Spinning glass. A globe suspended in midair rotates with a glassy glare. Casting colors to the walls. The lighting low, but for the candles sparking here. Flickering there. And so a constellation forms upon the ceiling. Two fingers holds a silver chain. In a pattern, forming Geometric Perfection. And the globe that is sometimes a pendant from his throat, spins by Physical Law. Kit Marlowe, your Guardian Galadriel, lies upon his back. Watching his mini-world spin in fast spirals from the chain that is held by his fingers. Grey eyes shine with a kind of silver. From his lips, remembered poetry. Some Prospero speech from "The Tempest." It is a good epilogue to the tempest that has heretofore existing in this room. One leg is opened wide and dangling off the edge of the bed. You have been between his thighs again. The heat has moved through him. And he...intoxicated-languid thereafter...is prone to find ... fascination ...in the oddest things. He tilts his head, dark hair moving against a now shared pillow.

     He was there...he is there. As the universe dangles and the snow falls, Soldekai works to keep things warm. His lips kiss your midriff still, and then he puts his head once more upon the pillow. "You are distracted," he grins, happy as only you can make him. A kiss and he moves back to tracing lines around your stomach, where muscles are slightly defined. "Are you chilly at all?" he wonders, having regulated the room to starshine. Some of your stones and baubles seem to self-illuminate, glowing softly of their own volitions. Violets, reds, greens, and yellows shimmer in their spaces, of their own devices.

     "I am dreaming," Galadriel speaks upon Kit's voice. You can hear degrees beneath the sound most mortals hear. You know the angel within the body of the man. The globe stops spinning with a chime, and the mouth curls upon a small smile turning ribald. Rascality Confirmed. "I am in the middle of it," he murmurs, with sing-song intonation. And then the smile goes wide. The body reacts...always...to your every touch. To every kiss. The globe chimes again as it drips from his fingers and falls to the carpet below. "Hmmm....no...I am not cold, Soldekai. I sleep in the arms of the sun, upon a bed of bronze and gold. I am warmed from the soul outward, like any star so set with fire..." Lazily his finger traces over you. A shoulder. You are so much more defined than he...your vessel...so much the larger. He marvels at you.

     "Good," he says. You should never be cold, not with him. To you, Soldekai's shoulder and back are given, the sheet haphazardly angling from you and low across him. In part. One hand brushes at your chest, his other is hidden under the sheet...somewhere between your thighs. When he kisses, it is like a ray of sunset light, warm and colored. Full of the day, but ready to quiet. "What are you dreaming?" he wonders, tongue circling the swirl at your navel. He is still learning how you speak. In rhyme and riddle. In whispered dream-thoughts.

     "That a circling warmth," your tongue, "...were moving over my skin, and upon it the Sunrise and Sunset of a thousand worlds went by. And I," Kit says, words clinging to his throat in a moan, "...sighed for it. Because my heart, my soul and my body becamed filled with its light..." You. It is dreamy, prophetic and scandalous....all in the same moment. Beneath your tongue, the taut stomach's muscles pull. Tighten. A breath is taken with sound and held. "And all..." he continues, eyes closing and words pulling rough, "...I can think of...is to be set aflame. This....is what Dusk dreams of while in the bed of Day..."

     Soldekai smiles, liking your words. He could never speak so, and so does not try. He sighs and grins and slips back up to his place beside you, drawing leg over yours as he turns upon his side. "I hope you don't mind the...illumination," Soldekai murmurs, lips suckling at your shoulder and working their way towards ear. "What will you do today?" he wonders aloud.

     "Lie here..." An uncharacteristically simple answer. Kit readjusts even as you do. Fingers slip over your skin...to your hair. His smile curves serpentine upon his lips. Winding upon flesh. Speaking poems in curling. Rascal. Rogue. He turns to you with glittering eyes. Is he serious? Does he mean to lie in bed all day?

     "Not all day," Soldekai lolls, Marine in him needing to be upright for a while. He chuckles, hair twisting at your hands...for some reason he's been letting it grow out some. Your arm rests upon a large shoulder, bolstered by divine strength. "What would we do all day...we would become bored," he teases, only a little truth to that.

     "I do not have classes today..." Kit murmurs. "You can come watch me do good deeds..." And he laughs at that. Laughter is a dual embrace...of skin moving against skin with it...of sound embracing after. "I do have band practice today...a little later. I have to perform tomorrow night..." A breath is taken and exhaled with a soft, masculine sound. "I am sorry, Warrior of the Dawn, I am not a fighter...my Existence moves in other ways. Less exciting than blowing up buildings with tanks..." A nudge given to you. "What is it...you would care to do..."

     "I thought you did a passable job," Soldekai grins, rolling over onto his back. The bed groans under him as he does, bright face now given to the ceiling. One hand comes to his stomach, arm goes across his forehead. "I have things to see about...but I could perhaps come by your practice, or even see you tomorrow at your performance?" permission asked. Brow flicks and he looks over to you for allowance.

