The Tristan Effect
folder
G through L › King Arthur
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
4,500
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › King Arthur
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
4,500
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own King Arthur, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Tristan In the Rain
* a flashback to one of Gawain's good memories of Tristan mentioned in Chapter One*
Title: Tristan In the Rain
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty@yahoo. com
Type (slash/het/gen): slash FPS
Pairing: Tristan/Gawain sort of
Rating: R for mentioning bad words, referring to adult themes and situations.
Summary: Gawain is out hunting, Tristan takes a bath.
Archive: Feel free and if you can do better with this idea, help yourself.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings do NOT belong to ME.
Tristan in the Rain
The rains came as they always did. In the evening, in the afternoon, in the morning, practically every damn day the rains came and ruined Gawain's hunting. It blurred out the tracks on the forest floor and drove the animals into deep thickets where neither the rain nor Gawain could reach.
He stared out at the falling curtains of droplets from under cover of a deadfall next to the brook. The arching bones of deceased trees held up a canopy of fallen forest detritus. Dead vines and vast quantities of leaves protected his small spot from the wet.
Gawain's horse was tucked into a stone overhang a way back so he had no fear that he'd return to a mount chilled to the bone. The horse could wait, he could wait...the rain would end and he'd go back, empty-handed. He HATED returning empty-handed. Tristan never returned without a kill and he went out to hunt five times as often for the fort's cooking pots.
Like the grey ghost Gawain sometimes thought him, Tristan and his gentle mare appeared across the brook. Gawain's breath gusted out in fury. Of COURSE, Tristan had already made a fine kill. A buck lay neatly across the mare's hindquarters and five gutted rabbits hung from the saddle. Tristan dismounted at the brook.
Tristan was already soaked through to the skin when he casually pulled his hauberk over his head and laid it across the saddle. His boots, tunic and hose rapidly followed. Naked, Tristan waded into the brook with a small cloth. Gawain watched in curiosity as Tristan stooped to rinse the rag in the stream.
Tristan's body was covered with interesting scars. This one from when Agravaine died and that one from when Arthur took a sword to the side, and.... interestingly there were matching black marks to his cheekbones on his hipbones.
Over and over again, the rag swooped down to the water as Tristan scrubbed himself. Over and over again, the rag made a wandering path over Tristan's body. The rag swiped through the silvering hair on his chest and the thatch of silvering hair down ....It didn't take but moments for Gawain to realize he was staring, and only moments more to comprehend that Tristan wasn't just WASHING.
The rag twisted across Tristan's body and certain flaccid parts began to rise. By the time Tristan had brought himself to a stand, Gawain was also suffering from too much blood to his nether parts. Using the rag, Tristan caressed himself and sensitized his skin. Finally he tossed the rag to the side and using his hands, he tilted his face up to the rain and roughly pulled on his manhood.
Tristan's hand gripped himself sternly and the other wound around the base of it. Up and down went Tristan's hand, and Gawain suffered. He didn't dare move. Tristan might notice the movement. Amazing that he hadn't yet seen the furtive audience keeping vigil. Gawain stood there, completely engorged, engrossed in Tristan's pleasure in the rain.
By the time Tristan had brought himself to a silent climax, Gawain was sweating profusely and holding his breath. Silently, he mentally urged the older knight to hurry HURRY HURRY PLEASE! Oh, gods... please HURRY! His vision began to blacken before Tristan had cleaned himself off and wandered back to his laden mare. As soon as Tristan's back was turned, Gawain brought his hand up to his mouth and bit it.
Anything to keep control a while longer.
Tristan put his gear back on, completely unmindful of their state of sopping dampness. He clucked to his hawk and rode off into the slowing misty rain. Gawain fell to his knees as soon as Tristan was out of sight.
Desperately he dragged aside his chausses and grasped himself quickly. His hand was too rough and there wasn't enough liquid on his hand to make it feel good, but he didn't have time to spit on it. He pulled on his cock hard thinking about Tristan's smooth skin and the wounds that striped it, the tattoos that marked it. It was but minutes when he shot onto the ground violently, the sticky stuff leaving a great mass of individual glistening white droplets under the deadfall.
When Gawain rode back in the gate empty-handed, Galahad was there to greet him and walk with him to the stables. Laughing madly and now in possession of knowing why Tristan made for the baths when he returned in the rain, he replied to Galahad's snide remark on his empty hands as he stabled his horse.
