General Relativity (14/?)
anonymous
March 29 2010, 03:19:36 UTC
XIV. Special and General Principle of Relativity
“Did you have to keep encouraging him?” groaned Matthew.
Screwing the cork back into the wine bottle (the second wine bottle, as the first had been utterly emptied), Dr. Bonnefoy gave him a fond look. “Matthew, if I left it all to you, things would never happen in this world.”
Mr. Jones, slumped in his chair with his cheek pooled on the desk corner, snored.
Matthew was watching him snore, cataloging the high flush to his cheeks and the way his eyelashes moved when he slept. And somewhat trapped in the middle of a very vivid, unlikely fantasy involving Mr. Jones’ wine-flushed lips wrapped around his erection. And as he was doing that, he was trying very hard not to look like he was doing it, even if Dr. Bonnefoy probably knew right away. “He’s kind of a lightweight, isn’t he?”
“Never had wine before. I’d stake the written word on it.”
Because he’s still young, thought a traitorous part of Matthew. It’s not like he’s that much older than you, and you can’t hold your liquor either. Just out of grad school a few years ago, right? Your parents had a wider age gap.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You know,” continued Dr. Bonnefoy, and he sounded very fond, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you want something before. Not for real. Not like this. It’s very becoming on you-I’m not saying it to tease, mon cher, please lift your head up. There. See, love makes all the difference.”
“Can we not talk about this while he’s here?” Matthew asked weakly. Then, quickly following up, “I’m not in love with him. I don’t know him.”
“Isn’t that the terrible question? Do you fall in love because you know someone, or do you come to know someone because you fall in love?” Dr. Bonnefoy smiled at him, mischievous. “More importantly, who is going to take the unfortunate Mr. Jones home?”
(The unfortunate Mr. Jones, Matthew quickly discovered, weighed a lot more than he looked.)
“Did you have to keep encouraging him?” groaned Matthew.
Screwing the cork back into the wine bottle (the second wine bottle, as the first had been utterly emptied), Dr. Bonnefoy gave him a fond look. “Matthew, if I left it all to you, things would never happen in this world.”
Mr. Jones, slumped in his chair with his cheek pooled on the desk corner, snored.
Matthew was watching him snore, cataloging the high flush to his cheeks and the way his eyelashes moved when he slept. And somewhat trapped in the middle of a very vivid, unlikely fantasy involving Mr. Jones’ wine-flushed lips wrapped around his erection. And as he was doing that, he was trying very hard not to look like he was doing it, even if Dr. Bonnefoy probably knew right away. “He’s kind of a lightweight, isn’t he?”
“Never had wine before. I’d stake the written word on it.”
Because he’s still young, thought a traitorous part of Matthew. It’s not like he’s that much older than you, and you can’t hold your liquor either. Just out of grad school a few years ago, right? Your parents had a wider age gap.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You know,” continued Dr. Bonnefoy, and he sounded very fond, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you want something before. Not for real. Not like this. It’s very becoming on you-I’m not saying it to tease, mon cher, please lift your head up. There. See, love makes all the difference.”
“Can we not talk about this while he’s here?” Matthew asked weakly. Then, quickly following up, “I’m not in love with him. I don’t know him.”
“Isn’t that the terrible question? Do you fall in love because you know someone, or do you come to know someone because you fall in love?” Dr. Bonnefoy smiled at him, mischievous. “More importantly, who is going to take the unfortunate Mr. Jones home?”
(The unfortunate Mr. Jones, Matthew quickly discovered, weighed a lot more than he looked.)
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