Paris Or Somewhere

by Berty & Saladscream

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asb/berty/parisor.php
Summary: Paris. The City Of Lights. Ultimately, it's just another place that isn't home
Info: Inspired by a manip by Saladscream

Paris.

The most cultured city in the world.

A mecca for artists and scholars and philosophers for centuries.

The City of Lights.

He's been there four months when it finally hits him.

Ultimately, it's just another place that isn't home.

So one minute he's in the records office, hunkered down in front of a medieval charter, squinting to make out the dense text, and the next it's dark and he's wandering along the Seine watching the tourist boats ply up and down the black water, their lights gaudy and the voices of their tour guides distorted and alien.

His face is cold and his eyes are tired and stinging. His throat is raw and full, and he doesn't know if he's hungry or if he wants to puke. Not that he has anything to puke, as he can't remember having had any lunch.

He always finds the walk along the river strangely unsatisfying; the comparative quiet, the shards of light reflecting off the water and the artfully arranged gloom all striving for postcard beauty. To him it always looks more contrived than romantic.

He wishes he could feel the so-called glamour that attracts so many people here from all over the world, but he's just not getting it. God knows he wanted to know Paris - a faded memory of his mother telling him they would go there someday and that he'd love it; his grandfather once mentioning that it was where his parents had first met. He's wanted to live here for a while, soak up what he could from the old stones, make a connection, maybe even grow some roots... In fact, he now realises, he expected it to be like coming home.

Turns out it isn't, and he feels like an utter fool for ever imagining it could be.

A jogger huffs by and Daniel looks around, as if awakening; he gets his bearings, then cuts down a side street. Even insensible, his feet have brought him back to his current digs. He's just a half mile from there. The sidewalks are full of late shoppers, students on their way out for the evening and businessmen on their way home; everyone seems to have some place to be, something to do. He keeps his head down and walks.

Just three streets from his place, he passes a little cafŽ with delusions of being a bistro. It looks warm and bright and cheap; most of all it promises a hot dinner with no cooking and no washing up involved on his part, so, on a whim, Daniel changes direction and goes inside.

He's passed this place many times but hadn't ever realised that it was a strange shape inside, opening out from the tiny street frontage to have a number of tables at the back, all of them filled. He orders coffee and the classic "steak-frites", then finds a cramped seat close to the counter and cradles his cup.

Customers squeeze past, ordering their snacks and drinks, but Daniel doesn't really notice them until a man asks in an accent he can't pin down, "Cette place est-elle prise?"

"Non, allez-y," Daniel says, not bothering to look as he tucks his feet under his own chair so as not to tangle with the newcomer's long legs.

"Thanks," the guy says, making Daniel look up quickly. He's older than Daniel expected from the jeans and boots he's wearing; his hair has silver flecks, as does his three-day stubble. He's not looking at Daniel, but signalling to the man behind the counter who nods at him matter-of-factly, like he knows him.

Daniel's food arrives, and now he wishes he had a book with him or a newspaper, something for him to concentrate on other than the guy opposite. As it is, the table is ridiculously small and Daniel feels a bit foolish, stuck in a t�te-ˆ-t�te with this stranger. He scans the rest of the room and tries to take an interest in the other customers. It works for all of five seconds. There's a mirror behind the counter, Daniel supposes it's to make the place feel bigger, and the reflection gives him the perfect opportunity to watch the guy's profile.

It's impolite to stare and Daniel's food is cooling, but there's something about the way he looks... so relaxed, so at ease in his own skin. Like he owns the place. Maybe it has to do with his casual appearance: scruffy but not dirty, tired-looking but alert. Maybe it's just the shrewdness in his eyes. This guy could probably walk into any room anywhere on the face of the globe and he'd still look as though he belonged. It's a skill Daniel has always admired - and perhaps envied just a little.

Judging by the accent the man's American, but his French was fluent and natural enough that Daniel hadn't realised at first. He's currently watching something or someone with amused intensity. The line of his mouth as the corners quirk up is pleasant and the spark of humour in his eyes...

"So, what do you study?"

Daniel hears the words, sees the man's reflection speak, but it takes him a few seconds and a quick glance over each shoulder to realise he's the one being spoken to.

"Excuse me?"

"Studying. Let me guess..." The guy leans back in his chair and pins him with such a searching look that Daniel's first impulse is to cross his arms and scowl. Daniel taking an interest in this guy's appearance doesn't mean he wants to strike up a conversation.

"History," the man says finally, and it's not really a question.

"What makes you think I'm...?"

