"Bonsoir, amours," comes William's quiet voice after. Where he is... it is very quiet. You can tell that he is smoking. "I missed you... I wanted to tell you I will be back tomorrow." A pause. "Early ... tomorrow night..." I wish I were with you now. You can hear that, Ian. William looks to the curling smoke of his cigarette. Grey. Thinking of your eyes. See how it is, even after so many centuries...
     There's a pause. Wish it, and it will come true. "Good," he whispers, "I miss you too." How he loves to hear such from you, to feel it. "Are you having...a good time?" He was not sure what the rush was, but whatever it was, your friends needed you.
     You whisper the devil's name, he always pops up. You and he have always been renowned for it. Impeccable timing some call it. Others, damn luck. But as you whisper, you hear the creak of leather... him in a leather chair of some sort. "I got to play High Priest. It was... interesting. It was a good evening. It will be better tomorrow..." You hear the warmth of the slight grin. You know it for what it is. He will be with you tomorrow, all will be well. "I will tell you about it then," William murmurs. He is quiet for a moment. "I love you."
     He is quiet again before the smile crackles the satellite. "I love you, Will. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I'll wait for you..." and stay put. "Night," Ian whispers. I don't want to go, not yet. "I love you." But tomorrow, all will be better.
     There is a quiet chuckle. You know it. Held in the chest, in the throat. The low sound you like. He is glad his 'mates' aren't here to hear this. It would be no end to the ribbing for it. "Oui... I will be there early." There -- Kensington. A pause. "We shop tomorrow..." I don't want to go yet either. "I promise. Any other Lasombra executions will simply have to wait until after the first of the year. Plantagenet is... booked solid until then." Another grin for you. "Good night, Ian..."
     "Good morning, love," Ian murmurs, a grin there. And slowly, reluctantly, the call ends.

     ...I have stars in my eyes...
It has nothing to do with the scotch and brandy I had ..god... hours ago now. Or the unfiltered cigarettes -- though my lungs will never be the same. I have stars in my eyes. Maybe from the sweat...
     Valan grins up at the ceiling, as if drunk... or mad, and his breaths pound from him, drowning out the last squeaks of the bed. Resettling... you can feel the ripples of it, Edward... from the hard landing Valan had made, minutes ago now. You have learned that your athletic lover adores to straddle you and is quite flexible. It must be the fencing. And now he is settled against you, in a tangle of flesh and sheets.
     Garnets drip over your skin as he curls against you, mouth at your chest. "Vous etes incroyable..." he breathes there. You are incredible. I could love you.

     He too clings to the ceiling. To stop his mind from spinning. The body and blood are thrilled, but Edward's mind works overtime. A grin pulls at his lips though, and outside arm rises to slip under his pillow and his head. There's too much contentment in this, and as an afterthought, Edward's brow furrows and he glances at his watch. There's time.
     Sighing and resettling, the hand disappears, and his face turns to see you. "Keep flattering me and I might believe it," he murmurs, grin angling to more of a smirking blush. "I like when you say that," he whispers earnestly, wondering if you can tell how much he means it. "You are too..." Edward teases, pushing at you a little, "...you are still here...and awake." His arm curls, pulling you close. Hand under his head appears, lowering to massage his eyes for a lingering moment. "Soon the joy will wear away," he recites, making up poetry, "...and we will return to the banality of the day." Or shall we? He smirks at you. All good things must come to an end, right?
     The fire in the shared glass wall is but embers now. Someone will come soon to see on it. Edward's gaze alights at the foot of his bed, past the sweep of the room to see the coals. He glances at the side of the bed...the clothes and gun are still there...but makes no moves to change anything, save another flex of his muscular arm around you.
     Perhaps, Edward... you should have your cousin-uncle-Brother paint your ceiling for you. It is no wonder that he prefers to have something to look at in times such as this. If the cosmos were painted there, would you find yourself on Mars... or... anywhere but your bed? Would it give you ample exits, Edward...

