Not sure if this chapter is rated T or M for sexual content ;)

'Get ahold of yourself, Arthur Pendragon, don't be an imbecile!'

Arthur paces the hut like a caged animal, chastising his body back under control. He clenches and unclenches his fists, refusing to allow his hands resolve the issue.

'You are not some - some uncouth youth, you are a KING…'

Except he wasn't anymore. Not a king now, just a man on the mend, abstinent for weeks. This reaction to a warm body -any body- is normal, natural, of course it is. It wasn't because of who…

A shudder runs up his spine recalling that long, lean body wrapped in his arms, flush against him, strong chest expanding, pulse racing, lush hair in his face smelling of-

Arthur groans as visceral heat surges downward with such speed he nearly doubles over.

He's heard enough from knights bragging about conquests to be familiar with the idea of men seeking relief with one another. He knows the crude jist of how it works, knows why a man might display a temporary limp.

But he's never partaken in those activities, never sought them out, never felt the need…

He stops, runs his hand through his hair, forces himself to reexamine the pieces of a puzzle he thought he figured out long ago.

Raucous tales around campfires, poems, ballads, tavern songs…so many stories of men accomplishing great deeds or meeting their doom - all for the beauty of a woman. One glance upon her body, one smile on her face and men would fight wars, wreck ships, commit adultery. He watched men describe women in vulgar terms, the male audience listening in rapt attention, their faces resembling his dogs when he dangled meat above them.

He had never understood any of it.

Arthur thunks his forehead against the cool wall, beats his fist in frustration.

There was a time he thought himself attracted to Morgana -tall, pale skin, ebony hair, rosy lips- a pure visage of beauty straight from any book. But for all that he tried, he never felt an urge to lie with her. He doubted his manhood, wondered if he was strange or if others also viewed female beauty as perfunctory.

"Tell me, do you think her…beautiful?" Arthur asked Lancelot, his newest knight recruit.

"Yes, sire, I do," Lancelot had replied, his voice dreamy and attention glazed over.

Arthur stared at Morgana and tried to feel…something. Anything.

"Yeah, I suppose she is," was all he could say when no desire stirred within him.

Maybe there is something wrong with him. But no matter - he knows what's expected of a man and as Prince he is accustomed to pandering to the expectations of others.

Eventually he believes he has succeeded in training himself to be attracted to women. Merlin claims he attempted to elope with Sophia. He recognized her pleasing appearance, sure, but he does not recall a desire strong enough to marry her. Perhaps this was that all-consuming love he has heard about?

Then Guinevere -familiar, comforting Gwen- speaks words of hope and encouragement, of a belief in him he doesn't even have in himself. He can't stop thinking about how she makes him feel. Surely, surely, this must be love.

Arthur twists around, falls against the wall, his head thumping backward.

When he finally has her in their marriage bed, it is soft and sweet and good. He'd never been with anyone, so the pleasure he found in her body was the pinnacle of his experience. He enjoyed it…but he didn't crave it. Sometimes he felt he did it more for her, to please her, than to take pleasure himself.

Arthur shuts his eyes, tries to disprove the theory forming in his mind by using memories of making love to Gwen to emulate his earlier reaction…

Her curvy body, soft and malleable, her supple bosom, the way her curly hair spread across the pillow and her face pinched with pleasure as he gently sheathed himself in her wet heat…a routine, functional pleasure…

Fond, but nothing ungovernable, not like…

…chasing, the thrill of the hunt, grabbing, overpowering -exhilarating- knowing Merlin could get away, but he stays, lets Arthur drape his weight over him, take rough and hard, dirt and sweat and strength mixing as Merlin grunts his need for Arthur's invasion, their bodies alight, alive, heavy thrusts in in in-

"Arthur?"

"AH!" Arthur jolts upright tense and defensive.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Merlin placates, "Didn't mean to startle you."

Arthur straightens, clears his throat into his fist, "you didn't, I'm fine," his eyes dart down.

One of Merlin's eyebrows arches, "Are you sure? Cuz it looked like you jumped out of your skin."

Arthur glares at him. "What do you want, Merlin?"

"Dinner's ready," Merlin announces, unperturbed by Arthur's icy stare. He gives a quick jerk of his head toward the food, "C'mon," then walks away, leaving the door open as invitation.

Arthur runs a hand down his face, lets out a shaky breath. His body is presenting hard evidence that proves his theory. God help him…whatever he felt with Merlin, he's desperate to feel it again - he craves it.