"Having fun?" He sneers, his eyes narrowed. "Or did you just have an urge to die today?"

"You couldn't kill me if you tried, Lancelot." Arthur's voice is level and dry, as amused as his flashing eyes. "Because, unlike you, I can't be caught." He turns on his heel and runs, spraying a fountain of mud back toward Lancelot.

"Bastard!" Lancelot yells and follows in pursuit, wiping mud from his eyes as he weaves through the trees after Arthur. He slows as he moves deeper into the wood, his steps silent as he cocks his head, listening to the telltale signs of movement. His own breath sounds loud in his ears, and he can feel the mud begin to dry and cake on his skin.

He whirls around, sword drawn, his steel clashing with Arthur's. He smiles and shakes his head as Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Very dramatic, Lancelot, but not very stealthy. Had I wanted to, I could have lopped off your head."

"You think that if you must, Arthur." He taps his blade against Arthur's. "Whatever lets you sleep at night."

Arthur slides his blade up so that its hilt rests against Lancelot's, metal against metal, their bodies almost touching. "Shall I tell you what lets me sleep at night?" He smiles slowly then makes a face. "You reek of offal."

"I wonder why," Lancelot's smirk separates them as he takes a step back. "I'll race you."

"Being behind you means being downwind." Arthur sheathes his sword then smiles, turning back as he begins to run. "And you smell."

"What happened to honor?" Lancelot races after him, catching him quickly. They both begin to run in earnest, pushing hard until they are both waist deep in the cold water of the lake. "C…cold."

"Not so cold as this," Arthur assures him, pressing his hand to the back of Lancelot's head and driving him under the water.

He comes up sputtering, his eyes flashing. "Cheat."

"Heathen."

"Roman dog." He creates a wave, pushing it toward Arthur. The older man dodges it, but not Lancelot as, predicting Arthur's movement, he springs on him, driving him down beneath the surface. He follows him down, scrubbing at his face and hair before pushing up toward air.

Arthur coughs, sputtering water. "You look like a drowned rat." He reaches out and grabs a fistful of Lancelot's hair, moving toward him in the same motion. "Come here."

"Always the commander, Arthur?" He smiles, his voice holding no sting as he feels Arthur's breath warm his cold skin.

"Someone needs to be in charge of you. Keep you in line." He moves his mouth, the words feathering against Lancelot's lips. "Unattended, who knows what trouble you'd embroil yourself in."

Lancelot lowers his lashes, his eyes almost closed as his tongue darts out, stroking Arthur's lips. "Shall I show you the trouble, Arthur?"

"You, my friend," Arthur begins walking, wading through the lake, Lancelot walking backwards in front of him until the water sloughs off onto the grassy shore, "are nothing but trouble."

"Are you suggesting that I am anything but loyal?" Lancelot nearly laughs as Arthur forces him to his knees, sinking down beside him. "Have I ever not served you well?"

"Lancelot?" Arthur's voice is pleading, his mouth moving over the cool flesh of Lancelot's neck. "Be quiet."

He nods as Arthur presses the advantage, angling them down to the ground. Wet tunics cling to their skin as Arthur straddles him, holding him against the ground. "This doesn't mean you've beaten me."

Arthur laughs and leans down. "A willing surrender, perhaps?"

Grinding his hips up against Arthur's, Lancelot shakes his head. "Willing, perhaps. But never surrender."