After Waking We Would Shake the Night

Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing but the OFC who is nameless, and the plot. The Mads Muse demanded it so.

Enjoy

****

After waking we would shake the night. Here, under the stars and the blanket of midnight, Tristan would take me as his lover like the child of nature that he was – recklessly, wildly, without inhibition. Where he would not say a word among his fellow knights, in the cover of darkness he would whisper hotly in my ear of the things he wanted to do – the things he would do to me. His hands were rough and calloused and when he became frustrated with too many ribbons and ties, he would tear through fabric, not caring if he ruined something pretty.

You are all I care to see, he would tell me in that low, dangerous voice. He would strip me bare as I lay on the ground, and when the moonlight landed on my skin his eyes became heated but distant, like he wasn’t all there, like there was something else lurking beneath the calm exterior he showcased. He kissed me like he was taking his first sips of a long sought after drink – slowly, with practiced skill and a clever tongue, savoring taste and smell and the small whimper in my throat. I could feel his touch all the way to my toes, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips and leaving bruises as he pulled my thighs around him. He often stayed clothed until I begged him, reasserting his position. Tristan was a lone wolf, the alpha male in his own regard, and where he practiced precision and control in his daily life, at night he took what he wanted, sometimes without asking, and didn’t care for the lame protests that passed my lips.

He knew I wanted it as well.

I would fight him, batter him with balled fists and he would chuckle in a nefarious tone and catch my hands and kiss the knuckles gently, reverently, and the scrape of his beard against my skin made my senses soar. He loved to touch as much as I did; in truth, when I look back on it I guess it was because Tristan had been so long without direct contact with another person. Where his brothers in arms hugged and slapped each other’s backs and butted heads and clasped forearms, Tristan was content to nod his acceptance and take comfort in the weight of his hawk on his arm and the feel of the wind in his hair.

He would press his nose into the soft spot behind my ear, inhaling only the scent of my skin and the way it mingled with that of grass and rich soil. He did not care for the perfumed oils that Rome had sent this way with their ladies and so I never bothered. Then slowly he would drag his teeth down my jaw, perhaps pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth and murmuring requests that made me blush embarrassedly and moan like a whore at the same time. One hand would leave my hip and he would move just enough to cup the juncture of my thighs, running strong, sure fingers along slippery flesh to slip two digits deep inside the places that made me shudder and sigh and fall prey to him.

Tristan played me like a bard might a lyre and it is true what they say about archers – they have strong fingers. Rising above me, my scout would watch me with his feral eyes, flicking them across my features, down my throat to my breasts which heaved with each breath I took. If inclined, he would tilt his head and capture one nipple in his mouth, sometimes kissing softly and sweetly, letting his tongue roll lazy spirals around it. Other times, and these are the times I liked best, he would pull with his teeth, nipping sharply while his fingers plucked the other peak, making me arch into his chest, making my thighs shake, making my voice catch and my hands clench and my belly tingle and liquid heat to pool where his other hand still moved.

This is how I love you best, he hissed one night as he pushed his fingers deeper and ground the heel of his hand against the bone there. On you back under the watch of night…I love you best beneath me, waiting for me to come to you…will you wait for me, always?

Oh yes, I would pant, yes, yes, and a thousand times more, yes. Tristan, my love; my lover, my wanderer, my silent heart, my scout, you have sought me out and made me yours by witness of moon and earth and the creatures that lurk at night. My belly would clench and a glimmer of a smile would pass his lips as he felt me spasm around his fingers. My hands would clutch at his forearm, rake into his hair, nails would bite at his neck, tug at his cuirass or his tunic and I would splay my legs wide, trying to take more, to let him consume me wholly.

I’ll howl at the moon from between your thighs. He said that one night as he crouched between my legs and then he lowered his head and gave me the sweetest kiss on hot, damp flesh and I cried out, my voice echoing off of trees and I gasped at the sound as it came back to me. It did not sound like me…not human, but some other being that was between human and beast and I panted and keened…begged him to finish it…my eyes squeezed shut and I held my breath.

The memory of that night spurred me on and above me, Tristan smiled again. What were you thinking of, my love? He would ask as he slowed his fingers and finally withdrew, leaving me wound too tight and teetering on a precipice.

