You find the house thoroughly secured. But lights are on, and your Valan is home. Has been home. He can be sensed from the front stoop to the living room. There are two glasses of medeira, one full, the other only slightly less full. The light is on in the kitchen, dimmed in the living room, dark down the hallway to the workout room...
Upstairs...
The bedroom...
The sound of his steps, the smell of a recent cigarette smoked -- cinnamon and clove and hashish-laced tobacco...
Valan lies nearly naked on the bed, prone upon his stomach, garnets sparkling at his throat, boxers on but that's all, a book in his hands. Not deep material (The Devil Wears Prada is hardly Satre.). Golden hair is in the usual Mod disarray. He has been smoking, the ashtray speaks of three cigarettes gone. Another pack on the verge of being exhausted.
There's a deep exhale as Edward comes into the bedroom. A glance at his watch says 4am. He doesn't say anything, but instead moves towards the dressing area. Familiar sounds emerge: keys coming out and tossed aside, cigarettes and lighter. A wallet. Then, the familiar rustle of boots beginning an unlacing.
"How was your evening? Already showered?" Edward asks. He's considering another, apparently, and these days, he hates showering alone.
His shadow falls over you as he comes out of the area, smiling and watching you as he bends to finish the laces in your presence.
"Non, I was waiting for you, ami," he smiles, lowering the book and looking at you. He watches you. "I had a good evening. It was a little surprising. I ran into Maria at Betty's Boobs. It was very surreal. She was hear for a bit, had to go. I told her that you would be sorry to have missed her, ami..."
He will let you catch up before going into any more. Valan sits up then leans back against the pillows, resting on his back, book set aside on the table face-down, arms folding behind his head. "How was your evening? Any more magicians and wolves?" You always have some adventure, ami. Do anyone exciting? He starts to say it, but only smiles it.
He doesn't seem to care about the time. There are still an hour or so of darkness left. He also doesn't seem to be tired. Yet.
Edward's grin grows when your arms rise above your head. He's terribly transparent. But Maria's name is mentioned. "She was here?" Edward grimaces, finding that very out of character. "Something wrong? Was she alright?" He stands up, pushing boots off his feet at the heels. "Fuck," he says, now rather concerned.
He glances at his watch, but it's already off. Habit, that. His phone? A twist left and right. It's on the dressing table. A sigh, and Edward moves back towards the area to place a call to her. One boot still on.
"She came by the house, she was waiting here when I got home. I left the club hoping to bump into you here to tell you, but she beat me...and then you were not here..."
She wanted to see you. She wanted you.
"She seemed alright, ami. Here for pleasure, it seemed. She did not mention any business..." Shall I tell you the rest. "I apologized to her, by the way," not that you keep score, but if you're calling her, you should know, "...for our argument in Espana. She welcomed me to return for a visit."
He's confused. Edward comes out of the wardrobe in socked feet, phone in hand. You're not making too much sense, his expression says. That's all very nice, but...
"Es Edward. Djeme hablar a Dona Maria, por favor."
Edward watches you, though his mind is elsewhere. Something about a club? Here? No, first things first: why would she be in London?
"Si, tenga su llamada yo. Por supuesto. No, no manana, esta noche, Pilar. Ella puede llamar de un plano. Si. Si. Ser despierto. Yeah. Gracias, Pilar."
Nevermind, you are on the phone. You will sort it out. That he does not see the cause for alarm is evident. Valan rests back on the bed, arms behind his head again, one foot to the surface of the bed, the other dangling to the floor.
"Quelle est?" he finally says, an eyebrow going up. Had I realized it was this serious, ami, I would have asked her to stay. But how would I have kept her here all night?
Valan tilts his head, he watches you curiously as you move through the phone call. He does not pick up his book again, nor does he reach for a cigarette. He just waits.
Edward, distracted a moment ago, gives you his full attention now. He grins, his jaw setting slightly, as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed near your dangling knee. Improves his view, really.
