No matter what time, day or night, the phone always makes itself known. Not the house phone, for there isn't one.
His damned cellphone.
Granted, Edward has a pretty elaborate one. He has rings for just about everyone on the planet: a particular ditty from the Loire for William; a Welsh chanson for Davydd; 'Lili Marlene' for Valan -- don't ask the explanation.
It does help knowing a telecom guru.
The vibrating is incessant tonight. Despite having the cellphone on silent, the phone makes itself known. Whether resting on the softness of the bed, the wood of the nightstand, or the plush of the carpet, somehow, with this phone, silent isn't really silent. Just a gentle buzz.
Someone must need to reach him. Urgently.
Edward breathes raggedly, his canines distended so much earlier near the front door. But he was convinced that perhaps he should wait a little longer.
Isn't that now?
The sheets move as Edward pulls them, his hands curled beneath the pillow. He lifts his head and looks over his shoulder, then falls back to the feathers beneath him. Black hair falls over his face, leaving one eye visible to the world as he presses into the bed beneath him.
You're enjoying this far too much, his expression had said, but he murmured nothing as he sought the comfort of the pillow again.
There are vibrators and then there are vibrators, and when the cellphone buzzes it sounds like the plague of locusts from The Ten Commandments. Ramses, free my people! Do you beg now for your own freedom, Edward? Freedom from this? I did not think so...
"Do....
...you....
...need...
...to get that, ami?"
Valan Montague -- a Montague by any other name -- sits up, a hand to your shoulder, a grin on his face, gold-green eyes full of shit, canary feathers everywhere, and his hips in constant, curling motion. Back and forth, relentless as the Adriatic so recently visited, in a motion and in a rhythm that cannot be predicted.
"Sounds.... ah oui...Eduard..." The rest just falls off in French that isn't taught in school rooms but in school yards all over Paris (as well as parts of North Africa and South America).
Meanwhile, his own phone has been turned off. No more calls during sex. For those calling him when his phone is off, there is a message that says: Hello, I am not able to come to the phone right now. I'm too busy coming somewhere else. Leave a message.
Whoever it is, if it is the same person, is insistent. Answer, damn you.
But Edward's about as likely to answer the phone as he is to answer the question put before him, especially not now as his face remains plastered to the pillow. His shoulders heave and fall back - much like the rest of him does - and Edward looks over his shoulder again, as if missing the far more familiar sight of your face.
The buzz stirs again, and Edward turns his face in the sound's direction. He reaches out with one arm and picks up the tiny device, turning it to face him.
"Non...non...ami...laissez...laissez le..."
He groans, letting his hand fall to the bed. Now, whether that was for the right fucking he's getting or the caller on the phone, it's difficult to tell, until...
"Villon..."
Edward lets the phone slip from his hand, though he sighs as if he should pick it up....
There is a momentary pause, a slight shift of position, hands slithering down a muscular back, rivulets of ... magic in their wake, well magic of a sort, a very particular sort, and buzzing phone is joined by humming skin. He braces himself, your lover, his feet upon the bed...
And he sighs out as if you were doing this to him instead of the other way around...
"Je ne crois pas ceci. C'est trop bon..." Valan says, his head dropping, his hands gripping your hips (lifting them a little) and then that momentary pause is abruptly ended. "Oui... ici... soulevez... me montent."
Villon...
Villon...
The Prince of Paris is on the phone...
Valan stops suddenly, whines and then sighs. "You should get that... he is calling again... and I can't believe I am saying this..."
The phone goes silent again. The hum ends, followed by an almost suppliant whisper of "...ami, baisez..baisez-moi.."
So few can command the Comte du Blois. Generals, kings, even Princes, he has ignored. Yet, with a simple murmur and the move of your hand, Edward willingly moves, his body charmed with the lilt of your voice. Shoulders lift, weary with the holding of the world, as Edward lifts from the bed and onto his bracing elbows. The pillow cradles his forehead, and his lengthening black hair spills forward onto the linen. An angle forms sharply along the line of his back, rising as his knees bend and part widely.
It is as you command...
