Such stories begin this way. No fable should be without its chateau and a winter landscape. And so it begins...
     High in the Swiss Alps, a chateau is situated -- seemingly built out of the rockface of the mountain itself, for a part of it is always buried in snow and in ice. White and blue, it blends into the scenery of rock and snow. Crystalline. Its roof is pointed in places, giving a mountainous feel, and from its every ledge and every easing, ice hangs, drapes and jags. And snow is falling, just enough to be a soft veil upon the view. To part like a curtain before you.
     The slopes winding down from the chateau disappear into the hardiest of fir. All blanketed with snow. Brilliance of green against the otherwise white of the world. Ah, and at night. Such stars. Such stars. It is as if you are at the top of the world. The mountain you are on shall prick the sky, yes? And the milky way will pour down on you. This... is what greets you.
     I stand in the snow, mesmerized. Torn between looking at that sky... those stars... and to the winter world that surrounds me. The mountain. The chateau. The forest. The slopes. Too much. And so I stand in the center of it all, not feeling the chill though surely my face is red with it now. Open-mouthed like a tourist. You may laugh now, Edward. Please laugh and wake me...
     Bundled in layers, the last of which is a ski jacket stuffed with down, Valan stands affixed in the snow. The vehicle is still warm. The swirl of arrival still kicking up the snow and humming on the air...

     "What do you think?" comes his voice, loud and clear across the snowy distance that separates you. He is still behind the Land Rover, the back down and hatch up. Pulling out the important items first. Your clothing. Your presents. Those are the most important for the initial drop at the chalet. Whatever you need placed first...
     "Nice, huh?" Edward goes on, his voice muffled and falling dead upon the items in the back of the Rover. Behind him, a dark trail that imprints upon the white, the path down the mountain, across the nearby river, starkly evident. Someone has cleared a path to the chalet, and smoke rises from several of the stacks that top the alpine nest.
     Suddenly, he is beside you, dressed in brown. Corduroy for out here. Tan shirt. "Hey, you," Edward breathes, kissing your ear as he comes up from behind, bags slogged over his shoulders, "...wake up," he smiles, so glad you like the place. He has never needed to impress someone more -- then to pleasantly surprised that he has the resources to do just that. Lain out for your approval and display. Is that not the way when someone wants you to approve them as your mate?
     "Come on inside, before you freeze like that, ami. We don't want the cross-country skiers to think you're the new statue out here..."

     It is like those stories. Princes frozen in snow, woken by the touch... there... yes. Like that. Valan turns, suddenly. Waking. Smiling. "I think it is... a place for which I have no words. It is beautiful and it is something more that even French cannot find a word for, yes?" And then a kiss. A sudden warmth. It is only then that he feels the chill. And then sees your arms are full. And then, it is hard to say whether the red upon his face is for the altitude and the chill or for some other reason. But no matter. He reddens. The true cause is not important.
     The grin is constant. Impressed? Stunned. Even he, who has seen so much loveliness. Even he, who has the wealth to have been upon a mountain. He has been on many mountains. But this chalet? This mountain? This... all of this... and you have made it possible...
     "Ah...oui... I do not want to become a monument," he says, his voice full of warmth and laughter. A touch and he moves from you to the Rover, to get his share. Ah well you shall want to be gallant, chivalric... but he will do his share. You will open all of the doors, but he will bring you drinks and tend you. Gear and bags. He fills his arms with what is left and moves toward the house. His eyes lifting to it all. "It is ... so grand..." he whispers, and his words freeze and hang upon the air... like the icicles upon the edging of the chalet.

     The chalet is spacious and rustic within. Wood and stone. And yet it is also lavish, like the inner workings of the finest of Swiss clocks. There are beams and rafters, there are winding wooden staircases. There are many fireplaces, ringed with an outer hearth of carved stone. The entry floor is cobbled stone, perfect for the knocking of snow from the boots. The foyer then spills into the main living area of the first floor. There are furs and rugs. And there is a fir tree and greenery within. The scent is fresh. Clean. Wood and evergreen and ice...
     "Guten tag!" Edward calls, his feet loud upon the wood and stone steps, then upon the porch. Certainly Georg would not leave the house unattended, and fires are going. Someone must be expecting us. Edward glances back at you, seeing that you are safe, then squints at the lights on the front of the Rover that remain on in the dimming snowlight.
     Turning about, he takes the first step across the doorway, looking left and right into the first room. And charming it is! Fond thoughts pass for the Swiss and Georg, and Edward goes ahead within, leaning to set bags down out of the pathway.

     Even as you set down your bags, from across the semi-circular room you see motion. You smell butter and honey. And then the voice who answers all of the calls first. That of Ylsa. She has been with Georg for years. The years are just now starting to show. Her once golden hair has finally gone platinum -- what you can see of it, it is pulled back and up and, just now, tucked under a white linen wrapping. Ah, you can smell it -- in the air and on her -- she is baking. "It is good to see you," she beams in her Swiss, her eyes a twinkling crystalline blue, her smile bright and wide. And she pauses, raising her voice, "Bags!" Before she turns to you again, arms spreading. "I have sweet buns in the oven, Georg has instructed me to fatten you and your friend. He says... and I quote... the French should be kept fat... you look wonderful, some cafe yes? Hazelnut... Come in, come in," she waves, and then turns, "Bags!" her voice fills the house. Rustic. Wonderful isn't it?
     Down the stairs, Georg's other ghoul -- yes, you are in the best of hands -- Stefan. In his 30s -- for years now -- and he smiles broadly as he crosses over. "Let me get those...there is more? Go... sit..." The hospitality of the Swiss...
     "Oh! I almost forgot..." Ylsa moves to the side table, taking up an envelope -- it is sealed -- and handing it to you. "It is from Georg..." she whispers.

