Playing Knightly: Overture

“You lose,” Tristan said laconically.

Galahad stared in disbelief at the scout’s knife. The tip of Tris’ razor sharp blade was imbedded in the handle of Galahad’s knife, which stuck quivering in the center of the target. Galahad had been certain he’d won this round until …

Gawain’s laughter forestalled whatever Galahad was about to say. The youngest knight spun to stare at the eldest as Gawain’s merriment showed no sign of abating quickly. As easy as snapping one’s fingers, Galahad’s irritation transferred to Gawain.

“I see nothing to laugh about,” Galahad said truculently.

“Then open your eyes,” Gawain chuckled.

“No, I think you’d better tell me what is so amusing,” Galahad said.

Dagonet paused over the repairing of a harness strap and looked up at his brother knights. Across the small square, Lancelot stopped in mid-sentence and turned from his conversation with Jols. Bors let Vanora slide from his lap as he stood and reached for the ax beside his chair. Around the frozen figures of the knights, the other patrons of the outdoor tavern continued their revels, blithely unaware of the lethal tension that was building.

Tristan moved carefully around Galahad until he was in the lad’s line of sight. “Is it really Gawain you are angry with?” the scout asked as though he cared nothing for the answer.

Galahad’s wide blue eyes fastened on Tristan.

“Well,” Tris drawled. “I am the one that beat you, after all.”

“It was not a proper contest,” Galahad stated.

“You are a poor sport,” was the scout’s opinion.

“Dog of an Aorsi!” Galahad bent for the knife in his boot.

Tristan never moved, except to chew the slice of apple he’d just put in his mouth. As Galahad straightened, Dagonet’s arm snaked around his neck. The towering Dagonet pulled Galahad against his broad chest, as Lancelot plucked the dagger from the lad’s fist. Gawain’s turquoise eyes reflected his alarm as he rose to his feet.

“What has gotten into you?” Gawain asked as Galahad spat over his shoulder at Dag.

“Let me go,” Galahad shouted furiously.

Lancelot’s inky eyes narrowed as he watched the red-faced Galahad struggle in Dagonet’s hold. Flaring tempers were a daily occurrence among warriors of their caliber trained to a fever pitch and left idle for more than a week, but this was more than nerves. With a glance and a jerk of his head, Lancelot sent Jols after Arthur.

“Galahad,” Lancelot said calmly. “Why are you so angry? You have lost contests of skill before.”

“Most of them,” Tristan commented.

Lancelot felt the urge to step back from the lightning that ignited in Galahad’s eyes. Bors leapt to Dagonet’s aid as Galahad very nearly freed himself by the sheer force of his rage.

“Whatever spirit possesses him, I hope it returns the next time we fight the Woads,” Bors grunted with the effort of restraining his comrade.

“Galahad! Settle down,” Lancelot barked. “And Tristan, shut your mouth.”

The five other Sarmatian knights reacted to their lieutenant’s tone of command, coming more or less to attention, except for Galahad. The youngest knight fought frenziedly to break free, cursing the whole while.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at Dagonet. Dagonet shook his head and Lancelot gave another silent order. Slowly, Dag increased the pressure on Galahad’s windpipe.

“Dung-eating Taiphali,” Galahad wheezed as his air was cut off.

Dagonet ignored the insult to his tribe and looked to Lancelot for direction.

“Galahad,” Lancelot tried to get through to the hysterical knight. “It was just a friendly competition. Why are you so upset?”

“He cheats!” Galahad gasped. “The Aorsi cur is always slinking around, spying and laughing behind our backs. I’ve had a bellyful of his smug face smirking at me everywhere I go.”

Lancelot blinked and slid a glance at Gawain. The eldest knight looked as bewildered as the lieutenant felt. This quarrel was definitely more significant than the everyday spats.

“My knights fighting amongst themselves?”

Arthur’s rich tones freighted the churned atmosphere with wounded surprise. Instantly, the taut wires of Sarmatian nerves loosened like unstrung bows. Five pairs of eyes lit with quiet awe as they turned to their commander. Galahad slumped in Dag’s arms with his gaze on the ground.

“Let Galahad go,” Arthur said to Dagonet.

Released, Galahad swayed slightly and Arthur wrapped a large hand around the lad’s biceps.

“What was the cause of this?” Arthur asked the young knight. “What great wrong was done you that you so insult your brothers?”

Galahad’s eyes turned the color of a mountain lake as they filled with tears. “Forgive me, Arthur. I … I was mad for a moment, but I am calm now.”

Arthur lifted Galahad’s chin on his palm. “It is not my pardon you should ask, lad.”

Galahad squared his shoulders and turned to his comrades. “Please,” he said. “Do not take anything I said to heart.”

“I never do,” Tristan said with a shrug.

“You’re drunk,” Gawain said quickly, to whom he didn’t specify. “People say things they don’t mean when they’ve had too much wine.”

“Aye,” Dagonet concurred succinctly.

“You’re young yet, Galahad,” was Lancelot’s judgment. “And besides, you didn’t insult me.”

Galahad raised his eyes to Arthur again. “I’ll try harder to curb my temper,” he said.

“Vanora!” Bors roared at his woman. “Give us a song to soothe young Galahad.”

“I am busy just now, my lover,” Vanora called back.

“By all the gods, must I beat you?” Bors shouted in mock-outrage.

Vanora set down the pitcher she was carrying with a thump. Fixing her eyes on her mate, she lifted her water-pure voice in a song that was old before any of them were born. Borne on a fresh wind, the minor melody wandered like cloud shadows across vast seas of rippling green grass. Light and airy, the piece of music gladdened the heart.

Gawain grasped Galahad’s wrist and pulled the lad onto his knees. Galahad grinned good-naturedly and settled onto his comrade’s lap as the song changed mood. As the tempo slowed, Vanora’s voice took on a husky quality. Sweet and sultry, the tune entered the ear and traveled a direct path to the nether regions.

