It's been thirty minutes since the arrival of the limousine, just five minutes after its departure. A private jet sits on the tarmac, final preparations winding down. It's thirty minutes or so to the scheduled flight...
     Destination Inverness...

     ...An Italian car (Toscano) is parked outside, a young golden haired haberdasher with a bag taking his final smoke of the last cigarette allowed before flight regulations spoil his fun...
     He's waiting for his partner, eyes turned over his shoulder, bag in hand and ready, waiting on a show of headlights...
     The Stansted stairs are parked at the jet's flank. The only marking on the jet is its registration number, ML-0101 in blue on white.

     ...In the plane, wide and comfortable seating is mostly empty. This plane built for the comfort of The Very Few. A ringed hand makes a set of drinks, and dark eyes glance to the Tag on his wrist.
     The taste of scotch blends with the taste of you that lingers at his mouth. The final fifteen minutes of the ride filled with a desperate need for comfort (and comforting).
     When this is done, his eyes say to you, I will show you the meaning of husband...

     Ian stands towards one of the private rooms a bit down the fuselage. He looks at a mirror, adjusting his jacket. There's a sigh, and he turns his chin to look at his throat. All appears in place. Ian feels the look from the front living area and tries to give a smile. There was some comfort, but now he has unused energy.
     "How long has it been?" he wonders softly, glancing at his own watch.

     From the far front of the jet, a male attendant of dark brown hair and uniform walks back to the sir at the bar. "Excuse me, sir, but there is a car outside."

     "Forty minutes," since the phone call. Twenty, thirty minutes left until the scheduled take off. Maybe an hour after that for the window of take off. You can see him doing the math in his head. William turns, looking to the attendant and he nods. "Thank you...we are expecting others."
     William leaves the scotch on the bar, glass set in the groove that'd keep it intact and still even during take off. Indigo looks down the fuselage to you and then he's leaving the drinks behind and heading for the front flank of the plane and for the stais....

     Ian nods, then looks in the mirror again. Hand lifts to adjust his collar, but then he sighs, lowering his hands. It'd be the fifth time he's made corrections.

     Near one of the gates and along the main path from the front of General Aviation, a single light appears. It pauses for a moment or two, then picks up again in motion, heading down a taxi-way towards the idling jet.

     Even with the idling jet, the sound of an airport, the sharp ears can pick out the sound of a Harley. You don't have to be immortal to hear that. The young man perched on top of his auto's hood steps off, bag in hand, cigarette dropped to the concrete and crushed immediately. An alarm is activated, keys pocketed for now.

     William appears at the opening of the jet, to see Montague. The distance hides the slight surprise. It isn't really surprise. Edward is no fool. He nods down to the young man and waves, letting him know that he is seen...

     "He is coming," Valan says at the foot of the stairs. He looks at William and he nods in return. There are no smiles exchanged.

     "Good," William replies. "He is even a little early," finally the start of a smile. "Come up... you are packed..." an observation more than a question.

     Valan smiles back, the warm look he all but has trademarked, lazy, hazy summer smile. "I am always prepared..." But he waits at the foot of the stairs. He is prepared, but not sure he's going anywhere...
     Yet...

     William nods again, corners of his mouth upturning, but he doesn't look at Valan long. His attention turns to the sound of the Harley and the approach of Edward Meurelle.

     As the bike taxis quickly down one corridor and across another, it becomes obvious there are multiple people upon the bike. The Harley's lights become brighter and brighter as the vehicle gets closer to the plane, and once the Toscano's reached, the vehicle slows to a low rumble and then halt.
     The bike tilts as Edward leans to let himself off, and with his side and hip, he keeps his riding companion, though slack, perched safely on the bike. The light is shut off and the key kills the engine.

     Valan's turning to the sound, squinting in the light, and then at its departure. It is only then that something of the seriousness that William has in his face begins to sink in. Davydd. Valan looks to Edward, turned toward him with his bag slung over his shoulder.
     This is real life. This is not a drill...
     Valan looks from the slumped form to Edward and comes forward to help him...

