Safehouse #2
"You are always calm as still water or wild as a raging storm, but rarely do I see you anything as humble as flustered," Galehaut replied, painting his body in kisses again as two of his thick, hot fingers pushed into Lancelot's body. "I find it endearing—enchanting."
"You already have me spread out like a whore, there's no need to offer up sweet words. Do what we both want, Your Highness."
Galehaut kissed his nose before rising up on his knees again.
Lancelot sighed happily at the sight, the mass and strength of him, the effortless ease with which he managed all that strength, used it far more for kindness and pleasure than for violence.
All his for the next several hours, to enjoy as he pleased.
Grasping his thighs, Galehaut spread him wider than ever and pulled Lancelot slowly onto his cock. All the thoughts in his head spun away again as that cock, as impressive and considerable as the rest of the man, filled and consumed him.
"Shameless and greedy," Galehaut said softly, voice all satisfaction and matching greed. "You take my cock like you were crafted for it, pretty thing."
Lancelot could not form words, only moan and flail once more for the headboard, because the ever-so-fine trembling in Galehaut's body said that soon he would need the anchoring.
They were both breathing raggedly as Galehaut finally seated himself.
Lancelot groaned, knuckles white where he gripped the headboard, though his hands were sweat-slick and likely to lose their grip before long.
He was split wide and stuffed full and utterly addicted to the feeling.
To this man who had bewitched him like no other.
Called him beautiful instead of enemy, and surrendered his entire life on the chance of what twenty-four hours might bring him instead.
"Fuck me, already, knave. You know I can take it.
Was I not here waiting, all but begging for it? Have me."
"Have you I will," Galehaut said on a growl that thrummed in the bones, a giant of old come to raze a human village and take any prize that struck his fancy.
Grabbing Lancelot's hips not quite hard enough to bruise, though Lancelot wouldn't complain if he had Galehaut's fingertips marked on his skin later, he set a punishing pace that threatened to break Lancelot and the bed, pulling out and thrusting back in, taking him apart piece by piece.
Sweat stung Lancelot's eyes, obscuring his vision, leaving him lost in a world of heat and pleasure and panting breaths.
Galehaut pulled out roughly, flipped him over and put him on his knees, and fucked back into him, arms like bands around Lancelot as he slammed into him over and over, using him so thoroughly that Lancelot's vision went not just blurry but spotted black, tears streaming down his face from the depth and force of Galehaut's strokes, the overwhelming sensations setting him aflame from the inside out.
He screamed as he came a second time, spilling over the beautiful blanket that would have to be discarded now, falling to the bed, not even able to brace himself on his elbows, simply cling to the soiled bedclothes, as Galehaut used him a few minutes more before finally sinking in and coming hard.
They lay there several minutes, Galehaut's slowly softening cock still filling him, fighting to get their breaths back.
Lancelot ached from temple to toe, sore in ways that the most arduous practice could not leave him, tender in ways that would leave him unfit for horse riding for a day or so.
Good thing he did not have anywhere to be, and salves made by Elaine and Guinevere that would ease him.
They did love to smirk and giggle as they handed over their clever workings.
He whimpered into his pillow as Galehaut finally withdrew, his spend painting Lancelot's thighs.
"Oh, to have the gift of artists to capture the image of you properly used and sated," Galehaut said, smearing the mess he'd made further, reaching back to tease his fingers over Lancelot's well-used hole.
Lancelot whimpered again. "Cease, knave, I'll need a few hours respite before I can take you again."
Galehaut chuckled, entirely too pleased with himself, and climbed from the bed. He removed the soiled blanket, gently shifting Lancelot about to get it from under him, then slipped away to put it where the laundry women could take it away later.
When he returned to the bed, it was with a warm cloth to clean Lancelot thoroughly, and the salve to ease the hardest-used parts of him.
A soft kiss was pressed to his temple, and Galehaut slipped away again.
The next time he returned, it was with a new blanket and a tray of food to eat there in bed.
