This is the first chapter of a multiple chapter story about the the erotic love between the Biblical figures of David & Jonathan, taking place about a thousand years before the birth of Jesus. All characters are over the age of 18.
DAVID & JONATHAN: Heartstrings, Chapter 1
The air in the king’s tent was thick with the scent of roasting meat and sweat-soaked leather. David stood just inside the entrance flap, the weight of the day’s victory still a tangible pressure on his young shoulders. He’d been scrubbed clean of the battlefield’s grime and given a fresh tunic, but the phantom grip of Goliath’s own sword still tingled in his palm.
And then he saw him.
Leaning over a map-strewn table near his father, King Saul, was Jonathan, the crown prince. David had heard tales of his military prowess, his strategic mind, his loyalty. But the stories had not prepared him for the man himself. Jonathan was not simply handsome; he was a composition of quiet strength, with dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to absorb the dim light of the oil lamps. As David watched, Jonathan pushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, and the simple, fluid motion made David’s breath catch in a way that facing a nine-foot Philistine giant had not.
“My king,” David said, his voice thankfully steady as he bowed. “You sent for me?”
Saul looked up, his expression a complex mix of gratitude and something darker, something like envy. “David. Come. My son and I were just discussing the Philistine retreat. A remarkable feat. A godly feat.”
Jonathan straightened up, and his gaze landed on David. It was a soldier’s appraisal, sharp and measuring, but it lacked the coldness David expected from royalty. Instead, there was a warmth there, a spark of genuine curiosity.
“So, you are the shepherd who redefines the art of war,” Jonathan said. His voice was a low baritone, smooth and calming. A smile touched his lips. “They said you used a sling. I would have liked to have seen that.”
“It was… improvised, my lord,” David replied, his own lips curling into an answering smile. He found himself holding Jonathan’s gaze, unable, and unwilling, to look away.
“Improvised,” Jonathan repeated, the word a soft rumble of amusement. He stepped around the table, closing the distance between them. He was taller than David, his frame broader from years of soldiering. David felt a strange, pleasant tension tighten in his stomach. “My father says the Spirit of the Lord is upon you. I can see it.”
He reached out, and for a heart-stopping moment, David thought Jonathan might touch his face. Instead, his strong, calloused fingers gently brushed a spot on David’s shoulder where the new tunic had already gathered a speck of dust from the tent. The contact was fleeting, a half-second of warmth against his skin, but it sent a jolt through David that was both shocking and electrifying.
“There,” Jonathan said softly, his eyes still locked on David’s. “A hero should not have dust on his mantle.”
David’s mouth went dry. The noise of the celebrating camp outside faded into a distant hum. All he could hear was the beat of his own heart, thudding loudly in his ears. What is this? he thought, a silent, panicked prayer. This feeling… it is not like looking upon a brother. It is not like admiring a prince. It was something else entirely, a deep, gravitational pull that was both terrifying and utterly intoxicating. He felt seen, in that moment, not as a hero or a shepherd, but simply as David.
Saul, oblivious to the current that had just arced between the two young men, grunted. “Jonathan, take our new champion. Get him a proper sword and armor from the armory. That sling of his may work on giants, but it won’t do for the king’s army.”
The spell broke. Jonathan’s gaze finally released him, and he nodded to his father. “Of course.” He gestured toward the tent flap. “Will you walk with me, David?”
The night air was cooler, a relief after the stuffy tent. They walked in silence for a few paces, the sounds of laughter and song from the Israelite camp swelling around them. David was hyper-aware of Jonathan’s presence beside him, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the way his shoulder occasionally brushed against David’s arm as they navigated the crowded pathways.
“My father is… impressed,” Jonathan said finally, his tone careful, diplomatic. “But he is also a king. And kings see threats as often as they see blessings.”
“I am no threat to him,” David said, the words coming out too quickly, too earnestly.
Jonathan stopped and turned to face him. The torches lining the path cast flickering shadows across his features, deepening the intensity in his eyes. “I know,” he said, and the simple conviction in his voice made David’s chest ache. “I see your heart, David. It is pure. It is what drew the Lord’s favor today.”
He took another step closer. The space between them evaporated again. David could smell the faint scent of olive oil soap on Jonathan’s skin, mixed with the honest smell of a long day in armor.
“When I heard the giant’s challenge,” Jonathan continued, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, “I prayed for a miracle. But I imagined a seasoned warrior, grizzled and grim. I did not imagine… you.” His eyes traveled over David’s face, a look of such open admiration that it stole the air from David’s lungs. “You have the heart of a lion, but the face of…” He paused, and a faint blush coloured his own cheeks, as if he’d said too much. “...a poet.”
David’s mind raced. Forbidden verses from old laws whispered at the edges of his consciousness, warnings and condemnations. But they were drowned out by the thunderous, roaring need to close the minuscule gap between them. To feel the solid warmth of Jonathan’s chest against his, to understand the texture of the smile that was now playing on the prince’s lips.
He wanted to speak, to confess the bizarre, terrifying, wonderful tempest Jonathan had unleashed inside him with a single glance, a single touch. But all that came out was a strangled, “My lord…”
“Jonathan,” the prince corrected him gently. “When we are alone… call me Jonathan.”
The invitation was as intimate as a caress. David just nodded, utterly lost in the dark pools of Jonathan’s eyes, feeling as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, both terrified and exhilarated by the potential fall.
Jonathan’s smile widened, and he looked down for a moment, a shy gesture that was utterly at odds with his warrior’s stature. When he looked back up, his expression was resolved, yet filled with a shared, unspoken understanding of the dangerous path they were suddenly on. He clapped a firm, friendly hand on David’s shoulder, the grip warm and steadying.
