"What did they mean?"

"What?" Arthur started, dropping his own bow and looking at Lancelot as if just realizing he was standing there, though Lancelot sensed that was not anything like the truth.

"What did they mean? That you're almost a man. You are a man, are you not? Or is this some ritual for your God?" He managed not to sneer the last word, honestly curious and equally sure that Arthur would refuse to tell him anything were he not careful.

"No, not for God." Arthur's blush deepened and Lancelot's eyebrows moved higher. Arthur had not blushed this much since his voice changed. "I…they…"

Lancelot raised his bow again, sighting the target. He could sense Arthur's relief when he was no longer the subject of Lancelot's scrutiny, so Lancelot made sure to keep his eyes elsewhere.

"I'm to take a woman."

"Take her where?" He looked again, unsure why travel should make Arthur blush so. "Away from this place? Can I come too?"

"No. Not…take her. I'm to…have a woman."

"Have her what?"

Arthur blew out a breath of frustration and Lancelot dropped his bow once more. He shrugged and kept his gaze on Arthur. Arthur glanced toward the sky then blew out a breath, averting his gaze. "I'm to take a woman to bed."

"So?"

"For the…for the first time." There was a long silence and finally Arthur turned his head. Lancelot continued staring at Arthur, raising his surprised glance to Arthur's clear green eyes. "What?"

"For the first time?" Lancelot was sure his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair. He shook his head to clear it. "For the first…" He shook his head again, laughter bubbling out of him, unsuppressed. "You…you cannot mean…"

Arthur turned on his heel, his face flushed darker as he stalked off, the bow still clenched in his hand, his knuckles white around it.

Lancelot walked into the stables slowly, approaching Arthur's stiff figure as if he were a skittish horse. He circled around, leaning against the far wall. "I'm sorry."

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

"I'm not keen on forgiveness, actually." Lancelot smiled and folded his arms across his chest.

"Says the man apologizing?" Arthur turned his head enough to cock an eyebrow in Lancelot's direction."

"Mostly I just wanted you to look at me." Lancelot relaxed his stance and pushed off the wall. "You've truly never…"

"We are not discussing this."

"How? It's not as if a woman wouldn't…" He waved his hand. "Bors has women. Surely you could…"

"We are not discussing this."

"Everything, well, works? Does it not?"

Crimson flushed Arthur's neck and face. "Yes! Everything works!" He turned back to the horse. "Works just fine."

Lancelot shrugged, moving closer. "Then why?"

"I've not…"

"You like women?"

"Yes!" Arthur whirled to face Lancelot, his eyes blazing.

Lancelot moved closer still, leaning against the stall, and asked again. "Then why?"

"I just…" Arthur blew out a breath. "I just haven't."

"Just haven't done it? Or just haven't wanted to?"

"Either." Arthur shrugged. "Both."

"But now you're…how old now?"

"Nearly 19. And, by all rights, should be a man already."

"Sex doesn't make you a man, Arthur. Blood does. And you've been bathed in blood enough to claim that privilege."

"Not by Rome's standards." Arthur shrugged again. "I've been given some allowance. It is the father's duty to insure his son beds women, takes a wife. Since Uther's death precludes that…" He sighed. "It makes no matter. It must be done."

Lancelot laughed in pure delight. "It's not a chore, I assure you." He tilted his head, his features settling into an easy smile. "Why do you seem so glum at the prospect? It is all they say. Hot and wet and tight. Quite nice."

"You've…"

"I've had a fair share, yes."

"How did you know? What to…what to do?"

"Well, like anything, it gets easier with practice." Lancelot considered Arthur for a moment. "When are you to do this?"

"Before three days have past."

Lancelot nodded, his eyes bright with amusement. "I could help you, you know."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "You lack the necessary equipment, I fear."

"Not with that. But there are…" He raised an eyebrow, his smile taking on a sharper edge. "Do you trust me?"

Arthur met and held Lancelot's gaze for a long moment. "Yes."

Lancelot couldn't help his grin. "Excellent."

"No."

Lancelot shifted closer, angling his body so Vanora was trapped between him and the wall. He reached out, skimming his fingers over her cheek. "Please?"

"No. We only have a few."

He shifted his stance again, moving even closer. Leaning in, his breath gusted against her neck. "Please, Vanora?" He brought his hand to the other side of her throat, stroking it. "It's not for me."

