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

[untamedantinous]

“Yes,” laughing a little bit. “Then again I suppose I have not seen much of him in love, or I have not paid attention to it.”

[timebethine]

"Hast not paid attention!" says Laertes reprovingly, with a nip to Lucien's ear. "I've met him but a handful of times, and his love for thee shines through him as though he's no more than window glass--he cannot think of thee but his looks turn to love!"

[untamedantinous]

"I am not accustomed to paying attention to this sort of thing," Lucien protests, but it's mild. "My only love at home was ever France, this is all --" He huffs out a sigh. "I do not know the signs, I suppose, and I do not know where I might go from here -- you, mon cœur, were a special case, you lead and I followed."

[timebethine]

"I may be wrong in this, but I think Grantaire is inclined to follow--albeit like a straying mule, who follows in part to find new opportunities for mischief."

[untamedantinous]

He laughs outright at that, shoulders shifting in a wry chuckle. "You are entirely correct about that, my dear. Remind me, some time I shall tell you about what he did at the Barriere du Maine."

[timebethine]

"We have nothing but time," says Laertes. "Only tell me if I grow too heavy for thee."

[untamedantinous]

"Oh, no, I am quite wonderful at the moment." Laertes' weight is a comforting, warm presence at his back, though he would dearly love to roll over and give him a quick kiss. "Anyhow. We had need of the marbleworkers and painters at the Barriere du Maine, and were keen to recruit them. Everyone else was busy at the time, I had intended to send Pontmercy; but he had disappeared. Grantaire offered to do it; he made a pretty speech about our ideals and such, even put on a Robespierre waistcoat, and assured me all would be well. He left to go try and recruit them; and after some time had passed, I thought of going down there myself to see how he was doing. I found him in a hearty debate regarding the rules of dominoes."

[timebethine]

"No doubt an essential point to clarify for their recruitment," Laertes says with a laugh.

[untamedantinous]

"Oh, indeed." The eyeroll should be evident, even if he can't see Lucien's face.

[timebethine]

"Did he win them over?" Laertes slides down to press a line of slow, suckling kisses to Lucien's spine, which doubtless makes answering the question a little more difficult.

[untamedantinous]

It does indeed, that drowsy heat that has been coursing through his body until now quickens a little, and he sounds a little breathier when he finally answers. "Mm. Yes, but it was not nearly enough as expected, and it was certainly not how I had thought he might do it."

[timebethine]

"It sounds to me as though he takes direction well, but improvises equally well within his sphere," says Laertes thoughtfully. "Wouldst thou practice giving direction?"

[untamedantinous]

He makes an amused noise, turning his head so he can give Laertes a playful, half-lidded glance. "Do you doubt my ability to give orders?" There is a faint jump in his stomach at the thought of holding that sort of power over someone; he is not quite certain how he feels about it. (He is, however, mindful that he will not let himself abuse it.) The amusement may only partially cover that sudden burst of nerves.

[timebethine]

"Not in the service of a cause--but thou hast admitted, thou art untried on the field of love," says Laertes. He climbs off of Lucien's back entirely to perch on the edge of the sofa, close against his hip. "It's one thing, to ask a man to serve the cause of liberty and brotherhood. We all agree upon those virtues. It's another thing entirely to ask that a man serve at thy pleasure, and to believe thy pleasure worth the service."

[untamedantinous]

"..Well, yes," Lucien replies slowly, rolling onto his back so he can face Laertes properly. "I --do not understand that portion. Might you explain it?"

[timebethine]

Laertes reaches down to cradle Lucien's face in his palm, meeting his gaze with a tender expression. "Only that I think love is the greatest service we can do one another, but some inward resistance demands that we not accept it. Whence this resistance springs, I know not--from our knowledge of man's sinful nature, perhaps, or from the thousand pressures of being brought up with the expectation of excellence. But it has been the case more often than not, that those men whose days I most wish to ease with my love are the men least willing to accept that service as their due."

[untamedantinous]

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. "But I --I have not earned it, I should not wish to place you beneath me when we are equals, we are brothers." He's reminded of Combeferre, briefly --showing his love for mankind by healing them. Perhaps it's like that? "--Or am I misunderstanding, again."

[timebethine]

"Ah--I begin to unravel thy confusion. It's the question of power, then? Thinkest thou he would do thee not the service that one brother owes another, but another kind? That of man and master, or of tame beast and man?" Laertes licks his lips. He knows, with a fearful certainty, what service Grantaire would do. "Of man and god?"

[untamedantinous]

"I do not deserve worship," he says quietly, sitting up to curl into Laertes' touch. "I am only a man. I--" He takes a shaky breath. "I fear what might happen, if he treats me as he often does."

[timebethine]

"Thou art a man, my sweet," says Laertes, and he strokes back Lucien's hair as soothingly as though he's taming a nightmare. "What is it thou fearest? That he will love only the idol of thee that he's crafted, and not the man who bakes bread and lids his eyes like a cat's and laughs because his friend has been distracted by dominoes?"

[untamedantinous]

"Yes, but also --that I might let it go too far. I am unaccustomed to it, I may not know when it is too much, I might hurt someone, and I could not bear it if I did that to anyone I care for." With that said, the sinking heaviness that has crept into his stomach seems to lighten just a little, now that all his worries are out in the open.

[timebethine]

"May I be very candid with thee?" Laertes asks, scritching again behind Lucien's ear. He has no wish to trouble their easy companionship, but it might do Lucien good to hear some of what he would say.

[untamedantinous]

"Of course you may, I have lain my soul bare to you how many times, now?" He cannot help but nuzzle into that touch, though he is still a little nervous considering their topic of conversation.

[timebethine]

Then Laertes draws his shirt up to his throat to reveal a mass of bruises over his chest. Some of them are almost recognizable as bites, still sharp crescents impressed in the skin; others have spread and faded into purpling washes over the skin. "I begged for these bruises, and though he feared to the heart of him that it would harm me, my husband was brave enough to give me them. He asked that I give him a word that I might speak, if ever I wished it to stop--and when I asked him to stop, he heeded me. There is care in this. I touch these bruises, and I feel his care for me, written deeper than my skin."

[untamedantinous]

"Why did you beg for them?" It is earnest, an honest question. The bruises don't faze him too much, though he is slightly taken aback at the sheer number of them. (He has had a long friendship with Courfeyrac, he is used to seeing such things.) The word, he thinks, makes perfect sense -- a clear signal; but he does not quite comprehend why someone would beg to be bruised.