If she knew Lancelot's thoughts in this moment, Susan would laugh, incredulous. He gives her so much every day, and the only times she finds his communication murky is when he doesn't know, himself, what he's feeling.

Still, she does feel particularly treasured today. His hold on her is firm, the way she likes it, but his touch is gentle, like she's something precious. In some of their points of contact, she can feel his racing heartbeat; it's pounding nearly as hard as her own. He tastes like the pies he made her, and he's solid under her hands, the skin of his back warm and soft. The necklace he got her presses between their chests as she draws him closer still. Into the kiss, she smiles.