Claude mercifully changes the subject. Meanwhile, Vincent gathers his wits as much as possible, untangling his fingers slowly, stiffly, whilst his breathing returns to normal once more. He can’t help the redness in his face but at least, Claude’s good enough not to notice or comment. Honestly, the man seems like such a decent person, very much the type to carry himself without regard for the dirt and dust gathering in the wake of any man, be they moral or depraved. It’s doing nothing for Vincent’s general state of being, naturally, finding out that aside from being devilishly attractive, the object of his desires happens to be a very enticing person, too. Seems like he’ll be doomed to suffer, whether this ends here tonight or Claude truly buys him those tickets.
“Uh.” He reaches for the tumbler again, takes another, larger sip. The burn is slightly more subdued this time around as it goes down, the taste lingering on his tongue. “Well, it’s a pitiful story, really. My mother – she likes to pair me up with girls, waiting to see me make a match.” This time, the words are slower, less hurried. There’s a sharp edge to them, more than a hint of temper. “So far, she has yet to succeed. But the ballet was just another venue, another… place to go.”
Last time, with Colette, his mother had been quite furious at his failure. She’s from a rich family, a woman with all the right attributes both physically and practically – for someone else, that is. Anyone else. Vincent… Apparently, some people are simply born without certain abilities and in terms of making connections with women, he’s been blessed with nothing at all. Expression brightening a fraction to counteract the drop in his stomach at the mere thought, he adds: “It’s more than that to me now, however. Much more.”
no subject
“Uh.” He reaches for the tumbler again, takes another, larger sip. The burn is slightly more subdued this time around as it goes down, the taste lingering on his tongue. “Well, it’s a pitiful story, really. My mother – she likes to pair me up with girls, waiting to see me make a match.” This time, the words are slower, less hurried. There’s a sharp edge to them, more than a hint of temper. “So far, she has yet to succeed. But the ballet was just another venue, another… place to go.”
Last time, with Colette, his mother had been quite furious at his failure. She’s from a rich family, a woman with all the right attributes both physically and practically – for someone else, that is. Anyone else. Vincent… Apparently, some people are simply born without certain abilities and in terms of making connections with women, he’s been blessed with nothing at all. Expression brightening a fraction to counteract the drop in his stomach at the mere thought, he adds: “It’s more than that to me now, however. Much more.”