All language subtitles for Mes.Seances.De.Lutte.2013.FRENCH.DVDRip.XviD-UTT.English

LOVE BATTLES

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Done.

I came to see you to tell you
something you must already know.

Yes, your father died.

The bells were ringing so loudly
they must have scared the angels

if they wanted to come and find him.

My sister and I came for a couple of
days to put things in order.

Did you come to divvy things up?

There can't be a single readable book,
and the furniture is going to be given away.

Yes... but there's my grandfather's piano.

I didn't see you at the church.

And go to his funeral, pretending
like nothing happened,

to add my voice to the chorus of hypocrites.

I don't like you being judgmental.

But I didn't come to berate you,
or to start again.

There was never anything between us.

Nothing?

If you like...

We didn't sleep together, it's true.

But you complained that
I didn't want to see you more.

Of course...

you behaved like a cheated lover.

I wanted to get you out of my head.

And are you better?

Are you better?

Yes.

I'm better.

What would I do with a girl like you?

Angry at the whole world,
at war with her father and brother...

never mind the father,
with her boyfriend or her ex...

Never at peace with herself,
never reconciled with anyone.

You're a public menace.

Especially to well-adjusted and happy people like me.

And to yourself, too.

How amusing.

Well...

You really think I'm a public menace.

In that case,

why did you take an interest in me?

Let's think back.

One night you knock on my door
in the middle of an anxiety attack,

I calm you down with the
help of my medications.

After the attack,
since you're dizzy

I put you up in the guest room,

later you wake up,
knock on my door,

and tell me you can't sleep.

I don't make a sound,

or move a finger.

When I'm trying to sleep
I'm not very perceptive.

Since I don't help you,
you run back to your room,

and I don't know if I should
go knock on your door.

For me embracing you is complicated...

yes, for an idiot like me, it's complicated.

If I'm angry it's with myself, not with you.

You shouldn't have been angry for very long.

You were talking about your piano.

Yes...

I'm going to try to save my piano.

What does your piano play?

There.

It's been a long time since it played with me.

- Your father played?
- Yes, he used to.

Then, he went to sleep.

I would have liked to hear that.

I would have risked my eardrum
to laugh at him botching it.

What did you learn to play?

At first Chopin, and Debussy too.

But now I would prefer to play Schumann.

Some Bach would go well with it
to decontaminate it.

When does your landlord get back?

He'll come back when he wants.

- You do it without complaining?
- Well, yes.

Guardian.

Squatter!

- You don't want anything of dad's?
- No.

The pictures?

I took one at the funeral.

So you don't want anything?

A picture of the deceased is something.

Seeing his face soothes you, is that it?

Forget it.

Yes.

I loved my grandfather and I played his piano,

so I want my grandfather's piano.

Thierry wants it.

If my brother wants it...

Thierry wants it for his daughter.
Are you planning on playing again?

It can be stored away,
while I grieve like everyone else.

Don't exaggerate.

I'll find a place for it.

It's odd, nonetheless.

There were always fights about
sitting in front of the piano.

It made me laugh.

You'd sit on half your ass and dad would
say you weren't sitting properly.

So you would sit on a bit more of your ass,

to finish as soon as possible.

I never saw you play more than 5 minutes.

Because with him it had to be excellent...

brilliant, no?

It was music theory and all the rest.

That's how it was after grandpa died.

But I loved what grandpa used to teach me.
Have you forgotten?

It doesn't matter.

He didn't want to make me a famous virtuoso.

You and Thierry get along well
when it comes to me.

That beautiful union against me!

That perfect solidarity!

I can tell it's not hard for you.

Sometimes, when I have doubts,

and I see you looking at me, appalled,

I get a very negative feeling.

It's silly, my dear.

You're right.

Who did this belong to?
Our father.

I didn't want to know anything about my father.

How stupid you are!

It's true.
Who is my father?

I don't know.

Well, if there's no father,

there's no inheritance!

Does it mean anything to you?

Me, I don't know what I'd do with
this worthless inheritance.

Our father...

Did you call him "papa"?

Did you call him by his name?

I called him "tu."

Will you come find me at school?

You'll be here on Sunday?

"Did you think about my sister's birthday?"

That's a "tu."
So that I exist a little.

I want the ball, as an inheritance.

Can I have it?

Thierry doesn't want it for his daughter?

