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]

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.

[timebethine]

"Why do I run, or fence, or eat good food? Because it pleases me to test the limits of my body," says Laertes. He lets his shirt fall again. "There is more to it than pain, though--some longing to be purposeful and useful that's satisfied when I serve my lover's needs. And, equally, a longing to be treasured. In my youth, I knew not how to be what I was expected to be, but in this ... when I serve another, I know how to be enough."

[untamedantinous]

"I see," Lucien says thoughtfully. And he does, a little, Laertes' mentions of purpose, of course, hit home. Perhaps the rest will come in time. He chances a glance at Laertes, searching and hesitant. "Would you have me serve you?"

[timebethine]

"I could accept thy service, if thou wouldst test thy taste for it," Laertes says. That soothing hand slowly fists in Lucien's hair. "Wouldst thou try?"

[untamedantinous]

He lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, swallowing hard. "I would," he says after a slight pause, and his tone settles into something more final. "I would like to see if it helps me understand."

[timebethine]

"What wouldst thou be to me? Servant, pet, supplicant?" He leans in, his lips brushing Lucien's earlobe, stirring the fine hairs there with breath. "Or only mine?"

[untamedantinous]

He wrinkles his nose at all those options, none of them to his taste. It would chafe at him, even in such situations as this. "Only yours, I think," he says, shivering just a bit at Laertes' nearness.

[timebethine]

"Mine, then." Laertes kisses just beneath Lucien's ear. He pulls just a little at Lucien's hair, twisting it around his fingers until he draws the faintest pinprick pain from the roots. "What may I do with my sweet man? In what things should I stay my hand?"

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras hisses just a little at the pull, it sends little pleasing frissons down his nerves. “I, ah,—“ he starts, considering the myriad of ways he might answer this question. “Do not draw blood, perhaps. I do not know what else to ask for.”

[timebethine]

"Wouldst like pain, too? Or only command?" As though to help Lucien choose, Laertes bites gently at the thin skin over his pulsepoint, testing and teasing with his tongue as he rolls that snatch of flesh between his teeth.

[untamedantinous]

“Ah—,” Lucien says softly, shifting his weight a little more into Laertes’ touch. “I—yes, a little, I know I liked it when you, ah, left marks…”. Keeping his train of thought going is a little difficult at the moment.

[timebethine]

Laertes releases the bite, satisfied (a little smug). "On thy knees then, sweet."

[untamedantinous]

There is, in truth, a small part of him that wants to refuse, just to see what would happen. But he is spurred on by Laertes’ hand still in his hair, the lingering sting of that bite, and so he straightens his shoulders, nods, and sinks to his knees.

[timebethine]

Laertes climbs to his feet, unhurried, secure in his power. He gazes down at Lucien as he paces a slow circle around him, inspecting the swell and fall of his bare chest and the curve of his upturned face. "There's defiance in thee yet," says Laertes mildly. "Canst thou quell it? Or wouldst thou be reprimanded?"

[untamedantinous]

“Of course there is,” Lucien says, as reasonably as he would while having a debate in the café. “It is not so easy to turn off.” He sits back on his heels some, tracking Laertes as he circles. “I was only wondering what would happen if I didn’t listen.”

[timebethine]

Laertes's grip eases in Lucien's hair. "Only what thou wouldst wish to happen. I could urge thee to obedience with sweet words and persuasions, or we could leave off the game of obedience and try another. Or I could give thee something to resist. Or something else. Where doth thine inclination lead thee?"

[untamedantinous]

“Mm.” He thinks a moment. “Persuade me,” he settles on, smiling a little. “Perhaps we will manage to not get distracted by debates, should your tongue be clever enough.” —They both know they probably will at some point or another.