(Untitled)

[garcon_dor]

It's exactly as it was - exactly - and that was only months ago but in many ways it's been centuries, and that's what it feels like. Galahad fastens the clasp slowly, not in any state of mind to notice that it's been fixed.

The last time?

The smell of blood and the screams of horses, somewhere, and some poor man come to tell him that his prince

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[maydaybrat]

If Galahad is listening, he might hear soft footsteps approaching the door from the hallway, but maybe not. Mordred can be fairly silent, sometimes. The faint sound of the lock being opened, and the prince walks in without paying attention. He's not, that is he's...

He has an air of caged, edgy anger and hurt, a familer air.

"The world," he declares as he throws himself into an armchair, "has gone to hell." That's when the light catches on the pendent, and Mordred freezes. Stills. Whatever the word is, he's staring at the collar with his mouth slightly open.

Faintly strangled, "Ala?"

[maydaybrat]

He parts his lips, drawing Galahad's thumb into his mouth for a moment.

"Personal space? What's that, pray tell?"

[garcon_dor]

"Something you Brits are meant to be aware of, as far as I can tell."

The bar might be rubbing off a little on Galahad's speech. He leans up and kisses Mordred's neck.

"Claiming royal prerogative, are we?"

[maydaybrat]

"Mmm, oh, absolutely," he breathes, arching his neck a little and closing his eyes.

"Has to be some perks, after all."

[garcon_dor]

Galahad snorts. "Mordred, your life was one big perk. Or many perks. One. After. The. Other."

He starts to undo Mordred's shirt buttons, with short flicks of the wrist.

[maydaybrat]

Mordred leans back, resting his weight on his hands and watching the young knight with an amused smirk.

"And? My dear boy, that is exactly the point."

[garcon_dor]

"To think I've just been demoted to perk. I'll have you know I come from the highest noblest blood."

It could be a shaky subject with them - blood lineage family - but Galahad is still smiling and the thought passes away as soon as it occurs.

[maydaybrat]

A low, husky laugh as his pale stomach is expposed, along with the top of his tattoo.

"You're not included in the perks anymore, just your personal space."

[garcon_dor]

"I don't know that I'm getting anything out of this arrangement, my lord Pendragon."

Galahad's hands still, his hair falling into his eyes. He makes a vague attempt at blowing it away.

"You always were a brat."

[maydaybrat]

Quietly, voice giving away nothing, "You get me, 'Ala." He smiles slightly. "You expect me to deny it?"

[garcon_dor]

A low laugh.

"I do, at that. And you're suprisingly popular, for a brat of a boy-prince, so who knows? I may yet have to fight for you."

A long, deep kiss, in which Galahad carefully doesn't think about the fact that he already has, in a way. Blood on Adam's cheeks.

[maydaybrat]

Without thinking, Mordred raises a hand to brush Galahad's hair out of his face, but the lack of support makes him fall back against the bed.

He remembers the scars, he remebers the feel of Adam's ribs breaking under his fists. They've both fought, in their own way - Galahad coldly and furiously in control, Mordred wildly and madly out of it.

But he doesn't want to remember, so he hooks his finger around the soft leather collar and tugs Galahad down.

"You may. I'm not going to swoon or simper at you, though," he mutters and kisses him, tangling his fingers through Galahad's hair.

[garcon_dor]

"No swooning? I think I'm disappointed."

Galahad's never been a good liar in words, not even in jest, but the lightness in his voice is enough for the purpose. He can feel the edge of the collar digging into the back of his neck, and for all their teasing and the odd boyish smile on his face, this is what makes him feel safe again.

[maydaybrat]

Mordred laughs, pulling Galahad's mouth into reach and just kissing him. Deep and possessive, loving and rough - he kisses his lover until the other knight was relaxed and then flipped them over.

"Not too much, I hope..." He grins, looking down at Galahad.

[garcon_dor]

Galahad shakes his head, inasmuch as he is able to when he is being pressed firmly back into the bed. His breath is shallow and fast, his eyes a bit too bright.

"Not even possible. Not today."

[maydaybrat]

Just a murmer of a word, really, before lips and tongue are employed in far more enjoyable taskes, "Good."