An eloquent shrug and a direct look, "No guidebook, no map, no shopping bag, no briefcase. And you're in the Quartier Latin, so... student?"

"Postdoctoral Research Fellow," Daniel mutters and the guy smirks triumphantly. The jerk.

"History?"

"Anthropology."

"Close."

"Not really, no," Daniel shoots back, suddenly irritated with this man's overconfidence - to think he'd found it compelling just a minute before. He attacks his fries, staring determinedly at his plate when the rude-guy's own food arrives. The man thanks the server by name and orders two beers which are swiftly delivered to the table.

"Non," he corrects, "celle-ci est pour moi. L'autre est pour mon ami."

A bottle is thumped down in front of Daniel, forcing him to meet his fellow diner's slightly quizzical gaze. Daniel wonders if it's an apology or an assumption or what, but the guy lifts his bottle in salute toward Daniel.

"To being far from home," he says and takes a long pull.

And Daniel can't argue with that, so he does the same.

A little conversation can't hurt, after all.

~~::~~::~~

The guy's name is Jack, it turns out. And that pretty much sums up the amount of information Daniel extracts from him over the course of two further beers. It's a novel experience for Daniel to find someone who's as cagey about his personal details as he is himself; he's beginning to feel a newfound sympathy for those who have tried to befriend him over the years.

Although little by way of histories is exchanged, they don't want for conversation topics. Jack seems to know Paris inside out and is scandalized that Daniel hasn't visited so much as a single one of the sights since arriving. He also has interesting views on globalization, the Impressionists and who is most deserving of blame, Calvin or Hobbes.

It's as strange as it's pleasant and Daniel tries not to read too much into any of it.

In fact, Daniel doesn't know he's waiting to see what happens next... until it actually happens. Jack is paying his bill and pulling his jacket from the back of his chair. Daniel realises that in two minutes, Jack will be gone and he'll be alone again in a city that isn't home with a life that's filled only with study. And it's pretty scary to think that a shared meal and an hour's conversation with a stranger is the most connected Daniel's felt in months, but he finds he doesn't want to go back to his room and read. His studies hold no appeal for him tonight.

Jack watches while Daniel throws the money for his own meal on the table, but says nothing. And with his heart thumping unevenly Daniel follows Jack out of the cafŽ and onto the street. It's exhilarating and terrifying, but Daniel wants to know more about this man. Much more.

It's warm outside and the traffic has slowed considerably. There are still people around, looking for restaurants or bars in which to while away an hour or two.

Jack stops on the sidewalk and looks left and right, and Daniel knows this is it; he has to say something now or watch Jack walk away forever. Shame he's so far out of his league, here.

"Would... would you like to go for a drink?" he asks quickly, awkwardly.

Jack puts his hands in his jeans pockets and looks closely at Daniel, giving him another of his penetrating stares. Then he looks down at his feet. "Not really thirsty, Daniel," he says slowly.

"Right. Of course." And if that doesn't tell Jack that Daniel is the king of idiots, he doesn't know what will. They've done nothing but drink and eat for the past hour for Christ's sake! "Um..." His palms are getting hot and damp and cold and dry.

"You live near here?"

Daniel has to take a deep breath before he can answer, his heart now tumbling in his chest like it's rolling down a hillside. "Yeah... uh, not far, uh, about three streets away."

Jack nods thoughtfully. "I might be thirsty if I had to walk as far as three streets."

Daniel blinks at him a few times before he can make sense of those few words, his mind shooting off on strange and exciting tangents. This guy is either embarrassingly corny or extremely forgiving.

"Well, I have some wine, I think, but if you want beer..."

"Wine will be fine," Jack smiles, amused again.

"Okay then," Daniel agrees quickly and smiles back, because he might be wrong - although he doesn't think he is - but he may have just agreed to some company for the night which is unexpected and unlooked for, but very welcome.

Jack lifts an eyebrow at him and tilts his head.

"What?" Daniel asks uncertainly.

"You gonna show me the way or am I expected to find it by myself?" Jack's grin is sly, but not mocking, so Daniel just rolls his eyes and turns toward his place. He's a social train wreck all by himself, but he has six feet plus of tall, dark and handsome falling in beside him, so he stops second-guessing himself and just relishes the way their arms brush together as they walk.

~~::~~::~~

Daniel drops his keys on the table, clicks on a lamp, and it's like he's seeing his place through new eyes altogether. Through Jack's eyes.

It isn't exactly a pretty sight.

