[ The light changes to green. This far away from the city center, the road is close to deserted already - now and again, they pass another car, lights flickering past in the darkness, but other than that, it's a relatively private affair. Quiet, in a sense. He thinks about the apartment. About this conversation. Usually, he doesn't talk that much with his one-night stands; they tend to know what they want, after all, and small-talk isn't it. Claude, on the other hand...
He smiles very slightly at the other man's wording. Clever choice. ]
As with so many other things, yes? [ A sharp left-turn. The road grows narrower, lined by trees and old town-houses. The lights are on behind some of the windows whilst others look dark, impenetrable. Secretive. He glances sideways at Claude again, one hand on the steering wheel whilst he runs the other through his hair quickly. Borderline-nervous energy. ] So long as it doesn't crumble beneath you when you take off, there's potential.
[ It's hard to decide whether or not this night has been a launching pad or a slow but inevitable demolition. It certainly hasn't felt like the latter but who's he to say? He's got nothing to compare it to. All he knows is that he's driving the other man home and when he's done, the quiet will sneak up on him as it always does. Status quo. His smile grows stiffer and he looks away again. Focuses on the road. ]
[ He's one long row of expression, is Jean Louis, behind the flatness, is that the right word, Claude isn't sure, of his surface. There's a bout of semi-nervous energy hanging in the air between them as he runs his hand through his hair, the other steering the car through the night with an assertiveness that's nothing if not attractive. His smile soon takes on a certain degree of stiffness again, however, and like that it all changes back and forth, back and forth. It's such a natural parallel to draw for him, of course, but Claude also thinks it fitting. To call it a dance. Something choreographed, something stylized. They know their own patterns too well, he'd say. And they're not familiar with each other's just yet.
That's what this is. That's what this evening has been like.
He lets his own hands sink into his lap as he turns his head completely to look at the other man. Being as direct as he possibly can, because he's not here to put up smokescreens. It's been a good date, Claude has enjoyed it immensely. So much that he's actually considering just inviting Jean Louis up, get the banging out of the way and see what awaits on the other side, but it's a principal thing to him. He could easily sleep with Jean Louis, he could easily, but he won't. Because he's chosen another approach, one that he hopes will be a better fit in the long run. Whether Jean Louis Girard will mind having to stretch his legs a little, only time will tell, he supposes. ]
I try not to sleep with people on the first date - or the second or the third.
[ What he doesn't say: Do you still think I've got potential? Because. Does it matter? Instead he flexes his fingers where they're resting on his thighs, observing the lines of his hands contort and break up under the shine of another streetlight and another, though the suburbs look to have gone to bed already. They'll be at his place soon. ]
[ Pause. He makes another turn, the car growling in response to his light pressure on the speeder. The GPS informs him that they're getting closer now and for some reason, the thought bothers him. It's obvious that they reaching the end of the conversation as well, Claude... outlining his dating principles? If that's a thing. Apparently, it is. He can't recall ever having any of those. It's always just been a matter of getting them, fucking them and moving on as fast as possible. The next thing and then, the next.
The second or the third, he says. He nods, expression carefully neutral. ]
Sounds sensible.
[ It does. He's just never felt particularly enticed by the concept - what's the point, meeting up with someone, only to return home alone? It's not like such meetings last you for very long, is it? Already, he's starting to feel antsy at the thought; he'll have to call Alice on the way back, probably. It's been a few weeks. With a short sigh, he looks sideways at Claude more fully now, keeping the car in its lane mostly by habit. There's a note of tiredness in his words, unintended but present all the same. ]
Never done it like that, though. I'm the opposite.
[ It's said with a slight smile in response to the tiredness that's sunk into Jean Louis' voice at the thought of not getting to take him to bed, not keeping his catch or whatever terms the man uses in the privacy of his mind to describe this particular process. At least he isn't judging him, like Claude has experienced with a couple of the guys he's met at In&Out, the city's only gay bar and a place he has come to avoid pretty vehemently. He isn't judging Jean Louis either, they can give each other that much at this point, Claude is well aware how many people surf through their dates in this manner and he accepts it, for lack of better, but he knows it isn't for him. Not anymore. Not after Rainier.
He needs more time to form the right picture. Like he told Jean Louis when the man contacted him, he wants to know what he's walking into.
