Shadow Mountain Wire

I call for you, @Lestan.

The howl started near Swiftcurrent, a few miles out. Then another came, a while later.

Lestan.

This one was somehow further away, an echo of the first.

Lestan.

The time and distance lengthened between songs, leading away, away, miles and miles away.

Lestan, I call for you.

The winter naga waited in a shadow of a squat mountain, and the cold night fast approached. It would be dark on this side of the mountains before anywhere else. The year’s last dying crickets took up their violins.

winter's wake had recently been the subject of profligate devour when it came to the attentiveness of lestan's memory to the details of their meeting.
almost in the manner of a blushing belle waiting to be announced as debutante, he waited, placing special care in his routine of chamomile dosage and perhaps even arranging his fur more pleasantly —
great heavens! and the bundle of things he was carrying went quite to the side as lestan goggled toward that song arcing merrily through the sky.
flustered, radiant, shy — bedraggled in his hurry — lestan traveled timidly to where the snowpanther waited. "how were your travels?" and a thousand blessings to arlette for helping to control the malady of his tongue!

To be capable of compelling a wolf he’d only met once into roaming far from their safest sanctuary was a power that Wake did not wield lightly. He pulled gently on the tether he had placed upon the Mayfair, reeling in the summerwolf until those sunblue eyes flashed in the lowlight and bathed him with shy regard.

Lestan, the rogue sighed in relief, tail brushing against the ground a moment before he stood, swallowing the distance between them. My travels? Enjoyable, I suppose. It is difficult to think about, now that you are here.

He circled the russet academic, much closer than he had dared before, and hovered a mesmerized nose over the wolf’s hackles. What is that enthralling scent you wear? You smell of a garden.

i'm being medicated did not quite have the ring that lestan wanted to convey. "one of the healers, and leaders, arlette, she's as-asked me to find some lavender on excursion." shy tendrils of wonder creeping his face. "i was in the garden. and i was j-just heading out, actually."
toeing the footholds of the round mountain, the mayfair picked his way up to help close the distance between them. once there, wake's eyes recaptured him anew, sending a glissade of —
difficult to think about? because of him?
"did you l-learn anything?" lestan murmured in question, trying not to seem overeager as well as properly enthused and not too distant, a balancing act which quickly drummed up the start of a headache.

Begrudgingly, Wake searched his thoughts. Oh yes, the reindeer-chasers, he murmured, absolutely reluctant to turn his mind to things that were not related to digesting Lestan.

Yes, he said more clearly. I met Sun Eater, chieftain to the hunters. You were right to be concerned. They are a wasteful, selfish lot, under his helm. Or perhaps it has nothing to do with him at all. But do not let them fill you with distress. Their buzzing is of flies, rather than hornets. I do not think them dangerous… so long as they are left to their hunting.

He seemed bored to speak of it, his eyes wandering freely across his companion’s lovely features. They are simple folk. They will follow the reindeer until death, I presume. They seem to crave nothing more.

Myself, however? The serpent smiled. I crave plenty.

seeing his face claim mon dieu

winter's wake watched lestan as if he were some puff pastry filled with some tantalizing flavor. this sensation grew and grew until it expanded to encompass him and the space between.
mesmerizing, those eyes. not only pretty, emphasizing a knowledge that lestan was not even certain he had of himself.
vindicated, a moment of distraction crossed the soft features. it hurt his heart more than he expected to know that these saatsine killed so much, and for no reason. "sun eater! how l-lofty," he mumbled beneath his breath in a reined fit of indignation. "th-thank you, in any case." he was both set at ease and newly unnerved, though that last had more to do with him than anything else.
long blink gave him a moment to hide his eyes and gather himself from the troubling revelation. "and wh-what will you do with the remainder of your day, now that you've m-made your report?" the mayfair asked, wanting to tease, caught instead in a honeyed dream.

yesssss - just when i thought my problematic favs roster was completely full, here come sam reid playin lestat *O*

Lestan Mayfair was beguiling to the bellwether; his mind a riveting maze for Wake to navigate. The summerstar seemed constantly on tenterhooks, and his expressions warred often between softhearted empathy and bitterfaced judgement. Oscillating between hopefulness and fright and contempt. All his moods made for an utterly fascinating puzzle for the rogue to dotingly piece together.

