It is is a long three nights. From Tours to Blois, with a two hour liason as a pension in Montrefleur-ille-Chardin. That was the best part. Sharing the sheets helped dispel some of the dissonance generated earlier, replacing the discordant sound with one much more harmonious. Enough to remind Edward of the priorities in his existence. The freedom he commands, the brilliance of being as he is, the wonder and fortune of having you at his side, and the comraderie of his friends.
There is really little else.
The drive home was marvelous. The scent of you still upon him, it wafted as the Sauber slipped rapidly across country roads to the Nationale. Northward, it took him, and Edward thought of little but you above him, beneath him, beside him. Fields and fields of darkness shimmered in silver light, vibrating reeds that resonate with the winds that strum them. Lights pass the other direction, but Night always clears things away. Perhaps it's the starry points that look down and remind of the infinity of existence. Like water, they are continuous, and thinking of them...all seems so small. A smile...Joy...is restored. Edward's hand ran through his hair, elbow upon open window's edge. Breeze caught and sent to his face. All of it was refreshing.
Even Fleurlil welcomed him. Dark as she was, a few were there to greet him as he traversed his ancestral lands, disappearing behind wall after wall until the garages held him secure. In there, in the chateau's embrace, Edward recalled himself. I have nothing to prove here...or anywhere else. Smiles to Fiorina and Claude, and Edward swept into his house with all the majesty that comes with being a prince of France, attendants in his wake.
There he ensconced himself for two nights. Sleep, rise, think, rest, bathe, walk. Picture of a man fixed in his mind. One that smiles, breathes, loves him. A burnished man who knows what he wants, who has known before any of the rest of us.
How could I have been so arrogant?
Sleep again. A rise. That night came with Hope of the man's return. That he should not change his mind. That he had not forgotten. That he had not preferred the joyous charms and love of his own kind. Not worry, mind you, but Hope that things were secure. That the decision Edward lately saw was indeed the Truth.
Valan Montague was ready. Ready long before I am.
I had remained in Paris after leaving university. I breathed in her liberte... and I knew then that my life, what I wanted had nothing to do with Bordeaux or those who remained there. Nothing at all to do with it. In rambling hours of dances, like Shakepeare's Hal, I deceived those closest to me. See... this is all I am.
But in truth, I set myself up as a spirit... a ghost... a remnant of me. A figment of what they could understand. That is all they would ever see of me. I gave it to them. They loved that Valan. And in the e-mail I could confirm for them their beliefs, without challenging them. That is how they wish to live. Why should I interfere with how they choose to live their lives?
I had my own to live. And so I did...
And I knew it as soon as your car pulled into the driveway. I did not belong there. I haven't for years. I ... had moved on.
It was as if my learning in Paris and independence in Tours had been in preparation for you...
And I smile now as I think of this. As I am reminded. Serendipity by design. It is not Fate... it is not Destiny. It is simply what comes when one decides and chooses one's life and how to live it.
I am tempted to call you. Green-gilt-brown eyes flicker downward to the celphone in its charger. The body has burned for the passing of a night. But I carried memories of you with me, the scent of your skin, your cologne, the hum of your touch. And now my body is alive with it.
It is no secret why the Audi soars. It feels at this speed as if it shall lift off the ground...
You are awake. I am learning to feel this. Learning to understand this. We are bound you and I. My family speaks of constancy. What is more constant than change, ami? Do not think that when I say constant I mean stasis. Oh no, ami... I do not mean this at all...
A car pulls up to Fleurlil around eight in the evening... A high rate of speed down the small, French country roads. With all the speed of longing. With all the force of No Regrets...
He'd prepared himself rather nicely. A bath, a meal. A walk around the outer gardens. You know his habits, when he rests, when he rises. Edward dressed in blue and black, his favorite colors. Slacks are dark linen, and his shirt, the finest of shimmering indigo silk. He took his time tonight, thinking that this is the beginning of forever.
You are expected! The west lights of Fleurlil are on, and the grounds...they are resplendent. The low lights lead up the drives, and the meticulous land can be seen from the nearest road. A tourist favorite. The bridge led over a filled river, and at the drive near the kitchens...there are two people waiting to receive you.
The Audi's rounded form, sleek and post-modern glides beneath the lights of the castle Fleurlil. A cobalt with black leather interior, when it crosses the bridge and rounds into the drive near the kitchens it does give the impression of floating.
Tick...
The lights come off...
Tock...
The door comes open. And sweeping outward a shock of golden hair, purposely haphazard in its lie. It is now Forever and it is now the Beginning. And the grin is instant. Criss-cross leather straps cover his brown suede jacket -- a leather satchel with his laptop and his leather travel bag on his other arm. And keys chime into his pockets as he steps toward the two.