You, I would gasp harshly. My hands would tear at his clothes and together we would manage to loose most of his armor. Sometimes his tunic would fly off, other times we looked past it, searching out the laces of his breeches and pulling them open immediately. He would groan as he pressed against my belly, hard, hot, and aching. Sometimes he would take my hand and place it around his shaft, sometimes he would let me do it on my own, and still sometimes he would not let me touch him. Those times he would growl and words would be guttural and to the point and he would mount without ceremony, pushing in and swallowing my surprise with his lips and tongue.

I didn’t mind at all. Those times were most precious because when he took me for himself, he would not ask permission as every other person did every other day: Lady, will you wear the blue gown tonight? Lady will you have tea this afternoon? Lady do you fancy a walk through the market before dinner?

Never once would Tristan ask Lady, do you fancy a fuck beneath a tree tonight? He would never ask because he didn’t have to. I would do anything for Tristan. I would ask him Tristan, my love, my scout, how do you want me? Under you so you can have me at your will? Shall I sit astride so that you can lay back and watch? Or, on nights when he felt particularly wild and I felt the draw of him like the current of the sea, I would ask him Tristan, my love, my scout, my hunter, am I to be your prey? Shall you take me like the lone wolf you are and I your bitch in heat? For it made him pant and groan wildly when I spoke without thinking and if he felt inclined and this was what he wanted, he would turn me to all fours, the grass and leaves crushed by my hands and knees, and he would catch my shoulder between his teeth and take my from behind, pushing in and setting a furious pace.

I love you best beneath me…and so he loved me best with me on my back, his hands wresting his tunic from his torso while my hands yanked open his breeches. He wriggled out of them enough to free his erection and he slid his palms up the insides of my thighs, splaying me wide to his vision and his cock, and he angled his hips forward, slowly pushing himself just inside of me. My head spun with the delicious sensation of being stretched around him. While Tristan wasn’t my first, I vowed he would be my last. When he came to me, I was not all that experienced and he took from me whatever innocence I had left and replaced it with a reckless passion and a burning fire that only he could contain, only he could stoke and then extinguish to a slow smolder and glowing coals until he came to fan the flames once more. Only Tristan could touch me like this and get away with it. Only Tristan could touch me like this and make me want it.

Slowly, teasingly, he would pull his hips back, leaving me empty and I would moan in protest. Without warning, he would be back, sliding in deeper, pulling my hips up from the ground and pressing his pelvis against mine, sliding down so that my breasts were crushed against his wide chest. Belly to belly, that was what I liked, the tingling made that much sweeter by the feel of his smooth, hard flesh and the dark whorl of hair that started below his navel and went on. His mouth would crash against mine once more, this time rougher, and teeth would sink into lips and tongues would soothe and Tristan would grunt into my mouth as he rolled his hips, bucking hard and making me meet him thrust for thrust.

His hands grappled my hips and with a well executed move, he turned, rolling me out from under him until I was in his lap, his knees bent up behind my back and my legs hooked at the base of his spine.

I gasped in awe. This way, in this new seat that I had never taken quite like this, I saw how the moonlight touched Tristan’s face and made it seem otherworldly. Silver light kissed his wide cheekbones and shone in the platinum patch of his beard below his delectable bottom lip. From beneath his damp, curling hair and the braids woven into the dark tresses, his eyes were dark and glinted green like ivy. With his lips gently parted and his breath panting, I saw the creature that lurked beneath Tristan’s surface. His hands kept me moving on his length and I was not idle, sliding my hands along his shoulders to cup his neck and then his face, brushing his hair back so that I might see him closer still. I felt the slightly raised lines of his tattoos on the points of his cheekbones and I leaned forward, pressing my lips to each one in turn. He stiffened and buried his face in my neck, a great tremor suddenly wracking his body. Beneath me he groaned and I strained my ears, for I thought I even heard him whimper.

Then, in the barest of whispers, I heard his voice. Please, he said softly. Please. Nothing more. Just ‘please’. His plea encompassed so much – his desire to have me always, his need for me to never leave, his want for this night to never end and yet at the same time he begged me to take him over the edge. His fingers dug into my hips and he bucked upwards, pulling me down at the same time, and a cry left both our lips and I stared wide-eyed at him.