His stomach bends his hips into the bed and then back, slowly at first. Once, twice. At the top of the bed, Edward shudders, closing his eyes as he lets his cheek fall to the pillow again. Forward, back. He moans again, adrift somewhere in the haze of desire that slithers within him.
The question about the phone is unanswered. In fact, another minute passes and the phone remains quiet.
Where the hand lies...
Radiating outward from what you impale yourself upon...
Issuing with all the subtlety of a sigh...
And all the strength of a groan...
He loses himself in you as you have done in him a thousand times. Unable to speak anything coherent, Valan dissolves into wordless sounds, vowels and consonants strung together without sense and without reason.
The Ecstasy he gives he also receives...
It becomes automatic, his motion within you. You direct it and he joins in it, the push and pull of immediate, clicking, joining. He moves without controlling his motions, no thought giving to them. It is pure instinct.
Open mouthed, Valan tips back his head, and soundless moves to join you, hands grasping tight with a sudden desperation. Shuddering, shaking, throbbing, emptying. He falls back on his haunches then lies back, taking you with him.
Straddling his lap, him buried within you, his hands sliding up your back and clenching.
Finally...
A sound...
Two words...
Oh...
Fuck...
You might be able to see his feet, his toes curled and locked, his hips making small rotations as he can't help himself from wallowing in you and in the... drug of his own making, the intoxication of sex, the greatest narcotic of them all, and in Ecstasy...
Valan jerks inside you, though his body has nothing to give. Even if it did, he would still jerk inside you, the orgasm folding in on itself, becoming ... it would seem... as immortal as you and he...
A gentle vibration rises again from the cellphone.
Back and forth Edward continues to move, his pace quickening. The bed moves in time with his large frame, though it has proven itself up to the challenge on more than one occasion. He gasps and rocks steadily as his thighs part wider and wider, greedily wanting, and accepting, more - ever more - of whatever you wish. His left arm extends forward, and without hesitation, all of him is soon writhing beneath you, his mouth parted against his hardened bicep.
"...baisez...baisez...baisez-moi..." he begs, Edward's free hand sliding between himself and the sheets to clench his straining cock. He undulates from where he's impaled to the tip of his head, and after once...twice...Edward's face lifts to the headboard before him, his thighs tightening and slackening ever quicker.
Where hands clench, it is there again. Where you impale yourself. The pleasure does not abate but spirals outward all over again. Valan shifts beneath you again, his mouth opening, widening at your skin...
The hard edge of a distended canine traces a line against your flesh. "Je fais mal pour vous. Je brule pour vous. Je suis affame de vous," his breath sounds there.
And then the fucking phone... again with this phone!
Narrowing his eyes, as if his very look could set it on fire, Valan reaches out and takes it. Not bothering, of course, to stop thrusting. Breathless, he must sound. "Yeah?"
Not 'hello'... not 'bonjour'... a breathless, deep 'yeah'. As in: Yeah, what the fuck do you want and who the fuck are you?
Nice.
The phone is hesitant a moment, then a voice comes through clearly. "M. Meurelle?" No, no the voice they hear is not quite Edward's. "Un appel telephonique pour vous de Paris."
And 'Paris' is not just the city...
"Ahhhh...baisez-moi, bebe, me le donnent, je le veulent...ami, Valan...plait...prenez...prenez-moi...oui...oui..faites..."
"Hallo?" the voice, a female, says again, not sure what it's hearing. Is that someone? Damned international calling.
No, but the sigh sounds like him. A chip off the Old Block, he learns well, the young Brujah. "Oui... oui..." Valan says suddenly, hearing the voice over the phone, eyes wide. Yes, you can hear. "...Je comprends," he sighs again, "...Je ne devrais pas avoir repondu. Il n'est pas disponible. Je lui dirai, cependant. Il appel de volonte retour des qu'il pourra en mesure ..." Valan says, breathless yes. Maybe he ran for the phone. It happens sometimes, yes?
Oh, ami... I cannot take this from you...your pleasure. Why did I answer this phone?
Because I cannot stand the racket, that is why...
One hand latching at Edward's hip, the other holding the phone, Valan closes his eyes, his body landing against his lover's own. He clears his throat, as if that will cover the sound. "Je lui dirai que vous avez appele...."