But he pauses, veering. Green-gilt-brown eyes scanning the horizon. This he truly memorizes. And the grin runs through him. Expanding from his eyes, his mouth... and thudding on th air around him.
"Bonsoir!" he calls out to the two, and to anyone else. The grin spreading wide as his gait renews.
He is looking his Hipster Self. Beautiful. Glorious. Free. Without care. The stroll stride carries him forth...
The servants smile, happy to see you again. They know what this means. Fleurlil comes to life again...
At the doorway, light spills. But soon the brilliant color is blocked by Edward, appearing from nowhere. And even as the pair smile at you and move to see about things in your car, they too are aware of the arrival of the comte.
He does not go far, your Edward. Can you see him? He steps from the glare onto the ground, his fingertips touching each other. A steeple at his silken midriff. You've arrived.
The removal of the light shows much. A sway of his body, a growing smile.
My last few things were taken from Tours on the way. The door closed for good. I smiled then. I am smiling now. Broad and warm at once, and my shout to your servants in greeting is followed closely by a call of, "Ami!"
And so I return to where it all began. I will remember this moment forever. Though the rest of the world may change around me... cars may fly and Americans may learn sophistication... this moment will be constant in my brain. It is the night I first truly joined you. The logistics of what may follow in my Life-Through-Death do not matter. It is already done.
When your fingers skimmed the garnets at my throat...
When the box arrived in London, full of ambers...
The smiles for your household was brilliant, but for you... the sun shines in it, ami. I love you.
Bags are dropped at the threshold. Suede and linen move to surround you. Ah yes. He smells of the sun. It is on his skin, in his smile, echoed by the spice of his cologne. "It is good to be home..."
For in your arms, no matter where we may be or go or do, Eduard... that is home to me.
His arms slip around you so easily. A fit he could have never imagined. Edward does not presume to speak after you declare your intent, he simply embraces you, his cheek at yours, and lifts you from the ground. Turning about, garnets to amber, he shuffles you inside, his body stiff.
He sighs in your ear. Relief. Excitement. With his hands clasped, he walks, supporting your weight and height. Someone will see to the bags, he is sure, but for now, he will not let you go...
He's shaved tonight, his cheeks are soft and smooth. He does not need to say I missed you. He does not need to verbalize love, want. Anything. It is all in the air between you, and echoed in the press of him against you as you lift him. He is strong. You are stronger. And although he marvels at it still, it does not come with questions now. It only thrills.
Valan turns his head. A whisper of your name at your lips...
The voice of his blood, his skin, his soul speaking...
And then the kiss...
It is pulling. It is claiming. It grasps the future. It brushes. Seeks. Widens.
I am Here. And Here is where I will remain.
Your kiss is met and rejoined. Over and over. His lips will not leave you in the long walk to the private quarters. With each taste, drying mouth becomes alive again upon knowing you.
His arms bristle in the walk, sinewy biceps tensing and flexing with each step he takes. The chequered floor is crossed, the stairs conquered. His chest and thighs thud against yours, his breath warm. A sound slips from his chest occasionally, reminiscent of two nights ago.
Familiar staircase traversed, an open door taps at your back, his foot pushing. A breeze. Shadows move against the stone, flickering light spilling. Candlelight, it is, a train filling the seating area and certainly threading to the bedroom within.
I have grown accustomed to moving without walking. Soon, I will know what it is to Live without Dying. To becoming without ending. Closing my eyes, I make the journey with you. Grinning into the grasping kiss, widening and pulling. The spiral of my tongue. Do you remember the other night when I hovered over you? When my thighs gripped you...
They grip you now as I lift them to coil about your waist. Breath of laughter breaks the kiss a moment. What a sight we must be, ami. Well... we shall see, oui? When we film it one day. I have a digital movie cam in a bag...
"I am having deja vu," Valan murmurs at your mouth, syllables lost against your tongue. Within, a lilt of his tongue tapping against your own. Speaking luxurious French as much with your mouth as with his own.
"Hmm?" Edward goes on, the conversation picking up so naturally. "Deja vu?" he whispers, passing through to the bedroom. "What?" Edward quirks, returning to the present, "The bedroom? It is a repeat..." he smirks, walking to the bed, turning his back to it, and allowing himself to fall backwards upon the soft mattress.
Laughter. Soft and deep. And living. "Non... not this way... just in being carried to the bedroom of Fleurlil..."
The end of your castle's name is grunted as he lands upon you. A grunt that becomes a chuckle. A chuckle that soon grows to laughter again. "It is good to be here," Valan whispers in English. "Ah...hmmm... I need to... talk in English... hmmm...you should ...give me another lesson ... teach me some new ... words..." The laughter transforms to a grin. And in greens and golds and browns he looks down at you from his perch upon you. "Tie me to your bed," says Valan, grin pulling to the side, "... and make me speak English..."
