, he found out.
A few weeks after his seventeenth birthday, a brigade of Templar Knights rode through the hamlet. Thomas was thoroughly enchanted. The horses were so grand and kingly, the knights shining and fairly sparkling in their armor. All the men were strong and tall, brave and gallant, with their knightly speech and natural grandeur. They said that they were from the kingdom, and that the king had sent aid to his faithful servants. The knights brought spirit to the gloomy village and helped the farmers immensely, from chopping wood to slaying the bandits that roamed the woods. The villagers gladly housed the knights during their stay, and as fate would have it, a certain, fresh recruit named Lyle Barnes shared a room with Thomas.
The man was young, barely older than Thomas, but he looked so different. Thomas could not help but stare; Lyle's body was toned and built, muscled from his heavy armor and recent training. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, and Thomas felt a curious pull in the pit of his stomach every time Lyle spoke to him. The knight's voice was deep and steady, and Thomas was overly self-conscious every time the man's eyes met his.
One day, while the knights were in town, Thomas wanted to make a trip to London, to see the city. His parents denied the request: the danger was too much and the time could be spent working. But Lyle, being the virtuous knight that he was, interjected.
"I would not mind escorting the boy," he said, smiling kindly at Thomas, who blushed furiously, "And travel is good for the soul and the body. He would benefit greatly." Thomas's parents would not deny the knight, and the next day, the two of them left the hamlet for London.
They were half way there when trouble arose. Highwaymen ambushed them along the path, demanding all of their money, possessions and clothes. Lyle, very stoutly, said no, a reply that Thomas admired greatly.
"Alright, we'll do this the hard way, then." The bandit leader said through blackened teeth. But three malnourished, clumsy bandits are no match for one heavily armed knight, and they were easily dispatched. Unfortunately, Lyle was wounded during the fight, and he clutched his side in an effort to hide the blood from Thomas. After all, a knight cannot show weakness in the face of danger. But Thomas noticed the injury anyway, and insisted that they so he could dress the wound.
"Please, remove your armor so I can help," Thomas said quietly, while ripping strips of fabric from his shirt. The knight obliged silently, tenderly removing his breast plate and tunic. Thomas began to wrap the wound, but his closeness to the knight made him nervous for reasons that he did not understand. His hand shook, and the knight, noticing his trembling hands, took them in his own. Immediately, Thomas's hands straightened and he began to bandage the injury, ignoring the knight's curious glances and small smile. Lyle's chest was hot and damp with sweat and Thomas found it difficult to focus. The knight was breathing somewhat heavily, and his searing breath brushed against Thomas's forehead. Finally, after what Thomas considered hours, the bandaging was complete and the knight nodded approvingly,
"Thank you, Thomas" he said plainly. Thomas shrugged,
"I should thank you, really," his eyes wandered from the knight's face to his torso. Abruptly, the knight brought him back from his daydreams,
"Thomas, are you hurt at all?" The younger man was taken aback and he became painfully aware that they were still very close to one another,
"No, not at all… why?" Thomas answered, and the knight smiled kindly,
"I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "that you are simply shaken. Your hands were trembling terribly."
"Oh, but." Thomas said quickly, without thinking, "they weren't shaking because I was scared." Immediately, Thomas realized his blunder. The knight stopped smiling and his expression became clouded. "I mean," Thomas said, trying to amend the previous statement, "I meant to say…" but the knight stopped him.
"No. You spoke honestly, but that is not enough. Explain yourself entirely." Thomas floundered for a moment, but the explanation was inevitable.
"I don't know why or how," Thomas said anxiously unsure of the knight's response, "but I feel strange every time I see you, or every time I come close to you." They were so close together that Thomas could see every rivulet of sweat and each individual strand of dark stubble. The knight gestured for Thomas to continue, "My stomach ties itself in knots, or I can't see or breathe, or my hands shake. But strangely, those feelings are not unwelcome. And when I look at you in your knightly valor, I feel like I…" but he did not finish the sentence. He had already said too much. Lyle said nothing for a long time, but suddenly, he stepped even closer to Thomas, so close that their noses nearly touched.
