closed: and i soar through a world that is new, that is free (post-dance)

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras has been puttering about the mansion in the past few days since the wedding dance. Today, he has spent some time outside with Temeraire -- it's getting colder, and the warmth of Temeraire's pavilion has become quite a snug little place to read to him, when Galahad is not. He had moved onto some canne de combat practice after their customary few chapters a day, which had occupied him until just recently.

The winter is coming in faster, now, and Enjolras has never been one for the cold. Certainly the south of France is not as far south as many other places in the world, but he grew up accustomed to it being somewhat warmer there than it was in Paris. So now, he is curled up in front of a fire that is crackling merrily, sipping at some vin chaud as he leafs through a book of recipes. There is, indeed, a pile of books nearby -- both cookbooks and others, but right now he is looking for something easy to set his sights on for his next baking adventure.

Comments

[timebethine]

Laertes is just coming back from his own most recent baking adventure--he's made conchas as part of his effort to develop a satisfactory brioche recipe for Grantaire, and he's just set down a tray of them in the café. The sugar topping looks wrong (the cracks aren't nearly so well-defined as they are in the picture in the book), but they taste good enough, so he's considering them a tentative success. He's munching on a final concha when the glow of firelight catches his eye, and then its sheen on familiar curling hair. "Lucien," says Laertes with delight, coming over to drop a kiss on his brow. "Thou art the picture of warmth and cheer. How dost thou?"

[untamedantinous]

Lucien stretches, very like the cat he named himself a few days ago, and smiles up at him. "Well enough, but I would be better with company. Join me?" He indicates a chair beside him. "I am trying to look for something else to bake. Something that doesn't take quite as long as a baguette, for instance."

[timebethine]

"Something like a bread? Or simpler still? Scones or biscuits could be done inside half an hour." Laertes comes around to take the offered chair, glancing over Enjolras's pile. None of the cookbooks in it are ones that he's tried.

[untamedantinous]

"Oh, I don't know. Something from Paris, I am missing all the winter foods as of late. I know I requested cassoulet from you two, but maybe onion soup? I haven't quite decided yet." He shifts his chair a little closer to Laertes', half-wishing he had chosen a couch to drape himself over. Lounging and paging through recipe books with him does sound quite appealing.

[timebethine]

"The distance, however, does allow Laertes to regard Lucien archly as he remarks, "I imagine Grantaire is missing them, too."

[untamedantinous]

He raises an eyebrow, considering Laertes for a moment or two, before he glances down at his book. “He might be, but he did not say as much when I saw him when I was baking the other day,” he answers, carefully.

[timebethine]

"And not over wine at the dance, either?" Laertes teases, grinning so hard that it digs a dimple in one cheek. "Well, he must have had more important matters to discuss with thee."

[untamedantinous]

Oh, there’s the blush that he knew was coming, no matter how hard he tries to pay attention to his book, he cannot help but lift his head to see that grin on Laertes’ face. “I, ah. Was not aware you had seen.”

[timebethine]

"Only a glimpse," says Laertes, but he can't stop smiling as he reaches across the gap between their chairs for Lucien's hand. "Didst look so happy with him, my sweet."

[untamedantinous]

He takes the offered hand and twines his fingers with Laertes’, looking thoughtful. “I. Well, we danced, and I could not stop thinking about him; and you know very well that I am not a patient man,” he laughs sheepishly. “That is to say: I was. I am? It —feels correct.”

[timebethine]

"Then let's make an onion soup that thou canst share with him," says Laertes, rising to his feet again with a last bite of his concha. He pulls Enjolras's hand, urging him to stand.

[untamedantinous]

“Oh, but I was very comfortable,” he says, though he does stand and pulls Laertes close. “I wasn’t intending on cooking anything at the present moment.”

[timebethine]

"Then I'll not press it on thee," says Laertes, and he nestles easily into Lucien's arms. "Thou didst look warm and settled in thy place. An thou wouldst rather sit by the fire, I'll sit at thy feet and hold thy hand."

[untamedantinous]

“I would do anything you desired by the fire, cher.” He nuzzles close, smiling. “I enjoyed our dance as well, the other night. I enjoyed most of the evening, to be truthful.” Clearly that good mood has held over.

[timebethine]

"That makes me glad to hear--I'd feared that obligation would compel, where I would rather inclination invite thee to dance."

[untamedantinous]

“I would not say I am inclined as a rule, particularly, but the company was very good.” He smirks a little. “Sagramore was—ah, quite the gentleman.” He is actually being serious, though it’s a little hard to tell.

[timebethine]

Laertes laughs and tugs Lucien over to the couch across the fireplace from their two chairs, snatching up the last of the vin chaud to carry over with them. "Oh? Was he sweet to kiss?"

[untamedantinous]

“I have not had all that much experience,” he laughs, and sprawls down on the couch with a will. “As I said, he was a gentleman. Quite polite about it, even asked if he might. It was ah, sweet, yes.”

[timebethine]

"Wouldst have him kiss thee again? Or hast thou had thy fill?" He takes a sip of the vin chaud (still deliciously warm on his tongue) and then passes it back to Lucien. It's easy, now, to adjust so that their bodies are comfortably angled together: Laertes's legs thrown over Lucien's lap, his arm tucked under Lucien's, curled around his back.

[untamedantinous]

“I have had my fill for now, I think; it was mostly for your reaction.” He’s smirking still, happily snuggling in as close as he can to Laertes. “I am glad you like the vin chaud, it seemed appropriate for the weather.”

[timebethine]

"I'd like it just a little sweeter, but ay, the spices are good," says Laertes. "We might make a brioche after the old fashion with these fruits and spices; I know not how to bring the taste of wine in without making a soup of the bread dough, but I'm sure there's some recipe that will answer the purpose."

[untamedantinous]

“That can be easily fixed with sugar, but I haven’t any at the moment.” He takes a drink himself, and looks thoughtful. “I don’t know how to do it either. I’m sure someone has, though, we need only look.”

[timebethine]

"That reminds me--hast thou thought further of what thou wouldst like to print?" They've done some practice typesetting to make room labels in service of Laertes's vision and Susan's, and they're starting to gain something approaching proficiency with the art.

[untamedantinous]

“Mmm, not quite yet. I still need to ask Magnus what he would like to learn of social sciences, we have not encountered each other much since he has been outside.”

[timebethine]

"Susan has begun a project of inventory; there may soon be call for further signs, and she'll likely appreciate the precision of the printed word," suggests Laertes. "But thou might'st try writing an essay of thine own, about the principles thou hold'st sacred. To have our own thoughts on the right organization and conduct of a society set down and shared will make them easier to debate, when we begin having meetings."