Title: "Control" Pairing: Arthur/Dagonet Rating: PG-13 Summary: Dagonet isn't a poet. Disclaimer: Never happened. All rights belong to Touchstone Pictures, not me. Notes: Drabble for French_hobbit for this fic challenge. Dagonet wasn't one much for words. Vowels and consonants felt clumsy on his tongue, made as much sense as sleeping without a weapon nearby. So much about his life was beyond his control – where he slept, ate, the language he spoke, why he fought and whom. He couldn't control the weather or Woad attacks or Lancelot's unpredictable mood swings. But, when he was here, in the glow of the fire, hands and lips roaming over Arthur's sweat-slick skin in rough greed...here everything made sense. Here his tongue felt – not clumsy – but poetic, tracing lines and stanzas on Arthur's skin. Here, there was peace. If you enjoyed this fic, please leave feedback here. Thanks!