She doesn't want to be a professional
soccer player?

Why didn't you want to see me again?

Can you explain that?

Because I didn't sleep with you.
Is that it?

It's disgusting.

You care so little about "you and me"
that you decided to ignore me?

Do you think such an ambiguous relationship
could have lasted?

So nothing existed?

Well I exist.

There was laughter, affection, understanding
and now there's nothing.

Nothing.

Not a call, not a text, not an email...

silence.

You don't want to see me again?

I'm not a doll you can play with

and then throw away after one night.

Was there one night?

As if my having approached you meant nothing.

Why don't you like me more?

Because you, you're one of the most
charming men I've met.

Affection, understanding, charm.

You like me as a partner and you
think that gives you rights.

Yes.

Wonderful!

There's no need to end up in tears.

But not to disappear like this either.

It's stupid.

It's not you.

Can I go back to what I told you this morning?

You didn't knock on my door at midnight.

You barged into my room to tell
me you couldn't sleep.

You came in and didn't waste time
approaching my bed...

you... in a T-shirt and
borrowed pyjamas.

- You're repeating the same thing.
- No.

Not exactly.

Seeing you... gave me a hard-on.

I couldn't approach you in that state.

We would have laughed if we had
had a sense of humor but...

at such a sentimental moment
I couldn't approach you.

So yes, there's affection, etc., etc.
but you backed down

and I... I... so did I.

So nothing happened.

Oh yeah?

So the criterion is if we
don't fuck nothing happened.

That's tough!

I haven't fucked since then.

You have to be in the mood
of that night, if it's possible.

You have to be in the mood of that night.

And you shouldn't have hard-ons.

Now that you know the reason for my...

let's say, failure,

what would you do?

A failure?

I don't know.

I wouldn't reject you.

If you thought about my boldness
you should have asked me.

And it wouldn't have happened like that.

If I hadn't gotten a hard-on.

You got a hard-on so I wouldn't approach?

You're a coward.

You didn't answer my question.

What would you have done in my place?

- I told you I wouldn't have rejected you.
- But you didn't care, you left.

That's why I don't want to see a fine
specimen of a girl like you again.

You didn't have the courage to confront
your father. Now it's too late.

The mood of that night doesn't matter, it's too late.

Anyway, what is it you want to hear?

That I felt attracted to you
from the moment I met you?

Yes... and you damn well know it.

And the reason why you want me
to have the mood of that night

is just so I lose control
so you can fuck me better.

Because you're a dirty scoundrel.

I can get it back, that mood.

But I'm not sure I can give into it.

Is the T-shirt in the guest room?

Did you iron the pyjamas?

Are they in their place?

Let's see what would have happened.

Where are the pyjamas?

What kind of fucking game is this?

Come down here.

You're so unhinged I fear for my bodily integrity.

Are you sure you're in the same mood?

I know how to act.

I'd forgotten your side job.

You're certainly an expert stutterer.

You can repeat feelings or moods
you've already experienced.

Relive, re-experience...

Now it's different, we haven't lived anything.

It takes time to prepare for the role.

The role.

You'll have to improvise.

I can't sleep.

I don't feel well.

The smallest sign of love.

Did you say "love"?

Fine, "affection."

- You're backing off.
- I don't ask for signs of love.

I still can't get a grip on the situation.

"Love" sounds obscene coming from your mouth.

You're getting a hard-on.
It's not going to work.

It hardly matters.
Are you that desirable?

Come...

It's soft.

No, no.

Calm down.

Enough!

Let go!

When you stop being furious, you're beautiful.

And you're not pretty when you're happy with yourself.

Let's go.

Do you feel better?

Calm.

Come here.

- You destroy any desire...
- Shut up!

...between us!

How do you want me to answer you?

It's like "Recess."

The fight.

You call this a "fight"?

Yes...

or a battle.

Your battle.

My battle sessions.

Did you say a session?

How much do I owe you?

It's free.

I just want to do good for my neighbors.

The first time,

if I hadn't failed,

it could have been called...

"Love session"

"A love battle"

Because "sessions"

means I have to pay you.

I told you it was free.

But if you want to pay, no problem.

Did you get your piano?

You'll need to fight harder
against your estimable family.

I deserve some of the rage you pour into me,

but with your family you should
exert yourself a little more.

You get distracted by me.

It's a pointless waste of energy.