     Rattling at the doorway, the sound of ski gear brought in from the elements. Propped up at the doorway. And a red-faced grin follows after. Valan sets the gear in his hands out of the way, his hand reaching up to the small of your back... even as his eyes lift to the foyer and the beauty that spills outward from it. Hazel eyes were widened at the sight. And then... Stefan and Ylsa...

     Stefan takes Valan's hand, a shake. "There are sweet buns on the way, plenty of lager or heated rum or cafe. Just tell Ylsa... she will bring you whatever you like..." A grin and the Swiss storm continues outward to the car. He will take care of the rest. Of course. Ylsa smiles grandly, warmly for the second arrival. "Welcome to the chalet... please... now both of you sit..."

     Valan steps in, and hands free themselves from his gloves. Amazement. It sits upon his face. It looks to you. His smile broad, amused by the couple... joy, for being here with you. Tangible. He does not hide his study of you. Nor his wonder at this place. His eyes sweep the semi-circular large space and lift to the winding stairs and beams and...
     "The chalet is truly amazing..." First in French, then in German.

     Ylsa was met with a smile and a wrap of Edward's arms, especially once the letter is given. Such a rush. "Are you going to let me greet you first?" Edward asks sarcastically, bags, he, Valan, food, coffee, and Stephan all coming in a rush. Georg can wait a moment.

     "So, so so!" Edward begins, letting the woman go and looking at the set, "Is he here? Hiding some place? Or shall we see him another time?" Maybe it would help if I read his message, Edward thinks, hand patting his pocket where the letter is stored. "He's too busy with friends in Geneva?" Edward grins and chimes, walking to you and slipping his arm around your waist. Whispering, loud enough to be heard, "It matters not. All we need is Ylsa and Stefan and we are to be just fine..." he reassures, as if bringing you in on a great and wonderful joke.

     Coat filled with down was removed and handed Ylsa's waiting hands, and the gloves of the same. Remaining after? A burgundy sweater, expertly woven and heavy -- yet is fits to his lean form. Such texture, it would seem to define the word warmth. Beneath this, one can see something that is more chocolate brown. His trousers are of corduroy -- these, too, are deep brown. And his shoes are heavy, mountain boots both brown and black. In contrast his sandy-golden hair is bright. Gilded. Seeming all the more gold for all the dark he wears.
     Glittering, the eyes that look aslant to you. Slanting, the smile that winds its way across him. He moves easily into your winding arm, his lifting to wind about shoulders and neck. "I think we will be in excellent hands, oui," he says, his conspiratorial whisper, in French, no less audible than your own. And then to Ylsa, "...and cafe would be lovely..." He is quick to meld, quick on his feet your Valan. No wallflower he...

     Stefan waves to you all and heads out to finish unloading and Ylsa smiles sweetly. "Ah... we do hope to see him before too long. Georg will not miss Christmas at the chalet! He will see you, I am sure of it, before you go," she says. "Now," her hands coming together. "You must be both hungry and cold. I must tend to the sweet buns, I will bring you hazelnut cafe... " And so, face yet reddened, Ylsa turns, crossing the room toward the kitchen hallway.

     "They are great, you know," Valan whispers to you, mouth at your ear as both depart. "I feel as if I am a part of the family already..."
     Oh... if he only knew...

     A brow arches, a rare Edward look. The irony is not lost upon him at all. But you are given a squeeze, and he whispers, "Come on, let's go see the fire in the parlor," he murmurs, motioning to a room with an open door. He gives a look to Stefan, to see whether he needs any assistance, but with bags and larger items in, he shall leave him to the rest, including putting the Rover away.
     Arm stays around you and Edward wiggles awkwardly to retrieve the letter from his pocket. He laughs and kisses you, since your cheek is there, and stumbles on your feet as he moves.But once retrieved, he tears across the seal, and quickly flips the letter open to check the contents...
     Within the envelope, there is a folded note upon antiqued parchment. The crisp handwriting of Georg...
     To my brother, Edward... Noel... Though business has called me to Geneva, I want to offer you the best for the holidays and my prayers for a joyous celebration. The tree in the living room was cut by me with the ax of my forefathers. Call it a gift from Odin.
     I have left Stefan and Ylsa in charge of making sure you are warm, fed, fat and happy. The chalet is yours for you to enjoy as you will. There are gifts for you in the den loft -- including the several from William and Davydd. I am going to have to change my locks now that the two of them know where the chalet is...There are several upstairs bedrooms at your disposal, including my own. Make yourself at home. There is a sauna downstairs, as you may recall. There is nothing closed to you. I have set my wolves to roam about the perimeter. Loki and Freya will keep watch on the house. You may reach me in Geneva should you have wish, cause or need to. But I hope that I may see you before you leave. It has been too long!"~ Georg

