Chapter Seven

“Thank you.”

Cam tipped the young man who had just delivered his food order and a new bouquet of flowers. It was three forty-five, which meant he didn’t have much time before Jean-Paul returned and he wanted everything to be ready for him. He took his supplies into the kitchen and placed them on the island, going over his planned menu as he checked off the items. Shrimp, butter, garlic, arugula and spinach, with walnuts and cranberries, chicken broth, corn, potatoes, onion, milk, wine.

He put the wine in the cooler and set about preparing the chowder, which would take the longest to cook. Then, once all the ingredients were in the pot he seasoned the shrimp and checked the clock. Four twenty...Jean-Paul would be home soon. He went out to lay the table, and as he was finishing up, the front door opened. He walked out and smiled at his host, glad Jean-Paul couldn’t see the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

“Oh good, you’re here. I can finish dinner now.” He could do nonchalant with the best of them.

Jean-Paul smiled and headed into his room, returning a few moments later and standing in the doorway to the kitchen sniffing appreciatively.

“Something smells good,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

The salad needed putting together, and it would keep Jean-Paul in the same space with him legitimately. “Make the salad for me? Thanks.”

He forced himself to concentrate on sautéing the garlic in the butter, adding the shrimp and making sure it wasn’t overdone. Once the shrimp were ready, he placed them in a covered dish, then Jean-Paul took them and the salad from him so he could bring the soup bowls to the table. He went back for bread and cheese and Jean-Paul followed him.

“Wine?”

Cam grinned at him. “Feeling better, I see!”

Jean-Paul laughed. “After that run this morning, I was fine. Which one?”

“The sauvignon blanc.”

They sat down to eat, and Cam felt his skin heat with pleasure at the sounds Jean-Paul was making. Anyone listening but not seeing them might be forgiven for thinking there was an orgy in progress. He stopped the thought at once. Sex was off the table, unless Jean-Paul showed that he wanted more than the easy camaraderie they were developing.

“That good is it?” he asked, “or are you just blowing smoke up my ass?”

Jean-Paul looked up from his bowl, which was almost empty, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don’t understand. How would I do that?”

Cam laughed, delighted with him. He forgot sometimes that Jean-Paul was not a native speaker of American English. He explained with a chuckle.

“It just means you’re acting like it’s good because you think it’s what I want to hear.” He laughed again at the incredulous look on Jean-Paul’s face. “I know, it makes no sense.”

“And even more than that. I would never lie to you about food.”

He was clearly quite serious, which amused Cam, but he just grinned and served the shrimp. If he were prone to swelled-headedness, his head would have been as big as the table for all the grunts of approval as Jean-Paul ate. Cam watched as he broke the bread and swiped it in the sauce, licking his fingers and clearly enjoying his meal. He never knew watching someone eating could turn him on as much as it was doing, and he had to remind himself that he was also supposed to be eating, because they had to go soon. He had searched for what to see in the cemetery, and there were some sites he really wanted to visit before they closed.

After dinner, they cleaned up quickly and within fifteen minutes they were out the door. Ten minutes later they were parking and beginning a tour of the cemetery.

“Where would you like to go?” Jean-Paul asked as they walked into the grounds.

Cam knew they would not be able to see much because of the late hour. “I’ll settle for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Maybe next time I can spend more time here and see more.”

Jean-Paul shot him a piercing glance. “Next time?”

He didn’t say what was on the tip of his tongue. He had been really good so far in managing to keep his interest in his host hidden. But Cam would be the first to admit it was becoming harder to concentrate around him. He inhaled deeply and nodded.

“I’m sure I’ll come back to DC some time or other. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even come back while you’re still here.”

Thankfully, Jean-Paul decided to accept his answer. They got to the site where many others were also gathered, and Cam watched as the guard changed. It was moving to note the solemnity on the faces of the men, whom he had discovered were called “Sentinels,” as they switched places with each other to continue the rotation of twenty-four/seven watching over the graves of the unknowns. The absolute silence required at the tomb was piercing and powerful to him. And yet, it seemed peaceful in a way.

He was glad he had chosen the site for his first visit to the cemetery. Jean-Paul stood next to him, unmoving, head bowed, except when they watched the guard change, apparently as moved as he was by the whole vibe of the place. They turned away at the end of the change ceremony and walked back to where they had parked. He felt an inexplicable urge to hold Jean-Paul’s hand, because he was radiating a deep sadness Cam didn’t understand. He wanted to ask about it, but he didn’t know how, and after the way the Frenchman had clammed up about his mother, he didn’t want to stir up old wounds. But he desperately wanted to comfort him.

“Shall we go see the Iwo Jima Memorial now?”

Jean-Paul’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Sure. If you’re up to it.”

His companion looked at him briefly as though he wanted to respond, but he said nothing. They got into the car, paid the meter on the way out and drove back along the highway. In the five minutes it took to get there, Cam sat quietly, holding his curiosity in check. Despite his growing attraction to the man, Jean-Paul and he were still very new friends. He hadn’t earned the right to question him about personal matters as yet, though knowing that didn’t stop him from wishing he would confide in him anyway.

