"Come on, let's go!"
"You're an impatient little piece of shit, you know that?" Sebastian tells him as he emerges from the bedroom, a small backpack thrown over his shoulder.
"My - Sébastien - what a filthy mouth you have!" Pierre gasps, grasping at his heart in pretend shock. "You know, for an American you sure know how to curse in French."
"Yeah, well, I have a good teacher," Sebastian smirks, wiggling his eyebrows as he steps into Pierre's personal space, crowding him up against the wall without even touching him. "He taught me some really good uses for that mouth of mine too, by the way."
"Oh really, now?" Pierre teases, although his eyes darken when Sebastian leans in a little closer and drags the tip of his nose along Pierre's jawline and further up over his cheek until he reaches Pierre's ear.
"Really," he whispers lowly. The word sends a visible shiver through the man below him, and for a second Sebastian's sure Pierre's going to give in, but even as a triumphant grin starts spreading across his face he feels himself being pushed back and spun around by the shoulders.
"If we're gonna go there we could just as well stay home for the weekend," Pierre tells him, grinning, and Sebastian shoots him a disappointed look over his shoulder.
"I really don't see what would be wrong with that," he pouts, "I can think of a lot of really nice things we could do staying home for the weekend."
But Pierre just laughs, pushing him further into the hallway so he can close the door behind them.
"I'm sure you can," he says. "But just think of doing all those things on the beach."
He winks, and Sebastian sighs as he follows him down the stairs.
"You do know that whole sex-on-the-beach-thing is terribly overrated, right?" he says. "Sand everywhere and trust me - you do not want to get sand up your ass. It hurts. A lot."
"Aaah… and here I was, thinking my boyfriend was the romantic in this relationship," Pierre laments. "What a fool I was…"
"You're an artist, I'm a scientist - it really shouldn't have been that hard to figure it out," Sebastian smirks.
They've reached the ground floor, and Sebastian is only just fast enough to catch the car keys Pierre throws at him.
"You take the first part of the drive," Pierre tells him as he leads the way to the garage, "it's like eight hours driving, we can switch every two to three hours or something, and we'll be there by dinner time."
"Wait - eight hours?" Sebastian exclaims. "Bordeaux's not eight hours from here!"
"It is when you want to avoid tolls," Pierre smirks, "and it's not Bordeaux, it's like… 80km above Bordeaux."
Sebastian just shoots him an appraising look.
"All the more reason why it shouldn't take eight hours," he says decisively. "We're not avoiding tolls. And I'm the one with the keys so you don't get to have a say on how we drive!" he quickly adds when it seems like Pierre is about to protest. "Don't worry about it - I'll pay."
He unlocks the car, and Pierre's heavy sigh is audible even as they get in.
"Well, he's not romantic, but at least he's rich," Pierre mumbles to himself, just loud enough so Sebastian can hear it, and he jumps and squeals when Sebastian swats at him. "Then again, he's kind of aggressive too, so that tips the balance to the wrong side again," he continues, rubbing over his arm indignantly.
Sebastian turns his head to glare at him, but when he sees the familiar mischievous flicker in Pierre's eyes he shakes his head.
"I don't even know why I put up with you," he sighs, and Pierre leans back in his seat, smiling smugly.
"Because you adore me. Because I adore you."
"For my money," Sebastian retorts, and it earns him a playful laugh.
"It's as good a reason as any," Pierre grins as he buckles his seat belt. "Now, are we leaving or what?"
"Of course. Hold on tight: leaving for a romantic weekend at the beach in 3… 2… 1…" Sebastian turns the key in the ignition. "Allons-y!"
.
Even with toll roads it still takes them almost six hours to get from Paris to Les Mathes, the small village at the French coast where Pierre's parents own a small beach house. They switch positions about halfway through, much to Sebastian's dismay, because Pierre driving means Pierre choosing the music, and that in turn means a torturous three hours of French chansons. So when they finally turn onto a drive way and Pierre turns off the ignition, effectively silencing the radio, Sebastian is more than a little relieved.