"As if I'd believe you." Her voice hitched, breathy as his fingers stroked the pale length of skin, pressing against the pulse at the base. "You'll say most anything to get what you want."

"Most everything," he agreed quietly, his breath and lips grazing her skin. "It's for Arthur."

"A-Arthur," she murmured softly, turning her head to find his mouth with her own. Lancelot growled low, letting his hand slide up into her hair, tangling in the thick strands as his mouth opened against hers, his tongue stroking a steady rhythm.

He pulled back slowly, his eyes on hers. "Please, Vanora?"

She shuddered in his grip, warm and pliant. "It's for Arthur?"

He nodded and kissed her again, body hard against her. "For Arthur."

She fisted her hands in his tunic and held him against her. "Don't make me regret this, Lancelot."

He pulled away with a smile and reached around her to the items on the table. "Arthur may regret it, but you? Never."

"What is that?"

Lancelot glanced at the item on the bed beside him, then up at Arthur. "Literally? Or figuratively?"

"Is there a difference?"

"For our purposes? Yes." He picked up the object and held it out toward Arthur. "Literally, it's an apricot.

"And figuratively?"

"Figuratively, it's a woman."

"A very small, round woman."

"For a man who's never had one, you're suddenly terribly picky."

"Just because I've never…" Arthur shook his head. "Never mind." He nodded once, his jaw tight. "So, it's a woman."

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well," Lancelot wrapped his hand carefully around the fruit. "Women, in case you've not noticed, are round. Curvy."

"I have noticed that, yes."

"And, one of the things they like, these women, is when you pat attention to those curves." He opened his hand again, his eyes on Arthur as the older man stared at the fruit.

"That's a curve then."

Lancelot's smile spread slow and easy. "That is a curve."

"And what am I to do? To appreciate this curve?"

"Well, it's like a sword."

"I thought it was like a curve?"

Lancelot sighed. "Sit."

Arthur moved to the bed and sat beside Lancelot. The younger man lifted his arm, the apricot bright in his palm.

"When you want a weapon to perform for you, you have to wield it just so. When you want a woman to yield for you…" He brought his other hand up and stroked the curve of the fruit. "You have to touch her, caress her." He suited words to action, stroking his fingers firmly across the smooth skin. "You see? Easy. Gentle. No sudden moves."

Arthur's voice was strangely thick. "And you mean to tell me that works for you? Treating her as if she were a skittish colt?" At Lancelot's dangerous look, he smiled. "Should I worry about all that time you spend in the stables, my friend?"

Lancelot's hand closed around the fruit, his fingers tight against the skin. "Never mind." He stood, dropping the apricot to the bed. "Figure it out for yourself."

"Lancelot?" Arthur reached out, catching Lancelot's wrist in his hand. "It was a joke. Teasing? Perhaps you recognize it from your continued treatment of me today?"

"Foolish idea. Romans don't learn."

"Hey." Arthur's grip tightened around Lancelot's wrist. "I want to learn." He held Lancelot's gaze for a long moment before releasing him. Still staring, his green eyes bright, Arthur reached down and picked up the apricot, holding it in the palm of his hand. "The curve."

Lancelot nodded, refusing to look away. Arthur brought his other hand up and imitated Lancelot's earlier gesture, stroking the flesh of the apricot with his fingertips. Lancelot nodded again, licking his lips. "The curve."

"So," Arthur cleared his throat lightly. "I stroke it. Caress it."

"Tease it." Lancelot reached down, his fingers lighting on the fruit opposite Arthur's. "Just enough of a touch to make her want more."

"Hips," Arthur asked.

"Hips," he nodded, his thumb teasing across the dimple where the stem had been. "Breast."

"Breast," Arthur repeated, copying Lancelot's gesture. Lancelot felt a slow shock of heat as Arthur's gazed dropped from Lancelot's eyes to the loose black tunic he wore. His eyes held on Lancelot's chest, and Lancelot felt himself flush, felt his body respond.

He licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry. "N-nipple."

"Nipple," Arthur breathed, his fingers brushing over Lancelot's. The younger man jerked his hand back and stepped away.

"Right. Practice that. Both hands. T-tomorrow we move on to something new."

