myr!!!

He felt himself stretch into this softness, this unfamiliar comfort.

His mind was beginning to wake, but for once, he was in no hurry to wake with it. Keeping his eyelids closed, he noted their lightness – oh, what an evening of rest could do for the soul and for the body. He’d only ever imagined what it would feel like, and now it seemed his curiosity was quelled.

He focused on the feeling of warm air filling his lungs, the subtle sunlight dancing beyond his sight. He felt the familiarity of his sleeping gown, wrapped around most of him. Where the garment did not reach, there were thick sheets, a fabric as smooth as the winter snow, as pliable as the thinnest blades of grass.

Most of all, he adored the feeling of his pillow – this was by far the most luxurious sensation his skin had ever graced. It was impossibly delicate, smooth and fuzzy, but the thing that stood out the most was its’ scent. This pillow, this surface he lay on, smelt amazingly familiar. Though the knight could not have been farther from all he’d ever known, he was sure that the scent filling his nostrils with every deep breath was home.

It was musky, with a hint of perfume, or perhaps a scented soap?

And it was… moving?

The knight’s eyes flew open at the unexpected movement – he’d heard they used feathers for royal pillows, but surely the duck used to stuff this bedding was alive and well, and very far from here, no?

Adjusting to the delicate light of the sunrise filtered through sheer curtains, ruby irises reared their horizon into focus. Pupils were blown wide open as they registered their first hint of blue.

Blue?

With a sharp inhale, reality came down upon the dark hedgehog, like an axe to a tree.

Suddenly, the uncanny softness, the emanating warmth, the musky scent and the odd movement came crashing together in a devastating realization.

Lancelot was currently using his sovereign’s stomach as a pillow.

Yes, a lowly servant of the crown was currently desecrating his royal highness in the most scandalous way possible, and he…

He had enjoyed it.

He was still enjoying it, in fact.

Despite his shock (had it been mixed with elation?), he had remained very still, unable to shift his limbs under this new development. Perhaps, it wasn’t so, perhaps, he was simply unwilling to move, as opposed to being unable to.

His mind began a very familiar race: he felt himself tense at the starting line, or at least it was a version of himself he recognized less and less. It was the self he’d leaned on for a long time, the one that was well trained, the one that performed his duties without complaint and without failure.

But as that part of him began its musings in his mind, he could not help but notice that its voice had grown quieter. Perhaps it hadn’t been running for a while, perhaps this race was rendering it winded, out of breath.

You should not indulge in such inappropriate tendencies.

His voice – the voice of someone he once was, spoke. Where it once ran free before, it was now struggling to jog. Water piled up around its ankles; it came wave after wave, and it felt as if it was born of adoration, of warmth and of certainty.

You are not worthy of such pleasures.

The voice was thick, like its throat had been filled with water. It seemed to choke on its words as it tried to spit them out.

Lancelot thought then, that it was the first time that little voice felt so trivial.

He could still hear it – that part of him was still there. It would probably remain for a lifetime, because he’d built it up over one. From childhood to knighthood, he trained not only his body, but his mind. Willed his thought towards a straight and narrow path, one paved with the promise of loyalty and honesty.

In search of purity, he had broken his oath.

He had lied.

He had been lying for decades.

The hedgehog could almost laugh at himself now. He felt it bubbling in his stomach, a smile tickling his lips and crinkling his eyes. The slight movement reminded him of the very tangible person by his side – the very mobian that had, unbeknownst to both, helped quiet that torturous voice inside Lancelot’s mind.

He focused on this now, because he could. The voice was quieter, or perhaps, his mind was strong enough now to quiet it.

He did not linger in his head, did not give his insecurities a second glance. Because it was morning, a good one filled with glowing golden light, soft bedding and the steady rhythm of his beloved’s breath under his ears.

Up and down again and again, Arthur’s stomach rose slowly to the tune of his unconscious breathing.

The knight could not stop his hand from moving to caress the surface of the abdomen so readily bared besides him. The pants he’d gone to bed in still sat perfectly still upon his waist, but the shirt he’d donned was now unbuttoned – hence their sudden intimacy.

Arthur’s fur was mussed, but still, it remained impossibly soft. Blue tufts were tangled with black fur, uniting in a deep navy colour, an ocean of forbidden possibilities.

Bare hands carded through the unfamiliar territory, memorizing the impressions of fur and every little kink in the pattern.

