Twilight bodes beautiful in alpine country. You can almost touch the stars. Joyous greetings were given at the chalet in the mood-glow of indigo, but skiing falls under black and violet skies.
A few runs got the blood going, Edward leading the way. He was in no rush this night, no contest needing determination. It was a quick run, but leisurely, moving in smooth curves around rugged terrain. He is thinking, your Edward, and at the top of the mountain again, he asks, "Feel like taking a short detour?" Snow covers his collar where it has kicked up, and when he removes his goggles, skin is paler than the ruddied flush of his more exposed cheeks. He smiles at you, sable eyes smoldering still from earlier, and wiggles his brows once for good measure.
"And no," Edward adds, "...it doesn't require going back to the chalet for more sheet tearing," he murmurs, suddenly wanting...a cigarette. You know the look. He blinks at his hands, then to where pockets would be...
I am learning the silent cues. The smoldering of eyes. You are telling me that you love me. And that memories are at the surface, from this twilight at least. The slight drawing together of your brow, when it looks as if you shall say something profound... I know you are about to laugh. And when Want and Desire grab you... for your cigarettes, for a hit, for whatever... your hands give the first cue...
And then I hear the sound of your voice, ami. Pulling in that way. I Want.
And so my hands go to my jacket, an unzipping and a reach, and then a pack is handed to you. "These were waiting for me downstairs..." Valan murmurs, frost clinging, glittering on the air after. Yes, those cigarettes. The way he holds them out to you, his goggles yet on, their reflective surface shining in starlight. With that grin. Tres aristocratic!
The poles dangle from the straps about his wrists. Valan breaks into a sudden grin. So flushed, blood rushes the visible portions of his face.
He is wearing parts of the mountain, when he inadvertantly veered into one of your frozen waves. "That will come later, yes?" His English comes with France thick upon it. "And, certement... a detour would be lovely. I think I have these other runs memorized..."
His eyes are wide behind the goggles -- if only you could see past them -- and the broad grin slants. "Where shall you take me tonight, ami? Or shall it be a surprise...?"
"Oh, God, Christ, you're a beauty, lad," Edward declares, clearly needing a fix. Perhaps he has become so transparent to you. He does smile and reach for the pack, greedily accepting it as thoroughly he rolled with you earlier. Like a man unable to do anything halfway. Ruled by his impulses and little more. "God," he murbles, fishing at the pack while letting skis fall to his wrists, "...I dunno where it came from but..." he scratches a fag out of the pack and shoves it to his lips.
His hands do tell all. The waver, the sudden lack of dexterity. Edward grins and gives it back to you, now dealing with the lighter. "Yeah," he creaks from the corner of his joined lips, "...I mean," click "...it's sorta a surprise. Just..." and lighter handed back, "...I'm a bit tired of the chalet and well, thought maybe we'd do something else."
As the first drag is taken, it's longer than the time it took for him to prepare the smoke. Edward pauses, letting his head fall back slightly, the cigarette pointing to the sky. His chest expands visibly, covered in gear, and only after he reaches the zenith does his hand reach up, draw the cigarette away, while rolls and rolls of smoke rile from his lips to inhaling nose.
And with that, Edward sighs, seeming to collapse where he stands. Peace returns.
"God, you're perfect, ami," Edward whispers, voice not unlike...well, earlier this evening. It roils from his chest, his hips moving faintly as if remembering something. The sound pours from him, as if agony's been released.
Goggles come up. Ah... do you not know, Edward, that I will be with you forever. Remembering to bring the cigarettes when you forget. Learning these things, these looks of yours, so that I will be ready. And I will give you... what no one else can give you. And that is how one becomes... singular in the universe. I think this is how the others have made it work. It is a partnership, is it not.
Valan grins and rubs his nose with a glove, then accepts cigarettes and lighter. He will save them for later. They are tucked back into an inner pocket, surrounded by waterproof material. Hopefully, that will be sufficient. And laughter bubbles up from him, sounding in frost. "I was beginning to get the ... itch myself. Chalet fever," and now you can see the wink, and the glittering his eyes make when he does so. And his face flushes. Perhaps with the wind. Ah, but watching how you take the cigarette. So visceral. To the motion of your body, the sound of your voice. And it crashes through him. Valan masks a reactionary shudder with a smile and the lowering of goggles again. "So what in this... wilderness... shall we do? Raid the neighboring village?" And he grins again. Mon ami, the Marauder.
