(Untitled)

[soapcarvedhands]

He's crazy, he's blond, he's shy, and he's totally at your disposal.

Come say hi to Harding!

(Which is to say, there's a tall, slender blond man picking his way through a plate of tea sandwiches--what? he'd liked them!--and sipping, quite appropriately, a mug of Darjeeling.)

Comments

[_to_the_bone]

"Hello again," says Jack, happily.

"Are you doing better?"

[_to_the_bone]

"Mine isn't really scandalous. Well, it is in places, but I'm not in those parts."

Mostly. Either way.

"I don't do scandal all that well."

Who'd have thought it?

[soapcarvedhands]

"Me neither," he says, and his smile is nothing if not rueful. "It doesn't agree with me."

He snorts.

[_to_the_bone]

"I tried. But it's too complicated. I tripped over my clothes. That was at the strip night we did for charity. It might have been worse because I had to get rather drunk before they convinced me to try."

Fun times.

[soapcarvedhands]

"Yes, I can see where drunkenness would not help something like--uh--stripping. Which requires a modicum of grace."

CHAMPION BLUSHER RIGHT HERE.

"I would imagine."

[_to_the_bone]

"I can dance, usually. Naturally. Without the drinking."

Also blushing. HANDWAVE the whole strip night incident.

"But now I do mostly non-sexual modern."

[soapcarvedhands]

"I'm glad to hear you've given up the night life for a more respectable day job," he says, and he smiles widely.

Aww. In't he pretty?

[_to_the_bone]

He is. Jack's noticed.

His blush may deepen.

"It's really much better, yes, though the ballet was more respectable still."

[soapcarvedhands]

"I would imagine so."

Ballet's been around for a lot longer, of course, and the older a thing is the more respectable it tends to get.

Unless you're interested in certain practices the ancient Greeks indulged in, in which case you are very unrespectable indeed.

[_to_the_bone]

"Before I go there I'm going to be in Germany for a while. To visit around. The very best thing in the world is travelling."

Jack's in his long, black coat that he always travels in.

[soapcarvedhands]

Harding's eyes drift a little, and he sighs.

"I imagine so."

He'd love to escape, to leave, to run, to do anything but stay where he is--but, unfortunately, that's not an option. So:

"Tell me about it? In detail?"

[_to_the_bone]

"It's cold right now, and kind of blustery. There's a wind always. There are old buildings and big skies. There are dark alleys and main streets with architecture that looks like dreams and curls."

Jack gestures as he speaks, and he has hands, not like Harding's, but close. Ice-pale. Delicate boned.

[soapcarvedhands]

His eyes are drawn to Jack's fingers, to their length and their grace, and he shivers, a little.

(No pun intended.)

"It sounds beautiful."

How can he move like that and not be ashamed?

[_to_the_bone]

"You should come to dinner there with me."

A bright smile.

"We could walk in the streets in the afternoon and find a shop for chocolates. I'm going to bring back chocolates for Lethe."

[soapcarvedhands]

"Lethe?"

The smile on his face says, Yes, please.

[_to_the_bone]

"You should probably get a coat," says Jack, after a moment of hesitation.

"She's a very dear friend."