The servants have been here. There is fresh air in the room. There is the smell of roses and of incense that was lit and now has burned out, yet its resonance remains in the air. The bed has been made, a bed suitable for two but perhaps not designed for two men specifically. There is perhaps a subtle hint that the two of you should not cohabitate within Oasis walls, but such preferences would not be vocalized.
     Hope for, but not said aloud. Rosaries are perhaps counted and prayed upon and a candle lit in the sephardic and islamic quarters, but nothing as brazen, or as Western, as direct discourse on the matter...
     The journey from the atrium of stars to the chamber was made in silence. The sound of his footfalls were in concert with your own. The way would have seemed easy, even intimate, to the casual eye. Only you knew that Valan Montague was upset.
     He moves through the chamber with a growing gracefulness. Not quite the liquid, languid stride of the ancient, but definitely otherworldly, carrying with it an intrinsic knowledge of space, time, and the configuration of the room. He knows where each thing is placed, and where he fits within it. Valan removes his jacket, and the sage-green shirt is revealed in all its silken wonder, tucked into suit that in this light reveals itself to be a deep cobalt. All D&G. All new. All very Him. A hand goes through his golden hair, no amount of mussing it messes the style, it is as it is meant to be. And he sighs.

     Edward follows you within, closing and locking the door behind him. He has never liked the idea that he's not allowed to wear a weapon with Alydar's walls, but after centuries, he's learned to tolerate it. The other Quarters would be proud of him.
      "How do you feel about dinner?" Edward asks, stopping at the side table near the door to slip out of his watch. He stares at the wood as fingers move around his opposing wrist, and the large clasp falls open. The watch falls into his open hand. "Hungry yet?" he asks, speaking though his attention is on rubbing his now-patterned wrist. Edward exhales and begins the task of lifting onto the balls of his feet and slipping out of his shoes.

     "A little..." he admits, softly. Valan looks to you, he lays his jacket upon a chair and he sits upon the bed. "But I do not know that I am in a mood to be social. Lying over dinner and having to have a dictionary with me while I do it," meaning, of course, the social aspects of dinner with all of El-Adar's residents, as is customary for this Oasis-Inn-University-Temple.
      Lying. Now, what can he mean by that?
     Valan stops himself. "I am going to speak French," he notes, for the record, "...and I am going to love a man. That is who I am, Eduard. I know you are a straight man in love with me, but I am not straight. I am gay. You are going to have to get used to that. And They," a gesture to the rest of the Oasis, and for that matter the whole world, "...are going to have to get used to it. I am not going to lie or to fake that I do not love you. And if you want to hide it, you are not going to find me a willing accomplice..."
      Oh, that's what he means by lying. All that business out there with Nasr. And ... just the way things are here. Valan sighs, and fishes out a cigarette from his jacket.

     "What?" Edward asks, looking confused. He twists from his spot at the door, staring for the instant. It's only after two heartbeats does he move, padding over towards you. "What do you mean with lying? About?" Edward's large hand comes to rest on your arm as he takes a seat next to you.

      "I am not gay, I am a student?" Valan says incredulously. "What the fuck was that supposed to mean? If Nasr cannot understand it, that is for Nasr to work out between himself and his God. But I am not going to apologize for it, nor be anything but who I am." Aha, a cigarette at last. Your hand is on his arm, your hand feels him light the cigarette, muscles moving beneath the sage green shirt.
     Valan takes a long draw from the cigarette and smoke tendrils first from his nose and then the rest of it billows from his mouth. It is an incense of a different kind. Harshly modern -- just like he is -- in Alydar. "You want me to lie to make him feel better? Or ...whomever. And I cannot do this..."

     Edward sits quietly for another heartbeat, then:
     "I don't want you to lie." A sigh follows, and his sable eyes focus ahead to the opposing wall. "I was...trying to..." be funny? Make fun of a friend? "I guess, sarcasm. I'm not good at it, I guess. I don't want you to lie." Lying has never been my way, Valan. The look to the floor perhaps says it.
      "I know...what we are," Edward whispers. Six centuries must admit it. "If...I didn't..." he adds, head turning to see your beauty, "I would never have left L'Empereur with you. I would never...have looked...at you...from the table. Or been as excited as I have ever been...when you walked over and sat next to me."
     Edward quiets, leaving your face to stare at the wall ahead. It is the truth of the matter, and Edward wears it on his sleeve as easily as he wears his heart.
     "Sorry," he whispers finally, shrugging as is his habit, when he runs out of words.

