[ The moment hangs between them, hard and silent, except for Jean Louis who says, no one will hurt you, not like it's an impossibility by nature, but definitely an impossibility by proximity. I'm here, they won't hurt you, I won't hurt you. There's no denial in that, is there? No trying to convince Claude he's worrying for no reason.
And for some reason, Claude finds comfort in that. In that truth, hanging between them like the moment did first.
Then, the moment disperses, Jean Louis's voice taking on a hint of humour when he talks about the goose adventure Claude went on the night before and he still bears the marks from it, bruises on his upper arms, as well as a sizeable bite mark on the side of his neck. Looks like someone has hickey'ed him. Marked him. He smiles and looks down, catches sight of their knees, inches apart now, because Jean Louis is drifting closer, closer, closer.
He's choosing already, right? That's what it means. That's what it gotta mean. Claude doesn't want it to mean anything else.
So, he looks up and meets Jean Louis' eyes, the hardness in them foreign, but the rest familiar, the deep, dark colour of him, the way he sucks you in and you fall, fall, fall with him. A deep breath and he places his hand, steadying, steadying, on the other man's knee, palm flat, fingers spread out, holding. He leans in slowly.
They're repeating that first night they spent together, where neither of them wanted to be alone, neither of them could take loneliness any longer. This is the replay. ]
The goose got me good. Jean Louis - [ His smile is small, but warm. ] - you should kiss it better.
[ Like that, he turns his head to the side a little bit, exposing the slope of his neck, the line of his whole jaw. Putting on display the huge bruise left on the side of his neck by the goose last night. ]
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And for some reason, Claude finds comfort in that. In that truth, hanging between them like the moment did first.
Then, the moment disperses, Jean Louis's voice taking on a hint of humour when he talks about the goose adventure Claude went on the night before and he still bears the marks from it, bruises on his upper arms, as well as a sizeable bite mark on the side of his neck. Looks like someone has hickey'ed him. Marked him. He smiles and looks down, catches sight of their knees, inches apart now, because Jean Louis is drifting closer, closer, closer.
He's choosing already, right? That's what it means. That's what it gotta mean. Claude doesn't want it to mean anything else.
So, he looks up and meets Jean Louis' eyes, the hardness in them foreign, but the rest familiar, the deep, dark colour of him, the way he sucks you in and you fall, fall, fall with him. A deep breath and he places his hand, steadying, steadying, on the other man's knee, palm flat, fingers spread out, holding. He leans in slowly.
They're repeating that first night they spent together, where neither of them wanted to be alone, neither of them could take loneliness any longer. This is the replay. ]
The goose got me good. Jean Louis - [ His smile is small, but warm. ] - you should kiss it better.
[ Like that, he turns his head to the side a little bit, exposing the slope of his neck, the line of his whole jaw. Putting on display the huge bruise left on the side of his neck by the goose last night. ]