Old stairs creak with Edward's weight. The lights in the second living-come-training room are clicked off with a touch of his hand at the wall. The rest of the house remained dark. The townhouse feels more like an evening coming to a close, instead of one recently begun.
     The old wood has seen a recently new stain. This was the last of the expanding and renovating. Now, the parquet gleams in the dim stairlight that scatters on the grain. The bannister is of newer wood, open to the world now that the wall that was once the support is gone. Edward's hand slides up the smoothness, returning to the towel around his neck once he arrives at the upper balustrade.
     Behind you, Valan, is the soft rush of wind. The bedroom door opening silently leaves behind only the stirred air. Edward's there, breaking the shadows of the hallway as he steps into the gentle light of your shared room.

     The condensation of a recent shower, water sauna-heated, weights the air, a tropical humidity in the heart of London. The bedroom shows the signs of Valan's impending approach -- clothes picked out and laid upon the bed in a thoroughly mortal fashion and with too much care for it to ever be called cavalier. There is premeditation to his appearance on any given night. There are no accidents, however accidental it may seem.
     The hour passed easily enough -- sometimes it takes him two hours to be completely ready to go downstairs or out -- from shower to hair and approaching the Robing Hour of Night. The door to the bath is open, the light on. Valan's shadow is cast across the bedroom floor as he leans out to give you the first waking smile.
     "Bonjour," he says, forgoing 'bonsoir'. Clothed only in a red towel (yours), even though his hair is completely dried and styled in the Mod Muss of Today. The garnets lie at his throat, giving his skin an extra bit of creamy resonance. "Have a good workout? I thought I heard voices..." As in plural. "Any excitement this evening?"

     "No," Edward replies, his body showing the strain of the evening's workout. His sedate demeanor is no surprise; it happens whenever he manages to expend large portions of his considerable energy. Edward manages a smile to see you though, his eyes glancing at his towel around your waist.
     "You look like you're going out..." Edward observes, taking a seat at the side of the bed nearest you. He'll watch; his hand comes to push a sleeve aside so he doesn't muss your outfit. "Meeting friends?" he asks, tossing the towel to the floor between his parted legs. The sweat and blood droplets get his attention, as they fall into his eye. Edward winces, reaching up to wipe the trail away. "Hmph," he breathes, seeing the trickle of blood on his finger. It then makes him glance at the rest of himself, the muscles hard from the exertion.

     "You never know what the night will bring. I made no specific plans..." His voice trails even as his smile spreads. He takes a moment to watch you. His fingers loop under the waistband that the towel creates around him and tugs, the towel coming free. He folds it and sets it on the counter before walking out of the bathroom.
     "If you like, we could hit a few places we haven't been to in a while..." English these nights, and his English is much improved, if accented. "Dinner ... good steaks, melting on the knife like butter... great wine... then, a lot of smoking." Valan smiles, bending to kiss you... nakedly... as he arrives at the bedside.
     The outfit is trademark Valan. A red silk suit with an orange shirt, the latest summer line from Todd Oldham. The shoes are strictly Swedish, crafted for a European foot, a shade deeper read than the suit.
     Valan closes his eyes, he breathes in the scent of blood and sweat. His mouth parts at your mouth and the kiss is soul-sweet. But brief. "Is it possible for you to become more built? I would say you could crush diamonds with that bicep, ami..." He chuckles. And he truly delights in it...

     "I doubt it," Edward smiles, flattered, "...on either count."
     Edward's gaze leaves your face to look more widely at you. A single finger lands on your cheek, drawing downwards to your lips, so recently kissed.
     "Being with you," Edward says softly, such a contradiction to the body before you, "...has changed me, Valan. Wanting you and being yours, has made me," he frowns at your mouth, finding words, "...more than I have ever been."
     Finally, sable eyes meet yours again. He does not figure that you should understand, nor does he demand it. Edward rushes not to explain. His lips touch as they close to silence, and finger that trailed upon you now becomes a hand gripping your hip and pulling you forth.

     There is not the lightning from his fingertips, not the electric heat from his fingertips, swirling between the veins and rolling through your body until it ends in orgiastic orgasms. There is simply the touch returned -- his lips to your finger and then to your mouth.
     There is nothing said. You stop that with the kiss. There is his compliant silence. The only sound he makes is the escape of a breath. There is no demand that you explain yourself. Valan accepts your words as he accepts your mouth.
     The hip is unadorned with the usual belly chains, both of them gifts of yours. Warm from the shower, his skin still steams somewhat to your senses.
     He would say that he has been more altered, but that would be a young vampire's... a young Being's sense of it. Though he has been more physically altered by you than you by him, that is only one layer of it. One of thousands.
     One of 600 years...

     Apparently, that was it. Whatever brought him back to the room. Edward's eyes turn to the floor, as he exhales. Dark hair moves slightly, and Edward's forehead lands at your mouth.
     "Something has happened to me," he says to himself more than to you, "...and I do not control it, Valan."