Arthur dropped his eyes to the fruit in his hand then looked back up at Lancelot. "New?"

"New." Lancelot reached out and ran his finger over the curve of the apricot one last time. "And be good to the curves. We're not finished with them yet."

Lancelot slid onto the bench next to Tristan without speaking. Tristan raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"I can't help it," Lancelot responded softly. "Trying."

A sly smile curved Tristan's lips for a brief moment. "Not hard enough."

"I am trying."

"Doesn't matter how hard you try if your heart's not in it." He speared an apple with his knife and cut a wedge, offering it to Lancelot on the blade. "Vanora has a friend. She'd be good."

"For him? Or for me?"

"Both, I think."

"Good in what way?" He looked up as Tristan stood. "Hey! In what way?"

Tristan cut another wedge and pressed the wet flesh of it to Lancelot's lips. "You'll see."

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, not far from where Lancelot had left him the day before. The apricot was still in his hand, looking no worse for wear from the previous day's activities. He held it up, the skin glossy from the warmth and attention from his hands. "The curve."

"Not today." Lancelot took it from him and set it on Arthur's desk, barely glancing at the surface to insure there were no scrolls or papers of importance. "Today, it's something much better."

"Better than the curve?"

Lancelot pulled out a blade and cut the apricot in half, knifing out the stone then lifting one side and exposing the wet, juicy flesh to Arthur, before slicing a thin slit down the center. "Today it's a bit more literal."

Heat flooded Arthur's face as his gaze followed a fat drop of juice as it rolled down the fruit then started to fall, caught by Lancelot's finger. He continued to watch as Lancelot lifted the finger to his own lips. He closed his eyes and sucked his finger clean. "Want to taste, Arthur?"

Lancelot opened his eyes to find Arthur staring at his bare finger. Finally he moved his gaze to the apricot. "So that's a…"

"Well, not exactly." Lancelot grinned and shrugged. "But it's not as if I could just ask one of the girls to come along and teach Arthur a thing or two."

"But that's a…"

"Yes. But not for today, for right now. Right now it's a lovely, lush woman, spread out on your bed like an offering to the Gods, and you're going to…"

"I'm not sticking my…I'm not putting my…Not in that!"

Lancelot stared at him for a moment, his featured puzzled, then he burst out laughing. "That? We're not even close to that, Arthur!" He turned the half of the apricot so the juices seemed to coalesce, pooling in the hollow from the stone. "You needn't worry that I'll have you dripping juices on your precious leather, Arthur. That part's just natural. That I can't teach you. Either you have it or you don't. Any man can do that, even a Roman."

"Then what are you…what are we…"

"Trust me, Arthur, you get good at this, the rest of it won't matter." Turning his attention back to the fruit in his hand, Lancelot pressed his finger along the slit he'd cut and widened it, then pressed his finger hard to a small area not far above it. With a slow smile, he bent his head and licked away the gathered juices and then turned the fruit, handing it off to Arthur. "Ready?"

Arthur watched Lancelot lick his lips then echoed the movement, nodding once. "As I'll ever be, I suppose."

Lancelot touched his finger to the small depression he'd made. "Nub, barely as big as that. Lavish attention on it until her thighs close about your head and she begs for mercy. Pull away when she's disparaging your mother and offering you godhood then slide down to here." His finger glided along the slit he'd cut. "Wet, tender flesh. Ripe and succulent." He lifted his finger and painted Arthur's lips with the juices. "Just don't bite hard, no matter how hungry you are."

Arthur licked his lips, his tongue brushing the tip of Lancelot's finger. "No biting."

"No hard biting. A bit of a nip here and there, sucking, licking." Lancelot moved his fingers to the back of Arthur's hand and pressed it up toward Arthur's mouth. "But not until she's begging."

"What do I do with…"

"Ah, well then, that's the fun part." Lancelot held out his hands then lowered them to his thighs. "Here. Stroke and rub here. I'd stick with that at first until you're a bit relaxed."

"And then?"

"Then?" Lancelot cocked and eyebrow then slid his hands back and up, curving them over his buttocks. "There's this."

Arthur nodded. "Okay."

"Careful back there though. They can be…touchy."

"Touchy."

