The stone body of the veranda juts out from the villa and overlooks the private stretch of beach below, and the turquoise body of the sea beyond it. The same light colored stone, reflecting the heat of the sun by day, by night the stones are still warm from it--just as the light sands below. The verandah itself is semi-circular, each corner ending just beneath the windows of the private rooms.
     Wide and far the beach stretches. The sands alternatively warm and cool. Under the sun, like a field of jewels. Under the stars, how like a second firmament. Grains of sand shine at the continuous embrace of the sea. The water itself is warm. It tastes and smells of salt. Of the Past and of the Future. All in the salt of the sea. The wind is made fragrant. Upon the crests of waves, heads of white froth -- like some underwater herd of horses. The embrace of the Mediterranean Sea to the shore is rhythmic, and the tug of the current upon your feet is like that of an insistent lover. Come join with me...

     Fragrant the wind that stirs through the vineyards. Fragrant the air that is heavy with the spices and herbs from the villa and the village. Salt and spray nearly sparkle upon the scented breeze that moves through the opened verandah doors and into the main living area. Spilling sensations there. And it is as if Cadiz knows you shall soon be leaving... that it makes itself as brilliant, if not more splendid, that the first evening. Incense is lit. Corridors are rimmed with beeswax candles. And the young men of the house are attentive to your every care. And somewhere you hear a song is stirring. One guitar beneath expert and agile fingers. Somewhere ...where stars are burning over the sea. Shall your feet lead you there? It is not Augustino. Nor is it Felipe. The voice can only be of One. Deep and smooth. Languid and compelling. Beautiful. The Provencal comes with ancient inflection. And the house is alive with the sound of it...
     William rests upon the cushions found on the portico and verandah. His eyes half-closed. The ocean wind plays with his dark hair. Lifting it, where strands have dried from the earlier swimming. He is clothed only in the white gauze cotton. Thin, so that moonlight reveals him. But such comfort. And cradled in his lap and against him, Augustino's 12-string guitar. Beneath agile fingers, expert, it sings. Golden strings pressed to the frets. The song both lilts and rolls. Were the ocean to have a voice, it would be this. Were an angel to be heard, it would no doubt sing as William. And the song itself? An old song. Provencal. Longing. As much for this land and for his lover. This is You.

     Behind you comes Ian. He has not been far. A glass is set beside you, in an open spot where floor is visible, then another comes to rest beside it. He sighs, as does the cushions, weight settling on either side. Knee left and right at your hips, Ian's arms slipping around your shoulders. A comfortable bear. His chest presses softly while chin settles on your shoulder. He could sit and listen to you sing forever, if he had his druthers, but indeed, time rapidly approaches for you both to go home. Silence is what he offers, the air filled with enough sounds for now.

     The song, too, is near its completion. How easy it would be for it to linger upon the air heavy with the scent of Spain. As easy as it would be for him to linger here. And never leave. William closes his eyes as he feels you...and the sound of his voice pulls intensely at his throat. Such is your effect upon him. His voice trails off, the song ended, but his fingers move on. Moments after. Like the sea, it seems it shall live forever. "I love you," he murmurs. His voice barely a breath, yet it reaches you clearly. If we close our eyes, my love, is it possible to will our coming departure away? William exhales, leaning his head against your own. But the song is stubborn. It will not end. His fingers slow it, but do not stop it. "It...has been the sweetest time...I could recall..." comes the languid baritone. "Would you like some wine? Soon....the pears shall be out of season...." And you and he...out of Europe. There is a longing beginning. William rests against you, sighing. Smiling. That skin. How you are electric against him, and he...you. The Bond thrills with it.

     "Look next to you," Ian murmurs, kissing ear that rests temptingly near his lips. And there are two glasses there. "We should take some home as a reminder." He smiles with you, hands dangling around knightly shoulders. Ian sighs and dreamily speaks, "I hate to leave...this is how we should be living," he grins. Doesn't everyone wish? The chuckles melds into another sighing lament, "But no, seriously...it has...been a glorious time, Will," kiss at your shoulders earnest, "...just...perfect. I never thought," he begins, leaving it there as he looks up at your profile, "I just...never expected..." a time like this.

