(no subject)

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly's new commission has rather shuffled around his usual schedule. The man wants it as soon as possible, so--as soon as possible Feuilly will have it. But it's an ambitious project for him. And ambitious means research. Lots of reference material. Reclining nudes. Reclining nudes with their faces turned away to show the curve of the neck. And boudoirs. Artistic lady's boudoirs.

Really, though, by the time you're sitting there trying to figure out how necks work, much of the eroticism has worn off. Or at least gotten pushed well out of the way. He fills some pages with sketches of naked ladies--and sketches of beds, painted screens, birdcages--then pats Hector on the head and calls it a reasonable day's work.

Off to grab a practice sword and fence a bit with Harry.

Comments

[harryhotspur]

Harry laughs. "A mild and gentle soul, 'tis true. He would seek to intervene on thy behalf, when he sees how o'ermatched thou art." He's just teasing, of course.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Oh, no, I doubt he's forgiven me for the terrible beating I gave him with my feet just trying to get on his back--"

As they pass out the door, he sees Harry's sword and scoops it up to hand over.

[harryhotspur]

"Ah, but once thou wert on, 'twas very well! We will ride again," he says. Asking if Feuilly actually wants to? Nahh. He takes the sword with a nod of thanks and starts for a clear patch of grass.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Good, I'd like to." He's been a little hesitant to ask, not wanting to presume upon Harry's time. But mostly he's just been busy.

Right, well. Swords. It's getting hard to find a patch of grass they haven't scuffed up pretty badly in their matches; really they ought to find the proper practice area. But--Feuilly likes this spot by the stables.

Swords.

[harryhotspur]

They're definitely doing a number on the grass. But swords! It's not quite as good as a duel, but given time and a sword in his hand at last, he's mostly come down from the morning's heights of temper and frustration.

"Ready?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly just nods, already watching Harry's sword. He'll try to give him a decent fight today--for one thing, Feuilly still feels the uneasiness of their own disagreement, in the back of his mind. He can't quite articulate how that translates to wanting to wear Harry out and wear himself out as well, and wanting to see Harry confident and pleased in his own skill, but. Well. Let's fight.

They've had a routine of working through some standard forms to warm up, and Feuilly dutifully attends to his footing and his posture--but pretty soon he pushes it into cheerful sparring.

[harryhotspur]

Oh, but it's an impulse Harry understands very, very well: to do something that's about moving, not thinking, and is hard enough and tiring enough that by the time you're done, you're maybe too exhausted to think about whatever was troubling you before.

Which is to say, Harry is eager enough to spar-- though not so eager, nor so ready to work out his own frustrations, that he does not keep a careful eye on matching Feuilly's speed and skill.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Oh, he can tell Harry still holds back; that's all right. But it's nice to feel sure enough of the simplest movement that he can make some faint--and no doubt obvious--attempts at planning beyond the next two seconds. Maybe he can keep Harry so that the sun is in his eyes; maybe he can edge Harry onto rougher ground!

[harryhotspur]

He'll let himself be edged! He'll maybe even let Feuilly win. Though that it is letting is probably fairly obvious.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Tolerably obvious, yes. But Feuilly will accept the satisfaction of seeing Harry squint into the light, and have to skip a bit to avoid stumbling on a rock. Ha.

He's not going to let Harry let him win, though.

[harryhotspur]

Oh, well, if he insists. Harry gets Feuilly on the point and says (a bit breathless! Feuilly's getting better!), "Dost yield?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Well--yes--but only with bad grace," he says cheerfully, more than a bit breathless himself. "And only because I know I'll have another chance tomorrow."

[harryhotspur]

Harry grins and lowers his sword. "Ay, very good. And then, perchance thou wilt win. -- but thou dost grow in skill, canst tell?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

He's already red in the face so maybe it doesn't show that he blushes? Maybe? He also shrugs and tugs on a place where his workman's blouse is stuck, sweaty, to his back. "Well--I do feel a little less lost."

That's probably as close to a yes as you'll get him.

[harryhotspur]

"It is a start," Harry says cheerfully, coming over to sling an arm around Feuilly's shoulders and completely undo whatever shirt-tugging has just been done.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly, a grown man, respected by his peers, takes his fingertip and pokes Harry over the heart. "And now I have you."

Scary dagger?

[harryhotspur]

"Ah!" He claps his hand over Feuilly's. "Thou hast me indeed! A foul betrayal."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"What do you expect from a vile Frenchman?"

There's no one around; he ducks his head onto Harry's shoulder. "Have you eaten supper?"

[harryhotspur]

"I have not," he says. He works his fingers idly into Feuilly's hair. "Such summer days, I scarce notice the evening until the night has come. Hast thou?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Um." Mmm. Mmmmmm. "--No, I haven't. We could." You know. Eat supper or something. "Or, I don't know." Watch another film or walk by the lake or...whatever.

It's easier to think when Harry isn't rubbing the back of his head like that.

[harryhotspur]

"Perchance thou'rt weary," says Harry Percy, picture of innocence. "Perchance thou wouldst first retire to the stable and rest thyself."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Oh, I'm not--" Wait, hang on. "Well. Maybe for a moment."

[harryhotspur]

Theeere you go. Harry steers them both back towards the stable, and makes it almost all the way before the door before he turns Feuilly towards him and kisses him. It's the usual kind of clumsy urgency that characterizes his kissing, well, most of the time, but particularly after they've been practicing-- only somehow more so, more effort, perhaps, to try and make a kiss say what he does not entirely know how to, to make it apologize for whatever happened, or almost happened, between them before.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Harry doesn't need kisses to apologize; he came close enough to it with words as far as Feuilly is concerned. (Lesgle might like a more convincing apology than he got, but probably not in this fashion.)

But even if he doesn't need further apology, Feuilly will take the reassurance. He's pushed Harry too, lately. Pushed him about his--dreams. (Not his death. Because that's--ah, damn, they still didn't quite manage to talk about that, did they? Well, never mind for now.)

When he has his breath back, Feuilly laughs. "You're going to scandalize Duncan."

[harryhotspur]

Harry glances over at Duncan, who does indeed seem to be looking down his long nose at them.

"Thinkest thou he is grown bashful now? He has seen it before."

--which does have the unfortunate effect of reminding Harry that they are still basically in public. He pulls away slightly.