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xp_logs2011-03-01 05:00 pm
x-quebecois.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2011-03-01 05:00 pm
Vanessa & Jean-Paul | Tuesday Evening/Night
After having dinner, Vanessa and Jean-Paul attend Kevin's opening in the city.
Jean-Paul had decided, since it was going to be something of a formal evening, that he’d walk up the stairs to Vanessa’s apartment like a “normal” person rather than risk running into a bird while flying up to her window. He didn’t want to ruin the new waistcoat he’d purchased for this event, after all.
The Quebecois checked his watch before knocking on the door. He was a little early, but not as early as he could have been. The thought made him smile a little. Not having to worry about styling his hair was very nice. It had given him enough time to call ahead and make sure that the restaurant had maintained the reservations.
Vanessa was ready, but at the other end of the apartment so her voice answered the knock at the door. “Mi amor? It’s open.” She was in the middle of putting on her other shoe before she could attempt to get the door. Idly, she wondered if she shouldn’t just give Jean-Paul his own key anyhow.
The metamorph had made an actual effort to be pretty enough to be on Jean-Paul’s arm, as she had put it. Her hair was down which was rare, though becoming something of a more frequent occurrence these days. She wore no jewelry, the jewels along the outline of her dress’ halter and upper back sufficing as far as she was concerned. The dress itself was a pale, silvery opal with a plunging neckline and a high slit up the skirt. It was satin and slid around her legs in what felt like an inappropriately decadent way. Jean-Paul had never seen her all dressed up like a girl before so she couldn’t deny she was looking forward to the reaction as she walked out of her bedroom.
Jean-Paul was closing the door when she appeared, still half-turned, his hand on the door knob. If asked later, he would absolutely admit that he’d forgotten what he was doing when he saw her. His head tilted to the side and the door wasn’t even all the way closed, but he turned to face her properly and raised an eyebrow. “Bonjour,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his lips. “I think you are not allowed to dress up as a man any longer, though I appreciate the view when you do. This... is much more... you.” It was obvious that he approved.
“More me?” She sounded amused and wore the smile to match. This was the second time in as many days that she found herself in a dress and a pair of heels. Vanessa almost suspected she enjoyed it. Wearing heels changed the way she walked entirely, she noted. There was a very slinky, predatory, deliberate movement to her gait and her hips swayed in a way they didn’t normally. It was very feminine and Vanessa rarely felt quite so womanly. “Are you saying knives and cargo pants aren’t very me?”
“I am saying,” Jean-Paul moved forward to offer her his arm, “that I think the dress is more you than the suits and ties you wear when you are being a man instead of a woman.” She was now several inches taller than him rather than just a couple, but he wasn’t the sort of man who minded that. She was gorgeous, she was his friend, and she was on his arm for the night. “You are beautiful, mon ami.”
“Gracias, mi amor.” Vanessa bowed her head to him a little and slipped her arm through his. “I did promise to be worthy of your arm, did I not?” She leaned down enough to press a kiss to her friend’s cheek, careful to not leave the traces of blue lipstick behind on his skin. “I hope you know, that I plan to be draped on you all night long and it will be your responsibility to fend off men trying to hit on me or openly imagining me without my very lovely dress.” Not one to dress up normally, Vanessa didn’t have a dressy coat to go with the dress. It was a trench coat Jean-Paul had given her as something of a joking gift when she opened X-Factor Investigations that she reached for on the coat rack by the door.
“I am very good at fending off men,” Jean-Paul nodded, managing to keep a straight face. “I will make sure they do not use their minds to take your dress off.” Of course, now he was thinking about Jean using her telekinesis to remove Vanessa’s dress and that was just far too many women in the scenario, he thought. He did, after all, like sexual fantasies best when there were no women at all.
“‘Fending off,’ by the way, does not mean ‘take them to a quiet corner and distract them,” she told him with a bump of her hip. So maybe she didn’t know anything about art, but Vanessa thought she and Jean-Paul would have fun anyhow. Maybe she could find herself a sugar daddy. She didn’t particularly need one, but it seemed like a handy thing to have.
Jean-Paul gave Vanessa a bit of a pout, but nodded his acquiescence. It wouldn’t be very polite to distract anyone at the opening. Especially not Kevin. And especially not when he was there with Laura. The Quebecois did have some manners. He’d just have to find a different way to congratulate the Southerner. “And so,” he said, face straightening up again, “we are off to dinner. Let us go quickly, before they give our table to someone else.”
***
The window of the gallery featured a stone bust sculpture, a two paintings on a temporary wall, and an abstract metal sculpture nearly six feet high. Inside it was deceptively larger than it had looked from the outside. There was a large, open room with temporary walls erected throughout the space to showcase pieces and seemingly separate one artist’s work from another’s. There were also two rooms that came off the back of the main room which both showcased individual artists as well. Looking around, styles and mediums were distinct. There were photographs on display in the front of the main room that could be seen through the window, though sculptures on display columns dotted the main room and broke up the remaining empty space the walls did not disrupt. Paintings hung on the walls in the back. Some larger, metal sculptures could be seen through the doorway of one of the rooms in the far back and paintings seemed to be on display on the walls of the other.
