The seamless nights often brings comfort. Especially up here. Huddled under handmade blankets and fine milled sheets gives an ease not to be denied by any stresses accumulated during the waking hours. A large storm started sometime during the last minutes of passion, carrying over through lazy dozing and lifting of spirits towards joined sleep. All of it needed.
     The orange-blue haze of approaching twilight coincided with the first stirrings. A Time to set your watch by. When the afternoon light begins its first wane, does the vampire first show signs of living. He turns over, a narrow parting of his eyes. Looking for you. Hand reaches out, finding sheet. Warm sheet, at least...for he was about to start, fearing a flash of the worst. But not so. It is another hued evening with you, and Edward calms, hand firming against the mattress as he pushes himself half to upright.
     Ah, noise. The sound of a shower. He runs his hand through his hair and takes a moment to reacquaint himself with the world, and you in it.

     You could not know it...
     ...Or can you, Eduard...
     ...that I lingered in bed with you. I watched you rest still. So still. And I played with the tendrils of your hair. And wondered: could I do what you have done? Can I become what you have become? It is not brave living one lifetime. So quick -- it is a flash of light and then it is gone. But you have lived many lives. Seen the world in all its guises. Good and bad. Beautiful. Horrible. That ... is courage. It is hard to consider yourself courageous when you have only lived twenty-six years on this earth...
     It was just before you usually stirred that, waking from my last nap brought on by too many thoughts, that I rose and entered the shower. And that is where I stand, ami. Waiting. Hoping that you will come in after me. Waiting. Wondering. If it will be tonight. Or the next. Funny. I never heard the clock tick at all. Never knew it was my own heartbeat. Took it for granted. But it has been ticking since the moment of my birth. I tilt back my head, and warm water cascades upon my face, my closed eyelids.
     I cannot stay away.
     Even as I roll sluggishly to upright and review my life and this day, I miss you. Even as I think of you in the shower, I'm torn between going to you and doing something else that I should do.
     But first things first.

     Edward's legs dangle only a moment off the edge of the bed before floor holds his weight. A stretch. He rolls his sinewed form, reaching for the sky. Hands clasp above, and beneath their joining, da Vinci's drawings become real. A man in his perfect form, forever so.
     Edward sighs, letting hands fall behind his head, pulling trapezius, then lets the pull go, padding towards the bathroom where you are.
     Tick.
     The shower door opens, the sudden shadow upon the smoked glass parting. It's replaced with swirls of cold-meets-hot, and Edward's face, smiling. And in his hand, his celphone.
     "Hey," he says softly, not bending in so much to get wet. Face at the doorseals, "...morning, ami." It's a genuine smile, he eased to see you in all your beauty. He can say morning now, and you know what it truly means...

     The garnets lie safely on the bathroom counter, held cupped by the plush body of one of the great towels. Safe. But never far from him. Not since they have had their Meaning -- the night in Fleurlil. And when he removed them this morning, they had an extra significance. Red as blood, dangling at his neck. Such significance. Such sudden significance. Was it fate that led him to them only two nights before meeting you?
     He had turned, a shoulder rolling and he turning so that his back now feels the warmth. The turn meets you as you open the door, and then his smile. Ah, and the rest of him...
     If he is made as you, he, too, will be at his prime forever. With fencing and skiing, with prior gym work and with the full flush of twenty-six upon him. What a sight -- half lathered, and half not. How golden hair has turned a tawny brown with the moisture. There is precious little hair on his chest, but the line that travels down his torso, past his navel and between his thighs glitters somewhere midway between gold and brown. Water beads upon his skin, reflects off of it as the water strikes him, and steam rises from it.
     The smile is lazy slow -- still waking from his last nap -- and he leans in toward you. "Morning, ami," Valan murmurs, this with a growing grin, "Coming to join me...?" Oh... please. And then there is laughter, rising upward like light and leaving his lips like summer. "But leave your phone on the towel, ami, or at least one of us will get electrocuted ... maybe..." He winks and turns, rinsing and lingering in the warmth...

     His smile slants ribald, indeed following the line downward and making sure you see the color that washes his face. "I'd love to," he purrs, still staring downward, "...really." After seeing that, damned right. "But...I was gonna make a quick call, if that's alright?" Ah, now you may see his eyes as they come horizontal again. "Maybe I'll catch you at the end of it?"

