I can just hear it now:
     Ami...
     Oui, Eduard?
     What the hell are you doing with sliced veg on your face?
     I am too lazy to make a sandwich...
     Valan smiles as he lies in the sauna, cucumbers on his eyes as he is stretched out upon the cedar planks, marinading like tonight's dinner. All that is missing is the rosemary. A rolled towel is tucked behind his neck, stretching it and letting the heat work the muscles of his shoulder and upper back.
     Another towel is wrapped around his fencer's waist, knotted to keep it wound around him. One foot rests upon the warm stone floor, another upon the steaming cedar plank.
     He spends hours in the spa, going from whirlpool with its steaming waters and wonderful view of the mountainside, to the sauna, back and forth as if taking part in some purification ritual. We all know that would not be sufficient for Valan Montague de Blois, as he calls himself these nights.
     Yes, he thinks, I can hear him smirk. I know the quality of the sound of his smiles. The pulling of that skin. His eyes nearly chime as they roll at me. I did not know such ordinary things would become so musical, so fantastic.
     Pardon me for basking in the comfort of it all, and in the delight of it all. Or do not pardon me. It does not matter to me, for I am in love.

     The snap of the seal on the sauna door breaks the peace.
     "Sorry, sorry, ami," Edward calls, rushing in to the space. He sighs as he twists to close the door behind himself, the tick assuring the seal's in place again. "I shouldn't have fucked with the call," he laments. It went as such:

     "Yeah..."
     "Yeah, I hear ya."
     "Yeah, right - let me..."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Oi! Did he say that? Well, fuck him and his sister," rolling eyes lifting to think a second.
     "Yeah, fine, I'll be there, but right now --"
     Hand over phone, "Ami, just a sec, eh?"

     "Eh..." Edward spins about, "...did you bring..."
     Well, apparently vegetables were brought. And silence.
     "What the fuck is that? Zucchini?"

     Valan laughs. It's not the I am French and therefore better than you so I will only lightly chuckle laugh but one from his stomach that bubbles up from his throat. "They are cucumbers. They reduce puffiness of the eyes..."
     "And you are letting all the steam out," he teasingly bemoans (as if you were, and as if he'd miss it with all the other puffs of steam about). "So what was the gossip so important they call you on your holiday?"
     He could be Prince one day, really. Lying about in saunas with cucumbers on his eyes and blithely asking about gossip from the safety, security and dare-say luxury of a swiss chalet.
     Valan lifts a cucumber slice, gold-green eye peeping up at you as he grins. "Your towel is heating in the cabinet," his eye glances in the direction of the cabinet in question. "Do you want some vegetables for your own eyes?" Valan grins, fully expecting the answer to be No.
     "Where are you going, hmm?" Back to the call.

     "Not going anywhere," Edward says low, taking a seat next to you. He looks over, staring for a moment. "You're dead. You don't have fuckin' puffy eyes."
     "Did you bring something?" Edward wonders, looking left and right. "We'll get thirsty in here -- oh," a bottle realized. "Well-spotted," Edward salutes. He begins the process of opening it.
     "Are you willing to go out tomorrow night? It's snowing again," he says, listener to the radio that he remains.

     "Good," his hand places the cucumber back where it belongs -- or rather, back in place -- and then his hand skims against your thigh. "I like having you all to myself. I am greedy, mais oui. It is not in the spirit of the Baby Jesus, but Baby Jesus will have to forgive me. I hear he likes to do that, so maybe he will enjoy it."
     Valan grins sacrilege so easily. It must be something in the water of Touraine. Fingers pad on your thigh as he chuckles. "Being dead is no excuse for not taking care of the skin. I have seen some of our kind with such warts..." He must have met a Nosferatu at some point.
     He plucks the vegetables from his eyes, setting them down to further soften in the steam pot of the sauna, and he sits up, giving a shoulder to you and a kiss upon the line of your jaw. "I am willing to go out, oui. Where are we going?" Still, you have not said -- so the smile echoes. He knows something is up.
     "We are not going to have sudden visits from the Ancients are we?" Girault, one may presume.