     The parlor is sunken with rich furs and cushions, sofas to lounge on, ringed at one side by the curve of the stone hearth. The fire may fill the entire room with comfortable warmth. And it does. And the lighting has been softening by a mortal's knowing hand. The fireplace shall be the spectacle of light for you. It will turn the rustic interior of this chalet into something of fairy tale proportions. Hidden sparkles in the stones -- like geodes -- will soon catch the light...
     Are you trying to trip me? Laughter falls almost as I do as you trip over my feet and stumble with me toward the furs, the cushions and the hearth. And already I am wanting to forego the buns and the promise of coffee for something even more heated. You embrace, I want to tighten it. You touch, I want to lie down. What is this?
     "So how do you know Georg and Stefan and Ylsa?" Valan murmurs as he moves with you, chuckling as he spills downward -- taking you with him -- to a sofa near the fire. "They seem wonderful," he adds very quietly. Just between you. "It is a shame, yes? That your friend is not here? Has he been detained?" And can I detain you...where is that coffee? I need a distraction.
     It is too late. Before you can answer, I kiss you. The rest of the chill thawing and melting at once. "I love you..." You know this, but you also know, those new to love... they must say it so frequently. As if it shall all disappear if they do not. I am no less foolish in love than anyone else has been. It is not disappointing.
     As you open the letter, Valan settles back, half reclining on the sofa. And he removes his sweater to leave behind the deep brown cotton thermal shirt. And now, the red of his garnets is visible. Sparkling... just as the stones in the fireplace begin to sparkle...

     There is laughter, Edward's eyes sparkling as he reads and falls to the floor with you beside and upon him. "I love you, ami. And I've known Georg...almost all of my existence," Edward explains, corduroy jacket and pants grating with the motion. He sighs, leaning against the sofa on the floor and offering you the letter. As few secrets as possible, ami. As few as I can get away with.
     "The other two, they come with Georg..." Edward smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss. As the letter is given up to you, Edward sees to removing the heavy boots on his feet. "They're a pretty good set...and well," he pushes you a little, "...they appear to like you already." And it means more to me than any can know.
     Shoulders between your knees, he bends, giving you the bird's eye view of his expanding back. "Ah, um, Georg's in Geneva...just like I thought, huh?" he chuckles, knowing the man too well. "Man..." Edward looks up, "...this place is just great..." he sighs, brown eyes looking up while hands pull at the boots. "I swear, I could live here all year round -- but then they'd say I was a mountain-man or something...and I can't have that," he teases, letting his head fall backwards so he might see your expression.

     Fingers take the letter. He reads over the script. "He sounds like a good man," comes the quiet remark. "He must be... to give of such a place..." Hazel eyes sparkle as they sweep upward to the raised buttresses and open view of upper hallways, "... to you...to us," he looks to you and smiles at that. "For the holidays. I will have to thank him myself..." But you speak of mountain men and I cannot hold the laughter in . The smile turns him golden, broadening and warming his features. His expression? Priceless. Golden eyebrows lift in an opening arch. "A... what do they call that in English?" he murmurs in French, then recalls with brows knitted. "A yeti...? Non. Hmm.. .ah, yes... a bigfoot ..." His head falls back against the sofa and furs, and his arms wind around you as you lean back. Tightening. A hug through the laughter that quietly fades. "Hmmm..." Valan leans in, chin resting on your shoulder, chest to your back. "I can see why you would want to avoid that, ami. And why you would want to stay here year round. The sauna alone...would make me want to risk this... transformation into a mountain-man..." A kiss to your ear. And then another. And then he lingers. He cannot help it...

     Soft steps sound, soft but quick. And Ylsa's voice begins to lift. Quieter now than before. It was she who turned the lights down afterall. "Hazelnut cafe," she says in French, "... sweet buns with honey... there is also buttered rum... if you would wish this..." She pauses, smiling as you both come into view beside the fire. "Anything else I can do for you this night...?"
     The front door opens and closes again. It is Stefan. He begins to carry bags upstairs, to the rooms. A smile is all. You are not disturbed. Nor is anything questioned.
     Ylsa glances up, bright blue eyes to Stefan and then to the guests as she begins to arrange the food and the drinks...

     "Mmm. The sauna!" Oh, yes. When in cold climes, do as they do...make the most of saunas. "That will be brilliant," Edward determines, looking over at Ylsa's arrival."Oh, Ylsa, just seeing you and Stefan is enough. And your cafe and buns..." he leans across your legs to try and grab one from the plate. "They are marvelous...thank you for everything," he chimes, always a good and polite boy. "Um, we'll be out on the slopes tomorrow..." he avoids the word evening , "...and...forget breakfast," he chimes, head tilting back again as if to confirm, "...maybe just...lunch?" Late. Tell me you know the drill. Is it always so hard when orchestrating for more than yourself?

     There is a ready smile upon Ylsa's face. There is no need to explain, her hands lift and brush at you. As if to say Go to, to your flirting ways -- or, as you know it is more Do Not Worry. Ylsa glances to the appearance and disappearance of Stefan. He comes in, he goes out. And the bags go with him. A light shine from above. The way to the large master bedroom, most likely. There is no second light. Whether you sleep together or not... this is left to you. They do not assume. "Of course, Edward... and ... it is good to have you here... For the night then? I shall leave you. Our quarters are in the back, the house behind. I have left the number that rings my room and Stefan's room, should you need anything..." And to Valan she looks next, smiling. "Have a good night... so good to meet you. I will see you," her look takes you in as well, "... tomorrow..." She does not say morning. She does not say a time at all. Not on any of it.

