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Tenderness	By : Meghan Category: Anita Blake > Het Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Anita Blake series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Tenderness
- 1
Title: Tenderness
Author: Meghan
Email: meghanreviews@yahoo.com

Summary: Anita goes to Jean-Claude to help him in his misery.
Pairing: Anita/Jean-Claude
Rating: NC-17

AN: There is an exerpt from BeElleGee's story Wicked Ways . To gain the full effect of this story I suggest reading that prior.

Dedication: To BeElleGee this is for you, because I promised this one too!

Disclaimer: I have no association with either LKH or the ABVH series.
****

Asher's eyes pleaded with me to help, begged me to go in there and make the difference when no one else seemed be able to get through to him. This was no small thing; going in there was testing me, and the same age-old questions fluttered in my mind.

What if I'm not good enough? What if I can't help him because I am not what he needs? What if he sinks lower because of my presence? I am after all an aggressive, dominant, sociopath with an attitude to match. I don't know how to handle tears or comfort anyone, least of all myself.

With Asher looking at me as if I was his last hope, I was on the verge of a panic attack.

Not good enough for my first fiancé. Not good enough for Richard. Most certainly not for him…

“What if I'm not enough, Asher?” I asked him, voicing my fears. It was hard to keep my lower lip from trembling; I had to stiffen up. He needed me, not an emotional wreck. “Jean-Claude is just this side of perfect and I'm not even close to it. What if I make it worse?”

“ Ma Cherie , if I know Jean-Claude, and believe me I do, you're just what he needs. Don't underestimate yourself, because if you do, Anita, you won't do his faith in you justice.”

I nodded and swallowed a lungful of air.

Just beyond that door lay an emotionally shattered vampire in desperate need of tender loving care. God, how I wanted to give it to him. I wouldn't let my skittishness keep me from him. Said the little engine that could. Straightening up, I mentally stiffened my upper lip. I was going to the mattresses for better or worse.

This was easier said then done though.

Gingerly turning the knob and opening the door, I stuck my head in and what I saw nearly made me cry. There was Jean-Claude lying prone in the middle of the king size bed, diminished in presence. His power leaked from him in sluggish waves, his attitude a clear reflection of all the vampires that I had encountered on my way down into the Circus of the Damned.

With one last brief glance at Asher, I slipped into his bedroom and shut the door. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. What was I going to do to get him out of this depression? What could I do? I am after all just me. But my heart lodged in my throat at his bleak appearance, and I shrugged myself away from the door, taking courage to get closer to him.

“Oh, Jean-Claude,” I cried softly, for the first time noticing the faint pink tear trails on his pale skin. Unsure if I should disturb him or wait and let him come to me, I sat down on the coverlet beside him.

His ebony tresses flowed thickly on the sapphire bedspread, for the first time not artfully arranged to entice or seduce. It made me want to sink my fingers into them all the more; instead, I took a lock and rubbed it idly between thumb and forefinger, marveling at the silky texture. How come I had never noticed it before?

I smiled wanly at myself and dropped it.

His blue eyes were almost black with the misery that reflected in his every feature. There were no come hither or know it all looks coming from them to arouse me or irritate me. I missed them. It hurt to see him like this, with tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Jean-Claude, what happened to make you like this? A part of me cried out in anguish and fury. All I wanted to do right then was to kill the thing that did this to him. I needed to protect him- my strong, sexy, vampire- who's always put up with my American ways and squishiness towards various intimacies and called me Ma Petite just because he knew it would evoke a response from me. I needed him right then, because I was so sure I was going to fail the one lying so still beneath my palm.

Tenderly I stroked his cheek, feeling his soft satin skin beneath my fingertips.

It looked as if he'd gotten dressed this evening and before ever setting a foot outside the door found it to be too much and just collapsed onto the bed. His tight black pants clung like a second skin to his thighs, but a quick glance told me he wasn't aroused. The scarlet gauzy shirt that I know he was wearing so that when we met for our date later this evening would make me look at his body, gaped at his abdomen. My fingers traced the contours of his muscles lightly. Once, twice, before stilling, only intent on warming his flesh.

His cross-shaped scar, which normally played peek-a-boo with me, seemed almost like a horrible obscenity. I had only recently realized, in a moment of profound clarity, that Jean-Claude wore this mark of hatred on his chest like a badge of honor, showing it off like an aged veteran telling war stories.

