The world is frozen. Still. Sparkling past the windows of the mountain chalet. The Swiss freeze frame. And snow is falling past the frosted windows. Sometimes shadows twinkling, sometimes just the brilliance of white. The slopes have been refreshed each evening. The trails left on the previous night, wiped away by midday. And you and your lover... you are twilight skiers. For you, it is as if the world is made anew. Just for you. And you sweat and you freeze...
But tonight... there is a hum of Something Special. The snow falls heavily beyond, and within the rustic chalet there is the soft, sweet singing of Ylsa in the kitchen, and the scent of honey and baking. The smell of cooking game. The smell of brandy. Coffee. And a thousand such similar delights. For your senses, Meurelle, it is twice the banquet...
The Christmas Feast...
The parlor is filled with the heady scents of impending feast and fire. Filling the parlor, upon nearly every available surface -- or at least, so it seems -- are boxes, once wrapped and now opened. From Davydd Llewelyn -- a set of Welsh bronze cups, perfect for holding drink, which he also sent ... a bottle of Gwynedd's finest mead, from his private stock, and to go with it... lavender honey and shortbread in a tin. From William Plantagenet -- two bottles of plum brandy, so rich, one would swear it yet has fruit in the bottom of it ... potent stuff, and bottled especially for you... the labels hand made, hand-painted and signed: With love, Guillaume d'Angevin, William Plantagenet. And in another box, a tin of ginger snaps. And in another, a full set of plush black and violet towels. In another box, carefully wrapped, the latest in HK technology. Can you doubt they love you? Those who knew where you were but did not call or stop by...
And the many from Valan. Your Valan. Who, while you were in Ireland, wandered forth into the streets of England with his Very Little English and his smooth and warm French. How he purchased things he would like to see you in. A shirt of ermine brown to match your eyes... how well it will go with the black you wear. Clothes specifically for the lights of your club, imagining you there with him... dancing. And new socks. And new boxers. Ah, and a new robe. Having... gotten to know your form so well... you will find that it fits... all of it...
I watch you. There is little that compares to it... apart from touching you, it is my favorite activity. To watch. To learn. Does the fire reflect my curiosity... no... it is wonder. Does it reflect this back when the fire's light lands on me, ami? Valan rests outstretched upon furs and cushions stolen from sofas... this, to bring him closer to the warm hearth, and to watch you with all your gifts from this vantage. And he grins. He smells of some sort of almond oil worn upon the skin. Lightly. Just a subtle flavor. You can smell it clearly. As you can see the green-brown-gold eyes fill with quiet and thoughtful happiness.
Wearing one of the shirts you had given him. In fact, he has dressed and undressed several times... to try on things right here in the middle of the parlor. Seeming ever on the edge of taking off... of putting on. Around you, clothes... are never certain to be worn. And he smiles to that. And his golden hair catches and holds the light. "We," he says in English, "... will ...hmm... open?" A pause for confirmation. "... the..." And he reaches over, ah... another gift... a better English dictionary. "... brandy..." And past the edges of the paper, past the edges of the book, Valan lifts his head... and grins.
It is the best Christmas ever. But it is not as if he has not thought and said that many times over the last week. Still now, he rifles through packages, so alive with the sights and smells of a home. A real one. Warmth and delight, something permanent. Something real. Edward grins constantly, hands quick to open packages and sample whatever's within. He is forever eating...
"Mm, did you have the honey? Davy's the best, wait till you meet him. Or..." he swallows, nodding his head at brandy, but rattling on quickly in French, "...oh, here, try them...they are nice. And the brandy...that will be brilliant, Will makes it himself. Oh, Will, my cos, you met him..."
And in a flash, the box of lavender honey is placed at your side, Edward reaching for gingersnaps and one of the many half-empty cups in front of him.
"What did you think of the towels, ami, huh? Weird, eh? I dunno what's with that," Edward explains, teetering snaps and cup on a thigh, dragging the towels out again for the viewing. He stares at them, pulling them to his face. "Like, why give us towels? But they're sorta excellent, you don't you think?"