The day when you want the piano,
you'll win it easily.

You'll pick it up with one hand, no problem.

A few sessions with you and I'll be ready, is that it?

If you can... with me,
you can do it with anybody.

Does it help you?

You're pretty stupid.

Keep talking.

From the beginning I felt that he didn't
think of me as just anybody.

More like a partner.

A partner of quality!

A partner of quality!
Where did you get that expression?

Me too.
The first time I saw him...

I told myself, for an instant,

no longer,

but I told myself he could be
the first partner of value

that I would meet.

- Quality and value?
- A presentiment.

The guy's driving you crazy.

And Bruno and Christophe and especially... Franck.

I only thought it for an instant.

Quality and value... to end up sleeping with.

No.

- After the fight.
- No.

That's not normal, you're really sick!

Well.

Afterwards he grabbed my hair.

He told me I needed to fight with more conviction

if I wanted to win the real combat...

- What's the real combat?
- Against my family, of course.

He wants to seem smart and he's memorized Freud.

- So nothing happened?
- I just told you.

Anyway, a guy like that is dangerous.

He lets you get close, pushes you away
and doesn't fuck you.

He'll drive you crazy.

No.

You'd do the same.

I'm sure you'd find him very seductive.

It's always the same.

When there are fights that last that long
you start to get interested in guys.

I'm sure he has some perversion.

I don't care, while we're fighting.

He's going to dupe you.
He wants you to fall in love.

And that's not good. Be careful.

Okay.

I'm going to straighten you out.
Listen to this.

Does this jog your memory?

Come close!

- Do you hear my stilettos?
- I'll slap you in the face.

That turns you on!

Lick, that's an order!

No!
Be careful!

You know it!

I didn't see your sister's car, so I came in.

Drawn by the melody like a rat?

- Have you been listening long?
- It's difficult, no?

You'll say I'm tripping up.

When I used to play,

it excited me to see how far I could go.

You can understand the state of mind I was in.

And I didn't know it until I started to play.

But now, I can't discover anything.

Just clumsiness and annoyance.

Music is a spiritual thing.

Haven't you noticed I don't have it?

You use your fingers, but it's the mind that plays.

The fingers follow it.

Not mine. And so?

It's your mind that's lost.

When you listen to Michelangeli,
you hear him talking to Debussy.

I don't talk to Debussy, it's clear.

It's good that you're getting your piano
up and going again - and yourself too.

And if I can be disagreeable...

What I don't like is how caustic you are.

If it's so hard for you to play the piano
it's because you don't want to get involved.

It distrusts you and it says...

"Will she have the balls for this?"

And inevitably it looks down on you.

Oh yeah?

It won't be my old friend anymore.

It sounds like a dissonant
parting ceremony.

No sir.

This match isn't lost yet.

That's good news.

You're not better than my father.

The world needs virtuosos.

You're not going to find one here.

- Do you want to have lunch?
- I have to go see the notary.

How about the afternoon?

Come whenever you want.

Are you here?

I'm here.

Up here.

You write?

I'm a reader.

- But you write.
- Not for anybody, I don't publish.

The other day I told you you were pretty stupid.

Yes, maybe for my whole life.

Do you know why you're stupid?

Stupidity has no limits,
you're not telling me anything.

You're stupid because it doesn't matter

whether you sleep with someone or not.

I've slept with guys who meant nothing to me

and I didn't sleep with you.

You're really stupid if you don't understand that.

And you hate me because I didn't end up in your bed.

I should tell you that it gets interesting because...

"Strangely enough, the girl didn't end up in my bed."

It's banal, but not that stupid.

- And so?
- And so...

you bathe in your own self-love.

Is there a hyphen between "self" and "love"?

Of course.

It doesn't surprise me that you know how to write it.

Do you think that sleeping with me
will solve your problem?

I have a problem?

You're filled with your self, hyphen, love.

My God!

I realize I have huge problems.

Another thing.

The other day in the wardrobe...

you made me think I could win.

And at the last second...

the killer instinct.

I'll tell you again.

I gave you the chance to fight your father

and you stupidly fought me.

It would've been dishonest to let you win.

Against me, exasperated, you don't have a chance.

Wait...

with you, I was fighting for real.

That doesn't make much sense.
You're the stupid one.

If you had been fighting against him,
I would have noticed.

I would have really felt hurt.

You need to fight the ghost.

