[Open post] ..life's a hall of mirrors..

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's been an exhausting few days. While the zombie siege was dangerous, Lancelot is proud of how they handled things, together -- even though not everyone is friends. He was also, he must admit, grateful for the diversion. There is too much on his mind, after the truth-telling spell, and most of it sits like a stone in him... making his sleep even worse, weighing on his heart.

Still, all of that is strangely intermixed with hope. He has a few new friendships that feel like how he remembers friendship feeling -- pleasure in each other's company, time well spent, connection. There's a little piece of him that feels as if he gave that up with youth. (He was always glad to be in Arthur's company, or Guinevere's, he misses them in a way that's sometimes physically painful now that they're away from him. But all of that feels shored up by duty, devotion, love -- nothing simple.) He is glad he could speak plainly with Galahad, glad for all of these new possibilities. Glad of Susan, Laertes, Grantaire -- even Sagramore, whom only months ago he would have given little notice.

So he's reverted to keeping to himself, a little, while he thinks things through. He keeps his schedule: sleep (or not sleeping), drills in the morning, finding something to eat after that, wandering the mansion or the grounds. He's not as adrift as he was, and he is sober most of the time now, but it's an adjustment.

This afternoon he's determined that it's been too long since he took proper care of his sword. He's found a bench and has set himself up there to clean, hone, and oil the blade.

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs, settling both arms around her waist, and then kissing her more boldly this time, with an edge of heat.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan feels warm all over, down to her very toes. This is rare, for her; winter has set in at the heart of her and taken root. But between Lancelot's touch, and the sun, and the steady movement of his mouth, she feels a thawing. She presses her front against him, her chest flush against his, and lets herself be kissed.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot lets a hand slide up her back, pressing her closer, and a little more of his hesitation falls away. It's so good to have her close, so good to be touched; he lets the kiss draw out, warm and exploratory, reveling in the feel of her, of how much he likes her... of wanting her.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Lancelot's hand on her back unlocks something inside Susan. Even though she told him he could be careful as he wants, even though she's been trying to follow his lead, she becomes aware of the hunger growing inside her. She deepens the kiss, taking over some control of it, sharing that hunger with Lancelot so that he might know she feels it.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He lets his other hand come up to brush her cheek, making a soft sound, and yields to her; he feels it, too, an aching in his chest, a heat in the pit of his stomach. Lancelot presses her closer.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan shivers at Lancelot's touch on her cheek. It feels like it's been forever since someone touched her like this, even though realistically it has only been a few short weeks. Longer than she's used to, but then she's been distracted lately and eligible men seem to be in shorter supply here.

She kisses him fiercely, then breaks away, gasping, long enough to say, "It hasn't been very long, for me; you'll have to tell me if you don't want-"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot leans back a little, to better meet her gaze; he lets his touch wander to tuck back a strand of her hair. He's flushed, his gaze dark, and while he doesn't meant to hesitate he wants to be sure he understands her. He says softly, "Go on. If I don't want what? Or rather-- what dost thou want?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Anything in particular," Susan decides. She's blushing; she can definitely feel herself blushing. She leans in and kisses him again, a short, playful thing; tone also playful, she scolds him, "You've made me abandon my grammar."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs, "I'm afraid I am not sorry for that."

There is a little pause as he brushes his fingertips across her cheek; there's a struggle within him about how much to say. After a moment, he decides. "There are things I would tell thee, things I would have thee know first, if we were to decide to lie with one another. But-- they are mostly unhappy. I am so glad to be with thee, to have thee here like this, and thou'rt beautiful as the day is, and I don't wish to spoil it. Only to enjoy thee. For today, perhaps, we keep close. Thou canst show me how best to kiss thee. Then we can sort the rest as we go." He takes a breath, then adds, "I have made so many mistakes. I wish to make none with thee, an I can help it."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan's eyelashes flutter again at his touch. For all that she has railed against gentleness in front of Lancelot multiple times now, she finds that she likes how gentle he is very much. It is a queer feeling, to realize this: she thought herself insensate to softness any more.

But just kissing! This, too, is something she must grapple with. She hasn't left off at just kissing anyone since she was young¹ and inexperienced - save, perhaps, an idling afternoon with Miriam the day after one of their private assignations, perhaps last summer. She's a goal-oriented woman, and while the end-point of that goal has evolved from feeling good to feeling anything over the past few months, the outcome has largely remained consistent for some years now.

