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Sir Gawain and the Green Night

By Searska GreyRaven

Gawain stood before the gaping maw of the cave and gripped his sword tighter. This was the place, alright. The villagers had been telling the truth. The dragon, called the Green Night by the locals, slumbered in a cave that looked like a mouth of Hell, in the tallest mountain of the Spine mountains. He'd come prepared, of course. His shining armor was in perfect condition, his sword honed to a razor's edge, and his shield reinforced with steel.

But nothing could have prepared him for the vision of that yawning hole in the mountain.

Taking a deep breath and uttering a short prayer to the Maker, Gawain approached the cave. A soft patter against his armor made him startle, and he chided himself when he realized it was only water dripping from the ceiling, raining down on his plated shoulders.

"Some knight I am, scared of falling water," he muttered, and quickly bit his tongue. It was said that a dragon could hear a mouse sneeze from a hundred paces away. If he didn't hold his tongue, he was apt to alert the beast before he even got close.

Not that he was able to move any more silently in his armor. Full plate tends to clink, no matter how careful a knight can be. Best just get it over with, then. He'd already lost the element of surprise.

Some knight.

"Show yourself, Dragon!" Gawain shouted.

For a moment, there was no reply. Suddenly, a rumble echoed through the cave, a sound like the grinding of stones.

"Do you fancy yourself a knight, little man? Come to stab me with your pretty little sword and claim my head as a trophy?" A voice hissed from the darkness.

"You have terrorized the village in the shadow of this mountain long enough, monster. I am here to end your reign of terror, Green Night!" Gawain shouted with more bravery than he felt.

Another rumble, and Gawain realized it was the sound of the dragon laughing. _Laughing!_Color rose to his cheeks, and he shifted his grip on his sword as his palms began to sweat.

"My 'reign of terror,' hmm?" It cleared its throat, and its voice sounded softer, almost...feminine. "You know my name, knight. Is it not polite to give your own?" the dragon continued, and a pair of glowing emerald eyes appeared in the darkness.

Gawain blinked a few times before the dragon's question sunk through his baffled brain. "Sir Gawain of Rainsford."

"Sir Gawain." The dragon hissed the "sir" part, as if she were sipping some particularly tasty wine. The moment his name fell from the dragon's mouth, the knight looked up. Even though he knew that one must _never_meet a dragon's eyes, he couldn't help it. The sound of his name beckoned him, and his gaze flicked upward. The dragon's eyes glowed like hellfire, and Gawain was as helpless as a moth before a flame. He stepped forward, his sword slipping from his hand.

"Ah, but they never learn, do they? Sleep, knight. Sleeeeeeep."

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he passed out.

***

He opened his eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where...am I? He could remember a dragon, lantern-bright eyes, and nothing more. He tried to sit up, but found he was bound to a stone table by his wrists and ankles. His armor had been removed, along with his sword belt. He wore only his thin under tunic and a loincloth.

The manacles clasped around his wrists were heavy iron. And even though he could see the pin that would release him, he couldn't reach it. The shackles on his ankles stretched his muscular frame to its limit, prevented him from removing the pin with his mouth. Frustrated, he struggled anyway, trying to slip his wrists free.

"Now, now, none of that, Sir Knight."

A scaled form stepped around the table and into view. It looked as if a human had started turning into a dragon, but stopped half-way through. Delicate green scales ran down the creature's sides and thighs, across the backs of its hands and up its arms. A spray of quill-like spines grew from the back of its head, and two long horns like ram's horns curled out of the spines. It had a long muzzle rather like a greyhound, but covered in irridescent green scales. A pair of ivory fangs glinted between its lips and seemed to fold back like a serpent's. From its shoulders sprouted a pair of bat-like wings, as green as grass in springtime. A green-scaled tail flicked behind it like a cat's. Its body was lean, more like a hunting cat than a monstrous dragon. Around its hips was a silken cord, from which an elegant damask rectangle--also green--hung between its legs, obscuring its sex.

"Dragon! Release me!" Gawain snarled.

"Release you? But we've barely begun!" The dragon laughed. Her fangs flashed in the green witch-light of the cavern.

"Are all dragons such sadists? Do you intend to devour me piece by piece? Or does torture simply amuse you?" He snapped. "The villagers will send someone else, dragon. You cannot prevail forever."

The dragon sighed and shook its head. "Little knight, they knew you would not be returning. The villagers and I, we have an...accord. I protect their little village from monsters and the King's tax collectors, and they send me virgin sacrifices from time to time."

"I'm...a sacrifice?" Gawain said. "They lied to me?"