If you don't you're just a tangle
of innards in the body of a child.

You're practically nothing.

Oh yeah?

A true adversary isn't foolish at all.

As a fighter you could do wonders.

Let me coach you and you'll see the results.

I don't understand,

are you my adversary or my coach?

Want me to tell you what I think?

Yes, I would.

If you fight your real enemies...

I'm the combat, I'm not one of
the fighters, I'm both of them,

the combat itself.

You must have been a fan of those kung fu series.

You think you're being serious with me
and you're only a bit offended.

That's not a fighter's mentality.

Do you think I'm the Big Bad Wolf?

If you want to fight with me,
forget your family.

Enough, you're tiring me out!

Choose.

Why don't I have the strength?

With the piano I didn't have the strength.

I couldn't manage with the piano.

You don't give a damn about the piano.

Just like you don't give a damn
about anything in this house.

No!

Burn the piano and leave the house.

Today they're dividing up the estate.

Is it good like that?

My coach.

Then I'm going to concentrate on my piano.

Think about how little your father cared about you.

You can get it.

Stop talking about him!

Okay.

Go!

Go save your piano and be done
with your fucking family!

You want to save your piano and
you can't even take half a round!

I want my piano!

And if I don't get it?

If they keep it?
How would that make me look?

You overestimate your opponent,
you disappoint me.

There's no fight.

Go.

Go.

When you get mad at the right person,
you'll be unbeatable.

Right now you're not worth a damn.

Do you enjoy this nonsense?

Sorry.

I can fix your problem very easily.

If I sleep with you.

But mine comes from 20 years with a shitty family.

It's not that simple.

Okay.

Then let's not fight, and fuck instead.
How does that sound?

That would solve something for us.

How does that sound?

I was happy to come see you.
I was happy.

Happy that you would let me approach you.

And now look where we are.
I don't get it.

I didn't even have to fight.

Good progress, bravo.

We were talking about who would get the Nikon,

and I suddenly put my hand on it.

There was no room for discussion.
They couldn't say anything.

Then I left.

A bit like a candy thief...

but it's a start.

They'll end up needing you.

It's the camera which your father
never photographed you with.

You're worse than them.

You already reduced the heroic value of my action.

But I did it.

He didn't photograph me much, it's true.

It was my brother who photographed me.

My sister, me, and my group.

My group with the other two.

I was never crazy about it.

So this camera means nothing to you.

- I won't let you demoralize me.
- Are you going to take pictures?

Of who?

- Of you.
- Oh yeah?

- And who are you going to show them to?
- My girlfriends.

I told one of my friends that sometimes
I find you seductive.

Since she apparently doesn't believe me,
that's how I'll convince her.

Of course, it's worth knowing her opinion.

It's worth keeping your photos,

so a man and a woman can discover them by chance

when we're both dead.

They're both amazed by the random
chance that led them to find them.

So you put them in an album,
so the woman discovers them

by chance.

Do you understand me?

With this machine, the splendor of
world should never fail.

This camera is your father's
vision of the world, not yours.

It's that bad vision of the world that ruined you.

He's just been buried and you already
want to imitate him.

His way of seeing.

You want to see like him.

No, that's not what I'm doing.

And your album?

Sorry, I forgot.

Here we have...

The woman and man who found me
by chance on page 12

because you numbered the pages
of the album, naturally.

But I'll need to photograph you.

I don't get it, it doesn't take a picture
when I push here.

Is this one of your tricks?

To make me let my guard down.
You can do better.

The couple will discover your little museum

and in that treasure, the photo of me for you.

Don't take a picture.

It doesn't work anyway.

You and me and this sublime relationship.

The woman guesses that the relationship is sublime

because she knows of the passion in women.

The woman guesses who took the photo
because she immediately sees

how seductive I am and she
doesn't need dumb friends.

It attracts attention.

The album begins with the picture of my father.

Everything always starts when the father dies.

We have to talk about what comes after.

For me, this is what will make you immortal.

The photo is so beautiful it'll be on magazine covers.

Everyone will ask about our relationship.

All the playwrights will write about us.

And one of the clever ones discovers the truth.

He'll say that there's no need for wishful thinking,

that it will only last an instant
and won't survive until death.

He imagines our conversation from today,
transcribes it,

finds it uninteresting

and understands that our relationship
is uninteresting.