"Fighting is not what I had in mind, but alright," Edward smirks, exhaling as he kicks his feet. It's been a long night. "I hate to say it, but..." he laughs, "...I'm suddenly less concerned about the infanta. Your fault," Edward accuses, looking at the rise and fall of your boxers. "But," his brows lift, "...I shouldn't be. I guess she's alright. I just wonder what she was doing here..."
The arms come unlaced and Valan smiles. He sits up, and the smile tempers itself somewhat. A hand settles on your thigh. "I do not want to spend all night," as if there's that much of it left, "talking about Maria. But ... I will say this, ami, she cares for you. And she is sad. Sad that I am here and she is not, I think." You know that, surely. "As for what she said..." He shrugs a little. "Not much. She did seem to be relieved when I told her that... she didn't have to like me or include me in her visits. It is no offense to me."
Of course he told her in that way he has. That straight-forward, out of the chute, 21st Century way. Direct, like a gun shot.
"I think she was here to see you. For what... who knows. But she did not want to see me at the club, and she was hoping the man in the car pulling into the garage was you. Other than that... who knows, ami..."
Valan tilts his head, he tastes your lips. "You shouldn't worry," a brush, a taste, it is not enough, just one taste. "She is a grown woman. She is capable of making her own choices. Just like anyone else..."
"I know," Edward smiles. "She is. And I am." He smirks, and in a flash, causes the bed to creak with his weight. In the turn, Edward's facing you, between parted knees. A hand comes to rest on a thigh, the other on your knee. "So, since we don't have much time," at least he doesn't, "...we should do something constructive with it. Not talk about Maria and me." Or what there is not between Maria and himself. "We can talk about her...once she calls back."
"Other than running into strange women, what else happened to you? Crawling clubs without me?" Edward wonders, his hands massaging firmly. He looks down where his hands move, waiting to hear your response.
Take a letter, Maria...and a number...
"Nothing happened. I had a drink at the Papaya after fencing... I went to Betty's Boobs on the way back...saw strange women and lost my feed. But that was hours ago..." Valan lies back, golden prize upon a pillow and he smiles, watching you, watching your hands. "You kept me waiting," he teases, his mouth pulling in a slant. Valan tilts his head, gold-green eyes sparkling. "I wonder what could be so interesting as to keep you out on the town and not home, fucking me..."
He makes every French 'goddess' seem like caravan trash...
"Well..." Edward smiles, still in his slacks and shirt, along with black socks. "I had to get something," hand leaving your knee to reach into his pants pocket, "...and apparently I'm a mite rusty. Took me an extra thirty minutes..."
Doesn't explain the rest of his time, but hey.
From his slacks, Edward pulls a small silver case. "Now," he shifts, scooting closer so he might kneel right beneath your thighs, "...I had to shake a tree," a first, "...to find this."
At your lap, the silver case opens. Edward doesn't mind that he's picked a growing hump in the road to balance the silver case upon. Reminiscent of a cigarette case, the case has metal tabs to hold contents, but unlike a cigarette case, the insides of each panel gleams with reflective glass.
"Nothing but the best for my baby," Edward whispers, lifting a metal prong that holds a small vial.
"I don't forget," he murmurs, recalling Switzerland. "That was then," he looks up at you steadily, "...this? This is now."
Gold-green eyes land upon the silver case, the mirrors reflect the downsweep of golden lashes. And then, a half a heartbeat later, his eyes lift to your face. The look is without hesitation and without nervousness. The smile sidles long and slow. Yes. Oh yes.
"That's why I love you," he says, not moving, being the table for your treat, "... you spare no expense to make me happy, ami..." The fear of dying of course has been allayed. There is no cause for such, and in freedom he is completely fearless -- in fearlessness, he is completelly free. Valan looks from the case to you. Shall you go first?