     There is only a grin when you mention no breakfast. Hmmm... oui... you and I, we are not morning people. This means... our evening shall be full. What need we of food first thing? When sleep until at least noon is preferred? Valan tilts his head, his golden hair disheveled from the sweater, a Mod disarray. But it seems done on purpose. He has such a style about him, even when he is not trying. Ah, non... especially because he does not try. He leans in, lips pressed warmly to your temple, and then he reaches for his cafe and one of the honeyed buns. He has to lean for that. A soft pardon as he moves against you in the reaching.

     "You too, Ylsa," Edward calls, nodding at the instructions on how to reach her and Stefan. "Gute Nacht," he adds, grinning as the bun is stuffed into his face."Nice, eh," he states and asks simultaneously, sitting up so the he might take off his jacket. A wiggle, and the bun is caught between teeth, so Edward might use his hands.

     Soon, even the to and fro of Stefan has faded. Another Gute Nacht murmured. The door fastened and locked -- even though, as we know, there is no one who would venture so far up this alp tonight casually. You should all know it long before the door was reached, yes? The secondary lights are turned out -- all but for the kitchen and a hallway up above. Now, the fire is what fills the parlor with light. And the stones within hold embedded crystals. They sparkle like a captured firmament now.Valan breathes, "Mon Dieu..." as the firmament comes alive as other lights in the house dwindle. "Such a place..." he sips at the coffee, then sets it aside that he might hold you. "And we have it to ourselves..." Hazel eyes flicker here and there. Amazed. The sweet bun is tasted, but plucked with a distracted finger.He smiles to you. As eyes lower to catch you pulling off your jacket and holding the bun in your mouth. "I never would have thought... that I would be in such a place, with such a man, spending the holidays... so richly. Salut, ami..." he says, and he lifts his bun in a toast to you -- his coffee not in hand.

     "Mmph," Edward grunts, tipping his head in acknowledgment. Ribbed jacket gone, it's tossed aside where the boots landed. "God, much better," he sighs, leaning back into you again, hand holding the pastry as he chews.
     "As for here," he half-twists, "I can't imagine that I ever planned this trip for myself alone." Such has time passed. How could he ever have thought to spend weeks here by himself. What would he have done? "I'm glad you like it, ami," there is so much more where this comes from.
     "What do you want to do first? I want to get on the trails tomorrow as soon as we're ready. Bed? Or...sauna...or walk around?" he queries, putting bun back between his lips as he leans to pick up his cafe.

     It is amazing. The pastry melts in the mouth, sugary against the tongue. It dissolves so easily. And the coffee is the perfect companion for it. Valan reaches again, and his hand captures the cup. The cup is thereafter rested upon the floor. He will be careful. "Tonight? Sauna and then bed..." he chuckles, the sound caught like Pleasure Incarnate in the throat. "Tomorrow... we can tour the chalet, then hit the slopes... then ... " A shrug. He leaves the rest up to However It Shall Be. "There is no need to rush. We have time to see and do it all, yes? I am content to do as we will, when we will..." He swallows sweetness, and half-turns his head to settle the whole of his attention upon you. "I cannot imagine you here alone... non..." comes the words upon a breath. "And I cannot imagine how I would have spent this holiday... were it not here with you. I guess... I would be at the winery for another year of the same...Dieu," his eyes close and he rests his head against you. "Merci..." For ending the repetition.
     Moments have passed and the first bun? Devoured. He grins at himself and sucks fingers clean of the honey. "I love it, ami... it is a beautiful place... I can see why you wanted to be here. I am glad I am here with you..." His hands land upon your corduroy, stickiness gone, and fingers curl against your thighs. "How does a sauna sound to you...? Sauna and bed tonight?"

     A wince, Edward mimicking your finger licking, "In that particular order?" he bends back, grinning at you. Then a laugh, he putting his cup to the floor too. "No...a sauna sounds fantastic," he presses back, "...you...and me..." Edward twisting around now that his hands are free, "...and warm water...alone?" Come now, what else could you possibly do.
     "Hmm. I wonder if...being horizontal..." ah, such risqué talk, "...is legal in Switzerland?" It quite legal at home. "Can I get you into trouble...in the sauna?" How about here?
     Edward's sticky fingers reach for your waistband, his face downturned. "Hmm. Might as well try," he murmurs, deciding to free you of such coil.

     "I think you... can get me into trouble ... everywhere in this chalet..." And please... let's. "And we do not necessarily have to be...horizontal..." The mouth was made for smiles, designed to pull with sensual, casual ease. And his voice, it matches it. The very rise and fall decadent, and his voice lowers as your fingers reach for the waistband of corduroy. There is no move to stop you. Nor shall there be. "... what does the law say to that, do you think?" His hand moves, capturing his cup again. Plucking it up and out of the way. Set aside. The hazelnut was good. But... he will have more... later...
     The mortal both unfolds and tightens at the promise of You and pleasure. You have seen your cousin-brother William look at women, look at men... and you could see their clothes dripping off of them after. Do you not see... you have the same power in your touch. You can hear the drumming of your lover's heart. His every breath. You can smell this morning's shower on him. And the scent of his clothing. Clean, and yet having some quality of Him. Your fingers touch the waistband, and you can see how the blood has begun to flow. As if it could sense what Valan yet does not know. His blood knows you...even more than He does. It comes... when it is called...

