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There was no breathing room, no distance between them. At least, not for long. Their bodies needed to be near one another. He could feel the irresistible pull whenever he tried to stay away.
And the worst part was—he could also feel vicariously what Arthur felt.
Sometimes, he picked up on echoes of his emotions. Arthur’s moods affected his own. Other times, he could feel the physical effects too. Like phantom sensations stroking through his own body. As if he was pulled into Arthur’s body while he still wore his own skin and bones.
Point of fact, he’d never been a sexual being. If he’d felt any sort of attraction to anyone, the closest of this feeling was for Arthur. But it had never been the type of uninhibited lust that led to uninhibited bed sport. It had always been more muted, in the way that a cold-blooded animal wanted to bask in the warmth of the sun.
Before Guinevere had manipulated him into making use of his body, draining his life force, he’d never known the slightest sexual touch. Never sought it out. Was never even curious about it.
Now, because of this tether between them, he felt Arthur’s passions as if they were his own, but muted. He was terribly grateful that they were muted. For the king was averypassionate man.
Every day, Lancelot awoke with a raging erection and heavy stones. He resisted relieving himself initially, feeling inexplicably guilty about having these secondhand feelings. But after a while, it became too much to endure. For it didn’t just happen in the morning, it happenedall the fucking time!
Arthur’s body was always thrumming with energy, like a lightning bolt that never stopped flashing. Though his legendary control and focus kept his body still, so that you would never know what was broiling beneath his skin, there was a veritable volcano within him ready to explode at any given moment.
Lancelot had seen the explosions in the way Arthur fought. The unstoppable force of his aggression on the battlefield. The sleepless nights of drinking and rutting with any number of females before he’d been wed.
Or so the legends went.
Afterthe she-demon, the king had seemed more subdued. If he took lovers, he was discreet about it, and he didn’t take many, to Lancelot’s knowledge.
But now…
Something had been unleashed within him. And, in turn, Lancelot was unraveling too.
He didn’t know what to do about it, so he kept apart from Arthur as much as he could, despite the invisible ties that bound them together. In particular, he avoided looking into Arthur’s eyes.
The stormy blue orbs were fathomless whirlpools a man could drown in…
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
Reign of Uther Pendragon, Dark Ages Britain.
“I hear he’s King Ban’s long-lost son from the lands across the sea. I wonder how he came to be here. He doesn’t look like any man I’ve ever seen.”
“I hear he was raised by a water nymph of great magical powers. Hence his name. Is it not strange that he has no heritage, no crest to claim? Only ‘of the lake.’”
“Perhaps the stories are true. He certainly looks like an elf with that long white hair and fine, pale skin—”
“As if you’ve ever seen such a creature in the flesh.”
“Ah, but I can imagine…”
Lancelot’s sensitive ears twitched at the murmurs and whispers around him as he walked through the crowds to the lists where the contestants in the tournament awaited the King to announce its commencement.
He knew he did not look like everyone else, his clothes much more finely spun, made of the lightest fabric, with a luminosity that was woven into every fiber.
After all, the “nymph” made them for him. They were magical. They kept him cool in the summer heat, warm in the winter, and dry in the rain. They never needed washing, for they repelled dirt and fluids. And they always smelled like spring mists.
He did not know if the woman who raised him was a nymph or fairy or something else. It never mattered to Lancelot. He simply knew her as the Lady of the Lake. He called her “My Lady.”
Though she raised him, she was not his mother; she made that clear. She was kind to him but never indulgent. She was wise and stern when she needed to be. She was never affectionate as he had witnessed in others. But she also never raised her voice or hand to him.
In the hidden paradise where he spent his youth, he’d been surrounded by magical creatures just like the Lady. They played with him as a child, and trained him in the ways of the human world, as well as martial arts when he matured.
The Lady told him that he was to be a great warrior. The greatest mankind would see for many generations. His destiny, she foretold, was to serve and protect a mighty King who would unite the isles and protect the people from foreign invaders.There would be many tribulations, and the King would need Lancelot as he needed no one else.
Lancelot did not understand this destiny of his. He didn’t much care.