Tristan’s hands settled on Gawain’s shoulders and massaged the hard muscles to the beat of the smoldering song. Dagonet moved back into the shadows and picked up his discarded mending, his head nodding in time to the music. Like everyone else in the tavern yard they held their tongues under the spell of Vanora’s magical talent.

“Witch!” Bors bellowed as he stalked toward the woman.

Vanora continued to sing as her bullish lover moved behind her and took hold of her swaying hips.

“You have your revenge, woman,” Bors said in her ear. “Now come to Bors.”

The siren call to the flesh ceased abruptly as Vanora turned and kissed her knight passionately. Lancelot exchanged a glance with Arthur and both men slipped unobtrusively out of the gate. Only Dagonet marked their exit; the rest of the Sarmatians still seemed beguiled by the sensual sorcery.

Galahad got to his feet and looked back down at Gawain. “Are you carrying a concealed dagger, or is that for me?”

Gawain cast his gaze down at the tent in his trousers. “Conceited,” he said to Galahad. “It could be for Vanora.”

Tris snorted his opinion of the likelihood of Gawain’s statement being true.

“Bors would kill you,” Galahad said cheerfully.

“What about you?” Tristan asked.

Galahad frowned slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“You got me excited with all of that foreplay with the knives,” Tris said. “Then Bors’ woman cast that damned love charm. What do you think I mean?”

Galahad’s merry laugh rang out again. “I swear it sounds as though you want to bed me.”

“I want to sink so deep into you that we both think we’re dying,” Tristan said.

Galahad swallowed hard. “You would not jest about this?”

Tristan shook his shaggy head, and held out his hand. Galahad cocked his head like a hound that hears a whistle on the wind. After a long moment, the young knight took Tris’ hand and was pulled away. Without taking his eyes from Galahad’s, the scout snagged a bottle from a table as they passed. The men that had paid for the wine stayed their protests when they recognized the Aorsi.

Gawain watched his comrades go with a complicated expression on his face. If only he’d been quicker, bolder, less sensitive to rejection, he would be striding off with an armful of willing Galahad. Gawain had always felt the closest kinship with Tristan because their tribes had traditionally fought together, but just now he could murder the Aorsi. Surely, Tristan had seen Gawain’s interest in Galahad.

Gawain drained his mug and looked around for Lancelot, but the lieutenant was nowhere in sight. Sighing, Gawain noticed Arthur’s absence by the lessening of the light in the square and surmised that their leaders had gone off to have some no-doubt lofty discussion that touched on religion, politics and philosophy. Bors had carried Vanora off over his shoulder and Dagonet seemed intent on his work.

Slamming the wooden cup down on the table, Gawain rose and met the eyes of all those that looked up. All of the men quickly looked back down, but the women met his gaze boldly. On any other night, Gawain would have topped one of them gladly, but not this night. Consumed by regret, jealousy and self-pity, Gawain stalked into the night. Putting away his tools, Dagonet followed.

Playing Knightly Two: Wild Music

Arthur held open the door, standing well aside so that Lancelot could enter.

“Why are you so afraid to touch me now?” Lancelot was provoked into asking.

Arthur stopped in the entry hall of his Roman-style villa and faced his lieutenant.

“What is behind your question?” Arthur asked directly.

“Forgive me in advance for this,” Lancelot said.

Stepping closer, the knight grasped a fistful of his commander’s crotch and squeezed. Arthur jumped with a surprised yelp that echoed from the vaulted ceiling.

“You Scythian madman,” Arthur said indignantly.

Lancelot’s eyes, as black as the spaces between the stars, sparked with instant ire. “I am not a Scythian, as you well know, Lucius Artorius Castus. And don’t try to change the subject. You’re hard.”

“I keep forgetting,” Arthur said, turning away to hide his smile. “You’re an Urgi, are you not?”

“Bors is an Urgi,” Lancelot said, hurrying after Arthur. “Stop trying to provoke me.”

“I am not the one that grabbed your jewels,” Arthur said in dry reproof.

“I was making a point,” Lancelot said as they entered Arthur’s private quarters.

Arthur turned and found he was face to face with his handsome lieutenant. For the space of three heartbeats, the commander allowed himself the weakness of enjoying Lancelot’s profligate beauty. The Roxolani’s face and form were composed of starkly graceful pen and ink slashes on the finest creamy vellum and his eyes …

Arthur yanked himself back to reality before he could fall completely under the sway of Lancelot’s undeniable appeal. “It’s true,” Arthur said. “We committed certain indiscretions as green lads, but we outgrew them long ago.”

Lancelot chuckled. “My earnest, honorable Arthur. Admit you want me. I will come gladly to your bed.” The Sarmatian gestured. “Look, I am already halfway there.”

“No, Lancelot,” Arthur objected. “It is not … seemly.”

“Sex rarely is,” Lancelot countered.

“I would lose respect with the men.”

“Quite the opposite.”

“It is not a good time to begin an affair.”

“True, but there will never be a better,” Lancelot said “We could die tomorrow, and besides, in a few years, I will leave this accursed island and go home.”

Arthur frowned in thought and Lancelot spoke again.

“I have heard every objection from you except for the only one I would accept. Tell me you do not desire me, and I will desist.”

“I cannot tell you that in honesty, my best beloved knight,” Arthur said softly. “But I will not give in to this weakness.”

“Weakness?” Lancelot smiled. “Think you Tristan weak? Or Gawain? Am I weak?”

“Of course not, but …”

“Arthur, please allow yourself some pleasure, just a little softness to offset all that steel. If I can unbend enough to share joy with a fellow knight, why can’t you? Are you so much better than me?”

“You twist my words with that clever tongue.”

“Then let me find better use for it,” Lancelot said, giving Arthur a look that had smoke coming off of it.

“Scythian devil,” Arthur murmured as he seized Lancelot and crushed his comrade in his strong arms.

Lancelot returned the embrace ardently, offering his mouth like a gift on a pagan shrine. Arthur’s blood, already up, was stirred to recklessness by the heat of Lancelot’s gaze. Without stopping to think, Arthur covered the Roxolani’s lips with his own.

