sunburned | (no subject)

"It is rather early, John," Laurence remarked, more for the form of the thing than from any real argument against Granby's suggestion. At this point he was well aware that the other man usually wound up winning such things. And, though he would not condone indolence, the idea did have some degree of merit to it.

"It is, at that, but it's just such a miserable afternoon," he says, glancing up from the tea-pot, giving Laurence a flicker of a smile. "You must agree, the idea has merit."

Laurence gave a small smile in answer. Granby did know his mind well at times. "I must admit it does. To some degree." It would not do to seem overly taken with the notion.

"And there's tea," says Granby, nodding towards the tray. And I've sketches to do. So I'm sure we could even be busy enough, if that's what might bother you."

"Not at all," Laurence said, rising presently from his seat and crossing to Granby's side to see if he might assist in any manner.

Granby turns towards him and presses a kiss against Laurence's jaw. He grins.

"You can bring the tray," he says, nodding towards it. "If you would, Captain Laurence."

"Of course, Captain Granby," he answered, lifting the tray with all due solemnity and preparing to follow Granby to their shared bedchamber. (Which was a notion that still did not fail to alarm him somewhat.)

The flicker of formality made him smile, as he walked ahead of Laurence, bending to retrieve his sketchpad as he went. The room was considerably neater than it would have been had it between his bedroom alone.

"You can set it down wherever you will, I suppose," he said, grinning as he sat down to tug off his boots, sketchbook discarded in the middle of the neatly made bed.

Laurence placed it upon a convenient nearby table. For a moment he watched Granby removing his shoes, then followed suit with his own. The silence persisted for a while, but it was companionable, not awkward.

Granby sprawled on what had become his half of the bed, closest to the window, propped up against the pillows. He reached out, idly trailing his fingers against Laurence's spine through his shirt.

"You wouldn't mind being a dear and pouring, would you?" he said, managing to hide a smirk.

Laurence turned his head briefly to look at the other man. He could sense the smirk even though Granby did a rather admirable job of hiding it, but Laurence did not mention it. He simply began pouring, well aware of Granby's preferences when it came to tea. "Here," he said, handing the other man his cup.

"Thank you," said Granby, taking the cup and shuffling into a more upright position to cradle it in his lap. With the shutters open, the sound of rain poured into the bedroom. It was far from unpleasant.

"Rotten weather," he said, pursing his lips. "And still so damnably hot."

"Entirely so," Laurence agreed, sipping from his own cup and settling back next to Granby. "I at times feel I would do near anything to have a change to something more homelike." Though that was, perhaps, not the best choice of words considering the exact circumstances of their still recent last trip to a more tolerable climate.

"I've been thinking about that," said Granby, idly letting his leg lean against Laurence's as he blew across the surface of his tea. "What it would be like if it was one of us instead of Julie."

"How do you mean?" Laurence asked, watching Granby contentedly. The situation may have been one unlike anything he could have ever forseen, but he was intensely comfortable as he was.

"What if we were the ones to go home," he said, taking a sip of his tea and finding it exactly to his liking,a s expected. "Who might we take with us? What might we expect of find. Home would, I expect, be much the game for both of us?"

"I daresay it would be wherever Temeraire is." The notion hardly needed thought. He took another sip of tea, mulling over the possibility some more. "Doubtless your place of choice would be a location where Iskierka was present."

"And since they are usually together," he said. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Like it or not." He closed his eyes. "I think Loch Lagan's always been home for me. No matter where I've ended it up. It's where I've dreamed about going back to."

"I am not terribly surprised." Meanwhile Laurence, when he did occasion to entertain the notion of returning somewhere, tended to remember his and Temeraire's chosen spot in Australia and the life that they had been building there. "After all, you did live there for quite some time."

"Most of my life," said Granby. He sighed noisily, staring out of the window at the rain for a moment. "It is to be hoped that any...voyage that either of us would take us on would be more pleasurable. I do worry about Julie."

Laurence reached out to pat Granby briefly on the shoulder. "So do I, John. But I fear worry will not do much to set things right. The island was unnecessarily cruel."

The touch was briefly but helpful. Granby smiled, taking a sip of his tea, knee still lolling against Laurence's.

"You must have heard her - when she stays," he said. "She cries out so often."

