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Lancelot leans against the wall, watching as his fellow knights sit ringed around Arthur, falling over themselves to talk again of the battle they've just won. They still reek of blood and sweat and ichor, and the serving girls stand clear of them, not clamoring to steal any of their attention away from the mead or the adoration flowing. He shakes his head and pushes away from the wall, leaving as quietly as he'd come. He smells as badly as the others, he supposes and his leathers are stiff with woad blood. He sheds them as he reaches the bath house, surprised how easily they come off despite the hardened fluids staining them. He slips naked into the steaming water, allowing - at least in his head - praise of the Romans, for this at least. "Why do you do this?" "Bathe?" He tosses easily over his shoulder, his battle honed defenses knowing long before the breeze and the voice reach him that Arthur is in the room. "You'd be surprised how much better it is than the alternative." "You stand apart from them and then leave in the midst of it." "A better question still, Arthur," he turns his head and meets the gaze of his Commander, "is why you follow." "You know why." Lancelot continues watching Arthur as he walks to the bath, letting his gaze fall from Arthur's eyes to the hard, smooth planes of his body. "Do I?" Lancelot closes his eyes as Arthur sinks into the water and moves over to him, body against body, flesh against flesh. He opens them again and meets Arthur's bright gaze. "Show me again."
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