Moments...
     Droplets of water that brush over the skin as if Time were the sauna. Valan Montague can now feel these moments as they come and go. He can feel the air. He can seduce the air -- but he tries not to, he would hate for it to catch on fire.
     There is quiet from the other part of the chalet. Finally. Valan smiles at the rim of his mug, the mug full of cocoa shavings melted and made frothy by heated milk. "Should we leave a note?" he wonders, teasing, turning to see his ami.
     He is clothed in his layers, white ski pants and a fitted sweater of crimson. His honeyed hair is moved this way and that way, shining, waxed in place with the haphazard tug of his fingers.
     Valan curls into a chair, his hands around the mug even as they were around you earlier. He sips at the hot liquid. It warms better than the fire. The fire... still makes him nervous. He sits far enough away from it to know it is there... but far enough away that he does not jerk every time it pops.

     "Why do we need to leave a note, ami?" Edward asks, bending to see his boots. For a moment, he thought they had been scuffed. No matter. Edward settles into his oversized chair, happy to spread himself in all directions. Boot heels dig into the floor, his legs slightly bent, arms extended along the chair's thick rolls. He inhales a cigar, his arm bending to remove it from his lips as he looks to you for a reply. The smoke billows around him as he peers through it to see you.

     "I don't know," Valan drawls, his head lolling over to the side to look at you. He smiles. "To say: Hello, we know you are here, welcome, we will see you later?" He is such a boy of his century. Such niceties. Such rituals. Notes! Quaint.
     He shrugs after such a thought. It does not really matter. Golden eyebrows quirk. Cigars. They smell awful. He wrinkles his nose at it, then smirks. How is it you can smoke those things, ami?
     "I was thinking of taking the higher slope tonight. I am getting better. My balance is improving. Maybe it is all the fencing." Montague considers that for a moment. "Maybe it is being dead."
     Your brilliant ami. He is so funny.

     Upstairs and on the other side of the chalet from your rooms, there is the sound of movement.

     Edward grins brightly at the obvious answer. "Death becomes you," he offers, rolling the cigar between his fingers deftly. Eyebrows wiggle and he puts it back into his mouth, pointedly.
     "You are getting better," he mumbles over the tobacco, "...I attribute it to your instructor," he thinks, settling again and looking across the large room.

     "Death does become me," Valan agrees with a grin, "...so does sex." He leans forward and sets his drink aside. "Ami, the cigarettes? I cannot smoke those things. As for my instructor... hmmm... magister, they say in fencing... that you are. I suppose you do deserve some of the credit," he mulls.
     In dancing, in skiing, in many things. Valan Montague does indeed give you credit. He smiles at you, that way he smiles. What other accolades do you need?
     "How does the magister feel about a higher slope tonight? A few runs and then... the sauna..." It sounds like a good evening. Relaxing. Private.
     But then, you know who has a way of ruining your placidity. Well, the other one who has a way of ruining your placidity. And you invited that. On your holiday. What were you thinking?

     His arrival is not majestic. There is no rush of his energy down the stairs. It is simple: one moment he is not there, and the next he is, coming slowly down the stairs. He is in black tonight, a soft wool sweater with thin knit and new leather.
     Intensity? That seems to be waking slowly tonight. He seems like he is sleepwalking, William Plantagenet.
     The indigo eyes are dark and bright, and with his hair short and face cleanshaven he cuts a splendid figure. Beautiful -- what Time has done to him. "Bonsoir," William murmurs, cigarette removed and being lit. He tosses the pack to Valan and then the lighter. You were looking for these?

     "Mmph," Edward pauses, shoving the cigar between his lips again. He was about to lean over and retrieve his plain cigarettes for his lover, but that was superseded. Now that his hands are free anyway, Edward pushes up from the chair to greet his...
     "Cos," the cigar droops, but goes nowhere until Edward removes it from his lips. He grins as he extends a hand - oddity that - then thinks better of it with a wave off.
     For a moment, he forgot it was a relation.
     "You got in fine, I see. Bloody storm coming," Edward growls, brows lifting in gentler opposition. "Best you weren't in transit," he notes.