There's something almost holy about it all -- well, as holy as Edward Meurelle gets. There's little need for preparation, for what's placed upon you is of rather excellent quality. Edward's face is placid as he fishes from a compartment the most delicate of chutes, as he calls it while handing it your direction. For him? Not required. A century of training means he can track a line without disturbing even the air.
"That's yours," he whispers, arranging six - six! - to start. "And then," Edward grins, "I'm yours aftewards."
Say your sacrament, close your eyes, take a breath and praise God...
Carefully, Valan sits upward as you prepare it for him, his hand taking the chute as delicately as the chute shall take him in the following moments. He's seen it done often enough. He smiles to you, he bends and pauses. "Why are you still dressed, ami..."
I'm going to explode...
One...
...White powder disappears. Like snow tracking beneath skiis in Switzerland...
Two...
...Powder like the fuse of TNT. Strike a match, let it drop. The fire is on its way...
Valan straightens, his face reddening already. Look at his lap. He's already hard. His tongue swipes the front of his teeth, feels the distending canines. Blast off. He breathes, but haphazard for a moment as he races quickly and has to catch up with himself. Gold-green eyes flash, he blinks. And then he smiles, looking at you. Down you.
Chute to his nostril again, Valan bends...
...Three...
...Better than the first two, disappearing like a memory with the quickness of a pool cue striking the white, he soars on a line...
The grin remains slanted upon Edward's lips. He continues to kneel as he watches you, hands on his thighs. He's fully aware of what will happen, and Christ has blessed him, he'd say, to see it.
"Welcome, Valan Montague," Edward says gently, watching you blast off from as much powder as should kill a mortal.
But you're better than that now.
Only then, as you continue, does he quietly place his hands at the edge of his shirt, losing his view of you only for an instant as he pulls the taut shirt from him and over his head. The smile returns as he tosses the shirt upon the floor and fixes his gaze on you again.
Just a moment away now, it is. And he'll learn what this life, his body, can now do...
If he were mortal, he would be dead. Cardiac, instant. Here and then Gone. But he isn't. He knows it. A hand reaches up to rub his nose. There is the burn, that is the same living or not, there is tissue to react and the drug works its way. For a first time, barely any powder wasted.
The blood rushes in his ears, around his head, lifts it to the surface of his skin, and he can feel every particle of air around him. The world gets crisp and fuzzy all at the same time. Unreal clarity. Amazing intoxication. Your voice echoes, it sounds with a hum, like a snare back, a tinny quality.
"Now," he says. Take the drugs off my lap. I have to have you. "Now," he leans forward, not disturbing the drug ecutrements -- yet. His mouth catching against yours. And he explodes there. The rushing blood hits against his skin as he flesh hits yours, like the ocean smacking up against the shoreline. His motions become coltish, like a new vampire all over again, as he moves two steps ahead of himself.
Electric, his tongue swirls at your mouth, his mouth making your mouth hum with the drugs, the residue on the lips and tongue. Take it, before I spill it...
In the haze, Valan, there is a sound. A tinkling of metal? Yes, that's it. And magic coursing upon a rocket of perfected chemistry, that heightens and bursts a million times over...
"Wait, wait," Edward laughs, he tangled in your arms as he tries to save the cigarette case and what's left for him. An arm wraps at your waist, as Edward uses his shoulder to keep you upright and aware of your surroundings. "I have to do this with one hand now," and you're not going to help me at this rate.
Tick.
Ick.
"Slow down, my..."
"Fuck. Okay..."
His arms are everywhere. Edward must have a million hands. But he's doing something, it seems, and then,
Tick.
A rush of air near your leg. Something billowed. Something dropped.
Your laughter is all around him, just like your arms. He holds still, jerkily as it is that stillness, stillness itself still having some movement about it. The rush of air at his lap makes him groan, he doesn't even know how loudly. Maybe it wasn't loud, but it was resounding.