     "I was good, wasn't I..." No, humility is not an issue for Galadriel. When it is true, who is he to fault it? Grinning, he turns his head. His body following. Where once you lay against him, now he....you. "You may come see me...if you would like that. I ...would like that," Kit's words fall against your chest, whereupon his mouth is thereafter distracted. Trailing without a pattern immediately recognizable, he speaks nothing for a time. When lips end their wandering as they drage against your stomach...you can likely feel the cojoined sigils that he made -- of yours and his so intimately wound that where one ended and the other began could not...cannot...be discerned. "Come see me tomorrow....I will sing a song...secretly...just for you..."

     "How will it be a secret?" Soldekai laughs, stomach rippling. His hand lowers to your back, gently massaging. He cocks his head, amber eyes a dusky golden shade. "There are no secrets," he reminds you as much as himself. "Just...a matter of time..."

     "To the mortal minds and ears...there will be music. For you there will be a song. The verse and refrains...these shall come to you. Though my mouth does not move. You will ...~understand~ it..." Secret. Layers of meaning, and under one level of meaning another. A raven colored brow lifts. "You have been spending too much time in Council, Chamberlain...." And he grins at your skin. There are secrets. Do not doubt that The Creator yet has a few....

     He sees...smiling response. "I will be there," Soldekai says, "...once my work is done." How word-bound he is....perhaps he cannot tell. He could do no less. Work first. Obligations first. "Kit," he smiles, "I...I want to say," he sits up a little, turning to his side to see you better, "...that...I..." he blushes a bit, young man about to make confession, "...that I enjoy my time with you." Romantic ideas expressed his way. "I like it," he smiles brightly, idea conveyed. No, dear Herald of Dreams, in his way, he shall become no better than this. A working angel.

     This...is...work. For Galadriel...work suffuses all. There is nothing he does that is not in some way what he is supposed to do. Even sharing such pleasure with you. Has it not given you hope in a Tomorrow and a Future that may contain more of the same? Is it not a dream to hold onto? And his music. And his classes. All of this. Aspiration served in it. Hope plus Inspiration...Aspiration. As you speak, his gaze softens somewhat. Still, that mouth...at once sensuous and expressive...pulls into a smile that could be Loving or Roguish, depending on the angle. "That pleases me," he murmurs, without tease or riddle. "...for I enjoy my time with you. Thank you for sharing your Existence with me," he whispers. And he moves, lying now next to you. A hand touches your face. "I enjoy it very much..." He pauses for a moment. "I will play your song ...now...for I know your work, as mine, is without limit. And I do not want you to go without hearing it..."

     "Are you sure?" he asks, enthusiasm there. Soldekai smirks as his face is touched. "I can come tomorrow, I believe..." yes, it's perhaps better to Act...when you have him.

     "Then...close your eyes...it will be Tomorrow in the memory's keeping. Take this with you, Soldekai..." The touch withdraws, and the bed squeaks. Old, it made its complaints known earlier when forms blended, did it not? Soon after...there is a note. Pendulous and promising. Lingering upon the air. Breathy, as if suspended upon the Sigh of the Almighty. The violin. The note is so clear...held so purely...and then it descends into a slow building melody. Rich and vibrant. Can you feel the stroke of his hand in it? The flicker of candle flames in the to and fro of cascading notes. Like the twinkling of sun through the high branches of a forest. Illumination. The visitation of the Nine Muses. Inspiration. The embrace of Life's Spark -- heard in the quickening crescendo of sweet and rich sound. It is You, Soldekai. And it is the surity and the dance of fire. Sometimes slow, like the winding and curling of smoke. Sometimes in a wavering rhythm...like the flickering of a small flame. Spiraling. Twirling. Ending each refrain with that same...singular ...pendulous note. What is it you wish, Soldekai. What is it you aspire toward? The sounds lead upward, and the last lingering note is high in pitch. An octave to that pendulous note. Opening his eyes, Kit untucks the purple-elm violin from his chin.

     He listened with rapt attention at first, slipping away and closing his eyes as you went on. Such beauty, such sweetness, such melody you provide him. Grace, a dream. Inspiration. Food for an aching heart, a lonely soul. These things, the Malakim is outside of. There are no afternoons in Novalis' field, or along the Steppe with Jordi and his animals. No musicians come to him, no colors, no things bright and shiny. There is flame. There is cruelty avenged, there is a war waged...for him the conventional sort. No time to sit and hark upon the subtle power of his own element as you show him. Sweet tendrils and dancing sparks. No, when his element is asked of him, it is with the ferocity of Fire, of Wrath, of Purification...tender, delicate work..delicate enjoyments...are left to others. When you stop, perhaps you will see how sweetly you have relaxed him, fed him, calmed him. Soldekai...sleeps.

Posted by rowan at May 04, 2003 07:26 PM