[ Come now, it isn't that Michel actually drives his father's old Renault 12 anymore, it's outdated and better suited for a vintage show, naturally, but his groundskeeper certainly drives the thing, with Michel's approval - ah, just as old times, and now it's broken down and one thing is how he'll have to invest in a new car for the man, if it can't be fixed... Another thing altogether is that the car was his father's and it's kept in pristine condition along with everything else that Michel has hidden away and saved for prosperity, tennis rackets strung with cat gut and so on.
So, he'd called on the only person he knows who deals in any kind of specialised car repairs, although of a slightly different kind - race car the Renault 12 certainly is not, and luckily the man is a client whose ass Michel has saved on multiple occasions, meaning he could make some demands without having to pay back in kind. Ewan had promised to send his best and Michel hadn't thought more of it until this morning, when his best was an hour late and, fortunately for him, handsome enough to make up for it just by showing at all.
Now, he's been working away at the car in the garage at the end of the driveway for another hour and Michel is, if not curious about the car because he's not that invested at the end of the day, even as the groundskeeper has been pacing by the open garage doors at least twice already, restlessly, then certainly curious about the boy who's apparently Ewan's best.
Meaning, he's made Fabiola produce a jug of chilled lemonade that Michel himself places carefully on a tray with two glasses and a small glass bowl of peanuts. It's end of August, salted things are good for the heat. Stepping in through the side door of the garage with his tray and what not, Michel looks out the open garage doors through which a slight breeze, not nearly cool enough, is wafting. The groundskeeper is about to walk past once more, but as he spots Michel, he quickly turns on his heel and disappears off to do his work. ]
If you're making progress on that old piece of junk, you deserve a break. And if you're not, I believe you deserve a break even more.
[ He places the tray on the broad countertop near the back of the garage, where the groundskeeper keeps his tools and his appliances. There, he waits. ]
[ So fine, alright. Theoretically, he could have checked the address of their client before leaving Paris in an absolute panic (his alarm didn't go off, come on) and theoretically, he could have also acquainted himself with a few key details concerning Michel Laurent beforehand, if not for the sake of the assignment then for the sake of his own sanity. Shit, one Google image search and he would've known. He would have been prepared. Instead, he's been sweating away for the past hour over the man's vintage R12, hating the fact that he's dressed in a shirt that he can't drop unless he wants to stand here half-naked.
And he doesn't, not particularly, because showing skin would absolutely make his own, hungry fantasies run rampant. Ewan would not approve. He would decidedly not approve. Anakin being an hour late to the appointment already has him on some pretty thin ice.
The little car itself doesn't excite him overly much - it's fairly predictable, as goes with this model, though he's had to spend some time, diagnosing the extent of its current issue. It's well taken care off, though Michel doesn't... really look like a guy who gets himself dirty in the work shed, so to speak. Not that kind of dirty... ugh. Exhaling loudly, Anakin slips out from underneath the engine, the alternator clutched the fingers of his prosthetic hand. He rolls to his feet and heads over to Michel, who's entered with - what, a tray of lemon juice? Nice! And peanuts! Anakin runs his hand through his hair, forcing the strands backwards and down, as much as they ever go. ]
Really? After holding you up for an entire hour?
[ Smiling slightly, he tosses the alternator into the air. ]
[ The thing about this particular young man isn't that he's young. Michel has known a slew of young men (though, admittedly, few this young and he isn't sure that couldn't become a problem) and with room for deviation, they're all very much alike. They like the attention and they like the pampering at first, and then eventually they find lovers more suited to their age, and all the attention in the world can't keep them here. Michel never holds it against them. Himself, he's inevitably headed onwards as it is. There's only one station more on this journey for him, you get used to that after a while. Well, aren't those the true old man worries? Look at him!
And at the mechanic, too. Look at him, he's beautiful.
Michel watches him saunter closer, eyes slightly narrowed, chin slightly raised. Very easy on the eye, isn't he? Very different from Elio, but no less attractive.
Age isn't a problem, Elio repeats in his head, as he always does when these things occur, except the past year Michel's not listened to him and instead, focused on finishing up his last will and testament, the many practicalities of nearing your mid-sixties and having no apparent heirs. The in cases.
What will happen to this car, for example, if the mechanic manages to fix it? What happens to the home, what happens to his mother's roses?
What happens to Michel?
He smiles broadly, these thoughts bothering him no more now than they ever did after he walked straight into and straight out of his midlife crisis, ignoring the -- well, bit of car that the young man throws for a spin, saying 'here's your problem' when in reality, Michel's problem is somewhere else entirely. First he pours them two glasses, then he sidesteps to give the man room to claim his lemonade, Michel follows him with his eyes all the way. ]
How did someone so young become Ewan's best? I expected you to be older.