     He is limber, your Edward, and soon his twisting becomes a half-stand. Feet on the floor, he smiles at you and then tugs at what he's managed to open of the waistband. But it is enough.
     The world looks different when it is in fast-forward. Muscles contract, and almost immediately, you are pressed against him in standing. A jerk upwards. But he's not done yet. As the horizon settles, and Edward's face centers, he disappears. Bending...and scooping you onto his shoulder. Tossed over it really.
     "Dieu," he breathes, the swift pull and lift taking a bit of energy. But not so much. His feet are firm on the ground, and from there his strength surges through his thighs, sending him to a full stand. At least you have a good view of his rear.

     How is it that I am upside-down again?
     You lift me like I'm nothing, and I laugh. What else am I to do? So shocked, but then... who am I to complain about the view. Hands are free -- one around your waist for anchoring... the other free? It grabs the rounds of what I can so well see. Take that... yes... I will, actually...
     There was a momentary flash of panic. You felt it on the air like an electric charge. Mortals see a flash of death whenever they are lifted so suddenly, so without warning, thrown over a shoulder. But it dissolves into throaty laughter, followed by the loving slap of his hand. Ah, there is a price to pay for such chivalry, yes? Valan tries not to move otherwise -- not wanting to rock the boat... as the saying goes. "I will have to train as you do," he says, his voice at your back -- and then his mouth. "Hmmm... you know, Edward... I am getting used to being carried... you are going to spoil me..." Spoken like a true French aristocrat. "Such a lovely view... hmmm... the best I have seen in all Switzerland...there is a slope I should like to go down..." And then he laughs. Rich and flowing.
     Not even he can believe he said that...

     "Hey!" Edward laughs, sweeping you both away from the mess you've left, across the room towards one of the roughhewn wood banisters. "You're going to have to pay for that one," he informs, his muscular rear tensing under your fingers. "Slope, indeed, I'll show you a slope, meant for you," he says loudly.
     "And," he skips, hand on the banister, other around your legs, "...my plans are to spoil you rotten, ami, but then how can I improve upon what your own family's done?" he accuses, feet sounding on the wood. One. Two. Skip. Five. The bouncing...well, you might feel that later. But he only laughs, swinging around a post and landing, and towards the open bedroom door.

     He can only laugh at that as you round the corners of the winding staircase. "Dieu... I'm going to be dizzy..." So, he closes his eyes. Grasping onto you with one arm, fingers digging in -- with his other, sealing his fate. Another slap of his hand to your backside. If I am to be punished, let me be punished well. "Oui... you have quite a job ahead of you, ami... I do not envy you it... but do you not worry that in spoiling me, you may become spoiled yourself?" Listen to the reasoning! Valan closes his eyes and hangs on for dear life. For dear life...

     ... The spa turned out even more pleasant than anticipated...
     After inaugurating the arrival by christening the bed, Edward expected the sauna to be a relaxing affair, punctuated by the occasional stirring of waves. But when waves are stirred, how can but a tidal front be forthcoming?
     And so it was. Centered upon the elevated wood deck off the bedroom, the immediate world may have been shrouded, but the sky was filled with stars and the slow pass of illuminated clouds in front of dim peaks. Cool air swirled above, but at sauna level, things were quite warm. Steam pulsed upwards into the sky, giving an extra set of misty clouds through which to view the world.
     He has been quiet since waters and steam enclosed your embraces -- not for lack of anything to say -- though there is a feeling that Edward has much to convey. Safer, such talk, when not in the confines of 'home.' Here, freedom to express and explore reigns supreme.
     His hands and legs form a seat for you to lean back against. With most of you both underwater, it makes things rather toasty. Edward looks up to the sky, his head leaning back against a now-damp series of angled book pillows, left behind for this exact use. His hands wander at your chest, and his knees and thighs sometimes break the water's surface when he moves, brushing your own.
     "Tired yet?" he asks, voice sharp despite it being the dead of night. A kiss is placed on your crown, then ear as he bends to listen for a response.

     It is a bubble in the universe. A pocket within Space-Time where all is Possible. Potential. Separate from the Daily World and its Daily Conversations swirling around Daily Occurrences. Here... at the top of the Europe... and here, at the summit of the chalet, Night and Day shall pass without recognition of Time. In hindsight, it will have been the perfect choice. We will get to that later...
     Steam rises, circles from the water, hovers against skin and liquid and moves steadily to create a constant misty veil. Are we inside or outside? In the warmth of a chalet, or are we gods of the mountains, lounging in our alpine lakes? It is easy to forget -- it is easier still for the mind to go its own way after such...hours of pleasure. Intoxication of sweat. I would contend that you and I are stronger than brandy. "Not tired... relaxed..." Valan sets his own definitions for the weightlessness. He would be floating, even without the water, you see. You feel such things in him. You can hear the quality of his voice. Well-loved. Thick with it. But always, until he passes out -- which he may yet do this night -- there is a fighter within the lover that always stands and says Again. No matter that you best him, he will not yield.
     Steam edges the smooth smile, and Valan settles back against you. Just slight motion, spreading for comfort's sake, his hands moving from your legs through the water to cover your own. Lightly. Not to stop them, just to follow them. Does he feel that you have much to say? There is still that lingering Unspoken element between you. With silences that are not silent. It has been that way since you first met. Remember in your car...
     Golden hair is darker for the wet, and his head rests against your broad shoulder. The turn of his head brings is mouth to the crook of your shoulder and neck. There, a parting kiss, and the suckling from your skin of the water that lay beaded upon it. "Et vous, Edward?"