"Did you open that long box for you yet?" Edward goes on, dropping towels at his side and picking up his pile of gingersnaps...he seems to eat them by the short stack. "Oh, I wonder if Ylsa finished the quail?" Edward blinks, as if he'd suddenly recalled. More snacks.
His gifts for you were of the personal sort. Still learning, he did not want to overstep any bounds. A new black jacket of Italian leather. An old book on Knights, illustrated, from the fifteenth century. Odd item. "Don't forget your box," Edward says again, quirking then... didn't I say that already?
The book is open. Firelight brushes against the pages, illustrated with armored men. The precursors to tanks. He wondered at it, wondrously puzzled, pleased. What else should one read while staying in a castle? He will read it again in your Fleurlil. The heraldry. The armor. The men on horses. Hmmm. This is a secret of yours. Some... secret thought you hold. Something that is close to you. An interest... one you do not share with many. I can feel that in the turning of the pages. Valan closes the book with a grin and sits up, his hand simultaneously reaching for one of the bronze cups -- they may as well be christened. And he takes a gingersnap and he takes a piece of shortbread. Hands to mouth, constantly. With food, with drink, with the occasional cigarette -- with the more than occasional You.
He leaves off English, unable to keep up with your French in a new tongue. "Ah..." he says, and with a growing smile, as he reaches for a bottle of the plum. "I will have the honey to go with the plum. Food in one hand, drink in the other..." It's as it should be, non? It will take a reach, but cookies held in his mouth, both arms are free for the taking.
Finally, he surrenders, and simply hands you his cup. "Pour... I will open the box..." words half-muffled, mouth full. How easy it is to be with you. How natural. I sit in this space, as comfortable as if it were mine... in your space... you are mine. Valan grins, swallowing and reaching for the long box. "Very good, this is the last one, ami... we shall have to open one another next... oui? To give our hands something to do... unwrapping has become habitual..." Green and brown and gold, his hazel eyes sparkle in a wink, and his hands bring the long box to his lap.
As fingers begin the unwrapping, his words fall from him in a fluent stream of French, soft and warm. "The towels are nice... they will match your rooms in Fleurlil well... very nice cotton... maybe he has an eye for comfort, your cousin...and the fine things in life, hmm? They are nice... they will cover us both well." Us, Edward. And looking up, and looking past his golden hair, Valan grins. "I will feed you the quail," he whispers. "I think she is cooking it with a chocolate sauce... it will go well with the brandy, I think... hmm?" Leaning in over the box he holds and pausing the unwrapping just momentarily, he opens his mouth.
Insert cookie please ...
"Chocolate?" Edward's wide eyes gleam. He didn't realize that. But at need for cookies, he starts and twists, reaching around for a set of three and inserting them quickly. "There," he smiles, finishing a cup of... ah...that's mead. Is that now how holidays should go? A little of everything...
It is a black velvet box this, unadorned. Upon opening, the inside is black as well, but a shine twinkles upon the display. A silver chain, finely linked herringbone of the smallest sort. Strange thing. Too long for your neck or wrist...
"Hmm," Edward peers at the towels, "I will have to ask about these towels...and well, how they figured out where we were. I can't believe Girault would tell them, let alone Georg..."
"Chocolate," comes what surely must be the French pronunciation of the word, mid chew. Crumbs fall, but the black velvet box is lifted, held away. Safe from the precipitation. And a gesture is made toward the cup that is now empty. Fill it, ami, I need something to wash this down! He looks strangely like one of those ads on the telly...
But after, hands open the box. And after, food is swallowed and the drink... it will come when it will...his eyes no longer ask for it now. They are on the thing of silver. This beautiful thing. As his left hand cradles the box, his right hand lifts... fingers... touching the metal. Sparkling. Long...
He stares at it a while, "It is lovely, ami..." Eyes lift to you, with their tri-color brightness. And though the smile is still an echo at his lips and in his eyes, there is something more...fond. "Beautiful... "
"It was suggested to me," Edward smiles, finally pausing, scooting to the edge of the sofa, "...well, I think they thought I was...going to buy it for someone...not you." Female. "But, I still liked the idea....for the..." and his hands make a motion around his waist. "Tell me if you think...it's silly, ami..."