     You find hazel eyes when you turn. The returned look... is open. Perhaps that is due to the brandy and the scotch and the beer and the hashish. That openness. Or what has passed between you and for so many hours, the gradual wearing down of defenses in place of extreme pleasure. More than he has known, even he, who knows of so little else. The luxuries that wealth affords. Full the mouth that pulls in the smile, warm. Languid. And Valan first replies in the lowering and lifting of lashes. You can see the mortal prepare to speak, his lips part, hear the breath drawn. You can still hear his heart drumming. Lying now upon his side, head resting upon a curled arm, he faces you. "Will it..." Valan wonders quietly, his French at your ear, pulled close as he was by you. "I am still here... oui... awake...? I do not know about this. It feels too good for consciousness." The grin is smooth. He always seems to have an answer for such things. Is it appealing? "As for flattering you... do not stop me now, I'm just beginning to enjoy it..." The chuckle is deep, held at his throat. His mouth brushes at whatever skin of yours he may reach.
     A moment of quiet is followed by. "If this is the answer to banality," he quests, "...then I can endure the day. Sip my cafe... listen to the meaningless conversations... and grin from what the night shall bring me..." Valan closes his eyes a moment, then his grin cuts to the side. "You know... I should enjoy that. Going through my day, sipping with a knowing grin like... what is that cat's name in the stories..." The Cheshire Cat. "Well...whatever one... "

     He likes that idea too. Has he ever had a secret before? What of Edward of Blois is not public knowledge. Something totally his. "I know that, but I can't think of the name either," Edward grins, letting his emotions ride high on his sleeve. Does he look different for it? He cannot take his gaze from you, and often stares in silence...until he begins to chuckle and flush faintly.
     "Do I need...to take you...somewhere?" Home or work or anything of that nature. Brown eyes blink. I hope not. "Spending a night in someone's bed doesn't mean you do not do whatever it is," he grins, not really knowing and amused by the idea, "...you do during the day. Or..." his voice softens, "...someone....might...wonder where you are?" Is there someone else.

     "Cheshire... god..." A sigh of relief. "I thought I was going to be up all night," a chuckle, "... trying to sort that out." The teasing, it is something you both do. But this... it is open. There is no defense that is up for it. Only the occasional dash of humor. Valan quiets and watches your rise of color, the smile. The differences. You seem at ease. And when there is quiet... it is not the discomforted kind. It is... merely quiet. Filled with staring. A hand reaches in, slowly, and fingertips skim your mouth. Briefly. Was that too tender? I don't care...
     "Merci... but... non... nowhere to go. I do not have a schedule. A fact which drives my father to distraction." A wink comes with that. "But I can do all I need to do on my laptop... the modern, portable office. And," the smile warms, "... no one is expecting me other than my fish and my lizard..." He laughs, and now it's his turn to blush a bit. "So... it sounds as if I have a dull daylife, oui? I wake, I eat, I fence and then I wander." He does not need to work. But he does something. Valan sighs a bit. "I will need a lift back to town... at some point. Trust me... I will be content to sleep through the whole of the day..." It's not that unusual for me.

     Ah, but did Edward's eyes brighten. "You have a lizard?" he grins, nodding approvingly. "I used to have a snake, many ye--...um...he was very old." Oops. "I have always wanted fish though," he murmurs, changing the topic, "...fish always seem very calming, you know." There was no retreat for the touch at his lips, just them opening and closing around the fingertip. A kiss. "Who..." since you brought it up, "...is your father?" Montague, in this age, rings not a bell with Touraine. "You are in business with your family?" As with many.

     "I wanted a kimodo dragon, but they're a tad illegal and vicious," Valan murmurs, syllables edged with laughter. "... what I have is an iguana... fairly large... and a chameleon, very small. The fish are great... koi..." The large Japanese carp. Acquainted with them? "A snake... ? Python or boa?" he wonders. Ah oh... he stills as your mouth surrounds his finger, and he is distracted a moment. "My father," the smile is slow to form, "is...Etienne Montague..." A known player in high-tech industries in France. From phone cards and telecom to engineering. The family is old, but of more southern climes than Touraine. "Montague Telecom, Industries and the Montague label, Bordeaux country..." Wineries, the old family business, propped up by the new. "We purchased Franc-Orange last year..." he murmurs. "Well... I say we . My father. I work on marketing for him. But my love is wine. It is the family passion. Wine and music." Valan closes his eyes briefly. Wanting to be where his finger is. Still. Even after all these hours.
     Hazel eyes are green and gold and brown. Shards of all three colors that make up the one. And they are focused on you. Do you know the name? Does that make a difference? Please... tell me it does not make a difference...
     A honeyed brow lifts, arching. Eyes open... to check and see if you are still awake after all of that. Valan smirks at himself. Very good, Valan... very slick. How clever of you to make sure he stays interested in you...

