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xp_logs2010-06-18 02:01 pm
x-quebecois.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2010-06-18 02:01 pm
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Kevin & Jean-Paul, Friday Afternoon
Jean-Paul sits for Kevin for an art assignment, then discussion of age ensues.
"Ah think Ah definitely like you better with your skin on," Kevin told Jean-Paul, head tilted to the side as he stared at the image of his boyfriend without said organ. It had been a challenge issued to the Southerner by one of the teachers he'd had this past semester. Twelve drawings of people without hair, skin or nails. Jean-Paul had been the first victim Kevin had propositioned, but with him it was easy. The Quebecois had neither much hair nor fat on him. The shaved head made the skull shape easy and the muscles, well Kevin had them memorized from the feel of them under his hands. It was entirely possible he could have drawn the man without him posing, but with him posing was more fun. It also proved how entirely focused Kevin could be when art was involved.
Jean-Paul could distract him from seemingly anything, but Kevin had been single-minded while drawing the other man.
"May I move now?" Jean-Paul asked, suppressing a small smile because of all the things he usually did without his clothing on, standing still was possibly the last one on his list that he'd expect to be doing willingly.
Kevin grinned. "What if Ah say 'no'?" Head still tilted to the side, those observant blue eyes of his turned to the man and away from the drawn, skinless image of him. Kevin seemed to be appreciating the view of him with skin now. "Yeah, definitely better with skin."
"Mm..." Jean-Paul considered that for a long moment, then said, "I would not move." Another short pause ensued before he said, "I am fond of my skin where it is, also."
"Good to know. 'Cause if you have a midlife crisis and decide you'd rather not have it, well, we might hafta have a talk 'bout things then." Kevin moved slowly away from the easel with his large sketch pad and toward Jean-Paul. "But you lie, 'cause talkin' involves moving." Not long after he said that Kevin stopped moving. He was close enough that neither would have to reach very far to touch the other.
Kevin made no move toward the other man, just let his eyes continue to appreciate the view. It was the gaze of an artist more than that of a lover. It was memorization different than when he'd first memorized the other man's face. That had been so he'd be able to kiss him. This was more detailed, more critical in a way. Things he would have missed if he'd tried drawing the Quebecois from memory before would not be missed now. Everything from the way the scar over the ruined Gemini symbol faded into skin went into the file. Would he need it? Probably not, but Kevin liked having such a complete visual record of a person. He could still draw Jay before he'd turned all blue and metal to perfection. The Southerner wanted that sort of record of Jean-Paul as well.
Jean-Paul ached to arch an eyebrow or make a comment, any comment. Instead, he kept quiet, supremely conscious of holding himself still. It was almost a game. Almost. Not quite. His eyes were half-closed and yet, now even they weren't moving, weren't tracking Kevin's progress.
It took until Kevin had committed all he could see to memory to realize Jean-Paul had gone statue-still. He was the only person Kevin knew who could be that still. Maybe moving so much and so fast gave the older man a greater understanding of stillness somehow.
Without moving his feet, Kevin simply leaned forward and brushed a very light, brief kiss across the other man's lips. Jean-Paul still didn't move and Kevin smiled. "You can move now." He'd get distracted, no doubt, if he continued to expand his visual file of the other man.
Oui, I can move, Jean-Paul thought, But may I? He didn't actually want to play the grammar game. Or whatever game it was that fiddled with words. So he leaned forward and caught Kevin's lips again, briefly, before stretching backward, arms extended over his head. Something creaked. Or possibly popped. A joint somewhere in his back protested. "I am not meant to be so still."
Kevin's eyebrows moved upward. "Maybe you're just malfunctioning. Ah don't pop stuff when Ah stretch after bein' still." He backed off, though, so Jean-Paul could stretch more thoroughly. After a moment he just went back to the sketch pad so he could put it away. He had a preference for keeping his easel empty if he had nothing on it that was in progress.
"Malfunctioning?" Jean-Paul was mildly offended. It showed. Of course, then it occurred to him that he'd actually been considering using his age as an excuse for his creaking, popping bones and he paused mid-stretch. The math was very, very simple.
He blinked again, realising he'd well and truly robbed the cradle. It hadn't really occurred to him until just now that, with his birthday having passed... Kevin was literally half his age.
Now Kevin only had one eyebrow up when he looked at his boyfriend who was frozen in motion. "Uh, are you okay?" Jean-Paul was frozen, like a cartoon freeze ray had hit him or something, and he was mid-stretch. Plus, he had a sort of odd look on his face. "Did you...overstretch and pop somethin' out of place?" Kevin had done that before, but that was usually after a lot of physical activity.
"Non," Jean-Paul said, shaking himself and letting his hands drop. "When is your birthday?"
That was an odd question. He considered withholding the information for a moment since he didn't find out about the other man's birthday until weeks after it had passed. "In a few weeks. Why?"
"You will be twenty-one, oui?"