What kind of soap did Arthur use? Was it the culprit of the light flowery scent that filled the dark hedgehog’s head with sweetness? How did he brush his fur, and how often? Did he do it himself, or did he prefer to relegate the menial task to a servant?

Lancelot hummed as he mused.

If you do not feel keen on grooming yourself, would you let me do the honours? He wondered dreamily. The thought of another performing such an intimate act tied his stomach into knots. If you would allow me, I would spend the rest of my days taking care of you.

It was a silent promise, unspoken. It did not matter, for it was as solid as Lancelot’s affections had become, as true as the trees that grew from the soil, as pure as the light of a rising sun.

Blissfully, the knight tucked the promise away, sealing it close to his heart as he let the slowness of the morning draw him back into a dreamless slumber.

-

Their day moved on slowly, but it was a blissful pace, every movement laced with warmth, every conversation carried on without fear.

Really, Lancelot had their host to thank for this – Sir Galahad, it was. The young man had been most welcoming in his arrangements, and despite his evident history with Arthur, relinquished the day to his guests, seldom interrupting their time. His staff was also weary of interrupting them – surely, it took a small army to keep the grounds as neat as they were, yet barely a soul lingered about. It seemed almost as if flowers grew perfectly of their own accord, furniture remained dust-free by the grace of a wayward breeze, and lanterns re-constructed their flame as to glow in eternity.

It truly felt otherworldly in more ways than one, and Lancelot was not the only one to feel this comfort – this much was evidenced in Arthur’s relaxed countenance. The tension in his shoulders melted further away with every touch, and the smiles that lined his lips barely left.

Despite this, Lancelot felt the slightest remaining edge in his beloved, like the smallest gear of a complex mechanism had stopped functioning. It was near-invisible, and he could hardly point it out if he had to. Perhaps it showed itself as a nervous tic or an unusual inclination of his voice, something imperceptible to most.

Nevertheless, it stuck out to the knight, whose training had revolved around gaging this man’s thought, emotions and behaviours.

Although he sensed Arthur’s merriment was genuine, he could not help the pinpricks of worry that stabbed at his heart in the knowledge that almost perfect wasn’t the way he intended these few blissful days to be.

He wanted perfection.

He wanted to kiss away any nervous habit or ruinous thought that dared bother his counterpart. He wanted to soothe soft fur, to smooth wrinkles out of a scrunched forehead a thousand times over, if necessary.

‘Almost perfect’ wasn’t enough for Arthur – Lancelot wanted to give him the world. The earth, the sky and all the stars that hung above them, he would gift every last one to the man besides him if it meant that Arthur could feel entirely light again – even if only for a day.

It’s why, at dinner, he could no longer bite back his tongue. The nagging feeling had persisted throughout their otherwise pleasant day, and he did not intend to let it fester.

Whatever the matter, Lancelot would protect his king – mind and body alike.

“Arthur.” He spoke softly as he held the light crystal flute in his hand. The white wine they’d been served had been steadily flowing through their systems by now, the fuzziness of the alcohol slowing their tongues.

“Mm?” His highness mumbled warmly as he scooped a generous heap of berries with his spoon, the light cream-desert a perfect pairing with the bitterness of the wine. His eyes were tired, but it was a good kind of tired. The kind you got when your stomach was filled with good food, and your mind airy with the distant buzz of alcohol.

Lancelot took another sip from his flute before he placed it gently on their table. They were sat outdoors, overlooking the sunset across verdant hills as they ate their generous meal. It was a corner of the luscious gardens where the flowery bushes reached higher, their vines intermingled with a wooden lattice that created a sort of canopy above their heads. The table was a beautiful one, a glass oval set within spiraling white iron. The chairs seemed a matching set, and though they totalled four, only two of them were currently occupied. They had arranged themselves closer than perhaps necessary for a meal, but their positions allowed for a perfect view of the darkening skies, so they made do with an elbow bump or two.

The dark hedgehog realized that he’d spoken before knowing exactly what he wanted to say – he stayed fiddling with the stem of his glass long after having placed it down, muddling over words in his mind.

How very Arthurian of him – speak suddenly and out of turn, without thinking it through.

The thought made him smile and huff out a puff of air. His own amusement was a bit lost to Arthur, who simply mumbled another thing as he kept eating his desert. Clearly, he wasn’t curious enough to forego the delicacy in front of him, and for that, Lancelot could not blame him.