"Well, we're here," Pierre says with a sigh, and Sebastian leans his head back against the headrest.
"Thank god."
They smile at each other for a couple of seconds before Pierre breaks the moment and unbuckles his seat belt.
"Come on," he says enthusiastically, slapping his hand down on Sebastian's thigh, "let's get you introduced!"
But Sebastian's hand closes around Pierre's wrist before Pierre can even think of moving.
"Wait- introduced?" he asks suspiciously, his blood running cold in his veins. "Introduced to who, exactly?"
"Uh… parents? Brothers?" Pierre tells him, eyebrows frowned. "Come on, Sébas, you saw 'Meet the parents', didn't you?"
"You mean your parents are here?" Sebastian hisses, unable to hide his panic, and Pierre turns in his seat, looking at Sebastian with an incredulous smile.
"Mon coeur, this is my parent's house. This is where they live. This is where I grew up. How could you not expect my family to be here?"
"Because you said 'beach house'!" Sebastian exclaims. "As in 'holiday house' or something, not as in 'permanent residence that happens to be close to the beach'!"
"Please, do I look like I come from parents who have the money to afford two houses?" Pierre laughs. "Mon coeur, I'm sorry, I thought you realized..."
There's a short silence before he reaches out to take Sebastian's hand.
"Look... we can just go back if you want," he says, "and I'll tell my parents something came up and we couldn't make it. Or we could go visit Bordeaux, I'm sure we could find a hostel or something for the weekend - I mean, we've driven this far already."
It's partly being said in jest, but at the same time it sounds sincere enough that Sebastian knows that Pierre means it, that he only has to say the word and they'll turn around and go somewhere else. And it's not so much that Sebastian doesn't want to meet Pierre's parents, it's more that he feels very much put on the spot.
"I'm just.. really bad at meeting parents," he admits, turning his head towards Pierre. "I accidentally hit Jo's dad in the nads when we were playing soccer the first time I went over to her house. And the first time I saw her mom she literally started screaming. Which might have had something to do with the fact I was holding her daughter's dick in the middle of the kitchen, but still." He sighs. "That's a 100% failure rate, you know."
"My dad doesn't play soccer," Pierre assures him before he starts grinning. "And my mom has walked in on worse, believe me. Don't worry about it, they're going to adore you, promise."
Sebastian shoots him a doubtful look, but then Pierre leans over to press a dry kiss against his lips and he closes his eyes.
"All right," he says when Pierre pulls away again. "But if they don't you're doing the dishes for a month."
"Two weeks."
"A month," Sebastian insists.
"Three weeks?" Pierre offers, but when Sebastian glares at him, he starts laughing. "All right, a month. So. You ready?"
Sebastian just nods.
Nerves aside, it's a relief to finally get out of the car, and the fresh breeze brings with it the salty smell of sea and sand as it brushes coolly against Sebastian's skin. Despite the fact that it's already September, the late afternoon sun still provides quite a bit of heat, and the cries of seagulls flying over and children playing nearby only add to the holiday atmosphere.
The house in front of them isn't all that big - a simple one-story bungalow with a garage and a small front porch. The paint from the woodwork around the door and windows is scaling off, and the front garden looks more like a miniature wild life reserve and less like an actual garden, but it appears cosy enough, and Sebastian doesn't have any trouble imagining a younger Pierre running around this house, rolling around in the knee-high grass until his clothes were stained green beyond salvation.
He slams the car door shut behind him and immediately gets reprimanded by Pierre, who puts a finger against his lips to signal him to be quiet.
"Don't say anything," he whispers conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling in anticipation, "just watch." And then, without any warning, he takes a deep breath and shouts on the top of his longs: "Jeaaaaaaaan!"
For a few long seconds, nothing happens, but then Sebastian can hear the padding of small feet and a small boy emerges from the wilderness of the garden, shooting right past Sebastian and straight into Pierre's arms. The sheer force of it almost knocks Pierre over, but he manages to keep straight, and Sebastian watches in amazement as Pierre rocks the little boy, holding on to him as tightly as the boy is holding on to Pierre.
