He always does as you suggest, Valan Montague. Your advice is as good as gold. Edward's made amends with his William, and has seen to Davydd. All is over, but the shouting...and something else that has had him occupied.
It's not that he ignores you. Contraire. When you are in the room, he has nothing but eyes for you. But when you depart, his gaze turns to some other place. To the wall. To the floor. Thinking.
And when you return, so does Edward's smile and open arms.
Where a few nights ago, he was raring to get out, in the last evening, he seems attached to the house. Davydd came and went, and Edward stayed. The energy of earlier annoyances seems abated, but you know better, M. Montague. It simply has turned inward. He should talk to you soon, once Edward sorts out the pieces of what he wants to say. He has never been able to come to you, in any way, until he feels he has a solution worked out...
He is finding his place in this world, that M. Montague...
Girault is one who speaks about the voices, the quiet voices in the darkness. Not those that terrify -- for there are plenty of those as you know -- but those that soothe, that remind with their constant presence, that there is strength and there is hope in this world. Valan will never been a grand knight. He will never be a warrior. He will never be known for his prowess. But then, that's not why he's here anyway.
And so it is with that quiet presence, that little touch of him everywhere in this house, throughout the night that Valan Montague comes and goes. Not to check on you. You are allowed your times of quiet contemplation are you not? Is he not? Not to be invasive. No. But to remind you.
He knows that you will speak when it is time. As much as he knew you would call him again after L'Empereur. Such knowing, this can only be a comfort.
You hear him.
He is in the kitchen. The air of Modern Normalcy. Something being made for dinner. Wine. There is music, too. Something from a club, something you overheard and he found. You hear something like stirring, what is he making...
Something Continental. Some dish from the Loire....
And then you hear him coming up the stairs...
"Thirty minutes more," he says, a little smile creeping along his mouth. Golden, his hair is brushed in The Mod, the Hipster Immortal. And even though it's autumn, he is barefoot. His burgundy shirt is unfastened. The doe suede brushing as he moves. He smells of the kitchen, the last spice he used still hovering about his skin. Valan is by you then, bending space, bending time -- far more graceful than he was a few months ago, but still like a Brujah colt -- a bend...
A kiss will be left behind...
"You move too fast these nights, ami," Edward smiles, looking up from his seat at the edge of the bed. He has not made it as far as you, lingering in the shower when you departed to other things. Edward's arms reach you and grab you, bringing you back to him, to rest upon his lap.
"What will I do, when I am no longer faster than you? Will you elude me?" he smiles. "I see it now. An old man whose love seeks greener pastures."
That makes him laugh...
There, in gold-flecked green eyes...
And from the throat you know so well...
And past that mouth...
"Eh... ami... it will just mean that I hurry up to do nothing maybe faster than you..." That is the God's Truth. Valan snorts at it and piles on your lap. "I do not think it will happen, that I will be faster than you. You are built too solid for that. In your life you did much more work than I. Me? I do things for enjoyment...if it does not make me happy, I do not do it," ah the Laissez-Faire of a 20th Century Boy.
Valan turns his head, tilting, an eyebrow cocked upward, quizzical, and green eyes narrow, not so much physically but narrow their focus. Yes, there is only you. A finger presses lightly at your Third Eye. "You should not worry that I will elude you. It is the furthest thing from my mind, Eduard. For even if I get better at moving around, and even if I should one day beat you to the television remote first, then what should I do but shrug my shoulders and laugh and wait for you to join me on the sofa..."
He laughs too, quieting with a comforted smile when you touch his Third Eye. Edward's arms fold easily around you, pulling you close. "Only you could beat me to the television," he admits, kissing up at the palm of your hand. "But bulk, ami, has so little to with it." You know this, oui? "It is all...magic," the word whispered, an accusation that such things are well within you.
But Edward's smile dims faintly. Not in worry, just in Something Coming. "I have something to talk to you about, ami," he murmurs, waiting for your agreement to hear it and delve into Serious Conversation. "About...something I want...to do..."
He quiets. For he has learned to read your expressions. To know, when laughter comes and how the smiles turn when something is on your mind. Valan does not speak of magic. He watches your smile dim as Something begins to emerge.