Vanessa allowed her coat to slide down her arms before handing it off to be checked. Once she was free of it her arm found its way right back to Jean-Paul’s and wrapped around it. She had found that she was quite content to play arm candy for the night and the people at the restaurant had seemed to be quite approving of Jean-Paul’s life-sized accessory.
Jean-Paul handed his jacket over to be checked after Vanessa and then walked into the main gallery with her. He couldn’t see any of Kevin's pieces yet, since they were apparently in one of the back rooms, and he hadn't set eyes on the Southerner. "The large pieces of metal, they are Kevin's," he said in an undertone. Taking a brochure from a table at the front, he flipped it open with one hand and checked to see who the other artists were. Smiling as he looked over at Vanessa, he quirked a brow and nodded toward some of the pieces hanging on the temporary walls. "What do you think, mon ami? Do you see anything that you like?"
Leaning into her friend’s side, Vanessa’s eyes scanned over everything cursorily. “You realize anything that hangs on my walls that isn’t a weapon was actually picked out by Laurie or Adrienne, yes? There’s a reason for that, mi amor. But I’m curious about the photography. I think those may be more Vanessa-friendly than,” she looked toward a stone sculpture that looked kind of like a writhing, gnarled mass and wrinkled her nose, “that.”
"To the photographs, then," Jean-Paul said with a quiet laugh. "I think that I would like to see them closely for myself, also." And so they wandered over. It didn't take very long for the Quebecois to notice a few men cast surrepticious glances in Vanessa's direction. The smile on his lips turned just ever so slightly smug.
Taking note of the attention being paid to her, Vanessa’s arm moved from around Jean-Paul’s. She picked his arm up and laid it over her shoulders so she could slither her arm around his waist and cuddle herself into his side as much as was possible while in motion. She intentionally leaned against him a bit as they moved. “I like black and white photography. There’s something about it that seems sort of graceful or sad or moving that comes from the disparity from black to white that color doesn’t have. Or maybe I’m just not advanced enough to appreciate color photography as much.”
"I do not know what others might say," Jean-Paul commented, his arm resting comfortably around Vanessa's waist, "but I think it depends on the photograph. Something sad, it is infinitely sadder in black and white. But a sunset is more beautiful in color." He shrugged. Even having mostly lived with Kevin for months, he couldn't really put into words why he liked certain pieces of art more than others. Sometimes it was just what struck him as beautiful in the moment and had no rhyme or reason to it.
“That’s because colors make the sunset. No one wants to watch a sunset that isn’t colorful. But I like black and white sunsets or sunrises, too. The shades of grey can be interesting.” Vanessa stopped in front of a photograph taken inside what appeared to be an empty, abandoned hospital of some sort. It was falling apart, dilapidated, with leaves and dirt and old, torn bits of paper everywhere in the hall. But it was strangely mesmerizing. Maybe even beautiful. Vanessa’s head tilted to the side as she considered it. “I think being an artist is all about how you look at the world. Because they can look at a raggedy place and see that, but I don’t think I ever would.”
“Oui, I agree,” Jean-Paul said, nodding. He could look at something universally acknowledged as beautiful and see the beauty, that was simple. But he would never be able to look at a piece of metal and visualize the things Kevin created with them. He’d never be able to come up with designs and patterns on his own. “It is not the thing I have a talent for...” Nodding toward the next photograph, he said, “But these... they are beautiful.”
Vanessa nodded and trailed over to the next photograph with Jean-Paul. “Mm...they are. I wish I could see the world like that. Beauty in destruction.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek. It seemed strangely appropriate at the moment.
Jean-Paul tapped his fingertips against Vanessa’s hip, the fabric of the dress smooth and silky beneath them. “That is a good way to describe it,” he said, nodding his agreement again because when it came to art, he always felt his words were inadequate. “Do you mind if we see Kevin’s pieces once we have seen the photographs?”
"I'm surprised you didn't drag me right off to stare and marvel at them." Her voice was touched with good-natured teasing and her hip nudged her friend a bit. "It's your boy's big night and here you are, attached to my exceedingly lovely side staring at utterly gorgeous photographs instead of fawning over him and what I assume are his astoundingly brilliant works of art." Vanessa shook her head and made a tsking sound.
“He is with Laura tonight,” Jean-Paul said, keeping his voice low, though his lips turned upward at the corners again. “I will not be rude. And also, I will not drag you places, as you say. The photography is what you wanted to see and so we will see it. It is only fair.” He tapped her hip again, just because he could. And also, perhaps, because a few more men seemed to have taken notice of Vanessa’s plunging neckline. Perhaps he would not be the prettiest tonight, after all.