I felt a surge of something soar through me then. I couldn’t get enough. I needed to feel more of him and so I tugged him forward so that he fell to his knees, only to sit back on his heels and pull me into his lap. Now I could move freely, feel his entire length slide and make my toes curl. His hands scrabbled up my back and clutched my shoulders as my fingers grabbed the hair at the back of his neck and wrenched him roughly. Finally I could taste it. I knew what the outdoors did to Tristan, knew now how it could consume and make you wild. He shivered beneath me and even though his head was tight in my grasp, he nodded stiffly, his eyes telling me yes, this is what I feel with you…this is what we are together.

I felt the wind being knocked out of me, like being thrown from a horse, but with much better results. I wanted to crawl into Tristan, to curl around his elusive heart and keep him warm. This is what we are together…he groaned my name and shook free of my hold, and my hands found his shoulders and slid across the sweat-slicked skin as the pads of my fingers read the threads and ribbons of scars that told the tales of his life. I felt his palms slide down by spine and clutch at my buttocks, moving me at a pace he preferred and his mouth reached up and he pressed his tongue against mine. He tasted like winter, like the way snow tastes when it melts in your mouth, and I smelled the wood smoke in his hair. We parted, his eyes dazed with lust, and then suddenly I felt my body heaved backwards to the forest floor, and he was still to the hilt inside of me. Tristan could reach the farthest depths of me but I was greedy and I wanted more. I cried out beneath him and almost sobbed at the sensations coursing through my body. I trembled. I could just die happily here beneath my scout, my lover, my hunter Tristan.

Only me, he grunted, hands palming my knees and pulling them to hug his ribs. Tell me it will only be me forever. My eyes squeezed shut at his words, feeling my emotions burst in my heart. Only you, I gasped as he drove hard and deep. Tell me that Lancelot looks at you like that only because he cannot have you. I nodded and keened. Never Lancelot. Never Gawain or Arthur, never Galahad or even Dag. And never…never Lancelot. Only you, Tristan. Always. And his hips kept their pounding rhythm, his hands splayed wide on my hips, pulling me to him, bucking and I felt him shudder again. Say it again, he panted. Only you, Tristan. He grinned and hooked his elbows beneath my knees. I screamed as he pushed deeper. Again, he hissed. Oh, gods and goddesses, only you Tristan! I screamed.

I felt the bruises forming on the backs of my thighs where his hipbones snapped against me and I smiled triumphantly, knowing that those marks would be there for a good week, reminding me of this night – of this knight – every time I sat down, every time I rode my horse, every time I saw myself reflected in the polished brass mirror that hung in my chambers.

Tristan moved to balance on one arm and he slid his other hand down to where our bodies met, slicking his fingertips across the swollen nub of flesh and sending waves of hot and cold pleasure right down to the soles of my feet. Breath, I heard Tristan mumble. I stared up at him for a moment, unsure of what he had said, and he smiled down at me, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Breath, he said again and I gasped, not realizing I was holding my breath. Air left my lungs in a shuddering sigh and as I took another breath, I felt the pleasure begin to bloom in my chest and float through my limbs. Instinctively I tightened around Tristan’s length and he hissed and moved his fingers faster.

His finish was intense, deep and resonating, and I felt his groan vibrating against my chest as it rattled his bones. Panting hotly at my ear, Tristan shuddered and his body tensed, and I felt him let go, hot and pulsing and I bucked up against him at the sensational feeling it gave me. When Tristan came to a crashing finish, I knew that I knew him best. His fellow knights, his captain, his brothers – none of them got this close. Tristan would come undone, shivering and falling bonelessly into my arms and the cradle of my thighs to mumble endearments softly against my throat. His hands would stroke my body, slide along the sweat soaked limbs that still trembled delightfully. In his eyes, when he looked down at me, the swirling green depths would sparkle and I could see a glimmer of happiness. It was fleeting, but I knew it was there. It would then sail away until he let it show again, until he was in my arms, his fingers curling the damp tendrils of my hair behind my ears.

-fin-