In battle, Lancelot was detached, cold and ruthless, never hesitating to deal the deathblow. In Arthur’s arms, Lancelot was passionate, warm and giving, his lips parting to welcome Arthur’s tongue as soon as it laid siege.

“By my faith!” Arthur gasped as he broke the kiss. “You have learned much since we were lads.”

“We have never kissed with open mouths before,” Lancelot pointed out.

“We will again,” Arthur predicted. “And right soon. But I warn you, Scythian sorcerer, I will not be charmed into bed this night.”

“As you wish,” Lancelot said, rubbing his groin against the other man’s. “Though I think you should consult with your friend here. He seems eager enough to test my mettle.”

“Stop that immediately,” Arthur commanded.

Lancelot obeyed, pressing his erection firmly to Arthur’s, as he put his arms around the man’s neck. “What did you want to talk about, then?” he asked innocently.

Arthur’s eyes, as blue green as glacial waters, stared into Lancelot’s depthless gaze.

“Tell me how you do that thing with your tongue that makes my cock twitch,” the big man purred.

“I’ll do much better than that,” Lancelot vowed, pulling Arthur’s head down for another kiss.

“In here, boy,” Tristan dragged Galahad into the stables and kicked the door shut behind them.

Galahad breathed deep of the scents of the barn, hay, horse manure and the sharp mint smell of balm, sweet perfume to him and his fellow knights. There was nothing so precious to them as their brave steeds.

“Whoa!” Galahad said as Tristan yanked his tunic down his shoulders.

Tristan drank in the sight of Galahad’s sculpted torso. The young knight’s skin was as smooth as cream and as soft as his horse’s muzzle as Tris soon discovered.

“Hey!” Galahad protested. “You are proceeding at the gallop.”

“What?” Tristan inquired without much interest as he flicked a finger against one of Galahad’s rosy nipples.

“Do you intend to take me in the stables?”

“Can you think of a better place to be mounted?”

“Is that what we are doing?” Galahad asked.

“I thought so,” Tristan tweaked the nub of flesh between thumb and forefinger.

“That’s very … sensitive,” Galahad gulped.

“Thank you for the pointer,” Tristan smirked as he leaned forward.

“Flames!” Galahad swore as the scout fastened a hot mouth on his right nipple.

Pressing a hand to the small of Galahad’s back, and taking hold of the lad’s upper arm with the other, Tristan held him in place. Enthusiastically, the scout sucked and nibbled at the pebbled flesh as Galahad squirmed. The young knight groaned as sharp white teeth nipped at his flesh and a rough/soft tongue licked at the susceptible tips.

“Tris, please,” Galahad said, as he melted in the Aorsi’s arms like wax in the sun.

Tristan lifted his head at the note of panic in Galahad’s voice. “What troubles you?”

“Naught,” Galahad said bravely. “What you were doing caused me such pleasure I was like to swoon with it.”

“Stop. You will make me blush,” Tristan answered.

“Tris,” Galahad said, with a hitch in his voice, as the scout suckled at his nipples. “Do you care for me at all?”

Tristan swept Galahad into a fierce hug and took the young man’s lips with all the passion in his untamed, pagan soul. Galahad surrendered to it like the steppes accepting the passage of a herd of wild horses.

“Are you satisfied of my feelings?” Tris asked, his lips a breath away from Galahad’s.

“Nay, prove them to me again,” Galahad breathed.

Tristan smiled in a sunny expression of genuine delight, and Galahad’s heart was lost. Then the scout took possession of Galahad’s mouth again in no uncertain manner. Galahad’s arms were pinned by his leather tunic, and he whimpered his distress when he couldn’t reciprocate the embrace.

“Ah, wait but a moment,” Tristan said as his nimble fingers danced over laces and buckles.

In moments, Galahad was bare to the waist and shivering with pleasure as Tristan ran weapon-callused fingers over his exposed flesh. Trembling like a colt at the first touch of a human hand, Galahad clutched at Tristan’s rangy shoulders.

“Gods, boy,” Tristan rasped. “Have you never done this?”

Galahad gasped as Tristan ran a hand up the inside of his thigh. “Plenty of times,” he said.

“So you’ve had a woman,” Tristan smiled wryly.

“As you well know!”

Tristan’s smile broadened at the memory of the knights heaving an even younger Galahad through the brothel doorway. Gaheris had still been with them then, and Agravain. A pang of sorrow for their lost brothers tightened the scout’s throat until he remembered that they were running free across the plains with the east wind in their manes.

“Tris?”

The intense Aorsi met the younger knight’s eyes. Galahad was taken aback for a moment by the feverish glitter in Tristan’s stare.

“Do you feel well?” Galahad asked.

“Aye,” Tristan said. “But I expect to feel better in a few moments.”

Galahad was overwhelmed as his comrade came at him with lips, tongue, teeth and wildly roaming fingers. Gladly, the young knight surrendered to the sensuous assault, joining the duel of tongues and invading the unclaimed territory of Tris’ lean-muscled frame.

Breaking for air, they both breathlessly saluted the action with a heartfelt, “Rus!”

Panting like a wolf, Tristan let his eyes roam Galahad’s perfect body, sizing him up before attacking again. Galahad met the scout’s lunge solidly, melding his length to the Aorsi’s as Tristan took his mouth and took him to the floor. Galahad landed on his back in the cushioning straw with Tristan atop him, taking the weight gladly.

Tristan kissed Galahad as though he never meant to stop, beginning with the sculpted lips, down the tender neck and across the hard pectorals to the sensitive nipples. Galahad pressed upward into the urgent caresses, encouraging the scout to rougher and rougher handling. Not that Tris needed motivation; he seemed set on devouring Galahad.

Slowly, thoroughly, the scout licked and sucked his way down the center of Galahad’s writhing body, dipping his tongue into the shallow depression of the navel. Sliding his hands up Galahad’s muscular thighs, Tristan pushed the leather kilt to the young man’s waist. The Aorsi reached around to take a double handful of firm buttocks and lift.