     Oh. That's another story. Edward was slipping into warm reverie when he's reminded. "Well, yeah, I said that cos might come." Brows arch between Didn't I? and I know I did. "Dunno when," he explains. "But just for a few nights, if at all. They might have their own thing, you know."
     "As for warts," Edward goes on without a pause, "...they had 'em before." His hand rests on top of the one on his thigh, then begins to move it within his towel. "Who did you see with those? I mean -" eyes do roll now, "...it wasn't a real clean time, dependin' on how old said one was..."

     "It's not William and Ian I mind. I like them. They don't look at me like I'm an entree. I feel like I should wear parsley behind my ears when Girault is around," he settles against you, letting the steam rising from his own skin work upon yours. Dead or no, steam does make the skin more pliant.
     Your eyes roll and he laughs. Maybe he said it just to see it. Just to hear it. "I love you, yes?" Gold eyes look at you ascant, his eyelashes lowering in that way of his, devastating in so subtle a motion. His gaze lowers to the sliding hands, and the smile stretches smoothly.
     "I love Switzerland," he breathes, "...and you and I in Switzerland. So, Eduard," his voice lowers as his hand moves against you. "Where are we going tomorrow night?"

     "I love you," Edward smiles, his gaze suggesting he's not sure from where that came. A frown comes, "Someone you saw with warts...came on to you?"

     "No, he did not come on to me. He was in the club... warehouse... I do not remember what it is called. You know the one where those in our familie go? Well, there is more than one. It is the trendy one. He was there near the bar. He was not paying too much attention to me." A pause. "I do not think."
     Valan's hand recedes -- perhaps you will stop talking about warts and return his hand to what is beneath your towel -- "Anyway," he moves his other hand while he talks, his hand on your leg squeezing. "...your call... we are going out? Is that what the call was about? Who are we meeting? Where are we going?"
     He laughs at his own incessant questions, and then looks around as if for a cigarette. In a sauna? Sacrilege.

     Not sure if he's gotten this cleared up, Edward's frown remains slight. "No, that call...was about Nodnol," he dismisses. "We're not going anywhere - but skiing. There are a couple of routes...when we get out, I will show you, ami. Maybe a third. It will depend on your stamina, well, and I guess, your interest."
     "Mm, have you seen to your familie this year?" Whatever it is you do with them. Thinking that you seek the bottle, Edward retrieves it and offers it to you, still untouched.

     "Ah, good," his eyes light up. Gold and green interplay in his excitement and his fingertips hum against your skin. "I have seen to them," he says. "They wish to see me. I have said I would visit after Christmas, in February I think. I have ...a man who handles things for me," he looks to you.
     A ghoul? Already?
     "So they will all have gifts from me and the man I love," Valan continues, taking the bottle as you offer it. He drinks directly from it, a swallow only before he passes it back to you.
     "The skiing will be excellent. We will go visit the little cabin? I remember that first time," his smile wanders in the thought. "You kept me warm, my tender mortal skin. Poor little mortal boy," he teases.
     Valan holds his hand out for the bottle again, but no... he does not want that. His hand ends up in your hair, rubbing at your scalp, and then the massage includes your shoulders.
     "We will ski," Valan murmurs, smile curling, "... and you doubt my stamina? After so many years? Is that a challenge, mon chevalier?"

     Edward smirks near blush. He shakes his head negatively in response. "Not so poor mortal boy," he affectionately recalls and rewrites. "It is not a challenge...cause I would lose," Edward grins as he briefly glances to gold-green eyes. "I hate losing," he reminds. "But oui, that cabin, if we go that route. There are others though. Much like that. Such things are scattered all among the mountains."

     "I know you do," Valan grins. "But you are sexy, yes? Regardless of the winning or losing. You are tight here," he whispers at your ear, his hands working into the crook of your shoulder and neck. "I carry my tension in my head. You, in your neck."
     Beneath the kneading of his fingers is the pulling of his magic upon your blood. He is like a massage machine, is he not? Warming and vibrating even as he kneads and strokes.
     "Where do the other runs go? How far out? Do we need to pack something to take with us?"

