Fingers curl and capture sheets, the covers of a borrowed bed. And body follows after. Arms reaching overhead. Legs stretching, side twisting. And the eyes open, a breath taken -- the first.
     And now he is alive...
     ... awake...
     You brought him here to Memnare, just inside Calais. A few hours shy of sunrise. You were unexpected guests, accidental tourists, but Jean opened his doors wide to you. His wine. The remains of dinner. A spare bedroom...
     ... which you and Valan soon after used. Repeatedly. Straight into a collapse at dawn.
     Your mood had drastically improved, and gradually along the quick drive the shock had worn away. It was dispelled altogether when you and he retired. And now it's another day...
     Valan exhales and the oft-practiced rhythm of breathing is beginning. The feign of life he is still learning. But he is improving. To you, he is golden resplendent.
     Even if his hair is out of place...
     "Ami..."
     The morning-evening's first groan...

     "Oui," Edward whispers, already returned to here. Last morning, he loved you as he always does. The drive had mollified him. Holding your hand rejuvenated him. Reaching a private room?
     That released him.
     Edward was somber, but more of himself before you fell into shared slumber, his arms enfolding you.
     No, William cannot understand me. How I feel in this. He cannot see it.
     And that allowed him peaceful sleep.
     But now you touch him. Edward turns upon his side, grinning dreamily to find you beside him.
     "Before vespers," he whispers, lips touching yours sweetly. His expression becomes more alert, hand touching your shoulder. Your hair.

     "Good," his voice is quiet, pulling with warmth but not yet full of the usual summer heat, "...then I may lie here a little while," English is discarded. So quickly discarded. But with the spreading smile, the warmth on his voice shall grow. You see it there, brewing, in eyes both green and gold.
     You seem better. His fingers lift to trail against your face, your jaw. And the kiss is returned. A sweet brush and a slight tug.
     "We go to Fleurlil," Valan quietly confirms. Golden eyebrows raise. You haven't changed your mind, have you?
     Even though you are so much more... relaxed.
     And he wonders if you're going to call him...
     And when...
     And what will you tell him, Edward...
     Valan's fingers skim, then lift from your face to rest against the nape of your neck before sliding down to your shoulder.

     "We go home," Edward murmurs, smiling at you. "In fact," he exhales, something ponderous following, "I have been thinking of home...a lot." Brown eyes lift to you, expecting you might know his thoughts.
     "But maybe," Edward's fingers upon your garnets, "...we shouldn't talk about it now, hmm? Maybe...a little breakfast and then...we head onwards? I am sure Jean would be happy to see us depart gracefully," he chuckles, hand at your bare hip.

     "Poor Jean," laughter is rich and rough both, and he clears his throat. "Hmm..." a nod, a wave. "We'll talk when we get home," whichever one -- it doesn't actually matter so much. Though, France... France will always be Home...
     "Do you think he would mind our borrowing the upstairs bath? He has been so hospitable already, what with the late arrival and the colossal noise..."
     The bed sounds with his turning, and Valan rolls into you, stopped where bodies meet. "You know... we will have to go shopping... I did not bring any extra clothes. I did not think we were going very far..."
     He rolls, and your are rolled with him. He hovering over you, you upon your back. You've seen this view before. The laissez-faire smile. Cavalier eyes. "What would you like for breakfast, ami? I will make you... anything you want..."

     "More of you, of course," Edward's face lights up. An honest knave is he, and he knows it. Hands massage your waist suggestively, but not forcefully. If you agree, you'll let him know.
     "But oui, ami, we'll have to...get something near home. Though I might have something that'd fit you..."

     Eyebrows lift to that...
     And really... what can be said?
     The smile erupts into a broad grin. You know the look. Yes, ami... you do have something that fits me...
     The rest is golden, warmth and lifted bedsheets. Your hand suggested, and found him open to such. Poor Jean. Poor Jean. Let his ears be distracted, or they will be full...
     He'll forget the bath for now -- in truth, there are more luxurious accommodations in Fleurlil. He recalls them. Experienced his first night with you. And the night that stopped the clock of the world.
     Valan smiles at your ear. What a creature the two of you make. One great form beginning a hidden coil and squirm beneath borrowed sheets...

     "Wait..." Edward laughs as you move...and he moves with you. "I meant something like clothing," he teases, getting his mistake. "I left myself open for that one, didn't I?"
     But you coil, and instinctively, he squirms further beneath the rising sheets. Laughter it is, bright and warm. Arms that entangle everywhere, covering every inch of your skin. Unceasing he is, keeping up with a dart left and a dart right.
     All the while, Edward laughs and tickles, giving you both more of what you want.
     "Now, what was that you were saying?" he taunts, rolling you both over again to tangle helplessly in the linen. "Fitting whom? Where?"

