Arthurian fanfic meme
This is an arthurian fanfic meme.
A fanfic meme is a way to write new fanfictions with new prompts and requests.
It is quite easy, after reading the rules you may post a prompt and/or fill any of the other posted prompts.
You can post anonymously if you want but it is not necessary.
( Read more... )
A fanfic meme is a way to write new fanfictions with new prompts and requests.
It is quite easy, after reading the rules you may post a prompt and/or fill any of the other posted prompts.
You can post anonymously if you want but it is not necessary.
( Read more... )
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Athyr is just waking up when Lanse gets back into bed, still wearing his jeans, and settles into the warm hollow he left an hour earlier. Gwen is still down on the practise range shooting, but she'll be back soon, Athyr knows her habits. She only stays half an hour longer than Lanse.
It's still strange to him, having a share in this thing instead of skirting around the edges trying to pretend it isn't happening. It's been a long time since Lanselos and Gwen first started meeting, and Athyr should have said something about it then, but he never had the heart to, not loving them both as he did. It felt almost like he'd brought it on himself after what happened with Anna; he didn't deserve to be happy.
He would have gone on like that for-ever; he could have done it easily. He would've kept on taking his long evening walks to give them time alone, lingering in amongst the grapes that Lukyn tended so lovingly. New Britain was a big, empty planet -- he could've gone on finding things that needed to be done outside the capitol. It was only what he expected.
What he didn't expect was to go to bed one night with static buzzing angrily in his ears and wake up nestled between the two of them, Lanse's arm thrown possessively around his waist and Gwen's cheek against his shoulder (he still isn't sure it's truly real. the last time he was sick it lasted a long time. maybe he's still in the hospital bed in the Menw, hooked up to IVs and dreaming of what he wants).
(Lanse doesn't like to take his guns off, but he'll do it when he's with them, just toss his gunbelt on the floor when he strips off his travelstained clothes and eases into the blankets with them, moving slow from the ache of riding. Lanse grins that goddamn smirking grin and Athyr goes senseless from wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste that grin. Gwenore's hair is so short she doesn't even need to put it up, but at night she runs her hands through it and shakes it out, and puts away her teeth and nails for a little while, and Athyr sees in her everything and nothing of Anna, like the negative of a print, like a holograph gone sideways.
Athyr is just the same as always, though, with his scruffy beard and his calf-mild eyes that get lost looking up into the seaspray of stars. He kisses the wide sweetness of Gwen's sun-burned skin and aches at the feel of Lanse's hand on him, and knows he doesn't deserve this.
But at least he's happy. And he is happy. It doesn't matter if he's sure it isn't real, if he can see the blurring around the edges where things don't fit seamlessly together. This is what he's always wanted, his wife and his best friend, letting him in instead of shutting him out. He's always wanted to be part of what they have. It doesn't matter whether it's real or not.
"Hey, you up?" Lanse grins at him sleepily, coal-black hair rumpled from the pillow. "Where you been?"
"Practise range. Gwen's still there."
"Yeah, I know," Lanse says. "She's always down there. C'mon, give me a kiss, you stingy bastard."
"Fine way to talk to your king."
"Man, when we're in bed, you're my king second, dong ma?"
Athyr laughs and bends down to kiss him) and Lanse's palm spreads against his chest, against the long white scar Medraut left there the day he killed Athyr, the day Marguel sold his body to science in exchange for saving his life. But Athyr closes his brain on that thought, because he's here, with Lanse, and Medraut is still working for him and everything's all right.
And he's happy.
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