Lancelot laughed and reached out and touched the base of the apricot. "Here to here." He trailed his finger up the fruit to the depression he'd made. "Safety there." He slid his fingers back down to the slit. "If you're truly adventurous." He pressed against the soft flesh of the fruit and let his fingers slide deeper.

"Oh."

Lancelot pulled his fingers back and sucked on them, closing his eyes at the sweetness on his tongue. "Like nothing you've every tasted, Arthur." He smiled as he opened his eyes, watching Arthur's face with rapt attention. "Go on."

"What if I can't?"

Lancelot sighed softly. "It's like a battle, Arthur." He sat beside Arthur on the bed and rested his hand lightly against the nape of Arthur's neck, thumb and fingers stroking the short hairs and warm skin. "This is all armor." He let his hand slide higher into Arthur's hair then guided his head down toward the fruit. "Hone your sword before you get to the battle, eh?"

Arthur cast him a glance out of the corner of his eye and Lancelot smiled and shrugged, leaning in, his voice low, urging.

"Taste her, Arthur. Let her coat your tongue."

Arthur's tongue darted out, doing as Lancelot bid. Lancelot watched, unable to look away as Arthur kept his gaze on him, his tongue sliding over the pale flesh of the fruit, tracing the depression Lancelot had made in it, sliding the length of it. Lancelot swallowed hard and nodded briskly.

"Right. Well then. You practice that. Tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow?" Arthur raised his head as Lancelot stood, his lips and chin glistening with juice.

Lancelot swallowed again. "Well, it's the big day, isn't it? Are they to find you a…Do they choose her for you?"

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "No. I don't…I'm unsure."

"Tristan knows someone. Tristan knows everyone, but he knows someone…"

"Tristan knows?"

"Not from me." Lancelot's voice sounded wounded and petulant and he cleared his throat. "Not from me. But he says he knows a woman who will be good for you." Reaching out, he pushed the fruit close to Arthur's face again. "Practice."

"And when I'm done?" Arthur asked snappishly, his hand closing more tightly around the skin of the apricot, causing juice to rise. "What then?"

"Eat the thing for all I care." Lancelot blew out a breath and shook his head, grabbing the other half of the apricot and sinking his teeth into it, juice trailing down his bare chin. He groaned as the sun-sweet taste flooded his mouth then turned on his heel, ignoring Arthur's gaze. "Well?"

"Tell Tristan that will be fine."

Lancelot stopped and nodded once before making his way to the door. "Practice."

Arthur's faint grumble about the chain of command followed Lancelot out the door, ringing in his ears all the way to tavern.

Lancelot leaned against the stone wall, his breath caught somewhere hard in his chest. He closed his eyes, his juice-slick and sticky hands tugging at the laces of his trousers, loosening them from the dark leather far enough for him to slide his hand beneath them, wrap it around the ache that pulsed along his cock.

He closed his eyes, sure enough of his privacy not to care as his other hand loosened the laces further, pushing leather away from flesh, groaning at the heavy, redolent air as it brushed against his overheated skin.

"Stupid," he muttered, stroking himself. His body throbbed with need, made worse as he licked his lips and tasted the apricot, his mind offering him clear remembrance of Arthur's mouth over the flesh of the fruit, golden and pink and warm and wet, his tongue diving in, parting the cut Lancelot had made. "Imbecile."

He let his head fall back, his hand no longer offering any semblance of control as it raced along his cock, thumb sweeping the head with alternating strokes, slick and wet. His chest tightened as if weight lay against it, like death pressing against his lungs. His free hand circled the base of his shaft and he pictured soft, pink flesh replacing gold, wet and red and parted for Arthur; pictured Arthur's strong, naked back tapering down to his hips, his buttocks, his lean thighs.

"Gods," he panted in rough prayer, no belief behind the word or the plea.

Thighs curving around Arthur's back, sleek and smooth, supple flesh parting under the hard onslaught of Arthur's shaft, tight and wet and slick and… Lancelot groaned, breath hitching as darker calves curved over Arthur's buttocks, muscled and thick with dark hair. Arthur's kiss fell to the side, laying on corded muscle and taut skin, Lancelot's own head thrown back as Arthur…

"No!" Lancelot shuddered as he came, spilling over his hand and on the rough packed dirt of the ground. He slumped back against the wall, his head bowed as he forced his body back under control. No trembling, no need, no want. He clenched his hands into fists then wiped them on his thighs, willing even breaths into his lungs as he slowly refastened his laces.