I could smell his cologne. It tingled against my nose, and urged me to get closer just to smell more. So I lay down next to him, and pressed my nose to the side of his neck and breathed. Despite his sadness I had the shameful yearning to know what his skin tasted like… I suppressed it as long as I could, but it was impossible to withhold any longer with temptation so close at hand.

Licking the sweet curve of his neck once, I wrapped my arms around him and held him to me. But he still lay there unresponsive to me. It was like I didn't exist to him, and maybe right then I didn't. His sorrow battered at my defenses until I also had to fight the need to cry silently with him.

Oh Jean-Claude. My Jean-Claude. Don't. Please, don't. Don't cry.

Determined, I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek into his shoulder.

“It's going to be okay,” I told him in a soft whisper, the tranquility unbearable to break.

Every passing minute was another squeeze to my heart, and I become more anxious to know what he was seeing as he stared up at the ceiling. I knew that I could pry into his thoughts, but I acknowledged that if he were to shut me out I wouldn't be able to stand it. It would break my heart as surely as his was breaking - and I knew mine wouldn't be mendable- maybe his wasn't either but only Jean-Claude knew that and he wasn't talking to me.

Taking a deep breath, I let go of my shields, and suddenly his power was washing through me. I could feel every trough and crest in the waves rolling off of him and it was dizzying. Tears gathered in my throat as his emotions rolled from him onto me. I hugged him tighter and waited for the memory, the thoughts, the reason why he was like this but I got nothing. He was holding me back.

I reached out, mentally looking for a crack, a weak spot in his mental armor, seeking out a way to touch his aura. There was a weak spot, right over his heart, an unsound wall guarding the tender organ that thumped pitifully in his ribcage. Pushing slightly, I attempted to gently break in without rousing him from his catatonic state. Assertively probing now, I hit a hot spot and got lashed with a flash of memory.

Jean-Claude was chained to a bed, lying on his stomach, with his feet being cut into ribbons.

An involuntary gasp left my throat, and I pulled back, horrified. “Jean-Claude,” I beseeched mournfully, shaking his still form. “Stop it, please, don't do this to yourself. It's over. You're safe, I promise.”

But it was no use begging him; he was lost in the memory.

I wondered if I could break through his barriers, if that would provoke him into shutting me down, pushing me away. It would hurt, it would make me cry, but if it stopped him from continuing down this path best left untrodden for even a moment it might be worth it. When he was done telling me off for invading his head like that I could be congenial and slip away from the Circus undetected and grab a cab back to my apartment. Then he wouldn't know how much it hurt…

If he could hide his emotions like this every day and never break surely I could perfect the same mask.

Without another thought I shoved power through his shield and collided with the memory head on.

Jean-Claude licked his lips. "Take heart in the fact I heal as fast as I do, Monsieur," he mumbled. "A body can only endure so much before it becomes incapacitated."

Narcissus considered this. "True. Which is why I only play with supernaturals. Humans have a tendency to...die on me."

Jean-Claude shook his head and must have looked as disgusted as he felt because Narcissus' expression suddenly hardened.

"What was that for? Are you trying to incite me to flog you even more? Are you getting impatient, my little masochistic whore?"

"Yes!" the vampire spat. "Beat me and be done with it!"

Narcissus gaped back at Jean-Claude, aghast. "Well!" he huffed. "I can see there's a little bit of the dominant in you. But you better tuck him tightly away before he gets you into anymore trouble, my dear. You're in plenty of trouble as it is, and just remember, you asked for it!"

He raised the whip high over his head and ripped the lashes through the air so powerfully, they whistled and tore across the vampire's lower back with a resounding crack.

The scream which rose in Jean-Claude's throat became trapped there when he realized he couldn't even breathe. The whip bit into his back again and he flinched, jerking against his chains. Blinding pain shot down his arms from the thumb screws and he did scream audibly then.

I found myself being thrust backwards then, hurtling out of the memory with a sudden intense curl of power from Jean-Claude as he hurled me out of his mind and slammed his shields into place. The ragged scream in my throat abruptly died, and I panted harshly for breath sprawled against the back of the headboard. Lifting my gaze steadily from my feet, I took in the tense muscles standing out on his legs, the taut belly, the heaving chest, the wild hair, and finally the raging cornflower blue eyes full of power glaring hatefully down at me. Biting my lip to keep it from quivering, I didn't have to wait for long.