     Up above, Plantagenet surveys the sight. He looks to his watch, and then he heads inside. "He's here," William announces. "We should be able to leave on schedule..."

     Still at the cabins at the back of the jet, Ian comes upright, turning to see up the plane. He's only vaguely heard the commotion outside, but the announcement gets his attention. He sighs as he stares at himself in the mirror, dropping his face to look at his hands as his fingers interlace.

     "Ami," Edward smiles. He lets the bike stand on its own as he crouches and grabs Davydd by the hips and waist, tossing him over his shoulder. "Tell Will that he needs to have someone do something with the bike and the car. They can't stay out here. Go ahead inside," Edward grins, sure to follow behind.

     Valan nods, watching you lift your friend, his friend. "Is he ... okay?" Golden eyebrows knit. But he doesn't wait to hear the answer. On the tarmac. He nods again, a last look at the two of you and he moves to the stairs and up them...

     A hand appears at your hip, your husband's mouth at the side of your neck. He does not tell you that he loves you. That is everywhere evident, from grasp to breath to silence while steps sound on the stairs. William closes his eyes, simply breathing there, kissing your skin. Moments recalled of earlier. How his mouth moved against and over you. Something done for you, with you, that none has ever had with him. It, as he, belongs only to you.

     Someone is setting a bag down in one of the chairs. If he is seen, Valan will be seen admiring the comfortable confines of a private, luxury suite with wings. There are other steps, outside. Heavier. Approaching.
     "William," Valan says, craning his head to look to the back of the plane, toward the cabins, his body soon following. "Ah..." a smile, "... desole," for interrupting a private moment. "Edward is outside..." the face is serious now, concerned but unquestioning, "...he is coming up with Davydd... ah, he is saying that the car and the bike cannot remain...there is ... not much time..." And we will be coming. He looks to Ian, nodding a greeting to him.

     William's head lifts, but his hand remains at Ian's side for a moment. Nodding, he glances between the two of you. "I will make certain they are returned to Dannerly. I will make a few calls. Go ahead and ...have a seat. There is a full bar..."

     Valan smiles (only a little) and with a nod, turns to head to the chairs and drinks...

     "Emergency evacuations," William murmurs. "They can double back when we arrive in Inverness..." For now, there is not time. For now, it is just as well they are here. Out comes the phone and William turns, dialing...

     He needs every touch. Ian smiles a little, hand reaching behind as he's kissed. Valan's arrival is marked with a smile, and Ian nods at mention of Inverness and the dialing. It's time to depart.

     Edward's climb up the stairs is heavy, though he does it with quick and even motions. "He's fine," he says, more than likely to Valan, when he gets to the top of the stairs. "Just a snooze." Edward moves around the entry area and carves a direct path to one of the seats. There he crouches and gingerly sets Davydd down in a seat, making sure he's comfortable.

     Ian looks at the front of the jet, then to Valan. "How are you, M. Montague?" that voice so even and sure. Ian smiles warmly, looking at the younger man from head to toe. "You are still beautiful," Ian whispers, his blink languid as his lover steps away for the phone call.

     There is an easy smile, a natural laugh. "And you," Valan replies as easily. For it is true. And look, you made him blush. "I am very well, thanks. I have been enjoying being beautiful," but maybe not anymore. His gold-green eyes sparkle in that obvious expression, he twisting to look at Edward setting Davydd down. "As beautiful things should."
     He is curious as to what is happening (other than something momentous) but he does not ask. When he is meant to know, he will know. "It is good to see you, Ian... I didn't get much of a chance in Italy. I was too busy fending off Rossini. Everywhere I turned, there was another Italian breathing heavily on my costume..."
     You're not the only one who has a hard time with Italians...

     William's hand comes to Valan's arm, "Keys," is all he interjects, his hand expectant as he continues to speak with Kensington staff. The keys chime as they are surrendered. Departure is imminent. There are sounds from the cockpit. A hand comes to Edward's shoulder, a pat and a rub left behind as he moves on, finding that dark-haired attendant. Keys are handed over and instructions exchanged with both him and the person on the phone.