The walls are a tired white but clean, and the floorboards are uneven between the rugs spread to deaden the noise of his footfalls. The furniture that came with the room is all antique, but scuffed and mismatched, and Daniel wonders what Jack can think of a guy his age who still doesn't actually have a single piece of furniture to his name. He has books. Lots of books, some still in boxes, some piled on chairs and on the table and by his bed. The place isn't a mess, really, it's just that the bookshelf didn't have a hope of containing a fifth of Daniel's collection.

He's about to open his mouth and say something inane, like, "Home, sweet home... not," when Jack stops at the window.

Tucked up in the attic of what must have been a beautiful townhouse before it became apartments, the best thing about Daniel's digs is the view. Jack's face is unguarded for a moment, and Daniel sees surprise and wonder and happiness wash across Jack's worldly face, just for a second.

Through the window, which reaches from floor to ceiling, the city is laid out for them, lit up in a dozen clashing colours that somehow manage to make one harmonious whole. Although you can't see the ubiquitous Tower, you can see the heights of Notre Dame, and if you stretch, you can catch a glimpse of the Louvre and the Pont Neuf. Daniel can lose whole hours just staring out of the window and watching life unfold before him. It's this view alone that reconciles him with the city.

And now for the difficult part. The part Daniel has always dreaded when it comes to these encounters. Getting from small-talk to where they both know this is going. Momentary relief washes through him as he remembers he's promised a drink to his surprise guest.

He finds the wine bottle by the sink, one glassful missing and the cork jammed back into the neck, and pours two tumblers. Relief takes a dent when he realises one's cut glass and the other has a soft drink company stencilled on the side.

Jack takes his glass with a quiet thank you, then sips thoughtfully. Daniel isn't sure what to say, so he takes a place beside Jack and watches a taxi slowly make its way up the narrow street.

"So, where do you come from?" Jack asks without taking his eyes from the city at night.

Daniel takes a deep breath - he always hates this question, because he never has a clear and simple answer for it. As usual he rambles, "Well I was born in Cairo, but my parents moved around a lot when I was young. My mom was American and my dad was half Dutch. They had a house in Chicago, but their work meant we only went there for a few months at a time. When they..." Daniel shakes himself, shocked by what he was about to reveal and realises that Jack is watching their reflection in the glass, not Paris at all. He feels strangely vulnerable and changes tack. "By the time I was eight, I'd spent more time in Egypt and Bolivia than in the States. So, in answer to your question, everywhere I guess. Or nowhere."

Jack nods like he gets it, and Daniel is suddenly irritated. He doesn't want to be analysed. Jack doesn't need to know these things about him. Why is he even bothering to act like he's interested? This is what it is. No one needs to pretend it's more.

"Does it matter?" he asks, his chin lifting in challenge.

"Not even slightly," Jack murmurs. He turns his head, and Daniel turns too, wondering what he'll say next, but Jack is right there, already leaning in with an easy grace and touching their mouths together.

Daniel can taste the tartness of the wine echoed on Jack's lips.

And surely it's never been this simple, but somehow, tonight, it is. It's as if Daniel's dating awkwardness has found an instant cure in Jack. Daniel wants what Jack is offering, and there's no reason why he shouldn't just take it.

Jack threads his fingers through Daniel's hair until they cradle the back of his head, holding them together as Jack licks into Daniel's mouth, his flavour exploding on Daniel's tongue, exotic and exciting. His stubble is a hot, bright prickle against Daniel's chin and Daniel groans softly - every sense fully engaged.

Daniel grazes his teeth over Jack's bottom lip and sucks on it softly, eliciting a low sound of approval. He grasps Jack's biceps and holds on tight, but in the back of his head there's a voice that says that he shouldn't. That he's giving too much away. That this won't make it better, only worse. That he should reassert some distance between them to buffer the inevitable return to normality where things like this just don't happen to Daniel.

But Jack feels right, tastes right, and Daniel wants him with everything he's got. He doesn't recall ever wanting anyone this badly, this fast and another persistent little voice in the back of his mind tells him that has to mean something.

His fingers find the cloth of Jack's shirt and he spreads a greedy palm at his waist, feeling warmth and muscle and a reassuring solidity. He doesn't know who he's become, because he's never this bold normally, but it's easy to slide his fingers through the material and begin to unbutton.

Jack smiles against his lips and breathes a small laugh into Daniel's mouth. Jack's tongue, when it slides between Daniel's lips again, is confident and knowing but not pushy, and Daniel somehow understands that he could seize control of this kiss if he wanted to. But it's too good just to relax and let Jack take.

