dripping_cherry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dripping_cherry) wrote2010-05-10 02:45 am
dripping_cherry) wrote2010-05-10 02:45 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Beyond the Round Table 2/2
Title: Beyond the Round Table 2/2
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drippingcherry
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Knights of the Round Table, Lancelot/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Genre: porn, flangst, future!fic
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC. I make no profit from this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Roundtable!pr0n, gang bang (consensual), voyeurism, shapeshifting
Wordcount:
A/N: Depending on the legend, there were anywhere from 12 to 150 Knights of the Round Table. For Arthur's sake, I've gone with twelve. For the purposes of this fic, I'm assuming Leon will be back. I'm also pretending Arthur and Gwen won't end up together.
Summary: When Arthur took the throne, he created the Order of the Knights of the Round Table. The establishment of the new Order was celebrated with a ritual symbolising the unwavering trust and loyalty between the King and his Knights. A year has passed, and it is time to renew that bond. But where does the Court Sorcerer fit in?
Part I
A smart king would have chosen to go hunting before he let all his best men have a piece of his arse. Following this train of thought to its conclusion, Merlin had to admit that Arthur wasn't the brightest of kings, at least not when it came to knowing what was best for his backside.
Last year Arthur could have blamed his foolishness on inexperience—assuming that was the first time he had let himself be passed around like the last goblet of a particularly fine wine. This year he was being an idiot, too proud to let a human weakness like the ability to feel pain get in the way of post-Ritual camaraderie.
Merlin tore his eyes away from Arthur's too-straight back. The discomfort it betrayed poked at his emotional wounds. He could have spared himself this constant reminder of the previous evening by healing Arthur with magic instead of that useless salve, but Arthur hadn't asked and Merlin hadn't felt generous enough to offer.
A familiar voice—one of the last he wanted to hear at the moment—pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Something weighing on your mind?"
Merlin cast a begrudging glance at the man who had ridden up beside him, whom Arthur seemed to favour during his sexual escapades. Lancelot's eyes were warm and concerned, and Merlin decided he couldn't hold it against him, even under the sudden onslaught of images from the night before. Lancelot was hardly to blame for Arthur's love of promiscuous ritual, even if he did receive more of Arthur's attention than any other knight. He couldn't help it—everyone liked him.
Merlin shook his head. "No, nothing on my mind."
"Your heart, then?" Lancelot's lips curved in a probing smile, which Merlin ignored.
"I'm just bored. You know I think these hunts are tedious and annoying." He brushed some hawthorn leaves off his shirt to emphasise the point.
Lancelot chuckled. "Yes, you've mentioned that before." Then he leaned in and added quietly, "Would you like me to try and alleviate your boredom?"
Merlin was familiar with that tone. It promised something more than distracting banter, something he could look forward to for when they stopped to camp—but he wasn't sure if he wanted that. The events of the previous night were indeed weighing heavily on his chest.
"I will consider it," he said with mock haughtiness, not ready to provide an answer just yet. Lancelot probably saw through him—he always did—but he laughed anyway.
The matter came to a temporary close as they stopped to tie up their horses and get out their crossbows and spears. Merlin followed the hunting party with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.
♥~♥~♥
The hunt was a success. By the end of the day they had bagged a stag, a wild boar, three pheasants, and about a dozen rabbits. They roasted the rabbits over a campfire. The rest of the meat would be brought back to Camelot to be served at the upcoming feast.
Once their bellies were full and the ale began to pour, Perceval entertained the party by recounting his strange experiences during a night spent at Munsalvaesche. He spoke of King Anfortas's mysterious wound, which would have healed if only Perceval had given in to curiosity and asked about the nature of the injury; of the bleeding spear and mysterious Grail; of how he'd woken up alone in a deserted castle the next morning.
Once Merlin was certain that Parceval had won everyone's attention, he whispered in Lancelot's ear. "Want to get away?" he asked.Lancelot nodded, and with one last glance around to camp to confirm that the others were still distracted, they slunk away into the trees, where no one could see or hear them unless they came looking.