“You could lead me places rather than drag me,” Vanessa pointed out with a voice pitched low and full of innuendo neither of them had any misguided notion about her meaning. “His stuff is next on our list, though. We did come here to support him, after all. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen his art. Which is no surprise given how entirely artistically inclined we both know that I’m not.”
“Oh, leading,” Jean-Paul murmured, voice just loud enough for one of the men who’d been inching closer to them to hear. Eyes crinkling at the corner in amusement, he nodded. “I think I will be doing a great deal of leading once we get home, Missus Carlysle.”
A sound somewhere between an appreciative groan and a purr responded to him as Vanessa nuzzled her face into Jean-Paul’s neck. “Would you promise me that, Mister Carlysle?” Her lips were curved up into a smile that promised very, very naughty things. A leg even rubbed up and down against Jean-Paul’s for a moment, peeking out from the slit in her dress’ skirt.
“I promise you this,” Jean-Paul said, eyes flicking to the side just a bit and catching the gaze of a man who’d unabashedly been staring at Vanessa’s backside. He arched an eyebrow, his hand sliding a little lower on her hip in a very good approximation of possessiveness. The amusement was still on his face, of course, but there was an underlying hint of steel that had the other man turning on his heel. “This is fun,” he muttered so only Vanessa could hear.
Vanessa had to hide her smile. She barely caught where Jean-Paul was looking when he slid his hand lower. In fact, she was left half burying her face in his neck, shaking slightly with silent laughter. For a gay man Jean-Paul certainly played the territorial boyfriend well. No, not boyfriend, husband.
Once she had herself under control and composed again she raised her head to whisper into Jean-Paul’s ear. “Mi amor, are you going to start wandering about with your hand on my ass so all the men know to whom it belongs? Because if you are we should likely be more centrally located first.” A small giggle bubbled forth at the mental image of that.
“Non, mon aime,” Jean-Paul said, gripping the silky material of her dress between his thumb and forefinger so he could rub it, inching the slit at her side just a little higher. “I think we will do very well here. At least until we are finished looking at the photographs you like so well.” He let the fabric slide free, thumb smoothing out the slight wrinkle, and then nodded toward the next photo on the wall.
Now she couldn’t help it, each laugh came out so quietly and subdued that is was more giggle than laugh. It was probably for the best since her laughter tended to be a bit throaty and the sound carried. Vanessa trailed along to the next photo with Jean-Paul, her attention split between him and the men watching them. For the sake of their audience, Vanessa moved her hand from Jean-Paul’s waist to his shoulders so she could lean into him more bodily. Her free hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was there Vanessa laid her head as she gazed at the photo, this one of a tunnel.
In a fairly quiet, thoughtful voice Vanessa mused, “You’re quite fond of showing me off, aren’t you?”
Tilting his head so his temple could rest against Vanessa’s hair, Jean-Paul considered that. “Is this a trick question that will get me in trouble?” His voice was teasing, though the question was sincere in some ways. He enjoyed the reactions of their audience, he enjoyed the show they could put on together, but more than those things, he enjoyed her company.
The hand dangling off his far shoulder moved to Jean-Paul’s chest so her fingertips could trail along in random little patterns, often following the feel of the woven material beneath them. “No, it’s not a trick question and you won’t get in trouble,” Vanessa answered with a faint smile on her lips. “But you seem to quite enjoy it.”
“I enjoy the games,” Jean-Paul answered. “The teasing of the other people. Showing you off, as you say... I think it is a part of this, but most of all, I think I enjoy that I am able to play this with you, oui?”
Rather than taking that thread any further, Vanessa swapped subjects. “Have I told you that you look fantastic tonight and that for the first time in a very long time I am left to think it is an utter travesty that you don’t like women?”
Jean-Paul snorted softly. He gestured toward her and said, “With the way you look, I think it is very sad that I do not like women, also.”
That earned him another kiss on the cheek. “Mm, well, so long as we are mutually wishing you had the desire to be pinned to a wall or pin me to a wall then I suppose it’s already,” she commented lightly. Given the playful nature of their relationship it was really hard to wish too seriously that he was less gay. All her relationships seemed to end poorly. Their friendship was a huge improvement over the alternative if he were straight.
Chuckling, the Quebecois nodded. “Oui, I suppose it is.” He looked at the picture of the tunnel for another few moments, then meandered over to the next one. Someone passed with champagne on a tray and he grabbed one for Vanessa, then one for himself. He supposed there were snacks somewhere, finger foods, but since they’d eaten before getting here, he wasn’t nearly hungry enough to go searching for them.
Vanessa accepted the glass from Jean-Paul, but it took a moment before she was willing to pluck her head off his shoulder where it had been so comfortable. Drinking, however, necessitated such things. “You know, your boy did well for himself. It’s a small-ish place, but if I figure if they can throw an opening like this then they are at least doing pretty well for themselves. Maybe he’ll get his stuff sold off and get his name out even further.”