His fist twisted in the back of Daniel's t-shirt, Jack tugs on it, pulling it up and over Daniel's head. They have to stop kissing for a moment, and when Daniel can see again, Jack's eyes are intent and somewhat amused. He reaches up and smoothes Daniel's hair back from his forehead, combing it into some semblance of order, before he dives back in, his mouth fitting against Daniel's perfectly.

They break apart to breathe, and Daniel stares openly at the man staring back at him. In the combined light of the lamp and the window, Jack is almost too good to be true. His shirt open, his lips slick and his eyes dark, he looks better than any fantasy Daniel could have dreamed up.

Daniel can't seem to catch his breath properly. Want has become need somewhere along the way, and he needs this, but he finds himself overwhelmed, confused by Jack's easy compliance and the effortless connection they've made. He has to get some space, a little distance or else he feels that he'll forget who he is altogether.

"I'm just..." Daniel takes a step back and gestures toward the door to his bathroom. "I need to... Can you give me a minute?"

Jack gives him a long, thoughtful look, like he sees right through him, then nods.

With the bathroom door between them, Daniel swipes a hand through his hair and sighs. He's acting like a crazy, he knows, and he won't blame Jack if he's had enough of his brand of seduction and gone by the time Daniel returns. He feels like everything he's thought about himself has turned out to be baseless; he has the sensation that he's freefalling. And maybe Jack is the catalyst, but he can't blame him for this. He just wonders who he'll be when he lands again.

He looks at himself in the mirror, the harsh, yellow overhead light reflecting unflatteringly. It's still him staring back, and Daniel feels like an idiot, but he somehow expected to be able to see a physical expression of what's happening in his head. He looks tired, a little jaded, but nothing more.

He turns on the shower and strips while the water warms. His skin feels itchy, like it's suddenly too small for him, like there's something beneath it that needs to be set free. The water feels good, and Daniel's hands work methodically and without his conscious input, soaping himself thoroughly, not wanting to leave any part of him untouched, unburdened.

He grabs a threadbare towel from the hook on the wall and repeats the process, drying himself meticulously with long sweeps of the rough material. It's calming, mindless, and Daniel's breathing settles, his mind open now to what is happening.

He thinks about going out there naked, but settles instead on just pulling his jeans back on and opening the door before he begins to overthink even this insignificant detail.

Jack is still there, and he turns when Daniel enters. His eyes drift slowly down Daniel's chest, all the way to his bare feet and then, equally as slowly, back up to Daniel's face.

Eager to avoid more talking because he has no answers yet, Daniel crosses the room and takes Jack's hand, leading him the few steps to his bed, which is the second best thing about his room. He sometimes wonders if the bed is as old as the house; with its big, brass frame and deep, comfortable mattress it's a thing from a bygone era, ostentatious and decadent.

Jack drains his wine and Daniel takes the glass, placing it carefully on the floor by the book-covered nightstand. And then Jack's hands are cupping Daniel's jaws and he's drawing him in for another soul-stealing kiss.

Jack kisses like he's known Daniel forever, like he's spent years perfecting this technique of finding the things that Daniel loves and using them to his advantage.

Together, wordlessly, they ease down onto the bed, taking their time. Daniel pushes Jack's shirt from his shoulders, running his hands down his biceps and forearms and feeling the potential strength there. The hair on his chest is sparse but crisp under Daniel's curious fingers, and peppered with silver like that on his head.

Jack's hands drift lower, over his shoulders, across his chest and belly to the waistband of Daniel's jeans. He unbuttons and unzips and pushes gently, only exposing the jut of his hipbones. Jack pauses, licks his lips thoughtfully and again lets his eyes drift the path that he's just mapped with his fingers.

Daniel's never been comfortable with this kind of physical scrutiny before and he knows a twinge of embarrassment, but then Jack fits a warm, broad hand over his hip, his possessive fingers spread wide, and Daniel is reminded of the masculinity of his partner, a strength to match his own, a need as sharp and overwhelming, and all other considerations vanish from his head.

"I want you to fuck me," he says quietly and with utter certainty.

Jack smiles, a one-sided twist of his lips, and pins him again with his dark, questioning gaze, but doesn't ask him if he's sure or if he's done that before, for which Daniel is thankful. Instead he drags his fingers down Daniel's flank, his thumbnail scraping just enough to make Daniel's skin tingle and his nipples tauten.

"I haven't exactly come dressed for that party, Daniel," he murmurs.