Once there, Cam stood next to Jean-Paul reading the words, taking in the images, remembering the history. It was another moving moment, and it occurred to him, despite their not being together in that way, they had been on three really great “dates.” He wondered if this were the kind of thing Jean-Paul liked to do on a date, or if he were just being a kind host and showing his guest the sights in his town.

From there, it was a short step to thinking about what he would do if he were on a date with Jean-Paul. Where would he take him? What would they do together? Although he had not said as much, Cam knew Jean-Paul was attracted to him, so bi or gay, he didn’t think he had anything to worry about on that front. It wasn’t like he’d be obsessing over a straight guy who wouldn’t even understand how he was feeling.

“Would you like to walk around a bit more? It’s a beautiful night.”

Cam nodded and stepped off with Jean-Paul, walking the perimeter of the property, inhaling the scents and enjoying the peace of the night. The need to hold Jean-Paul’s hand became more than he could stand, but he knew he shouldn’t do it. Instead, because he had to touch him, he rested a hand lightly on the small of his back as they returned to stand before the large monument to the memory of lost Marines.

Jean-Paul’s body jerked in reaction to his touch, and he turned to look at Cam, his eyes dark in the gloaming. “We had better be going,” he said, though he didn’t move.

And, Cam was grateful for that. He wanted to show Jean-Paul that he was there for him, that he understood sorrow and loneliness, that he would be his friend through it all. He knew what was happening to him, despite his early reservations about the Frenchman. And though his rational mind knew he should stop the freefall of his emotions, his heart was refusing to cooperate. He could so easily fall for this cool, elegant, thoughtful man. They were in sync in ways Cam had never felt with anyone else.

He reluctantly removed his hand and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The drive back to the apartment was as silent as the journey to Arlington had been, and once back indoors, Jean-Paul disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Cam to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his evening. He had work to do, but he felt curiously unable to concentrate. He knew instinctively that his host was hiding from him, and he supposed he could understand it.

If Jean-Paul was reluctant to start something with him, it was better if he avoided Cam. It made perfect sense. That’s what he should be doing. Exhaling hard, he decided to try the gym on the first floor.

Changing quickly, he knocked on Jean-Paul’s door to let him know where he was going. When he opened the door, his hair was wet, and he was half naked, a towel wrapped around his hips. Cam almost swallowed his tongue. The first time he had seen him like this, on the balcony the night before, his heart had sped up and his whole body had heated in reaction. And it was doing it again, his cock suddenly stirring painfully in his gym shorts. He fought for control of his breathing as he watched a drop of water fall from Jean-Paul’s dark hair onto his cheek and roll down below his jaw. Another fell onto his hairy chest and Cam stepped closer as if he were a marionette and Jean-Paul was pulling his strings.

“What can I do for you, Camden?”

Jean-Paul’s English was more heavily accented than usual, his voice deeper, his eyes dark. Cam saw the flare of his nostrils and fought to stay where he was, because all he wanted to do in that moment was lay one on those lips that closed around his question. He knew Jean-Paul was as affected by the moment of closeness as he was. Cam saw his eyes drop to his lips, and he read the hunger in them. But Jean-Paul did not move. Clenching his jaw to bring himself back from the edge, he answered.

“I just wanted to let you know I’ll be in the gym for a while.”

“I will open the door for you when you return.”

“Thanks.”

Cam turned away, clenching his own fist around the towel he held in his hand. He walked away, wishing Jean-Paul would stop him, turn him back around and take the kiss he knew they both wanted. Instead, he made his way down to the gym. Working out helped to wear him out, and by the time he got back to the apartment, he was tired enough that he knew he’d fall asleep if he lied down. And maybe that’s what he should do. He would wake up an hour earlier tomorrow and do the reading for class. He rang the bell, and when Jean-Paul opened the door, he walked in with a quick thank you.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he told him.

His blood heated when he saw disappointment flicker in his host’s eyes before he turned away, going back into the living room with a quiet “Goodnight!”

Showering should have cooled his body, but he walked into the bedroom hard as stone and hot all over. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and slid into bed, leaving the covers off, because he just couldn’t cool down. Was Jean-Paul feeling this wound up, or was it just him? Maybe he was imagining the heat between them. Maybe it was just leftover emotion from his visits to the cemetery and the war memorial. Maybe if he lay still, the feeling would dissipate and he could fall asleep.

He tossed and turned for ten minutes, rolling onto his back again after trying every position. Lying on his stomach had only driven him crazy as his cock was abraded by the material of his boxers and the firm mattress. He palmed his cock, feeling the silky weight of it as he stroked himself. What would it feel like to have Jean-Paul’s hands on him? Would he have a firm or a soft touch? How fast would he stroke him? Would he squeeze him as he stroked? Swirl his hand around the head? Spread the precum to ease his way?