“Forgive me,” he huffed, offering context. “It seems speaking out of turn has become a normality to me now.” Shaking his head, he made the effort to turn towards the other.

The emerald eyes that stared back at him were darkening with the evening sky, yet they felt bright as ever to Lance, who could lose himself in the pools of green for days at a time.

“It used to be very unlike me.” He hummed softly. “It seems as though things really have changed.”

His bittersweet tone was perhaps more solemn than he’d intended it to sound, but it was not meant to be sad. The heaviness came not from melancholy, but rather from a deep-rooted feeling of reminiscence. The knowledge that sometimes change was not sudden and overwhelming, but gradual and accommodating, unnoticed until one compared today to yesterday.

“Have I turned you into a monster?” Arthur jested, his smile wide as his spoon clattered somewhere close. The few lingering berries were scattered on an otherwise empty plate – whether they would remain uneaten for much longer had yet to be determined.

“Au contraire.” Lancelot felt the need to reassure. His remark earned him a curious look from the other, who spoke out louder than what was probably necessary.

“You speak French?” He was too incredulous to take seriously, and so the knight threw his head back in laughter, baring his fangs in the warm air.

“What?” He managed to squeeze out soon enough, revelling in the look of wonder across Arhtur’s features.

“You said that so well – I always butcher it.” He admitted, tilting his head. “Au contraire” he tried, but the syllabled garbled in his mouth, which only reignited the mirth in Lancelot’s throat.

“Oh, goodness!” He threw a hand on his chest, shaking his head. “You’ve destroyed it.” He simply sighed, to which Arthur almost looked physically pained.

“Ugh, the council always gets on my back about it.” A hand scratched behind a flushed neck. “Guess it’s bad enough that you hate it too, huh?”

Lancelot shook his head – no, he did not hate it. Sure, it was less-than-pleasant to the ears, but the effort was there, and it was clear that Arthur had not intended any harm beyond lack of skill.

“Here.” He joined their hands together. “Repeat after me.” A thumb rubbed soft circles into blue fur, and he knew he had the other’s undivided attention. “Oh,” He started, prodding his chin forward to indicate that they had started this little charade.

“Oh.” The other repeated quickly enough.

“Con,” he pronounced the syllable without emphasis on the ending consonant, letting the sound hang in the air between them.

“Con.”

“Trare,”

“Trare.”

“Now say it all together – oh-con-trare” he said the words slowly, emphasizing the syllables.

With a deep breath, Arthur stilled himself.

“Ow-con-trar?”

Lancelot could not keep the wince at bay, a reaction which made the other’s hands squeeze in his.

“Almost!” he reassured quickly, returning the firm hold.

The knight led them through the syllables a few more times, adding some insight between the sounds that were foreign on His Highness’ tongue.

After a few more attempts, the words sounded almost natural –

“Au contraire!” Arthur was proclaiming loudly, the choppy syllables they’d learnt now mashed together in an understandable version of the saying. The radiant smile Arthur beamed was enough to satisfy Lancelot of his teachings, and to grow the seedling of an idea in his mind.

Are there other words the two of them could practice?

“Much better, don’t you find?” He parted their hands, only a little saddened by the loss of warmth. He soon busied his fingers with his drinking glass again, savouring the last sips of his bitter drink before finally resting the empty flute down again.

“Thank you, Lance.” He spoke solemnly, once he’d finished whispering the new learnt words into the night air.

The stars had slowly begun to trickle down from the heavens, the brightest dots appearing before the smaller ones could join.

“I did not know you spoke French.” He added, an almost sheepish smile on his features.

There was that thing again – the off feeling that radiated just underneath their skin, the whole reason for the start of their conversation.

Not yet. Soon.

“I suppose there is much you know not of me.” He conceited, feeling a bit foolish for not having shared this part of himself with the man he’d grown so close to. It wasn’t for lack of wanting, of course not!

A lifetime of training had forced him to keep his mouth shut about himself, his interests, or anything that was deemed ‘of no importance’. Old habits died hard, and it was even more difficult to dismantle things you didn’t even know you’d learnt to do.

“Of course, there is much I know not of you.” He added posthumously, because that much was sincere – he knew everything about his King, of course he did – but what of the man behind the crown? What of Arthur’s habits, his hobbies (if he had time for any), his most foolish hopes and his darkest dreams? He longed to know every single detail as though it was a new duty assigned to him, a new purpose in this changing dynamic between the two.