"Well," Edward's gaze returns to you; he considerably more composed, "...close. Something...I've known about a while." Another quick puff or two, and he's fine for now. The smoke is snuffed out with a pinch, and the rest of it dropped into the snow.
As the last tendrils envelope his face, Edward scoots snow over the ember. "Okay..." he smirks, "...I think...you'll like this..." his brow furrows, look lingering at you. Edward bites his bottom lip and pushes goggles back over his eyes. Follow me.
Now I am past curious. Golden brows lift, even though they are hidden. And the grin is tempered for a look of parted interest. Maybe it was when you bit your lip, ami.
I am wrapped around your finger...
Where you lead, I follow.
Where you go, I cannot help but go after you...
Valan grins. Suddenly. "Ami... I must say... you are...how you say in English..." He pauses, translating. "Drop dead sexy, mate." Lord in Heaven. You are going to embrace a comedian. The English comes with a foreign clip, tugged and tossed upon a French tongue with unfamiliarity. Which is unavoidably beautiful. "I wink at you and oogle, but you cannot see me..." he exclaims, arms wide. The goggles hiding such expressions.
"I don't need to see it," Edward purrs, twisting to see you, "...I can feel it..." And the feeling is mutual. But you already know that. A wink, and Edward pushes off, heading further along the ridge, away from the lifts.
The ground is hard still, no snow in the last two nights. That will change, they say, and even now the tiniest bits of frozen ice call out. It is different for you than your lover, as he reacts not to the falling temperatures. But your body knows, and as ice pelts the face, the right mortal would be forewarned.
Moonlight casts long shadows between increasingly frequent trees. Firs of the European sort rise tall from the mountain as any sense of path wanders away. You can see the whole valley from up here, where the chalet was, where other homes are, where the resort begins in earnest. Edward slips away from such markers, venturing towards the opposite side of the ridge, keeping parallel to the valley. Ski lifts stand still, and dark cloud cover shrouds the world even further into the embrace of Night.
Soon, it is his way that must be trusted. He moves between snow heavy bushes and sometimes invisible trees. The skiing has slowed...and the ice? The ice comes quicker.
The way is fast. Packed snow, frozen over the past two nights with no fresh powder. And now the ice that is falling. We are going to have a storm afterall. And I am glad I thought to wear the extra sweater and the leggings beneath the trousers. Over this all, the waterproof slicks. Loose fitting, holding in the warmth.
You hear his voice behind you. "Sleet... I am glad we are not racing..." Laughter. And then he swerves to follow you. He watches the trees in his periphery, but he follows the trail you leave behind, the dual track. And soon you are his only marker. Valan slows, a glance just quickly given upward. The stars are gone. Too many clouds. And his face is pelted with ice. Fuck.
And he kisses his mother with that mouth...
Soon... you are all. All I can see. I focus on the color of your jacket, your form. Can you feel the quickening of my heart? I suppose after six centuries, you get used to the dark.
Valan is quiet, but you can hear his exertion. His breathing. You can hear him behind you. But he does not speak. All of his attention is fixed upon following you.
The man ahead of you smiled, twisting back to give you a reassuring grin. "It's not so far," he calls, and it's true. Between a set of fir trunks is some sort of light, visible primarily due to reflection upon the snow.
He leads you both in that direction, deftly avoiding the thickening arbors. Edward slows his pace, feeling you behind him and knowing the building approaches. It's a small building, thatch and stone. A couple of tiny windows are high, and the lighting within flickers in the thick lead panes.
You are slowing, and so we must be here ...
... Ahead, a small building. An old building. It has been here far longer than all the rest, it seems. Light flickers and you feel the mortal at ease with the return of visibility. And the promise of warmth. You may not be able to feel the change of temperature, but he... he is far more sensitive.
Valan eases up now beside you, slowing moreso. Dipping back behind you to avoid a tree. And then he stops, hands reaching up to tug at goggles. To get a better look. "A little bungalow...?" he murmurs, and then grins to you. Goggles yet lifted, Valan moves forward again. And once again, alongside you.
