Re: gotham russian tea room; loren & jules
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Jules said, cookie gone, and he wasn't actually sure. He wanted to believe that Loren felt something for him, because he'd always been so certain. Even beneath Loren's insistence on straightness, he'd been certain, and now he sat there, perched upon a chair in a tea party of gold, and he wondered if it had all been imagined. The fantasies of a boy heels over head and back again.
Personal? No. Jules still had no boundaries. He'd gone to a glittery city, and he'd shined, and he'd hated the noise that never left his ears. He'd gone home, and he'd sung where the wooden church walls echoed and sent his voice back to his own ears. He was less edged now. Less at war with who he was. Less need for pronouns and wondering which was his. He had changed, and he had stayed, and the question wasn't personal at all.
Personal would be leaning across that table and kissing the man, but even that wouldn't rank very highly on the list of very personal things. Training wheels, the possible press of lips. No need for a helmet, and no need for kneepads.
His dress squeaked and shined as he leaned forward at the waist, knees crossed and bare, bare legs. "No." A very simple response, and he still awaited an answer.