The voice, again, is hesitant. No one tells a prince that they are 'indisposed' and will 'call you back.' Just in case the person needs English, the woman's voice switches, "His Excellency is...expecting...this call. Now."
Edward moans again, his body deep in the quickening throes of ecstasy. He groans and grunts, moving regardless of what happens behind him. He was commanded, and so he gives himself still, until this, whatever it is, releases him.
But he doesn't want such freedom.
He, too, expected something...his entire self taken body and soul. Edward asks for it in the constant opening of himself to you, although his words are rendered silent by his pillow.
"Mais oui," he gets it. He was hopeful -- youth tends to be -- but he exhales a little. "Un moment." He hesitates. "Je.... l'obtiendrai... I will... get him. It will... take a few moments? I am sorry, but..." He tries not to smile. He wants to say it so bad: I am knee-deep into his ass and he's not going to be happy about my leaving...
But he does not...
Valan sets the phone on the bed and gives Edward's hip a pat and a jostle. "Ami... ami...Je suis desole, bebe... j'ai repondu a votre telephone. Il me conduisait fou... mais... c'est Paris... que le prince doit parler avec vous maintenant..." Talk about coitus interruptus. Valan sighs, body having to meet yours again, and when his hand meets you next, the Ecstasy is pulled back. It is just a touch. A nudge.
Rude awakening... the feeling of him sliding out and sitting back. For the phone, voices, sheets, bed moving, god only knows what's going on (and He probably wouldn't be pleased, from the sounds of it). "Edward..."
After another slide forward and back, the touch of the hand causes Edward to sink, drained, to the bed. His hand still beneath him, he groans at the ache of his own weight on his wrist.
His sigh is long and deep. A moment passes before his hand appears again, dragging along the bed towards its other at the pillow. He's waking up, and its hard.
"Wha--" Edward whines, only half-twisting to see you. His legs twine around each other as he's full-length now, collapsed, onto the mattress.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he whispers, wondering where did it all go? What's happened. Edward's face is bright crimson, as much of him is, and he bites his bottom lip as his hand seeks to stroke his raging hardness.
Wait. His eyes narrow. Something about a phone...
Oh. A call. It was ringing. Edward glances over to where he recalled it being last, and his fangs, long lengthened, slowly disappear behind his full lips as he exhales, still trying to clear his head.
There was little response on the phone from the voice, save, "You will be connected in two minutes," informing curtly.
Apparently English did do the trick.
Yes. Phone. The one he lifts from the surface of the bed. A woman and a prince waiting on the other end. "Je desole," he says again, to you both. "Le voici..." Valan hands the phone over to Edward, his other hand surrounding Edward's length. "Prince de Paris..." he explains to Edward, seemingly.
I am sorry, ami... the look says it all. Again, I will promise never to answer your phone!
Enveloping warmth smoothes against you, heated, wet mouth, to sooth the misery he created. Surely you can talk on the phone while he takes care of you. Perhaps you can have sex on the phone with Villon in hearing range and it will not matter. To them, I am an impertinent secretary!
Now he thuds against the bed in a heap. "Villon..." Edward laments, looking down when his poor, roughened cock is given a respite. He smiles and gasps slightly at the closing of lips around it, a hand coming to your shoulder to say 'gently.'
"You talk to him," Edward whispers, then gives a weak smile when he realizes what he's said...and where you are currently. "And tell him that we're busy and I'll call him back. Or...that you will give me the message," Edward waves.
"I did that already," mouth smoothes against the crown, tongue pressing at the cleft it finds and he sighs warmly over it. "I was told that the Prince of Paris does not wait ...His Excellency, she said. And that you have two minutes..."
The phone is yours, ami...there on your stomach...
Valan's next words are a groan around the hardness in his hands, his mouth enveloping it, stroke and suckle, spiral and swallow. The golden head bobs in your lap beneath the horizon of the telephone.
Maybe this will get Villon to call you less...
Or, maybe it will backfire and he will call you more...
"Fuck," Edward says, seeing that you're not having any of that. Or maybe that was to the action below his current horizon. Edward exhales and takes the phone up, putting it on his ear.
