This pleases me...
     Here beside the river, the grass is both cool and warm -- something of the day yet clings to it -- and soft. Softness now... this is critical for comfort. A handful of you. A handful of wine. There are stars, visible even though there are cities nearby. Here, by the river there is some amount of lingering, stubborn countryside that refuses to give in no matter how modern we have become. The river is swollen with the recent rains. It flows to the southwest, heading for Anjou. This also pleases me. See how I smile beneath your own mouth, Edward? Quiet male laughter is accompanied by music.
     Oui, music. Provided courtesy of my laptop office. And it rests now upon the hood of the Audi TT, its plasma-screen face flickering with wild images -- our only light other than the stars -- and music, swirling club techno -- songs that have no beginning and no end -- pours from its speakers.
     I have dispensed with my jacket. It lies on the grass. I lie on it. With you.
     "This pleases me," Valan murmurs, smile pulling wide and warm. Music swirling behind him. He takes another swallow of the wine. Red. Rich. The blood of our valley. And he laughs quietly, somehow it fits with the techno rhythm. As if it were sampled and part of it. "I have to say..." comes his French, only slightly more languid than usual -- the first sign of intoxication. "...that this has been the most amazing weekend of my life. And so. I have decided... I'm not keen on it ending." Hazel eyes settle on you and bold and fearless is the look. "I am not afraid to say it... it is true... I don't care that it has only been two days..." Nights. Whatever.

     Oh, yeah? Edward's brows arch expressively, then a smile forms beneath. "I'm glad that you're pleased," he says, perching hand on his hip while he reclines with you. A sniff, he too is red-nosed, and Edward's eyes flicker from the myriad lights. "And I'm glad you don't want it to end," he points out after the fact, chuckling. "But, how are you going to make sure that happens, eh? I do break locks and chains, you know." Literally and metaphorically.
     Should he talk to you about his running? Edward rolls lazily upon his back, hands folding at his stomach. The river, the night...has it ever been so filled with stars...the wine, you. Being home. He could never have thought it like this. "The veritable Houdini, I am," Edward murmurs grinning broadly.

     "The only way to beat a magician," he hypothesizes in a roll of French, and he half rolls until he is leaning over you. How bright his eyes are to you. He? He sees you, only by grace of the flickering light of the computer's screen. "...of Houdini's caliber," Valan adds. Your hands are at your stomach, his mouth is at your ear. "... is to become the trick. You're right... chains and locks aren't going to work... and while they can provide some temporary pleasure, you know..." He chuckles at that... thought. Wicked for the low register of sound. The laughter is earthy at it. "... Non... non... I will have to become... your white rabbit..." Speaking of metaphors. Ah yes, the old standard in magician's tricks. The one... you always return to...
     Yes, just like that...
     Valan is serious then -- for a moment, though he smiles, you do not hear his laughter. There is only the sound of the river rushing by, the music on its eternal loop, and your joined breathing. You feel his mouth at your throat. He will forgo the wine... for a moment. There is just the sound. The taste. The feel and touch. And sight. Five senses, all of which you fill. "I have come up with another question..." In our game of ask me, tell me. "And then it will be your turn..." Valan rolls to land upon his back again, smiling lazily. Ah... the world is starting to spin...or rather, I am starting to feel it spin. He lifts up for another swallow of wine. "I have asked about pastimes and business, and family and futbol teams. Now... the hard one. If," and he holds up a finger, "... you could live forever... how would you keep yourself from getting bored...?"
     Oh, if he only knew.

     He grimaces for that one, having come from a series of pleasured smiles. He has not had a man near his throat in ages. "Unfair question," Edward responds blithely, letting his hands rise and fall, "...as we have talked of being bored now...what says immortality could fare any better? I am not so...naive..." his head falls over to see you, black hair tousled, "...as to think that living forever would be fun," word drawn out to mock it. He laughs and reaches over with a hand to tickle your side. A shrug, "You tell me. You think it..." and he's back on his side again, "...it's possible to not be bored? What would you do with immortality, beautiful, lazy Frenchman?" hand tickling again.

