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They battled for supremacy. Hands grappling. Teeth biting. Nails clawing. Until they tumbled in a naked tangle of limbs onto the closest surface—the bed.
Arthur landed on top. He used the superior position to pin Lancelot in place with his heavier bulk, one hand wrapped around Lancelot’s throat to cut off his air, his hips and thighs holding the other man’s lower body in place, their hard cocks perfectly aligned and grinding together.
Lancelot bucked up as Arthur ground down. He couldn’t tell whether the warrior was trying to throw him off or find a convenient hot sheath to plunge in his sword.
He bit down on Lancelot’s corded neck like a lion dominating its mate. Hard enough to hurt, but just short of breaking the skin.
Lancelot hissed and managed to elbow him in the solar plexus, cutting off his breath and loosening his grip on the knight’s throat. This was quickly followed by a knee to the stomach and a sudden buck and roll.
Lancelot landed on top with Arthur on his stomach, trapped beneath the warrior’s steely thighs, riding his hips bareback as if he was a wild stallion. A leanly muscular arm circled Arthur’sneck from behind, bowing his body with the force of the pull. At the same time, Lancelot shifted his weight, forced his knees between Arthur’s now splayed thighs—
And locked Arthur down with a powerful thrust of his hips, punching the head of his cock into Arthur’s body.
They both froze. Heavy breaths sawed in and out of their lungs like bellows.
He could feel Lancelot’s heaving chest at his back. The slick of their sweat between their heated skin.
The pain of the breach was astounding. Unlike anything Arthur had ever felt. Nothing could have prepared him.
And yet, a part of him rejoiced at the pain. Welcomed the fact that it was Lancelot’s body in his, conquering him.
He’d been fucked against his will, tortured and bled. But he’d never been conquered.
If he yielded, it would only ever be to this man.
“Do it,” he choked out, barely able to form words with Lancelot’s arm still locked around his throat.
“Don’t hold back. Just do it!”
With a merciless punch of his hips, Lancelot obliged, thrusting the entire length of that hot, thick rod deep inside of Arthur.
He could feel tearing, the wetness of his blood flooding his channel. But he gritted his teeth and pushed back onto Lancelot, goading him to fuck him harder.
This reckoning was a long time coming, and he was going to squeeze every ounce of pain and feeling out of it. Even agony was better than numbness and antipathy.
Lancelot didn’t hold back, just as Arthur demanded. He rode Arthur’s ass like it was a fucking marathon. He lunged his entire body in and out, plowing into Arthur like there was no end, like his cock was a battering ram. There was no finesse, just jolting, spearing agony that lit Arthur’s entire body on fire.
And Arthur embraced it. He needed this. Needed exactly this:
For Lancelot to hurt him without remorse. For him to kill any remnant of those impossible dreams. So that Arthur would stop yearning. Stop longing.
But then, something changed.
Maybe it was the blood that slicked the way. Or maybe it was how Lancelot slowed his thrusts until they were simply nudges inside of Arthur, ground precisely against a knot within him with every roll of Lancelot’s hips.
Pain melted into burning pleasure, so intense and frightening, Arthur fisted the bedsheets until they tore. He bit down on the corner of a pillow as Lancelot pushed his face into the mattress, his lower body drilling into Arthur’s with a dangerous new mission.
With every stroke against that secret place within Arthur, his body unraveled against his will. Until he became a mangled mess of sensations, every fiber of his being screaming for release.
He tried to end this torture then, tried to buck Lancelot off of him.
He didn’t want the pleasure. A mockery of what he used to be capable of feeling. Except so much worse.
So muchmore.
Lancelot pressed down harder upon him, inside of him, his arm tightening around Arthur’s throat, labored breaths huffing beside his ear. Sweat dripping onto his back.
He deepened and quickened his thrusts until he was relentlessly hammering against Arthur’s knot. No quarter. No relief.