Jean-Paul looked at the gallery, a proud sort of smile curling up the corners of his lips. It reached his eyes as he nodded, the corners crinkling again. “Oui, I think he is doing very well for himself, as you say.” Then he laughed softly. “And I think he would like to sell the sculptures so that he does not have to carry them back to the mansion.” Tipping his head toward the next room, he quirked a brow. “May we?”
Now there was a reason to want to sell off one’s artwork, to avoid the hassle of lugging it about. Vanessa was laughing when she nodded. “Yes, we may.” For the sake of the few ears still trying to listen to them she clarified, “Lead me wherever you want me, mi amor.” Sipping the champagne, Vanessa followed Jean-Paul through the room and around pairs and small groups of people until they came to the back room where a number of sculptures stood.
The walls were covered with more photographs that looked like the same photographer they’d just been looking at. Everything in the room had a sort of dark, dangerous feel to it. The black and white photography was very stark in its contrasts, not a lot of grey unlike the ones out front. There were about a half dozen tall, metal sculptures in the room. One was shorter than Vanessa, close to five feet if she had to guess, but the others were all between six and more than eight feet tall. The tallest was in the center of the room. It was gleaming and flawless next to the others. It was the only one, as far as Vanessa could tell, that was made with new material. The other sculptures around the room all seemed to be made of bits and pieces of refurbished metal, stuff that came from cars or refrigerators or whatever else people made of metal. Some had rust spots that were eaten clean through. They were all sharp, angular and sort of harsh. They were large and impressive but they seemed almost hostile.
The sculpture in the center, though, was over eight feet tall and had a sort of waterfall reminiscence to Vanessa. The pieces wound and wove and twisted around one another but it was very flowing. It was almost graceful. Vanessa couldn’t say why it reminded her of a dancer, but it did. “These are...huge.” She wasn’t sure if she exactly liked any of them, but she could appreciate the sort of effort it must have taken to create them.
Another small smile lurked at the corners of Jean-Paul’s lips. “Oui, they are. So you see what I mean about moving them back to the mansion?” He walked over to the first of the sculptures, head tipping to the side a little. “I did not see him making this one,” he nodded toward it. “Only the one in the middle. And the one with the rust.” He was sure, given the timing of when both of those were made, that there was some kind of commentary or symbolism, but he wasn’t sure what it was and he didn’t want to over-analyze it. He’d probably just give himself a headache.
“Maybe you make him feel shiny and rusty so that’s what you inspired,” Vanessa joked. She had no idea about abstract art. Those paintings with the color splatters? Meaningless. The urinal? Dirty. The white canvas? Should be burnt. So, really, apart from wow, they’re huge she didn’t have a whole lot to contribute. She followed Jean-Paul around and stared and tried to make sense of it but there was no sense to be had. So Vanessa fell back on something she did know. “I guess that boy of yours is probably pretty damn buff under all those clothes he wears, hm?”
“Mm... yes,” Jean-Paul said, nodding as he thought about Kevin without his clothing on.
Vanessa gave Jean-Paul a light elbow to the ribs. “You’re drooling, mi amor.” He wasn’t literally, but the look on his face was just as bad if not worse than the actual act of drooling in public. They both came to the same end, really.
Clearing his throat, the Quebecois shook his head. “Non, I am not drooling.” But he was having very happy thoughts. He still hadn’t actually seen Kevin yet, but he had to be around here somewhere. Likely with Laura on his arm.
“You have Figurative Drool all over your shiny, shiny shoes,” she told him, thoroughly amused. There was something so adorable about anyone having that sort of effect on another person. Of course, Vanessa was a little biased where Jean-Paul was concerned so she was happier that someone put that look on his face than she would have been if it were someone else.
“Figurative Drool,” Jean-Paul snorted softly. “This is not a real thing.” He made a show of wiping his chin, though, just to make her laugh. Of course, he turned toward the sculpture in the center of the room then and caught sight of Kevin. His smile stayed in place, though his eyes moved in obvious appreciation over the younger man. It helped he supposed, that they were on opposite sites of the room. He got he full effect of the Southerner’s black on black suit.
Kevin had been more or less attached to Laura’s side since they had arrived. One of the clear advantages of being with her was that Laura was so much more extroverted and social than Kevin was. That meant he could manage to be mostly monosyllabic when he wanted to be and let her do all the talking until people wandered off. She was pretty awesome at it. It also meant that when he spotted Jean-Paul with Vanessa near one of his sculptures Kevin could take the time to appreciate the view. The Quebecois was clad in shades of grey and the form-fitting waistcoat along with the form-fitting trousers highlighted all of his assets as far as Kevin was concerned.
The expression on the Southerner’s face was thoroughly appreciative. He tipped his head to the older man by way of a “hello” and allowed his gaze to linger until the person speaking to Laura started speaking him and forced Kevin’s focus back to them.
Jean-Paul returned the slight tip of the head and raised his glass in a small toast to Kevin, then let his own attention slide back to Vanessa. “The photography,” he murmured, shifting a little so he could see some of the starker pieces on the walls here. “Let us see what they have here.” And then they could move on to one of the other rooms - otherwise he’d spend far too much time appreciating the Southerner and not nearly enough focusing on the artwork. Which would be rude.
