Character/s: Arthur, Lancelot, and the rest of the knights
Summary: Arthur finds a hole in Camelot's defences, and has to train the knights to prevent it
Word Count: 924
Author's Notes: Another one of those things that just happened... It's very explicit and strange, so don't read if you don't like!
Arthur stood in front of his most trusted knights with his arms folded.
“I need a volunteer.”
Not one of them moved. That is until Lancelot, seeing that no one else was going to do anything, stepped forwards.
“Very good,” Arthur told him, and turned, beginning to pace up the line of them.
“As my most trusted knights, you are privy to secrets no one else is. My enemies will target you to find my weaknesses. It has been brought to my attention that your minds need to be as sharp as your reflexes, as strong as your sword arm. I have a few exercises. You will each perform them in turn, and you will not tell each other the content of the exercises.”
He beckoned for Lance to follow him and walked through a door set into the back of the hall into another, smaller room. There were a few candles to shed light, but no windows. Compared to the sunlit brightness of the hall this room was cramped and shadowed and frightening.
“Take off your clothes,” Arthur instructed.
Lance just stared at him.
“Take them off!”
Quickly, he started stripping; first his tunic, then his boots and socks, then his breeches. He stood naked in front of Arthur, and Arthur’s eyes dragged down his body.
“Walk over to the wall.”
Lance did, standing next to it. Closer, now, he could see that there were leather straps attached to the wall, set high into the stone. He wondered what they were for.
Arthur walked over and showed him, turning him so he faced the wall and pulling his arms up, buckling his wrists tight into the straps.
“Tell me the routes of the Camelot patrols,” Arthur hissed into his ear.
And that was when it clicked. This wasn’t Arthur, this was an act. He was playing some enemy of Camelot, and some method of torture.
“Tell me!” he shouted, right into Lance’s ear. He tensed, but just shook his head.
There was the sound of something whistling through the air, and it collided with Lance’s back, a sharp, stinging pain. He moved instinctively away from it, but that was only closer to the cold, coarse wall. So he kept as still as he could. Pain was easy; pain was something he could deal with. After all, he was a knight of Camelot.
“You think this is simple, don’t you, knight?” Arthur’s voice had twisted, taken on a maliciousness, and it was unsettling. Because it was Arthur, but it wasn’t, and the familiarity heightened Lance’s fear. He knew he’d be hurt. Knew he’d be broken. But that it was someone he trusted doing it, even if it was only an act… it was reassuring, in a way, but terrifying.
He expected pain, but he didn’t expect Arthur to pull his legs apart. The shift in stance lowered him, so his weight hung from the leather straps. They strained, rubbed against his wrists, dug in in parts. It was oddly grounding.
There was a rustle, and then the heat of Arthur against his back. The gradient of cold to hot from front to back made him shiver, and distracted him. He didn’t notice that Arthur was holding something until the blunt tip of it pushed against his hole, pushed itself inwards.
“Tell me,” Arthur growled.
Lance’s voice had lost some of its firmness, but he still responded with a resolute “No.”
Arthur shoved the whatever it was in deeper, and Lance cried out in pain.
“It’s no use,” he said, voice coming as grunt-like sounds, “I won’t tell you.”
Arthur pushed at it again, and it hit something within Lancelot. This time his cry was almost one of pleasure. He shifted his arms so his head could rest against him, surprised to feel his forehead wet, his hair sticking to it with sweat.
“Tell me,” Arthur said.
Something changed in the room at that point. There was a loosening of tension. The air seemed to lose some of its static. Arthur pulled the thing out, slowly, gently, and Lance whimpered at the feel of it.
“Hush, I know,” Arthur whispered, draping himself over Lance’s back and stroking his chest slowly, “I’m sorry, I had to test you, and you did so well. I didn’t want to.”
He laid a kiss on Lancelot’s neck, and it was meant to be soothing, but Lance shivered. Arthur drew back immediately.
“No!” Lance’s voice sounded too high in the room, and it bounced off the walls, “No, could you please, I mean, could you come back?”
Arthur took a step forward again. Lance could feel the smile pressed into his back.
“Please, I need you to hold me.”
So Arthur did, wrapping his arms around Lance’s chest and tracing the line of his muscle ever so carefully. They stood like that for a while, until something in Lance’s breathing changed and Arthur listened, dropping his hand lower and turning his lips into Lance’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw.
He stroked Lance’s cock, listening to the way his heartbeat quickened, his breathing shallowed.
“Arthur,” he whispered, and Arthur pressed his hips into Lance’s arse.
It didn’t take long, not with the newness of it all, and the memory of the scene moments ago, the contrast between now and then.
“Lance,” Arthur moaned, when he felt Lance’s cock twitch in his hand and he came himself, still in his breeches like a squire.
“We have got to find a better time for this,” he murmured into Lance’s shoulder blade.