“God of Thunder!” Galahad yelped as Tristan’s mouth closed around the head of his shaft.

Galahad squirmed, moaned and gasped as the scout lavished attention on his manhood and the heavy sack that hung beneath. When Tristan’s mouth moved lower, Galahad whimpered and shook uncontrollably. A hot wet tongue darted into his hole and the young knight froze in place, every muscle standing out in stark relief.

“It’s good?” Tristan asked as he hooked Galahad’s knees over his shoulders.

Galahad shivered as he tried to make his mouth work. “I … I … never felt anything like that. I thought I’d been struck by lightning. What did you do to me?”

Tristan smiled down the length of Galahad’s body. “You soft Iazygi. Your people are too civilized and proper to speak of such things.”

“Even now, you insult me,” Galahad said. “Find something else to do with your mouth.”

Tristan cocked an eyebrow. “You sounded almost like a man just then.”

“And how would … oh,” Galahad moaned as Tris’ tongue circled his entrance. “How would … oh gods … how would you know … oh … what a man sounds like?”

Tristan’s answer was to stab his tongue as deeply into Galahad as it would go. Probing with the agile muscle, the scout rubbed the mound of nerves pressing against the wall of the young knight’s sheath. Galahad groaned in sheer ecstasy as the stroking continued.

“Touch yourself,” Tristan commanded before returning to his endeavor.

Galahad took hold of his rigid manhood and pumped it firmly. The familiar motion, coupled with the sweet stimulation of Tristan’s mouth and hands, brought the young knight quickly to the edge of release.

“Ah, Tris,” Galahad panted. “I didn’t know anything could feel so good.”

Tris’s braids fell across his face, as he looked up to gauge Galahad’s state of arousal. Letting the long bare legs slide down to the crook of his elbows, Tristan licked a cool stripe up the underside of Galahad’s shaft. Lowering one of the Iazygi’s legs to rest on his thigh, the scout nudged Galahad’s glistening opening with a fingertip.

“Relax, boy,” Tristan said. “Don’t cum yet.”

Galahad made a strangled sound as Tristan’s finger slid into him to the second knuckle before being swiftly withdrawn. Two fingers entered the tight passage and were just as quickly pulled back out. Galahad barely had time to register the discomfort. Again, Tristan pushed his fingers into Galahad and spread them to hold the entrance open.

Galahad swallowed hard as he guessed what was coming next. Quelling his anxiety, he reminded himself that he was a Sarmatian, one of the most fearsome warriors in the world. Besides, he was sure that Tristan wouldn’t hurt him unnecessarily.

“I’m going to mount now,” Tristan said, looking into Galahad’s melting eyes. “You ready?”

“Just let me cum,” Galahad moaned.

“You will cum,” Tristan promised. “If you have never spilled your seed with something inside you, you do not know pleasure.”

Galahad drew in a sharp breath as the tip of Tris’ long shaft squeezed through his opening. Tristan flattened his palms against the backs Galahad’s taut thighs and leaned forward gradually. The scout eased into the other man, sheathing his length as Galahad’s knees drew ever closer to his ears.

“Ahhh,” Tristan sighed as his eyes half-closed in ecstasy.

Galahad flexed his opening again, and once more elicited that purr of pure pleasure from the stoic scout. “You like that?” Galahad asked in a strained voice.

“Paradise,” Tris said. “And you?”

“Feels like I’ve a Saxon spear lodged in my guts.”

“That good?” Tristan smiled. “Give it a moment, boy. You’ll grow used to it.”

“Have you ever … oh gods … no, wait … please, Tris… do not move yet.”

“Have I ever what?” Tristan asked as he withdrew at a languid speed.

“Taken a man’s cock?”

“As opposed to a woman’s cock?” Tris grinned.

“You know what I … oh Fires that feels so … strange.”

Tris pushed back in a couple of inches only to withdraw right away. In short, shallow strokes, the scout shunted the tip of his manhood in Galahad’s sheath. He didn’t need to ask if he was hitting the spot; the wild music of Galahad’s small cries followed the tempo Tristan set. Leaning in, Tristan grasped Galahad’s lolling shaft and fisted it rapidly.

Galahad came with an inarticulate exclamation of mingled surprise and pleasure. His aching arousal jerked in Tristan’s hand, disgorging a powerful stream of creamy essence as his passage clenched in happy contractions around the scout’s manhood.

“Fires, that’s good,” Tris murmured as he slid into the snug socket.

Galahad lay limp against the straw, overcome by his climax. He’d never experienced anything so intense and it was taking some time to recover his wits. As the shaft that stretched him shifted slightly, Galahad whimpered in protest.

“Wait, please, Tris,” he whispered. “I need just a moment to …”

Galahad broke off as Tristan began rocking gently into his passage.

“How does that feel?” the scout asked.

“Unbelievable,” Galahad admitted. “Oh gods, yes. Right there. I cannot believe how good that feels.”

“Are you ready for more?” Tris asked.

“All you have to give,” Galahad said. “Show me everything.”

“Then I guess Gawain is going to have to come out of that stall,” Tristan said.

Playing Knightly Three: Intermissions

Arthur released Lancelot and began divesting himself of the sober-hued garments he favored. Lancelot forbore to comment on his commander’s lack of style, glancing down at his own black tunic, unrelieved by any ornamentation, black as death.

Lancelot shook his head, sable curls bouncing softly against his cheeks and forehead. He was becoming as morose as the Aorsi. He needed relief as much as Arthur did. That was the tack he should take in his ongoing seduction of his commander. Arthur could resist anything, except the opportunity to right a wrong, mete out justice or alleviate suffering.

Moving closer, Lancelot took Arthur’s sword belt from the Roman’s hands and draped it over a chair back. Arthur nodded thanks and let his lieutenant help him disrobe. As Lancelot pulled the under tunic over Arthur’s head, he admired the man’s solid, long-muscled physique clad only in linen drawers and boots.