     Indigo eyes looked at the hand like it was a foreign object, then smiles at the wave off. No handshakes for family. Not for brothers. But there is a hug. A one-armed hug -- he will not come between a man and his smokes.
     The smile contains all of his energy, smooth and pulling it holds all of the customary fire. With fangs distended, he grins and then he lands languid in a waiting chair. "Oui... it was tough driving but we made it. We were not planning on staying long," William softly notes for the record. He knows you are thinking it. Have been thinking it since you made the call. The corners of his mouth lift. "Unless the weather has other ideas."
     "And you, M. Montague," William turns to look at Valan. "Joyeaux Noel... almost. It is good to see you as well. Thank you...both," he looks to you, Edward then, "... for sharing a little piece of your holiday with us. I am sure Ian will be down in a bit. But you know... he likes the saunas. He may be in there all night," he grins at that, he cannot help himself.

     Valan waves it off as well, "Of course, you are our friends. And it is good that you were both so close. You have work in Venice? Or were you and Ian on a lovely holiday of your own?"
     He does like Ian. That cannot be mistaken. He respects him and likes him, Valan Montague does. His attention drifts upstairs, as if he shall be able to conjure his friend (Ian Dunross! Of all people!) with a simple look. He is good. He is not that good.
     "Ami and I are glad you are here. We should all take the slopes while you are here. Do you and Ian ski? Ah well... I think you do yes, does he?"

     Talk about a Chatty Corinne. One of Edward's brows lift, the other drops, as he stares at his lover for an instant. A smirk follows, and Edward retakes his seat in his comfortable chair. Well, Georg's comfortable chair.
     "The saunas," Edward pipes in, "...are the best thing." He removes the lighted plug from his mouth. "We should get one," he quips, "...but it is no good without the spa waters," a lament there. Harder to get them both in at the joined townhouses.
     As for skiing, Edward quiets, deciding to enjoy the cigar a moment more while the question is answered.

     It is a lot all at once for the slowly waking and elder mind and ears. William blinks, smiling and then he laughs, the quiet chuckle of the newly woken. "Well... he prefers to watch me ski from the safe and warm lodge. He is not much for winter sports. But I think I will...when I wake up...later..."
     William looks at Edward, the grin slanting. Much later. "I am just now warming to the idea of being vertical." He is quiet a moment, taking in the thousand small pleasures of his cigarette. He is a hedonist, even in this.
     "We added a sauna to the baths in Strathfayr, it is nice and can be done. I can design one for you if you want. I built a replica Roman bath in Chinon too. Sometimes, it is handy to know me, Edward."
     Sometimes. He chuckles softly and turns, tapping away the ash in the waiting ashtray. "Ian and I," he says to Valan mostly (he expects Edward does not care), "...were in Venice on business. I am working on one of the cathedrals there. I will be in Venice fairly solidly beginning in the spring. You are both welcome to come visit if you like. We will likely rent out the penthouse of a hotel and be done."

     Valan is the social conversationalist. Such the little host. "The saunas are nice. I do hope Ian comes down, I would like to see him. I was telling ami," he looks to you, Edward, the smile tilting to the side, "...how much I liked Ian."
     And it is because of that...
     "I've been meaning to ask you something, Guillaume," he always defers to the French. "I've been thinking about it for a while but... now that I know you better..."
     Be afraid. Be very afraid.

     Where is Ian, Edward almost wonders. He remains content to enjoy his cigar, despite the fact that his lover finds them disgusting. That's perhaps half of the enjoyment.
     Edward only leaves the confines of his smoke when his name is used. His brown eyes look up from the cigar and across to the source. He looks skeptical at the notion of William-knowledge being something handy, but shrugs afterwards and replaces his smoke again.

