lanselos_du_lac

Perhaps Susan is being silly? Perhaps there is a name for this emotion. An obvious name, a simple name, an easy name to pluck from the ether and hang on the way that she feels about Lancelot. There's a chance, however slim, that she might be overthinking everything.

But to name it is a different sort of commitment. She wants to be absolutely sure when she says it for the first time. It's nothing she's said before, in this sort of context, and Lancelot deserves her surety.

"I want you," she tells him, the words muffled against his mouth, because that much is easy. It's always true - which, in and of itself, is a marvel. Oh, Susan Pevensie likes sex; that's been well-established for years. Her drive for it is remarkably high. But Miriam notwithstanding, she'd always sort of expected she'd get tired of being with the same person over and over again. That it would lose its novelty and, subsequently, her interest. And yet the more time she spends with Lancelot - the more she sleeps with him - the more she wants to continue doing so.

Perhaps most revelatory, though, is her conviction that even if he's not in the mood, she shall want to spend the day with him. And the night, and the next as well.

She turns the word over in her mind, carefully.