Pulling his storm gray destrier to a halt at the top of a rise overlooking the open expanse of valley that surrounded the fabled castle, Mordred, son of Arthur and his half-sister Morgan le Fey, smirked. "Dear Father, it's high time we met," he murmured, his rough, low-pitched voice muffled by the plate helm he was wearing. "And I'm eagerly awaiting making the acquaintance of your lovely queen as well."
Smirking, his dark eyes shining with malicious glee, Mordred set his spurs into the huge gelding's sides, sending him galloping down the incline, the horse's huge hooves tearing out clods of dirt and grass from the ground and raining them down behind him. The portcullis was up, but the entrance was guarded by two of Arthur's knights. Mordred was sure he could take them, but his plan was not to come to his father's castle in war, but in peace - be it a peace wrapped around a poisonous center.
The dark prince had plans, plans that had been hatched and nurtured by his mother, plans that he had been trained from birth to put into fruition, plans that he would not fail.
Until he caught sight of the golden warrior who had just stepped out into the sunlight from under the arched entrance and a whole lifetime of plotting vanished from his head in the face of this new challenge.
Pulling off his helm and tucking it beneath his arm, the young man kneed his mount forward again, this time halting within hailing distance of the guards. "If I may be allowed to approach, kind sirs, I have a message for the king from his sister."
Lancelot, the most trusted of King Arthur's Companions, strode down to the portcullis when he noticed the arrival of a mounted man in armor. Upon being told that he was a messenger from the bitch queen of Lothian, he immediately grew suspicious. Frowning, the knight halted in front of the still mounted messenger.
"You have a message from Queen Morgan?" he asked suspiciously, impatiently brushing his shoulder-length light brown hair back behind an ear when a capricious breeze blew it across his face. Gray eyes weighed the mounted knight and apparently found him wanting. "The king does not come at the command of wandering messengers," he said coolly. "You may give me the message, and I will see that he receives it."
Swinging down from his horse with an ease that belied the fact that he was wearing heavy armor, Mordred smirked at the man before him. This had to be Lancelot, the finest knight in Arthur's company and, from all accounts, a man truly devoted to his king and queen.
"I thank you for the offer, but I would prefer to present my mother's message to my uncle in person and then to deliver the missives I have for my brothers as well." There, let the stiff-necked Lancelot chew on that for a time, as there was now no way of avoiding presenting him to the king.
Mordred's dark brown eyes deepened even more at his thoughts, and he chuckled to himself. The time would come when he'd give the handsome knight something stiff to chew on. The image of Lancelot on his knees in front of him rocked Mordred, and he smiled again, this one much more sensual.
Lancelot frowned. Since Princes Gawaine, Gaheris and Agravaine were already at Camelot, and this man was too old to be Gareth, he had to be... "Prince Mordred?" he said slowly. Arthur's closest friend, the knight knew exactly who Mordred was, what his parentage was, and his arrival at Camelot could in no way be considered favorable to the king.
"We were not expecting you," he said in a perfectly courteous tone, blank of all other expression. At the same time, he gestured the guards back as he indicated that Mordred should follow him.
"Your uncle is not available at present, being busy with matters of state. May I show you to a room where you might refresh yourself? I will notify him that you are here, and I'm sure that he will make some time for you after we sup." He glanced back at the younger man. "I will also inform your brothers of your arrival."
"You have my thanks, Sir... Lancelot, I believe?" At a signal from one of the guards, a stableboy ran up to take the reins of Mordred's gelding, and the prince cuffed the beast when it tried to bite the lad. "He's half-wild," he commented. "Prefers my touch, but then he has to learn to behave sometime. The best way to assure that is to loan him out."
Eyebrows rising, Lancelot responded, "I've always found that loyalty arises from teaching a beast to know one master. Then it is secure and never feels the need to attack anyone." Smiling coolly, he started inside, assuming the young princeling would follow. "And yes, I am Lancelot," he added over his shoulder.
Moving a bit more slowly because of the weight he was wearing, Mordred lengthened his stride to enable himself to walk alongside Lancelot. "My retinue will be arriving soon," he told the guards. "They will need to be made comfortable as well."
Turning his attention back to the older man, Mordred smiled, the expression far too innocent to be genuine. "Ahh, but what better way to let the beast learn what a good master is than to allow a harsher one to command it for a time?"
The knight shrugged. "Perhaps that has worked for you, but I have found that such treatment merely hardens the beast's temper and in the long run makes it more difficult to work with." He frowned slightly at Mordred's expression, which seemed slyly gleeful, too much so for the simple conversation about training horses that they were having.
"Which in and of itself can be interesting." Mordred paused, shaking his black hair back out of his face. "Though it seems that you and I will not come to agreement in our methods of training. Perhaps one day I will be able to give you a demonstration to persuade you."
