undergrounds | [ Active / Open ] How long can I neglect me for

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[ Active / Open ] How long can I neglect me for

The month has become a little rough for Lancelot. First there was his suspicions regarding Jean-Claude, then Raymond's declaration, then... then everything got a little worse. It was only a weekend hes spent in the basement with Raymond's lackeys, but he's still recovering from the blood loss -- and it's shaken him more than he'd care to admit.

i) Semi-Open: At Home, Richmond.

For a few days after, Lancelot simply shuts himself in and tries to recharge. He's sore, covered in vampire bites and bruises and a little uneasy still. Lancelot may not have been taken directly from his home, but he wasn't far from it. He still can't be sure if they were watching his house, how long for if they were. If it was chance or luck, if it was planned.

He won't refuse visitors, but in truth Lancelot is rather content with just Lily for company at the moment. His mind is busy, and having lost a fair amount of blood he's also tired.

An awkward amount of time has been spent inventing a passable reason he's in such a state for people he simply can't tell 'oh it was vampires', and that's... difficult. He hates lying. Yet all the same he's managed it, somehow, had to halfway makeup that he's already done something about charging those responsible and he doesn't want to talk about it.

Which just leaves Lancelot standing in his kitchen staring absently at the coffee he's just made, wondering if he can get away with putting some alcohol in it this early in the day. Lily stays pressed to his side like a peculiarly white and fluffy shadow of concern, perhaps wondering what she might be able to do to help.

ii) Open: Night Council territory & various others.

He knows he can't stay at home forever, though. Eventually Lancelot has to go back to work, and he knows the longer he leaves it the harder it will be. So a few days after it Lancelot heads back in, wearing a little more clothing than strictly sensible on a hot day to try and cover up some of the bites and bruises he's sporting. He checks in with all his cases and paperwork in Westminster, picks up a few things and heads out onto the street.

Lily tags along with him for support, so he tries to walk in the shade when he can -- her thick white fur making her suffer a little in the summer. He's pausing by a shop at one point to pour out a little water for her when she nearly trips someone up moving, and Lancelot makes a little ah sound and bodily pulls her closer.

"Forgive me," he says softly, shuffling the bowl so she can lap some of the water up. "She's a little restless in the heat."

Samoyeds are built for Siberia, after all, not for 30°C. The dog fusses to get at the water, leash looping around her a little even as Lancelot looks up to offer an apology smile.

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Yes, as a matter of fact, he would feel better at that. He'd come over to check on the other man after all. Seeing that he's eating alright would at least allay his concerns in that regard.

He nods slightly as Lancelot prompts him for more food items. They were things that he hadn't even realized were there, nor had he thought of them in combination with his own choices until Lancelot suggested them. And of course they would make the whole thing so much better.

Pulling the tomatoes out and, with a bit of digging, the bacon as well, he shuts the door and glances at the other man again. Not quite seeking his approval, but something close.

"How have you been?" he asks, wincing inwardly at himself slightly after he does. It had only really been a day or so. It seems a stupid question in retrospect, but. Well, there it is.

"Tired," he answers, which is honest at least. "Difficult to get comfortable, so I've not been sleeping well. I've taken muscle relaxants and painkillers, but..."

Well, it only does so much. He shrugs, slides the tomatoes and cooked bacon toward himself and begins cutting things up with exaggerated caution.

Faolan watches the other man carefully as he begins to cut up food in preparation for their sandwiches. He can see how careful he is being with his movements, not only with the knife but in the general way he's moving around too. He wishes that there were something he could do to help. He'll have to wait until the other man puts the knife down at least.

"Heat would probably also help," he tries to suggest, helpfully. "If you've got a heating pad or... A hot bath?" So long as he doesn't fall asleep in it, that is.

"I'm a little worried I'd fall asleep, or my muscles would all lock up and I'd hurt myself more falling over."

Which, needless to say, is a touch too embarrassing a way to get hurt even for Lancelot's tastes. He begins shuffling things together, arranges a sandwich for Faolan and nudges the plate in his direction before beginning to plate something up for himself too. Lily is still glued to his feet, tracking the movements of plates of food across the counter top. Which sandwich is for her? One for Lancelot, one for her? That must be it, surely!

Faolan accepts the plate from the other man with a nod of thanks, though he doesn't start eating yet. It seems rude, especially since Lancelot is still making food for himself. He glances down at Lily and meets her eyes for a long moment before leaning against the counter beside the other man, considering his words.

"Mmm, maybe not that then," he replies. "Have you tried putting anything on it, yet?" He imagines not, at least not completely. Not unless he's had someone else over in the last day or so to apply it for him.

"I can't really..."

Reach, which is probably obvious. He winces slightly, carefully takes hold of his own plate finally and chides Lily softly as she dances backward with her eyes fixed on it. Slumping into a chair he picks at his own sandwich a little, thinking.

"I suppose I could try and spray something, but Deep Heat makes the whole house smell for days. I'd still have to stretch for that too, really."

It all involves a little more arm movement than he has right then.