     There comes a waver of Edward's head and a grin. "I like hearing about you," he smirks, securing his hand beneath his head again. "It sounds as if you are a very busy...man. That is good you enjoy the business...I'm sure your father has plans for you." A sigh and he chuckles at the faux-ennui, "It was a python, but you sound as if you have had a menagerie. I have just had the python. You like animals, then? Oh," Edward grins, "I shall make you a trade. A case of your best for a case of mine? "Chateau Marillese?" The Grand Cru lot. His brows wiggle. "A deal?"

     And I want to hear of you. Chateau Marillese, the label. You see the knowledge there, the understanding of vintage, and his expression warms, softens. "Oui... I shall better you one than this, Edward. A case of yours for a case of mine... and taste it together." Yes, I am asking to see you again. I want to see you again . He smiles easily. "I am not so busy," he is humble? "... I travel around France, Italy, Spain... it is an excuse to tour wineries, go to good cafes and have a reason to travel. In truth... I never wish to run Montague's Corporation. It ... isn't me. I ... tasted freedom too much in university. I .. could never imagine sitting behind a desk. Fortunately... I can afford to be the gypsy... I can freelance...which I do... for Vino Veritas ... It is the way I am learning the business. I should rather be dead than be behind a desk..." He grins to that. He likes to work, get his hands dirty in soil, this one. "I do like animals... reptiles... actually." A pause. "And dogs, but I don't own any. Too much maintenance..."
     His legs shift, his skin is warm yet. In this proximity you can feel his heart beating. Loudly enough to serve for you both, if need be. "And you, Edward of the Chateau... what is it you do, when you are not making me happy and laughing at my jokes?" Who are you. You will not disappear will you. These are the things he does not ask. "Is there someone who entertains you... or... should I give you one of my fish?"

     He chuckles softly, his legs moving with yours. He cannot help it. "I do not have a place for a fish...maybe a little bowl in here." No, no, there is no one . He pauses, then, "Mm. One bottle of each and we shall taste them together. We can start with that." No rush. "But...it is nice that your father gives you such allowance. Me?" he shrugs and kisses your nose, "I...spend most of my time in London. I create security solutions for those who can afford it." After a fashion. And it explains the gun. "It...keeps me occupied." He pulls at you and snuggles close, "I think it is interesting that you are a writer. And...you were at University?"

     "Paris," he murmurs. "Oui... there... I studied Things Of No Great Importance... but to myself. And writing... fills the spaces between ...conversations." Valan lifts his head. A tilt of it and his mouth brushes yours again. "A bottle for a bottle. It is a reasonable trade..." As you pull him to you, his form fits and melds to your own. Complimenting. "Security... a very interesting field... never boring I would imagine. And... it must allow you some freedom...?" Valan looks to you again, wondering, his expression...open curiosity. Wanting to know you. I want to know you. "An ...allowance you can give yourself... oui?" And the corner of his mouth upturns. The birth of a grin. "Have you ever done security for... say... a museum or... something along those lines? Or is it ...personal security?" Hazel begins to wander. He cannot help it. He cannot look away from you... only your body can distract him from your face. And as weary as he is... there is a part of him... that wants to shake the bed again. He should be dead asleep but you... engage him too much. Mentally. Physically. "Eventually... perhaps my kind-hearted father will expect more from me... but for now.. he is happy I finished university and am looking into the traditional family business. That of his father and his father before him. It appeases him. It pleases me. Everyone wins..."

