I vaulted down the mountain, and at your heels I watched you. How you manuever so easily. How you are as much a marvel as the night you dwell in. And I thought of my life. And of how strange it is... that the next moment might find it ended, or lasting forever. And as I chased you through the snow, sending waves and sprays of powder with every turn and twist, I knew that I would be doing this forever. I will be doing this forever. And the exhiliration was blinding.
But was I relieved after hours of chill to be returning to the chalet? Dieu. It has gotten colder. I called for mercy and coffee upon the same frosted breath. And now we are coming into the chalet. Trailing in snow. Red-faced, I grin broadly. Easily. It is the only thing warm about me. Dieu! Coffee!
Valan pauses at the edge of where the parlor meets the foyer, and upon the last vestiges of stone, and in the interest of not melting all over the sofa and furs, he begins to remove his gear. Plopping down with a chuckle, and a soft word of very non-polite Francais. Hazel eyes lift to you and then he twists about where he sits. It's quiet, ami. A little too quiet. "Hmm... I think we will have the rest of the night to ourselves, ami..."
"What makes you think that?" Edward grins, flush with living, heat, and joy. He laughs still, even as he tosses wet overjacket at the door and proceeds to step away from his boots. Ski socks wiggle when he comes to stand in front of you, bending to pull sweater off. His brown hair stands up for a bit, then begins to fall. Blue eyes look up at the strands skeptically, then wink at you.
"Dieu," he smirks, "...did you see I almost hit that tree at Goldenrod?" The infamous corner. Sweater's tossed aside, and Edward rests in his stance, legs apart, hands firmly fixed at his waist. "What was that about the night, ami?" French laced with English these days.
"Shh... listen..." And Valan is still, his grin slanting. "That sound... The sound of absolute quiet." His words turn to laughter. "It is the sound of someone trying to be quiet..." And I, so full of shit. Valan winks and, boots off, he pulls off his outer ski jacket, the pull over, revealing the sweater beneath it. Beneath that, a thermal shirt to trap in even more warmth. The sweater is red and gold striped, large horizontal stripes. Very rugby club like.
You stand before him, speaking of Goldenrod. And he goes crimson. You might have meant the treacherous corner, but his mind took a sudden tangent. "Ahh... hmmm," is all he can say for a moment, and then he chuckles, offering you his hand. Here, help me up . "I did see you... for all the snow spray... I almost followed you..." His words are all in French. Only occasionally does he drop into his very broken English. He tries, but he did not bring his tapes with him, or his laptop.
My hand closes about your own, and there is something of unspoken gallantry in the motion. Now that I know you are a knight of old, as they say, I see it so clearly in the thousand things you do. "Vicomte... si vous plais..."
"About the night... it appears as though we will not have to ... play the entertaining hosts. Not that I mind that. Your cousin and his lover... they are quite nice. I like Ian..."
"Mmph," Edward nods, indeed helping you to your feet. Left in his own black thermal shirt, he seems more sedate with each passing moment. Thinking and doing. In the moment. But as you stand, Edward's hands come to rest at your hips. Brown eye quirks up and he realizes your statements.
"Looks so," he murmurs, "...just as well," he shrugs, "I think they provide their own best entertainment," the smile gentle. Not the more crass commentary he'd normally make. Tch. As if a knight would say such things. "But, no really," Edward goes on, "...it's probably best? I think they came to visit, of course and all, but I also think...they are on their own little holiday." If you can understand that.
"So...you liked Dunross?" he follows in gentle tones, swaying you both in the conversation.
Always with you it is dancing.
And easily I form to you. See how are hips meet? Our arms? With the slightest tilt of my head my lips are at yours. A brush. Just a brush, ami. And a breath of you. My hand loses itself at the nape of your neck. Fingers parting dark strands of hair. Fingers whisper at your skin. Can you hear that? And my heart.