Lancelot pushed off the wall and headed toward the mouth of the alley, his steps faltering slightly at the shadow that stretched toward him. Glancing up, he couldn't stop the twitch of his lips as Tristan held out his knife, the apple resting white against the steely blade. "I don't want to hear it."

"Didn't say anything."

Lancelot took the proffered apple and bit into it, the tang of it fresh after the cloying sweetness of the apricot.. "You're thinking too loud then."

Tristan bowed his head in a quick, single nod then fell in step with Lancelot. He cut off another wedge of apple and chewed it as they walked. Lancelot sighed finally and stopped, rubbing his face with one hand.

"So, what am I to do then?"

"She's nice. She'll take care of him."

"I don't give a…I asked what I'm to do."

"Take him."

Lancelot's eyebrows shot up, his eyes locked on Tristan. "What?" He caught his breath in a huff as Tristan's smile spread. "Right. To the girl."

"Woman."

"Right." He nodded and sighed again. "That will fix things, will it?"

"No." Tristan offered another wedge of apple. "But when Arthur is done, you can have your turn. And that will fix things. For a while."

"I despise you."

Tristan smiled and nodded once more. "Good."

Lancelot paced the hallway outside Arthur's quarters for several minutes before stopping himself, Tristan's knowing, insufferable smile like a shadow following him. Finally, he pushed open the door and stopped, exhaling the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"So."

Arthur tugged his shirt down and turned to face Lancelot, his expression not far from that Lancelot had seen the last time a Roman had dragged someone off for a session at the end of the whip. "So."

"So. Tonight you're a man." He couldn't quite manage the smile he tried for, sure his grimace did nothing to help ease Arthur's mood. In fact, if Arthur's answering scowl was any indication, he likely had made things worse. "I can show you to her…"

"Why would you do that?"

"I…"

"Oh. Of course. I need a witness, I suppose. My father is not here to watched doggedly over my shoulder, so I get my own cur to do it."

Lancelot stepped back as if slapped, his eyes flashing fire. "Only fitting that a cur lead you to the bitch, is it not?" He sneered at Arthur. "Good to know, Arthur, what you really think."

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry, Lancelot. I'm…" He shook his head, obviously not finding an answer he liked enough to speak it. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not a witness, Arthur. I'll just take you there and leave you alone." He shrugged and started walking, his head bowed slightly.

Arthur fell in step with him, his hands clenched into fists against his thighs. "Do you know her?"

"The girl? Woman?" Lancelot shook his head. "No. But I trust Tristan."

"Yes." Arthur was silent beside him as they made their way through the maze of the buildings, finally settling in a stretch of dark alley, even darker doorways like unspoken invitations as they passed. Finally Lancelot stopped and nodded toward a doorway.

"Through there."

"Right. And you'll…"

Lancelot smiled, bitterness no doubt curving his lips. "I'll see you later, Arthur. Enjoy yourself. They like that too."

Arthur nodded once and started toward the doorway then stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. "Come inside."

"Arthur…"

"See your handiwork in action." There was a soft hint of pleading in Arthur's voice. "You needn't watch. Just…just come inside. Be there."

Lancelot closed his eyes and shook his head. "Don't ask this of me, please?"

"Come inside." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "Or I go nowhere."

A soft curse in Sarmatian fell from Lancelot's lips and he snarled at Arthur. "Fine." He pushed past him through the doorway, throwing back the curtain to let Arthur in. "Fine."

A relieved smile graced Arthur's features as he passed Lancelot, and Lancelot cursed again, his native tongue sharp and harsh in the candlelight. He moved behind Arthur and shoved him forward, sending Arthur sprawling between the spread, naked legs of the woman laid out on the bed. His knees hit the floor with a hard sound and he turned his head long enough to glare at Lancelot before long-nailed fingers caught Arthur's chin and turned him back.

"You must be Arthur."

Lancelot grit his teeth against the honeyed, sultry voice and slumped against the wall, keeping his eyes fixed on the one opposite him, his ears tuned out against the rough whisper that slipped past Arthur's lips.

