[ The thing about Jean Louis that Elio is learning, but has loved since the beginning, maybe from their very first night together, the other man pounding into him, a weight across his back, breath down his neck and willingness to listen to him whimper, is how beneath those still features of his face, there’s depth, there are lagoons and quicksand, natural phenomenons that can swallow you whole, if you don’t know how to work with them. Elio is many things but not stupid, he knows those kinds of forces are dangerous, but he also knows they make room, carve out the earth, creating pockets of space, just in order to exist. And the thing about Jean Louis is that he’s a willing container, he holds and he cares for and he carries. Elio. Elio’s feelings. Elio doesn’t think he’s ever been held like this before. That’s the thing.
Thank you, the other man replies and Elio knows that although the words themselves are brief, brief enough to leave space for all Elio’s excessiveness, they are floating on deep waters. Who does Jean Louis normally thank? Jean Louis expects and wants and demands, takes sometimes. Elio’s voice is bearing the brunt of it now, but who does he thank, if anyone?
Elio.
So Elio smiles when the other man catches his wrist and turns towards him, kissing it where the skin shows veins underneath. Vulnerability. Jean Louis is kissing his vulnerability, Elio was always good with symbolism and obviously, his Foreign Minister is, too. In turn, Elio bites his lip, everything tastes like him still, salt, water, cum, and allows himself to be let go of, it’s not forever, it’s for a while. They’re close enough, like this. It’s okay.
Looking up at the moon, clear and in perfect halves today, he licks his lips absentmindedly. ]
I guess we’ll see who’s faster. Your men or a common cold.
[ He crosses the distance between himself and his abandoned socks, shoes, readies himself to leave this pocket of theirs, enter a new one. ]
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solosection) wrote2021-12-31 09:25 am
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Thank you, the other man replies and Elio knows that although the words themselves are brief, brief enough to leave space for all Elio’s excessiveness, they are floating on deep waters. Who does Jean Louis normally thank? Jean Louis expects and wants and demands, takes sometimes. Elio’s voice is bearing the brunt of it now, but who does he thank, if anyone?
Elio.
So Elio smiles when the other man catches his wrist and turns towards him, kissing it where the skin shows veins underneath. Vulnerability. Jean Louis is kissing his vulnerability, Elio was always good with symbolism and obviously, his Foreign Minister is, too. In turn, Elio bites his lip, everything tastes like him still, salt, water, cum, and allows himself to be let go of, it’s not forever, it’s for a while. They’re close enough, like this. It’s okay.
Looking up at the moon, clear and in perfect halves today, he licks his lips absentmindedly. ]
I guess we’ll see who’s faster. Your men or a common cold.
[ He crosses the distance between himself and his abandoned socks, shoes, readies himself to leave this pocket of theirs, enter a new one. ]