[ Elio's hand disappears from his, though he leaves it hanging for a moment in the air between them, like he isn't quite certain what to do with it or how to take it back. Jean Louis, meanwhile, watches the road and thinks about ways he'd kill this so-called Oliver if the chance ever presents itself - it's hard to imagine anything like that, though, for Elio is tied to the other man's circumstances and to Jean Louis', as well. All he gets are cartoonish mental images, like dropping a fucking rock on the bastard from a hundred feet above ground. Probably not feasible. Probably.
It's hard to understand how he went from simply fucking Elio, this man, once for the sake of a quick and dirty one-night-stand to sitting here, sharing breathing space, hating that anyone in the world would hurt him and thinking about how to prevent them from doing so ever again. Lips thinning, he's about to turn on the radio, just to give his mind something to latch onto except the silence between them but then, Elio says...
He blinks.
Blinks.
Stares, unseeingly, at the road whilst the other man just lets that hang there, like it's something you say, like it's something you might even... Breath catching in his throat, he tries desperately to come up with a proper reply that isn't thanks or love you too, both of which would sound absurd, coming from him, like someone trying to speak without a tongue in their mouth. Changing lanes, he doesn't look at Elio, doesn't say anything because he doesn't know -- and then, Elio's in his personal space, leaning in to kiss him briefly on his cheek before sitting back. It's sweet. Unassuming, again.
That's why.
That's.
Clearing his throat, he finally looks at the other man, briefly, before he looks right back out of the window, onto the road. His eyes flicker sideways another three (3) times before he finally just. Shifts. Bends his neck a little and diverts his gaze, something a little like a smile creeping onto his face before he manages to straighten up in his seat again. ]
[ You get used to it, the way nothing much happens on Jean Louis’ face. Still waters, hiding depths underneath and while Elio imagines no you’s actually ever did get used to it and that’s why the other man has such a hard time with taking in any sign of understanding, he kind of likes the way it makes him special. The way it makes their bond special. As he leans back in his seat, the heat of Jean Louis’ skin still clinging to his lips, he simply accepts the silence that follows, how the other man doesn’t tell him love you back, how the notion doesn’t even seem to cross his features. That’s all right. Elio knows it hit home, exactly like he wanted it to, it’s all over the space between them. It’s in the air he breathes, inhaling, exhaling. He’s told someone he loves them. When did that last happen?
Did it ever?
After a second, though, despite himself, Elio still glances aside, catching sight of Jean Louis sort of humbly looking away, inclining his head and smiling, just a small, subtle smile, but happy. He looks happy. Elio had never thought...
They’re both happy.
Feeling his own features light up, his lips curve in a wide smile, almost a laugh and he kind of thumps his head back against the headrest, once, twice, looking out the window where the road and the cars on it are just backdrop, this feeling is front and center. This feeling of loving and being happy loving and it goes both ways, because Jean Louis’ face says it, too. He says it, too, just not in words.
Isn’t he a politician? Don’t they speak in action, anyway?
And they do, because after a moment, Jean Louis straightens up and returns to a mode a little closer to normal, although some things you can’t undo or unsay and neither does any of them try. Elio bites his lip, still smiling and finally leans in to turn the radio on. Some electronic-sounding dance number blares out.
The next fifty kilometers, they don’t speak, no. Not in words. ]
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solosection) wrote2021-12-31 09:25 am
no subject
It's hard to understand how he went from simply fucking Elio, this man, once for the sake of a quick and dirty one-night-stand to sitting here, sharing breathing space, hating that anyone in the world would hurt him and thinking about how to prevent them from doing so ever again. Lips thinning, he's about to turn on the radio, just to give his mind something to latch onto except the silence between them but then, Elio says...
He blinks.
Blinks.
Stares, unseeingly, at the road whilst the other man just lets that hang there, like it's something you say, like it's something you might even... Breath catching in his throat, he tries desperately to come up with a proper reply that isn't thanks or love you too, both of which would sound absurd, coming from him, like someone trying to speak without a tongue in their mouth. Changing lanes, he doesn't look at Elio, doesn't say anything because he doesn't know -- and then, Elio's in his personal space, leaning in to kiss him briefly on his cheek before sitting back. It's sweet. Unassuming, again.
That's why.
That's.
Clearing his throat, he finally looks at the other man, briefly, before he looks right back out of the window, onto the road. His eyes flicker sideways another three (3) times before he finally just. Shifts. Bends his neck a little and diverts his gaze, something a little like a smile creeping onto his face before he manages to straighten up in his seat again. ]
no subject
Did it ever?
After a second, though, despite himself, Elio still glances aside, catching sight of Jean Louis sort of humbly looking away, inclining his head and smiling, just a small, subtle smile, but happy. He looks happy. Elio had never thought...
They’re both happy.
Feeling his own features light up, his lips curve in a wide smile, almost a laugh and he kind of thumps his head back against the headrest, once, twice, looking out the window where the road and the cars on it are just backdrop, this feeling is front and center. This feeling of loving and being happy loving and it goes both ways, because Jean Louis’ face says it, too. He says it, too, just not in words.
Isn’t he a politician? Don’t they speak in action, anyway?
And they do, because after a moment, Jean Louis straightens up and returns to a mode a little closer to normal, although some things you can’t undo or unsay and neither does any of them try. Elio bites his lip, still smiling and finally leans in to turn the radio on. Some electronic-sounding dance number blares out.
The next fifty kilometers, they don’t speak, no. Not in words. ]