Sunlight slides against a black spiral, turning it a living, deepest brown. From sunrise over a silver, slipping river, illumination lands on a body in recline like a dusting of gold, drizzling inward from the windows along the port and starboard bow. Pale skin, having lost its golden glow over the winter, regains it slowly with the arrival of the full blush of spring. An athlete's body that encases in it the heart of a general and poet, a dreamer and a lover...
     He lies peacefully, serenely in the middle of the bed, the river rocking beneath him gently, rippling the water of the liquified bed. His face turned half in the pillow, his naked arms and legs in various comfortable directions, Kit Marlowe drifts in continuing, much deserved rest...
     It is the first respite in... he cannot remember how long. His Song filled The Marches, his herald light ushered home a long lost Love, the general led his troops of dreams and aspirations to sweet sounds of victory. He was there as he needed to be...
     But a moment...
     O, he made a wish for himself, let there be a Moment when This Is Done, that I might do Nothing. Just lie here and wait.
     And dream...
     A talisman rests in the hollow of his throat, a polished chunk of basalt bound in black leather. It is all he wears. The sheets are piled around him in half-cast off heap, violet and blue vivid colors of his Realm of Night.

     You'll miss the gentle rock of the boat.
     You'll miss the knock on the railing.
     You'll miss the scent of coffees. The soft steps of someone large.
     "Good morning," comes the voice piercing the dawn. A cheerful voice, but respectful -- some aren't nourished by the sun's rays.
     "Oh, shi--" Soldekai stops at the bottom of the stairs. Starbucks' cups are glanced at, then the Archangel walks into the room proper, setting the waffle-warmed drinks down on the nightstand.
     It's a well-deserved sleep. Soldekai stares a moment, not really sure if it's a good to disturb the sleep of the righteous...

     He seems so blessedly normal when he's sleeping. There is a perfection in the imperfection of the human form. Cupid-like curls disheveled by a pillow. Hands resting lightly on his own skin, all traces of Venice now gone.
     Somewhere in his floating space, his crystalline palaces, his many floating pillows in his own basilica of dreams, tended by those most loved of Blandine when he rests, there wafts a scent of...
     ... coffee...
     Great turbaned wonders spring up, cinnamon swirl clouds and something of caramel and vanilla. The fingers twitch and there comes an even greater light than the dusting of sunlight against his skin. A moment where you can see your own effects upon him. A breath. A shift.
     Blue-green eyes, he's changed them again to match the colors of the much-missed Adriatic, open suddenly, cupped by dark lashes quickly blinking. The eyes land their attention on the pillow, to the nightstand and coffee -- aha! -- as he twists and then, sitting up, he's looking for the one Being in all the universe who would be in his boathouse bearing frothy goodness.
     A dream-lazy hand reaches up slowly and rubs his eyes, his other bearing him up. Naked as a jaybird, enjoying the sunlight and silky sheets, Kit smiles at you, full mouth still reminiscent of Italian sculptures, as if imprinted there and their ideal found.
     "I was dreaming about Icelandic beaches and lava pools," his morning voice is rough-silk, hewn but not yet smoothened into something lovely. His other hand lowers, helping to brace him up and his legs lie wide, one covered in violet and blue sheets, the other not. He looks at you a long while, Kit does, letting his head fall against a shoulder. He stares, openly. He smiles, warmly.
     "Good morning," his mouth curls a lazy, cupid smile. "You came all the way from heaven to bring me Starbucks?" A hand makes a sudden riot of dark curls. "I could use it..."

     "If Heaven is near Southwark," Soldekai smiles, still hovering near the bed. He smiles as he watches, taking delight in the scene. "I was at the cathedral and here was the next obvious spot. I didn't mean to wake you," he says softly. "I was going to let the coffee get cold instead of doing that. You deserve sleep," Soldekai smiles. "Or so the Dreamers tell me." His hands come to his waist. "Instead, I was staring," he admits.
     "But you woke anyway," Soldekai mock-sighs. "You can go back to sleep if you want. It's early..." he notes for the record.

