It was a photo that he shall keep with him for always: the image of you with your face propped upon the pillow with your ring-bearing finger, smiling to him. That smile you only give to him. And because he was the one taking the photo, there it is. That beautiful look.
It was emailed and the phone was set aside. And while the ocean breeze grew a bit cooler with the advent of late evening, the two of you talked until words became murmurs and kisses drifted slowly off to sleep.
It is morning now. That certainly could account for the warmth you feel upon waking. But you are not alone. No, indeed, Gillian Ariadne West: there is still a man in your bed.
Holding you even as he did when he uttered his last word, Balthazar breathes easily in continued sleep. At some point in the night, the shirt was removed. It's twisted up with the blankets. His pants are still on, however. Small favors, right? The cotton is light, airy. It is no match for much more substantial flesh.
She stirs gradually, eyes still closed, the breeze rustling the sheets. She isn't alone. That's - odd; more than odd. It's downright alarming. Cracking her eyes open, Gillian's cheeks immediately move to blushing, and she turns on her side. Not a dream, then. But she's still dressed; thank god.
Gillian sits up, examining you while you are still asleep, for however long it lasts. Her gaze moves over you; her blush intensifies. She leans in, just a little bit. It is so tempting, to try to get a closer look! After all, with Bran, she took all those pictures - but he was drugged. You are merely asleep. Blushing, she leaps from the bed, hurrying to the bathroom to close and lock the door behind her before she sinks onto her knees to wrestle in prayer with her libido.
GodgodgodIhopeyoucanhearme...
What was it Shakespeare said? In action how like an angel; in apprehension how like a god. How like an angel, indeed. He doesn't need for his Phoenix wings to stir or the incense of his own desire to perfume the air with the sensory burn of cinnamon and honey.
Or was it: O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew! That is definitely devoutly to be wished.
Balthazar does not stir as you turn and stare. Angelic in his repose, his face profiled upon the pillow, haloed in short, gold waves, he lingers in the sweet spell of sleep.
It's when the bed trembles beneath him (from your sudden leap (he would have smiled in remembrance of that, knowing it better for what it was and is), that Balthazar first shifts, stretching, exhaling audibly. It is the thudding sound of feet and the closing and locking of the door that makes his eyes open.
Golden eyes blink. This isn't my room. And then he lifts his head, seeing the empty bed. And his shirt. Balthazar glances down to make sure his pants are still on and then sits up. Rubbing his eyes, he sinks back on the bed, his back to the surface of it, his legs bent and feet flat on the covers. "Gillian?"
You'd think Parvati would have run me out last night at some point...
"In the baaaathroooom," Gillian carols from her position behind the closed and locked door. She squeezes her eyes closed, kneeling in front of he commode as if hungover instead of spiritually panicked, palms pressed together. "Be out in a minute."
Please god I didn't do anything and anyway would it really be so wrong we're getting married okay I won't do that, can't do that, but please god forgive me for my thoughts...
After another stretch and a raking of his hand through his hair he sits up and then stands up. He pulls on his shirt, buttoning it up as he pauses by the bathroom door. "Is everything alright?" Funny how his accent sounds so different in America when he's not surrounded by equally odd accents. It stands out, lyrically, poetically even. Balthazar bends his head slightly.
He can tell by your tone that something is amiss. "I'm going to get some tea started," Balthazar offers. And find another bathroom. And some cold water. Those things he doesn't say aloud. His hand brushes against the closed door and he steps away to head into the next room. Each beach house has two bedrooms, a living room, a bath and a half bath (thank God), and a kitchen.
"Yes, yes," Gillian calls distractedly. "I'll be out in a few minutes! Promise." She stays on her knees, then gets up after another moment or so's frenzied prayer. It's not helping nearly enough. She turns on the tap, twisting it to cold and splashing herself liberally.
There's a strangled sound which is a suppressed shriek. Maine water, when turned to cold, is cold...
"Alright. I'll have tea in the ...main room then," he says warmly.
There are matters to attend to: first and foremost, teeth and bladder. The main room is neat -- no one's been through it since last night -- and the second bedroom is conspicuously unused. With a smirk, Balthazar ducks into the bath, closing the door behind him. By the time he re-emerges, he's completely refreshed -- mouth cleaned, face washed, golden hair set back in place and clothing changed. He is now dressed in a pair of cream-colored khakis and a white pull-over shirt, more fitted than not. He seems like a golden man from California with his coloring and clothes, perfectly at home in America, a place every bit as bizarre as home.
And now, tea.
A service of breakfast tea is wished for and granted, with clotted creams and fresh dairy, fresh fruit (strawberries) and even some salmon and seafood for breakfast protein. And eggs. And crepes. Okay, and some heavily buttered buns. It is set out upon the coffee table and waiting. He gets the plates from the kitchen himself. And from the gardens of his own imagining, he picks a bouquet for you, with multi-colored irises set out for you to enjoy.
