Kensington has become rather...homey. The lights are on, the bar service is in use, there are indications of life in the private quarters and even in the public receiving rooms. The Two that are William Plantagenet and Ian Dunross are in London -- this means guests, letters, calls...
     Two glasses are poured with scotch. One without ice, which is set out for you and your eventual arrival. One with ice to give him something to crunch, even if he is on the phone with one of the more prominent Ventrue in the City.
     "Only for a few nights. I am shuttling back and forth from Scotland to Venice these nights. But we should meet sometime soon. Scotland isn't that far away," he chuckles quietly as he takes a seat on the sitting room sofa -- the private sitting room belonging to the Two Lords who sometimes occupy this palace. "Yes, I shall," his English is improving with his now constant use. Even his accent is starting to give way a little. "I am sure he would wish me to convey the same, Lionel. Hmm... mais oui," bad habit, "... bonsoir...ah, sorry. Good night," William corrects himself with a grin and with that the call is done.
     He exhales as he switches the phone to vibrate and sets it on the side table at hand, where currently his glass of icy scotch resides. A lighter comes out, and scented smoke follows the flash of flame as he exhales again. Indigo eyes seek you out, he turns his head toward the bedroom, as if expecting your arrival at any moment.
     He arose before you tonight, tending to early calls and early business. Still, he has not ventured forth to see to Davydd, not even to Edward. It may be a few nights more before he is ready. William takes his time these nights. With smoking, with drinking, with thinking before he speaks.
     He is dressed in his dark cocoas tonight, layers of brown like a great piece of chocolate. Good enough to eat, mais oui.

     The other does arrive, dressed in black and white. A suit with open collar, no tie. It's in his hand as he tosses it aside. There's a scent of whiskey in the air, and so Ian pauses to look around to find the culprit. "You're so smart," Ian teases, "...who was on the phone?" He's in a slight rush as evidenced by the twist of his wrist to see his diamond-encrusted watch. Someone's getting the royal treatment tonight - ah, he did say something about the Directorate.
     "Are you coming?" Ian wonders, all of his thoughts a trail of bubbling comment. "I like the chocolate," Ian smiles, grey eyes spotting the glass with no ice. "Looks good, laird," said like the title it is. Ian's brows wiggle as he lifts the glass and salutes you. "To my husband, for ill or fair..."
     "Mmph," Ian swallows, touching his lip, "...unless you're going elsewhere?" he offers, knowing you have a list to see. For himself? He's likely to visit Robert as his reason for heading into the Den.

     "They can teach the apes of India to type Shakespeare," William waxes on as he smiles, his head tilting back to see you, "and I can pour a scotch. The wonders of modern science." He winks and he waits for the other evening salutation -- a kiss. "For ill or fair," he says quietly.
     Such gracious manners, your laird. He sets the cigarette aside and rises, his hand stamping out the cigarette as he does so. "That was Lionel deGreaves, secretary of the Directorate. He gives his greetings," ah, that is better, his eyes seem to say, a kiss both taken and given. "And, naturally, he wants to see us." The smile smoothens its way across those features of his. "Moi? Miss a chance to go to the Directorate and be adored?" The smile twists. "You know I never miss out on a good groveling," William murmurs. "Certainement, I will go with you. Besides, the one person I want to spend an evening with shall be there."
     And just who is that, pray tell?
     William looks at himself as you compliment his attire. "Merci... it is my favorite, I think. Of late." Of late, he has many favorites. William takes up his glass, finishing the scotch and thereafter crunching the ice to bits with a distended fang. "You are ready now? You wish to go now, I will call for the car..."

     Lionel called? Hmm, Ian thinks, shown in the quirk upon his face. "In a few," Ian finally says, rushing over to where you stand. "I do like it," he smiles, slowing down to grin before he leans in for his kiss. He shall not jump into it. Instead, Ian smiles and waits before you lips, so that there is no mistake in what is important to him. Despite his rushing about.
     "Good evening," Ian finally offers, semi-contrite.

     There is even a light little bit of a scent there for you, just a misting of such for delicate vampiric senses. The cinnamon you know is there, always. And you know where he places it, for you taught him the ways. That way, like so many other ways. You can smell it as the kiss is yours.
     It is savoring, this kiss, close-mouthed and lightly tugging. His face is smooth, closely shaven from the straight razor he insists upon using, and there upon the skin was a light infusement of some other scent, blending well with the cinnamon, also woody but very, very light.
     William exhales near your mouth, then smiles. "Good evening. Now it is good," he chuckles. "Before... just so so..." So long as you are going to linger, he will take advantage of it. Nothing changes about him in that regard. His hands are upon your sides, his mouth at your neck and beneath your ear. "I am in no hurry. We go when you wish to go. We stay as long as you like. Do I look like my business is doing well?" he teases.

     Ian laughs, allowing himself to slow down within as without. "You look as if you're doing quite well," Ian smiles. "A gentle comfort in the chocolate. I am sure it'll go over well," he whispers, pulling back to see you again. Looking at your face, he suddenly grins and touches your cheek delicately with fingers. "If you don't let me go, we'll never leave here," Ian warns. "Not that it is a bad thing, just that I have..." he shows you The Watch, "...already put The Watch on," he smirks. That's when he means Business.
     "Did you and Alire get to speak again before he left?" Ian asks idly, changing the topic while in your arms. He's the only person on the planet capable of doing so. "I was surprised to see him, but glad. He looks well." Ah, there's the connection. Everyone seeming happy. It may as well go around. Ian sways slightly.

