(no subject)
Faith
King Arthur, Gawain/Galahad
*
Gawain has always preferred to keep his faith in the hollows of Galahad's body. Gods are too capricious for his taste, ideals too intangible. Galahad's lips, the arch of his back, his callused fingers -- those are real, reliable.
Hidden in the deep shadows that gather at the base of the city wall at night, Gawain pays tribute to Galahad's skin, warm and damp with sweat beneath his fingers. Galahad's hands are in Gawain's hair as Gawain licks a scripture into his navel and the sound of Galahad's bit-back moans are a revelation, an affirmation of Gawain's devotion.
In stolen moments such as these, spread over years, Gawain has built a religion into the curve of Galahad's hip, returning again and again to sip belief from that lean hollow. Gawain whispers prayers in half thoughts and murmurs -- let us, let them, keep us, do not, please -- against Galahad's cock as the other man shudders and gasps and comes.
End.
King Arthur, Gawain/Galahad
*
Gawain has always preferred to keep his faith in the hollows of Galahad's body. Gods are too capricious for his taste, ideals too intangible. Galahad's lips, the arch of his back, his callused fingers -- those are real, reliable.
Hidden in the deep shadows that gather at the base of the city wall at night, Gawain pays tribute to Galahad's skin, warm and damp with sweat beneath his fingers. Galahad's hands are in Gawain's hair as Gawain licks a scripture into his navel and the sound of Galahad's bit-back moans are a revelation, an affirmation of Gawain's devotion.
In stolen moments such as these, spread over years, Gawain has built a religion into the curve of Galahad's hip, returning again and again to sip belief from that lean hollow. Gawain whispers prayers in half thoughts and murmurs -- let us, let them, keep us, do not, please -- against Galahad's cock as the other man shudders and gasps and comes.
End.