Golden eyes look up from the breakfast scene to look for you, his smile already deeply held behind his eyes. He knows you are frightened. This time, he knows. And so he waits to take your hand... and to give you no reason to be afraid.
Eventually, she emerges. She's washed her face and brushed her hair and pulled on a loose dress of light blue with large yellow sunflowers patterned all over it. She hasn't bothered with shoes; she can slip some on if she really has to before you and she go anywhere. While her expression cannot be mistaken for tranquility, it's calmer than it was. "Oh, this does look good."
Gillian blushes as you look at her, and she goes to sit down, giving you a smile. Yes, she does love you. Enough to need to wrestle with god over you. "At least I know we'll never go hungry," she teases as she reaches her hand out to you. "Good morning, darling."
He hasn't bothered with shoes either. And even his feet are lovely. It's not quite fair.
"No," he grins, "... food will never be a problem." Taking your hand, Balthazar draws you into a gentle embrace. "Good morning, love," he murmurs at your ear. No handshakes here, or simple pecks with him. You will have to get used to that. His arms secure around you as he dips his chin to look to you.
"You sounded ... felt," his smile is gentle, "... a little panicked." And he looks at you now, not so much with concern (although, he certainly does not wish you to be upset) as to truly tune into you and how you are feeling.
The embrace separates as gently as it started, and your hand in his he leads you to the sofa and to breakfast. Balthazar takes a seat with you, his hand maintaining that contact. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you want to talk about it? I think we should," he adds. "I just don't want you to be concerned about your honor or...to not be able to enjoy the intimacy we share, like accidentally falling asleep after staying up too late talking about our kingdom," he smiles, lifting your hand and kissing your fingers. "You do know there's... nothing wrong with what did happen. Or what will happen later."
She doesn't mind the embrace, although it brings her color rising again, and she kisses you quickly as you dip your chin. "A little," Gillian admits, voice lowered. "Not awful, just ... it's just ... well." She exhales a little. "I'm not worried about my honor, exactly. It wasn't that."
She brings her hand to your cheek, then lets you lead her, sinking down with you, next to you, leaning up against you. "It's not that I don't trust you. I just ... we have to get married before we can do that." And there's her stubborn side showing. Have to.
Balthazar turns his head as you lean against him. "We do, because we are choosing to. Because it's important to you and, therefore, it is important to me. We have to... for that reason. There ... really isn't another reason. One way is certainly more traditional," he acknowledges. "But ...there is no right or wrong to it. But regardless of whose tradition it may be," he leans back a little, his head tilting as he looks to you, "...we'll keep our promise because it's important to us."
He places a kiss upon your temple and in your hair. "There's no need to be afraid, Gillian. Or embarrassed. About what you want or need." Golden eyes are so suffuse with warmth as he looks at you. "I do want to understand what made you jump and close yourself up in the bathroom, however," Balthazar notes in his deep and gentle tones. He is there to brace you up. However nervous you may be, he is confidently there for you. "Intimacy doesn't begin and end with sex. Sex is sort of ...well, it's just one way of communicating intimacy. But so is this. You and I are intimate fully clothed," he grins. "We're intimate in texts. We're intimate in the thoughts we pass back and forth. In our hopes and dreams. It's all the same. One is just more obviously naked than the rest. But even that's not accurate. What's more naked than admitting one's thoughts and emotions? That's about as exposed as one can be..."
"I know not everyone believes the same things. But... it's what I believe, and I have to be as faithful to that belief as I can," Gillian answers carefully, as if negotiating a potential field full of landmines. "I know God will forgive me if I slip up, but ... I have to try."
She sighs. This is so not the conversation she envisioned having before coffee on the morning after getting engaged. "You know I love you, right? It wasn't the fact that you were there when I woke up." She blushes, averting her gaze for a moment and then lifting her chin. "You just had, uh. You were sporting enough wood that I could've surfed on it, sweetie."
His laughter is immediate, though quiet, and he leans in toward you, a kiss placed upon your temple. "All for the love of you," he speaks softly there. But more seriously, Balthazar looks to you, a hand lifting to your hair as he rests against the back of the sofa, his full mouth tugged in a smile. "I will take very good care of you," he says quietly after. "I will protect you, and I will love you in ways you cannot even imagine. Trust me." Cradling your face, Balthazar kisses you sweetly, briefly. "And know that our promise to one another is sacred to me. No matter how ardent we kiss. No matter if we accidentally fall asleep while talking about kingdom tax structures," he grins. "I not only understand your beliefs but, because I love you and because I want the best for us both, as husband and wife, I share them."
