Chapter Text
He’d felt that rope around his throat, and time had slowed to a stop. Adrenaline had rushed through his body, he’d struggled and thrashed, but the hemp was cinched tight around his neck and he couldn’t breath or make a sound.
Pulse pounding behind his eyes, chest on fire, he’d scratched at his throat and dug his heels into the dirt. Yanked back, he gagged and tilted, hanging inches off the ground from the strength of the rope alone.
And then it was gone, suddenly slack, and he fell the rest of the way to the ground. His fingers twitched and he tried to pull the braided material away from his skin, but he was so lightheaded that he couldn’t manage it. There were hands there, brushing his own away and pulling the constriction away from his airpipe.
He gasped, ragged and wheezing, coughing as someone helped him sit up. Gentle fingers on his abraded skin, warm dark eyes swimming hazily in front of his face.
Charles.
“You okay?” That voice was soft and smooth, concern lacing his words, and Arthur didn’t know if he could speak. His body was still stuck in that moment of panic, still trying to suck in enough air, and he was so dizzy he thought he might pass out. Felt hot and cold and shaky.
He’d said something, made some joke, but he hadn’t a clue what it was. Everything was a rush, and the next moment they’d been shot at, fighting again, bursting through a barn door and barely able to focus. And then it was over, quiet, and Arthur had gone to collect their wayward magician.
It was as he was left standing there by that shack in the fields, that he realized he was hard.
Dizzy with the events of the past hour, he slumped against the outside wall and looked down at the tent in his pants. When... had that happened? And why? He’d been in plenty of gunfights and near death situations, and this had never been his body’s response. What was different?
Was it from being choked near the point of unconsciousness?
His cock throbbed in his pants, and gave him his answer. Well, that was fairly fucked up.
Closing his eyes, he let out a slow breath and tried to will his erection away, but his head, still fuzzy from adrenaline, only made things worse. The scene reappeared, and Charles appeared in his mind’s eye, touching his neck. Leaning over him. Wrapping his hand gently around the tender skin, stroking carefully over the marks.
Dammit, he shouldn’t think things like this. It... it wasn’t right.
He opened his eyes again and glanced around, but the field was empty. There was nobody nearby, and if this thing wasn’t going to go away on its own... Better just get rid of it quick.
Unbuckling his belt and shucking his suspenders down, he opened his pants and bit back a groan as his cock sprang up. Fuck, why was he so hard? This had never happened to him before, he’d never thought about this sort of thing. But his tip was already leaking, and he just wanted to get it over with.
That’s what he told himself.
Closing his eyes again, he dug his shoulders into the wall behind him and shifted his heels apart and his hips forward. He took a firm grasp, shuddering and giving a rough, aching breath from his mouth.
The fantasy resumed as if it had never stopped. Charles was touching his neck, kneeling over him, except now Arthur’s cock was out and he was touching himself in full view of the other man. That hand tightened a bit, cutting off just a little air, and Arthur’s next breath was tinted by a moan.
“You like this?” Fantasy-Charles asked, his voice that low rumble, and Arthur touched his own neck as he nodded. He made his grip mimic that in his head, and began to stroke faster.
Charles might push him back down to the dirt by his neck, hold him there and watch as he jerked himself off like a degenerate. He might sit on his legs, squeeze tighter on his neck, make Arthur gasp and struggle to buck his hips upwards into his fist.
He tightened the hold on his neck, tilted his head back and gave a strangled moan. His balls felt tight, and he released his cock to pull on them, choking himself enough to get that dizzy-light feeling again. It made his lips tingle and his fingers clumsy, and it was good.
“Are you close?” Fantasy-Charles whispered against his ear, and now he was the one tugging on Arthur’s cock and balls, gently strangling him and sending him rushing towards his peak.
“Y-yeah.” He gagged, voice reverberating inside his head along with his pounding heartbeat. His throat ached, felt raw, and he moved his fist tight and slick over the tip of his shaft, swirling his palm around the head and feeling his knees start to shake. He was close, so fucking close, felt that pressure in his eyes and that floating sensation in his head and body.
His pulse was shocking through his nerves, and as he crested the top of that edge, he gripped the base of his cock and released his throat, sucking in a desperate gasp of air that rushed through his body and was forced back out in a wavering moan as he spilled onto the ground between his boots in thick spurts.
His legs buckled and he slipped down the wall, jerking himself through the nearly blinding orgasm, mouth open and raggedly panting in the hot, sticky air of Lemoyne. Little white sparks danced behind his eyelids, and his body was almost impossible to control.
He might have passed out for a second.
When Arthur came to, his limbs were heavy, as was the shame that came following right after. He looked down at himself and the mess on his hand, the spots he’d gotten onto his pants, and the slightly tacky blood smeared between his thumb and forefinger on his other hand from the broken skin on his throat. The hand he’d choked himself with...
“Th-there’s somethin’ really wrong wit’chu, Morgan.” He rasped to himself, closing his eyes again and letting his head thunk back into the wood. How the hell was he supposed to go back to camp after this?