“Sit,” the lieutenant said, pushing Arthur backward with a hand on the man’s sternum.

Arthur’s bottom hit the mattress with a thump as Lancelot knelt before him and picked up one of his feet.

“No, my noble knight,” Arthur protested. “You should not be doing this for me.”

“I want to,” Lancelot said, pulling off one of the man’s boots.

“It is un- …”

“If I hear ‘unseemly’ one more time,” Lancelot said. “I shall teach you the meaning of the word.”

Arthur smiled. “I’ve no doubt you could, pagan, but I am a good Christian man.”

Lancelot snorted as he yanked off the other boot and tossed it over his shoulder. Arthur flinched as the Roxolani moved between his legs, hard hands sliding up his thighs. The commander’s breath hissed in over his teeth as Lancelot reached his groin.

“God in heaven!” Arthur gasped as Lancelot grasped his manhood as confidently as the hilt of a sword. “I should order you to stop.”

“I will not stop unless you physically restrain me,” Lancelot warned. “You need this, Arthur. I need this.”

Arthur’s vivid eyes fastened on Lancelot’s. “If you need relief, why not visit the brothels?”

“That is not what I need,” Lancelot said. “I need to share myself with one I hold in higher regard than life itself. I need to feel your heart beating next to mine as you fill me with your essence. I need to hear your voice in my ear as you find your release. I need to hold you until the echoes of joy have faded from our flesh and we remember again who we are and what we must do. I dread that moment, Arthur, so please give me surcease of care for a while. Call it a truce with your fine sensibilities.”

“You love me,” Arthur said in the tone a man would use to point out any other miracle.

Lancelot’s fine dark brows drew down over his eyes. “Of course, I love you. How could I not? Have you no notion of yourself, Arthur?”

“I try to be a good man and live up to my position as your leader,” Arthur said, trying to ignore the fact the Lancelot was gently stroking his hard flesh through his drawers.

“You are a very good man, an excellent man, none better,” Lancelot assured him. “I live for you, and I would most certainly die for you.”

“I do not deserve such loyalty.”

“And I do not deserve such insult,” Lancelot answered. “Would I bestow my service on an unworthy master?”

“You had no choice in the matter,” Arthur pointed out.

“Do you think I would not have slit your throat and run for the border if I had found you to be a dishonorable man?”

“No,” Arthur sighed. “I imagine that is exactly what you would have done, bloodthirsty Scyth- …”

Lancelot surged up from his knees and took Arthur’s mouth in a ravenous kiss. The heat of the Roxolani’s lips sparked an answering fire in the Roman. Sliding his hands under Lancelot’s armpits, Arthur supported him as the kiss went on, increasing in ardor with each beat of their hearts.

“Lie back,” Lancelot murmured in a silky voice as their lips parted.

Arthur rested on his elbows and watched as his manhood was freed. The rosy column of flesh twitched in anticipation as Lancelot bent over it. The most beautiful lips Arthur had ever seen kissed the tip of his shaft and the commander shivered with more than eagerness.

This was the culmination of a long-held, deeply hidden desire, one that Arthur had vowed never to reveal. He should have known he could not keep secrets from Lancelot. The Roxolani knew Arthur’s soul. And stood by him anyway.

Arthur could not put his finger on the exact moment when his love for Lancelot became more than that of a brother in arms, but it had. His fear told him just how much.

Arthur cared fiercely for the lives of his men, more than he cared for his own, but he accepted that they might fall in battle at any time. It had been the hardest lesson he’d learned as a captain.

Now, however, if Arthur imagined Lancelot dying, his mind was plunged into such despair that he had trouble ridding himself of it. He could not accept his lieutenant’s death. He did not know how he would continue living without the knight’s presence in his life.

And here was Lancelot, on his knees, telling Arthur of his love. It was like a dream as Arthur’s shaft was engulfed in warm wetness and a lively tongue darted into the sensitive slit. Large hands cradled Lancelot’s skull, scarred fingers sliding through thick ringlets, as the Roxolani took the entire length down his throat and bobbed his head gently.

“By the saints!” Arthur gasped as Lancelot swallowed. “Stop, unless you’re ready for this to end right here.”

“Nay,” Lancelot raised his head, running his long fingers through Arthur’s pubic pelt and up the hard abdomen. “I want you to spill inside me.”

Arthur’s cock jerked in the Roxolani’s hand and Lancelot smiled wickedly.

“That appeals to you, does it?”

Arthur nodded. “Come here first,” he said, his voice thick with arousal.

“Gawain!” Galahad exclaimed, scrambling out from under Tristan.

Tristan grasped Galahad by the hips and stopped him. “It’s just Gawain,” the scout said reasonably.

“Were you watching us?” Galahad asked indignantly, still trying halfheartedly to get free.

Tris’ gazed traveled downward to Gawain’s unmistakable and unabashed erection peeking over hastily drawn up trousers. “I’d say yes,” Tristan said.

“Sneaking Siraci!” Galahad said. “And pleasuring yourself? Could you sink lower?”

“Gladly, if it brought me closer to you,” Gawain said lightly.

Tristan chuckled, outraging Galahad.

“I’m sure it’s all very funny to the two of you, but I am the one lying here with Tris’ manhood up my arse,” the young knight burst out.

“Shhh,” Tristan soothed, stroking Galahad’s thigh tenderly. “Gawain means no harm.”

“I apologize,” Gawain said. “I should not have spied on you, but …”

“What reason could you possibly give for this betrayal?” Galahad asked.

“I want you as much as Tristan obviously does,” Gawain said baldly. “I was going to speak with you tonight, but the clever bastard asked first.”

“The Siraces have always been slow,” Tristan said, as he shifted his hips.

Galahad groaned as a wave of bliss rippled through him. Gawain’s tongue came out to circle his lips, leaving them wet and glistening.

“Galahad sings beautifully, eh?” Tristan asked, thrusting shallowly.

