“Did you know that in Athurian legend that Lancelot is often Galahad’s father?”
The comment came out of nowhere, and Ioan let out a hearty laugh, almost spilling his ale over his shirt. He cast a sideways glance at Hugh who was taking a healthy swig from his beer, and then set it down. He looked at Ioan for a moment, as if expecting him to add something.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Ioan chuckled, setting his beer down on the table before he spilt anymore of it.
“Well, given recent events these past nights - ” Ioan was certain Hugh was blushing, “ – I thought it was somewhat interesting in a certain light.”
“Basically what you’re saying is that because I’m Lancelot and you’re Galahad that we’re committing incest because you’re really my son,” Ioan said, all the while trying not to laugh.
Either Hugh wasn’t offended or simply didn’t notice. “In a way, yes. The movie is far different from any of the Athurian legends I’ve ever read, it only takes certain aspects from those legends and incorporates them into film so that audiences may recognize some of the characters.”
“You need to stop drinking,” Ioan said, grabbing Hugh’s beer and nudging it away from him. “And stop reading so much into everything. The movie is based on some historical fact and taking from legends at the same time, yes. But there is no way that in the film Galahad is Lancelot’s son. For Christ’s sake, they’re almost the same age.”
“I’d say that Galahad is probably at least five years younger than Lancelot and Arthur who are likely the same age,” Hugh said.
Ioan grinned, leaning over and looking Hugh in the eyes. “I seriously doubt that Lancelot had sired a son at the ripe age of five.”
Hugh smiled broadly, taking back his beer. “Do you think Galahad and Lancelot were fucking?”
“Are we still talking about the movie or the legend?” Ioan asked, furrowing his brow.
“I wouldn’t put it past anyone in these legends. They’re like the Egyptians in a way, fornicating with brothers and sisters simply to keep power in the family.”
“But not sons. And no one trying to keep power in any family. But I suppose anything before the Twentieth Century is just odd.”
Hugh shrugged. “Things like this are shady. I mean, look at The Iliad. Clearly Achilles and Patroclus were lovers, but some say cousins as well. Clearly incestuous.”
“But not sons,” Ioan said again with a slight laugh.
Hugh shook his head. “Never mind. The point is, do you think it is possible that Lancelot and Galahad went to bed with each other on occasion?”
“Hard for me to judge from a script that someone else wrote,” Ioan smiled, taking another drink of his beer, “but judging by the way the Knights all behave, I would not put it past them to engage in some sort of drunken back woods orgy every now and again.” He looked at Hugh for a moment, and then smirked. “Clearly in film-verse Galahad and Gawain are engaging in some sort of relationship, and Gawain is obviously wearing the pants. And let’s not even acknowledge the fact that you spend the majority of the movie in a skirt.”
Hugh laughed, throwing his head back and scratching at his beard. “I, on the other hand, have magnificent thighs.”
Ioan smiled, finishing off his beer. “Now, if you were to ask me if Hugh Dancy and Ioan Gruffudd were fucking, I’d say - ”
“Yes,” Hugh breathed, before Ioan could finish his sentence.
It was in that one word that Ioan knew they had to leave. Hugh had always looked young for his age, and there was nothing that turned Ioan more than the look on his face when he was flushed with arousal. Standing up and throwing money for the beer and a tip onto the table, Ioan grabbed Hugh by the arm and dragged him out of the pub.
There was always something desperate and almost animal about their love making, especially after they had a few drinks. Hugh made the most delightful noises whilst in the throes of passion, and Ioan’s name rolled like velvet off of his tongue. Ioan fisted Hugh’s hair in his hand, letting out a low moan when the other man bit down on the tender skin of his neck, beard scratching at his flesh. He didn’t mind it in the slightest, even though he knew the marks would get him nearly castrated in make-up the next morning.
Hugh arched his body into Ioan’s, twining one leg with Ioan’s thighs, the other moving around his lover’s hip. He longed for that perfect angle, where his cock would press against Ioan’s stock, and Ioan would hit that sweet spot that drove him mad. Swallowing hard, Hugh brought his hands to Ioan’s shoulders, gripping him hard enough to leave behind half moon prints where his fingernails had just been.
A moment later Hugh was sure he was dying, letting out a low moan and a soft cry almost at the same time. Ioan grabbed his thighs and pulled him closer, his back moving swiftly over the sheets. Hugh moved his hips in time with Ioan’s, albeit languidly in comparison to the driving – almost drilling – motions of Ioan’s hips. Gasping when Hugh felt Ioan coming inside of him, Ioan let out a hoarse cry and collapsed on top of him.
Hugh laid there a moment, fingers nestled in Ioan’s mess of curls, contemplating the fact that he would most definitely need a shower and new sheets. Ioan rested his head on Hugh’s chest, laughing almost to himself, fingers moving carelessly over Hugh’s face.
“What’s so funny?” Hugh asked, barely avoiding Ioan poking him in the eye.
“Oh, nothing,” Ioan breathed, closing his eyes. “I’m just contemplating whether or not if Lancelot and his own son had been lovers, if it would’ve been the stuff of legends.”