They turn up the street where he lives in old Madame Traverse's loft's apartment at the far end of the road. There's approximately five minutes left, until he'll need to get out of the car and return to his ordinary life that doesn't take much inspiration from fairy tales and Disney. Aston Martin carriage rides sure aren't a part of the package come morning. Carefully, Claude leans to the side a little, just enough to be able to reach the other man's leg when he stretches out his arm. He places a soft pat against his knee, keeping far out of any dangerous zones, staying within the boundaries of common friendliness. He doesn't take any liberties and he doesn't make any assumptions. It's just that - a pat on the knee. A fleeting intimacy. Contact. ]
I've had a really good time, though, so... [ An only slightly awkward pause. ] I'd be glad to hear from you again.
[ Your destination is on the right-hand side, says the GPS and he's preparing to park the car, when Claude reaches out and pats his knee, encouraging him to - what? Contact him again? A second date, maybe a third? For a long moment, he's quiet. The other man's unexpected touch lingers long after he's pulled away, his knee and leg tingling slightly from it. He shifts slightly in his seat, driving up to the curb. He doesn't know what to say - under normal circumstances, he would probably laugh, not too kindly, then make a promise he'd never bother to keep.
I'd be glad to hear from you again. And likewise, he thinks. On the one hand, he'd be... more than glad. Whilst on the other, he's not altogether sure why, seeing as it doesn't actively change anything here and now, it leaves him with exactly the same as always, except... maybe. It leaves him with maybe and, well, logically speaking, that's bound to be a little bit better than nothing, isn't it? Except - maybe? Maybe what?
Dear Gods. Headache inducing. ]
I'll remember. [ A small smile. ] Do get home safely. The few metres you've got left.
[ He watches the other man carefully, suddenly intent on following him with his gaze all the way up to his front door. It's a strange urge, feels almost like desperation, and he can't quite understand why. It's been one evening, yet he can't help but feel that letting this man slip through his fingers might very well be a grave mistake. One he'd remember for a very long time. ]
[ Claude draws back as quietly and unassuming as he leaned forward - and it somehow fits the way that Jean Louis in turn makes no promises, no lies, no falsehoods, just a simple I'll remember and Claude's smile widens a fraction for a moment, until it's its usually broad, white self. All teeth and curving lips. He nods at the other man once and gets out of the car with an unpretentious elegance, feet finding the ground easily and keeping his balance with a certain strength, a certain grace. You're not only a ballet dancer at the barre, you're a ballet dancer every step of the way.
In the darkness, the three-storey house that Madame Traverse rents out looks abandoned, old and unused. Currently, only he and the Madame herself live there, she on the ground floor, he up under the ceiling. At the edge of his mind, he wonders what Jean Louis' unfit apartment must look like in comparison. The man isn't hiding the fact that he uses money as toilet paper and yet, for some reason, it doesn't actually bother Claude's sense of justice very much. Not this time. There's something about Jean Louis that gives him a feeling that his small luxuries are well deserved, in the end.
Once he reaches the door, he turns around only to find the Aston Martin still parked at the curb. He gives the illuminated windshield a wave, although he can't actually make Jean Louis out behind it as anything other than a dark blob, knowing the other man will see it. Maybe he'll take it with him home and he won't have to look so desperately for company tonight. Meanwhile, Claude opens the door to total darkness, total silence and total lonesomeness. ]
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He smiles very slightly at the other man's wording. Clever choice. ]
As with so many other things, yes? [ A sharp left-turn. The road grows narrower, lined by trees and old town-houses. The lights are on behind some of the windows whilst others look dark, impenetrable. Secretive. He glances sideways at Claude again, one hand on the steering wheel whilst he runs the other through his hair quickly. Borderline-nervous energy. ] So long as it doesn't crumble beneath you when you take off, there's potential.
[ It's hard to decide whether or not this night has been a launching pad or a slow but inevitable demolition. It certainly hasn't felt like the latter but who's he to say? He's got nothing to compare it to. All he knows is that he's driving the other man home and when he's done, the quiet will sneak up on him as it always does. Status quo. His smile grows stiffer and he looks away again. Focuses on the road. ]
no subject
That's what this is. That's what this evening has been like.
