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But before he went further and fucked that virgin hole raw with his long, calloused fingers and bit into the other man’s neck until he broke skin, it was brought to his lust-hazed awareness that Arthur was shaking like a leaf against him, his entire body quivering with stress.
Lancelot had the wherewithal to lean back slightly, though he kept his fingers inside Arthur’s heat. He never wanted to leave.
He only wantedmore.
“Don’t,” his King ground out against his mouth.
“Finish what you started, or stay the fuck away from me.”
“You’re the one who started it,” Lancelot couldn’t help but point out.
It was only the truth.
Arthur huffed a humorless laugh.
“And when I return to our residence, I intend to finish it. If you are of a different mind, don’t bother to come back. I need…”
What do you need?Lancelot asked wordlessly, chasing Arthur’s mouth, licking at his full, firm lips.
“I need to exorcise this,” the King husked, his voice broken and gone. Evaporated like smoke and forgotten dreams.
“Exorciseyou.”
As if he resented Lancelot for being forced to make the admission, Arthur shoved him back again and squeezed past.
Disappearing once more in the crowd.
Chapter Eight
“There’s a fine line between love and hate.”
—Unknown
Arthur Pendragon’s reign, Dark Ages Britain.
When Lancelot returned to Arthur’s side, his entire world had changed.
The first hint was that Arthur was found at his citadel at the newly established Caerleon Castle, instead of on the road or in the thick of battle. And it seemed that he had been in residence for several days already.
The second clue was that he was holding court, which he never did before, if he could possibly avoid it. If decisions needed to be made, and he needed to make them, they were always delivered to him wherever he was by messenger pigeon or courier, and he always gave his response the same way.
He was not a man who sat still for judgements, and he did not need to deliberate. He was quick and decisive with his pronouncements, and he only made them after being presented with all of the facts.
Arthur’s intelligence and wisdom never ceased to amaze Lancelot. He just seemed toknow.
He lived life with a kind of awe-inspiring confidence, so comfortable in his own skin. Whether he won or lost, he always ended on a laugh, shrugged it off. He possessed a magnetism that everyone was helpless against.
Including Lancelot.
Was Arthur tired of wandering? Did he feel he’d traveled the isles thoroughly? Was he ready to “settle down”?
Lancelot didn’t know what the phrase meant, and why people said it with fondness. Why would anyone want to “settle”? Never mind do it “down”?
Holding court was what other kings and noblemen did because they weren’t leading their men by example. They spent the people’s tributes and taxes on lavish entertainment, wine and food. Arthur always understood that such activities had their uses. He simply chose not to be part of them.
Yet, now, as Lancelot rode his steed through the thirty-foot gates, he was taken aback by all the flowers and garlands, by the way throngs of villagers were invited into the inner bailey, how they seemed drunk on a strange kind of joy; boisterous with a grating sort of laughter.
It didn’t seem real.
