Kevin & Jean-Paul, Saturday afternoon

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Kevin and Jean-Paul play a bit of frisbee.


Jean-Paul had promised not to use his powers, and so he didn’t. It was instinctive to fly up and catch the frisbee, but he repressed it and simply jogged toward the spot where the plastic disc had landed. Picking it up, he sent it sailing back toward Kevin and watched as it drifted off to the younger man’s left when the wind caught it.

Grinning, he tipped his head to the side. Even without his powers, this was fun. It was a nice day, if a little overcast at times, and he always enjoyed physical activity.

Kevin had never played frisbee in his life. Maybe it was his lack of trips to the beach. Or maybe it was because he never had a dog. It was easy enough to catch and throwing was easy. It was aim that was a problem. The Southerner jogged over to catch the plastic disc but it went skittering off his fingers before they could get much of a grasp and he was left chasing it down. His hands grabbed the frisbee a moment before it hit the ground and he stood up looking slightly triumphant for it.

“Next time Ah vote we do something that involves a ball. Ah feel like we should have a dog or something.” Where was a feral when you wanted to play fetch? Scolding himself silently for that last thought, Kevin threw the frisbee with a flick of his wrist back to Jean-Paul.

The frisbee itself went flying over Jean-Paul’s head, but he just laughed. “We could play football, could we not? I think I am better with kicking than catching.” Picking the frisbee up, he balanced it on the tip of one finger, then flipped it over, caught it properly, and sent it back to Kevin. There was something rather fun about this. He and the younger man hadn’t really gone outside a great deal.

Most of that was his own fault, he suspected. Jean-Paul knew he wasn’t really the most social of people. Especially now that he wasn’t sure how his powers were functioning and didn’t want to hurt people by accident. But this was different. Outside, just the yard of the mansion and the grass, the sky and the frisbee. He could get used to this.

“You mean ‘football’ like soccer or ‘football’ like the NFL? ‘Cause Ah’m not sure we should trust you with the second one if you suck this bad with catching.” He was grinning as he said it and went running backward in an attempt to catch the frisbee. He’d been trying to drag Jean-Paul outside more and more lately. Part of that was just that Kevin liked being outside when it was sunny and hot out. The rest of it was that he could trust himself a lot more to not cross lines he didn’t want to cross if they were in public. It was easy for him to get caught up in things when he was alone with the other man.

Obviously his attention wasn’t doing so good, though, because Kevin ended up tripping over something - possibly his own feet - and landed on his ass while running for the frisbee. The little yellow disc mocked him by landing just a foot away from his head while he laid there on his back. “People’re usually drinking when they play this, huh? Everything seems like a better idea when you’re drinking.” Or so he assumed. Kevin didn’t sound particularly put out by the game, though. He just reached up for the frisbee and quickly got back to his feet.

Snorting, Jean-Paul waited to see where the frisbee would go when Kevin tossed it. “The United States is the only country to call football soccer. You know this, do you not?” He was smiling, though, as he jogged backward to try to catch the plastic disc. “And also, I have not fallen down. I think you are not doing so well, either.”

“Your throwin’s shoddy,” Kevin told him and refrained from sticking his tongue out in a most impressive display of maturity. “Y’know you’re in America, right? If you wanna call soccer ‘football’ then you should go hang out in a different country. Here it’s soccer, football involves a lot of throwing and we like baseball. But not the Yankees. And not just ‘cause they’re called the Yankees.”

“What other reason would you have for not liking the Yankees?” Jean-Paul caught the frisbee, then paused for a moment to aim and flicked his wrist as he sent the disc soaring back toward Kevin. His aim was a bit better this time, but certainly not as good as it would have been if he’d been kicking a ball. “You would like me to go back to Canada?” He raised his brows, expression morphing into something very like abject sadness. A moment later and he was grinning. “Baseball is boring.”

“Baseball’s better when you’re there watchin’ it. Ah don’t think it’s really something you can watch on tv and fully appreciate.” Kevin wasn’t exactly a baseball fan, but he wasn’t exactly against it either. Sports were something he liked doing but not watching. Organized sports with teams, though...well, he just wasn’t enthusiastic enough about them to deal with the people who were. “You should go back to Canada if you wanna insist on callin’ it football when it’s soccer, yeah. And then you can come back when you’re ready to talk like an American.” Kevin told him as he caught the frisbee. He managed to have the sort of tone that parents had when they told their children to only come back when they were willing to act like a big girl. With a grin he sent the frisbee soaring back toward the Quebecois.