"You are a man of many and constant surprises, Eduard Meurelle..."
Edward's turn to see you brings a slanted smile. We've just started, Valan Montague. His wink is slow and he bites his bottom lip again, returning to see the bungalow. Ah. "I haven't been here in a while," he says softly, "...so...it should be interesting...ami." For you too.
He tosses his head in the bungalow's direction, pushing up his goggles to close to the door. "Want to open it?" he asks softly, poles shifting to one hand and feet stepping out of the locks.
Can you see the green flecked with gold and surrounded by a ring of brown? Can you see colors in the darkness? Regardless, his interest and curiosity are tangible, and Valan lifts his gaze, his grin at the ready. His mouth is cold. Blushed. Blood to the surface, called unconsciously to warm. Warm!
"Oui... do you think it has a ..." He is using English tonight. English... flecked with French when he does not know words or where to put them. "...fireplace," comes in French, and he smiles. Stepping out of the locks. Poles left to stand in the snow and frost. "When were you here last...?" His voice is a brush of warmth at your side as he steps up and then past you. Just a step, and then he reaches back with his hand. Here, ami...
"It's..." Edward begins, then waits for you to do whatever to him, "...been a few years. Maybe...ten or so? I tend to hideout here sometimes, unless I have to be in the chalet." He dips his chin upwards, expecting you to brush something away. "And yes, there's a fireplace ... that's about it too," he chuckles.
"And to think... at the time... I was only sixteen and hanging out with all sorts of the wrong people ..." The way he said it: You know he heard it put that way. Valan laughs brightly if quietly and gives a tug to your hand. No, nothing is on your face.
But he does not pull you to the building. Rather, your hand was squeezed and then released and he moved on ahead. "None of your friends or relatives are in here are they..." Such a slow pull of teasing French. They do seem to pop out of the dark unexpectedly. But then... I suppose that is what vampires do, yes?
Boots move through the snow easily and then to the door. "A quiet place..." Valan softly remarks. His English a hush. A muddled hush at that...
"No," Edward smirks, taking your hand, "...no one should pop out," he says with not much confidence. He laughs and moves closer, bending to pick up skis and toss them over his shoulder.
The room has low lighting, given only by the hearth on the opposite wall. It is deep, enough to make food, and to the right of the hearth does sit a cedar cold box.
On the left wall, an iron bed curls elaborately, metal tendrils trapped in an unseen rectangle. A footboard is similar, and cream linens are haphazardly tossed upon the mattresses. They are faded, more likely, showing their age and strength. Near the bed is a cornered off wall, more than likely fitting only the barest of bath essentials.
On the right wall, a small table for two, with chairs, and a sofa that sits more into the middle of the room. The windowpanes at the front door are heavy, blurring any view within and indeed, worthy of keeping light diffused and away.
"What do you think?" comes the voice at your ear.
He turns his head to the sound of your voice at his ear. Turns his head from the view within. And he smiles, your Valan. "A secret place," he murmurs, "... a world separate..." From visiting friends. From phonecalls. A place you alone could bring him -- you alone could likely find. Valan leans in, his mouth to your ear now.
"I love it, Eduard. Merci..."
He gives your hand a squeeze and he steps inside. So quiet. It is like being at the heart of the world. Valan exhales, and his face is flushed from the cold. And goggles are removed as he turns in place, to look at it all. "Very rustic... an old hunting shelter?" And then his cap is lowered. His golden hair sticks up, mussed.
"I don't think so," Edward muses, stepping in behind you and putting his skis against the near wall, "I'm going to guess it was actually dairy at one stage. There's a ruined barn not too far off," he grunts, heading back out to pick up your skis.
The room is warm, and by the door...a cord of wood. Someone came to at least see about sprucing up. Footsteps grow loud again, and Edward sets the second pair next to his. "I dunno, I figured...we could take care of ourselves for a night or two? There's..." he points with gloved hand, "...food in the cold box for you. I think soup, bread, other things are around..." for the mortal palatte.