“You had no right, Anita!” Jean-Claude shouted, his voice missing all of its usual seductive flare. “How dare you! By what rights did you think you had to enter my mind?! Get out Anita- I don't want to see you!”

My throat constricted, but I managed to pick myself up from the rumpled bedding and move across the floor without tripping or stumbling. My legs felt curiously weak, gelatinous, and the back of my nose burned. Just get to the door, I told myself sternly, just get to the door.

I reached it, almost expecting his hand to be there pushing it shut, but it wasn't. I felt the anger roll off of him, pushing against my back to herd me along.

In five minutes I had left the Circus and crawled into a cab. In a daze I paid the driver and half ran, half stumbled my way up the stairs to my apartment. My keys rattled noisily in my shaking hand, and it was all I could do to concentrate on which key would fit into my lock.

My whole body strained in anticipation of an ambush that never came. At last the door opened and I fell through, slamming the door closed onto my own little world. Kicking off my shoes, I bee-lined for the bedroom; there was a mound of penguins that I needed to fall into. A sob built in my throat as I collapsed onto my cuddly plush mound. It wracked noisily in my lungs before heaving out of my mouth in a violent lamentation of grief.

I don't know how long I sat there, cradling Pigsly and Morkle to my breasts, but I awoke the next morning to the incessant ringing of the phone. I glanced balefully over at it by my bedside and snuggled further into the friendly heap of penguins, burrowing my nose under Pigsly's soft fuzzy beak. I didn't want to move from the safe nest I had created for myself. Besides it wouldn't be Jean-Claude on the other end; it was morning after all.

When the phone finally stopped, I dragged myself away from my collection and went to the phone. I turned off the ringer, turned on the answering machine, and turned the volume way down. Satisfied, I dialed Animators Inc. and politely told Bert that due to personal reasons I needed to take off the next few days. He wasn't very happy with me, but what else was new? I didn't want to go out at night, didn't want to work, and didn't want to see Jean-Claude.

The next few days went by in a blur. Many times I itched to go get the pint of coffee ice cream from my freezer, but why let Jean-Claude get such a treat? If I were to eat it, he'd probably be rolling like an overgrown baby on the bed, cooing with delight. Then to top it all off, he'd get the pluses from the experience while I gained ten pounds on my hips. Uh-uh, no way was I getting out the old comfort ice cream; for now, I'd stick with black coffee.

The ardeur finally sprang up on the fourth day, leaving me in something of a bind. My answering machine held thirty-six messages either concerned or upset that I was shirking my duties. But truthfully I didn't want anyone's company; I wasn't ready for it. And certainly not for what the ardeur had in mind- if I did have company I didn't want to have sex with said company.

I wrestled with it and cursed Jean-Claude. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

“Oh God, I think I finally hate you,” I screamed, my voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

Stumbling through the door into my bedroom, I lunged for the phone and started to punch in keys frantically. I needed to reach Nathaniel or Micah. I had to or I'd find myself leaving the apartment and jumping the bones of the first thing I met. I would die of shame if it happened to be a neighbor, and I wasn't going to let this thing get the better of me.

A voice picked up on the other end, but I was beyond hearing it.

“Nathaniel, Micah, get over here. Hurry,” I gasped, scrambling to hang up the receiver.

It felt like a small eternity had gone by before I heard a key scrape the lock. Grateful, I escaped the confining air of the bedroom, racing to the foyer just in time to see him. Through the haze of the ardeur I smiled goofily at him.

“My self control is basically shot,” I husked softly, curling my fingers through his silky hair and pulling him in for a kiss.

My heart lurched pitifully in my chest, and I cried softly the whole time we made love. Pressing hot open mouthed kisses, mingled with scalding salty tears, I trailed a path from his collarbone to the waistline of his pants following the light wispy trail of hair. Fingers trembling, I pulled off his belt and whisked the zipper down, releasing his erection into my palm.

“Anita,” he murmured brokenly, “We're in the hallway, let's go to bed.”

