"Universal Truths." (Les Miserables) R
Title: Universal Truths. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Les Miserables
Series: Permets-Tu
Pairing: Courfeyrac/Combeferre
Rating: R
A/N: Bingo Bingo! For my Kink Bingo Round 6 "Subspace / Headspace" square and my Trope Bingo Round 2 "AU: Romance Novel" square (I tried).
Summary: You think you know someone, and then you discover what they have hidden in their bedrooms.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a med student in possession of a riding crop must be in want of a masochist. Fortunately for Combeferre, Courfeyrac knows just the masochist to fill his friend's need. This masochist just happens to be named Courfeyrac.
No, it's not a relative.
Shut up, Marius.
Marius giggles again, but tries to hide it this time. "I'm sorry?"
Courfeyrac manfully shakes his fist at his boyfriend. "See if I overshare to you again."
"No, it's fine!" Marius insists. "Go on, tell me all about his great need." Marius even manages to make 'great need' sound totally earnest. Courfeyrac knew there was a reason he loved him.
"The course of true love never did run smooth," Courfeyrac declaims.
Marius dissolves into laughter.
Okay, so maybe his first plan hadn't been a good one. Courfeyrac says farewell to Marius and hello to Cosette and then goes to confide in the one person he knows won't laugh at him.
Enjolras is too busy being puzzled to laugh. "But it's not about sadism; Combeferre isn't a sadist."
"I beg your pardon," Courfeyrac gasps, horrified.
"No, really, he's not," Enjolras says. Then he blushes. It's like there's an epidemic of blushing around Courfeyrac today. "But you'll have to talk to him about the particulars. He hasn't actually given me permission to talk to his kinks about you. I shouldn't even have told you that. I'll apologize to him later."
"It's not a truth universally acknowledged?" Courfeyrac asks.
"No," Enjolras says patiently.
It's like the world has ended.
"It's about discipline," Combeferre explains the next day. "It represents exacting standards and precise correction. Would you like a demonstration?"
Of course he would like a demonstration.
Courfeyrac's known Combeferre for ages, knows he's gentle and, well, is the very model of a modern major gentleman. That owns a riding crop. He's thoughtful, open-minded, patient. And owns a riding crop. Which, actually makes sense? The man corrects the dictionary, for god's sake. He can be such an infuriating purist, and while he's sometimes cold, he's always methodical and his methods are irreproachable. He loves learning and knowledge and is always eager and happy to share it.
And somehow that's led to Combeferre teaching people self-control at the tip of a riding crop. This makes a strange, horrifying, endearing kind of sense.
You think you know someone, and then you discover what they have hidden in their bedrooms.
Courfeyrac's mouth hurts from grinning.
"Why, Monsieur Combeferre," he drawls. "I had no idea."
Combeferre smiles slowly and they make their plans.
So while Enjolras is fretting about regressing to the mean and asking how to fix his sexual fuck-ups, Courfeyrac is puttering around happily, doing the stretches Combeferre's assigned to help make sure Courfeyrac won't cramp up in the middle. It's not nearly the most prep he's ever done before bedroom activities; that was the time Marius made him memorize German phrases. Combeferre might be a task master, but he's a task master in Courfeyrac's native language. He has no cause for complaints.
And then Courfeyrac's taking off his clothes and putting on a soft robe in the area Combeferre's cleared in his bedroom. Combeferre places a padded mat on the floor and then has Courfeyrac stretch while Combeferre watches his body carefully. The riding crop is out, but Combeferre hasn't picked it up yet. Instead, he's walking Courfeyrac through what will happen, how Combeferre will require him to hold his body in certain exact positions and shift them as ordered, that he will be punished for mistakes, and that Combeferre will hold him to the highest standard.
"Are you ready to begin?" Combeferre asks and Courfeyrac nods. "Then take the robe off and we'll start."
Nudity is their signal for beginning. It's not about modesty or about exposure, it's about form and position. Once the robe is folded and placed on Combeferre's bed, Combeferre points the riding crop at the center of the mat.
