Character/s: Galahad(OC), Mordred
Summary: But I thought-
Warnings: Angst, as per usual
Word Count: 962
Author's Notes: Well I had to write them. The prompt was too good not to! Still thinking on what else to write... but there will be others!
Mordred sat in the sixth form common room, brazenly smoking inside. Smoke wrapped itself around his lips like a caress, twisting and seeking out, blown away from Mordred’s mouth. Galahad stopped dead in the entrance. He couldn’t quite force his throat to work to swallow.
“Shut your mouth, kid. You’ll catch flies.”
Alvarr shoved him on the way past, but Galahad ignored it. After all, he had to empathise. Up until a very short while ago he’d been jealous of how much attention Mordred had given Alvarr; he couldn’t complain when the tables turned.
Mordred looked up at the sound, catching Galahad’s eye, raising an eyebrow and beckoning him over with his cigarette. Making it completely clear that the display was all for Galahad’s benefit. And Galahad had enjoyed it, so much.
Mordred’s legs fell open as Galahad got closer, almost an invitation, shifting in his seat to lean forwards. Galahad stopped just in front of his knees, but Mordred pulled him by the belt loop right in between his legs.
“Mouth open,” he muttered, so Galahad parted his lips. Mordred’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, and he took a drag, blowing the smoke into Galahad’s mouth. For a few seconds the wisps connected them, until Mordred’s breath stopped and they were gone.
Galahad breathed it in, managed not to cough, and smiled. Mordred’s arm wrapped around his waist in reward, possessive and heavy, and he kissed Galahad. Galahad just wanted to climb into his lap there and then, hold him and let Mordred kiss him senseless. But it was neither the time nor the place. Mordred did manoeuvre him into position draped around him though, and he took Galahad’s phone out and created an event. Getting your brains fucked out at 4:00, your house. And Galahad wasn’t going to argue with that.
At four o’clock, in the semi-darkness of Galahad’s room, Mordred stripped Galahad with the clinical efficiency of a surgeon. He licked his lips, the meagre light catching the moisture and making Galahad whimper a little. Mordred caught Galahad’s cock in his mouth and sucked, tongue working to a professional standard over the underside as his head bobbed. Galahad kept his hips perfectly still and clenched his fingers in the sheets. He knew from experience that Mordred didn’t like it when he made no sound, so he let himself cry out, groaning when he started to get close.
And then Mordred pulled back, kneeling in front of Galahad and inspecting him. Galahad kept himself still, until he was sure Mordred was satisfied.
Mordred swung himself off the bed, stripped quickly, and rummaged through his bag. When he came back, it was with a condom and lube. Quickly he slicked up his fingers and started to work Galahad open, slowly at first, then faster, heat blossoming outwards where he hit Galahad’s prostate and sending him so very, very close-
And then Mordred pulled away, slipped the condom on, and knelt watching Galahad. It was almost a caress, the way his gaze took in as much detail as a touch could. His finger darted out and followed the curve of Galahad’s abs, so quickly that Galahad almost thought he imagined it. Almost as if even that level of scrutiny wasn’t quite enough.
“On your stomach,” he told Galahad, so he rolled over and let his legs fall open.
The first thing he felt was the warmth of Mordred’s chest against his back. And then Mordred was pushing in, and Galahad gasped, because it was more than he’d ever expected, so much better than what people said. And it was Mordred, which made it just about perfect. Because that was Mordred’s unsteady breathing, the smell of him filling Galahad’s senses and letting him open up just that little bit more.
He came quickly, but then so did Mordred. Galahad had wanted to prolong the feeling as long as possible, but there would be plenty of time for another fuck.
And now it’s Valentine’s Day. And Galahad watches Mordred open his locker on the far side of the common room, ridiculously excited for what he’ll find. Because Galahad knows Mordred’s locker code, and he’s left his Valentine’s Gift in there.
Mordred pulls out the rose, and leaves it on a table. Next the cupcakes, and last of all the card. Mordred opens it slowly, and there’s the tense pause while Galahad waits for him to read it, waits for his reaction. He mouths the message along with Mordred; there’s something I need to tell you, Galahad.
Mordred puts the card down, shuts his locker, and stalks over. If Galahad were paying attention he might spot the warning signs, but as it is he’s far too excited to see.
“What could you possibly need to tell me today?”
Galahad grins at him, the sort of smile that lights up a room, the sort it’s next to impossible to stay unhappy when faced with. Mordred’s frown remains.
“I love you,” he tells Mordred, voice soft.
“W- what?” Galahad splutters.
“I don’t love you. Don’t ruin this.”
There’s a pause, while Galahad tries to comprehend.
“But- but the protecting me, and the caring, and the doing things for me… and the sex! You don’t have sex with someone you’re not in love with.”
Mordred’s lips twist into a half-smile, his version of uproarious laughter.
“You’re so naïve. I did what I did for me, not for you.”
“I love you. I thought you loved me.”
Galahad’s voice is reduced to a whisper now, but Mordred just continues calmly.
“I don’t do love.”
Then he turns on his heel and leaves Galahad to cry, and to convince himself that Mordred is lying.
And if Mordred really is lying, well, no one needs to know about that.