Shattered Ice

Read at your own risk.
There are no happy endings here.


Title: Shattered Ice, part 7
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty and surreal_44
Type (slash/het/gen): slash
Pairing: Tristan/Arthur
Rating: NC-17, rape, domination/submission darkfic
Summary: Arthur takes advantage of Tristan's grief
Archive: Feel free and if you can do better with this idea, help yourself.
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own in any way, shape or form the characters, setting, original plot or anybody or anything else mentioned. I make no money off of this to pay my never-ending bills.
Beta credits: surreal_44

Shattered Ice 7

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"Tristan, Lancelot is being released by the medic today. I need you to return here after you have met with the young Knights upon the training field."

Tristan took a deep breath as he continued to flip his knife in his hand, not looking up at Arthur. Last night when they'd returned from their patrol to the nearest mile castle and back, Arthur had sent him away with a gruff 'Please yourself tonight - as you wish.' Arthur's face had gone very still as he then added 'With anyone you like, Tristan. The girl...would welcome you.' Arthur had walked quickly away and not looked back at Tristan's confusion. Was it a trick? Please yourself with the girl... and then tomorrow I'll punish you for that. In the end, it hadn't mattered. Tristan had pleased himself with a long soak in the bath house and then gone to bed early to sleep like the dead. Simple pleasure, but very satisfying.

This morning he'd joined Arthur as usual for the breakfast that Jols brought daily for the two of them (apples just for Tristan and fresh bread hot from the oven the way Tristan liked it). There were things about being Arthur's that weren't terrible. He'd been half expecting Arthur to demand to know what he'd done last night, but Arthur had merely absently poured the morning watered wine and set it down before him when he'd come in. Arthur was lost in the perusal of a map for most of their morning meal, barely lifting his head of black curls to focus on something to eat. Tristan had succumbed to concern and pressed a plate laden with bread and eggs into Arthur's hands. Arthur hungry was like a cornered badger and bit whatever came near.

"I wish there was a way to avoid this, Tristan, for your sake. But I have to punish both of you for the brawl. There is no way around it."

Tristan lifted his deep golden honey eyes up to meet the cold olive green of Arthur's scrutiny. He nodded softly. He had known that this day would come. Carefully, he shoved down the fluttering thought of what Arthur had planned. He would not ask. He would just endure it. He was Arthur's and what Arthur ordered Tristan would do.

Arthur stood up from the table with Tristan. At the door, he suddenly turned to Tristan and hugged him, pressing his mouth to Tristan's ear and muttering, "It's the only thing I could think of, Tristan, to end this stupid feud of Lancelot's. I wish I didn't have to do this. It's not fair to you. You would never have attacked him if he hadn't been attacking you all along."

Tristan stood immobile as Arthur released him. As Arthur's hand traced a path across his cheek down to his lips, thoughts raced through his head. Since he'd surrendered to Arthur, there had been less pain in their encounters. Arthur hurt him only as the result of being unable to hold back his passion completely. Only when desire overtook his control did Arthur grab too tightly, bite too hard, drive too deep into Tristan's depths. But until this moment Tristan hadn't realized that this was deliberate - that Arthur no longer wished to watch pain upon his face. He wondered if Arthur knew that himself.

Arthur lightly kissed Tristan's cheek and left the room after heaving a deep breath to steady himself. This day would be an evil thing. He didn't wish to hurt what was HIS in any way, but he had to. Even though the desire to care for HIS Knight gently was uppermost in his mind, down deep a beast stretched languorously - IT didn't mind hurting Tristan and looked forward to causing Lancelot anguish. No one touched what belonged to it. No one. Arthur swallowed heavily against the anticipation of watching Lancelot's eyes as he... God help him. He was going to have to spend hours in the chapel after this begging for forgiveness.

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Lancelot stood before Arthur's door and shook like a coward. He knew he'd been called to Arthur's quarters to be punished for his part in the brawl. Even though he'd only defended himself, Lancelot knew that Arthur was cognizant of the fact there was more to this fight than merely Tristan letting loose his anger. He shook with fear because he'd seen Tristan after Arthur had punished him for disobedience to his orders. He'd seen the dazed shattered look of Tristan as he'd stumbled away from Arthur's quarters. He'd seen the bloody clothes in the hands of the laundresses, he'd heard the tale of the bloody viper lying on the floor from Galahad's mouth. What even the stoic Tristan broke under, how could he endure it?

With a shaking hand, Lancelot knocked upon the door and entered upon Arthur's barked order to come in. The overly religious man had vanished in the days since Tristan had drawn blade upon Lancelot in the tavern and been replaced by a leader once again both decisive and newly ruthless. There was less mercy in him and more determination to make sure the battle was completely won. The hesitance and malingering had vanished in the face of a man energized and content. Arthur was once again a force of nature to be reckoned with, a force of nature without his usual kindness which seemed to have been swallowed up by the exigencies of command.

