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.

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[timebethine]

The noise recalls Laertes to himself. He fans out his hands, fingers settling to either side of Lucien's spine, and digs them deep into the muscle as he strokes out along the lines of Lucien's ribs.

[untamedantinous]

“Ah,” he groans happily at first, overwhelmed by the pleasant sense of being driven down into the couch before remembering: “You can touch those, if you like,” he says, shifting a little so his voice is not muffled in his arms. “It does not hurt.”

[timebethine]

"Thy scars?"

[untamedantinous]

“Mmhm.” It is a little difficult to nod with one’s face in one’s arms, but he does give the general impression of a nod. “This, though, is quite lovely as well.” He can already feel himself starting to relax more.

[timebethine]

With a hum of acknowledgment, Laertes begins to stroke and knead in earnest. He takes care to keep his touches symmetrical--digging his knuckles in under each of Lucien's scapulae, stroking down from his ribs to his flanks, rolling his fingertips in slow circles over where the gluteal muscles attach near the base of the spine. It's a meditative act, and soon his own breathing is slow and even.

[untamedantinous]

Once again, Enjolras lets himself melt across the couch. It’s still somewhat new, this process of finding what pleases him and letting himself fully enjoy it; and he does enjoy the fact that he can fully let himself relax around Laertes as he would with his two other halves at home. He makes small pleased noises whenever Laertes touches a particularly tight spot, encouraging and warm and drowsy.

[timebethine]

Time goes slow and syrupy. Laertes thinks it must be close to an hour later when his hands still at last, and he stretches out over Lucien to rest all his warm weight on Lucien's back.

[untamedantinous]

“Hello,” Lucien says, warm and wondering, entirely content to just lie there for a while longer. He feels heavy and languid, too heavy to move just now; but appreciative of the welcome weight of Laertes against him. In the dimming glow of the fire, his hair is all golds and browns, less like the usual halo and more like a lion’s mane.

[timebethine]

"Mm. Hallo." Laertes closes his eyes and nuzzles into all that wild hair, inhaling Lucien's scent. He feels lax and comfortable like this, all too happy to doze by the embers and soak in the warmth of Lucien and the fire.

[untamedantinous]

“That was lovely,” he says sleepily, reaching up behind him to twine his fingers with Laertes’ own. “And I shall return the favor just as soon as I can move.” Right now, though, is very nearly perfect. He has not truly felt so relaxed in a very long time.

[timebethine]

"I'll have to help thee with that, and at present I'm not inclined to." Laertes turns his hand to clasp Lucien's in kind; his heart feels full, his body heavy and sleepy.

[untamedantinous]

“That is alright, I’m not inclined to have you move either, mon cœur.” Even though the heat from the fire is subsiding now, he still feels quite warm and comfortable. “I could stay like this for hours,” he adds, smiling into his arms. “Except that Sagramore might eventually wonder where you’ve got off to.”

[timebethine]

"He'll guess that I'm with thee--it makes him happy, to see us together," says Laertes. "Just as it makes me happy to hear him speak well of Grantaire."

[untamedantinous]

“Mmhm,” Lucien agrees contentedly. “Grantaire is—“ He laughs a little. “A puzzle. Intensely frustrating by turns and then astonishingly clear-headed. I am…pleased to get to know him better; without everything at home.”

[timebethine]

"I believe he would say that he's frustrating because he's clear-headed; he sees the world as it is, and not as it ought to be, and his purpose is to frustrate its ends."

[untamedantinous]

“I think his purpose is to frustrate me, half the time,” he says mildly. “But I could tell—if we had a chance to start again, we—“ He pauses, thoughtful. “I knew he loved me, at the barricade. I just did not want to admit it to myself.”

[timebethine]

"Why not?"

[untamedantinous]

“We were in front of a firing squad, mon cœur. Hardly the time for such things, and besides, you know well that I am not used to such…affection.”

[timebethine]

"Surely there is no better time to admit love than when there is nothing to be lost by it," says Laertes; with his free hand, he starts combing through Lucien's soft curls.

[untamedantinous]

“It did shock me,” he says, closing his eyes again for a moment to enjoy that combing. “But in a pleasant kind of way. And then we both got here, and I did not know how to act around him, by ourselves —I am still uncertain.”

[timebethine]

"What wouldst thou have?" asks Laertes, soft as cotton, soft as down. "Wouldst have him lie with thee like this, and touch thy hair, and kiss thee sweetly?"

[untamedantinous]

“This is quite nice, but I—I do not know if he and I are at that point yet.” He makes a contemplative noise, quiet and warm. “I would have that, eventually. I would also have him as I would have you; fierce and bold and wonderful.”

[timebethine]

"Then reward his boldness when thou canst," says Laertes. "Reward his fierceness. Thou wilt not credit it, but when I came here, I was the soul of meekness; I am as thou seest me because my friends proved to me that I could be other than what I was."

[untamedantinous]

“As you are proving to me,” he says fondly, nuzzling into Laertes’ hand in his hair. “But I will try and remember that. He is not often bold with me, in those terms. In fighting —with sticks or words, then yes.”

[timebethine]

"In those terms--thou meanest in matters of love?"