The longer they played, the more accurate they got when they threw the frisbee. Jean-Paul caught it again and pretended to consider Kevin’s comment about talking like an American before throwing it back to him. “I am not American, though. This is the flaw in your logic. It is not so good to make me choose.” He wasn’t being serious, of course, as evidenced by the fact that he waggled his eyebrows as the frisbee headed toward Kevin.

“Then you shouldn’t get all like a whiny girl when people are all like ‘you mean soccer, right?’ Use our language or, y’know, go back to Canada. Them’s the choices, Frenchie.” Kevin couldn’t even keep a straight face when he said that last bit and ended up snickering as he caught the frisbee. His next throw was intentionally wide figuring there was no point unless there was some running, right? You used baseballs to play catch, not frisbees.

Reminding himself that he’d promised not to use his powers, Jean-Paul made himself run at a normal person’s speed. It felt like he was intentionally moving through molasses. Still, he stretched for the frisbee and felt it graze his fingertips before gliding off. Pausing, he turned to narrow his eyes at Kevin, then jogged over to the plastic disc and, instead of throwing it, walked back to where the younger man was standing. “Frenchie?”

Kevin shrugged with a casually innocent expression on his face. “It works. But Ah’m thinkin’ Ah should throw wide more often.” The Southerner’s expression quickly shifted to one of a good-natured grin. “All that bendin’ over and all, y’know?”

Jean-Paul hooked one finger under the hem of Kevin’s shirt with his free hand and tugged him forward just a little. “I do not know what you are talking about,” he said carefully, half-smiling. “But I am not French.” Then, expression not changing in the least, he raised the frisbee and sat it on Kevin’s head, balancing it carefully before dropping his hand and eyeing his work critically.

“But you’re part French or descended from French or...” Kevin’s words trailed off and his attention turned upward. His eyes stared dead at the edge of frisbee he could see. “You gonna do this with a book next and make me enter a pageant?” God, now there was a terrifying thought. He was trying to remain as still as possible so the frisbee didn’t waver or drop either.

“I do not think so,” Jean-Paul said, eyes still on the frisbee. “I am not so sure you would look your best in an evening gown, you see?” Then, very slowly, he raised one hand and touched the tip of his finger to the end of Kevin’s nose just to see if he could make the younger man go cross-eyed.

“The swimsuit competition’s really where Ah’ll shine,” Kevin replied with confidence. “Ah mean, have you seen me without most of my clothes on?” His claims were acutely undermined by Jean-Paul succeeding fantastically at his goal. Kevin’s eyes flicked between the edge of the frisbee to the finger at the tip of his nose and back again. “D’you have a nose fetish Ah don’t know ‘bout?”

“Non,” Jean-Paul said, laughing despite himself. Then he smirked. “Et oui, I have seen you without most of your clothing. Actually, I have seen you with none. But I do not think the bikini top would do very much for you. Nor the bottom.” He reached up and flicked the edge of the frisbee, knocking it off the back of Kevin’s head. It thunked to the ground a moment later.

The sound of the frisbee hitting the ground was accompanied by Kevin frowning. “You broke my tiara.”

“You have to win the competition to get a tiara,” Jean-Paul said, tone reasonable.

Kevin gave him his most mournful sniffle, which is to say it fell a fair bit flat of its intended effect. “Are you implyin’ you don’t think Ah’m a winner?”

“If the shoe fits, as they say,” Jean-Paul replied, then let his expression turn contemplative. “I cannot think high heels would be very comfortable shoes for you.”

Now Kevin blinked at him. His head cocked to the side and he looked at Jean-Paul for all the world as if he had three heads. “Ah had no idea you were gay enough to start talkin’ ‘bout shoes with me. Ah think we need to break up.” Then he began to inch backward, away from the other man. “But, really, it ain’t you. It’s me. All me.”

“You break my heart, Monsieur Ford,” Jean-Paul said, releasing his tenuous hold on Kevin’s shirt so he could lay his hand over his chest. “Also,” he said, “I think it is not so convincing for you to say it is not me when you break up with me because I speak of shoes. Really, though, I must question your logic, since the evening gown and the bikini did not make you want to break up with me.”