     Time moves so slowly. Existence within moments.
     Each infinite instant is a swirling dervish, threatening to swallow an eternity whole.
     For some souls, it is a trap, each passing infinity.
     Others learn to dance in the spin, forgetting and forgetting until the trap begins to snap. The immortal reaches for his existence, himself, and pulls a life from the funnel of drowning despair. Instead, he finds the vestiges of his human self, able to enjoy the threatening expanse of time. Luck, it is then, to turn Time into a dance partner.
     "You ask me about skiing," Edward gets to the point, "...knowing I can't remember anything right now." With the hand where it is. "What do you want?" he asks directly. To be disingenuous is not his way.
     "We can talk skiing," Edward tries to smile, hearing the severity of his own tone, "...or we can not talk at all." He shall leave the choice there.

     I should be more careful...
     I should not tease the Lion of Venice...
     His hands still work your flesh, and the warm and tingling powers remain, moving against your skin and then beneath it. It is not your soul he seeks, but the soul of the knot in your shoulder. He has found it, and it loosens.
     "Our best conversations are when we do not talk at all," Valan says at your ear. He smiles, and then his power recedes. His hands, however, do not leave you. They wander from your shoulder to your scalp. He is your own portable spa, no?
     Fingers move through your hair, and along each strand a rivulet of energy moves. Not magic, not his ... whatever that is that he does... but simply what is between you. Years now, and much emotion. Eventually, Valan Montague moves his hands away.
     "We have all night to not talk," gold green eyes look up to you as he lays his head upon your toweled lap. "You wanted to tell me something. I should not have interrupted you with a massage. We will be having guests. We should get in as much skiing and adventure as possible before they arrive. Though," he grins, his smooth moving mouth showing the distending canines, "... they do not need much in the way of entertaining. Point them in the direction of the bedroom and that suffices."

     Edward comes upright, his head having gone lax beneath the touch. He leans back and watches his lap fill. "We might want to ski now, is true," his French comes easily, the modern version no less tripping upon his tongue. "Your pack will be enough - bring whichever you like. We may cover some...sixty or so kilometers. Two nights, at least."

     "I should stop being lazy," Valan lazily smiles. Twisting, he leaves a kiss upon your stomach, and then he is sitting up. "I should get my gear ready, yes? Yes," he echoes it again, this time against your mouth.
     "An adventure. Do not tell me too much," he says, standing and stretching. A finger loops where his towel is tied, falling slack as he prepares to leave the sauna and spa for the bedroom and for packing.
     "We should take something to drink, maybe brandy," he starts thinking aloud, preparing in his mind. "What else will we need, ami?"

     "Mmph," Edward grunts affirmatively, biting his bottom lip. The head, recently upright, falls to the side in time with the towel. "It is not a secret - are we leaving already? - I don't know where we are going because...I am just following an old map." He smiles gallantly, then stands, despite his recent arrival.
     "Just your things; I will see to the rest. Well," he shrugs, "...not that there will be a lot," to carry that is.
     "I found an old map," he goes on, beginning to follow once the bottle is picked up, "...one I used." During the war. "There used to be a town of huts...nearer the border. I had forgotten them, but then as I was looking at the map, it came back. Maybe three families. One had a basement that was used. It is," he nods, "...exploring in a way."

     "World War routes," Valan pipes up, hanging up his towel outside the door of the sauna. It is both a question and not. His inflection lifts with his interest. "Or is it older than this?" Though the 1940s are plenty old enough, no?
     Well, not to you...
     He begins to wonder what he should bring, but then he smiles. "It is different... not being mortal anymore. I don't have to worry about freezing to death. Remember how cold the cabin was?" He crosses over to his dresser, his clothing already unpacked and neatly folded. Valan removes sweaters, layers to be worn the one over the other. Over all of this will be his water-resistant ski suit hanging in the downstairs closet, dried from the last use.
     "Did you hide out there? You and the Alpine Corps?" Nakedness is steadily covered, layer upon layer. Perhaps inspired by your story, he pulls on an olive-colored sweater. It makes his eyes instantly more green than gold.
     You have not talked much about your war experience. Any of them.

     "Oh, they're all older, likely," Edward goes on, following to the room with a snap of the sauna door. He sniffles as he pads, an old man in his towel. The bottle's set on a table, and he moves to find another towel. "But no, not hiding. A break," he smiles, "...from the day...if I had gotten myself out too far. Only once I think. But knowing it was there was enough to always check when passing through."
     Towel now around his shoulders and head, Edward moves to the bed and throws himself back upon it. "You seem to like William and Ian well enough," he picks up again.

