O P E N P O S T .

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@ neverwither

[solosection]

[ following this. ]

[ He didn't tidy up before she got there, which means to say he got nervous about ten minutes before she arrived and tidied up everything in a complete hurry, so nothing looked too tidy, but at least it was presentable. No clothes on the couch, for example. Elio generally isn't a very messy person, he's extended his sheet music orderliness to the rest of his life, too. Well, at least the most physical parts of it, sometimes his head could need a hand, he thinks.

Not that he's giving that much thought now.

Chloe's in the kitchen, he let her in fifteen minutes ago and told her to go wild, so she went to prepare food and he watched her for a while, awkward about whether to offer his help or not, then deciding they'd probably need mood music first and putting on a CD with some Beethoven sonatas, Claude Arrau playing. Currently, it's the third movement of Tempest, on a pleasantly low volume, resonating between the walls of Elio's apartment. His own piano is taking up most of the far end of the living room, Steinway-sponsored.

Once done, he returns to the doorway leading to the kitchen, leaning agains the doorframe and watching her again, quietly, a small frown on her face. Why doesn't he just ask her? Really. ]

Tell me if you need help. [ Okay, so not a question... His frown deepens for a moment, until he just gives up and smiles, apologetically. ] I'm not a bad cook, but I'm sure - neither are you.

i am so sorry for the delay!

[neverwither]

( Going overboard is not really a concept Chloe is familiar with. Always keen to be the consummate hostess - even if she's in someone else's home, she has a basket full of ingredients to prepare for both drinks and nibbles. Far too much to be consumed at one little tasting party, no doubt, but then Elio can have a variety of leftovers.

As he seems content for her to have free rein, she's taken and run with it. It feels a little intrusive to be pottering around in his kitchen, although it's not like she's inspecting every inch of private spaces. There is a bustle of activity from her as she balances having several dishes on the go at once at different stages of completion; salmon rillettes, cheddar pecan crisps, spicy grilled shrimp, balsamic bruschetta. All chosen to complement the martinis to follow.

When she catches sight of him again, she's piping cream cheese into large green olives. She greets his presence with a smile. )

Oh, no, I'm fine. Really. I'm sure you're a perfectly good cook but this is my treat to you. Though you could keep an eye on the crisps to make sure they don't burn, if you don't mind?

( While it may no longer be her role to wait on or serve anyone, it remains something she takes pride and pleasure in. Everyone can use a little care. )

[solosection]

[ Something about her efficiency reminds him of Mafalda, their help back at his mother's summer house. Not because Chloe is here as his help, but because her hands move with the same experienced assuredness, the same no-nonsense speed. He likes watching her, it fills him with a sense of homeliness that he doesn't actually associate with his home most of the time. His home is a place where he sleeps or a place where he plays or a place where he longs, not much besides that. Mafalda, the same way as Chloe is now, would have prepared him a feast if he'd asked for a glass of water. ]

It feels like an unfair trade-off. You preparing all of this and me checking on the cheddar pecan crisps.

[ It's said with a slight laugh, not sarcastic or ironic, but just soft. She makes him feel kind of cared for and that's not really a feeling he's used to. Elio doesn't know how to handle it with the necessary appreciation, honestly. Even so, he walks over to the oven and checks on it once, the crisps still looking a bit under. Leaning against the counter, only the oven and the stove between them now, he turns his face towards her. ]

But care isn't a trade, right? I think that's the point.

[neverwither]

( Chloe just looks quietly bemused at the suggestion of this being somehow unfair. She offered to do this, and was the one to decide to go to the lengths she has. She wasn't ordered or asked. There was no implication that she should. She chose. Trivial as it may seem to others, it's anything but for her. )

You're exactly right - it isn't transactional. You don't have to earn anything nor do I expect anything.

( Chloe doesn't conduct tests. Doesn't play games to illicit reactions that can be studied. Or simply because. To be sincere in all things - perhaps overly so, at times - is how she conducts herself. Connections with others aren't bargaining chips or means of exploitation. They are what they are, and she is what she is. Who she is.

Partly to lighten her own thoughts, she gives him a more playful smile. )

Though I would claim that this is all utterly selfish on my part since I enjoy doing it.

( The last of the olives are plated, joining the other dishes in a magazine worthy arrangement of hors d'oeuvres. Sure enough, the cheddar pecan crisps join shortly after, once they've reached the optimal colour. )

Now, are we to start with a chocolate, fruit, tea or coffee based martini?

@ pendejadas

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[ continued from here. ]

There's magic in music, one of my teachers once told me. You have to be a bit of a witch to play. Maybe we can chant a married men-repellent spell of some kind.