What do you mean? I have already done what I intended, he went on cryptically. I have lured you from your home with the intent of having you all to myself for the evening. The question now lies with you, my dear Lestan. A head tilt, a casual look.

Will you stay?

waiting on edge for season three with HELD BREATH

a flourish. an invitation. lestan no longer found the ability to ignore such an expression, the gaze that scrutinized his own with a specific intrigue.
all for himself! for the evening! and not even to speak at length of the caribou murderers.
quietly he allowed himself to glance with lingering wonder into the sculpted face, lingering with a particularly raptured nature upon the singularly adorant mouth forming words that still confused lestan. 
but there was no sleight-of-hand in the magnificent Mephistopheles; in fact, winter's wake spoke with such direction that even an easily bowled-over man such as the mayfair might comprehend to a degree unignorable.
"yes," and his voice was a shy sunny thing in the frigid atmosphere. "i should l-like to know more about you," lestan admitted, a thrill tingling to life in his trepidatious belly, holding those eyes as long as he dared.

me to the showrunners:

Had he needed to ask? Of course not. It was plain to any observer that Lestan had no desire to see them parted so soon. But…

Winter’s Wake wanted to hear the affirmation all the same. That soft yes, in the Mayfair’s delicate manner. It was music, the sweetest lullaby, to hear such unquestioning consent to damnation.

He gazed at him, mouth curved into a prim smile, as if withholding a happy secret. Come, he flicked his tail, leading his companion of eternal summer up the forgiving slopes. At all times, he kept that angelic visage in the corner of his eye. Ask me anything your heart desires.

AMEN get a move on

anything? it was suddenly as if lestan had never had a single thought in his head, a ragged little coquette who was able only to blink his eyes and breathe. winter's wake moved away on lithe legs, and the mayfair hurried at once to catch up.
the mountain was not steep, but it seemed his legs ached all the same. "why me?" and another note of thanks praised that he was in rein, though in the asking he felt its boldness and almost gasped openly at himself.

Of course he wanted to know why! Why the attention, why the gazing, why him.

Because you do not seem to be aware of your worth. The answer came without thought or preamble. The winterwolf might have laughed that it needed to be asked, but such was Lestan’s overwhelming insecurity. Because I prefer the task of unearthing my treasures. The digging, the discovering, the polishing, the mantling. Winter’s Wake did not shy from hard work.

But mostly because you look at me like that. That barely restrained desire, that bubbling nervousness, that glint of inner fright. His skin shivered as he gazed upon Lestan’s lovely shyness. He wished to see him nervous only for him and nothing else.

"m-maybe — i daresay it's because n-no one has spoken to me quite like this before," lestan managed. three times he was struck dumb! a grin overtook him, then another, until beneath the sweetened onslaught he was flushed right to the tips of his very ears.
"you're not — you don't m-mean to toy with me," he murmured, more an observation than a request. gratefully he gazed out over the edge of the mountain as they traveled, though as always! always, his eyes were drawn back to winter's wake.
"w-wouldn't you want to f-find something more — something polished already?" came his weak protestations, for lestan could simply not fathom attraction in himself, let alone from so — from someone like the devil before him.

Lestan had earned a laugh this time. And allow someone else to have all the fun on my behalf? Wake scoffed at the notion. Whether polished by themselves or by others, he knew he could never be satisfied by another’s work.

I am the only one capable of polishing to my standards.

He breathed deep in the twilit air, the sun more than half gone from their view. The atmosphere here was perfumed with snow and ice and promise. He could scent the summer here, and it smelled of the Mayfair.

What is meant for me is already mine. It was spoken like a mantra, a cantrip; an irrevocable edict onto the universe. And that panther smile never waned. Yet, I work tirelessly for what I desire, so that I know truly it is worth having.

a laugh tumbled out of lestan, and suddenly; suddenly he was pressing back. "and you think i am meant for you?" honeyblue eyes did not harden; they searched only for the ineffable truth: that this was a game.
no black-eyed man with a god's tongue would ever want lestan. this truth had suited and satisfied him long enough to have sparked acceptance.
the mayfair as an object of desire simply set his mental engine to sputtering with pure indignation.
and so it was with a silken new vulnerability that he glanced at wake again in the same seeking way. 
"h-how do you — how will you polish me?" its risque sound rang against lestan's own ears and set his face to burning, but almost in defiance he lifted his chin, wanting to know.

