He is fairly certain that the fountain was never meant to be used in that fashion. But it fulfilled a destiny worth having, perhaps the only destiny worth having if one is an inanimate fountain in the middle of Switzerland. It was used for something amazing...
     You are the only person in the universe who understands me...
     William whispered that against your mouth and neck, and in the expellation of his tremendous energy, in only the most depraved sort of way, he became much more palatable.
     You know what it is, more than nearly anyone else on earth, what it is like to have a Prince in your bed. Not only the prince of immortals in certain cities, the hereditary prince of a region, but a Prince of a layer deeper even than that, on a natural level it exists in him, like skin and blood and hair.
     It does come at a price, from time to time. But thus far you have not minded the parting of coins for it...
     A jacket softened things for you, warmed the marble for you. As the two of your are ... putting yourselves back together...a hand reaches for the jacket now, a much more composed d'Angevin standing in front of you. Bending, he kisses you, not in that breath-stealing fashion, but meaningfully. "I have never wanted to be in Scotland more..." That mouth of his forms a smile, it spreads like honey, warmed by something far less sweet. "Apart from thirty minutes ago," William chuckles, "...when to not be in Scotland was unthinkable..."

     Ian looks up, frown and smile arriving at the same time. "Thirty?" Ian glances at a non-existent watch. He then grins and bends to tie his shoe. He exhales before sitting upright again, noting, "I'll confess. I feel much better, though," he smirks, "...a little too short."
     He begins the task of his right shoe. "I think I was a bit too flip."

     The look is incredulous. What do you mean 'a little too short'?
     "I don't feel like strangling a woman at the moment," William drawls, the Occitan lilting and burning, the fire and the sugar of all languages. "You, I'm not so sure about," he smirks back. "Too short," he mutters, pulling on the jacket.
     There's an exhale and he brushes a hand over his jacket, inspecting his trousers, not even wrinkled -- the hallmark of a true expert. Indigo lifts to you. "Flip?" He smirks a little. "I think so. It was thirty minutes if it was five..."

     "No, flip about Victoria. To her," Ian corrects, looking at his shoe. He exhales and looks at the fountain now. "I don't know. I don't know how else to be. I can't...be that voice like I used to be." He turns the shoe in his hand, as if expecting it'd turn into a crystal ball.
     "Then, I try to find a different voice. One nicer. And I'm not good at that either. In fact, other than business...and..." he looks around, as if accusing the space, "...well, I'm not really good at the rest, I'm starting to think,"

     "What's wrong with being yourself?" William wonders quietly, jacket on, hands reaching into pocket and, yes, pulling out the pack of cigarettes. He really needs one now. "You don't want her to treat you like Maxi, don't use a father's voice. If you want to have a relationship with her," he pauses to light a cigarette, "... then determine what you wish it to be. I think maybe you have wrestled with that. The Old You," he smiles through smoke and fire, "... wanted to frighten and to teach. You must now decide what the Current You wishes to do..."
     William tips his head back, breathing smoke into the face of God and sighing. Thirty minutes (or not) it calmed him significantly. He has that post-coital serenity -- the only time one may say, in fact, that William Plantagenet is serene.
     "In many ways, what you must do for yourself is not so different from what you are saying to her. Be truthful to yourself. Have what you want. Do what you want. Don't seek the acceptance or approval of others..."

     "I know," Ian says softly, still looking at his shoe. "I hear that." He exhales.
     "The Old me. New Me. I don't know what is what, really, William," Ian laments, looking up at you suddenly. "I don't know. I just...am out here..."
     "I hoped, after some time," Ian frowns a little, "...I would...know more. But I don't. Not really," he says softly.
     "Just you," Ian murmurs. "That is...all I truly know."

     He is at hand again, hand in blond hair and resting lightly on the side of your face. "You are just out here... with me," William smiles a little. You are not alone, amours. You are not out here, there, wherever by yourself.
     He crouches down in front of you, arms folding on your legs. "That is okay," he says quietly, indigo on your face, your eyes, locking there. "What else do you need to know?" William smiles a little. "I am here and going to be here. Well..." a glance around. "...not in Switzerland, I've had enough of Switzerland. But..." his hand pats your leg. "...with you, ami. You are on no man's clock. Nor woman's either. Relax," he says, and with that he rises, only to bend again and give and take a kiss. There is a sound there.
     "Delectable," you said. "That was a good speech. Are you going to put rose petals in my bath?" he grins. "Are you going to keep your prince, even though he is a risk to your health...?" A black eyebrow lifts and William's smile slants.

     He was going to answer the question on what else he might need to know, but it's stopped. Ian's skin flushes slightly, the heat beneath his skin. "It was a good word," Ian admits, chuckling at himself. "But yes, I will keep my prince," Ian sets his undone shoe aside, "...I need him." His tied one lifts, and Ian begins to untie it.
     "Besides, he should know that a half-hour may work for him, it does little for me."

Posted by rowan at April 05, 2004 03:57 PM