What genre would that be?

[pendejadas]

I'd think a chant like that would be in French, possibly Portuguese. I’d imagine dexterous fingers would spell the enchantment and amp what lives in the heart.

So, it would be psychedelic soul. Or melancholic jazz.

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If you ever write such a song, send it to me. I have an ex who'd love it.

[pendejadas]

If we’re talking exes then I already have a title, based on my colorful history.

— ‘fuck it all up again’.

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You should hear me laughing, honestly.

[nowheretowns]

[ His Audi A6 pulls up to the curb by the conservatory in the 19th arrondissement at precisely 11.29, the tinted windows hiding him efficiently from view of any curious Parisians, not that anyone would recognise him here. Outside of Luxembourg, he's anonymous enough that he could've easily picked up Elio by himself if he'd had his MC or one of his personal cars. Just like he can go clubbing at night without anyone knowing enough to grab a few pictures of his escapades.

He likes that about France, really. Being invisible.

Used to like that in Luxembourg too, but everything's got a price, doesn't it.

He fingers his phone for a moment, scanning over the line of un-read e-mails whilst waiting for the other man to join him for a tiny little adventure. It's quite unusual for him to seek out a one-night-stand - truth be told, he could've just bought another Rolex. Yet, here he is and in a moment, so is Elio.

They can take it from there, surely. ]

[solosection]

[ He ends his masterclass early. Mainly because the girl at the piano was pliant and easy to work with, but also because surely they’ve heard him gush enough about Beethoven at this point to not need further notes. He already has ten PowerPoint shows uploaded to their drive. They can afford to go back in the archives. So can Elio, apparently. He doesn’t revisit one night stands that often, especially not when they’re actually good at sneaking out before he wakes up, but this seems to be an exception.

Jean Louis, the politician from Luxembourg. Elio never got his last name. Jean Louis never got his.

The car is waiting for him by the curb and Elio has only just had time to discard his suit jacket, showing up in his white teacher’s shirt and a pair of anonymous black pants, slightly disheveled hair that he’s run his hand through too many times, before opening the door and slipping into the back seat. Where Jean Louis (no surname) is sitting, checking his phone.

Elio slams the door shut, feeling the car pull away and out into Parisian traffic. ]

I don’t usually see people again, you know. Once I’ve seen them off.

[nowheretowns]

[ He doesn't look up right away as the car door opens and Elio seats himself next to him, slamming the door shut and leaving the driver to take them to their destination. It's a good long drive away, fortunately. Jean Louis types out of a reply for Jacques who's been up for twenty hours, reading through a proposition from CDP that they have to find some way, any fucking way, to back. Hard work, that. Conservatives.

He speaks to Elio, still without looking at him, his voice dry: ]

Guess that makes me special.

[ A half-smile as he finally makes eye contact. Elio's got brown eyes, very brown and warm, even in icy, artificial club lightening. One of the first things Jean Louis had noticed about him, other than those curls of his. Something wild about those. Fun to grab, as it turned out.

He gives the other man an appraising look. It doesn't particularly surprise him, having to pick him up at the conservatory - his frankly gigantic piano combined with the extra insulation on the walls of the living room gave his profession away. All the same, it's not really his specialty, fucking people who like art or culture or what have you. In Luxembourg, they usually stay clear of him simply by virtue of absolutely abhorring his politics and everywhere else, well, the cards have simply fallen differently.

Until now. ]

I can't say I usually attract musicians, however. Perhaps I'm not the special one.

[solosection]

[ Elio waits. And waits and waits while Jean Louis finishes texting whoever’s on the other end of the line. And while he waits, he feels a little bit more insignificant, his palms getting a bit sweaty and his eyes tracking the cars outside, a Renault, a Cooper... City cars. City living. Guess that makes me special, Jean Louis replies, still without looking up. What kind of special, Elio wants to counter with but doesn’t. He swallows hard instead. He feels like he’s doing something wrong and he should feel worse about it than he does.

He’s at least one third hard.

Perhaps I’m not the special one, the other man finally says, saying more with his eyes and Elio manages a small smile, shifting in the car seat. A part of him, an old part, very old, loves the thought of being special to someone. Even for the half hour the drive’s going to take.

Licking his lips, he slides a bit closer across the seats, trying to meet the very subtle bumping of the car and not be jostled around too much. It almost works, too. ]

My guess is that most musicians have better survival instincts than me.

[ They don’t fuck people who slaughter their field.