     Indigo flickers. A shimmering of violet and blue as eyes open and he turns to look next to him. Like magic, wine has appeared. William smiles. "Ah...mais oui...it is how we should live. I should call my council and tell them the king is dead...long live the king, hmm?" He chuckles to that. And sighs to that. Ah, a wish...devout. A hand reaches out for the glass of wine, he leaning in for the reach just slightly...but not so much as to move him out of your grasp. The pear wine is lifted to his lips, sipped and he sighs at it. Offering it to you, turning to look at you. Love is so clearly evident it is defined by his look to you. Seconded by the feeling of it upon the Bond. "It has been...thoroughly magical. More than I ever expected..." William's mouth spreads in a smile. "But just as I wished it..." Now he smells of pear wine as much as sea and salt and ...yes... cinnamon. The guitar's voice now has hushed. It sings only as the wind plays it. "It is hard to put this in words," William mentions, his smile remaining and yet in his earnestness it is tempered somewhat. "What this trip has meant. What...it has become. And to think," he continues, the grin beginning to return, "it started out only as a lark...just the promise of decadence... " And laughter, a quiet ease of languid baritone, sounds. Clinging to his throat. Resonating in his chest. Brushing physically against you where skin meets.

     "Aye," Ian's voice twinging native, "...there was your decadence, yes?" The blush is more from pride than embarrassment, and Ian's finger waves at you as he picks up the second glass nearby. He takes a quick swallow and goes on, "But yea..." eyes marveling at the drink, "...it is...I don't know," he smirks. "Just..." eyes to you, "...just...I feel closer to you, if such is possible. Each time, we are closer, I am surprised...for I thought we were already close," Ian smiles. "It makes me both anxious and glad. Sometimes," he rambles on, "I do not know where we go together, Will," expression somber now. "I...don't know." A different response to the Unknowing than three years ago, when such sent him into torpor. When he could not 'see' you then, as he explained it. A shrug and he looks down to the guitar. "What...does this all mean?" he asks generally, expression void of any answer...he looks for your help to understand.

     "Were we to...stop unfolding...we would die," comes the hush of baritone. "No more or less than the stars above us..." William pauses, looking to you. He rests against you. Heavy, but you bear him up well enough. Thickly muscled is he, but there is a tenderness and a lightness to his lean. "We were close...are close. I feel...closer to you now, than even three weeks ago. I have no answer...for why it is so. It is ...the way love is, I think." Indigo settles upon you, midway between your silver eyes and your mouth. Like a planet caught in the pull of two stars, his attention wavers in between them. Caught and compelled by both. "I...think it means...that though the road is unknown...we walk it together, yes...?" A raven brow lifts in a slight arch. "America is not our destination. This I know at least...but the rest..."
     His voice trails off for a moment. William leans forward, setting the guitar aside upon a portion of the cushion not dominated by his and your presence. "I am anxious too," he whispers as he settles back against you. "Anxious to return home...our homes. It feels like...the birth of something. As if we are...standing upon the edge of something...I do not know. But I do know..." William looks to you, his gaze softening. "I love you. And ... knowing ... you ... understanding you...hearing you...only increases this. Even if I do want to choke your sire over a nice hearth fire in Strathfayr..." That last was grumbled a bit. You know he means it. Literally. "Perhaps it means we are finally realizing Ourselves...who we are together...and where we need to be..."

     Ian manages a smile at the mention of his Sire. He'll not delve into that. But he nods at your words, putting glass aside again and letting his clasping hands dangle. "I don't know...what it means." A nervous look crosses his features, and he says softly, "What if...I had never shown you some things...because...I have been afraid...you would learn them and never need me." Disciplines. "Or...as you are...you..." he smiles, "...have and will become more powerful than I am." You did not see yourself when you were anointed with oil. The sigh that follows is pensive and Ian glances away from you to see the glasses on the floor. "More..." he thinks, "...just...More."

     There is such ...anger for Liam. You can feel it under the surface, though it is never spoken. The love for you that feels the Wrong that was done upon you. And the Wrong bears Liam's face. Smug. Cold. Everything Ventrue that William despises. He will follow Liam to the very pit of Hell. You know your Plantagenet husband. You know how unrelenting he can be. How like his father and his brother he can ...and does...become. But it is not addressed here. It merely exists. A sword in a sheath. No more. As you speak, William's eyes are upon some part of you. Quiet. Attentive. Pensive both for his own cause, and in part for yours. "I will...always need you," he whispers after moments of quiet. "Always. And more so with every passing moment, Ian." William pauses and he moves upon the cushion, more to face you. "Amours," he breathes, "...were I to live another thousand years...I shall never surpass you. For every year of mine is preceded by one of yours. There is nothing that is past your learning. You are...worried...you are at the ...end?" A brow lifts and William's gaze settles upon you. Eyes narrowed, indigo glinting. Seeking. No, he did not see himself anointed with oil. But...you do not see you as he sees you. "Love..." Beseeching.

