![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
blackeyedwicca.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rareslashTitle: A Tale Of Knightly Shrubbery (And Sparrows)
Rating: NC-17
Author: The crazy and somewhat lame talents of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aboutademongirl and blackeyedwicca combining their ~shiz together.
Pairing: Shrubber!Pierre Bouvier/Shrubber!David Desrosiers(Simple Plan) and Knight!Lancelot/Knight!Galahad (Monty Python and The Holy Grail)
Chapter: Cracktastic Standalone (with some plot… and some sex)
Summary: Once upon a time, well, once upon a time that is fairly concrete and very well-known, albeit slightly dubiously real, there existed a shrubber.
Beta: Ourselves. Any errors - our bad.
Disclaimer: Neither the boys of Simple Plan, nor the characters of Monty Python belong to either of us. Boo hoo. We’re just playing with someone else’s toys. In someone else’s sandbox, at that.
A/N: Just... don’t take this seriously. (Oh, and for optimum amount of sense, please have watched Monty Python and The Holy Grail – ‘kay, thanks.)
--
Once upon a time, well, once upon a time that is fairly concrete and very well-known, albeit slightly dubiously real, there existed a shrubber. This shrubber’s name was Roger. Roger the Shrubber was a great shrubber, but after several decades - although it should be known that exaggeration was (and always would be) a key selling point in his career success - of shrubbering, he decided to give something else a go, and entered the mediaeval porn business, quite a lucrative business, and enjoyable, at that.
Roger had an apprentice - in shrubbering, just in case one might go to the other side and consider otherwise - by the name of Pierre, who was from a foreign land far, far away. A smelly, French foreign land, though he himself denied this (his name was proof enough!) and claimed to be from the land of Canada.
In order to allow you, our dear readers, to embrace this thrilling tale of shrubbery, true love and hot sex, we shall now shift into present tense, so that you might feel that you are there, watching the story unfold. Voyeuristic reading at its very best.
-
Pierre is not what one would call an exceptional shrubber. He is very skilled, yes, but maybe he needs a helping hand, a more... feminine touch? A man comes to mind, someone who is pretty good with flowers and plants. Would Pierre have a problem with working with someone else? Oh, no, mes amis, he would most definitely appreciate it. You see, Pierre sits next to his almost-shrubberies all day, and he has these lovely ideas of gorgeous shrubberies, but when he tries to put them to work? No, that doesn't work. At all. Because he's far too clinical about it, and he tries to get everything just so, but he needs more than talent and specificity and all that -- he needs to feel it.
And this man, this man in his ridiculously tighttighttight clothes that put even the most high-pitched knight to shame is exactly what Pierre needs and has consequentially been searching for all his life, because when his shrubberies are aligned together - which has never actually been achieved because a second shrubbery from this man is a mistake people do not repeat - a name can be read among the flowers. The name of someone to guide him, bring out the emotions. Make it all pinks and purples. The collaboration! One can practically feel – if one could, but one can’t - the beauty waiting to be made!
(They'll go into business together! And though Pierre may or may not be under thedelusion impression that he is too manly to live in a little cottage in the forest, surrounded by flowers and trees and pretty, green-and-colourful things, and have all that happy-go-lucky shit, he really isn't! Just no picket fence. Fucking restricting.)
And it is almost certain that David - as is the name of the tighttighttightly clothed man - will be easily able to agree to all this. He's very accommodating. Truly, he's rather happy-go-lucky. Hopefully, he will be unassuming, as well, because Pierre's a paranoid motherfucker. Alas, David’s suspicious in an offhand way. Should work well, and there shouldn't be too many problems. ‘Tis more than likely that when they meet, at first they will circle around each other like two rabid dogs who want to pee all over their territory, but then mutual territory will be agreed upon.
Although Pierre is Roger’s apprentice and friend, David is the favourite shrubber of the Knights of Ni, but he doesn't like working alone. Tension builds (definitely Unresolved and Sexual). But they're not about to admit that this is UST. They're more of the opinion that “it's unresolved mutual hatred tension," and all their clients are quite infuriated. Sexual tension adversely affects the quality of shrubberies.
As it is, after several months of awkward shrubbering together and constantly arguing and brushing up against each other accidentally, an unassuming King called Arthur is the one to finally push them together. As in together-together. Having-hot-sex-together-together. His cunning method was that of annoying them so much with his inquisition!questions about sparrows and other ridiculous, completely irrelevant things, that they actually holed up in a room together to avoid him. Way to go, King Arthur! You - unintentionally - sly dog, you!
When Pierre and David finally come out of the place they sequestered themselves in, they say to him in haughtier-than-thou voices, “You know, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords are no basis for a system of government!”
Arthur, so distressed at this turn of events - and hearing that said so many times lately from peasants it's not even funny - frowns his mighty forehead and says, "Well, Masters of Shrubbery, what am I to do? There is no one to help me go on my quest!"
And God, cynical motherfucker that he is, chimes in around then and says, "Arthur! I have a new quest for you - travel the seas! Find your way to the Bermuda Triangle! And get lost!"
The boys exchange a look at seeing Arthur talking to God, before joining in, "What about us?"
God turns to look at the duo before shrugging. "Not my jurisdiction."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Pierre replies, making Arthur gasp at the use of such profanity before the Lord Almighty.
"Arthur, before I go any further, I would like you to write this down: the use of profanity in my presence? Definitely okay. All right. Okay. Abso-fucking-lutely all right. Is that understood? Now, I want no more of this "oh, my Lord," and "he swore, it's terrible," and "I am unworthy" bull-shit. Pierre, to answer your question, you and your friend, here, are subjects of..."
But they never do find out whose subjects they are as for at that moment, the Lady of the Lake comes trudging along the lane, dripping wet and holding a giant set of clippers! Her hair askew and a tendril or two of seaweed - although not native to lakes, when one is inhabited by aquatic woman with swords and clippers, strange things are often overlooked – making a plop sound on the ground behind her after she shakes it from hair, shoes and wrists alike.
Pierre, Arthur, and David all look at her in confused disbelief while God just sighs at being interrupted. It happens so often these days! (The reader should also be aware that God is so aggravated that his sudden silence is due to calling over the Angel Gabriel to take note of his complaints. If one was looking into the clouds, one would notice this. Since no one is, his silence may simply be taken as that of curiosity.)