     "No no no," he all but sings it, "The smell of coffee did it. All of the sudden Iceland turned into a Turkish bath, there was cinnamon and caramel.. and then I had to wake up ...I was thirsty!" Kit grabs the pillows, piles them up and sits up, propped up to drink.
     For a time, he looks at you, his own staring fit with oceanic eyes and he smiles. "Maybe heaven is near Southwark," Kit grins. "I happen to think it's in the Waterloo area, personally. But maybe I'm biased. You joining me?" A hand throws open the sheets, an invitation if you've ever seen or heard one.
     "I am taking a few days off for reflection," his constitutionals. "It was...taxing," helping Andrealphus, being the one there, calling out to him, showing him the way and lighting it, the first there to speak to him, the first to call him by his name. It required nearly every force he had to do what he done, to be that Transition.
     He exhales, "I am just so happy to see you. Any moment I can have with you, in your presence, to see you smile at me. To know," he grins, "...that you are staring at me as I sleep..."

     Ah, but Soldekai's face lights up. "I thought you'd never ask."
     He steps out of his shoes -- pausing as he thinks about removing more -- and then climbs onto the bed.
     Picking up his coffee, something dark and unadulterated, he rests against the pillows nearest him. "I am glad you are taking a few days and letting others tend to you," in dreamscapes. "If it is all true," the rumors, the unseen, "...then..." Soldekai's brows simply arch. "I need to see more though..." So far you. Him. Rumors in the dark. But the great legions of either side are unaware. "Just...whatever you do, don't...talk about it." And try not to dream about it, but he knows better.

     The other must be some sugar-induced, super-sweet concoction with frothy steamed milk and god-knows-what in it. Eyes widen and Kit takes up the coffee, cradling it to him like a firstborn child. He sinks into the pillows, lying flush against you and he smiles up at you. But in that smile is Knowing and Understanding. It does not have to be spoken. You see it in the lift and the lower of those dark lashes.
     "My dreams are usually about the same things. Blue-green water, white sand, foot prints, necklaces made out of shells and you." Kit smiles to you, face reddening a little. "I love you," he whispers it and he gives a coffee kiss.
     He doesn't talk about it. He doesn't want to talk about it when you are here. "I dream about this simple joy. Oh, and the lava pools, naturally." The smile curls ribald at the rim of the capped cup. "There's some amount of nudity and usually a lot of singing..."

     "Oh, yeah?" Soldekai grins too, behind his cup. "I'd like to know what they think of that," he smirks.
     A kiss is returned, though he doesn't say the words.
     "I'm not sure what I dream about these days, when I dream." It's only his vessel that does such. Soldekai thinks a moment, taking another sip from his cup. "You, I think. Naked. Swimming. Food sometimes. Maybe work, who knows," he smiles.
     "Maybe it's time we visited Iceland," Soldekai muses. "This time, it's your official break." Not his.

     "If only they would gossip," Kit laments with a sigh and a smile, "... maybe they can be plied if you asked. They're a pretty tight-lipped bunch. They're probably afraid to gossip. One doesn't air Archangelic Laundry." Pause. "Well, apart from other Archangels..."
     Blue-green eyes flash to you in their sea-depth, sea-color but human warmth and dark eyebrows kick upward. "I would like that. An official break of my own... loitering in the sanctuary of your secret Icelandic fortress," he chuckles. "Sounds more mysterious that way," comes the stage-whisper after. "After coffee?" he suggests.
     And then he grins...
     "I know I'm not your guardian angel anymore," Kit murmurs, "...and you don't need my help dreaming or hoping for things. But... is there anything you wish, Soldekai? Something that you wish to experience, to see, to do, to have, to give... I ask only as an interested party of a non-official sort. Simply as the Being who loves you..."

     He thinks a moment, growing quiet as he breathes across the top of his coffee. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, Soldekai glances right and shrugs slightly. "I am good, Kit, y'know?"
     You can't take Minnesota out of the angel.
     "Right now, there are things for me to do, and..." Soldekai smiles, "I am with you. That is...all I need," he nods, eyes narrowing as he thinks on it. "It is...more than I ever imagined, Kit. I am still happy in that."

     Kit smiles easily, sipping his coffee, shoulder to shoulder with the Archangel of Brilliance, his lover. "If I am the dream you dream," he murmurs, "...then so be it. I am content." But you know, he wouldn't be Him if he didn't ask...
     "More than content, actually," another sip of his coffee as he settles back against a pile of pillows. "So... we were talking of Iceland," a grand segue and a grand idea! Rolling his head to the side against his shoulder, he then leans his head upon your shoulder. "I think lava pools, steam baths, shell gathering and sand-angel making are very much in my future, and in my wishes of wishes. My Official Break could be no better spent than there and with you. I am ready...."

Posted by rowan at April 29, 2004 09:53 PM