“Ah’ve got a shoe anti-fetish. Is there a word? It’s just, Ah can never look at you and think you’re hot ever again now that you’ve been talkin’ about shoes. See? It really is me, not you. Ah just...it’s like a turn off. Only way more drastic,” Kevin explained, still inching away.

Jean-Paul looked down at his feet, then wiggled his toes in the grass. “But I am not wearing any. Does this give me bonus points?”

“And still talkin’ ‘bout them in a roundabout way.” Kevin threw his hands up in the air, then collapsed to the ground. He flopped over onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “He just keeps on,” he muttered to himself. “Ah mean you tell a guy it’s a turn off and what’s he do? He keeps going...Ah’m gonna have to be celibate.”

Scooting the frisbee out of the way, Jean-Paul sat on the ground next to Kevin for a few moments before laying back and squinting up at the sky. “When you were younger, did you make believe you could see animals in the clouds and things?”

“What do you mean pretend?” There was a mild air of offense in Kevin’s voice. :”We’re not talkin’ ‘bout imaginary friends here. We’re talkin’ ‘bout seeing something unusual in something normal. It’s an exercise of imagination, not pretending.” His eyes roamed through the sky and then Kevin pointed to a spot back over his head near where the trees and the sky met. “See, there’s a platypus dancing right over there.”

"Dancing?" Jean-Paul wasn't entirely sure about that bit, but he tipped his head to the side in an effort to see it, anyway. "I see a crab, I think." He squinted as he pointed at the same cloud Kevin had indicated. "You see the claws there and there?"

Kevin’s head tilted to the other side to try to see the crab, then back again. “Where’s his other six legs? He’s more like a fiddler crab. His claws are uneven.” Given that Kevin had a fiddler crab named Eddie living in his suite he felt like he was justified in his assessment.

“I do not know,” Jean-Paul said, tipping his head to the other side. “If the wind keeps blowing, it will have three legs, I think.” He smiled a little. “I see a chair there. And a horse. Why was your platypus dancing? None of mine move.”

“My platypus is havin’ more fun than your horse ‘cause it’s stuck hanging out with a chair. Platypi are happy little duck-otter things. So they dance. Obviously.” Pointing just to the side of where he thought Jean-Paul’s horse was Kevin said, “And there’s a Pegasus.”

“The horse is not in the chair,” Jean-Paul said, waving his hand as though to erase Kevin’s Pegasus from the air. “There is a child in the chair. The horse is near Big Ben, just there.” He gestured toward another bank of clouds. “What is the music your platypus is dancing to? Rap? Hip hop? Techno?”

“Ah think it might be polka.” He seemed to think about it for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, definitely polka. How come your kid ain’t doin’ nothing in the chair? Is it playin’ musical chairs and doesn’t wanna give up their chair?” He’d gotten in trouble once for not wanting to give up his chair as a kid. Obviously he had a possession issue and had said it was his chair and it wasn’t fair for someone else to steal it.

“Non, I think he is eating a cookie,” Jean-Paul said, smiling a little. “One with sugar and cinnamon.” He pointed to an odd little cloud between the platypus and the chair. “This is a radio, I think. The child is listening to the same station as the platypus.”

“So why ain’t he dancing? What sorta priorities is that? He sits there eatin’ his cookie and doesn’t join the platypus? He’s gonna have his feelings hurt things keep goin’ on this way. What sorta manners was your kid raise with?” Kevin made a tsking sound and shook his head.

“It would be bad to eat and dance at the same time,” Jean-Paul said, nudging Kevin’s side with his elbow. “He might choke. And also spill crumbs everywhere. But I think he will share the cookie - there. You see? He laughs. What is your Pegasus doing?”

“Flying. Like a winged horse oughta. Ah think he’s going over that huge carrot over there.” Kevin pointed to said carrot and said nothing about how much thought Jean-Paul was putting into the kid with the cookie. The Quebecois wasn’t really one to go on imaginative tangents in Kevin’s experience so he would hardly try to quell this one. “And Ah think your crab’s got a crush on that dolphin there. He keeps gettin’ closer or her. Interspecies love is doomed though. Most folks just think it ain’t right, see.”

“You try telling this to the giant hermit crab - at least they both live in the water, non?” Jean-Paul said, shaking his head sadly. “Your carrot, it has turned into a torpedo. I think it will hit Big Ben.”

