Teasing Lancelot

Title: Pleasing Lancelot
Author: pharaohs_kitty at yahoo.com
Pairing: Tristan/Galahad for now...
Rating: Starts at NC17 and goes up. In other words, ADULTS ONLY PLEASE.
Author's Note: Okay, they're having a relationship...for a while anyhow.
Summary: Galahad wants to do something for Lancelot. Tristan has no idea what and it's driving him nuts not to know.
Disclaimer: All Bruckheimer's and other owners. Sadly neglected property I might add. Where, oh, where is the sequel? darklyscarlett wants 'The Further Adventures of Gawain and Galahad, or 1001 Sarmatian Nights' and drat it, so do I!

Pleasing Lancelot


Galahad woke sore. He could feel things in his body that hurt in a distant far off manner. A groan escaped him before he could even think of why he might not want to. Next to him a body lifted up and he cracked open still tired eyes to view Tristan propped on his elbow over him.

"You all right, Galahad?"

The voice from his other side caused his head to whip to the side and seeing the concern in Lancelot's eyes made him remember what had happened. He couldn't help it - a chuckle escaped him and he nodded bashfully. Timidly he reached up and traced Lancelot's jaw line with curious fingers. Lancelot's eyes were surprised but he allowed the touch without moving away.

Galahad turned his head towards Tristan, noted the angry look in his eyes and moved his hand behind Tristan's neck and pulled him down for a deep kiss.

When they broke for air, Galahad whispered "I don't belong to you, Tristan."

Tristan merely moved his lips to nibbling across Galahad's collarbone and started stroking long fingers across Galahad's bare hipbone.

Louder now, Galahad stated, "I...DO...NOT...BELONG...TO...YOU."

"I know that. You belong to Gawain." The voice was muffled by the fact that Tristan said it only the width of a breath of air above Galahad's skin.

Galahad sat up in shock, dislodging Tristan and nearly pushing Lancelot off his own bed.

"Never!"

Tristan laid back on the side of the bed and winked with a smile at Lancelot. Then he turned his attention back to Galahad who was scrambling off the bed.

"You will, boy. You will."

"I don't belong to him. I don't belong to anybody at all. I am not some girl you can claim."

Tristan's head dropped back to the bed and he closed his eyes as if he were tired still. "Then you can decide who you lie with as you want."

Galahad was looking for his clothes in a huff. "I can choose whoever I want! I don't belong to any of you. Me. I belong to me."

"I belong to you." The words were soft and spoken quietly but they were steely. Lancelot admired the simplicity of them and the bravery behind them. Galahad dropped the things he'd found. In a moment he was beside the bed looking down at a very solemn Tristan.

"You don't mean that." Galahad sounded unsure. "Do you?"

"I give you my word. I mean that. I belong to you. You have only to call me. The question is," Tristan paused and drank in the splendor that was a naked Galahad's body, "will you?"

"What about Dagonet?"

"We've been friends a long time. From the first time I killed a Roman and got thrown into the stockade for it and he punched our commanding officer and joined me there, we have been friends. You spend two years in the stockade with someone and you become... very close. And we've been put there four times." Tristan's voice was rueful. "My fault every time. So now Dagonet doesn't trust me to keep out of trouble."

"Ah. That explains why he knows where you are all the time."

Lancelot looked at Galahad quickly with eyes wide. "Does he...?"

"Know we're here and why?" Galahad shrugged. "Ask Tristan."

"Yes."

Lancelot's eyes grew stormy. Tristan snickered. "He's never been bothered by your particular fancy. Sometimes he's seen you watching before I have."

Lancelot blushed and sank down on the bed next to Tristan. "Does anybody ELSE know?"

"Not that I know of." Tristan patted Lancelot's bare hip comfortingly. "And if I don't know of any who do, it's probable that no one else knows." He left unsaid 'unless like me, they never spoke of it to anyone'.

Tristan watched Galahad cautiously. Perhaps he'd hurt the boy too much last night. Perhaps his foolish declaration was too soon, too much. He couldn't have left it unsaid though. Now that Galahad had known a man, curiousity would no doubt drive him the same as it had when he'd discovered women. Sooner or later, he'd be curious about his best friend and he had no doubt that what he'd said was true. Gawain would own him.

Tristan wanted Galahad to understand though that he, himself, was the boy's to command. Perhaps he shouldn't hand such power over himself to the boy, but it was already truth and he didn't want the memory of himself to get lost among the new feelings and sensations the boy was sure to experience.

"The next time you come back, will you let Lancelot watch Dagonet? with you?"

"He hasn't done so in a long time. If you want me to, I will ask Dagonet to allow it, if Lancelot wishes to do so."