     This is something that Valan can understand. Uniquely. A transformation that is unexpected, in ways never imagined, with results previously unfathomable. There is understanding there, or at least a good attempt. Valan straightens, his hand coming to your head, to rest at the nape of your neck. "I know what it is like to feel a change and to not know how to control it, to make it yours. Do you fear this change... this thing that has happened to you, is it upsetting?" He pauses. "It does not seem to upset you," he murmurs in French, answering his own question.
     Naked, Valan moves to sit beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, his hand sliding inward. "I love you, and I do not say this lightly." He smiles. "Neither do I say it to be poetic or romantic or flowery. It is simple. It is true. It has brought me to a new way of Being. And I do not mean about the immortality. That is so small a part of it," he notes as softly as you.
     And then he is quiet. To listen.

     Muscular hand you admired a bit ago rests heavily on your arm. Edward shakes his head, "I fear only two things, Valan," his gaze averting yours. It is a confession already in the statement.
     "I fear dying," Edward whispers, eyes on the Arabic red rug beneath your feet, "...and I fear your dying. Those...frighten me now," he sighs, closing his eyes. "They frighten me so that the shame of it frightens me as well." Edward snorts at himself, shaking his head. His free hand lifts to massage his face for a moment.
     "Other than that, ami," Edward turns to you, his jaw steeled as the rest of him, "I fear nothing of this world."
     "I thought I was Free, ami," Edward says to you, "...free of the mores, the struggles, the self-delusion, the fetters of this world. I am...of that strain," of vampire, of iconoclast, "...that values that more than existence itself."
     "Or so I thought."
     "Now," Edward closes his eyes, "I feel myself moving again. Closer to that which those at Carthage dreamed of, that those philosophies wished for in this life. But as I do...I see what I could lose..."
     Edward looks at you again, this time pointedly. "It's easy to shake the shackles of this coil, to reach a state of perfect freedom, when there's nothing here...to lose..."

     So we are still human, truly. We fear like they do. We love like they do. No more. No less...
     Valan is quiet through your confession, open as you look to him. There is no assurance that he shall not die, that you will not die. There is nothing said about how you should or should not feel. You speak your fear and so you own your fear; it does not own you.
     But that is exceedingly 20th-21st century. He will readily admit that.
     "Is it not that philosophy that says life becomes sweet the moment that it is understood that life can be lost..." It is not really a question. "They say that freedom in one sense is not freedom in another. Whenever one layer of understanding or knowledge or existence is peeled away it reveals another layer, another understanding, another existence. That is what it feels like," he wonders. That is what it feels like for me.
     "Life is sweet... and life is free... when one understands the alternatives. Death. Servitude," Valan murmurs. He tilts his head slightly. He smiles just at the corners of his mouth. "Wherever you are moving, know that I will go with you..."

     "I know," Edward smiles, realizing that he might have a more dour look than he intends. His head lifts, his shoulders straighten. "You will be with me, until you cannot anymore. Or until I cannot. I know," he says again softly.
     "And I know, that I am...changed...because you chose to look at me," Edward grins, teasing gently, "...and love me."

     "Ah, or until we are both too old to move or love life anymore," Valan adds the other option with a grin, a slight nudge of his shoulder to yours. Can you imagine that?
     "That night," he exhales with the growing smile. "I think of that night a lot." A soft admittance. "I have more nights to think about but that one for me... and of all it changed and brought to me... it is like the night of my birth. Even more so than the night you let me come with you in this." There is a pause, a grin and Valan tilts his head back. "I do like to look at you. Dieu...especially when you are like you are now. Evidence of sweat and blood and yet with that softness to your voice, that thoughtfulness. It is terribly sexy..."

     Only now could Edward blush at such a comment. He stares at you for an instant before it dawns on him what you mean. Edward grins and rolls his eyes again, shaking his head as the blood spreads at his cheeks.
     "That..." Edward purrs, eyes leaving the heavens to see you again, "...makes two of us. In fact," he bobs his head, "I have never been so hungry...for anyone...for six centuries. Explain that, will you..." he asks, hand picking up yours. Edward closes his eyes and places an open-mouthed kiss at your wrist. "I never tire," he breathes there, "...of drinking you or surging inside you."

     Gold smolders and the companion green within the gold holds the resonance like light through green amber. "You are you and I am me," Valan murmurs, smile tracing feline. The mouth parts slightly at the open-mouth kiss against his wrist, but then the smile spreads. The moan is only visual -- the spread of his mouth, the sudden focus of his eyes.
     And then, where skin meet, a palpable -- and quite enjoyable -- heat. "I like being your drink of choice and being so full of you, having you in and on and under and above me, that it does not feel right to me... when you are not surging inside me. That is when I feel most free," he whispers a confession of his own. "When I belong to you."
     Valan leans in, his mouth traces along your forehead. His skin is flushed, framboise over cream over fencer's physique. "And ... you know how I like to feel free..." he teases. The ultimate Brujah tease!

