[King Arthur] Alone With Dreams (Tristan/Galahad)
*pokes shiny new fandom*
Alone With Dreams by Ghani Blue
[Galahad/Tristan; PG-13]
for the knights500 scar challenge, beta by natasha1805
There's not a single scar on Tristan's body, Galahad knows, has let his hands and mouth search for them. Tristan has held himself still and watched, just watched with an aloof and detached expression that in any other situation would've driven Galahad into a rage.
A spiderweb of faded white lines cover Galahad's body, there's an ugly ragged scar where an arrow pierced his left shoulder two years ago. Sparring with Lancelot that turned too heated left him with a scar on his shin. Galahad wears his scars with pride, every one telling a story of purpose in this forsaken land. He doesn't remember the faces of the men he's killed, but the ones who've gifted him with a scar he's filed away in his memory.
Tristan's body wears no battle marks, nothing to remind him of pain and blood and loss. It's all in bottomless eyes, tattoos like muddy smudges when Galahad brushes Tristan's hair out of his face, the contortions of agony washing over Tristan's face when he comes.
Tristan always leaves the way he comes, a shadow cloaked in silence, and Galahad watches him gather his clothes with lips pressed into a tense line. Galahad falls back onto the bed then, one arm draped over his eyes. There's no leftover body heat, the heady scent of sex already dissipating into the night; nothing allows him to linger on, his body already forgetting. And suddenly, alone with dreams he can't hold on to, Galahad longs for another scar.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I don't hold the copyright for the characters.
Alone With Dreams by Ghani Blue
[Galahad/Tristan; PG-13]
for the knights500 scar challenge, beta by natasha1805
There's not a single scar on Tristan's body, Galahad knows, has let his hands and mouth search for them. Tristan has held himself still and watched, just watched with an aloof and detached expression that in any other situation would've driven Galahad into a rage.
A spiderweb of faded white lines cover Galahad's body, there's an ugly ragged scar where an arrow pierced his left shoulder two years ago. Sparring with Lancelot that turned too heated left him with a scar on his shin. Galahad wears his scars with pride, every one telling a story of purpose in this forsaken land. He doesn't remember the faces of the men he's killed, but the ones who've gifted him with a scar he's filed away in his memory.
Tristan's body wears no battle marks, nothing to remind him of pain and blood and loss. It's all in bottomless eyes, tattoos like muddy smudges when Galahad brushes Tristan's hair out of his face, the contortions of agony washing over Tristan's face when he comes.
Tristan always leaves the way he comes, a shadow cloaked in silence, and Galahad watches him gather his clothes with lips pressed into a tense line. Galahad falls back onto the bed then, one arm draped over his eyes. There's no leftover body heat, the heady scent of sex already dissipating into the night; nothing allows him to linger on, his body already forgetting. And suddenly, alone with dreams he can't hold on to, Galahad longs for another scar.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I don't hold the copyright for the characters.