Standing still in the room, Lancelot shivered beneath Arthur's perusal. He still loved Arthur even if he was a bit, no...more than a bit afraid of him. He met Arthur's frosty eyed glare with his own fiery look. 'Arthur, can't you see how much I want you? How much I love you? How I would lay down and die for you if only you'd choose me to love?' Only the thought of the Iazyge under Arthur's hands kept the words from tripping off his tongue. He was too proud to beg for what Arthur had already given away.

Arthur gruffly ordered Lancelot to strip, watched the black cloth slither across a body honed to fine whipcord strength and then tied him to the wood support pillar. The exact same spot where he'd lost his mind over Tristan. Lancelot was in many ways more handsome than Tristan. His eyes flashed constantly with whatever emotion was uppermost in his mind and his face was sculpted like some artist's vision of male beauty. His skin was smoother with fewer scars and the muscles stood out in relief, trembling very slightly beneath Arthur's gaze.

Lancelot turned his face to the wall and tried to breathe evenly while he anticipated the punishment to come. The whips were laying upon the table, both the wide flat whip used to administer more gentle reminders and the more damaging viper with teeth of metal glinting in the morning light streaming through windows unshuttered to the morning warmth.

"It is only ten lashes for brawling with your fellow Knight, Lancelot. But we both know that I need to punish you for more than that, don't we?"

Lancelot shivered. All the things he'd done to Tristan over the last couple of months. What did Arthur know of them? Did he know how Lancelot had exposed Tristan to certain death more than once by rigging his weapons, his food supplies, and his tack? The wretched thief just wouldn't DIE! He kept returning to Arthur like some trained beast of burden. Tristan was Arthur's hunting dog... no, more than that... he was Arthur's hunting hawk. A wild thing tamed to Arthur's hand.

All during the ten lashes meant to bruise and instruct, Lancelot thought only of the punishment to come. The pain in his back now was nothing he couldn't live with. He'd gotten worse falling off his horse in his armour during battle. If Arthur had only meant to punish him for the brawl, Lancelot would have been dragged before his fellow Knights with Tristan and both of them lashed publicly. Lancelot screwed his eyes shut and saw Tristan walking out of Arthur's quarters down the hall with blank eyes and stumbling steps, a far cry from the arrogant Knight he'd been hours earlier. This was what Lancelot feared.

Lancelot saw Tristan as he'd been before Arthur had imprisoned him in his room - a thin twitchy man on the knife edge of starving. This was what Lancelot had to pay for, what he'd caused. Lancelot whimpered, knowing he'd do it again if he got the chance. Tristan didn't deserve to have Arthur, would never understand what it was that Lancelot suffered. He'd do it again and hope that this time Tristan wouldn't return to Arthur's call.

Arthur lay the whip down on his desk and eyed the rising welts on Lancelot's back. Pouring himself a glass of wine, he sat down at the desk and started reviewing grain supply reports engraved on hide tablets. The quartermaster had been quite emphatic that they were going to fall short this winter if Arthur didn't find a way to cut the demand or increase the supply. After fifteen minutes or so, Lancelot began moving restlessly. It was a less than comfortable position that Arthur had tied him in. Arthur ignored him resolutely as Lancelot twisted to watch him with imploring eyes.

"Arthur?"

Lancelot whispered the name half afraid to disturb the absorbed commander at his desk, but his arms were beginning to burn from the way he'd been tied. Arthur didn't look up at him, so Lancelot turned the best he could to watch the man he craved more than breathing. It would take some of the pain away, just being able to look at Arthur for a while.

The morning sun crowned the head of black curls with light. The planes of Arthur's face were strong and sharp, the nose slightly flattened from more than one injury in a fight. Lancelot smile recalling the last time Arthur had broken it. It had been a stupid accident during a battle. Arthur had swung at a Woad that ducked at the last minute and Excalibur had rebounded off the helm of a Roman soldier behind into Arthur's own nose. Thankfully the flat of the blade had hit both of them. The Roman soldier would have been no loss in Lancelot's eyes, but Arthur would have blamed himself forever for the useless death.

It was several hours later and Lancelot's arms burned from the awkward stretch. He shifted constantly from foot to foot trying to ease first one arm and then the other. A sharp cramp repeatedly stabbed into his left shoulderblade and Lancelot desperately rolled his shoulder as best he could trying to ease it. It only made the muscles in his neck ache sharply and a slow burn begin at the spot between his shoulders just above where flexing his shoulders would help. He took repeated gulps of air and stood tiptoe for a few seconds to lift himself up. Taking the extended stretch into a tighter one helped but only for a few seconds. He was long past being able to watch Arthur work. Now it was a fight against his own body's aches to keep from begging. He knew begging to be let go wouldn't help him. If anything, Lancelot suspected it would make things worse as Arthur would remember he was there and required more punishment.