     "Years mean little," Ian smiles wistfully. Even he understands the relative state between himself and Liam, for example. "Some of the youngest are well in the heights of what they can be. You," he smiles, "...are not even there yet. You will be More," he shrugs with a smile, "...One Night. Even More than you are now." There's a little snort and Ian waves a hand, dismissing some talk. "We speak of my childish insecurities," Ian confesses with a bright grin. "But I have kept things to myself," he realizes, "...because I was afraid. Now," he shrugs, "I should let whatever happens," eyes to you, "...happen." For you. What you shall be and where it takes you. "Now see, I am getting wistful," he chuckles, hand cupping his cheek.

     "If I become any more me, I shall explode. It is more than I can bear..." he murmurs, smiling. Only half-humored. "I won't be able to lift my head for the weight of my own ego. Why wish a thing like this on me...?" A nudge to you. "Come now, Ian...do you believe you shall be standing still as the ancient earth while suns and stars and spheres move around you? Nothing that is born is still...you have more to do..." William smiles suddenly. "Some of the youngest will only be the tiny bursts of fire that they are. Some stars...only ever become comets. Few have planets. Fewer still become giants. You are already among those few..." William inhales, serious again. "You have nothing to fear with me. Regardless of who...or what...I become...I shall only ever love you more. Just...say that I may follow you, love, to wherever it is you are going." Earnestness. Ache. His eyes burn with it. Pleading quietly. "Please."

     "You," Ian grins, turning a little to face you too, "...can go with me," voice sing-song, "...anywhere, anytime." There are but falling boundaries for you. There's a sprightlier chuckle as he nods, realizing his own folly in his words. He knows it, but still, the sometimes aches are still hard to dispense. "So we are agreed, yes," he asks, leaning and kiss your nose.

     "Oui...agreed," William murmurs, eyes closing as you kiss his nose. He smiles, he leans in. "I will need someone to construct a brace for my head after all, yes?" comes his murmur against your mouth. Each word a kiss. A pulling. A tugging. William grins, and his mouth brushes against your own in it. "Or at least to prop it up on pillows," laughter catches a syllable or two. And his eyes glitter with it. Eyes of Night Himself. "I will go with you. I will be your shadow," he whispers. And that is his vow. It comes with tears. With such force of feeling that his voice is taut with it. "You have but to walk and I shall follow you. You have but to ask, and I shall answer. If there is something you wish to know and I hold it, I shall give it to you. For I love you above all living things." You have but to ask him to retire from New Port, and he would go. There is nothing I would not give you -- says his gaze. And then his mouth echoes it in a kiss. Electric. Humming with love. With want. With adoration.

     "If you don't stop," Ian silver-smiles between kisses, "...I'll need the brace. Or a pin." To deflate him. He chuckles a little, relief washing quickly over him. Arms go around you again, mate resting upon broad shoulders. "Fancy a swim, Will?" he wonders gently, "A last night in the ocean here?"

     Laughter. Easing in sound against your ears. Coming with cinnamon at your lips. The tell-tale signs of a ritual performed. One last kiss, and William leans back. A sigh. Visible as well as upon a breath. A last swim. "I would love a swim," William murmurs. His smile comes slowly, but steadily. Warmly. Smoothly. And he rises, his large form unfolding. He extends his hand to you, the light of the house and the stars above playing upon the wedding band. Upon his gaze. Loving. Open. "Speaking of ego...I have been meaning to ask you something..." You can likely imagine what. You can see it curling at the corners of that sensuous mouth. Rogue for you, as ever he was.

     Strange. Ian rises with you and looks curiously at the segue. Unexpected. "What's that?" he wonders, stepping around and over cushions as his hand extends to yours. Upon it, your band is mirrored.

     "I suffer from a vain cousin to morbid curiosity," comes the languid baritone, words clinging to his throat somewhat, even as he begins to lead you to the portico's stairway and the waiting sand beyond. William brings your hand to his lips, kissing it...smiling against your skin. A wink there that makes indigo flicker like flames. "What was it like...the other night..." His steps whisper against the stones. Cinnamon and patchouli swirl with the scent of the sea and its salt spray. William turns his head to you, the wind moving dark hair half before his eyes. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark complexion. Your Night. He lowers your hand from his mouth. "...with the little guitarist...did it look as strange as it felt...?" He has to laugh at that. And his laughter follows the two of you down the stairway.