The light of the campfire was still visible from where they stopped and Lancelot pinned Merlin against an old oak tree. Before Merlin had time to think about what was happening, Lancelot's tongue plunged into his mouth; it probed deep, sliding fluidly against his own as it begged him to forget his pain, if only for the next half hour. He closed his eyes and lost himself to the sensations, his thoughts drowned out by the faded din of merriment coming from the camp and the sound of Lancelot's quickening breath.
There were times when Merlin was extraordinarily grateful for Lancelot's keen insight, and this was one of them. The last thing he would have wanted was to be pressured into explaining what was wrong. Lancelot understood what he needed at gave just that.
The strength and depth of their friendship allowed Merlin to take what he was being offered without the burden of guilt. This wasn't the first time he and Lancelot had sought comfort in each other's arms since the night they'd helped Gwen escape from Hengist's castle. They had sought pleasure, too—countless times. Why they didn't end up together, Merlin couldn't say; it just didn't feel like a proper conclusion. He was sure Lancelot would agree.
Merlin didn't mind that his back was pressed against the rough bark of the tree, or that the thin fabric of his tunic did little to prevent said bark from irritating the skin covering his shoulder blades the point of tenderness. He welcomed the pain, hissing in pleasure as Lancelot rutted against him.
When Merlin came it was with his mouth forming around a strangled cry that might have been Ah! or something vaguely similar. Lancelot followed soon after, but it was all wrong because Arthur would have made different sounds. His breathing would have been more ragged, and he probably would have remained slumped against Merlin much longer, too lazy and self-indulgent to move.
They returned to the camp a few minutes later, looking a bit more disheveled than when they'd left. Only Gawain acknowledged their arrival with a knowing grin. The others either hadn't noticed their absence or pretended they hadn't. Arthur was staring resolutely at the dying fire.
An uneasy silence soon fell over the clearing, and one by one the men bade goodnight and retired to their bunks. Merlin couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong; Lancelot's remorseful expression did nothing to assuage his guilt.
♥~♥~♥
The feast was a slightly less taxing affair than the hunt had been. Merlin usually enjoyed feasts for all the food, drink, fine garb and merriment they brought, but not when he was in the mood to sulk alone. Maybe he was being a bit childish, but he thought that was excusable after being forced to spend nearly all of his time since the Ritual with Arthur and the Knights who literally knew him inside out. All he wanted was a day to himself.
"He cares for you," Lancelot said between sips of wine. His voice was low and his eyes were on Arthur, whose mask of royal detachment had been glued to his face since the morning they'd left the camp and begun their journey back to Camelot.
"He cares about everyone," said Merlin.
It was true; Arthur had a good heart. There wasn't one person in the kingdom he wouldn't help as long as it was within his power to do so.
Lancelot turned and studied Merlin for a moment. "I meant that he really cares for you." He waited with raised brows for the meaning of his words to sink in.
Merlin felt a flutter of hope in his belly, and his eyes instinctively sought out Arthur—how did he always manage to catch him when he was putting something in his mouth?— then dropped as he realised that Lancelot had must have misread the signs. He shook his head. "You're wrong. It's you he fancies."
Lancelot was unconvinced, but he didn’t argue the point any further. "We can't do that again," he said firmly. "Arthur wasn't happy about it."
Merlin snorted, but he knew Lancelot was right. They both placed Arthur's happiness above their own—always had and always would—no matter the cost.
"No, we can't," he said in agreement.
A fortifying breath and a second goblet of wine were enough to keep Merlin's arse in his chair through dinner and some of the entertainment. However, had no desire to hear the bard's tale of how Aengus had won the hand of the beautiful swan maiden Caer— because that was a love story, and love stung like a rancorous bee—so he took his leave as soon as the performance began.
On a whim, he went to Arthur's chambers instead of his own. There he would find a moment of peace, something that was hard to come by in his own quarters ever since he'd taken on his first apprentice a couple months earlier.
Arthur's servant had already started the fire. Its crackle and Merlin's footsteps were the only sound in the empty room. He looked around for something to do, an explanation for his presence there, should Arthur return early. He should have thought of one earlier, though, because now it was now it was too late.
The door swung open and Arthur stepped in. He must have followed Merlin because he didn't look at all surprised to see him. Merlin, on the other hand, froze in surprise. Arthur almost never left a feast before the festivities were over.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked.