Jean-Paul had decided, since it was going to be something of a formal evening, that he’d walk up the stairs to Vanessa’s apartment like a “normal” person rather than risk running into a bird while flying up to her window. He didn’t want to ruin the new waistcoat he’d purchased for this event, after all.
The Quebecois checked his watch before knocking on the door. He was a little early, but not as early as he could have been. The thought made him smile a little. Not having to worry about styling his hair was very nice. It had given him enough time to call ahead and make sure that the restaurant had maintained the reservations.
Vanessa was ready, but at the other end of the apartment so her voice answered the knock at the door. “Mi amor? It’s open.” She was in the middle of putting on her other shoe before she could attempt to get the door. Idly, she wondered if she shouldn’t just give Jean-Paul his own key anyhow.
The metamorph had made an actual effort to be pretty enough to be on Jean-Paul’s arm, as she had put it. Her hair was down which was rare, though becoming something of a more frequent occurrence these days. She wore no jewelry, the jewels along the outline of her dress’ halter and upper back sufficing as far as she was concerned. The dress itself was a pale, silvery opal with a plunging neckline and a high slit up the skirt. It was satin and slid around her legs in what felt like an inappropriately decadent way. Jean-Paul had never seen her all dressed up like a girl before so she couldn’t deny she was looking forward to the reaction as she walked out of her bedroom.
Jean-Paul was closing the door when she appeared, still half-turned, his hand on the door knob. If asked later, he would absolutely admit that he’d forgotten what he was doing when he saw her. His head tilted to the side and the door wasn’t even all the way closed, but he turned to face her properly and raised an eyebrow. “Bonjour,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his lips. “I think you are not allowed to dress up as a man any longer, though I appreciate the view when you do. This... is much more... you.” It was obvious that he approved.
“More me?” She sounded amused and wore the smile to match. This was the second time in as many days that she found herself in a dress and a pair of heels. Vanessa almost suspected she enjoyed it. Wearing heels changed the way she walked entirely, she noted. There was a very slinky, predatory, deliberate movement to her gait and her hips swayed in a way they didn’t normally. It was very feminine and Vanessa rarely felt quite so womanly. “Are you saying knives and cargo pants aren’t very me?”
“I am saying,” Jean-Paul moved forward to offer her his arm, “that I think the dress is more you than the suits and ties you wear when you are being a man instead of a woman.” She was now several inches taller than him rather than just a couple, but he wasn’t the sort of man who minded that. She was gorgeous, she was his friend, and she was on his arm for the night. “You are beautiful, mon ami.”
“Gracias, mi amor.” Vanessa bowed her head to him a little and slipped her arm through his. “I did promise to be worthy of your arm, did I not?” She leaned down enough to press a kiss to her friend’s cheek, careful to not leave the traces of blue lipstick behind on his skin. “I hope you know, that I plan to be draped on you all night long and it will be your responsibility to fend off men trying to hit on me or openly imagining me without my very lovely dress.” Not one to dress up normally, Vanessa didn’t have a dressy coat to go with the dress. It was a trench coat Jean-Paul had given her as something of a joking gift when she opened X-Factor Investigations that she reached for on the coat rack by the door.
“I am very good at fending off men,” Jean-Paul nodded, managing to keep a straight face. “I will make sure they do not use their minds to take your dress off.” Of course, now he was thinking about Jean using her telekinesis to remove Vanessa’s dress and that was just far too many women in the scenario, he thought. He did, after all, like sexual fantasies best when there were no women at all.
“‘Fending off,’ by the way, does not mean ‘take them to a quiet corner and distract them,” she told him with a bump of her hip. So maybe she didn’t know anything about art, but Vanessa thought she and Jean-Paul would have fun anyhow. Maybe she could find herself a sugar daddy. She didn’t particularly need one, but it seemed like a handy thing to have.
Jean-Paul gave Vanessa a bit of a pout, but nodded his acquiescence. It wouldn’t be very polite to distract anyone at the opening. Especially not Kevin. And especially not when he was there with Laura. The Quebecois did have some manners. He’d just have to find a different way to congratulate the Southerner. “And so,” he said, face straightening up again, “we are off to dinner. Let us go quickly, before they give our table to someone else.”
***
The window of the gallery featured a stone bust sculpture, a two paintings on a temporary wall, and an abstract metal sculpture nearly six feet high. Inside it was deceptively larger than it had looked from the outside. There was a large, open room with temporary walls erected throughout the space to showcase pieces and seemingly separate one artist’s work from another’s. There were also two rooms that came off the back of the main room which both showcased individual artists as well. Looking around, styles and mediums were distinct. There were photographs on display in the front of the main room that could be seen through the window, though sculptures on display columns dotted the main room and broke up the remaining empty space the walls did not disrupt. Paintings hung on the walls in the back. Some larger, metal sculptures could be seen through the doorway of one of the rooms in the far back and paintings seemed to be on display on the walls of the other.
