I am born again...
It is not some pale phantasm of some previous life, me here in this club, me beneath these lights, me moving to this music. It is truly a renaissance. Between the faster pulsing of the music, I can see the motions that are ending, others that are beginning, in each tiny increment.
And I move between those moments, those notes, like the composer. Me in this club, me beneath these lights, me moving to this music...
He is in the center of the dancefloor, his head bending back, his face lifted to the light like to the warm water of the shower, flooding his features with gold and lavender. His button down shirt drapes long in the sleeve, the buttons uncuffed, several buttons above and below undone in his activity. It is a white shirt (actually, cream) of thread count indeterminable, acting as a proper canvas, capturing the moments that pass around him. A golden chain moves against the muscles of his stomach, glinting now and again like a pulsar. His trousers are dark, loose fitting, some wool and linen blend.
It's not club couture, but it is pure Valan Montague...
The club eats any noise he might make. Edward has not seemed to mind it; he's been on the dance floor like this often in the last few weeks. One arm remains around and behind his companion, and despite the frenetic noise and lights, Edward holds him closer than close, leaving no room for error. Where polite conversation filled the air around you both upon arrival, a wide berth was given once on the dancefloor. No talking. No interruptions.
And so it's been tonight, several nights in a row, and plenty of nights in the last weeks.
His head, bent down, has been shorn lately. Sometimes, when bodies twist the right way, Edward's nose touches his lover's ear. Other times, his ear, neatly exposed, can hear each of the hundreds of heartbeats that swell in the room. Yet he dances, never missing a step. A glide upon ice it is, with his partner the center of his universe. The rest is a thrusting beat to which he attends, driving him onward, ever onward. No questions. The noise, the pulse, the humanity is but a spiral that forces himself to you.
Then, for an instant, Edward's eyes lift enough to see you. There, at the corner of his gaze. A finger of his open hand gently touches the chain around his partner's waist. He inhales sharply as his hips thrust and gyrate, as he follows with an exhale at your ear. Soon enough his eyes close again and he turns you both once more, keeping the whirlwind in motion.
There is a vacuum of heartbeats between the two of you, a vacuum that the others fill. The syncopation of them all sound like the percussion section of a Cuban jazz band. It is that rhythm that Valan moves to, not the club music. Your fingers slide against the gold, it chimes like bells. Your breath at his ears is the sound of cymbals.
Valan grins, he turns his head and he opens his eyes. The lifting of golden lashes is the come-on of a century.
Like waving a red cape in the ring with El Toro...
Arms lift, and uncuffed sleeves fall at his wrists. Flexibility allows him to circle them behind your head, his fingers tickling against your scalp, in your hair as he circles his hips in answering motion.
With you and him, it's like a tango in reverse...
The embrace is where he wishes to be. Edward's nose nuzzles behind his partner's ear, as if to hide from the world. Each touch that brushes him reaffirms what he wants to know about him. How his partner feels for him. That brings comfort. It brings desire to be what his partner wishes. Edward's been in that place for nights now.
He's been unbelievably agreeable. Eminently accepting. Absolutely pliant. Unreservingly willing. Terribly quiet.
These have been the weeks to ask. If you wanted millions, it was perfectly fine. If you wanted stacks of delightful mortals a night, that's been great. Nights away fencing? Certainly. Random killing? So be it. Someone to fulfill your every desire? He's an eager servant.
He'd ask if you are bored, but it seems not. As long as the dance is required, he'll continue to spin and spin...
It is not as if he never gave before, never opened his heart, never gave of his home, his wealth, his heart, or body or mind. The doors were opened wide after you met with Davydd, and he was there, as he has ever been, a constant companion.
Not there for your money...
Not there for your body (well, not just your body)...
There was no headstrong colt running away as if taken off the lead and given a whole pasture. For you and he have always been free with one another. In the wide open spaces of your heart, he was there, occupying the same place as he always does. With you. For you. Beside you. Beneath you.