Merlin turned in a slow circle where he stood, eyes scanning the room in search of something that didn't exist. "I,er…"
Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes?"
"—Suspect someone might have placed a cursed object in your chambers, so I came to check before anything unfortunate happened."
"Really." The flat tone meant that Arthur wasn't buying the lie.
Merlin shook his head. "No, not really," he said. When Arthur continued to look at him, he decided to elaborate. "I just wanted a moment of peace and quiet."
Arthur stepped further into the room and shrugged off his jacket. "And you can't find that in your own chambers?"
"No," Merlin said honestly. "I don't even want think about the disaster my apprentice probably has waiting for me there." His quarters had been flooded upon his return from the hunt. Not a lot of time had passed since then, so it was possible that his apprentice hadn't inflicted any new damage, but that could easily prove to be a false hope. A nasty summoned spirit might be in need of vanquishing.
Arthur dropped into his chair and gestured for Merlin to take the other seat. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Merlin, this thing between you and Lancelot…"
"We're just friends," Merlin said quickly.
Arthur looked dubiously at him. "I thought it had been a while since you two have—" He made a vulgar gesture with his hands. "And I rather hoped it would stay that way."
"You...hoped...it would stay that way," Merlin repeated slowly. Giving up certain activities of his own volition was one thing; being expected to was quite another.
Arthur gave a single nod. "Yes, I did."
It wasn't fair. How many of Arthur's fleeting conquests had Merlin been forced to witness after Gwen had decided not to keep waiting for him? He'd lost count. But he'd endured all of them without a word, at least not one that wasn't covered up as a lighthearted quip. And the Round Table Ritual—well, he had voiced an objection or two to that, but the Ritual crossed the boundaries of Arthur's personal life and was therefore open to debate.
"I'm not sure I understand," Merlin said. "Isn't Lancelot free to choose who he rolls around in the hay with?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Lancelot is free to do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants."
"Me being the exception," Merlin added, and he stood from his chair to tower over Arthur. "So am I not good enough for your knights, or is celibacy required of the Court Sorcerer? If so, you forgot to mention it."
Arthur threw his head back in frustration and growled. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult, Merlin? How old are you now, twenty-seven? Must I continue to spell everything out for you?"
His eyes were pleading as they bore into Merlin's. A gust of wind blew in through the window and lifted a few strands of golden hair. Merlin's finger's twitched, eager to reach out and feel the silky softness, and he swallowed hard. "You could always just say it."
They looked at each other for a moment longer, and then Arthur turned away. He cast his eyes down like a sulking child, but there was nothing Merlin could do short of throwing himself at a man who wouldn't deign to admit he wanted him. This was one conversation best left for Arthur to continue.
When it seemed like Arthur wouldn't speak, Merlin huffed and made for the door.
"Wait," Arthur said. The legs of his chair scraped the floor as he stood, pushing it back in the process. He had never looked more insecure than he did the moment Merlin turned to face him.
"Do you think you would sleep more soundly if you didn't have to see what has become of your chambers?"
Merlin held back a smile. "Yes, I reckon I would."
Arthur took a few steps toward him. When he spoke again, their faces were inches away and Merlin's heart was beating like a wild thing.
"Would my bed suit your needs for the night?"
"Definitely."
Arthur leaned forward and brushed his lips against Merlin's. In his fantasies, Merlin had never accounted for the possibility that Arthur's lips might be slightly dry and chapped, but the fact that they were confirmed that what was happening was real.
"What if I needed help falling asleep?" Arthur asked.
"I would gladly offer it."
A hand came to rest on Merlin's hip. His breath hitched as a tongue swept across his lower lip. He wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him closer. Their mouths slid together perfectly, tongues delving and twining, apologising for all the time it took to bring this moment into being.
Just when Merlin thought he would run out of air, Arthur pulled back and looked into his eyes. His warm breath tickled Merlin's chin. "And if I needed it again?"
"Then I would come back," said Merlin. "And I would keep coming back, for as long as you would have me."
Arthur smiled and kissed him again.
The End.
