Place: Some Golden Space

[professeurdeloi]

When he'd found the set of rooms, he hadn't been thinking of anything in particular, that he was aware of. But the resemblance of them to his college rooms in the year he had spent at Cambridge was striking enough that he had occupied them almost at a whim.

The main door is heavy and slightly too low for modern comfort. It opens onto a room that is high-ceilinged and grand; large, but not too large to lose its cosiness. The walls are panelled, the wooden floor varnished and mostly bare, the ceiling painted plain white. On the wall, opposite the door, there's a tall, arched window that reaches almost to the ceiling, heavy burgundy tapestry drapes pulled back, to reveal a snowy scene. There's a cushioned window seat at its base, and it always seems to be winter outside.

The wall to the left of the window houses the centrepiece of the room - a large, tall stone fireplace with a small fire in the grate that is lit most of the time - a pile of small logs stacked on the hearth beside it. There is a large mirror over the mantlepiece and  a small wooden carving of a green man propped up against a few leatherbound books of poetry. In front is a deep rug, an armchair, a small low table and a large leather sofa. The latter has a grey wool blanket thrown over it and a few cushions piled up against one arm.

Either side of the fireplace are heavy oak doors. One leads to a surprisingly modern bathroom and the other to a small study, lined with bookshelves and with an antique oak desk under the small, deep window - which also looks out on the same scene as its larger counterpart. On the desk are papers, a fountain pen, and a small laptop.

To the right of the window in the main room is a large wooden bedstead - the bed itself neatly made with a feather comforter and white sheets, a cover matching the burgundy of the curtains folded partly back over those. On one side is a nightstand, on the other, a rug and the doors of a small walk-in closet. On the nightstand is a small  vase containing three dark pink, heavily scented roses.

On the same wall as the door is a bookcase and a long, low cupboard that houses some crockery and a small, built in refrigerator. On the counter top is an electric kettle and yesterday's copy of Le Monde. It is always there, and always the most recent copy. He has given up trying to understand how it happens.

The bookcase is filled with a mixture of law, history, philosophy and poetry books - some were here when he arrived, and some he has borrowed from the libraries he has found here. There is also a small stereo and a selection of CDs.

There are no personal belongings, save for the books and CDs, and a few things he has been given since he arrived. Woodsmoke, floor polish, coffee and tobacco mingle with the scent of the roses and the air in here is always slightly cool, as if winter is encroaching from the view outside.

"Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I'll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
And count, and touch, and turn them o'er,
Musing upon them..."  - Rupert Brooke

Comments

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*And he watches Kristoph remove his jacket, unbuttoning his own shirt and shrugging it off his shoulders; barely even noticing the cooler air on his arms before he closes the gap between them, placing his left hand along Kristoph's jaw.

And then he pauses for a moment, looking up at him, slightly out of breath.*

Halt die Klappe.

*And he returns the smirk as he runs his thumb softly across Kristoph's lips, tracing the shape of them, then covering them with his own; strong fingers curling into Kristoph's neck, pulling him down into the kiss as stray tendrils of hair brush his face.

His other hand slips between them, working roughly at the buttons on Kristoph's shirt - sliding inside it, pulling him close and towards the bed; Kristoph's skin smooth and soft under his hand; the warmth of his body replacing the warmth of the fire.*

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[a soft chuckle at Miles' words was smothered out by his lips, his hand in his hair and he was being pulled toward the bed with as much grace as he could manage.

The warm hand pulling him close against him was matched with his own, slipping under his shirt, his nails scratching at his back lightly. He matches the kiss as best he can, forceful and hungry, and he runs the tip of his tongue softly against Miles' lips, drinking in the smoky warmth of him]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*The almost shocking coolness of those hands, of the nails dragging on his skin, and he takes a sharp breath, the kiss broken for a few moments. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he arches instinctively away from the touch, pressing closer against Kristoph.

When he exhales it's half-hiss, half-groan, and in the wake of it his lips seek out Kristoph's again. He can still taste the cloves, on Kristoph's tongue and on his lips; the smell of his hair and his cologne more sharp now against his heated skin and in the cooler air on this side of the room.

He turns a bit, guiding Kristoph back gently at first, judging the distance to the bed until he hooks a foot behind Kristoph's, suddenly increasing the backward momentum with a smirk. It almost unbalances them both, Kristoph sitting down heavily, and Miles falling slightly on top of Kristoph, catching himself with a knee against the bed and laughing softly, his hands on the other man's shoulders.*

Sei vorsichtig, Kristoph.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[and he was doing so well. The sudden loss of his balance, and he is falling. A small sound escapes him, and he grabs on instinctually, his hands slipping to Miles' shoulders and grabbing a bit harder than he would have intended.

