bradygirl_12 (bradygirl_12) wrote,

Fic: The Sword In The Stone (1/3)

Title: The Sword In The Stone (1/3)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Clark/Bruce (Arthur/Lancelot), Jonathan/Martha
Genres: AU, Romance
Rating (this chapter): NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
General Summary: Sir Lancelot is on a Quest to find the true King of England, and is captivated by a dazzling farmboy.
Chapter Summary: Lancelot meets a beautiful farmboy on a hot summer's day.
Date Of Completion: April 28, 2010
Date Of Posting: June 15, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1550
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Written for the Historical Drabbles Exchange at worlds_finest. Pairing: Clark/Bruce. Prompt: Arthurian.
All chapters can be found here.



Once upon a time,
A handsome Knight
Came upon a boy
In the fields
And knew that the
Sun was his.

Lady Elsinore Gentry
"The King And His Knight"
1861 C.E.

Once upon a time a noble Knight traveled far and wide the length and breadth of England on a great Quest, finding himself in the countryside.

Lancelot reined in Midnight, the black stallion resting on the road as his master stared out over the fields.

The young man at the far edge of the field was easily lifting a huge boulder. Amazed, Lancelot watched as he tossed it several yards away, the earth trembling.

The Knight patted his horse’s neck. “What manner of man is this, Midnight?” He urged his steed forward. “I must investigate further.”

He took a side road that shielded him from view. His dark armor was heavy on this warm day. Perhaps he should have chosen silver, but the dark-blue steel suited him.

He had traveled from France to seek out the legendary son of Uther Pendragon. He was somewhere out there, raised in secret far away from the Royal Court.

Lancelot knew that this child grown to a man was the one destined to pull Excalibur out of the stone. Let others try to take the sword, but Uther’s son was the true King of England. He knew it in his heart.

But this peasant with the incredible strength…he had to learn more about him.

Gradually he reached the edge of the field, seeing a modest thatched cottage in the distance. The strong man was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin golden and his hair a reddish-gold. He looked young, but Lancelot could not judge his age from this distance.

He dismounted and watched for a time, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. His desire to know this unusual man better pushed him forward, leading Midnight.

The young man looked up and smiled, dazzling Lancelot.

“Welcome, Sir Knight.”


“May I help you?”

“Just passing through.”

The young man held out his hand. “I am Arthur. And you?”

“Sir Lancelot du Lac.” Lancelot shook the young man’s hand, bedazzled by his beauty. Up close, he was most certainly young, around his own age, he guessed, with incredible blue eyes and lips lush and ripe. His heart fluttered.

“That is French, correct?” Arthur cocked his head to the side.

“Yes. I have come to your land to seek adventure.”

“What a beautiful horse.”

“Thank you. His name’s Midnight.”

Arthur stroked Midnight’s nose, laughing as the horse nudged him. “I have a treat for you, Midnight.” He reached into the pocket of his homespun pants and produced a shiny red apple which Midnight made short work of, to be sure.

“Was that your lunch?” asked Lancelot.

“No, just a snack. It is time for lunch, and I wish to invite you to join me.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur escorted Lancelot, who led Midnight by the bridle. Once they reached the cottage he helped his guest out of his armor, Lancelot slipping on a black tunic, knotting it at the waist as he put on soft deerskin boots. His legs were clad in black tights, and he ran a tortoiseshell comb through his raven hair.

Arthur’s cream-colored tunic and brown pants were worn but clean, his sturdy boots in good condition.

The cottage was the same: a bit worn in places but clean and neat. Flowers spilled out of windowboxes, colorful and thriving.

“Father, I have invited Sir Lancelot to join us for lunch.”

A tall man with sun-bleached hair graying at the temples approached, blue eyes peering out of a weatherbeaten face. He offered a work-roughened hand, callused and tough. Lancelot suddenly realized that Arthur’s hand had been smooth.

“Come in, Sir Lancelot. My wife is the best cook in all of Britain.”

Inside the house was modest but clean, a wooden table and chairs in the center of the room before the fireplace, curtains draped to conceal the sleeping areas. The plates and utensils were pewter, but Lancelot noticed a blue-and-white china plate carefully set on a small shelf.

Martha Kent was a pretty woman, a bit careworn, but her silver-streaked red hair was neatly twisted into a bun, her light-brown dress patched at the elbows.

The house was no different from most peasants’ homes, though instead of a dirt floor, there was wood planking.

“So you gentlemen are handy, I see,” said Lancelot, indicating the floor.