"Parade rest," he orders, and it begins slowly. Combeferre uses the riding crop to correct Courfeyrac's posture, the width of his legs, the line of his shoulders. Makes him hold the position and when Courfeyrac breaks even slightly, the riding crop is there to correct him.
Combeferre takes him through positions, has him stand, has him on his knees, has him down on all fours, has him lie flat, and all the way back up to standing again. And again. Each time, the positions get stricter, and Courfeyrac gets used to the caress of the riding crop over his skin, a gentle push for a subtle correction, a slap to a safe area of his body for a stronger rebuke.
It gets into a rhythm very quickly, his breathing even, all of his attention focused on maintaining the positions. Combeferre's soft orders with the slide of the riding crop against his skin, being somehow simultaneously tense and relaxed. He thinks he can hear his heartbeat louder than before, can feel every breath of air against his skin. He's on the edge of something and he's not sure what, but he's poised perfectly, balanced along that edge. He doesn't know how long he's there for, how long Combeferre is quietly telling him how to move, how to hold still, how to be perfectly centered within himself. It's in the pursuit of perfection and maybe that's what this is, some kind of perfect state, suspended in space, just existing and obeying, being an extension of Combeferre.
The riding crop comes down again on Courfeyrac's thighs and Combeferre says, "wider", and Courfeyrac doesn't know how long it's been, five minutes, fifteen, an hour, a lifetime. He feels the riding crop like an arm around his shoulder, steering him home. It hurts, but he doesn't even notice, just registers the correction and corrects himself. And Combeferre is pleased, and they continue, they keep going, and when he comes out of it, he's not sure what brought him out, but he's thirsty and a little cold and Combeferre is telling him he did very well for a beginner.
Combeferre gives him a water bottle with the cap off and Courfeyrac drinks eagerly. It helps, and then Combeferre helps him back into the loose robe. He's going to be sore all over tomorrow, but the well-fucked kind of sore, not the spent-all-day-lifting-boxes kind of sore, so it's all good.
Courfeyrac sighs deeply, happily, and leans against Combeferre's shoulder. "That was nice," he says.
"It was," Combeferre agrees. He kisses Courfeyrac's temple and then brings the riding crop up to Courfeyrac's mouth. Courfeyrac feels a little silly kissing it, but Combeferre had insisted, and it's not too weird. Something about discipline and respect, but why that means Courfeyrac has to kiss the instrument Combeferre used to conduct that little symphony, he doesn't know. But it's not a problem.
In the morning, Grantaire's sitting at the kitchen table eating bagels.
"How did you get here?" Courfeyrac asks Grantaire suspiciously. Grantaire couldn't have been here all night. There was no way Courfeyrac was so far in headspace that he hadn't noticed the loudest couple on the planet having their overly loud sex.
Grantaire shrugs. "Juxtaposition?"
Smart ass. "Are there more of those?" Courfeyrac asks, pointing to the bagels.
There are, and Grantaire is very nice and shares, and then Enjolras comes out of his bedroom, which shares a wall with Combeferre's, so Courfeyrac knows for sure there was no sex last night, he would have heard, there's no way he wouldn't have, and Enjolras kisses Grantaire and then gives Courfeyrac an odd look.
"Is that Combeferre's bathrobe?" Enjolras asks. "Where are your clothes?"
"Details," Courfeyrac dismisses.
And if this were some kind of romance novel or romcom, this is the point where Courfeyrac and Combeferre would have an idyllic morning-after, then someone wouldn't call the other one, there would be a major misunderstanding, they'd talk through Enjolras for months, and then would finally figure out their shit with thirty pages left to go. There'd be a sex scene or romantic dinner and they'd call it a day.
Except that Courfeyrac has a lunch date today with his boyfriend, Combeferre had a morning class and already left, Enjolras would utterly refuse to be a part of their dysfunction, and also, Courfeyrac and Combeferre didn't actually have sex last night. Courfeyrac's feeling languid and a bit like a cat in the sun, but he managed all that without an orgasm or even getting an erection.
Courfeyrac figures he's going to have to figure out how to be dysfunctional all on his own. Clearly culture has failed him in this respect.