It soon gets clear the little boy has no intent to let go of Pierre anytime soon, and Pierre winks at Sebastian as he whispers something in the boy's ear. Immediately, the boy perks up, eyes darting around until they catch sight of Sebastian, but then as quickly as he'd jumped up he hides his face again in the crook of Pierre's neck, causing both Pierre and Sebastian to burst out laughing.
"Sorry, he can be a little shy," Pierre says apologetically, turning around so that Sebastian can see a little more of the little boy's face. "Jean, this is Sébastien I told you about. Sébas, meet my youngest brother, Jean-Paul. Or Jean for short."
Jean lifts his head a little at that, to whisper something in his big brother's ear, but when he sees Sebastian smile at him he promptly hides again against the other side of Pierre's neck.
"You're not allowed to call him Jean, he says," Pierre passes the message along. "Don't worry, he'll change his mind soon enough. Oh - hey Gwen."
Sebastian immediately spins around, only to find a sturdy-looking woman standing behind him, short and chubby and looking nothing like Pierre - except maybe in the way she's letting her eyes trail over him.
"C'est lui, ton Américain?" she says in a heavily accented French, and all the anxiety that had dissipated the moment little Jean had flung himself around Pierre's neck returns in full force now that Sebastian finds himself under the scrutinizing gaze of this woman. "Il est mignon, je suppose, si c'est ça ton type de mec. Mais dis-lui de se raser sa moustache, ça ne lui convient pas."
"That's 'my American', yes," Pierre sighs behind Sebastian, "and I told you to be nice to him. Also, be careful with what you say - his French has gotten rather good."
"Ooh, an educated American," the woman says, seemingly not in the least bit bothered by her son's warning, and then holds out her hand. "Gwendoline. I'm Pierre's evil step mother."
"Sébastien," Sebastian replies shakily, trying to push down his nerves as he takes her hand, "Pierre's angelic boyfriend. Enchanté."
"Oh well, look at that - educated and polite," Gwendoline coos, and Sebastian can't decide whether she's actually impressed or just mocking him. "And funny too - not bad for a first boyfriend. I hope you're not too hungry, though, your father hasn't started dinner yet. We didn't expect you for another couple of hours."
"Yeah, well, we kinda left a bit earlier than planned," Pierre says, shooting Sebastian a warning look, "but we can make ourselves a sandwich or something, it's fine."
They follow Gwendoline through the house and out the back door, into a large garden that's only marginally better kept then the front one. It's not so much the garden but the terrace they head over to that worries Sebastian though. There are plastic sticks and connectors are strewn all over it, and he carefully tries to place his feet so that he doesn't accidentally break them, or worse - trip over them and faceplant on the floor.
"That's Jean's rocket," Pierre says, pointing at an unstable-looking construction that Jean indeed immediately runs to, almost knocking it over in his enthusiasm to continue his game. "He's going to be an astronaut, see. And the little baby boy you see over there is Michel, my youngest brother. He's eight. Months, I mean. And the guy who's holding him is my dad, although you could probably tell that already."
The man Pierre is pointing at indeed looks strikingly similar to him, though when he stands up to greet Sebastian it immediately becomes clear he's quite a bit taller than his son - and a lot younger than Sebastian had been expecting.
"Good to meet you," the man says as he holds out his hand. "I've heard a lot about you, young man. The name is Jacques, by the way."
"Sébastien. I-uh... wish I could say the same but Pierre hasn't really talked much about his family."
Sebastian stutters his way through the sentence, feeling like his French has plummeted back to the level it was before he came to Paris, but Pierre's dad doesn't seem to mind.
"It would've surprised me if he had," he smiles reassuringly. "In fact, I'm already stunned he appears to actually have talked to you at all, seeing as he was able to invite you here. Usually my son tends to rely solely on body language to get his point across, if you get my drift..."