Faolan shakes his head and moves to pick up his plate and take a seat opposite the other man. He hesitates for a moment, watching the other man carefully for a long moment, frowning slightly as he does before hazarding a reply.

"I...could help?" he offers. Hesitantly because he knows, well. He knows that Lancelot knows how he feels about him, and he might not feel comfortable letting him close like that. Hell, he might not feel comfortable letting anyone close like that. Faolan knows from past experience that Lancelot has a fair bit of pride, after all.

He looks down at his sandwich awkwardly before continuing, "I'd. Like to be able to help you. In any way that I can. It's why I'm here, really, I." He shrugs slightly before adding, "You've always been there for me."

Help? It takes Lancelot a second to realise he means with the reaching problem, and then it dawns on him with faint flicker of surprise. He hadn't meant to hint or anything, after all.

"Oh -- well, if you don't mind...? Although, you should eat first. Before you get it all over your hands and smell like a first aid kit."

He wrinkles his nose slightly, eyes flicking over Faolan before dropping to his sandwich and finally lifting it to take a small bite.

It isn't a refusal, and that means a lot as far as Faolan is concerned. He nods slightly before picking up his sandwich and pointedly taking a bite. Nodding to Lancelot and his sandwich as well.

"You finish yours first too," he says. "It's not as bad as the spray, I doubt that neither of us is going to want to touch any food after we crack it open." He makes something of a face as he considers it. "It might hurt at first. But I'll try to keep that to as much of a minimum as I can. And it will help. That I can promise as well." He offers the other man something of a smile and continues eating his sandwich.

Hurt? Lancelot's face scrunches at that, because tiger rub shouldn't hurt on its own really unless... Faolan is thinking of giving him a massage or some-such, which would definitely hurt.

So he takes another careful bite of the sandwich he's holding, wary.

"I'm not expecting full physical therapy," he says finally, just so they're on the same page.

Faolan glances up at the other man, honestly a bit puzzled himself by the comment for a moment there before at last he responds, "I wasn't. Planning on it?" His brow furrows slightly as he tries to explain himself. "I just meant that. I mean, I'ok try to be gentle, but obviously. There will be some pressure." He'll be touching him to apply the rub, after all.

He pauses, frowning slightly, before looking down and away from the other man as another realization crosses his mind. "Unless. You'd rather. I didn't..." He does have feelings for the other man after all, and Lancelot knows that. Maybe he feels too awkward about it, to really feel comfortable letting him. Maybe he's just too nice to say so.

"I've said you can," he chides gently, "eat your sandwich first, or at least let me finish mine. Then you can dig out the tiger rub, I promise."

And start undressing him to apply it, he supposes. That much will definitely hurt, at least. It's unavoidable, though. He can live with that, if the tiger rub helps in the end.

Faolan finds himself placated for the moment, although the chiding has him feeling rather juvenile. At least as though he's being treated that way. Perhaps he deserves it, he supposes, as he picks up his sandwich again and takes another bite. Perhaps that's part of the problem between them. This is all that Lancelot sees of him. Struggling, uncertain, awkward, desperate at times... No wonder he's all but turned him down, Faolan thinks to himself bitterly.

He reaches a hand down to stroke through Lily's fur as she dances about underneath the table, hoping for food. He can see the appeal of having a dog around, he thinks. At least he'd never assume himself an idiot in her eyes.

Lancelot finishes his sandwich then pushes up from the table, carefully depositing his plate into the sink and glancing with amusement at Lily as she dances after him, retrieving Faolan's coffee from the machine now it's had a moment or two to cool off and sliding it onto the table beside him. He sips his own, watching her study him intently. Is coffee for dogs? It should be.

"It's strange to think we're already over halfway through the year. It's gone quickly."

A safe, gentle sort of invitation to talk -- since Faolan seems to have clammed himself him somewhat.

Faolan appreciates Lancelot's gentle direction of the conversation, reaching forward to take an experimental sip of his coffee and test the temperature before taking a healthier sip.

"It has," he replies, sitting back in his chair and attempting to relax slightly. "It's been busy. I suppose that's part of it." He glances up at Lancelot, before reaching to finish his sandwich himself. Holding himself back from saying anything about how he feels as though it were only the other day that he'd been here for Lancelot's birthday party, but feeling it. He certainly doesn't feel as though it's been half a year since then at any rate. "It makes the time go by faster," he elaborates instead.

"It has. I can't work out, when I think about it -- was my life quieter before? I don't remember having a lot of free time. I suppose I just... spent it differently. More time feed dogs and kittens and less time being broken out of basements in Southwark, I suppose."

He wrinkles his nose, looks down at Lily and tilts his head questioningly at her. Yes, dog, that is you Lily. You are a dog he feeds.

"Do you ever think about it? What your life might be like if you hadn't become a guardian."

Hadn't gone to eat with Lancelot. Hadn't gone on strange and frustrating adventures with him. Hadn't hugged Lily until all his black clothes were white.