He gave answers more than questions: I love you. I am here. Let's go dancing. But his questions were there early in the morning: How are you? Is there anything I can do but love you as I do...
His arms tickle in your hair again and then lower. With a grin, oh that grin, and a bump of his hips, he turns in your arms, his arms circling around your neck again. Valan brushes your lips in a kiss, grinning and mouthing I love you.
The brush becomes a kiss becomes a dance...
The flush of heat and blood is what gives his blushing away. He always needs to hear that, to know. Edward nods once, hearing you clearly over the rest of the senses that press upon him. And indeed, the feeling is shared. He turns his head to face you, giving you a clear view of his dark eyes. There's stillness there, sliding towards melancholy. Though he dances, and indeed, much can be danced away, you can see his heart on the dancefloor. Whatever he might speak, he cannot hide himself when dances. Something Maria never realized of her Edward.
Soon enough, the dancing will not be sufficient. Edward will need more. The next phase of his night. But whatever that might be, you'll need to be there, to be with him, when he steps through it. Much like this dance.
I can see it, his hand whispers this against the skin of your face as he tugs at your hair a little and then rests his fingers against your cheek. I know that you are hurting, there is such grace in pain. How you move. But see how we move. We are together in this as in all things.
I give myself to you, his body says it in that language you know all too well, the pleasure of the energy he has, in little rivulets like dancing ribbons and the light and heartbeats it is as tangible.
Valan looks into your eyes, his gaze locking with your own, dancing with it... there he is in the reflection of them, dancing with you there too. I am here, his slight smile says. For better and for worse as the old vows say.
Suddenly, Edward stops. His head lifts and he looks around the space the two of you share. His chest heaves and falls in a deep exhale as he stands almost upright. After hours dancing, and well into the deepest part of the night, Edward slips away to take your hand and to walk out into the early morning darkness. He leads, and the world parts before him as he goes.
Fingers curl around your own, and he comes brilliantly as you lead him, this golden idol, a perfect companion for your darkness. The break in humanity that you cause, by your size if not by your energy, repairs behind him, the rift closing in your joined departure.
There is no resistance. You wish it, and he makes it happen for you. That is the way he has always been with you. It is the way he prefers it. Early morning air fills his lungs, replacing the stale oxygen heavy with the sweat of humanity. Valan Montague does not pepper this fresh air with questions. In fact, the two of you are beginning to communicate without speaking at all.
He smiles, his hand squeezing your own as you lead him out. "Home?" he wonders quietly, warmly. Yes, I would like to go home now.
Turning about, Edward stops. The outside air is cool, and it's just before the masses wake to a busy London morning. "If you want," Edward says upon an exhale, letting the fresher air replace the older. "Tired?" he wonders.
"No," he smiles. "Not at all. Et tu, mon ami?" He thinks not by that look on his face. He takes the time to stand with you outside the club, to hold your hand with one of his, but lifting his other to your hair. "I think there are better drinks in our townhouse than in any of the clubs in this town. I will say the company," he grins then, "... is much more to my liking there. Particularly when he is in his boxers and robe and smoking in bed..."
I do like that image...
"So... what shall we do about it, hmm? The dawn is coming," he turns his head toward the east, knowing (now) where it is on such an intrinsic level. "I do not want to waste precious darkness not holding you."
Valan kisses you, breathes you in and then tastes you. "So... what is it you want, mon ami. You have heard what I want," he grins.
Edward thinks a moment, but the kiss brings him to it. "I want," he moves in closer, as earlier, "...what you want." Despite the eyes staring - not that it's a strange sight - Edward kisses deeply, arms encircling as he picks you up from the ground and heads towards the car.
This town thrives on gossip. It always has, it always will. This does nothing to allay that, a wide-open kiss in public, not caring about the public. You feel the edge of distended arousal along the side of your tongue. A drop of your blood. A drop of his (and yours is beneath his own for there is no him without you).
"That is one thing you can say, yes? Great minds think alike, ami," Valan whispers that at your mouth as you lift him and move him to the car, in a motion so intimate it might as well be you lifting him from the sofa and taking him upstairs to the room you share.
