prompt if you're taking it!! exes to lovers again pls?
ANON i’m sorry for getting to this late! uhhh no finished fic but here’s a snippet, i guess? of an aborted exes to lovers au idea i once had and just couldn’t power through (because i suck) 😅
untitled exes to lovers snippet
“—And that’s why we’re of the position that complete renovation of 58 nuclear reactors could potentially be economically devastating,” Eliott said coolly from across the room.
“—Other options appear equally credible and infinitely more financially sound. Take for example, natural gas. Such an investment couldn’t possibly cost us billions in—“
“I’d like to point out,“ Lucas cuts in acidly, arms crossed as he leans forward and ducks his head to speak into the mic. He narrows his eyes at Eliott from beneath his glasses, the handsome face of the man across him going hazy and distorted in the spots where fluorescent refract off the dust motes floating around the room. “Contrary to what Mr. Demaury’s saying, nuclear power still has a large potential for future expansion. Assuming we were to implement on a large scale, given the availability of uranium and thorium technology - third party studies have repeatedly shown that the amount of economically exploitable fuel resources would be enough for nuclear power to provide centuries’ worth of—“
“Exploitable?” Lucas looks across, startled, at the forest fire igniting in Eliott’s eyes. Shit. It’s a decisive - and stupid - word. It’s akin to giving Eliott a hand grenade and waiting for him to strike the killing blow. “So you admit it, Mr. Lallemant, that your company has plundered—“
“That is neither here nor there, Mr. Demaury,” he snaps, and Eliott smiles, all white teeth and half-moon eyes. He has him. He has Lucas.
It’s fucking infuriating.
In a way, he’s had Lucas for quite some time now, but Lucas doesn’t really want to think about specifics at a time like this. When he’s doing what amounts to semi-drivelling seat warming at these things for his bosses who’d rather not subject themselves to multiple rounds of internationally sanctioned mudslinging.
Thirty minutes pass like nothing. The moderator calls for closing statements. Eliott gives his with a genuine sense of affable charm that’s inevitably endeared him to lobbyists and NGOs. He’s the darling of the opposition’s fundraisers for a reason. Lucas has always envied this a bit, but not in the sense that one would think.
That smile had always been just for him.
“You’re shivering.” Eliott drapes his jacket over Lucas’s shoulders. The warm heavy cotton instantly suffuses Lucas with a tingle of heady affection. “They said the bus line was having problems today on twitter, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to come and see how you’re doing. And fuck, I’m glad I did. Baby, look at you. You’ve been here, what, twenty minutes?”
“Yeah,” Lucas says, pink tinting his cheeks. “You didn’t have to come all the way to the stop. I told you I was fine going home alone today. No need to finish early for my sake.”
He’s still getting to this whole having a boyfriend business. Still getting used to falling asleep with his cheek pressed on Eliott’s shoulder as they ride the metro together. Handing him a bowl of reheated pasta, covered in unhealthy amounts of cheese, the way he likes it. Grinning at each other after they dance like madmen in Eliott’s apartment to the soft sounds of pop-rock, an auditory compromise between his and Eliott’s tastes. Teeth nipping against Eliott’s lips with each vowel he sounds at as they fuck against the couch, Eliott trying to make him come untouched with sheer girth and precise aim…
“Bah,” Eliott dismisses with a smile, bright and reassuring as he whips an umbrella out of his backpack. He follows it up smartly with: “A wet hedgehog is an unhappy hedgehog.”
Lucas hums, hooking an arm over Eliott’s bicep as they begin walking together in the rain. “Not if he’s wet in other, better ways…”
Eliott laughs, squeezing his waist. Lucas shivers - against the cold or Eliott’s touch, he can’t tell. He doesn’t really care at this point. “That was so bad.”
Lucas buries his nose in Eliott’s shoulder. “You like it, though,” he mutters, grinning. “Terrible lines are a turn-on for someone with terrible taste.”
“Performing the elusive self-drag, I see.” Eliott pinches the skin on his side.
“Enlighten me, M. Demaury. Which part of that is a self-drag?”
“Well,” Eliott begins patiently, guiding Lucas gently as they step over tiny puddles. Fuck, it’s impossible not to swoon at this rate. “If I have terrible taste, as you claim, then you’re indirectly saying I shouldn’t love eating you ou--“
“Yeah, and I can’t wait to be alone in a room with you proving just how superior my taste really is.” Eliott’s hand slides over to the small of his back, lingering there for a heartbeat — a promise of something more.
Today, he’s doing utterly routine work, parroting soundbites prepared by him and for him by half a dozen suits. His mind wanders. He hasn’t seen Eliott again since yesterday afternoon, when Eliott cornered him in the men’s restroom and asked—no, demanded—to know if he still had the same number.
Onstage, Eliott glows. But in dingy fluorescent, his face looks tired and almost too grown-up. A chrysalis of the boy he’d once known before.
Lucas, stunned, had told him he’d never blocked Eliott, anyway. It’s a half-truth. He’d blocked Eliott on all his socials the day after they broke up. After a year, some self-reflection, and an effort to earnestly move on, he’d unblocked. He figured back then that it was the perfect time to test if he could stand to look at Eliott’s photos without breaking down or bursting into low-key hysterics.
Turns out, Eliott never really posted much after their break-up. It’s been three years to the day, and Eliott hardly posts photos of himself anymore—only of black and white photography, film stills, and the occasional apartment photo. The most personal post Lucas recalls is a boomerang video of Brian slithering across the carpet. Apparently, it isn’t only Eliott who thrived after the break-up; Brian’s obviously immune to Lucas mentally cursing him in his head every single time they were within two feet of each other all those years ago.
Lucas never likes or engages. Just watches the feed. He himself isn’t big on posting about his hook-ups anyway—not like any of them mattered. He goes back to posting random desk selfies, photos of his friends, and food photos. Inconsequential shit he’s accumulated over time.
When he’d told Eliott this, it was his turn to be startled into silence. “Lucas, I—“ he’d began, then aborted.
“I have to go,” Lucas mutters, throat feeling dusty. He pushes past Eliott, their clothed arms brushing together.
It’s as if a switch lights off inside Eliott. With surprising quickness, Eliott’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist. Lucas looks at it like a starburst of shrapnel buried in his hand. “I’m... I didn’t think I’d see you again. Ever. Will you - come to dinner with me?” he says, a little roughly.
There’s a glimmer in his eyes. Pleading? Hoping? For what?
Lucas tamps down that stupid part of him that wants to lean closer and get a better look.
andulkaphoto
prguitarman
titsay
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
