Teasing Lancelot

Title: Teasing Lancelot
Author: pharaohs_kitty at yahoo.com
Genre: Slash PWP
Pairing: Relationship, what's a relationship? Nuh-uh, none of those here.
Rating: Starts at NC17 and goes up. In other words, ADULTS ONLY PLEASE
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't make any money off it, and I put them back when I'm done playing with them. I do not own the characters, setting or anyone or anything else mentioned.
Author's Note: Contains consent issues, as in almost-but-not-quite-rape
Summary: Lancelot is arrogant. It irks Galahad. Sex ensues.

It was hot. The slow scorch of a summer heat that could easily drive a man blithering mad. The Sarmatians were in good spirits. Ever since they'd arrived in Britain some seven years ago, they'd only experienced the endless rain and mists, the mind numbing slog of wet winters and the dullness of summers that came with regular thunderstorms and overcast skies. They'd all believed the place was little other than a grey limbo interspersed with the occasional surprise of weak sunshine.

But now it was hot - the dry hot that blew across the summer plains where they'd come from. The Sarmatians had eagerly shucked their heavy clothing for hose and light tunics or vests over bare chests beneath. They'd even eagerly shucked everything altogether to wrestle in the barren dust until they were delightfully sweaty and finally, finally warm enough to feel the heat inside their bones.

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Lancelot swept his horse to a stop beside a water trough and eyed the Romans who stuck to the shade of the buildings scornfully. Arrogantly he posed, 'see, the heat doesn't bother ME!', without even being aware that he did so.

The Romans were either too soft or too acclimated. They'd spent too many years, even generations, here where the cold sucked the life out of a man. The heat laid them low as it laid the people of this land low. Everywhere, the Britons hid in the shade of trees and stayed in their homes in the cooler darkness. Tristan had come in only that morning and announced that the rebels, the Woads as they derogatorily referred to the ragtag bands of fighters, were also prostrated by the heat.

As Lancelot bounded off his horse and handed the reins over to one of the boys from the stable to walk it out, someone noticed his posturing and started giggling. Lancelot definitely needed to be brought down a peg or two. The giggle broke with a squeak and the owner gulped. Sooner or later his voice would settle, wouldn't it?

It was irritating to still have the voice of a child when his body had already started behaving like a man in everything else. Galahad rubbed a hand over the itchy whiskers on his face. How aggravating to have whiskers that were nearly impossible to hack off on his own because they were so soft and curly. Maybe he should just give in and grow a beard like the others.

The others tended to make rude comments about his way of dress since his people wore long tunics like the Romans. The southernmost part of the Sarmatian lands got more than a little warm most of the year round. If he had a beard he'd look more like his brother Knights who mostly came from colder territories to the north of Roman lands.

Galahad ruminated on the possibilities of teaching Lancelot that he wasn't above being laid low by weakness. Everyone had something that rendered them unable to hold their heads up, that left them helpless and at the mercy of their God or gods. He'd just have to figure out Lancelot's breaking point.

It only took him an hour of reflection to realize he didn't have a single idea as to what it could be.

As usual when he needed to know something, Galahad sought out Gawain. When he found his best friend, Gawain was only half dressed and entangled with a rapidly disrobing laundress. Galahad sighed at the sight and was about to back out of the room full of tubs when Gawain hailed him.

"Galahad, what is it?" The laundress had sank to her knees to untie the knotted as usual laces on Gawain's breeches. Galahad considered whether he should refill the small bag of rawhide strips he kept in his gear. Gawain had a terrible habit of lacing too hastily and tying things carelessly. As a result, Galahad spent much time and energy repairing things when Gawain rushed in haste again to UN-lace things and ended up cutting the wretched ties instead. Galahad snorted. And the other Knights considered HIM the flighty temperamental one.

"I only wished to ask you a question about Lancelot."

Gawain's voice trembled as fingers brushed over tender parts. "Lancelot??" As she picked out the knots with her fingernails, Gawain brushed her hair out of her face with a look of intensity in his eyes. Galahad once again began to edge out of the room, certain that he'd lost his friend's attention and really... he didn't need to be seeing this. A voice on the edge of losing control stopped him, "What is it? You are NOT going to leave me wondering for the rest of the day what you thought so important that you came searching for me."

"I only wanted to know Lancelot's vulnerability."

"What in the name of the Horse God do you mean, Galahad?"

Galahad mused out loud, while staring fascinated at the pink sweep of tongue that was laving Gawain's belly while delicate nails were still working on the recalcitrant laces. "There has to be SOMETHING. Like Bors is undone by this heat, and Dagonet can't stand snakes of any kind, and Arthur is driven insane when we don't have a 'reason' for fighting with each other and.... "

"I see what you mean." Gawain's face took on a serious cast. "WHY do you care?"

Galahad snorted, "Something HAS to be done. The man is too full of himself. Someone needs to teach him a lesson - in humility."

Gawain's belly shook and a guffaw bellowed out of him, startling the woman who'd finally worked the last binding loose to free... Galahad carefully looked away and started edging out of the room again.

"And you have decided to be that someone? Galahad, you MUST be bored to tears to attempt such a thing."

Galahad stopped and said indignantly, "Tell me you've never thought him too full of himself. And I'll tell you that you lie."

Gawain sucked in his breath as a moist pair of lips closed over his nether parts and he fairly breathed an answer to Galahad's original question, "I do not know. I have never seen Lancelot come undone over anything less than an injury to Arthur." A deeply appreciative moan escaped him before he continued on a sigh. "You should ask Tristan. If anyone would know what would get to Lancelot, he would. He...ah, that's so good!"

Galahad exited the storage area at nearly a run and began the hunt for Tristan. If he was actually still in the fort, Tristan would be hard to find. It was only when they gathered to celebrate or mourn or they were summoned by Arthur that he was in plain view. Galahad suspected the scout of sleeping every minute he could when he was not off chasing Woads at Arthur's every whim. Not that he'd ever caught the man napping or asleep anywhere.