Laurence nodded, silent as he drank. He did not like to think of any lady in such distress, particularly Julie, but it was unavoidable. Unfortunately, he did not know what to do about the situation.

"I'm glad she's taken to staying some nights in the other room," he says, his tea resting against his chest. "You don't mind, do you? I like being able to keep an eye on her. When she lets me."

"Of course I do not mind," Laurence said, looking over at Granby quite seriously. He understood what the other man was saying quite well. "I hope you did not think that I do, John."

"Not truly, no," said Granby, shaking his head. "I just...would not hurt either of you for the world, Will. This is not exactly familiar territory."

"What?" Laurence was certain he could not be talking of lodging with a woman, and was fairly certain he was not speaking of dealing with the pieces that must be picked up after the rescue of a comrade, which left him with little idea as to exactly what he was talking about.

Granby didn't even really know what he was talking about, only that his heart ached to make things better.

"Ignore me," he said, shaking his head. "I think the rain's made me melancholy. Julie'll be fine." He sighed. "She says she feels safest around the two of us."

"That is rather comforting to know," Laurence said, though his heart did not sound entirely behind the statement. He gazed at the window, listening to the rain. "You are right, John. This is melancholic weather."

"You don't sound entirely convinced, Will," said Granby, turning his head to glance at him. "Anything I can do?"

"No." Laurence shook his head, still looking out the window. He did not seem however, to be seeing much as he did. "As I stated, it must be the weather."

Granby sighed and set down his tea cup, shifting into a more upright position, studying Laurence's profile for a moment. He reached out, fingers skimming against Laurence's wrist.

"Perhaps a distraction is in order. From the bloody weather, if nothing else."

The touch called Laurence out of his melancholy somewhat, enough to make him turn his attention to Granby once more. He gazed at him with some curiosity. "What manner of distraction, John?"

"I imagine you can guess," says Granby, fingers curling lightly around Laurence's wrist for a moment before he shifts closer. "If there's nothing else to be done on such a dismal afternoon."

Laurence took a calm sip of his tea. He looked at Granby, and he looked at his hand, and he smiled slightly, but fondly. "I fear there may be nothing else for it, John."

"It's a sacrifice we're going to have to make, Will," he says, shifting closer still, reaching out to gently lift the teacup out of Laurence's hand, setting it down on the bedside locker.

"If you're at a loss too, I mean."

Laurence remained smiling, letting Granby take and resettle his teacup without argument. He reached out, one hand trailing along Granby's cheekbone for the briefest moment. "Not so very great a sacrifice, I hope."

Granby turned his head, pressing a kiss against the heel of Laurence's hand before it drops away.

"Never," he says, shaking his head. "Not when it's you."

"Thank you." Laurence's hand left his face only to move to his hair instead, pressing him gently down for a kiss. "Thank you, John."

He lets Laurence press him where he will, lying back against the pillow but pressing up to kiss back.

"No need for thanks," he murmurs. "It's as natural as breathing."

Laurence shook his head. He often still could not believe that they had reached the point that they had and every now and again his sentiments on the matter had to be shared. "I will still say it nonetheless. Thank you."

A bright, genuine smile spread across Granby's face. He nods, his thumb tracing the line of Laurence's chin.

"I accept then," he says. "And you have my thanks too."

"And it is much appreciated, John." He leaned forward to kiss him once more. His heart, as he did so, seemed to swell somewhat with happiness. He was simply so very, very happy.

He honestly does feel like he could lie here like this forever, doing nothing but this. His fingers combed idly through Laurence's hair.

"Did you ever imagine," he asks, kissing along Laurence's jaw, "that we'd ever end up like this?"

"Never." Laurence smiled, tilting his head towards Granby's kisses. It was, he would have to admit, an entirely pleasurable use of his time so far. "I can definitely say that with certainty."

"And yet, here we are," he says, shifting his weight slightly, pulling Laurence down more squarely on top of him as his lips graze against the other's skin. "And I could find myself quite happy wherever I was, as long as you were there."

It sounds like the story of his life when he phrases it like that.

It did somewhat and Laurence's smile grew as Granby said it. He moved his body against the other man's body. "I am glad to know it, John. I truly am."

The press of LAurence's body against his is enough to make Granby moan, softly, and he pushes back.

"I never thought to love anybody so much, let alone you."