Walking over to them, the Lady of the Lake thrusts the clippers into Pierre's hands, making him glare slightly and mutter about being potentially mortally wounded. She - being a good mystical (and sometimes half-naked) woman - ignores him and turns to David, looking him up and down (definitely giving him more than a once-over) before apparently coming to a decision. "You're just too dainty."
Reaching into the pocket of her gown, she pulls out Chupa Chups. One she hands to David, with a wink, before popping the other in her mouth - wrapping flying off by itself, seconds before reaching her sparkling lips.
With that, she disappears, leaving behind a huge cloud of rain, consequently blocking God off from the rest. Not that Arthur notices, since he is still in profanity-induced-shock. And David and Pierre most definitely do not notice - firstly, because David cannot open the Chupa Chups. (Pierre comes in and acts as aknight shrubber in shining armour despite his initial misgivings about accepting candy from a strange Lake Lady) Secondly, because David - once having had the Chupa Chup opened - is sucking on it in a singularly pornographic way, and Pierre is very, very distracted. As if anyone else could possibly concentrate on something other than David and his obnoxious sucking noises.
However, soon after David has started his sucking - and Pierre has wiped away any lingering drool - a strange tingling takes over his body and, with a squeak that sounds a lot like a squawk he suddenly has white wings sprouting from his back. Pierre and David exchange looks before David promptly shrieks, "Get them off, get them off!" (Which can be misconstrued as a come-on to whoever surrounds them at that moment, however that is not the case.)
Arthur and Pierre proceed to watch as David runs around in circles, displaying remarkable athletic abilities, one hand holding his Chupa Chups as the other tries to reach one of the feathers that make up his rather sizable wingspan. King Arthur is completely clueless, because, really, had David's wings been sparrow wings, even African ones, he would have been able to help. As it is, he can't do anything. Which rankles him quite a bit. Pierre meanwhile, grabs onto David's hands and begins meditating - causing David to drop the lolly that caused the feathery reaction. (It is a well-known fact that meditation is quite the best bull-shit way of calming people down.)
David is still looking around and panicking, so when Pierre's eyes peek open, he sighs before using the only thing to his advantage, and kissing David. Arthur looks on with increasingly wide eyes before commenting to no one in particular, "It's like Lancelot and Galahad."
(Another well-known fact is that Lancelot rescued Galahad from the nun castle, Anthrax, because he simply could not stand Galahad getting to feel any boobies or what-not, since everyone is quite aware of the fact that they are completely and utterly gay for each other - despite Lancelot's mumbled objections to this theory.)
At this point, Arthur knows that there is nothing more he can do, and so he stealthily takes his leave, only getting hit in the head once by David's magnificent wings. Pierre and David, in the meantime, stumble and fall over each other (that's what happens with wayward Chupa Chups) in their haste to get inside and all over each other. They wind up in an opportunely-placed, curiously clear meadow, rubbing up against each other.
As Pierre and David are getting it on, Arthur happens to turn around a corner and meet up with - surprise, surprise - a bickering Galahad and Lancelot!
And the sitch is as follows: apparently Lancelot, in his infinite un-gayness, has slept with a damsel named Guinevere. Galahad, pissed as he is, is threatening to find the nearest semi-attractive female and get it on with her. Which is a very dangerous prospect, as they are still very close to Castle Anthrax.
Arthur sighs, long and hard, as it is quite like what Pierre and David are presently discussing (and why him? Honestly? Why him?) before making his way over to his knights. "Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot. What be your problem?"
The glares he receives in response have him taking a step back on reflex alone as that damned flashing light goes through his mind again shouting, "Run away, run away!"
"All right, then. I'll just be going, lads." Arthur backs up slowly, his hands may not quite be up - it wouldn't be kingly to be afraid of his own knights! - but his hackles definitely are. Sir Galahad and Sir Lancelot glare in his general direction once more, then stop.
"What on earth is that ear-splitting racket?" Galahad asks, straining his ears to hear more of the moans coming from not-so-far away.
Arthur winces, knowing exactly what they are. "It is nothing. I propose we go," he points behind the two knights, "that way, for God has charged me with a new quest..."
He trails off, watching his knights walk right past him to inspect the sounds. A mildly indignant huff threatens to escape - he is the King! People need to respect him more! - only it's stopped when they look through the bushes.
"I say!" Galahad cries, although he still keeps his voice quiet, awed. "An Angel has fallen to Earth and is bedding a mortal!"
Amid the grunts and moans and sighs and gasps, a faint voice is heard, saying, "I'm not an angel, you idiots! - Oh!"
Pierre, hearing this, decides that if David is still capable of speech, he is obviously not doing his job right, and resumes his thrusting with increased vigour.
Lancelot frowns slightly. "But you have wings of purest white, thus you must be from the Heavens above!"
"'Tis a blessing!" Galahad cries, but upon seeing - and feeling - four sets of incredulous eyes on him, he amends, quietly, "Well, maybe not, but it's definitely a sign!"
"Ah, yes, but a sign of what!" Lancelot ponders.
There's a moment of silence before Pierre replies, "That we're fucking horny!?"
David, being of a gentle, yet sarcastic nature, blinks at this, and concurs wholeheartedly. Which is made obvious by his ever-increasing-in-volume moans.
Let it be known that Pierre is not one of those men with voyeuristic tendencies, and neither does he like being watched during sex by someone he does not find attractive (Lancelot? Maybe - cocky motherfucker though he does appear to be - Galahad? A bit too girly, in his opinion). He growls, "So get the fuck off!"
Silence ensues. Pierre thinks back to what he just said. Oh.
David pauses his movements, head tilted to the side slightly, wings spread out, the sun beaming down in just the right way, making him look so pure and - "Was that just an orgy request while your cock's up my ass?" - it is completely shattered by the words he lets out.
Pierre opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he's going to say, but when David clenches down, everything disappears and he moans, head tilting back and passing for a backwards nod.
David then turns to look at the other two with raised eyebrows and after only a moment's hesitation and a slight glare in Lancelot's direction, Galahad starts dropping his sword and shield and struggles with his armour as he walks over.