Galahad passed by a very pregnant Vanora who was waddling toward the alewife's. Struck by a sudden idea Galahad spun on his heel and walked quickly to catch up to her. A good thing she was pregnant or he'd have probably spent a lot of time looking for her. Next to Jols, she was the busiest person he knew.

"Who are you seeking after, Galahad?"

Galahad flushed. Was he that transparent?

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Galahad." Vanora smiled and reached up a hand to pinch his cheek. "It's just that ever since you discovered what women were good for, you have avoided speaking to me unless Bors was present."

"I, ah, I... do I really?"

Vanora giggled then sighed as the baby within kicked her solidly. "I expect it's because you do not wish to think of me in the way a man thinks of women."

Galahad looked horrified as he considered Bors and Vanora doing what Gawain and the laundress had been. He felt distinctly ill and pushed the horrible images out of his head.

"Now, who are you looking for?"

"Tristan."

Vanora's voice was shocked, "Tristan?!" Anxious hands rubbed over her belly. "Are you certain you wish to find him, Galahad? I mean it was only last week that he... that you and he were..."

Galahad looked down at the ground. Oh. He'd forgotten about all that. Why was it that he couldn't talk to Tristan without managing to make him furious? If it wasn't for Gawain standing between them all the time, he'd no doubt be yet another body in the graveyard and Tristan would be again serving another extra five years AFTER he got out of the stockade two years from now.

"Dagonet was headed to the miller's with Jols. They were going to take a look at the broken harness for the oxen."

Galahad looked blankly at Vanora. What did Dagonet have to do with anything?

"Tristan always tells Dagonet where he's going. Some agreement they made years ago. The only time I've ever seen Dag angry was when Tristan failed to tell him he would be with the medicus for a few hours getting a wound cleaned up."

"Why would that make him angry?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask one of them."

Galahad flinched and hurriedly shook his head. "I think that's none of my business is what I think. Thank you, Vanora, I shall go ask Dagonet where to find Tristan."

It was hours later when he'd finally located Dagonet. From the miller's broken harnesses to the field aqueduct repairs to the storage barns for hay and back to the fort again where Dagonet was currently holding down Parsifal while the medicus reset his leg, Galahad had been chasing a man whose entire day apparently consisted of helping others - even when they were all supposed to be free to do as they wished.

Galahad found himself lending a hand here and there where he stopped to inquire after the tall warrior just because he could see the hero worship in people's eyes when they spoke of the man. He found he felt honor bound to live up to Dagonet's high standard. From rescuing a small kitten to lifting a heavy load for an old man to coaxing a donkey out of hiding, Galahad felt completely inadequate following after Dagonet. He was simply NOT made of the same selfless cloth and the closer he came to actually speaking to Dagonet, he wondered if he should. Would Dagonet not look at him with disappointment if he knew that Galahad sought to humble Lancelot's pride?

Galahad could hear Parsifal screaming as they carefully realigned the bone of his leg. The Knight would be lucky if he didn't die of the break as the bone had come through the skin. Galahad hurriedly summoned one of the pages waiting outside the hospital.

"Did anyone send for Bedivere yet?"

The boy shook his head and Galahad hesitated. If he went for Bedivere, would he be able to find Dagonet later? Gulping, he considered that if it was Gawain in there, he'd want to be sent for. Reluctantly he set off at a lope to the forge. Bedivere was there at the smith's side working on a gift for Parsifal - who was SUPPOSED to have been out hunting, not fooling around at the creek with some girl. By the time he'd returned with Bedivere, Parsifal was slowly slipping into a drugged sleep and Dagonet was absent. Galahad wiped Parsifal's sweating face with a wet cloth and patted Bedivere's shaking shoulders until Parsifal managed to rest comfortably.

Just as Galahad was about to exit the door, Dagonet entered and whispered to Bedivere, "When he wakes let him know I stabled his horse and put his gear away. The girl is all right as well. If he hadn't been there, she would have been crushed by the tree that fell. The miller is most grateful Parsifal saved her but feels the cost may have been too high. They will visit in the morning."

Galahad felt miserable. Here he'd thought Parsifal had been romancing and he'd been out rescuing the miller's little girl who was all of seven. She must have been looking for minnows for bait among the tree roots in the creek. Artorius would be feeling guilty as he'd meant to have that tree cut down a week or two ago when he'd noticed that it was leaning precariously. Galahad was grateful that Lancelot managed to coax Arthur from blaming himself for every little thing that went wrong. Arthur was only a man and only Lancelot seemed to be able to get him to see that.

Dagonet clapped Galahad on the shoulder and gently pushed him from the room. Outside he turned to the downcast boy and said softly, "I heard you went for Bedivere. That was a kind thing to do, boy. Parsifal will rest easier with him nearby."

"I would have wanted Gawain."

Dagonet smiled and nodded agreement. "Gawain would have wanted to be summoned. Now I understand you've been searching for me?"

Galahad flushed and scuffed a toe in the dust. "It doesn't seem important now. I... I... " He took a deep breath and said, "I wanted to find you to ask where Tristan was so I could ask him something about another person so I could tease them, but it seems a babyish thing now and not something a proper Knight would do." He straightened and tugged his belt tight, adjusted his tunic and squared his shoulders. "I still need to find Tristan. The one thing this day has shown me is that I owe him an apology and a promise to TRY and still my tongue."

"Right now he's up on the Wall. His hawk brought down a rabbit earlier in the field which Tristan butchered for the old woman who will be attending Vanora soon. He's feeding the leftover bits to the hawk now."

"Do you think he'll speak to me? I said some terrible things before he left."

"Things which were true or you would not have said them. But true things do not always need to be spoken of." Dagonet frowned. "You are still young yet and don't understand that there is often more to the truth than what can be seen. Tristan may not speak to you, but I assure you that if you speak to him - he will listen." A faint smile ghosted across Dagonet's face. "I assure you that he always hears what you say."

