[Closed Post] ..lines we're leaving behind..

[lanselos_du_lac]

He doesn't really mean to, but Lancelot keeps to his rooms for a time in the wake of the latest mansion upheaval. He doesn't disappear for days, and he mostly keeps his routines -- he does spend a little more time riding -- but he is subdued and not idly floating about for socializing.

It could have been worse. He knows this. He knows, too, that no one did this on purpose; he's grateful for Susan and Nightingale's understanding. But none of that makes it easier to regain his emotional balance. Much like that day (which felt very long), he is still grappling occasionally with that sensation of being... just outside of himself, a step removed, dizzy and longing to be even further away.

Still, he does not want to punish Susan and he knows they should talk. So this morning after he puts up Rivelin, he goes to find Susan, wherever she might be.

Comments

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, of the worst sort," Susan assures him. She feels lighter than she has in months, effervescent. Every point of contact between them is sparking under her skin.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot kisses her neck, her shoulder, her cheek. "An thou'rt happy, I would keep thee," he says, softly and with feeling. "God knows nothing aside from thee has made me happier."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

That's a lot! It's the same sort of 'a lot' that had her making her final withdrawal from Clarence: a declaration of commitment she's not yet sure she can match.

But she never even came close to feeling about Clarence the way she feels about Lancelot. She mightn't know what it is, precisely - or she mightn't be ready to decide - but she does know one thing: right now, she has no intention to withdraw from Lancelot, in any way. She can't quite bring herself to say, you have me, but she allows herself to think it, and doesn't shy away from the words. She should like to be able to say it. For the time being, she cups a hand over his cheek, stroking softly, and leans up to kiss him, deep and heartfelt and aching with it. By the time she pulls away, she's found some words: a whisper-soft "I'm happy."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Christ," softly, "Thou'rt so good." He turns his head to kiss her palm, then shifts to kiss her again properly.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Paradoxically, Susan feels rather as if she might cry. She's not sure why: she's so warm and so light right now, and the eternal snarl at the core of her feels almost loose - like it might one day come untangled. It's simple enough to drown the urge in his mouth, though, and she closes her eyes (which feel hot) and clings to him.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He kisses her sweetly, with focus, as if there is nothing else in the world and there need be nothing else. His fingertips brush her jaw, her cheek; and though it's certainly sensual, seduction isn't the point. He needs her to know what he feels, how he values her company, her friendship, everything about her.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Oh, Susan can tell. She's overwhelmed by it, by his unbridled intensity, continually flicking her eyes open to peek at him and then letting them drift back closed so she can focus on the physicality of the feeling. When he kisses her she chases his mouth; when he touches her she shivers. She brings her arms around his back, flattening her hands against his shoulderblades so she can feel the way they shift as he moves, then runs a foot up and down his leg before hooking it behind his knee.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot moves closer, sliding his fingers into her hair, and lets desire take over.

~~

Afterwards, he keeps her nestled close at his side, his arms a little tighter around her than usual.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan is trembling, face tucked against Lancelot's chest, just starting to register that her eyelashes are damp. She still feels like she's brimming over with something indefinable, and so she's focusing on letting his touch ground her again.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He does his best to simply be solid. His free hand is smoothing back her hair, steady and consistent. He says nothing, just focuses on being present and enjoying her presence. He can tell that she's a little overwhelmed.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

It's not often that Susan Pevensie feels that she's at a total loss for words. This is one of those rare times. She wants to let Lancelot know how very much she appreciates - so many things; she can hardly start narrowing down a list right now - but when she finally lifts her head so she can look at him, and speak, the words don't come. So she presses a kiss to his shoulder instead.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh, sweet," he says, very softly.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She looks up at him, a question in her eyes.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot cups her face in the hand that isn't still holding her as close to him as he can manage. Softly he says, "Canst speak thy mind, or not. As thou likest. All I want just now, either way, is to have thee close. Which I have-- so I am happy."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

With a shiver, Susan presses her cheek more firmly against his hand, then twists her head so she can brush a kiss to the center of his palm. After another moment, she clears her throat and tries for a smile. It's tremulous, but solidifies as she takes him in. "You," she says, hoarsely, "are a marvel."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He smiles up at her, soft and overcome, his gaze bright. His thumb runs over her cheekbone. He looks a little overcome, and so his only reply is to pull her down into another kiss.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She goes easily, so easily. She feels, at last, sated, like she's just starting to make up for the time he needed to take for himself. "I think--"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Say on, sweet," kissing the corner of her mouth.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She strokes her toes along his ankle, pleased, and kisses him again. Then: "I rather think a bath is in order. Or perhaps a shower." She kisses him again. "Would you join me? I should like to laze with you."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Gladly," he says. He has no desire to be anywhere that isn't next to Susan. "That sounds very nice."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan kisses him, and then twists her head so that she can brush another kiss across his fingertips. She doesn't want to pull away from him in the process of getting up, even for just a few moments. Still, though, she steels herself and eventually rises, trailing a hand down his side as she does. She doesn't get up, though, just sits pressed against Lancelot's side as she leans over to retrieve a hairbrush from her bedside table so she can start working out the tangles that have formed across the - frankly - marathon sex they've been having today.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot watches her, his gaze soft, finally feeling settled in himself. Just a few months ago, less than half a year, he would not have thought anything like this could be possible. Not just the mansion in all its unlikelihood, but his feelings for Susan, their ... he isn't sure what to call this, what is between them. He only knows that it is real.

He has seen in her something akin to what he feels; he won't let himself get caught up in regretting isolating himself the last few days, but he knows now that, should anything else happen, he won't manage things the same way.

He watches her work the brush through her dark hair, and lets himself be soothed by being in her company, comfortable, safe.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Eventually, Susan's hair is a smooth, shining stream down her back. It's queer - she hasn't felt the need to pose or put on airs to impress Lancelot despite the mundanity of the act of working out her tangles. Instead she feels surfeited by his warm presence at her side. The soft look in his eyes cuts through to the quick of her, and she finds herself so fiercely glad that he's here, in her room, in her life.

She leans back over him to set the brush back in its place. The ends of her hair slide over his chest, and she takes a moment to kiss him then, soft and sweet.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He brushes her cheek again, and once the kiss breaks he makes himself sit up. He feels they could stay here, like this, all day. It would suit him. But bathing would suit him just as well.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan runs a hand down his arm. This feeling - this reluctance to not be constantly touching him - is new and strange in its newness; usually she's quite pragmatic about her assignations. But, she reminds herself, they have a relationship; they agreed upon that. Perhaps this might be part and parcel of that?

Still, she threads their fingers together as she rises, and tugs him after her into her en-suite. "A shower might be more focused," she says, thoughtfully. "And then we might more quickly return to the utter excess of whiling away the day in bed. But a bath is more intimate." Her gaze flicks to him, to his face; she finds that she has no interest in dragging it away. "Have you got a preference?"