"Perhaps," Lancelot said indifferently, not really concerned with methods of horse training when his dearest friend's greatest sin had come home to roost. He indicated a small private room, one reserved for important guests. "You may stay here, Prince Mordred. There is room for a servant on a pallet, and your men-at-arms will be housed in the hall with the others.
"Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you and inform the king and your brothers of your arrival." Nodding slightly, Lancelot turned away, eager to make his escape.
Giving the room a cursory glance, Mordred held up a hand. Not that the apartment wasn't adequate, he simply had more pressing things on his mind. "If I may ask a favor, Lancelot? As my manservant has not arrived, would you be so good as to assist me in getting out of my armor? Standing here until he arrives is really not something I prefer to do."
Anxious as he was to warn Arthur of his bastard's coming, Lancelot could not in all courtesy refuse the request. To do so would be to leave the young prince uncomfortable and unable to relax until his servant should arrive.
"Of course," he replied graciously, not showing his reluctance as he turned back and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. He approached Mordred, reaching for him to help strip him of his armor, knowing how hellishly hot and uncomfortable it could be.
"Your kindness puts me in your debt." Offering his arm so that Lancelot could get to the clasps and buckles that attached the plate to chest protector, Mordred tilted his head to the side so that he was practically nose-to-nose with the older man. "I do hope you let me know what I can do to repay you."
Growing uncomfortable with their proximity, Lancelot took a deep breath to steady himself. He realized what a mistake that had been when the smell of Mordred had him hardening. Somewhat flustered, he tried to step back, but he had to remain close enough to continue divesting the young prince of his armor. "No payment is necessary," he managed in a slightly breathless voice. "It is only common courtesy." His fingers fumbled at the next leather strap.
Noting the flush that stained the back of Lancelot's neck, Mordred let his arm drop slightly, bringing the other knight even closer to him. "Why do I believe that my uncle would disagree about there being anything common about you?" he asked, putting a trace of awe into his voice when in all reality all he wanted to do was to take hold of the older man, strip him to his bare skin, and take him.
Lancelot barely bit back a groan. That tone, that husky purr of seduction, Mordred had inherited it from his father, and even after all these years hearing it made the knight want to sink to his knees and offer himself to his dominant lover. Arthur had not touched him since the day he first saw Guinevere, and heart torn between his best friend and lover and that same man's wife who had also claimed a piece of his heart, Lancelot had remained coldly aloof for all the years between. Even his wife Elaine had only shared his bed once, a horrible night which had resulted in Galahad. And now, his body quivered with desire for this man, this bastard prince who had the power to destroy all that Arthur had created here at Camelot.
The arm piece fell away, and Mordred sighed, raising his arm to stretch his shoulder, the back of his hand stroking negligently along Lancelot's cheek as he moved, smiling into the knight's startled gaze and feeling a surge of triumph when he saw the hunger burning deep within that gray gaze.
"That's one," he commented, before turning and offering Lancelot his other arm, all the while holding the older knight's gaze.
Swallowing hard, Lancelot, the greatest knight in Camelot, trembled as he slowly removed the remaining arm piece and gauntlet. He kept his eyes down, not daring to meet the burning dark gaze, knowing what he would see there. How could he want this man, this threat to his king and friend? He cursed himself, but that did nothing to deter the stiffening shaft between his legs.
Trained in the art of subterfuge since his earliest days, it was nothing for Mordred to keep his triumph out of his eyes at the sight of the growing bulge beneath Lancelot's tunic. "And two," he continued blithely. "Would you prefer to stand on the bed to get to the shoulder straps?"
The knight almost whimpered, dilated gray eyes darting up briefly to meet the molten black gaze. "No," he started, needing to clear his throat and try again before it was intelligible. "No, this is fine." He reached for the top bindings, nearly desperate to remove the breastplate. Once that was done, Mordred could easily handle the rest himself... before Lancelot begged like a whore.
"If you're sure..." Managing a neat half-turn, Mordred put himself face to face with Lancelot. Hearing the quickly indrawn breath, the prince glanced down at Lancelot's curved lips, noting their fullness was almost feminine. His tongue flicked out, wetting his own lower lip, narrowly missing swiping over Lancelot's as well.
"Once you get me out of this, if you can just get the straps on the left leg? They're at a bad angle, damn smith." Reining in his temper, he shrugged. "Nothing to do about it."
Had Lancelot been a Christian, he would have thrown himself on the deity's mercy. He removed and laid aside the upper armor, then sank to his knees in front of Mordred, his head nearly pressed against the younger man's groin as he fought with the recalcitrant strap, trying to free it before he gave himself away. He found himself licking his lips as he smelled the slightly acrid scent of the armor and the far more appealing aroma of the man himself.
By the Lady, the man was incandescent, and Mordred wanted him - now. Spreading his legs slightly so that Lancelot lost his grip on the worn strap, Mordred pretended to lose his balance and rested one hand on the knight's shoulder, his fingers tangling in Lancelot's soft hair. In a smooth move designed to seem part of his recovery, he angled his hips forward, so that his crotch, which was now free of its metal protection, rubbed against the knight's cheek, an act that was blatantly not accompanied by an apology.