[ Michel has an infectuous smile. Anakin's own broadens as he eyes the drinks tray, stepping past Michel to take a glass. The lemon juice or whatever looks delicious, exactly what you'd need after banging around in someone's old vintage car for an hour in the scorching heat and his mouth is watering slightly, though that might also have to do with the other man's current proximity. He's really... very nice-looking, Michel. And he's got the kindest eyes. Anakin tempers himself (using magic, probably) holding off on drinking before he's at least answered the man's question the best he can.
His mother did teach him manners. ]
I'm not Ewan's best.
[ He scoffs a little, twirling the liquid within the glass and watching it spin lazily. ]
I'm the best, period. Doesn't matter how old I am, it's always been like that.
[ Leaning back, he raises his chin and looks Michel in the eyes, unflinchingly, because he might not be worth much when you look at the whole story, Anakin, but working with engines is second nature to him, as is all other mechanical work. He will never back down from what few strong points he's got - that much, at least, he managed to learn from Seth before everything went to Hell. His expression falters slightly at the thought and he looks away, then down, fingering the alternator. ]
[ It makes Michel smile wider, broader, warmer as the man doesn't back down, doesn't wither away in the face of his implied compliment. He takes them well, then, he thinks and makes a mental note to give more, always more, because he looks radiant as he stands there, all proud and slightly arrogant and letting nothing drag him back to earth. Furthermore, Michel believes him. Has no difficulty imagining that this kid can temper with cars better with his one hand - of course he noticed - than most men twice his age could even dream of. Talent gives a certain shine to people. Elio had it, too. Julien had it. His son... Michel has seen enough sparkling people to know what it looks like, simply because it never stared him back in the face from the mirror, yes?
So, he steps closer, taking the car part from him gently with an intimately muttered, ]
I'll take this, then. Since it's my problem. [ They're not touching, it isn't anything as aggressive as that, Michel doesn't even know his name, though truth be told, he's slept with men before without knowing what to even call them in bed. Still, the mechanic and him are far enough apart that there's room for breathing, moving, stepping back with or without lemonade, and Michel looks from the bit of car to the face of the other man, his very attractive, very young face. He purses his lips, shakes the part carefully enough not to jostle anything, should something be loose somewhere. What does he know? ] How is it my problem? Explain.
[ It's not an order like he'd order people about at the office. He doesn't have that kind of mandate here and thank God! Rather, it's an insistent request. Tell me how good you are, prove it to me.
[ Michel's smile broadens and Anakin straightens in response, emboldened. In general, people tend to find his self-confidence a bit off-putting - Ewan has told him many times to tone it down, so long as you know you're the best, Anakin, it shouldn't matter what other people think and that might be true but it doesn't feel like it. Not to him. It's not like he's got many other things to brag about, is it? People can deal with it.
Besides, Michel doesn't seem to take any kind of offense. Rather, he slips quietly into Anakin's personal space, not touching as he takes the alternator from him. Anakin looks at him, following his entire movement - he's pretty tall, Michel, tall enough to maybe crowd him a little - Anakin could crowd him, too, he thinks, if he got him in the right position for it. Shit. Positions. He flushes slightly, trying to swallow down his thoughts with a long gulp of lemonade that he hardly even manages to taste. ]
Uh.
[ He swallows a couple of times to clear his throat. ]
Sure. It's the rectifier. Fried, totally - so the question is, what do I replace it with? Does it have to be the exact same vintage part or can I branch out?
[ With other vintage car owners, he wouldn't necessarily be in any doubt - one category would simply head for their own drawers and throw him a suitable replacement (or more likely, they'd replace it themselves and send him on his merry way), the other would be offended at the mere idea of ruining the vintage cohesiveness.
[ Listening to the explanation, Michel picks up his own glass of lemonade and drinks, the chill of ice cubes and the freshness of lemon zinging on his tongue. He hums slightly, watching the other man's face for a moment, the way he straightens and the pride he shows, it makes Michel want to praise him from here and into the next decade, yes? It makes him want to see him stand taller, prouder. Raise him up. You're wonderful, exceptional, handsome, amazing, he's used all these words in the past, it would just be a matter of repeating them.
Yet, Michel doesn't want a repeat.
Another long drink of his lemonade, then he sits the glass down. ]
Whatever means you can stay here and fix it immediately. Is that an option? I'd like for you to. [ There's a double-meaning evident in the question, in the whole comment, stay, it says, come inside. A little while longer, just one more season, but he waves it off soon after with a gesture of his hand and a nod at the door out which his groundskeeper disappeared out of sight some minutes ago. To do his work. ] As you can see, I have people who are very intent on this car getting repaired as quickly as possible.