But you speak. And so I whisper in reply --
"Yes... he was very kind to me," Valan murmurs. "He suffered my questions with humor and with politeness. To... hmm... the Italian. I felt like a piece of art on display. But... with your cousin ... well, I did not see him so much to say. With Ian... it was different, ami. He wished me...good luck on my journey." Valan sways with you, his arms surrounding. His hands finding their way upon you. Such strength. You feel the touch tighten somewhat. What you make him think. Feel. Want.
"He and your cousin have been together over eight hundred years," comes the drawl of his Loire flecked French. "I cannot even conceive of that." And then he laughs. Quietly. "But, it was nice to hear... good to see... others who are as we will be." More or less.
The smile reddens. Amusement. "Oh, as we will be, huh?" Edward teases, pulling you closer. Always in motion. He can't help it. And soon enough, so will you. "It's nice though, that he was kind to you. He...is not one with many nice things to say, I don't believe. But I don't know him so well...just from cos and rumor..."
A quick bend, twist and turn, and you're up into his arms again. Always again. "And 800 years is a long fuckin' time," Edward smirks, "...guess we can start by going upstairs, huh?" Strength flows through him, stirred up by the rushing ski. "Maybe you'll let me fondle you," his arms tightening, "...and we'll move on to something a bit more strenuous, lad, eh?"
What shall happen when the languid Valan is shot through the cannon of Brujah. Oh, it shall be glorious. That laughter. The gaze. The already deadly smile. The intensity that will live in him. And one night... maybe one night... he will carry you.
"He was nice to me..." A shrug to say: I judge only what I see. And I like him. But then you lift him.
"Eight hundred years," comes his French-laden English, so thick the accent that English merely becomes another dialect of France. "..is a ... very long... fucking time." Laughter, deep and in a rich rush. Upstairs, Edward! "Maybe... Maybe you will let me fondle you in the process. How you say in English. All is fair in love and ...ah... copping off?" His arm is around your shoulder, grasping, pulling you to him even as you lift him. A kiss. Wild and sweet and punctuated by fire. When I open my eyes... will we be at the bed?
Upstairs. Down the hallway from your room, the other room is silent. Oh but you can hear the sound and feel the pulse of power. William. Ian. Eight hundred years of this, Edward. Eight hundred years of this and all it means. And could it be true? Could it be true that Ian is more than he seems to you...
"Copping off?" Edward blares, "You have never heard me use that," he protests with astonished face, dropping you on the bed. His hands fly away, pulling at the thermal sweater, and Edward squirms out of it in slow motion. "Bah, where are you learning such crap, ami? I won't have you talking or thinking like that," he affirms, sweater and arms above in his head, elbow pulling the material taut.
Have you had a decent look?
"Now you sound like some boy out of Manchester," he derides, "...skulking the bars and lookin' for a like-minder. I hate to tell ya...no one here thinks like that." Edward's smile slants, and the sweater is flung aside.
But something catches his attention. Flush from the run still, he leans over and pulls at the drawer by the bedside. "Oh my," he smiles wickedly, gleam in his eyes brightening. "Lookie that. Who put that there?"
In the bedside drawer, a small silver case. Flat.
Hands bear him up, fingers curling in the bedding, and he half sits, half lies back. Full that mouth that was born for smiling. And much else. It slants, a slow tug. And then broadens in a flash. "I learned my English from television," comes his broken English again. And from the Internet. Hands leaving the bedding and pulling up his sweater. And golden hair is mussed, left out of place. An artistic dishevelment.
A decent look? Oui. But it will never be enough, ami.
But he does not stop at the sweater. Both sweater and thermal lifted. Tossed away. And in golds and greens and browns, his eyes glitter in the low light. Catching the glint of silver. And golden eyebrows lift in an arch. "And just... what is this?" His voice is low and warm, curiosity elongating his words. The lilt and drag of his French in thought. A grin erupts, slanting, and he tugs off his socks. All that is left are the trousers...
