[ Alan groans softly at the pressure on his muscles, and then laughs; the tease lands well. His gaze flits down to the oil left on Baptiste's neck.
If the situation were different -- if both of them were here by choice, and neither of them were simmering with resentments for others -- what would he do? He hasn't had much sex that didn't revolve around his own lack of power: slighter than the other man, younger than the other man, poorer than the other man, owing something to the other man. This other man (whose name he still doesn't know, he realizes) is very much someone he'd happily get on his knees for. If the situation were different.
The situation is not different. The situation is the smell of massage oil and wine, the heat of his temporary manservant's skin, and the gnawing longing in his own body. He misses Jack, horribly. He wonders what Baptiste's mustache would feel like against his neck. He's starving.
Alan rubs a thumb over his own lips, then leans over -- not dislodging Baptiste's hands -- to retrieve the carafe of wine and an empty glass on the side table. When he pours, the carafe chatters musically against the rim of the glass for a moment. ]
Here.
[ He sets down the carafe, then holds the glass towards Baptiste's lips. ]
no subject
If the situation were different -- if both of them were here by choice, and neither of them were simmering with resentments for others -- what would he do? He hasn't had much sex that didn't revolve around his own lack of power: slighter than the other man, younger than the other man, poorer than the other man, owing something to the other man. This other man (whose name he still doesn't know, he realizes) is very much someone he'd happily get on his knees for. If the situation were different.
The situation is not different. The situation is the smell of massage oil and wine, the heat of his temporary manservant's skin, and the gnawing longing in his own body. He misses Jack, horribly. He wonders what Baptiste's mustache would feel like against his neck. He's starving.
Alan rubs a thumb over his own lips, then leans over -- not dislodging Baptiste's hands -- to retrieve the carafe of wine and an empty glass on the side table. When he pours, the carafe chatters musically against the rim of the glass for a moment. ]
Here.
[ He sets down the carafe, then holds the glass towards Baptiste's lips. ]
You're not Catholic, are you?