A golden eyebrow lifts, arching in a curious raise. And then his expression also quiets, not losing the golden mirth. Not forgetting that a brilliant dinner is simmering below or that, as most nights, brilliance will also simmer here, above. Nor does he lift a corner of his mouth and tease your words out of you -- Oh yes? Well, there is something I want to do too. No, there is none of that.
"What is that, ami?" Valan asks, quiet interest, waiting to hear what you would say. A hand finds its home, its place against the nape of your neck and fingers move idle through dark hair. Briefly, gold-green eyes lift from your own to your hair, his hand in it, and then they lower once more to look at you directly.
"I need to go out for a couple of nights," Edward begins. "I know," he inhales unnecessarily, "...who burned Palmer's. And I need to make a few calls." Euphemism that. But what he speaks of is risk. Risk to himself first, risk to you, risk to your home and life together. "I go alone ... and ..." both brows raise. I don't know what will happen.
He looks at you almost apologetically. "You could...go to Fleurlil for a few nights, I think. Maybe to home and see your family." Some place safer. "It's not good," Edward smirks, "...when you decide that friends of friends of people in power," he smiles, "...need your attention."
Ah...
These are the things you tried to tell me, ami. Things you whispered, in worry, in concern, even in fear. In things half-said for not wanting to worry me more. But, always, I knew there was more when you looked at me. Your eyes, ami, they are so honest.
But I do not ask you not to do what you must do...To do this, would show that I do not understand you.
"I know... you would not do it if it did not need to be done," Valan says simply, and he nods. "I can ... do you think I can? Go to Bordeaux? Do you ... think they will know, Edward..." What I am. That I am not well. I already start to laugh. That I am not alive as they knew it...
"I could meet you in Bordeaux. You could come get me... we could walk the vineyards at night..." He thinks of when he shall see you next. Not in what you shall be doing while you are gone.
Or that you shall be gone, parted for a few nights. He does not want to dwell on that. "If you think Bordeaux is safe for me, I will go there," Valan whispers.
You will not have to worry for me. Just yourself.
"It is," Edward smiles, "...we have too many friends there." Of all kinds. "But at the same time, I would rather you nearby...if something does go...not as I have planned," he laughs, nose wriggling in mock-dismay. "Or, if someone decides you make an interesting target, I am in the same place as you, ami. So..." he shrugs, smiling weakly, "...I am not sure what to do. I ask you, ami," Edward's eyes lower to you, head bobbing, "...you are an adult. I cannot..." he chuckles derisively at himself, "...treat you as...a mortal." I think. "Or...as if you cannot make your own decisions. I...just worry ... regardless ..." of what we choose.
"Listen to me," Edward sighs, chest expanding and collapsing rapidly. He looks ahead, to the wall. "Should I simply tell you what to do? Is this how..." he looks down, "...we are together? I do not think so. Can you...if something should happen...take care of yourself here? Or in Bordeaux..." that occurring to him suddenly. If you cannot defend yourself here, would you do any better in Bordeaux? But there are friends here as well...
"Maybe... I could stay in England... out of London but not as far as Bordeaux. That way, I would be closer. Able to move faster. Come to you, if you need me." Valan smiles, "Well, I know you need me.. but you know what I mean. If you need help, or... I don't want to go as far as Bordeaux."
There, the first decision.
"It is too far." Feels too far. "If something were to happen to you," I do not want to think about this, "... I am smart, ami. I know where to go and where not to go. I know your allies. I know, at least," a reassuring smile, "...where to run, where to take shelter. How to feed myself. How to do the basic things. I know this much. Moreso, I know whom I can trust," quiet French leaves him, "You have seen to all these things."
"Of course," Valan continues, "I will worry about you until I hear from you. But... I will stay on this island." He pauses, smiling suddenly. "I have never been to Scotland. I hear it is beautiful there, ami. I hear they have meadows of grey rocks and purple flowers."
And it is only a few hours from you. Only six -- maybe five the way you drive.
Scotland. I should have thought of it. Edward's eyes light up.
"Dieu," he rolls same eyes, shaking his head, "...why didn't I think of that." A smiling sigh. Relief. "Ah, ami, you are much smarter than I even give you credit for. And that is a lot." He bends, placing a kiss at your nose.
Well of course. Scotland. Plantagenet and Donal will see to things. Davydd. Of course. Why not stay here...