[ The beat that follows is fast, almost breathless, until Michel can't contain himself: ]
And you're blushing.
[ It comes out so naturally, maybe because he's said those words before, but to someone else who wasn't keen on disclosing their thoughts to him, except the body betrays such things very easily, doesn't it? The way the mechanic licks his lips certainly leads Michel's own thoughts into territory that makes him flush in much the same way, slight heat over the bridge of his nose, cheeks. He must look intoxicated, drunk or aroused, the two can appear very alike, you'd only know the difference on him because Michel doesn't get drunk easily at all, while aroused... Ah, that's another matter. There are enough young, handsome men in the world, even if he doesn't actively seek them out anymore.
He can't say why he's even doing the preparatory work in this case. He hasn't done this in a long time.
[ Despite himself, despite his admittedly pathetic attempts at remaining somewhat - slightly - professional, Anakin can't help but watch. Michel drinks from his glass, his throat bopping gently as he swallows, his lips glistening. The shape of his face is beautifully emphasised by his beard, making his edges look a little sharper, more weighted. He forcefully stops himself from licking his lips again, though, and he counts that as a win, thanks. Shifting, he follows Michel's nod towards the door and oh yeah, the groundskeeper. Possibly the only one of them currently properly invested in the actual fucking car.
About to reply in the affirmative - because yes indeed, he's managed to come prepared because while he hadn't looked up Michel, he knew what kind of car he'd be working on - his words get immediately stuck in his throat at Michel's follow-up. Blushing, is he? Yeah. Yeah, he really, really is, especially now. He could get embarrassed about it but then again, that wouldn't exactly make him blush any less and if Michel's gonna bring it up, then maybe Anakin's just going to give it to him, his job be damned.
Sighing, he shrugs and looks down at his feet briefly before meeting Michel's eyes. ]
I'm not very good at hiding what I feel. Sorry.
[ He nods towards the alternator, squaring his shoulders. ]
I have a spare but not for this particular car - won't impact the car's performance at all, so long as you don't mind the anachronism.
The world isn't a historical museum. We save what we can from oblivion and make it work to the best of our ability as we go forward.
[ This is to say nothing of Michel's large collection of artefacts from the 50's and 60's - they're not important because they're from that era. They're important because of the person who owned them, who lived then. And the car is worth nothing, just standing there. Very little is. Standstills don't teach you much of anything, Michel knows this for a fact. Waiting might not be doing nothing, but it isn't aimed at anything in particular either.
So, why is he hesitating? Waiting? Is he afraid of being turned down, the boy is blushing for him! It pleases him that he doesn't hide his feelings, that he doesn't deny that he can't, either. Denial leads nowhere.
This could lead somewhere.
Is it because Michel doesn't know where he wants it to lead? Ah, that age-old shyness again. Hidden behind facades of polished marble and wood. That was what Julien used to say, the architect. ]
Don't apologise. And don't dare getting better at hiding, either. There are enough vague men in the world, I'd prefer for you to stay a diamond among shards of glass. What's your name?
[ No matter where they are going, certainly a name is a good place to start. He didn't ask Ewan when they talked, didn't think it'd be terribly relevant. He's known men of a variety of names, Michel wasn't expecting anything new under the sun. ]
[ Oh, he's that kind of guy - there's an answer to Anakin's question, sure, but he has to draw it out of the man's lecture himself. That's familiar enough, isn't it. With a wry smile, he nods and opts for installing a different spare part - the one in his bag will do just fine, he had a hunch that this might be the problem. Draining his glass of lemonade, its coolness not quite enough to make him feel any less heated, he's about to turn away and get to it when Michel continues.
Don't dare getting better at hiding, he says. Meanwhile, here's Anakin who keeps trying to get his feelings under control, to avoid throwing chairs in the conference room, to avoid pouring water down the front of any co-worker, no matter how annoying they are - to check himself, because there's no one else to do it and he's seen what happens, hasn't he. He knows. He knows.
The issue is, of course, that he's desperate not to hide. Not the rest of him. Sure, there's stuff he can't - that has to stay buried but how do you love anyone properly if you can't show yourself, too? How do you become that close? He looks at Michel for a long moment, frowning. There's no how, he thinks. It's always black and white with you, Ewan would say and then, infuriatingly, he doesn't know how to fix it. ]
I'm Anakin.
[ He scratches the back of his neck, his metal fingers hard, even beneath his leather glove. ]
And yeah, before you ask - I'm named after a character in a kid's movie. My mom's friend was a fan and my mom, I guess, was too kind.
[ He's young, it's obvious. From the heat in his gaze to the way he scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly. I didn't mean to make it awkward for you, he'd told Elio needlessly, he won't make the same mistake again. Michel passes the car part between his hands, a slow evening of the weight of it, smooth movements from hand to hand, as he feels the weight of it. It's heavy. As some things are, like the feelings in Anakin's eyes.
