Re: Woods: Seven/Jude
Jude didn't come across much of the artless messiness associated with extravagance, long hair was an unusual quantity when it came to parties glittering with champagne and casual cruelty played over dinner politics and artwork. Men at such events generally wore perfectly tailored suits, shorn hair and carried keys to cars of ridiculous cost. Jude's own was starting to stray down his collar, but it looked much like the rest of him: as if the stylistic traits were acquired on the cheap rather than the up and up.
"Are you indecisive?" Jude was a solid sort of presence on the bench, and he turned his chin in to the conversation and away from the keys given the lack of music to read to play. "I suppose the Mona Lisa is all about intimating possible intimacy if you're lucky enough to get near enough but on the proviso that so-doing means you're in an inner circle of a kind. Hello."
He glanced down at the span of hand across his thigh, and smiled blithe and sweet up into Seven's face. "Does this constitute flirting? I fear that might have me prosecuted if I tried it over drinks, cop bar is funny that way." The skip of keys stilled, and the absence of noise on chill air was distinct. The road was very far away from the house, and Seven's hand was very warm through worn-in denim that faded to pale blue at the seams.
"No-one's stopping you, save yourself and the rampant misconception you would have to be walked in gently with piano music and lulling. My brother's around the place somewhere. Are you especially tactile?" Scars and battered and Jude put pieces together and made something close to seventeen rather than seven with the vehicle and the jeans and the mussed hair. He put cool fingertips to the rivet of Seven's wrist-bone.
"You weren't comfortable the last time we were this close." Quiet, and meditative.