I'd have to photograph you like this.

Your father was right.
Photography is worthwhile.

You have to preserve the moment forever.

Lovers smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower,

the girlfriend in a sexy pose on the beach,

groups of friends drinking beer
and shouting their happiness...

It's magnificent!

You have to preserve everything.

Tag and post the beauty of the world.

Do you think you have to enter
into that museum of horrors?

Yes, if we photograph the follow-up.

- The follow-up?
- Of our relationship.

Our sessions... sorry...

Love battles!

It would be the "Museum of Love Battles."

That's the title in big letters on the front page.

We'll be a very interesting example.

Always talking about my wonderful family!

The same...

you with your vanity of...

"I couldn't fuck her"

That will be the subtitle of the album.

Oh yeah?

The beginning of the album, the start of the story.

It's later that it becomes passionate.

We'll have to see.

At the beginning of the album,
the photo you put,

before we begin,

what will you call the photo of your father?

My cadaver.

It's a good beginning to reaffirm
the splendor of the world.

We don't have a photo.

I developed them and there's nothing there.

It's all black.

You fought for a machine that doesn't work.

It's possible.

Or it worked until the photo of your father.

He couldn't stand you photographing him.

It makes sense that you inherited this camera because

your dead father willed you a moribund machine.

He has more of a sense of humor dead than alive.

It's blocked, it doesn't work.

Well, your little discourse is going nowhere.

Nobody will see anything of you.

Nobody will imagine anything of you.

They don't give a damn about you.

You won't be in the "splendor of the world" section.

If it doesn't work, you've got to get rid of it.

You're right, it's just narcissistic junk.

Even if I had cleaned the lens, I couldn't have.

Now, it's your vision that you'll have to clean.

And if it's ruined I can't do it.

It could be that he didn't find it interesting.

Or you didn't find yourself interesting.

Why did I spend my whole childhood
running after my father?

What happened to me?

Aren't we exaggerating a bit with this camera?

I don't know if it's worth fixing.

For the Museum of Love Battles and all that.

I'm not sure that you could.

- Oh yeah?
- Yeah...

I'm not sure that you're interested in me.

Are you tired of all this chit-chat?

- Is this your session?
- Yes.

Stop!

I'll give you a chance.

- Oh yeah?
- Yeah.

Take a step.

Come.

Are you okay?

Are you okay?

Of course it's good, but it has to be tuned.

The mechanics are good, but do you have moths here?

I don't know, why?

Because the felt and the dampers
have been eaten away.

How much would you pay for it?

1000 euros seems fair.

Thank you.

- Call me when you decide.
- Yes.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

Doesn't the thing about moths
strike you as odd?

Dad never talked about moths.

Do you think he's cheating us?

This piano can't be worth that.

He said the mechanics were good.

We don't have to rush to sell it,
it has sentimental value.

The piano's the only thing I asked for.

I'm the only one who played it.

I'm the only one who played it.

You got the camera, and you want the piano too?

Luckily the piano is a bit heavier.

We'll talk to your brother about it.

If he offers 1000 euros it's because
it's worth twice that.

Do you want me to untangle a knot?

I regret hitting you.

Are you better?

Did it go badly with the notary?
Did he disinherit his daughter?

Could you stop it with my father?

The miser didn't even give me a cent.

As stingy with feelings as with money.

You said something clever.

You didn't matter to him any more than a stool.

Where'd you come up with that?

It's good, I dreamed it.

A stool is for sitting on.

Don't go. Today you have a chance of winning.

You think so?

Yes, strangely you seem like you're on the front lines.

Your father, your sister, me, it's a good combination.

As if I was part of your family.

You don't look like you're...

looking to be comforted.

Or worn out from rage.

You're so alone.

You're indifferent.

Indifferent and almost confident.

You need to control yourself in what you do.

I adore your sense of family.

He promised me...

He promised he that would will me the piano.

And that he'd tell my brother and sister.

But he didn't tell them a thing.

And I was hoping that with the notary...

But there was nothing in the will.

Nothing.

Until the very end you believed
that your father would be...

trustworthy.

You can't believe it.

If you don't have a good father,
you have to invent another one.

People do these silly things.

He kissed me on the thighs and everywhere.

And all of a sudden I felt alone, so alone.

It's because of the fight.

I won because I accepted what he wanted.
To be my father at that moment.