He saw that movie, didn't he? With Denis. They saw it together when Denis was just a kid himself and everything was different then. How much it has all changed. Part of him wants to call him, just to tell him, I met a young man today named Anakin, like Skywalker, do you remember? But Denis would want to know whether he'd slept with him and hang up, before Michel could even say, I wanted to.
This time, if things have to be different, Michel must make them so. ]
Rather too kind than not kind enough. Kindness can cost you, certainly, but the lack of it -- ah, it costs more, even if not for the person in question.
[ That's the thing about mothers, rather one who'd call her son Anakin to please a friend, than a mother who refused to call him Léon because it would please his father. And keep the memory alive.
Michel has begun wondering, after Elio left, whether his father would have opened up to him more, had he truly carried that name. ]
I'm Michel, Anakin. I would be happy if you'd fix my car with whatever spare parts you have. [ A smile, smaller, but genuine. He gestures between the car and the lemonade with his free hand, then passes the spare part back in place there, saying - as naturally as if it was breath, ] And then I'd be happier still if you'd come back in a week's time and have dinner with me.
[ It's not the bistro. It's not the waiters who have seen him with increasingly younger men. It's not the table that's reserved in his name or the well-cooked fish. It's none of that, it's something else. For some reason, that's important. ]
[ A pause. Anakin looks at him for a long moment before taking the alternator. Turning it slowly between his fingers, his eyes finding the damaged part with instinctual precision, he thinks about days spent in Seth's enormous mansion right on the edge of the school grounds, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows and feeling both far away from the world and far above it. Even today, he isn't sure what he'd liked so much about that sensation, only that he'd missed it painfully when things had ended and he'd been back in the gutter, if only for the shortest time.
Even now, the ache remains like a small but persistent hole in his chest, right beneath his sternum.
Breath catching in his throat very briefly, he bites his lip. ]
Why?
[ It comes out maybe a little sharper than he'd intended and he looks up quickly, meeting Michel's eyes and giving him a small smile, shrugging apologetically. ]
I mean, not to be rude. This is a pretty quick job, I definitely won't need two visits to complete it.
[ He glances back at the car. Turns the spare part in his hand again, then squares his shoulders a little, the smile slipping into his voice along with a tint of something brighter, more confident - because if nothing else, he's very certain that if Michel were to ask, he'd probably get unprofessional right here, right now with little thought for whatever heart-attack Ewan would suffer as a consequence: ]
Even without the wining and dining, I wouldn't be opposed.
[ Even without the wining and dining, I wouldn't be opposed. He says. This young man who blushes like Elio blushed when they were touching upon all the things that lay underneath what they were actually saying, because speech is so much more than the words, it's infliction and tone and, especially, omissions. Indeed, the things we say are much more often made up of everything we don't. Michel knows, he's worked in a highly oral field of work for decades. He wants them to meet in this, in the words. With Elio it was in the music, but this language is very different, more direct and maybe it needs to be. So much apparently needs to be different, because the way things were -- ah, it only leads in one direction.
A direction he's going in anyway, with or without wining and dining, yes? Old men like him, they end up in the same place. Ensnared by handsome younger men. And then, they end up in caskets. Michel likes that thought for some reason. It makes him smile, not wide and beaming as when you want to tell the world you've won the lottery. Small, reserved. Like a man who doesn't believe a single word he hears. ]
Without the wining and dining, it would just be a fuck. [ The word comes out completely naturally, no holding back, no hesitation, definitely no shame. ] If you think I haven't fucked enough young, handsome men in my life to last me the rest of it, you'd be very wrong, Anakin. It's that I meet too few people who don't hide, and I like to be inspired.
[ He says 'inspired' like you'd speak of the Ancient Greek gods, warriors and nymphs. For someone who has no stake in the church whatsoever, Michel has placed his religious inclinations in completely different areas of life. You're such a hedonist, his son once yelled at him, you only think about yourself. Michel had told him that's not what being a hedonist means. He thinks that was the last conversation they had in person.
This young man in particular wants to fuck him and that's all well and good! But Michel isn't here to take advantage of that. He's here to make him want it, so they might want each other. Think about each other. Care for each other.
Not just themselves.
Stepping forward slowly, he reaches out and runs his hand up Anakin's gloved, right forearm. It's not flesh, but it's him all the same. ]
[ Oh. Anakin swallows, the spare part feeling almost weightless between his fingers, like in another second it might just transform into nothing, into light and air. He's been hiding for years, hasn't he, from everyone except Seth. It's not that Anakin couldn't have his privacy, he thinks, it's just that he didn't want to, that he needed someone to know what he was, what he is, someone who wouldn't judge or use it against him. In the end, of course, he'd asked too much of the older man - after all, acceptance has to go both ways and Seth was never that kind of person, the type to blindly forgive and forget. He'd had expectations. Demands.