Nearly time for the noon meal now and Arthur had been looking at the door with complete concentration regularly as if he expected someone. Lancelot's preoccupation with his aching muscles was interrupted by the squeal of Arthur's chair being pushed back from the table violently. His head jerked up to stare at Arthur in unhappy anticipation only to find Arthur completely ignoring him still. Arthur paced the floor and looked repeatedly at the door until he muttered, "Damn him, where IS he?!", and left.

Lancelot looked at the door with wide eyes as it slammed shut behind Arthur. Forgotten again. Arthur couldn't even be bothered to finish administering Lancelot's deserved discipline because of that scum. He groaned. Arthur had FORGOTTEN him and left him tied to the pillar. Gods and little demons... how long was he going to suffer these aching cramps? They were only going to get worse. Frustrated, he jerked half-heartedly at the ties over his head. Even if he could get loose, he didn't dare without permission anyway. Tristan ... it was always Tristan with Arthur. Aargh! Lancelot ground his teeth and growled. There had to be some way to get rid of him. Permanently.

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Gawain's face had been stony when he first came to get Galahad, but as he watched Tristan work with his friend his face softened to his usual sunny smile. Tristan was as patient with Galahad as he would have been with any skittish young animal. First the dour scout would show a move to the boy, then minutely explain it (from hand grip to foot stance, no detail too small to go unnoticed), and then he'd adjust the boy's position as they danced through the move slowly. Finally the two of them finished up with a free for all practice bout that left both of them sweating. Amazingly, Galahad was actually making Tristan work for his win. Tristan was a great teacher if he could get through the boy's impatience and temper to hone his fighting skills to this level.

Once Tristan and Galahad had finished up, Gawain had come forward and looked as if he might say something, but Galahad, all impetuous youth, had thrown his arms around Tristan in an impromptu hug. Both Gawain and Tristan had frozen, Gawain in fear for Galahad's safety from the volatile temper Tristan had displayed lately and Tristan in shock from the repulsion he suffered to any touch now as Galahad said, "Thank you, Tristan! Thank you!" The boy danced away towards Gawain to share his excitement over his newfound abilities with explosive chatter. Though Gawain clearly still wished to say SOMETHING, he allowed Galahad to urge him away to find their noon meal. "I'm starving after all that work, Gawain! Come ON!"

The mention of food woke Tristan from his trance. It was that late already? It was past time for him to go to Arthur's quarters. He cursed freely under his breath as he wiped down his sword and started for his quarters to put away his gear. Jols hadn't arrived to summon him yet, but maybe the man had been delayed by other duties. Tristan's nervousness over what was to come began to cause him to breathe faster and more nervously as he left the field, his heartbeat beginning to race even faster than the rapid beat the brief skirmish with Galahad had caused.

In his haste, Tristan completely missed the baleful spectator absorbed in rising jealous thoughts. Arthur stood to the side of the hayshed and repeatedly clenched his fists. He wanted to throttle the little snot-nosed brat for daring to touch Tristan! Tristan was HIS! Tristan belonged to Arthur. He'd vowed to be Arthur's, agreed to being Arthur's alone. How dare Tristan allow this? How dare Galahad TOUCH him?!

Arthur reined in his furious thoughts. Tristan had done nothing. He hadn't moved under Galahad's impulsive hug, hadn't moved for long moments afterward. Not a trace of a smile had flitted even briefly across the carved lips for the boy's brash adoration. Tristan was still HIS, would be his for as long as Arthur wanted it so. Tristan had given him the right to do as he wished with Tristan's body. Arthur fought to remember that and struggled to stop thinking he'd been betrayed. If anyone's trust had been destroyed here, it was Tristan's. Arthur was supposed to be the one protecting him from the Romans who'd forced them into the cage of this duty, not being the worst one of the lot.

Tristan washed quickly in his quarters. It was long long past time for him to be in Arthur's quarters for the punishment he'd earned by attacking Lancelot. He'd gotten too used to Jols fetching him for Arthur and too used to burying himself in mundane tasks to keep himself from thinking about Arthur. Lately there had been times that he'd liked being with Arthur as the thoughtful commander had turned to him and asked for his opinion on a battle plan or what to do about a supply situation. It was Arthur the commander who made his spine straighten and made his skin flush when Arthur said, "I agree with you." or "Good point." He enjoyed Arthur's tales in the evening and his abstracted company in the morning, and especially ... he adored the food on Arthur's table.