     "I would perfect the quality of laziness until it were an art, Edward Meurelle... and then... I would ... " A pause, as if serious. He turns his head upon his pillow of grass and jacket, and his seriousness is belied by a grin. "... take up fishing...?" Golden eyebrows lift in a sweep and he laughs. "Fishing... oui... I hear it is good for patience. I need this. For someone who practices the art of Doing Nothing... I am impetuous. I am not... " What is the word. "Zen," he says finally. Valan chuckles. "Am I boring you now? Come come... you ask me one... and then... we will drink to it... " Just what he needs.
     What he wants is something entirely more uproarious. But he would like to take the time to talk with you. Something other than in pants and groans. At least... you know... between those moments. A hand reaches out, fingers capturing a bit of that black hair. He does like the darkness of it. He even marvels quietly at it. And in the sudden stillness... can you see it, Edward? His skin flushing with something other than the lift of alcohol on the blood?

     "I'm not very good with things as this," Edward confesses, lips twisting in skeptical regard. "Talking, that is," Edward laughs upon his correction. "Questions and answer...that's supposed to be deeply philosophical stuff." Ah, the bruiser appears. "And I am hideous at finishing or patience games. So, I don't know what to ask you. I know of your work, your boredom and angst-ridden existence. Your love of wine and doing Nothing. What else is there?" Edward pipes, sounding like an ad for Ginsu knives. Wait! There's more! But seriously, his smile softens and he shrugs, "You presume I care to know more, Valan. I know...what I need, when I need it." Nothing more. His hand reaches up to capture your fingers, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. "As long..." he whispers, air issuing forth more than sound, "...as I can get away with it..." living in darkness, "...I'll keep doing that. Sometimes ...the rest is just white noise..."

     "Ah... so you do not need the pretense..." Of conversation. His words come slowly. He loses them. He hears them a moment after. Wondering if he said them. And then he smiles. Were you expecting that? "You see... in my circle, Edward... we talk, with the pretense that others are listening. It is the game we play..." And in a larger context, it's the game everyone plays, isn't it? Valan chuckles quietly. "That is what technology is for," white noise. "... So... what are we waiting for...? If we can dispense with pretense, why stop at courtesy?" The grin slants, the full mouth shows its every curve. His finger moves against your mouth, then seeks to part it.
     Why be gentle when it's all a lie? We're not gentle. Why be thoughtful and meaningful when it is in the meaningless that one finds direction? Fuck it. Why are our clothes still on? There is freedom in superficiality. What some call the bliss of ignorance, others call liberty...

     "They are not the same," Edward smiles, "...dispensing with pretense means you might gain honesty. Dispensing with courtesy," Edward's eyes brighten, "...means you might gain Death. Two separate paths," he warns, but with humor. Bending arm lets his finger alight at your cheek. "Make no mistake. I'm not advocating any sort of slippery slope," Edward smirks, "...just that some politenesses are better observed." What's with the warnings. Then, a quirk. "Wait. You meant between us?" And here he was rambling about the world at large. So much for a no-philosophy lifestyle.

     Less wine, Valan. This is what you will need in order to talk philosophy. Some student you are! "It was a ... joke. Between us... " Oh, and to explain it, ah it would not be funny then. You can feel the heat rise to his skin. That's a bit of a flush there. You can hear the quickening of his heart. A sudden lift in tempo, and then it calms. "... what I mean to say," he continues upon a drawl, "... is shut up and kiss me. I... took the long road..." He laughs at that. "Or is it... the high road?" He wonders, then, upon his metaphors. It is easy to lose them after a bottle of wine upon several glasses of cognac.
     Valan lifts a little, so that a kiss is certain, but he pauses. He says at your mouth, in all seriousness -- look at the glint in those eyes. "Between us... I can only be as I am." His mouth pulls upon your own, suckling upon your lower lip. Teeth graze the flesh.
     Release. "My life is not angst-ridden. Dieu, have I portrayed it that way? I need more wine... clearly..."

     "No, no," Edward sighs, sucking his bottom lip for a moment. "You haven't. I just said that," he teases, wriggling his nose. "And here I thought I was pretty good at figuring out when someone wants to be kissed. Maybe I'm getting too old." He looks to you, expecting some confirmation. Brown eyes watch you, quiet for a long moment before chiming up, "You never said how'd you...entertain yourself...if you had lifetimes..."

