[ 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
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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. ]