[Open Post] ..hell yes i mind..

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's been a long while since Lancelot felt this way: angry and adrift, too overwhelmed and in his own head to determine how best to manage it. (If Susan were here, it would be simple -- but the fact that his Susan is gone is part of the problem.) His anger is a hot stone at his center, a roiling mess, a weapon without a target. He still feels that he would like to smash something, start a fight, find some way to externalize everything all the things he could not bring himself to say to the Galahad who is far older than he ought to be, the quiet king of a quiet kingdom.

A fulfilled purpose. A completed quest. A long chain of manipulation and events that dragged Lancelot along in its wake, and that (in this other time, he has to acknowledge, not his time and not now) led only to the ruin of everything Lancelot had cared for. And for what? It makes him furious to think that the price of the Grail was Galahad's joy, Galahad's self, and that that price was somehow being paid long before Galahad was even born.

That's just the start of it; there is more, much more, and it feels like it will keep spooling out without ceasing.

His impulse, as ever, is to stalk off to his room and stay there until he feels he can manage himself. (He thinks, not for the first time, of himself ten years older and outwardly angry, angry enough that everyone sees it, fears him or dreads his company. A man who lashes out. He does not want that future, but this possibility has always been somewhere just under the surface; he's always known it. Sometimes it has worked for him, with him, but he knows that it is dangerous and there is no one in this place that he would want to bear witness to it.) If this were Camelot, that is what he would do.

Since he can't figure what to do, he settles for a middle ground. It's been a long while since he felt like getting very deliberately drunk, but that appeals just now, and so he heads for one of the smaller bars, just off the main corridor.

^{[Note: All are welcome! Those who care for Lancelot and/or those who also wish to fistfight God are particularly welcome.]}

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[lanselos_du_lac]

The corner of his mouth turns down a little as Laertes explains. Once he's finished, Lancelot says, "I see." This is not strictly true. "I also do not have algebra. Perhaps, then, I shall have to learn something else."

[timebethine]

"Susan has a great love of the sciences of life," says Laertes, with a pointed lift of the brows. "She studies not only the animals, but also those creeping creatures of the earth--insects, and those still smaller, which can only be seen beneath a microscope. And I think Galahad studies them with her. I'm sure she would delight in sharing her studies with thee."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Ah, yes, I know of this. Perhaps," a thoughtful pause, "Except-- I would not wish to create discomfort for Galahad. They are building a friendship, and I would rather not press."

[timebethine]

"Couldst study the soil," Laertes offers. "Then thou couldst be a help to them without trespassing on their work together." He tips the cooked vegetables and ham into the water, which has begun to bubble gently.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He seems, perhaps, a bit deflated -- but more thoughtful than anything else. "I will think on it."

[timebethine]

Laertes tilts his head. "Didst not want to hear that. Why not?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot gives him a tiny, caught-out smile. He says, "It may be thou dost not care for my answer."

[timebethine]

"I'd hear it anyway." He sets the pan aside, and reaches for Lancelot's hand.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot takes it; he glances away, to make it easier to be honest.

"I would please thee. I would-- I would dearly like another way to spend time with thee, talk with thee," quietly honest. "I would study something that sparks thee. Susan and I live together, we have meals together. Grantaire I see less often, but we have our games. Thee-- thou'rt been occupied, rightly so, but if I had another way I could give thee distraction, that would make me glad indeed."

[timebethine]

"A way to spend time with me?" Laertes grins, sudden and flashing, and draws up Lancelot's hand to kiss. "Oh, my heart, there are so many pastimes we might share. Thou art well built for every labor of the hand; we might work together on building a little boat for fishing--or raise a shade above this oven, that we might sit upon the brick in the rain and eat together--or thou couldst learn with me to make a garden that will feed and nourish us throughout the year. I will never let thy hands be idle."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He looks back at that kiss, with that same open look as before. (He tries so often not to show Laertes how badly he wants to please him, partly because he expects Laertes would prefer him independent. But at the same time he knows few other ways to show his feelings, outside of impressing or pleasing.)

Lancelot squeezes his hand, hard. "I would help thee with thy house, and learn at thy side. If I cannot have thee under the same roof, I would help raise a new one that might shelter thee and thine, regardless of if I am here."

[timebethine]

Quietly, "Wouldst have me under thy roof again?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No," glancing back up, "not if it makes thee unhappy, uncomfortable. But an I cannot know thee to be in the same keep, I would find some way to let thee know thou'rt kept still."

[timebethine]

"I'd go back, for thee." Laertes draws Lancelot in by the hand until he can wrap both arms around him, then tucks his chin over Lancelot's shoulder. "I'd stay the night with thee, and tell thee over and over again how thou pleasest me."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot slides both arms around his waist and leans against him. "For a night, perhaps," into his hair, "I still have my old room. We can do that. But I would rather thou stayest in this place, most times, and let me learn how to give my hands and work to my friends."

[timebethine]

"Canst borrow my books, and study them," Laertes promises. "And we'll build all that either of us can imagine."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He kisses him then, sweet and slow.

[timebethine]

Laertes sinks into it; he lets himself sigh and shudder with the pleasure of it, lets himself smooth his hands over Lancelot's body as though he's shaping clay. With his whole body, he says, I'm pleased with thee. Thou hast done well. Thou art beloved.

[lanselos_du_lac]

When the kiss breaks Lancelot reaches up to brush back Laertes' hair, giving him a long look, one that is full of love, gratitude.

[timebethine]

Laertes smiles back, and nuzzles into Lancelot's hand. "My heart," he says, "wouldst thou know how thou canst send me into raptures?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes," earnestly, though also with a little laugh.

[timebethine]

Then Laertes bends down gracefully and returns with a trowel in hand. "Canst lay mortar while I lay brick," he says. "We might have this little pavilion finished before the soup is done."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot grins at him, "Clever man. Show me how."

[timebethine]

"Ay, gladly." Then with a last, darting kiss, Laertes goes to get their bag of mortar mix from the cellar.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot waits patiently, trying to shake off the last of his feeling of being off-balance.