Galahad watched Dagonet walk away in confusion. Was he imagining things or had Dagonet put an emphasis on that? 'He always hears what you say.' No, Dagonet must have meant that Tristan always listened to everything and everyone. The man knew everything there was to know and kept his own counsel about it.

When Galahad approached Tristan who yet had his hawk on his arm although she was clearly full and simply sleepily communing with him with soft chirrups and squeaks, he cleared his throat several times and then simply couldn't begin. Galahad left off the attempt to apologize. Tristan glanced at him curiously a couple of times as Galahad continued to just watch. Finally his hawk took an awkward leap into the darkening sky and Tristan wiped his hands off on the Wall itself. They were less than clean though.

"What is it that you want, boy?"

Galahad paled. Tristan had spoken to him and now he HAD to find the words to apologize and still they would not come. He hung his head and began to turn away, afraid to say anything as he knew whatever he said would simply anger Tristan again. A hand on his shoulder stopped him as Tristan turned him around again.

"You didn't come up here for nothing. You must have needed me for...?"

Tristan trailed off and looked at Galahad expectantly, almost happily. Galahad squared himself again and, thinking of Dagonet and his endless supply of doing the right thing, attempted to find words again. His mouth moved but nothing came out and he ended up looking Tristan in the eyes and getting lost in thoughts of what Dagonet had said. 'There is often more to the truth than what can be seen.'

"Galahad?"

"I wanted... it was foolish... then I thought I should... but whatever I say will be wrong and I don't want to make you mad at me again. And, and... I am sorry! I just can't seem to help it. You make me so furious sometimes! I say things and then I'm ashamed I said them and now I've probably made you angry at me again."

Tristan rubbed his forehead. "Why couldn't you just WANT something from me like usual? I can deal with that."

Galahad looked stricken and blurted, "Do I always do that? Only need something from people? All day everyone has asked me what it was I wanted. Am I that selfish?"

"Aw, no, boy. You are very open and giving and usually kind. It is only that you tend to stay with Gawain because you are uncomfortable in company with others unless he's with you. I do not know why nor do I think you do but we all see it. Only the need for something drives you to seek others out." Tristan shifted irritably. "What was the apology for?"

"Last week when I..."

A peremptory hand cut him off. Tristan snorted and barked, "It's forgotten already." A curious look crossed his face as Tristan considered Galahad. Galahad wondered uneasily about what Tristan's thoughts were trailing. "How about we go back to what you wanted that you thought was foolish. I can't recall another single time you've been swayed from one of your wild ideas. Even Gawain can't budge you when you've decided upon a course of action." Tristan snapped the words, but there was no rancor in them. It was a statement of fact.

Galahad grinned as he thought of his original mission - to find out Lancelot's weakness and use it ruthlessly to reduce the man to the level of the rest of them. Mere men. "This morning Lancelot was showing off in front of the Romans - training his new mount in the rapid turns and getting it used to things flying apart near its head by cutting apart a few melons on poles." Galahad paused and reviewed the moment in his head. "It was just that when he came in from the field I swear Lancelot actually posed before them and looked down his nose at them in the shade. You could almost hear him thinking 'weak, the lot of you' and I wondered what it was that reduced him to praying to the gods for strength. Because I suddenly wanted to see him know, without any doubt, that he was no better than the rest of us."

"Ah. What made you think that goal was foolish?"

"Dagonet. I know Dagonet has a weakness. He's so afraid of snakes that to see one, no matter how small and harmless, freezes him. But he's the most upright and good person I know. To use that weakness would be... unthinkable. I don't much like Lancelot, but humiliating him... Dagonet would not approve of it."

"Dagonet would never even think of using someone's flaws to teach them a lesson." A sideways glance at Galahad and Tristan mused, "I like the idea, but I wonder if you have enough cruelty in you to actually go through with it. There are things men are afraid of... things that strike fear into their soul because of their past, things that they can't deal with physically and things they want badly. I know what Lancelot fears most."

"It doesn't involve injury to Arthur does it?"

Tristan laughed, boyish glee. "No. But I want to be paid for this." Tristan looked Galahad in the eye and sobered abruptly. "I want to be paid in full FIRST and no doubt you will find the price too high, but telling you such a thing... " A click of the tongue described the seriousness of the matter.

Galahad couldn't help himself. Tristan had hooked him thoroughly. WHAT was it that Lancelot feared? Abruptly he was filled with yearning for the answer. Even though he no longer intended to humiliate Lancelot, Galahad wanted desperately to know what Lancelot's vulnerability was. Just knowing would allow him to look at Lancelot and see that Arthur's second was no better than the rest of them. Tristan regarded the drying crud on his hands and walked away from Galahad down the steps of the Wall. It was only a moment before Galahad followed, crying out for Tristan to wait for him. They were nearly across the courtyard when Galahad managed to get Tristan to stop.

"What price do I pay for this?"

Tristan eyed Galahad doubtfully. "You won't give me what I want. The price is too high."

Galahad shifted his weight from the left to the right and back again, feeling a high tension mounting in him - the same tension that weighted his bones before a battle. A turbulent anxiety wrestled with his stomach and at the same time... excitement crawled across the back of his neck, arousing his blood to feverish surging. He wanted, oh how he wanted! He wanted things to begin happening and things to be done and over with.

"I'll pay it. To know what Lancelot fears..." Galahad shivered with exhilaration, delighting in the idea of having the knowledge that could unmake the man.

Tristan's eyes glittered strangely but he said nothing further. The scout turned and asked Galahad over his shoulder, "Coming?"

Galahad bit his lip and followed Tristan blindly as fish themselves struck after the shiny silver lure of minnows on the hook. He KNEW that he shouldn't do this; knew it for ensnarement and still was walking into the trap. He was such an idiot sometimes. Gawain was sure to laugh at him tomorrow when he told him about this.

Tristan stopped before the barn doors and dunked his hands into the water trough, shaking them dry as he walked into the shadowed arena of the practice ring. Here was where they all worked out the kinks in their muscles, calmed the uncertain temperaments of their steeds and here too was where they sought to learn new skills from each other. Tristan plucked up the sand glass and held it up to Galahad.