     The near-living warmth has returned to his voice, where it was promised earlier in the shine of eyes...
     The skin, warmed by sheets and you and the heat captured by the walls of this room, is flushed near-human. Your fingertips call his blood to his skin...
     And it surges, sparkling. Filling veins, capillaries, cells, muscles. Each tickle comes with a small explosion of energy.
     Laughter holds in the chest, moaned out as the motion of the roll puts him on his back.
     "Il va bien ici, ami," he settles and spreads where he now lies. A lean upward, and grinning mouth -- laughter at the edges of his smile -- brushes against your own. "Ici. Maintenant..."
     Well, there's no ending this motif. Where it fits and whom -- he tells you as much by the coiling of legs around waist as he did by his words.
     Valan surrounds your shoulders with strong arms. Hands wander more slowly, fingers feeling out their way...

     Most definitely. Edward's sparkle is soon replaced by a warmer look. You enfold him, and his eyes draw from the top of your head to the middle of your chest.
     "You are wondrous to see," he whispers, still marveling at you. It has been this way since you met. Since you walked over to him at L'Emperor and sat beside him.
     Even then, he knew he wanted you to love him.
     "I wonder when," Edward confesses, closing his eyes and letting his face drop downcast, "...I will...not be wrapped around your finger, as they say."
     When his eyes meet yours again, his face is placid. It is an honest question. When will I cease to see you as my only happiness? When will you let me go and free me....

     "Isn't it the other way?" The reply is breathed. Gold-green eyes drift from your downturned face and then your eyes as you lift them. Corners of his mouth are lifted slightly. "Me... around yours... around your finger, your waist..."
     And everything in between...
     He sees the question in your look, and he lifts a hand again to your face. A skim of fingers. A brush of his fingers against your mouth. "I love you," It has been so since I went with you in your car. Remember, ami, the night we returned to L'Emperor and listened to jazz, and we could barely stand it. Sitting there like that. We went back together.
     But for that one week, we've been together ever since...
     "I am ... as much around your finger... as you are mine, if not more, Eduard..."
     Valan closes his eyes and leans upward, his mouth pulling at your own. "More..."

     More. How he should like that.
     But a trip home calls. And Jean has dealt with enough.
     But you tempt him. Open your eyes and see. Edward stiffens in your waist. His eyes feast upon the sight of you so, lips at his own, whispering a question. A statement.
     He slackens, but only to return your kiss tentatively. Edward smiles, quietly explaining, "If we start now, there is no telling when we shall see Fleurlil, ami." Do you know this? Certainly, you must.

     The smile is wide...
     You are right. Too right...
     Valan exhales and lies back, settling easily. A stretch, and then his legs slacken, falling easily away. "But in Fleurlil...we will continue this discussion..."
     Oh, indeed...
     "You are going to call your cousin before we leave? I will take a shower, yes? And then I will be ready to go... we can worry about clothes tomorrow..."
     Valan winks. "I will go to Paris. It is not far!"
     Lord, the spending that will ensue...

     Call my cousin.
     Edward winces at that, trying not to think of it, but it was already in his plan, certainly.
     But he's Edward. And you mention it...and it falls on his list.
     "Oui, I will, once we're on the road again."
     As your legs slacken, he's freed. Let out of this one...certainly he had not the fortitude to deny you. Another sigh from you, and the bed would shake for another few hours.
     Edward's hand pats your hip - the rounded bit - and he sits up on his haunches, finding the resolve to move further.
     "As for Paris," he quirks, knowing you are pulling his leg, "...if you want to go, fine."
     What am I saying?
     "Well, if you decide Paris...I should...go with you."
     That city makes London look safe. In London, they kill you. In Paris...they do worse.
     Now he is off his feed. Edward chuckles and pushes over, rolling onto his back for his own stretch now. "Shower, then home?"

     "Shower... then home...oui..."
     As you move, Valan begins to sit up. The fencer's form, ruddy with the blood you stirred before, shows its strength with the standing stretch. And yes... pulling your leg...
     One of them...
     You can see it in the curve of his mouth. Paris? "No... I was... what is the phrase in English? I was... having a time with your leg?" No, that's not it. Valan smirks and rolls his shoulders. Laughter lifts, "You know what I mean," he drops into French so easily. "So...non. I think Tours tomorrow night. That way, we can go to L'Emperor for a drink afterwards..."
     Gold-green eyes sparkle with a wink, echoed by the sparkle of the garnets around his throat...

