May. 8th, 2005 06:24 pm
Title: Change, Stay The Same Interlude II
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Title: Change, Stay The Same Interlude II
Pairing: Dinidan/Tristan/Isolde, Galahad/Gawain
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, didn't happen.
Summary: Things change, they stay the same. Without Dinidan, things happen.
Notes: The second interlude for the Modern Day Legends AU.
“Take this,” she screamed, throwing the leather trousers with deadly accuracy. “And these!” she growled, adding in the shirt. “And both of you get the hell out of this room!” She slammed the door with a vengeance, leaving the two men to stand in the hall, holding the assorted pieces of clothing and glancing at each other, a little lost.
“Those are my…”
“Yeah, and that’s my…”
They sorted the clothes and paused. “She gave us your trousers and my shirt,” Dinidan frowned, pounding on the door. “Isolde, love!” he wheedled. “Please let us have our proper clothes if you won’t let us keep our dignity!” He glanced Tristan’s way, crossing his fingers. He ran his other hand through the blonde locks, scrubbing at his eyes. “Never insult the Irish,” he muttered under his breath.
“Hear, hear.”
Dinidan kept knocking on the door. “Darling,” he entreated, even as Tristan smirked at him, stepping up behind Dinidan and nuzzling at his neck, nipping. Dinidan shivered and goosebumps began to appear on his forearms as wisps of Tristan’s hair fell over Dinidan’s shoulder. Dinidan gave a throaty laugh, almost sounding surprised with how things were going. “Isolde, love, Tristan is entertaining me…”
“Pleasuring,” Tristan interrupted, his voice heavy and low.
“Apologies. Tristan is pleasuring me quite nicely right now and I’d hate for you to miss out on a thing like this.”
The door was yanked open and Isolde stood there, arms crossed, fury blazing in her eyes like she personified all the ire and rage of Ireland in the midst of a battle for the country. Tristan smirked, burrowing his face in Dinidan’s neck to make sure she didn’t see it. Tristan knew this would happen, knew how to push everyone’s buttons.
People were predictable.
“Well?” Isolde demanded, raising one eyebrow, her voice cold. “Don’t stop.”
Dinidan laughed warmly. “With no clothes and out in the ha-ah! hall! Tristan,” he commented, awed. “What are you doing with your mouth? You must teach me,” he purred in content. Tristan’s hands slipped around Dinidan’s hips, pushing over the hipbones and splaying slowly, pushing further down to stroke at Dinidan’s cock. “He’s going to make me climax right here, love. He has no qualms about that.”
“What makes you think I do?” she teased, grinning now. “Harder, Tristan. Faster.”
“Anything,” Tristan murmured softly, “for you, love.”
“How come she gets a term of endearment?” Dinidan grunted, even as Tristan gave him a nudge forward and they stumbled into the hotel room, past the door and past Isolde and past the mirror towards the bed. Isolde closed the door behind them, pausing when she came to the mirror – reflecting her, playing tricks on the eyes, making it appear there were more of her, more to go around. Dinidan tripped the last few steps of the way, bringing Tristan with him and collapsing on his back on the beddings.
“I’m sleeping with you,” Tristan replied evenly, not even giving that much effort to speaking.
“It’s okay,” Isolde murmured, uncrossing her arms and walking forward slowly, every line of her dress showing off what it was designed for as she made her way to the chair beside the bed, sitting and pushing the fabric to cover her knees, crossing and uncrossing her legs while Tristan set about making Dinidan moan. “I still love you, love.”
“Ah, see,” Dinidan gasped out, ridding Tristan of his trousers. “I have the love and the desire of the prettiest one in the relationship.”
“Appeasing her when you’re sleeping with me.” Tristan rolled his eyes. “Your priorities are misplaced.”
“Let’s not forget why we were in this mess to begin with,” Isolde growled. “You two and your stupid tendency to get distracted in the middle of things. Not to mention your bloody obsession with swords. And knives. And killing. It’ll get you killed one day.”
Tristan rid Dinidan of his shirt, eyes completely focused on what he wanted to do – namely, pin Dinidan to the bed and make him beg for mercy as he fucked him. Isolde could tie him up if she so pleased. Dinidan laughed, punch-drunk happy, pushing aside strands of Tristan’s hair as he gazed up, index finger and thumb rubbing back and forth over the coarse hairs of one of the braids Gawain had sloppily given him that morning during training.
“People die,” Tristan replied, spreading Dinidan’s thighs as far as they went. Dinidan’s legs were spreading further than usual and Tristan raised an eyebrow.
Dinidan only smirked. “Stretching in the morning.”