Free hand lets him pick up the glass of brandy poured a bit ago. It's offered to you now, Edward letting his elbow rest on his knee, chin in his hand. "I can get it shortened, if you think it's better...around your neck or something."
A belly chain ...
You see it first at his fingertips. Then, upon the cheeks just a bit. And then, at last, a final flare of something just short of crimson. With his complexion it is a kind of spreading roseate. "Non...non," he breathes, "... it is perfect as it is. I will... wear it when we go dancing next. With the shirt open," he looks to you, the rise of color fading back to normal, his mouth spreading, a curving grin... knowing. "...here," his hand gestures to his midriff, "...and when I move... ah... it will catch the lights nicely, yes?" His left hand still holds the box balanced -- so that with his right he may take some of the brandy. Violet... black. Such a deep hue. Bottled in the old manner, you can tell by the scent of it -- so heady, it intoxicates before a sip is even tasted. And held in thick glass, rounded bottom, an ancient style. The glass is of fine quality. It is only when you empty it, that you and your Valan will discover it is hand-blown Venetian.
He sips the brandy, whatever remaining crumbs are swept away, and he grins at the rim of it. Quick, another. And then... he hands it back. And with it, rising. And with the rising, brushing your mouth with his. And all the while the chain is held in tender balance. "Here... I will try it on..." As he has done everything. He is an artist, your Valan... not at paints or drawings or music, just at simple living. "Here, hold this, ami..." The glass is returned to you, as he begins to remove the shirt.
"Were not the gifts from your cousin here before? I thought in the letter that your friend Georg wrote... he spoke of them being in the upstairs den..." He speaks softly as he smiles. He looks to you, as the pull-over is... pulled slowly over... the velvet box held in alternating hands all the while. And now... the athletic form is half bared to you. The lean build of the fencer. The broad, but not too broad shoulders -- the broad but not too broad chest. The tapering sides. "I will wear it tonight," Valan murmurs. "... we will dance later..."
Glass is taken, and Edward watches with more than curiosity. Desire. Sitting back, he settles himself for a view. Ah...you have found his voyeuristic self. Always on the outside, looking in. Even when he was sitting in the center of a club. Forever...not like you. But your love lets him join your world, and for a while, he pretends that little separates you.
The sofa sounds as it conforms around your lover. His sable eyes rest easily upon you, but also tugs. I want to see you, how beautiful you are, how you make me want to cry, to ache for something I have lost and now find in you.
"We, dance?" It finally hits him. The glass is cradled at his chest, fingers slightly moving in anticipation of watching you. A man in a booth, desperately to see within. "Oh, you don't mean us dancing tonight, do you?"
It is the hallmark of Your Kind. And what You Are. To look through windows. As existences move by. In and out of your bed like a cinema. You, living in that world on the other side of the glass. From the shadows. From the world within the world...
But your lover does not know this. He only knows you look. He knows it pleases him that you do. And that it pleases you. And his exhibition, ah, it come naturally to him. The shirt is dropped and it tumbles from his fingers to a silken heap. Valan smiles, golden hair resettling...and his silver dangles now from the tips of his fingers. And then sparkles against his skin. The flat of stomach, against the toned form. And his smile warms, even as it deepens. "Oui..." he murmurs, "... dance, ami." The smile slowly spreads, and smoothly. "... of a type, hmm? Maybe... with my back to you, you will see it sparkle better..."
You wish to see, and so... he shows himself. Your dark eyes tug at him, and he unravels. Such power you have, ami. You look at me that way and... why am I still clothed?
Valan tilts his head downward as he fastens the chain around him. It lies against his skin, perfectly. When he moves, there is a sparkle. Perfect for capturing motion, yes? Hazel eyes lift to you. So...what do you think?
He grins at the risqué suggestion, but when you place the silver around you, Edward's sigh is visible. I wish I could show you what you look like to me. All of you, you make me wish for another chance. Especially you. Particularly you.
