[ viktor would hear jayce's own chuckle behind the closed door and a vigorously rubbing towel to get the wetness off. ]
To see all the soot and horse shit?
[ it is a tone of gentle play between them— because they both know they like the smell of horse, and the smell of the forge has always felt like home for jayce. now, he can't speak for viktor, but he thinks he knows . . . judging by his impromtu visits from time to time, to check on his progress. yes.
jayce has all kinds of sketches of viktor in there. it's funny how it all started out as a journal for his daily thoughts, so good and some bad, a few sketches of horses here or there which then gravitated to inventive prototypes. then he met viktor, and . . .
well, ever since that day, marked by the header i have a new partner; his name is viktor, the pages had begun to fill with more and more of him. until its all that loads the gaps between his late night thoughts, pictures of memories, theories and steel work. it's . . . a little obsessive. but it carries its purpose in eternalizing what his eyes, mind and heart always saw.
now, jayce's clothes are stretched across the bed— new clothes, in fact, but not knewly tailored. viktor probably knows by now that jayce barely spends money on himself, but this dark waistcoat with a small, embroidered "T" that looked awfully like a hammer was exceptionally dapper, used a few times but never by himself. slacks, suspenders and blouse folded underneath, he's looking to be particularly sophisticated tonight. the wooing continues . . . as jayce ventures closer and closer to the thought of an engagement. but that's kept to himself.
he opens the door of the bathroom to retrive them, towel wrapped around his waist— he'd intended to pop in and out, only for the clothes to spare viktor the indecency, or the temptation, but. jayce doubletakes immediately when he sees that viktor has found his notebook.
his eyes glisten; he lingers, for just a moment more, this lopsided tug on his lips—
before flushed hues invade his face like the steam rolling behind him; he ducks his head and goes back into the bathroom with his clothes bunched into a single hand. ]
no subject
To see all the soot and horse shit?
[ it is a tone of gentle play between them— because they both know they like the smell of horse, and the smell of the forge has always felt like home for jayce. now, he can't speak for viktor, but he thinks he knows . . . judging by his impromtu visits from time to time, to check on his progress. yes.
jayce has all kinds of sketches of viktor in there. it's funny how it all started out as a journal for his daily thoughts, so good and some bad, a few sketches of horses here or there which then gravitated to inventive prototypes. then he met viktor, and . . .
well, ever since that day, marked by the header i have a new partner; his name is viktor, the pages had begun to fill with more and more of him. until its all that loads the gaps between his late night thoughts, pictures of memories, theories and steel work. it's . . . a little obsessive. but it carries its purpose in eternalizing what his eyes, mind and heart always saw.
now, jayce's clothes are stretched across the bed— new clothes, in fact, but not knewly tailored. viktor probably knows by now that jayce barely spends money on himself, but this dark waistcoat with a small, embroidered "T" that looked awfully like a hammer was exceptionally dapper, used a few times but never by himself. slacks, suspenders and blouse folded underneath, he's looking to be particularly sophisticated tonight. the wooing continues . . . as jayce ventures closer and closer to the thought of an engagement. but that's kept to himself.
he opens the door of the bathroom to retrive them, towel wrapped around his waist— he'd intended to pop in and out, only for the clothes to spare viktor the indecency, or the temptation, but. jayce doubletakes immediately when he sees that viktor has found his notebook.
his eyes glisten; he lingers, for just a moment more, this lopsided tug on his lips—
before flushed hues invade his face like the steam rolling behind him; he ducks his head and goes back into the bathroom with his clothes bunched into a single hand. ]