Mon garçon sauvage - Partie 1
My Wild Boy- Part 1
“Bonne soirée. J'ai une réservation pour Archer pour le week-end. Lors de l'enregistrement, je peux également organiser la livraison d'une bouteille de champagne avant minuit dans notre suite. merci beaucoup.” Dean greeted the receptionist at the hotel. An inevitably chic woman with a neat bun finished in a navy bow and perfect red lips. He asked for champagne to be delivered to the suite at midnight. He hoped they’d be celebrating later. Always planning.
“Très bien Monsieur Archer. bienvenue à l'Hôtel Pont Royal. Je m'appelle Juliette. J'ai réservé votre chambre dans l'une de nos suites au quatrième étage. Avec une terrasse comme demandé. Nous prendrons vos bagages pour votre visite. Passez une bonne soirée. Veuillez utiliser l'une des voitures de l'hôtel pour votre soirée.” Juliette cocked her head approvingly and responded in French, a compliment for his efforts. Their suite was ready and their luggage would be taken care of. Dean’s request for a terrace was accommodated, Eiffel Tower in view - of course, and they had full use of one of the hotel limousines for the weekend.
“Tu es très gentille Juliette. Puis-je dire que l'hôtel touristique est absolument magnifique. Ok, nous partons à la découverte de votre merveilleuse ville. Bonne nuit.” Dean thanked Juliette for her hospitality and complimented the hotel’s beauty before proudly announcing they would be exploring her magnificent city for the evening.
Jamie gawped at Dean as he put his wallet back in his jacket pocket. “Ok, ready for Paris?” The low lighting of the exquisite reception area gave Dean a golden glow. Jamie thought he’d melt. Yes, I love him.
“Uh, yeah I guess.” Jamie’s grin spread almost to his earlobes. He did not just hold an entire conversation in French in front of me? Fuck foreplay, he could translate the BBC 10 o'clock news into French and I’d be naked in seconds, Jamie thought giddily.
"What? Come on trouble, we'll be late for dinner." Dean turned Jamie gently by the waist and walked him to the third stretched Mercedes of the evening.
“Bonne soirée. Le Cinq, s'il te plaît, si tu es si gentil ? Merci beaucoup.” Dean was off again, Jamie giggled as he got into the car. What the hell?
Dean greeted the chauffeur and asked for them to be dropped off at Le Cinq. Restaurants to Dean were what Chanel et al were to Jamie. Michelin star. High fashion. Respectively.
“Tres bien Monsieur. Un excellent choix. S'il te plaît.” The impeccably dressed chauffeur gestured to Dean to join Jamie in the car.
“So, looking forward to dinner? It’s getting cold out isn’t it? I like this weather. More chance to snuggle.” Dean raised his eyebrows with a wicked smile.
“Uh yeah. Absolutely.” Jamie looked down and fiddled with his Prada loafer.
“Are you ok?” Dean reached a hand to Jamie’s thigh. Jamie clamped his hand on Dean’s.
“Yeah I’m fine. Are we going to talk about the fact you just spoke the most perfect French back there and you never told me you speak another language? Christ, Dean. French is the most sensual language in world to me. I could have climbed you right there at the check in desk.” He giggled and pulled Dean to his lips. “Talk to me in French. Please? Anything. You could tell me to take the bins out and my pants would drop for you.” He whispered.
Dean was enjoying the verbal foreplay he was teasing Jamie with. He brought him close, just enough that every word felt like a kiss. “'Ai hâte d'être à ce soir. J'espère que je vous rendrai heureux. Quand nous serons de retour dans notre suite, nous n'aurons plus le temps de dormir, Arden.” Dean tugged Jamie’s earlobe between his teeth gently as he concluded his riddle in French.
Jamie didn’t question Dean’s words. The way he gave Arden the French treatment sent a jolt of longing deep inside him.
Dean told Jamie he was looking forward to their evening and when they get back to the suite, they would have no time for sleeping.
“Fuck. You have no idea what you’re doing to me Dean.” Jamie kissed him hard and bit his lip.
They sighed, a happy frustration. Save themselves. Paris was already teasing them, like lace between teeth, a hand on a thigh, a lustful gasp in the corner of a party. An aching foreplay would unwind over the hours ahead of them. Every hungry look, every grip of a hand, a searching foot, like a layer of clothing being slowly removed. Piece by piece.