Looking at Kevin it wasn't hard to imagine a little comic book thought bubble over his head that read simply, "..." After a bit of confused silence over the topic he replied. "Yeah. Ah'll be twenty-one. Is this like a pop quiz to make sure we all know how old we are? Are you gonna verify my favorite color next?"
Jean-Paul's shoulders slumped a little as he shook his head. "Non, aime." Then he quirked a rueful smile. "I feel old, suddenly."
Kevin was a split second away from asking why. His mouth had opened for the question and everything before it occurred to him that him turning twenty-one and Jean-Paul having just turned forty could probably do that to a person. He shut his mouth and quirked a knowing half-smile. It was the sort of look that usually instigated nudity and wandering hands, but he wasn't moving closer. "Old? Nah. Professor Xavier, he's old. You're not old. Just older, than me. In a relative, subjective kind of way." The words didn't match the smile he'd given Jean-Paul, but the rest of his expression did.
"Relative and subjective?" Jean-Paul asked, his own brows rising now. "Does it not strike you as strange that I was twenty when you were born?" He'd had a family, lost a family, had a second, lost that too, bounced from one foster home to another, won Olympic medals, found his sister, given the medals back... in this moment twenty years ago, Kevin had barely entered the world.
Jean-Paul really did feel old.
"Well, if you put it like that...Ah guess." Okay, so it was a little strange. Jean-Paul had been his age when he was born. In fact, from what he knew, Jean-Paul had three times as much life happen to him as Kevin had by now. He'd done things, experienced things and while they weren't all pleasant it was a lot more life experience than Kevin had under his belt. Yeah, it was strange to think about. "Ah don't really think 'bout it much, honestly. Don't really seem to matter." Then it occurred to him that maybe it did matter. To other people, even to Jean-Paul, maybe it mattered a lot. "Why, do you think 'bout it a lot?"
"Not so much, I think," Jean-Paul answered honestly. "It is just... times like this." One corner of his lips quirked upward despite himself. "With the popping bones and joints and things." June of 1990 - what had he been doing in June of 1990?
Pining after Walter Langkowski, telling the world he was not only a mutant, but a gay one, and then leaving for France. Jean-Paul considered that for a long moment. Had he forgotten anything of import? No, that pretty much summed up 1990 for Jean-Paul.
Not really a good time in his life, he supposed.
This was a better time, for the most part.
"You think it's strange to be robbing the cradle and datin' someone half your age? Kinda literally right now and all?" Kevin was walking back over to Jean-Paul now, the other man's previously discarded clothing in hand in case it was wanted.
"When I think of it... it does not bother me so much," Jean-Paul admitted, taking his clothing from Kevin and standing so he could pull his trousers on. He tossed the shirt onto the stool where he'd posed, though, and then settled himself on it once more. "Sometimes, I think others will think it strange." There were half-formed thoughts in his mind, barely-there worries that someone would think he was taking advantage of Kevin's youth, his relative inexperience... or something.
That half-smile was back on Kevin's face, this time more filled with mischief. "You could blame it on me. Ah mean," his words were interrupted by his eyes raking down the other man's body. "Obviously Ah've got a thing for older men. How could you argue against it?" His face shifted toward one of innocence but the smile wouldn't flee his expression enough to sell it.
Smirking just a bit, Jean-Paul shook his head. "Non, aime. The question would be why I did not try to argue at all." Which put him squarely back in the position of creepy old man.
With the arrogance of youth, Kevin smirked and returned, "Have you seen me without my shirt on? Who would wanna try to argue?" His tone indicated that, clearly, no one would.
That... that was pretty much a valid point. In fact, Jean-Paul was fairly certain that it had been seeing Kevin without his shirt on that had gotten them into this complicated dance to begin with. That, and frosting bunnies. Of which he'd thus far seen none. That was going to come up again at some point. "So young," Jean-Paul said with an air of one who knows things.
A careless shrug brushed off the vague criticism. "You love my enthusiasm." A finger hooked through a belt loop at the front of Jean-Paul's pants. Kevin drew closer until he was nudging one leg out of his way to settle in the space between the other man's legs. "'Sides, what's it matter to us what other people think's strange? They're all weirdos and sinners anyway." He grinned a little. "Just like us. And ain't in no position to judge what makes people happy if it don't hurt no one."
"Weirdos and sinners?" Jean-Paul asked, laughing softly. "This is an interesting way to phrase it, non?" He let Kevin slide into place, his own hands still resting on his thighs, and gave the younger man a level look. "But you have a point." They weren't hurting anyone and it made them happy to be with one another.
"Course Ah've got a point." He said that as if it were ridiculous to consider any other alternative. His smile returned with that hint of mischief. "Y'know what else is a point? Grey hair can make a man look very dignified in a damn-Ah-want-your-clothes-off kinda way. Maybe you should grow yours back." The smirking grin went with the implication that Jean-Paul shaved his head because he was embarrassed by his grey hair.
"This would mean that I have grey hair," Jean-Paul returned, tone reasonable. "Which I do not. And so having hair, it would serve no purpose except to itch very much while regrowing and then getting in my eyes when I fly. Which is most of the time, oui? And so no, I think there will be nothing dignified about my hair." He paused and tipped his head to the side, then grinned. "It was a very good try, though."