And off come the gloves, and Valan turns as you head out to set them down on the table. Full of surprises, Meurelle. Even the surprise of fleeing the guests! We should have thought of this sooner. You have been planning it, it seems. At least since the last influx of visitors arrived.
Ski boots come off near the sofa, leaving him in thick woolen socks. And he is midway through unzipping the overjacket, to remove it -- ah yes, and the cigarettes! -- when you return. The smile upon his lips... bright an living.
And constant. His eyes, brilliant and animated. "Ah, oui.. as long as there is food... we have cigarettes... it is all good. A night or two... " He holds this upon his tongue as eyes make another sweep of the small lodging and he nods. "Oui... I will like the seclusion..."
Valan looks to you, smile spreading, and then disappearing as he pulls the ski jacket up and over his head. Hands busy with fishing out the cigarettes. "It has been... the most... amazing trip, Eduard," Valan murmurs.
He grins and smiles, half-bending to wipe drying snow off the skis. No need for them to get ruined. "Well...that's what I hoped, ami," Edward smiles, reaching out with a lean to push the door closed.
He comes upright and stretches, removing his own gloves and jacket. "We should check out that cold box...maybe there's a drink in there..." he smiles, knowing well there is. Sable eyes watch you, unable to cease his staring. You make me happy. You make me want you. I can't even help myself. He laughs and steps around the skis to lean against the door, bringing foot up to undo the bootstraps.
"What have you liked the best?" he wonders, brown hair longer of late. Restored each night. It falls at his brows, especially when his head is tilted -- like now. "Seriously..."
His hands stop their fishing, cigarettes and lighter held. And the jacket is held slack. Just short of falling away.
"You... letting me into your life," Valan answers, the answer ready to his lips. He didn't even have to think about it. "You... asking me... to share it with you." Truly share it. By being a part of it. "That... is what has made it so. That is what I will be taking with me from this place. That knowledge."
Valan smiles then, profundity finished, and he folds the jacket, setting it after on the table. Fingers then pluck two cigarettes from the pack and the pack is set aside. Remarkably dry. Ah, sweet technology.
One is held out to you. Join me in a little vice, ami?
Ah, his eyes brighten. Edward tosses the boots, and walking to you, reaches to pull the overjacket above his head and off. Dark hair flutters but settles again, but unlike you, he simply tosses it back towards the skis.
"Thanks, ami," Edward smiles, standing before you. Cigarette taken, he plucks a kiss from your cheek, simply enjoying the social nearness. Waiting upon the lighter, Edward bends quickly to drop the skipants to the floor, stepping out of them. He's quiet in those seconds, and when he comes even again, he looks down to the cigarette at his fingers.
"I didn't know..." he begins softly, "...what to think. What to do next. How to..." he snorts, looking to the fireplace, "...tell you all of this. I mean...what's the best way? There's..." his head shakes, he quite serious, "...there's no way. Cause it's unreal. It...blows up the entire universe." It destroys. Lips purse, and the minutiae of falsifying life are upon him. Warmth. The lines at his eyes, his cheeks. The ticks of nerve endings here and there. The feeling that beneath it all, blood rushes, muscles move, and energy is in constant transfer.
Edward smiles at you though, looking between lashes. Face dipped, his skin warms from the fire, showing tanned hues.
A flash of fire. And there follows something herbal -- it is not tobacco -- and cinnamon. And the lighter is offered to you. A flame of courtesy. Cupped, even as his lips press, surrounding, holding and pulling upon the cigarette they balance. And then the flame is gone...
But the warmth upon you remains. You glow. Like one who can be nothing but alive ...
And you notice how the warmth moves through him, your mortal lover. How cheeks go from reddened and flushed slowly back to the cream-olive complexion. His complexion has softened somewhat, so far from the sun he has been. Valan lifts his gaze to you, smiling as he pockets the lighter. "Hmmm..." His hand reaches up, pulling the cigarette from its perch. He exhales smoke, with relief. His own... need sated with it. It has been days. How did I ever make it? "I am glad you did it here... up in the mountains..." Valan says. A hand reaches, your side brushed and he moves from you, searching for something to use as an ashtray. He wanders toward the cold box you mentioned. "I will admit, it is strange, but... " He chuckles and turns to you, grinning, "... but I don't know, Eduard. It is... a relief? To know the truth. Rather than to think you were just..." A pause. "Eccentric..."