The boxers may as well not even be on for all they good they do him. Certainly nothing having to do with humility. Or subtlety. Your skin is alive, ami. He leans back slowly, letting the bed catch his wait, slowly, not wanting to spill your take. But he needs to spread. Spread on the bed. Spread his legs.
His is one solid throbbing. There is no heart per se. But that which in him makes his blood move, that forms that false pulse, that fuels his movements, his strength his life, is focused upon one end. Everything becomes that pulse. Everything becomes that throb. He becomes cock, and cock is all.
The green by this chemistry is pushed from his eyes, his eyes becoming topaz, sparkling gold, swirling. Valan parts his mouth, not to speak but in waiting to taste you, the edges of canines showing just beneath his upper lip.
If you can see, Valan, there is a man within your view. He smiles as you lie back, and then quirks an eyebrow as you spread upon the bed. Most interesting, apparently.
A voice arrives, as if coming through water. "There," he says, lips moving in slow motion. "Just wait..."
The bed rises as the man does.
Edward, is that his name?
He stands near the bed, then reaches over you for something. Something silver. It's taken and he half turns, opening the silver and taking something. Eyes close and his head tilts back, giving a view from chest to groin. His belt is open and the folds of his pants are peeled back.
He glances at you, and his eyes blink slowly. Then once more. The silver in his hand snaps shut with a loud *tock*, and then he casually tosses it to the floor, beside the bed.
He turns to face you, the man there, his head tilting as he looks to your face, then down your body to your toes...
Stillness is relative...
here are a thousand motions in a supposed stillness. Thighs shift, shoulders roll, hips curve, infintessimal motions, all perceived by a vampire, no matter how under the influence -- each motion, in fact, heightened by the acute perceptions brought upon by inhuman amounts of drugs.
His thighs shift, his hips lift, the boxers are squirmed out of, escaping the fibers with a twist, still able to feel every little hair and the invisible fingers of roiling air moving, pooling at his lap, where the boxers formerly lay. Gorged, average girth and length seem enormous, impossible to be harder without splitting skin. Uncut, skin stretched, the cock moves on its own. Stillness is so relative...
Valan smiles, it claims his face, the golden face of a newborn god. Golden skin tone. Golden hair. He reclines easily, but it feels like he's sucked back against the bed, the world vaulting forward, speed of light, the bed his only anchor in the universe. His eyes are in motion, constant, slight, though he doesn't feel them moving...
Stillness... is so relative...
The man - Edward - turns from you. Every part of him moves, as if each muscle beneath his skin willed its own motion. He says softly, "That's it..." words in French, "...wait, Valan, wait for it."
How can there be more?
For a moment, the man vanishes from the bedside. Something else happening. Another *thud*, this one loud, followed by a *tick*. Feet rustling upon the carpet.
There he is. Passing the foot of the bed, to go to the short opening to the wardrobe.
A change in percpetion. Lighting, different.
And again, in slow motion, the man reappears to stand next to the bed again. He lifts a bottle in his hand, placing the top between muscular jaws and giving a slight tug...
There's a cold, Valan, at your lips. Glass there, just brushing your mouth. And from it, a liquid, chilling and of intense proof. The smell of it rises like a fist, striking a nose.
He swallows. Swallows at the cold, swallows to speak, swallows at the smell, overpowering. Golden eyebrows quirk, the mouth quirks. What is this? Valan lifts his head, turns it, his tongue swiping the glass, feeling it, it feels like it bends for him, conforms to his tongue. His hand appears, a blink of celerity and it is there, and Valan rolls.
The taste of it, the coolness, the vapors roll against his tongue. He rolls his tongue along the glass, then rolls up, sitting, his mouth close to yours.
But he pauses before he kisses, wanting to assail your mouth, but then he stops and the world keeps moving. Tick. Tick. A shift of the universe. And then the three hits crystallize. A moment of unfolding. Unfolding brightness. Energy. He thinks he explodes. You see it in his eyes, the flash, the smile. "Dieu," he says in a breath.
I want to fuck the world...
