The clang of swords and the shouts of drills echoed through the air, Lawson and Dalston engaged in intense combat training. Their movements were fluid yet fierce, each strike calculated and precise as they sparred under the watchful eye of their fellow knights. For weeks, Lawson had been attempting to gain the upper hand over Dalston, but each attempt seemed to end in frustration. Dalston, with his years of experience and keen intuition, always seemed to anticipate Lawson's every move, thwarting his attacks with ease. Though, today was different. Today, as they circled each other in the training yard, Lawson felt a newfound determination coursing through his veins. He had spent countless weeks studying Dalston's fighting style, analyzing his patterns and weaknesses, and he was determined to finally emerge victorious.
As they clashed swords, Lawson put his plan into action, employing a series of maneuvers designed to throw Dalston off balance. To his surprise, it worked. With a swift strike, Lawson managed to disarm Dalston, leaving him momentarily vulnerable. Dalston chuckles, a hint of admiration in his gaze as he looks up at Lawson. "Impressive move, Lawson," he replies, his voice laced with a mixture of respect and amusement. "You've been studying my technique, haven't you?" Lawson found himself huffing, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of the intense bout. The burst of adrenaline from his moment of precision, he took a moment to reply as Lawson tried to steady his breathing, he couldn't help but steal glances at Dalston, his gaze lingering on the other knight's rugged features. As they both catch their breath and the intensity of the moment begins to fade, with a final glance exchanged between them, Lawson turns to leave the training yard.
As Lawson walks away from the training yard, a sense of exhilaration courses through him, buoyed by the thrill of victory over Dalston. His steps are light as he makes his way through the camp, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Spending time alone with Dalston outside the confines of their usual training sessions. With a sense of purpose, Lawson seeks out Dalston, finding him in their shared tent preparing for the evening. "Hey, Dalston," Lawson says, his voice tinged with enthusiasm. "How about we take a break from training tonight and go out for a bit?" Dalston looks up from his task, a spark of interest lighting up his eyes, a smile spreading across his face. "Where did you have in mind?"
Without hesitation, Lawson suggests a quaint tavern on the outskirts of the camp, a favorite spot among the knights for its cozy atmosphere and hearty fare. Dalston nods in agreement, and soon they're making their way through the camp chattering amongst themselves. Upon arriving at the tavern, they were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of simmering stew and freshly baked bread, a welcoming scent that promised a satisfying meal ahead. With eager anticipation, they settled into a cozy corner of the tavern, their laughter and conversation blending seamlessly with the lively atmosphere around them. They start with a savory stew, filled with chunks of tender meat and hearty vegetables, served in rustic wooden bowls. The aroma of the simmering broth fills the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread that accompanies their meal. As they dig into their meal, their conversation flows effortlessly, the warmth of friendship enveloping them like a comforting embrace. They share stories of past battles and training sessions, reminiscing about the challenges they've faced and the victories they've celebrated together.
The tavern's ale flows freely, and soon Dalston finds himself indulging a little too eagerly, his mug never staying empty for long. With each mug emptied, his laughter grows louder and more boisterous, his inhibitions melting away under the influence of the potent brew. As the night wears on, Dalston's cheeks flush with the telltale signs of Intoxicated, his words slurring slightly. His movements become increasingly unsteady, his laughter ringing out like a bell through the tavern. Concern flashes in Lawson's eyes as he watches his friend, realizing that Dalston has had a bit too much to drink. "Hey, Dalston, maybe it's time we head back to the tent," Lawson suggests, his voice gentle yet firm. "You've had enough to drink for one night."
Dalston waves off Lawson's concern with a dismissive gesture, his words slurring as he protests. "I'm fine, Lawson, really," he insists, though the unsteadiness in his movements tells a different story. With a sigh, Lawson rises from his seat, offering Dalston a steadying hand. "Come on, let's get you back to the tent," he says, his tone gentle yet firm. Despite Dalston's protests, Lawson manages to guide him out of the tavern and back to their tent, his arm wrapped around Dalston's waist for support. As they stumble through the darkness of the camp, Lawson can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards his companion, a desire to ensure that he stays safe and out of harm's way.
Due to them being part of the same unit or team, they are assigned to share a tent as part of their mission deployment Finally, they reach the safety of their tent, and Lawson helps Dalston settle onto his cot with a sigh of relief. Lawson sits by his side, Dalston suddenly begin prodding and pulling onto Lawson needily.
Lawson chuckled softly at Dalston's sudden neediness, recognizing it as a sign of his friend's intoxication. With a gentle hand, he tries to calm Dalston's restless movements, murmuring soothing words to reassure him. "Easy there, Dalston," Lawson says, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're safe now. Just relax and get some rest." Despite Lawson's efforts to soothe him, Dalston continued to fidget and squirm, eventually gaining the upper hand, pulling Lawson to his chest, Dalston pulls Lawson closer, a wave of warmth floods over them, enveloping them in an unexpected intimacy. Lawson's heart races as he feels the steady rhythm of Dalston's breath against his chest, their bodies pressed together in the small confines of their tent. Despite the alcohol dulling Dalston's senses, Lawson can't ignore the surge of desire that courses through him,
mingling with the concern and affection he feels for his friend.
"Dalston, we can't," Lawson murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to maintain some semblance of reason amidst the growing intensity of their closeness. "What if someone sees us? What if they find out?" But Dalston seems unfazed by Lawson's protests, his arms tightening around him in a gesture of comfort and affection. "Forget about them," Dalston whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "Right now, it's just you and me. Let's just enjoy this moment." Despite the allure of Dalston's embrace, Lawson can't shake the nagging fear that they'll be caught, that their secret will be exposed for all to see. The thought of the repercussions - the judgment, the scorn, the potential damage to their careers - sends a shiver down Lawson's spine, grounding him in the harsh reality of their situation. "Dalston, please," Lawson pleads, his voice tinged with desperation. "We can't risk it. We have to be careful."
Reluctantly, Dalston releases his hold on Lawson, a mixture of disappointment and understanding flickering in his eyes. "You're right," he says, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry, Lawson. I didn't mean to push you." As they lie there in the silence of their tent, the tension between them palpable, Lawson can't help but wonder what might have been if they had succumbed to the temptation of their desires.