"I want this much of your time."

Galahad looked blankly at Tristan. That was the timer Arthur had commissioned for them to use back when there had been many more knights vying for the use of the practice ring. The sand flowing from one side to the other dictated the length of a bout of sparring or twice tilted for the length of the time working with a mount in the open arena. They all preferred falling onto the deep cushion of the sand to being bucked off on the hard ground outside.

"This much of your time," Tristan shook the glass lightly. "Promise me that I can have it."

Galahad had a fleeting crawling fear that the price was too high but it melted away as he thought hotly of the reward. Lancelot's vulnerability. He wanted to know what it was. Lancelot feared something. Galahad nodded his head and wordlessly agreed. It was only the length of time that Gawain used to pound him into the dust with his fists or Lancelot humiliated him by 'killing' him time and again or Arthur made him feel newly knighted and useless with a sword. What harm to give Tristan the moments made of sand?

"Now."

Tristan turned the glass over and the dribble of sand began. Tristan smiled and it wasn't nice at all. He advanced on Galahad, pushed him back to the tether rail and sank to his knees. Galahad looked down in shock as Tristan pushed the edge of his tunic up with one hand and slid the other set of fingers up under his loincloth to pull it off.

"Tristan, what...? Stop that!" Galahad's hands grabbed frantically at the hands that were getting intimately acquainted with his cock and balls.

"You promised. Watch the sand or close your eyes. Try to imagine a girl if it helps."

Galahad froze and looked aghast at Tristan. He meant it! Tristan's tongue darted out and licked over the limp lump of flesh that was Galahad's favorite plaything. Horror at what Tristan had ambushed him with fractured his reasoning and he was unable to move, torn between disgust with this and the fact that he'd agreed. Galahad closed his eyes as wet lips suckled at him, manipulating the length of his cock skillfully. He was in Tristan's mouth and saliva was drenching him and a tongue was pressing, sliding. Galahad whimpered and gasped for breath rapidly.

"That's my boy." Tristan muttered the words as he stopped to fondle the rising length of stiffening flesh with long fingers that wrapped, pressed and slid along the burgeoning span of muscle and blood. "That's my boy. Watch the glass, Galahad. It'll be over soon enough."

Tristan brought his mouth down again and nipped gently down the pillar of heat as his fingers circled tightly and his thumb clamped down on the pulsing beat at the base of Galahad's cock. Now the boy couldn't come unless he allowed it. He slid the fingers of his other hand behind Galahad's balls and stroked the very edges of his nails across the tender flesh there back towards the puckered entrance that he knew he had no time for today. He swallowed hungrily and slurped greedily as Galahad responded to the heat of his mouth, the slithering wetness of his tongue. There wasn't enough time to finish this in the glass of sand, but by the time he was done Galahad would KNOW what Tristan could do to him. He was counting on it.

Tristan shuddered as Galahad's fingers wound helplessly into his hair, clutching for support or for comfort. As he plied the skills of passion against the boy, Tristan found he was snaring himself. Tristan wanted to finish this, wanted to watch Galahad's eyes unfocus and feel the boy come in his mouth. He wanted the boy beneath him, wanted to watch the boy's hands clutch at the ground, snatch up a handful of blanket as Tristan possessed him.

The last grain of sands approached and reluctantly but resolutely Tristan took a last swipe of his tongue across the boy's cock before standing. Taking the shuddering Galahad in his arms, Tristan nipped gently at the boy's neck and whispered, "Lancelot's weakness is...." and Tristan tilted Galahad's head so he could see Lancelot on his knees in the armoury room, tears running down his face and his hands stroking himself. "He likes to watch. And mine is that I prefer revenge to apologies."

With that, Tristan pushed himself off Galahad and walked out of the barn as quickly as he could. Demons take him if he was going to wait for the boy to get livid with him for tricking him twice.

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It was a week afterwards. Galahad winced as he couldn't even bring himself to name the event. He couldn't look Lancelot in the eye and was studiously avoiding Tristan. He was avoiding everyone if he could manage it. Somehow he feared that they could LOOK at him and see in his eyes what Tristan had done to him. What had Tristan done to him? Hadn't he brought it on himself? He was the one that had wanted to KNOW so badly that he agreed recklessly to Tristan's terms. He'd wanted to have a hold he could use on Lancelot and now he had it and all it made him was ...sad.

Galahad ate his evening meal hurriedly and left quickly before the conversation began to grow raucous among the knights seated at the Round Table. Reaching the quiet emptiness of his room, he flung himself down on the bed and made himself review what had happened. When he got to the part where Tristan backed him against the rail, he forced himself to consider what he'd felt. All week he'd blanked it from his mind, shock at the quickness - the mind numbing world altering terrifying wholeness of it making him too frightened to think on it.

When Tristan sank to his knees before him, he'd seen the laundress before Gawain. When Tristan's tongue darted out and flicked against his skin, he'd seen the pinkness of her tongue. Why?

Tristan. Anger rose in him. He wanted to throttle the man; leave dark blue impressions of his fingers on the tendons in his neck. Galahad wondered what it would be like to have his hands wrapped around Tristan's throat. Would he feel the blood beat under the pads of fingertips? Would Tristan fight him or would he just look at Galahad and be amused that he'd made Galahad lose control?

And Lancelot. Seeing the man on his knees, undone by what Tristan had done to Galahad, it unnerved Galahad and made him feel... oddly protective. He wanted to go back and undo the shame on Lancelot's face. He found himself wanting to see Lancelot's vain sniping at Bors, the snide comments to Tristan, the roll of Lancelot's eyes as Arthur guilted over some imagined failing of his. All of that had been missing this last week. Lancelot looked inward as much as Galahad. He met no one's gaze. Perhaps he feared as Galahad did, that someone could look at him and see...