Up close, Jean Louis looks like Elio remembers him from the night before. Coolly attractive, slick hair, a memorable profile. Nice mouth. Kissable. ]

@ nowheretowns

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[ Jean Louis picks him up soon after and they walk back to his place in relative silence, Elio thinking about the body as currency while simultaneously feeling his own body aching for Jean Louis’ next to him. Maybe it’s because this is not in public, even when walking through the shadows of Grund, the dump of Luxembourg City, his manager called it, apologizing, but too late. Here he is. He glances sideways. Whatever the other man may be to others, Elio thinks he uses his words well here. Between the two of them.

It’s less the contents anyway. They can agree to disagree, Elio thinks he has a point under any circumstances - or, alternately, he was never good at investments, that might be it, too... No, it’s more the way Jean Louis expresses himself, catching on to all Elio’s images and metaphors and the symbolism that doesn’t seem foreign to him at all. Elio can’t remember when he last met someone so in tune with him, was it Oliver? It was probably Oliver.

It scares him a little. It scares him if the body is like all other currencies. It scares him that he knows nothing about investing and has a financial advisor fixing his numbers, so he doesn’t learn either.

Jean Louis scares him, but Elio wants him anyway. Doesn’t he remember last time?

The other man’s place is an old, closed down factory, the entrance guarded by bodyguards and the ground floor haunted by old machinery. The elevator is new. The top floor is new. The trip from one to the other takes ten seconds at most and is like night and day. The upstairs is completely renovated. Glass and chrome, concrete and white, black. No in between. Clean. Elio looks around, still thinking about bodies, but also thinking about Jean Louis’ specifically. How it fits nicely in these surroundings. ]

Somehow I don’t get the feeling that this place sees a lot of men, picked up at midnight and given lodging.

[ It doesn’t mean, am I the only one. It means, is it yours, is this where you refuel? ]

[nowheretowns]

[ It doesn't take them very long, traversing the narrow streets of Grund until the street opens up, the close-knitted network of small town houses and various shops giving way to a larger, more barren area. He's had at least two dozen houses - old, easily bought - demolished to make enough space around the old factory so the driveway leading up to the building is long and well removed from any prying eyes or ears.

Once they made it all the way up to the living area, Jean Louis leads Elio in from the elevator and shrugs out of his jacket - the suit jacket he's worn to work, incidentally, as he's only been off for an hour at most. He hangs it away neatly in its designated spot in the hallway, toes out of his shoes and heads for the bedroom at the farthest end of the huge, open-floor planned apartment. He pauses at Elio's question and turns to meet his eyes, his suit slung over one shoulder. ]

It doesn't. [ A half-smile, a bit too vague, almost like the expression won't quite manifest as it ought. ] I've had sleepovers on my couch once or twice. Friends.

[ The implication goes well with Elio's unspoken assumption - that yes, this place is his and typically, the only one who stays here for any prolonged period of time is him. It's quite atypical of him, inviting Elio up to stay - but then again, Elio is atypical of him. He gives the other man a lingering look, then turns away again. ]

I'll just hang this away.

[ He wiggles the suit once, twice, like an afterthought. He continues with his back to Elio, raising his voice as he passes the kitchen and dining area, separated from the living room space by less than half a concrete wall. ]

Want a drink? Coffee, alcohol?

[solosection]

[ Friends, he says, the same way that Elio will tell his father, just a friend or a friend with a car, the way people like them have to emphasize, apparently, that people exist with whom they don't have sex, because in their world the shift from friend to lover is small and slight. Easy. Elio doesn't know what they are, Jean Louis and him, maybe neither, maybe both. They sleep together. Now they're going to sleep together in multiple senses. Ah, confusing.

He shakes his head, not in response to the other man's question as he walks towards his... bedroom, presumably, suit slung over one shoulder. Elio quickly toes out of his own shoes and then, hoists up his trolley, follows, uninvited. It needs to go somewhere, too. The apartment is big, huge, open-floor. Almost no walls, a single one, cut in halves to separate dining area from the rest, kitchen. The bedroom is out of sight. Private, Elio thinks.

Yet, here he is. Maybe Luxembourg is just like that, here you are. Red dot. Danger.

Stopping by the couch, then, because if he's less than a friend but more than a lover, he's politely going to assume this is where he sleeps, he puts down the trolley next to it, looking the big room over from this angle, from inside it. The kitchen doesn't look like something you'd actually use for anything, or maybe more - well, there's nothing wrong with it, it seems to hold every single appliance you could dream of, but it lacks the soul of Mafalda's kitchen in Bordighera. No one's made fish soup from self-caught fish here.

No doubt a lot of coffee, though. Alcohol, Jean Louis asked. That, too.

Elio's nervous. Alcohol would be nice. ]

If you've got a glass of red, I'd like that.