     "Pulling my leg," Edward says in English, smirking as he turns away and pushes himself to standing. This is going to be hard. He glances at the bed before bending to pick up his slacks. "But a drink at L'Emperor," he grins, twisting to see you, "...that would be nice, ami." A fine idea.
     He will be ready to depart soon. Quicker to leave, quicker to bed again at Fleurlil.
     Hmm. Edward picks up his phone, seeing you slower than he, and stares at it a moment. Grabbing his socks, he shakes them out with one hand as he moves towards a window and pushes numbers on his phone.

     Thankfully, the upstairs bath is in this room, so Jean is spared a show by the brazen, uncovered Montague. Valan doesn't even bother with a robe. Uncovered, unrepentant. And with a stolen glance past his shoulder, he grins at you.
     Just how far away is Fleurlil...
     The next room glows a sudden and strange gold. A moment later, you hear water pouring...

     Edward looks towards the bath for a long moment, a decision made. No, I won't join him, he grins, comforted just by the thought.
     But there is something to do.
     Edward pushes a series of buttons on the celphone, sighing long and deep as he does. A call to Britain, damned phones, to a brother perhaps upset...

     And in Britain...
     Scotland precisely...
     There is the softening after the storm. The day was marked by another squall. Autumn rolling in on lifted sea and wind and rain. But now, the air is still, heavy with lingering moisture. The wind has quieted. The surf has turned from grey to deepest blue and white.
     At the horizon, there is the lighter indigo of fading twilight. In a lighthouse on the Moray Firth coastline, there is a distracted motion of a hand. The lifting of a phone.
     It was the fourth ring before you heard the French query in that deep and quiet voice: Hallo...
     William exhales blue smoke, and blue-grey ash is tapped into the waiting tray. Upon the coffee table there is a scatter of Art News and Ars Artis. A glass of scotch.

     "Vous me parlez toujours?" Edward murmurs, not sheepishly, but certainly apologetically. "Or have you given up on me?" He is smiling, but accepting of the fact that you might be upset.
     "Ilest- il trop...?" he wonders.

     There is a pause, but you can hear the inhalation of fire and smoke. It does not seem to be out of emotion. An exhale, you know he is smoking...
     It is a pity you cannot see what he is smoking. How the blue dragon leaves his lips, the spirit of poppies. But. It is only one. To smoothen the edge. But he must drive, and so this will be the only one. The only one until he reaches Strathfayr...
     "Of course," he murmurs, modernity peeling from his French. "Why would I not..." Until the French is from your century. Familial and familiar. Another exhale. He pauses, mulling upon your words. "You know I do not give up. I do not know how to do this..."

     "Aquitaine to the end." Not FitzEmpress, but the more...hearty...ranks. It is a compliment from Blois, his own of Orleans and Burgundy. But that is that. And to the point of the call.
     "Will...I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what else to say but that. Just...you caught me and I could have been a little better than being an emotional shite."

     No. He is of his brother's sort. Angevin, thoroughly -- but Aquitaine so colors him, the earth finds itself realized in him. You and he. North and South. That is the way of it. But the compliment is taken. The opium rolled into a cigarette is stamped out. Saved for later.
     You can hear him sitting back on a sofa. You know the princely sprawl...
     "You do not have to apologize, Edward," the voice is quiet. "I do not know what to say, but I am sorry that I upset you, yes? It was not intended..." And the deep voice falls hush upon that. "I do not know. But... you do not have to worry. I have taken them down, and the canvas can be reused..."
     It is no big deal...

     "Hard to reuse them..." Edward chimes, "...when I want them at Fleurlil." No mention of cost.

     He is quiet for a moment. This, too, he must process...
     When you first saw it, you rushed upstairs prepared to kill me...
     And now... you want them in Fleurlil?
     "You... want them..." William murmurs. There is a lift to the deep voice -- a querying sound. "I can have them sent, of course. I had not gotten to the point of tossing on the paint thinner...but... you are certain?"

     Edward laughs a little, resting as you speak. "Oui, frere, I am certain," he chuckles, the flick of a lighter in the background. "They are amazing and I want them at Fleurlil when your staff can arrange it," he murmurs. "I'll be there in a little bit, so...I will have someone expect them..."

