LBTS ficlet
Arthur and Lance and the police academy and foliage.
"What's this?"
Lancelot looked up from his book, The Art of War something he wasn't sure he liked or hated. The sun was setting and the blinds across the large door that opened onto their - Arthur's - deck were still pulled back, which made him happy, as he liked the light and it did good things for his mood. Arthur would have normally drawn them by now, but he'd been cleaning for the last hour and Lance was certain he was way too distracted to notice.
The halo around Arthur's head - he stood in front of the sliding door - gradually shifted from firey red to yellow and then orange and then it was gone, just Arthur and Arthur's hair and Lance cocked his head when Arthur approached him. He was holding something in his hand and Lance squinted, the other man's sweats and black tee shirt molding to his body so Lance had to blink a few times in order to focus.
"Why was there a leaf in your wallet, Lance?"
Arthur sat at the table next to him, turning a cottonwood leaf between his thumb and pointer finger. Lance stared at it, slipping his reading glasses up to the top of his head (since when had he gotten old enough for those?) and plucked it from Arthur's hand, spinning it back and forth. The leaf was crumpled and dry and he asked "Where did you find it?" even though Lance had heard Arthur the first time.
The stars were dotting the sky and Lance closed his book, finished for the night apparently. He kept the leaf in his grip, leaning back against Arthur's chair, the wood cold and slick against his bare back. He was sweaty from classes and the knee length cargo shorts he wore suddenly weren't enough against the chill of the air conditioning. His skin pimpled even as Arthur picked up Lance's now cold coffee and took a sip. "In your wallet. Between two twenties."
Lance's mouth sank into a pretend frown and he met Arthur's gaze, the green of the other man's eyes always a draw. "And you were looking for..."
"This," Arthur laughed, a bit sheepishly. He held his driver's license up, the picture old and grainy. "I'd forgotten you'd taken it to the bank for the credit card thing." He rubbed his mouth and set the license down on the table. "Figured it wouldn't be right for a policeman to be driving around illegally." The lights came on in the living room, the timers perfect of course since Arthur had been the one to set them. Lance glanced perfunctorily at the license and then back at the leaf, which he kept spinning.
"Found it at school last week," he answered finally. "I'd forgotten it was there." He brought the thing to his nose and inhaled, gently, but the leaf crumbled a bit from the dryness and the quick motion. He frowned again, his forehead creasing, and he set it down next to Arthur's license. "Shit."
Arthur covered his hand that had begun to drum on the table with his own. "There's plenty outside, Lance. We can get another one later, if you want." Lance looked up at Arthur and his smile and his familiar face and had to close his eyes, if only for a minute. He opened them again when Arthur made a querulous sound, his fingers tightening on Lance's.
Lance made a decision and got up, keeping Arthur's hand in his, and sat on Arthur's lap, his knees to either side of Arthur's hips, his hands resting lightly on the sides of Arthur's neck. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply, his nose stuck in the crown of Arthur's hair, Arthur jerking once but quickly sliding his arms around Lance's bare middle. His index fingers slipped inside the waistband of Lance's shorts, and drew a small circle there as Lance kissed his forehead.
"Thanks for finding it," Lancelot said quietly against Arthur's warm skin. "I'd forgotten." He'd also forgotten that horrible day at school and the paparazzi being there and him being on TV again and hanging up on Arthur on the phone and coming home to the loft to be alone again, Arthur having gone to bed without waiting for him.
Arthur's lips brushed Lancelot's chest, the spot below his left collarbone perfect for the other man's mouth to fit, and Lance sighed, shivering, but he wasn't cold. Arthur looked up at him, the light from the kitchen darting over his face, the lines and small wrinkles beautiful to Lance, so beautiful he had to raise a hand and touch Arthur's mouth, then his laugh lines beside it. Arthur turned his head and kissed Lance's palm, the touch shivery and sending a jolt of want straight to Lance's groin. He rolled his hips and Arthur sighed his name onto Lance's cheek, Arthur's hands dipping more deeply inside his shorts, the fingers grazing the top of Lance's buttocks.
Arthur pulled away and met Lance's eyes again, and when Lance thought his would shrivel up and fall out from only being able to stare at the man in his arms, Arthur leaned forward and up and kissed him.