     "I'm sure," Edward grins, kissing your hand this time. He doesn't miss a beat, words falling forth almost immediately after your own.
     "Davydd was here," Edward adds softly, one of your fingers now at his lips. "He's gone. I told him I'd meet him later," but that can change, Edward's voice suggests. "He needs a bit of company, I think."

     "Davydd was here? I missed it. And we weren't even fucking!" he exclaims. But then he holds, eyebrows arching golden. "Is there something wrong, ami? Trouble in the west country?" Sounds like women trouble. "Well," Valan exhales, "... we should go out then... hmm? If he is expecting you. It has been so long, it would not be good to blow him off. Especially if he is really in need of company..."
     Valan presses his fingers to your lips, slipping the tip of a finger between them just briefly and with a crooked smile. "I will get dressed... hmm? Maybe something more subdued..."

     Edward's hand snaps around your wrist.
     "Later," he repeats.

     Oh... later later...
     Fashion ends in a breath, a half gasp that dissolves upon the edges of a heated smile. "Later," he whispers. And he waits for you. It is your show. Move me, his eyes ask it, dare it. Move me like you want me, however you want me.
     It is the look that caused the bucking of twenty men at the bar. The look that, when skin meets skin, sends spirals of heat and pleasure up and down the spinal column. Translated simply: fuck me.

     It had crossed his mind.
     Edward lies back upon the bed, leaving most of the space for clothes. With wrist around yours, he pulls you with him.
     "What did you see, ami, when we first met? Why should you look at..." Edward slows to choose his words, "...a..."
     "Well, one as I was...then?" You didn't make it a habit of trying to seduce straight men. "You should have never have even noticed me..."

     "I saw a triumverate of powerful men... how could I not have looked. And having looked... how could I not have stared? I saw you... I thought you were looking at this man at the bar. I became intrigued and watched and then when I saw Willliam pass me, leaving a space at the table open, I knew I would go over to find out if you had just not been as... opportunistic as your 'tall friend'." Which is what he called William until you provided another name or relation. "I noticed you because of the energy around the three of you... and then, of course, look at you, Edward." He laughs. "I took a chance... oui? When Davydd was leaving... I thought, well... I will never get another chance. I thought all three of you were gay." There is a chuckle for that. "Especially Davydd. No," a chuckle, "I am teasing. But I thought that...in that bar, three men together, all very handsome. What else was I to think, ami? But that you might be interested if I approached. And... I had balls on me then," still does, "...that I thought I might be able to interest you."
     His body folds neatly against your own, a leg slipping between your own, his mouth at your chin, his hand moving over your chest to your stomach. "It was impossible not to notice you. Why do you ask?" he murmurs, smiling at your skin, shifting to look down the line of your form, impressive as it is, and how you fit together. He slides a fencer's thigh up against your own and then straddles you, one wrist still held by you, his other hand free.

     Edward shakes his head as if to say nevermind. "You saw something, I guess, that I did not know. That's all," he murmurs, taking your free hand at first, then that wrist. "The chance of it all," he whispers. "I don't know, that if you had not come over, that I would have not met you at all." He would have sat and stared.

     "I saw something," Valan murmurs. "I saw a man at a table among men. I thought... he might be the... lay of a lifetime," he smirks. "And then, when I came over, when I looked at you up close and when we started speaking, I did see something. Someone I wanted to know. By the end of the night, he was someone I wanted to love. I had... no idea that you might not be interested in... me. A man. It... never crossed my mind. It was only later, after I was already embraced into this that I realized you were straight... or... you had lived straight." A smile, a wink. "With gay friends." A pause and he smiles softly. "I am sorry to tease, I mean it seriously. I do not even want to think of what my life would have been like if you and I had not met."

     Edward finally laughs. Just a bit. "I can see," he frowns in seriousness, "...how you might have thought they were." He nods, then grins again. A sigh follows.
     "I think," Edward murmurs, "I wanted to love you. For some reason. Maybe," a mock-gasp, "...it was the steel balls you carried in your pocket," a grump follows, considering what he's learned of you since.

     "Steel, oui... but warm, hmm?" He grins from his perch, his wrists held. His thighs hold too, pressing in against you. Such a display, without shame, without reservations or inhibitions. "You know... we have only been apart twice since we met. That week, that hellish week when you were in London and I was in Tours and you called and sent for me. And then when you had me go to Scotland to stay with your 'tall friend'," he grins, "... and his beautiful husband," for they are the most married beings I have ever met. "Other than that, I have not left your bed, ami. And I want you more even than I did that night. I wanted you to fuck me on the table of L'Empereur... even before I knew your name." He mock-struggles against the hold on his wrists then slants a smile. "Hmmm... reminds me of something else. Our first trip. You fastened me to the metal bed and made love to me until my body ached. And look how good we fit together, ami," his hips move to illustrate his point. "Is there any doubt this should have been..."