Author:
drippingcherryPairing: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Knights of the Round Table, Lancelot/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Genre: porn, flangst, future!fic
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC. I make no profit from this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Roundtable!pr0n, gang bang (consensual), voyeurism, shapeshifting
Wordcount:
A/N: Depending on the legend, there were anywhere from 12 to 150 Knights of the Round Table. For Arthur's sake, I've gone with twelve. For the purposes of this fic, I'm assuming Leon will be back. I'm also pretending Arthur and Gwen won't end up together.
Summary: When Arthur took the throne, he created the Order of the Knights of the Round Table. The establishment of the new Order was celebrated with a ritual symbolising the unwavering trust and loyalty between the King and his Knights. A year has passed, and it is time to renew that bond. But where does the Court Sorcerer fit in?
Part I
A smart king would have chosen to go hunting before he let all his best men have a piece of his arse. Following this train of thought to its conclusion, Merlin had to admit that Arthur wasn't the brightest of kings, at least not when it came to knowing what was best for his backside.
Last year Arthur could have blamed his foolishness on inexperience—assuming that was the first time he had let himself be passed around like the last goblet of a particularly fine wine. This year he was being an idiot, too proud to let a human weakness like the ability to feel pain get in the way of post-Ritual camaraderie.
Merlin tore his eyes away from Arthur's too-straight back. The discomfort it betrayed poked at his emotional wounds. He could have spared himself this constant reminder of the previous evening by healing Arthur with magic instead of that useless salve, but Arthur hadn't asked and Merlin hadn't felt generous enough to offer.
A familiar voice—one of the last he wanted to hear at the moment—pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Something weighing on your mind?"
Merlin cast a begrudging glance at the man who had ridden up beside him, whom Arthur seemed to favour during his sexual escapades. Lancelot's eyes were warm and concerned, and Merlin decided he couldn't hold it against him, even under the sudden onslaught of images from the night before. Lancelot was hardly to blame for Arthur's love of promiscuous ritual, even if he did receive more of Arthur's attention than any other knight. He couldn't help it—everyone liked him.
Merlin shook his head. "No, nothing on my mind."
"Your heart, then?" Lancelot's lips curved in a probing smile, which Merlin ignored.
"I'm just bored. You know I think these hunts are tedious and annoying." He brushed some hawthorn leaves off his shirt to emphasise the point.
Lancelot chuckled. "Yes, you've mentioned that before." Then he leaned in and added quietly, "Would you like me to try and alleviate your boredom?"
Merlin was familiar with that tone. It promised something more than distracting banter, something he could look forward to for when they stopped to camp—but he wasn't sure if he wanted that. The events of the previous night were indeed weighing heavily on his chest.
"I will consider it," he said with mock haughtiness, not ready to provide an answer just yet. Lancelot probably saw through him—he always did—but he laughed anyway.
The matter came to a temporary close as they stopped to tie up their horses and get out their crossbows and spears. Merlin followed the hunting party with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.
The hunt was a success. By the end of the day they had bagged a stag, a wild boar, three pheasants, and about a dozen rabbits. They roasted the rabbits over a campfire. The rest of the meat would be brought back to Camelot to be served at the upcoming feast.
Once their bellies were full and the ale began to pour, Perceval entertained the party by recounting his strange experiences during a night spent at Munsalvaesche. He spoke of King Anfortas's mysterious wound, which would have healed if only Perceval had given in to curiosity and asked about the nature of the injury; of the bleeding spear and mysterious Grail; of how he'd woken up alone in a deserted castle the next morning.
Once Merlin was certain that Parceval had won everyone's attention, he whispered in Lancelot's ear. "Want to get away?" he asked.Lancelot nodded, and with one last glance around to camp to confirm that the others were still distracted, they slunk away into the trees, where no one could see or hear them unless they came looking.
The light of the campfire was still visible from where they stopped and Lancelot pinned Merlin against an old oak tree. Before Merlin had time to think about what was happening, Lancelot's tongue plunged into his mouth; it probed deep, sliding fluidly against his own as it begged him to forget his pain, if only for the next half hour. He closed his eyes and lost himself to the sensations, his thoughts drowned out by the faded din of merriment coming from the camp and the sound of Lancelot's quickening breath.