I cannot help myself!
He laughs, the amber glistening in a setting of deep blue. "If I tied you to the bed, ami, English would be the last thing on my mind..." Edward teases, hands at your hips. Where they should be. He smiles, his own laughter lighting to a chuckle.
"Ah...Valan..." Edward sighs and declares in the same breath. His eyes look over you, smile never diminishing. "Where are we going, ami..." an opening to speak your mind and heart. That's all he wants.
"Oui... but think of the challenge, ami..." And it would be, non? For those times, he is usually past coherence. Ah, such times when you make Valan speechless...
The smile does not fade. Non. It smoothens. It warms. It turns him golden. And his hands rest lightly upon your chest, fingertips skimming. Golden hair. It grabs the light, greedy. It suits gold best. Short, it is made slightly spiky, slightly disheveled. By design. "Wherever we want, ami..." Valan murmurs, French coming so naturally. It is how he speaks his heart. It is how he speaks his mind. "Wherever we wish to go, we can go there. I will be with you, you me... and the rest..." Broad shoulders roll. "What does it truly matter, Eduard." The corners of his mouth upturn again. "It is open to us. There is nothing in our way..."
Colors scatter upon the stone, as candlelight reflects upon stained glass.
His sable eyes flit and float over you, taking in every shading and nuance. "You..." he smiles soberly, "...make me almost believe you, ami," Edward giving a faint smile. "Maybe," he cedes, body softening under you, "...you're right." He should be reminded somehow.
But Edward's hands seek yours, fingers twining. "London awaits us. 157 Dannerly Court...is much bigger than you remember," he smiles with pride. "And while we are away, Fleurlil will be filled with your things. Papers..." he says softly, mindful of the meaning, "...will be drawn and things ordered...as you like." A pause and thoughtfully, Edward adds, "As is always the way when one gets ready for a journey..."
"Almost believe me...I shall have to do better then," his voice softens and his hands lift from your chest to unfasten the linen shirt. The soft suede of his pants is supple... bending over the contours of thighs and what is between them. Valan smiles. It is a fond smile. It is a teasing smile. It is a smile that knows the Truth. "I," he says in English and so the rest shall be, "... am in the right, yes. These things... you must believe. I am ready, Edward..." he whispers. I am ready.
When shall it happen?
Tonight?
Tomorrow night?
I am ready. "Ah, yes! London," sounds odd in English from that mouth, but delightful, non? And then the smile explodes at the news of your conquest. "No worrying about keeping up the neighbors... mirrored walls in a fencing chamber... ah, Eduard," he drops back into French, as his shoulders roll and the shirt slips off and down his arms. "... we should celebrate. When we get back to London... a night of X and dancing and... christening the new house, oui?"
His brows arch in bemused wonder. "I guess so..." Edward smirks, letting his head tilt to the side as he watches you.
Has anyone ever been so ready? Maybe I think too much upon my own First Night. Hands reach up to touch the body he has come to love, delicately stroking from pectorals to abdominals.
"You're always so...direct," he whispers, curious at the notion as much as observing. "I thought I was..." Edward smirks, hands landing upon suede, "...until I met you." X, dancing, and christening. It is his way, truly. Yours as well. But he would never have said such things. A wonder you are, fingers dappling.
"We can go...tomorrow eve?" Edward whispers, seeking your approval. "Too soon? Or...another few nights?"
"Tomorrow," Valan whispers, bending. Tomorrow, he murmurs at your lips. It is not too soon. Whenever it happens, it is the right time. The rest does not matter...
And we will roll into Our City and we will claim it. I will look upon the nightscape of London with crimson colored lenses. Your ways... are my ways... and Our Ways... we will discover...
"I love you," Valan speaks at your mouth again, his lips suckling upon the last syllable. "Let's go tomorrow..."
I cannot wait, says the quickening of his breath...
I cannot wait, says the surging of his blood beneath the suede...
I cannot wait, says the pulse pounding beneath the thin layer of skin...
I cannot wait, Eduard.
For London tomorrow...
for you, tonight...
It will rain tonight at Fleurlil. The heavens will open and pour upon the blossoming earth. No one will complain, really. That is the way of the world. How Nature rejuvenates herself year in and year out. How the land, so aged, remains so new.
He nods at the request, the bedspread rustling under dark hair. "We'll go then," Edward murmurs to you, almost lifting from the bed to meet you. Oh, how you call to me, his wandering eyes say, and I...am finally no longer able to resist...
Posted by rowan at February 10, 2001 04:44 PM