     Indigo looks from Valan to Edward and back. Okay. "Well... certainement, M. Montague..." He glances to Edward. Do you know what he's talking about? William settles in the chair. He, too, would be content to smoke in silence.
     Tapping out his cigarette, he folds his hands upon his woolen stomach, fingers lacing together as he turns his attention to Valan. There is faint curiosity, and stronger amusement.
     Ah, to be young...

     Valan looks at the burning end of his cigarette and smiles through the smoke. "When I first met you, that night at the L'Empereur, you were pressing a blonde man against the stairwell wall." Golden eyebrows lift and he tilts his head. "At the time I did not know Ian, but I do ...and I like him... so I am wondering...what you were doing with your tongue down another man's throats and is this something you make a practice of when Ian is not around?"

     Well, you could just drop a pin in here, couldn't you?

     Not really. Not from the coughing at Edward's chair.
     Edward regains himself after an instant, his face rather expressive. His brows are fully arched, and he tries to clear his throat. Apparently that requires a wince.
     But no rebuke comes forth. Edward simply swallows and exhales, picking up where he left off a moment earlier.

     "It is called... dinner," William explains, his deep voice measured and in its measurement revealing his surprise at the question. And there is equal parts insult and amusement. He's not sure whether to laugh or to throttle the boy.
     Had it been anyone other than Valan...
     "I had dinner. You were dinner too, once." So, he is a little offended. It could be worse.

     Valan glances to Edward during the coughing fit and smirks. But... William's attitude, and the rising energy that comes with it, does have an effect. "I suppose that is true." Another look to Edward. "But I want you to know that...I only speak this now because since meeting Ian it has always bothered me, that night I saw you with another. He is very kind. And if you are cheating on him, I think he deserves better treatment." He shrugs after that.

     A dark eyebrow lifts. "I am sure he would appreciate your concern, M. Montague. But... I do not ... cheat on Ian. And... even if I did... it would be none of your business."
     Exhaling, William looks to Edward. He does not want, nor does he expect, any rebuking. The boy's mouth is his own. "I think I will go out for a walk. If I'm to answer to Torquemada there," a nod toward Valan, "... I want to at least stretch my legs and prepare for it."
     And then indigo eyes roll.

     Well, he thought that might go better. If he had known otherwise, Edward would have interjected.
     "Valan -" Edward began, but the comments on what Ian deserved came too quickly. At that, Edward does slightly frown, leaning forward in his seat.
     And then William is leaving.
     "Cos," Edward says, arm extended almost in suppliance, "...don't go, eh?" He exhales, glancing over to his other half. Edward gives a little wink though, shaking his head. You are too much. "You...are you, ami," and he stifles a chuckle.

     "Does he ever turn his... blinding charm on you, cousin, or is it only your friends who are blessed with his... being him." That could have come straight from the mouth of his own father. He hears it himself, and then he sighs, returning to his seat.
     "And ...fuck you, by the way," he drawls out to Valan, shaking his own head. "Give me back my cigarettes. And for the record," he takes the pack as it is tossed to him, "... you really shouldn't just," pause, breathe, fire, smoke, "... call people out on their indiscretions. You live for eight-hundred and fifty-one years without fucking up before you tell someone who has lived for eight-hundred and fifty-one years not to."
     He's just getting started. All of that missing intensity, all of that fire that was missing in his arrival is now evidenced in his body language, his eyes, and the gesticulation of hands that convey what he does not manage to speak, though he is speaking much.

     "I have to be honest with those I care for, I am sorry that upsets you but that ... I cannot help," Valan remarks, only after tossing the cigarettes and then the lighter William's way. "I would be ...what...what sort of friend and more still what sort of man to just let such things go by without saying them."
     He shrugs then, unable to say more than that and unwilling to apologize to make William feel better. He looks to Edward with a 'What?' Then he smiles. "I am me... I suppose it is good that I do not have a twin."
     And then...
     Being Valan...
     He leans in toward William. "Are you going to be alright? Do you want a drink?"