“I must concede that is true.” He acquiesced. His eyes drifted up towards the canopy of leaves and flowers that hung above their heads, the space occasionally empty enough to slow glimpses into the celestial bodies hanging delicately above them.

Now, he felt he could ask.

“Arthur.” He repeated the name again, as he’d said it at the start of this conversation.

“Mm.” The same hum came in response, verdant eyes glued upwards in a tranquil sense of wonder.

“I feel there is something amiss.” Before the other could speak, he held a hand up. “If I err in my judgment, please, do correct me, but only after I have said my piece.”

He had successfully captured the other’s attention, their gazes fixed anew.

“Do not think I doubt your glee wholly – I am blessed to recognize mirth when it colours your features earnestly, and I dare say with confidence that you radiated it wonderfully today.” The smile Arthur beamed at him was the prime example of this joy, and Lancelot allowed himself a moment to savour the sight. “However, I sense an inkling of angst within this – I am ashamed to admit that I cannot pinpoint the source of this feeling, nor the reason why it appears to me so clearly despite lack of visual confirmation.” His eyebrows were knit tightly now, as if thinking hard enough could will his eyes to see what they had not been able to. “I know not what the matter is, if it concerns me or the opposite, but I am sure that I want to see this unease dissipate, Arthur.” With an uncertain smile, he added. “Please.”

The word spoke for itself.

Please tell me.

Please let me know what to do.

Please allow me in.

“Oh, Lance.” There was a hint of colour springing to his cheeks, but a smile still rose to those lips, a gesture that pumped warmth into the knight’s veins. “There is simply no hiding from you, is there?” He shook his head.

“It is what I was trained for, my liege.” The title was half-heartedly tossed out, and Arthur knew well enough by the time it reached his ears that it lacked the distance it once held. It wasn’t mocking, but it did not take itself seriously either – it just was, it existed between them comfortable in a way they could not really describe.

“Of course.” He half rolled his eyes, before reaching out to clasp their hands together once more. “All right, I must admit you have me now.”

Nodding, Lancelot dared not interrupt.

“I suppose this feeling you’ve sniffed out is what would be called nerves.”

“Nerves?” Now it was his turn to be incredulous. “For what reasons do you have to be nervous?”

“Oh, nothing serious, I promise.” He searched to quell the knight before him, whose body had instinctively tightened with the news.

“Whatever is it?”

“I wished to keep this from you for a little longer, but I suppose it’s no use in letting it linger any longer, wouldn’t you agree?”

The words did nothing to subdue the curiosity in his mind, though it was all Arthur seemed to offer. Standing, he pulled his most trusted friend alongside him, keeping their hands steadily joint.

“Arthur, I-” words of prodding came, but they were swiftly extinguished by a hand resting against his lips.

“Come now,” He whispered, though they were alone. “You’ll see.”

It was the most Lancelot was afforded before the hand on his mouth left him, before they were winding a path through unfamiliar gardens, away from empty wine glasses and clean plates – into a great unknown.

With a firm hand clasped into his, he felt not afraid, but calmly assured. Arthur’s fingers wove certainty into his limbs, their every step taken in tandem creating a burgeoning trust, a mutual vulnerability they knew could only share with one another.

-

The walk had been lovely. It cleared some of the lingering grogginess from the heft of their meal, but the sweet buzz of the wine was allowed to remain, a pleasant feeling that mingled with the warm evening air.

The sky had fallen completely dark now, and even the littlest stars appeared as bright dots across the inky surface.

It was an unusually serene evening, one that announced so comfortably the start of spring, whispering sweet nothings into every breeze.

Arthur had led them to a small gathering of trees just westward of their previous placement. It was a tiny forest, the edges of which you could see clearly if you strained your neck a bit. A beaten path curved between trees; the packed dirt lined with wildflowers and tufts of weeds. It was a stark contrast to the meticulously trimmed gardens of the manor, yet even this wild addition brought a sense of care and warmth with it that made it seem intentional.

The cobalt hedgehog kept leading them further into the small woodlands, until they reached a gap in the trees.

It was a circular clearing, lit brightly by the glow of a full moon, her bright smile filling their view of the sky in a way that felt so warm, so personable – it was as though she welcomed them into this new environment, assuring that she would watch over them.