"You are smart," he whispers, coming from his reverie with a grin. "Scotland, then," he smiles, bending closer, nose at yours. Why didn't I think of it? "You always know what to do, ami..."
Scotland.
A strategic defense -- it is wild and remote.
Scotland.
Donal, William, Ian and even Harry Northumberland reside there. A perfect place to hide. Who would go there, afterall?
Wales, too -- the western frontier. There are many places on this world that your Valan may travel safely. But none as secure as Scotland and Wales. There is no one in London who would want to take on either one of them...
Valan grins to see your grin, "I have listened to you, yes? Besides..." he laughs, "... if I am going to cloister myself safe, I know my history too. I will hide under Plantagenet skirts." Well, not literally. He has no desire to see that. No offense to your beautiful cousin.
Valan smiles against your mouth. A grin that becomes a kiss. "I will be close to you," he murmurs there. "Close enough for you to almost touch. And in such care as you will not have to worry for me while you are tending to your business in town. Will you call for me or will you come get me?"
Edward Meurelle. In Scotland. When was the last time? "Maybe it will be snowing, yes?"
Come to Scotland, he said. Edward grins and nods. "I think...I can handle that," the grin growing into beaming radiance.
"Snow. We have enjoyed snow before, oui, ami?" Now, he is brilliant. Everything solved. There is comfort in it all, and he can quickly dispatch those who need dispatching without a care. "I think they will be surprised to see us there. And staying for a few nights..."
"Should we call first? Or," the smile pulls wide and warm, lazy slow, and it makes him golden. "... shall we surprise them, I show up at the door with a small bag in my hands, like a proper cousin..."
Would it not be priceless...
The look on William's face...
But maybe a call first, an announcement. For who knows how your cousin is spending his nights...
Well, after so long, you can make an educated guess...
Eyebrows arch upward and Valan laughs, an open, humorous, remembering expression. "Hmm... snow. I think I will enjoy this. You will meet me there and maybe we stay for a few nights. Play in the snow. What is his house like there, in Scotland?"
And meanwhile, dinner is simmering...
The smell of it... game hen... herbs. Valan jolts in your arms. "Shite," he murmurs in your English -- and always when he speaks English, it is to say the worst of its words, "... I think I should check on the food... you will tell me as I finish? What it is like there?"
Ah. That is the smell. Edward blinks as you jolt, pushing arms up to give you a headstart on standing. "It's...dreary," he offers only, laughing as he falls back onto the bed, arms out. Christ never looked so delectable.
And so Edward's gaze washes out, smile affixed at his lips. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. You can almost hear him think.
It is not burning, it is merely done...
There is no rush to get out of your arms, and as you lie back like that, you see your Valan pause. Hold quite still. What am I doing with game hens when I have this...
He is on the edge between letting it burn and racing downstairs to simply remove things from the fire, turn off burners. You hear the shirt hit the floor. You hear the floor creak under his steps. "I will... be right back..."
Words that come with barely a breath...
Do not move...
It is only for the thought that he should set you both on fire that he goes at all. You hear quick descending steps, a race down the stairs. Into the kitchen. You hear him move quickly around. Bare feet on the linoleum.
And then the carpet...
You hear him mounting the stairs again...
I. Want. You. Each step that sounds on the stairs, on the carpet, that makes the floor creak, taps out Need. His blood is burning. Can you feel one another yet? On the blood you share? He is a small flame, compared to you, young and new and shining gold light more than giving off any heat. But can you feel it there...
Valan piles on top of you in textures of smooth skin and brushed suede. His mouth pulling at your mouth. Canines testing, teasing flesh. "When ... must you go... and I go too," he says quietly.
There was only a bare nod at your departure. He had no plans on moving. Suddenly, the world made sense. What happened, the conversation, was supposed to happen. That is how it is, between lovers. Between those mated. Mated. Is that what we are. Oui, you silly man, of course that is what you are...
Edward's mind flip-flopped, rolling it all over in amazed awe. Marveling at the rightness of it all. You. He. Your thoughts. His thoughts. Your solutions. With two, the answers come so much faster now. A conversation eternal.
"Umph," Edward grunts, brought back to the here and now by you upon him. "Oh..." hands settling at your hips, "...when? Well, maybe tomorrow night?" he asks and simultaneously suggests. Not now. "And your dinner? Is it alright?"