So, London is your living room after all...
He grins at the notion of great minds. "I doubt it's that at all," he remarks, moving quickly down the cobblestoned side street. It is public intimacy, striding along amongst the night's revelers that walk from club to club to taxis. Edward smirks. He'd like to say that he's not angry any more - not as he seemed a few weeks ago. He'd like to talk about how he feels. But instead, he looks at you, then grins. No words come on the topic that crowded every moment you've shared, but was left unvocalized. Now, Edward's moving towards a place of disinterest. Where he thought about it constantly, he no longer does. You've seen to that, even if you didn't realize it. Instead, it can sit within him now, without stirring the world inside so much.
That's progress in his world.
The parked Spyder appears behind a large bin. Edward reluctantly lets you down and ponders his keys.
"You're...alright...with us going out so much?" he finally murmurs.
It is not something that can be solved in a matter of weeks. The unraveling of centuries will take a long time to adjust to, to feel, anger may pass into something else but the central theme will remain. Perhaps for decades. This he realized, and realizes. There is a time for expression, and a time for escape. Sometimes these things happen simultaneously.
As you set him down, his hands slide against large shoulders and then to your waist. He leans against the car, despite all previous warnings of not doing that, and he looks at you, head slightly tilted.
"I have not minded it. I hope it has not been so much that you think I do not take things seriously." Valan smiles a little, drawing you closer to him so that his hands may lock behind your back. "I see nothing wrong with going out," he murmurs seriously, his head tipping back slightly. "It's not as though sitting at home constantly is any more healthy."
Widely, warmly Valan smiles, distended canines revealed. "As if health is really such a concern, ne c'est pas?" Valan chuckles softly, his hands unlocking but not leaving you. He kisses you.
"I know these past weeks have been..." difficult is not the word he wants. Shite may be closer to it. "... not as you ever expected," he whispers. You never know who's listening. "I am with you. I love you. I am both comfort and distraction, whichever you need at the time."
Keys found, Edward observes, "They're the same thing," his voice deadpan. You've answered his barely expressed feeling. Edward looks to the wall, instinctively putting the key into the lock and turning it. The door clicks, and he pulls it open for you.
"It is good, then, ne c'est pas? That I am entertaining and distracting," Valan Montague smiles. "I am good for something. I have a talent." And, in truth, it is a role and a responsibility that he accepts, and has since approaching you that night in L'Empereur.
Sliding into the seat, he curls into place and opens the glove compartment for his cigarettes and lighter. You will close the door for him. He does not even look to see you do it.
You will be inside with him before his cigarette is lit...
Smoke billows with the first breath and he tips his golden head back to rest against the leather. "One thing you shall always have... regardless of what you have known in the past, or even what is Now, which is all we are, still... I promise you... the one thing you shall always have is Valan Montague..."
"As your lover..." he says it almost as an aside...
"As your friend, Edward Meurelle..." This he speaks with his eyes on you, fixed and without a blink of hesitation or a wink of teasing.
It is true, his speed. Edward looks over, already putting the keys into the ignition. The sound of doors closing, opening, and closing again happened in but a blink. Edward's gaze is slow to land at your expression as you speak, then just as slow as he turns to face the front of the car again.
The engine roars to life beneath Edward's silence.
The air comes coolly from the vents in the Spyder. Trusty thing, the Spyder. He's had it for over twenty years now, when Alfa wisely made their Spyder fit for UK and US markets.
In fact, that was thirty years ago now.
"Things can change," Edward notes, as if you are not unaware of the concept. "Things can change..."
"Maybe saying such things...isn't necessary. Not a good idea. But I get...the sentiment..."
"Everything changes, ami," Valan murmurs that, rolling down the window so he can tap out the cigarette there and not in the car. "But each man has his own truth, even as each has his own eyes. My truth... is that I love you. And that I am your ami."
He shrugs at the notion of whether it is good to say or not. Who knows? He doesn't know which couture suit he shall wear tomorrow night. But yet he knows that he loves you.