David, grinning at Pierre's absolutely blissful expression, puts a hand on his shoulder and rolls them over - an action made easier by Pierre's loosened limbs - riding him like an expert (these days one would say like a cowboy), twisting his hips just so, eliciting a high-pitched whine from Pierre's throat that he would later deny ever making: grown men do not whine. They grunt in a manly fashion.
Meanwhile, Galahad and Lancelot are falling all over each other in their haste to get their armour off.
Arthur is long gone.
Galahad succeeds first, and barely gets a chance to kiss David's neck - really just an excuse to get close to touch the wings, because sototallyprettyevenifhe'llneveradmitit - before Lancelot's got arms around him, drawing him back and directing his head to place a hard kiss to his lips.
No feminine boy will be taking this knight away from Lancelot. Nuh uh.
(It should now be made known to the reader that Lancelot's name will hereon out be written as 'Lancealot', due to Galahad's awesome ability to make it so with his mind. Or rubbing up against him. Is that a lance in his pocket? No. No, it isn't.)
Lancelot's actions are also quite successful in slowing down Pierre's killer urge to snap Galahad's slender neck and grind his bones into dust. David's next move fully distracts him, as he leans back as far as he can go and lifts and rocks his hips in smooth, circular movements. A finger drifts behind his back, and the shock of the penetration brings a new, more-powerful rush of pleasure that goes on and on, filling Pierre's head with white noise and darkening his vision.
The pleasure is getting really intense, and in the way, way, way, way, way back of his mind, Pierre's wondering just why the fuck he hasn't come yet, but it's small and inconsequential, because there's David and his movements and tighttighttight, so Pierre really doesn't care. Especially when the two knights seem more focused on one another, rather than on hisAngel David.
David, on the other hand, is having far too much fun torturing Pierre, making sure he's always on the brink of pure pleasure, yet not letting him fall off that bridge. Where would the fun in that be?
Lancealot and Galahad are concentrated so much on each other that, really, nothing else exists for them except for their own noises and the collision of flesh and the occasional "ouch!" induced by a limb making contact with a spare piece of armour. Knights make do.
-
Galahad suddenly leans back, nudging David's shoulder with his own and grabbing the - half!Angel's - other's attention. "What did you use for, uh..."
"Safe passage?" David asks, grinning widely.
Galahad blushes, making David chuckle before leaning forward and licking the knight's lower lip. "You got spit, right?"
-
Pierre and Lancelot exchange irritated glances - their partners are paying far too much attention to each other. There is now a choice to make - payback? Revenge? Lancealot makes the first move, and reaches out his hand to Pierre's, clasping their fingers together and bringing Pierre's hand up to his mouth, nibbling on his finger-pads. Pierre grins wickedly and pushes his fingers past Lancealot's lips, who moans around them.
David and Galahad, noticing this, glare matching glares, before David not only snaps his hips down on Pierre, but surges forward and kisses Galahad, the knight's tongue quickly responding and pushing into David's mouth, while a free hand comes up to lightly brush the feathers, making David shiver and moan involuntarily.
Pierre has long since - okay, perhaps a few minutes ago, but drama must be had, and it can only be had with embellishment of pre-existing facts - decided that in order to do something (namely, spur David and Galahad into some positive action, positive including Lancealot and himself), he will have to go all the way. With that, he decides on a mission: making David come as fast as possible, and as forcefully as possible. That decided upon, he glances back at Lancelot one more time, and promptly decides to at least go through with his little finger-mouth fetish and successfully fuck Lancealot's mouth.
This he does. Lancelot's moans are deafening. It's wonderful when one's partner (or indeed, one's partner's partner's partner. Thrice partner?) has enough self-esteem to moan like a little bitch without the least bit of embarrassment. Well, either that, or they're too out of their mind with pleasure to care.
Pierre shifts up both his fingers and hips, causing both men to moan loudly and lustfully, making him smirk internally - he's a little preoccupied with his own pleasure, thank you, but there has to be some smirking, because does he have skill or does he have skill?
Galahad, however, is mildly perturbed that this man - shrubber, his mind supplies for a reason he can't understand, but decides to go with - could possibly beat him. He's a knight of the round table, damn it! And... okay, so maybe he's Galahad the pure and this is somewhat out of his range of expertise, but he is most certainly ready to learn! And he listens.
With these thoughts in mind - and they (like Pierre’s) are towards the back of his mind, because, well, there are three hot, moaning men around him all naked and sweaty and fucking and yeah, back of his mind right now - he moves towards Lancealot and, with a wicked little smirk, takes Pierre's hand from Lancealot's mouth and moves it down, taking full advantage of its lubricated condition, while his other hand grabs Lancealot's, sucking the fingers in his mouth and quickly coating them - David's kiss definitely helped, there - before having Lancealot's hand follow Pierre's.
Pierre and Lancealot, again, share absolutely devilish grins. Yes, this is going quite well, indeed. Perhaps not the way they had foreseen it going, but definitely not excluding them again. If one can count being ridden and ignored being excluded. Yes, one can definitely do that.
Pierre slips in his fingers as far as he can go without getting a cramp in his hand (it has happened before, and it is not a pleasant occurrence), and crooks them forwards, delighting in Galahad's high-pitched moan and chuckling lowly at David's pout. He thrusts his hips up, once, violently, watching David's head fall back, before slowly sliding his fingers out, squeezing Lancelot's along the way, and rolling David so that he's on the bottom, spread out wantonly on the grass. David has to move his head slightly, glaring at Pierre when he spits a few blades of glass to the left.
Pierre looks sheepish for a moment, before thrusting in, and David's head sees enough stars that he figures Pierre can totally be forgiven. Pierre, on the other hand - while having stilled enough to watch David's perfect little mouth make a perfect little "o" - focuses his attention on thrusting his fingers into Galahad as he links them with Lancealot's, creating more width, height, feeling, everything. Hell, Pierre's a little envious by the amount of keening noises and hisses and moans Galahad is producing - even if he's never really liked taking it up the ass in the first place.
David, at the same time, is filled with so much pleasure that he's fairly certain he's going insane. And yes, he knows what's going on with Galahad, but he's finding it hard to believe that any amount of fingers (even be they Pierre's and Lancealot's) could give him as much ecstasy as Pierre's cock. Honestly, it's quite a very, very difficult thing to believe. After all, if Pierre were to move just a bit to the left, there, a bit lower... no, a bit higher, a tiny bit deeper, then David would finally be...