Daniel sits up and stretches over Jack to the nightstand where he knows there's a bottle of slick and a half empty box of condoms that he's been optimistically carrying from place to place for a year or more. He's not consciously celibate, but he's not really the type to go looking either, at least not often. But here he is, his body stretched along that of a stranger, pressing a little plastic square and a snap top bottle into his hand.

Jack glances at the supplies, then dumps them on the pillow and reaches for Daniel again. Jack's hands feel good, and to Daniel's surprise, he's still taking his time, touching and stroking. It's soothing, and again, Daniel finds himself losing track, lost in some weird headspace where he doesn't have to worry about tomorrow or consequences.

He's brought back by Jack's tongue licking broad wet stripes over his nipples, making him sigh.

"Hey, welcome back. Been somewhere nice?" Jack asks, the amused edge of his voice audible over the thickness of his desire.

Daniel opens his eyes to see Jack suspended over him, watching him carefully, waiting for Daniel to make the next move. He's real and close, and Daniel realises he should never have shut his eyes at all because he's missing how the low light plays over Jack's skin, how his muscles flow as he moves, how his eyes darken when Daniel smiles.

There's something here in the room with them tonight that Daniel has no name for. It's something shared and comfortable, it's connection and it's easy, and rather than turning his back on it to pursue the familiar path of his own transient satisfaction, Daniel reaches for it and lets it lead him, as terrifying as that may be. He wonders what it is about Jack that makes him behave this way, why he's suddenly opening himself up to god knows what after knowing this guy for only two hours.

Jack holds himself over Daniel with one hand and with the other he brushes his knuckles down the swell of his erection.

"Mmm," Jack mutters, kissing Daniel's throat and cupping his cock in his palm through the denim. "Yeah. Need to get rid of these."

Between them they manage to get the jeans off Daniel's hips and down to his thighs where he can kick them off altogether. And still Jack lingers, running his hands gently, almost reverently, over Daniel's skin.

Daniel feels somewhat exposed, knowing that Jack still has his boots on while he's lying there completely naked, but he's not nervous. Jack's face is open, and all Daniel sees there is want and appreciation.

With a hard kiss, Jack leans back and scoots off the bed, his eyes never leaving Daniel. He deals with his boots and socks, then skims out of his jeans, standing quietly unashamed when Daniel lifts up onto his elbows so he can look.

Jack is slim, well-muscled and not too hairy. He has the physique of a man who uses his body, not a man who spends hours in the gym. His cock is thick rather than long, and it's mostly hard, jutting from between his legs impatiently.

Daniel holds out a hand in invitation, and Jack rejoins him on the bed, sinking into slow, deep kisses that have Daniel harder now than he's been for most of the men and women he's ever fucked.

Jack's palms touch and stroke everywhere but where he wants it most, and Daniel's thinking he might have to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, when Jack slides down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his throat, his nipples and his belly. Daniel's breath hitches involuntarily when Jack noses along his hip and the crease where is leg joins his abdomen, then he groans long and loud as Jack's hot, perfect tongue licks a broad stripe up the underside of his aching cock.

With his eyes tightly shut again, Daniel accepts Jack's worshipful attentions. If he opens his eyes to see Jack's pretty mouth stretched around him, he knows he'll come. Jack seems to know the ideal pressure and amount of suction to keep Daniel balancing on a knife edge without letting him fall, and after a couple of minutes, Daniel stops anticipating his release, stops striving for it and instead forces himself to relax and just let it happen.

This seems to please Jack enormously, and he hums happily around Daniel's shaft, then moves lower to lick and suck his balls.

When Jack kisses his way back up his body, Daniel's shaking despite all his efforts to relax, but Jack soothes him with more easy kisses, letting him come down a little. He's kneeling astride him, and Daniel realises that he hasn't explored Jack in the same way.

Jack sits back on his heels when Daniel's hand gently cups his balls. Daniel can feel the press of Jack's hot, sweaty skin against his sensitised cock, but ignores it as best he can while he rolls Jack's balls in his hand. Jack's shaft is smooth and hard, and it fills Daniel's palm as if designed to do so.

Jack seems happy to let him play for a while, but then lowers himself back down onto Daniel's body, stretching himself out to cover him. He kisses him softly. "How do you want to do this?" Jack asks.

"I don't... anything you like."

This time Daniel is ready for the intense look when Jack pulls back to stare into his face, and he returns it with one of his own. He has no idea what Jack is looking for when he does this, but he seems to find something there, and he drops one more gentle kiss on Daniel's mouth before sitting up and reaching for the lube bottle.

"Okay," Jack says quietly. "Like this. Stay like this."