"It's alright." Kevin actually patted Jean-Paul on the head with his free hand, the other still with a finger hooked through the man's belt loop. "Ah promise Ah'll still love you even if you don't have grey hair. Ah mean, Ah'll be disappointed... but Ah'll still love you." The smirk came back, erasing the serious expression he'd been wearing. "And even if you're just in denial 'bout your grey hair, too."
There was a part of Jean-Paul, somewhere near his sternum, that locked up and froze into a lump when Kevin said 'I'll still love you,' mostly because he was paranoid and possibly just a little hypersensitive about things like that. Most of him just went along with it, snorting softly before replying, "Young and foolish..." Still, that tiny part that had frozen seemed to do something very akin to a somersault before dipping down near his stomach. "There is a third part, is there not? Young, foolish, and happy? This is a song, non?" Kevin had said it - twice. What did that mean? The third time was the charm, but twice was important. Wasn't it? And very nearly in the same sentence.
"Is it a song?" He was pretty sure he didn't know a a song that involved young, foolish and happy. "You wouldn't like me half as much if Ah wasn't young and foolish, though. It's part of my charm. Like the accent and my insistence that the Yankees are doin' it wrong." At that Kevin downright beamed at Jean-Paul.
"The Yankees, they breathe wrong, according to you," Jean-Paul said, laughing shortly.
He sighed and shook his head as it fell a little "S'true. Darn shame, too. Ah mean, y'just can't teach someone how to do that right when they done gone messed it up for this long."
"They begin from birth with the disadvantage, oui?"
Kevin nodded. "Just like original sin. They're just doomed from the start. Real tragedy. Some of 'em coulda been something darn useful otherwise, too, bless 'em."
"It is good, then, that I am not a Yankee," Jean-Paul said, nodding sagely.
"Yeah. Ah mean, you're a foreigner, but it's better than bein' a Yankee." The corners of his mouth turned upward just the slightest bit. "Ah mean, you talk funny, but least it can be part of your charm."
"You talk funny," Jean-Paul said. "Forner is not a word, aime. No matter how many times you say it."
"Foreigner is too a word," Kevin argued, but he really did make it two syllables when he said it. "Ah don't talk funny, guy who don't use contractions."
Jean-Paul blinked. "Contractions?" He used them, didn't he? Then he waved a hand because that wasn't really the point. He wasn't sure he had a point. "Have you practised the words I suggested?" If Kevin was going to give him a hard time about his English, the least he could do was return the favour - in French.
"Yeah, Ah have." He could even likely pronounce them correctly. If he tried it was entirely possible that Kevin could speak with that generic American accent and properly phrased sentences in English. It was just that he was lazy, he'd never been a great student and he mostly spoke how his daddy had. His father hadn't been educated beyond high school and he hadn't come up in the city so he had sounded more typically small town Georgia than most of the people around Atlanta had.
Kevin picked up the way people spoke easily, though. He only mispronounced Spanish to annoy Julio and with the French Kevin really wanted to learn it. In fact, he put the sort of effort toward learning the words and proper pronunciation that he put toward art. He had recorded Jean-Paul saying everything so he could learn from the recording as well.
"Show me," Jean-Paul said, smiling a little. He liked hearing Kevin practise, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
That sounded like he was being set up for failure. Being put on the spot like that also made Kevin a little nervous. He hated being put on the spot, it was one of the reasons he didn't attract attention to himself in classes even if he knew the answer.
Eyes rolling up to focus on the ceiling rather than Jean-Paul's face, Kevin repeated a list of vocabulary words. They were just words, most of them nouns, and they weren't much in the way of helping him form sentences yet.
Kevin's expression so thoroughly resembled one that Jean-Paul knew students he'd taught in the past wore when he issued pop quizzes that he didn't have the heart to say anything at all about the younger man's accent. "Très bien," he said, smiling. "You are ready for real sentences, I think." Then he held up his thumb and forefinger, separated only by an inch of air and hovering in front of Kevin's nose. "Small ones."
His eyes narrowed a bit as his gaze returned to the other man's face. "You don't trust me with normal sized sentences? We talkin' 'the girl is tall' and 'the night is dark' kinda sentences or 'see spot run' kinda sentences?" Though now that he thought about it they were all sort of equally bad and three-year-old.
"Je voudrais tu, sans vêtements," Jean-Paul said, expression turning very serious despite the fact that he'd just told Kevin he'd like to see him without his clothing. It seemed the sort of thing one should say solemnly, after all. "These sorts of sentences."
Maybe he should have stuck with the night is dark. Or Blue, maybe blue was easier than dark. Pulling his eyebrows back down from the upward perch they'd found, Kevin asked to hear Jean-Paul say it again before he repeated it back. The first repetition was slow and hesitant. The Quebecois corrected his pronunciation and the second time was better, more confident. The accent was still a bit off but Kevin was better at it when he had Jean-Paul right there than when he was recalling from memory. "What's it mean?"
