Valentine's Day Fest: Gift For niliwen
For: niliwen
Story by: tcregan
Prompt: "Anything involving the Amis, but preferably Combeferre, Jehan, or
Enjolras. Preferably along the lines of fluff"
The garish rainbow of color hit his senses like an out of control omnibus. Only it didn’t stop there, it proceeded to back up over him, then hit him once more. The back room of the Musain was completely transformed. Thin tissue paper in all shades of pink and red, little hearts cut out of paper, portraits of lovers hung on the walls. The sensation was like stepping into a field of nothing but wildflowers that had been grown purposely to alight the romantic side of a person. And Combeferre couldn’t help but feel the exact opposite.
Brushing a few pieces of heart-shaped confetti from his shoulder, he waded into the room, avoiding the strung up strips of colored paper and set his books down on the table near the lamp, which had also been covered - somewhat hazardously, he thought - in pink tissue paper. The door to the hall opened and Jehan flounced in, wearing similar shades upon his person, carrying even more decorations. When he saw Combeferre, his eyes widened and he broke into a smile.
“Combeferre! How do you like my celebratory decorations?”
Combeferre was too stunned to speak. He should have known. When he’d given his permission for Jehan to ‘lighten the mood’ of the Musain’s back room for the upcoming holiday, he thought perhaps the poet would add more candles. Or write out poetry for the others to leave. And there was poetry, he noticed, now looking at the walls a little more closely. Poetry written in long, sweeping paint strokes reaching from ceiling to floor. Louison would have a fit if she saw that. Gritting his teeth, he swept off more confetti from the chair and sat down heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Jehan…”
“You don’t have to say anything. They’re wonderful, aren’t they?”
Combeferre didn’t have the heart to tell him that no one would appreciate this. That he was likely to be laughed at. That the others would be annoyed or amused, but not pleased. He tried to think of words that would help explain, and instead simply nodded dumbly. Anything he said against the new décor would surely be taken the wrong way and Jehan’s feelings would be hurt. Combeferre had no desire to wound the poet or his fragile heart in such a way, so he simply sighed and opened his book.
“Perhaps the paper around the light is much,” Combeferre said quietly. “It’s awfully dark.”
“No worries!” And with that, Jehan placed a heart-shaped candle on the table. “I had them specially made for the occasion. There’s a dozen more just like it. And not all in one color, either!”
Combeferre looked at the candle. It shed enough light for him to see his book properly, taking away any other valid complaints he might have had regarding the lamp. Except, of course, the fire hazard. But Jehan was humming now, hanging even more decorations and spreading more of the heart-shaped confetti. With another sigh, Combeferre turned the page.
The back door opened some minutes later. The others came in from the cold, talking and laughing. Bahorel, the loudest of them all, was the first inside the room. He stopped, and Joly ran into him.
“Bahorel, be careful, I almost-“
And the talk died instantly as the other filtered in, taking in the sight that was the Musain’s back room. Combeferre, though not responsible for the gaudy ornamentation, felt a burning embarrassment in his cheeks. He slumped in his chair and pulled the book up to his face to hide the blush. From behind his safety net, he recognized Bahorel’s deep, rumbling laugh.
“What?” he roared. “What is this!”
Jehan turned, flicking his soft brown hair behind his shoulder and smiled. “It’s for St. Valentine’s Day! The decorations are very popular in America!”
Bahorel walked over to the wall and poked a strand of paper. It fell to the floor. Jehan frowned.
“Don’t do that! It took me all day to put these up.”
“They’re hideous.”
“No they’re not!” Jehan protested, moving to string the paper back up. “They’re festive.”
“They might be that,” said Joly, who was frowning. “But they are a bit…”
“No, they’re hideous,” Bossuet confirmed, which earned him an elbow to the ribs from Joly.
Feuilly set his bag down on a table and tried a different tactic. “They’re not hideous, they’re just a bit… distracting.”
“A fly in the room is a bit distracting,” Bahorel said, sitting down. He put his feet up, knocking over an unlit heart-shaped candle. “This is more like someone let loose a herd of wild elephants.”
Bossuet joined in the laughter while Joly chastised him. Feuilly was frowning, but Combeferre noticed Jehan. He looked about to cry. Holding his head up though, he stated firmly, “I like them.”