A small moan forced its way between Lancelot's lips, and unable to resist the blatant temptation, his head turned and his lips parted to allow the thinly covered cock to enter his mouth. His hands clenched on the princeling's thighs, holding him as he mouthed the linen-covered shaft, tasting him through the fabric as he suckled hungrily.
Giving a low growl of victory, Mordred fisted his hands into Lancelot's hair, drawing the knight closer, feeling his gasps for air against the wet fabric over his erection.
"Mmm, excellent, Sir Knight," he rasped, now holding Lancelot's head still so that he could grind his hips against the other man's mouth, laughing as he realized that, given time, he could come to control Lancelot entirely.
"Prince Mordred has been given these rooms; it is good you arrived to assist in getting him settled in."
After a perfunctory knock, the door was flung open to reveal the chamberlain as well as several members of Mordred's retinue. Cursing to himself, Mordred loosened his hold on Lancelot's hair but did nothing else to disguise what had been going on as he was interested in seeing how the king's champion would handle the situation.
Lancelot absolutely froze, his mouth still open over the younger man's cock, every muscle rigid and immobile as if that would prevent anyone from seeing him. He could hear the chamberlain's stammered apologies and rapidly retreating footsteps, followed by a silence that told him everyone else still stood in the room. He rose to his feet, his face as red as the background of his lord's standard, then bolted out of the room without a single word or meeting anyone's eyes.
Arching a raven's wing black eyebrow, Mordred slowly turned to face the open door and his servant. "Randall, close the door and attend me."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the young man leapt into action, shutting the heavy wooden door and falling to his knees before the prince, using all his skills to bring Mordred to orgasm.
Eyes closed, fingers tightly clenched in the other man's hair, Mordred released his control and came, holding Randall in place until the other man had swallowed all of his seed.
"Most satisfactory," he murmured, though his mind was on his encounter with Lancelot and not his servant's attentions.
Nearly running, Lancelot didn't stop until he was in his own chamber, the door securely bolted behind him. He slumped down onto his bed, head falling into his hands as he groaned his dismay. Not only had he been caught in a most embarrassing position, one which the Christians of the court would say damned him, but he still wanted to go back and finish what he had started. He could still taste Mordred, and he groaned again when he realized that he was licking his lips, seeking every bit of the other man's flavor.
It was some time before he gathered himself together and left his room in search of his liege, still needing to warn him of the new arrival.
Fortunately Arthur was alone when Lancelot found him, since the knight was sure that he would never have been able to bring himself to tell the king the whole truth in Guinevere's presence. Unable to meet the frank, trusting blue gaze, Lancelot paced the king's private chambers restlessly, relating Mordred's arrival... and his actions.
"And much as I might wish otherwise, Arthur, I cannot swear that it will not happen again. He draws me..." as his mother did you, the knight thought but would never dare say.
Stepping back with a bow, Randall moved aside so that Mordred could see himself in the mirror. "Excellent work," the prince murmured, brushing a hand over his velvet doublet and eyeing the line of his lower body as it was revealed by his hose. "Of course you do have quite a bit to work with..."
Pleased with his appearance, Mordred turned away from the reflecting glass, the small crystals inset in his black garb flashing in the subdued lighting. The evening hour was upon them, and he was to be presented to the king before the meal. As for after it... he had unfinished business with Sir Lancelot, business that would be sweeter than any dessert Arthur's cooks might offer.
Lancelot sat at Arthur's right hand, nervously fidgeting and looking up every time someone entered the hall. He was so uneasy that even Guinevere remarked upon it, turning away from her priest to speak to him.
"Is there something amiss, Sir Lancelot?" she enquired sweetly, but the flash of crystals from the doorway distracted the knight, and then she was utterly forgotten as Lancelot's gaze met the hungry dark one fixed on him.
The knight stared at his plate as the visiting prince and nephew of the High King was led to his plate at Lancelot's side, wondering which of the gods he had offended to be so tormented.
Arthur watched with interest and concern. Concern because this was after all Morgan's son, and interest because he was the first person to so discommode his knight. Whatever happened, life at Camelot was certain to be very interesting for the next while.
"Your Majesty," Mordred said, the smooth purr of his voice rolling over the hall as he knelt before Arthur. "I bring you greetings from King Lot and Queen Morgan of Lothian."
He was highly aware of Lancelot, and, in the brief glimpse he'd gotten of the knight before bowing, knew that the champion was agitated, though not as much as he would be before the meal was over.
"We welcome you to Camelot, nephew," Arthur replied, rising and drawing Mordred to his feet to give him the kiss of peace, followed by Guinevere. "Sit, Prince Mordred, in the place of honor beside our champion, and enjoy the feast. I have made time to sit with you on the morrow, to hear your messages and the news of my dear sister and her lord."