"Ah, but wouldn't you like to know, chicky," Edward warbles, setting his half-undone self on the bedside. Hand retrieves the case and flips it open, revaling two sides.
One. A mirror, filling the case.
Two. Small, dark glass vials, held by a clamp.
"Something to chase the boredom away." Or didn't you know? Clean for a while, but an addict? It never truly is far from hand. "Straight from friends in Kabul," he murmurs, bouncing to sit sideways, facing you, all the while leaving plenty of bedspace.
The case is set down, contents fully exposed. Though you undress, Edward hovers over the case, lifting a vial and opening it, spilling white contents upon the mirror.
He didn't know. He looks at it with the upraising of his brows. The nervous smile. Has he ever done this? You can tell... not much. If at all. Maybe one.
You cannot die. I can. I don't want to die. How strong is it?
It is that flush of mortality that rips through him. That throbs against the air. The alkaline taste of death on the tongue. That always... always turns into exhiliration and excitement. You can taste just a tinge of salt on the air. And then Valan chuckles. Eyes widening. Brightening. "Dieu... ah... I have to say, ami, I have ... never done this..." Ah, there it is. He is a... virgin as they say. Valan leans in. A breath. "You will show me?" I am a little scared. I have always... treated my body like a temple. Well, apart from the alcohol and cigarettes . "Once... you cannot become addicted after once, no?"
He pauses. Edward looks over, not having really thought of it before.
Silence.
"Um..." No, you're not one of the club mavens who inhale this like water. So what if they die?
No, you're not like them.
"Mm...maybe this...isn't a good idea for you..." for me. Shall I deny myself as well?
Hands move slowly. Yes? No.
No.
"Maybe..." fingers deftly revealing a razor blade, as if pulled from thin air, "...maybe we'll wait." He'd not show if he could, but the spark softens into a simmer. Wait more. I've waited...weeks. It is not disappointment, but just need. Alcohol and happiness are grand substitutes, but fleeting. This...the powder restored to the vial...this is something else.
"It does not mean you cannot, oui? I...will wait. I will wait until there is no risk..." He sighs at that and almost frowns. Valan. Frowning. I do not like how that sounds. How weak . "Fuck it," comes the clap of French. "I am not afraid... show me..." Valan turns toward you, all signs of frowning gone. But he is intense.
Bold, your Valan. He does not give into fear.
"Just... be gentle... it is my first time..." Ah that drawl of French. Curling around his tongue. Even as his wants to do to yours. And shall. "I want to try now. And then I want to knock holes in the walls. I am wealthy. I can pay Georg back..."
He chuckles, once again buoyed in seeing your strength. "You're fearless, ami," Edward cedes, "...but...I want you around forever with me," he smiles, the case closing, "...and I couldn't bear even if the smallest bad thing happened to you." Not now, not ever. I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't live without you. I couldn't bear the guilt. "I may be Brujah, but I've ne'er been called stupid," he whispers to himself, "...and not especially now," he smiles, the tick of the case soft in his hands. "We'll wait...until we can." Both of us.
"Besides," he chimes, trying to restore the earlier levity, "...it isn't for walls," his French slurs, "...it makes...other things more interesting." Well, at least from the unable-to-be-sick-from-it perspective. "Like...copping off," he smirks, tossing the case towards a chair. "And that...well..." Edward twists about, moving to hover and pin you to the bed, "...is definitely the most important thing to accomplish tonight. Ski ... and spelunking," he snorts, finding the humor oft associated with him. "Another English word for ya, love."
"Spe..." That is all he can get out and then blinks. "That does not sound like English, ami. This..." and he tries again, his mouth and tongue attempting to wrap around. "Spe-lun-king...?" A little mangled. Beautifully mangled. Golden brows lift in an arch. As much in question about what he said as being pinned. He grins. Broadly. "What does it mean... spelunking?" A pause and eyes narrow. "Are you certain it is English. It sounds German..." Valan chuckles, the sound clinging in his throat, held in his chest.