“Talking too much,” Isolde yawned a little, standing and making her way to the men, pushing them apart with perfectly manicured nails. They were red as blood could ever be. She leaned in slowly, kissing Dinidan with a fierceness to the kiss that it stunned Dinidan slightly into leaning back, amazed at the power she still had over him. Her other hand was busy threading into Tristan’s hair and grasping to get a good hold.
Tristan laughed, the sound stunted and almost ugly sounding. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. He kissed her a little harder, whispering into her ear. She obliged his request and eased off, sitting beside the two and spreading her own legs as Tristan spread Dinidan’s once more, making sure there was enough room for him to push in. Tristan leaned over, grasping the condom and lube that Isolde was holding out for him. “My girl,” he beamed, proud.
“My boys,” she retorted, a happy smile on her face, countering her snappy tone.
Tristan rolled the condom on, handing Isolde the lube again and letting her prepare the two of them – two hands, fingers splayed and stroking Tristan’s cock, fingers pushing inside Dinidan with precision and perfection. Tristan fucked Dinidan with exact knowledge of how to make him moan, how to make him scream, how to make him come – all the while Isolde took her time kissing Dinidan, lipstick smearing on his lips and giving him a womanish look.
When Dinidan came, it was normally silent, gasping and panting, as though he’d been robbed of his breath.
Isolde purred as she burrowed into Dinidan’s side. “Not bad,” she murmured.
“Not great,” Tristan shrugged, easing out of Dinidan and flicking the used condom into the bedside trash. He made his way between the two of them, creating a sleeping spot for himself. “We’ll strive to improve.”
“With the many years we have left.”
***
Many years turned out to be two years.
Dinidan was taken for them at dusk, when the sun was setting. Isolde had been waiting for Dinidan on the bridge to watch the sun go down and Tristan had been in the middle of a job, making sure everything went smoothly. But it didn’t. There was a hiccup in the process when Dinidan wound up being killed by two unknown, unidentified agents. Tristan got his revenge, he always did.
But Isolde and Tristan stopped getting along. They felt they owed it to each other to stick around, but the happy times were gone. She still seemed grateful that Tristan was alive, but she barely showed it. Now, Isolde was at the base, rolling her eyes and bored, throwing things at Tristan as they argued. This argument had to do with why Tristan had stood her up the other night – the reason being the job, of course.
“Your stupid job, Tristan, I am so close to being through, I am so close…”
The door slid open and Tristan exhaled relief, hoping it was Lancelot. Isolde had always liked Arthur and Lancelot for some reason. Maybe because they weren’t Tristan. Tristan turned, ready to plead with whoever it was to take Isolde to lunch or coffee or anything. Except…Tristan rubbed his temples.
“Hi,” Galahad waved, a little confused. “Don’t mind me, I left my, uh…” he darted inside quickly, heading to the training room console quickly, a confident smirk settled on his face. Tristan surmised that Gawain was likely waiting outside. A few minutes later, Gawain came walking inside to find Tristan and Isolde at a standstill, Galahad rummaging and shouting back curses.
“Don’t mind us,” Gawain apologized. “Galahad lost his wallet, he’s searching for it. Isolde,” he grinned, taking her by the palm and kissing it. “I haven’t seen you in an age.”
“It’s been too long,” she agreed. “Who’s the cute one?”
Gawain grinned. “That’s my Galahad.”
“I’m not your anything!” Galahad shouted back. “Gawain, can you help me?”
Gawain gave a cocky little grin, mouthing ‘mine’ before going to help Galahad look for his missing wallet. Tristan waited for Gawain to close the door behind him before glancing back to Isolde, ready to continue the argument; except, Isolde didn’t look angry so much as intrigued anymore. She was staring after the two.
“He’s cute,” she murmured distractedly again.
Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Isolde…”
“Can I break him in?”
Tristan sighed. He knew she was going to ask. She had tried to have her way with Gawain, but back then, Dinidan was around and with their combined will, they were able to sway her away from the idea. Some of the other younger ones that came through the door broke under Isolde’s perfect nails, her pretty pink lips, and her whispered words. Then again, Tristan doubted she could do the same to Galahad. He took a step back and tried to conceal his smirk. Let her find out for herself.
“If you’d like,” Tristan offered. He gave her his kindest smile and reclined onto the couch. “Isolde, darling, I should warn you…”
The door was pushed open and Galahad led the way, beaming. “Found it!” There was a distinct mark on Galahad’s neck, as though Gawain had become distracted in their search. Galahad leaned over the couch to give Tristan a lingering kiss, nipping on his lower lip.