"You're wonderful," he whispers, voice tremulous. His smile is weak, but there, and Edward looks down at the glass trapped at his chest. "Time passes so fast, hmm, ami?" he murmurs, gaze downcast still. "How long has it been? A couple of months?" If that long. "Over a week since we are in Switzerland?" He unfolds enough to pat his lap, wanting you to join him.
He yet wears his trousers, just simple khakis -- worn around the confines of the house, but never really out of the house, yes? And you feel his weight. You feel next the warmth of his skin. The electricity of his existence, like a hum against your own. Valan settles upon your lap, an arm about your shoulder. With his other, he reaches for the cup of brandy. Another sip.
"Sometimes... it seems ... like a whirlwind...a pleasant tempest. And then... it also feels that I have been with you all along. You lose time... somewhere in the middle." Soft laughter, serious. Has it been a week already? And yet... it feels as if I have been here all my life. "Time is strange," he whispers.
Closer to him, you can smell the subtle almond oil he wears upon his skin. Some natural soap used. And something that is simply...Valan. Something like summer in the Loire. Valan leans in, his mouth to your ear. "We have been together now... almost two months... ami..." He heard the tremulous sound upon your whisper. "Are you... alright?" That murmured in your English. "Ah, and merci.." For the earlier compliment. "You are wondrous..." Something like wonderful... but greater.
He nods, smile reassuring, but sable eyes seem teary. "Yeah, I am," he confides, not sure how to explain it, "... just ... thinking of a lot things, you know?" Edward wonders. With the glass gone, his arms surround you lazily, resting. "Maybe I'm tired. Hungry. Something," he teases, finding a little cheer. "There's just a lot I want to say to you, to tell you," he whispers, knowing you know something is there, "...but I don't want to rush, to spoil it...or...put too much on you. Or have you bore of me..." Edward chuckles, "...and the mystery." Ooh, ahh. He laughs and lets his head rest upon the back of the sofa, eyes closing.
A sip is all. There was to be another, but your eyes... they are so bright... and your words... they stop him. With a lean, Valan sets it aside, safely still upon a table. And then... you are all. As you lean back, your head upon the back cushion of the sofa, your eyes closing, you feel the brush of his mouth again. "You may tell me whatever you want, Edward. And..." you feel as much as hear the smile, "...I promise you... promise... I will not bore of you. You are...the most amazing man I have ever met. Besides," A soft laugh, come... it cannot be so bad, "... I am in love... it makes me naturally willing to suspend such things as ... boredom..."
But the teasing does not last long. "There is something," Valan murmurs. Bending, his mouth brushes and then presses against your temple. "Say... whatever you want to say... I am not going ... anywhere." But to your bed. Fingers toy with dark strands of your hair. Lightly, idly playing there. "Start with one thing you wish to say..."
A noise escaped him as you brushed him, Edward's body releasing energy to the world. He does not change his position as you encourage him, but something rises to the surface.
"I love you, ami. Valan...I love you."
There. His eyes open, but as often, Edward is detached. It is information made known. No emotion follows it, but the statement is observed, found true, and spoken. Yes. I love you. Hot damn.
Only then does Edward's face come upright to see you. There you go. I said it . "I do love you. And I want you to stay with me, for a long time." For longer than you perhaps can. How do I make this happen without ruining you and what I find so perfect about you?
He shrugs and smiles. One thing said.
"All I must do," he murmurs in the Francais of the Loire, "... is get my lizards and my fish..." He smiles, warmly... the pull of his mouth so suited for such things. He says it as simply as you spoke of love. And without romantic flair or breathy warmth, even seeming without a thud of emotion, he whispers. "I love you, Edward Meurelle..." And it is simple truth. It does not need to be adorned, yes?
Valan resettles upon your lap, silver sparkling at his waist -- oh you can just imagine how it shall later -- as he turns to face you. A fencer's agile straddle. His arms around your neck, lying upon your shoulders. "We should talk of this... hmm?" Valan breathes again, his low voice soft between you. His fingers curling and uncurling, massaging at the nape of your neck. "Do you wish to... move in, me with you... or... France or England... " He goes a little red. "I hope, ami... I have not just... leaped too far... this is what we are talking about..."