“No,” I denied swiftly, “need you. Now. Here.”

I took him in my mouth and suckled voraciously at the silky flesh between my lips. So hard, so smooth, so deliciously powerful. A vein pulsed underneath my tongue and I pursued it all the way to the base of his cock. Gently cupping his balls in my hands, I rolled them skillfully between my fingers, testing their weight and size. With a teasing nip on the tip of his penis, I soothed it with a passing lick and swallowed him bringing his length deep into me.

Despite the tears coursing down my cheeks, I felt deliriously happy and free in this act. Many minutes passed by pleasurably as he sagged against the wall. His hands fisted in my hair, curling the tendrils tight so that they clung to his skin.

“Please, Anita, I'm going to come,” he rasped, arching his hips to meet my strokes.

He slid further down my throat, not quite to the hilt. Glancing up under thick lashes, I hummed in agreement, squeezing his ass and pushing him forward so that he slipped further inside. My nose bumped his groin and he groaned gutturally, his body wracked by spasms as he shot his seed down my throat to pool in my belly.

Greedily swallowing, I drew him out, releasing him as he softened. Ardeur sated, I smiled serenely and opened my eyes. Blinking twice, I was certain that the vision before me wasn't real. A pinched on the arm confirmed it. I guess the shock on my face must have alerted him because Jean-Claude immediately bent and scooped me up into his arms, his coiled power evident in his grip.

Hurt and angry I recoiled and hit him hard on the shoulders, yelling loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Let me go, Jean-Claude. Right now. Right now, Jean-Claude!”

“Not until you hear me out, Ma Petite ,” he said grimly, his sapphire eyes hard and soft at the same time as he glanced down at me.

Miserable, I told him truthfully as I looked away, “I heard you loud and clear, Jean-Claude; I don't think you can say anything to make it right.”

“But you will give me the chance to try, Anita,” Jean-Claude said tiredly.

I glanced back at him then. His face was drawn and gaunt, as if he'd only been feeding because he was forced to so that the vampires in the city could have a semblance of control. His thick black hair was sacrilegiously tied back from his face with a leather thong. His flesh under my hand was like driftwood, lifeless and cold, its heat sapped from it during our bout in the hallway.

My cheeks burned in shame as I looked away from him to study the floor. He sighed and walked us to the couch in the living room and sat down on it, still holding me on his lap. I squirmed to make some room between my back and his chest. Jean-Claude sighed heavily, as if the world had placed upon his shoulders a bigger burden than he cared to deal with. Breathing shallowly, I stilled and waited for him to speak. I was itching for my gun, but maybe it was a good thing that it was sitting forlornly against the headboard in it's sheath otherwise I might just shoot him and be done with it.

Then of course I'd have murder on my hands, and that would be something the press would glut itself on. I could just picture the headline, ‘The Executioner Wanted for the Murder of Her Ex-Lover the Master of the City.' So no, it was a good thing the gun wasn't in my hands right now, but it didn't mean that I didn't want the security of it.

“What are you thinking, Ma Petite ?” he whispered against my ear.

I shivered as the seductive tingle of his voice raced down my spine. Edward would tell me to go to my happy place, the place where I could kill without hesitation or thought. It was getting to the point where I needed to do that just to protect my already tattered heart. Vehemently I growled at him, “Why? Can't you tell for yourself?”

“No,” Jean-Claude said sadly, “but I can guess. I'd rather not make assumptions, Ma Petite ; it tends to make things worse than they already are.”

“Jean-Claude,” I started, licking my lips, “why are you here?”

In answer he pulled me tight against him, burrowing his nose in the curve where shoulder and neck meet. Every word brushed against my skin as he spoke, “After you left I became intolerable to be around. I was a villainous brute, all campy- growly and fangy- until Asher took me aside and upbraided me for my foolish pride just before dawn the second day. All day yesterday and today I have been trying to get a hold of you, Ma Petite , but you won't answer the phone. I called Animators Inc. and your boss Bert snapped at me, telling me that he had dibs on you as soon as you got your act together because business was piling up. He's very upset with you, you know.”

I made a humph sound, biting my bottom lip between worrying teeth. How many of those thirty-six messages were him? I wondered.

“I called the pard, and Micah said you weren't answering his calls either. He had to deal with a minor crisis of Vanessa's on his own.”