     "I like them a lot," Valan says, sitting on the bed in sweater and boxer shorts. "William is very generous, he can be quite funny, and he loves you, which ...I happen to think... is his best attribute." He smiles at you. "And Ian? I do not know him well, but he has always been very kind to me. When I was a mortal and nothing to him, he was very kind. And he opened his home to me, he greets me like I am welcome in his space. There is something about him, I do not know what. Maybe it is because he is so private, but he seems to be an interesting man. He loves your friend. That much I do know."
     Valan looks at you, smiling. "I like that when you need someone to take care of you, that William is always there. Even when you do not want him to be. So... yes... I like him. Them. And I am happy they are coming to see us. When I was speaking before, joking... I was talking about Girault, not your friends."

     Edward nods, making a silent ah. "Girault is..." Edward sighs in almost real lament, "...he is the Dignitary." As if that is understood. "He is Girault, he is a Medici. He is...what He and his family have always been." Entitled. Well, if you forget the earlier origins. "And now?" In this life. Doubly so. Edward shrugs, as if to say 'what else could have happened.'
     "He is my friend, Girault. I have seen him do many things, himself and behind the scenes. His power is real, ami, but listen," Edward turns to see you, "...you should never have problems with him, ami. If so, I wish to know, yes?"

     "He is very powerful. When he looks at me... I feel he sees straight through me," Valan admits. "I think he does." He smiles a little. "But I ... am not judging him. I will tell you, immediately." The smile grows. "If you do not hear me screaming, that is."
     It is the power, not the person, that he fears. Yes, fears. You know the smell of that emotion. "Maybe I am just nervous around him, because he is so old. Girault was only ever kind to me. I should not tease him. Or worry you."
     Leaning forward, he kisses you. Summer warmth is still there. A canine toys at the flesh, pressing and then he sucks the sting away. "Thank you for asking. I promise you... I will tell you if I am ever threatened by any one, or if any one gives me any trouble."

     "Alright," Edward grins, his jaw setting slightly. His looks are lingering as he tries to remember this moment. "Don't worry, ami," arm coming out so you might lie next to him. An embrace is in order. "We shall have a good holiday, hmm? No worries, no nothing."

     For as solid as he is, Valan is quite pliant. To you. But then you have always been able to move him. He comes to lie beside you, facing you. "We will. I love that we come here every December. It is very nice of Georg to relinquish it over the holidays. He must love you too." He smiles at you from where he lies.
     A man of many friends, that is my Edward...
     Valan kisses you, it is a gentle thing, and he winds his arms around your shoulders, breathing at your mouth. "Do you know when William and Ian will be here? We should make sure we are here to greet them, at least."

     His mouth so near, Edward's lips pucker and wiggle to meet familiar other. "We will be back before they come," he whispers, ending with a scant kiss. "Do not worry," he says again. The answer to all things.
     Edward's arm curls tighter and he closes his eyes, smile upon his lips. "Not about Georg, not about skiing, not about Girault, not about visitors."
     It's good advice he appears to take himself.

     For a time, Valan Montague says nothing. His body fits flush against your own, his nooks settling into your crannies, his mouth brushing yours. He is in no hurry to ski. There is no need to hurry. Or worry.
     "We fit well," he remarks, his own eyes closing. There is nothing more to say about worry. There is nothing more to say but that. We fit well. Here we are. The answer to all things. Here we are.
     "Shall we go tomorrow night? Tonight... I want to stay here with you. Like this... in your arms." Since I met you, it is where I want to be.

     A sudden grin flashes at Edward's lips though his eyes remain closed. "Ami...don't worry," Edward says again. It's an exercise in futility for you, his smile says, but for him, it is the exercise that keeps him on the Brujah path.
     And what is there to worry about?
     "There is nothing, ami, but this."
     "Do not worry," he whispers.

     Now it is Montague's turn to grin. "Okay," he whispers. "I will not worry." You say this but mean for him to be quiet. He understands that now. Chuckling, he gives it a try, closing his eyes and simply lying against you.
     An exercise in Stillness...
     Valan knows it is futile, ultimately he will lose to you. But he remains still, remains in your arms, and remains quiet.
     Who's worrying?

Posted by rowan at January 02, 2006 03:56 PM