I think I will find out, Wake said back, solemn as a vow.

He saw how Lestan eyed him with mild-mannered skepticism. The disbelief in that sunring’d gaze delighted him, as the snowrunner knew he would enjoy wiping it all away, smudge by pitiful smudge.

He laughed again, amused and filled with a warmth so deep that no winter wind could touch him. Does everything you wish to know about me relate to you in some way? It was easy to tease this bookish man, so buried in his studies that he could not fathom his own beauty, his own intellect — his own worth. But he would answer anyway.

I am doing so already, Lestan. Have you ever dared to ask such a question before? His eyes flashed with a playful challenge. Have you ever wanted to?

Tell me I am the only one.

"you m-made it about me, when you sang my name and c-called me away," lestan protested again, though his mouth was dancing along with the eyes that had become bluebell light. again, sundered, discomposed in the strangest of ways, the mayfair stared at the starfall companion.
"never," he said at last with surety, and eyeblink betraying the old fatigue of past romances he still carried like a thorn in a lion's paw.
but! he would not become disconsolately academic in the face of such a libertine. even his time before had not been such an electrical zing to his very heart.
"b-but no, to answer your question, winter's wake. i w-want to know more things less in relation to myself. who you are. where you come f-from. the name of your mother," mouth twitching as he realized, belatedly, that he had stopped walking.

Did I?

Wake’s smile was all-knowing and coy. But he said nothing. He blinked slow as the wolf gawked at him, battling an inner distress that the winterstar could see plainly upon his features.

The most desirous answer fell from Lestan’s worshipful mouth. Wake felt himself clench, nearly ruined by his own vainglorious delight. There were moons behind the bluesummer’s voice — an age of memory flashing by in a single, pained blink.

Lestan had frozen, his words rushing to reassure the living ego that he did want to know about him; that he wanted to learn all of the sweet, superficial, infinitesimal facts that would be found in his flowery obituary one day.

I only tease you, Wake soothed, turning to meet his stalled figure. If I must be the earth spinning endlessly beneath the star of you, then so be it. He hovered close now and filled his eyes and ears with the sensations of Lestan existing before him.

You ask how I will polish you? I will peel away the shell of you, with my teeth if I must, and I will worm myself into your very heart and live there for all eternity. You will hear my voice, even when you do not want to. He spoke softly, cool as the twilight surrounding them. I will build you up with my words and actions. And you will shine for me.

rapidfire blinking.
a heart leaping into his chest.
swanfeather hope and fear mingled.
no one had ever come for lestan mayfair in such a way — resplendent in confidence, riotous in beauty. such promises! circling to hope. he gasped and fidgeted and felt the shuddering of flight threaten his limbs;
close; soft; could wake feel the frenetic energies coming to zealous life beneath his flesh? lestan was panicked and he was transfixed; he wanted so greatly to run but stood willfully rooted.
night orchid eyes resounded powerfully through his own, breathing life once more into desire. long-netted and suppressed, choked off, silenced, made fearful and at last tied in bittersweet relief, the bindings came undone at once and his eyes darkened in compelled rejoinder.
"i will shine for you." did he repeat? did he mean it as epitaph and vow? wake certainly seemed to do so, and lestan followed giddily along the path laid by that silver tongue.

“I will… for you.”

Consciously, Winter’s Wake filled Lestan’s summersweet vow with whatever words his vanity could conjure:

For me. You will heal for me. Sing for me. Dance for me. Hurt for me. Bow for me. Want for me. Come for me. Hunger for me, starve for me, thirst for me, lie for me, cry for me, hate for me, love for me, rise for me live for me die for me die for me die for me—!

And shining is only the beginning, the devil hummed. My Mayfair.

A slow blink, the warm brush of his exhale, an electric current traveling between them, the tease of a touch that never arrived.

Come, he beckoned. I wish to show you my summer mountain. I will name it after you, and no one else shall know it as we do.

breath stolen — again! lestan felt as though he must shift now to focus on the mechanics of breathing. why! he wanted to ask again; had there been even so much as a mud puddle he might have glanced into it with a deep confusion.
my mayfair
ah; but there was indeed a catch, a little springblade in the soft underbelly of his sentiment. winter's wake had never seen him in the throes of madness, had never seen him scrabbling in the muck for a talisman, howling to feverbuilt entities and damned as if he were any other forgotten monster of creation.
you never found me, came the foreboding voice of that wretched little ivory. 
lestan was helpless as winter's wake devoured him again, favoring the mayfair with stygian glint and caressing words. step hurried after the other again, belly clutched tight as he realized the singular concept his mind was to have another summit topped.

