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The Gamble

Fandom:  A Knight's Tale (movie)
Rating:  PG-13
Pairing:  Wat/Chaucer
Warnings:  Slash, with a side order of (very) light violence
Summary:  Geoffrey Chaucer is well aware of the allure of sex and violence, but with Wat, it's sometimes difficult to tell the two apart.
Word Count:  413

It was, in some way, inevitable, given that Wat never backed off and Geoffrey Chaucer never shut up. Rare was the conversation that didn’t end with Wat’s wiry arms locked around Chaucer’s waist, the poet squirming and spitting insults while Wat held on grimly and threatened to fong him.

It was Chaucer’s skin Wat noticed first, during just such a scuffle. Chaucer had lost all his savings (and half of Wat’s, which was more to the point) gambling, and his clothes were in a pawn shop in Paris; his bare, pale skin slipped from under Wat’s grappling hands with a hot, almost liquid smoothness. Wat was startled, in the same way a man touching a snake for the first time is surprised to find its scales warm and dry; and in the moment he lost his concentration Chaucer twisted away and stood, gasping, pale eyes fever-bright in his narrow, flushed face.

Wat bit his lip, suddenly aware he was staring, and aware too – horribly, viscerally aware – of how the rest of that skin might feel under his hands. Chaucer eyed him up and down, and, his eyes lighting up at Wat’s discomfort, opened his mouth to say something withering; and that was when Wat, desperate to simply shut him up, grabbed Chaucer’s face in both hands and kissed him.

It was a fierce kiss, half-panicked, something neither of them would have allowed in the proper frame of mind. The same could not be said of the second kiss, with Wat willing himself to let his grip go, to let his fingertips trail, barely touching, down Chaucer’s face; nor the third, when Chaucer abruptly leaned forward and tangled his fingers in Wat’s dark copper hair, brushing his mouth almost chastely over the other man’s bottom lip.

“Never really thought of it with a man before,” Wat mumbled when they finally broke away from each other.

Chaucer pursed his lips and rested his hands on Wat’s sides, tilting his head to study the squire. “’Tis merely your lack of imagination, Master Falconhearst. I’ve traveled all over the Holy Land and Greece, places where such things are more commonplace, and I must own that I have thought of it often, with a great many men.” His brow furrowed innocently. “Well, maybe not with you…”

Wat growled deep in his throat and lunged at Chaucer, and they fell, rolling and cuffing like children, until Wat pinned the poet beneath him and Chaucer arched up to kiss him.


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August 2012

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