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“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
There was a loud knock at Tristan’s door and Galahad jumped out of the bed faster than an arrow leaving the bow and grabbed for his clothes.
“Hold on!” he yelled, hopping across the room in half-fastened confusion.
Funny as it was to watch, Tristan wished Galahad did not feel the need to be secretive, especially since he was so very bad at it; his young lover opened the door flushed with embarrassment, utterly unaware that his shirt was tucked in on one side and hanging out on the other.
Gawain was a good friend and did his very best not to notice.
“Hello Galahad,” he smiled, and then grinned at Tristan.
“Hey, you’re looking good, still recovering nicely?”
Tristan returned his smile and pushed the covers down to show how well his scar was healing.
“Impressive!”
Galahad’s head whipped around and Tristan saw him look sheepish behind Gawain’s back when he realised Gawain was just looking at Tristan’s battle wound with the air of a connoisseur.
“Bors will be jealous of that one! Do you feel like going out for a bit tonight? Arthur wants us all to meet at the Round Table.”
“Is something wrong?” Galahad was instantly worried, still not over the shock of their last mission and the battle which followed, just when they had thought they were free and safe.
Gawain laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Nothing bad. I think Arthur and Guinevere have something to tell us. We may have a little celebration coming up.” He turned to Tristan.
“Think you’d be up to a few beers after?”
“He ought to be careful…” Galahad started but Tristan cut across him.
“That sounds very good,” he said, and Gawain chuckled.
“Time to let him out Galahad, your patient needs some fun!”
“He has fun here!” It took Galahad a moment to realise what he had said. The resulting blush was quite spectacular.
Gawain turned on his heel somewhat abruptly.
“See you later!” he said, and bolted out of the door. It sounded casual enough, but Tristan saw his face as he left the room and had no doubt he was trying to restrain his laughter until Galahad couldn’t hear it.
Something needed to be done.
Fortunately, Tristan had been into battle before.
…………………………………….
Gawain was right; Arthur and Guinevere were announcing their betrothal and there were, indeed, beers afterwards. And then a few more.
At the bar, Galahad fussed over Tristan like a mother hen, still treating him like an invalid and oblivious to how it looked to anyone observing his clucking.
Ever the tactician, Tristan saw an advantage he could press. Next time their tankards were refilled he whispered to Galahad “You’d better drink this one for me.”
For the next half hour he watched his sweet boy try to drink for two, with predictable results.
“I should get you back to bed,” Galahad slurred, “I mean, your own bed, because you’re still recovering.”
Tristan marvelled at Galahad’s complete lack of subtlety even as he admired the flush on his pretty face. Galahad’s wide sea-coloured eyes looked just a little glassy; it was perfect, just what he needed.
He had planned to stumble a little when they got up from the table, but Galahad did it for him and all Tristan had to do was let their combined weight push him against the nearest wall. He clutched at Galahad’s shoulders as if he needed support and his poor sweet boy was instantly concerned.
“Did I hurt you?” He took Tristan’s face in his hands, squinting a bit as he tried to read his expression.
Tristan seized his opportunity and pulled Galahad in for a kiss. He had one chance to make this work and he knew it had to be good, so he went in for the kill.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to Galahad’s, open-mouthed, and rubbed his hands up his back to distract him just a little as he pushed his hips forward so that they were chest to chest and groin to groin.
Galahad’s brain was apparently still trying to catch up with the rest of him because he dropped his hands to Tristan’s waist and pulled him closer, letting Tristan kiss him over and over, soft little caresses turning into rougher, wilder kisses as Tristan ran his hand up the back of Galahad’s shirt to stroke at the smooth skin of his back.
“Tris...Tristan…” Ah, he was starting to think and that wasn’t good, so Tristan counter-attacked.
By now he knew exactly how his boy liked to be kissed and just how much he liked it. He rubbed his lips softly against Galahad’s, asking to be let in; Galahad kissed back instinctively and Tristan sucked on his tongue, a trick which always worked because Galahad always took it as a promise of things to come and Tristan generally made good on that promise with enthusiasm and skill.
Galahad gave a little moan and shoved against Tristan.
There was a loud cheer behind them and Galahad drew back, confused, and actually looked around to see what was going on only to realise he was the source of the knights’ entertainment.
For a moment he actually looked scared and Tristan wondered if he had pushed his luck too far.
Well, he had done it, now he had to make it work. He wrapped his arm around Galahad to let him know they were in this together, smoothed his curls away from his neck and kissed him on just the right spot to make him shiver.
“You’re not going to make any babies that way Tristan!” Bors yelled, and Tristan laughed.
“Give him one of yours, you’ve got plenty of them!” Gawain grinned at Bors.
“Well, you know what Lancelot would have said.” Arthur was grinning too, and he and Gawain yelled together.
“Give him one of mine, you’ve got plenty of those too!”
“To Lancelot!” Bors raised his cup, and Tristan shoved Galahad back over to the table so they could drink to Lancelot with everyone else.
It was the first time they had said his name without sadness and it felt good; Bors began to tell a story about Lancelot’s early days with the knights and Arthur chipped in with details, and in the middle of laughing along with everyone else Tristan saw Galahad’s face change as he caught up with what was happening.
Everyone had seen him kissing Tristan. Everyone was now talking about something else.
The world had not, in fact, ended.
Galahad looked round at him and Tristan let the smugness show on his face. Galahad’s mouth dropped open in shock as he realised Tristan had done it on purpose . Just as he got it together enough to react, Tristan grabbed his knee under the table and when Galahad looked down, Tristan caught hold of his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Galahad squeezed back, tightly.
Oh yes, he had given him a scare. He would pay for that later.
Galahad looked up, and this time Tristan let him see love, the pure burning fierce adoration that he felt all the time for his beautiful, hotheaded boy. Galahad’s indignation disappeared like a stray stormcloud, chased away by the bright sunshine of his smile. Tristan smiled back, steady and loving, and gave him time to realise how soppy they looked, time to get embarrassed, and time to register that nobody cared about that either.
He pulled Galahad up to his feet.
“We’ll be off to bed then,” he said.
“You’ll hunt with us tomorrow , Galahad?” Arthur asked.
Galahad nodded, and Arthur went straight back to the conversation he was having.
“Night, then,” Gawain said, and stole the rest of Galahad’s beer.
Tristan could see the tension leaving Galahad’s shoulders as he gripped his hand just a little less tightly.
They turned to go and Tristan let go of Galahad’s hand.
Galahad reached over and took his hand back.
The battle was won.
“The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real intent.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War