It's no short walk across town and into the park, towards those hills in the south. It's a great deal less foreboding out here when the sun doesn't quit. Illuminating all the dark corners, all the promising buds on ever branch with a dull white daylight, diffused only by a little overcast sky. Somewhere about the foothills the pines give way to a grove of poplars, tall and striped and tan where small blue birds flit busily around the branches making little little cricking chirps that sound like the crunching of sticks and leaves.
He squints a long moment trying to recall that one.
"Just like the meatpacking district in the 80's, eh? Didn't know I'd be buryin' my pride out here for you, darlin'." he smirks, but all the same he clears his throat a little raises his volume. "What's that part with the drums go? love will never do— never do without you." It's more of a chant than anything with melody. Mostly because it's the only part of that song he can remember. But as he speaks it into the open air, those little blue birds fall quiet.
A moment passes.
And then when they pick up again they mimic his voice perfectly and repeatedly. Each individual bird singing back a word or a syllable. A single part that together becomes one haunting repetition so exacting in its similarity, it could easily be confused for Logan's actual voice coming from the trees all around them.
The embarrassment that hits him deep inside comes through that line that connects him to Jean-Paul and radiates enough to put some colour on that usually unflappable face. He chuckles it away. A laugh that comes easy over the look on Jean-Paul's face.
"Try it. It's kinda creepy. But it's neat." He's already distracted by the birds in the branches. Watching them curiously. Skeptically. But with a gentle kind of calm in his expression he usually only gets when he's comfortably asleep.
"These birds... I think they're native to this place. There's nothing like'em back home, yuh know? Which means. This place has it's own ecosystem. Maybe it started out just like Maine. But it's not now. It's got a life of its own."
Oh, he's not likely to forget the look of that blush anytime soon. Jean-Paul moves to take Logan's arm, watching the birds carefully.
"That makes sense, though," he murmurs. "Even if this place is fabricated... it has to function autonomously." Jean-Paul falls silent, thinking, before he tries for himself, pushing past his embarrassment. "They said it wouldn't last, we had to prove them wrong..." His singing voice isn't bad, but what is amazing is how the birds pick it up. "'Cause I've learned in the past, that love will never do without you."
The birds are perfect, beautiful mimics. He stares, half smiling. "How did you find out they do this?"
He nods along with that assessment. He's no scientist. Or sorcerer supreme. Maybe there's all a simpler explanation he's not smart enough to see. But these parts of the township, the furthest outreaches of the forest, feel like some forgotten space here that's been left for nature to overgrow.
"Feels like the savage land to me."
When Jean-Paul takes up the offer and starts singing he feels that well of embarrassment again, but it peaks a little lower and passes more quickly this time. Replace by some foolish joy instead. It pulls another chuckle out of him and if it's a reserved one, it's only tempered by a little glimmer of actual pride welling up in his own chest to think himself responsible for a moment of the other man's levity.
"I kept hearin' things out here that weren't around. Voices. Coyotes. No scent trail though. So I just waited. Started talkin' to the trees," he chuckles. "Eventually, heard my own damn voice."
"Minus the dinosaurs and hot men in loincloths," Jean-Paul half mutters. He tears his gaze away from the birds and turns so that he's facing Logan. Slowly, deliberately, he wraps his arms around his neck.
"Do you talk to the houseplants, too?" he asks seriously. "I hear it makes them grow." Jean-Paul rakes a hand gently through Logan's hair. "You know, you really are quite patient. Clever, too."
"I'm pretty sure you wore a loincloth that one time..." he has to point out because he sure as shit can't forget it. "It's just nice to not everything out here is all bad. Some of it might actually be helpful."
"I dunno, I've never been in one place long enough to keep a house plant," he teases. Anything to temper the sincerity of those remarks that feel more than little undeserved. At once though, the warmth resonating through the line that connects them is far too comforting to pull away from. It was hard the first time to walk away from those feelings. Hard to tolerate the way the transformed into physical discomfort with every mile be put between them. Maybe he won't have the willpower to do it again. "Or I'm just a guy with a lot of time on my hands."
"And I looked gorgeous," is the immediate reply. He nods, though, because Logan is right - the idea that not everything in Deerington is inherently bad or dangerous is a comforting one.