"Your...Excellency..." Edward drolls, expecting someone to say something.
Something is indeed said on the end of the line. Edward's hand touches your golden hair, and his eyes close as he rests against his pillow. But his brow knits, then rapidly arches as he listens.
There is little he likes better than this...
To feel you in his mouth...
It is when his five senses may focus completely on you all at once. You in his mouth, to his throat. They say that ... if you do what you enjoy you will always succeed. If you love your work, you will perform it excellently. That must be why he is such a virtuoso of fellatio.
Valan lifts his head beneath your touch, gold-green eyes looking to your face, your expression over the rim of your cock. What a sight that is.
Lips pucker, squeezing slightly as he takes you in again, his eyes still watching your face. And then the devil grins.
"I'm here," Edward says in the best business voice he can come up with currently. A pause. "I heard you...are you sure? He said this?" Edward shifts and licks his bottom lip, then looks down to you with a smile. 'L'infant terrible,' Edward mouths.
"Yes, if it is true, then...it is...amazing. No, no, I believe you, just...that...I mean, what am I supposed to say?"
He smiles again around you, mouth closing down slightly and then he closes his eyes. Listening to you, your voice moves through him like a vibration. He does not stop, but he does wonder...
... If what is true...
What is this amazing thing...
Someone saying something...
Valan lifts his head, tongue flattening over you, tapping, as his eyebrows open outward. "What is happening, ami?" he whispers there.
Edward looks down, lifting his hips at you. He winks and mouths, Wait.
"Oui, c'est magnifique. But...I need to go...hmm...of course!" Edward sighs, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I'm glad you called, but...I'm a little busy, Francois."
Then, more listening.
"Fine, fine. What do you want me to say? The little infant and I are dick-deep. Is that what you want? Christ, Villon."
There is laughter from your lap...
But the laughter is soon muffled by you filling his mouth again...
"Alright. I'll call you back and give you details. Oh, fuck NO!" Edward suddenly yelps. "Don't even think about it."
And the prince is suddenly hung up, and summarily tossed aside.
Laugher again. Valan looks up, grinning around your head. "So...what was all that about? And what did he want to know to make you scream out like that...?" Curiosity kills the Montague. Lips pucker and suckle again, toying.
"Was it worth the interruption at least? Though," he winks, "I do not know if anything could be worth interrupting that," he shudders.
"No," Edward says emphatically, "...it wasn't fucking worth it." Not whatsoever. "He," Edward twists again, looking for his cigarettes and not spotting them, "...says," he shrugs and mumbles, "...I got some commendation from the Torries."
"And then, the bastard had the steelies to ask me if it was so good, maybe you should visit him next time you're in Paris. Fucker," Edward murmurs, falling flat again onto his back. "I don't even know why he said that. He just said it to piss me off."
"Commendation?"
The bed shifts and that mouth brushes against your mouth, smiling. "You are cute when you are pissed off, possessive." He grins. "You should get back at me, yes, for answering your phone again, when I promised not to." Valan stretches, reaching for the nightstand, opening the drawer. Cigarettes. Lighter.
"I have an idea on how I can make it up to you..." He smiles, warmth and wickedness, as he offers the cigarette to you. "It involves ...tying my hands, yes? So they cannot reach the phone..."
Edward sits up with his elbows behind him, propped up. He looks down to see bodies and legs twined, then looks over to see the arriving cigarettes.
"Bloody good idea," Edward grins, hand caressing himself again then accepting the cigarette. "I'm still hungry," he murmurs, taking a long smoke and smiling.
Smoke pours forth and fire is put away and past the opaque screen of scented fog, your Romeo grins, mouth still blushed as he lies flush against you. "You got good news, you should tell me more," he looks across you and then down to your hand and what it strokes. Curling catlike his smile winds its way, slow as the smoke that issues from it. "From the Torries?" Not the political party nickname, you mean the Toreador.
Valan Montague rolls onto his side, reaching, taking the ashtray and putting it on your stomach. There, now you will not get ashy. Or turn to ash from fire. That would not be good, ami. Smoke and breath moves against your skin as he leans in, ash tipped into the tray and mouth parting at your shoulder. "So, this commendation. What did it say? Who sent it?"