The garnets sparkle at my throat, the silver at my waist. And I am short of breath. Do you hear it catch, ami? Love. I have found you afterall. Shadowy figure yet though you are, and elusive -- and yet here I am, with you now, and I see you clearly ...
He smiles, shaking his head, "No, no, you're not leaping," Edward confirms in shared tongue. "I guess," he smirks sardonically, "...yeah...that's the current topic, sure." No time to be coy. "I mean, if you don't think it's too quick to talk about it?"
Edward shuffles a little, getting comfortable. This may be a while, and he looks as if he happily comfited. It's a nervous look of an inexperienced man, but behind it is the strength of the adult committed. "What would...you like to do? Fleurlil...is always there," he nods, "...I've....spent most of my present...adult..." he corrects, "...life in London. It's a great city but..." he smiles, "...being with you, it makes me want to be at home." In France.
"But!" Edward pipes suddenly, "Dannerly Court, is more like a home than Fleurlil is..." he smirks. "And...smaller." A townhouse in ritzy row -- oh, won't they like the male couple -- versus the chateau? Yes, Edward, you have a way with words.
"I do not mind ... dividing my time between the two... so you know," he says, there is strength there, that confidence and comfort that he has seemed to have with you from the moment he approached your table. "...Would you prefer this talk... upstairs? I am sure that when the quail and all is ready, Ylsa would bring it up..." This murmured upon the edge of your readjustment...
To live in Fleurlil. Such accommodations. Could that not be anything but a joy? And still so near to Tours... a train ride to Bordeaux. Paris whenever desired -- if desired. And you. Always... you...
The smile winds upon his lips in a careless way. "Dannerly Court... it is a very nice residence. I think it would be... an adventure... to live in London..." His voice trails off. "We could ... do both? Could we not? France or London... as we like it?"
From the kitchen, the singing has stopped, but there is sound of activity. Dinner nears. You can hear the preparations. You can smell the feast. Stefan and Ylsa speaking quietly... they think only between themselves...
The master will like this...
Ah, give those bones to the dogs, Stefan...
Brows arch. "Well, sure," Edward nods, "...but that's not an answer," he smirks. "I mean, our stuff's gotta be somewhere," hands pulling at the convenient spots. "I don't know," he sighs, letting his head fall back.
Hearing kitchen motion and your suggestion, Edward's gaze falls to the open archway. "I don't feel like moving much either," he grumps, scanning 180 degrees to pick up one of the new towels to wrap around your hips. He shuffles in the process, sitting upright to make things more modest.
"Dannerly Court then..." Valan decides. "And we will travel to France whenever the mood strikes and your job allows. I will arrange to have my things moved... ah, there is much to do... I own my townhouse, so, I can rent this to my brother. He will be thrilled to be out of Bordeaux and Paris both and to have his own place in Tours..." Thinking aloud, you can tell this by the slow way his voice moves, the drag of his tongue upon the words, like savoring flavor.
Like savoring you...
And as you look to the kitchen -- someone is coming? Ah, perhaps it is dinner now -- Valan lifts from your lap. Only momentarily. Mouth brushing yours in his movement. Ah, ami . A breath, a pull, a taste. And then...
His head in your lap, lying upon the couch. Only slightly more modest. Only slightly. "How does this sound? I will move into Dannerly. I think we will be happier in the city. We can escape to the country..." a roll of his broad shoulders, "...whenever we like. I will defect to the London fencing studios..." Easily done. Ah, and for that, a grin.
Dinner sounds quite...good. Edward keeps his seat -- he really does not plan to go anywhere -- and his hand lands on your now-horizontal chest. "We could see about buying the brownstone next door...removing a wall...if you don't think it's enough space?" Three floors, straight up, three bedrooms, four baths, living room, kitchen, office, and pantry, and a small front and back slab of grass? Long way from Fleurlil. Oh. And one car garage. It's almost homey.
"Actually... that would be nice... we could have a room there dedicated to fencing, a home gym. This would be good. I do not need so much space. I... like the intimacy of Dannerly, ami," he murmurs. "I like ... close living quarters..." A grin lights within the gaze, pulls wide upon that mouth. "...with you... the closer, hmm? The better I like it..." And low, laughter pulls at his throat, sounds in his chest. Summer. All year round.