     None. Edward lifts beneath you, communicating his response. You are right. He exhales deeply, knowing that the time approaches.
     "Only twice?" Edward states as much as asks. "Remember them, for they will not happen too often," he smiles.
     At your wrists, Edward's grip tightens. "I'm surprised, after that, you'd want another night with me again," he recalling Switzerland and the cross-country interlude. "But now, you are different. It would not be so...dangerous," a single brow arches, "...and less intoxicating, yes?" Fingers tighten again, as if to test the theory.

     He thinks to laugh, but it stops at the smile. Are you kidding. "It is still dangerous... and more intoxicating. I can do more, oui? No so breakable, this Montague. He now has the ability to back up his balls of steel, yes?" You grip his wrists and his eyes lid. You grip his wrists and he hardens, length lifting with a jerked response. "Now, I can almost keep up with you," Valan murrs, lips spreading. Or vice versa.
     "We... we are amazing, non?" he breathes. Such a sound. And where you grip him, there is just... pleasure...

     "You are," Edward inhales slowly. Whatever it is you do, he is now willing to admit its effect upon him. "I have a question," Edward pauses, keeping his fingers around your wrists, but loosening his grip. "Do you think...that I need any more encouragement?" With index and thumb touching, his other fingers wiggle to make the point.
     "When you blind me with passion," Edward says softly, "I miss my own feelings. They...become lost sometimes..."

     Gold-green eyes open, flashing as the golden lashes lift. He is every bit the fledgling god of a new Babylon, naked, perched upon you like the decadent queen was said to have perched upon the devil himself. But without the breasts.
     "Do I encourage you?" Valan murmurs, smiling. While the pleasure still coils within you, the power is pulled back. "I only wish to please us both, not blind us. What good is being blind to pleasure? Even a blindfold and restraints do not do this, Eduard." He thinks for a moment, and even though he is thinking he does not slacken. Certain other men of the Loire cannot claim such multi-tasking.
     "I do not want you to miss your own feelings, to not experience the joy we are..."

     "I know you don't," Edward replies, voice airy. So I am telling you. Edward exhales, a sign of his letting go. He looks up at you in silence, staring at your eyes, your face. Eventually, Edward smiles again, and the hands that gripped your wrists lets them go. Instead, his broad palms come to rest at the tops of your thighs.
     "All that remains," his voice says with such calm, "...are these..." eyes glance at your clothing on the bed, "...and these..." a lift of his hips suggests the workout boxers he wears.
     "I think..." Edward smirks now, arms pulling at fencer's waist, "...I am done with all I had to say."

     In his way, he had become dependent upon the little gift, to using it whenever you lay together, to send you into that space where you quiver, call him baby and become nearly cosmically orgasmic. To hear you speak softly to him of this is like a snapping of fingers before his face.
     It is not good to be dependent on anything...
     Your hands on his thighs, Valan leans in. He kisses you. Just him, with just his feeling and just his warmth and just his taste. Not the smoldering fires of ancient temples but the simple suckling of a former mortal boy. In its simplicity, its lack of adornment, is it not every bit as powerful?
     "There is only this," he says at your mouth. He kisses again. "And this..." Valan sits up, scooting back upon your thighs, pullling your boxers with him.

     Before you, Edward's chest expands greatly, heaving with the sudden influx of air. His eyes look down his body to see you there, and he lifts to allow the boxers to slip away.
     "Nothing pleases me more than you, ami," Edward says, letting his body go slack upon the bed. "Nothing pleases me more than to simply see you," he says to the ceiling, closing his eyes, "...and then be allowed to touch you. That is all," Edward grins, "...I need, Valan. Believe me when I say that."

     Past your groin, then thighs, then legs. Soon they will be off. Valan settles, twisting to pull them the rest of the way off of your legs. Well, to your calves and then ankles. You will have to kick them off the rest of the way...
     Valan turns back to you, smiling. "I believe you. I... had a new toy... better still, I think to say a new drug? I over... served, oui. And you may touch me whenever you wish. I like it this way..."
     He smiles as he re-settles but then he is in motion again, leaning to kiss you. It is just the beginning...
     Did you tell Davydd two hours? At this rate, it'll be more like three. If not longer. Once the two of you get going, is there any way to know when it will crest and then end? You're getting to be every bit as bad as That Other Frenchman Who Loses Track Of Time When Screwing His Mate...
     In two or three hours, god only knows what condition the Welshman will be in. He did say he was going to get a head start...

Posted by rowan at September 18, 2003 08:25 PM