This time? Edward sets the cigarette onto the ashtray, then twists to put his pillow against the headboard so he can rest against it. "The Council of Ten. Prince and council of Venice. For that stuff with the witch who killed the Primogen of Saarbrucken." Not a personal friend, true, but someone of position, influence, and apparently some good will. Edward shrugs and reaches for the cigarette again with thumb and forefinger, resting once everything's in its place.
"Lion of Venice," Edward repeats to the ceiling, "...and um...no, no, citizen of Venice, Lion Blessed of St. Mark's..." and he waves his hand.
"That sounds lofty," Valan smiles as he looks to you. "Though, you are a lion. Or am I thinking of tiger." He laughs, letting golden eyebrows wiggle. "I concur with this, lion of Venice... lion of this bed. So... citizen? Does that mean what it sounds like? That you may call Venice home if you choose?"
He pauses to consider this, having never really considered Italy among places he would linger. Though, he enjoyed his time there...
"That is a big thing. To be granted citizenship to a domain," he learns quickly, your Enfant Terrible. "That is two for you, very close together. You are going to make some people," Mortimer, "...jealous." He smirks. "I bet I know one man who, if he hears of it... and who are we kidding, ami, you know he is going to hear of it... he will be bitching about how you get to do whatever you want or like and get recognition..." he clears his throat and puts on his best Mortimer: "...simply for being in the right place at the right time."
L'Enfant Terrible, indeed. He winks and taps ash from his cigarette. "So... what happens with such things? Do you have a scorecard or something? Does someone keep score of the commendations one gets and then demerits if one does something stupid?"
He smiles, despite conversation about Mortimer. "He's a shite, ami. He doesn't know his arsehole from his eye at this point." As Edward talks, the cigarette flutters at his lips, "But yeah," he confesses, "...folks will talk." He understands that fact, but doesn't have much to add to it.
"In fact," Edward now frowns, "I'm surprised that we haven't heard from..."
Oddly enough, the cellphone rings again.
Edward snarls suddenly, teeth bared. "My fault," he grumbles at himself. "Never speak the words, ami..."
"Guillaume?" Valan says with a smile, preferring the Franc appellation of William these days. Since they're evening out together in fact, though he is no longer calling him 'Gui' at least. Gui... can only be uttered breathlessly, sounding at once far too intimate for anyone's tastes.
With an exhale and a roll of his eyes, followed then by the roll of his body onto his back, Valan chuckles. "Jinx," he murmurs. "Who will it be... Guillaume, the Prince of London, Mortimer to kiss your ass ... as if... or ... " Who else would call...?
Davydd? But he doesn't seem to care about this stuff...
"And oui," Edward shrugs, expecting the phone to be handed to him after you pick it up, "...it means, I guess, we could live in Venice. As for that, that is..." Edward exhales, stamping out his cigarette, "...well, pick it up and see. I'm sure she'd want to speak to you..." he smiles and winks.
Hand fumbles for the phone as his other hand stamps out his cigarette in turn. Valan smirks. Maria? Why not? There is an exhalation as The Evil Boy Who Has No Manners picks up the phone and takes the call. "Bonsoir..."
In a matter of seconds, he will regret not having a whiskey or a cigarette, he is sure...
"Valan! Buenas noches! Como estas? Es tan maravilloso oir su voz. Oigo que usted y mi Edward han estado haciendo algunas cosas maravillosas, s?"
Just a thought brings her voice, apparently. Edward shakes his head and looks for another cigarette -- he can hear her clearly.
"Estoy llamando para oir hablar de el todo! Por que usted no me llamo? Cualquiera de usted. Esta es la mayoria de las noticias excelentes!" Indeed, so marvelous. Of course you should have called her.
Maria goes quiet finally, allowing you to fill the space. Go on, tell the story.
"Es bueno oir de usted tambien -- ha sido demasiado largo," Valan says, warmth in his voice and his Spanish impeccable. His voice carries a smile, the smile that is echoed on his mouth. "...Es buenas noticias. Acabamos de oir hablar. Villon llamo para decirle sobre. Es un honor muy importante."