There were times when Merlin was extraordinarily grateful for Lancelot's keen insight, and this was one of them. The last thing he would have wanted was to be pressured into explaining what was wrong. Lancelot understood what he needed at gave just that.
The strength and depth of their friendship allowed Merlin to take what he was being offered without the burden of guilt. This wasn't the first time he and Lancelot had sought comfort in each other's arms since the night they'd helped Gwen escape from Hengist's castle. They had sought pleasure, too—countless times. Why they didn't end up together, Merlin couldn't say; it just didn't feel like a proper conclusion. He was sure Lancelot would agree.
Merlin didn't mind that his back was pressed against the rough bark of the tree, or that the thin fabric of his tunic did little to prevent said bark from irritating the skin covering his shoulder blades the point of tenderness. He welcomed the pain, hissing in pleasure as Lancelot rutted against him.
When Merlin came it was with his mouth forming around a strangled cry that might have been Ah! or something vaguely similar. Lancelot followed soon after, but it was all wrong because Arthur would have made different sounds. His breathing would have been more ragged, and he probably would have remained slumped against Merlin much longer, too lazy and self-indulgent to move.
They returned to the camp a few minutes later, looking a bit more disheveled than when they'd left. Only Gawain acknowledged their arrival with a knowing grin. The others either hadn't noticed their absence or pretended they hadn't. Arthur was staring resolutely at the dying fire.
An uneasy silence soon fell over the clearing, and one by one the men bade goodnight and retired to their bunks. Merlin couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong; Lancelot's remorseful expression did nothing to assuage his guilt.
The feast was a slightly less taxing affair than the hunt had been. Merlin usually enjoyed feasts for all the food, drink, fine garb and merriment they brought, but not when he was in the mood to sulk alone. Maybe he was being a bit childish, but he thought that was excusable after being forced to spend nearly all of his time since the Ritual with Arthur and the Knights who literally knew him inside out. All he wanted was a day to himself.
"He cares for you," Lancelot said between sips of wine. His voice was low and his eyes were on Arthur, whose mask of royal detachment had been glued to his face since the morning they'd left the camp and begun their journey back to Camelot.
"He cares about everyone," said Merlin.
It was true; Arthur had a good heart. There wasn't one person in the kingdom he wouldn't help as long as it was within his power to do so.
Lancelot turned and studied Merlin for a moment. "I meant that he really cares for you." He waited with raised brows for the meaning of his words to sink in.
Merlin felt a flutter of hope in his belly, and his eyes instinctively sought out Arthur—how did he always manage to catch him when he was putting something in his mouth?— then dropped as he realised that Lancelot had must have misread the signs. He shook his head. "You're wrong. It's you he fancies."
Lancelot was unconvinced, but he didn’t argue the point any further. "We can't do that again," he said firmly. "Arthur wasn't happy about it."
Merlin snorted, but he knew Lancelot was right. They both placed Arthur's happiness above their own—always had and always would—no matter the cost.
"No, we can't," he said in agreement.
A fortifying breath and a second goblet of wine were enough to keep Merlin's arse in his chair through dinner and some of the entertainment. However, had no desire to hear the bard's tale of how Aengus had won the hand of the beautiful swan maiden Caer— because that was a love story, and love stung like a rancorous bee—so he took his leave as soon as the performance began.
On a whim, he went to Arthur's chambers instead of his own. There he would find a moment of peace, something that was hard to come by in his own quarters ever since he'd taken on his first apprentice a couple months earlier.
Arthur's servant had already started the fire. Its crackle and Merlin's footsteps were the only sound in the empty room. He looked around for something to do, an explanation for his presence there, should Arthur return early. He should have thought of one earlier, though, because now it was now it was too late.
The door swung open and Arthur stepped in. He must have followed Merlin because he didn't look at all surprised to see him. Merlin, on the other hand, froze in surprise. Arthur almost never left a feast before the festivities were over.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked.
Merlin turned in a slow circle where he stood, eyes scanning the room in search of something that didn't exist. "I,er…"
Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes?"
