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Resurrection fic bit
A very little and very quickly scrawled late-night crack-let written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sasha_b. I realized I should probably post it here as well so as to look like I'm actually doing something. Takes place before recent events. And yes, I am working on the real next installment.
Lancelot was watching Arthur and not bothering to hide it. They had made the entire drive back to the house in silence—or at least Arthur had. Arthur had refused to say a word since they had left, although he had to be aware of Lancelot’s fixed gaze.
Impatience began to outweigh amusement. Finally, bored and annoyed, Lancelot demanded, “Pull over.”
Arthur cast a look his way for the first time since they had gotten into the car.
“I mean it, Arthur. Pull over right now.”
When Arthur merely scowled and went back to staring at the road ahead, Lancelot threw aside whatever patience he had left. His hand flashing out, he jerked the wheel, sending the car careening across the road.
Arthur cursed, the car skidded, the world spun violently for a moment. They came to an abrupt, ungainly stop on the side of the road. The wrong side.
“What in the name of hell—“ Arthur began, fear giving way to fury, but the rest of what he might have said was muffled by Lancelot’s mouth. Arthur tried to push the other man off at first—they could have been killed, or, even worse, killed someone else—but Lancelot was insistent.
By the time Lancelot pulled away, Arthur was ready to climb over to Lancelot’s seat—and damn any passing cars—but the smirk on Lancelot’s lips gave him pause. He took a deep breath and then another and realized the engine was still running.
“Why,” he said, trying hard for a reasonable tone, “did you do that?” He did not mean the kiss.
“It got your attention.”
Arthur gave him a disbelieving look, but refused to rise to the bait. He checked the road with careful deliberateness, and then pulled out across it. Luckily, there was little traffic on this road.
They drove in silence for a few minutes, but it was a different type of silence than before. When they were nearly back to the house, Lancelot said, “I don’t know why you insist on sulking, anyway.”
Arthur’s jaw bunched before he relaxed it. He was not sulking. He did not sulk. He was just . . . disappointed. He had wanted to share something wonderful with Lancelot, but from the moment they had entered the building, the mocking commentary had begun.
He heard Lancelot sigh, and glanced over at him, surprised by the sound. The slight smile on Lancelot’s face was not so sharp edged. “But really, Arthur, I didn’t like that stuff when it was new. I don’t know why on earth you’d think I’d want to see it when it was just bits of moldering old junk.”
It was Arthur’s turn to sigh. He did not want to argue. But he swore to himself he would never try to take Lancelot to a museum again.
sasha_b. I realized I should probably post it here as well so as to look like I'm actually doing something. Takes place before recent events. And yes, I am working on the real next installment.Lancelot was watching Arthur and not bothering to hide it. They had made the entire drive back to the house in silence—or at least Arthur had. Arthur had refused to say a word since they had left, although he had to be aware of Lancelot’s fixed gaze.
Impatience began to outweigh amusement. Finally, bored and annoyed, Lancelot demanded, “Pull over.”
Arthur cast a look his way for the first time since they had gotten into the car.
“I mean it, Arthur. Pull over right now.”
When Arthur merely scowled and went back to staring at the road ahead, Lancelot threw aside whatever patience he had left. His hand flashing out, he jerked the wheel, sending the car careening across the road.
Arthur cursed, the car skidded, the world spun violently for a moment. They came to an abrupt, ungainly stop on the side of the road. The wrong side.
“What in the name of hell—“ Arthur began, fear giving way to fury, but the rest of what he might have said was muffled by Lancelot’s mouth. Arthur tried to push the other man off at first—they could have been killed, or, even worse, killed someone else—but Lancelot was insistent.
By the time Lancelot pulled away, Arthur was ready to climb over to Lancelot’s seat—and damn any passing cars—but the smirk on Lancelot’s lips gave him pause. He took a deep breath and then another and realized the engine was still running.
“Why,” he said, trying hard for a reasonable tone, “did you do that?” He did not mean the kiss.
“It got your attention.”
Arthur gave him a disbelieving look, but refused to rise to the bait. He checked the road with careful deliberateness, and then pulled out across it. Luckily, there was little traffic on this road.
They drove in silence for a few minutes, but it was a different type of silence than before. When they were nearly back to the house, Lancelot said, “I don’t know why you insist on sulking, anyway.”
Arthur’s jaw bunched before he relaxed it. He was not sulking. He did not sulk. He was just . . . disappointed. He had wanted to share something wonderful with Lancelot, but from the moment they had entered the building, the mocking commentary had begun.
He heard Lancelot sigh, and glanced over at him, surprised by the sound. The slight smile on Lancelot’s face was not so sharp edged. “But really, Arthur, I didn’t like that stuff when it was new. I don’t know why on earth you’d think I’d want to see it when it was just bits of moldering old junk.”
It was Arthur’s turn to sigh. He did not want to argue. But he swore to himself he would never try to take Lancelot to a museum again.