There are two main cabins, private, each separated from the main cabin by a typical, clicking airliner door. Within each, are comfortable (certainly by airline standards) sleeping arrangements and available seating. Being that it is Ian Dunross' jet, there is also a bar in each. What it is lacking are windows.
     Overhead lights give a sort of spotlit stage or track-lit museum sort of feel. Beneath one of these spotlights is a well-dressed young man with a glass full of brandy (the sort one can only find with William), but no cigarettes. He is so used to mortal flying that he doesn't even question the lack of smoking.
     Dressed in his navy blue and browns, his couture du jour, golden hair mussed in several directions, he's not reading or watching the telly on the screen provided (it's dark). Valan Montague is sitting there in contemplation.
     Wondering how it is this group of people finds themselves in this position...
     What is this position...
     And what is happening with Davydd in the next room...
     Gold-green eyes flicker to the wall that divides them. He imagines the wall is thin, it will not hide much sound. In fact, he can hear the quiet interchange of voices, deeper (William's) and younger (Ian's) and moments of silence (Davydd) in between...

     The door closed, Edward takes a moment to glance at his watch, calculating quietly. "We have an hour or so," he notes, "...before we land. I guess we're going to Edinburgh," Edward states, his French coming easily these nights. In fact, if he's not careful, he might reveal his true birth to a great swath of Londoners.
     Edward sighs and comes to sit across from you at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, ami," Edward begins. "Um, where do I start?" He hasn't seen you since night-before-last. Edward frowns and looks to the floor, between his parted feet and exhales.
     "Davydd...says he's not a vampire. He says he...is a Fae king of some kind," the words recalled now in the quiet, and said reluctantly. "And that he's never been..." a vampire. One of us. Edward looks up and shrugs. "That...is the problem. Because," his hand waves 'as you understand', "...breeches aren't taken lightly, if it's true. And...I guess it's true." Cause Davydd said it.

     There is some understanding -- understanding at least why he has not seen you much. Damage control. The recently presented vampire, having stood in the company of princes, harpies, debutantes and courtiers, can easily grasp the notion of breech. Afterall, it has been drummed into his head with all the rhythmic consistency of the Kyoto drummers.
     Valan looks at you quizzically, glass of brandy (William's -- you can smell it from where you sit, it is pear and honey) lowered to rest on his gabardined thigh. "A... fae?" he asks in English, with all the sweetness of a foreigner unsure of what he is saying. He does not know what a fae is.
     Valan Montague leans in with his gold brushed features, his strong hand finding your own. "It does not matter what it is," he answers his own question softly, "...if he has ... not been as you all thought. What difference. It... will not matter to such men as Mortimer or Tattinger..." The only Court he knows, really.
     "So..." He exhales, "...what is going to happen, Edward.... what are you going to have to do? They cannot know.. or... I cannot imagine it would be good for any who has known him. Not even me. Will they blame you for bringing him into the ...way of things. He has been around a long time as... something else. I ... did not know that such a thing could happen. I have heard that some have a way of seeing what things are what... " Auspex.
     "What is going to happen to him?" There is concern there, but it is multi-layered. Mostly, it is for you...

     The hand joins with its other. Edward's brows arch at the barrage of questions. "I don't know, ami. I don't have all the answers: how, when? And no one realized it. But a breech of this kind, for so long, could injure many of us. Make the Camarilla look week. And, just..." Edward shakes his head, "...all of the things he knows, ami," other hand covering Edward's eyes. "That alone means that...much is at risk. At stake."
     The hand falls and Edward smiles. "William thinks that...we had to do something. So, this is it, I guess. If he was not a vampire before, ami, he will be soon..." Edward explains, looking at the hazel eyes he loves. "I..." he shakes his head, "...that is the short of it, ami. We go to Edinburgh, to a prince, then, who is sympathetic."

     "It is a little bit breathtaking," he means overwhelming, but both fit in their own way. Valan looks at you, looks at the wall between cabins and then back to you. Valan nods after another moment. "I ... think to sit and wait for execution... it is not my style," his mouth slides a little, not quite a smile. "It is not yours. I am glad it is not William's."
     Valan nods again, understanding the gravity. He does not need to understand everything. "You are okay?" he says in soft English. "I am sure... it was a lot to have to hear and do in two nights." The hand slides then, finding thigh, and in the lean, mouth finds mouth. Canines distended, showing who and what he is. And is he proud to be, he revels in it, and in you.
     The kiss is brief, bloody, the definition of sex and sensuality. "Kings and generals and comtes and vicomtes," he breathes at your mouth. "Is not the best tactic still, if one can manage it, surprise?"
     Valan smiles, "I missed you, ami. Next time... you should call me. I am stronger than I look, and not as vapid as I seem," he jokes. "Now," his voice drops to a breath as he pulls out of his couture jacket, "...you should let these things go for a while. You should take this man in your arms," the smile spreads as his jacket lands on the bed, "... and let him do what he does best." Pause. "You."

