The energy downstairs wavered between dreamy-eyed amusement and the hiss and burn of ...what was it exactly? Anger? No. Indignation? A little. Confusion? Some. Defensiveness? Well, yes, he was defensive.
     It was after that sparked upon the air and along the shared connection that the door to your bedroom ticked open. Solid door. Nonetheless, it is closed quietly. Are you still in bed?
     Why did what he say bother me, that little boy? And I became indignant. Annoyed, really. What a smartass. Cheat on Ian. Tell the boy a story and he thinks he's read all your books.
     "Hmm... amours..." You are not in bed. Pity. I am in the mood to...pile on. "How is the water this morning?" he wonders in that smooth way of his. William appears in the bathroom a moment after his voice sounds. "Shall I join you, or are you on your way out?"

     The figure in the bath looks up, turning his face to the falling water before peering over his shoulder at the voice. He twists and gives a slight smile, stepping across the stones to push the door open. "Guillaume," he says softly, just over the rush of water, "...come in...if you like. Everything alright?" he wonders, pushing wet hair back and out of his face.
     "How late is it?" You are back, clearly, having dressed for company. "I overslept," he surmises.

     The smile is immediate, and so is the removal of the sweater. Blackness leaves him, falling to he stone floor, revealing the ...slightly less olive skin beneath. The very visual effects of last night.
     "I do not know... it is not so late, I do not think. But ... it is your vacation, yes? You are supposed to sleep in. I should have too," he smirks now, amused by it when in your presence.
     The leather is removed, shoes, and all he wears but one thing -- the ring between you is never removed. William slides in alongside you, arms surrounding you, embracing you in falling, warm water. "Everything is alright... your honor was being defended. You have a new champion, it would seem."
     Young and headstrong and mouthy, but a champion nonetheless.
     William breathes at your ear, making a low sound there as his hands move over you. He kisses your shoulder, neck, then just behind your ear, turning to douse himself in water. "Young Master Montague says I should appreciate you more. How do you like that?"

     With you there and that story, Ian laughs. "Really?" Well. Ian sways a bit beneath water, reminding himself of the embrace. This is what it feels like to be loved by a knight, a duke, a man among men. His cheek rests against your shoulder, and his hands fold around himself and over strong arms. His smile slants askance in gentle regard. "He is a sweet boy," Ian finally offers, his first direct opinion of Valan. "Maybe I need defending," Ian suggests to the crusader behind him. "I should take all I can get," he freely admits. But a glance over his shoulder shows anticipation of a counter-argument.

     Very funny. A dark eyebrow lifts, and so too one corner of his mouth. "You would not say he was sweet for the dressing down I got," he chuckles. "Or...maybe you would. But there he was, brave thing, riding up and knocking me on the shoulder with the tip of his own lance, and tell me that I should mind my p's and q's or else. I got a little indignant," William whispers, grinning at your ear.
     Arms around you, he hugs and rocks a moment. "I do not think you need anymore protection than me." That is his educated opinion. "But if I am not around for some reason, now you know you can call on Montague."

     "Someone needs to keep you in line," Ian smiles, not really understanding the circumstances, but also not asking. "I've never been so good at it. Good for young Master Montague," he teases, still moving gently. "I will call him when my situation becomes dire," Ian notes for the record, nodding his head.
     But that is enough for Valan. Ian pauses suddenly, then remarks, "I think Montague...needs his own protection." Ian blinks a few times in succession, then stops the rocking. "Interesting." That.

     "You keeping me in line is about all I can take," William chuckles. "One should prune the ego, not raze it." There is no reach for soap, just the skimming of his hands along your water-slick skin. You stop rocking, but William does not open his eyes.
     "Hmm...what is interesting..." What could be more interesting than you in my arms? William is watching his hands move against you from over your shoulder. You sparkle in the water, and like an elusive dream you ripple beneath his touch.
     "Something happening?"
     His mouth opens at your neck. He cares more about that, to be honest, than Valan Montague.

     "Mmm," Ian rumbles, distracted at the expectation. "Yes," he whispers, eyes closed. He grins, "Listen..." he says softly, which should be more translated as Feel it...

     There is no sound, other than the rushing water. Beneath it? Something more desperate than the almost-romance of the shower. A pulsing energy, a need for satisfaction, for praise and pride. But within that? Something slithering and slightly dark. A need to rend and consume, to indulge and corrupt, to take as much as to please.

     Last night, you held him until the pink of morning. Your mouth was filled with his blood (so rich, it is almost indigo). Now his mouth is poised to take some of him back, and you. And you...
     But he does not pierce your skin. His mouth remains open there, your skin and the water tasted. And something felt. Water slithering like serpents.
     Hmm...
     "Well....that is new..."
     Indigo eyes open and William straightens. "What is that?" he softly asks you. A soft inquisition and then he falls silent. Almost silent. There is a sound he makes at your ear, a sympathetic growl.
     He really shouldn't be listening to this...
     On so many levels...

     "I don't know," Ian says gently, as if a touch of concern there. You growl, but Ian listens further, once he has been left unmolested. He can appreciate your hunger - and he is willing - but something in the air, other than another pair at high dinnertime, has his attention.
     He'll listen until asked otherwise. It is...
     Hot. Dark. Dimming.
     That's it. Something dimmed in it.
     A brow raises though. Ian comes back to the point, nodding as his lips flatten, "Well..no one said they aren't...deeply into it." For lack of a cleaner phrase.

     "Can we talk about me being deeply into it?" The chuckle is dark and throaty. He cannot listen anymore. William detaches his senses from it for now. The hissing of serpents becomes the sound of the water reflecting off of your skin, off of his skin. The only snakes left are those of his large arms coiling around you.
     William closes his eyes. He listens to your skin, your blood beneath your skin. Your soul beneath that. Your soul sounds like a Scottish meadow, the motion of grass in the wind, the lifting of heather, and bees on the heather.
     Honey on the tongue...
     And your blood...
     And your blood...
     Indigo eyes open, running violet with the piercing of your skin. The duke's arms tighten. Such a strong embrace. His fingers press into your skin as his mouth closes over the wounds he has made. Temporary cuts, these. Opened, and reopening, by the piercing of his vipers and the suckling of that mouth.
     Serpents...
     What is that...

     Ian's weight gives over to you, even without his knowing. One moment, he's extending his senses to explore the flash of energy in the air, and in the next moment, he is sinking into the spiral of his own embrace. The water's constant thunder is briefly broken by Ian's gasp, but quickly enough, there is silence.

     The house's shifting energies struggle. From upstairs, a silver aura spills forth, rumbling across the floors and down the stairs like so much grey smoke. It soon roils to fill the larger spaces of the house, meeting - containing - an inky onyx milk that pools at the chalet's foundation.

Posted by rowan at January 17, 2006 07:23 PM