L'homme n'est pas ce qu'il est, il est ce qu'il n'est pas. ficlet.
Title: L'homme n'est pas ce qu'il est, il est ce qu'il n'est pas.
Pairing: Esteban Granero / Karim Benzema
Rating: PG
Word Count: 518
written for _runningmascara &hearts
"Always reading, aren't you?"
With an apologozing smile for having made his boyfriend startle Karim entered the room, and took off from his scarf.
Esteban sat on the sill and was indeed reading, white and stark winter sunlight playing in his hair and across the pages of the book in front of him.
He gave Karim a vague shrug, a light smile playing on his lips.
"And ...," Karim stepped out of his shoes and took of his heavy winter coat, "if you don't mind me asking, what kind of book are you reading this time? ... Something for university...?"
Esteban, still smiling, gently shook his head.
"I'm improving my French at the moment ... so I opted for Sartre ...," he then stated, his eyes glued to the book again already.
"Of course it has to be Sartre ... ," Karim smiled as he slowly sat down on the floor right next to where Esteban's legs were, pressing his temple against the buckle of Esteban's knee.
The other man's clothes smelled like the streets did, sun-soaked and life-soild. Somewhere inbetween Karim had learned to become used to this scent, to like it even, even if it was so different from the smell of home he was used to.
"What do you mean with that?", Esteban looked away from the pages and down to Karim, who had folded himself around one of Esteban's legs by now, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed.
Karim took another deep breath of the lively scent before he replied.
"Les objets sont ce qu'ils sont, l'homme n'est pas ce qu'il est, il est ce qu'il n'est pas. ... That's Sartre. ... You don't really have a thing for easy things, that's why reading his texts suits you in a way..."
For a moment, Esteban fell silent, apparently pondering over Karim's words.
"So ... is that a good thing or a bad thing?," the Spaniard eventually asked lowly, pensive concern now interweaved into his voice. "Or better, is this no good thing or no bad thing ...?"
Karim's low sigh was dimmed by the thick fabric of Esteban's jeans.
"You know that I actually don't like Sartre, no? ... And I'm tired..."
"Oh ... sorry, I almost forgot...," Karim heard Esteban closing the book shut, seconds later Esteban was sliding down unto the floor right next to him, looking at him when Karim opened his eyes. "So, how was the talk with..."
Karim only shook his head and leaned in, until his head was resting against Esteban's shoulder.
"I'd rather not talk about it ...," the quiet Frenchman whispered into the crook of Esteban's neck, recognizing the same smell there, not only lingering in his clothes but as well on his skin, revelling in the feeling of Esteban's gentle arms embracing him.
"You're cold ...," Esteban's hands rubbed over as much of Karim's back that he could reach, trying to rub a bit more warmth into the skin there. "Shall I make you something hot to drink?"
"No, thank you. ... You're warm enough ..."
The mumbled confession caused a smile on both of their faces.
Pairing: Esteban Granero / Karim Benzema
Rating: PG
Word Count: 518
written for _runningmascara &hearts
"Always reading, aren't you?"
With an apologozing smile for having made his boyfriend startle Karim entered the room, and took off from his scarf.
Esteban sat on the sill and was indeed reading, white and stark winter sunlight playing in his hair and across the pages of the book in front of him.
He gave Karim a vague shrug, a light smile playing on his lips.
"And ...," Karim stepped out of his shoes and took of his heavy winter coat, "if you don't mind me asking, what kind of book are you reading this time? ... Something for university...?"
Esteban, still smiling, gently shook his head.
"I'm improving my French at the moment ... so I opted for Sartre ...," he then stated, his eyes glued to the book again already.
"Of course it has to be Sartre ... ," Karim smiled as he slowly sat down on the floor right next to where Esteban's legs were, pressing his temple against the buckle of Esteban's knee.
The other man's clothes smelled like the streets did, sun-soaked and life-soild. Somewhere inbetween Karim had learned to become used to this scent, to like it even, even if it was so different from the smell of home he was used to.
"What do you mean with that?", Esteban looked away from the pages and down to Karim, who had folded himself around one of Esteban's legs by now, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed.
Karim took another deep breath of the lively scent before he replied.
"Les objets sont ce qu'ils sont, l'homme n'est pas ce qu'il est, il est ce qu'il n'est pas. ... That's Sartre. ... You don't really have a thing for easy things, that's why reading his texts suits you in a way..."
For a moment, Esteban fell silent, apparently pondering over Karim's words.
"So ... is that a good thing or a bad thing?," the Spaniard eventually asked lowly, pensive concern now interweaved into his voice. "Or better, is this no good thing or no bad thing ...?"
Karim's low sigh was dimmed by the thick fabric of Esteban's jeans.
"You know that I actually don't like Sartre, no? ... And I'm tired..."
"Oh ... sorry, I almost forgot...," Karim heard Esteban closing the book shut, seconds later Esteban was sliding down unto the floor right next to him, looking at him when Karim opened his eyes. "So, how was the talk with..."
Karim only shook his head and leaned in, until his head was resting against Esteban's shoulder.
"I'd rather not talk about it ...," the quiet Frenchman whispered into the crook of Esteban's neck, recognizing the same smell there, not only lingering in his clothes but as well on his skin, revelling in the feeling of Esteban's gentle arms embracing him.
"You're cold ...," Esteban's hands rubbed over as much of Karim's back that he could reach, trying to rub a bit more warmth into the skin there. "Shall I make you something hot to drink?"
"No, thank you. ... You're warm enough ..."
The mumbled confession caused a smile on both of their faces.