Teasing his hands into Arthur's hair, Lance kissed back and it was -
I love you.
I know, you big dippy softy. Now come on, or we're going to be late.
Lance, what are you doing?
Jesus, Arthur, I'm trying to make myself presentable. Don't you want me to impress your friends?
I don't think you can't, love.
Why are we here?
Just look at it, Lancelot, and remember I'm here too. You're not alone. Ever.
Arthur, wait - please, just let me have this. I'm broken and nothing without you. I'll do this for you, for us, please, just give me a chance to prove it to you. I love you so much I can't stand to be without it. You're everything that's clean and right in my life.
Lancelot. You're the only thing I need, not some posturing idealized version of you. Just be you, and that's all I want.
I love you.
I know.
Lancelot slid his mouth to the right side of Arthur's and kissed the curve of the other man's smile softly, feeling the hint of Arthur's grin imprinting against his cheek. He kissed Arthur's nose, his forehead, the crinkle of lines next to the other man's eye, and then the dip over his upper lip. He squeezed the back of Arthur's neck with his long fingers, and when Arthur stood and lifted him off his feet, Lancelot closed his eyes from the burn of the joy he felt, from the ache of the love he knew he would lose or destroy, and from the possibility that he just might have the best thing that had ever happened to him here in his arms -
Arthur let Lance step on his feet and laughed as they walked in tandem, Lance's bare feet smashing Arthur's Nikes, outside to the deck where they sat together on the wooden bench and Arthur settled Lance in his lap again and kissed him again and the blinds stayed open behind them, the world lighting the loft, the city bright and starry and beautiful and the little leaf that Arthur had found in Lancelot's wallet blew off the table and onto the floor, breaking totally apart.
The next morning when Lance rolled over, his body stiff and store, his fingers drawing over his bruised lips (he smiled and it ached but he didn't care), he could feel Arthur there still, kissing, kissing forever, and his groin throbbed and he sat up.
And the smile he found himself wearing infrequently now broadened and hurt at the sight of a hundred cottonwood leaves spread out over the bedspread, obscuring the blood red of the comforter with their dark green.
"What's this?"
Lancelot looked up from his book, The Art of War something he wasn't sure he liked or hated. The sun was setting and the blinds across the large door that opened onto their - Arthur's - deck were still pulled back, which made him happy, as he liked the light and it did good things for his mood. Arthur would have normally drawn them by now, but he'd been cleaning for the last hour and Lance was certain he was way too distracted to notice.
The halo around Arthur's head - he stood in front of the sliding door - gradually shifted from firey red to yellow and then orange and then it was gone, just Arthur and Arthur's hair and Lance cocked his head when Arthur approached him. He was holding something in his hand and Lance squinted, the other man's sweats and black tee shirt molding to his body so Lance had to blink a few times in order to focus.
"Why was there a leaf in your wallet, Lance?"
Arthur sat at the table next to him, turning a cottonwood leaf between his thumb and pointer finger. Lance stared at it, slipping his reading glasses up to the top of his head (since when had he gotten old enough for those?) and plucked it from Arthur's hand, spinning it back and forth. The leaf was crumpled and dry and he asked "Where did you find it?" even though Lance had heard Arthur the first time.
The stars were dotting the sky and Lance closed his book, finished for the night apparently. He kept the leaf in his grip, leaning back against Arthur's chair, the wood cold and slick against his bare back. He was sweaty from classes and the knee length cargo shorts he wore suddenly weren't enough against the chill of the air conditioning. His skin pimpled even as Arthur picked up Lance's now cold coffee and took a sip. "In your wallet. Between two twenties."
Lance's mouth sank into a pretend frown and he met Arthur's gaze, the green of the other man's eyes always a draw. "And you were looking for..."
"This," Arthur laughed, a bit sheepishly. He held his driver's license up, the picture old and grainy. "I'd forgotten you'd taken it to the bank for the credit card thing." He rubbed his mouth and set the license down on the table. "Figured it wouldn't be right for a policeman to be driving around illegally." The lights came on in the living room, the timers perfect of course since Arthur had been the one to set them. Lance glanced perfunctorily at the license and then back at the leaf, which he kept spinning.