     "I will ... wait for you... " Valan says easily. Enjoying the display he makes. Reveling in that look upon your face. Encouraged by the color you turn. Undone by the ermine eyes. He nods and leans in -- a quick, and wet, kiss. You feel the condensation. A part of Valan will remain with you. You will take him with you. "I think a sauna would be the ... perfect way to start a new day..." And so he turns, Valan does. Gleaming with the water. His body tall and lean -- a nice balance between agility and strength. Turning to face the water again. It hits him, cascades against him... along the very path your eyes followed. A turn of his head to you, chin tilted upward, he smiles. Lazy, slow. Pleasure in the warmth. From your visit. With the promise of what will follow the call. A last wave to you. For now.
     I waited, and you came for me, ami... I will wait again ...

     "A sauna's good," Edward smiles, "...I'll be out here." A kiss was to follow, but with your turning and the added view, he was content. He watches a longer moment, but the door does eventually close with a soft click.
     Instead, after his sigh, Edward turns about and lifts the phone, dialing a few buttons. Memory is left blank, lest any hands find the phone and ring places they should not. Like Scotland...

     ... And in Scotland it is the blush of a new twilight in what was once the middle of the afternoon ...
     Indigo eyes... a reflection, it would seem, of winter's evening itself... lift not to starry heights but to an unpainted ceiling. Wondering. Shall a firmament rest there? The stars as seen from France to go with the walls that soon shall be as the turrets of his Loire chateau? Yes. The stars as seen from the banks of the Vienne. As seen from the rolling vineyards of the valley. As seen from the bridge between the Logis Royeaux and the Tour de Boissy....
     For the one in Scotland, his other Part remains in their bed, safely ensconced. He has not stirred yet, as Time often keeps him in slumbered throes.

     "Come on," Edward sighs, bed creaking beneath his rejoined weight. He should like a cigarette, but lowers his hand from the reach for the pack, choosing instead to lie down and hope someone picks up...

     A distracted hand lifts the small phone... by virtue of his last call, it rests at hand. Quite nearly at hand. It is graceful darkness. It is languid strength. The black turtleneck of cashmere, the black and supple lambskin of his pants. Something worn for his love -- how well the lambskin holds him. Its own softness betraying what it keeps. It is the third ring that ends abruptly. "... d'Angevin at your service..." The French is an elongated roll against his tongue, inflected southern. His native Langue d'Oc -- his mother's French -- claims him still. And thus he answers, for who else would call him but one of his associates? William's voice sounds smooth, deep. Soft with thought. Perhaps he was reading. His free hand reaches up and rakes through black hair, cut short for style, most modern.

     "Hey," comes the voice, English but strongly inflected French beneath. "You awake?" he asks, the sound of breathing loud. Cigarettes.
     Springs squeak, and it's your cousin, of course...

     "Ah," and the languid baritone lifts, you can tell he is smiling. "Oh yes... I have been for a while... I was just ... thinking." A pause. And then you know it is coming, but the deadpan humor follows, "... which, short of prayer, is the official Plantagenet lullaby. How are you?" That warm tone again, wakening from thoughts and the whole of his attention now on you. It is as palpable as if he were there, looking at you. "How is your vacation going... did you get the gifts?" You two. You are so alike sometimes, and mirror images now, one of the other, William also reaches for his cigarettes. Can you hear the soft springs in the background? The sound of him sitting upon an old velvet sleeper.

      ...There is sound from the bathroom, Edward...the softening of the sound of water. The sauna will follow. ..

     "I did, thanks..." Edward says, having failed to avoid the evil cancer sticks. Habits don't die, they just submerge or float. "How'd you hear about it?" he wonders, the sound of the bed rustling underneath him. "I shouldn't ask, but I'm just fucking bold like that..."
     "Oh, and happy Yule to you and Dunross," said strangely easy, rolling off his tongue. "And the brandy is brilliant," Edward chimes as he does with you, "But you know that."