They arrived at the restaurant and sat down at their table. A beautiful high ceiling, soft lit chandeliers hung regally above them. Jamie’s head swirled around. He didn’t flit in Paris, he glided. The table cloths were starched and perfectly white. The sounds of French patrons chatting elegantly, glasses chimed. Jamie raised his shoulders, basking in delight as his senses played together like an exquisite orchestrator. He didn’t have to fight it, he let himself be carried by everything Dean provided.
“My god. This place is so chic. Archer, you’re knocking it out of the park tonight.” Jamie grabbed Dean’s hand. He loved Dean’s hands. The little creeping of his ebony arm hair below his cuff. Concealing the powerful, sexual man beneath. Love, it was an unruly flower outgrowing him, threatening to burst through his chest and out of his mouth. He had to swallow his eagerness. For now.
“Vous le valez bien. Mon garçon sauvage.” Dean glanced up from his menu. You’re welcome, my wild boy. Dean’s eyes were filled with lust. The air between them was charged with an unspoken agreement that tonight would be a marathon not a sprint. The end would be worth their patience.
“Dean, my god. You’re so sexy. Please stop. I can’t handle it. Or you’ll have to take me, right here, on the table. I’m not kidding.” Jamie raised a foot and pressed Dean’s cock.
“Comme vous le souhaitez. Beau.” As you wish, beautiful. Dean snapped his head back and laughed. “Sorry I’ll stop. That was fun. Hey watch my suit.” He grabbed Jamie’s shoe and held it. He wanted Jamie on him, all of him, all the time. But, he was also practical. The suit cost a fortune.
“When did you learn French? I have to know. This is so exciting, I’ll be requesting Monsieur Archer be dialled up back in London, just you wait. Get that tongue ready to whip up the finest French lines for me.” He shifted at the prospect in his chair.
Dean shot him a glance, his tongue rolled under the roof of his mouth. Jamie shifted again. He was desperate for Dean. “I took it in school and then I did ski seasons where we coached local kids in the Alps, and I just kept it going. I love the language. Me and my mum converse in French when we can. Her grandmother was from the South.” He smiled bashfully.
“Dean Archer. So you don’t just speak it, you are actually a little French as well? This gets better and better.” Jamie teased, then his face fell into thought. “You understand my crazy brain and I’m in awe of your brilliant one. So much to explore up there.” Jamie lost himself staring at Dean’s forehead a moment. “I’m so happy I let you in, in the Summer. Imagine I hadn’t? It actually doesn’t bare thinking about.”
Jamie sat back. He wished he could exchange the word like for love immediately. He wanted to be honest, open and free to tell Dean how he really felt. He felt he was doing a disservice. Every use of ‘like’ was wasted seconds and minutes of their story.
Dean smiled. “Jamie. We’re in Paris. Past is past. Look at us now.” He wanted to swipe the word ‘like’ off the table. Like salt granules that stuck to your hand. Pointless, a waste. Not long. He grabbed Jamie’s hand and squeezed. I love you, he said through his touch.
They dined a la carte on exquisite sea food dishes and white wine. Jamie was conscious of his consumption of the crisp Sauvignon Blanc. But he relaxed into its softening of him. He felt light, bouncing from one happy moment to the next.
“Shall we take that walk babe?” Dean stood first. Jamie stared up at him. All charcoal, tailoring and beauty. Perfect. He loved this view. One he hoped to replicate later without clothes, just them. Sex after a declaration of how he truly felt for this granite pillar of a man. “What?”
“Nothing. Just taking you in. Let’s go.” Jamie rose slowly.
They walked through the Paris streets. Lined with boutiques that Dean knew Jamie would salivate over. But to his surprise, Jamie ignored them. He made a mental note to encourage Jamie to take a look tomorrow. He never wanted to change Jamie, maybe keep an eye on his Amex, but never change him. He wanted the madness. All of it.
As they wondered they happened upon a little tourist shop. Bright and brash against the soft lighting of the Parisian streets. Like trainers at an haute couture show.
“Oh my gosh. Look at this.” Jamie ran a hand over an Eiffel Tower ash tray. Dean picked it up and they held it between them and laughed. “Can we get our first tourist nic-nac together, here? Please say yes.” Jamie smiled up at Dean. I love you, Jamie said with his eyes as clearly as he could. Not long.
“Jamie Arden. You never cease to keep me on my toes. Here you are, fuelled by champagne and Sauvignon Blanc, surrounded by Chanel, Prada, Balmain, Balenciaga, are there more?” He took Jamie’s cheek in his hand. Jamie smiled like a child with a new toy.