     Edward nods in some understanding. "Aye," his Englishness showing, "...everyone wins." And another kiss. He too could see the bed shake again and hear his voice muffling at your lips and ears. But you are weary enough. He does not want you to remember him as greedy at your expense. "I do private security," Edward explains, "...reactive and sometimes proactive. Sometimes, it means investigating as well. But, in truth, I do not spend so much time here at Fleurilil as I do in London." He smiles to see how you look at him. "You are staring again," he whispers, not really meaning it. "And then I stare. And then we stare. I thought it was not so polite to stare? What would our mothers think?"

     "I should think if our mothers saw use now, it would not be the fact that we are staring that would cause the greater number of heart palpitations, mon Edward..." He can't help but laugh at that. And revel in the knowledge of it. A man with a man. Mothers' sons. Can mothers ever really understand. Valan chuckles, but it doesn't break the intensity of the gaze. Ah, but you see... the lids are growing heavy. He has not your endurance, though the athlete's endurance is high. He spends, you would imagine, more time in his aristocratic pursuits than in outright business affairs. "I can't help it, I do not think," comes the languorous French, flecked with the Loire. "And if I could, I do not think I would. Forgive me," Valan breathes. Another kiss. It does not have the fire it once did, and is it not all the sweeter for that? Curling into you, Valan closes any and all space that might have existed yet between you. "This... was a night... incredible... an incredible night," you feel his mouth against your skin, the breath of his words there. Warm. "Edward..." A pause. No last name still. "... of Fleurilil..."
     His heart has finally slowed to its strong and steady thud. His breathing has finally quieted to the slow rise and fall of a man in shape. In the prime of his life. And hours with you begin to take their toll. Though he is fighting that. A fighter, you have here, Edward. On a visceral, natural level. Valan clears his throat. "I have only been to London... ever once..."

     A lover, a fighter. Edward's eyes float to the ceiling, his arm wrapping and reassuring more. "Meurelle," he whispers. That said. He is quiet and places another kiss somewhere upon you. "London ... is ...a big city. Very different from Paris. Old, yes, but it has a future...vibe...that is...amazing." Just as you are. Silence. He has to respond. "It...has been one of the best Nights of my...life...Valan Montague." All of it. Edward's skyward smile is thin, knowing time is wearing fast for you both. "A nice name," he whispers, talking to no one in particular. Perhaps you are sleep already. It is much like telling a bedtime story, until you are well held by Morpheus' arms instead of his own. Arms flex, the biceps hardening, then softening. A stretch. "Maybe...you will come to London and visit me there. See it for yourself. Westminster, the Thames, ah...St. Paul's." All the good touristy bits. "And...you write," he smiles upward, "...you can see a play or three at the Barbican or find books at Charing Cross." A deep inhale and Edward grins. There is so much for you to see. "Or the old bookstalls, hmm, behind the Cathedral? I hear those are ripe for writers and creative types," more of England showing. A blink. Edward cranes to see your face, to see whether you are still awake.

     A lover and a fighter. You see the eyes flash, flicker with a blink. I am awake! But drowsy is the mouth tugged by the curl of a smile. "Meurelle," he whispers back. Setting that in the stone of his memory. Edward Meurelle. "I will ... go to your London, you will have to teach me a little more English." You have not heard him speak it yet. "For I... can only say..." He thinks a moment. "Hello," he says in heavily accented English. "How are you? I am well, thank you. Ah, and... What time is it?" He chuckles softly, "... it is bad, yes?" comes the French far more familiar. His hand brushes against you. "It is alright for you to tell me... my English sucks...I am not proud." A pause. "Well... a little..." Fingers make the international sign for a little bit -- thumb and forefinger parted just slightly. "It sounds...wonderful. You will... give me a tour? This ..." Fleurilil, "...was the best tour I have ever been on in my life." Eyes open and his teasing ends. "Thank you... I am... glad I was here for it..." The best night of your life that is.
     As you crane to see his face, you can see it soften with impending sleep. His eyes struggle, blinking, and finally surrender to a close. "Incredible," he breathes. He is not yet asleep... but it will not be long. You can leave him to sleep here. He will not wake until you do, most likely. You can feel his limbs grow heavy...