     While you speak, a fire is lit. And behind it, curling, the rising scent of cinnamon and cloves. You miss this, but you know his tastes. Decadent, expensive. "Hmm... I have good ears. You told me you were going, and I was actually paying attention to you, brother..." A grin trails his voice, one the languid reflection of the other. Damnable, devastating, deadly that smile. Such as has sent ripples through Europe. You can hear it on his voice. An inhale of fire. An exhale of smoke. "Or... rather... at least the possibility existed. Georg confirmed it by not denying it, so... I figured it was a safe bet. And... merci... Happy Yule to you as well. We've had a brilliant season. Hope you have likewise. You still there?" Eyebrows draw together in a quiet wondering, as deadash is flicked into a waiting empty jar. "I can get you more of the brandy if you like, cos... we had a record season for plums... once in a century yield...." And you shared it.

     "Too right," Edward replies coolly, saying much of·nothing. In a sedate way. "Was fucking brilliant. We damned near topped off the one you sent..."
     "It's great up here," he goes on, "...oh, mate, the skiing is like...it's just the bees' fuckin' knees. You outta see it. Maybe you guys," eh? "...can visit here before the sun gets too high. Got more pack last night and morning, so the runs are incredibly fast. Was on grade five last week, damned near froze..."
     "And Georg...he's got the place locked down. Best chalet on the side of Mantremonte," Edward explains, puffing to quickly finish this cigarette to get to the next, "Ylsa and Stefan had the sauna and tub all primed, it's been redecorated too since the last time I was here. So it's been..." he exhales, "...maybe the best holiday ever, cos, really."

     So effusive, Edward. But that is not the odd part. It is that you are effusive about yourself, rather than some triviality or bit of business. Inhalation of fire, the exhalation of smoke. William smiles, you miss the raising brows. "I would like to go skiing again... it's been a while, actually... I'll see what Ian has to say once he rolls out of bed..." There is warmth there, emotion there. And for a moment, he is quiet. Listening. "I'm glad you've had such a good time," William murmurs, "...you deserved it. You work harder than anyone else I know, Meurelle..." For Us. "Sounds like the Old Wolf rolled out the red bear carpet for you... I have heard his place is... legendary. Somewhere midway between Valhalla and Beowulf's Mead Hall." Smooth, the laughter that pulls at his throat, sounds in his chest as it is held there. Deep and quiet. There is a pause. "You said We earlier... is Georg being social?" He's not known for that.

     A pause.
     "Georg?" Edward breathes, "Yeah, he's here. Sat a bit with him the other night. Looking like Good King Wenceslaus, but hey, I'm not one to complain about someone's style."
     "But, yeah, we're having a great time. Um ... you know...can't go anyplace alone though." He's never been much of a liar. "Sorta like you and Dunross," after a fashion. "But yeah, I'm glad to take the break. Didn't know how much I needed it, cos, really," his voice tapering. You can almost see the demure shrug, if Edward could ever do such a thing.
     "I'm half tempted just to stay," he adds quietly.

     "You must be having a grand time then," returns the warm voice. Sure, he's curious. But he doesn't press, your cousin. Just like he doesn't drop in unannounced. "It'd give me a steady reason to visit..."
     There is a pause. What would be two mortal heartbeats. Like me and Dunross. "Good King Wenceslaus is right... no one wassails like the Old Wolf. I have... very dear and distinct memories of Yule, 1632..." A quiet chuckle. And the warmth extends from him, through the phone and across the miles. You can tell me, Edward . "I know I needed a break," he murmurs again. "I don't know when I'll stop my vacation..." From responsibilities other than his spouse and being a spouse in return.

     He chuckles as you humorously reminisce, that line used for too many occasions. Forgotten ones too.
     "A break from what?" Edward asks, laughter there, "From wallowing in the sin of America? Just kidding, cos," he says softer, "...yeah...though, I know what you mean. Oh, the towels were cool too, by the by." That was you, wasn't it? "I'll have to send you guys something then," you and Dunross, "...that was nice of you. Tell him I said so too, okay?"

     Smoke is exhaled and upon the breath of it, an audible smirk. But America is forgotten quickly. "Oh, you liked those? I should not be allowed to shop... I was going to get something else, and then... suddenly... it was towels for everybody!" His hand gesticulates, creating a trail of fire upon the air before him. He is quiet for a moment. "I will tell him, oui... but... gifts, non, not necessary, Edward. The thought is All," comes the mull of his voice, languid. Even French is elongated by his tone. The drawl of his southern tongue. Slowly, smoothly... the sensuous mouth curve upward. "We are guys now? I like that... guys... said that way. You guys. It is almost like New York..." And it is... above all else... inclusive. And you can tell by his mulling upon it -- even with the humor attached -- that William is touched by that. It... means something to him. You can hear it. "You can buy us," yes... us, "... a drink in London or Paris sometime..."
     "Merci," William says after another moment. Thank you. For that. For including him...