"I would like to see you without your clothing," Jean-Paul translated, grinning now despite himself. "It seems like it would be useful, non? A practical sentence."
With a dead serious look on his face Kevin asked, "So how do you spell that?" He also turned as if to go get a pencil and a bit of paper to write it down and everything.
Jean-Paul hooked a finger in the fabric near the hem of Kevin's shirt to keep him from getting anywhere and said, "The spelling, it will only make it more confusing, I think. Listen more. Write less." Which was not precisely how he'd taught French before, but he wasn't teaching proper French, anyway. Conversational French was different. More interesting. Not that he really want Kevin to go around telling people that he wanted to see them without their clothing. Maybe he needed to think outside the framework of the conversations they had when they were distracted.
That would probably be a good idea.
Leaning back into Jean-Paul, Kevin smiled a little. It was just the upturn of one corner of his mouth. "But what if Ah feel like...expressing myself. To you. In French. But you're not around? Ah can't text you that and spell it right, can Ah?"
"You could not text it, anyway. There are characters in it that do not text well," Jean-Paul muttered, resting his chin on Kevin's shoulder. "You should text me this in English." He considered that, then said, "Also, I could try to set up an... automatic text, oui? The quick kind. For when people call and you are doing something else. It is in the mobile already, I think."
Jean-Paul didn't necessarily have the utmost confidence in technology in general, most days. And there were letters in the sentence that weren't usually on mobiles. At least not his mobiles.
Kevin snorted very softly. The sound was on the heel of a quiet snicker that almost became a laugh but not quite. "So you wanna save basically a French booty call text in my phone for me?" He wasn't sure if it was more amusing that it would be there or that Jean-Paul would have to program it in because Kevin couldn't spell anything in French aside from oui and merci.
"If you promise to use it," Jean-Paul answered, wondering if they could get themselves to the couch without him having to loosen his hold on the younger man. "Oui, I would like to, as you say, save it to your mobile."
Now he was smirking. It was that arrogant, slightly cocky smirk that only Jean-Paul ever seemed to see on his face. "Yeah, Ah can promise that."
"Mm... then I will save it for you." Simple as that. "The couch would be more comfortable, non?"
The smirk faltered a bit, almost falling into a frown. "You're gonna make me move?" The implication behind the words was that he wanted to move away from Jean-Paul less than he cared about the movement itself. He didn't care about moving, but Kevin liked contact. When he had contact he liked to keep it. But then Jean-Paul had learned that about him.
"Avec moi," Jean-Paul said, smiling again. "Avec moi, aime." Still, that left him pondering the logistics of that move.
"Like Ah said, you're gonna make me move?" Movement didn't work so well with contact. You could reinstate contact, but you still lost it. Unless... That smirk was back, now the arrogance mingling with mischief. "Ah can work with that," he muttered mostly to himself. Kevin's hands slid up to Jean-Paul's hips, then around and down until he was lifting the other man up off the stool where he sat. He had two options, either wrap his legs around Kevin or break contact to walk. Kevin supposed he could levitate himself but walking wouldn't go over very well that way.
Jean-Paul blinked.
He wasn't really someone who got picked up like that. Which meant he wasn't entirely sure what to do about being picked up. "I am twice your age," he said, using his powers to hold himself steady even as he locked his ankles at the small of Kevin's back. "I do not think this is very dignified."
That reaction only intensified the smirk Kevin wore. "Maybe you should stop bein' so hung up on your age." He glanced over his shoulder as if to see the ankles locked together behind his back. "Ah mean, if you wanna be dignified you can let go and walk yourself." His voice dropped a little. "Or you can get over bein' dignified and stay where you are. 'Cause Ah kinda like you there."
"I... believe I am content to stay here," Jean-Paul said, leaning backward just a bit so he could better see the expression that went along with the tone Kevin had used. He was rather content when it came to that, too.
Kevin nodded a little to himself. "Yeah, Ah thought you'd be." The Southerner shifted his grip on the other man in case Jean-Paul decided to stop keeping himself afloat and headed for the living room with him. Kevin certainly moved like someone who'd done this with someone wrapped around himself before. It became clear in the way he sat down on the couch, just slow enough to ensure his balance never wavered. He didn't let go just because they'd made it to the couch, though.
Smirking just the smallest bit, Jean-Paul shifted until they were both comfortable, his knees to either side of Kevin's waist, and then quirked a brow. "And now?"
Eyes moving down from Jean-Paul's mouth to where their bodies met at Kevin's lap, the corners of the Southerner's mouth tilted upward a bit. There was certainly a rather definite, vivid image in Kevin's mind about what now. No, that was incorrect. There were several vivid images. His hands moved upward, one stopping in the center of the other man's bare back and the other continuing until it could wrap around the back of his neck. Kevin pulled Jean-Paul down toward him until he was close enough to kiss.
Jean-Paul was comfortable with this turn of events. Incredibly comfortable. He leaned forward, letting Kevin direct the kiss even as he shifted his hands, palms braced against the couch behind the younger man. So long as the end result was something generally like this, he supposed he could endure the indignity of being carried about. The thought made him smile just a little.
