[ The mood... shifts. It doesn't change, not like that - for instance, it doesn't slip into a more sexually heated mode, something he might've expected. Instead, they seem to drift closer somehow, like the air between them grows tighter, even as Claude shifts out of his grip partially, holding his hand close before pressing it to his hip. He notices, of course, as he has every time they've had sex - that Claude seems reluctant around his arse, that he indulges Jean Louis' appreciation for it without encouraging anything beyond that and he's drawn his own conclusions, mostly centering around the fact that people are different, have different tastes and he doesn't need anal sex in his life to be content, not at all.
He thinks about the light in Claude's eyes, the warmth, and his hand curls tighter against his hip.
Then, Claude looks up at him, the two of them front to front now, and tells him that there's something he needs to know, his words faltering as he swallows, clears his throat, all of those communicational tics that you learn not to exhibit in their line of work. He doesn't, usually. Claude is a very, very good orator. But now, he needs to tell Jean Louis something and that something sticks in his throat in a way that cripples him, visibly. Consent, he thinks as Claude pauses, that bill is about consent and a part of him tightens from anger before he even knows where they're headed. ]
Personal.
[ He sees a few options, none of them acceptable. But this is Claude's story and Jean Louis has never had a hard time listening to others. Under different circumstances, it's a great way to gain information without having to trade anything back - that said (and as a direct consequence), normally he's not particularly emotionally invested in what's being shared.
Right now, he has to very consciously force himself to allow Claude the space to himself, his voice perhaps a little bit too quiet, a little bit too still as he just adds: ]
no subject
He thinks about the light in Claude's eyes, the warmth, and his hand curls tighter against his hip.
Then, Claude looks up at him, the two of them front to front now, and tells him that there's something he needs to know, his words faltering as he swallows, clears his throat, all of those communicational tics that you learn not to exhibit in their line of work. He doesn't, usually. Claude is a very, very good orator. But now, he needs to tell Jean Louis something and that something sticks in his throat in a way that cripples him, visibly. Consent, he thinks as Claude pauses, that bill is about consent and a part of him tightens from anger before he even knows where they're headed. ]
Personal.
[ He sees a few options, none of them acceptable. But this is Claude's story and Jean Louis has never had a hard time listening to others. Under different circumstances, it's a great way to gain information without having to trade anything back - that said (and as a direct consequence), normally he's not particularly emotionally invested in what's being shared.
Right now, he has to very consciously force himself to allow Claude the space to himself, his voice perhaps a little bit too quiet, a little bit too still as he just adds: ]
How so?