The grass here was longer, more luscious. It was unencumbered by roots and rocks, and so it flowed more freely, creating a thick bedding that looked almost soft enough to rival their suite. Though, now that he thought about it, that bed seemed miles away now.

The wildflowers peppered the scenery here too, and where the strong trunks of maples and pines met empty space, someone had taken care to plant a variety of flowers that were most certainly not wild. They ranged from lilies to tulips, with buds of other yet-to-blossom varieties all around. Hues of yellow, light blue and gentle pinks coloured their vision, a masterfully curated scenery that easily took Lancelot’s breath away.

“This,” he tried to articulate this feeling that bloomed in his chest along with the surrounding nature, this overwhelming sense of belonging. With it came an equally heavy reverence for being able to enjoy nature like this, in all her mystical glory.

“I know.” It was barely above a whisper, but here, nested in this clearing, there was a quietness that allowed for soft noises to be easily perceived.

Evidently, Arthur had been here before – he knew the path well enough, after all. Yet Lancelot could be convinced that this was both their first time here, for the starry-eyed look on the other’s face certainly rivaled his own bewilderment.

Words stopped as they absorbed their surroundings, content in the steady sound of each other’s breath.

At one point they had opted to sit down, and by the heavens – the grass was even softer than it had seemed.

It rivaled their feather-stuffed pillows, their satin-laced bedding and the plush feeling of an expensive mattress.

They still held hands.

“It’s lovely.” He managed to mutter after several moments had passed, though he felt even the word lovely failed to describe it. There was a certain quality to the taste of spring in the air, the warm buzz of some unknown insect, and the quiet rustling of leaves that sheltered them from the world.

It was a feeling he held so deep within him, a sort of tranquilness he felt only when aligned with nature herself.

It was, in other words, beyond description.

“Isn’t it?”

He only hummed, managing to wrench his gaze from their surroundings to eye his beloved.

Emerald irises, brighter than any shade of green that surrounded them, already shared his watch. They twinkled under the purity of the moonlight, and here, for the first time in memory, they did not look tired.

“I’m sure you’re curious by now.”

He’d actually almost forgotten their prior conversation, too immersed in his adoration for their new enclosure.

“Of course.” Now that the subject was back on the table, he would not deny it – it was true after all, for he still wished to uncover the smidgeon of doubt or uneasiness he’d felt in his lover’s features.

“It is foolish to admit it, but I was a bit overcome with stress about bringing you here tonight.”

“Here?” he gestured around them, to which Arthur nodded.

How could any part of this ever stress anyone out?

“Ah,” Arthur seemed to read his mind (or perhaps he’d pulled another incredulous expression), explaining “I was not worried about your fondness for this place – I was quite confident you’d be enamoured.”

That he was.

“It is more about this; there is something which I’ve wanted to discuss with you.” The tone was still light, but the words raised a few alarm bells in the back of Lancelot’s mind – he could not help himself. “Seeing as it is the primary purpose of this trip, you can understand my eagerness not to flounder here.”

He had a small smile, a nervous one. It did not stop him from inching ever forward, marching again towards an unknown that Lancelot was not afraid of. Not as long as they were together – they served as each other’s guiding star often enough, lighting the way and assuring safety in their path without ever wavering.

“You’ve touched my hand, and your ever-present warmth had found its way to my heart, quite easily, and without resistance, I might add. I fear… I cannot hold onto sanity much longer, if this existence is so void of you, like it has been too many times.”

“Oh.” The sound was soft, only heard by the two of them. Arthur continued, pressed on through the nerves and the heaviness of intimacy, an ever-present smile in the face of doubt, of fear.

This was strength, courage – these were royal traits, ones his majesty wore well in every manner he could. Even now, tucked miles away from anything familiar, in a comforting presence, he dared himself to tread forward, despite the uncertain path laid beneath shaky feet.

“These months, these years besides you, Lancelot…” There was a certain heaviness to his name, and the knight could not help the flips his stomach performed. “They are my most prized possession, my most valued treasure. If not for them, if not for you… I dare not imagine what a bleak existence would greet me.”

“Years?” he could only bring himself to question – there was too much to focus on.

“Decades, my love.” The nickname was so soft, so sweet. “As long as my memory takes me back, you’ve been by my side. I know it is your duty to do so, but it always extended beyond that, to me- your abiding presence was unlike any others’. In your eyes, I could see this determination, this... how shall I say, possessiveness?”