She likes Lancelot, though. It surprises her, a little, the ways in which she likes Lancelot. Despite her ability to get along easily with them, she doesn't often make genuine friends with men. Certainly she rarely opens up to them, honest and full-throated. And she suspects she might even like him in the other way, too. She's sincerely interested in seeing where this could go, and she knows enough of his story (partly from him; partly from his legend) that she can guess what sort of things he might want to tell her about.

She finds that, to her surprise, she rather fiercely does not want to be one of his mistakes. This must mean, then, that he cannot be one of her stopgaps.

Susan considers how she can phrase her thoughts, flirtatiously and lightly enough that it makes him laugh and kiss her again. She decides, at the last minute, to go for honesty instead.

"I think that is good. I - there are things I should probably tell you first, too." She drags her gaze up to meet his head-on; flushing, she clarifies, "I have been called oversexed, in the past, and rightfully so. That is not the only thing, or the whole picture, and I am not ashamed of it, but it lies at the heart of much I would say. Kissing alone, today, is... smart. It's good. I would like that very much."

¹Thus sayeth the twenty-two year old.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot listens intently, thoughtfully, holding her gaze, his expression soft. But at the last, his smile lights again -- like he's been given a gift he didn't expect.

His arm tightens around her waist; his fingers trace along her jaw. He says, "That's well, then. And we can speak of the rest soon enough." Then he pulls her in for another kiss, sweet and suffused with gratitude, joy.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan responds in kind. It's good, to have some sense of direction. To know that Lancelot only wants this, for now, is freeing: she lets go of thoughts of impressing him with her skill, or guiding this in a direction she'll prefer, and instead focuses on the feeling of his hands on her, and his mouth against her own, and the feeling of his hair brushing her arm. The sun is warm at her back; Lancelot is warm at her front. Aided by the brightness of his smile, the chill of her permafrost recedes a few more inches.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He lets his hands move -- over her hair, down her neck, his other hand sliding up between her shoulder blades. Lancelot is learning the shape of her, attentive to her reactions, but also just enjoying her, savoring the feel of her. His kiss is languid, now, deep and still sweet; he had nearly forgotten that this kind of pleasure, this kind of connection, was possible.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

This is meditative, in a way. Lancelot's hands light a fire across Susan's skin as he runs them over her body, and Susan finds herself enjoying letting that fire simmer, but not build. She's kissing him eagerly now, matching his easy pace, but with an enthusiasm for the taste of him. Now that she's less preoccupied with what she's doing, she can acknowledge he also has skill at this, and she's glad she's sitting in his lap instead of standing, weak-kneed, clutching at his (lovely) shoulders.

She feels them now, his shoulders, firm under her hands. She lets one hand drift down his back, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, and the sturdiness below that.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Thou'rt lovely," he murmurs, in a break for breath. He cups her face in his hands, his gaze full.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"And you're sweet," Susan says, pertly, blinking up at him. And then: "And so very handsome, my God. Look at you."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs, delighted, "Dost think so?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I do," Susan says. She moves her hand on his back to his chin, pinching it lightly, using it to pull him in to a playful kiss. "You are a striking man, Sir."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot kisses her happily, still laughing a little, "I am glad to be found so striking, if that has earned me thy affections." He resettles his arms around her waist, "Art still comfortable?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Ah," Susan says. "No. I mean, yes, I'm very comfortable. But I have been very good about not noticing your looks since we decided to be friends. I'm just now letting myself catch up, you see."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh?" He grins at her, "I see. Making an effort not to notice. Well, take all the time thou dost need. I am a patient man."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"That's nice." The small, genuine smile is back. "I am a fast woman, and a quick study. I've caught up." She kisses him. "I only mean that you earned my affection with your other attributes."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I am glad to hear it," reaching up again to touch her face, letting his thumb brush along that smile. "I am glad of thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

There are many things Susan wants to say to that: that she's glad of him; that he flatters her; that his skill with his tongue is clearly equal to his skill with his sword; that she knows she's a gift. Each has a different tone, a different implication, and lends itself to a different response, and she's not certain which she wants to go for.

Rather than decide, she turns her face into his touch, letting it drag across her mouth, and kisses the heel of his thumb.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot makes a small, appreciative sound, his face heating again, and bends to kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw.