The sound of the car is his, none of your other friends coming by for a social call. Davydd would not dare and William is... wherever Williams go when they are not in London. That, the sound of the garage. Opening. Closing. And the quietude that follows as the engine is silenced.
     It is an hour from when he last called you. Time enough to get a drink at the Purple Papaya and head back home...
     He comes in from the garage, ending in the kitchen, where he is for a moment golden under the lights that are always left on. He is silencing his cell phone and he sets it on the counter as he heads into the living area you share.
     This is my home...
     This is my home because you are here...

     The living room sits dark, with Edward a lone figure in it. Before him, a glass that smell of gin and tonic. Well, more gin than tonic. He looks over as you arrive; he already out of his shoes and coat. He'd dressed in all black for his evening out, almost a uniform now, and now in the dark, he blends with the shadows.
     "Good night?" he asks with a smile, turning his drink up at his lips again. From the waft in the room, it's likely not the first or fourteenth.

     "Bonsoir," Valan smiles it and then he pauses, peering at you. Concentrating. "Or...should I say... good night," his English is very deliberately spoken, trying to be free from accent. Rusty, with disuse. "Ah... ami," he sighs as he heads to the bar, "... you have a head start on me."
     But he doesn't seem to mind. He comes to join you, fingers moving through your hair. "I'm not going anywhere," Valan Montague murmurs. "My stars are thrown in with yours. I am my own man. I make this choice of my own will. And I choose Edward Meurelle and his London."
     His fingers move against your cheek. "What could Paris possibly have to offer me that is better than this? So... as you say... fuck Paris..." His hand draws away from your face, fingers tussle through dark hair and then he wanders, in that way that only Valan can wander, to the bar to fix his own drink.
     "I'm sorry I called you... if I upset you. I was just so... taken aback by it. But.. the shock has worn off. The drink helped..."

     Edward sighs softly and drink from his glass again. "So. I did hear you right, I guess." So he won't ask you to repeat the call. Ice drops loudly within the glass as he drinks, lowers, and drinks again. Sucking his bottom lip, Edward says evenly, "If you want to go...I'm not going to stop you, you know." Despite what you've said. "It's a chance for something, to make yourself known," he nods. "Nothing wrong with Paris...at least the Paris you'll see."
     He looks up finally, "You should go, ami."

     He shakes his head. "No... I do not want to go." He pours himself a vodka martini, a dirty martini with a bit of the olive juice and two olives to boot. He brings it and himself over to the sofa. "I know you would not stop me, because you have said: Valan, you are your own man. And life is about choices, this is true. And my choice is clear and made. I am staying here with you. You call London home, and so do I."
     Valan settles back with his drink, turning to you. "I am only in this life for five years. I have plenty of time, ne c'est pas? To make myself known. Should I wish to be." He pauses, head tilting as he stirs the olives around the glass. He watches the liquid curl and curve around it. "If I were to go to Paris, I would be the smallest fish in a very large ocean. Albeit a golden and beautiful fish. But here... while I am still learning how to be around the others, I could be a slightly bigger fish, albeit still beautiful and golden," he smiles to you, "... but in ...gentler waters. Even if I were not with you, ami, I still... do not think it is smart for me to go. Being, as I am, very much with you," he leans in, "...how could I decide to go? There is nothing for me there but vanity and perhaps better shopping."
     He shrugs at that and eats one of the olives, pausing to let you respond, if you have a response, to his philosophy. He is not a foolish boy.

     Edward grins, amused by the notion of shopping. "I'm not going to make you go," Edward smiles now. "But...it is understandable if you wished. It is a good thing...to be asked for fencing. Of all things. You will have a nice apartment," and he shrugs, "...we would see each other, ami." Edward watches you, to affirm, "It is not as if it is something permanent." He nods and finishes his current drink.

     "If they ask a hundred years from now, perhaps my answer would be different. I just ... do not feel that it is the right time. And I know we would see one another. But you would not be with me for nights on end, or in my bed nearly as often as I would like." He grins at the rim of the martini glass, golden eyes sparkling in the low light.
     "I have a nice townhouse here. If I want a nice apartment in Paris, I have the money to buy one. That is not so much a favor for me." He shrugs again. "I lived in Paris before. I am young. I can live there again someday. But," he sighs, "... I will write a nice letter to Villon, thanking him for the honor of his call. That... startled me a little bit. That he, having only met me once, would bother with calling me himself. I do not know if Tattinger would recognize me on a stairway. But maybe when he hears I did not choose Paris over London, maybe that would change."
     Cupping in drink in the palm of his hand, he slides over that he might sit flush with you, a hand on your thigh, a kiss for your mouth. "I will continue to fence here. But I will thank Shelley and the Prince for their interest, ne c'est pas?"

     "Oui," Edward replies, his face placid after the kiss. He does not have so much more to say, and turns his attention to his glass cradled in his hands on his lap. Knees are open and relaxed, and Edward's gaze lifts to the modern art on the wall opposite where you sit. Despite his calm, there remains the hint of melancholy that's been about him for weeks now. It doesn't seem to overwhelm him. Just a humor that's dampened his usual sparkle. Perhaps that is now his normal state.
     "How is your drink?" Edward wonders, glancing over to the martini.

     "I like it when you speak French," he whispers a little admission to you and he grins, his hand patting your thigh again. Valan gives his weight to you as he leans on you and considers his drink. "It is good. I like it a little dirty, as you know," he slides a grin after that. "I think blood would be better, but... for a martini it is good. I like the olives." He takes another and then offers the last to you.
     Picture Eve tempting Adam with an olive...
     You have a sadness that cannot be kissed away. An anger there that cannot be sexed away. Though, he has tried, and in such comforts he shall still try to salve the injury. "And what about yours?" Valan wonders. "A gin and gin?"

     The olive is plucked delicately with his lips, and Edward talks as he eats, "Genievre avec la Genievre..." he smiles, "...eclaboussure de l'eau." Edward tips his empty glass towards you as he grins. If you like French, you should have it. "It's alright," he follows up. "I have rediscovered my like of it," he nods.
     With you flush, and quiet filling the space again, Edward's gaze returns to the painting. He crosses his legs, knee upon knee, and cradles his glass once repositioned. Socked foot kicks idly once, twice, then:
     "This is what married people do, yes?"

     "Sit in the darkness and stare at paintings?" His voice is soft, warm and full of both affection ...and humor. "I do not recall ma mere et pere doing such things. I do recall, however, a certain amount of alcohol." His fingers brush your lips and draw away, landing upon your thigh once more. He lets them wander idly there.
     "But being together... making decisions together... envisioning a life where they are together... oui, est ce ce que les personnes mariees." With his hand on your thigh he braces himself through another lean, kissing the lips and tasting the salt of the olive's residue. "De bonnes periodes, de mauvaises periodes... elles sont dans lui pendant le long temps. Est ce ce qu'elles."
     And you are in a low time now, yes? So how could I ever think to leave you for something as trivial as swordplay and politics...
     "I wish," he says in English, "... that I had something to say about what has happened. Only that I am sorry for him that he turned his back on you. That he wounded you," he murmurs in a hush. "And I am sorry for you that your friend did not act like a friend when he was tested."

     "You're sweeter than any honey," Edward smirks, looking ahead. "But wounds heal. And you stop worrying or caring after a while."
     An inhale and Edward smiles at you. "And no need to be sorry. You have said such dozens of times, ami. I don't want you to be sorry, and I am no longer sorry. It is as it is. I think, frankly, I haven't had enough to drink," he tips his glass, "...and that I have not had enough of you," he nudges, "...and toss that with a bit of boredom, well, then..." you see the ugly picture. Hands open to show the results. It sits here.
     "But...one should be able to get used to a little boredom, hmm?" Edward offers, leaning over and kissing your ear in an awkward twist. "As it is said - this too shall pass." And he seems confident and expecting of it.

     "I know a good cure for boredom," his hand pats your thigh and he rises. Plucking your glass out of your grasp, he heads back to the bar. "It involves a certain amount of ...restraint, this is true," he says that almost casually dismissive, a wave of an empty glass as he twists to look at you. "But surely one who has been around as long as you have knows a thing or two about that..."
     Another gin and gin with a hint of water, just a misting of water, is made for you. For himself...nothing. He will be too busy, he expects, to drink.
     Gesturing to you with your drink, taking a first sip of it (his eyes widen at it and the sip is not overly long), Valan heads for the stairs. "There is a time for sitting in the dark, mon ami, and a time, mais oui, for sweating in it..."

     "True," Edward nods, watching you leave with his glass. He stiffens his back and goes on with the conversation, "But I have to be in a mood..." Spilling blood sometimes helps. "I should have had you come to the fights..."

     "Well, how will you get in this mood if you are sitting by yourself, drinkless in the dark," Valan grins at you. "Come on, Edward," he murmurs. "We will go upstairs and I will treat you like a king, oui? A king in his own castle. You have not been spoiled enough, and I... too much..."
     "I would have liked that," Montague softly continues. "Next time... I will go with you. Who was fighting?"

     "Eh, two wankers who thought they'd last," Edward waves off, standing to follow. "A few fights," he says, not mentioning they're all illegal. Apparently darkness isn't a problem. Edward navigates around furniture to arrive at the stairs. "And you do treat me royal, ami," he counters. "I am the one who is spoiled," he ponders as he goes up the staircase.

     There are some things that do not need mentioning. You and legality fit into that category...
     Valan pauses on the stair as you follow, holding his position and offering you your drink at last. He is not one for gin, but fortunately your home does not lack for selection. Up the hallway he goes and to what would be a guest room if you ever allowed guests to sleep over.
     "I do not know about that," he admits. "Can a person be shown too much how he is loved?" He waits for you at the door. "And do I show you enough... how much I care for you? Do you know... I sometimes think, especially when you leave in your own car for your own nightly adventures... does he know, I wonder, how much I truly care for him, love him..."

     "I know that you do, ami," Edward affirms, swallowing gin now that he has his drink. But he let you go on to the room, and he finishes his following. "Deeply. I love you the same," yes? Edward is not sure what you mean. "And we are very good at showing how we feel on the subject," he smiles. But the mood for instant consummation still does not swirl about him. Not yet.
     "Am I missing something?" Edward wonders now, looking askance now. He takes another drink, looking over it for some lead he's missed.

     Yes? Yes. "I am glad, then, that I am being very clear on the matter," he chuckles then. "So long as you know..." Then he will not worry for you that you may wonder, when friends leave you, if love means anything at all.
     Valan grins as you look askance and he shakes his head, "Non, ami...you have not missed something. So," he plucks the drink from your hand again. "Go in and undress. I will make you a fresh drink and rub the stiffness from your neck and shoulders as an aperitif..."
     No one loves you as I love you, this I know. Your friend William loves you, but as a friend, as a brother. Not as I love you. And Davydd... I am sure he loves you still... or I have faith that he must after so long in your company. Even though he threw it all away to be alone...
     "We are good though, aren't we," he says it without questioning it, his mouth curving a knowing smile, closing the door behind him. "I bet, of all the people you know, we have the hottest bedroom. At least you were smart, ami, and married young..."

     "One of the few smart things I have done," Edward smiles, padding into the room upon quiet feet. "I try not to think about what's going on in everyone else's bedroom," he winces, moving to the side of the bed and lifting his shirt in the process. Edward's body settles again once his arms are lowered, and he inspects his naked arms and shoulders, as if he should find some blemish. The shirt's tossed aside.
     "But, now that you mention it," he grins wickedly, half-bending to pull of his socks and finishing the thought in silence, 'it is pretty hot when you think about it.'
     "If we're lucky, they're jealous." He smirks and shrugs, then looks at the bedside lamp, touching it with a finger.

     "So hot, it is a wonder we leave any snow at all behind when we leave Switzerland," he chuckles as he goes to the bar in this room (god forbid you should have a room without its own bar -- even the workout room has one) and he pours you another gin and gin. This time, he pours something for himself. The beginning of a martini.
     "I remember the first night we were at that other little cabin," his voice takes on the hush of memory, great memories. He does not finish his thought aloud, but grins through the shaking of the mixer.
     The grin grows to a chuckle as he pours. No olives or fruit here, he takes his without. "I am looking forward to the holidays with you in a chalet, large fireplaces, sweaters, skiing, fucking in the jacuzzi as we look over the mountains at night...we have the best Christmases." Your next drink is delivered and he sips at his own, bending to kiss you before you drink and as he sets his own aside.
     Valan motions to you in the universal language for 'lie down', and he reaches into the bedside table for the rubbing oils. "How could they not be," he whispers conspiratorially. "Look at you... and look at me..."

     Edward is not so convinced. "They are vampires, ami," he explains. "Come on." He's sure, without having to delve too much into imaginings, that their bedroom lives are just fine, however 'fine' is defined for them. Edward drops his trousers, the belt sounding until it hits the pile on the floor. He exhales and pulls the bedding back, preferring to land upon his stomach on the cool sheets within. "And I doubt they try to think about us, really," a smirk for the thought.
     Now comfortable in bed, Edward closes his eyes. Sleeping is not an issue as it's still hours before sunrise. He puts his hands beneath his pillow, to give firmness. "We do have the best holidays," he affirms in a mumble at his own bicep.

     He will not scare you by asking whether or not you are sure about that. He merely smiles, unclothing himself to join you now that all else is ready. Joining your pile are piles of his own, jeans, shirt. The jacket he actually hangs up, the shoes he tosses away. He will have to clean it later, or at least organize it.
     Hands rub together as his weight joins your own. Straddling your back, he applies a sudden pressure, and a sudden heat, to the nape of your neck and your shoulders. But it is not simply heat, nothing is so simple with The Montague. Radiating outward is that inner warmth, that pleasured tingle.
     "We have a good life together, you and I," he murmurs. "I am happy, Edward." As if you doubted it before, perhaps even tonight. "I am very happy. Since L'Empereur, from then to now. Time has no effect on it, but only to deepen it."

     "Mmph," Edward relaxes instantly. Each moment he's touch ratchets his tension lower and lower. "We do," he admits, even if it is not as he remembers his life to be. "It is different," he adds, "...more different than it was, and more different than I could have imagined when we met. I am.." his brows arch, "...just not so good at imagining." He never saw a life like this.
     "I cannot know what I thought when we met, ami. I will never remember," Edward whispers into the pillow, his cheek pressed into it. "Each night...I...I just didn't know anything. Just tried to know how I felt. And...we never parted," he murmurs, realizing it.
     Edward lifts and looks back over his shoulder to see you. "It is strange, isn't it? To just...meet someone and then to never part." He thinks upon that a moment, then lays back down ever so slowly. It boggles him, this concept. "Is that it happens to other people?" Other vampires?

     "It happens to some people, I'm sure." Valan says, head tilting to let his eyes watch his hands in motion. He scoots back as you lift and look at him past a shoulder. "There are books dedicated to it," he smiles at you. "We parted for a week, and that was it. When you know a thing is right, it is simply right."
     Thumbs press along your spine, his fingers flaring outward from it, and in waves that energy moves. "I don't know how it is for other people, really. I guess none of us really do. I would be surprised if we were the first, or the last."
     His weight slips down to your thighs, his hands working now at the small of your back. Valan pauses, sitting up on his knees and leaning over to grab the bottle. You hear his hands rub together again. And, again, there is a press and sudden heat against you, this time at your lower back.
     "Our story is out story," he goes on. "Everyone's is so different. I didn't imagine it either," Montague shakes his head, "... and I still do not daydream so much," there is a smile on his voice. "But... I am happy..."

     Easing tension has become a plastered smile. A bare squirm against the sheets. The smile grows a little when happiness is mentioned, but it's really hard to tell.
     "What do..." Edward's voice lilts dreamily, "...you think of being mortal now?" he wonders. "You are dead," he says it almost like saying the word 'flowers', "...but..."

     "Dead," Valan murmurs with a grin, "...but not out. Hmm.... I do not know. I seems like that is when I was sleeping, ami, and now I am awake. It has the... ephemeral quality of dreams, that life. I know it happened, but it happened somewhere else it seems."
     His hands move over the rounds of your rear, the tension rubbed from them as well, large muscles that become your thighs, hamstrings.
     "It seems now... I move more slowly, though I know I can move much faster than a mortal person. And yet... my life then, my memories are in fast-forward, like old films. I do not think: oh I was happier then. Or, what if things were different. I have never once thought of such things. I was that then, I am this now..."

     The word Now causes Edward's legs to shift. He brings a knee up and turns over, despite you above him. You'll adapt, he's sure. Arms, shoulders, torso...it takes a shuffle for him to finally rest upon his back. If a change in mood was desired, the effect is in the visible proof. This is always his first stage - simple, pleasant desire. To make love to him now would be a languorous, light affair.
     "I try to imagine," Edward speaks softly, "...what it's like now for you....for you to know what...loves you. What type of creature," he calls himself. "To have such a...thing...touch you," and do more than that. "It is...the type of thing that should...cause revulsion then." When you were mortal. "And to know," apparently his desire is still unfocused, "...that a creature would change you..."

     "I was not revolted. To be honest... I did not know, did not believe... would never think you were dead." He grins at you as you roll over, and he adjusts, as he always does, by rolling with the Present. "You do not look dead, Eduard. I cannot be revolted now," he chuckles.
     And, mon dieu, why should I?
     Valan Montague straddles you again, giving his balanced weight to your hips. More oil on the hands and he rubs them together, friction conducting heat, heat combining with the insinuating energy that now moves against your groin and hips.
     "Why do you try to imagine it now? Hmm? When there are so many more pleasant things to imagine. How we now... whatever creatures we may be... are in the same space and time. I am not in that dream world now. I am awake. And I am with you."

     Edward grins lazily, nodding. You always know what to say. And, it is true. Edward takes comfort in the thought, noting, "I am glad one of us is very smart, ami." No irony intended. "We make a better pair," than one alone. Each knows his strength.
     His next smile is accompanied by a long stare at the face he loves. "I don't have to imagine," Edward muses. "I see my delight every night of my existence." Despite himself, there are some things he's learned from El-Adar. Edward sits up suddenly, arms clasping at the small of your back to keep you from toppling.
     "Only one last time, ami," Edward whispers, ever so close now. "I wonder that maybe you should go to Paris. At least to see. If you do not like it, then...I will be waiting for you, as I always do."
     "You can always just come home," Edward smiles.

     Close to you, you balancing him, Valan Montague places his hands upon your face. He kisses you and he whispers: "Non." He leans back slightly, but only just, freeing your face. "While my journey...our journey..." he adds it with a smile, "...make one night take us to Paris, I feel it is not the right time. Not yet for me, not yet for us."
     His fingers find their way through your hair. He loves that, and in his love of it he lets warm energy move down each strand, a thrill of pleasure to each follicle. "Will I be any less a fencer if I do not go? Will my craft suffer?" Montague smiles. "What is there for me to gain, besides exposure, with such a thing? At such a tender age, and with the fingers that they have there, I would have to be watching my back and my front!"
     Valan lowers his hands from your hair and scalp to surround your neck and shoulders with his arms. A shift and he stretches out strong, fencer's legs, wrapping them around you as you cradle him. "I will thank Shelley for his words and his friendship, but I will pass to him, in person, my regrets. And for Villon, a nice correspondence. Why should they take offense at the actions of a five year old..." He laughs at that. "I am so young to be getting such notice. I would ... fear being made to be someone's pet. Suddenly, The Montague would be in debt..."

     Edward smirks, rather amused at something. His head dips to place a kiss at throat's cradle. "You have learned fast," he murmurs, lips upon skin. "I am glad of it."
     His exhale is warm as any living man's. Centuries of practice. Lovers hate when their partners are stone cold. "It's funny," Edward grins there, skin tells, "I could almost sit like this for hours..."

     A hand closes lightly against the nape of your neck and you are held to his own. He closes his eyes, he smiles and he holds you to him. He has not mastered the warmth that you have. But when you can bring orgasms at the touch of a hand, who's going to really pay attention to temperature... ne c'est pas?
     "I could sit like this for hours. You may be in trouble, Eduard, I am very comfortable..." He smiles, head tipping back. Kiss me, says the motion. Kiss me there. "And I had a good teacher," he whispers. "He is smart and sexy. You would like him," Valan chuckles, teasing. His thighs hug your waist.

     "Apparently," strong mouth mumbles, "...he also has learned infinite patience. Wanker," Edward laments, allowing his pointed canines to press the flesh, so to speak. His tongue swirls, marking the spot for future reference. "There," he whispers.
     "All that is left for us...is Yule."
     No plans, no more forethought. No more problems to sort or confusing emotions to feel. All that remains sits between the two upon the bed, and a look ahead to a joyous anniversary...

Posted by rowan at August 27, 2005 02:23 PM