sunburned | (no subject)

John and I have probably eaten at the Winchester together hundreds of times. I should not have to change my outfit five times before I deem myself fit to leave the house to meet him, but I do, and so I am late. (I am also in the skirt and blouse I started with, having decided I don't want to show how much I fussed over it.)

Late as I am, I stand in the middle of the room, just watching him draw. I can't quite believe yet that he is so completely mine. Shared, yes, but that turns out not to matter so much with us, and all I can do for the moment is look at him.

It takes him a moment to realise that she's there at all but then he glances up and sees her standing there, pretty in the evening. He flashes a smile at her, putting down his pencil to push his hair back from his forehead.

He stands, then, offering her his hand. "Hello, love."

His smile makes my breath catch and my heart leap with happiness.

"Hello, darling." I take his hand, smiling as if I will never stop. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not long," he says, with a shrug. He's always had a loose grasp of time - it comes with being an aviator, he supposes. "Worth it, anyway."

"I hate to keep you waiting, anyway. I'm the one who misses out, after all." The way he looks at me does make up for it, at least. "I do always count on your understanding and forgiveness."

"And neither of us will ever be on time enough for Laurence, and so it will all balance out in the end," he says, sliding back into the booth. "I am sure he'll learn to adapt."

"I do always try to be punctual. It just doesn't always work out just as I would like." I pause briefly, unsure of myself, before I slide in beside him instead of across from him. "We shall find a way to make it up to him, I'm sure."

"He might join us, anyway," he says, smiling. He's doing a lot of going between one bed and another - it's surprising how satisfying it all is, despite. "He said he'd do his best."

"I hope he does." I am completely sincere in this wish, which still surprises me somewhat; I never would have expected myself to like splitting my attention between two men that I care for so much, but it does make me very happy when we all spend time together. "Not that I am not perfectly content with your company alone."

"Oh, I know," says Granby, who's more than aware of how happy either of them are spending time with him alone. "You were emphatic enough about that this morning."

"Well," I say, fiddling with my napkin and blushing slightly at the memory of the morning's activities. "So were you."

Laurence chose that moment to arrive, making his way over to where John and Julie sat. "Good evening. I am very sorry and hope I am not too late. There was a matter that needed attending to and could not be delayed until some later point." To be precise he had needed to spend precious time convincing the clothes box to give him a new shirt after the one shirt that he considered respectable enough to be worn on such an engagement developed a sizable rip in the fabric. "I trust you have been enjoying yourselves in my absence."

Which is typical, of course. Neither of them have got anything to be ashamed of, not where Laurence is concerned, and yet he still feels like they've been caught in the middle of something illicit. He does manage a grin, though, as Laurence joins them.

"Not too late, Laurence," he says, blithely. "And don't we always enjoy ourselves?" He tilts his head. "Is that a new shirt?"

"I was late, too." It is much easier to admit to this than to anything else, even if there really isn't anything that honestly needs confessing. I really am glad to see him, though, and the smile I give him is very easy and open and pleased. "It's a very nice shirt, whether it's new or not."

"Thank you," Laurence said in response to Julie's compliment, before turning more fully towards Granby. As ever he knew the other man's thoughts on his attitudes towards proper dress. "It is a new shirt. A new one was required as the old met with an unfortunate tear earlier today."

Which would, perhaps, not have been so pressing a matter, if Laurence's taste was not so set that he had not above three shirts altogether.

"Goodness," says Granby, managing to keep a straight face because he knows exactly how Laurence feels about his shirt. He shrugs. "You're here now, anyway."

The warm tone of voice betrays just how pleased he is about that.

"Sit down, Will," I say, playing hostess with ease. I like how comfortable we're all becoming with each other, but that doesn't mean it isn't easier to cling to proper manners sometimes. I've never been on a date with two men, after all, even if it wouldn't be apparent to any one from the outside that this is what we're doing.

Laurence clung to manners as well, nodding and sitting down politely, and resolutely ignoring anything Granby might have to say on the subject of shirts. This territory was new and he appreciated having something to fall back on. "Has a meal already been ordered?"

He shakes his head, settling down more firmly in the bench. "We were waiting for you," he says. "I did order you this, though."

He pushes the drink across the table. Laurence isn't the only one who knows how someone likes something.

I seek refuge in a sip of my own drink (scotch, neat, just as I like it) and give them each a smile over the rim of my glass. "I am looking forward to whatever we do order. One would think that among the three of us, one would have a talent for cooking for ourselves."

"His Majesty's navy does not actually place a high value on culinary skills. I am afraid it is my loss." He was not truly though, for Laurence had lived his whole life with some form of professional cook to supply his meals and saw no reason when or why that state of affairs should change.

"Food in the coverts better than anything I would ever have been able to turn out," he says, looking utterly unembarrassed about that. "Then again, we weren't all bought up in castles."

"No, not everyone can be so lucky." I am aware that he is teasing me, and play into it gleefully. "The cooks here do just as well as ours, at least. And it's definitely better than airbase food. We won't starve."