"Good. I'll tell you why later. I want to see if..." Galahad trailed off. The knowledge that Tristan WAS his sank in. His mouth opened and closed and he stood thunderstruck. Shaking his head, he dressed absentmindedly. By the time he was done restrapping his boots, he'd sorted out quite a bit in his head. "Do you have other lovers, Tristan?"

"Only Dagonet. Unless you count buying a whore now and then to relieve yourself."

"I'm not yours. I can't ..."

"I'm not asking you to marry me. Come to me when you have need."

Galahad looked vastly relieved. And faintly terrified. "Don't forget to come to my room later, Lancelot."

Tristan looked worried. "You should take some time after the first..."

Galahad grinned. "Don't worry. I promise that Lancelot won't touch me." He turned and left the room in a flurry of movement that made the room seem empty after he'd gone.

Lancelot muttered, "I have no idea what he has in mind."

"Then you'll have to go find out. I don't know either and," Tristan wrinkled his nose, "I hate that."

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Dagonet watched the two youngest Knights playfully bat around a bag of chicken feathers with a thoughtful expression on his face. He looked across the table at Tristan who was making a new bone-handled dagger with careful attention.

"That for him?"

Tristan kept working, but Dagonet saw a bare hint of happiness gleam.

"Must have been a good night then."

A barest touch of colour flickered over the high cheekbones masked by the black carved across them.

"I see why you didn't want me to interfere."

More silence was his only answer.

"So why is Lancelot looking at Galahad as if he was a dog standing in front of the biggest pile of tablescraps he's ever seen?"

"He was there."

"Ah." Dagonet swallowed deeply from his mug of ale. "Was the boy all that you wished?"

"Not yet. But he will be. If Gawain doesn't decide Galahad is his alone."

"You worry too much. Gawain doesn't see Galahad that way. I doubt he's ever seen any woman that way."

"He will. See Galahad that way. Soon I think."

Dagonet didn't know what to say. Tristan had been watching Galahad for so long now that he'd always assumed that one day... He let the sympathy show on his face.

"I have had one night at least. Perhaps there will be more."

"If you need me..."

Tristan met Dagonet's offer with, "If YOU need me... I will still be there."

"Only if the boy has not already claimed you?" There was a demand for an answer in the words.

Tristan slanted a look that confirmed the assessment. "I told him I belonged to him."

"What did he say?"

"He asked if I would let Lancelot watch next time I lay with you."

"Bossy little snip isn't he?"

"It was actually quite arousing to have Lancelot there watching where I could see him react to what we were doing."

Dagonet took a deep breath. "You said he was there. I thought you meant skulking as usual."

"No, the boy insisted that if I wanted him, I had to do it in front of Lancelot. In Lancelot's room."

Dagonet groaned as various images sprang to mind. "I shouldn't have asked." Heaving several deep breaths to regain control of himself, he inquired, "We are, aren't we? Letting Lancelot watch next time? I want to see his face as well. It doesn't seem fair that you've already seen him that way."

Tristan flat out grinned and chuckled. "Thought you'd see it that way."

Dagonet got right to the heart of the matter. "When?"

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Lancelot had been impatiently waiting all day for a sign that now was the time. Galahad had behaved like he did every day. He'd spent the morning doing chores, working his new horse and then playing with Gawain. It wasn't until after the noon meal that Gawain and Galahad had drifted to the tavern area to play. There the two young men parted ways after flirting outrageously with the serving women. Gawain to chase down his current playmate and Galahad to chase down his.

Lancelot had nearly fallen off his seat when Galahad passed by him and tapped him on his shoulder. He waited patiently (he thought he was patient, but in reality he shifted and fidgeted and glanced a thousand times after where Galahad vanished) until a decent amount of time had passed, then excused himself to find his way to Galahad's room.

He stood outside the door and wondered what he was doing. Raising his hand, Lancelot was about to knock on the door when it swung open. A barefoot Galahad grinned happily at him and stood back to let him come in. Lancelot waited frozen as a little voice screamed inside 'what are you doing, idiot?'.

Finally, Galahad broke and asked anxiously, "Won't you come in? I promise that if you don't like what I have in mind, you can go if you wish or I'll go get a girl and you can watch us."

"Tristan wouldn't like that."

"He doesn't own me."

Lancelot smirked, "I think it was thoroughly established that YOU own HIM."

Galahad fidgeted and in a small voice, "Do you think it true?"

Lancelot stepped through the door and in a move totally unlike him, hugged Galahad. "You're important to him. You always have been."

"What do I do with him?"

"Anything you like, Galahad. Absolutely anything you like." Lancelot walked further into the room and sprawled into a chair. "Now what is it that you thought I would like?"

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As the Knights assembled in the Great Hall to seat themselves at the Round Table, Tristan watched alertly for any sign of Galahad or Lancelot. He was eager to glimpse their faces and see what marked them.

