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“Mine,” he said again.
And again, he punched in and out.
Deeper. Harder.
Brutal. Unforgiving.
Arthur took it. Gritted his teeth. He pushed back against Lancelot, daring him to fuck him even harder.
Destroy him. Own him.
Lancelot understood. Because he began a ruthless, measured pace inside of Arthur that numbed him to everything else except the incinerating burn, spreading from his core to everyextremity. Lancelot didn’t touch him anywhere else. Just the band around his waist and the hand at his nape.
And the scalding hot pipe tearing through his arse. Taking him apart and remaking him.
This wasn’t about either man’s pleasure or release. Lancelot was purposeful in his controlled thrusts, somehow just missing Arthur’s gland despite that massive cock taking up more space inside of Arthur than he thought existed.
No, this was about power and domination. It was about Lancelot’s need to stake his claim, and Arthur’s physical acquiescence if nothing else.
He didn’t have much to give the warrior, but if the man wanted his body, then he could have it. He could own it and brand it and destroy it if he wished.
Arthur owed it to him for being unable to protect Lancelot the way he protected Arthur. That Lancelot hadallowedthe she-demon to use him…to stay by Arthur’s side…to save him…
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, his body quivering with stress. That knot of scars within his chest burned with agony as if someone was forcefully peeling back the scabs to reveal the raw, puss-filled wound inside.
And that was when Lancelot subtly shifted his hips, the angle of his penetration changing.
Now, with each thrust, the fat head of his cock slammed against Arthur’s pleasure center. He’d grind there with a swivel of his hips to nail him good before withdrawing almost all the way out.
And lunge back in to light him up all over again. Grinding until guttural groans escaped Arthur’s lips unbidden. Until the shivers became shakes, and his whole body unraveled piece by piece.
“Mine,” Lancelot husked against his ear, plastering his front to Arthur’s back now, so that not even a breath of air separated them.
He was only grinding now. Short, hard, staccato punches and relentless grinds that kept him at Arthur’s core, until the pleasure burned so hot, it couldn’t be contained.
With a hoarse shout, Arthur came undone, releasing in thick jets against the tiles and clenching convulsively around the man inside of him. It wasn’t an intrusion. It seemed part of him now. He couldn’t even imagine not having Lancelot inside of him.
A gust of breath huffed in his ear as the knight silently unleashed his own crisis inside of Arthur, filling him with scalding cream. Until his entire insides turned to molten lava. Until he overflowed with it, and thick drops mingled with the shower spray to trail down the inside of Arthur’s thighs.
They stood there silently, braced against the tiled wall, plastered to each other, shaking in the aftermath.
For a small eternity, no one said a word.
When the shockwaves began to subside into tingles, Lancelot carefully pulled out, his cock still half-hard. Much more carefully than how he’d forced his way inside.
Arthur bit down on his lower lip to stifle the grunt of pain, but he couldn’t prevent the hiss that escaped when Lancelot pushed two fingers back inside his throbbing hole.
“I can feel my seed inside you,” the man at his back finally spoke, low and rough.
“You’re filled to overflowing.”
He pushed those fingers as deep as they would go, rubbing his cream into Arthur’s inner walls. Then, he found Arthur’s swollen gland and massaged it with his cum until Arthur came again, his spurts less powerful this time. And he kept on massaging until there was no seed left, and Arthur’s legs gaveout, his entire weight held up by the arm around his waist and the fingers in his ass.
Only then did Lancelot pull out. He turned Arthur around because Arthur couldn’t move to save his life.
“Look at me.”
Arthur opened his eyes a sliver, meeting the other man’s silvery stare.