“Well of COURSE you would,” said Bahorel, lacing his hands behind his head. “You have no taste. One would think you’re completely colorblind.”
Without another word, Jehan departed, leaving behind the pile of decorations he’d yet to hang up. Combeferre shut his book. With a disapproving glare at Bahorel, he took off after Jehan.
“You went too far,” Feuilly said with a frown.
Bahorel at least had the decency to look abashed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. And the decorations are-“
“Jehan’s,” Joly said firmly. “And they’re not harming anyone.”
Bahorel sighed and stood up. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“No,” said Feuilly. “You’ve done enough. Let Combeferre handle it. In the meantime, help me with this paper.”
-
Combeferre caught up to Jehan some ways down the street. His longer legs put him at a better advantage and he gripped Jehan by the arm. Jehan tried to pull away, but Combeferre held fast.
“Listen to me.”
“No,” said Jehan, his voice wavering. “No. I won’t. You all think it’s silly. You make fun of me, the way I talk, the way I dress. And now my beautiful decorations. Well I won’t stand for it. I’ll not come to the café any more to offend your eyes with my style!”
“I love your style.”
Jehan turned, his soft brown eyes watery, but glistening in the twilight. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’m saying it to make you feel better. But I’m not just saying it,” Combeferre said, gently cupping his cheek. “I admire the way you walk around with your out of fashion clothing, the mixed matched waistcoats and cravats. Those odd, old hats. Your burnt orange trousers.”
Jehan sniffed, but smiled. “You like those?”
“They’re my favorite pair, in fact,” Combeferre said. “I admire you for that because it takes a certain kind of bravery to go against what’s considered normal. Bahorel? Who is he? He buys the same outfit until he wears it out, then gets another in the same color. He has no taste, no sense of flair. You are dramatic and intrepid. Maybe not a trendsetter, but that’s what I adore about you. You never care what others think or say or do, you just are. You are Jehan.”
The words came more easily to him than he thought they would. An admission of sorts. He’d always looked up to the younger man, envied the way he went about without caring of others’ opinions. Combeferre always maintained a certain style of dress, a certain manner of hairstyle, and always remembered what proper etiquette was. Jehan was above all that, or perhaps more accurately, he was to the side of that. He walked no line, and Combeferre found himself drawn to the young poet.
Which was why he was leaning forward now, tilting his head down, capturing Jehan’s lips with his own, eyes closing with the sensation. For a moment, there was no reaction and he nearly pulled back, heart racing, fear rising, thinking perhaps Jehan would pull away and call him horrible names. And then suddenly Jehan was kissing back, arms wrapping around his neck and holding him in place. Jehan was obviously a practiced kisser, and Combeferre, while no stranger to the affection, was slightly inexperienced. It took them a moment to figure out how to tilt their heads just so, avoiding noses and Combeferre’s glasses. Within a few seconds, however, it became blissful. A slow, hot, sensual meeting of lips and tongues. Jehan’s fingers running through his hair, holding him in place.
What felt like ages later, and yet too soon for Combeferre, Jehan pulled away, smiling shyly. He blushed, looking down, hands now on Combeferre’s chest, fingers playing with the lapel of his waistcoat. Combeferre held him loosely by the waist.
“Talk to me,” Combeferre whispered, not daring to speak louder.
“Oh my dear Combeferre,” Jehan said, looking up. His eyes were soft still, but with no trace of tears. And Combeferre noticed, they still sparkled, shining brightly. “You are wonderful at flattery.”
This wasn’t what Combeferre was expecting, but at least Jehan was smiling. “Thank you. I think. Are you… feeling better?”
Jehan nodded, leaned up, and brushed his lips against Combeferre’s once more. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?”
Combeferre blushed. “I… Ages,” he admitted.
“Then I should have to thank Bahorel for causing me such distress.”
“Why?”
Jehan leaned up on tiptoe, wrapping his arms around Combeferre’s shoulder. He pressed his lips to Combeferre’s ear and whispered, “Because it has been ages for me as well.”
They drew together for another kiss and Combeferre made a mental note to send Bahorel an extra box of chocolates for St. Valentine’s Day this year.