Galahad groaned. This was all his fault. If he'd been more inclined to help, more moral, just plain less selfish - none of this would have happened. Tristan and his 'revenge' couldn't ever have happened if he hadn't gone to Tristan for selfish reasons. He ground his teeth as he remembered that he had given up the idea of using Lancelot's weakness against him. It was Tristan that had humbled Lancelot.

Galahad shot off the bed and paced the room. Tristan and he together had trapped Lancelot and exposed him to this shamefaced despair. He owed Lancelot. No! They, Tristan and he together, owed Lancelot.

They needed to... Galahad made another circuit of his room almost angrily and exited abruptly, slamming the door shut behind him.

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Tristan glanced up from the dice on the table to see a rapidly approaching fuming Galahad. The pup radiated bad temper like a thundercloud darkened ominously prior to releasing the sharp bite of lightning. He huffed a small laugh. The boy had lasted a whole week. He'd thought he'd be in for it sooner than this.

"Beware, Dagonet. I'm about to be on the receiving end of Galahad's temper. Don't interfere, will you?"

Dagonet smirked, "Whatever you did to the boy last week, no doubt you earned the results. Why don't you just tell him...?"

Tristan shook his head rapidly and glared at the larger knight who excused himself and deftly left before Galahad arrived at the table. Galahad's obvious fury cleared the Romans with one mute sweep of his arm. There were none but Gawain and Arthur who'd dare try to calm a Galahad deep into a sulk. And this wasn't a snit, but rage rightly deserved by Tristan though no one knew that but himself. Everyone had seen Galahad close in on himself this last week and even Gawain hadn't dared breach Galahad's solitary brooding. They all knew it would erupt sooner or later and be over with and done.

"You!" Galahad sputtered and took a deep breath to calm himself. "You are the epitome of cruelty for what you did and I hate you for it."

"I know."

"You know! Is that all you've got to say about it?"

Outrage exploded in the sea coloured eyes. Tristan watched the colours shift with the boy's emotions. How beautiful that was - sort of like that coloured glass that he'd seen once as a child that shifted colours with the amount of light behind it. Or like a rainbow shimmering against a storm cloud.

"I don't like apologies. I don't take them and I don't give them."

"What you did was wrong and you don't need to apologize for it - no, you need to make amends."

"Why? I took payment first for what you wanted. It was a fair deal."

Galahad calmed and bit out, "Not me, you fool. Lancelot." He looked defiantly at Tristan. "You...WE need to make amends to him, or at least apologize. And I already know you won't do that."

"Ah." Tristan hadn't been expecting that. Galahad attempting an apology to him last week had been something new. The boy had become a man when he wasn't looking. Tristan swallowed, acknowledged the boy was right and asked, "What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

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Lancelot bade a good night to Arthur and left the Round Table. They'd been talking since the last other knight had left. When Arthur realized that Lancelot wouldn't (actually he didn't think he COULD) talk about whatever was bothering him, he'd bent to distracting Lancelot from his melancholy mood. Arthur told him the tale of King Leonidas the Spartan who'd defied a great Persian army knowing he couldn't win. Lancelot had laughed at the tragic ending - 'this tale of a foolish martyr is supposed to cheer me, Arthur?' - and Arthur had smiled and said - 'you remind me often enough that heroes are only fools too stubborn to give in. I thought to remind you for a change that to give in is to die anyway and without achieving anything of worth.'

Lancelot looked up at the stars outside his barracks and pulled a face. "He's right. I hate to admit it, but he's right."

"What? Now Arthur's got you talking to the air too?"

Lancelot whirled and nearly pulled his dagger out on seeing Tristan. Tristan lifted his hands and showed them empty to the infuriated knight.

"Hey. I'm not here to hurt you."

"You let Galahad see me!"

Tristan nodded. "I did. It was wrong. I shouldn't have done it."

Lancelot looked befuddled. "Was that an apology!?"

Tristan snarled, "I'm not repeating it!"

Lancelot laughed, "No, I meant ... oh, never mind. I suppose it's the best you can manage."

Tristan growled. Opening and closing his hands helplessly, he muttered, "Knowing you as I do, I should have known you'd go all strange about someone else catching you at it. I guess I just got used to the fact so it doesn't bother me anymore."

Lancelot was touched. Tristan's admission actually made him feel better. The first time Tristan had caught him watching was years ago and back then Tristan had been absolutely revolted, but he'd never said anything to anyone about it. Lancelot was deeply mortified by his 'secret'. He'd been like this since he first discovered sex. Watching others always excited him more than actually touching did. He was ashamed of it and tried his best not to give in to the yearning. If Arthur ever found out that Lancelot sometimes bought women to 'share' with him because he got off on seeing someone else... Lancelot cringed as he imagined Arthur's reaction.

"Will Galahad...?" Lancelot bit his lip. "Will he tell anyone?"

Tristan's eyes glittered, wolf eyes in the dark beyond the fire. "I don't know. Why don't we go ask him?"

Lancelot huffed, "You are insane, aren't you? I'm going to bed."

Tristan smiled as Lancelot made for his room and, once the dark knight was out of earshot, said to the air, "No. I don't think so." He turned and gestured for Galahad to come up beside him. "Are you certain this is what you want to do?"

"Why? Are you thinking I can't manage it?"

"No. I'm wondering if *I* can go through with it."

Galahad grinned cheerfully. "Too old? I'm told certain problems start coming up when... no, I mean they don't come up... er, whatever."

Tristan took a half-hearted swipe at the side of Galahad's head. "Come then. He should be about ready by now."

Galahad sobered and looked sideways at Tristan. "I..I...thank you, Tristan."

Big eyes wide with fear looked at Tristan with complete trust and Tristan felt his gut wrench. He was a beast and the boy was a goat staked out on top of the cage pit. He knew it. But he was going to lunge for his prey anyway and be skewered for his hunger. Dagonet was right. He should have just told Galahad how he felt. They could have skipped past this whole foolish situation. Or not.

