FIC : the one (thing) you cannot know
[Title:] The One (Thing) You Cannot Know
[Setting:] AU. Modern day.
[Character(s):] Mireille and Jean Louis
[Summary:] Tonight she'll keep for herself.
He’s asleep next to her, the sheets a mess beneath them and the smell of sex thick in the air. Otherwise crisp and cooled by midnight, flowing in through the open window. Paris is never silent, never sleeping, but the room is filled by her own preference for the quiet. Emphasised by the muted sound of his breathing, a slow constant which would be a notion foreign to him in every other context, any other state. Apart from this, obviously - she has learned. Having made an abundance of observations already, she isn’t watching him; not as such and surely, he’d wake up if she were. Did. Out the corner of her eye, at the very edge of her vision, however, his body is a composition of dark lines and shadows. Cast in an entirely natural light. The semen which has trickled down her inner thighs is mostly dried up at this point, too. Usually she insists on the use of condoms, of course. If one can truly consider the number four an indication of regularity.
The invitation she’d extended to him hadn’t been voiced in the hope or even the expectation of further additions to their existent relation. Least of all physical ones. It has little to do with their age difference, despite its outward explicitness. Less to do with the fact that her experience is both basic and wholly... dependent on her given circumstances. They’ve been interacting freely over the past two years, whenever they happened to meet during her weekends away from Tressange. In the wake of her enrolment at the Sorbonne; whenever his position landed him in her immediate vicinity. To find time, outside his schedule - nothing beyond the span of a few hours ever at his full disposal. While she has all the time in the world, isn’t that so? Amongst books and brick walls. Thus, when he was finally granted the chance for a prolonged stay, she had offered herself as an opportunity. For the sake of equality.
Assured that the implications were long-term rather than pressing. Regardless of the definition.
Strands of his hair are still clinging to her fingers. Her muscles relaxed from her climax earlier. Her mind surprisingly undisturbed, at the patent prospect of Father’s disapproval. He will care, she knows. As he has done unfalteringly. Since -- Until now. Accordingly, she won’t inform him. Because she cares as well, doesn’t she? They shall have to touch upon the subject eventually, Jean Louis and her. Once the extent of this development has been determined by them both, respectively. There is no reason to term it ‘romantic’, when it might be comparative. More. Neither is it in her place to put words in his mouth, when he’s perfectly capable of speaking for himself. Father should be the first to acknowledge this particular talent. In the end, he has made excellent use of it.
Turning onto her side, with her back to him - the bed’s other occupant, she focuses her attention on the changing light. It’s close to four in the morning. Tonight she’ll keep for herself, along with everything that must follow. Comes after, secondly. Depending on their individual decisions, but definitely theirs shared. Nevertheless. Father has made his choices, on repeat. Jean Louis his, three hours ago. She makes hers in response to the moment. Its momentum.
Perhaps a first. And at last, certainly.