     You have taught him to once more love his mother tongue and land. Centuries away from his own emotional and physical exiles. You and he are of the same place, and he shall not deny it. "Perfect," he whispers, feeling lips at his throat. Edward sharply inhales, his eyes closing to sink with it. It's been such a long time...since anyone...well, that too is another story...."I wish we could stay like this forever, hmm?" he smiles, realizing his own words. "What do you think?" His fingers meet and curl around yours, submerged in warmth.

     Our skin would get wrinkly. There is a smile at the crook of your neck -- he has learned that you enjoy this...this is one of the places on the body where you inhale and tighten, and so he is encouraged by it. But it is not the casual jest that he tosses out. It was a flicker in his mind. It passed through him like a current and disappeared in the fog that surrounds you both. Parting, his mouth pulls at the skin, and yes there is just a brief drag of his teeth. There is no prick there, just the blunt of mortal teeth, briefly teasing. Soothed away the next moment by the dragging swirl of his tongue. Valan closes his eyes as his fingers close around yours. "If I had forever," he murmurs, mouth brushing at your neck, "...this is how I would spend it..." Not traveling -- well, perhaps there would be some of that -- but this. This is where I would want to stay, and how and who with, ami. Hazel eyes open, between lashes, he looks up to you. A brief interruption to his study of your neck. "I think.. I like the idea. You and me... the tub is optional, but it is a nice addition..."
     You feel his mouth again, moving in its studious way upward toward your ear, his head tilting. You feel the brush of damp hair. No part of it has dried even though he is not submerged. His fingers curl, an embrace suggested there.. no, given there. It is as much a hug as if his arms threw themselves around you and he lifted you in a squeeze.

     Smile grows despite closed eyes. In reaction to closed eyes. Losing one sensory input to enhance another more tactile. "You would bore with me," Edward whispers, simmering in the recalled sensations. "After a century or two, your eyes would wander..." he laughs. "I know...we are...French," that accompanied by a grin.
     Fingers maintain their tightened clasp. A lazy hug it is, but the emotion conveyed is no less. Hold tightly. I will never let you go. "Maybe...so you will still want to bed with me, I would let you...do as you like with others, hmm? Would..." will, would, future fact against future hypothetical, "...will you still want me then?" With such an arrangement. "Or...will you think less of me?"

     "It is true..." Valan murmurs, "... I am French. But if my eyes admire beauty, it does not mean that I have to take off my clothes and pin it to a bistro wall..." Such a mouth on this one. So casually spoken. "I am not so tactile that everything I see I must put into my mouth..." A pause. "I am French... not Italian..." A smile is at your skin, just beneath your ear. And then...his mouth brushes against your ear. Your hands are tightly held, used for leverage as his mouth makes its blind discovery against your neck and ear. "If after a hundred years... I should think myself so arrogant," a pause, a smile, "... even by French standards... to think I know all there is to know of you... then I am too foolish to be allowed such a luxury of time. If time is open-ended, Edward, then those who are not bound by it... are equally open-ended."
     Such a philosophy... only from the French and the aristocratic French at that...Valan leans back, brows lifted in question. "And you, Edward...?" A smile spreads slowly, and the expression is curious languor. "Would you... be bored with me... hmm? Would you think of me less if I seemed less French and did not tire of you? Would I become....English... in your eyes?"

     He listened intently, even opening his eyes to see you. There was a smile about the Italians, his own mind moving in similar fashion. Fingers loosen and tighten once more, grip reaffirmed.
     "English?" Edward queries, not quite understanding. "If you became more Angle, shall I cease to feel for you?" Is that the question?

     "It was a joke... hmmm... too cerebral. The 'steady' English and their loyalties... for some would say, after so many years," he makes a wave, "...go do something with yourself, Valan..." He looks up, the smile twisting a bit. Sardonic. "You are not just attracted to me because I am French, and being French... it does not necessarily mean that I am... fickle...yes? So why should it predestine us to boredom and infidelity?"
     Valan chuckles after a moment, fingers giving you a squeeze. The things I come up with. I should drink more and speak less...

     Oh. Edward blinks, lost in the logic even after your clarification. "I guess...you mean no, huh?" he asks genuinely, brown eyes larger now. Okay. I think I see. He smiles brightly regardless, squeezing your fingers and lifting both sets of arms to fold you both into a more formalized embrace. "Do you ever think about what it would be like...to be...immortal?" He asks, word rough. He has never used it as such, thought about it so much. "To continue living?"

