Re: gotham russian tea room; loren & jules
"You sound disapproving, love. You didn't mind before." That tongue against Loren's cheek rose skin, and Jules' pale gaze tracked there before tracking back to Loren's eyes. He couldn't see the scald of the tea there, but he imagined it, and he tried to recall if the man he'd met would hide something so simple. Time changed nothing, or so he would've said until this place and this moment; it only unveiled and opened drapes closed tightly. Loren was certainties in Jules' mind, and now Loren was coming apart at the edges, the pieces of a long-compiled memory that was possibly remembered wrongly.
Jules was calmer. It was how the priest back home said, the one that had retired and lived in the house near the water. He'd known Jules young, the priest, when loud and louder was about asserting what lived between his legs, versus what lived in his bones. He knew Jules now, calmer, and no one defined him but him. Rhinestones belt buckles, but he only flaunted it when he wanted to. Not as a shock to the world or to handsome straight men in security uniforms.
Fingers around and around the teacup, and Jules stole the cup for his own, merely to see if he'd be allowed. "Same question."