[ Jean Louis moves over next to him, but still with a sliver of distance between them, something Claude appreciates greatly, there's a sense of respect to it, like the other man knows to pay heed to his body autonomy. The words he string together seem, on the surface, very polished and politically correct, yet there's a truth to them that soothes Claude's momentarily quivering psyche. For some of us, including himself, then. Claude turns his head and looks up at Jean Louis who isn't much taller than him, but just enough to require that he raises his gaze. He only knows the history of the Foreign Minister's political career superficially, how he started his own party and managed to come out on top, despite all odds. Hey, that seems recognizable, at least. Like a mirror image of something else, someone else.
Look at Claude.
Smiling again, he turns towards Jean Louis fully, reaches out and touches a palm to his elbow briefly, just the hint of touch, nothing inappropriate or invasive. ]
I think, between the two of us, you've probably had it worse. The drama.
[It works like magic every time, doesn't it, understanding what people want or need, then giving it to them. Seems like the simplest calculation in the book but most concern themselves too much with their own needs and urges, failing to understand that the best way to sate them is to gaze outward. For a moment, he senses how the image he's projecting to Claude - not too far from the truth - settles with the other man, synchronising their perspectives for a second or two.
Then, Claude touches his elbow and though it's exceedingly light, barely even a touch, it emphasises the feeling of connection. Odd, how interaction works on so many different levels. You've probably had it worse, he says. Hardly, though he can't help but wonder now exactly what Claude's been through before he came here. To even make comparisons in the first place.]
At least, you know it comes with the job.
[He reaches up, brushing his fingertips very lightly across the top of Claude's knuckles. Two kinds of responses, multiple interpretations. Claude's hand feels warm to the touch. Before he can add anything more, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. His hand falls away.]
[ The other man brushes his fingers across Claude's knuckles and for a moment, it leaves his hand tingling. It still resonates with him, how Jean Louis was so forth-coming about his relationship status, how he noted that they both seemed to value honesty. The bell rings, though, and it's time to return to the truly dramatic world of Russian ballet again. Claude puts his wine down on the counter and leaves it there for someone else to clean up. He turns around, finding himself side by side with Jean Louis again and he wonders, briefly, how others perceive them, were they to look their way now. Wonders, even more briefly, how he's supposed to perceive them himself. ]
Let's.
[ He leaves the questions for later. He's got an entire evening to ponder what the fuck he's expecting to come out of this, right? Until it becomes pressing, it's just about sitting back and enjoying the ride, the film, dinner, whatever follows. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Look at Claude.
Smiling again, he turns towards Jean Louis fully, reaches out and touches a palm to his elbow briefly, just the hint of touch, nothing inappropriate or invasive. ]
I think, between the two of us, you've probably had it worse. The drama.
no subject
Then, Claude touches his elbow and though it's exceedingly light, barely even a touch, it emphasises the feeling of connection. Odd, how interaction works on so many different levels. You've probably had it worse, he says. Hardly, though he can't help but wonder now exactly what Claude's been through before he came here. To even make comparisons in the first place.]
At least, you know it comes with the job.
[He reaches up, brushing his fingertips very lightly across the top of Claude's knuckles. Two kinds of responses, multiple interpretations. Claude's hand feels warm to the touch. Before he can add anything more, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. His hand falls away.]
Shall we?
no subject
Let's.
[ He leaves the questions for later. He's got an entire evening to ponder what the fuck he's expecting to come out of this, right? Until it becomes pressing, it's just about sitting back and enjoying the ride, the film, dinner, whatever follows. ]