Vanessa allowed her coat to slide down her arms before handing it off to be checked. Once she was free of it her arm found its way right back to Jean-Paul’s and wrapped around it. She had found that she was quite content to play arm candy for the night and the people at the restaurant had seemed to be quite approving of Jean-Paul’s life-sized accessory.
Jean-Paul handed his jacket over to be checked after Vanessa and then walked into the main gallery with her. He couldn’t see any of Kevin's pieces yet, since they were apparently in one of the back rooms, and he hadn't set eyes on the Southerner. "The large pieces of metal, they are Kevin's," he said in an undertone. Taking a brochure from a table at the front, he flipped it open with one hand and checked to see who the other artists were. Smiling as he looked over at Vanessa, he quirked a brow and nodded toward some of the pieces hanging on the temporary walls. "What do you think, mon ami? Do you see anything that you like?"
Leaning into her friend’s side, Vanessa’s eyes scanned over everything cursorily. “You realize anything that hangs on my walls that isn’t a weapon was actually picked out by Laurie or Adrienne, yes? There’s a reason for that, mi amor. But I’m curious about the photography. I think those may be more Vanessa-friendly than,” she looked toward a stone sculpture that looked kind of like a writhing, gnarled mass and wrinkled her nose, “that.”
"To the photographs, then," Jean-Paul said with a quiet laugh. "I think that I would like to see them closely for myself, also." And so they wandered over. It didn't take very long for the Quebecois to notice a few men cast surrepticious glances in Vanessa's direction. The smile on his lips turned just ever so slightly smug.
Taking note of the attention being paid to her, Vanessa’s arm moved from around Jean-Paul’s. She picked his arm up and laid it over her shoulders so she could slither her arm around his waist and cuddle herself into his side as much as was possible while in motion. She intentionally leaned against him a bit as they moved. “I like black and white photography. There’s something about it that seems sort of graceful or sad or moving that comes from the disparity from black to white that color doesn’t have. Or maybe I’m just not advanced enough to appreciate color photography as much.”
"I do not know what others might say," Jean-Paul commented, his arm resting comfortably around Vanessa's waist, "but I think it depends on the photograph. Something sad, it is infinitely sadder in black and white. But a sunset is more beautiful in color." He shrugged. Even having mostly lived with Kevin for months, he couldn't really put into words why he liked certain pieces of art more than others. Sometimes it was just what struck him as beautiful in the moment and had no rhyme or reason to it.
“That’s because colors make the sunset. No one wants to watch a sunset that isn’t colorful. But I like black and white sunsets or sunrises, too. The shades of grey can be interesting.” Vanessa stopped in front of a photograph taken inside what appeared to be an empty, abandoned hospital of some sort. It was falling apart, dilapidated, with leaves and dirt and old, torn bits of paper everywhere in the hall. But it was strangely mesmerizing. Maybe even beautiful. Vanessa’s head tilted to the side as she considered it. “I think being an artist is all about how you look at the world. Because they can look at a raggedy place and see that, but I don’t think I ever would.”
“Oui, I agree,” Jean-Paul said, nodding. He could look at something universally acknowledged as beautiful and see the beauty, that was simple. But he would never be able to look at a piece of metal and visualize the things Kevin created with them. He’d never be able to come up with designs and patterns on his own. “It is not the thing I have a talent for...” Nodding toward the next photograph, he said, “But these... they are beautiful.”
Vanessa nodded and trailed over to the next photograph with Jean-Paul. “Mm...they are. I wish I could see the world like that. Beauty in destruction.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek. It seemed strangely appropriate at the moment.
Jean-Paul tapped his fingertips against Vanessa’s hip, the fabric of the dress smooth and silky beneath them. “That is a good way to describe it,” he said, nodding his agreement again because when it came to art, he always felt his words were inadequate. “Do you mind if we see Kevin’s pieces once we have seen the photographs?”
"I'm surprised you didn't drag me right off to stare and marvel at them." Her voice was touched with good-natured teasing and her hip nudged her friend a bit. "It's your boy's big night and here you are, attached to my exceedingly lovely side staring at utterly gorgeous photographs instead of fawning over him and what I assume are his astoundingly brilliant works of art." Vanessa shook her head and made a tsking sound.
“He is with Laura tonight,” Jean-Paul said, keeping his voice low, though his lips turned upward at the corners again. “I will not be rude. And also, I will not drag you places, as you say. The photography is what you wanted to see and so we will see it. It is only fair.” He tapped her hip again, just because he could. And also, perhaps, because a few more men seemed to have taken notice of Vanessa’s plunging neckline. Perhaps he would not be the prettiest tonight, after all.
“You could lead me places rather than drag me,” Vanessa pointed out with a voice pitched low and full of innuendo neither of them had any misguided notion about her meaning. “His stuff is next on our list, though. We did come here to support him, after all. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen his art. Which is no surprise given how entirely artistically inclined we both know that I’m not.”
