Jean-Paul (
thenorthstar) wrote in
twolouises2016-09-26 06:46 pm
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Entry tags:
JP and Alex (it works because Kari said so)
Jean-Paul is having the worst year of his entire life. And he has had some terrible years. He thought there would never be anything worse than the year his sister was tortured, saved, and then begged to come home to hide where she felt she belonged - just when Jean-Paul was trying to make a life in New York.
But things had gotten better. Jeanne-Marie was stronger, sometimes. And Jean-Paul had found the purpose he'd always longed for in sports. Skiing suited his mutation but didn't totally draw from it; it was like he finally had a way to channel this thing he couldn't bear to live with.
And he did it. He won gold.
And he was outed as a mutant, stripped of his medal, and all but exiled.
Jean-Paul didn't know how to come back from it; his pride was too great for this blow.
So, New York. Again. So, museums, and coffee alone, his sister too afraid to venture out unless she was too comfortable to venture out.
Usually the park wasn't his thing, but there he was at Madison Square Park, relishing the brisk chill of oncoming fall, idly watching squirrels, clutching a cup of (bad) coffee. Trying to learn to be still.
But things had gotten better. Jeanne-Marie was stronger, sometimes. And Jean-Paul had found the purpose he'd always longed for in sports. Skiing suited his mutation but didn't totally draw from it; it was like he finally had a way to channel this thing he couldn't bear to live with.
And he did it. He won gold.
And he was outed as a mutant, stripped of his medal, and all but exiled.
Jean-Paul didn't know how to come back from it; his pride was too great for this blow.
So, New York. Again. So, museums, and coffee alone, his sister too afraid to venture out unless she was too comfortable to venture out.
Usually the park wasn't his thing, but there he was at Madison Square Park, relishing the brisk chill of oncoming fall, idly watching squirrels, clutching a cup of (bad) coffee. Trying to learn to be still.
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"Ass." Alex jogged up the short flight of steps in front of his building and held the door open for Jean-Paul.
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"Yes, I can see your ass, it's very nice." He smiled, passing Alex through the door.
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He rolled his eyes playfully and made his way to the elevator, pressing the button for his floor. "Did I mention I minored in French?"
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That was a genuine surprise; Jean-Paul, completely without irony, rested a hand on his heart. "Did you?"
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"Well I used to have this really good tutor." And French was spoken a lot of places, and Alex traveled. He never wanted to be the inconsiderate American forcing everyone to speak English.
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"It's a beautiful language." Jean-Paul missed it, sometimes.
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"We can use it whenever you want," Alex offered, switching effortlessly. "As long as you don't make fun of me too much for any mistakes." He wasn't quite fluent, but he could keep up with most conversations.
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Goodness. Alex was sweet. "Your accent is good," he observed, and kissed his cheek purely in gratitude.
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"Thanks." They got off on his floor and Alex let them into the apartment. As forewarned, there were still unpacked boxes here and there, but they were mostly out of the way. It was a nice enough place, more natural light than most city apartments had, but it was still missing some furniture and things that Alex hadn't gotten around to buying yet.
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"So," he said, taking it all in, "This is where you live." It was nice. It seemed right, for Alex.
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"This is where I live," Alex echoed. He slung his bag over the back of his desk chair and ran a hand through his hair.
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Jean-Paul moved over to Alex, close, and gently bit his earlobe. "I like it," he decided.
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His breath caught for just a second. "Good. That's much easier than you looking disappointed until I move."
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"If you would like to stop me from looking disappointed, you could take your shirt off."
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Alex laughed and tugged his shirt over his head. His summer tan hadn't yet started to fade.
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Whenever Jean-Paul thought of Alex, which was often enough, he was tanned. He grinned, and ran a hand down the centre of Alex'a chest, relishing it.
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"What else can I do to stave off disappointment?" It was possible he liked letting Jean-Paul boss him around a little too much.
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"Oh, so many things. You should kiss me like you mean it." Jean-Paul loved this game.
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Alex rested his hands at either side of Jean-Paul's neck and leaned in, stopping just short of his lips to murmur, "I always mean it." Then his mouth was on Jean-Paul's, kissing him slow, and hot, and definitely meaning it.
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Alex did, in Jean-Paul's experience, really always mean it. There was something decadent in the way Alex kissed that appealed to Jean-Paul's particular sensibilities - those of luxury and indulgence, with an edge of sharp passion. He kissed back, hands exploring Alex's shoulders, delighting in them.
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Alex wasn't a particularly vain person. His body was mostly a result of activities he liked doing rather than any direct attempts to look good or get stronger, but that didn't mean he enjoyed Jean-Paul's appreciation of it any less. Impressing Jean-Paul was satisfying in a way that Alex didn't examine too deeply.
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"Take off the rest of your clothes now, please," Jean-Paul said - and though the please was there, it wasn't much of a request, more of a command.
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He had to take a step back from Jean-Paul so he could bend down and untie his shoes, but he was happy to comply. Kicking his shoes and socks to the side as soon as he could, he looked up at Jean-Paul again as he tugged open his own fly and pushed jeans and boxers down over his hips.
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Yes, this was just what he needed. "Well, well, well." Jean-Paul looked him up and down, hungrily.
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Alex flushed, pleased, eyes going a little dark. "What do you want? Tell me what to do."
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