His breathing quickened as he played with himself, imagining Jean-Paul pulling his cock, fondling his balls, sliding his tongue over them and up his length to the tip, circling the head and lapping up the liquid seeping out. He groaned and squeezed his cock, reaching down with the other hand to rub his balls. They were drawing up, ready to spend themselves all over his hands and belly. But he wasn’t ready to blow just yet. He wanted to savor his fantasy, so he let go, slowing his breathing, drawing air into his lungs in deep pulls, bringing himself back from the edge.

He wanted Jean-Paul. He wanted to know him better, to joke with him so he could hear his laughter, to tease him and make him blush, to taste his full lips, and feel his beard on his skin. He wanted to hold him, to touch his flesh, and run his hands through the hair on his chest. He wanted to fuck him, and to be fucked by him. The thought of his host inside his body, owning him, drove Cam right back to the edge. He stroked himself harder, spreading the precum over his length, imagining it was Jean-Paul’s ass he was reaming with the hard thrusts into his fist.

“Fuuuck!”

He came with a muffled groan, panting quietly as his balls emptied themselves all over his hands and up his chest to his chin. Struggling to catch his breath, he kept stroking slowly, lazily, letting his body calm down. Did Jean-Paul jerk off to thoughts of him? He hoped so. That had been the hottest non-sex orgasm he had enjoyed with anyone in a while, and he wanted nothing more than to make the fantasy a reality. Sooner rather than later. He only had three days left in the city.

Eventually he got up and went to clean the cum off his body, before returning and falling back into bed. This time, he fell asleep almost immediately. When the alarm went off, he reached for his phone to stop it. Opening his laptop bag, he pulled out the handouts he needed to read and annotate and sat back in bed, losing himself in the work.

The sound of Jean-Paul’s shower told him he should get dressed so he could meet him for breakfast before they left. He had a couple of pages left to read, but he could do that once he got to the campus. He had a quick wash, dressed and packed his bag, and went into the kitchen to see what was there to eat. He didn’t feel much like eating, but he knew he should. Maybe he’d boil an egg. That with an apple and coffee and he’d be good to go.

When Jean-Paul walked in, looking crisp and debonair in a pinstriped gray suit, Cam’s whole body heated up all over again, and for a moment he was blinded by a wave of raw lust. Jean-Paul’s hair was still damp from his shower, and he smelled sexy and looked hot as hell. The dark gray shirt and black tie complemented the light gray of the suit, picking up the dark stripes and echoing them in the black dress shoes he wore. His beard was freshly trimmed, and Cam wanted to rip his clothes off so he could lick him before he took him over the kitchen island.

He cleared his throat of the lust crowding it and grunted, “Good morning.” He couldn’t manage to say anything more.

“Bonjour, Camden. Did you sleep well?”

Cam’s cheeks burned with the heat of remembered ecstasy. Had Jean-Paul heard him when he came? That would be embarrassing, but hell if the thought wasn’t also hot as fuck. He shook his head, confused at his contradictory reactions, and grunted another reply.

“Yes, thanks.” Then he remembered his manners. “I’m boiling an egg. Would you like one?”

“Non, merci. I’ll just have a croissant and some coffee. I’ll make the coffee.”

They didn’t speak as they worked in the kitchen, and they only spoke when they had to at the table. By seven thirty, they were out the door again. Cam turned as the car stopped at the university.

“Any plans this evening? We don’t have to go anywhere if you’d rather not.”

“I should probably go to the gym this afternoon. I haven’t been exercising, and I feel a little sluggish. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. See you at home later.”

For some reason, the day dragged. The final assignment, which would be shared with the group on the last day, was shaping up rather nicely. But there was still a lot of reading and discussing to do, and after lunch, a film to watch and dissect. And Cam had a hard time concentrating on work when every spare moment had his thoughts winging back to Jean-Paul. He’d be leaving the day after tomorrow, and despite his words earlier, he didn’t know when he’d be heading back this way. Jean-Paul could finish his time here and be gone before he returned.

He wanted to stay in touch, and he knew he could, since he had Jean-Paul’s phone number. He could call or text. And what was to stop him from going back to France, and finding a way to meet Jean-Paul there? He wasn’t tied down in any way. The next thought brought him up short. What if the reason Jean-Paul was fighting the attraction so hard was that he had someone back home in France? It had never occurred to Cam that he might be in a relationship.

“Shit!”

The exclamation of dismay escaped and the professor, who was passing by at that moment, stopped, a look of concern on her face.

“Dis encore, monsieur? Puis-je vous aider?”

Cam shook his head hurriedly, embarrassed at having been overheard while he was off in his own head.

“Non merci. C’est rien.” At least, it was nothing with which she could help him.

After the session ended, he remained behind in the room, working on polishing his project, timing himself so he was finished an hour later. He wouldn’t arrive back at the apartment before Jean-Paul, which was a good thing, since he had no way of getting in without him. He saved his work, then stopped by the men’s room before heading out. He didn’t know what would happen this evening, or how he would manage the desire growing inside him. But he wouldn’t hide away from it, either. One way or another, he would face whatever was happening, and figure out a way to handle it.