“Oh, leading,” Jean-Paul murmured, voice just loud enough for one of the men who’d been inching closer to them to hear. Eyes crinkling at the corner in amusement, he nodded. “I think I will be doing a great deal of leading once we get home, Missus Carlysle.”
A sound somewhere between an appreciative groan and a purr responded to him as Vanessa nuzzled her face into Jean-Paul’s neck. “Would you promise me that, Mister Carlysle?” Her lips were curved up into a smile that promised very, very naughty things. A leg even rubbed up and down against Jean-Paul’s for a moment, peeking out from the slit in her dress’ skirt.
“I promise you this,” Jean-Paul said, eyes flicking to the side just a bit and catching the gaze of a man who’d unabashedly been staring at Vanessa’s backside. He arched an eyebrow, his hand sliding a little lower on her hip in a very good approximation of possessiveness. The amusement was still on his face, of course, but there was an underlying hint of steel that had the other man turning on his heel. “This is fun,” he muttered so only Vanessa could hear.
Vanessa had to hide her smile. She barely caught where Jean-Paul was looking when he slid his hand lower. In fact, she was left half burying her face in his neck, shaking slightly with silent laughter. For a gay man Jean-Paul certainly played the territorial boyfriend well. No, not boyfriend, husband.
Once she had herself under control and composed again she raised her head to whisper into Jean-Paul’s ear. “Mi amor, are you going to start wandering about with your hand on my ass so all the men know to whom it belongs? Because if you are we should likely be more centrally located first.” A small giggle bubbled forth at the mental image of that.
“Non, mon aime,” Jean-Paul said, gripping the silky material of her dress between his thumb and forefinger so he could rub it, inching the slit at her side just a little higher. “I think we will do very well here. At least until we are finished looking at the photographs you like so well.” He let the fabric slide free, thumb smoothing out the slight wrinkle, and then nodded toward the next photo on the wall.
Now she couldn’t help it, each laugh came out so quietly and subdued that is was more giggle than laugh. It was probably for the best since her laughter tended to be a bit throaty and the sound carried. Vanessa trailed along to the next photo with Jean-Paul, her attention split between him and the men watching them. For the sake of their audience, Vanessa moved her hand from Jean-Paul’s waist to his shoulders so she could lean into him more bodily. Her free hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was there Vanessa laid her head as she gazed at the photo, this one of a tunnel.
In a fairly quiet, thoughtful voice Vanessa mused, “You’re quite fond of showing me off, aren’t you?”
Tilting his head so his temple could rest against Vanessa’s hair, Jean-Paul considered that. “Is this a trick question that will get me in trouble?” His voice was teasing, though the question was sincere in some ways. He enjoyed the reactions of their audience, he enjoyed the show they could put on together, but more than those things, he enjoyed her company.
The hand dangling off his far shoulder moved to Jean-Paul’s chest so her fingertips could trail along in random little patterns, often following the feel of the woven material beneath them. “No, it’s not a trick question and you won’t get in trouble,” Vanessa answered with a faint smile on her lips. “But you seem to quite enjoy it.”
“I enjoy the games,” Jean-Paul answered. “The teasing of the other people. Showing you off, as you say... I think it is a part of this, but most of all, I think I enjoy that I am able to play this with you, oui?”
Rather than taking that thread any further, Vanessa swapped subjects. “Have I told you that you look fantastic tonight and that for the first time in a very long time I am left to think it is an utter travesty that you don’t like women?”
Jean-Paul snorted softly. He gestured toward her and said, “With the way you look, I think it is very sad that I do not like women, also.”
That earned him another kiss on the cheek. “Mm, well, so long as we are mutually wishing you had the desire to be pinned to a wall or pin me to a wall then I suppose it’s already,” she commented lightly. Given the playful nature of their relationship it was really hard to wish too seriously that he was less gay. All her relationships seemed to end poorly. Their friendship was a huge improvement over the alternative if he were straight.
Chuckling, the Quebecois nodded. “Oui, I suppose it is.” He looked at the picture of the tunnel for another few moments, then meandered over to the next one. Someone passed with champagne on a tray and he grabbed one for Vanessa, then one for himself. He supposed there were snacks somewhere, finger foods, but since they’d eaten before getting here, he wasn’t nearly hungry enough to go searching for them.
Vanessa accepted the glass from Jean-Paul, but it took a moment before she was willing to pluck her head off his shoulder where it had been so comfortable. Drinking, however, necessitated such things. “You know, your boy did well for himself. It’s a small-ish place, but if I figure if they can throw an opening like this then they are at least doing pretty well for themselves. Maybe he’ll get his stuff sold off and get his name out even further.”
Jean-Paul looked at the gallery, a proud sort of smile curling up the corners of his lips. It reached his eyes as he nodded, the corners crinkling again. “Oui, I think he is doing very well for himself, as you say.” Then he laughed softly. “And I think he would like to sell the sculptures so that he does not have to carry them back to the mansion.” Tipping his head toward the next room, he quirked a brow. “May we?”