"Oui... all good, it will stay warm a while... ready..."
Whenever we want it. Whenever we make it downstairs again. If we make it. It will provide after dinner snacks, perhaps. Like ordering Chinese take out when you know it will be a ... long night. Tomorrow night. I will have to pack sometime soon then. Valan settles upon you, arms resting on the bed, hands near your head. They would hold your hands, were your hands not holding him. "Tomorrow night. I will just take some essentials...throw some things in a bag when I wake up. Take some chicken with me and be on my way." Valan laughs. The sound at your ear. "I will drive myself -- or should I take the train...? What is faster, you think?"
Valan on mass transit. If you can imagine it...
And while the conversation lifts and lowers from him, soon again from you, his mouth is at your ear, just behind and just beneath it. You feel the edge of a distended fang...
"Chicken?" Edward begins and trails off. His eyes close, the smile slanting into something more satisfied. "I'd rather you drive --" he adds, "or I can take you, if we leave early." Long nights, these.
There is a grin at your ear...
Pulling wide and warm from ear to throat. There is not so much exhalation as he speaks, and yet he speaks as naturally as once he did. And as quickly. "Ah... but which car, ami? Hmmm... how about the Cobra? Yes?" Yes? Please...
Please...
Valan finds the crook of your neck. The universe of arteries and veins, of skin, of muscle, of the joining of neck and shoulder. His mouth widens, suckling, teasing the blood to the surface. "I will drive myself. Oh, I will need a map..."
Such afterthoughts. You feel the impending strike long before it comes. You know how it moves through him like a slow roll of thunder, from his toes, to his legs -- they stretch out along you -- to his hips -- they curve inward. To his arms -- they snake around you, anchoring. To the murmur of your name.
And then the uncontrollable clamp. The body moving on its own like a reflex. Valan closes his eyes, feeling flesh part for him.
Ah, ami. You could not have truly wanted an answer to your question.
Not when we are like this.
Not when you use me so.
How can I find strength to reply? Strength to meet your own? I had forgotten what this was like, to be helpless and a source of power at the same time. To feel my lifeblood draining from me, yet to find it a pleasure beyond all pleasure.
Therein lies the paradox, ami. When I am my most vulnerable, I am the most potent. I am what brings you such joy.
Cobra.
That is what I think. But I cannot speak it. All that escapes my lips are the sounds of sumptuous agony. A swirl of ache wrapped in silk. Soon, I will ebb in your arms, and you will be able to tell. But even as I do, I will feel glorious.
Hands at your thighs clench for an instant, but soon relax into a rest. A finger slips, followed by a second, a third. Edward's hand falls over your thigh to the bed.
It is not so much...
It is not so long...
The warmth you provide lingers on his lips, though all signs of blood are gone. And the wound is not a wound, only an electric memory. A remembrance brushed against your lips as you feel his mouth there. Wandering. There is your name, hovering in the air. A suspended, soft groan.
Edward...
And the bed sounds before he knows he moves. A roll and Valan lands beside you. Another sound, as you hit his stomach, course through him. Burn at him. Crimson shows how dear you are at the corners of his eyes.
And then there is motion, sudden. He moving augmented. The doe suede falls on the floor. "It will be a long two nights..." comes the tangle of French. And when he returns, flush against you, all you feel is skin.
It was so wonderful...
And now gone. But it is often like that. Just when you are ready to give all, someone finds temperance.
Edward grins as you roll away, a sigh escaping his parted lips. "I will never get used to that," he smiles, "...and gladly so." There is only one thing better, and it seems you are already thinking of it.
And then you are back. Edward's eyes open, hands coming to rest above his head. A needed stretch, so he might look at the sight above. "Will you tire of me, ami," his French lolls, "...saying how incredibly beautiful you are?" No different than the night we first met, when I could not keep from watching you as you talked and smoked. Nursed your drink. I was staring, I think, even as I looked down at the table between us. How you caused my stomach to tie into knots, my skin to blush, my eyes to glance away. As if being nervous for some first time.
"What am I saying?" I realize. I laugh. "No one tires of hearing that they drive another to desire and love, that there is no better vision than a vision of the beloved." He has spent time in Spain. Sometimes, it bubbles forth.