     A set of keys is tossed from Edward's pocket to the floor. He continues to make sure Davydd's alright, buckling him into his seat. "Just...keep them," Edward says. At Kensington.
     Only then does Edward come upright, to examine his work. It is the end of his part -- Davydd is safe and secure in the plane. The rest is up to others. He steps around not to Valan, but to huddle at the phone with William, and to talk to the attendant and any in the cockpit. "What's the plan?" he asks the attendant, looks at the cockpit, then to William finally. "This route has a flight plan that's less than an hour and a half, if you have route clearances for it." That means 'get them.' Otherwise, we'll be in the regular commercial routes, which are terribly slow.

     Ian grins. "They appreciate beauty in Italy. Maybe that's a little of a comfort," he murmurs, grey eyes bright. His hand lifts, and a scant touch sets a golden hair back into place. "Now," Ian says softly, "...you are perfect."
     "And you still love him," Ian half-asks, looking from Valan to Edward.

     Valan grins, a sidelong look toward Edward (and William is there as well). "I do," he murmurs. "He's a good man." The grin widens, "Exceptionally good. What am I to do? Turn that down?" he whispers. Gold glistens in the wink. "And you...?" The smile is humored as well as warm. "Love, lust... I can imagine it's a lot of both..." I mean, really. "You look amazing as always," he nods. "Would you like a drink, Ian?" We may as well settle in. For...whatever the hell we're all doing here...

     "Kensington... yes..." William finishes. Indigo eyes look to the attendant, now bearing two sets of keys, one set lifted from the floor at his feet. The cell phone is not only folded but shut down for the impending flight, pocketed. "I've already requested the change of route," William nods to Edward. Calls made from the car.
     William turns to the attendant, "If you would please put the keys in the vehicles. We will be ready for take off..." Once a pilot, always a pilot. William turns, looking to Davydd for the first time. The placid expression remains, but the eyes hold in them the seriousness of what they must do. And the love that he bears him.
     "What is he on?"

     "Midazolam," Edward says, all business now, "...it's the best on short notice. You have maybe three hours? Maybe," Edward states. "Last time I checked, mate, he managed to suck poison outta my system." Maybe is hopeful. "Let's get out of here," Edward says softly to his pilot-friend, shaking his head, finally, at the situation. "Fuck, I need a drink," he murmurs to no one, stepping around the scene up front to head mid-plane.
     "Valan," Edward says, finally lifting his voice to his companion. "Bonsoir, ami," he begins, opening his arms.

     "No, no drink, Montague, thank you," Ian starts, but then looks up as the conversation's interrupted. He is calling. Ian smiles and shrugs. There will be time for visiting later, perhaps. Until then, Ian, more than anyone, can understand the lure of a call from one's beloved.

     Figurative pilot tonight. There are other professionals on board. Besides, his best copilot is decommissioned at the moment. There was a brief glance given for the poison-sucking comment, but he doesn't pause to comment on it. William heads to the cockpit. "We're ready..."

     Valan smiles to Ian and nods. He turns, smile slanting to see the arms outspread for him. "We will gossip later," he promises to Ian in a hush. He's turning then, "Do I know you?" he teases to Edward. There is a look to Davydd. Concern. Curiosity. But he looks like he's sleeping well enough. Looks comfortable. No pain. No blood.

     The engines sound and the final preparations are complete. Stairs moved away by the ground crew. "Belts on, bar's open," William announces as he passes them both, an embrace in progress, and he goes to Ian's side, near the cabins in the back. It is a luxury liner. "He is sedated, Midazolam," he speaks softly of Davydd to Ian. "We may need to wait until we land. I don't think the sedative will last as long as Strathfayr. We will see, amours, says the look. His arms surround his husband, his mouth brushes the golden crown of his head, and then his hand pats.
     Let's have a drink...

Posted by rowan at May 02, 2004 11:33 PM