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Lancelot

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Backstory [13 Dec 2004|10:15pm]
[ mood | distressed ]

He'd only been resting for a while when he was startled awake by something - he wasn't quite sure what - but he knew it was something. Heart pounding, breathing quickened, he glanced quickly around the room.

Nothing here. Nothing but shadows.

But something had woken him.

He sat up slowly, eyes still scanning the room even though he knew there was nothing there.

He could feel panic threatening to rise, throat becoming tight, tears beginning to burn his eyes.

He wouldn't close his eyes. He wasn't that stupid.

The next thing he felt was a cold hand touching his cheek gently, a mockery of Arthur's touch - and he gritted his teeth.

"Ah, my dear knight." Whispered. Trick of the wind? His eyes widened. A little afraid, are we? Afraid Artorius will come back and find you didn't keep your promise? Find you'd died whilst he was away? A cruel laugh that sent chills up his spine. Where would the fun be in that? Better for him to see you broken, dear, *sweet* knight - Artorius' heart.

"What sort of sick game are you playing at?" He whispered, fear making his voice tremble slightly. That invisible hand was resting on his thigh, drawing circles of cold fire there.

He was so cold.

The hand trailed upwards, and Lancelot let out a small whimper before strengthening his resolve. He wasn't a plaything. He wouldn't be used to hurt Arthur - not like this.

"I will not break. For Arthur - I won't break."

You are already broken. The hand went even higher, rubbed against his wound, making him curl reflexively, tears falling. Already broken, dear knight - dear Lancelot.

"No," he hissed, willing his mind to remember Arthur - think only of Arthur. "I won't be used against him. I won't be used to hurt him." He shook his head vigorously. "Now I know - I won't stay broken."

It laughed again - that same cold, chilling laugh. We'll see.

A sob escaped his throat as a pair of cold lips brush over his forehead and - he started, eyes snapping open, jolting upright, alert.

And awake.

A dream. It was only a nightmare. It must have been.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the clinging fear the nightmare had brought with it, snuggling back down in the covers and closing his eyes again.

Arthur'll be back soon.

because he's mine

Backstory [30 Nov 2004|09:55pm]
[ mood | exhausted ]

Lancelot sighed as Arthur disappeared back into the Round Table room to talk to Gawain and Galahad, after having made him promise to rest. And after Arthur had put the blame on himself. Again.

I should have been there.

No, Arthur, he thought. That wasn't your responsibility.

He sighed and looked down the corridor leading back to his quarters. It was dark and uninviting - and the memories that had been brought up so recently were too close to the surface to risk going back down there. And being alone.

He turned the other way, looking out into the sunlight - much better - and began slowly making his way out of the confines of stone.

It was a slow walk, and a tiring one, and he really didn't get very far before he had to find somewhere to rest.

He'd ended up at the stables.

He flopped down gracelessly onto the patch of grass just outside, content to listen to the whinneying of the horses inside and was lulled slightly by the smell of fresh hay that had been laid out that morning. Comforting. Familiar.

He coughed slightly and tucked his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around them, trying to ward off the slight chill that came with the memories.

And wishing for Arthur's arms instead.

You sound like a child. Be a knight.

He shut his eyes, feeling as if there were eyes on his back, watching his every move and had to consciously restrain himself from rocking.

Don't be paranoid. I'm home. I'm safe now.

Another bout of coughing, sent his head into the stone wall behind him, making his vision swim. Carefully, he lay his cheek on one knee and closed his eyes - just resting. No one would mind if he just rested a bit before going back to his rooms.

And he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

because he's mine

Private [23 Nov 2004|11:01am]
As Arthur leaves and I'm left alone again, unwanted memories start invading my mind. Anything is better than these memories - and I attempt to stear my mind away.

And it ends up, rather predictably, at Arthur.

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur...everything's about Arthur. I guess it always has been. He's what's made this place bearable, these terms of service not so bad. I don't want to think about after, because I can't think about a world without him in it.

And he says he loves me - loves me like I love him.

But he hasn't known, he's never known before this incident - this accident. He never knew before this mission.

It's probably just the shock. I know Arthur cares - like he does all of us - perhaps me a little more because I'm his best friend, because I know and inderstand him like no other. But he doesn't love me. Not like that. It's just the shock of almost losing me. It's the first time I've been so close to death.

Guilt, perhaps? Because he sent me out? Or just fear? That he'd lose me?