     He grins at your English. It is sweet to hear. "You spoke just fine," Edward assures, lips' pull growing. How are you? I am well. It almost sounds as I did, so long ago. The beginning. Edward shuts his eyes, staving off the emotions. The language...it was so difficult then. Words came heavily, thudding, but meant so honestly. Hello. How are you? I am well, thank you. Hand behind his head reaches down, joining with the other to hold you fully. "We should sleep, hmm?" Someone remaining in his bed. Edward sniffs a bit, slipping down into the sheets and velvet, cozying with you for the still-cool part of the early morning. What he needs to do...he will do. Later.

     "Hmmm... " The sigh, the groan, the smile -- all in concert. His body will feel it tomorrow, but now... now there is just the languid haze of pleasure, the residue of activity and sex, and warm blankets. Valan falls easily against you. Into you. Resting still, finally. You feel the curl and uncurl of his fingers against you. Slower. And slower. Until they stop.
     I find that I could do this for a hundred years. If I had a hundred more. I will never look at the world in the same way. I will smoke cigarettes with a difference. Remember something with every sip of brandy. And smile inanely at passing crowds. Yes, I know something you do not. I know there is something else besides Television and discussions on the weather. I know there is something between the folds of cigarette smoke that you are missing. This is what my smile will say. The children will say, Valan Montague... he is mad. And I will laugh and agree with them. What are you to do once you have tasted meaning in this life?

     ...There may have been one or two images of what you might have expected to find going on downstairs in your guest rooms, Meurelle. What was unexpected was that the door was opened, rather than closed, and there was no grunting going on. Male or female. The door to the chamber where William was to be housed is open... and soft lighting spills outward. The door is not cracked but half-fully opened. Within, you can see the scene.
     No, when you were walking downstairs to the second landing and down that hallway, you were probably not expecting to see Davydd and William sharing a bed. Mind you... they're both clothed. It's not that surreal. Well...sharing it is a bit... generous a word. They're haggling over territory. Just like old times.
     "Am I going to have to submit a formal treaty," comes the roll of Welsh-colored French, "...to get a goddamned pillow, or a little leg room, Plantagenet? I know you have three... technically speaking...but would it kill you...?"
     "You have a huge bed in your own room..." A languid protest upon a tired voice. At least he isn't as brooding as he was. But you notice... there is no sign of that blonde you saw him with. No sign at all. "And a woman to go with it..."
     "Aye... but if I go back... I can't keep you up to amuse me..."

     There is a knock at the door, and a push. The light diffuses, and in the shadows stands Edward. He appears very recently bathed, and dressed in black flannel pants with a black flannel robe. It is currently pulled closed, and black wool slippers cover his feet. It gets cold around here.
     "People are attempting to sleep you know," he declares, entering with a jingle. Walking the halls. The source of the noise becomes apparent as he holds two silver balls in his hand, fingers deftly designing figure-eights. "Don't you have a room?" Edward asks, free hand pointing accusingly at Davydd. "Go there," he chuckles, shuffling across the room towards one of the seats. A sigh, and Edward licks his lips.

     But like proper brothers -- and the more centuries they travel, the more it seems they are truly related by blood than happenstance -- they quiet the bickering upon the entrance of ...well, we're all glad neither of their fathers is still around, so you'll have to do for the moment, Blois. Here, be dark and foreboding. Yes... just like that...
     Lying upon his stomach, William is clothed, but all that remains is the leather. Shoes, shirt... all else but his cross and ring and leather are gone. As he rolls over, you can see that he was likely on his way to getting ready for bed when Llewelyn likely made his -- and could it have been anything other than -- rude entrance. His demeanor is much more quiet than before. There is not the slide of seduction or the smirk of Immortal Knowing. "I thought you were long gone for this world," he murmurs, his French older. Purposely. Shoving Davydd over, William actually makes room on the king-sized bed. Or there is a chair nearby. He will give you a choice. "I was on my way to sleep..." Indigo flickers toward Davydd, but there is a fondness there. No hard feelings. It's more of a lad's tussle than anything else. Sleep. Alone at that.