"Maybe a smart man would not be defined by whom he loves," he smiles at that and lightly shrugs again. "But it was my truth when I opened my eyes. And it will be my truth when I close them. Though when or how that shall ever be, I could not tell you, and do not think of it."
Valan looks out the window. "Not everyone has this view. You may not. In a few years you may get tired of me. We can't know that tonight, can't do anything about it," ashes fly out of the window and onto the world. "But... I know my heart. It's the only thing I really own..."
Edward smiles as he looks to the window ahead. There, the beginning of raindrops. "You do know your own heart, today. And that is all any of us can know, I guess," words mumbled. He grins slightly. "Just tonight."
"I'm not sure if that's good or bad."
Once he would have told you it was good. It was good to know only the now, to live in the now, to choose, act, and consequence in the now. That was perfect living. To be open to the immediate change of any instance.
And now? The expression on Edward's face as he looks at his steering wheel is unsure. There are some things to depend on, perhaps. To hope for, to believe in, even if you say you do not. Even if you don't realize that you do. Some things...do not change. Should not change. In the face of all that you believe to the contrary.
After a pause and exhale, Edward's attention returns to the present, and he pushes the car into gear. His feet move in the darkness of the wheelwell, and the Spyder lurches from its parked spot and rolls down the alley and towards Regent Street.
Rolling his golden head against the leather, Valan turns to look to you. His arm rests on the window, his hand draping outside of it. The cigarette burns like a beacon, like a firefly going the speed of light.
"Maybe it's neither good nor bad," Valan admits. "I do not think there is only One Way of looking at a thing. Maybe it is good sometimes, with some things, but bad at other times with other things. I guess I am still a romantic," he pulls his hand in to take a bit of the cigarette's medicine, hand returning out the window as his smoky breath is pulled from him by the wind of the Spyder's traveling.
"I believe love changes over time. We all know this. But sometimes... with some people... the change is more about... deepening. Not switching around. Anyway..." another pull of smoke, "... I know my heart today. I know my heart of the past few years. I have a good understanding of my heart for tomorrow," Valan smiles at you. ".... and I love you. And I mean to be with you... in whatever way it pleases you to have me, Eduard..."
He is quiet for the remainder of the trip, your Montague, making sound only when the wind steals his cigarette away from him and tosses it to a Kensington street. Sitting down in the seat, Valan rests his hands on his stomach and he watches London go by.
He has his own feelings about Davydd, most of them... confusion. Some is anger, for your sake. He does not share them. For, whatever his are and however poignant, yours are so very much greater.
...Fingers moved in your hair, along the back of your neck massaging as Dannerly Court came into view. His head rested on your broad shoulder. Mon chevalier, he whispered, mon ami. As the Spyder was stopped in the garage and the door closed behind you both to put you in darkness, he kissed you...
As you shut off the engine, he kisses you still...
The kiss with the closing door was given only half-attention. The one after the closing door was far more lush and ended with a smile. After it? Another one. And where Edward was thoughtful, he's now less so. "Distraction?" he asks, pulling his bottom lip with his fingers. It tingles when you kiss him. Edward bites his bottom lip, chasing away the thoughts that have suddenly popped up in his mind's eye.
"I don't know what to think of you, sometimes," Edward confesses, face still near yours. "And that is not bad," he smiles, "...just...I don't know what to think." Or do, for that matter. He smirks, retrieving his keys from the ignition.
"Wasn't it you who said that thinking was overrated? Everything in moderation, I think the Greeks said that. I do not want to analyze. Besides, it is not distracting." Valan smiles at that and at you as your face is near. The close confines of the car have their appeal.
Yes, there is a tingle at your mouth and where his fingers land also, each traveling to the base of your spine and up your spine to the center of your brain. Valan rests his forehead against your own as the tingles dissipate.
He has learned to control it...
Whatever It is...
Gold-green eyes look to you between golden lashes. "I will pour you a drink," he murmurs. "I will join you on our bed. In my arms, you can find all you need of distraction."
