"No, I will do it..."
     A soft insistence, the voice of Le Infant Terrible, coming in gentle ways as he prepares the white powder for you. For you both. If you shall have it, it shall be from his hands, the hands of your lover. And Montague does it with such artistry, such artistry that one might think him of another Family (perhaps he has been spending too much time with them), though certainly they would, on the surface, eschew such artistry. There is the glass, the razor, the two glasses of whiskey he pours. The two plates he prepares, three white lines each.
     He is in spring yellows that makes the amber-green of his eyes all the more brilliant. Spring layers are light, flimsy material crafted by the best hands of Europe. Stripes and textures folding against the lean shape of his form and into the brown linen trousers. His feet are bare. His golden hair swept this way and that in modern mussing.
     Yes, there is an art to this, but there is no artifice...
     It is all for your benefit...
     Valan smiles as he tilts his head, his hands making quick the cutting, seeming so expert now. Before he used to worry, he will admit it. But now, it is simply another way to take care of you. It is something you want. Something even that you need. He should rather it be by his hands than from any others...

     "Ah, ami," Edward smiles, looking up from his spot at the side of the bed. "You are too good to me," he says softly as he leans back against the bed itself. Brown eyes watch admiringly, and a slight grin comes to himself. Something thought and left unvocalized.
     "What have I done to deserve this?" Edward's gaze lifts again. "And you look...delectable. In fact," arms lift up, "I don't think I can resist. Well, I'm sure I can't," Edward smirks.

     "You have good eyes," Valan remarks, smiling first with his lips and then he lifts those smiling, gold-green eyes to you as he finishes the art of The High. "You have seen right through me," such a warm tease, that sound that purrs as much as anything, that is coupled with a look to match. "If I wanted you to resist I would look like I do when I first wake up," as if.
     First things first, Valan Montague offers you a glass of whiskey, a very fine whiskey in fact. Your friends are not the only ones with good alcohol stores. The other sits by, along with the bottle, for after the rush.
     The bed shifts as he joins you, your golden Valan, and he holds the plate of three lines for you. "You first, mon ami," he murmurs. He is spoiling you. And he likes it. Yes, he likes it very much.

     Edward's eyes narrow and then he scoots closer, bending his head, "I think I should be worried." His finger touches the side of his nose, and he quickly causes one line to vanish. When Edward lifts, his eyes close and he inhales deeply as he turns his face to the ceiling. The effects are immediate, for Edward's shoulders visibly slacken, and his smile becomes lazy. Almost immediately he turns and bends again, causing the second line to vanish as well.
     "Ach..." he drawls, calm settling upon him. The smile grows happier. "Thank you," he whispers. For everything.
     Tonight, he'll not go so far. Perhaps that's what you meant, Valan. The man closes his eyes and slips back against the bed.
     "You're too far away now," Edward laments, arms lifting above his head. He turns his cheek to the mattress, then asks, "How has your evening been?"

     "Of course," he whispers. "My evening has been good," Valan chuckles. "I have not gone far, yes? I dressed, I found a few good books, I am back in bed," he smiles to you as he bends, no longer needing assistance (is this a good thing?) to make a white line disappear. He carefully sets the plate upon the side table, his hand thereafter going to his nose. His hand trembles just slightly as his body catches up with his blood and his blood rushes forward on a train of white powder smoke.
     "It is better now," Valan says as he lies back and half upon you in solid muscle and soft couture. "How is this?" Valan says suddenly and he smiles quickly. "I like this room. I have always liked this room..." Golden-green eyes sparkle otherworldly as the drugs take effect.

     "That's because," Edward whispers conspiratorially, arm bringing you closer, "...everything important's here," he smiles. "Here...or in Switzerland," he grins, finger touching his nose again. Edward sighs, looking up. He grows quiet for a long moment before asking, "Are you...bored...baby?"

     "Bored? Dieu... non," Valan smiles and piles into you, smiling like a young man who will never see the crest of thirty that he is always upon the edge of, "...Pourquoi est-ce que je m'ennuierais ? Je suis avec vous," the piling becomes a strange, clothed tangle. "Je ne suis pas aussi complique, ami. Le besoin d'I don't d'etre amuse. Partout ou vous etes, je serai heureux d'etre la. Le repos n'importe pas beaucoup..."
     He tucks his head in at your neck, the skin of which he kisses, and sighs at the line of your jaw, the strong jaw he loves so much. "Do not worry about me. I am happy to be here...with you..."

     Edward grins, this time to himself. He extends his neck slightly, the invitation there, his gaze moving to the ceiling again. He blinks and smiles wider, whatever his thoughts are kept to himself.

Posted by rowan at July 28, 2004 11:35 AM