Interrupted just short of a fucking orgasm by the voice of God? What the hell?
"You four, down there! On the grass!"
Everyone pauses for a moment - just a moment, mind you - before David (the only one with a free hand, since Galahad still has a steel hold of Pierre's and Lancealot's wrists, which are becoming slightly bruised in all honestly and will eventually - even though no one knows it yet and will never know because men don't think like this - when combined, would show the path to the Holy Grail... but, as we were, saying...) holds up his hand and flips God the bird (almost certainly a European swallow) from where the omnipotent being is looking down from his clouds and facing Pierre and Galahad’s sweaty - and lickable - backs.
God, being an omnipotent being of never-ending wisdom and cynicism, merely replies, "Well done, boy. Never thought you had it in you."
With that last, almost-good-natured witty repartee, He (though he would most certainly smite both these authoresses for beginning any word that describes Him with a capital letter) flicks a finger (let the reader pick which one. God has many.) in the general direction of the fucking foursome, and lo and behold!
A new pair of wings are sprouted; this time Pierre is the lucky one. His wings are black, and they sparkle quite a lot in the misty daylight. Little does Pierre know, but this pair of wings is going to be the reason he and David will soon be able to travel the world, doing what they love best - shrubbering. And a lot of other enjoyable things.
As for Lancealot and Galahad, they feel something on their shoulders, but it's barely a rippling, so they pay no attention - or merely designate it as a shiver and call it a day - as Galahad's hands release the wrist's he hitherto had been gripping, to start palming Lancealot's cock and his own (also, so the reader may get a visual, it is at this time that David also grabs his own cock and starts pumping away; he has not looked up, and as he is the male who is the most in touch with his feminine and Angel side, he would have snapped out of his almost, almost orgasmic bliss to notice the steadily skin-covering scales on Galahad and Lancealot. However, since he doesn't, and really is more focused on his cock like most men - as will be explained in stereotypes below and the reader will have to learn more about this scale predicament at some other time - they go unnoticed.)
Pierre, for his part, is completely unaware of his new extremities and is far more focused on where his fingers and cock are - because, really, all of this feeling was getting a bit much, and wings? Puh. This is a man (even though stereotypes are cruel, cruel, mean things) and therefore can really only operate one half of his anatomy at a time. He, like any decent man, chooses his long withheld orgasm - because, really, he's sososo close, and this is getting ridiculous.
-
And, in a cliché move that is used as a device to insinuate emotional closeness far too often in cheesy romance novels, David and Pierre fall over the metaphorical cliff together, minds completely wiped blank of any and all intelligent thought, mouths open in expressions of ecstasy, eyes shut tight (as mentioned before, they would have completely lost the orgasmic-thread and been very, very angry had they seen the scales growing on the coupling males next to them), foreheads pressed together. As they breathe into each other's mouths, they feel the pressure rise up and break, throwing them completely off-kilter, sending them crashing into Lancealot and Galahad.
It is precisely at this moment of momentum that David and Pierre manage to land in just the wrong position - or the right one, depending on which way the reader's mind rolls - as their feathers brush the scales of the knights, causing great groans of ecstasy, followed by intense orgasms (and for the sake of those reading and who are more interested in plot - such as it is - then the spraying of little sperm guppies...) that, when they're all coitaled out from, the four men quickly forget about the act and sit staring, eyes flicking from one to the other and the strange deformities they now have.
David seems to be the most calm - which, when you consider the ten odd minutes he's had to adjust to his own wings, would make sense - however, since the other three are running around in circles, naked and flailing, it can't be said that his reaction of shrieking continuously is much better.
And, dear readers, we shall leave you to decide how exactly our heroic heroes got from point A to point B. Point A being this present moment, shrieking and screaming and running around in circles; Point B being David and Pierre flying around the world and helping helpless farmers/hapless kings/knights who say Ni! and other various exclamations, with shrubberies, and doing a lot of good and making a lot of damage due to their destructive sexual habits.
A sub-point of Point B would be Galahad and Lancelot (or Lancealot, depending on where the reader's mind dwells) also travelling the world, but this would be in order to find a cure for their scales, though it must be noted that they do not especially trouble themselves very much, as they, along with their newly-found skin, have since developed intense human-reptile fetishes, which do not spread to actual reptiles - more to each other, as they are not exactly reptiles, but newly-elevated demons.
Galahad affirms that he is Galahad the Pure, the Pure demon. Lancelot affirms he is still brave and chivalrous - when he's not killing people - only now, instead of running to attack dragons, he's more inclined to have cups of tea with them, talking about scale rot and wondering if they have a cure for the pesky itch he sometimes gets right between his shoulders... Galahad is known to come in about this time, asking them less about cures for itches and more about cures for the ever increasing scale coverage, as he does not want it going down too far and really, is that too much to ask?
It should also be noted, every time Galahad asks said question, God can be heard laughing a deep, manly - although perhaps omnipotently is better used here? - laugh that shows he has less of a sense of humour, and more a truly hilarious vicious streak. Nonetheless, neither Galahad nor Lancelot can complain that their orgasms aren't more powerful this way.
It's also around this time that in a town a far way away, Arthur, Son of Uther Pendragon (another fellow citizen afflicted by a scale-y disease, unknown to his great Son), King of the Britons, can be seen - if anyone were in the general area, which no one was, as he had specifically chosen this area for its lack of any inhabitants in spotting distance - dunking his head into a river, trying to wash away the permanently-etched image of angel!men and dragon-demon!men having sex. This image is one that he keeps stumbling upon these days.
It should also be mentioned that, for the first time in recent history (although all history is recent at this point as very little had been lived, what with it not even being a thousand years AD yet) Arthur can be seen - although as it has previously been stated there is no one to see this, making the point null and void - with his crown slightly askew.
Somewhere high above, between Heaven (or Valhalla, or the big Starbucks above, or whatever floats your religiously based and centred boat) and an uncommonly opportunely-placed meadow (for the whole world is now a meadow to the Great Shrubbers), two winged beings snicker at their favourite King's misfortune. And somewhere else, two scaly half-demons chortle over cups of tea, occasionally blowing steam along with particularly violent chuckles.