     He smiles too, felt through the phone. "Aw, no worries, mate. Sure, we can have a drink or cuppa next time we're together," Edward adds. I should have said that ages ago . "But that'll be great. I dunno where you got the towel idea, but it was good. I was surprised and all. But...it's nice. It was...like having Christmas with family, you know? And then opening boxes from you all was just the best. We liked it a lot."
     Another pause.
     "Um, cos, gotta go, okay?" Bed squeaks a little as he moves and breathing changes. Smoke put out. "I'll call you in a few days, huh?" Maybe I'll have more to report. "Tell Dunross hallo and bye, then..."

     You miss the look, and it's a pity because it's truly priceless. No one shocks Plantagenet. With nonchalance he smiles and seems to know. Unaffected, even by the most orgiastic visions. But, you've mentioned Dunross... not only by name... rather than the more common epithets of him or even the more common... simply leaving him out altogether... some four or five times. The phone is drawn away from his ear, looked at a moment, given a shake and then with upraised brows, William simply sits stunned. "Sure, cos," he drops into English. "I'll tell him you give him greetings... I'll ask him about the skiing. Let me know when the chalet is free. I'll have to call Georg," a chuckle, "... and ask him...he's too easy... ah... alright then..."
     You can tell he's on his heels, he rarely uses English, and even more rarely stops and starts like he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to say. "It was.... great talking to you," William murmurs. "Take care, Edward..."

     "Okay, cos," Edward blips. Something's up in the room where he is, but whatever it is, it's good. "Catch you later, ciao...thanks, mate.." for...what?
     The phone does click, but almost politely, as he disconnects the call and goes on his way...

     Steam issues from the bath, through the opened door and laying like a fine mist upon the bedroom. And within that heated cloud? The face of your Valan, a towel draped over his head. Slowly moving back and forth as he tussle-dries his hair. He smiles. Garnets sparkling around his throat. Almost as if they flicker with every pulsing of the nearby vein. Hazel eyes are bright. Awakened. Refreshed. He is not wearing another towel. The view in the shower? It greets you again...
     And his smile...
     And his voice, quiet and warm. "I was thinking... if you would like... we could take coffee in the den... we haven't spent much time there..." The library den. With its large cushioned chairs and furs. A new room to be christened? Valan grins and turns back, half disappearing within the bathroom again. Likely to hang the towel...

     "Sure," Edward says, tossing the phone aside onto the bed. He has not made much motion since you last saw him, finishing his call. Still naked, his arms open to greet you, the smile warm upon his face. Something had made him cheerier today.
     "How was your shower, hmm?" Is he still the same. "Always feel better when the dirt's gone, huh?"

     "Refreshing. Very warm, considering how cold it is outside...it was storming earlier," Valan murmurs, returning to the bedroom. Though steam no longer rises from his skin, and beaded water has since dried, there is some trail of the shower and sauna he leaves behind. Warmth still rises from his skin. In part, through living. In part, a residue of the earlier heat. And he is before you, unabashed. Grinning. And the smile deepens, from his eyes -- where all his smiles begin -- to the mouth that holds it, to his complexion, his stance. "It is... good to see you smile like this, ami... broadly and without care..." His hand trails over your cheek from your dark hair. And carefree is his own smile. Merely happy to be with you.
     "We do not have to talk tonight... in fact... I do not want to talk about it tonight. I just... want to enjoy the man I love... sit in his arms... maybe... find other things to do with him..." Golden hair is disheveled. He even needs to shave again. He'd look nice with a goatee...

     He seems keen on that, his cool embrace starkly so against your skin. "Dieu," Edward smiles, "...you're toasty, lad," he gathering you up like drawing a warm blanket over himself. His ambers give off a gentle light, a sense of constancy.
     "I don't want to talk about it much either," Edward says, distracted by your hair. His tipping chin causes neck and cheeks to roll in folds, his nose downcast as if looking over glasses. "But I do wanna say one thing," he murmurs, back against pillows.