The dragon snorted. "You can't tell me you are surprised. The way the King squeezes the peasantry, they will take any protection they can muster. Even if it means making deals with dragons."

Gawain stilled. "You prey on them. Whether is it you or the King, they are still being abused."

The dragon threw back its head and roared with laughter. "You think I make unfair deals? A creature must eat, yes? You would deny me the right to live? Sir Knight, what have I done that you wouldn't have?"

Gawain didn't reply. The dragon had him at a loss.

"At least when they serve me, I do not squeeze the life from all of them at once. And their plight is not so bad. Not when they can send willing lambs up my mountain." The dragon examined its claws. "But if you truly think that I am being unsporting, I will give you your release," her green eyes flashed, "if you beg for it." It ran one claw down his chest, the tips of its talons scoring the cloth, cutting through his shirt like a hot knife through butter.

Sir Gawain's eyes widened. He was a Knight of the Order, a man chosen to defend the weak and uphold the Law of the land against the evil monsters that plagued it. He would never submit. Not to this dragon, not to any beast! No amount of torture could reduce him to begging.

"Never," he spat defiantly. "I'll die first."

The dragon's grin widened, flashing even more of its fangs. "And I would have it no other way, Sir Knight." The dragon vanished from view, and returned a few moments later with a leather-wrapped bundle. With a swipe of its claw, the shredded remains of his tunic were ripped aside, bearing his naked chest to it. Humming a tuneless song to itself, it untied the bundle and rolled it out along the stone table. Gawain craned his neck to see, cursing himself for looking once he saw what the dragon had revealed.

The leather bundle held various tools of suspect use, tied with leather thongs to keep them from falling out of the bundle. Several slender knives, metallic rods of various sizes, and...a number of glass vials, stoppered with corks. The dragon took out a vial filled with clear fluid and examined it carefully.

"Mustn't be hasty with this one," it murmured. "Could be weeks before I have another sacrifice to play with. But what to start with..."

Gawain snorted. "Do your worst, dragon. I am a Knight of the Order. No amount of torture will ever break me."

The dragon smirked. "Ah, yes. The Order dictates that all its initiates go through a torture session, intended to teach them how to withstand such things in the future. My good knight, I know better than to attempt to use physical harm against a Knight of the Order. I'd have more luck trying to bleed a stone! It would be a monumental waste of my time, not to mention that it makes the meat tough, and ragged, and adds absolutely nothing to flavor." It ran its forked tongue up Gawain's chest, lingering on his nipple and forcing a shudder from the bound knight. "I could just kill you and be done with it, but I promised I would be sporting about this. If you beg me properly, I won't kill you." Its grin was a crescent moon, hanging over his head and filling his vision. No, not a moon. A scythe.

Gawain shifted, trying to get away from the dragon's soft tongue. "I thought only barnyard mousers played with their food," he said, filling his words with bravado. The dragon's grin vanished, and with a sharp snap of its arm, it yanked away the last of Gawain's modesty. The dragon was next to him in the blink of an eye, its tongue flicking inside the shell of his ear as it spoke.

"Unless the cat intends to fuck its prey to death," it hissed, "I am no common barnyard mouser."

Gawain paled, and the grin returned to the dragon's lips. "I am aware of the vows a Knight of the Order must take before he is handed his emblem. Vows to uphold honor, chivalry, to protect the weak, to charity and...chastidy," it chuckled evilly, nuzzling his throat with its cold muzzle. Its rough scales slid along the soft, vulnerable skin of his neck. Gawain shuddered, struggling under the dragon's hold. The scent of dragon filled his nose, smoke and...cloves? It smelled wild and pagan, and Gawain was determined to hate it.

And yet...the scent of smoke and cloves was oddly...invigorating.

The dragon withdrew, thrumming. It still had the vial of clear liquid in its hand, and it bit the cork, twisting it free with a snap of its neck. It spat the cork aside and locked eyes with Gawain again. He lay paralyzed beneath the dragon's gaze as it climbed onto the table and straddled him, settling its body on his hips. It flicked aside its damask covering with its tail, and Gawain hissed.

The dragon was female.

"You look surprised, little knight. Did you think all dragons were male?" She laughed, pouring a few drops of the clear fluid into her palm. "Just like a human male, to assume that if it is strong enough to subdue you, it must be male." She dipped the pad of her first finger into the clear fluid in her palm and traced a strange, flowing sigil on Gawain's chest. Everywhere the fluid touched, Gawain felt warm. Not unbearable, but distracting. The scent of cinnamon joined the scent of smoke and clove, and Gawain found it harder and harder to focus. He glanced at his chest, and was startled to see that the markings, once clear fluid, were starting to glow with an eerie green light.

