lanselos_du_lac

Lancelot sighs into the kiss, relaxing warmly into it, holding her gently but with a solid, steady presence. It's unusual, he thinks, to feel Susan tremble -- he likes her strength, her independence, the way she carries herself. It's that sharpness that first led him to trust her, though he's not sure he could explain quite why. As his feelings for her have grown, that has stayed at their center; she has said that he is solid, and he knows that to be true, but so is Susan.

In these moments where she seems vulnerable, or as if she is allowing herself to be vulnerable, he feels his own certainty growing, his desire for that ebb and flow between them to strengthen. (A partnership, he realizes, with some faint kind of surprise.) There doesn't seem to be an end to how his care, need, desire, affection for her might grow.

He lets his other hand caress her jaw, her cheek; he holds the kiss.