While you were on the phone, Valan packed away his whites and took a quick shower. Certainly far quicker than he typically takes. The man is a real water hog. But the condensation is still fresh on the air, laying on in a fine, heated mist. As you came upstairs, you would have heard the sound of the hair dryer, his hair fixed as though he were going out even though he knows he won't be going further than this room.
     He is visible perhaps even when you will be, his waist wrapped in a towel and that is all. No belly chain, no couture dripping off of his skin. Valan Montague does not need anything else other than his skin to adorn him. In his usual trappings, it is easy to forget how strong he is, his fine shape.
     Valan opens his wardrobe, removing a pair of boxers, even lounging pants. It's early yet, but he is not dressing to leave.

     Edward makes no secret of his pending arrival. The stairs were heavy with him, and the door creaked as he pushed it open. There's no plans to leave the house again, as there seems darkness from the corridor behind him, unbroken from the stairs and the floor below. Once in the room, Edward tosses his phone aside and begins to pull his shirt over his massive arms and chest, then over his head.
     He sighs through the breathable knit.
     He doesn't say much of anything, but his sighs that follow each motion - step, turn, toss - indicate his frustration. He'll exhale it away, if he's not careful.

     Valan twists, looking to you as he pulls on the lounging pants without the boxers, returning the boxers into the drawer. His look is sympathetic. But he knows better than to pepper you with questions: what's wrong, how did it go, and so on. He closes the wardrobe and quietly picks up the towel. He hangs it up to dry and looks to you again from the doorway of the bathroom.
     There, he gives his shoulder to the doorframe, his hands slipping into pockets of silk. "Can I get anything for you, ami? A drink? Your special chrome case?" Alcohol? Gak? You have a poison for nearly any ailment, and he's prepared to help you.

     Edward, who was twisting about to stare, instead grins. "The case sounds good," he thinks on it. He hadn't thought of it until you mentioned it. That'll make him feel better. "Thanks, ami," he murmurs. He hasn't had any, at least it seems, since before going to France. He bends to handle his boots.
     "So," Edward offers freely, "...I ran into Davydd at the docks," explaining his mood. "It was..." he exhales loudly instead, filling the space. Stupid. Awkward. Fucking weak. Any would work. A boot thuds onto the floor. "I don't know what to do," he just says to himself, letting the other boot fall as well.

     And suddenly the mood makes sense...
     Valan moves to the dresser, yours, and he knows just where to find it, the thing that will help you. It is better you stress here in his arms, than anywhere else. He gives his man what he needs. Edward would do no less for him.
     He is quiet as he gets it... as he brings it to you. Even as he hands it to you and takes your boots in exchange. Like the squire you never had but always wanted. "Awkward... I can imagine, ami." His hand touches your hair, your boots in his other. "And difficult... what does your heart tell you, hmm? Your first, gut instinct... "
     Valan takes your boots to the closet, putting them where they belong, and then he returns to you. "You have known him longer than I can comprehend," he murmurs as he sits on the bed beside you. "I cannot comprehend how difficult then that it must be... with things being as we left them..."

     "Don't ask me what my gut tells me," Edward says in French, winking as he takes the case and drops it to the bed. Security in the language. It keeps him grounded in its obviousness. "Nothing nice," Edward laments. He rises and unbuttons his pants, letting them slide down his thighs and to the floor. He leaves them behind and falls backwards, across the bed, arms folding across his eyes.
     "Part of me wants to beat the shite out of him and anything that had anything of anything to do with any of it," Edward waves. He knows he's not making sense. "Part of me wants him to..." he exhales, "...just be my enemy so I can kill him. But I know that's just me wanting things to be clearer," he sits up, immediately looking left and right for the case.
     But then Edward really sees the man sitting next to him, and grins. "Wow," he smirks, a sudden lascivious look creeping into his gaze. "It was only hotter," he opens the case, "...with the towel." And you got rid of it!