Faolan shrugs slightly. "Not really," he says, honestly. Perhaps there is something more of a romance to Lancelot's situation, but Faolan's certainly got an idea of where he would be, if not what he'd be doing exactly. It's the same thing he had been doing for most of the time he had spent in the city for the last decade or so. Trying to make ends meet. Struggling to achieve even the most basics to get by. No, he doesn't miss that at all.

"I know what it would be like," Faolan offers as an explanation after a moment. "And I like my life the way it is now. For all the trouble I find myself in. I could never go back, I don't think. Not anymore..." He shrugs again, feeling awkward for the admission. For all the trouble and the danger, Faolan has a better life now. And he has friends. He has Lancelot. He doesn't think he'd ever have managed to get so close to the other man without that the job they share together, for better or worse.

"I suppose it's a good thing we can't, then."

Lancelot offers a wry smile, taking a sip of his now rapidly cooling coffee as he waits for Faolan to finish his sandwich.

"I'll fetch the tiger rub," he says finally, opting to slip from his chair and pad to the bathroom rather than stare down Faolan as he finishes eating.

Faolan nods slightly, watching the other man disappear into the other room to fetch the tiger rub before settling back in his chair and concentrating on his sandwich. It's a lot easier to do when the other man isn't there and Faolan's attentions thus aren't otherwise preoccupied.

It doesn't take him long and thus he's finished and nursing his coffee again by the time that Lancelot is padding back out to the kitchen with the stuff. Faolan watches the other mans movement as close as he can without being obvious about it. He's looking for the stiffness he knows is still there, that Lancelot is just doing his best to cover for. And of course the exhaustion besides. He gestures for Lancelot to hand him the balm, turning the container of the stuff over in his hands for a moment before glancing back at him.

"Do you have anywhere that you want to be while we do this?" he asks. He figures that Lancelot had cleaned his own wounds in his kitchen before and he shouldn't have a problem with this either, but it feels better to ask, especially since this is the other man's flat after all.

Anywhere he wants to be? The question strikes him oddly, and he lofts an eyebrow at it while trying to decide on an answer.

"No?" he says finally, "other than, I suppose, not outside? The neighbours might find it a little strange."

He shrugs and gestures slightly for Faolan to help before pulling at the neck with a wince to begin sliding it over his head. He can do it, but if Faolan does most of it he doesn't have to strain so much.

Faolan flushes slightly at the other man's reaction -- he hadn't meant it like that, of course, but he supposes the question had been a little odd, in retrospect. It's due to this moment of embarrassment that Faolan doesn't step forward immediately to help the other man with his shirt, though when he realizes what the other man is doing he steps forward and reaches to still his hands.

"Let me," he says, before moving to gently side the fabric up and over the other man's head instead. Exceptionally self-conscious of the fact that he is essentially undressing the other man as he does. "You know," he says, trying to think of something, anything to say to keep himself from focusing too hard on what he's doing, "a button-down wouldn't be nearly as much trouble as this for you right now..."

"Not by much, I'd still have to roll it off my shoulders --"

Even the slight movements that unbuttoning would take come from his shoulders, from the play of his muscles, and they're all sore. Then he'd still have to push it back off. He takes a deep breath once he's free of it, lets it out in a sigh and drops himself backwards over a chair so he can lean his weight against it.

Faolan does his best not to be awkward about the other man being partially undressed as he is, trying to focus on the fact that he's doing this because the other man is in pain. In pain because of what the vampires did to him. And for the most part, that works, although he still cannot help admiring the line of the other man's shoulders as he sits backwards on the chair and presents Faolan with the whole aching surface of them.

Perhaps you shouldn't bother with a shirt at all then, he thinks, but does not say aloud. Such thoughts are better kept to himself, all things considered. Instead, he reaches for the Tiger Balm and scoops some out onto his fingers, working it between them for a moment before sliding his hands along the skin of the back of Lancelot's neck and shoulders. He can feel even with so light a touch how stiff the other man's muscles are under his fingers. "I could try to work some of this out for you, if you'd like?" he offers. As casually as he can, all things considered.

Lancelot flinches slightly the moment fingers touch his skin, hesitates at the question.

"I -- I'm not so sure that's a good idea," he hedges, "it's still quite sore."

The idea of someone pressing their fingers into it, even to try and work out stiffness, makes him feel a little ill.

Faolan nods slightly. Of course it's sore, that's the whole reason he's using the Tiger Balm in the first place, after all. While working some of the stiffness out would make the other man feel better in the long run, he supposes in the moment it might be something of a torture in and of itself.

"Of course," he replies, before falling silent once more. Continuing just with the cream itself, Faolan keeps his fingers gentle and light as he rubs the cream into the other man's skin. Making certain to leave his touch only at that.

Once he's applied it to the majority of his shoulders and neck he sits back, keeping his hands to himself as he asks, "Anywhere else?" While he's got the tub open, he might as well keep going where it's needed. He doesn't want to slather it all over Lancelot's back if he doesn't need it though.

[ Active / Open ] How long can I neglect me for

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