It was only when Arthur turned to him with flames weaving in his eyes and hands hot with wanton lust that Tristan wanted to run. He'd taken to running an endless litany in his head as Arthur TOUCHED him. 'Arthur, I hate this. You make my skin crawl and I want to vomit... Gods, that hurts when you do that... stop this, stop hurting me! Why do you want me? I don't understand. I don't understand how you can be so kind and still this... ' The internal litany would eventually become a scream of despair that now and then became an unvoiced scream of hatred and anger until after it was over. He'd lay beneath Arthur's arms and look at his owner, carefully considering all the ways he could kill him and which would be the most painful way to acquire his revenge.

Tristan sighed and dragged on a fresh blouse before putting his tunic on. He had no idea what Arthur planned but he was sure he wasn't going to like it. With resignation he opened the door to the hall and the embodiment of his thoughts. Arthur shifted off the wall and a smile crossed his face as he viewed Tristan. It wasn't the smile of the monster inside baring teeth as it contemplated possession of Tristan. It was just the smile of a man who was greeting a friend. It was this gentleness of Arthur's that Tristan was beginning to fear more than the other. Because he wanted this part of Arthur.

After the first brief burst of happiness at seeing Tristan, Arthur's stomach knotted. He was hurting this beautiful creature every time he tried to possess him, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from doing so... especially now that Tristan had said he could. Arthur thought wryly that Tristan had demanded he do so in his own way. Remembering Tristan's words 'there is only one choice here for me. Kill you and let the Woads devour everything, or ...this' and he hung his head. This. Surrender to a rapist. Himself. Was this a temptation sent by the devil? If so, Arthur had failed miserably to walk God's path. In this, he was not only a sinner but a pagan soul.

As they left the dark barracks block into the blinding sunlight of the courts, Arthur looked askance at Tristan and viewed him with alarm. Tristan looked as if he was about to vomit. Arthur stopped Tristan with a hand on his arm. "We don't have to go there yet, Tristan." He patted the slightly trembling shoulder with a firm hand. "Come. Let's go have a look at the new foal in the stables. Jols has been with Lamorak and his mare all the night. She birthed a new son this morning."

Steadily, Arthur guided Tristan off to the stables with a hand in the middle of His Knight's back. Determined to settle Tristan thoroughly before taking him to his quarters, Arthur decided there and then to tell Tristan what he planned to do. Letting the man wonder was only making him sick with anticipation.

Tristan and Jols fell into easy silence viewing the young horse as he staggered ungracefully around the foaling stall while his mother dozed wearily. Arthur stood back and tried not to remind Tristan that he was there, basking in the sight of Tristan looking at the gangly infant with joy. The look in Tristan's eyes was bright laughter and forcefully reminded Arthur of another day when he'd stood here watching Tristan and Percival hover over Tristan's mare giving birth. Tristan's face had been the usual blank, but his eyes danced with light.

Galahad had been here too. Arthur remembered the boy had run on and on with questions over horse care until the excitement over watching his first birth had overwhelmed him and he'd had to dash out of the stable to be violently ill. Arthur had laughed at the boy when he'd promptly run back in and started pestering Tristan once more with questions. How much raspberry leaf to feed the mare how long before birth to help? Would she still need it afterward?

Tristan had laughed out loud at the boy, dunked a rag in a waiting water bucket and drenched the boy's face clean before answering. The boy, Galahad, had made Tristan laugh out loud. A slow discomfort slewed around in Arthur's chest. Galahad. Resolutely, Arthur pushed the thought away and concentrated on watching Tristan's tense body relax while admiring the inquisitive and fearless young foal.

Tristan turned to Arthur without thought of anything and said, "Lamorak will have his hands full with that one come time to teach him the saddle." On meeting Arthur's admiring gaze and it wasn't for the foal, Tristan dropped his head to look at the floor. For a minute he'd forgotten Arthur was anything to him besides a comrade in arms. How he hated the other in Arthur.

Gritting his teeth against a howl, Tristan stalked past Arthur down the long row of stalls. Most of the horses of the Knights in residence were out in the fields except ones being watched by the stable master for injury, illness, or awaiting a new birth. HE wanted to be out in the fields. Little demons, he wanted to be out of residence. He wanted to be FREE of this fortress, free of Arthur.

Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm. Gesturing to an empty stall, Arthur ordered him silently with a nod to the dark space, ordered him with a hard look in his eyes to obey. Tristan viewed the dark stall and knew only Jols was in earshot. He knew what Arthur wanted. A deep breath and he let dreams of freedom go as he submitted to Arthur's unvoiced demand. He entered the stall and stood still, awaiting Arthur's hot fingers in search of his skin.

What he got was Arthur's mild voice, the one he used to explain battle plans. Tristan twisted around to hear better. What he heard, though not to his liking, would work to break Lancelot of his obsession with him. Maybe. Tristan shuddered. He still didn't want to do it.

