Work Text:
Lancelot combed his fingers through red brown locks, dragging blunt nails along Gawains scalp. The air was calm around them, the only noise the distant whisper of water undulating in the distance, birds chirping in the trees. These moments were rare, stolen amongst the chaos of war and bloodshed. For all they knew they should be back at camp, neither was inclined to move or to speak. Lancelot adjusted his weight on the palm of the hand supporting him and Glanced down at Gawain's untroubled face. It was rare for serenity to invade their space and they relished it. This too was new.
Hesitantly, afraid of ruining the calm with his words and uncertainty, Lancelot opens his mouth and murmurs,
“This is a date then?”
“Mmmm” Gawain hums smiling, but not opening his eyes.
“You’ve been sleeping with me for weeks. Why now?” He continues in that same hushed tone, barely louder than the water behind them. Gawain does open his eyes now, looks up at him and brushes his cheek with his fingers. It is the barest ghost of a touch and still Lancelot shivers, leans into it, longing.
“You are more than a bedmate and deserve to know it.” Lancelot's lips pull into the ghost of a smile, he leans down and kisses Gawain on the brow, brushes their noses together, hums,
“I would have been content anyways.” He brings their lips together in the barest brush of a kiss before pulling back and studying the fading light of the sun as it catches in the grey of storm clouds turning on the horizon.