     It has been a long two evenings. Edward's hand tightens, nodding at the notion of being alright. His disposition's improved, but the situation has not really been solved yet.
     The kiss and suggestion do surprise him, however. Or perhaps it is his instantaneous response to it. "I should have called you," Edward whispers, his gaze quick to watch each movement. But, then suddenly, Edward's face falls to the floor and he laughs; though it looks a lot like a blush. He shakes his head again, "You are too much for me, ami," Edward admits, face lifting. "I...must seem like a toy to you," he shrugs. Simply controlled at whim.

     Valan sighs, rolls his eyes at you, mouth forming a smirk. "Non... you, a toy? No. You are my man, my friend... and my only family," he says seriously, the smirk dissolving in such a thing. "I love you, in all those ways, Edward..." Do you not realize that?
     Maybe sex is not what you need, that release. Maybe you just need my hand and a brandy. Valan gives you his hand again, grasping yours and squeezing, and he offers you his glass of brandy. "Here, ami..." he murmurs. "I did not mean to be flippant in your ... well, confusion and pain, if that is what it is."
     He leans against your shoulder. "You are worried for your brother in there, your friend. For us. For what he knows. We go to Edinburgh... Nilsson, yes?" He met him. He remembers him. "The court of Genevieve?" He smiles a little. She is a beautiful woman. She reminds him of Astrid. A pause. Ian's court. He nods. "It will be alright, ami... I believe this. Maybe it is because I am the youngest that my faith in things is so strong," again he smiles, "...but I will believe it. For all of us."

     "No, you were not being that way," Edward affirms, grinning as you sit next to him. "I was just wondering if there was something on my face that said, 'he'll feel better if you fuck him and let him drink.'" Edward quirks, "It would have been highly effective and true, is all, ami."
     "And yeah, Nilsson. Genevieve, yes." Edward's hand pats at your knee. "I think it will work out," he concurs. "In the end."

     "Oh... well," he laughs quietly, deeply. "That is because you and I are similar creatures, yes? It is why we get on as we do. There is not something on you face that tells me this -- other than your face itself, which is very handsome -- but it is the way we are. We are men. And we are the men that we are. It is not a scarlet letter, Christophe Phillipe Eduard Meurelle."
     Sometimes you are so Medievally repressed, it makes him quirk. And then remember.
     Valan leans in, mouth at your ear, at your neck, he teases it with nips and the soft-smooth brush of his mouth after. He rests his head on your shoulder, at the crook of shoulder and neck. "I imagine that... it will take time for the dust to settle between you all," he murmurs. "But trust in the love that is six-hundred years old, ami. It is not soon to fade. I think... it will be alright... and it is ... better than if it were all to collapse, yes? So... I think we can find hope in it. And you," he reaches up to tap your temple softly once. "You will always have me to come to." Pause. "And in, for that matter." And then he chuckles a little.
     "I am sorry, ami... I can't help it..."

     Edward smirks, the color returning to his cheeks once more. A flush of blood beneath the skin. He nods, "I said -- you're too much." He believes it. The night came when dreams and fears presented themselves to him.
     "Think...it'd be..." Edward wonders, looking through the wall as if he could see his friends on the other side, "...maybe, wrong, to..." you know. "They could hear?"

     Conspiratorial eyes glance to the thin wall that separate Them from Us. "I bet," he murmurs, taking a good swallow of the brandy -- pausing after to reclaim his soul, he had forgotten that one should only ever sip William's brandy -- and cradling it to him, his other hand lifts, leading you by your lapel to sink to the bed with him. "...there is something that we can do... quietly... and yet... would it not provide the same comfort..."

     Edward shakes his head, "Comfort for who?" he wonders. "You know me, ami. We're in to the hilt, or not at all."
     "Besides," Edward laughs, resting on the bed now, "I'm not sure I could stop."

     And not one single drop spilled. Leaning up a little, Valan takes the final swallow (it did not seem to interest you), and then he settles with you and on his side, facing you. His arms slide around you and he presses himself flush there. Warmth and the light sensations of couture cologne and pear and honey brandy.
     He tucks himself in against you. And he holds you. Simply. He feels you. And he lets you feel him everywhere. Just this, ami. Just this. This is enough.
      A hand lifts up to brush over and run through your short, dark hair. He does not say more. Not of his love. Not of your friends. Not of this worry. Not on this trip. He holds you, securely, warmly. And it is enough. And it is a reminder.
     I am here...
     I will be here...

     Later. The rest will come then. When I can focus on you...and me...and not feel so guilty, I will. When I am free to do whatever I wish and not worry a single dram, I will. When I can be wholly selfish with you - I admit it - and the problems around me are sent to the background, we shall.
     For now, Edward closes his eyes, holding in the embrace. The touch of his hair brings a slight pull of his lips, and he sighs in the quiet.

Posted by rowan at May 02, 2004 11:34 PM