Your Montague smiles, leaning back with a kiss. The tingles arise again, just faintly there, as he begins to step out of the car.
He'd blush if he could. Edward smirks as his eyes lift to watch his passenger leave the car. He grins to himself, taking a moment's pause, and then he pushes his door open to follow into the house.
He knows you will lock up. You will have to check the whole house, lock it down tight. Then and only then will you be able to relax. Valan no longer peppers you with questions as you secure the home. He has learned the subtle art of when, and when not, to speak.
When he was first made, who knew that such a skill would ever come to him...
He takes a position at the bar, and as you go around the house, he pours a glass of whisky for you. It is set upon the coffee table, and you are given a smile. Valan heads upstairs without another glance. You will have your drink. You will take your time. You may even have a cigarette, maybe even make a phone call before you find him...
He does not trouble himself with such minutia...
Upstairs, two more drinks are prepared. As is the room, tonight the primary bedroom. Clothes and the smell of dancing and clubbing are removed, replaced with something ...cleaner...something simply him with only a hint of Something Else.
By the time you join him upstairs, the light in your bedroom will be off, the only light coming from the hallway and from the master bath. Valan emerges in his golden silk robe and his golden boxers. He looks like Apollo clothed in the sun. Around his waist the original belly chain you purchased for him, sparkling in the moments of his movements.
Eventually, the door opens, and Edward appears. But only after his ritual around the house, the smile at his drink, and a phone call with an associate to let him know that Edward will not be available. The drink was thoroughly enjoyed on the living room sofa, down to the tinkle of ice when the liquid was finished. A click of his cell phone was audible only to vampiric ears, as was his last movements through the living room to the stairs.
Edward looks left and right, closing the bedroom door behind him. There's a lingering look to the bathroom, as if assessing. You're ahead of him.
Edward walks into the closed room, and removes his jacket. "I should..." he begins, then looks to the shower. The smell of the club does linger.
"Go ahead," Valan smiles as he moves, "...the water will be warm for you, ami. And I will be here when you are through..." He takes his jacket from you, there for the final sliding of it from your hands. "There," his gold eyes flicker in the low light, catching it just right and lighting your way to your next drink, "... is another for you."
It waits on the nightstand on your side of the bed as he draws away from you with a kiss. He hangs up your jacket, the golden robe moving slowly, suspended as if it had a life of his own.
The water is not running -- waste not, want not -- but the towels are prepared and waiting for you, the bathroom as immaculate as when he entered.
"By myself?"
There was a goodly amount of well-done horror at the thought.
Edward smirks and crosses his arms before himself, fingers rifling the edge of his shirt before he captures it and pulls it up and over his head. He strides on though, tossing the shirt behind as he disappears into the bathroom.
"What about Christmas?" Edward calls, turning the water on and stepping immediately onto the stone and marble shower floor. A soft 'tick' marks the closing of the glass door.
"Noel?" There is a bit of surprise at the question. "I will shower with you before Christmas, ami, of course." Smartass. "I promise, I will shower with you on Baby Jesus' Birthday. Oui." He pours another drink for himself, making himself a cocktail and taking your clothes and putting them away as you shower.
There is, certainement, the obligatory gaze at you through the glass. Mon Dieu.
Your robe and boxers, the garnet colored set he purchased for you, are brought into the bathroom as you finish washing the club off of you. "It would be nice, I think, to get away... just you and me for the holidays as we do," Valan mentions as he departs the bathroom once more, heading into the bedroom.
The door opens and Edward watches you go, despite the flood of water falling down his face and over his eyes. He glances at the pile he left on the floor. "You do want to go," he checks, real horror on his face, "...oui?"
"Of course I want to go," Valan reappears to kiss your wet face and mouth. "We are to go to Switzerland, yes? Skiing? Saunas? Sex?" He smiles. "I should like that very much," he assures. "Why would I not wish to go?"
Besides, it is celebrating our anniversary. I would not miss such a thing...
