Comfortable bedding lay wrapped around his waist. Edward stares up at the ceiling, both hands behind his head. His chest swells in the stretch, and he closes his eyes slowly then opens them again to see his sleeping lover beside him.
     In the hours of travel, Edward's come to some quiet acceptance of how things are. Perhaps he flails too much in the initial current of change, but eventually, he achieves a state of motion with the rolling current, disappearing into it.
     At the ceiling, he smiles, some thoughts going through his mind. The bed creaks softly as he turns to face the man beside him, and beneath the covers, Edward slides his hands around the younger, moving closer as he places a kiss on his throat.

     They have the best beds, ami. Supportive, springy, pillow-topped wonders, thread-counts on the sheets that would make the queen blush. It is rare enough that I wish to be out of bed when you are here with me. It is even worse in a bed such as this. I could linger here for years...
      Golden hair is in more disarray even that it was earlier this night when he did it on purpose, but it still appears to have been made by a fashion-conscious hand. Purposeful disarray, then. Artistic. His creamy complexion a little lighter in tone, yours a little more rouged -- so it goes. At your kiss, the loitering golden god of London stirs from his pleasurable languor, stirring from the half-sleeping dreams and thoughts of staying in bed forever.
     A golden eye opens, green running through it softly, brightly, and Valan smiles lazily. He turns more of himself to you, his arms slipping between you and the bed to hold you also. A turn of his head and he kisses your chin.
     "Hmm... this bed, ami..." he murmurs. "We are going to stay here, you and me," he chuckles. "Maybe two nights..."

     "Maybe three," Edward's voice purrs, allowing himself a rare moment of luxury indulgence. "Or four. Maybe we need a new bed," he surmises. Thigh lifts and settles over yours, pulling you closer. "Christ, ami," you make me hot. But for some reason, he won't say it. Instead, Edward gives a wicked grin, suggesting more is definitely on his mind.
     "I guess they won't mind us staying," Edward observes, half-twisting behind to see if the last bottle is still as he remembers...somewhat filled. "Normally," he grunts, coming back around with the bottle, "I don't like staying here, but..." for some reason, it's alright now. He doesn't explain it, and half-sits up to take a long swig from the bottle before offering to you.

     There is throaty, soft laughter at your skin, laughter that begets soft French at your chin and at the corners of your mouth, and then your throat. "Quatre nuits," he says, pressed into the pillow-top, beneath that sumptuous inches of comfort there is a firm mattress, very sturdy, by the added weight of your thigh. It is the best of beds, to be sure. Of all the things William would be extravagant on, it would be a bed.
     There is more laughter, unworried about it passing between these large stones, as you grin, pulling him to you as you have. Valan slips flush to you, a thigh slipping between your own, his skin as much an indulgence as the bed itself, no?
     You see he does not disagree with the concept of More. Never...
     "Hmmm... non, I do not think they would mind us staying, no. They are excellent hosts, ami. Mostly, they keep to themselves." A pause and he grins, "... and with beds like these I know why. We definitely need a new bed..." Valan lifts a little, pressing, anchoring against you as he does, to take a sip from the bottle.
     Grinning, his mouth finds your mouth again, a hand lightly touching against the nape of your neck, fingers disappearing in dark hair, leading you to a flavored kiss. It is amazing, perhaps, that the events of this night have not led to endless questions. Oh, if it had been a few years ago, you could imagine the barrage. But he is in your arms. He is with his man. And in bed. Where they belong, in his mind.
     Too much time is spent out of it. That's when the trouble starts. With beds like these, who needs enemies?

     "Mmph," Edward says, inhaling in the kiss. When he's released, he smirks and twists awkwardly to put the bottle behind him again. He breathes a fiery exhale, returning hands to where they were before. "When we get home, you have to find us a new bed," Edward states, nodding his cheek against the pillow. "Maybe the whole room needs a spruce, eh?" Just a wonder.
     "Sometimes, I think we should move, ami. But I can never think of where. France?" Eh. He shrugs. "I think I tire of London," he murmurs.

     "There is nothing keeping us there but ourselves," Valan says. "You know... I will go...anywhere you wish to go, ami. Maybe it is France. Maybe Italy. You are a citizen. You are loved there. I know that Spain is sometimes a sore spot, but... even there, ami. I think... a change of scenery is a good thing. It is too easy to get into a rut if you do not travel or experience other things. Maybe we could settle in Fleurlil and think on it there more..."
     His fingers slide against your skin, brush against your face, along your neck, rubbing at your shoulder, feeling his man's strength. Valan looks at you, his eyes golden, his mouth blushed from kissing you. He smiles. "I will definitely shop for a new bed. You know how I like to spend money. Cost, no option. We will have the best bed that can be found... new sheets. Something new for us." His mouth pulls at yours again.
     "I think it would be nice to stay at Fleurlil, maybe a few weeks. Think about what sort of things we would like to do or... be, maybe that is best to say, to be," his mouth trails over your chin again. "Then we find a city or a place that will give us what we want..."