“God of fire,” Galahad moaned. “I believe every story I ever heard of Aorsi witchcraft.”

“It feels good?” Tristan murmured.

“Almost too good to bear.”

“Will you share this joy with Gawain?” the scout asked softly.

Galahad opened his eyes and met Gawain’s longing stare. With a sweet smile, the young knight held out his hand to Gawain. Without hesitation, Gawain dropped to his knees in the straw. As Tris maintained his steady stroke, Gawain took Galahad in his mouth.

Galahad’s buttocks lifted as Gawain sucked eagerly at his hard flesh. Tristan groaned in pleasure as the young man’s pumping hips impaled him more deeply on the scout’s aching arousal. The blunt tip of the Aorsi’s long shaft bumped consistently against Galahad’s most susceptible flesh, driving him closer and closer to another peak of pleasure.

Tristan took hold of Gawain’s rod and stroked it to the rhythm that Galahad set. Gawain moaned around the pulsing shaft in his throat and the vibrations made Galahad buck like an untamed yearling.

“Rus,” Tristan breathed as his fingers dug into the lad’s flank, seeking purchase.

Galahad let out a yell that startled the horses as he erupted in Gawain’s mouth. The young knight’s climax triggered Tristan’s. Letting go of Gawain’s arousal, the scout gripped the backs Galahad’s knees and leaned forward. Once, twice, thrice, he thrust deeply and forcefully into the quivering sheath and gave up his essence.

Galahad’s interior muscles clung to Tris’ shaft as though reluctant to release the invader. Tristan shuddered as his orgasm was prolonged by the intimate massage. Bending Galahad double, the scout buried his face in the damp neck, nipping at the tender skin as his release unfurled. Galahad wrapped his legs around Tristan and held him tightly as a wave of sweet lassitude washed through both.

“Sweet as wild honey,” Tristan murmured against Galahad’s throat.

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” Galahad chanted mindlessly in rapid patter of whispered words like raindrops on a carpet of leaves.

Tristan opened one eye and saw the forlorn Gawain. “Galahad? Are you still feeling generous?” the Aorsi asked.

Lancelot stood between Arthur’s thighs as the commander nuzzled his way down the thin treasure trail of dark hair to Lancelot’s groin. Cupping his lieutenant’s firm buttocks, Arthur took Lancelot’s handsome manhood in his mouth. Lancelot gazed down with heavy lidded eyes, white teeth catching at his lower lip as Arthur pleasured him.

Arthur’s fingers crept into Lancelot’s cleft, pulling apart the satin-skinned cheeks and rubbing at the small entrance. Lancelot began to thrust subtly in Arthur’s mouth as a thick forefinger prodded insistently at his opening.

“You are surprisingly good at this,” Lancelot said with an edge to his velvet voice.

“I have lain with no other man,” Arthur relinquished the pulsing rod to answer. “Nor with many women. The few that have extended me the solace of their bodies were kind enough to instruct me in the ways of coaxing a lover to completion.”

Lancelot cocked his head. “Is that your idea of romantic conversation?”

“Devil. See what you have brought me to?”

“Don’t repent yet,” Lancelot warned. “We are only getting started.”

Arthur watched curiously as Lancelot padded across the chamber, rummaged in the weapon chest and returned. Uncapping a small vial, Lancelot poured the contents over his fingers.

“Olive oil,” Lancelot explained. “I put it in your kit for emergencies.”

“What sort of emergencies?” Arthur asked.

Lancelot lifted an eyebrow as he slowly pushed a finger into the tight muscle that guarded his entrance. “This sort,” he said in a strained voice.

“Would you mind if I did that?” Arthur asked forthrightly.

“Not at all,” Lancelot said, handing the man the oil.

Arthur anointed his fingers thoroughly and poured the rest on his rigid manhood.

“It is not like a woman,” Lancelot said as Arthur’s finger nudged his opening.

“You jest,” Arthur replied dryly.

The Roman bent his head and sucked gently at the head of Lancelot’s arousal as he rubbed and pressed against the furled entryway. Lancelot widened his stance, bracing his hands on Arthur’s broad shoulders as a fingertip breached his passage. Catching Lancelot’s eyes, Arthur held the Roxolani’s gaze as he eased deeper into the tight sheath.

“Ahhh,” Lancelot sighed. “That is it, Arthur. You have found my weakness.”

Crooking his finger, Arthur stroked the yielding swell in the wall of Lancelot’s passage. The knight clamped his muscles on the tantalizing digit, trying to gain more friction. Arthur’s breath grew ragged as he slid his finger in the wet heat and watched Lancelot’s face change expressions. Adding a second finger, the commander sucked strongly at the hard rod.

Lancelot kneaded Arthur’s shoulders and fought to control his thrusts into Arthur’s mouth as the waves of pleasure mounted. Crossing his fingers, Arthur twisted them as he pushed into the resilient opening. Finally, Lancelot made a sound.

Arthur’s manhood quivered and ached as the drawn out moan purled from Lancelot’s sweet lips. The needy whimper that followed spurred the Roman to greater efforts. Swirling his fingertips over the sensitive gland, Arthur firmly stroked Lancelot’s yearning length as he flicked his tongue over the engorged head.

Lancelot threw back his head with a keening sound as he filled Arthur’s mouth with hot seed. To his credit, this being the first time he’d tasted another man’s seed, the commander did not gag, flinch, or spit, but swallowed down all that Lancelot gave him before letting the sated rod slide from his mouth. Pulling his fingers from the Roxolani, Arthur took hold of the slim hips.

Reverberating with his intense climax, Lancelot let his commander guide him over Arthur’s impressive length. The Roman seated the tip of his slippery shaft and looked up at his most beloved knight, giving control to Lancelot.

Lancelot’s nails sank into the skin of Arthur’s upper back as the Roxolani slowly lowered himself onto Arthur’s arousal. The thick shaft pulsed as it was enveloped in shrinking folds of wet velvet. Lancelot groaned deep in his chest at each twitch of the big cock and Arthur’s eyes darkened with concern.