He could not agree with her more, apparently. Better jot this day down for posterity's sake.
"Pero en cuanto a como sucedio y a porque, tendre que diferenciar al Leon de Venecia," Valan grins to Edward, "...para contar la historia. No estaba alli, donna. La falte!" He smiles. "Se que tiene que hacer con la justicia para el asesinato de Sarrebruck. Pero dejare Edward decirle. El es mejor en las historias..."
"Si, mijo. Y un honor a usted tambien, si, para tal Padre! Dele el telefono, por favor," Maria coos, almost gushing. "Hablaremos el uno al otro otra vez otra hora...in Espana!" she offers, quieting for the pass of the phone.
"Si," Valan says of Spain and of seeing her. "Here he is," sudden English. "Buenas noches, donna Maria..." And thus the torch is passed, Eduard. It is your turn. The phone is offered to you with a smile. "La Donna," he says.
It would seem that the troubles between them are put away. Dealt with perhaps? Or at least in a state of detante...
Edward exhales and puts on his Talking-With-The-Dona-Get-Her-Off-The-Phone voice. An appeasing son's voice, though a voice that is not too far from reminding that he's a man. Fingers motion at another cigarette sweetly, asking for it without asking.
"Maria, si, si, es maravilloso. Estoy alegre usted llame, aunque no puedo permanecer en el telefono," Edward explains immediately. "Si, acabamos de oir las noticias de Paris. Si, la traje solamente al consejo, dona. No era una captura grande. Ella habia venido a Venecia, es toda, y la seguimos, la encontramos, y la trajimos antes del consejo y del Justicar." A smile to you. "Si, si, dona. Gracias, muchas gracias..." he says in charming tones.
Hands recently freed by the stamping out of the cigarette may now busy themselves with other things. Namely, you. A hand slides over your hip and stomach, trailing along your thigh and up, back to your stomach, your chest and then he is sinking beside you, your Montague, his mouth parting at a broad shoulder again.
Edward's nostrils flare and his grin slants slightly. No longer is it the obedient son of Maria of El Adar, it is the knowing smile of her prodigal son. "Valan esta bien, senora, gracias por preguntar. Su presentacion estaba de hecho, un grandes exito y acontecimiento. Ah, usted oyo hablar el. Si, mijo hizo una impresion formidable. El ha estado muy ocupado desde la presentacion. El es en muchos horario estas noches. Lo veo apenas. Muchos creen que el esta de la herencia de EL-Adar, tales ahora se hablan en Londres."
Edward's brows lift and fall, as he lets his right thigh fall open. "Si, si. Estoy seguro que el quisiera visitarle otra vez en Espana," Edward adds, grinning wickedly in your direction. "El habla de visitar."
Mouth parts at your shoulder, and Montague smiles as you speak highly of him. Smiles as his mouth moves open against your skin at chest, stomach, hip and thigh. He would not mind Spain these nights. He should see it again. He is different now.
Older...
Wiser...
A 'made' man as it were...
He likes the inside of the thigh, he lingers there a while, shifting to take position, and lay anchor, between your thighs. A scrape of canines and he looks up your body, gold-green eyes flickering wickedness right back at you...
Her voice goes on about something, but Edward interjects, his gaze squarely upon you. "Debo ir, Maria. Alguien... esta viniendo. Pronto." And he means it. She agrees, realizing that you both must be so busy!
"Le llamare por telefono otra vez con la informacion sobre nuestra llegada a Espana. Si, si, dona. Muchas gracias...gracias otra vez. Si, hablaremos pronto, dona. Este bien," Edward says softly, genially.
He sighs, closing the phone and tossing it towards the foot of the bed. All done.
Valan grins as the phone is tossed, his mouth descending around your length again. Lifting, he breathes his last words of Spanish tonight: Brazo de santo del Leon de Venecia," the Council of Ten is not the only body who can heap praises upon you, Edward Meurelle.
Yes, literally translated, it means: the saint's arm of the Lion of Venice. But, the vernacular you would know instantly: the huge erection of the Lion of Venice.
And, si, he does kiss his mother with that mouth...
Posted by rowan at April 18, 2004 12:27 PM
