[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.]}

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Thou'rt bold," warmly.

[timebethine]

"Wouldst thou be bold?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I am learning, I think."

[timebethine]

"Show me."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot flashes him a little smile, then wraps his arm around Laertes' waist (keeping the stone safe in hand) and draws him very close. He kisses him, fiercely, letting his free hand wander.

[timebethine]

With a delighted gasp, Laertes throws his arms and legs around Lancelot and clings to him like an octopus; fortunately, the water helps bear his weight.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He staggers a little, laughing, and after he breaks the kiss he bites Laertes' shoulder playfully.

[timebethine]

At the bite, Laertes shudders and clutches Lancelot just a little tighter. "I like that well," he says, burying his face in Lancelot's neck. He's still smiling, but it's not the broad, giddy smile of a moment ago; this is softer, almost shyer.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Dost thou?" Both arms are around him now, bearing him up; it feels very good, having Laertes cling to him in this way.

[timebethine]

"Ay, so very well--anything sharp is sweet to me." He resettles his arms so that the hold feels tighter, closer. This no longer feels like a game, and his breath comes short and his heart pounds with the promise of it.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot kisses his jaw then nips at his throat, both teasing and testing. The warmth and solidness of Laertes in his arms, along with the chill of the water and the late spring sunlight all helps to banish any thoughts of the unpleasant morning, of the heartache he was feeling when Laertes first found him today.

[timebethine]

Laertes lets out a happy little sigh. He'd be lying if he said there was no calculation in this--giving Lancelot tasks, drawing him on to nonsense and pleasure; reminding him that whatever befell his counterpart in another future, his fate is here and palpable.

But even so, his pleasure is unfeigned, sincere. He loves the sharpness of Lancelot's teeth and the warm solidity of his body. He loves the way his wet hair shines in the sunlight and the close friction of his skin.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He indulges himself by experimenting with pressure, location, attentive to Laertes' response, occasionally leaving a little mark. Eventually, he's breathless and more than a little worked up himself so he says softly, "Let's go ashore. I would have thee."

[timebethine]

"Wouldst thou? Then thou wilt." Reluctantly, Laertes lets his legs fall from around Lancelot's waist, although he keeps an arm about his shoulders to lead him toward shore.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot keeps an arm around Laertes' waist as they wade back. "Where shall we head to?"

[timebethine]

"Couldst take me to bed," says Laertes. He leans into Lancelot almost hard enough to overbalance him, only relenting when they emerge from the water. "Or couldst have me on the soft moss, an thou canst wait no longer."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Thou hast asked me to show thee what I've learned of boldness," another of those flashing grins. "The moss sounds appealing."

He has realized that he would like to make some memory that overruns his earlier sadness. Not that this will rid him of it, but if he has a counterbalance that may help. And besides, he has no particular desire to delay.