"Ah think Ah definitely like you better with your skin on," Kevin told Jean-Paul, head tilted to the side as he stared at the image of his boyfriend without said organ. It had been a challenge issued to the Southerner by one of the teachers he'd had this past semester. Twelve drawings of people without hair, skin or nails. Jean-Paul had been the first victim Kevin had propositioned, but with him it was easy. The Quebecois had neither much hair nor fat on him. The shaved head made the skull shape easy and the muscles, well Kevin had them memorized from the feel of them under his hands. It was entirely possible he could have drawn the man without him posing, but with him posing was more fun. It also proved how entirely focused Kevin could be when art was involved.
Jean-Paul could distract him from seemingly anything, but Kevin had been single-minded while drawing the other man.
"May I move now?" Jean-Paul asked, suppressing a small smile because of all the things he usually did without his clothing on, standing still was possibly the last one on his list that he'd expect to be doing willingly.
Kevin grinned. "What if Ah say 'no'?" Head still tilted to the side, those observant blue eyes of his turned to the man and away from the drawn, skinless image of him. Kevin seemed to be appreciating the view of him with skin now. "Yeah, definitely better with skin."
"Mm..." Jean-Paul considered that for a long moment, then said, "I would not move." Another short pause ensued before he said, "I am fond of my skin where it is, also."
"Good to know. 'Cause if you have a midlife crisis and decide you'd rather not have it, well, we might hafta have a talk 'bout things then." Kevin moved slowly away from the easel with his large sketch pad and toward Jean-Paul. "But you lie, 'cause talkin' involves moving." Not long after he said that Kevin stopped moving. He was close enough that neither would have to reach very far to touch the other.
Kevin made no move toward the other man, just let his eyes continue to appreciate the view. It was the gaze of an artist more than that of a lover. It was memorization different than when he'd first memorized the other man's face. That had been so he'd be able to kiss him. This was more detailed, more critical in a way. Things he would have missed if he'd tried drawing the Quebecois from memory before would not be missed now. Everything from the way the scar over the ruined Gemini symbol faded into skin went into the file. Would he need it? Probably not, but Kevin liked having such a complete visual record of a person. He could still draw Jay before he'd turned all blue and metal to perfection. The Southerner wanted that sort of record of Jean-Paul as well.
Jean-Paul ached to arch an eyebrow or make a comment, any comment. Instead, he kept quiet, supremely conscious of holding himself still. It was almost a game. Almost. Not quite. His eyes were half-closed and yet, now even they weren't moving, weren't tracking Kevin's progress.
It took until Kevin had committed all he could see to memory to realize Jean-Paul had gone statue-still. He was the only person Kevin knew who could be that still. Maybe moving so much and so fast gave the older man a greater understanding of stillness somehow.
Without moving his feet, Kevin simply leaned forward and brushed a very light, brief kiss across the other man's lips. Jean-Paul still didn't move and Kevin smiled. "You can move now." He'd get distracted, no doubt, if he continued to expand his visual file of the other man.
Oui, I can move, Jean-Paul thought, But may I? He didn't actually want to play the grammar game. Or whatever game it was that fiddled with words. So he leaned forward and caught Kevin's lips again, briefly, before stretching backward, arms extended over his head. Something creaked. Or possibly popped. A joint somewhere in his back protested. "I am not meant to be so still."
Kevin's eyebrows moved upward. "Maybe you're just malfunctioning. Ah don't pop stuff when Ah stretch after bein' still." He backed off, though, so Jean-Paul could stretch more thoroughly. After a moment he just went back to the sketch pad so he could put it away. He had a preference for keeping his easel empty if he had nothing on it that was in progress.
"Malfunctioning?" Jean-Paul was mildly offended. It showed. Of course, then it occurred to him that he'd actually been considering using his age as an excuse for his creaking, popping bones and he paused mid-stretch. The math was very, very simple.
He blinked again, realising he'd well and truly robbed the cradle. It hadn't really occurred to him until just now that, with his birthday having passed... Kevin was literally half his age.
Now Kevin only had one eyebrow up when he looked at his boyfriend who was frozen in motion. "Uh, are you okay?" Jean-Paul was frozen, like a cartoon freeze ray had hit him or something, and he was mid-stretch. Plus, he had a sort of odd look on his face. "Did you...overstretch and pop somethin' out of place?" Kevin had done that before, but that was usually after a lot of physical activity.
"Non," Jean-Paul said, shaking himself and letting his hands drop. "When is your birthday?"
That was an odd question. He considered withholding the information for a moment since he didn't find out about the other man's birthday until weeks after it had passed. "In a few weeks. Why?"
"You will be twenty-one, oui?"
Looking at Kevin it wasn't hard to imagine a little comic book thought bubble over his head that read simply, "..." After a bit of confused silence over the topic he replied. "Yeah. Ah'll be twenty-one. Is this like a pop quiz to make sure we all know how old we are? Are you gonna verify my favorite color next?"