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Lancelot's wrists burned. He'd been hanging here for so long that his body cramped violently with muscle spasm after muscle spasm. Each time he tried to ease an ache, he brought on another in some other part of his body. The pain filled his eyes with unshed tears that he blinked back. Damn Arthur for forgetting him in favour of the Iazyge dog. Arthur could go to his Hell without one regret from Lancelot. He'd ... the door opened and Arthur entered, telling someone behind him that Galahad had improved under his tutelage. Arthur's crop of curls riveted Lancelot's attention. The one flipped down and stuck to the sweat on Arthur's temple. Someone needed to pry it loose and smooth it back.

Lancelot snarled as the glitter of Tristan's challenging eyes met his. The braids of the scout twitched as he jerked his eyes back to Arthur's. Probably didn't dare to meet Lancelot's accusing face. The scout had somehow enspelled Arthur. Lancelot tugged at the leather restraining his wrists again. When he got free of this... as soon as Arthur wasn't watching...

Arthur must have sensed his movement because he stopped talking to Tristan and glared at Lancelot. His face suddenly softened before Lancelot's eyes and Arthur strode over to him quickly, plucking a knife out of his belt.

"Lancelot, I didn't mean ..." Arthur admitted that he'd forgotten Lancelot entirely in those few syllables. He cut the leather binding Lancelot to the pole and the straps restraining the wrists that had now sawn into the skin leaving red bracelets of blood behind. Arthur sucked in his breath as the leather fell away and the blood welled to the surface. He turned to the table and Tristan pressed a cloth into his hands, cutting his search short. Arthur pressed the cloth to Lancelot's wrists. "Here, sit here at my desk. The blood will clot soon." He ruffled Lancelot's curly hair with a casual brush of his hand and turned away to Tristan. "Your turn now, Tristan. Up on the pole with you."

Tristan had already stripped off tunic, blouse and... boots? Clad only in his breeches, the leggings sagging dangerously down his still too thin hipbones and threatening to slide off, Tristan heaved a resolute sigh and walked over to the pole. Arthur bound him into place and managed to press his entire body up against Tristan's in the process. Lancelot rose to leave. He didn't need to see this punishment and he'd already been flogged himself.

Arthur's voice cracked with sudden frostbite, "Sit down. You will stay here until I tell you to go, Lancelot. OR it will be the punishment for disobeying orders for you."

Lancelot sat abruptly. So far he'd been spared the viper's bite and he had no wish to encourage Arthur to use the vicious tool on him. Once again, the vision of a broken Tristan entered his head. No, he had no wish to be the next for that.

Arthur checked the binding on Tristan's wrists to make sure it was loose. Snuffling Tristan's hair, he whispered into the oh-so-sensitive ear, "Ready for this?" Tristan nodded and Arthur slid his hands down Tristan's arms and kneaded the tight muscles at the base of Tristan's neck. Regretfully, Arthur stepped back to his desk and glared at Lancelot while he picked up the wide lash. If not for Lancelot's bad behavior he wouldn't have to be doing this again.

Arthur hastened through the whipping, counting quickly and trying to make each blow land as lightly as he could. When it was over, he flung the thing back onto the desk and strode over to cut Tristan free almost frantically. He mumbled apologies into Tristan's hair as his fingers traced the air above the welts, checking for any deeper cuts. After he was sure none of them chewed into the skin Arthur rested his head against Tristan's neck in relief. It was a natural thing for him to taste the skin there, to trace a sticky path with his tongue over Tristan's shoulder, to turn Tristan toward him and kiss the lips that so pleasantly yielded to him now. He could almost forget for a moment that Tristan hated this.

With hands that wanted to TOUCH more than anything the body carved of hard work and the beauty of nature Arthur worshiped Tristan ...pressing kisses to cheekbones and forehead, stroking little paths of barely feathering fingertip brushes through the hair on Tristan's chest to push thumbs lightly across the darker skin of his nipples before pinching hard at the skin beneath them.

Lancelot's mouth dropped open as Tristan tilted his head back and closed his eyes to Arthur's survey of his body. This ... this Arthur was what he'd dreamed of. One that wanted, that sought out what Arthur wanted. Lancelot moaned unhappily as he watched his own fantasy take place on another's body. Once again he rose to leave only to have Arthur lift his head and snarl, "SIT DOWN."

It was then Lancelot understood. This was to be the rest of his punishment. He would have to watch Arthur make love with Tristan. Bitterly he closed his eyes, ... no, he wouldn't watch.

In mere seconds, Arthur was at Lancelot's side and pulling his hands away from his head. "No, you don't get out of this as easily as that, Lancelot." Arthur took up another length of leather strip and gently wove Lancelot's wrists together. Yanking his second to his feet, he pushed him over to the bed and bound his hands to the frame.