     The curve of Ian's lips slant. A stifled laugh. You are terrible. It's in the quiet moments is he reminded. Shaking his head, he accompanies you, explaining, "Well, which part?" he'd rather hear you say it. Morbid details, to be sure. Silver gaze shines brightly, rivaling the moon, his smile wicked. His elbow pushes at your ribs, as if something naughty's being said. "You'll," he coughs academically, "...have to be more particular, Sir."

     Terrible. Yes. But so well are you suited, one for the other, for you are as terrible as he. Not as rude, usually, but no more saintly. William chuckles at the nudge. That laugh. Coupled with the look. The devil should look like an archangel in comparison. Wickedness pulls in a slant across his mouth. And then across your skin as he lifts your hand again. The sand swallows all sound of steps. "You wish particulars," William begins, voice mulling. Lord help you. Indigo settles on you, as much as the night-colored indigo waves settle upon the shore. "...When I was pummeling him into the bedding, did you enjoy watching? How did I look?" His words are more and more captured by a chuckle. His mouth more and more conquered by a grin. Devil.

     Pummeling. The smile broadens into a rather pleased -- embarrassed -- smirk. Ian bites his bottom lip, laughter contained as he turns his eyes to the ocean. Away from you. He'll not show you how it affects him, but there is little to hide behind white gauze. "It was," he laughs, preparing a proper answer, "...effective." There! He laughs and blushes, hand tapping the side of his bright cheeks. Poor Felipe. Poor Him. Either way, flashes of the night return and Ian just shakes his head. This is a real flush now. As if a spotlight's on him and he's pointed out. "Um," he nods, looking up as if to formulate academic response, "...yes...that was it. Effective." A cough and he laughs, taking the chance to walk ahead of you, face hidden, hands on his hips. "And you looked," he tosses, "...umm....as if you enjoyed it." Ah, another politic answer...even if the back view of him shows tightened muscles from back to heel.

     There is a desire to rush you and pummel you into the sand. You can feel the surge at your heels, even as you know he is walking behind you. His stride languid. There will be no living with him now. Effective. Mais oui. Laughter pulls from his throat, resonates in that broad chest, and there is a tightening upon the air. Between you, a grasp of energy. Electric, it nearly hisses upon the air. And then his hands land upon you. One at each hip and he behind you. Warmth glances against your skin as he bends his head, mouth brushing to your shoulder.
     "I ...enjoyed it...with you," he murmurs at your ear. You can feel the grin. You can hear it. "But...as long as I was ...effective..." William continues, his voice quiet and teasingly emphasizing that word...effective. "...then I am satisfied." He grins, the great wretch. To see you blush, that spotlight that the moon places upon you. "I wish I had been among those four men now...instead of upstairs smoking opium and feeling sorry for myself," he murmurs, a warm chuckle edging his words. "I ...can only imagine...how ...effective you were among them..." And he thinks about it, that is obvious. It fuels ...the imagination. The Bond and the gauze cannot lie. As he moves you before him, walking is slow. But at length the water is reached...just where it reaches forward...froth to touch bear feet. There, William's hands skim against your sides, fingers moving to untie the cotton you wear. You can feel him behind him.

     A sharp inhale lifts over the frothing sea, Ian's face cast out upon the ocean's darkness. For a moment, as you breathe, untie him, stand behind him, he is frozen. Eyes glance downward to see your fingers free him, then up again to dilate across the night. "I wish you had been there too," he whispers, "...but coming to you after..." recalling the night, "...I had not felt that way in a long time." In it, you have freed him, after a fashion. "And I thought it never again, until this last week. That..." his eyes narrow, "...when Felipe was left and it was just you..." he glances over his shoulder, "...and I." Awash in Blood and frenzying Lust. "I cannot remember when it was so between us." And not something from an allegorical art film. He exhales and lifts finger to his lips, using it as touchstone, to recall the oldest of nights between you for a moment.

     The indigo holds the memory of a growl. Of blood and frenzy in lust. Awe is the expression that is returned to you, and in the moments of quiet there is only the rhythm of the sea to the sand at your feet. And his fingers against you. As if remembering. And for the space of ten heartbeats, there is only the sound of his breathing, of blood moving. Of the wind lifting over the ocean. Of the ocean itself. And then his sigh. William bends his head, a kiss placed upon the finger that rests against your lips. "When Felipe was discarded," for that is what it was. Moved as if he were no more than a doll. With that ease...preternatural strength had moved him as if he weighed no more than a feather pillows. "...it was..." A pause. "There is no true word for it ...other than...godly. We were...what we are...and...it was amazing..." He smiles. And turning his head, he whispers "Amazing" against your ear, and there... the dragging of a canine. Long. Distended. Curved. His fingers lift from you then, leaving your navel and your chest be as he reaches before him, untying his own trousers. "Let's...frighten the whales..."