[nowheretowns]

[ He hangs away the suit on a spare hanger in his walk-in closet adjacent to the bedroom. As he passes through the room afterwards, he pauses, briefly confused - until he realises that Elio's stopped by the couch, which is very nice and unpresumptuous of him. He leaves the door open to the bedroom, some unknown bit of tension leaving his shoulders. He frowns. Pauses, looking the other man over as he stands there by the couch with his trolley, looking perhaps a tiny bit small against the panoramic backdrop of Grund visible through the living room windows. ]

Of course.

[ He thinks for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, he simply settles with the easiest way to progress the situation, though it's also very new, almost absurdly so. ]

I'll pour two glasses while you put that away. [ He waves his hand once at the trolley, then nods towards the bedroom. Adds, something a little too airy in his voice, like his breath's trying to out-perform his vocalchords. ] I won't mind, if you don't.

[ With that, he heads over to the kitchen, parts of the counter hidden behind the half-wall. He works mechanically, habitually, as he pulls down a bottle of Nero d´Avola from the top-shelf, picking out his Italian glass decanter along with two appropriate wine glasses. He listens for the sounds of Elio complying with his directions - because they were directions, in a way, he didn't exactly leave him with more than two choices - to acquiesce or to object. There's nothing particularly novel or interesting about that, in itself; Jean Louis regularly sticks to offering people a narrow set of options, anything else is pretty much asking for more trouble than he can be bothered with.

No, but the interesting thing is.

Hm.

He pours the wine into the decanter quickly, watching the foam gather on top. The wine is deep, dark red, the scent a mix of black berry and licorice.

The interesting thing is, he's actually wondering if maybe, in this case, he ought to have offered... more.

Thus, to counteract a sudden sense of uneasiness that he can't quite place or understand, he adds, raising his voice enough for it to carry through the open spaces between them: ]

You can have the bed to yourself if you want.

@ nowheretowns

[solosection]

[ He doesn't intrude on Jean Louis' privacy, he'll put it that way. He doesn't use the guest facilities to have his own, Elio doesn't care too much about those things, but because they're both big men in each their own right, Jean Louis broad and Elio long, too long, they'd probably have to bump into each other, slink past sink and toilet in most bathrooms, so he thinks this is the elegant solution. He brushes his teeth, gets the taste of Sicily out of his mouth and then washes off quickly before returning to the bedroom, hesitating only a second in front of Jean Louis' big, square, woody box-like bed, before climbing onto it, straight into the middle and lying down, propped up on his elbows so he can watch the fish. The view of the fish tank is clear in the dark, the water luminescent and the fish like something out of a childhood dream. He just follows one, then the other with his eyes, waiting, listening for the shower, the water running, toilet habits.

Having seen him already, he doesn't have to imagine the other man naked, it's just that the first time was more than a year ago. What Elio remembers most vividly are the tattoos, hidden underneath his clothes. Black, silk-like ribbons running across his body in seemingly erratic patters, no real... sense to it. For a man who seems so focused, they lack exactly that, his tattoos. Focus. Not purpose. His skin is a bit more uneven beneath the ink, so no - there's definitely a purpose to the madness, just not one you're supposed to see all too clearly.

With Jean Louis, Elio wonders how many things are like that. With most people, he doesn't care. He'd just check where the nearest exit was.

Even here, he's learned the way to the front door.

Not that he wants to use it.

After a couple of minutes, he lets himself sink down onto his back again, just lying there and staring up at the white ceiling, amongst white linen. His hard-on's a bit dejected at this point, neglected, but Elio can still feel the other man's lips, his tongue, taste the wine on them both, together. He still wants to suck him off. Whatever it means, whatever it might mean to them specifically, he wants them to be even. Bodies for currency, yes, they've talked about this, though Elio honestly thinks there's more to the body than flesh.

Maybe that's something to be proven. ]

[nowheretowns]

[ He follows his usual rituals before and during the shower, taking the time that he requires which honestly isn't overly much. He doesn't shave, mostly because there'll be time in the morning and there's a ritual there, too, that he likes. He washes off in sandalwood soap and something a little more neutral, dries off, cleans his teeth, finishes up. It's not automatic as such, it's just efficient. One thing, then the next, then the next.

Beyond the bathroom, he can hear Elio lying down on the bed about the same time as he finishes up with his shower. He thinks about the other man in there, on his bed, with ample view of his fish tank, the only true, significant item of decoration in his entire apartment. It's in the bedroom for a reason, the one place that he tends to keep to himself - indeed, the few times he's had someone sleep over (Marie-Claude, really, primarily), he's taken the couch.

Yes, it's not quite about anyone else seeing his bedroom, it's about sharing it.