Michel simply tell him he'd like to be inspired and there's no demand in that but perhaps a little but of expectation, gently put, like a brush against his shoulder that he could choose to ignore if he wanted to. It's very different from anything he's known before and maybe that's why he takes a long moment to make up his mind. He looks down, following the motion of Michel's hand as he runs it up his prosthetic hand, forearm. The skin of his upper arm tingles uselessly in response - the prosthetic, of course, is a dead extension of him, though he's learned to use it with maximum precision.
He watches Michel's hand, frowning. Then, he turns his own palm upwards, taking hold of the other man's wrist lightly and shifting it, placing his fingers against his other arm instead by the wrist, the one of flesh and blood. Though his grip remains gentle, he doesn't release him.
Truly, Anakin has never been good at hiding. ]
Think it's only fair to warn you - I'm not so easy to get rid of.
[ He remembers breaking into Seth's house in a drunken stupor, thinking he'd bested him by way of familiarity, because he knew the other man and his house and his home and the world they used to share. Of course, in the end, he'd been allowed to break in - Seth had left him a message, though he hadn't bothered to be at home himself. If you break it, it had said, you replace it.
Anakin had learned, of course. That had been the extent of it. ]
[ Michel expects nothing, he's not the type of person to put his faith in expectations of any kind - unless you're expecting to be let down, you're most likely not getting what you wanted, whatever you bargained for. Elio would call him a pessimist because of this, and certainly Elio isn't wrong, he never is, even the ghost of him is right in everything and all, isn't he? Yet, Michel hasn't shaped his life around normality for thirty+ years now, not to learn that normality is disappointment. It really is. His and others'. How it breaks his heart, even now. The people he's let down. The people he's been let down by.
So, what does he expect of this man, of Anakin, who shifts his weight to his other hand, the one of flesh and blood and lets him feel him for a moment, feel the pounding of his pulse, the flow of blood underneath skin that caused him to blush just moments earlier? Does he even believe this will be anything else than another disappointment out of many?
Michel looks the other man in his bluer than blue eyes, the fair complexion and the blonde hair very different from Elio's curls, his dark eyes, pools of opal and onyx - this is like Vesuvius versus the sky. The volcano has to erupt to reach those heights.
Ah, but he's talking nonsense now, isn't he?
Anakin is very pleasing to the eye, there is no denying it and Michel would never try, and besides he seems to know it, too. Dangerous. Dangerous but attractive. Well, if a man is going to die anyway...! Michel closes his fingers around his wrist, a soft, unassuming hold. Say, 'you're not hurting me', he'd whispered, with Elio, the first time, and Elio had. But Michel doesn't say that. He says, ]
You're welcome to the last twenty years of my life. If people your age understand such sentiment.
[ And with that, Michel steps closer yet, reaching up with his other hand and cupping Anakin's chin, thumb running over it, angling him softly upwards. He has an open face, it doesn't shield itself from anything. His eyes are truly very striking.
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So, he'd called on the only person he knows who deals in any kind of specialised car repairs, although of a slightly different kind - race car the Renault 12 certainly is not, and luckily the man is a client whose ass Michel has saved on multiple occasions, meaning he could make some demands without having to pay back in kind. Ewan had promised to send his best and Michel hadn't thought more of it until this morning, when his best was an hour late and, fortunately for him, handsome enough to make up for it just by showing at all.
Now, he's been working away at the car in the garage at the end of the driveway for another hour and Michel is, if not curious about the car because he's not that invested at the end of the day, even as the groundskeeper has been pacing by the open garage doors at least twice already, restlessly, then certainly curious about the boy who's apparently Ewan's best.
Meaning, he's made Fabiola produce a jug of chilled lemonade that Michel himself places carefully on a tray with two glasses and a small glass bowl of peanuts. It's end of August, salted things are good for the heat. Stepping in through the side door of the garage with his tray and what not, Michel looks out the open garage doors through which a slight breeze, not nearly cool enough, is wafting. The groundskeeper is about to walk past once more, but as he spots Michel, he quickly turns on his heel and disappears off to do his work. ]
If you're making progress on that old piece of junk, you deserve a break. And if you're not, I believe you deserve a break even more.
[ He places the tray on the broad countertop near the back of the garage, where the groundskeeper keeps his tools and his appliances. There, he waits. ]
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And he doesn't, not particularly, because showing skin would absolutely make his own, hungry fantasies run rampant. Ewan would not approve. He would decidedly not approve. Anakin being an hour late to the appointment already has him on some pretty thin ice.