Do you really think you're fighting your father?

Yes, it's possible...

in part.

That's what he says.

But the truth is...

I don't want my father to kiss my thighs.

It's rather disgusting.

- But he wasn't your father.
- But that's what we were playing at.

He understands my sadness.

He was fighting against me, furious
about the problem with the piano.

I don't understand why you mix up
this guy and your father

in these fights.

You always liked him.
You should decide.

Do you really have to fight without getting anywhere?

But we are getting somewhere.

He knew that my father

had just been buried.

He couldn't overlook that.

These love sessions kind of irritate me.

- Can I tell you something?
- No.

Yes, but hurry.

You're in love with him but you
pretend you don't like him.

Can I tell you something?

Go ahead.

Yesterday I didn't feel in love.
I was furious.

This morning I had a dream.

Can I tell it to you?

I see your eyes, in the distance, in the fog.

I approach, and I see that you're a wolf.

You scare me so much...

that I can neither move nor flee.

The wolf starts to circle around me.

It smells me.

It hesitates...

It comes up to my ass and smells again.

I start to run as fast as I can.

And when I can't run anymore,
I see that the wolf isn't there.

I stop,

catch my breath...

and I feel it on my neck.

Its breath is hot.

I recognize you by your animal smell.

And I know nothing bad is going to happen to me.

The wolf,

you,

pushes me forward.

And from behind, hard,

you kiss my neck.

A wolf...

with your eyes

and a gigantic cock.

Strangely, in my dream, I tell myself
not to forget it.

And I wake up abruptly with your first attack.

It's the most exhilarating dream I've ever had.

Thanks to you.

It had been a long time since I'd
had an orgasm in a dream.

That explains the beautiful smile I have.

Since we don't fuck, I make up for it.
And it's very nice.

One can also see how you project your feelings.

Emotionally we'll see,
but sexually...

it's fabulous.

You could say it solved itself.

We didn't have to fight.

Today you're not stupid at all.

Maybe yesterday's victory
has something to do with it.

Don't underestimate the sessions.

"Today you're not stupid at all."

You say it like you're unhappy about it.

You should be proud.

I didn't dream of you as Little Red Riding Hood.

Put yourself in my place.

You prefer me as a crybaby.

How can you dominate me more easily?

Would you prefer if I cried?

Do what you want.

Would you rather be the Big Bad Wolf
in our sessions?

Too much desire doesn't help with fighting.

Or fucking either.

See? I take you from behind.

Since I saw you as a wolf, you don't scare me.

My strength...

My strength of love is all for you.

I'm going to crush you.

I want to know what I can expect
from my mouth on yours.

The battle is silent, like the tango.

You just have to fight.
You talk too much.

Yes, the mouth isn't made for talking.

It's hot, it blows...

it bites.

There are muscles.

Tomorrow at 5:00?

Do you need to recover?

Tomorrow at 5:00.

The sessions do me good.

That's why I come back.

It's exciting when you don't know
what's going to happen.

Did you practice before going to bed?

This time I want you to want
to fight against me.

Not your father.

Me.

I agree.

I want to know what you're worth against me.

And because I didn't solve my self-love problem.

With a hyphen.

It's good, just the two of us.

No chaperone, no family.

No father, no brother or sister.

Just us.

I'm tired of the familial hate you forced on me.

Let me remind you that it was rather useful.

I tend to do it, although not much.

Confront?

Hold on... get involved.

And I confronted them a bit,
when it was your job.

I wonder if it has more to do
with you than with me.

Because of the pretty girl I saw on
Christmas and who I don't see anymore.

I was hoping to learn the secret of her absence...

but nothing.

If you had her in front of you?
Wouldn't it excite you to fight her?

Wouldn't you have played a role without knowing it?

They're just hypotheses.

I don't think I have a talent
for mistreating anybody.

Or to martyr them.

It could happen to you.

So is martyrdom my fate?

We could go on talking like this for hours.

You told me you came without a chaperone.

I wanted to know if it was
the ghost of the pretty girl.

I already answered you.

No.

I don't know if you miss her or if you don't care.

"She doesn't matter to you" you're going to say.

It doesn't matter. I came to fight
with you and nobody else.

- First, the orders.
- The orders?

Yes.

"Let's go"... or something like that.

"En garde."

En garde?

It's a ritual, you need rules.

We'll end up hurting each other.

