Disclaimer: Merlin and its characters belong to BBC. This? It's only playing in the sand, quite harmless and profitless. Please don't sue.

Warnings: Slash. It's actually my first foray into slash (as it is my first foray into Merlin fanfiction, btw), so any opinion on how it worked out would be welcome.

A/N: The title is a play of words (yes, I love those): (K)Nights Out

English is an amazing language :)

So... Read and enjoy! (and review ;D )

Lancelot has, he knows, a flair for the romantic. He'd bend down graciously in front of a lady, kissing the palm of her hand. He's all a brush of lips, chaste and promising, full of promises of one day.

But Arthur's not a patient man. He's not a lady, either, thank you very much. Frankly, he's not interested in chaste and one day. Not when now will do just fine.

That is why Lancelot is quite lost, vulnerable in the eager kiss he's receiving. Pinned to the stable wall, no less.

On the night of his knighting ceremony.

No one quite mentioned that part of initiation to him, though in his fractured mind he has to wonder if it's because he's different (not a nobleman) that Arthur is not afraid of the consequences and him refusing.

Then his scattered thoughts organise enough to remind him that Arthur doesn't know, and that makes Lancelot kiss back more desperately, wishing to contain the potent secret within himself.

There are teeth leaving marks on his neck and he reaches forward with his own, seeking the Prince's parted lips, biting at the sensitive skin. The kiss turns even more brutal /bestial/ between his bruised neck, duelling tongues and scratching teeth, and there is nothing romantic about it, nothing gentle or chivalrous. It's now; his moment of triumph and meeting midway with, for just a second he can imagine that, an equal opponent. Arthur's not a lady, and Lancelot doesn't need romantic.

When Arthur's hands find a hard hold on his hips, he knows the Prince doesn't need it, either. His hands are scorching Lancelot's skin under the fabric and he feels marked, claimed, possessed, and he feels happy about it.

He didn't realise how much he needed someone. And how much relief it brings to release control to somebody else.

Camelot, he thinks as he sighs heavily into the lingering kiss, and Arthur, feels right. It feels home.

The End