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A muffled scream rose from deep within Arthur’s chest. His body jerked as if lightning-struck. Helplessly, an orgasm the likes of which he’d never dreamed, much less experienced,ripped through him and erupted from his cock, trapped between the bed and his stomach.
As his body reflexively clenched in the throes of release, he felt Lancelot shudder at his back, and a gushing, liquid heat flooded his insides, scalding him. Triggering another cataclysm within him. Making him drench the bedclothes with his seed.
And still, Lancelot didn’t stop. Now using his own cum to slick his way. He plowed into Arthur until Arthur couldn’t stop coming, and his groans subsided into raspy huffs of stuttering breaths.
He didn’t stop coming either, flooding Arthur to overflowing, until all Arthur could hear was their exhausted panting and the squelch of the hot, undying erection tunneling in and out of him, making his knot so swollen, it seemed to take up the entirety of his arse. So that even the slightest graze would set him off. Until his own cock jerked with emptiness, all of his seed having been ruthlessly milked out.
Enough, he thought, no longer able to utter a sound, his eyes burning behind their tightly shut lids.
He thought he could conquer this—whateverthiswas. But all he did was lose spectacularly to Lancelot
Yet again.
And now that he knew what the man felt like inside of him, he knew he would crave it like a madman ’til the end of his days. Instead of exorcising himself of this hopeless obsession, he’d only sunk deeper.
He prayed that he could somehow keep his barely restored heart out of it. But he had no delusions.
It was only a matter of time before he lost that to Lancelot too.
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
Lancelot wasn’t sure what just happened.
Well, he knew what had physically occurred. He had been there for it. Perpetrating it. He just didn’t know what exactly it meant.
But he couldn’t wait to do it again.
This was different from anything else he’d ever experienced. What the she-demon did to him was merely a physical exchange, though far less pleasant. She used him to take his power and life force. He withstood it as if he was outside of his own body, thanks to the numbness the Lady gifted him.
What he did to Arthur, and Arthur did to him—this wasdifferent. He was wholly present for it, for one. It wasArthur, for two. That alone madeallthe difference.
Still lodged deeply within the warrior king’s body, Lancelot had an inkling that he might be suffocating the man.
He might be leaner than Arthur, but he was no light weight. And he had only slightly loosened the arm around Arthur’s neck, using the hold and the cage of his body to keep Arthur right where he wanted him.
To simplykeephim.
This was a fight unlike any he’d ever known. But he only wanted this with Arthur.
Ever since the first time they met and fought, he’d felt the need to dominate the mighty warrior in just this way. They’d had clothes between them then. It hadn’t been the same.
This—skin to skin, clenched tightly within Arthur’s hot channel—this was infinitely better.
Now that Arthur was sated and unmoving beneath him, the fight gone entirely out of him, Lancelot slowly relaxed as well.
Surely, Arthur’s acquiescence meant that he’d won this round. He didn’t know what they were fighting for; he was just relieved that Arthur engaged him at all.
When Guinevere had come between them, it was as if Arthur wasn’t even there. If he looked at Lancelot, his gaze was almostalways emotionless. Only in rare instances did it flare with blue fire, a burning hatred, it seemed. But to Lancelot, any emotion from Arthur was better than none, even hate.
He didn’t know what he’d done to offend the King. He’d only ever served and protected him. But Arthur seemed to resent him for saving his life. Resented him for simply breathing.
He shifted his weight so that they could ease onto their sides. The movement, however subtle, elicited a pained moan from the man in his arms.
Lancelot immediately stilled. Did it hurt Arthur to hold him thus? But if it did, why didn’t Arthur push him away?
Instead, he clenched his internal walls as if he wanted to keep Lancelot close, to pull him even deeper. One hand gripped Lancelot’s forearm where it banded across Arthur’s chest, as if to keep him there. As if he enjoyed the prison of Lancelot’s arms.
When they were fighting, Lancelot only thought to subdue his opponent. To conquer him. And then, when adrenaline ran high, he chased blindly after his climax, that euphoric, life-altering release.