Likely Galahad would have run from him in shock, dismay, disgust, and plain revulsion when the boy heard him say that Tristan wanted him in that way - had wanted him for a long time, had been waiting for him. Yes, the boy would have run. As fast as he could and straight back to Gawain's side.

At least this way Tristan would have the memory to savour on long cold winter nights spent soaking wet up a tree while watching Woad movements. He was certain the memory of actually getting to touch Galahad before would have been enough to heat him from the inside out.

------------------------------

Tristan rapped softly on the heavy door to Lancelot's room. It was probably unbarred, but no need to infuriate Lancelot into leaving when that would ruin the whole plan. This was all Galahad's plan. That alone reduced Tristan to a pile of dry tinder just waiting for the first touch of the flame. He'd be no tamely harnessed blaze confined to the ring of hearth, but he'd burst into a conflagration of wildfire that travelled the tops of trees and felled whole forests. He knew this and knew too that Galahad had no idea at all of what the boy was about to loose.

Lancelot answered irritably and considered Tristan in his door in consternation. "Did something happen to Arthur?"

"No. I need to tell you something of import and forgot to do so before." Tristan finished the sentence in his head 'deliberately'. He pushed Lancelot back into the room and paced around Lancelot until the man's back was to the door. "I forgot to tell you that Galahad wished to speak to you."

The door thunked shut behind Lancelot. He turned to see Galahad between him and the door.

"Why does this feel like a trap, Tristan?"

"Because it is." Tristan sighed. "Trust me. Trust him. Let it close. Sit down and be quiet."

"Aren't you going to sit down, Lancelot?"

Lancelot regarded the trembling lip and the pleading expression on Galahad's face and sat in a chair abruptly. Galahad had seen him watching. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. It had excited him seeing Tristan persuade Galahad into what had happened. It wasn't the first time that he had allowed something to happen that he should have stopped. If he'd been a decent man like Arthur, he would have stopped Tristan - not reached for his own cock instead.

"Lancelot?" The sweet voice swept over him and he closed his eyes. He'd allowed Tristan to take advantage of the boy. He'd stood there as Galahad said 'Stop' and had reached to free his cock instead of demanding that Tristan stop. He'd listened as Tristan insinuated that Galahad had no choice but to honor his promise, an agreement the boy had made apparently not knowing the consequence. He'd listened and grown excited as Tristan wound his hands and tongue on Galahad. He'd been vastly ashamed of his own pleasure and he'd tried to stop, but the more Tristan touched Galahad - the harder he'd gotten. By the time Tristan had turned Galahad's head to see him watching, Lancelot had been weeping but unable to stop from touching himself and equally unable to stop looking. If Tristan had raped the boy, Lancelot would have let it happen. He wanted to vomit.

Lancelot thought he'd grown past that. There had been a time... he paled and groaned. He had no more control now than he had then.

"Lancelot?" The question was whispered at his knee and a hand touched his face. He opened his eyes to see Galahad squatting beside him, looking at him in concern. "If this disturbs you so much, we can leave. I just thought... I thought that..." Galahad's voice firmed. "YOU have nothing to be ashamed of. I want you to know that. I want you to KNOW that. Tristan and I are going to show you."

Lancelot looked as if one of Gawain's axes had thunked him between the eyes. He seemed dazed and unable to respond. Tristan came up behind Galahad and pulled him upwards by the arm.

"Lancelot? You have to watch, Lancelot. Please watch or it's all for nothing."

Lancelot blinked and watched Tristan's mouth come down on Galahad's who didn't meet it with enthusiasm but didn't try to push the invading hands off his body either. Hands that loosed a belt fastened around the tunic and dropped it to the floor. Tristan slid his hands down Galahad's sides and knelt to unfasten the straps of Galahad's boots. Galahad obediently stepped out of first one and then the other. Tristan was undressing Galahad! Lancelot's body surged like the ocean tide coming up the beach. The roar and flow of the relentless flood filled him.

"Are you watching, Lancelot?"

His head bobbed in affirmation to Galahad's soft inquiry. He was watching but he couldn't believe what was happening. Come to think of it, TRISTAN didn't look as if he quite believed it either. The scout looked as if he was trying to map by memory every feature of Galahad's body both by sight and by touch. Tristan looked over at their motionless audience and shared a tight smile with Lancelot. It quite clearly said 'if this is only the one time, I'm going to make the most of it.'

Galahad turned in front of Tristan, turned to face Lancelot as Tristan rose again to his feet and started lifting Galahad's tunic over his head. Tristan flung the garment to the floor in haste and ran frantic hands over Galahad's skin, touching every little scar Galahad owned and Tristan already seemed to have known the location of. Here was where Dagonet nicked him in sword practice and there was the ring of raised scar where they'd pulled out an arrow during the boy's second battle, and down here was a long thin scratch of a scar where a dagger had raked his ribs and over there was the pebbled marks where Galahad had rolled through a fire with a Woad on top of him. Tristan reviewed them all with brushes of his fingertips. One pale line across Galahad's back seemed to fascinate him most as he bent to lick the furrow of it with gentle swipes of his tongue.

Tristan muttered, "Thought we'd lost you that time."

Lancelot growled at the memory Tristan had woken. A ROMAN had tried to put a sword through Galahad's back when the boy had innocently dismissed the Roman's ham-handed overtures. Galahad hadn't even realized what the soldier had been intent on. Tristan had cut the man's throat immediately with tears running down his face. Lancelot had almost forgotten. They'd all been glued to Galahad's side for months while he healed trying to get him to rest long enough to heal - all of them EXCEPT Tristan who'd avoided him entirely. It was then that the bond between Galahad and Gawain had tightened to the point that you rarely found one without the other.

Galahad enjoyed the hands brushing across his skin and the hot kisses swiping across him now that he was expecting it. Not so very different from the women he took to bed who all seemed to want to caress him as long as they could and only reluctantly stopped touching him when he had to leave. Because once in a woman's bed, he only left when he had to. It was such a nice place to be, snuggled up with another warm body.