     "Maybe he could do with an ass-kicking," a golden eyebrow sweeps upward. "Although I do not want to encourage it. I do not know what he is capable of. I do not want you to be the guinea pig. But...you can imagine him when you beat your bag to a pulp, ne c'est pas?"
     Curling, the smile moves across his mouth, brushes gold across his expression, lastly in his gold-green eyes as he lifts his hand, fingers toying with your hair again. "You want me to put the towel back on for you, baby?" he whispers as he grins. You encourage bad behavior. So does he. "I am glad you enjoy. It is yours, I give it to you freely."
     Valan lowers his hand, tilting his head and he looks to you. "Would it be possible for it to be clearer, Edward, and for him to remain your friend?" For your options spoken both indicate ...not.

     As his hair was toyed with, Edward closed his eyes and drifted a moment, giving a nod. But the question insists that he be present, and he opens his eyes. "How am I to be his friend, ami, hmm? If I had told you, right now, that..." Edward thinks a second, then says, "...that I murdered your parents and that I am...a demon? What would you think, ami? How would you reconcile this?"
     The case open, Edward begins his process. It's set upon his lap and he gives you a sidelong look as a vial's open and its contents dumped upon the glass within.

     He exhales and shifts, coming to lean against you. His skin to your skin, his musculature against your own. Solid form, to solid form. Is this what solidarity means? "If I had known you for five or six centuries by the time you told me?" Valan is quiet for a time, his mouth landing upon your shoulder, parting and tasting your skin as you make your preparations. He feels those preparations viscerally as he bends to kiss your bicep.
     "If you had killed my parents and then five centuries had passed where we had a deep relationship... I should want to understand why you wanted to hurt me... why, after so many years of love and admiration. That is what I would want. I would not be able to forgive until I understood."
     His chin on your shoulder, Valan sighs. "But it is hard for me to answer that question, it is such a hypothetical for me. I do not have so much experience. You have so much time with him. So many things, experiences. What he seems to have murdered... is your friendship. I am unhurt, ami. We are unhurt..."

     "Can't say we're going to stay that way," Edward grumbles, foregoing the delicacies. He simply lifts the open case to his nose and sharply inhales the white contents through his nose. Without ceremony. That done, Edward shudders and lowers the case to his lap again, freeing his hands to wipe his nostrils. "So help me," Edward inhales again, the large dose wrapping itself into his blood, "...if something bad happens to the slightest hair on your head, ami, I'll kill him."
     Another shake of his head and Edward tries to stay ahead of what's happening to his body. He blinks as he focuses on you, then smiles. The case is offered to you, another vial safely inside.
     "I don't get what I'm supposed to understand. He wasn't fully a vampire," he explains to you, "...he's something else. Faerie, I guess, and then..." Edward's hand lifts and waves dismissively, "...he was fucked over by Mithras. Fuck all, so what?" agitation there. "I mean...I..." he blinks to clear himself, "...got when...he said he could do magic. I accepted it. Or when he hinted before that he had abilities. Fine. But then he comes and says," in a bad impression, "...I'm going to the Silver Tree? What the hell was I supposed to do with that but fuckin' defend myself and mine, yanno, ami?"
     And the words begin to slip into English.
     "What," Edward says with disdain and disbelief, "...what the fuck else was I supposed to do? Take it as a cry for help? Oh, and I'm not just a magic thing, but I've never really been a vampire all this time...and now I'm going to tell someone else about it. Fuck you," Edward drawls on, talking to himself now.
     Instinctively, his hand comes up to wipe at his nose again.
     "What's there to drink?" he wonders, looking left and right again.

     Valan takes the case, but he sets it aside. Nothing for him. One of us should be within his right mind. Besides, from the sound of it, you might need all the gak you can get. "You did what you should have done," Valan assures you, his hand smoothening over your shoulder. He massages it strongly. "You did what I would have done were I you..."
     Patting your arm, your Montague rises. "Upstairs? We have some liqueurs, your cousin's death brandy," a small smile for that, "...scotch, American whiskey, vodka...ah..." He moves over to the collection of bottles. "There is gin. I think I am going to go for the death brandy." The plum brandy, with the plums from Chinon. "It will be the quickest solution. What sounds appealing to you, ami?"
     Perhaps what is most appealing is the man himself. He makes sure you have a good vantage to look at him, that you see his best side. The strong back, the trim shape, the nice shoulders, the rear and the thighs that silk indicates so well.

