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So, unable to resist any longer, he reached his free hand down his chest, over his rigid stomach, glancing his fingers lightly over his clothed torso as that imaginary hair might do. Just a glancing tease.
He loosened the ties of his trousers and pulled them down around his hips, only low enough to free his aching cock and stones. He hissed out a breath when the cool night air caressed his hot, swollen flesh and lightly drew his hand down the long, hard column, from the wet, sensitive tip to the heavy sacs at his root.
He wrapped his fingers around the thick base and squeezed hard enough to hurt. But the pain didn’t dull the throbbing beneath his skin. It only made it worse. Made him leak slippery dew from the mouth of his cock. So much, that it was enough to wet his entire staff.
His chest heaved with deep draws of air, as if he’d run a marathon. As if his body had suffered unendurable torture.
He didn’t know why he felt this way. Why he couldn’t bring himself to lie with any number of willing women to find release.
Except, he knew there would be no release. Even if his body achieved orgasm, the tension within him—this inexplicablepainandlonging—would remain and only grow worse.
He needed…
He wanted…
Something else.
Someone else.
Unable to bear the pressure within a moment longer, he began to move the hand wrapped around his stalk in a harsh, steady rhythm, twisting and clenching over the glans of his cockhead, determinedly milking the burn out of his body.
In his mind’s eye, he flashed back to the visions he had during the first event of the tournament, the final match. He refused to see the face of the person he wrestled with any clarity. But he couldn’t blot out the memory of that hard, lithe body writhing against him.
So strong. So unyielding. Yet so very flexible too.
Visions of the same bodies freed from trappings, bared in the chill of night, yet heated with internal flames. So hot, steam fair rose from them. When sweat-sheened skin slid against each other. And hard knobs caught in secret crevices, long fingers left bruising marks, and soft lips trailed over firm, muscled flesh…
Closing over his shuddering cock. Sucking him down a constricting throat. Swallowing, clenching, convulsing around him.
Making him come.
And come and come and come.
Arthur’s guttural growl reverberated into the silent night as his hot seed shot forth in thick spurts onto his torso and overflowed his fist.
A flock of birds suddenly burst into flight from the branches overhead, scattering with indignant squawks into the night sky, likely startled from their slumber by his unseemly eruption.
“Aw, keep it down, Bear!” Gawain complained from twenty feet away, his voice muffled by cloth and slurred with sleep.
“No one wants ta hear ya groom the one-eyed horse!”
A round of snickers overcame the men.
“Bear has to drain the moat at some point, flooded to overflowing as it’s been over the last months,” muttered someone else.
“Aye,” said another. “If you don’t polish yer sword on the regular, it’s liable to rust and break right off.”
Arthur tucked his still half-hard cock back in his trousers but didn’t bother to tie them. He needed room to breathe.
“Fuck off, ye eavesdropping perverts,” he lobbed back into the dark, no heat in his words.
He couldn’t help chuckling under his breath himself. It wasn’t the first time one or more of them had caught each other in compromising acts.
A round of deep, mocking groans echoed across the bedrolls, each man doing his exaggerated best to imitate Arthur’s voice. It sounded like a chorus of mating walruses.
Arthur traded a slew of curses back and forth with the men. Some handy sticks and rocks might have been thrown into the mix, a few finding their target to the tune of men’s startled yips.
Served them right, the pack of hyenas.