The little car itself doesn't excite him overly much - it's fairly predictable, as goes with this model, though he's had to spend some time, diagnosing the extent of its current issue. It's well taken care off, though Michel doesn't... really look like a guy who gets himself dirty in the work shed, so to speak. Not that kind of dirty... ugh. Exhaling loudly, Anakin slips out from underneath the engine, the alternator clutched the fingers of his prosthetic hand. He rolls to his feet and heads over to Michel, who's entered with - what, a tray of lemon juice? Nice! And peanuts! Anakin runs his hand through his hair, forcing the strands backwards and down, as much as they ever go. ]
Really? After holding you up for an entire hour?
[ Smiling slightly, he tosses the alternator into the air. ]
Here's your problem, by the way.
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And at the mechanic, too. Look at him, he's beautiful.
Michel watches him saunter closer, eyes slightly narrowed, chin slightly raised. Very easy on the eye, isn't he? Very different from Elio, but no less attractive.
Age isn't a problem, Elio repeats in his head, as he always does when these things occur, except the past year Michel's not listened to him and instead, focused on finishing up his last will and testament, the many practicalities of nearing your mid-sixties and having no apparent heirs. The in cases.
What will happen to this car, for example, if the mechanic manages to fix it? What happens to the home, what happens to his mother's roses?
What happens to Michel?
He smiles broadly, these thoughts bothering him no more now than they ever did after he walked straight into and straight out of his midlife crisis, ignoring the -- well, bit of car that the young man throws for a spin, saying 'here's your problem' when in reality, Michel's problem is somewhere else entirely. First he pours them two glasses, then he sidesteps to give the man room to claim his lemonade, Michel follows him with his eyes all the way. ]
How did someone so young become Ewan's best? I expected you to be older.
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His mother did teach him manners. ]
I'm not Ewan's best.
[ He scoffs a little, twirling the liquid within the glass and watching it spin lazily. ]
I'm the best, period. Doesn't matter how old I am, it's always been like that.
[ Leaning back, he raises his chin and looks Michel in the eyes, unflinchingly, because he might not be worth much when you look at the whole story, Anakin, but working with engines is second nature to him, as is all other mechanical work. He will never back down from what few strong points he's got - that much, at least, he managed to learn from Seth before everything went to Hell. His expression falters slightly at the thought and he looks away, then down, fingering the alternator. ]
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So, he steps closer, taking the car part from him gently with an intimately muttered, ]
I'll take this, then. Since it's my problem. [ They're not touching, it isn't anything as aggressive as that, Michel doesn't even know his name, though truth be told, he's slept with men before without knowing what to even call them in bed. Still, the mechanic and him are far enough apart that there's room for breathing, moving, stepping back with or without lemonade, and Michel looks from the bit of car to the face of the other man, his very attractive, very young face. He purses his lips, shakes the part carefully enough not to jostle anything, should something be loose somewhere. What does he know? ] How is it my problem? Explain.
[ It's not an order like he'd order people about at the office. He doesn't have that kind of mandate here and thank God! Rather, it's an insistent request. Tell me how good you are, prove it to me.
Give me more to comment on, compliment. ]
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Besides, Michel doesn't seem to take any kind of offense. Rather, he slips quietly into Anakin's personal space, not touching as he takes the alternator from him. Anakin looks at him, following his entire movement - he's pretty tall, Michel, tall enough to maybe crowd him a little - Anakin could crowd him, too, he thinks, if he got him in the right position for it. Shit. Positions. He flushes slightly, trying to swallow down his thoughts with a long gulp of lemonade that he hardly even manages to taste. ]
Uh.
[ He swallows a couple of times to clear his throat. ]
Sure. It's the rectifier. Fried, totally - so the question is, what do I replace it with? Does it have to be the exact same vintage part or can I branch out?
[ With other vintage car owners, he wouldn't necessarily be in any doubt - one category would simply head for their own drawers and throw him a suitable replacement (or more likely, they'd replace it themselves and send him on his merry way), the other would be offended at the mere idea of ruining the vintage cohesiveness.
With Michel, though, he honestly isn't sure.
Licking his lips, he tastes lemon and sugar. ]
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Yet, Michel doesn't want a repeat.
Another long drink of his lemonade, then he sits the glass down. ]
Whatever means you can stay here and fix it immediately. Is that an option? I'd like for you to. [ There's a double-meaning evident in the question, in the whole comment, stay, it says, come inside. A little while longer, just one more season, but he waves it off soon after with a gesture of his hand and a nod at the door out which his groundskeeper disappeared out of sight some minutes ago. To do his work. ] As you can see, I have people who are very intent on this car getting repaired as quickly as possible.
