Arthur bit Lancelot’s lower lip, receiving a moan against his mouth as a reward. Without pulling away, Lancelot pushed him until the back of Arthur’s legs hit the mattress— then he pushed more until he was lying on his back. They shifted further into the bed and Lancelot straddled his lap. Arthur’s hands moved to his strong thighs as if on their own accord, groping the now familiar body. Lancelot took off his tunic, revealing that expanse of scarred skin he so loved to kiss. Arthur ran his fingers across his stomach, enjoying the way his muscles tensed, sensitive, how they glinted under the fireplace’s warm light.

“I found something,” Lancelot said, a smile on his lips, and slid a hand into a pocket of his trousers. He pulled out a piece of black fabric.

A long, black piece of silk. Arthur swallowed as recognition dawned.

“Well, technically, Merlin found it. You should have seen his face when I told him what we use it for, you would have loved it.”

Arthur was so focused on the blindfold that it took a moment for Lancelot’s words to make sense.

“Wait,” he said, “what was Merlin doing in your chambers?”

Lancelot grinned, as if Arthur’s jealousy was something to be amused at. Instead of answering, he claimed Arthur’s lips with his.

Arthur was about to protest, he was, but as soon as Lancelot pulled away, he placed the blindfold over Arthur’s eyes, quieting him instantly. Arthur raised his head from the mattress to allow him to tie it. 

Arthur closed his eyes— not that it made any difference. He could feel every little thing, like this. Every shift of Lancelot’s body on top of him, how he sat back on Arthur’s lap, his thighs warm against his hips. Lancelot caressed Arthur’s face with the tips of his fingers, his touch feather-light. His cheeks, then his jaw, then his lips. Arthur kissed the fingers, tried to get them in his mouth, but Lancelot’s touch descended to his neck, then his bare chest. He barely brushed his nipples, yet the sensation made him buck his hips.

Then, Lancelot’s mouth all over his neck, just as light a touch, though warmer. Lancelot kissed a trail down his body, and Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, pulling his face closer. As his mouth wandered from Arthur’s chest to his navel, so did the rest of his body; his forearms brushed Arthur’s sides where he was supporting himself on the bed, and the inside of his thighs dragged against the outside of Arthur’s legs. He lapped and kissed his body continuously, tortuously. His lips and warm breath against the saliva-wet skin made Arthur squirm underneath him. 

The bed dipped on one side of his hips. Lancelot had Arthur’s legs caged, and with an elbow resting on the mattress, he teased the laces of Arthur’s trousers. Arthur ran his fingers through Lancelot’s hair again, placed his palm against the back of his head, and gripped tightly. Lancelot panted in response. Then, Arthur guided Lancelot’s face to his crotch, exhaling a low moan as Lancelot rubbed his cheek against his clothed, aching, hard cock. 

Lancelot started mouthing at it, lapping and sucking through his trousers. Arthur moaned, and he was unable to keep his hips from thrusting into the heat, and unable to let go of his grip on Lancelot’s hair. He couldn’t decide between pushing Lancelot’s face harder against his cock, or pulling him away to take off the damned clothes.

Eventually, thankfully, one of Lancelot’s hands trailed from Arthur’s hip to his front. He pulled the laces once, twice before they gave, and finally freed his cock. Lancelot’s mouth was immediately on it, without needing Arthur’s push. He licked it, sucked on the head, then slowly took it whole inside his mouth. A trail of saliva ran down its length, reaching the base and making him shudder. 

Lancelot bobbed his head up and down, maddeningly slow. He sucked hard once, and Arthur’s hand flew to his mouth. He bit the back of his hand so as not to make a sound. Lancelot noticed, of course. He pulled away, dragging his tongue along the length of his cock as he did so. 

“You don’t need to do that, my lord,” he said. The way his lips and hot breath brushed the head of his cock made Arthur squirm.

Arthur was about to remind him not to use his title when they were in his bedroom, but then Lancelot slid his cock back into his mouth, quickly, hitting the back of his throat. It punched a loud, shaky moan out of him, just as Lancelot wanted. With one hand still grasping Lancelot’s hair and the other moving to the back of his neck, he started guiding him. Carefully, up then down his cock, minding the way he couldn’t see the way Lancelot reacted to it. 

Tonight, it seemed, Lancelot was taking none of his carefulness. He placed his hand on top of Arthur’s, the one in his hair, and pushed his own head down Arthur’s cock. Arthur groaned, all thoughts of being mindful leaving. He grabbed Lancelot’s hair tighter and pushed his head down at the same time he snapped his hips up. Lancelot took it willingly, sucking messily, the sounds of it filling the room. Arthur panted, whimpers leaving his mouth without his permission. He could feel the bed shift where Lancelot was humping against the mattress, his moans stifled by Arthur’s cock.

