[One of the rather unexpected effects of the dissolution of their respective engagements was that Arthur found that he sought out Lancelot's company even more often than before, or sent for him regularly. Perhaps it was because Lancelot was the only person who could possibly understand the effect the current crisis was having on Arthur. The ongoing rebellion in Ilium was another stress, reminding Arthur how fragile a reign could be and with regicide in Svarga and Glastheim and a stabbing in Camlann, Mictlan could not stand firm for ever.
Their intimacy changed a little, too. Arthur was less hurried than he used to be. More inclined to share his bed with Lancelot for a night, rather than a few hours, or for a morning. And that's how it was on this morning, as the clock rolled past noon, and he was enveloped in Lancelot and a pile of furs. He was sound asleep, but inching towards wakefulness, curling tighter around Lancelot, his lips on his general's shoulder.
Lancelot stirred awake with one thought on his mind: What the fuck was that?
The dream would have made most men awake with a violent start, but his body couldn't be bothered with sudden movements. Lancelot felt utterly boneless and dreaming that he was having a secret love affair with Arthur in a realm where he was the general of a region wasn't about to make him leave his comfortable bed. It was just a dumb dream. Vivid -- but too mind numbingly ridiculous to do much more than shrug off. It was best forgotten and chalked up to a long day of work.
It took a few beats for him to notice the gentle pressure of another body pressed against him.
Had he brought someone home from the pub? With a soft grunt, Lancelot twisted his neck and peered over. That leaden feeling of sleep left his eyes as he stared and blinked and stared some more.
It was entirely possible that he was still dreaming -- because why the fuck else would Arthur be in his bed?
Arthur, still largely asleep, curled closer at first, his arm tightening around Lancelot's middle. He became aware of the tension in the other man's frame, though; something subconscious, perhaps, informing him that it was time to wake up.
His eyes drifted open and he found himself face to face with Lancelot. Lancelot. His knight, his best friend and, dear god in heaven, they were both naked. He pushed himself to the far side of the bed which was, rather bizarrely, piled deep with furs. This wasn't Camelot, he knew that much. The memories were a bit slow in returning and congealing to form a coherent whole but... Mictlan.
He passed his tongue over his dry, dry lips. "Lancelot?" His eyes suddenly widened as he was hit with that barrage of memories; the first time he kissed Lancelot, in a fit of rage, the first time they slept together, the last time they slept together and he could still feel the strain in his thighs.
And then Lancelot was awash in the memories. His life in New York and his life in Mictlan ran side by side, two parallel lines, becoming clearer in his head with every passing moment. There were cross-overs. Arthur, Elaine, Gwynevere... even that bastard Agravaine had woven himself into both threads. But all that seemed less important than the present. He wasn't in a dream or some figment of his imagination. He and Arthur were in a bed together, naked -- and judging by the wide-eyed stare mirrored back, they had both arrived at the same realization at the same time.
"I think we both need to get a drink," he muttered.
Arthur managed to roll out of bed, dragging up a sheet to wrap around his waist and he just nodded, his eyes still wide. A drink was the bare minimum he needed right now]
[filter; arthurians]
Oh god oh god oh god oh god- I trust everyone is safe?
[filter; polyxena]
I am so sorry, Princess. I did not know myself but it is no excuse.