My arms surround you. Pulling. Cover me. And do not let it end. And he leans upward, lifting a little. Capturing your lower lip. Suckling it. And there, upon tugged flesh... the drag of blunt mortal teeth.
Edward growls at the tug, chuckling almost immediately after. "Ow, you can't do that yet," he chides, arms anchoring you both. He licks his lip afterward, launching directly into, "Spelunking...um..." and a requisite word is given in French. Someone who explores caves. Edward's brow arches, wondering if you get the connection, and he pauses to watch it sink in...
It takes a minute. No, ami, I heard you. But it has to wash over me. And then redness and laughter. Your lip long freed, Valan lies back. A splendor in shades of gold. And in golds and greens and browns his eyes sparkle. Such living light. Such delight.
Valan spreads beneath you. His trousers are still on, but it is nevertheless inviting. "And soon... I will be able to do this," comes his whisper in French at your mouth, he rising. Lips brushing your own. And then his teeth drag again. "What is it like," Valan murmurs. "What does it feel like for you... is it the greatest pleasure? Or is it harder to... describe..."
Ah. Now there's the rub. Edward's cheek turns to you, his eyes averted into a smirking blush. "I can't describe it, ami," Edward whisper, gaze returning to your beautiful form, "...it's like..." and it is perhaps the only comparison, "...coming and coming with each pulse that washes over the tongue."
He shrugs a little, not knowing what else to say. But he smiles is radiant, beaming down upon you. A sky of your own. "Think...of what you feel..." when it happens, "...and then imagine it being something you need to survive. Like food..."
Incroyable.
If this is what the price of immortality is, hand me the form. I will sign it!
A hand reaches up and touches your face, fingers capturing and pressing the lobe of an ear and then trailing over jawline and throat. And chest. And he says nothing else. He studies you. His eyes trailing slowly after. Valan exhales, and his breath carries your name. Eduard. The call of his soul.
And beneath it, the call of his blood.
So beautiful, ami. To look at you. It makes my eyes burn with tears. Forever is too far away. And I tremble with my own... mortal impatience. "I want to feel it," Valan says at last, his voice low and warm, "...I will close my eyes... and imagine it..."
His legs shift beneath you. Sudden motion, though slow. The pants have to go. He squirms to pull out of them.
"We'll imagine together," Edward whispers, rising to rest back on his haunches and help you from your pants. He smirks, fingers pulling at the hems and tugging. He has nothing but a broad smile for you, content for now to let the conversation flow and then ebb, when silence overtakes you both and the need for words fades into deepest, darkest night.
Damn if it ain't cold.
Deep winter has come to the chalet, high at the timberline. December rolls soon into New Year's, heralding the coming end to Christmas.
Now, though, Edward just needs a fix.
With Valan sleeping, and the chalet deep in the dark of Night, he shuffles out on the second floor deck, towards the hot tub. At least there's warmth and wood walls there to keep the brunt of the freezing wind away.
Not to mention a convenient spot to reexamine the contents of the silver case.
Dressed in grey socks, grey sweatpants, and a blue gym sweater, Edward seems the very image of the East End, hand running beneath his nose to warm and wipe.
"God," he laments, thudding down on a bench near the crystal tub, steaming intently now in the night. Almost enough to shroud anything, especially with the three sides of enclosure. He extends his feet towards the water, hoping some of the warmth might float to his toes. Then, the silver case is opened on the bench beside him, and a vial retrieved.
Though solstice has passed, this winter night has seemed as The Longest Night. Of highs and lows. Of the heart touched, and souls rended in fire. Of such silent passion -- you and your young man did not so much as hear a whisper. But a bed was nevertheless used. Repeatedly. And heated water had soothed the skin. And somewhere between that late night and this early morning, his beautiful Aithlen lay dozing and he...