     "He's young, cos," Edward does now interject, knowing the rising ire. No need to turn the firehose onto him. The cigar comes out, held between his fingers with care. "He's...just curious."
     "I don't think," Edward smiles gently at Valan, "... that ... Dunross...needs you to defend him, ami, hmm? He and cos have been...at this a long time." Hand comes out to pat the young man. No worries.

     William breathes smoke and for a moment says nothing. Nor does he seem to be fuming. His outburst came, it was expressed and now he seems to be settling into the chair and the peace that comes from filling one's lungs (or what remains of them) with fire and smoke.
     "You are right," indigo eyes look to each of you in turn, "...he is young. He couldn't possibly fathom what goes into a near nine-century marriage. For that," he looks lastly to Valan. "...his youthful... enthusiasm for the truth... can be forgiven."
     After this cigarette, he will go upstairs. Speaking of his marriage, his husband is nowhere to be found.

     Valan looks at Edward and takes his hand. Leaning over it, he kisses it then smiles. "Of course, ami." But still, he does not (and will not) apologize. "I will now change the subject. I think William needs a drink. And what about you, ami? I am going to make martinis."

     "Martini will be good," not his drink, so Edward waves negatively. "Cos?" he offers. A drink to mollify, though it is but a symbol. "He does make a good martini," Edward says, putting the cigar between his lips again. "Though..." he looks around, "...where is Dunross?" Troublemaker. And he's not even here.

     "I should go see whether The Dunross has risen yet," he notes, a congenial nod given to both of you. "But," an exhale carries the last smoke inhaled as William rises, stamping out the cigarette, "...you can prep a martini for me anyway. I like a dirty martini, stirred... do not shake it and ruin it. And I would like three olives."
     Say: Yes, your majesty...
     He looks at Edward, "I'll be back down in a bit. If I am not back in thirty minutes," he smiles. "Assume that I'll get the martini ... later. Valan Montague," he smirks, "...stimulating conversation, as always. I will make sure Ian knows you spoke in his honor. I think he will be thrilled. It is... a compliment. To him," he notes.
     "Don't skimp on the olive juice. I'll be down to ... confirm your abilities...Edward... frere..." He puts a hand to your shoulder and shakes it, then claps his hand on it and heads upstairs.

     There is no such thing as out of earshot with vampires, so Valan waits until William closes the door before rising to make the drinks. "He does not have a sense of humor about himself, but... he cannot be perfect at everything." His lips hold a smile. "Still, I did not like it... I had to say something. Regardless of his feelings. Are you mad with me for speaking my mind to him?"

     Edward watched William go, nodding his head sternly. Horrible kids these days.
     But once out of viewing range, Edward grins, turning about to see his lover. His smile is brilliant, and the cigar is summarily removed from his lips and stamped out near his chair. The chair seems relieved when Edward leaps from it and over to his companion.
     "You..." Edward embraces tightly, his mouth quickly at your ear, "...are amazing, ami," he growls lowly, said without a hint of breath. "Mmm, how you make me..."
     What do you think?

     "Let us go have a soak," Valan suddenly suggests. He will make the drinks later. Or maybe he will let the king make his own drink. It might do him good to fend for himself.
     "And you can tell me more about how amazing I am," he smiles, his hand reaching up and his fingers stroke along the sides of your hair. "Mmm... or better yet, I think you should show me what you think."
     Valan turns his head to face your growl. He tempts it with a knowing look. And he smiles.

     "I'll show you," Edward tells you, "...but it won't take me so long." Not as long as a soak. "In time for His Majesty's," did he hear you, "...martini not to get so warm, hmm?" Already he presses forward, and his lips disappear for a kiss behind your ear.

     Oh... he heard it...

     Valan laughs quietly, but then he closes his eyes. He may be a match for many, but he's not match for you. Especially when you put your mouth there.
     He gives his full weight to you, melting back against you. He anchors himself with his one arm lifted, surrounding you, his fingers seeking against your scalp.
     "Show me..."

Posted by rowan at January 16, 2006 08:13 PM