Le battant (1983)

The guy in the white dress shirt is sitting in an office chair, feet propped up, when a woman with reddish-blonde hair drops to her knees and starts sucking him off under the desk. You see the whiteboard behind them, faint writing, office vibe — feels like she’s his coworker and they’re sneaking a moment. She takes it deep, head bobbing steadily, one hand braced on his thigh. Later it cuts to a warehouse — same guy or different? Hard to tell — lying flat on his back on a concrete floor, surrounded by wooden crates and barrels, sunlight slicing through dusty air. He’s got his hands behind his head, eyes closed, like he’s waiting for something or just zoning out. Another shot shows a Black man in a hallway, short dreads or tight curls, wearing a watch, arms crossed, looking straight into the camera like he’s about to say something important. There’s no dialogue, but the tension feels like setup — maybe for confrontation, maybe for sex. The lighting shifts from flat office fluorescents to warm, cinematic natural light in the storage space. You don’t see penetration or explicit acts beyond the blowjob, but the mood builds like more is coming.