I glanced up then. “What happened?”

Jean-Claude waved my question away and shrugged. “I haven't a clue; you'll have to talk to Micah.”

“Speaking of which, why are you here and not Micah or Nathaniel?” I asked suspiciously, pushing away from him again.

“Why indeed,” Jean-Claude murmured slowly. “I received a very interesting call from you earlier, Anita. You didn't call Micah's home, but the Circus of the Damned.”

I digested that tidbit for a moment, before letting out a drawn out sigh. “Great, well I'm-”

“Don't apologize Anita, not to me,” he forbade, “I shouldn't have blown up at you. I had no right.”

I shook my head. “No, you had every right. It was, after all, your mind and your memories.”

“Asher told me what you said to him before you came in to try your hand at raising me from my… slump.” He paused for a moment, then turned me around in his arms and lifted my chin up, his thumbs brushing either side of my face. “ Ma Petite , despite what silly notions lie inside that pretty little head of yours, you are perfect. Perfect for me and for all those whose lives you've touched.”

“I'm not,” I refuted quietly, lowering my eyes. “I just bring trouble and pain wherever I go.”

“Trouble comes without you, Anita,” Jean-Claude said exasperated. “It would still be there, only messier because you would not be around to help direct who picks up the pieces. Where would the werewolves be without you?”

“Better off?” I joked, placing a tremulous grin on my face.

Jean-Claude glared, his eyes swirling a lighter blue. “Sylvie would be dead, and Richard would have ruined the wolves by dragging them all into death, and that's just the start. You've made the wereleopards a family, a family built on trust, power, and love, and no one could have pulled that off but you. Asher has his self-esteem back because of you. I couldn't do that for him. Look how many times you've helped me, Ma Petite ? You've saved my life many times, times you didn't have to. Don't put yourself down, not you, not my little Executioner.”

I snorted at that, and a smirk creased his lips.

“You think your dominant, bossy, gun-happy, American ways are imperfections, but they're not. In fact I'd have to say they are the exact opposite.”

“But don't you see?” I wailed in frustration, “Here you are comforting me, when I should be comforting you. Jean-Claude, I never knew about what happened between you and Narcissus, and I don't have a clue about the horrors you've faced at the council's hands. I'm not sure I want to know. You're full of emotions and hopes and fears and yet you can forgive me, put on a stoic face and just sit there, cuddling me, making me feel better about myself.”

“Are you saying you're selfish, Ma Petite ?” Jean-Claude grinned cheekily, taking away the sting of the comment with his flirtatious ways.

“How do you do it?” I asked genuinely confused. “How come you've never broken down before?”

“I don't know how I made it through the centuries. At first I think it was because of Asher and Julianna, but then they left me and I was alone. I sometimes ask myself how I ever survived it all without you beside me.” Jean-Claude shrugged and looked down with adoration in his eyes. “ Ma Petite , knowing you has made my every night worth getting up to greet. These last few days have been sheer hell, please forgive me, Anita, I need you. I don't want to lose you because I lost my temper.”

I looked into his beseeching gaze and floated there for a few minutes in a sweet haze. He was drawing me in with his power, but it wasn't malicious. Warmth flooded him, and his heartbeat quickened beneath my palm; he looked anxious and a little bit heartsick as he waited for my answer.

He'd put me through hell these last few days. I had questioned my person many times and flogged myself with many perceived flaws. Flaws that he loved.

“Je t'aime,” Jean-Claude whispered hoarsely, his eyes welling with tears, his arms reluctantly loosening their grip on me.

“I love you too,” I crooned softly, urging his head down.

His lips opened under mine and we kissed gently. My tongue probed inside his cool mouth, seeking his gleaming fangs. The difference in length intrigued me and I licked carefully, well aware of the dangers kissing a vampire and nicking yourself on their fangs.

“I forgive you,” I murmured, between frantic kisses.

A broken sob escaped him as he tugged me further into his embrace and his kiss grew wild, wetter, and more demanding as he pulled me into his embrace. I found a more comfortable spot between his thighs, nestling myself between them. His hands brushed against my hair and combed through the thick tresses, before he cupped my head and pulled me hard into his unrelenting kiss.