They were really gone now.

“The glimpses I got of you told me more than you could ever speak – this desire that fueled your every move, a relentlessness I had never seen before, and will most likely never see in another. Perhaps it was these things, or something else entirely, that led my heart to yours. Whatever it is, I am so thankful for you, for your presence, your protection, your unwavering care – it is these things I love of you. But I love so much more, because I love you, and, well… you are so much more. Indescribable in even my noble vocabulary. I’ve tried to put the syllables together many times, but they cannot be summarized any more than that. Love. Love, love, love, you are my love.”

Cobalt hands held charcoal cheeks, a firmness that grounded them to each other.

“You-” Lancelot could barely formulate his next words as the emotions pouring forth from Arthur were crashing down upon him, like the most ferocious waves from a cruel sea. “You love me?”

He thinks he knows this already, but hearing it again sends shivers down his spine, and makes his heart grow ten times lighter.

“I know not what it feels like not to love you, Lance.” A kiss is placed on his cheek. “I have been enamoured by you for longer than I even know, for longer than the meaning of the word love mattered to me.” A warm embrace on the other cheek.

“You love me so?” He asked stupidly again, but the silliness only earned him a kiss on the muzzle and a soft cooing – rewards he’d gladly reap a thousand times over.

“Like the stars light our nights, so too, do I love you.”

Their foreheads pressed together now.

“I ask you, here, now, because anywhere else and but a minute more and I would not breathe – would you allow me, King Arthur, to begin courting you, Sir Lancelot?”

« A— a courtship? » He was incredulous – the possibility hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. He always thought himself too unimportant for such a concept, especially in comparison to the man he’d pined for. Yet here it was, an invitation hanging in the air, like an olive branch extended gracefully.

Yet there remained a nagging voice at the back of his skull.

“But what of the kingdom? What of the counsel? Would they approve of this? Surely even the thought is scandalous enough, let alone the real possibility…”

A soft touch landed on his cheek again, and he realized his head had strayed away, eyes flitting about in a nervous way.

“I have considered these things greatly,” the hold was so gentle. “And though I doubt it will be a smooth transition, it is one I am more than ready to make. Difficulties lie ahead, but with you Lance… oh, with you I could face the entire world without so much as a tremor in my hand.”

With me?

“Some might choose to defy you on this choice.” He could not help but raise the concerns – he was born to protect him, he could not be the cause of any harm.

“Of that, I am well aware.”

“Yet you still wish to pursue it? To pursue me?”

“More than anything else.” Two hands cupped him now, their presence grounding. They steadily urged him to look forward, to face the man whom he loved, to observe that wide grin and those mystical eyes to all the features he had grown to admire and to long for. “I have been a fine King, but you, Lancelot, you make me a better man. I doubt such a change would negatively impact my ability to rule, in fact, I think it may only improve upon it.”

“You’ve always been a wonderful man.” He felt the need to cut in softly, to which Arthur only replied with a swipe of a thumb over his lips.

“But I must warn you; I know not what burdens would fall upon you, should you accept this proposition. Your knighthood might be removed, and you could find yourself in a new sort of role. I am not sure what it is you wish to do, but I promise to work tirelessly to assure you remain comfortable. I cannot deny the changes that would come, though I can reassure you that they will not all be negative.”

Their foreheads bumped together again, and Arthur’s voice quieted impossibly low, sweet nothings whispered only for the most trusted ears to hear.

“Please, consider this wisely.”

There were no more words, as one of them, or perhaps both, had leaned in to close the short distance between them – lips crashed together in a quiet desperation, overflowing with newborn love and promises of tomorrow.

Arthur soon let his hands fall to his sides, and no longer withheld, the knight took the initiative to plunge them future into their embrace, straddling the royal lap to topple them towards a soft bedding of greenery.

Cobalt quills were splayed out in the grass, already tangled with wildflowers – but Lance could barely admire this scenery before their lips were joint together again.

The same hunger laced their every move, only ascending in fervor. The dark hedgehog’s arms had found their hold on either side of the other’s head, while royal hands pushed and pulled gently at the torso above them.

Arthur was the first to jut a curious tongue out, running the appendage over sharp canines – he retracted with a quiet wince, or perhaps a sort of breathy whine.