     "American," Edward asks in a statement. Since the case was put aside, he opens it and another vial for himself. His need becomes palpable - the second vial is dumped across the glass as the first. He does look over as you walk away from him, then inhales to ingest the second pile in front of him.
     "Come sit," Edward slurs, clearing his nose again after he finishes this round. It'll be enough to start him. The case is snapped closed once more as he tosses it aside.

     "American," Valan answers and states. He brings the bottle and a glass with him to the bed. Bending, he sets it on the nightstand. You can pour at will, however much you wish. His hand lifts, brushing through your hair again as he sits next to you.
     He doesn't speak. He looks at you. He is quiet, letting you take in all of the sensations of his nearness. The smell and warmth of his recent shower, the wax that holds his hair in its mussed style (smelling of honey), his skin, the proximity of whiskey.

     Edward nods at the bottle, but pats the opening space between his legs as where you should sit. He scoots back, expecting your imminent arrival.
     "You think," Edward whispers low, "...that if I were to take Davydd, he'd hurt me."

     Valan smiles, taking the position you wish, filling the space between your legs, letting the warmth of his body move over you like a blanket. His mouth finds your skin again, and he breathes there.
     "I think that it is a battle I would not want to see. I cannot say who has the advantage. I know your strength, your abilities. What I know of him... concerns me... not as a person who trusted him... but as your lover, when you speak of fighting him. He pulled the poison from your system. If he can heal you, what can he do to damage you? He is an unknown..."
     Valan sits up on his knees, his hands pulling free the knot in his lounging pants, allowing the silk to pool at his thighs. "I think you would hurt one another. What would be gained from that..."

     Immediately, Edward's arms slither around, somehow faster, more supple when his blood begins to roil. The loosened pants allow his hands to slip within the silk, and he buries his face at your neck, somewhere beneath all that golden hair.
     "I couldn't stand if you didn't believe in me, ami," he whispers. "I guess nothing," he offers in response to the question. "Nothing," he whispers again, hands eager to touch. Edward exhales and looks over at the bottle, wishing it were closer. Alas, no such magic from him.

     "I believe in you, ami," Valan says, turning in your grasp so he can kiss you. "I know how strong you are. I do not doubt that you would hurt him... that you could even kill him if you desired such. I only worry because I do not know what he may do. But I believe in you. My... strong," the silk slips over his skin, pooling at his knees, and then to the floor as he shifts in your arms, "...bold... love..."
     He feels your exhale, he feels your glance. "Hmm... lie back, baby... I'll pour it for you." Valan begins to raise up on his knees again, his body given to you to look at, free of silk and nothing hidden. Balancing thighs show their strength as your lover turns, twisting to take the bottle and the glass.
     "I will support whatever decision you make, ami... and I will be there... to help you if I can...in this, as in all things..."

     No need, Edward's hands say. He'd rather pull you down to him as he slides deeper and into the waiting comfort of the bed.
     "Promise," he whispers softly, earnestly. Hands hold onto fencers' thighs firmly, unyielding in their guidance. "Promise you will be here," he asks, the fear evident in his voice and addled eyes.

     "I promise, Edward," Valan says as he returns to you. The alcohol can wait, and shall. He is in your arms, his mouth brushing your own. "I promise you that I will be here. I will be with you. I am your man, and I am your friend."
     You still have friends, Edward...
     Valan kisses you sweetly, warmly, teeth teasing the flesh of your lips. "I promise you..." he breathes it again, and then he gives his weight to you. His skin is warm with the echo of his shower. Strong muscle is covered over by supple skin; the best of both worlds.

Posted by rowan at May 14, 2005 10:43 PM