Returning to his seat, Arthur watched the smiling young man who, at least to him, so clearly mixed the features of his parents, and the silent, nervous knight at his side.
Lancelot stared fixedly at his plate, toying with the hammered silver brought from Rome herself, anything to avoid looking at the man who had his body hardening just by his presence.
Offering the king and queen his thanks, Mordred bowed again, this time cutting his eyes to Lancelot's, managing to catch the knight's gaze before he looked away. Taking his seat on the dais, he controlled his amusement when the queen's priest offered a blessing for the meal.
Raising his goblet, he inclined it toward Lancelot. "My thanks again for your assistance this afternoon, sir knight. I look forward to returning the gesture at some time in the future."
Lancelot choked violently on his wine. Tears streaming from his eyes as he gasped for breath between coughs, he stared at the brazen young prince, shocked that he would be so bold in the presence of the High King and Queen. He had absolutely no idea what to reply to such a statement, so he turned his attention back to his meal, wishing the castle would burn down around them, anything to free him from this torture.
He felt the heat of Mordred's thigh against his own, and his head shot up again, wide eyes fixed upon the other man while his own body hardened even more.
"Excellent quail," the prince responded conversationally, stripping the meat from the delicate bone before leisurely licking the grease from his fingers. "Care for some?"
He ripped another bit of meat from the carcass before him, smiling challengingly at Lancelot as he offered the tidbit.
His expression evocative of a startled deer, Lancelot slowly leaned toward the other man and took the morsel from his fingers. Despite his best intentions, he also drew Mordred's fingers between his lips for a brief moment, licking them clean once again. Still staring at the prince, he chewed and swallowed, then murmured, "It's very good."
Seeing what was happening to one side of him, Arthur kept a wary eye on his queen and her priest, prepared to intercede if they appeared likely to notice Lancelot's actions. Approve or disapprove, he would still protect his friend and trust in the knight's loyalty to prevent anything harmful from happening.
Surprised and pleased by Lancelot's actions, Mordred drew his hand back to himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking the lingering taste of the knight's flavor from them.
"Yes, it is. Would you care for more?" Taking a drink to mask his laughter at Lancelot's quickly voiced denial, Mordred swallowed and inclined his head. "Perhaps you can tell me of the entertainments that are offered in the evenings here?"
Lancelot closed his eyes momentarily as Mordred's words brought to mind exactly what kind of entertainments he'd like to offer the prince. Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes again, only to be snared in the dark gaze. Finally admitting that he was fighting a rearguard action, he sighed slightly. "Perhaps I could show you after the meal?" he suggested, faint color rising in his cheeks.
Fighting the surge of victory that crowded up inside him, Mordred merely nodded, though one hand dropped below the tabletop to rest on Lancelot's thigh, his fingers sliding between the knight's legs and kneading him lightly.
"To say that I'm looking forward to it would be an understatement then," he purred, his hand sliding up a bit higher so that his fingers brushed over the bulge at Lancelot's groin.
The knight had to bite down on his lip to hold back a whimper. His fingers trembled slightly as he raised another bite to his lips, but unless close enough to see that, no one would have guessed that beneath the table his legs were spread wide and he was fighting not to thrust upward against teasing fingers.
"I'm quite intrigued to see what bounty Camelot has to offer. Life at Lothian was quite rustic compared to this grandeur, though we did have our entertainments." He closed his fingers around Lancelot's erection as he spoke, stroking the engorged flesh, determined to bring the knight to completion there at the table to set in place just who was in charge of this game.
Knowing that this was mad, Lancelot still could not bring himself to push the kneading hand away from his body. This was the first time someone else had touched him since his wedding night, fourteen years earlier, and while he would have preferred that it be anyone other Mordred, the reality was that the dark prince had drawn this reaction from him, and he was going to revel in it.
Turning toward Mordred and speaking softly so that no one else could hear, he replied, "It seems that you learned many entertainments at Lothian, Prince Mordred. But it will be my pleasure to show you what is available at the High King's court." He smiled, somewhat painfully as he grew even more aroused, and one of his hands found its way beneath the trestle as well.
A barely audible purr rumbled through Mordred's chest, and his eyes went half-lidded with pleasure as Lancelot found and stroked his cock. "You have no idea what I learned there," he chuckled before dragging the edge of a fingernail down the knight's erection, feeling his own cock harden even more at Lancelot's barely stifled gasp. "Though I am very much looking forward to showing you."
Lancelot threw an almost desperate glance at the table and others present and was startled to realize that the meal was nearly over. He had not realized that so much time had passed while he was in a sensual haze, and he wondered what the pages had seen as they served the food. But with Mordred's hand on him, he could not bring himself to care overly much, only grateful that soon they would be able to leave.
"I look forward to seeing it as well," he admitted, licking his lips as he looked at the younger man.