"Sweaters and hot cocoa. Christmas and snow. It is more a question of how long we can stay," he smiles, "...rather than shall we or shall we not go... "
"Oh," Edward nods, expression relaxing after the clarification. He exhales, and smiles blankly at you, steam and water falling out of the shower and onto the bathroom floor.
I am terrible at asking. Really.
Brows arch and Edward purses his lips. "Well, that's settled, then..." he nods, disappearing back into the glass box.
The glass door ticks suddenly and a bare and blonde Valan steps into the steam. Cream-complected arms surround you from behind and his mouth parts at the nape of your neck to sip the water from your skin.
There, he smiles that smooth and feline smile. There, you feel the edge of a distended fang make a burning line at your skin, scratching lightly and leaving only a teasing mark without a single trace of blood.
"I am so clean... how can god-hood be far behind," he murmurs at your ear, and softly laughs, the sound echoing gently off of the glass and between the drops of falling water.
Wherever his hands land, there is the warmth and the tingling of pleasure. Soon, it is echoed even in the drops of water until you are bathing in it. Some bathe in mere water...
But that is for mortals, ne c'est pas? And not for those such as you and he...
The shower has a luminescence all its own. Edward's delight is obvious. "My blessed lord," he murmurs, backing into the stream of water. Edward's eyes close and he braces himself against the marbled wall, holding you against himself. "You forgot the light," he says softer, embrace tightening with each passing touch. Edward's mouth opens to drink the water at your throat, and a hand slides lower to follow the water's route at your skin.
Somehow, tonight, for a moment...just a moment...I forgot. I forgot the twisting stone that's been inside my gut for weeks. He did that...this..boy. For a moment, he made me want to forgive and forget. And now, he reminds me what is important to me. What's important. This is important. Peace is important. Peace between me and my brothers...
"Oh, fucking hell!" Edward suddenly shouts. A loud contradiction to the slippery bodies, sliding hands, and soft moans that had started.
"Oh, I do hate him," Edward grumps, "...bastard."
"I'm going to kill Davydd ap Llewelyn. Fucking bastard."
His arms hold you through your shouting. He does not quiet you, your Valan. He knows better than that (and he's smarter than that, ne c'est pas?). Instead, his arms surround your waist and his forehead meets your own. His gaze meets your own.
"You have every right to be angry, mon ami," he breathes at your skin as he takes his turn sipping the water from your flesh. Valan Montague kisses at your throat, the line of your jaw, mouth parting at your chin and then capturing, for a moment, your mouth.
It is a tricky thing, encountering your anger. Singing, as if to a serpent with a flute, his hands move against you gently. He gives that relief to you, where you may take it. That pleasure to you, where you may feel it. Valan kisses you again, deeply, then he releases you.
"Mon ami, you do not have to hold it in with me, mais oui? I am your lover, and I am your friend. Even as he should have been...loyal to you... considering your feelings. I do not know why he did not..."
Edward sighs, then blinks as he hears you. "Hmph?" A frown crosses his features. "Angry? Yeah, bastard. He's in the shower with me now. I can't get rid of him. Here I am..." Edward looks down, "...and I have every intention of...well," he stops himself, "...and what comes to mind? Him. Stuff you said...and him."
Talk about being put off your feed.
"When I see him, I'm going to kill him."
"It is okay," he says in his accented English, a hand lifted to your face, to brush back your wet hair. "He has tipped the balance of your life, he has... done these things, and they are in your Present. As much as I am here," a little smile. "Though I am better looking..."
Valan comes flush against you, rivers of water, tiny rivers running along your skin, pooling where you are pressed together. "Do you think killing him will make you feel better?" You do not mean to kill him, surely.
No, but there is hope for reconciliation there. Edward squints at the question. "I don't want to think about him at all right now. Change the subject - you are better looking," he smiles. "Much," he says appreciatively. "Harder, softer," at the same time. "More desirable too," his canines flashing slightly behind his lips. "In fact...you're far superior," Edward finally surmises.