"Found it at school last week," he answered finally. "I'd forgotten it was there." He brought the thing to his nose and inhaled, gently, but the leaf crumbled a bit from the dryness and the quick motion. He frowned again, his forehead creasing, and he set it down next to Arthur's license. "Shit."
Arthur covered his hand that had begun to drum on the table with his own. "There's plenty outside, Lance. We can get another one later, if you want." Lance looked up at Arthur and his smile and his familiar face and had to close his eyes, if only for a minute. He opened them again when Arthur made a querulous sound, his fingers tightening on Lance's.
Lance made a decision and got up, keeping Arthur's hand in his, and sat on Arthur's lap, his knees to either side of Arthur's hips, his hands resting lightly on the sides of Arthur's neck. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply, his nose stuck in the crown of Arthur's hair, Arthur jerking once but quickly sliding his arms around Lance's bare middle. His index fingers slipped inside the waistband of Lance's shorts, and drew a small circle there as Lance kissed his forehead.
"Thanks for finding it," Lancelot said quietly against Arthur's warm skin. "I'd forgotten." He'd also forgotten that horrible day at school and the paparazzi being there and him being on TV again and hanging up on Arthur on the phone and coming home to the loft to be alone again, Arthur having gone to bed without waiting for him.
Arthur's lips brushed Lancelot's chest, the spot below his left collarbone perfect for the other man's mouth to fit, and Lance sighed, shivering, but he wasn't cold. Arthur looked up at him, the light from the kitchen darting over his face, the lines and small wrinkles beautiful to Lance, so beautiful he had to raise a hand and touch Arthur's mouth, then his laugh lines beside it. Arthur turned his head and kissed Lance's palm, the touch shivery and sending a jolt of want straight to Lance's groin. He rolled his hips and Arthur sighed his name onto Lance's cheek, Arthur's hands dipping more deeply inside his shorts, the fingers grazing the top of Lance's buttocks.
Arthur pulled away and met Lance's eyes again, and when Lance thought his would shrivel up and fall out from only being able to stare at the man in his arms, Arthur leaned forward and up and kissed him.
Teasing his hands into Arthur's hair, Lance kissed back and it was -
I love you.
I know, you big dippy softy. Now come on, or we're going to be late.
Lance, what are you doing?
Jesus, Arthur, I'm trying to make myself presentable. Don't you want me to impress your friends?
I don't think you can't, love.
Why are we here?
Just look at it, Lancelot, and remember I'm here too. You're not alone. Ever.
Arthur, wait - please, just let me have this. I'm broken and nothing without you. I'll do this for you, for us, please, just give me a chance to prove it to you. I love you so much I can't stand to be without it. You're everything that's clean and right in my life.
Lancelot. You're the only thing I need, not some posturing idealized version of you. Just be you, and that's all I want.
I love you.
I know.
Lancelot slid his mouth to the right side of Arthur's and kissed the curve of the other man's smile softly, feeling the hint of Arthur's grin imprinting against his cheek. He kissed Arthur's nose, his forehead, the crinkle of lines next to the other man's eye, and then the dip over his upper lip. He squeezed the back of Arthur's neck with his long fingers, and when Arthur stood and lifted him off his feet, Lancelot closed his eyes from the burn of the joy he felt, from the ache of the love he knew he would lose or destroy, and from the possibility that he just might have the best thing that had ever happened to him here in his arms -
Arthur let Lance step on his feet and laughed as they walked in tandem, Lance's bare feet smashing Arthur's Nikes, outside to the deck where they sat together on the wooden bench and Arthur settled Lance in his lap again and kissed him again and the blinds stayed open behind them, the world lighting the loft, the city bright and starry and beautiful and the little leaf that Arthur had found in Lancelot's wallet blew off the table and onto the floor, breaking totally apart.
The next morning when Lance rolled over, his body stiff and store, his fingers drawing over his bruised lips (he smiled and it ached but he didn't care), he could feel Arthur there still, kissing, kissing forever, and his groin throbbed and he sat up.
And the smile he found himself wearing infrequently now broadened and hurt at the sight of a hundred cottonwood leaves spread out over the bedspread, obscuring the blood red of the comforter with their dark green.