Breaking off a piece of the honeyed cake that had been placed before them, Mordred devoured it before speaking, using the time to control his reaction to Lancelot's desire and to bring the older man that much closer to the edge. "Once my f - uncle leaves, we'll go to my rooms and..."
Here he paused and looked around, as if for the first time remembering where they were. "You can entertain me."
Forcibly preventing himself from leaning forward and licking the sweetness from the other man's lips, Lancelot still could not tear his gaze away from Mordred's mouth. "It will be my pleasure," he said softly, finally raising lust-dilated eyes to meet the prince's. "And yours as well." He smiled a bit smugly, confident in his own abilities, no matter how long unused.
"That remains to be seen." Tightening his fingers almost cruelly around Lancelot's erection, Mordred then moved his hand, resting it on top of the table once again, draining his goblet and standing respectfully when the king rose, offering a hand to his queen.
A sidelong glance at Lancelot challenged the knight to stand as well. As Mordred watched the indecision flicker across the older man's handsome face, he wondered which would win out: the desire to respect his liege, or the desire to keep his arousal hidden from those at the lower tables.
Caught in a situation where every choice led to embarrassment, Lancelot took a deep breath, rose to his feet and immediately sank to one knee, paying homage to his king. The raised leg shielded his arousal from all but Mordred and Arthur himself, even Guinevere being positioned in such a way that she could not see.
Aware of the problem, Arthur turned to leave, his queen on his arm, allowing Lancelot to rise and follow him out of the great hall without ever turning to face the others. The knight strode down the hall toward the guest quarters, hoping Mordred was following but unwilling to turn to find out.
The prince let Lancelot leave, turning instead to converse with his half brothers, allowing the crowds to filter from the hall before he started toward his rooms. He doubted that Lancelot would be there waiting; he wasn't well-trained enough for that kind of obedience yet.
Finding that to be indeed the case, Mordred sent his servant for the knight, using the time to change into a black velvet dressing gown, his pale skin the only thing under it.
Having returned to his own room when he discovered that Mordred had not in fact followed him from the hall, Lancelot still stood up eagerly when he heard the knock at the door. Opening it, he frowned when he found himself looking at one of the Lothian prince's servants.
Hearing that the boy had been sent for him had Lancelot's expression cooling, suddenly glacial gray eyes fixed on the hapless servant. "You may inform Prince Mordred that Sir Lancelot du Lac, King's Companion and Queen's Champion, does not come to the command of any man but his liege. I bid you good night."
He closed the door firmly in the stunned servant's face and removed the clothing he had still been wearing in anticipation of a visitor, then determinedly went to bed, refusing to think about the dark prince who had so disturbed his calm.
Though somewhat annoyed at Lancelot's refusal to join him, Mordred had almost expected that reaction and had planned accordingly. While the nobles had still been at their meal, he'd sent Randall to the knight's rooms with a small dose of powder wrapped in a twist of paper and the instructions to dissolve it in an open bottle of wine if there was one in Lancelot's rooms. If there wasn't, well then, Mordred would go with a secondary plan.
Humming almost merrily to himself, the prince allowed his servant to undress him and gown him in a nightshirt - one he promptly got rid of the moment Randall left the room.
Wrapping his pale body in a black velvet robe, Mordred sank into one of the chairs by the fireplace, smiling to himself as he knew that Lancelot would arrive soon, begging to be fucked.
Time passed and still the knight tossed restlessly in his bed, his mind filled with images of Mordred and what they would do together. His body refused to still, hardening as if at the other man's touch, and the knight was shocked to hear himself whimper aloud. By the Horned God, what was wrong with him?
Nothing he did made any difference; it was as if his body knew its master and was demanding what it knew Mordred could give it. When he found himself humping the pallet in search of relief, shame at his weakness lost to his overwhelming lust, and Lancelot only paused long enough to draw a heavy robe over his nakedness before he silently traversed the corridors to the prince's room.
Waving aside Randall when the youth sought to answer the pounding on the door, Mordred tugged it open himself and smiled sensually at Lancelot. The knight was sweaty, disheveled and aroused, all in all a tempting treat, and Mordred wanted him all.
"My dear Sir Lancelot, is there a problem?" he asked, stepping back and letting his robe fall open to bare a line of pale skin from throat to groin. "You look... needy."
Groaning, Lancelot fell to his knees right there in the open doorway, his mouth reaching hungrily for the soft cock. A small part of him was appalled at his lewd behavior, but it was quickly silenced by the rest of him, which wanted this man as he'd never wanted anyone before.
"It's a shame you had to wait so long for what you so could have had after the meal if not for your pride," Mordred purred. His cock lengthened under Lancelot's attention, and, while he could tell it had been a while since the knight had performed this duty, he was quite skilled.
Ignoring the words, if he even understood them, as caught up in his lust as he was, Lancelot concentrated on the hardening flesh in his mouth, hungrily suckling as he sought to taste Mordred's essence. The short time he had had the prince in his mouth before being interrupted earlier that night had only whetted his appetite, and he would have been appalled to realize that he was whimpering hungrily as he drew on Mordred, his hips restlessly shifting as he sought more stimulation.
