"Was I? And here I thought I was thinking great thoughts." He pushed off the wall and moved over by the fire smiling as Arthur raised his eyes enough to watch the light of the flames dance off the smooth, worn leather of Lancelot's breeches.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow and returned to his dinner, lifting the spoon of stew to his lips. "And what great thoughts were those?"

"I was thinking about appetites." He moved closer still, his dark eyes intent on Arthur as he calmly swallowed the stew, though the tense line of Arthur's body told Lancelot that his approach was well-noted and his Commander was not so unperturbed as he seemed. He splayed his fingers along the scarred desk. "And how we sate them."

"And how is that?"

"This stew, for example." Lancelot reached out and caught the spoon, filling it then letting the contents pour back into the bowl. "Small, measured bites that you take due to propriety. You wish to appear calm and focused. The spoon goes up, the spoon goes down. Nothing of the hunt to kill the deer, nothing of the blood and pain in it at all."

"You're trying to make off with my food, aren't you?"

"And yet your other appetites." He lay the spoon back in the stew and lifted his hand, running his fingers lightly along Arthur's jaw, "you sate with large bites and voracious hunger. Wolfing down the proffered feast and licking your lips afterwards."

Arthur's eyebrow lifted again as he took another bite. "You think I should snarl as I eat my stew?"

Lancelot's lips curved in a smile, barely holding in the huff of laughter. "I want you," he moved away from the table and tugged his tunic over his head, letting it fall in Arthur's lap as he walked past him, "to think about what you're truly hungry for."