That was the best part of patrol duty - getting to snuggle up to Gawain for heat. Other than that he hated the endless watching for rebels and the getting wet and dirty and bloody. He loved returning home to sink into the warmth of the baths. Only Tristan stayed as long as he did in the hot spring. He'd reckoned it was because the man got so frozen standing watch and riding point that by the time they returned he'd needed to get heat all the way down to his bones. But Galahad suspected now that it had more to do with the fact that HE was still in the spring.

His loincloth fluttered between his legs as Tristan ruthlessly pulled it away. He closed his eyes as the sensation of cloth rasping over his cock woke it. Tristan's fingers brushed lightly across it and Tristan's mouth buried itself in that sensitive spot between his neck and his shoulder. Galahad cracked open his eyes and checked to make sure Lancelot was still watching. A tentative smile crossed his lips and Lancelot smiled shyly back, not sure what to make of this but certain that he liked it.

"Aren't you going to undress, Lancelot? I want you to do what you were doing in the armoury."

Galahad's breath sucked in as Tristan reached around from behind to rub the skin around his nipples and pinch lightly at them. Lancelot's eyes got big as the still fully dressed Tristan continued to caress and fondle Galahad, making a show of the boy's nakedness for Lancelot's viewing. Lancelot found himself meeting Galahad's eyes in concern. Did he want this or was he sacrificing himself to make Lancelot feel better? For once, Lancelot felt himself able to stop this if necessary.

Galahad whimpered as Tristan's hands stroked over his thigh and started playing with his tightening cock. "Harder, Tristan, touch me harder like you did before."

Instead of obeying, Tristan stilled and closed his eyes helplessly, burying his face in Galahad's hair.

"Tristan!" The boy's voice deepened into heavy demand. "Touch me or do I have to go find someone else to do this? Touch me again like you did before." Galahad sighed, "I really liked that - when you put your fingers back there. It felt... Do it again."

Tristan groaned. "Wait. I have to... Just wait a moment, my boy, and I will do as you wish."

Lancelot suddenly saw with clarity just who was in charge here and he relaxed. Galahad wasn't only doing this to make amends to Lancelot. He wondered if the boy even knew it was merely an excuse to make Tristan finish what he'd started a week ago.

With frenetic haste, Lancelot stood and stripped off his own clothing. Kneeling on the floor, he took himself in hand and stroked gently as his aroused flesh demanded action. Tristan grinned across Galahad's shoulder at him and let go of the boy for a moment to pluck a small capped bladder of oil from within his clothing to fling to Lancelot. Galahad mewled unhappily until Tristan's attention returned to him.

Lancelot dribbled the warm oil over his fingers and capped the container carefully before tossing it onto his bed. He had no doubt that Tristan intended to have everything of Galahad he could this night. Why else the oil? Did the boy even know what was to happen? Lancelot smirked. Did Galahad even care? His face seemed lost to the world, his eyes traveling some heavenly firmament far from here where there was only pleasure.

Tristan's hands were bringing Galahad closer and closer to the edge. Did he intend to make Galahad come by that alone? Would he then take Galahad when there was no haze of lust to make the boy more relaxed? Lancelot hated himself for the thought. The possibility of it excited him.

It was unmistakably apparent that Tristan was Galahad's to command. Lancelot contemplated the boy's surprise if Galahad ever recognized his power over the solitary man. Dagonet was the only one of them that spent much time in company with the scout. Of course, Dagonet was the only one of them that could withstand Tristan's nasty temper. When he was riled, Tristan was often vicious in tongue and deed.

Galahad found that watching Lancelot watch them was making him more aroused. There was something about Lancelot's fascinated gaze that made him feel enormously powerful. He felt wanted, needed. The look in Lancelot's eyes was the same look Tristan was now giving him. He couldn't name it, but it was incredibly marvelous. It warmed him in ways he couldn't define.

Galahad wriggled loose of Tristan's arms and dashed over to Lancelot. Sinking to his knees before Lancelot, he whispered, "Tomorrow, come to my room. I want to try something else I think you'll like, but right now I'm going to see if I can't make Tristan lose it." He grinned, swiped fingers over Lancelot's sweating temple and kissed Lancelot's forehead. Tristan was standing stunned right where Galahad left him. Galahad looked back and a wicked smile bloomed on his face, "Look at him, Lancelot. Have you ever seen him like that before? Isn't it marvelous?"

Lancelot groaned. The boy was going to kill them both. He watched avidly as Galahad sauntered back to Tristan and wrapped arms around Tristan's neck to tug his mouth down to Galahad's own. Tristan's eyes rolled as he surrendered to Galahad's initiative, devouring the boy with hungry kisses.

When he could breathe again freely, Galahad snuggled his head on Tristan's shoulder and looked up at the bemused warrior. "There has to be more to this, Tristan. Did you want me to do as you did to me before?"

Tristan mutely shook his head. Gods, if the boy mouthed him there, he'd come immediately. He'd been trying to go as slowly as possible to make things last but if Galahad kept talking like this...

"Tristan?" Galahad met the piercing stare with an arched brow, physically asking what came next. If Tristan didn't DO something soon... he was going to start shrieking like a girl out of sheer frustration. He wanted something to happen, but he was completely ignorant about this. The subject never came up when men were boasting about their sexual conquests or he'd tuned it out because it hadn't interested him. Until Tristan had taken his 'revenge', Galahad had never even thought about it, the possibility of men lying with men. Afterwards, certain things said in obscure ways started to make sense to him but he still didn't understand the mechanics of it. He just understood that there was more and it made most men uncomfortable to think of.

"Take my clothes off, pup."

At last! Something to do that he could be sure of. Galahad literally hummed happily while removing Tristan's clothing. Tristan trembled visibly when Galahad's fingers brushed across bare flesh while pulling off his tunic so when he tugged off Tristan's boots one by one, Galahad made sure to slide his fingers up the inside of Tristan's thigh. The tight muscle tone of Tristan's leg made it easy to feel the shift and twitch of Tristan's discomfort.