“I am well,” Lancelot anticipated the man’s words. “I have taken worse hurts sparring with you. You’ve given me great pleasure; allow me to return the favor.”

“Is this your idea of romantic conversation?” Arthur asked.

Lancelot smiled as he settled across Arthur’s long thighs. “No. This is,” the lieutenant said as he flexed his knees, posting on Arthur’s arousal.

“Save me!” Arthur exclaimed, the last coherent words from his lips for some time.

Lancelot clamped the elastic ring at his entrance firmly around Arthur’s rod, bearing down as though eager to expel the rigid length of flesh. Balancing delicately, the Roxolani let go of Arthur’s shoulders and pinched hard at the pink nipples haloed in dark hair. Arthur reacted strongly, wrapping his arms around Lancelot’s back, sucking, licking and biting at the dark nubs atop the knight’s smooth pectorals.

Both men were caught in a fiery maelstrom of lust that rose ever higher, threatening to consume them and leave nothing but ashes in its wake. Neither cared, throwing their bodies willingly on the pyre as sacrifices to their desires.

Standing abruptly, Arthur turned Lancelot onto his back on the mattress. Lifting one of the Roxolani’s long legs to his shoulder, Arthur thrust at a new angle. Lancelot’s buttocks came off the bed as he responded to the stimulation of his prostate. Arthur rocked into the snug socket like a blacksmith wielding his hammer at the anvil, striking his lover’s sweet spot on each stroke. In reward for his efforts, Lancelot’s manhood stirred and rose.

“Can you cum with me?” Arthur panted.

Lancelot took himself in hand and pumped rapidly. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth hanging slightly open on a gasping breath, and for that moment he was utterly open, defenseless, a prisoner of his lust and his love for Arthur. Arthur leaned in, pulled by those eyes like iron to a lodestone, and captured Lancelot’s beckoning lips.

Lancelot moaned as Arthur’s tongue speared the warm cavern of his mouth in the same way that Arthur’s arousal plunged into his sheath. The wanton sound sent a frisson of sheer erotic excitement shooting down Arthur’s spine straight to his manhood. Withdrawing to the threshold, Arthur thrust in short, sharp jabs, making Lancelot whimper helplessly.

Arthur lengthened his stroke and Lancelot cried out into his mouth. Arthur reluctantly relinquished the sweet lips and let Lancelot have his voice. Plucking at the raisin dark nipples, he sank his length in the hot quicksand of Lancelot’s channel. The Roxolani got a foot on the mattress and his hips lifted as he met each thrust solidly, eagerly taking the Roman’s full length.

“Ah gods, Arthur!” Lancelot panted. “I love the way your cock feels inside me.”

“No more than I love the way your sheath fits around my cock,” Arthur answered.

“Great Agni, I’m so close!”

“I cannot wait much longer, Scythian tease,” Arthur groaned.

Lancelot arched his back, his supple frame rising from the bed as he climaxed. Arthur gazed entranced at his lover’s beautiful face transfigured by bliss and his own release rolled over him like an army of invading Saxons. Driving his arousal into the quaking socket as far as it would go, Arthur surrendered to bliss.

The commander braced himself on his arms as long as he could, but his pleasure was so great that it overwhelmed even his iron will. He collapsed onto Lancelot, and the knight enfolded him in a fierce, yet tender embrace. With a deep sigh, Arthur drifted off still ensconced in the Roxolani’s warm, snug sheath.

Playing Knightly: Four – Crescendo

Galahad stilled the small voices that clamored for him to pull down his kilt and call a halt to this madness. He supposed there were some that would name him slut for what he was about to do, but they probably didn’t face death every day. Galahad could think of no reason not to give Gawain what Gawain desired so much. It was such a small thing, really.

“Get off me, greedy Aorsi,” Galahad said. “If you’ve not had your fill of me, you can woo me again after Gawain is satisfied.”

Tristan stared at the young knight for a long moment, and then laughed heartily. “Well said,” the scout approved.

Belying his fierce exterior, Tristan withdrew carefully and bent to kiss Galahad’s forehead tenderly before he rose. Pulling up his leather trousers, the scout turned to Gawain.

“Do you even have a cock?” Tris asked Gawain.

Gawain tore his eyes from Galahad, half-naked, sprawled wide-legged in the straw. All Gawain’s resentment over Tristan stealing Galahad from under his nose resurfaced.

“Why would you ask me a question so insulting?”

“I don’t know how anyone with a pulse, much less a cock, could still be standing here,” Tristan clarified. “Must I show you again how it’s done? Or is it that you don’t wish to suffer by comparison?”

Gawain’s fair face flushed red. “You speak of comparing?” he challenged, fumbling with the sash of his trousers.

“Not too paltry,” Tris said when Gawain pulled his manhood out. “But I hope it gets bigger when you’re excited.”

“If you keep talking like a whore, Galahad’s going to have to wait until I’ve topped you,” Gawain retorted hotly.

“For pity’s sake,” Galahad said. “Bring them over here and I will decide which is the larger.”

Tristan chuckled and slapped Gawain on the shoulder. Gawain’s belligerent stare softened and he grinned sheepishly.

“I cannot believe we nearly came to blows over whose manhood is larger,” Gawain said.

“Especially when we already know it is mine,” Tristan said.

“You’re both wrong,” Galahad spoke up. “Dagonet’s longer than both of you, aye, and thicker as well.”

Gawain and Tristan stared in shock at the youngest knight.

“Oh do raise your minds from the midden,” Galahad said. “I’ve not bedded Dag. However, I’ve had occasion to see every man of this … unit without his drawers, and Dag is equipped like Arthur’s stallion.”

Tristan and Gawain exchanged a glance that was interrupted by Galahad’s query.

“Is one of you going to lay with me? I’m starting to feel the chill.”

“Sorry, Gal,” Gawain said, kneeling in the straw. “Gods, you’re beautiful!”

Galahad smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

“You like it?” Tris asked as he sat and pulled Galahad’s head into his lap.