     Strange, is it not. He had just gotten accustomed to your being upset and accusatory about them, and now you want them in your home of homes -- and he has to come back to that thought. Strange, is it not...
     Indigo eyes narrow, but... what can he say? He cannot complain that you like them. "I will... call them and have them take care of it. It may take a night or two..."
     No, he is not in London... he got out of that daft city after you charged him...
     "If you are sure..."

     "I'm positive, Will," Edward confirms, his voice calm. Quiet. "I'm sure."
     "Like I said though, Will. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Just...you know that I'm not like that, right?"

     "Non," he dismisses the notion of you apologizing. "I know you are... well, I know you know better, yes? Than to really think that I pulled things from your head. You know," his voice deepens, softens, "... that I do not do this. I may invade countries, hmm? But I do not invade the minds of my friends. That is reserved for those who ... have earned that."
     There is an exhale. "But ... you know... what I did, Edward. I know it was very personal. And I understand... that seeing it..." A lift of a broad shoulder. "Would it not do the same for me, were another artist to paint Ian? Hmm? I must remember this, when I do these things. I do not think about it so much. I just... paint. And perhaps I should think more." William chuckles suddenly. "You are not the only one to react thus. Ian... Ian can barely look at most I do when I first do them. He has to ... ease into them. Sometimes... sometimes, frere, they are too much. I ... have to learn to recognize this."

     He has never given much time to your art. Not because he cared not, simply as he has not had a taste for such things. It is a talent he has heard of, appreciated objectively. But as Davydd has his music, you have your colors. That is just how it is.
     But suddenly, something of him was the subject. And he reeled. Certainly, you have a master stroke, but to see his own visions?
     Edward grins faintly. "I cannot imagine...that someone would paint Dunross." With such clarity. "But...you get it." It is a valid comparison.
     "But, no, I know you...didn't do anything. It just..." Edward quiets for a few seconds. It sure seemed like it. How else could someone come up with it? Those images? Those thoughts? To see Valan so...
     "I know you didn't, Will." But you scared me. Saw through me. "And I'm sorry for just...acting like that. I guess...I should never do...that art thing," Edward smiles.

     There is laughter then, quiet, rich... but... real. And true. Living. "I did," William says, "A huge portrait. He still can't look at it. I was offended at first... I mean, my own lover and mate would not look at the painting of himself that I did...but... you know, I understand it now. So," another roll of shoulders.
     "But ... oui, I get it...and maybe I should... be more careful..."
     Take care with those I render. Take care with the feelings and emotions that I hold. Take care with what I do and how I do it. "I will... have them sent to you. And, if they become too much, just take them down. You won't hurt my feelings, Edward. I am just glad that you do not think that I ... did something, or meant something that I didn't. Or are still pissed off enough to throw a punch at me -- you were so close," William chuckles at it now. "I thought to myself, I hope he aims lower than my face but at least has the decency to keep it above the belt, oui?"

     He laughs too, understanding now the gift that you have. "No, no, I don't know..." then a spin, "...okay, yeah, I was prepared to knock you on your ass. But not in a bad way..." if that makes any sense. Edward laughs again, puffing the last from his cigarette.
     "I'll see to a space for them, Guillaume," Edward says again, heading to a close. "They will be lovely in Fleurlil, I believe it true, ami."

     "Hmmm," a held and shared chuckle at that. The almost fight. "It did take me a while to calm down. It is good it was six hours to Moray Firth... but," an exhale, "...we understand each other."
     Moray Firth? Aye, he drove from London to Scotland...
     "You will have them then in a few days," comes William's quiet confirmation. And no more is said about them. Still, it was a valuable lesson learned. Such a gift. It does not come for free. He understands now its cost. "I will be in Scotland for a while. I am tired of traveling. So... I will see you sometime, yes?" The unspoken question: How long will you be in France?

     "Sometime," Edward says with more than a hint of avoidance. He smiles with it, though, perhaps an excusing grin. "We...needed to be home...for a while." As you said.

     This he does understand. "I will see you then, in that sometime." He isn't going anywhere. He doesn't want to go anywhere. Amazing, is it not? That one who has all the resources in the world to travel, and the ways and means for it, prefers to stay home, sleep in his own bed. Walk his own corridors.
     "I think someone is looking for me," William whispers. "I will let you go to your young man, oui? And I to my old one," he chuckles at that.
     You are not going to find that so amusing, amours, yes?
     "Take care, Edward..."

     There is a grunt from not so far away, William. A stir and a silverish eye narrowing beneath a pile of sheets.

     Edward chuckles and lets the call fall away. "You too, frere. You know where we are."
     As we all are.
     At home.

Posted by rowan at May 01, 2003 10:05 PM