Still, once he's sitting on the bed, he narrows his eyes a bit, and an even scowl flashes across his face for a moment at the teasing remark. Just a moment, and when he speaks, his German is a bit throaty, and he almost purrs out a few of the words, letting them roll about in the back of his mouth]

You seem to be awfully mouthy today, Miles. Perhaps you simply want for a way to use it.

[A smirk, and he arches a brow, his thumb running across his lips for a moment as his other hand slipped around to his back, pressing their bodies together as close as he could. The thumb on his lips was replaced with his own mouth, his hand tangling in Miles' hair.

Only for a few seconds, and his lips leave his as he pulls his head back, a bit roughly, and he hisses, pressing his lips against his throat before biting down.]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He returns the smirk, briefly, trying to push away from Kristoph a little, using his hands on his shoulders for leverage. There's a soft curse, muffled by the kiss, when Kristoph pulls him closer - and a harsher expletive as his head is yanked back. He can't hold back a startled moan at the bite, at the friction of their bodies and the wash of sensation it brings.

A moment when he wavers, eyes closed - his world reduced for a few seconds to the feel of Kristoph's mouth on his throat, and the feel of his body under his hands - then he struggles against the pain of the fingers pulling tightly on his hair until he regains some freedom to move.

He regards Kristoph for a second, breathless but with a smirk, leaning in until his lips brush Kristoph's ear*

And you seem to want for patience today, Kristoph Gavin. It's most unlike you.

*And he chuckles, almost a whisper, before his teeth catch on the lobe and he bites it, sharply but carefully.*

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he pants a bit, his breath warm against the cool air, and he lets out a strangled moan at the bite before smiling and murmuring against Miles' ear]

I can be very...direct when I've found something I want, Miles.

[at that his hand slips lower, his fingers running along the inside of the waistband of his pants, traveling across his soft skin as he bowed his head.

He kissed along his neck, drinking in the warm smell of him as his fingers found the button on his pants, running over it for a moment before he nimbly opened them]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*He closes his eyes briefly at the feel of those lips moving against his ear, those fingers sliding slowly but insistently against his skin.

There's a slight hesitation, a shaky breath, then he slips his hands inside Kristoph's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. He lowers his head, pressing his lips against that pale skin, his mouth travelling from neck to shoulder, tracing a line with his tongue. The taste of him is still new enough that he takes his time to savour it all - cologne, sweat - the leather cord of his necklace.*

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[he pulls his hands back to shake off the shirt, tossing it to the floor without ceremony and leaning his head back, panting and tangling a hand in Miles' hair.

He props himself up on his other arm, leaning back a bit. His hand in Miles' hair lets go, and he finds his pants again, slipping a finger down the fly and along the buttons, taking his time and prying open each one. He slid his fingers just along and under the waistband of his boxers before pulling a bit and letting the elastic snap back against his skin]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*And he laughs softly at that, biting Kristoph lightly, just below his ear, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and committing it to memory.

He twines one hand into his hair, supporting Kristoph's head with his fingers; the other sliding slowly down Kristoph's chest, fingers mapping their way down his ribs and across his stomach.

Hooking the waistband of Kristoph's pants, he returns the favour, deftly opening the button and slowly pulling down the zip; fingers slipping just inside, as his mouth seeks out Kristoph's once more.

[managingchaos.livejournal.com]

[A gasp before his lips are met again, and he slips his fingers again under the waistband of his boxers, sliding his fingers down along one side of his hip before scratching softly back up.

He soft runs his tongue across Miles' before pulling back, punctuating the kiss with a soft bite at his lower lip, his fingers traveling deftly across his skin, taking in every last inch that he could]

[professeurdeloi.livejournal.com]

*And he submits to the bite, and to the kiss, and to those fingers sliding across his body; to manicured nails leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they graze his skin until it's almost more than he can stand.

And then he pulls back, getting to his feet and resting his hands on Kristoph's shoulders for few moments; just watching him and breathing hard, his thumbs absently massaging at Kristoph's skin.

Finally he looks down, lowering himself to his knees and resting back on his heels. He lifts Kristoph's feet, one after the other, resting them on his thighs as he removes his socks, slowly and gently.

And then he does raise his eyes, kneeling up, his hands on Kristoph's knees. He pushes Kristoph's legs apart a little, sliding his hands up the outside seams of his pants, slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the other man's face. Hooking his fingers firmly into the waistband of pants and boxers, there's the briefest of pauses, and the softest of smirks.*

Schauen Sie auf die Ansicht, Kris.