Story by: tcregan
Prompt: "Anything involving the Amis, but preferably Combeferre, Jehan, or
Enjolras. Preferably along the lines of fluff"
The garish rainbow of color hit his senses like an out of control omnibus. Only it didn’t stop there, it proceeded to back up over him, then hit him once more. The back room of the Musain was completely transformed. Thin tissue paper in all shades of pink and red, little hearts cut out of paper, portraits of lovers hung on the walls. The sensation was like stepping into a field of nothing but wildflowers that had been grown purposely to alight the romantic side of a person. And Combeferre couldn’t help but feel the exact opposite.
Brushing a few pieces of heart-shaped confetti from his shoulder, he waded into the room, avoiding the strung up strips of colored paper and set his books down on the table near the lamp, which had also been covered - somewhat hazardously, he thought - in pink tissue paper. The door to the hall opened and Jehan flounced in, wearing similar shades upon his person, carrying even more decorations. When he saw Combeferre, his eyes widened and he broke into a smile.
“Combeferre! How do you like my celebratory decorations?”
Combeferre was too stunned to speak. He should have known. When he’d given his permission for Jehan to ‘lighten the mood’ of the Musain’s back room for the upcoming holiday, he thought perhaps the poet would add more candles. Or write out poetry for the others to leave. And there was poetry, he noticed, now looking at the walls a little more closely. Poetry written in long, sweeping paint strokes reaching from ceiling to floor. Louison would have a fit if she saw that. Gritting his teeth, he swept off more confetti from the chair and sat down heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Jehan…”
“You don’t have to say anything. They’re wonderful, aren’t they?”
Combeferre didn’t have the heart to tell him that no one would appreciate this. That he was likely to be laughed at. That the others would be annoyed or amused, but not pleased. He tried to think of words that would help explain, and instead simply nodded dumbly. Anything he said against the new décor would surely be taken the wrong way and Jehan’s feelings would be hurt. Combeferre had no desire to wound the poet or his fragile heart in such a way, so he simply sighed and opened his book.
“Perhaps the paper around the light is much,” Combeferre said quietly. “It’s awfully dark.”
“No worries!” And with that, Jehan placed a heart-shaped candle on the table. “I had them specially made for the occasion. There’s a dozen more just like it. And not all in one color, either!”
Combeferre looked at the candle. It shed enough light for him to see his book properly, taking away any other valid complaints he might have had regarding the lamp. Except, of course, the fire hazard. But Jehan was humming now, hanging even more decorations and spreading more of the heart-shaped confetti. With another sigh, Combeferre turned the page.
The back door opened some minutes later. The others came in from the cold, talking and laughing. Bahorel, the loudest of them all, was the first inside the room. He stopped, and Joly ran into him.
“Bahorel, be careful, I almost-“
And the talk died instantly as the other filtered in, taking in the sight that was the Musain’s back room. Combeferre, though not responsible for the gaudy ornamentation, felt a burning embarrassment in his cheeks. He slumped in his chair and pulled the book up to his face to hide the blush. From behind his safety net, he recognized Bahorel’s deep, rumbling laugh.
“What?” he roared. “What is this!”
Jehan turned, flicking his soft brown hair behind his shoulder and smiled. “It’s for St. Valentine’s Day! The decorations are very popular in America!”
Bahorel walked over to the wall and poked a strand of paper. It fell to the floor. Jehan frowned.
“Don’t do that! It took me all day to put these up.”
“They’re hideous.”
“No they’re not!” Jehan protested, moving to string the paper back up. “They’re festive.”
“They might be that,” said Joly, who was frowning. “But they are a bit…”
“No, they’re hideous,” Bossuet confirmed, which earned him an elbow to the ribs from Joly.
Feuilly set his bag down on a table and tried a different tactic. “They’re not hideous, they’re just a bit… distracting.”
“A fly in the room is a bit distracting,” Bahorel said, sitting down. He put his feet up, knocking over an unlit heart-shaped candle. “This is more like someone let loose a herd of wild elephants.”
Bossuet joined in the laughter while Joly chastised him. Feuilly was frowning, but Combeferre noticed Jehan. He looked about to cry. Holding his head up though, he stated firmly, “I like them.”