Stepping back, Lancelot following him, enough so that he could close the door, Mordred cradled the knight's head in his hands, rocking his hips against the delicious suction. He didn't care if the rest of Camelot's inhabitants saw the knight on his knees; he simply didn't want to be interrupted.
"Swallow me down, pretty knight," he murmured. "Swallow me down, then rouse me again, and I will take you as you wish."
Mindlessly, Lancelot did as commanded, as he wanted to do, and he sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks while his tongue lashed the thick shaft. Somehow he drew Mordred even deeper, the head of his cock pushing down the knight's throat, and still Lancelot tried to take more.
"You want me to fuck you," Mordred continued, his voice a low, singsong tone. "To lay that gorgeous body out over my bed, spread your cheeks and shove my cock up your ass. The king's Champion, and what you really want is to be owned by someone. I assure you that now you are, and that person is me."
Holding Lancelot's head still, aroused by the images he'd created and the knight's skill, Mordred began to move his hips, fucking Lancelot's face with little concern for the other man's need to breathe or his comfort.
Nearly mewling as he squirmed in place at the prince's feet while Mordred rammed his thick cock down his throat, Lancelot could not deny the younger man's ownership. He cupped Mordred's sac in one palm, fingers lightly flicking over the sensitive flesh while he drew strongly on the hot shaft, hungry to taste the other man and to receive what he so desperately needed.
Ramming his erection as far into Lancelot's throat as possible, Mordred came, his voice rising in an almost bestial howl as his seed pumped down the knight's throat and his fingers clenched cruelly against his face.
"Keep sucking, pretty knight," he gasped as the last gouts of his seed were expended. "Get me hard again, and then it will be your turn."
Lancelot had never had any intention of stopping. He pulled back enough that he could rub his tongue over the head, finally tasting Mordred, the tip delving inside the tiny slit in search of more of the salty fluid. He continued suckling, head bobbing up and down on the still semi-hard shaft, nearly desperate to rouse the other man again so that he could feel him inside him.
I wonder," Mordred said conversationally, as if they were seated in the queen's solarium rather than engaged in carnal acts in his rooms, "how long it's been since anyone has had you? Have there been any others since my father, Lancelot? Or did you content yourself with your lovesick wife and the queen?"
Flushing, Lancelot kept his eyes down, concentrating on rousing Mordred with his mouth and hoping that he would not press for an answer. It would be embarrassing to admit that, except for the single horrifyingly memorable wedding night with Elaine, he had been chaste for over fifteen years.
Chuckling, Mordred tilted Lancelot's face upward enough to meet his eyes without losing the wet warmth of his mouth. Already the prince's cock was reviving, and he knew that it wouldn't be long before he would be buried in that practically virginal ass. "I'm so glad my father and I will have something in common - other than having fucked my mother of course. Perhaps we'll be able to compare observations on what makes you the wildest."
Lancelot's eyes closed to hide his humiliation, but oddly, it only made him harder. Nearly wild, he continued sucking on Mordred while one hand crept into his lap and curled around his own erection. He thought that if he didn't come soon, he might go mad.
"Don't touch yourself!" Mordred snarled, leaning in and grabbing Lancelot's arm, yanking his hand away from his erection. "Do it again and you'll know just what need is, pretty knight. Can you imagine going the whole night tied to the bed, unable to touch anyone or anything?"
Lancelot whimpered faintly, lust-hazed eyes staring up at Mordred pleadingly though he never stopped sucking on him. He moved his arms behind his back, gripping one wrist in the opposite hand to demonstrate his obedience to the young prince's wishes. Unable to hold still, his hips rose, humping the air fruitlessly.
"Excellent." Nearly purring with pleasure both at Lancelot's obedience and skill, Mordred pulled back, letting his fully erect cock fall from the knight's lips.
"I want you on your stomach on the bed, pretty knight. No touching yourself or you know the penalty."
A faint whine of nearly unendurable arousal forced its way between Lancelot's gritted teeth as he painfully rose to his feet and moved over to the bed, positioning himself as ordered. His hands clenched into fists in the coverings, his hips shifting restlessly before he forced himself to lie still, afraid that Mordred would take that as disobedience. "Please," he gasped.
Eyeing the heavy robe that covered the knight's strong body, Mordred chuckled. "You are wearing far too much, pretty knight."
Flushing again as he realized that he'd forgotten his garment, Lancelot sat up onto his knees to remove it, dropping it at the side of the bed, then sank back down into position.
With no preamble, Mordred knelt on the bed between Lancelot's legs, his fingers spreading the knight's ass, allowing one finger to press inexorably inward, taking pleasure in Lancelot's mixed moans of pain and pleasure.