The dragon worked her way down his body, emptying the vial completely as she continued to trace symbols along his skin. By the time she withdrew, Gawain's skin felt like it had been scrubbed with sand. Every inch of him was sensitive, aching to be touched. The final sigil brightened, and the markings flared as one.

All of a sudden, Gawain couldn't think. His cheeks flushed and blood sang in his ears. His body writhed, moving with a mind of its own. The bonds prevented him from squirming too much, but the feeling of the rough metal against his flesh sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. The ache was fiercest in his loins, and his hips undulated of their own accord. The dragon hopped down, revealing Gawain's engorged member. He moaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. No, I will not...I cannot...

The dragon pulled another vial from the leather, this one filled with something black that stuck to the sides of the vial like tar. She carefully pried the cork loose and poured it over Gawain's length. It was cool, not cold enough to dampen his rising passion, but enough that he was able to think for a moment. He swallowed, working his throat, and finally was able to croak, "What have you done...to me?"

The cooling sensation was sliding along him, sliding into him, until he felt the cooling sensation all the way to his testicles. Abruptly, the cooling sensation vanished and he felt the heat return to his loins.

"The people of the village told me you were quite good with a sword. Had you been magically protected as well, you might have even proven to be a challenge. Poor luck, little knight. The glowing sigils will make you feel like a buck in rut until you have a release, and the potion I just used on your loins will prevent you from having such a release until it is dissolved." She gave him a wicked grin as the reality of his situation slowly became clear to his lust-fogged mind. He turned his attention to his hips, and if he had been less consumed with lust, he would have screamed. His length was covered in something slick and black, like oil. It clung to him like a second skin, and when the dragon wrapped her hand around him, his mind went blank with pleasure.

The Green Night licked her lips and bent her head to him, flicking her forked tongue against his tip. Gawain arched his back, all his knightly pride washed away by the warm, wet feeling of the dragon swallowing his length. A pressure began to build low in his belly, something that became more and more urgent with each movement of the dragon's tongue. It built, and built, and built, but it felt like something had a choke hold on his body, preventing him from gaining his release. He cried out, a plea ready on his lips.

I am a Knight of the Order, and though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are beside me. Before Your Light, darkness and chaos shall fall away and have no power. I will defend the weak with sword and shield against the forces of the night. This I swear before the Maker and Order, until my dying day. The oath of the Order cut through the haze of lust, and Gawain latched onto it like a drowning man in a storm. He bit back his plea and found that he was able to concentrate, at least a little.

But the dragon had noticed as well. She hopped up onto the table and straddled him again, this time pressing the tip of his length against her slit.

"Will you beg for me?" She asked, rubbing him against her. The sensation wrenched a gasp from him, but Gawain shook his head. He had to try three times to choke out his reply.

"Never."

She slid him into her, slowly, savoring every inch as she robbed him of his virginity and the protection of his vow. Gawain cried out, torn between the mind-bending pleasure in his loins and the black feeling of violation that enveloped his heart with every inch of him she took into herself. At last, she hilted him inside her, and drank in his agonized expression. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried desperately to still the undulating motions that came unbidden to his hips. But his body would not obey, and even the slightest of motions sent a blaze of pleasure coursing through his veins. The markings on his body glowed brighter, his skin crawling with the urgent demand to be touched, to move, to drive himself into her as hard and fast as he could until he satisfied the maddening pressure building inside him.

I am a Knight of the Order, sworn to...uphold the Law and defend the weak...to defend against the forces of darkness..._The oath fled from him as the dragon shifted her position, sliding him almost completely out of her before sliding back down, enveloping him again. With each repetition, his mind became more and more fogged by desire, by raw aching _need, and though he fought with all his might to maintain his mind, her body eroded his control like waves against the shore, leaving nothing behind but fleshly, hedonistic madness.

His hips pounded into her, as much as he could manage while still being bound to the stone table. The iron bands cut into his limbs, but he hardly noticed. The dragon's wings spread above him, the glow from the markings rippled across the membranes and forming eldritch patterns. She bent her head, mantling him like a hawk over its prey, and lapped at the blood pooling under his wrists. Her eyes burned, her red-tinted tongue flicked in and out in tune with the motion of her hips. He didn't know how long he lay there, struggling to drive himself into her and release the unbearable pressure between his legs, but suddenly she clenched around him, pressed him into the stone until he couldn't move, and roared. She collapsed atop him, panting, and her weight held him still.

He whimpered, trying vainly to wriggle enough to continue, but the dragon made a throaty laugh and withdrew, staggering a bit as she hopped off him. The sigils on his skin dimmed, and the fog in his mind withdrew just enough to allow him to speak.