Everyone else had actually been seated when Galahad scrambled into the room to find his seat. Gawain hissed something at him about bad manners, but he just smiled amiably and rose for the nightly toast Arthur made to missing companions. Tristan noticed that Galahad looked as if he'd had a surfeit of treats at Midsummer Festival and only wanted to crawl off and sleep somewhere. There was still no sign of Lancelot. The absence was remarkable and Arthur frowned nearly continuously.

They were nearly through with their meal when Lancelot finally joined them - conspicuously damp and in different clothes than the ones he'd had on this morning. Arthur snapped something and Lancelot merely beamed in reply. He shrugged and their illustrious commander struggled to look stern but lost the battle as a snicker escaped.

"Feeling better?"

"Much." Lancelot wolfed down his meal and leaned on the table lazily afterwards, idly swapping ideas for calvary tactics with Arthur.

Tristan waited patiently for Lancelot to excuse himself to the tavern. But once the last other Knight besides Lancelot had taken himself off to bed - Tristan could find no more reason to wait. He backed his chair from the table, flicked an inquiring glare at Lancelot who was smugly ignoring him and left in search of Galahad. At the tavern courtyard, Gawain was cuddling a barmaid and Galahad was nowhere in sight. Tristan swallowed bitter frustration and wearily sought his room. Perhaps he'd never know what it was that Galahad treated Lancelot to.

Flinging open his door, he found a body in his bed, sprawled out and taking up the whole of it. A lump rose in his throat, but he found himself snarling angrily, "I told you that you needed to wait a few days..."

"I know. Come to bed."

Tristan growled.

"You belong to me, remember? COME...TO...BED."

Galahad sighed. This business of owning Tristan was doubtless more complicated than either Tristan or Lancelot had said. Tristan was always prickly, rarely happy and usually depressing in his views on the world. He sat up, put his arms around his knees, and shamelessly pouted.

Tristan breathed heavily and angrily and a snarl was just beginning to erupt when Galahad said very, very quietly and softly, "I want to sleep here. With you. Come to bed."

Galahad held his hand out, shamelessly mimicking Bors' youngest lad begging for honeyed bread. It took long breaths before Tristan cooled enough to realize Galahad still wore his tunic. With a moan of desperation, he begged the gods - every one whose name he'd ever learned - for the strength to get through the night. Galahad obviously had his heart set on torturing Tristan with his ineffably undeniably compelling presence. Not since the first time that Tristan had realized Galahad had grown up (it had been effortless to comprehend that from his position flat on his back in the arena sand at Galahad's feet where he had a most illuminating view of muscle and sinew and sweat and a triumphant smug grin) had the possibility of maintaining iron control of his unruly craving seemed so absolutely impossible. He WANTED. And Galahad wanted him to just crawl into the bed next to that confection of unearthly delights and not taste of them?

Galahad's hand dropped and he looked crushed. Tristan took a deep breath and then set his fingers to his clothing. As leather accoutrements fell with deep resignation and fabric fluttered helplessly down - as the clink of his knives being tossed onto the table sounded the knell of fate calling Tristan to his destiny - the dawn of a shy confidence rose in Galahad's face. His mouth beamed pleased delight and his eyes flushed full and wide with rising passion as more and more of Tristan was revealed before him. Especially when that more was so happy to be shown off.

"Er, Tristan... you did say that I needed to wait a few days, right?" Galahad watched Tristan's head bob in wordless acknowledgment. He sighed in frustration before cheering again immensely. "There's no reason we can't do other things though. Like before?"

"Now that I've had you, do you think I will be able to settle for less?"

Galahad let the question percolate through his rapidly dissolving thought processes before grinning widely. "I think it's me that won't be able to settle for less. But you're going to make me wait, aren't you?"

Tristan smiled and his teeth reflected his hunger. A revealing flick of his tongue answered. Galahad swallowed and reminded himself that he was the one that had started this. It HAD seemed like a good idea at the time... when he'd had Lancelot writhing on the bed and supplicating him to 'help me, Galahad. Please. Help me finish it.' which only made Galahad need his own hungers seen to. It had seemed a most excellent idea when he'd been watching Lancelot climax and his own cock spoke volumes of logical reasons why he should seek Tristan out.

Tristan pushed Galahad down upon the bed and straddled him. His stiffened cock stroked across the tunic that cloistered Galahad's own delighted manhood from Tristan's personal needs to investigate new territory, to explore new terrain until he'd exposed its every last secret.

"Did Lancelot lay with you?"

Galahad squirmed beneath Tristan trying to create enough friction to soothe a small portion of the throbbing ache between his legs. "Lay with... yes. Fuck me... no."

"Did you fuck him?"

Galahad twisted supple hips up and only succeeded in making things worse for himself as Tristan tutted, pinned Galahad's arms and slid down until his body lay full length on top of the now gasping younger man.

