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“Was that your way of stopping me from kissing you, or pressing me for more?” he teased.
Lancelot knew he was teasing by the quirk of that full mouth beneath his beard and the crinkles around his eyes again.
“Don’t stop,” he said in all seriousness.
“I want more.”
The smile disappeared from Arthur’s face, and while Lancelot missed that special expression that Arthur seemed to reserve just for him, a mix of indulgent exasperation and amusement, his pulse sped up at the new expression Arthur wore.
As if he was starving, and Lancelot was his feast. As if he’d been lost for years in hostile lands, but now he was finally home.
Lancelot liked this new expression very much.
With a groan, Arthur cupped his face with both hands and sealed their mouths together once more. This time, he coaxed Lancelot’s lips apart and entered him with his tongue.
The new sensations made Lancelot’s heart take flight like a flock of startled birds. Like the Beltane bonfire, he was suddenly set ablaze.
He burned—everywhere.
He was a quick learner, and he gave back as good as he got, dueling tongues with Arthur, thrusting his own inside Arthur’s sweet, hot mouth.
He tasted delicious. A little minty from the leaves he liked to chew. A little of the ale he just drank. And all Arthur. All man.
It seemed to him that their mouths and tongues were mating, opening and closing, thrusting and sucking. He had seen men take pleasure like this, and yet he knew that it was never likethis.
There was a language spoken without words between the two of them. A giving and taking. A push and pull. It was a dance he never wanted to end. A dance that heated his body in unexpected ways, turning him molten and weak inside, yet fueling him with a new strength, a need to take what he wanted.
Demand it. Own it.
His rigid cock, hard to the point of vibrating with tension like singing steel, insisted upon it.
With an impatient growl, he bucked up into Arthur and wrapped his arms and legs around the warrior, locking him in place.
Arthur responded by pushing his hips down into him, into the snug notch he made between his thighs.
The hard rods of their cocks ground together, and it felt so good, Lancelot lost his breath, his eyes nigh rolling into the back of his head.
Arthur did it again and again, undulating his hips the way he thrust his tongue against Lancelot’s, in an unhurriedyet powerful rhythm, like tides crashing against one another, rolling into each other.
Churning. Burning. Stoking the flames between them higher and higher.
Lancelot wanted him closer; it wasn’t close enough. He wanted to be skin to skin with nothing between them. He wanted to be wrapped tightly within Arthur’s heat, surrounded by his body.
But he didn’t want to stop what they were doing to remove their clothes. So, he pushed his hands past the waist of Arthur’s trousers in the back, past the loin cloth to his bare buttocks and grabbed two big handfuls of the round muscled flesh andsqueezed.
Arthur choked a little against his mouth, part snort, part laugh. He pulled only an inch away so he could speak, but Lancelot wasn’t having it.
He arched up to take Arthur’s lips again, dragging him back down and sucking on his tongue.
Arthur grunted at his aggression and gave him what he wanted, thrusting into his mouth as he flexed his arse and thrust against him below.
Lancelot had always thought that Arthur possessed the best buttocks a man could possibly have. High and muscular, perfectly curved. He admired the power in them, the way they flexed so hypnotically.
And now, he got tofeelthem in his hands. Feel the strength and take it for his own. Directing Arthur to thrust harder against him, squeezing his unyielding flesh so hard he was certain he’d leave bruises.
He was secretly thrilled that Arthur might be wearing his fingerprints beneath his trousers in the light of day. He hoped they wouldn’t fade for long time. Or if they eventually did, thathe would have the opportunity to put new bruises in their place. All over Arthur’s body.
Because Lancelot wanted tomarkhim.
