[Semi-Closed Post] Sadmas Aftermath

[lanselos_du_lac]

Rather suddenly, after this latest mansion event or incursion of unexpected visitors, Lancelot will not be seen around and about as has come to be usual for him. He is not drilling in the field in the mornings. He is not in the café seeking pastries or companionship. He is not around the kitchens or libraries or, seemingly, anywhere.

Lancelot keeps to his room. If he bathes or shaves or uses the bathroom, he does so carefully and avoiding anyone he might meet. If Laertes leaves food outside his door, folk will find it still there later in the day. If anyone knocks, he will not call them in. He lets the mansion provision him with bread, cheese, water-- sometimes wine or whiskey -- but he doesn't much want any of it.

He cannot bring himself to speak to anyone. He cannot bring himself to do much of anything at all. The best concession he will make, with the understanding that there are those who will worry, is that he does not lock or bolt the door.

[Typist note: Anyone who might be really worried about Lancelot's sudden disappearance or withdrawal is welcome! Post is "semi-closed" really only because a character would have to deliberately decide to enter, and no one will stumble across Lancelot by accident.]

Comments

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh." Susan understands now. "The shock hadn't worn off yet."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes, I suppose so," relieved to be understood. "That first day, I think, Laertes came in the evening and we spoke. He was concerned because I hadn't taken breakfast. And thou'rt correct that seeing and speaking to friends has eased things a little, but-- it's as in other things. When shock wears off one has to face the wound itself."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan shifts from the waltz into a Narnian dance she hasn't found a true analogue for in England. It's a faster-paced one, but quick enough to pick up on, and it involves a closer, more intimate hold. It's a dance many of her suitors back then wanted to do with her, because it allowed closeness under the veneer of propriety. It is, Susan finds - in truth, with some amount of delight - entirely salacious when both dance partners are nude. An odd counterpoint to the conversation, perhaps, but Susan thinks that maybe the dancing is facilitating deeper conversation, and she wants to be closer to Lancelot than a waltz strictly allows. She says, "Still. You needn't face the wound alone."

[lanselos_du_lac]

This additional shift throws him momentarily off-kilter. He glances down, both feeling for the pattern with his body and trying to see the steps themselves.

He says, distractedly, "Nay, of course not--"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"You've got this," she murmurs, gently positioning his hands so one is on the dip of her hip and the other curved over one of hers. She slips her other hand around his shoulder and presses closer still. "Left foot - two - three... heel, turn. Shuffle right - yes, that's it exactly."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs a little -- the delight of figuring it out as she guides him -- and soon enough he has it, or at least he mostly has it.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I hope you don't think I expect you to be better all at once," Susan says, quietly, once she's walked him through leading her around the room once and he's clearly got this dance down. "I would never make an impossible ask like that."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Nay, no," at first distracted, still thinking about the dance. Then he slows, looks at her more closely.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"With your grief," she clarifies.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Nay, I am not--" He slows a little more, then flushes and tries to find his way back into the steps. "No, lady, I know--"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan slows, too, tapping his shoulder with her fingers in time with the steps, stroking over the skin there when he should be turning. "I'm sorry," she says. "I can drop the subject. I'm just trying to say it's no burden to me."

[lanselos_du_lac]

At this, he at last stops her, moving both hands to her waist. He regards her, soft and serious.

"I thank thee," his voice quiet. He brings a hand up to tilt her face toward him, fingertips running lightly up her jaw. "I know 'tis no burden to thee, and I will not worry, anymore, should I have need of thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan presses into his touch. "Good," she says, quiet, intent.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He runs his fingertips up her jaw and bends to kiss her.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She returns the kiss with a ferocity that takes her aback, a little. There are emotions underscoring the intensity, again, still nameless - she might need to understand them in pieces. She clings to him, though, dropping one hand to his waist and clutching it tightly, the other sliding further over his shoulder so she can bring him in closer still.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He lets his hand slip back to the nape of her neck and deepens the kiss.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Between the surprise and delight of the dancing, and the general intensity of the day - plus the fact that they are, of course, still undressed, and Susan is still pleasantly shaky from their earlier coupling - Susan is quite ready to go another round. She thinks about mentioning this, but doesn't want to press the issue, so instead she just lets herself rest heavily against his hands, carefully matching his every move with one of her own.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Perhaps unsurprisingly, however, given her closeness, the kiss, his own feelings, Lancelot is feeling much the same.

He gently urges her back towards the bed, his fingers tangling in her hair, and murmurs, "May I take thee back to bed?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan considers possible responses, then gives a little hop, wrapping her legs around his waist - he's a strong man; she trusts him to hold her. "Please," she says, nuzzling along his jawline.

[lanselos_du_lac]

And, of course, he does. He laughs, wrapping both arms around her, and kisses her neck as he carries her over.

~~

Afterwards, they are lying quietly together, Susan's head pillowed on his chest as he lazily combs fingers through her hair. (It is nice; it is so lovely, as she is, and Lancelot feels more at ease than he has since he was laughing with Arthur over bourbon, half-drunk.) He feels light and warm, and somehow more clear-headed than he did this morning. He feels very good, but there is something that keeps tugging at his thoughts and he knows that, if he doesn't try to address it, it will make him worry.

He hesitates for a long while, nearly enough to make Susan wonder if he's drifted off, but then he says softly, "There is one more thing I would have thee know."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan rouses herself -- between the multiple rounds and his hands in her hair, she's very nearly drifted off -- and twists a little so that she's looking at him, brushing a kiss to his shoulder in the process. "Yes?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He smiles at her, because he can't help it with her looking as she does, but then sobers just a little. "I said before, I would not leave thee," his fingers brush her cheeks, "It is true, but I do not mean for thee to take it that anything has changed."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan blinks. It takes her a moment to parse through the words, since none of them are things she expected to hear, and another moment to realize that she's really not sure what he's getting at. "Beg pardon?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot flushes a little -- he'd felt compelled to say it, but had hoped it was more obvious. "Only that I have no will to bind thee or for thee to feel bound. I would have thee do as suits thee. I did not... I chose to stay, and thought of thee, but I'd not have that press thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh!" Susan makes the connection then. "I hadn't thought it would," she confesses. Oh, she had at first; of course she had. But somewhere around the time Lancelot mentioned flirting with Laertes and clarified that his affection for the king was of a deeper nature, she'd let go of that concern. Already Lancelot has been a more regular lover than most men Susan has known, in the past - not a binding, perhaps, but still a closer connection, and so she'd categorized what he'd said about staying accordingly.

She reaches for his hand and threads their fingers together, running her thumb along the side of his index finger. They had, to her memory, agreed to be honest about potential other suitors as they explored what lay between them. She licks her lips, a delaying tactic more than anything. "I should tell you," she starts, and falls silent. She does want to be honest with him; she just doesn't know where to start.