Lancelot stared at Arthur in horror. He HAD to watch Arthur with that Iazyge dog? Guessing it was his punishment and knowing it was two different things. How Arthur must hate him.

An unrepentant Lancelot watched Arthur retrace his steps to Tristan who was rolling his shoulders a bit trying to work kinks out of his neck. As Arthur got closer to the scout, Tristan seemed to compact. Although Tristan was every inch as tall and his shoulders just as wide as Arthur's, when Arthur had closed the gap between them ... Tristan seemed slighter, frailer and less commanding of attention.

By the time Arthur dropped a heavy hand on Tristan's shoulder, Tristan's head was bowed and his eyes half-closed as Arthur leaned towards him. The Iazyge moved further into Arthur's grasp as Arthur's hand slid to the back of his neck to pull him close enough to whisper hard in the scout's ear. Arthur's free hand fiddled with Tristan's hair and caressed small paths of sensation across a temple obviously upset and tense.

Lancelot was forcibly reminded of the early days of his posting with Arthur... back when he'd been all arms, legs and a face full of spots. Not yet the Knight both women and men would seek to bed, would seek to capture as a trophy, Lancelot had been grateful to the young commander who understood post battle drives to PROVE oneself alive. Arthur had cozened many women to bed the 'barbarians' after every hard fought battle.

How many times had Lancelot seen this very picture of Arthur as some woman listened intently to his blandishments? How many times had Lancelot watched as their minds succumbed to the spell of his words even as the Roman's hands had soothed away any fears or nervousness from their bodies with comforting touch? But NOW it was Tristan that Arthur coaxed. It was Tristan that Arthur's hand caressed, fingers trailing gently across sharp cheekbones and a thumb tracing the high relief of Tristan's mouth.

Teeth ground together until they caught a misplaced tongue and Lancelot did not breathe through the pain. He did not breathe as the slightest nod of agreement from the reluctant Tristan resulted in a broadly happy grin that catapulted Arthur's face right back to mischievous teenage hormones. He did not breathe as Tristan reached up and pulled Arthur's head down to kiss him. He did not breathe as Tristan turned to look at him with such bitter anger that his eyes seemed to snap with inner golden fire. It was only when Arthur's firm hand gripped Tristan's arm and pulled the yet unwilling Iazyge after him towards the bed that Lancelot started to gulp air. Arthur was really going to do this.

Next to the bed, not five feet away from Lancelot, close enough to him that if he wanted to Lancelot could kick Tristan in the shins yet again, Arthur stopped to caress Tristan's body with long sweeps of his broad hands over the man's wiry muscles. Whenever he reached the area of a bruise, Arthur lifted the pressure of his hands to the barest of fingertip touches as he skimmed over where Tristan was injured. In the days since Tristan had attacked Lancelot he'd been free of further torment and many of the damaged muscles had faded from the deep blueblack to riotous greenyellow. Arthur glared at Lancelot regularly as his fingers traced over Tristan who had closed his eyes and stood trembling.

Lancelot licked his lips as he imagined Arthur's broad hands tracing swirls down his own chest and across his flat belly to the nest of curls there even as Arthur did the same to Tristan, sliding his heavy hand beneath the precariously balanced breeches Tristan still wore. Lancelot ground his teeth some more against the rising tide of yearning to BE Tristan.

Arthur withdrew his hand and plucked quickly at the fabric encasing Tristan's narrow hips. Without the slightest sound, they dropped to the floor as Arthur nuzzled the unmoving Tristan's ear. The deeper Arthur's tongue, hot and wet and hard, stroked the spot just behind the ear and inserted itself into the hollow inside Tristan's ear, the harder Tristan's cock got and the more he started whimpering and trying to pull away from an Arthur who banded his arms around Tristan tightly and refused to let him escape the nearly painful summoning of Tristan's own physical yearning.

Arthur carefully kept his hands around Tristan's chest. The minute he moved to take that steely length into his hands, it would vanish. Tristan reacted this way every time to the invasion of his ear, but the minute he thought Arthur would ravish other parts of his body... disgust would deflate the awakening hard-on.

When he was satisfied that Lancelot had thoroughly taken in Tristan's condition, Arthur let go of His Knight. The wide dark eyes watching were pained. Slowly Arthur stripped off his own clothes and threw them on the desk. Watching the bound Lancelot, Arthur made sure to run his hands over his skin as he removed item after item. Lancelot's lips parted and his breath quickened as Arthur's body was revealed. A small mewling noise eluded the teeth that clamped together in Lancelot's mouth and Arthur smiled at the rising tide of lust. A pity that Tristan didn't react this way to him. It might be fun for a change.

Arthur's feral side bared claws and scratched at the floor in his mind. But Tristan was so wonderful when his face was desperately denying what was happening to him when Arthur was sinking himself deep into heated depths. Tristan trembling with fear, with hate, with disgust as Arthur mastered him, forced him to acknowledge that Arthur was inside him, to acknowledge that Arthur was taking him... this was perfection. Arthur shook as he turned to look at His Knight. Today... today he would make Tristan do more than accept his touches, more than yield to his invasion.

Today was the day Tristan would serve.

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and looked expectantly at His Knight as he spread his heavy thighs to reveal a cock thick and wide and fully engorged. He sighed happily as Tristan approached and sank to his knees. Arthur would have liked to see the look in Tristan's eyes as he capitulated to Arthur's orders, but the tongue that reached out and touched the tip of his cock was enough. When Tristan's mouth closed on him and he entered the hot slick wetness of Tristan's ceding of this last barrier, Arthur felt the seductive satisfaction of complete domination. Tristan was HIS. No longer would Tristan just endure Arthur's touches. After today, Tristan would participate in his own rape.

Arthur grinned exultantly as Tristan's hands touched hesitantly. The calloused fingertips stroked Arthur's hipbones even as His Knight's mouth suckled at the heavy cock in his mouth. Arthur reached down and pulled the hair out of Tristan's face and held it gently as the once proud scout's head bobbed up and down in the rhythmic slide of sex. Tristan's eyes were closed and Arthur knew that somewhere in the man's head, he was either screaming to himself or denying that he was indeed doing this. The pleasure was almost too heightened as Arthur watched, fascinated with the idea of MAKING Tristan service him.

Deploring the fact that he had to make Tristan stop and therefore ruining the moment of surrender, Arthur pulled Tristan's mouth back by the expedient use of his fist in Tristan's hair. Once he'd detached Tristan, he yanked the lanky body up on the bed beside him and made Tristan lay back to expose his ass before leaving the bed himself in search of oil. Arthur flicked a glance over to Lancelot and the horror on the dark Sarmatian's face amused him. How he loved this, making the two of them suffer in different ways at the same time. Giving himself over to the pleasurable feeling, he let his beast relish the pain, the discomfort he was causing. In time he'd hate himself for this, but right now Arthur exulted.

Tristan scowled as he looked over at the man this scene was meant to discourage. If not for this bastard's stupid jealousy, Tristan would never have touched Arthur back. He would have just allowed Arthur's attacks on him to go unchallenged. Glowering as he lay back awaiting the next one, he let himself smile just a bit at Lancelot's torment. Ah, the throes of jealousy bit with a million tiny mouths of hellborne fiends. He hoped Lancelot suffered. He KNEW Lancelot writhed in misery as the proud Knight watched them, watched as Tristan received what he wished for. If Tristan could have spit on him just now, he would have done so with zest.

Arthur returned with the oil and spent some time leisurely slicking the puckered entrance. Tristan closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he felt Arthur's hands pry into the tight muscles. Deep breath and let it go... let it all go... don't think about what comes next. Deep breath and this doesn't matter... it doesn't matter at all that Arthur takes what is not his to have. Deep breath and muffle the screaming voice with an internal 'shhhhh, now... shhhhh'. Just let it happen, let Arthur have what he wants. Remember what you're doing this for... what am I doing this for?... deep breath and try not to tense as the fingers become cock pushing pushing tearing him open filling him so full that he can feel Arthur's cock in his belly.

Deep breath and don't scream as Arthur pulls back don't scream because you know he's going to ram himself back down deep ...wait for it and take a deep breath as the pain becomes unbearable, the humiliation sucks your soul into agonized anguish. Take a deep breath and let it happen over and over and over until it is finally .... done. Feel Arthur's fingers brush your face and open your eyes full of wet hate and see that Arthur has returned to himself with guilt and horror eating at him over what he likes to do to you.

Tristan sucked air and felt Arthur withdraw from him. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched Arthur's face fill with penitence as he backed off the bed. Any minute now Arthur would drop to his knees to beg God to help him deal with his devils. It will spoil the careful image the two of them had built for Lancelot. That Tristan was Arthur's willing lover and that Arthur needed him whole and well.

Tristan rolled off the bed and into Arthur's arms. Turning his mouth to Arthur's ear, he whispered, "I chose this, remember? I am yours by CHOICE. You own me because I want to be here, because I want you to be who you are. You need me. That is the truth and I accept it. Arthur,.... don't feel guilty over this. I couldn't bear it if you became weak again. My commander, my leader. Remain strong for me, Arthur. You are mine as much as I am yours. Arthur..."

Tristan's voice trailed off as he couldn't find any more words to express how much he'd bound himself to Arthur and in doing so, bound Arthur to himself which he'd only just realized. His Arthur. He considered what would have happened if he'd simply let Arthur disintegrate under the weight of temptation and guilt. They'd all be dead by now. The Woads would have defeated them long since. His Arthur was strong, a commander worth following. His.