He lets his own hands sink into his lap as he turns his head completely to look at the other man. Being as direct as he possibly can, because he's not here to put up smokescreens. It's been a good date, Claude has enjoyed it immensely. So much that he's actually considering just inviting Jean Louis up, get the banging out of the way and see what awaits on the other side, but it's a principal thing to him. He could easily sleep with Jean Louis, he could easily, but he won't. Because he's chosen another approach, one that he hopes will be a better fit in the long run. Whether Jean Louis Girard will mind having to stretch his legs a little, only time will tell, he supposes. ]
I try not to sleep with people on the first date - or the second or the third.
[ What he doesn't say: Do you still think I've got potential? Because. Does it matter? Instead he flexes his fingers where they're resting on his thighs, observing the lines of his hands contort and break up under the shine of another streetlight and another, though the suburbs look to have gone to bed already. They'll be at his place soon. ]
no subject
The second or the third, he says. He nods, expression carefully neutral. ]
Sounds sensible.
[ It does. He's just never felt particularly enticed by the concept - what's the point, meeting up with someone, only to return home alone? It's not like such meetings last you for very long, is it? Already, he's starting to feel antsy at the thought; he'll have to call Alice on the way back, probably. It's been a few weeks. With a short sigh, he looks sideways at Claude more fully now, keeping the car in its lane mostly by habit. There's a note of tiredness in his words, unintended but present all the same. ]
Never done it like that, though. I'm the opposite.
no subject
[ It's said with a slight smile in response to the tiredness that's sunk into Jean Louis' voice at the thought of not getting to take him to bed, not keeping his catch or whatever terms the man uses in the privacy of his mind to describe this particular process. At least he isn't judging him, like Claude has experienced with a couple of the guys he's met at In&Out, the city's only gay bar and a place he has come to avoid pretty vehemently. He isn't judging Jean Louis either, they can give each other that much at this point, Claude is well aware how many people surf through their dates in this manner and he accepts it, for lack of better, but he knows it isn't for him. Not anymore. Not after Rainier.
He needs more time to form the right picture. Like he told Jean Louis when the man contacted him, he wants to know what he's walking into.
They turn up the street where he lives in old Madame Traverse's loft's apartment at the far end of the road. There's approximately five minutes left, until he'll need to get out of the car and return to his ordinary life that doesn't take much inspiration from fairy tales and Disney. Aston Martin carriage rides sure aren't a part of the package come morning. Carefully, Claude leans to the side a little, just enough to be able to reach the other man's leg when he stretches out his arm. He places a soft pat against his knee, keeping far out of any dangerous zones, staying within the boundaries of common friendliness. He doesn't take any liberties and he doesn't make any assumptions. It's just that - a pat on the knee. A fleeting intimacy. Contact. ]
I've had a really good time, though, so... [ An only slightly awkward pause. ] I'd be glad to hear from you again.
no subject
I'd be glad to hear from you again. And likewise, he thinks. On the one hand, he'd be... more than glad. Whilst on the other, he's not altogether sure why, seeing as it doesn't actively change anything here and now, it leaves him with exactly the same as always, except... maybe. It leaves him with maybe and, well, logically speaking, that's bound to be a little bit better than nothing, isn't it? Except - maybe? Maybe what?
Dear Gods. Headache inducing. ]
I'll remember. [ A small smile. ] Do get home safely. The few metres you've got left.
[ He watches the other man carefully, suddenly intent on following him with his gaze all the way up to his front door. It's a strange urge, feels almost like desperation, and he can't quite understand why. It's been one evening, yet he can't help but feel that letting this man slip through his fingers might very well be a grave mistake. One he'd remember for a very long time. ]
no subject
In the darkness, the three-storey house that Madame Traverse rents out looks abandoned, old and unused. Currently, only he and the Madame herself live there, she on the ground floor, he up under the ceiling. At the edge of his mind, he wonders what Jean Louis' unfit apartment must look like in comparison. The man isn't hiding the fact that he uses money as toilet paper and yet, for some reason, it doesn't actually bother Claude's sense of justice very much. Not this time. There's something about Jean Louis that gives him a feeling that his small luxuries are well deserved, in the end.
Once he reaches the door, he turns around only to find the Aston Martin still parked at the curb. He gives the illuminated windshield a wave, although he can't actually make Jean Louis out behind it as anything other than a dark blob, knowing the other man will see it. Maybe he'll take it with him home and he won't have to look so desperately for company tonight. Meanwhile, Claude opens the door to total darkness, total silence and total lonesomeness. ]