Drowsy. Languid and dreamy he moved to the second floor deck. To smoke. To feel the cool air. It lifts the condensation and steam of the bath from his skin. Such extremes. It only reminds him of how warm it has been.
How emotional it has been.
And William is, in short, spent. It is... why, perhaps, it was so easy to ... simply disappear. To lean against one of the deck's supporting beams... and fade into the night.
It is your arrival that wakes him again. Eyes open. Black lashes lifting apart from the indigo eyes. Gleaming. As brilliant as they are dark. Perhaps you catch a glint. And then...
...The unfolding. Sudden presence and then... the image of William. He is dressed, but hurridly. None of it matches. He doesn't care. It was dark when he dressed and it's dark out here. So be it. "A long night, cos?" His voice is soft, deep. The same languid pull of southern French, medieval. But there is a kind of dreaminess to it. As if he... weren't really all together here...
"Fuck!" Edward inhales, both from surprise and intent. With case open, his head whips up, and fingers come to draw across his nose. Then, seeing you, he settles. "Oh, shit, you scared me," he exhales and sighs, bending down to see about the other lines still upon the mirror.
"What are you doing up?" he shivers, shaking his head and bending over the case once more.
An exhale and the corners of his mouth upturn slightly. His hair... is a beautiful mussed mess. Where it has dried from the bath. Out of place, from where his hand has rake through it. "I was just... feeling the cold air. Taking a smoke... trying to feel what it is like to be vertical..." It has been hours. Through your ski run with Valan. Through your laughter when you returned. Through the colossal racket you made in the next room over. The smile that began at the corners of his mouth spreads slowly. It has been a ... wondrous night...
With the intake of a breath, William pushes away from the supporting beam and approaches you. He takes a seat on the bench before you, straddling it. "Thanks for the invite," he murmurs as he leans in. William doesn't often insert himself in your personal space, but he remains close. Perhaps to keep his voice soft. Perhaps admiring your... current task. "It meant a lot. And ... Ian... was very touched to be included." A pause. "Your young man is quite brilliant. Seems so. Ian liked him. He must be something else..."
"Don't say shit like that when I'm trying to get a hit, Will," Edward purrs, this time rising slowly, fingers quickly to his nose again. This time they hold tightly, and he smiles across the distance to you. After a moment, he shakes again and lowers his hand, nudging the case towards you. Six lines appear to be left. "I don't want anyone to say I never share ," he says sarcastically, grinning as his mood begins to lift.
While you ponder the case, Edward looks around and then towards the bedroom. "He's a good boy, Will...I don't wanna fuck him up, you know?" Hence, I'm out here. In the fucking cold. Hiding a hit. Edward sighs, and puts his face into his hands, massaging as much as anything else. "Christ, how'd I get into this..." and he drops hands to say, "...and don't preach or say I told you so , huh, Will? Not yet. Not tonight. Later. Catch me later," his hand waves, "...when I can take the the crow with a bit of sauce," a small smile there as much as a weight needing to be lifted. "And he is something else...I'm glad you guys came. Dunross, too," he says softly. "He ... seems very different than I expect. You do too," he rambles on, the drug taking effect. "You love each other," he bobs, brown eyes serious, hair lengthening of late. Ah...and so that is his real look. "I can see it now," he admits, nodding still.
You cause a lift of laughter from him. Quiet and drifting as it is. The breath of it freezes. His expression... beautiful. Otherworldly so, even though he seems so real. Real and Unreal. As you nudge the case to him, he takes it. And he bends, without hesitation or fear. He cannot die. A quick intake and he sits back, fingers to his nose. It's been a while. But a moment passes and he bends again, another intake and he sits back again.
"You're a generous bastard, as always," William murmurs, smile slanting. "And... I'd never say I Told You So, Edward." Laughter. It courses against his blood and lifts from him again. And his eyes sparkle. Even in the lack of light, you can see this. "Not until it can be savored... like a fine wine, Blois." But in the smile there is knowing. Understanding.