His body tensing, Lancelot bit back a cry of pain as Mordred pressed a finger inside him without any oil or grease, but the pleasure of having something inside him far outweighed the discomfort. Groaning, he pushed back, rising slightly onto hands and knees to give himself more leverage, his head falling forward to hang down between his shoulders.
"It has been a long time, or the others were all less man than I." Mordred chuckled again and reached for a jar of scented cream on the bedside table. The salve would slick Lancelot's virginally tight passage as well as further sensitizing his tender channel.
Dipping two fingers into the cool cream, Mordred pressed them into Lancelot's body, spreading them wider and wider and at the same time smoothing a coating of the lubricant over his own erection.
Lancelot whined hungrily, his ass pushing back involuntarily to take Mordred's fingers deeper, but he knew that he needed more. "Please," he groaned, "take me." His back arched deeply, pushing his rump toward the younger man, his head and shoulders lowering submissively.
"Mmm, you beg so sweetly..." Saying that, Mordred replaced his fingers with his cock, slamming his hips forward as his hands held Lancelot's hips steady, the girth of his erection stretching the knight's ass much wider than his fingers had done.
Lancelot's eyes flew wide, and he wailed at the unexpected burning pain-pleasure of Mordred's possession of him. After waiting so long, he almost couldn't believe that the other man had really finally taken him, and after his long abstinence, that sudden claiming was enough to make him come, his body convulsing around Mordred.
The tight muscles clenching around him drew a snarl from Mordred's throat, and he pistoned his hips at a furious pace, refusing to let Lancelot recover from his orgasm, counting on his own skill and the herbs that had been in the knight's wine to maintain his level of need and lust.
Wailing and squirming, Lancelot reveled in the rough claiming, his body never coming completely down from its peak, instead flowing from one to another, his arousal building beyond what he would have thought possible. His world narrowed to the thick shaft driving into him and his own rigid cock, nothing but pleasure and the flashes of pain that excited him even more existing for him at that moment.
"Such a darling little slut." Mordred's words were interspersed with the sound of a slap as he brought his hand down on Lancelot's flank. "I think I'll keep you while I'm here; you do have promise."
Shuddering with pleasure at the sting of Mordred's blow, Lancelot tried not to think about the other man's words, not wanting to deal with the consequences of his actions. Instead he writhed lewdly, trying to incite the prince to take him harder, to use him like the slut he had become.
Another blow, and Mordred reared back, his hands circling Lancelot's trim waist and dragging the knight along with him so that he was fully impaled on the prince's cock. "Fuck yourself on me, pretty," he rasped, his hands coming up to pinch and pull at Lancelot's nipples.
Quivering and nearly mewling with his pleasure, Lancelot shakily began to move, forcing himself to pull up, allowing the thick shaft to pull out of him partially, then slamming himself downward to fill the aching void inside him. His head fell back against Mordred's shoulder, light brown hair mixing with strands of black, and his chest thrust outward as the prince toyed with his rigid nipples.
"That's it," Mordred crooned, "let me see you come again, pretty knight. Do you feel it? Each movement stretching your body wide, bringing you pleasure and pain mixed together? Is the ache growing within you, making you crazy, making you want to beg and plead for more?"
Mordred's hot words in his ear tipped Lancelot over the edge, again without a single touch on his aching erection. He cried out, not even aware that it was Mordred's name, shuddering his completion as his hot seed spurted out over his belly and thighs, the prince still thick and hard inside him.
Purring at the sensual massage around his erection, Mordred bit his lip until it bled to retain his control. "I see that it was," he chuckled, dragging his short nails over the thin skin at Lancelot's groin, leaving red welts in their wake. The knight would bear more than one of his marks come morning, and his reactions to them would be most amusing.
Quaking, Lancelot hung almost limp in Mordred's grasp, only the erection inside him and the hands holding him keeping him upright. He panted for breath, his ass grasping convulsively at Mordred, his cock still half hard as the sensitive gland inside continued to be stimulated, his nipples red and distended.
"Surely you aren't worn out so quickly? The great Sir Lancelot bested by a mere prince? Goodness, times are changing." As he spoke, Mordred circled his hips, the head of his cock rubbing against the gland inside the older man's body. "I would suggest you keep moving, pretty knight."
Unable to prevent himself, Lancelot whined a little desperately, beginning to wonder what he had gotten himself into. If Mordred took after his mother, it was a wonder Arthur had survived a night with her! Somehow, he dredged up the strength to begin moving again, his hips undulating gently as he tried to obey Mordred's commands despite his satiation and exhaustion.
"Oh Goddess!" he gasped out when he realized the continued stimulation of the sensitive spot inside him had him hardening again, the renewed arousal almost as painful as it was pleasurable.
"That's it, pretty knight. Once more and then you can rest - if you bring me off as well." Hands roaming over Lancelot's body, scraping, pinching and slapping at the exposed flesh, he began to move, rolling Lancelot back to his stomach and powering into his body, each stroke sliding them across the sheets.