“That is correct, sir,” said Jonathan proudly. “Arthur and I are not only farmers, but woodworkers.”

“And your talent is cookery, my good woman.”

Martha laughed. “You flatter me, m’lord.”

“Actually not flattery of an insincere kind. This stew is savory and this bread fresh and light. Far, far better fare than I have found in taverns.”

“Mother is the finest cook in the land,” Arthur said, echoing his father as Martha smiled.

“My mother cannot boil water without burning it,” said Lancelot fondly.

“She is a great lady?” asked Martha as she cut a piece of bread.

“By birth and by nature.”

“And what adventures do you seek?” Jonathan asked.

Arthur looked at him with eagerness shining in those exquisite blue eyes.

“I seek the one who would pull Excalibur from the stone.”

Uneasy was the looks shared by the Kents.

“Dangerous business, sir,” Jonathan said gravely.

“Mayhaps, but I know that the true King of England will someday come forward to meet his Destiny.”

Lancelot could sense their dismay, though now their faces were schooled to impassivity. He kept his own expression free of curiosity, for there were mysteries abounding here on this little farm.

“I wish I could repay you for this fine meal.”

“Oh, that is not necessary,” Martha demurred.

“Forsooth, I need to stay in shape, good woman.” Lancelot patted his lean stomach. “Such cooking fills the appetite.”

“All right, then,” said Jonathan. “We could use some help clearing rocks from the fields.”

“I am yours, good sir.”

& & & & & &

Despite the hard work under a hot sun, Lancelot enjoyed himself. Of course, watching young Arthur’s skin sheen with sweat was probably the main reason.

When the sun grew hottest, Arthur stripped to the waist, Lancelot doing the same. Truly, it was a marvel, that peasant’s body: sculpted by years of hard work. Lancelot felt the old, familiar stirrings in his loins.

He was well-versed in the way of Knights and soldiers, but was aware that the peasantry might not be as accepting of such tastes.

Yet he could not help but indulge as Arthur’s muscles rippled and stretched under the sun. He was proud of his own physique, and fervently hoped that mayhaps that Arthur could feel the same.

He did catch Arthur looking at him once, the lovely lad blushing as he quickly returned to his work.

What was better than a roll in the hay with a sturdy peasant boy?

Ah, the pleasures of the flesh! Of course, the Church frowned upon such things except between man and woman, and only in the marriage bed, but Lancelot had known those who wore the Roman collar and liked to indulge in those pleasures despite their vows of celibacy.

When he saw Arthur looking at him again, he smiled to himself.

& & & & & &

At the end of the day, Jonathan and Martha insisted that Lancelot stay the night. Lancelot readily accepted, and was pleased when he ended up in Arthur’s bed. The cottage was too small for guest chambers.

Lancelot happily stripped down to his drawers, and was delighted to see Arthur do the same. There was a thin sheet over the bed but also a thick, colorful quilt folded at the bottom. The day had been hot but the night was growing cold.

“Are you comfortable, Sir Lancelot?”

"Lancelot will do.”

“All right, Lancelot.” Arthur smiled that charming smile. He got into bed and Lancelot followed, Arthur pulling up the quilt to cover them both. Lancelot could feel the heat of his companion’s body.

“I am sorry. This is a small bed,” Arthur said.

Lancelot smiled in the dark. “I do not mind sharing.”

Arthur rolled over, Lancelot wishing that he could see his face. He used his fingers to trace those marvelous cheekbones and silken hair. “Share with me your body, beautiful Arthur.”

Arthur’s mouth pressed against Lancelot’s, and their bodies came together. Lancelot allowed a moan to slip out, but he had to stifle the next one. Arthur’s parents were curtained away, but not that far.

Those strong, smooth fingers ran up and down his chest and stomach, lightly touching his cock. He slipped his hand up to cup a buttock, squeezing as Arthur moaned in his hair. Arthur gasped as Lancelot slipped a finger inside, touching him in ways the Knight guessed that the farmboy had never been touched before.

Arthur stroked him while his own hips bucked, nearly crying out as Lancelot touched him in a place of pleasure. Arthur’s cock bumped up against Lancelot’s leg, and Lancelot felt sweet pleasure rush through him. Arthur spent over Lancelot’s hand, and both young men lay panting.

“I…” Arthur could barely speak.

“’Tis all right, Sunchild,” Lancelot crooned, nuzzling Arthur’s neck.

Both slept peacefully that night.

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Tags: challenge, clark kent/bruce wayne, fic exchange, jonathan kent/martha kent, superman/batman, the sword in the stone
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