Kneeling beside his river, Arthur looks up and around him, suddenly feeling like not even an ocean (even be it one sparrows - African, not European of course - could carry coconuts over) would cure his troubles this time.
Rating: NC-17
Author: The crazy and somewhat lame talents of
aboutademongirl and blackeyedwicca combining their ~shiz together.Pairing: Shrubber!Pierre Bouvier/Shrubber!David Desrosiers(Simple Plan) and Knight!Lancelot/Knight!Galahad (Monty Python and The Holy Grail)
Chapter: Cracktastic Standalone (with some plot… and some sex)
Summary: Once upon a time, well, once upon a time that is fairly concrete and very well-known, albeit slightly dubiously real, there existed a shrubber.
Beta: Ourselves. Any errors - our bad.
Disclaimer: Neither the boys of Simple Plan, nor the characters of Monty Python belong to either of us. Boo hoo. We’re just playing with someone else’s toys. In someone else’s sandbox, at that.
A/N: Just... don’t take this seriously. (Oh, and for optimum amount of sense, please have watched Monty Python and The Holy Grail – ‘kay, thanks.)
--
Once upon a time, well, once upon a time that is fairly concrete and very well-known, albeit slightly dubiously real, there existed a shrubber. This shrubber’s name was Roger. Roger the Shrubber was a great shrubber, but after several decades - although it should be known that exaggeration was (and always would be) a key selling point in his career success - of shrubbering, he decided to give something else a go, and entered the mediaeval porn business, quite a lucrative business, and enjoyable, at that.
Roger had an apprentice - in shrubbering, just in case one might go to the other side and consider otherwise - by the name of Pierre, who was from a foreign land far, far away. A smelly, French foreign land, though he himself denied this (his name was proof enough!) and claimed to be from the land of Canada.
In order to allow you, our dear readers, to embrace this thrilling tale of shrubbery, true love and hot sex, we shall now shift into present tense, so that you might feel that you are there, watching the story unfold. Voyeuristic reading at its very best.
-
Pierre is not what one would call an exceptional shrubber. He is very skilled, yes, but maybe he needs a helping hand, a more... feminine touch? A man comes to mind, someone who is pretty good with flowers and plants. Would Pierre have a problem with working with someone else? Oh, no, mes amis, he would most definitely appreciate it. You see, Pierre sits next to his almost-shrubberies all day, and he has these lovely ideas of gorgeous shrubberies, but when he tries to put them to work? No, that doesn't work. At all. Because he's far too clinical about it, and he tries to get everything just so, but he needs more than talent and specificity and all that -- he needs to feel it.
And this man, this man in his ridiculously tighttighttight clothes that put even the most high-pitched knight to shame is exactly what Pierre needs and has consequentially been searching for all his life, because when his shrubberies are aligned together - which has never actually been achieved because a second shrubbery from this man is a mistake people do not repeat - a name can be read among the flowers. The name of someone to guide him, bring out the emotions. Make it all pinks and purples. The collaboration! One can practically feel – if one could, but one can’t - the beauty waiting to be made!
(They'll go into business together! And though Pierre may or may not be under the
And it is almost certain that David - as is the name of the tighttighttightly clothed man - will be easily able to agree to all this. He's very accommodating. Truly, he's rather happy-go-lucky. Hopefully, he will be unassuming, as well, because Pierre's a paranoid motherfucker. Alas, David’s suspicious in an offhand way. Should work well, and there shouldn't be too many problems. ‘Tis more than likely that when they meet, at first they will circle around each other like two rabid dogs who want to pee all over their territory, but then mutual territory will be agreed upon.
Although Pierre is Roger’s apprentice and friend, David is the favourite shrubber of the Knights of Ni, but he doesn't like working alone. Tension builds (definitely Unresolved and Sexual). But they're not about to admit that this is UST. They're more of the opinion that “it's unresolved mutual hatred tension," and all their clients are quite infuriated. Sexual tension adversely affects the quality of shrubberies.
As it is, after several months of awkward shrubbering together and constantly arguing and brushing up against each other accidentally, an unassuming King called Arthur is the one to finally push them together. As in together-together. Having-hot-sex-together-together. His cunning method was that of annoying them so much with his inquisition!questions about sparrows and other ridiculous, completely irrelevant things, that they actually holed up in a room together to avoid him. Way to go, King Arthur! You - unintentionally - sly dog, you!
When Pierre and David finally come out of the place they sequestered themselves in, they say to him in haughtier-than-thou voices, “You know, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords are no basis for a system of government!”
Arthur, so distressed at this turn of events - and hearing that said so many times lately from peasants it's not even funny - frowns his mighty forehead and says, "Well, Masters of Shrubbery, what am I to do? There is no one to help me go on my quest!"
And God, cynical motherfucker that he is, chimes in around then and says, "Arthur! I have a new quest for you - travel the seas! Find your way to the Bermuda Triangle! And get lost!"
The boys exchange a look at seeing Arthur talking to God, before joining in, "What about us?"
God turns to look at the duo before shrugging. "Not my jurisdiction."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Pierre replies, making Arthur gasp at the use of such profanity before the Lord Almighty.
"Arthur, before I go any further, I would like you to write this down: the use of profanity in my presence? Definitely okay. All right. Okay. Abso-fucking-lutely all right. Is that understood? Now, I want no more of this "oh, my Lord," and "he swore, it's terrible," and "I am unworthy" bull-shit. Pierre, to answer your question, you and your friend, here, are subjects of..."
But they never do find out whose subjects they are as for at that moment, the Lady of the Lake comes trudging along the lane, dripping wet and holding a giant set of clippers! Her hair askew and a tendril or two of seaweed - although not native to lakes, when one is inhabited by aquatic woman with swords and clippers, strange things are often overlooked – making a plop sound on the ground behind her after she shakes it from hair, shoes and wrists alike.
Pierre, Arthur, and David all look at her in confused disbelief while God just sighs at being interrupted. It happens so often these days! (The reader should also be aware that God is so aggravated that his sudden silence is due to calling over the Angel Gabriel to take note of his complaints. If one was looking into the clouds, one would notice this. Since no one is, his silence may simply be taken as that of curiosity.)
