[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.}

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[lanselos_du_lac]

"How might one blend them?" He leans in to kiss Laertes' neck this time.

[timebethine]

That kiss sends a warm little thrill of pleasure sparking across Laertes's skin; he gets his knees under him so that he can sit astride Lancelot's lap, and he fists his hand in Lancelot's hair to force his head back. "Let me taste every part of thee," he says, leaning in to repay that kiss in kind. His teeth just barely graze Lancelot's skin. "Hold nothing back. Take all that thou wouldst have."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Breathlessly, he says, "All?"

[timebethine]

"Ay, canst ask for nothing that I would not willingly give." This time, the kiss is luxuriously sharp; he savors Lancelot with lips and teeth and tongue, seeking out well-remembered pleasures and mapping new ones onto Lancelot's flesh.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"God--" It's almost a whisper, as he feels the shiver from that kiss, that pressure, course through him. "That-- I like that very much."

[timebethine]

A smile against his throat. "Wouldst have me take thee apart, sweet-heart?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

With wry, breathless humor he says, "Hast not already done so?"

[timebethine]

"Only unpicked thy weave a little," Laertes laughs.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs as well. "No doubt thou hast much to show me."

[timebethine]

"And much more to learn from thee."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot grins and pulls him down for another kiss.

[timebethine]

Laughing into the kiss, "Wilt thou swim with me? The water's bitterly cold, but I promise to warm thee after."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"With a promise like that, I cannot refuse thee."

[timebethine]

"No? Then certes, I'll warm thee inside and out," says Laertes. With some reluctance, he slides off of Lancelot's lap and offers his hand.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot smiles up at him and then lets Laertes haul him to his feet.

[timebethine]

Then Laertes drags him toward the dock, shucking off shirt and boots and jeans as soon as his feet hit wood--he's unselfconscious in his nakedness, so brimful with the joy of the water that he cannot be modest or coy. He dives in where the water's deepest, the long clean blade of him cutting easily through the surface.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot lags, because watching Laertes has, in some ways, stunned him. That free and wild joy is striking; it is one of Laertes' gifts, and Lancelot doubts he'll ever learn the trick of it for himself. By the time Laertes surfaces, he's finally at the end of the dock, working off his own boots.

[timebethine]

Laertes shakes out his wet curls and grins up at him from the water. "Come thee in; I'll be thy siren, and lure thee from the shore."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I shall join thee. Thou'rt lure enough already."

[timebethine]

"Then hurry, or thou wilt not catch me--" and with that, Laertes is striking off for the far shore. Of late, he and Sagramore have gone swimming almost every day to cool down from the hot work of building their cabin, and by now he's a powerful and easy swimmer in the chilly water.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot laughs, swearing under his breath, and has the rest of his clothes off in a hurry, diving in with every intent to catch up with him.

[timebethine]

Perhaps unwisely, Laertes slows down a little to let Lancelot catch up--just a moment or two of looking back at Lancelot's face, wet and shining in the sunlight, smiling as though he's never known misery. And then Laertes is pouring on speed, trusting his stamina to see him through.

[lanselos_du_lac]

As in most areas of physicality, Lancelot is a fairly strong swimmer, and quick. Still, it has been a very long while since he swam at all, and Laertes probably has the edge on him. He sees Laertes pause and picks up his own pace, trying to catch him.

[timebethine]

Laertes has a destination in mind--the little pier he's been building near the cabin, still half-finished. As they approach the thick piles that Laertes and Sagramore have sunk into the lakebed, Laertes pulls harder, kicks harder, intent on reaching them first.

Lancelot is a strong swimmer, and Laertes's delay has cost him dearly; Lancelot's coming up close behind, now and then almost near enough to reach out and catch Laertes by the ankle. (A part of him wants to be caught.)

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot does come close -- at one point, Laertes will likely feel Lancelot catch at him, but in water of this depth he can't quite get leverage. He settles for pushing hard for the piles ahead.