As he's about to, now.

He hangs away his towels and switches off the lights, grabbing a few packs of condoms and lube from the small cabinet beneath the sink. He pauses in the doorway for a moment, looking at Elio who's naked on his bed, right in the middle of it. He's watching the fish which makes something tighten in his chest that he can't quite understand. Crossing to the bed, he drops the condoms et cetera on the mattress, looks Elio over for a long moment. ]

We're at an impasse. [ A smile, just slightly sharp around the edges. There's challenge, here, a little bit of a push. ] We want the same thing, you see.

[ Blowjobs, more precisely. Giving them. He gets to his knees on the bed, his hard cock bobbing lightly against his abdomen. His gaze is fixed on Elio, running from his face to his shoulders and chest, to his cock. He licks his lips very blatantly and leans down, licking a fat trail from one, brown nipple to the other, flattening his palm against his belly only inches from his cock. ]

[solosection]

[ Jean Louis comes out of his bathroom, naked, fully, his body muscular and well-kept, his skin darker than Elio's by a few earthy tones, though he still looks pale in comparison to the ribbons wrapping around him, like he's some gift put before you and maybe that's the illusion.

Elio doesn't think Jean Louis is the gift, he thinks Jean Louis is the giver. There's a very important difference.

Looking away from the fish and the walls and the ceiling, all encasing this place, Elio follows him with his gaze, immediately feeling blood flowing right back into his crotch, his cock going completely hard in seconds. Oh. He's so striking, he's like Oliver was - or Elio is as Elio was back then, it's the details, it's the curve of his shoulder and the massiveness to his wrist and how narrow, in comparison, he is around the waist, hips. Elio lets himself be crawled across pretty much as the other man climbs over the mattress to him, dropping off condoms and lube on the way.

Looking down at him, he feels his whole system tightening up as the other man says they're at an impasse, they both want the same thing and then proceeds to lick a trail from one nipple to the other, the slickness of spit and the friction of tongue making Elio's toes curl. He breathes out hard, funny little inhalations, desperate. When he reaches down and touches, it's not Jean Louis' hair, but further down, flat hand between his shoulder blades, feeling how hard he is.

There, too.

Speaking, his words come out breathy, little bit hoarse: ]

I wouldn't call it an impasse. [ Impasse means no way forward, it means disagreement, they can move from here and they certainly, certainly don't disagree. No, please blow him, please, please. ] You just have to position yourself the right way, Jean Louis.

[ Arching his back a little, he pushes up against the other man's mouth, his hand on his stomach, a small slip down from jackpot, right? His cock jerks. Elio stares down at him. Doesn't he look like a giver, too, like this? ]

[nowheretowns]

[ Elio's hardening quickly, his chest rising and falling more erratically already which is a great look on him - this sweet sort of desperation that he seems so unashamed about, just telling him yes and please and more like it doesn't cost him anything. He knows it does, of course, it always does - but Elio carries the weight of all those tiny losses in a different ways from others. Other people aren't typically aware.

Elio is but it doesn't stop him.

Jean Louis likes that about him quite a lot. ]

Ah, yes. That's another way.

[ He smiles against Elio's skin before catching one of his nipples between his lips, sucking it inside and pressing his tongue against it, again and again, feeling it stiffen fully in his mouth. He tastes like salt and skin, primarily, along with a touch of something else that he recognises even after a full year's absence. It speaks volumes as to how the other man's taken a place within him, a place that resonates with memory and new experience. It makes his cock feel painfully hard and his chest tighten even worse, a mix of two very opposing inclinations. Take, it means, and hide, but he'd never do the latter, not in this life.

With a groan, he leans over and licks Elio's other nipple into hardness, enjoying the feel of his palm between his shoulders, the steady weight of it. After a moment, he draws back, his hand still resting against Elio's stomach, and looks up at him. It's a quick glance, just taking his features in, his eyes. Always his eyes.

Then, he turns and slips his leg over his torso, elegantly - he hasn't spent more than a decade in the local dojo just to carry himself badly - coming to a rest with his knees on either side of him, his arse pretty much in his face and Elio's cock utterly at eye-level. He breathes out roughly through his teeth. Grabs a condom with one hand and spits in his other, folding it around Elio's cock and stroking it slowly from root to glans and back down. He's hot to the touch, his little export-Italian.

Hot and teeth-watering. ]

[nowheretowns]

did it get there?

[solosection]

It got to the Conservatory staffroom. Where I was. Ready to receive it in front of all my coworkers and the headmaster.

[nowheretowns]

oh, good. did you like it?

[solosection]

Very much.

The smoothies were wonderful. I almost gave myself a stomach ache before class.