(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]

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.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Ah, to hell with being in public, they--

No, damn, now Feuilly's been reminded too. He stands a fraction straighter and rubs the back of his neck. "Well--you keep saying what a, a gentle soul he is--"

They've progressed to awkward joking.

[harryhotspur]

Harry laughs. "And what has gentleness to do with--" mmmmthings. Nevermind. Anything that even brushes against trying to articulate what is going on is entirely beyond him.

"Let us to supper," he says, because that seems to be the only logical way to proceed. --but then again. "Though belike we should first seek some clean garments."

[tu_vas_triompher]

Yes, right, things. Feuilly's ears go a little pinker just thinking about how to finish that sentence.

"Oh-- Oh, yes. A fresh shirt would be good--"

And now he's aware that he's, he's making excuses for things, and--

[harryhotspur]

Yes, at this rate, they're going to dig themselves a proper hole of self-consciousness. So Harry retrieves his sword, gives Feuilly a friendly shove as he passes, and sets off back towards the bar. Everything's fine! It's cool! They need to change, obviously, that's perfectly normal.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly has to jog-trot a few paces to catch up to him and return the friendly shove. But once they've settled that, he rests an arm on Harry's shoulders.

It's not as though they couldn't both use a change of clothes.

[harryhotspur]

Exactly! So that's what they're going to do.

When they reach the place in the corridor where naturally they must part, each to their own room, Harry pauses.

"Wouldst--" why has this suddenly become embarrassing "--wouldst borrow a shirt of me?"