you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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Horrible, awful habit of running my thumb on my lip when I think. Holding the tip of it between my teeth, letting it rest on the swell of my bottom lip, letting my tongue just barely touch the very tip of it; cannot - will not - stop thinking about Neuvillette fixating on it.
It's nothing significant - it should be nothing significant - but oh. There's something about it. The motion of your thumb running over the deep curve of your bottom lip, up along the crest and pausing on the dip of your cupid's bow, before continuing its path back down to settle back in the middle of your bottom lip; as though it's a pillow for it to rest while you gather your thoughts. The indentation as you push down ever so slightly, just enough to let the tip slide in. It's barely enough to even count as your mouth being open; your lips are too full to let more than the barest hint of teeth show where they're lightly closed around your nail. Your tongue is just barely raised to meet the intrusion. It's almost an invisible action, but he can see the tiniest flicker of movement when your tongue presses against the tip, and it makes something in him ache.
Neuvillette doesn't understand it; how something so innocent, so casual, could send these licks of desire straight through him. How, even though it does not (fully) distract him from the topic at hand, he finds himself following every move with his eyes while you're blissfully unaware. How he wonders if you'd make the same expression if it were his thumb against your lips. Or even, how you'd look if it were something else entirely -
It's not long before he slips up. His hand moves faster than yours, and while he tilts your chin up against his fingers his thumb rests against that curved swell of your lip; he's almost lost in the softness of it. He can feel your surprised gasp through the thin material of his glove along with the startled whisper of his name you let out and - oh, it sends a flame through him. He can't stop himself as he follows that familiar path, feeling the gentle dips that he's traced with his eyes so frequently.
He blinks. His mind catches up with his actions.
"Forgive me," said so calmly, as if Neuvillette's heart wasn't racing in his ears.
Yet he doesn't stop. He lets his thumb continue that path, rest on your cupid's bow, before coming back to rest on your bottom lip. Your lips are already parted, they have been the entire time, but he can't help but gently tug your lips down just a bit further. Just a little hint of that temptation -
"I was simply curious."
Surely you will pull away. Surely you will reprimand him for touching you so freely, so...wantonly.
"Only curious?"
For the first time since he'd moved, Neuvillette's eyes meet yours, and he can't describe the feeling curling through him when he sees that telltale spark in your eyes. Though, perhaps the softly stifled groan he lets out when you open your mouth oh so slightly to let his thumb rest against your teeth tells on his emotions more than he could put into words. You tease him with a bite and watch as his pupils dilate at the action, listen as he sucks in an uncharacteristically sudden breath. Relish in the hint of gravel that lingers on his exhale.
"...only curious." A lie. A blatant lie. But...perhaps it's one you can let him slip away with for now.
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