     "Non... I was being... subtle..." he murmurs to the first. Settling back upon his jacket and the soft grass beneath, Valan looks both to you and to the sky behind you. The outline of you against it. You seem to have the universe at your back. To be stitched out of that ...same material. "Do I get to stay this age?" Valan wonders. "Or would it be like the old man from the myths. The goddess asked that he be allowed to live forever... she forgot to... specify," lips pull upward at the corners, "...that he should keep his youth. If... I were able to be as I am now... I think... I should want to see every corner of earth. Suck the planet like an orange, tasting all of it." Valan turns his head slightly. A new angle to see you. "That is what everyone says, I know. Boring, oui? But... it is true. It is the first thing I would do. After that... well... I would... just live. The ... art of it I would imagine is in the appreciation of it..." He pauses. "And I would try out for the Olympic fencing team..." Hands lift and lower. There you are. "And you are not old," confirmation at last given. Valan chuckles, eyes widening. "I have seen no evidence of that..."

     "Sometimes, I feel it," Edward murmurs, grinning at you. He cannot help but do that when you are with him, when you look at him. "But...that's beside the point. Yes, if you...were immortal, just as you are today. No changes. Your beauty," his hand brushes you again, "...as it is this day, never to fade, never to alter, never to change." He smirks, "But your answer is good. See the world, appreciate the beings, do the things that it takes a lifetime to achieve. Save...you have plenty of them." A pause, then, "Hey, did you ever see that television show, Highlander?"

     "I saw the movie. France's great contribution to American Cinema... Christopher Lambert..." Hazel eyes -- green and gold and brown -- flicker with visible laughter. And a wink. "Of course! If it has had swords in it, I have seen it... I have seen some of the shows... good looking men and swords... irresistible programming..." His French lilts in humor. To the touch of your hand, eyes lowered to a half close. Ah, savoring. Appreciation for the slide of skin to skin. Valan turns his head, that lips might graze your fingertips. "Ah then... if I were to stay young," Valan murmurs, voice deep and held in his chest and throat, "...if I could stay as I am... never to alter... never to change... think what you could do, Edward. When you do not hear God's timewatch ticking..."

     "Mm," Edward smirks, "...maybe the watch is ticking, but it's...a...more expensive timepiece." Wait. He was talking about in general. Oops, watch it Edward. "But yes, it's...a proposition," he smirks, "I try not to think about it much...except when I'm watching the show. It would be...interesting, I guess, to a point. I...would think to be very old and immortal...it would cease to hold some luster," he chuckles. That's a word. A sigh. "I always wonder though...when I watched that show...how awful it must be to watch your loved ones die in each lifetime. How does one...love someone you know will age?"
     "Or worse," he suddenly thinks, "...like getting killed like Tessa did?" Duncan's girlfriend.

     Your laugher is contagious. And he cannot keep his hands off of you. Too close, not to want to touch. Even if you were across the room, or in London -- the feeling would be the same. Valan wears a constant smile -- at times slight, at times broad, at times wicked, at times warm. The laughter quiets to heat in the gaze. "It has to have more luster than dying. I cannot imagine dying holds luster, mon Edward..." he murmurs. Yes... he did say my Edward...
      "I remember watching it after...and wondering what happened to her. I missed a season somewhere, I think. But... you know... to close the heart and not to love at all... just because to love is painful between immortals and mortals? It is painful when you do not have so much time and immortality is not a factor," a slant of a grin. "That is the way it is, I hear. Though, I have never been in love... before... who am I to talk? Maybe it would be terrible. Maybe it would be bittersweet. Maybe... it would be glorious. To have loved a thing throughout the whole of its life? What a story..." Valan pauses, his voice falling to a hush as he rolls over to lie upon his side. His form seeking to intertwine. Warmth, seeking warmth. Skin...needing skin. His mouth parts and plays upon your throat, the line of your jaw. "If I found myself in such straits, I would want to spend as much time as I had with the one I loved..." he whispers there.