Once he had Lancelot settled against an absurd number of pillows and well-covered in blankets, like he was not made to swim in waters colder than ice, Galehaut insisted on feeding him.
"Everyone is going to think I'm the spoiled rotten brat favorite of Arthur who keeps you as a pet," Lancelot protested, but that didn't stop him from accepting an offered bite of roasted goose, though he took more pleasure in sucking the broth from those large fingers.
Galehaut's eyes were filled with banked heat and endless adoration. "Who is here to see how I enjoy being the one to spoil you? My greatest pleasure is serving you, be it with my strength, my actions, or my cock."
"I do not deserve you, but I will let no one tear you from me," Lancelot said, eschewing an offered piece of cheese in favor of kissing Galehaut until they both needed desperately to breathe.
Lancelot woke to darkness and a star strewn sky full of more colors than could easily be counted.
He rubbed at his eyes, still heavy with the sleep he never seemed to get enough of.
The muffled whirring of the car's solar engine faded, and he yawned before asking, "Where are we?
" The doors opened and he climbed out—then just stared uncomprehending at the enormous, looming building before him.
It was unmarkable, practically a black cube in the middle of nowhere, like an instance dungeon had been left lying around in the real world somehow.
It was roughly the size of a two-story house, the kind that lined the edges of the inside of the domed cities, where rich but not rich people lived. "Merlin, what the fuck?"
"Is this…" Dred stared incredulously. "Is this a bug box?"
Lancelot made a silent "oh" in reply as he finally realized what he was staring at.
In the 2070s a horrifying plague had swept the world, violently contagious and immune or hostile against all the known tricks of the trade at the time.
Even the precious domed cities had not been safe.
People had built safe houses in the wild, fled to them, used the technology of the time to hide there.
Instead of spheres, they'd built much simpler, cheaper and easier cubes with camouflage tech.
Many had gone completely off grid with them, rampantly paranoid of even their feudal overlords.
Which they should have been all along, but that was neither here nor there.
Officially they were Quarantine Houses or Quarantine Retreats. But everyone had started calling then bugout boxes, and then of course just bug boxes.
"Merlin, where the hell did you get a bug box?"
"You're joking right? Are you forgetting my family is obscenely wealthy in this life?
My grandparents built this and maintained it.
They lost a lot of friends to the Redfern plague.
Remained paranoid the rest of their lives.
Once we… woke up, I guess…I immediately started getting to work preparing it for us.
Can't do anything about the fact we have to be able to get into the game, which puts us on the grid, but I have obfuscated the hell out of this thing.
Bare minimum, it would take them ninety days to crack our location.
If things go well for them, which they won't."
"The others should be here soon. Dred, get—"
"I'll get him," Lancelot cut in, and went to the trunk of the car to retrieve Scrob's body.
Thanks to something Merlin had done, it hadn't stiffened up yet, and the manner of death meant there was little to no blood, but it was still grizzly work carrying a corpse a couple of hours old into the house.
He followed Merlin down to a basement, where he laid Scrob's body gently down on a long, wide table inside a giant ass fridge-freezer thing filled to bursting with food.
In life, Scrob had been painfully thin, with pasty white skin and bright, carroty curls that had rarely seen a comb, more freckles than could be counted, and the third and fourth fingers of his left hand missing.
Arms slid around his waist, Merlin's head resting on his shoulder.
"I know you've set your mind, but this wasn't your fault.
Not a single fucking one of us anticipated Amphelise would show up by way of possessing somebody like a goddamn spook.
At worst, I thought they'd all get kicked out of the game.
When we faced Ethelfleda as a dragon, she didn't kill anyone, they just 'died' in game and got sent back to start. I know, I monitored."
"I painted a target on his back," Lancelot said harshly.
"I am who I am, and everywhere I go I affect the people around me, whether I want to or not.
Being Arthur's right hand comes with consequences, and those consequences are always at risk of causing collateral damage.
I knew that. But I decided to be a spoiled brat and show off anyway. He was just a fucking kid."