     "I really hate that you make it impossible to be angry with you, Eduard." A simple statement, a joke, and a truth. You look away and Valan is looking to you. His hand lands upon the nape of your neck, a touch, a strength. And he leaves a kiss at your temple.
     "I am sorry for overreacting," he whispers there. "I... did not get your... sarcasm. I feel like an asshole, yes. No more Spanish," Valan gives your neck a rub. His fingers move through your hair after and then his hand draws away.
     He lies back on the bed with an exhale. "I am still going to speak French. I must be me. I think I have been spending too much time trying to be... something, I do not know what. Not Valan." Valan turns his head, golden hair against the fabric of the coverlet. "I love you. Come lie beside me. I am feeling hungry..."

     What?
     Edward's gaze returns to you as you lie back upon the bed and your hand falls from his neck. "I'm glad you can't be angry...I don't mean to make you mad at me, ami." That's not my way either. Edward twists, and for a moment, he looks more the dancer. He props on an elbow, his other hand instantly skimming the silk at your stomach. "I'm only a little peckish," Edward whispers, eyes closing as he places a kiss upon the fluttering shirt he slowly rides upward.
     "All I want," Edward adds, his breath warm, "...is for you to be with me, ami. My beautiful Valan."

      "We both should be less sensitive," is what he whispers. Valan reaches downward, hand to your hair, fingers moving through it, sliding against your scalp and his body is warm, by virtue of the earlier bath, and his body moves upward to meet your hand. Silk dissolves, it moves easily, however you wish it to move.
     "No more apologies, Eduard. We are good, oui? We are fine," Valan murmurs. He twists to look at you, his expression softening. "Me too... the rest is, just silliness..."
     The way I have been. The stress. The...whatever it is... that makes us fight from time to time. My uncertainty. "Also... I will say... I wish I could go with you," Valan whispers. "I wish I were a warrior suddenly. I ... am worried." A pause. "I am frightened. A little. For you."

      "Don't be," Edward breathes, his cheek at your stomach. He rests there, his eyes closed. "And I wish you could go too," he adds, hands at your sides. "But that will be fine too. We go about it smartly. And it'll be over when it's over."
     A pause, then Edward murmurs, "Dinnertime for you. And then me." The rest will fall by the wayside. He sits up, and in a quick motion, fingers grab his shirt on opposite sides. A flash of red screams upwards, sending Edward's hair into a flutter. He casts the bright color aside, and twists again above you while placing his hands beneath your shoulders.
     "How shall you like me?"

     He closes his eyes, his fingers move against your scalp, through your hair. He nods. He is not yet able to be totally comforted by it, but he is confident in you. And in that you would tell him the truth.
     And then you move, his hand draws slowly against you and as you remove your shirt, he sits up slightly. Valan smiles. He reaches upward, sitting upward. His mouth brushes your neck. "I prefer the thigh, but... crook of your neck, remember," he whispers there, "...after I drank from your lips for the first time, I found my home there." His mouth parts there, his hand clasps at your hip, and the widening kiss strengthens.
     You ripple through him...
     Like thunder...
     Like lightning his canines sink into you. And Valan sighs, breath spreading against your skin, even as your blood spreads against his tongue...

     Edward's groan is lost in his chest. His chin falls and hair flutters forward to frame his face. A marvelous sculpture you make, twined like snakes, faces obscured by the shoulders and arms of the other. Your lips drink from him, but Edward's mouth pulls into a contented smile. A relieved one. His temple rests near yours, and with each passing heartbeat, he seems to slip further into stillness.
     The wind picks up outside. There had been a rumor in the Quarters that rain was coming. No one doubts such predictions, when repeated along the colonnades and plazas. Somewhere in Alydar, men pray to Allah, others gather for dinner. Vespers ended in quiet solemnity, and the horses were brought into the stables.

     It does not last long, a swipe of his tongue and he leans back. Just a little, but it has such power. Valan twists against the bed and licks the residue of you on his lips. And he smiles. And eyes open slowly, gold-green brilliant flash between long lashes. Suddenly, the world makes sense again. There is no worry for a time.
     His hands smooth over his silk shirt, pulling it up, unbuttoning it with a sigh. Cream complexion beneath, ruddying with what he just drank from you, revealed, and taut fencer's form, lean, strong. "I want you... "
     He doesn't care about the apricots. He doesn't care about the almonds and the honey, the milk and the wine, the water drawn from holy wells. He doesn't care about the fragrant beef, the currants or the saffron.

Posted by rowan at July 04, 2003 09:37 PM