"It will be a long two nights, ami," I must confess, trying to remember this moment as I have tried to burn other moments into my memory. I cannot forget you.
Nor your skin, your hair, the way you feel, unadored, upon me...
You do not think you are as eloquent as you are. With words like that, that still me. That make me smile before my mind can think to tell my mouth. I am already colored with you. Just a warm blush. There, my own blood lifting to my skin.
Calling...
Wanting...
Fingers drizzle against your mouth as Valan settles upon and over you. A leg to either side of you. You feel where heat gathers, and you can see it on him so easily, his cream complexion showing ruddiness here and there. Gold hair is thick, it holds where he wishes it to hold, The Mod purposely disheveled. "Je vous adore..." Valan says, the smile lingering. Gold in his eyes made brighter by the blood. "Et ne pourrait jamais le pneu de l'audition que je vous fais heureux, ami..."
Nor could you doubt it. Can you not see what you do to me? Obvious there, at midriff. Valan's smile wanes, not for lack of joy -- not at all -- but... distracted.
The garnets sparkle at his throat. And that is all adorning him, but you.
His hands rise, exploring places they have been hundreds of times now. The bend of your hips, the long lines of your sides. How cool skin feels as it warms. Edward's brown eyes blink sleepily as he drifts into languor. He is quiet for several minutes, observing. Enjoying. However did I come this sweet treasure?
"I think I am too dressed for the occasion, ami," Edward murmurs eventually. He shifts in his slacks, the sign of his aborted dressing of earlier.
People throw out words like Fate... kismet... karma -- many times without even knowing their true meaning. Maybe it was just lucky happenstance. A coincidence. Your cousin mentioned a bar, L'Empereur, you and your friend Davydd joined him. And then there I was with Astrid and the Terrible Twenty -- she there to make L'Empereur trendy merely by her presence there. You were wearing silver pants...
I stared at you as you moved past with your friends who are now my friends. Such men, I said to Astrid, such men like these do not come from Tours...
So, I took a chance.
And Chance had its way with me...
"Oui, overdressed... in some crowds, it would be cause for a fashion excommunication," French pulls at your mouth, and then laughter, throaty and full of sunlight.
"Je veux que vous me donniez quelque chose me rappeler vous pres," the words come on breaths, barely louder than that themselves. He does not lift from you, but moves back far enough that his hands -- or yours, should they join them -- can see to that. "La valeur de deux nuits, dans une..."
Something to remember? I was thinking the other way around...
"Pouvez-vous m'oublier? Pouvez-vous oublier ce qui est entre nous?" Edward asks, hands indeed joining yours. He lifts, fingers curled within the waistband of his slacks. Eyes upon you, his hands push the slacks downward, over hips and around stiffer obstacles.
But further is harder, and Edward settles upon the bed again, linen at his knees. He smiles and sighs, amber twinkling at his throat.
"Help?" he smirks.
"Est il ce que les amoureux disent, oui..?" It is a thing lovers say. A phrase. Like... pulling my leg...
Well, not exactly like that saying, ami...but you know what I mean.
Yes?
There was a slantwise smile, a rush of blood and then Valan slides back, taking the linen with him. Over your knees. Downward to your ankles.
Flesh to flesh. There is no better feeling. It feeds me as much as blood to the mouth. It is all one and the same...
Flesh to flesh, his hands are at your thighs, the linen tossed aside. You feel his fingers splay, curling. And then his mouth. His green-gold eyes lift to you from where he now kneels.
Yes, remember.
There is nothing wrong with this. It is not as if I shall forget what it is like to be with you, or why I love you, or that I love you. But... it will be a comfort in a strange place, as I lie by myself on a guest's bed.
The relief washes across Edward's face. The relaxation in his smile. The freedom allowed.
And like you, Valan, your lover is invigorated. His eyes close, rolling upwards before lids close sight to the world.
This is what I shall take with me into the darkest alleys of this city. When my arms and magic begin to wane in the fight I will face. When minutes upon minutes of blazing speed and violence pass, and I actually ache. When bullets tear into me, and I find resolve to ignore them. This is what I see. What I will see, when blood fills my eyes and mouth, and I realize it is my own.
Posted by rowan at May 06, 2003 07:55 PM
