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

48| Risky Business - 𝐈𝐈𝐈

‼️ MATURE CONTENT WARNING ‼️

Ari receives a letter from the human king and Lancelot is offered an opportunity from a very unlikely source. The two also relearn the dangers and pleasures of wandering off into the night.

[CW// implied/sexual content and mature themes. Strong language]

Hector was old enough and wise enough to know that rushing around a camp with trails so tightly knitted and wound as this one was not a good choice. But his stomach growled furiously at him - since he hadn't eaten anything except for a spare chunk of bread that he'd been given by one of the others in the training ground earlier, after his brother had dragged him from his bed. He'd retreated to his tent for a nap after spending the afternoon sparring and sprung again to life as soon as he realised that he'd overslept.

So now he was hurrying through the tents towards the clearing with hunger and hopes that one of the others at his usual campfire had saved him some of the food filling his senses. His eyes were down on the patch of slippery mud which he was trying to avoid around the last turn about a tent when -

"Oh sor-"

"Sorry," he said, grabbing onto the elbows of whoever it was that he'd run directly into.

Their eyes met and for once Hector and Pym both did not have anything to say. He quickly dropped his hands from the redhead's arms and wiped the new clamminess off on his trousers. Her wider than usual eyes were staring up at him - wow they are green - and Hector realised that there were more freckles on her nose and cheeks than he'd previously thought. And when did a little flittering bird decide to make a nest within his chest?

Lancelot noticed whatever mess his brother was getting himself into at the very far edge of the clearing, and even that his cheeks brightening a shade or two. He'd never seen that before. As far as he knew, his brother was incapable of sparing blushes - preferring to cause them in others than give in to them himself.

Hector's mind muddled to find words on his parted lips but he didn't gather many. Only one - "Pym."

Why did you say that? She knows what her name is.

"Hector." She sounded as unknowing of what to say as he had done. Pym tucked some of her long hair away behind her ear, weaving her fingers down and bringing forth a strand to fiddle with by her waist. Hector was too occupied with stopping his own hands from sweating to notice the intricate movement of her ministration. "How is your arm doing?" She asked him a moment later.

"My arm?"

"Your wound?"

"Oh, oh." Hector looked down past his sword belt to his boots, grinning nervously. "It's um - it's good." When he looked up again she was still staring at him, curling her lower lip inwardly.