     "But I like the whales," Ian says softly, grinning. A tease. "Oh, alright, though I'd just as soon frighten each other." He steps from the falling gauze, turning about to see you.

     He can't help the laughter. Even if he could, he would not. It lights the dark eyes, making indigo shimmer though only moon and starlight aid it. But he has a fire all his own. William leans in toward you as gauze pools at his heels and his hands reach out for you. "What would frighten you, amours?" he murmurs, a raven brow lifting in a slight arch. And that smile. Damnable. Devastating. Lips are parted in a growing grin, and fangs distended show themselves. Beautiful. Terrible. He is both at once. Stepping out of the cotton, he is held now only by the moonlight. It conceals even less than the cotton, the form you know so well. Unmasked. Muscles tensed and stiffened -- a seeming paradox to the smooth ease of his smile. Taking your hands, William moves before you. Backing his way into the surging sea.

     "Another night as we have had," Ian grins, boyish youth returned to him. Years seem to fall from him lately, or at least the weight of Time. "That would frighten me." Indeed...he is most unsure of himself and where his emotions should take him when he nears frenzying....when was the last time you have seen him such? Ventrue perfection...perhaps he never has? A path foreign to him. And when he even approaches the corridor, it is nothing but unfamiliar territory. Would he kill? Would he know himself? What happens? He doesn't know...and it does scare him. Excites him. "Let's see. The IMF deciding to give money to Brazil...that would frighten me," his eyes roll. Ah, something unheard in weeks. Business. "What else?" he grins, squeezing your fingers as water overtakes him.

     And even this one...who ever seemed so reckless to so many of the Clan...how often has he frenzied? A handful of times. This, no more. And most so removed as to have been forgotten in a haze of blood and anger. Only the dread of it remains. And he cannot remember the last time you frenzied. He remembers one night ... shortly upon his arrival in New Port...when a night of passion found you and he locked in the loss of control. But ...this is all he can recall. "Another night as we have had..." comes the mull of languid baritone as water moves up to his thighs. "This, amours, can be arranged..." And to look at him...at what is displayed just out of the reach of the water... you know such an arrangement is more than possible.
     He grins at the business, chuckling at it...squeezing your fingers. "How about Villon in drag? That thought, personally, keeps me awake at night..." Laughter rises above the sound of the ocean. And the English hound that he sometimes becomes shows itself as he falls backward into the arms of the dark ocean. Your hands are loosed and he is submerged. A moment later, you feel his hand upon your leg.

     "Uck," Ian says in uncharacteristic fashion. Hideous image -- the wince spreads from his face to outright revulsion. "Where do you get these things?" he groans, turning his face to high heaven. But it stops suddenly, once hands are upon his thighs. Silver eyes are cast downward with a smirking smile, wondering what's going on. The other silver light frames his face, backlighting him. "You..." he grins, hands reaching down to grab at your shoulders and arms as laughter begins to rise...

     How many lovers hold you. Splaying fingers and embracing waters. Does it feel like you are being covered by the mouths of a multitude? The water is deep enough for thighs to be covered. For the dark waters to hide his form. The silver light that frames you, that makes you seem as godly as you are in truth, brushes against him when he begins to surface. Trailing, his mouth between thighs and ending at your stomach. There, his mouth parts and again you feel the brush of fangs distended. Dragging without piercing. Calling. As much his eyes. Come with me, they speak in blues and violets. Dark and rolling like the sea that is swallowing you both as he lifts his gaze to yours.
     It is a moment of Reverence. Even the sea seems silent in respect for it. The ocean moves him against you, and he rises fully, like some creature from the sea ...from tales that were once told on the island you and he once shared. The moon shall be witness to it all. The stars shall sit in some ancient Chorus. Stoic, while the world burns below. With a smile that could unfasten the resolve of a saint, William falls into the embrace of the sea again. It seems slow. For your benefit. Come with me. Cresting waves and submerging, the dragon has returned to the sea. And no doubt the fish are starting to scurry.

     The elusive merman. The stars have shined brightly upon the young man; centuries of their serendipity woven into a charm. Ian grins as he is touched, hands upon inky dark hair and tanned shoulders. The kiss is followed upon a sigh and he sinks in after you to follow to watery embrace. Pushing forward, he rolls to his side so that he might swim and touch you, hands at your waist as you guide him further into indigo and black Night. There be dragons here, twisting and winding their way through murky foam and canopy twinkles.

Posted by rowan at October 27, 1999 05:14 PM