Jean-Paul's shoulders slumped a little as he shook his head. "Non, aime." Then he quirked a rueful smile. "I feel old, suddenly."
Kevin was a split second away from asking why. His mouth had opened for the question and everything before it occurred to him that him turning twenty-one and Jean-Paul having just turned forty could probably do that to a person. He shut his mouth and quirked a knowing half-smile. It was the sort of look that usually instigated nudity and wandering hands, but he wasn't moving closer. "Old? Nah. Professor Xavier, he's old. You're not old. Just older, than me. In a relative, subjective kind of way." The words didn't match the smile he'd given Jean-Paul, but the rest of his expression did.
"Relative and subjective?" Jean-Paul asked, his own brows rising now. "Does it not strike you as strange that I was twenty when you were born?" He'd had a family, lost a family, had a second, lost that too, bounced from one foster home to another, won Olympic medals, found his sister, given the medals back... in this moment twenty years ago, Kevin had barely entered the world.
Jean-Paul really did feel old.
"Well, if you put it like that...Ah guess." Okay, so it was a little strange. Jean-Paul had been his age when he was born. In fact, from what he knew, Jean-Paul had three times as much life happen to him as Kevin had by now. He'd done things, experienced things and while they weren't all pleasant it was a lot more life experience than Kevin had under his belt. Yeah, it was strange to think about. "Ah don't really think 'bout it much, honestly. Don't really seem to matter." Then it occurred to him that maybe it did matter. To other people, even to Jean-Paul, maybe it mattered a lot. "Why, do you think 'bout it a lot?"
"Not so much, I think," Jean-Paul answered honestly. "It is just... times like this." One corner of his lips quirked upward despite himself. "With the popping bones and joints and things." June of 1990 - what had he been doing in June of 1990?
Pining after Walter Langkowski, telling the world he was not only a mutant, but a gay one, and then leaving for France. Jean-Paul considered that for a long moment. Had he forgotten anything of import? No, that pretty much summed up 1990 for Jean-Paul.
Not really a good time in his life, he supposed.
This was a better time, for the most part.
"You think it's strange to be robbing the cradle and datin' someone half your age? Kinda literally right now and all?" Kevin was walking back over to Jean-Paul now, the other man's previously discarded clothing in hand in case it was wanted.
"When I think of it... it does not bother me so much," Jean-Paul admitted, taking his clothing from Kevin and standing so he could pull his trousers on. He tossed the shirt onto the stool where he'd posed, though, and then settled himself on it once more. "Sometimes, I think others will think it strange." There were half-formed thoughts in his mind, barely-there worries that someone would think he was taking advantage of Kevin's youth, his relative inexperience... or something.
That half-smile was back on Kevin's face, this time more filled with mischief. "You could blame it on me. Ah mean," his words were interrupted by his eyes raking down the other man's body. "Obviously Ah've got a thing for older men. How could you argue against it?" His face shifted toward one of innocence but the smile wouldn't flee his expression enough to sell it.
Smirking just a bit, Jean-Paul shook his head. "Non, aime. The question would be why I did not try to argue at all." Which put him squarely back in the position of creepy old man.
With the arrogance of youth, Kevin smirked and returned, "Have you seen me without my shirt on? Who would wanna try to argue?" His tone indicated that, clearly, no one would.
That... that was pretty much a valid point. In fact, Jean-Paul was fairly certain that it had been seeing Kevin without his shirt on that had gotten them into this complicated dance to begin with. That, and frosting bunnies. Of which he'd thus far seen none. That was going to come up again at some point. "So young," Jean-Paul said with an air of one who knows things.
A careless shrug brushed off the vague criticism. "You love my enthusiasm." A finger hooked through a belt loop at the front of Jean-Paul's pants. Kevin drew closer until he was nudging one leg out of his way to settle in the space between the other man's legs. "'Sides, what's it matter to us what other people think's strange? They're all weirdos and sinners anyway." He grinned a little. "Just like us. And ain't in no position to judge what makes people happy if it don't hurt no one."
"Weirdos and sinners?" Jean-Paul asked, laughing softly. "This is an interesting way to phrase it, non?" He let Kevin slide into place, his own hands still resting on his thighs, and gave the younger man a level look. "But you have a point." They weren't hurting anyone and it made them happy to be with one another.
"Course Ah've got a point." He said that as if it were ridiculous to consider any other alternative. His smile returned with that hint of mischief. "Y'know what else is a point? Grey hair can make a man look very dignified in a damn-Ah-want-your-clothes-off kinda way. Maybe you should grow yours back." The smirking grin went with the implication that Jean-Paul shaved his head because he was embarrassed by his grey hair.
"This would mean that I have grey hair," Jean-Paul returned, tone reasonable. "Which I do not. And so having hair, it would serve no purpose except to itch very much while regrowing and then getting in my eyes when I fly. Which is most of the time, oui? And so no, I think there will be nothing dignified about my hair." He paused and tipped his head to the side, then grinned. "It was a very good try, though."