"No, you can't...can't leave me like this!" he looked at her, pleading with his eyes. The idea of being left in this state, untouched and forgotten, made his body quake with abject panic. He struggled, the iron cutting into his wrists. He heard a terrified whimper, and realized it was coming from his own throat. The Green Night smiled and stilled his struggles with her claw.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen. Can't I? And who are you, to order me so? I might be inclined to stay, perhaps." She said, her lips pursed into a faux pout. "Will you beg for me to stay, Gawain of Rainsford?"

Gawain took a deep breath, steadying himself. Her touch, vile and unclean though it may be, chased away some of the panic threatening to consume him. "A knight...never begs," he said. His blonde hair was plastered against his head, slick with sweat. The dragon leaned close, nibbling his neck with her fangs. Gawain moaned, muscles bunching as he tried again to free himself. But to free himself to flee or...something else? He was no longer sure.

The Green Night threw back her head and laughed. "But you are a knight no longer, Gawain. Your vows are dust in the wind. You are no more a knight than any common knave. Beg me to stay, Gawain of Rainsford, and perhaps I may." She smoothed her claw down his chest, barely--just barely--touching his skin, and paused over the V of his legs. The heat from her palm sank into his flesh and he shuddered as something within him began to unravel.

Tell her to go, he thought. Tell her no, that you'll never beg. I am a Knight of the Order...Knight of...of...

"Please...Maker, don't leave me like this..." The words came before he could stop them, choked out in a bitter-tasting sob.

The Green Night slithered closer, still just out of reach. Her eyes glittered like emeralds in the ghost light. "The Maker can't hear you here, fallen knight. Say it, Gawain of Rainsford." She urged, caressing the bend of his jaw with her claw tip, drawing her hand lower, lower... And his attenuating pride completely shattered.

"Please, Green Night, I beg you. Release me!" He cried out. "No more, I yield!"

The Green Night laughed again and bent her head to his ear, her forked tongue flicking. "You were mine from the moment you stepped into my home, fallen knight. Such a handsome new addition to my collection," she murmured, and sank her fangs into his throat.

Ecstasy overwhelmed him, bowing his back. The Green Night flexed her jaw and pumped something syrupy-thick into his bloodstream. If he thought he was wild with desire before, this was black madness. Heedless to the bonds holding him still, he writhed and thrashed, tearing open his flesh. There was a sharp clang, and the iron bands fell away from his wrists. He was free! All he had to do was...was...

The cave was unbarred, but he couldn't flee. The Green Night stood, naked and inviting, on the opposite side of the cavern. He tried to will himself to run from her, to take even a step toward the exit, but his body was unwilling. It pulled him toward her, step by agonizing step, until he finally collapsed to his knees. She knelt on all fours, her tail held aside, allowing him a perfect view of her, and Gawain crawled, mounting her, rutting like an impassioned cur. His skin itched like mad, and the only thing that made the feeling bearable was grinding his flesh against the Green Night's rough scales. But no matter how hard or fast he took her, his release was ever just out of his reach.

Suddenly, the dragon's body clamped around him. He couldn't withdraw if he tried. But he still writhed against her, desperate to ease the strange sensations crawling over his skin. With a twist and a flick of her tail, Gawain was pulled free and held bodily down by the weight of the Green Night. She reached over with her wing and took another slender phial from the leather case. Without a word, she poured it over Gawain's loins. The blackish tar melted away.

"This is your last chance, fallen knight. I release you. If you think you can claim it," the dragon murmured, smirking. She leapt aside, allowing Gawain to stand. He tried--Oh how he tried!--to make a break for the exit. But the dragon's venom coursing through his veins drove him to his knees, and he crawled hand over fist toward her. Her face split into a cruel grin. Gawain howled and, with a savage snarl, threw his weight against her. Green Night didn't resist as Gawain pulled her down, forcing her under him, and sheathed himself in her once more. Her hips rose to meet his, matching him thrust for thrust until Gawain loosed a primal howl, his release emptying into her and leaving the fallen knight spent. Gawain collapsed, weak as a kitten. The Green Night smirked and flipped the fallen knight over. She straddled him, his seed dripping from her in languorous threads onto his belly.

"Such hungry work," she murmured. "Good night, sweet knight." Her body shimmered and grew larger until she was again a proper dragon. Gawain was as a mouse under her claw. Her green eyes flashed, and Gawain was too exhausted to fight her gaze. The Green Night paralyzed him with a glance, licked his face, and the last thing he saw with his waking eyes was the gaping maw of the Green Night, come to claim him.