And then you hear his stomach growling. It is followed by the widening of his eyes. "Mon Dieu... it sounds as if it is ..." French pauses suddenly for English, "...cookie ..time...Ah! I will have to... practice...? My English...it will...ah, be good for me..."
And from the kitchen: Ylsa's voice. "Merry Christmas! Our dinner is ready. Do either of you need more drink, have you enough from your gifts to tide you or is there something else I can get you...Stefan, take that into the parlor... first the soup, yes...and the bread!"
You can smell it. Fresh bread. Soup. The promise of meat...
"Ah, Christmas Dinner!" Edward barrels to a stand, leaving you to your own devices. Wherever the conversation was going, it deviates instantly. "We can come to the dining room, Ylsa!" he calls, then thinks better, "Oh, unless you just wanted to have it upstairs?" Oh, say not. Dinner is best with family around.
Laughter...
So quickly you move, and the world turns with you. And I laugh as I have never laughed. Full. Of life. And love ...
Valan lifts and twists, and after you barrel forth he rises. Bare but for his khakis... and this is remedied. He grabs the sweater worn before and pulls it over again, even as he follows you. "Non, ami... the dining room... we eat with friends... as it should be, oui? It will be our family...we should invite them to the plum drink after dinner..." he mentions. To share in the gifts. Such is the season. And such his mind throughout the year, in truth. The generosity of the European spirit...
"Parlor, Stefan!" reminiscent of Bags! only a bit warmer. Such directives can this woman give! Ylsa is seen, smiling and red-faced from all the work. "I will bring in the rest, come, come then... to the dining hall. Perhaps even Georg shall soon descend, like Father Christmas...yes?" She laughs. You know how he is wont to just... slip in unobtrusively...he's the most mellow Brujah in all your clan. So must he be...
"Oh," Edward winces, pulling himself less harried, "...shit, I guess it is Christmas," he murmurs. Of course Georg is coming. Shirt is tucked in as he ambles along, but Edward stops at the archway, turning around, to wait for you. Not without you, ami.
The dining hall is held nestled within the chalet, closest to the mountain itself, and like the halls of old stretches in length along the entire back end. It has two massive tables, its floor is wood paneled. Its ceiling is a combination of stone and wood buttressing, much as the parlor, and it is warmed by two small stone hearths.
It has been decorated with ivy and holly. An evergreen tree stands in the far corner. Its walls are otherwise decorated as any Nordic lord's -- with animal trophies. In particular, the great brown bear, killed on some former expedition. And upon the tables -- such a bounty of food. Enough to feed all of you, Georg and every one of his dogs. The quail is laid out, there is also boar, there are baked apples and pears, there is a potato dish, there is sausage and onions, rye breads and a pumpkin bread, butter and cheese -- including a Swiss cheese fondue.
And smiling proudly, Ylsa and Stefan. "Come... sit... " Their exuberance is natural and genuine...
"Dieu," Valan murmurs and with a grin he turns to Ylsa and Stefan, eyes wide. "Beautiful, such a feast," amazement. He waits upon Edward to sit before him... or direct him with a greater courtesy to do so himself. "Thank you... for such hospitality... for such a banquet..."
"Dieu!" Edward blinks, face blush from enthusiasm. A real holiday meal, with family. "You guys are great!" he says, tumbling into English. Some things Anglo-Saxon is best for. "This is just awesome," Edward goes on, moving to pull out a seat next to one end of the table. Looking up, he offers it to you, presuming he'll take the end seat. "Here, cher," he murmurs, unforgetting of his manners. His love sits first.
"You two will be joining us, yes?" Edward asks as much as tells. His eyes look expectant as he pushes at the end chair for himself, hand still upon the back of the other.
Oh, they live by that. There is no other gift necessary -- no other gift could come close to pleasing Ylsa so much. She beams. "It is our pleasure...we have enjoyed having you here..." And Georg... it is also for Georg's honor, if not his presence. She shares a bright blue look with Stefan, just briefly before waving him to sit -- everyone, sit! -- and smiling to Edward. "We would be delighted...I will get our drinks...Stefan will say grace, and we will sit like a family..." She smiles lastly to Valan. Welcome to the family...