My fingers began to nimbly undo each of the pearl buttons on his white dress shirt, eagerly running inside the garment to touch his irresistible chest. The pads of my fingers traced the slight dip in the level of perfect skin and his scar. When I revealed it, I bent to press my lips to its dark tint and rough texture. I could feel his hands working to pull my oversized nightshirt over my head.

Though unwilling to lose the sensation of the slick scar sliding beneath my lips, I leaned back and lifted my arms over my head and let him whisk the offending article off. His mouth latched onto one pert nipple, and I cried out, my hands fumbling to find purchase in his hair before I remembered that it was tied back. Instantly intent on ripping the thong out of his hair, I raked my fingers through the tresses on the back of his head, before finally finding what it was that I searched for. It was a satisfying moment when I pulled it out of his hair and I sighed appreciatively.

He laughed, sending shivers down my spine. With every rough lick from his expert tongue on my breasts, fire quickened in my belly. Mewling in pleasure, I arched into his ardent kiss and clasped his hips.

“Need you,” I told him brokenly between shaky breaths. “Pants bad.”

He chortled again and pulled back, brushing his thumb once reverently over my gleaming nipple. I groaned and attacked his belt buckle. My haste made him chuckle again, damn him, but when my fingers accidentally brushed against his hard on, his hands joined mine with the same sense of need.

“ Ma Petite ,” Jean-Claude groaned gruffly, his head falling forward onto my shoulder as I stroked him deftly through the opening of his leather pants. “The things you do to me.”

“Take me to bed, Jean-Claude,” I begged him, my voice low and breathy.

“With pleasure,” he replied with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Bending, he swooped me up into his arms and beat a hasty path to my bedroom. We landed in a pile of limbs on the crumpled sheets with Jean-Claude on top. He pushed himself into a push-up position, his arms on either side of my head, his hair trickling down over his shoulder to brush teasingly against my collarbone.

He licked the scar there, and the one at the bend of my elbow. He nuzzled the cross-shaped burn on my arm and licked the claw marks that bisected it. When he had pressed soft wet kisses to every blemish and imperfection he looked up. His eyes were the most beautiful sapphire color I had ever seen and I leaned upward to kiss the corner of each.

His hips nudged mine, and I opened my legs to welcome him. Jean-Claude seemed content to stay there for a while, cradled in the V of my thighs, but I wasn't having it. Arching upwards, I rubbed myself against him, leaving a sticky invitation on his throbbing member. Jean-Claude growled and pushed forward, seeking my slick entrance and with one thrust sheathed himself to the hilt inside me.

I gasped, a low whimper trickling out of my throat as he sank inside me. I found purchase on his butt, and gripped with two fistfuls of his firm muscles. I pulled him into every plunge as my back bowed to greet him. My hips tilted upwards slightly, and his grinding hit my pelvic bone as he searched out my womb.

He was in so deep, making love to me, so hot and hard inside my dripping core. It was a sensory overload. Thrashing against him brought minimal relief as our passion built higher, hotter. His talented fingers found the little bundle of screaming nerves between us and pinched gently. I shattered then, my walls clinging to him, pulling him in, drawing him deeper as he shook and trembled in my arms.

When we had collapsed, with his weight lying heavily on top of me, I laughed softly. My palms skimmed idly up and down his moist back, collecting the cool sweat, before curling into the underside of his hair. I sighed dreamily against his neck, and snuffled there before leaning up to capture his ear between my teeth.

Jean-Claude purred and bent to trace on lingering swirl around my soften areole and peak. He was still buried within me, flaccid and limp. I loved the feeling. I didn't want to move away from him, from this moment. He kissed my jaw and settled his weight a little to the side, careful to stay inside me. We rested against the sheets, wrapped in a blanket of tender affections, until we fell asleep in each others arms, each still wrapped around the other intimately.

When I woke up at noon, I found a blood red rose on the pillow where he'd slept. A note sat next to it, and I picked it up, smiling at his outlandish cursive script.

“Until tonight, Je t'aime, Ma Petite .”

Je t'aime aussi, Jean-Claude, I thought sleepily, curling around my own pillow, content and happy.

Sometimes I was enough… I was enough for Jean-Claude… I needn't be worried about us… because one Jean-Claude was more than enough for me too.

The End.
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Tenderness