You have my word, brother.
His hands lift to his face and then rake through his hair again. Eyes wandering and then moving to you. Settling. Palpable. And he grins. That damnable grin of his. The drug has begun with him. But slower. Damned Fortitude. His expressions... becoming increasingly animated. "We do," he says with a nod. "We have for centuries. And... I'm glad it is something you can see. That means I must be wearing it well." And he has refused to hide it. For the comfort of any. He loves and so he shows his love. William's gaze returns to the lines of cocaine. One more should do it. "I love him very much." And he doesn't give a damn if you think he's going soft.
He continues to nod, as much nervous twitch now as anything else. Edward takes the case back and bends quickly over the glass, his blurred reflection meaningless under the lines of white. A long snorting noise pierces the air, and suddenly ends as it begins.
Edward sits up with a jolt, face to the sky, fingers opening and closing left and right nostril. A sigh. There.
"You are wearing it well. Ami...Valan...said," and he smirks, looking at you, a mirror image, "...that he hoped we'd be like you. And that you looked happy. He wants us to be that way," he says softly, not sure how he feels. It's all so serious. Rubbing his eyes again, Edward puts elbow onto his knee, and chin into the cup of his hand as he looks to a wall. "I didn't know Dun--Ian..." he says softly, saying his name, "...that Ian was so beautiful, Will." How blind was I? To all of it. How insensitive and in the darkness. "And..." is that the drug talking, "...how...you look like mates. I mean...really," his hands folding together as he starts from his resting position, "...like...you have been mated forever, Will. Like he compliments you...and you..." he tries to explain, "...you just seem to...I dunno...you look like you were meant to be this way. He with you and you leading you both. That's it. Like you're the leader and he is...like..." Edward's face reddening as he shifts and starts, hands in motion, "...you're this...Lord...and he the beautiful, like, fragile beauty that you've chosen or something." He's been reading books again.
Large but fine hand reaches for the case again. I need another or I may as well have sniffed a daisy, cos. "I think, technically, we have been mated forever. I think 800 years counts..." He chuckles softly and bends. "But do not panic... Edward... at the notion of forever. You know how Time can be..."
A sharp inhale and William leans back. His gaze would be starward if stars could be seen. Instead, his eyes go to the ceiling of the deck's cover. And slowly he closes them as the rush is finally felt. Ah, Rigel... this is what it is like to feel your own trajectory. But he has not missed what you have said to him. Quick, brilliant -- his dark eyes find you. And see the swirl of Everything around you. And there is a quirk of a smile. Yes, he is beautiful. "Radiant as the sun." He nods. "We go together, he and I," he drops, strangely, into English. His hands moving as he speaks. His accent thick upon precise and practiced English. "Sometimes... I lead... sometimes he does. It is ... the balance in between that is the strength of it," William whispers. As if he were giving a secret. "He is the only one in all this world who can get Plantagenet to lay down his sword and say... I need something... whatever it is. And I... I am that one for him. It makes love... formidable."
His leg starts bouncing. A Henry habit, accentuated by the drugs running through him. "I see... the same promise in what I see of you and your young man. You just... have to adjust to it. Being loved and needed. And loving and needing someone else, Meurelle."
Almost instantly, his knee bounces as well. Agitation. Edward shakes his head negatively, but it may not mean much of anything. Hands still gesture, "I dunno, Will. I dunno, cos," eyes askance as he shakes his head still. "I'm not you. And he ain't Dun...I mean, Ian, okay?" Very different.
"I should've brought a drink out, cos," Edward laments, hair pushed back by his hands. "I don't know where we're goin, I don't know what it means or anything. I mean..." and Edward smiles, "He's brilliant , Will," a laughing sigh after it, "...he's smart and...he's funny, Valan is. And...I just want to be around him, you know? All the time. He makes me feel...like I'm somebody." Truth there. And a shrug. "I'm somebody important, when I'm with him."