His fingers are blunt and cool, and Daniel spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate the stretch. Jack snags a pillow and gets it under Daniel's hips. Daniel lifts up obligingly, his muscles tightening around Jack's finger making him shiver. As soon as he settles again, Jack pushes in with a second and Daniel groans at the feeling of fullness. It's been a while since he did this with anyone, and his body has forgotten how powerful the sensations are.

Jack withdraws his fingers and traces patterns up the inside of Daniel's thighs, encouraging him to bend his knees. His breath coming faster, Daniel allows Jack to slide his palms beneath his ass and lift him further then slide easily back in with three fingers.

"God!" Daniel grates through gritted teeth as Jack's long fingers open him up. He thinks he might come just from that. It's unnerving how this is affecting him, he's exposed and out of his depth. He thinks that maybe he should have rolled over, because he can't look away from Jack's eyes, and Jack must be able to see everything written on his face. There are no hiding places left.

Then Jack's rolling on a condom, his hands sure and steady, and he's lining himself up, and Daniel has to concentrate on the burn and the pressure and the breath-stealing perfection of it.

Jack's eyes never waver as he holds Daniel open and presses into his body: he's inexorable, undeniable, and he seems to take hours to slide all the way home. Daniel feels trapped by his gaze even more than he feels the physical weight of Jack's body pinning him there.

Finally, his balls flush against Daniel's ass, Jack takes a shuddering breath and stills. Daniel's hole aches at the fullness, his muscles fluttering around Jack's length as he's forced to accept it. He tries to calm his heart, beating wildly in his chest.

Jack's shoulders flex and smooth as he shifts his weight forward onto his hands and begins to rock into Daniel. Daniel feels boneless and heavy - he doesn't think he could lift himself if he had to, there's so much sensation to experience, so much pleasure to endure. It's like every single nerve ending has a tale to tell him about how good, how warm and how thick Jack is, and how the stretch burns, and how the slick doesn't take away any of the texture of Jack's cock inside him.

Emotions are surfacing that Daniel hasn't articulated in years, feelings and needs that he hasn't acknowledged, even to himself, since he was a child. He's usually a very controlled man - he's been called reserved, detached even, and it's true; the world sees what Daniel allows them to. But now, without warning, all his insecurities and long-held dreams are bubbling to the top, thickening in his throat and pricking at his eyes.

All because of a guy he practically picked up off the street.

It could be that this was going to happen anyway - after his epiphany in the record office, maybe today was just a day for some uncomfortable realisations and Jack just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Daniel isn't convinced. There's something about Jack's easy acceptance, about this indefinable connection Daniel feels flowing between them that makes him think that perhaps it was the right place and the right time.

Perhaps Daniel really needed this.

Perhaps Jack is here to catch him from a fall that's been years in coming.

Jack's eyes are in half-shadow, but the light catches his cheekbone and scatters in his stubble. His hair is sweat damp and there's a sheen on his brow, his shoulders, his chest. Daniel has to know how that feels, and he reaches up a hand to sweep across Jack's collarbone. Hot skin, slickness, strength.

He curls a hand around the back of Jack's neck and pulls him down into a sloppy, panting kiss. Jack all but growls into his mouth and Daniel's dick jerks hard in response. He sinks back into the mattress, lifts his legs higher, grasping them behind the knees and opens himself completely to Jack.

Jack hisses as he sinks deeper, and Daniel groans as the change in angle catches him with a sweet, shivery sensation that's almost too good. It's as if Daniel's contribution has flicked a switch inside Jack. The even, measured glide of his hips is gone and in its place is an all-consuming need. He thrusts into Daniel with a brutal intensity that thrills him. Daniel feels vindicated by Jack's loss of control; his own surrender having triggered Jack's in turn.

Jack's face is flushed and his chest heaves, dragging in breath, but he never closes his eyes. Daniel doesn't know how, but Jack shifts his weight onto one hand and takes a firm grasp on Daniel's cock, tugging it in a hard counterpoint to his own rhythm.

It's too much, too extreme, and Daniel can feel his orgasm rushing toward him like a dark wave. He throws an arm over his face, too overwhelmed by the physical and emotional sensations, unwilling to let Jack see how truly undone he is, and he comes so hard it's like a point of perfect pain, rippling out from his cock into the rest of his body, that robs him of breath or speech or thought.

Daniel floats on it, aware that his body is a rigid, spasming arc, and that the pleasure has made him drunk and incapable. He takes a shuddering breath and feels Jack swell, pouring himself into Daniel in long, wracking pulses which send new stabs of sensation through Daniel's body. He feels a hand close around his wrist and he's too uncoordinated to resist when Jack pulls away his arm, pinning it to the mattress above his head.