Whimpering, Lancelot writhed beneath the prince, his over-sensitized cock rubbing against the bedding, and despite his exhaustion, he wanted more. He tightened and relaxed his muscles rhythmically, wanting to feel Mordred come inside him, wanting to know that he'd made him come.
"My father is a fool," Mordred murmured, leaning in to bite at Lancelot's spine, his control fracturing as the knight gave himself so willingly to his subjugation.
His hips snapping faster and faster, Mordred slid one hand beneath Lancelot's pliant body, finding and circling his cock, then stroking it in time with his thrusts.
Lancelot heard the comment and vaguely wondered about its meaning, but thought was beyond him just then. The feeling of Mordred's teeth nipping at his back drew a cry from him, making him arch back, and when the prince's hand closed around his erection for the first time, he nearly bent double in his reaction to the overwhelming sensations.
Growling deep in his chest, Mordred pulled Lancelot harder against him, each thrust bringing him that much closer to his own climax. "Come for me, pretty knight, so that I can mark you as mine,' he whispered, continuing to run his hands over Lancelot's cock, driving the older man into greater paroxysms of pleasure.
Shaking as his body snapped back and forth between the thick shaft impaling him and the talented hand surrounding him, Lancelot once again lost control and wailed as his overtaxed body shuddered and came for a third time. This time, as the paroxysms wracked him, his vision went gray then black as he passed out from the exertions of the night.
Howling in victory, Mordred drove his cock as deeply into Lancelot's body as possible, flooding the older man with his seed even as he closed his teeth on the knight's shoulder, leaving a bloody double moon imprint behind when he finally drew back.
Smirking, he looked down at the unconscious knight and chuckled before drawing back and disengaging from Lancelot's now limp body. Calling Randall to him, the prince bade his servant to clean both of them up, then settled back into his bed to relax, the fingers of one hand once again twined in Lancelot's hair.
Lancelot slowly woke, conscious of the pleasure still humming through his body and the warmth of another person sharing the bed with him. Despite himself, he was smiling slightly when he opened his eyes, finding himself meeting Mordred's dark gaze.
Not sure what to say or what the prince expected next, he simply lay there, watching him uncertainly.
Sensing Lancelot's disquietude, Mordred refused to speak, simply looking at the knight inquiringly, his dark brows raised in a silent question.
Stretching and wincing at the aches in his body, Lancelot continued to gaze upward. "Now what?" he asked calmly. "Is this where you use me to embarrass the king?"
Mordred gave a harsh laugh and leaned over to flick Lancelot's nipple. "Now why would I do that to you, Sir Knight? Considering all I've done is give you pleasure, you seem bound and determined to think the worst of me."
One light eyebrow rose even as the knight's body responded to Mordred's touch. "And am I to believe that you came to Camelot intending to become Arthur's most loyal subject and disavow your mother's plans? I think not." He bit his lip as Mordred continued to toy with his body.
"I will believe that this," gesturing vaguely at the two of them and the disarrayed bed, "was not intended, but I have not so full of myself as to believe that this will change your plans. And as king's Companion, I ask you, Prince of Lothian, what are your intentions?"
For a moment, Mordred pondered which path he should choose: seducing Lancelot once again to stop this line of questioning, or simply giving an answer. As despite his decidedly delicious tendencies, Lancelot seemed to be honor bound to do what was right, seducing the man wouldn't make the questions go away.
"My intentions are to become familiar with the workings of the court here, to be knighted if the High King deems I am ready, and to fuck you as many times as possible and in as many places as possible in the meanwhile."
With disbelief Lancelot felt a faint stirring inside himself at the prince's words. It seemed his body belonged to Mordred far more than it had ever belonged to him. "None of those things seem contrary to the peace or safety of the king or country," he managed in a husky tone.
"Why would I want to interfere with any of those?" Mordred asked, shaking his head and laughing. "The king can keep his country; I have more interesting pursuits to follow."
Wondering if he'd gone mad to trust this man even this far, Lancelot nodded slowly. "Very well. In that case, could I possibly get some sleep before you follow your pursuits any farther?" He smiled faintly. "I'd hate for the chase to grow boring."
Settling himself so that he was curled around Lancelot's back, his arms circled around the knight, Mordred rested his head on the goose-down pillow, sighing. "As you wish, pretty knight. I'm sure you need the time to rest and recover."
About to respond pridefully, Lancelot paused to remember that Mordred was far younger than he, and if he hotly stated his lack of need for rest, he was likely to find himself being made to scream again and again until he passed out. After a deep breath, he simply nodded and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. And as he slept, he curled closer to Mordred, a small sigh of contentment issuing from his lips as the other man's warmth permeated him.
Raising himself onto one elbow, Mordred gazed down at the sleeping knight. Only after he was assured that Lancelot was asleep did he allow himself to smile, the expression cruel on his handsome face.
"More interesting pursuits indeed..."
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