I want to drink it up...
I want to drink it all...
I want to feel it inside me...
I want to crawl inside it...
...and ride it...
Hard...
Was that whiskey? You taste it. At your mouth where he licks it, flicks it with his tongue. Moving forward, he rolls against you, a tackle you saw coming, the only thing that's going to come around here for hours. And the edge of canines nip your skin, nip it but don't pierce it. Tease it, suck it.
Edward laughs again, trying to hold the bottle as he comes down onto the bed's edge again, topsy-turvy. The whiskey bottle remains in his hand above his head. A hand pushes at your shoulder.
"You need to learn to wait," Edward says, twisting away from you. "Down," he murmurs, hand extending away and at you.
It's like trying to train a labradour puppy to fetch after giving it crack...
Why are you pushing me away? Why won't you fuck me? Why am I waiting? Why am I talking to myself? "Eduard," lazy slow, the sound of your name takes days to leave his lips and throat. Lazy slow, but pleading. He lies back again, a little push from you was all it took. Valan lies back, the world swirling around his head.
And then you see it...
He falls quiet...
Falls into the rhythm of the throbbing and he exists there...
There's no wonder that the club scene is full of this stuff. When you're this far gone, you become your own disco. The pounding of the bass is in your cock, the sirens is the ringing in your ears. Valan smiles, looking at you.
Then around the room...
"Mmph," Edward grunts, washing down a long swallow of whiskey. Then another. Long, long draughts that take marvelous sections of the bottle.
"I know, baby. I know."
It's no control. Not of one's body, though the mind tries to gather it all like sand.
But you can talk.
And that's not what he wants.
The bottle is discarded and Edward leans over you. "One last, ami. You can do it," he whispers, a finger sliding beneath your nose. "One more, and I'll give it you."
"Deep now," Edward asks, the powder wafting at your nose.
You'll know me, after this. It is not enough to be free...that's the first step. The second...is to be as you like. And for me, that is this. An edge, a risk at all times. The chemicals aren't it -- I am. I am the risk. To run into me, is to take a gamble. For I am always more than I appear...
In your face, another finger. This one, at his own nose. Shared last draughts. For you, he expects it to send you, well, it'll be a long, intense morning. For you, it will be a ride at high speed around the universe.
"This is it, ami. We're going now..." Edward murmurs at your nose, breathing in his own as he offers you a last hit...
He breathes it in, a swift pull of air and powder...
It crackles against his blood, against capilaries, cells, bursting. Exploding. Valan gasps softly and that's the last sound for now, his eyes widening a touch and he falls back, arms outspread. He twists a little, so beautiful, naked, open, blasted, everything on edge. A physical edge. An erotic edge. A spiritual edge. He has passed the philosophical boundaries of lingering mortality. Now, he is primal want seeking primal fulfillment. Cataclysmic. Orgasmic. Cosmos at the exploding beginning.
His groin twitches and his legs spread lewdly, surrendering as he grasps onto the bed, his anchor. He doesn't say your name. His mouth can't even mouth it. It is parted, waiting. Waiting...
You told him to wait... and he is waiting...
Edward's nose twitches a little and he stands up. After an exhale, Edward reaches over near your nightstand and clicks the light off, sending the room into total darkness.
How is your Sight, Valan? There's a glint, two, in the darkness. He -- and yes, he remains there, beside you -- exhales. There is a rustling noise, followed by quiet.
And in the air? The unmistakable scent. Heady, thick, and slightly sweet. It mingles in the air, like heavy droplets.
A vampire knows it instantly.
The bed creaks, and this time, it sinks around you, over you, and where your legs part. The blood is so near, Valan, it hovers for the taking.
The man is quiet, but his arms anchor into the bed on either side. He presses against your hardness, and finally stills.
"Show me," Edward whispers softly, his muscles tightening.
There is a universe in you. Let's take a look.
Posted by rowan at September 19, 2003 10:07 PM