"You let your catch get away."
"You could say it ran out on me. I assure you, Galahad, that my hands were not empty the entire time."
Title: Tristan In the Rain
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty@yahoo. com
Type (slash/het/gen): slash FPS
Pairing: Tristan/Gawain sort of
Rating: R for mentioning bad words, referring to adult themes and situations.
Summary: Gawain is out hunting, Tristan takes a bath.
Archive: Feel free and if you can do better with this idea, help yourself.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings do NOT belong to ME.
Tristan in the Rain
The rains came as they always did. In the evening, in the afternoon, in the morning, practically every damn day the rains came and ruined Gawain's hunting. It blurred out the tracks on the forest floor and drove the animals into deep thickets where neither the rain nor Gawain could reach.
He stared out at the falling curtains of droplets from under cover of a deadfall next to the brook. The arching bones of deceased trees held up a canopy of fallen forest detritus. Dead vines and vast quantities of leaves protected his small spot from the wet.
Gawain's horse was tucked into a stone overhang a way back so he had no fear that he'd return to a mount chilled to the bone. The horse could wait, he could wait...the rain would end and he'd go back, empty-handed. He HATED returning empty-handed. Tristan never returned without a kill and he went out to hunt five times as often for the fort's cooking pots.
Like the grey ghost Gawain sometimes thought him, Tristan and his gentle mare appeared across the brook. Gawain's breath gusted out in fury. Of COURSE, Tristan had already made a fine kill. A buck lay neatly across the mare's hindquarters and five gutted rabbits hung from the saddle. Tristan dismounted at the brook.
Tristan was already soaked through to the skin when he casually pulled his hauberk over his head and laid it across the saddle. His boots, tunic and hose rapidly followed. Naked, Tristan waded into the brook with a small cloth. Gawain watched in curiosity as Tristan stooped to rinse the rag in the stream.
Tristan's body was covered with interesting scars. This one from when Agravaine died and that one from when Arthur took a sword to the side, and.... interestingly there were matching black marks to his cheekbones on his hipbones.
Over and over again, the rag swooped down to the water as Tristan scrubbed himself. Over and over again, the rag made a wandering path over Tristan's body. The rag swiped through the silvering hair on his chest and the thatch of silvering hair down ....It didn't take but moments for Gawain to realize he was staring, and only moments more to comprehend that Tristan wasn't just WASHING.
The rag twisted across Tristan's body and certain flaccid parts began to rise. By the time Tristan had brought himself to a stand, Gawain was also suffering from too much blood to his nether parts. Using the rag, Tristan caressed himself and sensitized his skin. Finally he tossed the rag to the side and using his hands, he tilted his face up to the rain and roughly pulled on his manhood.
Tristan's hand gripped himself sternly and the other wound around the base of it. Up and down went Tristan's hand, and Gawain suffered. He didn't dare move. Tristan might notice the movement. Amazing that he hadn't yet seen the furtive audience keeping vigil. Gawain stood there, completely engorged, engrossed in Tristan's pleasure in the rain.
By the time Tristan had brought himself to a silent climax, Gawain was sweating profusely and holding his breath. Silently, he mentally urged the older knight to hurry HURRY HURRY PLEASE! Oh, gods... please HURRY! His vision began to blacken before Tristan had cleaned himself off and wandered back to his laden mare. As soon as Tristan's back was turned, Gawain brought his hand up to his mouth and bit it.
Anything to keep control a while longer.
Tristan put his gear back on, completely unmindful of their state of sopping dampness. He clucked to his hawk and rode off into the slowing misty rain. Gawain fell to his knees as soon as Tristan was out of sight.
Desperately he dragged aside his chausses and grasped himself quickly. His hand was too rough and there wasn't enough liquid on his hand to make it feel good, but he didn't have time to spit on it. He pulled on his cock hard thinking about Tristan's smooth skin and the wounds that striped it, the tattoos that marked it. It was but minutes when he shot onto the ground violently, the sticky stuff leaving a great mass of individual glistening white droplets under the deadfall.
When Gawain rode back in the gate empty-handed, Galahad was there to greet him and walk with him to the stables. Laughing madly and now in possession of knowing why Tristan made for the baths when he returned in the rain, he replied to Galahad's snide remark on his empty hands as he stabled his horse.
"You let your catch get away."
"You could say it ran out on me. I assure you, Galahad, that my hands were not empty the entire time."