Post-demo - Laurent’s snippet (minimal spoilers)*

Since I wanted to keep the plot even thorough all three routes, adding more intimacy to Laurent’s route in the demo would make him appear seriously out of character, and so, as a consolation, I wrote a snippet that takes place X years (can be 2-3 years can be more) after the demo ends. Enjoy!

*to avoid the spoilers skip the beginning and go straight to '***'

If at the time you were warned that your new job would include an abundance of bureaucracy that results in being buried under an avalanche of reports that need to be filled by hand and in triplicate, you just might have changed your mind and ran for the hills.

Still, since the milk has already been spilled, you’ve had a substantial amount of time to get accustomed to your new reality, no matter how impossible such a feat seemed back then. Months later the sight of another mountain of paperwork brings but a sigh of weary resignation from your lungs.

You’d never allow anyone to call you sheltered, not after the life you had lived. You do have to admit, though, that there were matters you were not aware of. Then again, your pursuit of ephemeral safety was largely an ego centric one.

The roundabout stability you have now is strange. Accepting it came easy, but that too feels like you’re betraying a part of yourself that fought so hard to elude fate. There are nights when you still rage. Mostly you just adapt, like you’ve always done before: one day at a time to keep your sanity intact.

                                                                                       ***

Or one document at a time, as it is.

In the small glass room on the large metal table there’s a thick folder with your name on it, bold lettering determining the due date as yesterday.

Though time can’t be defeated, it’s your luck that you have a pro by your side.

Besides Flavio, who you swear grows an extra pair of limbs whenever the reports arrive, Laurent’s the second-best - not that you’d ever call him that to his face. He’s meticulous, fast, and so quiet that if you ignored the swish-swish of his pen as the ink glazes the paper you could almost forget he’s even here.

Almost. Sitting near enough that if you moved your arm by an inch it would bump into his, Laurent’s the only one who’s concentrating on the work laid out in front of him.

Watching him is like overseeing a well-oiled machine and marveling at the advancements in technology. None of his movements are excessive, and yet he replaces each document with automatic precision, putting it down at an angle so straight it’s as if he’s using a ruler. Simultaneously, he makes it seem as though the task he’s at is completely effortless.

Apart from the practical one, there's another reason as to why your eyes are reluctant to return to your own folder and instead slide leisurely over the planes of Laurent’s fingers - long and thick, holding the silver pen in a delicate grip - then his palm - large, scarred and coarse - until they rest on his face that bears the same countenance of cold stolidity you’ve grown used to seeing from him over the years.

You have a little word for it. The same one that is responsible for the way your heart skips a beat when Laurent’s gaze lifts, meeting yours.

“Is something wrong?”

The ease with which his absolute focus switches from work to you is as startling as it is gratifying. Despite being subjected to it before, you doubt you’ll ever be able to take it for granted.

“Nothing’s wrong. Can’t I just look?”

There has to be something on your face that Laurent’s learned to recognize because a faint flush colors his cheeks carmine. He glances down, then to the side, diffidently escaping your attention. By nature, he doesn’t fidget, but the way he places the pen on the table only to immediately lift it again, comes extraordinarily close.

“Why? Am I distracting you?”

That startles an amused huff out of him. “You know you are.”

“Should I stop?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, wincing immediately as though berating himself for sounding too eager. He doesn’t want to ask, and speaking about it flusters him.

Yes, some things take longer to unlearn, some habits stay with us forever. Nevertheless, you know that he likes you to take; he has a lot to give, and you intend to take your fill.

He’s also sharp and intelligent in all the areas that matter - even if his emotional awareness begs for an improvement - so he catches on to your design as soon as you turn in your seat to face him fully. Giving him plenty of time to oppose, you cup his jaw with both palms, holding him without any pressure so that he can cross the distance himself with the plausible excuse of your hands.

His own, that abandon both the documents and the pen lie flat on the counter, as if to stall any involuntary movements. They tense as he pauses a breath away from you, then relax once you close the gap.

He tastes like painkillers and metal, but the fragrance of sweet perfume on his skin floods your senses, overwhelming everything else. You want more of both, and so does he because when you lean away, he follows as though yanked by an invisible line.

“Another?” You'll give him thousands if he asks.

“Please.”

His lips are moist from your warm breath, slick with saliva and pliant. It’s difficult to tease, to keep the kiss short, to break apart and ask, with a laugh in your wheezy voice, “Another?”

“Ple-”

“Hey, boss, I was-” The door behind your back opens as it shuts a second later - with a bang, accompanied by a muffled sound of sputtering. The sentence ends before you can do as much as pivot. “-just leaving.”

A moment of silence passes, interrupted only by the clack clack clack of retreating heels and a peal of loud laughter right after. Laughter that you can’t help but copy yourself, as you lower your head and press it to Laurent’s heaving chest.

The amusement wanes slowly, but the calm doesn’t last. As soon as you straighten, the more-black-than-blue eyes have your pulse speeding up once more.

“Another?” Laurent asks, more of a plea than a returned quip. The corner of his lips twitches in his not-quite smile.

The answer is so obvious you don’t deign him with one.