As he was reaching his orgasm, he held Lancelot’s head firmly against his groin. He thrust into his mouth, rough, fast, until he came buried deep in Lancelot’s throat with a loud moan. Lancelot choked, his throat tightening around his cock, and swallowed his come before pulling away. He rested his face on Arthur’s hip, stubble and soft strands of hair tickling his sensitive skin.

After a moment, Lancelot shifted, his warmth leaving him. The mattress sunk next to Arthur's legs, then there was the sound of trousers being stripped off. Anticipation filled Arthur’s chest, and he went to pull the blindfold off, but Lancelot’s hand on his stopped him.

“Keep it on,” he said, his voice rough. 

Arthur swallowed, heat pooling on his stomach even after just coming. “Alright.”

Lancelot’s hands started to drag his trousers off, and he raised his hips to help him. Lancelot opened Arthur’s legs further to settle between them, running his hands up and down. As Arthur shifted the dark silk to cover his eyes better, he remembered something: 

"But it's alright for the person I do? Noted."

Gwaine guffawed in the midst of drinking and spilled his wine everywhere. "If I had a chance to do Lancelot, I'd probably break a law too."

Lancelot choked on his stew. Merlin's smirk finally broke free into a delighted laugh.

"Gwaine!" Arthur barked at him, exasperated, before turning back to Merlin. "What I mean is that you can't risk a chopping block just because—" he threw his hand in the direction of still recovering Lancelot, "a pretty face looks at you!"

Lancelot caught Merlin's gaze, and there was something strange and fond in his eyes. Merlin's laughter died down as he had a sinking realization that he wasn't the only guilty party. After all, Lancelot had committed to harboring a sorcerer that fateful day when they had killed the griffin. Merlin wouldn't have thought Lancelot did it only because "a pretty face looked at him", but... It fit, didn't it?

Lancelot looked at him, and then he opened his mouth.

"If I may, Sire," Lancelot called for everyone's attention. "I am also guilty of the same crime."

Merlin gaped at him. Lancelot's face was solemn, his posture properly downcast. Either he spoke the truth, or he spectacularly had them on. In Merlin's honest opinion, he was this good with theatrics only when he was doing it for a lark, and usually lost all his skill when they had to deceive someone, or explain away a sudden miracle; his only saving grace being his wonderful doe eyes.

Lancelot's soft voice struck a cord in everyone's heart. He looked at them with earnest doe eyes. They had no chance.

"You accuse Merlin of forgery for a stranger, but it was my decision to deceive you about my origin. I shared my dream of becoming a knight with him, and when he returned with a seal... I was indeed a stranger to him, but he chose to believe in me. He looked at me and saw someone worthy of honor, worthy of being a knight of Camelot. He spoke to my heart, and I found myself... enchanted. I agreed, perhaps too easily, in the face of that belief, but I hoped— wanted to live up to it. I still do."

By the end of his speech, Lancelot adorned a pretty blush, the heat of his words spreading onto his cheeks. The corners of his mouth were hiding a shy smile, and his eyes shined beautifully with the same hope from years past.

He looked at his audience. The audience was silent.

Arthur was the first to avert his gaze, the light of the campfire gracing his cheeks with reddish warmth. "I suppose we can make an exception for Lancelot," he mumbled to the side.

"We should have sent him to Nemeth, Sire," whispered Leon.

"They would have eaten him alive. We can't send him anywhere," heatedly disputed the prince.

"I am never looking into Lancelot's eyes when he's trying to persuade me. Never," Elyan whispered to Gwaine. Gwaine hummed noncommittally in response, still caught in a daze.

As the knights slowly came to their senses, Percival was the only one not surprised. After all, a year ago, when all seemed lost, when the immortal army terrorized the land, he agreed to follow that doe-eyed stranger into Camelot to save his dear bird-friend.

He exchanged an understanding glance with Merlin. Mischief hid amidst the fire's golden sparks in his eyes, and they shared a wide smile at their friend's revealed talent.

Lancelot could only stare in confusion at his brothers-in-arms. Once again, their attention was caught by something irrelevant, and they didn't recognize Merlin's obvious power over him, over all of them. Merlin was much more than a pretty face — he was inspiring words; he was a beautiful, bleeding heart; he was belief, and he was bravery. Lancelot saw no treason in following him and harboring his secrets, even if it often meant claiming his deeds and distracting others with his presence.

Everyone's attention was once again on him instead of on Merlin, and Lancelot huffed at seeing Merlin's pleased, mischievous smile.