Lancelot du Lac (
knightscode) wrote in
undergrounds2016-08-28 12:34 am
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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.
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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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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..."
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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.
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"Triceps, maybe? I don't know if it will help, but they're still -- well, sore. Like everything else."
Lancelot lifts one arm a little and squints down at his muscles, as if he can tell somehow by sight if they need something, then up at Faolan questioningly.
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"Here, let me see," he says, reaching for the Tiger Balm again, scooping out more and warming it between his fingers. Reaching to brace the other man's arm gently, he moves to rub the balm into his triceps as requested.
"Feeling any better?" he asks as he works, well aware that it's only just been applied and he still has the other arm to do.
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He offers Faolan a small smile, shifting in his chair and examining his arms again since they're the only bits he can see.
"I suppose I should let it dry out a little before re-dressing."
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He moves to stand, pushing himself out of the chair and crossing to the sink, as much to attempt to wash the smell off of his hands as to give himself something to do so he isn't just continuously fussing unnecessarily. He tries to think of something to say, something that isn't just something inane, but when he opens his mouth the first thing to spill out of it is hardly what he'd intended.
"After I left, I couldn't stop thinking that. I would come back here and have imagined the whole thing. And you'd still be out there." He glances across the kitchen to him, before casting his eyes away. "I guess it's why I'm here. But I don't want to be in your way. If you'd rather I leave..." He'd only just gotten rid of him last night, after all. And here he is again, hovering.
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"Well, I'm definitely here. If you're imagining me it'll be awkward for both of us because I'm not sure I want to admit to not being real." He lofts an eyebrow, rest his hands on the small kitchen table so he doesn't have to drop them too low. "If you ask to leave one more time though I'll start to be offended and think you dislike my company. You only just arrived."
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He reaches for his coffee once more, to give his hands something to do that isn't just fidgeting or fussing over Lancelot further. "Just... Let me know if I can do something for you, yeah? It's the least I can do. Since I'm here." He flicks him a quiet smile. "Might as well take advantage of it while you can. If you can stomach giving up the control for a little while that is." He knows how Lancelot doesn't much care for fussing if he can help it, but he hopes that he'll take him up on it, if just to humor him. For a little while at least.