Walking over to them, the Lady of the Lake thrusts the clippers into Pierre's hands, making him glare slightly and mutter about being potentially mortally wounded. She - being a good mystical (and sometimes half-naked) woman - ignores him and turns to David, looking him up and down (definitely giving him more than a once-over) before apparently coming to a decision. "You're just too dainty."
Reaching into the pocket of her gown, she pulls out Chupa Chups. One she hands to David, with a wink, before popping the other in her mouth - wrapping flying off by itself, seconds before reaching her sparkling lips.
With that, she disappears, leaving behind a huge cloud of rain, consequently blocking God off from the rest. Not that Arthur notices, since he is still in profanity-induced-shock. And David and Pierre most definitely do not notice - firstly, because David cannot open the Chupa Chups. (Pierre comes in and acts as a
However, soon after David has started his sucking - and Pierre has wiped away any lingering drool - a strange tingling takes over his body and, with a squeak that sounds a lot like a squawk he suddenly has white wings sprouting from his back. Pierre and David exchange looks before David promptly shrieks, "Get them off, get them off!" (Which can be misconstrued as a come-on to whoever surrounds them at that moment, however that is not the case.)
Arthur and Pierre proceed to watch as David runs around in circles, displaying remarkable athletic abilities, one hand holding his Chupa Chups as the other tries to reach one of the feathers that make up his rather sizable wingspan. King Arthur is completely clueless, because, really, had David's wings been sparrow wings, even African ones, he would have been able to help. As it is, he can't do anything. Which rankles him quite a bit. Pierre meanwhile, grabs onto David's hands and begins meditating - causing David to drop the lolly that caused the feathery reaction. (It is a well-known fact that meditation is quite the best bull-shit way of calming people down.)
David is still looking around and panicking, so when Pierre's eyes peek open, he sighs before using the only thing to his advantage, and kissing David. Arthur looks on with increasingly wide eyes before commenting to no one in particular, "It's like Lancelot and Galahad."
(Another well-known fact is that Lancelot rescued Galahad from the nun castle, Anthrax, because he simply could not stand Galahad getting to feel any boobies or what-not, since everyone is quite aware of the fact that they are completely and utterly gay for each other - despite Lancelot's mumbled objections to this theory.)
At this point, Arthur knows that there is nothing more he can do, and so he stealthily takes his leave, only getting hit in the head once by David's magnificent wings. Pierre and David, in the meantime, stumble and fall over each other (that's what happens with wayward Chupa Chups) in their haste to get inside and all over each other. They wind up in an opportunely-placed, curiously clear meadow, rubbing up against each other.
As Pierre and David are getting it on, Arthur happens to turn around a corner and meet up with - surprise, surprise - a bickering Galahad and Lancelot!
And the sitch is as follows: apparently Lancelot, in his infinite un-gayness, has slept with a damsel named Guinevere. Galahad, pissed as he is, is threatening to find the nearest semi-attractive female and get it on with her. Which is a very dangerous prospect, as they are still very close to Castle Anthrax.
Arthur sighs, long and hard, as it is quite like what Pierre and David are presently discussing (and why him? Honestly? Why him?) before making his way over to his knights. "Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot. What be your problem?"
The glares he receives in response have him taking a step back on reflex alone as that damned flashing light goes through his mind again shouting, "Run away, run away!"
"All right, then. I'll just be going, lads." Arthur backs up slowly, his hands may not quite be up - it wouldn't be kingly to be afraid of his own knights! - but his hackles definitely are. Sir Galahad and Sir Lancelot glare in his general direction once more, then stop.
"What on earth is that ear-splitting racket?" Galahad asks, straining his ears to hear more of the moans coming from not-so-far away.
Arthur winces, knowing exactly what they are. "It is nothing. I propose we go," he points behind the two knights, "that way, for God has charged me with a new quest..."
He trails off, watching his knights walk right past him to inspect the sounds. A mildly indignant huff threatens to escape - he is the King! People need to respect him more! - only it's stopped when they look through the bushes.
"I say!" Galahad cries, although he still keeps his voice quiet, awed. "An Angel has fallen to Earth and is bedding a mortal!"
Amid the grunts and moans and sighs and gasps, a faint voice is heard, saying, "I'm not an angel, you idiots! - Oh!"
Pierre, hearing this, decides that if David is still capable of speech, he is obviously not doing his job right, and resumes his thrusting with increased vigour.
Lancelot frowns slightly. "But you have wings of purest white, thus you must be from the Heavens above!"
"'Tis a blessing!" Galahad cries, but upon seeing - and feeling - four sets of incredulous eyes on him, he amends, quietly, "Well, maybe not, but it's definitely a sign!"
"Ah, yes, but a sign of what!" Lancelot ponders.
There's a moment of silence before Pierre replies, "That we're fucking horny!?"
David, being of a gentle, yet sarcastic nature, blinks at this, and concurs wholeheartedly. Which is made obvious by his ever-increasing-in-volume moans.
Let it be known that Pierre is not one of those men with voyeuristic tendencies, and neither does he like being watched during sex by someone he does not find attractive (Lancelot? Maybe - cocky motherfucker though he does appear to be - Galahad? A bit too girly, in his opinion). He growls, "So get the fuck off!"
Silence ensues. Pierre thinks back to what he just said. Oh.
David pauses his movements, head tilted to the side slightly, wings spread out, the sun beaming down in just the right way, making him look so pure and - "Was that just an orgy request while your cock's up my ass?" - it is completely shattered by the words he lets out.
Pierre opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he's going to say, but when David clenches down, everything disappears and he moans, head tilting back and passing for a backwards nod.
David then turns to look at the other two with raised eyebrows and after only a moment's hesitation and a slight glare in Lancelot's direction, Galahad starts dropping his sword and shield and struggles with his armour as he walks over.
David, grinning at Pierre's absolutely blissful expression, puts a hand on his shoulder and rolls them over - an action made easier by Pierre's loosened limbs - riding him like an expert (these days one would say like a cowboy), twisting his hips just so, eliciting a high-pitched whine from Pierre's throat that he would later deny ever making: grown men do not whine. They grunt in a manly fashion.
