Chapter Text
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” The scout asked idly, weight bearing down harder on the earlier hit to Galahad’s sternum, the boy's eyes nearly rolled in pain.
“Again.” He persisted.
Tristan huffed, standing up abruptly so that he could back off and allow Galahad to stand up. Galahad turned back to him once he was on his feet, frustration clear in his tense shoulders and clenched fists.
“I won’t hold back, Tristan.” Galahad muttered.
Tristan tilted his head and nodded once, “Then neither will I.”
The draining color in Galahad’s face should not have been as satisfying as it was. Unlike Galahad, Tristan really had been holding back.
Tristan wiped his nose with his thumb, coming back slick with his blood. He sneered at it before settling into a defensive stance, one foot back and waited for Galahad again.
The younger shifted forward, aiming a blow to his side that the scout dodged, and then avoided the next aimed for his neck. Tristan grabbed the slender, but strong hand that latched on his shoulder and twisted it before he punched Galahad hard in the jaw.
The blow sent the younger stumbling back, blood spilling from his split lip and staining his skin crimson. Galahad darted his tongue out to lick the blood away with a bewildered look. His eyes narrowed on Tristan, alight with anger. They had only one real rule in sparring, no face shots, but Tristan always believed in an eye for an eye.
His heart pounded like a drum in his chest as he stood his ground, his blood only burning hotter as Galahad bared his red smeared teeth and spat out a mouthful of blood.
Galahad did not make the first move this time, instead waiting for Tristan to step up to an attack. Tristan refused to take the bait, waiting, watching his movements.
Galahad scoffed, “This really all you have, Tristan?” He felt an pleasantly carnal heat drag up his spine as Galahad sneered at him.
So the scout feinted forward, forcing Galahad into a defensive posture on his right side before Tristan turned and aimed a blow to his left. Galahad wheezed in pain as the blow spiked through his side, holding on to the smarting flesh for a moment while he raised his other arm to block a blow meant for his shoulder.
He knocked Tristan’s arm away and in the same momentum jerked his opposite fist forward to slam into Tristan’s stomach. The scout coughed hard, but took hold of Galahad’s wrist before he could draw it away. Trapping that hand from defense, Tristan brought his free hand up and slammed his palm against Galahad’s ear.
Galahad’s jaw dropped, the agony ringing through his ear, threw him off balance, vision no doubt swimming from the blow to his equilibrium.
He stumbled back, but Tristan’s hand was still wrapped around his forearm, he jerked Galahad around to plant the younger’s back to his chest again, this time yanking his head back against his shoulder by his hair so that he wouldn’t head butt him again.
He slotted his thigh between Galahad’s to immobilize him, but had to quickly stifle the groan in his chest when Galahad bucked against him to free himself. The visceral ache bit back at him and he wanted nothing more than to grind forward…
Unfortunately the position used both of Tristan’s hands allowing Galahad to elbow him in the ribs to make Tristan let go. Galahad whipped around and stumbled from his ear still ringing, the movement too fast and disorienting.
It was enough time for Tristan to grab him by the sides of his head, fingers interlocked in his sweat-dampened hair as he brought his own head forward to collide together viciously in between the eyes. Galahad went careening back, but not before clenching his hands in Tristan’s tunic. The both of them went toppling over into the dirt.
Every sound, every grunt and irate snarl was persistently clear in Tristan's ears as Galahad bucked underneath of him, knocking one muscled thigh into Tristan’s hip to throw the elder onto his back.
Galahad could almost pin Tristan’s thighs with his knees before the scout fisted the front of his thin tunic, the look of triumph on Galahad’s face washing away as Tristan tossed him easily off and pinned the younger back down underneath him in one swift movement.
Tristan threw his leg over Galahad’s thighs and locked his foot behind his knee, bearing his weight down to keep Galahad’s hips still.
Galahad thrashed angrily, his hand flying up to aim a blow to Tristan’s throat, his knuckles brushing against his skin before Tristan pinned the hand down and quickly snatched the other as well. The boy continued to fight, somehow thinking he could still win.