Breathlessly, Galahad pulled off Tristan's breeches to leave Tristan's body bare. NOW something would happen. He wasn't disappointed.

Tristan took him in a tight embrace and rubbed his cock against Galahad's. The sensation of it reduced Galahad to random bits of thought. That feels... oh, gods...I need... I want... what do I want?... more.

"Tristan, more. I want more." Galahad's voice was firm, deep and solid.

Tristan had no problem with that. All his control was utterly lost. He pushed Galahad back to the bed and made him lay upon it. Both of them completely forgot their audience.

Tristan hesitated as he plucked up the oil bladder. He remembered how much he'd hurt when he'd been taken the first time. But there had been no care in that, only a greedy Roman's need to turn him into a 'thing' to be used. He'd been infatuated with the centurion only to be devastated when the man had turned a gift offered in friendship and puppy love into something tawdry. He'd stayed in the centurion's bed long enough to see that the object of his adoration regarded him as yet another benefit to commanding 'barbarians'. He never wanted Galahad to feel insignificant like that.

"Galahad. I... this may hurt. The more you tense against me, the more it will hurt. Try to think of something else until it starts to feel good. I give you my word that it will."

"How do you know?"

"I've been the one being taken. Dagonet..." Tristan blushed. "Some times when I return, I need to be... tamed. Dagonet masters me until I can act human again on my own. Touch... makes me feel less bloodthirsty."

"Oh. Like Gawain then. His women run when we come home. It takes him a while to...return."

Tristan grimaced. He hated the sound of that name. Gawain. He slid down Galahad's body to apply wet licks to Galahad's cock while he sprinkled a small amount of oil on his fingers. He wanted to prepare the way, but was afraid that Galahad would be appalled and demand that he stop. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to take possession of Galahad fully. He couldn't wait to watch Galahad's eyes when he came.

Taking a risk, Tristan slicked his fingers down his cock. No fingerplay today. He had a chance to experience sinking himself into Galahad and he was going to take it. Tristan wound his long slender fingers sticky with the oil around Galahad's length and pumped up and down in slow rhythm, rewaking every nerve in Galahad's crotch until the boy was close to the edge.

Gently pushing Galahad over on his side, Tristan positioned himself and pressed the tip of his own urgent need to the quivering entrance. With slow and steady pressure, he pushed himself in until he was constrained to stop by the closing of Galahad against him.

"You have to let it happen, boy. I can't keep from hurting you unless you stop resisting."

Underneath his hands Galahad quivered and sobbed, "I didn't know it would be like this."

"Let me in and it won't be. Please, Galahad, don't make me hurt you."

"It burns, Tristan."

"Then I'll stop. Stop fighting me so I can get off you."

Galahad nodded and took a deep breath and tried to imagine letting go, tried to feel his insides unbind. Tristan felt the shift around his cock as the tight ring of flesh stopped constricting and with a sigh of regret, betrayed Galahad by pushing himself deeper in and deeper still. He wrapped his arms around the shaking boy who was now completely terrified.

Tristan shushed him and began to move inside. As he rocked backwards, his cock applied pressure to the right spot inside Galahad who nearly screamed with the shock of it. Galahad grabbed at the arms wrapped around him and held on as if Tristan was the only anchor to the world. Panting frenziedly, Galahad tensed and tried to prevent Tristan from sinking back into him, but the oil smoothed the path and it happened slowly, steadily over and over until Galahad began to crave the moment Tristan's cock pressed the nearly unbearable pleasure into life. If only Tristan would go faster and make it happen more, maybe it would be better.

"Tristan, please...please..."

Tristan shifted into a faster rhythm and made his stroke shallower in an attempt to bring the greatest amount of shattering bliss to Galahad. When Galahad started to come, he reached a hand down to the boy's cock and completed the moment by stroking stiff fingers behind and before the boy's balls combining two points of indescribable pleasure at once into a climax Galahad was sure to remember. Tristan was pleased with himself as Galahad shot thick strings of come across the bed. He'd made the boy's first time something wonderful in the end.

Regretful though it was that he himself hadn't come, Tristan relished the feeling of having mastered Galahad. He nibbled the boy's shoulder and tasted the sweat there. Taste, smell, touch and sound - he would save it all up inside.

A wet cloth plopped onto Tristan's side and he glared up at an amused Lancelot.

"I used another. Clean Galahad up now. And my bed."

Tristan smiled sleepily and yawned. "You clean him up. It's as much your fault as mine."

Lancelot bit his lip and nodded. He gingerly sat on the bed behind Tristan who was still inside Galahad and loath to pull free. Reaching across the two of them, Lancelot tenderly washed the still breathing heavily Galahad clean. Carefully he wiped up the worst of the gooey spots off the bed and then threw the rag into the corner of his room. Galahad was looking every bit as sleepy as Tristan and every bit as disinclined to move.

"Galahad?" Lancelot's voice was soft and affectionate. He fondly slid a timid finger across Galahad's cheek and watched the storm coloured eyes close.

"He's done." Tristan regretfully pulled free of the now sleeping boy. He HAD to stop thinking of Galahad as a boy. He wasn't. Hadn't been for a long time.

Lancelot gestured to Tristan's reddened cock, "Let me help you with that."

"What?"

"Oh, just shut up and lie down." Lancelot snatched up the small bladder and uncapped it again. Grinning at Tristan, "Maybe I'll have to make you beg me to finish. A fitting reward for leaving me and Galahad gasping for more last week." He seized Tristan's cock with a set of slimy fingers and was rewarded by Tristan arching his back and clamping his own hands onto Lancelot's wrists. After a few moments of Lancelot's attentions, Tristan's fingers were caressing the hand so pitilessly bringing him to a climax.

Lancelot found that watching Tristan come to the point of release was exciting him again. At this rate, he was going to have cramps in both his hands. And the boy had something in mind for tomorrow that he thought Lancelot would like. He was going to have calluses on his cock AND two cramped hands. His life was taking a turn for the better.

Finis.

Until the next tale.

PeeK