"It's alright." Kevin actually patted Jean-Paul on the head with his free hand, the other still with a finger hooked through the man's belt loop. "Ah promise Ah'll still love you even if you don't have grey hair. Ah mean, Ah'll be disappointed... but Ah'll still love you." The smirk came back, erasing the serious expression he'd been wearing. "And even if you're just in denial 'bout your grey hair, too."
There was a part of Jean-Paul, somewhere near his sternum, that locked up and froze into a lump when Kevin said 'I'll still love you,' mostly because he was paranoid and possibly just a little hypersensitive about things like that. Most of him just went along with it, snorting softly before replying, "Young and foolish..." Still, that tiny part that had frozen seemed to do something very akin to a somersault before dipping down near his stomach. "There is a third part, is there not? Young, foolish, and happy? This is a song, non?" Kevin had said it - twice. What did that mean? The third time was the charm, but twice was important. Wasn't it? And very nearly in the same sentence.
"Is it a song?" He was pretty sure he didn't know a a song that involved young, foolish and happy. "You wouldn't like me half as much if Ah wasn't young and foolish, though. It's part of my charm. Like the accent and my insistence that the Yankees are doin' it wrong." At that Kevin downright beamed at Jean-Paul.
"The Yankees, they breathe wrong, according to you," Jean-Paul said, laughing shortly.
He sighed and shook his head as it fell a little "S'true. Darn shame, too. Ah mean, y'just can't teach someone how to do that right when they done gone messed it up for this long."
"They begin from birth with the disadvantage, oui?"
Kevin nodded. "Just like original sin. They're just doomed from the start. Real tragedy. Some of 'em coulda been something darn useful otherwise, too, bless 'em."
"It is good, then, that I am not a Yankee," Jean-Paul said, nodding sagely.
"Yeah. Ah mean, you're a foreigner, but it's better than bein' a Yankee." The corners of his mouth turned upward just the slightest bit. "Ah mean, you talk funny, but least it can be part of your charm."
"You talk funny," Jean-Paul said. "Forner is not a word, aime. No matter how many times you say it."
"Foreigner is too a word," Kevin argued, but he really did make it two syllables when he said it. "Ah don't talk funny, guy who don't use contractions."
Jean-Paul blinked. "Contractions?" He used them, didn't he? Then he waved a hand because that wasn't really the point. He wasn't sure he had a point. "Have you practised the words I suggested?" If Kevin was going to give him a hard time about his English, the least he could do was return the favour - in French.
"Yeah, Ah have." He could even likely pronounce them correctly. If he tried it was entirely possible that Kevin could speak with that generic American accent and properly phrased sentences in English. It was just that he was lazy, he'd never been a great student and he mostly spoke how his daddy had. His father hadn't been educated beyond high school and he hadn't come up in the city so he had sounded more typically small town Georgia than most of the people around Atlanta had.
Kevin picked up the way people spoke easily, though. He only mispronounced Spanish to annoy Julio and with the French Kevin really wanted to learn it. In fact, he put the sort of effort toward learning the words and proper pronunciation that he put toward art. He had recorded Jean-Paul saying everything so he could learn from the recording as well.
"Show me," Jean-Paul said, smiling a little. He liked hearing Kevin practise, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
That sounded like he was being set up for failure. Being put on the spot like that also made Kevin a little nervous. He hated being put on the spot, it was one of the reasons he didn't attract attention to himself in classes even if he knew the answer.
Eyes rolling up to focus on the ceiling rather than Jean-Paul's face, Kevin repeated a list of vocabulary words. They were just words, most of them nouns, and they weren't much in the way of helping him form sentences yet.
Kevin's expression so thoroughly resembled one that Jean-Paul knew students he'd taught in the past wore when he issued pop quizzes that he didn't have the heart to say anything at all about the younger man's accent. "Très bien," he said, smiling. "You are ready for real sentences, I think." Then he held up his thumb and forefinger, separated only by an inch of air and hovering in front of Kevin's nose. "Small ones."
His eyes narrowed a bit as his gaze returned to the other man's face. "You don't trust me with normal sized sentences? We talkin' 'the girl is tall' and 'the night is dark' kinda sentences or 'see spot run' kinda sentences?" Though now that he thought about it they were all sort of equally bad and three-year-old.
"Je voudrais tu, sans vêtements," Jean-Paul said, expression turning very serious despite the fact that he'd just told Kevin he'd like to see him without his clothing. It seemed the sort of thing one should say solemnly, after all. "These sorts of sentences."
Maybe he should have stuck with the night is dark. Or Blue, maybe blue was easier than dark. Pulling his eyebrows back down from the upward perch they'd found, Kevin asked to hear Jean-Paul say it again before he repeated it back. The first repetition was slow and hesitant. The Quebecois corrected his pronunciation and the second time was better, more confident. The accent was still a bit off but Kevin was better at it when he had Jean-Paul right there than when he was recalling from memory. "What's it mean?"
"I would like to see you without your clothing," Jean-Paul translated, grinning now despite himself. "It seems like it would be useful, non? A practical sentence."