"Don't you think that's big coming from you, dad?" Pierre responds sarcastically, clearly not in the least bit offended. "Or need I remind you that when you were my age you already had a ten-year-old son?"
"Need I remind you that said son is currently studying in Paris at one of the best art institutes in the world and has grown up a reasonably fine gentleman who unfortunately lacks any respect for the man who practically raised him on his own and clearly did a fine fucking job?" Jacques shoots back.
"You just keep telling yourself that, dad," Pierre smirks, patting his dad on the back, and then turns to whisper at Sebastian: "I had a different nanny like every two weeks. He fucked all of them until he finally got his head out of his ass and married one."
"A total lack of respect for his old man!" Jacques bellows, pretending to hit Pierre over the head and causing Pierre to actually hit him over the head, and soon enough the two men are caught in a fight, trying to wrestle each other to the ground.
"Jacques if you drop my son I swear there's going to be hell to pay!" Pierre's step mother shouts from inside the house, and it takes Sebastian a moment to realize she's not talking about Pierre but about baby Michel, who's still sitting quietly on his dad's arm even as Jacques tries to put his other son in a headlock.
"He's my son too!" Jacques yells back distractedly.
"Then fucking act like it!" comes the swift reply. "Or do you want me to come out and make you?"
Pierre and his dad let go of each other almost instantly, identical wide grins on their faces as they get in a few last punches and pats on the back, though it doesn't escape Sebastian's attention they both take a few seconds to check on Michel too, to make sure he indeed came out unscathed.
It's a strange family, Sebastian thinks, where the parents swear even more than the kids and are less parents than they are friends, but he thinks he might get used to it. That is - until dinner preparations start. Because between Pierre and his dad taking on cooking duty and Pierre's step mom realizing that she could get some cleaning done now she has an extra babysitter, Sebastian suddenly finds himself with one arm full of baby Michel, the other hand holding a lukewarm bottle of milk, and little Jean pulling at his pants begging for him to please come help with his rocket.
He's not quite sure how he survives that hour, or the rest of the evening. Pierre's half brothers seem to have made a pact to alternate their crying times, giving Sebastian no small headache, and it doesn't help that even with how good his French has gotten it's hard to follow the fast, juicy dialect of Pierre and his parents. So when the kids have finally been put to bed and Pierre suggests they go out for an evening walk on the beach, Sebastian is more than happy to escape the house even for just a little.
"Your family's pretty... special," Sebastian finally opens the conversation after they've walked for a few minutes.
"Nice choice of words," Pierre laughs, and then shrugs. "We might seem a little dysfunctional from time to time, but seeing how the whole thing basically hangs together with half blood lines and duct tape, I'd say we're doing pretty good, actually. They're good people, even if they take some getting used to - especially my step mom. She just... likes to rile people up."
"So... does that mean I don't have to shave my mustache then?" Sebastian asks, and Pierre shoots him an amused glance.
"You got that part, huh?"
"Not everything," Sebastian admits, thinking back of the meeting with Gwendoline earlier that day, "your step mom talks really fast. But the way she said 'moustache' didn't sound very positive."
"Well, she wasn't a fan," Pierre chuckles. "She thinks you're cute though."
"She said that?"
Sebastian's not sure whether to be amused or scared, and the dilemma must be visible on his face because Pierre starts laughing and then pulls him closer for a quick kiss.
"Don't worry - she's not gonna make a move on you," he smiles. "She was just trying to annoy me because I asked them to be nice to you. You'll have to forgive her, she was just terribly excited to finally meet 'the boyfriend'."
"So she wasn't lying then?" Sebastian asks. "I really am the first boyfriend you've ever brought home to meet them?"
There's a short silence, and Pierre bites his lip, looking down at where their naked feet are plowing through the sand before he dares meet Sebastian's gaze again.
"Would it be really bad if you were?" he returns the question.
He's got that look on his face again, that same look he'd worn when Sebastian had caught him call them boyfriends - apprehensive and nervous and just a little scared, and Sebastian pulls him in closer, pressing a kiss against his temple.