“Yeah, yeah, there’s more.” He laughed into Dean’s chest.
“And you get giddy over this? Well it would be cruel not to take it home if it causes that smile.” I love you, Dean said through his arms, tight around Jamie. Not long.
“Brilliant. That’s all material, this would mean something to me. Our first holiday purchase. Thank you!” He hugged Dean back, Dean stumbled at the force and laughed.
The bridge was in sight. Jamie cupped the padlock in his pocket. Unbeknownst, Dean did the same.
They reached the middle and Dean turned to him. His chest was bursting. Their relationship to this point flew in front of his eyes in a Technicolor reel of smiles, music, stolen moments alone, the sweetest touches, their passion.
“Jamie, I chased you, you let me in. I know why you were reluctant to begin with. I was never angry, something told me I should pursue you. I’m so happy I did. You’re everything to me. I…”
“Dean, I love you.” Jamie shot his eyes to the floor. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ve got to stop doing that. Shit.” He shrugged his fists at his sides.
The most perfect feeling, that had quickly become his anchor, a touch that made everything else fall away. It was just them. On a bridge in Paris. In love. He hoped. Dean’s finger and thumb at his chin again. He looked up. Eyes heavy. Say it back Dean. Tell me I’m home. Tell me I’m not on my own anymore. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me you love me too.
“Jamie, always taking the lead. I love you too.” He grabbed Jamie’s face in his palms. Running thumbs over cheekbones and ears. Jamie’s eyes relaxing and their nervous dancing beginning to slow.
I am. He does.
Jamie wrapped his hands around Dean’s. “I hoped I’d hear you say it too. I feel free somehow. Do you feel free now? Like you’ve confessed something? Is this what a confession feels like? Can’t be that bad if it does.” Dean kissed him then released him, he needed to move, let him be free for a moment.
Dean opened his arms for Jamie to land again when he was ready. “Jamie, I love your head. I don’t think it’s quite the same thing to be honest. But I get what you mean you mad human being. Yes I feel free. I was beginning to get really fucking annoyed at using the word like tonight. How funny is that?” He laughed.
“Same! Totally the same! How ridiculous. I waited until here though, I wanted it to be special. Sorry for jumping ahead of you. You know me, my head gets like a pressure cooker. Except my steam comes out of my mouth. But you understand me, you love me so I’m only a little bit sorry.” Jamie pushed his face against Dean’s chest. A place he felt so calm and safe.
“I wouldn’t have you any other way. Speaking of special, I thought we’d mark the occasion with this?” He produced the padlock. Jamie moved away again and laughed. Dean looked hurt. “Sorry, forget it. It’s stupid.” Dean looked away.
“Babe no, look.” Jamie held up his padlock. It’s his eyes. That’s what I fell in love with first. I hope someone asks me so I can tell them. Jamie thought. I’ll talk about his eyes for the rest of my life.
They both crashed together and laughed.
“So what do we do, now we have two of them?” Dean asked pressing his forehead against Jamie’s. The flock of fringe he thought so adorable in the coffee shop, now tickling his brow.
That was their love. They didn’t have to do anything from afar anymore. Looking turned to gazing. Touches turned to claiming of territory. Preservation of appearances for the benefit of the other turned to a passionate mess.
Unruly fringes. It didn’t matter anymore.
Jamie went to the bridge and held the rail. “On our first date I told you about my diagnosis. I said, when I get too much, consider him my alter ego, JJ. You said to me you’re the winner if you get both of me. Dean, you won.” Jamie turned to Dean, looking him so deeply in the eyes Dean felt compelled to move to him.
Dean felt all of a sudden responsible. Responsible for this complicated creature that’s come into his life. That was love. The worry, the overthinking, prioritising his happiness every second of every day from now on. He made the silent declaration to Jamie in his heart and went to him.
“What’s your plan Arden? You’re right, I absolutely did.” He came to wrap himself around Jamie.
“Let’s mark one, JJ loves DA, and the other, JA loves DA. How about that?” Jamie pulled on Dean’s arm for more weight.
“Well that sounds perfect to me. Let’s do it.”
They affixed their padlocks, marking their little part in history in this city, the first big part of what would be their history and the start of their future.
They’d walked to the bridge both hoping love was a possibility. They walked away from it, that possibility now confirmed.
They held hands all the way back to the hotel. Jamie gripping the ashtray all the way in his pocket.
