[ Elio fits against him perfectly - they're the same height, incidentally, but as opposed to Jean Louis, the other man has a slim built and long-looking limbs and when they stand together like this, he feels perfectly tiny against him, not just a whole, other person but a piece, falling into place.
He takes a heavy drag, then drops the cigarette to the ground. Grinds it out beneath his heel briefly, though he highly doubts it'll set anything on fire in this place. A peach tree, maybe. They look old as hell, though, they've no doubt survived worse than a few embers on the ground. Regardless, he can vividly imagine the hysterics; he's already getting quite enough flak for smoking at all. ]
It's telling, isn't it. Presumably, people would always choose to be as free as possible, to live whichever life they think they need, unhindered. Yet, at the end of the day...
[ He turns towards Elio slightly. Slips his hand up along his back, between his shoulder blades, and runs his fingertips through his curls by the nape of his neck. He tugs them gently, watching how they bounce back towards his head. His voice goes quiet, contemplative, not because of the subject matter but rather owing to how handling Elio's hair is basically prime self-distraction. ]
It's funny, how terrible we are at achieving that particular objective.
[ Being mostly apolitical, he only votes because he feels he has a duty to, no idea in which direction that duty extends, Elio looks at Jean Louis while he talks, listening carefully, because he always listens for him carefully, down to the way his breath rattles a little what with his lungs full of tar. Still, from a philosophical point of view? It’s interesting that the man leading the most neoliberal party in all of Europe, crusader for free choice for everybody, is at all considering whether people can administer the choice they have. Elio likes that glimpse of humanity. Where the pieces don’t quite fit together. He likes those junctions on everyone, he just loves them a particular lot with Jean Louis.
The other man grinds his cigarette into the ground good and proper, then turns towards Elio slightly to run his hand up his back, between his shoulder blades, tugging slowly at a couple of curls near his nape. It’s meditative, relaxing in a way that seeps into his system, to the core of him, not just the movement, but the quality of Jean Louis’ voice, the depth to his eyes. Like sinking into a natural hot spring, Bormio where his parents took him when he was younger. Day trip. There was a digging site near the place. ]
You have to believe that, Jean Louis - [ Elio shakes his head and turns towards him fully, feeling his arm slide along the small of Elio’s back, over hip, hold on, he thinks, hold on. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Jean Louis’ mouth, then to his lips, and finally he runs the tip of his tongue teasingly over the jut of them. ] - or you’d be putting yourself out of a job.
[ People who are excellent at governing their own decisions don’t need a government at all. That’s the point. ]
[ Elio gets an actual, genuine laugh at that. It's true, isn't it - there's something inherently hypocritical about all forms of government, the paradox that occurs when you want people to be free in certain ways, not in whichever way they prefer - more precisely, there's simply no way to ensure that freedom for all means happiness for all because people make stupid, ridiculous choices simply by virtue of being people. No one, not even the anarchists, go free from this contradiction of human nature.
Jean Louis, naturally, has chosen the approach that gives the better pay-off.
He hums in contentment against Elio's lips, taking his initiative and folding his hand against his hip once again, fingers digging in a little now, holding on more firmly. He lets Elio explore his lips for a few seconds before he steps closer, returning the kiss. Elio's taste is a combination of oranges and salt, his own scent evident underneath and Jean Louis licks at his upper lip greedily before he slips his tongue inside, filling his mouth in one slow, even motion.
Around them, the orchard feels like a silent space, despite the wind rustling through the branches and further across the rooftop. If he strains - which he'd rather not but certain habits are too ingrained - he can make out echoes from Elio's family gathering in the background, several walls away. Outside, however, the noise dissipates quickly into the air. The sky swallows it, somehow. ]
[ And because Elio asks, always asking for more, always asking again, Jean Louis told him to himself, the other man responds, tightening his hold on him, pulling him in closer now, accepting his advances and then, takes for himself. Seeing as Jean Louis is actually leader of the most neoliberal party in all of Europe. He knows how to take. Elio loves it, loves the sense of having his mouth filled by him, angling his face to avoid a collision of noses, just a little to the side, there, come here. Elio sucks on his tongue, greedily, because they’re both about profits and outcomes, in each their distinct way, slipping both arms up around his neck and burying his fingers in Jean Louis’ hair, near the back of his skull. Fingertips scraping over scalp.
