[Something changes, a slip of tension creeping into the quiet. He watches Claude, curious about what might have caused it. At his question, however, the pieces come together quite naturally. The mention of their apartment, of course; he's met people who didn't care at all about his relationship with Marcel, who'd happily run with the term "open relationship" and ask no questions to risk throwing too much light on the definitions. But Claude's different, isn't he? The more they talk, the more he senses the vulnerability beneath that otherwise confident exterior. It doesn't make the man any less appealing, far from it.]

Of course. [He shifts a little on the couch, the movement bringing him just a bit closer to the other man, only just keeping them out of touching distance. It is, after all, an intimate question.] We've been together for almost twenty years.

[Shit, that's a long time, isn't it. Time flies. Especially when you're busy, fucking the life out of some mindless Italian bimbo. His expression doesn't cool, as he sets down his cup and looks at Claude, eyes calm. Unbothered.]

Forgive me, Claude, but I have to ask - it's late. I'm trusting you to throw me out at your leisure, yes?