Tristan frowned as they parted. “Pup, what was that for?” Gawain just stood there grinning, so it was allowed, but what it was for, Tristan had no idea. It was good to know that Galahad was still just as talented. “Have I done something lately?”
“Thank you for my birthday present,” Galahad said happily, climbing onto the couch and arranging himself in Tristan’s lap. “I got it when we returned from Gawain’s house and his intolerable little brother. Next year, Christmas is at my house,” Galahad said to Gawain, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“Gareth?” Isolde inquired. Gawain nodded. “He’s been trying to become a knight for ages,” she explained to Galahad.
Galahad rolled his eyes. “He’s insufferable. I hope he doesn’t pass the tests.” He looked up at Gawain, still in Tristan’s lap. “We enjoyed Tristan’s gift though, didn’t we?” Gawain just nodded, arms crossed and standing behind the two, forming a maladjusted trinity. Isolde was smirking at the three of them, a planning look in her eyes. “It was quite thoughtful.”
“You’re thanking me quite nicely,” Tristan marveled, eyes still on Isolde. “Galahad, I think the lady wants something of you.”
Galahad turned slowly, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Oh?” he murmured, leaning in and nipping at Tristan’s neck, licking his way up and letting his gaze linger on Gawain. “Well, it’s polite to ask.” He commented innocently. “Gawain, may I?”
Gawain nodded.
“Perfect,” Galahad grinned. He turned back to Isolde, squirming in Tristan’s lap. “Isolde, lady, do you want something of me?” Tristan laughed loudly. “What?”
“You’re still a tease,” Tristan marveled, giving Galahad a mock pout when Galahad climbed out of his lap. Tristan glanced back at Isolde to find her slightly disappointed. “Something wrong, dove?” Galahad was whispering to Gawain and Gawain was waving goodbye. Galahad seemed bored, as though he had tired of waiting for an answer.
They closed the door behind them and Tristan caught the wistful look that passed over Isolde’s face. “Isolde?”
“For a second, I thought he might replace him,” she whispered.
Tristan hung his head, shaking his head. “No one will.” Tristan rose and took her into his arms, pressing light kisses to her hair. “You can’t claim Gawain’s boy as Dinidan’s replacement, Isolde. You can’t replace him. We go on until we die and we join him.”
Isolde shook her head. “You’re still the same.”
Tristan neglected to reply, knowing the answer. Knowing that he had changed. There was no point in arguing, not with Isolde.
Things would never be the same as they once were.
end
Pairing: Dinidan/Tristan/Isolde, Galahad/Gawain
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, didn't happen.
Summary: Things change, they stay the same. Without Dinidan, things happen.
Notes: The second interlude for the Modern Day Legends AU.
“Take this,” she screamed, throwing the leather trousers with deadly accuracy. “And these!” she growled, adding in the shirt. “And both of you get the hell out of this room!” She slammed the door with a vengeance, leaving the two men to stand in the hall, holding the assorted pieces of clothing and glancing at each other, a little lost.
“Those are my…”
“Yeah, and that’s my…”
They sorted the clothes and paused. “She gave us your trousers and my shirt,” Dinidan frowned, pounding on the door. “Isolde, love!” he wheedled. “Please let us have our proper clothes if you won’t let us keep our dignity!” He glanced Tristan’s way, crossing his fingers. He ran his other hand through the blonde locks, scrubbing at his eyes. “Never insult the Irish,” he muttered under his breath.
“Hear, hear.”
Dinidan kept knocking on the door. “Darling,” he entreated, even as Tristan smirked at him, stepping up behind Dinidan and nuzzling at his neck, nipping. Dinidan shivered and goosebumps began to appear on his forearms as wisps of Tristan’s hair fell over Dinidan’s shoulder. Dinidan gave a throaty laugh, almost sounding surprised with how things were going. “Isolde, love, Tristan is entertaining me…”
“Pleasuring,” Tristan interrupted, his voice heavy and low.
“Apologies. Tristan is pleasuring me quite nicely right now and I’d hate for you to miss out on a thing like this.”
The door was yanked open and Isolde stood there, arms crossed, fury blazing in her eyes like she personified all the ire and rage of Ireland in the midst of a battle for the country. Tristan smirked, burrowing his face in Dinidan’s neck to make sure she didn’t see it. Tristan knew this would happen, knew how to push everyone’s buttons.
People were predictable.
“Well?” Isolde demanded, raising one eyebrow, her voice cold. “Don’t stop.”
Dinidan laughed warmly. “With no clothes and out in the ha-ah! hall! Tristan,” he commented, awed. “What are you doing with your mouth? You must teach me,” he purred in content. Tristan’s hands slipped around Dinidan’s hips, pushing over the hipbones and splaying slowly, pushing further down to stroke at Dinidan’s cock. “He’s going to make me climax right here, love. He has no qualms about that.”
“What makes you think I do?” she teased, grinning now. “Harder, Tristan. Faster.”
“Anything,” Tristan murmured softly, “for you, love.”
“How come she gets a term of endearment?” Dinidan grunted, even as Tristan gave him a nudge forward and they stumbled into the hotel room, past the door and past Isolde and past the mirror towards the bed. Isolde closed the door behind them, pausing when she came to the mirror – reflecting her, playing tricks on the eyes, making it appear there were more of her, more to go around. Dinidan tripped the last few steps of the way, bringing Tristan with him and collapsing on his back on the beddings.
“I’m sleeping with you,” Tristan replied evenly, not even giving that much effort to speaking.
“It’s okay,” Isolde murmured, uncrossing her arms and walking forward slowly, every line of her dress showing off what it was designed for as she made her way to the chair beside the bed, sitting and pushing the fabric to cover her knees, crossing and uncrossing her legs while Tristan set about making Dinidan moan. “I still love you, love.”
“Ah, see,” Dinidan gasped out, ridding Tristan of his trousers. “I have the love and the desire of the prettiest one in the relationship.”
“Appeasing her when you’re sleeping with me.” Tristan rolled his eyes. “Your priorities are misplaced.”
“Let’s not forget why we were in this mess to begin with,” Isolde growled. “You two and your stupid tendency to get distracted in the middle of things. Not to mention your bloody obsession with swords. And knives. And killing. It’ll get you killed one day.”
Tristan rid Dinidan of his shirt, eyes completely focused on what he wanted to do – namely, pin Dinidan to the bed and make him beg for mercy as he fucked him. Isolde could tie him up if she so pleased. Dinidan laughed, punch-drunk happy, pushing aside strands of Tristan’s hair as he gazed up, index finger and thumb rubbing back and forth over the coarse hairs of one of the braids Gawain had sloppily given him that morning during training.
“People die,” Tristan replied, spreading Dinidan’s thighs as far as they went. Dinidan’s legs were spreading further than usual and Tristan raised an eyebrow.
Dinidan only smirked. “Stretching in the morning.”
“Talking too much,” Isolde yawned a little, standing and making her way to the men, pushing them apart with perfectly manicured nails. They were red as blood could ever be. She leaned in slowly, kissing Dinidan with a fierceness to the kiss that it stunned Dinidan slightly into leaning back, amazed at the power she still had over him. Her other hand was busy threading into Tristan’s hair and grasping to get a good hold.
Tristan laughed, the sound stunted and almost ugly sounding. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. He kissed her a little harder, whispering into her ear. She obliged his request and eased off, sitting beside the two and spreading her own legs as Tristan spread Dinidan’s once more, making sure there was enough room for him to push in. Tristan leaned over, grasping the condom and lube that Isolde was holding out for him. “My girl,” he beamed, proud.
“My boys,” she retorted, a happy smile on her face, countering her snappy tone.
Tristan rolled the condom on, handing Isolde the lube again and letting her prepare the two of them – two hands, fingers splayed and stroking Tristan’s cock, fingers pushing inside Dinidan with precision and perfection. Tristan fucked Dinidan with exact knowledge of how to make him moan, how to make him scream, how to make him come – all the while Isolde took her time kissing Dinidan, lipstick smearing on his lips and giving him a womanish look.
When Dinidan came, it was normally silent, gasping and panting, as though he’d been robbed of his breath.
Isolde purred as she burrowed into Dinidan’s side. “Not bad,” she murmured.
“Not great,” Tristan shrugged, easing out of Dinidan and flicking the used condom into the bedside trash. He made his way between the two of them, creating a sleeping spot for himself. “We’ll strive to improve.”
“With the many years we have left.”
***
Many years turned out to be two years.
Dinidan was taken for them at dusk, when the sun was setting. Isolde had been waiting for Dinidan on the bridge to watch the sun go down and Tristan had been in the middle of a job, making sure everything went smoothly. But it didn’t. There was a hiccup in the process when Dinidan wound up being killed by two unknown, unidentified agents. Tristan got his revenge, he always did.
But Isolde and Tristan stopped getting along. They felt they owed it to each other to stick around, but the happy times were gone. She still seemed grateful that Tristan was alive, but she barely showed it. Now, Isolde was at the base, rolling her eyes and bored, throwing things at Tristan as they argued. This argument had to do with why Tristan had stood her up the other night – the reason being the job, of course.