“Maybe Pegasus will try to save Big Ben. Ah mean, he’s magical and all with the wings and stuff.” He glanced over at Jean-Paul and then back up to their cloud menagerie. “When did he turn into a hermit crab? Ah don’t think he goes into deep enough water for them to have a life. Y’know, his lady love would die in the shallow waters.”

“When that claw got bigger than the other. If his backside gets any smaller, I think he will turn into a lobster,” Jean-Paul said, tipping his head to the side again. “Then he would live too deep, would he not? And she would not be able to breathe.” He paused again, then smiled a little. “Lobsters hold hands, did you know? Claws, I mean. I think that is what I saw on the Discovery Channel, anyway.”

“Lobsters hold claws? For fun?” Lobsters weren’t exactly what Kevin would consider an affectionate animal. Hard shells didn’t really lend themselves to cuddling, after all. “Ah thought hermit crabs had same size claws?”

Jean-Paul made his hand look like a claw, then opened and closed it at Kevin. “What is the crab that has one that is very large, then? And I do not know why lobsters hold claws. If they do it at all. I think they do.”

“Fiddler crabs. They’ve got one huge claw and the rest of them is small. Like Eddie, he’s a fiddler crab.” Kevin mimicked Jean-Paul’s claw gesture and smirked. “Is that supposed to be a duck?”

Cocking his wrist, Jean-Paul mimicked the head movements of a duck. “I do not know. Is it?” Without giving Kevin a chance to answer, his hand began pecking at the younger man’s side.

Immediately Kevin was swatting at the pecking “duck.” He wasn’t exactly ticklish there, but he wasn’t exactly not ticklish either. The Southerner inched away and swatted at the hand. “Ah think your duck has rabies or something ‘cause Ah’m pretty sure they aren’t carnivorous usually. Or at least they don’t normally eat people.”

“He is not eating you,” Jean-Paul said, extending his arm so the duck could continue its pecking. “He is pecking. Or maybe he did not like being thought a crab claw... which would be my fault, would it not?” His hand swiveled around, the ‘duck’ looking at him for a moment before it pecked at his shoulder.

Snorting slightly, Kevin started to laugh. “Now your duck hand’s tryin’ to eat you. That’s gotta have some sort of weird psychological meaning like how you’re full of self-loathing or so narcissistic that you’ve got to consume yourself so no one else can have you or somethin’.” Really, though, his forty-year-old boyfriend was pecking at his own shoulder with a duck hand. How did people think the age difference was all that weird when you had this sort of display going on?

“These are my choices? Self-loathing or narcissism?” Jean-Paul looked at his hand, expression curious. “I do not think I like these so much.” Of course, he couldn’t say that the first wasn’t entirely correct, given his feelings toward himself recently, especially where his powers were concerned, but that was neither here nor there. Letting his hand flop over rather melodramatically, Jean-Paul asked, “What does it say now that the duck is dead?”

“Uh...” Kevin raised up onto his elbows and just blinked at the hand that was feigning dead. “Ah dunno. Ah’ll draw a comic of the duck attacking you and then falling down dead and see what my art therapist says. He’s a professional, y’know. Trained to interpret splatters and stark shadows and angles and stuff.”

Laughing, Jean-Paul moved his hand upward and hooked two fingers over Kevin’s collar. “Non, aime. I think I do not need to worry about that so much.” He stole a kiss, then picked up the frisbee again and vaulted into the air. Flipping the plastic disc end over end, then catching it, he quirked an eyebrow as he hovered a few feet above the ground. “Here, let us continue the game.” He settled his feet on the earth again and offered Kevin the frisbee.

Standing up, Kevin dusted the dirt off his shorts. “Alright, you’re on.” He grinned as he took the frisbee, though. “Person who misses the most catches has to come up with dinner, though.” ‘Come up with’ not ‘cook’ because he didn’t want anything exploding or burning down. He jogged backward a few steps and quirked a mirroring eyebrow up at Jean-Paul.

“Oui, I agree to your terms,” Jean-Paul said, knowing he was going to have to keep himself in check - he was naturally competitive and often used his powers without conscious thought. But he absolutely hated the idea of cheating, and so it was at the pace of a normal man that he went chasing after the frisbee when Kevin threw it.

They were probably going to wind up having Chinese, given the way he was playing.