"Il n'est pas difficile que le Francais soit meilleur regarder que le Gallois," Valan chuckles. Very well, now it is time for distraction. Half-masting, in part to avoid more droplets in his eyes, Valan backs away from you so that you may get a good look...
A long look...
And then he smiles, that seducer. "You should come with me to the bed," he offers, his own canines showing themselves as he speaks. "I think we are ... clean enough..."
His hand opens the door and his mouth makes a smile. Yes, you can have me. But you will have to come for me...
Edward laughs at the observation. You have grown up so much. He grins and scratches at the side of his nose, realizing he'll have to do more than simply stand naked in a shower. Ah well. Edward chuckles softly and turns off the water in the shower. Clean enough? He grins and takes your word for it.
Yes, he makes you work for him. It keeps you honest, ne c'est pas? Ah, well... not honest. But wanting. He knows the way of the French, the way of mystery, the way of pleasure. There is a drink for you. There is a towel in his hands as you exit.
Here, let me dry you, mon chevalier...
"Ayez votre boisson, mon chevalier," Valan murmurs, the towel moving against your skin, his hands massaging you dry. "Vous aurez un beau jeune homme sur ses genoux pour vous rappeler ce qui est du a vous," Valan smiles, lowering to your legs.
You will forget about your red-haired nightmare...
How can you concentrate on such a one when mouth drinks the water from your skin...
From your stomach...
The towel moves against your legs...
His mouth parts just above your groin...
The nightmare does begin to fade into a sea cast with golden light. Edward's hand comes to caress his lover's cheek, and the smile slips away into something more sedate. He closes his eyes as he stands there, though his fingers continue to move softly.
"Combien de temps avons-nous ete des amoureux? Cinq ans?" More? He does not recall now. But as Edward opens his eyes, the man of many doubts is still there, dependent upon you to give structure and meaning to what has happened between you. It is you who holds the heart of you both, carefully so.
"Nous auros Noel merveilleux...vous et moi..."
"Oui," he rises and he sets the towel aside. "Cinq ans." He smiles as he reaches for you. Not to take your hand and lead you along, but to wind his arms around your neck, to kiss your mouth. "Ce Noel il sera de cinq ans ensemble. C'est pourquoi je suis heureux nous vais en Suisse pour Noel. C'est notre anniversaire, vous savez..."
Valan Montague has become a vampire in those five years together. He has shown his weaknesses, but also his enduring strengths. And the bravery. The bravery that does not quit.
With a smile, he waits for you to lift him, to carry him to the bed as is your custom. "Il a ete de cinq ans depuis que vous m'avez porte a votre lit de chateau et a eu votre maniere mauvaise avec moi. Est devenu le sang a mon coeur..."
Edward nods, feeling similarly. "Five-hundred more then," he whispers before indeed, picking you up in his arms, much like a bride. Such an easy move, registering but a soft exhale. With unburdened steps, Edward finishes the walk to the bed, and ever so gently, places one knee upon the mattress, feeling it give way.
"Another five centuries with you," Edward barely breathes, emotion in it, "...would be the greatest blessing I will know."
And upon the bed, Edward gently places you, pausing as he hovers above, his body an extended canopy.
He has never minded being lifted by you. As large as he is, he has felt sheltered by your greater strength. As old as you are, you have been sheltered by his inner strength. You carry him easily. As easily as he promises he will be with you to give you his strength when you wish it or need it.
This is the first time you have spoken of a future so far in the distance. Valan Montague marks it with a slight smile. He lifts his hand to brush a touch against your cheek. He nods, and the smile grows. "Five hundred more," he breathes it back to you. "I would not miss a year of it, Eduard. It is what I want. Nothing else... matters to me. It is... ami... why I am here," the corners of his mouth twitches in his own emotion.
Sitting up, his hand going to your nape, he kisses you, he pulls you onto him, needing to feel your weight, needing to be yours. He whispers it.
"Je suis a vous..."
"Je dois etre a vous..."
Posted by rowan at August 21, 2005 01:24 PM