His hand brushes your cheek as he looks to you. "Around you," he smiles, "... it's a frequent condition. I want you. I can't possibly hide that." His golden eyes sparkle with the tease, a comet that illuminates the trailing wonder of his smile. "For a variety of reasons," he teases himself. But even in jest, he is honest and open. "Please rest assured that it is every bit as important to me as it is to you, that we wait. And should we accidentally fall asleep again, or if you catch me in a moment of obvious lust, smile and know that you are the cause of it. And relax, my Gillyflower, knowing that in just a few months we will have one another completely. There's no need to leap," Balthazar kisses you gently again. "Here, with me, you are always safe."
Pressing his lips to your forehead, he rests back. "I do think maybe we should talk about our wants from time to time. There's nothing unchaste or ungodly about that. You may have questions for me, after all," he smiles. "I mean, while I'm sure you've no doubt read everything there is to read on biology, they probably didn't cover what it is like to lose one's virginity to someone like Eros." Literally, in his case. "I would rather be open and honest with you than have either of us assume anything of the other. As I did that night in the Land Rover. I missed the point of that entirely, at the time." His full mouth makes such beauty of a smirk.
"But," Balthazar exhales, one last kiss given to you for your comfort, "...we do not have to talk about it all at once. Shock aside," he teases, "...good morning and I love you. And it was nice sleeping with you. Did you sleep well?"
The contact with you makes her blush; does she ever stop blushing under the light and presence of the Sun? But she smiles at you. "I know I'm safe from you, Balthazar," Gillian murmurs. She captures your hand and brings it to her cheek, pressing her soft skin to the back of your hand. "It's more the other way around. If I ran away this morning, it wasn't because I thought you were going to pounce upon me and ravish me."
No, the fear of temptation was all on the other foot...
She keeps hold of your hand, and she grins at you, a bit sheepishly. "I can ... try to talk to you about it," Gillian says after a moment, "though I'm going to try to not be too explicit. I love you. But it's never been you I didn't trust, Balthazar. And I need to be very careful, until we're married, because I'm beginning to realize just how slippery the slope is. And I know I put a lot of restrictions on myself, but they're restrictions I've chosen to follow, to bring myself closer to God. And I want to be able to be that woman, that person, not only for my sake, but also for yours. And, I love you, too." Her cheeks glow with warmth undisguised. "I slept very well, until I woke up."
"Me too," he teases. "They were very good dreams." With your face reddening, like a sunburn from all your blushing, Balthazar gives you a bit of space. A smile remains everywhere evident on his face -- in his own caramel coloring, the cast of his face, the shine of his eyes -- as he leans forward to pour morning tea for you both.
"I know this sort of candor's new, really. Your family, I doubt speaks of sex out loud. I'm Mister Open," he chuckles, "... so I'm not shocked at the feeling of philosophical whiplash, sweetheart. Regarding chastity, the way my virgin mother put it was that chastity is a promise of faith, a gift of faith. But the breaking of chastity, or loss of virginity, is not a loss of faith. If you had had sex with me last night or tomorrow, God would love you no less. As you said: it's your choice. Personally, God aside," he looks to you as he fills two plates with gets and fruit and crepes, "...to me it simply would make it more special for our first time with one another to be as husband and wife. To know in that moment that we are joining in something new, creating something new. To me, that's part of what building a kingdom is all about." He looks to you. "It's something we do, together. A marriage of Gillian and Balthazar to one another and then... in a kind of second marriage to our people."
Balthazar hands you a plate of food, leaning in to press a gentle kiss upon your temple again. "Try not to feel guilty for wanting. If want weren't holy," he notes with a smile, "...God would have grown up very lonely."
She takes up her tea, sipping it. "We tend not to talk about things like that. Well, except Maddie. Maddie talks about whatever she feels like. Pres doesn't tell anyone anything. I'm still more in the middle, but ..."
Gillian's blush begins to fade, finally, and she smiles at you, eyes briefly a little bit misty. "I do love you. And I really want to marry you. It catches me just a little by surprise sometimes, even though."
"Oversharing runs in my family," Balthazar says, a grin at the rim of the tea cup. "You've probably noticed that by now." As you become emotional, Balthazar smiles a little. He sets his cup aside and looks to you, his attention undivided. "I'm glad to hear that. I'd be wretched without you."
Rising, he bends to place a kiss on the crown of your head. "My queen-to-be, your king needs to go take a shower. If he can get into his own cabin, that is." He smirks again. "I might be locked out. It appears that Gavin is entertaining..."
Bending again, he murmurs I love you in your hair, inhaling there. "I will meet you here after. We can do whatever you'd like to do today. I'm yours," Balthazar rises, with a grin. "Now... as ever."
Posted by rowan at May 25, 2010 06:02 PM