Galahad kept thrashing and bucking his hips up in any desperate attempt to get Tristan off of him. Tristan nearly bit his tongue off with the effort not to jerk away like he was burned.
The urge to meet his bucking hips almost overwhelming. Tristan gritted his teeth together, he wanted to spread the man’s bare thighs apart, shove up his tunic and rut against him until Galahad relented and howled his name to the sky.
Tristan blinked, his honest thoughts more carnal then he thought himself capable. He swallowed the lust on his tongue. Taking both of the boy’s hands in one of his own, he used the free appendage to wrap around Galahad’s throat and squeezed until the little snarls of frustration broke off into muted grunts.
Galahad met Tristan’s eyes, his own watering around the corners as he fought for breath, still not giving any indication he was ready to yield. They were in a battle of sheer obstinacy.
“Tristan..” Bors or maybe Gawain said somewhere behind them, but neither made a move forward to stop him. Maybe they trusted him to stop, maybe they were too afraid to intervene.
Galahad was steadily turning darker, fading slowly into unconsciousness. Stupid boy. “Learn when you’ve lost.” Tristan hissed, irritation hiding the desperation for Galahad to give up before a more incriminating response made itself known.
Tristan could feel the fire of Galahad's aggravation radiating off his skin, Galahad’s eyes were flickering with irate frustration, strong forearms and thighs flexing underneath Tristan’s weight as he bore down on the smaller body.
Tristan let go of his neck, though Galahad did not concede verbally, it was clear their match was over. Tristan righted himself onto his feet and held out a hand to help his comrade up after his lung refreshed with air.
Galahad took his hand begrudgingly. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Tristan managed to swallow down a few calming breaths as he clenched one hand into a tight fist behind his back, willing the heat in his blood to calm down.
“One more time.” Galahad spat, his chest still heaving as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth to clear the blood.
“Go back to sparring with Gawain.” Tristan turned, grateful for the thick clothing he wore hiding the unfavorable arousal now pulsing against his trousers. Galahad cursed behind him and swore he would win next time.
It was the adrenaline, Tristan told himself. Adrenaline, anger and the heat of the day, ignited desires that Tristan had not satisfied in an achingly long time. He was deprived of human contact, and now even combat was a hair trigger on his senses…
He could not deny that he desired Galahad and training with him had turned into an agonizingly, distracting battle of want, each time more difficult to hide than the other.
Even as he observed Galahad from afar, he could still feel a heat settling low in his gut that left him with an uncomfortable stride, he would excused as injury, if anyone dared to ask.
Tristan knew the younger suspected something was off. Galahad began watching him closer and lingered around Tristan to do his work, insisting to only spar with him, almost as if Galahad wanted Tristan to lose his composure, like a traitorous snake eating him alive from the inside out. He wanted him so terribly…
Tristan thought about distancing himself, skipping his teaching and outright ignoring the boy when he called, avoiding him at every corner, like a coward.
Tristan quickly shut down that idea, cursing himself for the thought. Abandoning Galahad when he did not cause the problem would be no good for either of them. The vacancy of the man in his days would surely cause hollowness, a void unable to be filled by anyone else. Tristan just could not bring himself to do so.
Tristan huffed, disgruntled by such conflicting emotions and clashing thoughts, he had mistakenly put himself above feeling.
It was then Galahad approached him, requesting more training as the sun treated to set. They both knew well enough not to train in the dark, it was near impossible, and yet Tristan guided them away from inhabitants out of the village, towards the lush woodlands in the south.
Eventually, Tristan stopped and leaned against the trunk of an oak tree. “Shoot.” He uttered as Galahad indirectly eyed him, silent, as if a heavy decision weighed on his shoulders.
A nervous, burdened look befell Galahad, one that Tristan had never seen before, “Something to say.” Tristan declared. But the boy stayed quiet, his hands fisted by his sides and his posture tense, “No need to be coy Galahad. Say your peace, no one here to mock you. I certainly won't."
Galahad sighed shakily and swallowed the lump in his throat, "I could not bear it, not from you."
Tristan stills, anticipation building in his chest, "I won't make you."