Jean-Paul turns to take Logan fully into his arms, kissing him soundly before he lets go. "Not too much time, I hope," he says. "I mean, I know having so many people demanding it can be taxing."
"No argument here. You still got that thing?" he smirks.
Maybe it's an effect of the other man's well punctuated ego, but making Jean-Paul look at him like that always feels like some kind of victory. Maybe Jean-Paul doesn't mean it that way, but Logan can't help thinking the remarks are aiming for some greater reminder about where he's been spending his time. "I'll go back. If you do," he tries with the look of a cautious negotiator. "I wanna go back to wakin' up with you. Kurt. Wes..." he last one makes him sigh a heavy sigh knowing they didn't part on good terms and yet both the strings tired to his hand and something else entirely are proof enough of how much their absence aches. "i'll figure out another way. To keep from wearin' you all out."
Jean-Paul smiles, in a way really only the denizens of the cabin and John Blake ever see: unguarded and loving. Underneath his icy exterior there really does lurk a kind soul.
"I do go back," he says. "I've been there a lot. And I don't mean you have to be there ALL the time - everyone does need space, sometimes. But you're missed. We all miss waking up next to you, or seeing you do that manly shirtless wood chopping thing that I might dream about sometimes." Jean-Paul takes one of Logan's hands.
"You two have to talk," he says softly. "I don't know what happened, but whatever it was didn't break that red thread there. Now. You think YOU'LL wear me out? Please. Other way around. I'm insatiable." Jean-Paul has a way of brushing past the hard subjects with an airy flirtation that functions mostly to allow people a way out of the conversation if they want it.
"Me too. Who do you think keeps beer in the fridge?" he mumbles, but his sulking doesn't last long when Jean-Paul's looking at him like that. It's been too long since he's indulged the pull of that thread around his finger. Even knowing the intrusiveness of that telepathic connection, the feelings that it shares are warm and potent.
And Jean-Paul's point about it, is one he hadn't yet considered. If someone falls out of love? Does the thread go away? He considers that line glowing around his finger a long moment. "I didn't mean wear you out in the physical sense," he snorts. But of course that's how Jean-Paul would take it. "But I'd certainly willin' to give it my all some time."
Jean-Paul has to laugh; between the four of them it isn't likely the fridge will ever be short in the beer department. He moves closer still, and in spite of the fact that he's taller than Logan the impression is still of someone cuddling up to someone big and strong.
"Many have tried, mon amour," he purrs. "Don't think I haven't noticed all the ropes in the cabin; you t'ree are some kinky bastards and we haven't had enough time for me to really discover those sides of you." Not that he hasn't thought about. At length. In the shower. Which reminds him...
"...maybe AFTER the strings go away," he adds. "Someone doesn't get to get off on that."
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He extricates himself from Logan, downs his coffee, rushes off to toss the cup, and returns to take his arm again.
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It's no short walk across town and into the park, towards those hills in the south. It's a great deal less foreboding out here when the sun doesn't quit. Illuminating all the dark corners, all the promising buds on ever branch with a dull white daylight, diffused only by a little overcast sky. Somewhere about the foothills the pines give way to a grove of poplars, tall and striped and tan where small blue birds flit busily around the branches making little little cricking chirps that sound like the crunching of sticks and leaves.
"What's your favourite song?" he asks.
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He looks up at the poplars, smiling. "Hn? Oh." He turns his attention back to Logan. "You won't like it. Why, what's yours?"
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"Uh. I don't know. Love Will Never Do Without You?" he says in a voice MUCH less confident than usual.
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"Just like the meatpacking district in the 80's, eh? Didn't know I'd be buryin' my pride out here for you, darlin'." he smirks, but all the same he clears his throat a little raises his volume. "What's that part with the drums go? love will never do— never do without you." It's more of a chant than anything with melody. Mostly because it's the only part of that song he can remember. But as he speaks it into the open air, those little blue birds fall quiet.
A moment passes.
And then when they pick up again they mimic his voice perfectly and repeatedly. Each individual bird singing back a word or a syllable. A single part that together becomes one haunting repetition so exacting in its similarity, it could easily be confused for Logan's actual voice coming from the trees all around them.
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And are the BIRDS singing?!
He looks up, bright blue eyes wide with wonder. He looks around, mouth a little 'O' of surprise.
"What the...? Logan. You're a Disney princess."
