[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]

Susan nods, then pulls away to shrug off her coat and take the pins out of her hair. She tosses these aside and, shaking her hair free, extends a hand to him. "Come here," she says, quiet, firm.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He shrugs off his cloak and goes to her, reaching for her, his expression adoring.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

~~~~~

Afterward, Susan sits on her bed, back against the wall, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. She pulls Lancelot to her, kissing him once, deep and dirty and still a little shaky, and then eases him down, his head in her lap. Running a hand through his hair, smoothing the lines on his forehead, she asks, "Better?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He settles easily, feeling lighter, and rests one hand on her thigh. "Aye-- considerably."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Good." Still stroking his head - now his hair, now his cheek, now the line of his lower lip - she rests her other hand on his shoulder. She is, quite frankly, a little overcome by how sweet and attentive he was, and how well he listened. "I'm glad."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I always feel better," softly, "with thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan fancies herself a pragmatist, and fiercely independent besides. A woman who enjoys sex but doesn't let her head get turned around by her partners. A woman who makes few commitments to others beyond the here and now. She hasn't been particularly serious about many people in the past. She'd tried, with Clarence from work, after Miriam had said - it doesn't matter; it hadn't clicked. Some might argue that she'd been serious about Miriam (Ingrid had made that argument, several times), but for a multitude of reasons that seem unimportant now, Susan hadn't been convinced.

But Lancelot says these sweet little things that fluster her more than she's accustomed to. It's been happening for weeks now, ever since the first time he kissed her. She knows that she's beautiful; she knows that she's fun; she knows that she's slowly starting to be good company again. She knows that they're compatible, both sexually and as friends. And that's how she's been thinking of him, mostly: a dear friend and a sweetheart who's handsome and good in bed. Still, when he says these things that fluster her so, suspicion edges in: he's turning her head. She can speak to him, frankly, about things that are bothering her, and she barely even feels like she's taking liberties or burdening him. She's only lost herself once in the way that, over the past few months, has felt increasingly commonplace, and only for a little while - she'd caught herself and focused on Lancelot, rather than on using him to anesthetize herself to a surge of memory.

I always feel better with thee, he says, and her heart honest-to-God clenches for a moment, warmth flooding through her. Her mouth works; she licks her lips. Me too, she thinks, but she can't bring herself to speak the words aloud. She squeezes his shoulder instead.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot's hand comes up to clasp hers at his shoulder. He feels no particular need to say anything else -- this was simple truth, and he's too worn out from grieving and too glad to be in her presence, which feels like an antidote, to argue or consider it overmuch.

Just now, he's still a little in the haze of afterglow. He squeezes her fingers, wills himself to be quiet for a few minutes more.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan, meanwhile, has decided that she would like to be held. She strokes Lancelot's hair a few more times and then eases his head up so she can slip out from underneath of him and curl up at his side instead. From there, it's a simple matter of reaching, a little blindly, until she can tangle her fingers with his while she pulls his arm around her waist.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He is all too glad to pull her in close, both arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. As has become usual for him, when he is with her, he feels a great many things and gives voice to very few.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan cranes her neck up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, and then tucks her face against his collarbone. She wants to fill the silence with chatter, or something, but can't think of where to start, so she just makes a quiet noise instead.

[lanselos_du_lac]

After a long while, during which he runs a hand idly down her arm, over her hair, Lancelot eventually says, "I've a question for thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan stirs, wriggling back and scooting up until she can look at him. "Yes?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I suppose there are two questions," smiling at her. "First-- there is to be a mid-winter feast. Sagramore suggested I bring thee along with me. Wouldst thou?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh! That must be what Laertes was telling me about," says Susan. "Wanderers Gather, yes? It does sound a fun time."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, that's it. An thou wouldst attend with me, I would be very glad."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I suppose I could be convinced," smiling, stroking his side with light fingertips.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh, I shall have to find a way to convince thee, then."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I look forward to seeing the creativity of your efforts," Susan teases. She catches his roving hand in hers and squeezes his fingertips, then kisses their tips.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs, "Well, perhaps, then I should save the next question for after I've managed that."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, but now you've got me curious."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Ah, I can't deny thee," smiling at her, and brushing back a strand of hair that's come loose. "Shouldst thou attend the dance in celebration of Laertes and Sagramore's marriage, I would ask to dance with thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan's eyelashes flutter at the touch. "I do like a dance." She hesitates for the briefest moment. "Though I don't believe I've been invited."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He makes a thoughtful sound, then says, "We shall find out. But even if not at that dance, I would dance with thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan hums for a moment, eyes sparkling. "Would you!" she says, and rises from the bed, unselfconscious in her nakedness. She extends a hand to him to draw him up with her. "What dances do you know?"