“Your stupid job, Tristan, I am so close to being through, I am so close…”
The door slid open and Tristan exhaled relief, hoping it was Lancelot. Isolde had always liked Arthur and Lancelot for some reason. Maybe because they weren’t Tristan. Tristan turned, ready to plead with whoever it was to take Isolde to lunch or coffee or anything. Except…Tristan rubbed his temples.
“Hi,” Galahad waved, a little confused. “Don’t mind me, I left my, uh…” he darted inside quickly, heading to the training room console quickly, a confident smirk settled on his face. Tristan surmised that Gawain was likely waiting outside. A few minutes later, Gawain came walking inside to find Tristan and Isolde at a standstill, Galahad rummaging and shouting back curses.
“Don’t mind us,” Gawain apologized. “Galahad lost his wallet, he’s searching for it. Isolde,” he grinned, taking her by the palm and kissing it. “I haven’t seen you in an age.”
“It’s been too long,” she agreed. “Who’s the cute one?”
Gawain grinned. “That’s my Galahad.”
“I’m not your anything!” Galahad shouted back. “Gawain, can you help me?”
Gawain gave a cocky little grin, mouthing ‘mine’ before going to help Galahad look for his missing wallet. Tristan waited for Gawain to close the door behind him before glancing back to Isolde, ready to continue the argument; except, Isolde didn’t look angry so much as intrigued anymore. She was staring after the two.
“He’s cute,” she murmured distractedly again.
Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Isolde…”
“Can I break him in?”
Tristan sighed. He knew she was going to ask. She had tried to have her way with Gawain, but back then, Dinidan was around and with their combined will, they were able to sway her away from the idea. Some of the other younger ones that came through the door broke under Isolde’s perfect nails, her pretty pink lips, and her whispered words. Then again, Tristan doubted she could do the same to Galahad. He took a step back and tried to conceal his smirk. Let her find out for herself.
“If you’d like,” Tristan offered. He gave her his kindest smile and reclined onto the couch. “Isolde, darling, I should warn you…”
The door was pushed open and Galahad led the way, beaming. “Found it!” There was a distinct mark on Galahad’s neck, as though Gawain had become distracted in their search. Galahad leaned over the couch to give Tristan a lingering kiss, nipping on his lower lip.
Tristan frowned as they parted. “Pup, what was that for?” Gawain just stood there grinning, so it was allowed, but what it was for, Tristan had no idea. It was good to know that Galahad was still just as talented. “Have I done something lately?”
“Thank you for my birthday present,” Galahad said happily, climbing onto the couch and arranging himself in Tristan’s lap. “I got it when we returned from Gawain’s house and his intolerable little brother. Next year, Christmas is at my house,” Galahad said to Gawain, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“Gareth?” Isolde inquired. Gawain nodded. “He’s been trying to become a knight for ages,” she explained to Galahad.
Galahad rolled his eyes. “He’s insufferable. I hope he doesn’t pass the tests.” He looked up at Gawain, still in Tristan’s lap. “We enjoyed Tristan’s gift though, didn’t we?” Gawain just nodded, arms crossed and standing behind the two, forming a maladjusted trinity. Isolde was smirking at the three of them, a planning look in her eyes. “It was quite thoughtful.”
“You’re thanking me quite nicely,” Tristan marveled, eyes still on Isolde. “Galahad, I think the lady wants something of you.”
Galahad turned slowly, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Oh?” he murmured, leaning in and nipping at Tristan’s neck, licking his way up and letting his gaze linger on Gawain. “Well, it’s polite to ask.” He commented innocently. “Gawain, may I?”
Gawain nodded.
“Perfect,” Galahad grinned. He turned back to Isolde, squirming in Tristan’s lap. “Isolde, lady, do you want something of me?” Tristan laughed loudly. “What?”
“You’re still a tease,” Tristan marveled, giving Galahad a mock pout when Galahad climbed out of his lap. Tristan glanced back at Isolde to find her slightly disappointed. “Something wrong, dove?” Galahad was whispering to Gawain and Gawain was waving goodbye. Galahad seemed bored, as though he had tired of waiting for an answer.
They closed the door behind them and Tristan caught the wistful look that passed over Isolde’s face. “Isolde?”
“For a second, I thought he might replace him,” she whispered.
Tristan hung his head, shaking his head. “No one will.” Tristan rose and took her into his arms, pressing light kisses to her hair. “You can’t claim Gawain’s boy as Dinidan’s replacement, Isolde. You can’t replace him. We go on until we die and we join him.”
Isolde shook her head. “You’re still the same.”
Tristan neglected to reply, knowing the answer. Knowing that he had changed. There was no point in arguing, not with Isolde.
Things would never be the same as they once were.
end
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