     Golden eyebrows lift, and he spreads over you very like a blanket. Unfolding, lying upon you as you lie back. It does not take long for the sensation of touching you and serving as your coverlet to move through him. And for it to begin to show. With the further definition of his form that tightening brings. Or the brush of him against your stomach. It is a natural reaction to your touch. It comes without forethought. Vital. Primal. Instinctual.
     "And what is this, ami?" Valan murmurs, smiling. Wondering. Thinking he should have shaved... the kiss will tickle and scratch. Tell me.

     Rich laughter comes from the moving. "I will if you're still," Edward teases, hands slipping over the warm rise that lifts after the small of your back. "That's nice," he tickles, acting as if he should be so distracted.
     "No, really," he smirks, "I...just want you to know...I'm sorry about last night. Not so much what I said...but just how I was. I don't want to say something stupid like...it's all new," his brow furrowing as he seeks the right words, "...but I just know that I...want you with me. And I want...what I think...can be between us, is all. And...I'm sorry that...well...for what I am. That's...that's it...I think. I wish...it were different." How this might go.

     He holds your eyes, the bold mortal. Unafraid of the near millennial being that holds him. Undaunted, it would seem, by the prospective life-altering decisions. There is truth. There is love. It is open upon his expression and utterly without guile. Valan leans in, a kiss placed upon your forehead, and then that steady look returns. "And I want to be with you, Eduard," comes the soft French, tinted Loire upon the lilting inflection. "I am sorry I ... shouted," that emotional outburst. "...but... you know... I am a passionate man, and passionate about the things I love. You..." he breathes, seconding that. "And don't apologize... for what you are... I love you." A pause. "I love you," said more emphatically.
     Including what you are... as much as who you are. You cannot divide the one from the other and love what you like. You must love it all. "Tomorrow night... we can maybe hit another run and then talk about it more... but for now... I ...just want you. To enjoy your company. To enjoy your hold..."

     He agrees, slowly letting his eyes go. Letting the entire conversation go. His arms embrace, as if it were the one he should give you when the time comes. "I love you," he whispers softly, chest rising and falling as if the world's weight were falling off with each motion.
     "Let's get some tea, hmm? And...how about you beat me in chess...and then back here, ami?"

     A stretch. A lean. A brush of his lips to yours. "I love you, ami." And his murmur at your mouth is a kiss for every falling syllable. Warmth recedes as Valan sits back. A stretch -- and such a view for you, ami -- and then ... he is in motion. "Tea would be good...and I will... attempt to play you in chess, but ami... you do have several years on me..." Hazel eyes glint with a wink.
     "I think I will... simply lounge tonight, Eduard," comes the trailing voice, lingering on the air as he moves to his side of the bed. And his clothes. Just boxers and a robe. Easy access, comfortable. What more could you ask. The boxers and robe are both a deep red. The color that looks best on him. Well... other than deep green.

     "Alright," he whispers, cupping you for the last time afore giving a soft pat. Edward moves as well, picking up his robe from the floor -- its most common home. He smiles at the humor and then stretches again, arms to the top of the mountain.
     It's not so bad really. Last night, I could not bear to think of him dying. Now, I cannot bear to think of going on without him.
     Edward twists about, picking up his cigarettes and twisting for a pull in the same motion, exhaling deeply.
     He is dying everyday. And if I brought him over tomorrow, would it not be better? He will remain as beautiful and desirable as the night I met him. Made love to him for the first time. Ah, but rationalizations -- cigarette coming out of the pack as he follows you -- don't fool yourself. He may die, if this keeps up, and regardless of how I feel, how we feel, how planned it may all be, it will be the same. He will die. It will not be pleasant. And I will be angry at myself for killing him ...
     But that's how it goes.
     Cigarettes are stuffed into Edward's pocket, freeing his hands...that suddenly grasp your waist as his laughter begins to fill the spaces where you both tumble.
     Dieu, but I love him. Every bit of him, every moment of him. It makes me wish to cry sometimes, holding him and feeling him against me. No, I won't like doing it, I hate to think about it, but I don't have much choice.
     The alternative, is to watch us both slowly die, alone and in misery. And that...makes me want to cry...forever.

Posted by rowan at February 08, 2001 11:20 AM