With a dead serious look on his face Kevin asked, "So how do you spell that?" He also turned as if to go get a pencil and a bit of paper to write it down and everything.
Jean-Paul hooked a finger in the fabric near the hem of Kevin's shirt to keep him from getting anywhere and said, "The spelling, it will only make it more confusing, I think. Listen more. Write less." Which was not precisely how he'd taught French before, but he wasn't teaching proper French, anyway. Conversational French was different. More interesting. Not that he really want Kevin to go around telling people that he wanted to see them without their clothing. Maybe he needed to think outside the framework of the conversations they had when they were distracted.
That would probably be a good idea.
Leaning back into Jean-Paul, Kevin smiled a little. It was just the upturn of one corner of his mouth. "But what if Ah feel like...expressing myself. To you. In French. But you're not around? Ah can't text you that and spell it right, can Ah?"
"You could not text it, anyway. There are characters in it that do not text well," Jean-Paul muttered, resting his chin on Kevin's shoulder. "You should text me this in English." He considered that, then said, "Also, I could try to set up an... automatic text, oui? The quick kind. For when people call and you are doing something else. It is in the mobile already, I think."
Jean-Paul didn't necessarily have the utmost confidence in technology in general, most days. And there were letters in the sentence that weren't usually on mobiles. At least not his mobiles.
Kevin snorted very softly. The sound was on the heel of a quiet snicker that almost became a laugh but not quite. "So you wanna save basically a French booty call text in my phone for me?" He wasn't sure if it was more amusing that it would be there or that Jean-Paul would have to program it in because Kevin couldn't spell anything in French aside from oui and merci.
"If you promise to use it," Jean-Paul answered, wondering if they could get themselves to the couch without him having to loosen his hold on the younger man. "Oui, I would like to, as you say, save it to your mobile."
Now he was smirking. It was that arrogant, slightly cocky smirk that only Jean-Paul ever seemed to see on his face. "Yeah, Ah can promise that."
"Mm... then I will save it for you." Simple as that. "The couch would be more comfortable, non?"
The smirk faltered a bit, almost falling into a frown. "You're gonna make me move?" The implication behind the words was that he wanted to move away from Jean-Paul less than he cared about the movement itself. He didn't care about moving, but Kevin liked contact. When he had contact he liked to keep it. But then Jean-Paul had learned that about him.
"Avec moi," Jean-Paul said, smiling again. "Avec moi, aime." Still, that left him pondering the logistics of that move.
"Like Ah said, you're gonna make me move?" Movement didn't work so well with contact. You could reinstate contact, but you still lost it. Unless... That smirk was back, now the arrogance mingling with mischief. "Ah can work with that," he muttered mostly to himself. Kevin's hands slid up to Jean-Paul's hips, then around and down until he was lifting the other man up off the stool where he sat. He had two options, either wrap his legs around Kevin or break contact to walk. Kevin supposed he could levitate himself but walking wouldn't go over very well that way.
Jean-Paul blinked.
He wasn't really someone who got picked up like that. Which meant he wasn't entirely sure what to do about being picked up. "I am twice your age," he said, using his powers to hold himself steady even as he locked his ankles at the small of Kevin's back. "I do not think this is very dignified."
That reaction only intensified the smirk Kevin wore. "Maybe you should stop bein' so hung up on your age." He glanced over his shoulder as if to see the ankles locked together behind his back. "Ah mean, if you wanna be dignified you can let go and walk yourself." His voice dropped a little. "Or you can get over bein' dignified and stay where you are. 'Cause Ah kinda like you there."
"I... believe I am content to stay here," Jean-Paul said, leaning backward just a bit so he could better see the expression that went along with the tone Kevin had used. He was rather content when it came to that, too.
Kevin nodded a little to himself. "Yeah, Ah thought you'd be." The Southerner shifted his grip on the other man in case Jean-Paul decided to stop keeping himself afloat and headed for the living room with him. Kevin certainly moved like someone who'd done this with someone wrapped around himself before. It became clear in the way he sat down on the couch, just slow enough to ensure his balance never wavered. He didn't let go just because they'd made it to the couch, though.
Smirking just the smallest bit, Jean-Paul shifted until they were both comfortable, his knees to either side of Kevin's waist, and then quirked a brow. "And now?"
Eyes moving down from Jean-Paul's mouth to where their bodies met at Kevin's lap, the corners of the Southerner's mouth tilted upward a bit. There was certainly a rather definite, vivid image in Kevin's mind about what now. No, that was incorrect. There were several vivid images. His hands moved upward, one stopping in the center of the other man's bare back and the other continuing until it could wrap around the back of his neck. Kevin pulled Jean-Paul down toward him until he was close enough to kiss.
Jean-Paul was comfortable with this turn of events. Incredibly comfortable. He leaned forward, letting Kevin direct the kiss even as he shifted his hands, palms braced against the couch behind the younger man. So long as the end result was something generally like this, he supposed he could endure the indignity of being carried about. The thought made him smile just a little.