     "My original plan," Davydd murmurs, "...was to burst in on him and his little... hmmm... aperitif? That he selected earlier. Came in... found him reading ... no sign of said aperitif anywhere. So..." The grin is wide and warm and Davydd crosses his legs at the ankles and folds his arms behind his head, lying upon his back as he is. "... I thought I'd bunk in with him, now that I've made my little bird sing."

     "Ugh, do we need details? I do not want to know about you and your bird." Or anything with feathers. Edward chuckles, having fallen into English once more. It's almost natural. His lips flutter and a low noise of weariness slips forth as he takes the nearby seat. The balls are held, and both hands come to rest on the top of his head. "Well, don't stop cause I'm here, laddies." That reminds him. "I could use a cigarette." But he's not rushing from his seat to get one. "I should be gone," Edward says pointedly at William, "...but I'm off schedule. I blame my fuckin' guests," he stares at Davydd. You. Noisemaker. A snort and he chuckles, leaning back and closing his eyes. "What happened to the blonde thing from that place?" he wonders, cracking an eye open to see William.

     Dark eyes take you in, and with a roll... and its accompanying quiet groan... William reaches for the bedside bureau, opens a drawer. A cigarette is taken out of the pack for himself. Flame erupts seemingly from his fingertips and then he hands them both to you. "Mostly ... it's been a lovely conversation," William counters, seriously. "Only occasionally interrupted by ... horseplay..." The bed squeaks as he resettles, one knee raised, foot flat to the surface of the bed, his other extended, resting idly. To your question and that crack of brown, William tilts his head, a slanting look returned to you as he exhales scented smoke. "I realized when I had him pressed to one of the club's walls that... it was just not what I was looking for..." Or rather...whom. William shrugs. Sometimes it goes like that. "I have explained to Davydd... that just because I am into men generally, I am not into him specifically," comes the mull of baritone at that, smooth in humor. As if.

     "My headache miraculously disappeared," Davydd murmurs, and as William is half sitting, he now takes the opportunity to recline. Yes, he has every intention on sleeping in William's space. Why not? "But..." a sigh, seriousness finally descending, "... it was a glorious night, lads. We ... should do this more often." A pause. "You know... minus the beheading..."

     "Why?" Edward murmurs, leaning to take the cigarette from William, "That was the fun part. Can't get a party rollin'," Edward grins, "...without a good death. Start every evening off with one. Thank you," he bobs at William, putting the stick between his lips. The silver balls are dropped into the robe pocket for now. "So," Edward smirks, "Tell us, matey, what happened in your part of the house and what's she's like? Don't leave out the good bits, hmm."

     A hand rakes through red hair. "Nice figure... lovely breasts, truly...works of art. I love French women..." Davydd sighs for that. Then promptly puts a finger to his lips. "Don't tell Rose. She doesn't mind when I fuck the Irish... there's something she can figuratively get out of that. But...French women..." He growls in appreciation. Then clears his throat. Davydd smiles, glancing to William. "She was nice. Blood tasted of honey and apples. She is all of eighteen... auburn haired and has a voracious appetite." And then he laughs. "And why I'm in bed with you ," he says to William. "I'll never know..." Davydd rolls over with a grin and stands.

     And behind the curl of smoke, veiled in soft, scented fog there is a smooth grin. "Thirty minutes pass that quickly, Davy?" William chuckles softly, indigo flickering to you Edward. He settles against the headboard, eyes half closing. "I'll see you at twilight, Llewelyn..." Good night. William leans in, flicking dead ash into the nearby tray. You can see he's had a couple. The pack has only one left. "I'm going to head back early-ish," he murmurs. This between you two, though Davydd can hear it. "I have a date across the Little Sea..." Ian. Ah, well... perhaps that is the reason the blonde did not find himself here.

     Green eyes hold you both for a time, and to the shared joke there is nothing but a smile. The most dangerous man... for thirty minutes. Davydd chuckles, and a rare...rare serious and sincere moment is had. No jokes. Nothing but a pleasant and strong, commanding smile. "Noswaith dda," he says in Welsh. Good night.

Posted by rowan at February 03, 2001 02:18 PM