"It’s not coyness." Galahad whispers, forcing himself to make eye contact. "I…-" Galahad faltered.
Tristan stepped forward, looming inches in front of Galahad's lean figure as a fever spread wildly in his veins. Tristan’s broad chest pressed against Galahad, exhaling an achingly warm, unchaste breath down his neck, “I desire you.”
Galahad shivered and his eyes widened, “You knew.” His voice wavering scarcely. Tristan's lip twitched at the confirmation, staring intently at Galahad, “I didn’t.”
Galahad glanced at Tristan with disbelief, “Then, you… You mean to desire me as well.”
Tristan said nothing, only leaned into the younger knight, closer and closer still until their lips finally met. He felt the way Galahad tensed from the touch of their lips and carefully turned his head to deepen it, Galahad replying with just as much passion.
Tristan settled his hands on Galahad’s hips, Galahad boldly pressing heavier against Tristan, from his clavicle down to his thighs.
“Feeling brave, pup?” Tristan teased between his lips. Galahad bit Tristan in return, a challenge.
Tristan backed Galahad up to lean against a tree and dug his rough fingers against the coarse fibers of his garments, something in their band only Galahad wore, rather deceitful given his disdain for the Romans. Though, Tristan did often find himself relishing at the view it allowed.
Galahad tugged at Tristan’s tunic to reveal his shaggy chest, scattered with valent marks of battle. Slowly Galahad placed his hands onto Tristian, roaming him freely, exploring every contour.
While Tristan’s hands descended lower along the groove of his hip, down to the muscled thighs before they slipped underneath his skirt, to then brush his hand up exposing the pale, smooth skin as his other appendage invaded Galahad’s undergarments.
A fevered kiss turned into open mouths, lapping at every untouched inch, nipping at loose tongues and biting lips between panting breaths. Galahad sucked in an unsteady breath through his teeth, “If you have me here, someone will surely see” Galahad muttered against the scout’s skin.
“No one will see, and live to tell.” Tristan hissed with absolute certitude.
Tristan lowered his trousers just enough to grasp his own manhood. It was thicker than Galahads, but not as long, still Galahad felt chills run down his spine, his jaw clenched as he swallowed thickly.
Tristan pressed their bodies together, devouring Galahad’s plumped lips as he wrapped his large hand around both of their hardened members. Galahad shivered, a reckoning spiking fast in his stomach as Tristan handled them with passion.
Heat pulsed through Galahad’s lungs, in his veins, swallowing Galahad whole with each unstoppable thrust and stroke of sinful heat, until his hands clenched onto Tristan’s shoulders, moaning sloppily into the scouts mouth as he arrived to finish for the first time.
The intense wave of pleasure left Galahad panting and practically vibrating. If Tristan hadn’t pinned him between a tree, Galahad would have no doubt collapsed to the ground. Galahad nuzzled farther into Tristan’s neck, contentment buzzing in his chest, with the scout pressed all along his front, heavy and warm and comforting.
"I- I have dreamed of this moment." Galahad sighed. Tristan hummed, running his empty hand down Galahad back, "As have I, more times then you know." Tristan muttered.
“I wish for you not to hold back from me anymore” Tristan chuckled softly, pulling away, face to face with Galahad.
“You should be more cautious with what you are asking for, Galahad.”
“I understand well enough for what I'm asking… You are what I want, Tristan. I want all of you, and in return I will commit myself to you.”
Tristan's heart skipped a beat, his hand clapping around Galahad's softening, Galahad bit his lip as Tristan pulled away slowly, gathering the cum in his hand. Before Tristan spun Galahad around, pressing his face roughly against the jagged bark, chest flush to back.
Tristan growled into Galahad’s ear, “Then I will teach you the pleasures of flesh, until you know nothing else…”
The night Tristan ravenously fucked Galahad into raptures, until his back dripped with blood and stung from scratches, until his fingers bore bruises into Galahad’s hips as the younger man ripped through the earth. Begging and screaming Tristan's name till climax, reaching peak after peak, just as promised. Such absolute ecstasy written brightly on Galahad's face, even the gods would shake with jealousy.