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[untamedantinous]

Enjolras is on a mission. It is not in the least like any of the self-imposed missions he has given himself in the past; but he is as determined as he ever is. (Yes, he will admit to himself that this is a distraction, but it is a new and pleasant one; and he could do with some pleasant and educational exercises in good company.)

With that in mind, as stubborn as ever, he goes in search of Laertes. He is certainly more sober than he was yesterday, having spent his morning in consideration and working on some writing—one of those pamphlets for Magnus they had been speaking of. His fingers show the evidence of that, they are smudged and have a few ink blots on them; but he is smiling nonetheless as he knocks at Laertes’ door. There he stands, waiting sober as a priest; although it is hard to say that considering the still apparent bruises at his throat that were too difficult to hide with a cravat.

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[untamedantinous]

“Have I?” He licks at his lips a little after that kiss, grinning like the cat that’s got into the cream, and moves to settle his arms around Laertes, content.

“That was—“ He starts, thoughtful, voice still a little hoarse, and continues: “incandescent, if I may borrow your metaphor. I can see the appeal.”

[timebethine]

Laertes settles into his arms, feeling sluggish and content. Arousal is still singing beneath his skin, but there's no urgency to it; there's no particular pull to bite and scratch and claim. Instead, he just rests his closed hand over Lucien's heart and nuzzles his jaw. "Didst not see the appeal, before?"

[untamedantinous]

"Not as such, no. I never understood it." He presses a lazy kiss to Laertes' cheek. "I think I do, now." The fire in his veins is similarly banked, but he is very happy to just sit for a while and take it all in, running his hands across the bare expanse of skin in front of him.

[timebethine]

Laertes chuckles and flops on him, thigh thrown over his legs to keep him pinned and close. "I don't need it now," he says, "but an thou take another lover, 'tis courtesy to return the pleasure."

[untamedantinous]

"Mmm." Enjolras hums out a lazy agreement, nuzzling close as he can for now. "I will make a note of it," he adds, a slight teasing note in his voice. Will he actually write that in a notebook? Probably not, but he does make it sound like he might. "I do not think I can move at all, now, though." He doesn't sound like he minds it too much.

[timebethine]

"Rest," Laertes urges. "Turn out the light, and abide with me a while in sleep. There are many hours yet before I have to go."

[untamedantinous]

"If you insist." Which he clearly does, since he has Enjolras pinned down, and he reaches to turn out the light. That done, he curls back into Laertes' arms and closes his eyes. If this were anyone but Enjolras, it might be called snuggling.

[timebethine]

In the comfort of their embrace, all of the delightful aches of their coupling begin to wake to pain--Laertes dozes lightly, not quite dipping beneath the surface of sleep. If Enjolras should fall to true sleep, though, Laertes will extricate himself with all care, never touching the bedroom light. He'll leave a letter on the table, folded in half and propped up that will draw attention.

My dear friend,

It was my great joy to pass such pleasant time with thee, and I hope we will soon enjoy such happiness again. Shouldst thou look for me, I will be cooking a dish of fish with lemon and capers, which thou art welcome to share.

Yours,

Laertes.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras wakes a short time after Laertes leaves -- perhaps he's missing the warmth. He is certainly feeling sore, but in a pleasant sort of way that he finds he does not entirely mind. He finds the letter soon after rising and gets dressed, at least partway -- trousers, shirt, waistcoat unbuttoned but in existence mostly for propriety's sake; though he feels a little silly thinking of that considering their actions of earlier.

Eventually, he pads into wherever Laertes is cooking, taking a moment to appreciate him from afar. He is, after all, quite pleasing to look at, hands confident and certain as Enjolras well knows. "That smells good," he says to announce his presence, with a long stretch.

[timebethine]

Laertes turns to him, and his face shines with fondness. "I made the sauce too soon," he says. "I forgot to pick out the bones first. Give me leave to wed fish and sauce together, and soon the smell will surpass description."

[untamedantinous]

"Of course," he replies fondly, and he settles in to lean against a wall, watching. "You certainly have more skill in the kitchen than I. I never had the time or inclination at home; and most of my time was spent at the cafe anyhow."