Part of him, a selfish, childish part, wants Oliver to see them like this, wants to show off exactly how well Jean Louis cares, how someone isn’t busy with his wife and children or his father’s endless rants about Antiquity. How he’s enough for someone, this particular someone, this very important someone. But as he kisses Jean Louis back, breathing harshly through his nose and letting the other man take some of his weight off of him, because he can, Elio realizes that it’s enough that the trees know and the wind knows and it’s enough that the wind will knock on the kitchen windows and if someone listened closely enough, they’d catch the drift.
Like it’s enough knowing that his family, Oliver included somehow, is loud and they won’t hear a thing. ]
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solosection) wrote2021-12-31 09:25 am
no subject
He takes a heavy drag, then drops the cigarette to the ground. Grinds it out beneath his heel briefly, though he highly doubts it'll set anything on fire in this place. A peach tree, maybe. They look old as hell, though, they've no doubt survived worse than a few embers on the ground. Regardless, he can vividly imagine the hysterics; he's already getting quite enough flak for smoking at all. ]
It's telling, isn't it. Presumably, people would always choose to be as free as possible, to live whichever life they think they need, unhindered. Yet, at the end of the day...
[ He turns towards Elio slightly. Slips his hand up along his back, between his shoulder blades, and runs his fingertips through his curls by the nape of his neck. He tugs them gently, watching how they bounce back towards his head. His voice goes quiet, contemplative, not because of the subject matter but rather owing to how handling Elio's hair is basically prime self-distraction. ]
It's funny, how terrible we are at achieving that particular objective.
no subject
The other man grinds his cigarette into the ground good and proper, then turns towards Elio slightly to run his hand up his back, between his shoulder blades, tugging slowly at a couple of curls near his nape. It’s meditative, relaxing in a way that seeps into his system, to the core of him, not just the movement, but the quality of Jean Louis’ voice, the depth to his eyes. Like sinking into a natural hot spring, Bormio where his parents took him when he was younger. Day trip. There was a digging site near the place. ]
You have to believe that, Jean Louis - [ Elio shakes his head and turns towards him fully, feeling his arm slide along the small of Elio’s back, over hip, hold on, he thinks, hold on. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Jean Louis’ mouth, then to his lips, and finally he runs the tip of his tongue teasingly over the jut of them. ] - or you’d be putting yourself out of a job.
[ People who are excellent at governing their own decisions don’t need a government at all. That’s the point. ]
no subject
Jean Louis, naturally, has chosen the approach that gives the better pay-off.
He hums in contentment against Elio's lips, taking his initiative and folding his hand against his hip once again, fingers digging in a little now, holding on more firmly. He lets Elio explore his lips for a few seconds before he steps closer, returning the kiss. Elio's taste is a combination of oranges and salt, his own scent evident underneath and Jean Louis licks at his upper lip greedily before he slips his tongue inside, filling his mouth in one slow, even motion.
Around them, the orchard feels like a silent space, despite the wind rustling through the branches and further across the rooftop. If he strains - which he'd rather not but certain habits are too ingrained - he can make out echoes from Elio's family gathering in the background, several walls away. Outside, however, the noise dissipates quickly into the air. The sky swallows it, somehow. ]
no subject
Part of him, a selfish, childish part, wants Oliver to see them like this, wants to show off exactly how well Jean Louis cares, how someone isn’t busy with his wife and children or his father’s endless rants about Antiquity. How he’s enough for someone, this particular someone, this very important someone. But as he kisses Jean Louis back, breathing harshly through his nose and letting the other man take some of his weight off of him, because he can, Elio realizes that it’s enough that the trees know and the wind knows and it’s enough that the wind will knock on the kitchen windows and if someone listened closely enough, they’d catch the drift.
Like it’s enough knowing that his family, Oliver included somehow, is loud and they won’t hear a thing. ]