Now there was a reason to want to sell off one’s artwork, to avoid the hassle of lugging it about. Vanessa was laughing when she nodded. “Yes, we may.” For the sake of the few ears still trying to listen to them she clarified, “Lead me wherever you want me, mi amor.” Sipping the champagne, Vanessa followed Jean-Paul through the room and around pairs and small groups of people until they came to the back room where a number of sculptures stood.
The walls were covered with more photographs that looked like the same photographer they’d just been looking at. Everything in the room had a sort of dark, dangerous feel to it. The black and white photography was very stark in its contrasts, not a lot of grey unlike the ones out front. There were about a half dozen tall, metal sculptures in the room. One was shorter than Vanessa, close to five feet if she had to guess, but the others were all between six and more than eight feet tall. The tallest was in the center of the room. It was gleaming and flawless next to the others. It was the only one, as far as Vanessa could tell, that was made with new material. The other sculptures around the room all seemed to be made of bits and pieces of refurbished metal, stuff that came from cars or refrigerators or whatever else people made of metal. Some had rust spots that were eaten clean through. They were all sharp, angular and sort of harsh. They were large and impressive but they seemed almost hostile.
The sculpture in the center, though, was over eight feet tall and had a sort of waterfall reminiscence to Vanessa. The pieces wound and wove and twisted around one another but it was very flowing. It was almost graceful. Vanessa couldn’t say why it reminded her of a dancer, but it did. “These are...huge.” She wasn’t sure if she exactly liked any of them, but she could appreciate the sort of effort it must have taken to create them.
Another small smile lurked at the corners of Jean-Paul’s lips. “Oui, they are. So you see what I mean about moving them back to the mansion?” He walked over to the first of the sculptures, head tipping to the side a little. “I did not see him making this one,” he nodded toward it. “Only the one in the middle. And the one with the rust.” He was sure, given the timing of when both of those were made, that there was some kind of commentary or symbolism, but he wasn’t sure what it was and he didn’t want to over-analyze it. He’d probably just give himself a headache.
“Maybe you make him feel shiny and rusty so that’s what you inspired,” Vanessa joked. She had no idea about abstract art. Those paintings with the color splatters? Meaningless. The urinal? Dirty. The white canvas? Should be burnt. So, really, apart from wow, they’re huge she didn’t have a whole lot to contribute. She followed Jean-Paul around and stared and tried to make sense of it but there was no sense to be had. So Vanessa fell back on something she did know. “I guess that boy of yours is probably pretty damn buff under all those clothes he wears, hm?”
“Mm... yes,” Jean-Paul said, nodding as he thought about Kevin without his clothing on.
Vanessa gave Jean-Paul a light elbow to the ribs. “You’re drooling, mi amor.” He wasn’t literally, but the look on his face was just as bad if not worse than the actual act of drooling in public. They both came to the same end, really.
Clearing his throat, the Quebecois shook his head. “Non, I am not drooling.” But he was having very happy thoughts. He still hadn’t actually seen Kevin yet, but he had to be around here somewhere. Likely with Laura on his arm.
“You have Figurative Drool all over your shiny, shiny shoes,” she told him, thoroughly amused. There was something so adorable about anyone having that sort of effect on another person. Of course, Vanessa was a little biased where Jean-Paul was concerned so she was happier that someone put that look on his face than she would have been if it were someone else.
“Figurative Drool,” Jean-Paul snorted softly. “This is not a real thing.” He made a show of wiping his chin, though, just to make her laugh. Of course, he turned toward the sculpture in the center of the room then and caught sight of Kevin. His smile stayed in place, though his eyes moved in obvious appreciation over the younger man. It helped he supposed, that they were on opposite sites of the room. He got he full effect of the Southerner’s black on black suit.
Kevin had been more or less attached to Laura’s side since they had arrived. One of the clear advantages of being with her was that Laura was so much more extroverted and social than Kevin was. That meant he could manage to be mostly monosyllabic when he wanted to be and let her do all the talking until people wandered off. She was pretty awesome at it. It also meant that when he spotted Jean-Paul with Vanessa near one of his sculptures Kevin could take the time to appreciate the view. The Quebecois was clad in shades of grey and the form-fitting waistcoat along with the form-fitting trousers highlighted all of his assets as far as Kevin was concerned.
The expression on the Southerner’s face was thoroughly appreciative. He tipped his head to the older man by way of a “hello” and allowed his gaze to linger until the person speaking to Laura started speaking him and forced Kevin’s focus back to them.
Jean-Paul returned the slight tip of the head and raised his glass in a small toast to Kevin, then let his own attention slide back to Vanessa. “The photography,” he murmured, shifting a little so he could see some of the starker pieces on the walls here. “Let us see what they have here.” And then they could move on to one of the other rooms - otherwise he’d spend far too much time appreciating the Southerner and not nearly enough focusing on the artwork. Which would be rude.