But I do not think it's love. It's too right. Too much of what I want. Too perfect.

As I lie here, I can't help but think to the troubles that I've caused. I want to help him. I don't want to lie here, useless. I want to help him. I need to help him. Not just to get my mind off the memories - but just to help him.

I'll call the doctor. Because I'm not staying here.
because he's mine

Private [08 Nov 2004|11:29am]
[ mood | cold ]

The doctor comes in, changes the bandages...and then leaves. But I barely notice. It's ridiculous, to depend on someone this much. Arthur's got stuff to do. He's got other responsibilities that aren't me. And I don't want to be just a responsibilty. Ever. But...for now, I just wished he'd stayed.

I knew it was coming. The leaving. I told him not to promise...it's just. Stupid. Of me. Of the world.

This is one thing about Arthur I've never been able to figure out. And I hate it. I understand him like no other yet, in matters that I want to know, I can't quite figure him out. Sometimes, I really think he does this because he cares. He says the right things, does the right things...and then he leaves. Every time. And I can't help but go back...He's doing out of his infuriating sense of duty. And I'm not a duty, dammit. I'm not. I refuse to be. And I don't quite know what to think.

Sometimes, I wonder why I was unfortunate enough to even fall him. Other times...I don't. I don't wonder because I know why.

Dammit. I sound more and more like a bloody infatuated barmaid everyday. And that just doesn't do these feelings justice.

because he's mine

Backstory [04 Nov 2004|08:32pm]
[ mood | indescribable ]

It had all gone so wrong so very quickly. Before he'd even registered what was happening, Bedivere had taken an arrow to his shoulder, and there was a hoard of Woads chasing after them. His warhorse reared up, startled, as an arrow whirled past Lancelot's head.

They would never make it to the garrison.

He manoeuvred his horse around to face a white-faced Gareth, who was trying to support the injured knight, keeping him on his mount.

They were only less than a day's ride from the garrison. Only a few hours if they rode hard.

But they wouldn't make it with these Woads at their backs.

They needed more time.

"Gareth," he shouted. "Gareth." Snapping at the other knight now, panicked. "Get Bedivere and the information back to Arthur."

"But Lancelot…" The other knight made to protest but there just wasn't time. His horse shifted again, arrows coming ever closer, the racket and roar of the approaching Woads drowning Gareth's words.

"Just go," he ordered. "Arthur needs this information. And I swore it would get back to him." He unsheathed his swords and turned to face the incoming Woads. "I will buy you some time. Ride hard and fast, friend. GO."

With one final look back, Gareth turned and rode away, Bedivere with him.

For Arthur.

because he's mine

Private [03 Nov 2004|11:41pm]
[ mood | distressed ]

So, I woke up alone. Completely and totally alone. Smelling Arthur on the sheets, on me - but no Arthur in sight. Excalibur was gone from its place, so was the rest of Arthur's armour. So Arthur was gone. And I woke up alone.

What was I thinking last night? What did I think would happen?

Did I really think that Arthur would want me? Would love me? What I fool, Lancelot. What a great and bloody fool. I kissed him. Oh shit. I kissed him. And I fucked up big time. Arthur didn't want that. I was right all along. He felt guilty and responsible...and that's just so fucking like Arthur. Of course he would have done something about because he thought it was his fault. Bloody martyr. Bloody selfless bastard. Bloody Arthur. He doesn't need to feel so responsible for every damned thing.

Oh fuck, Lancelot...What have you done?

To have a taste of heaven...to have everything you want so close, almost in your grasp...then to have it ripped away.

You fool, Lancelot. You fucking fool.

because he's mine

Backstory [20 Oct 2004|10:06pm]
[ mood | frustrated ]

Lancelot slipped back into his room, away from the others - to be alone.

A month. Four whole weeks.

So close and yet still so far.

He removed his armour piece by piece and sunk down onto his bed, head in his hands.

Four weeks of being close to Arthur, being with Arthur. Four weeks of lying next to Arthur.

And not being able to touch him. Not like Lancelot wanted.

Four weeks. In close proximity.

He flings himself backwards to stare at the ceiling, hand creeping down to the slowly growing bulge in his trousers.

Too long - too long to spend so close. And yet, still a lifetime away.

He undoes his trousers, pushes them down and grabs his cock in one sure move, hissing as his cold hand makes contact.

And he closes his eyes, images of Arthur ingrained in his mind, and works himself to completion, whimpering Arthur's name.

because he's mine

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