“You can laugh if you like, but it pleases me,” Galahad said candidly.

Tristan framed Galahad’s face in his hands. “You are as beautiful as a hawk on the wing,” the scout said solemnly.

Gawain rolled his eyes at the blatant flattery. “Do you want more oil?” he asked Galahad.

“Pampered Siraci,” Tris said. “Warriors don’t need such luxuries. They improvise.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a bit of oil,” Galahad said.

“Luckily, I’m the sort of man who is prepared,” Gawain said opening his belt pouch.

It was Tris’ turn to roll his eyes. Galahad caught the derisive expression and abruptly understood the nature of the undercurrent he felt. It was too absurd that, after years of treating him as a nuisance, these men were now competing for his attention. Tristan and Gawain were startled when Galahad began to shake with peal after peal of giddy laughter.

“He’s possessed again,” Gawain joked as tears rolled down Galahad’s cheeks.

“No, he’s laughing at us,” Tristan said. “Go ahead and mount, Gawain. He won’t even notice that short sword of yours going in.”

Galahad’s merriment became a series of bubbling giggles as Gawain shot a black look at Tristan as he anointed his arousal. The eldest knight poured sweet oil over his fingers and gently parted Galahad’s thighs. Galahad’s amusement dwindled to a few snickers interspersed with hiccoughs as his brother in arms eased a finger into him.

“Ahhhh, that is so-o-o-o-o sweet,” Galahad sighed as Gawain found his prostate.

“You don’t have to do too much work; he is already well stretched,” Tristan said, running his hands down Galahad’s chest.

“Shut up,” Galahad said to the scout. “Gawain did not try to instruct you, and I think he’s doing quite well. Oh gods! Yes! Faster!”

Tris raised an eyebrow as Gawain played Galahad’s body like a harp, plucking at the peaked nipples, strumming the upstanding rod and tapping rhythmically against the lad’s sweet spot. Galahad undulated against the straw, his head rolling in Tristan’s lap, and the scout’s manhood responded predictably.

Gawain ceased his fondling, leaning in to bring his face close to Galahad’s. “Your eyes are as wide and blue as the skies over the steppes,” he said. “And I wish to dwell there forever.”

“Stop, you will make me weep,” Tristan commented.

“Tris,” Galahad said softly. “If you cannot play nicely with Gawain, you will have to play with yourself.”

The scout’s oblique-set eyes narrowed at the ultimatum, playful though it was. After a long moment, Tristan decided that Galahad’s company was worth compromising his policy of speaking his mind without regard for consequences.

“I will muzzle myself for you,” Tris said.

“No one else could,” Gawain muttered.

“The rule is for all three of us, Gawain,” Galahad said.

Gawain looked up at Tristan. “Give me your pardon, Tris,” he said.

Tristan grasped the back of Gawain’s neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. “Forgiven,” the scout said.

“You kiss well,” Gawain said. “But don’t you have something to say to me?”

Tris made a show of pursing his lips and frowning in thought. “No, I can’t think of anything.”

“Don’t you want to apologize?”

Tris snorted. “I didn’t kill you; be grateful for that.”

“If I’m not needed, I’ll go fetch a cup of wine,” Galahad said.

Tristan and Gawain chuckled. “Sorry,” they said simultaneously.

Tristan reached for the bottle he’d appropriated and offered it to Galahad.

“I was joking,” Galahad said. “I don’t need any wine. I am drunk enough on you. Come, Gawain, let me try another vintage.”

“Gladly,” Gawain said.

The blonde knight pulled Galahad to his feet and turned him to face Tristan. “Bend and spread your legs wide,” Gawain requested as he rubbed circles with his fingertip around the young knight’s loosened opening.

Galahad complied, the muscles in his thighs and calves flexing into elegant contours. Tristan held out his arms in offer of support, and Galahad gripped the leather of the scout’s vambraces. Gawain wrapped a brawny arm around the young man’s chest and seated his manhood with the other hand.

As Gawain worked the tip of his shaft into the glistening entrance, Tristan bent and covered Galahad’s lips with his. Galahad moaned into Tris’ mouth as Gawain slid forward, sheathing half his length. Gawain withdrew to the brink, grasped one of Galahad’s hips and pushed back into the narrow passage.

Galahad’s cry of pleasure was muffled by Tristan’s tongue as the head of Gawain’s arousal dragged across his prostate. Gawain put his other arm around Galahad, flattening his palm over the taut flesh of the young knight’s lower abdomen. Thrusting steadily and shallowly, Gawain stroked the smooth flesh under his hands as Tris bent his head to lick and suck at Galahad’s pebbled nipples.

Galahad’s weeping shaft brushed the back of Gawain’s hand with each thrust, making Galahad whimper in helpless arousal. Tristan took hold of Galahad’s proud flesh, pumping it to the cadence set by Gawain.

“God of Fire!” Galahad panted. “I can bear no more. This is too much pleasure.”

“Let it take you,” Tristan murmured in Galahad’s ear.

Gawain wrapped his hand around Tristan’s on Galahad’s arousal. “Cum for me, beautiful Galahad,” Gawain whispered in the lad’s other ear.

“Ah gods, I am …” Overcome, Galahad let his head drop onto Tristan’s shoulder.

The young knight’s manhood jerked as a devastating tidal wave of bliss crashed into him. Pleasure filled his senses, overwhelming them until he was unaware of the world except for his lovers’ touch. His climax lifted him up to the crest, and cast him back to shore, breathless and exhausted, limp as seaweed. Tristan and Gawain held Galahad between them when his knees failed him. Vibrating softly with the aftermath of the intense release, Galahad hummed tunelessly against Tris’ neck. Tristan’s breath hissed in as Gawain took hold of the scout’s rigid length and stroked it in time with his thrusts.

“I’ll race you,” Gawain panted.

“Nay, cum with me,” Tristan challenged.

“Cum now then,” Gawain said as Galahad bore down on his plunging shaft.