     As you spoke, Edward stilled. Eyes watched you, searing through and simultaneously, dilating. Was he listening. The only sign he was, is in the downcast look and return of his eyes to the sky. He is not so convinced. "You have the heart of a romantic, Valan," he offers, lips pressing between phrases. "I have never been in love before either," Edward murmurs, "...maybe that's my problem too. Learning about love from a television series," he smirks, dismissing it all. Brown eyes flitter askance, and then Edward turns his face enough to give you a kiss. "I think we both need another drink," he suggests with a smile and nudge.

     "Do I, ami? I had not noticed. Ah... too much television...a young man talking as if he knows the world... when really, he has never left Europe..." Valan chuckles softly. "But a drink... would be good...hmm... oui..." His mouth leaves your skin. His fingers trail over you, receding as he rolls to settle half upon his back. A reclining twist. And though the night is cool, fingers free the buttons of his shirt. Liquid silk begins to fall away. The touching, the kissing, the wine have warmed him. "We should have brought brandy too..." he murmurs, as an afterthought. Hazel eyes turn to you. "You haven't been in love either... you know...I think we are suited for one another. I must have sensed myself in you when I approached you in L'Empereur.." He grins. "Ah... first romanticism, now vanity..."

     "Or optimism," Edward snorts, reaching out to pull at your shirt. No, he does not comment much more, as with lots of things you say. Keeps him out of trouble. He sits up, following you, thinking the removal of the shirt was a good idea. "What...do you think you saw in me that reminded me of you? Being in love never...you could not have seen that," he grins. "Maybe it was the nice clothing."

     The silk lands in your hands. Liquid. Of the finest quality. And in the low light, his form bared to you. But for the pants. But you see his hands lowering. Optimistic? Cocky. The music is constant, soft, thudding. In flickering colors, red and blue and violet and gold -- from the 'screensaver' fractals erupting and swirling on the plasma monitor. Valan rises to his knees. His eyes on you. His hand reaching for the nearby bottle.
     "The sense of style, oui... and something else. I watched the crowd a while... people watching as I do, as I have said. You and ...your friends... the dark one and the redhead. I thought: now... there is a gathering of men the room wants to sink their teeth into." Now that's a phrase for you, William and Davydd. Is it not? "But...it was you...I could not take my eyes from." Valan laughs. "I still have this problem...yes..." A pause. "The other one...the one with the cigarettes? He was ...beautiful. Too much, I could see he would be... high-maintenance. I do not like that type." And god, has he not just defined the Angevin Condition? "But you know... his cigarettes were amazing." Valan chuckles, bottle offered to you. "What I saw in you was... someone who was comfortable with who they were... it came across. And you had...have... a great smile..."

     You want it, you got it. Edward does smile, the look of a man indeed comfortable with himself. He pulls at his own shirt, letting it slip away. Knees bent, he allows them to fall upon the grass while he folds over. Stretching. "He's high-maintenance," Edward confirms, face at his knees, "...believe me. So's the other. But don't tell them I said that." Head twists to the side and he winks. "I am glad to know that I have a sense of style though. I tend to wear solids...to be safe. That is not style...that is...the ability to match. You...have style." Eyes flicker to your fallen shirt.
     Hand comes out, wondering whether you are done with the bottle. "Have you learned much...when you watch people? I don't, I think. I just...see people."

     "If I ever meet him...either of them... I will be sure to say nothing. Our secret. I shall take it to the grave," to turn a phrase. "Ah, merci... it fills the spaces of time, yes?" His laughter is soft, self-directed. "The ability to match is an important skill, ami," he teases, warmly. "You ... are the most stylish when you are wearing nothing at all..." Golden eyebrows quirk at that and the grin is slanting, broad. The devil's bright young son, this one. The bottle is lifted, a taste taken, and then offered...and then handed to you. Freed, his hands move back to his trousers.
     Fabric slips, like time when I am with you. I do not notice clothing. On or off. I do not notice time. Minute or hour. There is only the existence with you...and the existence without you. "I have learned to listen to the inaudible language," he murmurs, as fluent as the Loire River. "That of the body. Who hides theirs. How free people speak with their hands, and those who feel trapped look to the sidewalk. It is... my favorite pastime... I have learned to," lips pull into a smile, "move my hands when talking..." The trousers slip over my hips and I will be free of them. To be naked is to be utterly without pretense...