     "I lost myself in that, how could I expect you to follow me there..." he murmurs. "What I meant to say... is... it is true, I am French... but it is also true that I am in love. And that the one I love interests me so much, there is so much yet to know and to see and to experience... why should the passing of time make it less so? Non... I will not tire of you. I just... cannot see how that could be." No, his mortal mind cannot wrap around that one. "I just do not see how that could be," he breathes.
     Immortality again. As if it could be real? Have we not spoken of this before? You spoke of what anguish it must be to watch the one you love age and die. And always playing devil's advocate I countered. And here it is again...
     Valan is quiet for many moments. His breathing is even, if somewhat shallow. But hazel eyes open, brown and green and flecked with gold. No, I am not sleeping. How can I with you near? He turns his head against you again. The warmth of your skin. The strength. How easily you lift me. These muscles, how in concert they are my undoing. "Only since I have met you," he murmurs. "Now... I think... if only we could be this way forever. If only time would stop here... and we would be young and in your bed and on your sofa and walking down the boulevards. There are so many things I want to see with you..." Serious... so serious... his eyes burn. "My life... what it was before you came I do not wish to even imagine. Nor... do I think... I wish to know what it would be without you..." Valan swallows. His voice, smooth and quiet, tightened at the end. You can hear it, the emotion. This is what Love does to those who least expect to ever find it.

     Such are the words of mortality. Edward smiles, not noticing his own gentle sway of you both, against the water's currents. He should believe all you speak, but these words -- words of never tiring, of being this way forever, stopping time, being young, lovemaking, how one's life has changed -- he knows. They have been said in salons and parlors for ages, philosophical gathering or profession of love. It is how mortals speak. And why not? If you are finite, why not speak of the infinite to express the quality and depth of your love? But if you are infinite...how can you ever find the words to explain what you feel...
     "What's wrong?" Edward asks, looking downward to see what has swallowed your voice. No, he would not want to mock you for your words...they are genuine. But Language fails, Edward begins to realize, and he knows not how to ask of you so that you might answer in a way not bounded by mortal understanding. "You stopped mid-thought, ami..."

     There is no knowledge of the Infinite that is not bound by the finite. Not philosophy, not music, not art, not poetry, not even Love can escape it. The mortal mind... it only knows so much. He does not know you know how simple he is. He is just fire and emotion. The raw elements of creation in the palm of your hands. You know that things change over Time. Ah, but Edward... you also know how slowly Time truly moves. Even when it passes so quickly that your blinking comprises a decade. You look up and it has passed -- yes. But the more Time you have... the more Time it takes. Time... is relative and formless, measured differently from every point in the universe. It is not constant. Nothing about Life is. No matter how long it lasts.
     Is Love anymore restrictive than Time? Does not Love also expand, like Time expands, from the immortal perspective?
     "Nothing is wrong, ami," Valan murmurs. "I... just sometimes... I do not have the words I want to say. I speak them, and they come out of my mouth like the lines of a film at the bargain cinema. I do not know... what immortality would truly be like. I do not know that I can imagine... what beauty there would be or what pain there would be. I ... can only say I did not even consider terms such as 'forever' or even 'commitment' until I met someone that... I would not mind being with for one, five, let alone a hundred years." A pause. "...or two."
     An exhale. "I can only say that... I want to spend as much time as I have... getting to know you, your life, seeing the world... going through the world... with you. And I have never said such things to anyone..."

     "Me too," is all Edward says. He too has much to learn. The embraced is reestablished, and Edward leans, kissing your head again. "Me too. I shouldn't have asked," he whispers, words falling onto wet hair. "It is a silly thing. I...want to be with you too, ami, that is all." Another kiss.His slow rock soon synchronizes with the swirls of the hot bath. His eyes rise to the mountain top, and Edward whispers, "Tomorrow, we shall be up there," he nudges faintly, "...we will find out how good you are then." Just you. Edward laughs, letting one subject meld harmlessly into another...

     "It is an interesting thought... immortality..." he breathes. "We think of it... because we are French.. and therefore greedy ... and ... we think we are invincible when we are in love." A finishing roll of humor. His voice is thick with it. And it does ring with some truth. But he lets the subject drop, as easily as his form moves in the water with you. Moments... for many moments... he says nothing at all. He just feels you. Smells you. Hears the sound of your voice, your body in the water. He turns his head, lifting and twisting. His mouth capturing the last sound of your laughter. "I will show you how good I am," he murmurs there. Darkly there, and with a grin.
     Water chimes, splashing a little as the agile fencer and aristocrat rolls over in the water. To face you. "Up there...hmmm... we will place a bet, hmm? Care to wager something in a challenge?"

     Oh, but you have his attention. "Name it," Edward says affirmatively, rarely missing out on an opportunity to wage against his -- or anyone else's -- skill. "Tell me," he smiles, letting his chin rise in defiance with a hint of flirtation.

     He laughs. Easily, quietly. "We shall each write down something we want, ami. If I win, you must open my envelope. If you win, I must open yours. We will not know until we are both down from the mountain..." Did you think that green eyes could smolder so? Usually, so cool in color, like green fields and green vines. Perhaps it is the gold, like embers suddenly with the promise of this. Perhaps it is the brown that makes it so. Valan grins, his arms surrounding your neck. His mouth just a moment from your own -- you can nearly feel the brush of that smile. "Last one down the mountain must do what is in the envelope.... without question..."
     He is crafty, your Valan. And bold. Without fear -- so seemingly. He does not hesitate...

     More interesting than he thought. Money, sex...he could have anticipated those in some way. But this. Your envelope could be anything. Anything. Including 'take me home.' Asymmetry crosses his features, one eye wincing, other wide, as if mockingly distrusting. "Alright," he agrees, especially with arms around his neck and his fumbling over your hips, as if greedily lost, "...agreed. Shall we have Stefan hold the envelopes?"