[timebethine]

"Nor had I the slightest notion that I might have time or inclination, at home--but it eases my heart, to make good things to feed the people I love. And it's a skill that I've found worth mastering." Laertes turns back to his work, picking out bone after bone with a pair of tweezers. "Wouldst like to learn?"

[untamedantinous]

"I suppose I should eventually learn something more than slapping meat and cheese atop some bread, shouldn't I." He shifts his weight a little, feeling the oddly-pleasant pull of muscles he is unused to exercising, and smiles, shrugging a little.

"Very well, though I will warn you I am an impatient student."

[timebethine]

"We'll begin with what impatience can best serve, then," Laertes laughs. "In the box--" he points to the refrigerator "--seek out butter, garlic, and spinach. And in the cabinet, almonds cut to fine slivers. Fear not to know whether thou wilt find them; this place will answer thy need."

[untamedantinous]

"Alright." He heads over that way and inspects the refrigerator, returning after a moment or two with the requested items. He sets them neatly on the counter and turns to Laertes, arching an eyebrow for further instructions. (He does wish to distract him in other ways, a little, but now is not the time for such things.)

[timebethine]

"Good man," he says approvingly. "Slice the spinach up fine. More of it than thou think'st thou needest; spinach cooks to an insufficiency, and we'll be feeding four."

[untamedantinous]

He nods and sets to it with a will; though it’s clear he is not entirely used to the work, he does at least know the basics of handling a knife. Some of his chops are certainly not chef-worthy, but it is passable enough. “Will that do?”

[timebethine]

"Ay, that looks good." Having finished deboning the fish, Laertes cleans his hands and wraps his arms around Lucien's waist. "Art well?"

[untamedantinous]

“A little sore, but well enough.” He turns to press a mostly-gentle kiss to Laertes’ lips, smiling. It is a mark of how easy he feels around the other young man that he moves this freely, is this affectionate. There is no marble statue here, only Enjolras, human and warm and alive.

[timebethine]

Laertes has to laugh a little, still half-astonished to have Enjolras in his arms. "Is it to early to ask what thou wouldst have me be to thee?"

[untamedantinous]

He considers this for a long moment, leaning back against the counter a little. “I don’t know how this sort of thing usually goes,” he admits, with a wry grin. “But I do know I like this. I know you’ve your husband; and if he does not mind it then neither shall I, but I —“ He laughs and shakes his head. “I am not being clear, I apologize. I would like this to continue, whatever we may call it, if you would as well.”

[timebethine]

"I would. I have a great want of a good friend--and I would like as much to talk about Voltaire with thee, and to help thee learn a printing press, as I would to take thee to bed." He offers another gentle kiss, just a mothwing brush of lips, and then returns to his work with the fish. "And I'll be a tyrant to thee in the kitchen, but thou may'st overthrow me whenever thou likest. Chop the garlic fine; I ought to have had thee do that first."

[untamedantinous]

He nods and settles into chopping the garlic, trying his best to get the skins off before he does so. “Well, make no unjust laws and I shan’t overthrow you.” He shoots a teasing grin Laertes’ way. “It would be quite easy to build a barricade in the kitchen. But to our earlier point; that is good. It does feel odd to —I cannot call myself a lover; I think, but we can figure that out.”

[timebethine]

"Ay, I have a husband and a friend who share my bed, but thou art somewhere in between. This is new to me, as well. We'll find a language for it, or we'll make one." He tosses a pat of butter into a pan and clicks on the stove, saying, "Cook first the garlic and almonds--not long; both will burn quickly. Then mix them with the spinach until it softens. And lo, thou wilt have cooked thy first dish."

[untamedantinous]

“Your husband does not mind, then?” It’s —odd, to speak of such things so freely with another man; but there is much that is odd about this place. Regardless, he continues with his appointed task, hopefully not managing to burn anything too badly.

“It is —so free here,” he adds, thoughtful now. “It is one of the things I like about this place; even if it can be dull.”