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"Try it. It's kinda creepy. But it's neat." He's already distracted by the birds in the branches. Watching them curiously. Skeptically. But with a gentle kind of calm in his expression he usually only gets when he's comfortably asleep.
"These birds... I think they're native to this place. There's nothing like'em back home, yuh know? Which means. This place has it's own ecosystem. Maybe it started out just like Maine. But it's not now. It's got a life of its own."
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"That makes sense, though," he murmurs. "Even if this place is fabricated... it has to function autonomously." Jean-Paul falls silent, thinking, before he tries for himself, pushing past his embarrassment. "They said it wouldn't last, we had to prove them wrong..." His singing voice isn't bad, but what is amazing is how the birds pick it up. "'Cause I've learned in the past, that love will never do without you."
The birds are perfect, beautiful mimics. He stares, half smiling. "How did you find out they do this?"
no subject
"Feels like the savage land to me."
When Jean-Paul takes up the offer and starts singing he feels that well of embarrassment again, but it peaks a little lower and passes more quickly this time. Replace by some foolish joy instead. It pulls another chuckle out of him and if it's a reserved one, it's only tempered by a little glimmer of actual pride welling up in his own chest to think himself responsible for a moment of the other man's levity.
"I kept hearin' things out here that weren't around. Voices. Coyotes. No scent trail though. So I just waited. Started talkin' to the trees," he chuckles. "Eventually, heard my own damn voice."
no subject
"Do you talk to the houseplants, too?" he asks seriously. "I hear it makes them grow." Jean-Paul rakes a hand gently through Logan's hair. "You know, you really are quite patient. Clever, too."
no subject
"I dunno, I've never been in one place long enough to keep a house plant," he teases. Anything to temper the sincerity of those remarks that feel more than little undeserved. At once though, the warmth resonating through the line that connects them is far too comforting to pull away from. It was hard the first time to walk away from those feelings. Hard to tolerate the way the transformed into physical discomfort with every mile be put between them. Maybe he won't have the willpower to do it again. "Or I'm just a guy with a lot of time on my hands."
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Jean-Paul turns to take Logan fully into his arms, kissing him soundly before he lets go. "Not too much time, I hope," he says. "I mean, I know having so many people demanding it can be taxing."
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Maybe it's an effect of the other man's well punctuated ego, but making Jean-Paul look at him like that always feels like some kind of victory. Maybe Jean-Paul doesn't mean it that way, but Logan can't help thinking the remarks are aiming for some greater reminder about where he's been spending his time. "I'll go back. If you do," he tries with the look of a cautious negotiator. "I wanna go back to wakin' up with you. Kurt. Wes..." he last one makes him sigh a heavy sigh knowing they didn't part on good terms and yet both the strings tired to his hand and something else entirely are proof enough of how much their absence aches. "i'll figure out another way. To keep from wearin' you all out."
no subject
Jean-Paul smiles, in a way really only the denizens of the cabin and John Blake ever see: unguarded and loving. Underneath his icy exterior there really does lurk a kind soul.
"I do go back," he says. "I've been there a lot. And I don't mean you have to be there ALL the time - everyone does need space, sometimes. But you're missed. We all miss waking up next to you, or seeing you do that manly shirtless wood chopping thing that I might dream about sometimes." Jean-Paul takes one of Logan's hands.
"You two have to talk," he says softly. "I don't know what happened, but whatever it was didn't break that red thread there. Now. You think YOU'LL wear me out? Please. Other way around. I'm insatiable." Jean-Paul has a way of brushing past the hard subjects with an airy flirtation that functions mostly to allow people a way out of the conversation if they want it.
no subject
And Jean-Paul's point about it, is one he hadn't yet considered. If someone falls out of love? Does the thread go away? He considers that line glowing around his finger a long moment. "I didn't mean wear you out in the physical sense," he snorts. But of course that's how Jean-Paul would take it. "But I'd certainly willin' to give it my all some time."
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"Many have tried, mon amour," he purrs. "Don't think I haven't noticed all the ropes in the cabin; you t'ree are some kinky bastards and we haven't had enough time for me to really discover those sides of you." Not that he hasn't thought about. At length. In the shower. Which reminds him...
"...maybe AFTER the strings go away," he adds. "Someone doesn't get to get off on that."