sunburned | (no subject)

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julie

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It still feels new, like they're finding the shape of it between the three of them. He has faith that it'll all work out. Tonight, it's just the two of them where, so often lately, it's been the three of them together. He's a little early, having come straight from the Vet's office, and he's slid into a booth, sketching idly as he waits for her to join him.

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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.

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