He would not watch. He would not watch. He would not watch, but he couldn't help but hear the soft cries and low moans, the shift of fabric and skin and the shiver of laughter. He turned his head quickly to see Arthur's dark one bent over creamy skin, one hard rosy tip flush against the skin of the woman's breast, the other buried somewhere in Arthur's mouth.

He shifted his stance, his eyes moving down Arthur's back as her nails raked at his tunic, tugging it over his head, letting it pool against her skin until he lifted away, breaking the contact with her skin long enough to allow her to strip it off him completely. Arthur's hands and mouth moved back to her, pushing aside drapes of fabric to expose the rest of her body, the skilled fingers that wove Excalibur through its deadly dance advancing on the wet darkness shielded behind her thighs.

Arthur followed his hands down the woman's body, parting her legs easily. His gaze never once wavered as it had in practice, stayed solely focused on the warm flesh in front of him. Heavy musk filtered into the air and Lancelot clamped his teeth shut against the sudden urge to gag. He turned on his heel, the curtain swinging closed behind him, the copper rings clanging against the metal pole as he forced the faintest hint of light behind the fabric.

Struggling for breath, Lancelot bent over, his hands on his knees. He forced himself to think, to breathe, counting the moments between each inhale and exhale. Finally he straightened and shuddered, set to plot sick revenge on Tristan's head. The thought had just crossed his mind when the curtain swung open again and Arthur moved out of the room, striding purposefully down the alley.

Glancing back for the smallest of hesitations, Lancelot quickly hurried after Arthur, his quick stride making up for the long one of Arthur's. He caught the older man's wrist and held on, forcing him to stop, to swing around.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing." Lancelot looked Arthur over before forcing his eyes to meet the other man's stare. "It went well?"

"It was fine."

"Fine."

"Great."

"Great." Lancelot nodded as Arthur opened his mouth to offer another alternative. Without a word, he reached out and brushed his hand along the hard length of Arthur's erection where it strained at the leather. "Then what is this?"

"You know all that you taught me and yet have not puzzled out that?" Arthur's sneer was vicious, cruel. "I thought you knew everything."

"I never claimed to know everything."

"You never claim, Lancelot." Arthur closed the distance between them, backing Lancelot up against the hard stone of the building. "Claiming would invoke responsibility and you will not have that on your shoulders, will you?"

"Arthur…"

"Did you enjoy the show, Lancelot? Enjoy watching the fruits of your labors?" He grabbed Lancelot's hands and pinned them to the wall above his head. "How did I do, Lancelot? Live up to your," he paused and thrust forward, the hardness of his shaft pressing against Lancelot's, "rigid expectations?"

Lancelot's voice was a low moan, hungry and desperate. "Arthur…"

"All I could think about was you," Arthur growled into Lancelot's ear, their bodies moving in an age-old rhythm and counter-rhythm, thrust and stroke. "Watching. Those damn eyes on me."

When Lancelot didn't speak, Arthur pulled back and met his eyes for a moment before meeting Lancelot's parted lips in a crushing kiss. Tongue and lips and teeth clashed as hard as their hips, rocking together, striving for closer, deeper, harder.

"Wanted you," Arthur whispered beneath his breath, his mouth still moving over Lancelot's. "Want you."

Lancelot's back arched and he pressed hard against Arthur, heat pulsing through his veins. "Yes."

Arthur groaned and buried his head in Lancelot's neck, sucking at the sweat-salty flesh as his hips kept moving, thrusting steadily against Lancelot until the younger man hooked his calf around the back of Arthur's, bringing them closer.

Arthur found Lancelot's mouth again, taking it as his hips jerked wildly, both of them breathing each other in as they came, heat flooding between them in rapid succession. Lancelot groaned, breaking from Arthur's kiss and pressing his tongue to the sharp split in the flesh of his lip before sucking it into his mouth, bathing the broken skin.

"You all right?" Arthur asked, voice husky and face shadowed by darkness.

Lancelot nodded, his breath feathering out of him in weak pants. "Yes."

Looking up at the moon, Arthur sighed. "The morning's begun." "And you've not had a woman yet."

Arthur turned his head, the stone catching at his dark hair. "No. I've not." He reached out, his fingers grazing Lancelot's cheek. "I've not had a man either."

Lancelot smiled slowly. "I could help you, you know."

"Could you?"

He nodded breathlessly at the promise in Arthur's eyes. "Do you trust me?"