"Of course not," he says reassuringly, and he can almost feel Pierre relax as he says it. "Just curious."
"Good," Pierre says smugly, instantly recovered. "Because Gwen's pretty awesome and I didn't want to have to resort to falsely accuse her of lying to protect my image."
Sebastian laughs, and they continue walking in silence for a while, enjoying the feel of the sand running between their toes. A little further up the beach a father and his daughter are trying to launch a kite, but the soft breeze that's carried across the ocean is too weak to make it take flight, and the toy falls nose-first back into the sand.
"I'm sorry this isn't the romantic weekend you had thought it would be, with my parents and all… ," Pierre suddenly breaks the silence, but Sebastian immediately cuts him off.
"Hey, don't apologize to me - you're the one who loves romance here, remember?" he quips. "Besides, look at us having a romantic beach walk at sunset!"
"Actually… I don't think the sun sets for another hour or two," Pierre teases, and Sebastian rolls his eyes.
"Great. See what happens when I try to be romantic?" He pouts. "I told you I was crap at it."
But Pierre just laughs, weaseling himself out of Sebastian's grip and skipping out in front of him.
"Come here," he says mischievously, pulling Sebastian forward by his hands, "let the French guy give you a couple of lessons in romance."
"Lessons in romance?" Sebastian repeats, his frown equal parts amusement and apprehension, and Pierre nods.
"Uhu," he says earnestly. "Now, lesson number one: never lose sight of your partner."
"All right," Sebastian says, holding Pierre's gaze as he allows him to pull him closer. "Stare into each other's eyes. I think I can do that."
"Lesson number two: always bring a gift," Pierre continues, and Sebastian pulls an unhappy face.
"See, I'm already doing it wrong," he sighs, "I got nothing to bribe you with."
But Pierre simply cuts him off with a kiss, wrapping his arms around Sebastian's neck as their mouths move against each other, tasting at the thin deposit of salt the wind has left on their lips.
"Lesson number two b," he whispers, "the gift doesn't have to be material."
He pauses for a moment, giving Sebastian another quick peck, and it's Sebastian who finally asks: "And lesson number three?"
"Lesson number three: when in doubt - dance!"
Pierre spins around at that, pulling Sebastian with him, twirling them ever faster until they almost trip over their own feet.
"Yes, I can definitely see how dancing could save any date," Sebastian laughs as he tries to regain his balance. "Nothing more romantic than ending up in the ER together because someone broke a leg. Also - remind me to bring my mp3-player next time because this feels just slightly ridiculous."
"Ugh," Pierre curls up his nose in disgust. "I hate those things. There's so much beautiful music surrounding us constantly, and people block it out, replacing it with the same uniformly horrible crap everyone else listens to."
"Fair point," Sebastian admits, "if we weren't on a beach in the middle of nowhere with no music."
"But there is music!" Pierre exclaims. "There always is! Here, come here... close your eyes..."
He pulls Sebastian in until they're pressed close together, gently swaying back and forth, and puts a hand over Sebastian's eyes..
"Hear that?" he whispers. "Hear the crashing of the waves, the cawing of the seagulls, ... that's the music, mon coeur, it's music if you're willing to hear it."
Sebastian pulls back, and as he looks at Pierre -his black hair messy as ever, hands fisting in Sebastian's t-shirt, eyes shining with an intensity Sebastian could never have dreamed would one day be directed at him- he can feel his heart swell. He leans in for another kiss, and Pierre immediately melts into his touch, parting his lips to invite Sebastian in, letting himself be claimed by Sebastian's mouth and lips and tongue.
They part sooner than Sebastian would have liked, but he can feel Pierre smile against his lips.
"I don't wanna brag," he whispers, "but you can't deny my dancing brought us quite a bit closer together."
"It most definitely did," Sebastian admits, smiling, his eyes still closed, "I clearly have a lot to learn from you, master Jedi."