Meanwhile, Galahad and Lancelot are falling all over each other in their haste to get their armour off.
Arthur is long gone.
Galahad succeeds first, and barely gets a chance to kiss David's neck - really just an excuse to get close to touch the wings, because sototallyprettyevenifhe'llneveradmitit - before Lancelot's got arms around him, drawing him back and directing his head to place a hard kiss to his lips.
No feminine boy will be taking this knight away from Lancelot. Nuh uh.
(It should now be made known to the reader that Lancelot's name will hereon out be written as 'Lancealot', due to Galahad's awesome ability to make it so with his mind. Or rubbing up against him. Is that a lance in his pocket? No. No, it isn't.)
Lancelot's actions are also quite successful in slowing down Pierre's killer urge to snap Galahad's slender neck and grind his bones into dust. David's next move fully distracts him, as he leans back as far as he can go and lifts and rocks his hips in smooth, circular movements. A finger drifts behind his back, and the shock of the penetration brings a new, more-powerful rush of pleasure that goes on and on, filling Pierre's head with white noise and darkening his vision.
The pleasure is getting really intense, and in the way, way, way, way, way back of his mind, Pierre's wondering just why the fuck he hasn't come yet, but it's small and inconsequential, because there's David and his movements and tighttighttight, so Pierre really doesn't care. Especially when the two knights seem more focused on one another, rather than on his
David, on the other hand, is having far too much fun torturing Pierre, making sure he's always on the brink of pure pleasure, yet not letting him fall off that bridge. Where would the fun in that be?
Lancealot and Galahad are concentrated so much on each other that, really, nothing else exists for them except for their own noises and the collision of flesh and the occasional "ouch!" induced by a limb making contact with a spare piece of armour. Knights make do.
-
Galahad suddenly leans back, nudging David's shoulder with his own and grabbing the - half!Angel's - other's attention. "What did you use for, uh..."
"Safe passage?" David asks, grinning widely.
Galahad blushes, making David chuckle before leaning forward and licking the knight's lower lip. "You got spit, right?"
-
Pierre and Lancelot exchange irritated glances - their partners are paying far too much attention to each other. There is now a choice to make - payback? Revenge? Lancealot makes the first move, and reaches out his hand to Pierre's, clasping their fingers together and bringing Pierre's hand up to his mouth, nibbling on his finger-pads. Pierre grins wickedly and pushes his fingers past Lancealot's lips, who moans around them.
David and Galahad, noticing this, glare matching glares, before David not only snaps his hips down on Pierre, but surges forward and kisses Galahad, the knight's tongue quickly responding and pushing into David's mouth, while a free hand comes up to lightly brush the feathers, making David shiver and moan involuntarily.
Pierre has long since - okay, perhaps a few minutes ago, but drama must be had, and it can only be had with embellishment of pre-existing facts - decided that in order to do something (namely, spur David and Galahad into some positive action, positive including Lancealot and himself), he will have to go all the way. With that, he decides on a mission: making David come as fast as possible, and as forcefully as possible. That decided upon, he glances back at Lancelot one more time, and promptly decides to at least go through with his little finger-mouth fetish and successfully fuck Lancealot's mouth.
This he does. Lancelot's moans are deafening. It's wonderful when one's partner (or indeed, one's partner's partner's partner. Thrice partner?) has enough self-esteem to moan like a little bitch without the least bit of embarrassment. Well, either that, or they're too out of their mind with pleasure to care.
Pierre shifts up both his fingers and hips, causing both men to moan loudly and lustfully, making him smirk internally - he's a little preoccupied with his own pleasure, thank you, but there has to be some smirking, because does he have skill or does he have skill?
Galahad, however, is mildly perturbed that this man - shrubber, his mind supplies for a reason he can't understand, but decides to go with - could possibly beat him. He's a knight of the round table, damn it! And... okay, so maybe he's Galahad the pure and this is somewhat out of his range of expertise, but he is most certainly ready to learn! And he listens.
With these thoughts in mind - and they (like Pierre’s) are towards the back of his mind, because, well, there are three hot, moaning men around him all naked and sweaty and fucking and yeah, back of his mind right now - he moves towards Lancealot and, with a wicked little smirk, takes Pierre's hand from Lancealot's mouth and moves it down, taking full advantage of its lubricated condition, while his other hand grabs Lancealot's, sucking the fingers in his mouth and quickly coating them - David's kiss definitely helped, there - before having Lancealot's hand follow Pierre's.
Pierre and Lancealot, again, share absolutely devilish grins. Yes, this is going quite well, indeed. Perhaps not the way they had foreseen it going, but definitely not excluding them again. If one can count being ridden and ignored being excluded. Yes, one can definitely do that.
Pierre slips in his fingers as far as he can go without getting a cramp in his hand (it has happened before, and it is not a pleasant occurrence), and crooks them forwards, delighting in Galahad's high-pitched moan and chuckling lowly at David's pout. He thrusts his hips up, once, violently, watching David's head fall back, before slowly sliding his fingers out, squeezing Lancelot's along the way, and rolling David so that he's on the bottom, spread out wantonly on the grass. David has to move his head slightly, glaring at Pierre when he spits a few blades of glass to the left.
Pierre looks sheepish for a moment, before thrusting in, and David's head sees enough stars that he figures Pierre can totally be forgiven. Pierre, on the other hand - while having stilled enough to watch David's perfect little mouth make a perfect little "o" - focuses his attention on thrusting his fingers into Galahad as he links them with Lancealot's, creating more width, height, feeling, everything. Hell, Pierre's a little envious by the amount of keening noises and hisses and moans Galahad is producing - even if he's never really liked taking it up the ass in the first place.
David, at the same time, is filled with so much pleasure that he's fairly certain he's going insane. And yes, he knows what's going on with Galahad, but he's finding it hard to believe that any amount of fingers (even be they Pierre's and Lancealot's) could give him as much ecstasy as Pierre's cock. Honestly, it's quite a very, very difficult thing to believe. After all, if Pierre were to move just a bit to the left, there, a bit lower... no, a bit higher, a tiny bit deeper, then David would finally be...
Interrupted just short of a fucking orgasm by the voice of God? What the hell?
"You four, down there! On the grass!"
