Tangible Schizophrenia


Sweet Summer

Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Lancelot
Feedback: Good lines, bad ones, etc.
Disclaimer: Versions from the movie. No profit made off this except the profit of happy thoughts.
Notes: Some version of ice cream existed as early as Nero (A. D. 37-68).
Summary: Fluffy vignette. Lancelot discovers one of Arthur’s peculiarities.


“Snow and cream and honey.” Lancelot looked dubiously at the small, melting mound Arthur had just dropped into his palm. It was the color of a dun horse’s hide and the consistency of porridge, though somewhat smoother. And of course much more chilly, fooling his hand into thinking it was winter.

Crazy man that he was, Arthur never could be satisfied. When it was winter, he stalked about the garrison till he was feverish and sweating. When it was summer, he sneaked off to the kitchens and apparently made himself miniature snow drifts. And then he ate them. As if the Woads didn’t force them into enough snow heaps during the fighting season.

“Also some berries that Vanora dropped off the other day.” Arthur continued stirring hard at the rest of the concoction with a long-handled wooden spoon. He nodded towards the lump in Lancelot’s hand. “If you don’t eat it right away, you’ll waste it.”

“Excuse me, but I just need a moment. The commander of the garrison, my leader, likes to putter about in the kitchen making desserts. I think your Book of Revelations might be upon us.” The stuff was starting to turn runny as an egg, trickling all over Lancelot’s palm and dripping on the floor. He experimentally touched his tongue to a drop, then jerked away as it froze him.

The spoon jabbed at Lancelot and flicked off another clump, which landed on the countertop. For a moment, they both stared at it. Then Arthur nonchalantly swiped it off with his finger and sucked it into his mouth, cheeks slightly red but eyes unapologetic. They should have been, considering what he looked like with hollowed cheeks. “I’m not going to be held responsible for this. You sneaked after me, so you can take what you find. What were you expecting, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A brace of pretty giggling things, a nice new stallion…something I could understand. Not…sweets. Really, Arthur.” Only a little bit of the icy stuff was left. Lancelot nearly turned it over on the rubbish heap near the door, but at the last moment he saw Arthur’s dismissive smile. Bridling, Lancelot instead raised his hand to his mouth and licked off every drop. That would show Arthur to take him for granted.

That…was actually quite good, once Lancelot had gotten over the sensation of a numbed tongue. He casually sidled up besides Arthur and peeked into the bowl.

The spoon came up in his face again and barred the way. Lancelot glowered over it at an amused Arthur, then leaned forward and slurped off a goodly amount of the creamed snow. He grinned and danced away from Arthur’s half-hearted smack. “It’s not your back, Arthur. I think it’s been beaten enough.”

“What on earth do you mean by that?” Arthur said, slowly putting down the spoon. He turned to lean against the counter, cradling the bowl against him.

A large bit had gotten smeared over the corner of Lancelot’s mouth, and he wiped it off as he edged back up. He rested his fingers on the rim of the bowl and looked down, trying to spot some of the berries. “It’s nice not to find you in church again,” he quietly answered.

When he tried to dip into the bowl, he found his hand intercepted and held firm. “My mother used to make this all the time. I loved it—haven’t had it in ages, but I suddenly wanted a reminder of what was good in the world.”

Then Arthur twisted Lancelot’s hand down and used it to scoop up a dollop, which he lifted to his lips. His tongue tickled as it curled the smashed berries off and chased the drops down towards Lancelot’s knuckles. The ghosting of his breath over Lancelot’s skin was warm, turning the air around them to a lazy daze that traveled down Lancelot’s body to clash against the coolness of the bowl pressed between their bellies. There heat and ice swirled and stirred up the beginnings of a storm in Lancelot’s gut.

“And this is how you remember,” he laughed, pulling away his hand. It was sticky, but Arthur didn’t shake him off when he put it around the other man’s neck. He swooped the fingers of his other hand through the creamed ice and left a shining coat on Arthur’s lower lip that he slowly sucked off. “I locked the door…”

“I noticed.” Arthur squeezed the bowl out from between them and seized Lancelot’s head, pulling him into a hard, messy kiss. “No, this is how,” he murmured against Lancelot’s lips, and then he proceeded to share it with Lancelot.