Tristan curled into Arthur's chest and sighed. Maybe he didn't love this man, but he needed Arthur. If only to point him in the direction of killing Woads. His Arthur. Tristan admitted it as the tiny voice in his head started babbling with the insanity of it. He wondered how long it would take him to get used to this possessiveness of his own towards Arthur.

Lancelot watched Tristan whisper lovingly to Arthur and watched Arthur's tender hug as Tristan curled into him. The soft soppy look in Arthur's olive eyes ripped straight through Lancelot's gut. He winced as Arthur dropped a small kiss on top of Tristan's head. Arthur loved Tristan.

Lancelot blinked back hot tears as every yearning he'd ever had for Arthur was dashed into the abyss of despair. He would NEVER be Arthur's. Arthur loved Tristan. Arthur dressed Tristan tenderly with many small fingerings and soft kisses. He walked Tristan to the door and shooed him out it with a barked order to "Go do what you want for a while. I'll send Jols when I need you."

Lancelot shivered as the still naked Arthur returned to where he was yet imprisoned. How striking Arthur is. The powerful muscles rippled with every stride and Arthur's eyes glowed hotly as he plucked a knife off his desk. Lancelot felt the impact of his frustration as Arthur approached. Arthur was Tristan's. Lancelot could never have what Tristan had.

"Tristan is mine. He belongs to me and you WILL NOT touch him. Touch him again and I will personally cut your hands off and cast you out of this fortress to the Woads."

Arthur straddled Lancelot's tied body and ground his crotch against the Knight. His cock hardened as Lancelot's mouth parted and the Knight tried to lean into Arthur. Incredibly (because Arthur had never before felt any desire to get to know Lancelot any better even with all the obvious teasing being thrown in his direction) Arthur found himself getting hungry again.

Lancelot looked so woebegone and miserable as he teased the poor sod. Arthur had no intention of letting Lancelot touch him and the fact that he KNEW the hurt Lancelot felt at his rejection of Lancelot's overtures was turning him on. He cut Lancelot free and pulled him off the bed by the hair.

"I hold you responsible for the others. ANY other Knight touches Tristan and I will see to it that YOU pay for it, Lancelot." Arthur pulled Lancelot across the room and flung the door open. He stopped and looked Lancelot in the eye, his eyes full of lightning and fire. "Much as I need you, much as I respect you and care for you as my second... Tristan is part of me now. Hurt him and you hurt me. More than that. Lancelot, you hurt Tristan again in any way and I will make you SUFFER."

Lancelot looked upon his beloved Arthur's face and his heart stopped as he saw the pain. Everything he'd done to Tristan, Arthur had felt it when he'd realized what Lancelot had done. All the damage he'd done to Tristan, he'd done to the friendship Lancelot had once had with Arthur. His eyes filled with tears as he contemplated the agony Arthur must have felt when looking at Tristan's injuries done in the name of love of Arthur.

"I... I am sorry, Arthur. I didn't KNOW." Lancelot hung his head. He would never have hurt Arthur for anything. He hated how much he wanted Arthur to love him. He hated himself for loving what he could never have. "I didn't know you and Tristan were... like that."

Blindly Lancelot walked out the door and into the darker hallway. His face was a vision of wretched misery as he wandered out into the courts and through the lanes to the gate. Unseeing, he passed many others in his unguided steps and they looked frightened as they saw his face. It wasn't until he'd walked the entire way to Badon Hill and collapsed on the latest grave that he let himself cry. It wasn't a thing he'd let anyone else see. How womanly of him to be wailing over the one he loved. Arthur, how can you not see me? He cried until his nose ran snot and his eyes ran scratchy dry and his stomach propelled messy contents over the grave.

Lancelot lay curled there on the grave dying of heartbreak until night fell when he heard heavy footsteps walk up to him. A heavy hand caressed his back and pulled him to a sitting position. Lancelot blinked his unfocused eyes back into working order as he realized Arthur was holding him close. He snuffled as he dug his head into Arthur's shoulder.

"You are not Tristan, but I... " Arthur smoothed Lancelot's wild curls down. He wanted to say 'I don't like hurting you this way' but it would be a lie. He did. Lancelot's crushed demeanour pleased him. Giving up on words, he just held the fragile Lancelot and murmured all the things he liked about Lancelot. There was more than he'd realized as he recounted all the things he admired in the prickly warrior. A beast inside him took to pacing as it considered ... and considered. The night was dark and it wanted to hunt, but Arthur pushed it back into the cage and concentrated on comforting Lancelot. He had Tristan, who was everything to Arthur. What need did he have for more?

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PeeK and Surreal
TBC...