She is a beautiful lady, yes! Lily bounces, paws only getting a centimetre or two off the ground because she has been told jumping is bad -- just enough motion to show enthusiasm. When Merlin drops to her height, thought, she charges forward into his arms -- tail swishing up over her back excitedly. Yes! It is good when people are at her height! Yes, Lancelot is very rude sometimes but he is also good! He's better than other people! Throwing toys is good too! Will you throw it for her soon?
Lancelot lets out a slow breath, turning sideways from where he's fidgeting with making some pasta. Merlin hasn't said if he wants any. Should he make enough for both of them anyway? He can always save it for tomorrow if he doesn't eat it.
The question makes his head hurt. His thoughts bounce off it, as if avoiding it, and Lancelot wonders if his little flat was always this warm.
"Should I?" he prompts. "Remember you? Forgive me, I meet a lot of people at work."
Even though Lancelot knows, in some unconscious way, this is nothing to do with work.
He gives Lady some more ear scritches, grinning as she sings Lancelot's praises. As any good dog should. As much as Merlin loves food, it can wait-- this is more important. This is why he left.
At Lancelot's answer, he straightens up to his full height again. He steps closer, insistent, and shakes his head. "Not from work. From when we were children. Do you want to remember? I can help you to." He reaches a hand up to touch Lancelot's temple, just the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin. Merlin's magic doesn't touch him yet, but it's there, charged in his fingertips, ready for him to command.
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Lancelot lets out a slow breath, turning sideways from where he's fidgeting with making some pasta. Merlin hasn't said if he wants any. Should he make enough for both of them anyway? He can always save it for tomorrow if he doesn't eat it.
The question makes his head hurt. His thoughts bounce off it, as if avoiding it, and Lancelot wonders if his little flat was always this warm.
"Should I?" he prompts. "Remember you? Forgive me, I meet a lot of people at work."
Even though Lancelot knows, in some unconscious way, this is nothing to do with work.
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At Lancelot's answer, he straightens up to his full height again. He steps closer, insistent, and shakes his head. "Not from work. From when we were children. Do you want to remember? I can help you to." He reaches a hand up to touch Lancelot's temple, just the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin. Merlin's magic doesn't touch him yet, but it's there, charged in his fingertips, ready for him to command.