“Come,” Jonathan said, his voice thick with an emotion David couldn’t name. “Let’s get you that armor. There is… there is much more we need to discuss.”
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DAVID & JONATHAN: Heartstrings, Chapter 1
The air in the king’s tent was thick with the scent of roasting meat and sweat-soaked leather. David stood just inside the entrance flap, the weight of the day’s victory still a tangible pressure on his young shoulders. He’d been scrubbed clean of the battlefield’s grime and given a fresh tunic, but the phantom grip of Goliath’s own sword still tingled in his palm.
And then he saw him.
Leaning over a map-strewn table near his father, King Saul, was Jonathan, the crown prince. David had heard tales of his military prowess, his strategic mind, his loyalty. But the stories had not prepared him for the man himself. Jonathan was not simply handsome; he was a composition of quiet strength, with dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to absorb the dim light of the oil lamps. As David watched, Jonathan pushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, and the simple, fluid motion made David’s breath catch in a way that facing a nine-foot Philistine giant had not.
“My king,” David said, his voice thankfully steady as he bowed. “You sent for me?”
Saul looked up, his expression a complex mix of gratitude and something darker, something like envy. “David. Come. My son and I were just discussing the Philistine retreat. A remarkable feat. A godly feat.”
Jonathan straightened up, and his gaze landed on David. It was a soldier’s appraisal, sharp and measuring, but it lacked the coldness David expected from royalty. Instead, there was a warmth there, a spark of genuine curiosity.
“So, you are the shepherd who redefines the art of war,” Jonathan said. His voice was a low baritone, smooth and calming. A smile touched his lips. “They said you used a sling. I would have liked to have seen that.”
“It was… improvised, my lord,” David replied, his own lips curling into an answering smile. He found himself holding Jonathan’s gaze, unable, and unwilling, to look away.
“Improvised,” Jonathan repeated, the word a soft rumble of amusement. He stepped around the table, closing the distance between them. He was taller than David, his frame broader from years of soldiering. David felt a strange, pleasant tension tighten in his stomach. “My father says the Spirit of the Lord is upon you. I can see it.”
He reached out, and for a heart-stopping moment, David thought Jonathan might touch his face. Instead, his strong, calloused fingers gently brushed a spot on David’s shoulder where the new tunic had already gathered a speck of dust from the tent. The contact was fleeting, a half-second of warmth against his skin, but it sent a jolt through David that was both shocking and electrifying.
“There,” Jonathan said softly, his eyes still locked on David’s. “A hero should not have dust on his mantle.”
David’s mouth went dry. The noise of the celebrating camp outside faded into a distant hum. All he could hear was the beat of his own heart, thudding loudly in his ears. What is this? he thought, a silent, panicked prayer. This feeling… it is not like looking upon a brother. It is not like admiring a prince. It was something else entirely, a deep, gravitational pull that was both terrifying and utterly intoxicating. He felt seen, in that moment, not as a hero or a shepherd, but simply as David.
Saul, oblivious to the current that had just arced between the two young men, grunted. “Jonathan, take our new champion. Get him a proper sword and armor from the armory. That sling of his may work on giants, but it won’t do for the king’s army.”
The spell broke. Jonathan’s gaze finally released him, and he nodded to his father. “Of course.” He gestured toward the tent flap. “Will you walk with me, David?”
The night air was cooler, a relief after the stuffy tent. They walked in silence for a few paces, the sounds of laughter and song from the Israelite camp swelling around them. David was hyper-aware of Jonathan’s presence beside him, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the way his shoulder occasionally brushed against David’s arm as they navigated the crowded pathways.
“My father is… impressed,” Jonathan said finally, his tone careful, diplomatic. “But he is also a king. And kings see threats as often as they see blessings.”
“I am no threat to him,” David said, the words coming out too quickly, too earnestly.
Jonathan stopped and turned to face him. The torches lining the path cast flickering shadows across his features, deepening the intensity in his eyes. “I know,” he said, and the simple conviction in his voice made David’s chest ache. “I see your heart, David. It is pure. It is what drew the Lord’s favor today.”
He took another step closer. The space between them evaporated again. David could smell the faint scent of olive oil soap on Jonathan’s skin, mixed with the honest smell of a long day in armor.
“When I heard the giant’s challenge,” Jonathan continued, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, “I prayed for a miracle. But I imagined a seasoned warrior, grizzled and grim. I did not imagine… you.” His eyes traveled over David’s face, a look of such open admiration that it stole the air from David’s lungs. “You have the heart of a lion, but the face of…” He paused, and a faint blush coloured his own cheeks, as if he’d said too much. “...a poet.”
David’s mind raced. Forbidden verses from old laws whispered at the edges of his consciousness, warnings and condemnations. But they were drowned out by the thunderous, roaring need to close the minuscule gap between them. To feel the solid warmth of Jonathan’s chest against his, to understand the texture of the smile that was now playing on the prince’s lips.
He wanted to speak, to confess the bizarre, terrifying, wonderful tempest Jonathan had unleashed inside him with a single glance, a single touch. But all that came out was a strangled, “My lord…”
“Jonathan,” the prince corrected him gently. “When we are alone… call me Jonathan.”
The invitation was as intimate as a caress. David just nodded, utterly lost in the dark pools of Jonathan’s eyes, feeling as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, both terrified and exhilarated by the potential fall.
Jonathan’s smile widened, and he looked down for a moment, a shy gesture that was utterly at odds with his warrior’s stature. When he looked back up, his expression was resolved, yet filled with a shared, unspoken understanding of the dangerous path they were suddenly on. He clapped a firm, friendly hand on David’s shoulder, the grip warm and steadying.
“Come,” Jonathan said, his voice thick with an emotion David couldn’t name. “Let’s get you that armor. There is… there is much more we need to discuss.”
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