[ The beat that follows is fast, almost breathless, until Michel can't contain himself: ]
And you're blushing.
[ It comes out so naturally, maybe because he's said those words before, but to someone else who wasn't keen on disclosing their thoughts to him, except the body betrays such things very easily, doesn't it? The way the mechanic licks his lips certainly leads Michel's own thoughts into territory that makes him flush in much the same way, slight heat over the bridge of his nose, cheeks. He must look intoxicated, drunk or aroused, the two can appear very alike, you'd only know the difference on him because Michel doesn't get drunk easily at all, while aroused... Ah, that's another matter. There are enough young, handsome men in the world, even if he doesn't actively seek them out anymore.
He can't say why he's even doing the preparatory work in this case. He hasn't done this in a long time.
This, Elio asks at the back of his mind.
This, Michel replies. ]
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About to reply in the affirmative - because yes indeed, he's managed to come prepared because while he hadn't looked up Michel, he knew what kind of car he'd be working on - his words get immediately stuck in his throat at Michel's follow-up. Blushing, is he? Yeah. Yeah, he really, really is, especially now. He could get embarrassed about it but then again, that wouldn't exactly make him blush any less and if Michel's gonna bring it up, then maybe Anakin's just going to give it to him, his job be damned.
Sighing, he shrugs and looks down at his feet briefly before meeting Michel's eyes. ]
I'm not very good at hiding what I feel. Sorry.
[ He nods towards the alternator, squaring his shoulders. ]
I have a spare but not for this particular car - won't impact the car's performance at all, so long as you don't mind the anachronism.
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[ This is to say nothing of Michel's large collection of artefacts from the 50's and 60's - they're not important because they're from that era. They're important because of the person who owned them, who lived then. And the car is worth nothing, just standing there. Very little is. Standstills don't teach you much of anything, Michel knows this for a fact. Waiting might not be doing nothing, but it isn't aimed at anything in particular either.
So, why is he hesitating? Waiting? Is he afraid of being turned down, the boy is blushing for him! It pleases him that he doesn't hide his feelings, that he doesn't deny that he can't, either. Denial leads nowhere.
This could lead somewhere.
Is it because Michel doesn't know where he wants it to lead? Ah, that age-old shyness again. Hidden behind facades of polished marble and wood. That was what Julien used to say, the architect. ]
Don't apologise. And don't dare getting better at hiding, either. There are enough vague men in the world, I'd prefer for you to stay a diamond among shards of glass. What's your name?
[ No matter where they are going, certainly a name is a good place to start. He didn't ask Ewan when they talked, didn't think it'd be terribly relevant. He's known men of a variety of names, Michel wasn't expecting anything new under the sun. ]
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Don't dare getting better at hiding, he says. Meanwhile, here's Anakin who keeps trying to get his feelings under control, to avoid throwing chairs in the conference room, to avoid pouring water down the front of any co-worker, no matter how annoying they are - to check himself, because there's no one else to do it and he's seen what happens, hasn't he. He knows. He knows.
The issue is, of course, that he's desperate not to hide. Not the rest of him. Sure, there's stuff he can't - that has to stay buried but how do you love anyone properly if you can't show yourself, too? How do you become that close? He looks at Michel for a long moment, frowning. There's no how, he thinks. It's always black and white with you, Ewan would say and then, infuriatingly, he doesn't know how to fix it. ]
I'm Anakin.
[ He scratches the back of his neck, his metal fingers hard, even beneath his leather glove. ]
And yeah, before you ask - I'm named after a character in a kid's movie. My mom's friend was a fan and my mom, I guess, was too kind.
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He saw that movie, didn't he? With Denis. They saw it together when Denis was just a kid himself and everything was different then. How much it has all changed. Part of him wants to call him, just to tell him, I met a young man today named Anakin, like Skywalker, do you remember? But Denis would want to know whether he'd slept with him and hang up, before Michel could even say, I wanted to.
This time, if things have to be different, Michel must make them so. ]
Rather too kind than not kind enough. Kindness can cost you, certainly, but the lack of it -- ah, it costs more, even if not for the person in question.
[ That's the thing about mothers, rather one who'd call her son Anakin to please a friend, than a mother who refused to call him Léon because it would please his father. And keep the memory alive.
Michel has begun wondering, after Elio left, whether his father would have opened up to him more, had he truly carried that name. ]
I'm Michel, Anakin. I would be happy if you'd fix my car with whatever spare parts you have. [ A smile, smaller, but genuine. He gestures between the car and the lemonade with his free hand, then passes the spare part back in place there, saying - as naturally as if it was breath, ] And then I'd be happier still if you'd come back in a week's time and have dinner with me.