Opening his eyes, Daniel stares straight into Jack's, shining and sated above him, looking at him, always watching him, searching for something that Daniel thinks he would give him, if only he knew what it was.

With a soft, almost regretful kiss, Jack pulls out and flops down beside him, his arm flung across Daniel's belly which is still slick with come. He kisses Daniel's shoulders, leaves his lips there, mouthing softly at Daniel's skin, and Daniel begins to think about getting cleaned up and whether Jack will stay or go, but the night wraps around them and Jack's breath lulls him to sleep.

~~::~~::~~

He wakes to a gentle hand wrapped around his shaft and a pair of bright, intelligent eyes watching him. It's not quite sunrise and his room is still in shadow, but the darkness of the night has been replaced by a watery grey which hints at the colours to come. Daniel gives in to the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, stretches and feels the prickle of dried come snag on his chest and groin. But the slow-moving hand, working him so delicately is too good and Daniel forgets that he itches and that he must smell rancid. He falls into the rhythm that Jack is imposing on his body - smooth and unhurried.

Jack smiles in return, obviously pleased with Daniel's easy acquiescence. There's no urgency, it's as if Jack has no intention of bringing Daniel off. His hand is inquisitive, learning rather than demanding. He watches Daniel with a strange kind of wonder. No one has ever taken this sort of care over Daniel's body before; no one has touched him so intimately without their own pleasure in mind.

Leaning over him, Jack opens up Daniel's mouth with his own. There's a familiarity in this simple act, even more so than the hand on his cock. There's trust and acceptance, the implication of an intimacy that should have taken months to build, rather than a single night. This time Daniel is ready for the sense of dislocation, and counters it by going onto the offensive. He slides his tongue against Jack's, slow and deliberate; he opens his thighs a little wider inviting Jack's touch.

Jack doesn't fail to take advantage. He smiles against Daniel's mouth and reaches down to take his balls in a gentle, wide hand. He rolls them, smoothing a thumb over the skin there, and Daniel stifles a moan. The sensations are so good - not enough that he wants to come any time soon, but a slow spiralling need and a trust that it will happen when the time is right.

He concentrates on breathing, lets it wash over him and loses track of everything except the exquisite friction. Jack's hands are patient and he seems to know Daniel's hot spots, when to back-off and when to push for just a little more. When Daniel opens his eyes and reaches for Jack, the other man kisses him sweetly, but pushes him firmly back down, making it clear that Daniel's input is not required at this time. Daniel complies and vows that he will make good on this pleasure when it's his turn.

Jack's eyes are a steady, constant weight on his skin, and this is the only part which Daniel would alter if he could. He has given his body over completely; Jack's hands touch him more intimately than any man or woman has ever dared before. And it's not so much that Daniel has never been touched in these places, but the way in which Jack's hands linger and move so slowly, the way that implies ownership. But Jack's gaze unsettles Daniel this morning - he's happy to fall apart for Jack, but Jack's eyes demand more than that. They demand that Daniel give it willingly, give it without question and give it with full understanding of all that implies.

Daniel is both terrified and elated at what this means. Connection. Belonging. Understanding.

Daniel knows he's going to come - his body thrums with it, his muscles sing and when the yearning becomes too great, he lifts his arm, hides his face in the crook of his elbow and moans Jack's name.

The stroking stops instantly, and Daniel can't process its loss, he gasps, his hips jerking up instinctively into the hand that now holds him in a slack grip.

"Let me see you," Jack says, his voice rough with lack of use.

Daniel pants and strains, his cock twitching with the need for release. His head rolls on his pillow, uncoordinated and desperate. Just the pressure of Jack's gentle fist is so close to enough.

Jack's hand closes around Daniel's wrist and pulls it up, once again pinning it above his head, and Daniel has nowhere to look but Jack's eyes.

Jack presses a soft kiss to Daniel's temple and murmurs, "Give me this."

Daniel nods shakily and Jack leans back, watching hungrily. Daniel places both arms above his head, forces his shoulders to relax. "Please," he manages.

Jack's hand tightens slowly and Daniel has to fight to keep his eyes from falling shut. Jack smiles in approval and he begins to stroke again, root to tip, carefully and thoroughly. Daniel can feel each scrape of rough skin, the heat of Jack's palm, the damp slide of their sleep sweaty, sex slicked skin. Jack takes his time; Daniel hadn't realised that he still had so far to go, but the wave is inevitable, it builds on the edge of Daniel's consciousness, and swells as it rolls up to meet him. Daniel presses his wrists to the pillow above his head and reminds himself over and over to lie still, that Jack's eyes are not judging him, that he's not giving away anything that will harm him.