     "Ah, The Watch is on, mais oui... that is the sign." William straightens, his mouth letting go of your neck, but he may still taste it, your skin. "Ah, oui? It is good? Good, I do not want to see pity when I go to the Directorate. Ah, poor William, he is wearing grey tonight, and last year's fabric, things must not be going well for him." Indigo sparkles in the laugh he keeps within, his mouth making a humorous curve. "And then it will be back to balance sheets," he sighs.
     Ah, but it is a sigh with a wink. Alire? "Yes, the Prince," the smile returns, "...and I had a good game. I let him win. Perhaps one day he will remember my grace with a good bottle of vintage or some political advantage. He looks very well, I was very glad that I was wrong about his silence. He has simply been ... very busy," William grins. "He seems very happy. I'm glad for it. He is a good man. Even, if it may be said to be possible, too good."

     "Perfect, I'd say," Ian grins, knowing he'll touch a nerve. But in the same breath, he says, "But I've never been one for perfect," his fingers on the shave again. "I prefer my perfect with a touch of caprice. That..." Ian's finger points, "...is perfect for me."
     Ian shrugs as he looks into indigo eyes. "He brought a package," Ian goes on, looking down as his fingertips alight at your collar. "Did he mention it?"

     "A package? No, he did not say anything about that. Or is that the box of Provence chocolates he promised me? I shall make myself sick on those," he notes. It may not be pretty, but it will taste fantastic. At least, on the way down. Now he is curious. What package? He does not even have time to react to notions of perfect.
     Perfect, with a touch of caprice? William smiles in the echo of your touch and words. A touch of caprice? How does a pound of caprice work for you? "Did you get something special?" he teases. "I would be jealous, but I know how in love he is with his Italian..." But maybe he is a little jealous. You, getting packages from other princes.

     "He is in love," Ian nods, feigning wistfulness. Ah well. He chuckles. Another one lost. "But yes, a package. I do not know why he brought them and now, but he did. Letters," Ian begins softly, "...from you. From the war. Letters you gave him to hold?"

     That moves through him. You are close enough to feel it. He had forgotten them, perhaps, much as you had talked about Davydd forgetting. Or perhaps he expected they would have been destroyed. Either way, to hear of them suddenly, so out of the blue, causes his olive complexion to darken with the wine of a Bordeaux blush.
     "He kept them all that while," he murmurs, half surprise and half wonder. And then he blinks. "I... have you read them? The handwriting must be atrocious, illegible I am sure. I wrote them in the dark, some of them. Others under fire...I told him to keep them and if ... something should happen to me, that he himself should find you, should go to you, and should give them to you. So that you never need ...wonder. About anything."

     "I haven't read them, laird," Ian murmurs, fingertips brushing the collar still, "...I wanted to ask you about them first before I did. In case you wished..." Ian shrugs softly. Changed your mind. Wished to read them first to remember. Do not think they're necessary? "He kept them. Why bring them now, I cannot say. But he did."
     "They are yours first, before they belong to me," Ian states. "So," Ian looks around, "...they are in the bedroom, in my wardrobe, if you wish to see them."

     "I wrote them for you," William notes. "Had something happened to me, I would not have had the chance to say yay or nay. Hmm? So... no... I do not need to read them before you do. They are yours." He bends his head, and he gives his mouth to you. The kiss is as savoring as before, but lingering now.
     He kisses the side of your mouth, then your cheek. "I may sit with you as you read them, if you read them in bed like you do all your other letters." William straightens, smiling. "They were yours the moment I wrote them." He places his hand to your hair.
     "I missed you so much," he whispers. "I always did. I still do...whenever I look around and you are nowhere to be found..."

     "You are certain you want me to read them?" Ian asks again, this time with a smile and lifted brow. "I shall, but...if I do...I would do so alone, if you don't mind, laird? Just for the first read."

     William nods once. "I am sure," he murmurs. "And... of course... they are yours." He smiles and kisses you again. "Read them in privacy... however you wish. I wrote them alone," he grins then. "It is ... right that you should have them to yourself."
     His hands go to your hands, fingers sliding against your own and then clasping lightly. "I want you to read them. Know me... know how I felt then. I stand by what I wrote, no matter how poorly written." He chuckles a little at himself. "No poet," he chimes out, much as he does whenever he writes you, whenever you read it.

     Ian grins, but he seems slightly discomfited. As with things now, he'll not keep it to himself, quiet as he tries t find the words to begin. His fingers curl around yours. "I know how you felt then. I know how you feel now, laird. Is it important that I see something of you then?" Did we not recently discuss the past? "The letters should not tell me anything I did not know then, in our home on the Mile, or even now."
     "I am not," Ian looks down, "...trying to minimize their importance, just," he looks up, "...trying to make sure they are in the right place."

     "Perhaps not now," William notes. Thirty years ago, we could have used this delivery. Well, we cannot blame Alire for his timing. "I will let you decide. Do, amours, what makes you comfortable, hmm? What feels right to you. I thought they were already gone. It will not upset me if you choose not to read them. I promise." He smiles at that. He can keep his promises, as you know. You perhaps did not know that for a while.
     Closing his eyes, William leans forward, his mouth parting at your forehead, his hand at the nape of your neck. "I love you," he whispers there. "That is what matters to me. That is all that matters to me."

     "Alright," Ian yields. He closes his eyes as he's kissed upon the forehead. "Still wish to visit the Directorate? I have it on good word that Sebastian is in house tonight. We'll leave the impression that we're in town to begin our final plans for world domination..." Ian teases.

     "Ah, Sebastian... I get to watch him stare at you," William smirks. "And make commentary. But tonight, I will make commentary of my own, ne c'est pas?" Indigo sparkles in a wink and he takes a step back. He chuckles at world domination and offers you his arm. "I will call the car to take us in style."
     His other hand takes out his cellphone, flipping it open. "It will be a fun evening. And when did you ever think I should find the Directorate entertaining?"

Posted by rowan at June 05, 2005 12:38 PM