[ Claude comes moments later, his fingers folded over Jean Louis' forehead, his voice little but a whimper. His name on his tongue and then, something aborted that might be everything and nothing at once. Jean Louis leans his head into his hold, uncertain why he likes it - it's such a seemingly random gesture - but happy all the same. He strokes him slowly through his climax, letting go once he figures the sensitivity's getting too prominent. Then, he steps back slowly into the spray once more, folding one arm around Claude's waist and pulling him along, slow movements, careful, like they're stepping from one layer of reality into another. Once the water hits his back, he reaches for the soap once more, looks at Claude, uncertain as to what he's trying to signal or why - it's warmth, perhaps, and Jean Louis has never been a very warm person so whether or not he's succeeding is up in the air - and soaps up his arms, his neck. He doesn't go for any of his sensitive zones, merely soaps him up to wash him down.
It feels like the thing to do, now.
All throughout, he thinks about Christmas, about celebrating (?) the season with Claude's family and how it's such a surreal turn of events, to go from having no one to... whatever this is, whatever Claude is now, this sweet man with his socialist views and his kindness.
He doesn't know what to make of it. It feels like an uneven trade - after all, he might have the mob and money enough to shop an entire wardrobe for himself in the span of six hours but people tend to figure out the truth sooner or later; that beneath it, there's something else, something a little too small and unsatisfying. Something less. The question, then, is another one of acquisition. What does a man like Claude want and how does one go about getting it for him?
It's of immense importance, he thinks, to figure it out.
no subject
It feels like the thing to do, now.
All throughout, he thinks about Christmas, about celebrating (?) the season with Claude's family and how it's such a surreal turn of events, to go from having no one to... whatever this is, whatever Claude is now, this sweet man with his socialist views and his kindness.
He doesn't know what to make of it. It feels like an uneven trade - after all, he might have the mob and money enough to shop an entire wardrobe for himself in the span of six hours but people tend to figure out the truth sooner or later; that beneath it, there's something else, something a little too small and unsatisfying. Something less. The question, then, is another one of acquisition. What does a man like Claude want and how does one go about getting it for him?
It's of immense importance, he thinks, to figure it out.
He'll do his best. ]