And Jack watches silently as Daniel trembles and gasps and flies apart.

~~::~~::~~

When Daniel opens his eyes again he's alone in the bed. The sun has risen enough that Daniel can see the twist of sheets and soft hollow where Jack slept, but it's still early enough that the noises of the city are still muted and distant.

Cautiously Daniel sits up, idly scratching at his belly where Jack's come and his own have dried together. Jack hadn't given Daniel the chance to return the favour, but instead had straddled Daniel's panting, oversensitised body and jerked himself off on Daniel's sweaty skin. He'd taken long enough that Daniel had been able to catch his breath and fully appreciate the show - the tension in Jack's abdomen, the glisten at the head of Jack's cock, the knots in Jack's thighs as he'd shot onto Daniel's groin and abdomen.

Daniel looks around, wondering if Jack has left a note, if there's any evidence at all that he'd been here.

But Jack is still there.

He's pulled one of Daniel's scuffed up, mismatched chairs to the window and has sat himself where he can watch the Paris skyline. Daniel leans forward, captured by the view. It's as if time has set aside a space for this moment, a second of perfect stillness and clarity. A pause for breath.

Jack hasn't bothered to get dressed and he seems utterly comfortable in his nakedness. His eyes are intent on the city awakening, one arm is braced on the chair back, a cigarette in his fingers. Its smoke describes a trace around him, insubstantial and silvery in the morning light.

Daniel is struck once again by Jack's ease, by Jack's impression of solidity, of place. He has a realness that Daniel has never recognised in anyone before, that he thinks he lacks himself.

He slips from the bed making enough noise that Jack isn't surprised when Daniel lays a hand on his shoulder, wanting to touch this strange immutable point that he seems to be. Jack's shoulders are warm and smooth and reassuringly alive.

Jack offers a slow smile over his shoulder. "Hey. I was wondering when you'd wake up."

Daniel leans down and even as a part of his mind registers fear and shock, he kisses the nape of Jack's neck, feeling the prickle of Jack's hair against his upper lip. As if he's allowed to. As if it's his to take.

Jack hums and drops his head forward, inviting more kisses, so Daniel runs his lips across the knobs of his spine and along the vital perfect curve of his shoulder before he goes to make coffee. He hears Jack's chair creak and the soft snick of the bathroom door a few seconds later as he scoops coffee into the cafetiere and waits for the water to heat.

With a mug in his hand, and Jack's cooling beside him on the nightstand, Daniel is sitting up in bed when Jack returns. He's dressed, his hair slightly damp where he's obviously run a wet hand through it.

Jack crosses to the bed, takes a mouthful from his mug, then pulls on his jacket. He leans down and kisses Daniel, slow and sweet. Daniel can't decide if that's goodbye or thank you or see you later.

The words won't come, so Daniel says nothing as Jack turns as he reaches the door, looking back at the window before his eyes rest on Daniel.

Jack looks at him steadily, and Daniel looks back. He's never experienced being entirely lost for words before, but somehow he's not concerned that he can't find the right thing to say here. He's not certain, but he thinks they've already said everything that needs to be said.

Jack smiles and leaves, the click of the door behind him like punctuation.

The smell of cigarettes lingers. Daniel finishes his coffee, then finishes Jack's. He pads to the window and watches the sunlight catch the rooftops, slate grey to quicksilver. He showers and dresses, washes their glasses and strips the bed, then picks up his keys from the table.

The street is still quiet, chilly in the shadows until the sun has risen higher in the sky, but at the end of the street, the pale sunshine has already flooded in, and as Daniel steps into it his eye is immediately drawn to the figure across the way, leaning over the wall to stare down into the river. Scruffy but not dirty. Tired-looking but alert. Smiling.

Daniel crosses the street and joins him there beside the Pont Neuf where the river splits around the Ile de la CitŽ, half racing left and half right. Too early even for the cruise boats, a lone, dirty scow ploughs through the dark water of the Seine sending white foam dancing madly in its wake, silver and sparkling.

It's beautiful.

"So, Paris, huh?" Jack says, leaning back to squint up into the soft blue of the early morning sky.

Daniel shrugs his shoulders, stuffs his hands in his pockets and breathes in the cool air. He can feel something inside him fracture, filling him with a slow, pervading warmth, and he's already smiling when Jack finally turns to face him.

"What do you want to see first?"

Fin