To me, this mountain shall be known as Lestan’s Crown, Wake went on. Or do you prefer Crest? He glanced towards his companion, possessed by a grandiose mood and buoyed by the sight of the summerwolf at his side.

See how it sits in shadow to the rest of the sierra as the sun sets? He gestured towards the taller mountains west of them; the jagged stone cap of Sawtooth, the snowpocked face of Spotted Eagle. And yet it thrives. Even now that the winds have turned to frost. It was an analogy for the Mayfair himself. Dwarfed, perhaps, by men of larger size and personality, but lush in perpetuity and advantageous to all who cared to see more than the superficial.

Lestan and Shadow Mountain both were prime real estate.

What do you think? He asked in earnest. Shall I join you at your Creek year-round, or make this into my summer home? To go with my spring, autumn, and winter homes, of course.

he could not answer! lestan's crown, thrown in shadow and then made sunlit. gilt against wintertide and then winter's wake laughing.
all at once the mayfair knew that his leaders would not be able to contain this man, this man with his devilish glinting and his highflung aspiration, his farsight, and the almost preternatural cunning which might be only offered by the scandalously ambitious.
"i think it is beautiful," lestan said without meandering, though he did not see the allusion to self; not yet.
not yet. "y-you would not be happy there, not if — not if this m-mountain is what your heart w-wants," and the mayfair was going to stuttered pieces again.
he glanced around, down into the valley and then up toward the blacksnake eyes of this stunning creature who had come from nowhere to proclaim for him; for him.
no poker face would ever belong to lestan, whose eyes plainly telegraphed a desperate desire to know what winter's wake wanted with him, and hoping — his heart raced. "you should be h-here."

Lestan seemed dazed; swooning and discomposing and floating and drowning all at once. Winter’s Wake felt power in this and a protectiveness he did not often feel so inclined to. He was a wolf all too eager to see the chips fall where they may… and yet… and yet…

You may be right, he sighed, wistful. I want many things, not just this mountain. He eyed his summerwolf pointedly and saw upon his face a longing that need not be.

You belong to me.

You should be here, also, the winter naga spoke softly. But! He could not accept if this was too fast for the stammering academic. Narcissus could not handle the thought of hesitation or rejection on the matter. So, an out from this quickly followed, just to make sure it was his refusal and not Lestan’s own. But I understand you belong elsewhere, too. The Creek is your home, but perhaps you will visit me. Here on this mountain.

I cannot steal what is already mine.

He paused, hesitant for once. I should like to find you here, beneath the face of every full moon.

winter's wake was gracious, though lestan felt naked beneath his inability to take such a step. what was more, he was not certain he wished to be away. his life had been adventure, a never-ending climb of agonizing chaos, and he was not eager to return to so unfounded an existence.
but what he knew was best for himself and what he wanted were, in fact, two disparate desires. "i sh-should like to be here, winter," the mayfair murmured, at once both confident and deeply, sweetly unsettled.
the creek was his home: solid. consistent. familial, the things which lestan had always craved.
wake offered a firebrand song to a quiet sky.
hesitant steps, searching eyes. "if i d-don't go now, i'll —" and finally, a shy grin during which he could not maintain the connection of their gazes. "i will return to your mountain."

There was a war behind those sunblue eyes; it was clear for any to see. Winter’s Wake memorized the look, content to recall it in the quiet hours, satisfied to know he had caused such a storm of thoughts.

Then there was that beloved self-conscious smile, and the endearing lookaway that inevitably followed. However, the snowrunner could not tear his eyes off the pleasing, fascinating, likeable familiar. He watched Lestan in silent enjoyment, as if seeing the favored man in a state of undress.

I will return to your mountain.

Our mountain. A gentle, insistent correction.

He nodded the summerwolf away, onyxgreen gaze trailing to watch him leave. The night seemed to darken as the distance widened. The air felt colder.

It will snow tonight, Lestan. Wake called suddenly after him; the winterwolf’s way of farewell. It would be kind of you to think of me as it falls.