Work Text:
Arthur/Lancelot - requested by thegreatpiehaps
Lancelot and Arthur had been best mates since they were each eleven years old. They had met on the first day of secondary school. Lance (as Arthur called him) had been suitably impressed by his surroundings; after all, they were attending the most prestigious school in the county. Lance hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going and walked right into a group of fourth formers. They had turned around and shoved Lance into a locker, sneering at Lance’s hand-me-down clothes, when Arthur saw them. He had stepped in front of the boys without realizing it. Lance crouched on the ground behind Arthur, and he had later described the scene with awe. There was Arthur, his own little blonde head a good eight inches shorter than the shortest of the fourth formers, but something flickered across their faces and they had moved away. Ever since, Lance had stuck fast to Arthur’s side, and even though they came from completely different backgrounds, never were two boys more loyal.
As they grew, Arthur found himself looking at Lance as more than a mate. At 12, he first noticed that Lance’s skin was just this side of olive and his hair a warm espresso, and it made his deep, brown eyes look almost black. At 13, Arthur saw Lance naked after practice and without meaning to, his eyes had trailed down his chest to his cock. Arthur had blushed and rushed out of locker room without changing, holding his gym bag in front of him to hide the erection. At 14, Arthur woke in the middle of the night, his boxers sticky around his crotch. He knew he’d been dreaming of his best friend. At 15, one slumber party found Arthur and Lance the last to fall asleep, the two of them whispering conspiratorially in Leon’s darkened house and Arthur looked over at his friend. The streetlight was just barely coming in through the window, dimly shining on the two of them, and it was just light enough that Arthur could see Lance’s lips only inches away from his. Without realizing it, Arthur moved forward and pressed himself against Lance. A clumsy, close-mouthed kiss that left Arthur feeling light-headed with fear. He pulled back, unable to meet Lancelot’s eyes. A moment passed. Then another and another until Arthur couldn’t take it because it felt like an eternity had gone by in the span of thirty seconds. He looked up. Lance was watching him closely, silently.
And suddenly he was moving back into Arthur’s space and pushing his lips to Arthur’s. Arthur kissed him back, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Lancelot’s thick hair. He parted his lips, feeling his heart racing in his chest. Lance moved to crawl on top of him, lying flat, and Arthur could feel the outline of his cock against his thigh. This was all new: the press of another tongue in his mouth, the scratch of slight stubble on his cheek, the hot press of air coming from Lance’s nostrils as he breathed heavily through his nose, the rough fabric of his boxers rubbing against his too sensitive cock as Lance thrust against him. They both came like that, Lance pressing his head into the crook of Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur biting his lip as he stared up into the dark room.
They fell asleep shortly afterward, and the next day neither of them mentioned it. Arthur was too scared to bring it up, and almost three years had passed and they were applying to university. That night never came up nor did it ever repeat. Their fifth form year, Lance met a girl name Gwen and the two of them hit it right off. Arthur rarely saw Lance without Gwen these days, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to blame his friend. Not when they were both just being who they were at heart. Arthur let him go to Gwen and smiled as Lance told him about their first date, first kiss, first time.
And yet, some nights, Arthur allowed himself one small, selfish thing. He stayed up and thought about that moment years before. His hand would find its way into his pants, and he would squeeze the base of his cock tightly. He’d lie on his back and stare into the dark like he had back then and pretend that it was Lance whispering in the dark next to him, telling him how he had always loved him and wanted to be with him always. Arthur would imagine their lives together, he would imagine them kissing in the shower, the kitchen, the park. He would imagine kneeling on all fours as Lance thrust his fingers into Arthur from behind, before lining up his thick cock with Arthur’s arse and sliding in all in one thrust. Arthur imagined what he would taste like, if he would smell salty; if his skin would flush red with orgasm. If Lance would make him laugh in bed, would worship Arthur on his knees, making eye contact. And Arthur would come, then, all over his hand as he stared into the dark room, alone, his mind playing out the scenes over and over.