The sound pooled into the knight’s gut, pushing him down again to devour his lover, to savour every taste from his tongue – tart berries, sweet cream and the sparkle of their wine laced every lick, a delicious combination that took their breaths away.

There was the quiet woosh of the wind above their heads, the blessed moonlight bathing them in her glory – the clear light seemed so divine now, basking their every movement in purity.

Lancelot could spend an eternity like this, never wanting to catch his breath, never wanting to taste anything else, and certainly never needing to see another view.

What were sunsets, snowstorms, moonlit summer evenings, when they could never compare to the view before him?

He only allowed their lips to part for a few moments, backing away just enough to commit the scene to memory. From this angle, Arthur was illuminated gently by the moon, his quills splayed out within the wilderness at their feet, cheeks flushed red with alcohol, with confessions and with a love unlike any other.

Though the sight nearly froze him, he could not linger, could not breathe without embracing his lover.

They kissed until their movements became languid with shared desire, until they could not remember their names – the soft whimpers Arthur managed when Lancelot pulled them apart again were sinful in every way. But he did not heed their call immediately – he had a question to answer, and after that, they could lose themselves all over again.

“Yes.” His voice was tired.

“Yes?” It was barely audible, but so full of hope.

“Yes.” It was hungry.

He needn’t finish the sentence, needn’t elaborate on his acquiescence. They both knew what the confirmation meant, and they took no time to seal the deal in tangling their limbs together, losing themselves in each other for an indeterminable amount of time.

Yes, Arthur. Yes, I want you to court me – I want your kingdom, our kingdom, to see how great of a man you are. I want everyone to know that it is me you have chosen, I want them to leave you alone and I want you all for myself until the end of times.

I love you.

It didn’t need to be said, it was laced into every whine, every exchange of air.

I love you; I love you, I love you.

It was repeated until the syllables blurred together into noises, and only then did he realize that he was actually verbalizing it, and that it was being repeated back to him, over and over again like a prayer.

I love you.

Come what may, I love you.

-

<- previous part

-

A/N

Fun fact! I am terrible at writing endings, and i usually end up just abandonning stuff because i'm too intimidated by the prospect of finishing a story. I'm actually quite happy with this ending, I know it cuts this story a bit short, but I hope you are all satisfied with it despite that. i never intended for this story to be too long, so I think this stopping point is appropriate!

I cannot believe it has been almost four years since i started this journey - it was summer of 2022 when I posted this first, and it is now almost spring 2026. Thank you all so much for sharing this journey with me.

Stepping off the bus, he took a deep breath in, unable to hide the shiver that sprang through his back. The air smelt fresh and crisp, it was whispering about the changing times and the inevitable return of snow. Shrugging this off, Sonic headed for the entrance of the path, an old wooden arch enveloped by trees.

-

The blue hedgehog had an appreciation for this time of year; it was not yet cold enough to forego his jogging habit, but it was cold enough to clear the paths from those who were fearful they’d catch a cold.

He smiled to himself, relishing in how the sunlight bounced around, filtered and reflected by leaves and puddles.

He would come here more often, if it wasn’t for the distance. He liked the city and its green zones, but there was something special in being secluded from modernitylike this. A break from the commotion was healthy, even for someone who thrived in the bumbling chaos.

His daydreams faltered when he noticed heavy footfalls approaching, letting out a huff of frustration at the interruption of his solitude. Sliding to the right, he made sure to not occupy the entire width of the path – whoever was approaching was doing so quickly enough, their pace likely faster than his.

Despite his considerations (seriously, some people didn’t even bother to acknowledge other runners), he felt a sharp jab in his left shoulder as the person behind him finally caught up.

“Hey man! Watch where you-” he started as he veered a little to the right, regaining his balance quickly enough. However, the sight besides him interrupted his train of thought as he realised just who it was that had shoulder-checked him. “Shadow?”

The source of the disturbance didn’t bother offering much more than a side eye, seemingly annoyed.

It took every ounce of control for Sonic not to spit out “Hey, you’re the one who crashed into me!”

He wouldn’t have had the chance to say it anyhow, because what happened next shocked him into silence quickly enough.

“You’re slow.”

What? Wait- no, that’s not true. What?

“What?!” He exclaimed, not expecting a word from the other, let alone two.

“You heard me.” Shadow was now a few inches ahead of him, which Sonic quickly corrected by upping his pace.