“Well of COURSE you would,” said Bahorel, lacing his hands behind his head. “You have no taste. One would think you’re completely colorblind.”
Without another word, Jehan departed, leaving behind the pile of decorations he’d yet to hang up. Combeferre shut his book. With a disapproving glare at Bahorel, he took off after Jehan.
“You went too far,” Feuilly said with a frown.
Bahorel at least had the decency to look abashed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. And the decorations are-“
“Jehan’s,” Joly said firmly. “And they’re not harming anyone.”
Bahorel sighed and stood up. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“No,” said Feuilly. “You’ve done enough. Let Combeferre handle it. In the meantime, help me with this paper.”
-
Combeferre caught up to Jehan some ways down the street. His longer legs put him at a better advantage and he gripped Jehan by the arm. Jehan tried to pull away, but Combeferre held fast.
“Listen to me.”
“No,” said Jehan, his voice wavering. “No. I won’t. You all think it’s silly. You make fun of me, the way I talk, the way I dress. And now my beautiful decorations. Well I won’t stand for it. I’ll not come to the café any more to offend your eyes with my style!”
“I love your style.”
Jehan turned, his soft brown eyes watery, but glistening in the twilight. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’m saying it to make you feel better. But I’m not just saying it,” Combeferre said, gently cupping his cheek. “I admire the way you walk around with your out of fashion clothing, the mixed matched waistcoats and cravats. Those odd, old hats. Your burnt orange trousers.”
Jehan sniffed, but smiled. “You like those?”
“They’re my favorite pair, in fact,” Combeferre said. “I admire you for that because it takes a certain kind of bravery to go against what’s considered normal. Bahorel? Who is he? He buys the same outfit until he wears it out, then gets another in the same color. He has no taste, no sense of flair. You are dramatic and intrepid. Maybe not a trendsetter, but that’s what I adore about you. You never care what others think or say or do, you just are. You are Jehan.”
The words came more easily to him than he thought they would. An admission of sorts. He’d always looked up to the younger man, envied the way he went about without caring of others’ opinions. Combeferre always maintained a certain style of dress, a certain manner of hairstyle, and always remembered what proper etiquette was. Jehan was above all that, or perhaps more accurately, he was to the side of that. He walked no line, and Combeferre found himself drawn to the young poet.
Which was why he was leaning forward now, tilting his head down, capturing Jehan’s lips with his own, eyes closing with the sensation. For a moment, there was no reaction and he nearly pulled back, heart racing, fear rising, thinking perhaps Jehan would pull away and call him horrible names. And then suddenly Jehan was kissing back, arms wrapping around his neck and holding him in place. Jehan was obviously a practiced kisser, and Combeferre, while no stranger to the affection, was slightly inexperienced. It took them a moment to figure out how to tilt their heads just so, avoiding noses and Combeferre’s glasses. Within a few seconds, however, it became blissful. A slow, hot, sensual meeting of lips and tongues. Jehan’s fingers running through his hair, holding him in place.
What felt like ages later, and yet too soon for Combeferre, Jehan pulled away, smiling shyly. He blushed, looking down, hands now on Combeferre’s chest, fingers playing with the lapel of his waistcoat. Combeferre held him loosely by the waist.
“Talk to me,” Combeferre whispered, not daring to speak louder.
“Oh my dear Combeferre,” Jehan said, looking up. His eyes were soft still, but with no trace of tears. And Combeferre noticed, they still sparkled, shining brightly. “You are wonderful at flattery.”
This wasn’t what Combeferre was expecting, but at least Jehan was smiling. “Thank you. I think. Are you… feeling better?”
Jehan nodded, leaned up, and brushed his lips against Combeferre’s once more. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?”
Combeferre blushed. “I… Ages,” he admitted.
“Then I should have to thank Bahorel for causing me such distress.”
“Why?”
Jehan leaned up on tiptoe, wrapping his arms around Combeferre’s shoulder. He pressed his lips to Combeferre’s ear and whispered, “Because it has been ages for me as well.”
They drew together for another kiss and Combeferre made a mental note to send Bahorel an extra box of chocolates for St. Valentine’s Day this year.