[When Guy opens the door, he'll find the lights turned down. The room is lit with candles and dimmed floor lamps instead, and a very delicious-looking spread is on the dining table. Courtesy of Seventh Heaven: a lobster bisque soup, with lightly toasted baguettes as an appetizer. The main course has yet to be revealed. On a record player, Billie Holiday croons softly. Julian is doing this right.
Julian himself is dressed nicely, but not formally--typical date night fare, suit and tie with his hair slicked and his breath freshened. There is a secret stash of mints in one pocket, but Guy does not need to know this.]
[Guy suddenly feels terribly dressed down for the occasion, though his habits still have him in a suit and tie as always. His fedora comes off of his head immediately, his face sweeping into a wide smile.]
Julian...
[Guy had felt terribly guilty about the shift, and had resumed the thoughts he had been tossing about from earlier that week... but this was absolutely something else.
His mouth moves to say something, but there's no sound. He's just so very stunned, his heart swelling so much he can't put words to its quickening.]
"We missed our first Valentine's Day." Julian pulls a chair out from the table and stands by it like a lackey. "I thought we could get it back."
It might sound a tad rehearsed, and it is. As far as rehearsed speeches go, it went pretty well. Julian only hopes that, after last week, Guy hasn't changed his mind about sticking with one man instead of staying open to chasing many.
"You really have," he murmurs as he takes his seat, glimpsing around the room. He finds the candles very fitting of he and Julian, for he sees them both as men who have hearts that often burn with such emotions. Passionately kindled fires.
"Augh, the air is heavenly smelling!" He closes his eyes to take in the first course, grinning.
"Of course you can." Guy smiles at him from across the table before eagerly picking up his spoon. "You put it all together." He dips it in the bowl, tasting it.
Guy dips his spoon in eagerly to eat away at the course. After all, if Julian knew him well enough for the appetiser, he can hardly contain his curiosity toward what the other courses will be.
"How did I get so lucky?"
It's asked lightheartedly, and yet there is a bit of truth and romantic whim in the question.
"You finally said something. Luck had nothing to do with it." The soup is vanishing fairly quickly. After so much planning and preparing, Julian is just now realizing how little he ate during the day, and the soup and bread are waking up his appetite.
Guy is a lucky man in many ways, for all that he's gotten away with. For once, here, in Luceti, Julian is something he's lucky for having gotten at all. He doesn't know how many times he can tell Julian this.
He grins through bites, happy to see Julian with both an appetite and enjoying himself as well.
"So am I!" Julian chews at his bread, hoping he didn't turn the oven on too hot to keep the next course warm. Maybe the sooner Guy finishes his soup, the better.
Once the soup is finished, Guy lets his spoon fall into the empty bowl with a slight clatter. His contentment is apparent from the way he slips a bit in his chair, body lax and leaned back.
"Liquid poetry."
He grins before dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. "Which brings me to ask, have you gotten the chance to write at all?"
"A little." Julian rises to gather the dishes. "Nothing very good yet, but I'm just warming up. God, though, what I wouldn't give for a kitchen that's actually in the flat. I'll be back in a moment with the rest."
He carries the dishes out the door. By the time he returns from the kitchen down the hall, he's balancing two warm plates like a waiter. The plate he sets down in front of Guy contains the main course--fillet mignon on a bed of asparagus, topped with crab meat.
"I do have a wine to go with this. Would you like a glass?"
Guy's mouth waters. Oh, how Julian still knows him.
"Please. Would you like me to pour it?" While he is enjoying himself, Guy isn't used to being doted on by Julian Bell. When he'd often contemplated how being the poet's beau would play out, the visualisations were all of Guy, doling out all the romantic gestures he'd never been able to do before. This is as much an unexpected pleasure as it is an odd state of not knowing entirely what to do.
Jack Hewitt, after all, had waited on him nearly hand and foot, but there had been so little love between the both of them. Guy had always been looking for someone to ease the pain of losing Julian all those sordid and solitary years.
It isn't very often Guy is taken aback for words. Nearly always, it is a sign of frightening things, but for once in his life, Guy is content to not garble out strings of words for the sake of it.
