[Open Post] ..only want to glean the purpose..

[lanselos_du_lac]

Since they learned of Shen Yuan's death, things have been subdued; rightly so, Lancelot reasons. He has done what he can to be a support for those he loves, and to keep his own worry and anxiety at bay. He worries about how they are all doing, about whether or not they are safe, about what he can do to make anything better -- which often feels like nothing. It's unsettling, and he wants to stay settled and present for them, so he determines to find a way to be so.

As has always been the case for him, being outside helps. The weather is warming and true spring is settling in. (He has difficulty keeping track of what time may be like back in Britain¹, but he suspects that it is early summer there. If so, then he supposes that means he is another year older, which is a strangely hopeful thought.) And so, after his lunch with Susan, he heads back out -- he might ride, or walk through the woods, or explore the lake. Whatever keeps him out in the sunshine, under the sky.



^{1: He has not quite realized this yet, but he has generally stopped thinking "at home" when he means Camelot, or Britain in general. That this place -- no, these people -- have become home in so short a span is something he has to take by degrees, lest he worry about what it means for his relationship with those he left behind there.}

Comments

[timebethine]

Laertes looks up, surprised. "What? How? Thou hast been the utmost of a man in all things."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Hear thyself," with a little lopsided grin.

[timebethine]

A small, answering smile. "Well, then."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"So thou seest." He cups Laertes' cheek and kisses him, sweetly.

[timebethine]

That brief, sweet kiss is like a ripe berry; at once, he craves another. "How wouldst thou while away the hours with me, then? I'd be grateful of a rest, and a quiet pastime."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot lingers, looking at him, brushing his cheek with one thumb. He can think of nothing to suggest, struck as he is by the sight of him in the dappled light of the woods. So instead he kisses him again.

[timebethine]

That kiss feels so nakedly earnest--not craving or claiming, but like a kind of beholding; it makes Laertes feel seen and treasured, held like a precious thing. He shapes his hand to the dip of Lancelot's waist, and lets himself appreciate the well-honed beauty of his form in the same innocent, undemanding way.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot lets the kiss draw out, and when he draws back a little he says softly, "I love thee."

He knows he hasn't put it quite so plainly to Laertes before. He feels he should have said it sooner, but now -- in the warmth of spring, in the quiet under the trees -- seems as good a time as any to correct that lapse.

[timebethine]

Laertes gazes into his eyes, so near a shade of hazel to his own. There is gold in them, and honey-brown, and a warm brown like molasses; there are tiny threads of moss-green and the green of patina on copper. Laertes could gladly spend a day finding all of the subtle hues in Lancelot's eyes. He traces a knuckle over Lancelot's cheekbone, marveling at the way the sunlight illuminates his skin. "As I love thee," he answers. "My heart, I love thee so dearly."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I have," a little carefully, "been planning for summer."

[timebethine]

"Oh?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye," smiling, "I would spirit thee away for a day, or perhaps a day and a night."

[timebethine]

Grinning in answer, "And what mercy might I expect from my captor?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot turns, letting Laertes' hand come to rest on his arm, so that they might walk on. "Mercy? Hard to say. Susan would tell thee I am a brigand."

[timebethine]

"A brigand! Then I can expect no mercy at all, and must pray that thou wilt spare my virtue." For all that mock-outrage, Laertes seems sprightlier as they walk on--less weighed down by his cares and labors. He resettles his hand so that his grip on Lancelot is surer.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Jokingly, he says, "Oh! Dost wish for me to spare thy virtue? I thought quite otherwise."

[timebethine]

Lightly, "Bereft of chastity, temperance, patience, and humility, my only virtue is diligence; spare me that."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Ah, I appreciate thy diligence. Thou needst not worry on that count."

[timebethine]

Laertes leans in to crush his cheek affectionately against Lancelot's shoulder. "We can lie out under the stars, and tell each other stories of our homelands and our travels," he offers. "And then when the long night steals our words, I'll take thee in mine arms and warm thy sleep."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, that was my thinking," leaning a little, encouraging that contact. "Warm only my sleep?"

[timebethine]

"Wouldst thou else than that?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I would," a bit carefully. "I would ... lie with thee."

[timebethine]

"Oh?" He squeezes Lancelot's arm, three parts reassurance to one part tease. "Hast thou been imagining it?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

If Laertes is looking, he will see Lancelot flush. "I have."

[timebethine]

That flush is adorable, and at once Laertes wants to deepen it. "Wilt thou speak of what's in thy thoughts?" he asks lightly. "Canst whisper in mine ear--"