Eyes are glassy when he looks away after his comment. Edward's lips twist, as if holding back the emotion. "He cares about me , Will," as if no one else has, not for any reason other than the obvious. Brown eyes peer at you through lashes when he turns back to see you, as if asking do you know what that's like? what it means to me?
"Shit," Edward sighs, feeling the emotion at his face, upon his person. "No more of that fucking crap," he spits, pushing the case away, with lines still on the glass. Instead, he pulls out a singular cigarette, and reaching into his sweater, retrieves his lighter. "It makes me fucking insane, coke does."
"You and Valan... whatever it becomes or... however long it lasts..." William makes a wave, and then drops in to French. It comes from him in a soft rush of Langue d'Oc. Sounding in moments Italian, Arabic and French all thrown together. "I am just glad you have someone. I didn't mean to compare it..." Nor should you. It's different. We're different.
But we're also the same... in many respects, Blois.
William's eyes widen at the rush, his mind speeding forward at light speed and yet trying to reverse to comment on all you said. He gives up with a sigh, his gaze holding yours for several seconds without looking away. A true feat at the moment. I know what it means to you. "Remember... when you asked me... why or... you were trying to understand this with A... Ian... you asked me if I were happy. And I said... do you remember, Edward?"
He doesn't wait for you to answer. "I said... I loved him, and that... perhaps most important of all...he understood me. He knew me. Knows me. And he loves me. And so... now, brother... you understand." I get you.
Several more bounces of his leg and then William bounds up. A burst of energy, and he steps over the bench. Eyes cast to the mountain. A sniff of his nose. Running, perhaps, because of the coke? This with the Tremere magic. "I'm glad you understand..." And that's all he says. He doesn't talk about forever with you and Valan. Just that he sees promise. "I'm happy for you..." Arms fold against his chest and he walks the deck. "Just so you know, for the record... you were someone important anyway. Speaking for my part..."
He remembers. Sorta. "Yeah," Edward murbles, eyes upon the bench between his legs as if working to understand it all. "I sorta remember, cos," he sighs, hands coming back to cover his eyes, smoke dangling at his lips.
But at the notion of your happiness for him and that he was someone important, Edward looks up and blinks at you, staring. After a moment, he nods. Accepting the information and seeing that his...was wrong.
"I wonder if it would be cruel for me to go in and wake up my beautiful young man..." With an exhale, William buries his face in his hands for a moment. A rub there and then fingers disapper in his hands. A chuckle. Of course it would be. His hands gesticulate wildly. "Why do I let you pull me into these things..." His voice lifts slightly. Still too quiet to be heard by any but you two -- and Ian, if he were awake. But such words are punctuated by a wink, and William wanders back to you and the bench. Settling down in front of you again.
Did you think you were unimportant to me? Did you think that really, Edward?
William only nods, his eyes likewise upon the bench, between legs. His right leg bouncing again. "Have you told him much?" he murmurs, his voice just for you again. "And... not like it's my business, cos. Just trying to... as you would say... understand my relo..." And that almost sends William off the bench. He starts laughing and just doubles over.
Brown eyes narrow, thinning into accusatory slits. "Fuck you," Edward murbles, then smirks. "And yeah...I've told him everything, pretty much," he confesses, hearing the Fashion Police already. A shrug. Fuck them too. "He had to know," he says simply. Tell the truth. "I'll be a bloody tosser before anyone says I'm a fuckin' liar, Will," he says softly, knee bouncing now.
Smoke is pulled from his lips, tendrils rolling upwards into his nose. Not a cloud wasted. "I'm many things," he does say, "...but not that, you know," he breathes, smoke inserted again. Constant as autumn rain. Not a star, not spectacular, not glorious, but never faithless or unfaithful.
