[Closed Post: A Pit of Clay]

[timebethine]

Laertes has settled on building a cross-draft kiln--but for that, he'll need to fire bricks, and to make bricks, of course, he'll need clay. He's finished sifting the clay he'd dug from the shore of the lake, and now all that remains is to get it into a state that will bear shaping and firing. The tool room had a couple of bags of sand and a smaller sack of bauxite alumina ready for use; those will help the kiln bricks to withstand the great heat of a long firing.

It's a grey day, and the scent of clay is rich in Laertes's nostrils. Smells always get stronger right before he has a migraine, and a part of him wants to call off this whole project and hide in bed to wait out the impending ache--but he isn't hurting yet; his vision isn't starting to shimmer yet. The wind off the lake is bracing, redolent with the rich, spice-and-rot scent of fallen leaves.

There's time enough to pull off his boots and socks, roll up his jeans, and dig in.

Comments

[sagramore]

"As thou shouldst." He returns dutifully to treading the mixture.

[timebethine]

Laertes can't help laughing. By now, the texture of the clay is starting to smooth out again, sand and alumina thoroughly mixing, water helping them flow together. "Gracious in victory, as always."

[sagramore]

"That's the reason I avoid tourneys."

[timebethine]

"The rewards for sparring are better," Laertes teases.

[sagramore]

"Thy rewards? A thousand-fold."

[timebethine]

"And what reward wilt thou ask for thy good service today?"

[sagramore]

"Thy service. Thou hast not been my page for several weeks."

[timebethine]

"Then so I will. Forgive me; I didn't know it pleased thee so."

[sagramore]

Sagramore laughs. "Everything thou dost pleases me."

[timebethine]

And that sparks an answering laugh in Laertes. "I can scarcely countenance that, the second time we met, I feared to be too familiar with thee. How much has changed between us!"

[sagramore]

"Jesu, and I was afraid to ask thee to stay after thou hadst fucked me. I thought thou wouldst want to be away after thou hadst got thy pleasure."

[timebethine]

"My pleasure is in being with thee--even in this," says Laertes. The arc of his arm takes in the clay pit, their muddy feet, the cuff of one leg of his jeans slipping down. "I like fucking thee well enough, but if I could never fuck thee again, I would still want to spend my days and my nights at thy side."

[sagramore]

"Thou art the most romantic of men," laughing; it's his turn to blush, and since his hair is tied back neatly he has no shield like Laertes. "Thou hast lured me out here so thou canst say the most beautiful things I've ever heard."

[timebethine]

"Had I not lured thee out, I'd have lain in wait." Laertes grins. "I like to make thee blush. It suits thee."

[sagramore]

"It absolutely doesn't, I'm too old."

[timebethine]

"Art not so much older than I am," says Laertes. "When will I be too old?"

[sagramore]

"Tch, thou knowest I have a separate standard for myself than all other men," lightly, almost teasing. "Thou shouldst not draw attention to it."

[timebethine]

"If thou didst meet a man like thee in all things--as handsome as thee, with the same hue of skin, the same curling hair, the same build like a good blade in the hand--tell me truly: wouldst thou not do all in thy power to make him blush?"

[sagramore]

"Thou'rt as bad as Socrates, wearing me down with thy questions." Now he's laughing again. "I would, I would, I'd be as troublesome to him as thou art now."

[timebethine]

"Hast troubled anyone new, of late?" It's getting difficult to tell what the texture of the clay is anymore, with his feet so cold; Laertes stoops to pinch a bit between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it back and forth to test its consistency. He has no basis for comparison, so this test does precisely nothing.

[sagramore]

"Not of late. I suppose my heart feels tenderer lately." He means for it to be equally light, but his tone doesn't quite come off.

[timebethine]

"I'm sorry. That was--I could have taken more care."

[sagramore]

Sagramore lets out his breath and shakes his head. "No, I-- it's well thou shouldst know."

[timebethine]

"I think we're finished here. Come, swim with me," says Laertes. It's the only way he knows to say, I see thy grief, and will not touch it unasked. "And I'll finish thy most excellent meal, and drink thy coffee, and then I'll be at thy service."

[sagramore]

"The best of men," he murmurs, and smiles at Laertes, before unsticking himself from the clay. The muscles in his legs burn pleasantly.