"Truth is always better," Valan murmurs, ah... and finds something that will serve well enough. An old cup. There are several others. He brings it to the sofa. And he stills for a moment. Staring at you. Staring at him. And he smiles, just at the corners of his mouth.
You are so beautiful, ami.
He sets cup and cigarette aside for a moment and bends, giving ski pants a tug. One foot and then the other lifts, and he is free. "And soon we will return to France...or... are we to London first? To get settled?"
"France," Edward surmises, drawing smoke. How comforting. He lets the stick hang at his lips as he withdraws arms from the sweater. Black spandex pants are painted on his hefty legs, thighs, and backside, and when he lifts the sweater, the black only continues upwards. He filches the smoke to get the collar over his head, replacing it as soon as possible. That sweater too, is tossed at the sofa.
"You...wanted to see your parents for a while?" he recalls, now free of everything. He looks like a bobsledder, in his black one-piece, but it defines every muscle there is. Edward passes you, puffing on his cigarette, heading towards the cold box. Curiosity's gotten the best of him.
Beneath the ski pants is a layer of corduroy. But hands pause just short of unfastening. Not even the thudding of your sweater wakes him. For you... in spandex... stops him. It is now not so much a stare as it is a gawk. For though it is true he has seen you at nearly every conceivable angle, and with nothing hidden from him, there is something about what that fabric does when it is on you. Valan plops onto the sofa.
And he grins...
That is mine. Forever. Dieu. Even if I find out he is the devil, still I say... you hand me the contract, and I will sign it. That was rolling me in the bedding. Not but two hours ago. And you can see him go red, from neck up. And well you know... the blood is flowing from the neck likewise below.
Valan pulls up his sweater, up and over his head. Beneath it is a spandex shirt of gold and crimson. Long sleeved, and fitting to the tapering of his waist. His broad shoulders, his chest. And he twists about on the sofa to watch you walk to the coldbox.
"Ah... oui... I was thinking... maybe we should get everything in order in London first. I will need to arrange to have my things moved... and then, I will go to Bordeaux." He suddenly remembers his cigarette and take a long pull from it. Needing it. Really. After such a view.
So you shall see when the corduroy is dropped. Valan rises from the sofa again, cigarette in his lips, hands unfastening and freeing him from the second layer. Beneath... spandex pants of crimson. Showing fencer's form. Strong thighs -- though nothing like yours, more lean. The tapered hips. The rounds and strength there and of his thighs. The rise of him between. The definition of calves.
He bends, lifting the lid of the cold box. "Okay, ami, that's fine...we can go to London first. I should see how the offer went for 156..."
Rising, Edward holds a container. "Ah, beef stew," he motions, then looks at a shelf. "Fresh bread. Sounds good," he nods, subsequently bending and retreiving a bottle of something clear, sans label. "I bet it's vodka," he grins, turning around to show both of his catches to you. Eyes light upon the spandex that highlights your rust-gold nature. Edward smiles and sets the food down, heading back your direction. "You alright?" he wonders, leaning to tap his smoke on your cup, he plopping down next to you.
"Hmm?" Golden brows shoot upward and he twists to look at you again, grinning. "Oh, oui... " he murmurs. And then he gestures to your spandex with his cigarette. "The blood was rushing from my head, ami... I just needed a moment." Hazel eyes sparkle with the wink. "Ah... vodka... come, pour a cuppa..." Cuppa, said in English... just as he has heard you say. So much he is already learning, no? Corduroys are tossed aside and Valan plops down once more. Leaning in, fingers giving the cigarette a tap. Dead ash shrugged off and fresh fire glowing orange at the tip. "We will go to a club... first thing when we return..." Leaning back. One last drag, and then the cigarette is put out.
And then he settles for good. At least for now. "I am having club mix music withdrawal. I want to race around in autos, get gloriously drunk, maybe do a little ecstacy... dance. Pounce on you..." Valan nudges you with a shoulder then his arms spread outward on the back of the sofa.