- Are you afraid?
- Of hurting each other, yes.

Comments like...

"whore" or...

"pervert" are allowed.

Also...

"nice," "bravo," "well played,"

may accompany an unexpected good hit.

The rest, we'll tell each other after.

I decide when it's over.

When I say "stop," it's over.

If you're tired or it gets dangerous
you say "stop."

En garde!

Even though I like how you kiss me
I don't want to tell you not to fight.

I don't throw in the towel.

I like when your mouth touches mine,
but we have to fight too.

I like a wolf that shows its teeth.

Okay, a real love battle.

It's necessary if I want to see your pleasure
when I lick your breasts.

You won't lick my breasts.
You won't lick my breasts!

Or a good fuck if I can't lick them.

Don't threaten me.

We'll do everything.

I want you to lick my sex like a girl's.

Can I look forward to that?

I want a better performance than from
the lover who did it when I was 15.

Do you think you can do it?

Let's have a competition.

You aren't modest.

It's not that.

I was never congratulated by a jury...

but I don't want to exaggerate.

Okay...

but I'll warn you...

when your first experience is a great one,

you're not easy to satisfy afterwards,

Oh no!

You're not very lenient at all.

When you shake yourself off a quarter
of an hour after fucking,

you can't want anything else.

When you're not moving, again.

And then again.

Like a fish who jumps out of the water.

And when you think it's over,
you shake yourself off again.

And again.

And again.

Why did you leave your expert lover?

I wasn't very in love with him.

Shaking yourself off isn't enough?

It's necessary...

but not sufficient.

And what comes after?

Being fucked, again...

and again.

A perfect whore, that's what I became.

Wait, all of this is to say...

I want to fuck.

And if it doesn't work?

I want to fuck.

I'm starting to wonder if I know how.
I want to fuck you.

I thought I was a good lover but
apparently there's better.

Your sex and your ass,

our teeth and tongue,

the last space for liberty and progress.

Thanks to you I'll become a famous lover

and in one fell swoop you'll eliminate
and the girls I fucked before you.

You're not embarrassed?

No.

Don't stop when I ask you to.

When I no longer have the strength
to crouch down over you,

you'll have to hold up my ass
with your hands to keep fucking.

When I want to strech out beside you,
don't let me.

Hold onto my ass and don't let me turn over.

Grab my hips and keep going.

When I'm really dead, then you can stop.
Not before.

There's another thing.

You'll penetrate my ass.

Smoothly, without lunging.

And we don't do anything.

We're concentrating, we can't
think about anything else.

Your flesh in mine.

My ass opens itself up...

slowly.

And there you are,

your sublime adored flesh,

in the depths of my ass.

In that moment nothing can equal us,

nothing distracts us,

nothing surpasses us.

Counseling, good day.

- How are you?
- And you?

Is it something serious?

My only passion is fucking.

You just noticed?

Fucking him.

You and your dirty words.

Pasion, if you prefer.

I need to fight more than normal people.

And with more people than normal.

And more sex.

I don't deny that sex is above all.

But now it's just with him.

It's just him.

"Just with him" means that if
I'm not with him, I don't exist.

I don't desire others if I'm somewhere else.

What should I do?

Do I trap myself in this?

How and when do I leave?

I just want to make love to him day and night.

I don't think he's someone who can calm me down.

Because he's more of a restless type.

Very restless, to be honest.

Most of all, it turns out that...

in his wolf's gaze I don't feel alive.

I don't feel alive in his gaze.

Today I didn't go to see him and
he didn't come to find me.

- I swear he pisses me off.
- He must be getting tired.

He's not going to come.

I can't stand not seeing him anymore.

If you want, I'll go look for him.

Yes, go!
Luckily I trust you.

And him too.

I need to touch him, I need to see him.

He annoys me.

He exhausts me.

Especially when he's not there.

You could have come in.

I don't want to come in.

Why not?

How long were you going to wait
to show me a sign of life?

- You left this morning.
- And it's 9:00.

Are you going to come in?

It's no use.

What use is there in not coming in?

There's no use in anything.

- I want to free myself from you.
- Free yourself?

Yes.

If I was a man...

I'd destroy you. I'd destroy you!

You wouldn't get out alive.

Then come.

Come destroy me.

I love you.

No!

No.

Wait.

Harder! Harder!

No!

No!

No!

No!

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