     The touches always humble him. Your fingers on his skin strip away the bravado. Edward's eyes close as he's caressed, and he relishes each brush. "I don't know what I want to do," he murmurs, giving confession. "I...miss Fleurlil," Edward whispers, saying something he'd never thought he'd say. But it's big, and in six centuries, he's worked hard to abandon thoughts of returning. His nose nuzzles your hand, and Edward exhales as he quiets. "I don't know what...I am supposed be doing, ami..."

     "That is okay, ami. I am not sure anyone else does either," he whispers that. A brush of his hand comes against your face again, the nuzzle you give, he leans in to kiss you as you speak of your castle. "Already, we know one thing we should do," Valan says. "We need to go to Fleurlil."
     His mouth parts at your skin again, this time at your forehead. "You gave me good advice when I followed you to this life," he murmurs there. "Valan, you said, you have to find your own way. You are a free man and the world is open to you. Do not set yourself up thinking you have to be such a way, a this or a that, or anything." Valan leans back just a little, just so he can see you. "I firmly believe that Life, and the part one plays in it, is only revealed in Time. With so much time, parts change, ami. Maybe it is time for the part of Edward in London to end for a while. So you can be free and open to the future. What you are supposed to be doing..." He smiles a little. "Why... it is me, of course," he finishes, the smile is both heated and loving.
     A dash of humor, perhaps needed.

     The part of Edward in London to end. He thinks on this a moment, as if it is news. "I didn't know...I gave good advice," he says, changing from the obvious comment. But it soon follows. "I didn't know...there was an Edward in London?" As if he is different somewhere else. He exhales, touching your forehead. "You are too smart for me, Valan Montague," Edward grins. "Are you sure that you are in the right bed," Edward smiles, pulling at you, "...in the right arms, by the right man? Maybe there is another for you out there, somewhere..."

     "Hmmm... let me see... am I in the right bed," he wonders aloud, his hands wandering here and there over you, grinning in a slant, lips pulled and teased into a wide and covering kiss that quickly (taquinez!) parts, even as his hand slips between you, caressing. "I know I am in the right bed. And I know I am with the right man. A good man," he says seriously. "He is smarter than he thinks of himself, he makes me laugh, he makes me lust, he makes me want to be with him wherever he goes. He is strong, this man. And ... even though I sometimes do not know where his body is keeping itself," he chuckles, "... I know where his heart stands. And where I stand in it. Because he is a good man. A loving man. An honest man. What other arms should I want to be in, but Edward Meurelle's? Where is there a better man for Valan Montague... where is there... a better man..." Period.
     Valan leans into you, bodies flush again and hands on you, everywhere. "I do not want to be with any other man. I love this man that is in this bed, whose arms I am in, and who makes me want him even right after I have had him, and enjoyed him," he smiles. "There is no one else who has made me... feel... like this. Loved like this. Desired like this." Then he grins. "Hot and lathered like this..."
     He reaches between the two of you again, hands moving over you, sliding, lightly clasping. "He is sexy, fashionable, funny, maddening, amazing, strong, loyal, worthy of love and trust and respect. Adored by his friends. And his heart is an endless open country to those who truly know him and who have his love in return."

     First comes a blush, followed by a stare, then bemusement. "Now, I know you are talking about someone else." All compliments must fall away, like so much teflon. Edward looks between the two of you, to some spot on the pillow. His free hand reaches down, landing roughly on top of yours between his thighs. Edward remains silent, encouraging the caresses. He closes his eyes to the world for a moment, feeling the joined hands upon him.
     "Those things," Edward still behind his lowered lids, "...are easy for you to say," he breathes. Unsure. "They're nice," to hear. "Maybe they are even true," his breath barely there. "Maybe one day --" Edward grins wistfully, leaving it there. Maybe one day, Davydd will agree.
     When his eyes open again, there is smile as his gaze is filled with you. The bed conforms beneath the joined weight of the two of you, and Edward rolls slowly onto his back, twisting again so that his legs remain joined with yours. He does not stop the caresses between his thighs, but expands his broad chest with a silent intake of breath. Clearing. Adjusting.
     "Once we are done with this bed," Edward looks to you, "I think I will be ready to go home."

Posted by rowan at May 14, 2004 01:35 PM