Lightning lights up the sky again and Arthur's eyes open, betraying his command as they seek out the bare skin, wet curls and legs splashed with mud. Arthur releases the cross, not feeling the hard welts in his skin from the cut metal. He shoves away from the window, ignoring his cloak as he ventures out into the rain.

Lancelot is smiling up as the drops fall on his face, drench his beard and spill into his open mouth, his tongue reaching out to capture them. Arthur moves around him and stops, his eyes obeying his desires and not his will as they move over every bare inch of Lancelot's body, dappled with rain and mud.

Raising his head, Lancelot nails his commander with his gaze and turns his hands, holding them up in supplication. "A crucifixion of sorts, Arthur. Do I sacrifice myself for your sin?"

"You speak blasphemy."

Lancelot's eyes are dark as night, dark as hell and just as warm. "I speak truth, as all devils do." His brings his hand around to Arthur. "Pray to Him, Arthur." He touches Arthur's chest, his fingers like a blaze of heat on the wet fabric of Arthur's tunic. "Worship me."