Smoke is puffed and pulled out again, "I want him to know...so he can do what he has to do, or wants to do, you know?" he asks, looking to you again. "And, yeah, I'm stalling. It's like cutting fuckin roses to put into a vase. I don't want to hurt him, I want him...with me, but I want him to live too."
"Fuck you, too," William murmurs, a warm sound. Hell, you know it for what it was. Affection and undying love. There follows a kind of hushed roar, a deep, leonine sound as William lies back the other way, stretching and taking up half the bench. If it weren't for the coke, he'd be in bed, asleep. He is absolutely spent. Sated. Happy. Spent.
"Honesty is hard, non," he says quietly again, then lifts half way, lifting to look at you. "But good on you for being honest. It's the best way to avoid pain later." Trust me. William lies back, arms outspreading again. As if surrendering to something. Perhaps surrendering to the rush of cocaine. All right. You have me. I give . "You're the only one timing you, brother. He's what... 22? 25? You don't have to do it right away if you don't want to. Fuck, with me it was easy." William chuckles, lifting again. "I was already dying. Fucking Turks..."
"Yeah, but..." Edward goes on, "...what if I waited...and something happened to him??" his voice nervous and animated. "What the fuck then? Spend an eternity wishing I'd had done it...and he'd still be alive? They're so fuckin' fragile Will. Anything'll kill them."
He sits up with fluid and potent grace, hands upon his thighs. "That is true, Edward. They are. But they are not so fragile as that. Still... you have to balance this for yourself. I say... do it while the resolve is hot. But I'm direct like this, yes?"
And then William pauses, smiling in a slant. Sensuous that mouth. And longing to feel its lover's skin. He raises his hands and sighs. "Ami... I should not speak on this. I have never done it. I am speaking only from...what... I don't know. From my caring of you... and from what I think I would do. Truth is, I've never done this. I only know what it is to be..." Smooth the smile spreads. "...on the other end." Broad shoulders give a slight shrug and his eyes are back at his hands and the bench. "Maybe you should speak with Ian... this is more his territory, Blois."
Oh, as if. "I ain't that confused," Edward teases, sighing as he stamps out the cigarette. It's put into his hand, to be disposed inside properly. "Better get back inside and thaw...before I have to sleep like that," Edward smirks, sniffing as he reaches out to grab the silver case, sending powder scurrying. A mess. He'll deal with it later. "Maybe a run," he wonders, thinking of getting off some of the jitters. "Down the road and back," he glancing at the watch around his wrist.
Hands slap upon his thighs and he rises. "I am going back to bed," comes the roll of Provencal. "Maybe one last flourish before sunrise.. or.." A stretch and a sigh. "Maybe not..." Likely not. Even with the cocaine, Plantagenet is moving languid. Slightly less dreamy than before, but not much. As soon as he hits the bed, he will be heading for actual sleep.
"You should do it on your time, whatever that is. But... you can be sure... when he crosses to our camp, he will have me as an ally." It is said simply. As Truth begs to be spoken. Plainly. William looks to you then begins to head to the door that leads back inside.
"I will see you in the morning, yes?" William half turns to look to you. "Want to go skiing. You bring your blonde... I'll bring mine?"
"Yeah," Edward smiles, rising behind you. He moves towards his bedroom door as you go towards yours. His grin is slow and lazy, as if measuring the weight of things...and finding it lacking. It's not so bad.
"Thanks, Will," he says softly, stuffing case into his sweater. Maybe the walk will do him good.
"Merci," William says softly in reply. Not You're Welcome , but Thank You . Gratitude for Gratitude. There is a smile, genuine and just upon the edge of broadening. "Enjoy your walk. I will see you then..."
And the door is opened, and he moves through it. Turning, quieting it as it closes. Care and reverence done in this. So as not to disturb the one who sleeps within. I will let my Aithlen sleep...
... But I will whisper his name and my love in his ear before I close my eyes.
Posted by rowan at February 09, 2001 04:45 PM