"We most certainly will not." Laurence smiled slightly, pleased to see the two of them in such fine humors. The finer details of his own role within the affair that three of them found themselves still largely escaped him, but he did like seeing both John and Julie happy. He took a contented sip of his drink. "Nor shall we thirst, I think."

"Lord, no," he says, grinning, shifting a little on the bench so that his foot grazes against Laurence's. He likes all of these little bits of contact between them. He likes finding ways to make them happen.

"Will," I say, leaning forward across the table and placing my hand on his arm as though I have something important to say. "I shouldn't be thinking of dessert already, but I do hope they have pie."

I know it is nonsense, but I felt an urge to touch him and see no reason to deny myself. We might not be so far along as John and I have come, but I find myself thinking of him a good deal.

Laurence ducked his head, lightly blushing at the contact from both of them at the same time. Surely they could not have planned such a thing in advance, but it struck him nonetheless. He took another swift drink. "Yes. Yes, I believe a pie of some sort would be most welcome."

He knows Laurence well enough to read the blush, and he hides his smile against the brim of his cup.

"You do realise that I'm now going to be royally disappointed if there isn't pie?"

"We shall make it up to you," I promise, knowing full well how that sounds, when we have just established our collective lack of ability in the kitchen. It is just precisely what I mean to say.

The Winchester employee set to serve us for the evening approaches to take our order, and I give them a bright, hopeful smile. "Please tell me there is pie."

Laurence's blush got all the worse at Julie's statement, so much so that he could barely look the server in the eye. Looking at John and Julie was entirely out of the equation. Perhaps they had truly planned the entire affair in advance. He would have no longer been surprised if they had. For the time being he took refuge in his cup, trying to get his embarrassment under control.

Having heard all about the pie on offer and ordered food, Granby nudges Laurence under the table again.

"For the love of God, man," he says. "Put your face straight!"

I laugh, because I cannot help myself, I am so thoroughly amused and quite as happy and content as I have ever been.

Instead of commenting on how darling I find them, I take a good long sip of my scotch.

Laurence looked over at Granby, not appearing amused in the slightest. "I would not have cause to do so if you were to--" He remembered Julie's presence then, lowering his voice somewhat and changing the words that he would have said normally. "This is rather too public a place for that, if you please."

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head and reaching for his drink again.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Laurence, I'm sure," he says. To his credit, he almost looks innocent.

I reach across to squeeze his arm again, not entirely certain what he's objecting to John doing, and acting completely on my own.

"Nobody is looking at us, Will. We are quite possibly the most respectable-looking people here." I pick up my drink again, and affect the most proper and ladylike manner I can; my mother, I'm sure would find no fault. "But I, at least, shall behave myself."

"Thank you," Laurence said, straightening somewhat, though his face was still had the remains of a flush to it. He did not have the highest of hopes however as Julie had, after all, been the one who made that particular remark earlier. He knew that, for all posturing, neither of them would be entirely proper unless it suited them.

"Until she's had pie, anyway," he says, clearing his throat and sobering. "Well. What shall we talk about? What's safe, Will?"

"I am sure I don't know what you mean," I say gravely, holding off my grin as long as I am able. If that isn't really long at all, I am sure I can't be blamed.

I can, however, direct a conversation in a respectable manner, especially to make someone I care for more comfortable.

"How is your lovely boat, Will?"

"Well enough, thank you. It may require a new coat of paint at some point, but not too terribly soon." Laurence was more than happy to take refuge in such safe, mundane topics. They provided a welcome sense of security. He knew precisely where he stood with such things. "It can be gone without, but I would prefer her looking smart."

Granby does love listening Laurence talk about his boat; it feels like a bit of the universe slipping more comfortably into place.

"Well, you know I can always be pressed into service if needs be."

"Me, too," I say, very interested in the idea of doing something so satisfyingly useful. "I might not know much about boat fashion, and I am not much of an artist, but I can certainly manage a paintbrush."

Laurence smiled at their offers of assistance, his earlier, more businesslike aspect softening somewhat. "Thank you. Though I very much doubt I will ever find suitable paint here, if I ever do you shall both be the first I ask for help."

The way that Laurence softens is enough to make Granby smile - he recognises it. There is possibly no-one that he knows better on the face of the planet than the man sitting in front of him.

"I still think I'd make a terrible sailor," he says, with a sniff. "I'm an Aviator in my bones."

"And I will never love to fly," I say, because though of course I will do it, it will never not feel like a terrible necessity. "What are you doing, with a girl like me?" I ask, laughing.

"We shall stay on firm ground if we must," Laurence said in response to Julie. It was only after he had reassured her that he turned to Granby's statement. "You would make a terrible sailor. The Lord only knows what might have happened if you had come aboard one of my ships as a lieutenant."

"She says that because she hasn't met them," he says, fondly. "She'd change her mind if she met them." He snorts a laugh at Laurence's next statement, rolling his eyes. "You'd have had me flogged for insubordination and thrown over the side. I know. I'm terrible."

"'She' might," is all I will allow, as I am not so sure there's that much difference between dragons and airplanes, as far as a fear of heights is concerned. "He would never! Would you, Will?" I have slipped my hand into his, unconsciously confirming the comfort of the safe, solid ground that he offers.