"And what do you feel now?" Lyle asked in his low, husky voice. His breath was unbearably hot, his proximity too much.
"I feel…" Thomas whispered back, "I feel…" but there were no words to describe the feeling. No words could tell, but an action would suffice. Thomas leaned in closer and Lyle did not retract. Their mouths met, slow and hot and passionate. There was no dominance, there was no submission. They were equals in the kiss, both desperate and wanting and strong. Thomas let his hands wander over Lyle's magnificent body, reveling in the raw muscle and power and physical prowess that Lyle possessed. Lyle felt Thomas in a different way, exploring the young man fully, working his way over the smaller, yet firm, muscles of Thomas's chest and thighs. When their lips parted, each man gasped for air, the kiss being much more than a physical display. But the act was far from finished. Lyle dropped to his knees, dexterously pulling the younger man's trousers to the ground. Thomas exhaled sharply as Lyle engulfed his length with his hot, wet mouth. The knight looked up, enjoying Thomas's look of pure ecstasy, and lightly scraped his teeth against the shaft. Thomas let out a small noise, accompanied by large exhale. Purely by instinct, he wrapped his fingers around Lyle's short hair and ground his hips into Lyle's face. The knight obliged fully, grabbing Thomas's thighs and urging him with his tongue and lips to delve further. Thomas, inexperienced as he was, could not last long against the absolute pleasure of it all.
"Lyle…" he moaned loudly as his orgasm peaked. The knight willingly received it, swallowing loudly and looked up, smiling. Thomas returned the smile as the knight laid him on his back in a patch of soft grass.
"What are you…?" Thomas asked with a hoarse voice.
"It's my turn now," was the simple reply. He cupped his palm and spit into it, rubbing the expectorant along his own rigid member. Then he extended his palm to Thomas, who followed Lyle's example with out a word. He spread this along Thomas's entrance, tenderly and slowly inserting a single digit. Thomas gasped lightly and Lyle smiled.
"How does that feel?" But Thomas's answer was replaced by another man as Lyle inserted a second finger. Slowly and gently he stretched Thomas, eventually using three fingers. Thomas arched his back with pleasure and called out,
"Enough… preparation." Lyle did not need to be told twice. Slowly, very slowly, he slid his entire throbbing manhood into Thomas, who curled his fists and clenched his eyes from the sensation. The knight began to thrust into Thomas, gradually increasing the pace. Faster and faster he went until they both began to moan and groan in low, pleasured voices. Thomas bucked his hips backwards, urging him deeper and deeper; his own member was hard again, and the rapture was magnified as Lyle's shaft brushed against a particular spot. Feverishly, Thomas began pumping his own member as Lyle threw back his head and pushed himself even deeper. Lyle released deep inside of Thomas, thrusting at an intense rate. At the same moment, Thomas felt a second orgasm and bathed his abdomen and hand with more semen.
Afterwards, the two men lay together, embraced and exhausted. Thomas's head rested peacefully on Lyle's chest and the knight stroked Thomas's hair thoughtfully. They never made it to London, and Thomas told his parents that he did indeed learn something very important on the journey. They laid together, in secret, for many nights after, and Thomas was nearly broken when Lyle was forced to depart. So Thomas joined the Templar Knights, thinking that he could help the innocent and the needy, and hoping that he could one day be reunited with the first man he ever loved.
But Thomas feared, as he stared at the grinning Lieutenant, that Lyle, like the Templar Knights, had changed since their first meeting five years before. The Templars once represented salvation and faith, and five years has changed the Order into a self-serving remnant of what it used to be. And if five years can change an organization so dramatically, how drastically can five years affect a single man?
A/N: Argh, I keep using OCs, and it seems like I'm getting away from Altair (seeing as he was barely in this chapter at all), but don't worry, he's coming soon. And Thomas is going to suffer a bit. Or a lot. It depends on Barnes, and it depends on Altair. And maybe they'll have to do something extremely stubborn and manly like duel or something… I don't know yet. Who should Thomas go for? (Psst… vote for Altair… he's hotter…) oh, and just in case you didn't get it, the italics was a flashback. I know, obvious to some, but maybe not to others?