Valan looks to you, a smile. "Merci, ami..." is whispered back. He sits, and a stray hand reaches out to touch you, just a skimming touch. Even as his hungry mortal eyes move over the bounty. It is a wonder the tables may yet stand with it all! He unfolds his napkin. Such manners, such well-bred manners. Ah, mama... it was not all for nothing, yes?
Grinning smooth and slight, Stefan looks to you both. A quirk of his lips upward. "It is good to have the chalet full of people, otherwise, we would be eating with Loki and Freya," the large samoyeds. He chuckles and turns. "Ylsa! Are you certain you do not need more hands!" This, before he sits.
"No, no... sit ...sit..." calls her voice from the nearby kitchen -- which also serves to warm this large room.
Once you sit, the chair is pushed forward, Edward's hand retreating across your shoulder. He waits for Stefan to sit, then places his hand at his waist, settling into the end seat. Georg may have the other.
"This all just looks incredible, Stefan," he being the most available, "...thank you all for everything," Edward chimes, blissfully radiant, "...it's been...the best Yule ever," hand reaching across the table to find yours. You made us feel like a couple...the first to do so...and at home.
A slight wave, the humility of the Swiss...
A squeeze of you fingertips, the grasp of your lover...
The footsteps and voice of Ylsa approaching, "Our water is the finest in the world... and our liqueur... it is for the quail, a light almond..." Good for the holidays and for this dinner in particular.
"Are you certain you do not need..." Stefan begins, even as his rump hits the cushion of the high-backed chair -- he is already ready to rise from it to help.
"No, no... I have it...Stefan, my dear..." And she is a whirlwind around the table. This is her art, her reason-to-live. Her joy. To serve, to provide. Glasses are set down near each of you. First the water... and then she moves to a bureau.
Fingers curl about your own, a soft and intimate grasp. "It has really been the best Christmas ... ever, yes..." Hazel flickers, shining to you in agreement, as Valan returns his glance to Stefan. "You have been so gracious and the chalet and now this..." Such a meal. And he looks to you. Ami, such friends you have. It is... like a family...
Stefan smiles warmly, to you both. The joined hands of two men gets no special look. You are involved, you are friends, it is nothing out of the sorts. Accepted, easily. Naturally. Like the weather. "It has been our pleasure," he says, including Ylsa in his look as she sets out the almond liqueur. He nods, "We are glad you both have spent it with us. It has been very enjoyable. Georg will hate he has missed it..."
"He will," Edward smiles, holding his lover's hand. "The decorations, everything is just perfect," he observes, lifting his eyes to look around. "And the table," sable eyes downcast, "...it's glorious. Maybe we could get plates like these, hmm, cher?" He thinks aloud, picking up his plate and turning it over with his free hand.
It is true. It is happening and it is true. And I feel as if I am out of myself, looking down to this. Outside in, inside out. Instead of Me and You, now it is Us. And I smile. And the smile... it trembles just a little. As if I cannot decide whether to laugh or grin or cry out or sigh or...
And this is how it is, I have heard. Love.
Valan looks to the joined hands, to the plate and then downcast to all that is outspread at the table. His cheeks... reddening. His neck, there. The flush beginning and moving through him. You can hear the quickening pulse. It moving through him. The knowledge and the idea of it.
And again ... there... at the back of his throat ... the taste of Truth.
"Ami?" Edward asks, not having heard anything. But he was staring at the underside of a plate. "You alright?" Fingers squeeze, and the plate is lowered as he scans you quickly.
He wakes with the lifting of his head, his gaze to you. And the smile spreads, a look to you all and lastly to Edward. You... most of all. "I am ..." he says with casual ease and with the edge of humor, "... having an amazing night, ami... and oui... I like those," the plates, he leans in. A whisper, "We will have... a second Christmas when we return ...home..." Our home. And with all the things we will get...
For us.
Posted by rowan at February 07, 2001 10:00 PM