"—Suspect someone might have placed a cursed object in your chambers, so I came to check before anything unfortunate happened."
"Really." The flat tone meant that Arthur wasn't buying the lie.
Merlin shook his head. "No, not really," he said. When Arthur continued to look at him, he decided to elaborate. "I just wanted a moment of peace and quiet."
Arthur stepped further into the room and shrugged off his jacket. "And you can't find that in your own chambers?"
"No," Merlin said honestly. "I don't even want think about the disaster my apprentice probably has waiting for me there." His quarters had been flooded upon his return from the hunt. Not a lot of time had passed since then, so it was possible that his apprentice hadn't inflicted any new damage, but that could easily prove to be a false hope. A nasty summoned spirit might be in need of vanquishing.
Arthur dropped into his chair and gestured for Merlin to take the other seat. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Merlin, this thing between you and Lancelot…"
"We're just friends," Merlin said quickly.
Arthur looked dubiously at him. "I thought it had been a while since you two have—" He made a vulgar gesture with his hands. "And I rather hoped it would stay that way."
"You...hoped...it would stay that way," Merlin repeated slowly. Giving up certain activities of his own volition was one thing; being expected to was quite another.
Arthur gave a single nod. "Yes, I did."
It wasn't fair. How many of Arthur's fleeting conquests had Merlin been forced to witness after Gwen had decided not to keep waiting for him? He'd lost count. But he'd endured all of them without a word, at least not one that wasn't covered up as a lighthearted quip. And the Round Table Ritual—well, he had voiced an objection or two to that, but the Ritual crossed the boundaries of Arthur's personal life and was therefore open to debate.
"I'm not sure I understand," Merlin said. "Isn't Lancelot free to choose who he rolls around in the hay with?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Lancelot is free to do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants."
"Me being the exception," Merlin added, and he stood from his chair to tower over Arthur. "So am I not good enough for your knights, or is celibacy required of the Court Sorcerer? If so, you forgot to mention it."
Arthur threw his head back in frustration and growled. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult, Merlin? How old are you now, twenty-seven? Must I continue to spell everything out for you?"
His eyes were pleading as they bore into Merlin's. A gust of wind blew in through the window and lifted a few strands of golden hair. Merlin's finger's twitched, eager to reach out and feel the silky softness, and he swallowed hard. "You could always just say it."
They looked at each other for a moment longer, and then Arthur turned away. He cast his eyes down like a sulking child, but there was nothing Merlin could do short of throwing himself at a man who wouldn't deign to admit he wanted him. This was one conversation best left for Arthur to continue.
When it seemed like Arthur wouldn't speak, Merlin huffed and made for the door.
"Wait," Arthur said. The legs of his chair scraped the floor as he stood, pushing it back in the process. He had never looked more insecure than he did the moment Merlin turned to face him.
"Do you think you would sleep more soundly if you didn't have to see what has become of your chambers?"
Merlin held back a smile. "Yes, I reckon I would."
Arthur took a few steps toward him. When he spoke again, their faces were inches away and Merlin's heart was beating like a wild thing.
"Would my bed suit your needs for the night?"
"Definitely."
Arthur leaned forward and brushed his lips against Merlin's. In his fantasies, Merlin had never accounted for the possibility that Arthur's lips might be slightly dry and chapped, but the fact that they were confirmed that what was happening was real.
"What if I needed help falling asleep?" Arthur asked.
"I would gladly offer it."
A hand came to rest on Merlin's hip. His breath hitched as a tongue swept across his lower lip. He wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him closer. Their mouths slid together perfectly, tongues delving and twining, apologising for all the time it took to bring this moment into being.
Just when Merlin thought he would run out of air, Arthur pulled back and looked into his eyes. His warm breath tickled Merlin's chin. "And if I needed it again?"
"Then I would come back," said Merlin. "And I would keep coming back, for as long as you would have me."
Arthur smiled and kissed him again.
The End.
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HK
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Lovely.
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not sure if I'm entirely happy though: it won't be the same now they've stopped dancing around each other
darn you for conflicting my interests with your lovely fics.
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thanks!
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Oh, heart-ness. That was a lovely ending ♥
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Sorry. Veered off track there.
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