"X?" Edward quirks, grinning. "Sounds good," he murmurs, nudging you back and savoring the last of this cigarette. "Oh, cos said he'd send some of those stinky cigs you like of his," he grins, shuffling now to half-face you, his side against the sofa. A sharp inhale, and Edward vanquishes his smoke, letting the tendrils drift into his breathing, and dropping the remainder into the cup.
And now, hands are freed. "Gotta get the vodka," he says, pushing up to walk back to the box. "What will you have to arrange...about the moving? I can...have some mates take care of it for you, ami." No work for you. Edward returns, dropping beside you again to face you and open the vodka. "I don't want you to worry, you know. They're stellar boys and girls, they'll see t'it."
"Ah... well then... I was just going to have someone help me pack and get my stuff from my townhouse in Tours. They will do this? Your associates?" Valan turns about, taking the opportunity to sprawl over the entire sofa. A good stretch. "Hmmm... if that is so, then... so much the better. We can bathe in sin and have the others do the work. And... oui... X. Garden of Eden," a strain of it known for its power of euphoria and aphrodisiac qualities. "It has been too long, Eduard. I have been a saint for you! You know how much work this is, yes?"
Such delightful laughter. Of course, in comparison to you he has not yet begun to sin. He does not know that you and your cos were snorting cocaine on the back porch like a couple of teenagers.
Stretched out, Valan in his fullness is what greets you. In golds and reds. His colors. "And then I will go to Bordeaux. I promise, ami... I am not prolonging It. I just... want to ..." get a fix? "... you know... blow off some steam before going..."
"I know," Edward smiles warmly, not prepared to judge. That, he is most certainly not. The open bottle is offered to you firstly, once the cork has been plied. Homemade, certainly. Your lover peeps at you, something on his mind.
"We're getting close," he whispers. "Time...flies." Something you will learn. "And I still want to be with you, Valan Montague of L'Empereur..."
A hand rakes through golden hair. It is getting long. A shake of his head to keep hair out of his eyes. He sits up, your Valan, so you may join him again. "Hmmm... it is..." he murmurs. "And... I am glad you do. We have made it through our first trip together, and you were worried." A wink to you.
"I want you to know that... when I come to you and it is done," seeing his family. Valan looks up as he reaches for the vodka. "There will be no regrets, Eduard," he murmurs. "Even if one night sometime I get wistful for the sun... still, Eduard Meurelle, Comte du Blois, there will be no regrets."
The bottle is tipped to you in a toast then taken, tilted and the liquid swallowed. Something just slightly more than a sip. Mortal eyes blink at it, then he offers it to you.
How did you know? Edward grins, as if found out. He looks up and smiles, shaking his head to the universe. "Those nights will come," he says softly, "...but we'll move through them. There's much," hand caressing yours as he accepts the bottle with a nod, "...that the night has to offer, ami. No less than any other time." Even he thinks of it. This you will share.
Edward says a soft cheers, ami and tips the bottle up, closing his eyes for a long draught. Bottle lowers before his eyes open and sparkle at you.
"I should make sure everything's locked up," he says finally, breath a wash of alcohol. He offers the bottle to you, already scooting off the sofa.
Outdoors, at the top of the mountain, the onslaught can be heard. Ice pelts the bungalow, a vanguard for those below. We know the truth of the storm. Clouds surround the small building, it sinking into the unfindable mists of the snow storm.
"Cheers," Valan replies in English. The R dragging as it should not against the tongue that is still acclimating to the strange syllables and cadence. The bottle is taken again, you are toasted again, and Valan takes a longer drink of it.
He does not wonder why you wander now. Securing the house. Now, it seems to make sense. You cannot be disturbed during the day. No sunlight must shine through. Valan looks to the bed.. checking it... is it far enough away from the glass?
He rises from the sofa and moves to the fireplace. To stir the flames against the remaining wood. To keep it going. Burning. There is something familiar about the motion. Maybe... it is just the poker, seeming like an epee in his hands. Like his hands have made this motion a thousand times before. Or maybe... he is feeling the hand of the Future Itself. Showing him a memory even as he lives it.
And he smiles. In love. Upon the verge of forever. Grinning.
Posted by rowan at February 10, 2001 11:23 AM