But there's nowhere he'd rather be, he thinks, than standing here on a random French beach, holding in his arms the boy -the man- he is so ridiculously in love with he knows he could never run away from him. Of everything he had hoped Paris would give him -a brilliant start of his scientific career, international friends from all over the world with couches he could crash on, and most importantly lots and lots of sex- this, love, had been the last thing on his mind.
"Why me?" he asks softly. "Why am I the first boyfriend you've brought home?"
Pierre seems surprised by the question, cocking his head as he pulls back a little to be able to look at Sebastian properly.
"Because you're mine," he says simply, as if he's surprised he even has to clarify. "Because I'm yours."
It's clear he's perfectly serious, but Sebastian can't help but let out a small laugh.
"Oh yeah," he says teasingly. "Mine. And Benoît's. And Dominique's. And Raphaël's. And-"
"Hey, stop that!" Pierre places his fingers against Sebastian's lips, cutting him off. "You know it's not the same. It's- it's not the same for you, is it?"
For the second time that night he looks insecure again, and Sebastian immediately tightens his grip on Pierre's waist.
"No," he says determinedly, and his stomach twists when he sees Pierre close his eyes in relief for a moment. "No, it's not the same. Not at all. Not even close."
"Good," Pierre tells him, glancing down for a moment. "Good. Because… those guys- they can have my body, you know, once in a while." He takes Sebastian's hand, places it over his own heart. "But this? Mon coeur n'appartient qu'à toi."
Mon coeur n'appartient qu'à toi. My heart belongs only to you.
Not 'I really care about you' or 'you mean so much to me' or even 'I love you'. Sebastian has heard those words before, has even repeated them back to those who said them to him. And he's meant them, every time. But there were always other people he really cared about too, other people who meant something to him, other people that he loved - it's never been just the one person. How could it be, when there's a world full of people to meet and know and love?
But now Pierre tells him that his heart belongs to Sebastian - and only to Sebastian. Because he has only one heart to give away, and the fact that he trusts Sebastian with his means more to Sebastian than any declaration of love or a thousand 'I love you's ever could.
And he doesn't hesitate, doesn't even blink when he tells Pierre not only that his heart is safe with him, but that he also trusts Pierre with his own.
"Et le mien à toi."
.
The rest of the weekend flies by, and after that first night Sebastian is surprised to see just how quickly and how seamlessly he becomes a part of Pierre's family. He spends long hours playing with Pierre's half brothers, especially the youngest one, and even longer ones hanging with Pierre on the beach. It's nothing like the weekend Sebastian had thought they would have - it's better. But the best part, at least as far as Sebastian is concerned, comes on Sunday evening, right before they have to head back, when Pierre hands him a small, white envelope.
"What's this?"
"Open it," Pierre encourages him. "Come on, I promise it's not anthrax."
It's a picture - one of the many Sebastian had taken of the two of them on the beach. They look tough, or at least like they're pretending really hard to look tough: Sebastian himself with his bandana and Pierre with his too-big glasses and attempt at a scruff - Sebastian had shaved off his own mustache the day before, much to Gwendoline's amusement.
"I just... well, you know I'm a romantic," Pierre says almost bashfully. "And I wanted to give you something you could remember this weekend by. Remember us. I thought you could... I don't know, put it in your wallet or something. Or somewhere else. The bin, maybe. Anyway. It's for you."
Sebastian doesn't even know what to say, and so he simply pulls Pierre closer for a kiss. His grin grows wider the longer he looks at the picture, though, because that's them - that's really them. Pierre has signed it too, he notices with a jolt of his stomach when he flips it around: M C A T; mon coeur à toi.
"Thank you," he finally smiles, after another kiss. "Thank you... And don't worry - I'm pretty sure I can find a good place for this."
There's a couple of pictures from their road trip here: letmegiveyoumynumbah . tumblr post / 26782297097. The one Pierre gave to Sebastian is the top left one (and was, incidentally, the inspiration for this fic) (and yes, I'm aware that that's Grant and his brother).