     Ah now... do you see 'Take Me Home' written upon his features? His smile? That kiss? Heated, it is a wonder that steam does not rise from it as from all else. With a tug to your lower lip, he parts it. "Oui... Stefan has a trustworthy face...I will leave it in his capable hands. And..." Valan grins, "... no hints. We must go to the top of the mountain with some...butterflies in the gut, oui? It will be good for the adrenaline..."
     You can feel it. The tension in him rise. All emotion back to a simmering boil, as lust bubbles to the surface again. Again. Fingers disappear in dark hair. And slowly his mouth begins to tug and pull upon your own. A savoring kiss, but full....
     Maybe, I will ask you to carry me around for a whole night...Maybe, I will ask you fuck me on every surface of this house...
     Maybe, I will ask you 'marry me'... would you laugh?...
     Maybe, I will just ask you to let me be on top...

     The skeptical look fades into a genuine smile, hands still confused about what parts of you are where. No rush to figure it all out. "As if we need any more adrenaline?" Edward observes.
     Ah! Fingers there. Just a bit further...
     He tries to speak through the kiss, lips doing multiple duties. "Any rules...on..." he groans softly, "...on...how to get down the mountain?" Maybe -- without skis?

     The water laps against the sides of the tub, and his motion ends with a full straddle upon your lap. The brush of strong legs, and then he sinks. Pressing. His knees are to the bench. So fluid -- the pull of lips upon your own and the edges of your words was not disturbed. He smiles there, the smile becomes a kiss, the kiss becomes a suckle, the suckle becomes a word, "Hmm.... I trust... my skis and skill.... I will let it stand at that... you ..." Valan grins, smoothly... broadly...warmly. "...come at me however you like...I like surprises, ami..."
     I have to close my eyes. Tilting back my head, I break the kiss for a moan of God's name. And a sighing of yours. What is this, I whisper, that gets under my skin? I don't care, I say to you, I don't care. I do not want it to go away. Yes... yes... I do want to be immortal. Fuck it, I do. I want this...I want time... and I want you...
     "Come at me... with your best... I do not want to win any other way," comes the drawl of his voice a moment after. Grinning, teasing, arrogant. Hoping you will have... something to say about that...

     He does have something to say.
     "You said it, laddie," Edward sighing as if gearing up for a quick motion, "...not me..."
     With a howling swoosh of water, the world rises into cold shivers. He's stood, your lover, with hand clasped firmly beneath you. The water cascades off, like the sides of pyramids, sheets of perfectly interlaced drops that fan out and then suddenly collapse, disappearing into the pool that you hover above.
     His tongue tangles around your own, Edward's intent rather clear. He cannot handle a challenge, unable to back away from one. Soon, perhaps you will find out why. It is in his Blood. Any wall shall be met, either with blindingly brilliant success or with the cracking of his own skull.
     The bed sounds beneath you, sheets staining dark with water. It gushes from the pair of you and soaks into the bedding. With full weight there, Edward struggles against you, panting as his hands seek to part your knees. Don't dare me, dare me and know the consequences. The hearth has warmed the room significantly, but physics cannot change...a chill begins to spread across the bed and the two struggling upon it.

     Perhaps you were right when you said: As if we need more adrenaline. For you stand with me so easily, it feels like the sky and earth open up. You get into motion like no man I have ever known...I adore it...The force and the speed, the tangle and the quickness, the power and the grace and the fire and the flood. Forces of nature. That is what we are. If we live forever, I want to be the earth against which the lightning of you cracks ...
     His knees part with that sentiment. He shivers -- is it from the cold or is it from the motion or is it with anticipation of the inevitable joy. Valan grunts against the bedding, fighting... not with you but with the wet sheets. A kick of one strong leg, and bedding is displaced. Heel to the bed he pushes himself up out of a portion of the water you and he have brought with you.
     Shadows on the wall play like a struggle. Like a war in pantomime. As he braces himself up on his elbows, watching you move him. As legs begin to shift again. It will all be reflected there.

     "I love you," Edward whispers, his mouth parting from yours long enough to draw down the side of your face as if to hide at your hair. A breath of thanks in the sentiment, he drawing energy from you -- from this -- before taking the next steps.
     The door will need closing later, before the sun dares to breech the sanctity of the mountain chalet. But by then, he will have loved you once more, this time in rougher and even more vulnerable tones. Even if Edward had wished for this third engagement to be gentle, with the sting of challenge that now heats his blood, he could not have been so. Maybe you have asked for more than you can handle. But he remembers how to make love to mortals, and at moments when he seems to have forgotten, a crest is reached that he does back away from. He shall not have you be loved by him and left in unmentionable agony.

     There is a time for gentleness. It has its place. A time for soft touches, whispered words, the glance of fingertips. And then there is a time to shake the earth, to thunder, for bodies to tangle and slap like the sound of drumming..."... I love you..."Words breathed as your mouth moved from his. Bracing. The mortal is bracing for what it wants, what it desires. For the tangle that is pleasure and pain. Fingers wandering, grasping, seeking an anchor in your skin. Open, he is bare to the bones that serve as his foundations. You will see it on the blood, etched there. In love and need. In a tangle of confusion -- his soul whispers to his cells... immortality? And beneath the layer of cells and blood and carried on his Existence you can taste... Take me with you. Wherever it is you go...Take me with you...

Posted by rowan at February 06, 2001 09:11 PM