"I'll get it." He wants Guy to know, for sure, that Julian is serious about this. Willing to work for it. That Julian...loves him? Maybe. Wants desperately to love him, and knows he one day will? Definitely. He's not going to content himself with passive acceptance of these intense feelings Guy has kept to himself as he romanticizes the man he never pursued. This is a very concrete, very tangible way to present himself and his sincerity in this, and taking the initiative unexpectedly might throw Guy for a loop, jar him from his fantasy so he knows how real this is. Julian can woo, too. He can even seduce.
Julian pours the wine--a ruby-red sangiovese, dry and not too sweet. He has a bottle of rich, sweet port to go with dessert later, kept in hiding for the moment.
"There. Hope you like it." He sits, waiting for Guy to take the first bite with a look of vicarious anticipation.
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[When Guy opens the door, he'll find the lights turned down. The room is lit with candles and dimmed floor lamps instead, and a very delicious-looking spread is on the dining table. Courtesy of Seventh Heaven: a lobster bisque soup, with lightly toasted baguettes as an appetizer. The main course has yet to be revealed. On a record player, Billie Holiday croons softly. Julian is doing this right.
Julian himself is dressed nicely, but not formally--typical date night fare, suit and tie with his hair slicked and his breath freshened. There is a secret stash of mints in one pocket, but Guy does not need to know this.]
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Julian...
[Guy had felt terribly guilty about the shift, and had resumed the thoughts he had been tossing about from earlier that week... but this was absolutely something else.
His mouth moves to say something, but there's no sound. He's just so very stunned, his heart swelling so much he can't put words to its quickening.]
PROSED!
It might sound a tad rehearsed, and it is. As far as rehearsed speeches go, it went pretty well. Julian only hopes that, after last week, Guy hasn't changed his mind about sticking with one man instead of staying open to chasing many.
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"I've got you back. A holiday is hardly a fuss."
Not that Valentine's Day was a holiday. Celebration, really, but Guy didn't give a damn.
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"Go on, now. I've spent all day at this."
Or he's spent all day fretting and only about a third of it actually setting up. The candles took a surprisingly long time.
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"Augh, the air is heavenly smelling!" He closes his eyes to take in the first course, grinning.
...During the KISS. What the heck?
...is it bad I didn't notice?
Oh, that is just divine.
"You know me well, Julian."
No. >.>
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Guy dips his spoon in eagerly to eat away at the course. After all, if Julian knew him well enough for the appetiser, he can hardly contain his curiosity toward what the other courses will be.
"How did I get so lucky?"
It's asked lightheartedly, and yet there is a bit of truth and romantic whim in the question.
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Guy is a lucky man in many ways, for all that he's gotten away with. For once, here, in Luceti, Julian is something he's lucky for having gotten at all. He doesn't know how many times he can tell Julian this.
He grins through bites, happy to see Julian with both an appetite and enjoying himself as well.
"I'm glad we're making up the occasion."
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"Liquid poetry."
He grins before dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. "Which brings me to ask, have you gotten the chance to write at all?"
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He carries the dishes out the door. By the time he returns from the kitchen down the hall, he's balancing two warm plates like a waiter. The plate he sets down in front of Guy contains the main course--fillet mignon on a bed of asparagus, topped with crab meat.
"I do have a wine to go with this. Would you like a glass?"
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"Please. Would you like me to pour it?" While he is enjoying himself, Guy isn't used to being doted on by Julian Bell. When he'd often contemplated how being the poet's beau would play out, the visualisations were all of Guy, doling out all the romantic gestures he'd never been able to do before. This is as much an unexpected pleasure as it is an odd state of not knowing entirely what to do.
Jack Hewitt, after all, had waited on him nearly hand and foot, but there had been so little love between the both of them. Guy had always been looking for someone to ease the pain of losing Julian all those sordid and solitary years.
It isn't very often Guy is taken aback for words. Nearly always, it is a sign of frightening things, but for once in his life, Guy is content to not garble out strings of words for the sake of it.
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Julian pours the wine--a ruby-red sangiovese, dry and not too sweet. He has a bottle of rich, sweet port to go with dessert later, kept in hiding for the moment.
"There. Hope you like it." He sits, waiting for Guy to take the first bite with a look of vicarious anticipation.