lanselos_du_lac

Susan wants - so much. She's always been a fairly independent woman, comfortable left to her own devices even when she'd rather be surrounded by people who - frankly - adore her or want her or wish she'd pay attention to them. She has, historically, chafed whenever someone has expected her to dedicate more time and energy on them than she's willing to give. For years, this was because her family came first, even when they were fighting bitterly about the existence of Narnia.

(And even before that: Lucy had always been focused on Aslan and faith and steadfast valor; Peter, on Narnia and victory and expansion; Edmund, on justice and diplomacy their neighbors; and so Susan was left to care about her siblings and, to a lesser extent, the people directly under their care. Her siblings had never asked for it, but that was because they had never needed to; they were always her responsibility, her calling, her primary concern. But she cared for them. She didn't - couldn't - need looking-after of her own.)

And so Susan is used to hitting her limit with people. When they ask too much of her, or when they infringe on the hard-won feeling of independence she's wrested from her own dedication to her family and brought with her to her time with friends and lovers. She doesn't doubt that there might be a time when she hits that limit with Lancelot - even if just for a little while, like she would with Miriam or Ingrid.

But she hasn't hit that limit with Lancelot yet. She doesn't even feel like she's approaching it. She wants more from him, more and more and more. Not just to have him here with her until they're ready for that lunch she'd prepared for them. Not even to have him here with her for the rest of the day and through the night - she wants longer, and can't even begin to say how long. And she wants things beyond his simple proximity. His body, obviously; that's been a low-grade constant since she met him. But his attention, too; his care and his time and - yes - his love. She needn't tie him to the bed and keep him there - though that might be fun, at some point; she shall have to find some rope or scarves for such a purpose eventually - she likes that he has his own life here. But, crucially, she likes that she's part of it.

She cups his cheek with a warm, trembling hand, and then runs it back along his jaw until her fingers are curved around behind his head, and lets his touch guide her closer to him, and pours all her unspeakable, undefinable feelings into the kiss.