He asks Marius the best way to be dysfunctional about this and thereby add drama and tension to his life, the better to sustain some kind of act structure or plot development. Marius is very entertained, but has no suggestions. Courfeyrac walks him back to the law school and kisses his cheek and asks him to think about it. Marius promises he will, and he's such a sincere guy that he actually does think about it. Unfortunately, his suggestions show nothing more than that Marius has been reading too much Gothic literature these days, and Courfeyrac is sadly left to figure this out on his own.
Meanwhile, not much has changed with Combeferre. Combeferre had given him an open invitation for another demonstration, Courfeyrac accepted it, and Combeferre responded by giving Courfeyrac more stretches and homework. The idea is for Combeferre to eventually be able to order position changes with hand signals and snapping, but that's expert level, Combeferre had told him. They're still on beginner.
And Courfeyrac really loves a challenge.
But other than the weird bedroom stuff, Combeferre is still Courfeyrac's best-friend-except-for-Enjolras and he's not sure if he wants that to change. Courfeyrac's no stranger to one-night-stands, or two-night-stands, or multiple-night-stands, but this is his first -stand where no sex was involved, and he feels like sex would have ruined it, in a way. It certainly would have changed it significantly. So Courfeyrac's not sure if he wants to bring sex into this, and if Combeferre wants to be friends-with-nonsexual-discipline-benefits, Courfeyrac doesn't have a problem with that. They don't need more than that. Do they? It's not even like they're dating and doing nonsexual things instead of sexual things. They're just... they're just friends and doing nonsexual stuff. And he likes that.
But the thought that maybe he could ask Combeferre out, and Combeferre would say yes -- it won't get out of his head. Is he interested? Is he not? It's really distracting.
"Do I want to be dating Combeferre?" he asks Enjolras. "Should I be dating Combeferre?"
"I think if you want to is the more important question," Enjolras replies. "'Should' is an irrelevant distinction."
"He's my type," Courfeyrac tries. "He's my type so much that I probably started having a type just from being around him. Look at Marius. Thoughtful, bookish, political."
"Doesn't answer the question," Enjolras says, prudently saying nothing about Marius's politics.
"I don't think I have an answer to the question," Courfeyrac says honestly.
"Well," Enjolras says, "that's probably your answer." Courfeyrac frowns. Enjolras adds, "on the other hand, if you really don't like the idea of not dating him, that's also your answer. Do you need to make the decision now?"
"No," Courfeyrac sighs. "It's just bugging me."
"What part of it?" Enjolras asks. "Does it actually bother you, or does it just bother you that you can't fit the relationship you're starting to have with Combeferre into some nice, culturally-assigned box?"
"Ouch," Courfeyrac says, clutching his heart. But then he frowns. "Ugh, am I really? That's unattractive."
"Quite possibly," Enjolras says.
"This coming from the monogamist," Courfeyrac grumbles.
"Out of the mouths of babes," Enjolras says blithely. "Or monogamists, as the case may be."
"Ugh," Courfeyrac repeats. So he's being bothered by how queer his relationship is? He's apparently insufficiently queer to live his own life? Courfeyrac hasn't been so offended since someone told him that he reminded them of Cosette's deadbeat dad, 'but honorable', which, what does that even mean? "So, I need to get over myself and embrace what I have and not try to stuff it into a box I don't want to put it in?"
"Or change it so it fits into a box," Enjolras says.
Courfeyrac nods. "Then," he tries out, "I don't want things to change with Combeferre, except for the parts we're changing. I don't want us to get ahead of our changes. I don't have a plan. I want to see where it goes."
Enjolras clasps him on the shoulder. "Then that's what you should do."
"We aren't having sex," Courfeyrac says to Combeferre. "Unless that's a thing you want to do with me, in which case, I'm cool with that. And we're not dating, unless that's something you want to do, in which case, ditto. But regardless of the sex and regardless of the dating, I'd really like to keep up the discipline lessons, if that's okay with you."
And it's okay with Combeferre, so that's what they do.
This entry was originally posted at http://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/783873.html.