[2] WEEPING MONK║you're not what I was looking for

44| Covert Advances - 𝐈

═ 𝘊𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘈𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 ═

[TW/ Intoxication, infrequent strong language, sexual language]

Lancelot's honour and loyalty is put to the rest. Ari calls into question who she can and cannot trust.

❖

lover, hunter, friend and enemy

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Ale. Wine. Honey mead. Their sweetness so pungent and fruitful, finely crafted at their best and shoddily bootlegged at their worst but all circumstanced to turn even the sharpest of minds into a blithering fool. He seldom touched the stuff, and with good reason.

"I think that you could ease my pain right now."

Lancelot did not know what the Red Spear in all of her apparent intoxication was implying for him to do exactly. But then her thumb sitting at his jaw moved across, ruffling up the scruff on his cheek to press at the corner of his lip, and he gathered her lewd intention.

Instinctively his mouth pursed together tighter and he was frozen stiff, not wanting whatever this was to happen but somehow unable to tell her. He had never been here before. His eyes were fixed on hers in a wild warning but she seemed to not even notice, her darkened gaze dropping elsewhere. Where he had clasped his fingers around her exposed wrist could not even flex for fear that she would slip through his vice in that instant where he would let go.

She tried to lean in perhaps to kiss him, in his newness to intimacy he at least knew that much, but he did not want to find out what her empty affections tasted like.

His movement was quicker than her own as he leant away in a flash to try and evade her forthcoming, every muscle in his side hardening practically painfully to allow it but to no avail. Her face still followed his own with nothing but an inch of air's gap, her body beginning to press against his, and he had nowhere else to go except the ground which would only make this worse. Gripping his hand more tightly around the thinness of her wrist, he tried to snap her focus to a point of pain, his thumbnail indenting her skin. If she was sober then the deterrent would have worked better than it did, because it didn't at all. So he resulted to snatching her hand off of his jaw at the cost of her nails scratching against his skin as she refused to let him go.

"You are drunk," Lancelot snarled, retreating his face as far within the cavern of his hood as possible, "and I will not do what you want me to." His insistence was cold, so very cold but nothing in him felt warm about this. He would not betray Ari, ever. He would not look at another woman in the way that he looks at her and despite what he had seen growing up, he did indeed believe that taking from a woman what was not his without her coherence was without fault, a sin. His hands and his body were for his queen and his queen only.