     His response comes slow for Edward's eyes eagerly anticipate your imminent nakedness. The assent blazes in his expression, open and fixed. He wants to see. "Thank you...about my style," he smiles. "Maybe I should work on it more," he whispers, taking a quick drink of the bottle and setting it aside. Rising upright, he exhales at the revealing sight next to him, unable to tear his eyes away, despite the wine's availability.
     "I could sit here for a long while," Edward murmurs, mostly thinking of the rushing river. "I don't think I have been this close to the water in some time." Or seen someone I want to stare at and have his beauty cause me to become anxious and wait with bated breath. Yes, that is it . "I'm glad we came," he murmurs, reaching for another swallow.

     "There is a part of me..." And all parts are now visible as he rises. The trousers slipping downward. Spilling to ankles, whereupon Valan steps free of them. Freedom. "... that wishes it were not so late in the year. The water will be...too cold for naked swimming..." Or whatever else one might think to do there. He smiles, your golden young man, and looks from you to the stars with that grin. Naked glory. "I am," he starts to lower to the scattered clothing and grass. "...not that fearless. I know the Loire runs cold..." He chuckles.
     His form tells a story. Of a man in the prime of life. Of a man shaped by his pursuits. By gym. By saber and epee. His waist is trim, stomach is flat, thighs are strong as are his shoulders. What if he could stay that way forever. Sitting upon his knees before you, thighs wide for support -- it is quite the vision, is it not? -- Valan reaches out. For the bottle or for you?

     "I am that fearless," Edward boasts, "...but not tonight." He laughs and licks his lips, pushing the bottle out of harm's way. You reach his direction, and a hand moves with blinding speed to grasp your wrist. His grasp is strong, fingers firm.
     "Do you like...that I cannot help but stare at you?" Do you like tempting and teasing me? You shouldn't, young man. Edward's face holds no anger or threat, but instead curiosity. What happens to moths? Should he not fear me...why do you not fear me, Valan, with what you have seen and felt...

     The mind has not grasped fear. What to fear? A great night in bed? A hangover from such intense pleasure? What, that you carry a gun? This you have already explained. What... would he have to fear? And thus... he tempts. There is no grin. There is no laughter. The wings of the moth are slipping into the fire. He goes. He goes without thinking that the fire will burn. You grab him, and draw him in...
     I burn.
     But I do not care. I burn. Feel it in the kiss that follows your grip on my hand. The quick grasp pulls me into you.
     "Oui... I am vain... remember...?" Valan whispers at your mouth. The words that form are teasing brushes against your own. "And it is ...your fearlessness... I saw. I saw you sit in L'Empereur... as if you were the emperor, ami..." Ami.

     Edward's intensity abates as soon as you are into him. Arms wrap quickly and cling, drawing you both downwards with you above him. "I am not...that..." Edward whispers, just so you know. "Just...a man, ami." That is all, nothing else. "As long as you understand that." And hold no fantasy. His hands massage strongly, as if they should wear softer skin away. Eyes search yours earnestly, "I am...just myself." What remains.

     In green. In gold. In brown. He sees you. "I know," he murmurs, as he settles upon you. Straddling once more. A knee on either side of you. Cushioned by soft grass and silk. "It was...just ... a confidence ... that I find... irresistible. I cannot help that. I ...brook no...fantasy. I know ... you are real." Even as you are unreal. Valan smiles a little. As if to soothe. As if to reassure. It is just a weekend, I know. It will end. It ...will end. The smile fades, but not into a frown. Or for a look of distress. There is just... that longing... that knowing. And then the kiss...
     I will walk in sunshine and see my reflection in the glass window of some cafe. And I will see you, ami. In the reflection of a man there...

     "Okay," Edward whispers, a smile shared with you. His arms wrap tighter now that you are upon him, and at the joined laps, pressure builds.
     You have a friend and lover, Valan, that many should wish. You will walk in sunshine, and if you are reminded of him, the one you only see in the dark, he would smile to know of it.

Posted by rowan at February 03, 2001 05:34 PM