"Did you fuck him, Galahad? I asked you a question and I WANT an answer." Tristan whispered it in Galahad's ear where the heat of his breath wafting on that sensitive skin caused an answering slow burn inside Galahad's chest.

"Depends on what you mean. I made him beg me to finish it." Galahad answered Tristan's provocative behavior with teasing of his own. Tristan wanted to KNOW so badly that Galahad could hear the curiosity in his voice along with a surprising amount of jealousy. Galahad shivered in Tristan's grip as he felt the depth of power he had. It was intoxicating - a slow headiness like consuming a good red wine a mouthful at a time.

"Enough of this play, Galahad. Tell me what you did with Lancelot!" The snarl was low but menacing enough that Galahad trembled beneath Tristan's anger.

Galahad met Tristan's narrowed stare with eyes that became warm with compassion as he remembered Tristan saying 'I belong to you' in a voice that was as casual as if he'd announced that the sun was hot today. Somewhere inside a belly flipping warmth built that had nothing to do with the fires of lust that already raged in his loins.

'You're important to him. You always have been.' The words echoed from his memory. Galahad suddenly comprehended just how important he was to Tristan. Tristan was his. His breath was Tristan's life. He closed his eyes as he felt a phantom tongue trace over the scar on his back and heard Tristan mutter 'thought we'd lost you that time'. Tristan was his in ways that terrified him. He wasn't ready for...

"Galahad, tell me!"

"I think I'd better show you." Galahad grinned. "Since telling a tale is what I did to him."

Tristan stared down at the flushed face beneath him, dumbfounded and slightly lost. What did the boy mean?

"Get off me and I'll show you."

Tristan reluctantly opened fingers that had gripped Galahad so tightly he'd left red shadows of himself behind. Galahad wriggled out from beneath and stripped off his tunic, revealing a body lithe and glistening with sweat. Tristan saw that Galahad too was as excited as a dog scenting a bitch in her time. The evidence swayed as Galahad scrambled over him to claim the bed at Tristan's side.

"Lay down beside me and let me touch you." The words were a command but a hesitant query was there in it. Did Tristan trust Galahad enough to let him have control? Tristan let himself relax and lay back beneath Galahad's touch. The slightly rough touch of hands hardened to the sword and fingertips callused by the bow flickered over his neck and down his chest. "In case you're wondering... I didn't do this to Lancelot. I made him close his eyes and kneel on the bed and I knelt behind him and whispered into his ear."

Galahad smiled tremulously, a cautious offering to a man he didn't really know and never had dared to consider knowing. Tristan's eyes flamed and he set a gentle kiss on the hand that slithered up and down the side of his neck and across his shoulder.

"Go on."

"You can not stand to have a secret kept from you, can you?"

"Not when it has anything to do with you."

"Oh." Galahad swallowed and began, "It was hot and the Romans had all collapsed in the shade as usual when Lancelot rode up and seemed to pose before them. I wondered what it was that made him weak like the rest of us. Like Dagonet and snakes and Bors and the heat and Gawain and bears and Arthur and failing us.... I wanted to know what made Lancelot undone so I sought out Gawain to ask. Only he was with the pretty laundress in the shed with the tubs when I found him. She was picking out the knots in his breeches when I arrived and I would have left but..."

Tristan found himself riveted as Galahad painted the whole situation out and moaned when the lad got to the part where he himself had gone to his knees and tasted the boy. Reliving the whole thing from Galahad's point of view was proving to be...maddening. As the tale wandered farther and farther into them 'making amends' to Lancelot, Tristan found himself waiting for the next word, the next breath of air in his ear that would make the picture come alive from Galahad's point of view.

"...then you ran your fingers slick with oil over me and I thought I would burst from the pressure inside. I had completely forgotten Lancelot was watching us. Every bit of me was screaming for 'more' only I didn't know what 'more' was..."

Tristan opened his eyes once the world had stopped spinning and focused on Galahad's eyes as he described in detail how it had felt to have Tristan 'betray' him and sink into Galahad's depths. Tristan watched the wonder in Galahad unfold as he told Tristan what he'd thought each minute, each thrust, until the very end where he could bear it no more and then ... Galahad stopped talking.
In disbelief, Tristan gaped at Galahad. His cock throbbed and his hands were long twisted into the coverlet of the bed. Sweat ran rivulets down his face and chest, pooled in the hollow of his belly. At the very tip of his manhood there wept fat drops of sticky longing.

"Gods, Galahad. Finish the tale."

Galahad smiled and said, "I'd rather finish you. You are not Lancelot." With a muffled chuckle he scooted down and bent inexperienced mouth and tongue to Tristan's need eagerly. Even as he sucked and swallowed Tristan into a blazing inferno that flared into hot bright sun, Tristan managed to retain the thought 'Ah, that's why Lancelot begged. I still want to know the rest. Later...'

TBC...