[ It's not the bistro. It's not the waiters who have seen him with increasingly younger men. It's not the table that's reserved in his name or the well-cooked fish. It's none of that, it's something else. For some reason, that's important. ]
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Even now, the ache remains like a small but persistent hole in his chest, right beneath his sternum.
Breath catching in his throat very briefly, he bites his lip. ]
Why?
[ It comes out maybe a little sharper than he'd intended and he looks up quickly, meeting Michel's eyes and giving him a small smile, shrugging apologetically. ]
I mean, not to be rude. This is a pretty quick job, I definitely won't need two visits to complete it.
[ He glances back at the car. Turns the spare part in his hand again, then squares his shoulders a little, the smile slipping into his voice along with a tint of something brighter, more confident - because if nothing else, he's very certain that if Michel were to ask, he'd probably get unprofessional right here, right now with little thought for whatever heart-attack Ewan would suffer as a consequence: ]
Even without the wining and dining, I wouldn't be opposed.
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A direction he's going in anyway, with or without wining and dining, yes? Old men like him, they end up in the same place. Ensnared by handsome younger men. And then, they end up in caskets. Michel likes that thought for some reason. It makes him smile, not wide and beaming as when you want to tell the world you've won the lottery. Small, reserved. Like a man who doesn't believe a single word he hears. ]
Without the wining and dining, it would just be a fuck. [ The word comes out completely naturally, no holding back, no hesitation, definitely no shame. ] If you think I haven't fucked enough young, handsome men in my life to last me the rest of it, you'd be very wrong, Anakin. It's that I meet too few people who don't hide, and I like to be inspired.
[ He says 'inspired' like you'd speak of the Ancient Greek gods, warriors and nymphs. For someone who has no stake in the church whatsoever, Michel has placed his religious inclinations in completely different areas of life. You're such a hedonist, his son once yelled at him, you only think about yourself. Michel had told him that's not what being a hedonist means. He thinks that was the last conversation they had in person.
This young man in particular wants to fuck him and that's all well and good! But Michel isn't here to take advantage of that. He's here to make him want it, so they might want each other. Think about each other. Care for each other.
Not just themselves.
Stepping forward slowly, he reaches out and runs his hand up Anakin's gloved, right forearm. It's not flesh, but it's him all the same. ]
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Michel simply tell him he'd like to be inspired and there's no demand in that but perhaps a little but of expectation, gently put, like a brush against his shoulder that he could choose to ignore if he wanted to. It's very different from anything he's known before and maybe that's why he takes a long moment to make up his mind. He looks down, following the motion of Michel's hand as he runs it up his prosthetic hand, forearm. The skin of his upper arm tingles uselessly in response - the prosthetic, of course, is a dead extension of him, though he's learned to use it with maximum precision.
He watches Michel's hand, frowning. Then, he turns his own palm upwards, taking hold of the other man's wrist lightly and shifting it, placing his fingers against his other arm instead by the wrist, the one of flesh and blood. Though his grip remains gentle, he doesn't release him.
Truly, Anakin has never been good at hiding. ]
Think it's only fair to warn you - I'm not so easy to get rid of.
[ He remembers breaking into Seth's house in a drunken stupor, thinking he'd bested him by way of familiarity, because he knew the other man and his house and his home and the world they used to share. Of course, in the end, he'd been allowed to break in - Seth had left him a message, though he hadn't bothered to be at home himself. If you break it, it had said, you replace it.
Anakin had learned, of course. That had been the extent of it. ]
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So, what does he expect of this man, of Anakin, who shifts his weight to his other hand, the one of flesh and blood and lets him feel him for a moment, feel the pounding of his pulse, the flow of blood underneath skin that caused him to blush just moments earlier? Does he even believe this will be anything else than another disappointment out of many?
Michel looks the other man in his bluer than blue eyes, the fair complexion and the blonde hair very different from Elio's curls, his dark eyes, pools of opal and onyx - this is like Vesuvius versus the sky. The volcano has to erupt to reach those heights.
Ah, but he's talking nonsense now, isn't he?
Anakin is very pleasing to the eye, there is no denying it and Michel would never try, and besides he seems to know it, too. Dangerous. Dangerous but attractive. Well, if a man is going to die anyway...! Michel closes his fingers around his wrist, a soft, unassuming hold. Say, 'you're not hurting me', he'd whispered, with Elio, the first time, and Elio had. But Michel doesn't say that. He says, ]
You're welcome to the last twenty years of my life. If people your age understand such sentiment.
[ And with that, Michel steps closer yet, reaching up with his other hand and cupping Anakin's chin, thumb running over it, angling him softly upwards. He has an open face, it doesn't shield itself from anything. His eyes are truly very striking.
Like that, he kisses him. ]