“What’re you doing here?” A stupid question that could easily be answered by common sense.

I don’t know Sonic, what would a person running in the forest, wearing a loose black sweater and bright red joggers be doing? Do you need to phone a friend for this one?

Shadow’s eyes easily agreed with this inner monologue, his eyebrows pinching for a second, confusion piercing through his annoyance, if only momentarily.

The dark hedgehog didn’t dignify the ridiculous question with a statement, instead focusing his gaze forward and upping his momentum to leave Sonic in the dust

What the hell?

The mobian was too thrown off to chase after his coworker, instead watching him disappear behind a curve in the path, already lightyears ahead.

-

The burn in his lungs was familiar, almost satisfying. The air was sharper this way, and it felt so pure it almost hurt. His left shoulder throbbed slightly as he jogged down to a walk, approaching the same wooden arch he’d entered by earlier.

Shadow had hit him harder than he’d realized – the adrenaline must’ve played a part in numbing the now increasingly grating sensation. He moved his arm as he caught his breath, stretching the mass of muscles to try and reduce the damage. It did little difference, which more or less confirmed that a bruise was blooming in that very spot.

Was this enough of a harassment case to warrant another discussion with Rouge? He briefly allowed himself to contemplate this as his frustration rose and fell along with his breath.

He couldn’t prove it was Shadow, and he doubted the brooding hedgehog would ever corroborate his story.

The idea was abandoned before he could form any sense of hope around it.

-

The bus stop consisted of an old wooden bench, the grey wood less-than-comfortable for long periods of time. Checking his watch, he sighed. Another 10 minutes or so before the bus came around – if the driver was on schedule.

Bored, he turned his attention to the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine nearby. He didn’t know why he had expected it to be anyone else, but of course, it was Shadow he saw, slinging a leather jacket across his back and holding a helmet between his gloves.

God, the guy was so pretentious.

“Nice running out there.” He yelled in his most sarcastic voice.

He received a glare from afar and a mumbled word, surely an insult that was far from PG-13.

Grunting, Sonic pushed himself up on tired legs and approached the bike, glaring back at its owner.

Shadow paused in his ministrations; helmet held steadily in between leather-clad hands. (Did everything have to be leather? Such an asshole.)

“I said, nice running out there.” He repeated, hands on his hips as he awaited the insult that would proceed. This time, he’d be close enough to hear it, and close enough to land a hit on Shadow’s stupidly sharp jaw, should he feel insulted enough to do so.

Dark eyelids narrowed, before spitting out his response. “I know.”

He felt his hand twitch, just reeling to hear the next words that fell off of that sharp tongue.

It wasn’t enough that this guy had taken over his workplace, his mind, no- it had to be more. Now, he had to be there when they weren’t on the clock, obnoxiously close when he was supposed to be very far away.

“And I already told you, thanks.”

Thanks.

“Thanks?” the statement pulled him out of his fury for a second.

“Thanks.” He re-affirmed, as if it made any sense.

“For what?” the incredulity in his voice made him sound like he’d been born yesterday.

“The compliment.” He shook his shoulders.

“The compliment?” Now he was starting to sound more like a parrot than a hedgehog.

His less-than-stellar conversing techniques seemed to irritate Shadow enough to frown, fangs poking out on the edges of his lips.

Had Shadow seriously not heard the sarcasm dripping from Sonic’s statement? Did he not say it condescendingly enough? Or, wait, was Shadow fucking with him?

As he tried to make sense of their exchange (as he needed to do for most of their interactions), Shadow continued in his previous task: getting far away from this place. “Excuse me.” He muttered through the helmet he’d just put on, though the words were much more of a warning than a gesture of politeness. Besides, polite people didn’t shoulder-check coworkers in the forest.

He swung his legs over the bike, revving the engine to snap some sense into sonic, who was currently standing in the way of the vehicle. Not wishing to become a flattened version of himself, the cobalt hedgehog took a few steps away.

He was speechless (again! What was with this guy stealing away his ability to talk?), unable to retort, question, or even insult the other before he was left in a cloud of carbon, coughing the heavy scent away from his tired lungs as his brain struggled to piece things together.

One of these days, Shadow the Hedgehog would lose the ability to shut him up, this, Sonic was sure of. It was only a matter of time…

Right?

-

A/N

Party chapter is up next hueheuehueheue

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