Everyone pauses for a moment - just a moment, mind you - before David (the only one with a free hand, since Galahad still has a steel hold of Pierre's and Lancealot's wrists, which are becoming slightly bruised in all honestly and will eventually - even though no one knows it yet and will never know because men don't think like this - when combined, would show the path to the Holy Grail... but, as we were, saying...) holds up his hand and flips God the bird (almost certainly a European swallow) from where the omnipotent being is looking down from his clouds and facing Pierre and Galahad’s sweaty - and lickable - backs.
God, being an omnipotent being of never-ending wisdom and cynicism, merely replies, "Well done, boy. Never thought you had it in you."
With that last, almost-good-natured witty repartee, He (though he would most certainly smite both these authoresses for beginning any word that describes Him with a capital letter) flicks a finger (let the reader pick which one. God has many.) in the general direction of the fucking foursome, and lo and behold!
A new pair of wings are sprouted; this time Pierre is the lucky one. His wings are black, and they sparkle quite a lot in the misty daylight. Little does Pierre know, but this pair of wings is going to be the reason he and David will soon be able to travel the world, doing what they love best - shrubbering. And a lot of other enjoyable things.
As for Lancealot and Galahad, they feel something on their shoulders, but it's barely a rippling, so they pay no attention - or merely designate it as a shiver and call it a day - as Galahad's hands release the wrist's he hitherto had been gripping, to start palming Lancealot's cock and his own (also, so the reader may get a visual, it is at this time that David also grabs his own cock and starts pumping away; he has not looked up, and as he is the male who is the most in touch with his feminine and Angel side, he would have snapped out of his almost, almost orgasmic bliss to notice the steadily skin-covering scales on Galahad and Lancealot. However, since he doesn't, and really is more focused on his cock like most men - as will be explained in stereotypes below and the reader will have to learn more about this scale predicament at some other time - they go unnoticed.)
Pierre, for his part, is completely unaware of his new extremities and is far more focused on where his fingers and cock are - because, really, all of this feeling was getting a bit much, and wings? Puh. This is a man (even though stereotypes are cruel, cruel, mean things) and therefore can really only operate one half of his anatomy at a time. He, like any decent man, chooses his long withheld orgasm - because, really, he's sososo close, and this is getting ridiculous.
-
And, in a cliché move that is used as a device to insinuate emotional closeness far too often in cheesy romance novels, David and Pierre fall over the metaphorical cliff together, minds completely wiped blank of any and all intelligent thought, mouths open in expressions of ecstasy, eyes shut tight (as mentioned before, they would have completely lost the orgasmic-thread and been very, very angry had they seen the scales growing on the coupling males next to them), foreheads pressed together. As they breathe into each other's mouths, they feel the pressure rise up and break, throwing them completely off-kilter, sending them crashing into Lancealot and Galahad.
It is precisely at this moment of momentum that David and Pierre manage to land in just the wrong position - or the right one, depending on which way the reader's mind rolls - as their feathers brush the scales of the knights, causing great groans of ecstasy, followed by intense orgasms (and for the sake of those reading and who are more interested in plot - such as it is - then the spraying of little sperm guppies...) that, when they're all coitaled out from, the four men quickly forget about the act and sit staring, eyes flicking from one to the other and the strange deformities they now have.
David seems to be the most calm - which, when you consider the ten odd minutes he's had to adjust to his own wings, would make sense - however, since the other three are running around in circles, naked and flailing, it can't be said that his reaction of shrieking continuously is much better.
And, dear readers, we shall leave you to decide how exactly our heroic heroes got from point A to point B. Point A being this present moment, shrieking and screaming and running around in circles; Point B being David and Pierre flying around the world and helping helpless farmers/hapless kings/knights who say Ni! and other various exclamations, with shrubberies, and doing a lot of good and making a lot of damage due to their destructive sexual habits.
A sub-point of Point B would be Galahad and Lancelot (or Lancealot, depending on where the reader's mind dwells) also travelling the world, but this would be in order to find a cure for their scales, though it must be noted that they do not especially trouble themselves very much, as they, along with their newly-found skin, have since developed intense human-reptile fetishes, which do not spread to actual reptiles - more to each other, as they are not exactly reptiles, but newly-elevated demons.
Galahad affirms that he is Galahad the Pure, the Pure demon. Lancelot affirms he is still brave and chivalrous - when he's not killing people - only now, instead of running to attack dragons, he's more inclined to have cups of tea with them, talking about scale rot and wondering if they have a cure for the pesky itch he sometimes gets right between his shoulders... Galahad is known to come in about this time, asking them less about cures for itches and more about cures for the ever increasing scale coverage, as he does not want it going down too far and really, is that too much to ask?
It should also be noted, every time Galahad asks said question, God can be heard laughing a deep, manly - although perhaps omnipotently is better used here? - laugh that shows he has less of a sense of humour, and more a truly hilarious vicious streak. Nonetheless, neither Galahad nor Lancelot can complain that their orgasms aren't more powerful this way.
It's also around this time that in a town a far way away, Arthur, Son of Uther Pendragon (another fellow citizen afflicted by a scale-y disease, unknown to his great Son), King of the Britons, can be seen - if anyone were in the general area, which no one was, as he had specifically chosen this area for its lack of any inhabitants in spotting distance - dunking his head into a river, trying to wash away the permanently-etched image of angel!men and dragon-demon!men having sex. This image is one that he keeps stumbling upon these days.
It should also be mentioned that, for the first time in recent history (although all history is recent at this point as very little had been lived, what with it not even being a thousand years AD yet) Arthur can be seen - although as it has previously been stated there is no one to see this, making the point null and void - with his crown slightly askew.
Somewhere high above, between Heaven (or Valhalla, or the big Starbucks above, or whatever floats your religiously based and centred boat) and an uncommonly opportunely-placed meadow (for the whole world is now a meadow to the Great Shrubbers), two winged beings snicker at their favourite King's misfortune. And somewhere else, two scaly half-demons chortle over cups of tea, occasionally blowing steam along with particularly violent chuckles.
Kneeling beside his river, Arthur looks up and around him, suddenly feeling like not even an ocean (even be it one sparrows - African, not European of course - could carry coconuts over) would cure his troubles this time.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}